CHARLOTTE'S INHERITANCE

 By

 M. E. Braddon

CONTENTS. 

Book the First. 

DE PROFUNDIS. 

 I. LENOBLE OF BEAUBOCAGE

 II. IN THIS WIDE WORLD I STAND ALONE

 III. PAST HOPE, AND IN DESPAIR

 IV. A DECREE OF BANISHMENT

Book the Second. 

DOWNHILL. 

 I. THE FATE OF SUSAN LENOBLE

 II. FORGIVEN TOO LATE

 III. GUSTAVE THE SECOND

Book the Third. 

THE HORATIAD. 

 I. CHIEFLY RETROSPECTIVE

 II. EPISTOLARY

 III. TOO CLEVER FOR A CATSPAW

 IV. CAPTAIN PAGET IS PATERNAL

 V. THE CAPTAIN'S COADJUTOR

Book the Fourth. 

GUSTAVE IN ENGLAND. 

 I. HALCYON DAYS

 II. CAPTAIN PAGET AWAKENS TO A SENSE OF HIS DUTY

 III. WHAT DO WE HERE, MY HEART AND I?

 IV. SHARPER THAN A SERPENT'S TOOTH

Book the Fifth. 

THE FIRST ACT OF MR. SHELDON'S DRAMA. 

 I. TAKEN BY STORM

 II. FIRM AS A ROCK

 III. AGAINST WIND AND TIDE

 IV. DIANA ASKS FOR A HOLIDAY

 V. ASSURANCE DOUBLY SURE

Book the Sixth. 

DIANA IN NORMANDY. 

 I. AT CÔTENOIR

Book the Seventh. 

A CLOUD OF FEAR. 

 I. THE BEGINNING OF SORROW

 II. FADING

 III. MRS. WOOLPER IS ANXIOUS

 IV. VALENTINE'S SKELETON

 V. AT HAROLD'S HILL

 VI. DESPERATE MEASURES

Book the Eighth. 

A FIGHT AGAINST TIME. 

 I. A DREAD REVELATION

 II. PHOENICIANS ARE RISING

 III. THE SORTES VIRGILIANAE

Book the Ninth. 

THROUGH THE FURNACE. 

 I. SOMETHING TOO MUCH

 II. DR. JEDD'S OPINION

 III. NON DORMIT JUDAS

 IV. COUNTING THE COST

 V. THE BEGINNING OF THE END

 VI. CONFUSION WORSE CONFOUNDED

 VII. THERE IS A WORD WILL PRIAM TURN TO STONE

Book the Tenth. 

HARBOUR, AFTER MANY SHIPWRECKS. 

 I. OUT OF THE DARK VALLEY

 II. AFTER THE WEDDING

 III. GREEK AGAINST GREEK

 IV. ONLY A DREAM

 V. BOHEMIAN INDEPENDENCE

 VI. BEYOND THE VEIL

 VII. BETTER THAN GOLD

VIII. LOST SIGHT OF

 IX. ETEOCLES AND POLYNICES

 X. "ACCORDING TO THEIR DEEDS. "

CHARLOTTE'S INHERITANCE

Book the first. 

DE PROFUNDIS. 

CHAPTER I. 

LENOBLE OF BEAUBOCAGE. 

In the days when the Bourbon reigned over Gaul, before the "simple, sensuous, passionate" verse of Alfred de Musset had succeeded the_débonnaire_ Muse of Béranger in the affections of young France, --in dayswhen the site of the Trocadero was a remote and undiscovered country, andthe word "exposition" unknown in the Academic dictionary, and the GallicAugustus destined to rebuild the city yet an exile, --a young law-studentboarded, in common with other students, in a big dreary-looking house atthe corner of the Rue Grande-Mademoiselle, abutting on the Place Lauzun, and within some ten minutes walk of the Luxembourg. It was a very dingyquarter, though noble gentlemen and lovely ladies had once occupied thegreat ghastly mansions, and disported themselves in the gruesome gardens. But the young students were in nowise oppressed by the ghastliness oftheir abode. They sang their Béranger, and they pledged each other incheap Bordeaux, and clinked their glasses noisily in their boisterousgood-fellowship, and ate the messes compounded for them in a darksomecupboard, known as the kitchen, by old Nanon the cook, purblind, stone-deaf, and all but imbecile, and popularly supposed to be thevenerable mother of Madame Magnotte. The youngsters grumbled to eachother about the messes when they were unusually mysterious; and it mustbe owned that there were _vol-au-vents_ and _fricandeaux_ consumed inthat establishment which were awful and wonderful in their nature; butthey ventured on no complaint to the mistress of the mansion. She was agrim and terrible personage. Her terms were low, and she treated herboarders _de haute en bas_. If they were not content with her viands, they might go and find more agreeable viands elsewhere. 

Madame Magnotte was altogether mysterious and inscrutable. Some peoplesaid that she was a countess, and that the wealth and lands of her familyhad been confiscated by the committee of public unsafety in '93. Othersdeclared that she had been a popular actress in a small theatre in thedays of Napoleon. She was tall and thin--nay, of an exceptionalleanness--and her complexion was of a more agreeable yellow than thebutter that appeared on her hospitable board; but she had flashing blackeyes, and a certain stateliness of gait and grandeur of manner thatimpressed those young Bohemians, her boarders, with a kind of awe. Theytalked of her as the "countess, " and by that name she was known to allinmates of the mansion; but in all their dealings with her they treatedher with unfailing respect. 

One of the quietest among the young men who enjoyed the privileges ofMadame Magnotte's abode was a certain Gustave Lenoble, a law-student, theonly son of a very excellent couple who lived on their own estate, nearan obscure village in Normandy. The estate was of the smallest; adilapidated old house, known in the immediate neighbourhood as "theChâteau, " and very dear to those who resided therein; a garden, in whicheverything seemed to have run to seed; and about forty acres of thepoorest land in Normandy. These possessions constituted the patrimonialestate of Francois Lenoble, _propriétaire_, of Beaubocage, nearVevinordin, the department of Eure. 

The people amongst whom the good man lived his simple life called him M. Lenoble de Beaubocage, but he did not insist upon this distinction; andon sending out his only son to begin the battle of life in the greatworld of Paris, he recommended the young man to call himself Lenoble, _tout court_. 

The young man had never cherished any other design. He was of allcreatures the least presuming or pretentious. The father was Legitimistto the very marrow; the son half Buonapartist, half republican. Thefather and son had quarrelled about these differences of opinionsometimes in a pleasantly disputatious manner; but no politicaldisagreement could lesser the love between these two. Gustave lovedhis parents as only a Frenchman can venture to love his father andmother--with a devotion for the gentleman that bordered on enthusiasm, with a fond reverence for the lady that was the very essence of chivalry. There was a sister, who regarded her brother Gustave as the embodiment ofall that is perfect in youthful mankind; and there were a couple of oldhouse-servants, a very stupid clumsy lad in the stables, and half a dozenold mongrel dogs, born and bred on the premises, who seemed to share theyoung lady's opinions. There was not a little discussion upon the subjectof Gustave Lenoble's future career; and it was not without difficultythat the father could be persuaded to approve the choice of a professionwhich the young man had made. The seigneur of Beaubocage cherished anexaggerated pride of race little suspected by those who saw his simplelife, and were pleased by his kindly unaffected manners. The house ofLenoble, at some remote and almost mythical period of history, haddistinguished itself in divers ways; and those bygone grandeurs, vagueand shadowy in the minds of all others, seemed very real to MonsieurLenoble. He assured his son that no Lenoble had ever been a lawyer. Theyhad been always lords of the soil, living on their own lands, which hadonce stretched wide and far in that Norman province; a fact proved bycertain maps in M. Lenoble's possession, the paper whereof was worn andyellow with age. They had stooped to no profession save that of arms. Oneseigneur of Beaubocage had fought under Bayard himself; another hadfallen at Pavia, on that great day when all was lost _hormis l'honneur_;another had followed the white plume of the Bernais; another--but wasthere any need to tell of the glories of that house upon which Gustavewas so eager to inflict the disgrace of a learned profession?

Thus argued the father; but the mother had spent her girlhood amidst theclamour of the Buonapartist campaigns, and the thought of war was veryterrible to her. The memory of the retreat from Russia was not yet twentyyears old. There were men alive to tell the story, to depict those daysand nights of horror, that mighty march of death. It was she and herdaughter Cydalise who had helped to persuade Gustave that he was born todistinguish himself in the law. They wanted him to study in Paris--theyoung man himself had a wild desire to enjoy the delights of thatwondrous capital--and to return in a few years to set up for himself as_avocat_ at the town of Vevinord, some half-dozen leagues from thepatrimonial estate. He was created to plead for the innocent, to denouncethe guilty, to be grand and brave and fiery-hot with enthusiasm indefence of virtuous peasants charged unjustly with the stealing of sheep, or firing of corn-ricks. It never struck these simple souls that he mightsometimes be called upon to defend the guilty, or to denounce theinnocent. 

It was all settled at last. Gustave was to go to Paris, and enter himselfas a student of law. There were plenty of boarding-houses in theneighbourhood of the Ecole de Droit where a young man might find a home;and to one of these Gustave was recommended by a friend of his family. Itwas the Pension Magnotte to which they had sent him, the big drearyhouse, _entre cour et jardin_, which had once been so grand and noble. Aprinter now occupied the lower chambers, and a hand painted on the wallpointed to the _Pension Magnotte, au premier. Tirez le cordon, s. V. P. _

Gustave was twenty-one years of age when he came to Paris; tall, stalwart, broad of shoulders and deep of chest, with a fair frank face, an auburn moustache, candid, kind blue eyes--a physiognomy rather Saxonthan Celtic. He was a man who made friends quickly, and was soon at homeamong the students, roaring their favourite songs, and dancing theirfavourite dances at the dancing-places of that day, joining with apleasant heartiness in all their innocent dissipations. For guiltydissipation the young provincial had no taste. Did he not carry theimages of two kind and pure women about with him wherever he went, liketwo attendant angels ever protecting his steps; and could he leave themsorrowing on thresholds _they_ could not pass? Ah, no! He was loud andboisterous and wild of spirits in those early days, but incapable ofmeanness or vice. 

"It is a brave heart, " Madame Magnotte said of him, "though for thebreaking of glasses a scourge--_un fléau_. "

The ladies of the Pension Magnotte were for the most part of mature ageand unattractive appearance--two or three lonely spinsters, eking outtheir pitiful little incomes as best they might, by the surreptitioussale of delicate embroideries, confectioned in their dismal leisure; anda fat elderly widow, popularly supposed to be enormously rich, but ofmiserly propensities. "It is the widow of Harpagon himself, " MadameMagnotte told her gossips--an old woman with two furiously uglydaughters, who for the last fifteen years had lived a nomadic life indivers boarding-houses, fondly clinging to the hope that, amongst so manystrange bachelors, husbands for these two solitary ones must at last befound. 

These, with a pale young lady who gave music lessons in the quarter, wereall the feminine inmates of the mansion; and amongst these GustaveLenoble was chief favourite. His tender courtesy for these lonely womenseemed in some manner an evidence of that good old blood whereof theyoung man's father boasted. Francis the First, who listened with bentknee and bare head to his mother's discourse, was not more reverential tothat noble Savoyarde than was Gustave to the shabby-genteel maiden ladiesof the Pension Magnotte. In truth, this young man had a heart pitiful andtender as the heart of woman. To be unfortunate was to possess a sureclaim upon his pity and regard; to be poor and friendless was the bestappeal to his kindness. He spent his evenings sometimes in the greatdreary desert of a salon, and listened respectfully while MademoiselleServin, the young music-teacher, played dismal sonatas of Gluck or Grétryon a cracked old piano that had been one of the earliest made of thoseinstruments, and was now attenuated and feeble as the very ghost ofmusic. He listened to Madame Magnotte's stories of departed splendour. Tohim she opened her heart as she never had opened it to those other youngmen. 

"They mock themselves of everything--even the religion!" she exclaimed, with horror. "They are Diderots and Holbachs in the bud, less the talent. But you do not come of that gutter in which they were born. You are ofthe old blood of France, M. Lenoble, and I can trust myself to you as Icannot to them. I, who speak to you--I, too, come of a good old race, andthere is sympathy between we others. "

And then, after babbling to him of her lost station, the lady wouldentertain him with some dainty little supper with which she was wont toindulge herself and her lady boarders, when the students--who weretreated something after the manner of school-boys--were out of doors. 

For four years the law-student had enjoyed his Parisian life--notaltogether idle, but not altogether industrious--amusing himself a greatdeal, and learning very little; moderate in his expenditure, whencompared with his fellow-students, but no small drain upon the funds ofthe little family at home. In sooth, this good old Norman family had in apecuniary sense sunk very low. There was real poverty in the tumble-downhouse at Beaubocage, though it was poverty that wore a cheerful face, andtook things pleasantly. A very humble English farmer would have despisedthe income which supported M. Lenoble's household; and it was only theeconomy and skill of the matron and her daughter which sustained thedignity of the small establishment. 

There was one great hope cherished alike by the proud simple-minded oldfather, the fond mother, the devoted sister, and that was the hope in thegrand things to be done, in the dim future, by Gustave, the son, theheir, the pole-star of the household. 

Out of poverty, out of obscurity, into the broad light of honour andriches, was the house of Lenoble to be lifted by this young law-student. On the broad shoulders of this modern Atlas the Lenoble world was to besustained. To him they looked, of him they thought, in the long drearywinter evenings during which the mother nodded over her knitting, thefather slept in his capacious easy-chair, the sister toiled at herneedle-work by her little table of _palissandre_. 

He had paid them more than one visit during his two years of study, bringing with him life and light and gladness, as it seemed to the twowomen who adored him; and now, in the winter of 1828, they expectedanother visit. He was to be with them on the first day of the new year. He was to stay with them till his Mother's fete--the 17th of January. 

The father looked to this special visit with an unusual anxiety. Themother too was more than ever anxious. The sister, if she who loved herbrother with a somewhat morbid intensity could be more anxious thanusual, was more so now. A dreadful plot, a dire conspiracy, of whichGustave was to be the subject and victim, had been concocted beneath thatinnocent-seeming roof. Father, mother, and sister, seated round thefamily hearth, fatal as some domestic Parcae, had hatched their horridscheme, while the helpless lad amused himself yonder in the great city, happily unconscious of the web that was being woven to enmesh him. 

The cord which monsieur unwound, the mesh which madame held, theneedle which dexterous mademoiselle wielded, were employed in thefabrication of a matrimonial net. These unsophisticated conspiratorswere bent upon bringing about the marriage of their victim, a marriagewhich should at once elevate and enrich the Lenobles of Beaubocage, inthe person of Gustave. 

Francois Lenoble's best friend and nearest neighbour was a certain BaronFrehlter, of Germanic origin, but for some generations past naturalisedto the Gallic soil. The Baron was proprietor of an estate which couldshow ten acres for one of the lands of Beaubocage. The Baron boasted afamily tree which derived its root from a ramification of theHohenzollern pedigree; but, less proud and more prudent than theLenobles, the Frehlters had not scorned to intermingle their Prussianblue blood with less pure streams of commercial France. The _épicier_element had prevailed in the fair brides of the house of Frehlter for thelast three or four generations, and the house of Frehlter hadconsiderably enriched itself by this sacrifice of its family pride. 

The present Baron had married a lady ten years his senior, the widow of aRouen merchant, alike wealthy and pious, but famous rather for theseattributes than for any personal charm. One only child, a girl, hadblessed this union. She was now a young person of something under twentyyears of age, newly emerged from her convent, and pining for some sharein the gaieties and delights of a worldly paradise, which had alreadybeen open to many of her schoolfellows. 

Mademoiselle Frehlter's companions had, for the most part, left school tobe married. She had heard of the _corbeille_, the wedding dress, thewedding festivities, and occasionally a word or two about that secondaryconsideration the bridegroom. The young lady was therefore somewhatinclined to take it ill of her father that he had not secured for her the_éclat_ of an early marriage. Her departure from the convent of the SacréCoeur, at Vevinord, was flat and tame to an extreme degree. The futurelay before her, a dreary desert of home life, to be spent with a fatherwho gorged himself daily at a greasy and savoury banquet, and who sleptaway the greater part of his existence; and with a mother who divided heraffections between a disagreeable poodle and a still more disagreeablepriest--a priest who took upon himself to lecture the demoiselle Frehlteron the smallest provocation. 

The château of the Frehlters was a very grand abode as compared to thetumble-down house of Beaubocage; but it was cold and stony to adepressing degree, and the furniture must have been shabby in the days ofthe Fronde. Faithful old servants kept the mansion in a state of spotlesspurity, and ruled the Baron and his wife with a rod of iron. Mademoiselleexecrated these devoted retainers, and would have welcomed the sauciestof modern domestics who would have released her from the bondage of theseservants of the old school. 

Mademoiselle had been at home a year--a year of discontent andill-humour. She had quarrelled with her father, because he would not takeher to Paris; with her mother, because she would not give her more newgowns and bonnets and feathers and fur-belows; with the priest, thepoodle, with the autocracy below-stairs, with everybody and everything. So at last the Baron decided that mademoiselle should marry, whereby hemight be rid of her, and of her complaints, vagaries, ill-tempers, andgeneral dissatisfaction. 

Having once made up his mind as to the wisdom of a matrimonialarrangement, Baron Frehlter was not slow to fix upon a bridegroom. He wasa very rich man, and Madelon was his only child, and he was furthermore avery lazy man; so, instead of looking far afield for a wealthy ordistinguished suitor for his daughter, he was inclined to take the firstthat came to hand. It is possible that the Baron, who was of a somewhatcynical turn of mind, may have cherished no very exalted idea of hisdaughter's attractions, either personal or mental. However this might be, it is certain that when the demoiselle had ill-treated the poodle, andinsulted the priest, and quarrelled with the cook--that high-priestess ofthe kitchen who alone, in all Normandy, could concoct those messes whichthe Baron loved--the master of Côtenoir decided on marrying his heiressout of hand. 

He communicated this design to his old crony, François Lenoble, one daywhen the Beaubocage family dined at Château Côtenoir. 

"I think of marrying my daughter, " he said to his friend, when the ladieswere safely out of hearing at the other end of the long dreary saloon. "Now thy son Gustave is a fine fellow--brave, handsome, and of a goodrace. It is true he is not as rich as Madelon will be by-and-by; but I amno huckster, to sell my daughter to the best bidder" ("and I doubt ifthere would be many bidders for her, if I were so inclined, " thought theBaron, in parenthesis); "and if thy son should take a fancy to her, andshe to him, it would please me well enough, friend François. "

Friend François pricked up his ears, and in his old eyes flickered afeeble light. Côtenoir and Beaubocage united in the person of his sonGustave! Lenoble of Beaubocage and Côtenoir--Lenoble of Côtenoir andBeaubocage! So splendid a vision had never shone before his eyes in allthe dreams that he had dreamed about the only son of whom he was soproud. He could not have shaped to himself so bold a project as the unionof those two estates. And here was the Baron offering it to him, with hissnuff-box, _en passant_. 

"It would be a great marriage, " he said, "a very great marriage. ForGustave I can answer without hesitation. He could not but be charmed bysuch a union--so amiable a bride would enchant him. "

He looked down the room to the spot where Madelon and Cydalise werestanding, side by side, admiring Madame Frehlter's poodle. Madelon couldafford to be civil to the poodle before company. The contrast between thetwo girls was sufficiently striking. Cydalise was fair andbright-looking--Mademoiselle Frehlter was square and ungainly of figure, swarthy of complexion, dark of brow. 

"He could not but be charmed, " repeated the old man, with feeblegallantry. 

He was thinking of the joining together of Beaubocage and Côtenoir; andit seemed a very small thing to him that such a union of estates wouldinvolve the joining of a man and woman, who were to hold to each otherand love each other until death should part them. 

"It shall be no marriage of convenience, " said the Baron, in a generousspirit; "my daughter is somewhat ill-tem--that is to say, my daughterfinds her life somewhat dull with her old father and mother, and I thinkshe might be happier in the society of a husband. I like your son; andmy wife, too, likes him better than any other young man of ouracquaintance. Madelon has seen a good deal of him when she has been homefrom the convent in her holidays, and I have reason to think she doesnot dislike him. If he likes her and she likes him, and the idea ispleasing to you and madame, we will make a match of it. If not, let itpass; we will say no more. "

Again the seigneur of Beaubocage assured his friend that Gustave would beenchanted with the proposal; and again it was of Côtenoir that hethought, and not of the heart or the inclinations of his son. 

This conversation took place late in autumn, and at the new year Gustavewas to come. Nothing was to be said to him about his intended wife untilhe arrived; that was a point upon which the Baron insisted. 

"The young man may have fallen in love with some fine young person inParis, " he said; "and in that case we will say nothing to him of Madelon. But if we find him with the heart free, and inclined to take to mydaughter, we may give him encouragement. "

This was solemnly agreed between the two fathers. Nor was MademoiselleFrehlter to be told of the matrimonial scheme until it ripened. But afterthis dinner at Côtenoir the household at Beaubocage talked of little elsethan of the union of the two families. What grandeur, what wealth, whathappiness! Gustave the lord of Côtenoir! Poor Cydalise had never seen afiner mansion than the old château, with its sugar-loaf towers and stoneterraces, and winding stairs, and tiny inconvenient turret chambers, andlong dreary salon and _salle-à-manger_. She could picture to herselfnothing more splendid. For Gustave to be offered the future possession ofCôtenoir was as if he were suddenly to be offered the succession to akingdom. She could not bring herself to consider that Madelon was neitheragreeable nor attractive, and that, after all, the wife must count forsomething in every marriage contract. She could see nothing, she couldthink of nothing, but Côtenoir. The glory and grandeur of that estateabsorbed every other consideration. 

No one of those three conspirators feared any opposition on the part oftheir victim. It was just possible that Gustave might have fallen in lovewith some Parisian damsel, though his letters gave no hint of any suchcalamity. But if such a misfortune had happened, he would, of course, fall out of love again, return the damsel her troth and obtain the returnof his own, and straightway offer the second-hand commodity toMademoiselle Frehlter. 

The object of all these cares and hopes and dreams arrived at last, fullof life and spirits, with plenty to tell about Paris in general, and verylittle to tell about himself in particular. The women questioned himunmercifully. They insisted on a graphic description of every femaleinmate of the boarding-house, and would scarcely believe that all exceptthe little music-mistress were elderly and unattractive. Of themusic-mistress herself they were inclined to be very suspicious, and werenot altogether reassured by Gustave's assertion that she was neitherpretty nor fascinating. 

"She is a dear, good, industrious little thing, " he said, "and worksharder than I do. But she is no miracle of beauty; and her life is sodreary that I often wonder she does not go into a convent. It would begayer and pleasanter for her than to live with those old women at thePension Magnotte. "

"I suppose there are many beautiful women in Paris?" said Cydalise, bentupon knowing the worst. 

"Well, I dare say there are, " Gustave answered frankly; "but we studentsdon't see much of them in our quarter. One sees a pretty littlemilliner's girl now and then, or a washerwoman. In short, there are agood many grisettes in our part of the world, " added the young man, blushing, but for no sin of his own. "We get a glimpse of a handsomewoman sometimes, rattling past in her carriage; but in Paris handsomewomen do not go on foot. I have seen prettier girls at Vevinord than inParis. "

Cydalise was enchanted with this confession. 

"Yes, " she exclaimed, "our Normandy is the place for pretty girls. Madelon Frehlter. For example, is not she a very--amiable girl?"

"I dare say she's amiable enough, " answered Gustave; "but if there wereno prettier girls than Mademoiselle Frehlter in this part of the world, we should have no cause to boast. But there are prettier girls, Cydalise, and thou art thyself one of them. "

After this speech the young man bestowed upon his sister a resoundingkiss. Yes; it was clear that he was heart-whole. These noisy, boisterousgood spirits were not characteristic of a lover. Even innocent Cydaliseknew that to be in love was to be miserable. 

From this time mother and sister tormented their victim with the meritsand charms of his predestined bride. Madelon on the piano was miraculous;Madelon's little songs were enchanting; Madelon's worsted-work was athing to worship; Madelon's devotion to her mother and her mother'spoodle was unequalled; Madelon's respectful bearing to the good Abbé St. Velours--her mother's director--was positively beyond all praise. It wasvirtue seraphic, supernal. Such a girl was too good for earth--too goodfor anything except Gustave. 

The young man heard and wondered. 

"How you rave about Madelon Frehlter!" he exclaimed. "She seems to me themost commonplace young person I ever encountered. She has nothing to sayfor herself; she never appears to know where to put her elbows. I neversaw such elbows; they are everywhere at once. And her shoulders!--Oheaven, then, her shoulders!--it ought to be forbidden to wear lowdresses when one has such shoulders. "

This was discouraging, but the schemers bore up even against this. Themother dwelt on the intellectual virtues of Madelon; and what wereshoulders compared to mind, piety, amiability--all the Christian graces?Cydalise owned that dear Madelon was somewhat _gauche_; Gustave calledher _bête_. The father remonstrated with his son. Was it not frightful touse a word of the barracks in connection with this charming young lady?

At last the plot revealed itself. After a dinner at Côtenoir and a dinnerat Beaubocage, on both which occasions Gustave had made himself veryagreeable to the ladies of the Baron's household--since, indeed, it wasnot in his nature to be otherwise than kind and courteous to the weakersex--the mother told her son of the splendid destiny that had been shapedfor him. It was a matter of surprise and grief to her to find that therevelation gave Gustave no pleasure. 

"Marriage was the last thing in my thoughts, dear mother, " he said, gravely; "and Madelon Frehlter is the very last woman I should think offor a wife. Nevertheless, I am gratified by the honour Monsieur le Baronhas done me. That goes without saying. "

"But the two estates!--together they would make you a great proprietor. You would not surely refuse such fortune?"

Cydalise gave a little scream of horror. 

"Côtenoir! to refuse Côtenoir! Ah, surely that would be impossible! Butfigure to yourself, then, Gustave--"

"Nay, Cydalise, you forget the young lady goes with the château; afixture that we cannot dispense with. "

"But she, so amiable, so pious--"

"So plain, so stupid--"

"So modest, so charitable--"

"In short, so admirably adapted for a Sister of Charity, " repliedGustave. "But no, dear Cydalise. Côtenoir is a grand old place; but Iwould as soon spend my life at Toulon, dragging a cannon-ball at myheels, as in that dreary salon where Madame Frehlter nurses her maladiesand her poodle, and where the good-humoured, easy-going old Baron snoresaway existence. 'Tis very well for those elderly folks, you see, mysister, and for Madelon--for hers is an elderly mind in a youthful body;but for a young man full of hope and gaiety and activity--bah! It wouldbe of all living deaths the worst. From the galleys there is always thehope of escaping--an underground passage, burrowed out with one'sfinger-nails in the dead of the night--a work lasting twenty years or so, but with a feeble star of hope always glimmering at the end of thepassage. But from the salon, and mamma, and the poodle, and the good, unctuous, lazy old director, and papa's apoplectic snoring, and theplaintive little songs and monotonous embroideries of one's wife, therewould be no escape. Ah, bah!"

Gustave shuddered, and the two women shuddered as they heard him. Theprospect was by no means promising; but Madame Lenoble and her daughterdid not utterly despair. Gustave's heart was disengaged. That was a greatpoint; and for the rest, surely persuasion might do much. 

Then came that phenomenon seen very often in this life--agenerous-minded, right-thinking young man talked into a position which ofall others is averse from his own inclinations. The mother persuaded, thesister pleaded, the father dwelt dismally upon the poverty of Beaubocage, the wealth of Côtenoir. It was the story of auld Robin Gray reversed. Gustave perceived that his refusal to avail himself of this splendiddestiny would be a bitter and lasting grief to these people who loved himso fondly--whom he loved as fondly in return. Must he not be a churl todisappoint hopes so unselfish, to balk an ambition so innocent? And onlybecause Madelon was not the most attractive or the prettiest of women!

The young man stood firm against all their arguments, he was unmoved byall their pleading. It was only when his anxious kindred had given up thebattle for lost that Gustave wavered. Their mute despair moved him morethan the most persuasive eloquence; and the end was submission. He leftBeaubocage the plighted lover of that woman who, of all others, he wouldhave been the last to choose for his wife. It had all been settled verypleasantly--the dowry, the union of the two estates, the two names. Forsix months Gustave was to enjoy his freedom to finish his studies; andthen he was to return to Normandy for his marriage. 

"I have heard very good accounts of you from Paris, " said the Baron. "Youare not like some young men, wild, mad-brained. One can confide in yourhonour, your steadiness. "

The good folks of Beaubocage were in ecstacies. They congratulatedGustave--they congratulated each other. A match so brilliant would be theredemption of the family. The young man at last began to fancy himselfthe favoured of the gods. What if Madelon seemed a little dull--a littlewanting in that vivacity which is so pleasing to frivolous minds? she wasdoubtless so much the more profound, so much the more virtuous. If shewas not bright and varied and beautiful as some limpid fountain dancingin summer sunlight, she was perhaps changeless and steady as a rock; andwho would not rather have the security of a rock than the summer-daybeauty of a fountain?

Before Gustave departed from his paternal home he had persuaded himselfthat he was a very lucky fellow; and he had paid Mademoiselle Frehltersome pretty little stereotyped compliments, and had listened with sublimepatience to her pretty little stereotyped songs. He left the young ladyprofoundly impressed by his merits; he left his own household supremelyhappy; and he carried away with him a heart in which Madelon Frehlter'simage had no place. 

CHAPTER II. 

IN THIS WIDE WORLD I STAND ALONE. 

Gustave went back to his old life, and was not much disturbed by thegrandeur of his destiny as future seigneur of Côtenoir and Beaubocage. Itsometimes occurred to him that he had a weight upon his mind; and, onconsideration, he found that the weight was Madelon Frehlter. But hecontinued to carry that burden very lightly, and his easy-going studentlife went on, unbroken by thoughts of the future. He sent polite messagesto the demoiselle Frehlter in his letters to Cydalise; and he receivedfrom Cydalise much information, more graphic than interesting, upon thesubject of the family at Côtenoir; and so his days went on with pleasantmonotony. This was the brief summer of his youth; but, alas, how near athand was the dark and dismal winter that was to freeze this honest joyousheart! That heart, so compassionate for all suffering, so especiallytender for all womankind, was to be attacked upon its weaker side. 

It was Gustave Lenoble's habit to cross the gardens of the Luxembourgevery morning, on his way from the Rue Grande-Mademoiselle to the Ecolede Droit. Sometimes, when he was earlier than usual, he carried a bookwith him, and paced one of the more obscure alleys, reading for an oddhalf-hour before he went to the daily mill-grinding in the big buildingbeyond those quiet gardens. 

Walking with his book one morning--it was a volume of Boileau, whichthe student knew by heart, and the pages whereof did not altogetherabsorb his attention--he passed and repassed a bench on which a ladysat, pensive and solitary, tracing shapeless figures on the ground withthe point of her parasol. He glanced at her somewhat carelessly thefirst time of passing, more curiously on the second occasion, andthe third time with considerable attention. Something in herattitude--helplessness, hopelessness, nay indeed, despair itself, allexpressed in the drooping head, the listless hand tracing those idlecharacters on the gravel--enlisted the sympathies of Gustave Lenoble. Hehad pitied her even before his gaze had penetrated the cavernous depthsof the capacious bonnet of those days; but one glimpse of the paleplaintive face inspired him with compassion unspeakable. Never had heseen despair more painfully depicted on the human countenance--a despairthat sought no sympathy, a sorrow that separated the sufferer from theouter world. Never had he seen a face so beautiful, even in despair. Hecould have fancied it the face of Andromache, when all that made herworld had been reft from her; or of Antigone, when the dread fiat hadgone forth--that funeral rites or sepulture for the last accursed scionof an accursed race there were to be none. 

He put Boileau into his pocket. That glimpse of a suffering human mind, which had been unconsciously revealed to him, possessed an interest moreabsorbing than the grandest flight of poet and satirist. As he passed forthe fifth time, he looked at the mournful lady still more searchingly, and this time the sad eyes were lifted, and met his pitying looks. Thebeautiful lips moved, and murmured something in tones so tremulous as tobe quite unintelligible. 

The student took off his hat, and approached the lady, deferential asknight-errant of old awaiting the behest of his liege mistress. 

"In what can I have the happiness to be agreeable to you, madame?"

"You are very good, monsieur, " murmured the lady in very decent French, but with an accent unmistakably foreign--English, as Gustave opined. "I--I--am quite a stranger in Paris, and--and--I have heard there arenumerous lodging-houses in this quarter--where one may obtain alodging--cheaply. I have asked several nursemaids, and other women, inthe gardens this morning; but they seem very stupid, and can tell menothing; and I do not care to ask at the hotel where I am staying. "

Gustave pondered. Yes, there were many lodgings, he informed the lady. And then he thought of Madame Magnotte. Was it not his duty to securethis stray lodger for that worthy woman, if possible?

"If madame has no objection to a boarding-house--" he began. 

Madame shook her head. "A boarding-house would suit me just as well, " shesaid; "but it must not be expensive. I cannot afford to pay much. "

"I know of a boarding-house very near this place, where madame might finda comfortable home on very reasonable terms. It is, in point of fact, thehouse in which I myself reside, " added Gustave, with some timidity. 

"If you will kindly direct me to the house--" said the lady, lookingstraight before her with sad unseeing eyes, and evidently supremelyindifferent as to the residence or non-residence of M. Lenoble in thehabitation referred to. 

"Nay, madame, if you will permit me to conduct you there. It is but awalk of five minutes. "

The stranger accepted the courtesy with a gentle indifference that wasnot ingratitude, but rather incapacity for any feeling except that onegreat sorrow which seemed to absorb her mind. 

Gustave wondered what calamity could thus overwhelm one so young andbeautiful. 

The lady was quite silent during the little walk from the gardens to theRue Grande-Mademoiselle, and Gustave observed her attentively as hewalked by her side. She was evidently not more than four-and-twenty yearsof age, and she was certainly the prettiest woman he had ever seen. Itwas a fair delicate English beauty, a little worn and faded, as if bycare, but idealized and sublimated in the process. At her brightest thisstranger must have been strikingly beautiful; in her sorrow she wastouchingly lovely. It was what Gustave's countrymen call a _beauténavrante_. 

Gustave watched her, and wondered about her. The dress she wore wassufficiently elegant, but had lost the gloss of newness. Her shawl, whichshe carried as gracefully as a Frenchwoman, was darned. Gustave perceivedthe neat careful stitches, and divined the poverty of the wearer. Thatshe should be poor was no subject for surprise; but that she, sosorrowful, so lonely, should seek a home in a strange city, was an enigmanot easy to solve. 

To Madame Magnotte Gustave introduced the stranger. She gave just onelook round the dreary saloon; but to Gustave's fancy that one look seemedeloquent. "Ah me!" it said; "is this the fairest home I am to find uponthis inhospitable earth?"

"She does not seem to belong to this world, " the young man thought, ashe went back to the garden where he had found his fair stranger, havingbeen very coolly dismissed by Madame Magnotte after his introduction hadbeen made. 

And then M. Lenoble, being of a romantic turn of mind, remembered how alady had been found by a student sitting on the lowest steps of theguillotine, desolate and helpless, at night; and how the student hadtaken her home and sheltered her, and had straightway fallen desperatelyin love with her, to discover, with unutterable horror, that her head hadbeen severed from her fair shoulders by the cruel knife twelve hoursbefore, and that her melancholy loveliness was altogether phantasmal anddelusive. 

Was this English stranger whom Gustave had found in the gardens of theLuxembourg twin sister to that ghostly lady of the familiar legend? Herdespair and her beauty seemed to him greater than earthly sorrow orearthly beauty; and he was half inclined to wonder whether she could beof the same race as Madelon Frehlter. And from this hour the sense of aweight upon his mind, before so vague and intermittent, became anenduring oppression, not to be shaken off by any effort of his will. 

All through that day he found himself thinking more of the unknownEnglishwoman than was consistent with a strict performance of his duties. He was vexed with himself on account of this foolish distraction of mind. 

"What a frivolous fellow I must be, " he said to himself, "to dwell uponsuch a trifle! This comes of leading such a monotonous life. "

At dinner he looked for the lady; but she did not appear at the longtable, where the shrill old ladies, the epicurean old bachelors, thenoisy students, daily devoured and grumbled at the four or five courseswhich old Nanon developed out of her inner consciousness and a ratherscantily furnished larder. He questioned Madame Magnotte after dinner, and was told that the lady was in the house, but was too tired to dinewith the other inmates. 

"I have to thank thee for a new boarder, my friend, " she said. "MadameMeynell will not pay largely; but she seems a quiet and respectableperson, and we shall doubtless be well pleased with each other. "

"Madame Meynell!" repeated Gustave, congratulating himself on findingthat the Englishwoman was an inhabitant of the house he lived in. "She isa widow, I suppose?"

"Yes, she is a widow. I asked that question, and she answered, yes. But she told me nothing of her late husband. She is not at allcommunicative. "

This was all Gustave could obtain from Madame Magnotte. She was notcommunicative. No; she was, indeed, scarcely less silent than thatghostly lady who had been found sitting at the foot of the guillotine. There was some kind of mystery involved in her sorrowful face, her silentapathy. It was possibly the fact of this mystery which interested M. Lenoble. Certain it is that the young man's interest had been aroused bythis unknown Englishwoman, and that his mind was more occupied by theimage of her whom he had seen but once than by that of his plighted wife. 

He waited anxiously for the next day; but on the next day Madame Meynellstill pleaded fatigue and illness. It was only on the third day that sheappeared at the noisy banquet, pale, silent, absent-minded, shelteringherself under the wing of Madame Magnotte, who was disposed to be kind tothis helpless stranger. To Gustave the young English widow seemed like aghost at that crowded board. He looked at her every now and then from hisdistant seat, and saw her always with the same hopeless far-away look inher sad eyes. He himself was silent and _distrait_. 

"Of what dost thou dream, my droll one?" said his nearest neighbour. "Thou art positively insupportable. "

M. Lenoble could not become vivacious or entertaining at the behest ofhis fellow-student. The consciousness of that strange pale face hauntedand oppressed him. He hoped to have a few minutes' talk with the Englishlady after dinner, but she disappeared before the removal of thoserecondite preparations which in the Pension Magnotte went by the genericname of "dessert. "

For more than a week she appeared thus at the dinner-table, eating verylittle, speaking not at all, except such monosyllabic replies as thehostess now and then extorted from her pale lips. A creature at once sobeautiful and so profoundly sad became an object of interest to othersbesides Gustave; but in no breast was the sympathy which her sadness andbeauty excited so poignant as in his. Her face haunted him. The familiarpleasures and amusements became distasteful to him. He spent his eveningsat home in the dismal salon, and was content to listen to the chatter ofthe old women, the little music-mistress's dreary sonatas, the monotonousroll of wheels on the distant quay--anything rather than the hackneyedround of student-life that had once been agreeable to him. He did notfail to write his weekly letter to Cydalise; but, for some reason orother, he refrained from any allusion to the English stranger, althoughit was his custom to relate all his adventures for the amusement of thefamily at Beaubocage. 

An evening came at last on which Madame Meynell was persuaded to remainwith the other ladies after dinner. 

"It must be very cold and cheerless for you in your bedroom, " saidMadame Magnotte; "why not spend your evening with us, in a pleasant andsocial manner?"

"You are very good, madame, " murmured the Englishwoman, in the slow timidaccents that had so plaintive a sound to Gustave's ear; "if you wish it, I will stay. "

She seemed to submit rather from utter weakness and inability to refuseanything asked of her than from any hope of finding pleasure in thesociety of the Magnotte salon. 

It was an evening in March--cold, blustrous, dreary. The east wind blewclouds of dust athwart the Rue Grande-Mademoiselle, and the fewfoot-passengers in that dull thoroughfare looked pinched and wretched. The old ladies gathered round the great black stove, and gossipped in thetwilight; the music-mistress went to her feeble piano, and played, unasked, unheeded; for Gustave, who was wont to turn the leaves, or sitattentive by the piano, seemed this evening unconscious of the music. Madame Meynell sat in one of the windows, alone, half-hidden by the fadedyellow damask curtains, looking out into the street. 

Something--some impulse which he tried to resist, but could not--drewGustave towards that lonely figure by the window. He went close up to thestrange lady. This evening, as in the gardens of the Luxembourg, sheseemed to him a living statue of despair. Now, as then, he felt aninterest in her sorrow which he was powerless to combat. He had a vagueidea that even this compassionate sympathy was in some manner an offenceagainst Madelon Frehlter, the woman to whom he belonged, and yet heyielded to the fatal weakness. 

"Yes, I belong to her, " he said to himself; "I belong to MadelonFrehlter. She is neither pretty nor fascinating; but I have every reasonto believe her very good, very amiable; and she is the only woman, exceptthose of my own kindred, in whom I have any right to be interested. "

He did not say this in so many words; but this was the shape which histhoughts assumed as he yielded to the tempter, and walked straight to thedistant window by which Madame Meynell had seated herself. 

She started slightly as he approached her, and then looked up andrecognized him as her acquaintance of the Luxembourg. 

"Good evening, monsieur, " she said; "I have to thank you for havinghelped me to find a comfortable home. "

Having said this in a low gentle voice, she looked out into the streetonce more with her mournful unseeing eyes. It was evident that she had nomore to say to M. Lenoble. 

The student, however, had no idea of leaving the window just yet, although he knew--yes, knew--that his presence there was a wrong done toMadelon Frehlter; but a wrong so small, so infinitesimal, that it wasreally not worth consideration. 

"I am enchanted to think that I was of some slight service to you, madame, " he said; "but I fear you will find this quarter of Parisvery dull. "

She did not take any notice of this remark until Gustave had repeated it, and then she spoke as if suddenly awakened from a trance. 

"Dull?" she said. "No, I have not found it dull. I do not care forgaiety. "

After this M. Lenoble felt that he could say no more. The lady relapsedinto her waking trance. The dust-clouds in the silent street seemed moreinteresting to her than M. Lenoble of Beaubocage. He lingered a fewminutes in the neighbourhood of her chair, thoughtfully observant of thedelicate profile, the pale clear tints of a complexion that had lost itsbloom but not its purity, the settled sadness of the perfect mouth, thedreamy pensiveness of the dark-grey eye, and then was fain to retire. 

After this, the English widow lady spent many evenings in MadameMagnotte's salon. The old Frenchwoman gossipped and wondered abouther; but the most speculative could fashion no story from a page soblank as this joyless existence. Even slander could scarcely assaila creature so unobtrusive as the English boarder. The elderly ladiesshrugged their shoulders and pursed up their lips with solemnsignificance. There must needs be something--a secret, a mystery, sorrow, or wrong-doing--somewhere; but of Madame Meynell herself no one couldsuspect any harm. 

Gustave Lenoble heard little of this gossip about the stranger, but shefilled his thoughts nevertheless. The vision of her face came between himand his work; and when he thought of the future, and of the damsel whohad been allotted to him for a wife, his thoughts were very bitter. 

"Fate is like Laban, " he said to himself; "a man works and does his dutyfor seven years, and then Fate gives him Leah instead of Rachel. No doubtLeah is a very good young woman; one has no complaint to make againsther, except that she is not Rachel. "

This was not a hopeful manner of looking at things for the destinedmaster of Côtenoir. M. Lenoble's letters to the anxious folks atBeaubocage became, about this time, somewhat brief and unsatisfactory. Heno longer gave ample details of his student-life--he no longer wrote inhis accustomed good spirits. His letters seemed stiff and constrained. 

"I am afraid he is studying too much, " said the mother. 

"I daresay the rascal is wasting his time in dissipation, " suggestedthe father. 

CHAPTER III. 

"PAST HOPE, AND IN DESPAIR. "

Two months had elapsed since the bleak spring morning on which GustaveLenoble found the solitary lady under the leafless trees of theLuxembourg gardens. The inmates of the Pension Magnotte had grownaccustomed to her presence, to her silence, her settled sadness, andtroubled themselves no further respecting herself or her antecedents. Thelapse of time had brought no improvement to her spirits; indeed, Gustave, who watched her closely, perceived that she had grown paler and thinnersince that March morning when he met her in the public garden. Her lifemust have been painfully monotonous. She very rarely went out of doors, and on no occasion ventured beyond the gardens of the Luxembourg. No onevisited her. She neither wrote nor received any letters. She was wont tomake a pretence of reading as she sat in her retired corner of the salon;but Gustave had discovered that she gave little attention to her book. The open volume in her hand seemed no more than an excuse for broodingupon her sorrows. 

If people, prompted by curiosity or by compassion, endeavoured to getinto conversation with this lonely lady, the result was always the same. She would answer their questions in a low gentle voice, with a quietpoliteness; but she never assisted them in the smallest degree tointerchange thoughts with her. It seemed as if she sought neither friendnor sympathizer, or as if her case was so entirely hopeless as to admitof neither. She paid for her board and lodging weekly with a punctiliousexactness, though weekly payments were not the rule of the house. 

"My movements are uncertain, " she said to Madame Magnotte. "I cannottell how long I may be with you. It will therefore be better for me topay you weekly. "

She had been in the house two months, dining every day at the publictable, spending all her evenings in the public saloon; and during thattime her settled gloom had never been broken by any outburst of grief orpassion. She might have been a creature of ice, a statue of despairmodelled in snow by a Michael Angelo. But one night the ice melted, thestatue of snow became in a moment a passionate, grief-stricken woman. 

It was one bright evening late in May. Ah, how near at hand was theappointed date of those nuptials to which the household of Beaubocagelooked forward with supreme happiness! The old ladies of the PensionMagnotte were for the most part out of doors. The long saloon was almostempty. There were only Gustave, Madame Magnotte, and the littlemusic-mistress, who sat at her piano, with the western sunlight shiningfull upon her, rosy-hued and glorious, surrounding her with its softradiance until she looked like a humble St. Cecilia. 

Madame Meynell had seated herself close to the piano, and was listeningto the music. Gustave hovered near, pretending to be occupied with a limplittle sheet of news published that evening. 

Mademoiselle Servin, the teacher of music, upon this occasion desertedher favourite masters. She seemed in a somewhat dreamy and sentimentalhumour, and played tender little melodies and simple plaintive airs, thatwere more agreeable to Gustave than those grand examples of themathematics of counter-point which she so loved to interpret. 

"You like this melody of Grétry's, " said the music-mistress, as M. Lenoble seated himself close to the piano. "I do not think you care forclassic sonatas--the great works of Gluck, or Bach, or Beethoven?"

"No, " replied the young man frankly; "I do not care about anything Ican't understand. I like music that goes to one's heart. "

"And you, too, Madame Meynell, like simple melodies?" mademoiselle askedof that lady, who was not wont to come so near the little piano, or topay so much attention to Mademoiselle Servin's performance. 

"O yes, " murmured the Englishwoman, "I like such music as that. "

"And you, too, think that Beethoven never composed simple plaintiveairs--for example, " exclaimed the pianist, playing softly while shespoke. "You think he wrote only sonatas, quartettes, fugues, grand, operas, like _Fidelio_. Have you never heard this by your scientificBeethoven?"

Hereupon she played "Hope told a flattering tale, " with much tendernessand delicacy. Her two hearers listened, mute and deeply moved. And thenfrom that familiar melody she glided softly into another, most musical, most melancholy, which has been set to some of the sweetest verses thatThomas Moore ever composed:

"Those evening bells, those evening bells!How many a tale their music tellsOf youth and home, and that sweet timeWhen last I heard their soothing chime!"

All the world sang the verses of Ireland's divine bard in those days. Thesong was one which the Englishwoman had sung years ago in a happy home. What recollections, what associations, were evoked by that plaintivemelody, who shall say? The words came back with the music to which theyhave been eternally wedded. The words, their mournful meaning, the facesof the friends amongst whom she had last sung them, the picture of thepeaceful home whose walls had echoed the music, --all these things arosebefore her in a vision too painfully vivid; and the lonely boarder at thePension Magnotte covered her face with her hands, and sobbed aloud. 

The passion of tears lasted but a minute. Madame Meynell dried her eyes, and rose to leave the room. 

"Do not question me, " she said, perceiving that her two companions wereabout to offer her their sympathy. "I cannot tell you the memories thatwere conjured up by that music. It brought back a home I shall never seeagain, and the faces of the dead--worse than dead to me--and thehappiness I have lost, and the hopes and dreams that once were mine. Oh, I pray God I may never hear that melody again. "

There was a passion, a depth of feeling, in her tone quite new to GustaveLenoble. He opened the door for her without a word, and she passed out ofthe salon quietly, like a ghost--the ghost of that bright young creaturewho had once borne her shape, and been called by her name, in a pleasantfarmhouse among the Yorkshire wolds. 

"Ah, but how that poor soul must have suffered!" cried the sympatheticMademoiselle Servin, as the door closed on the Englishwoman. "I didnot think it was in her to feel so deeply. I thought she was stone, andnow I begin to think it must be of such stone as Niobe--thepetrification of despair. "

Upon Gustave Lenoble this scene made a profound impression. He lay awakeduring the greater part of that night, thinking of the lonely lady'stears and anguish. The music of "Those evening bells" pervaded hisdreams. He rose unrefreshed, feverish, forgetful of Côtenoir and MadelonFrehlter, as if that place and that person had never emerged from theshapeless substances of chaos. He wanted to see _her_ again, to consoleher, if that were possible. Oh, that it might be his privilege to consoleher! He pitied her with a compassion so intense, that thus tocompassionate her woes, was himself to suffer a poignant anguish. Hepitied her. Yes, he told himself again and again that this sentimentwhich so absorbed his heart and mind was no more than pity. But oh, ifthis were pity, what were love? That was a question which also presenteditself to the mind of M. Gustave Lenoble, of Beaubocage _in esse_, andCôtenoir _in posse_. 

Madame Meynell rarely appeared at the common breakfast in the grimdining-room of the Pension Magnotte. Gustave was therefore in nowisesurprised to miss her on this particular morning. He took a cup ofcoffee, and hurried off to his daily duties. There was a fever on himwhich he could neither understand nor shake off, and he hastened to thegardens of the Luxembourg, as if there were some special necessity forspeed. So do men often hasten unconsciously to their predestined doom, defiant of augury. Soothsayers may menace, and wives may dream dreams;but when his hour comes, Caesar will go to the appointed spot where thedaggers of his assassins await him. 

In the alley where he had first looked upon her sad face, beneaththe umbrage of young limes and chestnuts just bursting into bloom, he saw the Englishwoman to-day, seated on the same bench, almost inthe same attitude. 

He went up to her, and bade her good morning; and then, intenselyconscious of his own temerity, seated himself by her side. 

"I did not expect to find you here so early. "

"No, I seldom come out so soon; but this morning I have to make someinquiries upon a matter of business, and I am only resting here beforegoing to make them. "

She gave a little weary sigh at the end of this speech. It seemed astrange manner of transacting business to rest in the Luxembourg gardens, which were distant but a few hundred yards from her home. Gustave divinedthat it was for very forlornness she lingered there, shrinking from somedifficult encounter that lay before her. 

"Can I not make the inquiries for you?" he asked. "Pray command me. Itwill be my happiness to be useful to you. "

"You are very good. I cannot trouble you so much. "

"Pray do not talk of trouble. It can be no trouble to me to aid you inany manner. Ah, madame, you do not know how much I would sacrifice to beuseful to you!"

She must have been dull indeed had she failed to perceive the earnestnessof his tone. She did perceive it, and was vaguely conscious that in thisstudent of law she had a friend. 

"I want to know when the diligence for Calais leaves Paris, and from whatoffice, " she said. "I am going back to England. "

She was surprised to see the young man's face blanch as she announcedthis simple fact. The young man himself was surprised by the suddenanguish inflicted by her announcement. It was in this moment that hefirst discovered how completely he had given his heart into this strangewoman's keeping. 

"You are really going to leave Paris?--for ever?" he exclaimed. 

"Yes. I have been here too long already. I have no business here. I oughtto have gone back to England that day when I first met you here, but Iput off the day of my return. I can put it off no longer. "

"And you are going back to your friends?" Gustave asked, in a verymournful tone. 

"I am going back to my friends? Yes!" Her lips quivered a little, and theunbidden tears came to her eyes. 

Ah, what was the sorrow that oppressed this beauteous lonely creature?What agony of grief or self-reproach was this pain which consumed her?Gustave remembered her passion of tears on the previous night; her talkof friends that were dead, and happiness lost; and now to-day she talkedof going home to her friends: but O the bitterness of expression withwhich she had spoken that word "friends!"

"Are you going alone, Madame Meynell?" he inquired, after a pause. Hecould not tear himself from that seat by her side. He could not be manlyor rational where she was concerned. The image of Madelon Frehlter rosebefore his mental vision, reproachful, menacing; but a thick fogintervened to obscure that unwelcome image. His whole life resolveditself into those thrilling moments in which he sat here, on this commongarden bench, by this stranger's side; the entire universe was contractedinto this leafy walk where they two sat. 

"Yes, I am going alone, " madame replied, with a little laugh. "Who shouldI have to go with me? I am quite alone in the world. I think I had bettermake these inquiries myself, M. Lenoble. There is no reason why I shouldgive you so much trouble. "

"There is no such thing as trouble. I will bring you all necessaryinformation to-day at dinner, if that will be soon enough. "

"Quite soon enough, I thank you, monsieur, " she answered, with a sigh. "Imust ask you kindly to ascertain for me also the expense of the journey. "

"Most certainly, madame. "

This request set him wondering whether she were poor, and how poor. Butshe had evidently no more to say to him; she had again becomeimpenetrable. He would fain have stayed, though honour and consciencewere clamorous in their demands for his departure. Happily for honour andconscience, the lady was silent as death, impervious as marble; so M. Lenoble presently bowed and departed. 

He thought of her all day long. The farce of pity was ended. He knew nowthat he loved this Englishwoman with an affection at once foolish andsinful, --foolish, since he knew not who or what this woman was; sinful, since the indulgence of this passion involved the forfeiture of hisplighted word, the disappointment of those who loved him. 

"No, no, no, " he said to himself; "I cannot do this base and wickedthing. I must marry Madelon. All the hopes of my mother and father reston that marriage; and to disappoint them because this stranger's face hasbewitched me? Ah, no, it cannot be. And even if I were willing to tramplemy honour in the dust, how do I know that she would value or accept thesacrifice?"

M. Lenoble made all necessary inquiries at the office of the Messageries, and carried the intelligence to Madame Meynell. He could see that shewinced a little when he told her the cost of the journey, which in thosedays was heavy. 

"She must certainly be poor, " he said to himself; and it rent his heartto think that even in this paltry matter he could be of no use to her. The destined master of Beaubocage and Côtenoir was entirely without readymoney. He had his watch. He put his hand upon that clumsy timekeeper ashe talked to madame. 

"_Je te porterai chez ma tante, mon gars_, " he said to himself. But hedoubted whether the high priests of the pious mountain--the Dordona ofPauperism--would advance much upon this antique specimen of thewatchmaker's art. 

After this evening he looked forward daily, hourly, to the anguish of herdeparture. She would vanish out of his life, intangible as a meltedsnow-flake, and only memory would stay behind to tell him he had knownand loved her. Why should this be so hard to bear? If she stayed, hedared not tell her she was dear to him; he dared not stretch forth hishand to help her. In all the world there was no creature more utterlyapart from him than she, whether she lived in the same house with him orwas distant as the Antipodes. What did it matter, then, since she wasdestined to disappear from his life, whether she vanished to-day or ayear hence? He argued with himself that it could be a question of nomoment to him. There was a death-blow that must descend upon him, cruel, inevitable. Let it come when it would. 

Every day when he came home to dinner, M. Lenoble expected to behold avacant place by the side of his hostess; every day he was pleasantlydisappointed. The pale hopeless face was still to be seen, ghost-like, atthat noisy board. The face was more pale, more hopeless, as it seemed toGustave, every day he looked upon it. 

He asked Madame Magnotte when the English lady was going to leave, butshe could not tell. 

"She talks of leaving from day to day, " said madame; "it will no doubt besoon. I am sorry to lose her. She is very gentle, and gives no trouble toany one. But she is sad--ah, how sad she is! She has suffered, monsieur. "

Gustave agreed to this. Yes, she had suffered; but what, and how?

He watched her closely, but she was always the same. She no longer spenther evenings in the salon, but in her own apartment. He saw her only atdinner-time, and had no opportunity of speaking to her. 

At last the day came upon which he missed her at the usual hour. He satthrough the tedious meal without speaking; eating a little, drinking alittle, mechanically, but with no consciousness of what he ate or drank. There was a mist before his eyes, a confusion of voices in his ears; butthe faculties of sight and hearing seemed suspended. The agony hesuffered during that miserable hour was bitter as death. 

"O, my God, how I love her!" he said to himself, while Raoul's bass roarbrayed in his ear on one side, and Leon's shrill squeal tortured him onthe other. 

He made his way to Madame Magnotte directly after dinner. 

"She is gone?" he exclaimed. 

"But who, my friend? Ah, yes; it is of that poor Madame Meynell youspeak. How you are interested in her! No, she is not gone, poor woman. She remains always. She has the air of a person who knows not her ownmind. Yet I am sure she thinks of going. To-day, for the first time, shehas been writing letters. Reine came to tell me she had seen her occupiedin her own room for the first time. It is not her habit to occupyherself. "

Gustave's heart gave a great jump. She was not gone; he might see heragain--if it were but a glimpse of her pale face looking out of thediligence as it drove out of the Cour de Messageries. One look, oneglance; it would be something to carry in his heart all his life. All hislife! He looked forward and shuddered. What a dreary life it must needsbe! Côtenoir, Beaubocage, Madelon, the law; to plead, to read papers, tostudy dry as dust books. He shrank appalled from the contemplation ofthat dreary desert of existence--a life without her. 

She had been writing letters--doubtless letters to her friends toannounce her return. Her departure must be very near at hand. 

Gustave refused to go out that evening. His fellow-students were bent ona night's pleasure at a dancing-garden then in vogue, where there wouldbe twinkling lamps and merry music under the May moon. The lamp-litparterres, the joyous waltzes, had no attractions for Gustave Lenoble. Hehaunted the dull salon, dim and dreary in the twilight; for MadameMagnotte was chary of lamps and candles, and prolonged to its utmostlimits the pensive interval between day and night. He walked softly upand down the room, unheeded by the ladies clustered in a group by one ofthe windows. Restless and unhappy, he could neither go nor stay. She wasnot coming down to the salon this evening. He had clung to the faint hopethat she might appear; but the faint hope died away in his breast as thenight deepened. What purpose could be served by his remaining in thatdismal room? He was no nearer her than he would have been in theremotest wilds of Central America. He would go out--not to the odiousdancing-garden, but to the cool dark streets, where the night wind mightblow this fever from his brain. 

He left the room suddenly, and hurried downstairs. At the bottom of thestaircase he almost stumbled against a woman, who turned and looked athim in the light of a little oil-lamp that hung over the door of theportress's lodge. 

It was the Englishwoman, deadly pale, and with a wild look in her facethat Gustave had never seen there before. She gave him no sign ofrecognition, but passed out of the courtyard, and walked rapidly away. That unusual look in her face, the strangeness of the fact that sheshould be leaving the house at this hour, inspired him with a vagueterror, and he followed her, not stealthily, without a thought that hewas doing any wrong by such an act--rather, indeed, with the convictionthat he had a right so to follow her. 

She walked very quickly--at a more rapid pace than Gustave would havesupposed possible for so fragile a creature. She chose the lonelierstreets, and Gustave had no difficulty in following her; she never lookedback, but went straight on her course, without pause or slackening of herpace, as if with a settled purpose. 

"Where can she be going?" Gustave asked himself; and an answer, vague, hideous, terrible, suggested itself to his mind. The idea that occurredto him was one that would scarcely have occurred to an Englishman underthe same circumstances, but to a Frenchman it was a very familiar idea. 

It was dark now--the darkness that reigns between early sunset and latemoonrise. As the lonely woman went farther along the dreary streetsparallel with the quay, the dreadful suspicion grew stronger in Gustave'smind. From that instant he had but one thought; in that moment he putaway from him for ever all sense of obligation to Madelon Frehlter; heshook off father, mother, sister, old associations, home ties, ambition, fortune--he lived alone for this woman, and the purpose of his life wasto save her from despair and death. 

They emerged upon the quay at last. The long stretch of pavement wasdeserted. Ah, now she looked back--she looked on every side with wildunseeing eyes--and now there could be little doubt as to the purpose thatbrought her here. She crossed the road, and went upon the bridge, Gustavefollowing close; in the next minute she was standing on the stone bench, a tremulous, fluttering figure, with arms stretched towards the water; ina breath she was clasped to Gustave's breast, clasped by arms that meantto hold her for ever. 

The shock of that surprise utterly unnerved the wretched creature. Sheshivered violently, and struggled to free herself from those strong arms. 

"Let me go!" she cried in English. "Let me go!" And then, finding herselfpowerless, she turned and looked at her captor. "M. Lenoble! O, why doyou persecute me? Why do you follow me?"

"Because I want to save you. "

"To save me! To snatch me back when I was going to find rest--an end formy weary life! O yes, I know that it is a sinful end; but my life hasbeen all sin. "

"Your life all sin! Foolish one, I will never believe that. "

"It is true, " she cried, with passionate self-reproach. "The sin ofselfishness, and pride, and disobedience. There is no fate too hard forme--but, O, my fate is very hard! Why did you keep me from that river?You do not know how miserable my life is--you do not know. I paid mylast penny to Madame Magnotte this morning. I have no money to take meback to England, even if I dared go there--and I dare not. I have prayedfor courage, for strength to go back, but my prayers have not beenheard; and there is nothing for me but to die. What would be the sin ofmy throwing myself into that river! I must die; I shall die ofstarvation in the streets. "

"No, no, " cried Gustave passionately; "do you think I have dragged youback from death to give you to loneliness and despair? My dear one, youare mine--mine by right of this night. These arms that have kept youfrom death shall shelter you, --ah, let them shelter you! These handsshall work for you. My love, my love! you cannot tell how dear you areto me. If there must be want or trouble for either of us, it shall cometo me first. "

He had placed her on the stone bench, bewildered and unresisting, and hadseated himself by her side. The fragile figure, shivering still, even inthe mild atmosphere of the spring night, was sustained by his encirclingarm. He felt that she was his, irrevocably and entirely--given to him bythe Providence which would have seemed to have abandoned her, but for thelove it had implanted for her in this one faithful heart. His tone hadall the pleading tenderness of a lover's, but it had something more--anauthority, a sense of possession. 

"Providence sent me here to save you, " he said, with that gentle yetauthoritative tone; "I am your providence, am I not, dearest? Fate mademe love you--fondly, hopelessly, as I thought. Yesterday you seemed asfar away from me as those pale stars, shining up yonder--asincomprehensible as that faint silvery mist above the rising moon--andto-night you are my own. "

He knew not what ties might be broken by this act. He had indeed a vagueconsciousness that the step which he was now taking would cause alifelong breach between himself and his father. But the time had gone byin which he could count the cost. 

"Let me go back, M. Lenoble, " the Englishwoman said presently. Thefaintness of terror was passing away, and she spoke almost calmly. "Letme go back to the house. It is you that have saved me from a dreadfulsin. I promise you that I will not again think of committing that deadlysin. I will wait for the end to come. Let me go, my kind friend. Ah, no, no; do not detain me! Forget that you have ever known me. "

"That is not in my power. I will take you back to the Pension Magnottedirectly; but you must first promise to be my wife. "

"Your wife! O, no, no, no! That is impossible. "

"Because you do not love me, " said Gustave, with mournful gravity. 

"Because I am not worthy of you. "

Humiliation and self-reproach unspeakable were conveyed in those fewwords. 

"You are worth all the stars to me. If I had them in my hands, thoselamps shining up there, I would throw them away, to hold you, " said thestudent passionately. "You cannot understand my love, perhaps. I seem astranger to you, and all I say sounds wild and foolish. My love, it istrue as the heaven above us--true as life or death--death that was sonear you just now. I have loved you ever since that bleak March morningon which I saw you sitting under the leafless trees yonder. You held mefrom that moment. I was subjugated--possessed--yours at once and forever. I would not confess even to myself that my heart had resigneditself to you; but I know now that it was so from the first. Is there anyhope that you will ever pay me back one tithe of my love?"

"You love me, " the Englishwoman repeated slowly, as if the words werealmost beyond her comprehension, --"you love _me_, a creature so lost, sofriendless! Ah, but you do not know my wretched story!"

"I do not ask to know it. I only ask one question--will you be my wife?"

"You must be mad to offer your name, your honour to me. "

"Yes, I am mad--madly in love. And I am waiting for your answer. Youwill be my wife? My angel, you will say yes! It is not much that I offeryou--a life of uncertainty, perhaps even of poverty; but a fond andconstant heart, and a head and hands that will work for you while Godgives them strength. It is better than the river. "

All that was thoughtless and hopeful in his disposition was expressed inthese words. The woman to whom he pleaded was weakened by sorrow, andthe devotion of this brave true heart brought her strength, comfort, almost hope. 

"Will you be my friend?" she said gently. "Your words seem to bring meback to life. I wanted to die because I was so wretched, so lonely. Ihave friends in England--friends who were once all that is dear and kind;but I dare not go to them. I think a cruel look from one of those friendswould kill me with a pain more bitter than any other death could give. And I have no right to hope for kind looks from them. Yours are the onlywords of friendship I have heard for a long time. "

"And you will give me the right to work for you--to protect you? You willbe my wife?"

"I would rather be your servant, " she answered, with sad humility. "Whatright have I to accept so great a sacrifice? What folly can be so foolishas your love for me--if it is indeed love, and not a wild fancy ofto-night!"

"It is a fancy that will last my life. "

"Ah, you do not know how such fancies change. "

"I know nothing except that mine is changeless. Come, my love, it isgrowing late and cold. Let me take you home. The portress will wonder. You must slip past her quietly with your veil down. Did you give oldMargot your key when you came down stairs to-night?"

"No, it is in my pocket. I was not thinking--I--"

She stopped with a sudden shudder. Gustave understood that shudder; healso shuddered. She had left her room that night possessed by thesuicide's madness; she had left it to come straight to death. Happily hisstrong arm had come between her and that cruel grave by which they werestill lingering. 

They walked slowly back to the Rue Grande-Mademoiselle under the light ofthe newly-risen moon. The Englishwoman's wasted hand rested for the firsttime on M. Lenoble's arm. She was his--his by the intervention and by thedecree of Providence! That became a conviction in the young man's mind. He covered her late return to the house with diplomatic art, engaging theportress in conversation while the dark figure glided past in the dimlamplight. On the staircase he paused to bid her good night. 

"You will walk with me in the Luxembourg garden to-morrow morning, dearest, " he said. "I have so much to say--so much. Until then, adieu!"

He kissed her hand, and left her on the threshold of her apartment, andthen went to his own humble bachelor's chamber, singing a little drinkingsong in his deep manly voice, happy beyond all measure. 

They walked together next day in the gardens of the Luxembourg. The poorlonely creature whom Gustave had rescued seemed already to look up to himas a friend and protector, if not in the character of a future husband. It was no longer this fair stranger who held possession of Gustave; itwas Gustave who had taken possession of her. The stronger nature hadsubjugated the weaker. So friendless, so utterly destitute--penniless, helpless, in a strange land, it is little matter for wonder that SusanMeynell accepted the love that was at once a refuge and a shelter. 

"Let me tell you my wretched story, " she pleaded, as she walked under thechestnut-trees by her lover's side. "Let me tell you everything. And if, when you have heard what an unhappy creature I am, you still wish to giveme your heart, your name, I will be obedient to your wish. I will notspeak to you of gratitude. If you could understand how debased an outcastI seemed to myself last night when I went to the river, you would knowhow I must feel your goodness. But you can never understand--you cannever know what you seem to me. "

And then in a low voice, and with infinite shame and hesitation, she toldhim her story. 

"My father was a tradesman in the city of London, " she said. "We werevery well off, and my home ought to have been a happy one. Ah, how happysuch a home would seem to me now! But I was idle and frivolous anddiscontented in those days, and was dissatisfied with our life in thecity because it seemed dull and monotonous to me. When I look back nowand remember how poor a return I gave for the love that was given tome--my mother's anxiety, my father's steady, unpretending kindness--Ifeel how well I have deserved the sorrows that have come to me sincethen. "

She paused here, but Gustave did not interrupt her. His interest was tooprofound for any conventional expression. He was listening to the storyof his future wife's youth. That there could be any passage in thathistory which would hinder him from claiming this woman as his wife was apossibility he did not for a moment contemplate. If there were shameinvolved in the story, as Madame Meynell's manner led him to supposethere must be, so much the worse was it for him, since the shame must behis, as she was his. 

"When my father and mother died, I went into Yorkshire to live with mymarried sister. I cannot find words to tell you how kind they were tome--my sister and her husband. I had a little money left me by my father, and I spent the greater part of it on fine dress, and on foolish presentsto my sister and her children. I was happier in Yorkshire than I had beenin London; for I saw more people, and my life seemed gayer and brighterthan in the city. One day I saw a gentleman, the brother of a noblemanwho lived in the neighbourhood of my sister's house. We met by accidentin a field on my brother-in-law's farm, where the gentleman was shooting;and after that he came to the house. He had seen my sister before, andmade some excuse for renewing his acquaintance. He came very often, andbefore long he asked me to marry him; and I promised to be his wife, withmy sister's knowledge and consent. She loved me so dearly, and was soproud of me out of her dear love, that she saw nothing wonderful in thisengagement, especially as Mr. Kingdon, the gentleman I am speaking of, was a younger son, and by no means a rich man. "

Again she stopped, and waited a little before continuing her story. Onlyby a gentle pressure of the tremulous hand resting on his arm did Gustaveexpress his sympathy. 

"I cannot tell you, how happy I was in those days--so bright, so brief. Icannot tell you how I loved Montague Kingdon. When I look back to thattime of my life, it seems like a picture standing out against abackground of darkness, with some strange vivid light shining upon it. Itwas arranged between Montague and my sister that we should be married assoon as his brother, Lord Durnsville, had paid his debts. The payment ofthe debts was an old promise of Lord Durnsville's, and an imprudentmarriage on his brother's part might have prevented the performance ofit. This is what Montague told my sister Charlotte. She begged him toconfide in her husband, my kind brother-in-law, but this he refused todo. There came a day very soon after this when James Halliday, mybrother-in-law, was told about Montague Kingdon's visits to the farm. Hecame home and found Mr. Kingdon with us; and then there was a dreadfulscene between them. James forbade Mr. Kingdon ever again to set foot inhis house. He scolded my sister, he warned me. It was all no use. I lovedMontague Kingdon as you say you love me--foolishly, recklessly. I couldnot disbelieve or doubt him. When he told me of his plans for ourmarriage, which was to be kept secret until Lord Durnsville had paid hisdebts, I consented to leave Newhall with him to be married in London. Ifhe had asked me for my life, I must have given it to him. And how shouldI disbelieve his promises when I had lived only amongst people who weretruth itself? He knew that I had friends in London, and it was arrangedbetween us that I was to be married from the house of one of them, whohad been my girlish companion, and who was now well married. I was towrite, telling her of my intended journey to town; and on the followingnight I was to leave Newhall secretly with Montague Kingdon. I was tomake my peace with my sister and her husband after my marriage. How shallI tell you the rest? From the first to last he deceived me. The carriagethat was, as I believed, to have taken us to London, carried us to Hull. From Hull we crossed to Hamburg. From that time my story is all shame andmisery. I think my heart broke in the hour in which I discovered that Ihad been cheated. I loved him, and clung to him long after I knew him tobe selfish and false and cruel. It seemed to be a part of my nature tolove him. My life was not the kind of life one reads of in novels. It wasno existence of splendour and luxury and riot, but one long struggle withdebt and difficulty. We lived abroad--not for our pleasure, but becauseMr. Kingdon could not venture to appear in England. His brother, LordDurnsville, had never promised to pay his debts. That was a falsehoodinvented to deceive my sister. For seven long weary years I was hisslave, a true and faithful slave; his nurse in illness, his patientdrudge at all times. We had been wandering about France for two years, when he brought me to Paris; and it was here he first began to neglectme. O, if you could know the dreary days and nights I have spent at thehotel on the other side of the river, where we lived, you would pity me. "

"My dear love, my heart is all pity for you, " said Gustave. "Do not tellme any more. I can guess the end of the story. There came a day in whichneglect gave place to desertion. "

"Yes; Mr. Kingdon left me one day without a warning word to break theblow. I had been waiting and watching for him through two weary days andnights, when there came a letter to tell me he was on his way to Viennawith a West Indian gentleman and his daughter. He was to be married tothe daughter. It was his poverty, he told me, which compelled this step. He advised me to go back to my friends in Yorkshire. To go back!--as ifhe did not know that death would be easier to me. There was a small sumof money in the letter, on which I have lived since that time. When youfirst met me here, I had not long received that letter. "

This was the end of her story. In the depth of her humiliation she darednot lift her eyes to the face of her companion; but she felt his handclasp hers, and knew that he was still her friend. This was all she askedof Providence. 

To Gustave Lenoble the story had been unutterably painful. He had hopedto hear a tragedy untarnished by shame, and the shame was very bitter tohim. This woman whom he loved so fondly was no spotless martyr, thevictim of inevitable fate, beautiful and sublime in her affliction. Shewas only a weak vain, village beauty who had suffered herself to be luredaway from her peaceful home by the falsehoods of a commonplace scoundrel. 

The story was common, the shame was common, but it seemed to M. Lenoblethat the woman by his side was his destiny; and then, prompt to therescue of offended pride, of outraged love--tortured to think that she, so distant and pure a creature to him, should have been trampled in thedust by another--came the white-winged angel Pity. By her weakness, byher humiliation, by the memory of her suffering, Pity conjured him tolove her so much the more dearly. 

"My darling, " he said softly, "it is a very sad story, and you and I willnever speak of it again. We will bury the memory of Montague Kingdon inthe deepest grave that was ever dug for bitter remembrances; and we willbegin a new life together. "

This was the end of M. Lenoble's wooing. He could not speak of his loveany more while the sound of Montague Kingdon's name had but lately diedaway on Susan Meynell's lips. He had taken her to himself, with all hersorrows and sins, in the hour in which he snatched her from death; andbetween these two there was no need of passionate protestations orsentimental rapture. 

M. Lenoble speedily discovered that the law had made no provision for thenecessities of a chivalrous young student eager to unite himself with afriendless foreign woman, who could not produce so much as one of thethirty witnesses required to establish her identity. A very littleconsideration showed Gustave that a marriage between him and SusanMeynell in France was an impossibility. He explained this, and asked herif she would trust him as she had trusted Montague Kingdon. In Jersey themarriage might easily be solemnised. Would she go with him to Jersey, tostay there so long as the English law required for the solemnization oftheir union?

"Why should you take so much trouble about me?" said Susan, in her lowsad voice. "You are too good, too generous. I am not worth so much careand thought from you. "

"Does that mean that you will not trust me, Susan?"

"I would trust you with my life in a desert, thousands of miles from therest of mankind--with a happier life than mine. I have no feeling in myheart but love for you, and faith in you. "

After this the rest was easy. The lovers left the Pension Magnotte onebright summer morning, and journeyed to Jersey, where, after afortnight's sojourn, the English Protestant church united them in thebonds of matrimony. 

Susan was a Protestant, Gustave a Catholic, but the difference ofreligion divided them no more than the difference of country. They cameback to Paris directly after the marriage, and M. Lenoble took a verymodest lodging for himself and his wife in a narrow street near thePantheon--a fourth story, very humbly furnished. M. Lenoble had providedfor himself an opportunity of testing the truth of that adage whichdeclares that a purse large enough for one is also large enough for two. 

CHAPTER IV. 

A DECREE OF BANISHMENT. 

After those stormy emotions which accompany the doing of a desperatedeed, there comes in the minds of men a dead calm. The still small voiceof Wisdom, unheard while Passion's tempest was raging, whispers gravecounsel or mild reproof; and Folly, who, seen athwart the storm-cloud, sublime in the glare of the lightning, seemed inspiration, veils her facein the clear, common light of day. 

Let it not for a moment be supposed that with M. Lenoble time andreflection brought repentance in their train. It was not so. The lovewhich he felt for his English wife was no capricious emotion; it was apassion deep and strong as destiny. The worst that afterthought couldreveal to him was the fact that the step he had taken was a verydesperate one. Before him lay an awful necessity--the necessity of goingto Beaubocage to tell those who loved him how their air-built castles hadbeen shattered by this deed of his. 

The letters from Cydalise--nay, indeed, more than one letter from hismother, with whom letter-writing was an exceptional business--had of lateexpressed much anxiety. In less than a month the marriage-contract wouldbe made ready for his signature. Every hour's delay was a new dishonour. He told his wife that he must go home for a few days; and she preparedhis travelling gear, with a sweet dutiful care that seemed to him likethe ministration of an angel. 

"My darling girl, can I ever repay you for the happiness you have broughtme!" he exclaimed, as he watched the slight girlish figure flitting aboutthe room, busy with the preparations for his journey. 

And then he thought of Madelon Frehlter--commonplace, stiff, andunimpressionable--the most conventional of school-girls, heavy in face, in figure, in step, in mind even, as it had seemed to him, despite hissister's praises. 

He had been too generous to tell Susan of his engagement, of thebrilliant prospects he forfeited by his marriage, or the risk which heran of offending his father by that rash step. But to-night, when hethought of Madelon's dulness and commonness, it seemed to him as if Susanhad in manner rescued him from a dreadful fate--as maidens were rescuedfrom sea-monsters in the days of Perseus and Heracles. 

"Madelon is not unlike a whale, " he thought. "They tell us that whalesare of a sagacious and amiable temper, --and Cydalise was always talkingof Madelon's good sense and amiablity. I am sure it is quite as easy tobelieve in the unparalleled virtues of the whale as in the unparalleledvirtues of Madelon Frehlter. "

His valise was packed, and he departed for Beaubocage, after a sad andtender parting from his wife. The journey was a long one in those days, when no express train had yet thundered across the winding Seine, cleaving its iron way through the bosom of fertile Norman valleys. M. Lenoble had ample time for reflection as he jogged along in the ponderousdiligence; and his heart grew more and more heavy as the lumberingvehicle approached nearer to the town of Vevinord, whence he was to makehis way to the paternal mansion as best he might. 

He walked to Beaubocage, attended by a peasant lad, who carried hisportmanteau. The country was very pleasant in the quiet summerevening, but conscious guilt oppressed the heart and perplexitydisturbed the mind of M. Gustave Lenoble, and his spirits were innowise elevated by the walk. 

Lights in the lower chambers gleamed dimly athwart the trim garden atBeaubocage. One faint twinkling candle shone in a little pepper-castorturret, his sister's room. The thought of their glad welcome smote hisheart. How could he shape the words that must inform them of theirdisappointment? And then he thought of the gentle pensive wife in theParisian lodging, so grateful for his devotion, so tender andsubmissive, --the wife he had rescued from death and eternal condemnation, as it seemed to his pious Catholic mind. The thought of this dear onegave him courage. 

"I owe much to my parents, " he thought to himself, "but not the privilegeto sell me for money. The marriage they want to bring about would be asordid barter of my heart and my honour. "

In a few minutes after this he was standing in the little salon atBeaubocage, with his mother and sister hanging about him and caressinghim, his father standing near, less demonstrative, but evidently wellpleased by this unexpected arrival of the son and heir. 

"I heard thy voice in the hall, " cried Cydalise, "and flew down from myroom to welcome thee. It seems to me that one can fly on these occasions. And how thou art looking well, and how thou art handsome, and how I adorethee!" cries the damsel, more ecstatic than an English sister on a likeoccasion. "Dost thou know that we began to alarm ourselves about thee?Thy letters became so infrequent, so cold. And all the while thou didstplot this surprise for us. Ah, how it is sweet to see thee again!"

And then the mother took up the strain, and anon was spoken the dreadedname of Madelon. She too would be glad--she too had been anxious. Theprodigal made no answer. He could not speak, his heart sank within him, he grew cold and pale; to inflict pain on those who loved him was asharper pain than death. 

"Gustave!" cried the mother, in sudden alarm, "thou growest pale--thouart ill! Look then, François, thy son is ill!"

"No, mother, I am not ill, " the young man replied gravely. He kissed hismother, and put her gently away from him. In all the years of herafter-life she remembered that kiss, cold as death, for it was thefarewell kiss of her son. 

"I wish to speak a few words with you alone, father, " said Gustave. 

The father was surprised, but in no manner alarmed by this request. Heled the way to his den, a small and dingy chamber, where there were somedusty editions of the French classics, and where the master of Beaubocagekept accounts and garden-seeds and horse-medicines. 

When they were gone, the mother and sister sat by one of the openwindows, waiting for them. Without all was still. Distant lightsglimmered through the summer twilight, the lighted windows of Côtenoir. 

"How pleased Madelon will be, " said Cydalise, looking towards thoseglimmering windows. She had really taught herself to believe that thedemoiselle Frehlter was a most estimable young person; but she would havebeen glad to find more enthusiasm, more brightness and vivacity, in herfuture sister-in-law. 

The interview between the father and son seemed long to Madame Lenobleand Cydalise. The two women were curious--nay, indeed, somewhat anxious. 

"I fear he has made debts, " said the mother, "and is telling thy fatherof his follies. I know not how they are to be paid, unless with the dowryof Madelon, and that would seem a dishonourable use of her money. "

It was half an hour before any sound broke the stillness of that quiethouse. Twilight had thickened into night, when there came a banging ofdoors and heavy footsteps in the hall. The door of the salon wasopened, and M. Lenoble came in alone. At the same moment the outer doorclosed heavily. 

M. Lenoble went straight to the open window and closed the Venetianshutters. He went from thence to the second window, the shutters whereofhe fastened carefully, while the women stared at him wonderingly, for itwas not his habit to perform this office. 

"I am shutting out a vagabond, " he said, in a cold, cruel voice. 

"Where is Gustave?" cried the mother, alarmed. 

"He is gone. "

"But he is coming back, is he not, directly?"

"Never while I live!" answered M. Lenoble. "He has married an Englishadventuress, and is no longer any son of mine. "

Book the Second. 

DOWNHILL. 

CHAPTER I. 

THE FATE OP SUSAN LENOBLE. 

Seven years after that miserable summer night at Beaubocage on whichGustave Lenoble was disowned by his father, a man and woman, with a boyfive years of age, were starving in a garret amongst the housetops andchimneys of Rouen. In the busy city these people lived lonely as in aforest, and were securely hidden from the eyes of all who had everknown them. The man--haggard, dying--cherished a pride that had grownfiercer as the grip of poverty tightened upon him. The woman lived onlyfor her husband and her child. 

The man was Gustave Lenoble. The world had gone ill with him since hecast his destiny into the lap of the woman he loved. In all these yearsno olive-bearing dove had spanned the gulf that yawned between theprodigal and his father. The seigneur of Beaubocage had been marble. Anarrow-minded old man, living his narrow life, and nursing one idea withfanatical devotion, was of all men the least likely to forgive. Vain hadbeen the tears and entreaties of mother and sister. The doors of thatjoyless dwelling on the fertile flats beyond Vevinord were sealed againstthe offender with a seal not to be broken, even had he come thither toplead for pardon, which he did not. 

"My father would have sold me as negro slaves are sold _làbas_, " he said, on those rare occasions when he opened his old wounds, which were to thelast unhealed: "I am glad that I escaped the contemptible barter. "

He was in very truth glad. Poverty and hardship seemed to him easier tobear than the dreary prosperity of Côtenoir and a wife he could not haveloved. The distinguishing qualities of this man's mind were courage andconstancy. There are such noble souls born into the world, some to shinewith lustre supernal, many to burn and die in social depths, obscure asocean's deepest cavern. 

In his love for the woman he had chosen Gustave Lenoble never wavered. Heworked for her, he endured for her, he hoped against hope for her sake;and it was only when bodily strength failed that this namelessfoot-soldier began to droop and falter in life's bitter battle. Thingshad gone ill with him. He had tried his fate as an advocate in Paris, inCaen, in Rouen--but clients would not come. He had been a clerk, now inone counting-house, now in another, and Susan and he had existed somehowduring the seven years of their married life. 

They clung to each other with affection that seemed to grow with everynew sorrow; nor did love exhibit any inclination to spread his wings andtake flight from the window, though poverty came in every day at thedoor, and sat by the hearth, a familiar companion and inevitable guest. 

The mother and sister contrived to help this poor castaway with theveriest scrapings of a miserly household. The old man, soured by hisgreat disappointment, grew sordid and covetous with increasing years, andthe lives of the women were hard and hopeless. By little cheats, andpetty contrivances, and pitiful falsifications of financial statements, they managed to scrape together a few louis now and then for thestruggling exile; and to do this was the sole delight of their patientlives. They contrived also to correspond secretly with Gustave, and wereinformed of the birth of his son. 

"Ah, if thou couldst see how beautiful he is, " wrote the father, "thischild of pure and true love, thou wouldst no longer regret my breach offaith with Madelon Frehlter. I knew not until now how like infantchildren are to angels. I knew not how true to nature are the angels inthe pictures of Raffaelle and Murillo. Thou knowest the print ofMurillo's Assumption; the picture is in the Louvre. If thou canstremember that picture, dear mother, thou hast but to recall the face ofone of the cherubim about the feet of our Lady, and thou hast theportrait of my boy. He opens his eyes, and looks at me as I write. Ah!that he and I and my Susan were with thee in the little salon atBeaubocage--my sister, Susan, you, and I united round this darling'scradle. He has been born in poverty, but his birth has made us veryhappy. "

The sentiment of this letter was no spurious or transient feeling. Forthis child Gustave Lenoble evinced an unchanging fondness. It was indeedno part of his nature to change. The little one was his comfort inaffliction, his joy during every brief interval of prosperity. When thebattle was well nigh fought, and he began to feel himself beaten. Hischief anxieties, his ever-returning fears, were for his wife and child. 

To Susan the thought of parting from him was a despair too deep fortears. She would have been something less than woman if she had not lovedher husband with more than common affection. She watched the change thatillness brought in the frank face, the stalwart figure; and little bylittle the awful truth came home to her. The hour was at hand in whichshe must lose him. 

"If you could have rest, Gustave, better medical advice, more comforts, you would soon be strong again, I am sure your father would not refuse toforgive you now. Write to him, dearest. Go back to Beaubocage, and letyour mother and sister nurse you. I will stay here with the little one. It shall be forgotten that you have a wife and child. "

"No, dear one; I will not desert you, even for a day, to buy back myfather's love. I would rather be here with you than in the pleasantesthome without you. But we must face the future, Susan; we must be braveand wise, for the little one's sake. You are not so strong that you canafford to trust blindly in your power to protect him by-and-by. I havewritten a letter to my father. He has proved himself a hard man to me, cruel and obdurate beyond all my fears; but I know he is not altogetherheartless. When I am dead, you will take the letter in one hand, thechild in the other, and go to Beaubocage. I believe he will adopt theboy, and that the little one will give him the comfort and happiness hehoped from me. He must be very lonely; and I cannot doubt that his heartwill melt when he sees the child's face, and hears that he has no longera son. As for yourself, my poor girl, I see for you no hope except in theold Yorkshire home, and the friends you fear to see again. "

"I no longer fear them, " said his wife, with unwonted energy, "I couldnot go to them seven years ago; but I can go to them as your wife. "

"Ah, thank God, the poor name is worth something for you. "

"Yes, dear; and I will go back to them--to-morrow. "

"To-morrow!"

"To-morrow, Gustave. I have been selfish and cruel to delay so long. Theold dread of seeing my sister's reproachful face has been strong enoughto hold me back, when a little courage might have enabled me to help you. The burden has been all on you, and I have done nothing. O, what a wretchI must have been to sit idly by and see you suffer, and make no effort tohelp you!"

"But, my darling, you have not been idle. You have been the dearest andmost industrious of wives, and have helped me to bear my burden. You havedone more, dear--you have made my burden pleasant to me. "

"I will try to lighten it, Gustave, " cried Susan, with excitement. "O, why, why did I never try before! My sister and her husband are welloff--rich perhaps. If they are still living, if no cruel changes havecome to pass at Newhall, they could help us with a little money. Theymight even give us a home. I will start for England to-morrow. "

"Nay, my dear, you are not strong enough to travel so far alone. Itseems, indeed, a happy thought this of your rich relations; but you mustnot undertake such a journey. You might write. "

"No, Gustave, I will trust to no letter; I will go. It will be no painfor me to humble myself for your sake. I will go straight to my sister. Iknow what a tender compassionate heart it is that I shall appeal to. "

There was much discussion; but Susan was resolute. To scrape together themoney for the journey she made efforts that were heroic in a nature soweak as hers. She went to the Monte de Piété with the last of her littletreasures, that one dear trinket to which she had clung even when hungerwas at the door--the gimmal or alliance ring that Gustave had placed uponher finger before God's altar--the double symbolic circlet which bore onone side her name, on the other her husband's. This dearest of all herpossessions she surrendered for a few francs, to make up the sum needfulfor her journey. 

What it cost her to do this, what it cost her to tear herself awayfrom her sick husband and her only child, who shall say? There arepangs that cannot be counted, agonies that will come within nocalculation--the infinite of pain. She went. Two kind souls, a labourerand his wife, lodgers in the same garret-story, promised to care forand help the invalid and child. There is no desolation in which a childwill not find a friend. 

The journey was long and fatiguing; the anguish of her poor aching heartalmost too much for endurance--a heart so heavy that even hope couldscarce flutter it. It was dull damp weather, though in the middle ofsummer. The solitary traveller caught cold on the journey, and arrived inLondon in a high fever. Ill, faint, and helpless, the great city seemedto her unspeakably dismal--most stony of all stony-hearted mothers tothis wretched orphan. She could go no farther than the darksome city innwhere the coach from Southampton brought her. She had come _viâ_ Havre. Here she sank prostrate, and had barely sufficient strength to write anincoherent letter to her sister, Mrs. Halliday, of Newhall Farm, nearHuxter's Cross, Yorkshire. 

The sister came as fast as the fastest coach on the great northern roadcould carry her. There was infinite joy in that honest sisterly heartover this one sinner's repentance. Fourteen years had gone by since theyoung city-bred beauty had fled with that falsest of men, and mosthardened of profligates, Montague Kingdon; and tidings from Susan wereunlooked for and thrilling as a message from the grave. 

Alas for the adverse fate of Susan Meynell! The false step of her youthhad set her for ever wrong upon life's highway. When kind Mrs. Hallidaycame, Gustave Lenoble's wife was past her help; wandering in her mind; agirl again, but newly run away from her peaceful home; and with nothought save of remorse for her misdeeds. 

The seven years of her married life seemed to have faded out of her mind. She raved of Montague Kingdon's baseness, of her own folly, her vainregret, her yearning for pardon; but of the dying husband in the garretat Rouen she uttered no word. And so, with her weary head upon hersister's breast, she passed away, her story untold, no wedding-ring onher wasted finger to bear witness that she died an honest man's wife; noletters or papers in her poor little trunk to throw light on the fourteenyears in which she had been a castaway. 

Mrs. Halliday stayed in London to see the wanderer laid in the quiet citychurchyard where her family rested, and where for her was chosen anobscure corner in which she might repose forgotten and unknown. 

But not quite nameless. Mrs. Halliday could not leave the grave unmarkedby any record of the sister she had loved. The stone above the grave ofGustave's wife bore her maiden name, and the comforting familiar textabout the one sinner who repenteth. 

CHAPTER II. 

FORGIVEN TOO LATE. 

For a week of long days and longer nights there was no step sounded onthe stair, no opening or shutting of a door in the old dilapidated housewhere he lay languishing on the brink of an open grave, that did not moveGustave Lenoble with a sudden emotion of hope. But the footsteps came andwent, the doors were opened and shut again and again, and the travellerso waited, so hoped for did not return. 

The boy--the brave bright son, who seemed to inherit all that was noblestand best in his father's nature--pined for his mother. The man endured amartyrdom worse than the agony of Damiens, the slow tortures of La Barre. What had befallen her? That she could desert him or his child was apossibility that never shaped itself in his mind. _That_ drop of poisonwas happily wanting in his cup; and the bitterness of death was sweetcompared to the scorpion-sting of such a supposition. 

She did not return. Calamity in some shape had overtaken her--calamitydire as death; for, with life and reason, she could not have failed tosend some token, some tidings, to those she loved. The sick man waited aweek after the day on which he had begun to expect her return. At the endof that time he rose, with death in his face, and went out to look forher--to look for her in Rouen; for her whom the instinct of his hearttold him was far away from that city--as far as death from life. He wentto the Cour de Messageries, and loitered and waited amidst the bustle ofarriving and departing diligences, with a half-imbecile hope that shewould alight from one of them. The travellers came and went, pushing andhustling him in their selfish haste. When night came he went back to hisgarret. All was quiet. The boy slept with the children of his goodneighbour, and was comforted by the warmth of that strange hearth. 

Gustave lit his candle, a last remaining morsel. 

"You will last my time, friend, " he said, with a wan smile. 

He seated himself at the little table, pushed aside the medicine-bottles, searched for a stray sheet of letter-paper, and then began to write. 

He wrote to his mother, telling her that death was at hand, and that thetime had come in which she must succour her son's orphan child. With thishe enclosed a letter to his father--that letter of which he had spoken tohis wife, and which had been written in the early days of his illness. This packet he directed to Madame Lenoble, at Beaubocage. There was nolonger need for secrecy. 

"When those letters are delivered I shall be past blame, and pastforgiveness, " he thought. 

In the morning he was dead. 

The neighbours posted the letter. The neighbours comforted and protectedthe child for two days; and then there came a lady, very sad, very quiet, who wept bitterly in the stillness of that attic chamber where GustaveLenoble lay; and who afterwards, with a gentle calmness of manner thatwas very sweet to see, made all necessary arrangements for a humble, butnot a mean or ignominious, funeral. 

"He was my brother, " she said to the good friends of the neighbouringgarret. "We did our best to help him, my mother and I; but we littlethought how bitterly he wanted help. The brave heart would not suffer usto know that. "

And then she thanked them with much tenderness for their charity to thedead man; and with these good people she went on foot through the narrowstreets of the city to see her brother laid in his grave. 

Until this was done the mournful lady, who was not yet thirty years ofage, and of a placid nun-like beauty, abandoned herself to no transportof love for her orphan nephew; but when that last office of affection hadbeen performed, she took the little one on her knees, and folded him toher breast, and gave him her heart, as she had given it long ago to hisfather; for this gentle unselfish creature was one who must needs havesome shrine at which to offer her daily sacrifice of self. Already shewas beginning to think how the orphan was to be cared for and the widowalso, for whose return she looked daily. 

For the return of Susan Lenoble Cydalise waited at Rouen several daysafter the funeral. She had, happily, an old school-fellow comfortablyestablished in the city; and in the house of this old friend she found ahome. No one but her mother and this friend, whom she could trust, knewof the business that had brought her from Beaubocage. In seven years thefather had never uttered his only son's name; in all the seven years thatname had never been spoken in his hearing. 

When three weeks had gone by since the departure of Susan for England, all hope of her return was abandoned by Mademoiselle Lenoble and theneighbours who had known the absent woman. 

"She had the stamp of death on her face when she went away, " said thelabourer's wife, "as surely as it was on him that she left. I told hershe had no strength for the journey; but she would go: there was nomoving her from that. She had rich friends _là-bas_, who might help herhusband. It was for that she went. That thought seemed to give her a kindof fever, and the strength of fever. "

"And there has come no letter--nothing?"

"Nothing, mademoiselle. "

On this Cydalise determined to return to Beaubocage. She could not wellleave the child longer on the hands of these friendly people, even bypaying for his maintenance, which she insisted on doing, though theywould fain have shared their humble _pot-à-feu_ and coarse loaf withhim unrecompensed. She determined on a desperate step. She would takeher brother's orphan child back with her, and leave the rest toProvidence--to the chance of some sudden awakening of natural affectionin a heart that had long languished in a kind of torpor that was almostdeath. 

The little fellow pined sadly for those dear familiar faces, those tendersoothing voices, that had vanished so suddenly from his life. But thevoice of his aunt was very sweet and tender, and had a tone that recalledthe father who was gone. With this kind aunt he left Rouen in thelumbering old vehicle that plied daily betwixt that city and Vevinord. 

"Thou canst call me Cydalise for a while, my little one, " she said tohim; for she did not wish the child to proclaim the relationship betweenthem yet awhile. 

Ah, what bitter tears the two women shed over the soft fair curls of thatlittle head, when they had the boy all to themselves in the turretchamber at Beaubocage, on whose white walls the eyes of Cydalise hadopened almost every morning of her pure eventless life!

"Why dost thou cry so, madame?" the child asked of his grandmother, asshe held him in her arms, kissing and weeping over him; "and what havethey done with my father--and mamma too? She went away one day, but shetold me that she would come back, so quickly, ah, so quickly! and thedays passed, and they shut papa in his room, and would not let me go tohim; and mamma did not come, though I asked the Blessed Virgin to sendher back to me. "

"Dear child, thy father and mother are in a brighter place than this hardworld, where they had so much sorrow, " Madame Lenoble answered, gently. 

"Yes, they were often sorry, " murmured the boy thoughtfully. "It wasbecause of money; but then, when there was no money, mamma cried andkissed me, and kissed papa, and the good papa kissed us both, and somehowit always ended in happiness. "

François Lenoble was, happily, absent on this day of tribulation. Thewomen took their fill of sorrow, but it was sorrow mingled with a strangebitter sweetness that was almost joy. The seigneur of Beaubocage had goneto dine, as he still often did, with his old friend Baron Frehlter; forthe breach of faith which had caused a lifelong disunion of father andson had not divided the two proprietors. Nay, indeed the Baron had beengenerous enough to plead the cause of the castaway. 

"A man cannot dispose at will of his affections, my friend, " he urged;"and it was more generous in your son to break faith with my daughterbefore marriage than after. "

Mademoiselle Frehlter had not broken her heart on account of her lover'sfalsehood. She had been sufficiently indignant on the occasion, and hadbeen more impatient of her mother's pet priest and pet poodle during thebrief period in which she wore the willow. She had recovered her goodhumour, however, on being wooed by a young subaltern in a cavalryregiment stationed at Vevinord, the offshoot of a grander house than thatof Lenoble, and whose good looks and good lineage had ultimatelyprevailed with the Baron. That gentleman had by no means too good anopinion of the son-in-law thus forced upon him; but peace was the highestgood (with unlimited tobacco) to which his Germanic soul aspired; and forthe sake of peace in the present he was content to hazard his daughter'shappiness in the future. 

"_That_ is very brilliant, " he said of M. Paul de Nérague, the younglieutenant of light cavalry; "but it is not solid, like Gustave. Your sonis honest, candid--a brave heart. It is for that I would have given himMadelon. But it is Providence which disposes of us, as our good fatherSt. Velours tells us often; and one must be content. Young Néraguepleases my daughter, and I must swallow him, though for me he smells toostrong of the barracks: _ça flaire la caserne, mon ami_. "

That odour of the barracks which distinguished the sub-lieutenant Paul deNérague became more odious after his marriage with the virtuous Madelon, when he was established--_niché_, as he himself called it--in verycomfortable, though somewhat gruesome, apartments at Côtenoir. Hisriotous deportment, his hospitable disposition (as displayed in thefrequent entertainment of his brothers-in-arms at the expense of hisfather-in-law), his Don Juan-like demeanour in relation to the housemaidsand kitchen-wenches of the château--innocent enough in the main, but onthat account so much the more audacious--struck terror to the hearts ofMadame Frehlter and her daughter; and the elder lady was much gratifiedby that thirst for foreign territory which carried the greater part ofthe French army and the regiment of the vivacious Paul to the distantwilds of Algeria. 

The virtuous Madelon was too stolid to weep for her husband. But even herstolidity was not proof against the fiery influence of jealousy, and, waking and sleeping, her visions were of veiled damsels of Orientassailing the too inflammable heart of Lieutenant de Nérague. 

The young officer was yet absent at that period in which Cydalisereturned from Rouen with her brother's child. 

The little boy was sleeping peacefully in a cot beside his aunt's bed (ithad been his father's cot thirty years ago) when François Lenoblereturned from Côtenoir that night. 

It was not till the next day that he saw the child. He had been makinghis usual morning's round in the gardens and orchards, when he came intothe salon, and saw the little boy seated near his grandmother's chair, playing with some dominoes. Something--perhaps the likeness to his deadson--the boy's black clothes, for Cydalise had contrived to dress him indecent mourning--struck suddenly on the old man's heart. "Who is thatboy?" he asked, with a strange earnestness. 

"Your son Gustave's only child, " answered his wife gently, --"hisorphan child. "

François Lenoble looked at her, and from her to the boy; tried to speak, but could not; beckoned the child, and then dropped heavily into a chairand sobbed aloud. Until this moment no one had ever seen him shed a tearfor the son he had put away from his home--and, as it had seemed, fromhis heart. Not by one sigh, not by one mournful utterance of the familiarname, had he betrayed the depth of that wound which he had endured, silently, obstinately, in all these years. 

They suffered him to bemoan his dead son unhindered by stereotypedconsolations. The two women stood by, and pitied him in silence. Thelittle boy stared wonderingly, and at last crept up to thesorrow-stricken father. "Why do you cry, poor old man?" he asked. "Youhave not lost your papa and mamma, as I have lost mine, have you? I wantto stay with you and be your little boy, please. She told me to saythat, " he added, pointing to Cydalise. --"And I have said it right, haven't I?" he asked of the same lady. --"I think I shall love you, because you are like my papa, only older and uglier, " the little oneconcluded, with angelic candour. 

The seigneur of Beaubocage dried his tears with an effort. Beaubocage--Côtenoir. Ah, me! what empty sounds those two once magicnames seemed to him now that his son's life had been sacrificed to sopaltry an ambition, so sordid a passion, so vile and grovelling a desire!He took the boy on his knee, and kissed him tenderly. His thoughtsbridged over a chasm of five-and-twenty years as his lips pressedthat fair young brow; and it was his own son--the son whom he haddisowned--whose soft hair was mingling itself now with the grey bristleson his rugged chin. 

"My child, " he murmured softly, "the fear is that I shall love thee toowell, and be to thee as much too weakly indulgent as I was wickedly sternto thy father. Anything is easier to humanity than justice. "

This was said to himself rather than to the boy. 

"Tell me thy name, little one, " he asked presently, after a few moments'pensive meditation. 

"I have two names, monsieur. "

"Thou must call me grandfather. And the two names?"

"François Gustave. "

"I shall call thee Gustave. "

"But papa always called me François, and mamma said it was the name of acruel man; but papa said he loved the name--"

"Ah, no more, little one!" cried the lord of Beaubocage suddenly;"thou knowest not with what dagger-thrusts thou dost pierce this poorold heart. "

CHAPTER III. 

GUSTAVE THE SECOND. 

The little Gustave grew and flourished. Such love was lavished on him asrarely falls to the lot of children, though the spring of many lives maybe rich in love's pure white blossom. The existence of this child seemedall happiness. He brought hope, and a sense of atonement, and all sweetthings, to the quiet family at Beaubocage; and as he grew from childhoodto boyhood, from boyhood to manhood, it seemed to that household as ifthe first Gustave of their love had never been taken from them. ThatOrphic fable of Zagreus repeats itself in many households. For the onebright creature lost another is given; and then comes a time when it isalmost difficult to separate the image of the missing one from the dearsubstitute who so nearly fills his place. 

François Lenoble and his wife enjoyed a green old age, and the affectionof their grandson made the cup of life sweet for them to the very dregs. There are, happily, some natures which indulgence cannot injure; someluxuriant flowers which attain strength as well as beauty under theinfluence of these tropical heats of affection. Gustave the secondpossessed all the noble qualities of Gustave the first. Frank, generous, brave, constant, affectionate, light-hearted, he shone on the failingeyes of his kindred radiant as a young Apollo, brave as a mortalHercules. 

Those things which the ignorant heart has at some time so passionatelydesired are apt to be granted when the desire has grown somewhat cold anddead. Thus it was with the ambition of François Lenoble. He lived to seethe lands of Côtenoir and Beaubocage united in the person of hisgrandson, who married Clarice, the only surviving child of M. And Madamede Nérague. Two sons and a daughter had been born at Côtenoir; but thesons withered and faded in early boyhood, and even the daughter, thoughconsidered a flourishing plant in that poor garden of weakling blossoms, was but a fragile creature. 

The old people at Beaubocage survived the seigneur and châtelaine ofCôtenoir by some years, and survived also the fiery lieutenant, who fellin Algeria without having attained his captaincy, or added any militaryrenown to the good old name of de Nérague in his own magnificent person. 

François saw his grandson established at Côtenoir before he died. Heexpired with his hand in that of Gustave, whom, in the half-consciousnessof that last hour, he mistook for the son he had disowned. 

"What door was that that shut?" he asked, in an eager whisper. "Who saidI turned my son out of doors--my only son? It's false! I couldn't havedone it! Hark! there's the door shutting again! It sounds like the doorof a tomb. "

After this he dozed a little, and woke with a smile on his face. 

"I have been dreaming of thy father, Gustave, " he said calmly. "I thoughtthat I saw him with a light shining in his face, and that he kissed andforgave me. "

This was the end. The faithful wife was not slow to follow her husband tothe grave, and there was now only a placid maiden lady at Beaubocage, Mademoiselle Cydalise Lenoble, whom everyone within ten leagues ofVevinord knew and loved, --a lay abbess, a Sister of Mercy in all save therobes; a tender creature, who lived only to do good. 

Ten years passed, and M. Lenoble of Côtenoir was a widower with twofair young daughters at a convent school on the outskirts of Vevinord, and a boisterous son at an academy in Rouen. Gustave had never followedany profession; the lands of Beaubocage secured him a competence, so prudently had the small estate been managed by the kindred whoadored him. His marriage had given him fortune. He had no need oftrade or profession. His life was laid out for him like a prim Dutchflower-garden. He was to live at Côtenoir, and look after his estate, andsmoke his pipe, as Baron Frehlter had done, and be a good husband to hiswife, a kind father to his children. This latter part of his duty camenatural to M. Lenoble. It was not in him to be otherwise than kind towomen and children. His invalid wife praised him as a model of maritalperfection. It was Gustave who wheeled her sofa from one room to another, Gustave who prepared her medicines, Gustave whose careful hands adjustedcurtains and _portières_. The poor woman lived and died believing herselfthe happiest of wives. She mistook kindness for love. 

M. Lenoble bore his wife's demise with Christian calmness. He was sorrythat the fragile creature should have been taken so early from thepleasant home that was hers by right, but of passionate grief, or drearysense of irreparable loss, there was none in that manly heart. There weretimes when the widower reproached himself for this want of feeling; butin very truth Madame Lenoble, _jeune_, had lived and died a nonentity. Her departure left no empty place; even her children scarcely missed her. The father was all-in-all. 

Gustave had married at twenty years of age. He was twenty-nine when hiswife died. His eldest daughter, Clarice, eight; his second, Madelon, seven; the boy, a spoilt young dog of five, not yet despatched to thegreat school at Rouen. 

But in '65 Mademoiselle Clarice was fifteen years of age, and a verycharming performer on the pianoforte, as the good nuns at the Convent ofthe Sacred Heart, at Vevinord, told the father. Mademoiselle Madelon waslooking forward to her fourteenth anniversary, and she, too, was a verypretty pianist, and altogether a young prodigy of learning and goodness, as the nuns told the master of Côtenoir. The demoiselles of Côtenoirstood high in the estimation of pupils and mistress; they were a kind ofnoblesse; and the simple-minded superioress spoke of these young personswith some pride when she described her establishment to a stranger. Itwas a very comfortable little colony, a small world enclosed by highwalls. The good mothers who taught and cherished the children were forthe greater part ladies of superior and even exalted station; and therewas a gentleness, a tenderness, in their care for these young lambs notalways to be insured by the payment of an annual stipend. It must beconfessed that the young lambs were apt to be troublesome, and required agood deal of watching. To the eye of the philosopher that convent schoolwould have afforded scope for curious study; for it is singular todiscover what exceptional vices the youthful mind can develop from itsinner consciousness, in homes as pure as this. There were black sheepeven in the convent of the Sacré Coeur, damsels marked with a sign thatmeant "dangerous. "

Happily for Gustave Lenoble, his daughters were amongst the brightest andthe purest of those girl-graduates. They gave him no trouble, except whenthey asked him for a home. 

"It seems so dull and dreary at Côtenoir, papa, " they said, "though youare always so kind. It doesn't seem like home. Beaubocage is morehome-like. At Côtenoir, when you are out, there is no one to talk to; andwe have no little parties, no excursions into the country, none of thosepleasures which the other girls tell us they have during the holidays. "

This was the gist of the lamentations of Mademoiselles Clarice andMadelon; and the father knew not how to supply the mysterious somethingwhich was wanting to make Côtenoir a pleasant home. The girls couldcomplain of no restraint, or pine for no indulgence, since their fatherwas always prompt to gratify every whim. But there was some element ofhappiness wanting, nevertheless; and M. Lenoble perceived that it was so. The life at Côtenoir was desultory, straggling; an existence of perpetualdawdling; a life of shreds and patches, half-formed resolutions, projectsbegun and broken off in the middle. The good genius, the household angel, order, was wanting in that mansion. There was waste, dirt, destruction ofall kinds, in the rambling old château; old servants, too weak or toolazy to work; old tradesmen, presuming on old-established habits ofimposition, unquestioned so long as to have become a right--for thefeudal system of fine and forfeiture has only changed hands. The powerstill flourishes, only it is the villein who takes tithe of his lord. 

The servants at Côtenoir had gone their own ways with but littleinterference since the death of Madame de Nérague, which occurred twoyears before that of her daughter, Clarice Lenoble. Poor invalid Claricehad been quite unable to superintend her household; and since her deathMademoiselle Cydalise had been too feeble of health to assume anyauthority in her nephew's establishment, even if the household ofCôtenoir would have submitted to interference from Beaubocage, which inall likelihood they would not. 

Thus it happened that things had taken their own course at the château, and the course had been somewhat erratic. There is nothing so costly asmuddle, and Gustave Lenoble had of late begun to perceive that he had themaximum of expense with the minimum of comfort. Meanwhile the kind oldaunt at Beaubocage gave her nieces much valuable advice against the timewhen they should be old enough to assume the management of their father'shouse. The sweet unselfish lady of Beaubocage had indeed undergone hardexperience in the acquirement of the domestic art. Heaven and her ownmemory alone recorded those scrapings and pinchings and nice calculationsof morsels by which she had contrived to save a few pounds for heroutcast brother. Such sordid economics show but poorly on earth; but itis probable that in the mass of documentary evidence which goes beforethe Great Judge, Mademoiselle Lenoble's account-book will be placed onthe right side. 

Book the Third. 

THE HORATIAD. 

CHAPTER I. 

CHIEFLY RETROSPECTIVE. 

Captain Paget went his way to Rouen in a placid but not an exulting mood, after parting with his young friend Valentine Hawkehurst at the LondonBridge terminus of the Brighton line. He was setting out upon anadventure wild and impracticable as the quest of Jason and his Argonauts;and this gallant captain was a carpet-knight, sufficiently adventurousand audacious in the diplomatic crusades of society, but in nowise eagerto hazard his life on tented field and in thick press of war. If theFates had allowed the accomplished Horatio to choose his own destiny, hewould have elected to live in the immediate neighbourhood of St. James'sStreet, from the first day to the last of the London season, and to dineartistically and discreetly at one of those older and more exclusiveclubs dear and familiar to him from the bright years of his youth. He wasby nature a _flâneur_, a gossip, a lover of expensive luxuries andfrivolous pleasures. He was not only incapable of a high thought himself, but was an unbeliever in the possibility of high thoughts or nobleprinciples in the world he lived in. He measured the universe by thatnarrow scrap of tape which was the span of his own littleness. To himCaesar was an imperial brigand, Cicero a hypocritical agitator. To himall great warriors were greedy time-servers like John Churchill; allstatesmen plausible placemen; all reformers self-seeking pretenders. Nordid Captain Paget wish that it should be otherwise. In his idealrepublic, unselfishness and earnestness would have rendered a man rathera nuisance than otherwise. With the vices of his fellow-men thediplomatic Horatio was fully competent to deal; but some of his mostsubtle combinations on the chess-board of life would have been checkmatedby an unexpected encounter with intractable virtue. 

The necessity of living was the paramount consideration to which thisgentleman had given his mind from the time when he found himself apopular subaltern in a crack regiment, admired for his easy manners andgood looks, respected by meaner men for his good blood, and rich ineverything except that vulgar dross without which the life of West-endLondon is so hollow a delusion, so bitter a comedy of mean shifts andlying devices. 

That freebooter of civilization, the man who lives by his wits, issubject to strange fluctuations from prosperity to adversity. He is theminer or gold-digger of civilized life; and as there are times when hispickaxe strikes suddenly on a rich lode, so there are dreary intervals inwhich his spade turns up nothing but valueless clay, and the end of eachday's work leaves him with no better evidence of his wasted labour thanthe aching limbs which he drags at nightfall to his dismal shanty. 

For some months Captain Paget had found Philip Sheldon a very usefulacquaintance. The stockbroker had been the secret inaugurator of two orthree joint-stock companies, though figuring to the outer world only asdirector; and in the getting-up of these companies Horatio had been auseful instrument, and had received liberal payment for his labours. Unhappily, so serene an occupation as promoting cannot go on for ever; orrather, cannot remain for ever in the same hands. The human mind isnaturally imitative, and the plagiarisms of commerce are infinitely moreaudacious than the small larcenies of literature. The joint-stock companymarket became day by day more crowded. No sooner did Philip Sheldon floatthe Non-destructive Laundry Company, the admirable organization of whichwould offer a guarantee against the use of chloride of lime and otherdestructive agencies in the wash-tub, than a rival power launched acolourable imitation thereof, in the Union-is-Strength Domestic LavatoryCompany, with a professor of chemistry specially retained as inspector ofwash-tubs. Thus it was that, after the profitable ripening of three suchschemes, Mr. Sheldon deemed it advisable to retire from the field, andawait a fitter time for the further exercise of his commercial genius. 

Captain Paget's relations with the stockbroker did not, however, terminate with the cessation of his labours as secretary, jack-of-all-trades, and promoter. Having found him, so far, clever, andto all appearance trustworthy--and this was an important point, for noman so much needs honourable service as a rogue--Philip Sheldondetermined upon confiding to Horatio the conduct of a more delicatebusiness than anything purely commercial. After that discovery of thetelegraphic message sent by his brother George to Valentine Hawkehurst, and the further discovery of the advertisement relating to the unclaimedwealth of the lately deceased John Haygarth, Mr. Sheldon lost no time inorganizing his plans for his own aggrandizement at the expense of hisbrother. 

"George refused to let me in for a share of chances when I showed myselfwilling to help him, " thought Philip. "He may discover by-and-by that Ihave contrived to let myself into his secrets; and that he might haveplayed a better game by consenting to a partnership. "

A life devoted to his own interests, and a consistent habit ofselfishness, had rendered Mr. Sheldon, of the Lawn, Bayswater, and StagsCourt, City, very quick of apprehension in all matters connected, immediately or remotely, with the making of money. The broken sentencesof the telegram betrayed by the blotting-pad told him a great deal. Theytold him that there was a certain Goodge, in the town of Ullerton, whopossessed letters so valuable to George Sheldon, as to be bought by hisagent Valentine Hawkehurst. Letters for which Sheldon was willing to givemoney must needs be of considerable importance, since money was a veryscarce commodity with that hunter of unconscious heirs-at-law. Again, atransaction which required the use of so expensive a medium as theelectric telegraph rather than the penny post, might be fairly supposed atransaction of some moment. The letters in question might relate to someother estate than that of John Haygarth, for it was quite possible thatthe schemer of Gray's Inn had other irons in the fire. But this was aquestion of no moment to Philip Sheldon. 

If the letters--or the information contained therein--were likely to beuseful to George, they might be useful to him. If George found it worthhis while to employ an agent at Ullerton, why should not he (Philip) havehis agent in the same town? The pecuniary risk, which might be a seriousaffair to George, was child's play for Philip, who had always plenty ofmoney, or, at any rate, the command of money. The whole business ofheir-at-law hunting seemed to the stockbroker a very vague and shadowypiece of work, as compared to the kind of speculation that was familiarto him; but he knew that men had made money in such a manner, and anybusiness by which money could be made, was interesting to him. Beyondthis, the notion of cutting the ground from under his brother's feet hada certain attraction for him. George's manner to him had been somewhatoffensive to him on more than one occasion since--well, since TomHalliday's death. Mr. Sheldon had borne that offensiveness in mind, withthe determination to "take it out of" his brother on the earliestopportunity. 

It seemed as if the opportunity had arrived, and Philip was not one ofthose men who wait shivering on the shore when Fortune's tide is at theflood. Mr. Sheldon launched his bark upon the rising waters, and withintwo hours of his discovery in the telegraph-office was closeted withHoratio Paget in the little parlour in Omega Street, making arrangementsfor the Captain's journey to Ullerton. 

That Horatio was the right man for the work he wanted done, Mr. Sheldonhad been quick to perceive. 

"He knows Hawkehurst, and will be able to reckon up any manoeuvres of hisbetter than a stranger; and is, I think, altogether as deep an oldgentleman as one could hope to meet with, barring _the_ traditionalgentleman who did odd jobs for Dr. Faustus, " the stockbroker said tohimself, as his hansom sped along Park Lane on its way to Chelsea. Theeagerness with which Captain Paget took up the idea of this business wasvery agreeable to his patron. 

"This is an affair in which success hinges on time, " said Mr. Sheldon;"so, if you mean to go in for the business, you must start for Ullertonby the two o'clock express. You'll have just time to throw your razorsand a clean shirt into a carpet-bag while I talk to you. I've got a caboutside, and a good one, that will take you to Euston Square in half anhour. "

The Captain showed himself prompt in action. His bedchamber was a smallapartment at the back of the parlour, and here he packed his bag whileconversing with his employer. 

"If you get upon the ground in time, you may obtain a look at the lettersbefore they are handed over to Hawkehurst, or you may outbid him forthem, " said Mr. Sheldon; "but remember, whatever you do must be so doneas to keep Hawkehurst and George completely in the dark as to ourproceedings. If once they find out we are on their track, our chanceswill be gone, for they have got the information and we haven't; and it'sonly by following close in their footsteps we can hope to do anything. "

"That is understood, " replied the Captain, stooping over his bag; "Ishall keep myself as close as possible, you may depend upon it. And itshan't be my fault if Valentine sees me or hears of me. I shall wantmoney, by the bye; for one can't stir a step in this sort of affairwithout ready cash. "

"I am quite aware of that. I stopped at the West-end branch of the Unitasand cashed a cheque for forty pounds. You can do a good deal in the wayof bribery for forty pounds, in such a place as Ullerton. What you haveto do is to keep your eye on Hawkehurst, and follow up every channel ofinformation that he opens for you. He has the clue to the labyrinth, remember, the reel of cotton, or whatever it was, that the young womangave that Roman fellow. All you have to do is to get hold of it, andfollow your leader. " continued Philip, with his watch in his hand. "Thisbusiness of the letters will be sharp work, for the chances are againstus here, as it's more than likely the papers will have changed handsbefore you can get to Ullerton. But if you can't buy the letters, you maybuy the information contained in them, and that is the next best thing. Your first move will be to ferret out this man Goodge. Everybody knowseverybody else in such a place as Ullerton, large and busy as the townis, and you won't find that difficult. When you see Goodge, you'll knowhow to deal with him. The mode and manner of your dealing I leave toyourself. You are a man of the world, and will know how to manipulate thegentleman, whoever he may be. And now lock your bag and cut downstairs asfast as you can. Time's up. Here's your money--three tens, two fives. Good day. "

CHAPTER II. 

EPISTOLARY. 

_From Horatio Paget to Philip Sheldon_. 

Royal Hotel, Ullerton, Oct. 7, 186--. 

My dear sir, --I arrived here last evening just in time to run againstHawkehurst on the platform, which was rather a provoking encounter at theoutset. He went further north by the same train that brought me fromLondon. This train only stops at three places after Ullerton--Slowport, Black Harbour, and Manchester; and I shall take pains to discover whichof these towns was Hawkehurst's destination. There was one satisfactionin seeing his departure by this train, inasmuch as it assured me that Ihad the ground clear for my own operations. 

I had no difficulty in discovering the whereabouts of Goodge--_the_Goodge we want--and at eight o'clock was comfortably seated in thatgentleman's parlour, talking over the affair of the letters. Tolerablyquick work, I think you will allow, my dear sir, for a man whose yearshave fallen into the sere and yellow leaf. 

Mr. Goodge is a Methodist parson--a class of person I have alwaysdetested. I found him peculiarly amenable to monetary influence. I needscarcely tell you that I was careful to conceal my identity from thisperson. I made so bold as to borrow the cognomen of an old-establishedfirm of solicitors in the Fields, and took a somewhat high tonethroughout the interview. I informed Mr. Goodge that the young man whohad called on him with reference to certain letters connected with theaffairs of the Haygarth family--and I perceived from Mr. Goodge's facethat we were on the right track--was a person of disreputable character, engaged in an underhand transaction calculated to injure a respectedclient of our house. I saw that the words "house" and "our" weretalismanic in their effect upon the Methodist parson. You see, my dearsir, there is no one can manage this sort of thing so well as agentleman. It comes natural to him. Your vulgar diplomatist seldom knowshow to begin, and never knows when to stop. Here I had this low-bredMethodist fellow impressed by the idea of my individual and collectiveimportance after five minutes' conversation. "But this comes too near thepraising of myself; therefore hear other things, " as the bard observes. 

A very little further conversation rendered Mr. Goodge malleable. I foundthat Hawkehurst had approached him in the character of your brother'sarticled clerk, but under his own proper name. This is one point gained, since it assures me that Valentine is not skulking here under a feignedname; and will enable me to shape my future inquiries about himaccordingly. I also ascertained Hawkehurst's whereabouts when inUllerton. He stays at a low commercial house called the Black Swan. Itappears that the man Goodge possesses a packet of letters written by acertain Mrs. Rebecca Haygarth, wife of one Matthew Haygarth. In whatrelationship this Matthew may stand to the intestate is to be discovered. It is evident he is an important link in the chain, or your brother wouldnot want the letters. I need not trouble you with our conversation indetail. In gross it amounted to this: Mr. Goodge had pledged himself tohand over Mrs. Haygarth's letters, forty or so in number, to Hawkehurstin consideration of twenty pounds. They would have been already inHawkehurst's possession, if Mr. Goodge had not objected to part with themexcept for ready money. In consideration of a payment of twenty poundsfrom me, he was willing to let me read all the letters, and select anyten I pleased to take. This bargain was not arrived at withoutconsiderable discussion, but it certainly struck me as a good one. 

I opened the packet of papers then and there, and sat up until sixo'clock the next morning, reading Mrs. Haygarth's letters in Mr. Goodge'sparlour. Very fatiguing occupation for a man of my years. Mr. Goodge'shospitality began and ended in a cup of coffee. Such coffee! and Iremember the mocha I used to get at Arthur's thirty years ago, --aPromethean beverage, that illumined the dullest smoking-room bore with aflash of wit or a glimmer of wisdom. 

I enclose the ten letters which I have selected. They appear to me totell the history of Mrs. Haygarth and her husband pretty plainly; butthere is evidently something mysterious lurking behind the commonplaceexistence of the husband. That is a matter for future consideration. AllI have to do in the present is to keep you as well informed as yourbrother. It may strike you that the letters I forward herewith, which arecertainly the cream of the correspondence, and the notes I have made fromthe remaining letters, are scarcely worth the money paid for them. Inreply to such an objection, I can only say that you get more for _your_money than your brother George will get for his. 

The hotel at which I have taken up my quarters is but a few paces fromthe commoner establishment where Hawkehurst is stopping. He is to call onGoodge for the letters to-day; so his excursion will be of briefduration. I find that the name of Haygarth is not unknown in this town, as there are a family of Judsons, some of whom call themselves HaygarthJudson. I intend inviting my landlord--a very superior person for hisstation--to discuss a bottle of wine with me after my chop this evening, and hope to obtain some information from him. In the meantime I shallkeep myself close. It is of vital consequence that I should remain unseenby Hawkehurst. I do not believe he saw me on the platform last night, though we were as close to each other as we well could be. 

Let me know what you think of the letters, and believe me to be, mydear sir, very faithfully yours, H. N. C. PAGET. PHILIP SHELDON, Esq. , &c. &c. &c. 

 * * * * *

_Philip Sheldon to Horatio Paget_. 

Bayswater, Oct. 8, 186-. 

DEAR PAGET, --The letters are mysterious, and I don't see my way togetting much good out of them, but heartily approve your management ofmatters, and give you _carte blanche_ to proceed, according to your ownlights. 

Yours truly, P. S. 

 * * * * *

_Horatio Paget to Philip Sheldon_. 

Royal Hotel, Oct. 9, 186-. 

MY DEAR SIR, --The cultivation of my landlord has been very profitable. The house is the oldest in the town, and the business has descended in adirect line from father to son since the time of George the Second. Thisman's grandfather entertained the officers of William Duke of Cumberland, honoured by his contemporaries with the soubriquet of Billy the Butcher, during the "forty-five. " I had to listen to and applaud a good manystories about Billy the Butcher before I could lead my landlord round tothe subject of the Haygarths. But he was not more prosy than many men Ihave met at dinner-parties in the days when the highest circles in theland were open to your humble servant. 

The Haygarth family, of which the intestate John Haygarth was the lastmale descendant, were for a long period inhabitants of this town, andobtained their wealth by trading as grocers and general dealers in a shopnot three hundred yards from the room in which I write. The building isstill standing, and a curious, old-fashioned-looking place it is. Thelast of the Haygarths who carried on business therein was one Jonathan, whose son Matthew was the father of that Reverend John Haygarth, latelydeceased, intestate. You will thus perceive that the letters I sent youare of much importance, as they relate solely to this Matthew, father ofour intestate. 

My next inquiries related to the Judson family, who are, it appears, descended from the issue of a certain Ruth Haygarth's marriage with onePeter Judson. This Ruth Haygarth was the only sister of the Matthewalluded to in the letters, and therefore was aunt of the intestate. Itwould herefrom appear that in this Judson family we must naturally lookfor the rightful claimant to the fortune of the deceased John Haygarth. Possessed of this conviction, I proceeded to interrogate my landlord verycautiously as to the status, &c. Of the Judson family, and amongst otherquestions, asked him with a complete assumption of indifference, whetherhe had ever heard that the Judsons expected to inherit property from anybranch of the Haygarth family. 

This careless interrogatory produced information of, as I imagine, a veryvaluable character. A certain Theodore Judson, attorney of this town, calls himself heir-at-law to the Haygarth estates; but before he canestablish his claim, this Theodore must produce evidence of the demise, without heirs, of one Peter Judson, eldest surviving grandson of RuthHaygarth's eldest son, a scamp and ne'er-do-well--if living, supposed tobe somewhere in India, where he went, as supercargo to a merchant vesselabout, the year '41--who stands prior to Theodore Judson in thesuccession. I conclude that the said Theodore, who, as a lawyer, islikely to do things _secundum artem_, is doing his _possible_ to obtainthe necessary evidence; but in the meantime he is at a dead lock, and thewhole affair appears to be in a charming condition for speculativeinterference. I opine, therefore, that your brother really has hit upon agood thing this time; and my only wonder is, that instead of allowing hisagent, Hawkehurst, to waste his time hunting up old letters of MatthewHaygarth's (to all appearance valueless as documentary evidence), he doesnot send Valentine to India to hunt for Peter Judson, who, if living, isthe rightful heir to the intestate's fortune, and who, as a recklessextravagant fellow, would be likely to make very liberal terms with anyone who offered to procure him a large lump of money. 

I confess that I am quite at a loss to understand why your brother Georgedoes not take this very obvious course, and why Valentine potters aboutin this neighbourhood, when a gold mine is waiting to be _exploité_ onthe other side. 

I shall be very glad to have your views upon this subject, for at thepresent moment I am fain to acknowledge that I do not see my way totaking any further steps in this business, unless by commencing a searchfor the missing Peter. 

I am, my dear Sir, very truly yours, H. N. C. PAGET. 

 * * * * *

_Philip Sheldon to Horatio Paget_. 

Bayswater, Oct. 10, 186--. 

DEAR PAGET, --When so old a stager as G. S. Does not take the obviouscourse, the inference is that there is a better course to be taken--_not_obvious to the uninitiated. 

You have done very well so far, but the information you have obtainedfrom your landlord is only such information as any one else may obtainfrom the current gossip of Ullerton. You haven't yet got to the _dessousdes cartes_. Remember what I told you in London. G. S. _has_ the clue tothis labyrinth; and what you have to do is to hold on to the coat-tails(in a figurative sense) of his agent, V. H. 

Don't put your trust in prosy old landlords, but continue to set a watchupon that young man, and follow up his trail as you did in the matter ofthe letters. 

If the Peter Judson who went to India three-and-twenty years ago were theright man to follow, G. S. Would scarcely give twenty pounds for theletters of Mrs. Matthew Haygarth. It appears to me that G. Must belooking for an heir on the Haygarth side of the house; and if so, relyupon it he has his reasons. Don't bewilder yourself by trying totheorize, but get to the bottom of G. 's theory. 

Yours truly, P. S. 

_Horatio Paget to Philip Sheldon_. 

 * * * * *

Royal Hotel, Oct. 12, 186. --

MY DEAR SIR, --Considering the advice contained in your last very good, Ilost no time in acting upon it. I need hardly tell you, that to employthe services of a hired spy, and to degrade myself in some sort to thelevel of a private inquirer, was somewhat revolting to a man, who, in thedecadence of his fortunes, has ever striven to place some limit on theoutrages which that hard taskmaster, poverty, may have from time to timecompelled him to inflict upon his self-respect. But in the furtherance ofa cause which I conclude is in no manner dishonourable, since anunclaimed heritage must needs be a prize open to all, I submitted to thistemporary degradation of my higher feelings, and I trust that when thetime arrives for the settlement of any pecuniary consideration whichI am to derive from these irksome and uncongenial labours, my woundedself-respect may not be omitted from the reckoning. The above exordiummay appear to you tedious, but it is only just to myself to remind youthat you are not dealing with a vulgar hireling. My first step, afterduly meditating your suggestions, was to find a fitting watch for themovements of Hawkehurst. I opined that the best person to play the spywould be that class of man whose existence seems for the most partdevoted to the lounging at street corners, the chewing of straw, and thatdesultory kind of industry known in the _patois_ of this race as"fetching errands. " This is the man, or boy, who starts up from thepavement (as through a trap-door in the flags) whenever one alights fromor would enter any kind of vehicle. Unbidden, unrequired, and obnoxious, the creature arises, and opens a door, or lays some rag of his wretchedattire on a muddy wheel, and then whines, piteous, for a copper. Such aman, or such a boy, I felt convinced must exist among the hangers-on ofthe Royal Hotel; nor was I mistaken. On inquiring for a handy lad, capable of attending upon my needs at all hours in the day, and not aservant in the hotel, but a person who would be wholly at my owndisposal, I was informed that the Boots had a younger brother who wasskilled in the fetching of errands, and who would be happy to wait uponme for a very reasonable remuneration, or in the words of the waiterhimself, would be ready to leave it--i. E. The remuneration--to my owngenerosity. I know that there are no people who expect so much as thosewho leave the assessment of their claims to your own generosity; butas I wanted good service, I was prepared to pay well. The younger Bootsmade his appearance in due course--a sharp young fellow enough--and Iforthwith made him my slave by the promise of five shillings a day forevery day in which I should require his services. I then told him that itwas my misfortune to own--with a strong inclination to disown--areprobate nephew, now an inhabitant of that very town. This nephew, I hadreason to believe, was going at a very rapid rate to the dogs; but myaffectionate feelings would not allow him to consummate his owndestruction without one last effort to reclaim him. I had thereforefollowed him to Ullerton, whither I believed him to be led by the worstpossible motives; and having done so, my next business was to keep myselfinformed of his whereabouts. 

Seeing that the younger Boots accepted these statements withunquestioning faith, I went on to inquire whether he felt himself equalto the delicate duty of hanging about the yard of the Black Swan, andwatching the doors of exit from that hotel, with a view to following myrecreant nephew wherever he might go, even if considerably beyond thelimits of Ullerton. I saw that the lad's intelligence was likely to beequal to this transaction, unless there should arise any difficult orcomplicated position by reason of the suspicion of Hawkehurst, or othermischance. "Do you think you can watch the gentleman without beingobserved?" I asked. "I'm pretty well sure I can, sir, " answered the boy, who is of an enterprising, and indeed audacious, temper. "Very well, "said I, "you will go to the Black Swan Inn. Hawkehurst is the name bywhich my nephew is known there, and it will be your duty to find himout. " I gave the boy a minute account of Valentine's appearance, andother instructions with which I need not trouble you. I further furnishedhim with money, so that he might be able to follow Hawkehurst by rail, orany other mode of conveyance, if necessary; and then despatched him, withan order to come back to me when he had seen our man safely lodged in theBlack Swan after his day's perambulations. "And if he shouldn't go out atall?" suggested the lad. "In that case you must stick to your post tillnightfall, and pick up all the information you can about my unfortunatenephew from the hangers-on of the hotel, " said I. "I suppose you knowsome one at the Black Swan?" The boy informed me, in his untutoredlanguage, that he knew "a'most all of 'em, " and thereupon departed. 

At nine o'clock at night he again appeared before me, big with theimportance of his day's work. He had seen my nephew issue forth from theBlack Swan within an hour of leaving my presence, and had followed him, first to Mr. William Judson's in Ferrygate, where he waited and hungabout nearly an hour, keeping himself well out of view round the cornerof Chalkin Street, a turning close to Mr. Judson's house. After leavingthis gentleman's house, my renegade nephew had proceeded--carrying aletter in his hand, and walking as if in very good spirits (but thatfellow Hawkehurst would walk to the gallows in good spirits)--to theLancaster Road, where he was admitted into Lochiel Villa, a housebelonging, as my Mercury ascertained from a passing baker's boy, to MissJudson, sister of the William Judson of Ferrygate. You will perceive thatthis town appears to teem with the Judson family. My messenger, withpraiseworthy art, contrived to engage in a game of tip-cat (what, Iwonder, _is_ a tip-cat?) with some vagrant boys disporting themselves inthe roadway, within view of Miss Judson's house. Hence, after the lapseof more than an hour, Boots-Mercury beheld my recreant relative emerge, and from this point followed him--always with extreme caution--back tothe Black Swan. Here he hung about the yard, favoured by his closeacquaintance with the ostler, until eight o'clock in the evening, noevent of the smallest importance occurring during all those hours. But ateight there arrived a young woman, with a packet from Miss Judson to Mr. Hawkehurst. The packet was small, and was sealed with red wax. This wasall my Mercury could ascertain respecting it; but this was something. 

I at once divined that this packet must needs contain letters. I askedmyself whether those letters or papers had been sold to Hawkehurst, oronly lent to him, and I immediately concluded that they could only havebeen lent. It was all very well for Goodge, the Methodist parson, totraffic in the epistles of Mrs. Matthew Haygarth, but it was to the lastdegree unlikely that a well-to-do maiden lady would part with familyletters or papers for any pecuniary consideration whatever. "No, " I saidto myself, "the documents have been lent, and will have to be returned;"and thereupon I laid my plans for the next day's campaign, with a view toobtaining a peep at those letters, by fair means or foul. I told the boyto be at his post in the inn yard early the next morning, and if mynephew did not leave the inn, my agent was to ascertain what he wasdoing, and to bring me word thereof. "I'll tell you what it is, Boots, " Isaid; "I have reason to believe that sadly disposed nephew of mine hassome wicked intention with regard to Miss Judson, who is nearly relatedto a young lady with whom that unprincipled young man is, or pretends tobe, in love; and I very much fear that he means to send her some letters, written by this foolish niece of hers to my more foolish nephew, andeminently calculated to wound the good lady's feelings. Now, in order toprevent this very shameful conduct on his part, I want to intercept anypacket or letter which that mistaken youth may send to Miss Judson. Doyou feel yourself capable of getting hold of such a packet, onconsideration of a bonus of half-a-sovereign in addition to the fiveshillings per diem already agreed upon?"

This, in more direct and vulgar phraseology, was what I said to the boy;and the boy departed, after pledging himself to bring me any packet whichHawkehurst might despatch from the Swan Inn. The only fear was thatHawkehurst might carry the packet himself, and this contingency appearedunpleasantly probable. 

Fortune favoured us. My reprobate nephew was too ill to go out. Heintrusted Miss Hudson's packet to his waiter, the waiter confided it tothe Boots, the Boots resigned the responsibility in favour of my boyMercury, who kindly offered to save that functionary the trouble of awalk to the Lancaster Road. 

At eleven A. M. The packet was in my hands. I have devoted the best partof to-day to the contents of this packet. They consist of letters writtenby Matthew Haygarth, and distinguished by a most abominable orthography;but I remember my own father's epistolary composition to have beensomewhat deficient in this respect; nor is it singular that the humblecitizen should have been a poor hand at spelling in an age when royalpersonages indulged in a phonetic style of orthography which wouldprovoke the laughter of a modern charity-boy. That the pretender to thecrown of England should murder the two languages in which he wrote seemsa small thing; but that Frederick the Great, the most accomplished ofprinces, bosom-friend of Voltaire, and sworn patron of the literati, should not have been able to spell, is a matter for some astonishment. Icould but remember this fact, as I perused the epistles of MatthewHaygarth. I felt that these letters had in all probability been carefullynumbered by the lady to whom they belong, and that to tamper with them toany serious extent might be dangerous. I have therefore only ventured toretain one insignificant scrawl as an example of Matthew Haygarth'scaligraphy and signature. From the rest I have taken copious notes. Itappears to me that these letters relate to some _liaison_ of thegentleman's youth; though I am fain to confess myself surprised todiscover that, even in a period notorious for looseness of morals, a manshould enter into such details in a correspondence with his sister. _Autres temps, autres moeurs_. I have selected my extracts with greatcare, and hope that you may be able to make more use of them than I canat present imagine possible. I shall post this letter and enclosure withmy own hands, though in order to do so I must pass the Black Swan. Ishall despatch my messenger to Lochiel Villa, with Miss Judson's packet, under cover of the darkness. 

In much haste, to catch the London mail, Truly yours, H. N. C. P. 

 * * * * *

_From Philip Sheldon to Horatio Paget_. City, Oct. 12, 186--

Dear Paget, --Come back to town. You are only wasting money, time, andtrouble. Yours, P. S. 

CHAPTER III. 

TOO CLEVER, FOR A CATSPAW. 

Captain Paget returned to town, mystified by that sudden summons from hispatron, and eager to know what new aspect of affairs rendered his furtherpresence in Ullerton useless or undesirable. 

Horatio arrived in the great city half-a-dozen hours before his sometimeprotégé, and was comfortably installed when Valentine returned to thoselodgings in Omega Street, Chelsea, which the two men occupied in common. 

Captain Paget went into the City to see Philip Sheldon on the day of hisreturn, but did not succeed in finding the stockbroker. The evening'spost brought him a letter from Philip, appointing an interview atBayswater, at three o'clock on the following day--the day afterValentine's return from Ullerton. 

Punctual to the moment appointed by this letter, Captain Paget appearedat the Lawn on the following day. He was ushered into Mr. Sheldon'sstudy, where he found that gentleman awaiting him, grave and meditativeof mood, but friendly, and indeed cordial, in his manner to the returningtraveller. 

"My dear Paget, sit down; I am delighted to see you. Your trip has madeyou look five years younger, by Jove! I was sorry to find you had calledwhile I was out, and had waited for me upwards of an hour yesterday. Ihave a good deal of worry on my shoulders just now; commerce is allworry, you know. The Marquis of Lambeth has come into the market andbought up two-thirds of the Astrakhan Grand Trunk debenture bonds, justas our house had speculated for the fall. And since it has got wind thatthe Marquis is sweet upon the concern, the bonds are going up like askyrocket. Such is life. I thought we had better have our little talkhere; it's quieter than in the City. Have some sherry and soda; you likethat Manzanilla of mine, I know. "

And the hospitable Philip rang the bell, without thinking it necessary towait for his guest's answer. 

There was a cordiality, a conciliating friendliness about thestockbroker's manner which Horatio Paget did not like. 

"He's too civil by half, " the Captain said to himself; "he means to dome. "

"And now about this Ullerton business, " Mr. Sheldon began, when the wineand soda-water had been brought, and a tall tumbler of that refreshingcompound filled for the Captain; "you have really managed mattersadmirably. I cannot too much applaud your diplomatic tact. You would haveput a what's-his-name--that fellow of Napoleon's--to the blush by yourmanagement of the whole business. But, unfortunately, when it's all doneit comes to nothing; the whole affair is evidently, from beginning toend, a mare's-nest. It is one of those wild geese which my brother Georgehas been chasing for the last ten years, and which never have resulted inprofit to him or anybody else; and I should be something worse than afool if I were to lend myself any longer to such a folly. "

"Humph, " muttered the Captain, "here is a change indeed!"

"Well, yes, " Mr. Sheldon answered coolly. "I dare say my conduct doesseem rather capricious; but you see George put me out of temper the otherday, and I was determined, if he had got a good thing, to cut the groundfrom under his feet. All your communications from Ullerton tend to showme that he has not got hold of a good thing, and that in any attempt tocircumvent him I should only be circumventing myself, wasting your time, and my own money. This Judson family seems numberless; and it is evidentto me that the Reverend John Haygarth's fortune will be a bone ofcontention amongst the Judsons in the High Court of Chancery for anyindefinite number of years between this and the milennium. So I reallythink, my dear Paget, we'd better consider this transaction finished. Iwill give you whatever honorarium you think fit to name for your trouble, and we'll close the affair. I shall find plenty more business as good, orbetter, for you to do. "

"You are very good, " replied the Captain, in nowise satisfied by thispromise. It was all too smooth, too conciliatory. And there was asuddenness in this change of plan that was altogether mysterious. Soindeed might a capricious man be expected to drop a speculation he hadbeen eager to inaugurate, but Philip Sheldon was the last of men to besuspected of caprice. 

"You must have taken an immense deal of trouble with those extracts, now, " said the stockbroker carelessly, as Horatio rose to depart, offended and angry, but anxious to conceal his anger. "What, are you offso soon? I thought you would stop and take a chop with us. "

"No, thanks; I have an engagement elsewhere. Yes, I took aninordinate trouble with those extracts, and I am sorry to think theyshould be useless. "

"Well, yes, it is rather provoking to you, I dare say. The extracts wouldbe very interesting from a social point of view, no doubt, to people whocare about such things; but in a legal sense they are waste-paper. Ican't understand why Hawkehurst was in Ullerton; for, as you yourselfsuggested, that Peter Judson who went to India must be the Judson wantedfor this case. "

"Your brother may be in league with some other branch of the Judsonfamily. Or what if he is hunting for an heir on the Haygarth side?" askedthe Captain, with a very close watch upon Mr. Sheldon's face. Let thestockbroker be never so skilful a navigator of the high seas of life, there was no undercurrent, no cross trade-wind, no unexplained veering ofthe magnetic needle to the west, in the mysteries whereof the Captain wasnot also versed. When Columbus wanted to keep his sailors quiet on thatwondrous voyage over an unknown ocean to the Western world, thediplomatic admiral made so bold as to underrate the length of each day'ssail in an unveracious log, which he kept for the inspection of his crew;but no doctoring of the social log-book could mislead the acute Horatio. 

"How about the Haygarth side of the house?" he asked again; for it hadseemed to him that at his first mention of the name of Haygarth Mr. Sheldon had winced, ever so little. This time, however, he betrayed notthe faintest concern; but he was doubtless now on his guard. 

"Well, I don't see how there can be any claimant on that side of thehouse, " he said carelessly. "You see, according to your old landlord'sstatement--which I take to be correct--Jonathan Haygarth had but one son, a certain Matthew, who married one Rebecca So-and-so, and had, in histurn one only son, the intestate John. Now, in that case, where is yourheir to come from, except through Matthew's sister Ruth, who marriedPeter Judson?"

"Isn't it just possible that Matthew Haygarth may have married twice, andhad other children? Those letters certainly suggest the idea of a secretalliance of some kind on Haygarth's part, and the existence of a family, to whom he appears to have been warmly attached. My first idea of thisaffair was that it must have been a low _liaison_; but I could hardlyrealize the fact of Matthew's confiding in his sister under any suchcircumstances, however lax in his morals that gentleman may have been. Mrs. Matthew Haygarth's letters hint at some mystery in her husband'slife. Is it not likely that this hidden family was a legitimate one?"

"I can't quite see my way to that idea, " Mr. Sheldon answered, in ameditative tone. "It seems very unlikely that any marriage of Haygarth'scould have remained unknown to his townsmen; and even if it were so, Idoubt the possibility of our tracing the heirs from such a marriage. No, my dear Paget, I have resolved to wash my hands of the business, andleave my brother George in undisturbed possession of his ground. "

"In that case, perhaps, you will return my notes; they areinteresting to me. "

Here again the faintest indication of annoyance in the stockbroker's facetold its tale to Captain Paget. For your accomplished navigator of theunknown seas there is no ocean bird, no floating weed, that has not alanguage and a significance. 

"You can have your notes, if you want them, " answered Mr. Sheldon; "theyare at my office. I'll hunt them up and send them to you; or you hadbetter look in upon me in the City early next week, and I can give you acheque at the same time. "

"Thanks. I will be sure and do so. "

"You say the orthography of the original letters was queer. I supposeyour copies were faithful in all matters except the orthography. And inthe names, you of course adhered to the original spelling?"

"Most decidedly, " replied Captain Paget, opening the door to depart, and with a somewhat cynical smile upon his face, which was hidden fromMr. Sheldon. 

"I suppose there is no doubt of your accuracy with regard to the name ofMeynell, now?"

"Not the least. Good afternoon. Ah, there's our young friend Hawkehurst!"exclaimed the Captain, in his "society" voice, as he looked out into thehall, where Valentine was parting with Diana. 

He came and greeted his young friend, and they left the house together. 

This was the occasion upon which Valentine was startled by hearing thename "Meynell" pronounced by the lips of Philip Sheldon. 

CHAPTER IV. 

CAPTAIN PAGET IS PATERNAL. 

Horatio Paget left the Lawn after the foregoing interview, fullyconvinced that Mr. Sheldon was only desirous to throw him off the scent, in order to follow up the chase alone, for his sole profit and advantage. 

"My last letter conveyed some intelligence that altered his whole plan ofaction, " thought the Captain; "that is perfectly clear. He was somewhatwanting in tact when he recalled me so suddenly. But I suppose he thoughtit would be easy to throw dust in my poor old eyes. What was theintelligence that made him change his mind? That is the grand question. "Captain Paget dined alone at a West-End restaurant that evening. He dinedwell, for he had in hand certain moneys advanced by his patron, and hewas not disposed to be parsimonious. He sat for some time in meditativemood over his pint bottle of Chambertin, and the subject of hismeditation was Philip Sheldon. 

"Yes, " he murmured at last, "that is it. The charm is in the name ofMeynell. Why else should he question me about the orthography of thatname? I sent him information about Matthew Haygarth in the wife'sletters, and he took no special notice of that information. It was onlywhen the name of Meynell cropped up that he changed his tactics and triedto throw me over. It seems to me that he must have some knowledge of thisMeynell branch, and therefore thinks himself strong enough to act alone, and to throw me over the bridge. To throw me over, " the Captain repeatedto himself slowly. "Well, we'll see about that. We'll see; yes, we'llsee. "

At noon on the following day Captain Paget presented himself again at theBayswater villa, where his daughter ate the bread of dependence. Heappeared this time in a purely paternal character. He came to call uponhis only child. Before paying this visit the Captain had improved theshining hour by a careful study of the current and two or three backvolumes of the Post-Office and Trade Directories; but all his researchesin those interesting volumes had failed to reveal to him the existence ofany metropolitan Meynells. 

"The Meynells whom Sheldon knows may be in the heart of the country, " hesaid to himself, after these futile labours. 

It was a fine autumnal morning, and as Miss Paget was at home anddisengaged, her affectionate father suggested that she should take a walkwith him in Kensington Gardens. Such a promenade had very littleattraction for the young lady; but she had a vague idea that she owed akind of duty to her father not remitted by his neglect of all duties toher; so she assented with a smile, and went out with him, looking veryhandsome and stylish in her simple but fashionable attire, no part ofwhich had been provided by the parent she accompanied. 

The Captain surveyed her with some sense of family pride. "Upon my word, my dear, you do me credit!" he exclaimed, with a somewhat patronisingkindness of tone and manner; "indeed any man might be proud of such adaughter. You are every inch a Paget. "

"I hope not, papa, " said the girl involuntarily; but the Captain's moredelicate instincts had been considerably blunted in the press and jostleof life, and he did not feel the sting of this remark. 

"Well, perhaps you are right, my love, " he replied blandly; "the Pagets_are_ an unlucky family. Like those Grecian people, the Atri--, what's-his-name--the man who was killed in his bath, you know. His wife, or the other young person who had come to visit his daughters, made thewater too hot, you know--and that kind of thing. I am not quite clearabout the story, but it's one of those farragos of rubbish they makeyoung men learn at public schools. Yes, my dear, I really am amazinglypleased by your improved appearance. Those Sheldon people dress you verynicely; and I consider your residence in that family a very agreeablearrangement for all parties. You confer a favour on the girl by yoursociety, and so on, and the mother provides you with a comfortable home;All I wonder is that your good looks haven't made their mark before thiswith some of Sheldon's rich stockbroking fellows. "

"We see very little of the stockbroking fellows, as you call them, at theLawn, papa. "

"Indeed! I thought Sheldon kept a great deal of company. "

"O no. He gives a dinner now and then, a gentleman's dinner usually; andpoor Mrs. Sheldon is very anxious that it should all go off well, as shesays; but I don't think he is a person who cares much for society. "

"Really, now?"

"His mind seems completely occupied by his business, you see, papa. Thathorrible pursuit of gain seems to require all his thoughts, and all histime. He is always reading commercial papers, the _Money Market_ and _OnChange_, and the _Stockbrokers' Vade Mecum_, and publications of thatkind. When he is not reading he is thinking; and by his manner one wouldfancy his thoughts were always gloomy and unpleasant. What a miserable, hateful, unholy life to lead! I would not be that man for all the moneyin the Bank of England. But it is a kind of treachery to tell thesethings. Mr. Sheldon is very good to me. He lets me sit at his table andshare the comforts of his home, and I must be very ungrateful to speakagainst him. I do _not_ mean to speak against him, you see, papa--I onlymean that a life devoted to money-making is in itself hateful. "

"My dear child, you may be assured that anything you say to _me_ will gono further, " said the Captain, with dignity; "and in whom should youconfide, if not in your father? I have a profound respect for Sheldon andhis family--yes, my love, a profound respect; and I think that girlSarah--no, I mean Charlotte--a very charming young person. I needscarcely tell you that the smallest details of your life in that familypossess a keen interest for me. I am not without a father's feelings, Diana, though circumstances have never permitted me to perform a father'sduties. "

And here the solitary tear which the accomplished Horatio could produceat will trembled in his eye. This one tear was always at his command. Forthe life of him he could not have produced a second; but the single dropnever failed him, and he found one tear as effective as a dozen, ingiving point and finish to a pathetic speech. 

Diana looked at him, and wondered, and doubted. Alas, she knew him onlytoo well! Any other creature in this wide world he might deceive, but nother. She had lived with him; she had tasted the bitterness of dependenceupon him--ten times more bitter than dependence on strangers. She hadshown him her threadbare garments day after day, and had pleaded for alittle money, to be put off with a lying excuse. She could not forgetthis. She had forgiven him long ago, being of too generous a nature tobrood upon past injuries. But she could not forget what manner of man hewas, and thank him for pretty speeches which she knew to be meaningless. 

They talked a little more of Mr. Sheldon and his family, but Diana didnot again permit herself to be betrayed into any vehement expressions ofher opinions. She answered all her father's questions without restraint, for they were very commonplace questions, of a kind that might beanswered without any breach of faith. 

"Amongst the Sheldons' acquaintances did you ever hear of any peoplecalled Meynell?" Captain Paget asked at length. 

"Yes, " Diana replied, after a moment's thought; "the name is certainlyvery familiar to me;" and then, after a pause, she exclaimed, "Why, theMeynells were relations of Charlotte's! Yes, her grandmother was a MissMeynell; I perfectly remember hearing Mrs. Sheldon talk about theMeynells. But I do not think there are any descendants of that family nowliving. Why do you ask the question, papa? What interest have you in theMeynells?"

"Well, my dear, I have my reasons, but they in no manner concern Mr. Sheldon or his family; and I must beg you to be careful not to mentionthe subject in your conversation with those worthy people. I want to knowall about this Meynell family. I have come across some people of thatname, and I want to ascertain the precise relationship existing betweenthese people and the Sheldons. But the Sheldons must know nothing of thisinquiry for the present. The people I speak of are poor and proud, andthey would perish rather than press a relationship upon a rich man, unless fully justified by the closeness of family ties. I am sure youunderstand all this, Diana?"

"Not very clearly, papa. "

"Well, my dear, it is a delicate position, and perhaps somewhat difficultfor the comprehension of a third party. All you need understand is theone fact, that any information respecting the Meynell family will bevitally interesting to my friends, and, through them, serviceable to me. There is, in fact, a legacy which these friends of mine could claim, under a certain will, if once assured as to the degree of theirrelationship to your friend Charlotte's kindred on the Meynell side ofthe house. To give them the means of securing this legacy would be tohelp the ends of justice; and I am sure, Diana, you would wish to dothat. "

"Of course, papa, if I can do so without any breach of faith with myemployers. Can you promise me that no harm will result to the Sheldons, above all to Charlotte Halliday, from any information I may procure foryou respecting the Meynell family?"

"Certainly, Diana, I can promise you that. I repeat most solemnly, that by obtaining such information for me you will be aiding the causeof justice. "

If Horatio Paget might ever be betrayed into the inconsistency of atruthful assertion, it seemed to his daughter that it was likely to be inthis moment. His words sounded like truth; and, on reflection, Dianafailed to perceive that she could by any possibility inflict wrong on herfriends by obliging her father in this small affair. 

"Let me think the matter over, papa, " she said. 

"Nonsense, Diana; what thinking over can be wanted about such a trifle? Inever before asked you a favour. Surely you cannot refuse to grant sosimple a request, after the trouble I have taken to explain my reasonsfor making it. "

There was some further discussion, which ended in Miss Paget consentingto oblige her father. 

"And you will manage matters with tact?" urged the Captain, at parting. 

"There is no especial tact required, papa, " replied Diana; "the matter iseasy enough. Mrs. Sheldon is very fond of talking about her own affairs. I have only to ask her some leading question about the Meynells, and shewill run on for an hour, telling me the minutest details of familyhistory connected with them. I dare say I have heard the whole storybefore, and have not heeded it: I often find my thoughts wandering whenMrs. Sheldon is talking. "

Three days after this Captain Paget called on Mr. Sheldon in the City, when he received a very handsome recompense for his labours at Ullerton, and became repossessed of the extracts he had made from MatthewHaygarth's letters, but not of the same Mr. Haygarth's autograph letter:that document Mr. Sheldon confessed to having mislaid. 

"He has mislaid the original letter, and he has had ample leisure forcopying my extracts; and he thinks I am such a consummate fool as not tosee all that, " thought Horatio, as he left the stockbroker's office, enriched but not satisfied. 

In the course of the same day he received a long letter from Dianacontaining the whole history of the Meynells, as known to Mrs. Sheldon. Once set talking, Georgy had told all she could tell, delighted to findherself listened to with obvious interest by her companion. 

"I trust that you have not deceived me, my dear father, " Diana concluded, after setting forth the Meynell history. "The dear good soul was socandid and confiding, and seemed so pleased by the interest I showed inher family affairs, that I should feel myself the vilest of wretches ifany harm could result to her, or those she loves, from the informationthus obtained. "

The information was very complete. Mrs. Sheldon had a kindly and amiablenature, but she was not one of those sensitive souls who instinctivelyshrink from a story of bitter shame or profound sorrow as from a curelesswound. She told Diana, with many lamentations, and much second-handmorality, the sad history of Susan Meynell's elopement, and of thereturn, fourteen years afterwards, of the weary wanderer. Even the poorlittle trunk, with the name of the Rouen trunk-maker, Mrs. Sheldon dweltupon with graphic insistence. A certain womanly delicacy had preventedher ever telling this story in the presence of her brother-in-law, GeorgeSheldon, whose hard worldly manner in no way invited any sentimentalrevelation. Thus it happened that George had never heard the name ofMeynell in connection with his friend Tom Halliday's family, or had heardit so seldom as to have entirely forgotten it. To Horatio his daughter'sletter was priceless. It placed him at once in as good a position asPhilip Sheldon, or as George Sheldon and his coadjutor, ValentineHawkehurst. There were thus three different interests involved in theinheritance of the Reverend John Haygarth. 

Captain Paget sat late by a comfortable fire, in his own bedchamber, thatnight, enjoying an excellent cigar, and meditating the following jottingsfrom a pedigree:--

CHARLOTTE MEYNELL, married JAMES HALLIDAY. |THOMAS HALLIDAY, only son of above, married GEORGINA, now Mrs. SHELDON; | had issue, CHARLOTTE HALLIDAY. 

SUSAN MEYNELL, only and elder sister of the above-named Charlotte, ranaway from her home, in Yorkshire, with a Mr. Kingdon, brother to LordDarnsville. Fate unknown during fourteen years of her life. Died inLondon, 1835. Buried under her maiden name; but no positive evidence toshow that she was unmarried. 

CHAPTER V. 

THE CAPTAIN'S COADJUTOR. 

Once in possession of the connection between the intestate John Haygarthand the Halliday family, Captain Paget's course was an easy one. Heunderstood now why his investigations had been so suddenly brought to astandstill. Philip Sheldon had discovered the unexpected connection, andwas eager to put a stop to researches that might lead to a like discoveryon the part of his coadjutor. 

"And Sheldon expects to prove his stepdaughter's claim to this fortune?"thought the Captain. "He will affect ignorance of the whole transactionuntil his plans are ripe, and then spring them suddenly upon his brotherGeorge. I wonder if there is anything to be made out of George by lettinghim into the secret of his brother's interference? No; I think not. George is as poor as a church mouse, and Philip must always be the moreprofitable acquaintance. "

On the broad basis afforded by Diana's letter Captain Paget was able tobuild up the whole scheme of the Haygarthian succession. The pedigree ofthe Meynells was sufficiently simple, if their legitimate descent fromMatthew Haygarth could be fairly proved. Charlotte Halliday washeiress-at-law to the fortune of John Haygarth, always provided that hergreat-aunt Susan died without legitimate issue. 

Here was the one chance which appeared to the adventurous mind of HoratioPaget worth some trouble in the way of research. Fourteen years of SusanMeynell's life had been spent away from all who knew her. It wascertainly possible that in that time she might have formed somelegitimate alliance. 

This was the problem which Horatio set himself to solve. Your adventureris, of all manner of men, the most sanguine. Sir Walter Raleigh seesvisions of gold and glory where grave statesman see only a fool'sparadise of dreams and fancies. To the hopeful mind of the Captain thesefourteen unrecorded years of Susan Meynell's life seemed a very Golconda. 

He did not, however, rest satisfied with the information afforded byDiana's letter. 

"I will have the story of these Meynells at first-hand as well as atsecond-hand, " he said to himself; and he lost no time in presentinghimself again at the Villa--this time as a visitor to Mrs. Sheldon. 

With Georgy he had been always a favourite. His little stories of thegreat world--the Prince and Perdita, Brummel and Sheridan--though by nomeans novel to those acquainted with that glorious period of Britishhistory, were very agreeable to Georgy. The Captain's florid flatteriespleased her; and she contrasted the ceremonious manners of that gentlemanwith the curt business-like style of her husband, very much to theCaptain's advantage. He came to thank her for her goodness to his child, and this occasion gave him ample opportunity for sentiment. He had askedto see Mrs. Sheldon alone, as his daughter's presence would have beensome hindrance to the carrying out of his design. 

"There are things I have to say which I should scarcely care to utterbefore my daughter, you see, my dear Mrs. Sheldon, " he said, withpathetic earnestness. "I should not wish to remind the dear child of herdesolate position; and I need scarcely tell you that position is _very_desolate. A father who, at his best, cannot provide a fitting home for adelicately nurtured girl, and who at any moment may be snatched away, isbut a poor protector. And were it not for your friendship, I know notwhat my child's fate might be. The dangers and temptations that beset ahandsome young woman are very terrible, my dear Mrs. Sheldon. "

This was intended to lead up to the subject of Susan Meynell, but Georgydid not rise to the bait. She only shook her head plaintively in assentto the Captain's proposition. 

"Yes, madam; beauty, unallied with strength of mind and high principles, is apt to be a fatal dower. In every family there are sad histories, "murmured the sentimental Horatio. 

Even this remark did not produce the required result; so the Captain drewupon his invention for a specimen history from the annals of his ownhouse, which was a colourable imitation of Susan Meynell's story. 

"And what was the end of this lovely Belinda Paget's career, my dear Mrs. Sheldon?" he concluded. "The gentleman was a man of high rank, but ascoundrel and a dastard. Sophia's brother, a cornet in the First LifeGuards, called him out, and there was a meeting on Wimbledon Common, inwhich Lavinia's seducer was mortally wounded. There was a trial, and theyoung captain of Hussars, Amelia's brother, was sentenced totransportation for life. I need scarcely tell you that the sentence wasnever carried out. The young man fell gloriously at Waterloo, at the headof his own regiment, the Scotch Fusiliers, and Lavinia--I beg pardon, Amelia; nay, what am I saying? the girl's name was Belinda--embraced theRoman Catholic faith, and expired from the effects of stigmata inflictedby her own hands in a paroxysm of remorse for her brother's untimelydeath at the hands of her seducer. "

This lively little impromptu sketch had the desired effect. Melted by thewoes of Belinda, or Sophia, or Amelia, or Lavinia Paget, Mrs. Sheldon wasmoved to relate a sad event in her husband's family; and encouraged bythe almost tearful sympathy of the Captain, she again repeated everydetail of Susan Meynell's life, as known to her kindred. And as thisrecital had flowed spontaneously from the good soul's lips, she would hescarcely likely to allude to it afterwards in conversation with Mr. Sheldon; more especially as that gentleman was not in the habit ofwasting much of his valuable time in small-talk with the members of hisown household. 

Captain Paget had duly calculated this, and every other hazard thatmenaced the intricate path he had mapped out for himself. 

Satisfied by Mrs. Sheldon's repetition of Susan Meynell's story, andpossessed of all the information he could hope to obtain from thatquarter, Horatio set himself to consider what steps must next be taken. Much serious reflection convinced even his sanguine mind that theenterprise was a difficult one, and could scarcely be carried throughsuccessfully without help from some skilled genealogist. 

"George Sheldon has given his lifetime to this sort of thing, and is askilled lawyer to boot, " Captain Paget said to himself. "If I hope to goin against him, I must have someone at my elbow as well versed in thissort of business as he is. "

Having once admitted this necessity, the Captain set himself to considerwhere he was to find the right person. A very brief meditation settledthis question. One among the numerous business transactions of CaptainPaget's life had brought him in contact with a very respectable littleFrench gentleman called Fleurus, who had begun his career as a notary, but, finding that profession unprofitable, had become a hunter ofpedigrees and heirs-at-law--for the most part to insignificant legacies, unclaimed stock, and all other jetsam and flotsam thrown up on theshadowy shores of the Court of Chancery. M. Fleurus had not often been sofortunate as to put his industrious fingers into any large pie, but hehad contrived to make a good deal of money out of small affairs, and hadfound his clients grateful. 

"The man of men, " thought Horatio Paget; and he betook himself to theoffice of M. Fleurus early next day, provided with all documents relatingto the Haygarthian succession. 

His interview with the little Frenchman was long and satisfactory. Oncertain conditions as to future reward, said reward to be contingent onsuccess, M. Fleurus was ready to devote himself heart and soul to theinterests of Captain Paget. 

"To begin: we must find legal evidence of this Matthew Haygarth'smarriage to the mother of this child C. , who came afterwards to marry theman Meynell; and after we will go to Susan Meynell. Her box came fromRouen--that we know. Where her box came from she is likely to have comefrom. So it is at Rouen, or near Rouen, we must look for her. Let me see:she die in 1835! that is long time. To look for the particulars of herlife is like to dive into the ocean for to find the lost cargo of a shipthat is gone down to the bottom, no one knows where. But to a man reallyexpert in these things there is nothing of impossible. I will find youyour Susan Meynell in less than six months; the evidence of her marriage;if she was married; her children, if she had children. "

In less than six months--the margin seemed a wide one to the impatientHoratio. But he knew that such an investigation must needs be slow, andhe left the matters in the hands of his new ally with a sense that he haddone the best thing that could be done. Then followed for Horatio Pagettwo months of patient attendance upon fortune. He was not idle duringthis time; for Mr. Sheldon, who seemed particularly anxious to conciliatehim, threw waifs and strays of business into his way. Before the middleof November M. Fleurus had found the register of Matthew Haygarth'smarriage, as George Sheldon had found it before him, working in the samegroove, and with the same order of intelligence. After this importantstep M. Fleurus departed for his native shores, where he had otherbusiness besides the Meynell affair to claim his attention. Meanwhile theastute Horatio kept a close eye upon his young friend Valentine. He knewfrom Diana that the young man had been in Yorkshire; and he guessed themotive of his visit to Newhall, not for a moment supposing that hispresence in that farmhouse could have been accidental. The one turn ofaffairs that utterly and completely mystified him was Mr. Sheldon'ssanction of the engagement between Valentine and Charlotte. This was amystery for which he could for some time find no solution. 

"Sheldon will try to establish his stepdaughter's claim to the fortune;that is clear. But why does he allow her to throw herself away on apenniless adventurer like Hawkehurst? If she were to marry him beforerecovering the Haygarth estate, she would recover it as his wife, and thefortune would be thrown unprotected into his hands. "

More deliberate reflection cast a faint light upon Philip Sheldon'smotives for so quixotic a course. 

"The girl had fallen in love with Val. It was too late to prevent that. She is of age, and can marry whom she pleases. By showing himself opposedto her engagement with Val, he might have hurried her into rebellion, andan immediate marriage. By affecting to consent to the engagement, hewould, on the contrary, gain time, and the advantage of all those chancesthat are involved in the lapse of time. "

Within a few days of Christmas came the following letter from M. Fleurus:--

_From Jacques Rousseau Fleurus to Horatio Paget_. 

Hotel de la Pucelle, place Jeanne d'Arc, Rouen, 21st December, 186--. 

MONSIEUR, --After exertions incalculable, after labours herculean, I cometo learn something of your Susan Meynell, --more, I come to learn of hermarriage. But I will begin at the beginning of things. The labours, thetime, the efforts, the courage, the patience, the--I will say it withoutto blush--the genius which this enterprise has cost me, I will notenlarge upon. There are things which cannot tell themselves. To commence, I will tell you how I went to Rouen, how I advertised in the journals ofRouen, and asked among the people of Rouen--at shops, at hotels, by thehelp of my allies, the police, by means which you, in your inexperienceof this science of research, could not even figure to yourself--alwaysseeking the trace of this woman Meynell. It was all pain lost. Of thiswoman Meynell in Rouen there was no trace. 

In the end I enraged myself. "Imbecile!" I said to myself, "why seek inthis dull commercial city, among this heavy people, for that which thoushouldst seek only in the centre of all things? As the rivers go to theocean, so flow all the streams of human life to the one great centralocean of humanity--PARIS! It is there the Alpha and the Omega--there themighty heart through which the blood of all the body must be pumped, andis pumping always, " I say to myself, unconsciously rising to thesublimity of my great countryman, Hugo, in whose verse I find an echo ofmy own soul, and whose compositions I flatter myself I could havesurpassed, if I had devoted to the Muses the time and the powers which Ihave squandered on a _vilain_ metier, that demands the genius of aTalleyrand, and rewards with the crust of an artisan. 

In Paris, then, I will seek the woman Meynell, and to Paris I go. In myplace an inexperienced person would advertise in the most considerablepapers; would invite Susan Meynell to hear of something to heradvantage; and would bring together a crowd of false Susan Meynells, greedy to obtain the benefice. Me, I do nothing in this style there. Onthe contrary, in the most obscure little journals of Paris I publish amodest little advertisement as from the brother of Susan Meynell, whoimplores his sister to visit him on his deathbed. 

Here are follies, you will say. Since Susan Meynell is dead it is thirtyyears, and her brother is dead also. Ah, how you are dull, you insulars, and how impossible for your foggy island to produce a Fouché, a Canler, agenius of police, a Columbus of the subterranean darknesses of your city. 

The brother, dying, advertises for the sister, dead; and who will answerthat letter, think you? Some good Christian soul who has pity for thesick man, and who will not permit him to languish in waiting the sisterwho will come to him never. For us of the Roman Catholic religion theduty of charity is paramount. You of the Anglican faith--bah, how you arecold, how you are hard, how you are unpitiable!

My notice appears once, my notice appears twice, three times, four times, many times. I occupy myself about my other business, and I wait. I do notwait unusefully. In effect, a letter arrives at last at the address ofthe dying, from a lady who knew Susan Meynell _before her marriage withM. Lenoble. _

Think you not that to me this was a moment of triumph? _Before hermarriage with M. Lenoble!_ Those words appear under my eyes in thewriting of the unknown lady. "It is found!" I cry to myself; and then Ihasten myself to reply to the unknown lady. Will she permit me to seeher?

With all politeness I make the request; with all politeness it isanswered. The lady calls herself Mademoiselle Servin. She resides in thestreet Grande-Mademoiselle, at the corner of the Place Lauzun. It is ofall the streets of Paris the most miserable. One side is already removed. In face of the windows of those houses that still stand they are making anew Boulevard. Behind they are pulling down edifices of all kinds in theformation of a new square. At the side there is a yawning chasm betweentwo tall houses, through which they pierce a new street. One sees theinterior of many rooms rising one above another for seven stories. Herethe gay hangings of an apartment of little master; there the stillgaudier decoration of a boudoir of these ladies. High above theseluxurious salons--ah, but how much more near to the skies!--one sees thepoor grey paper, blackened and smoky, of a garret of sempstress, orworkman, and the hearths black, deserted. These interiors thus exposedtighten me the heart. It is the autopsy of the domestic hearth. 

I find the Mademoiselle Servin an old lady, grey and wan. The house whereshe now resides is the house which she has inhabited five-and-thirtyyears. They talk of pulling it down, and to her the idea of leaving it isexquisite pain. She is alone, a teacher of music. She has seenproprietors come and go. The _pension_ has changed mistresses many times. Students of law and of medicine have come and passed like the shadows ofa magic lantern; but this poor soul has remained still in her little roomon the fourth, and has kept always her little old piano. 

It was here she knew Susan Meynell, and a young Frenchman who became inlove with her, for she was beautiful like the angels, this lady said tome. 

Until we meet for all details. Enough that I come to discover where themarriage took place, that I come to obtain a copy of the register, andthat I do all things in rule. Enough that the marriage is a goodmarriage--a regular marriage, and that I have placed myself already incommunication with the heir of that marriage, who resides within some fewleagues of this city. 

My labours, my successes I will not describe. It must that they will berecompensed in the future. I have dispensed much money during thesetransactions. 

Agree, monsieur, that I am your devoted servitor, JACQUES ROUSSEAU FLEURUS. 

 * * * * *

It was in consequence of the receipt of this missive that the Captaintrusted himself to the winds and waves in the cheerless December weather. He was well pleased to find that M. Fleurus had made discoveries soimportant; but he had no idea of letting that astute practitioner absorball the power into his own hands. 

"I must see Susan Meynell's heir, " he said to himself; "I must give himclearly to understand that to me he owes the discovery of his claims, andthat in this affair the Frenchman Fleurus is no more than a paid agent. "

Book the Fourth. 

GUSTAVE IN ENGLAND. 

CHAPTER I. 

HALCYON DAYS. 

Once having offered up the fondest desires of her own heart on theshrine of duty, Diana Paget was not a person to repent herself of thepious sacrifice. After that Christmas night on which she had knelt atCharlotte's feet to confess her sad secret, and to resign all claim tothe man she had loved so foolishly, so tenderly, with such a romanticand unselfish devotion, Miss Paget put away all thought of the past fromher heart and mind. Heart and mind seemed empty and joyless withoutthose loved tenants, though the tenants had been only fair wraiths ofdreams that were dead. There was a sense of something missing in herlife--a blank, dull calm, which was at first very painful. But forCharlotte's sake she was careful to hide all outward token ofdespondency, and the foolish grief, put down by so strong a hand, wasere long well-nigh stifled. 

Those dark days which succeeded Christmas were a period of halcyon peacefor Valentine and Charlotte. The accepted lover came to the villa when hepleased, but was still careful not to encroach on the license allowedhim. Once a week he permitted himself the delight of five-o'clock tea inMrs. Sheldon's drawing-room, on which occasions he brought Charlotte allthe news of his small literary world, and a good deal of usefulinformation out of the books he had been reading. When Mr. Sheldonpleased to invite him to dinner on Sunday he gladly accepted theinvitation, and this Sunday dinner became in due course an establishedinstitution. 

"You may as well make this your home on a Sunday, " said Mr. Sheldon oneday, with careless cordiality; "I dare say you find Sunday dull in yourlodgings. "

"Yes, papa, " cried Charlotte, "he does find it very dull--dreadfullydull--don't you, Valentine?"

And she regarded him with that pretty, tender, almost motherly look, which young ladies who are engaged are apt to bestow on their affiancedlovers. 

Miss Halliday was very grateful to her stepfather for his kindness to herlandless adorer, and showed her appreciation of his conduct in manypretty little caressing ways, which would have been infinitely bewitchingto a person of sentiment. 

Unfortunately Mr. Sheldon was not sentimental, and any exhibition offeeling appeared to have an irritating effect upon his nerves. There weretimes when he shrank from some little sudden caress of Charlotte's asfrom the sting of an adder. Aversion, surprise, fear--what was it thatshowed in the expression of his face at these moments? Whatever thatstrange look was, it departed too quickly for analysis; and thestockbroker thanked his stepdaughter for her little affectionatedemonstration with his wonted smile--the smile he smiled on Change, thesmile which was sometimes on his lips when his mind was a nest ofscorpions. 

To Valentine, in these rosy hours, life seemed full of hope andbrightness. He transferred his goods and chattels from Omega Street, Chelsea, to the pleasant lodging in the Edgware Road, where he was nearerCharlotte, and out of the way of his late patron Captain Paget, in theevent of that gentleman's return from the Continent. 

Fortune favoured him. The gaiety of heart which came with his happinesslent a grace to his pen. Pleasant thoughts and fancies bedecked hispages. He saw everything in the rosy light of love and beauty, and therewas a buoyant freshness in all he wrote. The Pegasus might be but acommon hackney, but the hack was young and fresh, and galloped gaily ashe scented the dewy morning air. It is not every poet whose Pegasusclears at a bound a space as wide as all that waste of land and sea thewatchman views from his tall tower on the rock. 

Mr. Hawkehurst's papers on Lauzun, Brummel, Sardanapalus, Rabelais, LordChesterfield, Erasmus, Beau Nash, Apelles, Galileo, and Philip ofOrleans, were in demand, and the reading public wondered at this prodigyof book-making. He had begun to save money, and had opened a depositaccount at the Unitas Bank. How he gloated over the deposit receipts inthe stillness of the night, when he added a fresh one to his store! Whenhe had three, for sums amounting in all to forty pounds, he took them toCharlotte, and she looked at them, and he looked at them, as if the poorlittle bits of printed paper had been specimens of virgin ore from somegold mine newly discovered by Mr. Hawkehurst. And then these foolishlovers kissed each other, as William Lee and his wife may have embracedafter the penniless young student had perfected his invention of thestocking-frame. 

"Forty pounds!" exclaimed Miss Halliday, "all won by your pen, and yourpoor fingers, and your poor, poor head! How it must ache after a longday's work! How clever you must be, Valentine!"

"Yes, dear; amazingly clever. Clever enough to know that you are thedearest girl in Christendom. "

"Don't talk nonsense, sir! You are not clever enough to have theprivilege of doing that yet awhile. I mean, how learned you must be toknow such lots of things, all about Erasmus, and Galileo, and--"

"No, my darling, not Erasmus and Galileo. I knew all about Erasmus lastweek; but I am working at my paper on Galileo now, an exhaustive reviewof all the books that were ever written on the subject, in ten pages. Idon't ask other people to remember what I write, you know, my dear, and Idon't pledge myself to remember it. That sort of thing won't keep. Thereis a kind of sediment, no doubt, in one's note-book; but theeffervescence of that vintage goes off rather quickly. "

"I only know that you are a very clever person, and that one obtains animmensity of information from your writings, " said Charlotte. 

"Yes, dearest, there is a kind of wine that must be made into negus forsuch pretty little topers as you--the 'Wine of Cyprus, ' as Mrs. Browningcalled it. It is better for pretty girls to have the negus than to havenothing, or only weak home-brewed stuff that results in head-ache. Mydearest, Fate has been very good to me, and I love my profession ofletters. I am sure that of all educational processes there is none betterthan book-making; and the man who begins by making books must be a dolt, dunce, and dunderhead, if he do not end by writing them. So you may yethope to see the morning that shall make your Valentine famous--for afortnight. What man can hope to be famous for _more_ than a fortnight insuch a railroad age as this?"

During this halcyon period, in which Mr. Hawkehurst cultivatedalternately the society of the Muses and his mistress, he saw little ornothing of George Sheldon. He had washed his hands of all share in thework of establishing Charlotte Halliday's claim to the Reverend JohnHaygarth's thousands. Indeed, since that interview in which PhilipSheldon had made so light of his stepdaughter's chances, and ratified hisconsent to her marriage with so humble a literary adventurer as himself, Mr. Hawkehurst had come to consider the Haygarthian inheritance asaltogether a visionary business. If it were certain, or even probable, that Charlotte was to inherit a hundred thousand pounds, was it likelythat Mr. Sheldon would encourage such an alliance? This question Mr. Hawkehurst always answered in the negative; and as days and weeks wentby, and he heard no more of the Haygarth fortune, the idea of Charlotte'swealth became more and more shadowy. 

If there were anything doing in this matter, the two brothers were nowworking together, and George had no further need of Valentine's help. 

The two brothers were not working entirely together. Philip Sheldon hadtaken the matter into his own strong hand, and George found it verydifficult to hold an inch of ground against that formidable antagonist. The papers and information which George had boasted of to Valentine, andthe possession whereof was, as he asserted, the very keystone of thearch, proved to be of such small account that he ultimately consented tohand them over to his brother on the payment of expenses out of pocket, and a bonus of one hundred and fifty pounds, together with a writtenundertaking from Miss Halliday to pay him the fifth share of any fortunerecovered by means of those papers. 

This undertaking had been executed in the easiest manner. 

"My brother has taken it into his wise head that there is some unclaimedstock standing in your grandfather's name which you are entitled to, Lotta, " Mr. Sheldon said one morning; "and he wants to recover the amountfor you, on condition of receiving a clear fifth when the sum isrecovered. Have you any objection to sign such an undertaking?"

"Dear papa, how can I object?" cried Charlotte gaily. "Why, stocks aremoney, are they not? How fortunate we are, and how rich we are getting!"

"We!"

"Valentine and I, " murmured the girl, blushing. "I cannot help thinkingof him when any windfall of good fortune comes to me. What do you think, papa? He has saved forty pounds in little more than three months--allearned by his pen!

"BeholdThe arch-enchanter's wand! Itself a nothing;But taking sorcery from the master-handTo paralyze the Caesars, and to strikeThe loud earth breathless!"

And Miss Halliday spouted the glowing lines of the noble dramatist withcharming enthusiasm. She signed the required undertaking without lookingat it, and it was duly witnessed by her stepfather. 

"In your talk with your mother and Valentine, I should advise you to beas silent about this small business as about your own little fortune, "Mr. Sheldon remarked presently. 

"Mustn't I tell Valentine?" cried Charlotte, making a wry face; "I shouldso like to tell him--just about these stocks. I daresay _he_ knows whatstocks are; and it would be such cheering news for him, after he hasworked his poor brain so for that forty pounds. I don't so much careabout telling poor mamma; for she does exclaim and wonder so aboutthings, that it is quite fatiguing to hear her. But please let me tellValentine?"

Miss Halliday pursed-up her lips and offered her stepfather one of thosekisses which she had of late been prompted to bestow on him out of thegratitude of a heart overflowing with girlish joy. He took the kiss as hemight have taken a dose of medicine, but did not grant the requestpreferred by it. 

"If you want to be a fool, you can tell your lover of this windfall; butif you wish to prove yourself a sensible girl, you will hold your tongue. He has saved forty pounds by hard work in the last three months, you say:do you think he would have saved forty pence if he had known that you hadfive thousand pounds at his disposal? I know that class of men; look atGoldsmith, the man who wrote the "Vicar of Wakefield, " and "Rasselas, "and "Clarissa Harlowe, " and so on. I have read somewhere that he neverwrote except under coercion--that is to say, want of money. "

Charlotte acknowledged the wisdom of this argument, and submitted. Shewas not what was called a strong-minded woman; and, indeed, strength ofmind is not a plant indigenous to the female nature, but an exceptionalgrowth developed by exceptional circumstances. In Charlotte's life therehad been nothing exceptional, and she was in all things soft and womanly, ready to acknowledge, and to be guided by, the wisdom of her seniors. SoValentine heard nothing of the undertaking executed by his lady-love. 

After this, Mr. Sheldon took counsel's opinion, and set to work in realearnest to recover the estate of the deceased John Haygarth from theyawning jaws of that tame but all-devouring monster, the Crown. The workwas slow, and the dry as dust details thereof need not be recorded here. It had but just begun when Horatio Paget suddenly returned from hisContinental expedition, and established himself once more in the OmegaStreet lodgings. 

CHAPTER II. 

CAPTAIN PAGET AWAKENS TO A SENSE OF HIS DUTY. 

Captain Paget's return was made known to the Sheldon circle by a letterfrom the returning wanderer to his daughter. The Captain was laid up withrheumatic gout, and wrote quite piteously to implore a visit from Diana. Miss Paget, always constant to the idea of a duty to be performed on herside, even to this _père prodigue_, obeyed the summons promptly, with thefull approval of Georgy, always good-natured after her own fussy manner. 

"And if you'd like to take your papa a bottle of Mr. Sheldon's old port, Diana, remember it's at your disposal. I'm sure I've heard people saythat old port is good for the gout--or perhaps, by the bye, what I heardwas that it _wasn't_ good. I know old port and gout seem to run togetherin my head somehow. But if there's anything in the house your papa wouldlike, Diana--wine, or gunpowder tea, or the eider-down coverlet off thespare bed, or the parlour croquet, to amuse him of an evening, or a newnovel--surely one couldn't forfeit one's subscription by lending a bookto a non-subscribing invalid?"

While Georgy was suggesting the loan of almost every portable object inthe house as a specific for Captain Paget's gout, Charlotte sent for acab and made things smooth for her friend's departure. She wrapped herwarmly against the February blast, and insisted upon going out to see herseated in the cab, whereby she offered to the pedestrians of thatneighbourhood a seraphic vision of loveliness with tumbled hair. Charlotte had been always delightful, but Charlotte engaged to ValentineHawkehurst was a creature of supernal sweetness and brightness--a radiantministering angel, hovering lightly above a world too common for her footto rest upon. 

Miss Paget found her father suffering from a by no means severe attack ofa respectable family gout, a little peevish from the effects of thisaffliction, but not at all depressed in mind. He had, indeed, the mannerof a man with whom things are going pleasantly. There was a satisfactionin his tone, a placidity in his face, except when distorted for themoment by a twinge of pain, that were new to Diana, who had not beenaccustomed to behold the brighter side of her father's disposition. Heseemed grateful for his daughter's visit, and received her with unwontedkindness of manner. 

"You have come very promptly, my dear, and I am gratified by your earlycompliance with my request, " he said with dignified affection, after hehad given his daughter the kiss of greeting. "I was a great sufferer lastnight, Diana, a great sufferer, a prisoner to this chair, and the womanbelow attempted to send me up a dinner--_such_ a dinner! One would thinka very small degree of education necessary for the stewing of a kidney, but the things that woman gave me last night were like morsels of stewedleather. I am not an epicure, Diana; but with such a constitution asmine, good cooking is a vital necessity. Life in lodgings for a man of myage is a sore trial, my dear. I wish you were well married, Diana, andcould give your father a humble corner at your fireside. "

Diana smiled. It was a somewhat bitter smile; and there was scorn ofherself, as well as scorn of her father in that bitterness. 

"I am not the sort of person to marry well, papa, " she said. 

"Who knows? You are handsomer than nine-tenths of the women who marrywell. "

"No, papa; that is your sanguine manner of looking at your own property. And even if I were married to some one to whom I might give obedience andduty, and all that kind of thing, in exchange for a comfortable home, asthey say in the advertisements, would you be content with a peacefulcorner by my fireside? Do you think you would never pine for clubs andgaming-tables--nay, even for creditors to--to diplomatize with, anddifficulties to surmount?"

"No, my dear. I am an old man; the clubs and gaming-houses have done withme, and I with them. I went to see a man at Arthur's a few months ago. Ihad written to him on a little matter of business--in fact, to be candidwith you, my love, for the loan of a five-pound note--and I called at theclub for his reply. I caught sight of my face in a distant glass as I waswaiting in the strangers' room, and I thought I was looking at a ghost. There comes a time towards the close of a long troublesome life in whicha man begins to feel like a ghost. His friends are gone, and his money isgone, his health is gone, his good looks are gone; and the only mistakeseems to be that the man himself should be left behind. I remember anobservation of Lord Chesterfield's: 'Lord ---- and I have been dead forthe last two years, but we don't tell anyone so, ' he said; and there arefew old men who couldn't say the same. But I am not down-hearted to-day, my dear. No, the habit of hoping has never quite deserted me; and it isonly now and then that I take a dismal view of life. Come, my love, layaside your bonnet and things. Dear me! what a handsome black silk dress, and how well you look in it!"

"It is a present from Charlotte, papa. She has a very liberal allowanceof pocket-money, and is generosity itself. I don't like to take so muchfrom her, but I only wound her by a refusal. "

"Of course, my dear. There is nothing so ungracious as a refusal, and nomark of high breeding so rare as the art of gracious acceptance. Anybooby can give a present; but to receive a gift without churlishreticence or florid rapture is no easy accomplishment. I am alwayspleased to see you well-dressed, my love"--Diana winced as she rememberedher shabby hat and threadbare gown at Fôretdechêne--"and I am especiallypleased to see you elegantly attired this evening, as I expect agentleman by-and-by. "

"A gentleman, papa!" exclaimed Miss Paget, with considerable surprise; "Ithought that you had sent for me because you were ill and depressed andlonely. "

"Well, yes, Diana, I certainly am ill; and I suppose it is scarcelyunnatural that a father should wish to see his only daughter. "

Diana was silent. A father's wish to see his daughter was indeed naturaland common; but that Captain Paget, who in no period of his daughter'slife had evinced for her the common affection of paternity, should beseized all of a sudden with a yearning for her society, was somewhatsingular. But Diana's nature had been ennobled and fortified by themental struggle and the impalpable sacrifice of the last few months, andshe was in nowise disposed to repel any affectionate feeling of herfather's even at this eleventh hour. 

"_He_ tells us the eleventh hour is not too late, " she thought. "If it isnot too late in the sight of that Divine Judge, shall it be thought toolate by an erring creature like me?"

After a few minutes of thoughtful silence, she knelt down by her father'schair and kissed him. 

"My dear father, " she murmured softly, "believe me, I am very pleased tothink you should wish to see me. I will come to you whenever you like tosend for me. I am glad not to be a burden to you; but I should wish to bea comfort when I can. "

The Captain shed his stock tear. It signified something nearer akin toreal emotion than usual. 

"My dear girl, " he said, "this is very pleasing, very pleasingindeed. The day may come--I cannot just now say when--and events mayarise--which--the nature of which I am not yet in a position to indicateto you--but the barren fig-tree may not be always fruitless. In its oldage the withered trunk may put forth fresh branches. We will say no moreof this, my love; and I will only remark that you may not go unrequitedfor any affection bestowed on your poor old father. "

Diana smiled, and this time it was a pensive rather than a bitter smile. She had often heard her father talk like this before. She had often heardthese oracular hints of some grand event looming mighty in the immediatefuture; but she had never seen the vague prophecy accomplished. Always aschemer, and always alternating between the boastful confidence of hopeand the peevish bewailings of despair, the Captain had built his castleto-day to sit among its ruins to-morrow, ever since she had known him. 

So she set little value on his hopeful talk of this evening, but wascontent to see him in good spirits. He contemplated her admiringly as sheknelt by his easy-chair, and smoothed the shining coils of her dark hairwith a gentle hand, as he looked downward at the thoughtful face--proudand grave, but not ungentle. 

"You are a very handsome girl, Diana, " he murmured, as much to himself asto his daughter; "yes, very handsome. Egad, I had no idea how handsome!"

"What has put such a fancy into your head to-night, papa?" asked Diana, laughing. "I do not believe in the good looks you are so kind as toattribute to me. When I see my face in the glass I perceive a pale gloomycountenance that is by no means pleasing. "

"You may be out of spirits when you look in the glass. I hope you are notunhappy at Bayswater. "

"Why should I be unhappy, papa? No sister was ever kinder or more lovingthan Charlotte Halliday is to me. I should he very ungrateful toProvidence as well as to her if I did not appreciate such affection. Howmany lonely girls, like me, go through life without picking up a sister?"

"Yes, you are right, my dear. Those Sheldon people have been very usefulto you. They are not the kind of people I should have wished a daughterof mine to be _live_ with, if I were in the position my birth entitles meto occupy; but as I am not in that position, I submit. That black silkbecomes you admirably. And now, my love, be so kind as to ring the bellfor lights and tea. "

They had been sitting in the firelight--the mystic magical capriciousfirelight--which made even that tawdry lodging-house parlour seem apleasant chamber. The tea-tray was brought, and candles. Diana seatedherself at the table, and made tea with the contents of a littlemahogany caddy. 

"Don't pour out the tea just yet, " said the Captain; "I expect agentleman. I don't suppose he'll take tea, but it will look more civil towait for him. "

"And who is this mysterious gentleman, papa?"

"A Frenchman; a man I met while I was abroad. "

"_Really_ a gentleman?"

"Certainly, Diana, " replied her father, with offended dignity. 

"Do you think I should admit any person to my friendship who is not agentleman? My business relations I am powerless to govern; but friendshipis a different matter. There is no man more exclusive than Horatio Paget. M. Lenoble is a gentleman of ancient lineage and amiable character. "

"And rich, I suppose, papa?" asked Diana. She thought that her fatherwould scarcely speak of the gentleman in a tone so profoundly respectfulif he were not rich. 

"Yes, Diana. M. Lenoble is master of a very fair estate, and is likely tobe much richer before he dies. "

"And he has been kind to you, papa?"

"Yes, he has shown me hospitality during my residence in Normandy. Youneed not speak of him to your friends the Sheldons. "

"Not even to Charlotte?"

"Not even to Charlotte. I do not care to have my affairs discussed bythat class of people. "

"But, dear papa, why make a mystery about so unimportant a matter. 

"I do not make a mystery; but I hate gossip. Mrs. Sheldon is anincorrigible gossip, and I daresay her daughter is no better. "

"Charlotte is an angel, papa. "

"That is very possible. But I beg that you will refrain from discussingmy friend M. Lenoble in her angelic presence. "

"As you please, papa, " said Diana gravely. She felt herself bound to obeyher father in this small matter; but the idea of this mystery and secrecywas very unwelcome to her. It implied that her father's acquaintance withthis Frenchman was only a part of some new scheme. It was no honestfriendship, which the Captain might be proud to own, glad to show theworld that in these days of decadence he could still point to a friend. It was only some business alliance, underhand and stealthy; a socialconspiracy, that must needs be conducted in darkness. 

"Why did papa summon me here if he wants his acquaintance with this mankept secret?" she asked herself; and the question seemed unanswerable. 

She pictured this M. Lenoble to herself--a wizened, sallow-facedMacchiavellian individual, whose business in England must needs beconnected with conspiracy, treason, commercial fraud, anything oreverything stealthy and criminal. 

"I wish you would let me go back to Bayswater before this gentlemancomes, papa, " she said presently. "I heard it strike seven just now, andI know I shall be expected early. I can come again whenever you like. "

"No, no, my love; you must stop to see my friend. And now tell me alittle about the Sheldons. Has anything been stirring since I saw themlast?"

"Nothing whatever, papa. Charlotte is very happy; she always had ahappy disposition, but she is gayer than ever since her engagementwith--Valentine. "

"What an absurd infatuation!" muttered the Captain. 

"And he--Valentine--is very good, and works very hard at his literaryprofession--and loves her very dearly. "

It cost her an effort to say this even now, even now when she fanciedherself cured of that folly which had once been so sweet to her. To speakof him like this--to put him away out of her own life, and contemplatehim as an element in the life of another--could not be done without sometouch of the old anguish. 

There was a loud double-knock at the street-door as she said this, and astep sounded presently in the passage; a quick, firm tread. There wasnothing stealthy about that, at any rate. 

"My friend Lenoble, " said the Captain; and in the next instant agentleman entered the room, a gentleman who was in every quality theopposite of the person whom Diana had expected to see. 

These speculative pictures are seldom good portraits. Miss Paget hadexpected to find her father's ally small and shrivelled, old and ugly, dried-up and withered in the fiery atmosphere of fraud and conspiracy; inoutward semblance a monkey, in soul a tiger. And instead of thisobnoxious creature there burst into the room a man of four-and-thirtyyears of age, tall, stalwart, with a fair frank face, somewhat browned bysummer suns; thick auburn hair and beard, close trimmed and cropped inthe approved Gallic fashion--clear earnest blue eyes, and a mouth whosecandour and sweetness a moustache could not hide. Henry of Navarre, before the white lilies of France had dazzled his eyes with their fatalsplendour, before the court of the Medici had taught the Bearnois todissemble, before the sometime Protestant champion had put on thatapparel of stainless white in which he went forth to stain his soul withthe sin of a diplomatic apostasy. 

Such a surprise as this makes a kind of crisis in the eventless record ofa woman's life. Diana found herself blushing as the stranger stood nearthe door awaiting her father's introduction. She was ashamed to think ofthe wrong her imagination had done him. 

"My daughter, Diana Paget--M. Lenoble. I have been telling Diana how muchI owed to your hospitality during my stay in Normandy, " continued theCaptain, with his grandest air, "I regret that I can only receive you inan apartment quite unworthy the seigneur of Côtenoir. --A charming place, my dear Diana, which I should much like you to see on some futureoccasion. --Will you take some tea, Lenoble?--Diana, a cup of tea. --ThePagets are a fallen race, you see, my dear sir, and a cup of tea in alodging-house parlour is the best entertainment I can give to a friend. The Cromie Pagets of Hertfordshire will give you dinner in gold plate, with a footman standing behind the chair of every guest; but our branchis a younger and a poorer one, and I, among others, am paying the priceof youthful follies. "

Gustave Lenoble looked sympathetic, but the glance of sympathy wasdirected to Diana, and not to the male representative of the youngerPagets. To pity the distressed damsel was an attribute of the Lenoblemind; and Gustave had already begun to pity Miss Paget, and to wonderwhat her fate in life would be, with no better protector than a fatherwho was confessedly a pauper. He saw that the young lady was veryhandsome, and he divined, from some indefinable expression of her face, that she was proud; and as he thought of his own daughters, and theireasy life and assured future, the contrast seemed to him very cruel. 

Chivalrous as the house of Lenoble might be by nature, he could scarcelyhave felt so keen an interest in Captain Paget's daughter at the firstglance, if his sympathies had not been already enlisted for her. Thenoble Horatio, though slow to act a father's part, had shown himselfquick to make capital out of his daughter's beauty and virtues when theoccasion offered. 

In his intercourse with the seigneur of Côtenoir, which had developedfrom a mere business acquaintance into friendship, Captain Paget haddiscoursed with much eloquence upon the subject of his motherlessdaughter; and M. Lenoble, having daughters of his own, also motherless, lent him the ear of sympathy. 

"I have heard much of you, Miss Paget, " said Gustave presently, "and ofyour devotion to your father. He has no more favourite theme than yourgoodness. "

Diana blushed, and Diana's father blushed also. That skilled diplomatistfelt the awkwardness of the situation, and was prompt to the rescue. 

"Yes, " he said, "my daughter has been a heroine. There are Antigones, sir, who show their heroic nature by other service than the leading toand fro of a blind father. From the earliest age my poor child hasstriven to stand alone; too proud, too noble to be a burden on a parentwhose love would have given all, but whose means could give but little. And now she comes to me from her home among strangers, to soothe my hourof pain and infirmity. I trust your daughters may prove as worthy of yourlove, M. Lenoble. "

"They are very dear girls, " answered the Frenchman; "but for them lifehas been all sunshine. They have never known a sorrow except the death oftheir mother. It is the storm that tests the temper of the tree. I wishthey might prove as noble in adversity as Miss Paget has shown herself. "

This was more than Diana could bear without some kind of protest. 

"You must not take papa's praises _au pied de la lettre_, M. Lenoble, "she said; "I have been by no means brave or patient under adversity. There are troubles which one must bear. I have borne mine somehow; but Iclaim no praise for having submitted to the inevitable. "

This was spoken with a certain noble pride which impressed Gustave morethan all the father's florid eloquence had done. After this theconversation became less personal. M. Lenoble talked of England. It wasnot his first visit; but he had only the excursionist's knowledge of theBritish Isles. 

"I have been to Scotland, " he said. "Your Scotland is grand, mountainous--all that there is of the most savage and poetic. It is aSwitzerland lined with Brittany. But that which most speaks to the heartof a stranger is the peaceful beauty of your English landscape. "

"You like England, M. Lenoble?" said Diana. 

"Have I not reason? My mother was English. I was only five years old whenI lost her. She went out of my life like a dream; but I can still recalla faint shadow of her face--an English face--a countenance of placidsadness, very sweet and tender. But why do I talk of these things?"

On this the Frenchman's talk took a gayer turn. This M. Lenoble showedhimself a lively and agreeable companion. He talked of Normandy, hisdaughters and their convent, his little son at Rouen, his aunt Cydalise, the quiet old lady at Beaubocage; his grandfather, his grandmother, theold servants, and everything familiar and dear to him. He told of hisfamily history with boyish candour, untainted by egotism, and seemed muchpleased by Diana's apparent interest in his unstudied talk. He was quiteunconscious that the diplomatic Horatio was leading him on to talk ofthese things, with a view to making the conversation supremelyinteresting to him. That arch diplomatist knew that there is nothing aman likes better than talking of his own affairs, if he can have a decentexcuse for such discourse. 

The clock struck nine while Diana was listening, really interested. Thisglimpse of a life so far apart from her own was a relief, after thebrooding introspective reveries which of late had constituted so large aportion of her existence. She started up at the sound of the clock. 

"What now, Cinderella?" cried her father. "Have you stopped beyond yourtime, and will your fairy godmother be angry?"

"No one will be angry, papa; but I did not mean to stay so late. I amsorry your description of Normandy has been so interesting, M. Lenoble. "

"Come and see Vevinord and Côtenoir, and you will judge for yourself. Thetown-hall of Vevinord is almost as fine as that of Louvain; and we have achurch that belongs to the time of Dagobert. "

"She shall see them before long, " said the Captain; "I shall havebusiness in Rouen again before the next month is out; and if my daughteris a good girl, I will take her over there with me. "

Diana stared at her father in utter bewilderment. What could be themeaning of this sudden display of affection?

"I should not be free to go with you, papa, even if you were able to takeme, " she replied, somewhat coldly; "I have other duties. "

She felt assured that there was some lurking motive, some diplomatic artat the bottom of the Captain's altered conduct, and she could notaltogether repress her scorn. The astute Horatio saw that he had gone alittle too far, and that his only child was not of the stuff to bemoulded at will by his dexterous hands. 

"You will come and see me again, Diana?" he said in a pleading tone: "Iam likely to be a prisoner in this room for a week or more. "

"Certainly, papa; I will come if you wish it. When shall I come?"

"Well, let me see--to-day is Thursday; can you come on Monday?"

"Yes, I will come on Monday. "

A cab was procured, and Miss Paget was conducted to that vehicle by hernew acquaintance, who showed a gallant anxiety for her comfort on thejourney, and was extremely careful about the closing of the windows. Shearrived at Bayswater before ten, but being forbidden to talk of M. Lenoble, could give but a scanty account of her evening. 

"And was your papa kind, dear?" asked Charlotte, "and did he seem pleasedto see you?"

"He was much kinder and more affectionate than usual, Lotta dear; so muchso, that he set me wondering. Now, if I were as confiding and eager tothink well of people as you are, I should be quite delighted by thischange. As it is, I am only mystified. I should be very glad if my fatherand I could be drawn closer together; very glad if my influence couldbring about an amendment in his life. "

While Miss Paget was discussing her father's affectionate and novelbehaviour, the noble Horatio was meditating, by his solitary hearth, uponthe events of the evening. 

"I'm half-inclined to think he's hit already, " mused the Captain. "I mustnot allow myself to be deluded by manner. A Frenchman's gallantry rarelymeans much; but Lenoble is one of those straightforward fellows whosethoughts may be read by a child. He certainly seemed pleased with her;interested and sympathetic, and all that kind of thing. And she is anuncommonly handsome girl, and might marry any one if she had theopportunity. I had no idea she was so handsome until to-night. I supposeI never noticed her by candlelight before. By Jove! I ought to have madeher an actress, or singer, or something of that kind. And so I might, ifI'd known her face would light up as it does. I wish she wasn't soimpracticable--always cutting in with some awkward speech, that makes melook like a fool, when, if she had an ounce of common sense, she mightsee that I'm trying to make her fortune. Yes, egad, and such a fortune asfew girls drop into now-a-days! Some of your straitlaced church-goingpeople would call me a neglectful father to that girl, I daresay; but Ithink if I succeed in making her the wife of Gustave Lenoble, I shallhave done my duty in a way that very few fathers can hope to surpass. Such a high-principled fellow as Lenoble is too!--and _that_ is aconsideration. "

CHAPTER III. 

"WHAT DO WE HERE, MY HEART AND I?"

After that first summons to Chelsea, Diana went many times--twice andthree times a week--to comfort and tend her invalid father. CaptainPaget's novel regard for his only child seemed to increase with thefamiliarity of frequent intercourse. "I have had very great pleasure inmaking your acquaintance, my dear Diana, " he said one day, in the courseof a _tête-à-tête_ with his daughter; "and I am charmed to find youeverything that a well-born and well-bred young woman ought to be. I amsure you have excellent reason to be grateful to your cousin, PriscillaPaget, for the excellent education you received in her abode; and youhave some cause to thank me for the dash and style imparted to yourcarriage and manner by our foreign wanderings. "

The Captain said this with the air of a man who had accompanied hisdaughter on the grand tour solely with a view to her intellectualimprovement. He really thought she had reason to be grateful to him forthose accidents of his nomadic life which had secured her a good accentfor French and German, and the art of putting on her shawl. 

"Yes, my dear child, " he continued with dignity, "it affords me realgratification to know you better. I need scarcely say that when you werethe associate of my pilgrimage, you were not of an age to be available asa companion. To a man of the world like myself, a young person who hasnot done growing must always savour somewhat of the schoolroom and thenursery. I am not going to repeat the Byronic impertinence aboutbread-and-butter; but the society of a girl of the hobbledehoy age is aptto be insipid. You are now a young woman, and a young woman of whom anyfather might with justice be proud. "

After a few such speeches as these, Diana began to think that it was justpossible her father might really experience some novel feeling of regardfor her. It might be true that his former coldness had been no more thana prejudice against the awkwardness of girlhood. 

"I was shabby and awkward, I daresay, in those days, " she thought; "andthen I was always asking papa for money to buy new clothes; and that mayhave set him against me. And now that I am no burden upon him, and cantalk to him and amuse him, he may feel more kindly disposed towards me. "

There was some foundation for this idea. Captain Paget had felt himselfmore kindly disposed towards his only child from the moment in which sheceased to be an encumbrance upon him. Her sudden departure fromForêtdechêne had been taken in very good part by him. 

"A very spirited thing for her to do, Val, " he had said, when informed ofthe fact by Mr. Hawkehurst; "and by far the best thing she could do, under the circumstances. "

From that time his daughter had never asked him for a sixpence, and fromthat time she had risen steadily in his estimation. But the feeling whichhe now exhibited was more than placid approval; it was an affection atonce warm and exacting. The fact was, that Horatio Paget saw in hisdaughter the high-road to the acquirement of a handsome competence forhis declining years. His affection was sincere so far as it went; asentiment inspired by feelings purely mercenary, but not a hypocriticalassumption. Diana was, therefore, so much the more likely to be softenedand touched by it. 

She was softened, deeply touched by this late awakening of feeling. Theengagement of Valentine and Charlotte had left her own life very blank, very desolate. It was not alone the man she loved who was lost to her;Charlotte, the friend, the sister, seemed also slipping away from her. Askind, as loving, as tender as of old, this dear friend and adopted sisterstill might be, but no longer wholly her own. Over the hearts of thepurest Eros reigns with a too despotic power, and mild affection is aptto sneak away into some corner of the temple on whose shrine Love hasdescended. This mild affection is but a little twinkling taper, that willburn steadily on, perhaps unseen amidst the dazzling glory of Love'ssupernal lamp, to be found shining benignantly when the lamp isshattered. 

For Charlotte, Valentine--and for Valentine, Charlotte--made thesum-total of the universe at this time; or, at best, there was but asmall balance which included all the other cares and duties, affectionsand pleasures, of life. Of this balance Diana had the lion's share; butshe felt that things had changed since those days of romantic school-girlfriendship in which Charlotte had talked of never marrying, andtravelling with her dearest friend Diana amongst all the beautiful scenesthey had read of, until they found the loveliest spot in the world, wherethey would establish themselves in an ideal cottage, and live togetherfor the rest of their lives, cultivating their minds and theirflower-garden, working berlin-wool chairs for their ideal drawing-room, and doing good to an ideal peasantry, who would be just poor enough to beinteresting, and sickly enough to require frequent gifts of calf's-footjelly and green tea. 

Those foolish dreams were done with now; and that other dream, of a lifeto be spent with the reckless companion of her girlhood, was lost toDiana Paget. There was no point to which she could look forward in thefuture, no star to lure her onward upon life's journey. Her presentposition was sufficiently comfortable; and she told herself that she mustneeds be weak and wicked if she were not content with her lot. But beyondthe present she dared not look, so blank was the prospect--a desert, without even the mirage; for her dreams and delusions were gone with herhope. 

Possessed by such a sense of loneliness, it is scarcely strange ifthere seemed to her a gleam of joy, a faint glimmer of hope, in thenewly awakened affection of her father. She began to believe him, andto take comfort from the thought that he was drifting to a haven wherehe might lie moored, with other battered old hulks of pirate andprivateer, inglorious and at rest. To work for him and succour him in hisdeclining years seemed a brighter prospect to this hopeless woman offour-and-twenty than a future of lonely independence. "It is the natureof woman to lean, " says the masculine philosopher; but is it not ratherher nature to support and sustain, or else why to her is entrusted thesublime responsibility of maternity? Diana was pleased to think that aremorseful reprobate might be dependent on her toil, and owe hisreformation to her influence. She was indeed a new Antigone, ready tolead him in his moral blindness to an altar of atonement more pure thanthe ensanguined shrine of the Athenian Eumenides. 

Her visits to Omega Street were not entirely devoted to _tête-a-têtes_with her father. By reason of those coincidences which are so common tothe lives of some people, it generally happened that M. Lenoble droppedin upon his invalid friend on the very day of Miss Paget's visit. M. Lenoble was in London on business, and this business apparentlynecessitated frequent interviews with Captain Paget. Of course suchinterviews could not take place in the presence of Diana. Gustave waswont, therefore, to wait with praiseworthy patience until the conclusionof the young lady's visit; and would even, with an inconsistentgallantry, urge her to prolong her stay to its utmost limit. 

"It will always be time for my affairs, Miss Paget, " he urged, "and Iknow how your father values your society; and he well may value it. Ionly hope my daughters will be as good to me, if I have the gout, by-and-by. "

Diana had spent nearly a dozen evenings in Omega Street, and on each ofthose evenings had happened to meet M. Lenoble. She liked him better onevery occasion of these accidental meetings. He was indeed a person whomit was difficult for any one to dislike, and in the thirty-four years ofhis life had never made an enemy. She had been pleased with him on thefirst evening; his bright handsome face, his courteous reverence for hersex--expressed in every word, every tone, every look--his sympathy withall good thoughts, his freshness and candour, were calculated to charmthe coldest and most difficult of judges. Diana liked, and even admiredhim, but it was from an abstract point of view. He seemed a creature asremote from her own life as a portrait of Henry of Navarre, seen andadmired in some royal picture-gallery to-day, to fade out of her memoryto-morrow. 

There was only one point in connection with Gustave Lenoble whichoccupied her serious thoughts; and this was the nature of his relationswith her father. 

This was a subject that sorely troubled her. Hope as she might for thefuture, she could not shut her eyes to the past. She knew that herfather had lived for years as a cheat and a trickster--now by onespecies of falsehood and trickery, now by another--rarely incautious, but always unscrupulous. How had this village seigneur of Normandyfallen into the Captain's toils; and what was the nature of the net thatwas spread for him?

The talk of business, the frequent interviews, the evident elation of herfather's spirits, combined to assure her that some great scheme was inprogress, some commercial enterprise, perhaps not entirely dishonest--nayeven honest, when regarded from the sanguine speculator's point of view, but involving the hazard of Gustave Lenoble's fortune. 

"It is quite as easy for my father to delude himself as it is for him todelude others. This M. Lenoble is ignorant of English commerce, no doubt, and will be ready to believe anything papa tells him. And he is socandid, so trusting, it would be very hard if he were to be a loserthrough his confidence in papa. His daughters, too; the hazard of hisfortune is peril to their future. " Such doubts and fears, graduallydeveloped by reflection took stronger hold on Miss Paget's mind afterevery fresh visit to Omega Street. She saw the Frenchman's light-heartedconfidence in all humanity, her father's specious manner and air ofquixotic honour. His sanguine tone, his excellent spirits, filled herwith intolerable alarm. Alas! when had she ever seen her father in goodspirits, except when some gentlemanly villany was in progress?

Miss Paget endured this uneasiness of mind as long as she could, and thendetermined to warn the supposed victim. She planned the mode of herwarning, and arranged for herself a diplomatic form which would reflectthe least possible discredit upon her father; and having once come tothis resolution, she was not slow to put it into effect. 

When her father was about to send for a cab to convey her back toBayswater, after her next visit to Omega Street, she surprised him byintercepting his order. 

"There is a cab-stand in Sloane Square, papa, " she said; "and if M. Lenoble will be so kind as to take me there, I--I would rather get thecab from the stand. The man charges more when he is fetched off the rank, I believe. "

She could think of no better excuse for seeing Gustave alone than thismost sordid pretence. She blushed as she thought how mean a sound it musthave in the ears of the man for whose advantage she was plotting. HappilyM. Lenoble was not among the people who see nothing but meanness in thedesire to save sixpence. His aunt Cydalise had shown him the lovelinessof poverty; for there are vows of holy poverty that need no spokenformula, and that are performed without the cloister. 

"Poor girl!" thought M. Lenoble; "I dare say even the cost of her coachis a consideration with her; and one dare not pay the coachman. "

This was how Gustave read that blush of shame which for a moment dyedDiana's cheek. Her father's was a very different reading. 

"The minx sees my game, and is playing into my hands, " thought he. "Sodemure as she is, too! I should never have supposed her capable of sucha clever manoeuvre to secure ten minutes' _tête-a-tête_ with aneligible admirer. "

He bade his daughter good night with more than usual effusion. He beganto think that she might prove herself worthy of him after all. 

The district between Omega Street and Sloane Square is after dusk of allplaces the most solitary. It is the border-land of Pimlico, or, to borrowfrom Sidney Smith, the knuckle end of Belgravia. In these regions ofdesolation and smoke-blackened stucco Diana and her companion were assecure from the interruption of the jostling crowd as they might havebeen in the primeval forests of Central America. 

Miss Paget's task was not a pleasant one. Shape her warning as she might, it must reflect some discredit upon her father. He had of late been kindto her; she felt this keenly to-night, and it seemed that the thing shewas about to do was a sort of parricide. Not against her father's lifewas her cruel hand to be lifted; but her still more cruel tongue was toslay her father's good name. 

"This M. Lenoble likes him and trusts him, " she thought to herself. "Whata happiness for that poor broken-down old man to have so kind a friend!And I am going to interfere in a manner that may put an end to thisfriendship?"

This is the shape which her thoughts assumed as she walked silently byGustave's side, with her hand lying lightly on his arm. He spoke to hertwo or three times about the dulness of the neighbourhood, the coldnessof the night, or some other equally thrilling subject; but, finding byher replies that she was thinking deeply, he made no further attempt atconversation. 

"Poor child! she has some trouble on her mind, perhaps, " he thought tohimself sadly, for his sympathy with this young lady was a very profoundfeeling. This was the first occasion on which he had ever been alonewith her, and he wondered to find what a strange emotion was developedby the novelty of the situation. He had married at twenty years of age, and had never known those brief fancies or foolish passions which wastethe freshness of mind and heart. He had married a wife whom he neverlearned to love; but his nature was so essentially a happy one, that hehad failed to discover the something wanting in his life. In allrelations--as grandson, husband, father, master--he had been "all simplyperfect, " as Mademoiselle Cydalise pronounced him; and in a mind occupiedby cares for the welfare and happiness of others, he had never found thatblank which needed to be filled in order to make his own life completelyhappy. Only of late, in his thirty-fourth year, had he come to theknowledge of a feeling deeper than dutiful regard for an invalid wife, oraffectionate solicitude for motherless children; only of late had he felthis heart stirred by a more thrilling emotion than that placidresignation to the will of Providence which had distinguished hiscourtship of Mademoiselle de Nérague. 

They had nearly reached Sloane Square before Diana took courage to broachthe subject so naturally repugnant to her. She had need to remember thatthe welfare of M. Lenoble and all belonging to him might be dependent onher fortitude. 

"M. Lenoble, " she began at last, "I am going to say something I shallfind it most painful to utter, but which I feel it my duty to say to you. I can only ask you to receive it in a generous spirit. "

"But, my dear Miss Paget, I pray you not to say anything that isdisagreeable to you. Why should you give yourself pain?--why--"

"Because it is my duty to warn you of a danger which I know only toowell, and of which you may be quite ignorant. You are my father's friend, M. Lenoble; and he has very few friends. I should be sorry if anything Iwere to say should rob him of your regard. "

"Nothing that you say shall rob him of my friendship. But why shouldyou persist thus to say anything that is painful? What can you tell methat I do not know, or that I cannot guess? Will you tell me that he ispoor? But I know it. That he is a broken-down gentleman? And that alsoI know. What, then, would you tell me? That he has a daughter who is tohim a treasure without price? Ah, mademoiselle, what must I be if I didnot know that also?--I, who have contemplated that daughter so manytimes--ah, so many!--when she could not know with what sympathy my eyeswatched her dutiful looks, with what profound emotion my heartinterpreted her life of affectionate sacrifice. "

There was a warmth, a tenderness in his tones which touched Diana's heartas it had not been touched of late. Suddenly, unexpectedly, the fullmeaning of those tender accents came home to her. The love that she hadonce dreamed of from the lips of another spoke to her to-night in thewords of this stranger. The sympathy for which she had yearned long ago, in the days of her wanderings with Valentine, was given to her to-nightwithout stint or measure. Unhappily it came too late; and it did not comefrom the only lips which, as it seemed to her to-night, could makesympathy precious or love divine. But to this lonely girl a good man'saffection seemed a treasure for which she must needs be deeply grateful. It was something to discover that she could be loved. 

"I too, " she said to herself, --"I, of whose presence Valentine isscarcely conscious when he enters a room where Charlotte and I aretogether; I, whom he greets day after day with the same careless words, the same indifferent look; I, who might fade and waste day by day withsome slow disease, until I sank into the grave, before he would beconscious of any change in my face, --is it possible that amongst the samerace of beings there can be any creature so widely different fromValentine Hawkehurst as to love _me_?"

This was the bitter complaint of her heart as she compared the tendernessof this stranger with the indifference of the man to whom, for three longyears of her girlhood, she had given every dream, every thought, everyhope of her existence. She could not put him away from her heart all atonce. The weak heart still fondly clung to the dear familiar image. Butthe more intensely she had felt the cold neglect of Valentine, the moregrateful to her seemed the unsought affection of Gustave Lenoble. 

"You know me as little as you know my father, M. Lenoble, " she said, after a long pause, during which they had walked to the end of the longdull street, and were close to the square. "Let us go back a little way, please; I have much more to say. I wish you to be my father's friendalways, but, if possible, without danger to yourself. My father is one ofthose sanguine people who are always ready to embark in some newenterprise, and who go on hoping and dreaming, after the failure of adozen schemes. He has no money, that I know of, to lose himself, and thatfact may make him, unconsciously, reckless of other people's money. Ihave heard him speak of business relations with you, M. Lenoble, and itis on that account I venture to speak so plainly. I do not want my poorfather to delude you, as he has often deluded himself. If you havealready permitted him to involve you in any speculation, I entreat youto try to withdraw from it--to lose a little money, if necessary, ratherthan to lose all. If you are not yet involved, let my warning save youfrom any hazard. "

"My dear Miss Paget, I thank you a thousand times for your advice, yournoble thoughtfulness for others. But no, there is no hazard. Thebusiness in which your father is occupied for me is not a speculation. Itinvolves no risk beyond the expenditure of a few thousand francs, which, happily, I can afford to lose. I am not at liberty to tell you the natureof the business in question, because I have promised your father to keepthat a secret. Dear young lady, you need have no fear for me. I am not arash speculator. The first years of my life were passed in extremepoverty--the poverty that is near neighbour to starvation. That is alesson one cannot forget. How shall I thank you for your concern forme?--so generous, so noble!"

"It was only my duty to warn you of my poor father's weakness, " repliedDiana. "If I needed thanks, your kindness to him is the only boon I couldask. He has bitter need of a friend. "

"And he shall never lack one while I live, if only for your sake. " Thelast half of the sentence was spoken in lower tones than the first. Dianawas conscious of the lurking tenderness of those few words, and theconsciousness embarrassed her. Happily they had reached the end of thequiet street by this time, and had emerged into the busier square. Nomore was said till they reached the cab-stand, when Diana wished hercompanion good night. 

"I am going back to Normandy in a week, Miss Paget; shall I see you againbefore I leave England?"

"I really don't know; our meetings are generally accidental, you see. "

"O yes, of course, always accidental, " replied Gustave, smiling. 

"I am sorry you are going to leave London--for papa's sake. "

"And I, too, am sorry--for my own sake. But, you see, when one hasdaughters, and a farm, and a chateau, one must be on the spot. I came toEngland for one week only, and I have stayed six. "

"You have found so much to amuse you in London?"

"Nay, mademoiselle, so much to interest me. "

"It is almost the same thing, is it not?"

"A thousand times no! To be amused and to be interested--ah, what can beso widely different as those two conditions of mind!"

"Indeed! Good night, Mr. Lenoble. Please ask the cabman to drive as fastas he can venture to do with consideration for his horse. I am afraid Ishall be late, and my friends will be anxious about me. "

"You will be late. You consider your friends at Bayswater, and youconsider even the cabman's horse. You are charity itself. Will you notconsider me a little also, Miss Paget?"

"But how?"

"Let me see you before I go back to Normandy. Your papa likes to see youtwice a week, I know. This is Monday night; will you come to see him onThursday?"

"If he wishes it. "

"He does wish it. Ah, how he wishes it! You will come?"

"If Mrs. Sheldon and Charlotte can spare me. "

"They cannot spare you. No one can spare you. That cannot be. Itis amongst the things that are impossible. But they will have pityupon--your father, and they will let you come. "

"Please ask the cabman to start. Indeed, I shall be late. Good night, M. Lenoble. "

"Good night. "

He took her hand in his, and kissed it, with the grace of a Bayard. Heloved her, and took no trouble to conceal his passion. No shadow of doubtdarkened that bright horizon to which M. Lenoble looked with hopefuleyes. He loved this penniless, motherless girl, as it was in the blood ofthe Lenobles to love the poor and the helpless; especially when povertyand helplessness presented themselves in the guise of youth and beauty. He loved her, and she would love him. But why not? He was ten years hersenior, but that makes nothing. His auburn hair and beard, in the styleof Henry the Great, could show no streak of grey. His eyes had thebrightness of one-and-twenty; for the eyes of a man whose soul preservesits youthfulness will keep their clear lustre for half a century. Thetall figure, straight as a dart; the frank handsome face which M. Lenoblesaw in the glass when he made his toilet, were not calculated todishearten a hopeful lover; and Gustave, by nature sanguine, enjoyed hisdream of happiness, untroubled by one morbid apprehension. 

He loved her, and he would ask her for his wife. She would accept hisoffer; her father would rejoice in so fortunate an alliance; her friendsof Bayswater would felicitate a change so desirable. And when he returnedto Normandy he would take her with him, and say to his children, "Beholdyour mother!" And then the great rambling mansion of Côtenoir wouldassume a home-like aspect. The ponderous old furniture would be replacedby lightsome appointments of modern fashion; except, of course, in thegrand drawing-room, where there were tapestries said to be from thedesigns of Boucher, and chairs and sofas in the true Louis Quinze style, of immovable bulkiness. 

There was but one trifling hitch in the whole scheme of happiness--Dianawas a Protestant. Ah, but what then! A creature so sweet, so noble, couldnot long remain the slave of Anglican heresy. A little talk withCydalise, a week's "retreat" at the Sacré Coeur, and the thing would bedone. The dear girl would renounce her errors, and enter the bosom of theMother Church. Pouff! M. Lenoble blew the little difficulty away from hisfinger-tips, and then wafted a kiss from the same finger-tips to hisabsent beloved. 

"And this noble heart warned me against her own father!" M. Lenoble saidto himself, as he walked towards the hotel at Blackfriars where he hadtaken up his abode, quite unconscious that the foot of Blackfriars Bridgewas not the centre of West End London. "How noble, how disinterested!Poor old man! He is, no doubt, a speculator--something even of anAdventurer. What then? He shall have an apartment at Côtenoir, his placeat the family table, his _fauteuil_ by the hearth; and there he can do noharm. "

 * * * * *

There was a strange sentiment in Diana's mind after this evening'sconversation with Gustave Lenoble. To feel herself beloved, to know thatthere was some one creature in the wide crowded world interested in, nay, even attached to her, was a mystery, a surprise, and in some sort asource of pleasure to her. That Gustave Lenoble could ever be any nearerto her than he was at the present time did not occur to her as beingwithin the limits of possibility. She had thrust Valentine from herheart, but the empty chamber could receive no new tenant. It was notswept and garnished; nay, indeed, it was sadly littered with the shredsand patches left by the late occupant. But, while this was so, to knowthat she could be loved was in some manner sweet to her. 

"Ah, now I know that the poet is right, " she said to herself. "There isno creature so desolate but some heart responds unto its own. And I havefound the generous responsive heart that can pity and love me becauseI seem so sorely to need love and pity. All my life--my blank, emptylife--I will remember and be grateful to him, the first good man who evercalled my father friend; the first of all mankind who thought this poorhand worthy to be lifted to his lips. "

CHAPTER IV. 

SHARPER THAN A SERPENT'S TOOTH. 

Having pledged herself to visit Omega Street on Thursday, Dianaconsidered herself bound to perform that promise. She felt, however, thatthere was some touch of absurdity in the position, for to keep a promiseso made was in a manner to keep an appointment with M. Lenoble. 

"I dare say he has a habit of falling in love with every young woman hemeets, " she thought, when she considered his conduct from a more prosaicstandpoint than the grateful enthusiasm his generous sympathy had atfirst awakened in her mind. "I have heard that it is a Frenchman'sfaculty to consider himself irresistible, and to avow his adoration for anew divinity every week. And I was so foolish as to fancy there was adepth of feeling in his tone and manner! I am sure he is all that is goodand generous; but the falling in love is no doubt a national failing. "

She remembered the impertinent advances of divers unknown foreigners whomshe had encountered on pier or _digue_, kursaal or beach, in thefrequently unprotected hours of her continental wanderings. 

She had not seen the best side of the foreign mind in her character ofunattended and doubtfully attired English demoiselle. She knew thatGustave Lenoble was of a very different stamp from those specimens of thegenus tiger whose impertinent admiration had often wounded and distressedher; but she was inclined to attribute the fault of shallowness to anature so frank and buoyant as that of her father's friend. 

She walked from Bayswater to Chelsea on the appointed Thursday, for thecost of frequent journeys in cabs was more than her purse could supply. The walk across the Park was pleasant even in the bleak March weather, and she entered the little parlour in Omega Street with the bloom ofdamask roses upon her cheeks. 

"How do you do, papa dear?" she began, as she came into the dusky room;but the figure sitting in her father's accustomed place was not that ofher father. It was M. Lenoble, who rose to welcome her. 

"Is papa worse?" she asked, surprised by the Captain's absence. 

"On the contrary, he is better, and has gone out in a hired carriage fora breath of fresh air. I persuaded him to go. He will be back veryshortly. "

"I wrote to tell him I should be here to-day, but I am very glad he hasgone out, for I am sure the air will do him good. Was he well wrapped up, do you know, M. Lenoble?"

"Enveloped in railway-rugs and shawls to his very nose. I arranged allthat with my own hands. He looked like an ambassador from all theRussias. "

"How kind of you to think of such things!" said Diana gratefully. 

"And tell me why should I not think of such things? Do you imagine thatit is not a pleasure to me to wait upon your father--for your sake?"

There was some amount of awkwardness in this kind of thing. Diana busiedherself with the removal of her hat and jacket, which she laid neatlyupon a stony-hearted horsehair sofa. After doing this she placed herselfnear the window, whence she contemplated the dusky street, appearing muchinterested in the movements of the lamp lighter. 

"What an admirable way they have of lighting the lamps now, " sheremarked, with the conversational brilliance which usually marks thiskind of situation; "how much more convenient it must be than the oldmethod with the ladder, you know!"

"Yes, I have no doubt, " said Gustave, bringing himself to her side with acouple of steps, and planting himself deliberately in a chair next tohers; "but don't you think, as I start for Normandy to-morrow, we mighttalk of something more interesting than the lamplighter, Miss Paget?"

"I am ready to talk of anything you like, " replied Miss Paget, with thatcharming assumption of unconsciousness which every woman can command onthese occasions. 

"You are very good. Do you know that when I persuaded your father to goout for an airing, I was prompted by a motive so selfish as to render theproceeding quite diabolical? Don't be alarmed! The doctor gave hispermission for the airing, or I should not have attempted such a thing. Hypocrisy I am capable of, but not assassination. You cannot imagine thediplomacy which I exhibited; and all to what end? Can you imagine that?"

"No, indeed. "

"That I might secure one half-hour's uninterrupted talk with you; and, unhappily, you are so late that I expect your father's return everyminute. He was to be back again before dusk, and the appearance of thelamplighter demonstrates that the dusk has come. I have so much to say, and so little time to say it; so much, Diane--"

She started as he called her thus, as if in that moment of surprise shewould have risen from her chair by his side. She knew what was coming, and having expected nothing so desperate, knew not how to arrest theconfession that she would fain have avoided hearing. M. Lenoble laid hishand firmly on hers. 

"So much, Diane; and yet so little, that all can be told in three words. I love you. "

"M. Lenoble!"

"Ah, you are surprised, you wonder, you look at me with eyes of sweetamazement! Dear angel, do you think it is possible to see you and not tolove you? To see you once is to respect, to admire, to bow the kneebefore beauty and goodness; but to see you many times, as I have done, the patient consoler of an invalid and somewhat difficult father--ah, mysweet love, who is there so hard amongst mankind that he should escapefrom loving you, seeing all that?"

The question had a significance that the speaker knew not. Who amongstmankind? Why, was there not one man for whom she would have been contentto be the veriest slave that ever abnegated every personal delight forthe love of a hard master? And he had passed her by, indifferent, unseeing. She had worshipped him on her knees, as it seemed to her; andhe had left her kneeling in the dust, while he went on to offer himself, heart and soul, at another shrine. 

She could not forget these things. The memory and the bitterness of themcame back with renewed poignancy at this moment, when the voice of astranger told her she was beloved. 

"My dear one, will you not answer me?" pleaded Gustave, in nowise alarmedby Diana's silence, which seemed to him only the natural expression of amaidenly emotion. "Tell me that you will give me measure for measure;that you will love me as my mother loved my father--with a love thattrouble and poverty could never lessen; with a love that was strongestwhen fate was darkest--a star which the dreary night of sorrow could notobscure. I am ten years older than you by my baptismal register, Diane;but my heart is young. I never knew what love was until I knew you. Andyet those who know me best will tell you that I was no unkind husband, and that my poor wife and I lived happily. I shall never know love again, except for you. The hour comes, I suppose, in every man's life; and theangel of his life comes in that appointed hour. Mine came when I saw you. I have spoken to your father, and have his warm approval. He was allencouragement, and hinted that I might be assured of your love. Had hesufficient justification for that half-promise, Diane?"

"He had none, " Miss Paget answered gravely, "none except his own wishes. You have made me hear more than I wished to hear, M. Lenoble, for thetreasure you offer me is one that I cannot accept. With all my heart Ithank you for the love you tell me of. Even if it is, as I can but thinkit, a passing fancy, I thank you, nevertheless. It is sweet to win thelove of a good man. I pray you to believe that with all my heart and mindI honour your generous nature, your noble sympathy with the weak andfriendless. If you can give me your friendship, you shall find how I canvalue a good man's regard, but I cannot accept your love. "

"Why not?" asked Gustave, aghast. 

"Because I cannot give you measure for measure, and I will not give youless. "

"But in time, Diane, in time?"

"Time cannot show me your character in a nobler light than that in whichI see it now. You do not lack the power to win a woman's heart, but Ihave no heart to give. If you will be my friend, time will increase myaffection for you--but time cannot restore the dead. "

"Which means that your heart is dead, Diane?"

"Yes, " she answered, with unutterable sadness. 

"You love some one younger, happier than I?"

"No, M. Lenoble, no one. "

"But you have loved? Yes!--a scoundrel, perhaps; a villain, who--"

A spasm of pain contracted his face as he looked at the girl's droopinghead; her face, in that dim light, he could not see. 

"Tell me this, Diane, " he said presently, in an altered voice; "there isno barrier between us--no irrevocable obstacle that must part us forever? There is no one who can claim you by any right--" He paused; andthen added, in a lower voice, "by any wrong?"

"No one, " answered Miss Paget, lifting her head, and looking her loverfull in the face. Even in that uncertain light he could see the proudsteady gaze that seemed the fittest answer of all doubts. 

"Thank God!" he whispered. "Ah, how could I fear, even for one moment, that you could be anything but what you seem--the purest among the pure?Why, then, do you reject me? You do not love me, but you ask myfriendship; you offer me your friendship, even your affection. Ah, believe me, if those are but real, time will ripen them into love. Yourheart is dead. Ah, why should that young heart be dead? It is not dead, Diane; it needs but the fire of true love to warm it into life again. Whyshould you reject me, since you tell me that you love me; unless you loveanother? What should divide us?"

"Shadows and memories, " Diana replied mournfully, --"vague and foolish;wicked, perhaps; but they come between you and me, M. Lenoble. And sinceI cannot give you a whole heart, I will give you nothing. "

"You have loved some one, some one who did not value your love? Tell methe truth, Diane; you owe me at least as much as that. "

"I do owe you the truth. Yes; I have been very foolish. For two or threeyears of my life there was a person who was our daily companion. Hetravelled with us--with my father and me; and we saw many changes andtroubles together. For a long time he was like my brother; and I doubt ifmany brothers are as kind to their sisters as he was to me. In his heartthat feeling never changed. He was always equally kind, equally careless. Once I deluded myself with the fancy that in his looks and tones, andeven in his words, there was some deeper feeling than this carelessbrotherly kindness; but it was no more than a delusion. My eyes wereopened rudely enough. I saw his heart bestowed elsewhere. Do not thinkthat I am so weak, or so wicked, as to abandon myself to despair becauseI have been awakened from my foolish dream. I can look the realities oflife in the face, M. Lenoble; and I have taught myself to wish all goodthings for the dear girl who has won the heart that I once thought wasmine. The person I am speaking of can boast no superior graces of mind orperson. He is only a very commonplace young man, with a certain amount oftalent, a disposition inclined to good rather than to evil. But he wasthe companion of my girlhood; and in losing him it seems to me as if Ihad lost a part of my youth itself. "

To Diana's mind this seemed the end of the discussion. She expected M. Lenoble to bow his head to the inevitable, to utter a friendly farewell, and depart for his Norman home, convinced, if not satisfied. But thelight-hearted, easy-tempered Gustave was not a lover of the despairingorder, nor an easily answered suppliant. 

"And that is all!" he exclaimed, in the cheeriest tone. "A companion ofyour girlhood, for whom you had a girl's romantic fancy! And the memoryof this unspeakable idiot--great Heaven! but how idiotic must this wretchhave been, to be loved by you, and not even to know it!--the memory ofthis last of the last is to come between you and me, and divide us forever? The phantom of this miserable, who could be loved by an angelwithout knowing it, is to lift its phantasmal hand and thrust measide--me, Gustave Lenoble, a man, and not an idiot? Ah, thus we blow himto the uttermost end of the world!" cried M. Lenoble, blowing animaginary rival from the tips of his fingers. "Thus we dismiss him to theArctic regions, the torrid zone--to the Caucasus, where await vultures tognaw his liver--wherever earth is most remote and uncomfortable--he andthe bread-and-butter miss whom he prefers to my Diane!"

This manner of taking things was quite unexpected by Diana. It was muchmore pleasant than gloomy despair or sullen resentment; but it was, atthe same time, much more difficult to deal with. 

"He is gone!" cried Gustave presently; "he is on the topmost heights ofCaucasus, and the vultures are sharpening their beaks! And now, tell me, Diane--you will be my wife, will you not? You will be a mother to mychildren? You will transform the old chateau of Côtenoir into a pleasanthome? You will cease to live amongst strangers? You will come to thosewho will love and cherish you as their own, their dearest and best andbrightest? You will give your poor old father a corner by your fireside?He is old and needs a home for his last years. For his sake, Diane, formine, for my children, let your answer be yes! Ah, not so fast!" hecried, as she was about to speak. "Why are you so quick to pronounce yourfatal judgment? Think how much depends on your reply--your father'shappiness, my children's, mine!"

"It is of yours only I must think, " Miss Paget answered earnestly. "Youfancy it is so easy for me to say no. Believe me, it would be much easierto say yes. When you speak of my father's declining years, I, who knowhis weary life so well, would be hard of heart indeed if I were nottempted by the haven you offer. Every word that you say gives me some newproof of your goodness, your generosity. But I will not wrong you becauseyou are generous. I shall always be your grateful friend, but you mustseek elsewhere for a wife, M. Lenoble. You will have little difficulty infinding one worthier than I. "

"I will seek nowhere else for a wife; I will have no wife but you. I havehad a wife of other people's choosing; I will choose one for myself thistime. Let us be friends, Diane, since your decision is as irrevocable asthe laws of Draco. You are stone, you are adamant; but no matter, we canbe friends. Your father will be disappointed. But what then? He is nodoubt accustomed to disappointments. My daughters--for them it is aprofound affliction to be motherless, but they must support it. Côtenoirmust go to wreck and ruin a little longer--a few more rats behind thepanelling, a few more moths in the tapestry, that is all. My childrensay, 'Papa, our home is not comfortable; all is upside-down;' and Ireply. 'But what will you, my children? A home without a wife is alwaysupside down. ' And then I take them between my arms, in weeping. It is apoignant picture to rend the heart. But what does it matter, Miss Paget?What is that verse of your grand Will?--

Blow, blow, thou wintry wind;And let go weep the stricken land, While harts ungalled go play. 

Perhaps I have mixed him up somehow; but the meaning is clear. "

A hollow-sounding and somewhat awful cough heralded the approach ofCaptain Paget, who entered the room at this juncture. If the Captain hadprolonged his first airing, after six weeks' confinement to the house, until this late period of the afternoon, he would have committed animprudence which might have cost him dearly. Happily, he had done nothingof the kind, but had re-entered the house unobserved, while Diana andGustave were conversing close to the window, having preferred to leavehis fly at the end of the street, rather than to incur the hazard ofinterrupting a critical tête-à-tête. The interval that had elapsed sincehis return had been spent by the Captain in his own bedchamber, and inthe immediate neighbourhood of the folding-doors between that apartmentand the parlour. What he had heard had been by no means satisfactory tohim; and if a look could annihilate, Miss Paget might have perishedbeneath the Parthian glance which her father shot at her as he cametowards the window, with a stereotyped smile upon his lips andunspeakable anger in his heart. 

He had heard just enough of the conversation to know that Gustave hadbeen rejected--Gustave, with Côtenoir and a handsome independence in thepresent, and the late John Haygarth's fortune in the future. Rejected bya penniless young woman, who at any moment might find herself without aroof to shelter her from the winds of heaven! Was ever folly, madness, wickedness supreme as this?

Horatio trembled with rage as he took his daughter's hand. She had theinsolence to extend her hand for the customary salutation. The Captain'sgreeting was a grip that made her wince. 

"Good-night, Miss Paget, " said Gustave gravely, but with by no means thedespondent tone of a hopeless lover; "I--well, I shall see you again, perhaps, before I go to Normandy. I doubt if I shall go to-morrow. Ihave my own reasons for staying--unreasonable reasons, perhaps, but Ishall stay. "

All this was said in a tone too low to reach Captain Paget's ear. 

"Are you going to leave us, Lenoble?" he asked in a quavering voice. "Youwill not stop and let Di give you a cup of tea as usual?"

"Not to-night, Captain. Good-bye. "

He wrung the old man's hand and departed. Captain Paget dropped heavilyinto a chair, and for some minutes there was silence. Diana was thefirst to speak. 

"I am glad your doctor considered you well enough to go out for a drive, papa, " she said. 

"Indeed, my dear, " answered her father with a groan; "I hope my nextdrive may be in a different kind of vehicle--the last journey I shallever take, until they cart away my bones for manure. I believe they domake manure from the bones of paupers in our utilitarian age. "

"Papa, how can you talk so horribly! You are better, are you not? M. Lenoble said you were better. "

"Yes, I am better, God help me!" answered the old man, too weak alike inmind and body to hide the passion that possessed, him. "That is one ofthe contradictions of the long farce we call life. If I had been a richman, with a circle of anxious relations and all the noted men of SavileRow dancing attendance round my bed, I dare say I should have died; butas I happen to be a penniless castaway, with only a lodging-house drudgeand a half-starved apothecary to take care of me, and with nothing beforeme but a workhouse, I live. It is all very well for a man to take thingseasily when he is ill and helpless, too weak even to think. _That_ is notthe trying time. The real trial arrives when a little strength comes backto him, and his landlady begins to worry him for her rent, and thelodging-house drudge gets tired of pitying him, and the apothecary sendsin his bill, and the wretched high-road lies bare and broad before him, and he hears the old order to move on. The moving-on time has come forme, Di; and the Lord alone knows how little I know where I am to go. "

"Papa, you are not friendless; even I can give you a little help. "

"Yes, " answered the Captain with a bitter laugh; "a sovereign once aquarter--the scrapings of your pittance! That help won't save me fromthe workhouse. "

"There is M. Lenoble. "

"Yes, there is M. Lenoble; the man who would have given me a home for myold age: he told me so to-day--a home fit for a gentleman--for theposition he now occupies is nothing compared to that which he may occupya year hence. He would have received me as his father-in-law, withoutthought or question of my antecedents; and if I have not lived like agentleman, I might have died like one. This is what he would have donefor me. But do you think I can ask anything of him now, after you haverefused him? I know of your refusal to be that man's wife. I heard--I sawit in his face. You--a beggar, a friendless wretch, dependent on thepatronage of a stockbroker's silly wife--_you_ must needs give yourselfgrand airs, and refuse such a man as that! Do you think such men gobegging among young ladies like you, or that they run about the streets, like the roast pigs in the story, begad, with knives and forks in theirbacks, asking to be eaten?"

The Captain was walking up and down the room in a fever of rage. Dianalooked at him with sad wondering eyes. Yes, it was the old selfishnature. The leopard cannot change his spots; and the Horatio Paget of thepresent was the Horatio Paget of the past. 

"Pray don't be angry with me, papa, " said Diana sorrowfully; "I believethat I have done my duty. "

"Done your fiddlesticks!" cried the Captain, too angry to be careful ofhis diction. "Your duty to whom? Did you happen to remember, miss, thatyou owe some duty to me, your father, but for whom you wouldn't bestanding there talking of duty like a tragedy queen? By Jove! I supposeyou are too grand a person to consider my trouble in this matter; thepains I took to get Lenoble over to England; the way I made the most ofmy gout even, in order to have you about me; the way I finessed anddiplomatized to bring this affair to a successful issue. And now, when Ihave succeeded beyond my hopes, you spoil everything, and then dare tostand before me and preach about duty. What do you want in a husband, Ishould like to know? A rich man? Lenoble is that. A handsome man? Lenobleis that. A gentleman, with good blood in his veins? Lenoble comes of aspure a race as any man in that part of France. A good man? Lenoble is oneof the best fellows upon this earth. What is it, then, that you want?"

"I want to give my heart to the man who gives me his. "

"And what, in the name of all that's preposterous, is to prevent yougiving Gustave Lenoble your heart?"

"I cannot tell you. "

"No, nor any one else. But let us have no more of this nonsense. If youcall yourself a daughter of mine, you will marry Gustave Lenoble. Ifnot--"

The Captain found himself brought to a sudden stop in his unconsciousparaphrase of Signor Capulet's menace to his recalcitrant daughter, Juliet. With what threat could the noble Horatio terrify his daughter toobedience? Before you talk of turning your rebellious child out of doors, you must provide a home from which to cast her. Captain Paget rememberedthis, and was for the moment reduced to sudden and ignominious silence. And yet there must surely be some way of bringing this besotted youngwoman to reason. 

He sat for some minutes in silence, with his head leaning on his hand, his face hidden from Diana. This silence, this attitude, so expressive ofutter despondency, touched her more keenly than his anger. She knew thathe was mean and selfish, that it was of his own loss he thought; and yetshe pitied him. He was old and helpless and miserable; so much the morepitiable because of his selfishness and meanness. For the heroic soulthere is always some comfort; but for the grovelling nature sufferingknows no counterbalance. The ills that flesh is heir to seem utterlybitter when there is no grand spirit to dominate the flesh, and soartriumphant above the regions of earthly pain. Captain Paget's mind, tohim, was not a kingdom. He could not look declining years of poverty inthe face; he was tired of work. The schemes and trickeries of his lifewere becoming very odious to him; they were for the most part worn out, and had ceased to pay. Of course he had great hopes, in any event, fromGustave Lenoble; but those hopes were dependent on Gustave's inheritanceof John Haygarth's estate. He wanted something more tangible thanthis--he wanted immediate security; and his daughter's marriage withGustave would have given him that security, and still grander hopes forthe future. He had fancied himself reigning over the vassals of Côtenoir, a far more important personage than the real master of that château. Hehad pictured to himself a _pied-à-terre_ in Paris which it might beagreeable for him to secure, for existence in Normandy might occasionallyprove _canuyeux_. These things were what he meant when he talked of ahaven for his declining years; and against the daughter who, for somecaprice of her own, could hinder his possession of these things, he hadno feeling but anger. 

Diana compassionated this weak old man, to whose lips the cup ofprosperity had seemed so near, from whose lips her hand had thrust it. He had been promised a home, comfort, respectability, friendship--"allthat should accompany old age"--and she had prevented the fulfilment ofthe promise. Heaven knows how pure her motives had been; but as shewatched that drooping head, with its silvered hair, she felt that shehad been cruel. 

"Papa, " she began presently, laying her hand caressingly upon herfather's neck; but he pushed aside the timid, caressing hand--"papa, youthink me very unkind, only because I have done what I believe to beright; indeed it is so, papa dear. In what I said to Gustave Lenoble thisevening, I was governed only by my sense of right. "

"Indeed!" cried the Captain, with a strident laugh; "and where did youpick up your sense of right, madam, I should like to know? From whatMethodist parson's hypocritical twaddle have you learnt to lay down thelaw to your poor old father about the sense of right? 'Honour your fatherand your mother, that your days may be long in the land, ' miss, _that's_what your Bible teaches you; but the Bible has gone out of fashion, Idare say, since I was a young man; and your model young woman of thepresent generation taunts her father with her sense of right. Will yoursense of right be satisfied when you hear of your father rotting in theold-men's ward of a workhouse, or dying on the London stones?"

"I am not unfeeling, papa. With all my heart I pity you; but it is cruelon your part to exaggerate the misery of your position, as I am sure youmust be doing. Why should your means of living fail because I refuse tomarry M. Lenoble? You have lived hitherto without my help, as I havelived of late without yours. Nothing could give me greater happiness thanto know that you were exempt from care; and if my toil can procure you apeaceful home in the future--as I believe it can, or education and willto work must go for nothing--there shall be no lack of industry on mypart. I will work for you, I will indeed, papa--willingly, happily. "

"When your work can give me such a home as Côtenoir--a home that one wordof yours would secure for me--I will thank you. "

"If you will only wait, papa, if you will only have patience--"

"Patience! Wait! Do you know what you are talking about? Do you prate ofpatience, and waiting, and hope in the future to a man who has nofuture--to a man whose days are numbered, and who feels the creepingchills of death stealing over him every day as he sits beside hiswretched hearth, or labours through his daily drudgery? I can live as Ihave always lived! Yes; but do you know, or care to know, that with everyday life becomes more difficult for me? Your fine friends at Bayswaterhave done with me. I have spent the last sixpence I shall ever see fromPhilip Sheldon. Hawkehurst has cut me, like the ungrateful hound he is. When they have squeezed the orange, they throw away the rind. Didn'tVoltaire say that, when Frederick of Prussia gave him the go-by? Heavenknows it's true enough; and now you, who by a word might secure yourselfa splendid position--yes, I say splendid for a poor drudge and dependentlike you, and insure a home for me--you, forsooth, must needs favour mewith your high-flown sentiments about your sense of right, and promise mea home in the future, if I will wait and hope! No, Diana, waiting andhoping are done with for me, and I can find a home in the bed of theriver without your help. "

"You would not be so wicked as to do that!" cried Diana, aghast. 

"I don't know about the wickedness of the act. But, rely upon it, when mychoice lies between the workhouse and the river, I shall prefer theriver. The modern workhouse is no inviting sanctuary, and I dare say manya homeless wretch makes the same choice. "

For some minutes there was silence. Diana stood with her elbows restingon the chimneypiece, her face covered with her hands. 

"O Lord, teach me to do the thing which is right!" she prayed, and in thenext breath acted on the impulse of the moment. 

"What would you have me do?" she asked. 

"What any one but an idiot would do of her own accord--accept the goodfortune that has dropped into your lap. Do you think such luck as yoursgoes begging every day?"

"You would have me accept Gustave Lenoble's offer, no matter whatfalsehoods may be involved in my acceptance of it?"

"I can see no reason for falsehood. Any one but an idiot would honoursuch a man; any one but an idiot would thank Providence for such goodfortune. "

"Very well, papa, " exclaimed Diana, with a laugh that had no mirthfulmusic, "I will not be the exceptional idiot. If M. Lenoble does me thehonour to repeat his offer--and I think from his manner he means to doso--I will accept it. "

"He shall repeat it!" cried the Captain, throwing off his assumption ofthe tragic father. The Oedipus Coloneus, the Lear--the venerable victimof winter winds and men's ingratitude--was transformed in a moment intoan elderly Jeremy Diddler, lined with Lord Foppington. "He shall repeatit; I will have him at your feet to-morrow. Yes, Di, my love, I pledgemyself to bring that about, without compromise to your maidenly pride orthe dignity of a Paget. My dear child, I ought to have known thatreflection would show you where your duty lies. I fear I have beensomewhat harsh, but you must forgive me, Di; I have set my heart on thismatch, for your happiness as well as my own. I could not stand thedisappointment; though I admired, and still admire, the high feeling, and all that kind of thing, which prompted your refusal. A school-girlishsentimentality, child, but with something noble in it; not thesentimentality of a vulgar schoolgirl. The blue blood will show itself, my love; and now--no, no, don't cry. You will live to thank me forto-night's work; yes, my child, to thank me, when you look round yourcomfortable home by-and-by--when my poor old bones are mouldering intheir unpretending sepulchre--and say to yourself, 'I have my father tothank for this. Adverse circumstances forbade his doing his duty ashappier fathers are allowed the privilege of doing theirs, but it was hisforethought, his ever-watchful care, which secured me an admirablehusband and a happy home. ' Mark my words, the time will come when youwill say this, my dear. "

"I will try to think of you always kindly, papa, " Miss Paget answered ina low sad voice; "and if my marriage can secure your happiness andGustave Lenoble's, I am content. I only fear to take too much, and givetoo little. "

"My love, you must certainly be the lineal descendant of Don Quixote. Toomuch, and too little, forsooth! Let Lenoble find a handsomer woman, or amore elegant woman, by gad, elsewhere! Such a woman as a duke might beproud to make his duchess, by Jove! There shall be no sense of obligationon our side, my love. Gustave Lenoble shall be made to feel that he getschange for his shilling. Kiss me, child, and tell me you forgive me forbeing a little rough with you, just now. "

"Forgive you?--yes, papa. I dare say you are wiser than I. Why should Irefuse M. Lenoble? He is good and kind, and will give us a happy home?What more can I want? Do I want to be like Charlotte, to whom life seemsall poetry and brightness?"

"And who is going to throw herself away upon a penny-a-liner, by Jove!"interjected the Captain. 

"Can I hope to be like that girl, with her happy ignorance of life, herboundless love and trust! O, no, no, papa; those things are not for me. "

She laid her head upon her father's breast, and sobbed like a child. Thiswas her second farewell to the man she had loved, the dreams she haddreamed. The Captain comforted her with a paternal embrace, but was aspowerless to comprehend her emotion as if he had found himself suddenlycalled upon to console the sorrows of a Japanese widow. 

"Hysterical, " he murmured. "These noble natures are subject to that kindof thing. And now, my love, " he continued, in a more business-like tone, "let us talk seriously. I think it would be very advisable for you toleave Bayswater, and take up your abode in these humble lodgings with meimmediately. "

"Why, papa?"

"The reason is sufficiently obvious, my love. It is not right that youshould continue to eat the bread of dependence. As the future wife ofGustave Lenoble--and in this case, the word future means immediately--"

"Papa, " cried Diana suddenly, "you will not hurry me into this marriage?I have consented for your sake. You will not be so ungenerous as to--"

"As to hurry you? No, my dear, of course not. There shall be no indecenthaste. Your wishes, your delicate and disinterested motives, shall beconsulted before all things; yes, my love, " cried the Captain, sorelyafraid of some wavering on the part of his daughter, and painfullyanxious to conciliate her, "all shall be in accordance with your wishes. But I must urge your immediate removal from Bayswater; first, because M. Lenoble will naturally wish to see you oftener than he can while you areresiding with people whose acquaintance I do not want him to make; andsecondly, because you have no further need of Mrs. Sheldon's patronage. "

"It has been kindness, affection, papa--never patronage. I could notleave Mrs. Sheldon or Charlotte abruptly or ungraciously, upon anyconsideration. They gave me a home when I most bitterly needed one. They took me away from the dull round of schoolroom drudgery, that wasfast changing me into a hard hopeless joyless automaton. My first dutyis to them. "

The Captain's angry sniff alone expressed the indignation which thisimpious remark inspired. 

"My next shall be to you and M. Lenoble. Let me give Mrs. Sheldon duenotice of the change in our plans. "

"What do you call due notice?" asked Horatio, peevishly. 

"A quarter's notice. "

"O, indeed! Then for three months you are to dance attendance upon Mrs. Sheldon, while M. Lenoble is waiting to make you his wife. "

"I must consult the wishes of my friends, papa. "

"Very well, my dear, " replied the Captain, with a sigh that was next ofkin to a groan; "you must please yourself and your friends, I suppose;your poor old father is a secondary consideration. " And then, timeouslymindful of the skirmish he had just had with his daughter, Captain Pagetmade haste to assure her of his regard and submission. 

"All shall be as you please, my love, " he murmured. "There, go into myroom, and smooth your hair, and bathe your eyes, while I ring for thetea. "

Diana obeyed. She found eau-de-cologne and the most delicate of Turkeysponges on her father's wash-handstand; jockey-club, and ivory-backedbrushes, somewhat yellow with age, but bearing crest and monogram, on hisdressing-table. The workhouse did not seem quite so near at hand as theCaptain had implied; but with these sanguine people it is but a step fromdisappointment to despair. 

"What am I to tell Mrs. Sheldon, papa?" she asked, when she was pouringout her father's tea. 

"Well, I think you had better say nothing, except that my circumstanceshave somewhat improved, and that my failing health requires your care. "

"I hate secrets, papa. "

"So do I, my dear; but half-confidences are more disagreeable thansecrets. "

Diana submitted. She secretly reserved to herself the right to tellCharlotte anything she pleased. From that dear adopted sister she wouldhide nothing. 

"If M. Lenoble should repeat his offer, and I should accept it, I willtell her all, " she thought. "It will make that dear girl happy to knowthat there is some one who loves me, besides herself. "

And then she thought of the strange difference of fate that gave tothis Charlotte Halliday, with her rich stepfather and comfortablesurroundings, a penniless soldier of fortune for a lover, while to her, the spendthrift adventurer's daughter, came a wealthy suitor. 

"Will hers be the dinner of herbs, and mine the stalled ox?" she thought. "Ah, Heaven forbid! Why is it so difficult to love wisely, so easy tolove too well?"

She remembered the cynical French proverb, "When we can not have whatwe love, we must love what we have. " But the cynical proverb brought herno comfort. 

She went back to Bayswater with a strange bewildered feeling; afterhaving promised her father to go to Omega Street whenever he sent forher. There was no actual pain in her mind, no passionate desire to recallher promise, no dread horror of the step to which she had pledgedherself. The feeling that oppressed her was the sense that such a stepshould have been the spontaneous election of her grateful heart, proud ofa good man's preference, instead of a weak submission to a father'shelplessness. 

Book the Fifth. 

THE FIRST ACT OF MR. SHELDON'S DRAMA. 

CHAPTER I. 

TAKEN BY STORM. 

Two days after her interview with Gustave Lenoble, Miss Paget received abrief note from her father, summoning her again to Omega Street. 

"He has not gone back to Normandy, " wrote the Captain. 

"My child, he positively worships the ground you walk upon. Ah, my love, _it is something to have a father_! I need scarcely tell you that hisfirst idea of your excellence was inspired by those glowing descriptionsof your goodness, your beauty, your heroism, which I favoured him with, _en passant_, during our conversations at Côtenoir, where the happyaccident of a business transaction first introduced me to him. Theinterests of my only child have ever been near and dear to me; and wherea duller man would have perceived only a wealthy stranger, my paternalinstincts recognized at a glance the predestined husband of my daughter. It needed my wide experience of life--and, as I venture to believe, mysubtle knowledge of the human heart--to understand that a man who hadlived for five-and-thirty years buried alive in a French province--acharming place, my love, and for your refined taste replete withinterest--never seeing a mortal except his immediate neighbours, would bethe man of men to fall in love with the first attractive young woman hemet among strangers. Come to me this afternoon without fail, and comeearly. --Yours, "H. N. C. P. "

Diana obeyed this summons submissively, but still troubled by thatstrange sense of bewilderment which had affected her since her stormyinterview with Captain Paget. She was not quite certain of herself. Theold dreams--the sweet foolish girlish fancies--were not yet put awayaltogether from her mind; but she knew that they were foolish, and shewas half-inclined to believe that there had been some wisdom in herfather's scorn. 

"What do I want more?" she asked herself. "He is good and brave and true, and he loves me. If I were a princess, my marriage would be negotiatedfor me by other people, and I should have reason to consider myself veryhappy if the man whom the state selected for my husband should prove asgood a man as Gustave Lenoble. And he loves me; me, who have never beforehad power over a man's heart!"

She walked across Hyde Park on this occasion, as on the last; and herthoughts, though always confused--mere rags and scraps of thought--werenot all unpleasant. There was a smile, half shy, half tender, on her faceas she went into the little sitting-room where Gustave was waiting forher. She had seen his hat and overcoat in the passage, and knew that hewas there waiting for her. To this poor desolate soul there was somethingsweet in the idea of being waited for. 

As she stood but a little within the doorway, blushing, almost tremblingwith the sense of her changed position, her lover came across the roomand took her in his arms. The strong brave arms held her to his breast;and in that one embrace he took her to his heart, and made her his ownfor ever. 

In every story of life-long affection, there is one moment in which thebond is sealed. Diana looked up at the frank tender face, and felt thatshe had found her conqueror. Master, friend, protector, husband, adoringand devoted lover, gallant and fearless champion--he was all; and shedivined his power and his worth as she glanced shyly upward, ashamed tobe so lightly won. 

"M. Lenoble, " she faltered, trying to withdraw herself from the strongencircling arm that held her, as if by right. 

"Gustave, now and for ever, my Diane! There shall be no more MonsieurLenoble. And in a few weeks it shall be 'my husband. ' Your father hasgiven me to you. He tells me to laugh at your refusals your scruples; toassail you like your Shakespeare's Petruchio assails his Katherine--withaudacious insolence that will not be denied. And I shall take his advice. Look up into my face, dear angel, and defy me to take his advice. "

Happily the dear angel looked only downwards. But M Lenoble was resolvedto have an agreeable response. 

"See, then, thou canst not defy me!" he cried, in the only language hespoke; and the "_tu_" for the first time sounded very tender, very sweet. "Thou canst not tell me thou art angry with me. And the other--theimbecile;--he is gone for ever, is he not? Ah, say yes!"

"Yes, he is gone, " said Diana, almost in a whisper. 

"Is he quite gone? The door of thine heart locked against him, hisluggage thrown out of the window?"

"He is gone!" she murmured softly. "He could not hold his place againstyou--you are so strong--so brave; and he was only a shadow. Yes, he isgone. "

She said this with a little sigh of relief. It was in all sincerity thatshe answered her suitor's question. She felt that a crisis had come inher life--the first page of a new volume; and the old sad tear-blottedbook might be cast away. 

"Dear angel, wilt thou ever learn to love me?" asked Gustave, in ahalf-whisper, bending down his bearded face till his lips almost touchedher cheek. 

"It is impossible not to love you, " she answered softly. And indeed itseemed to her as if this chivalrous Gaul was a creature to command thelove of women, the fear of men; an Achilles _en frac_; a Bayard withouthis coat of mail; Don Quixote in his youth, generous, brave, compassionate, tender, and with a brain not as yet distempered by thereading of silly romances. 

Captain Paget emerged from his den as the little love scene ended. Heaffected a gentlemanly unconsciousness of the poetry involved in thesituation, was pleasantly anxious about the tea-tray, the candles, andminor details of life; and thus afforded the lovers ample time in whichto recover their composure. The Frenchman was in no wise discomposed; hewas only abnormally gay, with a little air of triumph that was notunpleasing. Diana was pale; but there was an unwonted light in her eyes, and she had by no means the appearance of a victim newly offered on thesacrificial altar of filial duty. In sober truth, Miss Paget was happierto-night than she had been for a long time. At three-and-twenty she wasgirl enough to rejoice in the knowledge that she was truly loved, andwoman enough to value the sense of peace involved in the security of aprosperous future. 

If she was grateful to her lover--and the affection he had inspired inher heart had grown out of gratitude--it was no mercenary considerationas to his income or position that made her grateful. She thanked him forhis love--that treasure which she had never expected to possess; shethanked him because he had taken her by the hand, and led her out of theranks of lonely dependent womanhood, and seated her upon a throne, on thesteps whereof he was content to kneel. Whether the throne were a rushenchair in some rustic cottage, or a gilded _fauteuil_ in a palace, shecared very little. It was the subject's devotion that was new and sweetto her. 

She went to Charlotte's room that night, when Mr. Sheldon's smallhousehold was at rest; as she had gone on Christmas Eve to renounce herlover and to bless her rival. This time it was a new confession she wentto make, and a confession that involved some shame. There is nothing sohard to confess as inconstancy; and every woman is not so philosophic asRahel Varnhagen, who declared that to be constant was not always to lovethe same person, but always to love some one. 

Miss Paget seated herself at Charlotte's feet, as she had done on thatprevious occasion. The weather was still cold enough to make a fire verypleasant, though it was more than two months since the Christmas bellshad rung out upon the frosty air. Diana sat on a low hassock, playingwith the tassels of her friend's dressing-gown, anxious to make herconfession, and solely at a loss for words in which to shape sohumiliating an avowal. 

"Charlotte, " she began abruptly at last, "have you any idea when you andValentine are to be married?"

Miss Halliday gave a little cry of surprise. 

"Why, of course not, Di! How can you ask such a question? Our marriageis what uncle George calls a remote contingency. We are not to be marriedfor ages--not until Valentine has obtained a secure position inliterature, and an income that seems almost impossible. That was thespecial condition upon which Mr. Sheldon--papa--gave his consent to ourengagement. Of course it was very proper and prudent of him to think ofthese things; and as he has been very kind and liberal-minded in hisconduct to me throughout, I should be a most ungrateful person if Irefused to be guided by his advice. "

"And I suppose that means that your engagement is to be a long one?"

"The longest of long engagements. And what can be happier than a longengagement? One gets to know and understand the man one is to marry sothoroughly. I think I know every turn of thought in Valentine's mind;every taste, every fancy; and I feel myself every day growing to thinkmore and more like him. I read the books he reads, so as to be able totalk to him, you know; but I am not so clever as you, Di, and Valentine'sfavourite authors do sometimes seem rather dry to me. But I struggle on, you know; and the harder I find the struggle, the more I admire my dearlove's cleverness. Think of him, Di--three different articles in threedifferent magazines last month! The paper on Apollodorus, in the_Cheapside_, you know; and that story in the Charing Cross--'How I lostmy Gingham Umbrella, and gained the Acquaintance of Mr. Gozzleton. ' _So_funny! And the exhaustive treatise on the Sources of Light, in the_Scientific Saturday_. And think of the fuss they make about Homer, ablind old person who wrote a long rigmarole of a poem about battles, andwrote it so badly that to this day no one knows whether it's one completepoem, or a lot of odds-and-ends in the way of poetry, put together by aman with an unpronounceable Greek name. When I think of what Valentineaccomplishes in comparison to Homer, and the little notice the reviewerstake of him, except to make him low-spirited by telling him that he isshallow and frivolous, I begin to think that literature must be going tothe dogs. "

And here Charlotte became meditative, absorbed in the contemplation ofMr. Hawkehurst's genius. Diana had begun the conversation very artfully, intending to proceed by a gentle transition from Charlotte's love affairsto her own; but the conversation was drifting away from the subject intoa discussion upon literature, and the brilliant young essayist whosefirst adventurous flights seemed grand as the soaring of Theban eagle tothis tender and admiring watcher of his skyward progress. 

"Lotta, " said Miss Paget, after a pause, "should you be very sorry if Iwere to leave you before your marriage?"

"Leave me before my marriage, Diana! Is it not arranged that you are tolive with mamma, and be a daughter to her, when I am gone? And you willcome and stay with Valentine and me at our cottage; and you will adviseme about my house-keeping, and teach me how to be a sensible, useful, economical wife, as well as a devoted one. Leave us, Di! What have Idone, or mamma, or Mr. Sheldon, or anybody, that you should talk ofanything so dreadful?"

"What have you done, dear girl, dear friend, dear sister? Everything towin my undying love and gratitude. You have changed me from a harddisappointed bitter-minded woman--envious, at times, even of you--intoyour loving and devoted friend. You have changed me from a miserablecreature into a contented and hopeful one. You have taught me to forgetthat my childhood and youth were one long night of wretchedness anddegradation. You have taught me to forgive the father who suffered mylife to be what it was, and made no one poor effort to lift me out of theslough of despond to which he had sunk. I can say no more, Charlotte. There are things that cannot be told by words. "

"And you want to leave me!" said Charlotte, in accents half-wondering, half-reproachful. 

"My father wants me to leave you, Lotta; and some one else--some one whomyou must know and like before I can be sure I like him myself. "

"Him!" cried Charlotte, with a faint shriek of surprise. "Diana, WHAT areyou going to tell me?"

"A secret, Lotta; something which my father has forbidden me to tell anyone, but which I will not hide from you. My poor father has found a kindfriend--a friend who is almost as good to him as you are to me. Howmerciful Heaven is in raising up friends for outcasts! And I have seen agood deal of this gentleman who is so kind to papa, and the result isthat--chiefly for papa's sake, and because I know that he is generous andbrave and true, I mean papa's friend, M. Lenoble--I have consented to behis wife. "

"Diana!" cried Charlotte, with a sternness of manner that was alarming inso gentle a creature, "it shall never be!"

"What dear?"

"The sacrifice! No, dear, no! I understand it all. For your cruelmercenary heartless designing father's sake, you are going to marry a manwhom you can't love. You are going to offer up your poor bruised desolateheart on the altar of duty. Ah, dear, you can't think I forget what youtold me only two short months ago--though I seem selfish and frivolous, and am always talking about _him_, and parading my happiness, as it mustseem to you, reckless of the wounds so newly healed in your nobleunselfish heart. But I do not altogether forget, Diana, and such asacrifice as this I will not allow. I know you have resigned him to me--Iknow you have thrust him from your heart, as you told me that night. Butthe hollow aching void that is left in your lonely heart shall be sacred, Di. No stranger's image shall pollute it. You shall not sacrifice yourown peace to your father's selfishness. No, dear, no! With mamma and meyou will always have a home. You need stoop to no cruel barter such asthis marriage. "

And hereupon Miss Halliday wept over and caressed her friend, as theconfidante of Agamemnon's daughter may have wept over and caressed thatdevoted young princess after the divination of Calchas had become commontalk in the royal household. 

"But if I think it my duty to accept M. Lenoble's offer, Lotta?" urgedMiss Paget with some embarrassment of manner. "M. Lenoble is as rich ashe is generous, and my marriage with him will secure a happy home for myfather. The foolish dreams I told you about on Christmas Eve had fadedfrom my mind before I dared to speak of them. I could only confess myfolly when I knew that I was learning to be wise. Pray do not think thatI am sordid or mercenary. It is not because M. Lenoble is rich that I aminclined to marry him, it is because--"

"Because you want to throw yourself away for the advantage of yourselfish heartless father, " interjected Charlotte. "He has neglected youall your life, and now wants to profit by the sacrifice of yourhappiness. Be firm, Di, darling; your Charlotte will stand by you, andfind a home for you always, come what may. Who is this M. Lenoble? Somehorrible ugly old creature, I dare say. "

Miss Paget smiled and blushed. The vision of Gustave's frank handsomeface arose before her very vividly as Charlotte said this. 

"No, dear, " she replied. "M. Lenoble is not an oldman--five-and-thirty at most. "

"Five-and-thirty!" repeated Charlotte, with a wry face; you don't callthat young? And what is he like?"

"Well, dear, I think he is the sort of man whom most people would callhandsome. I'm sure you would like him, Lotta. He is so candid, soanimated, so full of strength and courage. The sort of man to whom onewould naturally look in any emergency or danger; the sort of man in whosecompany fear would be impossible. "

"Diana, " cried Charlotte, suddenly, "you are in love with him!"

"Lotta!"

"Yes, dear, you are in love with him, " repeated Miss Halliday, embracingher friend with effusion; "yes, over head and ears in love with him. Andyou are ashamed to confess the truth to me; and you are half ashamed toconfess it even to yourself--as if you could deceive an old stager likeme!" cried Charlotte, laughing. "Why, you dear inconstant thing, while Ihave felt myself the guiltiest and most selfish creature in the world forrobbing you of Valentine, you have been quietly transferring youraffections to this M. Gustave Lenoble--who is very rich, and brave, andtrue, and generous, and what most people would call handsome! Bless you, a thousand times, my darling! You have made me so happy!"

"Indeed, Lotta!"

"Yes, dear. The thought that there was a blank in your life made a darkcloud in mine. I know I have been very selfish, very thoughtless, but Icould never have been quite free from a sense of self-reproach. But nowthere is nothing for me but happiness. O darling, I so long to see yourM. Lenoble!"

"You shall see him, dear. "

"And in the meantime tell me what he is like. "

Miss Halliday insisted upon a full, true, and particular account of M. Lenoble's personal appearance. Diana gave it, but not without some senseof embarrassment. She could not bring herself to be enthusiastic aboutGustave Lenoble, though in her heart there was a warmth of feeling thatsurprised her. "What a hypocrite you are, Di!" exclaimed Charlottepresently. "I know you love this good Frenchman almost as dearly as Ilove Valentine, and that the thought of his affection makes you happy;and yet you speak of him in little measured sentences, and you won't beenthusiastic even about his good looks. "

"It is difficult to pass from dreams to realities, Lotta. I have lived solong among dreams, that the waking world seems strange to me. "

"That is only a poetical way of saying that you are ashamed of havingchanged your mind. I will tell M. Lenoble what a lukewarm creature youare, and how unworthy of his love!"

"You shall tell him what you please. But remember, dear, my engagementmust not be spoken about yet awhile, not even to your mamma. Papa makes astrong point of this, and I have promised to obey, though I am quite inthe dark as to his reasons. "

Miss Halliday submitted to anything her friend wished; only entreatingthat she might be introduced to M. Lenoble. Diana promised her thisprivilege; but it speedily transpired that Diana's promise was not allthat was wanted on this occasion. 

For some time past, in fact from the very commencement of Charlotte'sengagement, Mr. Sheldon had shown himself punctilious to an exceedingdegree with regard to his stepdaughter. The places to which she went, andthe people with whom she consorted, appeared to be matters of supremeimportance in his mind. When speaking of these things he gave those abouthim to understand that his ideas had been the same from the time ofCharlotte's leaving school; but Diana knew that this was not true. Mr. Sheldon's theories had been much less strict, and Mr. Sheldon's practicehad been much more careless, prior to Miss Halliday's engagement. 

No stately principal of a school for young ladies could have been moreparticular as to the movements of her charges--more apprehensive ofwolf-in-sheep's-clothing in the shape of singing or drawing-master--thanMr. Sheldon seemed to be in these latter days. Even those pleasant walksin Kensington Gardens, which had been one of the regular occupations ofthe day, were now forbidden. Mr. Sheldon did not like that his daughtershould walk in public with no better protector than Diana Paget. 

"There is something disreputable in two girls marching about thosegardens together according to my ideas, " said this ultra-refinedstockbroker, one morning at the family breakfast-table. "I don't like tosee my stepdaughter do anything I should forbid my own daughter to do. And if I had a daughter, I should most decidedly forbid all lonelyrambles in Kensington Gardens. You see, Lotta, two girls as attractiveas you and Miss Paget can't be too particular where you go, and what youdo. When you want air and exercise, you can get both in the garden; andwhen you want change of scene, and a peep at the fashions, you can driveout with Mrs. Sheldon. "

To this deprivation Charlotte submitted, somewhat unwillingly, but withno sign of open rebellion. She thought her stepfather foolish andunreasonable; but she always bore in mind the fact that he had been kindand disinterested in the matter of her engagement, and she was content toprove her gratitude by any little sacrifice of this kind. Was not herlover permitted to spend his Sundays in her society, and to call on her, at his discretion, during the week? And what were walks in KensingtonGardens compared with the delight of his dear presence! It is true thatshe had sometimes been favoured with Mr. Hawkehurst's society in thecourse of her airing; but she knew that he sacrificed his hours of workor study for the chance of half an hour in her society; and she felt thatthere might be gain to him in her loss of liberty. 

She told him, when next they met, that the morning walks were forbidden;and, so jealous a passion is love, that Mr. Hawkehurst was nowise sorryto find that his pearl was strictly watched and carefully guarded. 

"Well, it seems very particular of Mr. Sheldon, of course, " he said;"but, upon my word, I think he's right. Such a girl as you oughtn't to goabout with no better protection than Diana can give you. Fellows willstare so at a pretty girl, you know; and I can't bear to think my pearlshould be stared at by impertinent strangers. "

Mr. Hawkehurst did not, however, find the strict notions of hislady-love's stepfather quite so agreeable when he wanted to take his"pearl" to the winter exhibitions of pictures. He was told that MissHalliday could go nowhere, except accompanied by her mamma; and as Georgydid not care about pictures, and found herself unequal to the fatigue ofattending the winter exhibitions, he was obliged to forego the delight ofseeing them with Lotta on his arm. He pronounced Mr. Sheldon on thisoccasion to be a narrow-minded idiot; but withdrew the remark in acontrite spirit when Charlotte reminded him of that gentleman'sgenerosity. 

"Yes, dear, he has certainly been very kind and very disinterested--moredisinterested than even you think; but, somehow, I can't make him out. "

It was very well for Miss Halliday that she had submitted to this novelrestriction with as good a grace, inasmuch as Mr. Sheldon had preparedhimself for active opposition. He had given orders to his wife, andfurther orders to Mrs. Woolper to the effect that his step-daughtershould not be permitted to go out of doors, except in his own or hermother's company. 

"She is a very good girl, you see, Nancy, " he said to the oldhousekeeper, "but she's young, and she's giddy; and of course I can'ttake upon myself to answer for Miss Paget, who may or may not be a goodgirl. She comes of a very bad stock, however; and I am bound to rememberthat. Some people think that you can't give a girl too much liberty. Myideas lean the other way. I think you can't take too much care of a verypretty girl whom you are bound by duty to protect. "

All this sounded very noble and very conscientious. It sounded thus evento Mrs. Woolper, who in her intercourse with Philip Sheldon could neverquite divest herself of one appalling memory. That memory was the deathof Tom Halliday, and the horrible thoughts and fears that had for a timepossessed her mind in relation to that death. The shadow of that oldghastly terror sometimes came between her and Mr. Sheldon, even now, though she had long ago assured herself that the terror had been alikegroundless and unreasonable. 

"Didn't I see my own nephew carried off by a fever twice as sudden as thefever that carried off poor Mr. Halliday?" she said to herself; "and am Ito think horrid things of him as I nursed a baby, because a cup of greasybeef-tea turned my stomach?"

Convinced by such reasoning as this that she had done her master agrievous wrong, and grateful for the timely shelter afforded in her oldage, Mrs. Woolper felt that she could not do too much in her benefactor'sservice. She had already shown herself a clever managing housekeeper; hadreformed abuses, and introduced a new system of care and economybelow-stairs, to the utter bewilderment of poor Georgy, for whom theresponsibilities of the gothic villa had been an overwhelming burden. Georgy was not particularly grateful to the energetic old Yorkshirewomanwho had taken this burden off her hands, but she was submissive. 

"I never felt myself much in the house, my dear, " she said to Lotta; "butI am sure since Ann Woolper has been here I have felt myself a cipher. "

Mrs. Woolper, naturally sharp and observant, was not slow to perceivethat Mr. Sheldon was abnormally anxious about his stepdaughter. Sheascribed this anxiety to a suspicious nature, an inherent distrust ofother people on the part of her master, and in some measure to hisignorance of womankind. 

"He seems to think that she'd run away and get married on the sly, at aword from that young man; but he doesn't know what a dear innocent soulshe is, and how sorry she'd be to displease any one that's kind to her. Idon't know anything about Miss Paget. She's more stand-offish than ourown Miss, though she is little better than a genteel kind of servant;but she seems fair-spoken enough. As to our Miss, bless her dear heart!she want's no watching, I'll lay. But I daresay those City folks, withtheir stocks going up and going down, and always bringing about the ruinof somebody or other, go which way they will, get their poor heads somuddled with figures that they can't believe there's such a thing ashonesty in the world. "

This was the gist of Mrs. Woolper's evening musing in the snug littlehousekeeper's room at the Lawn. It was a very comfortable little room, and held sacred to Mrs. Woolper; the three young females, and the boy inbuttons, who formed Mr. Sheldon's in-door establishment, preferring thelicense of the kitchen to the strict etiquette of the housekeeper's room. 

This apartment, as well as every other room in the stockbroker's house, bore the stamp of prosperity. A comfortable easy-chair reposed the limbsof Mrs. Woolper; a bright little fire burned in a bright little grate, and its ruddy light was reflected in a bright little fender. Prints ofthe goody class adorned the walls; and a small round table, with asomewhat gaudy cover, supported Mrs. Woolper's work-box and family Bible, both of which she made it a point of honour to carry about with her, andto keep religiously, through good fortune and through evil fortune;neither of which, however, afforded her much employment. She felt herselfto be much nearer grace with the family Bible by her side than she wouldhave been without it; she felt, indeed, that the maintenance and dueexhibition of the family Bible was in itself a kind of religion. But thatshe should peruse its pages was not in the bond. Her eyes were old andweak--sharp enough to discover the short-comings of Mr. Sheldon's youngmaid-servants, but too feeble even for long-primer. 

As she looked round that snug little chamber of an evening, when herday's labours were ended, and her own particular Britannia-metal tea-potwas basking in the fender, her own special round of toast frizzling onthe trivet, she was very grateful to the man to whom she owed thesecomforts. 

"What should I be but for him?" she asked herself with a shudder; forthe vision of that darksome abode shut in by high black walls--themetropolitan workhouse--arose before her. She did not know whatdifficulties would have barred her entrance even to that drearyasylum; she only thought of the horrors of that sanctuary, and sheblessed her master for the benevolence that had accepted the serviceof her failing hands. 

This was the servant on whom Philip Sheldon relied. He saw that she wasgrateful, and that she was ready to serve him with an almost slavishdevotion. He knew that she had suspected him in the past, and he saw thatshe had outlived her suspicion. 

"There is a statute of limitations to these things as well as for debt, "he said to himself. "A man can live down anything, if he knows what heis about. "

CHAPTER II. 

FIRM AS A BOOK. 

After that midnight interview between the two girls in Miss Halliday'sbedroom, life went very smoothly at the gothic villa for two or threedays, during which the impulsive Charlotte, being forbidden to talkopenly of the change in her friend's position, was fain to give vent toher feelings by furtive embraces and hand-squeezings, sly nods andmeaning becks, and mischievous twinkling of her arch grey eyes. 

She talked of Valentine more than ever now, feeling herself at liberty tosing what paeans she pleased in praise of her hero, now that her friendhad also a fitting subject for paeans. 

"And now it's your turn to talk of M. Lenoble, dear, " she would saynaively, when she had entertained Diana with the minute details of herlast conversation with her lover, or a lively sketch of the delights ofthat ideal cottage which she loved to furnish and unfurnish in accordancewith the new fancy of the hour. 

Diana was pleased to listen to her girlish talk: to hang and rehang theideal draperies, to fill and refill the ideal bookcase, to plan andreplan the arrangements of that ideal existence which was to be all joyand love and harmony; but when her turn came, and she was asked to berapturous about her own lover, she could say nothing: that which she feltwas too deep for words. The thought of her lover was strange to her; thefact of his love was mysterious and wonderful. She could not talk of himwith the customary frivolous school-girl talk; and love for him had sonewly taken root in her heart that there were as yet no blossoms to begathered from that magical plant. 

"Don't ask me to talk of him, Lotta, dear;" she said. "I am not yet surethat I love him; I only feel that it is sweet to be loved by him. I thinkProvidence must have sent him to me in pity for my desolation. "

This was almost the same fancy that had occurred to Susan Meynellfive-and-thirty years before this time, when Gustave the first hadrescued her from the suicide's unrepentable sin. 

That chivalrous turn of mind which was hereditary in the race of Lenoblepredisposed these men to pity loneliness and beauty, weakness and sorrow. This pity for helplessness may have been indeed only an element of theirexceeding strength. Was not the rescue of weaklings and women anunfailing attribute in the mighty men of old? Who so prompt as Herculesto fly to the rescue of Hesione? Who so swift as Perseus to saveAndromeda? And what sea-monster more terrible than loneliness andpoverty?

In a few days there came another letter from Captain Paget, containing afresh summons to Omega Street. 

"Lenoble positively returns to Normandy to-morrow, " he wrote, "to see hisgirls, and, no doubt, break the news of his approaching marriage. He muchwants to see you, and, as I have forbidden his calling on you at theLawn, can only meet you here. He is to drink tea with me at the usualtime to-morrow evening, and I shall expect to see you early in theafternoon. "

This afforded an opportunity for that introduction to which Miss Hallidaylooked forward with so much interest. 

"If Mr. Sheldon and your mamma will let you come with me this afternoon, dear, I shall be very pleased to take you, " said Diana; and she felt thatshe would appear less in the character of a lamb led to the slaughter ifshe could go to meet her betrothed accompanied by Charlotte. 

But in this matter both the young ladies were doomed to disappointment. Mr. Sheldon showed himself a social Draco in all things relating to hisstepdaughter. Being forbidden to reveal the existence of Gustave Lenoble, Charlotte could only urge a frivolous desire to accompany her friend in apilgrimage dictated by filial duty. To the practical mind of PhilipSheldon this desire appeared altogether absurd and unreasonable, and hedid not hesitate to express himself to that effect in a _tête-a-tête_with his stepdaughter. 

"What good on earth can you do by going to see a gouty old man, who hashis own daughter to dance attendance upon him?" asked Mr. Sheldon. "Really, Charlotte, I am surprised to hear such a proposition from agirl of your good sense. Miss Paget is your companion, not your visitor. It is her duty to indulge your whims, but it is not your place to giveway to hers. "

"But this is a whim of mine, papa; I should really like to spend theafternoon at Chelsea. It would be a change, you know. "

Mr. Sheldon looked at his stepdaughter with a sharp and searching gaze, agaze in which there was suspicion as well as curiosity. 

"It is a very discreditable whim for a young lady in your position, "he said sternly; "and I beg that such a proposition may not be made tome again. "

This was decisive. Charlotte submitted, and Diana went alone to OmegaStreet. She found Gustave waiting for her. He proposed a walk, andCaptain Paget was enthusiastic upon the subject of fresh air, and thebenefits arising therefrom. So the lovers went out in the bleak winterafternoon, and wandered in the dreary Pimlico region as far as St. James's Park--Gustave delighted to have Diana's hand upon his arm, andDiana almost bewildered by a sense of happiness, which seemed unreal byreason of its very novelty. 

Gustave was all enthusiasm, full of plans for the future. He would havehad the marriage take place immediately, if such a thing had beenpossible; but Diana showed him that it would not be possible. Her firstduty was to the only friends she had ever known. Gustave argued the pointresolutely for nearly an hour, during which time they made their way tothe very gates of St. James's Park, but Diana was more resolute still. 

"What a tyrannical wife I shall have by-and-by!" said Gustave. "I thinkyou care for these Sheldons more than for me, Diane. "

"These Sheldons have been so good to me in the past. "

"And I mean to be so good to you in the future, " answered Gustave. "Youshall be the happiest wife in Normandy, if a foolish doting husband'sdevotion can make you happy. "

"What have I done to deserve so much devotion?" Diana murmuredwonderingly. 

"What have you done? Nothing, less than nothing. You will not even runthe hazard of offending your family of Sheldon in order to make me happy. But Fate has said, 'At the feet of that girl with the dark eyes and paleproud face shall poor Lenoble of Côtenoir put down his heart. ' Do youknow what I said to myself when I saw you first in the little parlouryonder? Ah, no! How should you guess? 'She is there, ' said I; 'beholdher! It is thy destiny, Lenoble, on which thou gazest!' And thou, love, wert calm and voiceless as Fate. Quiet as the goddess of marble beforewhich the pagans offered their sacrifices, across whose cold knees theylaid their rich garments. I put my treasures in your hip, my love; myheart, my hopes, --all the treasures I had to offer. "

This was all very sweet, but there was a sting even mingled with thatsweetness. Diana told herself that love like this should only be offeredon the purest shrine; and when she remembered the many stains upon herfather's honour, it seemed to her that a part of the shame must needscleave to her. 

"Gustave, " she said presently, after an absent meditative mood, fromwhich her lover had vainly tried to beguile her, "does it not seem to youthat there is something foolish in this talk of love and confidencebetween you and me; and that all your promises have been a little toolightly made? What do you know of me? You see me sitting in my father'sroom, and because my eyes happen to please you, or for some reason asfoolish as that, you ask me to be your wife. I might have been one of theworst of women. "

"You might have been?--yes, dear, but you are not. And if you had been, Gustave Lenoble would not have flung his heart into your lap, even ifyour eyes had been sweeter than they are. We impulsive people are peopleof quick perceptions, and know what we are doing better than ourreflective friends imagine. I did not need to be an hour in your company, dear love, in order to know that you are noble and true. There are tonesin the voice, there are expressions of the face, that tell these thingsbetter than words can tell them; for, you see, words can lie, while tonesand looks are apt to be true. Yes, my angel, I knew you from that firstnight. My heart leapt across all conventional barriers, and found its waystraight to yours. "

"I can see that you think much better of me than I deserve; but evensupposing you not to be deceived as to myself, I fear you are muchdeceived as to my surroundings. "

"I know that your father is poor, and that the burden of his povertyweighs heavily on you. That is enough for me to know. "

"No, M. Lenoble; it is act enough for you to know. If I am to be yourwife, I will not enter your family as an impostor. I told you the truthabout myself the other day when you questioned me, and I am bound to tellyou the truth about my father. "

And then she told him, in the plainest frankest language, the story ofher father's life. She inflicted no unnecessary shame on Captain Paget;she made no complaint of her neglected childhood and joyless youth; butshe told Gustave that her father had been an adventurer, keeping doubtfulcompany, and earning his bread by doubtful means. 

"I hope and believe that if a peaceful home could be secured for hisdeclining years, he would live the rest of his life like a gentleman anda Christian; and that, the bitter struggle for existence being ended, hewould be sorry for the past. I doubt if the sense of shame ever desertedhim when he was living that wretched wandering life, leaving debts anddifficulties behind him everywhere--always harassed and hunted bycreditors, who had good cause to be angry. Yes, Gustave, I do believethat if it should please Providence to give my father a peaceful home atlast, he will be thankful for God's mercy, and will repent the sins oflife. And now I have told you the kind of heritage I can bring myhusband. "

"My dear love, I will accept the heritage, for the sake of her who bringsit. I never meant to be less than a son to your father; and if he is notthe best of fathers, as regards the past, we will try to make him adecent kind of father as regards the future. I have long understood thatCaptain Paget is something--ever so little--of an adventurer. It was thepursuit of fortune that brought him to me; and without knowing it, hebrought me my fortune in the shape of his daughter. "

Diana blushed as she remembered that Captain Paget had not been soinnocent of any design in this matter as the Frenchman imagined. 

"And you will receive even papa for my sake?" asked Diana. 

"With all my heart. "

"Ah, you are indeed a generous lover!"

"A lover who is not generous is--bah! there is nothing in creation somean as the wretch whom love does not render generous. When one sees thewoman whom Fate intends for one's wife, is one to stop to inquire thecharacter of her father, her mother, her sister, her cousin?--for thereis no stopping when you begin that. A man who loves makes no inquiries. If he finds his jewel in the gutter, he picks it out of the mud andcarries it away in his bosom, too proud of his treasure to remember wherehe found it; always provided that the jewel is no counterfeit, but thereal gem, fit for a king's crown. And my diamond is of the purest water. By-and-by we will try to drain the gutter--that is to say, we will try topay those small debts of which you speak, to lodging-house keepers, andtradesmen who have trusted your father. "

"You would pay papa's debts!" cried Diana in amazement. 

"But why not? All these little debts, the thought of which is so bitterto you, might be discharged for two or three thousand pounds. Your fathertells me I am to be very rich by-and-by. "

"My father tells you! Ah, then, you have allowed him to involve you insome kind of speculation!"

"He has involved me in no speculation, and in no risk that two or threehundred pounds will not cover. "

"The whole business seems very mysterious, Gustave. "

"Perhaps; it has to do with a secret which I am pledged to keep. I willnot allow your father to lead me into any quagmire of speculation, believe me, dear one. "

After this they went back to Omega Street in the winter gloaming, andDiana loved and admired this man with all her heart and mind. A new lifelay before her, very bright and fair. There, where had been only thebarren desert, was now a fair landscape, shining in the sunlight of hope. 

"Do you think your children will ever love me, Gustave?" she asked, notwithout some sense of wonder that this impulsive light-hearted lovershould be the owner of children. She fancied that a responsibility sograve as paternity must needs have impressed some stamp of solemnity uponthe man who bore it. 

"Ever love thee!" cried Gustave. "Child, they will adore thee. They askonly some one to love. Their hearts are gardens of flowers; and thoushalt gather the flowers. But wilt thou be happy at Côtenoir, thou? It issomewhat sad, perhaps--the grave old château with the long sombrecorridors. But thou shalt choose new furniture, new garnitures at Rouen, and we will make all bright and gay, like the heart of thy affianced Thouwilt not be dull?"

"Dull, with you and yours! I shall thank God for my happy home day andnight, as I never thought to thank Him a few months ago, when I wasdissatisfied, wicked, tired of my life. "

"And when you thought of that other one? Ah, how he was an imbecile, thatother one! But thou wilt never think of him again; it is a dream that ispast, " said M. Lenoble. 

That self-confidence which was an attribute of his sanguine naturerendered the idea of a rival not altogether unpleasant to him. He wasgratified by the idea of his own victory, and the base rival'sannihilation. 

"Diane, I want to show thee the home that is to be thine, " he saidpresently. "Your Sheldon family must give thee at least a holiday, ifthey refuse to let thee go altogether. Thou wilt come to Normandy withthy father. He is coming for a week or two, now that his gout is better. I want to show thee Côtenoir--and Beaubocage, the place where my fatherwas born. It will seem dreary, perhaps, to thine English eyes; but to meit is very dear. "

"Nothing that is dear to you shall appear dreary to me, " said Diana. 

By this time they had arrived at Omega Street. Again Miss Paget made teafor her lover. Strange to say, the operation seemed to grow moreagreeable with every repetition. While taking his tea from the hands ofhis beloved, Gustave pressed the question of Diana's visit to Normandy. 

"About her Sheldon family she is adamant, " he said to Captain Paget, whosipped his tea and smiled at the lovers with the air of an aristocraticpatriarch. "There is to be no marriage till it pleases Mrs. Sheldon toset her free. I consent to this only as man must consent to theinevitable; but I say to her, can she not come to Normandy for afortnight--say but one short fortnight--to see her home? She will comewith you. She has but to ask a holiday of her friends, and it is done. "

"Of course, " exclaimed the Captain, "she shall come with me. Ifnecessary, I myself will ask it of Sheldon. --But it will be best not tomention where you are going, Diana. There are reasons, best known to ourfriend Gustave and myself, which render secrecy advisable just atpresent. You can say Rouen. That is quite near enough to the mark to comewithin the limits of truth, " added Horatio, with the tone of a man whohad never; quite outstepped those limits. "Yes, Rouen. And you will comewith me. "

"With us, " said Gustave. "I will put off my journey for a day or two forthe sake of going with you. You have to meet Fleurus in Rouen haven'tyou?"

"Yes; he is to be there on the fifth of March, and this is the last dayof February. I had a letter from him this morning. All goes swimmingly. "

Diana wondered what it could be which went swimmingly; but she wasobliged to content herself with her lover's assurance that he had notallowed her father to involve him in any kind of speculation. 

CHAPTER III. 

AGAINST WIND AND TIDE. 

Between Philip Sheldon and his brother there was at this time a state offeeling somewhat akin to the relations between a subjugated country andits conqueror. The vanquished is fain to accept whatever the victor ispleased to give, though discontent and impotent rage may be gnawing hisentrails. George Sheldon had been a loser in that game in which theHaygarthian inheritance was the stake. He had held good cards, and hadplayed them with considerable cleverness; but no play could prevailagainst his antagonist's ace of trumps. The ace of trumps was CharlotteHalliday; and as to his mode and matter of playing this card, Mr. Sheldonwas for the present profoundly mysterious. 

"I have known a good many inscrutable cards in my time, " the solicitor ofGray's Inn observed to his elder brother, in the course of fraternalconverse; "but I think for inscrutability you put the topper on the lot. What do you expect to get out of this Haygarth estate? Come, Phil, let ushave your figures in plain English. I am to have a fifth--that's allsigned and sealed. But how about your share? What agreement have you gotfrom Miss Halliday?"

"None. "

"None!"

"What would the world think of me if I extorted money, or the promise ofmoney, from my wife's daughter? Do you think I could enforce any deedbetween her and me?"

"Ah, I see; you go in for respectability. And you are going to leave thesettlement of your claims to your stepdaughter's generosity. You will lether marry Hawkehurst, with her hundred thousand pounds; and then you willsay to those two, 'Mr. And Mrs. Hawkehurst, be so kind as to hand over myshare of the plunder. ' That is not _like_ you, Phil. "

"Perhaps you will be good enough to spare yourself the trouble ofspeculating about my motives. Go your way, and leave me to go mine. "

"But this is a case in which I have an interest. If Charlotte marriesHawkehurst, I don't see how you are to profit, to any extent that youwould care about, by the Haygarth fortune. But, on the other hand, if sheshould die unmarried, without a will, the money would go to your wife. Omy God! Philip Sheldon, is _THAT_ what you mean?"

The question was so sudden, the tone of horror in which it was spoken soundisguised, that Mr. Sheldon the stockbroker was for one moment thrownoff his guard. His breath thickened; he tried to speak, but his dry lipscould shape no word. It was only one moment that he faltered. In the nexthe turned upon his brother angrily, and asked what he meant. 

"You've been promised _your_ reward, " he said; "leave me to look aftermine. You'll take those papers round to Greenwood and Greenwood; theywant to talk to you about them. "

"Yes, I'll take the papers. "

Greenwood and Greenwood were Mr. Sheldon's own solicitors--a firm of somedistinction, on whose acumen and experience the stockbroker placedimplicit reliance. They were men of unblemished respectability, and tothem Mr. Sheldon had confided the care of his stepdaughter's interests, always reserving the chief power in his own hands. These gentlementhought well of the young lady's prospects, and were handling the case inthat slow and stately manner which marks the handling of such cases byeminent firms of the slow-and-stately class. 

Mr. Sheldon wished his brother good-day, and was about to depart, whenGeorge planted himself suddenly before the door. 

"Look you here, Phil, " he said, with an intensity of manner that was byno means common to him; "I want to say a few words to you, and I will saythem. There was an occasion, ten years ago, on which I ought to havespoken out, and didn't. I have never ceased to regret my cowardice. Yes, by Jove! I hate myself for it; and there are times when I feel as if myshare in that wretched business was almost as bad as yours. "

"I don't know what you mean. "

"Of course not. That's your text, and you'll stick to it. But you _do_know what I mean, and you shall know what I mean, if plain words can tellyou. You and I had a friend, Phil. He was a good friend to me, and Iliked him as much as a man of the world can afford to like anybody. If Ihad been down in the world, and had asked him for a hundred pounds togive me a new start in life, I think he'd have said, 'George, here's acheque for you. ' _That's_ my notion of a friend. And yet I stood by thatman's deathbed, and saw him sinking, and knew what ailed him, and didn'tstretch out my hand to save him. "

"Be so good as to move away from that door, " said Mr. Sheldon, livid tothe lips with smothered fury, but able to put on a bold frontnevertheless. "I didn't come here to listen to rhodomontade of this kind, or to bandy words with you. Get out of my way. "

"Not till I've said my say. There shall be no rhodomontade this time. Istood by and saw my best friend murdered--by you. I kept my counsel foryour sake, and when you had made your fortune--by his death--I asked youfor a little money. You know how much you gave me, and how graciously yougave it. If you had given me twenty times the sum you gained by TomHalliday's death, I would give it back, and twenty times as much again, to bring him back to life, and to feel that I had never aided and abetteda murderer. Yes, by God, I would! though I'm not straitlaced orover-scrupulous at the best of times. But that's past, and all the moneyin the Bank of England wouldn't undo what you did in Fitzgeorge Street. But if you try on any such tricks with Tom Halliday's daughter, if_that's_ the scheme you've hatched for getting hold of this money, assurely as we two live, I'll let in the light upon your doings, and savethe girl whose father you murdered. I will, Philip, let come what may. You can't get _me_ out of the way when it suits you, you see. _I knowyou. _ That's the best antidote against your medicines. "

"If you'll be so good as to say these things on 'Change, I can bring anaction for libel, or get you put into a madhouse. There's no good insaying them here. "

Philip Sheldon, even in this crisis, was less agitated than his brother, being of a harder nature, and less subject to random impulses of good orevil. He caught his accuser by the collar of his coat, and flung himviolently from the doorway. Thus ended his visit to Gray's Inn. 

Boldly as he had borne himself during the interview, he went to hisoffice profoundly depressed and dispirited. 

"So I am to have him against me?" he said to himself. "He can do me noreal harm; but he can harass and annoy me. If he should drop any hint toHawkehurst?--but he'll scarcely do that. Perhaps I've ridden him a littletoo roughly in the past. And yet if I'd been smoother, where would hisdemands have ended? No; concession in these cases means ruin. "

He shut himself in his office, and sat down to his desk to confronthis difficulties. For a long time the bark which was freighted withPhilip Sheldon's fortunes had been sailing in troubled waters. He hadbeen an unconscious disciple of Lord Bacon, inasmuch as the boldnessinculcated by that philosopher had been the distinguishing characteristicof his conduct in all the operations of life. As a speculator, hisboldness had served him well. Adventures from which timid spirits shrunkappalled had brought golden harvests to this daring gamester. When somerich argosy upon the commercial ocean fired her minute-guns, and sent upsignals of distress, menaced by the furious tempest, lifted high on thecrest of mountainous waves, below which, black and fathomless, yawn thevalleys of death, --a frail ark hovering above the ravening jaws ofall-devouring Poseidon, --Philip Sheldon was among that chosen band ofdesperate wreckers who dared to face the storm, and profit by thetempest and terror. From such argosies, while other men watched andwaited for a gleam of sunlight on the dark horizon, Mr. Sheldon hadobtained for himself goodly merchandise. The debenture of railways thatwere in bad odour; Unitas Bank shares, immediately after the discovery ofgigantic embezzlements by Swillenger, the Unitas-Bank secretary; theMole-and-Burrow railway stock, when the Mole-and-Burrow scheme was as yetin the clouds, and the wiseacres prognosticated its failure; the sharesin foreign loans, which the Rothschilds were buying _sub rosa_;--these, and such as these, had employed Mr. Sheldon's capital; and from theskilful manipulation of capital thus employed, Mr. Sheldon had trebledthe fortune secured by his alliance with Tom Halliday's widow. 

It had been the stockbroker's fate to enter the money market at a timewhen fortunes were acquired with an abnormal facility. He had made themost of his advantages, and neglected none of his opportunities. He hadseized Good Fortune by the forelock, and not waited to find theharridan's bald and slippery crown turned to him in pitiless derision. Hehad made only one mistake--and that he made in common with many of hisfellow-players in the great game of speculation always going on eastwardof Temple Bar--he had mistaken the abnormal for the normal: he hadimagined that these splendid opportunities were the natural evolvementsof an endless sequence of everyday events; and when the sequence wasabruptly broken, and when last of the seven fat kine vanished off thetransitory scene of life, to make way for a dismal succession of leankine, there was no sanguine youngster newly admitted to the sacredprivileges of "The House" more astounded by the change than Mr. Sheldon. 

The panic came like a thief in the night, and it found Mr. Sheldon aspeculator for the rise. The Melampuses and Amphiaräuses of the StockExchange had agreed in declaring that a man who bought into consols at 90_must_ see his capital increased; and what was true of this chief amongsecurities was of course true of other securities. The panic came, andfrom 90, consols declined dismally, slowly, hopelessly, to 85-1/2;securities less secure sank with a rapidity corresponding with theirconstitutional weakness. As during the ravages of an epidemic the weakerare first to fall victims to the destroyer, so while this fever raged on'Change, the feeble enterprises, the "risky" transactions, sank at anappalling rate, some to total expiry. The man who holds a roaring lion bythe tail could scarcely be worse off than the speculator in thesetroublous times. To let go is immediate loss, to hold on for a certaintime might be redemption, could one but know the exact moment in which itwould be wise to let go. But to hold on until the beast grows more andmore furious, and then to let go and be eaten up alive, is what many mendid in that awful crisis. 

If Philip Sheldon had accepted his first loss, and been warned by thefirst indication that marked the turning of the tide, he would have beena considerable loser; but he would not accept his loss, and he would notbe warned by that early indication. He had implicit belief in his owncleverness; and he fancied if every other bark in that tempest-tossedocean foundered and sank, his boat might ride triumphantly across theharbour-bar, secure by virtue of his science and daring as a navigator. It was not till he had seen a small fortune melt away in the payment ofcontango, that he consented to the inevitable. The mistakes of one yeardevoured the fruits of nine years' successful enterprise, and the PhilipSheldon of this present year was no richer than the man who had stood byTom Halliday's bedside and waited the advent of the equal foot that knowsno difference between the threshold of kingly palace or pauper refuge. Not only did he find himself as poor a man as in that hateful stage ofhis existence--to remember which was a dull dead pain even to _him_--buta man infinitely more heavily burdened. He had made for himself a certainposition, and the fall from that must needs be a cruel and damaging fall, the utter annihilation of all his chances in life. 

The stockbroker's fitful slumbers at this time began to be haunted by thevision of a black board fixed against the wall of a public resort, ablack board on which appeared his own name. In what strange placesfeverish dreams showed him this hideous square of painted deal!--Now itwas on the walls of the rooms he lived in; now on the door of a church, like Luther's propositions; now at a street-corner, where should havebeen the name of the street; now inky-black against the fair whiteheadstone of his own grave. Miserable dream, miserable man, for whom thescraping together of sordid dross was life's only object, and who, inlosing money, lost all!

This agonizing consciousness of loss and of close-impending disgrace wasthe wolf which this Spartan stockbroker concealed beneath his waistcoatday after day, while the dull common, joyless course of his existencewent on; and his shallow wife smiled at him from the opposite side of hishearth, more interested in a new stitch for her crotchet or berlin-woolwork than by the inner life of her husband; and Charlotte and her lovercontemplated existence from their own point of view, and cherished theirown dreams and their own hopes, and were, in all things, as far away fromthe moody meditator as if they had been natives of Upper India. 

The ruin which impended over the unlucky speculator was not immediate, but it was not far off; the shadow of it already wrapped him in atwilight obscurity. His repute as a clever and a safe man had left him. He was described now as a daring man; and the wiseacres shook their headsas they talked of him. 

"One of the next to go will be Sheldon, " said the wiseacres; but in thesedays of commercial epidemic there was no saying who would be the first togo. It was the end of the world in little. One was taken, and anotherleft. The Gazette overran its customary column like a swollen river, andflooded a whole page of the Times newspaper; and men looked to the listsof names in the Wednesday and Saturday papers as to the trump ofarchangels sounding the destruction of the universe. 

For some time the bark in which Mr. Sheldon had breasted those turbulentwaters had been made of paper. This was nothing. Paper boats were theprevailing shipping in those waters; but Captain Sheldon's bark neededrefitting, and the captain feared a scarcity of paper, or, worse still, the awful edict issued from some commercial Areopagus that for him thereshould be no more paper. 

Once before, Mr. Sheldon had found himself face to face with ruincomplete and irredeemable. When all common expedients had been exhausted, and his embarrassments had become desperate, he had found a desperateexpedient, and had extricated himself from those embarrassments. The timehad come in which a new means of extrication must be found as desperateas the last, if need were. As Philip Sheldon had faced the situationbefore, he faced it now--unshrinkingly, though with a gloomy angeragainst destiny. It was hard for him that such a thing should have to berepeated. If he pitied anybody, he pitied himself; and this kind ofcompassion is very common with this kind of character. Do not the Casketletters show us--if we may trust them to show us anything--that MaryStuart was very sorry for herself when she found herself called upon tomake an end of Darnley? In Mr. Swinburne's wonderful study in morbidanatomy, there are perhaps no finer touches than those which reveal theQueen's selfish compassion for her own heartlessness. 

CHAPTER IV. 

DIANA ASKS FOR A HOLIDAY. 

Diana informed Mrs. Sheldon of her father's wish that she should leaveBayswater. Before doing this, she had obtained the Captain's consent tothe revelation of her engagement to be married. 

"I don't like to leave them in a mysterious manner, papa, " she said. "Ihave told Charlotte a good deal already, under a promise of secrecy; butI should like to tell Mrs. Sheldon that there is a real reason for myleaving her. "

"Very well, my love, since you are so amazingly squeam--honourable, "interposed the Captain, remembering how much depended on his daughter'smarriage, and what a very difficult person he had found her. "Yes, mydear, of course; I respect your honourable feeling; and--er--yes--you maytell Mrs. Sheldon--and that of course includes Mr. Sheldon, since thelady is but an inoffensive cipher--that you are about to be married--to aFrench gentleman of position. You will, of course, be obliged to mentionhis name, and then will arise the question as to where and how you methim; and, upon my word, it's confoundedly awkward that you should insiston enlightening these people. You see, my dear girl, what I want toavoid, for the present, is any chance of collision between the Sheldonsand Lenoble. "

"Papa!" exclaimed Diana, impatiently, "why must there be all thisscheming?"

"O, very well, Miss Paget; tell them what you like!" cried the Captain, aggravated beyond endurance by such inherent perversity. "All I can sayis, that a young woman who quarrels with her bread-and-butter is likelyto come to dry bread; and very little of that, perhaps. I wash my handsof the business. Tell them what you like. "

"I will not tell them more than I feel to be actually necessary, papa, "the young lady replied calmly. "I do not think Mr. Sheldon will troublehimself about M. Lenoble. He seems very much occupied by his ownaffairs. "

"Humph! Sheldon seems harassed, anxious, does he?"

"Well, yes, papa; I have thought so for the last few months. If I mayventure to judge by the expression of his face, as he sits at home in theevening, reading the paper, or staring at the fire, I am sure he has manyanxieties--troubles even. Mrs. Sheldon and Charlotte do not appear tonotice these things. They are accustomed to see him quiet and reserved, and they don't perceive the change in him as I do. "

"O, there is a change, is there?"

"Yes, a decided change. "

"Why the deuce couldn't you tell me this before!"

"Why should I tell you that Mr. Sheldon seems anxious? I should not havetold you now, if you had not appeared to dread his interference in ouraffairs. I can't help observing these things; but I don't want to playthe part of a spy. "

"No, you're so infernally punct--so delicate-minded, my love, " said theCaptain, pulling himself up suddenly, for the second time. "Forgive me ifI was impatient just now. You look at these things from a higher point ofview than that of a battered old man of the world like me. But if youshould see anything remarkable in Mr. Sheldon's conduct on anotheroccasion, my love, I should be obliged to you if you would be morecommunicative. He and I have been allied in business, you see, and it isimportant for me to know these things. "

"I have not seen anything remarkable in Mr. Sheldon's conduct, papa; Ihave only seen him thoughtful and dispirited. And I suppose anxieties arecommon to every man of business. "

Georgy received Miss Paget's announcement with mingled lamentations andcongratulations. 

"I am sure I am heartily glad for your sake, Diana, " she said; "but whatwe shall do without you, I don't know. Who is to see to the drawing-roombeing dusted every morning, when you are gone? I'm sure I tremble for theglass shades. Don't imagine I'm not pleased to think you should settle inlife advantageously, my love. I'm not so selfish as that; though I willsay that there never was a girl with more natural talent for making-uppretty little caps than you. The one I have on has been admired byeverybody. Even Ann Woolper this morning, when I was going into thebutcher's book with her--for I insist upon going into the butcher's bookwith her weekly, whether she likes it or not; though the way that manputs down the items is so bewildering that I feel myself a perfect babyin her hands, --even Ann admired it, and said how young-looking it is. Andthen she brought up the time in Fitzgeorge Street, and poor Tom'sillness, and almost upset me for the rest of the day. And now, dear, letme offer you my sincere congratulations. Of course, you know that youwould always have had a home with me; but service, or at leastcompanionship, is no inheritance, as the proverb says; and for your ownsake I'm very glad to think that you are going to have a house of yourown. And now tell me what he is like, Monsieur what's-his-name?"

Mrs. Sheldon had been told, but had not remembered the name. Her greatanxiety, as well as Charlotte's, was to know what manner of man theaffianced lover was. If Diana's future happiness had been contingent onthe shape of her husband's nose, or the colour of his eyes, these twoladies could not have been more anxious upon the subject. 

"Has he long eyelashes, and a dreamy look in his eyes, like Valentine?"asked Charlotte, secretly convinced that her lover had a copyright inthese personal graces. 

"Does he wear whiskers?" asked Georgy. "I remember, when I was quite agirl, and went to parties at Barlingford, being struck by Mr. Sheldon'swhiskers. And I was quite offended with papa, who was always makingsarcastic remarks, for calling them mutton-chop whiskers; but theyreally were the shape of mutton-cutlets at that time. He wears themdifferently now. "

Mrs. Sheldon branched off into a disquisition on whiskers, and Dianaescaped from the task of describing her lover. She could not havedescribed him to Georgy. 

By-and-by she asked permission to leave Bayswater for a fortnight, inorder to see her lover's home and friends. 

"I will come back to you, and stay as long as you like, dear Mrs. Sheldon, " she said, "and make you as many caps as you please. And I willmake them for you by and by, when I am living abroad, and send them overto you in a bandbox. It will be a great delight to me to be of somelittle service to a friend who has been so kind. And perhaps you willfancy the caps are prettier when they can boast of being French. "

"You darling generous-minded girl! And you won't go away for a fortnightand never come back again, will you, dear? I had a cook who did that, andleft me with a large dinner-party hanging over my head; and how I gotthrough it--with a strange man-cook, who charged a guinea, and used freshbutter, at twentypence, a pound, as if it had been dirt, and two strangemen to wait--I don't know. It all seemed like a dream. And since then wehave generally had everything from the confectioner's; and I assure you, to feel that you can wash your hands of the whole thing, and sit down atthe head of your table with your mind as free from care as if you were avisitor, is worth all the expense. "

Diana promised she would not behave like the cook; and two days afterthis conversation left the London Bridge terminus with her father andGustave Lenoble. 

Mr. Sheldon troubled himself very little about this departure. He wasinformed of Miss Paget's intended marriage; and the information awakenedneither surprise nor interest in his heavily-burdened mind. 

"A Frenchman, a friend of her father's!" he said; "some swindlingadventurer, no doubt, " he thought. And this was as much considerationas he could afford to bestow upon Miss Paget's love affairs at thispresent time. 

CHAPTER V. 

ASSURANCE DOUBLY SURE. 

On the day after Miss Paget's departure Mr. Sheldon came home from theCity rather earlier than usual, and found Charlotte alone in thedrawing-room, reading a ponderous volume from Mudie of an instructive andedifying character, with a view to making herself clever, in order thatshe might better understand that prodigy of learning, Mr. Hawkehurst. 

She was somewhat inclined to yawn over the big book, which contained agraphic account of recent discoveries of an antiquarian nature. Her mindwas not yet attuned to the comprehension of the sublimer elements in suchdiscoveries. She saw only a dry as dust record of futile gropings indesert sand for the traces of perished empires. Her imagination was notcultivated to that point whereat the gift which Mr. Lewes calls "insight"becomes the daily companion, nay, indeed, the ever-haunting andnightmare-bringing influence of the dreamer. For her sands were onlysands, the stones were only stones. No splendour of fallen palaces, noglory and pride of perished kings, no clash and clamour of vanishedcourts, arose from those barren sands, with all their pomp andcircumstance, conjured into being by half a word on a broken pillar, or adate upon a Punic monument. Miss Halliday looked up with a sigh offatigue as her stepfather came into the room. It was not a room that heparticularly affected, and she was surprised when he seated himself inthe easy-chair opposite her, and poked the fire, as if with the intentionof remaining. 

"You shouldn't read by firelight, my dear, " he said; "it is mostdestructive to the eyesight. "

"I dare say my sight will last my time, papa, " the young lady repliedcarelessly; "but it's very kind of you to think of it, and I won't readany more. "

Mr. Sheldon made no reply to this observation. He sat looking at thefire, with that steady gaze which was habitual to him--the gaze of theman who plans and calculates. 

"My dear, " he said by-and-by, "it seems that this money to which you mayor may not be entitled is more than we thought at first; in fact, itappears that the sum is a considerable one. I have been, and still am, particularly anxious to guard against disappointment on your part, as Iknow the effect that such a disappointment is apt to produce upon aperson's life. The harassing slowness of Chancery proceedings isproverbial; I am therefore especially desirous that you should not countupon this money. "

"I shall never do that, papa. I should certainly like a fine edition ofthe Encyclopaedia Britannica for Valentine, by-and-by, as he says that isessential for a literary man; and a horse, for people say literary menought to take horse exercise. But beyond that--"

"We need scarcely go into these details, my dear. I want you tounderstand the broad facts of the case. While, on the one hand, oursuccess in obtaining the inheritance which we are about to claim for youis uncertain, on the other hand the inheritance is large. Of course, whenI presented you with the sum of five thousand pounds, I had no idea ofthis possible inheritance. "

"O, of course not, papa. "

"But I now find that there is such a possibility as your becominga--well--a rich woman. "

"O papa!"

"In which case I may conclude that your mother would benefit in somemeasure from your good fortune. "

"Can you doubt that, papa? There should be no measure to her benefit fromany money obtained by me. "

"I do not doubt that, my dear. And it is with that idea that I wish tomake a proposition to you--for your mother's possible advantage. "

"I shall be happy to do anything you wish, papa. "

"It must be done as a spontaneous act of your own, Charlotte, not inaccordance with any wish of mine. "

"What is it that I am to do?" asked Charlotte. 

"Well, my dear, you see it is agreed between us that if you do get thismoney, your mother is certain to benefit considerably. But unhappily theproceedings are likely to drag on for an indefinite time; and in thecourse of that time it comes within the limits of possibility that yourdecease may precede that of your mother. "

"Yes, papa. "

"In which case your mother would lose all hope of any such advantage. "

"Of course, papa. "

Charlotte could not help thinking that there was something sordid in thisdiscussion--this calculation of possible gain or loss contingent on herfresh young life. But she concluded that it was the nature of businessmen to see everything from a debased standpoint, and that Mr. Sheldon wasno more sordid than other men of his class. 

"Well, papa?" she asked presently, after some moments of silence, duringwhich she and her stepfather had both been absorbed in the contemplationof the fire. 

"Well, my dear, " replied Mr. Sheldon slowly, "I have been thinking thatthe natural and easy way of guarding against all contingencies would beby your effecting an insurance on your life in your mother's favour. "

"No, no, papa!" cried Charlotte, with unwonted vehemence; "I would ratherdo anything than that!"

"What can be your objection to such a very simple arrangement?"

"I dare say my objection seems foolish, childish even, papa; but I reallyhave a horror of life assurances. I always think of papa--my own poorfather, whom I loved so dearly. It seemed as if he put a price upon hislife for us. He was so anxious to insure his life--I remember hearing himtalk of it at Hyley, when I was a child--to make things straight, as hesaid, for us; and, you see, very soon afterwards he died. "

"But you can't suppose the insurance of his life had anything to do withhis death?"

"Of course not, I am not so childish as that; only--"

"Only you have a foolish lackadaisical prejudice against the only meansby which you can protect your mother against a contingency that is soremote as to be scarcely worth consideration. Let it pass. "

There was more anger in the tone than in the words. It was not that angrytone, but the mention of her mother, that impressed Miss Halliday. Shebegan to consider that her objections were both foolish and selfish. 

"If you really think I ought to insure my life, I will do so, " she saidpresently. "Papa did as much for those he loved; why should I be lessthoughtful of others?"

Having once brought Miss Halliday to this frame of mind, the rest waseasy. It was agreed between them that as Valentine Hawkehurst was to bekept in ignorance of his betrothed's claim to certain moneys now in theshadowy under-world of Chancery, so he must be kept in ignorance of theinsurance. 

It was only one more secret, and Charlotte had learned that it waspossible to keep a secret from her lover. 

"I suppose before we are married I shall able to tell him everything?"she said. 

"Certainly, my dear. All I want is to test his endurance and hisprudence. If the course of events proves him worthy of being trusted, Iwill trust him. "

"I am not afraid of that, papa. "

"Of course not, my dear. But, you see, I have to protect your interests;and I cannot afford to see this gentleman with your eyes. I am compelledto be prudent. "

The stockbroker sighed as he said this--a sigh of utter weariness. Remorse was unknown to him; the finer fibres upon which that chord isstruck had not been employed in the fabrication of his heart. But thereis a mental fatigue which is a spurious kind of remorse, and has all theanguish of the nobler feeling. It is an utter weariness and prostrationof spirit--a sickness of heart and mind--a bitter longing to lie down anddie--the weariness of a beaten hound rather than of a baffled man. 

This was what Mr. Sheldon felt, as the threads of the web which he wasweaving multiplied, and grew daily and hourly more difficult ofmanipulation. Success in the work which he had to do depended on so manycontingencies. Afar off glittered the splendid goal--the undisputedpossession of the late John Haygarth's hundred thousand pounds; butbetween the schemer and that chief end and aim of all his plottings whata sea of troubles! He folded his arms behind his head, and looked acrossthe girlish face of his companion into the shadow and the darkness. Inthose calculations which were for ever working themselves out in thisman's brain, Charlotte Halliday was only one among many figures. She hadher fixed value in every sum; but her beauty, her youth, her innocence, her love, her trust, made no unit of that fixed figure, nor weighed inthe slightest degree with him who added up the sum. Had she been old, ugly, obnoxious, a creature scarcely fit to live, she would haverepresented exactly the same amount in the calculations of PhilipSheldon. The graces that made her beautiful were graces that he had nopower to estimate. He knew she was a pretty woman; but he knew also thatthere were pretty women to be seen in any London street; and thedifference between his stepdaughter and the lowest of womankind whopassed him in his daily walks was to him little more than a socialprejudice. 

The insurance business being once decided on, Mr. Sheldon lost no time inputting it into execution. Although he made a point of secrecy asregarded Mr. Hawkehurst, he went to work in no underhand manner, butmanaged matters after a Highly artistic and superior fashion. He took hisstepdaughter to the offices of Greenwood and Greenwood, and explained herwishes to one of those gentlemen in her presence. If he dwelt a littlemore on Miss Halliday's anxiety for her mother's pecuniary advantage thanhis previous conversation with Miss Halliday warranted, the young ladywas too confiding and too diffident to contradict him. She allowed him tostate, or rather to imply, that the proposed insurance was herspontaneous wish, an emanation of her anxious and affectionate heart, thenatural result of an almost morbid care for her mother's welfare. 

Mr. Hargrave Greenwood, of Greenwood and Greenwood, seemed at firstinclined to throw cold water on the proposition, but after some littledebate, agreed that extreme caution would certainly counsel such a step. 

"I should imagine there was no better life amongst the inhabitants ofLondon, " he said, "than Miss Shel--pardon me--Miss Halliday's. But, asthe young lady herself suggests, 'in the midst of life we are--'; and, asthe young lady herself has observed, these things are--ahem--beyondhuman foresight. If there were any truth in the aphorisms of poets, Ishould say Miss Halliday cannot insure too quickly; for the remark ofCowper--or, stay, I believe Pope--'whom the gods love die young, ' mightvery well be supposed to apply to so charming a young lady. Happily, thesecretaries of insurance offices know very little about the poets, unless, indeed, Miss Halliday were to go to the Royal Widow's andOrphan's Hope, the secretary of which is the author of dramas that mayfairly rank with the works of Knowles and Lytton. "

Mr. Greenwood, an elderly gentleman of the ponderous and port-wineschool, laughed at his own small jokes, and took things altogetherpleasantly. He gave Mr. Sheldon a letter of introduction to the secretaryof his pet insurance company, the value of which to that gentleman wasconsiderable. Nor was this the only advantage derived from the interview. The lawyer's approval of the transaction reassured Charlotte; and thoughshe had heard her own views somewhat misrepresented, she felt that anoperation which appeared wise in the sight of such a lawyer, standing onsuch a Turkey hearthrug, commanding such gentlemanly-looking clerks asthose who came and went at Mr. Greenwood's bidding, must inevitably be aproceeding at once prudent and proper. 

The business of the insurance was not quite so easy as the interview withthe lawyer. The doctor to whom Miss Halliday was introduced seemed verywell satisfied with that young lady's appearance of health and spirits, but in a subsequent interview with Mr. Sheldon asked several questions, and shook his head gravely when told that her father had died atthirty-seven years of age. But he looked less grave when informed thatMr. Halliday had died of a bilious fever. 

"Did Mr. Halliday die in London?" he asked. 

"He did. "

"I should like--ahem--if it were possible, to see the medical man whoattended him. These fevers rarely prove fatal unless there is somepredisposing cause. "

"In this case there was none. "

"You speak rather confidently, Mr. Sheldon, as a non-professional man. "

"I speak with a certain amount of professional knowledge. I knew TomHalliday for many years. "

Mr. Sheldon forebore to state that Tom Halliday had died in his house, and had been attended by him. It is, perhaps, only natural that PhilipSheldon, the stockbroker of repute, should wish to escape identificationwith Philip Sheldon, the unsuccessful dentist of Bloomsbury. 

After a little more conversational skirmishing, the confidentialphysician of the Prudential Step Assurance Company agreed to considerthat Mr. Halliday's constitution had been in no manner compromised by hisearly death, and to pass Charlotte's life. The motives for effecting theinsurance were briefly touched upon in Mr. Greenwood's letter ofintroduction, and appeared very proper and feasible in the eyes of thedirectors; so, after a delay of a few days, the young lady found herselfaccepted, and Mr. Sheldon put away among his more important papers alarge oblong envelope, containing a policy of assurance on hisstepdaughter's life for five thousand pounds. He did not, however, stophere, but made assurance doubly sure by effecting a second insurance uponthe same young life with the Widow's and Orphan's Hope Society, within afew days of the first transaction. 

Book the Sixth. 

DIANA IN NORMANDY. 

CHAPTER I. 

AT CÔTENOIR. 

Beaubocage, near Vevinord, March 15, 186--. 

My darling Lotta, --As you extorted from me a solemn pledge that I wouldwrite you a full and detailed account of my adventures, I seat myself inMademoiselle Lenoble's pretty little turret-chamber, in the hope ofcompleting the first instalment of my work before papa or Gustave summonsme to prepare for a drive and visit to the Convent of the Sacred Heart, which, I believe, has been planned for to-day. 

What am I to tell you, dear, and how shall I begin my story? Let mefancy myself sitting at your feet before your bedroom fire, and youlooking down at me with that pretty inquisitive look in your dear greyeyes. Do you know that M. Lenoble's eyes are almost the colour of yours, Lotta? You asked me a dozen questions about his eyes the other day, and Icould give you no clear description of them; but yesterday, as he stoodat the window looking out across the garden, I saw their real colour. Itis grey, a deep clear grey, and his lashes are dark, like yours. Howshall I begin? That is the grand difficulty! I suppose you will want toknow something even about the journey. Everything was very pleasant, inspite of the cold blusterous March weather. Do you know what my lastjourney was like, Lotta? It was the long dreary journey from Forêtdechêneto St. Katharine's Wharf, when Mr. Hawkehurst advised and arranged myreturn to England. I had been sitting quite alone in a balconyoverlooking the little town. It was after midnight, but the lights werestill burning: I can see the lamplit windows shining through the nightmist as I write this, end the sense of the hopeless misery of that timecomes back to me like the breath of some freezing wind. I can find nowords to tell you how desolate I was that night, or how hopeless. 

I dared not think of my future life; or of the next day, that was to bethe beginning of that hopeless future. I was obliged to bind my thoughtsto the present and all its dreariness; and a kind of dull apatheticfeeling, which was too dull for despair, took possession of me thatnight. While I was sitting there Mr. Hawkehurst came to me, and told methat my father had become involved in a quarrel, under circumstances of avery shameful nature, which I need not tell you, darling. He recommendedme to leave Forêtdechêne--indeed, almost insisted that I should do so. Hewanted to rescue me from that miserable life. Your lover had noble andgenerous impulses even then, you see, dear; at his worst he was not allbad, and needed only your gentle influence to purify and elevate hischaracter. He gave me all the money he possessed to pay the expenses ofmy journey. Ah, what a dreary journey! I left Forêtdechêne in the chilldaybreak, and travelled third class, with dreadful Belgians who smelt ofgarlic, to Antwerp. I slept at a very humble inn near the quay, andstarted for England by the Baron Osy at noon next day. I cannot tell youhow lonely I felt on board the steamer. I had travelled uncomfortablybefore, but never without my father and Valentine--and he had been alwayskind to me. If we were shabbily dressed, and people thought ill of us, Idid not care. The spirit of Bohemianism must have been very strong withme in those days. I remembered how we had sat together on the same boatwatching the sleepy shores of Holland, or making fun of our respectablefellow-passengers. Now I was quite alone. People stared at me rudely andunkindly, as I thought. I could not afford to dine or breakfast with therest; and I was weak enough to feel wounded by the idea that people wouldguess my motive for shunning the savoury banquets that sent up suchhorrid odours to the deck where I sat, trying to read a tatteredTauchnitz novel. And the end of my journey? Ah, Charlotte, you can neverimagine what it is to travel like that, without knowing whether there isany haven, any shelter for you at the end of your wanderings! I knew thatat a certain hour we were to arrive at St. Katharine's Dock, but beyondthat I knew nothing. I counted my money. There was just enough to pay fora cab that would carry me to Hyde Lodge. I should land there penniless. And what if my cousin Priscilla should refuse to receive me? For a momentI fancied even that possible; and I pictured myself walking about London, hungry and homeless. 

This was my last journey. I have dwelt upon it longer than I need havedone; but I want you to understand what it is that makes Gustave Lenobledear to me. If you could feel the contrast between the past and thepresent as I felt it when I stood on the deck of the Dover packet withhim by my side, you would know why I love him, and am grateful to him. Westood side by side, watching the waves and talking of our future, whilemy father enjoyed a nap in one of the little deck cabins. To Gustave thatfuture seems very bright and clear; to me it seems unutterably strangethat the future _can_ be anything but a dismal _terra incognita_, fromthe contemplation of which it is wise to refrain. 

Papa stays with Gustave at Côtenoir; but it had been arranged for me tovisit Mademoiselle Lenoble, Gustave's aunt, at Beaubocage, and to remainwith her during my stay in Normandy. I at once understood the delicatefeeling which prompted this arrangement. We dined at Rouen, and came toVevinord in a coach. At Vevinord a queer little countrified vehicle metus, with a very old man, of the farm-servant class, as coachman. Gustavetook the reins from the old man's hand and drove to Beaubocage, whereMademoiselle Lenoble received me with much cordiality. She is a dear oldlady, with silvery bands of hair neatly arranged under the prettiest ofcaps. Her gown is black silk, and her collar and cuffs of snowywhiteness; everything about her exquisitely neat, and of the fashion oftwenty, or perhaps thirty, years ago. 

And now, I suppose, you will want to know what Beaubocage is like. Well, dear, much as I admire Mademoiselle Lenoble, I must confess that herancestral mansion is neither grand nor pretty. It might have made a verytolerable farmhouse, but has been spoiled by the architect'sdetermination to make it a château. It is a square white building, withtwo pepper-castor-like turrets, in one of which I write this letter. Between the garden and the high road there is a wall, surmounted withplaster vases. The garden is for the greater part utilitarian; but infront of the salon windows there is a grassplot, bordered by stiffgravel-walks, and relieved by a couple of flower-beds. A row of tallpoplars alone screens the house from the dusty high road. At the back ofit there is an orchard; on one side a farmyard; behind the orchard liethe fields that compose the farm of Beaubocage and the paternal estate ofthe Lenoble family. All around the country is very flat. The people seemto be kind and simple, and devotedly attached to "Mademoiselle. " There isa rustic peacefulness pervading everything which, for me, stands insteadof beauty. 

I am hypocrite enough to pretend to be pleased with everything, for I canperceive how anxiously M. Lenoble watches me in order to discover whetherI like his native country. He was not born at Beaubocage, but in Paris. Mademoiselle Lenoble told me the story of his childhood, and how shebrought him to Beaubocage, when quite a little fellow, from Rouen, wherehis father died. About his mother there seems to have been some mystery. Mademoiselle told me nothing of this, except that her brother, Gustavethe elder, made a love-match, and thereby offended his father. She hasthe little crib in which her nephew, Gustave the younger, slept on thenight of his coming. It had been his father's little bed thirty yearsbefore. She shed tears as she told me the story, and how she sat andwatched by the little fellow as he cried himself to sleep with his headlying on her arm, and the summer moonlight shining full upon his face. 

I was deeply touched by her manner as she told me these things; and Ithink, if I had not already learned to love M. Lenoble, I should love himfor the sake of his aunt. She is charming; a creature so innocent andpure, that one considers one's words in speaking to her, almost as if shewere a child. She is about forty years older than I; yet for worlds Iwould not tell her of the people and the scenes I have beheld at foreignwatering-places and gambling-rooms. She has spent the sixty years of herlife so completely out of the world, that she has retained the freshnessand sweetness of her youth untainted in the least degree. Can there bemagical philtre equal to this--a pure unselfish life, far away from theclamour of cities?

The old servant who waits upon me is seventy-five years of age, andremembers Ma'amselle Cydalise from her childhood. She is always singingthe praises of her mistress, and she sees that I like to hear them. "Ah, ma'amselle, " she said to me, "to marry a Lenoble is to marry one of theangels. I will not say that the old seigneur was not hard towards hisson. Ah, yes, but it was a noble heart. And the young monsieur--that onewho died in Rouen, the Poor!--ah, that he was kind, that he was gracious!What of tears, what of regrets, when the Old chased him!"

My position is quite recognised. I think the very cowboy in thefarmyard--a broad-shouldered lad, with a good-natured mindless face, andprodigious wooden shoes like clumsy canoes--even the cowboy knows that Iam to be Madame Lenoble of Côtenoir. Côtenoir is the Windsor Castle ofthis district; Beaubocage is only Frogmore. Yes, dear, the bond is signedand sealed. Even if I did not love M. Lenoble, I have bound myself tomarry him; but I do love him, and thank him with all my heart for havinggiven a definite end and aim to my life. Don't think I underrate yourkindness, darling; I know that I should never want a home while you couldgive me one. But 'tis hard to be a hanger-on in any household; andValentine will exact all his sweet young wife's love and care. 

I have written you a letter which I am sure will require double postage;so I will say no more except goodbye. Take care of yourself, dear one. Practise your part in our favourite duets; remember your morning walk inthe garden; and don't wear out your eyes over the big books that Mr. Hawkehurst is obliged to read. 

Ever your affectionate

DIANA. 

 * * * * *

_From Charlotte Halliday to Diana Paget_. 

The dullest house in Christendom, Monday. 

EVER DEAREST Di, --Your letter was a welcome relief to the wearinessof my existence. How I wish I were with you! But that is too bright adream. I am sure I should idolise Beaubocage. I should not mind thedismal row of poplars, or the flat landscape, or the dusty road, oranything, so long as it was not like Bayswater. I languish for a change, dear. I have seen so little of the world, except the dear moorlandfarmhouse at Newhall. I don't think I was ever created to be "cabined, cribbed, confined, " in such a narrow life as this, amid such a dull, unchanging round of daily commonplace. Sometimes, when the cold springmoon is shining over the tree-tops in Kensington-Gardens, I think ofSwitzerland, and the snow-clad mountains and fair Alpine valleys we haveread of and talked of, until my heart aches at the thought that I maynever see them; and to think that there are people in whom the word'Savoy' awakes no fairer image than a cabbage! Ah, my poor dear! isn't italmost wicked of me to complain, when _you_ have had such bitterexperience of the hard cruel world?

I am quite in love with your dear Mademoiselle Lenoble; almost as deeplyas I am in love with your magnanimous, chivalrous, generous, audacious--everything ending in _ous_--Monsieur Lenoble. 

How dare you call him M. Lenoble, by the bye? I have counted theoccasions on which you write of him in your nice long letter, and for oneGustave there are half a dozen M. Lenobles. It must be Gustave in futureto me, remember. 

What shall I tell you, dear? I have nothing to tell, really nothing. Tosay that I wish you were with me is only to confess that I am veryselfish; but I _do_ wish for you, dear--my friend and adopted sister, my old school companion, from whom, willingly, I have never concealedone thought. 

Valentine called on Tuesday afternoon; but I have nothing to tell youeven about him. Mamma dozed in her corner after her cup of tea, and Valand I sat by the fire talking over our future, just like you and M. Lenoble on board the Calais boat. How much engaged people find to sayabout the future! Is it our love that makes it seem so bright, sodifferent from all that has gone before? I cannot fancy life withValentine otherwise than happy. I strive to picture trials, and fancymyself in prison with him, the wind blowing in at broken windows, therain coming through the dilapidated roof and pattering on the carpetlessfloor; but the most dismal picture I can paint won't seem dismal if hisfigure is a part of it. We would stop the broken windows with rags andpaper, we would wipe up the rain with our pocket-handkerchiefs, and sitside by side and talk of the future, as we do now. Hope could neverabandon us while we were together. And then, sometimes, while I amlooking at Valentine, the thought that he might die comes to me suddenly, like the touch of an icy hand upon my heart. 

I lie awake at night sometimes thinking of this, and of papa's earlydeath. He came home one night with a cold, and from that hour grew worseuntil he died. Ah, think what misery for a wife to suffer! Happily formamma, she is not capable of suffering intensely. She was very sorry, andeven now when she speaks of papa she cries a little; but the tears don'thurt her. I think, indeed, they give her a kind of pleasure. 

See, dear, what a long egotistical letter I have written, after all. Iwill say no more, except that while I am delighted to think of yourpleasure among new friends and new scenes, my selfish heart still longsfor the hour that is to bring you back to me. 

Pray tell me all you can about your daughters that are to be. 

Ever and ever your loving CHARLOTTE. 

 * * * * *

_From Diana Paget to Charlotte Halliday_. 

Beaubocage, near Vevinord, March 30, 186--. 

MY DEAR LOTTA, --In three days more I hope to be with you; but I suppose, in the meantime, I must keep my promise, and send you a faithful accountof my life here. Everyone here is more kind to me than words can tell;and I have nothing left to wish for, except that you were here to bedelighted, as I am sure you would be, with the freshness and thestrangeness of everything. If I ever do become Madame Lenoble--and evenyet I _cannot_ picture to myself that such a thing will be--you must cometo Côtenoir, you and Valentine. I was taken through every room in the oldchâteau the day before yesterday, and I fixed in my own mind upon therooms I will give you, if these things come to pass. They are very oldrooms, and I can fancy what strange people must have lived in them, anddied in them perhaps, in the days that are gone. But if you come to them, they shall be made bright and pretty, and we will chase the shadows ofthe mediaeval age away. There are old pictures, old musical instruments, quaint spindle-legged chairs and tables, tapestries that crumble as youtouch them--the ashes and relics of many generations. Gustave says wewill sweep these poor vestiges away, and begin a new life, when I come toCôtenoir; but I cannot find it in my heart to obliterate every trace ofthose dead feet that have come and gone in all the dusky passages of myfuture home. 

And now I must tell you about my daughters that are to be--my daughterthat is, I may say of the elder--for I love her so well already that nobreach between Gustave and me could rob her of my affection. She is thedearest, most loving of creatures; and she reminds me of you! I dare sayyou will laugh at this, dear; and, mind, I do not say that ClariceLenoble is actually like you in complexion or feature--those commonattributes which every eye can see; the resemblance is far more subtle. There is a look in this dear girl's face, a smile, an I-know-not-what, which every now and then recalls your own bright countenance. You willsay this is mere fancy--and that is what I told myself at the first; butI found afterwards that it is no fancy, but really one of those vague, indefinable, accidental likenesses which one perceives so often. To me itseems a very happy accident; for my first glance at my daughter's facetold me that I should love her for your sake. 

We went to the convent the day before yesterday. It is a curious oldplace, and was once a stately château, the habitation of a noble family. A little portress, in the black robes of a lay sister, admitted us, andconducted us to the parlour, a fine old room, decorated with pictures ofa religious character, painted by members of the sisterhood. Here Gustaveand I were received by the superioress, an elderly woman, with a mildholy face, and a quiet grace of manner which might become a duchess. Shesent for the demoiselles Lenoble, and after a delay of a quarter of anhour--you remember the toilet the girls at Hyde Lodge were obliged tomake before they went to the drawing-room, Lotta--Mademoiselle Lenoblecame, a tall, slim, lovely and lovable girl, who reminded me of thedearest friend I have in this world. She ran to her papa first, andsaluted him with an enthusiastic hug; and then she stood for a momentlooking shyly at me, confused and doubtful. It was only for a momentshe was left in doubt. Gustave bent down to whisper something in herear--something for which his letters had in some manner prepared her. Thefair young face brightened, the clear grey eyes looked up at me with asweet affectionate gaze, and she came to me and kissed me. "I shall loveyou very much, " she whispered. "And I love you very much already, " Ianswered, in the same confidential manner. And I think these few words, that one pretty confiding look in her innocent eyes, made a tie betweenus that it would take much to loosen. Ah, Lotta, what a wide gulf betweenthe Diana Paget who landed alone at St. Katharine's Wharf, in the dimcheerless dawn, and uncertain where to find a shelter in all that busycity, and the same creature redeemed by your affection, and exalted bythe love and trust of Gustave Lenoble!

After this my second daughter appeared--a pretty young hoyden, withlovable clinging ways; and then the superioress asked if I would like tosee the garden. Of course I said yes; and we were taken through the longcorridors, out into a fine old garden, where the pupils, who looked likethe Hyde Lodge girls translated into French, were prancing and scamperingabout in the usual style. After the garden we went to the chapel, wherethere were more pictures, and flower-bedecked altars, and pale twinklingtapers burning here and there in the chill sunlight. Here there weredamsels engaged in pious meditation, from five years old upwards. Theysend even the little ones to meditate, Clarice tells me; and there arethese infants kneeling before the flower-bedecked altars, rapt inreligious contemplation, like so many Thomas à Kempises. The youngmeditators glanced shyly at us as we passed. When they had shown meeverything of special interest in the pleasant old place, Clarice andMadelon ran off to dress for walking, in order to accompany us toCôtenoir, where we were to dine. 

It was quite a family party. Mademoiselle Lenoble was there, and papa. Hearrived at the château while Gustave and I were paying our visit to theconvent. He is in the highest spirits, and treats me with an amount ofaffection and courtesy I have not been accustomed to receive at hishands. Of course I know the cause of this change; the future mistress ofCôtenoir is a very different person from that wretched girl who wasnothing to him but a burden and an encumbrance. But even while I despisehim I cannot refuse to pity him. One forgives anything in old age. Inthis, at least, it is a second childhood; and my father is very old, Lotta. I saw the look of age in his face more plainly at Côtenoir, wherehe assumed his usual _debonnaire_ man-of-the-world tone and manner, thanI had seen it in London, when he was a professed invalid. He is muchchanged since I was with him at Forêtdechêne. It seems as if he had keptTime at bay very long, and now at last, the common enemy will be held atarm's-length no longer. He still braces himself up in the old militarymanner, still holds himself more erect than many men of half his age;but, in spite of all this, I can see that he is very feeble; shaken andworn by a long life of difficulty. I am glad to think that there will hea haven for him at last; and if I did not thank Gustave with my wholeheart for giving me a home and a place in the world, I should thank himfor giving a shelter to my father. 

And now, dear, as I hope to be with you so very soon, I shall say nomore. I am to spend a day in Rouen before we come back--papa and I, thatis to say; Gustave stays in Normandy to make some arrangements before hecomes back to England. I cannot comprehend the business relations betweenhim and papa; but there is some business going on--law business, as itseems to me--about which papa is very important and elated. 

I am to see the cathedral and churches at Rouen, and I shall contrive tosee the shops, and to bring you something pretty. Papa has given memoney--the first he ever gave me unasked. I have very little doubt itcomes from Gustave; but I have no sense of shame in accepting it. M. Lenoble's seems to me a royal nature, formed to bestow benefits andbounties on every side. 

Tell Mrs. Sheldon that I shall bring her the prettiest cap I can find inRouen; and, with all love, believe me ever your affectionateDIANA. 

BOOK THE SEVENTH. 

A CLOUD OF FEAR. 

CHAPTER I. 

THE BEGINNING OF SORROW. 

Who heeds the cloud no bigger than a man's hand amidst a broad expanse ofblue ether? The faint, scarce perceptible menace of that one little cloudis lost in the wide brightness of a summer sky. The traveller jogs oncontented and unthinking, till the hoarse roar of stormy winds, or thefirst big drops of the thunder-shower, startle him with a suddenconsciousness of the coming storm. 

It was early May, and the young leaves were green in the avenues ofKensington Gardens; Bayswater was bright and gay with fashionable people;and Mrs. Sheldon found herself strong enough to enjoy her afternoon drivein Hyde Park, where the contemplation of the bonnets afforded herperennial delight. 

"I think they are actually smaller than ever this year, " she remarkedevery season; and every season the headgear of fashionable London didindeed seem to shrink and dwindle, "fine by degrees, and beautifullyless. " The coalscuttle-shaped headdress of our grandmothers had not yetresolved itself into a string of beads and a rosebud in these days, butwas obviously tending thitherward. 

Charlotte and Diana accompanied Mrs. Sheldon in her drives. The raptureof contemplating the bonnets was not complete unless the lady had somesympathising spirit to share her delight. The two girls were very wellpleased to mingle in that brilliant crowd, and to go back to their ownquiet life when the mystic hour came, and that bright vision of colourand beauty melted into the twilight loneliness. It had seemed justlately, however, as if Charlotte was growing a little weary of thegorgeous spectacle--the ever-changing, ever-splendid diorama of West Endlife. She no longer exclaimed at the sight of each exceptional toilette;she no longer smiled admiringly on the thoroughbred horses champing theirbits in the immediate neighbourhood of her bonnet; she no longer gave alittle cry of delight when the big drags came slowly along the crowdedranks, the steel bars shining as they swung loosely in the low afternoonsunlight, the driver, conscious of his glory, grave and tranquil, withthe pride that apes humility. 

"See, Lotta, " said Miss Paget, upon an especially bright May evening, asone of these gorgeous equipages went past Mr. Sheldon's landau, "there'sanother drag. Did you see it?"

"Yes, dear, I saw it. "

"And are you tired of four-in-hands? You used to admire them so much. "

"I admire them as much as ever, dear. "

"And yet you scarcely gave those four splendid roans a glance. "

"No, " Charlotte answered, with a faint sigh. 

"Are you tired, Lotta?" Miss Paget asked, rather anxiously. There wassomething in Charlotte's manner of late that had inspired her with avague sense of anxiety; some change which she could scarcely define--achange so gradual that it was only by comparing the Charlotte of somemonths ago with the Charlotte of the present that she perceived how reala change it was. The buoyancy and freshness, the girlish vivacity of MissHalliday's manner, were rapidly giving place to habitual listlessness. "Are you tired, dear?" she repeated, anxiously; and Mrs. Sheldon lookedround from her contemplation of the bonnets. 

"No, Di, dearest, not tired; but--I don't feel very well this afternoon. "

This was the first confession which Charlotte Halliday made of a sense ofweakness and languor that had been creeping upon her during the last twomonths, so slowly, so gradually, that the change seemed too insignificantfor notice. 

"You feel ill, Lotta dear?" Diana asked. 

"Well, no, not exactly ill. I can scarcely call it illness; I feel ratherweak--that is really all. "

At this point Mrs. Sheldon chimed in, with her eyes on a passing bonnetas she spoke. 

"You see, you are so dreadfully neglectful of your papa's advice, Lotta, "she said, in a complaining tone. "Do _you_ like pink roses with mauveareophane, Diana? I do not. Look at that primrose tulle, with deadivy-leaves and scarlet berries, in the barouche. I dare say you have nottaken your glass of old port this morning, Charlotte, and have onlyyourself to thank if you feel weak. "

"I did take a glass of port this morning, mamma. I don't like it; but Itake it every morning. "

"Don't like old tawny port, that your papa bought at the sale of a bishopof somewhere? It's perfectly absurd of you, Lotta, to talk of not likingwine that cost fifteen shillings a bottle, and which your papa's friendsdeclare to be worth five-and-thirty. "

"I am sorry it is so expensive, mamma; but I can't teach myself to thinkit nice, " answered Charlotte, with a smile that sadly lacked thebrightness of a few weeks ago. "I think one requires to go into the City, and become a merchant or a stockbroker, before one can like that sort ofwine. What was it Valentine quoted in the _Cheapside_, about some ladywhom somebody loved?--'To love her was a liberal education. ' I think tolike old port is a commercial education. "

"I am sure such wine _ought_ to do you good, " said Georgy, almostquerulously. She thought this bright blooming creature had no right to beill. The headaches, and little weaknesses and languors and ladylikeailments, were things for which she (Georgy) had taken out a patent; andthis indisposition of her daughter's was an infringement of copyright. 

"I dare say the port will do me good, mamma, in time. No doubt I shall beas strong as that person who strangled lions and snakes and dogs withincalculable heads, and all that kind of thing. "

"I really wish you would not talk in that absurd manner, my dear, " saidMrs. Sheldon with offended dignity. "I think you really cannot be toograteful for your papa's kind thoughtfulness and anxiety about you. I amsure I myself am not so anxious as he is; but of course his medicalknowledge makes him doubly careful. Six weeks ago he noticed that youwanted strength--tone is what he calls it. 'Georgina, ' he said to me, 'Charlotte wants tone. She is beginning to stoop in a really lamentablemanner: we must make her take port or bark, or something of astrengthening kind. ' And then a day or two afterwards he decided on port, and gave me the key of the cellar--which is a thing he rarely gives outof his own hands--and told me the number of the bin from which I was totake the wine--some old wine that he had laid by on purpose for somespecial occasion; and no one is to have it but you, and you are to take aglass daily at eleven o'clock. Mr. Sheldon is most particular about thehour. The regularity of the thing is half the battle in these cases, hesays; and I am sure if you do not observe his wishes and mine, Charlotte, it will be really ungrateful of you. "

"But, dear mamma, I do observe Mr. --papa's wishes. I take my glass ofport every morning at eleven. I go to your cupboard in the breakfast-roomand take out my special decanter, and my special glass, in the mostpunctiliously precise manner. I don't like the wine, and I don't like thetrouble involved in the ceremony of drinking it; but I go through it mostreligiously, to please you and papa. "

"And do you mean to say that you do not feel stronger after taking thatexpensive old port regularly for nearly six weeks. 

"I am sorry to say that I do not, mamma. I think if there is any change, it is that I am weaker. "

"Dear, dear me!" exclaimed Mrs. Sheldon captiously, "you are really amost extraordinary girl. "

Mrs. Sheldon could almost have found it in her heart to say, a mostungrateful girl. There did seem a kind of ingratitude in this futileconsumption of old port at fifteen shillings a bottle. 

"I'll tell you what it is, Lotta, " she said presently, "I am convincedthat your illness--or your weakness--is all fancy. "

"Why so, mamma?"

"Because, if it were real weakness, that old port must have made youstronger. And the fact that the port does you no good, is a proof thatyour weakness is only fancy. Girls of your age are so full of fancies. Look at me, and the martyrdom I go through with my nervous headaches, which perfectly prostrate me, after the least worry or excitement. Thenerves of my head, after going into the butcher's book, are perfectagony. When you come to have a house to look after, and find what it isto have the same saddle of mutton charged for twice over, with the mostdaring impudence--or to have capers and currie-powder, that you _know_you've never had, staring at you from every page of your grocer's book, and nothing but your memory between you and utter ruin--you'll discoverwhat it is to be really ill. "

In this easy manner did Mrs. Sheldon dismiss the subject of her daughtersillness. But it was not so easily dismissed by Diana Paget, who loved herfriend with a profound and pure affection, than which no sister's lovewas ever warmer or stronger. Even Valentine's preference for this happyrival had not lessened Diana's love for her friend and benefactress. Shehad been jealous of Charlotte's happier fate: but in the hour when thisjealousy was most bitter there had been no wavering in her attachment tothis one true and generous friend. 

Miss Paget was very silent during the homeward drive. She understood nowwhat that change had been in her friend which until now had so perplexedher. It was a decay of physical strength which had robbed Lotta's smileof its brightness, her laugh of its merry music. It was physical languorthat made her so indifferent to the things which had once awakened hergirlish enthusiasm. The discovery was a very painful one. Dianaremembered her experience of Hyde Lodge: the girls who had grown day byday more listless, now in the doctor's hands for a day or two, now wellagain and toiling at the old treadmill round of study, now sinking intoconfirmed invalids; until the bitter hour in which parents are summoned, and the doctor urges rest, and the fond mother carries her darling home, assured that home comfort and tenderness will, speedily restore her. Herschoolfellows cluster round the carriage to bid her "good-bye until nexthalf, " full of hopeful talk about her swift recovery. But when thevacation is over, and Black Monday comes, she is not amongst thereturning scholars. Has she not gone up to the higher school, andanswered _Adsum_ to the call of the Great Master?

Diana remembered these old experiences with cruel pain. 

"Girls, as bright and lovable as she is, have drooped and faded away, just when they seem brightest and happiest, " she thought as she watchedCharlotte, and perceived to-day for the first time that the outline ofher fair young cheek had lost its perfect roundness. 

But in such a case love can do nothing except watch and wait. That night, in the course of that girlish talk in Charlotte's bedroom, which hadbecome a habit with the two girls, Diana extorted from her friend a fullaccount of the symptoms which had affected her within the last few weeks. 

"Pray don't look so anxious, dear Di, " she said gaily; "it is reallynothing worth talking of; and I knew that if I confessed to feeling illyou and mamma would straightway begin to worry yourselves about me. Ihave felt a little sick and faint sometimes; and now and then a suddendizziness has come over me. It is nothing of any consequence, and itpasses away very quickly. Sometimes I have a kind of torpid languidfeeling, which is scarcely unpleasant, only strange, you know. But whatdoes it all amount to, except that I am nervous?"

"You must have change of air, Lotta, " said Diana resolutely, "and changeof scene. Yes, no doubt you are nervous. You have been kept almost aprisoner in the house through Mr. Sheldon's punctilious nonsense. Youmiss our brisk morning walks in the Gardens, I dare say. If you were togo to Yorkshire, now, to your friends at Newhall, you would like thatchange, dear, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, I should dearly like to see Aunt Dorothy and uncle Joe; but--"

"But what, darling?"

"I should scarcely like being at Newhall, unless--you'll think me veryfoolish, Di--unless Valentine was with me. We were so happy there, yousee, dear; and it was there he first told me he loved me. No, Di, Icouldn't bear Newhall without him. "

"Poor Aunt Dorothy, poor uncle Joe! feathers when weighed in the scaleagainst a young man whom their niece has known less than a twelvemonth!"

No more was said about Charlotte's illness; Diana was too prudent toalarm her friend by any expression of uneasiness. She adopted a cheeringtone, and the conversation drifted into other channels. 

While Diana's concern for her friend's altered health was yet a newfeeling, she found herself called upon to attend her father once morein the character of a ministering angel. And this time Captain Paget'sillness was something more than gout. It was, according to hisdoctors--he had on this occasion two medical attendants--a generalbreaking up of the system. The poor old wanderer, --the weary Odysseus, hero of so many trickeries, such varied adventures, --laid himself down torest, within view of the Promised Land for which his soul yearned. 

He was very ill. Gustave Lenoble, who came back to London, did notconceal from Diana that the illness threatened to end fatally. At hisinstigation the Captain had been removed from Omega Street to pleasantlodgings at the back of Knightsbridge Road, overlooking Hyde Park. Thiswas nearer Bayswater, and it was very pleasant for the fading oldworldling. He could see the stream of fashion flowing past as he sat inhis easy-chair, propped up with pillows, with the western sunlight on hisface. He pointed out the liveries and armorial bearings; and told manyscandalous and entertaining anecdotes of their past and present owners toGustave Lenoble, who devoted much of his time to the solacement of theinvalid. Everything that affection could do to smooth this dreary timewas done for the tired Ulysses. Pleasant books were read to him; earnestthoughts were suggested by earnest words; hothouse flowers adorned hischeerful sitting-room; hothouse fruits gladdened his eye by their richwarmth of colour, and invited his parched lips to taste their coolripeness. Gustave had a piano brought in, so that Diana might sing to herfather in the dusky May evenings, when it should please him to hear her. Upon the last feeble footsteps of this old man, whose life had been veryselfish and wicked, pity waited with a carefulness so fond and tenderthat he might well mistake it for love. Was it fair that his last daysshould be so peaceful and luxurious, when many a good man falls down todie in the streets, worn out with the life-long effort to bear the burdenlaid upon his weary shoulders? In the traditions of the Rabbins it iswritten that those are the elect of God who suffer His chastisement inthe flesh. For the others, for those who on earth drain the goblet ofpleasure, and riot in the raptures of sin, for them comes the dreadretribution after death. They are plunged in the fire, and driven beforethe wind; they take the shape of loathsome reptiles, and ascend byinfinitesimal degrees through all the grades of creation, until theirstorm-tost wearied degraded souls re-enter human semblance once more. Buteven then their old stand-point is not yet regained; their dread penancenot yet performed. As men they are the lowest and worst of men; slavestoiling in the desert; dirt to be trampled under the feet of theirprosperous brethren. Inch by inch the wretched soul regains its lostinheritance; cycles must elapse before the awful sentence is fulfilled. 

Our Christian faith knows no such horrors. Even for the penitent of theeleventh hour there is promise of pardon. The most earnest desire ofDiana's heart was that her father should enroll himself amongst thoselate penitents--those last among the last who crowd in to the marriagefeast, half afraid to show their shame-darkened faces in that gloriouscompany. 

If we forgive all things to old age, so much the more surely do weforgive all injuries to the fading enemy. That she had suffered muchcruelty and neglect at the hands of her father, was a fact that Dianacould not forget, any more than she could forget the name which he hadgiven her. It was a part of her life not to be put off or done away with. But in these last days, with all her heart she forgave and pitied him. She pitied him for the crooked paths into which his feet had wandered atthe very outset of life, and from which so weak a soul could find noissue. She pitied him for that moral blindness which had kept himpleasantly unconscious of the supreme depth of his degradation--a socialLaplander, who never having seen a western summer, had no knowledge thathis own land was dark and benighted. 

Happily for Diana and her generous lover, the Captain was not adifficult penitent. He was indeed a man who, having lost the capacityand the need for sin, took very kindly to penitence, as a species ofsentimental luxury. 

"Yes, my dear, " he said complacently--for even in the hour of hispenitence he insisted on regarding himself as a social martyr--"my lifehas been a very hard one. Fortune has not been kind to me. In the wordsof the immortal bard, my lines have _not_ been set in pleasant places. Ishould have been glad if Providence had allowed me to be a better fatherto you, a better husband to your poor mother--a better Christian, infact--and had spared me the repeated humiliation of going through theInsolvent Debtors' Court. It is not always easy to understand the justiceof these things: and it has often appeared to me that something of thefavouritism which is the bane of our governments on earth must needsobtain at a higher tribunal. One man enters life with an entailed estateworth seventy thousand a-year, while another finds himself in the handsof the Jews before he is twenty years of age. 'There's something in thisworld amiss shall be unriddled by-and-by, ' as the poet observes. Thecircumstances of my own existence I have ever regarded as dark andenigmatic. And, indeed, the events of this life are altogetherinexplicable, my love. There is that fellow Sheldon, now, who beganlife as a country dentist, a man without family or connections, who--well, I will not repine. If I am spared to behold my daughtermistress of a fine estate, although in a foreign country, I can depart inpeace. But you must have a house in town, my dear. Yes, London must beyour head-quarters. You must not be buried alive in Normandy. There is noplace like London. Take the word of a man who has seen the finestContinental cities, and lived in them--that is the point, my love--livedin them. For a fine afternoon in the beginning of May, an apartment inthe Champs Elysées, or the Boulevard, is an earthly paradise; but theChamps Elysées in a wet December--the Boulevard in a sweltering August!London is the only spot upon earth that is never intolerable. And yourhusband will be a rich man, my dear girl, a really wealthy man; and youmust see that he makes a fitting use of his wealth, and does his duty tosociety. The parable of the Talents, which you were reading to me thisafternoon, is a moral lesson your husband must not forget. "

After this fashion did the invalid discourse. Gustave and Diana perceivedthat he still hoped to have his share in their future life, still lookedto pleasant days to come in a world which he had loved, not wisely, buttoo well. Nor could they find it in their hearts to tell him that hisjourney was drawing to a close, and that on the very threshold of thepeaceful home which his diplomatic arts had helped to secure, he was toabandon life's weary race. 

They indulged his hopes a little, in order to win him the more easily toserious thoughts; but though at times quite ready to abandon himself to apenitential mood that was almost maudlin, there were other times when theold Adam asserted himself, and the Captain resented this intrusion ofserious subjects as a kind of impertinence. 

"I am not aware that I am at my last gasp, Diana, " he said with dignity, on one of these occasions; "or that I need to be talked to by my owndaughter as if I were on my deathbed. I can show you men some years mysenior driving their phaetons-and-pairs in that Park. The Gospel is allvery well in its place--during Sunday-morning service, and after morningprayers, in your good old county families, where the household is largeenough to make a fair show at the end of the dining-room, withoutbringing in hulking lads who smell of the stables: but I consider thatwhen a man is ill, there is a considerable want of tact in bringing thesubject of religion before him in any obtrusive manner. "

Thus the Captain alternated from sentimental penitence to captiousworldliness, during may days and weeks. The business of the Haygarthianinheritance was progressing slowly, but surely. Documents were beingprepared, attested copies of certificates of marriages, births, baptisms, and burials were being procured, and all was tending towards the grandresult. Once, and sometimes twice a week, M. Fleurus came to see CaptainPaget, and discussed the great affair with that invalid diplomatist. TheCaptain had long ago been aware that in entering upon an alliance withthat gentleman, he had invoked the aid of a coadjutor likely to prove toostrong for him. The event had justified his fears. M. Fleurus hadsomething of Victor Hugo's famous _Poulpe_ in his nature. Powerful asflexible were the arms he stretched forth to grasp all prizes in the wayof heirs-at-law and disputed heritages, unclaimed railway-stock, andforgotten consols. If the Captain had not played his cards very cleverly, and contrived to obtain a personal influence over Gustave Lenoble, hemight have found himself thrust entirely out of the business by one ofthe Frenchman's gelatinous arms. Happily for his own success, however, the Captain did obtain a strong hold upon Gustave. This enabled him toprotect his own interests throughout the negotiation, and to keep theinsidious Fleurus at bay. 

"My good friend, " he said, in his grand Carlton-House manner, "I am boundto protect the interests of my friend M. Lenoble, in any agreement to beentered upon in this matter. I cannot permit M. Lenoble's generosity orM. Lenoble's inexperience to be imposed upon. My own interests are ofsecondary importance. That I expect to profit by the extraordinarydiscovery made by me--by ME--alone and unaided, I do not affect to deny. But I will not profit at the expense of a too generous friend. "

"And what recompense am I to have for my work--a work at once painful andimpoverishing?" asked the little Frenchman, with an angry and suspiciouslook. "Do you believe that I do that to amuse me? To run the streets, togo by here, by there, in hunting the papers of that marriage, or thisbaptism? Believe you that is so agreeable, Monsieur the Captain? No; Idesire to be paid for my work. I must have my part in the heritage whichI have help to win. "

"It is not won yet. We will talk of your recompense by-and-by. "

"We will talk of it this instant--upon the field. It must that Icomprehend where I am in this affair. I will not of mystifications, ofprevarications, of lies--"

"M. Fleurus!" cried the Captain, with a hand stretched towards the bell. 

"You will sound--you will chase me! Ah, but no!--you cannot afford tochase me yet. I have to find more papers of baptisms and burials. Go, then, we will talk of this affair as friends. "

This friendly talk ended in Captain Paget's complete victory. M. Fleurusconsented to accept his costs out of pocket in the present, and three percent, of the heritage in the future. It was further agreed that theCaptain should select the English attorney who should conduct M. Lenoble's case in the Court of Chancery. 

This conversation occurred at Rouen, and a day or two afterwards thenecessary document was drawn up. Gustave pledged himself to pay over afourth share of the Haygarthian fortune to Horatio Paget, and threeper cent, upon the whole amount to Jean François Fleurus. The documentwas very formal, very complete; but whether such an agreement wouldhold water, if Gustave Lenoble should choose to contest it, was opento question. 

The solicitor to whom Horatio Paget introduced M. Lenoble was a Mr. Dashwood, of the firm of Dashwood and Vernon; a man whom the Captain hadknown in the past, and from whom he had received good service in some ofthe most difficult crises of his difficult career. To this gentleman heconfided the conduct of the case; and explained his apprehensions withregard to the two Sheldons. 

"You see, as the case now stands, they think they have the claimant tothis money in Miss Halliday--Sheldon's stepdaughter. But if they got aninkling of Susan Meynell's marriage--and, in point of fact--the actualstate of the case--they might try to get hold of my friend, GustaveLenoble. They could _not_ get hold of him, mind you, Dashwood, but theywould try it on, and I don't want trying on of that kind. "

"Of course not. I know Sheldon, of Gray's Inn. He is rather--well, say_shady_. That's hardly an actionable epithet, and it expresses what Imean. Your friend's case seems to me tolerably clear. That littleFrenchman is useful, but officious. It is not a speculative affair, Isuppose? There is money to meet the current expenses of the business?"

"Yes, there is money. Within reasonable limits my friend is prepared topay for the advancement of his claims. "

After this the Haygarthian business progressed, slowly, quietly. The workwas up to this point underground work. There were still paperswanting--final links of the chain to be fitted together; and to thefitting of these links Messrs. Dash and Vernon devoted themselves, inconjunction with M. Fleurus. 

This was how matters stood when Captain Paget drooped and languished, andwas fain to abandon all active share in the struggle. 

CHAPTER II. 

FADING. 

While the invalid in the pleasant lodgings overlooking Hyde Parkgrew day by day weaker, there was a change as marked in the brightyoung creature whose loving spirit had first brought the influence ofaffection to bear upon Diana Paget's character. Charlotte Halliday wasill--very ill. It was with everyday increasing anxiety that Diana watchedthe slow change--slow in its progress, but awfully rapid to look backupon. The pain, the regret, with which she noted her father's decay werelittle indeed compared with the sharp agony which rent her heart as sheperceived the alteration in this dear friend, the blighting of this fairyoung flower. 

That the withered leaves of autumn should fall is sad, but natural, andwe submit to the gloomy inevitable fact of decay and death. But to seeour rose of roses, the pride and glory of the garden, fade and perish inits midsummer prime, is a calamity inexplicable and mysterious. Dianawatched her father's decline with a sense of natural sorrow and pity; butthere was neither surprise nor horror in the thought that for him the endof all things was drawing nigh. How different was it with Charlotte--withthat happy soul for whom life and love wore their brightest smile, beforewhose light joyous footsteps stretched so fair a pathway!

The illness, whatever it was--and neither Mr. Sheldon nor the portly andvenerable physician whom he called in could find a name for it--creptupon the patient with stealthy and insidious steps. Dizziness, trembling, faintness; trembling, faintness, dizziness; the symptoms alternated dayby day. Sometimes there was a respite of a few days; and Charlotte--theyouthful, the sanguine, the happy--declared that her enemy had left her. 

"I am sure mamma is right, Di, " she said on these occasions. "My nervesare the beginning and end of the mischief; and if I could get the betterof my nerves, I should be as well as ever. I don't wonder that the ideaof my symptoms makes mamma almost cross. You see, she has been accustomedto have the symptoms all to herself; and for me to plagiarise them, as itwere, must seem quite an impertinence. For a strong young thing like me, you know, Di dear--who have only just broken myself of plungingdownstairs two and three steps at a time, and plunging upstairs in thesame vulgar manner--to intrude on mamma's shattered nerves, and piratemamma's low spirits, is utterly absurd and abominable; so I have resolvedto look my nerves straight in the face, and get the better of them. "

"My darling, you will get the better of them if you try, " said Diana, whodid at times beguile herself with the hope that her friend's ailmentswere mental rather than bodily. "I dare say your monotonous life hassomething to do with your altered health; you want change of scene, dear. "

"Change of scene, when I have you and Valentine! No, Di. It wouldcertainly be very nice to have the background shifted now and then; tosee Capability Brown's prim gardens melt into Alpine heights orsouthern vineyards, or even into Russian steppes or Hungarian forests. One does get a little tired of _toujours_ Bayswater; and Mr. Sheldon;and crimped skate; and sirloin of beef, and the inevitable discussion asto whether it is in a cannibal state of rawness or burnt to a cinder;and the glasses of pale sherry; and the red worsted doyleys and bluefinger-glasses; and the almonds and raisins, and crisp biscuits, thatnobody ever eats; and the dreary, dreary funereal business of dinner, when we all talk vapid nonsense, with an ever-present consciousness ofthe parlourmaid. I am tired of the dull dinners, and of mamma's peevishcomplaints about Ann Woolper's ascendancy downstairs; and of Mr. Sheldon's perpetual newspapers, that crackle, crackle, crackle all theevening through; and _such_ papers!--_Money Market Monitor, Stockholder'sVade-Mecum_, and all sorts of dreadful things of that kind, with not somuch as an interesting advertisement in one of them. I used never to feelthese things an annoyance, you know, dear, till I made the acquaintanceof my nerves; but from the moment I allowed my nerves to get the betterof me, all these trifles have worried and excruciated me. But I am happywith you, darling; and I am happy with Valentine. Poor Valentine!"

She pronounced his name with a sigh; and then, after a pause, repeatedmournfully, "Poor Valentine!"

"Why do you speak of him so sadly, dear?" asked Diana, very pale. 

"Because--because we have planned such a happy life together, dear, and--"

"Is that a thing to be sad about, darling?"

"And--if it should happen, after all, that we have to part, and he go onalone, the world may seem so sad and lonely to him. "

"Charlotte!" cried Diana, with a laugh that was almost choked by a sob, "is this looking your nerves in the face? Why, my dear one, this isindeed plagiarism of your mamma's low spirits. Lotta, you shall havechange of air; yes, I am determined on that. The stately physician whocame in his carriage the other day, and who looked at your tongue, andsaid 'Ah!' and then felt your pulse and said 'Ah!' again, and then calledfor pen-and-ink and wrote a little prescription, is not the doctor wewant for you. We want Dr. Yorkshire; we want the breezes from theYorkshire moors, and the smell of the farmyard, and our dear AuntDorothy's sillabubs, and our uncle Joe to take us for long walks acrosshis clover-fields. "

"I don't want to go to Newhall, Di. I couldn't bear to leave--him. "

"But what is to prevent your meeting _him_ at the white gate this time, as you met him last October? Might not accident take _him_ to Huxter'sCross again? The archaeological work--of which we have heard no more, bythe bye--might necessitate further investigations in that district. Ifyou will go to Newhall, Lotta, I will pledge myself for Mr. Hawkehurst'sspeedy appearance at the white gate you have so often described to me. "

"My dearest Di, you are all kindness; but even if I were inclined to goto Newhall, I doubt if mamma or Mr. Sheldon would like me to go. "

"I am sure they would be pleased with any arrangement that was likely tobenefit your health. But I will talk to your mamma about it. I have setmy heart on your going to Newhall. "

Miss Paget lost no time in carrying out her idea. She took possession ofGeorgy that afternoon, while teaching her a new stitch in _tricot_, andsucceeded in impressing her with the conviction that change of air wasnecessary for Charlotte. 

"But you don't think Lotta really ill?" asked Mrs. Sheldon, nervously. 

"I trust she is not really ill, dear Mrs. Sheldon; but I am sure she ismuch changed. In talking to her, I affect to think that her illness isonly an affair of the nerves; but I sadly fear that it is something morethan that. "

"But what is the matter with her?" exclaimed Georgy, with a, piteous airof perplexity; "that is the question which I am always asking. Peoplecan't be ill, you know, Diana, without having something the matter withthem; and that is what I can't make out in Charlotte's case. Mr. Sheldonsays she wants tone; the physician who came in a carriage and pair, andought to know what he is talking about, says there is a lack of vigour. But what does that all amount to? I'm sure I've wanted tone all my life. Perhaps there never was a creature so devoid of tone as I am; and theinternal sinking I feel just before luncheon is something that no one butmyself can realize. I dare say Lotta is not so strong as she might be;but I do not see that she can be ill, unless her illness is somethingdefinite. My poor first husband's illness, now, was the kind of thingthat any one could understand--bilious fever. The merest child knows whatit is to be bilious, and the merest child knows what it is to befeverish. There can be nothing mysterious in bilious fever. "

"But, dear Mrs. Sheldon, " said Diana, gravely, "don't you think that theweakness of constitution which rendered Charlotte's father liable to betaken off in the prime of life by a fever is a weakness that Charlottemay possibly have inherited?"

"Good heavens, Diana!" cried Georgy, with sudden terror; "you don't meanto say that you think my Charlotte is going to die?"

It was but one step with Mrs. Sheldon from peevish incredulity to franticalarm; and Diana found it as difficult to tranquillise her newly-awakenedfears as it had been to rouse her from absolute apathy. 

Change of air--yes, of course--Charlotte must have change of air thatinstant. Let a cab be sent for immediately to take them to the terminus. Change of air, of course. To Newhall--to Nice--to the Isle of Wight--toMalta; Mrs. Sheldon had heard of people going to Malta. Where should theygo? Would Diana advise, and send for a cab, and pack a travelling bagwithout an instant's delay? The rest of the things could be sentafterwards. What did luggage matter, when Charlotte's life was at stake?

At this point a flood of tears happily relieved poor Georgy's excitedfeelings, and then common sense and Diana Paget came to the rescue. 

"My dear Mrs. Sheldon, " she said, with a quiet cheerful tone that wentfar to reassure the excited lady, "in the first place we must, above allthings, refrain from any appearance of alarm. Her illness may, after all, be only an affair of the nerves; and there is certainly no cause forimmediate fear. "

Georgy was tranquillised, and agreed to take matters quietly. Shepromised to arrange Charlotte's departure for Newhall, with Mr. Sheldon, that evening. 

"Of course, you know, my dear, I like to consult him about everything, "she said, apologetically. "It is a duty which one owes one's husband, youknow, and a duty which, as a young woman about to marry, I cannot toomuch impress upon you; but in this case it is quite a matter of form: Mr. Sheldon never has objected to Charlotte's going to Newhall, and he is notlikely to object now. "

The event proved Mrs. Sheldon mistaken as to this matter. Georgy proposedthe visit to Newhall that evening, while the two girls were strollinglistlessly in the dusky garden, and Mr. Sheldon most decidedly rejectedthe proposition. 

"If she wants change of air--and Dr. Doddleson recommended nothing of thekind--Newhall is not the place for her. "

"Why not, dear?"

"It is too cold. Northerly aspect--no shelter--three hundred feet aboveYork minster. "

"But Dorothy Mercer is such a kind motherly creature; she'd delight innursing Lotta. "

"Yes, " answered Mr. Sheldon, with a laugh, "and in quacking her. I knowwhat those good motherly creatures are when they get an excuse for dosingsome unhappy victim with their quack nostrums. If Charlotte went toNewhall, Mrs. Mercer would poi--would make her ten times worse thanshe is with old woman's remedies. Besides, as I said before, the place istoo cold. That is a conclusive argument, I suppose?"

He said this with some impatience of tone and manner. There was a haggardlook in his face, a hurried harassed manner pervading him this evening, which had been growing upon him of late. Georgy was too slow ofperception to remark this; but Diana Paget had remarked it, and hadattributed the change in the stockbroker's manner to a blending of twoanxieties. 

"He is anxious about money matters, " she had said to herself, "and he isanxious about Charlotte's health. His lips, moving in whisperedcalculations, as he sits brooding by the fire, tell me of the firstanxiety; his eyes, wandering furtively to his step-daughter's face everynow and then, tell me of the second. "

This furtive anxiety of Mr. Sheldon's increased Diana Paget's anxiety. This man, who had a certain amount of medical knowledge, could no doubtread the diagnostics of that strange insidious illness, which had, asyet, no name, Diana, furtively watching his furtive looks, told herselfthat he read of danger. 

"If Charlotte wants change of air, let her go to Hastings, " he said;"that is the kind of place for an invalid. I want rest myself; andthere's such utter stagnation in the City nowadays that I can very wellafford to give myself a holiday. We'll run down to Hastings, or theimmediate neighbourhood of Hastings, for a week or two. "

"O Philip, how kind and considerate you are! I am sure, as I wasobserving to Miss Paget only today, you--"

"Ah, by the bye, there's Miss Paget. Is it absolutely necessary that MissPaget should go to Hastings with us?"

"Well, dear, you see she has so kindly desired to remain with me for thequarter, so as to give me time to turn round, you know, with regard tocaps and summer things, and so on--for, really, she has such taste, anddoes strike out such excellent ideas about turning, and dipping, anddyeing, that I don't know what will become of me when she leaves us; andit would look so pointed to--"

"Yes; she had better go with us. But why all this fuss about Charlotte?Who put it into your head that she wants change of air?"

Mr. Sheldon evidently considered it an established fact that any idea inhis wife's head must needs have been put there by someone or other. 

"Well, you see, Diana and I were talking of Lotta this afternoon, andDiana quite alarmed me. "

"How so?" asked Mr. Sheldon, with a quick frown. 

"Why, she said it was evident, by the fact of poor dear Tom's dying of afever, that his constitution must have been originally weak. And she saidthat perhaps Charlotte had inherited Tom's weak constitution--andfrightened me dreadfully. "

"There is no occasion for you to be frightened; Charlotte will get onvery well, I dare say, with care. But Miss Paget is a very sensibleyoung woman, and is right in what she says. Charlotte's constitution isnot strong. "

"O Philip!" said Georgy, in a faint wailing voice. 

"I dare say she will live to follow you and me to our graves, " said Mr. Sheldon, with a hard laugh. "Ah, here she is!"

Here she was, coming towards the open window near which her stepfathersat. Here she was, pale and tired, with her sauntering walk, dressed inwhite, and spectral in the gloaming. To the sad eyes of her mother shelooked like a ghost. To the eyes of Philip Sheldon, a man not prone topoetic fancies, she looked even more ghostlike. 

CHAPTER III. 

MRS. WOOLPER IS ANXIOUS. 

Since the beginning of her illness, Charlotte Halliday had been theobject and subject of many anxious thoughts in the minds of severalpeople. That her stepfather had his anxieties about her--anxieties whichhe tried to hide--was obvious to the one person in the Bayswater villawho noted his looks, and tried to read the thoughts they indicated. 

Mrs. Sheldon's alarm, once fairly awakened, was not to be lulled to rest. And in Valentine Hawkehurst's heart there was an aching pain--a dull deadload of care, which had never been lightened from the hour when he firstperceived the change in his dear one's face. 

There was one other person, an inhabitant of the Bayswater villa, whowatched Charlotte Halliday at this time with a care as unresting as thecare of mother or stepfather, bosom friend or plighted lover. This personwas Ann Woolper. Mrs. Woolper had come to the villa prepared to find inMiss Halliday a frivolous self-satisfied young person, between whom andan old broken-down woman like herself there could be no sympathy. She hadexpected to be contemptuously--or, at the best, indifferently--entreatedby the prosperous well-placed young lady, whom Mr. Sheldon had spoken ofas a good girl, as girls go; a vague species of commendation, which, tothe mind of Mrs. Woolper, promised very little. 

As clearly as Philip Sheldon dared express his wishes with regard toCharlotte Halliday, he had expressed them to Ann Woolper. What he wouldfain have said, was, "Watch my stepdaughter, and keep me well acquaintedwith every step she takes. " Thus much he dared not say; but byinsinuating that Tom Halliday's daughter was frivolous and reckless, andthat her lover was not to be trusted, he had contrived to put Mrs. Woolper on the _qui vive_. 

"Mr. Philip's afraid she may go and marry this young man on the sly, before he's got the means to support a wife, " she said to herself, as shemeditated upon the meaning of her master's injunctions; "and well he maybe. There's no knowing what young women are up to nowadays; and the moreinnocent and inexperienced a young woman is, the more she wants lookingafter. And Miss Georgy Craddock always was a poor fondy, up to naught butdressing herself fine, and streaming up and down Barlingford High Streetwith her old schoolfellows. Such as she ain't fit to be trusted with adaughter; and Mr. Philip knows that. He always was a deep one. But I'mglad he looks after Missy: there's many men, having got fast hold of th'father's brass, would let th' daughter marry Old Scratch, for the sake ofgettin' rid of her. "

This is how Mrs. Woolper argued the matter. She came of a prudent race;and anything like prudence seemed to her a commendable virtue. She wishedto think well of her master; for her he had been a Providence in the hourof calamity and old age. Where else could she look, if not to him? And tosuspect him, or think ill of him, was to reject the one refuge offered toher distress. A magnanimous independence of spirit is not an easy virtuefor the old and friendless and poor. The drowning wretch will scarcelyquestion the soundness of the plank that sustains him upon thestorm-tossed billows; nor was Mrs. Woolper inclined to question themotives of the man to whom she now owed her daily bread. 

It is possible that before invoking Mrs. Woolper from the ashes of thepast to take her seat by the hearthstone of the present, Mr. Sheldon mayhave contemplated the question of her return in all its bearings, andmay have assured himself that she was his own, by a tie not easilybroken--his bond-slave, fettered hand and foot by the bondage ofnecessity. 

"What choice can she have, except the choice between my house and theworkhouse?" he may naturally have asked himself; "and is it likely shewill quarrel with her bread-and-butter in order to fall back upon drybread?" Mr. Sheldon, contemplating this and all other questions from hisone unchanging standpoint, may reasonably have concluded that Mrs. Woolper would do nothing opposed to her own interests; and that so longas it suited her interest to remain at the Lawn, and to serve him, shewould there remain, his docile and unquestioning slave. 

The influence of affection, the force of generous impulse, were qualitiesthat did not come into Mr. Sheldon's calculations upon this subject. Hisaddition and subtraction, division and multiplication, were all based onone system. 

That happy and unconscious art by which Charlotte Halliday made herselfdear to all who knew her had a speedy effect upon the old housekeeper. The girl's amiable consideration for her age and infirmities; the prettyaffectionate familiarity with which she treated this countrywoman, whohad known her father, and who could talk to her of Yorkshire andYorkshire people, soon made their way to Nancy Woolper's heart of hearts. For Miss Halliday to come to the housekeeper's room with some messagefrom her mother, and to linger for a few minutes' chat, was a delight toMrs. Woolper. She would have detained the bright young visitant for hoursinstead of minutes, if she could have found any excuse for so doing. Norwas there any treason against Mr. Sheldon in her growing attachment tohis stepdaughter. Whenever Nancy spoke of that master and benefactor, shespoke with unfeigned gratitude and affection. 

"I nursed your step-papa as a baby, Miss Halliday, " she said very oftenon these occasions. "You wouldn't think, to look at him now, that he everwas _that_, would you? But he was one of the finest babies you could wishto see--tall, and strong, and with eyes that pierced one through, theywere so bright and big and black. He was rather stubborn-spirited withhis teething; but what baby isn't trying at such times? I had rare workwith him, I can tell you, Miss, walking him about of nights, and jogginghim till there wasn't a jog left in me, as you may say, from sleepiness. I often wonder if he thinks of this now, when I see him looking so graveand stern. But, you see, being jogged doesn't impress the mind likehaving to jog; and though I can bring that time back as plain as if itwas yesterday, with the very nursery I slept in at Barlingford, and therushlight in a tall iron cage on the floor, and the shadow of the cage onthe bare whitewashed walls--it's clean gone out of his mind, I dare say. "

"I'm afraid it has, Nancy. "

"But, O, I was fond of him, Miss Halliday; and what I went through withhim about his teeth made me only the fonder of him. He was the first babyI ever nursed, you see, and the last; for before Master George came totown I'd taken to the cooking, and Mrs. Sheldon hired another girl asnurse; a regular softy _she_ was, and it isn't her fault that MasterGeorge has got anything christian-like in the way of a back, for the wayshe carried that blessed child used to make my blood run cold. "

Thus would Mrs. Woolper discourse whenever she had a fair excuse fordetaining Miss Halliday in her comfortable apartment. Charlotte did notperceive much interest in these reminiscences of Mr. Sheldon's infancy, but she was much too kind to bring them abruptly to a close by any showof impatience. When she could get Nancy to talk of Barlingford and Hyley, and the people whom Charlotte herself had known as a child, theconversation was really interesting; and these recollections formed alink between the old woman and the fair young damsel. 

When the change arose in Charlotte's health and spirits, Mrs. Woolper wasone of the first to perceive it. She was skilled in those old woman'sremedies which Mr. Sheldon held in such supreme contempt, and she wouldfain have dosed the invalid with nauseous decoctions of hops, orhome-brewed quinine. Charlotte appreciated the kindness of the intent, but she rebelled against the home-brewed medicines, and pinned her faithto the more scientific and less obnoxious preparations procured from thechemist's. 

For some time Nancy made light of the girl's ailments, though she watchedher with unfailing attention. 

"You ain't a-done growing yet, miss, I'll lay, " she said. 

"But I'm more than twenty-one, Nancy. People don't grow after they're ofage, do they?"

"I've known them as have, miss; I don't say it's common, but it has beendone. And then there's the weakness that comes after you've done growing. Girls of your age are apt to be faint and lollopy-like, as you may say;especially when they're stived up in a smoky place like London. You oughtto go to Hyley, miss, where you was born; that's the place to set youup. "

The time had come when the change was no longer matter for doubt. Day byday Charlotte grew weaker and paler; day by day that bright and joyouscreature, whose presence had made an atmosphere of youth and gladnesseven in that prim dwelling-place, receded farther into the dimness ofthe past; until to think of what she had been seemed like recalling theimage of the dead. Nancy marked the alteration with a strange pain, sosharp, so bitter, that its sharpness and bitterness were a perpetualperplexity to her. 

"If the poor dear young thing is meant to go, there's no need for me tofret about it all day long, and wake up sudden in the night with coldwater standing out upon my forehead at the thought of it. I haven't knownher six months; and if she is pretty and sweet-spoken, it's not my placeto give way at the thoughts of losing her. She's not my own flesh andblood; and I've sat by to watch them go, times and often, without feelingas I do when I see the change in her day after day. Why should it seem sodreadful to me?"

Why indeed? This was a question for which Mrs. Woolper could find noanswer. She knew that the pain and horror which she felt were somethingmore than natural, but beyond this point her thoughts refused to travel. A superstitious feeling arose at this point, to usurp the office ofreason, and she accounted for the strangeness of Miss Halliday's illnessas she might have done had she lived in the sixteenth century, and beenliable to the suspicion of nocturnal careerings on broomsticks. 

"I'm sorry Mr. Philip's house should be unlucky to that sweet youngcreature, " she said to herself. "It was unlucky to the father; and now itseems as if it was going to be unlucky to the daughter. And Mr. Philipwon't be any richer for her death. Mrs. Sheldon has told me times andoften that all Tom Halliday's money went to my master when she marriedhim, and he has doubled and trebled it by his cleverness. MissCharlotte's death wouldn't bring him a sixpence. "

This was the gist of Mrs. Woolper's meditations very often nowadays. Butthe strange sense of perplexity, the nameless fear, the vague horror, were not to be banished from her mind. A sense of some shapeless presencefor ever at her side haunted her by day and night. What was it? What didits presence portend? It was as if a figure, shrouded from head to foot, was there, dark and terrible, at her elbow, and she would not turn tomeet the horror face to face. Sometimes the phantom hand lifted a cornerof the veil, and the shade said, "Look at me! See who and what I am! Youhave seen me before. I am here again! and this time you shall not refuseto meet me face to face! I am the shadow of the horror you suspected inthe past!"

The shadowy fears which oppressed Mrs. Woolper during this period did notin any way lessen her practical usefulness. From the commencement ofCharlotte's slow decline she had shown herself attentive, and evenofficious, in all matters relating to the invalid. With her own hands shedecanted the famous port which Georgy fetched from the particular bin inMr. Sheldon's carefully arranged cellar. When the physician was calledin, and wrote his harmless little prescription, it was Mrs. Woolper whocarried the document to the dispensing chemist, and brought back theinnocent potion, which might, peradventure, effect some slight good, andwas too feeble a decoction to do any harm. Charlotte duly appreciated allthis kindness; but she repeatedly assured the housekeeper that herailments were not worthy of so much care. 

It was Mrs. Woolper whom Mr. Sheldon employed to get lodgings for thefamily, when it had been ultimately decided that a change to the seasidewas the best cure for Miss Halliday. 

"I am too busy to go to Hastings myself this week, " he said; "but Ishall be prepared to spend a fortnight there after next Monday. What Iwant you to do, Nancy, is to slip down tomorrow, with a second-classreturn-ticket, and look about for a nice place for us. I don't care aboutbeing in Hastings; there's too much cockneyism in the place at this timeof year. There's a little village called Harold's Hill, within a mile orso of St. Leonard's--a dull, out-of-the-way place, but rustic andpicturesque, and all that kind of thing--the sort of place that womenlike. Now, I'd rather stay at that place than at Hastings. So you cantake a fly at the station, drive straight to Harold's Hill, and securethe best lodgings you can get. "

"You think as the change of air will do Miss Halliday good?" asked Mrs. Woolper anxiously, after she had promised to do all her kind masterrequired of her. 

"Do I think it will do her good? Of course I do. Sea-air andsea-bathing will set her up in no time; there's nothing particular thematter with her. "

"No, Mr. Philip; that's what bothers me about the whole thing. There'snothing particular the matter with her; and yet she pines and dwindles, and dwindles and pines, till it makes one's heart ache to see her. "

Philip Sheldon's face darkened, and he threw himself back in his chairwith an impatient movement. If he had chosen to do so, he could haveprevented that darkening of his face; but he did not consider Mrs. Woolper a person of sufficient importance to necessitate the regulationof his countenance. What was she but an ignorant, obstinate old woman, who would most probably perish in the streets if he chose to turn her outof doors? There are men who consider their clerks and retainers such verydirt, that they would continue the forging of a bill of exchange, orcomplete the final touches of a murder, with a junior clerk putting coalson the fire, or an errand-boy standing cap in hand on the threshold ofthe door. They cannot realize the fact that dirt such as this is fleshand blood, and may denounce them by-and-by in a witness-box. 

Of all contingencies Mr. Sheldon least expected that this old woman couldprove troublesome to him--this abject wretch, whose daily bread dependedon his will. He could not imagine that there are circumstances underwhich such abject creatures will renounce their daily bread, and die ofhunger, rather than accept the means of life from one hateful hand. 

"If you want to know anything about Miss Halliday's illness, " he said inhis hardest voice, and with his hardest look, "you had better apply toDr. Doddleson, the physician who has prescribed for her. I do not attendher, you see, and I am in no way responsible for her health. When I wasattending her father you favoured me by doubting my skill, if I judgedrightly as to your tone and manner on one occasion. I don't want to bebrought to book by you, Mrs. Woolper, about Miss Halliday's altered looksor Miss Halliday's illness; I have nothing to do with either. "

"How should I think you had, sir? Don't be angry with me, or hard uponme, Mr. Phil. I nursed you when you was but a baby, and you're nearer anddearer to me than any other master could be. Why, I have but to shut myeyes now, and I can feel your little hand upon my neck, as it used to liethere, so soft and dear. And then I look down at the hand on the table, strong and dark, and clenched so firm, and I ask myself, Can it be thesame? For the sake of that time, Mr. Phil, don't be hard upon me. There'snothing I wouldn't do to serve you; there's nothing you could do thatwould turn me from you. There's no man living in this world, sir, thatoughtn't to be glad to know of one person that nothing can turn fromhim. "

"That's a very fine sentiment, my good soul, " replied Mr. Sheldon coolly;"but, you see, it's only an _ex parte_ statement; and as the case standsthere is no opportunity for the display of those fine feelings you talkabout. You happen to want a home in your old age, and I happen to be ableto give you a home. Under such circumstances, your own good sense willshow you that all sentimental talk about standing by me, and not turningaway from me, is absolute bosh. "

The old woman sighed heavily. She had offered her master a fidelity whichinvolved the abnegation of all impulses of her own heart and mind, and herejected her love and her service. And then, after the first dreary senseof his coldness, she felt better pleased that it should be so. The manwho spoke to her in this harsh uncompromising way could have no cause tofear her. In the mind of such a man there could surely be no secretchamber within which she had, with his knowledge, almost penetrated. 

"I won't trouble you any more, sir, " she said mournfully. "I dare say I'ma foolish old woman. "

"You are, Nancy. We don't get wiser as we grow older, you see; and whenwe let our tongues wag, we're apt to talk nonsense. The quieter you keepyour tongue, the better for yourself, in more ways than one. To a usefulold woman about the place I've no objection; but a chattering old woman Iwill not have at any price. "

After this everything was settled in the most agreeable manner. NancyWoolper's journey to Hastings was fully arranged; and early the nextmorning she started, brisk and active, in spite of her sixty-eight yearsof age. She returned at night, having secured very pleasant lodgings atthe village of Harold's Hill. 

"And a very sweet place it is, my dear Miss Lotta, " she said to Charlottethe next day, when she described her adventures. "The apartments are at afarmhouse overlooking the sea; and the smell of the cows under yourwindows, and the sea-breezes blowing across the farmyard, can't fail tobring the colour back to your pretty cheeks, and the brightness back toyour pretty eyes. "

CHAPTER IV. 

VALENTINE'S SKELETON. 

The idea of this visit to the Sussex village by the sea seemed delightfulto every one except Gustave Lenoble, who was still in town, and whothought it a hard thing that he should be deprived of Diana's societyduring an entire fortnight, for the sake of this sickly Miss Halliday. 

For the rest, there was hope and gladness in the thought of this changeof dwelling. Charlotte languished for fresher breezes and more rusticprospects than the breezes and prospects of Bayswater; Diana looked tothe sea-air as the doctor of doctors for her fading friend; and Valentinecherished the same hope. 

On Valentine Hawkehurst the burden of an unlooked-for sorrow had weighedvery heavily. To see this dear girl, who was the beginning, middle, andend of all his hopes, slowly fading before his eyes, was, of all agoniesthat could have fallen to his lot, the sharpest and most bitter. NotUgolino sitting silent amidst his famishing children--not Helen, when shewould fain that the tempest had swept her from earth's surface on thatevil day when she was born--not Penelope, when she cried on Diana, thehigh-priestess of death, to release her from the weariness of herdays--not Agamemnon, when the fatal edict had gone forth, and his fairyoung daughter looked into his face, and asked him if it was true thatshe was to die--not one of these typical mourners could have suffered akeener torture than that which rent this young man's heart, as he markedthe stealthy steps of the Destroyer drawing nearer and nearer the womanhe loved. Of all possible calamities, this was the last he had evercontemplated. Sometimes, in moments of doubt or despondency, he hadthought it possible that poverty, the advice of friends, caprice orinconstancy on the part of Charlotte herself, should sever them. Butamong the possible enemies to his happiness he had never counted Death. What had Death to do with so fair and happy a creature as CharlotteHalliday? she who, until some two months before this time, might havebeen the divine Hygieia in person--so fresh was her youthful bloom, sobuoyant her step, so bright her glances. Valentine's hardest penance wasthe necessity for the concealment of his anxiety. The idea thatCharlotte's illness might be--nay, must be--for the greater part anaffair of the nerves was always paramount in his mind. He and Diana hadtalked of the subject together whenever they found an opportunity for sodoing, and had comforted themselves with the assurance that the nervesalone were to blame; and they were the more inclined to think this fromthe conduct of Dr. Doddleson, on that physician's visits to MissHalliday. Mrs. Sheldon had been present on each occasion, and to Mrs. Sheldon alone had the physician given utterance to his opinion of thecase. That opinion, though expressed with a certain amount ofprofessional dignity, amounted to very little. "Our dear young friendwanted strength; and what we had to do was to give our dear young friendstrength--vital power. Yes--er--um, that was the chief point. And whatkind of diet might our dear young friend take now? Was it a light diet, alittle roast mutton--not too much done, but not underdone? O dear, no. And a light pudding? what he would call--if he might be permitted to havehis little joke--a nursery pudding. " And then the old gentleman hadindulged in a senile chuckle, and patted Charlotte's head with his fatold fingers. "And our dear young friend's room, now, was it a largeroom?--good! and what was the aspect now, south?--good again! nothingbetter, unless, perhaps, south-west; but, of course, everyone'srooms can't look south-west. A little tonic draught, and gentle dailyexercise in that nice garden, will set our dear young friend right again. Our temperament is nervous we are a sensitive plant, and want care. " Andthen the respectable septuagenarian took his fee, and shuffled off to hiscarriage. And this was all that Mrs. Sheldon could tell Diana, or NancyWoolper, both of whom questioned her closely about her interview with thedoctor. To Diana and to Valentine there was hope to be gathered from thevery vagueness of the physician's opinion. If there had been anythingserious the matter, the medical adviser must needs have spoken moreseriously. He came again and again. He found the pulse a little weaker, the patient a little more nervous, with a slight tendency to hysteria, and so on; but he still declared that there were no traces of organicdisease, and he still talked of Miss Halliday's ailments with a cheeryeasy-going manner that was very reassuring. 

In his moments of depression Valentine pinned his faith upon Dr. Doddleson. Without organic disease, he told himself, his darling couldnot perish. He looked for Dr. Doddleson's name in the Directory, and tookcomfort from the fact of that physician's residence in a fashionable WestEnd square. He took further comfort from the splendour of the doctor'sequipage, as depicted to him by Mrs. Sheldon; and from the doctor's ageand experience, as copiously described by the same lady. 

"There is only one fact that I have ever reproached myself with inrelation to my poor Tom, " said Georgy, who, in talking to strangers ofher first husband, was apt to impress them with the idea that she wastalking of a favourite cat; "and that is, the youthfulness of thedoctor Mr. Sheldon employed. Of course I am well aware that Mr. Sheldonwould not have consulted the young man if he had not thought himclever; but I could lay my head upon my pillow at night with a clearerconscience if poor Tom's doctor had been an older and more experiencedperson. Now, that's what I like about Dr. Doddleson. There's a gravity--aweight--about a man of that age which inspires one with immediateconfidence. I'm sure the serious manner with which he questioned me aboutLotta's diet, and the aspect of her room, was quite delightful. "

In Dr. Doddleson, under Providence, Valentine was fain to put his trust. He did not know that the worthy doctor was one of those harmlessinanities who, by the aid of money and powerful connections, aresometimes forced into a position which nature never intended them tooccupy. Among the real working men of that great and admirablebrotherhood, the medical profession, Dr. Doddleson had no rank; but hewas the pet physician of fashionable dowagers suffering from chroniclaziness or periodical attacks of ill-humour. For the spleen or thevapours no one was a better adviser than Dr. Doddleson. He could affordto waste half an hour upon the asking of questions which the fairpatient's maid might as well have asked, and the suggestions of remedieswhich any intelligent abigail could as easily have suggested. Elderlyladies believed in him because he was pompous and ponderous, lived in anexpensive neighbourhood, and drove a handsome equipage. He woremourning-rings left him by patients who never had anything particular thematter with them, and who, dying of sheer old age, or sheer over-eating, declared with their final gasp that Dr. Doddleson had been the guardianangel of their frail lives during the last twenty years. 

This was the man who, of all the medical profession resident in London, Mr. Sheldon had selected as his stepdaughter's medical adviser in a caseso beyond common experience, that a man of wide practice and keenperception was especially needed for its treatment. 

Dr. Doddleson, accustomed to attribute the fancied ailments offashionable dowagers to want of tone, and accustomed to prescribe themildest preparations with satisfaction to his patients and profit tohimself dwelt upon the same want of tone, and prescribed the sameharmless remedies, in his treatment of Charlotte Halliday. When he foundher no better--nay, even worse--after some weeks of this treatment, hewas puzzled; and for one harmless remedy he substituted another harmlessremedy, and waited another week to see what effect the second harmlessremedy might have on this somewhat obstinate young person. 

And this was the broken reed to which Valentine clung in the day ofhis trouble. 

Bitter were his days and sleepless were his nights in this dark period ofhis existence. He went to the Bayswater villa nearly every day now. Itwas no longer time for etiquette or ceremony. His darling was fading dayby day; and it was his right to watch the slow sad change, and, if itwere possible, to keep the enemy at arm's-length. Every day he came tospend one too brief hour with his dear love; every day he greeted herwith the same fond smile, and beguiled her with the same hopeful talk. Hebrought her new books and flowers, and any foolish trifle which hefancied might beguile her thoughts from the contemplation of thatmysterious malady which seemed beyond the reach of science and Dr. Doddleson. He sat and talked with her of the future--that future which intheir secret thoughts both held to be a sweet sad fable--the hyperboreangarden of their dreams. And after spending this too sweet, too bitterhour with his beloved, Mr. Hawkehurst would diplomatise in order to havea little talk with Diana as he left the house. Did Diana think his deargirl better to-day, or worse--surely not worse? He had fancied she hadmore colour, more of her old gaiety of manner. She had seemed a littlefeverish; but that might be the excitement of his visit. And so on, andso on, with sad and dreary repetition. 

And then, having gone away from that house with an aching heart, theyoung magazine-writer went back to his lodgings, and plunged into thedashing essay or the smart pleasant story which was to constitute hismonthly contribution to the _Cheapside_ or the _Charing Cross_. Gaiety, movement, rollicking, Harry Lorrequer-like spirits were demanded for the_Cheapside_; a graceful union of brilliancy and depth was required forthe _Charing Cross_. And, O, be sure the critics lay in wait to catch theyoung scribbler tripping! An anachronism here, a secondhand idea there, and the _West End Wasp_ shrieked its war-whoop in an occasional note; orthe _Minerva_ published a letter from a correspondent in the ScillyIslands, headed "Another Literary Jack Sheppard, " to say that in his"Imperial Dictionary" he had discovered with profound indignation a wholecolumn of words feloniously and mendaciously appropriated by the writerof such and such an article in the _Cheapside_. While the sunlight ofhope had shone upon him, Mr. Hawkehurst had found the hardest workpleasant. Was he not working for _her_ sake? Did not his future unionwith that dear girl depend upon his present industry? It had seemed tohim as if she stood at his elbow while he wrote, as Pallas stood besideAchilles at the council, invisible to all but her favourite. It was thatmystic presence which lent swiftness to his pen. When he was tired anddepressed, the thought of Charlotte had revived his courage andvanquished his fatigue. Pleasant images crowded upon him when he thoughtof her. What could be easier than for him to write a love-story? He hadbut to create a shadowy Charlotte for his heroine, and the stream offoolish lover's babble flowed from his pen perennial and inexhaustible. To his reading she lent a charm and a grace that made the most perfectpoetry still more poetical. It was not Achilles and Helen who met onMount Ida, but Valentine and Charlotte; it was not Paolo and Francescawho read the fatal book together, but Valentine and Charlotte, in anunregenerate and mediaeval state of mind. The mere coincidence of a namemade the "Sorrows of Werter" delightful. The all-pervading presence waseverywhere and in everything. His religion was not Pantheism, butCharlottism. 

Now all was changed. A brooding care was with him in every moment. Themystic presence was still close to him in every hour of his lonely daysand nights; but that image, which had been fair and blooming as theincarnation of youth and spring-time, was now a pale shrouded phantomwhich he dared not contemplate. He still wrote on--for it is marvelloushow the pen will travel and the mind will project itself into theshadow-world of fancy while cankerous care gnaws the weary heart. Nay, itis perhaps at these times that the imagination is most active; for theworld of shadows is a kind of refuge for the mind that dare not dwellupon realities. Who can say what dull, leaden, care may have weighed downthe heart of William Shakespeare when his mind conceived that monster ofa poet's grand imaginings, Othello! There is the flavour of racking carein that mighty creation. The strong soul wantonly tortured by a sordidwretch; the noble spirit distraught, the honourable life wrecked for sopoor a motive; that sense of the "something in this world amiss, " whichthe poet, of all other creatures, feels most keenly. 

With grief and fear as his constant companions, Valentine Hawkehursttoiled on bravely, patiently. Hope had not deserted him; but between hopeand fear the contest was unceasing. Sometimes hope had the best of it fora while, and the toiler comforted himself with the thought that this darkcloud would pass anon from the horizon of his life; and then he countedhis gains, and found that the fruit of his labours was increasingmonthly, as his name gained rank among the band of young _littérateurs_. The day when he might count upon that income which Mr. Sheldon demandedas his qualification for matrimony did not appear far distant. Given acertain amount of natural ability, and the industrious and indefatigableyoung writer may speedily emerge from obscurity, and take his place inthe great army of those gallant soldiers whose only weapon is the pen. Whatever good fortune had come to Valentine Hawkehurst he had worked forwith all honesty of purpose. The critics were not slow to remark that heworked at a white-hot haste, and must needs be a shallow pretenderbecause he was laborious and indefatigable. 

Before the beginning of Charlotte's slow decline he had fancied himselfthe happiest of men. There were more deposit-receipts in his desk. Thenest-egg, about the hatching whereof there had been such cackling andcrowing some months ago, was now one of many eggs; for the hard-workingscribbler had no leisure in which to be extravagant, had he been sominded. The purchase of a half-circlet of diamonds for his betrothed'sslim finger had been his only folly. 

Charlotte had remonstrated with him on the impropriety of such anextravagance, and had exacted from him a promise that this wild andMonte-Christo-like course should be pursued no further; but she was veryproud of her half-hoop of diamonds nevertheless, and was wont to press ittenderly to her lips before she laid it aside for the night. 

"There must be no more such extravagance, sir, " she said to her lover, when he sat by her side twisting the ring round and round on her prettyfinger. Alas, how loose the ring had become since it had first beenplaced there!

"Consider the future, Valentine, " continued the girl, hopeful of moodwhile her hand rested in his. "Do you suppose we can furnish our cottageat Wimbledon if we rush into such wild expenses as diamond rings? Do youknow that _I_ am saving money, Valentine? Yes, positively. Papa gives mea very good allowance for my dresses, and bonnets, and things, you know, and I used to be extravagant and spend it all. But now I have become themost miserly creature; and I have a little packet of money upstairs whichyou shall put in the Unitas Bank with the rest of your wealth. Diana andI have been darning, and patching, and cutting, and contriving, in themost praiseworthy manner. Even this silk has been turned. You did notthink that, did you, when you admired it so?"

Mr. Hawkehurst looked at his beloved with a tender smile. The exactsignificance of the operation of turning, as applied to silk dresses, wassomewhat beyond his comprehension; but he felt sure that to turn must bea laudable action, else why that air of pride with which Charlotteinformed him of the fact?

CHAPTER V. 

AT HAROLD'S HILL. 

The summer sun shone upon the village of Harold's Hill when Charlottearrived there with Mrs. Sheldon and Diana Paget. Mr. Sheldon was tofollow them on the same day by a later train; and Valentine was to cometwo days afterwards to spend the peaceful interval between Saturday andMonday with his betrothed. He had seen the travellers depart from theLondon Bridge terminus, but Mr. Sheldon had been there also, and therehad been no opportunity for confidential communication between thelovers. 

Of all Sussex villages Harold's Hill is perhaps the prettiest. The greyold Saxon church, the scattered farmhouses and pleasant rustic cottages, are built on the slope of a hill, and all the width of ocean lies belowthe rustic windows. The roses and fuchsias of the cottage gardens seemall the brighter by contrast with that broad expanse of blue. The freshbreath of the salt sea blends with the perfume of new-mown hay and allthe homely odours of the farmyard. The lark sings high in the blue vaultof heaven above the church, and over the blue of the sea the gull skimswhite in the sunshine. The fisherman and the farm labourer have theircottages side by side, nestling cosily to leeward of the hilly windingroad. 

This hilly winding road in the July afternoon seemed to Charlotte almostlike the way to Paradise. 

"It is like going to heaven, Di!" she cried, with her eyes fixed on thesquare tower of the old grey church. She wondered why sudden tears sprangto Diana's eyes as she said this. Miss Paget brushed the unbidden tearsaway with a quick gesture of her hand, and smiled at her friend. 

"Yes, dear, the village is very pretty, isn't it?"

"It looks awfully dull!" said Mrs. Sheldon, with a shudder; "and, Diana, I declare there isn't a single shop. Where are we to get our provisions?I told Mr. Sheldon St. Leonards would have been a better place for us. "

"O mamma, St. Leonards is the very essence of all that is tame andcommonplace, compared to this darling rural village! Look, do look, atthat fisherman's cottage, with the nets hanging out to dry in thesunshine; just like a picture of Hook's!"

"What's the use of going on about fishermen's cottages, Lotta?" Mrs. Sheldon demanded, peevishly. "Fishermen's cottages won't provide us withbutcher's meat. Where are we to get your little bit of roast mutton? Dr. Doddleson laid such a stress upon the roast mutton. "

"The sea-air will do me more good than all the mutton that ever wasroasted at Eton, mamma. O, dear, is this our farmhouse?" cried Charlotte, as the vehicle drew up at a picturesque gate. "O, what a love of a house!what diamond-paned windows! what sweet white curtains! and a cow staringat me quite in the friendliest way across the gate! O, can we be so happyas to live here?"

"Diana, " cried Mrs. Sheldon, in a solemn voice, "not a single shop havewe passed--not so much as a post-office! And as to haberdashery, I'm sureyou might be reduced to rags in this place before you could get so muchas a yard of glazed lining!"

The farmhouse was one of those ideal homesteads which, to the dweller incities, seems fair as the sapphire-ceiled chambers of the house ofSolomon. Charlotte was enraptured by the idea that this was to be herhome for the next fortnight. 

"I wish it could be for ever, Di, " she said, as the two girls wereinspecting the rustic, dimity-draperied, lavender-and-rose-leaf-perfumedbedchambers. "Who would wish to go back to prim suburban Bayswater afterthis? Valentine and I could lodge here after our marriage. It is betterthan Wimbledon. Grand thoughts would come to him with the thunder of thestormy waves; and on calm bright days like this the rippling water wouldwhisper pretty fancies into his ear. Why, to live here would make any onea poet. I think I could write a novel myself, if I lived here longenough. "

After this they arranged the pretty sitting-room, and placed aneasy-chair by the window for Charlotte, an arm-chair opposite this forMrs. Sheldon, and between the two a little table for the fancy work andbooks and flowers, and all the small necessities of feminine existence. And then--while Mrs. Sheldon prowled about the rooms, and discovered somany faults and made so many objections as to give evidence of a finefaculty for invention unsuspected in her hitherto--Charlotte and Dianaexplored the garden and peeped at the farmyard, where the friendly cowstill stared over the white gate, just as she had stared when the flycame to a stop, as if she had not yet recovered from the astonishmentcreated in her pastoral mind by that phenomenal circumstance. And thenCharlotte was suddenly tired, and there came upon her that strangedizziness which was one of her most frequent symptoms. Diana led herimmediately back to the house, and established her comfortably in hereasy-chair. 

"I must be very ill, " she said, plaintively; "for even the novelty ofthis pretty place cannot make me happy long. "

 * * * * *

Mr. Sheldon arrived in the evening, bringing with him a supply of thatsimple medicine which Charlotte took three times a day. He had rememberedthat there was no dispensing chemist at Harold's Hill, and that it wouldbe necessary to send to St. Leonards for the medicine, and had thereforebrought with him a double quantity of the mild tonic. 

"It was very kind of you to think of it, though I really don't believethe stuff does me any good, " said Charlotte. "Nancy Woolper used to getit for me at Bayswater. She made quite a point of fetching it from thechemist's herself. "

"Indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Sheldon. "Nancy troubled herself about yourmedicine, did she?"

"Yes, papa; and about me altogether. If I were her own daughter she couldscarcely have seemed more anxious. "

The stockbroker made a mental note of this in the memorandum-book of hisbrain. Mrs. Woolper was officious, was she, and suspicious?--altogether atroublesome sort of person. 

"I think a few weeks of workhouse fare would be wholesome for that oldlady, " he said to himself. "There are some people who never know whenthey are well off. "

Saturday afternoon came in due course, after a long and dreary interval, as it seemed to Charlotte, for whom time travelled very slowly, sopainful was the weariness of illness. Now and then a sudden flash ofexcitement brought the old brightness to her face, the old gaiety to heraccents; but the brightness faded very soon, and the languor of illnesswas very perceptible. 

Punctual to the hour at which he was expected, Mr. Hawkehurst appeared, in radiant spirits, laden with new magazines, delighted with the village, enraptured with the garden, enchanted with the sea; full of talk andanimation, with all sorts of news to tell his beloved. Such and such abook was a failure, such and such a comedy was a fiasco; Jones's novelhad made a hit; Brown's picture was the talk of the year; and Charlottemust see the picture that had been talked about, and the play that hadbeen condemned, when she returned to town. 

For an hour the lovers sat in the pretty farmhouse parlour talkingtogether thus, the summer sea and the garden flowers before them, and abird singing high in the calm blue heaven. Charlotte's talk was somewhatlanguid, though it was perfect happiness for her to be seated thus, withher betrothed by her side; but Valentine's gaiety of spirits neverflagged; and when Mrs. Sheldon hinted to him that too long a conversationmight fatigue the dear invalid, he left the parlour with a smile upon hisface, and a cheery promise to return after an hour's ramble. 

He did not ramble far. He went straight to a little wooden summer-housein the remotest corner of the humble garden; and thither Diana Pagetfollowed him. She had learned the language of his face in the time oftheir daily companionship, and she had seen a look as he left the housewhich told her of the struggle his cheerfulness had cost him. 

"You must not be downhearted, Valentine, " she said, as she went into thesummer-house, where he sat in a listless attitude, with his arms lyingloosely folded on the rustic table. 

He did not answer her. 

"You don't think her worse--much worse--do you, Valentine?"

"Worse? I have seen death in her face to-day!" he cried; and then he lethis forehead fall upon his folded arms, and sobbed aloud. 

Diana stood by his side watching that outburst of grief. When thepassionate storm of tears was past, she comforted him as best she might. The change so visible to him was not so plain to her. He had hoped thatthe breath of the ocean would have magical power to restore the invalid. He had come to Harold's Hill full of hope, and instead of the beginningof an improvement he saw the progress of decay. 

"Why did not Sheldon send for the doctor, " he asked, indignantly, --"thephysician who has attended her? He might have telegraphed to that man. "

"Charlotte is taking Dr. Doddleson's medicine, " said Diana, "and all hisdirections are most carefully obeyed. "

"What of that, if she grows worse? The doctor should see her daily, hourly, if necessary. And if he cannot cure her, another doctor should besent for. Good heavens, Diana! are we to let her fade and sink from usbefore our eyes? I will go back to London at once, and bring that manDoddleson down by the night mail. "

"Your going back to London would grieve and alarm Charlotte. You cantelegraph for the doctor; or, at least, Mr. Sheldon can do so. It wouldnot do for you to interfere without his permission. "

"It would not do!" echoed Valentine, angrily. "Do you think that Iam going to stand upon punctilio, or to consider what will do orwill not do?"

"Above all things, you must avoid alarming Charlotte, " pleaded Diana. 

"Do you think I do not know that? Do you think I did not feel that justnow, when I sat by her side, talking inane rubbish about books and playsand pictures, while every stolen glance at my darling's face was like adagger thrust into my heart? I will not alarm her. I will consult Mr. Sheldon--will do anything, everything, to save her! To save her! O myGod, has it come to that?"

He grew a little calmer presently under Diana's influence, and wentslowly back to the house. He avoided the open window by which Charlottewas sitting. He had not yet schooled himself to meet her questioninglooks. He went to the room where they were to dine, a duller and darkerapartment than the parlour, and here he found Mr. Sheldon reading apaper, one of the eternal records of the eternal money-market. 

The stockbroker had been in and out of the house all day, now saunteringby the sea-shore, now leaning moodily, with folded arms, on the gardengate, meditative and silent as the cow that stared at Charlotte; nowpacing the garden walks, with his hands in his pockets and his head bent. Diana, who in her anxiety kept a close watch upon Mr. Sheldon'smovements, had noted his restlessness, and perceived in it the sign ofgrowing anxiety on his part. She knew that he had once called himselfsurgeon-dentist, and had some medical knowledge, if not so much as hetook credit for possessing. He must, therefore, be better able to judgethe state of Charlotte's health than utterly ignorant observers. If hewere uneasy, there must be real cause for uneasiness. It was on thisaccount, and on this account only, that Diana watched him. 

"He must love her better than I gave him credit for being able to loveany one, " Miss Paget said to herself. "Dear girl! The coldest heart istouched by her sweetness. "

Mr. Sheldon looked up from his newspaper as Valentine came into the room, and saluted the visitor with a friendly nod. 

"Glad to see you, Hawkehurst, " he said. "_Semper fidelis_, and thatkind of thing; the very model of devoted lovers. Why, man alive, howglum you look!"

"I think I have reason to look glum, " answered Valentine, gravely; "Ihave seen Charlotte. "

"Yes? And don't you find her improving?--gradually, of course. Thatconstitutional languor is not shaken off in a hurry. But surely you thinkher improving--brightening--"

"Brightening with the light that never shone on earth or sea. God helpme! I--I--am the merest child, the veriest coward, the--" He made a greateffort, and stifled the sob that had well-nigh broken his voice. "Mr. Sheldon, " he continued quietly, "I believe your stepdaughter is dying. "

"Dying! Good heavens!--my dear Hawkehurst, this alarm is most--mostpremature. There is no cause for fear--at present, no cause--I give youmy word as a medical man. "

"No cause for alarm at present? That means my darling will not be takenfrom me to-night, or to-morrow. I shall have a few days breathing-time. Yes, I understand. The doom is upon us. I saw the shadow of death uponher face to-day. "

"My dear Hawkehurst--"

"My dear Sheldon, for pity's sake don't treat me as if I were a woman ora child. Let me know my fate. If--if--this, the worst, most bitter of allcalamities God's hand--raised against me in punishment of past sins, sinned lightly and recklessly, in the days when my heart had no stake inthe game of destiny--can inflict upon me; if this deadly sorrow isbearing down upon me, let me meet it like a man. Let me die with my eyesuncovered. O, my dearest, my fondest, redeeming angel of my ill-spentlife! have you been only a supernal visitant, after all, shining on mefor a little while, to depart when your mission of redemption isaccomplished?"

"Powers above!" thought Mr. Sheldon, "what nonsense these sentimentalmagazine-writers can talk!"

He was in nowise melted by the lover's anguish, though it was very real. Such a grief as this was outside the circle in which his thoughtsrevolved. This display of grief was unpleasant to him. It gratedpainfully upon his nerves, as some of poor Tom Halliday's little speecheshad done of old, when the honest-hearted Yorkshireman lay on hisdeathbed; and the young man's presence and the young man's anxiety werealike inconvenient. 

"Tell me the truth, Mr. Sheldon, " Valentine said presently, withsuppressed intensity. "Is there any hope for my darling, any hope?"

Mr. Sheldon considered for some moments before he replied to thisquestion. He pursed-up his lips and bent his brows with the same air ofbusiness-like deliberation that he might have assumed while weighing therelative merits of the first and second debenture bonds of some doubtfulrailway company. 

"You ask me a trying question, Hawkehurst, " he said at last. "If you askme plainly whether I like the turn which Charlotte's illness has takenwithin the last few weeks, I must tell you frankly, I do not. There is apersistent want of tone--a visible decay of vital power--which, I mustconfess, has caused me some uneasiness. You see, the fact is, there is aradical weakness of constitution--as Miss Paget, a very sensible girl andacute observer--herself has remarked, indeed a hereditary weakness; andagainst this medicine is sometimes unavailing. You need apprehend noneglect on my part, Hawkehurst; all that can possibly be done is beingdone. Dr. Doddleson's instructions are carefully obeyed, and--"

"Is this Dr. Doddleson competent to grapple with the case?" askedValentine; "I never heard of him as a great man. "

"That fact proves how little you know of the medical profession. "

"I know nothing of it; I have had no need for doctors in my life. And youthink this Dr. Doddleson really clever?"

"His position is a sufficient answer to that question. "

"Will you let me telegraph for him--this afternoon--immediately?"

"You cannot telegraph from this place. "

"No, but from St. Leonards I can. Do you think I am afraid of afive-mile walk?"

"But why send for Dr. Doddleson? The treatment he prescribed is thetreatment we are now following to the letter. To summon him down herewould be the merest folly. Our poor Charlotte's illness is, so far, freefrom all alarming symptoms. "

"You do not see the change in her that I can see, " cried Valentinepiteously. "For mercy's sake, Mr. Sheldon, let me have my way in this. Icannot stand by and see my dear one fading and do nothing--nothing tosave her. Let me send for this man. Let me see him myself, and hear whathe says. You can have no objection to his coming, since he is the man youhave chosen for Charlotte's adviser? It can only be a question ofexpense. Let this particular visit be my affair. "

"I can afford to pay for my stepdaughter's medical attendance without anyhelp from your purse, Mr. Hawkehurst, " said the stockbroker with offendedpride. "There is one element in the case which you appear to ignore. "

"What is that?"

"The alarm which this summoning of a doctor from London must cause inCharlotte's mind. "

"It need cause no alarm. She can be told that Dr. Doddleson has come tothis part of the world for a Sunday's change of air. The visit can appearto be made _en passant. _ It will be easy to arrange that with the doctorbefore he sees her. "

"As you please, Mr. Hawkehurst, " the stockbroker replied coldly. "Iconsider such a visit to the last degree unnecessary; but if Dr. Doddleson's coming can give you any satisfaction, by all means let himcome. The expense involved in summoning him is of the smallestconsideration to me. My position with regard to my wife's daughter is oneof extreme responsibility, and I am ready to perform all the obligationsof that position. "

"You are very good: your conduct in relation to Charlotte and myself hasbeen beyond all praise. It is quite possible that I am over-anxious; butthere was a look in that dear face--no--I cannot forget that look; itstruck terror to my heart. I will go at once to St. Leonards. I can tellCharlotte that I am obliged to telegraph to the printer about my copy. You will not object to that white lie?"

"Not at all. I think it essential that Charlotte should not be alarmed. You had better stop to dine; there will be time for the telegram afterdinner. "

"I will not risk that, " answered Valentine. "I cannot eat or drink till Ihave done something to lessen this wretched anxiety. "

He went back to the room where Charlotte was sitting by the open window, through which there came the murmur of waves, the humming of drowsy bees, the singing of birds, all the happy voices of happy nature in aharmonious chorus. 

"O God, wilt thou take her away from such a beautiful world, " he asked, "and change all the glory of earth to darkness and desolation for me?"

His heart rebelled against the idea of her death. To save her, to win herback to himself from the jaws of death, he was ready to promise anything, to do anything. 

"All my days will I give to Thy service, if Thou wilt spare her to me, "in his heart he said to his God. "If Thou dost not, I will be an infideland a pagan--the vilest and most audacious of sinners. Better to serveLucifer than the God who could so afflict me. "

And this is where the semi-enlightened Christian betrays the weakness ofhis faith. While the sun shines, and the sweet gospel story reads to himlike some tender Arcadian idyl, all love and promise, he is firm in hisallegiance; but when the dark hour comes, he turns his face to the wall, with anger and disappointment in his heart, and will have no furthercommune with the God who has chastised him. His faith is the faith of thegrateful leper, who, being healed, was eager to return and bless hisdivine benefactor. It is not the faith of Abraham or of Job, of Paul orof Stephen. 

Valentine told his story about the printers and the copy for the_Cheapside_ magazine, about which there had arisen some absurd mistake, only to be set right by a telegram. 

It was not a very clear account; but Charlotte did not perceive thevagueness of the story; she thought only of the one fact, that Valentinemust leave her for some hours. 

"The evening will seem so long without you, " she said. "That is the worstpart of my illness; the time is so long--so weary. Diana is the dearestand kindest of friends. She is always trying to amuse me, and reads to mefor hours, though I know she must often be tired of reading aloud solong. But even the books I was once so fond of do not amuse me. The wordsseem to float indistinctly in my brain, and all sorts of strange imagesmix themselves up with the images of the people in the book. Di has beenreading "The Bride of Lammermoor" all this morning; but the pain andweariness I feel seemed to be entangled with Lucy and Edgar somehow, andthe dear book gave me no pleasure. "

"My darling, you--you are too weak to listen to Diana's reading. It isvery kind of her to try to amuse you; but--but it would be better for youto rest altogether. Any kind of mental exertion may help to retard yourrecovery. "

He had placed himself behind her chair, and was bending over the pillowsto speak to her. Just now he felt himself unequal to the command of hiscountenance. He bent his head until his lips touched the soft brown hair, and kissed those loose soft tresses passionately. The thought occurred tohim that a day might come when he should again kiss that soft brown hair, with a deeper passion, with a sharper pain, and when Charlotte would notknow of his kisses, or pity his pain. 

"O Valentine!" cried Charlotte, "you are crying; I can see your face inthe glass. "

He had forgotten the glass; the little rococo mirror, with an eaglehovering over the top of the frame, which hung above the old-fashionedchiffonier. 

"I am not so very ill, dear; I am not indeed, " the girl continued, turning in her chair with an effort, and clasping her lover's hands; "youmust not distress yourself like this, Valentine--dear Valentine! I shallbe better by-and-by. I cannot think that I shall be taken from you. "

He had broken down altogether by this time. He buried his face in thepillows, and contrived to stifle the sobs that would come; and then, after a sharp struggle, he lifted his face, and bent over the chair oncemore to kiss the invalid's pale upturned forehead. 

"My dear one, you shall not, if love can guard and keep you. No, dear, I _cannot_ believe that God will take you from me. Heaven may be yourfittest habitation; but such sweet spirits as yours are sorely neededupon earth. I will be brave, dearest one; brave and hopeful in themercy of Heaven. And now I must go and telegraph to my tiresomeprinter. _Au revoir_!"

He hurried away from the farmhouse, and started at a rattling pace alongthe pleasant road, with green waving corn on his left, and broad blueocean on his right. 

"I can get a fly to bring me back from St. Leonard's" he thought; "Ishould only lose time by hunting for a vehicle here. "

He was at St. Leonards station within an hour after leaving the farm. He despatched the message in Mr. Sheldon's name, and took care to makeit urgent. 

CHAPTER VI. 

DESPERATE MEASURES. 

Fitful and feverish were the slumbers which visited Mr. Hawkehurst onthat balmy summer's night. His waking hours were anxious and unhappy; buthis sleeping hours were still more painful. To sleep was to be thefeverish fool of vague wild visions, in which Charlotte and Dr. Doddleson, the editor of the _Cheapside_, the officials of the BritishMuseum reading-room, Diana Paget, and the Sheldons, figured amidstinextricable confusion of circumstances and places. Throughout thesewretched dreams he had some consciousness of himself and the room inwhich he was lying, the July moon shining upon him, broad and bright, through the diamond-paned lattice. And O, what torturing visions werethose in which Charlotte smiled upon him, radiant with health andhappiness; and there had been no such thing as her illness, no such thingas his grief. And then came hurried dreams, in which Dr. Doddleson wasknocking at the farmhouse door, with the printer of the _Cheapside_. Andthen he was a spectator in a mighty theatre, large as those Romanamphitheatres, wherein the audience seemed a mass of flies, looking downon the encounter of two other flies, and all the glory of an imperialcourt only a little spot of purple and gold, gleaming afar in thesunshine. To the dreamer it was no surprise that this unknown theatre ofhis dreams should be vast as the gladiatorial arena. And then came thedeep thunderous music of innumerable bass-viols and bassoons: and someone told him it was the first night of a great tragedy. He felt thebreathless hush of expectation; the solemn bass music sank deeper; darkcurtains were drawn aside, with a motion slow and solemn, like the wavingof mountain pines, and there appeared a measureless stage, revealing amoonlit expanse, thickly studded with the white headstones of unnumberedgraves, and on the foremost of these--revealed to him by what power heknew not, since mortal sight could never have reached a point sodistant--he read the name of Charlotte Halliday. He awoke with a sharpcry of pain. It was broad day, and the waves were dancing gaily in themorning sunlight. He rose and dressed himself. Sleep, such as he hadknown that night, was worse than the weariest waking. He went out intothe garden by-and-by, and paced slowly up and down the narrow pathways, beside which box of a century's growth rose dark and high. Pale yellowlights were in the upper windows. He wondered which of those sicklytapers flickered on the face he loved so fondly. 

"It is only a year since I first saw her, " he thought: "one year! And tolove her has been my 'liberal education;' to lose her would be mydesolation and despair. "

To lose her! His thoughts approached that dread possibility, but couldnot realize it; not even yet. 

At eight o'clock Diana came to summon him to breakfast. 

"Shall I see Charlotte?" he asked. 

"No; for some time past she has not come down to breakfast. "

"What kind of night has she had?"

"A very quiet night, she tells me; but I am not quite sure that she tellsme the truth, she is so afraid of giving us uneasiness. "

"She tells you. But do you not sleep in her room, now that she is soill?"

"No. I was anxious to sleep on a sofa at the foot of her bed, andproposed doing so, but Mr. Sheldon objects to my being in the room. Hethinks that Charlotte is more quiet entirely alone, and that there ismore air in the room with only one sleeper. Her illness is not of a kindto require attention of any sort in the night. "

"Still I should have thought it better for her to have you with her, tocheer and comfort her. 

"Believe me, Valentine, I wished to be with her. "

"I am sure of that, dear, " he answered kindly. 

"It was only Mr. Sheldon's authority, as a man of some medicalexperience, that conquered my wish. "

"Well, I suppose he is right. And now we must go in to breakfast. Ah, thedreary regularity of these breakfasts and dinners, which go on just thesame when our hearts are breaking!"

The breakfast was indeed a dreary soul-dispiriting meal. Farmhouseluxuries, in the way of new-laid eggs and home-cured bacon, abounded; butno one had any inclination for these things. Valentine remembered thehomestead among the Yorkshire hills, with all the delight that he hadknown there; and the "sorrow's crown of sorrow" was very bitter. Mr. Sheldon gave his Sabbath-morning meditations to the study of aSaturday-evening share-list; and Georgy plunged ever and anon into theclosely printed pages of a Dissenting preacher's biography, which shedeclared to be "comforting. "

Diana and Valentine sat silent and anxious; and after the faintestpretence of eating and drinking, they both left the table, to strolldrearily in the garden. The bells were ringing cheerily from the greystone tower near at hand; but Valentine had no inclination for church onthis particular morning. Were not all his thoughts prayers--humblepiteous entreaties--for one priceless boon?

"Will you see the doctor when he comes, and manage matters so as not toalarm Charlotte?" he asked of Mr. Sheldon. That gentleman agreed to doso, and went out into the little front-garden to lie in wait for thegreat Doddleson--"Dowager Doddleson" as he was surnamed by someirreverent unbelievers. 

A St. Leonards fly brought the doctor while the bells were still ringingfor morning service. Mr. Sheldon received him at the gate; and explainedthe motive of his summons. 

The doctor was full of pompous solicitude about "our sweet youngpatient. "

"Really one of the most interesting cases I ever had upon my hands, "the West-end physician said blandly; "as I was remarking to a verycharming patient of mine--in point of fact, the amiable andaccomplished Countess of Kassel-Kumberterre, only last Tuesdaymorning. A case so nearly resembling the Countess's own condition as tobe highly interesting to her. "

"I really ought to apologize for bringing you down, " said Mr. Sheldon, ashe led the doctor into the house. "I only consented to your being sentfor in order to tranquillize this young fellow Hawkehurst, who is engagedto my daughter; a rising man, I believe, in his own particular line, butrather wild and impracticable. There is really no change for the worse, absolutely none; and as we have not been here more than three days, therehas been positively no opportunity for testing the effect of change andsea air, and so on. "

This seemed rather like giving the learned physician his cue. And therewere those among Dr. Doddleson's professional rivals who said that theworthy doctor was never slow to take a cue so given, not being prejudicedby any opinions of his own. 

Charlotte had by this time been established in her easy-chair by the openwindow of the sitting-room, and here Dr. Doddleson saw her, in thepresence of Mr. And Mrs. Sheldon; and here Dr. Doddleson went through theusual Abracadabra of his art, and assented to the opinions advanced, withall deference, by Mr. Sheldon. 

To Georgy this interview, in which Mr. Sheldon's opinions were pompouslyechoed by the West-end physician, proved even more comforting than thebenignant career of the Dissenting minister, who was wont to allude tothat solemn passing hence of which the ancients spoke in dim suggestivephrase, as "going upstairs. "

Diana and Valentine strolled in the garden while the physician saw hispatient. Dr. Doddleson's ponderous polysyllables floated out upon thesummer air like the droning of a humble-bee. It was a relief to Valentineto know that the doctor was with his patient: but he had no intention tolet that gentleman depart unquestioned. 

"I will take no secondhand information, " he thought; "I will hear thisman's opinion from his own lips. "

He went round to the front of the house directly the droning had ceased, and was in the way when Dr. Doddleson and Mr. Sheldon came out of therose-hung porch. 

"If you have no objection, " he said to Mr. Sheldon, "I should like to askDr. Doddleson a few questions. "

"_I_ have no objection, " replied the stockbroker; "but it is reallyaltogether such an unusual thing, and I doubt if Dr. Doddleson willconsent to--"

And here he cast a deprecating glance at the doctor, as who should say, "Can you permit yourself to comply with a demand go entirely unwarrantedby precedent?"

Dowager Doddleson was eminently good-natured. 

"And this is our sweet young friend's _fiancé_, " he said; "dearme--dee-ar me!"

And then he looked at Valentine with bland pale-blue eyes that twinkledbehind his gold-framed spectacles; while Valentine was taking hismeasure, so far as the measure of any man's moral and intellectual forcecan be taken by the eyes of another man. "And this is the man who ischosen to snatch my darling from the jaws of death!" he said to himself, with burning rage in his heart, while the amiable physician repeatedblandly:

"And this is our sweet young patient's _fiancé_. Dee-ar me, how veryinteresting!"

The three men strolled round to the garden behind the house, Mr. Sheldonclose at the physician's elbow. 

"For God's sake tell me the truth, Dr. Doddleson!" said Valentine in alow hoarse voice, directly they were beyond ear-shot of the house. "I ama man, and I can steel myself to hear the worst you can tell. "

"But really, Hawkehurst, there is no occasion for this kind of thing, "interjected Philip Sheldon; "Dr. Doddleson agrees with me, that the caseis one of extreme languor, and no more. "

"Unquestionably, " said the doctor in a fat voice. 

"And Dr. Doddleson also coincides with me in the opinion that all we cando is to wait the reviving influence of sea-air. "

"Undoubtedly, " said the doctor, with a solemn nod. 

"And is this all?" asked Valentine hopelessly. 

"My dear sir, what else can I say?" said the doctor; "as my good friendMr. Sheldon has just remarked, there is extreme languor; and as my goodfriend Mr. Sheldon further observes, we must await the effect of changeof air. The--aw--invigorating sea-breezes, the--aw--enlivening influenceof new surroundings, and--aw--so forth. Dr. Poseidon, my dear sir, is avery valuable coadjutor. "

"And you think your patient no worse, Dr. Doddleson?"

"The doctor has just left Mrs. Sheldon much comforted by his assurancethat her daughter is better, " said the stockbroker. 

"No, no!" exclaimed Dr. Doddleson; "no, no! _there_ my good friend Mr. Sheldon somewhat misrepresents me. I said that our patient was notobviously worse. I did not say that our patient was better. There is adilatation of the pupil of the eye which I don't quite understand. "

"Mental excitement, " said Mr. Sheldon, somewhat hastily; "Charlotte isnervous to an extreme degree, and your sudden arrival was calculated toshake her nerves. "

"Undoubtedly, " rejoined the doctor; "and it is unquestionable that such adilatation of the pupil might, under certain circumstances, be occasionedby mental excitement. I am sorry to find that our patient's attacks ofdizziness--"

"Which are purely the effect of fancy, " interjected Mr. Sheldon. 

"Which are no doubt, in some measure, attributable to a hypochondriacalcondition of mind, " continued the doctor in his fat voice. "I am sorry tofind that this periodical dizziness has been somewhat increased of late. But here again we must look to Dr. Poseidon. Tepid sea-baths, if they canbe managed, in the patient's own room; and by-and-by a dip in the wavesyonder, may do wonders. "

Valentine asked no further questions; and the physician departed in theSt. Leonards fly, to turn his excursion to profitable use by calling ontwo or three dowagers in Warrior Square and Marina, who would doubtlessbe glad of an unexpected visit from their pet doctor. 

"Well, Hawkehurst, " said Mr. Sheldon, when the fly had driven away, "Ihope you are satisfied now?"

"Satisfied!" cried Valentine; "yes, I am satisfied that your stepdaughteris being murdered!"

"Murdered!" echoed the stockbroker, his voice thick and faint; butValentine did not heed the change in it. 

"Yes, murdered--sacrificed to the utter incompetence of that old idiotwho has just left us. "

Philip Sheldon drew a long breath. 

"What!" he exclaimed; "do you doubt Doddleson's skill?"

"Do you believe in it? Do you? No; I cannot think that a man of your keenperception in all other matters--half a medical man yourself--can be thedupe of so shallow an impostor. And it is to that man's judgment mydarling's life has been confided; and it is to that man I have looked, with hope and comfort in the thought of his power to save my treasure!Good God! what a reed on which to rely! And of all the medical men ofLondon, this is the one you have chosen!"

"I must really protest against this rant, Hawkehurst, " said PhilipSheldon. "I hold myself responsible for the selection which I made, andwill not have that selection questioned in this violent and outrageousmanner by you. Your anxiety for Charlotte's recovery may excuse a greatdeal, but it cannot excuse this kind of thing; and if you cannot commandyourself better, I must beg you to absent yourself from my house until mystepdaughter's recovery puts an end to all this fuss. "

"Do you believe in Dr. Doddleson's skill?" asked Valentine doggedly. Hewanted to have that question answered at any cost. 

"Most decidedly I do, with the rest of the medical world. My choice ofthis gentleman as Charlotte's adviser was governed by his reputation as asafe and conscientious man. His opinions are sound, trustworthy--"

"His opinions!" cried Valentine with a bitter laugh; "what in heaven'sname do you call his opinions? The only opinions I could extract from himto-day were solemn echoes of yours. And the man himself! I took themeasure of him before I asked him a question; and physiology is a lie ifthat man is anything better than an impostor. "

"His position is the answer to that. "

"His position is no answer. He is not the first impostor who has attainedposition, and is not likely to be the last. You must forgive me, if Ispeak with some violence, Mr. Sheldon. I feel too deeply to remember theconventionalities of my position. The dear girl yonder, hovering betweenlife and death, is my promised wife. As your stepdaughter she is verydear to you, no doubt, and you are of course anxious to do your duty asher stepfather. But she is all the world to me--my one sweet memory ofthe past, my sole hope for the future. I will not trust her to the careof Dr. Doddleson; I claim the right to choose another physician--as thatman's coadjutor, if you please. I have no wish to offend the doctor ofyour choice. "

"This is all sheer nonsense, " said Mr. Sheldon. 

"It is nonsense about which you must let me have my own way, " repliedValentine, resolutely. "My stake on this hazard is too heavy for carelessplay. I shall go back to town at once and seek out a physician. "

"Do you know any great man?"

"No; but I will find one. "

"If you go today, you will inevitably alarm Charlotte. "

"True; and disappoint her into the bargain. I suppose in such a casetomorrow will do as well as to-day?"

"Decidedly. "

"I can go by the first train, and return with my doctor in the afternoon. Yes, I will go tomorrow. "

Mr. Sheldon breathed more freely. There are cases in which to obtain timefor thought seems the one essential thing--cases in which a reprieve isas good as a pardon. 

"Pray let us consider this business quietly, " he said, with a faint sighof weariness. "There is no necessity for all this excitement. You can goto town to-morrow, by the first train, as you say. If it is anysatisfaction to you to bring down a physician, bring one; bring half adozen, if you please. But, for the last time, I most emphatically assureyou that anything that tends to alarm Charlotte is the one thing of allothers most sure to hinder her recovery. "

"I know that. She shall not be frightened; but she shall have a betteradviser than Dr. Doddleson. And now I will go back to the house. She willwonder at my absence. "

He went to the bright, airy room where Charlotte was seated, her headlying back upon the pillows, her face paler, her glances and tones morelanguid than on the previous day as it seemed to Valentine. Diana wasnear her, solicitous and tender; and on the other side of the window satMrs. Sheldon, with her Dissenting minister's biography open on her lap. 

All through that day Valentine Hawkehurst played his part bravely: it wasa hard and bitter part to play--the part of hope and confidence whileunutterable fears were rending his heart. He read the epistle and gospelof the day to his betrothed; and afterwards some chapters of St. John--those profoundly mournful chapters that foreshadow the agonisingclose. It was Charlotte who selected these chapters, and her lover couldfind no excuse for disputing her choice. 

It was the first time that they had shared any religious exercise, andthe hearts of both were deeply touched by the thought of this. 

"How frivolous all our talk must have been, Valentine, when it seems sonew to us to be reading these beautiful words together?"

Her head was half supported by the pillows, half resting on her lover'sshoulder, and her eyes travelled along the lines as he read, in a calmlow voice, which was unbroken to the end. 

Early in the evening Charlotte retired, worn out by the day's physicalweariness, in spite of Valentine's fond companionship. Later, when it wasdusk, Diana came downstairs with the news that the invalid was sleepingquietly. Mrs. Sheldon was dozing in her arm-chair, the Dissentingminister having fallen to the ground; and Valentine was leaning, withfolded arms, on the broad window-sill looking out into the shadowygarden. Mr. Sheldon had given them very little of his society during thatday. He went out immediately after his interview with Valentine, on asea-coast ramble, which lasted till dinner-time. After dinner he remainedin the room where they had dined. He was there now. The light of thecandles, by which he read his papers, shone out upon the dusk. 

"Will you come for a stroll with me, Diana?" asked Valentine. 

Miss Paget assented promptly; and they went out into the garden, beyondthe reach of Mr. Sheldon's ears, had that gentleman been disposed toplace himself at his open window in the character of a listener. 

"I want to tell you my plans about Charlotte, " Valentine began. "I amgoing to London to-morrow to search for a greater physician than Dr. Doddleson. I shall find my man in an hour or so; and, if possible, shallreturn with him in the evening. There is no apparent reason to anticipateany sudden change for the worse; but if such a change should take place, I rely on you, dear, to give me the earliest tidings of it. I suppose youcan get a fly here, if you want one?"

"I can get to St. Leonards, if that is what you mean, " Miss Pagetanswered promptly. "I dare say there is a fly to be had; if not, I canwalk there. I am not afraid of a few miles' walk, by day or night. Ifthere should be a change, Valentine--which God forbid--I will telegraphthe tidings of it to you. "

"You had better address the message to me at Rancy's, Covent Garden; thehouse where the Ragamuffins have their rooms, you know, dear. That is amore central point than my lodgings, and nearer the terminus. I will callthere two or three times in the course of the day. "

"You may trust my vigilance, Valentine. I did not think it was in mynature to love any one as I love Charlotte Halliday. "

Gustave Lenoble's letters lying unanswered in her desk asserted theall-absorbing nature of Diana's affection for the fading girl. She _was_fading. The consciousness of this made all other love sacrilege, as itseemed to Diana. She sat up late that night to answer Gustave's lastletter of piteous complaint. 

"She had forgotten him. Ah, that he had been foolish--insensate--toconfide himself in her love! Was he not old and grey in comparison tosuch youth--such freshness--a venerable dotard of thirty-five? What hadhe with dreams of love and marriage? Fie, then. He humiliated himself inthe dust beneath her _mignon_ feet. He invited her to crush him withthose cruel feet. But if she did not answer his letters, he would come toHarold's Hill. He would mock himself of that ferocious Sheldon--of abattalion of Sheldons still more ferocious--of all the world, atlast--to be near her. "

"Believe me, dear Gustave, I do not forget, " wrote Diana, in reply tothese serio-comic remonstrances. "I was truly sorry to leave town, onyour account and on my father's. But my dear adopted sister is paramountwith me now. You will not grudge her my care or my love, for she may notlong be with me to claim them. There is nothing but sorrow here in allour hearts; sorrow, and an ever-present dread. "

Book the Eighth. 

A FIGHT AGAINST TIME. 

CHAPTER I. 

A DREAD REVELATION. 

The early fast train by which Valentine Hawkehurst travelled brought himinto town at a quarter past nine o'clock. During the journey he had beenmeditating on the way in which he should set to work when he arrived inLondon. No ignorance could be more profound than his on all pointsrelating to the medical profession. Dimly floating in his brain therewere the names of doctors whom he had heard of as celebrated men--one forthe chest, another for the liver, another for the skin, another for theeyes; but, among all these famous men, who was the man best able to copewith the mysterious wasting away, the gradual, almost imperceptibleebbing of that one dear life which Valentine wanted to save?

This question must be answered by some one; and Valentine was sorelypuzzled as to who that some one must be. 

The struggling young writer had but few friends. He had, indeed, workedtoo hard for the possibility of friendship. The cultivation of theseverer Muses is rarely compatible with a wide circle of acquaintances;and Valentine, if not a cultivator of these severe ones, had been a hardand honest worker during the later reputable portion of his life. Hisfriendships of the previous portion had been the friendships of therailway-carriage and the smoking room, the _café_ and the gaming-table. He could count upon his fingers the people to whom he could apply forcounsel in this crisis of his life. There was George Sheldon, a man forwhom he entertained a most profound contempt; Captain Paget, a man whomight or might not be able to give him good advice, but who wouldinevitably sacrifice Charlotte Halliday's welfare to self-interest, ifself-interest could be served by the recommendation of an incompetentadviser. 

"He would send me to some idiot of the Doddleson class, if he thought hecould get a guinea or a dinner by the recommendation, " Valentine said tohimself, and decided that to Horatio Paget he would not apply. There werehis employers, the editors and proprietors of the magazines for which heworked; all busy over-burdened workers in the great mill, spending thesunny hours of their lives between a pile of unanswered letters and awaste-paper basket; men who would tell him to look in the Post-officeDirectory, without lifting their eyes from the paper over which theirrestless pens were speeding. 

No. Amongst these was not the counsellor whom Valentine Hawkehurst neededin this dire hour of difficulty. 

"There are some very good fellows among the Ragamuffins, " he said tohimself, as he thought of the only literary and artistic club of which hewas a member; "fellows who stuck by me when I was down in the world, andwho would do anything to serve me now they know me for an honest worker. But, unfortunately, farce writers and burlesque writers, and youngmeerschaum-smoking painters, are not the sort of men to give good advice:I want the advice of a medical man. "

Mr. Hawkehurst almost bounded from his seat as he said this. The adviceof a medical man? Yes; and was there not a medical man among theRagamuffins? and something more than a medical man? That very doctor, whoof all other men upon this earth could best give him counsel--the doctorwho had stood by the deathbed of Charlotte Halliday's father. 

He remembered the conversation that had occurred at Bayswater, on theevening of Christmas day, upon this very subject. He remembered how fromthe talk about ghosts they had drifted somehow into talking of TomHalliday; whereupon Mrs. Sheldon had been melted to tears, and had goneon to praise Philip Sheldon's conduct to his dying friend, and to speakof Mr. Burkham, the strange doctor, called in too late to save, or, itmight have been, incapable to save. 

"Sheldon seems to have a genius for calling in incapable doctors, " hethought bitterly. 

Incapable as Mr. Burkham might have been for the exigencies of thisparticular case, he would at least be able to inform Valentine who amongthe medical celebrities of London would be best adapted to advise in suchan illness as Charlotte Halliday's. 

"And if, as Diana has sometimes suggested, there is any hereditarydisease, this Burkham may be able to throw some light upon the nature ofit, " thought Valentine. 

He went straight from the railway terminus to the quiet tavern upon thefirst floor of which the Ragamuffins had their place of rendezvous. Itwas not an hour for the encounter of many Ragamuffins. A meek-lookingyoung man, of clerical aspect, who had adapted a Palais Royal farce, andhad awoke in the morning to find himself famous, and eligible foradmission amongst the Ragamuffins, was sipping his sherry and soda-waterwhile he skimmed the morning papers. Him Mr. Hawkehurst saluted with anabsent nod, and went in search of the steward of the club, from whom heobtained Mr. Burkham's address, with some little trouble in the way ofhunting through old and obscure documents. 

It was the old address; the old dingy, comfortable, muffin-bell-hauntedstreet in which Mr. Burkham had lived ten years before, when he wassummoned to attend the sick Yorkshire farmer. 

Mr. Burkham's career had not been brightened by the sunshine ofprosperity. He had managed to live somehow, and to find food and raimentfor his young wife, who, when she considered the lilies of the field, mayhave envied their shining robes of pure whiteness, so dingy and dark washer own apparel. When children came, the young surgeon contrived to findfood and raiment for them also, but not without daily and hourlystruggles with that grim wolf who haunts the thresholds of so manydwellings, and will not be thrust from the door. Sometimes a littleglimmering ray of light illumined Mr. Burkham's pathway, and he washumbly grateful to Providence for the brief glimpse of sunshine. But fora meek fair-faced man, with a nervous desire to do well, a very pooropinion of his own merits, and a diffident, not to say depressed manner, the world is apt to be a hard battle-ground. 

Mr. Burkham sometimes found himself well-nigh beaten in the cruel strife;and at such times, in the dead silence of the night, with mortal agonies, and writhings as of Pythoness upon tripod, Mr. Burkham gave himself up tothe composition of a farce, adapted, not from the French, but from hismemories of Wright and Bedford in the jovial old student days, when thepit of the Adelphi Theatre had been the pleasant resort of his evenings. He could no longer afford the luxury of theatrical entertainments, exceptwhen provided with a free admission. But from the hazy reminiscencesfloating in his poor tired brain he concocted little pieces which hefondly hoped might win him money and fame. 

With much effort and interest he contrived to get himself elected aRagamuffin; believing that to be a Ragmuffin was to secure a position asa dramatic writer. But with one or two fortunate exceptions, his pieceswere refused. The managers would not have the poor little feeblephantasmagoria of bygone fun, even supported by the whole clan ofRagamuffins. So Mr. Burkham had gradually melted into the dimness ofBloomsbury, and haunted the club-room of the Ragamuffins no more. 

A hansom carried Valentine Hawkehurst swiftly to these regions ofBloomsbury. It was no time for the saving of cab-hire. The soldierof fortune thought no longer of his nest-eggs--his Unitas Bankdeposit-notes. He was fighting with time and with death; foes dire anddreadful, against whose encroachments the sturdiest of mortal warriorscan make but a feeble stand. He found the dingy-looking house in thedingy-looking street; and the humble drudge who opened the door informedhim that Mr. Burkham was at home, and ushered him into a darksome anddreary surgery at the back of the house, where a phrenological head, considerably the worse for London smoke, surmounted a dingy bookcasefilled with the dingiest of books. A table, upon which were ablotting-book and inkstand, and two shabby horsehair chairs, composed therest of the furniture. Valentine sent his card to the surgeon, and seatedhimself on one of the horsehair chairs, to await that gentleman'sappearance. 

He came after a brief delay, which seemed long to his visitor. He camefrom regions in the back of the house, rubbing his hands, which seemedto have been newly washed, and the odour of senna and aloes hung abouthis garments. 

"I doubt if you remember my name, Mr. Burkham, " said Valentine; "but youand I are members of the same club, and that a club among the members ofwhich considerable good feeling prevails. I come to ask a favour"--Mr. Burkham winced, for this sounded like genteel begging, and for genteelbeggars this struggling surgeon had no spare cash--"which it willscarcely cause you a moment's thought to grant. I am in greatdistress"--Mr. Burkham winced again, for this sounded still more likebegging--"mental distress"--Mr. Burkham gave a little sigh ofrelief--"and I come to you for advice. " Mr. Burkham gave a more profoundsigh of relief. 

"I can assure you that my best advice is at your command, " he said, seating himself, and motioning to his visitor to be seated. "I ambeginning to remember your face amongst the members of the club, thoughthe name on your card did not strike me as familiar. You see, I havenever been able to afford much time for relaxation at the Ragamuffins', though I assure you I found the agreeable conversation there, theliterary _on dits_, and so on, a very great relief. But my own littleefforts in the dramatic line were not successful, and I found myselfcompelled to devote myself more to my profession. And now I have saidquite enough about myself; let me hear how I can be useful to you. "

"In the first place, let me ask you a question. Do you know anything of acertain Dr. Doddleson?"

"Of Plantagenet Square?"

"Yes; of Plantagenet Square. "

"Well, not much. I have heard him called Dowager Doddleson; and I believehe is very popular among hypochondriac old ladies who have more moneythan they know what to do with, and very little common sense to regulatetheir disposal of it. "

"Is Dr. Doddleson a man to whom you would intrust the life of yourdearest friend?"

"Most emphatically no!" cried the surgeon, growing red with excitement. 

"Very well, Mr. Burkham; my dearest friend, a young lady--well, in plaintruth, the woman who was to have been my wife, and whom I love as it isnot the lot of every plighted wife to be loved--this dear girl has beenwasting away for the last two or three months under the influence of aninscrutable malady, and Dr. Doddleson is the only man called to attendher in all that time. "

"A mistake!" said Mr. Burkham, gravely; "a very great mistake! Dr. Doddleson lives in a fine square, and drives a fine carriage, and has areputation amongst the class I have spoken of; but he is about the lastman I would consult as to the health of any one dear to me. "

"That is precisely the opinion which I formed after ten minutes'conversation with him. Now, what I want from you, Mr. Burkham, is thename and address of the man to whom I can intrust this dear girl's life. "

"Let me see. There are so many men, you know, and great men. Is it a caseof consumption?"

"No, thank God!"

"Heart-disease, perhaps?"

"No; there is no organic disease. It is a languor--a wasting away. "

Mr. Burkham suggested other diseases whereof the outward sign was languorand wasting. 

"No, " replied Valentine; "according to Dr. Doddleson there is actually nodisease--nothing but this extreme prostration--this gradual vanishing ofvital power. And now I come to another point upon which I want youradvice. It has been suggested that this constitutional weakness may beinherited; and here I think you can help me. "

"How so?"

"You attended the lady's father. "

"Indeed!" cried Mr. Burkham, delighted. "This is really interesting. Inwhat year did I attend this gentleman? If you will allow me, I will referto some of my old case-books. "

He drew out a clumsy drawer in the clumsy table, in order to hunt for oldmemoranda. 

"I am not quite certain as to the year, " answered Valentine; "but it wasmore than ten years ago. The gentleman died close by here, in FitzgeorgeStreet. His name was Halliday. "

Mr. Burkham had drawn out the drawer to its farthest extent. As Valentinepronounced this name, he let it drop to the ground with a crash, and sat, statue-like, staring at the speaker. All other names given to mortal manhe might forget; but this one never. Valentine saw the sudden horror inhis face, before he could recompose his features into something of theirconventional aspect. 

"Yes, " he said, looking down at the fallen drawer with its scatteredpapers and case-books, "yes, I have some recollection of the name ofHalliday. "

"Some very strange and agitating recollection it would seem by yourmanner, Mr. Burkham, " said Valentine, at once assured that there wassomething more than common in the surgeon's look and gesture; anddetermined to fathom the mystery, let it be what it might. 

"O dear no, " said the surgeon nervously; "I was not agitated, onlysurprised. It was surprising to me to hear the name of a patient so longforgotten. And so the lady to whom you are engaged is a daughter of Mr. Halliday's? The wife--Mrs. Halliday--is still living, I suppose?"

"Yes; but the lady who was then Mrs. Halliday is now Mrs. Sheldon. "

"Of course; he married her, " said Mr. Burkham. "Yes; I remember hearingof the marriage. "

He had tried in vain to recover his old composure. He was white to thelips, and his hand shook as he tried to arrange his scattered papers. 

"What does it mean?" thought Valentine. "Mrs. Sheldon talked of thisman's inexperience. Can it be that his incompetency lost the life of hispatient, and that he knows it was so?"

"Mrs. Halliday is now Mrs. Sheldon, " repeated the surgeon, in a feeblemanner. "Yes, I remember; and Mr. Sheldon--the dentist, who at that timeresided in Fitzgeorge Street--is he still living?"

"He is still living. It was he who called in Dr. Doddleson to attend uponMiss Halliday. As her stepfather, he has some amount of authority, yousee; not legal authority--for my dear girl is of age--but socialauthority. He called in Doddleson, and appears to place confidence inhim; and as he is something of a medical man himself, and pretends tounderstand Miss Halliday's case thoroughly--"

"Stop!" cried Mr. Burkham, suddenly abandoning all pretence of calmness. "Has he--Sheldon--any interest in his stepdaughter's death?"

"No, certainly not. All her father's money went to him upon his marriagewith her mother. He can gain nothing by her death; on the contrary, hemay lose a good deal, for she is the heir-at-law to a large fortune. "

"And if she dies, that fortune will go--"

"I really don't know where it will go, " Valentine answered carelessly:he thought the subject was altogether beside the question of Mr. Burkham's agitation, and it was the cause of that agitation which he wasanxious to discover. 

"If Mr. Sheldon can gain by his stepdaughter's death, fear him!"exclaimed the surgeon, with sudden passion; "fear him as you would feardeath itself--worse than death, for death is neither so stealthy nor sotreacherous as he is!"

"What in Heaven's name do you mean?"

"That which I thought my lips would never utter to mortal hearing--thatwhich I dare not publicly proclaim, at the hazard of taking the bread outof the mouths of my wife and children. I have kept this hateful secretfor eleven years--through many a sleepless night and dreary day. I willtell it to you; for if there is another life in peril, that life shall belost through no cowardice of mine. "

"What secret?" cried Valentine. 

"The secret of that poor fellow's death. My God! I can remember the claspof his hand, and the friendly look of his eyes, the day before he died. He was poisoned by Philip Sheldon!"

"You must be mad!" gasped Valentine, in a faint voice. 

For one moment of astonishment and incredulity he thought this man mustneeds be a fool or a lunatic, so wildly improbable did the accusationseem. But in the next instant the curtain was lifted, and he knew thatPhilip Sheldon was a villain, and knew that he had never wholly trustedhim. 

"Never until to-day have I told this secret, " said the surgeon; "not evento my wife. "

"I thank you, " answered Valentine, in the same faint voice; "with all myheart, I thank you. "

Yes, the curtain was lifted. This mysterious illness, this slow silentdecay of bloom and beauty, by a process inscrutable as the devilry ofmedieval poisoner or Hecate-serving witch--this was murder. Murder! Thedisease, which had hitherto been nameless, had found its name at last. Itwas all clear now. Philip Sheldon's anxiety; the selection of an utterlyincompetent adviser; certain looks and tones that had for a momentmystified him, and had been forgotten in the next, came back to him witha strange distinctness, with all their hidden meaning made clear andplain as the broad light of day. 

But the motive? What motive could prompt the slow destruction of thatinnocent life? A fortune was at stake, it is true; but that fortune, asValentine understood the business, depended on the life of CharlotteHalliday. Beyond this point he had never looked. In all his considerationof the circumstances relating to the Haygarthian estate, he had neverthought of what might happen in the event of Charlotte's decease. 

"It is a diabolical mystery, " he said to himself. "There can be nomotive--_none_. To destroy Thomas Halliday was to clear his way tofortune; to destroy Charlotte is to destroy his chance of fortune. "

And then he remembered the dark speeches of George Sheldon. 

"My God! and this was what he meant, as plainly as he dared tell me! Hedid tell me that his brother was an unutterable scoundrel; and I turned adeaf ear to his warning, because it suited my own interest to believethat villain. For her dear sake I believed him. I would have believed inBeelzebub, if he had promised me her dear hand. And I let myself be dupedby the lying promise, and left my darling in the power of Beelzebub!"

Thoughts followed each other swift as lightning through his overwroughtbrain. It seemed but a moment that he had been sitting with hisclenched hands pressed against his forehead, when he turned suddenlyupon the surgeon. 

"For God's sake, help me, guide me!" he said. "You have struck a blowthat has numbed my senses. What am I to do? My future wife is in thatman's keeping--dying, as I believe. How am I to save her?"

"I cannot tell you. You may take the cleverest man in London to see her;but it is a question if that man will perceive the danger so clearly asto take prompt measures. In these cases there is always room for doubt;and a man would rather doubt his own perceptions than believe the hellishtruth. It is by this natural hesitation so many lives are lost. While thedoctor deliberates, the patient dies. And then, if the secret of thedeath transpires--by circumstantial evidence, perhaps, which never cameto the doctor's knowledge, --there is a public outcry. The doctor'spractice is ruined, and his heart broken. The outcry would have beenstill louder if he had told the truth in time to save the patient, andhad not been able to prove his words. You think me a coward and ascoundrel because I dared not utter my suspicion when I saw Mr. Hallidaydying. While it was only a suspicion it would have been certain ruin forme to give utterance to it. The day came when it was almost a conviction. I went back to that man Sheldon's house, determined to insist upon thecalling in of a physician who would have made that conviction certainty. My resolution came too late. It is possible that Sheldon had perceived mysuspicions, and had hastened matters. My patient was dead before Ireached the house. "

"How am I to save her?" repeated Valentine, with the same helplessmanner. He could not bring himself to consider Tom Halliday's death. Thesubject was too far away from him--remote as the dim shadows of departedcenturies. In all the universe there were but two figures standing out inlurid brightness against the dense night of chaos--a helpless girl heldin the clutches of a secret assassin; and it was his work to rescue her. 

"What am I to do?" he asked. "Tell me what I am to do. "

"What it may be wisest to do I cannot tell you, " answered Mr. Burkham, almost as helplessly as the other had asked the question. "I can give youthe name of the best man to get to the bottom of such a case--a man whogave evidence on the Fryar trial--Jedd. You have heard of Jedd, Idaresay. You had better go straight to Jedd, and take him down with youto Miss Halliday. His very name will frighten Sheldon. "

"I will go at once. Stay--the address! Where am I to find Dr. Jedd?"

"In Burlington Row. But there is one thing to be considered. "

"What?"

"The interference of Jedd may only make that man desperate. He may hastenmatters now as he hastened matters before. If you had seen his coolnessat that time; if you had seen him, as I saw him, standing by that poorfellow's deathbed, comforting him--yes, with friendly speeches--laughingand joking, watching the agonising pain and the miserable sickness, andall the dreary wretchedness of such a death, and _never_ swerving fromhis work; if you had seen him, you would understand why I am afraid toadvise you. That man was as desperate as he was cool when he murdered hisfriend. He will be more reckless this time. "

"Why?"

"Because he has reached a higher stage in the science of murder. Thesymptoms of that poor Yorkshireman were the symptoms of arsenicalpoisoning; the symptoms of which you have told me to-day denote avegetable poison. _That_ affords very vague diagnosis, and leaves notrace. That was the agent which enabled the Borgias to decimate Rome. It is older than classic Greece, and simple as _a b c_, and will remainso until the medical expert is a recognized officer of the law, thefaithful guardian of the bed over which the suspected poisonerloiters--past-master of the science in which the murderer is rarely morethan an experimentalist, and protected from all the hazards of plainspeaking by the nature of his office. "

"Great Heaven, how am I to save her?" exclaimed Valentine. He could notcontemplate the subject in its broad social aspect; he could only thinkof this one dear life at stake. "To send this Dr. Jedd might be to hastenher death; to send a less efficient man would be mere childishness. WHATshall I do?"

He looked despairingly at the surgeon, and in that one glance perceivedwhat a frail reed this was upon which he was leaning. And then, likethe sudden gleam of lightning, a name flashed across his mind, --GeorgeSheldon, the lawyer, the schemer, the man who of all the world bestknew this vile enemy and assassin against whom he was matched; he itwas of whom counsel should be asked in this crisis. Once perceivingthis, Valentine was prompt to act. It was the first flash of light inthe darkness. 

"You mean to stand by me in this, don't you?" he asked Mr. Burkham. 

"With all my heart and soul. "

"Good. Then you must go to Dr. Jedd instantly. Tell him all you know--TomHalliday's death; the symptoms of Charlotte's decline, as you have heardthem from me--_everything_; and let him hold himself in readiness tostart for Hastings directly he hears from or sees me. I am going to a manwho of all men can tell me how to deal with Philip Sheldon. I shall tryto be in Burlington Row in an hour from this time; but in any case youwill wait there till I come. I suppose, in a desperate case like this, Dr. Jedd will put aside all less urgent work?"

"No doubt of that. "

"I trust to you to secure his sympathy, " said Valentine. 

He was in the darksome entrance-hall by this time. Mr. Burkham followed, and opened the door for him. 

"Have no fear of me, " he said. "Good bye. "

The two men shook hands with a grip significant as masonic sign-manual. It meant on the one part hearty co-operation, on the other implicitconfidence. In the next moment Valentine sprang into the cab. 

"King's Road--entrance to Gray's Inn, and drive like mad!" he shouted tothe driver. The hansom rattled across the stones, dashed round corners, struck consternation to scudding children in pinafores, all butannihilated more than one perambulator, and in less than ten minutesafter leaving Mr. Burkham's door, ground against the kerbstone before thelittle gate of Gray's Inn. 

"God grant that George Sheldon may be at home!" Valentine said tohimself, as he hurried towards that gentleman's office. George Sheldonwas at home. In this fight against time, Mr. Hawkehurst had so far foundthe odds in his favour. 

"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the lawyer, looking up from his desk, asValentine appeared on the threshold of the door, pale and breathless; "towhat do I owe the unusual honour of a visit from Mr. Hawkehurst? Ithought that rising _littérateur_ had cut all old acquaintances, and gonein for the upper circles. "

"I have come to you on a matter of life and death, George Sheldon, " saidValentine; "this is no time to talk of why I haven't been to you before. When you and I last met, you advised me to beware of your brother Philip. It wasn't the first, or the second, or the third time that you so warnedme. And now speak out like an honest man, and tell me what you meant bythat warning? For God's sake, speak plainly this time. "

"I cannot afford to speak more plainly than I have spoken half a dozentimes already. I told you to beware of my brother Phil, and I meant thatwarning in its fullest significance. If you had chosen to take my advice, you would have placed Charlotte Halliday's fortune, and CharlotteHalliday herself, beyond his power, by an immediate marriage. You didn'tchoose to do that, and there was an end of the matter. I have been aheavy loser by your pigheaded obstinacy; and I dare say before you andPhil Sheldon have done with each other, you too will find yourself aloser. "

"God help me, yes!" cried Valentine, with a groan; "I stand to make theheaviest loss that was ever made by man. "

"What do you mean?" exclaimed George. 

"Shall I tell you what you meant when you warned me against your ownbrother? Shall I tell you why you so warned me? You know that PhilipSheldon murdered Tom Halliday. "

"Great God!"

"Yes; the secret is out. You knew it; how or when you discovered it Icannot tell. You knew of that one hellish crime, and would have preventedthe commission of a second murder. You should have spoken more plainly. To know what you knew, and to confine yourself to cautious hints andvague suggestions, as you did, was to have part in that devilish work. IfCharlotte Halliday dies, her blood be upon your head--upon yours--as wellas upon his!"

The young man had risen in his passion, and stood before George Sheldonwith uplifted hands, and eyes that flashed angry lightnings. It seemedalmost as if he would have called down the Divine vengeance upon thisman's head. 

"If Charlotte Halliday dies!" repeated George, in a horror-strickenwhisper; "why should you suggest such a thing?"

"Because she is dying. "

There was a pause. Valentine flung himself passionately upon the chairfrom which he had just risen, with his back to George Sheldon, and hisface bent over the back of the chair. The lawyer sat looking straightbefore him, with a ghastly countenance. 

"I told him he meant _this_, " he said to himself, in a hoarse whisper. "Itold him in this office not six months ago. Powers of hell, what avillain he is! And there are people who do not believe there is a devil!"

For a few moments Valentine gave free vent to his passion of grief. Thesetears of rage, of agony the most supreme, were the first he had shedsince he had bent his face over Charlotte's soft brown hair, to hide theevidence of his sorrow. When he had dashed these bitter drops away fromhis burning eyes, he turned to confront George Sheldon, pale as death, but very calm. And after this he gave way no more to his passion. He wasmatched against Time, of all enemies the most pitiless and unrelenting, and every minute wasted was a point scored by his foe. 

"I want your help, George Sheldon, " he said. "If you have ever been sorrythat you made no effort to save Charlotte Halliday's father, proveyourself his friend by trying to save her. "

"_If_ I have ever been sorry!" echoed the lawyer. "Why, my miserabledreams have never been free from the horror of that man's face. You don'tknow what it is--murder! Nobody knows who hasn't been concerned in it. You read of murders in your newspapers. A shot B, or C poisoned D, and soon, all through the letters of the alphabet, with a fresh batch for everySunday; but it never comes home to you. You think of the horror of it ina shadowy kind of way, as you might think of having a snake twisted roundyour waist and legs, like that blessed man and boys one never sees thelast of. But if you were to look at that plaster cast all your life, youcouldn't realize ten per cent of the horror you'd feel if the snake was_there_, alive, crushing your bones, and hissing in your ear. I have beenface to face with murder, Valentine Hawkehurst; and if I were to live acentury, I should never forget what I felt when I stood by Tom Halliday'sdeathbed, and it flashed upon me, all at once, that my brother Phil waspoisoning him. "

"And you did not try to save him--your friend?" cried Valentine. 

"Why, you see, " replied the other, in a strange slow way, "it was toolate to save him: I knew that, and--I held my tongue. What could I do?Against my own brother! That sort of thing in a family is ruin for everyone! Do you think anybody would have brought their business to me aftermy brother had stood in the Old Bailey dock to take his trial for murder?No; my only course was to keep my own counsel, and I kept it. Phil madeeighteen thousand pounds by his marriage with poor Tom's widow, and apaltry hundred or two is all _I_ ever touched of that money. "

"And you _could_ touch that money?" cried Valentine, aghast. 

"Money carries no infection. Did you ever ask any questions about themoney you won at German gaming-tables. I dare say some of your napoleonsand ten-thaler notes could have told queer stories if they had been ableto talk. Taking Phil's money has never weighed upon my conscience. I'mnot very inquisitive about the antecedents of a five-pound note; but I'lltell you what it is, Hawkehurst, I'd give all I have, and all I everhope to have, and would go out and sweep a crossing to-morrow, if I couldget Tom Halliday's face out of my mind, with the look that he turned uponme the last time I saw him. 'Ah, George, ' he said, 'in illness a manfeels the comfort of being among friends!' And he took my hand andsqueezed it, in his old hearty way. We had been boys together, Hawkehurst, birds-nesting in Hyley Woods; on the same side in ourBarlingford cricket-matches. And I shook his hand, and went away, andleft him to die!"

And here Mr. Sheldon of Gray's Inn, the Sheldon who was in with themoney-lenders, sharpest of legal prestigitators, most ruthless ofopponents, most unscrupulous of allies, buried his face in a flamingbandanna, and fairly sobbed aloud. When the passion had passed, he got upand walked hastily to the window, more ashamed of this one touch ofhonest emotion than of all the falsehoods and chicaneries of his career. 

"I didn't think I could have been such an ass, " he muttered sheepishly. 

"I did not hope that you could feel so deeply, " answered Valentine. "Andnow help me to save the only child of your ill-fated friend. I am surethat you can help me. "

Without waiting to be questioned, Valentine related the circumstances ofCharlotte's illness, and of his interview with Mr. Burkham. 

"I did not even know that the poor girl was ill, " said George Sheldon. "Ihave not seen Phil for months. He came here one day, and I gave him a bitof my mind. I told him if he tried to harm her I'd let the light in uponhim and his doings. And I'll keep my word. "

"But his motive? What, in the name of Heaven, can be his motive fortaking her innocent life? He knows of the Haygarth estate, and must hopeto profit by her fortune if she lives. "

"Yes, and to secure the whole of that fortune if she dies. Her deathwould make her mother sole heir to that estate, and the mother is themerest tool in his hands. He may even have induced Charlotte to make awill in his favour, so that he himself may stand in her shoes. "

"She would not have made a will without telling me of it. "

"You don't know that. My brother Phil can do anything. It would be aseasy for him to persuade her to maintain secrecy about the transaction asto persuade her to make the will. Do you suppose _he_ shrinks frommultiplying lies and forgeries and hypocrisies? Do you suppose anythingin that small way comes amiss to the man who has once brought his mind tomurder? Why, look at the Scotch play of that fellow Shakespeare's. At thebeginning, your Macbeth is a respectable trustworthy sort of person, anxious to get on in life, and so on, and that's all; but no sooner hashe made an end of poor old Duncan, than he lays about him right andleft--Banquo, Fleance, anybody and everybody that happens to be in hisway. It was lucky for that Tartar of a wife of his that _she_ hook'd it, or he'd soon have put a stop to her sleep-walking. There's no such widedifference between a man and a tiger, after all. The tiger's a decentfellow enough till he has tasted human blood; but when once he _has_, Lord save the country-side from the jaws of the man-eater!"

"For Heaven's sake let us waste no time in talk!" Valentine cried, impetuously. "I am to meet Burkham in Burlington Row directly I have gotyour advice. "

"What for?"

"To see Dr. Jedd, and take him down to Hastings, if possible. "

"That won't do. "

"Why not?"

"Because Jedd's appearance would give Phil the office. Jedd gave evidenceon the Fryar trial, and must be a marked man to him. All Jedd can tellyou is that Charlotte is being poisoned. You know that already. Of courseshe'll want medical treatment, and so on, to bring her round; but shecan't get that under my brother's roof. What you have to do is to get heraway from that house. "

"You do not know how ill she is. I doubt if she could bear the removal. "

"Anything is better than to remain. _That_ is certain death. "

"But your brother would surely dispute her removal. "

"He would, and oppose it inch by inch. We must get him away, before weattempt to remove her. "

"How?"

"I will find the means for that. I know something of his businessrelations, and can invent some false cry for luring him off the trail. We_must_ get him away. The poor girl was not in actual danger when you lefther, was she?"

"No, thank God, there was no appearance of immediate danger. But she wasvery ill. And that man holds her life in his hand. He knows that I havecome to London in search of a doctor. What if--"

"Keep yourself quiet, Hawkehurst. He will not hasten her death unless heis desperate; for a death occurring immediately after your firstexpression of alarm would seem sudden. He'll avoid any appearance ofsuddenness, if he can, depend upon it. The first thing is to get himaway. But the question is, how to do it? There must be a bait. What bait?Don't talk to me, Hawkehurst. Let me think it out, if I can. "

The lawyer leaned his elbows on the table, and abandoned himself toprofound cogitation, with his forehead supported by his clenched hands. Valentine waited patiently while he thus cogitated. 

"I must go down to Phil's office, " he said at last, "and ferret out someof his secrets. Nothing but stock-exchange business, of an importantcharacter, would induce him to leave Charlotte Halliday. But if I cantelegraph such a message as will bring him to town, I'll do it. Leave allthat to me. And now, what about your work?"

"I am at a loss what to do, if I am not to take Dr. Jedd to Harold'sHill. "

"Take him to St. Leonards; and if I get my brother out of the way, youcan have Charlotte conveyed to an hotel in St. Leonard's, where she canstop till she picks up strength enough to come to London. "

"Do you think her mother will consent to her removal?

"Do I think you will be such an idiot as to ask for her consent?" criedGeorge Sheldon impatiently. "My brother's wife is so weak a fool, thatthe chances are she'd insist on her daughter stopping quietly, to bepoisoned. No; you must get Mrs. Sheldon out of the way somehow. Send herto look at the shops, or to bathe, or to pick up shells on the beach, oranything else equally inane. She's easy enough to deal with. There's thatyoung woman, Paget's daughter, with them still, I suppose? Yes. Verywell, then, you and she can get Charlotte away between you. "

"But for me to take those two girls to an hotel--the chance of scandal, of wonder, of inquiry? There ought to be some other person--some nurse. Stay, there's Nancy Woolper--the very woman! My darling has told me ofthat old woman's affectionate anxiety about her health--an anxiety whichwas singularly intense, it seemed to Lotta. Good God! do you think she, Nancy Woolper, could have suspected the cause of Mr. Halliday's death?"

"I dare say she did. She was in the house when he died, and nursed himall through his illness. She's a clever old woman. Yes, you might takeher down with you; I think she would be of use in getting Charlotteaway. "

"I'll take her, if she will go. "

"I am not sure of that; our north-country folks have stiffish notionsabout fidelity to old masters, and that kind of thing. Nancy Woolpernursed my brother Phil. "

"If she knows or suspects the fate of Charlotte's father, she will try tosave Charlotte, " said Valentine, with conviction. "And now, good bye! Itrust to you for getting your brother out of the way, George Sheldon;remember that. "

He held out his hand; the lawyer took it with a muscular grip, which, onthis occasion, meant something more than that base coin of jolly goodfellowship which so often passes current for friendship's virgin gold. 

"You may trust me, " George Sheldon said gravely. "Stop a moment, though;I have a proposition to make. If my brother Philip has induced that girlto make a will, as it is my belief he has, we must counter him. Come downwith me to Doctors' Commons. You've a cab? Yes; the business won't takehalf an hour. "

"What business?"

"A special licence for your marriage with Charlotte Halliday. "

"A marriage?"

"Yes; her marriage invalidates her will, if she has made one, and doesaway with Phil's motive. Come along; we'll get the licence. "

"But the delay?"

"Exactly half an hour. Come!"

The lawyer dashed out of his office. "At home in an hour, " he shoutedto the clerk, and then ran downstairs, followed closely by Valentine, and did not cease running until he was in the King's Road, where thecab was waiting. 

"Newgate Street and Warwick Lane to Doctors' Commons!" he cried to thecabman; and Valentine was fain to take his seat in the cab withoutfurther remonstrance. 

"I don't understand--" he began, as the cabman drove away. 

"I do. It's all right; you'll put the licence in your pocket, and call atthe church nearest which you hang out, Edgware Road way, give notice ofthe marriage, and so on; and as soon as Charlotte can bear the journey, bring her to London and marry her. I told you your course six months ago. Your obstinacy has caused the hazard of that young woman's life. Don'tlet us have a second edition of it. "

"I will be governed by your advice, " answered Valentine, submissively. "It is the delay that tortures me. "

The delay was indeed torture to him. Everything and everybody in Doctors'Commons seemed the very incarnation of slowness. The hansom cab mighttear and grind the pavement, the hansom cabman might swear until evenmonster waggons swerved aside to give him passage; but neither tearingnor swearing could move the incarnate stolidity of Doctors' Commons. Whenhe left that quaint sanctuary of old usages, he carried with him theArchbishop of Canterbury's benign permission for his union with CharlotteHalliday. But he knew not whether it was only a morsel of waste paperwhich he carried in his pocket; and whether there might not ere long beneed of a ghastlier certificate, giving leave and licence for therendering back of "ashes to ashes, and dust to dust. "

Valentine's first call, after leaving George Sheldon at the gate ofDoctors' Commons, was at the head-quarters of the Ragamuffins. His heartsank as he ran into the bar of the hostelry to ask for the telegram whichmight be waiting for him. 

Happily there was no telegram. To find no tidings of a change for theworse seemed to him almost equivalent to hearing of a change for thebetter. What had he not feared after his interview with the surgeon ofBloomsbury!

From Covent Garden the hansom bowled swiftly to Burlington Row. HereValentine found Mr. Burkham, pale and anxious, waiting in a little den ofa third room, on the ground-floor--a ghastly little room, hung withanatomical plates, and with some wax preparations in jars, on themantelpiece, by way of ornament. To them presently came Dr. Jedd, aslively and business-like as if Miss Halliday's case had been a questionof taking out a double-tooth. 

"Very sad!" he said; "these vegetable poisons--hands of unscrupulous man. Very interesting article in the _Medical Quarterly_--speculative analysisof the science of toxicology as known to the ancients. "

"You will come down to Harold's Hill at once, sir?" said Valentine, imploringly. 

"Well, yes; your friend here, Mr. Burkham, has persuaded me to do so, though I need hardly tell you that such a journey will be to the lastdegree inconvenient. "

"It is an affair of life and death, " faltered the young man. 

"Of course, my dear sir. But then, you see, I have half-a-dozen otheraffairs of life and death on my hands at this moment. However, I havepromised. My consultations will be over in half an hour; I have a roundof visits after that, and by--well, say by the five o'clock express, Iwill go to St. Leonards. "

"The delay will be very long, " said Valentine. 

"It cannot be done sooner. I ought to go down to Hertfordshire thisevening--most interesting case--carbuncle--three operations in threeconsecutive weeks--Swain as operator. At five o'clock I shall be at theLondon Bridge station. Until then, gentlemen, good day. Lawson, thedoor. "

Dr. Jedd left his visitors to follow the respectable white-cravattedbutler, and darted back to his consulting-room. 

Mr. Burkham and Valentine walked slowly up and down Burlington Row beforethe latter returned to his cab. 

"I thank you heartily for your help, " said Valentine to the surgeon; "andI believe, with God's grace, we shall save this dear girl's life. It wasthe hand of Providence that guided me to you this morning. I can butbelieve the same hand will guide me to the end. "

On this they parted. Valentine told his cabman to drive to the EdgwareRoad; and in one of the churches of the immediate neighbourhood of thatthoroughfare he gave notice of his intention to enter the bonds of holymatrimony. He had some difficulty in arranging matters with the clerk, whom he saw in his private abode and non-official guise. That functionarywas scarcely able to grasp the idea of an intending Benedick who wouldnot state positively when he wanted to be married. Happily, however, theadministration of half-a-sovereign considerably brightened the clerk'sperceptions. 

"I see what you want, " he said. "Young lady a invalid, which she wants toleave her home as she finds uncomfortable, she being over twenty-oneyears of age and her own mistress. It's what you may call a runawaymatch, although the parties ain't beholden to any one, in a manner ofspeaking. _I_ understand. You give me half an hour's notice any morningwithin the legal hours, and I'll have one of our young curates ready foryou as soon as you're ready for them; and have you and the young ladytied up tight enough before you know where you are. We ain't very longover _our_ marriages, unless it is something out of the common way. "

The clerk's familiarity was more good-natured than flattering to theapplicant's self-esteem; but Valentine was in no mood to object to thiseasy-going treatment of the affair. He promised to give the clerk therequired notice; and having arranged everything in strictly legal manner, hurried back to his cab, and directed the man to drive to the Lawn. 

It was now three o'clock. At five he was to meet Dr. Jedd at the station. He had two hours for his interview with Nancy Woolper, and his drive fromBayswater to London Bridge. 

He had tasted nothing since daybreak; but the necessity to eat and drinknever occurred to him. He was dimly conscious of feeling sick and faint, but the reason of this sickness and faintness did not enter into histhoughts. He took off his hat, and leant his head back against thecushion of the hansom as that vehicle rattled across the squares ofPaddington. The summer day, the waving of green trees in those suburbansquares; the busy life and motion of the world through which he went, mixed themselves into one jarring whirl of light and colour, noise andmotion. He found himself wondering how long it was since he leftHarold's Hill. Between the summer morning in which he had walked alongthe dusty high-road, with fields of ripening corn upon his left, and allthe broad blue sea upon his right, and the summer afternoon in which hedrove in a jingling cab through the noisy streets and squares ofBayswater, there seemed to him a gulf so wide, that his tried brainshrank from scanning it. 

He struggled with this feeling of helplessness and bewilderment, andovercame it. 

"Let me remember what I have to do, " he said to himself; "and let me keepmy wits about me till that is done. "

CHAPTER II. 

PHOENICIANS ARE RISING. 

While Mr. Hawkehurst arranged his affairs with the clerk of St. Matthias-in-the-fields, in the parish of Marylebone, George Sheldon satin his brother's office writing a letter to that distinguishedstockbroker. The pretext of writing a letter was the simplest pretext forbeing alone in his brother's room; and to be alone in Philip Sheldon'sroom was the first step in the business which George had to do. 

The room was distractingly neat, and as handsomely furnished as it ispossible for an office to be within the closest official limits. ASpanish mahogany desk with a cylinder cover, and innumerable drawersfitted with invisible Bramah locks, occupied the centre of the room; andfour ponderous Spanish mahogany chairs, with padded backs, and seatscovered with crimson morocco, were primly ranged against the wall. Uponthe mantelpiece ticked a skeleton clock; above which there hung thesternest and grimmest of almanacks, on either whereof were fasteneddivers lists and calendars of awful character, affected by gentlemen on'Change. 

Before penetrating to this innermost and sacred chamber, George Sheldonwasted some little time in agreeable gossip with a gentleman whom hefound yawning over the _Times_ newspaper in an outer and less richlyfurnished apartment. This gentleman was Philip Sheldon's clerk, theyounger son of a rich Yorkshire farmer, who had come to London with theintention of making his fortune on the Stock Exchange, and whose fatherhad paid a considerable sum in order to obtain for this young man theprivilege of reading the Times in Mr. Sheldon's office, and picking upwhatever knowledge might be obtained from the business transactions ofhis employer. 

The career of Philip Sheldon had been watched with some interest by hisfellow-townsmen of Barlingford. They had seen him leave that town with afew hundreds in his pocket, and they had heard of him twelve yearsafterwards as a prosperous stockbroker, with a handsome house and ahandsome carriage, and the reputation of being one of the sharpest men inthe City. The accounts of him that came to Barlingford were all more orless exaggerated; and the men who discussed his cleverness and his goodluck were apt to forget that he owed the beginning of his fortunes to TomHalliday's eighteen thousand pounds. The one fact that impressed PhilipSheldon's townsmen was the fact that a Barlingford man had made money onthe Stock Exchange; and the one inference they drew therefrom was theinference that other Barlingford men might do the same. 

Thus it had happened that Mr. Stephen Orcott, of Plymley Rise farm, nearBarlingford, being at a loss what to do with a somewhat refractoryyounger son, resolved upon planting his footsteps in the path sovictoriously trodden by Philip Sheldon. He wrote to Philip, asking him toreceive the young man as clerk, assistant, secretary--anything, with aview to an ultimate junior partnership; and Philip consented, uponcertain conditions. The sum he demanded was rather a stiff one, as itseemed to Stephen Orcott, but he opined that such a sum would not havebeen asked if the advantages had not been proportionately large. Thebargain was therefore concluded, and Mr. Frederick Orcott came to London. He was a young man of horsey propensities, gifted with a sublime contemptfor any kind of business requiring application or industry, and with asupreme belief in his own merits. 

George Sheldon had known Frederick Orcott as a boy, and had been in hissociety some half-dozen times since his coming to London. He apprehendedno difficulty in obtaining from this young gentleman any information hehad the power to afford. 

"How do, Orcott?" he said, with agreeable familiarity. "My brother Philnot come back yet?"

"No, " replied the other, sulkily. "There have been ever so many peoplehere bothering me about him. Where has he gone? and when will he be back?and so on. I might as well be some d----d footman, if I'm to sit hereanswering questions all day. High Wickham races are on to-day, and Iwanted to see Barmaid run before I put my money on her for Goodwood. Shewas bred down our way, you see, and I know she's like enough to win thecup, if she's fit. They don't know much about her this way, either, though she's own sister to Boots, that won the Chester Cup last year, owing to Topham's being swindled into letting him off with seven lbs. Heran at the York Spring, you see, for a twopenny-halfpenny plate, and theboy that rode him pulled his head half off--I saw him do it--and then hewon the Chester, and brought his owners a pot of money. "

This information was not exactly what George Sheldon wanted, but heplanted himself on the hearthrug in an easy attitude, with his backagainst the mantelpiece, and appeared much interested in Mr. Orcott'sdiscourse. 

"Anything stirring in the City?" he asked presently. 

"Stirring? No--nothing stirring but stagnation, as some fellow said in aplay I saw the other night. Barlingford folks say your brother Philip hasmade a heap of money on the Stock Exchange; but if he has, he must havedone a good deal more business before I came to him than he has donelately. I can't see how a man is to develop into a Rothschild out of anoccasional two-and-sixpence per cent on the transfer of some old woman'ssavings from railway stock to consols; and that's about the only kind ofbusiness I've seen much of lately. Of course Phil Sheldon has got ironsof his own in the fire; for he's an uncommonly deep card, you see, thatbrother of yours, and it isn't to be expected he'll tell _me_ all he's upto. I know he's up to his eyebrows in companies, but I don't see how he'sto make his fortune out of _them_, for limited liability now-a-days seemsonly another name for unlimited crash. However, I don't care. It pleasedmy governor to get me into Sheldon's office, and it suited my book tocome to London; but if the author of my being thinks I'm going to addlemy blessed brains with the decline and fall of the money market, he's agreater fool than I took him for--and that's saying a great deal. "

And here Mr. Frederick Orcott lapsed into admiring contemplation of hisboots, which were the _chefs-d'oeuvre_ of a sporting bootmaker; bootsthat were of the ring, ringy, and of the corner, cornery. 

"Ah, " said George, "and Phil doesn't tell you much of his affairs, doesn't he? That's rather a bad sign, I should think. Looks as if he wasrather down upon his luck, eh?"

"Well, there's no knowing, you see, with that sort of close fish. He mayhave made his book for a great haul, and may be keeping himself quiettill the event comes off. He may be laying on to something with all hismight, you know, on safe information. But there's one thing I know hestands to lose by. "

"What's that?"

"The Phoenician Loan. He speculated in the bonds when they began to godown; and I'm blessed if they haven't been dropping ever since, aneighth a day, as regular as the day comes round. He bought them for theMarch account, and has been paying contango since then, and holding on inhopes of a rise. I don't know whether the purchase was a large one, but Iknow he's been uncommonly savage about the drop. He bought on thestrength of private information from the other side of the Channel. TheEmperor was putting his own money into the Phoenician business, and itwas the best game out, and so on. But he seems to have been made a foolof, for once in a way. "

"The bonds may steady themselves. "

"Yes, they _may_; but, on the other hand, they mayn't. There are theStock Exchange lists, with Phoenicians ticked off by your brother's ownpen. A steady drop, you see. 'Let me have a telegram if there's a suddenrise, ' said Sheldon to me the day he left London; 'they'll go up withrush when they do move. ' But they've been moving the other way eversince; and I think if he stayed away till doomsday it would be prettymuch the same. "

"_Phoenicians are rising rapidly. Come back to town. _"

These were the words of the telegraphic despatch which shaped itself inGeorge Sheldon's brain, as his brother's clerk revealed the secrets ofhis employer. 

It was found--the solution of the one great question as to how PhilipSheldon was to be lured away from the bedside of his unconscious victim. Here was the bait. 

"I knew I could do it; I knew I could get all I wanted to know out ofthis shallow-brained idiot, " he said to himself, triumphantly. 

And then he told the shallow-brained idiot that he thought he would writea line to his brother; and on that pretence went into Philip's office. 

Here, use his eyes as he might, he could discover nothing; he could gleanno stray scrap of information. The secrets that could be guarded byconcealed Bramah locks and iron safes, with mystic words to be learned bythe man who would open them, Philip Sheldon knew how to protect. Unhappily for himself, he had been compelled to confide some of hissecrets to human receptacles not to be guarded by Bramah locks or mysticwords. 

The lawyer did not waste much time in his brother's office. A very hastyinvestigation showed him there was nothing to be learned from those barewalls and that inviolable cylinder-topped desk. He scribbled a few linesof commonplace at a table by the window, sealed and addressed his note, and then departed to despatch his telegram, "Phoenicians are risingrapidly, " he wrote, and that was all. He signed the despatch FrederickOrcott. 

"Phil and Orcott may settle the business between them, " he said tohimself, as he forged the Yorkshireman's name. "What I have to do is toget Phil away, and give Hawkehurst a chance of saving Tom Halliday'sdaughter; and I shan't stand upon trifles in the doing of it. "

After having despatched this telegram, George Sheldon found himself muchtoo restless and excited for ordinary business. He, so renowned evenamongst cool hands for exceptional coolness, was on this occasionthoroughly unnerved. He dropped into a City tavern, and refreshed himselfwith a dram. But, amidst all the bustle and clatter of a crowded bar, theface of Tom Halliday, haggard and worn with illness, was before his eyes, and the sound of Tom Halliday's voice was in his ears. "I can't settle toanything this afternoon, " he said to himself. "I'll run down toBayswater, and see whether Hawkehurst has managed matters with NancyWoolper. "

CHAPTER III. 

THE SORTES VIRGILIANAE. 

While George Sheldon was still in the depths of the City ValentineHawkehurst arrived at the gothic villa, where he asked to see Mrs. Woolper. Of the woman herself he knew very little: he had seen her onceor twice when some special mission brought her to the drawing-room; andfrom Charlotte he had heard much of her affectionate solicitude. To havebeen kind to his Charlotte was the strongest claim to his regard. 

"This woman's help would be of inestimable service, " he thought; "herage, her experience of sickness, her familiarity with the patient, especially adapt her for the office she will be required to fill. If Dr. Jedd should order a nurse to watch by the sick-bed, here is the nurse. Ifit should prove possible to remove the dear sufferer, here is theguardian best calculated to protect and attend her removal. " That thedesperate step of an immediate marriage would be a wise step Valentinecould not doubt, since it would at once annihilate Mr. Sheldon's chances, and destroy his motive. But in contemplating this desperate stepValentine had to consider the reputation as well as the safety of hisfuture wife. He was determined that there should be no opportunity forscandal in the circumstances of his stolen marriage, no scope for futuremischief from the malignity of that baffled villain to whose schemestheir marriage would give the death-blow. He, who from his cradle hadbeen familiar with the darker side of life, knew how often the innocentcarry a lifelong burden, and perform a perpetual pennance for the sins orthe follies of others. And over his darling's life in the future, shouldit please God that he might save her, he would have no shadow cast byimprudence of his in the present. 

"This sharp-witted, sharp-tongued Yorkshirewoman will be the woman ofwomen to protect her, " he thought, as he seated himself in Mr. Sheldon'sstudy, whither the prim parlour-maid had ushered him. 

"Mrs. Woolper have just gone upstairs to clean herself, " she said; "whichwe are a-having the dining-room and droring-room carpets up, while thefamily are away. Would you please to wait?"

Valentine looked at his watch. 

"I cannot wait very long, " he said; "and I shall be obliged if you willtell Mrs. Woolper that I wish to see her on very important business. "

The parlour-maid departed, and Valentine was left to endure the wearinessof waiting until Mrs. Woolper should have "cleaned herself. "

Mr. Sheldon's study at Bayswater did not offer much more to the eye ofthe investigator than Mr. Sheldon's office in the City. There were thehandsomely bound books behind the inviolable plate-glass doors, and therewas the neat writing-table with the machine for weighing letters, and thelarge business-like looking blotting-pad, and the ponderous brass-rimmedinkstand, with no nonsense about it; and yonder, on a clumsy little oaktable with thick legs, appeared the copying machine, with a big blackiron lever, and a massive screw with which to screw all the spontaneousfeeling out of every letter that came beneath its crushing influence. 

Up and down this joyless den Valentine Hawkehurst paced, with the demonof impatience raging in his breast. The July sunshine blazed hot upon thewindow, and the voices of croquêt-players in adjacent gardens rose shrillupon the summer air. And there were girls playing croquêt while she, his"rose of the garden, garden of girls, " lay sick unto death! O, why couldhe not offer a hecatomb of these common creatures as a substitute forthat one fair spirit?

He looked into the garden--the prim modern garden, but a few yearsreclaimed from that abomination of desolation, the "eligible lot ofbuilding land. " Across the well-kept lawn there brooded no shadow ofOld-World cedar; no century-old espaliers divided flower and kitchenground; no box-edging of the early Hanoverian era bordered the beds ofroses and mignonette. From one boundary-wall to the other there was not abush old enough to hang an association upon. The stereotyped bed offlaming yellow calceolaria balanced the conventional bed of flamingcrimson verbena; the lavender heliotrope faced the scarlet geranium, likethe four corners in a quadrille. The garden was the modern nurserymen'sideal of suburban horticulture, and no more. But to Valentine thishalf-acre of smooth lawn and Wimbledon gravel pathway had seemed fair asthose pleasure gardens of Semiramis, at the foot of the Bagistanosmountain, the fame whereof tempted Alexander to turn aside from thedirect road, during his march from Chelone to the Nysaic horse pastures. 

To-day the contemplation of that commonplace garden gave him direfulpain. Should he ever walk there again with his dear love, or in any othergarden upon earth?

And then he thought of fairer gardens, in supernal regions whither hissoul was slow to travel. "Not easy is the journey from earth to thestars, " says the sage; and from this young wanderer the stain of earthlytravel had yet to be washed away. 

"If she is taken from me, shall I ever be pure enough to follow her?" heasked himself. "Will a life that began in such darkness ever rise to thelight which is her natural element? If she is taken, and I stay behind, and bear my burden patiently in the hope to follow her, will there not bea gate closed against me in the skies, beyond which I shall see her, shining among her kindred spirits, in the white robes of perfectinnocence? Ah, my love, my love, as between, us on this earth must forever be a gulf your pure soul cannot pass, so between us in the skieswill rise a barrier to sever me from your sweet company!"

The thought of probable separation upon earth, of possible separation inheaven, was too bitter to him. 

"I will not think of these things, " he said to himself; "I will notbelieve in that possibility of this sacrifice. Ah, no! she will besaved. Against the bright young life the awful fiat has not goneforth. Providence has been with me to-day. Providence will go with metill the end. "

He thought how other men had so stood, as he was standing now, face toface with the great uncertainty, the crisis, the turning-point--the pivoton which life itself revolved. The pendulum of the mighty clock swingssolemnly to and fro; with every vibration a moment; with every momenteach man's shrouded fates move another step in their inexorable progress. And the end? What was the goal towards which those dark relentless shapeswere moving?

He thought of Rousseau, balancing the awful question of his soul'ssalvation--his poor weak soul adrift upon a sea of doubt. 

"Behold yonder tree which faces me, as I sit and meditate the problem ofmy destiny--the destiny of me, Jean Jacques Rousseau, self-consciousgenius, and future regenerator of my age. I pick up a pebble, andpoise it between my fingers before taking my aim. In another momentthe question will be answered. If the pebble hits the tree, I, JeanJacques, am reserved for salvation. If I miss--O awful, overwhelmingpossibility!--my name will blaze upon that dreadful scroll which numbersthe damned. "

Happily the tree is bulky, and within but a few yards of thespeculator; and the great enigma of the Calvinistic church is answeredin favour of Madame de Warenne's protégé, whose propensities andproclivities at that period did not very strongly indicate his claim toa place among the elect. 

Valentine remembered the _sortes Virgilianae_--the Wesleyan's drawing ofinferences from Bible texts. Ah, could he not find an answer to thequestion that was the one thought of his mind? He would find someanswer--a lying oracle, perhaps. It might be a voice from heaven, --sometemporary assuagement of this storm of doubt that raged in his breast. "Idoubt if Mr. Sheldon owns either a Bible or an, 'AEneid, '" he said tohimself, as he stopped in his rapid pacing of the room; "I will open thefirst book I can put my hand upon, and from the first line my eye fallson will draw an augury. "

He looked about the room. Behind the glazed doors of the mahoganybookcase appeared Hume and Smollett, Scott and Shakespeare; andconspicuous among these a handsome family Bible. But the glazed doorswere locked. In Mr. Sheldon's study there appeared to be no other booksthan these few standard works. Yes, on some obscure little shelves, lowdown in one of the recesses formed by the projection of the fireplace andthe chimney, there were three rows of large quarto volumes, in dingydark-green cloth cases. 

What these volumes might contain Valentine Hawkehurst knew not; and thevery fact of his ignorance rendered these books all the more suitable forthe purpose of augury. To dip for a sentence into any of these unknownvolumes would be a leap in darkness more profound than he could find inthe Bible or the "AEneid, " where his own foreknowledge of the text mightunwittingly influence the oracle. He went over to the recess, bent down, and ran his hand along the backs of the volumes, with his face turnedaway from the books towards the window. 

"The first obstruction that arrests my hand shall determine my choice ofthe volume, " he said to himself. 

His hand ran easily along the volumes on the upper shelf--easily alongthe volumes on the second shelf; and he began to doubt whether this modeof determining his choice could be persisted in. But in its progressalong the third and lowest range of volumes, his hand was arrested midwayby a book which projected about half an inch beyond its fellows. 

He took this book out and carried it to the table, still without lookingat it. He opened it, or rather let its leaves fall open of their ownaccord--still without looking at it; and then, with a strangesuperstitious fear--mingled in his mind with the natural shame thataccompanied his conscious folly--he looked at the page before him. Theline on which he fixed his eye was the heading of a letter. It was inlarger type than the rest of the page, and it was very plain to him as hestood a little way from the table, looking down at the open book. 

The line ran thus:

"ON THE FALLIBILITY OF COPPER GAUZE AS A TEST FOR THE DETECTION OFARSENIC. "

The book was a volume of the _Lancet_; the date twenty years ago. 

"What an oracle!" thought Valentine, with a cynical laugh at his ownfolly, and some slight sense of relief. In all feeble tamperings withpowers invisible there lurks a sense of terror in the weak human heart. He had tempted those invisible ones, and the oracle he only half believedin might have spoken to his confusion and dismay. He was glad to thinkthe oracle meant nothing. 

And yet, even in this dry as dust title of a scientific communicationfrom a distinguished toxicologist there was some sinister significance. It was the letter of a great chemist, who demonstrated therein thefallibility of all tests in relation to a certain poison. It was one ofthose papers which, while they aid the cause of science, may also furtherthe dark processes of the poisoner, by showing him the forces he has toencounter, and the weapons with which he may defend himself from theirpower. It is needless to dwell here upon the contents of this letter--oneof a series on the same subject, or range of subjects. Valentine read itwith eager interest. For him it had a terrible importance in its relationto the past and to the present. 

"I let the book fall open, and it opened at that letter, " he thought tohimself. "Will it open there a second time, I wonder?"

He repeated the experiment, and the book opened in the same place. Again;and again the book opened as before. Again, many times, and the resultwas still the same. 

After this he examined the book, and found that it had been pressed openat this page, as by a reader leaning on the opened volume. He examined itstill more closely, and found here and there on the page faintindications of a pencil, which had under-scored certain lines, and themarks of which had been as far as possible erased. The deduction to bedrawn from these small facts seemed only too clear to ValentineHawkehurst. By some one reader the pages had been deliberately andcarefully studied. Could he doubt that reader to have been the man inwhose possession he found the book, the man whom that very day he hadheard plainly denounced as a poisoner?

He drew out the previous volume, and in this a rapid search revealed tohim a second fact, significant as the last. 

An old envelope marked the place where appeared an article on thecoincidences common to the diagnostics of a certain type of low fever andthe diagnostics of a certain class of poisons. Here the volume againopened of itself, and a blot of ink on the page seemed to indicate thatthe open book had been leant upon by a person engaged in making memorandaof its contents. Nor was this all. The forgotten envelope that marked theplace had its own dismal significance. The postmark bore the date of theyear and the month in which Charlotte's father had died. 

While this volume was still open in his hand the door opened suddenly, and Mrs. Woolper came into the room. 

She had kept Valentine waiting more than half an hour. He had little morethan half an hour at most in which to break the ice of absolutestrangeness, and sound the very depths of this woman's character. If shehad come to him earlier, when his plan of action was clear and definite, his imagination in abeyance, he would have gone cautiously to work, withslowness and deliberation. Coming to him now, when his mind, unsettled bythe discovery of fresh evidence against Philip Sheldon, was dividedbetween the past and the present, she took him off his guard, and heplunged at once into the subject that absorbed all his thoughts. 

Mrs. Woolper looked from Valentine to the open books on the table with avague terror in her face. 

"I am sorry I was so long, sir; but I'd been polishing the grates andfenders, and such like, and my hands and face were blacker than asweep's. I hope there's nothing wrong at the seaside, where Miss--"

"There is much that's wrong, Mrs. Woolper--hopelessly, irrecoverablywrong. Miss Halliday is ill, very ill--doomed to die, if she remain inyour master's keeping. "

"Lord help us, Mr. Hawkehurst! what do you mean?"

The terror in her face was no longer a vague terror. It had taken a formand substance, and was a terror unutterably hideous, if ever humancountenance gave expression to human thought. 

"I mean that your master is better skilled in the use of the agents thatkill than the agents that cure. Charlotte's father came to PhilipSheldon's house a hale strong man, in the very prime of manhood. In thathouse he sickened of a nameless disease, and died, carefully tended byhis watchful friend. The same careful watcher stands by CharlotteHalliday's deathbed, and she is dying!"

"Dying! O, sir, for God's sake, don't say that!"

"She is dying, as her father died before her, by the hand of PhilipSheldon. "

"O, sir! Mr. Hawkehurst!" cried the old woman, with clasped hands liftedin piteous supplication towards her master's denouncer. "It's not true. It is not true. For God's dear love don't tell me it is true! I nursedhim when he was a baby, sir; and there wasn't a little trouble I had tobear with him that didn't make him all the dearer to me. I have sat upall the night through, sir, times and often, when he was ill, and haveheard Barlingford church clock strike every hour of the long night; andO, if I had known that this could ever come to him, I should have wishedhim dead in the little crib where he lay and seemed so innocent. I tellyou, sir, it can't be true! His father and mother had been respected andlooked up to in Barlingford for many a year, --his grandfather andgrandmother before them. There isn't a name that stands better in thoseparts than the name of Sheldon. Do you think such a man would poison hisfriend?"

"_I_ said nothing about poison, Mrs. Woolper, " said Valentine, sternly. 

This woman had known all, and had held her tongue, like the rest, itseemed. To Valentine there was unutterable horror in the thought that acold-blooded murder could be thus perpetrated in the sight of severalpeople, and yet no voice be raised to denounce the assassin. 

"And this is our modern civilization!" he said to himself. "Give me thedesert or the jungle. The sons of Bowanee are no worse than Mr. Sheldon, and one might be on one's guard against them. "

Nancy Woolper looked at him aghast. He had said nothing about poison!What, then--had she betrayed her master?

He saw that she had known, or strongly suspected, the worst in the caseof Tom Halliday, and that she would easily be influenced to do all hewanted of her. 

"Mrs. Woolper, you must help me to save Charlotte, " he said, withintensity. "You made no attempt to save her father, though you suspectedthe cause of his death. I have this day seen Mr. Burkham, the doctor whoattended Mr. Halliday, and from his lips I have heard the truth. I wantyou to accompany me to Hastings, and to take your place by Charlotte'sbed, as her nurse and guardian. If Mr. Sheldon suspects your knowledge ofthe past, and I have little doubt that he does"--a look in thehousekeeper's face told him that he was right--"you are of all peoplebest fitted to guard that dear girl. Your part will not be a difficultone. If we dare remove her, we will remove her beyond the reach of thatman's power. If not, your task will be to prevent food or medicine, thathis hand has touched, from approaching her lips. You _can_ do it. It willonly be a question of tact and firmness. We shall have one of thegreatest doctors in London for our guide. Will you come?"

"I don't believe my master poisoned his friend, " said Nancy Woolper, doggedly; "nor I won't believe it. You can't force me to think bad of himI loved when he was little and helpless, and I carried him in my arms. What are you and your fine London doctor, Mr. Burkham--he was but a poorfondy, as I mind well--that I should take your word against my master? Ifthat young man thought as Mr. Halliday was being poisoned, why didn't hespeak out, like a man, then? It's a fine piece of work to bring it upagainst my master eleven years afterwards. As for young missy, she's assweet a young creature as ever lived, and I'd do anything to serve her. But I won't think, and I can't think, that my master would hurt a hair ofher head. What would he gain by it?"

"He has settled that with himself. He has gained by the death of TomHalliday, and depend upon it he has made his plans to gain by the deathof Tom Halliday's daughter. "

"I won't believe it, " the old woman repeated in the same dogged tone. 

For such resistance as this Mr. Hawkehurst was in no manner prepared. Helooked at his watch. The half hour was nearly gone. There was little moretime for argument. 

"Great Heaven!" he said to himself, "what argument can I employ toinfluence this woman's obdurate heart?"

What argument, indeed? He knew of none stronger than those he had used. He stood for some moments battled and helpless, staring absently at theface of his watch, and wondering what he was to do next. 

As Valentine Hawkehurst stood thus, there came a loud ringing of thebell, following quickly on the sound of wheels grinding against thekerbstone. 

Mrs. Woolper opened the door and looked out into the hall. 

"It's master!" cried one of the maids, emerging from the disorganizeddining-room, "and missus, and Miss Halliday, and Mass Paget--and all thehouse topsy-turvy!"

"Charlotte here!" exclaimed Valentine. "You are dreaming, girl!"

"And you told me she was dying!" said Mrs. Woolper, with a look oftriumph. "What becomes of your fine story now?"

"It _is_ Miss Halliday!" cried the housemaid, as she opened the door. "And O my!" she added, looking back into the hall with a sorrowful face, "how bad she do look!"

Valentine ran out to the gate. Yes; there were two cabs, one laden withluggage, the two cabmen busy about the doors of the vehicles, a littlegroup of stragglers waiting to see the invalid young lady alight. It wasthe next best thing to a funeral. 

"O, don't she look white!" cried a shrill girl with a baby in her arms. 

"In a decline, I dessay, pore young thing, " said a matron, in an audibleaside to her companion. 

Valentine dashed amongst the group of stragglers. He pushed away the girlwith the baby, the housemaid who had run out behind him, Mr. Sheldon, thecabman, every one; and in the next moment Charlotte was in his arms, andhe was carrying her into the house. 

He felt as if he had been in a dream; and all that exceptional forcewhich the dreamer sometimes feels he felt in this crisis. He carried hisdear burden into the study, followed by Mr. Sheldon and Diana Paget. Theface that dropped upon his shoulder showed deadly white against hisdark-blue coat; the hand which he clasped in his, ah, how listless andfeeble!

"Valentine!" the girl said, in a low drowsy voice, lifting her eyes tohis face, "is this you? I have been so ill, so tired; and they wouldbring me away. To be near the doctors, papa says. Do you think anydoctors will be able to cure me?"

"Yes, dear, with God's help. I am glad he has brought you here. And nowI must run away, " he said; when he had placed Charlotte in Mr. Sheldon'sarm-chair, "for a very little while, darling. I have seen a doctor, aman in whom I have more confidence than I have in Dr. Doddleson. I amgoing to fetch him, my dearest, " he added tenderly, as he felt thefeeble hand cling to his; "I shall not be long. Do you think I shall nothurry back to you? My dearest one, when I return, it will be to staywith you--for ever. "

She was too ill to note the significance of his words; she only knew thatthey gave her comfort. He hurried from the room. In less than an hour hemust be at the London Bridge terminus, or in all probability the fiveo'clock train would carry Dr. Jedd to St. Leonards; and on Dr. Jedd hischief hope rested. 

"Do you believe me now?" he asked of Mrs. Woolper as he went outinto the hall. 

"I do, " she answered in a whisper; "and I will do what you want. "

She took his hand in her wrinkled horny palm and grasped it firmly. Hefelt that in this firm pressure there was a promise sacred as any oathever registered on earth. He met Mr. Sheldon on the threshold, andpassed him without a word. The time might come in which he would have tomask his thoughts, and stoop to the hateful hypocrisy of civility tothis man; but he had not yet schooled himself to do this. At the gate hemet George Sheldon. 

"What's up now?" asked the lawyer. 

"Did you send your message?"

"Yes; I telegraphed to Phil. "

"It has been trouble wasted. He has brought her home. "

"What does that mean?"

"Who knows? I pray God that he may have overreached himself. I have set awatch upon my dear love, and no further harm shall come to her. I amgoing to fetch Dr. Jedd. "

"And you are not afraid of Phil's smelling a rat?"

"I am afraid of nothing that he can do henceforward. If it is not toolate to save her, I will save her. "

He waited for no more, but jumped into the cab. "London Bridge terminus!You must get me there by a quarter to five, " he said to the driver. 

George Sheldon went no further than the gate of his brother's domain. 

"I wonder whether the Harold's Hill people will send that telegram afterhim, " he thought. "It'll be rather unpleasant for Fred Orcott if they do. But it's ten to one they won't. The normal condition of every seasidelodging-house keeper in one degree removed from idiotcy. "

Book the Ninth. 

THROUGH THE FURNACE

CHAPTER I. 

SOMETHING TOO MUCH. 

"Is that young man mad?" asked Philip Sheldon, as he went into his studyimmediately after Valentine had passed him in the hall. 

The question was not addressed to any particular individual; and Diana, who was standing near the door by which Mr. Sheldon entered, took uponherself to answer it. 

"I think he is very anxious, " she said in a half whisper. 

"What brought him here just now? He did not know we were coming home. "

Mrs. Woolper answered this question. 

"He came for something for Miss Charlotte, sir; some books as she'd hadfrom the library. They'd not been sent back; and he came to see abouttheir being sent. "

"What books?" murmured Charlotte. But a pressure from Mrs. Woolper's handprevented her saying more. 

"I never encountered any one with so little self-command, " said Mr. Sheldon. "If he is going to rush in and out of my house in that manner, Imust really put a stop to his visits altogether. I cannot suffer thatkind of thing. For Charlotte's welfare quiet is indispensable; and if Mr. Hawkehurst's presence is to bring noise and excitement, Mr. Hawkehurstmust not cross this threshold. "

He spoke with suppressed anger; with such evident effort to restrain hisanger, that it would have seemed as if his indignation against Valentinewas no common wrath. 

Charlotte caught his last words. 

"Dear papa, " she pleaded in her faint voice, "pray do not be angry withValentine; he is so anxious about me. "

"I am not angry with him; but while you are ill, I will have quiet--atany price. "

"Then I'm sure you should not have brought Charlotte home, " exclaimedGeorgy, in tones of wailing and lamentation; "for of all the miseries inlife, there is nothing worse than coming home in the very midst of ageneral cleaning. It was agreed between Ann Woolper and me that thereshould be a general cleaning while we were away at the seaside. We wereto be away a fortnight, and everything was to be as neat as a new pinwhen we came home. But here we are back in less than a week, andeverything at sixes-and-sevens. Where we are to dine I know not; and asfor the carpets, they are all away at the beating-place, and Ann tells methey won't be home till Friday. "

"We can exist without carpets, " answered Mr. Sheldon, in a hard dryvoice. "I suppose they are seeing to Miss Halliday's room?" he added, addressing himself to Mrs. Woolper. "Why don't you go and look afterthem, Nancy?"

"Sarah knows what she has to do. The bed-rooms was done first; andthere's not much amiss in Miss Charlotte's room. "

Mr. Sheldon dropped wearily into a chair. He looked pale and haggard. Throughout the journey he had been unfailing in his attention to theinvalid; but the journey had been fatiguing; for Charlotte Halliday wasvery ill--so ill as to be unable to avoid inflicting trouble uponothers. The weariness--the dizziness--the dull intervals ofsemi-consciousness--the helpless tottering walk, which was like thewalk of intoxication rather than ordinary weakness--the cloudedsight--all the worst symptoms of this nameless disease, had every hourgrown more alarming. 

Against this journey to London Mrs. Sheldon and Diana had pleaded--Georgywith as much earnestness as she could command; Diana as forcibly as shedared argue a question in which her voice had so little weight. 

But upon this point Mr. Sheldon was adamant. 

"She will be better off in London, " he said resolutely. "This trip to theseaside was a whim of my wife's; and, like most other whims of my wife's, it has entailed trouble and expense upon me. Of course I know that Georgydid it for the best, " he added, in reply to a reproachful "O Philip!"from Mrs. Sheldon. "But the whole business has been a mistake. No soonerare we comfortably settled down here, than Hawkehurst takes it into hishead to be outrageously alarmed about Charlotte, and wants to bringhalf-a-dozen doctors round the poor girl's bed, to her inevitable peril;for in an illness which begins and ends in mental depression, allappearance of alarm is calculated to do mischief. "

Having said this, Mr. Sheldon lost no time in making arrangements for thejourney. A carriage was ordered; all possible preparations were made forthe comfort of the invalid--everything that care or kindness could do wasdone; but the cruelty of the removal was not the less obvious. Georgywailed piteously about the sixes-and-sevens to which they were beingtaken. Diana cared nothing about sixes-and-sevens; but she felt supremeindignation against Charlotte's stepfather, and she did not attempt toconceal her feelings. 

Nor was it without an effort to oppose Mr. Sheldon's authority that MissPaget succumbed to the force of circumstances. She appealed to his wife. 

"Dear Mrs. Sheldon, I beg you not to suffer Lotta's removal, " she saidearnestly. "You do not know how ill she is--nor can Mr. Sheldon know, orhe would not take such a step. As her mother, your authority is superiorto his; you have but to say that she shall not be taken from this housein her present state of prostration and sickness. "

"I have only to say!" cried Georgy, piteously. "O Diana, how can you saysuch a thing? What would be Mr. Sheldon's feelings if I were to stand upagainst him, and declare that Charlotte should not be moved? And he soanxious too, and so clever. I'm sure his conduct about my poor dear Lottais positively beautiful. I never saw such anxiety. Why, he has grown tenyears older in his looks since the beginning of her illness. People go onabout stepfather this, and stepfather that, until a poor young widow isalmost frightened to marry again. But I don't believe a real father everwas more thoughtful or more careful about a real daughter than Philip hasbeen about Lotta. And what a poor return it would be if I were to opposehim now, when he says that the removal will be for Charlotte's good, andthat she will be near clever doctors--if she should require cleverdoctors! You don't know how experienced he is, and how thoughtful. Ishall never forget his kindness to poor Tom. "

"Yes, " exclaimed Miss Paget impatiently, "but Mr. Halliday died. "

"O Diana, " whimpered Georgy, "I did not think you could be so unkind asto remind me of that. "

"I only want to remind you that Mr. Sheldon is not infallible. "

Mr. Sheldon entered the room at this juncture, and Diana left it, passionately indignant against the poor weak creature, to whom no crisis, no danger, could give strength of mind or will. 

"A sheep would make some struggle for her lamb, " she thought, angrily. "Mrs. Sheldon is lower than a sheep. "

It was the first time she had thought unkindly of this weak soul, and heranger soon melted to pity for the powerless nature which Mr. Sheldon heldin such supreme control. She made no further attempt at resistance afterthis; but went to Charlotte's room and prepared for the journey. 

"O, why am I to be moved, dear?" the girl asked piteously. "I am too illto be moved. "

"It is for your good, darling. Mr. Sheldon wants you to be near the greatphysicians, who can give you health and strength. "

"There are no physicians who can do that. Let me stay here, Di. Beg papato let me stay here. "

Diana hid her face upon the invalid's shoulder. Her tears choked her. Torepress her grief was agony scarcely endurable. But she did hide alltrace of anger and sorrow, and cheered the helpless traveller throughoutthe weariness of the journey. 

 * * * * *

Charlotte was lying on a sofa in her bedroom, with Mrs. Woolper inattendance upon her, when Dr. Jedd arrived. It was a quarter to six, andthe low western sunshine flooded the room. 

The physician came with Valentine, and did not ask to see Mr. Sheldonbefore going to his patient's room. He told the housemaid who admittedhim to show the way to Miss Halliday's room. 

"The nurse is there, I suppose?" he said to the girl. 

"Yes, sir; leastways, Mrs. Woolper. "

"That will do. "

Mr. Sheldon heard the voice in the hall, and came out of the library asthe doctor mounted the step of the stairs. 

"Who is this? What is this?" he asked of Valentine Hawkehurst. 

"I told you I was not satisfied with Dr. Doddleson's opinion, " answeredthe young man coolly. "This gentleman is here by appointment with me. "

"And pray by what right do you bring a doctor of your own choosing tovisit my stepdaughter without previous consultation with me?"

"By the right of my love for her. I am not satisfied as to the medicaltreatment your stepdaughter has received in this house, Mr. Sheldon, andI want to be satisfied. Miss Halliday is something more than your, stepdaughter, remember: she is my promised wife. Dr. Jedd's opinion willbe more assuring to me than the opinion of Dr. Doddleson. "

At the sound of Dr. Jedd's name Mr. Sheldon started slightly. It was aname he knew only too well--a name he had seen among the medicalwitnesses in the great Fryar trial, the record of which had for himpossessed a hideous fascination. He had fancied himself in the poisonerFryar's place; and the fancy had sent an icy chill through his veins. Butin the next minute he had said to himself, "I am not such a reckless foolas that man Fryar was; and have run no such risks as he ran. "

At the name of Jedd the same icy shiver ran through his veins again. Histone of suppressed anger changed to a tone of civility which was almostsycophantic. 

"I have the honour to know Dr. Jedd by repute very well indeed, and Iwithdraw my objection to your course of proceeding, my dear Hawkehurst;though I am sure Dr. Jedd will agree with me that such a course iscompletely against all professional etiquette, and that Dr. Doddlesonwill have the right to consider himself aggrieved. "

"There are cases in which one hardly considers professional etiquette. Ishall be very happy to meet Dr. Doddleson to-morrow morning. But as Mr. Hawkehurst was very anxious that I should see Miss Halliday to-night, Iconsented to waive all ceremony, and come with him on the spot. "

"I cannot blame his anxiety to secure so valuable an opinion. I onlywonder what lucky star guided him to so excellent an adviser. "

Mr. Sheldon looked from Dr. Jedd to Valentine Hawkehurst as he said this. The physician's face told him no more than he might have learnt from ablank sheet of paper. Valentine's face was dark and gloomy; but thatgloomy darkness might mean no more than natural grief. 

"I will take you to my stepdaughter's room at once, " he said to thephysician. 

"I think it will be better for me to see the young lady alone, " thedoctor answered coolly: "that is to say, in the presence of her nurseonly. "

"As you please, " Mr. Sheldon replied. 

He went back to his study. Georgy was sitting there, whimpering in afeeble way at intervals; and near her sat Diana, silent and gloomy. Asettled gloom, as of the grave itself, brooded over the house. Mr. Sheldon flung himself into a chair with an impatient gesture. He hadsneered at the inconvenience involved in uncarpeted floors, but he wasbeginning to feel the aggravation of that inconvenience. These two womenin his study were insupportable to him. It seemed as if there was no roomin the house in which he could be alone; and just now he had bitter needof solitary meditation. 

"Let them arrange the dining-room somehow, carpet or no carpet, " he saidto his wife. "We must have some room to dine in; and I can't have youhere, Georgy; I have letters to write. "

Mrs. Sheldon and Diana were not slow to take the hint. 

"I'm sure I don't want to be here, or anywhere, " exclaimed Georgy inpiteous accents; "I feel so miserable about Charlotte, that if I couldlie down and die, it would be a comfort to me. And it really seems amockery having dinner at such a time. It's just as it was during poorTom's illness; there were fowls and all sorts of things cooked, and noone ever ate them. "

"For God's sake go away!" cried Mr. Sheldon passionately; "your perpetualclack is torture to me. "

Georgy hurried from the room, followed closely by Diana. 

"Did you ever see any one more anxious?" Mrs. Sheldon asked, withsomething like pride. 

"I would rather see Mr. Sheldon less anxious!" Diana answered gravely. 

CHAPTER II. 

DR. JEDD'S OPINION. 

Alone, Philip Sheldon breathed more freely. He paced the room, waitingfor the appearance of the doctor; and with almost every turn he looked atthe clock upon the chimneypiece. 

How intolerable seemed the slow progress of the moments! How long thatman Jedd was staying in the sick-room! And yet not long; it was he, Philip Sheldon, who was losing count of time. Where was Valentine? Heopened the door of the room, and looked out. Yes, there was a figure onthe stairs. The lover was waiting the physician's verdict. 

A door on the landing above opened, and the step of the Doctor sounded onthe upper flight. Mr. Sheldon waited for Dr. Jedd's appearance. 

"I shall be glad to hear your opinion, " he said quietly; and the Doctorfollowed him into the study. Valentine followed the Doctor, to Mr. Sheldon's evident surprise. 

"Mr. Hawkehurst is very anxious to hear what I have to say, " said Dr. Jedd; "and I really see no objection to his hearing it. "

"If you have no objection, I can have none, " Mr. Sheldon answered. "Imust confess, your course of proceeding appears to me altogetherexceptional, and--"

"Yes, Mr. Sheldon; but then, you see, the case is altogether anexceptional case, " said the physician, gravely. 

"You think so?"

"Decidedly. The young lady is in extreme danger. Yes, Mr. Sheldon, inextreme danger. The mistake involved in her removal to-day is a mistakewhich I cannot denounce too strongly. If you had wanted to kill yourstepdaughter, you could scarcely have pursued a more likely course forthe attainment of your object. No doubt you were actuated by the mostamiable motives. I can only regret that you should have acted withoutcompetent advice. "

"I believed myself to be acting for the best, " replied Philip Sheldon, ina strange mechanical way. 

He was trying to estimate the true meaning of the Doctor's address. Washe merely expressing anger against an error of ignorance or stupidity, orwas there a more fatal significance in his words?

"You overwhelm me, " the stockbroker said presently; "you positivelyoverwhelm me by your view of my daughter's condition. Dr. Doddlesonapprehended no danger. He saw our dear girl on Sunday morning--yesterdaymorning, " added Mr. Sheldon, wonder-stricken to find that the intervalwas so brief between the time in which he had walked with Valentine andDr. Doddleson in the garden at Harold's Hill and the present moment. ToValentine it seemed still more wonderful. What a bridgeless gulf betweenyesterday morning and to-night! All his knowledge of this man Sheldon, all the horror involved in Tom Halliday's death, had come upon him inthat brief span. 

"I should like to see Dr. Doddleson's prescriptions, " said Dr. Jedd, withgrave politeness. 

Mr. Sheldon produced them from his pocket-book with an unshaken hand. Nochange of countenance, no tremulous hand, no broken voice, betrayed hisapprehension. The one distinguishing mark of his manner was an absent, half-mechanical tone, as of a man whose mind is employed otherwise thanin the conversation of the moment. Prompt at calculation always, he wasat this crisis engaged in a kind of mental arithmetic. "The chances ofdefeat, so much; the chances of detection--?"

A rapid survey of his position told him what those chances were. Detection by Dr. Jedd? Yes. That had come to him already perhaps. Butwould any actual harm to him come of such detection?

He calculated the chances for and against this--and the result was in hisfavour. That Dr. Jedd should form certain opinions of Miss Halliday'scase was one thing; that he should give public utterance to thoseopinions was another thing. 

"What can his opinion matter to me?" Mr. Sheldon asked himself; "opinioncannot touch me in a case where there is no such thing as certainty. Hehas seen the dilatation of the pupil--even that old fool Doddleson sawit--and has taken fright. But no jury in England would hang a man on suchevidence as that; or if a jury could be found to put the rope round aman's neck, the British public and the British press would be pretty sureto get the rope taken off again. "

"Chloric aether, spirits of ammonia--hum, ha, hum--yes, " muttered Dr. Jedd, looking at one prescription. "Quinine, yes; aqua pura, " hemurmured, looking at another. 

He threw them aside with a half-contemptuous gesture, and then took up apen and began to write. 

"My mode of treatment will be quite different from that adopted by Dr. Doddleson, " he said; "but I apprehend no difficulty in bringing thatgentleman round to my view of the case when we meet. "

As he wrote his prescription Philip Sheldon rose and looked over hisshoulder. 

The form of the prescription told him that Dr. Jedd knew--all! He hadsuspected this from the first, and the confirmation of this suspicion didnot shake him. He grew firmer, indeed; for now he knew on what ground hewas standing, and what forces were arrayed against him. 

"I really do not understand the basis of your treatment, " he said, stilllooking over the physician's shoulder. 

Dr. Jedd turned his chair with a sudden movement, and faced him. 

"Am I talking to Mr. Sheldon the stockbroker, or Mr. Sheldon thesurgeon-dentist?" he asked. 

_This_ was a blow. This allusion to the past was a sharper stroke thanany that Philip Sheldon had before received. He looked at Valentine; fromValentine to the physician. What did it mean, this mention of the past?That blabbing fool George had talked to his friend of the days inFitzgeorge Street, no doubt; and Valentine had blabbed Mr. Sheldon'santecedents to the physician. 

Was this what it all meant? Or did it mean more than this? Whatever itmight mean, he faced the hidden danger, and met the uncertainties of hisposition as calmly as he met its certainties. 

"I have no desire to interfere with your treatment, " he said, veryquietly; "but I have some knowledge of the Pharmacopoeia, and I confessmyself quite at a loss to understand your prescription. "

"Dr. Doddleson will understand it when he has heard my opinion. There isno time to be lost--Mr. Hawkehurst, will you take this to the chemist, and wait for the medicine? Miss Halliday cannot take it too soon. I shallbe here to-morrow at nine o'clock. --If you wish me to see Dr. Doddleson, Mr. Sheldon, you will perhaps arrange an appointment with him for thathour. "

"It is rather an early hour. "

"No hour is too early in a case attended with so much danger. Perhaps itwill be as well for me to call on Dr. Doddleson as I drive home. I shallmake a point of seeing Miss Halliday twice a day. I find your housekeepera very sensible person. She will remain in close attendance upon thesick-room; and I must beg that there is no quackery--no home-maderemedies. I have given your housekeeper all directions as to treatmentand diet, and she has my orders to allow no one but herself in theinvalid's room. There is a marked tendency to delirium, and quiet isindispensable. "

"I have said as much myself, " answered Mr. Sheldon. 

"Mr. Hawkehurst will undertake to see to the making-up of myprescriptions, " continued Dr. Jedd, as he drew on his gloves. "He is veryanxious about the young lady, and it will afford him some relief of mindto be employed in her service. No, thanks, " he said, putting aside Mr. Sheldon's hand as that gentleman offered him his fee. "I have alreadyreceived my honorarium from Mr. Hawkehurst. "

There was no more to be said. The physician wished the two men goodevening, and returned to his carriage, to be driven home to dinner by wayof Plantagenet Square, where he saw Dr. Doddleson, and appointed to meethim next day, much to the delight of that individual, who was proud to beengaged in a case with the great Jedd. 

Valentine left the house on the heels of the Doctor. He came back inabout twenty minutes with the medicine. He did not go to the principalgate, but to a little side gate, near the offices of the gothic villa--agate to which butchers and bakers came with their wares in the morning. 

"I want to see Miss Paget, " he said to the maid who answered his summons;"and I want to see her without disturbing Mr. And Mrs. Sheldon. Do youknow where to find her?"

"Yes, sir; she's in her own room. I took her a cup of tea there tenminutes ago. She's got a headache with fretting about our poor younglady, and she won't go down to dinner with master and missus. "

"Will you ask her to step out here and speak to me for a few minutes?"

"Won't you come indoors and see her, sir?"

"No; I'd rather see her in the garden. "

It was still daylight here, but it was growing shadowy among the avenuesin Kensington Gardens. The gate near which Valentine waited was not to beseen from the windows of dining or drawing-room. 

The housemaid ran off to summon Miss Paget; and in less than five minutesDiana appeared, dressed in her hat and garden jacket. 

"Will you come out into the road with me, dear?" asked Valentine. "I havesomething serious to say to you. "

"And I am so anxious to hear what the Doctor has said, " answered Diana, as she took Valentine's arm. 

"The road before the Lawn was very quiet at this hour of the evening, andhere they were safely beyond Mr. Sheldon's ken. 

"Tell me the Doctor's opinion, Valentine, " Diana said, eagerly. "Does hethink the case very serious?"

"He does. It is more serious than you or I could have imagined, ifProvidence had not helped me to discover the truth. "

"What do you mean, Valentine?"

He gave her in brief the story of his day's work. She listened to himbreathlessly, but uttered no exclamation until his story was finished. 

"It is most horrible, " she said at last; "but I believe it is most true. There has been so much in that man's conduct that has mystified me; and_this_ explains all. But what earthly motive can have prompted thishideous crime?"

"He believes that he has a beneficial interest in her death. I cannotfully understand his motive; but, rely upon it, there is a motive, and asufficient one. And I have let that man delude me into belief in hishonesty after I had been warned against him! But there is no time forregrets. Diana, I look to you to help me in saving my dear love. "

"It is not too late to save her?"

"Dr. Jedd will commit himself to no positive statement. He tells me sheis in danger, but he does not refuse all hope. Now listen, my dear. Inthat house I have only two people to help me--Ann Woolper and yourself. Ann Woolper I hold only by a feeble bond. I think she will be true to us;but I am not sure of her. Sheldon's influence over her is a powerful one;and God knows what concession he might extort from her. She is theostensible guardian of Charlotte's room; you must contrive to be the realguardian. You must keep custody over the custodian. How is your roomsituated in relation to Charlotte's room?"

"The doors of the two rooms are exactly opposite. "

"Providence favours us there. Can you keep watch over Charlotte's doorfrom your room without making your guardianship too apparent?"

"I can. "

"Day and night?"

"Day and night. "

"God bless you, dear! Her life may be saved by your fidelity. "

"I would do as much to render her a smaller service. "

"My dear girl! And now go back to the house. Here is the medicine. Youwill give that into Mrs. Woolper's hands; she has received herinstructions from Dr. Jedd, and those instructions leave no room fordoubt. If she permits Sheldon to tamper with the medicine or the food ofher patient, she will be the wilful accomplice of a murderer. I think shemay be trusted. "

"I will watch her. "

"The charge of procuring the medicine is mine. I shall come to this housemany times in the course of every day; but I am bound to prepare myselffor the hour in which Mr. Sheldon may forbid me his house. In that eventI shall come to this gate. I suppose the servants would stand by me ifyou pleaded for me?"

"I am sure they would. "

"And now, dear, go; the medicine is wanted. I shall come back in a fewhours to inquire if there is any change for the better. Go. "

They had returned to the gate ere this. He grasped the hand which sheheld out to him, and stood by the little gate watching her till she haddisappeared through the door of the servants' quarters. When the doorclosed, he walked slowly away. He had done all that it was possible forhim to do, and now came his worst misery. There was nothing left for himbut to wait the issue of events. 

What was he to do? Go home to his lodgings--eat, drink, sleep? Was itpossible for him to eat or to sleep while that precious life trembled inthe balance? He walked slowly along the endless roads and terraces in apurposeless way. Careless people pushed against him, or he pushed againstthem; children brushed past him as they ran. What a noisy, busy, clattering world it seemed! And she lay dying! O, the droning, drearyorgans, and the hackneyed, common tunes, how excruciating they were tohim to-night!

He emerged into the high road by-and-by, in all the bustle and riot ofNetting Hill. The crowded shops, the clamorous people, seemed strange tohim. It was like the clamour of a foreign city. He walked on past thebustle and riot, by the quieter terraces near Holland Park, and stillheld on to Shepherd's Bush, where he went into a little public-house andcalled for some brandy. 

There was a bench on one side of the space in front of the bar, andtowards this he pushed his way. 

"Where are you shoving to, my young swell?" growled a sturdy cabman, indignant at the outrage inflicted by Valentine's elbows; but in the nextmoment the sturdy cabman dashed suddenly forward and caught the youngswell in his strong arms. 

"My eye, young un!" he cried; "where do you want to go to? Here, some onebring a mug of cold water: I'm blest if he ain't in a fit!"

Happily it was no fit, only a dead faint into which Mr. Hawkehurst hadfallen. He came back to consciousness presently, after a few spoonfuls ofbrandy had been forced into his mouth, and looked about him with ahelpless stare. 

"I'm jiggered if I don't believe he's fainted for the want of wittles!"cried the cabman. "They keeps up till they drop, sometimes, these seedyswells--walks about, lookin' like so many Dossays, on a hempty stomach. Here, some one bring a plate o' cold meat, and look sharp about it. I'llstand sam. "

Valentine looked up with a faint smile. 

"And I'll stand sam for anything you like to order, my friend, " he said, holding out his hand to the good-natured cabman. "I've eaten nothingsince last night; but I haven't fasted for want of money. There are worsetroubles than an empty pocket, --and I'm not unacquainted with _that_. "

"I'm sure I beg your pardon, sir, " said the man, sheepishly, very muchashamed of his benevolence; "but, you see, it ain't the fust time I'veseen a swell come to the pavement with a cropper, in consequence ofhaving gone it too fast, and cleaned hisself out, in a manner ofspeaking. "

CHAPTER III. 

NON DORMIT JUDAS. 

The summer darkness closed round the Bayswater villa, but of sleep therewas little for any one in that household during this sad night. Is therenot, in almost every household, a memory of such days and nights--dreadintervals in which the common course of life and time seems to besuspended, and all the interests of the universe hang upon the fitfulbreath of one dear sufferer?

Lonely were the watchers in Mr. Sheldon's house. Georgy was in her ownroom, forbidden to disturb the invalid by her restless presence--nowlying down, now pacing to and fro, now praying a little, now crying alittle--the very ideal of helpless misery. 

In the sick-room there was no one but the invalid and Ann Woolper. Inthe room opposite watched Diana Paget, her door ajar, her sensessharpened by anxiety, quick to hear the faintest sound of footfall onthe stairs, or to feel the slightest vibration from stealthily openeddoor on the story below. 

Alone in the study sat Philip Sheldon, at the table where he wasaccustomed to write--a blank sheet of paper before him, a pen heldloosely in his outstretched hand, and his eyes fixed in an unseeing gazeupon the bookcase opposite--the living image of care. Now that theturmoil of the day was done, and there was silence in the house, he hadset himself to face his position. It was no trifling task which he had toperform. Not one difficulty, or one set of difficulties, had he to meetand master. The armed enemies up-springing from the dragon's teeth whichhe had sown were not to be set fighting amongst themselves, nor were theyto be smashed by any rocks that he could hurl amongst them. They stoodaround him in an awful circle, and turn which way he would, he saw thesame appalling figure, armed to the teeth, and invincible as death. 

What had he to fear?

Detection of a past crime? No, that was a fool's terror which shook himat the sound of Tom Halliday's name--a child's fear of the nursery bogie. Detection in the present was more to be dreaded. The work that he haddone was, according to his belief, work that could not be proved againsthim. But there are crimes of which to be accused is to be condemned. Lawyers may plead, and juries may acquit; but the fiat of public opiniongoes forth against the suspected wretch, and on _his_ forehead for evershows the dark brand of Cain. 

For the criminal of almost every shade of colour, save this one dreadhue, society has a sanctuary and earth a refuge. The forger may find acircle in which the signing of another man's name, under the pressure ofcircumstances, is held to be a misfortune rather than an offence. Theswindler has the gentlemanly brotherhood and sisterhood of Macaire forhis family, and need never be lonely. The thief may dance away his jovialnights among kindred spirits, and be carried to his grave by sorrowingfellow-artists. The coiner may be jolly in his hiding-place among hischosen band of brother coiners. But for the murderer there is no suchthing as human sympathy; and, when the blood of Nancy dyes his cruelhand, Bill Sykes may thank God if he has a dog that will follow him tohis wretched end, for from mankind he can hope nothing. 

Mr. Sheldon did not contemplate his position from any sentimental pointof view; but he told himself that to be suspected of having poisoned hisfriend, and to be accused of poisoning, or attempting to poison, hisdaughter, would be ruin--ruin social and commercial, ruin complete andirretrievable. 

And having faced one of these dread armed antagonists, he passed on toanother shadowy enemy. 

What if Charlotte recovered, and he escaped the taint of utteredsuspicion--for Dr. Jedd's private opinion he cared very little--whatthen?

Then the grim antagonist lifted his visor, and showed him the countenanceof Commercial Disgrace. 

Unless within the next few weeks he could command from eight to tenthousand pounds, his disgrace as a member of the Stock Exchange wasinevitable. Charlotte's death would give him the means of raising as muchupon the policies of assurance obtained by her, and which, by the termsof her will, he would inherit. The life-insurance people might besomewhat slow to settle his claims; but he had all possible facilitiesfor the raising of money upon any tangible security, and he could countupon immediate cash, in the event of Charlotte's death. 

But what if she should not die? What if this nameless languor, thismysterious atrophy, taken vigorously in hand by Dr. Jedd, should bevanquished, and the girl should live?

What indeed? A sharp spasm contracted the stockbroker's hard cold face ashe pictured to himself the result of failure. 

He saw the crowd of busy faces in the House, and heard the low hum ofmany voices, and the dull sound of the big half-glass doors swinging toand fro, and the constant tread of hurrying feet. He heard the buzz ofvoices and the tramp of feet stop as suddenly as if that busy tide ofhuman life had been arrested by an enchanter's wand. The enchanter is noother than the head-waiter of the Stock Exchange, who takes his positionby a stand in the midst of that great meeting-place, and removes his hat. 

After that sudden silence comes a faint sound of anxious whisperings; andthen again a second silence, still more profound, prevails in thatassembly. Three times, with wooden hammer sounding dull against thewoodwork of his stand, the waiter raps his awful rap. To some it is thecall of doom. The commercial Nemesis hides her awful countenance. Slowand solemn sound those three deliberate strokes of the wooden hammer. Youcan hear the stertorous breathing of an apoplectic stockbroker, the shortpanting respiration of some eager speculator--the rest is silence. Andthen the voice of the waiter--proxy for the commercial Nemesis--calmlyenunciates the dread decree. 

"Philip Sheldon begs to inform the members of the House that he cannotcomply with his bargains. "

A sudden flutter of the leaves of many note-books follows that awfulannouncement. Voices rise loud in united utterance of surprise orindignation. The doors swing to and fro, as hurrying members dash in andout to scan the market and ascertain how far they may be affected by thisunlooked-for failure. 

This was the scene which the watcher pictured to himself; and for himFate could wear no aspect more terrible. Respectability, solvency, success--these were the idols to which he had given worship and tributein all the days of his life. To propitiate these inexorable ones he hadsacrificed all the dearest and best blessings which earth and heavenoffer to mankind. Best or happiness, as other men consider theseblessings, he had never known; the sense of triumph in success of thepresent, the feverish expectation of success in the future--these hadstood to him in the place of love and hope, pleasure and idlesse, all thejoys and comforts of this lower world, and all the holy dreams of purerpleasures in a world to come. 

One vague brief thought of all that he had sacrificed flashed acrosshis brain; and swift upon his track followed the thought of what hestood to lose. 

Something more than his position upon the Stock Exchange was at stake. Hehad done desperate things in the vain hope of sustaining that positionagainst the destroying sweep of Fortune's turning tide. Bills were afloatwhich he must meet, or stand before the world a detected forger, --billsdrawn upon companies that were shadowy as the regions of their supposedoperations. Bills amounting to five thousand pounds, drawn, upon theHonduras Mahogany Company, Limited; other bills amounting to upwards ofthree thousand pounds, against the Pennsylvanian Anthracite CoalCorporation, Limited. The sum he might raise on the policies of insurancewould about cover these bills; and, simultaneously with their withdrawal, fresh bills might be floated, and the horse-leech cry of the brokers forcontango might be satisfied until there came a reaction in the City, andthe turning tide should float him into some harbour of safety. Beyondthis harbour shone a splendid beacon, the dead girl's inheritance--his, to claim by right of the same will that would give him the sum insuredupon her life. 

Without this immediate ready money there was no extraction from thehideous labyrinth. His position had been already too long sustained bybills of exchange. There were people in the City who wanted, in vulgarparlance, to see the colour of his money. He knew this--and knew howfrail the tenure by which he held his position, and how dire the crashwhich would hurl him down to ruin. 

After the proclamation of his inability to meet his differences--theDeluge: and, looking gloomily athwart the flood and tempest, he sawneither ark nor Ararat. 

Charlotte's death was the one chance of redemption; and to that event helooked as to a figure in a mathematical proposition. Of this girlherself, with all her wealth of beauty and goodness, of hope and love, hehad scarcely any definite idea. She had so long been no more to him thanan important figure in the mathematics of his life, that he had lost thepower to behold her in any other light. 

The hardness of his nature was something lower than absolute cruelty ofheart. It was less human than the half-insane ferocity of a Nero. It wasa calm indifference to the waste of human life, which, displayed upon alarger field of operation, would have made a monster cold and passionlessas Sphinx or Chimaera. 

"I must see Ann Woolper, " he said to himself, presently, "she will notdare to exclude me from that room. "

He listened to the striking of the Bayswater clocks. Two o'clock. Withinand without the house reigned a profound silence. The room immediatelyover Mr. Sheldon's study was Charlotte's room, and here there had beenfor a long time no sound of life or movement. 

"Asleep, I dare say, " muttered Mr. Sheldon, "invalid and nurse both. "

He exchanged his boots for slippers, which he kept in a little cupboardbelow the bookshelves, among old newspapers, and went softly from theroom. The gas was burning dimly on the stairs and on the landing above. He opened the door of the invalid's room softly, and went in. 

Mrs. Woolper was seated beside the bed. She looked up at him withunwinking eyes. 

"I thought you was abed, sir, " she said. 

"No; I am too anxious to sleep. "

"I think every one is anxious, sir, " Mrs. Woolper answered, gravely. 

"How is your patient?"

The pretty white curtains of the little brass Arabian bedstead weredrawn. 

"She is asleep, sir. She sleeps a great deal. The doctor said that wasonly natural. "

"She has taken her medicine, I suppose?" said Mr. Sheldon. 

He glanced round the room as he asked this question, but could see notrace of medicine-bottle or glass. 

"Yes, sir; she has taken it twice, the poor dear. "

"Let me look at the medicine. "

"The strange doctor said as I was to let no one touch it, sir. "

"Very likely; but that direction doesn't apply to me. "

"He said no one, sir. "

"You are an old fool!" muttered Mr. Sheldon, savagely. 

"Ah no, sir, " the housekeeper answered, with a profound sigh; "I am wiserthan I was when poor Mr. Halliday died. "

This answer, and the sigh, and the look of solemn sadness whichaccompanied it, told him that this woman knew all. She had suspected himlong ago; but against her unsupported suspicion the mere force of hischaracter had prevailed. She was wiser now; for on this occasionsuspicion was confirmed by the voice of science. 

He stood for a few minutes looking at his old nurse, with a dark moodyface. What could he feel except supreme indignation against this woman, who dared to oppose him when he had the best right to rely on herfaithful service? She had promised him her fidelity, and at the firsthint from a stranger she coolly deserted him and went over to the enemy. 

"Do you mean to say that you refuse to let me look at the medicine whichyou have been giving to my stepdaughter?" he asked. 

"I mean to say that I will obey the orders given me by the strangedoctor, " the old woman answered, with a calm sadness of tone, "even if itturns you against me--you that have given me a comfortable home whenthere was nothing before me but the workhouse; you that I carried in myarms forty years ago. If it was anything less than her dear life that wasin danger, sir, and if I hadn't stood by her father's deathbed, Icouldn't stand against you like this. But knowing what I do, I will standfirm as a rock between you and her; and think myself all the more trulyyour faithful servant because I do not fear to offend you. "

"That's so much arrant humbug, Mrs. Woolper. I suppose you've made yourbook with Miss Halliday and Miss Halliday's lover, and think you canserve your turn best by sticking to them and throwing me over the bridge. It's only the way of the world. You're genuine Yorkshire, and know how topack your cards for winning the trick. But suppose I were to spoil yourgame by turning you out of doors neck and crop? What then?"

"I don't think you'll do that, sir. "

"Why not, pray?"

"I don't think you dare do it, in the face of that strange doctor. "

"You don't? And so Dr. Jedd is the master of this house, is he?"

"Yes, sir. Till that poor dear young lady is well again, if ever that daycomes, I think Dr. Jedd will be the real master in this house. "

"By ----! Mrs. Woolper, you're a cool hand, I must say!"

He could say no more. Of passionate or declamatory language he had nocommand. The symbols of thought that obtained in his world were of alimited and primitive range. 

"You're a cool hand, " he repeated, under his breath. And then he turnedand left the room, opening and closing the door less cautiously than onhis entrance. 

The door of the opposite room was opened softly as he came out intothe corridor, and Diana Paget stood before him, dressed as she hadbeen in the day. 

"What!" he exclaimed, impatiently, "are you up too?"

"Yes, Mr. Sheldon. I cannot sleep while Lotta is so ill. "

"Humph! I suppose you mean to get yourself on the sick-list, and give usanother invalid to nurse. "

"I will not trouble you to nurse me if I should be ill. "

"Ah!" growled the stockbroker, as he went to his own room, "you are apack of silly women altogether; and your fine friend Hawkehurst is morewomanish than the silliest of you. Goodnight. "

He went into his own room, where he found his wife still awake. Her weaklamentings and bewailings were insupportable to him; and at three o'clockhe went downstairs, put on his boots and a light overcoat, and went outinto the dim regions of Bayswater, whence he saw the sun rise red abovethe eastern roofs and chimneys, and where he walked until the firstclatter of hoofs and roll of wheels began to echo through the emptystreets, and, with faint distant cries of sweeps and milk-women, life'schorus recommenced. 

It was seven o'clock when he went back to his house, and let himself insoftly with his latchkey. He knew that he had been walking a long time, and that he had seen the sun rise; but what streets or squares he hadbeen walking in he did not know. He crept upstairs to his dressing-roomwith stealthy footsteps, and made an elaborate toilet. At eight o'clockhe was seated at breakfast in the hastily-arranged dining-room, with thenewspapers by the side of his cup and saucer. At nine he went into thehall to receive Dr. Jedd and Dr. Doddleson, who arrived almostsimultaneously. His carefully-arranged hair and whiskers, his well madeunpretentious clothes, his spotless linen, would have done credit to anarchbishop. Of all the cares and calculations of his long dreary nightthere was no trace, except a certain dulness in his eyes, and the darkhalf-circles below them. 

CHAPTER IV. 

COUNTING THE COST. 

For four days and four nights there were fear and watching in Mr. Sheldon's house; and in all that time the master never quitted it, exceptstealthily, in the dead of the night, or at early daybreak, to roam in apurposeless manner he knew not where. The doctors came and went--Dr. Doddleson once a day, Dr. Jedd two or three times a day--and every one invillas adjoining and villas opposite, and even in villas round thecorner, knew that the stockbroker's stepdaughter lay sick unto death; forthe white horses of Dr. Jedd's landau were as the pale horse of the PaleRider himself, and where they came was danger or death. Ah, thank God! tosome they have brought hope and blessing; not always the dread answer, "You have called me in vain. "

Valentine Hawkehurst came many times in the day, but between him and Mr. Sheldon there could be no safe meeting; and the lover came quietly to thelittle gate, where a kindly housemaid gave him a little note from DianaPaget. Miss Paget wrote half a dozen little notes of this kind in thecourse of every day, but she never left her post in the room opposite thesick-chamber. She complained of headache, or of some vague illness whichprevented her taking her meals in the dining-room, and Mr. Sheldon wasfain to be satisfied with this explanation of her conduct. 

She was on guard; and the wretched master of the house knew that she wason guard, and that if Ann Woolper could be bought over, or frightenedinto compliance with his wishes, this girl would still remain, faithfulas watchdog, by the door of her friend and companion. He asked himselfwhether by violent or diplomatic process, he could rid himself of thissecond watcher; and the answer was in the negative. The circle around himwas a circle not to be broken. 

His wife, as yet, had been told nothing of the suspicions that reigned inthe breasts of other people. He knew this; for in his wife's face therewas no token of that dark knowledge, and she, of all people, would beleast skilled to deceive his scrutinizing eyes. Nor had the youngerservants of his household any share in the hideous suspicion. He hadwatched the countenance of the maid who waited on him, and had convincedhimself of this. 

It was something to know that even these were not yet leagued againsthim; but he could not tell at what moment they too might be sworn intothat secret society which was growing up against him in his own house. Power to carry out his own schemes in the face of these people he feltthat he had none. Upon the dark road which he had travelled until of latewithout let or hindrance, there had arisen, all at once, aninsurmountable barrier, with the fatal inscription, Here there is noThoroughfare. 

Beyond this barrier he could not pass. Sudden as the dread arrest ofLot's wife was the mandate which had checked his progress. He was broughtto a dead stop; and there was nothing for him to do but to wait the issueof Fate. He stood, defiant, unabashed, face to face with the figure ofNemesis, and calmly awaited the lifting of the veil. 

He hoped that Charlotte Halliday would die. If by her death he could tideover his difficulties and drift into smooth water, it would be but a verysmall thing to him that Dr. Jedd, and Dr. Doddleson enlightened by hiscolleague, and Valentine Hawkehurst, and Diana Paget, and a stupidpig-headed old Yorkshirewoman, should carry in their minds for theremainder of their lives the suspicion that by his means that fair younglife had been brought to its early close. 

What would it amount to in the future of his own existence? Prudentialconsiderations would induce these people to lock the secret of thissuspicion in their own breasts. Dr. Jedd would bow to him somewhatcoldly, perhaps, if they met in the streets of London, or possibly mightrefuse to make any return to his passing salutation; but the cut directfrom Dr. Jedd would not cast a shadow over his commercial career, or evenweaken his social position. If, by the loud folly of Hawkehurst, someevil rumour about him should float as far eastward as the Stock Exchange, who would be found to give credence to the dark report? Men would shrugtheir shoulders and shake their heads incredulously; and one of thesewise men of the east would remark that, "A fellow in Sheldon's positiondoesn't do that kind of thing, you know;" while another would say, "Idined with him at Greenwich last summer, and a remarkably good dinner hegave us. Dawkins, the great shipbuilder, and M'Pherson, of M'Pherson andFlinders, the Glasgow merchants, were there. Very jolly affair, I assureyou. Deuced gentlemanly fellow, Phil Sheldon. " And so the matter wouldend. 

Would there be an inquest in the event of his stepdaughter's death? Well, no. Jedd knew that in such a case all _post-mortem_ inquiry must end inconfusion and perplexity, statement and counter-statement from medicalwitnesses, who would contradict one another persistently in the supportof their pet theories, and who would regard the investigation as a veryconvenient opportunity for ventilating their own opinions and airingtheir own importance. A considerable number of the canine race would beslaughtered, perhaps, in the process of dilettante experiments; the broadprinciples of chemical science would be discussed from every point ofview, in innumerable letters published in the _Zeus, _ and the _DiurnalHermes_; and the fact that an amiable and innocent young woman had beenfoully murdered would be swept out of the minds of mankind before awhirlwind of technical debate. Jedd was the last man to stake hisreputation upon such a hazard. No: Mr. Sheldon knew that he had played acautious game; and if he should ultimately lose the stake for which hehad ventured, it would be because he had been just a little too cautious. 

"These things are generally done too quickly, " he said to himself. "Mymistake has been to make matters too slow. "

Come what might, of after-consequences to himself from CharlotteHalliday's illness or death he had no apprehension. 

Thus it was that he met Dr. Jedd day after day with a face as calm as thestony countenance of that distinguished physician himself. Such anxietyas an affectionate stepfather should feel during the peril of hisstepdaughter Mr. Sheldon took care to express. Greater anxiety than thisby no look or gesture did he betray. He knew that he was watched; andthat the people about him were inimical to himself and to his interests;and he was never off his guard. 

It had been necessary for him to come to London in order to be withineasy reach of that troubled sea, the money-market. But perilous thoughthe voyage of his bark across that tempestuous ocean was, he could notguide the helm in person. He was obliged to confide matters to the careof Mr. Frederick Orcott, whom he harassed with telegraphic despatches atall hours of the day, and who at this period seemed to spend his lifebetween the stockbroker's office and Bayswater. 

It seemed as if Mr. Sheldon meant to hold his ground in that house untilthe issue of events was determined. Valentine Hawkehurst and GeorgeSheldon met at the solicitor's offices, and there was a long and seriousconsultation between them. 

"One thing seems pretty clear, " said George, conclusively, "and that is, that my brother Phil isn't to be got off the premises except by some verydeep move. The question is, what move can be deep enough to trap such aman as he? He's a man who knows the inside of your mind better than youdo yourself; and can reckon you up as easily as the simplest sum inarithmetic. "

The two men talked together very seriously for some time after this, andon the same day Valentine lay in wait for Dr. Jedd as he left PhilipSheldon's house, and was driven back to town in that gentleman'scarriage. On the road there was much serious talk between Miss Halliday'sphysician and Miss Halliday's lover. Valentine was still very grave andvery anxious when he took his leave of Dr. Jedd; but he was more hopefulthan he had been for the last few days. 

On the same evening Gustave Lenoble received a brief epistle from hisplighted wife. 

"MY DEAR GUSTAVE, --I regret to find from your letter that the doctorsconsider my father weaker than when I was last at Knightsbridge; but, even knowing this, I cannot come to him just yet. The duty which detainsme here is even more sacred than his claim upon my care. And I know yourgoodness to him, and feel that in you he has a better friend andcomforter than I could be to him. I thank you, dear, for your kindness tothis poor broken-down wanderer even more than for your generous devotionto me. And now I am going to ask you a favour. It is, that you willafford Mr. Hawkehurst, the person who will give you this letter, the helpof your friendship and counsel in very difficult and criticalcircumstances, which he will explain to you. I have spoken to you of himvery little, though his devotion to my dear adopted sister, CharlotteHalliday, brings him very near to me. Her long, and of late dangerous, illness has been a bitter time of trial to him, even more than to me; butthe trial has proved him true as steel. I think your counsel may be ofsome service to him just now, and I am sure your friendship will help tosupport him in a period of acute anxiety. 

"Do not ask to see me, dear Gustave. I _cannot_ leave this house whileCharlotte is in danger; but if it please God to remove that danger, Ishall then be free to go where I please, and my future life shall be atyour disposal. Do not think me cold or ungrateful; I am only faithful tothe first friend I ever knew. --Yours always, with all affection, "DIANA PAGET. "

CHAPTER V. 

THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 

Three days elapsed after the delivery of this letter. Upwards of a weekhad gone by since the return of Mr. Sheldon and his family from Harold'sHill: and as yet Philip Sheldon knew not what the issue of events was tobe. Very vague were the oracular sentences which his questioning extortedfrom Dr. Jedd, and he had tried in vain to obtain a _tête-à-tête_interview with Dr. Doddleson. The physician of Burlington Row took carethat his feeble colleague should not fall alone and defenceless into thepathway of Philip Sheldon. Of Charlotte's actual condition herstepfather, therefore, knew very little. He was told that her state wasattended by danger; and the solemn faces which greeted him on every sideimplied that the danger was extreme. From her room he was in a mannerexcluded. If he went to her door to make some benevolent and paternalinquiry, he was met on the threshold by Ann Woolper, the sleepless andunresting. If he hinted a natural desire to see his invalid stepdaughter, he was told that she had that moment fallen asleep, or that she was tooill to see him. There was always some plausible reason why he should notbe admitted to her room; and finding that this was so, he did not pressthe question. 

He had taken Mrs. Woolper's measure, and had found that she was toostrong for him; doubly strong since she was supported and sustained bythat second sleepless watcher, Diana Paget, whom Mr. Sheldon had long agopronounced to be a strong-minded and superior young person. 

From his wife he could obtain no real information--nothing but weepingsand lamentations; weak apprehensions of future woe, weaker retrospectivereflections on the fatal illness and untimely end of her first husband. Georgy was admitted once or twice a day to the sick-room; but she emergedtherefrom no wiser than she entered it. Sorrow in the present, and thefear of greater sorrow to come, had utterly prostrated this poor weaksoul. She believed what other people told her to believe, she hoped whatthey told her to hope. She was the very incarnation and express image ofhelpless misery. 

So, in utter darkness of mind, Mr. Sheldon awaited his destiny. The daydrew very near on which he must find certain sums of ready money, or mustaccept the dreary alternative of ruin and disgrace. He had the policiesof assurance in his cash-box, together with the will which made himCharlotte's sole legatee; he had fixed in his own mind upon the man towhom he could apply for an advance of four thousand pounds on one of thetwo policies, and he relied on getting his banker to lend him money onthe security of the second. But for the one needful event he had yet towait. That event was Charlotte Halliday's death. 

Of his dreary wanderings in the early morning the household knew nothing. The time which he chose for these purposeless rambles was just the timewhen no one was astir. The watchers in the two rooms above heard neitherhis going out nor his coming in, so stealthy were his movements on everyoccasion. But without this intermission from the dreadful concentrationof his life, without this amount of physical exercise and fresh air, Philip Sheldon could scarcely have lived through this period. Thesolitude of shipwrecked mariner cast upon a desolate island could hardlybe more lonely than this man's life had been since his return fromHarold's Hill. From his study to the dining-room, and from thedining-room back to his study, was the only variety of his dreary daysand nights. He had an iron bedstead put up in his study, and there he layin the earlier hours of the night, taking such rest as he could fromfitful dozing that was scarcely sleep, or from brief intervals of heavyslumber made horrible by torturing dreams. 

In this room he could hear every sudden movement in the hall, everyfootstep on the stairs, every opening and shutting of the outer door. Here, too, he could keep his watch, holding himself ready to counter themovements of his enemies, should any opportunity arise for action on hispart, defensive or aggressive. 

To this room he stealthily returned one brilliant summer morning as theclocks were striking six. He had been walking in the Bayswater Road, amidst all the pleasant stir and bustle of early morning. Waggons comingin from the country, milkwomen setting forth on their daily rounds, clamorous young rooks cawing among the topmost branches of the elms, song-birds chirruping and gurgling their glad morning hymn; and over allthings the glory and the freshness of the summer sunshine. 

But to Philip Sheldon it was as if these things were not. For the lasttwelve or fifteen years of his life he had taken no heed of the changeof the seasons, except insomuch as the passage of time affected hisbill-book, or the condition of that commercial world which was thebeginning and end of his life. Now, less than ever, had he an ear forthe carolling of birds, or an eye for the glory of summer sunlight, orthe flickering shadows of summer leaves faintly stirred by the softsummer wind. 

He re-entered his house with a half-dazed sense of the stir and life thathad been about him in the high road. It was a relief to him to escapethis life and brightness, and to take shelter in the gloom of his study, where the shutters were closed, and only a faint glimmer of day creptthrough a chink in the shrunken woodwork. 

For the first time since the beginning of this dreary period of idlenessand suspense he felt himself thoroughly beaten, and instead of going upto his dressing-room for his careful morning toilet, as it was his habitto do at this hour, he flung himself, dressed as he was, upon the lowiron bedstead, and fell into a heavy slumber. 

Yes, there they were--the familiar tortures of his slumbers, theshadows of busy, eager faces; and upon all one universal expression ofmingled anger and surprise. The sound of a wooden hammer striking threesolemn strokes; the faint tones of Tom Halliday's voice, thanking him forhis friendly care; the dying look in Tom Halliday's face, turned to himwith such depth of trust and affection. And then across the shadowyrealm of dreams there swept the slow solemn progress of a funeral_cortege_--plumed hearses, blacker than blackest night; innumerablehorses, with funereal trappings and plumed headgear waving in an icywind; long trains of shrouded figures stretching on into infinite space, in spectral procession that knew neither beginning nor end. And in allthe solemn crowd passing perpetually with the same unceasing motion, there was no sound of human footfall, no tramp of horse's hoof, only thatdismal waving of black plumage in an icy wind, and the deep boom of abell tolling for the dead. 

He awoke with a start, and exclaimed, "If this is what it is to sleep, Iwill never sleep again!"

In the next minute he recovered himself. He had been lying on his back. The endless pageant, the dreadful tolling of the funeral bell, meant nomore than nightmare, the common torment of all humanity. 

"What a fool I must be!" he muttered to himself, as he wiped hisforehead, which had grown cold and damp in the agony of his dream. 

He opened the shutters, and then looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. To his surprise he found that he had been sleeping three hours. It wasnine o'clock. He went upstairs to dress. There was an unusual stir in thecorridor above. Ann Woolper was standing there, with her hand on the doorof the sick-room, talking to Diana, who covered her face suddenly as heapproached, and disappeared into her own room. 

The beating of his heart quickened suddenly. Something had happened todisturb the common course of events. Something? What was likely tohappen, except the one dread circumstance for which he hoped and waitedwith such horrible eagerness?

In Ann Woolper's solemn face he read an answer to his thought. For thefirst time he was well nigh losing his self-possession. It was with aneffort that he steadied himself sufficiently to ask the usualconventional question in the usual conventional tone. 

"Is she any better this morning, Ann?"

"Yes, sir, she is much better, " the Yorkshirewoman answered solemnly. "She is where none can harm her now. "

Yes; it was the usual periphrase of these vulgar people. He knew alltheir cant by heart. 

"You mean to say--she--is dead?"

He no longer tried to conceal his agitation. It was a part of his duty tobe agitated by the news of his stepdaughter's untimely death. 

"O, sir, you may well be sorry, " said the Yorkshirewoman, with deepfeeling. "She was the sweetest, most forgiving creature that ever cameinto this world; and to the last no hard or cruel word ever passed herinnocent lips. Yes, sir, she is gone; she is beyond the power of any oneto harm her. "

"All that sort of stuff is so much hypocritical twaddle, Mrs. Woolper, "muttered Mr. Sheldon impatiently; "and I recommend you to keep it for thechaplain of the workhouse in which you are likely to end your days. Atwhat time--did--did this--sad event--happen?

"About an hour ago. "

In the very hour when, in his hideous dream, he had beheld the solemnfuneral train winding on for ever through the dim realms of sleep. Wasthere some meaning in such foolish shadows, after all?

"And why was I not sent for?"

"You were asleep, sir. I came downstairs myself, and looked into yourroom. You were fast asleep, and I wouldn't disturb you. "

"That was very wrong; but it was of a piece with the rest of yourconduct, which has been from first to last antagonistic to me. I supposeI can see my stepdaughter now, " Mr. Sheldon added, with a grim smile. "There is no further excuse--about headache--or sleep. "

"No, sir, you cannot see her yet. In an hour, if you wish to come intothis room, you can come. "

"You are extremely obliging. I begin to doubt whether I am really in myown house. In an hour, then, I will come. Where is my wife?"

"In her own room, sir, lying down; asleep, I believe. "

"I will not disturb her. How about the registration, by-the-by? Thatmust be seen to. "

"Dr. Jedd has promised to attend to that, sir. "

"Has Dr. Jedd been here?"

"He was here an hour ago. "

"Very good. And he will see to that, " muttered Mr. Sheldon thoughtfully. 

The event for which he had been so long waiting seemed at the last alittle sudden. It had shaken his nerves more than he had supposed itpossible that they could be shaken. 

He went to his dressing-room, and on this occasion made a very hastytoilet. The event had been tardy, and he had no time to lose indiscounting it now that it had come to pass. He went from hisdressing-room back to his study, took the jacket containing the policiesof assurance and the will from the deed-box, and left the house. 

CHAPTER VI. 

CONFUSION WORSE CONFOUNDED. 

A cab conveyed Mr. Sheldon swiftly to a dingy street in the City--astreet which might have been called the pavement of wasted footsteps, somany an impecunious wretch tramped to and fro upon those dreary flags invain. 

The person whom Mr. Sheldon came to see was a distinguishedbill-discounter, who had served him well in more than one crisis, and onwhose service he fancied he could now rely. 

Mr. Kaye, the bill-discounter, was delighted to see his worthy friend Mr. Sheldon. He had just come up from his family at Brighton, and had quite alittle court awaiting him in an outer chamber, through which Mr. Sheldonhad been ushered to the inner office. 

"It's rather early for such a visitor as you, " Mr. Kaye said, after a fewcommonplaces. "I have not been in town half an hour. "

"My business is too important for any consideration about hours, "answered Mr. Sheldon, "or I should not be here at all. I have just comefrom the deathbed of my wife's daughter. "

"Indeed!" exclaimed the bill-discounter, looking inexpressiblyshocked. Until that moment he had lived in supreme ignorance of thefact that Mr. Sheldon had a stepdaughter; but his sorrow-strickenexpression of countenance might have implied that he had known andesteemed the young lady. 

"Yes, it's very sad, " said Mr. Sheldon; "and something more than sad forme. The poor girl had great expectations, and would have come into a veryfine fortune if she had lived a year or two longer. "

"Ha! dear me, how very unfortunate! Poor young lady!"

"Jedd and Doddleson--you know them by repute, of course--have beenattending her for the last six weeks. There will be no end of expense forme; and it has been all of no use. "

"Consumption, I suppose?"

"Well, no; not pulmonary disease. A kind of atrophy. I scarcely know whatto call it. Now, look here, Kaye. This illness has thrown all my affairsinto a muddle. Taken in conjunction with the depressed state of themoney-market, it has been altogether an upset for me. I have been stayingat home looking after this poor girl and my wife--who of course isdreadfully cut up, and that sort of thing--when I ought to have been inthe City. Luckily for me, and for my wife, in whose interests I acted, Itook the precaution to get her daughter's life insured eight or ninemonths ago; in point of fact, immediately after finding she washeir-at-law to a considerable fortune. The policy is for five thousandpounds. I want you to give me four thousand immediately upon the strengthof the document and of my stepdaughter's will. "

"Give you four thousand!" exclaimed Mr. Kaye, with a little unctuouslaugh. "Do you suppose I keep such a balance as that at my banker's?"

"I suppose that you can give me the money if you like. "

"I might be able to get it for you. "

"Yes; that's a kind of humbug a hundred years old. We've heard all aboutlittle Premium and his friend in the City, and so on, from that man whowrote plays and cut a figure in Parliament. You can give me the money onthe spot if you like, Kaye; and if I didn't want ready money very badly Ishouldn't come to you. The insurance company will give me five thousandin a month or two. I can give you my bill at two months' date, anddeposit the policy in your hands as collateral security. I might get thismoney from other quarters--from my bankers', for instance; but I don'twant to let them know too much. "

Mr. Kaye deliberated. He had assisted Mr. Sheldon's financial operations, and had profited thereby. Money advanced upon such a security must be assafe as money invested in Consols, unless there were anything doubtful inthe circumstances of the policy; and that, with a man of Mr. Sheldon'srespectability, was to the last degree unlikely. 

"When do you want this money?" he asked at last. 

"At the beginning of next week. On the twenty-fifth at latest. "

"And this is the twentieth. Sharp work. "

"Not at all. You could give me the money this afternoon, if you pleased. "

"Well, I'll think it over. It's a matter in which I feel myself bound totake my solicitor's opinion. Suppose you meet him here to-morrow attwelve o'clock? You can bring the necessary evidence to support theclaim--the doctor's and registrar's certificate, and so on?"

"Yes, " Mr. Sheldon answered, thoughtfully; "I will bring the documentaryevidence. To-morrow at twelve, then. "

Very little more was said. Mr. Sheldon left the will and the policy inthe bill-discounter's possession, and departed. Things had gone assmoothly as he could fairly expect them to go. From Mr. Kaye's office hewent to the Unitas Bank, where he had a very friendly, but not altogethersatisfactory, interview with the secretary. He wanted the Unitas peopleto advance him money on the strength of the second policy of assurance;but his balance had been very low of late, and the secretary could notpromise compliance with his desires. Those Unitas shares valued at fivethousand pounds, which he had transferred to his beloved stepdaughter, had been retransferred by the young lady some months before, with a viewto the more profitable investment of the money. 

This money, as well as all else that Philip Sheldon could command, hadgone to the same bottomless pit of unlucky speculation. From the bank thestockbroker went to his office, where he saw Frederick Orcott, to whom heannounced his stepdaughter's death with all due appearance of sorrow. Hesat for an hour in his office, arranging his affairs for the followingday, then sent for another cab, and drove back to Bayswater. The noondaypress and noise of the City seemed strange to him, almost as they mighthave seemed to a man newly returned from lonely wanderings in distantwildernesses. 

The blinds were down at the Lawn. His own handsome bedchamber andadjoining dressing-room faced the road, and it was at the windows ofthese two rooms he looked. He fancied his weak foolish wife wailing andlamenting behind those lowered blinds. 

"And I shall have to endure her lamentations, " he thought, with ashudder. "I shall have no further excuse for avoiding her. But, on theother hand, I shall have the pleasure of giving Mrs. Woolper and MissPaget notice to quit. "

He derived a grim satisfaction from this thought. Yes; insolence fromthose two women he would endure no longer. The time had come in which hewould assert his right to be master in his own house. The game had beenplayed against him boldly by Jedd and these people, and had been lost bythem. He was the winner. He could not dismiss doctors, nurse, friend, lover. Charlotte Halliday's death made him master of the situation. 

He went into his house with the determination to assert his authority atonce. Within all was very quiet. He looked into the dining-room--it wasquite empty; into the study--also empty. He went slowly upstairs, composing his face into the appropriate expression. At the door of thatchamber which to him should have seemed of all earthly chambers the mostawful, he knocked softly. 

There was no answer. 

He knocked a little louder, but there was still no answer. A littlelouder again, and with the same result. 

"Is there no one there?" he asked himself. "No one, except--?"

He opened the door, and went in, with unshaken nerves, to look upon thatone quiet sleeper whom his summons could not awaken, whom his presencecould not disturb. 

There was no nurse or watcher by the bed. Everything was arranged withextreme neatness and precision; but it seemed to him that there wereobjects missing in the room, objects that had been familiar to him duringthe dead girl's illness, and which were associated with her presence, --the clock that had stood on the table by her bed, a stand of books, a loweasy-chair, with embroidered cover worked by her mother and Diana Paget. The room looked blank and empty without these things, and Mr. Sheldonwondered what officious hand had removed them. 

Yonder stood the pretty little bedstead, shrouded by closely drawn whitecurtains. Philip Sheldon walked slowly across the room, and drew asideone of the curtains. He had looked upon the death-sleep of CharlotteHalliday's father, why not upon hers?

She was not there! Those closely drawn curtains shrouded only the bed onwhich she had slept in the tranquil slumbers of her careless girlhood. That cold lifeless form, whose rigid outline Philip Sheldon had steeledhimself to see, had no place here. 

He put his hand to his head, bewildered. "What does it mean?" he askedhimself; "surely she died in this room!"

He went hurriedly to his wife's room. They had taken Charlotte there, perhaps, shortly before her death. Some feverish fancy might havepossessed her with the desire to be taken thither. 

He opened the door and went in; but here again all was blank and empty. The room was arranged after its usual fashion; but of his wife's presencethere was no token. His sense of mystification and bewilderment grewsuddenly into a sense of fear. What did it mean? What hellish fooling hadhe been the dupe of?

He went to Diana's room. That, too, was empty. A trunk and a portmanteau, covered and strapped as if for removal, occupied the centre of the room. 

There was no other room upon this floor. Above this floor there were onlythe rooms of the servants. 

He went downstairs to the dining-room and rang the bell The parlour-maidcame in answer to his summons. 

"Where is your mistress?" he asked. 

"Gone out, sir; she went at eight o'clock this morning. And O, if youplease, sir, Dr. Jedd called, and said I was to give you this--with thecertificate. "

The certificate! Yes, the certificate of Charlotte Halliday's death, --thecertificate which he must produce to-morrow, with other evidence, for thesatisfaction of the bill-discounter and his legal adviser. He stared atthe girl, still possessed by the sense of bewilderment which had comeupon him on seeing those empty rooms upstairs. He took the letter fromher almost mechanically, and tore it open without looking at the address. The certificate dropped to the ground. He picked it up with a tremuloushand, and for some moments stood staring at it with dazzled, unseeingeyes. He could see that it was a document with dates and names written ina clerkly hand. For some moments he could see no more. And then words andnames shone out of the confusion of letters that spun and whirled, likemotes in the sunshine, before his dazzled eyes. 

"Valentine Hawkehurst, bachelor, author, Carlyle Terrace, Edgware Road, son of Arthur Hawkehurst, journalist; Charlotte Halliday, spinster, ofthe Lawn, Bayswater, daughter of Thomas Halliday, farmer. "

He read no more. 

It was a copy of a certificate of marriage--not a certificate ofdeath--that had been brought to him. 

"You can go, " he said to the servant hoarsely. 

He had a vague consciousness that she was staring at him with curiouslooks, and that it was not good for him to be watched by any one justnow. 

"About dinner, sir, if you please?" the young woman began timidly. 

"What do I know about dinner?"

"You will dine at home, sir?"

"Dine at home? Yes; Mrs. Woolper can give you your orders. "

"Mrs. Woolper has gone out, sir. She has gone for good, I believe, sir;she took her boxes. And Miss Paget's luggage will be sent for, if youplease, sir. There's a letter, sir, that Mrs. Woolper left for you on themantelpiece. "

"She was very good. That will do; you can go. "

The girl departed, bewildered like her fellow-servants by the strangenessof the day's proceedings, still more bewildered by the strangeness of hermaster's manner. 

CHAPTER VII. 

"THERE IS A WORD WILL PRIAM TURN TO STONE. "

When the servant was gone, Mr. Sheldon sat down and examined the documentshe had given him. 

Yes, it was in due form. A certified copy of the certificateof a marriage performed that morning at the church of St. Matthias-in-the-fields, Paddington, and duly witnessed by the registrarof that parish. If this document were indeed genuine, as to allappearance it was, Valentine Hawkehurst and Charlotte Halliday had beenmarried that morning; and the will and the policy of assurance depositedwith Mr. Kaye the bill-discounter were so much waste-paper. 

And they had fooled him, Philip Sheldon, as easily as this! The furiousrage which he felt against all these people, and, more than against them, against his own besotted folly for allowing himself to be so fooled, wasa sharper agony than had ever yet rent his cruel heart. He had been ascoundrel all his life, and had felt some of the pains and penalties ofhis position; but to be a defeated scoundrel was a new sensation to him;and a savage impotent hate and anger against himself and the universetook possession of his mind. 

He walked up and down the room for some time, abandoned wholly to theungovernable rage that consumed him, and with no thought beyond thatblind useless fury. And then there came upon him the feeling that wasalmost a part of his mind--the consciousness that something must be done, and promptly. Whatever his position was, he must face it. His hurriedpacing to and fro came to a sudden stop, and he took the crumpleddocument from his packet, and examined it once more. 

There seemed little doubt that it was genuine; and a visit to the churchwhere the marriage was stated to have been performed would immediatelyplace the matter beyond all doubt. With the copy of the certificate, hehad taken from his pocket the letter that had enclosed it. He saw nowthat the envelope was addressed in Hawkehurst's hand. 

"Favoured by Dr. Jedd, " he had written in a corner of the envelope. 

Why should Dr. Jedd "favour" Mr. Hawkehurst's letter? Why, indeed, unlessthere had been a conspiracy concocted by these men against his authorityand his interests?

Valentine's letter was brief and business-like. 

"SIR, --With the full approbation of her mother and only near relation, mydear Charlotte has this day become my wife. The enclosed attested copy ofthe certificate of our marriage will afford you all particulars. I shallrefrain from entering upon any explanation of my conduct; and I believesuch explanation to be wholly unnecessary. You can scarcely fail tounderstand why I have acted in this manner, and why I congratulate myselfand my dear wife on her departure from your house as on an escape fromimminent peril. It will be, I fear, little satisfaction to you to hearthat the doctors have pronounced your stepdaughter to be out of danger, though still in very weak health. She is now comfortably established in atemporary home, with her mother and Diana Paget; and in all probabilitysome months must elapse before she and I can begin our new life together. To afford my darling girl the legal protection of marriage was the objectof this sudden and secret union. You, of all men, will most fullycomprehend how necessary such protection had become to ensure her safety. 

"Should you, however, require farther enlightenment as to the motivesthat prompted this step, Dr. Jedd will be the fittest person to give yousuch information; and has expressed his willingness to answer anyquestions you may please to put to him. 

"For the rest, I beg to assure you that the rights of Mrs. Hawkehurst inrelation to the inheritance of the late John Haygarth's wealth will be ascarefully protected as those of Miss Halliday; nor will the hastymarriage of this morning hinder the execution of any deed of settlementcalculated to guard her interests in the future. 

"With this assurance, I remain, sir, Your obedient servant, VALENTINE HAWKEHURST. Carlyle Terrace, Edgware Road. "

Enclosed with this there was a second letter--from his wife. 

He read it with a countenance that expressed mingled anger and contempt. 

"Fool!" he muttered; "this is about the only service she could do me. "

The letter was long and incoherent; blotted with tears--in placescompletely illegible. Mr. Sheldon cared only to master the main factscontained in it, which were these:--His wife had left him for ever. Dr. Jedd and Valentine Hawkehurst had told her of something--something thataffected the safety of her darling and only child--and the knowledge ofwhich must separate her for ever from him. Of the money which she hadbrought to him she claimed nothing. Even her jewels, which were in hiskeeping, in the iron safe where he kept his papers, she did not attemptto obtain from him. Valentine would not allow her to starve. The humblestshelter, the poorest food, would suffice her in the future; but no homeof his providing could she ever inhabit again. 

"What I have suffered in this last few days is only known to myself andto heaven, " she wrote. "O Philip, how could you--how could you even shapethe thought of such a deed as this, which you have been doing, day afterday, for the last two months? I could not have believed what they havetold me, if I had not seen my child fade hour by hour under your care, slowly, surely--and recover as surely directly you were excluded from anypart in our care of her. If it were possible not to believe these people, I would disbelieve them, and would cling to you faithfully still; but thevoices against you are too many, the proofs against you are too strong. 

"Do not seek to see me. I am with my poor child, who was but just able tobear the removal from your house, and to go through the ceremony that wasperformed this morning. Little did I ever think my daughter would havesuch a wedding. What a mockery all my plans seem now!--and I had chosenthe six bridesmaids, and arranged all the dresses in my own mind. To seemy dear girl dressed anyhow, in her oldest bonnet, standing before thealtar huddled up in a shawl, and given away by a strange doctor, who keptlooking at his watch in a most disrespectful manner during the ceremony, was very bitter to me. "

Mr. Sheldon flung aside the letter with an oath. He had no time to wasteupon such twaddle as this. He tore open Nancy Woolper's letter. It was apoor honest scrawl, telling him how faithfully she had served him, howtruly she had loved him in the past, and how she could henceforth servehim no more. It exhorted him, in humble ill-spelt phrases, to repentance. It might not yet be too late even for such a sinner as he had been. 

He tore these two epistles into infinitesimal fragments, and flung theminto the fireplace. Valentine Hawkehurst's letter he kept. It was adocument of some legal importance. 

For a moment there had flashed across his brain the thought that he mightpunish these people for their interference with his affairs. He mightbring an action against Dr. Jedd for slander, and compel the physician toprove the charges insinuated against him, or pay the penalty attendantupon an unjustifiable accusation. He was well assured that Dr. Jedd couldprove very little; and a jury, if properly worked, might award himexemplary damages. 

But on the other hand, the circumstantial evidence against him was verystrong; and evidence which might be insufficient to prove him guilty in atrial for his life might be a sufficient defence for his enemies againstan action for slander; if, indeed, the course which Dr. Jedd andValentine Hawkehurst had taken did in itself constitute a slanderous andmalicious imputation. Nor could any such action invalidate the marriagesolemnized that morning; and that one fact comprised his utter ruin. Charlotte's interests were merged in the interests of her husband. Noshadow of claim upon John Haygarth's wealth remained to him. 

His ruin was complete and dire. For a long time his circumstances hadbeen desperate--no avenue of escape open to him but the one dark waywhich he had trodden; and now that last road was closed against him. Theday was very near at hand when his fictitious bills on shadowy companiesmust be dishonoured; and with the dishonour of those bills came the endof all things for him, --a complete revelation of all those dishonestartifices by which he had kept his piratical bark afloat on thecommercial waters. 

He surveyed his position in every light, calmly and deliberately, and sawthere was no hope. The whole scheme of his existence was reduced to thequestion of how much ready-money he could carry out of that house in hispocket, and in what direction he should betake himself after leaving it. 

His first care must be to ascertain whether the marriage described in theduplicate certificate had really taken place; his next, to repossesshimself of the papers left with Mr. Kaye. 

Before leaving the house he went to his study, where he examined hisbanker's book. Yes, it was as they had told him at the bank. He wasoverdrawn. Among the letters lying unopened on his writing-table he founda letter from one of the officials of the Unitas, calling his attention, politely and respectfully, to that oversight upon his part. He read theletter, and crumpled it into his pocket with an angry gesture. 

"I am just about as well off now as I was twelve years ago, before TomHalliday came to Fitzgeorge Street, " he said to himself; "and I have theadvantage of being twelve years older. "

Yes, this is what it all came to, after all. He had been travelling in acircle. The discovery was humiliating. Mr. Sheldon began to think thathis line of life had not been a paying one. 

He opened his iron safe, and forced the lock of the jewel-case in whichhis wife had kept the few handsome ornaments that he had given her in theearly days of their marriage, as a reward for being good--that is to say, for allowing her second husband to dispose of her first husband'spatrimony without let or hindrance. The jewels were only a few rings, abrooch, a pair of earrings, and a bracelet; but they were good of theirkind, and in all worth something like two hundred pounds. 

These, and the gold chronometer which he carried in his waistcoat-pocket, constituted all the worldly wealth which Mr. Sheldon could command, nowthat the volcanic ground upon which his commercial position had beenbuilt began to crumble beneath his feet, and the bubbling of the craterwarned him of his peril. He put the trinkets into his pocket withoutcompunction, and then went upstairs to his dressing-room, where heproceeded to pack his clothes in a capacious portmanteau, which in itselfmight constitute his credentials among strangers, so eminentlyrespectable was its appearance. 

In this dread crisis of his life he thought of everything that affectedhis own interests. To what was he going? That question was for the momentunanswerable. In every quarter of the globe there are happyhunting-grounds for the soldier of fortune. Some plan for the futurewould shape itself in his mind by-and-by. His wife's desertion had lefthim thoroughly independent. He had no tie to restrain his movements, nothing to dread except such proceedings as might be taken against him bythe holders of those bills. And such proceedings are slow, while modernlocomotion is swift. 

What was he leaving? That was easily answered. A labyrinth of debt anddifficulty. The fine house, the handsome furniture, were held in the samebondage of the law as his household goods in Fitzgeorge Street had been. He had given a bill of sale upon everything he possessed six monthsbefore, to obtain ready-money. The final terrible resource had not beenresorted to until all other means had been exhausted. Let this fact atleast be recorded to his credit. He was like the lady whom the poetsings, who, "tolerably mild, To make a wash would _hardly_ boil a child:"

that is to say, she would try all other materials for her cosmeticpreparation first; and if they failed, would at last resort, unwillingly, to the boiling of children. 

No; he had nothing to lose by flight--of that fact it was easy for him toassure himself. 

He went downstairs, and rang for the servant. 

"I am going out, " he said, "to join my wife and her daughter, and returnwith them to the sea-side. There is a portmanteau upstairs in my room, ready packed. You will give it to the messenger I shall send in thecourse of the next day or two. At what time did Mrs. Sheldon and MissHalliday leave this morning?"

"At eight o'clock, sir. Mr. Hawkehurst came to fetch them in a carriage. They went out by the kitchen passage and the side gate, sir, because youwere asleep, Mrs. Woolper said, and was not to be disturbed. "

"At eight. Yes. And Mrs. Woolper and Miss Paget?"

"They went a'most directly after you was gone out, sir. There was twocabs to take Miss Halliday's and Mrs. Sheldon's things, and suchlike, --just as there was when you came from Harold's Hill. "

"Yes; I understand. "

He was half inclined to ask the young woman if she had heard thedirection given to the drivers of these two cabs. But he refrained fromdoing so. What could it profit him to know where his wife andstepdaughter were to be found? Whether they were in the next street or atthe antipodes could matter very little to him, except so far as theknowledge of their place of habitation might guide him in his avoidanceof them. Between him and them there was a gulf wider than all the watersof the world, and to consider them was only foolish waste of time andthought. He left the house, which for the last five years of his life hadbeen the outward and visible sign of his social status, fully consciousthat he left it for ever; and he left it without a sigh. For him the wordhome had no tender associations, and the domestic hearth had neverinspired him with any sense of comfort or pleasure with which he mightnot have been inspired by the luxurious fireside of a first-classcoffee-room. He was a man who would have chosen to spend his existence injoint-stock hotels, if there had not been solidity of position to beacquired from the possession of a handsome house. 

He went to the Paddington church. It was only five o'clock in theafternoon by the clock of that edifice. The church was closely shut, butMr. Sheldon found the clerk, who, in consideration of a handsomedonation, took him to the vestry, and there showed him the register ofmarriages--the last entry therein. 

Yes, there was Charlotte Halliday's signature, a little uncertain andtremulous. 

"I suppose you are one of the young lady's relations, sir, " said theclerk. "It was rather a strange affair; but the young lady's ma was withher; and the young lady was over age, so, you see, there's nothing to besaid against it. "

Mr. Sheldon had nothing to say against the marriage. If any falsestatement of his, however base or cruel, could have invalidated theceremonial, he would have spared no pains to devise such a falsehood. Ifhe had been a citizen of the Southern States, he might have subornedwitnesses to prove that there was black blood in the veins of ValentineHawkehurst. If he had not been opposed to so strong an opponent as Dr. Jedd, he might have tried to get a commission of lunacy to declareCharlotte Halliday a madwoman, and thus invalidate her marriage. As itwas, he knew that he could do nothing. He had failed. All was said inthose three words. 

He wasted no time at the church, but hurried on to the City, where he wasjust in time to catch Mr. Kaye leaving his office. 

"Have you sent those papers to your solicitor?" he asked. 

"No; I was just going to take them round to him. I have been thinkingthat it will be necessary to ascertain that there is no will of MissHalliday's subsequent to this; and that will be rather difficult to findout. Women never know when to leave off making wills, if they once beginmaking them. They have a positive rage for multiplying documents, youknow. If the testator in that great codicil case had been a woman, a jurywould scarcely have refused to believe in the story of half a dozendifferent codicils hidden away in half a dozen different holes andcorners. Women like that sort of thing. Of course, I quite understandthat you bring me the will in all good faith; but I foresee difficultiesin raising money upon such a security. "

"You need give yourself no further trouble about the matter, " said Mr. Sheldon coolly. "I find that I can do without the money, and I've come toreclaim the papers. "

Mr. Kaye handed them to his client. He was not altogether pleased by thisturn of affairs; for he had expected to profit considerably by Mr. Sheldon's necessities. That gentleman honoured him with no furtherexplanations, but put the papers in his pocket, and wished thebill-discounter good day. 

And this was the last time that Philip Sheldon was ever seen in hischaracter of a solid and respectable citizen of London. He went from thebill-discounter's office to a pawnbroker in the City, with whom hepledged Georgy's trinkets and his own watch for the sum of a hundred andtwenty pounds. From the pawnbroker's he went back to Bayswater for hisportmanteau, and thence to the Euston Hotel, where he dined temperatelyin the coffee-room. After dinner he went out into the dull back streetsthat lurk behind Euston Square, and found an obscure little barber'sshop, where he had his whiskers shaved off, and his hyacinthine lockscropped as close as the barber's big scissors could crop them. 

The sacrifice of these hirsute adornments made an extraordinary changein this man. All the worst characteristics of his countenance came outwith a new force; and the face of Mr. Sheldon, undisguised by thewhiskers that had hidden the corners of his mouth, or the waving locksthat had given height and breadth to his forehead, was a face that no onewould be likely to trust. 

From the Euston Station he departed by the night mail for Liverpool, under the cover of darkness. In that city he quietly awaited thedeparture of the Cunard steamer for New York, and was so fortunate as toleave England one day before that fatal date on which the first of hisfictitious bills arrival at maturity. 

Book the Tenth. 

HARBOUR, AFTER MANY SHIPWRECKS. 

CHAPTER I. 

OUT OF THE DARK VALLEY. 

Not with pomp or with splendour, with rejoicing or strewing of summerblossoms in the pathway of bride and bridegroom, had the marriage ofValentine and Charlotte been solemnized. Simple and secret had been theceremonial, dark with clouds was the sky above them; and yet it isdoubtful if happier bridegroom ever trod this earth than ValentineHawkehurst as he went to his lonely lodging under the starry summer sky, after leaving his young wife to her mother's care in the new home thathad been found for them. 

He had reason to rejoice; for he had passed through the valley of theshadow of death. He had seen, very near, that dread presence before whichthe angels of faith and love can avail nothing. Fearless as Alcides hadhe gone down to the realms of darkness; triumphant and glad as thedemigod he returned from the under-world, bearing his precious burden inhis strong arms. The struggle had been dire, the agony of suspense asupreme torture; but from the awful contest the man came forth a betterand a wiser man. Whatever strength of principle had been wanting tocomplete the work of reformation inaugurated by love, had been gained byValentine Hawkehurst during the period of Charlotte's illness. Hispromised wife, his redeeming angel, she for whose affection he had firstlearned to render thanks to his God, had seemed to be slipping away fromhim. In the happiest hour of his prosperous courtship he had knownhimself unworthy of her, with no right, no claim, to so fair a prize, except the right of pure and unselfish love. When the hour of trial cameto him he had said, "Behold the avenger!" and in that hour it seemed tohim that a lurking anticipation of future woe had been ever present withhim in the midst of his happiness, --it seemed so natural, go reasonablethat this treasure should be taken away from him. What had he done, thathe should go unpunished for all the errors and follies of his youth?

He looked back, and asked himself if he had been so vile a sinner as inthese hours of self-reproach he was inclined to esteem himself? Could hislife have been otherwise? Had he not been set in a groove, his young feetplanted in the crooked ways, before he knew that life's journey might betravelled by a straighter road?

Alas, the answer given at the tribunal of conscience went against him!Other men had come into this world amidst surroundings as bad, nay, indeed, worse than the surroundings of his cradle. And of these men somehad emerged from their native mire spotless and pure as from newly-fallensnow. The natural force of character which had saved these men had notbeen given to him. His feet had been set in the crooked ways, and he hadtravelled on, reckless, defiant, dimly conscious that the road was a badone, and that his garments were bespattered with more mud-stains thanwould be agreeable to some travellers. 

It was only when the all-powerful influence of love was brought to bearupon this plastic nature that Valentine Hawkehurst became fully awakenedto the degradation of his position, and possessed with an earnest desireto emerge from the great dismal swamp of bad company. Then, and thenonly, began the transformation which was ultimately to become so completea change. Some influence, even beyond that of happy love, was needed togive force to this man's character; and in the great terror of the lastthree months that influence had been found. The very foundations ofValentine Hawkehurst's life had been shaken, and, come what might, hecould never be again what he had been. 

He had almost lost her. All was said in that. She had been almost takenfrom him--she, who to this man was father, mother, wife, household, past, present, future, glory, ambition, happiness--everything except that Godwho ruled above and held her life and his peace in the hollow of Hishand. He had been face to face with death; and never, in all the years tocome--never in the brightest hour of future happiness, could he forgetthe peril that had come upon him, and might come again. He had learned tounderstand that he held her, not as a free gift, but as a loan--atreasure to be reclaimed at any moment by the God who lent her. 

The darksome valley was past, and Valentine stood by his darling's side, safe upon the sunlit uplands. 

The doctors had declared their patient safe. The hour of danger had beenpassed in safety, and the mischief worked by the poisoner's slow processhad been well nigh counteracted by medical skill. 

"In six weeks' time you may take your wife for her honeymoon tour, Mr. Hawkehurst, with her health and spirits thoroughly re-established, "said Dr. Jedd. 

"What is that you say about honeymoon tours?" cried Gustave Lenoble. "Hawkehurst and his wife will spend their honeymoon at Côtenoir; is itnot, Diana?"

Diana replied that it was to be, and must be so. 

It was impossible to imagine a happier party than that which met dayafter day in those pleasant lodgings at Kilburn, wherein Georgy and Dianaand Charlotte had been established with much devotion and care on theparts of Valentine and Gustave. Mr. Hawkehurst had chosen the apartments, and M. Lenoble had spent the day before the wedding in rushing to and frobetween the West End and Kilburn, carrying hot-house flowers, comestiblesof all kinds from Fortnum and Mason's, bonbon boxes, perfumery, newbooks, new music, and superintending the delivery of luxuriouseasy-chairs, hired from expensive upholsterers, a grand piano, and aharmonium. 

"We will have music in the evenings, " he said to Diana, upon herexpressing surprise on beholding these arrangements, "when we areassembled here, all. How thou dost open thine eyes on beholding thesenothings! Do you think it has been no pleasure to me to testify myaffection for one who has been so good to thee--thy friend, thineadopted sister? I wished that all things should look bright around her, when they brought her here, after that she had come to escape from thejaws of death. And thou, was it not that thou wert also coming to makethy home here for some days, until thy day of marriage? Thy fatherastonishes himself to hear of such sudden events. Thou wilt go to seehim, soon, is it not?"

"Yes, dear Gustave. I will go to-morrow. "

She went on the next day, and found Captain Paget much weaker than on herlast visit. 

It was evident that for him the end was very near. He was much changedand subdued by his long illness; but the spirit of worldliness had notbeen altogether exorcised even in this dismal period of self-communion. 

"What does it all mean, Diana?" he asked. "I don't understand being keptin the dark like this. Here are you suddenly leaving Mr. Sheldon's housewithout rhyme or reason, to take up your quarters in lodgings with Mrs. Sheldon. Here is a mysterious marriage taking place at a time when I havebeen given to understand that one of the parties is at death's door; andhere is Lenoble introduced to Valentine Hawkehurst, in express oppositionto my particular request that my future son-in-law should be introducedto none of the Sheldon set. "

"Valentine is not one of the Sheldon set, papa. I do not think it likelythat he will ever see Philip Sheldon again. "

"Bless my soul!" exclaimed Captain Paget. "There has been somethingserious going on, then, surely?"

After this he insisted on an explanation, and Diana told him the story ofthe last two or three weeks: Charlotte's increasing illness--somysterious and incurable; the sudden return from Harold's Hill;Valentine's fears; Dr. Jedd's boldly-expressed opinion that the patientwas the victim of foul play; the systematic exclusion of Philip Sheldonfrom the sick-room, followed immediately by symptoms of amelioration, leading to gradual recovery. 

All this Captain Paget heard with an awe-stricken countenance. Thedistance that divides the shedder of blood from all other wrong-doers isso great, that the minor sinner feels himself a saint when hecontemplates the guilt of the greater criminal. 

"Great God! is this possible?" exclaimed the Captain, with a shudder. "And I have taken that man's hand!"

Later in the evening, when Diana had left him, and he had been thinkingseriously of his own career, and those many transactions of his troubledlife which, in the slang denomination of the day, would be called"shady, " he derived some scrap of comfort from one consideration. 

"I never hurt a worm, " he murmured to himself, complacently. "No, I canlay my hand upon my heart and say, I never hurt a worm. "

The Captain did not pause to reflect that some of the merit involved inthis amiable trait of character might have been referable to the fact, that he had never happened to fall upon a state of society in which acomfortable living was to be made by the hurting of worms. He thoughtonly of the story he had heard about Philip Sheldon; and he told himselfthat not in the direst necessity of his life could his brain havefashioned the thought of such a deed as that, in the doing of which thisman had persevered for nearly three months. 

For Charlotte Hawkehurst the summer days which succeeded her marriagepassed very quietly. She had not been told the real motive of that hastyand stolen marriage which had given her to the man she loved and trustedso completely. Valentine and Diana had between them contrived to mouldMrs. Sheldon to their will; and it was at her request that Charlotte hadconsented to so strange a step. 

The fable invented to account for this desire on the part of Mrs. Sheldonwas very innocent. The doctors had ordered a milder climate than Englandfor the dear convalescent--Madeira, Algeria, Malta--or some other equallyremote quarter of the globe. It was impossible that Mr. Or Mrs. Sheldoncould take so long a journey; Mr. Sheldon being bound hand and foot tothe mill-wheel of City life, Mrs. Sheldon being the slave and helpmeet ofher husband. Nor could dear Charlotte go to Malta alone, or attended onlyby faithful Diana Paget. In short, there was no course so obvious or soprudent as a hasty marriage, which would enable the invalid to seek amilder clime, accompanied and guarded by her natural protector--ahusband. 

"Consent, dearest, I entreat you, " wrote Valentine, in the little notewhich supported Mrs. Sheldon's request, "however strange our wishes mayseem to you. Believe that it is for the best, for your own sake, for thesake of all who love you, and ask no questions. Say only yes. "

To the prayer in this letter, to the entreaties of her mother and Diana, Charlotte yielded. She wondered why Mr. Sheldon avoided her, and askedanxiously, on more than one occasion, why she did not see that gentleman. 

"Is papa ill, " she asked, "that he never comes to see how I am?"

"The doctors have forbidden many people in your room, dear. "

"Yes, a few days ago, when I was so very ill; but now that I am better, papa might come. I want to thank him for all his anxious care of me, andto be sure that _he_ consents to this marriage. "

"My darling, be assured the marriage is for the best, " pleaded Diana. 

And the marriage took place. 

Charlotte's innocent soul was thus spared the pain of a revelation whichmust have cast a dark shadow on the bright beginning of her wedded life. Georgy pledged herself to keep the fatal secret from her daughter; andDiana Paget rewarded her discretion by the most patient attention to herpiteous and prosy lamentations upon the iniquity of mankind in general, and Philip Sheldon in particular. 

Of that hideous secret of the past, lately revealed by Mr. Burkham, Mrs. Sheldon had been told nothing. No good end could have been served by sucha revelation. The criminal law has its statute of limitations--unwritten, but not the less existent. A crime which would have been difficult ofproof at the time of its commission must after the lapse of twelve yearshave travelled beyond the pale of justice. For three people to comeforward and declare that at the time of Mr. Halliday's death they hadsuspected Mr. Sheldon of poisoning him, would be to prove nothing to theminds of a British jury, except that the three people in question werelibellous and ill-disposed persons. The greater the issue, the wider thechances of escape given to the accused; and a petty offender will becondemned for picking a pocket upon much lighter grounds than will beconsidered sufficient to prove a man guilty of blowing up the Houses ofParliament. 

CHAPTER II. 

AFTER THE WEDDING. 

The manner in which Mr. Sheldon would act in the future was a matter ofconsiderable fear to his wife. She had a hazy idea that he would come tothe pleasant Kilburn lodgings to claim her, and insist upon her sharinghis dreary future. 

"If I could only have a divorce, " she said piteously, when she discussedthe subject with her son-in-law. "There ought to be divorces for suchdreadful things; but I never heard of one before Sir Creswick, or the new judge, whose name I can't remember. O Valentine, I cannot livewith him; I cannot sit down to dinner day after day with such a man asthat. And to think that I should have known him when I was the merestgirl, and have danced my very first polka with him when it first came in, and people wore polka boots and polka jackets, and wrote their notes ofinvitation upon polka paper, and sang polka songs, and worked polkingpeasants in Berlin wool, and went on altogether in the most absurdmanner. And O Valentine, whom can one trust, if not the man one has knownall one's life!"

Mr. Hawkehurst pledged himself to protect his mother-in-law from anyattempt at persecution upon the part of her husband. He did not know whatdifficulties he might have to encounter in the performance of thispledge; for, in his ignorance of the stockbroker's desperatecircumstances, he imagined that Philip Sheldon would make some attempt toright himself in the eyes of the world, by compelling his wife toreassume her position in his house. 

He went to George Sheldon's office within a few days after his marriageto take counsel from that astute adviser. He found the lawyer hard atwork, and in very good spirits. It was by his advice the marriage hadbeen hurried on; Charlotte's stealthy removal from the house while PhilipSheldon slumbered had been planned by him; and he was triumphant in thethought that the plot had succeeded so well, and that Philip, the coolestand deepest of schemers, had been so completely baffled. 

"That Ann Woolper is a treasure, " he said; "I didn't think it was in herto do what she has done. Nothing could be neater than the way she keptPhil at bay; and nothing could be better than her tact and cleverness ingetting Charlotte and her mother quietly off the other morning while myprecious brother was in the land of nod. "

"Yes, she has been invaluable to us. "

"And that girl Paget, too; she has turned out a regular trump. I used tothink her a very stiff, consequential piece of goods when I saw her atthe Lawn; but, egad, she has shown herself the genuine metal all throughthis business. Now that's a young woman I wouldn't mind making Mrs. George Sheldon any day in the week. "

"You do her too much honour, " said Valentine, with an internal shiver. "Unhappily, a prior engagement will prevent Miss Paget's availing herselfof so excellent an opportunity. "

"It mayn't be such a very bad chance as you seem to think it, my friend, "George replied, with some indignation. "Whenever the Reverend JohnHaygarth's estate drops in, I stand to win fifty thousand pounds. Andthat's not so bad for a start in life, I suppose you haven't forgottenthat your wife is heir-at-law to a hundred thousand pounds?"

"No, I have not forgotten her position in relation to the Haygarthestate. "

"Humph! I should rather think not. People don't generally forget thatkind of thing. But you are uncommonly cool about the business. "

"Yes, I have passed through a fiery furnace in which all the bullion inthe Bank of England will not serve a man. That kind of ordeal upsetsone's old notions as to the value of money. And, again, I have never beenable to contemplate Charlotte's inheritance of that fortune as anythingbut a remote contingency; the business is so slow. "

"Yes, but it has been going on. Affidavits have been made; the wholeaffair is in progress. "

"I am glad to hear it. Don't think that I pretend not to value theprospect of wealth; I have only learnt to know that money is not thebe-all and end-all of life. I could be very happy with my dear wife ifthere were no prospect of this Haygarthian inheritance; but if it doescome to us, we shall, no doubt, be all the happier. The millionaire seesthe world from a very pleasant point of view. I should like my dear girlto be the mistress of as fair a home as money can buy for her. "

"Yes, and you'd like to have your name stand high in the statistics ofGovernment stockholders. Don't be sentimental, Hawkehurst; that kind ofthing won't wash. Thank God, we managed to save poor Tom's daughter fromthe fangs of my brother Phil. But you can't suppose that I am going toshut my eyes to the fact that this affair has been a very good thing foryou, and that you owe your chances of a great fortune entirely to me? Youdon't pretend to forget _that_, I suppose?" said George Sheldon, withsome acrimony. 

"Why should I pretend to forget that, or any circumstance of our businessrelations? I am perfectly aware that you started the hunt of theHaygarths, and that to your investigations is to be traced the discoverythat proves my wife a claimant to the estate now held by the Crown. "

"Very good; that's outspoken and honest, at any rate. And now, how aboutour agreement? It's only a parole agreement, but an honest man's word isas good as his bond. "

"Our agreement!" repeated Valentine, with a puzzled expression ofcountenance. "Upon my word, I forget. "

"Ah, I thought it would come to that; I thought you would manage toforget the terms agreed upon by you and me in the event of your marriagewith Charlotte Halliday. My memory is not so short as yours; and I canswear to a conversation between you and me in this room, in which youconsented to my taking half the Haygarthian estate as the price of mydiscovery and the fair reward of my labours. "

"Yes, " said Valentine, "I remember that conversation; and I remembersaying that the demand was a stiff one, but that I, as Charlotte's futurehusband, would not oppose such a demand. "

"You remember that?"

"I do; and if my wife is willing to consent to your terms, I will hold tomy promise. "

"Your wife's consent is not wanted. She married you without a settlement, and her rights are merged in yours. To all intents and purposes, _you_are heir-at-law to John Haygarth's estate. "

Valentine laughed aloud; the whole affair seemed a tremendous joke. He, the homeless, penniless, friendless reprobate of but one year ago--he, the son and heir of a man who had been always on the verge of socialshipwreck for want of five pounds--he, of all other men upon this earth, claimant against the Crown for an estate worth one hundred thousandpounds!

"The whole affair seems ridiculously improbable, " he said. 

"My brother wouldn't have done what he did if the whole thing had seemedimprobable to him. However, we needn't estimate the chances for oragainst; all I want is a legal agreement between you and me, securing myshare of the plunder. "

"I am ready to execute any reasonable agreement; but I am bound toprotect my wife's interests, and I must have a solicitor to act for me inthis affair. Greek must meet Greek, you know. "

"Very good. I could have conducted the business myself without theinterference of strangers; but if you are going in for extreme caution, you'd better leave your wife's affairs in the hands of Messrs. Greenwoodand Greenwood, who have acted for her hitherto, and have all papersrelating to the case in their possession. "

"Greenwood and Greenwood? My dear girl told me she had signed somedocument, and had seen some lawyers; but she did not tell me the natureof the document, or the name of the lawyers. I have forborne to speak toher on business matters. The treatment that she has undergone has lefther very nervous, and we try to keep all unpleasant subjects out of hermind. "

"Yes, that's all very well; but business is business, you know. You'dbetter see Messrs. Greenwood and Greenwood at once. Tell them of yourmarriage. You'll have to keep Phil's conduct dark, of course; that isunderstood between us. You must say the marriage was a love-matchagainst my brother's wish, romantic, sentimental, and so on. They'llraise no objections when they find you are willing to leave the case intheir hands. "

"You have heard nothing of your brother?"

"Well, no--nothing, or next to nothing. I called at his office yesterday. He has not been there since the beginning of Charlotte's illness, andthere has been no letter or message for Orcott since your wedding-day. Things look rather piscatorial, altogether. Orcott hints that Phil'saffairs are in queer street; but he's a shallow-headed fool, and knowsvery little. It seems, by his account, that Phil was a Bull, and thatthe fall in every species of stock has been ruin to him. You see, when aman once goes in for the Bull business, he never by any chance turnsBear--and _vice versa_. There's a kind of infatuation in the thing, and aman sticks to his line until he's cleaned out--at least, that's whatstockbrokers have told me--and I believe it's pretty near the truth. "

This was all that Valentine could ascertain about Mr. Sheldon at present. Every knock fluttered Georgy; every accidental visitor at the Kilburnvilla seemed like the swooping of eagle on dovecote. 

"I cannot get over the feeling that he will come and take me away withhim, " she said. "If Sir Wilde Creswick would only do something, so thatmy second husband mayn't be able to insist upon my living in thatdreadful, dreadful house, where I suffered such nights and days of agony, that I am convinced the sight of chintz curtains lined with pink willmake me wretched as long as I live!"

"My dear Mrs. Sheldon, he shall not come, " said Valentine. 

"If I could only go ever so far away from him, and feel that there wasthe sea, or something of that kind, between us!"

"We will take you away--across the British Channel, or further still, ifyou like. Diana and M. Lenoble are to be married soon; and directlyLotta is strong enough for the journey we are to go over to Normandy, totheir chateau. "

"Chateau, indeed!" Mrs. Sheldon exclaimed peevishly. "The idea of DianaPaget, without a sixpence, and with a regular scamp of a father, marryinga man with a chateau, while my poor Charlotte--! I don't wish to woundyour feelings, Mr. Hawkehurst, but it really does seem hard. "

"It is hard that Lotta should not have married a prince--all thegrandeurs of a prince in a fairy tale would only be her due; but ithappens fortunately, you see, dear Mrs. Sheldon, that our sweet girl hassimple tastes, and does not languish for jewels or palaces. If she shouldever become rich--"

"Ah, " sighed, Georgy despondently, "I don't expect that. I can'tunderstand anything about this idea of a fine fortune that Mr. Sheldonhad got into his head. I know that my husband's mother was a MissMeynell, the daughter of a carpet-warehouseman in the city, and I can'tsee how any grand fortune is to come to Charlotte through her. And as forthe Hallidays--Hyley and Newhall farms were all the property they everowned within the memory of man. "

"The fortune for which Charlotte is a claimant comes from the maternalancestor of Christian Meynell. I do not count upon her possession of itas a certain good in the future. If it comes we will be thankful. "

"Is it a very large sum of money?"

"Well, yes; I believe it is a considerable sum. "

"Twenty thousand pounds, perhaps?"

"I have been told that it is as much. "

He did not want Georgy's weak mind to become possessed of the idea ofshadowy wealth. He remembered what Philip Sheldon had said to him on theChristmas night in which they had paced the little Bayswater gardentogether, and he felt that there was a substratum of common sense in thatscoundrel's artful warning. 

CHAPTER III. 

GREEK AGAINST GREEK. 

Valentine Hawkehurst called upon Mr. Greenwood, of the firm of Greenwoodand Greenwood, within a week of his marriage, and exhibited thecertificate to that gentleman. Mr. Greenwood received the informationwith much solemnity, and even severity, of manner. 

"Are you aware that this is a very serious step which you have taken, Mr. Hawkehurst?" he demanded, sternly. "You entrap--that is to say, you persuade a lady into a hasty marriage--without consultation withher legal advisers, without settlements of any kind whatever--while atthe same time you are aware that the lady in question is heir-at-lawto a very large fortune, proceedings for the recovery of which arenow pending. Pardon me if I observe that there is a want ofdelicacy--of--a--hem--right-mindedness in the transaction. "

"The imputation contained in your remarks is not a pleasant one, Mr. Greenwood, " Valentine remarked quietly; "but I am quite willing to pardonany injustice which you may inflict upon me by your desire to protect theinterests of your client. I think you will speedily discover that thoseinterests are in no way endangered by the lady's marriage with me. Thereare social complications which are not to be settled by either law orequity. Miss Halliday's surroundings of the last few months were of avery painful nature; so painful, that the legal protection of marriagebecame the only means of saving her from imminent peril. I cannot entermore fully into those painful circumstances. I can only assure you that Imarried your client with the consent and approval of her only nearrelation, and uninfluenced in the smallest degree by mercenaryconsiderations. Whatever post-nuptial settlement you please to make formy wife's protection I shall promptly execute. "

"You express yourself in a very honourable and highly creditable manner, Mr. Hawkehurst, " exclaimed the lawyer, with sudden cordiality; "and I begdistinctly to withdraw any offensive observations I may have made justnow. Your own affairs are, I conclude, in a sufficiently solvent state?"

"I do not owe a sixpence. "

"Good; and Mr. Sheldon, the lady's stepfather and my client--had you hisapproval for this hasty marriage?"

"The marriage took place without Mr. Sheldon's knowledge or consent. "

"May I ask your reason for this secrecy?"

"No, Mr. Greenwood; it is just that one reason that I cannot tell you. Accept my assurance that it was an all-powerful reason. "

"I am compelled to do so, if you decline to confide in my discretion; butas Mr. Sheldon is my client, I am bound to think of his interests as wellas those of Miss Halliday--er--Mrs. Hawkehurst. I am somewhat surprisedthat he has not called upon me since the marriage. He has been made awareof that circumstance, I suppose?"

"Yes; I wrote to him immediately after the ceremony, enclosing him a copyof the certificate. "

"The marriage will make a considerable difference to him. "

"In what manner?"

"Well, in the event of his stepdaughter's death. If she had diedunmarried and intestate, this fortune would have gone to her mother;besides which, there was the insurance on Miss Halliday's life. "

"An insurance!"

"Yes. Were you not apprised of that fact? Mr. Sheldon, with very naturalprecaution, insured his stepdaughter's life for a considerable sum--inpoint of fact, as I believe, five thousand pounds; so that, in case ofher death prior to the recovery of the Haygarth estate, her mother mightreceive some solatium. "

"He had insured her life!" said Valentine, under his breath. 

This, then, was the key to the mystery. The Haygarthian inheritance wasbut a remote contingency, a shadowy prize, which could scarcely havetempted the secret assassin; but the insurance had offered the prospectof immediate gain. The one link wanting to complete the chain of evidenceagainst Philip Sheldon was found. There was no longer a question as tohis motive. 

"This man knows of one insurance on her life, " Valentine thought tohimself; "there may have been more than one. "

After a brief silence, in which Mr. Hawkehurst had been lost in thought, the lawyer proceeded to discuss the terms of the post-nuptial settlementnecessary for the protection of his client's interests. In the course ofthis discussion Valentine explained his position in relation to GeorgeSheldon, and stated the demands of that sharp practitioner. 

Mr. Greenwood was utterly aghast upon hearing Mr. Hawkehurst's views onthis subject. 

"You mean to tell me that this man claims a clear half of the Haygarthestate--fifty thousand pounds--in consideration of his paltrydiscoveries!"

"Such is the demand he has made, and which I have pledged myself not tooppose. He certainly does open his mouth very wide; but we are bound toconsider that but for these discoveries of his, my wife and my wife'srelatives would in all probability have gone down to their graves inignorance of their claim to this estate. "

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Hawkehurst. If Mr. George Sheldon had not madethe discovery, some one else would have made it sooner or later, dependupon it. There would have been a little loss of time, that is all. Thereare plenty of men of George Sheldon's class always on the look-out forsuch chances as this--and for very small chances in comparison to this. Why, I know a fellow, a Frenchman, called Fleurus, who will take as muchtrouble about a few hundred pounds' worth of unclaimed stock as this man, George Sheldon, has taken about the Haygarth succession. And he hasreally the impudence to claim fifty thousand pounds from you?"

"A claim which I have pledged myself not to oppose. "

"But which you have not pledged yourself to support. My dear Mr. Hawkehurst, this is a business which you must allow me to settle for you, as your wife's legal adviser. We will consider you quite out of thequestion, if you please; you will thus come out of your relations to Mr. George Sheldon with perfectly clean hands. You will not oppose his claim;but I shall oppose him in my character of legal adviser to your wife. Why, are you aware that this man executed an agreement with his brother, consenting to receive a fifth share of the estate, and costs out ofpocket, in complete acquittance of all claims? I have an abstract of theagreement, amongst Miss Halliday's--Mrs. Hawkehurst's papers. "

After some further discussion, Valentine agreed to leave the whole matterin Mr. Greenwood's hands. Greek must meet Greek. Gray's Inn and theFields must settle this business between themselves. 

"I am only prince consort, " he said, with a smile. "I pretend to noactual interest in my wife's estate. I doubt, indeed, whether I shouldnot have felt more complete happiness in our marriage if she had not beenheiress to so large a fortune. "

At this Mr. Greenwood laughed outright. 

"Come, come, Mr. Hawkehurst, " he exclaimed, "that really won't do. I aman old stager, you know--a man of the world;--and you mustn't ask me tobelieve that the idea of your wife's expectations can afford you anythingbut unqualified satisfaction. "

"You cannot believe? No, perhaps not, " Valentine answered, thoughtfully. "But you do not know how nearly these expectations have lost me my wife. And even now, when she is mine by virtue of a bond that only death canloosen, it seems to me as if her wealth would make a kind of divisionbetween us. There are people who will always consider me a luckyadventurer, and look at my marriage as the result of clever scheming. Icannot advertise to the world the fact that I loved Charlotte Hallidayfrom the first hour in which I saw her, and asked her to be my wife threedays before I discovered her claim to John Haygarth's estate. A man can'tgo through the world with his justification pinned upon his breast. Ithink it will be my fate to be misjudged all my life. A twelvemonth ago Icared very little about the opinions of my fellow-men; but I want to beworthy of my wife in the esteem of mankind, as well as in the depths ofmy own moral consciousness. "

"Go and finish your honeymoon, " said the lawyer, digging his client inthe ribs with elephantine playfulness; "the moon must be in her firstquarter, I should think. Go along with you, and leave me to tackle Mr. George Sheldon. "

CHAPTER IV. 

ONLY A DREAM. 

"I say, Lenoble, " Captain Paget began abruptly one afternoon when hisdaughter and his future son-in-law were in attendance upon his sofa, "when are you and Diana to be married? There is nothing to hinder yourmarriage now, you know. "

Diana looked at the speaker with a grave countenance. 

"Dear papa, there can be no marriage while you are so ill, " she saidgently. 

"And afterwards, when I'm gone, you won't like to marry within six monthsof your father's funeral; and you will be left alone in the world. Youcan't hang on to Hawkehurst and his wife. The best thing you can do, Lenoble, is to marry her out of hand, and let me see her by my bedside asMadame Lenoble of Côtenoir. It will be some consolation for me to seethat day. I thought to have shared your home, with a run to Parisoccasionally just to freshen myself up a little; but that's all over now. It does seem rather hard to me sometimes; and I think of Moses, and hisforty years in the Desert with those ill-conditioned Israelites, who werealways getting into some scrape of other--setting up golden calves, andthat kind of thing--if he turned his back on them for twenty-four hours. A pack of ungrateful beggars too, always ready for mutiny--regularradicals, begad! And he went through it all: the sand, and the _toujours_quails, and the ingratitude; and after forty years of it, when he saw thePromised Land stretched before him green and fertile on the other side ofthe river--he died! I've been through my desert, the dreary wanderingsover the barren sand, and the ingratitude of men I've served. Yes, I'vegone through it all; and just as I catch a glimpse of Canaan, the curtaindrops. "

On this they comforted him; and sustained him with the promise of abrighter Canaan than Côtenoir. 

"Yes, " he said in a dreamy voice, "I read about it very often. A citywith foundations of jasper and chalcedony, emerald and sardonyx; gates ofpearl, pavements of gold. That's what St. John the Evangelist saw in hisvision; and we've only his word for it. But there's something that I canbelieve and can understand: 'In my Father's house there are manymansions. ' There's more hope for a sinful man of the world in thatpromise than is all St. John's dreams about gates of pearl andfoundations of emerald. "

The Captain was failing fast. He had exchanged his easy-chair for a sofanow; and the time seemed near at hand when he must exchange the sofa forhis bed. After that there would remain but one last change, to thecontemplation whereof the sick man was becoming daily more reconciled. 

He had read his Gospel more diligently of late, and had taken comfortfrom those sublime pages. Do they not contain consolation, hope, promisefor all--for the weary man of the world as well as for the saint? Thereis to be found the only creed that can adapt itself to every conditionof life, and has a margin wide enough for every weakness of erringhumanity. Buddhism may contain a scheme of morality almost as perfect;Mahomet may have expounded hopes that seem well-nigh as divine; but inthe Gospel is the only system that will adapt itself at once to theculture of the spiritual man, and the active life of the practicalworker in this lower world. 

Gustave Lenoble was only too glad to claim his promised wife a littlesooner than he had hoped to claim her. "Thou hast put me off long enough, cruel, " he said; "and now it is thy father's wish that our marriageshould be soon. It shall be this week; I will take no longer thineexcuses. We shall be the sooner ready to receive thy friends, thyCharlotte and her Hawkehurst. "

Diana smiled. 

"Dear Gustave, you are always kind, " she said. 

It was very sweet to her to think that her new home would afford apleasant haven for that dear friend who had sheltered her. And withCharlotte, the dear adopted sister, would come the man she had onceloved, to share whose cares had once been the brightest dream. 

She wondered at her own inconstancy on perceiving how completely thedream had flown. Before the stern realities of life--before sickness andsorrow and the dread shadow of death--that schoolgirl's vision hadutterly melted away. It is just possible that Gustave's manly outspokenlove may have helped to blot from the tablet of her mind the fantasticpicture of the life that might have been. She scarcely knew whether thiswas so; but she did know that a new and happier existence began for herfrom the hour in which she gave her heart in all truth and loyalty toGustave Lenoble. 

The wedding was arranged to take place within a week of Captain Paget'sexpressly declared wish. It was to be solemnised at a church nearKnightsbridge, and again at a Catholic chapel in the neighbourhood ofSloane-street; by which double ceremonial a knot would be tied that nolegal quibble could hereafter loosen. Charlotte was just sufficientlyrecovered to obtain permission to be present at the ceremonial, aftersome little exercise of her persuasive powers with the medicalpractitioner to whose care Dr. Jedd had committed her when all danger waspast. 

The Captain protested, with an eager insistence, that the weddingbreakfast should be eaten at his domicile. 

"And Val, " he said, "be sure Val is with you. I have a secret to tellhim--a kind of atonement to make; some news to give him that he won'tquite relish, perhaps. But that's no fault of mine. "

"No bad news, I hope, papa; for Charlotte's sake as well as forValentine's. "

"That depends upon how they both take it. Your friend Charlotte is notparticularly fond of money, is she?"

"Fond of money, papa? A baby knows as much of the value of money asLotta. Except to give to beggars in the streets, or to buy prettyfrivolous presents for her friends, she has neither use nor desire formoney. She is the most generous, most disinterested of created beings. "

"I'm very glad to hear it, " said the Captain, drily. "And how aboutHawkehurst, now? Do you think it was a real love-match, his marriage withMiss Halliday? No _arrière pensée_--no looking out for the main chance atthe bottom of his romantic attachment, eh, Di?"

"No, papa. I am sure there was never truer love than his. I saw him undermost trying circumstances, and I can pledge myself for the truth of hisdevotion. "

"I am very glad to hear it. Be sure you bring Hawkehurst and his wife tomy little breakfast. A chicken, a pine, a bottle of sparkling hock, anda fond father's blessing, are all I shall give you; but the chicken andthe hock will be from Gunter, and the blessing from the bottom of apaternal heart. "

 * * * * *

Bright shone the day that gave Diana to her husband, and very beautifullooked the bride in her simple dress. Gustave Lenoble's marriage was noless quietly performed than that union which had secured the safety ofCharlotte Halliday and the happiness of Valentine Hawkehurst. The shadowof death hovered very near bride and bridegroom; for they knew full wellthat he who was to preside that day at their simple marriage-feast wouldsoon have tasted that last sacred cup which has no after-flavour ofbitterness. 

The breakfast promised by the Captain was arranged with much elegance. Hothouse flowers and fruits; wines with the icedew sparkling on the darkglass; chickens and tongue, idealized by the confectioner's art, andscarcely recognizable beneath rich glazings and embellishments of jelliesand forcemeats; the airiest and least earthly of lobster salads, and apyramid of coffee-ice, testified to the glory of the Belgravian purveyor. It had been pleasant to Captain Paget to send his orders to Gunter, certain of funds to meet the bill. It was almost a glimpse of that landof milk and honey, that Canaan in Normandy, which he was never toinhabit. 

He was very weak, very ill; but the excitement of the occasion in somemeasure sustained and revivified him. The man who had been engaged tonurse and wait upon him had attired him with much care in a dressing-gownas elegant as the robe in which he had disported himself, a pennilessyoung cornet, in his luxurious garrison quarters, some fifty yearsbefore. His loose white locks were crowned with an embroideredsmoking-cap; his patrician instep was set off by a dainty scarletslipper. He had put away the Gospel, and all thoughts of that dreadreckoning which he had really some shadowy desire and hope to settlesatisfactorily, by some poor dividend which might discharge hisobligations to that merciful Creditor who forgives so many just debts. To-day he was of the world, worldly. It was a kind of _ante-mortem_lying-in-state--his last levee; and he was equal to the occasion. 

The prettily adorned table was drawn near the sofa where the invalid hostreclined, supported by numerous pillows. His daughter and her husband, Valentine, Charlotte, and Georgy, made a little circle about him. His ownman, and a clerical-looking person from Gunter's, assisted at the airybanquet. Very little was eaten by any of the guests, and it was a reliefto every one when the clerical personage and Captain Paget's factotumretired, after serving tea and coffee with funereal solemnity. 

Valentine Hawkehurst was all gentleness and cordiality towards his oldtaskmaster. The wrong must indeed be dire which is considered in such anhour as this. Valentine remembered only that with this old man he hadseen many troubled days; and that for him the end of all earthlywanderings was very near. 

The little banquet was not served in Captain Paget's ordinarysitting-room. For this distinguished occasion the landlady had lent adining-room and drawing-room on the ground floor, just deserted by afashionable bachelor lodger who had left town at the close of the season. This drawing-room on the ground floor, like the room above, overlookedthe Park, and to this apartment the Captain requested his guests toadjourn, with the exception of Mr. Hawkehurst, some little time after thedeparture of the servants. 

"I want to have a few words with Val in private, " he said; "I have asecret to communicate. Diana, show Mrs. Hawkehurst the Drive. You can seethe Bow from my room, but not from these lower windows. There are a goodmany carriages still, but it is too late for the _crême de la crême_. Iremember when the West End was a desert at this time of year; but I havelived to see the levelling of all distinctions, those of time as well asof class. "

Charlotte and Diana retired to the adjoining room with Mrs. Sheldon andM. Lenoble. Valentine was at a loss to imagine what manner ofconfidential communication his late patron and employer could desire toimpart to him. The cautious Horatio waited until the rest of the partywere quite out of hearing, talking gaily by the open window, beyond whichappeared all the fluttering life and motion of summer leaves, all thebrightness of summer green below, and deep blue sky above. When theyseemed to him to be quite engaged with their own conversation, CaptainPaget turned to his old companion. 

"Val, " he said, "we have seen hard times together we've roughed it amongstrange places and strange people, you know and so on; and I think thereis a friendly kind of feeling between us?"

He held out his poor wasted hand, and Valentine grasped it firmly in hisown with prompt cordiality. 

"My dear governor, I have no feeling in my heart that is not friendly toyou. "

This was perfectly true. 

"And even if I had been inclined to bear any grudge against you onaccount of the old days, when, you know, you were a little apt to beindifferent as to what scrape you left me in, provided you got offscot-free yourself; if I had been inclined to remember that kind of thing(which, on my honour, I am not), your daughter's noble courage anddevotion in the time of my dear wife's peril should have stood againstthat old wrong. I cannot tell you how deeply I feel her goodness in thatbitter time. "

"She is a Paget, " murmured the Captain, complacently. "_Noblesseoblige. _"

Valentine could scarcely refrain from a smile as he remembered the manyoccasions upon which the obligations of a noble lineage had weighed verylightly on his aristocratic patron. 

"Yes, Val, " the Captain resumed, in a dreamy tone, "we have seen manystrange things together. When I began my travels through this world, inthe palmy days of the Regency, I little thought what a weary journey itwas to be, and what queer people I was to encounter among myfellow-passengers. However, I've come to the last stage of the longjourney now, and I thank Providence that it ends so comfortably. "

To this Valentine assented kindly, but he was at a loss to understand whyCaptain Paget should have required the adjournment of the rest of theparty before giving utterance to these mild commonplaces. 

For some moments the invalid relapsed into thoughtful silence. Then, rousing himself as if with an effort, he took a few sips of a coolingdrink that stood by his side, and began with a startling abruptness. 

"You remember your journey to Dorking, Val, last October, when you wentto see that mysterious old aunt of yours, eh?"

Valentine blushed as the Captain recalled this cunningly-devised fable. 

"Yes, " he said gravely; "I remember telling you that I was going to seean aunt at Dorking. "

"An aunt who had a little bit of money, eh, Val?" asked the Captain, with a grin. 

"Yes. I may have gone so far as to speak of a little bit of money. "

"And neither the aunt nor the bit of money ever existed, eh, Val? Theywere mere figments of the brain; and instead of going to Dorking you wentto Ullerton, eh, Val? You stole a march upon me there. You wanted tothrow your old chum off the scent, eh? You thought you had got hold of agood thing, and you were afraid your friend and companion might get ashare of it. "

"Well, you see, my friend and companion had a knack of getting thelion's share. Besides, this good thing was not my own affair. I had toprotect the interest of another person--my employer, in point of fact;and it was by his suggestion, and in compliance with his request, thatI invented that harmless fiction about Dorking. I don't think therewas any dishonourable dealing in the matter. We were soldiers offortune both; and the stratagem with which I protected myself againstyou was a very innocent one. You would have employed any stratagem orinvented any fiction under the same circumstances. It was a case ofdiamond cut diamond. "

"Precisely; and if the older soldier, if the free lance of many acampaign, got the best of it in the long run, the younger freebootercould hardly think himself ill-used--could he now, Val?"

"Well, no, I suppose not, " replied Valentine, puzzled by the significancein the face of his old companion. That sly twinkle in the Captain's eyes, that triumphant smile wreathing the Captain's lips, must surely meanmischief. 

Valentine Hawkehurst remembered the vague suspicion that had flashed intohis mind on that Christmas Eve when Captain Paget and he had dinedtogether at a West End restaurant, and the Captain had toasted CharlotteHalliday with a smile of sinister meaning. He began to anticipate somestartling and unpleasant revelation. He began to understand that in somemanner this inscrutible schemer had contrived to overreach him. 

"What are you going to tell me?" he asked. "I see there is some lurkingmischief in your mind. How was it you were at Ullerton when I was there?I met you on the platform of the station, and I had a vague halfsuspicion that you followed me up on more than one occasion. I saw aglove in a man's parlour--a glove which I could have sworn to as yours. But when I came back, you were so plausible with your talk of promotingbusiness, and so on, that I was fool enough to believe you. And I supposeyou cheated and tricked me after all?"

"Cheated and tricked are hard words, my dear Val, " said the Captain, withdelightful blandness. "I had as much right to transact imaginary businessin the promoting line at Ullerton as you had to visit a fictitious auntat Dorking. Self-interest was the governing principle in both cases. I donot think you can have any right to consider yourself injured by me if Idid steal a march upon you, and follow close upon your heels throughoutthat Ullerton business. I do not think that you can have, on moralgrounds, any justification for making a complaint against your old ally. "

"Well, I suppose you are right enough in that, " said Valentine. 

"Shake hands upon it, then. I have not very long to live, and I want tofeel myself at peace with mankind. You see, if you had come to me in thefirst place, in a frank and generous spirit, and had said, 'My dearfriend, here is a good thing; let us go into it together, and see whatthere is to be made out of it, ' you would have placed the matter on sucha footing that, as a man of honour, I should have been bound to regardyour interests as my own. But when you set up a separate interest, whenyou try to throw dust in my eyes, to hoodwink me--me, Horatio Paget, a man of the world, possessed of some little genius for socialdiplomacy--you attempt to do that which no man ever yet succeeded indoing, and you immediately release me from those obligations which anhonourable man holds sacred. It was my glove which you saw in Mr. Goodge's parlour. I had a very satisfactory interview with that reverendperson while you were absent from Ullerton on some short excursion, as tothe purpose of which I am still in the dark. On certain terms Mr. Goodgeagreed to give me the privilege of selecting a stated number from theletters of Mrs. Rebecca Haygarth. I have reason to believe that I made ajudicious choice; for the information thus obtained placed me at onceupon a track which I followed industriously until it led me to atriumphant result. "

"I do not understand--" began Valentine; but the Captain did not allowhim time to say more. 

"You do not understand that there could be any other genealogical linethan that which you and George Sheldon fitted together so neatly. Youhave neither of you the experience of life which alone gives wideness ofvision. You discovered the connections of the Haygarth and the Meynellfamilies in the past. That was a step in the right direction. Thediscovery, so far as it went, was a triumph. You allowed the sense ofthat triumph to intoxicate you. In a business which of all businesseswithin the range of man's intellect most requires deliberation andsobriety, you went to work in a fever of haste and excitement. Insteadof searching out _all_ the descendants of Christian Meynell, you pounceupon the first descendant who comes to hand, and elect her, at your ownpleasure, sole heiress to the estate of the deceased John Haygarth. You forget that there may be other descendants of the said ChristianMeynell--descendants standing prior to your wife Charlotte in the line ofsuccession. "

"I can imagine no such descendants existing, " said Valentine, with apuzzled manner. "You seem to have made yourself master of our business;but there is one point upon which you are mistaken. George Sheldon and Idid not go to work in a fever of haste. We did fully and thoroughlyexamine the pedigree of that person whom we--and legal advisers ofconsiderable standing--believe to be the sole heir-at-law to the Haygarthestate; and we took good care to convince ourselves that there was noother claimant in existence. "

"What do you call convincing yourselves?"

"Christian Meynell had only three children--Samuel, Susan, and Charlotte. The last, Charlotte, married James Halliday, of Newhall and Hyley farms;the other two died unmarried. "

"How do you know that? How do you propose to demonstrate that Samuel andSusan Meynell died unmarried?"

"Susan was buried in her maiden name. Mrs. Halliday, her sister, was withher when she died. There was no question of marriage; nor is there therecord of any marriage contracted by Samuel. "

"All that is no proof. "

"Indeed! I should have thought the evidence sufficient. But, in any case, the _onus probandi_ is not upon us. Can you prove the marriage of theSamuel Meynell who died at Calais, or of the Susan Meynell who died inLondon?"

"I can. Susan Meynell's legitimate son is in the next room. It's anunpleasant kind of revelation to make, Val; as he, the son of one sister, stands prior to your wife, the granddaughter of the other sister, in theorder of succession. AND HE TAKES ALL!"

"He takes all!" repeated Valentine, bewildered. "He! Susan Meynell'sson?--in the next room? What does all this mean?"

"It means that when Susan was deserted by the scoundrel who took her awayfrom her home, she found an honest fellow to marry her. The name of herhusband was Lenoble. Gustave Lenoble yonder, my daughter's husband, isher only child by that marriage. A perfectly legal marriage, my dearVal--everything _en regle_, I assure you. The business is in the hands ofMessrs. Dashwood and Vernon of Whitehall--a first-class firm; counsel'sopinion most decided as to Lenoble's position. They have been rather slowabout the preliminary steps; and, _entre nous_, I have not cared to hurrythem, for I wanted to get my daughter's marriage over quietly before webegan our proceedings in Chancery. It comes rather hard upon you, Val, Iallow; but, you see, if you had acted generously, not to say honourably, towards me in the first instance, you'd have had the advantage of myexperience. As it is, you have been working in the dark. However, thingsare not so bad as they might be. You might have married some ugly oldharridan for the sake of this Haygarth estate; you have secured a prettyand amiable wife, and you mustn't be downhearted if you find yourself, from a financial point of view, most outrageously sold. "

The Captain could not refrain from a laugh as he contemplated his youngfriend's surprise. The laugh degenerated into a fit of coughing, and itwas some little time before the enfeebled Horatio was ready to resume theinterrupted conversation. In this pause Valentine had leisure to facethis new position. There was for the moment a sharp sense ofdisappointment. It is not possible for humanity to be quite indifferentto a hundred thousand pounds. So much of the "light and sweetness" oflife is attainable for that sum, --such pleasures, of the purest andnoblest, are in the power of the possessor. But in this moment Valentinefully realized the fact that he had never taken the idea of this fortuneinto his mind--never made it part and parcel of himself, to be pluckedout of his heart with anguish, and to leave a bleeding wound in the placewhere it had grown. It seemed to him as if he had been wakened abruptlyfrom some bright bewildering dream; but the sharp pang of mercenarydesires disappointed, of sordid hopes suddenly reft, was not for him. 

Beyond this sense of uncertainty, which had made the Haygarthian fortuneseem at best such "stuff as dreams are made of, " there had been everpresent in his mind of late the dismal association connected with thismoney. For this, and to get power over this through the rights of hisweak wife, had Philip Sheldon plotted against the life of that sweet girlwho was but newly rescued from the jaws of the grave. The bitter memoryof those days and nights of suspense could never have been quitedissociated from the money that had been the primary cause of all thisslow torture. 

"Do you think I shall love my wife any less because she has no claim tothe Haygarth estate?" he exclaimed presently, looking withhalf-contemptuous indignation upon the broken-down Bohemer. "I loved herlong before I knew the name of Haygarth; I should have loved her if I hadfound her a beggar in the London streets, a peasant-girl weeding forsixpence a day in some dismal swamp of agricultural poverty andignorance. I am not going to say that this money would not have broughtus pleasure; pictures and gardens, and bright rooms, and books withoutnumber, and intercourse with congenial acquaintance and delightfuljourneyings to all the fairest places upon the earth, and the power to dosome good in our generation, and a sense of security for our future, andby-and-by, perhaps, for the future of dear children, for whose prosperitywe should be more anxious than for our own. Pleasure the money would mostprobably have brought for us in abundance; but I doubt if it could buy usmore perfect happiness than we may know in the simplest home that my toilcan support. Ah, Captain, I question if you ever knew the sweetestsensation life can give--the delight of working for those we love. "

Captain Paget stared at his sometime protege in a kind of rapture ofwonder, not entirely unmingled with admiration. 

"Egad!" he exclaimed, "I have read of this kind of thing in novels; butin the whole course of my experience I never met with anything equal toit. My son-in-law, Lenoble yonder, is a generous foo--fellow enough; butthen, since infancy, he has never known the want of money. And generosityfrom that kind of man is no more of a virtue than the foolhardiness of achild who pokes his finger into the candle, not knowing the properties ofthe thing he has to deal with. But anything like generosity from you, from a man reared as you were reared, is, I freely confess, a littlebeyond my comprehension. "

"Yes; it is a transformation, is it not? But I don't think I was everinordinately fond of money. Your genuine Bohemian rarely is. He is toowell schooled in the art of living without cash, and he asks so littlehere below. His pipe, his friend, his dog, his books, his garret, hisbilliards, his beer. It is all a question of a few pounds a week. And if, some day, the divine enchanter Love takes the poor fellow underbidsguidance, and teaches him to do without billiards and beer, your Bohemiansettles down into the purest and best of men. Think what Goldy might havebeen if some good woman had taken compassion upon him and married him, and henpecked him ever afterwards. He might have written as many novelsas Sir Walter Scott, and died master of some Hibernian Abbotsford, somefair domain among the bright green hills that look down upon broadShannon's silvery falls. No, Captain; your intelligence has notannihilated me. I can face the future boldly with my dear young wife uponmy arm. "

"Upon my soul, Val, you're a very noble fellow!" exclaimed Horatio Paget, with real enthusiasm; "and I am sorry I have kept you in the dark solong. "

"You have kept me in the dark? Yes; to be sure. How long have you knownthis--about Susan Meynell?"

"Well, my dear boy, not very long. "

"But how long? A month--two months? Yes; you have known Lenoble'sposition ever since you knew him; and Charlotte told me three months agoof Diana's engagement to Lenoble. Do you know that if Sheldon hadsucceeded, Charlotte's blood would have been upon your head? If you hadnot concealed the truth, his villany would never have been attempted. "

"But, my dear Val, " exclaimed the Captain piteously, "I was not toknow--"

"No; you were not to know that there could be such a wretch as PhilipSheldon upon this earth. We will say no more of that. I kept my secret, you kept yours. Mischief unspeakable well-nigh came of all this underhandwork. But heaven has been merciful to us. We have passed through thevalley of the shadow of death; and if anything could make my wife dearerto me than she was when first I won her promise to be mine, it would bethe sorrow of the last few months. And now I will go and shake hands withLenoble, my wife's kinsman. He is a fine fellow, and well deserves hisgood fortune. Stay; one word. Did Diana know this? did she know that herlover is heir to the Haygarth estate?"

"She does not know it now. She has never heard the name of Haygarth. And, between you and me, Val, it cost me a world of trouble to persuade her tosay yes to Lenoble's offer, though he is a very decent match for her, even without reference to the Haygarth estate. "

"I am glad she knew nothing of this, " said Valentine; "I am very glad. "

After this he again shook hands with Captain Paget, at that gentleman'srequest, and the Captain expressed himself much relieved by theconversation, and by his late protégé's very generous behaviour. Hecalled to his daughter and the rest presently, and they came at hissummons. 

"Is your long talk finished, papa?" asked Diana. 

"And is the secret told?" demanded Charlotte of her obedient husbandand slave. 

"Yes, dear, it is told, " he answered gravely. 

"I hope it is a pleasant secret. "

"I do not think the knowledge of it will give you much pain, dearest. You have learnt to think yourself a--a kind of an heiress of late, have you not?"

"Papa--Mr. Sheldon--told me that I had a claim to some money; but I havenot thought much about it, except that I should give you Grote andMacaulay in dark-brown calf, with bevelled boards and red edges, likethat edition you saw at the auctioneer's in Bond Street, and have talkedabout ever since; and a horse, perhaps; and a glass porch to ourcottage. "

"Well, darling, the books in dark-brown calf, and the horse, and theglass porch, may all be ours in the future; but the money was only adream--it has melted away, dear. "

"Is that all?" asked Charlotte. "Why, I dare say the day will come whenyou will be as rich as Sir Walter Scott. "

"In the meantime I have something to give you instead of the money. "

"Indeed!"

"Yes; a cousin. Will that do as well, my love?"

"A cousin? I shall like her very much if she is nice. "

"The cousin I mean is a gentleman. "

"But where is he to come from?" cried Charlotte, laughing. Has hedropped from the moon? The only relations I have the world are Uncle andAunt Mercer. How can you pretend to find me a cousin?"

"Do you remember telling me of your grandmother's only sister--SusanMeynell?"

"Yes, " said Charlotte, with a sudden blush; "I remember. "

"That Miss Meynell married a gentleman of Normandy, and left one onlychild, a son. His name is Gustave Lenoble, and he is standing by yourside. He is heir-at-law to a very large fortune, which it was oncesupposed you could claim. Are you sorry, Lotta, to find a kinsman andlose a fortune?--and are you contented to begin the world with no hopeexcept in your husband's patience and courage?"

"And genius!" cried Charlotte, with enthusiasm. 

The sweet, blinding glamour of love shone upon this young scribbler, andshe believed that he was indeed worthy to take rank among the greatest ofthat grand brotherhood of which he was so humble a member. She looked upat him with the prettiest confidence; her clinging hand clasped his withlove and trust immeasurable. He felt and knew that love like this was atreasure beside which the Reverend John Haygarth's hoarded thousands mustneeds seem but sorry dross. 

After this there was much explanation and congratulation. Gustave Lenoblewas delighted to claim so fair a kinswoman. 

"Thou art like my eldest, my cousin, " he said; "Diana saw the likeness atthe Sacré Coeur when she beheld my daughter; and I too saw my eldest'slook in thine eyes when I first met thee. Remember, it was convenedbetween us that Côtenoir should be a home for thee and for Hawkehurstbefore I knew what link bound thee to the house of Lenoble. Now thou andthy husband will be of our family. "

Diana was bewildered, grieved, indignant with the father who had deceivedher by his studious suppression of the truth. She found herself placed inthe position of rival to Charlotte, and the whole proceeding seemed toher mean and treacherous. 

But it was no time for remonstrance or open expression of indignantfeeling. Her father's days were numbered. She knew this, and she held herpeace. Nor did Mrs. Sheldon utter any word of complaint, though thedisappointment she experienced upon hearing this revelation was verykeen. The idea of the four or five thousand pounds which were to come toCharlotte had been a consolation to her in the midst of that confusionand desolation which had newly come upon her life. She left Knightsbridgethat evening somewhat depressed in spirits, and half inclined to be angrywith Charlotte and her husband for their gaiety of manner, and evidenthappiness in each other's society. 

"It seems hard to have to begin the world at my age, " she murmuredhopelessly, "after being accustomed to have everything nice about me, asI had at the Lawn; though I own that the trouble and care of the servantswas wearing me to the grave. "

"Dear mamma, " exclaimed Charlotte tenderly, "there is no fear of troubleor poverty for you or for us. Valentine has plenty of money, and is onthe high road to securing a comfortable income. Authors do not starve ingarrets now, you know, as they used to do, poor things, when DoctorJohnson ate his dinner in a cave, or something dreadful of that kind; andwhen Sir Richard Steele thought it quite a wonderful thing to get a poundof tea for his wife. And Valentine's heart is in his profession, and hewill work for us. "

"As long as I have a hand that can write, and a brain that can guide mypen, " interposed Mr. Hawkehurst, gaily. "I have given hostages toFortune. I can face the hazard boldly I feel as confident and as happy asif we lived in the golden age, when there was neither care nor toil forinnocent mankind, and all the brightest things of earth were thespontaneous gift of the gods. "

CHAPTER V. 

BOHEMIAN INDEPENDENCE. 

Monsieur and Madame Lenoble went to Brighton for their honeymoon. Aletter or a telegraphic message would bring them thence swiftly to thebedside of the dying Captain, should the last fatal change set insuddenly. Diana had wished to stay with her father, but Horatio insistedupon the honeymoon trip, and that everything should be done in a correctand gentlemanly manner. 

"You can engage rooms at the Albion, " Captain Paget had said to hisson-in-law a few days before the quiet wedding. "The house is extremelycomfortable; and you will be received by a compatriot. The proprietor isa Frenchman, and a very gentlemanly person, I assure you; the _cuisine_irreproachable. I remember the old Steyne when Mrs. FitzHerbert livedclose by, and received all the best people, in the days when the Cockneyhad not yet taken possession of Brighthelmstone, and the Chinese dragonsand pagodas were bright and fresh in the Pavilion. "

To Brighton, therefore, the bride and bridegroom departed; Diana attendedby a maid, an appanage which the Captain had insisted upon. Poor Dianawas sorely puzzled as to what she should find for the maid to do when herhair had been dressed early in the morning, and her costume laid out instate for the day. 

"I think I must buy some handkerchiefs for her to hem, " she said toGustave; "it will be quite dreadful for her to have nothing to do allday long. "

The weather was warm and bright. The sea danced and sparkled under thewindows. Gustave was always in the same happy frame of mind. An elegantlandau had been secured for the period of their visit, and a pair ofcapital horses carried them out on long and pleasant expeditions to thepretty Sussex villages, or across the broad bare downs, beyond which thesea stretched blue and bright. 

In the evening, when the lamp was lighted and the urn hissed gaily, Dianafelt that she and her husband were at home. It was the first home she hadknown--the first time she had been sole mistress and centre of ahousehold. She looked back at all the old desolation, the dreary shiftingfrom lodging to lodging, the degradation, the self-abasement, the dullapathy of despair; and then she looked across at her husband as helounged in his easy-chair, contemplating her with dreamy adoring eye, ina kind of lazy worship; and she knew that for this man she was the centreof the universe, the very keystone in the arch of life. 

She stretched out her hand to him with a smile, and he pressed it fondlyto his lips. There were twinkling jewels upon the slender fingers; forthe prettiest shop in Brighton--the brightest shop in Brighton--had beenransacked that morning by the fond, frivolous, happy husband, as pleasedto bedeck his wife as a child to dress her last new doll. 

"How can I ever be worthy of so much affection, Gustave!" she exclaimed, as he kissed the twinkling fingers. 

And it did indeed seem to her that for this free gift of love she couldnever render a sufficient recompense. 

"Thou wilt make Côtenoir a home, " he said; "thou knowest not how I havesighed for a home. This room, with the lamplight shining on thy face, andthy white hands moving about the teacups, and thy sweet smile, whichgreets me every now and then when thou lookest by here, --it is more ofhome than I have ever known since I left Beaubocage, that modest dwellingwhere lived those two angels of kindness, my aunt and my grandmother. "

In one of those long pleasant drives to a distant village nestling underthe lee of a steep hill, the husband and wife had much serious talk aboutthe position of the former with reference to the Haygarth estate. Theresult of that conversation was shown in a letter which CharlotteHawkehurst received the next day from her friend Diana Lenoble. 

"Albion Hotel, Brighton. 

"EVER DEAR LOTTA, --Gustave and I have discussed the Haygarth businesswith great satisfaction to ourselves, since it transpired in the courseof our conversation that we are both of one mind in the matter. It isagreed between us that, as he is very well off already, and as he neverhoped or expected to inherit a fortune from his maternal ancestor, it isonly just that he should divide this unlooked-for wealth with his dearcousin, whose claim to that inheritance he recognizes as equal to hisown; the mere fact of seniority making only a legal and not a moraldifference in the degree of relationship to the Reverend John Haygarth. Do you understand, darling?--_you_ are to have half this money. Myhusband will not step in between you and good fortune. I cannot tell youhow happy this determination of Gustave's has made me. I felt myself in amanner base and ungrateful when I thought I was to share wealth thatmight have been yours; but I ought to have better understood the justiceof my husband's mind. And now, dearest, all will be arranged very simply;Gustave will come to London and see his lawyers, and execute some kind ofdeed, and the whole affair will be settled. 

"We have had some charming drive, " &c. &c. 

Here the young wife branched off into a description of the simplepleasures of their honeymoon holiday. 

This letter was answered by Valentine Hawkehurst in person. He came downto Brighton to thank his friends for their generous desire to enrich hiswife, and to decline, on her part, any share in John Haygarth's wealth. 

It was in vain that Gustave and Diana argued the point, Mr. Hawkehurstwas fixed as fate. 

"Believe me, it is better as it is, " he said. "Charlotte and I havearrived at this conviction with all due thought and deliberation. We areboth young, and the world is all before us. There is much in the pastthat I have to redeem, as Diana well knows. It is better that I shouldfight the battle of life unaided, and rise from the ranks by right of mymerit as a soldier. If ever we have need of help--if ever I find myselfbreaking down--you may be sure that it is to you I shall come. By and by, if Providence gives me children to work for, I will refuse no bounty thatyou may bestow on them. Their future may be rendered secure by yourgenerosity, if you please, Lenoble; they will be your kindred. But for analien like myself there is no discipline so wholesome as honest hardwork. I am as rich as John Milton when he set up a school in St. Bride'sChurchyard. "

To this resolution Mr. Hawkehurst adhered with a gentle firmness. 

"Thou art chivalrous like Don Quixote, " said Gustave Lenoble; "but itshall be as thou wouldest. Touch there. "

He offered his hand, which the other grasped with all heartiness. 

"I will be godfather to thy little first one, and I will settle on himten thousand pounds before he cuts his first tooth, " said Gustavedecisively. 

CHAPTER VI. 

BEYOND THE VEIL. 

Diana and her husband did not linger long at Brighton; they went back totown in time to see the last of that old wayfarer whose troubled journeycame to so peaceful an ending. It was a very calm haven in which thisbattered old privateer lay at anchor after life's tempestuous course; butto the Captain himself it seemed a hard thing that he should not havebeen permitted one brief cruise upon that summer sea which danced sogaily beneath the keel of the Lenobles' prosperous bark. 

"We have shared adversity, my love, " he said sadly, when he talked withhis daughter in the last few days; "but your prosperity I am to have noshare in. Well, I suppose I have no right to complain. My life has beenan erring one; but poverty is the most vicious companion that a man canconsort with. If I had come into six or seven thousand a year, I mighthave been as starch in my notions as a bishop; but I have been obliged tolive, Diana--that was the primary necessity, and I learnt to accommodatemyself to it. "

That he had erred, the Captain was very ready to acknowledge. That he hadsinned deeply, and had much need to repent himself of his iniquity, hewas very slow to perceive. But sometimes, in the still watches of thenight, when the faint lamplight on the shadowy wall was more gloomy thandarkness, when the nurse, hired to assist his own man in these last days, dozed in her comfortable chair, the truth came hope to his shallow soul, and Horatio Paget knew that he had been indeed a sinner, and very vileamong sinners. Then, for a moment, the veil of self-deception was lifted, and he saw his past life as it had really been, --selfish, dishonourable, cruel beyond measure in reckless injury of others. For a moment the awfulbook was opened, and the sinner saw the fearful sum set against his name. 

"What can wipe out the dread account?" he asked himself. "Is there such athing as forgiveness for a selfish useless life--a life which is one longoffence against God and man?"

In these long wakeful nights the dying man thought much of his wife. Thesweet tender face came back to him, with its mournful wondering look. Heknew, now, how his falsehoods and dishonours had wounded and oppressedthat gentle soul. He remembered how often she had pleaded for the right, and how he had ridiculed her arguments, and set at naught her tenderpleadings. He had fancied her in a manner inimical to himself when sheurged the cause of some angry creditor or meek deluded landlady. Now, with the light that is not upon earth or sea shining on the picture ofhis past career, he could see and understand things as he had never seenor understood them before. He knew now that it was for his own sake thatfaithful and devoted wife had pleaded, his own interest that had beennear to her pitying heart, as well as the interest of bakers andbutchers, landladies and tailors. 

"She might have made a good man of me, if I had let her have her way, " hethought to himself. "I know that she is in heaven. Will she plead for me, I wonder, at the foot of the Great Throne? I used to laugh at her badEnglish, or fly in a passion with her sometimes, poor soul, when I wantedher to pass for a lady, and she broke down outrageously. But there hervoice will be heard when mine appeals in vain. Dear soul! I wonder whotaught her to be so pure and unselfish, and trusting and faithful? Shewas a Christian without knowing it. 'I thank Thee, O Father, Lord ofheaven and earth, because Thou hast hid these things from the wise andprudent, and hast revealed them unto babes. '"

He thought of his wife's lonely deathbed, and compared it with his own. For him there was luxury; by him watched a devoted and all-forgivingdaughter, a generous friend and son-in-law. All that could be done tosoothe the painful descent was done for him. For her there had beennothing but loneliness and sorrow. 

"But she might be certain of a speedy welcome in a better home, " thoughtHoratio; "and I--? Ah, dear kind creature, _there_ the difference was allin her favour. "

As the closing scene grew nearer, he thought more and more of his gentlelow-born wife, whose hold upon him in life had been so slender, whosememory had occupied until now so insignificant a place in his mind. Hisdaughter watched with him unceasingly in the last two days and nights. His mind wandered. On the day of his death he mistook Diana for thatlong-lost companion. 

"I have not been a kind husband, Mary, my dear, " he faltered; "butthe world has been hard upon me--debts--difficulties--crackregiment--expensive mess--set of gamblers--no pity on a young man withoutfortune--force of example--tied a millstone round my wretched neck beforeI was twenty-one years of age. "

Later, when the doctor had felt his pulse for the last time, he cried outsuddenly, "I have made a statement of my affairs, the liabilities arenumerous--the assets nil; but I rely on the clemency of this court. "

These were his last words. He sank into a kind of stupor betwixt sleepingand waking, and in this he died. 

CHAPTER VII. 

BETTER THAN GOLD. 

The little fleet of paper boats which Mr. Sheldon had pioneered soskilfully over the commercial seas came to grief very soon after thedisappearance of the admiral. A bill drawn upon the Honduras MahoganyCompany, Limited, was the first to reach maturity. The bill was referredto the drawer--the drawer was not to be found. 

"I have not seen Sheldon for the last fortnight, " Mr. Orcott informed thegentleman who brought him the document. 

"Out of business for a fortnight?"

"He has not been in business for a month. His stepdaughter has been veryill--at death's door, and all that kind of thing, and my governor wasawfully cut up about it. There used to be a couple of doctors at thehouse every day, and no end of fuss. I took Sheldon his letters, andmanaged matters for him here, and so on. And one fine morning my younglady runs off and gets married on the quiet; so I suspect there was agood deal of shamming about the illness--and those old fogies, thedoctors, winked at it. Between them all, I fancy Sheldon was completelysold; and he has turned savage and gone off somewhere in the sulks. "

"I wish he had chosen any other time for his sulks, " said the holder ofthe bill; "my partner and I have discounted several acceptances for him. He gave us liberal terms, and we considered any paper of his as safe as aBank of England note; and now this confounded bill comes back to usthrough our bankers, noted, 'Refer to drawer'--a most unpleasant thing, you know, and very inconsiderate of Sheldon to leave us in such a fix. "

"He has forgotten the bill, I suppose, " said Mr. Orcott. 

"Well, but you see, really now, a business man ought not to forget thatkind of thing. And so Miss Halliday has made a runaway match, has she? Iremember seeing her when I dined at Bayswater--an uncommonly fine girl. And she has gone and thrown herself away upon some penniless scapegrace, most likely? Now, by the bye, how about this Honduras Company, Mr. Orcott; they don't seem to have any London offices?"

"I believe not. We've some of their prospectuses somewhere about, Ithink. Would you like to see one?"

"I should, very much. "

Mr. Orcott opened two or three drawers, and after some little troubleproduced the required document. 

It was a very flourishing prospectus, setting forth the enormousbenefits to be derived by shareholders from the profitable dealings of thecompany. Some good high-sounding names figured in the list of directors, and the chairman was Captain H. N. Cromie Paget. The prospectus lookedwell enough, but the holder of Mr. Sheldon's dishonoured bill was notable to derive much comfort from high-sounding phrases and high-soundingnames. 

"I'll go down to Bayswater, and see if I can hear anything of yourgovernor, " he said to Mr. Orcott. 

"He was not there yesterday when I called, and his servants could tell menothing of his whereabouts, " the young Yorkshireman said very coolly. 

"Indeed!" cried the holder of the dishonoured bill in some alarm. "Now, really, that is not right; a business man ought not to do that kind ofthing. "

He called a cab and drove to the Lawn. There was the smart gothic villa, with its pointed gables, and florid chimneys, and oriel windows, and inthe Tudor casements of the ground-floor appeared the bills of a West-endauctioneer, announcing in large letters that the lease of this charmingmansion, together with the nearly new furniture, linen, books, china, plate, carefully-selected proof-prints after distinguished modernartists, small cellar of choice wines, &c. , &c. , &c. , would be disposedof by auction on the following day. 

Mr. Sheldon's victim went into the house, where he found some menpreparing for the forthcoming sale. 

"What is the meaning of all this?" he asked, aghast. 

"A bill of sale, sir. Messrs. Napthali and Zabulon. "

This was enough. The holder of the bill went back to the City. Anotherbill came due on the following day, and before the members of the StockExchange took their luncheon, it was known that Philip Sheldon's creditwas among the things of the past. 

"I always thought he was out of his depth, " said one set of talkers. 

"He was the last man I should have expected to see come to grief, " saidanother set of talkers. 

On settling-day came the awful proclamation--Philip Sheldon hadabsconded, and would not meet his differences. 

On the same day came a terrible revelation to Mr. George Sheldon, ofGray's Inn, solicitor, genealogist, and pedigree hunter. The firstofficial step in the advancement of Gustave Lenoble's claim against theCrown was taken by Messrs. Dashwood and Vernon, the solicitors, ofWhitehall; and George Sheldon discovered that between CharlotteHawkehurst and the Haygarth estate there stood a prior claimant, wherebyall his toil, trouble, costs out of pocket, and wear and tear of body andmind, had been wasted. 

"It is enough to make a man go and cut his throat, " cried George, in hisfirst savage sense of utter disappointment. 

He went into his slovenly bedroom, and took out one of his razors, andfelt the corrugated surface of the left side of his neck meditatively. But the razor was blunt, and the corrugated surface seemed very tough andunmanageable; so George Sheldon decided that this kind of operation wasan affair which might be deferred. 

He heard the next day that his brother was _non est_, and, in his ownphraseology, that there was a pretty kettle of fish in the City. 

"Upon my word, Phil and I seem to have brought our pigs to a very nicemarket, " he said. "I dare say, wherever that fellow has gone, he hascarried a well-lined purse with him. But I wouldn't have his consciencefor all the wealth of the Rothschilds. It's bad enough to see TomHalliday's face as I see it sometimes. What must it be to _him_?"

A little more than a year after this, and the yellow corn was waving onthe fertile plains of Normandy, fruit ripening in orchards on hillsideand in valley; merry holiday folks splashing and dabbling in the wavesthat wash the yellow sands of Dieppe; horses coming to grief in Normansteeplechases; desperate gamesters losing their francs and half-francs inall kinds of frivolous games in the Dieppe _établissement_; and yonder, in the heart of Normandy, beyond the tall steeples of Rouen, a happyfamily assembled at the Chateau Côtenoir. 

One happy family--two happy families rather, but so closely united by thebonds of love and friendship as to seem indeed one. Here are GustaveLenoble and his young wife Diana, with two tall slender damsels by theirside; and here is Valentine Hawkehurst, the successful young scribbler, with his fair young wife Charlotte; and out on the terrace yonder are twonurses walking with two babies, at that early, and, to some minds, obnoxious stage of babyhood in which a perpetual rocking, and pacing toand fro, and swaying backwards and forwards in the air, is necessary forthe preservation of anything approaching tranquillity. But to the mindsof the two young mothers and the two proud fathers, these small creaturesin their long white robes seem something too bright for earth. The unitedages of the babies do not amount to six months; but the mothers havecounted every gradual stage of these young lives, and to both it seems asif there had been no time in which the children were not, with so firm ahold have they possessed themselves of every thought in the foolishmaternal mind, of every impulse in the weak maternal heart. 

Mrs. Hawkehurst has brought her son to see his aunt Diana; for Diana hasinsisted upon assuming that relationship by letters-patent, as it were. Madame Lenoble's baby is a daughter, and this fact in itself seems to thetwo friends to be a special interposition of Providence. 

"Would it not be delightful if they should grow up to love each other andmarry?" exclaimed Diana; and Charlotte agreed with her that such an eventin the future did indeed seem in a manner foreshadowed by the conduct ofthe infants in the present. 

"He takes notice of her already!" she exclaimed, looking out at thelittle creature in white muslin robes, held up against the warm blue sky;"see, they are cooing at each other! I am sure that must be cooing. "

And then the two mothers went out upon the sunny terrace-walk and fondlycontemplated these domestic treasures, until the domestic treasures wereseized with some of the inexplicable throes and mysterious agonies ofearly babyhood, and had to be borne off shrieking to their nurseries. 

"Dear angel, " said Gustave, of his "little last one, " "she has the veryshriek of Clarice here, poignant and penetrating, until to drown theheart. Dost thou figure to thyself that thy voice was penetrating asthat, my beautiful, in the time?"

He kissed his beautiful, and she ran off to join the procession followingthe two babies, --alarmed nurses, distracted mammas, shrieking infants, anxious damsels. 

"_C'est un vrai tourbillon_, " as Gustave remarked to his companionValentine Hawkehurst; "these women, how they love their children! What ofsaints, what of Madonnas, what of angels!"

Whereupon he spouted Victor Hugo:

"Lorsque l'enfant paraît, le cercle de familleApplaudit à grands cris; son doux regard qui brilleFait briller tous les yeux;Et les plus tristes fronts, les plus souillés peut-être, Se dérident soudain à voir l'enfant paraître, Innocent et joyeux. "

All things had gone well for M. Lenoble. His direct descent from MatthewHaygarth, the father of the intestate, had been proved to thesatisfaction of Crown lawyers and High Court of Chancery, and he had beenin due course placed in possession of the reverend intestate's estate, tothe profit and pleasure of his solicitors and M. Fleurus, and to theunspeakable aggravation of George Sheldon, who washed his hands at onceand for ever of all genealogical research, and fell back in an embitteredand angry spirit upon the smaller profits to be derived from pettytransactions in the bill-discounting line, and a championship ofpenniless sufferers of all classes, from a damsel who considered herselfjilted by a fickle swain, in proof of whose inconstancy she could producedocumentary evidence of the "pork-chop and tomato sauce" order, to apedestrian who knocked his head against a projecting shutter in theStrand, and straightway walked home to Holloway to lay himself up for atwelvemonth in a state of mental and bodily incapacity requiring largepecuniary redress from the owner of the fatal shutter. To this nobleprotection of the rights of the weak did George Sheldon devote hisintellect; and when malicious enemies stigmatized these Quixoticendeavours as "speculative actions, " or when, in the breaking-down ofsome oppressed damsel's cause by reason of the slender evidence affordedby some reticent lover's epistolary effusions, unjust judges told himthat he "ought to be ashamed of himself" for bringing such an action, thegenerous attorney no doubt took consolation from an approving conscience, and went forth from that court, to look for other oppressed damsels orinjured wayfarers, erect and unshaken. 

Some little profit Mr. Sheldon of Gray's Inn did derive from the Haygarthestate; for at the request of Gustave Lenoble Messrs. Dashwood and Vernonsent him a cheque for one thousand pounds, as the price of those earlyinvestigations which had set the artful Captain upon the right track. Hewrote a ceremoniously grateful letter to Gustave Lenoble on receivingthis honorarium. It is always well to be grateful for benefits receivedfrom a rich man; but in the depths of his heart he execrated thefortunate inheritor of the Haygarthian thousands. 

Mr. Hawkehurst was not quite so vehement in the expression of hisfeelings as that lively Celt, Gustave; but deep in his heart there was asense of happiness no less pure and exalted. 

Providence had given him more than he had ever dared to hope; notJohn Haygarth's thousands; not a life of luxurious idleness, anddinner-giving, and Derby days, and boxes on the grand tier, andcarriage-horses at five hundred guineas a pair; not a palace inBelgravia, and a shooting-box in the Highlands, and a villa at Cowes;not these things, in which he would once have perceived the _summumbonum_; but a fair price for his labour, a dear young wife, a tranquilhome. 

Nor had his researches among the dusty records of the departed Haygarthsbeen profitless in a pecuniary sense to himself. Gustave Lenoble insistedthat he should accept that honorarium of three thousand pounds which hadbeen promised by George Sheldon as the reward of his success. 

"Captain Paget would never have been put on the right track if he hadnot filched your secrets from you, " said the son and heir of SusanMeynell. "It is to your researches, in the first place, that I owethis inheritance; and you cannot refuse to accept the agreed price ofyour labour. "

Valentine did not refuse this fairly-earned reward, nor did he oppose thesettlement which Gustave made in favour of Charlotte's infant son. Itseemed to him only just that some share of the heritage should fall tothe descendant of poor Susan's younger sister and faithful friend. 

With this capital of three thousand pounds comfortably invested inconsols, and with the interest of that sum of ten thousand pounds settledon his infant son, Mr. Hawkehurst began the world, in his new characterof a husband and a father, very pleasantly. 

Of his literary career very little need be said here. He was yet at thebeginning of the long dusty road that leads to the temple of Fame. It isenough to state that he found the dusty high-road rather difficultwalking, and that he was pelted with more mud, flung by namelessassailants hidden behind the hedges, than he had anticipated when he setout upon the first stage of his journey. Happily, he found pleasantfellow-travellers and kindly encouragement from an indulgent public, andwas thus able to accept the mud which bespattered his garments in a veryplacid spirit, and to make light of all obstacles in the great highway. 

The cottage at Wimbledon was no longer a dream. It was a pleasantreality, the pride and delight of Mrs. Sheldon and Ann Woolper. It was apicturesque dwelling-place, half cottage, half villa, situated on thebroad high-road from London to Kingston, with all the woodland ofRichmond Park to be seen from the windows at the back. Only a walldivided Mr. Hawkehurst's gardens from the coverts of the Queen. It waslike a royal demesne, Charlotte said; whereupon her husband insisted thatit should be christened by the name of a royal dwelling, and so called itCharlottenburgh. 

Mr. Hawkehurst had secured this delightful abode for a considerable termof years, and upon the furnishing and decoration of the pretty rusticrooms Charlotte and he lavished unmeasured care. The delicious excitementof "picking up, " or, in more elegant parlance, "collecting, " was to thesetwo happy people an inexhaustible source of pleasure. Every eccentriclittle table, every luxurious chair, had its special history, and hadbeen the subject of negotiation and diplomacy that might have sufficed aBurleigh in the reorganization of Western Europe. The little Dresden andVienna cups and saucers in the maple cabinet had been every one boughtfrom a different dealer. The figures on the mantelpiece were Old Chelsea, of a quality that would have excited the envy of a Bernal or a Bonn, andhad only fallen to the proud possessors by a sequence of fortuitouscircumstances, the history of which was almost as thrilling as thestory of Boehmer's diamond-necklace. The curtains in the drawing-roomhad draped the _portières_ of the lovely Lady Blessington, and had beenbought for a song by Valentine Hawkehurst, after passing through thehands of brokers and dealers innumerable. The tapestry-coveredLouis-Quatorze chairs had belonged to Madame de Sévigné, and hadfurnished that dull country house whence she wrote the liveliest lettersextant to her disreputable cousin, Bussy, Count of Babutin. Theseinestimable treasures had been picked up by Mr. And Mrs. Hawkehurst froma bric-à-brac merchant in a little court at the back of the Rue Vivienne, whither the young couple had gone arm-in-arm to choose a bonnet on theirfirst pleasure-trip to Paris. The clock in the modest dining-room hadbeen secured from the repository of the same merchant, and was warrantedto have sounded the last domestic hours of Maximilian Robespierre in hishumble lodging _chez le Menuisier_. The inkstand into which Mr. Hawkehurst dipped his rapid pen had served the literary career ofVoltaire; the blotting-book on which he wrote had been used by Balzac. 

To the plausible fictions of the second-hand dealer Mr. And Mrs. Hawkehurst lent willing ears, and it seemed to them as if theseassociations, for which they had paid somewhat dearly, imparted a newgrace to their home. 

The arrangement and superintendence of all these treasures gave poorGeorgy endless pleasure and employment; but in her heart of hearts shebelieved in the prim splendours of the dismantled Lawn as much superiorto these second-hand objects of art and upholstery. Nor did Ann Woolperregard the Chelsea figures and Dresden teacups and old black Albert-Dürerengravings as anything better than an innocent eccentricity on the partof the master of the house, for the saving of whose purse she managed andeconomized as faithfully as she had done for that lost master whereof thememory was so bitter. 

It will be seen, therefore, that Mr. Hawkehurst with a wife, amother-in-law, and a faithful old servant, was likely to be well takencare of; a little spoiled perhaps by "much cherishing, " but carefullyguarded from all those temptations which are supposed to assail thebachelor man-of-letters, toiling alone and neglected in Temple chambers. For him the days passed in a pleasant monotony of constant labour, lightened always by the thought of those for whom he worked, cheered everby the fond hope of future fame. He was no longer a bookmaker. He hadwritten a book, the proceeds of which had enabled him to furnish theWimbledon villa; and he was engaged in writing a second book, the fruitswhereof would secure the needs of the immediate future. He had insuredhis life for a considerable amount, and had shown himself in all thingsprudent to a degree that verged upon Philistinism. But the policies takenout on Charlotte's life by Mr. Sheldon had been suffered to lapse. Valentine would have no money staked on that dear head. 

The steed which Charlotte had desired for her husband's pleasure, thelibrary which she had catalogued so often, were yet among the delights ofthe future; but life has lost half its brightness when there is nounfulfilled desire left to the dreamer; and the horse which Mr. Hawkehurst was to ride in time to come, and the noble library which hewas to collect, were the pleasant themes of Charlotte's conversation veryoften, as she and her husband walked on the heights of Wimbledon in thetwilight, when his day's work was done. 

These twilight walks were the happy holidays of his life, and a part ofhis liberal education. He told his wife everything, every literaryscheme, every fancy, every shadowy outline of future work, every newdiscovery in the boundless realms of Bookland. His enthusiasm; hishero-worship; his setting-up of one favourite and knocking-down ofanother; his unchristian pleasure in that awful slating of poor Jones inthis week's _Saturday_, or the flaying alive of Robinson in the _BondStreet Backbiter_;--in a word, his "shop" never became wearisome toCharlotte. She listened always with a like rapture and sympathy; sheworshipped his favourites of Bookland; she welcomed his friends andfellow-workers with unvarying sweetness she devised and superintended thefitting-up of a smoking-room that was perfectly paradisaical, a glimpseof the Alhambra in miniature; and that obnoxious dish, the cold shoulder, was never served in Mr. Hawkehurst's dwelling. So sweet a wife, sopleasant a home, popularized the institution of matrimony among the youngwriter's bachelor friends; and that much-abused and cruelly malignedmember of the human race, the mother-in-law, was almost rehabilitated byMrs. Sheldon's easy good-nature and evident regard for the interests ofher daughter's husband. 

And after all the groping among dry as dust records of a bygone century, after all the patient following of those faint traces on the sands oftime left by the feet of Matthew Haygarth, _this_ was Charlotte'sInheritance, --a heart whose innocence and affection made home a kind ofearthly paradise, and gave to life's commonest things a charm that allthe gold ever found in California could not have imparted to them. Thiswas Charlotte's Inheritance, --the tender, unselfish nature of theHaygarths and Hallidays; and thus dowered, her husband would not haveexchanged her for the wealthiest heiress whose marriage was everchronicled in _Court Circular_ or _Court Journal_. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

LOST SIGHT OF. 

A year and a half had passed since the disappearance of Philip Sheldonfrom the circle in which he had been considered a person of someimportance. The repudiation of those bills by which he had sustained hisexhausted credit, or rather the discovery that the companies upon whichthe bills pretended to be drawn were of all shadows the most shadowy, hadbrought consternation upon many, and ruin upon some. Bitter andunmeasured were the terms in which City men spoke of that Phil Sheldonwith whom they had eaten the sacred bait and quaffed the social mosellein the taverns of Greenwich and Blackwall. 

There is a saying current on the Stock Exchange to the effect that theman who fails, and disappears from among his fellows behind a curtain ofcommercial cloud, is sure to return sooner or later to his old circle, with a moustache and a brougham. For Philip Sheldon there was, however, no coming back. The moustache and the brougham of the chastened andpenitent defaulter were not for him. By his deliberate and notoriousdishonour he had shut the door against the possibility of return. It maybe supposed that the defaulter knew this, for he did not come back; andsince he had no lack of moral courage, he would scarcely have refrainedfrom showing himself once more in his old haunts, if it had been possiblefor him to face the difficulties of his position. 

Time passed, and there came no tidings of the missing man, though adetective was despatched to America in search of him by one vengefulsufferer among the many victims of the fictitious bills-of-exchange. Itwas supposed that he must inevitably go to America, and thither went hispursuer, but with no result except the expenditure of money and thefurther exasperation of the vengeful sufferer. 

"What will you do with him, if you get him?" asked a philosophical friendof the sufferer. "He has nothing to surrender. Zabulon had a bill-of-saleon his furniture. "

"Furniture!" cried the infuriated victim; "I don't want his furniture. Iwant his flesh and bones. I want to shut him up in Dartmoor Prison, or toget him twenty years' hard labour at Portland Island. "

"That sort of man would get a ticket-of-leave in less than twelvemonths, " replied the philosophic friend. "I'm afraid you are onlythrowing good money after bad. "

The event proved this gentleman but too able a seer. In the monster cityof New York Philip Sheldon had disappeared like a single drop of waterflung upon the Atlantic Ocean. There was no trace of him: too intangiblefor the grasp of international law, he melted into the mass of humanity, only one struggler the more in the great army perpetually fighting life'sdesperate battle. 

From among all those who had known him this man had utterly vanished, and not one sigh of regret followed him in his unknown wanderings--notone creature amongst all those who had taken his hand and given himfriendly greeting thought of him kindly, or cared to know whither hewent or how he prospered. He had not left in the house that hadsheltered him for years so much as a dog to whine at his door or listenfor his returning footstep. 

This fact, if he had known it or considered it, would have troubled himvery little. He had played his game for a certain stake, and had lost it. This he felt, and cursed his own too cautious play as the cause of hisdefeat. That there were higher stakes for which he might have played aneasier game, was a fact that never occurred to him. In his philosophythere was indeed nothing higher given to the hopes of man than worldlysuccess, and a dull, cold, prosperous life spent among prosperousacquaintance. 

He was gone, and those who remembered him most keenly--ValentineHawkehurst, Diana Paget, Ann Woolper--remembered him with a shudder. Theold Yorkshirewoman thought of him sometimes as she bent over the littlemuslin-bedecked cradle where the hope of the Hawkehursts slumbered, andlooked round fearfully in the gloaming, half expecting to see his dreadedface glower upon her, dark and threatening, from between the curtains ofthe window. 

It was a belief of all ancient races, nay indeed, a belief still currentamongst modern nations, that it is not given to man to behold the beingsof another world and live. The Arab who meets a phantom in the desertgoes home to his tent to die. He knows that the hand of doom is upon him. He has seen that upon which, for mortal eyes, it is fatal to look. And itis thus in some measure with those who are admitted within the darkprecincts of murder's dread sanctuary. Not swiftly does the curtain fallwhich has once been lifted from the hidden horrors of that ghastlytemple. The revelations of an utterly wicked soul leave a lasting impressupon the mind which unwillingly becomes recipient of those awful secrets. 

The circumstances of Tom Halliday's death and of Charlotte's illness werenot to be forgotten by Ann Woolper. The shadow of that dark cruel face, which had lain upon her bosom forty years before, haunted many a peacefulhour of her quiet old age. Her ignorance, and that faint tinge ofsuperstition which generally accompanies ignorance, exaggerated theterror of those dark memories. The thought that Philip Sheldon stilllived, still had the power to plot and plan evil against the innocent, was an ever-present source of terror to her. She could not understandthat such an element could exist among the forces of evil without fatalresult to some one. It seemed to her as if a devil were at large, andthere could be neither peace nor security until the evil spirit wasexorcised, the baneful presence laid in nethermost depths of unfathomablesea. 

These feelings and these fears would scarcely have arisen in the oldwoman's breast, had she alone been subject to the possible plottings ofthat evil nature. For herself she had little fear. Her span of life wasnearly ended; very few were the sands that had yet to run; and, for herown sake, she would have cared little if some rough hand had spilt themuntimely. But a new interest in life had been given to Mrs. Woolper justas life drew near its close. That peerless child, the son and heir of theHawkehursts, had been intrusted to the old woman's care; and this infantshe loved with an affection much more intense than that which had oncemade Philip Sheldon so dear to her. 

It was by the cradle of this much-treasured child that Ann Woolper nursedher fear of her old master. She knew that he had been counter-plotted andbeaten ignominiously in that deadly game which he had played so boldly. And she asked herself whether he was the man to submit to such utterdefeat without any effort to revenge himself upon those who had helped tocompass his failure. 

On that night when Charlotte Halliday had lain between life and death, suffering on the one hand from the effects of a prolonged and gradualcourse of poison, on the other from the violent measures taken toeliminate that poisonous element from her system, --on that night when theprecious life yet trembled in the balance, Ann Woolper had seen murderouslooks in the face of the man whom she dared boldly to defy, and who knewin that hour that his ghastly plot was discovered. Even now, secure in ahaven of safety, she could not forget that baneful look in PhilipSheldon's eyes. She could not find perfect rest while she knew not wherethat man might be, or what mischief he might be plotting against thoseshe loved. 

Her fears showed themselves in many ways. When she read of dark andvengeful deeds in her newspaper, she thought of her old master, and how, in such or such an act, his fatal hand might reveal itself. He might liein wait for Valentine some night on the dark road between Charlottenburghand the distant railway-station. She could fancy the young wife's agonyof terror as the night wore on, and her husband did not return; theunspeakable horror that would come over all that happy household when thenews came that its young master had been found on the lonely road slainby some unknown hand. Open utterance to her fears she was too wise togive; but she warned Mr. Hawkehurst of the dangers on that dark road, andbesought him to arm himself with a trusty bludgeon wherewith to meet andvanquish any chance assailant. Valentine laughed at her anxious warning;but when Charlotte took up the cry he was fain to content her by thepurchase of a sturdy stick, which he swung cheerily to and fro as hewalked homewards in the gloaming, planning a chapter in his new book, andcomposing powerful and eloquent sentences which eluded his mental graspwhen he tried to reduce his evening reverie to pen-and-ink. 

"When the air blows fresh across the common, and the distant lightstwinkle, and the bright stars peep out in the pale-yellow sky, mylanguage flows as it never does when I sit at my desk, Lotta, " he said tohis wife. "I feel myself a Swift or a Junius out there; equal to thetackling of any social question that ever arose upon this earth, from theWood halfpence to the policy of American taxation, and triennialelections. At home I am only Valentine Hawkehurst, with an ever-presentconsciousness that so many pages of copy are required from me within agiven time, and that my son-and-heir is cutting his teeth, and makingmore fuss about it than I ever made about _my_ teeth; and that the manabout the water-rate is waiting to see me, please, and is desperatelyanxious about making-up his books; and that I have the dearest wife inChristendom, who opens my door, and puts her pretty head into my roomonce in half an hour to see how I am getting on, or to ask whether I wantany more coals, or to borrow my ink to make-up her washing-book. "

"You mean, sir, that I prevent your becoming a Junius?" cried Charlotte, with an enchanting _moue_. 

"Yes, dear. I begin to understand why Swift kept his poor ill-used wifeat a respectful distance. She would have made him too happy if he hadallowed her to be on the premises. She would have given the cruelindignation no chance of lacerating his heart; and such writing asSwift's is only produced by a man whose heart is so lacerated. No, mydarling, I shall never be a Swift or a Junius while your pretty head isthrust into my room once or twice an hour; but I may hope to be somethingbetter, if bright eyes can inspire bright thoughts, and innocent smilesgive birth to pleasant fancies. "

Upon this there was the usual little demonstration of affection betweenthis young couple; and Charlotte praised her husband as the mostbrilliant and admirable of men; after which pleasing flattery shefavoured him with a little interesting information about the baby's lasttooth, and the contumacious behaviour of the new housemaid, between whomand Mrs. Woolper there had been a species of disagreement, which theYorkshirewoman described as a "standfurther. "

Thus occupied in simple pleasures and simple cares, the lives of Mr. AndMrs. Hawkehurst went on, untroubled by any fear of that crime-burdenedwretch whose image haunted the dreams and meditations of Ann Woolper. Forthese two Mr. Sheldon was numbered among the dead. To Charlotte theactual truth had never been revealed; but she had been, in the course oftime, given to understand that her stepfather had committed someunpardonable sin, which must for ever separate him from herself and hermother. She had been told as much as this, and had been told that shemust seek to know no more. To this she submitted without questioning. 

"I am very sorry for him, " she said, "and for mamma. "

She concluded that the unpardonable offence must needs have been some sinagainst her mother, some long-hidden infidelity brought suddenly tolight, with all the treachery and falsehood involved therein. She nevermentioned her stepfather after this but in her prayers the sinner was notforgotten. 

CHAPTER IX. 

ETEOCLES AND POLYNICES. 

George Sheldon went his ways, picking up as good a living as he couldfrom that chivalrous assertion of the rights of the weak which has beenalready described; and the thought of his brother's sin-burdened soultroubled him very little. He did think of Tom Halliday; for that lastgrasp of the honest Yorkshireman's hand, that last look in his oldfriend's face, were haunting memories which this sharp practitioner hadfound himself powerless to exorcise. If his brother, after an absence ofmany years in the remote regions of the East Indies, had come home to hisfatherland with a colossal fortune, and the reputation of havingstrangled a few natives during the process of amassing that fortune, George Sheldon would have welcomed the returning wanderer, and would, inhis own parlance, have "swallowed the natives. " A few niggers, more orless, sent untimely to Gehenna, would have seemed scarcely sufficientcause for quarrel with a fraternal and liberally-disposed millionaire. But the circumstances of Tom Halliday's death had brought all the horrorof crime and treachery home to the spectator of that deliberateassassination, and had produced such an impression as no othercircumstances could on so hard a nature. 

It was some satisfaction to George Sheldon to know that his old friend'sdaughter had found a happy home; and he was apt to take some credit fromhis own share in his brother's discomfiture. He met Valentine sometimesin the course of his peregrinations in the neighbourhood of the BritishMuseum, and the greeting between the two men was sufficiently cordial;but Mr. Hawkehurst did not invite his old employer to Charlottenburgh, and George was able to comprehend that to that household no one bearingthe name of Sheldon could be a welcome visitor. 

He jogged on comfortably enough in his own way; living in his chambers, and consorting with a few chosen friends and kindred spirits of thejolly-good-fellow class, whom he met at an old-established tavern in thewest-central district, and in whose society, and the society of thesubscription-ground in the Farringdon Road, he found the _summum bonum_in the way of social intercourse. He did a little speculation upon theturf, and discounted the bills of needy bookmakers, or bought up theirbad debts, and thereby gained introductions to the noble patrons of thehumble "scums, " and pushed his business into new grooves. He had no ideathat such an existence was in any way ignoble; nay, indeed, when he hadpaid his rent, and his clerk, and his laundress, and his tavern score, and "stood glasses round" amongst his friends, he lighted his cigar, andthrust his hands into the depths of his pockets, and paced the flags ofHolborn happy in the belief that he had performed the whole duty of man. 

"There are men whose business obliges them to keep up an establishment, and go to church twice a day, and all that kind of thing, " he said; "andI dare say they find it pay. My clients don't care a doit where I live, or how I spend my Sundays; and I'd rather have five pounds a week and myliberty than the best family connection in the Fields. "

The fate of that wretched man, who had dropped out of his old circleand vanished no one knew whither, in no manner disturbed the peace ofGeorge Sheldon. 

"Take my word for it, that gentleman has fallen on his feet, " he said, onthe only occasion when the fate of Philip was discussed by Valentine andhimself. "He's doing well enough, somewhere or other, you may depend; butI don't think he'll ever be able to show his nose in London after thosebill transactions. There's a very strong feeling against him on Change. He's looked upon as a discredit to the order, and that sort of thing, yousee. It isn't often a member of the House goes to the bad like that. No, I don't think Phil will ever show himself in London again; but such a manas that can always find a platform somewhere--"

"And go on to the end of his days unpunished, I suppose, " remarked Mr. Hawkehurst, with some bitterness. 

"Well, yes; I don't see what's to touch him in the future. Of course hecould be dropped upon for those bills, if he came in the way of beingdropped upon; but, as I said before, he's too deep a card for that. "

Thus did George Sheldon dismiss the subject. That his brother was anexile for life from his native land he did not doubt; but he took it forgranted that in whatever distant spot of earth Philip had found a refuge, he would there contrive to prosper and to show a bold front in the cityof his adoption. 

This belief Mr. Sheldon of Gray's Inn cherished until one snowy ChristmasEve, a year and a half after that event, or series of events, which thelawyer briefly designated "the burst-up at Bayswater. "

Bleak and bitter was that December, a December not long gone by. Theheart of the prosperous British nation melted as the heart of one man. The columns of the _Zeus_ and the _Diurnal Hermes_, the _Flag_ and the_Hesper_, overflowed with the record of subscriptions to charity funds;and the leaders of the morning journals all preached the same kindlysermon on the same Christian text. Thick lay the snow upon the housetops;"thick and slab" the greasy slush upon the pavements of crowdedthoroughfares; merry the rogues and ragamuffins of the great city. Theideal Christmas of our dreams seemed to have come at last, and the heartof every true Briton rejoiced; while skaters in the parks made merry, andcabmen demanded fabulous sums of helpless wayfarers; and luckless, overworked, under-fed horses stumbled and fell at every turn, and thefamiliar steep of Holborn was dangerous as Alpine mountain. 

To George Sheldon neither the weather nor the Christmas season made muchdifference. The even current of his life was little disturbed by festivepleasures or dissipations. An extra glass at his tavern, an invitation todinner from some friend in the bill-discounting line, were the mostexciting events the season was likely to bring him. He saw the shopsbrighten suddenly with semi-supernal glories of crystallized fruits andgorgeous bonbon-boxes, and he was aware of a kind of movement in thestreets that was brisker and gayer than the plodding hurry of everydaylife. He stood aside and let the mummeries go by him, and was glad whenthese Christmas follies were done with, and the law-courts in full swingonce more. In the happiest and most innocent days of his youth, Christmashad brought him no more than extraordinary indulgences in the way ofeating and drinking, swiftly followed by that dread avenger, the demon ofthe bilious. 

Upon this particular occasion Mr. Sheldon had pledged himself to dinewith a horsey publican lately retired from business, and big with all thepride and glory of a "place" at Hornsey. 

"Come down and see my place, Sheldon, " this gentleman had said. "I don'tpretend to do the swell thing; but I force my own pines and grow my owngrapes, and can put as good a dessert on my table as you could buy inCovent Garden for a five-pun' note. That's my missus's fad, that is, andI can afford it; so why shouldn't I do it? You come and eat yourChristmas dinner with us, Sheldon. I've got a friend coming that cansing as good a song as Reeves hisself, and might make a fortune, if hewasn't above coming out at one of them music-halls. And I'll give you abottle of Madeira that you won't match at any nobleman's table, ifnoblemen's tables was in your line of business, which you and I knowthey ain't, old fellow. "

And then the jolly good fellow dug his fat fingers into George Sheldon'sribs, and George accepted the invitation; not with any elation ofspirits, but sufficiently pleased to secure a good dinner with a man whopromised to be a profitable client, and whose house was within areasonable cab-fare from the west-central district. 

"The cabmen are trying it on, anyhow, just now, " thought Mr. Sheldon;"but I don't think they'll try it on with me. And if they do, there's theMarylebone stage. I'm not afraid of a five-mile walk. "

Having accepted this invitation, and thus disposed of his Christmas-day, George Sheldon refrained from the delights of social converse at histavern on Christmas-eve, and occupied himself with business. His clerkleft him at the usual hour; but the master sat, long after dark, writingletters and reading law-papers, while the snow drifted against hiswindows and whitened the quiet quadrangle below. 

He had just laid aside his papers and lighted a cigar, when he wasstartled by a stealthy knocking at his door. He was not unaccustomed tolate visitors, as he was known to live at his chambers, and to work afteroffice-hours; but the knocking of to-night was not the loud rollickingrat-a-tat of his jolly-good-fellow friends or clients. If he had been astudent of light literature, and imbued with the ghostly associations ofthe season, he would have gone to his door expecting to behold a weirdfigure clothed in the vestments of the last century; or an old woman inruff and martingale, whose figure in the flesh had once haunted thoselegal precincts; or the ghostly semblance of the Baron of Verulamhimself, revisiting the glimpses of the moon and the avenue of elms thatwere planted by his order. 

In George Sheldon's nature there was, however, no lurking dread of fiendor phantom. His ideas in connection with ghosts were limited to a whitesheet, a broomstick, and a hollow turnip with a lighted candle inside it;and he would have set down the most awful apparition that ever wasrevealed to German ghost-seer, with a scornful grin, as a member of thesheet and-hollow-turnip confraternity. 

"I know how it's done, " he would have said, if the spectral form hadglowered upon him in midnight churchyard or ruined abbey. "You'd bettergo and try it on somewhere else, my friend. "

 * * * * *

To a superstitious mind the THING which crept across the dark lobbyand dragged itself into the glare of the gas-lighted office mighthave seemed, indeed, some, creature too loathsome for humanity. Aplague-stricken corpse galvanized into a spasmodic life could scarcelyhave lifted to the light a more awful countenance than that on whichGeorge Sheldon looked with mingled anger and disgust. 

"What do you want here" he asked. "Do you take this for the workhouse?"

"No, " the creature answered, in a faint hoarse voice; "but I take you formy brother. "

"WHAT!" cried George Sheldon, aghast. 

He bent down and looked at the awful face. Yes, from the cavernoushollows of those sunken cheeks, beneath the shaggy penthouse of thosebony brows, the fierce black eyes of Philip Sheldon looked out at himwith a savage glare that he had never seen in them before--even when thesavage nature of the man had revealed itself most nakedly--the fierceglare of fever and starvation. 

This walking horror, this mass of loathsome rags endued with motion, thisliving disease, was the sometime prosperous stockbroker, the man whom ithad been impossible to think of except furnished with linen of spotlesswhiteness, and the glossy broad-cloth, and well-made boots, and keylesschronometer, and silk umbrella of commercial success. 

"Good God!" exclaimed George, horror-stricken, "is it you?"

"Yes, it's I, " answered the creature in his strange husky accents; andthe change--nay, indeed, the degradation, of the voice was as complete asthe degradation of the man. "Yes, George, it's I; your brother Phil. You're surprised to see me fallen so low in the world, I suppose; but youcan't be more surprised than I am myself. I've tried hard enough to holdmy head above water. There's scarcely any trade that mortal man evertried to earn his bread by, that I haven't tried--and failed in. It hasbeen the experience of Fitzgeorge-street over and over again, in everytrade and every profession. I started as doctor in Philadelphia, and wasdoing well;--till--till a patient died--and things went against me. I'vebeen clerk in more offices than you can count on your ten fingers; butthere was always something--my employer levanted, or was bankrupt, ordied, or dismissed me. I've been travelling-dentist, auctioneer, commission-agent, tout, pedlar, out yonder; but it all came to the samething--ruin, starvation, the hospital, or the pauper's ward. I have sweptcrossings in the city, and camped out in the wilderness among the bearsand opossums. One day I thought I'd come home. 'There's George, ' I saidto myself; 'if I can get money enough to take me across the Atlantic, Ishall be all right. George will give me a lift. ' I don't stand alone inthe world. A man's own flesh and blood won't let him starve--can't lethim starve. Blood's thicker than water, you know, George. So I came home. I got the money; never you mind how. I needn't tell you what it cost meto scrape half-a-dozen pounds together. When a man's as low down in theworld as I am, there's not a shilling he earns that doesn't cost him adrop of his heart's blood; there's not a pound he gets together thatisn't bought by the discount of so much of his life. I found money enoughfor my passage in an emigrant vessel; and here I am, ready for anything. I'll work like your bought nigger. I'll do the work your clerk does for aquarter of his wages. I'll sweep out your office, and run errands foryou. You'll give me something to keep body and soul together, won't you, George?"

Nothing could be more utterly abject than the tone of this most abjectwretch. 

This man, who in prosperity had been the very personification of hardnessand insolence, was transformed into a grovelling, cringing supplicant, ready to lie face downward in the dust beneath the feet of that brotherwhose patronage, or charity, he besought. 

Mr. Sheldon the younger contemplated the supplicant with looks ofundisguised gratification. He walked a few paces backward from the spotwhere his brother had fallen, in a half-sitting, half-crouching attitude, and where he remained, hugging himself in his rags, too abject to beacutely conscious of his degradation. A year ago and he would have heldhimself obstinately aloof from all old associations, and would havedeclared himself ready to face starvation, rather than accept, still lesssupplicate, relief from his younger brother. The events of that one yearhad involved alternations and convulsions that change a year into acycle. He had faced starvation; he had walked with hunger for histravelling companion; he had lain down night after night in such lairsas the tramp can find for his refuge, with sickness and pain for hisbed-fellows. The crucible through which he had passed had left in him nomore of humanity than its outward semblance, and scarcely that; for whenthe moral man sinks to the level of the beasts of prey, the physical manundergoes an assimilative process only less marked than that whichtransforms the mental nature. 

For six months this man had lived by fawning upon or threatening hisfellow-men; by violence or craft; by the degradation of the vagrant orthe audacity of the thief. There is no limit to man's capacity for infamywhich he had not touched. Vilest amongst the vile, he had been cast forthfrom the haunts of beggars and reprobates, as no fitting company forhonourable thieves or cadgers of good repute. 

George Sheldon seated himself astride upon a chair, and, with his foldedarms resting on the back of it, contemplated this hideous spectacle. Itwas a picture that he had never thought to see, and the feeling withwhich he surveyed it was not unmingled with pleasure. 

"When you rode me rough-shod, my friend, I used to think how I shouldenjoy taking my change out of you, " he said; "but I never thought Ishould have such an opportunity as this--never, by Jove! I thought youwould ride the high horse to the end of the journey; I didn't think yoursteed would land you in the gutter. And so you've tried every move, haveyou?--tumbled upon every platform?--and you've found all your clevernessno go upon the other side of the three thousand miles of everlasting wet, as my Yankee friends call the Atlantic; and you've come back whining tome, and I'm to help you, am I, and to give you a fresh start in life, Isuppose, and make you my clerk, or my junior partner, eh?--that would bebetter. Messrs. Sheldon and Sheldon wouldn't look bad on my door. That'sabout what you mean when you talk of blood being thicker than water, isn't it?"

The abject wretch who had once been Philip Sheldon felt that his brotherwas trifling with him, savouring to the last drop that cup of triumphwhich the chances of fortune had offered to his lips. 

"Don't play the fool with me, George, " he said piteously. "I don't askyou much--a crust of bread, a corner to sleep in, and a cast-off suit ofclothes: that's not much for one brother to ask of another. "

"Perhaps not, " replied George Sheldon; "but it's a great deal for you toask of me. You've had your turn, Phil; and you made the most of it, andcontrived to keep me at arm's length. My turn has come at last, and youmay depend upon it I shall contrive now to keep _you_ at arm's length. "

The vagrant stared at him aghast. Here he had felt secure of food andshelter; and he had endured miseries and deprivations that reduce a manto a state in which food and shelter seem to constitute the supreme goodthat can be obtained in this life. 

"You won't refuse to do something for me, George, " he whined piteously. 

"I will do nothing for you. Do you hear that, my man? Nothing! You taughtme that blood is not thicker than water twelve years ago, when youmarried Tom Halliday's widow, and drew your purse-strings, after flingingme a beggarly hundred as you'd throw a bone to a dog. You made meunderstand that was all I should ever get out of your brotherly love, oryour fear of my telling the world what I knew. You gave me a dinner nowand then, because it suited you to keep your eye upon me; and you hadgenerally some piece of dirty work on hand that made the advice of asharp practitioner like me uncommonly useful to you. I don't believe thatyou ever gave me so much as a dinner that you didn't take payment for inmeal or in malt. Don't come howling here now, trying to persuade me thatblood is thicker than water, or that brotherhood means anything more thanthe accident of birth. And now I've said all I have to say; and thesooner you make yourself scarce, the better for both of us. "

"George!" cried the miserable suppliant, clasping his bony handsconvulsively, and whimpering as he had whimpered when he begged his breadin the streets of New York, "you can't mean to turn me out of doors onsuch a night. Look at me. It was as much as I could do to crawl to thisroom. I have walked every step of the way from Liverpool; my wretchedlimbs have been frost-bitten, and ulcered, and bruised, and racked withrheumatism, and bent double with cramp. I came over in an emigrantvessel, with a herd of miserable creatures who had tried their luck onthe other side of the Atlantic, and had failed, like me, and were cominghome to their native workhouses. You don't know what some of youremigrant ships are, perhaps. People talk about the Black Hole ofCalcutta, and the Middle Passage; but let them try the cabin of anemigrant vessel, and they'll have a pretty fair idea of what human beingshave to suffer when Poverty drives the ship. I landed in Liverpool withhalf-a-dollar in my pocket, and I've had neither decent food nor decentshelter since I landed. Give me some hole to lie in, George, till you canget me an order for the nearest hospital. It's a toss-up whether I evercome out of it. "

"Do you think I'd sleep under the roof that sheltered you?" cried George. 

"Why not?"

"Why not! Because I'm afraid of you. Because I'd as soon have a cobrafor my companion, or a wolf for my bedfellow. I know you. I've seen whatyou can do, and how you can do it. And if you could do those things whenthe only pressure upon you was one that you could have cast off by goingthrough the _Gazette_, what would you _not_ do now when you are asdesperate as a famished wolf, and governed by no better law than thatwhich governs a wolf--the law of self-preservation? Am I to trust atiger because he tells me he is hungry? No, Phil Sheldon; neither will Itrust you. "

"You will give me some money--enough to keep me alive for a week or two. "

"Not one sixpence. I'll establish no precedent; I'll acknowledge no tiebetween us. You'd better march. I don't want to send for a policeman; butif you won't go quietly, you must do the other thing. "

"You mean that?"

"Most emphatically yes. "

"I didn't think it was in you to be so hard upon me, " faltered; thewretch in that faint hoarse voice which had grown fainter and hoarserduring this interview. 

"Did you think that I would trust you?" cried George. "Trust _you_! Youcall me hard because I won't give you a corner to lie in. And if I did, you would creep out of your corner to poison me, or cut my throat. Youwould crawl into my room in the dead of the night and put a pillow overmy face, and kneel upon it till you'd done the trick for me; and thenyou'd walk off with as much as you could carry, and begin the same kindof work over again with some one else. I tell you, Mr. Phil Sheldon, Iwill hold no intercourse with you. You've escaped hanging, but there'ssomething that's worse than hanging, to my mind, and that is the state ofa man whom nobody will trust. You've come to that; and if you had a sparkof gentlemanly feeling, you'd have bought two-pennyworth of rope and hungyourself rather than come cringing to me. "

"Suppose I don't cringe, " said the outcast, dropping the fawning tone ofthe mendicant for the threatening ferocity of the social wolf; "you'dbetter give me a trifle to keep body and soul together for the next fewweeks. I'm a desperate man, George! You and I are alone up here. You arepretty sure to have ready money about you. And there's your watch; that'sworth something. I didn't come here to go away empty-handed. AND IWON'T!"

He sprang to his feet, and in the next moment the lawyer heard the sharpclicking noise made by the opening of a clasp-knife. 

"O, " cried he, "that's what you want, is it!"

He bent over his desk, with his eyes fixed on those other evil eyes thatstill retained some likeness to his own, and with his left arm raised ina boxer's defensive attitude, to guard his head, while his right handgroped for something in a drawer. It was a moment's work. Philip hadseized that uplifted left arm, and was hanging on to it like a cat, withhis knife between his teeth, when George clapped the muzzle of a revolverto his brow. 

"There are plenty of wild beasts in London besides you, " he said, "and Iam not such a fool as to be without the means of settling a chancevisitor of your sort. Drop your knife, and march. "

The outcast dropped his knife submissively. He was too weak for anythingmore than a spasmodic violence. 

"Take your pistol away from my head, " he whined. 

"Certainly, when you are outside my door. "

"You might give me a handful of silver, George. I haven't a week's lifeleft in me. "

"All the better for society if you hadn't an hour's life in you. Be off. I'm tired of holding this revolver to your head, and I don't mean to letit go till you're off my premises. "

Philip saw that there was no hope. Food and shelter were all he hadhoped for; but even these blessings were not for him. He backed out ofthe office, closely followed by George, holding the muzzle of therevolver within an inch or so of the fraternal brains. Upon thethreshold only did he pause. 

"Tell me one thing, " he said. "You won't give me sixpence to buy a loafof bread or a glass of gin. Give me one scrap of comfort. It need costyou nothing. Tell me something bad of Valentine Hawkehurst: that he'sgone to the dogs, or drowned himself; that his wife has run away fromhim, or his house been burned to the ground. Tell me that he's had ataste of my luck; and that Ann Woolper has died in a workhouse. It willbe as good as meat and drink to me, and it will cost you nothing. "

"If I told you anything of the kind, I should tell you a lie; ValentineHawkehurst is doing uncommonly well, and has got one of the prettiestlittle boxes between Wimbledon and Kingston. Ann Woolper lives with them, and is in better feather than she ever was in your time. "

With this, Mr. Sheldon of Gray's Inn pushed his brother out on to thestaircase, and shut his door. Philip sat upon the stairs, and drew hisrags together a little, and rubbed his wretched limbs, while the boltsand chains whereby the lawyer defended his citadel clanked close behindhim. 

"I wonder whether he'll pay Hawkehurst a visit, " thought George, as hebolted his door; and he had a kind of grim satisfaction in the idea thatValentine's Christmas peace might be disturbed by the advent of thatgrisly visitor. 

CHAPTER X. 

"ACCORDING TO THEIR DEEDS. "

"Between Wimbledon and Kingston, " muttered the tramp. "If I can dragmyself as far as that, I'll go there this night. "

He went down stairs and out into the pitiless cold and snow, and made hisway down Fetter Lane, and across Blackfriars Bridge to the Surrey side ofthe water, stopping to beg here and there. 

Upon this snowy Christmas night there were plenty of people abroad;and amongst them Philip Sheldon found pitying matrons, who exploredthe depths of their capacious pockets to find him a halfpenny, andgood-natured young men, who flung the "copper" he besought with piteousprofessional whine. 

When he had collected the price of a glass of gin, he went into the firstpublic-house he came to, and spent his money. He was too ill to stay thecravings of his stomach with substantial food. Gin gave him temporarywarmth and temporary strength, and enabled him to push on vigorously fora little while; and then came dreary periods of faintness and exhaustion, in which every step was sheer pain and weariness. 

Something of his old self, some remnant of that hard strength of purposewhich had once characterized him, remained with him still, utterly fallenand brutalized as he was. As a savage creature of the jungle might pursuea given course, pushing always onward to that camp or village whence thescent of human flesh and blood was wafted to his quivering nostrils, soPhilip Sheldon pushed on towards the dwelling-place of that man and thatwoman whom of all creatures upon this earth he most savagely hated. 

"There's nothing left for me but to turn housebreaker, " he said tohimself; "and the first house I'll try my hand upon shall be ValentineHawkehurst's. "

The idea of violence in such a creature was the idea of a madman. Weaponhe had none, nor the physical strength that would have enabled him tograpple with a boy of twelve years old. Half intoxicated with the spiritshe had consumed on his long tramp, half delirious with fever, he had avague notion that he could make an entrance into some ill-defended houseunder cover of night, and steal something that should procure him foodand shelter. And let the house be Valentine Hawkehurst's, the man who hadbaffled his plans and crushed him!

If blood must be shed, let the blood be his! Never was man better primedfor murder than the man who tramped across Wimbledon Common at eleveno'clock this night, with the snow drifting against his face, and hislimbs shaken every now and then by an ague-fit. 

Happily for the interests of society, his hand lacked the power toexecute that iniquity which his heart willed. 

He reached a little wayside inn near the Robin Hood gate of RichmondPark, just as the shutters were being closed, and asked a man if any oneof the name of Hawkehurst lived in that neighbourhood. 

"What do _you_ want with Mr. Hawkehurst?" asked the man, contemptuously. 

"I've got a letter for him. "

"Have you? A begging letter, I should think, from the look of you. "

"No; it's a business letter. You'd better show me where he lives, if he'sa customer of yours. The business is particular. "

"Is it? You're a queer kind of messenger to trust with particularbusiness. Mr. Hawkehurst's house is the third you come to on the oppositeside of the way. But I don't suppose you'll find anybody up as late asthis. Their lights are out by eleven, in a general way. "

The third house on the opposite side of the road was half a mile distantfrom the little run. Lights shone bright in the lower windows as thetramp dragged his tired limbs to the stout oaken gate. The gate wasfastened only by a latch, and offered no resistance to the intruder. Hecrept with stealthy footsteps along the smooth gravel walk, sheltered bydark laurels, on which the light flashed cheerily from those brightwindows. Sounds of laughter and of music pealed out upon the wintry air. Shadows flitted across the blinds of the broad bay windows. PhilipSheldon crept into a sheltered nook beside the rustic porch, and sankdown exhausted in the shadow of the laurels. 

He sat there in a kind of stupor. He had lost the power of thought, somehow, on that dreary journey. It seemed almost as if he had left someportion of his being out yonder in the cold and darkness. He haddifficulty in remembering why he had come to this place, and what thatdeed was which he meant to do. 

"Hawkehurst, " he muttered to himself--"Hawkehurst, the man who leaguedagainst me with Jedd! I swore to be even with him if ever I found theopportunity--if ever! And George refused me a few shillings; my brother, my only brother, refused to stand my friend!"

Hawkehurst and George--big only brother--the images of these two menfloated confusedly in his brain: he could scarcely separate them. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was still sitting outside hisbrother's door, on the staircase in Gray's Inn, hugging himself in hisrags, and cursing his unnatural kinsman's cruelty; then in the nextmoment he remembered where he was, and breathed bitter curses upon thatunconscious enemy whose laugh pealed out every now and then amid a chorusof light-hearted laughter. 

There was a little Christmas party at Charlottenburgh. Two flys werewaiting in the laurel-avenue to convey Mr. Hawkehurst's guests to distantabodes. The door was opened presently, and all the bustle of departuremade itself heard by that wretched wayfarer who found it so difficult tokeep his hold upon the consciousness of these things. 

"What is it?" he said to himself--"a party! Hawkehurst has been giving aparty. "

He had lived through too much degradation, he had descended into too deepa gulf of wretchedness, to be conscious of the contrast between hispresent situation and his position in those days when he had played thehost, and seen handsome carriages bear prosperous guests away from hisdoor. In that cycle of misery which he had endured, these things and thememory of them had faded from him as completely as if they had beenobliterated by the passage of a century. The hapless wretch tried to givesustained attention to all the animated discussion that attended thedeparture of the merry guests. Half-a-dozen people seemed to be talkingat once. Valentine was giving his friends counsel about the way home. 

"You will keep to the lower road, you know, Fred. Lawsley's cab canfollow yours. You came a couple of miles out of your way. And tell thatfellow Battersea Bridge is a mistake. "

And then followed Charlotte's friendly questioning about wraps, andhoods, and comforters, and other feminine gear. 

"And when are you coming to dine at Fulham?" cried one voice. 

"I shall certainly get those quadrilles of Offenbach's, " said another. 

"How delightfully Mr. Lawsley sang that song of Santley's!"

And anon a chorus of "Never enjoyed myself more!" "Most delightfulevening!" "Pray don't come out in the cold. " "Thanks; well, yes, yoursare always capital. " "No, I won't light up till I'm on the road. " "Givemy book a lift in the _D. H. _, eh, old fellow?" "Are you _quite_ sure thatshawl is warm enough?" "Take a rug for your feet. " "Thanks, no. ""Good-night. " "See you on Tuesday. " "Don't forget the box for D. L. " "Allright, old fellow!" "Lower Road, Roehampton Lane, Putney Bridge. Good-night. "

Among the confusion of voices Philip Sheldon had recognized more than onevoice that was familiar to him. There were Charlotte's gentle tones, andValentine's hearty barytone, and another that he knew. 

Diana Paget! Yes, it was her voice. Diana Paget, whom he had cause tohate for her interference with his affairs. 

"A beggar, " he muttered to himself, "and the daughter of a beggar! Shewas a nice young lady to set herself in opposition to the man who gaveher a home. "

The vehicles drove away, but there was still a little group in the rusticporch. Valentine and Charlotte, with Monsieur and Madame Lenoble, who hadcome to spend their Christmas with their English friends. 

"How we have been gay this evening!" cried Gustave. "There is nothinglike your English interior for that which you call the comfortable, thejolly, you others. Thy friends are the jollity itself, Hawkehurst. Andour acting charades, when that we all talked at once, and with a suchemphasis on the word we would make to know. Was it not that ourspectators were cunning to divine the words? And your friend Lawsley--itis a mixture of Got and Sanson. It is a true genius. Think, then, Diane, while we were amusing ourselves, our girls were at the midnight mass atthe Sacré Coeur? Dear pious children, their innocent prayers ascendedtowards the heavens for we who are absent. Come, Madame Hawkehurst, Diane, it makes cold. "

"But we are sheltered here. And the stars are so bright after the snow, "said Charlotte. "Do you remember the Christmas-day you spent at the Lawn, Valentine, when we walked in Kensington Gardens together, just when wewere first engaged?" the young wife added shyly. 

"Do I not remember? It was the first time the holiness of Christmas camehome to my heart. And now let us go back to the drawing-room, and sitround the fire, and tell ghost stories. Lenoble shall give us the legendsof Côtenoir. "

"Valentine, " murmured Charlotte, "do you know that it is nearly oneo'clock?"

"And we must put in an appearance at church to-morrow morning. AndLenoble has to walk to Kingston to early mass. We will postpone our ghoststories to New-Year's eve. And Lenoble shall read Tennyson's _New Year_, to demonstrate his improvement in the English language. Lead the way, Mrs. Hawkehurst; your obedient slave obeys. Mamma is waiting for us inthe drawing-room, marvelling at our delay, no doubt. And Nancy Woolperstalks ghost-like through the house, oppressed by the awfulresponsibility of to-morrow's pudding. "

Anon came a clanking of bolts and bars; and Philip Sheldon, for thesecond time that night, heard a door shut against him. As the voices diedaway, his consciousness of external things died with him. He fanciedhimself on the Gray's-Inn staircase. 

"Don't be so hard upon me, George, " he muttered faintly. "If my own kithand kin turn against me, whom shall I look to?"

Mrs. Woolper opened the door early next day, when night was yet at oddswith morning. All through the night the silent snow-flakes had beenfalling thick and fast; and they had woven the shroud of Philip Sheldon. The woman who had watched his infant slumbers forty years before, was thefirst to look upon him in that deeper sleep, of whose waking we know solittle. It was not until she had looked long and closely at the dead facethat she knew why it was that the aspect of that countenance had affectedher with so strange a pang. She did recognize that altered wretch, andkept her counsel. 

Before the bells rang for morning service the tramp was lying in thedead-house of Kingston Union, whither he had been conveyed very quietlyin the early morning, unknown to any one but the constable whosuperintended the removal, and the servants of Mr. Hawkehurst'shousehold. Only the next day did Ann Woolper tell Valentine what hadhappened. There was to be an inquest. It would be well that some oneshould identify the dead man, and establish the fact of Philip Sheldon'sdecease. 

Valentine was able to do this unaided. He attended the inquest, and madearrangements for the outcast's decent burial; and in due course he gaveMrs. Sheldon notice of her freedom. Beyond that nameless grave whosefancy shall dare follow Philip Sheldon? He died and made no sign. And inthe last dread day, when the dead, small and great, from the sea and fromthe grave, press together at the foot of the great white Throne, and thebooks of doom are opened; when above shines the city whose light is theglory of God, and below yawns the lake of fire, --what voice shall pleadfor Philip Sheldon, what entreating cry shall Pity send forth thatsentence against him may be stayed?

Surely none; unless it issue from the lips of that one confiding friend, whose last words upon earth thanked and blessed him, and whose longagonies he watched with unshaken purpose, conscious that in everyconvulsive change in the familiar face, and every pang that shook thestalwart form, he saw the result of his own work. 

Perhaps at that dread Judgment Day, when every other tongue is silent, the voice of Tom Halliday may be heard pleading for the man who murderedhim. 

THE END