ELSTER'S FOLLY

 A NOVEL BY

 MRS. HENRY WOOD

 AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE, " "THE CHANNINGS, " "JOHNNY LUDLOW, " ETC. 

 1916

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 I. By the Early Train

 II. Willy Gum

 III. Anne Ashton

 IV. The Countess-Dowager

 V. Jealousy

 VI. At the Bridge

 VII. Listeners

 VIII. The Wager Boats

 IX. Waiting for Dinner

 X. Mr. Pike's Visit

 XI. The Inquest

 XII. Later in the Day

 XIII. Fever

 XIV. Another Patient

 XV. Val's Dilemma

 XVI. Between the Two

 XVII. An Agreeable Wedding

 XVIII. The Stranger

 XIX. A Chance Meeting

 XX. The Stranger Again

 XXI. Secret Care

 XXII. Asking the Rector

 XXIII. Mr. Carr at Work

 XXIV. Somebody Else at Work

 XXV. At Hartledon

 XXVI. Under the Trees

 XXVII. A Tête-à-Tête Breakfast

 XXVIII. Once more

 XXIX. Cross-questioning Mr. Carr

 XXX. Maude's Disobedience

 XXXI. The Sword slipped

 XXXII. In the Park

 XXXIII. Coming Home

 XXXIV. Mr. Pike on the Wing

 XXXV. The Shed razed

 XXXVI. The Dowager's Alarm

 XXXVII. A Painful Scene

 XXXVIII. Explanations

ELSTER'S FOLLY

CHAPTER I. 

BY THE EARLY TRAIN. 

The ascending sun threw its slanting rays abroad on a glorious Augustmorning, and the little world below began to awaken into life--the lifeof another day of sanguine pleasure or of fretting care. 

Not on many fairer scenes did those sunbeams shed their radiance than onone existing in the heart of England; but almost any landscape will lookbeautiful in the early light of a summer's morning. The county, one ofthe midlands, was justly celebrated for its scenery; its rich woods andsmiling plains, its river and gentler streams. The harvest was nearlygathered in--it had been a late season--but a few fields of golden grain, in process of reaping, gave their warm tints to the landscape. In no partof the country had the beauties of nature been bestowed more lavishlythan on this, the village of Calne, situated about seven miles from thecounty town. 

It was an aristocratic village, on the whole. The fine seat of the Earlof Hartledon, rising near it, had caused a few families of note to settlethere, and the nest of white villas gave the place a prosperous andpicturesque appearance. But it contained a full proportion of the poor orlabouring class; and these people were falling very much into the habitof writing the village "Cawn, " in accordance with its pronunciation. Phonetic spelling was more in their line than Johnson's Dictionary. Ofwhat may be called the middle class the village held few, if any: therewere the gentry, the small shopkeepers, and the poor. 

Calne had recently been exalted into importance. A year or two beforethis bright August morning some good genius had brought a railway toit--a railway and a station, with all its accompanying work and bustle. Many trains passed it in the course of the day; for it was in the directline of route from the county town, Garchester, to London, and thetraffic was increasing. People wondered what travellers had done, andwhat sort of a round they traversed, before this direct line was made. 

The village itself lay somewhat in a hollow, the ground rising to agentle eminence on either side. On the one eminence, to the west, wassituated the station; on the other, eastward, rose the large stonemansion, Hartledon House. The railway took a slight _détour_ outsideCalne, and was a conspicuous feature to any who chose to look at it; forthe line had been raised above the village hollow to correspond with theheight at either end. 

Six o'clock was close at hand, and the station began to show signs oflife. The station-master came out of his cottage, and opened one or twodoors on the platform. He had held the office scarcely a year yet; andhad come a stranger to Calne. Sitting down in his little bureau of aplace, on the door of which was inscribed "Station-master--Private, " hebegan sorting papers on the desk before him. A few minutes, and the clockstruck six; upon which he went out to the platform. It was an openstation, as these small stations generally are, the small waiting-roomsand offices on either side scarcely obstructing the view of the country, and the station-master looked far out in the distance, towards the east, beyond the low-lying village houses, shading his eyes with his hand fromthe dazzling sun. 

"Her's late this morning. "

The interruption came from the surly porter, who stood by, and referredto the expected train, which ought to have been in some minutes before. According to the precise time, as laid down in the way-bills, it shouldreach Calne seven minutes before six. 

"They have a heavy load, perhaps, " remarked the station-master. 

The train was chiefly for goods; a slow train, taking no one knew howmany hours to travel from London. It would bring passengers also; butvery few availed themselves of it. Now and then it happened that thestation at Calne was opened for nothing; the train just slackened itsspeed and went on, leaving neither goods nor anything else behind it. Sometimes it took a few early travellers from Calne to Garchester;especially on Wednesdays and Saturdays, Garchester market-days; but itrarely left passengers at Calne. 

"Did you hear the news, Mr. Markham?" asked the porter. 

"What news?" returned the station-master. 

"I heard it last night. Jim come into the Elster Arms with it, and _he'd_heard it at Garchester. We are going to have two more sets o' telegraphwires here. I wonder how much more work they'll give us to do?"

"So you were at the Elster Arms again last night, Jones?" remarked thestation-master, his tone reproving, whilst he passed over in silence Mr. Jones's item of news. 

"I wasn't in above an hour, " grumbled the man. 

"Well, it is your own look-out, Jones. I have said what I could to you atodd times; but I believe it has only tried your patience; so I'll say nomore. "

"Has my wife been here again complaining?" asked the man, raising hisface in anger. 

"No; I have not seen your wife, except at church, these two months. ButI know what public-houses are to you, and I was thinking of your littlechildren. "

"Ugh!" growled the man, apparently not gratified at the reminder of hisflock; "there's a peck o' _them_ surely! Here she comes!"

The last sentence was spoken in a different tone; one of relief, eitherat getting rid of the subject, or at the arrival of the train. It wasabout opposite to Hartledon when he caught sight of it, and it came onwith a shrill whistle, skirting the village it towered above; a long lineof covered waggons with a passenger carriage or two attached to them. Slackening its pace gradually, but not in time, it shot past the station, and had to back into it again. 

The guard came out of his box and opened the door of one of thecarriages--a dirty-looking second-class compartment; the other was athird-class; and a gentleman leaped out. A tall, slender man of aboutfour-and-twenty; a man evidently of birth and breeding. He wore a lightsummer overcoat on his well-cut clothes, and had a most attractive face. 

"Is there any law against putting on a first-class carriage to thisnight-train?" he asked the guard in a pleasing voice. 

"Well, sir, we never get first-class passengers by it, " replied the man;"or hardly any passengers at all, for the matter of that. We are too longon the road for passengers to come by us. "

"It might happen, though, " returned the traveller, significantly. "Atany rate, I suppose there's no law against your carriages being clean, whatever their class. Look at that one. "

He pointed to the one he had just left, as he walked up to thestation-master. The guard looked cross, and gave the carriage doora slam. 

"Was a portmanteau left here last night by the last train from London?"inquired the traveller of the station-master. 

"No, sir; nothing was left here. At least, I think not. Any name on it, sir?"

"Elster. "

A quick glance from the station-master's eyes met the answer. Elster wasthe name of the family at Hartledon. He wondered whether this could beone of them, or whether the name was merely a coincidence. 

"There was no portmanteau left, was there, Jones?" asked thestation-master. 

"There couldn't have been, " returned the porter, touching his cap to thestranger. "I wasn't on last night; Jim was; but it would have been put inthe office for sure; and there's not a ghost of a thing in it thismorning. "

"It must have been taken on to Garchester, " remarked the traveller; and, turning to the guard, he gave him directions to look after it, anddespatch it back again by the first train, slipping at the same time agratuity into his hand. 

The guard touched his hat humbly; he now knew who the gentleman was. Andhe went into inward repentance for slamming the carriage-door, as he gotinto his box, and the engine and train puffed on. 

"You'll send it up as soon as it comes, " said the traveller to thestation-master. 

"Where to, sir?"

The stranger raised his eyes in slight surprise, and pointed to the housein the distance. He had assumed that he was known. 

"To Hartledon. "

Then he _was_ one of the family! The station-master touched his hat. Mr. Jones, in the background, touched his, and for the first time thetraveller's eye fell upon him as he was turning to leave the platform. 

"Why, Jones! It's never you?"

"Yes, it is, sir. " But Mr. Jones looked abashed as he acknowledgedhimself. And it may be observed that his language, when addressing thisgentleman, was a slight improvement upon the homely phraseology of hiseveryday life. 

"But--you are surely not working here!--a porter!"

"My business fell through, sir, " returned the man. "I'm here till I canturn myself round, sir, and get into it again. "

"What caused it to fall through?" asked the traveller; a kindly sympathyin his fine blue eyes. 

Mr. Jones shuffled upon one foot. He would not have given the trueanswer--"Drinking"--for the world. 

"There's such opposition started up in the place, sir; folks would drawyour heart's blood from you if they could. And then I've such a lot ofmouths to feed. I can't think what the plague such a tribe of childrencome for. Nobody wants 'em. "

The traveller laughed; but put no further questions. Remembering somewhatof Mr. Jones's propensity in the old days, he thought perhaps somethingbesides children and opposition had had to do with the downfall. He stoodfor a moment looking at the station which had not been completed when helast saw it--and a very pretty station it was, surrounded by its gayflowerbeds--and then went down the road. 

"I suppose he is one of the Hartledon family, Jones?" said thestation-master, looking after him. 

"He's the earl's brother, " replied Mr. Jones, relapsing into sulkiness. "There's only them two left; t'other died. Wonder if they be coming toHartledon again? Calne haven't seemed the same since they left it. "

"Which is this one?"

"He can't be anybody but himself, " retorted Mr. Jones, irascibly, deemingthe question superfluous. "There be but the two left, I say--the earl andhim; everybody knows him for the Honourable Percival Elster. The otherson, George, died; leastways, was murdered. "

"Murdered!" echoed the station-master aghast. 

"I don't see that it could be called much else but murder, " was Mr. Jones's answer. "He went out with my lord's gamekeepers one night andgot shot in a poaching fray. 'Twas never known for certain who fired theshot, but I think I could put my finger on the man if I tried. Much good_that_ would do, though! There's no proof. "

"What are you saying, Jones?" cried the station-master, staring at hissubordinate, and perhaps wondering whether he had already that morningpaid a visit to the tap of the Elster Arms. 

"I'm saying nothing that half the place didn't say at the time, Mr. Markham. _You_ hadn't come here then, Mr. Elster--he was the HonourableGeorge--went out one night with the keepers when warm work was expected, and got shot for his pains. He lived some weeks, but they couldn't curehim. It was in the late lord's time. _He_ died soon after, and the placehas been deserted ever since. "

"And who do you suppose fired the shot?"

"Don't know that it 'ud be safe to say, " rejoined the man. "He might givemy neck a twist some dark night if he heard on't. He's the blackest sheepwe've got in Calne, sir. "

"I suppose you mean Pike, " said the station-master. "He has the characterfor being that, I believe. I've seen no harm in the man myself. "

"Well, it was Pike, " said the porter. "That is, some of us suspected him. And that's how Mr. George Elster came by his death. And this one, Mr. Percival, shot up into notice, as being the only one left, except LordElster. "

"And who's Lord Elster?" asked the station-master, not remembering tohave heard the title before. 

Mr. Jones received the question with proper contempt. Having beenfamiliar with Hartledon and its inmates all his life, he had as littlecompassion for those who were not so, as he would have had for a man whodid not understand that Garchester was in England. 

"The present Earl of Hartledon, " said he, shortly. "In his father'slifetime--and the old lord lived to see Mr. George buried--he was LordElster. Not one of my tribe of brats but could tell that any Lord Elstermust be the eldest son of the Earl of Hartledon, " he concluded with afling at his superior. 

"Ah, well, I have had other things to do since I came here besidesinquiring into titles and folks that don't concern me, " remarked thestation-master. "What a good-looking man he is!"

The praise applied to Mr. Elster, after whom he was throwing a partinglook. Jones gave an ungracious assent, and turned into the shed where thelamps were kept, to begin his morning's work. 

All the world would have been ready to echo the station-master's wordsas to the good looks of Percival Elster, known universally amidst hisfriends as Val Elster; for these good looks did not lie so much in actualbeauty--which one lauds, and another denies, according to its style--asin the singularly pleasant expression of countenance; a gift that findsits weight with all. 

He possessed a bright face; his complexion was fair and fresh, his eyeswere blue and smiling, his features were good; and as he walked downthe road, and momentarily lifted his hat to push his light hair--as muchof a golden colour as hair ever is--from his brow, and gave a cordial"good-day" to those who met him on their way to work--few strangers butwould have given him a second look of admiration. A physiognomist mighthave found fault with the face; and, whilst admitting its sweetexpression, would have condemned it for its utter want of resolution. What of that? The inability to say "no" to any sort of persuasion, whether for good or ill; in short, a total absence of what may be calledmoral courage; had been from his childhood Val Elster's besetting sin. 

There was a joke against little Val when he was a boy of seven. Someplaymates had insisted upon his walking into a pond, and standing there. Poor Val, quite unable to say "no, " walked in, and was nearly drowned forhis pains. It had been a joke against him then; how many such "jokes"could have been brought against him since he grew up, Val himself couldalone tell. As the child had been, so was the man. The scrapes hisirresolution brought him into he did not care to glance at; and whilstonly too well aware of his one lamentable deficiency, he was equallyaware that he was powerless to stand against it. 

People, in speaking of this, called it "Elster's Folly. " His extremesensitiveness as to the feelings of other people, whether equals orinferiors, was, in a degree, one of the causes of this yielding nature;and he would almost rather have died than offer any one a personaloffence, an insulting word or look. There are such characters in theworld; none can deny that they are amiable; but, oh, how unfit to battlewith life!

Mr. Elster walked slowly through the village on his way to Hartledon, whose inmates he would presently take by surprise. It was about twentymonths since he had been there. He had left Hartledon at the close of thelast winter but one; an appointment having been obtained for him as an_attaché_ to the Paris embassy. Ten months of service, and some scrape hefell into caused him (a good deal of private interest was brought to bearin the matter) to be removed to Vienna; but he had not remained therevery long. He seemed to have a propensity for getting into trouble, orrather an inability to keep out of it. Latterly he had been staying inLondon with his brother. 

His thoughts wandered to the past as he looked at the chimneys ofHartledon--all he could see of it--from the low-lying ground. Heremembered the happy time when they had been children in it; five ofthem--the three boys and the two girls--he himself the youngest and thepet. His eldest sister, Margaret, had been the first to leave it. Shemarried Sir James Cooper, and went with him to his remote home inScotland, where she was still. The second to go was Laura, who marriedCaptain Level, and accompanied him to India. Then he, Val, a young man inhis teens, went out into the world, and did all sorts of harm in it in anunintentional sort of way; for Percival Elster never did wrong bypremeditation. Next came the death of his mother. He was called home froma sojourn in Scotland--where his stay had been prolonged from the resultof an accident--to bid her farewell. Then he was at home for a year ormore, making love to charming Anne Ashton. The next move was hisdeparture for Paris; close upon which, within a fortnight, occurred thecalamity to his brother George. He came back from Paris to see him inLondon, whither George had been conveyed for medical advice, and therethen seemed a chance of his recovery; but it was not borne out, and theill-fated young man died. Lord Hartledon's death was the next. He had anincurable complaint, and his death followed close upon his son's. LordElster became Earl of Hartledon; and he, Val, heir-presumptive. Heir-presumptive! Val Elster was heir to all sorts of follies, but--

"Good morning to your lordship!"

The speaker was a man in a smock-frock, passing with a reaping-hook onhis shoulder. Mr. Elster's sunny face and cheery voice gave back thesalutation with tenfold heartiness, smiling at the title. Half thepeasantry had been used to addressing the brothers so, indiscriminately;they were all lords to them. 

The interruption awoke Mr. Elster from his thoughts, and he marched gailyon down the middle of the road, noting its familiar features. The smallshops were on his right hand, the line of rails behind them. A few whitevillas lay scattered on his left, and beyond them, but not to be seenfrom this village street, wound the river; both running parallel with thevillage lying between them. Soon the houses ceased; it was a small placeat best; and after an open space came the church. It lay on his right, alittle way back from the road, and surrounded by a large churchyard. Almost opposite, on the other side of the road, but much further back, was a handsome modern white house; its delightful gardens sloping almostto the river. This was the residence of the Rector, Dr. Ashton, a wealthyman and a church dignitary, prebendary and sub-dean of GarchesterCathedral. Percival Elster looked at it yearningly, if haply he might seethere the face of one he loved well; but the blinds were drawn, and theinmates were no doubt steeped in repose. 

"If she only knew I was here!" he fondly aspirated. 

On again a few steps, and a slight turn in the road brought him to asmall red-brick house on the same side as the church, with green shuttersattached to its lower windows. It lay in the midst of a garden wellstocked with vegetables, fruit, and the more ordinary and brightergarden-flowers. A straight path led to the well-kept house-door, itspaint fresh and green, and its brass-plate as bright as rubbing couldmake it. Mr. Elster could not read the inscription on the plate fromwhere he was, but he knew it by heart: "Jabez Gum, Parish Clerk. " Andthere was a smaller plate indicating other offices held by Jabez Gum. 

"I wonder if Jabez is as shadowy as ever?" thought Mr. Elster, as hewalked on. 

One more feature, and that is the last you shall hear of until Hartledonis reached. Close to the clerk's garden, on a piece of waste land, stooda small wooden building, no better than a shed. 

It had once been a stable, but so long as Percival Elster could remember, it was nothing but a receptacle for schoolboys playing at hide-and-seek. Many a time had he hidden there. Something different in this shed nowcaught his eye; the former doorway had been boarded up, and a long irontube, like a thin chimney, ascended from its roof. 

"Who on earth has been adding that to it?" exclaimed Mr. Elster. 

A little way onward, and he came to the lodge-gates of Hartledon. Thehouse was on the same side as the Rectory, its park stretching eastward, its grounds, far more beautiful and extensive than those of the Rectory, descending to the river. As he went in at the smaller side-gate, heturned his gaze on the familiar road he had quitted, and most distinctlysaw a wreath of smoke ascending from the pipe above the shed. Could itbe a chimney, after all?

The woman of the lodge, hearing footsteps, came to her door with hastywords. 

"Now then! What makes you so late this morning? Didn't I--" And there shestopped in horror; transfixed; for she was face to face with Mr. Elster. 

"Law, sir! _You!_ Mercy be good to us!"

He laughed. In her consternation she could only suppose he had droppedfrom the clouds. Giving her a pleasant greeting, he drew her attention tothe appearance that was puzzling him. The woman came out and looked atit. 

"_Is_ it a chimney, Mrs. Capper?"

"Well, yes, sir, it be. Pike have put it in. He come here, nobody knewhow or when, he put himself into the old shed, and has never left itagain. "

"Who is 'Pike'?"

"It's hard to say, sir; a many would give a deal to know. He lay in theshed a bit at first, as it were, all open. Then he boarded up that frontdoorway, opened a door at the back, cut out a square hole for a window, and stuck that chimney in the roof. And there he's lived ever since, andnobody interferes with him. His name's Pike, and that's all that's known. I should think my lord will see to it when he comes. "

"Does he work for his living?"

"Never does a stroke o' work for nobody, sir. And how he lives is justone o' them mysteries that can't be dived into. He's a poacher, a snarer, and a robber of the fishponds--any one of 'em when he gets the chance;leastways it's said so; and he looks just like a wild man o' the woods;wilder than any Robison Crusoe! And he--but you might not like me tomention that, sir. "

"Mention anything, " replied Mr. Elster. "Go on. "

"Well, sir, it's said by some that his was the shot that killed Mr. George, " she returned, dropping her voice; and Percival Elster started. 

"Who is he?" he exclaimed. 

"He is not known to a soul. He came here a stranger. "

"But--he was not here when I left home. And I left it, you may remember, only a few days before that night. "

"He must have come here at that very time, sir; just as you left. "

"But what grounds were there for supposing that he--that he--I think youmust be mistaken, Mrs. Capper. Lord Hartledon, I am sure, knows nothingof this suspicion. "

"I never heard nothing about grounds, sir, " simply replied the woman. "Isuppose folks fastened it on him because he's a loose character: and hisface is all covered with hair, like a howl. "

He almost laughed again as he turned away, dismissing the suspicion shehad hinted at as unworthy a moment's credit. The broad gravel-walkthrough this portion of the park was very short, and the large grey-stonehouse was soon reached. Not to the stately front entrance did he bend hissteps, but to a small side entrance, which he found open. Pursuing hisway down sundry passages, he came to what used to be called the "westkitchen;" and there sat three women at breakfast. 

"Well, Mirrable! I thought I should find you up. "

The two servants seated opposite stared with open mouths; neither knewhim: the one he had addressed as Mirrable turned at the salutation, screamed, and dropped the teapot. She was a thin, active woman, of fortyyears, with dark eyes, a bunch of black drooping ringlets between her capand her thin cheeks, a ready tongue and a pleasant manner. Mirrable hadbeen upper maid at Hartledon for years and years, and was privileged. 

"Mr. Percival! Is it your ghost, sir?"

"I think it's myself, Mirrable. "

"My goodness! But, sir, how did you get here?"

"You may well ask. I ought to have been here last night, but got out atsome obscure junction to obtain a light for my cigar, and the train wenton without me. I sat on a bench for a few hours, and came on by the goodstrain this morning. "

Mirrable awoke from her astonishment, sent the two girls flying, onehere, one there, to prepare rooms for Mr. Elster, and busied herselfarranging the best breakfast she could extemporise. Val Elster sat on atable whilst he talked to her. In the old days, he and his brothers, little fellows, had used to carry their troubles to Mirrable; and he wasjust as much at home with her now as he would have been with his mother. 

"Did Capper see you as you came by, sir? Wouldn't she be struck!"

"Nearly into stone, " he laughed. 

Mirrable disappeared for a minute or two, and came back with a silvercoffee-pot in her hand. The name of the lodge-keeper had brought to hisremembrance the unpleasant hint she mentioned, and he spoke of itimpulsively--as he did most things. 

"Mirrable, what man is it they call Pike, who has taken possession ofthat old shed?"

"I'm sure I don't know, sir, " answered Mirrable, after a pause, which Mr. Elster thought was involuntary; for she was busy at the moment rubbingthe coffee-pot with some wash-leather, her head and face bent over it, asshe stood with her back to him. He slipped off the table, and went up toher. 

"I saw smoke rising from the shed, and asked Capper what it meant, andshe told me about this man Pike. Pike! It's a curious name. "

Mirrable rubbed away, never answering. 

"Capper said he had been suspected of firing the shot that killed mybrother, " he continued, in low tones. "Did _you_ ever hear of such ahint, Mirrable?"

Mirrable darted off to the fireplace, and began stirring the milk lest itshould boil over. Her face was almost buried in the saucepan, or Mr. Elster might have seen the sudden change that came over it; the thincheeks that had flushed crimson, and now were deadly white. Lifting thesaucepan on to the hob, she turned to Mr. Elster. 

"Don't you believe any such nonsense, sir, " she said, in tones of strangeemphasis. "It was no more Pike than it was me. The man keeps himself tohimself, and troubles nobody; and for that very reason idle folk carp athim, like the mischief-making idiots they are!"

"I thought there was nothing in it, " remarked Mr. Elster. 

"I'm _sure_ there isn't, " said Mirrable, conclusively. "Would you likesome broiled ham, sir?"

"I should like anything good and substantial, for I'm as hungry asa hunter. But, Mirrable, you don't ask what has brought me here sosuddenly. "

The tone was significant, and Mirrable looked at him. There was a spiceof mischief in his laughing blue eyes. 

"I come on a mission to you; an avant-courier from his lordship, tocharge you to have all things in readiness. To-morrow you will receivea houseful of company; more than Hartledon will hold. "

Mirrable looked aghast. "It is one of your jokes, Mr. Val!"

"Indeed, it is the truth. My brother will be down with a trainful; anddesires that everything shall be ready for their reception. "

"My patience!" gasped Mirrable. "And the servants, sir?"

"Most of them will be here to-night. The Countess-Dowager of Kirton iscoming as Hartledon's mistress for the time being. "

"Oh!" said Mirrable, who had once had the honour of seeing theCountess-Dowager of Kirton. And the monosyllable was so significantthat Val Elster drew down the corners of his mouth. 

"I don't like the Countess-Dowager, sir, " remarked Mirrable in herfreedom. 

"I can't bear her, " returned Val Elster. 

CHAPTER II. 

WILLY GUM. 

Had Percival Elster lingered ever so short a time near the clerk's housethat morning he would have met that functionary himself; for in less thana minute after he had passed out of sight Jabez Gum's door opened, andJabez Gum glided out of it. 

It is a term chiefly applied to ghosts; but Mr. Gum was a great deal morelike a ghost than like a man. He was remarkably tall and thin; a veryshadow; with a white shadow of a face, and a nose that might have servedas a model for a mask in a carnival of guys. A sharp nose, twice thelength and half the breadth of any ordinary nose--a very ferret of anose; its sharp tip standing straight out into the air. People said, withsuch a nose Mr. Gum ought to have a great deal of curiosity. And theywere right; he _had_ a great deal in a quiet way. 

A most respectable man was Mr. Gum, and he prided himself upon it. Mr. Gum--more often called Clerk Gum in the village--had never done a wrongthing in his life, or fallen into a scrape. He had been altogether apattern to Calne in general, and to its black sheep in particular. Dr. Ashton himself could not have had less brought against him than ClerkGum; and it would just have broken Mr. Gum's heart had his good name beentarnished in ever so slight a degree. Perhaps no man living had been bornwith a larger share of self-esteem than Jabez Gum. Clerk of the parishlonger than Dr. Ashton had been its Rector, Jabez Gum had lived at hisease in a pecuniary point of view. It was one of those parishes (I thinkfew of them remain now) where the clerk's emoluments are large. He alsoheld other offices; was an agent for one or two companies, and was lookedupon as an exceedingly substantial man for his station in life. Perhapshe was less so than people imagined. The old saying is all too true:"Nobody knows where the shoe pinches but he who wears it. "

Jabez Gum had his thorn, as a great many more of us have ours, if theoutside world only knew it. And Jabez, at odd moments, when the thornpierced him very sharply, had been wont to compare his condition to St. Paul's, and to wonder whether the pricks inflicted on that holy man couldhave bled as his own did. He meant no irreverence when he thought this;neither do I in writing it. We are generally wounded in the mostvulnerable spot about us, and Jabez Gum made no exception to the rule. Hehad been assailed in his cherished respectability, his self-esteem. Assailed and _scarred_. How broad and deep the scar was Jabez never toldthe world, which as a rule does not sympathise with such scars, but turnsaside in its cruel indifference. The world had almost forgotten the scarnow, and supposed Clerk Gum had done the same. It was all over and donewith years ago. 

Jabez Gum's wife--to whom you will shortly have the honour of anintroduction, but she is in her bedroom just now--had borne him onechild, and only one. How this boy was loved, how tenderly reared, letCalne tell you. Mrs. Gum had to endure no inconsiderable amount ofridicule at the time from her gossiping friends, who gave Willy sundryendearing names, applied in derision. Certainly, if any mother ever wasbound up in a child, Mrs. Gum was in hers. The boy was well brought up. Agood education was given him; and at the age of sixteen he went to Londonand to fortune. The one was looked upon as a natural sequence to theother. Some friend of Jabez Gum's had interested himself to procure thelad's admission into one of the great banks as a junior clerk. He mightrise in time to be cashier, manager, even partner; who knew? Who knewindeed? And Clerk Gum congratulated himself, and was more respectablethan ever. 

Better that Willy Gum had remained at Calne! And yet, and again--whoknew? When the propensity for ill-doing exists it is sure to come out, nomatter where. There were some people in Calne who could have told ClerkGum, even then, that Willy, for his age, was tolerably fast and forward. Mrs. Gum had heard of one or two things that had caused her hair to riseon end with horror; ay, and with apprehension; but, foolish mother thatshe was, not a syllable did she breathe to the clerk; and no one elseventured to tell him. 

She talked to Willy with many sighs and tears; implored him to be a goodboy and enter on good courses, not on bad ones that would break herheart. Willy, the little scapegrace, was willing to promise anything. Helaughed and made light of it; it wasn't his fault if folks told storiesabout him; she couldn't be so foolish as to give ear to them. London? Oh, he should be all right in London! One or two fellows here were ratherfast, there was no denying it; and they drew him with them; they wereolder than he, and ought to have known better. Once away from Calne, theycould have no more influence over him, and he should be all right. 

She believed him; putting faith in the plausible words. Oh, what trustcan be so pure, and at the same time so foolish, as that placed by amother in a beloved son! Mrs. Gum had never known but one idol on earth;he who now stood before her, lightly laughing at her fears, making hisown tale good. She leaned forward and laid her hands upon his shouldersand kissed him with that impassioned fervour that some mothers could tellof, and whispered that she would trust him wholly. 

Mr. Willy extricated himself with as little impatience as he could help:these embraces were not to his taste. And yet the boy did love hismother. She was not at all a wise woman, or a clever one; rather silly, indeed, in many things; but she was fond of him. At this period he wasyoung-looking for his age, slight, and rather undersized, with anexceedingly light complexion, a wishy-washy sort of face with no colourin it, unmeaning light eyes, white eyebrows, and ragged-looking lighthair with a tawny shade upon it. 

Willy Gum departed for London, and entered on his engagement in the greatbanking-house of Goldsworthy and Co. 

How he went on in it Calne could not get to learn, though it wasmoderately inquisitive upon the point. His father and mother heard fromhim occasionally; and once the clerk took a sudden and rather mysteriousjourney to London, where he stayed for a whole week. Rumour said--Iwonder where such rumours first have their rise--that Willy Gum hadfallen into some trouble, and the clerk had had to buy him out of it atthe cost of a mint of money. The clerk, however, did not confirm this;and one thing was indisputable: Willy retained his place in thebanking-house. Some people looked on this fact as a complete refutationof the rumour. 

Then came a lull. Nothing was heard of Willy; that is, nothing beyond thereports of Mrs. Gum to her gossips when letters arrived: he was well, andgetting on well. It was only the lull that precedes a storm; and a stormindeed burst on quiet Calne. Willy Gum had robbed the bank anddisappeared. 

In the first dreadful moment, perhaps the only one who did _not_disbelieve it was Clerk Gum. Other people said there must be somemistake: it could not be. Kind old Lord Hartledon came down in hiscarriage to the clerk's house--he was too ill to walk--and sat withthe clerk and the weeping mother, and said he was sure it could not beso bad as was reported. The next morning saw handbills--great, staring, large-typed handbills--offering a reward for the discovery of WilliamGum, posted all over Calne. 

Once more Clerk Gum went to London. What he did there no one knew. Onething only was certain--he did not find Willy or any trace of him. Thedefalcation was very nearly eight hundred pounds; and even if Mr. Gumcould have refunded that large sum, he might not do so, said Calne, forof course the bank would not compound a felony. He came back looking tenyears older; his tall, thin form more shadowy, his nose longer andsharper. Not a soul ventured to say a syllable to him, even ofcondolence. He told Lord Hartledon and his Rector that no tidingswhatever could be gleaned of his unhappy son; the boy had disappeared, and might be dead for all they knew to the contrary. 

So the handbills wore themselves out on the walls, serving no purpose, until Lord Hartledon ordered them to be removed; and Mrs. Gum lived intears, and audibly wished herself dead. She had not seen her boy since hequitted Calne, considerably more than two years before, and he was nownearly nineteen. A few days' holiday had been accorded him by thebanking-house each Christmas; but the first Christmas Willy wrote wordthat he had accepted an invitation to go home with a brother-clerk; thesecond Christmas he said he could not obtain leave of absence--which Mrs. Gum afterwards found was untrue; so that Willy Gum had not been at Calnesince he left it. And whenever his mother thought of him--and that wasevery hour of the day and night--it was always as the fair, young, light-haired boy, who seemed to her little more than a child. 

A year or so of uncertainty, of suspense, of wailing, and then came aletter from Willy, cautiously sent. It was not addressed directly to Mrs. Gum, to whom it was written, but to one of Willy's acquaintances inLondon, who enclosed it in an envelope and forwarded it on. 

Such a letter! To read it one might have thought Mr. William Gum had goneout under the most favourable auspices. He was in Australia; had gone upto seek his fortune at the gold-diggings, and was making money rapidly. In a short time he should refund with interest the little sum he hadborrowed from Goldsworthy and Co. , and which was really not taken withany ill intention, but was more an accident than anything else. Afterthat, he should accumulate money on his own score, and--all things beingmade straight at home--return and settle down, a rich man for life. Andshe--his mother--might rely on his keeping his word. At present he was atMelbourne; to which place he and his mates had come to bring theiracquired gold, and to take a bit of a spree after their recent hard work. He was very jolly, and after a week's holiday they should go back again. And he hoped his father had overlooked the past; and he remained ever heraffectionate son, William Gum. 

The effect of this letter upon Mrs. Gum was as though a dense cloud hadsuddenly lifted from the world, and given place to a flood of sunshine. We estimate things by comparison. Mrs. Gum was by nature disposed to lookon the dark side of things, and she had for the whole year past beenindulging the most dread pictures of Willy and his fate that any woman'smind ever conceived. To hear that he was in life, and well, and makingmoney rapidly, was the sweetest news, the greatest relief she could everexperience in this world. 

Clerk Gum--relieved also, no doubt--received the tidings in a more soberspirit; almost as if he did not dare to believe in them. The man's hearthad been well-nigh broken with the blow that fell upon him, and nothingcould ever heal it thoroughly again. He read the letter in silence; readit twice over; and when his wife broke out into a series of raptcongratulations, and reproached him mildly for not appearing to thinkit true, he rather cynically inquired what then, if true, became of herdreams. 

For Mrs. Gum was a dreamer. She was one of those who are now and againvisited by strange dreams, significant of the future. Poor Mrs. Gumcarried these dreams to an excess; that is, she was always having themand always talking about them. It had been no wonder, with her mind in somiserable a state regarding her son, that her dreams in that firsttwelve-month had generally been of him and generally bad. The abovequestion, put by her husband, somewhat puzzled her. Her dreams _had_foreshadowed great evil still to Willy; and her dreams had never beenwrong yet. 

But, in the enjoyment of positive good, who thinks of dreams? No one. AndMrs. Gum's grew a shade brighter, and hope again took possession of herheart. 

Two years rolled on, during which they heard twice from Willy;satisfactory letters still, in a way. Both testified to his "jolly"state: he was growing rich, though not quite so rapidly as he hadanticipated; a fellow had to spend so much! Every day he expected to pickup a nugget which would crown his fortune. He complained in these lettersthat he did not hear from home; not once had news reached him; had hisfather and mother abandoned him?

The question brought forth a gush of tears from Mrs. Gum, and a sharpabuse of the post-office. The clerk took the news philosophically, remarking that the wonder would have been had Willy received the letters, seeing that he seemed to move about incessantly from place to place. 

Close upon this came another letter, written apparently in haste. Willy's"fortune" had turned into reality at last; he was coming home with moregold than he could count; had taken his berth in the good ship _MorningStar_, and should come off at once to Calne, when the ship reachedLiverpool. There was a line written inside the envelope, as though he hadforgotten to include it in the letter: "I have had one from you at last;the first you wrote, it seems. Thank dad for what he has done for me. I'll make it all square with him when I get home. "

This had reference to a fact which Calne did not know. In that unhappysecond visit of Clerk Gum's to London, he _did_ succeed in appeasing thewrath of Goldsworthy and Co. , and paid in every farthing of the money. How far he might have accomplished this but for being backed by theurgent influence of old Lord Hartledon, was a question. One thing was inhis favour: the firm had not taken any steps whatever in the matter, andthose handbills circulated at Calne were the result of a misapprehensionon the part of an officious local police-officer. Things had gone too farfor Goldsworthys graciously to condone the offence--and Clerk Gum paid inhis savings of years. This was the fact written by Mrs. Gum to her son, which had called forth the line in the envelope. 

Alas! those were the last tidings ever received from Willy Gum. WhilstMrs. Gum lived in a state of ecstacy, showing the letter to herneighbours and making loving preparations for his reception, the time forthe arrival of the _Morning Star_ at Liverpool drew on, and passed, andthe ship did not arrive. 

A time of anxious suspense to all who had relations on board--for it wassupposed she had foundered at sea--and tidings came to them. An awfultale; a tale of mutiny and wrong and bloodshed. Some of the loosecharacters on board the ship--and she was bringing home such--had risenin disorder within a month of their sailing from Melbourne; had killedthe captain, the chief officer, and some of the passengers and crew. 

The ringleader was a man named Gordon; who had incited the rest to thecrime, and killed the captain with his own hand. Obtaining command of theship, they put her about, and commenced a piratical raid. One vessel theysucceeded in disarming, despoiling, and then leaving her to her fate. Butthe next vessel they attacked proved a more formidable enemy, and therewas a hand-to-hand struggle for the mastery, and for life or death. The_Morning Star_ was sunk, with the greater portion of her living freight. A few, only some four or five, were saved by the other ship, and conveyedto England. 

It was by them the dark tale was brought. The second officer of the_Morning Star_ was one of them; he had been compelled to dissemble and toappear to serve the mutinous band; the others were innocent passengers, whose lives had not been taken. All agreed in one thing: that Gordon, theringleader, had in all probability escaped. He had put off from the_Morning Star_, when she was sinking, in one of her best boats; he andsome of his lawless helpmates, with a bag of biscuit, a cask of water, and a few bottles that probably contained rum. Whether they succeeded inreaching a port or in getting picked up, was a question; but it wasassumed they had done so. 

The owners of the _Morning Star_, half paralyzed at the news of so daringand unusual an outrage, offered the large reward of five hundred poundsfor the capture of George Gordon; and Government increased the offer bytwo hundred, making it seven in all. 

Overwhelming tidings for Clerk Gum and his wife! A brief season ofagonized suspense ensued for the poor mother; of hopes and fears as towhether Willy was amongst the remnant saved; and then hope died away, forhe did not come. 

Once more, for the last time, Clerk Gum took a journey, not to London, but to Liverpool. He succeeded in seeing the officer who had beensaved; but he could give him no information. He knew the names of thefirst-class passengers, but only a few of the second-class; and in thatclass Willy had most likely sailed. 

The clerk described his son; and the officer thought he remembered him:he had a good deal of gold on board, he said. One of the passengers spokemore positively. Yes, by Clerk Gum's description, he was sure Willy Gumhad been his fellow-passenger in the second cabin, though he did notrecollect whether he had heard his name. It seemed, looking back, thatthe passengers had hardly had time to become acquainted with each other'snames, he added. He was sure it was the young man; of very lightcomplexion, ready and rather loose (if Mr. Gum would excuse his sayingso) in speech. He had made thoroughly good hauls of gold at the last, andwas going home to spend it. He was the second killed, poor fellow; hadrisen up with a volley of oaths (excuses begged again) to defend thecaptain, and was struck down and killed. 

Poor Jabez Gum gasped. _Killed?_ was the gentleman _sure_? Quite sure;and, moreover, he saw his body thrown overboard with the rest of thedead. And the money--the gold? Jabez asked, when he had somewhatrecovered himself. The passenger laughed--not at the poor father, but atthe worse than useless question; gold and everything else on board the_Morning Star_ had gone down with her to the bottom of the sea. 

A species of savage impulse rose in the clerk's mind, replacing his firstemotion of grief; an impulse that might almost have led him to murder thevillain Gordon, could he have come across him. Was there a chance thatthe man would be taken? he asked. Every chance, if he dared show his facein England, the passenger answered. A reward of seven hundred pounds wasan inducement to the survivors to keep their eyes open; and they'd do it, besides, without any reward. Moreover--if Gordon had escaped, hiscomrades in the boat had escaped with him. They were lawless men likehimself, every one of them, and they would be sure to betray him whenthey found what a price was set upon his capture. 

Clerk Gum returned home, bearing to his wife and Calne the final tidingswhich crushed out all hope. Mrs. Gum sank into a state of wild despair. At first it almost seemed to threaten loss of reason. Her son had beenher sole idol, and the idol was shattered. But to witness unreasonablyviolent grief in others always has a counteracting effect on our own, and Mr. Gum soothed his sorrow and brought philosophy to his aid. 

"Look you, " said he, one day, sharply to his wife, when she was cryingand moaning, "there's two sides to every calamity, --a bright and a dark'un;" for Mr. Gum was not in the habit of treating his wife, in theprivacy of their domestic circle, to the quality-speech kept for theworld. "He is gone, and we can't help it; we'd have welcomed him home ifwe could, and killed the fatted calf, but it was God's will that itshouldn't be. There may be a blessing in it, after all. Who knows but hemight have broke out again, and brought upon us what he did before, orworse? For my part, I should never have been without the fear; night andmorning it would always have stood before me; not to be driven away. Asit is, I am at rest. "

She--the wife--took her apron from her eyes and looked at him with a sortof amazed anger. 

"Gum! do you forget that he had left off his evil ways, and was cominghome to be a comfort to us?"

"No, I don't forget it, " returned Mr. Gum. "But who was to say that themood would last? He might have got through his gold, however much it was, and then--. As it is, Nance Gum, we can sleep quiet in our beds, freefrom _that_ fear. "

Clerk Gum was not, on the whole, a model of suavity in the domestic fold. The first blow that had fallen upon him seemed to have affected histemper; and his helpmate knew from experience that whenever he called her"Nance" his mood was at its worst. 

Suppressing a sob, she spoke reproachfully. 

"It's my firm belief, Gum, and has been all along, that you cared morefor your good name among men than you did for the boy. "

"Perhaps I did, " he answered, by way of retort. "At any rate, it mighthave been better for him in the long-run if we--both you and me--hadn'tcared for him quite so foolishly in his childhood; we spared the rod andwe spoiled the child. That's over, and--"

"It's _all_ over, " interrupted Mrs. Gum; "over for ever in this world. Gum, you are very hard-hearted. "

"And, " he continued, with composure, "we may hope now to live down intime the blow he brought upon us, and hold up our heads again in the faceof Calne. We couldn't have done that while he lived. "

"We couldn't?"

"No. Just dry up your useless tears, Nancy; and try to think that all'sfor the best. "

But, metaphorically speaking, Mrs. Gum could not dry her tears. Nearlytwo years had elapsed since the fatal event; and though she no longeropenly lamented, filling Calne with her cries and her faint but heartfeltprayers for vengeance on the head of the cruel monster, George Gordon, asshe used to do at first, she had sunk into a despairing state of mindthat was by no means desirable: a startled, timid, superstitious woman, frightened at every shadow. 

CHAPTER III. 

ANNE ASHTON. 

Jabez Gum came out of his house in the bright summer morning, missing Mr. Elster by one minute only. He went round to a small shed at the back ofthe house and brought forth sundry garden-tools. The whole garden waskept in order by himself, and no one had finer fruit and vegetables thanClerk Gum. Hartledon might have been proud of them, and Dr. Ashtonsometimes accepted a dish with pleasure. 

In his present attire: dark trousers, and a short close jacket buttonedup round him and generally worn when gardening, the worthy man mightdecidedly have been taken for an animated lamp-post by any stranger whohappened to come that way. He was applying himself this morning, first tothe nailing of sundry choice fruit-trees against the wall that ran downone side of his garden--a wall that had been built by the clerk himselfin happier days; and next, to plucking some green walnuts for his wife topickle. As he stood on tip-toe, his long thin body and long thin armsstretched up to the walnut-tree, he might have made the fortune of anytravelling caravan that could have hired him. The few people who passedhim greeted him with a "Good morning, " but he rarely turned his head inanswering them. Clerk Gum had grown somewhat taciturn of late years. 

The time went on. The clock struck a quarter-past seven, and Jabez Gum, as he heard it, left the walnut-tree, walked to the gate, and leaned overit; his face turned in the direction of the village. It was not thewooden gate generally attached to smaller houses in rustic localities, but a very pretty iron one; everything about the clerk's house beingof a superior order. Apparently, he was looking out for some one indispleasure; and, indeed, he had not stood there a minute, when a girlcame flying down the road, and pushed the gate and the clerk backtogether. 

Mr. Gum directed her attention to the church clock. "Do you see the time, Rebecca Jones?"

Had the pages of the church-register been visible as well as the clock, Miss Rebecca Jones's age might have been seen to be fifteen; but, inknowledge of the world and in impudence, she was considerably older. 

"Just gone seven and a quarter, " answered she, making a feint of shadingher eyes with her hands, though the sun was behind her. 

"And what business have you to come at seven and a quarter? Half-past sixis your time; and, if you can't keep it, your missis shall get those thatcan. "

"Why can't my missis let me stop at night and clear up the work?"returned the girl. "She sends me away at six o'clock, as soon as I'vewashed the tea-things, and oftentimes earlier than that. It stands toreason I can't get through the work of a morning. "

"You could do so quite well if you came to time, " said the clerk, turningaway to his walnut-tree. "Why don't you?"

"I overslept myself this morning. Father never called me afore he wentout. No doubt he had a drop too much last night. "

She went flying up the gravel-path as she spoke. Her father was the manJones whom you saw at the railway station; her step-mother (for her ownmother was dead) was Mrs. Gum's cousin. 

She was a sort of stray sheep, this girl, in the eyes of Calne, notbelonging very much to any one; her father habitually neglected her, herstep-mother had twice turned her out of doors. Some three or four monthsago, when Mrs. Gum was changing her servant, she had consented to trythis girl. Jabez Gum knew nothing of the arrangement until it wasconcluded, and disapproved of it. Altogether, it did not worksatisfactorily: Miss Jones was careless, idle, and impudent; herstep-mother was dissatisfied because she was not taken into the house;and Clerk Gum threatened every day, and his wife very often, to dismissher. 

It was only within a year or two that they had not kept an indoorservant; and the fact of their not doing so now puzzled the gossips ofCalne. The clerk's emoluments were the same as ever; there was no Willyto encroach on them now; and the work of the house required a goodservant. However, it pleased Mrs. Gum to have one in only by day; and whowas to interfere with her if the clerk did not?

Jabez Gum worked on for some little time after eight o'clock, thebreakfast-hour. He rather wondered he was not called to it, andregistered a mental vow to discharge Miss Becky. Presently he wentindoors, put his head into a small sitting-room on the left, and foundthe room empty, but the breakfast laid. The kitchen was behind it, andJabez Gum stalked on down the passage, and went into it. On the otherside of the passage was the best sitting-room, and a very small room atthe back of it, which Jabez used as an office, and where he kept sundryaccount-books. 

"Where's your missis?" asked he of the maid, who was on her kneestoasting bread. 

"Not down yet, " was the short response. 

"Not down yet!" repeated Jabez in surprise, for Mrs. Gum was generallydown by seven. "You've got that door open again, Rebecca. How many moretimes am I to tell you I won't have it?"

"It's the smoke, " said Rebecca. "This chimbley always smokes when it'sfirst lighted. "

"The chimney doesn't smoke, and you know that you are telling afalsehood. What do you want with it open? You'll have that wild mandarting in upon you some morning. How will you like that?"

"I'm not afeard of him, " was the answer, as Rebecca got up from herknees. "He couldn't eat me. "

"But you know how timid your mistress is, " returned the clerk, in a voiceof extreme anger. "How dare you, girl, be insolent?"

He shut the door as he spoke--one that opened from the kitchen to theback garden--and bolted it. Washing his hands, and drying them with around towel, he went upstairs, and found Mrs. Gum--as he had now and thenfound her of late--in a fit of prostration. She was a little woman, witha light complexion, and insipid, unmeaning face--some such a face asWilly's had been--and her hair, worn in neat bands under her cap, was thecolour of tow. 

"I couldn't help it, Gum, " she began, as she stood before the glass, hertrembling fingers trying to fasten her black alpaca gown--for she hadnever left off mourning for their son. "It's past eight, I know; but I'vehad such an upset this morning as never was, and I _couldn't_ dressmyself. I've had a shocking dream. "

"Drat your dreams!" cried Mr. Gum, very much wanting his breakfast. 

"Ah, Gum, don't! Those morning dreams, when they're vivid as this was, are not sent for ridicule. Pike was in it; and you know I can't _bear_him to be in my dreams. They are always bad when he is in them. "

"If you wanted your breakfast as much as I want mine, you'd let Pikealone, " retorted the clerk. 

"I thought he was mixed up in some business with Lord Hartledon. I don'tknow what it was, but the dream was full of horror. It seemed that LordHartledon was dead or dying; whether he'd been killed or not, I can'tsay; but an awful dread was upon me of seeing him dead. A voice calledout, 'Don't let him come to Calne!' and in the fright I awoke. I can'tremember what part Pike played in the dream, " she continued, "only theimpression remained that he was in it. "

"Perhaps he killed Lord Hartledon?" cried Gum, mockingly. 

"No; not in the dream. Pike did not seem to be mixed up in it for ill. The ill was all on Lord Hartledon; but it was not Pike brought it uponhim. Who it was, I couldn't see; but it was not Pike. "

Clerk Gum looked down at his wife in scornful pity. He wonderedsometimes, in his phlegmatic reasoning, why women were created suchfools. 

"Look here, Mrs. G. I thought those dreams of yours were pretty nearlydreamed out--there have been enough of 'em. How any woman, short of aborn idiot, can stand there and confess herself so frightened by a dreamas to be unable to get up and go about her duties, is beyond me. "

"But, Gum, you don't let me finish. I woke up with the horror, I tellyou--"

"What horror?" interrupted the clerk, angrily. "What did it consist of?I can't see the horror. "

"Nor can I, very clearly, " acknowledged Mrs. Gum; "but I know it wasthere. I woke up with the very words in my ears, 'Don't let him come toCalne!' and I started out of bed in terror for Lord Hartledon, lest he_should_ come. We are only half awake, you know, at these moments. Ipulled the curtain aside and looked out. Gum, if ever I thought to dropin my life, I thought it then. There was but one person to be seen in theroad--and it was Lord Hartledon. "

"Oh!" said Mr. Gum, cynically, after a moment of natural surprise. "Comeout of his vault for a morning walk past your window, Mrs. G. !"

"Vault! I mean young Lord Hartledon, Gum. "

Mr. Gum was a little taken back. They had been so much in the habit ofcalling the new Lord Hartledon, Lord Elster--who had not lived at Calnesince he came into the title--that he had thought of the old lord whenhis wife was speaking. 

"He was up there, just by the turning of the road, going on to Hartledon. Gum, I nearly dropped, I say. The next minute he was out of sight; then Irubbed my eyes and pinched my arms to make sure I was awake. "

"And whether you saw a ghost, or whether you didn't, " came the mockingretort. 

"It was no ghost, Gum; it was Lord Hartledon himself. "

"Nonsense! It was just as much one as the other. The fact is, you hadn'tquite woke up out of that fine dream of yours, and you saw double. It wasjust as much young Hartledon as it was me. "

"I never saw a ghost yet, and I don't fear I ever shall, Gum. I tellyou it was Lord Hartledon. And if harm doesn't befall him at Calne, asshadowed forth in my dream, never believe me again. "

"There, that's enough, " peremptorily cried the clerk; knowing, if onceMrs. Gum took up any idea with a dream for its basis, how impossible itwas to turn her. "Is the key of that kitchen door found yet?"

"No: it never will be, Gum. I've told you so before. My belief is, andalways has been, that Rebecca let it drop by accident into the wastebucket. "

"_My_ belief is, that Rebecca made away with it for her own purposes, "said the clerk. "I caught her just now with the door wide open. She'strying to make acquaintance with the man Pike; that's what she's at. "

"Oh, Gum!"

"Yes; it's all very well to say 'Oh, Gum!' but if you were below-stairslooking after her, instead of dreaming up here, it might be better foreveryone. Let me once be certain about it, and off she goes the nexthour. A fine thing 'twould be some day for us to find her head smotheredin the kitchen purgatory, and the silver spoons gone; as will be the caseif any loose characters get in. "

He was descending the stairs as he spoke the last sentence, delivered inloud tones, probably for the benefit of Miss Rebecca Jones. And lest theintelligent Protestant reader should fear he is being introduced tounorthodox regions, it may be as well to mention that the "purgatory" inMr. Jabez Gum's kitchen consisted of an excavation, two feet square, under the hearth, covered with a grating through which the ashes andthe small cinders fell; thereby enabling the economical housewife tothrow the larger ones on the fire again. Such wells or "purgatories, " asthey are called, are common enough in the old-fashioned kitchens ofcertain English districts. 

Mrs. Gum, ready now, had been about to follow her husband; but hissuggestion--that the girl was watching an opportunity to makeacquaintance with their undesirable neighbour, Pike--struck hermotionless. 

It seemed that she could never see this man without a shiver, or overcomethe fright experienced when she first met him. It was on a dark autumnnight. She was coming through the garden when she discerned, or thoughtshe discerned, a light in the abandoned shed. Thinking of fire, shehastily crossed the stile that divided their garden from the waste land, and ran to it. There she was confronted by what she took to be abear--but a bear that could talk; for he gruffly asked her who she wasand what she wanted. A black-haired, black-browed man, with a pipebetween his teeth, and one sinewy arm bared to the elbow. 

How Mrs. Gum tore away and tumbled over the stile in her terror, and gothome again, she never knew. She supposed it to be a tramp, who had takenshelter there for the night; but finding to her dismay that the trampstayed on, she had never overcome her fright from that hour to this. 

Neither did her husband like the proximity of such a gentleman. Theycaused securer bolts to be put on their doors--for fastenings in smallcountry places are not much thought about, people around beingproverbially honest. They also had their shutters altered. The shuttersto the windows, back and front, had holes in them in the form of aheart, such as you may have sometimes noticed. Before the wild-lookingman--whose name came to be known as Pike--had been in possession of theshed a fortnight, Jabez Gum had the holes in his shutters filled-in andpainted over. An additional security, said the neighbours: but poor timidMrs. Gum could not overcome that first fright, and the very mention ofthe man set her trembling and quaking. 

Nothing more was said of the dream or the apparition, real or fancied, ofLord Hartledon: Clerk Gum did not encourage the familiar handling of suchtopics in everyday life. He breakfasted, devoted an hour to his ownbusiness in the little office, and then put on his coat to go out. It wasFriday morning. On that day and on Wednesdays the church was open forbaptisms, and it was the clerk's custom to go over at ten o'clock andapprize the Rector of any notices he might have had. 

Passing in at the iron gates, the large white house rose before him, beyond the wide lawn. It had been built by Dr. Ashton at his ownexpense. The old Rectory was a tumbledown, inconvenient place, alwaysin dilapidation, for as soon as one part of it was repaired anotherfell through; and the Rector opened his heart and his purse, bothlarge and generous, and built a new one. Mr. Gum was making his wayunannounced to the Rector's study, according to custom, when a door onthe opposite side of the hall opened, and Dr. Ashton came out. He was apleasant-looking man, with dark hair and eyes, his countenance one ofkeen intellect; and though only of middle height, there was somethingstately, grand, imposing in his whole appearance. 

"Is that you, Jabez?"

Connected with each other for so many years--a connection which had begunwhen both were young--the Rector and Mrs. Ashton had never called himanything but Jabez. With other people he was Gum, or Mr. Gum, or ClerkGum: Jabez with them. He, Jabez, was the older man of the two by six orseven years, for the Rector was not more than forty-five. The clerkcrossed the hall, its tessellated flags gleaming under the coloursthrown in by the stained windows, and entered the drawing-room, a nobleapartment looking on to the lawn in front. Mrs. Ashton, a tall, delicate-looking woman, with a gentle face, was standing before apainting just come home and hung up; to look at which the Rector andhis wife had gone into the room. 

It was the portrait of a sweet-looking girl with a sunny countenance. Thefeatures were of the delicate contour of Mrs. Ashton's; the rich brownhair, the soft brown eyes, and the intellectual expression of the faceresembled the doctor's. Altogether, face and portrait were positivelycharming; one of those faces you must love at first sight, withoutwaiting to question whether or not they are beautiful. 

"Is it a good likeness, Jabez?" asked the Rector, whilst Mrs. Ashton maderoom for him with a smile of greeting. 

"As like as two peas, sir, " responded Jabez, when he had taken a longlook. "What a face it is! Oftentimes it comes across my mind when I amnot thinking of anything but business; and I'm always the better for it. "

"Why, Jabez, this is the first time you have seen it. "

"Ah, ma'am, you know I mean the original. There's two baptisms to-day, sir, " he added, turning away; "two, and one churching. Mrs. Luttrell andher child, and the poor little baby whose mother died. "

"Mrs. Luttrell!" repeated the Rector. "It's soon for her, is it not?"

"They want to go away to the seaside, " replied the clerk. "What aboutthat notice, sir?"

"I'll see to it before Sunday, Jabez. Any news?"

"No, sir; not that I've heard of. My wife wanted to persuade me shesaw--"

At this moment a white-haired old serving-man entered the room witha note, claiming the Rector's attention. "The man's to take back theanswer, sir, if you please. "

"Wait then, Simon. "

Old Simon stood aside, and the clerk, turning to Mrs. Ashton, continuedhis unfinished sentence. 

"She wanted to persuade me she saw young Lord Hartledon pass at sixo'clock this morning. A very likely tale that, ma'am. "

"Perhaps she dreamt it, Jabez, " said Mrs. Ashton, quietly. 

Jabez chuckled; but what he would have answered was interrupted by theold servant. 

"It's Mr. Elster that's come; not Lord Hartledon. "

"Mr. Elster! How do you know, Simon?" asked Mrs. Ashton. 

"The gardener mentioned it, ma'am, when he came in just now, " was theservant's reply. "He said he saw Mr. Elster walk past this morning, as ifhe had just come by the luggage-train. I'm not sure but he spoke to him. "

"The answer is 'No, ' Simon, " interposed the Rector, alluding to the notehe had been reading. "But you can send word that I'll come in some timeto-day. "

"Charles, did you hear what Simon said--that Mr. Elster has come down?"asked Mrs. Ashton. 

"Yes, I heard it, " replied the doctor; and there was a hard dry tone inhis voice, as if the news were not altogether palatable to him. "It musthave been Percival Elster your wife saw, Jabez; not Lord Hartledon. "

Jabez had been arriving at the same conclusion. "They used to be muchalike in height and figure, " he observed; "it was easy to mistake the onefor the other. Then that's all this morning, sir?"

"There is nothing more, Jabez. "

In a room whose large French window opened to flowerbeds on the side ofthe house, bending over a table on which sundry maps were spread, herface very close to them, sat at this moment a young lady. It was the sameface you have just seen in the portrait--that of Dr. And Mrs. Ashton'sonly daughter. The wondrously sunny expression of countenance, blendedwith strange sweetness, was even more conspicuous than in the portrait. But what perhaps struck a beholder most, when looking at Miss Ashton forthe first time, was a nameless grace and refinement that distinguishedher whole appearance. She was of middle height, not more; slender; herhead well set upon her shoulders. This was her own room; the schoolroomof her girlhood, the sitting-room she had been allowed to call her ownsince then. Books, work, music, a drawing-easel, and various other items, presenting a rather untidy collection, met the eye. This morning it wasparticularly untidy. The charts covered the table; one of them lay on thecarpet; and a pot of mignonette had been overturned inside the openwindow scattering some of the mould. She was very busy; the open sleevesof her lilac-muslin dress were thrown back, and her delicate hands wereputting the finishing touches in pencil to a plan she had been copying, from one of the maps. A few minutes more, and the pencil was thrown downin relief. 

"I won't colour it this morning; it must be quite an hour and a halfsince I began; but the worst is done, and that's worth a king's ransom. "In the escape from work, the innocent gaiety of her heart, she broke intoa song, and began waltzing round the room. Barely had she passed the openwindow, her back turned to it, when a gentleman came up, looked in, stepped softly over the threshold, and imprisoned her by the waist. 

"Be quiet, Arthur. Pick up that mignonette-pot you threw down, sir. "

"My darling!" came in a low, heartfelt whisper. And Miss Ashton, with afaint cry, turned to see her engaged lover, Val Elster. 

She stood before him, literally unable to speak in her greatastonishment, the red roses going and coming in her delicate cheeks, the rich brown eyes, that might have been too brilliant but for theirexceeding sweetness, raised questioningly to his. Mr. Elster folded herin his arms as if he would never release her again, and kissed theshrinking face repeatedly. 

"Oh, Percival, Percival! Don't! Let me go. "

He did so at last, and held her before him, her eyelids drooping now, to gaze at the face he loved so well--yes, loved fervently and well, inspite of his follies and sins. Her heart was beating wildly with its ownrapture: for her the world had suddenly grown brighter. 

"But when did you arrive?" she whispered, scarcely knowing how to utterthe words in her excessive happiness. 

He took her upon his arm and began to pace the room with her while heexplained. There was an attempt at excuse for his prolonged absence--forVal Elster had returned from his duties in Vienna in May, and it was nowAugust, and he had lingered through the intervening time in London, enjoying himself--but that was soon glossed over; and he told her how hisbrother was coming down on the morrow with a houseful of guests, and he, Val, had offered to go before them with the necessary instructions. Hedid not say _why_ he had offered to do this; that his debts had become sopressing he was afraid to show himself longer in London. Such facts werenot for the ear of that fair girl, who trusted him as the truest man sheknew under heaven. 

"What have you been doing, Anne?"

He pointed to the maps, and Miss Ashton laughed. 

"Mrs. Graves was here yesterday; she is very clever, you know; and whensomething was being said about the course of ships out of England, I madesome dreadful mistakes. She took me up sharply, and papa looked at mesharply--and the result is, I have to do a heap of maps. Please tell meif it's right, Percival?"

She held up her pencilled work of the morning. He was laughing. 

"What mistakes did you make, Anne?"

"I am not sure but I said something about an Indiaman, leaving the LondonDocks, having to pass Scarborough, " she returned demurely. "It was quiteas bad. "

"Do you remember, Anne, being punished for persisting, in spite of theslate on the wall and your nursery-governess, that the Mediterranean laybetween Scotland and Ireland? Miss Jevons wanted to give you bread andwater for three days. How's that prig Graves?" he added rather abruptly. 

Anne Ashton laughed, blushing slightly. "He is just as you left him; verypainstaking and efficient in the parish, and all that, but, oh, so stupidin some things! Is the map right?"

"Yes, it's right. I'll help you with the rest. If Dr. Ashton--"

"Why, Val! Is it you? I heard Lord Hartledon had come down. "

Percival Elster turned. A lad of seventeen had come bounding in atthe window. It was Dr. Ashton's eldest living son, Arthur. Anne wastwenty-one. A son, who would have been nineteen now, had died; andthere was another, John, two years younger than Arthur. 

"How are you, Arthur, boy?" cried Val. "Edward hasn't come. Who told youhe had?"

"Mother Gum. I have just met her. "

"She told you wrong. He will be down to-morrow. Is that Dr. Ashton?"

Attracted perhaps by the voices, Dr. And Mrs. Ashton, who were then outon the lawn, came round to the window. Percival Elster grasped a hand ofeach, and after a minute or two's studied coldness, the doctor thawed. Itwas next to impossible to resist the genial manner, the winningattractions of the young man to his face. But Dr. Ashton could notapprove of his line of conduct; and had sore doubts whether he had doneright in allowing him to become the betrothed of his dearly-loveddaughter. 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE COUNTESS-DOWAGER. 

The guests had arrived, and Hartledon was alive with bustle and lights. The first link in the chain, whose fetters were to bind more than onevictim, had been forged. Link upon link; a heavy, despairing burden nohand could lift; a burden which would have to be borne for the most partin dread secrecy and silence. 

Mirrable had exerted herself to good purpose, and Mirrable was capableof it when occasion needed. Help had been procured from Calne, and onthe Friday evening several of the Hartledon servants arrived from thetown-house. "None but a young man would have put us to such a rout, "quoth Mirrable, in her privileged freedom; "my lord and lady would havesent a week's notice at least. " But when Lord Hartledon arrived on theSaturday evening with his guests, Mirrable was ready for them. 

She stood at the entrance to receive them, in her black-silk gown andlace cap, its broad white-satin strings falling on either side the bunchof black ringlets that shaded her thin face. Who, to look at her quick, sharp countenance, with its practical sense, her active frame, her readyspeech, her general capability, would believe her to be sister to thatsilly, dreaming Mrs. Gum? But it was so. Lord Hartledon, kind, affable, unaffected as ever was his brother Percival, shook hands with herheartily in the eyes of his guests before he said a word of welcome tothem; and one of those guests, a remarkably broad woman, with a red face, a wide snub nose, and a front of light flaxen hair, who had stepped intothe house leaning on her host's arm--having, in fact, taken it unasked, and seemed to be assuming a great deal of authority--turned round tostare at Mirrable, and screwed her little light eyes together for abetter view. 

"Who is she, Hartledon?"

"Mrs. Mirrable, " answered his lordship rather shortly. "I think you musthave seen her before. She has been Hartledon's mistress since my motherdied, " he rather pointedly added, for he saw incipient defiance in theold lady's countenance. 

"Oh, Hartledon's head servant; the housekeeper, I presume, " cried she, as majestically as her harsh voice allowed her to speak. "Perhaps you'lltell her who I am, Hartledon; and that I have undertaken to preside herefor a little while. "

"I believe Mrs. Mirrable knows you, ma'am, " spoke up Percival Elster, forLord Hartledon had turned away, and was lost amongst his guests. "Youhave seen the Countess-Dowager of Kirton, Mirrable?"

The countess-dowager faced round upon the speaker sharply. 

"Oh, it's _you_, Val Elster? Who asked you to interfere? I'll see therooms, Mirrable, and the arrangements you have made. Maude, where areyou? Come with me. "

A tall, stately girl, with handsome features, raven hair and eyes, anda brilliant colour, extricated herself from the crowd. It was Lady MaudeKirton. Mirrable went first; the countess-dowager followed, talkingvolubly; and Maude brought up the rear. Other servants came forward tosee to the rest of the guests. 

The most remarkable quality observable in the countess-dowager, apartfrom her great breadth, was her restlessness. She seemed never still foran instant; her legs had a fidgety, nervous movement in them, and inmoments of excitement, which were not infrequent, she was given toexecuting a sort of war-dance. Old she was not; but her peculiar gracesof person, her rotund form, her badly-made front of flaxen curls, whichwas rarely in its place, made her appear so. A bold, scheming, unscrupulous, vulgar-minded woman, who had never considered otherpeople's feelings in her life, whether equals or inferiors. In her dayshe must have been rather tall--nearly as tall as that elegant Maude whofollowed her; but her astounding width caused her now to appear short. She went looking into the different rooms as shown to her by Mirrable, and chose the best for herself and her daughter. 

"Three en suite. Yes, that will be the thing, Mirrable. Lady Maude willtake the inner one, I will occupy this, and my maid the outer. Very good. Now you may order the luggage up. "

"But my lady, " objected Mirrable, "these are the best rooms in the house;and each has a separate entrance, as you perceive. With so many guests toprovide for, your maid cannot have one of these rooms. "

"What?" cried the countess-dowager. "My maid not have one of these rooms?You insolent woman! Do you know that I am come here with my nephew, LordHartledon, to be mistress of this house, and of every one in it? You'dbetter mind _your_ behaviour, for I can tell you that I shall look prettysharply after it. "

"Then, " said Mirrable, who never allowed herself to be put out by anyearthly thing, and rarely argued against the stream, "as your ladyshiphas come here as sole mistress, perhaps you will yourself apportion therooms to the guests. "

"Let them apportion them for themselves, " cried the countess-dowager. "These three are mine; others manage as they can. It's Hartledon's fault. I told him not to invite a heap of people. You and I shall get ontogether very well, I've no doubt, Mirrable, " she continued in a false, fawning voice; for she was remarkably alive at all times to her owninterests. "Am I to understand that you are the housekeeper?"

"I am acting as housekeeper at present, " was Mirrable's answer. "When mylord went to town, after my lady's death, the housekeeper went also, andhas remained there. I have taken her place. Lord Elster--Lord Hartledon, I mean--has not lived yet at Hartledon, and we have had noestablishment. "

"Then who are you?"

"I was maid to Lady Hartledon for many years. Her ladyship treated memore as a friend at the last; and the young gentlemen always did so. "

"_Very_ good, " cried the untrue voice. "And, now, Mirrable, you can godown and send up some tea for myself and Lady Maude. What time do wedine?"

"Mr. Elster ordered it for eight o'clock. "

"And what business had _he_ to take orders upon himself?" and the palelittle eyes flashed with anger. "Who's Val Elster, that he shouldinterfere? I sent word by the servants that we wouldn't dine till nine. "

"Mr. Elster is in his own house, madam; and--"

"In his own house!" raved Lady Kirton. "It's no house of his; it's hisbrother's. And I wish I was his brother for a day only; I'd let Mr. Valknow what presumption comes to. Can't dinner be delayed?"

"I'm afraid not, my lady. "

"Ugh!" snapped the countess-dowager. "Send up tea at once; and letit be strong, with a great deal of green in it. And some rolledbread-and-butter, and a little well-buttered toast. "

Mirrable departed with the commands, more inclined to laugh at theselfish old woman than to be angry. She remembered the countess-dowagerarriving on an unexpected visit some three or four years before, andfinding the old Lord Hartledon away and his wife ill in bed. She remainedthree days, completely upsetting the house; so completely upsetting theinvalid Lady Hartledon, that the latter was glad to lend her a sum ofmoney to get rid of her. 

Truth to say, Lady Kirton had never been a welcome guest at Hartledon;had been shunned, in fact, and kept away by all sorts of _ruses_. Theonly other visit she had paid the family, in Mirrable's remembrance, wasto the town-house, when the children were young. Poor little Val had beentaught by his nurse to look upon her as a "bogey;" went about in terrorof her; and her ladyship detecting the feeling, administered sly pincheswhenever they met. Perhaps neither of them had completely overcome theantagonism from that time to this. 

A scrambling sort of life had been Lady Kirton's. The wife of a very poorand improvident Irish peer, who had died early, leaving her badlyprovided for, her days had been one long scramble to make both ends meetand avoid creditors. Now in Ireland, now on the Continent, now coming outfor a few brief weeks of fashionable life, and now on the wing to someplace of safety, had she dodged about, and become utterly unscrupulous. 

There was a whole troop of children, who had been allowed to go tothe good or the bad very much in their own way, with little help orhindrance from their mother. All the daughters were married now, excepting Maude, mostly to German barons and French counts. One hadespoused a marquis--native country not clearly indicated; one an Italianduke: but the marquis lived somewhere over in Algeria in a small lodging, and the Duke condescended to sing an occasional song on the Italianstage. 

It was all one to Lady Kirton. They had taken their own way, and shewashed her hands of them as easily as though they had never belonged toher. Had they been able to supply her with an occasional bank-note, orwelcome her on a protracted visit, they had been her well-beloved andmost estimable daughters. 

Of the younger sons, all were dispersed; the dowager neither knew norcared where. Now and again a piteous begging-letter would come from oneor the other, which she railed at and scolded over, and bade Maudeanswer. Her eldest son, Lord Kirton, had married some four or five yearsago, and since then the countess-dowager's lines had been harder thanever. Before that event she could go to the place in Ireland whenever sheliked (circumstances permitting), and stay as long as she liked; but thatwas over now. For the young Lady Kirton, who on her own score spent allthe money her husband could scrape together, and more, had taken aninveterate dislike to her mother-in-law, and would not tolerate her. 

Never, since she was thus thrown upon her own resources, had thecountess-dowager's lucky star been in the ascendant as it had been thisseason, for she contrived to fasten herself upon the young LordHartledon, and secure a firm footing in his town-house. She called himher nephew--"My nephew Hartledon;" but that was a little improvement uponthe actual relationship, for she and the late Lady Hartledon had beencousins only. She invited herself for a week's sojourn in May, and hadnever gone away again; and it was now August. She had come down with him, _sans cérémonie_, to Hartledon; had told him (as a great favour) that shewould look after his house and guests during her stay, as his motherwould have done. Easy, careless, good-natured Hartledon acquiesced, andtook it all as a matter of course. To him she was ever all sweetnessand suavity. 

None knew better on which side her bread was buttered than thecountess-dowager. She liked it buttered on both sides, and generallycontrived to get it. 

She had come down to Hartledon House with one fixed determination--thatshe did not quit it until the Lady Maude was its mistress. For a longwhile Maude had been her sole hope. Her other daughters had marriedaccording to their fancy--and what had come of it?--but Maude wasdifferent. Maude had great beauty; and Maude, truth to say, was almostas selfishly alive to her own interest as her mother. _She_ should marrywell, and so be in a position to shelter the poor, homeless, wanderingdowager. Had she chosen from the whole batch of peers, not one could havebeen found more eligible than he whom fortune seemed to have turned upfor her purpose--Lord Hartledon; and before the countess-dowager had beenone week his guest in London she began her scheming. 

Lady Maude was nothing loth. Young, beautiful, vain, selfish, she yetpossessed a woman's susceptible heart; though surrounded with luxury, dress, pomp, show, which are said to deaden the feelings, and in somemeasure do deaden them, Lady Maude insensibly managed to fall in love, asdeeply as ever did an obscure damsel of romance. She had first met himtwo years before, when he was Viscount Elster; had liked him then. Theirrelationship sanctioned their being now much together, and the Lady Maudelost her heart to him. 

Would it bring forth fruit, this scheming of the countess-dowager's, andMaude's own love? In her wildest hopes the old woman never dreamed ofwhat that fruit would be; or, unscrupulous as she was by habit, unfeelingby nature, she might have carried away Maude from Hartledon within thehour of their arrival. 

Of the three parties more immediately concerned, the only innocentone--innocent of any intentions--was Lord Hartledon. He liked Maude verywell as a cousin, but otherwise he did not care for her. They mightsucceed--at least, had circumstances gone on well, they might havesucceeded--in winning him at last; but it would not have been from love. His present feeling towards Maude was one of indifference; and ofmarriage at all he had not begun to think. 

Val Elster, on the contrary, regarded Maude with warm admiration. Herbeauty had charms for him, and he had been oftener at her side but forthe watchful countess-dowager. It would have been horrible had Maudefallen in love with the wrong brother, and the old lady grew to hate himfor the fear, as well as on her own score. The feeling of dislike, begunin Val's childhood, had ripened in the last month or two to almost openwarfare. He was always in the way. Many a time when Lord Hartledon mighthave enjoyed a _tête-à-tête_ with Maude, Val Elster was there to spoilit. 

But the culminating point had arrived one day, when Val, half laughingly, half seriously, told the dowager, who had been provoking him almostbeyond endurance, that she might spare her angling in regard to Maude, for Hartledon would never bite. But that he took his pleasant face beyondher reach, it might have suffered, for her fingers were held outalarmingly. 

From that time she took another little scheme into her hands--that ofgetting Percival Elster out of his brother's favour and his brother'shouse. Val, on his part, seriously advised his brother _not_ to allow theKirtons to come to Hartledon; and this reached the ears of the dowager. You may be sure it did not tend to soothe her. Lord Hartledon onlylaughed at Val, saying they might come if they liked; what did it matter?

But, strange to say, Val Elster was as a very reed in the hands of theold woman. Let her once get hold of him, and she could turn him any wayshe pleased. He felt afraid of her, and bent to her will. The feeling mayhave had its rise partly in the fear instilled into his boyhood, partlyin the yielding nature of his disposition. However that might be, it wasa fact; and Val could no more have openly opposed the resolute, sharp-tongued old woman to her face than he could have changed hisnature. He rarely called her anything but "ma'am, " as their nurse hadtaught him and his brothers and sisters to do in those long-past years. 

Before eight o'clock the guests had all assembled in the drawing-room, except the countess-dowager and Maude. Lord Hartledon was going aboutamongst them, talking to one and another of the beauties of this, hislate father's place; scarcely yet thought of as his own. He was a tallslender man; in figure very much resembling Percival, but not in face:the one was dark, the other fair. There was also the same indolent sortof movement, a certain languid air discernible in both; proclaiming theundoubted fact, that both were idle in disposition and given to ennui. There the resemblance ended. Lord Hartledon had nothing of theirresolution of Percival Elster, but was sufficiently decisive incharacter, prompt in action. 

A noble room, this they were in, as many of the rooms were in the fineold mansion. Lord Hartledon opened the inner door, and took them intoanother, to show them the portrait of his brother George--a fine youngman also, with a fair, pleasing countenance. 

"He is like Elster; not like you, Hartledon, " cried a young man, whosename was Carteret. 

"_Was_, you mean, Carteret, " corrected Lord Hartledon, in tones of sadregret. "There was a great family resemblance between us all, I believe. "

"He died from an accident, did he not?" said Mr. O'Moore, an Irishman, who liked to be called "The O'Moore. "

"Yes. "

Percival Elster turned to his brother, and spoke in low tones. "Edward, was any particular person suspected of having fired the shot?"

"None. A set of loose, lawless characters were out that night, and--"

"What are you all looking at here?"

The interruption came from Lady Kirton, who was sailing into the roomwith Maude. A striking contrast the one presented to the other. Maude inpink silk and a pink wreath, her haughty face raised in pride, her darkeyes flashing, radiantly beautiful. The old dowager, broad as she washigh, her face rouged, her short snub nose always carried in the air, herlight eyes unmeaning, her flaxen eyebrows heavy, her flaxen curls crownedby a pea-green turban. Her choice attire was generally composed, asto-day, of some cheap, flimsy, gauzy material bright in colour. Thisevening it was orange lace, all flounces and frills, with a lace scarf;and she generally had innumerable ends of quilted net flying about herskirts, not unlike tails. It was certain she did not spend much moneyupon her own attire; and how she procured the costly dresses for Maudethe latter appeared in was ever a mystery. You can hardly fancy thebedecked old figure that she made. The O'Moore nearly laughed out, as hecivilly turned to answer her question. 

"We were looking at this portrait, Lady Kirton. "

"And saying how much he was like Val, " put in young Carteret, betweenwhom and the dowager warfare also existed. "Val, which was the elder?"

"George was. "

"Then his death made you heir-presumptive, " cried the thoughtless youngman, speaking impulsively. 

"Heir-presumptive to what?" asked the dowager snapping at the words. 

"To Hartledon. "

"_He_ heir to Hartledon! Don't trouble yourself, young man, to imaginethat Val Elster's ever likely to come into Hartledon. Do you want toshoot his lordship, as _he_ was shot?"

The uncalled-for retort, the strangely intemperate tones, the quickpassionate fling of the hand towards the portrait astonished youngCarteret not a little. Others were surprised also; and not one presentbut stared at the speaker. But she said no more. The pea-green turban andflaxen curls were nodding ominously; and that was all. 

The animus to Val Elster was very marked. Lord Hartledon glanced at hisbrother with a smile, and led the way back to the other drawing-room. Atthat moment the butler announced dinner; the party filed across the hallto the fine old dining-room, and began finding their seats. 

"I shall sit there, Val. You can take a chair at the side. "

Val did look surprised at this. He was about to take the foot of hisbrother's table, as usual; and there was the pea-green turban standingover him, waiting to usurp it. It would have been quite beyond ValElster, in his sensitiveness, to tell her she should not have it; but hedid feel annoyed. He was sweet-tempered, however. Moreover, he was agentleman, and only waited to make one remark. 

"I fear you will not like this place, ma'am. Won't it look odd to see alady at the bottom of the table?"

"I have promised my dear nephew to act as mistress, and to see after hisguests; and I don't choose to sit at the side under those circumstances. "But she had looked at Lord Hartledon, and hesitated before she spoke. Perhaps she thought his lordship would resign the head of the table toher, and take the foot himself. If so, she was mistaken. 

"You will be more comfortable at the side, Lady Kirton, " cried LordHartledon, when he discovered what the bustle was about. 

"Not at all, Hartledon; not at all. "

"But I like my brother to face me, ma'am. It is his accustomed place. "

Remonstrance was useless. The dowager nodded her pea-green turban, andfirmly seated herself. Val Elster dexterously found a seat next LadyMaude; and a gay gleam of triumph shot out of his deep-blue eyes as heglanced at the dowager. It was not the seat she would have wished him totake; but to interfere again might have imperilled her own place. Maudelaughed. She did not care for Val--rather despised him in her heart; buthe was the most attractive man present, and she liked admiration. 

Another link in the chain! For how many, many days and years, dating fromthat evening, did that awful old woman take a seat, at intervals, at LordHartledon's table, and assume it as a right!

CHAPTER V. 

JEALOUSY. 

The rain poured down on the Monday morning; and Lord Hartledon stood atthe window of the countess-dowager's sitting-room--one she hadunceremoniously adopted for her own private use--smoking a cigar, andwatching the clouds. Any cigar but his would have been consigned to theother side the door. Mr. Elster had only shown (by mere accident) theend of his cigar-case, and the dowager immediately demanded what he meantby displaying that article in the presence of ladies. A few minutesafterwards Lord Hartledon entered, smoking, and was allowed to enjoy hiscigar with impunity. Good-tempered Val's delicate lips broke into asilent smile as he marked the contrast. 

He lounged on the sofa, doing nothing, in his idle fashion; LordHartledon continued to watch the clouds. On the previous Saturday nightthe gentlemen had entered into an argument about boating: the result wasthat a match on the river was arranged, and some bets were pending on it. It had been fixed to come off this day, Monday; but if the rain continuedto come down, it must be postponed; for the ladies, who had been promisedthe treat, would not venture out to see it. 

"It has come on purpose, " grumbled Lord Hartledon. "Yesterday was as fineand bright as it could be, the glass standing at set fair; and now, justbecause this boating was to come off, the rain peppers down!"

The rain excepted, it was a fair vision that he looked out upon. The roomfaced the back of the house, and beyond the lovely grounds green slopesextended to the river, tolerably wide here, winding peacefully in itscourse. The distant landscape was almost like a scene from fairyland. 

The restless dowager--in a nondescript head-dress this morning, adornedwith an upright tuft of red feathers and voluminous skirts of brown net, a jacket and flounces to match--betook herself to the side of LordHartledon. 

"Where d'you get the boats?" she asked. 

"They are kept lower down, at the boat-house, " he replied, puffing at hiscigar. "You can't see it from here; it's beyond Dr. Ashton's; lots of'em; any number to be had for the hiring. Talking of Dr. Ashton, theywill dine here to-day, ma'am. "

"Who will?" asked Lady Kirton. 

"The doctor, Mrs. Ashton--if she's well enough--and Miss Ashton. "

"Who are they, my dear nephew?"

"Why, don't you know? Dr. Ashton preached to you yesterday. He is Rectorof Calne; you must have heard of Dr. Ashton. They will be calling thismorning, I expect. "

"And you have invited them to dinner! Well, one must do the civil to thissort of people. "

Lord Hartledon burst into a laugh. "You won't say 'this sort of people'when you see the Ashtons, Lady Kirton. They are quite as good as we are. Dr. Ashton has refused a bishopric, and Anne is the sweetest girl evercreated. "

Lady Maude, who was drawing, and exchanging a desultory sentence once ina way with Val, suddenly looked up. Her colour had heightened, though itwas brilliant at all times. 

"Are you speaking of my maid?" she said--and it might be that she had notattended to the conversation, and asked in ignorance, not in scorn. "Hername is Anne. "

"I was speaking of Anne Ashton, " said Lord Hartledon. 

"Allow me to beg Anne Ashton's pardon, " returned Lady Maude; her tonethis time unmistakably mocking. "Anne is so common a name amongstservants. "

"I don't care whether it is common amongst servants or uncommon, " spokeLord Hartledon rather hotly, as though he would resent the covert sneer. "It is Anne Ashton's; and I love the name for her sake. But I think ita pretty name; and should, if she did not bear it; prettier than yours, Maude. "

"And pray who _is_ Anne Ashton?" demanded the countess-dowager, with asmuch hauteur as so queer an old figure and face could put on, whilstMaude bent over her employment with white lips. 

"She is Dr. Ashton's daughter, " spoke Lord Hartledon, shortly. "Myfather valued him above all men. He loved Anne too--loved her dearly;and--though I don't know whether it is quite fair to Anne to let thisout--the probable future connection between the families was most welcometo him. Next to my father, we boys reverenced the doctor; he was ourtutor, in a measure, when we were staying at Hartledon; at least, tutorto poor George and Val; they used to read with him. "

"And you would hint at some alliance between you and this Anne Ashton!"cried the countess-dowager, in a fume; for she thought she saw a fearthat the great prize might slip through her fingers. "What sort of analliance, I should like to ask? Be careful what you say, Hartledon; youmay injure the young woman. "

"I'll take care I don't injure Anne Ashton, " returned Lord Hartledon, enjoying her temper. "As to an alliance with her--my earnest wish is, asit was my father's, that time may bring it about. Val there knows I wishit. "

Val glanced at his brother by way of answer. He had taken no part in thediscussion; his slight lips were drawn down, as he balanced a pair ofscissors on his forefinger, and he looked less good-tempered than usual. 

"Has she red hair and sky-blue eyes, and a doll's face? Does she sit inthe pew under the reading-desk with three other dolls?" asked the foamingdowager. 

Lord Hartledon turned and stared at the speaker in wonder--what could beso exciting her?

"She has soft brown hair and eyes, and a sweet gentle face; she is agraceful, elegant, attractive girl, " said he, curtly. "She sat aloneyesterday; for Arthur was in another part of the church, and Mrs. Ashtonwas not there. Mrs. Ashton is not in good health, she tells me, andcannot always come. The Rector's pew is the one with green curtains. "

"Oh, _that_ vulgar-looking girl!" exclaimed Maude, her unjust words--andshe knew them to be unjust--trembling on her lips. "The Grand Sultanmight exalt her to be his chief wife, but he could never make a lady ofher, or get her to look like one. "

"Be quiet, Maude, " cried the countess-dowager, who, with all her ownmistakes, had the sense to see that this sort of disparagement would onlyrecoil upon them with interest, and who did not like the expression ofLord Hartledon's face. "You talk as if you had seen this Mrs. Ashton, Hartledon, since your return. "

"I should not be many hours at Hartledon without seeing Mrs. Ashton, " heanswered. "That's where I was yesterday afternoon, ma'am, when you wereso kindly anxious in your inquiries as to what had become of me. I daresay I was absent an unconscionable time. I never know how it passes, onceI am with Anne. "

"We represent Love as blind, you know, " spoke Maude, in her desperation, unable to steady her pallid lips. "You apparently do not see it, LordHartledon, but the young woman is the very essence of vulgarity. "

A pause followed the speech. The countess-dowager turned towards herdaughter in a blazing rage, and Val Elster quitted the room. 

"Maude, " said Lord Hartledon, "I am sorry to tell you that you have putyour foot in it. "

"Thank you, " panted Lady Maude, in her agitation. "For giving my opinionof your Anne Ashton?"

"Precisely. You have driven Val away in suppressed indignation. "

"Is Val of the Anne Ashton faction, that the truth should tell upon him, as well as upon you?" she returned, striving to maintain an assumption ofsarcastic coldness. 

"It is upon him that the words will tell. Anne is engaged to him. "

"Is it true? Is Val really engaged to her?" cried the countess-dowager inan ecstacy of relief, lifting her snub nose and painted cheeks, whilst aglad light came into Maude's eyes again. "I did hear he was engaged tosome girl; but such reports of younger sons go for nothing. "

"Val was engaged to her before he went abroad. Whether he will get her ornot, is another thing. "

"To hear you talk, Hartledon, one might have supposed you cared for thegirl yourself, " cried Lady Kirton; but her brow was smooth again, and hertone soft as honey. "You should be more cautious. "

"Cautious! Why so? I love and respect Anne beyond any girl on earth. Butthat Val hastened to make hay when the sun shone, whilst I fell asleepunder the hedge, I don't know but I might have proposed to her myself, "he added, with a laugh. "However, it shall not be my fault if Val doesnot win her. "

The countess-dowager said no more. She was worldly-wise in her way, andthought it best to leave well alone. Sailing out of the room she leftthem alone together: as she was fond of doing. 

"Is it not rather--rather beneath an Elster to marry an obscure countryclergyman's daughter?" began Lady Maude, a strange bitterness filling herheart. 

"I tell you, Maude, the Ashtons are our equals in all ways. He is a proudold doctor of divinity--not old, however--of irreproachable family andlarge private fortune. "

"You spoke of him as a tutor?"

"A tutor! Oh, I said he was in a measure our tutor when we were young. Imeant in training us--in training us to good; and he allowed George andVal to read with him, and directed their studies: all for love, and outof the friendship he and my father bore each other. Dr. Ashton a paidtutor!" ejaculated Lord Hartledon, laughing at the notion. "Dr. Ashton anobscure country clergyman! And even if he were, who is Val, that heshould set himself up?"

"He is the Honourable Val Elster. "

"Very honourable! Val is an unlucky dog of a spendthrift; that's what Valis. See how many times he has been set up on his legs!--and has alwayscome down again. He had that place in the Government my father got him. He was attaché in Paris; subsequently in Vienna; he has had ever so manychances, and drops through all. One can't help loving Val; he is anattractive, sweet-tempered, good-natured fellow; but he was certainlyborn under an unlucky star. Elster's folly!"

"Val will drop through more chances yet, " remarked Lady Maude. "I pityMiss Ashton, if she means to wait for him. "

"Means to! She loves him passionately--devotedly. She would wait for himall her life, and think it happiness only to see him once in a way. "

"As an astronomer looks at a star through a telescope, " laughed Maude;"and Val is not worth the devotion. "

"Val is not a bad fellow in the main; quite the contrary, Maude. Ofcourse we all know his besetting sin--irresolution. A child might swayhim, either for good or ill. The very best thing that could happen to Valwould be his marriage with Anne. She is sensible and judicious; and Ithink Val could not fail to keep straight under her influence. If Dr. Ashton could only be brought to see the matter in this light!"

"Can he not?"

"He thinks--and I don't say he has not reason--that Val should showsome proof of stability before his marriage, instead of waiting untilafter it. The doctor has not gone to the extent of parting them, or ofsuspending the engagement; but he is prepared to be strict and exactingas to Mr. Val's line of conduct; and I fancy the suspicion that it wouldbe so has kept Val away from Calne. "

"What will be done?"

"I hardly know. Val does not make a confidant of me, and I can't get tothe bottom of how he is situated. Debts I am sure he has; but whether--"

"Val always had plenty of those, " interrupted Maude. 

"True. When my father died, three parts of Val's inheritance went to payoff debts nobody knew he had contracted. The worst is, he glides intothese difficulties unwittingly, led and swayed by others. We don't sayElster's sin, or Elster's crimes; we say Elster's folly. I don't believeVal ever in his life did a bad thing of deliberate intention. Designingpeople get hold of him--fast fellows who are going headlong down-hillthemselves--and Val, unable to say 'No, ' is drawn here and drawn there, and tumbles with them into a quagmire, and perhaps has to pay hisfriends' costs, as well as his own, before he can get out of it. Do youbelieve in luck, Maude?"

"In luck?" answered Maude, raising her eyes at the abrupt question. "Idon't know. "

"I believe in it. I believe that some are born under a lucky star, andothers under an unlucky one. Val is one of the latter. He is alwaysunlucky. Set him up, and down he comes again. I don't think I ever knewVal lucky in my life. Look at his nearly blowing his arm off that time inScotland! You will laugh at me, I dare say; but a thought crosses me atodd moments that his ill-luck will prevail still, in the matter of MissAshton. Not if I can help it, however; I'll do my best, for Anne's sake. "

"You seem to think very much of her yourself, " cried Lady Maude, hercheeks crimsoning with an angry flush. 

"I do--as Val's future wife. I love Anne Ashton better than any oneelse in the world. We all loved her. So would you if you knew her. Inmy mother's last illness Anne was a greater comfort to her than Laura. "

"Should you ever think of a wife on your own score, she may not like thiswarm praise of Miss Anne Ashton, " said Lady Maude, assiduously drawing, her hot face bent down to within an inch of the cardboard. 

"Not like it? She wouldn't be such an idiot, I hope, as to dislike it. Isnot Anne going to be my brother's wife? Did you suppose I spoke of Annein that way?--you must have been dreaming, Maude. "

Maude hoped she had been. The young man took his cigar from his mouth, ran a penknife through the end, and began smoking again. 

"That time is far enough off, Maude. _I_ am not going to tie myself upwith a wife, or to think of one either, for many a long year to come. "

Her heart beat with a painful throbbing. "Why not?"

"No danger. My wild oats are not sown yet, any more than Val's; only youdon't hear of them, because I have money to back me, and he has not. Imust find a girl I should like to make my wife before that event comesoff, Maude; and I have not found her yet. "

Lady Maude damaged her landscape. She sketched in a tree where a chimneyought to have been, and laid the fault upon her pencil. 

"It has been real sport, Maude, ever since I came home from knockingabout abroad, to hear and see the old ladies. They think I am to becaught with a bait; and that bait is each one's own enchanting daughter. Let them angle, an they please--it does no harm. They are amused, and Iam none the worse. I enjoy a laugh sometimes, while I take care ofmyself; as I have need to do, or I might find myself the victim of somedetestable breach-of-promise affair, and have to stand damages. But forAnne Ashton, Val would have had his head in that Westminster-noose ascore of times; and the wonder is that he has kept out of it. No, thankyou, my ladies; I am not a marrying man. "

"Why do you tell me this?" asked Lady Maude, a sick faintness stealingover her face and heart. 

"You are one of ourselves, and I tell you anything. It will be fun foryou, Maude, if you'll open your eyes and look on. There are some in thehouse now who--" He stopped and laughed. 

"I would rather not hear this!" she cried passionately. "Don't tell me. "

Lord Hartledon looked at her, begged her pardon, and quitted the roomwith his cigar. Lady Maude, black as night, dashed her pencil on to thecardboard, and scored her sketch all over with ugly black lines. Her faceitself looked ugly then. 

"Why did he say this to me?" she asked of her fevered heart. "Was it saidwith a purpose? Has he found out that I _love_ him? that my shallow oldmother is one of the subtlest of the anglers? and that--"

"What on earth are you at with your drawing, Maude?"

"Oh, I have grown sick of the sketch. I am not in a drawing mood to-day, mamma. "

"And how fierce you were looking, " pursued the countess-dowager, who haddarted in at rather an inopportune moment for Maude--darting in on peopleat such moments being her habit. "And that was the sketch Hartledon askedyou to do for him from the old painting!"

"He may do it himself, if he wants it done. "

"Where is Hartledon?"

"I don't know. Gone out somewhere. "

"Has he offended you, or vexed you?"

"Well, he did vex me. He has just been assuring me with the coolest airthat he should never marry; or, at least, not for years and years tocome. He told me to notice what a heap of girls were after him--or theirmothers for them--and the fun he had over it, not being a marrying man. "

"Is that all? You need not have put yourself in a fatigue, and spoiltyour drawing. Lord Hartledon shall be your husband before six months areover--or reproach me ever afterwards with being a false prophetess and abungling manager. "

Maude's brow cleared. She had almost childlike confidence in the tact ofher unscrupulous mother. 

But how the morning's conversation altogether rankled in her heart, none save herself could tell: ay, and in that of the dowager. AlthoughAnne Ashton was the betrothed of Percival Elster, and Lord Hartledon'sfreely-avowed love for her was evidently that of a brother, and he hadsaid he should do all he could to promote the marriage, the strongestjealousy had taken possession of Lady Maude's heart. She already hatedAnne Ashton with a fierce and bitter hatred. She turned sick with envywhen, in the morning visit that was that day paid by the Ashtons, she sawthat Anne was really what Lord Hartledon had described her--one of thesweetest, most lovable, most charming of girls; almost without her equalin the world for grace and goodness and beauty. She turned more sick withenvy when, at dinner afterwards, to which the Ashtons came, LordHartledon devoted himself to them, almost to the neglect of his otherguests, lingering much with Anne. 

The countess-dowager marked it also, and was furious. Nothing could beurged against them; they were unexceptionable. The doctor, a chatty, straightforward, energetic man, of great intellect and learning, andemphatically a gentleman; his wife attracting by her unobtrusivegentleness; his daughter by her grace and modest self-possession. Whatever Maude Kirton might do, she could never, for very shame, againattempt to disparage them. Surely there was no just reason for the hatredwhich took possession of Maude's heart; a hatred that could never beplucked out again. 

But Maude knew how to dissemble. It pleased her to affect a sudden andviolent friendship for Anne. 

"Hartledon told me how much I should like you, " she whispered, as theysat together on the sofa after dinner, to which Maude had drawn her. "Hesaid I should find you the dearest girl I ever met; and I do so. May Icall you 'Anne'?"

Not for a moment did Miss Ashton answer. Truth to say, far fromreciprocating the sudden fancy boasted of by Maude, she had taken anunaccountable dislike to her. Something of falsity in the tone, of sudden_hardiesse_ in the handsome black eyes, acted upon Anne as an instinctivewarning. 

"As you please, Lady Maude. "

"Thank you so much. Hartledon whispered to me the secret about you andVal--Percival, I mean. Shall you accomplish the task, think you?"

"What task?"

"That of turning him from his evil ways. "

"His evil ways?" repeated Anne, in a surprised indignation she did notcare to check. "I do not understand you, Lady Maude. "

"Pardon me, my dear Anne: it was hazardous so to speak _to you_. I oughtto have said his thoughtless ways. Quant à moi, je ne vois pas ladifférence. Do you understand French?"

Miss Ashton looked at her, really not knowing what this style ofconversation might mean. Maude continued; she had a habit of puttingforth a sting on occasion, or what she hoped might be a sting. 

"You are staring at the superfluous question. Of course it is one inthese _French_ days, when everyone speaks it. What was I saying? Oh, about Percival. Should he ever have the luck to marry, meaning theincome, he will make a docile husband; but his wife will have to keep himunder her finger and thumb; she must be master as well as mistress, forhis own sake. "

"I think Mr. Elster would not care to be so spoken of, " said Miss Ashton, her face beginning to glow. 

"You devoted girl! It is you who don't care to hear it. Take care, Anne;too much love is not good for gaining the mastership; and I have heardthat you are--shall I say it?--_éperdue_. "

Anne, in spite of her calm good sense, was actually provoked to a retortin kind, and felt terribly vexed with herself for it afterwards. "Arumour of the same sort has been breathed as to the Lady Maude Kirton'sregard for Lord Hartledon. "

"Has it?" returned Lady Maude, with a cool tone and a glowing face. "Youare angry with me without reason. Have I not offered to swear to you aneternal friendship?"

Anne shook her head, and her lips parted with a curious expression. "I donot swear so lightly, Lady Maude. "

"What if I were to avow to you that it is true?--that I do love LordHartledon, deeply as it is known you love his brother, " she added, dropping her voice--"would you believe me?"

Anne looked at the speaker's face, but could read nothing. Was she injest or earnest?

"No, I would not believe you, " she said, with a smile. "If you did lovehim, you would not proclaim it. "

"Exactly. I was jesting. What is Lord Hartledon to me?--save that we arecousins, and passably good friends. I must avow one thing, that I likehim better than I do his brother. "

"For that no avowal is necessary, " said Anne; "the fact is sufficientlyevident. "

"You are right, Anne;" and for once Maude spoke earnestly. "I do _not_like Percival Elster. But I will always be civil to him for your sweetsake. "

"Why do you dislike him?--if I may ask it. Have you any particular reasonfor doing so?"

"I have no reason in the world. He is a good-natured, gentlemanly fellow;and I know no ill of him, except that he is always getting into scrapes, and dropping, as I hear, a lot of money. But if he got out of his lastguinea, and went almost in rags, it would be nothing to me; so _that's_not it. One does take antipathies; I dare say you do, Miss Ashton. What ablessing Hartledon did not die in that fever he caught last year! Valwould have inherited. What a mercy!"

"That he lived? or that Val is not Lord Hartledon?"

"Both. But I believe I meant that Val is not reigning. "

"You think he would not have made a worthy inheritor?"

"A worthy inheritor? Oh, I was not glancing at that phase of thequestion. Here he comes! I will give up my seat to him. "

It is possible Lady Maude expected some pretty phrases of affection;begging her to keep it. If so, she was mistaken. Anne Ashton was one ofthose essentially quiet, self-possessed girls in society, whose mannersseem almost to border on apathy. She did not say "Do go, " or "Don't go. "She was perfectly passive; and Maude moved away half ashamed of herself, and feeling, in spite of her jealousy and her prejudice, that if everthere was a ladylike girl upon earth, it was Anne Ashton. 

"How do you like her, Anne?" asked Val Elster, dropping into the vacantplace. 

"Not much. "

"Don't you? She is very handsome. "

"Very handsome indeed. Quite beautiful. But still I don't like her. "

"You would like her if you knew her. She has a rare spirit, only the olddowager keeps it down. "

"I don't think she much likes you, Val. "

"She is welcome to dislike me, " returned Val Elster. 

CHAPTER VI. 

AT THE BRIDGE. 

The famous boat-race was postponed. Some of the competitors haddiscovered they should be the better for a few days' training, and thecontest was fixed for the following Monday. 

Not a day of the intervening week but sundry small cockle-shells--thingsthe ladies had already begun to designate as the "wager-boats, " eachcontaining a gentleman occupant, exercising his arms on a pair ofsculls--might be seen any hour passing and repassing on the water; andthe green slopes of Hartledon, which here formed the bank of the river, grew to be tenanted with fair occupants. Of course they had theirfavourites, these ladies, and their little bets of gloves on them. 

As the day for the contest drew near the interest became really exciting;and on the Saturday morning there was quite a crowd on the banks. Thewhole week, since Monday, had been most beautiful--calm, warm, lovely. Percival Elster, in his rather idle fashion, was not going to join in thecontest: there were enough without him, he said. 

He was standing now, talking to Anne. His face wore a sad expression, as she glanced up at him from beneath the white feather of her ratherlarge-brimmed straw hat. Anne had been a great deal at Hartledon thatweek, and was as interested in the race as any of them, wearing LordHartledon's colours. 

"How did you hear it, Anne?" he was asking. 

"Mamma told me. She came into my room just now, and said there had beenwords. "

"Well, it's true. The doctor took me to task exactly as he used to dowhen I was a boy. He said my course of life was sinful; and I ratherfired up at that. Idle and useless it may be, but sinful it is not:and I said so. He explained that he meant that, and persisted in hisassertion--that an idle, aimless, profitless life was a sinful one. Doyou know the rest?"

"No, " she faltered. 

"He said he would give me to the end of the year. And if I were thenstill pursuing my present frivolous course of life, doing no good tomyself or to anyone else, he should cancel the engagement. My darling, I see how this pains you. "

She was suppressing her tears with difficulty. "Papa will be sure to keephis word, Percival. He is so resolute when he thinks he is right. "

"The worst is, it's true. I do fall into all sorts of scrapes, and I havegot out of money, and I do idle my time away, " acknowledged the young manin his candour. "And all the while, Anne, I am thinking and hoping to doright. If ever I get set on my legs again, _won't_ I keep on them!"

"But how many times have you said so before!" she whispered. 

"Half the follies for which I am now paying were committed when I was buta boy, " he said. "One of the men now visiting here, Dawkes, persuaded meto put my name to a bill for him for fifteen hundred pounds, and I had topay it. It hampered me for years; and in the end I know I must have paidit twice over. I might have pleaded that I was under age when he got mysignature, but it would have been scarcely honourable to do so. "

"And you never profited by the transaction?"

"Never by a sixpence. It was done for Dawkes's accommodation, not mine. He ought to have paid it, you say? My dear, he is a man of straw, andnever had fifteen hundred pounds of his own in his life. "

"Does Lord Hartledon know of this? I wonder he has him here. "

"I did not mention it at the time; and the thing's past and done with. Ionly tell you now to give you an idea of the nature of my embarrassmentsand scrapes. Not one in ten has really been incurred for myself: theyonly fall upon me. One must buy experience. "

Terribly vexed was that sweet face, an almost painful sadness upon thegenerally sunny features. 

"I will never give you up, Anne, " he continued, with emotion. "I told thedoctor so. I would rather give up life. And you know that your love ismine. "

"But my duty is theirs. And if it came to a contest--Oh, Percival! youknow, you know which would have to give place. Papa is so resolute inright. "

"It's a shame that fortune should be so unequally divided!" cried theyoung man, resentfully. "Here's Edward with an income of thirty thousanda year, and I, his own brother, only a year or two younger, can't boast afourth part as many hundreds!"

"Oh, Val! your father left you better off than that!"

"But so much of it went, Anne, " was the gloomy answer. "I neverunderstood the claims that came in against me, for my part. Edward had nodebts to speak of; but then look at his allowance. "

"He was the eldest son, " she gently said. 

"I know that. I am not wishing myself in Edward's place, or he out of it. I heartily wish him health and a long life to wear his honours; it is nofault of his that he should be rolling in riches, and I a martyr topoverty. Still, one can't help feeling at odd moments, when the shoe'spinching awfully, that the system is not altogether a just one. "

"Was that a sincere wish, Val Elster?"

Val wheeled round on Lady Maude, from whom the question came. She hadstolen up to them unperceived, and stood there in her radiant beauty, hermagnificent dark eyes and her glowing cheeks set off by a littlecoquettish black-velvet hat. 

"A sincere wish--that my brother should live long to enjoy his honours!"echoed Val, in a surprised tone. "Indeed it is. I hope he will live to agreen old age, and leave goodly sons to succeed him. "

Maude laughed. A brighter hue stole into her face, a softer shade to hereyes: she saw herself, as in a vision, the goodly mother of those goodlysons. 

"Are you going to wear _that_?" she asked, touching the knot of ribbon inMiss Ashton's hands with her petulant fingers. "They are Lord Hartledon'scolours. "

"I shall wear it on Monday. Lord Hartledon gave it to me. "

A rash avowal. The competitors, in a sort of joke, had each given awayone knot of his own colours. Lady Maude had had three given to her; butshe was looking for another worth them all--from Lord Hartledon. Andnow--it was given, it appeared, to Anne Ashton! For her very life shecould not have helped the passionate taunt that escaped from her, not inwords, but in tone:

"To _you_!"

"Kissing goes by favour, " broke from the delicate lips of Val Elster, andLady Maude could have struck him for the significant, saucy expression ofhis violet-blue eyes. "Edward loves Anne better than he ever loved hissisters; and for any other love--_that's_ still far enough from hisheart, Maude. "

She had recovered herself instantly; cried out "Yes" to those in thedistance, as if she heard a call, and went away humming a tune. 

"Val, she loves your brother, " whispered Anne. 

"Do you think so? I do sometimes; and again I'm puzzled. She acts wellif she does. The other day I told Edward she was in love with him: helaughed at me, and said I was dreaming; that if she had any love for him, it was cousin's love. What's more, Anne, he would prefer not to receiveany other; so Maude need not look after him: it will be labour lost. Herecomes that restless old dowager down upon us! I shall leave you to her, Anne. I never dare say my soul's my own in the presence of that woman. "

Val strolled away as he spoke. He was not at ease that day, and thesharp, meddling old woman would have been intolerable. It was all verywell to put a good face on matters to Anne, but he was in more perplexitythan he cared to confess to. It seemed to him that he would rather diethan give up Anne: and yet--in the straightforward, practical good senseof Dr. Ashton, he had a formidable adversary to deal with. 

He suddenly found an arm inserted within his own, and saw it was hisbrother. Walking together thus, there was a great resemblance betweenthem. 

They were of the same height, much the same build; both were verygood-looking men, but Percival had the nicer features; and he was fair, and his brother dark. 

"What is this, Val, about a dispute with the doctor?" began LordHartledon. 

"It was not a dispute, " returned Val. "There were a few words, and I washasty. However, I begged his pardon, and we parted good friends. "

"Under a flag of truce, eh?"

"Something of that sort. "

"Something of that sort!" repeated Lord Hartledon. "Don't you think, Val, it would be to your advantage if you trusted me more thoroughly than youdo? Tell me the whole truth of your position, and let me see what can bedone for you. "

"There's not much to tell, " returned Val, in his stupidity. Even with hisbrother his ultra-sensitiveness clung to him; and he could no more haveconfessed the extent of his troubles than he could have taken wing thatmoment and soared away into the air. Val Elster was one of those whotrust to things "coming right" with time. 

"I have been talking to the doctor, Val. I called in just now to see Mrs. Ashton, and he spoke to me about you. "

"Very kind of him, I'm sure!" retorted Val. "It is just this, Edward. Heis vexed at what he calls my idle ways, and waste of time: as if I needplod on, like a city clerk, six days a week and no holidays! I know Imust do something before I can win Anne; and I will do it: but the doctorneed not begin to cry out about cancelling the engagement. "

"How much do you owe, Val?"

"I can't tell. "

Lord Hartledon thought this an evasion. But it was true. Val Elster knewhe owed a great deal more than he could pay; but how much it might be onthe whole, he had but a very faint idea. 

"Well, Val, I have told the doctor I shall look into matters, and I hopeto do it efficiently, for Anne's sake. I suppose the best thing will beto try and get you an appointment again. "

"Oh, Edward, if you would! And you know you have the ear of theministry. "

"I dare say it can be managed. But this will be of little use if you arestill to remain an embarrassed man. I hear you were afraid of arrest inLondon. "

"Who told you that?"

"Dawkes. "

"Dawkes! Then, Edward--" Val Elster stopped. In his vexation, he wasabout to retaliate on Captain Dawkes by a little revelation on the scoreof _his_ affairs, certain things that might not have redounded to thatgallant officer's credit. But he arrested the words in time: he was of akindly nature, not fond of returning ill for ill. With all his follies, Val Elster could not remember to have committed an evil act in all hislife, save one. And that one he had still the pleasure of paying forpretty deeply. 

"Dawkes knows nothing of my affairs except from hearsay, Edward. I wasonce intimate with the man; but he served me a shabby trick, and thatended the friendship. I don't like him. "

"I dare say what he said was not true, " said Lord Hartledon kindly. "Youmight as well make a confidant of me. However, I have not time to talkto-day. We will go into the matter, Val, after Monday, when this race hascome off, and see what arrangement can be made for you. There's only onething bothers me. "

"What's that?"

"The danger that it may be a wasted arrangement. If you are only set upon your legs to come down again, as you have before, it will be so muchwaste of time and money; so much loss, to me, of temper. Don't you see, Val?"

Percival Elster stopped in his walk, and withdrew his arm from hisbrother's; his face and voice full of emotion. 

"Edward, I have learnt a lesson. What it has cost me I hardly yet know:but it is _learnt_. On my sacred word of honour, in the solemn presenceof Heaven, I assert it, that I will never put my hand to another bill, whatever may be the temptation. I have overcome, in this respect atleast, my sin. "

"Your sin?"

"My nature's great sin; the besetting sin that has clung to me throughlife; the unfortunate sin that is my bane to this hour--cowardlyirresolution. "

"All right, Val; I see you mean well now. We'll talk of these mattersnext week. Instead of Elster's Folly, let it become Elster's Wisdom. "

Lord Hartledon wrung his brother's hand and turned away. His eyes fell onMiss Ashton, and he went straight up to her. Putting the young lady's armwithin his own, without word or ceremony, he took her off to a distance:and old Lady Kirton's skirts went round in a dance as she saw it. 

"I am about to take him in hand, Anne, and set him going again: I havepromised Dr. Ashton. We must get him a snug berth; one that even thedoctor won't object to, and set him straight in other matters. If he hasmortgaged his patrimony, it shall be redeemed. And, Anne, I think--I dothink--he may be trusted to keep straight for the future. "

Her soft sweet eyes sparkled with pleasure, and her lips parted with asunny smile. Lord Hartledon took her hand within his own as it lay on hisarm, and the furious old dowager saw it all from the distance. 

"Don't say as much as this to him, Anne: I only tell you. Val is sosanguine, that it may be better not to tell him all beforehand. And Iwant, of course, first of all, to get a true list of--that is, a truestatement of facts, " he broke off, not caring to speak the word "debts"to that delicate girl before him. "He is my only brother; my father lefthim to me, for he knew what Val was; and I'll do my best for him. I'd doit for Val's own sake, apart from the charge. And, Anne, once Val is onhis legs with an income, snug and comfortable, I shall recommend him tomarry without delay; for, after all, you will be his greatest safeguard. "

A blush suffused her face, and Lord Hartledon smiled. 

Down came the countess-dowager. 

"Here's that old dowager calling to me. She never lets me alone. Val sentme into a fit of laughter yesterday, saying she had designs on me forMaude. Poor deluded woman! Yes, ma'am, I hear. What is it?"

Mr. Elster went strolling along on the banks of the river, towards Calne;not with any particular purpose, but in his restless uneasiness. He had atender conscience, and his past follies were pressing on it heavily. Ofone thing he felt sure--that he was more deeply involved than Hartledonor anyone else suspected, perhaps even himself. The way was charming infine weather, though less pleasant in winter. It was by no means afrequented road, and belonged of right to Lord Hartledon only; but it wasopen to all. Few chose it when they could traverse the more ordinary way. The narrow path on the green plain, sheltered by trees, wound in and out, now on the banks of the river, now hidden amidst a portion of the wood. Altogether it was a wild and lonely pathway; not one that a timid naturewould choose on a dark night. You might sit in the wood, which lay to theleft, a whole day through, and never see a soul. 

One part of the walk was especially beautiful. A green hollow, where theturf was soft as moss; open to the river on the right, with a glimpse ofthe lovely scenery beyond; and on the left, the clustering trees of thewood. Yet further, through a break in the trees, might be seen a view ofthe houses of Calne. A little stream, or rivulet, trickled from the wood, and a rustic bridge--more for ornament than use, for a man with long legscould stride the stream well--was thrown over it. Val had reached thusfar, when he saw someone standing on the bridge, his arms on the parapet, apparently in a brown study. 

A dark, wild-looking man, whose face, at the first glimpse, seemed allhair. There was certainly a profusion of it; eyebrows, beard, whiskers, all heavy, and black as night. He was attired in loose fustian clotheswith a red handkerchief wound round his throat, and a low slouchinghat--one of those called wide-awake--partially concealed his features. Byhis side stood another man in plain, dark, rather seedy clothes, the coatoutrageously long. He wore a cloth hat, whose brim hid his face, and hewas smoking a cigar. Both men were slightly built and under middleheight. This one was adorned with red whiskers. 

The moment Mr. Elster set eyes on the dark one, he felt that he saw theman Pike before him. It happened that he had not met him during these fewdays of his sojourn; but some of the men staying at Hartledon had, andhad said what a loose specimen he appeared to be. The other was astranger, and did not look like a countryman at all. 

Mr. Elster saw them both give a sharp look at him as he approached;and then they spoke together. Both stepped off the bridge, as thoughdeferring to him, and stood aside as they watched him cross over, Piketouching his wide-awake. 

"Good-day, my lord. "

Val nodded by way of answer, and continued his stroll onwards. In thelook he had taken at Pike, it struck him he had seen the face before:something in the countenance seemed familiar to his memory. And to hissurprise he saw that the man was young. 

The supposed reminiscence did not trouble him: he was too pre-occupiedwith thoughts of his own affairs to have leisure for Mr. Pike's. A shortbit of road, and this rude, sheltered part of the way terminated in moreopen ground, where three paths diverged: one to the front of Hartledon;one to some cottages, and on through the wood to the high-road; and onetowards the Rectory and Calne. Rural paths still, all of them; and thelast was provided with a bench or two. Val Elster strolled on almost tothe Rectory, and then turned back: he had no errand at Calne, and theRectory he would rather keep out of just now. When he reached the littlebridge Pike was on it alone; the other had disappeared. As before, hestepped off to make way for Mr. Elster. 

"I beg pardon, sir, for addressing you just now as Lord Hartledon. "

The salutation took Val by surprise; and though the voice seemed muffled, as though the man purposely mouthed his words, the accent and languagewere superior to anything he might have expected from one of Mr. Pike'sappearance and reputed character. 

"No matter, " said Val, courteous even to Pike, in his kindly nature. "Youmistook me for my brother. Many do. "

"Not I, " returned the man, assuming a freedom and a roughness at variancewith his evident intelligence. "I know you for the Honourable PercivalElster. "

"Ah, " said Mr. Elster, a slight curiosity stirring his mind, but notsufficient to induce him to follow it up. 

"But I like to do a good turn if I can, " pursued Pike; "and I think, sir, I did one to you in calling you Lord Hartledon. "

Val Elster had been passing on. He turned and looked at the man. 

"Are you in any little temporary difficulty, might I ask?" continuedPike. "No offense, sir; princes have been in such before now. "

Val Elster was so supremely conscious, especially in that reflectivehour, of being in a "little difficulty" that might prove more thantemporary, that he could only stare at the questioner and wait for more. 

"No offence again, if I'm wrong, " resumed Pike; "but if that man you sawhere on the bridge is not looking after the Honourable Mr. Elster, I'm afool. "

"Why do you think this?" inquired Val, too fully aware that the fact wasa likely one to attempt any reproof or disavowal. 

"I'll tell you, " said Pike; "I've said I don't mind doing a good turnwhen I can. The man arrived here this morning by the slow six train fromLondon. He went into the Stag and had his breakfast, and has beencovertly dodging about ever since. He inquired his way to Hartledon. Thelandlord of the Stag asked him what he wanted there, and got for answerthat his brother was one of the grooms in my lord's service. Bosh! Hewent up, sneaking under the hedges and along by-ways, and took a view ofthe house, standing a good hour behind a tree while he did it. I waswatching him. "

It instantly struck Percival Elster, by one of those flashes ofconviction that are no less sure than subtle, that Mr. Pike's interest inthis watching arose from a fear that the stranger might have been lookingafter _him_. Pike continued:

"After he had taken his fill of waiting, he came dodging down this way, and I got into conversation with him. He wanted to know who I was. A poordevil out of work, I told him; a soldier once, but maimed and good forlittle now. We got chatty. I let him think he might trust me, and hebegan asking no end of questions about Mr. Elster: whether he went outmuch, what were his hours for going out, which road he mostly took in hiswalks, and how he could know him from his brother the earl; he had heardthey were alike. The hound was puzzled; he had seen a dozen swells comeout of Hartledon, any one of which might be Mr. Elster; but I found hehad the description pretty accurate. Whilst we were talking, who shouldcome into view but yourself! 'This is him!' cried he. 'Not a bit of it, 'said I, carelessly; 'that's my lord. ' Now you know, sir, why I salutedyou as Lord Hartledon. "

"Where is he now?" asked Percival Elster, feeling that he owed hispresent state of liberty to this lawless man. 

Pike pointed to the narrow path in the wood, leading to the high-road. "I filled him up with the belief that the way beyond this bridge up toHartledon was private, and he might be taken up for trespassing if heattempted to follow it; so he went off that way to watch the front. Ifthe fellow hasn't a writ in his pocket, or something worse, call me asimpleton. You are all right, sir, as long as he takes you for LordHartledon. "

But there was little chance the fellow could long take him for LordHartledon, and Percival Elster felt himself attacked with a shiver. Heknew it to be worse than a writ; it was an arrest. An arrest is not apleasant affair for any one; but a strong opinion--a certainty--seizedupon Val's mind that this would bring forth Dr. Ashton's veto ofseparation from Anne. 

"I thank you for what you have done, " frankly spoke Mr. Elster. 

"It's nothing, sir. He'll be dodging about after his prey; but I'll dodgeabout too, and thwart his game if I can, though I have to swear that LordHartledon's not himself. What's an oath, more or less, to me?"

"Where have I seen you before?" asked Val. 

"Hard to say, " returned Pike. "I have knocked about in many parts in mytime. "

"Are you from this neighbourhood?"

"Never was in these parts at all till a year or so ago. It's not twoyears yet. "

"What are you doing here?"

"What I can. A bit of work when I can get it given to me. I went trampingthe country after I left the regiment--"

"Then you have been a soldier?" interrupted Mr. Elster. 

"Yes, sir. In tramping the country I came upon this place: I crept intoa shed, and was there for some days; rheumatism took hold of me, and Icouldn't move. It was something to find I had a roof of any sort over myhead, and was let lie in it unmolested: and when I got better I stayedon. "

"And have adopted it as your own, putting a window and a chimney into it!But do you know that Lord Hartledon may not choose to retain you as atenant?"

"If Lord Hartledon should think of ousting me, I would ask Mr. Elster tointercede, in requital for the good turn I've done him this day, " was thebold answer. 

Mr. Elster laughed. "What is your name?"

"Tom Pike. "

"I hear a great deal said of you, Pike, that's not pleasant; that you area poacher, and a--"

"Let them that say so prove it, " interrupted Pike, his dark browscontracting. 

"But how do you manage to live?"

"That's my business, and not Calne's. At any rate, Mr. Elster, I don'tsteal. "

"I heard a worse hint dropped of you than any I have mentioned, "continued Val, after a pause. 

"Tell it out, sir. Let's have the whole catalogue at once. "

"That the night my brother, Mr. Elster, was shot, you were out with thepoachers. "

"I dare say you heard that I shot him, for I know it has been said, "fiercely cried the man. "It's a black lie!--and the time may come when Ishall ram it down Calne's throat. I swear that I never fired a shot thatnight; I swear that I no more had a hand in Mr. Elster's death than youhad. Will you believe me, sir?"

The accents of truth are rarely to be mistaken, and Val was certain heheard them now. So far, he believed the man; and from that momentdismissed the doubt from his mind, if indeed he had not dismissed itbefore. 

"Do you know who did fire the shot?"

"I do not; I was not out at all that night. Calne pitched upon me, because there was no one else in particular to pitch upon. A dozenpoachers were in the fray, most of them with guns; little wonder therandom shot from one should have found a mark. I know nothing morecertain than that, so help--"

"That will do, " interrupted Mr. Elster, arresting what might be coming;for he disliked strong language. "I believe you fully, Pike. What part ofthe country were you born in?"

"London. Born and bred in it. "

"That I do not believe, " he said frankly. "Your accent is not that of aLondoner. "

"As you will, sir, " returned Pike. "My mother was from Devonshire; but Iwas born and bred in London. I recognized that one with the writ for afellow cockney at once; and for what he was, too--a sheriffs officer. Shouldn't be surprised but I knew him for one years ago. "

Val Elster dropped a coin into the man's hand, and bade him good morning. Pike touched his wide-awake, and reiterated his intention of "dodging theenemy. " But, as Mr. Elster cautiously pursued his way, the face he hadjust quitted continued to haunt him. It was not like any face he had everseen, as far as he could remember; nevertheless ever and anon somereminiscence seemed to start out of it and vibrate upon a chord in hismemory. 

CHAPTER VII. 

LISTENERS. 

It was a somewhat singular coincidence, noted after the terrible event, now looming in the distance, had taken place, and when people began toweigh the various circumstances surrounding it, that Monday, the secondday fixed for the boat-race, should be another day of rain. As thoughHeaven would have interposed to prevent it! said the thoughtful andromantic. 

A steady, pouring rain; putting a stop again to the race for that day. The competitors might have been willing to face the elements themselves, but could not subject the fair spectators to the infliction. There wassome inward discontent, and a great deal of outward grumbling; it did nogood, and the race was put off until the next day. 

Val Elster still retained his liberty. Very chary indeed had he been ofshowing himself outside the door on Saturday, once he was safely withinit. Neither had any misfortune befallen Lord Hartledon. That unconsciousvictim must have contrived, in all innocence, to "dodge" the gentlemanwho was looking out for him, for they did not meet. 

On the Sunday it happened that neither of the brothers went to church. Lord Hartledon, on awaking in the morning, found he had a sore throat, and would not get up. Val did not dare show himself out of doors. Notfrom fear of arrest that day, but lest any officious meddler should pointhim out as the real Simon Pure, Percival Elster. But for thesecircumstances, the man with the writ could hardly have remainedunder the delusion, as he appeared at church himself. 

"Which is Lord Hartledon?" he whispered to his neighbour on the freebenches, when the party from the great house had entered, and settledthemselves in their pews. 

"I don't see him. He has not come to-day. "

"Which is Mr. Elster?"

"He has not come, either. " So for that day recognition was escaped. 

It was not to be so on the next. The rain, as I have said, came down, putting off the boat-race, and keeping Hartledon's guests indoors all themorning; but late in the afternoon some unlucky star put it into LordHartledon's head to go down to the Rectory. His throat was better--almostwell again; and he was not a man to coddle himself unnecessarily. 

He paid his visit, stayed talking a considerable time with Mrs. Ashton, whose company he liked, and took his departure about six o'clock. "Youand Anne might almost walk up with me, " he remarked to the doctor as heshook hands; for the Rector and Miss Ashton were to dine at Hartledonthat day. It was to have been the crowning festival to the boat-race--therace which now had not taken place. 

Lord Hartledon looked up at the skies, and found he had no occasion toopen his umbrella, for the rain had ceased. Sundry bright rays in thewest seemed to give hope that the morrow would be fair; and, rejoicing inthis cheering prospect, he crossed the broad Rectory lawn. As he wentthrough the gate some one laid a hand upon his shoulder. 

"The Honourable Percival Elster, I believe?"

Lord Hartledon looked at the intruder. A seedy man, with a long coat andred whiskers, who held out something to him. 

"Who are you?" he asked, releasing his shoulder by a sharp movement. 

"I'm sorry to do it, sir; but you know we are only the agent of others inthese affairs. You are my prisoner, sir. "

"Indeed!" said Lord Hartledon, taking the matter coolly. "You have gothold of the wrong man for once. I am not Mr. Percival Elster. "

The capturer laughed: a very civil laugh. "It won't do, sir; we oftenhave that trick tried on us. "

"But I tell you I am _not_ Mr. Elster, " he reiterated, speaking this timewith some anger. "I am Lord Hartledon. "

He of the loose coat shook his head. He had his hand again on thesupposed Mr. Elster's arm, and told him he must go with him. 

"You cannot take me; you cannot arrest a peer. This is simplyridiculous, " continued Lord Hartledon, almost laughing at the realabsurdity of the thing. "Any child in Calne could tell you who I am. "

"As well make no words over it, sir. It's only waste of time. "

"You have a warrant--as I understand--to arrest Mr. Percival Elster?"

"Yes, sir, I have. The man that was looking for you in London got takenill, and couldn't come down, so our folks sent me. 'You'll know him byhis good looks, ' said they; 'an aristocrat every inch of him. ' Don't giveme trouble, sir. "

"Well now--I am not Percival Elster: I am his brother, Lord Hartledon. You cannot take one brother for another; and, what's more, you had betternot try to do it. Stay! Look here. "

He pulled out his card-case, and showed his cards--"Earl of Hartledon. "He exhibited a couple of letters that happened to be about him--"TheRight Honble. The Earl of Hartledon. " It was of no use. 

"I've known that dodge tried before too, " said his obstinate capturer. 

Lord Hartledon was growing more angry. He saw some proof must be tenderedbefore he could regain his liberty. Jabez Gum happened to be standing athis gate opposite, and he called to him. 

"Will you be so kind as to tell this man who I am, Mr. Gum. He ismistaking me for some one else. "

"This is the Earl of Hartledon, " said Jabez, promptly. 

A moment's hesitation on the officer's part; but he felt too sure of hisman to believe this. "I'll take the risk, " said he, stolidly. "Where'sthe good of your holding out, Mr. Elster?"

"Come this way, then!" cried Lord Hartledon, beginning to lose histemper. "And if you carry this too far, my man, I'll have you punished. "

He went striding up to the Rectory. Had he taken a moment forconsideration, he might have turned away, rather than expose thismisfortune of Val's there. The doctor came into the hall, and wasrecognized as the Rector, and there was some little commotion; Anne'swhite face looking on from a distance. The man was convinced, and tookhis departure, considerably crestfallen. 

"What is the amount?" called the doctor, sternly. 

"Not very much, _this_, sir. It's under three hundred. "

Which was as much as to say there was more behind it. Dr. Ashton mentallywashed his hands of Percival Elster as a future son-in-law. 

The first intimation that ill-starred gentleman received of the untowardturn affairs were taking was from the Rector himself. 

Mr. Percival Elster had been chuckling over that opportune sore throat, as a means of keeping his brother indoors; and it never occurred to himthat Lord Hartledon would venture out at all on the Monday. Being a manwith his wits about him, it had not failed to occur to his mind thatthere was a possibility of Lord Hartledon's being arrested in place ofhimself; but so long as Hartledon kept indoors the danger was averted. Had Percival Elster seen his brother go out he might have plucked upcourage to tell him the state of affairs. 

But he did not see him. Lounging idly--what else had he, a poor prisoner, to do?--in the sunny society of Maude Kirton and other attractive girls, Mr. Elster was unconscious of the movements of the household in general. He was in his own room dressing for dinner when the truth burst upon him. 

Dr. Ashton was a straightforward; practical man--it has been alreadystated--who went direct to the point at once in any matters ofdifficulty. He arrived at Hartledon a few minutes before the dinner-hour, found Mr. Elster was yet in his dressing-room, and went there to him. 

The news, the cool, scornful anger of the Rector, the keen question--"Washe mad?" burst upon the unhappy Val like a clap of thunder. He wasstanding in his shirt-sleeves, ready to go down, all but his coat andwaistcoat, his hair-brushes in the uplifted hands. Hands and brushes hadbeen arrested midway in the shock. The calm clerical man; all the moreterrible then because of his calmness; standing there with his coldstinging words, and his unhappy culprit facing him, conscious of hisheinous sins--the worst sin of all: that of being found out. 

"Others have done so much before me, sir, and have not made the less goodmen, " spoke Val, in his desperation. 

Dr. Ashton could not help admiring the man, as he stood there in hisphysical beauty. In spite of his inward anger, his condemnation, hisdisappointment--and they were all very great--the good looks of PercivalElster struck him forcibly with a sort of annoyance: why should these menbe so outwardly fair, so inwardly frail? Those good looks had told uponhis daughter's heart; and they all loved _her_, and could not bear tocause her pain. Tall, supple, graceful, strong, towering nearly a headabove the doctor, he stood, his pleasing features full of the best sortof attraction, his violet eyes rather wider open than usual, the waves ofhis silken hair smooth and bright. "If he were only half as fair inconduct as in looks!" muttered the grieved divine. 

But those violet eyes, usually beaming with kindness, suddenly changedtheir present expression of depreciation to one of rage. Dr. Ashton gavea pretty accurate description of how the crisis had been brought to hisknowledge--that Lord Hartledon had come to the Rectory, with his mistakenassailant, to be identified; and Percival Elster's anger was turnedagainst his brother. Never in all his life had he been in so great apassion; and having to suppress its signs in the presence of the Rectoronly made the fuel burn more fiercely. To ruin him with the doctor bygoing _there_ with the news! Anywhere else--anywhere but the Rectory!

Hedges, the butler, interrupted the conference. Dinner was waiting. LordHartledon looked at Val as the two entered the room, and was rathersurprised at the furious gaze of reproach that was cast back on him. 

Miss Ashton was not there. No, of course not! It needed not Val's glancearound to be assured of that. Of course they were to be separated fromthat hour; the fiat was already gone forth. And Mr. Val Elster felt sosavage that he could have struck his brother. He heard Dr. Ashton's replyto an inquiry--that Mrs. Ashton was feeling unusually poorly, and Anneremained at home with her--but he looked upon it as an evasion. Not aword did he speak during dinner: not a word, save what was forced fromhim by common courtesy, spoke he after the ladies had left the room; heonly drank a great deal of wine. 

A very unusual circumstance for Val Elster. With all his weak resolution, his yielding nature, drinking was a fault he was scarcely ever seducedinto. Not above two or three times in his life could he remember to haveexceeded the bounds of strict, temperate sobriety. The fact was, he wasin wrath with himself: all his past follies were pressing upon him withbitter condemnation. He was just in that frame of mind when an object tovent our fury upon becomes a sort of necessity; and Mr. Elster's wasvented on his brother. 

He was waiting at boiling-point for the opportunity to "have it out" withhim: and it soon came. As the gentlemen left the dining-room--and inthese present days they do not, as a rule, sit long, especially when thehost is a young man--Percival Elster touched his brother to detain him, and shut the door on the heels of the rest. 

Lord Hartledon was surprised. Val's attack was so savage. He was talkingoff his superfluous wrath, and the wine he had taken did not tend to coolhis heat. Lord Hartledon, vexed at the injustice, lost his temper; andfor once there was a quarrel, sharp and loud, between the brothers. Itdid not last long; in its very midst they parted; throwing cutting wordsone at the other. Lord Hartledon quitted the room, to join his guests;Val Elster strode outside the window to cool his brain. 

But now, look at the obstinate pride of those two foolish men! They wereangry with each other in temper, but not in heart. In Percival Elster'sconscience there was an underlying conviction that his brother had actedonly in thoughtless impulse when he carried the misfortune to theRectory; whilst Lord Hartledon was even then full of plans for servingVal, and considered he had more need to help him than ever. A day or twogiven to the indulgence of their anger, and they would be firmer friendsthan ever. 

The large French window of the dining-room, opening to the ground, wasflung back by Val Elster; and he stepped forth into the cool night, whichwas beautifully fine. The room looked towards the river. The velvet lawn, wet with the day's rain, lay calm and silent under the bright stars; theflowers, clustering around far and wide, gave out their sweet and heavynight perfume. Not an instant had he been outside when he becameconscious that some figure was gliding towards him--was almost close tohim; and he recognised Mr. Pike. Yes, that worthy gentleman appeared tobe only then arriving on his evening visit: in point of fact, he had beenglued ear and eye to the window during the quarrel. 

"What do you want?" demanded Mr. Elster. 

"Well, I came up here hoping to get a word with you, sir, " replied theman in his rough, abrupt manner, more in character with his appearanceand lawless reputation than with his accent and unmistakableintelligence. "There was a nasty accident a few hours ago: that sharkcame across his lordship. "

"I know he did, " savagely spoke Val. "The result of your informing himthat I was Lord Hartledon. "

"I did it for the best, Mr. Elster. He'd have nabbed you that very time, but for my putting him off the scent as I did. "

"Yes, yes, I am aware you did it for the best, and I suppose it turnedout to be so, " quickly replied Val, some of his native kindlinessresuming its sway. "It's an unfortunate affair altogether, and that'sthe best that can be said of it. "

"What I came up here for was to tell you he was gone. "

"Who is gone?"

"The shark. "

"Gone!"

"He went off by the seven train. Lord Hartledon told him he'd communicatewith his principals and see that the affair was arranged. It satisfiedthe man, and he went away by the next train--which happened to be theseven-o'clock one. "

"How do you know this?" asked Mr. Elster. 

"This way, " was the answer. "I was hovering about outside that shed ofmine, and I saw the encounter at the parson's gate--for that's where ittook place. The first thing the fellow did when it was all over was tobolt across the road, and accuse me of purposely misleading him. 'Not abit of it, ' said I; 'if I did mislead you, it was unintentional, for Itook the one who came over the bridge on Saturday to be Lord Hartledon, safe as eggs. But they have been down here only a week, ' I went on, 'andI suppose I don't know 'em apart yet. ' I can't say whether he believedme; I think he did; he's a soft sort of chap. It was all right, he said:the earl had passed his word to him that it should be made so without hisarresting Mr. Elster, and he was off to London at once. "

"And he has gone?"

Mr. Pike nodded significantly. "I watched him go; dodged him up to thestation and saw him off. "

Then this one danger was over! Val might breathe freely again. 

"And I thought you would like to know the coast was clear; so I came upto tell you, " concluded Pike. 

"Thank you for your trouble, " said Mr. Elster. "I shall not forget it. "

"You'll remember it, perhaps, if a question arises touching that shed, "spoke the man. "I may need a word sometime with Lord Hartledon. "

"I'll remember it, Pike. Here, wait a moment. Is Thomas Pike your realname?"

"Well, I conclude it is. Pike was the name of my father and mother. As toThomas--not knowing where I was christened, I can't go and look at theregister; but they never called me anything but Tom. Did you wish to knowparticularly?"

There was a tone of mockery in the man's answer, not altogetheracceptable to his hearer; and he let him go without further hindrance. But the man turned back in an instant of his own accord. 

"I dare say you are wanting to know why I did you this little turn, Mr. Elster. I have been caught in corners myself before now; and if I canhelp anybody to get out of them without trouble to myself, I'm willing todo it. And to circumvent these law-sharks comes home to my spirit aswholesome refreshment. "

Mr. Pike finally departed. He took the lonely way, and only struck intothe high-road opposite his own domicile, the shed. Passing round it, hehovered at its rude door--the one he had himself made, along with theruder window--and then, treading softly, he stepped to the low stile inthe hedge, which had for years made the boundary between the waste landon which the shed stood and Clerk Gum's garden. Here he halted a minute, looking all ways. Then he stepped over the stile, crouched down amongstMr. Gum's cabbages, got under shelter of the hedge, and so stole onwards, until he came to an anchor at the kitchen-window, and laid his ear to theshutter, just as it had recently been laid against the glass in thedining-room of my Lord Hartledon. 

That he had a propensity for prying into the private affairs of hisneighbours near and distant, there could be little doubt about. Mr. Pike, however, was not destined on this one occasion to reap any substantialreward. The kitchen appeared to be wrapped in perfect silence. Satisfyinghimself as to this, he next took off his heavy shoes, stole past the backdoor, and so round the clerk's house to the front. Very softly indeedwent he, creeping by the wall, and emerging at last round the angle, bythe window of the best parlour. Here, most excessively to Mr. Pike'sconsternation, he came upon a lady doing exactly what he had come todo--namely, stealthily listening at the window to anything there might beto hear inside. 

The shrill scream she gave when she found her face in contact with thewild intruder, might have been heard over at Dr. Ashton's. Clerk Gum, whohad been quietly writing in his office, came out in haste, and recognizedMrs. Jones, the wife of the surly porter at the station, and step-motherto the troublesome young servant, Rebecca. Pike had totally disappeared. 

Mrs. Jones, partly through fright, partly in anger arising from along-standing grievance, avowed the truth boldly: she had been listeningat the parlour-shutters ever since she went out of the house ten minutesago, and had been set upon by that wolf Pike. 

"Set upon!" exclaimed the clerk, looking swiftly in all directions forthe offender. 

"I don't know what else you can call it, when a highway robber--amurderer, if all tales be true--steals round upon you without warning, and glares his eyes into yours, " shrieked Mrs. Jones wrathfully. "And ifhe wasn't barefoot, Gum, my eyes strangely deceived me. I'd have you andNancy take care of your throats. "

She turned into the house, to the best parlour, where the clerk's wifewas sitting with a visitor, Mirrable. Mrs. Gum, when she found what thecommotion had been about, gave a sharp cry of terror, and shook from headto foot. 

"On our premises! Close to our house! That dreadful man! Oh, Lydia, don'tyou think you were mistaken?"

"Mistaken!" retorted Mrs. Jones. "That wild face isn't one to bemistaken: I should like to see its fellow in Calne. Why Lord Hartledondon't have him taken up on suspicion of that murder, is odd to me. "

"You'd better hold your tongue about that suspicion, " interposedMirrable. "I have cautioned you before, _I_ shouldn't like to breathea word against a desperate man; I should go about in fear that he mighthear of it, and revenge himself. "

In came the clerk. "I don't see a sign of any one about, " he said; "andI'm sure whoever it was could not have had time to get away. You musthave been mistaken, Mrs. Jones. "

"Mistaken in what, pray?"

"That any man was there. You got confused, and fancied it, perhaps. As toPike, he'd never dare come on my premises, whether by night or day. Whatwere you doing at the window?"

"Listening, " defiantly replied Mrs. Jones. "And now I'll just tell outwhat I've had in my head this long while, Mr. Gum, and know the reason ofNancy's slighting me in the way she does. What secret has she and MaryMirrable got between them?"

"Secret?" repeated the clerk, whilst his wife gave a faint cry, andMirrable turned her calm face on Mrs. Jones. "Have they a secret?"

"Yes, they have, " raved Mrs. Jones, giving vent to her long pent-upemotion. "If they haven't, I'm blind and deaf. If I have come into yourhouse once during the past year and found Mrs. Mirrable in it, and thetwo sitting and whispering, I've come ten times. This evening I came inat dusk; I turned the handle of the door and peeped into the bestparlour, and there they were, nose and knees together, starting awayfrom each other as soon as they saw me, Nance giving one of her faintcries, and the two making believe to have been talking of the weather. It's always so. And I want to know what secret they have got hold of, andwhether I'm poison, that I can't be trusted with it. "

Jabez Gum slowly turned his eyes on the two in question. His wife liftedher hands in deprecation at the idea that she should have a secret:Mirrable was laughing. 

"Nancy's secret to-night, when you interrupted us, was telling me of adream she had regarding Lord Hartledon, and of how she mistook Mr. Elsterfor him the morning he came down, " cried the latter. "And if you havereally been listening at the shutters since you went out, Mrs. Jones, youshould by this time know how to pickle walnuts in the new way: for Ideclare that is all our conversation has been about since. You alwayswere suspicious, you know, and you always will be. "

"Look here, Mrs. Jones, " said the clerk, decisively; "I don't choose tohave my shutters listened at: it might give the house a bad name, forquarrelling, or something of that sort. So I'll trouble you not to repeatwhat you have done to-night, or I shall forbid your coming here. Asecret, indeed!"

"Yes, a secret!" persisted Mrs. Jones. "And if I don't come at what it isone of these days, my name's not Lydia Jones. And I'll tell you why. Itstrikes me--I may be wrong--but it strikes me it concerns me and myhusband and my household, which some folks are ever ready to interferewith. I'll take myself off now; and I would recommend you, as a partingwarning, to denounce Pike to the police for an attempt at housebreaking, before you're both murdered in your bed. That'll be the end on't. "

She went away, and Clerk Gum wished he could denounce _her_ to thepolice. Mirrable laughed again; and Mrs. Gum, cowardly and timid, fellback in her chair as one seized with ague. 

Beyond giving an occasional dole to Mrs. Jones for her children--andto tell the truth, she clothed them all, or they would have gone inrags--Mirrable had shaken her cousin off long ago: which of course didnot tend to soothe the naturally jealous spirit of Mrs. Jones. AtHartledon House she was not welcomed, and could not go there; but shewatched for the visits of Mirrable at the clerk's, and was certain tointrude on those occasions. 

"I'll find it out!" she repeated to herself, as she went storming throughthe garden-gate; "I'll find it out. And as to that poacher, he'd betterbring his black face near mine again!"

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE WAGER BOATS. 

Tuesday morning rose, bright and propitious: a contrast to the twoprevious days arranged for the boat-race. All was pleasure, bustle, excitement at Hartledon: but the coolness that had arisen between thebrothers was noticed by some of the guests. Neither of them was disposedto take the first step towards reconciliation: and, indeed, a littleincident that occurred that morning led to another ill word betweenthem. An account that had been standing for more than two years was sentin to Lord Hartledon's steward; it was for some harness, a saddle, asilver-mounted whip, and a few trifles of that sort, supplied by a smalltradesman in the village. Lord Hartledon protested there was nothing ofthe sort owing; but upon inquiry the debtor proved to be Mr. PercivalElster. Lord Hartledon, vexed that any one in the neighbourhood shouldhave waited so long for his money, said a sharp word on the score toPercival; and the latter retorted as sharply that it was no business ofhis. Again Val was angry with himself, and thus gave vent to his temper. The fact was, he had completely forgotten the trifling debt, and was asvexed as Hartledon that it should have been allowed to remain unpaid: butthe man had not sent him any reminder whilst he was away. 

"Pay it to-day, Marris, " cried Lord Hartledon to his steward. "I won'thave this sort of thing at Calne. "

His tone was one of irritation--or it sounded so to the ears of hisconscious brother, and Val bit his lips. After that, throughout themorning, they maintained a studied silence towards each other; andthis was observed, but was not commented on. Val was unusually quietaltogether: he was saying to himself that he was sullen. 

The starting-hour for the race was three o'clock; but long before thattime the scene was sufficiently animated, not to say exciting. It was amost lovely afternoon. Not a trace remained of the previous day's rain;and the river--wide just there, as it took the sweeping curve of thepoint--was dotted with these little wager boats. Their owners for thetime being, in their white boating-costume, each displaying his colours, were in highest spirits; and the fair gazers gathered on the banks wereanxious as to the result. The favourite was Lord Hartledon--by long odds, as Mr. Shute grumbled. Had his lordship been known not to possess thesmallest chance, nine of those fair girls out of ten would, nevertheless, have betted upon him. Some of them were hoping to play for a deeper stakethan a pair of gloves. A staff, from which fluttered a gay little flag, had been driven into the ground, exactly opposite the house; it was thestarting and the winning point. At a certain distance up the river, nearto the mill, a boat was moored in mid-stream: this they would row round, and come back again. 

At three o'clock they were to take the boats; and, allowing for timebeing wasted in the start, might be in again and the race won inthree-quarters-of-an-hour. But, as is often the case, the time was notadhered to; one hindrance after another occurred; there was a great dealof laughing and joking, forgetting of things, and of getting into order;and at a quarter to four they were not off. But all were ready at last, and most of the rowers were each in his little cockle-shell. LordHartledon lingered yet in the midst of the group of ladies, all clusteredtogether at one spot, who were keeping him with their many comments andquestions. Each wore the colours of her favourite: the crimson and purplepredominating, for they were those of their host. Lady Kirton displayedher loyalty in a conspicuous manner. She had an old crimson gauze skirton, once a ball-dress, with ends of purple ribbon floating from it andfluttering in the wind; and a purple head-dress with a crimson feather. Maude, in a spirit of perversity, displayed a blue shoulder-knot, timidlyoffered to her by a young Oxford man who was staying there, Mr. Shute;and Anne Ashton wore the colours given her by Lord Hartledon. 

"I can't stay; you'd keep me here all day: don't you see they are waitingfor me?" he laughingly cried, extricating himself from the throng. "Why, Anne, my dear, is it you? How is it I did not see you before? Are youhere alone?"

She had not long joined the crowd, having come up late from the Rectory, and had been standing outside, for she never put herself forwardanywhere. Lord Hartledon drew her arm within his own for a moment andtook her apart. 

"Arthur came up with me: I don't know where he is now. Mamma was afraidto venture, fearing the grass might be damp. "

"And the Rector _of course_ would not countenance us by coming, " saidLord Hartledon, with a laugh. "I remember his prejudices against boatingof old. "

"He is coming to dinner. "

"As you all are; Arthur also to-day. I made the doctor promise that. Ajolly banquet we'll have, too, and toast the winner. Anne, I just wantedto say this to you; Val is in an awful rage with me for letting thatmatter get to the ears of your father, and I am not pleased with him; soaltogether we are just now treating each other to a dose of sullenness, and when we do speak it's to growl like two amiable bears; but it shallmake no difference to what I said last week. All shall be made smooth, even to the satisfaction of your father. You may trust me. "

He ran off from her, stepped into the skiff, and was taking the sculls, when he uttered a sudden exclamation, leaped out again, and began to runwith all speed towards the house. 

"What is it? Where are you going?" asked the O'Moore, who was theappointed steward. 

"I have forgotten--" _What_, they did not catch; the word was lost on theair. 

"It is bad luck to turn back, " called out Maude. "You won't win. "

He was already half-way to the house. A couple of minutes after enteringit he reappeared again, and came flying down the slopes at full speed. Suddenly his foot slipped, and he fell to the ground. The only one whosaw the accident was Mr. O'Moore; the general attention at that momentbeing concentrated upon the river. He hastened back. Hartledon was thengathering himself up, but slowly. 

"No damage, " said he; "only a bit of a wrench to the foot. Give me yourarm for a minute, O'Moore. This ground must be slippery from yesterday'srain. "

Mr. O'Moore held out his arm, and Hartledon took it. "The ground is notslippery, Hart; it's as dry as a bone. "

"Then what caused me to slip?"

"The rate you were coming at. Had you not better give up the contest, andrest?"

"Nonsense! My foot will be all right in the skiff. Let us get on; they'llall be out of patience. "

When it was seen that something was amiss with him, that he leaned ratherheavily on the O'Moore, eager steps pressed round him. Lord Hartledonlaughed, making light of it; he had been so clumsy as to stumble, and hadtwisted his ankle a little. It was nothing. 

"Stay on shore and give it a rest, " cried one, as he stepped once moreinto the little boat. "I am sure you are hurt. "

"Not I. It will have rest in the boat. Anne, " he said, looking up at herwith his pleasant smile, "do you wear my colours still?"

She touched the knot on her bosom, and smiled back to him, her tone fullof earnestness. "I would wear them always. "

And the countess-dowager, in her bedecked flounces and crimson feather, looked as if she would like to throw the knot and its wearer into theriver, in the wake of the wager boats. After one or two false starts, they got off at last. 

"Do you think it seemly, this flirtation of yours with Lord Hartledon?"

Anne turned in amazement. The face of the old dowager was close to her;the snub nose and rouged cheeks and false flaxen front looked ready toeat her up. 

"I have no flirtation with Lord Hartledon, Lady Kirton; or he with me. When I was a child, and he a great boy, years older, he loved me andpetted me as a little sister: I think he does the same still. "

"My daughter tells me you are counting upon one of the two. If I say toyou, do not be too sanguine of either, I speak as a friend; as yourmother might speak. Lord Hartledon is already appropriated; and ValElster is not worth appropriating. "

Was she mad? Anne Ashton looked at her, really doubting it. No, she wasonly vulgar-minded, and selfish, and utterly impervious to all sense ofshame in her scheming. Instinctively Anne moved a pace further off. 

"I do not think Lord Hartledon is appropriated yet, " spoke Anne, in alittle spirit of mischievous retaliation. "That some amongst his presentguests would be glad to appropriate him may be likely enough; but what ifhe is not willing to be appropriated? He said to Mr. Elster, last week, that they were wasting their time. "

"Who's Mr. Elster?" cried the angry dowager. "What right has he to beat Hartledon, poking his nose into everything that does not concernhim?--what right has he, I ask?"

"The right of being Lord Hartledon's brother, " carelessly replied Anne. 

"It is a right he had best not presume upon, " rejoined Lady Kirton. "Brothers are brothers as children; but the tie widens as they grow upand launch out into their different spheres. There's not a man of allHartledon's guests but has more right to be here than Val Elster. "

"Yet they are brothers still. "

"Brothers! I'll take care that Val Elster presumes no more upon the tiewhen Maude reigns at--"

For once the countess-dowager caught up her words. She had said more thanshe had meant to say. Anne Ashton's calm sweet eyes were bent upon her, waiting for more. 

"It is true, " she said, giving a shake to the purple tails, and taking asudden resolution, "Maude is to be his wife; but I ought not to have letit slip out. It was unintentional; and I throw myself on your honour, Miss Ashton. "

"But it is not true?" asked Anne, somewhat perplexed. 

"It _is_ true. Hartledon has his own reasons for keeping it quiet atpresent; but--you'll see when the time comes. Should I take upon myselfso much rule here, but that it is to be Maude's future home?"

"I don't believe it, " cried Anne, as the old story-teller sailed off. "That she loves him, and that her mother is anxious to secure him, isevident; but he is truthful and open, and would never conceal it. No, no, Lady Maude! you are cherishing a false hope. You are very beautiful, butyou are not worthy of him; and I should not like you for my sister-in-lawat all. That dreadful old countess-dowager! How she dislikes Val, and howrude she is! I'll try not to come in her way again after to-day, as longas they are at Hartledon. "

"What are you thinking of, Anne?"

"Oh, not much, " she answered, with a soft blush, for the questioner wasMr. Elster. "Do you think your brother has hurt himself much, Val?"

"I didn't know he had hurt himself at all, " returned Val rather coolly, who had been on the river at the time in somebody's skiff, and sawnothing of the occurrence. "What has he done?"

"He slipped down on the slopes and twisted his ankle. I suppose they willbe coming back soon. "

"I suppose they will, " was the answer. Val seemed in an ungraciousmood. He and Mr. O'Moore and young Carteret were the only three who hadremained behind. Anne asked Val why he did not go and look on; and heanswered, because he didn't want to. 

It was getting on for five o'clock when the boats were discernedreturning. How they clustered on the banks, watching the excited rowers, some pale with their exertions, others in a white heat! Captain Dawkeswas first, and was doing all he could to keep so; but when only a boat'slength from the winning-post another shot past him, and won by half alength. It was the young Oxonian, Mr. Shute--though indeed it does notmuch matter who it was, save that it was not Lord Hartledon. 

"Strike your colours, ladies, you that sport the crimson and purple!"called out a laughing voice from one of the skiffs. "Oxford blue wins. "

Lord Hartledon arrived last. He did not get up for some minutes after therest were in. In short, he was distanced. 

"Hart has hurt his arm as well as his foot, " observed one of the others, as he came alongside. "That's why he got distanced. "

"No, it was not, " dissented Lord Hartledon, looking up from his skiff atthe crowd of fair faces bent down upon him. "My arm is all right; it onlygave me a few twinges when I first started. My oar fouled, and I couldnot get right again; so, finding I had lost too much ground, I gave upthe contest. Anne, had I known I should disgrace my colours, I would nothave given them to _you_. "

"Miss Ashton loses, and Maude wins!" cried the countess-dowager, executing a little dance of triumph. "Maude is the only one who wearsthe Oxford blue. "

It was true. The young Oxonian was a retiring and timid man, and none hadvoluntarily assumed his colours. But no one heeded the countess-dowager. 

"You are like a child, Hartledon, denying that your arm's damaged!"exclaimed Captain Dawkes. "I know it is: I could see it by the way youstruck your oar all along. "

What feeling is it in man that prompts him to disclaim physicalpain?--make light of personal injury? Lord Hartledon's ankle wasswelling, at the bottom of the boat; and without the slightest doubthis arm _was_ paining him, although perhaps at the moment not veryconsiderably. But he maintained his own assertions, and protested hisarm was as sound as the best arm present. "I could go over the work againwith pleasure, " cried he. 

"Nonsense, Hart! You could not. "

"And I _will_ go over it, " he added, warming with the opposition. "Who'lltry his strength with me? There's plenty of time before dinner. "

"I will, " eagerly spoke young Carteret, who had been, as was remarked, one of those on land, and was wild to be handling the oars. "If Dawkeswill let me have his skiff, I'll bet you ten to five you are distancedagain, Hartledon. "

Perhaps Lord Hartledon had not thought his challenge would be takenseriously. But when he saw the eager, joyous look of the boy Carteret--hewas not yet nineteen--the flushed pleasure of the beardless face, hewould not have retracted it for the world. He was just as good-naturedas Percival Elster. 

"Dawkes will let you have his skiff, Carteret. "

Captain Dawkes was exceedingly glad to be rid of it. Good boatman thoughhe was, he rarely cared to spend his strength superfluously, when nothingwas to be gained by it, and had no fancy to row his skiff back to itsmoorings, as most of the others were already doing with theirs. He leapedout. 

"Any one but you, Hartledon, would be glad to come out of thattilting thing, and enjoy a rest, and get your face cool, " cried thecountess-dowager. 

"I dare say they might, ma'am. I'm afraid I am given to obstinacy; alwayswas. Be quick, Carteret. "

Mr. Carteret was hastily stripping himself of his coat, and any odds andends of attire he deemed superfluous. "One moment, Hartledon; only onemoment, " came the joyous response. 

"And you'll come home with your arm and your ankle like your colours, Hartledon--crimson and purple, " screamed the dowager. "And you'll be laidup, and go on perhaps to locked jaw; and then you'll expect me to nurseyou!"

"I shall expect nothing of the sort, ma'am, I pledge you my word; I'llnurse myself. All ready, Carteret?"

"All ready. Same point as before, Hart?"

"Same point: round the boat and home again. "

"And it's ten sovs. To five, Hart?"

"All right. You'll lose, Carteret. "

Carteret laughed. He saw the five sovereigns as surely in his possessionas he saw the sculls in his hands. There was no trouble with the startthis time, and they were off at once. 

Lord Hartledon took the lead. He was spurring his strength to theuttermost: perhaps out of bravado; that he might show them nothing wasthe matter with his arm. But Mr. Carteret gained on him; and as theyturned the point and went out of sight, the young man's boat was theforemost. 

The race had been kept--as the sporting men amongst them styled it--dark. Not an inkling of it had been suffered to get abroad, or, as LordHartledon had observed, they should have the banks swarming. Theconsequence was, that not more than half-a-dozen curious idlers hadassembled: those were on the opposite side, and had now gone down withthe boats to Calne. No spectators, either on the river or the shore, attended this lesser contest: Lord Hartledon and Mr. Carteret had it allto themselves. 

And meanwhile, during the time Lord Hartledon had remained at rest in hisskiff under the winning flag, Percival Elster never addressed one word tohim. There he stood, on the edge of the bank; but not a syllable spokehe, good, bad, or indifferent. 

Miss Ashton was looking for her brother, and might just as well havelooked for a needle in a bottle of hay. Arthur was off somewhere. 

"You need not go home yet, Anne, " said Val. 

"I must. I have to dress for dinner. It is all to be very smart to-night, you know, " she said, with a merry laugh. 

"With Shute in the post of honour. Who'd have thought that awkward, quietfellow would win? I will see you home, Anne, if you must go. "

Miss Ashton coloured vividly with embarrassment. In the present state ofaffairs, she did not know whether that might be permitted: poor Val wasout of favour at the Rectory. He detected the feeling, and it tended tovex him more and more. 

"Nonsense, Anne! The veto has not yet been interposed, and they can'tkill you for allowing my escort. Stay here if you like: if you go, Ishall see you home. "

It was quite imperative that she should go, for dinner at Hartledon wasthat evening fixed for seven o'clock, and there would be little enoughtime to dress and return again. They set out, walking side by side. Annetold him of what Lord Hartledon had said to her that day; and Valcoloured with shame at the sullenness he had displayed, and his heartwent into a glow of repentance. Had he met his brother then, he hadclasped his hand, and poured forth his contrition. 

He met some one else instead, almost immediately. It was Dr. Ashton, coming for Anne. Percival was not wanted now: was not invited to continuehis escort. A cold, civil word or two passed, and Val struck across thegrove into the high-road, and returned to Hartledon. 

He was about to turn in at the lodge-gates with his usual greeting toMrs. Capper when his attention was caught by a figure coming down theavenue. A man in a long coat, his face ornamented with red whiskers. Itrequired no second glance for recognition. Whiskers and coat proclaimedtheir owner at once; and if ever Val Elster's heart leaped into hismouth, it certainly leaped then. 

He went on, instead of turning in; quietly, as if he were only a strangerenjoying an evening stroll up the road; but the moment he was past thegates he set off at breakneck speed, not heeding where. That the man wasthere to arrest him, he felt as sure as he had ever felt of anything inthis world; and in his perplexity he began accusing every one oftreachery, Lord Hartledon and Pike in particular. 

The river at the back in this part took a sweeping curve, the road keptstraight; so that to arrive at a given point, the one would be morequickly traversed than the other. On and on went Val Elster; and as soonas an opening allowed, he struck into the brushwood on the right, intending to make his way back by the river to Hartledon. 

But not yet. Not until the shades of night should fall on the earth:he would have a better chance of getting away from that shark in thedarkness than by daylight. He propped his back against a tree and waited, hating himself all the time for his cowardice. With all his scrapes anddilemmas, he had never been reduced to this sort of hiding. 

And his pursuer had struck into the wood after him, passed straightthrough it, though with some little doubt and difficulty, and was alreadyby the river-side, getting there just as Lord Hartledon was passing inhis skiff. Long as this may have seemed in telling, it took only a shorttime to accomplish; still Lord Hartledon had not made quick way, or hewould have been further on his course in the race. 

Would the sun ever set?--daylight ever pass? Val thought _not_, in hisimpatience; and he ventured out of his shelter very soon, and saw for hisreward--the long coat and red whiskers by the river-side, their ownerconversing with a man. Val went further away, keeping the direction ofthe stream: the brushwood might no longer be safe. He did not think theyhad seen him: the man he dreaded had his back to him, the other his face. And that other was Pike. 

CHAPTER IX. 

WAITING FOR DINNER. 

Dinner at Hartledon had been ordered for seven o'clock. It was beyondthat hour when Dr. Ashton arrived, for he had been detained--aclergyman's time is not always under his own control. Anne and Arthurwere with him, but not Mrs. Ashton. He came in, ready with an apology forhis tardiness, but found he need not offer it; neither Lord Hartledon norhis brother having yet appeared. 

"Hartledon and that boy Carteret have not returned home yet, " said thecountess-dowager, in her fiercest tones, for she liked her dinner morethan any other earthly thing, and could not brook being kept waiting forit. "And when they do come, they'll keep us another half-hour dressing. "

"I beg your ladyship's pardon--they have come, " interposed CaptainDawkes. "Carteret was going into his room as I came out of mine. "

"Time they were, " grumbled the dowager. "They were not in five minutesago, for I sent to ask. "

"Which of the two won the race?" inquired Lady Maude of Captain Dawkes. 

"I don't think Carteret did, " he replied, laughing. "He seemed as sulkyas a bear, and growled out that there had been no race, for Hartledon hadplayed him a trick. "

"What did he mean?"

"Goodness knows. "

"I hope Hartledon upset him, " charitably interrupted the dowager. "Aducking would do that boy good; he is too forward by half. "

There was more waiting. The countess-dowager flounced about in her pinksatin gown; but it did not bring the loiterers any the sooner. LadyMaude--perverse still, but beautiful--talked in whispers to the hero ofthe day, Mr. Shute; wearing a blue-silk robe and a blue wreath in herhair. Anne, adhering to the colours of Lord Hartledon, though he had beendefeated, was in a rich, glistening white silk, with natural flowers, redand purple, on its body, and the same in her hair. Her sweet face wassunny again, her eyes were sparkling: a word dropped by Dr. Ashton hadgiven her a hope that, perhaps, Percival Elster might be forgivensometime. 

He was the first of the culprits to make his appearance. The dowagerattacked him of course. What did he mean by keeping dinner waiting?

Val replied that he was late in coming home; he had been out. As tokeeping dinner waiting, it seemed that Lord Hartledon was doing that:he didn't suppose they'd have waited for him. 

He spoke tartly, as if not on good terms with himself or the world. AnneAshton, near to whom he had drawn, looked up at him with a charmingsmile. 

"Things may brighten, Percival, " she softly breathed. 

"It's to be hoped they will, " gloomily returned Val. "They look darkenough just now. "

"What have you done to your face?" she whispered. 

"To my face? Nothing that I know of. "

"The forehead is red, as if it had been bruised, or slightly grazed. "

Val put his hand up to his forehead. "I did feel something when I washedjust now, " he remarked slowly, as though doubting whether anything waswrong or not. "It must have been done--when I--struck against that tree, "he added, apparently taxing his recollection. 

"How was that?"

"I was running in the dusk, and did not notice the branch of a tree in myway. It's nothing, Anne, and will soon go off. "

Mr. Carteret came in, looking just as Val Elster had done--out of sorts. Questions were showered upon him as to the fate of the race; but thedowager's voice was heard above all. 

"This is a pretty time to make your appearance, sir! Where's LordHartledon?"

"In his room, I suppose. Hartledon never came, " he added in sulky tones, as he turned from her to the rest. "I rowed on, and on, thinking hownicely I was distancing him, and got down, the mischief knows where. Miles, nearly, I must have gone. "

"But why did you pass the turning-point?" asked one. 

"There was no turning-point, " returned Mr. Carteret; "some confoundedmeddler must have unmoored the boat as soon as the first race was over, and I, like an idiot, rowed on, looking for it. All at once it came intomy mind what a way I must have gone, and I turned and waited. And mighthave waited till now, " he added, "for Hart never came. "

"Then his arm must have failed him, " exclaimed Captain Dawkes. "I thoughtit was all wrong. "

"It wasn't right, for I soon shot past him, " returned young Carteret. "But Hart knew the spot where the boat ought to have been, though Ididn't; what he did, I suppose, was to clear round it just as though ithad been there, and come in home again. It will be an awful shame if hetakes an unfair advantage of it, and claims the race. "

"Hartledon never took an unfair advantage in his life, " spoke up ValElster, in clear, decisive tones. "You need not be afraid, Carteret. I dare say his arm failed him. "

"Well, he might have hallooed when he found it failing, and not havesuffered me to row all that way for nothing, " retorted young Carteret. "Not a trace could I see of him as I came back; he had hastened home, I expect, to shut himself up in his room with his damaged arm and foot. "

"I'll see what he's doing there, " said Val. 

He went out; but returned immediately. 

"We are all under a mistake, " was his greeting. "Hartledon has notreturned yet. His servant is in his room waiting for him. "

"Then what do you mean by telling stories?" demanded thecountess-dowager, turning sharply on Mr. Carteret. 

"Good Heavens, ma'am! you need not begin upon me!" returned youngCarteret. "I have told no stories. I said Hart let me go on, and nevercame on himself; if that's a story, I'll swallow Dawkes's skiff and thesculls too. "

"You said he was in his room. You know you did. "

"I said I supposed so. It's usual for a man to go there, I believe, toget ready for dinner, " added young Carteret, always ripe for a wordy war, in his antipathy to the countess-dowager. 

"_You_ said he had come in;" and the angry woman faced round on CaptainDawkes. "You saw them going into their rooms, you said. Which was it--youdid, or you didn't?"

"I did see Carteret make his appearance; and assumed that Lord Hartledonhad gone on to his room, " replied the captain, suppressing a laugh. "I amsorry to have misled your ladyship. I dare say Hart is about the housesomewhere. "

"Then why doesn't he appear?" stormed the dowager. "Pretty behaviourthis, to keep us all waiting dinner. I shall tell him so. Val Elster, ring for Hedges. "

Val rang the bell. "Has Lord Hartledon come in?" he asked, when thebutler appeared. 

"No, sir. "

"And dinner's spoiling, isn't it, Hedges?" broke in the dowager. 

"It won't be any the better for waiting, my lady. "

"No. I must exercise my privilege and order it served. At once, Hedges, do you hear? If Hartledon grumbles, I shall tell him it serves himright. "

"But where can Hartledon be?" cried Captain Dawkes. 

"That's what I am wondering, " said Val. "He can't be on the river allthis time; Carteret would have seen him in coming home. "

A strangely grave shade, looking almost like a prevision of evil, aroseto Dr. Ashton's face. "I trust nothing has happened to him, " heexclaimed. "Where did you part company with him, Mr. Carteret?"

"That's more than I can tell you, sir. You must have seen--at least--no, you were not there; but those looking on must have seen me get ahead ofhim within view of the starting-point; soon after that I lost sight ofhim. The river winds, you know; and of course I thought he was coming onbehind me. Very daft of me, not to divine that the boat had beenremoved!"

"Do you think he passed the mill?"

"The mill?"

"That place where the river forms what might almost be called a miniatureharbour. A mill is built there which the stream serves. You could notfail to see it. "

"I remember now. Yes, I saw the mill. What of it?"

"Did Lord Hartledon pass it?"

"How should I know!" cried the boy. "I had lost sight of him ages beforethat. "

"The current is extremely rapid there, " observed Dr. Ashton. "If he foundhis arm failing, he might strike down to the mill and land there; and hisankle may be keeping him a prisoner. "

"And that's what it is!" exclaimed Val. 

They were crossing the hall to the dining-room. Without the slightestceremony, the countess-dowager pushed herself foremost and advanced tothe head of the table. 

"I shall occupy this seat in my nephew's absence, " said she. "Dr. Ashton, will you be so good as to take the foot? There's no one else. "

"Nay, madam; though Lord Hartledon may not be here, Mr. Elster is. "

She had actually forgotten Val; and would have liked to ignore him nowthat he was recalled to remembrance; but that might not be. As muchcontempt as could be expressed in her face was there, as she turned hersnub nose and small round eyes defiantly upon that unoffending youngerbrother. 

"I was going to request you to take it, sir, " said Percival, in lowtones, to Dr. Ashton. "I shall go off in the pony-carriage for Edward. He must think we are neglecting him. "

"Very well. I hate these rowing matches, " heartily added the Rector. 

"What a curious old fish that parson must be!" ejaculated young Carteretto his next neighbour. "He says he doesn't like boating. "

It happened to be Arthur Ashton, and the lad's brow lowered. "You arespeaking of my father, " he said. "But I'll tell you why he does not likeit. He had a brother once, a good deal older than himself; they had nofather, and Arthur--that was the elder--was very fond of him: there wereonly those two. He took him out in a boat one day, and there was anaccident: the eldest was drowned, the little one saved. Do you wonderthat my father has dreaded boating ever since? He seems to have the samesort of dread of it that a child who has been frightened by its nurse hasof the dark. "

"By Jove! that was a go, though!" was the sympathising comment of Mr. Carteret. 

The doctor said grace, and dinner proceeded. It was not half over whenMr. Elster came in, in his light overcoat. Walking straight up to thetable, he stood by it, his face wearing a blank, perplexed look. Amomentary silence of expectation, and then many tongues spoke together. 

"Where's your brother? Where's Lord Hartledon? Has he not come?"

"I don't know where he is, " answered Val. "I was in hopes he had reachedhome before me, but I find he has not. I can't make it out at all. "

"Did he land at the mill?" asked Dr. Ashton. 

"Yes, he must have done so, for the skiff is moored there. "

"Then he's all right, " cried the doctor; and there was a strangely-markedsound of relief in his tones. 

"Oh, he is all right, " confidently asserted Percival. "The only questionis, where he can be. The miller was out this afternoon, and left hisplace locked up; so that Hartledon could not get in, and had nothing forit but to start home with his lameness, or sit down on the bank untilsome one found him. "

"He must have set off to walk. "

"I should think so. But where has he walked to?" added Val. "I droveslowly home, looking on either side of the road, but could see nothing ofhim. "

"What should bring him on the side of the road?" demanded the dowager. "Do you think he would turn tramp, and take his seat on a heap of stones?Where do you get your ideas from?"

"From common sense, ma'am. If he set out to walk, and his foot failed himhalf-way, there'd be nothing for it but to sit down and wait. But he is_not_ on the road: that is the curious part of the business. "

"Would he come the other way?"

"Hardly. It is so much further by the river than by the road. "

"You may depend upon it that is what he has done, " said Dr. Ashton. "Hemight think he should meet some of you that way, and get an arm to helphim. "

"I declare I never thought of that, " exclaimed Val, his face brightening. "There he is, no doubt; perched somewhere between this and the mill, likepatience on a monument, unable to put foot to the ground. "

He turned away. Some of the men offered to accompany him: but he declinedtheir help, and begged them to go on with their dinner, saying he wouldtake sufficient servants with him, even though they had to carryHartledon. 

So Mr. Elster went, taking servants and lanterns; for in some parts ofthis road the trees overhung, and rendered it dark. But they could notfind Lord Hartledon. They searched, and shouted, and waved theirlanterns: all in vain. Very much perplexed indeed did Val Elster lookwhen he got back again. 

"Where in the world can he have gone to?" angrily questioned thecountess-dowager; and she glared from her seat at the head of the tableon the offender Val, as she asked it. "I must say all this is mostunseemly, and Hartledon ought to be brought to his senses for causing it. I suppose he has taken himself off to a surgeon's. "

It was possible, but unlikely, as none knew better than Val Elster. Toget to the surgeon's he would have to pass his own house, and would bemore likely to go in, and send for Mr. Hillary, than walk on with adisabled foot. Besides, if he had gone to the surgeon's, he would notstay there all this time. "I don't know what to do, " said PercivalElster; and there was the same blank, perplexed look on his face that wasobserved the first time he came in. "I don't much like the appearance ofthings. "

"Why, you don't think anything's wrong with him!" exclaimed youngCarteret, starting-up with an alarmed face. "He's safe to turn up, isn'the?"

"Of course he will turn up, " answered Val, in a dreamy tone. "Only thisuncertainty, as to where to look for him, is not pleasant. "

Dr. Ashton motioned Val to his side. "Are you fearing an accident?" heasked in low tones. 

"No, sir. "

"I am. That current by the mill is so fearfully strong; and if yourbrother had not the use of his one arm--and the boat was drawn onwards, beyond his control--and upset--"

Dr. Ashton paused. Val Elster looked rather surprised. 

"How could it upset, sir? The skiffs are as safe as this floor. I don'tfear that in the least: what I do fear is that Edward may be in someout-of-the-way nook, insensible from pain, and won't be found untildaylight. Fancy, a whole night out of doors, in that state! He might behalf-dead with cold by the morning. "

Dr. Ashton shook his head in dissent. His dislike of boating seemed justnow to be rising into horror. 

"What are you going to do now, Elster?" inquired Captain Dawkes. 

"Go to the mill again, I think, and find out if any one saw Hartledonleave the skiff, and which way he took. One of the servants can run downto Hillary's the while. "

Dr. Ashton rose, bowing for permission to Lady Kirton; and the gentlemenwith one accord rose with him, the same purpose in the mind of all--thatof more effectually scouring the ground between the mill and Hartledon. The countess-dowager felt that she should like to box the ears of everyone of them. The idea of danger in connection with Lord Hartledon hadnot yet penetrated to her brain. 

At this moment, before they had left the room, there arose a strange wildsound from without--almost an unearthly sound--that seemed to come fromseveral voices, and to be bearing round the house from the river-path. Mrs. O'Moore put down her knife and fork, and rose up with a startledcry. 

"There's nothing to be alarmed at, " said the dowager. "It is those Irishharvesters. I know their horrid voices, and dare say they are riotouslydrunk. Hartledon ought to put them in prison for it. "

The sounds died away into silence. Mrs. O'Moore took her hands from hereyes, where they had been pressed. "Don't you know what it is, LadyKirton? It is the Irish death-wail!"

It rose again, louder than before, for those from whom it came werenearing the house--a horribly wailing sound, ringing out in the silenceof the night. Mrs. O'Moore crouched into her chair again, and hid herterrified face. She was not Irish, and had never heard that sound butonce, and that was when her child died. 

"She is right, " cried her husband, the O'Moore; "that is the death-wail. Hark! it is for a chieftain; they mourn the loss of one high in the land. And--they are coming here! Oh, Elster! can DEATH have overtaken yourbrother?"

The gentlemen had stood spell-bound, listening to the sound, their facesa mixture of surprise and credulity. At the words they rushed out withone accord, and the women stole after them with trembling steps andblanched lips. 

"If ever I saw such behaviour in all my existence!" irascibly spoke thecountess-dowager, who was left alone in her glory. "The death-wail, indeed! The woman's a fool. I'll get those Irishmen transported, ifI can. "

In the hall the servants were gathered, cowering almost as the ladiesdid. Their master had flown down the hall-steps, and the labourers werecoming steadily up to it, bearing something in procession. Dr. Ashtoncame back as quickly as he had gone out, extending his arms before him. 

"Ladies, I pray you go in, " he urged, in strange agitation. "You must notmeet these--these Irishmen. Go back to the dining-room, I entreat you, and remain in it. "

But the curiosity of women--who can suppress it? They were as though theyheard not, and were pressing on to the door, when Val Elster dashed inwith a white face. 

"Back, all of you! You must not stay here. This is no place or sight foryou. Anne, " he added, seizing Miss Ashton's hand in peremptory entreaty, "you at least know how to be calm. Get them away, and keep them out ofthe hall. "

"Tell me the worst, " she implored. "I will indeed try to be calm. Who isit those men are bringing here?"

"My dear brother--my dead brother. Madam, " he continued to thecountess-dowager, who had now come out, dinner-napkin in hand, her curlsall awry, "you must not come here. Go back to the dining-room, all ofyou. "

"Not come here! Go back to the dining-room!" echoed the outraged dowager. "Don't take quite so much upon yourself, Val Elster. The house is LordHartledon's, and I am a free agent in it. "

A shriek--an agonized shriek--broke from Lady Maude. In her suspense shehad stolen out unperceived, and lifted the covering of the rude bier, nowresting on the steps. The rays of the hall-lamp fell on the face, andMaude, in her anguish, with a succession of hysterical sobs, cameshivering back to sink down at her mother's feet. 

"Oh, my love--my love! Dead! dead!"

The only one who heard the words was Anne Ashton. The countess-dowagercaught the last. 

"Who is dead? What is this mystery?" she asked, unceremoniously liftingher satin dress, with the intention of going out to see, and her headbegan to nod--perhaps with apprehension--as if she had the palsy. "Youwant to force us away. No, thank you; not until I've come to the bottomof this. "

"Let us tell them, " cried young Carteret, in his boyish impulse, "andthen perhaps they will go. An accident has happened to Lord Hartledon, ma'am, and these men have brought him home. "

"He--_he's_ not dead?" asked the old woman, in changed tones. 

Alas! poor Lord Hartledon was indeed dead. The Irish labourers, inpassing near the mill, had detected the body in the water; rescued it, and brought it home. 

The countess-dowager's grief commenced rather turbulently. She talked andshrieked, and danced round, exactly as if she had been a wild Indian. Itwas so intensely ludicrous, that the occupants of the hall gazed insilence. 

"Here to-day, and gone to-morrow!" she sobbed. "Oh--o--o--o--o--o--oh!"

"Nay, " cried young Carteret, "here to-day, and gone _now_. Poor fellow!it is awful. "

"And you have done it!" she cried, turning her grief upon the astonishedboy. "You! What business had you to allure him off again in thatmiserable boat, once he had got home?"

"Don't trample me down, please, " he indignantly returned; "I am as cut upas you can be. Hedges, hadn't you better get Lady Kirton's maid here? Ithink she is going mad. "

"And now the house is without a master, " she bemoaned, returning to herown griefs and troubles, "and I have all the arrangements thrown uponmyself. "

"The house is not without a master, " said young Carteret, who seemedinclined to have the last word. "If one master has gone from it, poorfellow! there's another to replace him; and he is at your elbow now. "

He at her elbow was Val Elster. Lady Kirton gathered in the sense of thewords, and gave a cry; a prolonged cry of absolute dismay. 

"_He_ can't be its master. "

"I should say he _is_, ma'am. At any rate he is now Lord Hartledon. "

She looked from one to the other in helpless doubt. It was a contingencythat had never so much as occurred to her. Had she wanted confirmation, the next moment brought it to her from the lips of the butler. 

"Hedges, " called out Percival sternly, in his embarrassment and grief, "open the dining-room door. We _must_ get the hall cleared. "

"The door is open, my lord. "

"_He_ Lord Hartledon!" shrieked the countess-dowager, "why, I was goingto recommend his brother to ship him off to Canada for life. "

It was altogether an unseemly scene at such a time. But almost everythingthe Countess-Dowager of Kirton did was unseemly. 

CHAPTER X. 

MR. PIKE'S VISIT. 

Percival Elster was in truth Earl of Hartledon. By one of thoseunexpected calamities, which are often inexplicable--and which mostcertainly was so as yet in the present instance--a promising young lifehad been snapped asunder, and another reigned in his place. In one shorthour Val Elster, who had scarcely cross or coin to call his own, had beengoing in danger of arrest from one moment to another, had become a peerof the realm and a man of wealth. 

As they laid the body down in a small room opening from the hall, and hislate companions and guests crowded around in awe-struck silence, therewas one amidst them who could not control his grief and emotion. It waspoor Val. Pushing aside the others, never heeding them in his bittersorrow, he burst into passionate sobs as he leaned over the corpse. Andnone of them thought the worse of Val for it. 

"Oh, Percival! how did it happen?"

The speaker was Dr. Ashton. Little less affected himself, he clasped theyoung man's hand in token of heartfelt sympathy. 

"I cannot think _how_ it could have happened, " replied Percival, whenable to control his feelings sufficiently to speak. "It seems awfullystrange to me--mysteriously so. "

"If he found himself going wrong, why didn't he shout out?" asked youngCarteret, with a rueful face. "I couldn't have helped hearing him. "

It was a question that was passing through the minds of all; was beingwhispered about. How could it have happened? The body presented the usualappearance of death from drowning; but close to the left temple was awound, and the face was otherwise disfigured. It must have been done, they thought, by coming into contact with something or other in thewater; perhaps the skiff itself. Arm and ankle were both much swollen. 

Nothing was certainly known as yet of Lord Hartledon from the time Mr. Carteret parted company with him, to the time when the body was found. Itappeared that these Irish labourers were going home from their work, singing as they went, their road lying past the mill, when they werespoken to by the miller's boy. He stood on the species of estrade whichthe miller had placed there for his own convenience, bending down as faras his young head and shoulders could reach, and peering into the waterattentively. "I think I see some'at in the stream, " quoth he, and the menstopped; and after a short time, proceeded to search. It proved to be thedead body of Lord Hartledon, caught amongst the reeds. 

It was rather a curious coincidence that Percival Elster and his servantsin the last search should have heard the voices of the labourers singingin the distance. But they were too far off on their return to Hartledonto be within hearing when the men found the body. 

The news spread; people came up from far and near, and Hartledon wasbesieged. Mr. Hillary, the surgeon, gave it as his opinion that the woundon the temple, no doubt caused before death, had rendered Lord Hartledoninsensible, and unable to extricate himself from the water. The mill andcottage were built on what might be called an arm of the river. LordHartledon had no business there at all; but the current was very strong;and if, as was too probable, he had become almost disabled, he might havedrifted to it without being able to help himself; or he might have beenmaking for it, intending to land and rest in the cottage until help couldbe summoned to convey him home. How he got into the water was not known. Once in the water, the blow was easy enough to receive; he might havestruck against the estrade. 

There is almost sure to be some miserable coincidence in these cases torender them doubly unfortunate. For three weeks past, as the millertestified--a respectable man named Floyd--his mill had not been deserted;some one, man, boy, or woman, had always been there. On this afternoon itwas closed, mill and cottage too, and all were away. What might have beensimply a slight accident, had help been at hand, had terminated in anawful death for the want of it. 

It was eleven o'clock before anything like order was restored atHartledon, and the house left in quiet. The last person to quit it wasDr. Ashton. Hedges, the butler, had been showing him out, and wasstanding for a minute on the steps looking after him, and perhaps tocool, with a little fresh air, his perplexed brow--for the man was afaithful retainer, and the affair had shocked him in no commondegree--when he was accosted by Pike, who emerged stealthily from behindone of the outer pillars, where he seemed to have been sheltering. 

"Why, what have you been doing there?" exclaimed the butler. 

"Mr. Hedges, I've been waiting here--hiding, if you like to call it so, "was the answer; and it should be observed that the man's manner, quiteunlike his usual rough, devil-may-care tone, was characterized bysingular respect and earnestness. To hear him, and not see him, you mightthink you were listening to some staid and respectable friend of thefamily. "I have been standing there this hour past, keeping behind thepillar while other folk went in and out, and waiting my time to speak toyou. "

"To me?" repeated Hedges. 

"Yes, sir. I want you to grant me a favour; and I hope you'll pardon myboldness in asking it. "

Hedges did not know what to make of this. It was the first time hehad enjoyed the honour of a personal interview with Mr. Pike; and thecontrast between that gentleman's popular reputation and his present toneand manner struck the butler as exceedingly singular. But that the butlerwas in a very softened mood, feeling full of subdued charity towards allthe world, he might not have condescended to parley with the man. 

"What is the favour?" he inquired. 

"I want you to let me in to see the poor young earl--what's left of him. "

"Let you in to see the earl!" echoed Hedges in surprise. "I never heardsuch a bold request. "

"It is bold. I've already said so, and asked you to pardon it. "

"What can you want that for? It can't be for nothing but curiosity;and--"

"It's not curiosity, " interrupted Pike, with an emphasis that told uponhis hearer. "I have a different motive, sir; and a good motive. If I wereat liberty to tell it--which I'm not--you'd let me in without anotherword. Lots of people have been seeing him, I suppose. "

"Indeed they have not. Why should they? It is a bold thing for _you_ tocome and ask it. "

"Did he come by his death fairly?" whispered the man. 

"Good heavens!" exclaimed the butler, stepping back aghast. "I don'tthink you know what you are talking about. Who would harm LordHartledon?"

"Let me see him, " implored the man. "It can't hurt him or anybody else. Only just for a minute, sir, in your presence. And if it's ever in mypower to do you a good turn, Mr. Hedges, I'll do it. It doesn't seemlikely now; but the mouse gnawed the lion's net, you know, and set himfree. "

Whether it was the strange impressiveness with which the request wasproffered, or that the softened mood of Hedges rendered him incapable ofcontention, certain it was that he granted it; and most likely wouldwonder at himself for it all his after-life. Crossing the hall withsilent tread, and taking up a candle as he went, he led the way to theroom; Mr. Pike stepping after him with a tread equally silent. 

"Take your hat off, " peremptorily whispered the butler; for that worthyhad entered the room with it on. "Is that the way to--"

"Hedges!"

Hedges was struck with consternation at the call, for it was that of hisnew master. He had not bargained for this; supposing that he had gone tohis room for the night. However he might have been foolishly won over toaccede to the man's strange request, it was not to be supposed it wouldbe approved of by Lord Hartledon. The butler hesitated. He did not careto betray Pike, neither did he care to leave Pike alone. 

"Hedges!" came the call again, louder and quicker. 

"Yes, sir--my lord?" and Hedges squeezed out at the door without openingit much--which was rather a difficulty, for he was a portly man, with ared, honest sort of face--leaving Pike and the light inside. LordHartledon--as we must unfortunately call him now--was standing in thehall. 

"Has Dr. Ashton gone?"

"Yes, my lord. "

"Did he leave that address?"

Hedges knew to what his master alluded: an address that was wanted inconnection with certain official proceedings that must now take place. Hedges replied that Dr. Ashton had not left it with him. 

"Then he must have forgotten it. He said he would write it down inpencil. Send over to the Rectory the first thing in the morning. And, Hedges--"

At this moment a slight noise was heard within the room like the sound ofan extinguisher falling; as, in fact, it was. Lord Hartledon turnedtowards it. 

"Who is there, Hedges?"

"I--it's no one in particular, sir--my lord. "

What with the butler's bewilderment on the sudden change of masters, andwhat with his consciousness of the presence of his visitor, he wasunusually confused. Lord Hartledon noticed it. It instantly occurred tohim that one of the ladies, or perhaps one of the women-servants, hadbeen admitted to the room; and he did not consider it a proper sight forany of them. 

"Who is it?" he demanded, somewhat peremptorily. 

So Hedges had to confess what had taken place, and that he had allowedthe man to enter. 

"Pike! Why, what can he want?" exclaimed Lord Hartledon in surprise. Andhe turned to the room. 

The moment the butler left him alone Mr. Pike's first proceeding had beento cover his head again with his wide-awake, which he had evidentlyremoved with reluctance, and might have refused to remove at all had itbeen consistent with policy; his second was to snatch up the candle, bendover the dead face, and examine it minutely both with eye and hand. 

"There _is_ a wound, then, and it's true what they are saying. I thoughtit might have been gossip, " he muttered, as he pushed the soft dark hairfrom the temple. "Any more suspicious marks?" he resumed, taking a rapidview of the hands and head. "No; nothing but what he'd be likely to getin the water: but--I'll swear _that_ might have been the blow of a humanhand. 'Twould stun, if it wouldn't kill; and then, held under thewater--"

At this moment Mr. Pike and his comments were interrupted, and he drewback from the table on which the body was lying; but not before LordHartledon had seen him touching the face of the dead. 

"What are you doing?" came the stern demand. 

"I wasn't harming him, " was the answer; and Mr. Pike seemed to havesuddenly returned to his roughness. "It's a nasty accident to havehappened; and I don't like _this_. "

He pointed to the temple as he spoke. Lord Hartledon's usuallygood-natured brow--at present a brow of deep sorrow--contractedwith displeasure. 

"It is an awful accident, " he replied. "But I asked what you were doinghere?"

"I thought I'd like to look upon him, sir; and the butler let me in. Iwish I'd been a bit nearer the place at the time: I'd have saved him, orgot drowned myself. Not much fear of that, though. I'm a rat for thewater. Was that done fairly?" pointing again to the temple. 

"What do you mean?" exclaimed Val. 

"Well--it might be, or it might not. One who has led the roving life Ihave, and been in all sorts of scenes, bred in the slums of London too, looks on the suspicious side of these things. And there mostly is one inall of 'em. "

Val was moved to anger. "How dare you hint at so infamous a suspicion, Pike? If--"

"No offence, my lord, " interrupted Pike--"and it's my lord that you arenow. Thoughts may be free in this room; but I am not going to spreadsuspicion outside. I say, though that _might_ have been an accident, itmight have been done by an enemy. "

"Did you do it?" retorted Lord Hartledon in his displeasure. 

Pike gave a short laugh. 

"I did not. I had no cause to harm him. What I'm thinking was, whetheranybody else had. He was mistaken for another yesterday, " continued Pike, dropping his voice. "Some men in his lordship's place might have showedfight then: even blows. "

Percival made no immediate rejoinder. He was gazing at Pike just asfixedly as the latter gazed at him. Did the man wish to insinuate thatthe unwelcome visitor had again mistaken the one brother for the other, and the result had been a struggle between them, ending in this? The idearushed into his mind, and a dark flush overspread his face. 

"You have no grounds for thinking that man--you know who I mean--attackedmy brother a second time?"

"No, I have no grounds for it, " shortly answered Pike. 

"He was near to the spot at the time; I saw him there, " continued LordHartledon, speaking apparently to himself; whilst the flush, painfullyred and dark, was increasing rather than diminishing. 

"I know you did, " returned Pike. 

The tone grated on Lord Hartledon's ear. It implied that the man mightbecome familiar, if not checked; and, with all his good-naturedaffability, he was not one to permit it; besides, his position waschanged, and he could not help feeling that it was. "Necessity makes usacquainted with strange bedfellows, " says the very true proverb; and whatmight have been borne yesterday would not be borne to-day. 

"Let me understand you, " he said, and there was a stern decision in histone and manner that surprised Pike. "Have you any reason whatever tosuspect that man of having injured, or attempted to injure my brother?"

"_I_'ve not, " answered Pike. "I never saw him nearer to the millyesterday than he was when he looked at us. I don't think he went nearer. My lord, if I knew anything against the man, I'd tell it out, and beglad. I hate the whole tribe. _He_ wouldn't make the mistake again, "added Pike, half-contemptuously. "He knew which was his lordship fastenough to-day, and which wasn't. "

"Then what did you mean by insinuating that the blow on the temple wasthe result of violence?"

"I didn't say it was: I said it might have been. I don't know a thing, asconnected with this business, against a mortal soul. It's true, my lord. "

"Perhaps, then, you will leave this room, " said Lord Hartledon. 

"I'm going. And many thanks to your lordship for not having turned mefrom it before, and for letting me have my say. Thanks to _you_, sir, " headded, as he went out of the room and passed Hedges, who was waiting inthe hall. 

Hedges closed the door after him, and turned to receive a reprimand fromhis new master. 

"Before you admit such men as that into the most sacred chamber the houseat present contains, you will ask my permission, Hedges. "

Hedges attempted to excuse himself. "He was so very earnest, my lord; hedeclared to me he had a good motive in wanting to come in. At thesetimes, when one's heart is almost broken with a sudden blow, one is aptto be soft and yielding. What with that feeling upon me, and what withthe fright he gave me--"

"What fright did he give you?" interrupted Val. 

"Well, my lord, he--he asked me whether his lordship had come fairly byhis death. "

"How dare you repeat the insinuation?" broke forth Lord Hartledon, withmore temper than Hedges had ever seen him display. "The very idea isabsurd; it is wicked; it is unpardonable. My brother had not an enemy inthe world. Take care not to repeat it again. Do you hear?"

He turned away from the astonished man, went into the room he had calledsacred, and closed the door. Hedges wondered whether the hithertosweet-tempered, easy-mannered younger brother had changed his naturewith his inheritance. 

As the days went on, few, if any, further particulars were elicited as tothe cause of accident. That the unfortunate Lord Hartledon had becomepartly, if not wholly, disabled, so as to be incapable of managing eventhe little skiff, had been drifted by the current towards the mills, andthere upset, was assumed by all to have been the true history of thecase. There appeared no reason to doubt that it was so. The inquest washeld on the Thursday. 

And on that same morning the new Lord Hartledon received a proof of thekindness of his brother. A letter arrived from Messrs. Kedge and Reck, addressed to Edward Earl of Hartledon. By it Percival found--there was noone else to open it now--that his brother had written to them early onthe Tuesday morning, taking the debt upon himself; and they now wrote tosay they accepted his responsibility, and had withdrawn the officer fromCalne. Alas! Val Elster could have dismissed him himself now. 

He sat with bent head and drooping eyelids. None, save himself, knew howbitter were the feelings within him, or the remorse that was his portionfor having behaved unkindly to his brother within the last few hours oflife. He had rebelled at his state of debt becoming known to Dr. Ashton;he had feared to lose Anne: it seemed to him now, that he would liveunder the doctor's displeasure for ever, would never see Anne again, could he recall his brother. Oh, these unavailing regrets! Will they riseup to face us at the Last Day?

With a suppressed ejaculation that was like a cry of pain, as if he wouldthrow from him these reflections and could not, Lord Hartledon drew asheet of paper before him and wrote a note to the lawyers. He brieflystated what had taken place; that his brother was dead from an accident, and he had inherited, and should take speedy measures for the dischargeof any liabilities there might be against him: and he requested, as afavour, that the letter written to them by his brother might be preservedand returned to him: he should wish to keep it as the last lines his handhad traced. 

CHAPTER XI. 

THE INQUEST. 

On this day, Thursday, the inquest was held. Most of the gay crowdstaying at Hartledon had taken flight; Mr. Carteret, and one or two more, whose testimony might be wished for, remaining. The coroner and juryassembled in the afternoon, in a large boarded apartment called thesteward's room. Lord Hartledon was present with Dr. Ashton and otherfriends: they were naturally anxious to hear the evidence that could becollected, and gather any light that might be thrown upon the accident. The doors were not closed to the public, and a crowd, gentle and simple, pressed in. 

The surgeon spoke to the supposed cause of death--drowning: the millerspoke to his house and mill having been that afternoon shut up. He andhis wife went over in their spring-cart to Garchester, and left the placelocked up, he said. The coroner asked whether it was his custom to lockup his place when he went out; he replied that it was, when they went outtogether; but that event rarely happened. Upon his return at dusk, hefound the little skiff loose in the stream, and secured it. It was hisservant-boy, David Ripper, who called his attention to it first of all. He saw nothing of Lord Hartledon, and had not very long secured the skiffwhen Mr. Percival Elster came up in the pony-carriage, asking if hisbrother was there. He looked at the skiff, and said it was the one hislordship had been in. Mr. Elster said he supposed his brother was walkinghome, and he should drive slowly back and look out for him. Later Mr. Elster returned: he had several servants with him then and lanterns; theyhad come out to look for Lord Hartledon, but could not find him. It wasonly just after they had gone away again that the Irish harvest-men cameup and found the body. 

This was the substance of the miller's evidence; it was all he knew:and the next witness called was the boy David Ripper, popularly styledin the neighbourhood young Rip, in contradistinction to his father, aday-labourer. He was an urchin of ten or twelve, with a red, round face;quite ludicrous from its present expression of terrified consternation. The coroner sharply inquired what he was frightened at; and the boy burstinto a roar by way of answer. He didn't know nothing, and hadn't seennothing, and it wasn't him that drowned his lordship; and he couldn'ttell more if they hanged him for it. 

The miller interposed. The boy was one of the idlest young vagabonds hehad ever had the luck to be troubled with; and he thought it exceedinglylikely he had been off that afternoon and not near the mill at all. Hehad ordered him to take two sacks into Calne; but when he reached home hefound the sacks untouched, lying where he had placed them outside. Mr. Ripper had no doubt been playing truant on his own account. 

"Where did you pass Tuesday afternoon during your master's absence?"sternly demanded the coroner. "Take your hands from your face and answerme, boy. "

David Ripper obeyed in the best manner he was capable of, considering hisagitation. "I dun know now where I was, " he said. "I was about. "

"About where?"

Mr. Ripper apparently could not say where. He thought he was "setting hisbird-trap" in the stubble-field; and he see a partridge, and watchedwhere it scudded to; but he wasn't nigh the mill the whole time. 

"Did you see anything of Lord Hartledon when he was in the skiff?"

"I never saw him, " he sobbed. "I wasn't nigh the mill at all, and neversaw him nor the skiff. "

"What time did you get back to the mill?" asked the coroner. 

He didn't know what time it was; his master and missis had come home. 

This was true, Mr. Floyd said. They had been back some little time beforeRipper showed himself. The first intimation he received of that truant'spresence was when he drew his attention to the loose skiff. 

"How came you to see the skiff?" sharply asked the coroner. 

Ripper spoke up with trembling lips. He was waiting outside after he cameup, and afraid to go in lest his master should beat him for not takingthe sacks, which went clean out of his mind, they did, and then he sawthe little boat; upon which he called out and told his master. 

"And it was also you who first saw the body in the water, " observed thecoroner, regarding the reluctant witness curiously. "How came you to seethat? Were you looking for something of the sort?"

The witness shivered. He didn't know how he come to see it. He was on thestrade, not looking for nothing, when he saw some'at dark among thereeds, and told the harvesters when they come by. They said it was a man, got him out, and then found it was his lordship. 

There was only one peculiarity about the boy's evidence--his manner. All he said was feasible enough; indeed, what would be most likely tohappen under the circumstances. But whence arose his terror? Had he beenof a timid temperament, it might have been natural; but the miller hadspoken the truth--he was audacious and hardy. Only upon one or two, however, did the manner leave any impression. Pike, who made one of thecrowd in the inquest-room, was one of these. His experience of humannature was tolerably keen, and he felt sure the boy was keeping somethingbehind that he did not dare to tell. The coroner and jury were not soclear-sighted, and dismissed him with the remark that he was a "littlefool. "

"Call George Gorton, " said the coroner, looking at his notes. 

Very much to Lord Hartledon's surprise--perhaps somewhat to hisannoyance--the man answering to this name was the one who had originallycome to Calne on a special mission to himself. Some feeling caused him toturn from the man whilst he gave his evidence, a thing easily done in thecrowded room. 

It appeared that amidst the stirring excitement in the neighbourhood onthe Tuesday night when the death became known, this stranger happened toavow in the public-house which he made his quarters that he had seen LordHartledon in his skiff just before the event must have happened. Theinformation was reported, and the man received a summons to appear beforethe coroner. 

And it may be as well to remark now, that his second appearance was owingto a little cowardice on his own part. He had felt perfectly satisfied atthe time with the promise given him by Lord Hartledon to see the debtpaid--given also in the presence of the Rector--and took his departure inthe train, just as Pike had subsequently told Mr. Elster. But ere he hadgone two stages on his journey, he began to think he might have been tooprecipitate, and to ask himself whether his employers would not tell himso when he appeared before them, unbacked by any guarantee from LordHartledon; for this, by a strange oversight, he had omitted to ask for. He halted at once, and went back by the next return train. The followingday, Tuesday, he spent looking after Lord Hartledon, but, as it happened, did not meet him. 

The man--a dissipated young man, now that his hat was off--came forwardin his long coat, his red hair and whiskers. But it seemed that he hadreally very little information to give. He was on the banks of the riverwhen Lord Hartledon passed in the skiff, and noticed how strangely he wasrowing, one arm apparently lying useless. What part of the river wasthis, the coroner asked; and the witness avowed that he could notdescribe it. He was a stranger, never there but that once; all he knewwas, that it was higher up, beyond Hartledon House. What might he havebeen doing there, demanded the coroner. Only strolling about, was theanswer. What was his business at Calne? came the next question; and as itwas put, the witness caught the eye of the new Lord Hartledon through anopening in the crowd. His business, the witness replied to the coroner, was his own business, and did not concern the public, and he respectfullydeclined to state it. He presumed Calne was a free place like otherplaces, where a stranger might spend a few days without question, if hepleased. 

Pike chuckled at this: incipient resistance to authority cheered thatlawless man's heart. He had stood throughout, in the shadow of the crowd, just within the door, attentively watching the witnesses as they gavetheir evidence: but he was not prepared for what was to come next. 

Did the witness see any other spectators on the bank? continued thecoroner. Only one, was the answer: a man called Pike, or some such name. Pike was watching the little boat on the river when he got up to him; heremarked to Pike that his lordship's arm seemed tired; and he and Pikehad walked back to Calne together. 

Pike would have got away had he been able, but the coroner whispered toan officer. For one single moment Mr. Pike seemed inclined to show fight;he began struggling, not gently, to reach the door; the next he gave itup, and resigned himself to his fate. There was a little hubbub, in themidst of which a slip of paper with a pencilled line from Lord Hartledon, was handed to the coroner. 

"_Press this point, whether they returned to Calne at once andtogether. _"

"George Gorton, " cried the coroner, as he crushed the paper in his hand, "at what hour did you return to Calne?"

"I went at once. As soon as the little boat was out of sight. "

"Went alone?"

"No, sir. I and the man Pike walked together. I've said so already. "

"What made you go together?"

"Nothing in particular. We were both going back, I suppose, and strolledalong talking. "

It appeared to be all that the witness had to tell, and Mr. Pike cameforward perforce. As he stood there, his elegant wide-awake bent in hishand, he looked more like the wild man of the woods he had been comparedto, than a civilized being. Rough, rude, and abrupt were his tones as hespoke, and he bent his face and eyes downwards whilst he answered. It wasin those eyes that lay the look which had struck Mr. Elster as beingfamiliar to him. He persisted in giving his name as Tom, not Thomas. 

But if the stranger in the long coat had little evidence to give, Pikehad even less. He had been in the woods that afternoon and sauntered tothe bank of the river just as Lord Hartledon passed in the skiff; but hehad taken very little notice of him. It was only when the last witness, who came up at the moment, remarked upon the queer manner in which hislordship held his arm, that he saw it was lying idle. 

Not a thing more could he or would he tell. It was all he knew, he said, and would swear it was all. He went back to Calne with the last witness, and never saw his lordship again alive. 

It did appear to be all, just as it did in the matter of the other man. The coroner inquired whether he had seen any one else on the banks ornear them, and Pike replied that he had not set eyes on another soul, which Percival knew to be false, for he had seen _him_. He was told toput his signature to his evidence, which the clerk had taken down, andaffixed a cross. 

"Can't you write?" asked the coroner. 

Pike shook his head negatively. "Never learnt, " he curtly said. AndPercival believed that to be an untruth equally with the other. He couldnot help thinking that the avowal of their immediate return might also befalse: it was just as possible that one or other, or both, had followedthe course of the boat. 

Mr. Carteret was examined. He could tell no more than he had alreadytold. They started together, but he had soon got beyond his lordship, and had never seen him again alive. There was nothing more to be gleanedor gathered. Not the smallest suspicion of foul play, or of its beinganything but a most unfortunate accident, was entertained for a moment byany one who heard the evidence, and the verdict of the jury was to thateffect: Accidental Death. 

As the crowd pressed out of the inquest-room, jostling one another in thegloom of the evening, and went their several ways, Lord Hartledon foundhimself close to Gorton, his coat flapping as he walked. The man waslooking round for Pike: but Mr. Pike, the instant his forced evidence wasgiven, had slunk away from the gaze of his fellow-men to ensconce himselfin his solitary shed. To all appearance Lord Hartledon had overtakenGorton by accident: the man turned aside in obedience to a signal, andhalted. They could not see much of each other's faces in the twilight. 

"I wish to ask you a question, " said Percival in low, impressive, and notunkindly tones. "Did you speak with my brother, Lord Hartledon, at all onTuesday?"

"No, my lord, I did not, " was the ready answer. "I was trying to get tosee his lordship, but did not. "

"What did you want with him? What brought you back to Calne?"

"I wanted to get from him a guarantee for--for what your lordship knowsof; which he had omitted to give, and I had not thought to ask for, "civilly replied the man. "I was looking about for his lordship on theTuesday morning, but did not get to see him. In the afternoon, when theboat-race was over, I made bold to call at Hartledon, but the servantssaid his lordship wasn't in. As I came away, I saw him, as I thought, pass the lodge and go up the road, and I cut after him, but couldn'tovertake him, and at last lost sight of him. I struck into a tangled sortof pathway through the gorse, or whatever it's called down here, and itbrought me out near the river. His lordship was just sculling down, andthen I knew it was some one else had gone by the lodge, and not him. Perhaps it was your lordship?"

"You knew it was Lord Hartledon in the boat? I mean, you recognized him?You did not mistake him for me?"

"I knew him, my lord. If I'd been a bit nearer the lodge, I shouldn'thave been likely to mistake even your lordship for him. "

Lord Hartledon was gazing into the man's face still; never once had hiseyes been removed from it. 

"You did not see Lord Hartledon later?"

"I never saw him all day but that once when he passed in the skiff. "

"You did not follow him, then?"

"Of what use?" debated the man. "I couldn't call out my business from thebanks, and didn't know his lordship was going to land lower down. I wentstraight back to Calne, my lord, walking with that man Pike--who is a rumfellow, and has a history behind him, unless I'm mistaken; but it's nobusiness of mine. I made my mind up to another night of it in Calne, thinking I'd get to Hartledon early next morning before his lordship hadtime to go out; and I was sitting comfortably with a pipe and a glass ofbeer, when news came of the accident. "

Lord Hartledon believed the man to be telling the truth; and aweight--the source of which he did not stay to analyse--was lifted fromhis mind. But he asked another question. 

"Why are you still in Calne?"

"I waited for orders. After his lordship died I couldn't go away withoutthem--carrying with me nothing but the word of a dead man. The orderscame this morning, safe enough; but I had the summons served on me thento attend the inquest, and had to stay for it. I'm going away now, mylord, by the first train. "

Lord Hartledon was satisfied, and nodded his head. As he turned back hemet Dr. Ashton. 

"I was looking for you, Lord Hartledon. If you require any assistance orinformation in the various arrangements that now devolve upon you, Ishall be happy to render both. There will be a good deal to do one way oranother; more, I dare say, than your inexperience has the least idea of. You will have your solicitor at hand, of course; but if you want me, youknow where to find me. "

The Rector's words were courteous, but the tone was not warm, and thetitle "Lord Hartledon" grated on Val's ear. In his impulse he grasped thespeaker's hand, pouring forth a heartfelt prayer. 

"Oh, Dr. Ashton, will you not forgive me? The horrible trouble I broughtupon myself is over now. I don't rejoice in it under the circumstances, Heaven knows; I only speak of the fact. Let me come to your house again!Forgive me for the past. "

"In one sense the trouble is over, because the debts that were aformidable embarrassment to Mr. Elster are as nothing to Lord Hartledon, "was the reply. "But let me assure you of one thing: that your being LordHartledon will not make the slightest difference to my decision not togive you my daughter, unless your line of conduct shall change. "

"It is changed. Dr. Ashton, on my word of honour, I will never be guiltyof carelessness again. One thing will be my safeguard, though all elseshould fail--the fact that I passed my word for this to my dear brothernot many hours before his death. For my sake, for Anne's sake, you willforgive me!"

Was it possible to resist the persuasive tones, the earnestness of thehonest, dark-blue eyes? If ever Percival Elster was to make an effort forgood, and succeed, it must be now. The doctor knew it; and he knew thatAnne's happiness was at stake. But he did not thaw immediately. 

"You know, Lord Hartledon--"

"Call me Val, as you used to do, " came the pleading interruption; and Dr. Ashton smiled in spite of himself. 

"Percival, you know it is against my nature to be harsh or unforgiving;just as I believe it contrary to your nature to be guilty of deliberatewrong. If you will only be true to yourself, I would rather have you formy son-in-law than any other man in England; as I would have had when youwere Val Elster. Do you note my words? _true to yourself_. "

"As I will be from henceforth, " whispered Val, earnest tears rising tohis eyes. 

And as he would have been but for his besetting sin. 

CHAPTER XII. 

LATER IN THE DAY. 

It happened that Clerk Gum had business on hand the day of the inquest, which obliged him to go to Garchester. He reached home after dark; andthe first thing he saw was his wife, in what he was pleased to call astate of semi-idiocy. The tea-things were laid on the table, andsubstantial refreshment in the shape of cold meat, and a plate of muffinsready for toasting, all for the clerk's regalement. But Mrs. Gum herselfsat on a low chair by the fire, her eyes swollen with crying. 

"What's the matter now?" was the clerk's first question. 

"Oh, Gum, I told you you ought not to have gone off to-day. You mighthave stayed for the inquest. "

"Much good I should do the inquest, or the inquest do me, " retorted theclerk. "Has Becky gone?"

"Long ago. Gum, that dream's coming round. I said it would. I _told_ youthere was ill in store for Lord Hartledon; and that Pike was mixed up init, and Mr. Elster also in some way. If you'd only listen to me--"

The clerk, who had been brushing his hat and shaking the dust from hisouter coat--for he was a careful man with his clothes, and alwayswell-dressed--brought down his hand upon the table with some temper. 

"Just stop that. I've heard enough of that dream, and of all your dreams. Confounded folly! Haven't I trouble and worry enough upon my mind, without your worrying me every time I come in about your idiotic dreams?"

"Well, " returned Mrs. Gum, "if the dream's nothing, I'd like to ask whythey had Pike up to-day before them all?"

"Who had him up?" asked the clerk, after a pause. "Had him up where?"

"Before the people sitting on the body of Lord Hartledon. Lydia Jonesbrought me the news just now. 'They had Pike the poacher up, ' says she. 'He was up before the jury, and had to confess to it. ' 'Confess to what, 'said I. 'Why, that he was about in the woods when my lord met his end, 'said she; 'and it's to know how my lord did meet it, and whether thepoacher mightn't have dealt that blow on his temple and robbed him afterit. ' Gum--"

"There's no suspicion of foul play, is there?" interrupted the clerk, instrangely subdued tones. 

"Not that I know of, except in Lydia's temper, " answered Mrs. Gum. "ButI don't like to hear he was up there at all. "

"Lydia Jones is a foul-tongued woman, capable of swearing away any man'slife. Is Pike in custody?"

"Not yet. They've let him off for the present. Oh, Gum, often and oftendo I wish my days were ended!"

"Often and often do I wish I'd a quiet house to come to, and not bebothered with dreams, " was the scornful retort. "Suppose you toast themuffins. "

She gave a sigh or two, put her cap straight, smoothed her ragged hair, and meekly rose to obey. The clerk was carefully folding up the outercoat, for it was one he wore only on high-days, when he felt something inthe pocket--a small parcel. 

"I'd almost forgotten this, " he exclaimed, taking it out. "Thanks to you, Nance! What with your dreams and other worryings I can't think of myproper business. "

"What is it?" she asked. 

"A deed Dr. Ashton's lawyer got me to bring and save his clerk ajourney--if you must know. I'll take it over at once, while the tea'sbrewing. "

As Jabez Gum passed through his own gate he looked towards Mr. Pike'sdwelling; it was only natural he should do so after the recentconversation; and he saw that worthy gentleman come stealing across thewaste ground, with his usual cautious step. Although not given toexchanging courtesies with his neighbour, the clerk walked brisklytowards him now, and waited at the hurdles which divided the waste groundfrom the road. 

"I hear you were prowling about the mill when Lord Hartledon met with hisaccident, " began the clerk, in low, condemning tones. 

"And what if I was, " asked Pike, leaning his arms on the hurdles andfacing the clerk. "Near the mill I wasn't; about the woods and river Iwas; and I saw him pass down in the sculling boat with his disabled arm. What of it, I ask?"

Pike's tone, though short, was civil enough. The forced appearance beforethe coroner and public had disturbed his equanimity in no slight degree, and taken for the present all insolence out of him. 

"Should any doubt get afloat that his lordship's death might not havebeen accidental, your presence at the spot would tell against you. "

"No, it wouldn't. I left the spot before the accident could havehappened; and I came back to Calne with a witness. As to the death havingbeen something worse than accident, not a soul in the place has dreamt ofsuch a thing except me. "

"Except you! What do you mean?"

Pike leaned more over the hurdles, so as to bring his disreputable facecloser to Mr. Gum, who slightly recoiled as he caught the low whisper. 

"I don't think the death was accidental. I believe his lordship was justput out of the way quietly. "

"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed the shocked clerk. "By whom? By you?" headded, in his bewilderment. 

"No, " returned the man. "If I'd done it, I shouldn't talk about it. "

"What do you mean?" cried Mr. Gum. 

"I mean that I have my suspicions; and good suspicions they are. Many aman has been hung on less. I am not going to tell them; perhaps not ever. I shall wait and keep my eyes open, and bring them, if I can, tocertainties. Time enough to talk then, or keep silent, as circumstancesmay dictate. "

"And you tell me you were not near the place at the time of theaccident?"

"_I_ wasn't, " replied Mr. Pike, with emphasis. 

"Who was?"

"That's my secret. And as I've a little matter of business on handto-night, I don't care to be further delayed, if it's all the same toyou, neighbour. And instead of your accusing me of prowling about themill again, perhaps you'll just give a thought occasionally to what Ihave now said, keeping it to yourself. I'm not afraid of your spreadingit in Calne; for it might bring a hornets' nest about your head, andabout some other heads that you wouldn't like to injure. "

With the last words Mr. Pike crossed the hurdles and went off in thedirection of Hartledon. It was a light night, and the clerk stood andstared after him. To say that Jabez Gum in his astonishment was uncertainwhether he stood on his head or his heels, would be saying little; andhow much of these assertions he might believe, and what mischief Mr. Pikemight be going after to-night, he knew not. Drawing a long sigh, whichdid not sound very much like a sigh of relief, he at length turned off toDr. Ashton's, and the man disappeared. 

We must follow Pike. He went stealthily up the road past Hartledon, keeping in the shade of the hedge, and shrinking into it when he saw anyone coming. Striking off when he neared the mill, he approached itcautiously, and halted amidst some trees, whence he had a view of themill-door. 

He was waiting for the boy, David Ripper. Fully convinced by the lad'smanner at the inquest that he had not told all he knew, but was keepingsomething back in fear, Mr. Pike, for reasons of his own, resolved tocome at it if he could. He knew that the boy would be at work later thanusual that night, having been hindered in the afternoon. 

Imagine yourself standing with your back to the river, reader, and take aview of the premises as they face you. The cottage is a square building, and has four good rooms on the ground floor. The miller's thrifty wifegenerally locked all these rooms up if she went out, and carried the keysaway in her pocket. The parlour window was an ordinary sash-window, withoutside shutters; the kitchen window a small casement, protected by afixed net-work of strong wire. No one could get in or out, even when thecasement was open, without tearing this wire away, which would not be adifficult matter to accomplish. On the left of the cottage, but to yourright as you face it, stands the mill, to which you ascend by steps. Itcommunicates inside with the upper floor of the cottage, which is usedas a store-room for corn; and from this store-room a flight of stairsdescends to the kitchen below. Another flight of stairs from thisstore-room communicated with the open passage leading from the back-doorto the stable. This is all that need be said: and you may think itsuperfluous to have described it at all: but it is not so. 

The boy Ripper at length came forth. With a shuddering avoidance of thewater he came tearing along as one running from a ghost, and was dartingpast the trees, when he found himself detained by an arm of greatstrength. Mr. Pike clapped his other hand upon the boy's mouth, stiflinga howl of terror. 

"Do you see this, Rip?" cried he. 

Rip did see it. It was a pistol held rather inconveniently close to theboy's breast. Rip dearly loved his life; but it nearly went out of himthen with fear. 

"Now, " said Pike, "I've come up to know about this business of LordHartledon's, and I will know it, or leave you as dead as he is. And I'llhave you took up for murder, into the bargain, " he rather illogicallycontinued, "as an accessory to the fact. "

David Ripper was in a state of horror; all idea of concealment gone outof him. "I couldn't help it, " he gasped. "I couldn't get out to him; Iwas locked up in the mill. Don't shoot me. "

"I'll spare you on one condition, " decided Pike. "Disclose the whole ofthis from first to last, and then we may part friends. But try to palmoff one lie upon me, and I'll riddle you through. To begin with: whatbrought you locked up in the mill?"

It was a wicked tale of a wicked young jail-bird, as Mr. Pike (probablythe worse jail-bird by far of the two) phrased it. Master Ripper hadpurposely caused himself to be locked in the mill, his object being tosupply himself with as much corn as he could carry about him for thebenefit of his rabbits and pigeons and other live stock at home. He haddone it twice before, he avowed, in dread of the pistol, and had got awaysafe through the square hole in the passage at the foot of the backstaircase, whence he had dropped to the ground. To his consternation onthis occasion, however, he had found the door at the foot of the stairsbolted, as it never had been before, and he could not get to the passage. So he was a prisoner all the afternoon, and had exercised his legsbetween the store-room and kitchen, both of which were open to him. 

If ever a man showed virtuous indignation at a sinner's confession, Mr. Pike showed it now. "That's how you were about in the stubble-fieldsetting your traps, you young villain! I saw the coroner look at you. Andnow about Lord Hartledon. What did you see?"

Master Ripper rubbed the perspiration from his face as he went on withhis tale. Pike listened with all the ears he possessed and said not aword, beyond sundry rough exclamations, until the tale was done. 

"You awful young dog! You saw all that from the kitchen-window, and nevertried to get out of it!"

"I _couldn't_ get out of it, " pleaded the boy. "It's got a wire-netbefore it, and I couldn't break that. "

"You are strong enough to break it ten times over, " retorted Pike. 

"But then master would ha' known I'd been in the mill!" cried the boy, agleam of cunning in his eyes. 

"Ugh, " grunted Pike. "And you saw exactly what you've told me?"

"I saw it and heard the cries. "

"Did he see you?"

"No; I was afeard to show myself. When master come home, the first thinghe did was t' unlock that there staircase door, and I got out without hisseeing me--"

"Where did you hide the grain you were loaded with?" demanded Pike. 

"I'd emptied it out again in the store-room, " returned the boy. "I toldmaster there were a loose skiff out there, and he come out and securedit. Them harvesters come up next and got him out of the water. "

"Yes, you could see fast enough what you were looking for! Well, youngRip, " continued Mr. Pike, consolingly, "you stand about as rich a chanceof being hanged as ever you'll stand in all your born days. If you'djumped through that wire you'd have saved my lord, and he'd have made itright for you with old Floyd. I'd advise you to keep a silent tongue inyour head, if you want to save your neck. "

"I was keeping it, till you come and made me tell with that therepistol, " howled the boy. "You won't go and split on me?" he asked, withtrembling lips. 

"I won't split on you about the grain, " graciously promised Pike. "It'sno business of mine. As to the other matter--well, I'll not say anythingabout that; at any rate, yet awhile. You keep it a secret; so will I. "

Without another word, Pike extended his hand as a signal that the culpritwas at liberty to depart; and he did so as fast as his legs would carryhim. Pike then returned the pistol to his pocket and took his way back toCalne in a thoughtful and particularly ungenial mood. There was a doubtwithin him whether the boy had disclosed the truth, even to him. 

Perhaps on no one--with the exception of Percival--did the death of LordHartledon leave its effects as it did on Lady Kirton and her daughterMaude. To the one it brought embarrassment; to the other, what seemedvery like a broken heart. The countess-dowager's tactics must change asby magic. She had to transfer the affection and consideration evinced forEdward Lord Hartledon to his brother; and to do it easily and naturally. She had to obliterate from the mind of the latter her overbearing disliketo him, cause her insults to be remembered no more. A difficult task, even for her, wily woman as she was. 

How was it to be done? For three long hours the night after LordHartledon's death, she lay awake, thinking out her plans; perhaps for thefirst time in her life, for obtuse natures do not lie awake. The deathhad affected her only as regarded her own interests; she could feel fornone and regret none in her utter selfishness. One was fallen, butanother had risen up. "Le roi est mort: vive le roi!"

On the day following the death she had sought an interview with Percival. Never a woman evinced better tact than she. There was no violent changein her manner, no apologies for the past, or display of sudden affection. She spoke quietly and sensibly of passing topics: the death, and whatcould have led to it; the immediate business on hand, some of the changesit entailed in the future. "I'll stay with you still, Percival, " shesaid, "and look after things a bit for you, as I have been doing for yourbrother. It is an awful shock, and we must all have time to get over it. If I had only foreseen this, how I might have spared my temper and poorMaude's feelings!"

She looked out of the corner of her eye at the young man; but he betrayedno curiosity to hear more, and she went on unasked. 

"You know, Val, for a portionless girl, as Maude is, it was a great blowto me when I found her fixing her heart upon a younger son. How cross andunjust it made me I couldn't conceal: mothers are mothers. I wanted herto take a fancy to Hartledon, dear fellow, and I suppose she could not, and it rendered me cross; and I know I worried her and worried my owntemper, till at times I was not conscious of what I said. Poor Maude! shedid not rebel openly, but I could see her struggles. Only a week ago, when Hartledon was talking about his marrying sometime, and hinting thatshe might care fox him if she tried, she scored her beautiful drawing allover with ugly marks; ran the pencil through it--"

"But why do you tell me this now?" asked Val. 

"Hartledon--dear me! I wonder how long I shall be getting accustomed toyour name?--there's only you and me and Maude left now of the family, "cried the dowager; "and if I speak of such things, it is in fulness ofheart. And now about these letters: do you care how they are worded?"

"I don't seem to care about anything, " listlessly answered the young man. "As to the letters, I think I'd rather write them myself, Lady Kirton. "

"Indeed you shall not have any trouble of that sort to-day. _I'll_ writethe letters, and you may indulge yourself in doing nothing. "

He yielded in his unstable nature. She spoke of business letters, and itwas better that he should write them; he wished to write them; but shecarried her point, and his will yielded to hers. Would it be a type ofthe future?--would he yield to her in other things in defiance of hisbetter judgment? Alas! alas!

She picked up her skirts and left him, and went sailing upstairs to herdaughter's room. Maude was sitting shivering in a shawl, though the daywas hot. 

"I've paved the way, " nodded the old woman, in meaning tones. "Andthere's one fortunate thing about Val: he is so truthful himself, one maytake him in with his eyes open. "

Maude turned _her_ eyes upon her mother: very languid and unspeculativeeyes just then. 

"I gave him a hint, Maude, that you had been unable to bring yourself tolike Hartledon, but had fixed your mind on a younger son. Later, we'lllet him suspect who the younger son was. "

The words aroused Maude; she started up and stood staring at her mother, her eyes dilating with a sort of horror; her pale cheeks slowly turningcrimson. 

"I don't understand, " she gasped; "I _hope_ I don't understand. You--youdo not mean that I am to try to like Val Elster?"

"Now, Maude, no heroics. I'll not see _you_ make a fool of yourself asyour sisters have done. He's not Val Elster any longer; he is LordHartledon: better-looking than ever his brother was, and will make abetter husband, for he'll be more easily led. "

"I would not marry Val for the whole world, " she said, with strongemotion. "I dislike him; I hate him; I never could be a wife to ValElster. "

"We'll see, " said the dowager, pushing up her front, of which she hadjust caught sight in a glass. 

"Thank Heaven, there's no fear of it!" resumed Maude, collecting hersenses, and sitting down again with a relieved sigh; "he is to marry AnneAshton. Thank Heaven that he loves her!"

"Anne Ashton!" scornfully returned the countess-dowager. "She might havebeen tolerated when he was Val Elster, not now he is Lord Hartledon. Whatnotions you have, Maude!"

Maude burst into tears. "Mamma, I think it is fearfully indecent for youto begin upon these things already! It only happened last night, and--andit sounds quite horrible. "

"When one has to live as I do, one has to do many things decent andindecent, " retorted the countess-dowager sharply. "He has had his hint, and you've got yours: and you are no true girl if you suffer yourself nowto be triumphed over by Anne Ashton. "

Maude cried on silently, thinking how cruel fate was to have taken onebrother and spared the other. Who--save Anne Ashton--would have missedVal Elster; while Lord Hartledon--at least he had made the life of oneheart. A poor bruised heart now; never, never to be made quite wholeagain. 

Thus the dowager, in her blindness, began her plans. In her blindness! Ifwe could only foresee the ending of some of the unholy schemes that manyof us are apt to weave, we might be more willing to leave them humbly ina higher Hand than ours. Do they ever bring forth good, these plans, bornof our evil passions--hatred, malice, utter selfishness? I think not. They may seem to succeed triumphantly, but--watch the triumph to the end. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

FEVER. 

The dews of an October evening were falling upon Calne, as Lord Hartledonwalked from the railway-station. Just as unexpectedly as he had arrivedthe morning you first saw him, when he was only Val Elster, had hearrived now. By the merest accident one of the Hartledon servantshappened to be at the station when the train arrived, and took charge ofhis master's luggage. 

"All well at home, James?"

"All quite well, my lord. "

Several weeks had elapsed since his brother's death, and Lord Hartledonhad spent them in London. He went up on business the week after thefuneral, and did not return again. In one respect he had no inducement toreturn; for the Ashtons, including Anne, were on a visit in Wales. Theywere at home now, as he knew well; and perhaps that had brought him down. 

He went in unannounced, finding his way to the inner drawing-room. Alarge fire blazed in the grate, and Lady Maude sat by it so intent inthought as not to observe his entrance. She wore a black crêpe dress, with a little white trimming on its low body and sleeves. The firelightplayed on her beautiful features; and her eyelashes glistened as if withtears: she was thinner and paler; he saw it at once. The countess-dowagerkept to Hartledon and showed no intention of moving from it: she and herdaughter had been there alone all these weeks. 

"How are you, Maude?"

She looked round and started up, backing from him with a face of alarm. Ah, was it _instinct_ caused her so to receive him? What, or who, was shethinking of; holding her hands before her with that face of horror?

"Maude, have I so startled you?"

"Percival! I beg your pardon. I believe I was thinking of--of yourbrother, and I really did not know you in the uncertain light. We don'thave the rooms lighted early, " she added, with a little laugh. 

He took her hands in his. Now that she knew him, and the alarm was over, she seemed really pleased to see him: the dark eyes were raised to hiswith a frank smile. 

"May I take a cousin's greeting, Maude?"

Without waiting for yes or no, he stooped and took the kiss. Maude flunghis hands away. He should have left out the "cousin, " or not have takenthe kiss. 

He went and stood with his elbow on the mantelpiece, soberly, as if hehad only kissed a sister. Maude sat down again. 

"Why did you not send us word you were coming?" she asked. 

"There was no necessity for it. And I only made my mind up this morning. "

"What a long time you have been away! I thought you went for a week. "

"I did not get my business over very quickly; and waited afterwards tosee Thomas Carr, who was out of town. The Ashtons were away, you know; soI had no inducement to hurry back again. "

"Very complimentary to _her_. Who's Thomas Carr?" asked Maude. 

"A barrister; the greatest friend I possess in this world. We were atcollege together, and he used to keep me straight. "

"Keep you straight! Val!"

"It's quite true. I went to him in all my scrapes and troubles. He is themost honourable, upright, straightforward man I know; and, as such, possesses a talent for serving--"

"Hartledon! Is it _you_?"

The interruption came from the dowager. She and the butler came intogether, both looking equally astonished at the appearance of LordHartledon. The former said dinner was served. 

"Will you let me sit down in this coat?" asked Val. 

The countess-dowager would willingly have allowed him to sit down withoutany. Her welcome was demonstrative; her display of affection quite warm, and she called him "Val, " tenderly. He escaped for a minute to his room, washed his hands, brushed his hair, and was down again, and taking thehead of his own table. 

It was pleasant to have him there--a welcome change from Hartledon'srecent monotony; and even Maude, with her boasted dislike, felt prejudicemelting away. Boasted dislike, not real, it had been. None could dislikePercival. He was not Edward, and it was him Maude had loved. Percival shenever would love, but she might learn to like him. As he sat near her, inhis plain black morning attire, courteous, genuinely sweet-tempered, hisgood looks conspicuous, a smile on his delicate, refined, but vacillatinglips, and his honest dark-blue eyes bent upon her in kindness, Maude forthe first time admitted a vision of the possible future, together with adim consciousness that it might not be intolerable. Half the world, ofher age and sex, would have deemed it indeed a triumph to be made thewife of that attractive man. 

He had cautiously stood aside for Lady Kirton to take the head of thetable; but the dowager had positively refused, and subsided into thechair at the foot. She did not fill it in dear Edward's time, she said;neither should she in dear Val's; he had come home to occupy his ownplace. And oh, thank goodness he was come! She and Maude had been solonely and miserable, growing thinner daily from sheer _ennui_. So shefaced Lord Hartledon at the end of the table, her flaxen curls surmountedby an array of black plumes, and looking very like a substantial femalemute. 

"What an awful thing that is about the Rectory!" exclaimed she, when theywere more than half through dinner. 

Lord Hartledon looked up quietly. "What is the matter at the Rectory?"

"Fever has broken out. "

"Is that all!" he exclaimed, some amusement on his face. "I thought itmust have taken fire. "

"A fever's worse than a fire. "

"Do you think so?"

"_Think so!_" echoed the dowager. "You can run away from a fire; but afever may take you before you are aware of it. Every soul in the Rectorymay die; it may spread to the parish; it may spread here. I have kept tarburning outside the house the last two days. "

"You are not serious, Lady Kirton!"

"I am serious. I wouldn't catch a fever for the whole world. I should dieof fright before it had time to kill me. Besides--I have Maude to guard. You were forgetting her. "

"There's no danger at all. One of the servants became ill after theyreturned home, and it proved to be fever. I don't suppose it willspread. "

"How did _you_ hear about it?"

"From Miss Ashton. She mentioned it in her last letter to me. "

"I didn't know you corresponded with her, " cried the dowager, her tonesrather shrill. 

"Not correspond with Miss Ashton!" he repeated. "Of course I do. "

The old dowager had a fit of choking: something had gone the wrong way, she said. Lord Hartledon resumed. 

"It is an awful shame of those seaside lodging-house people! Did you hearthe particulars, Maude? After the Ashtons concluded their visit in Wales, they went for a fortnight to the seaside, on their way home, takinglodgings. Some days after they had been settled in the rooms theydiscovered that some fever was in the house; a family who occupiedanother set of apartments being ill with it, and had been ill before theAshtons went in. Dr. Ashton told the landlady what he thought of herconduct, and then they left the house for home. But Mrs. Ashton's maid, Matilda, had already taken it. "

"Did Miss Ashton give you these particulars?" asked Maude, toying with alate rose that lay beside her plate. 

"Yes. I should feel inclined to prosecute the woman, were I Dr. Ashton, for having been so wickedly inconsiderate. But I hope Matilda is better, and that the alarm will end with her. It is four days since I had Anne'sletter. "

"Then, Lord Hartledon, I can tell you the alarm's worse, and another hastaken it, and the parish is up in arms, " said the countess-dowager, tartly. "It has proved to be fever of a most malignant type, and not asoul but Hillary the surgeon goes near the Rectory, You must not venturewithin half-a-mile of it. Dr. Ashton was so careless as to occupy hispulpit on Sunday; but, thank goodness, I did not venture to church, or allow Maude to go. Your Miss Ashton will be having it next. "

"Of course they have advice from Garchester?" he exclaimed. 

"How should I know? My opinion is that the parson himself might beprosecuted for bringing the fever into a healthy neighbourhood. Port, Hedges! One has need of a double portion of tonics in a time like this. "

The countess-dowager's alarms were not feigned--no, nor exaggerated. Shehad an intense, selfish fear of any sort of illness; she had a worse fearof death. In any time of public epidemic her terrors would have beenalmost ludicrous in their absurdity but that they were so real. And she"fortified" herself against infection by eating and drinking more thanever. 

Nothing else was said: she shunned allusion to it when she could: andpresently she and Maude left the dining-room. "You won't be long, Hartledon?" she observed, sweetly, as she passed him. Val only bowed inanswer, closed the door upon them, and rang for Hedges. 

"Is there much alarm regarding this fever at the Rectory?" he asked ofthe butler. 

"Not very much, I think, my lord. A few are timid about it; as is alwaysthe case. One of the other servants has taken it; but Mr. Hillary told mewhen he was here this morning that he hoped it would not spread beyondthe Rectory. "

"Was Hillary here this morning? Nobody's ill?" asked Lord Hartledon, quickly. 

"No one at all, my lord. The countess-dowager sent for him, to ask whather diet had better be, and how she could guard against infection moreeffectually than she was doing. She did not allow him to come in, butspoke to him from one of the upper windows, with a cloak and respiratoron. "

Lord Hartledon looked at his butler; the man was suppressing a grimsmile. 

"Nonsense, Hedges!"

"It's quite true, my lord. Mrs. Mirrable says she has five bowls ofdisinfectant in their rooms. "

Lord Hartledon broke into a laugh, not suppressed. 

"And in the courtyard, looking towards the Rectory, as may be said, there's several pitch-pots alight night and day, " added Hedges. "We havehad a host of people up, wanting to know if the place is on fire. "

"What a joke!" cried Val--who was not yet beyond the age to enjoy suchjokes. "Hedges, " he resumed, in a more confidential tone, "no strangershave been here inquiring for me, I suppose?"

He alluded to creditors, or people acting for them. To a careless man, asVal had been, it was a difficult matter to know whether all his debtswere paid or not. He had settled what he remembered; but there might beothers. Hedges understood; and his voice fell to the same low tone: hehad been pretty cognizant of the embarrassments of Mr. Percival Elster. 

"Nobody at all, my lord. They wouldn't have got much information out ofme, if they had come. "

Lord Hartledon laughed. "Things are changed now, Hedges, and they mayhave as much information as they choose. Bring me coffee here; makehaste. "

Coffee was brought, and he went out as soon as he had taken it, followingthe road to the Rectory. It was a calm, still night, the moon tolerablybright; not a breath of wind stirred the air, warm and oppressive forOctober; not by any means the sort of night doctors covet when fever isin the atmosphere. 

He turned in at the Rectory-gates, and was crossing to the house, when arustling of leaves in a shrubbery path caused him to look over the dwarflaurels, and there stood Anne. He was at her side in an instant. She hadnothing on her head, as though she had just come forth from the rooms fora breath of air. As indeed was the case. 

"My darling!"

"I heard you had come, " she whispered, as he held both her hands in his, and her heart bounded with an exquisite flutter of delight. 

"How did you hear that?" he said, placing her hand within his arm, thathe might pace the walk with her. 

"Papa heard it. Some one had seen you walking home from the train: Ithink it was Mr. Hillary. But, Percival, ought you to have come here?"she added in alarm. "This is infected ground, you know. "

"Not for me. I have no more fear of fever than I have of moonstroke. Anne, I hope _you_ will not take it, " he gravely added. 

"I hope not, either. Like you, I have no fear of it. I am so glad Arthuris away. Was it not wrong of that landlady to let her rooms to us whenshe had fever in them?"

"Infamously wrong, " said Lord Hartledon warmly. 

"She excused herself afterwards by saying, that as the people who had thefever were in quite a different part of the house from ours, she thoughtthere could be no danger. Papa was so angry. He told her he was sorry thelaw did not take cognizance of such an offence. We had been a week in thehouse before we knew of it. "

"How did you find it out?"

"The lady who was ill with it died, and Matilda saw the coffin going upthe back stairs. She questioned the servants of the house, and one ofthem told her all about it then, bit by bit. Another lady was lying ill, and a third was recovering. The landlady, by way of excuse, said thegreatest wrong had been done to herself, for these ladies had brought thefever into her house, and brought it deliberately. Fever had broken outin their own home, some long way off, and they ran away from it, and tookher apartments, saying nothing; which was true, we found. "

"Two wrongs don't make a right, " observed Lord Hartledon. "Their bringingthe fever into her house was no justification for receiving you into itwhen it was there. It's the way of the world, Anne: one wrong leading toothers. Is Matilda getting over it?"

"I hardly know. She is not out of danger; but Mr. Hillary has hopes ofher. One of the other servants has taken it, and is worse than Matilda. Mr. Hillary has been with her three times to-day, and is coming again. She was ill when I last wrote to you, Val; but we did not know it. "

"Which of them is it?" he asked. 

"The dairymaid; a stout girl, who has never had a day's illness before. I don't suppose you know her. There was some trouble with her. She wouldnot take any medicine; would not do anything she ought to have done, andthe consequence is that the fever has got dangerously ahead. I am sureshe is very ill. "

"I hope it will not spread beyond the Rectory. "

"Oh, Val, that is our one great hope, " she said, turning her earnest faceto him in the moonlight. "We are taking all possible precautions. None ofus are going beyond the grounds, except papa, and we do not receive anyone here. I don't know what papa will say to your coming. "

He smiled. "But you can't keep all the world away!"

"We do--very nearly. Mr. Hillary comes, and Dr. Beamish from Garchester, and one or two people have been here on business. If any one calls at thegate, they are not asked in; and I don't suppose they would come in ifasked. Jabez Gum's the most obstinate. He comes in just as usual. "

"Lady Kirton is in an awful fright, " said Val, in an amused tone. 

"Oh, I have heard of it, " cried Anne, clasping her hands in laughter. "She is burning tar outside the house; and she spoke to Mr. Hillary thismorning through the window muffled up in a cloak and respirator. What astrange old thing she is!"

Val shrugged his shoulders. "I don't think she means badly _au fond_; andshe has no home, poor creature. "

"Is that why she remains at Hartledon?"

"I suppose so. Reigning at Hartledon must be something like a glimpse ofParadise to her. She won't quit it in a hurry. "

"I wonder you like to have her there. "

"I know I shall never have courage to tell her to go, " was the candid andcharacteristic answer. "I was afraid of her as a boy, and I'm not surebut I'm afraid of her still. "

"I don't like her--I don't like either of them, " said Anne in a low tone. 

"Don't you like Maude?"

"No. I am sure she is not true. To my mind there is something very falseabout them both. "

"I think you are wrong, Anne; certainly as regards Maude. "

Miss Ashton did not press her opinion: they were his relatives. "But Ishould have pitied poor Edward had he lived and married her, " she said, following out her thoughts. 

"I was mistaken when I thought Maude cared for Edward, " observed LordHartledon. "I'm sure I did think it. I used to tell Edward so; but a dayor two after he died I found I was wrong. The dowager had been urgingMaude to like him, and she could not, and it made her miserable. "

"Did Maude tell you this?" inquired Anne; her radiant eyes full ofsurprise. 

"Not Maude: she never said a word to me upon the subject. It was thedowager. "

"Then, Val, she must have said it with an object in view. I am sure Maudedid love him. I know she did. "

He shook his head. "You are wrong, Anne, depend upon it. She did not likehim, and she and her mother were at variance upon the point. However, itis of no moment to discuss it now: and it might never have come to anissue had Edward lived, for he did not care for her; and I dare say neverwould have cared for her. "

Anne said no more. It was of no moment as he observed; but she retainedher own opinion. They strolled to the end of the short walk in silence, and Anne said she must go in. 

"Am I quite forgiven?" whispered Lord Hartledon, bending his head down toher. 

"I never thought I had very much to forgive, " she rejoined, after apause. 

"My darling! I mean by your father. "

"Ah, I don't know. You must talk to him. He knows we have been writing toeach other. I think he means to trust you. "

"The best plan will be for you to come soon to Hartledon, Anne. I shallnever go wrong when once you are my wife. "

"Do you go so very wrong now?" she asked. 

"On my honour, no! You need not doubt me, Anne; now or ever. I have paidup what I owed, and will take very good care to keep out of trouble forthe future. I incurred debts for others, more than for myself, and havebought experience dearly. My darling, surely you can trust me now?"

"I always did trust you, " she murmured. 

He took a long, fervent kiss from her lips, and then led her to the openlawn and across to the house. 

"Ought you to come in, Percival?"

"Certainly. One word, Anne; because I may be speaking to the Rector--Idon't mean to-night. You will make no objection to coming soon toHartledon?"

"I can't come, you know, as long as Lady Kirton is its mistress, " shesaid, half seriously, half jestingly. 

He laughed at the notion. Lady Kirton must be going soon of her ownaccord; if not, he should have to pluck up courage and give her a hint, was his answer. At any rate, she'd surely take herself off beforeChristmas. The old dowager at Hartledon after he had Anne there! Not ifhe knew it, he added, as he went on with her into the presence of Dr. AndMrs. Ashton. The Rector started from his seat, at once telling him thathe ought not to have come in. Which Val did not see at all, and decidedlyrefused to go out again. 

Meanwhile the countess-dowager and Maude were wondering what had becomeof him. They supposed he was still sitting in the dining-room. The olddowager fidgeted about, her fingers ominously near the bell. She wasburning to send to him, but hardly knew how he might take the message: itmight be that he would object to leading strings, and her attempt to putthem on would ruin all. But the time went on; grew late; and she wasdying for her tea, which she had chosen should wait also. Maude satbefore the fire in a large chair; her eyes, her hands, her whole airsupremely listless. 

"Don't you want tea, Maude?" suddenly cried her mother, who had castinnumerable glances at her from time to time. 

"I have wanted it for hours--as it seems to me. "

"It's a horrid custom for young men, this sitting long after dinner. Ifhe gets into it--But you must see to that, and stop it, if ever you reignat Hartledon. I dare say he's smoking. "

"If ever I reign at Hartledon--which I am not likely to do--I'll takecare not to wait tea for any one, as you have made me wait for it thisevening, " was Maude's rejoinder, spoken with apathy. 

"I'll send a message to him, " decided Lady Kirton, ringing ratherfiercely. 

A servant appeared. 

"Tell Lord Hartledon we are waiting tea for him. "

"His lordship's not in, my lady. "

"Not in!"

"He went out directly after dinner, as soon as he had taken coffee. "

"Oh, " said the countess-dowager. And she began to make the tea withvehemence--for it did not please her to have it brought in made--andknocked down and broke one of the delicate china cups. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

ANOTHER PATIENT. 

It was eleven o'clock when Lord Hartledon entered. Lady Kirton wasfanning herself vehemently. Maude had gone upstairs for the night. 

"Where have you been?" she asked, laying down her fan. "We waited tea foryou until poor Maude got quite exhausted. "

"Did you? I am sorry for that. Never wait for me, pray, Lady Kirton. Itook tea at the Rectory. "

"Took--tea--where?"

"At the Rectory. "

With a shriek the countess-dowager darted to the far end of the room, turning up her gown as she went, and muffling it over her head and face, so that only the little eyes, round now with horror, were seen. LordHartledon gazed in amazement. 

"You have been at the Rectory, when I warned you not to go! You have beeninside that house of infection, and come home--here--to me--to my darlingMaude! May heaven forgive you, Hartledon!"

"Why, what have I done? What harm will it do?" exclaimed the astonishedman. He would have approached her, but she warned him from her piteouslywith her hands. She was at the upper end of the room, and he near thedoor, so that she could not leave it without passing him. Hedges camein, and stood staring in the same wondering astonishment as his master. 

"For mercy's sake, take off every shred of your clothes!" she cried. "Youmay have brought home death in them. They shall be thrown into theburning tar. Do you want to kill us? What has Maude done to you that youbehave in this way?"

"I do think you must be going mad!" cried Lord Hartledon, inbewilderment; "and I hope you'll forgive me for saying so. I--"

"Go and change your clothes!" was all she could reiterate. "Every minuteyou stand in them is fraught with danger. If you choose to die yourself, it's downright wicked to bring death to us. Oh, go, that I may get out ofhere. "

Lord Hartledon, to pacify her, left the room, and the countess-dowagerrushed forth and bolted herself into her own apartments. 

Was she mad, or making a display of affectation, or genuinely afraid?wondered Lord Hartledon aloud, as he went up to his chamber. Hedges gaveit as his opinion that she was really afraid, because she had been as badas this when she first heard of the illness, before his lordship arrived. Val retired to rest laughing: it was a good joke to him. 

But it was no joke to the countess-dowager, as he found to his cost whenthe morning came. She got him out of his chamber betimes, and commenced a"fumigating" process. The clothes he had worn she insisted should beburnt; pleading so piteously that he yielded in his good nature. 

But there was to be a battle on another score. She forbade him, in themost positive terms, to go again to the Rectory--to approach withinhalf-a-mile of it. Lord Hartledon civilly told her he could not comply;he hinted that if her alarms were so great, she had better leave theplace until all danger was over, and thereby nearly entailed on himselfanother war-dance. 

News that came up that morning from the Rectory did not tend to assuageher fears. The poor dairymaid had died in the night, and another servant, one of the men, was sickening. Even Lord Hartledon looked grave: and thecountess-dowager wormed a half promise from him, in the softened feelingsof the moment, that he would not visit the infected house. 

Before an hour was over he came to her to retract it. "I cannot be sounfeeling, so unneighbourly, as not to call, " he said. "Even were myrelations not what they are with Miss Ashton, I could not do it. It's ofno use talking, ma'am; I am too restless to stay away. "

A little skirmish of words ensued. Lady Kirton accused him of wishing tosacrifice them to his own selfish gratification. Lord Hartledon feltuncomfortable at the accusation. One of the best-hearted men living, hedid nothing in his vacillation. He would go in the evening, he said tohimself, when they could not watch him from the house. 

But she was clever at carrying out her own will, that countess-dowager;more than a match for the single-minded young man. She wrote an urgentletter to Dr. Ashton, setting forth her own and her daughter's danger ifher nephew, as she styled him, was received at the Rectory; and shedespatched it privately. 

It brought forth a letter from Dr. Ashton to Lord Hartledon; a kind butperemptory mandate, forbidding him to show himself at the Rectory untilthe illness was over. Dr. Ashton reminded his future son-in-law that itwas not particularly on his own account he interposed this veto, but forthe sake of the neighbourhood generally. If they were to prevent thefever from spreading, it was absolutely necessary that no chance visitorsshould be running into the Rectory and out of it again, to carry possibleinfection to the parish. 

Lord Hartledon could only acquiesce. The note was written in terms sopositive as rather to surprise him; but he never suspected theundercurrent that had been at work. In his straightforwardness he showedthe letter to the dowager, who nodded her head approvingly, but told notales. 

And so his days went on in the society of the two women at Hartledon;and if he found himself oppressed with _ennui_ at first, he subsidedinto a flirtation with Maude, and forgot care. Elster's folly! He was nothearing from Anne, for it was thought better that even notes should notpass out of the Rectory. 

Curiously to relate, the first person beyond the Rectory to take theillness was the man Pike. How he could have caught it was a marvel toCalne. And yet, if Lady Kirton's theory were correct, that infection wasconveyed by clothes, it might be accounted for, and Clerk Gum be deemedthe culprit. One evening after the clerk had been for some little time atthe Rectory with Dr. Ashton, he met Pike in going out; had brushed closeto him in passing, as he well remembered. However it might have been, ina few days after that Pike was found to be suffering from the fever. 

Whether he would have died, lying alone in that shed, Calne did notdecide; and some thought he would, making no sign; some thought not, butwould have called in assistance. Mr. Hillary, an observant man, asperhaps it was requisite he should be in time of public danger, haltedone morning to speak to Clerk Gum, who was standing at his own gate. 

"Have you seen anything lately of that neighbour of yours, Gum?"

"Which neighbour?" asked the clerk, in tones that seemed to resent thequestion. 

Mr. Hillary pointed his umbrella in the direction of the shed. "Pike. "

"No, I've seen nothing of him, that I remember. "

"Neither have I. What's more, I've seen no smoke coming out of thechimney these two days. It strikes me he's ill. It may be the fever. "

"Gone away, possibly, " remarked the clerk, after a moment's pause; "inthe same unceremonious manner that he came. "

"I think somebody ought to see. He may be lying there helpless. "

"Little matter if he is, " growled the clerk, who seemed put out aboutsomething or other. 

"It's not like you to say so, Gum. You might step over the stile and see;you're nearest to him. Nobody knows what the man is, or what he may havebeen; but humanity does not let even the worst die unaided. "

"What makes you think he has the fever?" asked the clerk. 

"I only say he may have it; having seen neither him nor his smoke thesetwo days. Never mind; if it annoys you to do this, I'll look in myselfsome time to-day. "

"You wouldn't get admitted; he keeps his door fastened, " returned Gum. "The only way to get at him is to shout out to him through that glazedaperture he calls his window. "

"Will you do it--or shall I?"

"I'll do it, " said the clerk; "and tell you if your services are wanted. "

Mr. Hillary walked off at a quick pace. There was a good deal of illnessin Calne at that season, though the fever had not spread. 

Whether Clerk Gum kept his word, or whether he did not, certain it wasthat Mr. Hillary heard nothing from him that day. In the evening theclerk was sitting in his office in a thoughtful mood, busy over someaccounts connected with an insurance company for which he was agent, whenhe heard a quick sharp knock at the front-door. 

"I wonder if it's Hillary?" he muttered, as he took the candle and roseto open it. 

Instead of the surgeon, there entered a lady, with much energy. It wasthe _bête noire_ of Clerk Gum's life, Mrs. Jones. 

"What's the house shut up for at this early hour?" she began. "The doorlocked, the shutters up, and the blinds down, just as if everybody wasdead or asleep. Where's Nance?"

"She's out, " said the clerk. "I suppose she shut up before she went, andI've been in my office all the afternoon. Do you want anything?"

"Do I want anything!" retorted Mrs. Jones. "I've come in to shelter fromthe rain. It's been threatening all the evening, and it's coming down nowlike cats and dogs. "

The clerk was leading the way to the little parlour; but she ignored themovement, and went on to the kitchen. He could only follow her. "It's apity you came out when it threatened rain, " said he. 

"Business took me out, " replied Mrs. Jones. "I've been up to the mill. I heard young Rip was ill, and going to leave; so I went up to ask ifthey'd try our Jim. But young Rip isn't going to leave, and isn't ill, mother Floyd says, though it's certain he's not well. She can't thinkwhat's the matter with the boy; he's always fancying he sees ghosts inthe river. I've had my trapes for nothing. "

She had given her gown a good shake from the rain-drops in the middle ofthe kitchen, and was now seated before the fire. The clerk stood by thetable, occasionally snuffing the candle, and wishing she'd take herselfoff again. 

"Where's Nancy gone?" asked she. 

"I didn't hear her say. "

"And she'll be gone a month of Sundays, I suppose. I shan't wait for her, if the rain gives over. "

"You'd be more comfortable in the small parlour, " said the clerk, whoseemed rather fidgety; "there's a nice bit of fire there. "

"I'm more comfortable here, " contradicted Mrs. Jones. "Where's the goodof a bit of fire for a gown as wet as mine?"

Jabez Gum made no response. There was the lady, a fixture; and he couldonly resign himself to the situation. 

"How's your friend at the next house--Pike?" she began againsarcastically. 

"He's no friend of mine, " said the clerk. 

"It looks like it, at all events; or you'd have given him into custodylong ago. _I_ wouldn't let a man harbour himself so close to me. He'staken to a new dodge now: going about with a pistol to shoot people. "

"Who says so?" asked the clerk. 

"I say so. He frighted that boy Ripper pretty near to death. The boy torehome one night in a state of terror, and all they could get out of himwas that he'd met Pike with a pistol. It's weeks ago, and he hasn't gotover it yet. "

"Did Pike level it at him?"

"I tell you that's all they could get out of the boy. He's a nicejail-bird too, that young Rip, unless I'm mistaken. They might aswell send him away, and make room for our Jim. "

"I think you are about the most fanciful, unjust, selfish woman inCalne!" exclaimed the clerk, unable to keep down his anger any longer. "You'd take young Ripper's character away without scruple, just becausehis place might suit your Jim!"

"I'm what?" shrieked Mrs. Jones. "I'm unjust, am I--"

An interruption occurred, and Mrs. Jones subsided into silence. Theback-door suddenly opened, not a couple of yards from that lady's head, and in came Mrs. Gum in her ordinary indoor dress, two basins in herhand. The sight of her visitor appeared to occasion her surprise; sheuttered a faint scream, and nearly dropped the basins. 

"Lawk a mercy! Is it Lydia Jones?"

Mrs. Jones had been drawing a quiet deduction--the clerk had said hiswife was out only to deceive her. She rose from her chair, and faced him. 

"I thought you told me she was gone out?"

The clerk coughed. He looked at his wife, as if asking an explanation. The meeker of the two women hastily put her basins down, and stoodlooking from one to the other, apparently recovering breath. 

"Didn't you go out?" asked the clerk. 

"I was going, Gum, but stepped out first to collect my basins, and thenthe rain came down. I had to shelter under the wood-shed, it waspeppering so. "

"Collect your basins!" interjected Mrs. Jones. "Where from?"

"I put them out with scraps for the cats. "

"The cats must be well off in your quarter; better than some children inothers, " was the rejoinder, delivered with an unnecessary amount ofspite. "What makes you so out of breath?" she tartly asked. 

"I had a bit of a fright, " said the woman, simply. "My breath seems toget affected at nothing of late, Lydia. "

"A pity but you'd your hands full of work, as mine are: that's the bestremedy for fright, " said Mrs. Jones sarcastically. "What might yourfright have been, pray?"

"I was standing, waiting to dart over here, when I saw a man come acrossthe waste land and make for Pike's shed, " said Mrs. Gum, looking at herhusband. "It gave me a turn. We've never seen a soul go near the place ofan evening since Pike has been there. "

"Why should it give you a turn?" asked Mrs. Jones, who was in a moodto contradict everything. "You've seen Pike often enough not to befrightened at him when he keeps his distance. "

"It wasn't Pike, Lydia. The man had an umbrella over him, and he lookedlike a gentleman. Fancy Pike with an umbrella!"

"Was it Mr. Hillary?" interposed the clerk. 

She shook her head. "I don't think so; but it was getting too dark tosee. Any way, it gave me a turn; and he's gone right up to Pike's shed. "

"Gave you a turn, indeed!" scornfully repeated Mrs. Jones. "I thinkyou're getting more of an idiot every day, Nance. It's to be hopedsomebody's gone to take him up; that's what is to be hoped. "

But Mr. Hillary it was. Hearing nothing from Jabez Gum all day, he hadcome to the conclusion that that respectable man had ignored his promise, and, unable to divest himself of the idea that Pike was ill, in theevening, having a minute to spare, he went forth to see for himself. 

The shed-door was closed, but not fastened, and Mr. Hillary went in atonce without ceremony. A lighted candle shed its rays around the rudedwelling-room: and the first thing he saw was a young man, who did notlook in the least like Pike, stretched upon a mattress; the second was abushy black wig and appurtenances lying on a chair; and the third was aformidable-looking pistol, conveniently close to the prostrate invalid. 

Quick as thought, the surgeon laid his hand upon the pistol and removedit to a safe distance. He then bent over the sick man, examining him withhis penetrating eyes; and what he saw struck him with consternation sogreat, that he sat down on a chair to recover himself, albeit not liableto be overcome by emotion. 

When he left the shed--which was not for nearly half-an-hour after he hadentered it--he heard voices at Clerk Gum's front-door. The storm wasover, and their visitor was departing. Mr. Hillary took a moment'scounsel with himself, then crossed the stile and appeared amongst them. Nodding to the three collectively, he gravely addressed the clerk and hiswife. 

"I have come here to ask, in the name of our common humanity, whether youwill put aside your prejudices, and be Christians in a case of need, " hebegan. "I don't forget that once, when an epidemic was raging in Calne, you"--turning to the wife--"were active and fearless, going about andnursing the sick when almost all others held aloof. Will you do the samenow by a helpless man?"

The woman trembled all over. Clerk Gum looked questioningly at thedoctor. Mrs. Jones was taking in everything with eyes and ears. 

"This neighbour of yours has caught the fever. Some one must attend tohim, or he will lie there and die. I thought perhaps you'd do it, Mrs. Gum, for our Saviour's sake--if from no other motive. "

She trembled excessively. "I always was terribly afraid of that man, sir, since he came, " said she, with marked hesitation. 

"But he cannot harm you now. I don't ask you to go in to him one dayafter he is well again--if he recovers. Neither need you be with himas a regular nurse: only step in now and then to give him his physic, or change the wet cloths on his burning head. "

Mrs. Jones found her voice. The enormous impudence of the surgeon'srequest had caused its temporary extinction. 

"I'd see Pike in his coffin before I'd go a-nigh him as a nurse! What onearth will you be asking next, Mr. Hillary?"

"I didn't ask you, Mrs. Jones: you have your children to attend to; fullemployment for one pair of arms. Mrs. Gum has nothing to do with hertime; and is near at hand besides. Gum, you stand in your place by Dr. Ashton every Sunday, and read out to us of the loving mercy of God: willyou urge your wife to this little work of charity for His sake?"

Jabez Gum evidently did not know what to answer. On the one hand, hecould hardly go against the precepts he had to respond to as clerk; onthe other, there was his scorn and hatred of the disreputable Arab. 

"He's such a loose character, sir, " he debated at length. 

"Possibly: when he is well. But he is ill now, and could not be loose ifhe tried. Some one _must_ go in now and then to see after him: it struckme that perhaps your wife would do it, for humanity's sake; and I thoughtI'd ask her before going further. "

"She can do as she likes, " said Jabez. 

Mrs. Gum--as unresisting in her nature as ever was PercivalElster--yielded to the prayer of the surgeon, and said she would dowhat she could. But she had never shown more nervousness over anythingthan she was showing as she gave her answer. 

"Then I will step indoors and give you a few plain directions, " said thesurgeon. "Mrs. Jones has taken her departure, I perceive. "

Mrs. Gum was as good as her word, and went in with dire trepidation. Calne's sentiments, on the whole, resembled Mrs. Jones's, and the womanwas blamed for her yielding nature. But she contrived, with the help ofMr. Hillary's skill, to bring the man through the fever; and it was verysingular that no other person out of the Rectory took it. 

The last one to take it at the Rectory was Mrs. Ashton. Of the threeservants who had it, one had died; the other two recovered. Mrs. Ashtondid not take it until the rest were well, and she had it lightly. Annenursed her and would do so; and it was an additional reason forprolonging the veto against Lord Hartledon. 

One morning in December, Val, in passing down the road, saw the Rectoryturned, as he called it, inside out. Every window was thrown open;curtains were taken down; altogether there seemed to be a comprehensivecleaning going on. At that moment Mr. Hillary passed, and Val arrestedhim, pointing to the Rectory. 

"Yes, they are having a cleansing and purification. The family went awaythis morning. "

"Went where?" exclaimed Hartledon, in amazement. 

"Dr. Ashton has taken a cottage near Ventnor. "

"Had Mrs. Ashton quite recovered?"

"Quite: or they would not have gone. The Rectory has had a clean bill ofhealth for some time past. "

"Then why did they not let me know it?" exclaimed Val, in hisastonishment and anger. 

"Perhaps you didn't ask, " said the surgeon. "But no visitors were sought. Time enough for that when the house shall have been fumigated. "

"They might have sent to me, " he cried, in resentment. "To go away andnever let me know it!"

"They may have thought you were too agreeably engaged to care to bedisturbed, " remarked the surgeon. 

"What do you mean?" demanded Val, hotly. 

Mr. Hillary laughed. "People will talk, you know; and rumour has it thatLord Hartledon has found attractions in his own home, whilst the Rectorywas debarred to him. "

Val wheeled round on his heel, and walked away in displeasure. Hometruths are never palatable. But the kindly disposition of the man resumedits sway immediately: he turned back, and pointed to the shed. 

"Is that interesting patient of yours on his legs again?"

"He is getting better. The disease attacked him fiercely and wasunusually prolonged. It's strange he should have been the only one totake it. "

"Gum's wife has been nursing him, I hear?"

"She has gone in and out to do such necessary offices as the sickrequire. I put it to her from a Christian point of view, you see, and onthe score of humanity. She was at hand; and that's a great thing wherethe nurse is only a visiting one. "

"Look here, Hillary; don't let the man want for anything; see that he hasall he needs. He is a black sheep, no doubt; but illness levels us all toone standard. Good day. "

"Good day, Lord Hartledon. "

And when the surgeon had got to a distance with his quick step, LordHartledon turned back to the Rectory. 

CHAPTER XV. 

VAL'S DILEMMA. 

It was a mild day in spring. The air was balmy, but the skies were greyand lowering; and as a gentleman strolled across a field adjoiningHartledon Park he looked up at them more than once, as if asking whetherthey threatened rain. 

Not that he had any great personal interest in the question. Whether theskies gave forth sunshine or rain is of little moment to a mind not atrest. He had only looked up in listlessness. A stranger might have takenhim at a distance for a gamekeeper: his coat was of velveteen; his bootswere muddy: but a nearer inspection would have removed the impression. 

It was Lord Hartledon; but changed since you last saw him. For some timepast there had been a worn, weary look upon his face, bespeaking a mindill at ease; the truth is, his conscience was not at rest, and in timethat tells on the countenance. 

He had been by the fish-pond for an hour. But the fish had not shownthemselves inclined to bite, and he grew too impatient to remain. Not altogether impatient at the wary fish, but in his own mentalrestlessness. The fishing-rod was carried in his hand in pieces; and hesplashed along, in a brown study, on the wet ground, flinging himselfover the ha-ha with an ungracious movement. Some one was approachingacross the park from the house, and Lord Hartledon walked on to a gate, and waited there for him to come up. He began beating the bars with thethin end of the rod, and--broke it!

"That's the way you use your fishing-rods, " cried the free, pleasantvoice of the new-comer. "I shouldn't mind being appointed purveyor oftackle to your lordship. "

The stranger was an active little man, older than Hartledon; his featureswere thin, his eyes dark and luminous. I think you have heard hisname--Thomas Carr. Lord Hartledon once called him the greatest friend hepossessed on earth. He had been wont to fly to him in his past dilemmas, and the habit was strong upon him still. A mandate that would have beenperemptory, but for the beseeching terms in which it was couched, hadreached Mr. Carr on circuit; and he had hastened across country to obeyit, reaching Hartledon the previous evening. That something was wrong, Mr. Carr of course was aware; but what, he did not yet know. LordHartledon, with his natural vacillation, his usual shrinking from thediscussion of unpleasant topics relating to himself, had not entered uponit at all on the previous night; and when breakfast was over thatmorning, Mr. Carr had craved an hour alone for letter-writing. It was thefirst time Mr. Carr had visited his friend at his new inheritance; indeedthe first time he had been at all at Hartledon. Lord Hartledon seatedhimself on the gate; the barrister leaned his arms on the top bar whilsthe talked to him. 

"What is the matter?" asked the latter. 

"Not much. "

"I have finished my letters, so I came out to look for you. You are notchanged, Elster. "

"What should change me in so short a time?--it's only six months sinceyou last saw me, " retorted Hartledon, curtly. 

"I alluded to your nature. I had to worm the troubles out of you in theold days, each one as it arose. I see I shall have to do the same now. Don't say there's not much the matter, for I am sure there is. "

Lord Hartledon jerked his handkerchief out of his pocket, passed it overhis face, and put it back again. 

"What fresh folly have you got into?--as I used to ask you at Oxford. Youare in some mess. "

"I suppose it's of no use denying that I am in one. An awful mess, too. "

"Well, I have pulled you out of many a one in my time. Let me hear it. "

"There are some things one does not like to talk about, Carr. I sent foryou in my perplexity; but I believe you can be of no use to me. "

"So you have said before now. But it generally turned out that I was ofuse to you, and cleared you from your nightmare. "

"All those were minor difficulties; this is different. "

"I cannot understand your 'not liking' to speak of things to me. Whydon't you begin?"

"Because I shall prove myself worse than a fool. You'll despise me toyour heart's core. Carr, I think I shall go mad!"

"Tell me the cause first, and go mad afterwards. Come, Val; I am yourtrue friend. "

"I have made an offer of marriage to two women, " said Hartledon, desperately plunging into the revelation. "Never was such a born idiotin the world as I have been. I can't marry both. "

"I imagine not, " quietly replied Mr. Carr. 

"You knew I was engaged to Miss Ashton?"

"Yes. "

"And I'm sure I loved her with all my"--he seemed to hesitate for astrong term--"might and main; and do still. But I have managed to getinto mischief elsewhere. "

"Elster's folly, as usual. What sort of mischief?"

"The worst sort, for there can be no slipping out of it. When that feverbroke out at Doctor Ashton's--you heard us talking of it last night, Carr--I went to the Rectory just as usual. What did I care for fever?--itwas not likely to attack me. But the countess-dowager found it out--"

"Why do they stay here so long?" interrupted Thomas Carr. "They have beenhere ever since your brother died. "

"And before it. The old woman likes her quarters, and has no settledhome. She makes a merit of stopping, and says I ought to feel undereternal obligation to her and Maude for sacrificing themselves to asolitary man and his household. But you should have heard the uproarshe made upon discovering I had been to the Rectory. She had my roomfumigated and my clothes burnt. "

"Foolish old creature!"

"The best of it was, I pointed out by mistake the wrong coat, andthe offending one is upstairs now. I shall show it her some day. Shereproached me with holding her life and her daughter's dirt-cheap, andwormed a promise out of me not to visit the Rectory as long as fever wasin it. "

"Which you gave?"

"She wormed it out of me, I tell you. I don't know that I should havekept it, but Dr. Ashton put in his veto also; and between the two I waskept away. For many weeks afterwards I never saw or spoke to Anne. Shedid not come out at all, even to church; they were so anxious the fevershould not spread. "

"Well? Go on, Val. "

"Well: how does that proverb run, about idleness being the root of allevil? During those weeks I was an idle man, wretchedly bored; and I fellinto a flirtation with Maude. She began it, Carr, on my solemn word ofhonour--though it's a shame to tell these tales of a woman; and I joinedin from sheer weariness, to kill time. But you know how one gets led onin such things--or I do, if you, you cautious fellow, don't--and we bothwent in pretty deep. "

"Elster's folly again! How deep?"

"As deep as I well could, short of committing myself to a proposal. Yousee the ill-luck of it was, those two and I being alone in the house. Imay as well say Maude and I alone; for the old woman kept her room verymuch; she had a cold, she said, and was afraid of the fever. "

"Tush!" cried Thomas Carr angrily. "And you made love to the young lady?"

"As fast as I could make it. What a fool I was! But I protest I only didit in amusement; I never thought of her supplanting Anne Ashton. Now, Carr, you are looking as you used to look at Oxford; get your brow smoothagain. You just shut up yourself for weeks with a fascinating girl, andsee if you wouldn't find yourself in some horrible entanglement, proofagainst such as you think you are. "

"As I am obliged to be. I should take care not to lay myself open to thetemptation. Neither need you have done it. "

"I don't see how I was to help myself. Often and often I wished to havevisitors in the house, but the old woman met me with reproaches that Iwas forgetting the recent death of my brother. She won't have any one nowif she knows it, and I had to send for you quietly. Did you see how shestared last night when you came in?"

Mr. Carr drew down his lips. "You might have gone away yourself, Elster. "

"Of course I might, " was the testy reply. "But I was a fool, and didn't. Carr, I swear to you I fell into the trap unconsciously; I did notforesee danger. Maude is a charming girl, there's no denying it; butas to love, I never glanced at it. "

"Was it not suspected in town last year that Lady Maude had a liking foryour brother?"

"It was suspected there and here; I thought it myself. We were mistaken. One day lately Maude offended me, and I hinted at something of the sort:she turned red and white with indignation, saying she wished he couldrise from his grave to refute it. I only wish he could!" added theunhappy man. 

"Have you told me all?"

"All! I wish I had. In December I was passing the Rectory, and saw itdismantled. Hillary, whom I met, said the family had gone to Ventnor. Iwent in, but could not learn any particulars, or get the address. Ichanced a letter, written I confess in anger, directing it Ventnor only, and it found them. Anne's answer was cool: mischief-making tongues hadbeen talking about me and Maude; I learned so much from Hillary; and Anneno doubt resented it. I resented that--can you follow me, Carr?--and Isaid to myself I wouldn't write again for some time to come. Before thattime came the climax had occurred. "

"And while you were waiting for your temper to come round in regard toMiss Ashton, you continued to make love to the Lady Maude?" remarked Mr. Carr. "On the face of things, I should say your love had been transferredto her. "

"Indeed it hadn't. Next to Anne, she's the most charming girl I know;that's all. Between the two it will be awful work for me. "

"So I should think, " returned Mr. Carr. "The ass between two bundles ofhay was nothing to it. "

"He was not an ass at all, compared with what I am, " assented Val, gloomily. 

"Well, if a man behaves like an ass--"

"Don't moralize, " interrupted Hartledon; "but rather advise me how to getout of my dilemma. The morning's drawing on, and I have promised to ridewith Maude. "

"You had better ride alone. All the advice I can give you is to draw backby degrees, and so let the flirtation subside. If there is no actualentanglement--"

"Stop a bit, Carr; I had not come to it, " interrupted Lord Hartledon, whoin point of fact had been holding back what he called the climax, in hisusual vacillating manner. "One ill-starred day, when it was pouring catsand dogs, and I could not get out, I challenged Maude to a game atbilliards. Maude lost. I said she should pay me, and put my arm round herwaist and snatched a kiss. Just at that moment in came the dowager, who Ibelieve must have been listening--"

"Not improbably, " interrupted Mr. Carr, significantly. 

"'Oh, you two dear turtle-doves, ' cried she, 'Hartledon, you have made meso happy! I have seen for some weeks what you were thinking of. There'snobody living I'd confide that dear child to but yourself: you shall haveher, and my blessing shall be upon you both. '

"Carr, " continued poor Val, "I was struck dumb. All the absurdity of thething rose up before me. In my confusion I could not utter a word. A manwith more moral courage might have spoken out; acknowledged the shame andfolly of his conduct and apologized. I could not. "

"Elster's folly! Elster's folly!" thought the barrister. "You never hadthe slightest spark of moral courage, " he observed aloud, in painedtones. "What did you say?"

"Nothing. There's the worst of it. I neither denied the dowager'sassumption, nor confirmed it. Of course I cannot now. "

"When was this?"

"In December. "

"And how have things gone on since? How do you stand with them?"

"Things have gone on as they went on before; and I stand engaged toMaude, in her mother's opinion; perhaps in hers: never having said myselfone word to support the engagement. "

"Only continued to 'make love, ' and 'snatch a kiss, '" sarcasticallyrejoined Mr. Carr. 

"Once in a way. What is a man to do, exposed to the witchery of a prettygirl?"

"Oh, Percival! You are worse than I thought for. Where is Miss Ashton?"

"Coming home next Friday, " groaned Val. "And the dowager asked meyesterday whether Maude and I had arranged the time for our marriage. What on earth I shall do, I don't know. I might sail for some remote landand convert myself into a savage, where I should never be found orrecognized; there's no other escape for me. "

"How much does Miss Ashton know of this?"

"Nothing. I had a letter from her this morning, more kindly than herletters have been of late. "

"Lord Hartledon!" exclaimed Mr. Carr, in startled tones. "Is it possiblethat you are carrying on a correspondence with Miss Ashton, and yourlove-making with Lady Maude?"

Val nodded assent, looking really ashamed of himself. 

"And you call yourself a man of honour! Why, you are the greatesthumbug--"

"That's enough; no need to sum it up. I see all I've been. "

"I understood you to imply that your correspondence with Miss Ashton hadceased. "

"It was renewed. Dr. Ashton came up to preach one Sunday, just beforeChristmas, and he and I got friendly again; you know I never can beunfriendly with any one long. The next day I wrote to Anne, and we havecorresponded since; more coolly though than we used to do. Circumstanceshave been really against me. Had they continued at Ventnor, I should havegone down and spent my Christmas with them, and nothing of this wouldhave happened; but they must needs go to Dr. Ashton's sister's inYorkshire for Christmas; and there they are still. It was in thatmiserable Christmas week that the mischief occurred. And now you havethe whole, Carr. I know I've been a fool; but what is to be done?"

"Lord Hartledon, " was the grave rejoinder, "I am unable to give youadvice in this. Your conduct is indefensible. "

"Don't 'Lord Hartledon' me: I won't stand it. Carr?"

"Well?"

"If you bring up against me a string of reproaches lasting until nightwill that mend matters? I am conscious of possessing but one true friendin the world, and that's yourself. You must stand by me. "

"I was your friend; never a truer. But I believed you to be a man ofhonour. "

Hartledon lifted his hat from his brow; as though the brow alone wereheavy enough just then. At least the thought struck Mr. Carr. 

"I have been drawn unwittingly into this, as I have into other things. Inever meant to do wrong. As to dishonour, Heaven knows my nature shrinksfrom it. "

"If your nature does, you don't, " came the severe answer. "I should feelashamed to put forth the same plea always of 'falling unwittingly' intodisgrace. You have done it ever since you were a schoolboy. Talk of theElster folly! this has gone beyond it. This is dishonour. Engaged to onegirl, and corresponding with her; making hourly love for weeks toanother! May I inquire which of the two you really care for?"

"Anne--I suppose. "

"You suppose!"

"You make me wild, talking like this. Of course it's Anne. Maude hasmanaged to creep into my regard, though, in no common degree. She is verylovely, very fascinating and amiable. "

"May I ask which of the two you intend to marry!" continued thebarrister, neither suppressing nor attempting to soften his indignanttones. "As this country's laws are against a plurality of wives, you willbe unable, I imagine, to espouse them both. "

Hartledon looked at him, beseechingly, and a sudden compassion came overMr. Carr. He asked himself whether it was quite the way to treat aperplexed man who was very dear to him. 

"If I am severe, it is for your sake. I assure you I scarcely know whatadvice to give. It is Miss Ashton, of course, whom you intend to makeLady Hartledon?"

"Of course it is. The difficulty in the matter is getting clear ofMaude. "

"And the formidable countess-dowager. You must tell Maude the truth. "

"Impossible, Carr. I might have done it once; but the thing has gone onso long. The dowager would devour me. "

"Let her try to. I should speak to Maude alone, and put her upon hergenerosity to release you. Tell her you presumed upon your cousinship;and confess that you have long been engaged to marry Miss Ashton. "

"She knows that: they have both known it all along. My brother was thefirst to tell them, before he died. "

"They knew it?" inquired Mr. Carr, believing he had not heard correctly. 

"Certainly. There has been no secret made of my engagement to Anne. Allthe world knows of that. "

"Then--though I do not in the least defend or excuse you--your breakingwith Lady Maude may be more pardonable. They are poor, are they not, thisDowager Kirton and Lady Maude?"

"Poor as Job. Hard up, I think. "

"Then they are angling for the broad lands of Hartledon. I see it all. You have been a victim to fortune-hunting. "

"There you are wrong, Carr. I can't answer for the dowager one way or theother; but Maude is the most disinterested--"

"Of course: girls on the look-out for establishments always are. Have itas you like. "

He spoke in tones of ridicule; and Hartledon jumped off the stile and ledthe way home. 

That Lord Hartledon had got himself into a very serious predicament, Mr. Carr plainly saw. His good nature, his sensitive regard for the feelingsof others, rendering it so impossible for him to say no, and above allhis vacillating disposition, were his paramount characteristics still: ina degree they ever would be. Easily led as ever, he was as a very reedin the hands of the crafty old woman of the world, located with him. Shehad determined that he should become the husband of her daughter; and wasas certain of accomplishing her end as if she had foreseen the future. Lord Hartledon himself afterwards, in his bitter repentance, said, overand over again, that circumstances were against him; and they certainlywere so, as you will find. 

Lord Hartledon thought he was making headway against it now, in sendingfor his old friend, and resolving to be guided by his advice. 

"I will take an opportunity of speaking to Maude, Carr, " he resumed. "Iwould rather not do it, of course; but I see there's no help for it. "

"Make the opportunity, " said Mr. Carr, with emphasis. "Don't delay a day;I shall expect you to write me a letter to-morrow saying you've done it. "

"But you won't leave to-day, " said Hartledon, entreatingly, feeling aninstant prevision that with the departure of Thomas Carr all his couragewould ignominiously desert him. 

"I must go. You know I told you last night that my stay could only befour-and-twenty hours. You can accomplish it whilst I am here, if youlike, and get it over; the longer a nauseous medicine is held to the lipsthe more difficult it is to swallow it. You say you are going to ridewith Lady Maude presently; let that be your opportunity. "

And get it over! Words that sounded as emancipation in Val's ear. Butsomehow he did not accomplish it in that ride. Excuses were on his lipsfive hundred times, but his hesitating lips never formed them. He reallywas on the point of speaking; at least he said so to himself; when Mr. Hillary overtook them on horseback, and rode with them some distance. After that, Maude put her horse to a canter, and so they reached home. 

"Well?" said Mr. Carr. 

"Not yet, " answered Hartledon; "there was no opportunity. "

"My suggestion was to make your opportunity. "

"And so I will. I'll speak to her either to-night or to-morrow. She choseto ride fast to-day; and Hillary joined us part of the way. Don't look asif you doubted me, Carr: I shall be sure to speak. "

"Will he?" thought Thomas Carr, as he took his departure by the eveningtrain, having promised to run down the following Saturday for a fewhours. "It is an even bet, I think. Poor Val!"

Poor Val indeed! Vacillating, attractive, handsome Val! shrinking, sensitive Val! The nauseous medicine was never taken. And when theAshtons returned to the Rectory on the Friday night he had not spoken. 

And the very day of their return a rumour reached his ear that Mrs. Ashton's health was seriously if not fatally shattered, and she wasdeparting immediately for the South of France. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

BETWEEN THE TWO. 

Not in the Rectory drawing-room, but in a pretty little sitting-roomattached to her bed-chamber, where the temperature was regulated, and nodraughts could penetrate, reclined Mrs. Ashton. Her invalid gown satloosely upon her shrunken form, her delicate, lace cap shaded a fadingface. Anne sat by her side in all her loveliness, ostensibly working; buther fingers trembled, and her face looked flushed and pained. 

It was the morning after their return, and Mrs. Graves had called in tosee Mrs. Ashton--gossiping Mrs. Graves, who knew all that took place inthe parish, and a great deal of what never did take place. She had justbeen telling it all unreservedly in her hard way; things that might besaid, and things that might as well have been left unsaid. She went outleaving a whirr and a buzz behind her and an awful sickness of desolationupon one heart. 

"Give me my little writing-case, Anne, " said Mrs. Ashton, waking up froma reverie and sitting forward on her sofa. 

Anne took the pretty toy from the side-table, opened it, and laid it onthe table before her mother. 

"Is it nothing I can write for you, mamma?"

"No, child. "

Anne bent her hot face over her work again. It had not occurred to herthat it could concern herself; and Mrs. Ashton wrote a few rapid lines:

 "My Dear Percival, "Can you spare me a five-minutes' visit? I wish to speak with you. We go away again on Monday. 

 "Ever sincerely yours, "Catherine Ashton. "

She folded it, enclosed it in an envelope, and addressed it to the Earlof Hartledon. Pushing away the writing-table, she held out the note toher daughter. 

"Seal it for me, Anne. I am tired. Let it go at once. "

"Mamma!" exclaimed Anne, as her eye caught the address. "Surely you arenot writing to him! You are not asking him to come here?"

"You see that I am writing to him, Anne. And it is to ask him to comehere. My dear, you may safely leave me to act according to my ownjudgment. But as to what Mrs. Graves has said, I don't believe a wordof it. "

"I scarcely think I do, " murmured Anne; a smile hovering on her troubledcountenance, like sunshine after rain. 

Anne had the taper alight, and the wax held to it, the note ready in herhand, when the room-door was thrown open by Mrs. Ashton's maid. 

"Lord Hartledon. "

He came in in a hurried manner, talking fast, making too much fuss; itwas unlike his usual quiet movements, and Mrs. Ashton noticed it. As heshook hands with her, she held the note before him. 

"See, Percival! I was writing to ask you to call upon me. "

Anne had put out the light, and her hand was in Lord Hartledon's beforeshe well knew anything, save that her heart was beating tumultuously. Mrs. Ashton made a place for him on the sofa, and Anne quietly left theroom. 

"I should have been here earlier, " he began, "but I had the steward withme on business; it is little enough I have attended to since my brother'sdeath. Dear Mrs. Ashton! I grieve to hear this poor account of you. Youare indeed looking ill. "

"I am so ill, Percival, that I doubt whether I shall ever be better inthis world. It is my last chance, this going away to a warmer place untilwinter has passed. "

He was bending towards her in earnest sympathy, all himself again; hisdark blue eyes very tender, his pleasant features full of concern as hegazed on her face. And somehow, looking at that attractive countenance, Mrs. Ashton's doubts went from her. 

"But what I have said is to you alone, " she resumed. "My husband andchildren do not see the worst, and I refrain from telling them. A littleword of confidence between us, Val. "

"I hope and trust you may come back cured!" he said, very fervently. "Isit the fever that has so shattered you?"

"It is the result of it. I have never since been able to recoverstrength, but have become weaker and more weak. And you know I wasin ill health before. We leave on Monday morning for Cannes. "

"For Cannes?" he exclaimed. 

"Yes. A place not so warm as some I might have gone to; but the doctorssay that will be all the better. It is not heat I need; only shelter fromour cold northern winds until I can get a little strength into me. There's nothing the matter with my lungs; indeed, I don't know thatanything is the matter with me except this terrible weakness. "

"I suppose Anne goes with you?"

"Oh yes. I could not go without Anne. The doctor will see us settledthere, and then he returns. "

A thought crossed Lord Hartledon: how pleasant if he and Anne could havebeen married, and have made this their wedding tour. He did not speak it:Mrs. Ashton would have laughed at his haste. 

"How long shall you remain away?" he asked. 

"Ah, I cannot tell you. I may not live to return. If all goes well--thatis, if there should be a speedy change for the better, as the medical menwho have been attending me think there may be--I shall be back perhaps inApril or May. Val--I cannot forget the old familiar name, you see--"

"I hope you never will forget it, " he warmly interposed. 

"I wanted very particularly to see you. A strange report was broughthere this morning and I determined to mention it to you. You know whatan old-fashioned, direct way I have of doing things; never choosing aroundabout road if I can take a straight one. This note was a line askingyou to call upon me, " she added, taking it from her lap, where it hadbeen lying, and tossing it on to the table, whilst her hearer, hisconscience rising up, began to feel a very little uncomfortable. "Weheard you had proposed marriage to Lady Maude Kirton. "

Lord Hartledon's face became crimson. "Who on earth could have inventedthat?" cried he, having no better answer at hand. 

"Mrs. Graves mentioned it to me. She was dining at Hartledon last week, and the countess-dowager spoke about it openly. "

Mrs. Ashton looked at him; and he, confused and taken aback, looked downon the carpet, devoutly wishing himself in the remote regions he hadspoken of to Mr. Carr. Anywhere, so that he should never be seen orrecognized again. 

"What am I to do?" thought he. "I wish Mother Graves was hanged!"

"You do not speak, Percival!"

"Well, I--I was wondering what could have given rise to this, " hestammered. "I believe the old dowager would like to see her daughtermistress of Hartledon: and suppose she gave utterance to her thoughts. "

"Very strange that she should!" observed Mrs. Ashton. 

"I think she's a little cracked sometimes, " coughed Val; and, in truth, he now and then did think so. "I hope you have not told Anne?"

"I have told no one. And had I not felt sure it had no foundation, Ishould have told the doctor, not you. But Anne was in the room when Mrs. Graves mentioned it. "

"What a blessing it would be if Mrs. Graves were out of the parish!"exclaimed Val, hotly. "I wonder Dr. Ashton keeps Graves on, with such amother! No one ever had such a mischief-making tongue as hers. "

"Percival, may I say something to you?" asked Mrs. Ashton, who wasdevouring him with her eyes. "Your manner would almost lead me to believethat there _is_ something in it. Tell me the truth; I can never beanything but your friend. "

"Believe one thing, dear Mrs. Ashton--that I have no intention ofmarrying anyone but Anne; and I wish with all my heart and soul you'dgive her to me to-day. Shut up with those two women, the one pretty, theother watching any chance word to turn it to her own use, I dare say theMrs. Graveses of the place have talked, forgetting that Maude is mycousin. I believe I paid some attention to Maude because I was angryat being kept out of the Rectory; but my attentions meant nothing, uponmy honour. "

"Elster's folly, Val! Lady Maude may have thought they did. "

"At any rate she knew of my engagement to Anne. "

"Then there is nothing in it?"

"There shall be nothing in it, " was the emphatic answer. "Anne was myfirst love, and she will be my last. You must promise to give her to meas soon as you return from Cannes. "

"About that you must ask her father. I dare say he will do so. "

Lord Hartledon rose from his seat; held Mrs. Ashton's hand between hiswhilst he said his adieu, and stooped to kiss her with a son's affection. She was a little surprised to find it was his final farewell. They werenot going to start until Monday. But Hartledon could not have risked thatcross-questioning again; rather would he have sailed away for the savageterritories at once. He went downstairs searching for Anne, and found herin the room where you first saw her--her own. She looked up with quite anaffectation of surprise when he entered, although she had probably gonethere to await him. The best of girls are human. 

"You ran away, Anne, whilst mamma and I held our conference?"

"I hope it has been satisfactory, " she answered demurely, not looking up, and wondering whether he suspected how violently her heart was beating. 

"Partly so. The end was all right. Shall I tell it you?"

"The end! Yes, if you will, " she replied unsuspectingly. 

"The decision come to is, that a certain young friend of ours is to beconverted, with as little delay as circumstances may permit, into LadyHartledon. "

Of course there came no answer except a succession of blushes. Anne'swork, which she had carried with her, took all her attention just then. 

"Can you guess her name, Anne?"

"I don't know. Is it Maude Kirton?"

He winced. "If you have been told that abominable rubbish, Anne, it isnot necessary to repeat it. It's not so pleasant a theme that you needmake a joke of it. "

"Is it rubbish?" asked Anne, lifting her eyes. 

"I think you ought to know that if any one does. But had anythinghappened, Anne, recollect it would have been your fault. You have beenvery cool to me of late. You forbid me the house for weeks and weeks; youwent away for an indefinite period without letting me know, or giving methe chance of seeing you; and when the correspondence was at lengthrenewed, your letters were cold and formal--quite different from whatthey used to be. It almost looks as if you wished to part from me. "

Repentance was stealing over her: why had she ever doubted him?

"And now you are going away again! And although this interview may beour last for months, you scarcely deign to give me a word or a look offarewell. "

Anne had already been terribly tried by Mrs. Graves: this was the climax:she lost her self-control and burst into tears. Lord Hartledon wassoftened at once. He took her two hands in his; he clasped her to hisheart, half devouring her face with passionate kisses. Ah, Lady Maude!this impassioned love was never felt for you. 

"You don't love her?" whispered Anne. 

"Love her! I never loved but you, my best and dearest. I never shall, orcan, love another. "

He spoke in all good faith; fully believing what he said; and it wasindeed true. And Anne? As though a prevision had been upon her of thefuture, she remained passively in his arms sobbing hysterically, andsuffering his kisses; not drawing away from him in maiden modesty, aswas her wont. She had never clung to him like this. 

"You will write to me often?" he whispered. 

"Yes. Won't you come to Cannes?"

"I don't know that it will be possible, unless you remain beyond thespring. And should that be the case, Anne, I shall pray your father andmother that the marriage may take place there. I am going up to town nextmonth to take my seat in the House. It will be a busy session; and I wantto see if I can't become a useful public man. I think it would please thedoctor to find I've some stuff in me; and a man must have a laudableobject in life. "

"I would rather die, " murmured Anne, passionately in her turn, "than hearagain what Mrs. Graves said. "

"My darling, we cannot stop people's gossip. Believe in me; I will notfail you. Oh, Anne, I wish you were already my wife!" he aspiratedfervently, his perplexities again presenting themselves to his mind. 

"The time will come, " she whispered. 

Lord Hartledon walked home full of loyal thought, saying to himself whatan utter idiot he had been in regard to Maude, and determined to lose notime in getting clear of the entanglement. He sought an opportunity ofspeaking to her that afternoon; he really did; but could not find it. Thedowager had taken her out to pay a visit. 

Mr. Carr was as good as his word, and got down in time for dinner. Oneglance at Lord Hartledon's face told him what he half expected tosee--that the word of emancipation had not yet been spoken. 

"Don't blame me, Carr. I shall speak to-night before I sleep, on my wordof honour. Things have come to a crisis now; and if I wished to hold backI could not. I would say what a fool I have been not to speak before;only you know I'm one already. "

Thomas Carr laughed. 

"Mrs. Ashton has heard some tattle about Maude, and spoke to me thisafternoon. Of course I could only deny it, my face feeling on fire withits sense of dishonour, for I don't think I ever told a deliberate lie inmy life; and--and, in short, I should like my marriage with Anne to takeplace as soon as possible. "

"Well, there's only one course to pursue, as I told you when I was downbefore. Tell Lady Maude the candid truth, and take shame and blame toyourself, as you deserve. Her having known of the engagement to MissAshton renders your task the easier. "

Very restless was Lord Hartledon until the moment came. He knew the besttime to speak to Maude would be immediately after dinner, whilst thecountess-dowager took her usual nap. There was no hesitation now; and hespeedily followed them upstairs, leaving his friend at the dinner-table. 

He went up, feeling a desperate man. To those of his temperament havingto make a disagreeable communication such as this is almost as cruel asparting with life. 

No one was in the drawing-room but Lady Kirton--stretched upon a sofa andapparently fast asleep. Val crossed the carpet with softened tread to theadjoining rooms: small, comfortable rooms, used by the dowager inpreference to the more stately rooms below. Maude had drawn aside thecurtain and was peering out into the frosty night. 

"Why, how soon you are up!" she cried, turning at his entrance. 

"I came on purpose, Maude. I want to speak to you. "

"Are you well?" she asked, coming forward to the fire, and taking herseat on a sofa. In truth, he did not look very well just then. "What isit?"

"Maude, " he answered, his fair face flushing a dark red as he plungedinto it blindfold: "I am a rogue and a fool!"

Lady Maude laughed. "Elster's folly!"

"Yes. You know all this time that we--that I--" (Val thought he shouldnever flounder through this first moment, and did not remain an instantin one place as he talked)--"have been going on so foolishly, Iwas--almost as good as a married man. "

"Were you?" said she, quietly. "Married to whom?"

"I said as good as married, Maude. You know I have been engaged for yearsto Miss Ashton; otherwise I would have _knelt_ to ask you to become mywife, so earnestly should I desire it. "

Her calm imperturbability presented a curious contrast to his agitation. She was regarding him with an amused smile. 

"And, Maude, I have come now to ask you to release me. Indeed, I--"

"What's all this about?" broke in the countess-dowager, darting uponthe conference, her face flushed and her head-dress awry. "Are you twoquarrelling?"

"Val was attempting to explain something about Miss Ashton, " answeredMaude, rising from the sofa, and drawing herself up to her statelyheight. "He had better do it to you instead, mamma; I don't understandit. "

She stood up by the mantelpiece, in the ray of the lustres. They fellacross her dark, smooth hair, her flushed cheeks, her exquisite features. Her dress was of flowing white crêpe, with jet ornaments; and LordHartledon, even in the midst of his perplexity, thought how beautiful shewas, and what a sad thing it was to lose her. The truth was, his senseshad been caught by the girl's beauty although his heart was elsewhere. It is a very common case. 

"The fact is, ma'am, " he stammered, turning to the dowager in hisdesperation, "I have been behaving very foolishly of late, and am askingyour daughter's pardon. I should have remembered my engagement to MissAshton. "

"Remembered your engagement to Miss Ashton!" echoed the dowager, hervoice becoming a little shrill. "What engagement?"

Lord Hartledon began to recover himself, though he looked foolish still. With these nervous men it is the first plunge that tells; get that overand they are brave as their fellows. 

"I cannot marry two women, Lady Kirton, and I am bound to Anne. "

The old dowager's voice toned down, and she pulled her black feathersstraight upon her head. 

"My dear Hartledon, I don't think you know what you are talking about. You engaged yourself to Maude some weeks ago. "

"Well--but--whatever may have passed, engagement or no engagement, Icould not legally do it, " returned the unhappy young man, too considerateto say the engagement was hers, not his. "You knew I was bound to Anne, Lady Kirton. "

"Bound to a fiddlestick!" said the dowager. "Excuse my plainness, Hartledon. When you engaged yourself to the young woman you were poor anda nobody, and the step was perhaps excusable. Lord Hartledon is not boundby the promises of Val Elster. All the young women in the kingdom, whohave parsons for fathers, could not oblige him to be so. "

"I am bound to her in honour; and"--in love he was going to say, but letthe words die away unspoken. 

"Hartledon, you are bound in honour to my daughter; you have sought heraffections, and gained them. Ah, Percival, don't you know that it is youshe has loved all along? In the days when I was worrying her about yourbrother, she cared only for you. You cannot be so infamous as to deserther. "

"I wish to Heaven she had never seen me!" cried the unfortunate man, beginning to wonder whether he could break through these trammels. "I'dsacrifice myself willingly, if that would put things straight. "

"You cannot sacrifice Maude. Look at her!" and the crafty old dowagerflourished her hand towards the fireplace, where Maude stood in all herbeauty. "A daughter of the house of Kirton cannot be taken up and castaside at will. What would the world say of her?"

"The world need never know. "

"Not know!" shrieked the dowager; "not know! Why, her trousseau isordered, and some of the things have arrived. Good Heavens, Hartledon, you dare not trifle with Maude in this way. You could never show yourface amongst men again. "

"But neither dare I trifle with Anne Ashton, " said Lord Hartledon, completely broken down by the gratuitous information. He saw that thesituation was worse than even he had bargained for, and all hisirresolution began to return upon him. "If I knew what was rightto be done, I'm sure I'd do it. "

"Right, did you say? Right? There cannot be a question about that. Whichis the more fitting to grace your coronet: Maude, or a country parson'sdaughter?"

"I'm sure if this goes on I shall shoot myself, " cried Val. "Taken totask at the Rectory, taken to task here--shooting would be bliss to it. "

"No doubt, " returned the dowager. "It can't be a very pleasant positionfor you. Any one but you would get out of it, and set the matter atrest. "

"I should like to know how. "

"So long as you are a single man they naturally remain on the high ropesat the Rectory, with their fine visions for Anne--"

"I wish you would understand once for all, Lady Kirton, that the Ashtonsare our equals in every way, " he interrupted: "and, " he added, "in worthand goodness infinitely our superiors. "

The dowager gave a sniff. "You think so, I know, Hart. Well, the onlyplan to bring you peace is this: make Maude your wife. At once; withoutdelay. "

The proposition took away Val's breath. "I could not do it, Lady Kirton. To begin with, they'd bring an action against me for breach of promise. "

"Breach of nonsense!" wrathfully returned the dowager. "Was ever sucha thing heard of yet, as a doctor of divinity bringing an action of thatnature? He'd lose his gown. "

"I wish I was at the bottom of a deep well, never to come up again!"mentally aspirated the unfortunate man. 

"Will--you--marry--Maude?" demanded the dowager, with a fixeddenunciation in every word, which was as so much slow torture to hervictim. 

"I wish I could. You must see for yourself, Lady Kirton, that I cannot. Maude must see it. "

"I see nothing of the sort. You are bound to her in honour. "

"All I can do is to remain single to the end of my days, " said Val, aftera pause. "I have been a great villain to both, and I cannot repair it toeither. The one stands in the way of the other. "

"But--"

"I beg your pardon, ma'am, " he interrupted, so peremptorily that the oldwoman trembled for her power. "This is my final decision, and I will nothear another word. I feel ready to hang myself, as it is. You tell me Icannot marry any other than Maude without being a scoundrel; the samething precisely applies to Anne. I shall remain single. "

"You will give me one promise--for Maude's sake. Not, after this, tomarry Anne Ashton. "

"Why, how can I do it?" asked he, in tones of exasperation. "Don't yousee that it is impossible? I shall not see the Ashtons again, ma'am; Iwould rather go a hundred miles the other way than face them. "

The countess-dowager probably deemed she had said sufficient for safety;for she went out and shut the door after her. Lord Hartledon dashed hishair from his brow with a hasty hand, and was about to leave the room bythe other door, when Maude came up to him. 

"Is this to be the end of it, Percival?"

She spoke in tones of pain, of tremulous tenderness; all her pride goneout of her. Lord Hartledon laid his hand upon her shoulder, meeting thedark eyes that were raised to his through tears. 

"Do you indeed love me like this, Maude? Somehow I never thought it. "

"I love you better than the whole world. I love you enough to give upeverything for you. "

The emphasis conveyed a reproach--that he did not "give up everything"for her. But Lord Hartledon kept his head for once. 

"Heaven knows my bitter repentance. If I could repair this folly of mineby any sacrifice on my own part, I would gladly do it. Let me go, Maude!I have been here long enough, unless I were more worthy. I would ask youto forgive me if I knew how to frame the petition. "

She released the hand of which she had made a prisoner--released it witha movement of petulance; and Lord Hartledon quitted the room, the wordsshe had just spoken beating their refrain on his brain. It did not occurto him in his gratified vanity to remember that Anne Ashton, about whoselove there could be no doubt, never avowed it in those pretty speeches. 

"Well?" said Mr. Carr, when he got back to the dining-room. 

"It is not well, Carr; it is ill. There can be no release. The olddowager won't have it. "

"But surely you will not resign Miss Ashton for Lady Maude!" cried thebarrister, after a pause of amazement. 

"I resign both; I see that I cannot do anything else in honour. Excuseme, Carr, but I'd rather not say any more about it just now; I feel halfmaddened. "

"Elster's folly, " mentally spoke Thomas Carr. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

AN AGREEABLE WEDDING. 

That circumstances, combined with the countess-dowager, worked terriblyagainst Lord Hartledon, events proved. Had the Ashtons remained at theRectory all might have been well; but they went away, and he was left toany influence that might be brought to bear upon him. 

How the climax was accomplished the world never knew. Lord Hartledonhimself did not know the whole of it for a long while. As if unwilling totrust himself longer in dangerous companionship, he went up to town withThomas Carr. Whilst there he received a letter from Cannes, written byDr. Ashton; a letter that angered him. 

It was a cool letter, a vein of contemptuous anger running through it;meant to be hidden, but nevertheless perceptible to Lord Hartledon. Itspurport was to forbid all correspondence between him and Miss Ashton:things had better "remain in abeyance" until they met, ran the words, "if indeed any relations were ever renewed between them again. "

It might have angered Lord Hartledon more than it did, but for thehopelessness which had taken up its abode within him. Nevertheless heresented it. He did not suppose it possible that the Ashtons could haveheard of the dilemma he was in, or that he should be unable to fulfil hisengagement with Anne, having with his usual vacillation put off anyexplanation with them; which of course must come sometime. He had takenan idea into his head long before, that Dr. Ashton wished to part them, and he looked upon the letter as resulting from that. Hartledon wasfeeling weary of the world. 

How little did he divine that the letter of the doctor was called forthby a communication from the countess-dowager. An artful communication, with a charming candour lying on its surface. She asked--she actuallyasked that Dr. Ashton would allow "fair play;" she said the "deepestaffection" had grown up between Lord Hartledon and Lady Maude; and sheonly craved that the young man might not be coerced either way, but mightbe allowed to choose between them. The field after Miss Ashton's returnwould be open to the two, and ought to be left so. 

You may imagine the effect this missive produced upon the proud, high-minded doctor of divinity. He took a sheet of paper and wrote astinging letter to Lord Hartledon, forbidding him to think again of Anne. But when he was in the act of sealing it a sudden doubt like an instinctrushed over him, whether it might not be a ruse, and nothing else, of thecrafty old dowager's. The doubt was sufficiently strong to cause him totear up the letter. But he was not satisfied with Lord Hartledon's ownbehaviour; had not been for some few months; and he then wrote a secondletter, suspending matters until they should meet again. It was in effectwhat was asked for by the countess-dowager; and he wrote a cold proudletter to that lady, stating what he had done. Of course any honourablewoman--any woman with a spark of justice in her heart--would have alsoforbidden all intercourse with Lady Maude. The countess-dowager's policylay in the opposite direction. 

But Lord Hartledon remained in London, utterly oblivious to the hints andbaits held out for his return to Calne. He chiefly divided his timebetween the House of Lords and sitting at home, lamenting over his ownill-starred existence. He was living quite en garçon, with only one man, his house having been let for the season. We always want what we cannotobtain, and because marriage was denied him, he fell into the habit ofdwelling upon it as the only boon in life. Thomas Carr was on circuit, so that Hartledon was alone. 

Easter was early that year, the latter end of March. On the Monday inPassion-week there arrived a telegram for Lord Hartledon sent apparentlyby the butler, Hedges. It was vaguely worded; spoke of a railway accidentand somebody dying. Who he could not make out, except that it was aKirton: and it prayed him to hasten down immediately. All his goodness ofheart aroused, Val lost not a moment. He had been engaged to spend Easterwith some people in Essex, but dispatched a line of apology, and hasteneddown to Calne, wondering whether it was the dowager or Maude, and whetherdeath would have taken place before his arrival. 

"What accident has there been?" he demanded, leaping out of the carriageat Calne Station; and the man he addressed happened to be the porter, Jones. 

"Accident?" returned Jones, touching his cap. 

"An accident on the line; somewhere about here, I conclude. Peoplewounded; dying. "

"There has been no accident here, " said Jones, in his sulky way. "Maybeyour lordship's thinking of the one on the branch line, the bridge thatfell in?"

"Nonsense, " said Lord Hartledon, "that took place a fortnight ago. Ireceived a telegram this morning from my butler, saying some one wasdying at Hartledon from a railway accident, " he impatiently added. "Itook it to be either Lady Kirton or her daughter. "

Mr. Jones swung round a large iron key he held in his hand, and lightdawned upon him. 

"I know now, " he said. "There was a private accident at the station herelast night; your lordship must mean that. A gentleman got out of acarriage before it stopped, and fell between the rail and the platform. His name was Kirton. I saw it on his portmanteau. "

"Lord Kirton?"

"No, my lord. Captain Kirton. "

"Was he seriously hurt?"

"Well, it was thought so. Mr. Hillary feared the leg would have to comeoff. He was carried to Hartledon. "

Very much relieved, Lord Hartledon jumped into a fly and was driven home. The countess-dowager embraced him and fell into hysterics. 

The crafty old dowager, whose displayed emotion was as genuine as shewas! She had sent for this son of hers, hoping he might be a decoy-duckto draw Hartledon home again, for she was losing heart; and the accident, which she had not bargained for, was a very god-send to her. 

"Why don't you word your telegrams more clearly, Hedges?" asked LordHartledon of his butler. 

"It wasn't me worded it at all, my lord. Lady Kirton went to the stationherself. She informed me she had sent it in my name. "

"Has Hillary told you privately what the surgeons think of the case?"

"Better of it than they did at first, my lord. They are trying to savethe leg. "

This Captain Kirton was really the best of the Kirton bunch: a quiet, unassuming young man, somewhat delicate in health. Lord Hartledon wasgrieved for his accident, and helped to nurse him with the best heartin the world. 

And now what devilry (there were people in Calne who called it nothingless) the old countess-dowager set afloat to secure her ends I am unableto tell you. She was a perfectly unscrupulous woman--poverty had renderedher wits keen; and her captured lion was only feebly struggling to escapefrom the net. He was to blame also. Thrown again into the society ofMaude and her beauty, Val basked in its sunshine, and went drifting downthe stream, never heeding where the current led him. One day thecountess-dowager put it upon his honour--he must marry Maude. He mighthave held out longer but for a letter that came from some friend of thedowager's opportunely located at Cannes; a letter that spoke of theapproaching marriage of Miss Ashton to Colonel Barnaby, eldest son of awealthy old baronet, who was sojourning there with his mother. No doubtwas implied or expressed; the marriage was set forth as an assured fact. 

"And I believe you meant to wait for her?" said the countess-dowager, asshe put the letter into his hand, with a little laugh. "You are free nowfor my darling Maude. "

"This may not be true, " observed Lord Hartledon, with compressed lips. "Every one knows what this sort of gossip is worth. "

"I happen to know that it is true, " spoke Lady Kirton, in a whisper. "Ihave known of it for some time past, but would not vex you with it. "

Well, she convinced him; and from that moment had it all her own way, andcarried out her plots and plans according to her own crafty fancy. LordHartledon yielded; for the ascendency of Maude was strong upon him. Andyet--and yet--whilst he gave all sorts of hard names to Anne Ashton'sperfidy, lying down deep in his heart was a suspicion that the news wasnot true. How he hated himself for his wicked assumption of belief inafter-years!

"You will be free as air, " said the dowager, joyously. "You and Maudeshall get ahead of Miss Ashton and her colonel, and have the laugh atthem. The marriage shall be on Saturday, and you can go away together formonths if you like, and get up your spirits again; I'm sure you have bothbeen dull enough. "

Lord Hartledon was certainly caught by the words "free as air;" as he hadbeen once before. But he stared at the early day mentioned. 

"Marriages can't be got up as soon as that. "

"They can be got up in a day if people choose, with a special license;which, of course, you will have, " said the dowager. "I'll arrange things, my dear Val; leave it all to me. I intend Maude to be married in thelittle chapel. "

"What little chapel?"

"Your own private chapel. "

Lord Hartledon stared with all his eyes. The private chapel, built outfrom the house on the side next Calne, had not been used for years andyears. 

"Why, it's all dust and rust inside; its cushions moth-eaten and fallento pieces. "

"Is it all dust and rust!" returned the dowager. "That shows howobservant you are. I had it put in order whilst you were in London; itwas a shame to let a sacred place remain in such a state. I should likeit to be used for Maude; and mind, I'll see to everything; you need notgive yourself any trouble at all. There's only one thing I must enjoinon you. "

"What's that?"

"_Secrecy. _ Don't let a hint of your intentions get abroad. Whatever youdo, don't write a word to that Carr friend of yours; he's as sharp as atwo-edged sword. As well let things be done privately; it is Maude'swish. "

"I shall not write to him, " cried Hartledon, feeling a sudden heat uponhis face, "or to any one else. "

"Here's Maude. Step this way, Maude. Hartledon wants the ceremony to takeplace on Saturday, and I have promised for you. "

Lady Maude advanced; she had really come in by accident; her head wasbent, her eyelashes rested on her flushed cheeks. A fair prize; very, very fair! The old dowager put her hand into Lord Hartledon's. 

"You will love her and cherish her, Percival?"

What was the young man to do? He murmured some unintelligible assent, andbent forward to kiss her. But not until that moment had he positivelyrealized the fact that there would be any marriage. 

Time went on swimmingly until the Saturday, and everything was inprogress. The old dowager deserved to be made commander of a garrison forher comprehensive strategy, the readiness and skill she displayed incarrying out her arrangements. For what reason, perhaps she could nothave explained to herself; but an instinct was upon her that secrecy inall ways was necessary; at any rate, she felt surer of success whilstit was maintained. Hence her decision in regard to the unused littlechapel; and that this one particular portion of the project had been longfloating in her mind was proved by the fact that she had previouslycaused the chapel to be renovated. But that it was to serve her own turn, she would have let it remain choked up with dust for ever. 

The special license had arrived; the young clergyman who was to performthe service was located at Hartledon. Seven o'clock was the hour fixedfor the marriage: it would be twilight then, and dinner over. Immediatelyafterwards the bride and bridegroom were to depart. So far, so good. ButLady Kirton was not to have it quite her own way on this same Saturday, although she had enjoyed it hitherto. 

A rumour reached her ears in the afternoon that Dr. Ashton was at theRectory. The doctor had been spending Easter at Cannes, and the dowagerhad devoutly prayed that he might not yet return. The news turned hercheeks blue and yellow; a prevision rushing over her that if he and LordHartledon met there might be no wedding after all. She did her best tokeep Lord Hartledon indoors, and the fact of the Rector's return fromhim. 

Now who is going to defend Lord Hartledon? Not you or I. More foolish, more culpable weakness was never shown than in thus yielding to theseschemes. Though ensnared by Maude's beauty, that was no excuse for him. 

An accident--or what may be called one--delayed dinner. Two countyfriends of Hartledon's, jolly fox-hunters in the season, had come ridinga long way across country, and looked in to beg some refreshment. Thedowager fumed, and was not decently civil; but she did not see her way toturning them out. 

They talked and laughed and ate; and dinner was indefinitely prolonged. When the dowager and Lady Maude rose from table the former cast a meaninglook at Lord Hartledon. "Get rid of them as soon as you can, " it plainlysaid. 

But the fox-hunters liked good drinking as well as good eating, and saton, enjoying their wine; their host, one of the most courteous of livingmen, giving no sign, by word or look, that he wished for their departure. He was rather silent, they observed; but the young clergyman, who madethe fourth at the table, was voluble by nature. Captain Kirton had notyet left his sick bed. 

Lady Maude sat alone in her room; the white robes upon her, the orthodoxveil, meant to shade her fair face thrown back from it. She had sent awayher attendants, bolted the door against her mother, and sat waiting hersummons. Waiting and thinking. Her cheek rested on her hand, and hereyes were dreamy. 

Is it true that whenever we are about to do an ill or unjust deed ashadow of the fruits it will bring comes over us as a warning? Somepeople will tell you so. A vision of the future seemed to rest on MaudeKirton as she sat there; and for the first time all the injustice of theapproaching act rose in her mind as a solemn omen. The true facts wereterribly distinct. Her own dislike (it was indeed no less than dislike)of the living lord, her lasting love for the dead one. All the miserablestratagems they had been guilty of to win him; the dishonest plotting andplanning. What was she about to do? For her own advancement, to secureherself a position in the great world, and not for love, she was about toseparate two hearts, which but for her would have been united in thisworld and the next. She was thrusting herself upon Lord Hartledon, knowing that in his true heart it was another that he loved, not her. Yes, she knew that full well. He admired her beauty, and was marryingher; marrying partly in pique against Anne Ashton; partly in blindfoldsubmission to the deep schemes of her mother, brought to bear on hisyielding nature. All the injustice done to Anne Ashton was in that momentbeating its refrain upon her heart; and a thought crossed her--would Godnot avenge it? Another time she might have smiled at the thought asfanciful: it seemed awfully real now. "I might give Val up yet, " shemurmured; "there's just time. "

She did not act upon the suggestion. Whether it was her warning, orwhether it was not, she allowed it to slip from her. Hartledon's broadlands and coronet resumed their fascination over her soul; and when herdoor was tried, Lady Maude had lost herself in that famous Spanishchâteau we have all occupied on occasion, touching the alterations shehad mentally planned in their town-house. 

"Goodness, Maude, what do you lock yourself in for?"

Maude opened the door, and the countess-dowager floundered in. She wasresplendent in one of her old yellow satin gowns, a white turban with asilver feather, and a pink scarf thrown on for ornament. The colourswould no doubt blend well by candlelight. 

"Come, Maude. There's no time to be lost. "

"Are the men gone?"

"Yes, they are gone; no thanks to Hartledon, though. He sat mooning on, never giving them the least hint to depart. Priddon told me so. I'll tellyou what it is, Maude, you'll have to shake your husband out of no end ofridiculous habits. "

"It is growing dark, " exclaimed Maude, as she stepped into the corridor. 

"Dark! of course it's dark, " was the irascible answer; "and they have hadto light up the chapel, or Priddon couldn't have seen to read his book. And all through those confounded fox-hunters!"

Lord Hartledon was not in the drawing-room, where Lady Kirton had lefthim only a minute before; and she looked round sharply. 

"Has he gone on to the chapel?" she asked of the young clergyman. 

"No, I think not, " replied Mr. Priddon, who was already in hiscanonicals. "Hedges came in and said something to him, and they went outtogether. "

A minute or two of impatience--she was in no mood to wait long--and thenshe rang the bell. It should be remarked that the old lady, either fromexcitement or some apprehension of failure, was shaking and jumping as ifshe had St. Vitus's dance. Hedges came in. 

"Where's your master?" she tartly asked. 

"With Mr. Carr, my lady. "

"With Mr. --What did you say?"

"My lord is with Mr. Carr. He has just arrived. "

A moment given to startled consternation and then the fury broke forth. The young parson had never had the pleasure of seeing one of thesewar-dances before, and backed against the wall in his starched surplice. 

"What brings him here? How dare he come uninvited?"

"I heard him say, my lady, that finding he had a Sunday to spare, hethought he would come and pass it at Hartledon, " said the well-trainedHedges. 

Ere the words had left his lips Lord Hartledon and Mr. Carr were present;the latter in a state of utter amazement and in his travelling dress, having only removed his overcoat. 

"You'll be my groomsman, Carr, " said Hartledon. "We have no adherents;this is a strictly private affair. "

"Did you send for Mr. Carr?" whispered the countess-dowager, lookingwhite through her rouge. 

"No; his coming has taken me by surprise, " replied Hartledon, with anervousness he could not wholly conceal. 

They passed rapidly through the passages, marshalled by Hedges. LordHartledon led his bride, the countess-dowager walked with the clergyman, and Mr. Carr brought up the rear. The latter gentleman was wonderingwhether he had fallen into a dream that he should wake up from in themorning. The mode of procession was a little out of the common order ofsuch affairs; but so was the marriage. 

Now it happened, not very long before this, that Dr. Ashton was on hisway home from a visit to a sick parishioner--a poor man, who said hebelieved life had been prolonged in him that his many years' ministershould be at his deathbed. Dr. Ashton's road lay beyond Hartledon, andin returning he crossed the road, which brought him out near the river, between Hartledon and the Rectory. Happening to cast his eyes that way, he saw a light where he had never seen one before--in the little unusedchapel. Peering through the trees at the two low diamond-paned windows, to make sure he was not mistaken, Dr. Ashton quickened his pace: histhoughts glancing at fire. 

He was well acquainted with Hartledon; and making his way in by thenearest entrance, he dashed along the passages to the chapel, meeting atlength one of the servants. 

"John, " he panted, quite out of breath with hurrying, "there's a light inthe chapel. I fear it is on fire. "

"Not at all, sir, " replied the man. "We have been lighting it up for mylord's marriage. They have just gone in. "

"Lighting it up for what?" exclaimed Dr. Ashton. 

"For my lord's marriage, sir. He's marrying Lady Maude. It's the olddowager, sir, who has got it up in this queer way, " continued the man, venturing on a little confidential gossip with his Rector. 

Dr. Ashton paused to collect his wits ere he walked into the chapel. Thefew wax-candles the servants had been able to put about only served tomake the gloom visible. The party were taking their places, the youngclergyman directing them where to stand. He opened his book and wascommencing, when a hand was laid upon Hartledon's shoulder. 

"Lord Hartledon, what is the meaning of this?"

Lord Hartledon recognised the voice, and broke into a cold perspiration. He gave no answer; but the countess-dowager made up for his silence. Hertemper, none of the mildest, had been considerably exasperated by thevisit of the fox-hunters; it was made worse by the arrival of Mr. Carr. When she turned and saw what _this_ formidable interruption was, she lostit altogether, as few, calling themselves gentlewomen, can lose it. Asshe peered into the face of Dr. Ashton, her own was scarlet and yellow, and her voice rose to a shriek. 

"You prying parson, where did you spring from? Are you not ashamedto dodge Lord Hartledon in his own house? You might be taken up andimprisoned for it. "

"Lord Hartledon, " said Dr. Ashton, "I--"

"How dare you persist, I ask you?" shrieked the old woman, whilstthe young clergyman stood aghast, and Mr. Carr folded his arms, andresolutely fixed his eyes on the floor. "Because Hartledon once had aflirtation with your daughter, does that give you leave to haunt him asif you were his double?"

"Madam, " said Dr. Ashton, contriving still to subdue his anger, "I must, I will speak to Lord Hartledon. Allow me to do so without disturbance. Lord Hartledon, I wait for an answer: Are you about to marry this younglady?"

"Yes, he is, " foamed the dowager; "I tell you so. Now then?"

"Then, madam, " proceeded the doctor, "this marriage owes its rise to you. You will do well to consider whether you are doing them a kindness or aninjury in permitting it. You have deliberately set yourself to frustratethe hopes of Lord Hartledon and my daughter: will a marriage, thustreacherously entered into, bring happiness with it?"

"Oh, you wicked man!" cried the dowager. "You would like to call a curseupon them. "

"No, " shuddered Dr. Ashton; "if a curse ever attends them, it will notbe through any wish of mine. Lord Hartledon, I knew you as a boy; I haveloved you as a son; and if I speak now, it is as your pastor, and foryour own sake. This marriage looks very like a clandestine one, as thoughyou were ashamed of the step you are taking, and dared not enter on it inthe clear face of day. I would have you consider that this sort ofproceeding does not usually bring a blessing with it. "

If ever Val felt convicted of utter cowardice, he felt so then. All thewretched sophistry by which he had been beguiled into the step, by whichhe had beguiled himself; all the iniquity of his past conduct to MissAshton, rose up before his mind in its naked truth. He dared not reply tothe doctor for very shame. A sorry figure he cut, standing there, LadyMaude beside him. 

"The last time you entered my house, Lord Hartledon, it was to speak ofyour coming marriage with Anne--"

"And you would like him to go there again and arrange it, " interruptedthe incensed dowager, whose head had begun to nod so vehemently that shecould not stop it. "Oh yes, I dare say!"

"By what right have you thus trifled with her?" continued the Rector, ignoring the nodding woman and her words, and confronting Lord Hartledon. "Is it a light matter, think you, to gain a maiden's best love, and thento desert her for a fresh face? You have been playing fast-and-loose forsome little time: and I gave you more than one opportunity of retiring, if you so willed it--of openly retiring, you understand; not of doing soin this secret, disreputable manner. Your conscience will prick you inafter-life, unless I am mistaken. "

Val opened his lips, but the Rector put up his hand. 

"A moment yet. That I am not endeavouring to recall Anne's claims on youin saying this, I am sure you are perfectly aware, knowing me as you do. I never deemed you worthy of her--you know that, Lord Hartledon; and younever were so. Were you a free man at this moment, and went down on yourknees to implore me to give you Anne, I would not do it. You haveforfeited her; you have forfeited the esteem of all good men. But thatI am a Christian minister, I should visit your dishonour upon you as youdeserve. "

"Will you cease?" raved the dowager; and Dr. Ashton wheeled round uponher. 

"There is less excuse for your past conduct, madam, than for his. Youhave played on Lord Hartledon's known irresolution to mould him to yourwill. I see now the aim of the letter you favoured me with at Cannes, when you requested, with so much candour, that he might be left for atime unfettered by any correspondence with Miss Ashton. Well, you haveobtained your ends. Your covetous wish that you and your daughter shouldreign at Hartledon is on the point of being gratified. The honour ofmarrying Lady Maude was intended both by you and her for the late LordHartledon. Failing him, you transferred your hopes to the present one, regardless of who suffered, or what hearts or honour might be broken inthe process. "

"Will nobody put this disreputable parson outside?" raved the dowager. 

"I do not seek to bring reproach home to you; let that, ladies, liebetween yourselves and conscience. I only draw your attention to thefacts; which have been sufficiently patent to the world, whatever LordHartledon may think. And now I have said my say, and leave you; but Ideclare that were I performing this burlesque of a marriage, as thatyoung clergyman is about to do, I should feel my prayers for the divineblessing to attend it were but a vain mockery. "

He turned to leave the chapel with quick steps, when Lord Hartledon, shaking off Maude, darted forward and caught his arm. 

"You will tell me one thing at least: Is Anne _not_ going to marryColonel Barnaby?"

"Sir!" thundered the doctor. "Going to marry _whom_?"

"I heard it, " he faltered. "I believed it to be the truth. "

"You may have heard it, but you did not believe it, Lord Hartledon. Youknew Anne better. Do not add this false excuse to the rest. "

Pleasant! Infinitely so for the bridegroom's tingling ears. Dr. Ashtonwalked out of the chapel, and Val stood for a few moments where he was, looking up and down in the dim light. It might be that in his mentalconfusion he was deliberating what his course should be; but thought andcommon sense came to him, and he knew he could not desert Lady Maude, having brought matters so far to an end. 

"Proceed, " he said to the young clergyman, stalking back to the altar. "Get--it--over quickly. "

Mr. Carr unfolded his arms and approached Lord Hartledon. He was the onlyone who had caught the expression of the bride's face when Hartledondropped her arm. It spoke of bitter malice; it spoke, now that he hadreturned to her, of an evil triumph; and it occurred to Thomas Carr tothink that he should not like a wife of his to be seen with thatexpression on her bridal face. 

"Lord Hartledon, you must excuse me if I do not remain to countenancethis wedding, " he said in low but distinct tones. "Before hearing what Ihave heard from that good man, I had hesitated about it; but I was lostin surprise. Fare you well. I shall have left by the time you quit thechapel. "

He held out his hand, and Val mechanically shook it. The retreating stepsof Mr. Carr, following in the wake of Dr. Ashton, were heard, as LordHartledon spoke again to the clergyman with irritable sharpness:

"Why don't you begin?"

And the countess-dowager fanned herself complacently, and neither she norMaude cared for the absence of a groomsman. But Maude was not quitehardened yet; and the shame of her situation was tingeing her eyelids. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE STRANGER. 

Lord Hartledon was leading his bride through the chapel at the conclusionof the ceremony, when his attention was caught by something outside oneof the windows. At first he thought it was a black cat curled up in someimpossible fashion, but soon saw it was a dark human face. And that facehe discovered to be Mr. Pike's, peering earnestly in. 

"Hedges, send that man away. How dare he intrude himself in this manner?How has he got up to the window?"

For these windows were high beyond the ordinary height of man. Hedgeswent out, a sharp reprimand on his tongue, and found that Mr. Pike hadbeen at the trouble of carrying a heap of stones from a distance andpiling them up to stand upon. 

"Well, you must have a curiosity!" he exclaimed, in his surprise. "Justput those stones back in their places, and take yourself away. "

"You are right, " said the man. "I have a curiosity in all that concernsthe new lord. But I am going away now. "

He leaped down as he spoke, and began to replace the stones. Hedges wentin again. 

The carriage, waiting to convey them away, was already at the door, theimpatient horses pawing the ground. Maude changed her dress with allspeed; and in driving down the road by starlight they overtook ThomasCarr, carrying his own portmanteau. Lord Hartledon let down the windowimpulsively, as if he would have spoken, but seemed to recollect himself, and drew it up again. 

"What is it?" asked Maude. 

"Mr. Carr. "

It was the first word he had spoken to her since the ceremony. Hissilence had frightened her: what if he should resent on _her_ the cruelwords spoken by Dr. Ashton? Sick, trembling, her beautiful face humbleand tearful enough now, she bent it on his shoulder in a shower of bittertears. 

"Oh, Percival, Percival! surely you are not going to punish me for whathas passed?"

A moment's struggle with himself, and he turned and took both her handsin his. 

"It may be that neither of us is free from blame, Maude, in regard to thepast. All we can now do, as it seems to me, is to forget it together, andmake the best of the future. "

"And you will forget Anne Ashton?" she whispered. 

"Of course I shall forget her. I ask nothing better than to forget herfrom this moment. I have made _you_ my wife; and I will try to make yourhappiness. "

He bent and kissed her face. Maude, in some restlessness, as it seemed, withdrew to her own corner of the carriage and cried softly; and LordHartledon let down the glass again to look back after Thomas Carr and hisportmanteau in the starlight. 

The only perfectly satisfied person was the countess-dowager. All thelittle annoying hindrances went for nothing now that the desired endwas accomplished, and she was in high feather when she bade adieu to theamiable young clergyman, who had to depart that night for his curacy, ten miles away, to be in readiness for the morrow's services. 

"If you please, my lady, Captain Kirton has been asking for you once ortwice, " said Hedges, entering the dowager's private sitting-room. 

"Then Captain Kirton must ask, " retorted the dowager, who was sittingdown to her letters, which she had left unopened since their arrival inthe morning, in her anxiety for other interests. "Hedges, I should likesome supper: I had only a scrambling sort of dinner. You can bring it uphere. Something nice; and a bottle of champagne. "

Hedges withdrew with the order, and Lady Kirton applied herself to herletters. The first she opened was from the daughter who had married theFrench count. It told a pitiful tale of distress, and humbly craved to bepermitted to come over on a fortnight's visit, she and her two sicklychildren, "for a little change. "

"I dare say!" emphatically cried the dowager. "What next? No, thank you, my lady; now that I have at least a firm footing in this house--as thatblessed parson said--I am not going to risk it by filling it with everybothering child I possess. Bob departs as soon as his leg's well. Whywhat's this?"

She had come upon a concluding line as she was returning the letter tothe envelope. "P. S. If I don't hear from you _very_ decisively to thecontrary, I shall come, and trust to your good nature to forgive it. Iwant to see Bob. "

"Oh, that's it, is it!" said the dowager. "She means to come, whether Iwill or no. That girl always had enough impudence for a dozen. "

Drawing a sheet of paper out of her desk, she wrote a few rapid lines. 

 "Dear Jane, "For _mercy's_ sake keep those _poor_ children and yourself _away_! We have had an _aweful infectious fever_ rageing in the place, which it was thought to be _cured_, but it's on the break _out_ again-several _deaths_, Hartledon and Maude (_married_ of course) have gone out of its reach and I'm thinking of it if _Bob's_ leg which is _better_ permits. You'd not like I dare say to see the children in a _coffin apiece_ and yourself in a _third_, as might be the end. _Small-pox_ is raging at _Garchester_ a neighbouring town, that _will_ be awful if it gets to _us_ and I _hear_ it's on the _road_ and with kind love _believe_ me your affectionate_

 "MOTHER. 

 "P. S. I am sorry for _what_ you tell me about _Ugo_ and the _state_ of affairs chey vous. But you know you _would marry_ him so there's _nobody_ to blame. Ah! _Maude_ has gone by _my_ advice and done as _I_ said and the consequence is _she's_ a peeress for life and got a handsome young husband _without_ a _will_ of his own. "

The countess-dowager was not very adroit at spelling and composition, whether French or English, as you observe. She made an end of hercorrespondence, and sat down to a delicious little supper alone; as shebest liked to enjoy these treats. The champagne was excellent, and shepoured out a full tumbler of it at once, by way of wishing good luck toMaude's triumphant wedding. 

"And it _is_ a triumph!" she said, as she put down the empty glass. "Ihope it will bring Jane and the rest to a sense of _their_ folly. "

A triumph? If you could only have looked into the future, Lady Kirton!A triumph!

The above was not the only letter written that evening. At the hotelwhere Lord and Lady Hartledon halted for the night, when she had retiredunder convoy of her maid, then Val's restrained remorse broke out. Hepaced the room in a sort of mad restlessness; in the midst of which hesuddenly sat down to a table on which lay pens, ink, and paper, andpoured forth hasty sentences in his mind's wretched tumult. 

 "My Dear Mrs. Ashton, "I cannot address you in any more formal words, although you will have reason to fling down the letter at my presuming to use these now--for dear, most dear, you will ever be to me. 

 "What can I say? Why do I write to you? Indeed to the latter question I can only answer I do not know, save that some instinct of good feeling, not utterly dead within me, is urging me to it. 

 "Will you let me for a moment throw conventionality aside; will you for that brief space of time let me speak truly and freely to you, as one might speak who has passed the confines of this world?

 "When a man behaves to a woman as I, to my eternal shame, have this day behaved to Anne, it is, I think, a common custom to regard the false man as having achieved a sort of triumph; to attribute somewhat of humiliation to the other. 

 "Dear Mrs. Ashton, I cannot sleep until I have said to you that in my case the very contrary is the fact. A more abject, humiliated man than I stand at this hour in my own eyes never yet took his sins upon his soul. Even you might be appeased if you could look into mine and see its sense of degradation. 

 "That my punishment has already come home to me is only just; that I shall have to conceal it from all the world, including my wife, will not lessen its sting. 

 "I have this evening married Maude Kirton. I might tell you of unfair play brought to bear upon me, of a positive assurance, apparently well grounded, that Anne had entered into an engagement to wed another, could I admit that these facts were any excuse for me. They are no excuse; not the slightest palliation. My own yielding folly alone is to blame, and I shall take shame to myself for ever. 

 "I write this to you as I might have written it to my own mother, were she living; not as an expiation; only to tell of my pain; that I am not utterly hardened; that I would sue on my knees for pardon, were it not shut out from me by my own act. There is no pardon for such as I. When you have torn it in pieces, you will, I trust, forget the writer. 

 "God bless you, dear Mrs. Ashton! God bless and comfort another who is dear to you!--and believe me with true undying remorse your once attached friend, "Hartledon. "

It was a curious letter to write; but men of Lord Hartledon's sensitivetemperament in regard to others' feelings often do strange things; thingsthe world at large would stare at in their inability to understand them. The remorse might not have come home to him quite so soon as this, hiswedding-day, but for the inopportune appearance of Dr. Ashton in thechapel, speaking those words that told home so forcibly. Such reproachon these vacillating men inflicts a torture that burns into the heartlike living fire. 

He sealed the letter, addressing it to Cannes; called a waiter, late asit was, and desired him to post it. And then he walked about the room, reflecting on the curse of his life--his besetting sin--irresolution. Itseemed almost an anomaly for _him_ to make resolves; but he did make onethen; that he would, with the help of Heaven, be a MAN from henceforth, however it might crucify his sensitive feelings. And for the future, theobligation he had that day taken upon himself he determined to fulfil tohis uttermost in all honour and love; to cherish his wife as he wouldhave cherished Anne Ashton. For the past--but Lord Hartledon rose up nowwith a start. There was one item of that past he dared not glance at, which did not, however, relate to Miss Ashton: and it appeared inclinedto thrust itself prominently forward to-night. 

Could Lord Hartledon have borrowed somewhat of the easy indifference ofthe countess-dowager, he had been a happier man. That lady would havemade a female Nero, enjoying herself while Rome was burning. She remainedon in her snug quarters at Hartledon, and lived in clover. 

One evening, rather more than a week after the marriage, Hedges had beenon an errand to Calne, and was hastening home. In the lonely part of theroad near Hartledon, upon turning a sharp corner, he came upon Mirrable, who was standing talking to Pike, very much to the butler's surprise. Pike walked away at once; and the butler spoke. 

"He is not an acquaintance of yours, that man, Mrs. Mirrable?"

"Indeed no, " she answered, tossing her head. "It was like his impudenceto stop me. Rather flurried me too, " she continued: and indeed Hedgesnoticed that she seemed flurried. 

"What did he stop you for? To beg?"

"Not that. I've never heard that he does beg. He accosted me with a coolquestion as to when his lordship was coming back to Hartledon. I answeredthat it could not be any business of his. And then you came up. "

"He is uncommon curious as to my lord. I can't make it out. I've seen himprowling about the grounds: and the night of the marriage he was mountedup at the chapel window. Lord Hartledon saw him, too. I should like toknow what he wants. "

"By a half-word he let drop, I fancy he has a crotchet in his head thathis lordship will find him some work when he comes home. But I must go onmy way, " added Mirrable. "Mrs. Gum's not well, and I sent word I'd lookin for half-an-hour this evening. "

Hedges had to go on his way also, for it was close upon thecountess-dowager's dinner-hour, at which ceremony he must attend. Puttinghis best foot forward, he walked at more than an ordinary pace, andovertook a gentleman almost at the very door of Hartledon. The strangerwas approaching the front entrance, Hedges was wheeling off to the back;but the former turned and spoke. A tall, broad-shouldered, grey-hairedman, with high cheek-bones. Hedges took him for a clergyman from hisattire; black, with a white neckcloth. 

"This is Hartledon House, I believe, " he said, speaking with a Scotchaccent. 

"Yes, sir. "

"Do you belong to it?"

"I am Lord Hartledon's butler. "

"Is Lord Hartledon at home?"

"No, sir. He is in France. "

"I read a notice of his marriage in the public papers, " continued thestranger, whose eyes were fixed on Hedges. "It was, I suppose, a correctone?"

"My lord was married the week before last: about ten or eleven days ago. "

"Ay; April the fourteenth, the paper said. She is one of the Kirtonfamily. When do you expect him home?"

"I don't know at all, sir. I've not heard anything about it. "

"He is in France, you say, Paris, I suppose. Can you furnish me with hisaddress?"

Up to this point the colloquy had proceeded smoothly on both sides: butit suddenly flashed into the mind of Hedges that the stranger's mannerwas somewhat mysterious, though in what the mystery lay he could not havedefined. The communicative man, true to the interests of his master, became cautious at once: he supposed some of Lord Hartledon's worries, contracted when he was Mr. Elster, were returning upon him. 

"I cannot give his address, sir. And for the matter of that, it might notbe of use if I could. Lord and Lady Hartledon did not intend remainingany length of time in one place. "

The stranger had dug the point of his umbrella into the level greenswardthat bounded the gravel, and swayed the handle about with his hand, pausing in thought. 

"I have come a long way to see Lord Hartledon, " he observed. "It might beless trouble and cost for me to go on to Paris and see him there, than tostart back for home, and come here again when he returns to England. Areyou sure you can't give me his address?"

"I'm very sorry I can't, sir. There was a talk of their going on toSwitzerland, " continued Hedges, improvising the journey, "and so comingback through Germany; and there _was_ a talk of their making Italy beforethe heat came on, and stopping there. Any way, sir, I dare say they arealready away from Paris. "

The stranger regarded Hedges attentively, rather to the discomfiture ofthat functionary, who thought he was doubted. He then asked a great manyquestions, some about Lord Hartledon's personal habits, some about LadyMaude: the butler answered them freely or cautiously, as he thought hemight, feeling inclined all the while to chase the intruder off thepremises. Presently he turned his attention on the house. 

"A fine old place, this, Mr. Butler. "

"Yes, sir. "

"I suppose I could look over it, if I wished?"

Hedges hesitated. He was privately asking himself whether the law wouldallow the stranger, if he had come after any debt of Lord Hartledon's, torefuse to leave the house, once he got into it. 

"I could ask Lady Kirton, sir, if you particularly wished it. "

"Lady Kirton? You have some one in the house, then!"

"The Dowager Lady Kirton's here, sir. One of her sons also--CaptainKirton; but he is confined to his room. "

"Then I would rather not go in, " said the stranger quickly. "I'm verydisappointed to have come all this way and not find Lord Hartledon. "

"Can I forward any letter for you, sir? If you'd like to intrust one tome, I'll send it as soon as we know of any certain address. "

"No--no, I think not, " said the stranger, musingly. "There might bedanger, " he muttered to himself, but Hedges caught the words. 

He stood swaying the umbrella-handle about, looking down at it, as ifthat would assist his decision. Then he looked at Hedges. 

"My business with Lord Hartledon is quite private, and I would rather notwrite. I'll wait until he is back in England: and see him then. "

"What name, sir?" asked Hedges, as the stranger turned away. 

"I would prefer not to leave my name, " was the candid answer. "Goodevening. "

He walked briskly down the avenue, and Hedges stood looking after him, slightly puzzled in his mind. 

"I don't believe it's a creditor; that I don't. He looks like a parson tome. But it's some trouble though, if it's not debt. 'Danger' was theword: 'there might be danger. ' Danger in writing, he meant. Any way, I'mglad he didn't go in to that ferreting old dowager. And whatever it maybe, his lordship's able to pay it now. "

CHAPTER XIX. 

A CHANCE MEETING. 

Some few weeks went by. On a fine June morning Lord and Lady Hartledonwere breakfasting at their hotel in the Rue Rivoli. She was listlesslyplaying with her cup; he was glancing over _Galignani's_. 

"Maude, " he suddenly exclaimed, "the fountains are to play on Sunday atVersailles. Will you go to see them?"

"I am tired of sight-seeing, and tired of Paris too, " was LadyHartledon's answer, spoken with apathy. 

"Are you?" he returned, with animation, as though not sorry to hear theavowal. "Then we won't stay in Paris any longer. When shall we leave?"

"Are the letters not late this morning?" she asked, allowing the questionto pass. 

Lord Hartledon glanced at the clock. "Very late: and we are late also. Are you expecting any in particular?"

"I don't know. This chocolate is cold. "

"That is easily remedied, " said he, rising to ring the bell. "They canbring in some fresh. "

"And keep us waiting half-an-hour!" she grumbled. 

"The hotel is crammed up to the mansarde, " said good-natured LordHartledon, who was easily pleased, and rather tolerant of neglect inFrench hotels. "Is not that the right word, Maude? You took me to taskyesterday for saying garret. The servants are run off their legs. "

"Then the hotel should keep more servants. I am quite sick of having toring twice. A week ago I wished I was out of the place. "

"My dear Maude, why did you not say so? If you'd like to go on at once toGermany--"

"Lettres et journal pour monsieur, " interrupted a waiter, entering withtwo letters and the _Times_. 

"One for you, Maude, " handing a letter to his wife. "Don't go, " hecontinued to the waiter; "we want some more chocolate; this is cold. Tellhim in French, Maude. "

But Lady Hartledon did not hear; or if she heard, did not heed; she wasalready absorbed in the contents of her letter. 

"Ici, " said Hartledon, pushing the chocolate-pot towards the man, andrallying the best French he could command, "encore du chocolat. Toutefroide, _this_. Et puis dépêchez vous; il est tarde, et nous avons besoinde sortir. "

The man was accustomed to the French of Englishmen, and withdrew withoutmoving a muscle of his face. But Lady Hartledon's ears had been set onedge. 

"_Don't_ attempt French again, Val. They'll understand you if you speakin English. "

"Did I make any mistake?" he asked good-humouredly. "I could speak Frenchonce; but am out of practice. It's the genders bother one. "

"Fine French it must have been!" thought her ladyship. "Who is yourletter from?"

"My bankers, I think. About Germany, Maude--would you like to go there?"

"Yes. Later. After we have been to London. "

"To London!"

"We will go to London at once, Percival; stay there for the rest of theseason, and then--"

"My dear, " he interrupted, his face overcast, "the season is nearly over. It will be of no use going there now. "

"Plenty of use. We shall have quite six weeks of it. Don't look cross, Val; I have set my heart upon it. "

"But have you considered the difficulties? In the first place, we have nohouse in town; in the second--"

"Oh yes we have: a very good house. "

Lord Hartledon paused, and looked at her; he thought she was joking. "Where is it?" he asked in merry tones; "at the top of the Monument?"

"It is in Piccadilly, " she coolly replied. "Do you remember, some daysago, I read out an advertisement of a house that was to be let there forthe remainder of the season, and remarked that it would suit us?"

"That it might suit us, had we wanted one, " put in Val. 

"I wrote off at once to mamma, and begged her to see after it and engageit for us, " she continued, disregarding her husband's amendment. "She nowtells me she has done so, and ordered servants up from Hartledon. By thetime this letter reaches me she says it will be in readiness. "

Lord Hartledon in his astonishment could scarcely find words to reply. "You wrote--yourself--and ordered the house to be taken?"

"Yes. You are difficult to convince, Val. "

"Then I think it was your duty to have first consulted me, Lady Maude, "he said, feeling deeply mortified. 

"Thank you, " she laughed. "I have not been Lady Maude this two months. "

"I beg your pardon, Lady Hartledon. "

"Now don't pretend to be offended, Val. I have only saved you trouble. "

"Maude, " he said, rallying his good humour, "it was not right. Letus--for Heaven's sake let us begin as we mean to go on: our interestsmust be _one_, not separate. Why did you not tell me you wished to returnto London, and allow me to see after an abode for us? It would have beenthe proper way. "

"Well, the truth is, I saw you did not want to go; you kept holding backfrom it; and if I _had_ spoken you would have shillyshallied over ituntil the season was over. Every one I know is in London now. "

The waiter entered with the fresh chocolate, and retired again. LordHartledon was standing at the window then. His wife went up to him, andstole her hand within his arm. 

"I'm sorry if I have offended you, Val. It's no great matter to havedone. "

"I think it was, Maude. However--don't act for yourself in future; let meknow your wishes. I do not think you have expressed a wish, or half awish, since our marriage, but I have felt a pleasure in gratifying it. "

"You good old fellow! But I am given to having a will of my own, and toact independently. I'm like mamma in that. Val, we will start to-morrow:have you any orders for the servants? I can transmit them through mamma. "

"I have no orders. This is your expedition, Maude, not mine; and, Iassure you, I feel like a man in utter darkness in regard to it. Allowme to see your mother's letter. "

Lady Hartledon had put the letter safely into her pocket. 

"I would rather not, Percival: it contains a few private words to myself, and mamma has always an objection to her letters being shown. I'll readyou all necessary particulars. You must let me have some money to-day. "

"How much?" asked he, from between his compressed lips. 

"Oceans. I owe for millinery and things. And, Val, I'll go to Versaillesthis afternoon, if you like. I want to see some of the rooms again. "

"Very well, " he answered. 

She poured out some chocolate, took it hurriedly, and quitted the room, leaving her husband in a disheartening reverie. That Lady Hartledon andMaude Kirton were two very distinct persons he had discovered already;the one had been all gentleness and childlike suavity, the other waspositive, extravagant, and self-willed; the one had made a pretence ofloving him beyond all other things in life, the other was making verylittle show of loving him at all, or of concealing her indifference. Lord Hartledon was not the only husband who has been disagreeablyastonished by a similar metamorphosis. 

The following was the letter of the countess-dowager:

 "Darling Maude, "I have _secured_ the _house_ you write about and send by this _post_ for Hedges and a few of the rest from _Hartledon_. It won't accommodate a large _establishment_ I can tell you and you'll be _disappointed_ when you come over to take _possession_ which you can do when you _choose_. Val was a _fool_ for letting his town house in the spring but of course we know he is _one_ and must put up with it. Whatever you _do_, don't _consult_ him about _any earthly thing_ take _your own way_, he never did have _much_ of a will and you must let him _have none_ for the future. You've got a splendid _chance_ can spend _what you like_ and rule in _society_ and he'll subside into a _tame spaniel_. 

 "Maude if you are such an idiot I'll _shake_ you. Find you've made a _dredful_ mistake?--can't bear your husband?--keep thinking always of _Edward_? A child might write such utter _rubish_ but not you, what does it matter whether one's husband is _liked_ or _disliked_, provided he gives one _position_ and _wealth_? Go to Amiens and stop with _Jane_ for a _week_ and see her _plight_ and then grumble at your own, you _are_ an idiot. 

 "I'm quite _glad_ about your taking this town-_house_, and shall enter into _posession_ myself as soon as the servants are up, and await you. _Bob's_ quite _well_ and joins to-day and of course _gives up_ his lodgings, which have been _wretchedly confined_ and uncomfortable and where I should have gone to but for this _move_ of yours I don't know. Mind you bring me over a Parisian _bonnet_ or two or some articles of that _sort_. I'm nearly in _rags_, Kirton's as undutiful as he _can_ be but it's that _wife_ of his. 

 "Your affectionate mother, "C. Kirton. "

The letter will give you some guide to the policy of Maude Hartledonsince her marriage. She did find she had made a mistake. She cared nomore for her husband now than she had cared for him before; and it was apositive fact that she despised him for walking so tamely into the snarelaid for him by herself and her mother. Nevertheless she triumphed; hehad made her a peeress, and she did care for that; she cared also for thebroad lands of Hartledon. That she was unwise in assuming her own will sopromptly, with little regard to consulting his, she might yet discover. 

At Versailles that day--to which place they went in accordance withMaude's wish--there occurred a rencontre which Lord Hartledon wouldwillingly have gone to the very ends of the earth to avoid. It happenedto be rather full for Versailles; many of the visitors in Parisapparently having taken it into their minds to go; indeed, Maude's wishwas induced by the fact that some of her acquaintances in the gay capitalwere going also. 

You may possibly remember a very small room in the galleries, exceedinglysmall as compared with the rest, chiefly hung with English portraits. They were in this room, amidst the little crowd that filled it, when LordHartledon became aware that his wife had encountered some long-lostfriend. There was much greeting and shaking of hands. He caught thename--Kattle; and being a somewhat singular name, he recognised it forthat of the lady who had been sojourning at Cannes, and had sent the newsof Miss Ashton's supposed engagement to the countess-dowager. There wasthe usual babble on both sides--where each was staying, had been staying, would be staying; and then Lord Hartledon heard the following words fromMrs. Kattle. 

"How strange I should have seen you! I have met you, the Fords, and theAshtons here, and did not know that any of you were in Paris. It's trueI only arrived yesterday. Such a long illness, my dear, I had at Turin!"

"The Ashtons!" involuntarily repeated Maude. "Are they here?--in thechâteau?" And it instantly occurred to her how she should like to meetthem, and parade her triumph. If ever a spark of feeling for her husbandarose within Maude's heart, it was when she thought of Anne Ashton. Shewas bitterly jealous of her still. 

"Yes, here; I saw them not three minutes ago. They are only now on theirroad home from Cannes. Fancy their making so long a stay!"

"You wrote mamma word that Miss Ashton was about to marry some ColonelBarnaby. "

Mrs. Kattle laughed. It is possible that written news might have been_asked for_ by the countess-dowager. 

"Well, my dear, and so I did; but it turned out to be a mistake. He didadmire her; there was no mistake about that; and I dare say she mighthave had him if she liked. How's your brother and his poor leg?"

"Oh, he is well, " answered Maude. "Au revoir; I can't stand this crushany longer. "

It was really a crush just then in the room; and though Maude escapedfrom it dexterously, Lord Hartledon did not. He was wedged in behind somestout women, and had the pleasure of hearing another word or two fromMrs. Kattle. 

"Who was that?" asked a lady, who appeared to be her companion. 

"Lady Hartledon. He was only the younger brother until a few months ago, but the elder one got drowned in some inexplicable manner on his ownestate, and this one came into the title. The old dowager began at onceto angle for him, and succeeded in hooking him. She used to write me wordhow it progressed. "

"She is very beautiful. "

"Very. "

Lord Hartledon made his escape, and found his wife looking round for him. She was struck by the aspect of his face. 

"Are you ill, Percival?"

"Ill? No. But I don't care how soon we get out of these rooms. I can'tthink what brings so many people in them to-day. "

"He has heard that _she's_ here, and would like to avoid her, " thoughtMaude as she took the arm he held out. "The large rooms are empty enough, I'm sure, " she remarked. "Shall we have time to go to the Trianon?"

"If you like. Yes. "

He began to hurry through the rooms. Maude, however, was in no mood to behurried, but stopped here and stopped there. All at once they met a largeparty of friends; those she had originally expected to meet. Quitting herhusband's arm, she became lost amongst them. 

There was no help for it; and Lord Hartledon, resigning himself to thedetention, took up his standing before the pictures and stared at them, his back to the room. He saw a good deal to interest him, in spite of hisrather tumultuous state of mind, and remained there until he foundhimself surrounded by other spectators. Turning hastily with a view toescaping, he trod upon a lady's dress. She looked up at his word ofapology, and they stood face to face--himself and Miss Ashton!

That both utterly lost their presence of mind would have been conclusiveto the spectators, had any regarded them; but none did so. They werestrangers amidst the crowd. For the space of a moment each gazed on theother, spell-bound. Lord Hartledon's honest blue eyes were riveted on herface with a strangely yearning expression of repentance--her sweet face, which had turned as white as ashes. He wore mourning still for hisbrother, and was the most distinguished-looking man in the château thatday. Anne was in a trailing lilac silk, with a white gossamer-bonnet. That the heart of each went out to the other, as it had perhaps nevergone out before, it may be no sin to say. Sin or no sin, it was thetruth. The real value of a thing, as you know, is never felt until itis lost. For two months each had been dutifully striving to forget theother, and believed they were succeeding; and this first accidentalmeeting roused up the past in all its fever of passion. 

No more conscious of what he did than if he had been in a dream, LordHartledon held out his hand; and she, quite as unconscious, mechanicallymet it with hers. What confused words of greeting went forth from hislips he never knew; she as little; but this state of bewildered feelinglasted only a minute; recollection came to both, and she strove towithdraw her hand to retreat. 

"God bless you, Anne!" was all he whispered, his fervent words marred bytheir tone of pain; and he wrung her hand as he released it. 

Turning away he caught the eyes of his wife riveted on them; she hadevidently seen the meeting, and her colour was high. Lord Hartledonwalked straight into the next room, and Maude went up to Anne. 

"How do you do, Miss Ashton? I am so glad to meet you. I have just heardyou were here from Mrs. Kattle. You have been speaking to my husband. "

Anne bowed; she did not lose her presence of mind at _this_ encounter. Afew civil words of reply given with courteous dignity, and she moved awaywith a bright flush on her cheek, towards Dr. And Mrs. Ashton, who werestanding arm-in-arm enraptured before a remote picture, cognizant ofnothing else. 

"How thin she looks!" exclaimed Maude, as she rejoined her husband, andtook his arm. 

"Who looks thin?"

"Miss Ashton. I wonder she did not fling your hand away, instead ofputting her own into it!"

"Do you wish to see the Trianon? We shall be late. "

"Yes, I do wish to see it. But you need not speak in that tone: it wasnot my fault that we met her. "

He answered never a syllable. His lips were compressed to pain, and hisface was hectic; but he would not be drawn into reproaching his wife byso much as a word, for the sort of taste she was displaying. The mannerin which he had treated Miss Ashton and her family was ever in his mind, more or less, in all its bitter, humiliating disgrace. The worst part ofit to Val was, that there could be no reparation. 

The following day Lord Hartledon and his wife took their departure fromParis; and if anything could have imparted especial gratification on hisarriving in London at the hired house, it was to find that his wife'smother was not in it. Val had come home against his will; he had notwished to be in London that season; rather would he have buried himselfand his haunting sense of shame on the tolerant Continent; and hecertainly had not wished his wife to make her debut in a small hiredhouse. When he let his own, nothing could have been further from histhoughts than marriage. As to this house--Lady Kirton had told herdaughter she would be disappointed in it; but when Maude saw itsdimensions, its shabby entrance, its want of style altogether, she wasdismayed. "And after that glowing advertisement!" she breathedresentfully. It was one of the smallest houses facing the Green Park. 

Hedges came forward with an apology from the countess-dowager. An apologyfor not invading their house and inflicting her presence upon themuninvited! A telegraphic despatch from Lord Kirton had summoned her toIreland on the previous day; and Val's face grew bright as he heard it. 

"What was the matter, Hedges?" inquired his mistress. "I'm sure mybrother would not telegraph unless it was something. "

"The message didn't say, my lady. It was just a few words, asking herladyship to go off by the first train, but giving no reason. "

"I wonder she went, then, " observed Val to his wife, as they looked intothe different rooms. But Maude did not wonder: she knew how anxious hermother was to be on good terms with her eldest son, from whom shereceived occasional supplies. Rather would she quarrel with the wholeworld than with him. 

"I think it a good thing she has gone, Maude, " said he. "There certainlywould not have been room for her and for us in this house. "

"And so do I, " answered Maude, looking round her bed-chamber. "If mammafancies she's going to inflict herself upon us for good she's mistaken. She and I might quarrel, perhaps; for I know she'd try to control me. Val, what are we to do in this small house?"

"The best we can. We have made the bargain, you know, and takenpossession now. "

"You are laughing. I declare I think you are glad it has turned out whatit is!"

"I am not sorry, " he avowed. "You'll let me cater for you another time, Maude. "

She put up her face to be kissed. "Don't be angry with me. It is ourhome-coming. "

"Angry!" he repeated. "I have never shown anger to you yet, Maude. Nevera woman had a more indulgent husband than you shall have in me. "

"You don't say a loving one, Val!"

"And a loving one also: if you will only let me be so. "

"What do you mean?"

"Love requires love in return. We shall be happy, I am sure, if you sowill it. Only let us pull together; one mind, one interest. Here's yourmaid. I wonder where my dressing room is?"

And thus they entered on what remained of the London season. Thenewspapers announced the arrival of Lord and Lady Hartledon, and Mauderead it aloud to her husband. She might have retained peace longer, however, had that announcement not gone forth to the four corners of theland. 

"Only let us pull together!" A very few days indeed sufficed to dissipatethat illusion. Lady Hartledon plunged madly into all the gaieties of thedying season, as though to make up for lost time; Lord Hartledon neverfelt less inclined to plunge into anything, unless it was the waters ofoblivion. He held back from some places, but she did not appear to care, going her way in a very positive, off-hand manner, according to her ownwill, and paying not the slightest deference to his. 

CHAPTER XX. 

THE STRANGER AGAIN. 

On a burning day at the end of June, Lord Hartledon was walking towardsthe Temple. He had not yet sought out his friend Thomas Carr; a sense ofshame held him back; but he was on his way to do so now. 

Turning down Essex Street and so to the left, he traversed the courtsand windings, and mounted the stairs to the barrister's rooms. Many amerry hour had he passed in those three small rooms, dignified with thename of "Mr. Carr's chambers, " but which were in fact also Mr. Carr'sdwelling-place--and some sad ones. 

Lord Hartledon knocked at the outer door with his stick--a somewhatfaint, doubtful knock; not with the free hand of one at ease with himselfand the world. For one thing, he was uncertain as to the reception heshould meet with. 

Mr. Carr came to the door himself; his clerk was out. When he saw who washis visitor he stood in comic surprise. Val stepped in, extending hishand; and it was heartily taken. 

"You are not offended with me, then, Carr?"

"Nay, " said Mr. Carr, "I have no reason to be offended. Your sin was notagainst me. "

"That's a strong word, 'sin. '"

"It is spoken, " was the answer; "but I need not speak it again. I don'tintend to quarrel with you. I was not, I repeat, the injured party. "

"Yet you took yourself off in dudgeon, as though you were, leaving mewithout a groomsman. "

"I would not remain to witness a marriage that--that you ought not tohave entered upon. "

"Well, it's done and over, and need not be brought up again, " returnedHartledon, a shade of annoyance in his tones. 

"Certainly not. I have no wish or right to bring it up. How is LadyHartledon?"

"She is very well. And now what has kept you away, Carr? We have been inLondon nearly a fortnight, and you've never been near me. I thought you_were_ going to quarrel. "

"I did not know you had returned. "

"Not know it! Why all the newspapers had it in amongst the 'fashionableintelligence. '"

"I have more to do with my time than to look at the fashionable portionof the papers. Not being fashionable myself, it doesn't interest me. "

"Yes, it's about a fortnight since we came back to this hateful place, "returned Hartledon, his light tone subsiding into seriousness. "I am outof conceit with England just now; and would far rather have gone to theAntipodes. "

"Then why did you come back to it?" inquired the barrister, in surprise. 

"My wife gave me no choice. She possesses a will of her own. It is theordinary thing, perhaps, for wives to do so. "

"Some do, and some don't, " observed Thomas Carr, who never flattered atthe expense of truth. "Are you going down to Hartledon?"

"Hartledon!" with a perceptible shiver. "In the mind I am in, I shallnever visit Hartledon again; there are some in its vicinity I wouldrather not insult by my presence. Why do you bring up disagreeablesubjects?"

"You will have to get over that feeling, " observed Mr. Carr, disregardingthe hint, and taking out his probing-knife. "And the sooner it is gotover the better for all parties. You cannot become an exile from your ownplace. Are they at Calne now?"

"Yes. They were in Paris just before we left it, and there was anencounter at Versailles. I wished myself dead; I declare I did. A day ortwo after we came to England they crossed over, and went straight down toCalne. There--don't say any more. "

"The longer you keep away from Hartledon the greater effort it will costyou to go down to it; and--"

"I won't go to Hartledon, " he interrupted, in a sort of fury; "neitherperhaps would you, in my place. "

"Sir, " cried Mr. Carr's clerk, bustling in and addressing his master, "you are waited for at the chambers of Serjeant Gale. The consultation ison. "

Lord Hartledon rose. 

"I will not detain you, Carr; business must be attended to. Will you comeand dine with us this evening? Only me and my wife. Here's where we arestaying--Piccadilly. My own house is let, you know. "

"I have no engagement, and will come with pleasure, " said Mr. Carr, taking the card. "What hour?"

"Ah, that's just what I can't tell you. Lady Hartledon orders dinner tosuit her engagements--any time between six and nine! I never know. We area fashionable couple, don't you see?"

"Stay, though, Hartledon; I forget. I have a business appointment forhalf-past eight. Perhaps I can put it off. "

"Come up at six. You'll be all right, then, in any case. "

Lord Hartledon left the Temple, and sauntered towards home. He hadno engagement on hand--nothing to kill time. He and his wife werefalling naturally into the way of--as he had just cynically styledit--fashionable people. She went her way and he went his. 

Many a cabman held up his hand or his whip; but in his present moodwalking was agreeable to him: why should he hurry home, when he hadnothing on earth to do there? So he stared here, and gazed there, andstopped to speak to this acquaintance, and walked a few steps with that, went into his club for ten minutes, and arrived home at last. 

His wife's carriage was at the door waiting for her. She was bound on anexpedition to Chiswick: Lord Hartledon had declined it. He met herhastening out as he entered, and she was looking very cross. 

"How late you are going, Maude!"

"Yes, there has been a mistake, " she said peevishly, turning in with himto a small room they used as a breakfast-room. "I have been waiting allthis time for Lady Langton, and she, I find, has been waiting for me. I'mnow going round to take her up. Oh, I have secured that opera-box, Val, but at an extravagant price, considering the little time that remains ofthe season. "

"What opera-box?"

"Didn't I tell you? It's one I heard of yesterday. I was not going againto put up with the wretched little box they palmed you off with. I didtell you that. "

"It was the only one I could get, Maude: there was no other choice. "

"Yes, I know. Well, I have secured another for the rest of the season, and you must not talk about extravagance, please. "

"Very well, " said Val, with a smile. "For what hour have you ordereddinner?"

"Nine o'clock. "

"Nine o'clock! That's awkward--and late. "

"Why awkward? You may have to wait for me even then. It is impossible tosay when we shall get home from Chiswick. All the world will be there. "

"I have just asked Carr to dine with us, and told him to come at six. Idon't fancy these hard-working men care to wait so long for their dinner. And he has an appointment for half-past eight. "

The colour came flushing into Lady Hartledon's face, an angry light intoher eyes. 

"You have asked Carr to dinner! How dared you?"

Val looked up in quiet amazement. 

"Dared!"

"Well--yes. Dared!"

"I do not understand you, Maude. I suppose I may exercise the right ofinviting a friend to dinner. "

"Not when it is objectionable to me. I dislike that man Carr, and willnot receive him. "

"You can have no grounds for disliking him, " returned Lord Hartledonwarmly. "He has been a good and true friend to me ever since I knew whatfriendship meant; and he is a good and true man. "

"Too much of a friend, " she sarcastically retorted. "You don't need himnow, and can drop him. "

"Maude, " said Lord Hartledon, very quietly, "I have fancied several timeslately that you are a little mistaking me. I am not to have a will of myown; I am to bend in all things to yours; you are to be mistress andmaster, I a nonentity: is it not so? This is a mistake. No woman ever hada better or more indulgent husband than you shall find in me: but in allnecessary things, where it is needful and expedient that I shouldexercise my own judgment, and act as master, I shall do it. "

She paused in very astonishment: the tone was so calmly decisive. 

"My dear, let us have no more of this; something must have vexed youto-day. "

"We will have no more of it, " she passionately retorted; "and I'll haveno more of your Thomas Carrs. It is not right that you should bring a manhere who has deliberately insulted me. Be quiet, Lord Hartledon; he has. What else was it but an insult--his going out of the chapel in the mannerhe did, when we were before the altar? It was a direct intimation that hedid not countenance the marriage. He would have preferred, I suppose, that you should marry your country sweetheart, Anne Ashton. "

A hot flush rose to Lord Hartledon's brow, but his tone was strangelytemperate. "I have already warned you, Maude, that we shall do well todiscard that name from our discussions, and if possible from ourthoughts; it may prove better for both of us. "

"Better for you, perhaps; but you are _not_ going to exercise any controlover my will, or words, or action; and so I tell you at once. I'm quiteold enough to be out of leading-strings, and I'll be mistress in my ownhouse. You will do well to send a note to your amiable friend Carr; itmay save him a useless journey; for at my table he shall not sit. Now youknow, Val. "

She spoke impatiently, haughtily, and swept out to her carriage. Val didnot follow to place her in; he positively did not, but left her to theservants. Never in his whole life perhaps had he felt so nettled, neverso resolute: the once vacillating, easily-persuaded man, when face toface with people, was speedily finding the will he had only exercisedbehind their backs. He rang the bell for Hedges. 

"Her ladyship has ordered dinner for nine o'clock, " he said, when thebutler appeared. 

"I believe so, my lord. "

"It will be inconvenient to me to wait so long to-day. I shall dine atseven. You can serve it in this room, leaving the dining-room for LadyHartledon. Mr. Carr dines with me. "

So Hedges gave the necessary orders, and dinner was laid in thebreakfast-room. Thomas Carr came in, bringing the news that he hadsucceeded in putting off his appointment. Lord Hartledon received him inthe same room, fearing possibly the drawing-room might be invaded by hiswife. She was just as likely to be home early from Chiswick as late. 

"We have it to ourselves, Carr, and I am not sorry. There was nocertainty about my wife's return, so I thought we'd dine alone. "

They very much enjoyed their tête-à-tête dinner; as they had enjoyed manya one in Hartledon's bachelor days. Thomas Carr--one of the quiet, goodmen in a fast world--was an admirable companion, full of intelligence andconversation. Hedges left them alone after the cloth was removed, but ina very few minutes returned; his step rather more subdued than usual, asif he came upon some secret mission. 

"Here's that stranger come again, sir, " he began, in low tones; and itmay as well be remarked that in moments of forgetfulness he often didaddress his master as he used to address him in the past. "He asked if--"

"What stranger?" rather testily interposed Lord Hartledon. "I am atdinner, and can't see any stranger now. What are you thinking about, Hedges?"

"It is what I said, " returned Hedges; "but he would not take the answer. He said he had come a long way to see your lordship, and he would seeyou; his business was very important. My lady asked him--"

"Has Lady Hartledon returned?"

"She came in now, my lord, while I was denying you to him. Her ladyshipheard him say he would see you, and she inquired what his business was;but he did not tell her. It was private business, he remarked, and couldonly be entered into with your lordship. "

"Who is it, Hedges? Do you know him?"

Lord Hartledon had dropped his voice to confidential tones. Hedges wasfaithful, and had been privy to some of his embarrassments in the olddays. The man looked at the barrister, and seemed to hesitate. 

"Speak out. You can say anything before Mr. Carr. "

"I don't know him, " answered Hedges. "It is the gentleman who came toHartledon the week after your lordship's marriage, asking five hundredquestions, and wanting--"

"He, is it?" interrupted Val. "You told me about him when I came home, I remember. Go on, Hedges. "

"That's all, my lord. Except that he is here now"--and Hedges nodded hishead towards the room-door. "He seems very inquisitive. When my lady wentupstairs, he asked whether that was the countess, and followed her to thefoot of the stairs to look after her. I never saw any gentleman stareso. "

Val played with his wine-glass, and pondered. "I don't believe I owe ashilling in the world, " quoth he--betraying the bent of his thoughts, andspeaking to no one in particular. "I have squared-up every debt, as faras I know. "

"He does not look like a creditor, " observed Hedges, with a fatherly air. "Quite superior to that: more like a parson. It's his manner that makesone doubt. There was a mystery about it at Hartledon that I didn't like;and he refused to give his name. His insisting on seeing your lordshipnow, at dinner or not at dinner, is odd too; his voice is quiet, just asif he possessed the right to do this. I didn't know what to do, andas I say, he's in the hall. "

"Show him in somewhere, Hedges. Lady Hartledon is in the drawing-room, Isuppose: let him go into the dining-room. "

"Her ladyship's dinner is being laid there, my lord, " dissented thecautious retainer. "She said it was to be served as soon as it was ready, having come home earlier than she expected. "

"Deuce take it!" testily responded Val, "one can't swing a cat in thesecramped hired houses. Show him into my smoking-den upstairs. "

"Let me go there, " said Mr. Carr, "and you can see him in this room. "

"No; keep to your wine, Carr. Take him up there, Hedges. "

The butler retired, and Lord Hartledon turned to his guest. "Carr, canyou give a guess at the fellow's business?"

"It's nothing to trouble you. If you have overlooked any old debt, youare able to give a cheque for it. But I should rather suspect yourpersevering friend to be some clergyman or missionary, bent on drawinga good subscription from you. "

Val did not raise his eyes. He was playing again with his emptywine-glass, his face grave and perplexed. 

"Do they serve writs in these cases?" he suddenly asked. 

Mr. Carr laughed. "Is the time so long gone by that you have forgottenyours? You have had some in your day. "

"I am not thinking of debt, Carr: that is over for me. But there's nodenying that I behaved disgracefully to--you know--and Dr. Ashton hasgood reason to be incensed. Can he be bringing an action against me, andis this visit in any way connected with it?"

"Nonsense, " said Mr. Carr. 

"Is it nonsense! I'm sure I've heard of their dressing-up theseserving-officers as clergymen, to entrap the unwary. Well, call itnonsense, if you like. What of my suggestion in regard to Dr. Ashton?"

Thomas Carr paused to consider. That it was most improbable in allrespects, he felt sure; next door to impossible. 

"The doctor is too respectable a man to do anything of the sort, " heanswered. "He is high-minded, honourable, wealthy: there's no inducementwhatever. _No. _"

"Yes, there may be one: that of punishing me by bringing my disgracebefore the world. "

"You forget that he would bring his daughter's name before it at the sametime. It is quite out of the range of possibility. The Ashtons are notpeople to seek legal reparation for injury of this sort. But that yourfears are blinding you, you would never suspect them of being capable ofit. "

"The stranger is upstairs, my lord, " interrupted Hedges, coming back tothe room. "I asked him what name, and he said your lordship would knowhim when you saw him, and there was no need to give it. "

Lord Hartledon went upstairs, marshalled by the butler. Hedges wasresenting the mystery; very much on his master's account, a little on hisown, for it cannot be denied that he was given to curiosity. He threwopen the door of the little smoking-den, and in his loftiest, loudest, most uncompromising voice, announced:

"The gentleman, my lord. "

Then retired, and shut them in. 

Thomas Carr remained alone. He was not fond of wine, and did nothelp himself during his host's absence. Five minutes, ten minutes, half-an-hour, an hour; and still he was alone. At the end of the firsthalf-hour he began to think Val a long time; at the end of the hour hefeared something must have happened. Could he be quarrelling with themysterious stranger? Could he have forgotten him and gone out? Couldhe--

The door softly opened, and Lord Hartledon came in. Was it LordHartledon? Thomas Carr rose from his chair in amazement and dread. It waslike him, but with some awful terror upon him. His face was of an ashywhiteness; the veins of his brow stood out; his dry lips were drawn. 

"Good Heavens, Hartledon!" uttered Thomas Carr. "What is it? You look asif you had been accused of murder. "

"I have been accused of it, " gasped the unhappy man, "of worse thanmurder. Ay, and I have done it. "

The words called up a strange confusion of ideas in the mind of ThomasCarr. Worse than murder!

"What is it?" cried he, aloud. "I am beginning to dream. "

"Will you stand by me?" rejoined Hartledon, his voice seeming to havechanged into something curiously hollow. "I have asked you before fortrifles; I ask you now in the extremity of need. Will you stand by me, and aid me with your advice?"

"Y--es, " answered Mr. Carr, his excessive astonishment causing ahesitation. "Where is your visitor?"

"Upstairs. He holds a fearful secret, and has me in his power. Do youcome back with me, and combat with him against its betrayal. "

"A fearful secret!" was Thomas Carr's exclamation. "What brings you withone?"

Lord Hartledon only groaned. "You will stand by me, Carr? Will you comeupstairs and do what you can for me?"

"I am quite ready, " replied Thomas Carr, quickly. "I will stand by younow, as ever. But--I seem to be in a maze. Is it a true charge?"

"Yes, in so far as that--But I had better tell you the story, " he brokeoff, wiping his brow. "I must tell it you before you go upstairs. "

He linked his arm within his friend's, and drew him to the window. Itwas broad daylight still, but gloomy there: the window had the pleasureof reposing under the leads, and was gloomy at noon. Lord Hartledonhesitated still. "Elster's folly!" were the words mechanically floatingin the mind of Thomas Carr. 

"It is an awful story, Carr; bad and wicked. "

"Let me hear it at once, " replied Thomas Carr. 

"I am in danger of--of--in short, that person upstairs could have meapprehended to-night. I would not tell you but that I must do so. I musthave advice, assistance; but you'll start from me when you hear it. "

"I will stand by you, whatever it may be. If a man has ever need of afriend, it must be in his extremity. "

Lord Hartledon stood, and whispered a strange tale. It was anything butcoherent to the clear-minded barrister; nevertheless, as he gathered oneor two of its points he did start back, as Hartledon had foretold, and anexclamation of dismay burst from his lips. 

"And you could _marry_--with this hanging over your head!"

"Carr--"

The butler came in with an interruption. 

"My lady wishes to know whether your lordship is going out with herto-night. "

"Not to-night, " answered Lord Hartledon, pointing to the door for the manto make his exit. "It is of her I think, not of myself, " he murmured toMr. Carr. 

"And he"--the barrister pointed above to indicate thestranger--"threatens to have you apprehended on the charge?"

"I hardly know what he threatens. _You_ must deal with him, Carr;I cannot. Let us go; we are wasting time. "

As they left the room to go upstairs Lady Hartledon came out of thedining-room and crossed their path. She was deeply mortified at herhusband's bringing Mr. Carr to the house after what she had said; andmost probably came out at the moment to confront them with her haughtyand disapproving face. However that might have been, all other emotionsgave place to surprise, when she saw _their_ faces, each bearing a lividlook of fear. 

"I hope you are well, Lady Hartledon, " said Mr. Carr. 

She would not see the offered hand, but swept onwards with a coldcurtsey, stopping just a moment to speak to her husband. 

"You are not going out with me, Lord Hartledon?"

"I cannot to-night, Maude. Business detains me. "

She passed up the stairs, vouchsafing no other word. They lingered aminute to let her get into the drawing-room. 

"Poor Maude! What will become of her if this is brought home to me?"

"And if it is not brought home to you--the fact remains the same, " saidMr. Carr, in his merciless truth. 

"And our children, our children!" groaned Hartledon, a hot flush of dreadarising in his white face. 

They shut themselves in with the stranger, and the conference wasrenewed. Presently lights were rung for; Hedges brought them himself, but gained nothing by the movement; for Mr. Carr heard him coming, roseunbidden, and took them from him at the door. 

Lady Hartledon's curiosity was excited. It had been aroused a little bythe stranger himself; secondly by their scared faces; thirdly by thisclose conference. 

"Who is that strange gentleman, Hedges?" she asked, from thedrawing-room, as the butler descended. 

"I don't know, my lady. "

"What is his name?"

"I have not heard it, my lady. "

"He looks like a clergyman. "

"He does, my lady. "

Apparently Hedges was impenetrable, and she allowed him to go down. Hercuriosity was very much excited; it may be said, uneasily excited; thereis no accounting for these instincts that come over us, shadowing fortha vague sense of dread. Although engaged out that night to more than oneplace, Lady Hartledon lingered on in the drawing-room. 

They came out of the room at last and passed the drawing-room door. Shepushed it to, only peeping out when they had gone by. There was nothingto hear; they were talking of ordinary matters. The stranger, in hisstrong Scotch accent, remarked what a hot day it had been. In travelling, no doubt very, responded Mr. Carr. Lady Hartledon condescended tocautiously put her head over the balustrades. There was no bell rung;Lord Hartledon showed his visitor out himself. 

"And now for these criminal law books, Carr, that bear upon the case, " hesaid, returning from the front-door. 

"I must go down to my chambers for them. "

"I know they can't bring it home to me; I know they can't!" he exclaimed, in tones so painfully eager as to prove to Lady Hartledon's ears that hethought they could, whatever the matter might be. "I'll go with you, Carr; this uncertainty is killing me. "

"There's little uncertainty about it, I fear, " was the grave reply. "Youhad better look the worst in the face. "

They went out, intending to hail the first cab. Very much to LordHartledon's surprise he saw his wife's carriage waiting at the door, theimpatient horses chafing at their delay. What could have detained her?"Wait for me one moment, Carr, " he said. "Stop a cab if you see one. "

He dashed up to the drawing-room; his wife was coming forth then, hercloak and gloves on, her fan in her hand. "Maude, my darling, " heexclaimed, "what has kept you? Surely you have not waited for me?--youdid not misunderstand me?"

"I hardly know what has kept me, " she evasively answered. "It is late, but I'm going now. "

It never occurred to Lord Hartledon that she had been watching orlistening. Incapable of any meanness of the sort, he could not suspect itin another. Lady Hartledon's fertile brain had been suggesting a solutionof this mystery. It was rather curious, perhaps, that her suspicionsshould take the same bent that her husband's did at first--that ofinstituting law proceedings by Dr. Ashton. 

She said nothing. Her husband led her out, placed her in the carriage, and saw it drive away. Then he and the barrister got into a cab and wentto the Temple. 

"We'll take the books home with us, Carr, " he said, feverishly. "Youoften have fellows dropping in to your chambers at night; at my house weshall be secure from interruption. "

It was midnight when Lady Hartledon returned home. She asked after herhusband, and heard that he was in the breakfast-room with Mr. Carr. 

She went towards it with a stealthy step, and opened the door verysoftly. Had Lord Hartledon not been talking, they might, however, haveheard her. The table was strewed with thick musty folios; but theyappeared to be done with, and Mr. Carr was leaning back in his chair withfolded arms. 

"I have had nothing but worry all my life, " Val was saying; "but comparedwith this, whatever has gone before was as nothing. When I think ofMaude, I feel as if I should go mad. "

"You must quietly separate from her, " said Mr. Carr. 

A slight movement. Mr. Carr stopped, and Lord Hartledon looked round. Lady Hartledon was close behind him. 

"Percival, what is the matter?" she asked, turning her back on Mr. Carr, as if ignoring his presence. "What bad news did that parson bring you?--afriend, I presume, of Dr. Ashton's. "

They had both risen. Lord Hartledon glanced at Mr. Carr, the perspirationbreaking out on his brow. "It--it was not a parson, " he said, in hisinnate adherence to truth. 

"I ask _you_, Lord Hartledon, " she resumed, having noted the silentappeal to Mr. Carr. "It requires no third person to step between man andwife. Will you come upstairs with me?"

Words and manner were too pointed, and Mr. Carr hastily stacked thebooks, and carried them to a side-table. 

"Allow these to remain here until to-morrow, " he said to Lord Hartledon;"I'll send my clerk for them. I'm off now; it's later than I thought. Good-night, Lady Hartledon. "

He went out unmolested; Lady Hartledon did not answer him; Val nodded hisgood-night. 

"Are you not ashamed to face me, Lord Hartledon?" she then demanded. "I overheard what you were saying. "

"Overheard what we were saying?" he repeated, gazing at her with a scaredlook. 

"I heard that insidious man give you strange advice--'_you must quietlyseparate from her_, ' he said; meaning from me. And you listenedpatiently, and did not knock him down!"

"Maude! Maude! was that all you heard?"

"_All!_ I should think it was enough. "

"Yes, but--" He broke off, so agitated as scarcely to know what he wassaying. Rallying himself somewhat, he laid his hand upon the white cloakcovering her shoulders. 

"Do not judge him harshly, Maude. Indeed he is a true friend to you andto me. And I have need of one just now. "

"A true friend!--to advise that! I never heard of anything so monstrous. You must be out of your mind. "

"No, I am not, Maude. Should--disgrace"--he seemed to hesitate for aword--"fall upon me, it must touch you as connected with me. I _know_, Maude, that he was thinking of your best and truest interests. "

"But to talk of separating husband and wife!"

"Yes--well--I suppose he spoke strongly in the heat of the moment. "

There was a pause. Lord Hartledon had his hand still on his wife'sshoulder, but his eyes were bent on the table near which they stood. Shewas waiting for him to speak. 

"Won't you tell me what has happened?"

"I can't tell you, Maude, to-night, " he answered, great drops coming outagain on his brow at the question, and knowing all the time that heshould never tell her. "I--I must learn more first. "

"You spoke of disgrace, " she observed gently, swaying her fan before herby its silken cord. "An ugly word. "

"It is. Heaven help me!"

"Val, I do think you are the greatest simpleton under the skies!" sheexclaimed out of all patience, and flinging his hand off. "It's time yougot rid of this foolish sensitiveness. I know what is the matter quitewell; and it's not so very much of a disgrace after all! Those Ashtonsare going to make you pay publicly for your folly. Let them do it. "

He had opened his lips to undeceive her, but stopped in time. As adrowning man catches at a straw, so did he catch at this suggestion inhis hopeless despair; and he suffered her to remain in it. Anything tostave off the real, dreadful truth. 

"Maude, " he rejoined, "it is for your sake. If I am sensitive as toany--any disgrace being brought home to me, I declare that I think ofyou more than of myself. "

"Then don't think of it. It will be fun for me, rather than anythingelse. I did not imagine the Ashtons would have done it, though. I wonderwhat damages they'll go in for. Oh, Val, I should like to see you in thewitness-box!"

He did not answer. 

"And it was not a parson?" she continued. "I'm sure he looked as muchlike one as old Ashton himself. A professional man, then, I suppose, Val?"

"Yes, a professional man. " But even that little answer was given withsome hesitation, as though it had evasion in it. 

Maude broke into a laugh. "Your friend, Pleader Carr--or whatever hecalls himself--must be as thin-skinned as you are, Val, to fancy that arubbishing action of that sort, brought against a husband, can reflectdisgrace on the wife! Separate, indeed! Has he lived in a wood all hislife? Well, I am going upstairs. "

"A moment yet, Maude! You will take a caution from me, won't you? Don'tspeak of this; don't allude to it, even to me. It may be arranged yet, you know. "

"So it may, " acquiesced Maude. "Let your friend Carr see the doctor, andoffer to pay the damages down. "

He might have resented this speech for Dr. Ashton's sake, in a happiermoment, but resentment had been beaten out of him now. And Lady Hartledondecided that her husband was a simpleton, for instead of going to sleeplike a reasonable man, he tossed and turned by her side until daybreak. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

SECRET CARE. 

From that hour Lord Hartledon was a changed man. He went about as one whohas some awful fear upon him, starting at shadows. That his manner wasinexplicable, even allowing that he had some great crime on hisconscience, a looker-on had not failed to observe. He was very tenderwith his wife; far more so than he had been at all; anxious, as itseemed, to indulge her every fancy, gratify her every whim. But when itcame to going into society with her, then he hesitated; he would and hewouldn't, reminding Maude of his old vacillation, which indeed had seemedto have been laid aside for ever. It was as though he appeared not toknow what to do; what he ought to do; his own wish or inclination havingno part in it. 

"Why _won't_ you go with me?" she said to him angrily one day that he hadretracted his assent at the last moment. "Is it that you care so much forAnne Ashton, that you don't care to be seen with me?"

"Oh, Maude! If you knew how little Anne Ashton is in my thoughts now!When by chance I do think of her, it is to be thankful I did not marryher, " he added, in a tone of self-communing. 

Maude laughed a light laugh. "This movement of theirs is putting you outof conceit of your old love, Val. "

"What movement?" he rejoined; and he would not have asked the questionhad his thoughts not gone wool-gathering. 

"You are dreaming, Val. The action. "

"Ah, yes, to be sure. "

"Have you heard yet what damages they claim?"

He shook his head. "You promised not to speak of this, Maude; even tome. "

"Who is to help speaking of it, when you allow it to take your ease away?I never in my life saw any one so changed as you are. I wish the thingwere over and done with, though it left you a few thousand pounds thepoorer. _Will_ you accompany me to this dinner to-day? I am sick ofappearing alone and making excuses for you. "

"I wish I knew what to do for the best--what my course ought to be!"thought Hartledon within his conscience. "I can't bear to be seen withher in public. When I face people with her on my arm, it seems as if theymust know what sort of man she, in her unconsciousness, is leaning upon. "

"I'll go with you to-day, Maude, as you press it. I was to have seen Mr. Carr, but can send down to him. "

"Then don't be five minutes dressing: it is time we went. "

She heard him despatch a footman to the Temple with a message that heshould not be at Mr. Carr's chambers that evening; and she lay back inher chair, waiting for him in her dinner-dress of black and white. Theywere in mourning still for his brother. Lord Hartledon had not left itoff, and Maude had loved him too well to grumble at the delay. 

She had grown tolerant in regard to the intimacy with Mr. Carr. That herhusband should escape as soon and as favourably as possible out of thedilemma in which he was plunged, she naturally wished; that he shouldrequire legal advice and assistance to accomplish it, was onlyreasonable, and therefore she tolerated the visits of Mr. Carr. She hadeven gone so far one evening as to send tea in to them when he and Valwere closeted together. 

But still Lady Hartledon was not quite prepared to find Mr. Carr attheir house when they returned. She and Lord Hartledon went forth tothe dinner; the latter behaving as though his wits were in some far-offhemisphere rather than in this one, so absent-minded was he. From thedinner they proceeded to another place or two; and on getting home, towards one in the morning, there was the barrister. 

"Mr. Carr is waiting to see you, my lord, " said Hedges, meeting them inthe passage. "He is in the dining-room. "

"Mr. Carr! Now!"

The hall-lamp shone full on his face as he spoke. He had been momentarilyforgetting care; was speaking gaily to his wife as they entered. She sawthe change that came over it; the look of fear, of apprehension, thatreplaced its smile. He went into the dining-room, and she followed him. 

"Why, Carr!" he exclaimed. "Is it you?"

Mr. Carr, bowing to Lady Hartledon, made a joke of the matter. "Havingwaited so long, I thought I'd wait it out, Hartledon. As good be hung fora sheep as a lamb, you know, and I have no wife sitting up for me athome. "

"You had my message?"

"Yes, and that brought me here. I wanted just to say a word to you, asI am going out of town to-morrow. "

"What will you take?"

"Nothing at all. Hedges has been making me munificent offers, but Ideclined them. I never take anything after dinner, except a cup of tea orso, as you may remember, keeping a clear head for work in the morning. "

There was a slight pause. Lady Hartledon saw of course that she was _detrop_ in the conference; that Mr. Carr would not speak his "word" whilstshe was present. She had never understood why the matter should be keptapart from her; and in her heart resented it. 

"You won't say to my husband before me what you have come to say, Mr. Carr. "

It was strictly the truth, but the abrupt manner of bringing it home tohim momentarily took away Mr. Carr's power of repartee, although he wasapt enough in general, as became a special pleader. 

"You have had news from the Ashtons; that is, of their cause, and youhave come to tell it. I don't see why you and Lord Hartledon should socautiously keep everything from me. "

There was an eager look on Lord Hartledon's face as he stood behind hiswife. It was directed to Mr. Carr, and said as plainly as look could say, "Don't undeceive her; keep up the delusion. " But Thomas Carr was not soapt at keeping up delusions at the expense of truth, and he only smiledin reply. 

"What damages are they suing for?"

"Oh, " said Mr. Carr, with a laugh, and ready enough now: "ten thousandpounds will cover it. "

"Ten thousand pounds!" she echoed. "Of course they won't get half of it. In this sort of action--breach of promise--parties never get so much asthey ask for, do they?"

"Not often. "

She laughed a little as she quitted the room. It was difficult to remainlonger, and it never occurred to her to suspect that any graver matterthan this action was in question. 

"Now, Carr?" began Lord Hartledon, seating himself near the table as heclosed the door after her, and speaking in low tones. 

"I received this letter by the afternoon mail, " said Mr. Carr, taking onefrom the safe enclosure of his pocket-book. "It is satisfactory, so faras it goes. "

"I call it very satisfactory, " returned Hartledon, glancing through it. "I thought he'd listen to reason. What is done cannot be undone, andexposure will answer no end. I wrote him an urgent letter the other day, begging him to be silent for Maude's sake. Were I to expiate the pastwith my life, it could not undo it. If he brought me to the bar of mycountry to plead guilty or not guilty, the past would remain the same. "

"And I put the matter to him in my letter somewhat in the same light, though in a more business-like point of view, " returned Mr. Carr. "Therewas no entreaty in mine. I left compassion, whether for you or others, out of the argument; and said to him, what will you gain by exposure, andhow will you reconcile it to your conscience to inflict on innocentpersons the torture exposure must bring?"

"I shall breathe freely now, " said Hartledon, with a sigh of relief. "If that man gives his word not to stir in the matter, not to takeproceedings against me; in short, to bury what he knows in secrecy andsilence, as he has hitherto done; it will be all I can hope for. "

Mr. Carr lifted his eyebrows. 

"I perceive what you think: that the fact remains. Carr, I know it aswell as you; I know that _nothing_ can alter it. Don't you see thatremorse is ever present with me? driving me mad? killing me by incheswith its pain?"

"Do you know what I should be tempted to do, were the case mine?"

"Well?"

"Tell my wife. "

"Carr!"

"I almost think I should; I am not quite sure. Should the truth ever cometo her--"

"But I trust it never will come to her, " interrupted Hartledon, his facegrowing hot. 

"It's a delicate point to argue, " acknowledged Mr. Carr, "and I cannothope to bring you into my way of looking at it. Had you married MissAshton, it appears to me that you would have no resource but to tellher: the very fact of being bound to you would kill a religious, high-principled woman. "

"Not if she remained in ignorance. "

"There it is. Ought she to remain in ignorance?"

Lord Hartledon leaned his head on his hand as one faint and weary. "Carr, it is of no use to go over all this ground again. If I disclosethe whole to Maude, how would it make it better for her? Would it notrender it a hundred times worse? She could not inform against me; itwould be contrary to human nature to suppose it; and all the resultwould be, that she must go through life with the awful secret upon her, rendering her days a hell upon earth, as it is rendering mine. It's trueshe might separate from me; I dare say she would; but what satisfactionwould that bring her? No; the kinder course is to allow her to remain inignorance. Good Heavens! tell my wife! I should never dare do it!"

Mr. Carr made no reply, and a pause ensued. In truth, the matter wasencompassed with difficulties on all sides; and the barrister could butacknowledge that Val's argument had some sort of reason in it. Havingbound her to himself by marriage, it might be right that he should studyher happiness above all things. 

"It has put new life into me, " Val resumed, pointing to the letter. "Nowthat he has promised to keep the secret, there's little to fear; and Iknow that he will keep his word. I must bear the burden as I best can, and keep a smiling face to the world. "

"Did you read the postscript?" asked Mr. Carr; a feeling coming over himthat Val had not read it. 

"The postscript?"

"There's a line or two over the leaf. "

Lord Hartledon glanced at it, and found it ran thus:

 "You must be aware that another person knows of this besides myself. He who was a witness at the time, and from whom _I_ heard the particulars. Of course for him I cannot answer, and I think he is in England. I allude to G. G. Lord H. Will know. "

"Lord H. " apparently did know. He gazed down at the words with a knittedbrow, in which some surprise was mingled. 

"I declare that I understood him that night to say the fellow had died. Did not you?"

"I did, " acquiesced Mr. Carr. "I certainly assumed it as a fact, untilthis letter came to-day. Gordon was the name, I think?"

"George Gordon. "

"Since reading the letter I have been endeavouring to recollect exactlywhat he did say; and the impression on my mind is, that he spoke ofGordon as being _probably_ dead; not that he knew it for a certainty. How I could overlook the point so as not to have inquired into it morefully, I cannot imagine. But, you see, we were not discussing detailsthat night, or questioning facts: we were trying to disarm him--get himnot to proceed against you; and for myself, I confess I was so utterlystunned that half my wits had left me. "

"What is to be done?"

"We must endeavour to ascertain where Gordon is, " replied Mr. Carr, ashe re-enclosed the letter in his pocket-book. "I'll write and inquirewhat _his_ grounds are for thinking he is in England; and then trace himout--if he is to be traced. You give me carte-blanche to act?"

"You know I do, Carr. "

"All right. "

"And when you have traced him--what then?"

"That's an after-question, and I must be guided by circumstances. And nowI'll wish you good-night, " continued the barrister, rising. "It's a shameto have kept you up; but the letter contains some consolation, and I knewI could not bring it you to-morrow. "

The drawing-room was lighted when Lord Hartledon went upstairs; and hiswife sat there with a book, as if she meant to remain up all night. Sheput it down as he entered. 

"Are you here still, Maude! I thought you were tired when you came home. "

"I felt tired because I met no one I cared for, " she answered, in ratherfractious tones. "Every one we know is leaving town, or has left. "

"Yes, that's true. "

"I shall leave too. I don't mind if we go to-morrow. "

"To-morrow!" he echoed. "Why, we have the house for three weeks longer. "

"And if we have? We are not obliged to remain in it. "

Lord Hartledon put back the curtain, and stood leaning out at the openwindow, seeking a breath of air that hot summer's night, though indeedthere was none to be found; and if there had been, it could not havecooled the brow's inward fever. The Park lay before him, dark and misty;the lights of the few vehicles passing gleamed now and again; the hum oflife was dying out in the streets, men's free steps, careless voices. Helooked down, and wondered whether any one of those men knew what caremeant as _he_ knew it; whether the awful skeleton, that never quittedhim night or day, could hold such place with another. He was Earl ofHartledon; wealthy, young, handsome; he had no bad habits to hamper him;and yet he would willingly have changed lots at hazard with any one ofthose passers-by, could his breast, by so doing, have been eased of itsburden. 

"What are you looking at, Val?"

His wife had come up and stolen her arm within his, as she asked thequestion, looking out too. 

"Not at anything in particular, " he replied, making a prisoner of herhand. "The night's hot, Maude. "

"Oh, I am getting tired of London!" she exclaimed. "It is always hot now;and I believe I ought to be away from it. "

"Yes. "

"That letter I had this morning was from Ireland, from mamma. I told her, when I wrote last, how I felt; and you never read such a lecture as shegave me in return. She asked me whether I was mad, that I should be goinggalvanizing about when I ought rather to be resting three parts of mytime. "

"Galvanizing?" said Lord Hartledon. 

"So she wrote: she never waits to choose her words--you know mamma!I suppose she meant to imply that I was always on the move. "

"Do you feel ill, Maude?"

"Not exactly ill; but--I think I ought to be careful. Percival, " shebreathed, "mamma asked me whether I was trying to destroy the hope of anheir to Hartledon. "

An ice-bolt shot through him at the reminder. Better an heir should neverbe born, if it must call him father!

"I fainted to-day, Val, " she continued to whisper. 

He passed his arm round his wife's waist, and drew her closer to him. Not upon her ought he to visit his sin: she might have enough to bear, without coldness from him; rather should he be doubly tender. 

"You did not tell me about it, love. Why have you gone out this evening?"he asked reproachfully. 

"It has not harmed me. Indeed I will take care, for your sake. I shouldnever forgive myself. "

"I have thought since we married, Maude, that you did not much care forme. "

Maude made no immediate answer. She was looking out straight before her, her head on his shoulder, and Lord Hartledon saw that tears wereglistening in her eyes. 

"Yes, I do, " she said at length; and as she spoke she felt very consciousthat she _was_ caring for him. His gentle kindness, his many attractionswere beginning to tell upon her heart; and a vision of the possiblefuture, when she should love him, crossed her then and there as shestood. Lord Hartledon bent his face, and let it rest on hers. 

"We shall be happy yet, Val; and I will be as good as gold. To beginwith, we will leave London at once. I ought not to remain, and I know youhave not liked it all along. It would have been better to wait until nextyear, when we could have had our own house; only I was impatient. I feltproud of being married; of being your wife--I did indeed, Val--and I wasin a fever to be amidst my world of friends. And there's a realconfession!" she concluded, laughing. 

"Any more?" he asked, laughing with her. 

"I don't remember any more just now. Which day shall we go? You shallmanage things for me now: I won't be wilful again. Shall the servants goon first to Hartledon, or with us?"

"To Hartledon!" exclaimed Val. "Is it to Hartledon you think of going?"

"Of course it is, " she said, standing up and looking at him in surprise. "Where else should I go?"

"I thought you wished to go to Germany!"

"And so I did; but that would not do now. "

"Then let us go to the seaside, " he rather eagerly said. "Somewhere inEngland. "

"No, I would rather go to Hartledon. In one's own home rest and comfortcan be insured; and I believe I require them. Don't you wish to gothere?" she added, watching his perplexed face. 

"No, I don't. The truth is, I cannot go to Hartledon. "

"Is it because you do not care to face the Ashtons? I see! You would liketo have this business settled first. "

Lord Hartledon hardly heard the words, as he stood leaning against theopen casement, gazing into the dark and misty past. No man ever shrankfrom a prison as he shrank from Hartledon. 

"I cannot leave London at all just yet. Thomas Carr is remaining here forme, when he ought to be on circuit, and I must stay with him. I wish youwould go anywhere else, rather than to Hartledon. "

The tone was so painfully earnest, that a momentary suspicion crossed herof his having some other motive. It passed away almost as it arose, andshe accused him of being unreasonable. 

Unreasonable it did appear to be. "If you have any real reason to urgeagainst Hartledon, tell it me, " she said. But he mentioned none--savethat it was his "wish" not to go. 

And Lady Hartledon, rather piqued, gave the necessary orders on thefollowing day for the removal. No further confidential converse, orapproach to it, took place between her and her husband; but up to thelast moment she thought he would relent and accompany her. Nothing of thesort. He was anxious for her every comfort on the journey, and saw heroff himself: nothing more. 

"I never thought you would allow me to go alone, " she resentfullywhispered, as he held her hand after she was seated in the train. 

He shook his head. "It is your fault, Maude. I told you I could not go toHartledon. "

And so she went down in rather an angry frame of mind. Many a time andoft had she pictured to herself the triumph of their first visit toCalne, the place where she had taken so much pains to win him: but thearrival was certainly shorn of its glory. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

ASKING THE RECTOR. 

Perhaps Lady Hartledon had never in all her life been so much astonishedas when she reached Hartledon, for the first person she saw there was hermother: her mother, whom she had believed to be in some remote districtof Ireland. For the moment she almost wondered whether it was reallyherself or her ghost. The countess-dowager came flying down the steps--ifthat term may be applied to one of her age and size--with ratherdemonstrative affection; which, however, was not cordially received. 

"What's the matter, Maude? How you stare!"

"_Is_ it you, mamma? How _can_ it be you?"

"How can it be me?" returned the dowager, giving Maude's bonnet a fewkisses. "It _is_ me, and that's enough. My goodness, Maude, how thin youlook! I see what it is! you've been killing yourself in that racketingLondon. It's well I've come to take care of you. "

Maude went in, feeling that she could have taken care of herself, andlistening to the off-hand explanations of the countess-dowager. "Kirtonoffended me, " she said. "He and his wife are like two bears; and so Ipacked up my things and came away at once, and got here straight fromLiverpool. And now you know. "

"And is Lady Kirton quite well again?" asked Maude, helplessly, knowingshe could not turn her mother out. 

"She'd be well enough but for temper. She _was_ ill, though, when theytelegraphed for me; her life for three days and nights hanging on ashred. I told that fool of a Kirton before he married her that she had noconstitution. I suppose you and Hart were finely disappointed to find Iwas not in London when you got there. "

"Agreeably disappointed, I think, " said Maude, languidly. 

"Indeed! It's civil of you to say so. "

"On account of the smallness of the house, " added Maude, endeavouring tobe polite. "We hardly knew how to manage in it ourselves. "

"You wrote me word to take it. As to me, I can accommodate myself to anyspace. Where there's plenty of room, I take plenty; where there's not, Ican put up with a closet. I have made Mirrable give me my old rooms here:you of course take Hart's now. "

"I am very tired, " said Maude. "I think I will have some tea, and go tobed. "

"Tea!" shrieked the dowager. "I have not yet had dinner. And it'swaiting; that's more. "

"You can dine without me, mamma, " she said, walking upstairs to the newrooms. The dowager stared, and followed her. There was an indescribablesomething in Maude's manner that she did not like; it spoke of incipientrebellion, of an influence that had been, but was now thrown off. If shelost caste once, with Maude, she knew that she lost it for ever. 

"You could surely take a little dinner, Maude. You must keep up yourstrength, you know. "

"Not any dinner, thank you. I shall be all right to-morrow, when I'veslept off my fatigue. "

"Well, I know I should like mine, " grumbled the countess-dowager, feelingher position in the house already altered from what it had been duringher former sojourn, when she assumed full authority, and ordered thingsas she pleased, completely ignoring the new lord. 

"You can have it, " said Maude. 

"They won't serve it until Hartledon arrives, " was the aggrieved answer. "I suppose he's walking up from the station. He always had a queer habitof doing that. "

Maude lifted her eyes in slight surprise. Her solitary arrival was amatter of fact so established to herself, that it sounded strange for anyone else to be in ignorance of it. 

"Lord Hartledon has not come down. He is remaining in London. "

The old dowager peered at Maude through her little eyes. "What's thatfor?"

"Business, I believe. "

"Don't tell me an untruth, Maude. You have quarrelled. "

"We have not quarrelled. We are perfectly good friends. "

"And do you mean to tell me that he sent you down alone?"

"He sent the servants with me. "

"Don't be insolent, Maude. You know what I mean. "

"Why, mamma, I do not wish to be insolent. I can't tell you more, ortell it differently. Lord Hartledon did not come down with me, and theservants did. "

She spoke sharply. In her tired condition the petty conversation waswearying her; and underlying everything else in her heart, was themortifying consciousness that he had _not_ come down with her, chafingher temper almost beyond repression. Considering that Maude did notprofess to love her husband very much, it was astonishing how keenly shefelt this. 

"Are you and Hartledon upon good terms?" asked the countess-dowager aftera pause, during which she had never taken her eyes from her daughter'sface. 

"It would be early days to be on any other. "

"Oh, " said the dowager. "And you did not write me word from Paris thatyou found you had made a mistake, that you could not bear your husband!Eh, Maude?"

A tinge came into Maude's cheeks. "And you, mamma, told me that I was torule my husband with an iron hand, never allowing him to have a will ofhis own, never consulting him! Both you and I were wrong, " she continuedquietly. "I wrote that letter in a moment of irritation; and you wereassuming what has not proved to be a fact. I like my husband now quitewell enough to keep friends with him; his kindness to me is excessive;but I find, with all my wish to rule him, if I had the wish, I could notdo it. He has a will of his own, and he exerts it in spite of me; and Iam quite sure he will continue to exert it, whenever he fancies he is inthe right. You never saw any one so changed from what he used to be. "

"How do you mean?"

"I mean in asserting his own will. But he is changed in other ways. Itseems to me that he has never been quite the same man since that night inthe chapel. He has been more thoughtful; and all the old vacillation isgone. "

The countess-dowager could not understand at all; neither did shebelieve; and she only stared at Maude. 

"His _not_ coming down with me is a proof that he exercises his own willnow. I wished him to come very much, and he knew it; but you see he hasnot done so. "

"And what do you say is keeping him?" repeated the countess-dowager. 

"Business--"

"Ah, " interrupted the dowager, before Maude could finish, "that's thegeneral excuse. Always suspect it, my dear. "

"Suspect what?" asked Maude. 

"When a man says that, and gets his wife out of the way with it, relyupon it he is pursuing some nice little interests of his own. "

Lady Hartledon understood the implication; she felt nettled, and a flushrose to her face. In her husband's loyalty (always excepting his feelingtowards Miss Ashton) she rested fully assured. 

"You did not allow me to finish, " was the cold rejoinder. "Business _is_keeping him in town, for one thing; for another, I think he cannot getover his dislike to face the Ashtons. "

"Rubbish!" cried the wrathful dowager. "He does not tell you what thebusiness is, does he?" she cynically added. 

"I happen to know, " answered Maude. "The Ashtons are bringing an actionagainst him for breach of promise; and he and Mr. Carr the barrister aretrying to arrange it without its coming to a trial. "

The old lady opened her eyes and her mouth. 

"It is true. They lay the damages at ten thousand pounds!"

With a shriek the countess-dowager began to dance. Ten thousand pounds!Ten thousand pounds would keep her for ever, invested at good interest. She called the parson some unworthy names. 

"I cannot give you any of the details, " said Maude, in answer to thequestions pressed upon her. "Percival will never speak of it, or allowme to do so. I learnt it--I can hardly tell you how I learnt it--byimplication, I think; for it was never expressly told me. We had amysterious visit one night from some old parson--parson or lawyer; andPercival and Mr. Carr, who happened to be at our house, were closetedwith him for an hour or two. I saw they were agitated, and guessed whatit was; Dr. Ashton was bringing an action. They could not deny it. "

"The vile old hypocrite!" cried the incensed dowager. "Ten thousandpounds! Are you sure it is as much as that, Maude?"

"Quite. Mr. Carr told me the amount. "

"I wonder you encourage that man to your house. "

"It was one of the things I stood out against--fruitlessly, " was thequiet answer. "But I believe he means well to me; and I am sure he isdoing what he can to serve my husband. They are often together about thisbusiness. "

"_Of course_ Hartledon resists the claim?"

"I don't know. I think they are trying to compromise it, so that it shallnot come into court. "

"What does Hartledon think of it?"

"It is worrying his life out. No, mamma, it is not too strong anexpression. He says nothing; but I can see that it is half killing him. I don't believe he has slept properly since the news was brought to him. "

"What a simpleton he must be! And that man will stand up in the pulpitto-morrow and preach of charity!" continued the dowager, turning heranimadversions upon Dr. Ashton. "You are a hypocrite too, Maude, fortrying to deceive me. You and Hartledon are _not_ on good terms; don'ttell me! He would never have let you come down alone. "

Lady Hartledon would not reply. She felt vexed with her mother, vexedwith her husband, vexed on all sides; and she took refuge in her fatigueand was silent. 

The dowager went to church on the following day. Maude would not go. Thehot anger flushed into her face at the thought of showing herself therefor the first time, unaccompanied by her husband: to Maude's mind itseemed that she must look to others so very much like a deserted wife. She comes home alone; he stays in London! "Ah, why did he not come downonly for this one Sunday, and go back again--if he must have gone?" shethought. 

A month or two ago Maude had not cared enough for him to reason likethis. The countess-dowager ensconced herself in a corner of the Hartledonstate-pew, and from her blinking eyes looked out upon the Ashtons. Anne, with her once bright face looking rather wan, her modest demeanour; Mrs. Ashton, so essentially a gentlewoman; the doctor, sensible, clever, charitable, beyond all doubt a good man--a feeling came over the mind ofthe sometimes obtuse woman that of all the people before her they lookedthe least likely to enter on the sort of lawsuit spoken of by Maude. Butnever a doubt occurred to her that they _had_ entered on it. 

Lady Hartledon remained at home, her prayer-book in her hand. She wasthinking she could steal out to the evening service; it might not be somuch noticed then, her being alone. Listlessly enough she sat, toyingwith her prayer-book rather than reading it. She had never pretended tobe religious, had not been trained to be so; and reading a prayer-book, when not in church, was quite unusual to her. But there are seasons ina woman's life, times when peril is looked forward to, that bring thoughteven to the most careless nature. Maude was trying to play at "beinggood, " and was reading the psalms for the day in an absent fashion, herthoughts elsewhere; and the morning passed on. The quiet apathy of herpresent state, compared with the restless fever which had stirred herduring her last sojourn at Hartledon, was remarkable. 

Suddenly there burst in upon her the countess-dowager: that estimablelady's bonnet awry, her face scarlet, herself in a commotion. 

"I didn't suppose you'd have done it, Maude! You might play tricks uponother people, I think, but not upon your own mother. "

The interlude was rather welcome to Maude, rousing her from her apathy. Not for some few moments, however, could she understand the cause ofcomplaint. 

It appeared that the countess-dowager, with that absence of all sense ofthe fitness of things which so eminently characterized her, had joinedthe Ashtons after service, inquiring with quite motherly solicitude afterMrs. Ashton's health, complimenting Anne upon her charming looks; makingherself, in short, as agreeable as she knew how, and completely ignoringthe past in regard to her son-in-law. Gentlewomen in mind and manners, they did not repulse her, were even courteously civil; and she graciouslyaccompanied them across the road to the Rectory-gate, and there took acordial leave, saying she would look in on the morrow. 

In returning she met Dr. Ashton. He was passing her with nothing but abow; but he little knew the countess-dowager. She grasped his hand; saidhow grieved she was not to have had an opportunity of explaining away herpart in the past; hoped he would let bygones be bygones; and finally, whilst the clergyman was scheming how to get away from her withoutabsolute rudeness, she astonished him with a communication touching theaction-at-law. There ensued a little mutual misapprehension, followed bya few emphatic words of denial from Dr. Ashton; and the countess-dowagerwalked away with a scarlet face, and an explosion of anger against herdaughter. 

Lady Hartledon was not yet callous to the proprieties of life; and theintrusion on the Ashtons, which her mother confessed to, half frightened, half shamed her. But the dowager's wrath at having been misled bore downeverything. Dr. Ashton had entered no action whatever against LordHartledon; had never thought of doing it. 

"And you, you wicked, ungrateful girl, to come home to me with such aninvention, and cause me to start off on a fool's errand! Do you suppose Ishould have gone and humbled myself to those people, but for hoping tobring the parson to a sense of what he was doing in going-in for thoseenormous damages?"

"I have not come home to you with any invention, mamma. Dr. Ashton hasentered the action. "

"He has not, " raved the dowager. "It is an infamous hoax you have playedoff upon me. You couldn't find any excuse for your husband's staying inLondon, and so invented this. What with you, and what with Kirton'singratitude, I shall be driven out of house and home!"

"I won't say another word until you are calm and can talk common sense, "said Maude, leaning back in her chair, and putting down her prayer-book. 

"Common sense! What am I talking but common sense? When a child begins tomislead her own mother, the world ought to come to an end. "

Maude took no notice. 

There happened to be some water standing on a table, and the dowagerpoured out a tumblerful and drank it, though not accustomed to thebeverage. Untying her bonnet-strings she sat down, a little calmer. 

"Perhaps you'll explain this at your convenience, Maude. "

"There is nothing to explain, " was the answer. "What I told you was thetruth. The action _has_ been entered by the Ashtons. "

"And I tell you that the action has not. "

"I assure you that it has, " returned Maude. "I told you of the evening wefirst had notice of it, and the damages claimed; do you think I inventedthat, or went to sleep and dreamt it? If Val has gone down once to thatTemple about it, he has gone fifty times. He would not go for pleasure. "

The countess-dowager sat fanning herself quietly: for her daughter'swords were gaining ground. 

"There's a mistake somewhere, Maude, and it is on your side and not mine. I'll lay my life that no action has been entered by Dr. Ashton. The manspoke the truth; I can read the truth when I see it as well as anyone:his face flushed with pain and anger at such a thing being said of him. It may not be difficult to explain this contradiction. "

"Do you think not?" returned Maude, her indifference exciting thelistener to anger. 

"_I_ should say Hartledon is deceiving you. If any action is enteredagainst him at all, it isn't that sort of action; or perhaps the younglady is not Miss Ashton, but some other; he's just the kind of man to bedrawn into promising marriage to a dozen or two. Very clever of him topalm you off with this tale: a man may get into five hundred troubles notconvenient to disclose to his wife. "

Except that Lady Hartledon's cheek flushed a little, she made no answer;she held firmly--at least she thought she held firmly--to her own sideof the case. Her mother, on the contrary, adopted the new view, anddismissed it from her thoughts accordingly. 

Maude went to church in the evening, sitting alone in the great pew, paleand quiet. Anne Ashton was also alone; and the two whilom rivals, thetriumphant and the rejected, could survey each other to their heart'scontent. 

Not very triumphant was Maude's feeling. Strange perhaps to say, thesuggestion of the old dowager, like instilled poison, was making its wayinto her very veins. Her thoughts had been busy with the matter eversince. One positive conviction lay in her heart--that Dr. Ashton, nowreading the first lesson before her, for he was taking the whole of theservice that evening, could not, under any circumstance, be guilty of afalse assertion or subterfuge. One solution of the difficulty presenteditself to her--that her mother, in her irascibility, had misunderstoodthe Rector; and yet that was improbable. As Maude half sat, half lay backin the pew, for the faint feeling was especially upon her that evening, she thought she would give a great deal to set the matter at rest. 

When the service was over she took the more secluded way home; those ofthe servants who had attended returning as usual by the road. On reachingthe turning where the three paths diverged, the faintness which had beenhovering over her all the evening suddenly grew worse; and but for afriendly tree, she might have fallen. It grew better in a few moments, but she did not yet quit her support. 

Very surprised was the Rector of Calne to come up and see Lady Hartledonin this position. Every Sunday evening, after service, he went to visita man in one of the cottages, who was dying of consumption, and he was onhis way there now. He would have preferred to pass without speaking: butLady Hartledon looked in need of assistance; and in common Christiankindness he could not pass her by. 

"I beg your pardon, Lady Hartledon. Are you ill?"

She took his offered arm with her disengaged hand, as an additionalsupport; and her white face turned a shade whiter. 

"A sudden faintness overtook me. I am better now, " she said, when able tospeak. 

"Will you allow me to walk on with you?"

"Thank you; just a little way. If you will not mind it. "

That he must have understood the feeling which prompted the concludingwords was undoubted: and perhaps had Lady Hartledon been in possessionof her keenest senses, she might never have spoken them. Pride and healthgo out of us together. Dr. Ashton took her on his arm, and they walkedslowly in the direction of the little bridge. Colour was returning to herface, strength to her frame. 

"The heat of the day has affected you, possibly?"

"Yes, perhaps; I have felt faint at times lately. The church was very hotto-night. "

Nothing more was said until the bridge was gained, and then Maudereleased his arm. 

"Dr. Ashton, I thank you very much. You have been a friend in need. "

"But are you sure you are strong enough to go on alone? I will escort youto the house if you are not. "

"Quite strong enough now. Thank you once again. "

As he was bowing his farewell, a sudden impulse to speak, and set thematter that was troubling her at rest, came over her. Without a moment'sdeliberation, without weighing her words, she rushed upon it; theostensible plea an apology for her mother's having spoken to him. 

"Yes, I told Lady Kirton she was labouring under some misapprehension, "he quietly answered. 

"Will you forgive _me_ also for speaking of it?" she murmured. "Since mymother came home with the news of what you said, I have been lost in asea of conjecture: I could not attend to the service for dwelling uponit, and might as well not have been in church--a curious confession tomake to you, Dr. Ashton. Is it indeed true that you know nothing ofthe matter?"

"Lady Kirton told me in so many words that I had entered an actionagainst Lord Hartledon for breach of promise, and laid the damages at tenthousand pounds, " returned Dr. Ashton, with a plainness of speech and acynical manner that made her blush. And she saw at once that he had donenothing of the sort; saw it without any more decisive denial. 

"But the action has been entered, " said Lady Hartledon. 

"I beg your pardon, madam. Lord Hartledon is, I should imagine, the onlyman living who could suppose me capable of such a thing. "

"And you have _not_ entered on it!" she reiterated, half bewildered bythe denial. 

"Most certainly not. When I parted with Lord Hartledon on a certainevening, which probably your ladyship remembers, I washed my hands of himfor good, desiring never to approach him in any way whatever, never hearof him, never see him again. Your husband, madam, is safe for me: Idesire nothing better than to forget that such a man is in existence. "

Lifting his hat, he walked away. And Lady Hartledon stood and gazed afterhim as one in a dream. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

MR. CARR AT WORK. 

Thomas Carr was threading his way through the mazy precincts of Gray'sInn, with that quick step and absorbed manner known only, I think, to thebusy man of our busy metropolis. He was on his way to make some inquiriesof a firm of solicitors, Messrs. Kedge and Reck, strangers to him in allbut name. 

Up some dark and dingy stairs, he knocked at a dark and dingy door:which, after a minute, opened of itself by some ingenious contrivance, and let him into a passage, whence he turned into a room, where twoclerks were writing at a desk. 

"Can I see Mr. Kedge?"

"Not in, " said one of the clerks, without looking up. 

"Mr. Reck, then?"

"Not in. "

"When will either of them be in?" continued the barrister; thinking thatif he were Messrs. Kedge and Reck the clerk would get his discharge forincivility. 

"Can't say. What's your business?"

"My business is with them: not with you. "

"You can see the managing clerk. "

"I wish to see one of the partners. "

"Could you give your name?" continued the gentleman, equably. 

Mr. Carr handed in his card. The clerk glanced at it, and surreptitiouslyshowed it to his companion; and both of them looked up at him. Mr. Carrof the Temple was known by reputation, and they condescended to becomecivil. 

"Take a seat for a moment, sir, " said the one. "I'll inquire how long Mr. Kedge will be; but Mr. Reek's not in town to-day. "

A few minutes, and Thomas Carr found himself in a small square room withthe head of the firm, a youngish man and somewhat of a dandy, especiallygenial in manner, as though in contrast to his clerk. He welcomed therising barrister. 

"There's as much difficulty in getting to see you as if you were Pope ofRome, " cried Mr. Carr, good humouredly. 

The lawyer laughed. "Hopkins did not know you: and strangers aregenerally introduced to Mr. Reck, or to our managing clerk. What canI do for you, Mr. Carr?"

"I don't know that you can do anything for me, " said Mr. Carr, seatinghimself; "but I hope you can. At the present moment I am engaged insifting a piece of complicated business for a friend; a private matterentirely, which it is necessary to keep private. I am greatly interestedin it myself, as you may readily believe, when it is keeping me fromcircuit. Indeed it may almost be called my own affair, " he added, observing the eyes of the lawyer fixed upon him, and not caring theyshould see into his business too clearly. "I fancy you have a clerk, orhad a clerk, who is cognizant of one or two points in regard to it: canyou put me in the way of finding out where he is? His name is Gordon. "

"Gordon! We have no clerk of that name. Never had one, that I remember. How came you to fancy it?"

"I heard it from my own clerk, Taylor. One day last week I happened tosay before him that I'd give a five-pound note out of my pocket to getat the present whereabouts of this man Gordon. Taylor is a shrewdfellow; full of useful bits of information, and knows, I really believe, three-fourths of London by name. He immediately said a young man of thatname was with Messrs. Kedge and Reck, of Gray's Inn, either as clerk, orin some other capacity; and when he described this clerk of yours, I feltnearly sure that it was the man I am looking for. I got Taylor to makeinquiries, and he did, I believe, of one of your clerks; but he couldlearn nothing, except that no one of that name was connected with younow. Taylor persists that he is or was connected with you; and soI thought the shortest plan to settle the matter was to ask yourselves. "

"We have no clerk of that name, " repeated Mr. Kedge, pushing back somepapers on the table. "Never had one. "

"Understand, " said Mr. Carr, thinking it just possible the lawyer mightbe mistaking his motives, "I have nothing to allege against the man, anddo not seek to injure him. The real fact is, that I do not want to seehim or to be brought into personal contact with him; I only want to knowwhether he is in London, and, if so, where?"

"I assure you he is not connected with us, " repeated Mr. Kedge. "I wouldtell you so in a moment if he were. "

"Then I can only apologise for having troubled you, " said the barrister, rising. "Taylor must have been mistaken. And yet I would have backed hisword, when he positively asserts a thing, against the world. I hardlyever knew him wrong. "

Mr. Kedge was playing with the locket on his watch-chain, his head bentin thought. 

"Wait a moment, Mr. Carr. I remember now that we took a clerk temporarilyinto the office in the latter part of last year. His writing did notsuit, and we kept him only a week or two. I don't know what his name was, but it might have been Gordon. "

"Do you remember what sort of a man he was?" asked Mr. Carr, somewhateagerly. 

"I really do not. You see, I don't come much into contact with ourclerks. Reck does; but he's not here to-day. I fancy he had red hair. "

"Gordon had reddish hair. "

"You had better see Kimberly, " said the solicitor, ringing a bell. "He isour managing clerk, and knows everything. "

A grey-haired, silent-looking man came in with stooping shoulders. Mr. Kedge, without any circumlocution, asked whether he remembered any clerkof the name of Gordon having been in the house. Mr. Kimberly responded bysaying that they never had one in the house of the name. 

"Well, I thought not, " observed the principal. "There was one had in fora short time, you know, while Hopkins was ill. I forget his name. "

"His name was Druitt, sir. We employed a man of the name of Gorton to dosome outdoor business for us at times, " continued the managing clerk, turning his eyes on the barrister; "but not lately. "

"What sort of business?"

"Serving writs. "

"Gorton is not Gordon, " remarked Mr. Kedge, with legal acumen. "By theway, Kimberly, I have heard nothing of Gorton lately. What has become ofhim?"

"I have not the least idea, sir. We parted in a huff, so he wouldn'tperhaps be likely to come in my way again. Some business that hemismanaged, if you remember, sir, down at Calne. "

"When he arrested one man for another, " laughed the lawyer, "and gotentangled in a coroner's inquest, and I don't know what all. "

Mr. Carr had pricked up his ears, scarcely daring to breathe. But hismanner was careless to a degree. 

"The man he arrested being Lord Hartledon; the man he ought to havearrested being the Honourable Percival Elster, " he interposed, laughing. 

"What! do you know about it?" cried the lawyer. 

"I remember hearing of it; I was intimate with Mr. Elster at the time. "

"He has since become Lord Hartledon. "

"Yes. But about this Gorton! I should not be in the least surprised if heis the man I am inquiring for. Can you describe him to me, Mr. Kimberly?"

"He is a short, slight man, under thirty, with red hair and whiskers. "

Mr. Carr nodded. 

"Light hair with a reddish tinge it has been described to me. Do youhappen to be at all acquainted with his antecedents?"

"Not I; I know nothing about, the man, " said Mr. Kedge. "Kimberly does, perhaps. "

"No, sir, " dissented Kimberly. "He had been to Australia, I believe; andthat's all I know about him. "

"It is the same man, " said Mr. Carr, quietly. "And if you can tell meanything about him, " he continued, turning to the older man, "I shall beexceedingly obliged to you. To begin with--when did you first know him?"

But at this juncture an interruption occurred. Hopkins the discourteouscame in with a card, which he presented to his principal. The gentlemanwas waiting to see Mr. Kedge. Two more clients were also waiting, headded, Thomas Carr rose, and the end of it was that he went with Mr. Kimberly to his own room. 

"It's Carr of the Inner Temple, " whispered Mr. Kedge in his clerk's ear. 

"Oh, I know him, sir. "

"All right. If you can help him, do so. "

"I first knew Gorton about fifteen months ago, " observed the clerk, whenthey were shut in together. "A friend of mine, now dead, spoke of him tome as a respectable young fellow who had fallen in the world, and askedif I could help him to some employment. I think he told me somewhat ofhis history; but I quite forget it. I know he was very low down then, with scarcely bread to eat. "

"Did this friend of yours call him Gorton or Gordon?" interrupted Mr. Carr. 

"Gorton. I never heard him called Gordon at all. I remember seeing abook of his that he seemed to set some store by. It was printed in oldEnglish, and had his name on the title-page: 'George Gorton. From hisaffectionate father, W. Gorton. ' I employed him in some outdoor work. He knew London perfectly well, and seemed to know people too. "

"And he had been to Australia?"

"He had been to Australia, I feel sure. One day he accidentally let slipsome words about Melbourne, which he could not well have done unless hehad seen the place. I taxed him with it, and he shuffled out of it withsome excuse; but in such a manner as to convince me he had been there. "

"And now, Mr. Kimberly, I am going to ask you another question. You spokeof his having been at Calne; I infer that you sent him to the place onthe errand to Mr. Elster. Try to recollect whether his going there wasyour own spontaneous act, or whether he was the original mover in thejourney?"

The grey-haired clerk looked up as though not understanding. 

"You don't quite take me, I see. "

"Yes I do, sir; but I was thinking. So far as I can recollect, it was ourown spontaneous act. I am sure I had no reason to think otherwise at thetime. We had had a deal of trouble with the Honourable Mr. Elster; andwhen it was found that he had left town for the family seat, we came tothe resolution to arrest him. "

Thomas Carr paused. "Do you know anything of Gordon's--or Gorton's doingsin Calne? Did you ever hear him speak of them afterwards?"

"I don't know that I did particularly. The excuse he made to us forarresting Lord Hartledon was, that the brothers were so much alike hemistook the one for the other. "

"Which would infer that he knew Mr. Elster by sight. "

"It might; yes. It was not for the mistake that we discharged him;indeed, not for anything at all connected with Calne. He did seem to havegone about his business there in a very loose way, and to have paid lessattention to our interests than to the gossip of the place; of whichthere was a tolerable amount just then, on account of Lord Hartledon'sunfortunate death. Gorton was set upon another job or two when hereturned; and one of those he contrived to mismanage so woefully, thatI would give him no more to do. It struck me that he must drink, or elsewas accessible to a bribe. "

Mr. Carr nodded his head, thinking the latter more than probable. Hisfingers were playing with a newspaper which happened to lie on theclerk's desk; and he put the next question with a very well-assumed airof carelessness, as if it were but the passing thought of the moment. 

"Did he ever talk about Mr. Elster?"

"Never but once. He came to my house one evening to tell me he haddiscovered the hiding-place of a gentleman we were looking for. I wastaking my solitary glass of gin and water after supper, the onlystimulant I ever touch--and that by the doctor's orders--and I could notdo less than ask him to help himself. You see, sir, we did not look uponhim as a common sheriff's man: and he helped himself pretty freely. Thatmade him talkative. I fancy his head cannot stand much; and he beganrambling upon recent affairs at Calne; he had not been back above a weekthen--"

"And he spoke of Mr. Elster?"

"He spoke a good deal of him as the new Lord Hartledon, all in a ramblingsort of way. He hinted that it might be in his power to bring home to himsome great crime. "

"The man must have been drunk indeed!" remarked Mr. Carr, with the mostperfect assumption of indifference; a very contrast to the fear that shotthrough his heart. "What crime, pray? I hope he particularized it. "

"What he seemed to hint at was some unfair play in connection with hisbrother's death, " said the old clerk, lowering his voice. "'A man at hiswits' end for money would do many queer things, ' he remarked. "

Mr. Carr's eyes flashed. "What a dangerous fool he must be! You surelydid not listen to him!"

"I, sir! I stopped him pretty quickly, and bade him sew up his mouthuntil he came to his sober senses again. Oh, they make great simpletonsof themselves, some of these young fellows, when they get a little drinkinto them. "

"They do, " said the barrister. "Did he ever allude to the matter again?"

"Never; and when I saw him the next day, he seemed ashamed of himself, and asked if he had not been talking a lot of nonsense. About a fortnightafter that we parted, and I have never seen him since. "

"And you really do not know what has become of him?"

"Not at all. I should think he has left London. "

"Why?"

"Because had he remained in it he'd be sure to have come bothering me toemploy him again; unless, indeed, he has found some one else to do it. "

"Well, " said Mr. Carr, rising, "will you do me this favour? If you comeacross the man again, or learn tidings of him in any way, let me know itat once. I do not want him to hear of me, or that I have made inquiriesabout him. I only wish to ascertain _where_ he is, if that be possible. Any one bringing me this information privately will find it well worthhis while. "

He went forth into the busy streets again, sick at heart; and uponreaching his chambers wrote a note for a detective officer, and put somebusiness into his hands. 

Meanwhile Lord Hartledon remained in London. When the term for whichthey had engaged the furnished house was expired he took lodgings inGrafton Street; and there he stayed, his frame of mind restless andunsatisfactory. Lady Hartledon wrote to him sometimes, and he answeredher. She said not a word about the discovery she had made in regard tothe alleged action-at-law; but she never failed in every letter to askwhat he was doing, and when he was coming home--meaning to Hartledon. He put her off in the best way he could: he and Carr were very busytogether, he said: as to home, he could not mention any particular time. And Lady Hartledon bottled up her curiosity and her wrath, and waitedwith what patience she possessed. 

The truth was--and, perhaps, the reader may have divined it--that gravermotives than the sensitive feeling of not liking to face the Ashtons werekeeping Lord Hartledon from his wife and home. He had once, in hisbachelor days, wished himself a savage in some remote desert, where hiscivilized acquaintance could not come near him; he had a thousand timesmore reason to wish himself one now. 

One dusty day, when the excessive heat of summer was on the wane, he wentdown to Mr. Carr's chambers, and found that gentleman out. Not out forlong, the clerk thought; and sat down and waited. The room he was inlooked out on the cool garden, the quiet river; in the one there was nota soul except Mr. Broom himself, who had gone in to watch the progressof his chrysanthemums, and was stooping lovingly over the beds; on theother a steamer, freighted with a straggling few, was paddling up theriver against the tide, and a barge with its brown sail was coming downin all its picturesque charm. The contrast between this quiet scene andthe bustling, dusty, jostling world he had come in from, was gratefuleven to his disturbed heart; and he felt half inclined to go round tothe garden and fling himself on the lawn as a man might do who was freefrom care. 

Mr. Carr indulged in the costly luxury of three rooms in the Temple; hissitting-room, which was his work-room, a bedroom, and a little outerroom, the sanctum of his clerk. Lord Hartledon was in the sitting-room, but he could hear the clerk moving about in the ante-room, as if he hadno writing on hand that morning. When tired of waiting, he called him in. 

"Mr. Taylor, how long do you think he will be? I've been dozing, Ithink. "

"Well, I thought he'd have been here before now, my lord. He generallytells me if he is going out for any length of time; but he said nothingto-day. "

"A newspaper would be something to while away one's time, or a book, "grumbled Hartledon. "Not those, " glancing at a book-case full ofponderous law-volumes. 

"Your lordship has taken the cream out of them already, " remarked theclerk, with a laugh; and Hartledon's brow knitted at the words. He had"taken the cream" out of those old law-books, if studying them could doit, for he had been at them pretty often of late. 

But Mr. Taylor's remarks had no ulterior meaning. Being a shrewd man, hecould not fail to suspect that Lord Hartledon was in a scrape of somesort; but from a word dropped by his master he supposed it to involvenothing more than a question of debt; and he never suspected that theword had been dropped purposely. "Scamps would claim money twice overwhen they could, " said Mr. Carr; and Elster was a careless man, alwayslosing his receipts. He was a short, slight man, this clerk--in buildsomething like his master--with an intelligent, silent face, a small, sharp nose, and fair hair. He had been born a gentleman, he was wont tosay; and indeed he looked one; but he had not received an educationcommensurate with that fact, and had to make his own way in the world. He might do it yet, perhaps, he remarked one day to Lord Hartledon; andcertainly, if steady perseverance could effect it, he would: all hisspare time was spent in study. 

"He has not gone to one of those blessed consultations in somebody'schambers, has he?" cried Val. "I have known them last three hours. "

"I have known them last longer than that, " said the clerk equably. "Butthere are none on just now. "

"I can't think what has become of him. He made an appointment with me forthis morning. And where's his _Times_?"

Mr. Taylor could not tell where; he had been looking for the newspaper onhis own account. It was not to be found; and they could only come to theconclusion that the barrister had taken it out with him. 

"I wish you'd go out and buy me one, " said Val. 

"I'll go with pleasure, my lord. But suppose any one comes to the door?"

"Oh, I'll answer it. They'll think Carr has taken on a new clerk. "

Mr. Taylor laughed, and went out. Hartledon, tired of sitting, beganto pace the room and the ante-room. Most men would have taken theirdeparture; but he had nothing to do; he had latterly shunned that portionof the world called society; and was as well in Mr. Carr's chambers asin his own lodgings, or in strolling about with his troubled heart. While thus occupied, there came a soft tap to the outer door--as wassure to be the case, the clerk being absent--and Val opened it. Amiddle-aged, quiet-looking man stood there, who had nothing speciallynoticeable in his appearance, except a pair of deep-set dark eyes, underbushy eyebrows that were turning grey. 

"Mr. Carr within?"

"Mr. Carr's not in, " replied the temporary clerk. "I dare say you canwait. "

"Likely to be long?"

"I should think not. I have been waiting for him these two hours. "

The applicant entered, and sat down in the clerk's room. Lord Hartledonwent into the other, and stood drumming on the window-pane, as he gazedout upon the Temple garden. 

"I'd go, but for that note of Carr's, " he said to himself. "If--Halloa!that's his voice at last. "

Mr. Carr and his clerk had returned together. The former, after a fewmoments, came in to Lord Hartledon. 

"A nice fellow you are, Carr! Sending me word to be here at eleveno'clock, and then walking off for two mortal hours!"

"I sent you word to wait for me at your own home!"

"Well, that's good!" returned Val. "It said, 'Be here at eleven, ' asplainly as writing could say it. "

"And there was a postscript over the leaf telling you, on second thought, _not_ to be here, but to wait at home for me, " said Mr. Carr. "Iremembered a matter of business that would take me up your way thismorning, and thought I'd go on to you. It's just your careless fashion, Hartledon, reading only half your letters! You should have turned itover. "

"Who was to think there was anything on the other side? Folk don't turntheir letters over from curiosity when they are concluded on the firstpage. "

"I never had a letter in my life but I turned it over to make sure, "observed the more careful barrister. "I have had my walk for nothing. "

"And I have been cooling my heels here! And you took the newspaper withyou!"

"No, I did not. Churton sent in from his rooms to borrow it. "

"Well, let the misunderstanding go, and forgive me for being cross. Doyou know, Carr, I think I am growing ill-tempered from trouble. Whatnews have you for me?"

"I'll tell you by-and-by. Do you know who that is in the other room?"

"Not I. He seemed to stare me inside-out in a quiet way as I let him in. "

"Ay. It's Green, the detective. At times a question occurs to me whetherthat's his real name, or one assumed in his profession. He has come toreport at last. Had you better remain?"

"Why not?"

Mr. Carr looked dubious. 

"You can make some excuse for my presence. "

"It's not that. I'm thinking if you let slip a word--"

"Is it likely?"

"Inadvertently, I mean. "

"There's no fear. You have not mentioned my name to him?"

"I retort in your own words--Is it likely? He does not know why he isbeing employed or what I want with the man I wish traced. At present heis working, as far as that goes, in the dark. I might have put him on afalse scent, just as cleverly and unsuspiciously as I dare say he couldput me; but I've not done it. What's the matter with you to-day, Hartledon? You look ill. "

"I only look what I am, then, " was the answer. "But I'm no worsethan usual. I'd rather be transported--I'd rather be hanged, for thatmatter--than lead the life of misery I am leading. At times I feelinclined to give in, but then comes the thought of Maude. "

CHAPTER XXIV. 

SOMEBODY ELSE AT WORK. 

They were shut in together: the detective officer, Mr. Carr, and LordHartledon. "You may speak freely before this gentleman, " observed Mr. Carr, as if in apology for a third being present. "He knows the parties, and is almost as much interested in the affair as I am. "

The detective glanced at Lord Hartledon with his deep eyes, but he didnot know him, and took out a note-book, on which some words and figureswere dotted down, hieroglyphics to any one's eyes but his own. Squaringhis elbows on the table, he begun abruptly; and appeared to have a habitof cutting short his words and sentences. 

"Haven't succeeded yet as could wish, Mr. Carr; at least not altogether:have had to be longer over it, too, than thought for. George Gordon:Scotch birth, so far as can learn; left an orphan; lived mostly inLondon. Served time to medical practitioner, locality Paddington. Idle, visionary, loose in conduct, good-natured, fond of roving. Surgeonwouldn't keep him as assistant; might have done it, he says, had G. G. Been of settled disposition: saw him in drink three times. Next turnsup in Scotland, assistant to a doctor there; name Mair, localityKirkcudbrightshire. Remained less than a year; left, saying was goingto Australia. So far, " broke off the speaker, raising his eyes to Mr. Carr's, "particulars tally with the information supplied by you. "

"Just so. "

"Then my further work began, " continued Mr. Green. "Afraid what I've gottogether won't be satisfactory; differ from you in opinion, at any rate. G. G. Went to Australia; no doubt of that; friend of his got a letter ortwo from him while there: last one enclosed two ten-pound notes, borrowedby G. G. Before he went out. Last letter said been up to the diggings;very successful; coming home with his money, mentioned ship he meant tosail in. Hadn't been in Australia twelve months. "

"Who was the friend?" asked Mr. Carr. 

"Respectable man; gentleman; former fellow-pupil with Gordon in London;in good practice for himself now; locality Kensington. After last letter, friend perpetually looking out for G. G. G. G. Did not make his appearance;conclusion friend draws is he did not come back. Feels sure Gordon, whether rich or poor, in ill-report or good-report, would have comedirect to him. "

"I happen to know that he did come back, " said Mr. Carr. 

"Don't think it, " was the unceremonious rejoinder. 

"I know it positively. And that he was in London. "

The detective looked over his notes, as if completely ignoring Mr. Carr'swords. 

"You heard, gentlemen, of that mutiny on board the ship _Morning Star_, some three years ago? Made a noise at the time. "

"Well?"

"Ringleader was this same man, George Gordon. "

"No!" exclaimed Mr. Carr. 

"No reasonable doubt about it. Friend of his feels none: can'tunderstand how G. G. Could have turned suddenly cruel; never was that. Pooh! when men have been leading lawless lives in the bush, perhaps takenregularly to drinking--which G. G. Was inclined to before--they're readyfor any crime under the sun. "

"But how do you connect Gordon with the ringleader of that diabolicalmutiny?"

"Easy enough. Same name, George Gordon: wrote to a friend the ship he wascoming home in--_Morning Star_. It _was_ the same; price on G. G. 's headto this day: shouldn't mind getting it. Needn't pother over it, sir;'twas Gordon: but he'd never put his foot in London. "

"If true, it would account for his not showing himself to hisfriend--assuming that he did come back, " observed Mr. Carr. 

"Friend says not. Sure that G. G. , whatever he might have been guilty of, would go to him direct; knew he might depend on him in any trouble. Aproof, he argues, that G. G. Never came back. "

"But I tell you he did come back, " repeated the barrister. "Strange thesimilarity of name never struck me, " he added, turning to Lord Hartledon. "I took some interest in that mutiny at the time; but it never occurredto me to connect this man or his name with it. A noted name, at any rate, if not a very common one. "

Lord Hartledon nodded. He had sat silent throughout, a little apart, hisface somewhat turned from them, as though the business did not concernhim. 

"And now I will relate to you what more I know of Gordon, " resumed Mr. Carr, moving his chair nearer the detective, and so partially screeningLord Hartledon. "He was in London last year, employed by Kedge and Reck, of Gray's Inn, to serve writs. What he had done with himself from thetime of the mutiny--allowing that he was identical with the Gordon ofthat business--I dare say no one living could tell, himself excepted. Hewas calling himself Gorton last autumn. Not much of a change from his ownname. "

"George Gorton, " assented the detective. 

"Yes, George Gorton. I knew this much when I first applied to you. I did not mention it because I preferred to let you go to work withoutit. Understand me; that it is the same man, I _know_; but there arenevertheless discrepancies in the case that I cannot reconcile; and Ithought you might possibly arrive at some knowledge of the man withoutthis clue better than with it. "

"Sorry to differ from you, Mr. Carr; must hold to the belief that GeorgeGorton, employed at Kedge and Reck's, was not the same man at all, " camethe cool and obstinate rejoinder. "Have sifted the apparent similaritybetween the two, and drawn conclusions accordingly. "

The remark implied that the detective was wiser on the subject of GeorgeGorton than Mr. Carr had bargained for, and a shadow of apprehensionstole over him. It was by no means his wish that the sharp detective andthe man should come into contact with each other; all he wanted was tofind out where he was at present, _not_ that he should be meddled with. This he had fully explained in the first instance, and the other hadacquiesced in his curt way. 

"You are thinking me uncommon clever, getting on the track of GeorgeGorton, when nothing on the surface connects him with the man wanted, "remarked the detective, with professional vanity. "Came upon itaccidentally; as well confess it; don't want to assume more credit than'sdue. It was in this way. Evening following your instructions, had to seemanaging clerk of Kedge and Reck; was engaged on a little matter forthem. Business over, he asked me if I knew anything of a man named GeorgeGorton, or Gordon--as I seemed to know something of pretty welleverybody. Having just been asked here about George Gordon, I naturallyconnected the two questions together. Inquired of Kimberly _why_ hesuspected his clerk Gorton should be Gordon; Kimberly replied he did notsuspect him, but a gentleman did, who had been there that day. This putme on Gorton's track. "

"And you followed it up?"

"Of course; keeping my own counsel. Took it up in haste, though; nodeliberation; went off to Calne, without first comparing notes withGordon's friend the surgeon. "

"To Calne!" explained Mr. Carr, while Lord Hartledon turned his head andtook a sharp look at the speaker. 

A nod was the only answer. "Got down; thought at first as you do, Mr. Carr, that man was the same, and was on right track. Went to work in myown way; was a countryman just come into a snug bit of inheritance, looking out for a corner of land. Wormed out a bit here and a bit there;heard this from one, that from another; nearly got an interview with myLord Hartledon himself, as candidate for one of his farms. "

"Lord Hartledon was not at Calne, I think, " interrupted Mr. Carr, speaking impulsively. 

"Know it now; didn't then; and wanted, for own purposes, to get a sightof him and a word with him. Went to his place: saw a queer old creaturein yellow gauze; saw my lord's wife, too, at a distance; fine woman; gotintimate with butler, named Hedges; got intimate with two or three more;altogether turned the recent doings of Mr. Gorton inside out. "

"Well?" said Mr. Carr, in his surprise. 

"Care to hear 'em?" continued the detective, after a moment's pause; anda feeling crossed Mr. Carr, that if ever he had a deep man to deal withit was this one, in spite of his apparent simplicity. "Gorton went downon his errand for Kedge and Reck, writ in pocket for Mr. Elster; hadboasted he knew him. Can't quite make out whether he did or not; anyrate, served writ on Lord Hartledon by mistake. Lordship made a joke ofit; took up the matter as a brother ought; wrote himself to Kedge andReck to get it settled. Brothers quarrelled; day or two, and elder wasdrowned, nobody seems to know how. Gorton stopped on, against orders fromKimberly; said afterwards, by way of excuse, had been served with summonsto attend inquest. Couldn't say much at inquest, or _didn't_; was askedif he witnessed accident; said 'No, ' but some still think he did. Showedhimself at Hartledon afterwards trying to get interview with new lord;new lord wouldn't see him, and butler turned him out. Gorton in a rage, went back to inn, got some drink, said he might be able to _make_ hislordship see him yet; hinted at some secret, but too far gone to knowwhat he said; began boasting of adventures in Australia. Loose man there, one Pike, took him in charge, and saw him off by rail for London. "

"Yes?" said Mr. Carr, for the speaker had stopped. 

"That's pretty near all as far as Gorton goes. Got a clue to an addressin London, where he might be heard of: got it oddly, too; but that's nomatter. Came up again and went to address; could learn nothing; trackedhere, tracked there, both for Gordon and Gorton; found Gorton disappearedclose upon time he was cast adrift by Kimberly. Not in London as far ascan be traced; where gone, can't tell yet. So much done, summed up myexperiences and came here to-day to state them. "

"Proceed, " said Mr. Carr. 

The detective put his note-book in his pocket, and with his elbows stillon the table, pressed his fingers together alternately as he stated hispoints, speaking less abruptly than before. 

"My conclusion is--the Gordon you spoke to me about was the Gordon wholed the mutiny on board the _Morning Star_; that he never, after that, came back to England; has never been heard of, in short, by any livingsoul in it. That the Gorton employed by Kedge and Reck was another manaltogether. Neither is to be traced; the one may have found his grave inthe sea years ago; the other has disappeared out of London life sincelast October, and I can't trace how or where. "

Mr. Carr listened in silence. To reiterate that the two men wereidentical, would have been waste of time, since he could not avow howhe knew it, or give the faintest clue. The detective himself hadunconsciously furnished a proof. 

"Will you tell me your grounds for believing them to be different men?"he asked. 

"Nay, " said the keen detective, "the shortest way would be for you togive me your grounds for thinking them to be the same. "

"I cannot do it, " said Mr. Carr. "It might involve--no, I cannot do it. "

"Well, I suspected so. I don't mind mentioning one or two on my side. The description of Gorton, as I had it from Kimberly, does not accordwith that of Gordon as given me by his friend the surgeon. I wrote outthe description of Gorton, and took it to him. 'Is this Gordon?' Iasked. 'No, it is not, ' said he; and I'm sure he spoke the truth. "

"Gordon, on his return from Australia, might be a different-looking manfrom the Gordon who went to it. "

"And would be, no doubt. But see here: Gorton was not disguised; Gordonwould not dare to be in London without being so; his head's not worth aday's purchase. Fancy his walking about with only one letter in his namealtered! Rely upon it, Mr. Carr, you are mistaken; Gordon would no moredare come back and put his head into the lion's mouth than you'd jumpinto a fiery furnace. He couldn't land without being dropped upon: theman was no common offender, and we've kept our eyes open. And that'sall, " added the detective, after a pause. "Not very satisfactory, is it, Mr. Carr? But, such as it is, I think you may rely upon it, in spite ofyour own opinion. Meanwhile, I'll keep on the look-out for Gorton, andtell you if he turns up. "

The conference was over, and Mr. Green took his departure. Thomas Carrsaw him out himself, returned and sat down in a reverie. 

"It's a curious tale, " said Lord Hartledon. 

"I'm thinking how the fact, now disclosed, of Gordon's being Gordon ofthe mutiny, affects you, " remarked Mr. Carr. 

"You believe him to be the same?"

"I see no reason to doubt it. It's not probable that two George Gordonsshould take their passage home in the _Morning Star_. Besides, itexplains points that seemed incomprehensible. I could not understandwhy you were not troubled by this man, but rely upon it he has found itexpedient to go into effectual hiding, and dare not yet come out of it. This fact is a very great hold upon him; and if he turns round on you, you may keep him in check with it. Only let me alight on him; I'll sofrighten him as to cause him to ship himself off for life. "

"I don't like that detective's having gone down to Calne, " remarked LordHartledon. 

Neither did Mr. Carr, especially if Gordon, or Gorton, should have becometalkative, as there was reason to believe he had. 

"Gordon is in England, and in hiding; probably in London, for there's noplace where you may hide so effectually. One thing I am astonished at:that he should show himself openly as George Gorton. "

"Look here, Carr, " said Lord Hartledon, leaning forward; "I don'tbelieve, in spite of you and the detective, that Gordon, our Gordon, wasthe one connected with the mutiny. I might possibly get a descriptionof that man from Gum of Calne; for his son was coming home in the sameship--was one of those killed. "

"Who's Gum of Calne?"

"The parish clerk, and a very respectable man. Mirrable, our housekeeperwhom you have seen, is related to them. Gum went to Liverpool at thetime, I know, and saw the remnant of the passengers those pirates hadspared; he was sure to hear a full description of Gordon. If ever I visitHartledon again I'll ask him. "

"If ever you visit Hartledon again!" echoed Mr. Carr. "Unless you leavethe country--as I advise you to do--you cannot help visiting Hartledon. "

"Well, I would almost as soon be hanged!" cried Val. "And now, what doyou want me for, and why have you kept me here?"

Mr. Carr drew his chair nearer to Lord Hartledon. They alone knew theirown troubles, and sat talking long after the afternoon was over. Mr. Taylor came to the room; it was past his usual hour of departure. 

"I suppose I can go, sir?"

"Not just yet, " replied Mr. Carr. 

Hartledon took out his watch, and wondered whether it had been galloping, when he saw how late it was. "You'll come home and dine with me, Carr?"

"I'll follow you, if you like, " was the reply. "I have a matter or two toattend to first. "

A few minutes more, and Lord Hartledon and his care went out. Mr. Carrcalled in his clerk. 

"I want to know how you came to learn that the man I asked you about, Gordon, was employed by Kedge and Reck?"

"I heard it through a man named Druitt, " was the ready answer. "Happeningto ask him--as I did several people--whether he knew any George Gordon, he at once said that a man of that name was at Kedge and Reck's, whereDruitt himself had been temporarily employed. "

"Ah, " said Mr. Carr, remembering this same Druitt had been mentioned tohim. "But the man was called Gorton, not Gordon. You must have caught upthe wrong name, Taylor. Or perhaps he misunderstood you. That's all; youmay go now. "

The clerk departed. Mr. Carr took his hat and followed him down; butbefore joining Lord Hartledon he turned into the Temple Gardens, andstrolled towards the river; a few moments of fresh air--fresh to thosehard-worked denizens of close and crowded London--seemed absolutelynecessary to the barrister's heated brain. 

He sat down on a bench facing the water, and bared his brow to thebreeze. A cool head, his; never a cooler brought thought to bear uponperplexity; nevertheless it was not feeling very collected now. He couldnot reconcile sundry discrepancies in the trouble he was engaged infathoming, and he saw no release whatever for Lord Hartledon. 

"It has only complicated the affair, " he said, as he watched the steamersup and down, "this calling in Green the detective, and the news hebrings. Gordon the Gordon of the mutiny! I don't like it: the otherGordon, simple enough and not bad-hearted, was easy to deal with incomparison; this man, pirate, robber, murderer, will stand at nothing. Weshould have a hold on him, it's true, in his own crime; but what's toprevent his keeping himself out of the way, and selling Hartledon toanother? Why he has not sold him yet, I can't think. Unless for somereason he is waiting his time. "

He put on his hat and began to count the barges on the other side, tobanish thought. But it would not be banished, and he fell into the trainagain. 

"Mair's behaving well; with Christian kindness; but it's bad enough to beeven in _his_ power. There's something in Lord Hartledon he 'can't helploving, ' he writes. Who can? Here am I, giving up circuit--such a thingas never was heard of--calling him friend still, and losing my rest atnight for him! Poor Val! better he had been the one to die!"

"Please, sir, could you tell us the time?"

The spell was broken, and Mr. Carr took out his watch as he turned hiseyes on a ragged urchin who had called to him from below. 

The tide was down; and sundry Arabs were regaling their naked feet in themud, sporting and shouting. The evening drew in earlier than they did, and the sun had already set. 

Quitting the garden, Mr. Carr stepped into a hansom, and was conveyed toGrafton Street. He found Lord Hartledon knitting his brow over a letter. 

"Maude is growing vexed in earnest, " he began, looking up at Mr. Carr. "She insists upon knowing the reason that I do not go home to her. "

"I don't wonder at it. You ought to do one of two things: go, or--"

"Or what, Carr?"

"You know. Never go home again. "

"I wish I was out of the world!" cried the unhappy man. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

AT HARTLEDON. 

 "Hartledon, "I wonder what you _think_ of yourself, Galloping about _Rotten Row_ with women when your wife's _dying_. Of _course_ it's not your fault that reports of your goings-on _reach_ her here oh dear no. You are a moddel husband you are, sending her down here _out of the way_ that you may take your pleasure. Why did you _marry her_, nobody wanted you to she sits and _mopes_ and _weeps_ and she's going into the same way that her father _went_, you'll be glad no doubt to hear it it's what you're _aiming_ at, once she is in _Calne churchyard_ the _field_ will be open for your Anne Ashton. I can tell you that if you've a spark of _proper feeling_ you'll come _down_ for its killing her, "Your wicked mother, "C. Kirton. "

Lord Hartledon turned this letter about in his hand. He scarcely noticedthe mistake at the conclusion: the dowager had doubtless intended toimply that _he_ was wicked, and the slip of the pen in her temper wentfor nothing. 

Galloping about Rotten Row with women!

Hartledon sent his thoughts back, endeavouring to recollect what couldhave given rise to this charge. One morning, after a sleepless night, when he had tossed and turned on his uneasy bed, and risen unrefreshed, he hired a horse, for he had none in town, and went for a long ride. Coming back he turned into Rotten Row. He could not tell why he did so, for such places, affected by the gay, empty-headed votaries of fashion, were little consonant to his present state. He was barely in it when alady's horse took fright: she was riding alone, with a groom following;Lord Hartledon gave her his assistance, led her horse until the animalwas calm, and rode side by side with her to the end of the Row. He knewnot who she was; scarcely noticed whether she was young or old; and hadnot given a remembrance to it since. 

When your wife's dying! Accustomed to the strong expressions of thecountess-dowager, he passed that over. But, "going the same way that herfather went;" he paused there, and tried to remember how her father did"go. " All he could recollect now, indeed all he knew at the time, was, that Lord Kirton's last illness was reported to have been a lingeringone. 

Such missives as these--and the countess-dowager favoured him with morethan one--coupled with his own consciousness that he was not behavingto his wife as he ought, took him at length down to Hartledon. That hispresence at the place so soon after his marriage was little short of aninsult to Dr. Ashton's family, his sensitive feelings told him; but hisduty to his wife was paramount, and he could not visit his sin upon her. 

She was looking very ill; was low-spirited and hysterical; and when shecaught sight of him she forgot her anger, and fell sobbing into his arms. The countess-dowager had gone over to Garchester, and they had a fewhours' peace together. 

"You are not looking well, Maude!"

"I know I am not. Why do you stay away from me?"

"I could not help myself. Business has kept me in London. "

"Have _you_ been ill also? You look thin and worn. "

"One does grow to look thin in heated London, " he replied evasively, as he walked to the window, and stood there. "How is your brother, Maude--Bob?"

"I don't want to talk about Bob yet; I have to talk to you, " she said. "Percival, why did you practise that deceit upon me?"

"What deceit?"

"It was a downright falsehood; and made me look awfully foolish whenI came here and spoke of it as a fact. That action. "

Lord Hartledon made no reply. Here was one cause of his disinclinationto meet his wife--having to keep up the farce of Dr. Ashton's action. Itseemed, however, that there would no longer be any farce to keep up. Hadit exploded? He said nothing. Maude gazing at him from the sofa on whichshe sat, her dark eyes looking larger than of yore, with hollow circlesround them, waited for his answer. 

"I do not know what you mean, Maude. "

"You _do_ know. You sent me down here with a tale that the Ashtons hadentered an action against you for breach of promise--damages, tenthousand pounds--"

"Stay an instant, Maude. I did not 'send you down' with the tale. I particularly requested you to keep it private. "

"Well, mamma drew it out of me unawares. She vexed me with her commentsabout your staying on in London, and it made me tell her why you hadstayed. She ascertained from Dr. Ashton that there was not a word oftruth in the story. Val, I betrayed it in your defence. "

He stood at the window in silence, his lips compressed. 

"I looked so foolish in the eyes of Dr. Ashton! The Sunday evening afterI came down here I had a sort of half-fainting-fit, coming home fromchurch. He overtook me, and was very kind, and gave me his arm. I saida word to him; I could not help it; mamma had worried me on so; and Ilearned that no such action had ever been thought of. You had no rightto subject me to the chance of such mortification. Why did you do so?"

Lord Hartledon came from the window and sat down near his wife, his elbowon the table. All he could do now was to make the best of it, and explainas near to the truth as he could. 

"Maude, you must not expect full confidence on this subject, for I cannotgive it you. When I found I had reason to believe that some--some legalproceedings were about to be instituted against me, just at the firstintimation of the trouble, I thought it must emanate from Dr. Ashton. You took up the same idea yourself, and I did not contradict it, simplybecause I could not tell you the real truth--"

"Yes, " she interrupted. "It was the night that stranger called at ourhouse, when you and Mr. Carr were closeted with him so long. "

He could not deny it; but he had been thankful that she should forget thestranger and his visit. Maude waited. 

"Then it was an action, but not brought by the Ashtons?" she resumed, finding he did not speak. "Mamma remarked that you were just the one topropose to half-a-dozen girls. "

"It was not an action at all of that description; and I never proposed toany girl except Miss Ashton, " he returned, nettled at the remark. 

"Is it over?"

"Not quite;" and there was some hesitation in his tone. "Carr is settlingit for me. I trust, Maude, you will never hear of it again--that it willnever trouble you. "

She sat looking at him with her wistful eyes. 

"Won't you tell me its nature?"

"I cannot tell you, Maude, believe me. I am as candid with you as it ispossible to be; but there are some things best--best not spoken of. Maude, " he repeated, rising impulsively and taking both her hands in his, "do you wish to earn my love--my everlasting gratitude? Then you may doit by nevermore alluding to this. "

It was a mistaken request; an altogether unwise emotion. Better that hehad remained at the window, and drawled out a nonchalant denial. But hewas apt to be as earnestly genuine on the surface as he was in reality. It set Lady Hartledon wondering; and she resolved to "bide her time. "

"As you please, of course, Val. But why should it agitate you?"

"Many a little thing seems to agitate me now, " he answered. "I have notfelt well of late; perhaps that's the reason. "

"I think you might have satisfied me a little better. I expect it is someenormous debt risen up against you. "

Better she should think so! "I shall tide it over, " he said aloud. "Butindeed, Maude, I cannot bear for you delicate women to be brought intocontact with these things; they are fit for us only. Think no more aboutit, and rely on me to keep trouble from you if it can be kept. Where'sBob? He is here, I suppose?"

"Bob's in his room. He is going into a way, I think. When he wrote andasked me if I would allow him to come here for a little change, themedical men saying he must have it, mamma sent a refusal by return ofpost; she had had enough of Bob, she said, when he was here before. ButI quietly wrote a note myself, and Bob came. He looked ill, and getsworse instead of better. "

"What do you mean by saying he is going into a way?" asked LordHartledon. 

"Consumption, or something of that sort. Papa died of it. You are notangry with me for having Bob?"

"Angry! My dear Maude, the house is yours; and if poor Bob stayed with usfor ever, I should welcome him as a brother. Every one likes Bob. "

"Except mamma. She does not like invalids in the house, and has beensaying you don't like it; that it was helping to keep you away. Poor Bobhad out his portmanteau and began to pack; but I told him not to mindher; he was my guest, not hers. "

"And mine also, you might have added. "

He left the room, and went to the chamber Captain Kirton had occupiedwhen he was at Hartledon in the spring. It was empty, evidently not beingused; and Hartledon sent for Mirrable. She came, looking just as usual, wearing a dark-green silk gown; for the twelve-month had expired, andtheir mourning was over. 

"Captain Kirton is in the small blue rooms facing south, my lord. Theywere warmer for him than these. "

"Is he very ill, Mirrable?"

"Very, I think, " was the answer. "Of course he may get better; but itdoes not look like it. "

He was a tall, thin, handsome man, this young officer--a year or twoolder than Maude, whom he greatly resembled. Seated before a table, hewas playing at that delectable game "solitaire;" and his eyes lookedlarge and wild with surprise, and his cheeks became hectic, when LordHartledon entered. 

"Bob, my dear fellow, I am glad to see you. "

He took his hands and sat down, his face full of the concern he did notcare to speak. Lady Hartledon had said he was going into a way; it wasevidently the way of the grave. 

He pushed the balls and the board from him, half ashamed of hisemployment. "To think you should catch me at this!" he exclaimed. "Maudebrought it to me yesterday, thinking I was dull up here. "

"As good that as anything else. I often think what a miserably restlessinvalid _I_ should make. But now, what's wrong with you?"

"Well, I suppose it's the heart. "

"The heart?"

"The doctors say so. No doubt they are right; those complaints arehereditary, and my father had it. I got quite unfit for duty, and theytold me I must go away for change; so I wrote to Maude, and she took mein. "

"Yes, yes; we are glad to have you, and must try and get you well, Bob. "

"Ah, I can't tell about that. He died of it, you know. "

"Who?"

"My father. He was ill for some time, and it wore him to a skeleton, sothat people thought he was in a decline. If I could only get sufficientlywell to go back to duty, I should not mind; it is so sad to give troublein a strange house. "

"In a strange house it might be, but it would be ungrateful to call thisone strange, " returned Lord Hartledon, smiling on him from his pleasantblue eyes. "We must get you to town and have good advice for you. Isuppose Hillary comes up?"

"Every-day. "

"Does _he_ say it's heart-disease?"

"I believe he thinks it. It might be as much as his reputation is worthto say it in this house. "

"How do you mean?"

"My mother won't have it said. She ignores the disease altogether, andwill not allow it to be mentioned, or hinted at. It's bronchitis, shetells everyone; and of course bronchitis it must be. I did have a coughwhen I came here: my chest is not strong. "

"But why should she ignore heart-disease?"

"There was a fear that Maude would be subject to it when she was a child. Should it be disclosed to her that it is my complaint, and were I to dieof it, she might grow so alarmed for herself as to bring it on; andagitation, as we know, is often fatal in such cases. "

Lord Hartledon sat in a sort of horror. Maude subject to heart-disease!when at any moment a certain fearful tale, of which he was the guiltycentre, might be disclosed to her! Day by day, hour by hour, he lived indread of this story's being brought to light. This little unexpectedcommunication increased that dread fourfold. 

"Have I shocked you?" asked Captain Kirton. "I may yet get the better ofit. "

"I believe I was thinking of Maude, " answered Hartledon, slowlyrecovering from his stupor. "I never heard--I had no idea that Maude'sheart was not perfectly sound. "

"And I don't know but that it is sound; it was only a fancy when she wasa child, and there might have been no real grounds for it. My mother isfull of crotchets on the subject of illness; and says she won't haveanything about heart-disease put into Maude's head. She is right, ofcourse, so far, in using precaution; so please remember that I amsuffering from any disorder but that, " concluded the young officer witha smile. 

"How did yours first show itself?"

"I hardly know. I used to be subject to sudden attacks of faintness; butI am not sure that they had anything to do with the disease itself. "

Just what Maude was becoming subject to! She had told him of afainting-fit in London; had told him of another now. 

"I suppose the doctors warn you against sudden shocks, Bob?"

"More than against anything. I am not to agitate myself in the least; amnot to run or jump, or fly into a temper. They would put me in a glasscase, if they could. "

"Well, we'll see what skill can do for you, " said Hartledon, rousinghimself. "I wonder if a warmer climate would be of service? You mighthave that without exertion, travelling slowly. "

"Couldn't afford it, " was the ingenuous answer. "I have forestalled mypay as it is. "

Lord Hartledon smiled. Never a more generous disposition than his; and ifmoney could save this poor Bob Kirton, he should not want it. 

Walking forth, he strolled down the road towards Calne, intending to aska question or two of the surgeon. Mr. Hillary was at home. His house wasat this end of Calne, just past the Rectory and opposite the church, witha side view of Clerk Gum's. The door was open, and Lord Hartledonstrolled into the surgery unannounced, to the surprise of Mr. Hillary, who did not know he was at Calne. 

The surgeon's opinion was not favourable. Captain Kirton hadheart-disease beyond any doubt. His chest was weak also, the lungs notover-sound; altogether, the Honourable Robert Kirton's might be calleda bad life. 

"Would a warmer climate do anything for him?" asked Lord Hartledon. 

The surgeon shrugged his shoulders. "He would be better there for somethings than here. On the whole it might temporarily benefit him. "

"Then he shall go. And now, Hillary, I want to ask you somethingelse--and you must answer me, mind. Captain Kirton tells me the fact ofhis having heart-disease is not mentioned in the house lest it shouldalarm Lady Hartledon, and develop the same in her. Is there any fear ofthis?"

"It is true that it's not spoken of; but I don't think there's anyfoundation for the fear. "

"The old dowager's very fanciful!" cried Lord Hartledon, resentfully. 

"A queer old--girl, " remarked the surgeon. "Can't help saying it, thoughshe is your mother-in-law. "

"I wish she was any one else's! She's as likely as not to let outsomething of this to Maude in her tantrums. But I don't believe a wordof it; I never saw the least symptom of heart-disease in my wife. "

"Nor I, " said the doctor. "Of course I have not examined her; neitherhave I had much opportunity for ordinary observation. "

"I wish you would contrive to get the latter. Come up and call often;make some excuse for seeing Lady Hartledon professionally, and watch hersymptoms. "

"I am seeing her professionally now; once or twice a week. She had one ortwo fainting-fits after she came down, and called me in. "

"Kirton says he used to have those fainting-fits. Are they a symptom ofheart-disease?"

"In Lady Hartledon I attribute them entirely to her present state ofhealth. I assure you, I don't see the slightest cause for fear as regardsyour wife's heart. She is of a calm temperament too; as far as I canobserve. "

They stood talking for a minute at the door, when Lord Hartledon wentout. Pike happened to pass on the other side of the road. 

"He is here still, I see, " remarked Hartledon. 

"Oh dear, yes; and likely to be. "

"I wonder how the fellow picks up a living?"

The surgeon did not answer. "Are you going to make a long stay with us?"he asked. 

"A very short one. I suppose you have had no return of the fever?"

"Not any. Calne never was more healthy than it is now. As I said to Dr. Ashton yesterday, but for his own house I might put up my shutters andtake a lengthened holiday. "

"Who is ill at the Rectory? Mrs. Ashton?"

"Mrs. Ashton is not strong, but she's better than she was last year. I have been more concerned for Anne than for her. "

"Is _she_ ill?" cried Lord Hartledon, a spasm seizing his throat. 

"Ailing. But it's an ailing I do not like. "

"What's the cause?" he rejoined, feeling as if some other crime wereabout to be brought home to him. 

"That's a question I never inquire into. I put it upon the air of theRectory, " added the surgeon in jesting tones, "and tell them they oughtto go away for a time, but they have been away too much of late, theysay. She's getting over it somewhat, and I take care that she goes outand takes exercise. What has it been? Well, a sort of inward fever, withflushed cheeks and unequal spirits. It takes time for these things tobe got over, you know. The Rector has been anything but well, too; heis not the strong, healthy man he was. "

"And all _my_ work; my work!" cried Hartledon to himself, almost gnashinghis teeth as he went back down the street. "What _right_ had I to upsetthe happiness of that family? I wish it had pleased God to take me first!My father used to say that some men seem born into the world only to be ablight to it; it's what I have been, Heaven knows. "

He knew only too well that Anne Ashton was suffering from the shockcaused by his conduct. The love of these quiet, sensitive, refinednatures, once awakened, is not given for a day, but for all time; itbecomes a part of existence; and cannot be riven except by an effort thatbrings destruction to even future hope of happiness. Not even Mr. Hillary, not even Dr. And Mrs. Ashton, could discern the utter miserythat was Anne's daily portion. She strove to conceal it all. She wentabout the house cheerfully, wore a smiling face when people were present, dressed well, laughed with their guests, went about the parish to richand poor, and was altogether gay. Ah, do you know what it is, thisassumption of gaiety when the heart is breaking?--this dread fear lestthose about you should detect the truth? Have _you_ ever lived with thismask upon your face?--which can only be thrown off at night in theprivacy of your own chamber, when you may abandon yourself to yourdesolation, and pray heaven to take you or give you increased strength to_live_ and _bear_? It may seem a light thing, this state of heart that Iam telling you about; but it has killed both men and women, for all that;and killed them in silence. 

Anne Ashton had never complained. She did everything she had been used todoing, was particular about all her duties; but a nervous cough attackedher, and her frame wasted, and her cheek grew hectic. Try as she wouldshe could not eat: all she confessed to, when questioned by Mrs. Ashton, was "a pain in her throat;" and Mr. Hillary was called in. Anne laughed:there was nothing the matter with her, she said, and her throat wasbetter; she had strained it perhaps. The doctor was a wise doctor; hisprofessional visits were spent in gossip; and as to medicine, he sent hera tonic, and told her to take it or not as she pleased. Only time, hesaid to Mrs. Ashton--she would be all right in time; the summer heat wasmaking her languid. 

The summer heat had nearly passed now, and perhaps some of the battle waspassing with it. None knew--let me repeat it--what that battle had been;none ever can know, unless they go through it themselves. In MissAshton's case there was a feature some are spared--her love had beenknown--and it increased the anguish tenfold. She would overcome it if shecould only forget him; but it would take time; and she would come out ofit an altogether different woman, her best hope in life gone, her heartdead. 

"What brought him down here?" mentally questioned Mr. Hillary, in anexplosion of wrath, as he watched his visitor down the street. "It willundo all I have been doing. He, and his wife too, might have had thegrace to keep away for this year at least. I loved him once, with all hisfaults; but I should like to see him in the pillory now. It has told onhim also, if I'm any reader of looks. And now, Miss Anne, you go off fromCalne to-morrow an I can prevail. I only hope you won't come across himin the meantime. "

CHAPTER XXVI. 

UNDER THE TREES. 

It was the same noble-looking man Calne had ever known, as he went downthe road, throwing a greeting to one and another. Lord Hartledon was nota whit less attractive than Val Elster, who had won golden opinions fromall. None would have believed that the cowardly monster Fear was for everfeasting upon his heart. 

He came to a standstill opposite the clerk's house, looked at it fora moment, as if deliberating whether he should enter, and crossed theroad. The shades of evening had begun to fall whilst he talked with thesurgeon. As he advanced up the clerk's garden, some one came out of thehouse with a rush and ran against him. 

"Take care, " he lazily said. 

The girl--it was no other than Miss Rebecca Jones--shrank away whenshe recognized her antagonist. Flying through the gate she rapidlydisappeared up the street. Lord Hartledon reached the house, and made hisway in without ceremony. At a table in the little parlour sat the clerk'swife, presiding at a solitary tea-table by the light of a candle. 

"How are you, Mrs. Gum?"

She had not heard him enter, and started at the salutation. LordHartledon laughed. 

"Don't take me for a housebreaker. Your front-door was open, and I camein without knocking. Is your husband at home?"

What with shaking and curtseying, Mrs. Gum could scarcely answer. It wassurprising how a little shock of this sort, or indeed of any sort, wouldupset her. Gum was away on some business or other, she replied--whichcaused their tea-hour to be delayed--but she expected him in everymoment. Would his lordship please to wait in the best parlour, she asked, taking the candle to marshal him into the state sitting-room. 

No; his lordship would not go into the best parlour; he would wait two orthree minutes where he was, provided she did not disturb herself, andwent on with her tea. 

Mrs. Gum dusted a large old-fashioned oak chair with her apron; but heperched himself on one of its elbows. 

"And now go on with your tea, Mrs. Gum, and I'll look on with all theenvy of a thirsty man. "

Mrs. Gum glanced up tremblingly. Might she dare offer his lordship a cup?She wouldn't make so bold but tea _was_ refreshing to a parched throat. 

"And mine's always parched, " he returned. "I'll drink some with you, andthank you for it. It won't be the first time, will it?"

"Always parched!" remarked Mrs. Gum. "Maybe you've a touch of fever, mylord. Many folk get it at the close of summer. "

Lord Hartledon sat on, and drank his tea. He said well that he was alwaysthirsty, though Mrs. Gum's expression was the better one. That timidmatron, overcome by the honour accorded her, sat on the edge of herchair, cup in hand. 

"I want to ask your husband if he can give me a description of the manwho was concerned in that wretched mutiny on board the _Morning Star_, "said Lord Hartledon, somewhat abruptly. "I mean the ringleader, Gordon. Why--What's the matter?"

Mrs. Gum had jumped up from her chair and began looking about the room. The cat, or something else, had "rubbed against her legs. "

No cat could be found, and she sat down again, her teeth chattering. LordHartledon came to the conclusion that she was only fit for a lunaticasylum. Why did she keep a cat, if its fancied caresses were to terrifyher like that?

"It was said, you know--at least it has been always assumed--that Gordondid not come back to England, " he continued, speaking openly of hisbusiness, where a more prudent man would have kept his lips closed. "ButI have reason to believe that he did come back, Mrs. Gum; and I want tofind him. "

Mrs. Gum wiped her face, covered with drops of emotion. 

"Gordon never did come back, I am sure, sir, " she said, forgetting allabout titles in her trepidation. 

"You don't know that he did not. You may think it; the public may thinkit; what's of more moment to Gordon, the police may think it: but youcan't _know_ it. I know he did. "

"My lord, he did not; I could--I almost think I could be upon my oath hedid not, " she answered, gazing at Lord Hartledon with frightened eyes andwhite lips, which, to say the truth, rather puzzled him as he gazed backfrom his perch. 

"Will you tell me why you assert so confidently that Gordon did not comeback?"

She could not tell, and she knew she could not. 

"I can't bear to hear him spoken of, my lord, " she said. "He--we lookupon him as my poor boy's murderer, " she broke off, with a sob; "and itis not likely that I could. "

Not very logical; but Lord Hartledon allowed for confusion of ideasfollowing on distress of mind. 

"I don't like to speak about him any more than you can like to hear, " hesaid kindly. "Indeed I am sorry to have grieved you; but if the man is inLondon, and can be traced--"

"In London!" she interrupted. 

"He was in London last autumn, as I believe--living there. "

An expression of relief passed over her features that was quiteperceptible to Lord Hartledon. 

"I should not like to hear of his coming near us, " she sighed, droppingher voice to a whisper. "London: that's pretty far off. "

"I suppose you are anxious to bring him to justice, Mrs. Gum?"

"No, sir, not now; neither me nor Gum, " shaking her head. "Time was, sir--my lord--that I'd have walked barefoot to see him hanged; but theyears have gone by; and if sorrow's not dead, it's less keen, and we'd bethankful to let the past rest in peace. Oh, my lord, _don't_ rake him upagain!"

The wild, imploring accents quite startled Lord Hartledon. 

"You need not fear, " he said, after a pause. "I do not care to see Gordonhanged either; and though I want to trace his present abode--if it can betraced--it is not with a view to injuring him. "

"But we don't know his abode, my lord, " she rejoined in faintremonstrance. 

"I did not suppose you knew it. All I want to ask your husband is, togive me a description of Gordon. I wish to see if it tallies with--withsome one I once knew, " he cautiously concluded. "Perhaps you rememberwhat the man was said to be like?"

She put her fingers up to her brow, leaning her elbow on the table. Hecould not help observing how the hand shook. 

"I think it was said that he had red hair, " she began, after a longpause; "and was--tall, was it?--either tall or short; one of the two. Andhis eyes--his eyes were dark eyes, either brown or blue. "

Lord Hartledon could not avoid a smile. "That's no description at all. "

"My memory is not over-good, my lord: I read his description in thehandbills offering the reward; and that's some time ago now. "

"The handbills!--to be sure!" interrupted Lord Hartledon, springing fromhis perch. "I never thought of them; they'll give me the best descriptionpossible. Do you know where--"

The conference was interrupted by the clerk. He came in with a largebook in his hand; and a large dog, which belonged to a friend, and hadfollowed him home. For a minute or two there was only commotion, for thedog was leaping and making friends with every one. Lord Hartledon thensaid a few words of explanation, and the quiet demeanour of the clerk, as he calmly listened, was in marked contrast to his wife's nervousagitation. 

"Might I inquire your lordship's reasons for thinking that Gordon cameback?" he quietly asked, when Lord Hartledon had ceased. 

"I cannot give them in detail, Gum. That he did come back, there is nodoubt about whatever, though how he succeeded in eluding the vigilanceof the police, who were watching for him, is curious. His coming back, however, is not the question: I thought you might be able to give me aclose description of him. You went to Liverpool when the unfortunatepassengers arrived there. "

But Clerk Gum was unable to give any satisfactory response. No doubt hehad heard enough of what Gordon was like at the time, he observed, butit had passed out of his memory. A fair man, he thought he was described, with light hair. He had heard nothing of Gordon since; didn't want to, if his lordship would excuse his saying it; firmly believed he was atthe bottom of the sea. 

Patient, respectful, apparently candid, he spoke, attending his guest, hat in hand, to the outer gate, when it pleased him to depart. But, takeit for all in all, there remained a certain doubtful feeling in LordHartledon's mind regarding the interview; for some subtle discernment hadwhispered to him that both Gum and his wife could have given him thedescription of Gordon, and would not do so. 

He turned slowly towards home, thinking of this. As he passed the wasteground and Pike's shed, he cast his eyes towards it; a curl of smokewas ascending from the extemporized chimney, still discernible in thetwilight. It occurred to Lord Hartledon that this man, who had thecharacter of being so lawless, had been rather suspiciously intimate withthe man Gorton. Not that the intimacy in itself was suspicious; birdsof a feather flocked together; but the most simple and natural thingconnected with Gorton would have borne suspicion to Hartledon's mind now. 

He had barely passed the gate when some shouting arose in the road behindhim. A man, driving a cart recklessly, had almost come in contact withanother cart, and some hard language ensued. Lord Hartledon turned hishead quickly, and just caught Mr. Pike's head, thrust a little over thetop of the gate, watching him. Pike must have crouched down when LordHartledon passed. He went back at once; and Pike put a bold face on thematter, and stood up. 

"So you occupy your palace still, Pike?"

"Such as it is. Yes. "

"I half-expected to find that Mr. Marris had turned you from it, "continued Lord Hartledon, alluding to his steward. 

"He wouldn't do it, I expect, without your lordship's orders; and I don'tfancy you'll give 'em, " was the free answer. 

"I think my brother would have given them, had he lived. "

"But he didn't live, " rejoined Pike. "He wasn't let live. "

"What do you mean?" asked Lord Hartledon, mystified by the words. 

Pike ignored the question. "'Twas nearly a smash, " he said, looking atthe two carts now proceeding on their different ways. "That cart ofFloyd's is always in hot water; the man drinks; Floyd turned him offonce. "

The miller's cart was jogging up the road towards home, under convoy ofthe offending driver; the boy, David Ripper, sitting inside on some emptysacks, and looking over the board behind: looking very hard indeed, as itseemed, in their direction. Mr. Pike appropriated the gaze. 

"Yes, you may stare, young Rip!" he apostrophized, as if the boy couldhear him; "but you won't stare yourself out of my hands. You're thebiggest liar in Calne, but you don't mislead me. "

"Pike, when you made acquaintance with that man Gorton--you rememberhim?" broke off Lord Hartledon. 

"Yes, I do, " said Pike emphatically. 

"Did he make you acquainted with any of his private affairs?--his pasthistory?"

"Not a word, " answered Pike, looking still after the cart and the boy. 

"Were those fine whiskers of his false? that red hair?"

Pike turned his head quickly. The question had aroused him. 

"False hair and whiskers! I never knew it was the fashion to wear them. "

"It may be convenient sometimes, even if not the fashion, " observed LordHartledon, his tone full of cynical meaning; and Mr. Pike surreptitiouslypeered at him with his small light eyes. 

"If Gorton's hair was false, I never noticed it, that's all; I never sawhim without a hat, that I remember, except in that inquest-room. "

"Had he been to Australia?"

Pike paused to take another surreptitious gaze. 

"Can't say, my lord. Never heard. "

"Was his name Gorton, or Gordon? Come, Pike, " continued Lord Hartledon, good-humouredly, "there's a sort of mutual alliance between you and me;you did me a service once unasked, and I allow you to live free andundisturbed on my ground. I think you _do_ know something of this man;it is a fancy I have taken up. "

"I never knew his name was anything but Gorton, " said Pike carelessly;"never heard it nor thought it. "

"Did you happen to hear him ever speak of that mutiny on board theAustralian ship _Morning Star_? You have heard of it, I daresay: a GeorgeGordon was the ringleader. "

If ever the cool impudence was suddenly taken out of a man, this questionseemed to take it out of Pike. He did not reply for some time; and whenhe did, it was in low and humble tones. 

"My lord, I hope you'll pardon my rough thoughts and ways, which haven'tbeen used to such as you--and the sight of that boy put me up, forreasons of my own. As to Gorton--I never did hear him speak of the thingyou mention. His name's Gorton, and nothing else, as far as I know; andhis hair's his own, for all I ever saw. "

"He did not give you his confidence, then?"

"No, never. Not about himself nor anything else, past or present. "

"And did not let a word slip? As to--for instance, as to his having beena passenger on board the _Morning Star_ at the time of the mutiny?"

Pike had moved away a step, and stood with his arms on the hurdles, hishead bent on them, his face turned from Lord Hartledon. 

"Gorton said nothing to me. As to that mutiny--I think I read somethingabout it in the newspapers, but I forget what. I was just getting up fromsome weeks of rheumatic fever at the time; I'd caught it working in thefields; and news don't leave much impression in illness. Gorton neverspoke of it to me. I never heard him say who or what he was; and Icouldn't speak more truly if your lordship offered to give me the shedas a bribe. "

"Do you know where Gorton might be found at present?"

"I swear before Heaven that I know nothing of the man, and have neverheard of him since he went away, " cried Pike, with a burst of either fearor passion. "He was a stranger to me when he came, and he was a strangerwhen he left. I found out the little game he had come about, and savedyour lordship from his clutches, which he doesn't know to this day. Iknow nothing else about him at all. "

"Well, good evening, Pike. You need not put yourself out for nothing. "

He walked away, taking leave of the man as civilly as though he had beena respectable member of society. It was not in Val's nature to showdiscourtesy to any living being. Why Pike should have shrunk from thequestions he could not tell; but that he did shrink was evident; perhapsfrom a surly dislike to being questioned at all; but on the whole LordHartledon thought he had spoken the truth as to knowing nothing aboutGorton. 

Crossing the road, he turned into the field-path near the Rectory; it wasa little nearer than the road-way, and he was in a hurry, for he had notthought to ask at what hour his wife dined, and might be keeping herwaiting. 

Who was this Pike, he wondered as he went along; as he had wonderedbefore now. When the man was off his guard, the roughness of his speechand demeanour was not so conspicuous; and the tone assumed a certainrefinement that seemed to say he had some time been in civilized society. Again, how did he live? A tale was told in Calne of Pike's having beendisturbed at supper one night by a parcel of rude boys, who had seen himseated at a luxurious table; hot steak and pudding before him. They werenot believed, certainly; but still Pike must live; and how did he findthe means to do so? Why did he live there at all? what had caused him tocome to Calne? Who--

These reflections might have lasted all the way home but for aninterruption that drove every thought out of Lord Hartledon's mind, andsent the heart's blood coursing swiftly through his veins. Turning acorner of the dark winding path, he came suddenly upon a lady seated on abench, so close to the narrow path that he almost touched her in passing. She seemed to have sat down for a moment to do something to her hat, which was lying in her lap, her hands busied with it. 

A faint cry escaped her, and she rose up. It was caused partly byemotion, partly by surprise at seeing him, for she did not know he waswithin a hundred miles of the place. And very probably she would haveliked to box her own ears for showing any. The hat fell from her kneesas she rose, and both stooped for it. 

"Forgive me, " he said. "I fear I have startled you. "

"I am waiting for papa, " she answered, in hasty apology for being foundthere. And Lord Hartledon, casting his eyes some considerable distanceahead, discerned the indistinct forms of two persons talking together. Heunderstood the situation at once. Dr. Ashton and his daughter had been tothe cottages; and the doctor had halted on their return to speak to aday-labourer going home from his work, Anne walking slowly on. 

And there they stood face to face, Anne Ashton and her deceitful lover!How their hearts beat to pain, how utterly oblivious they were ofeverything in life save each other's presence, how tumultuously confusedwere mind and manner, both might remember afterwards, but certainly werenot conscious of then. It was a little glimpse of Eden. A corner of thedark curtain thrown between them had been raised, and so unexpectedlythat for the moment nothing else was discernible in the dazzling light. 

Forget! Not in that instant of sweet confusion, during which nothingseemed more real than a dream. He was the husband of another; she wasparted from him for ever; and neither was capable of deliberate thoughtor act that could intrench on the position, or tend to return, evenmomentarily, to the past. And yet there they stood with beating hearts, and eyes that betrayed their own tale--that the marriage and the partingwere in one sense but a hollow mockery, and their love was indelible asof old. 

Each had been "forgetting" to the utmost of the poor power within, inaccordance with the high principles enshrined in either heart. Yet whata mockery that forgetting seemed, now that it was laid before them nakedand bare! The heart turning sick to faintness at the mere sight of eachother, the hands trembling at the mutual touch, the wistful eyes shiningwith a glance that too surely spoke of undying love!

But not a word of this was spoken. However true their hearts might be, there was no fear of the tongue following up the error. Lord Hartledonwould no more have allowed himself to speak than she to listen. Neitherhad the hands met in ordinary salutation; it was only when he resignedthe hat to her that the fingers touched: a touch light, transient, almostimperceptible; nevertheless it sent a thrill through the whole frame. Notexactly knowing what to do in her confusion, Miss Ashton sat down on thebench again and put her hat on. 

"I must say a word to you before I go on my way, " said Lord Hartledon. "I have been wishing for such a meeting as this ever since I saw you atVersailles; and indeed I think I wished for nothing else before it. Whenyou think of me as one utterly heartless--"

"Stay, Lord Hartledon, " she interrupted, with white lips. "I cannotlisten to you. You must be aware that I cannot, and ought not. What areyou thinking about?"

"I know that I have forfeited all right to ask you; that it is anunpardonable intrusion my presuming even to address you. Well, perhaps, you are right, " he added, after a moment's pause; "it may be better thatI should not say what I was hoping to say. It cannot mend existingthings; it cannot undo the past. I dare not ask your forgiveness: itwould seem too much like an insult; nevertheless, I would rather have itthan any earthly gift. Fare you well, Anne! I shall sometimes hear ofyour happiness. "

"Have you been ill?" she asked in a kindly impulse, noticing his alteredlooks in that first calm moment. 

"No--not as the world counts illness. If remorse and shame and repentancecan be called illness, I have my share. Ill deeds of more kinds than oneare coming home to me. Anne, " he added in a hoarse whisper; his facetelling of emotion, "if there is one illumined corner in my heart, whereall else is very dark, it is caused by thankfulness to Heaven that youwere spared. "

"Spared!" she echoed, in wonder, so completely awed by his strange manneras to forget her reserve. 

"Spared the linking of your name with mine. I thank God for it, for yoursake, night and day. Had trouble fallen on you through me, I don't thinkI could have survived it. May you be shielded from all such for ever!"

He turned abruptly away, and she looked after him, her heart beating agreat deal faster than it ought to have done. 

That she was his best and dearest love, in spite of his marriage, itwas impossible not to see; and she strove to think him very wicked forit, and her cheek was red with a feeling that seemed akin to shame. But--trouble?--thankful for her sake, night and day, that her name wasnot linked with his? He must allude to debt, she supposed: some of thoseold embarrassments had augmented themselves into burdens too heavy to besafely borne. 

The Rector was coming on now at a swift pace. He looked keenly at LordHartledon; looked twice, as if in surprise. A flush rose to Val'ssensitive face as he passed, and lifted his hat. The Rector, dark andproud, condescended to return the courtesy: and the meeting was over. 

Toiling across Lord Hartledon's path was the labourer to whom the Rectorhad been speaking. He had an empty bottle slung over his shoulder, andcarried a sickle. The man's day's work was over, and had left fatiguebehind it. 

"Good-night to your lordship!"

"Is it you, Ripper?"

He was the father of the young gentleman in the cart, whom Mr. Pike hadnot long before treated to his opinion: young David Ripper, the miller'sboy. Old Ripper, a talkative, discontented man, stopped and ventured toenter on his grievances. His wife had been pledging things to pay fora fine gown she had bought; his two girls were down with measles; hisson, young Rip, plagued his life out. 

"How does he plague your life out?" asked Lord Hartledon, when he hadlistened patiently. 

"Saying he'll go off and enlist for a soldier, my lord; he's saying italways: and means it too, only he's over-young for't. "

"Over-young for it; I should think so. Why, he's not much more than achild. Our sergeants don't enlist little boys. "

"Sometimes he says he'll drown himself by way of a change, " returned oldRipper. 

"Oh, does he? Folk who say it never do it. I should whip it out of him. "

"He's never been the same since the lord's death that time. He's alwaysfrightened: gets fancying things, and saying sometimes he sees hisshadder. "

"Whose shadow?"

"His'n: the late lord's. "

"Why does he fancy that?" came the question, after a perceptible pause. 

Old Ripper shook his head. It was beyond his ken, he said. "There be onlytwo things he's afeared of in life, " continued the man, who, thoughgenerally called old Ripper, was not above five-and-thirty. "The one'sthat wild man Pike; t'other's the shadder. He'd run ten mile sooner thansee either. "

"Does Pike annoy the boy?"

"Never spoke to him, as I knows on, my lord. Afore that drowning of hislordship last year, Davy was the boldest rip going, " added the man, whohad long since fallen into the epithet popularly applied to his son. "Since then he don't dare say his soul's his own. We had him laid upbefore the winter, and I know 'twas nothing but fear. "

Lord Hartledon could not make much of the story, and had no time tolinger. Administering a word of general encouragement, he continued hisway, his thoughts going back to the interview with Anne Ashton, a line ortwo of Longfellow's "Fire of Driftwood" rising up in his mind--

 "Of what had been and might have been, And who was changed, and who was dead. "

CHAPTER XXVII. 

A TÊTE-À-TÊTE BREAKFAST. 

The Dowager-Countess of Kirton stood in the sunny breakfast-room atHartledon, surveying the well-spread table with complacency; for itappeared to be rather more elaborately set out than usual, and no oneloved good cheer better than she. When she saw two cups and saucers onthe cloth instead of one, it occurred to her that Maude must, by caprice, be coming down, which she had not done of late. The dowager had arrivedat midnight from Garchester, in consequence of having missed the earliertrain, and found nearly all the house in retirement. She was in a furioushumour, and no one had told her of the arrival of her son-in-law; no oneever did tell her any more than they were obliged to do; for she was notheld in estimation at Hartledon. 

"Potted tongue, " she exclaimed, dodging round the table, and liftingvarious covers. "Raised pie; I wonder what's in it? And what's that stuffin jelly? It looks delicious. This is the result of the blowing-up I gaveHedges the other day; nothing like finding fault. Hot dishes too. Isuppose Maude gave out that she should be down this morning. All rubbish, fancying herself ill: she's as well as I am, but gives way like asim--A-a-a-ah!"

The exclamation was caused by the unexpected vision of Lord Hartledon. 

"How are you, Lady Kirton?"

"Where on earth did you spring from?"

"From my room. "

"What's the good of your appearing before people like a ghost, Hartledon?When did you arrive?"

"Yesterday afternoon. "

"And time you did, I think, with your poor wife fretting herself to deathabout you. How is she this morning?"

"Very well. "

"Ugh!" You must imagine this sound as something between a grunt and agroan, that the estimable lady gave vent to whenever put out. It is notcapable of being written. "You might have sent word you were coming. Ishould think you frightened your wife to death. "

"Not quite. "

He walked across the room and rang the bell. Hedges appeared. It hadbeen the dowager's pleasure that no one else should serve her at thatmeal--perhaps on account of her peculiarities of costume. 

"Will you be good enough to pour out the coffee in Maude's place to-day, Lady Kirton? She has promised to be down another morning. "

It was making her so entirely and intentionally a guest, as she thought, that Lady Kirton did not like it. Not only did she fully intend HartledonHouse to be her home, but she meant to be its one ruling power. KeepMaude just now to her invalid fancies, and later to her gay life, andthere would be little fear of her asserting very much authority. 

"Are you in the habit of serving this sort of breakfast, Hedges?" askedLord Hartledon; for the board looked almost like an elaborate dinner. 

"We have made some difference, my lord, this morning. "

"For me, I suppose. You need not do so in future. I have got out of thehabit of taking breakfast; and in any case I don't want this unnecessarydisplay. Captain Kirton gets up later, I presume. "

"He's hardly ever up before eleven, " said Hedges. "But he makes a goodbreakfast, my lord. "

"That's right. Tempt him with any delicacy you can devise. He wantsstrength. "

The dowager was fuming. "Don't you think I'm capable of regulating thesethings, Hartledon, I'd beg leave to ask?"

"No doubt. I beg you will make yourself at home whilst you stay with us. Some tea, Hedges. "

She could have thrown the coffee-pot at him. There was incipient defiancein his every movement; latent war in his tones. He was no longer thepuppet he had been; that day had gone by for ever. 

Perhaps Val could not himself have explained the feeling that was thismorning at work within him. It was the first time he and the dowager hadmet since the marriage, and she brought before him all too prominentlythe ill-omened past: her unjustifiable scheming--his own miserableweakness. If ever Lord Hartledon felt shame and repentance for his weakyielding, he felt it now--felt it in all its bitterness; and somethingvery like rage against the dowager was bubbling up in his spirit, whichhe had some trouble to suppress. 

He did suppress it, however, though it rendered him less courteous thanusual; and the meal proceeded partly in silence; an interchanged word, civil on the surface, passing now and then. The dowager thoroughlyentered into her breakfast, and had little leisure for anything else. 

"What makes you take nothing?" she asked, perceiving at length that hehad only a piece of toast on his plate, and was playing with that. 

"I have no appetite. "

"Have you left off taking breakfast?"

"To a great extent. "

"What's the matter with you?"

Lord Hartledon slightly raised his eyebrows. "One can't eat much in theheat of summer. "

"Heat of summer! it's nothing more than autumn now. And you are as thinas a weasel. Try some of that excellent raised pie. "

"Pray let my appetite alone, Lady Kirton. If I wanted anything I shouldtake it. "

"Let you alone! yes, of course! You don't want it noticed that you areout of sorts, " snapped the dowager. "Oh, _I_ know the signs. You've beenraking about London--that's what you've been at. "

The "raking about London" presented so complete a contrast to the lonelylife he had really passed, that Hartledon smiled in very bitterness. Andthe smile incensed the dowager, for she misunderstood it. 

"It's early days to begin! I don't think you ought to have marriedMaude. "

"I don't think I ought. "

She did not expect the rejoinder, and dropped her knife and fork. "Why_did_ you marry her?"

"Perhaps you can tell that better than I. "

The countess-dowager pushed up her hair. 

"Are you going to throw off the mask outright, and become a bad husbandas well as a neglectful one?"

Val rose from his seat and went to the window, which opened to theground. He did not wish to quarrel with her if he could help it. LadyKirton raised her voice. 

"Staying away, as you have, in London, and leaving Maude here to pinealone. "

"Business kept me in London. "

"I dare say it did!" cried the wrathful dowager. "If Maude died of ennui, you wouldn't care. She can't go about much herself just now, poor thing!I do wish Edward had lived. "

"I wish he had, with all my heart!" came the answer; and the tone strucksurprise on the dowager's ear--it was so full of pain. "Maude's coming toHartledon without me was her own doing, " he remarked. "I wished her notto come. "

"I dare say you did, as her heart was set upon it. The fact of herwishing to do a thing would be the signal for your opposing it; I'vegathered that much. My advice to Maude is, to assert her own will, irrespective of yours. "

"Don't you think, Lady Kirton, that it may be as well if you let me andmy wife alone? We shall get along, no doubt, without interference; _with_interference we might not do so. "

What with one thing and another, the dowager's temper was inflammablethat morning; and when it reached that undesirable state she was apt tosay pretty free things, even for her. 

"Edward would have made her the better husband. "

"But she didn't like him, you know!" he returned, his eyes flashing withthe remembrance of an old thought; and the countess-dowager took thesentence literally, and not ironically. 

"Not like him. If you had had any eyes as Val Elster, you'd have seenwhether she liked him or not. She was dying for him--not for you. "

He made no reply. It was only what he had suspected, in a half-doubtingsort of way, at the time. A little spaniel, belonging to one of thegardeners, ran up and licked his hand. 

"The time that I had of it!" continued the dowager. "But for me, Maudenever would have been forced into having you. And she _shouldn't_ havehad you if I'd thought you were going to turn out like this. "

He wheeled round and faced her; his pale face working with emotion, buthis voice subdued to calmness. Lady Kirton's last words halted, for hislook startled even her in its resolute sternness. 

"To what end are you saying this, madam? You know perfectly well thatyou almost moved heaven and earth to get me: _you_, I say; I prefer toleave my wife's name out of this: and I fell into the snare. I have notcomplained of my bargain; so far as I know, Maude has not done so: butif it be otherwise--if she and you repent of the union, I am willing todissolve it, as far as it can be dissolved, and to institute measures forliving apart. "

Never, never had she suspected it would come to this. She sat staring athim, her eyes round, her mouth open: scarcely believing the calm resoluteman before her could be the once vacillating Val Elster. 

"Listen whilst I speak a word of truth, " he said, his eyes bent on herwith a strange fire that, if it told of undisguised earnestness, toldalso of inward fever. "I married your daughter, and I am ready andwilling to do my duty by her in all honour, as I have done it since theday of the marriage. Whatever my follies may have been as a young man, Iam at least incapable of wronging my wife as a married one. _She_ hashad no cause to complain of want of affection, but--"

"Oh, what a hypocrite!" interrupted the dowager, with a shriek. "And allthe time you've left her here neglected, while you were taking youramusement in London! You've been dinner-giving and Richmond-going, andtheatre-frequenting, and card-playing, and race-horsing--and I shouldn'twonder but you've been cock-fighting, and a hundred other things asdisreputable, and have come down here worn to a skeleton!"

"But if she is discontented, if she does not care for me, as you wouldseem to intimate, " he resumed, passing over the attack without notice;"in short, if Maude would be happier without me, I am quite willing, as I have just said, to relieve her of her distasteful husband. "

"Of all the wicked plotters, you must be the worst! My darlingunoffending Maude! A divorce for her!"

"We are neither of us eligible for a divorce, " he coolly rejoined. "Aseparation alone is open to us, and that an amicable one. Should it cometo it, every possible provision can be made for your daughter's comfort;she shall retain this home; she shall have, if she wishes, a town-house;I will deny her nothing. "

Lady Kirton rubbed her face carefully with her handkerchief. Not untilthis moment had she believed him to be in earnest, and the convictionfrightened her. 

"Why do you wish to separate from her?" she asked, in a subdued tone. 

"I do not wish it. I said I was willing to do so if she wished it. Youhave been taking pains to convince me that Maude's love was not mine, that she was only forced into the marriage with me. Should this have beenthe case, I must be distasteful to her still; an encumbrance she may wishto get rid of. "

The countess-dowager had overshot her mark, and saw it. 

"Oh well! Perhaps I was mistaken about the past, " she said, staring athim very hard, and in a sort of defiance. "Maude was always very close. If you said anything about separation now, I dare say it would kill her. My belief is, she does care for you, and a great deal more than youdeserve. "

"It may be better to ascertain the truth from Maude--"

"You won't say a syllable to her!" cried the dowager, starting upin terror. "She'd never forgive me; she'd turn me out of the house. Hartledon, _promise_ you won't say a word to her. "

He stood back against the window, never speaking. 

"She does love you; but I thought I'd frighten you, for you had no rightto send Maude home alone; and it made me very cross, because I saw howshe felt it. Separation indeed! What can you be thinking of?"

He was thinking of a great deal, no doubt; and his thoughts were asbitter as they could well be. He did not wish to separate; come whatmight, he felt his place should be by his wife's side as long ascircumstances permitted it. 

"Let me give you a word of warning, Lady Kirton. I and my wife will behappy enough together, I daresay, if we are allowed to be; but the styleof conversation you have just adopted to me will not conduce to it; itmight retaliate on Maude, you see. Do not again attempt it. "

"How you have changed!" was her involuntary remark. 

"Yes; I am not the yielding boy I was. And now I wish to speak of yourson. He seems very ill. "

"A troublesome intruding fellow, why can't he keep his ailments to hisown barracks?" was the wrathful rejoinder. "I told Maude I wouldn't havehim here, and what does she do but write off and tell him to come! Idon't like sick folk about me, and never did. What do _you_ want?"

The last question was addressed to Hedges, who had come in unsummoned. Itwas only a letter for his master. Lord Hartledon took it as a welcomeinterruption, went outside, and sat down on a garden-seat at a distance. How he hated the style of attack just made on him; the style of thedowager altogether! He asked himself in what manner he could avoid thisfor the future. It was a debasing, lowering occurrence, and he felt surethat it could hardly have taken place in his servants' hall. But he wasglad he had said what he did about the separation. It might grieve himto part from his wife, but Mr. Carr had warned him that he ought to doit. Certainly, if she disliked him so very much--if she forced it uponhim--why, then, it would be an easier task; but he felt sure she did notdislike him. If she had done so before marriage, she had learnt to likehim now; and he believed that the bare mention of parting would shockher; and so--his duty seemed to lie in remaining by her side. 

He held the letter in his hand for some minutes before he opened it. The handwriting warned him that it was from Mr. Carr, and he knew thatno pleasant news could be in it. In fact, he had placed himself in sounsatisfactory a position as to render anything but bad news next doorto an impossibility. 

It contained only a few lines--a word of caution Mr. Carr had forgottento speak when he took leave of Lord Hartledon the previous morning. "Letme advise you not to say anything to those people--Gum, I think the nameis--about G. G. It might not be altogether prudent for you to do so. Should you remain any time at Hartledon, I will come down for a fewdays and question for myself. "

"I've done it already, " thought Val, as he folded the letter and returnedit to his pocket. "As to my staying any time at Hartledon--not if I knowit. "

Looking up at the sound of footsteps, he saw Hedges approaching. Neverfree from a certain apprehension when any unexpected interruptionoccurred--an apprehension that turned his heart sick, and set his pulsesbeating--he waited, outwardly very calm. 

"Floyd has called, my lord, and is asking to see you. He seemsrather--rather concerned and put out. I think it's something about--aboutthe death last summer. "

Hedges hardly knew how to frame his words, and Lord Hartledon stared athim. 

"Floyd can come to me here, " he said. 

The miller soon made his appearance, carrying a small case half purse, half pocket-book, in his hand, made of Russian leather, with rims ofgold. Val knew it in a moment, in spite of its marks of defacement. 

"Do you recognize it, my lord?" asked the miller. 

"Yes, I do, " replied Lord Hartledon. "It belonged to my brother. "

"I thought so, " returned the miller. "On the very day before thatunfortunate race last year, his lordship was talking to me, and had thisin his hand. I felt sure it was the same the moment I saw it. "

"He had it with him the day of the race, " observed Lord Hartledon. "Mr. Carteret said he saw it lying in the boat when they started. We alwaysthought it had been lost in the river. Where did you find it?"

"Well, it's very odd, my lord, but I found it buried. "

"Buried!"

"Buried in the ground, not far from the river, alongside the path thatleads from where his lordship was found to Hartledon. I was getting upsome dandelion roots for my wife this morning early, and dug up thisclose to one. There's where the knife touched it. My lord, " added themiller, "I beg to say that I have not opened it. I wiped it, wrapped itin paper, and said nothing to anybody, but came here with it as soon asI thought you'd be up. That lad of mine, Ripper, said last night you wereat Hartledon. "

The miller was quite honest; and Lord Hartledon knew that when he saidhe had not opened it, he had not done so. It still contained somesmall memoranda in his brother's writing, but no money; and this wasnoticeable, since it was quite certain to have had money in it on thatday. 

"Those who buried it might have taken it out, " he observed, following thebent of his thoughts. 

"But who did bury it; and where did they find it, to allow of theirburying it?" questioned the miller. "How did they come by it?--that's theodd thing. I am certain it was not in the skiff, for I searched that overmyself. "

Lord Hartledon said little. He could not understand it; and the incident, with the slips of paper, was bringing his brother all too palpably beforehim. One of them had concerned himself, though in what manner he wouldnever know now. It ran as follows: "Not to forget Val. " Poor fellow!Poor Lord Hartledon!

"Would your lordship like to come and see the spot where I found it?"asked the miller. 

Lord Hartledon said he should, and would go in the course of the day; andFloyd took his departure. Val sat on for a time where he was, and thenwent in, locked up the damp case with its tarnished rims, and went on tothe presence of his wife. 

She was dressed now, but had not left her bedroom. It was evident thatshe meant to be kind and pleasant with him; different from what she hadbeen, for she smiled, and began a little apology for her tardiness, saying she would get up to breakfast in future. 

He motioned her back to her seat on the sofa before the open window, andsat down near her. His face was grave; she thought she had never seen itso much so--grave and firm, and his voice was grave too, but had a kindlytone in it. He took both her hands between his as he spoke; not so much, it seemed in affection, as to impress solemnity upon her. 

"Maude, I'm going to ask you a question, and I beg you to answer me astruthfully as you could answer Heaven. Have you any wish that we shouldlive apart from each other?"

"I do not understand you, " she answered, after a pause, during which aflush of surprise or emotion spread itself gradually over her face. 

"Nay, the question is plain. Have you any wish to separate from me?"

"I never thought of such a thing. Separate from you! What can you mean?"

"Your mother has dropped a hint that you have not been happy with me. Icould almost understand her to imply that you have a positive dislike tome. She sought to explain her words away, but certainly spoke them. Is itso, Maude? I fancied something of the sort myself in the earlier days ofour marriage. "

He turned his head sharply at a sudden sound, but it was only the Frenchclock on the mantelpiece striking eleven. 

"Because, " he resumed, having waited in vain for an answer, "if suchshould really be your wish, I will accede to it. I desire your comfort, your happiness beyond any earthly thing; and if living apart from mewould promote it, I will sacrifice my own feelings, and you shall nothear a murmur. I would sacrifice my life for you. "

She burst into tears. "Are you speaking at all for yourself? Do you wishthis?" she murmured. 

"No. "

"Then how can you be so cruel?"

"I should have thought it unjustifiably cruel, but that it has beensuggested to me. Tell me the truth, Maude. "

Maude was turning sick with apprehension. She had begun to like herhusband during the latter part of their sojourn in London; had missed himterribly during this long period of lonely ennui at Hartledon; and histender kindness to her for the past few fleeting hours of this theirmeeting had seemed like heaven as compared with the solitary past. Herwhole heart was in her words as she answered:

"When we first married I did not care for you; I almost think I did notlike you. Everything was new to me, and I felt as one in an unknown sea. But it wore off; and if you only knew how I have thought of you, andwished for you here, you would never have said anything so cruel. You aremy husband, and you cannot put me from you. Percival, promise me that youwill never hint at this again!"

He bent and kissed her. His course lay plain before him; and if an uglymountain rose up before his mind's eye, shadowing forth not voluntary butforced separation, he would not look at it in that moment. 

"What could mamma mean?" she asked. "I shall ask her. "

"Maude, oblige me by saying nothing about it. I have already warned LadyKirton that it must not be repeated; and I am sure it will not be. I wishyou would also oblige me in another matter. "

"In anything, " she eagerly said, raising her tearful eyes to his. "Ask meanything. "

"I intend to take your brother to the warmest seaside place England canboast of, at once; to-day or to-morrow. The sea-air may do me good also. I want that, or something else, " he added; his tone assuming a sadweariness as he remembered how futile any "sea-air" would be for a minddiseased. "Won't you go with us, Maude?"

"Oh yes, gladly! I will go with you anywhere. "

He left her to proceed to Captain Kirton's room, thinking that he and hiswife might have been happy together yet, but for that one awful shadow ofthe past, which she did not know anything about; and he prayed she nevermight know. 

But after all, it would have been a very moonlight sort of happiness. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

ONCE MORE. 

The months rolled on, and Lord and Lady Hartledon did not separate. Theyremained together, and were, so far, happy enough--the moonlighthappiness hinted at; and it is as I believe, the best and calmest sortof happiness for married life. Maude's temper was unequal, and he wassubject to prolonged hours of sadness. But the time went lightly enoughover their heads, for all the world saw, as it goes over the heads ofmost people. 

And Lord Hartledon was a free man still, and stood well with the world. Whatever the mysterious accusation brought against him had been, itproduced no noisy effects as yet; in popular phrase, it had come tonothing. As yet; always as yet. Whether he had shot a man, or robbed abank, or fired a church, the incipient accusation died away. But thefear, let it be of what nature it would, never died away in his mind;and he lived as a man with a sword suspended over his head. Moreover, the sword, in his own imagination, was slipping gradually from itsfastenings; his days were restless, his nights sleepless, an inward feverfor ever consumed him. 

As none knew better than Thomas Carr. There were two witnesses who couldbring the facts home to Lord Hartledon; and, so far as was known, onlytwo: the stranger, who had paid him a visit, and the man Gordon, orGorton. The latter was the more dangerous; and they had not yet been ableto trace him. Mr. Carr's friend, Detective Green, had furnished thatgentleman with a descriptive bill of Gordon of the mutiny: "a young, slight man, with light eyes and fair hair. " This did not answer exactlyto the Gorton who had played his part at Calne; but then, in regard tothe latter, there remained the suspicion that the red hair was false. Whether it was the same man or whether it was two men--if the phrase maybe allowed--neither of them, to use Detective Green's expressive words, turned up. And thus the months had passed on, with nothing special tomark them. Captain Kirton had been conveyed abroad for the winter, andthey had good news of him; and the countess-dowager was inflicting avisit upon one of her married daughters in Germany, the baroness with theunpronounceable name. 

And the matter had nearly faded from the mind of Lady Hartledon. It wouldquite have faded, but for certain interviews with Thomas Carr at hischambers, when Hartledon's look of care precluded the idea that theycould be visits of mere idleness or pleasure; and for the secret troublethat unmistakably sat on her husband like an incubus. At times he wouldmoan in his sleep as one in pain; but if told of this, had always somelaughing answer ready for her--he had dreamed he was fighting a lion orbeing tossed by a bull. 

This was the pleasantest phase of Lady Hartledon's married life. Herhealth did not allow of her entering into gaiety; and she and her husbandpassed their time happily together. All her worst qualities seemed tohave left her, or to be dormant; she was yielding and gentle; her beautyhad never been so great as now that it was subdued; her languor was anattraction, her care to please being genuine; and they were sufficientlyhappy. They were in their town-house now, not having gone back toHartledon. A large, handsome house, very different from the hired onethey had first occupied. 

In January the baby was born; and Maude's eyes glistened with tearsof delight because it was a boy: a little heir to the broad lands ofHartledon. She was very well, and it seemed that she could never tireof fondling her child. 

But in the first few days succeeding that of the birth a strange fancytook possession of her: she observed, or thought she observed, that herhusband did not seem to care for the child. He did not caress it; sheonce heard him sighing over it; and he never announced it in thenewspapers. Other infants, heirs especially, could be made known to theworld, but not hers. The omission might never have come to her knowledge, since at first she was not allowed to see newspapers, but for a letterfrom the countess-dowager. The lady wrote in a high state of wrath fromGermany; she had looked every day for ten days in the _Times_, and saw nochronicle of the happy event; and she demanded the reason. It afforded avalve for her temper, which had been in an explosive state for some timeagainst Lord Hartledon, that ungracious son-in-law having actuallyforbidden her his house until Maude's illness should be over; telling herplainly that he would not have his wife worried. Lady Hartledon saidnothing for a day or two; she was watching her husband; watching forsigns of the fancy which had taken possession of her. 

He was in her room one dark afternoon, standing with his elbow on themantelpiece whilst he talked to her: a room of luxury and comfort it musthave been almost a pleasure to be ill in. Lady Hartledon had been allowedto get up, and sit in an easy-chair: she seemed to be growing strongrapidly; and the little red gentleman in the cradle, sleeping quietly, was fifteen days old. 

"About his name, Percival; what is it to be?" she asked. "Your own?"

"No, no, not mine, " said he, quickly; "I never liked mine. Choose someother, Maude. "

"What do you wish it to be?"

"Anything. "

The short answer did not please the young mother; neither did the dreamytone in which it was spoken. "Don't you care what it is?" she askedrather plaintively. 

"Not much, for myself. I wish it to be anything you shall choose. "

"I thought perhaps you would have liked it named after your brother, " shesaid, very much offended on the baby's account. 

"George?"

"George, no. I never knew George; I should not be likely to think of him. Edward. "

Lord Hartledon looked at the fire, absently pushing back his hair. "Yes, let it be Edward. It will do as well as anything else. "

"Good gracious, Percival, one would think you had been having babies allyour life!" she exclaimed resentfully. "'Do as well as anything else!' Ifhe were our tenth son, instead of our first, you could not treat it withmore indifference. I have done nothing but deliberate on the name sincehe was born; and I don't believe you have once given it a thought. "

Lord Hartledon turned his face upon her; and when illumined with a smile, as now, it could be as bright as before care came to it. "I don't thinkwe men attach the importance to names in a general way that you do, Maude. I shall like to have it Edward. "

"Edward William Algernon--"

"No, no, no, " as if the number alarmed him. "Pray don't have a string ofnames: one's quite enough. "

"Oh, very well, " she returned, biting her lips. "William was yourfather's name. Algernon is my eldest brother's: I supposed you might likethem. I thought, " she added, after a pause, "we might ask Lord Kirton tobe its godfather. "

"I have decided on the godfathers already. Thomas Carr will be one, andI intend to be the other. "

"Thomas Carr! A poor hard-working barrister, that not a soul knows, andof no family or influence whatever, godfather to the future LordHartledon!" uttered the offended mother. 

"I wish it, Maude. Carr is the most valued friend I have in the world, orever can have. Oblige me in this. "

"Then my brother can be the other. "

"No; I myself; and I wish you would be its godmother. "

"Well, it's quite reversing the order of things!" she said, tacitlyconceding the point. 

A silence ensued. The firelight played on the lace curtains of the baby'sbed, as it did on Lady Hartledon's face; a thoughtful face just now. Twilight was drawing on, and the fire lighted the room. 

"Percival, do you care for the child?"

The tone had a sound of passion in it, breaking upon the silence. LordHartledon lifted his bent face and glanced at his wife. 

"Do I care for the child, Maude? What a question! I do care for him: morethan I allow to appear. "

And if her voice had passion in it, his had pain. He crossed the room, and stood looking down on the sleeping baby, touching at length its cheekwith his finger. He could have knelt, there and then, and wept over thechild, and prayed, oh, how earnestly, that God would take it to Himself, not suffer it to live. Many and many a prayer had ascended from his heartin their earlier married days, that his wife might not bear him children;for he could only entail upon them an inheritance of shame. 

"I don't think you have once taken him in your arms, Percival; you neverkiss him. It's quite unnatural. "

"I give my kisses in the dark, " he laughed, as he returned to where shewas sitting. And this was in a sense true; for once when he happened tobe alone for an instant with the baby, he had clasped it and kissed it ina sort of delirious agony. 

"You never had it in the _Times_, you know!"

"Never what?"

"Never announced its birth in the _Times_. Did you forget it?"

"It must have been very stupid of me, " he remarked. "Never mind, Maude;he won't grow the less for the omission. When are you coming downstairs?"

"Mamma is in a rage about it; she says such neglect ought to be punished;and she knows you have done it on purpose. "

"She is always in a rage with me, no matter what I do, " returned Val, good-humouredly. "She hoped to be here at this time, and sway us all--youand me and the baby; and I stopped it. Ho, ho! young sir!"

The baby had wakened with a cry, and a watchful attendant came glidingin at the sound. Lord Hartledon left the room and went straight down tothe Temple to Mr. Carr's chambers. He found him in all the bustle ofdeparture from town. A cab stood at the foot of the stairs, and Mr. Carr's laundress, a queer old body with an inverted black bonnet, washanding the cabman a parcel of books. 

"A minute more and you'd have been too late, " observed Mr. Carr, as LordHartledon met him on the stairs, a coat on his arm. 

"I thought you did not start till to-morrow. "

"But I found I must go to-day. I can give you three minutes. Is itanything particular?"

Lord Hartledon drew him into his room. "I have come to crave a favour, Carr. It has been on my lips to ask you before, but they would not framethe words. This child of mine: will you be its godfather with myself?"

One moment's hesitation, quite perceptible to the sensitive mind of LordHartledon, and then Mr. Carr spoke out bravely and cheerily. 

"Of course I will. "

"I see you hesitate: but I do not like to ask any one else. "

"If I hesitated, it was at the thought of the grave responsibilityattaching to the office. I believe I look upon it in a more serious lightthan most people do, and have never accepted the charge yet. I will besponsor to this one with all my heart. "

Lord Hartledon clasped his hand in reply, and they began to descendthe stairs. "Poor Maude was dreaming of making a grand thing of thechristening, " he said; "she wanted to ask Lord Kirton to come to it. It will take place in about a fortnight. "

"Very well; I must run up for it, unless you let me stand by proxy. I wish, Hartledon, you would hear me on another point, " added thebarrister, halting on the stairs, and dropping his voice to a whisper. 

"Well?"

"If you are to go away at all, now's the time. Can't you be seized withan exploring fit, and sail to Africa, or some other place, where yourtravels would occupy years?"

Lord Hartledon shook his head. "How can I leave Maude to battle alonewith the exposure, should it come?"

"It is a great deal less likely to come if you are a few thousand milesaway. "

"I question it. Should Gorton turn up he is just the one to frighten adefenceless woman, and purchase his own silence. No; my place is besideMaude. "

"As you please. I have spoken for the last time. By the way, any lettersbearing a certain postmark, that come addressed to me during my absence, Taylor has orders to send to you. Fare you well, Hartledon; I wish Icould help you to peace. "

Hartledon watched the cab rattle away, and then turned homewards. Peace!There was no peace for him. 

Lady Hartledon was not to be thwarted on all points, and she insistedon a ceremonious christening. The countess-dowager would come over forit, and did so; Lord Hartledon could not be discourteous enough to denythis; Lord and Lady Kirton came from Ireland; and for the first timesince their marriage they found themselves entertaining guests. LordHartledon had made a faint opposition, but Maude had her own way. Thecountess-dowager was furiously indignant when she heard of the intendedsponsors--its father and mother, and that cynical wretch, Thomas Carr!Val played the hospitable host; but there was a shadow on his face thathis wife did not fail to see. 

It was the evening before the christening, and a very snowy eveningtoo. Val was dressing for dinner, and Maude, herself ready, sat by him, her baby on her knee. The child was attired for the first time in asplendidly-worked robe with looped-up sleeves; and she had brought itin to challenge admiration for its pretty arms, with all the pardonablepride of a young mother. 

"Won't you kiss it for once, Val?"

He took the child in his arms; it had its mother's fine dark eyes, andlooked straight up from them into his. Lord Hartledon suddenly bent hisown face down upon that little one with what seemed like a gesture ofagony; and when he raised it his own eyes were wet with tears. Maude feltstartled with a sort of terror: love was love; but she did not understandlove so painful as this. 

She sat down with the baby on her knee, saying nothing; he did not intendher to see the signs of emotion. And this brings us to where we were. Lord Hartledon went on with his toilette, and presently someone knockedat the door. 

Two letters: they had come by the afternoon post, very much delayed onaccount of the snow. He came back to the gaslight, opening one. A fullletter, written closely; but he had barely glanced at it when he hastilyfolded it again, and crammed it into his pocket. If ever a movementexpressed something to be concealed, that did. And Lady Hartledon wasgazing at him with her questioning eyes. 

"Wasn't that letter from Thomas Carr?"

"Yes. "

"Is he coming up? Or is Kirton to be proxy?"

"He is--coming, I think, " said Val, evidently knowing nothing one way orthe other. "He'll be here, I daresay, to-morrow morning. "

Opening the other letter as he spoke--a foreign-looking letter thisone--he put it up in the same hasty manner, with barely a glance; andthen went on slowly with his dressing. 

"Why don't you read your letters, Percival?"

"I haven't time. Dinner will be waiting. "

She knew that he had plenty of time, and that dinner would not bewaiting; she knew quite certainly that there was something in bothletters she must not see. Rising from her seat in silence, she went outof the room with her baby; resentment and an unhealthy curiosity doingbattle in her heart. 

Lord Hartledon slipped the bolt of the door and read the letters at once;the foreign one first, over which he seemed to take an instant's counselwith himself. Before going down he locked them up in a small ebonycabinet which stood against the wall. The room was his own exclusively;his wife had nothing to do with it. 

Had they been alone he might have observed her coolness to him; but, withguests to entertain, he neither saw nor suspected it. She sat oppositehim at dinner richly dressed, her jewels and smiles alike dazzling: butthe smiles were not turned on him. 

"Is that chosen sponsor of yours coming up for the christening; lawyerCarr?" tartly inquired the dowager from her seat, bringing her face andher turban, all scarlet together, to bear on Hartledon. 

"He comes up by this evening's train; will be in London late to-night, ifthe snow allows him, and stay with us until Sunday night, " replied Val. 

"Oh! _That's_ no doubt the reason why you settled the christening forSaturday: that your friend might have the benefit of Sunday?"

"Just so, madam. "

And Lady Hartledon knew, by this, that her husband must have read theletters. "I wonder what he has done with them?" came the mental thought, shadowing forth a dim wish that she could read them too. 

In the drawing-room, after dinner, someone proposed a carpet quadrille, but Lord Hartledon seemed averse to it. In his wife's present mood, hisopposition was, of course, the signal for her approval, and she beganpushing the chairs aside with her own hands. He approached her quietly. 

"Maude, do not let them dance to-night. "

"Why not?"

"I have a reason. My dear, won't you oblige me in this?"

"Tell me the reason, and perhaps I will; not otherwise. "

"I will tell it you another time. Trust me, I have a good one. What isit, Hedges?"

The butler had come up to his master in the unobtrusive manner of awell-trained servant, and was waiting an opportunity to speak. He said aword in Lord Hartledon's ear, and Lady Hartledon saw a shiver of surpriserun through her husband. He looked here, looked there, as one perplexedwith fear, and finally went out of the room with a calm face, but onethat was turning livid. 

Lady Hartledon followed in an impulse of curiosity. She looked after himover the balustrades, and saw him turn into the library below. Hedges wasstanding near the drawing-room door. 

"Does any one want Lord Hartledon?"

"Yes, my lady. "

"Who is it?"

"I don't know, my lady. Some gentleman. "

She ran lightly down the stairs, pausing at the foot, as if ashamed ofher persistent curiosity. The well-lighted hall was before her; thedining-room on one side; the library and a small room communicating onthe other. Throwing back her head, as in defiance, she boldly crossed thehall and opened the library door. 

Now what Lady Hartledon had really thought was that the visitor was Mr. Carr; her husband was going to steal a quiet half-hour with him; andHedges was in the plot. She had not lived with Hartledon the best partof a year without learning that Hedges was devoted heart and soul to hismaster. 

She opened the library-door. Her husband's back was towards her; andfacing him, his arms raised as if in anger or remonstrance, was the samestranger who had caused some commotion in the other house. She knew himin a moment: there he was, with his staid face, his black clothes, andhis white neckcloth, looking so like a clergyman. Lord Hartledon turnedhis head. 

"I am engaged, Maude; you can't come in, " he peremptorily said; andclosed the door upon her. 

She went slowly up the stairs again, not choosing to meet the butler'seyes, past the drawing-rooms, and up to her own. The sight of thestranger, coupled with her husband's signs of emotion, had renewed allher old suspicions, she knew not, she never had known, of what. Jumpingto the conclusion that those letters must be in some way connected withthe mystery, perhaps an advent of the visit, it set her thinking, andrebellion arose in her heart. 

"I wonder if he put them in the ebony cabinet?" she exclaimed. "I have akey that will fit that. "

Yes, she had a key to fit it. A few weeks before, Lord Hartledon mislaidhis keys; he wanted something out of this cabinet, in which he did not, as a rule, keep anything of consequence, and tried hers. One was found tounlock it, and he jokingly told her she had a key to his treasures. Buthimself strictly honourable, he could not suspect dishonour in another;and Lord Hartledon supposed it simply impossible that she should attemptto open it of her own accord. 

They were of different natures; and they had been reared in differentschools. Poor Maude Kirton had learnt to be anything but scrupulous, and really thought it a very slight thing she was about to do, almostjustifiable under the circumstances. Almost, if not quite. Neverthelessshe would not have liked to be caught at it. 

She took her bunch of keys and went into her husband's dressing-room, which opened from their bedroom: but she went on tip-toe, as one whoknows she is doing wrong. It took some little time to try the keys, forthere were several on the ring, and she did not know the right one: butthe lid flew open at last, and disclosed the two letters lying there. 

She snatched at one, either that came first, and opened it. It happenedto be the one from Mr. Carr, and she began to read it, her heart beating. 

 "Dear Hartledon, "I think I have at last found some trace of Gorton. There's a man of that name in the criminal calendar here, down for trial to-morrow; I shall see then whether it is the same, but the description tallies. Should it be our Gorton, I think the better plan will be to leave him entirely alone: a man undergoing a criminal sentence--and this man is sure of a long period of it--has neither the means nor the motive to be dangerous. He cannot molest you whilst he is working on Portland Island; and, so far, you may live a little eased from fear. I wish--"

Mr. Carr's was a close handwriting, and this concluded the first page. She was turning it over, when Lord Hartledon's voice on the stairs caughther ear. He seemed to be coming up. 

Ay, and he would have caught her at her work but for the accidentalcircumstance of the old dowager's happening to look out of thedrawing-room and detaining him, as he was hastening onwards up thestairs. She did her daughter good service that moment, if she had neverdone it before. Maude had time to fold the letter, put it back, lock thecabinet, and escape. Had she been a nervous woman, given to beingflurried and to losing her presence of mind, she might not havesucceeded; but she was cool and quick in emergency, her brain and fingerssteady. 

Nevertheless her heart beat a little as she stood within the other room, the door not latched behind her. She did not stir, lest he should hearher; and she hoped to remain unseen until he went down again. A readyexcuse was on her lips, if he happened to look in, which was notprobable: that she fancied she heard baby cry, and was listening. 

Lord Hartledon was walking about his dressing-room, pacing it restlessly, and she very distinctly heard suppressed groans of mortal anguishbreaking from his lips. How he had got rid of his visitor, and whatthe visitor came for, she knew not. He seemed to halt before thewashhand-stand, pour out some water, and dash his face into it. 

"God help me! God help Maude!" he ejaculated, as he went down again tothe drawing-room. 

And Lady Hartledon went down also, for the interruption had frightenedher, and she did not attempt to open the cabinet again. She never knewmore of the contents of Mr. Carr's letter; and only the substance of theother, as communicated to her by her husband. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

CROSS-QUESTIONING MR. CARR. 

Not until the Sunday morning did Lady Hartledon speak to her husband ofthe stranger's visit. There seemed to have been no previous opportunity. Mr. Carr had arrived late on the Friday night; indeed it was Saturdaymorning, for the trains were all detained; and he and Hartledon sat uptogether to an unconscionable hour. For this short visit he was LordHartledon's guest. Saturday seemed to have been given to preparation, to gaiety, and to nothing else. Perhaps also Lady Hartledon did not wishto mar that day by an unpleasant word. The little child was christened;the names given him being Edward Kirton: the countess-dowager, who was ina chronic state of dissatisfaction with everything and every one, angrilyexclaimed at the last moment, that she thought at least her family namemight have been given to the child; and Lord Hartledon interposed, andsaid, give it. Lord and Lady Hartledon, and Mr. Carr, were the sponsors:and it would afford food for weeks of grumbling to the old dowager. Hilarity reigned, and toasts were given to the new heir of Hartledon;and the only one who seemed not to enter into the spirit of the thing, but on the contrary to be subdued, absent, nervous, was the heir'sfather. 

And so it went on to the Sunday morning. A cold, bleak, bitter morning, the wind howling, the snow flying in drifts. Mr. Carr went to church, and he was the only one of the party in the house who did go. Thecountess-dowager the previous night had proclaimed the fact that _she_meant to go--as a sort of reproach to any who meant to keep away. However, when the church-bells began, she was turning round in herwarm bed for another nap. 

Maude did not go down early; had not yet taken to doing so. Shebreakfasted in her room, remained toying with her baby for some time, and then went into her own sitting-room; a small cosy apartment on thedrawing-room floor, into which visitors did not intrude. It looked on toHyde Park, and a very white and dreary park it was on that particularday. 

Drawing a chair to the window, she sat looking out. That is, her eyeswere given to the outer world, but she was so deep in thought as to seenothing of it. For two nights and a day, burning with curiosity, she hadbeen putting this and that together in her own mind, and drawingconclusions according to her own light. First, there was the advent ofthe visitor; secondly, there was the letter she had dipped into. Sheconnected the two with each other and wondered WHAT the secret care couldbe that had such telling effect upon her husband. 

Gorton. The name had struck upon her memory, even whilst she read it, asone associated with that terrible time--the late Lord Hartledon's death. Gradually the floodgates of recollection opened, and she knew him for thewitness at the inquest about whom some speculation had arisen as to whohe was, and what his business at Calne might have been with LordHartledon and his brother, Val Elster. 

Why should her husband be afraid of this man?--as it seemed he _was_afraid, by Mr. Carr's letter. What power had he of injuring LordHartledon?--what secret did he possess of his, that might be used againsthim? Turning it about in her mind, and turning it again, searching herimagination for a solution, Lady Hartledon at length arrived at one, indefault of others. She thought this man must know some untoward factby which the present Lord Hartledon's succession was imperilled. Possiblythe late Lord Hartledon had made some covert and degrading marriage;leaving an obscure child who possessed legal rights, and might yet claimthem. A romantic, far-fetched idea, you will say; but she could think ofno other that was in the least feasible. And she remembered some faintidea having arisen in her mind at the time, that the visit of the manGorton was in some way connected with trouble, though she did not knowwith which brother. 

Val came in and shut the door. He stirred the fire into a blaze, makingsome remark about the snow, and wondering how Carr would get down to thecountry again. Maude gave a slight answer, and then there was silence. Each was considering how best to say something to the other. She was thequicker. 

"Lord Hartledon, what did that man want on Friday?"

"What man?" he rejoined, rather wincing--for he knew well enough to whatshe alluded. 

"The man--gentleman, or whatever he is--who had you called down to him inthe library. "

"By the way, Maude--yes--you should not dart in when I am engaged withvisitors on business. "

"Well, I thought it was Mr. Carr, " she replied, glancing at hisheightened colour. "What did he want?"

"Only to say a word to me on a matter of business. "

"It was the same person who upset you so when he called last autumn. Youhave never been the same man since. "

"Don't take fancies into your head, Maude. "

"Fancies! you know quite well there is no fancy about it. That man holdssome unpleasant secret of yours, I am certain. "

"Maude!"

"Will you tell it me?"

"I have nothing to tell. "

"Ah, well; I expected you wouldn't speak, " she answered, with subduedbitterness; as much as to say, that she made a merit of resigning herselfto an injustice she could not help. "You have been keeping things from mea long time. "

"I have kept nothing from you it would give you pleasure to know. It isnot--Maude, pray hear me--it is not always expedient for a man to makeknown to his wife the jars and rubs he has himself to encounter. Ahundred trifles may arise that are best spared to her. That gentleman'sbusiness concerned others as well as myself, and I am not at liberty tospeak of it. "

"You refuse, then, to admit me to your confidence?"

"In this I do. I am the best judge--and you must allow me to be so--ofwhat ought, and what ought not, to be spoken of to you. You may alwaysrely upon my acting for your best happiness, as far as lies in my power. "

He had been pacing the room whilst he spoke. Lady Hartledon was in tooresentful a mood to answer. Glancing at her, he stood by the mantelpieceand leaned his elbow upon it. 

"I want to make known to you another matter, Maude. If I have kept itfrom you--"

"Does it concern this secret business of yours?" she interrupted. 

"No. "

"Then let us have done with this first, if you please. Who is Gorton?"

"Who is--Gorton?" he repeated, after a dumbfounded pause. "What Gorton?"

"Well, I don't know; unless it's that man who gave evidence at theinquest on your brother. "

Lord Hartledon stared at her, as well he might; and gulped down hisbreath, which seemed choking him. "But what about Gorton? Why do you askme the question?"

"Because I fancy he is connected with this trouble. I--I thought I heardyou and Mr. Carr mention the name yesterday when you were whisperingtogether. I'm sure I did--there!"

As far as Lord Hartledon remembered, he and Mr. Carr had not beenwhispering together yesterday; had not mentioned the name of Gorton. They had done with the subject at that late sitting, the night of thebarrister's arrival; who had brought news that the Gorton, that morningtried for a great crime, was _not_ the Gorton of whom they were insearch. Lord Hartledon gazed at his wife with questioning eyes, but shepersisted in her assertion. It was sinfully untrue; but how else couldshe account for knowing the name?

"Do you suppose I dreamed it, Lord Hartledon?"

"I don't know whether you dreamed it or not, Maude. Mr. Carr hascertainly spoken to me since he came of a man of that name; but ascertainly not in your hearing. One Gorton was tried for his life onFriday--or almost for his life--and he mentioned to me the circumstancesof the case: housebreaking, accompanied by violence, which ended indeath. I cannot understand you, Maude, or the fancies you seem to betaking up. "

She saw how it was--he would admit nothing: and she looked straight outacross the dreary park, a certain obstinate defiance veiled in her eyes. By the help of Heaven or earth, she would find out this secret that herefused to disclose to her. 

"Almost every action of your life bespeaks concealment, " she resumed. "Look at those letters you received in your dressing-room on Fridaynight: you just opened them and thrust them unread into your pocket, because I happened to be there. And yet you talk of caring for me! I knowthose letters contained some secret or other you dare not tell me. "

She rose in some temper, and gave the fire a fierce stir. 

Lord Hartledon kept her by him. 

"One of those letters was from Mr. Carr; and I presume you can make noobjection to my hearing from him. The other--Maude, I have waited untilnow to disclose its contents to you; I would not mar your happinessyesterday. "

She looked up at him. Something in his voice, a sad pitying tenderness, caused her heart to beat a shade quicker. "It was a foreign letter, Maude. I think you observed that. It bore the French postmark. "

A light broke upon her. "Oh, Percival, it is about Robert! Surely he isnot worse!"

He drew her closer to him: not speaking. 

"He is not dead?" she said, with a rush of tears. "Ah, you need not tellme; I see it. Robert! Robert!"

"It has been a happy death, Maude, and he is better off. He was quiteready to go. I wish we were as ready!"

Lord Hartledon took out the letter and read the chief portion of it toher. One little part he dexterously omitted, describing the cause ofdeath--disease of the heart. 

"But I thought he was getting so much better. What has killed him in thissudden manner?"

"Well, there was no great hope from the first. I confess I haveentertained none. Mr. Hillary, you know, warned us it might end eitherway. "

"Was it decline?" she asked, her tears falling. 

"He has been declining gradually, no doubt. "

"Oh, Percival! Why did you not tell me at once? It seems so cruel to havehad all that entertainment yesterday! This is why you did not wish us todance!"

"And if I had told you, and stopped the entertainment, allowing the poorlittle fellow to be christened in gloom and sorrow, you would have beenthe first to reproach me; you might have said it augured ill-luck for thechild. "

"Well, perhaps I should; yes, I am sure I should. You have acted rightly, after all, Val. " And it was a candid admission, considering what she hadbeen previously saying. He bent towards her with a smile, his voice quiteunsteady with its earnestness. 

"You see now with what motive I kept the letter from you. Maude! cannotthis be an earnest that you should trust me for the rest? In all I do, asHeaven is my witness, I place your comfort first and foremost. "

"Don't be angry with me, " she cried, softening at the words. 

He laid his hand on his wife's bent head, thinking how far he was fromanger. Anger? He would have died for her then, at that moment, if itmight have saved her from the sin and shame that she must share with him. 

"Have you told mamma, Percival?"

"Not yet. It would not have been kept from you long had she known it. Sheis not up yet, I think. "

"Who has written?"

"The doctor who attended him. "

"You'll let me read the letter?"

"I have written to desire that full particulars may be sent to you: youshall read that one. "

The tacit refusal did not strike her. She only supposed the future letterwould be more explanatory. He was always anxious for her; and he hadwritten off on the Friday night to ask for a letter giving fullerparticulars, whilst avoiding mention of the cause of death. 

Thus harmony for the hour was restored between them; and Lord Hartledonstood the dowager's loud reproaches with equanimity. In possession of thenews of that darling angel's death ever since Friday night, and to havebottled it up within him till Sunday! She wondered what he thought ofhimself!

After all, Val had not quite "bottled it up. " He had made it known to hisbrother-in-law, Lord Kirton, and also to Mr. Carr. Both had agreed thatnothing had better be said until the christening-day was over. 

But there came a reaction. When Lady Hartledon had got over her firstgrief, the other annoyance returned to her, and she fell again tobrooding over it in a very disturbing fashion. She merited blame for thisin a degree; but not so much as appears on the surface. If that idea, which she was taking up very seriously, were correct--that her husband'ssuccession was imperilled--it would be the greatest misfortune that couldhappen to her in life. What had she married for but position?--rank, wealth, her title? any earthly misfortune would be less keen than this. Any earthly misfortune! Poor Maude!

It was a sombre dinner that evening; the news of Captain Kirton's deathmaking it so. Besides relatives, very few guests were staying in thehouse; and the large and elaborate dinner-party of the previous day wasreduced to a small one on this. The first to come into the drawing-roomafterwards, following pretty closely on the ladies, was Mr. Carr. Thedowager, who rarely paid attention to appearances, or to anything else, except her own comfort, had her feet up on a sofa, and was fast asleep;two ladies were standing in front of the fire, talking in undertones;Lady Hartledon sat on a sofa a little apart, her baby on her knee; andher sister-in-law, Lady Kirton, a fragile and rather cross-looking youngwoman, who looked as if a breath would blow her away, was standing overher, studying the infant's face. The latter lady moved away and joinedthe group at the fire as Mr. Carr approached Lady Hartledon. 

"You have your little charge here, I see!"

"Please excuse it; I meant to have sent him away before any of you cameup, " she said, quite pleadingly. "Sarah took upon herself to proclaimaloud that his eyes were not straight, and I could not help having himbrought down to refute her words. Not straight, indeed! She's onlyenvious of him. "

Sarah was Lady Kirton. Mr. Carr smiled. 

"She has no children herself. I think you might be proud of your godson, Mr. Carr. But he ought not to have been here to receive you, for allthat. "

"I have come up soon to say good-bye, Lady Hartledon. In ten minutes Imust be gone. "

"In all this snow! What a night to travel in!"

"Necessity has no law. So, sir, you'd imprison my finger, would you!"

He had touched the child's hand, and in a moment it was clasped round hisfinger. Lady Hartledon laughed. 

"Lady Kirton--the most superstitious woman in the world--would say thatwas an omen: you are destined to be his friend through life. "

"As I will be, " said the barrister, his tone more earnest than theoccasion seemed to call for. 

Lady Hartledon, with a graciousness she was little in the habit ofshowing to Mr. Carr, made room for him beside her, and he sat down. Thebaby lay on his back, his wide-open eyes looking upwards, good as gold. 

"How quiet he is! How he stares!" reiterated the barrister, who did notunderstand much about babies, except for a shadowy idea that they livedin a state of crying for the first six months. 

"He is the best child in the world; every one says so, " she returned. "He is not the least--Hey-day! what do you mean by contradicting mammalike that? Behave yourself, sir. "

For the infant, as if to deny his goodness, set up a sudden cry. Mr. Carrlaughed. He put down his finger again, and the little fingers claspedround it, and the cry ceased. 

"He does not like to lose his friend, you see, Lady Hartledon. "

"I wish you would be my friend as well as his, " she rejoined; and the lowmeaning tones struck on Mr. Carr's ear. 

"I trust I am your friend, " he answered. 

She was still for a few moments; her pale beautiful face incliningtowards the child's; her large dark eyes bent upon him. She turned themon Mr. Carr. 

"This has been a sad day. "

"Yes, for you. It is grievous to lose a brother. "

"And to lose him without the opportunity of a last look, a last farewell. Robert was my best and favourite brother. But the day has been marked asunhappy for other causes than that. "

Was it an uncomfortable prevision of what was coming that caused Mr. Carrnot to answer her? He talked to the unconscious baby, and played with itscheeks. 

"What secret is this that you and my husband have between you, Mr. Carr?"she asked abruptly. 

He ceased his laughing with the baby, said something about its soft face, was altogether easy and careless in his manner, and then answered inhalf-jesting tones:

"Which one, Lady Hartledon?"

"Which one! Have you more than one?" she continued, taking the wordsliterally. 

"We might count up half-a-dozen, I daresay. I cannot tell you how manythings I have not confided to him. We are quite--"

"I mean the secret that affects _him_" she interrupted, in aggrievedtones, feeling that Mr. Carr was playing with her. 

"There is some dread upon him that's wearing him to a shadow, poisoninghis happiness, making his days and nights one long restlessness. Do youthink it right to keep it from me, Mr. Carr? Is it what you and he areboth doing--and are in league with each other to do?"

"_I_ am not keeping any secret from you, Lady Hartledon. "

"You know you are. Nonsense! Do you think I have forgotten that eveningthat was the beginning of it, when a tall strange man dressed as aclergyman, came here, and you both were shut up with him for I can't tellhow long, and Lord Hartledon came out from it looking like a ghost? Youand he both misled me, causing me to believe that the Ashtons wereentering an action against him for breach of promise; laying the damagesat ten thousand pounds. I mean _that_ secret, Mr. Carr, " she added withemphasis. "The same man was here on Friday night again; and when you cameto the house afterwards, you and Lord Hartledon sat up until nearlydaylight. "

Mr. Carr, who had his eyes on the exacting baby, shook his head, andintimated that he was really unable to understand her. 

"When you are in town he is always at your chambers; when you are away hereceives long letters from you that I may not read. "

"Yes, we have been on terms of close friendship for years. And LordHartledon is an idle man, you know, and looks me up. "

"He said you were arranging some business for him last autumn. "

"Last autumn? Let me see. Yes, I think I was. "

"Mr. Carr, is it of any use playing with me? Do you think it right orkind to do so?"

His manner changed at once; he turned to her with eyes as earnest as herown. 

"Lady Hartledon, I would tell you anything that I could and ought to tellyou. That your husband has been engaged in some complicated business, which I have been--which I have taken upon myself to arrange for him, isvery true. I know that he does not wish it mentioned, and therefore mylips are sealed: but it is as well you did not know it, for it would giveyou no satisfaction. "

"Does it involve anything very frightful?"

"It might involve the--the loss of a large sum of money, " he answered, making the best reply he could. 

Lady Hartledon sank her voice to a whisper. "Does it involve the possibleloss of his title?--of Hartledon?"

"No, " said Mr. Carr, looking at her with surprise. 

"You are sure?"

"Certain. I give you my word. What can have got into your head, LadyHartledon?"

She gave a sigh of relief. "I thought it just possible--but I will nottell you why I thought it--that some claimant might be springing up tothe title and property. "

Mr. Carr laughed. "That would be a calamity. Hartledon is as surely yourhusband's as this watch"--taking it out to look at the time--"is mine. When his brother died, he succeeded to him of indisputable right. And nowI must go, for my time is up; and when next I see you, young gentleman, I shall expect a good account of your behaviour. Why, sir, the finger'smine, not yours. Good-bye, Lady Hartledon. "

She gave him her hand coolly, for she was not pleased. The baby began tocry, and was sent away with its nurse. 

And then Lady Hartledon sat on alone, feeling that if she were ever toarrive at the solution of the mystery, it would not be by the help of Mr. Carr. Other questions had been upon her lips--who the stranger was--whathe wanted--five hundred of them: but she saw that she might as well haveput them to the moon. 

And Lord Hartledon went out with Mr. Carr in the inclement night, and sawhim off by a Great-Western train. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

MAUDE'S DISOBEDIENCE. 

Again the months went on, it may almost be said the years, and littletook place worthy of record. Time obliterates as well as soothes; andLady Hartledon had almost forgotten the circumstances which had perplexedand troubled her, for nothing more had come of them. 

And Lord Hartledon? But for a certain restlessness, a hectic flush and aworn frame, betraying that the inward fever was not quenched, a startledmovement if approached or spoken to unexpectedly, it might be thoughtthat he also was at rest. There were no more anxious visits to ThomasCarr's chambers; he went about his ordinary duties, sat out his hoursin the House of Lords, and did as other men. There was nothing veryobvious to betray mental apprehension; and Maude had certainly dismissedthe past, so far, from her mind. 

Not again had Val gone down to Hartledon. With the exception of thatshort visit of a day or two, already recorded, he had not been theresince his marriage. He would not go: his wife, though she had her way inmost things, could not induce him to go. She went once or twice, in aspirit of defiance, it may be said, and meanwhile he remained inLondon, or took a short trip to the Continent, as the whim prompted him. Once they had gone abroad together, and remained for some months; takingservants and the children, for there were two children now; and thelittle fellow who had clasped the finger of Mr. Carr was a sturdy boy ofthree years old. 

Lady Hartledon's health was beginning to fail. The doctors told her shemust be more quiet; she went out a great deal, and seemed to live onlyin the world. Her husband remonstrated with her on the score of health;but she laughed, and said she was not going to give up pleasure just yet. Of course these gay habits are more easily acquired than relinquished. Lady Hartledon had fainting-fits; she felt occasional pain andpalpitation in the region of the heart; and she grew thin withoutapparent cause. She said nothing about it, lest it should be made a pleafor living more quietly; never dreaming of danger. Had she known whatcaused her brother's death her fears might possibly have been awakened. Lord Hartledon suspected mischief might be arising, and cautiouslyquestioned her; she denied that anything was the matter, and he feltreassured. His chief care was to keep her free from excitement; and inthis hope he gave way to her more than he would otherwise have done. Butalas! the moment was approaching when all his care would be in vain; whenthe built-up security of years was destroyed by a single act of wilfuldisobedience to him. The sword so long suspended over his head, was tofall on hers at last. 

One spring afternoon, in London, he was in his wife's sitting-room; thelittle room where you have seen her before, looking upon the Park. Thechildren were playing on the carpet--two pretty little things; the girleighteen months old. 

"Take care!" suddenly called out Lady Hartledon. 

Some one was opening the door, and the little Maude was too near to it. She ran and picked up the child, and Hedges came in with a card for hismaster, saying at the same time that the gentleman was waiting. LordHartledon held it to the fire to read the name. 

"Who is it?" asked Lady Hartledon, putting the little girl down by thewindow, and approaching her husband. But there came no answer. 

Whether the silence aroused her suspicions--whether any look in herhusband's face recalled that evening of terror long ago--or whethersome malicious instinct whispered the truth, can never be known. Certainit was that the past rose up as in a mirror before Lady Hartledon'simagination, and she connected this visitor with the former. She bentover his shoulder to peep at the card; and her husband, startled outof his presence of mind, tore it in two and threw the pieces into thefire. 

"Oh, very well!" she exclaimed, mortally offended. "But you cannot blindme: it is your mysterious visitor again. "

"I don't know what you mean, Maude. It is only someone on business. "

"Then I will go and ask him his business, " she said, moving to the doorwith angry resolve. 

Val was too quick for her. He placed his back against the door, andlifted his hands in agitation. It was a great fault of his, or perhapsa misfortune--for he could not help it--this want of self-control inmoments of emergency. 

"Maude, I forbid you to interfere in this; you must not. For Heaven'ssake, sit down and remain quiet. "

"I'll see your visitor, and know, at last, what this strange trouble is. I will, Lord Hartledon. "

"You must not: do you hear me?" he reiterated with deep emotion, for shewas trying to force her way out of the room. "Maude--listen--I do notmean to be harsh, but for your own good I conjure you to be still. Iforbid you, by the obedience you promised me before God, to inquire intoor stir in this matter. It is a private affair of my own, and not yours. Stay here until I return. "

Maude drew back, as if in compliance; and Lord Hartledon, supposinghe had prevailed, quitted the room and closed the door. He was quitemistaken. Never had her solemn vows of obedience been so utterlydespised; never had the temptation to evil been so rife in her heart. 

She unlatched the door and listened. Lord Hartledon went downstairs andinto the library, just as he had done the evening before the christening. And Lady Hartledon was certain the same man awaited him there. Ringingthe nursery-bell, she took off her slippers, unseen, and hid them undera chair. 

"Remain here with the children, " was her order to the nurse who appeared, as she shut the woman into the room. 

Creeping down softly she opened the door of the room behind the library, and glided in. It was a small room, used exclusively by Lord Hartledon, where he kept a heterogeneous collection of things--papers, books, cigars, pipes, guns, scientific models, anything--and which no one buthimself ever attempted to enter. The intervening door between that andthe library was not quite closed; and Lady Hartledon, cautiously pushedit a little further open. Wilful, unpardonable disobedience! when he hadso strongly forbidden her! It was the same tall stranger. He was speakingin low tones, and Lord Hartledon leaned against the wall with a blankexpression of face. 

She saw; and heard. But how she controlled her feelings, how she remainedand made no sign, she never knew. But that the instinct of self-esteemwas one of her strongest passions, the dread of detection in proportionto it, she never had remained. There she was, and she could not get awayagain. The subtle dexterity which had served her in coming might deserther in returning. Had their senses been on the alert they might haveheard her poor heart beating. 

The interview did not last long--about twenty minutes; and whilst LordHartledon was attending his visitor to the door she escaped upstairsagain, motioned away the nurse, and resumed her shoes. But what did shelook like? Not like Maude Hartledon. Her face was as that of one uponwhom some awful doom has fallen; her breath was coming painfully; and shekneeled down on the carpet and clasped her children to her beating heartwith an action of wild despair. 

"Oh, my boy! my boy! Oh, my little Maude!"

Suddenly she heard her husband's step approaching, and pushing themfrom her, rose and stood at the window, apparently looking out on thedarkening world. 

Lord Hartledon came in, gaily and cheerily, his manner lighter than ithad been for years. 

"Well, Maude, I have not been long, you see. Why don't you have lights?"

She did not answer: only stared straight out. Her husband approached her. "What are you looking at, Maude?"

"Nothing, " she answered: "my head aches. I think I shall lie down untildinner-time. Eddie, open the door, and call Nurse, as loud as you cancall. "

The little boy obeyed, and the nurse returned, and was ordered to takethe children. Lady Hartledon was following them to go to her own room, when she fell into a chair and went off in a dead faint. 

"It's that excitement, " said Val. "I do wish Maude would be reasonable!"

The illness, however, appeared to be more serious than an ordinaryfainting-fit; and Lord Hartledon, remembering the suspicion ofheart-disease, sent for the family doctor Sir Alexander Pepps, anoracle in the fashionable world. 

A different result showed itself--equally caused by excitement--and thecountess-dowager arrived in a day or two in hot haste. Lady Hartledon layin bed, and did not attempt to get up or to get better. She lay almost asone without life, taking no notice of any one, turning her head from herhusband when he entered, refusing to answer her mother, keeping thechildren away from the room. 

"Why doesn't she get up, Pepps?" demanded the dowager, wrathfully, pouncing upon the physician one day, when he was leaving the house. 

Sir Alexander, who might have been supposed to have received hisbaronetcy for his skill, but that titles, like kissing, go by favour, stopped short, took off his hat, and presumed that Lady Hartledon feltmore comfortable in bed. 

"Rubbish! We might all lie in bed if we studied comfort. Is there anyearthly reason why she should stay there, Pepps?"

"Not any, except weakness. "

"Except idleness, you mean. Why don't you order her to get up?"

"I have advised Lady Hartledon to do so, and she does not attend to me, "replied Sir Alexander. 

"Oh, " said the dowager. "She was always wilful. What about her heart?"

"Her heart!" echoed Sir Alexander, looking up now as if a little aroused. 

"Dear me, yes; her heart; I didn't say her liver. Is it sound, Pepps?"

"It's sound, for anything I know to the contrary. I never suspectedanything the matter with her heart. "

"Then you are a fool!" retorted the complimentary dowager. 

Sir Alexander's temperament was remarkably calm. Nothing could rousehim out of his tame civility, which had been taken more than once forobsequiousness. The countess-dowager had patronized him in earlier years, when he was not a great man, or had begun to dream of becoming one. 

"Don't you recollect I once consulted you on the subject--what's yourmemory good for? She was a girl then, of fourteen or so; and you wereworth fifty of what you are now, in point of discernment. "

The oracle carried his thoughts back, and really could not recollect it. "Ahem! yes; and the result was--was--"

"The result was that you said the heart had nothing the matter with it, and I said it had, " broke in the impatient dowager. 

"Ah, yes, madam, I remember. Pray, have you reason to suspect anythingwrong now?"

"That's what you ought to have ascertained, Pepps, not me. What d'youmean by your neglect? What, I ask, does she lie in bed for? If herheart's right, there's nothing more the matter with her than there iswith you. "

"Perhaps your ladyship can persuade Lady Hartledon to exert herself, "suggested the bland doctor. "I can't; and I confess I think that she onlywants rousing. "

With a flourish of his hat and his small gold-headed black cane thedoctor bowed himself out from the formidable dowager. That lady turnedher back upon him, and betook herself on the spur of the moment toMaude's room, determined to "have it out. "

Curious sounds greeted her, as of some one in hysterical pain. On thebed, clasped to his mother in nervous agony, was the wondering child, little Lord Elster: words of distress, nay, of despair, breaking fromher. It seemed, the little boy, who was rather self-willed and rebelliouson occasion, had escaped from the nursery, and stolen to his mother'sroom. The dowager halted at the door, and looked out from her astonishedeyes. 

"Oh, Edward, if we were but dead! Oh, my darling, if it would only pleaseHeaven to take us both! I couldn't send for you, child; I couldn't seeyou; the sight of you kills me. You don't know; my babies, you don'tknow!"

"What on earth does all this mean?" interrupted the dowager, steppingforward. And Lady Hartledon dropped the boy, and fell back on the bed, exhausted. 

"What have you done to your mamma, sir?"

The child, conscious that he had not done anything, but frightened on thewhole, repented of his disobedience, and escaped from the chamber morequickly than he had entered it. The dowager hated to be puzzled, and wentwrathfully up to her daughter. 

"Perhaps you'll tell me what's the matter, Maude. "

Lady Hartledon grew calm. The countess-dowager pressed the question. 

"There's nothing the matter, " came the tardy and rather sullen reply. 

"Why do you wish yourself dead, then?"

"Because I do. "

"How dare you answer me so?"

"It's the truth. I should be spared suffering. "

The countess-dowager paused. "Spared suffering!" she mentally repeated;and being a woman given to arriving at rapid conclusions without rhyme orreason, she bethought herself that Maude must have become acquainted withthe suspicion regarding her heart. 

"Who told you that?" shrieked the dowager. "It was that fool Hartledon. "

"He has told me nothing, " said Maude, in an access of resentment, all toovisible. "Told me what?"

"Why, about your heart. That's what I suppose it is. "

Maude raised herself upon her elbow, her wan face fixed on her mother's. "Is there anything the matter with my heart?" she calmly asked. 

And then the old woman found that she had made a grievous mistake, andhastened to repair it. 

"I thought there might be, and asked Pepps. I've just asked him now; andhe's says there's nothing the matter with it. "

"I wish there were!" said Maude. 

"You wish there were! That's a pretty wish for a reasonable Christian, "cried the tart dowager. "You want your husband to lecture you; sayingsuch things. "

"I wish he were hanged!" cried Maude, showing her glistening teeth. 

"My gracious!" exclaimed the wondering old lady, after a pause. "What hashe done?"

"Why did you urge me to marry him? Oh, mother, can't you see that I amdying--dying of horror--and shame--and grief? You had better have buriedme instead. "

For once in her selfish and vulgar mind the countess-dowager felt afeeling akin to fear. In her astonishment she thought Maude must be goingmad. 

"You'd do well to get some sleep, dear, " she said in a subdued tone; "andto-morrow you must get up; Pepps says so; he thinks you want rousing. "

"I have not slept since; it's not sleep, it's a dead stupor, in whichI dream things as horrible as the reality, " murmured Maude, unconsciousperhaps that she spoke aloud. "I shall never sleep again. "

"Not slept since when?"

"I don't know. "

"Can't you say what you mean?" cried the puzzled dowager. "If you've anygrievance, tell it out; if you've not, don't talk nonsense. "

But Lady Hartledon, though thus sweetly allured to confession, held hertongue. Her half-scattered senses came back to her, and with them areticence she would not break. The countess-dowager hardly knew whethershe deserved pitying or shaking, and went off in a fit of exasperation, breaking in upon her son-in-law as he was busy looking over some accountsin the library. 

"I want to know what is the matter with Maude. "

He turned round in his chair, and met the dowager's flaxen wig andcrimson face. Val did not know what was the matter with his wife any morethan the questioner did. He supposed she would be all right when she grewstronger. 

"She says it's _you_" said the gentle dowager, improving upon herinformation. "She has just been wishing you were hanged. "

"Ah, you have been teasing her, " he returned, with composure. "Maude saysall sorts of things when she's put out. "

"Perhaps she does, " was the retort; "but she meant this, for she showedher teeth when she said it. You can't blind me; and I have seen eversince I came here that there was something wrong between you and Maude. "

For that matter, Val had seen it too. Since the night of his wife'sfainting-fit she had scarcely spoken a word to him; had appeared as ifshe could not tolerate his presence for an instant in her room. LordHartledon felt persuaded that it arose from resentment at his havingrefused to allow her to see the stranger. He rose from his seat. 

"There's nothing wrong between me and Maude, Lady Kirton. If there were, you must pardon me for saying that I could not suffer any interference init. But there is not. "

"Something's wrong somewhere. I found her just now sobbing and moaningover Eddie, wishing they were both dead, and all the rest of it. If shegoes on like this for nothing, she's losing her senses, that's all. "

"She'll be all right when she's stronger. Pray don't worry her. She'll bewell soon, I daresay. And now I shall be glad if you'll leave me, for Iam very busy. "

She did not leave him any the quicker for the request, but stayed toworry him, as it was in her nature to worry every one. Getting rid of herat last, he turned the key of the door, and wished her a hundred milesaway. 

The wish bore fruit. In a few days some news she heard regarding hereldest son--who was a widower now--took the dowager to Ireland, and LordHartledon wished he could as easily turn the key of the house upon her ashe had turned that of the room. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE SWORD SLIPPED. 

Summer dust was in the London streets, summer weather in the air, and thecarriage of that fashionable practitioner, Sir Alexander Pepps, stillwaited before Lord Hartledon's house. It had waited there more frequentlyin these later weeks than of old. 

The great world--_her_ world--wondered what was the matter with her: SirAlexander wondered also. Perhaps had he been a less courtly man he mighthave rapped out "obstinacy, " if questioned upon the point; as it was, hemurmured of "weakness. " Weak she undoubtedly was; and she did not seem totry in the least to grow strong again. She did not go into society now;she dressed as usual, and sat in her drawing-room, and received visitorsif the whim took her; but she was usually denied to all; and said she wasnot well enough to go out. From her husband she remained bitterlyestranged. If he attempted to be friendly with her, to ask what wasailing her, she either sharply refused to say, or maintained a persistentsilence. Lord Hartledon could not account for her behaviour, and wasgrowing tired of it. 

Poor Maude! That some grievous blow had fallen upon her was all tooevident. Resentment, anguish, bitter despair alternated within herbreast, and she seemed really not to care whether she lived or died. Wasit for _this_ that she had schemed, and so successfully, to wrest LordHartledon from his promised bride Anne Ashton? She would lie back in herchair and ask it. No labour of hers could by any possibility have broughtforth a result by which Miss Ashton could be so well avenged. Heaven istrue to itself, and Dr. Ashton had left vengeance with it. Lady Hartledonlooked back on her fleeting triumph; a triumph at the time certainly, buta short one. It had not fulfilled its golden promises: that sort oftriumph perhaps never does. It had been followed by ennui, repentance, dissatisfaction with her husband, and it had resulted in a very moonlightsort of happiness, which had at length centred only in the children. Thechildren! Maude gave a cry of anguish as she thought of them. No; take italtogether, the play from the first had not been worth the candle. Andnow? She clasped her thin hands in a frenzy of impotent rage--with AnneAshton had lain the real triumph, with herself the sacrifice. Too wellMaude understood a remark her husband once made in answer to a reproachof hers in the first year of their marriage--that he was thankful not tohave wedded Anne. 

One morning Sir Alexander Pepps, on his way from the drawing-roomto his chariot--a very old-fashioned chariot that all the world knewwell--paused midway in the hall, with his cane to his nose, andcondescended to address the man with the powdered wig who was escortinghim. 

"Is his lordship at home?"

"Yes, sir. "

"I wish to see him. "

So the wig changed its course, and Sir Alexander was bowed intothe presence. His lordship rose with what the French would call_empressement_, to receive the great man. 

"Thank you, I have not time to sit, " said he, declining the offered chairand standing, cane in hand. "I have three consultations to-day, and someurgent cases. I grieve to have a painful duty to fulfil; but I mustinform you that Lady Hartledon's health gives me uneasiness. "

Lord Hartledon did not immediately reply; but it was not from want ofgenuine concern. 

"What is really the matter with her?"

"Debility; nothing else, " replied Sir Alexander. "But these cases ofextreme debility cause so much perplexity. Where there is no particulardisease to treat, and the patient does not rally, why--"

He understood the doctor's pause to mean something ominous. "What can bedone?" he asked. "I have remarked, with pain, that she does not gainstrength. Change of air? The seaside--"

"She says she won't go, " interrupted the physician. "In fact, herladyship objects to everything I can suggest or propose. "

"It's very strange, " said Lord Hartledon. 

"At times it has occurred to me that she has something on her mind, "continued Sir Alexander. "Upon my delicately hinting this opinion to LadyHartledon, she denied it with a vehemence which caused me to suspect thatI was correct. Does your lordship know of anything likely to--to tormenther?"

"Not anything, " replied Lord Hartledon, confidently. "I think I canassure you that there is nothing of the sort. "

And he spoke according to his belief; for he knew of nothing. He wouldhave supposed it simply impossible that Lady Hartledon had been madeprivy to the dreadful secret which had weighed on him; and he never gavethat a thought. 

Sir Alexander nodded, reassured on the point. 

"I should wish for a consultation, if your lordship has no objection. "

"Then pray call it without delay. Have anything, do anything, that mayconduce to Lady Hartledon's recovery. You do not suspect heart-disease?"

"The symptoms are not those of any heart-disease known to me. Lady Kirtonspoke to me of this; but I see nothing to apprehend at present on thatscore. If there's any latent affection, it has not yet shown itself. Thenwe'll arrange the consultation for to-morrow. "

Sir Alexander Pepps was bowed out; and the consultation took place; whichleft the matter just where it was before. The wise doctors thought therewas nothing radically wrong; but strongly recommended change of air. SirAlexander confidently mentioned Torbay; he had great faith in Torbay;perhaps his lordship could induce Lady Hartledon to try it? She hadflatly told the consultation that she would _not_ try it. 

Lady Hartledon was seated in the drawing-room when he went in, willing todo what he could; any urging of his had not gone far with her of late. Awhite silk shawl covered her dress of green check silk; she wore a shawlconstantly now, having a perpetual tendency to shiver; her handsomefeatures were white and attenuated, but her eyes were brilliant still, and her dark hair was dressed in elaborate braids. 

"So you have had the doctors here, Maude, " he remarked, cheerfully. 

She nodded a reply, and began to fidget with the body of her gown. Itseemed that she had to do something or other always to her attirewhenever he spoke to her--which partially took away her attention. 

"Sir Alexander tells me they have been recommending you Torbay. "

"I am not going to Torbay. "

"Oh yes, you are, Maude, " he soothingly said. "It will be a change for usall. The children will benefit by it as much as you, and so shall I. "

"I tell you I shall not go to Torbay. "

"Would you prefer any other place?"

"I will not go anywhere; I have told them so. "

"Then I declare that I'll carry you off by force!" he cried, rathersharply. "Why do you vex me like this? You know you must go?"

She made no reply. He drew a chair close to her and sat down. 

"Maude, " he said, speaking all the more gently for his recent outbreak, "you must be aware that you do not recover as quickly as we could wish--"

"I do not recover at all, " she interrupted. "I don't want to recover. "

"My dear, how can you talk so? There is nothing the matter with you butweakness, and that will soon be overcome if you exert yourself. "

"No, it won't. I shall not leave home. "

"Somewhere you must go, for the workmen are coming into the house; andfor the next two months it will not be habitable. "

"Who is bringing them in?" she asked, with flashing eyes. 

"You know it was decided long ago that the house should be done up thissummer. It wants it badly enough. Torbay--"

"I will not go to Torbay, Lord Hartledon. If I am to be turned out ofthis house, I'll go to the other. "

"What other?"

"Hartledon. "

"Not to Hartledon, " said he, quickly, for his dislike to the place hadgrown with time, and the word grated on his ear. 

"Then I remain where I am. "

"Maude, " he resumed in quiet tones, "I will not urge you to try sea-airfor my sake, because you do what you can to show me I am of little momentto you; but I will say try it for the sake of the children. Surely, theyare dear to you!"

A subdued sound of pain broke from her lips, as if she could not bear tohear them named. 

"It's of no use prolonging this discussion, " she said. "An invalid'sfancies may generally be trusted, and mine point to Hartledon--if I am tobe disturbed at all. I should not so much mind going there. "

A pause ensued. Lord Hartledon had taken her hand, and was mechanicallyturning round her wedding-ring, his thoughts far away; it hungsufficiently loosely now on the wasted finger. She lay back in herchair, looking on with apathy, too indifferent to withdraw her hand. 

"Why did you put it on?" she asked, abruptly. 

"Why indeed?" returned his lordship, deep in his abstraction. "What didyou say, Maude?" he added, awaking in a flurry. "Put what on?"

"My wedding-ring. "

"My dear! But about Hartledon--if you fancy that, and nowhere else, I suppose we must go there. "

"You also?"

"Of course. "

"Ah! when your wife's chord of life is loosening what model husbands youmen become!" she uttered. "You have never gone to Hartledon with me; youhave suffered me to be there alone, through a ridiculous reminiscence;but now that you are about to lose me you will go!"

"Why do you encourage these gloomy thoughts about yourself, Maude?" heasked, passing over the Hartledon question. "One would think you wishedto die. "

"I do not know, " she replied in tones of deliberation. "Of course, noone, at my age, can be tired of the world, and for some things I wish tolive; but for others, I shall be glad to die. "

"Maude! Maude! It is wrong to say this. You are not likely to die. "

"I can't tell. All I say is, I shall be glad for some things, if I do. "

"What is all this?" he exclaimed, after a bewildered pause. "Is thereanything on your mind, Maude? Are you grieving after that little infant?"

"No, " she answered, "not for him. I grieve for the two who remain. "

Lord Hartledon looked at her. A dread, which he strove to throw from him, struggling to his conscience. 

"I think you are deceived in my state of health. And if I object to goingto the seaside, it is chiefly because I would not die in a strange place. If I am to die, I should like to die at Hartledon. "

His hair seemed to rise up in horror at the words. "Maude! have you anydisease you are concealing from me?"

"Not any. But the belief has been upon me for some time that I should notget over this. You must have seen how I appear to be sinking. "

"And with no disease upon you! I don't understand it. "

"No particular physical disease. "

"You are weak, dispirited--I cannot pursue these questions, " he brokeoff. "Tell me in a word: is there any cause for this?"

"Yes. "

Percival gathered up his breath. "What is it?"

"What is it!" her eyes ablaze with sudden light. "What has weighed _you_down, not to the grave, for men are strong, but to terror, and shame, andsin? What secret is it, Lord Hartledon?"

His lips were whitening. "But it--even allowing that I have asecret--need not weigh you down. "

"Not weigh me down!--to terror deeper than yours; to shame more abject?Suppose I know the secret?"

"You cannot know it, " he gasped. "It would have killed you. "

"And what _has_ it done? Look at me. "

"Oh, Maude!" he wailed, "what is it that you do, or do not know? How didyou learn anything about it?"

"I learnt it through my own folly. I am sorry for it now. My knowing itcan make the fact neither better nor worse; and perhaps I might have beenspared the knowledge to the end. "

"But what is it that you know?" he asked, rather wishing at the moment hewas dead himself. 

"_All. _"

"It is impossible. "

"It is true. "

And he felt that it was true; here was the solution to the conduct whichhad puzzled him, puzzled the doctors, puzzled the household and thecountess-dowager. 

"And how--and how?" he gasped. 

"When that stranger was here last, I heard what he said to you, " shereplied, avowing the fact without shame in the moment's terrible anguish. "I made the third at the interview. "

He looked at her in utter disbelief. 

"You refused to let me go down. I followed you, and stood at the littledoor of the library. It was open, and I--heard--every word. "

The last words were spoken with an hysterical sobbing. "Oh, Maude!" brokefrom the lips of Lord Hartledon. 

"You will reproach me for disobedience, of course; for meanness, perhaps;but I _knew_ there was some awful secret, and you would not tell me. Iearned my punishment, if that will be any satisfaction to you; I havenever since enjoyed an instant's peace, night or day. "

He hid his face in his pain. This was the moment he had dreaded foryears; anything, so that it might be kept from her, he had prayed in hisnever-ceasing fear. 

"Forgive, forgive me! Oh, Maude, forgive me!"

She did not respond; she did not attempt to soothe him; if ever looksexpressed reproach and aversion, hers did then. 

"Have compassion upon me, Maude! I was more sinned against than sinning. "

"What compassion had you for me? How dared you marry me? you, bound withcrime?"

"The worst is over, Maude; the worst is over. "

"It can never be over: you are guilty of wilful sophistry. The crimeremains; and--Lord Hartledon--its fruits remain. "

He interrupted her excited words by voice and gesture; he took her handsin his. She snatched them from him, and burst into a fit of hystericalcrying, which ended in a faintness almost as of death. He did not dare tocall assistance; an unguarded word might have slipped out unawares. 

Shut them in; shut them in! they had need to be alone in a scene such asthat. 

Lord and Lady Hartledon went down to Calne, as she wished. But notimmediately; some two or three weeks elapsed, and during that time Mr. Carr was a good deal with both of them. Their sole friend: the only mancognizant of the trouble they had yet to battle with; who alone mightwhisper a word of something like consolation. 

Lady Hartledon seemed to improve. Whether it was the country, or the sortof patched-up peace that reigned between her and her husband, she grewstronger and better, and began to go out again and enjoy life as usual. But in saying life, it must not be thought that gaiety is implied; nonecould shun that as Lady Hartledon now seemed to shun it. And he, forthe first time since his marriage, began to take some interest in hisnative place, and in his own home. The old sensitive feeling in regard tomeeting the Ashtons lingered still; was almost as strong as ever; and hehad the good sense to see that this must be overcome, if possible, if hemade Hartledon his home for the future, as his wife now talked of doing. 

As a preliminary step to it, he appeared at church; one, two, threeSundays. On the second Sunday his wife went with him. Anne was in herpew, with her younger brother, but not Mrs. Ashton: she, as LordHartledon knew by report, was too ill now to go out. Each day Dr. Ashtondid the whole duty; his curate, Mr. Graves, was taking a holiday. LordHartledon heard another report, that the curate had been wanting topress his attentions on Miss Ashton. The truth was, as none had knownbetter than Val Elster, Mr. Graves had wanted to press them years andyears ago. He had at length made her an offer, and she had angrilyrefused him. A foolish girl! said indignant Mrs. Graves, reproachfully. Her son was a model son, and would make a model husband; and he wouldbe a wealthy man, as Anne knew, for he must sooner or later come into theentailed property of his uncle. It was not at all pleasant to LordHartledon to stand there in his pew, with recollection upon him, and thegaze of the Ashtons studiously turned from him, and Jabez Gum looking outat him from the corners of his eyes as he made his sonorous responses. Awish for reconciliation took strong possession of Lord Hartledon, and hewondered whether he could not bring himself to sue for it. He wantedbesides to stay for the after-service, which he had not done since he wasa young man--never since his marriage. Maude had stayed occasionally, aswas the fashion; but he never. I beg you not to quarrel with me for theword; some of the partakers in that after-service remain from no highermotive. Certainly poor Maude had not. 

On the third Sunday, Lord Hartledon went to church in the evening--alone;and when service was over he waited until the church had emptied itself, and then made his way into the vestry. Jabez was passing out of it, andthe Rector was coming out behind him. Lord Hartledon stopped the latter, and craved a minute's conversation. Dr. Ashton bowed rather stiffly, puthis hat down, and Jabez shut them in. 

"Is there any service you require of me?" inquired the Rector, coldly. 

It was the impulsive Val Elster of old days who answered; his hand heldout pleadingly, his ingenuous soul shining forth from his blue eyes. 

"Yes, there is, Doctor Ashton; I have come to pray for it--yourforgiveness. "

"My Christian forgiveness you have had already, " returned the clergyman, after a pause. 

"But I want something else. I want your pardon as a man; I want you tolook at me and speak to me as you used to do. I want to hear you call me'Val' again; to take my hand in yours, and not coldly; in short, I wantyou to help me to forgive myself. "

In that moment--and Dr. Ashton, minister of the gospel though he was, could not have explained it--all the old love for Val Elster rosebubbling in his heart. A stubborn heart withal, as all hearts are sinceAdam sinned; he did not respond to the offered hand, nor did his featuresrelax their sternness in spite of the pleading look. 

"You must be aware, Lord Hartledon, that your conduct does not meritpardon. As to friendship--which is what you ask for--it would beincompatible with the distance you and I must observe towards eachother. "

"Why need we observe it--if you accord me your true forgiveness?"

The question was one not easy to respond to candidly. The doctor couldnot say, Your intercourse with us might still be dangerous to the peaceof one heart; and in his inner conviction he believed that it might be. He only looked at Val; the yearning face, the tearful eyes; and in thatmoment it occurred to the doctor that something more than the ordinarywear and tear of life had worn the once smooth brow, brought streaks ofsilver to the still luxuriant hair. 

"Do you know that you nearly killed her?" he asked, his voice softening. 

"I have known that it might be so. Had _any_ atonement lain in my power;any means by which her grief might have been soothed; I would have goneto the ends of the earth to accomplish it. I would even have died if itcould have done good. But, of all the world, I alone might attemptnothing. For myself I have spent the years in misery; not on that score, "he hastened to add in his truth, and a thought crossed Dr. Ashton that hemust allude to unhappiness with his wife--"on another. If it will be anyconsolation to know it--if you might accept it as even the faintestshadow of atonement--I can truly say that few have gone through the carethat I have, and lived. Anne has been amply avenged. "

The Rector laid his hand on the slender fingers, hot with fever, whiterthan they ought to be, betraying life's inward care. He forgave him fromthat moment; and forgiveness with Dr. Ashton meant the full meaning ofthe word. 

"You were always your own enemy, Val. "

"Ay. Heaven alone knows the extent of my folly; and of my punishment. "

From that hour Lord Hartledon and the Rectory were not total strangers toeach other. He called there once in a way, rarely seeing any one but thedoctor; now and then Mrs. Ashton; by chance, Anne. Times and again was iton Val's lips to confide to Dr. Ashton the nature of the sin upon hisconscience; but his innate sensitiveness, the shame it would reflectupon him, stepped in and sealed the secret. 

Meanwhile, perhaps he and his wife had never lived on terms of truercordiality. _There were no secrets between them_: and let me tell youthat is one of the keys to happiness in married life. Whatever the pasthad been, Lady Hartledon appeared to condone it; at least she no longeropenly resented it to her husband. It is just possible that a shadow ofthe future, a prevision of the severing of the tie, very near now, mighthave been unconsciously upon her, guiding her spirit to meekness, if notyet quite to peace. Lord Hartledon thought she was growing strong; and, save that she would rather often go into a passion of hysterical tears asshe clasped her children to her, particularly the boy, her days passedcalmly enough. She indulged the children beyond all reason, and it was ofno use for their father to interfere. Once when he stepped in to preventit, she flew out almost like a tigress, asking what business it was ofhis, that he should dare to come between her and them. The lesson was aneffectual one; and he never interfered again. But the indulgence wastelling on the boy's naturally haughty disposition; and not for good. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

IN THE PARK. 

As the days and weeks went on, and Lord and Lady Hartledon continued atCalne, there was one circumstance that began to impress itself on themind of the former in a careless sort of way--that he was constantlymeeting Pike. Go out when he would, he was sure to see Pike in someout-of-the-way spot; at a sudden turning, or peering forth from undera group of trees, or watching him from a roadside bank. One special dayimpressed itself on Lord Hartledon's memory. He was walking slowly alongthe road with Dr. Ashton, and found Pike keeping pace with them softly onthe other side the hedge, listening no doubt to what he could hear. Onone of these occasions Val stopped and confronted him. 

"What is it you want, Mr. Pike?"

Perhaps Mr. Pike was about the last man in the world to be, as the sayingruns, "taken aback, " and he stood his ground, and boldly answered"Nothing. "

"It seems as though you did, " said Val. "Go where I will, you are sure tospring up before me, or to be peeping from some ambush as I walk along. It will not do: do you understand?"

"I was just thinking the same thing yesterday--that your lordship wasalways meeting _me_, " said Pike. "No offence on either side, I dare say. "

Val walked on, throwing the man a significant look of warning, butvouchsafing no other reply. After that Pike was a little more cautious, and kept aloof for a time; but Val knew that he was still watched onoccasion. 

One fine October day, when the grain had been gathered in and the fieldswere bare with stubble, Hartledon, alone in one of the front rooms, hearda contest going on outside. Throwing up the window, he saw his young sonattempting to mount the groom's pony: the latter objecting. At the doorstood a low basket carriage, harnessed with the fellow pony. Theybelonged to Lady Hartledon; sometimes she drove only one; and the groom, a young lad of fourteen, light and slim, rode the other: sometimes bothponies were in the carriage; and on those occasions the boy sat by herside, and drove. 

"What's the matter, Edward?" called out Lord Hartledon to his son. 

"Young lordship wants to ride the pony, my lord, " said the groom. "Mylady ordered me to ride it. "

At this juncture Lady Hartledon appeared on the scene, ready for herdrive. She had intended to take her little son with her--as she generallydid--but the child boisterously demanded that he should ride the pony foronce, and she weakly yielded. Lord Hartledon's private opinion, lookingon, was that she was literally incapable of denying him any earthly thinghe chose to demand. He went out. 

"He had better go with you in the carriage, Maude. "

"Not at all. He sits very well now, and the pony's perfectly quiet. "

"But he is too young to ride by the side of any vehicle. It is not safe. Let him sit with you as usual. "

"Nonsense! Edward, you shall ride the pony. Help him up, Ralph. "

"No, Maude. He--"

"Be quiet!" said Lady Hartledon, bending towards her husband and speakingin low tones. "It is not for you to interfere. Would you deny himeverything?"

A strangely bitter expression sat on Val's lips. Not of anger; not evenmortification, but sad, cruel pain. He said no more. 

And the cavalcade started. Lady Hartledon driving, the boy-groom sittingbeside her, and Eddie's short legs striding the pony. They were keepingto the Park, she called to her husband, and she should drive slowly. 

There was no real danger, as Val believed; only he did not like thechild's wilful temper given way to. With a deep sigh he turned indoorsfor his hat, and went strolling down the avenue. Mrs. Capper dropped acurtsey as he passed the lodge. 

"Have you heard from your son yet?" he asked. 

"Yes, my lord, many thanks to you. The school suits him bravely. "

Turning out of the gates, he saw Floyd, the miller, walking slowly along. The man had been confined to his bed for weeks in the summer, with anattack of acute rheumatism, and to the house afterwards. It was the firsttime they had met since that morning long ago, when the miller brought upthe purse. Lord Hartledon did not know him at first, he was so altered;pale and reduced. 

"Is it really you, Floyd?"

"What's left of me, my lord. "

"And that's not much; but I am glad to see you so far well, " saidHartledon, in his usual kindly tone. "I have heard reports of you fromMr. Hillary. "

"Your lordship's altered too. "

"Am I?"

"Well, it seems so to me. But it's some few years now since I saw you. Nothing has ever come to light about that pocket-book, my lord. "

"I conclude not, or I should have heard of it. "

"And your lordship never came down to see the place!"

"No. I left Hartledon the same day, I think, or the next. After all, Floyd, I don't see that it is of any use looking into these painfulthings: it cannot bring the dead to life again. "

"That's, true, " said the miller. 

He was walking into Calne. Lord Hartledon kept by his side, talking tohim. He promised to be as popular a man as his father had been; and thatwas saying a great deal. When they came opposite the Rectory, LordHartledon wished him good day and more strength, in his genial manner, and turned in at the Rectory gates. 

About once a week he was in the habit of calling upon Mrs. Ashton. Peacewas between them; and these visits to her sick-chamber were strangelywelcome to her heart. She had loved Val Elster all her life, and sheloved him still, in spite of the past. For Val was curiously subdued; andhis present mood, sad, quiet, thoughtful, was more endearing than hisgayer one had been. Mrs. Ashton did not fail to read that he was adisappointed man, one with some constant care upon him. 

Anne was in the hall when he entered, talking to a poor applicant who waswaiting to see the Rector. Lord Hartledon lifted his hat to her, but didnot offer to shake hands. He had never presumed to touch her hand sincethe reconciliation; in fact, he scarcely ever saw her. 

"How is Mrs. Ashton to-day?"

"A little better, I think. She will be glad to see you. "

He followed the servant upstairs, and Anne turned to the woman again. Mrs. Ashton was in an easy-chair near the window; he drew one close toher. 

"You are looking wonderful to-day, do you know?" he began in tones almostas gay as those of the light-hearted Val Elster. "What is it? That verybecoming cap?"

"The cap, of course. Don't you see its pink ribbons? Your favouritecolour used to be pink, Val. Do you remember?"

"I remember everything. But indeed and in truth you look better, dearMrs. Ashton. "

"Yes, better to-day, " she said, with a sigh. "I shall fluctuate to theend, I suppose; one day better, the next worse. Val, I think sometimesit is not far off now. "

Very far off he knew it could not be. But he spoke of hope still: it wasin his nature to do so. In the depths of his heart, so hidden from theworld, there seemed to be hope for the whole living creation, himselfexcepted. 

"How is your wife to-day?"

"Quite well. She and Edward are out with the ponies and carriage. "

"She never comes to see me. "

"She does not go to see anyone. Though well, she's not very strong yet. "

"But she's young, and will grow strong. I shall only grow weaker. I ambrave to-day; but you should have seen me last night. So prostrate! Ialmost doubted whether I should rise from my bed again. I do not thinkyou will have to come here many more times. "

"Oh, Mrs. Ashton!"

"A little sooner or a little later, what does it matter, I try to askmyself; but parting is parting, and my heart aches sometimes. One of myaches will be leaving you. "

"A very minor one then, " he said, with deprecation; but tears shone inhis dark blue eyes. 

"Not a minor one. I have loved you as a son. I never loved you more, Percival, than when that letter of yours came to me at Cannes. "

It was the first time she had alluded to it: the letter written theevening of his marriage. Val's face turned red, for his perfidy rose upbefore him in its full extent of shame. 

"I don't care to speak of that, " he whispered. "If you only knew what myhumiliation has been!"

"Not of that, no; I don't know why I mentioned it. But I want you tospeak of something else, Val. Over and over again has it been on my lipsto ask it. What secret trouble is weighing you down?"

A far greater change, than the one called up by recollection and itsshame, came over his face now. He did not speak; and Mrs. Ashtoncontinued. She held his hands as he bent towards her. 

"I have seen it all along. At first--I don't mind confessing it--I tookit for granted that you were on bad terms with yourself on account of thepast. I feared there was something wrong between you and your wife, andthat you were regretting Anne. But I soon put that idea from me, toreplace it with a graver one. "

"What graver one?" he asked. 

"Nay, I know not. I want you to tell me. Will you do so?"

He shook his head with an unmistakable gesture, unconsciously pressingher hands to pain. 

"Why not?"

"You have just said I am dear to you, " he whispered; "I believe I am so. "

"As dear, almost, as my own children. "

"Then do not even wish to know it. It is an awful secret; and I must bearit without sympathy of any sort, alone and in silence. It has been uponme for some years now, taking the sweetness out of my daily bread; and itwill, I suppose, go with me to my grave. Not scarcely to lift it off myshoulders, would I impart it to _you_. "

She sighed deeply; and thought it must be connected with some of hisyouthful follies. But she loved him still; she had faith in him; shebelieved that he went wrong from misfortune more than from fault. 

"Courage, Val, " she whispered. "There is a better world than this, where sorrow and sighing cannot enter. Patience--and hope--and trust inGod!--always bearing onwards. In time we shall attain to it. "

Lord Hartledon gently drew his hands away, and turned to the window for amoment's respite. His eyes were greeted with the sight of one of his ownservants, approaching the Rectory at full speed, some half-dozen idlersbehind him. 

With a prevision that something was wrong, he said a word of adieu toMrs. Ashton, went down, and met the man outside. Dr. Ashton, who had seenthe approach, also hurried out. 

There had been some accident in the Park, the man said. The pony hadswerved and thrown little Lord Elster: thrown him right under the otherpony's feet, as it seemed. The servant made rather a bungle over hisnews, but this was its substance. 

"And the result? Is he much hurt?" asked Lord Hartledon, constraining hisvoice to calmness. 

"Well, no; not hurt at all, my lord. He was up again soon, saying he'dlash the pony for throwing him. He don't seem hurt a bit. "

"Then why need you have alarmed us so?" interrupted Dr. Ashton, reprovingly. 

"Well, sir, it's her ladyship seems hurt--or something, " cried the man. 

Lord Hartledon looked at him. 

"What have you come to tell, Richard? Speak out. "

Apparently Richard could not speak out. His lady had been frightened andfainted, and did not come to again. And Lord Hartledon waited to hear nomore. 

The people, standing about in the park here and there--for even thisslight accident had gathered its idlers together--seemed to look at LordHartledon curiously as he passed them. Close to the house he met Ralphthe groom. The boy was crying. 

"'Twasn't no fault of anybody's, my lord; and there ain't any damage tothe ponies, " he began, hastening to excuse himself. "The little lord onlyslid off, and they stood as quiet as quiet. There wasn't no cause for mylady's fear. "

"Is she fainting still?"

"They say she's--dead. "

Lord Hartledon pressed onwards, and met Mr. Hillary at the hall-door. Thesurgeon took his arm and drew him into an empty room. 

"Hillary! is it true?"

"I'm afraid it is. "

Lord Hartledon felt his sight failing. For a moment he was a man gropingin the dark. Steadying himself against the wall, he learned the details. 

The child's pony had swerved. Ralph could not tell at what, and LadyHartledon did not survive to tell. She was looking at him at the time, and saw him flung under the feet of the other pony, and she rose up inthe carriage with a scream, and then fell back into the seat again. Ralphjumped out and picked up the child, who was not hurt at all; but when hehastened to tell her this, he saw that she seemed to have no life in her. One of the servants, Richard, happened to be going through the Park, within sight; others soon came up; and whilst Lady Hartledon was beingdriven home Richard ran for Mr. Hillary, and then sought his master, whomhe found at the Rectory. The surgeon had found her dead. 

"It must have been instantaneous, " he observed in low tones as heconcluded these particulars. "One great consolation is, that she wasspared all suffering. "

"And its cause?" breathed Lord Hartledon. 

"The heart. I don't entertain the least doubt about it. "

"You said she had no heart disease. Others said it. "

"I said, if she had it, it was not developed. Sudden death from it is notat all uncommon where disease has never been suspected. "

And this was all the conclusion come to in the case of Lady Hartledon. Examination proved the surgeon's surmise to be correct; and in answer toa certain question put by Lord Hartledon, he said the death was entirelyirrespective of any trouble, or care, or annoyance she might have had inthe past; irrespective even of any shock, except the shock at the momentof death, caused by seeing the child thrown. That, and that alone, hadbeen the fatal cause. Lord Hartledon listened to this, and went away tohis lonely chamber and fell on his knees in devout thankfulness to Heaventhat he was so far innocent. 

"If she had not given way to the child!" he bitterly aspirated in thefirst moments of sorrow. 

That the countess-dowager should come down post-haste and invadeHartledon, was of course only natural; and Lord Hartledon strove not torebel against it. But she made herself so intensely and disagreeablyofficious that his patience was sorely tried. Her first act was to insiston a stately funeral. He had given orders for one plain and quiet inevery way; but she would have her wish carried out, and raved about thehouse, abusing him for his meanness and want of respect to his dead wife. For peace' sake, he was fain to give her her way; and the funeral wasmade as costly as she pleased. Thomas Carr came down to it; and thecountess-dowager was barely civil to him. 

Her next care was to assume the entire management of the two children, putting Lord Hartledon's authority over them at virtual, if not actual, defiance. The death of her daughter was in truth a severe blow to thedowager; not from love, for she really possessed no natural affection atall, but from fear that she should lose her footing in the house whichwas so desirable a refuge. As a preliminary step against this, she beganto endeavour to make it more firm and secure. Altogether she wasrendering Hartledon unbearable; and Val would often escape from it, his boy in his hand, and take refuge with Mrs. Ashton. 

That Lord Hartledon's love for his children was intense there could be noquestion about; but it was nevertheless of a peculiarly reticent nature. He had rarely, if ever, been seen to caress them. The boy told tales ofhow papa would kiss him, even weep over him, in solitude; but he wouldnot give him so much as an endearing name in the presence of others. PoorMaude had called him all the pet names in a fond mother's vocabulary;Lord Hartledon always called him Edward, and nothing more. 

A few evenings after the funeral had taken place, Mirrable, who had beeninto Calne, was hurrying back in the twilight. As she passed Jabez Gum'sgate, the clerk's wife was standing at it, talking to Mrs. Jones. The twowere laughing: Mrs. Gum seemed in a less depressed state than usual, andthe other less snappish. 

"Is it you!" exclaimed Mrs. Jones, as Mirrable stopped. "I was justsaying I'd not set eyes on you in your new mourning. "

"And laughing over it, " returned Mirrable. 

"No!" was Mrs. Jones's retort. "I'd been telling of a trick I servedJones, and Nance was laughing at that. Silk and crêpe! It's fine to beyou, Mrs. Mirrable!"

"How's Jabez, Nancy?" asked Mirrable, passing over Mrs. Jones'scriticism. 

"He's gone to Garchester, " replied Mrs. Gum, who was given to indirectanswers. "I thought I was never going to see you again, Mary. "

"You could not expect to see me whilst the house was in its recentstate, " answered Mirrable. "We have been in a bustle, as you maysuppose. "

"You've not had many staying there. "

"Only Mr. Carr; and he left to-day. We've got the old countess-dowagerstill. "

"And likely to have her, if all's true that's said, " put in Mrs. Jones. 

Mirrable tacitly admitted the probability. Her private opinion was thatnothing short of a miracle could ever remove the Dowager Kirton from thehouse again. Had any one told Mirrable, as she stood there, that herladyship would be leaving of her own accord that night, she had simplysaid it was impossible. 

"Mary, " cried the weak voice of poor timid Mrs. Gum, "how was it none ofthe brothers came to the funeral? Jabez was wondering. She had a lot, I've heard. "

"It was not convenient to them, I suppose, " replied Mirrable. "The onein the Isle of Wight had gone cruising in somebody's yacht, or he'd havecome with the dowager; and Lord Kirton telegraphed from Ireland that hewas prevented coming. I know nothing about the rest. "

"It was an awful death!" shivered Mrs. Gum. "And without cause too; forthe child was not hurt after all. Isn't my lord dreadfully cut up, Mary?"

"I think so; he's very quiet and subdued. But he has seemed full ofsorrow for a long while, as if he had some dreadful care upon him. Idon't think he and his wife were very happy together, " added Mirrable. "My lord's likely to make Hartledon his chief residence now, I fancy, for--My gracious! what's that?"

A crash as if a whole battery of crockery had come down inside thehouse. A moment of staring consternation ensued, and nervous Mrs. Gumlooked ready to faint. The two women disappeared indoors, and Mirrableturned homewards at a brisk pace. But she was not to go on without aninterruption. Pike's head suddenly appeared above the hurdles, and hebegan inquiring after her health. "Toothache gone?" asked he. 

"Yes, " she said, answering straightforwardly in her surprise. "How didyou know I had toothache?" It was not the first time by several he hadthus accosted her; and to give her her due, she was always civil to him. Perhaps she feared to be otherwise. 

"I heard of it. And so my Lord Hartledon's like a man with some dreadfulcare upon him!" he went on. "What is the care?"

"You have been eavesdropping!" she angrily exclaimed. 

"Not a bit of it. I was seated under the hedge with my pipe, and youthree women began talking. I didn't tell you to. Well, what's hislordship's care?"

"Just mind your own business, and his lordship will mind his, " sheretorted. "You'll get interfered with in a way you won't like, Pike, oneof these days, unless you mend your manners. "

"A great care on him, " nodded Pike to himself, looking after her, as shewalked off in her anger. "A great care! _I_ know. One of these fine days, my lord, I may be asking you questions about it on my own score. I mightlong before this, but for--"

The sentence broke off abruptly, and ended with a growl at things ingeneral. Mr. Pike was evidently not in a genial mood. 

Mirrable reached home to find the countess-dowager in a state more easilyimagined than described. Some sprite, favourable to the peace ofHartledon, had been writing confidentially from Ireland regarding Kirtonand his doings. That her eldest son was about to steal a march on her andmarry again seemed almost indisputably clear; and the miserable dowager, dancing her war-dance and uttering reproaches, was repacking her boxes inhaste. Those boxes, which she had fondly hoped would never again leaveHartledon, unless it might be for sojourns in Park Lane! She was goingback to Ireland to mount guard, and prevent any such escapade. Only inSeptember had she quitted him--and then had been as nearly ejected as ason could eject his mother with any decency--and had taken the Isle ofWight on her way to Hartledon. The son who lived in the Isle of Wighthad espoused a widow twice his own age, with eleven hundred a year, and ahouse and carriage; so that he had a home: which the countess-dowagersometimes remembered. 

Lord Hartledon was liberal. He gave her a handsome sum for her journey, and a cheque besides; most devoutly praying that she might keep guardover Kirton for ever. He escorted her to the station himself in a closedcarriage, an omnibus having gone before them with a mountain of boxes, at which all Calne came out to stare. 

And the same week, confiding his children to the joint care of Mirrableand their nurse--an efficient, kind, and judicious woman--Lord Hartledondeparted from home and England for a sojourn on the Continent, long orshort, as inclination might lead him, feeling as a bird released fromits cage. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

COMING HOME. 

Some eighteen months after the event recorded in the last chapter, atravelling carriage dashed up to a house in Park Lane one wet eveningin spring. It contained Lord Hartledon and his second wife. They wereexpected, and the servants were assembled in the hall. 

Lord Hartledon led her into their midst, proudly, affectionately; as hehad never in his life led any other. Ah, you need not ask who she was; hehad contrived to win her, to win over Dr. Ashton; and his heart had atlength found rest. Her fair countenance, her thoughtful eyes and sweetsmile were turned on the servants, thanking them for their greeting. 

"All well, Hedges?" asked Lord Hartledon. 

"Quite well, my lord. But we are not alone. "

"No!" said Val, stopping in his progress. "Who's here?"

"The Countess-Dowager of Kirton, my lord, " replied Hedges, glancing atLady Hartledon in momentary hesitation. 

"Oh, indeed!" said Val, as if not enjoying the information. "Just see, Hedges, that the things inside the carriage are all taken out. Don't comeup, Mrs. Ball; I will take Lady Hartledon to her rooms. "

It was the light-hearted Val of the old, old days; his face free fromcare, his voice gay. He did not turn into any of the reception-rooms, butled his wife at once to her chamber. It was nearly dinner-time, and heknew she was tired. 

"Welcome home, my darling!" he whispered tenderly ere releasing her. "Athousand welcomes to you, my dear, dear wife!"

Tears rose to his eyes with the fervour of the wish. Heaven alone knewwhat the past had been; the contrast between that time and this. 

"I will dress at once, Percival, " she said, after a few moments' pause. "I must see your children before dinner. Heaven helping me, I shall lovethem and always act by them as if they were my own. "

"I am so sorry she is here, Anne--that terrible old woman. You heardHedges say Lady Kirton had arrived. Her visit is ill-timed. "

"I shall be glad to welcome her, Val. "

"It is more than I shall be, " replied Val, as his wife's maid came intothe room, and he quitted it. "I'll bring the children to you, Anne. "

They had been married nearly five weeks. Anne had not seen the childrenfor several months. The little child, Edward, had shown symptoms ofdelicacy, and for nearly a year the children had sojourned at theseaside, having been brought to the town-house just before their father'smarriage. 

The nursery was empty, and Lord Hartledon went down. In the passageoutside the drawing-room was Hedges, evidently waiting for his master, and with a budget to unfold. 

"When did she come, Hedges?"

"My lord, it was only a few days after your marriage, " replied Hedges. "She arrived in the most outrageous tantrum--if I shall not offend yourlordship by saying so--and has been here ever since, completely upsettingeverything. "

"What was her tantrum about?"

"On account of your having married again, my lord. She stood in the hallfor five minutes when she got here, saying the most audacious thingsagainst your lordship and Miss Ashton--I mean my lady, " corrected Hedges. 

"The old hag!" muttered Lord Hartledon. 

"I think she's insane at times, my lord; I really do. The fits of passionshe flies into are quite bad enough for insanity. The housekeeper told methis morning she feared she would be capable of striking my lady, whenshe first saw her. I'm afraid, too, she has been schooling the children. "

Lord Hartledon strode into the drawing-room. There, as large aslife--and a great deal larger than most lives--was the dowager-countess. Fortunately she had not heard the arrival: in fact, she had dropped intoa doze whilst waiting for it; and she started up when Val entered. 

"How are you, ma'am?" asked he. "You have taken me by surprise. "

"Not half as much as your wicked letter took me, " screamed the olddowager. "Oh, you vile man! to marry again in this haste! You--you--Ican't find words that I should not be ashamed of; but Hamlet's mother, inthe play, was nothing to it. "

"It is some time since I read the play, " returned Hartledon, controllinghis temper under an assumption of indifference. "If my memory serves me, the 'funeral baked meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage table. '_My_ late wife has been dead eighteen months, Lady Kirton. "

"Eighteen months! for such a wife as Maude was to you!" raved thedowager. "You ought to have mourned her eighteen years. Anybody elsewould. I wish I had never let you have her. "

Lord Hartledon wished it likewise, with all his heart and soul; hadwished it in his wife's lifetime. 

"Lady Kirton, listen to me! Let us understand each other. Your visit hereis ill-timed; you ought to feel it so; nevertheless, if you stay it out, you must observe good manners. I shall be compelled to request you toterminate it if you fail one iota in the respect due to this house'smistress, my beloved and honoured wife. "

"Your _beloved_ wife! Do you dare to say it to me?"

"Ay; beloved, honoured and respected as no woman has ever been by me yet, or ever will be again, " he replied, speaking too plainly in his warmth. 

"What a false-hearted monster!" cried the dowager, shrilly, apostrophizing the walls and the mirrors. "What then was Maude?"

"Maude is gone, and I counsel you not to bring up her name to me, " saidVal, sternly. "Your treachery forced Maude upon me; and let me tell younow, Lady Kirton, if I have never told you before, that it wrought uponher the most bitter wrong possible to be inflicted; which she lived tolearn. I was a vacillating simpleton, and you held me in your trammels. The less we rake up old matters the better. Things have altered. I amaltered. The moral courage I once lacked does not fail me now; and I haveat least sufficient to hold my own against the world, and protect frominsult the lady I have made my wife. I beg your pardon if my words seemharsh; they are true; and I am sorry you have forced them from me. "

She was standing still for a moment, staring at him, not altogethercertain of her ground. 

"Where are the children?" he asked. 

"Where you can't get at them, " she rejoined hotly. "You have your belovedwife; you don't want them. "

He rang the bell, more loudly than he need have done; but his usuallysweet temper was provoked. A footman came in. 

"Tell the nurse to bring down the children. "

"They are not at home, my lord. "

"Not at home! Surely they are not out in this rain!--and so late!"

"They went out this afternoon, my lord: and have not come in, I believe. "

"There, that will do, " tartly interposed the dowager. "You don't knowanything about it, and you may go. "

"Lady Kirton, where are the children?"

"Where you can't get at them, I say, " was Lady Kirton's response. "Youdon't think I am going to suffer Maude's children to be domineered overby a wretch of a step-mother--perhaps poisoned. "

He confronted her in his wrath, his eyes flashing. 

"Madam!"

"Oh, you need not 'Madam' me. Maude's gone, and I shall act for her. "

"I ask you where my children are?"

"I have sent them away; you may make the most of the information. Andwhen I have remained here as long as I choose, I shall take them with me, and keep them, and bring them up. You can at once decide what sum youwill allow me for their education and maintenance: two maids, a tutor, a governess, clothes, toys, and pocket-money. It must be a handsome sum, paid quarterly in advance. And I mean to take a house in London for theiraccommodation, and shall expect you to pay the rent. "

The coolness with which this was delivered turned Val's angry feelingsinto amusement. He could not help laughing as he looked at her. 

"You cannot have my children, Lady Kirton. "

"They are Maude's children, " snapped the dowager. 

"But I presume you admit that they are likewise mine. And I shallcertainly not part with them. "

"If you oppose me in this, I'll put them into Chancery, " cried thedowager. "I am their nearest relative, and have a right to them. "

"Nearest relative!" he repeated. "You must have lost your senses. I amtheir father. "

"And have you lived to see thirty, and never learnt that men don't countfor anything in the bringing up of infants?" shrilly asked the dowager. "If they had ten fathers, what's that to the Lord Chancellor? No morethan ten blocks of wood. What they want is a mother. "

"And I have now given them one. "

Without another word, with the red flush of emotion on his cheek, he wentup to his wife's room. She was alone then, dressed, and just coming outof it. He put his arm round her to draw her in again, as he shortlyexplained the annoyance their visitor was causing him. 

"You must stay here, my dearest, until I can go down with you, " he added. "She is in a vile humour, and I do not choose that you should encounterher, unprotected by me. "

"But where are you going, Val?"

"Well, I really think I shall get a policeman in, and frighten her intosaying what she has done with the children. She'll never tell unlessforced into it. "

Anne laughed, and Hartledon went down. He had in good truth a great mindto see what the effect would be. The old woman was not a reasonablebeing, and he felt disposed to show her very little consideration. As hestood at the hall-door gazing forth, who should arrive but Thomas Carr. Not altogether by accident; he had come up exploring, to see if therewere any signs of Val's return. 

"Ah! home at last, Hartledon!"

"Carr, what happy wind blew you hither?" cried Val, as he grasped thehands of his trusty friend. "You can terrify this woman with the thundersof the law if she persists in kidnapping children that don't belong toher. " And he forthwith explained the state of affairs. 

Mr. Carr laughed. 

"She will not keep them away long. She is no fool, that countess-dowager. It is a ruse, no doubt, to induce you to give them up to her. "

"Give them up to her, indeed!" Val was beginning, when Hedges advanced tohim. 

"Mrs. Ball says the children have only gone to Madame Tussaud's, mylord, " quoth he. "The nurse told her so when she went out. "

"I wish she was herself one of Madame Tussaud's figure-heads!" cried Val. "Mr. Carr dines here, Hedges. Nonsense, Carr; you can't refuse. Nevermind your coat; Anne won't mind. I want you to make acquaintance withher. "

"How did you contrive to win over Dr. Ashton?" asked Thomas Carr, as hewent in. 

"I put the matter before him in its true light, " answered Val, "askinghim whether, if Anne forgave me, he would condemn us to live out ourlives apart from each other: or whether he would not act the part of agood Christian, and give her to me, that I might strive to atone for thepast. "

"And he did so?"

"After a great deal of trouble. There's no time to give you details. Ihad a powerful advocate in Anne's heart. She had never forgotten me, forall my misconduct. "

"You have been a lucky man at last, taking one thing with another. "

"You may well say so, " was the answer, in tones of deep feeling. "Moments come over me when I fear I am about to awake and find thepresent a dream. I am only now beginning to _live_. The past few yearshave been--you know what, Carr. "

He sent the barrister into the drawing room, went upstairs for Anne, andbrought her in on his arm. The dowager was in her chamber, attiringherself in haste. 

"My wife, Carr, " said Hartledon, with a loving emphasis on the word. She was in an evening dress of white and black, not having yet put offmourning for Mrs. Ashton, and looked very lovely; far more lovely inThomas Carr's eyes than Lady Maude, with her dark beauty, had everlooked. She held out her hand to him with a frank smile. 

"I have heard so much of you, Mr. Carr, that we seem like old friends. I am glad you have come to see me so soon. "

"My being here this evening is an accident, Lady Hartledon, as you maysee by my dress, " he returned. "I ought rather to apologize for intrudingon you in the hour of your arrival. "

"Don't talk about intrusion, " said Val. "You will never be an intruder inmy house--and Anne's smile is telling you the same--"

"Who's that, pray?"

The interruption came from the countess-dowager. There she stood, nearthe door, in a yellow gown and green turban. Val drew himself up andapproached her, his wife still on his arm. "Madam, " said he, in reply toher question, "this is my wife, Lady Hartledon. "

The dowager's gauzes made acquaintance with the carpet in so elaboratea curtsey as to savour of mockery, but her eyes were turned up to theceiling; not a word or look gave she to the young lady. 

"The other one, I meant, " cried she, nodding towards Thomas Carr. 

"It is my friend Mr. Carr. You appear to have forgotten him. "

"I hope you are well, ma'am, " said he, advancing towards her. 

Another curtsey, and the countess-dowager fanned herself, and sailedtowards the fireplace. 

Meanwhile the children came home in a cab from Madame Tussaud's, anddinner was announced. Lord Hartledon was obliged to take down thecountess-dowager, resigning his wife to Mr. Carr. Dinner passed offpretty well, the dowager being too fully occupied to be annoying; alsothe good cheer caused her temper to thaw a little. Afterwards, thechildren came in; Edward, a bold, free boy of five, who walked straightup to his grandmother, saluting no one; and Maude, a timid, delicatelittle child, who stood still in the middle of the carpet where the maidplaced her. 

The dowager was just then too busy to pay attention to the children, butAnne held out her hand with a smile. Upon which the child drew up to herfather, and hid her face in his coat. 

He took her up, and carried her to his wife, placing her upon her knee. "Maude, " he whispered, "this is your mamma, and you must love her verymuch, for she loves you. "

Anne's arms fondly encircled the child; but she began to struggle to getdown. 

"Bad manners, Maude, " said her father. 

"She's afraid of her, " spoke up the boy, who had the dark eyes andbeautiful features of his late mother. "We are afraid of bad people. "

The observation passed momentarily unnoticed, for Maude, whom LadyHartledon had been obliged to release, would not be pacified. But whencalmness ensued, Lord Hartledon turned to the boy, just then assistinghimself to some pineapple. 

"What did I hear you say about bad people, Edward?"

"She, " answered the boy, pointing towards Lady Hartledon. "She shan'ttouch Maude. She's come here to beat us, and I'll kick if she touchesme. "

Lord Hartledon, with an unmistakable look at the countess-dowager, rosefrom his seat in silence and rang the bell. There could be no correctionin the presence of the dowager; he and Anne must undo her work alone. Carrying the little girl in one arm, he took the boy's hand, and met theservant at the door. 

"Take these children back to the nursery. "

"I want some strawberries, " the boy called out rebelliously. 

"Not to-day, " said his father. "You know quite well that you have behavedbadly. "

His wife's face was painfully flushed. Mr. Carr was critically examiningthe painted landscape on his plate; and the turban was enjoying somefruit with perfect unconcern. Lord Hartledon stood an instant ere heresumed his seat. 

"Anne, " he said in a voice that trembled in spite of its displeasedtones, "allow me to beg your pardon, and I do it with shame that thisgratuitous insult should have been offered you in your own house. A dayor two will, I hope, put matters on their right footing; the poorchildren, as you see, have been tutored. "

"Are you going to keep the port by you all night, Hartledon?"

Need you ask from whom came the interruption? Mr. Carr passed it acrossto her, leaving her to help herself; and Lord Hartledon sat down, bitinghis delicate lips. 

When the dowager seemed to have finished, Anne rose. Mr. Carr rose too assoon as they had retired. 

"I have an engagement, Hartledon, and am obliged to run away. Make myadieu to your wife. "

"Carr, is it not a crying shame?--enough to incense any man?"

"It is. The sooner you get rid of her the better. "

"That's easier said than done. "

When Lord Hartledon reached the drawing-room, the dowager was sleepingcomfortably. Looking about for his wife, he found her in the small roomMaude used to make exclusively her own, which was not lighted up. She wasstanding at the window, and her tears were quietly falling. He drew herface to his own. 

"My darling, don't let it grieve you! We shall soon right it all. "

"Oh, Percival, if the mischief should have gone too far!--if they shouldnever look upon me except as a step-mother! You don't know how sick andtroubled this has made me feel! I wanted to go to them in the nurserywhen I came up, and did not dare! Perhaps the nurse has also beenprejudiced against me!"

"Come up with me now, love, " he whispered. 

They went silently upstairs, and found the children were then in bed andasleep. They were tired with sight-seeing, the nurse said apologetically, curtseying to her new mistress. 

The nurse withdrew, and they stood over the nursery fire, talking. Annecould scarcely account for the extreme depression the event seemed tohave thrown upon her. Lord Hartledon quickly recovered his spirits, vowing he should like to "serve out" the dowager. 

"I was thankful for one thing, Val; that you did not betray anger tothem, poor little things. It would have made it worse. "

"I was on the point of betraying something more than anger to Edward; butthe thought that I should be punishing him for another's fault checkedme. I wonder how we can get rid of her?"

"We must strive to please her while she stays. "

"Please her!" he echoed. "Anne, my dear, that is stretching Christiancharity rather too far. "

Anne smiled. "I am a clergyman's daughter, you know, Val. "

"If she is wise, she'll abstain from offending you in my presence. I'mnot sure but I should lose command of myself, and send her off there andthen. "

"I don't fear that. She was quite civil when we came up from dinner, and--"

"As she generally is then. She takes her share of wine. "

"And asked me if I would excuse her falling into a doze, for she neverfelt well without it. "

Anne was right. The cunning old woman changed her tactics, finding thoseshe had started would not answer. It has been remarked before, if youremember, that she knew particularly well on which side her bread wasbuttered. Nothing could exceed her graciousness from that evening. Thepast scene might have been a dream, for all traces that remained of it. Out of the house she was determined not to go in anger; it was toodesirable a refuge for that. And on the following day, upon hearingEdward attempt some impudent speech to his new mother, she put him acrossher knee, pulled off an old slipper she was wearing, and gave him awhipping. Anne interposed, the boy roared; but the good woman hadher way. 

"Don't put yourself out, dear Lady Hartledon. There's nothing so goodfor them as a wholesome whipping. I used to try it on my own childrenat times. "

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

MR. PIKE ON THE WING. 

The time went on. It may have been some twelve or thirteen months laterthat Mr. Carr, sitting alone in his chambers, one evening, was surprisedby the entrance of his clerk--who possessed a latch-key as well ashimself. 

"Why, Taylor! what brings you here?"

"I thought you would most likely be in, sir, " replied the clerk. "Doyou remember some few years ago making inquiries about a man namedGorton--and you could not find him?"

"And never have found him, " was Mr. Carr's comment. "Well?"

"I have seen him this evening. He is back in London. "

Thomas Carr was not a man to be startlingly affected by anycommunication; nevertheless he felt the importance of this, for LordHartledon's sake. 

"I met him by chance, in a place where I sometimes go of an evening tosmoke a cigar, and learned his name by accident, " continued Mr. Taylor. "It's the same man that was at Kedge and Reck's, George Gorton; heacknowledged it at once, quite readily. "

"And where has he been hiding himself?"

"He has been in Australia for several years, he says; went there directlyafter he left Kedge and Reck's that autumn. "

"Could you get him here, Taylor? I must see him. Tell me: what colouredhair has he?"

"Red, sir; and plenty of it. He says he's doing very well over there, and has only come home for a short change. He does not seem to be inconcealment, and gave me his address when I asked him for it. "

According to Mr. Carr's wish, the man Gorton was brought to his chambersthe following morning by Taylor. To the barrister's surprise, awell-dressed and really rather gentlemanly man entered. He had beenaccustomed to picturing this Gorton as an Arab of London life. Castinga keen glance at the red hair, he saw it was indisputably his own. 

A few rapid questions, which Gorton answered without the slightest demur, and Mr. Carr leaned back in his chair, knowing that all the trouble hehad been at to find this man might have been spared: for he was not theGeorge Gordon they had suspected. But Mr. Carr was cautious, and betrayednothing. 

"I am sorry to have troubled you, " he said. "When I inquired for you ofKedge and Reck some years ago, it was under the impression that you weresome one else. You had left; and they did not know where to find you. "

"Yes, I had displeased them through arresting a wrong man, and otherthings. I was down in the world then, and glad to do anything for aliving, even to serving writs. "

"You arrested the late Lord Hartledon for his brother, " observed Mr. Carr, with a careless smile. "I heard of it. I suppose you did not knowthem apart. "

"I had never set eyes on either of them before, " returned Gorton;unconsciously confirming a point in the barrister's mind; which, however, was already sufficiently obvious. 

"The man I wanted to find was named Gordon. I thought it just possiblethat you might have changed your name temporarily: some of us finding itconvenient to do so on occasion. "

"I never changed mine in my life. "

"And if you had, I don't suppose you'd have changed it to one sonotorious as George Gordon. "

"Notorious?"

"It was a George Gordon who was the hero of that piratical affair; thatmutiny on board the _Morning Star_. "

"Ah, to be sure. And an awful villain too! A man I met in Australia knewGordon well. But he tells a curious tale, though. He was a doctor, thatGordon; had come last from somewhere in Kirkcudbrightshire. "

"He did, " said Thomas Carr, quietly. "What curious tale does your friendtell?"

"Well, sir, he says--or rather said, for I've not seen him since my firstvisit there--that George Gordon did not sail in the _Morning Star_. Hewas killed in a drunken brawl the night before he ought to have sailed:this man was present and saw him buried. "

"But there's pretty good proof that Gordon did sail. He was theringleader of the mutiny. "

"Well, yes. I don't know how it could have been. The man was positive. I never knew Gordon; so that the affair did not interest me much. "

"You are doing well over there?"

"Very well. I might retire now, if I chose to live in a small way, but Imean to take a few more years of it, and go on to riches. Ah! and it wasjust the turn of a pin whether I went over there that second time, orwhether I stopped in London to serve writs and starve. "

"Val was right, " thought the barrister. 

On the following Saturday Mr. Carr took a return-ticket, and went downto Hartledon: as he had done once or twice before in the old days. TheHartledons had not come to town this season; did not intend to come: Annewas too happy in the birth of her baby-boy to care for London; and Valliked Hartledon better than any other place now. 

In one single respect the past year had failed to bring Annehappiness--there was not entire confidence between herself and herhusband. He had something on his mind, and she could not fail to see thathe had. It was not that awful dread that seemed to possess him in hisfirst wife's time; nevertheless it was a weight which told more or lesson his spirits at all times. To Anne it appeared like remorse; yet shemight never have thought this, but for a word or two he let slipoccasionally. Was it connected with his children? She could almost havefancied so: and yet in what manner could it be? His behaviour waspeculiar. He rather avoided them than not; but when with them was almostpassionately demonstrative, exactingly jealous that due attention shouldbe paid to them: and he seemed half afraid of caressing Anne's baby, lestit should be thought he cared for it more than for the others. AltogetherLady Hartledon puzzled her brains in vain: she could not make him out. When she questioned him he would deny that there was anything the matter, and said it was her fancy. 

They were at Hartledon alone: that is, without the countess-dowager. That respected lady, though not actually domiciled with them during thepast twelve-month, had paid them three long visits. She was determinedto retain her right in the household--if right it could be called. Thedowager was by far too wary to do otherwise; and her behaviour to Annewas exceedingly mild. But somehow she contrived to retain, or continuallyrenew, her evil influence over the children; though so insidiously, thatLady Hartledon could never detect how or when it was done, or openly meetit. Neither could she effectually counteract it. So surely as the dowagercame, so surely did the young boy and his sister become unruly with theirstep-mother; ill-natured and rude. Lady Hartledon was kind, judicious, and good; and things would so far be remedied during the crafty dowager'sabsences, as to promise a complete cure; but whenever she returned theevil broke out again. Anne was sorely perplexed. She did not like to denythe children to their grandmother, who was more nearly related to themthan she herself; and she could only pray that time would bring aboutsome remedy. The dowager passed her time pretty equally between theirhouse and her son's. Lord Kirton had not married again, owing, perhaps, to the watch and ward kept over him. But as soon as he started off to theContinent, or elsewhere, where she could not follow him, then off shecame, without notice, to England and Lord Hartledon's. And Val, in hisgood-nature, bore the infliction passively so long as she kept civil andpeaceable. 

In this also her husband's behaviour puzzled Anne. Disliking the dowagerbeyond every other created being, he yet suffered her to indulge hischildren; and if any little passage-at-arms supervened, took her partrather than his wife's. 

"I cannot understand you, Val, " Anne said to him one day, in tones ofpain. "You are not as you used to be. " And his only answer was to strainhis wife to his bosom with an impassioned gesture of love. 

But these were only episodes in their generally happy life. Never morehappy, more free from any external influence, than when Thomas Carrarrived there on this identical Saturday. He went in unexpectedly: andVal's violet eyes, beautiful as ever, shone out their welcome; and Anne, who happened to have her baby on her lap, blushed and smiled, as she heldit out for the barrister's inspection. 

"I dare not take it, " said he. "You would be up in arms if it weredropped. What is its name?"

"Reginald. "

A little while, and she carried the child away, leaving them alone. Mr. Carr declined refreshment for the present; and he and Val strolled outarm-in-arm. 

"I have brought you an item of news, Hartledon. Gorton has turned up. "

"Not Gordon?"

"No. And what's more, Gorton never was Gordon. You were right, andI was wrong. I would have bet a ten-pound note--a great venture for abarrister--that the men were the same; never, in point of fact, had adoubt of it. "

"You would not listen to me, " said Val. "I told you I was sure I couldnot have failed to recognize Gordon, had he been the one who was down atCalne with the writ. "

"But you acknowledged that it might have been he, nevertheless; that hisred hair might have been false; that you never had a distinct view of theman's face; and that the only time you spoke to him was in the gloaming, "reiterated Thomas Carr. "Well, as it turns out, we might have spared halfour pains and anxiety, for Gorton was never any one but himself: aninnocent sheriff's officer, as far as you are concerned, who had never, in his life set eyes on Val Elster until he went after him to Calne. "

"Didn't I say so?" reiterated Val. "Gordon would have known me too wellto arrest Edward for me. "

"But you admitted the general likeness between you and your brother; andGordon had not seen you for three years or more. "

"Yes; I admitted all you say, and perhaps was a little doubtful myself. But I soon shook off the doubt, and of late years have been sure thatGordon was really dead. It has been more than a conviction. I always saidthere were no grounds for connecting the two together. "

"I had my grounds for doing it, " remarked the barrister. "Gorton, itseems, has been in Australia ever since. No wonder Green could notunearth him in London. He's back again on a visit, looking like agentleman; and really I can't discover that there was ever anythingagainst him, except that he was down in the world. Taylor met him theother day, and I had him brought to my chambers; and have told you theresult. "

"You do not now feel any doubt that Gordon's dead?"

"None at all. Your friend, Gordon of Kircudbright, was the one whoembarked, or ought to have embarked, on the _Morning Star_, homewardbound, " said Mr. Carr. And he forthwith told Lord Hartledon what the manhad said. 

A silence ensued. Lord Hartledon was in deep and evidently not pleasantthought; and the barrister stole a glance at him. 

"Hartledon, take comfort. I am as cautious by nature as I believe it ispossible for any one to be; and I am sure the man is dead, and can neverrise up to trouble you. "

"I have been sure of that for years, " replied Hartledon quietly. "I havejust said so. "

"Then what is disturbing you?"

"Oh, Carr, how can you ask it?" came the rejoinder. "What is it lies onmy mind day and night; is wearing me out before my time? Discovery may beavoided; but when I look at the children--at the boy especially--it wouldhave turned some men mad, " he more quietly added, passing his hand acrosshis brow. "As long as he lives, I cannot have rest from pain. The sins ofthe fathers--"

"Yes, yes, " interposed Mr. Carr, hastily. "Still the case is light, compared with what we once dreaded. "

"Light for me, heavy for him. "

Mr. Carr remained with them until the Monday: he then went back to Londonand work; and time glided on again. An event occurred the followingwinter which shall be related at once; more especially as nothing ofmoment took place in those intervening months needing special record. 

The man Pike, who still occupied his shed undisturbed, had been ailingfor some time. An attack of rheumatic fever in the summer had left himlittle better than a cripple. He crawled abroad still when he was able, and _would_ do so, in spite of what Mr. Hillary said; would lie about thedamp ground in a lawless, gipsying sort of manner; but by the time wintercame all that was over, and Mr. Pike's career, as foretold by thesurgeon, was drawing rapidly to a close. Mrs. Gum was his good Samaritan, as she had been in the fever some years before, going in and out andattending to him; and in a reasonable way Pike wanted for nothing. 

"How long can I last?" he abruptly asked the doctor one morning. "Needn'tfear to say. _She_'s the only one that will take on; I shan't. "

He alluded to Mrs. Gum, who had just gone out. The surgeon considered. 

"Two or three days. "

"As much as that?"

"I think so. "

"Oh!" said Pike. "When it comes to the last day I should like to see LordHartledon. "

"Why the last day?"

The man's pinched features broke into a smile; pleasant and fair featuresonce, with a gentle look upon them. The black wig and whiskers lay nearhim; but the real hair, light and scanty, was pushed back from the dampbrow. 

"No use, then, to think of giving me up: no time left for it. "

"I question if Lord Hartledon would give you up were you in rude health. I'm sure he would not, " added Mr. Hillary, endorsing his opinion ratheremphatically. "If ever there was a kindly nature in the world, it's his. What do you want with him?"

"I should like to say a word to him in private, " responded Pike. 

"Then you'd better not wait to say it. I'll tell him of your wish. It'sall safe. Why, Pike, if the police themselves came they wouldn't troubleto touch you now. "

"I shouldn't much care if they did, " said the man. "_I_ haven't cared fora long while; but there were the others, you know. "

"Yes, " said Mr. Hillary. 

"Look here, " said Pike; "no need to tell him particulars; leave themtill I'm gone. I don't know that I'd like _him_ to look me in the face, knowing them. "

"As you will, " said Mr. Hillary, falling in with the wish more readilythan he might have done for anyone but a dying man. 

He had patients out of Calne, beyond Hartledon, and called in returning. It was a snowy day; and as the surgeon was winding towards the house, past the lodge, with a quick step, he saw a white figure marching acrossthe park. It was Lord Hartledon. He had been caught in the storm, andcame up laughing. 

"Umbrellas are at a premium, " observed Mr. Hillary, with the freedom longintimacy had sanctioned. 

"It didn't snow when I came out, " said Hartledon, shaking himself, andmaking light of the matter. "Were you coming to honour me with a morningcall?"

"I was and I wasn't, " returned the surgeon. "I've no time for morningcalls, unless they are professional ones; but I wanted to say a word toyou. Have you a mind for a further walk in the snow?"

"As far as you like. "

"There's a patient of mine drawing very near the time when doctors can dono more for him. He has expressed a wish to see you, and I undertook toconvey the request. "

"I'll go, of course, " said Val, all his kindliness on the alert. "Who isit?"

"A black sheep, " answered the surgeon. "I don't know whether that willmake any difference?"

"It ought not, " said Val rather warmly. "Black sheep have more need ofhelp than white ones, when it comes to the last. I suppose it's a poacherwanting to clear his conscience. "

"It's Pike, " said Hillary. 

"Pike! What can he want with me? Is he no better?"

"He'll never be better in this world; and to speak the truth, I thinkit's time he left it. He'll be happier, poor fellow, let's hope, inanother than he has been in this. Has it ever struck you, Lord Hartledon, that there was something strange about Pike, and his manner of cominghere?"

"Very strange indeed. "

"Well, Pike is not Pike, but another man--which I suppose you will say isIrish. But that he is so ill, and it would not be worth while for the lawto take him, he might be in mortal fear of your seeing him, lest youbetrayed him. He wanted you not to be informed until the last hour. Itold him there was no fear. "

"I would not betray any living man, whatever his crime, for the wholeworld, " returned Lord Hartledon; his voice so earnest as to amount topain. And the surgeon looked at him; but there rose up in his remembrancehow _he_ had been avoiding betrayal for years. "Who is he?"

"Willy Gum. "

Lord Hartledon turned his head sharply under cover of the surgeon'sumbrella, for they were walking along together. A thought crossed himthat the words might be a jest. 

"Yes, Pike is Willy Gum, " continued Mr. Hillary. "And there you have theexplanation of the poor mother's nervous terrors. I do pity her. Theclerk has taken it more philosophically, and seemed only to care lest thefact should become known. Ah, poor thing! what a life hers has been! Herfears of the wild neighbour, her basins for cats, are all explained now. She dreaded lest Calne should suspect that she occasionally stole intothe shed under cover of the night with the basins containing food for itsinmate. There the man has lived--if you can call such an existenceliving; Willy Gum, concealed by his borrowed black hair and whiskers. Butthat he was only a boy when he went away, Calne would have recognized himin spite of them. "

"And he is not a poacher and a snarer, and I don't know what all, leadinga lawless life, and thieving for his living?" exclaimed Lord Hartledon, the first question that rose to the surface, amidst the many that werestruggling in his mind. 

"I don't believe the man has touched the worth of a pin belonging toany one since he came here, even on your preserves. People took up thenotion from his wild appearance, and because he had no ostensible meansof living. It would not have done to let them know that he had hissupplies--sometimes money, sometimes food--from respectable clerk Gum's. "

"But why should he be in concealment at all? That bank affair was madeall right at the time. "

"There are other things he feared, it seems. I've not time to enter intodetails now; you'll know them later. There he is--Pike: and there he'lldie--Pike always. "

"How long have you known it?"

"Since that fever he caught from the Rectory some years ago. I recollectyour telling me not to let him want for anything;" and Lord Hartledonwinced at the remembrance brought before him, as he always did wince atthe unhappy past. "I never shall forget it. I went in, thinking Pike wasill, and that he, wild and disreputable though he had the character ofbeing, might want physic as well as his neighbours. Instead of theblack-haired bear I expected to see, there lay a young, light, delicatefellow, with a white brow, and cheeks pink with fever. The featuresseemed familiar to me; little by little recognition came to me, and Isaw it was Willy Gum, whom every one had been mourning as dead. He saida pleading word or two, that I would keep his secret, and not give him upto justice. I did not understand what there was to give him up for then. However, I promised. He was too ill to say much; and I went to the nextdoor, and put it to Gum's wife that she should go and nurse Pike forhumanity's sake. Of course it was what she wanted to do. Poor thing! shefell on her knees later, beseeching me not to betray him. "

"And you have kept counsel all this time?"

"Yes, " said the surgeon, laconically. "Would your lordship have doneotherwise, even though it had been a question of hanging?"

"_I!_ I wouldn't give a man a month at the treadmill if I could help it. One gets into offences so easily, " he dreamily added. 

They crossed over the waste land, and Mr. Hillary opened the door ofthe shed with a pass-key. A lock had been put on when Pike was lying inrheumatic fever, lest intruders might enter unawares, and see him withouthis disguise. 

"Pike, I have brought you my lord. He won't betray you. "

CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE SHED RAZED. 

Closing the door upon them, the surgeon went off on other business, andLord Hartledon entered and bent over the bed; a more comfortable bed thanit once had been. It was the Willy Gum of other days; the boy he hadplayed with when they were boys together. White, wan, wasted, with thedying hectic on his cheek, the glitter already in his eye, he lay there;and Val's eyelashes shone as he took the worn hand. 

"I am so sorry, Willy. I had no suspicion it was you. Why did you notconfide in me?"

The invalid shook his head. "There might have been danger in it. "

"Never from me, " was the emphatic answer. 

"Ah, my lord, you don't know. I haven't dared to make myself known to asoul. Mr. Hillary found it out, and I couldn't help myself. "

Lord Hartledon glanced round at the strange place: the rafters, the rudewalls. A fire was burning on the hearth, and the appliances brought tobear were more comfortable than might have been imagined; but still--

"Surely you will allow yourself to be removed to a better place, Willy?"he said. 

"Call me Pike, " came the feverish interruption. "Never that other nameagain, my lord; I've done with it for ever. As to a better place--I shallhave that soon enough. "

"You wanted to say something to me, Mr. Hillary said. "

"I've wanted to say it some time now, and to beg your lordship's pardon. It's about the late earl's death. "

"My brother's?"

"Yes. I was on the wrong scent a long time. And I can tell you whatnobody else will. "

Lord Hartledon lifted his head quickly; thoughts were crowdingimpulsively into his mind, and he spoke in the moment's haste. 

"Surely you had not anything to do with that!"

"No; but I thought your lordship had. "

"What do you mean?" asked Lord Hartledon, quietly. 

"It's for my foolish and wicked and mistaken thought that I would cravepardon before I go. I thought your lordship had killed the late lord, either by accident or maliciously. "

"You must be dreaming, Pike!"

"No; but I was no better than dreaming then. I had been living amidstlawless scenes, over the seas and on the seas, where a life's not of muchaccount, and the fancy was easy enough. I happened to overhear a quarrelbetween you and the earl just before his death; I saw you going towardsthe spot at the time the accident happened, as you may remember--"

"I did not go so far, " interrupted Hartledon, wondering still whetherthis might not be the wanderings of a dying man. "I turned back into thetrees at once, and walked slowly home. Many a time have I wished I hadgone on!"

"Yes, yes; I was on the wrong scent. And there was that blow on histemple to keep up the error, which I know now must have been done againstthe estrade. I did suspect at the time, and your lordship will perhapsnot forgive me for it. I let drop a word that I suspected somethingbefore that man Gorton, and he asked me what I meant; and I explainedit away, and said I was chaffing him. And I have been all this time, upto a few weeks ago, learning the true particulars of how his lordshipdied. "

Lord Hartledon decided that the man's mind was undoubtedly wandering. 

But Pike was not wandering. And he told the story of the boy Ripperhaving been locked up in the mill. Mr. Ripper was almost a match for Pikehimself in deceit; and Pike had only learned the facts by dint of longpatience and perseverance and many threats. The boy had seen the wholeaccident; had watched it from the window where he was enclosed, unable toget out, unless he had torn away the grating. Lord Hartledon had lost allcommand of the little skiff, his arm being utterly disabled; and it camedrifting down towards the mill, and struck against the estrade. The skiffrighted itself at once, but not its owner: there was a slight struggle, afew cries, and he lay motionless, drifting later to the place where hewas found. Mr. Ripper's opinion was that he had lost his senses with theblow on the temple, and fell an easy prey to death. Had that gentlemanonly sacrificed the grating and his own reputation, he might have savedhim easily; and that fact had since been upon his conscience, making himfear all sorts of things, not the least of which was that he might behanged as a murderer. 

This story he had told Pike at the time, with one reserve--he persistedthat he had not _seen_, only heard. Pike saw that the boy was stillnot telling the whole truth, and suspected he was screening LordHartledon--he who now stood before him. Mr. Ripper's logic tended to thebelief that he could not be punished if he stuck to the avowal of havingseen nothing. He had only heard the cries; and when Pike asked if theywere cries as if he were being assaulted, the boy evasively answered"happen they were. " Another little item he suppressed: that he found thepurse at the bottom of the skiff, after he got out of the mill, andappropriated it to himself; and when he had fairly done that, he grewmore afraid of having done it than of all the rest. The money hesecreted, using it when he dared, a sixpence at a time; the case, withits papers, he buried in the spot where his master afterwards found it. With all this upon the young man's conscience, no wonder he was a littleconfused and contradictory in his statements to Pike: no wonder hefancied the ghost of the man he could have saved and did not, might nowand then be hovering about him. Pike learned the real truth at last; anda compunction had come over him, now that he was dying, for havingdoubted Lord Hartledon. 

"My lord, I can only ask you to forgive me. I ought to have known youbetter. But things seemed to corroborate it so: I've heard people say thenew lord was as a man who had some great care upon him. Oh, I was afool!"

"At any rate it was not _that_ care, Pike; I would have saved mybrother's life with my own, had I been at hand to do it. As toRipper--I shall never bear to look upon him again. "

"He's gone away, " said Pike. 

"Where has he gone?"

"The miller turned him off for idleness, and he's gone away, nobody knowswhere, to get work: I don't suppose he'll ever come back again. This isthe real truth of the matter as it occurred, my lord; and there's no morebehind it. Ripper has now told all he knows, just as fully as if he hadbeen put to torture. "

Lord Hartledon remained with Pike some time longer, soothing the man asmuch as it was in his power and kindly nature to soothe. He whispered aword of the clergyman, Dr. Ashton. 

"Father says he shall bring him to-night, " was the answer. "It's all afarce. "

"I am sorry to hear you say that, " returned Lord Hartledon, gravely. 

"If I had never said a worse thing than that, my lord, I shouldn't hurt. Unless the accounts are made up beforehand, parsons can't avail much atthe twelfth hour. Mother's lessons to me when a child, and her readingthe Bible as she sits here in the night, are worth more than Dr. Ashtoncould do. But for those old lessons' having come home to me now, I mightnot have cared to ask your forgiveness. Dr. Ashton! what is he? For anawful sinner--and it's what I've been--there's only Christ. At times Ithink I've been too bad even for Him. I've only my sins to take to Him:never were worse in this world. "

Lord Hartledon went out rather bewildered with the occurrences of themorning. Thinking it might be only kind to step into the clerk's, hecrossed the stile and went in without ceremony by the open back-door. Mrs. Gum was alone in the kitchen, crying bitterly. She dried her eyesin confusion, as she curtsied to her visitor. 

"I know all, " he interrupted, in low, considerate tones, to the poorsuffering woman. "I have been to see him. Never mind explanations: letus think what we can best do to lighten his last hours. "

Mrs. Gum burst into deeper tears. It was a relief, no doubt: but shewondered how much Lord Hartledon knew. 

"I say that he ought to be got away from that place, Mrs. Gum. It's notfit for a man to die in. You might have him here. Calne! Surely myprotection will sufficiently screen him against tattling Calne!"

She shook her head, saying it was of no use talking to Willy aboutremoval; he wouldn't have it; and she thought herself it might be betternot. Jabez, too; if this ever came out in Calne, it would just kill him;his lordship knew what he was, and how he had cared for appearances allhis life. No; it would not be for many more hours now, and Willy must diein the shed where he had lived. 

Lord Hartledon sat down on the ironing-board, the white table underneaththe window, in the old familiar manner of former days; many and many atime had he perched himself there to talk to her when he was young ValElster. 

"Only fancy what my life has been, my lord, " she said. "People havecalled me nervous and timid; but look at the cause I've had! I was justbeginning to get over the grief for his death, when he came here; and tothe last hour of my life I shan't get the night out of my mind! I andJabez were together in this very kitchen. I had come in to wash up thetea-things, and Jabez followed me. It was a cold, dark evening, and theparlour fire had got low. By token, my lord, we were talking of you; youhad just gone away to be an ambassador, or something, and then we spokeof the wild, strange, black man who had crept into the shed; and Jabez, I remember, said he should acquaint Mr. Marris, if the fellow did nottake himself off. I had seen him that very evening, at dusk, for thefirst time, when his great black face rose up against mine, nearlyfrightening me to death. Jabez was angry at such a man's being there, andsaid he should go up to Hartledon in the morning and see the steward. Just then there came a tap at the kitchen door, and Jabez went to it. It was the man; he had watched the servant out, and knew we were alone;and he came into the kitchen, and asked if we did not know him. Jabezdid; he had seen Willy later than I had, and he recognized him; and theman took off his black hair and great black whiskers, and I saw it wasWilly, and nearly fainted dead away. "

There was a pause. Lord Hartledon did not speak, and she resumed, after alittle indulgence in her grief. 

"And since then all our aim has been to hide the truth, to screen him, and keep up the tale that we were afraid of the wild man. How it hasbeen done I know not: but I do know that it has nearly killed me. Whata night it was! When Jabez heard his story and forced him to answer allquestions, I thought he would have given Willy up to the law there andthen. My lord, we have just lived since with a sword over our heads!"

Lord Hartledon remembered the sword that had been over his own head, andsympathized with them from the depths of his heart. 

"Tell me all, " he said. "You are quite safe with me, Mrs. Gum. "

"I don't know that there's much more to tell, " she sighed. "We took thebest precautions we could, in a quiet way, having the holes in theshutters filled up, and new locks put on the doors, lest people mightlook in or step in, while he sat here of a night, which he took to do. Jabez didn't like it, but I'm afraid I encouraged it. It was so lonelyfor him, that shed, and so unhealthy! We sent away the regular servant, and engaged one by day, so as to have the house to ourselves at night. Ifa knock came to the door, Willy would slip out to the wood-house beforewe opened it, lest it might be anybody coming in. He did not come inevery night--two or three times a-week; and it never was pleasant; forJabez would hardly open his mouth, unless it was to reproach him. Heavenalone knows what I've had to bear!"

"But, Mrs. Gum, I cannot understand. Why could not Willy have declaredhimself openly to the world?"

It was evidently a most painful question. Her eyes fell; the crimsonof shame flushed into her cheeks; and he felt sorry to have asked it. 

"Spare me, my lord, for I _cannot_ tell you. Perhaps Jabez will: or Mr. Hillary; he knows. It doesn't much matter, now death's so near; but Ithink it would kill me to have to tell it. "

"And no one except the doctor has ever known that it was Willy?"

"One more, my lord: Mirrable. We told her at once. I have had to hear allsorts of cruel things said of him, " continued Mrs. Gum. "That he thievedand poached, and did I know not what; and we could only encourage thefancy, for it put people off the truth as to how he really lived. "

"Amidst other things, they said, I believe, that he was out with thepoachers the night my brother George was shot!"

"And that night, my lord, he sat over this kitchen fire, and neverstirred from it. He was ill: it was rheumatism, caught in Australia, that took such a hold upon him; and I had him here by the fire till neardaylight in the morning, so as to keep him out of the damp shed. Whatwith fearing one thing and another, I grew into a state of perpetualterror. "

"Then you will not have him in here now, " said Lord Hartledon, rising. 

"I cannot, " she said, her tears falling silently. 

"Well, Mrs. Gum, I came in just to say a word of true sympathy. You haveit heartily, and my services also, if necessary. Tell Jabez so. "

He quitted the house by the front-door, as if he had been honouring theclerk's wife with a morning-call, should any curious person happen to bepassing, and went across through the snow to the surgeon's. Mr. Hillary, an old bachelor, was at his early dinner, and Lord Hartledon sat down andtalked to him. 

"It's only rump steak; but few cooks can beat mine, and it's very good. Won't your lordship take a mouthful by way of luncheon?"

"My curiosity is too strong for luncheon just now, " said Val. "I havecome over to know the rights and wrongs of this story. What has Willy Gumbeen doing in the past years that it cannot be told?"

"I am not sure that it would be safe to say while he's living. "

"Not safe! with me! Was it safe with you?"

"But I don't consider myself obliged to give up to justice any poorcriminal who comes in my way, " said the surgeon; and Val felt a littlevexed, although he saw that he was joking. 

"Come, Hillary!"

"Well, then, Willy Gum was coming home in the _Morning Star_; and amutiny broke out--mutiny and murder, and everything else that's bad; andone George Gordon was the ringleader. "

"Yes. Well?"

"Willy Gum was George Gordon. "

"What!" exclaimed Hartledon, not knowing how to accept the words. "Howcould he be George Gordon?"

"Because the real George Gordon never sailed at all; and this fellow Gumwent on board in his name, calling himself Gordon. "

Lord Hartledon leaned back in his chair and listened to the explanation. A very simple one, after all. Gum, one of the wildest and most carelesscharacters possible when in Australia, gambled away, before sailing, the money he had acquired. Accident made him acquainted with GeorgeGordon, also going home in the same ship and with money. Gordon waskilled the night before sailing--(Mr. Carr had well described it asa drunken brawl)--killed accidentally. Gum was present; he saw hisopportunity, went on board as Gordon, and claimed the luggage--someof it gold--already on board. How the mutiny broke out was less clear;but one of the other passengers knew Gum, and threatened to expose him;and perhaps this led to it. Gum, at any rate, was the ringleader, andthis passenger was one of the first killed. Gum--Gordon as he wascalled--contrived to escape in the open boat, and found his way to land;thence, disguised, to England and to Calne; and at Calne he had sincelived, with the price offered for George Gordon on his head. 

It was a strange and awful story: and Lord Hartledon felt a shiver runthrough him as he listened. In truth, that shed was the safest andfittest place for him to die in!

As die he did ere the third day was over. And was buried as Pike, thewild man, without a mourner. Clerk Gum stood over the grave in hisofficial capacity; and Dr. Ashton, who had visited the sick man, himselfread the service, which caused some wonder in Calne. 

And the following week Lord Hartledon caused the shed to be clearedaway, and the waste land ploughed; saying he would have no more trampsencamping next door to Mr. And Mrs. Gum. 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

THE DOWAGER'S ALARM. 

Again the years went on, bringing not altogether comfort to the house ofHartledon. As Anne's children were born--there were three now--a sort ofjealous rivalry seemed to arise between them and the two elder children;and this in spite of Anne's efforts to the contrary. The moving springwas the countess-dowager, who in secret excited the elder childrenagainst their little brothers and sister; but so craftily that Anne couldproduce nothing tangible to remonstrate against. Things would growtolerably smooth during the old woman's absences; but she took good carenot to make those absences lengthened, and then all the ill-nature andrebellion reigned triumphant. 

Once only Anne spoke of this, and that was to her father. She hinted atthe state of things, and asked his advice. Why did not Val interpose hisauthority, and forbid the dowager the house, if she could not keepherself from making mischief in it, sensibly asked the Rector. But Annesaid neither she nor Val liked to do this. And then the Rector fanciedthere was some constraint in his daughter's voice, and she was nottelling him the whole case unreservedly. He inquired no further, onlygave her the best advice in his power: to be watchful, and counteract thedowager's influence, as far as she could; and trust to time; doing herown duty religiously by the children. 

What Anne had not mentioned to Dr. Ashton was her husband's conduct inthe matter. In that one respect she could read him no better than of old. Devoted to her as he was, as she knew him to be, in the children's pettydisputes he invariably took the part of his first wife's--to the glowingsatisfaction of the countess-dowager. No matter how glaringly wrong theymight be, how tyrannical, Hartledon screened the elder, and--to use theexpression of the nurses--snubbed the younger. Kind and good though LadyHartledon was, she felt it acutely; and, to say the truth, was sorelypuzzled and perplexed. 

Lord Elster was an ailing child, and Mr. Brook, the apothecary, wasalways in attendance when they were in London. Lady Hartledon thought theboy's health might have been better left more to nature, but she wouldnot have said so for the world. The dowager, on the contrary, would havepreferred that half the metropolitan faculty should see him daily. Shehad a jealous dread of anything happening to the boy, and Anne's sonbecoming the heir. 

Lord Hartledon was a busy man now, and had a place in theGovernment--though not as yet in the Cabinet. Whatever his secret caremight have been, it was now passive; he was a general favourite, andcourted in society. He was still young; the face as genial, the mannersas free, the dark-blue eyes as kindly as of yore; eminently attractive inearlier days, he was so still; and his love for his wife amounted to apassion. 

At the close of a sharp winter, when they had come up to town in January, that Lord Hartledon might be at his post, and the countess-dowager wasinflicting upon them one of her long visits, it happened that Lord Elsterseemed very poorly. Mr. Brook was called in, and said he would send apowder. He was called in so often to the boy as to take it quite as amatter of course; and, truth to say, thought the present indispositionnothing but a slight cold. 

Late in the evening the two boys happened to be alone in the nursery, the nurse being temporarily absent from it. Edward was now a tall, slender, handsome boy in knickerbockers; Reginald a timid little fellow, several years younger--rendered timid by Edward's perpetual tyranny, which he might not resent. Edward was quiet enough this evening; he feltill and shivery, and sat close to the fire. Casting his eyes upwards, heespied Mr. Brook's powder on the mantelpiece, with the stereotypeddirection--"To be taken at bedtime. " It was lying close to the jam-pot, which the head-nurse had put ready. Of course he had the greatestpossible horror of medicine, and his busy thoughts began to run upon howhe might avoid that detestable powder. The little fellow was sitting onthe carpet playing with his bricks. Edward turned his eyes on hisbrother, and a bright thought occurred to him. 

"Regy, " said he, taking down the pot, "come here. Look at this jam: isn'tit nice? It's raspberry and currant. "

The child left his bricks to bend over the tempting compound. 

"I'll give it you every bit to eat before nurse comes back, " continuedthe boy, "if you'll eat this first. "

Reginald cast a look upon the powder his brother exhibited. "What is it?"he lisped; "something good?"

"Delicious. It's just come in from the sweet-stuff shop. Open yourmouth--wide. "

Reginald did as he was bid: opened his mouth to its utmost width, and theboy shot in the powder. 

It happened to be a preparation of that nauseous drug familiarly knownas "Dover's powder. " The child found it so, and set up a succession ofshrieks, which aroused the house. The nurse rushed in; and Lord and LadyHartledon, both of whom were dressing for dinner, appeared on the scene. There stood Reginald, coughing, choking, and roaring; and there satthe culprit, equably devouring the jam. With time and difficulty thefacts were elicited from the younger child, and the elder scorned to denythem. 

"What a wicked, greedy Turk you must be!" ejaculated the nurse, who wasoften in hot water with the elder boy. 

"But Reginald need not have screamed so, " testily interposed LordHartledon. "I thought one of them must be on fire. You naughty child, why did you scream?" he continued, giving Reginald a slight tap on theear. 

"Any child would scream at being so taken by surprise, " said LadyHartledon. "It is Edward who is in fault, not Reginald; and it is he whodeserves punishment. "

"And he should have it, if he were my son, " boldly declared the nurse, asshe picked up the unhappy Reginald. "A great greedy boy, to swallow downevery bit of the jam, and never give his brother a taste, after poisoninghim with that nasty powder!"

Edward rose, and gave the nurse a look of scorn. "The powder's goodenough for him: he is nothing but a young brat, and I am Lord Elster. "

Lady Hartledon felt provoked. "What is that you say, Edward?" she asked, laying her hand upon his shoulder in reproval. 

"Let me alone, mamma. He'll never be anything but Regy Elster. _I_ shallbe Lord Hartledon, and jam's proper for me, and it's fair I should putupon him. "

The nurse flounced off with Reginald, and Lady Hartledon turned to herhusband. "Is this to be suffered? Will you allow it to pass withoutcorrection?"

"He means nothing, " said Val. "Do you, Edward, my boy?"

"Yes, I do; I mean what I say. I shall stand up for myself and Maude. "

Hartledon made no remonstrance: only drew the boy to him, with a hastygesture, as though he would shield him from anger and the world. 

Anne, hurt almost to tears, quitted the room. But she had scarcelyreached her own when she remembered that she had left a diamond brooch inthe nursery, which she had just been about to put into her dress whenalarmed by the cries. She went back for it, and stood almost confoundedby what she saw. Lord Hartledon, sitting down, had clasped his boy in hisarms, and was sobbing over him; emotion such as man rarely betrays. 

"Papa, Regy and the other two are not going to put me and Maude out ofour places, are they? They can't, you know. We come first. "

"Yes, yes, my boy; no one shall put you out, " was the answer, as hepressed passionate kisses on the boy's face. "I will stand by you forever. "

Very judicious indeed! the once sensible man seemed to ignore the evidentfact that the boy had been tutored. Lady Hartledon, a fear creeping overher, she knew not of what, left her brooch where it was, and stole backto her dressing-room. 

Presently Val came in, all traces of emotion removed from his features. Lady Hartledon had dismissed her maid, and stood leaning against the armof the sofa, indulging in bitter rumination. 

"Silly children!" cried he; "it's hard work to manage them. And Edwardhas lost his pow--"

He broke off; stopped by the look of angry reproach from his wife, caston him for the first time in their married life. He took her hand andbent down to her: fervent love, if ever she read it, in his eyes andtones. 

"Forgive me, Anne; you are feeling this. "

"Why do you throw these slights on my children? Why are you not morejust?"

"I do not intend to slight our children, Anne, Heaven knows. But I--Icannot punish Edward. "

"Why did you ever make me your wife?" sighed Lady Hartledon, drawing herhand away. 

His poor assumption of unconcern was leaving him quickly; his face waschanging to one of bitter sorrow. 

"When I married you, " she resumed, "I had reason to hope that shouldchildren be born to us, you would love them equally with your first;I had a right to hope it. What have I done that--"

"Stay, Anne! I can bear anything better than reproach from you. "

"What have I and my children done to you, I was about to ask, that youtake this aversion to them? lavishing all your love on the others andupon them only injustice?"

Val bent down, agitation in his face and voice. 

"Hush, Anne! you don't know. The danger is that I should love yourchildren better, far better than Maude's. It might be so if I did notguard against it. "

"I cannot understand you, " she exclaimed. 

"Unfortunately, I understand myself only too well. I have a heavy burdento bear; do not you--my best and dearest--increase it. "

She looked at him keenly; laid her hands upon him, tears gathering in hereyes. "Tell me what the burden is; tell me, Val! Let me share it. "

But Val drew in again at once, alarmed at the request: and contradictedhimself in the most absurd manner. 

"There's nothing to share, Anne; nothing to tell. "

Certainly this change was not propitiatory. Lady Hartledon, chilled andmortified, disdained to pursue the theme. Drawing herself up, she turnedto go down to dinner, remarking that he might at least treat the childrenwith more _apparent_ justice. 

"I am just; at least, I wish to be just, " he broke forth in impassionedtones. "But I cannot be severe with Edward and Maude. "

Another powder was procured, and, amidst much fighting and resistance, was administered. Lady Hartledon was in the boy's room the first thingin the morning. One grand quality in her was, that she never visitedher vexation on the children; and Edward, in spite of his unamiablebehaviour, did at heart love her, whilst he despised his grandmother; oneof his sources of amusement being to take off that estimable old lady'speculiarities behind her back, and send the servants into convulsions. 

"You look very hot, Edward, " exclaimed Lady Hartledon, as she kissed him. "How do you feel?"

"My throat's sore, mamma, and my legs could not find a cold place allnight. Feel my hand. "

It was a child's answer, sufficiently expressive. An anxious look rose toher countenance. 

"Are you sure your throat is sore?"

"It's very sore. I am so thirsty. "

Lady Hartledon gave him some weak tea, and sent for Mr. Brook to comeround as soon as possible. At breakfast she met the dowager, who hadbeen out the previous evening during the powder episode. Lady Hartledonmentioned to her husband that she had sent a message to the doctor, notmuch liking Edward's symptoms. 

"What's the matter with him?" asked the dowager, quickly. "What are hissymptoms?"

"Nay, I may be wrong, " said Lady Hartledon, with a smile. "I won't infectyou with my fears, when there may be no reason for them. "

The countess-dowager caught at the one word, and applied it in a mannernever anticipated. She was the same foolish old woman she had ever been;indeed, her dread of catching any disorder had only grown with the years. And it happened, unfortunately for her peace, that the disorder whichleaves its cruel traces on the most beautiful face was just thenprevalent in London. Of all maladies the human frame is subject to, the vain old creature most dreaded that one. She rose up from her seat;her face turned pale, and her teeth began to chatter. 

"It's small-pox! If I have a horror of one thing more than another, it'sthat dreadful, disfiguring malady. I wouldn't stay in a house where itwas for a hundred thousand pounds. I might catch it and be marked forlife!"

Lady Hartledon begged her to be composed, and Val smothered a laugh. Thesymptoms were not those of small-pox. 

"How should you know?" retorted the dowager, drowning the reassuringwords. "How should any one know? Get Pepps here directly. Have you sentfor him?"

"No, " said Anne. "I have more confidence in Mr. Brook where children areconcerned. "

"Confidence in Brook!" shrieked the dowager, pushing up her flaxen front. "A common, overworked apothecary! Confidence in him, Lady Hartledon!Elster's life may be in danger; he is my grandchild, and I insist onPepps being fetched to him. "

Anne sat down at once and wrote a brief note to Sir Alexander. Ithappened that the message sent to Mr. Brook had found that gentleman awayfrom home, and the greater man arrived first. He looked at the child, asked a few bland questions, and wrote a prescription. He did not saywhat the illness might be: for he never hazarded a premature opinion. As he was leaving the chamber, a servant accosted him. 

"Lady Kirton wishes to see you, sir. "

"Well, Pepps, " cried she, as he advanced, having loaded herself withcamphor, "what is it?"

"I do not take upon myself to pronounce an opinion, Lady Kirton, "rejoined the doctor, who had grown to feel irritated lately at thedowager's want of ceremony towards him. "In the early stage of a disorderit can rarely be done with certainty. "

"Now don't let's have any of that professional humbug, Pepps, " rejoinedher ladyship. "You doctors know a common disorder as soon as you see it, only you think it looks wise not to say. Is it small-pox?"

"It's not impossible, " said the doctor, in his wrath. 

The dowager gasped. 

"But I do not observe any symptoms of that malady developing themselvesat present, " added the doctor. "I think I may say it is not small-pox. "

"Good patience, Pepps! you'll frighten me into it. It is and itisn't--what do you mean? What is it, if it's not that?"

"I may be able to tell after a second visit. Good morning, Lady Kirton, "said he, backing out. "Take care you don't do yourself an injury with toomuch of that camphor. It is exciting. "

In a short time Mr. Brook arrived. When he had seen the child and wasalone with Lady Hartledon, she explained that the countess-dowager hadwished Sir Alexander Pepps called in, and showed him the prescriptionjust written. He read it and laid it down. 

"Lady Hartledon, " said he, "I must venture to disagree with thatprescription. Lord Elster's symptoms are those of scarlet-fever, and itwould be unwise to administer it. Sir Alexander stands of course muchhigher in the profession than I do, but my practice with children islarger than his. "

"I feared it was scarlet-fever, " answered Lady Hartledon. "What is to bedone? I have every confidence in you, Mr. Brook; and were Edward my ownchild, I should know how to act. Do you think it would be dangerous togive him this prescription? You may speak confidentially. "

"Not dangerous; it is a prescription that will do neither harm norgood. I suspect Sir Alexander could not detect the nature of the illness, and wrote this merely to gain time. It is not an infrequent custom todo so. In my opinion, not an hour should be lost in giving him a moreefficacious medicine; early treatment is everything in scarlet-fever. "

Lady Hartledon had been rapidly making up her mind. "Send in what youthink right to be taken, immediately, " she said, "and meet Sir Alexanderin consultation later on. "

Scarlet-fever it proved to be; not a mild form of it; and in a very fewhours Lord Elster was in great danger, the throat being chiefly affected. The house was in commotion; the dowager worse than any one in it. Acomplication of fears beset her: first, terror for her own safety, andnext, the less abject dread that death might remove _her_ grandchild. Inthis latter fear she partly lost her personal fears, so far at any rateas to remain in the house; for it seemed to her that the child wouldinevitably die if she left it. Late in the afternoon she rushed into thepresence of the doctors, who had just been holding a second consultation. 

Sir Alexander Pepps recommended leeches to the throat: Mr. Brookdisapproved of them. "It is the one chance for his life, " said SirAlexander. 

"It is removing nearly all chance, " said Mr. Brook. 

Sir Alexander prevailed; and when they came forth it was understood thatleeches were to be applied. But here Lady Hartledon stepped in. 

"I dread leeches to the throat, Sir Alexander, if you will forgive me forsaying so. I have twice seen them applied in scarlet-fever; and thepatients--one a young lady, the other a child--in both cases died. "

"Madam, I have given my opinion, " curtly returned the physician. "Theyare necessary in Lord Elster's case. "

"Do you approve of leeches?" cried Lady Hartledon, turning to Mr. Brook. 

"Not altogether, " was the cautious answer. 

"Answer me one question, Mr. Brook, " said Lady Hartledon, in herearnestness. "Would you apply these leeches were you treating the casealone?"

"No, madam, I would not. "

Anne appealed to her husband. When the medical men differed, she thoughtthe decision lay with him. 

"I'm sure I don't know, " returned Val, who felt perfectly helpless toadvise. "Can't you decide, Anne? You know more about children and illnessthan I do. "

"I would do so without hesitating a moment were it my own child, " shereplied. "I would not allow them to be put on. "

"No, you would rather see him die, " interrupted the dowager, whooverheard the words, and most intemperately and unjustifiably answeredthem. 

Anne coloured with shame for the old woman, but the words silenced her:how was it possible to press her own opinion after that? Sir Alexanderhad it all his own way, and the leeches were applied on either side thethroat, Mr. Brook emphatically asserting in Lady Hartledon's private earthat he "washed his hands" of the measure. Before they came off theconsequences were apparent; the throat was swollen outwardly, on bothsides; within, it appeared to be closing. 

The dowager, rather beside herself on the whole, had insisted on theleeches. Any one, seeing her conduct now, might have thought the invalidboy was really dear to her. Nothing of the sort. A hazy idea had beenlooming through her mind for years that Val was not strong; she had beenmistaking mental disease for bodily illness; and a project to have fullcontrol of her grandchild, should he come into the successionprematurely, had coloured her dreams. This charming prospect would beignominiously cut short if the boy went first. 

Sir Alexander saw his error. There must be something peculiar in LordElster's constitution, he blandly said; it would not have happened inanother. Of course, anything that turns out a mistake always is in theconstitution--never in the treatment. Whether he lived or died now wasjust the turn of a straw: the chances were that he would die. All thatcould be done now was to endeavour to counteract the mischief by externalapplications. 

"I wish you would let me try a remedy, " said Lady Hartledon, wistfully. "A compress of cold water round the throat with oilsilk over it. I haveseen it do so much good in cases of inward inflammation. "

Mr. Brook smiled: if anything would do good that might, he said, speakingas if he had little faith in remedies now. Sir Alexander intimated thather ladyship might try it; graciously observing that it would do no harm. 

The application was used, and the evening went on. The child had falleninto a sort of stupor, and Mr. Brook came in again before he had beenaway an hour, and leaned anxiously over the patient. He lay with his eyeshalf-closed, and breathed with difficulty. 

"I think, " he exclaimed softly, "there's the slightest shade ofimprovement. "

"In the fever, or the throat?" whispered Lady Hartledon, who had notquitted the boy's bedside. 

"In the throat. If so, it is due to your remedy, Lady Hartledon. "

"Is he in danger?"

"In great danger. Still, I see a gleam of hope. "

After the surgeon's departure, she went down to her husband, meetingHedges on the stairs, who was coming to inquire after the patient for hismaster, for about the fiftieth time. Hartledon was in the library, pacingabout incessantly in the darkness, for the room was only lighted by thefire. Anne closed the door and approached him. 

"Percival, I do not bring you very good tidings, " she said; "and yet theymight be worse. Mr. Brook tells me he is in great danger, but thinks hesees a gleam of hope. "

Lord Hartledon took her hand within his arm and resumed his pacing; hiseyes were fixed on the carpet, and he said nothing. 

"Don't grieve as those without hope, " she continued, her eyes fillingwith tears. "He may yet recover. I have been praying that it may be so. "

"Don't pray for it, " he cried, his tone one of painful entreaty. "I havebeen daring to pray that it might please God to take him. "

"Percival!" she exclaimed, starting away from him. 

"I am not mad, Anne. Death would be a more merciful fate for my boy thanlife. Death now, whilst he is innocent, safe in Christ's love!--death, inHeaven's mercy!"

And Anne crept back to the upper chamber, sick with terror; for she didthink that the trouble of his child's state was affecting her husband'sbrain. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

A PAINFUL SCENE. 

Lord and Lady Hartledon were entertaining a family group. The everlastingdowager kept to them unpleasantly; making things unbearable, and wearingout her welcome in no slight degree, if she had only been wise enough tosee it. She had escaped scarlet-fever and other dreaded ills; and wasalive still. For that matter, the little Lord Elster had come out of italso: _not_ unscathed; for the boy remained a sickly wreck, and there wasvery little hope that he would really recover. The final close might bedelayed, but it was not to be averted. Before Easter they had left Londonfor Hartledon, that he might have country air. Lord Hartledon's eldestsister, Lady Margaret Cooper, came there with her husband; and on thisday the other sister, Lady Laura Level, had arrived from India. LadyMargaret was an invalid, and not an agreeable woman besides; but to Lauraand Anne the meeting, after so many years' separation, was one of intensepleasure. They had been close friends from childhood. 

They were all gathered together in the large drawing-room after luncheon. The day was a wet one, and no one had ventured out except Sir JamesCooper. Accustomed to the Scotch mists, this rain seemed a genial shower, and Sir James was enjoying it accordingly. It was a warm, close day, inspite of the rain; and the large fire in the grate made the roomoppressive, so that they were glad to throw the windows open. 

Lying on a sofa near the fire was the invalid boy. By merely looking athim you might see that he would never rally, though he fluctuated much. To-day he was, comparatively speaking, well. Little Maude was threadingbeads; and the two others, much younger, stood looking on--Reginaldand Anne. Lady Margaret Cooper, having a fellow-feeling for an invalid, sat near the sick boy. Lord Hartledon sat apart at a table reading, andmaking occasional notes. The dowager, more cumbersome than ever, dozed onthe other side of the hearth. She was falling into the habit of taking anap after luncheon as well as after dinner. Lady Laura was in danger ofconvulsions every time she looked at the dowager. Never in all her lifehad she seen so queer an old figure. She and Anne stood together at anopen window, the one eagerly asking questions, the other answering, allin undertones. Lady Laura had been away from her own home and kindredsome twelve years, and it seemed to her half a lifetime. 

"Anne, how _was_ it?" she exclaimed. "It was a thing that always puzzledme, and I never came to the bottom of it. My husband said at the time Iused to talk of it in my sleep. "

"What do you mean?"

"About you and Val. You were engaged to each other; you loved him, and heloved you. How came that other marriage about?"

"Well, I can hardly tell you. I was at Cannes with mamma, and he fellinto the meshes. We knew nothing about it until they were married. Nevermind all that now; I don't care to recall it, and it is a very sore pointwith Val. The blame, I believe, lay chiefly with _her_. "

Anne glanced at the dowager, to indicate whom she meant. Lady Laura'seyes followed the same direction, and she laughed. 

"A painted old guy! She looks like one who would do it. Why doesn't someone put her under a glass case and take her to the British Museum? Whennews of the marriage came out to India I was thunderstruck. I wrote offat once to Val, asking all sorts of questions, and received quite asavage reply, telling me to mind my own business. That letter alone wouldhave told me how Val repented; it was so unlike him. Do you know what Idid?"

"What did you do?"

"Sent him another letter by return mail with only two words init--'Elster's Folly. ' Poor Val! She died of heart-disease, did she not?"

"Yes. But she seemed to have been ailing for some time. She was greatlychanged. "

"Val is changed. There are threads of silver in his hair; and he is somuch quieter than I thought he ever would be. I wonder you took him, Anne, after all; and I wonder still more that Dr. Ashton allowed it. "

A blush tinged Lady Hartledon's face as she looked out at the soft rain, and a half-smile parted her lips. 

"I see, Anne. Love once, love ever; and I suppose it was the same withVal, in spite of his folly. I should have taken out my revenge bymarrying the first eligible man that offered himself. Talking ofthat--is poor Mr. Graves married yet?"

"Yes, at last, " said Anne, laughing. "A grand match too for him, poortimid man: his wife's a lord's daughter, and as tall as a house. "

"If ever man worshipped woman he worshipped you, though you were only agirl. "

"Nonsense, Laura. "

"Anne, you knew it quite well; and so did Val. Did he ever screw hiscourage up to the point of proposing?"

Anne laughed. "If he ever did, I was too vexed to answer him. He will bevery happy, Laura. His wife is a meek, amiable woman, in spite of herformidable height. "

"And now I want you to tell me one thing--How was it that Edward couldnot be saved?"

For a moment Lady Hartledon did not understand, and turned her eyes onthe boy. 

"I mean my brother, Anne. When news came out to India that he had died inthat shocking manner, following upon poor George--I don't care now torecall how I felt. Was there _no_ one at hand to save him?"

"No one. A sad fatality seemed to attend it altogether. Val regrets hisbrother bitterly to this day. "

"And that poor Willy Gum was killed at sea, after all!"

"Yes, " said Anne, shortly. "When you spoke of Edward, " returning to theother subject, "I thought you meant the boy. "

Lady Laura shook her head. "He will never get well, Anne. Death iswritten on his face. "

"You would say so, if you saw him some days. He is excitable, and yourcoming has roused him. I never saw any one fluctuate so; one day dying, the next better again. For myself I have very little hope, and Mr. Hillary has none; but I dare not say so to Margaret and the dowager. "

"Why not?"

"It makes them angry. They cannot bear to hear there's a possibility ofhis death. Margaret may see the danger, but I don't believe the dowagerdoes. "

"Their wishes must blind them, " observed Lady Laura. "The dowager seemsall fury and folly. She scarcely gave herself time to welcome me thismorning, or to inquire how I was after my long voyage; but begandescanting on a host of evils, the chief being that her grandson shouldhave had fever. "

"She would like him to bear a charmed life. Not for love of him, Laura. "

"What then?"

"I do not believe she has a particle of love for him. Don't think meuncharitable; it is the truth; Val will tell you the same. She is notcapable of experiencing common affection for any one; every feeling ofher nature is merged in self-interest. Had her daughter left another boyshe would not be dismayed at the prospect of this one's death; whether helived or died, it would be all one to her. The grievance is that Reginaldshould have the chance of succeeding. "

"Because he is your son. I understand. A vain, puffed-up old thing! theidea of her still painting her face and wearing false curls! I wonder youtolerate her in your house, Anne! She's always here. "

"How can I help myself? She considers, I believe, that she has more rightin this house than I have. "

"Does she make things uncomfortable?"

"More so than I have ever confessed, even to my husband. From the hour ofmy marriage she set the two children against me, and against my childrenwhen they came; and she never ceases to do so still. "

"Why do you submit to it?"

"She is their grandmother, and I cannot well deny her the house. Valmight do so, but he does not. Perhaps I should have had courage toattempt it, for the children's own sake, it is so shocking to train themto ill-nature, but that he appears to think as she does. The pettydisputes between the children are frequent--for my two elder ones aregetting of an age to turn again when put upon--but their father nevercorrects Edward and Maude, or allows them to be corrected; let them dowhat wrong they will, he takes their part. I believe that if Edward_killed_ one of my children, he would only caress him. "

Lady Laura turned her eyes on the speaker's face, on its flush of painand mortification. 

"And Val loved you: and did _not_ love Maude! What does it mean, Anne?"

"I cannot tell you. Things altogether are growing more than I can bear. "

"Margaret has been with you some time; has she not interfered, or triedto put things upon a right footing?"

Anne shook her head. "She espouses the dowager's side; upholds the twochildren in their petty tyranny. No one in the house takes my part, or mychildren's. "

"That is just like Margaret. Do you remember how you and I used to dreadher domineering spirit when we were girls? It's time I came, I think, toset things right. "

"Laura, neither you nor any one else can set things right. They have beenwrong too long. The worst is, I cannot see what the evil is, as regardsVal. If I ask him he repels me, or laughs at me, and tells me I amfanciful. That he has some secret trouble I have long known: his days areunhappy, his nights restless; often when he thinks me asleep I amlistening to his sighs. I am glad you have come home; I have wanted atrue friend to confide these troubles to, and I could only speak of themto one of the family. "

"It sounds like a romance, " cried Laura. "Some secret grief! What can itbe?"

They were interrupted by a commotion. Maude had been threading a splendidring all the colours of the rainbow, and now exhibited it for the benefitof admiring beholders. 

"Papa--Aunt Margaret--look at my ring. "

Lord Hartledon nodded pleasantly at the child from his distant seat; LadyMargaret appeared not to have heard; and Maude caught up a soft ball andthrew it at her aunt. 

Unfortunately, it took a wrong direction, and struck the nodding dowageron the nose. She rose up in a fury and some commotion ensued. 

"Make me a ring, Maude, " little Anne lisped when the dowager had subsidedinto her chair again. Maude took no notice; her finger was still liftedwith the precious ornament. 

"Can you see it from your sofa, Edward?"

The boy rose and stretched himself. "Pretty well. You have put it on thewrong finger, Maude. Ladies don't wear rings on the little finger. "

"But it won't go on the others, " said Maude dolefully: "it's too small. "

"Make a larger one. "

"Make one for me, Maude, " again broke in Anne's little voice. 

"No, I won't!" returned Maude. "You are big enough to thread beads foryourself. "

"No, she's not, " said Reginald. "Make her one, Maude. "

"No, don't, Maude, " said Edward. "Let them do things for themselves. "

"You hear!" whispered Lady Hartledon. 

"I do hear. And Val sits there and never reproves them; and the olddowager's head and eyes are nodding and twinkling approval. "

Lady Laura was an energetic little woman, thin, and pale, and excessivelyactive, with a propensity for setting the world straight, and a tongue asunceremoniously free as the dowager's. In the cause of justice she wouldhave stood up to battle with a giant. Lady Hartledon was about to makesome response, but she bade her wait; her attention was absorbed by thechildren. Perhaps the truth was that she was burning to have a say in thematter herself. 

"Maude, " she called out, "if that ring is too small for you, it would dofor Anne, and be kind of you to give it her. "

Maude looked dubious. Left to herself, the child would have been generousenough. She glanced at the dowager. 

"May I give it her, grand'ma?"

Grand'ma was conveniently deaf. She would rather have cut the ring intwo than it should be given to the hated child: but, on the other hand, she did not care to offend Laura Level, who possessed inconvenientlyindependent opinions, and did not shrink from proclaiming them. Seizingthe poker, she stirred the fire, and created a divertissement. 

In the midst of it, Edward left his sofa and walked up to the group andtheir beads. He was very weak, and tottered unintentionally against Anne. The touch destroyed her equilibrium, and she fell into Maude's lap. Therewas no damage done, but the box of beads was upset on to the carpet. Maude screamed at the loss of her treasures, rose up with anger, andslapped Anne. The child cried out. 

"Why d'you hit her?" cried Reginald. "It was Edward's fault; he pushedher. "

"What's that!" exclaimed Edward. "My fault! I'll teach you to say that, "and he struck Reginald a tingling slap on the cheek. 

Of course there was loud crying. The dowager looked on with a red face. Lady Margaret Cooper, who had no children of her own, stopped her ears. Lady Laura laid her hand on her sister-in law's wrist. 

"And you can witness these scenes, and not check them! You are changed, indeed, Anne!"

"If I interfere to protect my children, I am checked and prevented, "replied Lady Hartledon, with quivering lips. "This scene is nothing towhat we have sometimes. "

"Who checks you--Val?"

"The dowager. But he does not interpose for me. Where the children areconcerned, he tacitly lets her have sway. It is not often anything ofthis sort takes place in his presence. "

The noise continued: all the children seemed to be fighting together. Anne went forward and drew her own two out of the fray. 

"Pray send those two screamers to the nursery, Lady Hartledon, " cried thedowager. 

"I cannot think why they are allowed in the drawing-room at all, " saidLady Margaret, addressing no one in particular, unless it was theceiling. "Edward and Maude would be quiet enough without them. "

Anne did not retort: she only glanced at her husband, silent reproach onher pale face, and took up Anne in her arms to carry her from the room. But Lady Laura, impulsive and warm, came forward and stopped the exit. 

"Lady Kirton, I am ashamed of you! Margaret, I am ashamed of you! I amashamed of you all. You are doing the children a lasting injury, and youare guilty of cruel insult to Lady Hartledon. This is the second scene Ihave been a witness to, when the elder children were encouraged to behavebadly to the younger; the first was in the nursery this morning; and Ihave been here only a few hours. And you, Lord Hartledon, their head andfather, responsible for your children's welfare, can tamely sit by, andsuffer it, and see your wife insulted! Is this what you married AnneAshton for?"

Lord Hartledon rose: a strange look of pain on his features. "You aremistaken, Laura. I wish every respect to be shown to my wife; respectfrom all. Anne knows it. "

"Respect!" scornfully retorted Lady Laura. "When you do not give herso much as a voice in her own house; when you allow her children to betrampled on, and beaten--_beaten_, sir--and she dare not interfere!I blush for you, and could never have believed you would so behave toyour wife. Who are you, madam, " turning again, in her anger, on thecountess-dowager, "and who are you, Margaret, that you should dare toencourage Edward and Maude in rebellion against their present mother?"

Taken by surprise, the dowager made no answer. Lady Margaret lookeddefiance. 

"You and Anne have invited me to your house on a lengthened visit, LordHartledon, " continued Laura; "but I promise you that if this is tocontinue I will not remain in it; I will not witness insult to my earlyfriend; and I will not see children incited to evil passions. Undressthat child, sir, " she sharply added, directing Val's attention toReginald, "and you will see bruises on his back and shoulder. I saw themthis morning, and asked the nurse what caused them and was told LordElster kicked him. "

"It was the little beggar's own fault, " interposed Edward, who wasstanding his ground with equanimity, and seemed to enjoy the scene. 

Lady Laura caught him sharply by the arm. "Of whom are you speaking!Who's a little beggar?"

"Regy is. "

"Who taught you to call him one?"

"Grand'ma. "

"There, go away; go away all of you, " cried Lady Laura, turning the twoelder ones from the room imperatively, after Anne and her children. "Oh, so you are going also, Val! No wonder you are ashamed to stay here. "

He was crossing the room; a curious expression on his drawn lips. Laurawatched him from it; then went and stood before the dowager; her back toher sister. 

"Has it ever struck you, Lady Kirton, that you may one day have toaccount for this?"

"It strikes me that you are making a vast deal of unnecessary noise, Madame Laura!"

"If your daughter could look on, from the other world, at earth andits scenes--and some hold a theory that such a state of things is notimpossible--what would be her anguish, think you, at the evil you areinculcating in her children? One of them will very soon be with her--"

The dowager interrupted with a sort of howl. 

"He will; there is no mistaking it. You who see him constantly may notdetect it; but it is evident to a stranger. Were it not beneath me, Imight ask on what grounds you tutor him to call Reginald a beggar, considering that your daughter brought my brother nothing but a fewdebts; whilst Miss Ashton brought him a large fortune?"

"I wouldn't condescend to be mean, Laura, " put in Lady Margaret, whilstthe dowager fanned her hot face. 

They were interrupted by Hedges, showing in visitors. How much more LadyLaura might have said must remain unknown: she was in a mood to say agreat deal. 

"Mr. And Mrs. Graves. "

It was the curate; and the tall, meek woman spoken of by Anne. Lauralaughed as she shook hands with the former; whom she had known when agirl, and been given to ridiculing more than was quite polite. 

Lord Hartledon had left the room after his wife. She sent the childrento the nursery; and he found her alone in her chamber sobbing bitterly. 

Certainly he was a contradiction. He fondly took her in his arms, beseeching her to pardon him, if he had unwittingly slighted her, asLaura implied; and his blue eyes were beaming with affection, his voicewas low with persuasive tenderness. 

"There are times, " she sobbed, "when I am tempted to wish myself back inmy father's house!"

"I cannot think whence all this discomfort arises!" he weakly exclaimed. "Of one thing, Anne, rest assured: as soon as Edward changes for thebetter or the worse--and one it must inevitably be--that mischief-makingold woman shall quit my house for ever. "

"Edward will never change for the better, " she said. "For the worse, hemay soon: for the better, never. "

"I know: Hillary has told me. Bear with things a little longer, andbelieve that I will remedy them the moment remedy is possible. I am yourhusband. "

Lady Hartledon lifted her eyes to his. "We cannot go on as we are goingon now. Tell me what it is you have to bear. You remind me that you aremy husband; I now remind you that I am your wife: confide in me. I willbe true and loving to you, whatever it may be. "

"Not yet; in a little time, perhaps. Bear with me still, my dear wife. "

His look was haggard; his voice bore a sound of anguish; he clasped herhand to pain as he left her. Whatever might be his care, Anne could notdoubt his love. 

And as he went into the drawing-room, a smile on his face, chatting withthe curate, laughing with his newly-married wife, both those unsuspiciousvisitors could have protested when they went forth, that never was a manmore free from trouble than that affable servant of her Majesty's theEarl of Hartledon. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

EXPLANATIONS. 

A change for the worse occurred in the child, Lord Elster; and after twoor three weeks' sinking he died, and was buried at Hartledon by the sideof his mother. Hartledon's sister quitted Hartledon House for a change;but the countess-dowager was there still, and disturbed its silence withmoans and impromptu lamentations, especially when going up and down thestaircase and along the corridors. 

Mr. Carr, who had come for the funeral, also remained. On the dayfollowing it he and Lord Hartledon were taking a quiet walk together, when they met Mrs. Gum. Hartledon stopped and spoke to her in his kindlymanner. She was less nervous than she used to be; and she and her husbandwere once more at peace in their house. 

"I would not presume to say a word of sympathy, my lord, " she said, curtseying, "but we felt it indeed. Jabez was cut up like anything whenhe came in yesterday from the funeral. "

Val looked at her, a meaning she understood in his earnest eyes. "Yes, itis hard to part with our children: but when grief is over, we live in theconsolation that they have only gone before us to a better place, wheresin and sorrow are not. We shall join them later. "

She went away, tears of joy filling her eyes. _She_ had a son up there, waiting for _her_; and she knew Lord Hartledon meant her to think of himwhen he had so spoken. 

"Carr, " said Val, "I never told you the finale of that tragedy. GeorgeGordon of the mutiny, did turn up: he lived and died in England. "

"No!"

"He died at Calne. It was that poor woman's son. "

Mr. Carr looked round for an explanation. He knew her as the wife ofclerk Gum, and sister to Hartledon's housekeeper. Val told him all, asthe facts had come out to him. 

"Pike always puzzled me, " he said. "Disguised as he was with his blackhair, his face stained with some dark juice, there was a look in him thatused to strike some chord in my memory. It lay in the eyes, I think. You'll keep these facts sacred, Carr, for the parents' sake. They areknown only to four of us. "

"Have you told your wife yet?" questioned Mr. Carr, recurring to adifferent subject. 

"No. I could not, somehow, whilst the child lay dead in the house. Sheshall know it shortly. "

"And what about dismissing the countess-dowager? You will do it?"

"I shall be only too thankful to do it. All my courage has come back tome, thank Heaven!"

The Countess-Dowager of Kirton's reign was indeed over; never would heallow her to disturb the peace of his house again. He might have topension her off, but that was a light matter. His intention was to speakto her in a few days' time, allowing an interval to elapse after theboy's death; but she forestalled the time herself, as Val was soon tofind. 

Dinner that evening was a sad meal--sad and silent. The only one who didjustice to it was the countess-dowager--in a black gauze dress and whitecrêpe turban. Let what would betide, Lady Kirton never failed to enjoyher dinner. She had a scheme in her head; it had been working there sincethe day of her grandson's death; and when the servants withdrew, shejudged it expedient to disclose it to Hartledon, hoping to gain herpoint, now that he was softened by sorrow. 

"Hartledon, I want to talk to you, " she began, critically tasting herwine; "and I must request that you'll attend to me. "

Anne looked up, wondering what was coming. She wore an evening dress ofblack crêpe, a jet necklace on her fair neck, jet bracelets on her arms:mourning far deeper than the dowager's. 

"Are you listening to me, Val?"

"I am quite ready, " answered Val. 

"I asked you, once before, to let me have Maude's children, and to allowme a fair income with them. Had you done so, this dreadful misfortunewould not have overtaken your house: for it stands to reason that if LordElster had been living somewhere else with me, he could not have caughtscarlet-fever in London. "

"We never thought he did catch it, " returned Hartledon. "It was notprevalent at the time; and, strange to say, none of the other childrentook it, nor any one else in the house. "

"Then what gave it him?" sharply uttered the dowager. 

What Val answered was spoken in a low tone, and she caught one word only, Providence. She gave a growl, and continued. 

"At any rate, he's gone; and you have now no pretext for refusing meMaude. I shall take her, and bring her up, and you must make me a liberalallowance for her. "

"I shall not part with Maude, " said Val, in quiet tones of decision. 

"You can't refuse her to me, I say, " rejoined the dowager, nodding herhead defiantly; "she's my own grandchild. "

"And my child. The argument on this point years ago was unsatisfactory, Lady Kirton; I do not feel disposed to renew it. Maude will remain in herown home. "

"You are a vile man!" cried the dowager, with an inflamed face. "Pass methe wine. "

He filled her glass, and left the decanter with her. She resumed. 

"One day, when I was with Maude, in that last illness of hers in London, when we couldn't find out what was the matter with her, poor dear, shewrote you a letter; and I know what was in it, for I read it. You hadgone dancing off somewhere for a week. "

"To the Isle of Wight, on your account, " put in Lord Hartledon, quietly;"on that unhappy business connected with your son who lives there. Well, ma'am?"

"In that letter Maude said she wished me to have charge of her children, if she died; and begged you to take notice that she said it, " continuedthe dowager. "Perhaps you'll say you never had that letter?"

"On the contrary, madam, I admit receiving it, " he replied. "I daresay Ihave it still. Most of Maude's letters lie in my desk undisturbed. "

"And, admitting that, you refuse to act up to it?"

"Maude wrote in a moment of pique, when she was angry with me. But--"

"And I have no doubt she had good cause for anger!"

"She had great cause, " was his answer, spoken with a strange sadness thatsurprised both the dowager and Lady Hartledon. Thomas Carr was twirlinghis wine-glass gently round on the white cloth, neither speaking norlooking. 

"Later, my wife fully retracted what she said in that letter, " continuedVal. "She confessed that she had written it partly at your dictation, Lady Kirton, and said--but I had better not tell you that, perhaps. "

"Then you shall tell me, Lord Hartledon; and you are a two-faced man, ifyou shuffle out of it. "

"Very well. Maude said that she would not for the whole world allow herchildren to be brought up by you; she warned me also not to allow you toobtain too much influence over them. "

"It's false!" said the dowager, in no way disconcerted. 

"It is perfectly true: and Maude told me you knew what her sentimentswere upon the point. Her real wish, as expressed to me, was, that thechildren should remain with me in any case, in their proper home. "

"You say you have that other letter still?" cried the dowager, who wasnot always very clear in her conversation. 

"No doubt. "

"Then perhaps you'll look for it: and read over her wishes in black andwhite. "

"To what end? It would make no difference in my decision. I tell you, ma'am, I am consulting Maude's wishes in keeping her child at home. "

"I know better, " retorted the dowager, completely losing her temper. "Iwish your poor dear wife could rise from her grave and confute you. It'sall stinginess; because you won't part with a paltry bit of money. "

"No, " said Val, "it's because I won't part with my child. Understand me, Lady Kirton--had Maude's wishes even been with you in this, I should notcarry them out. As to money--I may have something to say to you on thatscore; but suppose we postpone it to a more fitting opportunity. "

"You wouldn't carry them out!" she cried. "But you might be forced to, you mean man! That letter may be as good as a will in the eyes of thelaw. You daren't produce it; that's what it is. "

"I'll give it you with pleasure, " said Val, with a smile. "That is, ifI have kept it. I am not sure. "

She caught up her fan, and sat fanning herself. The reservation hadsuggested a meaning never intended to her crafty mind; her rebelliousson-in-law meant to destroy the letter; and she began wondering how shecould outwit him. 

A sharp cry outside the door interrupted them. The children were onlycoming in to dessert now; and Reginald, taking a flying leap down thestairs, took rather too long a one, and came to grief at the bottom. Truth to say, the young gentleman, no longer kept down by poor Edward, was getting high-spirited and venturesome. 

"What's that?" asked Anne, as the nurse came in with them, scolding. 

"Lord Elster fell down, my lady. He's getting as tiresome as can be. Onlyto-day, I caught him astride the kitchen banisters, going to slide downthem. "

"Oh, Regy, " said his mother, holding up her reproving finger. 

The boy laughed, and came forward rubbing his arm, and ashamed of histears. Val caught him up and kissed them away, drawing Maude also to hisside. 

That letter! The dowager was determined to get it, if there was apossibility of doing so. A suspicion that she would not be tolerated muchlonger in Lady Hartledon's house was upon her, and she knew not where togo. Kirton had married again; and his new wife had fairly turned her outmore unceremoniously than the late one did. By hook or by crook, shemeant to obtain the guardianship of her granddaughter, because in givingher Maude, Lord Hartledon would have to allow her an income. 

She was a woman to stop at nothing; and upon quitting the dining-room shebetook herself to the library--a large, magnificent room--the pride ofHartledon. She had come in search of Val's desk; which she found, andproceeded to devise means of opening it. That accomplished, she satherself down, like a leisurely housebreaker, to examine it, putting on apair of spectacles, which she kept surreptitiously in a pocket, and wouldnot have worn before any one for the world. She found the letter she wasin search of; and she found something else for her pains, which she hadnot bargained for. 

Not just at first. There were many tempting odds and ends of things todip into. For one thing, she found Val's banking book, and some oldcheque-books; they served her for some time. Next she came upon twopackets sealed up in white paper, with Val's own seal. On one waswritten, "Letters of Lady Maude;" on the other, "Letters of my dearAnne. " Peering further into the desk, she came upon an obscure innerslide, which had evidently not been opened for years, and she haddifficulty in undoing it. A paper was in it, superscribed, "ConcerningA. W. ;" on opening which she found a letter addressed to Thomas Carr, ofthe Temple. 

Thomas Carr's letters were no more sacred with her than Lord Hartledon's. No woman living was troubled with scruples so little as she. It proved tohave been written by a Dr. Mair, in Scotland, and was dated several yearsback. 

But now--did Lord Hartledon really know he had that dangerous letter byhim? If so, what could have possessed him to preserve it? Or, did he notrather believe he had returned it to Mr. Carr at the time? The latter, indeed, proved to be the case; and never, to the end of his life, wouldhe, in one sense, forgive his own carelessness. 

Who was A. W. ? thought the curious old woman, as she drew the light nearerto her, and began the tempting perusal, making the most of the littletime left. They could not be at tea yet, and she had told Lady Hartledonshe was going to take her nap in her own room. The gratification ofrummaging false Val's desk was an ample compensation; and thecountess-dowager hugged herself with delight. 

But what was this she had come upon--this paper "concerning A. W. "? Thedowager's mouth fell as she read; and gradually her little eyes opened asif they would start from their sockets, and her face grew white. Have youever watched the livid pallor of fear struggling to one of these paintedfaces? She dashed off her spectacles; she got up and wrung her hands;she executed a frantic war-dance; and finally she tore, with the letter, into the drawing-room, where Val and Anne and Thomas Carr were beginningtea and talking quietly. 

They rose in consternation as she danced in amongst them, and held outthe letter to Lord Hartledon. 

He took it from her, gazing in utter bewilderment as he gathered in itscontents. Was it a fresh letter, or--his face became whiter than thedowager's. In her reckless passion she avowed what she had done--theletter was secreted in his desk. 

"Have you dared to visit my desk?" he gasped--"break my seals? Are youmad?"

"Hark at him!" she cried. "He calls me to account for just lifting thelid of a desk! But what is he? A villain--a thief--a spy--a murderer--andworse than any of them! Ah, ha, my lady!" nodding her false front atLady Hartledon, who stood as one petrified, "you stare there at me withyour open eyes; but you don't know what you are! Ask _him_! What wasMaude--Heaven help her--my poor Maude? What was she? And _you_ in theplot; you vile Carr! I'll have you all hanged together!"

Lord Hartledon caught his wife's hand. 

"Carr, stay here with her and tell her all. No good concealing anythingnow she has read this letter. Tell her for me, for she would never listento me. "

He drew his wife into an adjoining room, the one where the portrait ofGeorge Elster looked down on its guests. The time for disclosing thestory to his wife had been somewhat forestalled. He would have given halfhis life that it had never reached that other woman, miserable old sinnerthough she was. 

"You are trembling, Anne; you need not do so. It is not against you thatI have sinned. "

Yes, she was trembling very much. And Val, in his honourable, hisrefined, shrinking nature, would have given his life's other half notto have had the tale to tell. 

It is not a pleasant one. You may skip it if you please, and go on to thelast page. Val once said he had been more sinned against than sinning: itmay be deemed that in that opinion he was too lenient to himself. Anne, his wife, listened with averted face and incredulous ears. 

"You have wanted a solution to my conduct, Anne--to the strangepreference I seemed to accord the poor boy who is gone; why I could notpunish him; why I was more thankful for the boon of his death than I hadbeen for his life. He was my child, but he was not Lord Elster. "

She did not understand. 

"He had no right to my name; poor little Maude has no right to it. Do youunderstand me now?"

Not at all; it was as though he were talking Greek to her. 

"Their mother, when they were born, was not my wife. "

"Their mother was Lady Maude Kirton, " she rejoined, in her bewilderment. 

"That is exactly where it was, " he answered bitterly. "Lady Maude Kirton, not Lady Hartledon. "

She could not comprehend the words; her mind was full of consternationand tumult. Back went her thoughts to the past. 

"Oh, Val! I remember papa's saying that a marriage in that unused chapelwas only three parts legal!"

"It was legal enough, Anne: legal enough. But when that ceremony tookplace"--his voice dropped to a miserable whisper, "I had--as they tellme--a wife living. "

Slowly she admitted the meaning of the words; and would have started fromhim with a faint cry, but that he held her to him. 

"Listen to the whole, Anne, before you judge me. What has been yourpromise to me, over and over again?--that, if I would tell you my sorrow, _you_ would never shrink from me, whatever it might be. "

She remembered it, and stood still; terribly rebellious, clasping herfingers to pain, one within the other. 

"In that respect, at any rate, I did not willingly sin. When I marriedMaude I had no suspicion that I was not free as air; free to marry her, or any other woman in the world. "

"You speak in enigmas, " she said faintly. 

"Sit down, Anne, whilst I give you the substance of the tale. Not itsdetails until I am more myself, and that voice"--pointing to the nextroom--"is not sounding in my ears. You shall hear all later; at least, asmuch as I know myself; I have never quite believed in it, and it has beento me throughout as a horrible dream. "

Indeed Mr. Carr seemed to be having no inconsiderable amount of trouble, to judge by the explosions of wrath on the part of the dowager. 

She sat down as he told her, her face turned from him, rebelliousat having to listen, but curious yet. Lord Hartledon stood by themantelpiece and shaded his eyes with his hand. 

"Send your thoughts into the past, Anne; you may remember that anaccident happened to me in Scotland. It was before you and I wereengaged, or it would not have happened. Or, let me say, it might not;for young men are reckless, and I was no better than others. Heaven havemercy on their follies!"

"The accident might not have happened?"

"I do not speak of the accident. I mean what followed. When out shootingI nearly blew off my arm. I was carried to the nearest medical man's, aDr. Mair's, and remained there; for it was not thought safe to move me;they feared inflammation, and they feared locked-jaw. My father waswritten to, and came; and when he left after the danger was over he madearrangements with Dr. Mair to keep me on, for he was a skilful man, andwished to perfect the cure. I thought the prolonged stay in the strange, quiet house worse than all the rest. That feeling wore off; we growreconciled to most conditions; and things became more tolerable as I grewbetter and joined the household. There was a wild, clever, random youngman staying there, the doctor's assistant--George Gordon; and there wasalso a young girl, Agnes Waterlow. I used to wonder what this Agnes didthere, and one day asked the old housekeeper; she said the young lady wasthere partly that the doctor might watch her health, partly because shewas a relative of his late wife's, and had no home. "

He paused, as if in thought, but soon continued. 

"We grew very intimate; I, Gordon, and Miss Waterlow. Neither of them wasthe person I should have chosen for an intimacy; but there was, in asense, no help for it, living together. Agnes was a wild, free, rathercoarse-natured girl, and Gordon drank. That she fell in love with methere's no doubt--and I grew to like her quite well enough to talknonsense to her. Whether any plot was laid between her and Gordon toentrap me, or whether what happened arose in the recklessness of themoment, I cannot decide to this hour. It was on my twenty-first birthday;I was almost well again; we had what the doctor called a dinner, Gordon ajollification, and Agnes a supper. It was late when we sat down to it, eight o'clock; and there was a good deal of feasting and plenty of wine. The doctor was called out afterwards to a patient several miles distant, and George Gordon made some punch; which rendered none of our heads thesteadier. At least I can answer for mine: I was weak with the longillness, and not much of a drinker at any time. There was a great deal ofnonsense going on, and Gordon pretended to marry me to Agnes. He said orread (I can't tell which, and never knew then) some words mockingly outof the prayer-book, and said we were man and wife. Whilst we were alllaughing at the joke, the doctor's old housekeeper came in, to see whatthe noise was about, and I, by way of keeping it up, took Agnes by thehand, and introduced her as Mrs. Elster. I did not understand the woman'slook of astonishment then; unfortunately, I have understood it too wellsince. "

Anne was growing painfully interested. 

"Well, after that she threw herself upon me in a manner that--that wasextraordinary to me, not having the key to it; and I--lost my head. Don'tfrown, Anne; ninety-nine men out of a hundred would have lost theirs; andyou'll say so if ever I give you the details. Of course blame attached tome; to me, and not to her. Though at the time I mentally gave her, Iassure you, her full share, somewhat after the manner of the Phariseecondemning the publican. That also has come home to me: she believedherself to be legally my wife; I never gave a thought to that evening'sfarce, and should have supposed its bearing any meaning a simpleimpossibility. 

"A short time, and letters summoned me home; my mother was dangerouslyill. I remember Agnes asked me to take her with me, and I laughed at her. I arranged to write to her, and promised to go back shortly--which, totell you the truth, I never meant to do. Having been mistaking her, mistaking her still, I really thought her worthy of very littleconsideration. Before I had been at home a fortnight I received a letterfrom Dr. Mair, telling me that Agnes was showing symptoms of insanity, and asking what provision I purposed making for her. My sin was findingme out; I wondered how _he_ had found it out; I did not ask, and did notknow for years. I wrote back saying I would willingly take all expensesupon myself; and inquired what sum would be required by the asylum--towhich he said she must be sent. He mentioned two hundred a-year, and fromthat time I paid it regularly. "

"And was she really insane?" interrupted Lady Hartledon. 

"Yes; she had been so once or twice before--and this was what thehousekeeper had meant by saying she was with the doctor that her healthmight be watched. It appeared that when these symptoms came on, after Ileft, Gordon took upon himself to disclose to the doctor that Agnes wasmarried to me, telling the circumstances as they had occurred. Dr. Mairgot frightened: it was no light matter for the son of an English peer tohave been deluded into marriage with an obscure and insane girl; and thequarrel that took place between him and Gordon on the occasion resultedin the latter's leaving. I have never understood Gordon's conduct in thematter: very disagreeable thoughts in regard to it come over mesometimes. "

"What thoughts?"

"Oh, never mind; they can never be set at rest now. Let me make shortwork of this story. I heard no more and thought no more; and the yearswent on, and then came my marriage with Maude. We went to Paris--_you_cannot have forgotten any of the details of that period, Anne; and afterour return to London I was surprised by a visit from Dr. Mair. Thatevening, that visit and its details stamped themselves on my memory forever in characters of living fire. "

He paused for a moment, and something like a shiver seized him. Anne saidnothing. 

"Maude had gone with some friends to a fête at Chiswick, and Thomas Carrwas dining with me. Hedges came in and said a gentleman wanted to seeme--_would_ see me, and would not be denied. I went to him, and found itwas Dr. Mair. In that interview I learnt that by the laws of ScotlandMiss Waterlow was my wife. "

"And the suspicion that she was so had never occurred to you before?"

"Anne! Should I have been capable of marrying Maude, or any one else, ifit had? On my solemn word of honour, before Heaven"--he raised his righthand as if to give effect to his words--"such a thought had never crossedmy brain. The evening that the nonsense took place I only regarded it asa jest, a pastime--what you will: had any one told me it was a marriage Ishould have laughed at them. I knew nothing then of the laws of Scotland, and should have thought it simply impossible that that minute's folly, and my calling her, to keep up the joke, Mrs. Elster, could haveconstituted a marriage. I think they all played a deep part, even Agnes. Not a soul had so much as hinted at the word 'marriage' to me after thatevening; neither Gordon, nor she, nor Dr. Mair in his subsequentcorrespondence; and in that he always called her 'Agnes. ' However--hethen told me that she was certainly my legal wife, and that Lady Maudewas not. 

"At first, " continued Val, "I did not believe it; but Dr. Mair persistedhe was right, and the horror of the situation grew upon me. I told all toCarr, and took him up to Dr. Mair. They discussed Scottish law andconsulted law-books; and the truth, so far, became apparent. Dr. Mair wassorry for me; he saw I had not erred knowingly in marrying Maude. As tomyself, I was helpless, prostrated. I asked the doctor, if it were reallytrue, why the fact had been kept from me: he replied that he supposed Iknew it, and that delicacy alone had caused him to abstain from alludingto it in his letters. He had been very angry when Gordon told him, hesaid; grew half frightened as to consequences; feared he should get intotrouble for allowing me to be so entrapped in his house; and he andGordon parted at once. And then Dr. Mair asked a question which I couldnot very well answer, why, if I did not know she was my wife, I had paidso large a sum for Agnes. He had been burying the affair in silence, ashe had assumed I was doing; and it was only the announcement of mymarriage with Maude in the newspapers that aroused him. He had thoughtI was acting this bad part deliberately; and he went off at once toHartledon in anger; found I had gone abroad; and now came to me on myreturn, still in anger, saying at first that he should proceed againstme, and obtain justice for Agnes. When he found how utterly ignorant ofwrong I had been, his tone changed; he was truly grieved and concernedfor me. Nothing was decided: except that Dr. Mair, in his compassiontowards Lady Maude, promised not to be the first to take legal steps. It seemed that there was only him to fear: George Gordon was reportedto have gone to Australia; the old housekeeper was dead; Agnes wasderanged. Dr. Mair left, and Carr and I sat on till midnight. Carr tookwhat I thought a harsh view of the matter; he urged me to separate fromMaude--"

"I think you should have done so for her sake, " came the gentleinterruption. 

"For her sake! the words Carr used. But, Anne, surely there were twosides to the question. If I disclosed the facts, and put her away fromme, what was she? Besides, the law might be against me--Scotland'siniquitous law; but in Heaven's sight _Maude_ was my wife, not the other. So I temporized, hoping that time might bring about a relief, for Dr. Mair told me that Miss Waterlow's health was failing. However, shelived on, and--"

Lady Hartledon started up, her face blanching. 

"Is she not dead now? Was she living when you married me? Am _I_ yourwife?"

He could hardly help smiling. His calm touch reassured her. 

"Do you think you need ask, Anne? The next year Dr. Mair called upon meagain--it was the evening before the boy was christened; he had come toLondon on business of his own. To my dismay, he told me that a change forthe better was appearing in Miss Waterlow's mental condition; and hethought it likely she might be restored to health. Of course, itincreased the perplexities and my horror, had that been needed; but thehope or fear, or what you like to call it, was not borne out. Three yearslater, the doctor came to me for the third and final time, to bring methe news that Agnes was dead. "

As the relief had been to him then, so did it almost seem now to Anne. Asigh of infinite pain broke from her. She had not seen where all this wastending. 

"Imagine, if you can, what it was for me all those years with theknowledge daily and nightly upon me that the disgraceful truth might atany moment come out to Maude--to her children, to the world! Living inthe dread of arrest myself, should the man Gordon show himself on thescene! And now you see what it is that has marred my peace, and brokenthe happiness of our married life. How could I bear to cross those twodeeply-injured children, who were ever rising up in judgment against me?How take our children's part against them, little unconscious things? Itseemed that I had always, daily, hourly, some wrong to make up to them. The poor boy was heir to Hartledon in the eyes of the world; but, Anne, your boy was the true heir. "

"Why did you not tell me?--all this time!"

"I could not. I dared not. You might not have liked to put Reginald outof his rights. "

"Oh, Percival; how can you so misjudge me?" she asked, in tones of pain. "I would have guarded the secret as jealously as you. I must still do itfor Maude. "

"Poor Maude!" he sighed. "Her mother forgave me before she died--"

"She knew it, then?"

"Yes. She learned--"

Sounds of drumming on the door, and the countess-dowager's voice, stoppedLord Hartledon. 

"I had better face her, " he said, as he unlocked it. "She will arouse thehousehold. "

Wild, intemperate, she met him with a volley of abuse that startled LadyHartledon. He got her to a sofa, and gently held her down there. 

"It's what I've been obliged to do all along, " said Thomas Carr; "I don'tbelieve she has heard ten words of my explanation. "

"Pray be calm, Lady Kirton, " said Hartledon, soothingly; "be calm, as youvalue your daughter's memory. We shall have the servants at the doors. "

"I won't be calm; I will know the worst. "

"I wish you to know it; but not others. "

"Was Maude your wife?"

"No, " he answered, in low tones. "Not--"

"And you are not ashamed to confess it?" she interrupted, not allowinghim to continue. But she was a little calmer in manner; and Val stoodupright before her with folded arms. 

"I am ashamed and grieved to confess it; but I did not knowingly inflictthe injury. In Scotland--"

"Don't repeat the shameful tale, " she cried; "I have heard from yourconfederate, Carr, as much as I want to hear. What do you deserve foryour treachery to Maude?"

"All I have reaped--and more. But it was not intentional treachery; andMaude forgave me before she died. "

"She knew it! You told her? Oh, you cruel monster!"

"I did not tell her. She did as you have just done--interfered in whatdid not concern her, in direct disobedience to my desire; and she foundit out for herself, as you, ma'am, have found it out. "

"When?"

"The winter before her death. "

"Then the knowledge killed her!"

"No. Something else killed her, as you know. It preyed upon her spirits. "

"Lord Hartledon, I can have you up for fraud and forgery, and I'll do it. It will be the consideration of Maude's fame against your punishment, andI'll make a sacrifice to revenge, and prosecute you. "

"There is no fraud where an offence is committed unwittingly, " returnedLord Hartledon; "and forgery is certainly not amongst my catalogue ofsins. "

"You are liable for both, " suddenly retorted the dowager; "you have stuckup 'Maude, Countess of Hartledon, ' on her monument in the church; andwhat's that but fraud and forgery?"

"It is neither. If Maude did not live Countess of Hartledon, she at leastso went to her grave. We were remarried, privately, before she died. Mr. Carr can tell you so. "

"It's false!" raved the dowager. 

"I arranged it, ma'am, " interposed Mr. Carr. "Lord Hartledon and yourdaughter confided the management to me, and the ceremony was performed insecrecy in London"

The dowager looked from one to the other, as if she were bewildered. 

"Married her again! why, that was making bad worse. Two false marriages!Did you do it to impose upon her?"

"I see you do not understand, " said Lord Hartledon. "The--my--the personin Scotland was dead then. She was dead, I am thankful to say, beforeMaude knew anything of the affair. "

Up started the dowager. "Then is the woman dead now? was she dead whenyou married _her_?" laying her hand upon Lady Hartledon's arm. "Are herchildren different from Maude's?"

"They are. It could not be otherwise. "

"Her boy is really Lord Elster?"

She flung Lady Hartledon's arm from her. Her voice rose to a shriek. 

"Maude is not Lady Maude?"

Val shook his head sadly. 

"And your children are lords and ladies and honourables, " darting a lookof consternation at Anne, "whilst my daughter's--"

"Peace, Lady Kirton!" sternly interrupted Val. "Let the child, Maude, beLady Maude still to the world; let your daughter's memory be held sacred. The facts need never come out: I do not fear now that they ever will. Iand my wife and Thomas Carr, will guard the secret safely: take you careto do so. "

"I wish you had been hung before you married Maude!" responded theaggrieved dowager. 

"I wish I had, " said he. 

"Ugh!" she grunted wrathfully, the ready assent not pleasing her. 

"With my poor boy's death the chief difficulty has passed away. Howthings would have turned out, or what would have been done, had he lived, it has well-nigh worn away my brain to dwell upon. Carr knows that it hasnearly killed me: my wife knows it. "

"Yes, you could tell her things, and keep the diabolical secret from poorMaude and from me, " she returned, rather inconsistently. "I don't doubtyou and your wife have exulted enough over it. "

"I never knew it until to-night, " said Anne, gently turning to thedowager. "It has grieved me deeply. I shall never cease to feel for yourdaughter's wrongs; and it will only make me more tender and loving to herchild. The world will never know that she is not Lady Maude. "

"And the other name--Elster--because you know she has no right to it, "was the spiteful retort. "I wish to my heart you had been drowned in yourbrother's place, Lord Hartledon; I wished it at the time. "

"I know you did. "

"You could not then have made fools of me and my dear daughter; and thedarling little cherub in the churchyard would have been the real heir. There'd have been a good riddance of you. "

"It might have been better for me in the long run, " said he, quietly, passing over the inconsistencies of her speech. "Little peace orhappiness have I had in living. Do not let us recriminate, Lady Kirton, or on some scores I might reproach you. Maude loved my brother, and youknew it; I loved Miss Ashton, and you knew that; yet from the very hourthe breath was out of my brother's body you laid your plans and beganyour schemes upon me. I was weak as water in your hands, and fell intothe snare. The marriage was your work entirely; and in the fruits it hasbrought forth there might arise a nice question, Lady Kirton, which of usis most to blame: I, who erred unwittingly, or you who--"

"Will you have done?" she cried. 

"I have nearly done. I only wish you to remember that others may havebeen wrong, as well as myself. Dr. Ashton warned us that night that themarriage might not bring a blessing. Anne, it was a cruel wrong uponyou, " he added, impulsively turning to her; "you felt it bitterly, Ishamefully; but, my dear wife, you have lived to see that it was inreality a mercy in disguise. "

The countess-dowager, not finding words strong enough to express herfeelings at this, made a grimace at him. 

"Let us be friends, Lady Kirton! Let us join together silently inguarding Maude's good name, and in burying the past. In time perhaps evenI may live it down. Not a human being knows of it except we who are hereand Dr. Mair, who will for his own sake guard the secret. Maude was mywife always in the eyes of the world; and Maude certainly died so: allpeace and respect to her memory! As for my share, retribution has heldits heavy hand upon me; it is upon me still, Heaven knows. It was forMaude I suffered; for Maude I felt; and if my life could have repairedthe wrong upon her, I would willingly have sacrificed it. Let us befriends: it may be to the interest of both. "

He held out his hand, and the dowager did not repulse it. She had caughtthe word "interest. "

"_Now_ you might allow me Maude and that income!"

"I think I had better allow you the income without Maude. "

"Eh? what?" cried the dowager, briskly. "Do you mean it?"

"Indeed I do. I have been thinking for some little time that you would bemore comfortable in a home of your own, and I am willing to help you toone. I'll pay the rent of a nice little place in Ireland, and give yousix hundred a-year, paid quarterly, and--yes--make you a yearly presentof ten dozen of port wine. "

Ah, the crafty man! The last item had a golden sound in it. 

"Honour bright, Hartledon?"

"Honour bright! You shall never want for anything as long as you live. But you must not"--he seemed to search for his words--"you must undertakenot to come here, upsetting and indulging the children. "

"I'll undertake it. Good vintage, mind. "

"The same that you have here. "

The countess-dowager beamed. In the midst of her happiness--and it waswhat she had not felt for many a long day, for really the poor oldcreature had been put about sadly--she bethought herself of propriety. Melting into tears, she presently bewailed her exhaustion, and said sheshould like some tea: perhaps good Mr. Carr would bring her a teaspoonfulof brandy to put into it. 

They brought her hot tea, and Mr. Carr put the brandy into it, andAnne took it to her on the sofa, and administered it, her own tearsoverflowing. She was thinking what an awful blow this would have beento her own mother. 

"Little Maude shall be very dear to me always, Val, " she whispered. "Thisknowledge will make me doubly tender with her. "

He laid his hand fondly upon her, giving her one of his sweet sad smilesin answer. She could at length understand what feelings, in regard to thechildren, had actuated him. But from henceforth he would be just to allalike; and Maude would receive her share of correction for her own good. 

"I always said you did not give me back the letter, " observed Mr. Carr, when they were alone together later, and Val sat tearing up the letterinto innumerable bits. 

"And I said I did, simply because I could not find it. You were right, Carr, as you always are. "

"Not always. But I am sorry it came to light in this way. "

"Sorry! it is the greatest boon that could have fallen on me. The secretis, so to say, off my mind now, and I can breathe as I have not breathedfor years. If ever a heartfelt thanksgiving went up to Heaven one from mewill ascend to-night. And the dowager does not feel the past a bit. Shecared no more for Maude than for any one else. She can't care for anyone. Don't think me harsh, Carr, in saying so. "

"I am sure she does not feel it, " emphatically assented Mr. Carr. "Hadshe felt it she would have been less noisy. Thank heaven for your sake, Hartledon, that the miserable past is over. "

"And over more happily than I deserved. "

A silence ensued, and Lord Hartledon flung the bits of paper carefullyinto the fire. Presently he looked up, a strange earnestness in his face. 

"It is the custom of some of our cottagers here to hang up embossed cardsat the foot of their bed, with texts of Scripture written on them. Thereis one verse I should like to hang before every son of mine, though I hadten of them, that it might meet their eyes last ere the evening'ssleeping, in the morning's first awakening. The ninth verse of theeleventh chapter of Ecclesiastes. "

"I don't remember, " observed Thomas Carr, after a pause of thought. 

"'Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth: and let thy heart cheer thee in thedays of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sightof thine eyes: but know thou, that for all these things God will bringthee into judgment. '"

THE END