LADY GOOD-FOR-NOTHING

A Man's Portrait of a Woman

by

ARTHUR THOMAS QUILLER-COUCH ('Q')

First Published in 1910. 

This story originally appeared in the weekly edition of the "Times, "and is now issued in book form by arrangement with the Proprietors ofthat Journal. 

TO My Commodore and old Friend Edward Atkinson, Esq. Of Rosebank, Mixtow-by-Fowey. 

NOTE

Some years ago an unknown American friend proposed my writing a story onthe loves and adventures of Sir Harry Frankland, Collector of the Portof Boston in the mid-eighteenth century, and Agnes Surriage, daughter ofa poor Marble-head fisherman. The theme attracted me as it hasattracted other writers--and notably Oliver Wendell Holmes, who built apoem on it. But while their efforts seemed to leave room for another, Iwas no match for them in knowledge of the facts or of local details;and, moreover, these facts and details cramped my story. I repented, therefore and, taking the theme, altered the locality and thecharacters--who, by the way, in the writing have become real enough tome, albeit in a different sense. Thus (I hope) no violence has beenoffered to historical truth, while I have been able to tell the tale inmy own fashion. 

"Q. "

CONTENTS. 

BOOK I. --PORT NASSAU. 

I. THE BEACH. 

II. PORT NASSAU. 

III. TWO GUINEAS. 

IV. FATHER AND SON. 

V. RUTH. 

VI. PARENTHETICAL--OF THE FAMILY OF VYELL. 

VII. A SABBATH-BREAKER. 

VIII. ANOTHER SABBATH-BREAKER. 

IX. THE SCOURGE. 

X. THE BENCH. 

XI. THE STOCKS. 

XII. THE HUT BY THE BEACH. 

XIII. RUTH SETS OUT. 

BOOK II. --PROBATION. 

I. AFTER TWO YEARS. 

II. MR. SILK. 

III. MR. HICHENS. 

IV. VASHTI. 

V. SIR OLIVER'S HEALTH. 

VI. CAPTAIN HARRY AND MR. HANMER. 

VII. FIRST OFFER. 

VIII. CONCERNING MARGARET. 

IX. THE PROSPECT. 

X. THREE LADIES. 

XI. THE ESPIAL. 

XII. LADY CAROLINE. 

XIII. DIANA VYELL. 

XIV. MR. SILK PROPOSES. 

XV. THE CHOOSING. 

BOOK III. --THE BRIDALS. 

I. BETROTHED. 

II. THE RETURN. 

III. NESTING. 

IV. THE BRIDEGROOM. 

V. RUTH'S WEDDING DAY. 

VI. "YET HE WILL COME--". 

VII. HOUSEKEEPING. 

VIII. HOME-COMING. 

BOOK IV. --LADY GOOD-FOR-NOTHING. 

I. BATTY LANGTON, CHRONICLER. 

II. SIR OLIVER SAILS. 

III. MISCALCULATING WRATH. 

IV. THE TERRACE. 

V. A PROLOGUE TO NOTHING. 

VI. CHILDLESS MOTHER. 

BOOK V. --LISBON AND AFTER. 

I. ACT OF FAITH. 

II. DONNA MARIA. 

III. EARTHQUAKE. 

IV. THE SEARCH. 

V. THE FINDING. 

VI. DOCUMENTS. 

VII. THE LAST OFFER. 

EPILOGUE

"An innocent life, yet far astray. " Wordsworth's _Ruth_. 

BOOK I. 

PORT NASSAU. 

Chapter I. 

THE BEACH. 

A coach-and-six, as a rule, may be called an impressive Object. But something depends on where you see it. 

Viewed from the tall cliffs--along the base of which, on a strip ofbeach two hundred feet below, it crawled between the American continentand the Atlantic Ocean--Captain Oliver Vyell's coach-and-six resemblednothing so nearly as a black-beetle. 

For that matter the cliffs themselves, swept by the spray and hummingwith the roar of the beach--even the bald headland towards which theycurved as to the visible bourne of all things terrestrial--shrank incomparison with the waste void beyond, where sky and ocean welteredtogether after the wrestle of a two days' storm; and in comparison withthe thought that this rolling sky and heaving water stretched all theway to Europe. Not a sail showed, not a wing anywhere under the leadenclouds that still dropped their rain in patches, smurring out thehorizon. The wind had died down, but the ships kept their harbours andthe sea-birds their inland shelters. Alone of animate things, CaptainVyell's coach-and-six crept forth and along the beach, as though temptedby the promise of a wintry gleam to landward. 

A god--if we may suppose one of the old careless Olympians seated thereon the cliff-top, nursing his knees--must have enjoyed the comedy of it, and laughed to think that this pert beetle, edging its way along thesand amid the eternal forces of nature, was here to take seizin ofthem--yes, actually to take seizin and exact tribute. So indomitable afellow is Man, _improbus Homo_; and among men in his generation CaptainOliver Vyell was Collector of Customs for the Port of Boston, Massachusetts. 

In fairness to Captain Vyell be it added that he--a young English blood, bearing kinship with two or three of the great Whig families at home, and sceptical as became a person of quality--was capable as any one ofrelishing the comedy, had it been pointed out to him. With equalreadiness he would have scoffed at Man's pretensions in this world anddenied him any place at all in the next. Nevertheless on a planet thefolly of which might be taken for granted he claimed at least his shareof the reverence paid by fools to rank and wealth. He was travellingthis lonely coast on a tour of inspection, to visit and report upon asite where His Majesty's advisers had some design to plant a fort; and afine ostentation coloured his progress here as through life. He hadbrought his coach because it conveyed his claret and his _batterie decuisine_ (the seaside inns were detestable); but being young andextravagantly healthy and, with all his faults, very much of a man, hepreferred to ride ahead on his saddle-horse and let his pomp follow him. 

Six horses drew the coach, and to each pair of leaders rode apostillion, while a black coachman guided the wheelers from thebox-seat; all three men in the Collector's livery of white and scarlet. On a perch behind the vehicle--which, despite its weight, left but theshallowest of wheel-ruts on the hard sand--sat Manasseh, the Collector'scook and body-servant; a huge negro, in livery of the same white andscarlet but with heavy adornments of bullion, a cockade in his hat, anda loaded blunderbuss laid across his thighs. Last and alone within thecoach, with a wine-case for footstool, sat a five-year-old boy. 

Master Dicky Vyell--the Collector's only child, and motherless--sat andgazed out of the windows in a delicious terror. For hours that morningthe travellers had ploughed their way over a plain of blown sand, dottedwith shrub-oaks, bay-berries, and clumps of Indian grass; then, at apoint where the tall cliffs began, had wound down to the sea betweenlow foothills and a sedge-covered marsh criss-crossed by watercoursesthat spread out here and there into lagoons. At the head of thisdescent the Atlantic had come into sight, and all the way down itsechoes had grown in the boy's ears, confusing themselves with adelicious odour which came in fact from the fields of sedge, though heattributed it to the ocean. 

But the sound had amounted to a loud humming at most; and it was with aleap and a shout, as they rounded the last foothill and saw the vastempty beach running northward before them, league upon league, that thethunder of the surf broke on them. For a while the boom and crash of itfairly stunned the child. He caught at an arm-strap hanging by thewindow and held on with all his small might, while the world he knewwith its familiar protective boundaries fell away, melted, left him--aspeck of life ringed about with intolerable roaring emptiness. To a companion, had there been one in the coach, he must have clung insheer terror; yes, even to his father, to whom he had never clung andcould scarcely imagine himself clinging. But his father rode ahead, carelessly erect on his blood-horse--horse and rider seen in a blurthrough the salt-encrusted glass. Therefore Master Dicky held on asbest he might to the arm-strap. 

By degrees his terror drained away, though its ebb left him shivering. Child though he was, he could not remember when he had not been curiousabout the sea. In a dazed fashion he stared out upon the breakers. The wind had died down after the tempest, but the Atlantic kept itsagitation. Meeting the shore (which hereabouts ran shallow for five orsix hundred yards) it reared itself in ten-foot combers, rank stampedingon rank, until the sixth or seventh hurled itself far up the beach, spent itself in a long receding curve, and drained back to the foamingforces behind. Their untiring onset fascinated Dicky; and now andagain he tasted renewal of his terror, as a wave, taller than the restor better timed, would come sweeping up to the coach itself, spreadingand rippling about the wheels and the horses' fetlocks. "Surely thisone would engulf them, " thought the child, recalling Pharaoh and hischariots; but always the furious charge spent itself in an edge of whitefroth that faded to delicate salt filigree and so vanished. When thishad happened a dozen times or more, and still without disaster, he tookheart and began to turn it all into a game, choosing this or thatbreaker and making imaginary wagers upon it; but yet the spectaclefascinated him, and still at the back of his small brain lay wonder thatall this terrifying fury and uproar should always be coming to nothing. God must be out yonder (he thought) and engaged in some mysterious formof play. He had heard a good deal about God from Miss Quiney, hisgoverness; but this playfulness, as an attribute of the Almighty, wasnew to him and hitherto unsuspected. 

The beach, with here and there a break, extended for close upon twentymiles, still curving towards the headland; and the travellers coveredmore than two-thirds of the distance without espying a single livingcreature. As the afternoon wore on the weather improved. The sun, soonto drop behind the cliff-summits on the left, asserted itself with alast effort and shot a red gleam through a chink low in the cloud-wrack. The shaft widened. The breakers--indigo-backed till now and turbid withsand in solution--began to arch themselves in glass-green hollows, withrainbows playing on the spray of their crests. And then--as though thesavage coast had become, at a touch of sunshine, habitable--ourtravellers spied a man. 

He came forth from a break in the cliffs half a mile ahead and slowlycrossed the sands to the edge of the surf, the line of which he began, after a pause, to follow as slowly northwards. His back was turned thusupon the Collector's equipage, to which in crossing the beach he hadgiven no attention, being old and purblind. 

The coach rolled so smoothly, and the jingle of harness was so entirelyswallowed in the roar of the sea, that Captain Vyell, pushing ahead andovertaking the old fellow, had to ride close up to his shoulder andshout. It appeared then, for further explanation, that his hearing aswell as his eyesight was none of the best. He faced about in a puzzledfashion, stared, and touched his hat--or rather lifted his hand a littleway and dropped it again. 

"Your Honour will be the Collector, " he said, and nodded many times, atfirst as if proud of his sagacity, but afterwards dully--as though hisinterest had died out and he would have ceased nodding but had forgottenthe way. "Yes; my gran'-darter told me. She's in service at theBowling Green, Port Nassau; but walks over on Lord's Days to cheer upher mother and tell the news. They've been expectin' you at Port Nassauany time this week. "

The Collector asked where he lived, and the old man pointed to a gullyin the cliff and to something which, wedged in the gully, might at afirst glance be taken for a large and loosely-constructed bird's nest. The Collector's keen eyes made it out to be a shanty of timber roofedwith shingles and barely overtopping a wood pile. 

"Wreckwood, eh?"

"A good amount of it ought to be comin' in, after the gale. "

"Then where's your hook?"--for the wreckwood gatherers along this partof the coast carry long gaffs to hook the flotsam and drag it abovereach of the waves. 

"Left it up the bank, " said the old man shortly. After a moment hepulled himself together for an explanation, hollowed his palms aroundhis mouth, and bawled above the boom of the surf. "I'm old. I don'tcarry weight more'n I need to. When a log comes in, my darter spies itan' tells me. She's mons'rous quick-sighted for wood an' such like--though good for nothin' else. " (A pause. ) "No, I'm hard on her; shecan cook clams. "

"You were looking for clams?" Captain Vyell scrutinised the man's face. It was a patriarchal face, strikingly handsome and not much wrinkled;the skin delicately tanned and extraordinarily transparent. Somehow this transparency puzzled him. "Hungry?" he asked quickly; andas quickly added, "Starving for food, that's what you are. "

"It's the Lord's will, " answered the old man. 

The coach had come to a halt a dozen paces away. The child within itcould hear nothing of this conversation; but to the end of his life hismemory kept vivid the scene and the two figures in it--his father, inclose-fitting riding-coat of blue, with body braced, leaning sideways alittle against the wind, and a characteristic hint of the cavalrymanabout the slope of the thigh; the old wreck-picker standing just forwardof the bay's shoulder and looking up, with blown hair and patient eyes. Memory recalled even the long slant of the bay's shoulder--a perfectlytrue detail, for the horse was of pure English race and bred by theCollector himself. 

After this, as he remembered, some command must have been given, forManasseh climbed down, opened the coach door and drew from under theseat a box, of which he raised the lid, disclosing things good to eat--among them a pasty with a crisp brown crust. 

The wreck-picker broke off a piece of the pasty and wrapped it in ahandkerchief--and memory recalled, as with a small shock of surprise, that the handkerchief was clean. The old man, though ragged enough toscare the crows, was clean from his bare head to his bare sea-bleachedfeet. He munched the rest of the pasty, talking between mouthfuls. Tohis discourse Dicky paid no heed, but slipped away for a scamper on thesands. 

As he came running back he saw the old man, in the act of wiping hismouth with the back of his hand, suddenly shoot out an arm and point. Just beyond the breakers a solitary bird--an osprey--rose with a fishshining in the grip of its claws. It flew northward, away for theheadland, for a hundred yards or so; and then by some mischance let sliphis prey, which fell back into the sea. The boy saw the splash. To his surprise the bird made no effort to recover the fish--neitherstooped nor paused--but went winging sullenly on its way. 

"That's the way o' them, " commented the old wreck-picker. "Good food, an' to let it go. I could teach him better. "

But the boy, years after, read it as another and different parable. 

Chapter II. 

PORT NASSAU. 

They left the beach, climbed a road across the neck of the promontory, and rattled downhill into Port Nassau. Dusk had fallen before theyreached the head of its cobbled street; and here one of the postillionsdrew out a horn from his holster and began to blow loud blasts on it. This at once drew the townsfolk into the road and warned them to get outof the way. 

To the child, drowsed by the strong salt air and the rocking of thecoach, the glimmering whitewashed houses on either hand went by like aprocession in a dream. The figures and groups of men and women on theside-walks, too, had a ghostly, furtive air. They seemed to the boy tobe whispering together and muttering. Now this was absurd; for whatwith the blare of the postillion's horn, the clatter of hoofs, thejolting and rumbling of wheels, the rattle of glass, our travellers hadall the noise to themselves--or all but the voice of the gale now risingagain for an afterclap and snoring at the street corners. Yet hisinstinct was right. Many of the crowd _were_ muttering. These NewEnglanders had no love to spare for a Collector of Customs, a finegentlemen from Old England and (rumour said) an atheist to boot. Theyresented this ostent of entry; the men more sullenly than the women, some of whom in their hearts could not help admiring its high-and-mightyinsolence. 

The Collector, at any rate, had a crowd to receive him, for it wasSaturday evening. On Saturdays by custom the fishing-fleet of PortNassau made harbour before nightfall, and the crews kept a sort ofdecorous carnival before the Sabbath, of which they were strictobservers. In the lower part of the town, by the quays, much buying andselling went on, in booths of sail-cloth lit as a rule by oil-flares. For close upon a week no boat had been able to put to sea; but theSaturday market and the Saturday gossip and to-and-fro strolling were infull swing none the less, though the salesmen had to substitutehurricane-lamps for their ordinary flares, and the boy--now wide awakeagain--had a passing glimpse of a couple of booths that had been wreckedby the rising wind and were being rebuilt. He craned out to stare atthe helpers, while they, pausing in their work and dragged to and fro bythe flapping canvas, stared back as the coach went by. 

It came to a halt on a level roadway some few rods beyond this brighttraffic, in an open space which, he knew, must be near the waterside, for beyond the lights of the booths he had spied a cluster of mastsquite close at hand. Or perhaps he had fallen asleep and in his sleephad been transported far inland. For the wind had suddenly died down, the coach appeared to be standing in a forest glade--at any rate, amongtrees--and through the trees fell a soft radiance that might well be themoon's were it only a tinge less yellow. In the shine of it stoodManasseh, holding open the coach door; and as the child stepped outthese queer impressions were succeeded by one still more curious andstartling. For a hand, as it seemed, reached out of the darkness, brushed him smartly across the face, and was gone. He gave a little cryand stood staring aloft at a lantern that hung some feet above him froman arched bracket. Across its glass face ran the legend BOWLING GREENINN, in orange-coloured lettering, and the ray of its oil-lamp waveredon the boughs of two tall maples set like sentinels by the Inn gatewayand reddening now to the fall of the leaf. Yes, the ground about hisfeet was strewn with leaves: it must be one of these that had brushed byhis face. 

If the folk in the streets had been sullen, those of the Inn were eagerenough, even obsequious. A trio of grooms fell to unharnessing thehorses; a couple of porters ran to and fro, unloading the baggage andcooking-pots; while the landlady shouted orders right and left in theporchway. She deemed, honest soul, that she was mistress of theestablishment, until Manasseh undeceived her. 

Manasseh's huge stature and gold-encrusted livery commanded respect inspite of his colour. He addressed her as "woman. " "Woman, if you willstop yo' cacklin' and yo' crowin'? Go in now and fetch me fish, fetchme chickens, fetch me plenty eggs. Fetch me a dam scullion. Heh?Stir yo' legs and fetch me a dam scullion, and the chickens tender. His Exc'llence mos' partic'ler the chickens tender. "

Still adjuring her he shouldered his way through the house to thekitchen, whence presently his voice sounded loud, authoritative, abovethe clatter of cooking-pots. From time to time he broke away from thebusiness of unpacking to reiterate his demands for fish, eggs, chicken--the last to be tender at all costs and at pain of histremendous displeasure. 

"And I assure you, ma'am, " said Captain Vyell, standing in the passageat the door of his private room, "his standard is a high one. I believethe blackguard never stole a tough fowl in his life. . . . Show me to mybedroom, please, if the trunks are unstrapped; and the child, here, tohis. . . . Eh? What's this?--a rush-light? I don't use rush-lights. Go to Manasseh and ask him to unpack you a pair of candles. "

The landlady returned with a silver candlestick in either hand, andcandles of real wax. She had never seen the like, and led the wayupstairs speculating on their cost. The bedrooms proved to be clean, though bare and more than a little stuffy--their windows having beenkept shut for some days against the gale. The Collector commanded themto be opened. The landlady faintly protested. "The wind would gutterthe candles--and such wax too!" She was told to obey, and she obeyed. 

In the boy's room knelt a girl--a chambermaid--unstrapping his smallvalise. She had a rush-light on the floor beside her, and did not lookup as the landlady thrust open the lattice and left the room with theCollector, the boy remaining behind. His candle stood upon a chest ofdrawers by the window; and, as the others went out, a draught of windcaught the dimity curtain, blew it against the flame, and in an instantignited it. 

The girl looked up swiftly at the sudden light above her, and asswiftly--before the child could cry out--was on her feet. She caughtthe fire between her two hands and beat it out, making no noise andscarcely flinching, though her flesh was certainly being scorched. 

"That was lucky, " she said, looking across at him with a smile. 

"Ruth!--Ruth!" called the landlady's voice, up the corridor. "Here, a moment!"

She dropped the charred curtain and hurried to answer the call. 

"Ruth! Where's the bootjack? His Honour will take off hisriding-boots. "

"Bootjack, ma'am?" interrupted the Collector, leaning back in a chairand extending a shapely leg with instep and ankle whereon theriding-boot fitted like a glove. "I don't maul my leather withbootjacks. Send Manasseh upstairs to me; ask him with my complimentswhat the devil he means by clattering saucepans when he should beattending to his master. . . . Eh, what's this?"

"She can do it, your Honour, " said the landlady, catching Ruth by theshoulder and motioning her to kneel and draw off the boot. (It is likely she shirked carrying the message. )

"Oh, very well--if only she won't twist my foot. . . . Take care of thespur, child. "

The girl knelt, and with her blistered hand took hold of the boot-heelbelow the spur. It cost her exquisite pain, but she did not wince; andher head being bent, no one perceived the tears in her eyes. 

She had scarcely drawn off the second boot, when Manasseh appeared inthe doorway carrying a silver tray with glasses and biscuits; a glass ofred wine for his master, a more innocent cordial for the younggentleman, and both glasses filmed over with the chill of crushed ice. 

The girl was withdrawing when the Collector, carelessly feeling in hispocket, drew out a coin and put it into her hand. Her fingers closed onit sharply, almost with a snatch. In truth, the touch of metal was sointolerable to the burnt flesh that, but for clutching it so, she musthave dropped the coin. Still with bowed head she passed quietly fromthe room. 

Master Dicky munched his macaroon and sipped his cordial. He had awhole guinea in his breeches pocket, and was thinking it would be greatfun to step out and explore the town, if only for a little way. To-morrow was Sunday, and all the stores would be closed. But Manassehwas too busy to come with him for bodyguard--and his father's boots wereoff; and besides, he stood in great awe and shyness of his admiredparent. Had the boots been on, it would have cost him a bold effort tomake the request. On the whole, the cordial warming him, Master Dickyhad a mind to take French leave. 

Chapter III. 

TWO GUINEAS. 

Though the wind hummed among the chimneys and on the back of the roof, on either side of the lamp over the gateway the maples stood in the leeand waved their boughs gently, shedding a leaf now and then in somedeflected gust. Beyond and to the left stretched a dim avenue, also ofmaples; and at the end of this, as he reached the gate, the boy couldspy the lights of the fair. 

There was no risk at all of losing his way. 

He stepped briskly forth and down the avenue. Where the trees ended, and with them the high wall enclosing the inn's stable-yard, the windrushed upon him with a whoop, and swept him off the side-walk almost tothe middle of the road-way. But by this time the lights were close athand. He pressed his little hat down on his head and battled his waytowards them. 

The first booth displayed sweetmeats; the next hung out lines ofsailors' smocks, petticoats, sea-boots, oilskin coats and caps, thatswayed according to their weight; the third was no booth but a woodenstore, wherein a druggist dispensed his wares; the fourth, also of wood, belonged to a barber, and was capable of seating one customer at a timewhile the others waited their turn on the side-walk. Here--his shantyhaving no front--the barber kept them in good humour by chatting to alland sundry while he shaved; but a part of the crowd had good-naturedlydrifted on to help his neighbour, a tobacco-seller, whose stall hadsuffered disaster. A painted wooden statue of a Cherokee Indian layface downward across the walk, as the wind had blown it: bellying foldsof canvas and tarpaulin hid the wreck of the poor man's stock-in-trade. Beyond this wreckage stood, in order, a vegetable stall, anothersweetmeat stall, and a booth in which the boy (who cared little forsweetmeats, and, moreover, had just eaten his macaroon) took much moreinterest. For it was hung about with cages; and in the cages were birdsof all kinds (but the most of them canaries), perched in the dull lightof two horn lanterns, and asleep with open, shining eyes; and in themidst stood the proprietor, blowing delightful liquid notes upon abird-call. 

It fascinated Dicky; and he no sooner assured himself that the birdswere really for sale--although no purchaser stepped forward--than therecame upon him an overmastering desire to own a live canary in a cage andteach it with just such a whistle. (He had often wondered at the thingsupon which grown-up folk spent their money to the neglect of thisworld's true delights. ) Edging his way to the stall, he was summoning upcourage to ask the price of a bird, when the salesman caught sight himand affably spared him the trouble. 

"Eh! here's my young lord wants a bird. . . . You may say what youlike, " said he, addressing the bystanders, "but there's none like thegentry for encouragin' trade. . . . And which shall it be sir? Here's agreen parrot, now, I can recommend; or if your Honour prefers a birdthat'll talk, this grey one. A beauty, see! And not a bad word in hisrepertory. Your honoured father shall not blame me for sellin' you aswearer. "

The boy pointed to a cage on the man's right. 

"A canary? . . . Well, and you're right. What is talk, after all, tocompare with music? And chosen the best bird of my stock, you have; thepick of the whole crop. That's Quality, my friends; nothing but thebest'll do for Quality, an' the instinct of it comes out young. "The man, who was evidently an eccentric, ran his eye roguishly over thefaces behind the boy and named his price; a high one--a very high one--but one nicely calculated to lie on the right side of publicreprobation. 

Dicky laid his guinea on the sill. "I want a whistle, too, " he said, "and my change, please. "

The bird-fancier slapped his breeches pockets. 

"A guinea? Bless me, but I must run around and ask one of my neighboursto oblige. Any of you got the change for a golden guinea about you?" heasked of the crowd. 

"We ain't so lucky, " said a voice somewhere at the back. "We don'tcarry guineas about, nor give 'em to our bastards. "

A voice or two--a woman's among them--called "Shame!" "Hold yourtongue, there!"

Dicky had his back to the speaker. He heard the word for the first timein his life, and had no notion of its meaning; but in a dim way he feltit to be an evil word, and also that the people were protesting out ofpity. A rush of blood came to his face. He gulped, lifted his chin, and said, with his eyes steady on the face of the blinking fancier, --

"Give it back to me, please, and I will get it changed. "

He took the coin, and walked away resolutely with a set white face. He saw none of the people who made way for him. 

The bird-fancier stared after the small figure as it walked away intodarkness. "Bastard?" he said. "There's Blood in that youngster, thoughhe don't face ye again an' I lose my deal. Blood's blood, however yecome by it; you may take that on the word of a breeder. An' you oughtto be ashamed, Sam Wilson--slingin' yer mud at a child!"

The word drummed in the boy's ears. What did it mean? What was thesneer in it? "Brat!" "cry-baby, " "tell-tale, " "story-teller, " thesewere opprobrious words, to be resented in their degree; and all but thefirst covered accusations which not only must never be deserved, butobliged a gentleman, however young, to show fight. But "bastard"?

He felt that, whatever it meant, somehow it was worse than any; thathonour called for the annihilation of the man that dared speak it; thatthere was weakness, perhaps even poltroonery, in merely walking away. If only he knew what the word meant!

He came to a halt opposite the drug store. He had once heard Dr. Lamerton, the apothecary at home, described as a "well-to-do" man. The phrase stuck in his small brain, and he connected the sale of drugswith wealth. (How, he reasoned, could any one be tempted to sell waresso nasty unless by prodigious profit?) He felt sure the drug-sellerwould be able to change the guinea for him, and walked in boldly. His ears were tingling, and he felt a call to assert himself. 

There was a single customer in the store--a girl. With some surprise herecognised her for the girl who had beaten the flame out of the curtain. 

She stood with her back to the doorway and a little sidewise by thecounter, from behind which the drug-seller--a burly fellow in a suit ofblack--looked down on her doubtfully, rubbing his shaven chin while heglanced from her to something he held in his open palm. 

"I'm askin' you, " he said, "how you came by it?"

"It was given to me, " the girl answered. 

"That's a likely tale! Folks don't give money like this to a girl inyour position; unless--"

Here the man paused. 

"Is it a great deal of money?" she asked. There was astonishment in hervoice, and a kind of suppressed eagerness. 

"Oh, come now--that's too innocent by half! A guinea-piece is aguinea-piece, and a guinea is twenty-one shillings; and twenty-oneshillings, likely enough, is more'n you'll earn in a year outside o'your keep. Who gave it ye?"

"A gentleman--the Collector--at the Inn just now. 

"Ho!" said the drug-seller, with a world of meaning. 

"But if, " she went on, "it is worth so much as you say, there must besome mistake. Give it back to me, please. I am sorry for troublingyou. " She took a small, round parcel from her pocket, laid it on thecounter, and held out her hand for the coin. 

The drug-seller eyed her. "There must be some mistake, I guess, " saidhe, as he gave back the gold piece. "No, and you can take up yourpacket too; I don't grudge two-pennyworth of salve. But wait a momentwhile I serve this small customer, for I want a word with youlater. . . . Well, and what can I do for you, young gentleman?" heasked, turning to Dicky. 

Dicky advanced to the shop-board, and as he did so the girl turned andrecognised him with a faint, very shy smile. 

"If you please, " he said politely, "I want change for this--if you canspare it. "

"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the man, staring. "What, _another?_"

"The bird-seller up the road had no change about him. And--and, if youplease, " went on Dick hardily, with a glance at the girl, "she hurt herhands putting out a fire just now. I expect my father gave her themoney for that. But she must have burnt her hands _dreffully!_"--Dickyhad not quite outgrown his infantile lisp--"and if she's come for stuffto put on them, please I want to pay for it. "

"But I don't want you to, " put in the girl, still hesitating by thecounter. 

"But I'd _rather_ insisted Dicky. 

"Tut!" said the drug-seller. "A matter of twopence won't break eitherof us. Captain Vyell's boy, are you? Well, then, I'll take yourcoppers on principle. "

He counted out the change, and Dicky--who was not old enough yet to dosums--pretended to find it correct. But he was old enough to haveacquired charming manners, and after thanking the drug-seller, gave thegirl quite a grown-up little bow as he passed out. 

She would have followed, but the man said, "Stay a moment. What's yourname?"

"Ruth Josselin. "

"Age?"

"I was sixteen last month. "

"Then listen to a word of advice, Ruth Josselin, and don't you takemoney like that from fine gentlemen like the Collector. They don't giveit to the ugly ones. Understand?"

"Thank you, " she said. "I am going to give it back;" and slipping theguinea into her pocket, she said "Good evening, " and walked swiftly outin the wake of the child. 

The drug-seller looked after her shrewdly. He was a moral man. 

Ruth, hurrying out upon the side-walk, descried the child a few paces upthe road. He had come to a halt; was, in fact, plucking up his courageto go and demand the bird-cage. She overtook him. 

"I was sent out to look for you, " she said. "I oughtn't to have wastedtime buying that ointment; but my hands were hurting me. Please, youare to come home and change your clothes for dinner. "

"I'll come in a minute, " said Dicky, "if you'll stand here and wait. "

He might be called by that word again; and without knowing why, hedreaded her hearing it. She waited while he trotted forward, nervinghimself to face the crowd again. Lo! when he reached the booth, all thebystanders had melted away. The bird-seller was covering up his cageswith loose wrappers, making ready to pack up for the night. 

"Hello!" he said cheerfully. "Thought I'd lost you for good. "

He took the child's money and handed the canary cage across the sill;also the bird-whistle, wrapped in a scrap of paper. Many times in thecourse of a career which brought him much fighting and some little fame, Dicky Vyell remembered this his first lesson in courage--that if youwalk straight up to an enemy, as likely as not you find him vanished. 

But he had not quite reached the end of his alarms. As he took thecage, a parrot at the back of the booth uplifted his voice andsquawked, --

"No prerogative! No prerogative! No prerogative!"

"You mustn't mind _him_, " said the bird-seller genially. "He's like thecrowd--picks up a cry an' harps on it without understandin'. "

Master Dicky understood it no better; but thanked the man and ran off, prize in hand, to rejoin the girl. 

They hurried back to the Inn. At the gateway she paused. 

"I let you say what was wrong just now, " she explained. "Your fatherdidn't give me that money for putting out the fire. "

Here she hesitated. Dicky could not think what it mattered, or why hervoice was so timid. 

"Oh, " said he carelessly, "I dare say it was just because he liked you. Father has plenty of money. "

Chapter IV. 

FATHER AND SON. 

The dinner set before Captain Vyell comprised a dish of oysters, a fishchowder, a curried crab, a fried fowl with white sauce, a saddle oftenderest mutton, and various sweets over which Manasseh had thrown theelegant flourishes of his art. The wine came from the Rhone valley--aHermitage of the Collector's own shipment. The candles that lit therepast stood in the Collector's own silver candlesticks. As an oldRoman general carried with him on foreign service, packed in panniers onmule-back, a tessellated pavement to be laid down for him at eachcamping halt and repacked when the troops moved forward, so did CaptainVyell on his progresses of inspection travel with all the apparatus of agood table. 

Dicky, seated opposite his father in a suit of sapphire blue velvet withbuttons of cut steel, partook only of the fried fowl and of a syllabub. He had his glass of wine too, and sipped at it, not liking it much, butencouraged by his father, who held that a fine palate could not becultivated too early. 

By some process of dishing-up best known to himself (but with the aid, no doubt, of the "dam scullion") Manasseh, who had cooked the dinner, also served it; noiselessly, wearing white gloves because his masterabominated the sight of a black hand at meals. These gloves had afascination for Dicky. They attracted his eyes as might theintervolved play of two large white moths in the penumbra beyond thecandle-light, between his father's back and the dark sideboard; but hefought against the attraction because he knew that to be aware of aservant was an offence against good manners at table. 

His father encouraged him to talk, and he told of his purchase--but notall the story. Not for worlds--instinct told him--must he mention theword he had heard spoken. Yet he got so far as to say, --

"The people here don't like us--do they, father?"

Captain Vyell laughed. "No, that's very certain. And, to tell you thetruth, if I had known you were wandering the street by yourself I mighthave felt uneasy. Manasseh shall take you for a walk to-morrow. One can never be sure of the _canaille_. "

"What does that mean?"

Captain Vyell explained. The _canaille_, he said, were the common folk, whose part in this world was to be ruled. He explained further that tobelong to the upper or ruling class it did not suffice to be well-born(though this was almost essential); one must also cultivate the mannersproper to that station, and appear, as well as be, a superior. Nor wasthis all; there were complications, which Dicky would learn in time;what was called "popular rights, " for instance--rights which even a Kingmust not be allowed to override; and these were so precious that (addedthe Collector) the upper classes must sometimes fight and lay down theirlives for them. 

Dick perpended. He found this exceedingly interesting--the more sobecause it came, though in a curiously different way, to much the sameas Miss Quiney had taught him out of the catechism. Miss Quiney hadused pious words; in Miss Quiney's talk everything--even to sittingupright at table--was mixed up with God and an all-seeing Eye; and hisfather--with a child's deadly penetration Dicky felt sure of it--wascareless about God. 

This, by the way, had often puzzled and even frightened him. God, likea great Sun, loomed so largely through Miss Quiney's scheme of things(which it were more precise, perhaps, to term a fog) that for certain, and apart from the sin of it and the assurance of going to hell, everyone removed from God must be sitting in pitch-darkness. But lo! whenhis father talked everything became clear and distinct; there was no sunat all to be seen, but there was also no darkness. On the contrary, ahundred things grew visible at once, and intelligible andcommon-sensible as Miss Quiney never contrived to present them. 

This was puzzling; and, moreover, the child could not tolerate thethought of his father's going to hell--to the flames and unbearablethirst of it. To be sure Miss Quiney had never hinted this punishmentfor her employer, or even a remote chance of it, and Dicky's goodbreeding had kept him from confronting her major premise with theparticular instance of his father, although the conclusion of thatsyllogism meant everything to him. Or it may be that he was afraid. . . . Once, indeed, like Sindbad in the cave, he had seen a glimmeringchance of escape. It came when, reading in his Scripture lesson thatChrist consorted by choice with publicans and sinners, he had beenstopped by Miss Quiney with the information that "publican" meant"a kind of tax-collector. " "Like papa?" asked the child, and held hisbreath for the answer. "Oh, not in the least like your dear papa, "Miss Quiney made haste to assure him; "but a quite low class of person, and, I should say, connected rather with the Excise. You must rememberthat all this happened in the East, a long time ago. " Poor soul! theconscientiousness of her conscience (so to speak) had come to rest uponturning such corners genteelly, and had grown so expert at it that shescarcely breathed a sigh of relief. The child bent his head over thebook. His eyes were hidden from her, and she never guessed what hopeshe had dashed. 

It was a relief then--after being forced at one time or another to putaside or pigeon-hole a hundred questions on which Miss Quiney'steaching and his father's practice appeared at variance--to find a pointupon which the certainty of both converged. Heaven and hell might bethis or that; but in this world the poor deserved their place, and mustbe kept to it. 

"That seems fine, " said Dicky, after a long pause. 

"What seems fine?" His father, tasting the mutton with approval, hadlet slip his clue to the child's thought. 

"Why, that poor people have rights too, and we ought to stand up forthem--like you said, " answered Dicky, not too grammatically. 

"They are our rights too, you see, " said his father. 

Dicky did not see; but his eagerness jumped this gap in the argument. "Papa, " he asked with a sudden flush, "did you ever stand up to a Kingon the poor people's side, and fight--and all that?"

"Well, you see"--the Collector smiled--"I was never called upon. But it's in the blood. Has Miss Quiney ever told you about OliverCromwell?"

"Yes. He cut off King Charles's head. . . . I don't think Miss Quineyliked him for that, though she didn't say so. "

The Collector was still smiling. "He certainly helped to cut off KingCharles's head, and--right or wrong--it's remembered against him. But he did any amount of great things too. He was a masterful man; andperhaps the reason why Miss Quiney held her tongue is that he happens tobe an ancestor of ours, and she knew it. "

"Oliver Cromwell?" Dicky repeated the name slowly, with awe. 

"He was my great-great-grandfather, and you can add on another 'great'for yourself. I am called Oliver after him. They even say, " addedCaptain Vyell, sipping his wine, "that I have some of his features; andso, perhaps, will you when you grow up. But of your chance of that youshall judge before long. I am having a copy of his portrait sent overfrom England. "

For a moment or two these last remarks scarcely penetrated to the boy'shearing. Like all boys, he naturally desired greatness; unlike most, he was conscious of standing above the crowd, but without a guess thathe derived the advantage from anything better than accident. Hisfather had the good fortune to be rich. For himself--well, Dickywas born with one of those simple natures that incline rather todistrust than to overrate their own merits. None the less hedesired and loved greatness--thus early, and throughout his life--andit came as a tremendous, a magnificent shock to him that heenjoyed it as a birthright. The repetition of "great"--"he was mygreat-great-grandfather;" "you can add another 'great' for yourself"--hummed in his ears. A full half a minute ticked by before he grasped atthe remainder of his father's speech, and, like a breaking twig, itdropped him to bathos. 

"But--but--" Dicky passed a hand over his face--"Miss Quiney said thatOliver Cromwell was covered with warts!"

Captain Vyell laughed outright. 

"Women have wonderful ways of conveying a prejudice. Warts? Well, there, at any rate, we have the advantage of old Noll. " The Collector, whose sense of hearing was acute and fastidious, broke off with a sharparching of the eyebrows and a glance up at the ceiling, or rather (sinceceiling there was none) at the oaken beams which supported the flooroverhead. "Manasseh, " he said quickly, "be good enough to step upstairsand inform our landlady that the pitch of her voice annoys me. Shewould seem to be rating a servant girl above. "

"Yes, sah. "

"Pray desire her to take the girl away and scold her elsewhere. "

Manasseh disappeared, and returned two minutes later to report that"the woman would give no furdah trouble. " He removed the white cloth, set out the decanters with an apology for the mahogany's indifferentpolish, and withdrew again to prepare his master's coffee. 

At once a silence fell between father and son. Dicky had expected tohear more of Oliver Cromwell. He stared across the dull shine of thetable at his parent's coat of peach-coloured velvet and shirt front offrilled linen; at the lace ruffle on the wrist, the signet ring on thelittle finger, the hand--firm, but fine--as it reached for a decanter orfell to playing with a gold toothpick. He loved this father of his withthe helpless, concentred love of a motherless child; admired him, as allmust admire, only more loyally. To feel constraint in so magnificent apresence was but natural. 

It would have astonished him to learn that his father, lolling there soeasily and toying with a toothpick, shared that constraint. Yet it wasso. Captain Vyell did not understand children. Least of all did heunderstand this son of his begetting. He could be kind to him, evenextravagantly, by fits and starts; desired to be kind constantly; couldrally and chat with him in hearing of a third person, though that thirdperson were but a servant waiting at table. But to sit alone facing theboy and converse with him was a harder business, and gave him an absurdfeeling of _gene_; and this (though possibly he did not know it) was thereal reason why, having brought Dicky in the coach for a treat, hehimself had ridden all day in saddle. 

Dicky was the first to resume conversation. 

"Papa, " he asked, still pondering the problem of rich and poor, "don'tsome of the old families die out?"

"They do. "

"Then others must come up to take their place, or the people who do theruling would come to an end. "

"That's the way of it, my boy. " The Collector nodded and cracked awalnut. "New families spring up; and a devilish ugly show they usuallymake of it at first. It takes three generations, they say, to breed agentleman; and, in my opinion, that's under the mark. "

"And a lady?"

"Women are handier at picking up appearances; 'adaptable' 's the word. But the trouble with them is to find out whether they have the realthing or not. For my part, if you want the real thing, I believe thereare more gentlemen than gentlewomen in the world; and Batty Langton saysyou may breed out the old Adam, but you'll never get rid of Eve. . . . But, bless my soul, Dicky, it's early days for you to be discussing thesex!"

Dicky, however, was perfectly serious. 

"But I _do_ mean what you call the real thing, papa. Couldn't a poorgirl be born so that she had it from the start? Oh, I can't tell what Imean exactly--"

"On the contrary, child, you are putting it uncommonly well; at anyrate, you are making me understand what you mean, and that's the A and Zof it, whether in talk or in writing. 'Is there--can there be--such athing as a natural born lady?' that's your question, hey?"The Collector peeled his walnut and smiled to himself. In othercompany--Batty Langton's, for example--he would have answered cynicallythat to him the phenomenon of a natural born lady would first of allsuggest a doubt of her mother's virtue. "Well, no, " he answered after awhile; "if you met such a person, and could trace back her familyhistory, ten to one you'd discover good blood somewhere in it. Old stocks fail, die away underground, and, as time goes on, areforgotten; then one fine day up springs a shoot nobody can account for. It's the old sap taking a fresh start. See?"

Dicky nodded. It would take him some time work out the theory, but heliked the look of it. 

His drowsed young brain--for the hour was past bedtime--applied it idlyto a picture that stood out, sharp and vivid, from the endless train ofthe day's impressions: the picture of a girl with quiet, troubled eyes, composed lips, and hands that beat upon a blazing curtain, not flinchingat the pain. . . . And just then, as it were in a dream, he beat of herhands echoed in a soft tapping, the door behind his father openedgently, and Dicky sat up with a start, wide awake again and staring, forthe girl herself stood in the doorway. 

Chapter V. 

RUTH. 

"Hey, what is it?" the Collector demanded, slewing himself to thehalf-about in his chair. 

The girl stepped forward into the candle-light. Over her shoulders shewore a faded plaid, the ends of which her left hand clutched and heldtogether at her bosom. 

"Your Honour's pardon for troubling, " she said, and laying a gold coinon the table, drew back with a slight curtsy. "But I think you gaveme this by mistake; and now is my only chance to give it back. I am going home in a few minutes. "

The Collector glanced at the coin, and from that to the girl's face, onwhich his eyes lingered. 

"Gad, I recollect!" he said. "You were the wench that pulled off myboots?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Well, upon my honour, I forget at this moment if I gave it by mistakeor because of your face. No, hang me!" he went on, while she flushed, not angrily, but as though the words hurt her, "it must have been bymistake. I couldn't have forgot so much better a reason. "

To this she answered nothing, but put forward her hand as if to push thecoin nearer. 

"Certainly not, " said he, still with eyes on her face. "I wish you totake it. By the way, I heard the landlady's voice just now, lettingloose upon somebody. Was it on you?"

"Yes. "

"And you are going home to-night, you say. Has she turned you out?"

"Yes. " The girl's hand moved as if gathering the plaid closer over herbosom. Her voice held no resentment. Her eyes were fixed upon thecoin, which, however, she made no further motion to touch; and thisdownward glance showed at its best the lovely droop of her longeyelashes. 

The Collector continued to take stock of her, and with a growing wonder. 

The lower half of the face's oval was perhaps Unduly gaunt and a trifleoverweighted by the broad brow. The whole body stood a thought too highfor its breadth, with a hint of coltishness in the thin arms and thickelbow-joints. So judged the Collector, as he would have appraised aslave or any young female animal; while as a connoisseur he knew thatthese were faults pointing towards ultimate perfection, and at thisstage even necessary to it. 

For assurance he asked her, "How old are you?"

"Sixteen. "

"That's as I guessed, " said he, and added to himself, "My God, this isgoing to be one of the loveliest things in creation!" Still, as shebent her eyes to the coin on the table, he ran his appraising glanceover her neck and shoulders, judging--so far as the ugly shawlpermitted--the head's poise, the set of the coral ear, the delicate waveof hair on the neck's nape. 

"Why is she turning you out?"

"A window curtain took fire. She said it was my fault. "

"But it was not your fault at all!" cried Dicky. "Papa, the curtaintook fire in my room, and she beat it out. The whole house might havebeen burnt down but for her. She beat it out, and made nothing of it, though it hurt her horribly. Look at her hands, papa!"

"Hold out your hands, " his father commanded. 

She stretched them out. The ointment, as she turned them palms upward, shone under the candle rays. 

"Turn them the other way, " he commanded, after a long look at them. The words might mean that the sight afflicted him, but his tone scarcelysuggested this. She turned her hands, and he scrutinised the backs ofthem very deliberately. "It's a shame, " said he at length. 

"Of course it's a shame!" the boy agreed hotly. "Papa, won't you ringfor the landlady and tell her so, and then she won't be sent away. "

"My dear Dicky, " his father answered, "you mistake. I was thinking thatit was a shame to coarsen such hands with housework. " He eyed the girlagain, and she met him with a straight face--flushed a little andplainly perturbed, but not shrinking, although her bosom heaved--for hisadmiration was entirely cool and critical. "What is your name?" heasked. 

"Ruth Josselin. "

He appeared to consider this for a moment, and then, reaching out a handfor the decanter, to dismiss the subject. "Well, pick up your guinea, "he said. "No doubt the woman outside has treated you badly; but I can'tintercede for you, to keep you a drudge here among the saucepans; no, upon my conscience, I can't. The fact is, Ruth Josselin, you have themakings of a beauty, and I'll be no party to spoiling 'em. What ismore, it seems you have spirit, and no woman with beauty and spirit needfail to win her game in this world. That's my creed. " He sipped hiswine. 

"If your Honour pleases, " said the girl quietly, picking up the coin, "the woman called me bad names, and I was not wanting you at all tospeak for me. "

"Oho!" The Collector set down his glass and laughed. "So that's theway of it--'_Nobody asked you, sir, she said. _' Dicky, we sit rebuked. "

"But--" she hesitated, and then went on rapidly in the lowest of lowtones--"if your Honour wouldn't mind giving me silver instead of gold?They won't change gold for me in the town; they'll think I have stolenit. Most Sundays I'm allowed to take home broken meats to mother andgrandfather, and to-night I shan't be given any, now that I'm sent away. They'll be expecting me, and indeed, sir, I can't bear to face them--orI wouldn't ask you. I beg your Honour's pardon for saying so much. "

"Hullo!" exclaimed the Collector. "Why, yes, to be sure, you must begrandchild to the old man of the sea--him that I met on the beach thisafternoon, t'other side of the headland. Lives in a hovel with a woodpile beside it, and a daughter that looks out for wreckage?"

"Your Honour spoke with them?" Into Ruth's face there mounted a deepertide of colour. But whereas the first flush had been dark withdistress, this second spread with a glow of affection. Her eyes seemedto take light from it, and shone. 

"I spoke with the old man. Since you have said so much, I may say more. I gave him food; he was starving. "

She bent her head. Her hands moved a little, with a gesture mostpitiful to see. "I was afraid, " she muttered, "with these gales, and nogetting to the oyster beds. "

"He took some food, too, to his daughter, with a bottle of wine, as Iremember. "

A bright tear dropped. In the candle-light Dicky saw it splash on theback of her hand, by the wrist. 

"God bless your Honour!" Dicky could just hear the words. 

The door opened and Manasseh entered, bearing the coffee on a silvertray. 

"Manasseh, " said his master, "take that guinea and bring me change forit. If you have no silver in the treasury get the landlady to change itfor you. "

Manasseh was affronted. His hand came near to shaking as he poured andhanded the coffee. 

"Yo' Hon'ah doan off'n use de metal, " he answered. "Dat's sho'. But whiles an' again yo' Hon'ah condescends ter want it. Dat bein' so, I keep it by me--_an'_ polished. I doan fetch yo' Hon'ah w'at any lowtrash has handled. "

He withdrew, leaving this fine shaft to rankle, and by-and-by enteredwith a small velvet bag, from the neck of which he shook a small cascadeof silver coins, all exquisitely polished. 

"Count me out change for a guinea, " commanded his master. 

Manasseh obeyed. 

"Now empty the bag, put into it what you have counted, and sweep up therest. "

Manasseh dropped in the coins one by one, and tied the neck of the bagwith its silken ribbon. The Collector took it from him and tossed it tothe girl. 

"Here--catch!" said he carelessly. 

But her burnt hands shrank from closing on if, and it fell to the floor. She stooped, recovered it, and slipped it within her bodice. As sherose erect again her eyes rested in wonder on the black servant who witha crumb-brush was sweeping the rest of the money off the table andcatching it upon the coffee-salver. The rain and clash of the coinsappeared to confuse her for a moment. Then with another curtsy and a"Thank your Honour, " she moved to the door. 

"But wait, " said the Collector sharply, on a sudden thought. "You arenot meaning to walk all the way home, surely?"

"Yes. "

"At this hour?"

"The wind has gone down. I do not mind the dark, and the distance isnothing. . . . Oh, I forgot: your Honour thinks that, with all thismoney, some one will try to rob me?"

The Collector smiled. "You would appear to be a very innocent youngwoman, " he said. "I was not, as a fact, thinking of the money. "

"Nobody will guess that I am carrying so much, " she said simply; "so itwill be quite safe. "

"Nevertheless this may help to give you confidence, " said he. Feeling in the breast pocket of his laced satin waistcoat, he drew fortha diminutive pistol--a delicate toy, with a pattern of silver foliatedover the butt. "It is loaded, " he explained, "and primed; though itcannot go off unless you pull back the trigger. At close quarters itcan be pretty deadly. Do you understand firearms?"

"Grandfather has a fowling-piece, " she answered; "and, now that hissight has failed, on Sundays I try to shoot sea-birds for him. He saysthat I have a good eye. But last week the birds had all flown inland, because of the gale. "

"Then take this. It is nothing to carry, and you may feel the safer forit. "

She put up a hand to decline. "Why should I need it?"

"We'll hope you will not. But do as I bid you, girl. I shall bepassing back along the beach in two days' time, and will call for it. "

She resisted no longer. 

"I will take it, " she said. "By that time I may have thought of wordsto thank your Honour. "

She curtsied again. 

"Manasseh!" Captain Vyell pointed to the door. The negro opened it andstood aside majestically as she passed out and was gone. 

Let moralists perpend. Ruth Josselin had knocked at that door after asharp struggle between conscience and crying want. The poverty known toRuth was of the extreme kind that gnaws the entrails with hunger. It had furthermore starved her childhood of religion, and her sole codeof honour came to her by instinct. Yet she had knocked at the door withno thought but that the Collector's guinea had come to her hand bymistake, and no expectancy but that the Collector would thank her andtake it back. She was shy, moreover. It had cost courage. 

"Honesty is the best policy. " True enough, no doubt. Yet, when all issaid, but for some radical instinct of honesty, untaught, brave toconquer a more than selfish need, Ruth had never brought back herguinea. And, yet again, from that action all the rest of this storyflows. When we have told it, let the moralists decide. 

Chapter VI. 

PARENTHETICAL--OF THE FAMILY OF VYELL. 

Captain Oliver Vyell, as we have seen, set store upon pedigree: andhere, as well in compliment to him as to make our story clearer, we willinterrupt it with a brief account of his family and descent. 

The tomb of Sir Thomas Vyell, second Baronet, at whose house ofCarwithiel in Cornwall our Collector spent some years of his boyhood, may yet be seen in the church of that parish, in the family transept. It bears the coat of the Vyells (gules, a fesse raguly argent) with noless than twenty-four quarterings: for an Odo of the name had fought onthe winning side at Hastings, and his descendants, settling in the West, had held estates there and been people of importance ever since. 

The Wars of the Roses, to be sure, had left them under a cloud, shorn ofthe most of their wealth and a great part of their lands. Yet they keptthemselves afloat (if this riot of metaphor may be pardoned) and theirheads moderately high, until Sir William, the first Baronet, bydeveloping certain tin mines on his estate and working them by newprocesses, set up the family fortunes once more. 

His son, Sir Thomas, steadily bettered them. A contemporary narrativedescribes him as "chief of a very good Cornish family, with a very goodestate. His marrying a grand-daughter of the Lord Protector (Oliver)first recommended him to King William, who at the Revolution made himCommissioner of the Excise and some years after Governor of the PostOffice. . . . The Queen, by reason of his great capacity and honesty, hath continued him in the office of Postmaster. He is a gentleman of asweet, easy, affable disposition--a handsome man, of middle stature, towards forty years old. " This was written in 1713. Sir Thomas died in1726, of the smallpox, having issue (by his one wife, who survived himbut a few years) seven sons and three daughters. 

1. Thomas, the third Baronet: of whom anon. 

2. William, who became a Senior Student of Christ Church, Oxford, a page to Queen Mary, and a Fellow of the Royal Society. A memoir of the time preserves him for us as "a tall sanguineman, with a merry eye and talkative in his cups. " He married a Walpole, but his children died young. 

3. John, who, going on a diplomatic mission to Hamburg, took a fever and died there, unmarried. 

4. Henry, the father of our Collector. He married Jane, second daughter of the Marquis of Lomond; increased his wealth in Bengal as governor of the East India Company's Factory, and while yet increasing it, died at Calcutta in 1728. His children were two sons, Oliver and Henry, with both of whom our story deals. 

5. Algernon, who went to Jesus College, Cambridge, became a Fellow there, practised severe parsimony, and dying unmarried in 1742, had his eyes closed by his college gyp and weighted with two penny pieces--the only coins found in his breeches pocket. He left his very considerable savings to young Oliver, whom he had never seen. 

6. Frederick Penwarne, barrister-at-law. We shall have something to do with him. 

7. Roger, who traded at Calcutta and making an expedition to the Persian Gulf, was killed there in a chance affray with some Arabs. 

8. Anne, who married Sackville. 

9. Frances Elizabeth, who married Pelham. 

10. Arabella, whose affections went astray upon a young Cornish yeoman. Her family interfering, the match was broken off and she died unmarried. 

Oliver and Henry, born at Calcutta, were for their health's sake senthome together--he one aged four, the other three--to be nurtured atCarwithiel. Here under the care of their grandparents, Sir Thomas andLady Vyell (the Protector's grand-daughter), they received instructionat the hands--often very literally at the hands--of the Rev. IsaacToplady, Curate in Charge of Carwithiel, a dry scholar, a wetfly-fisher, and something of a toad-eater. They had for sole playmateand companion their Cousin Diana, or Di, the seven-year-old daughter oftheir eldest uncle, Thomas, heir to the estates and the baronetcy. 

This Thomas--a dry, peevish man, averse from country pursuits, penuriousand incurably suspicious of all his fellow-men--now occupied after afashion and with fair diligence that place in public affairs from whichhis father had, on approach of age, withdrawn. He sat in Parliament forthe family borough of St. Michael, and by family influence had risen tobe a Lord of the Admiralty. He had married Lady Caroline Pett, adaughter of the first Earl of Portlemouth, and the pair kept house inArlington Street, where during the session they entertained with afrugality against which Lady Caroline fought in vain. They were known(and she was aware of it) as "Pett and Petty, " and her life wasembittered by the discovery, made too late, that her husband was inevery sense a mean man, who would never rise and never understand whynot, while he nursed an irrational grudge against her for havingpresented him with a daughter and then ceased from child-bearing. 

Unless she repented and procured him a male heir, the baronetcy wouldcome to him only to pass at his death to young Oliver; and the couple, who spent all the Parliamentary recesses at Carwithiel because Mr. Thomas found it cheap, bore no goodwill to that young gentleman. He _en revanche_ supplied them with abundant food for censure, beingwilful from the first, and given in those early years to consorting withstable-boys and picking up their manners and modes of speech. The uncleand aunt alleged--and indeed it was obvious--that the unruly boys passedon the infection to Miss Diana. Miss Diana never accompanied herparents to London, but had grown up from the first at Carwithiel--againbecause Mr. Thomas found it cheap. 

In this atmosphere of stable slang, surrounded by a sort of protectiveouter aura in their grandparents' godliness, the three children grew up:mischievous indeed and without rein, but by no means vicious. Their first separation came in 1726 when Master Oliver, now rising ten, left for London, to be entered at Westminster School. Harry was tofollow him; and did, in a twelve-month's time; but just before thishappened, in Oliver's summer holidays. Sir Thomas took the smallpox anddied and went to his tomb in the Carwithiel transept. Harry took ittoo; but pulled through, not much disfigured. Oliver and Diana escaped. 

The boys, to whom their grandfather--so far as they regarded him atall--had mainly presented himself as a benevolent old proser, weresurprised to find that they sincerely regretted him; and the events ofthe next few weeks threw up his merits (now that the time was past forrewarding them) into a sharp light which memory overarched with a halo. Tenderly into that halo dissolved his trivial faults--his trick, forexample, of snoring between the courses at dinner, or of awaking andpulling his fingers till they cracked with a distressing sound. These and other small frailties were forgotten as the new Sir Thomas andhis spouse took possession and proceeded in a few weeks to turn theplace inside out, dismissing five of the stable-boys, cutting down thegarden staff by one-third, and carrying havoc into the housekeeper'sapartments, the dairy, the still-room. 

In these dismissals I have no doubt that Sir Thomas and Lady Carolinehit (as justice is done in this world) upon the chief blackguards. But the two boys, asking one another why So-and-so had been marked downwhile This-other had been spared, and observing that the So-and-so'sincluded an overbalancing number of their own cronies, found malice inthe discrimination, and a malice directed with intent upon themselves. 

Young Oliver, as soon as Harry was convalescent, discussed thisvehemently with him. Harry, weak with illness, took it passively. He was destined for the Navy. To him already the sea meant everything:as a child of three, on his voyage home in the _Mogul_ East Indiaman, hehad caught the infection of it; on it, as offering the only career fitfor a grown man, his young thoughts brooded, and these annoyances wereto him but as chimney-pots and pantiles falling about the heads of folksashore. But he agreed that Di's conduct needed explaining. She hadtaken a demure turn, and was not remonstrating with her parents as sheought--not playing fair, in short. "It must be pretty difficult forher, " said Harry. "I don't see, " said Oliver. 

The two boys went back to Westminster together. They spent theChristmas holidays with their Uncle Frederick, the barrister, whopractised very little at the law either in court or in chambers, hutdwelt somewhat luxuriously in the Inner Temple and lived the life of aman-about-town. Their summer vacation was to be spent at Carwithiel;but, as it happened, they were not to see Carwithiel again, for beforesummer came news of their father's death at Calcutta. He had amassed afortune which, translated out of rupees, amounted to 400, 000 pounds. To his widow, in addition to her jointure, he left a life interest of athousand pounds _per annum_; a sum of 20, 000 pounds was set aside forHarry, to accumulate until his twenty-first birthday; while themagnificent residue in like manner accumulated for young Oliver, theheir. 

Lady Jane returned to England, to live in decent affluence at Bath; andat Bath, of course, Oliver and Harry spent their subsequent holidays, while their Uncle Frederick continued by occasional dinners and gifts ofpocket money, by outings down the river to Greenwich, by seats at thetheatre or at state shows and pageants, to mitigate the rigours ofschool. Had it occurred to Oliver Vyell in later life to set down his"Reflections" in the style of the emperor Marcus Aurelius, he mighthave begun them in some such words as these: "From my mother, Lady JaneVyell, I learned to be proud of good birth, to esteem myself agentleman, and to regulate my actions by a code proper to my station inlife. This code she reconciled with the Gospels, and indeed, she restedit on the rock of Holy Scripture. From my Uncle Frederick I learnedthat self-interest was the key of life; that the teachings of thepriest-hood were more or less conscious humbug; that all men could bebought; that their god was vanity, and the Great Revolution the noblestevent in English history. . . . "

The sane infusion of Father Neptune in Master Harry's blood preservedhim from these doctrines, and before long indeed removed him out of theway of hearing them. Soon after his fifteenth birthday he sailed tolearn his profession shipping (by a fiction of the service), as"cabin boy" under his mother's brother. Lord Robert Soules, thencommanding the _Merope_ frigate. 

Oliver proceeded to Christ Church, Oxford, and thence (without waitingfor a degree) to make the Grand Tour; in the course of which and incompany with his cousin, Dick Pelham, and a Mr. Batty Langton, a ChristChurch friend, he visited Florence, Rome, Naples, Athens, andConstantinople, returning through Rome again and by way of Venice, Switzerland, Paris. He reached home to find that his mother, whobelieved in keeping young men employed, had procured him a cornetcy inLord Lomond's Troop of Horse. He was now in possession of an amplefortune. He would certainly succeed to the baronetcy, and to the Vyellacres, which were mostly entailed. 

But the grave itself could not give lessons in greed to a true Whigfamily of that period. Lady Jane had it in her blood, every traditionof it. Her son (though within a few months he rose to command of atroop) detested all military routine save active service. He despisedthe triumphs of the Senate. To keep him out of mischief--or, rather, asyou shall hear, to extricate him from it--the good dame made applicationto the Duke of Newcastle; and so in the year 1737, at the age oftwenty-one, Captain Oliver Vyell was appointed to the lucrative post ofCollector to the port of Boston. 

He had held it, now, for close upon seven years. 

Chapter VII. 

A SABBATH-BREAKER. 

Now, in his twenty-eighth year, Oliver Vyell, handsome of face, standingsix feet two inches in his stockings, well built and of ironconstitution, might fairly be called a sensual man, but not fairly asensualist. The distinction lay in his manliness. He was a man, everyinch of him. 

He enjoyed hard riding even more than hard gaming, and far more thanhard drinking; courted fatigue as a form of bodily indulgence; wouldtramp from twenty to thirty miles in any weather on a chance of sport;loved the bite of the wind, the shock of cold water; and was a boldswimmer in a generation that shunned the exercise. 

He awoke next morning to find the sun shining in on his window after aboisterous night. He looked at his watch and rang a small bell thatstood on the table by his bed. Within ten seconds Manasseh appeared, and was commanded first to draw up the blind and then, though the hourwas early, to bring shaving-water with all speed. 

While the negro went on his errand Captain Vyell arose, slipped on hisdressing-gown, and strolled to the window. It looked upon the ocean, over a clean stretch of beach that ran north-west, starting from thepier-head of the harbour and fringing the town's outskirt. Half a dozenhouses formed this outskirt or suburb--decent weather-boarded housesstanding in their own gardens along a curved cliff overlooking thebeach. The beach was of hardest sand, and just beneath the Collector'swindow so level that it served for a second bowling-green, orten-pin-alley. Thus it ran out for some twenty rods and then shelvedabruptly. Captain Vyell, who had an eye for such phenomena, judged thatthis bank had formed itself quite recently, since the building of thepier. 

A heavy sea was running, and evidently with a strong undertow. WhenManasseh returned with the hot water, Captain Vyell announced that hewould bathe before taking his chocolate. 

"Yo' Hon'ah will bathe befor' shaving?"

"You d----d fool, did you ever know me do _any_thing before shaving?"

Manasseh chose a razor, stropped it, and worked the shaving soap into alather. 

"Beggin' yo' Hon'ah's pardon, " said he, "it bein' de Lawd's Day, an'these Port Nassau people dam' ig'orant--"

"Hand me the _peignoir_, " commanded his master sharply. 

He sat, and was shaved. Then, having sponged his chin, he orderedManasseh to lay out his bathing-dress, retire, find a back way to thebeach and, having opened all doors, attend him below. He indued himselfin his bathing-dress very deliberately, standing up for a minute starknaked in the sunshine flooding through the open window--a splendidfigure, foretasting battle with the surf. 

Then, having drawn on his bathing-dress and thrust his feet intosand-shoes, he cast his dressing-gown again over him and went down thestairs at a run. The doors stood open, and on the beach the negroawaited him in the right attitude of "attention. " To him he tossed hiswrap and shoes, and ran down to the beach as might swift-footed Achilleshave run to be clasped by the Sea-Goddess his mother. 

Through the shallow wavelets he ran, stepping high and delicatelysplashing merry drops against the morning sunlight, leaped over one ortwo that would have "tilled" him to the knee (to use an old boyishphrase learnt at Carwithiel where he had learnt to swim), and came tothe shelf beyond which the first tall comber boomed towards him, morethan head high, hissing along its ridge. There, as it overarched him, he launched his body forward and shot through the transparent green, emerging beyond the white smother with a thrill and a laugh of sheerphysical delight. Thrice he repeated this, --

 "Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave, Who, being look'd on, ducks as quickly in. . . "

passed the fourth wave, gained deep water, and thrust out to sea with asteady breast-stroke, his eyes all the while on the great embracingflood which, stretch as it might from here to Europe, for the moment hecommanded. 

Manasseh watched him from the beach. From the cliff above twoscandalised householders calling to one another across their gardens'boundary pointed seaward and summoned their families to the windows tonote the reprobate swimmer and a Sabbath profaned. 

The eyes of a long-shore population are ever on the sea from which comestheir livelihood, and nothing on the sea escapes them long. The Collector's head by this time was but a speck bobbing on the waves, but ere he turned back for shore maybe two hundred of Port Nassau'spopulation were watching, from various points. The Port Nassauers, whatever their individual frailties, were sternly religious--nine-tenthsof them from conviction or habit, the rest in self-defence--andSabbatarians to a man. The sight of that heathen slave, Manasseh, waiting on the beach with a bath-gown over his arm, incensed them tofury. Growls were uttered, here and there, that if the authorities knewtheir business this law-breaker--for Sabbath-breaking was an indictableoffence--should be seized on landing, haled naked to justice, andclapped in the town stocks; but fortunately this indignation had noconcert and found, for the moment, no leader. 

The Collector, having swum out more than half a mile, turned and spedback, using a sharp side-stroke now with a curving arm that cleft theridges like the fin of a fish. His feet touched earth, and he ran upthrough the pursuing breakers--a fleet-footed Achilles again, glitteringfrom the bath. Manasseh hurried down to throw his mantle over thegodlike man. 

"Towel me here, " was the panting command. And, lo! slipping off hisbathing-dress and standing naked to the sea. Captain Vyell was towelledunder the eyes of Port Nassau, and flesh-brushed until he glowed (it maybe) as healthily as did the cheeks of those who spied on him. On thisquestion the Muse declines to take sides. For certain his naked body, after these ministrations, glowed delicious within the bath-gown as hemounted again to his Olympian chamber. There he allowed Manasseh towash out his locks in fresh water (the Collector had a fine head ofhair, of a waved brown, and detested a wig), to anoint them, and tiethem behind with a fresh black ribbon. This done, he took his clothesone by one as Manasseh handed them, and arrayed himself, humming thewhile an air from Opera, and thus unconsciously committing a secondoffence against the Sabbath. 

He descended to find Dicky already seated at table, awaiting him. Dicky had slept like a top in spite of the strange bed; and awaking soonafter daybreak, had lain cosily listening to the boom of the sea. To him this holiday was a glorious interlude in the regime of MissQuiney. His handsome father did not kiss him, but merely patted him onthe shoulder as he passed to his chair; and to Dick (though he wouldhave liked a kiss) it seemed just the right manly thing to do. 

They talked merrily while Manasseh brought in the breakfast dishes--forMaster Dicky bread-and-milk followed by a simple steak of cod; abewildering succession of chowder, omelet, devilled kidneys, cold ham, game pie, and fruit for the Collector, who professed himself keen-set asa hunter, and washed down the viands with a tankard of cider. He described his bathe, and promised Dicky that he should have his firstswimming lessons next summer. "I must talk about you to your UncleHarry. Craze for the sea? At your age if he saw a puddle of water hemust stick his toes in it. He's cruising just now, off South Carolina, keeping a look-out for guarda-costas. He'll render an account of them, you may be sure. He writes that he may be coming up Boston way any timenow. Oh, I can swim, but for diving you should see your Uncle Harry--off the yard-arm--body taut as a whip--nothing like it in any of the oldGreeks' statues. Plenty of talk about bathing; but diving? No. In theeast, must go south to the Persian Gulf to see diving. The god Hermesdescending on Ogygia--if you could imagine that, you had Uncle Harry--the shoot outwards, the delicate curve to a straight slant, heels risingabove rigid body while you counted, begad! holding your breath. Then the plumb drop, like a gannet's--"

Dicky listened, glorious vistas opening before him. With the fruitManasseh brought coffee; and still the boy sat entranced while hisfather chatted, glowing with exercise and enjoying a breakfast at everypoint excellent. 

It was in merest thoughtlessness, no doubt, that having arranged forDicky's morning walk, and after smoking a tobacco leaf rolled with anart of which Manasseh possessed the secret, the Collector so timed hismessage to the stables that his groom brought the horse Bayard around tothe Inn door just as the Sabbath bells began tolling for divine worship. For as a sceptic he was careless rather than militant; ridiculingreligion only in his own set, and when occasion arose, and then withoutfanaticism. For such piety as his mother's he had even a tolerantrespect; and in any event had too much breeding to affront of setpurpose the godly townsfolk of Port Nassau. At the first note of thebells he frowned and blamed himself for not having started earlier. But he had already made appointment by letter to meet the Surveyor andthe Assistant Surveyor at noon on the headland, to measure out anddiscuss the site of the proposed fortification; and he was a punctiliousman in observing engagements. 

It may be asked how, if civil to other men's scruples, he had come tomake such an appointment for the Sabbath. He had answered this and (ashe hoped) with suitable apologies in his letter to the surveyor, Mr. Wapshott: explaining that as His Majesty's business was bringing himto Port Nassau, so it obliged him to be back at Boston by such-and-sucha date. He was personally unacquainted with this Mr. Wapshott, who hadomitted the courtesy of calling upon him at the Bowling Green, and whomby consequence he was inclined to set down as a person of defectivemanners. But Mr. Wapshott was, after all, in the King's service andwould understand its exigencies. 

He mounted therefore and rode up the street. The roadway was deserted;but along the side-walk, sober families, marching by twos and threes, turned their heads at the sound of Bayard's hoofs on the cobbles. The Collector set his face and passed them with a grave look, as of oneabsorbed in affairs of moment. Nevertheless, coming to the whitewashedChurch where the streams of worshippers converged and choking theporchway overflowed upon the street, he added the courtesy of doffinghis hat as he rode by. He did this still with a set face, lookingstraight between Bayard's ears; but with the tail of his eye caught oneglimpse of a little comedy which puzzled and amused him. 

A small rotund, red-gilled man, in bearing and aspect not unlike aturkey-cock, was mounting the steps of the portico. Behind thispersonage sailed an ample lady of middle age, with a bevy of youngerdamsels--his spouse and daughters doubtless. Suddenly--and as if, atsight of the Collector, a whisper passed among them--the middle-agedlady shot out a hand, arrested her husband by the coat-tail and drew himdown a step, while the daughters ranged themselves in semicircle aroundhim, spreading their skirts and together effacing him from view, much asa hen covers her offspring. 

The Collector laughed inwardly as he replaced his hat, and rode onspeculating what this bit of by-play might mean. But it had passed outof his thoughts before he came to the outskirts of the town. 

Chapter VIII. 

ANOTHER SABBATH-BREAKER. 

The road--the same by which he had arrived last night--mounted all theway and led across the neck of the headland. His business, however, layout upon the headland itself and almost at its extremest verge; and amile above the town he struck off to the left where a bridle-pathclimbed by a long slant to the ridge. Half an hour's easy ridingbrought him to the top of the ascent, whence he looked down on the longbeach he had travelled yesterday. The sea lay spread on three sides ofhim. Its salt breeze played on his face; and the bay horse, feeling thetickle of it in his nostrils, threw up his head with a whinny. "Good, old boy--is it not?" asked the Collector, patting his neck. "Suppose we try a breather of it?"

The chine of the headland--of turf, short-cropped by the unceasingwind--stretched smooth as a racecourse for close upon a mile, with agentle dip midway much like the hollow of a saddle. The Collector ranhis eye along it in search of the two men he had come to meet, but couldspy neither of them. 

"Sheltering somewhere from the breeze, maybe, " he decided. "_We_ don'tmind it, hey? Come along, lad--here's wine for heroes!"

He touched Bayard with the spur, and the good horse started at agallop--a rollicking gallop and in the very tune of his master's mood;and if all Port Nassau had not been at its devotions, the chins of itsburghers might have tilted themselves in wonder at the apparition--aCentaur, enlarged upon the skyline. 

Man and horse at full stretch of the gallop were launching down the dipof the hollow--the wind singing past on the top note of exhilaration--when the bay, too well trained to shy, faltered a moment and broke hisstride, as a figure started up from the lee-side of the ridge. 

The Collector sailing past and throwing a glance over his shoulder, sawthe figure and lifted a hand. In another ten strides he reined upBayard, turned, and came back at a walk. 

He confronted a lean, narrow-chested young man, black-suited, pale offace, with watery eyes, straw-coloured eyelashes and an underbred smilethat twitched between timidity and assurance. 

"Ah?" queried the Collector, eyeing him and disliking him at sight. "Are you "--doubtfully--"by any chance Mr. Wapshott, the Surveyor?"

"No such luck, " answered the watery-eyed young man with an offhandattempt at familiarity. "I'm his Assistant--name of Banner--Wapshott'sunwell. "

"I beg your pardon?"

"Mr. --Mr. Wapshott--sends word that he's unwell. " Under the Collector'seye the youth suddenly shifted his manner and became respectful. 

"I beg your pardon?" the Collector repeated slowly. "He 'sends word, 'do you say? I had not the honour at my Inn--from which I have riddenstraight--to be notified of Mr. Wapshott's indisposition. "

Mr. Banner attempted a weak grin and harked back again to familiarity. 

"No, I guess not. The fact is--"

"Excuse me; but would you mind taking your hands out of your pockets?"

"Oh, come! Why?" But none the less Mr. Banner removed them. 

"Thank you. You were saying?"

"Well, I guess, between you and me"--Mr. Banner's hands were slipping tohis pockets again but he checked the motion and rested a palmnonchalantly on either hip--"the old man was a bit too God-fearing tosign to it. "

"You mean, " the Collector asked slowly, "that he is not, in fact, unwell, but has asked you to convey an untruth?"

"You've a downright way of putting it--er--sir" Mr. Banner confessed;"but you get near enough, I shouldn't wonder. You see, the old--theSurveyor is strict upon Lord's Day Observance. "

The Collector bent his brows slightly while he smoothed Bayard's mane. Of a sudden the small scene by the Church porch recurred to him. "Stay, " he said. "I have not the pleasure of knowing Mr. Wapshott, butmay I attempt to describe him to you? He is, perhaps, a gentleman ofsomewhat stunted growth, but of full habit, and somewhat noticeably redbetween the ear and the neck-stock?"

"That hits him. "

"--with a wife inclining to portliness and six grown daughters, tallerthan their parents and not precisely in their first bloom. I speak, "added the Collector, still eyeing his victim, "as to a man of theworld. "

"You've seen him anyhow, " Mr. Banner nodded. "That's Wapshott. "

"I saw him entering his place of worship; and I note that he thinks whatyou call the Lord's Day well worth keeping at the cost of a falsehood. May I ask, Mr. --" The Collector hesitated. 

"Banner. "

"Ah, yes--pardon me! May I ask, Mr. Banner, how it comes that you havea nicer sense than your superior of what is due to His Majesty'sService?"

Mr. Banner laughed uneasily. "Well, you mightn't guess it from mylooks, " he answered with an attempt to ingratiate himself by way ofself-deprecation, "but I am pretty good at working out levels. I reallyam. "

"That was not my point, though I shall test you on it presently. You are, it appears, a somewhat less rigid Sabbatarian than Mr. Wapshott?"

Hereupon Mr. Banner became cryptic. "You needn't fear about that, " heanswered. "I have what they call a dispensation; and until you startledme, I was up here keeping the Lord's Day as well as the best of 'em. Better, perhaps. "

"We will get to business, " said the Collector. "Follow me, please. "

He wheeled his horse and, with Mr. Banner walking at his stirrup, rodeslowly out to the end of the headland and as slowly back. The Collectorasked a question now and then and to every question the young manresponded pat. He was no fool. It soon appeared that he had studiedthe trajectory of guns, that he had views--and sound ones--on coastdefences, and that by some study of the subject he had come, a whileago, to a conclusion the Collector took but a few minutes to endorse;that to build a fort on this headland would be waste of public money. 

Professionally, Mr. Banner was tolerable. The Collector, consultingwith him, forgot the pertness of his address, the distressing twang ofhis accent. He had dismounted, and the pair were busy with a tape, calling out and checking measurements, when from the southward there wasborne to the Collector's ears the distant crack of a shot-gun. 

At the sound of it he glanced up, in time to see Mr. Banner drop theother end of the tape and run. Almost willy-nilly he followed, vaguelywondering if there had happened some accident that called for aid. 

Mr. Banner, when the Collector overtook him, had come to a haltoverlooking the long beach, and pointed to a figure--a speck almost--forit was distant more than a mile. 

"That Josselin girl!" panted Mr. Banner. "I call you to witness!"

The Collector unstrapped his field-glass, which he carried in abandolier, adjusted it, and through it scanned the beach. Yes, in thedistant figure he recognised Ruth Josselin. She carried a gun--orrather, stood with the gun grounded and her hands folded, resting on itsmuzzle--and appeared to be watching the edge of the breakers, perhapswaiting for them to wash to her feet a dead bird fallen beyond reach. 

"See her, do you? I call you to witness!" repeated the voice at hiselbow. 

"Why, what is the matter?"

"Sabbath breakin', " answered Mr. Banner with a curious leer. 

"Ah!"

"But you yourself don't take much account of the Lord's Day, seemingly. Bathin', f'r instance. "

"Indeed!" The Collector eyed his companion reflectively. "You honouredme with your observation this morning?"

Mr. Banner grinned. "Better say the whole of Port Nassau was hon'rin'you. Oh, there'd be no lack of evidence!--but I guess the magistrateswere lookin' the other way. They allowed, no doubt, that even aSabbath-breaker might be havin' friends at Court!"

The Collector could not forbear smiling at the youth's impudence. 

"May I ask what punishment I have probably escaped by that advantage?"

"Well, " said Mr. Banner, "for lighter cases it's usually the stocks. "

Still the Collector smiled. "I am trying to picture it, " said he, aftera pause. "But you don't tell me they would put a young girl in thestocks, merely for firing a gun on the Lord's Day, as you call it?"

"Wouldn't they!" Mr. Banner chuckled. "That, or the pillory. "

"You are a strange folk in Port Nassau. " The Collector frowned, upon asudden suspicion, and his eyes darkened in their scrutiny of Mr. Banner's unpleasant face. "By the way, you told me just now that youwere here upon some sort of a dispensation. Forgive me if I do youwrong, but was it by any chance that you might play the spy upon thisgirl?"

"Shadbolt asked me to keep an eye liftin' for her. "

"Who is Shadbolt?"

"The Town Beadle. He's watchin' somewhere along the cliffs. "Mr. Banner waved a hand towards the neck of the headland. "It's a scandal, and by all accounts has been goin' on for weeks. "

"So that is why you called me to witness? Well, Mr. Banner, I have ahorsewhip lying on the turf yonder, and I warn you to forget yoursuggestion. . . . Shall we resume our measurements?--and, if you please, in silence. Your presence is distasteful to me. "

They turned from the cliff and went back to their work, in which--forthey both enjoyed it--they were soon immersed. It may have been, too, that the wind had shifted. At any rate they missed to hear, ten minuteslater, a second shot fired on the beach, not more distant but fainterthan the first. 

Chapter IX. 

THE SCOURGE. 

Next morning, at ten o'clock, the Collector's coach-and-six stood at theInn gate, harnessed up and ready for the return journey. In theroad-way beyond one of the grooms waited with a hand on Bayard's bridle. 

The Collector, booted and spurred, with riding-whip tucked under hisarm, came up the pebbled pathway, drawing on his gauntleted gloves. Dicky trotted beside him. Manasseh followed in attendance. Behind themin the porchway the landlady bobbed unregarded, like a piece ofclockwork gradually running down. 

"Hey!" The Collector, as he reached the gate, lifted his chin sharply--threw up his head as a finely bred animal scents battle or danger. "What's this? A riot, up the street?"

The grooms could not tell him, for the sound had reached their ears buta second or two before the question; a dull confused murmur out ofwhich, as it increased to a clamour and drew nearer, sharper outcriesdetached themselves, and the shrill voices of women. A procession hadturned the corner of the head of the avenue--a booing, howling rabble. 

The Collector stepped to his horse's rein, flung himself into saddle, and rode forward at a foot's pace to meet the tumult. 

Suddenly his hand tightened on the rein, and Bayard came to a halt; buthis master did not perceive this. The hand's movement had been nervous, involuntary. He sat erect--stood, rather, from the stirrup--his nostrildilated, his brain scarcely believing what his eyes saw. 

"The swine!" he said slowly, to himself. His teeth were shut and thewords inaudible. "The swine!" he repeated. 

Men have done, in the name of religion and not so long ago--indeed areperhaps doing now and daily--deeds so vile that mere decency cannot facedescribing them. It is a question if mere decency (by which I mean thegood instinct of civilised man) will not in the end purge faith clean ofreligion; if, while men dispute and hate and inflict cruelty forreligion, they are not all the while outgrowing it. Libraries, forexample, are written to prove that unbaptized infants come out ofdarkness to draw a fleeting breath or two and pass to hell-fire; thedispute occupies men for generations--and lo! one day the world finds ithas no use for any such question. Time--no thanks to the theologians--has educated it, and this thing at any rate it would no longer believeif it could, as it certainly cannot. Faith never yet has burnt man orwoman at the stake. Religion has burnt its tens of thousands. 

Behind the first two or three ranks of the mob--an exultant mob of grownmen, grown women, and (worst of all) little children--plodded a greyhorse, drawing a cart. Behind the cart, bound to it, with a thong tightabout her fire-scorched wrists--But no; it is not to be written. 

They had stripped her to the waist, and then for decency--_their_decency!--had thrown a jacket of coarse sacking over her, lacing itloosely in front with pack-thread. But, because their work required it, this garment had been gathered up into a rope at the neck, whence itdangled in folds over her young breast. 

She walked with wide eyes, uttering no sound. She alone of that crowduttered no sound. A brute with a bandaged jaw walked close behind her. Oliver Vyell saw his forearm swing up--saw the scourge whirl in hisfist--met the girl's eyes. . . . She, meeting his, let escape thefirst and last cry she uttered that day. He could have sworn thather face was scarlet; but no, he was wrong; while he looked he sawhis mistake-she was white as death. Then with that one pitiful cryshe sank among the close-pressing crowd; but her hands, by the cord'sconstraint, still lifted themselves as might a drowning swimmer's;and the grey horse--the one other innocent creature in thatprocession--plodded forward, dragging her now senseless body at thecart's tail. 

"You swine!"

It does a man good sometimes to get in his blow. It did Oliver Vyellgood, riding in, to slash twice crosswise on the brute's bandaged face;to feel the whalebone bite and then, as he swung out of saddle, to ramfist and whip-butt together on the ugly mouth, driving in itsfore-teeth. 

"Stop the horse, some one!" he commanded, as the Beadle reeled back. "She has fainted. " He added, "The first man that interferes, I shoot. "

The crowd growled. He turned on the nearest mutterer--"Your knife!"The fellow handed it; so promptly, he might have been holding it readyto proffer. The Collector stooped and cut the thongs. This done, hestood up and saw the Beadle advancing again, snarling through thebloody gap in his mouth. 

"You had best take that man away, " said the Collector quietly, pullingout his small pistol. "If you don't, I am going to kill him. "They heard and saw that he meant it. He added in the same tone, "I am going to take all responsibility for this. Will you make way, please?"

His first intention was to lift the body lying unconscious in theroadway, carry it to the coach and drive out of Port Nassau with it, defying the law to interfere. For the moment he "saw red, " as we saynowadays, and was quite capable of shooting down, or bidding hisservants shoot down, any man who offered to hinder. It is even possiblethat had he acted straightway upon the impulse, he might, with hismomentary mastery of the mob, have won clean away; possible, but by nomeans likely, for already a couple of constables were pushing forward tosupport the Beadle, and half a dozen broad-shouldered fellows--haters of"prerogative"--had recovered themselves and were ranging up to supportthe law. Had he noted this, it would not have daunted him. What henoted, and what gave him pause, was the girl's white back at his feet, upturning its hideous weals. He stooped to lift her, and drew back, shivering delicately at the thought of hurting the torn flesh in hisarms--a vain scruple, since she had passed for the moment beyond pain. He picked up the scourge, and stood erect again, crushing it into hispocket. 

"Will you make way, please, " he ordered, "while I fetch a cover to hideyour blasted handiwork?"

He strode through them, and they fell back to give him passage. He walked straight to the coach, pulled the door open, and, in the actof dragging forth a rug, caught sight of Dicky's small, scared face. 

"Oh papa, what has happened?"

"An accident, child. Jump inside; I will explain by-and-by. "

"Begging your Honour's pardon"--a heavy-featured fellow, who hadfollowed the Collector to the coach, put out a hand and touched thechild's shoulder--"I don't hold in whipping maidens, and if it's a fightI'm with you. But you can't carry her out of it, the way you'remeaning. They've seen blood, same as yourself. This child of yours--hestands as much chance to be hurt as any, if you push it. Your Honour'llhave to find some other way. "

The Collector glanced over his shoulder, and saw that the man spoketruth. 

"Dicky, " he said easily, but in a voice the child durst not disobey, "there has been an accident. Go you down and amuse yourself on thesands till Manasseh calls you. "

He walked back coolly, carrying the rug on his arm. 

"Where was she to be taken?" he asked. 

"To the stocks!" answered a voice or two. "To the Court-house!" saidothers. 

"It's the same thing, " said the heavy-browed man, at the Collector'selbow. "The stocks are just across the square from the Court-house. You'll find the magistrates there; they're the ones to face. They tookher case first this morning, and this is the first part of hersentence. "

Oliver Vyell walked back to the crowd. It was--a glance assured him--more hostile than before; had recovered from its surprise, and wasmenacing. But it gave way again before him. 

He called on them to give more room. He stooped and, spreading the rugover the girl's body, lifted and laid her in the straw of the cart. A constable would have interfered. The Collector swung round on him. 

"You are taking her back to the Court-house? Well, I have businessthere too. Where is your Court-house?"

The constable pointed. 

"Up the road? I am obliged to you. Drive on, if you please. "

Chapter X. 

THE BENCH. 

The wooden Jail and the wooden Court-house of Port Nassau faced oneanother across an unpaved grass-grown square planted with maples. To-day--for the fall of the leaf was at hand--these maples flamed withhectic yellows and scarlets; and indeed thousands of leaves, stripped bythe recent gales, already strewed the cross-walks and carpeted theground about the benches disposed in the shade--pleasant seats to which, of an empty afternoon, wives brought their knitting and gossiped whiletheir small children played within sight; haunts, later in the day, ofyouths who whittled sticks or carved out names with jack-knives--ancientsolace of the love-stricken; rarely thronged save when some transgressorwas brought to the stocks or the whipping-post. 

These instruments of public discipline stood on the northern side of thesquare, before the iron-studded door of the Jail. The same hand, maybe, that had blackened over the Jail's weather-boarded front with a coatof tar, had with equal propriety whitewashed the facade of theCourt-house; an immaculate building, set in the cool shade, itsstraight-lined front broken only by a recessed balcony, whence, asoccasion arose, Mr. George Bellingham, Chief Magistrate, delivered thetext of a proclamation, royal or provincial, or declared the poll whenthe people of Port Nassau chose their Selectmen. 

This morning Mr. Bellingham held session within, in the long, airyCourt-room, and dispensed justice with the help of threefellow-magistrates--Mr. Trask, Mr. Somershall, and our friendMr. Wapshott. They sat at a long baize-covered table, with theJustices' Clerk to advise them. On the wall behind and above theirheads hung a framed panel emblazoned with the royal escutcheon, the lionand unicorn for supporters, an inscription in old French to the effectthat there is shame in evil-thinking, and another:--

 CAR II. 

 FID DEF. 

distributed among the four corners of the panel, with the date 1660below. This had been erected (actually in 1664, but the artist hadreceived instructions to antedate it) when the good people ofMassachusetts after some demur rejoiced in the Restoration and acceptedKing Charles II. As defender of their Faith. 

The four magistrates had dealt (as we know) with a case ofSabbath-breaking; had inflicted various terms of imprisonment on twodrunkards and a beggar-woman; had discharged for lack of evidence (butwith admonition) a youth accused of profane swearing; and were nowworking through a list of commoner and more venial offences, such ascheating by the use of false weights. 

These four grave gentlemen looked up in slightly shocked deprecation;for the Collector entered without taking account of the constable at thedoor, save to thrust him aside. The Clerk called "Silence in theCourt!" mechanically, and a deputy-beadle at his elbow as mechanicallyrepeated it. 

"Your Worships"--the Collector, hat in hand advanced to the table andbowed--"will forgive an interruption which only its urgency can excuse. "

"Ah! Captain Vyell, I believe?" Mr. Bellingham arose from hishigh-backed throne of carved oak, bowed, and extended a hand across thetable. "I had heard that you were honouring Port Nassau with a visit;but understanding from our friend Mr. Wapshott that the visit was--er--not official--that, in fact, it was connected with government businessnot--er--to be divulged, I forbore to do myself the pleasure--"Mr. Bellingham had a courtly manner and a courtly presence. He was atallish man, somewhat thin in the face and forehead, of classicalfeatures, and a sanguine complexion. He came of a family highlydistinguished in the history of Massachusetts; but he was in fact a weakman, though he concealed this by some inherited aptitude for publicbusiness and a well-trained committee manner. 

"I thank you. " The Collector shook the preferred hand and bowed again. "You will pardon my abruptness? A girl has fainted outside here, in thestreet--"

Mr. Bellingham's well-shaped brows arched themselves a trifle higher. 

"Indeed?" he murmured, at a loss. 

"A young girl who--as I understand--was suffering public punishmentunder sentence of yours. "

"Yes?" Mr. Bellingham's smile grew vaguer, and his two hands touchedfinger-tips in front of his magisterial stomach--an adequate stomach butwell on the right side of grossness. He glanced at hisfellow-magistrates right and left. "It--er---sometimes happens, " hesuggested. 

"I dare say. " Captain Vyell took him up. "But she has fainted under thepunishment. She has passed the limit of her powers, poor child; andthey tell me that what she has endured is to be followed, and at once, by five hours in the stocks. Gentlemen, I repeat I am quite well awarethat this is most irregular--you may call it indecent; but I saw thepoor creature fall, and, as it happens, I know something that might havesoftened you before you passed sentence. "

Here the Clerk interposed, stiffening the Chief Magistrate, who wore asmile of embarrassed politeness. 

"As His Honour--as Captain Vyell--suggests, your Worships, this is quiteirregular. "

"To be sure--to be sure--of course, " hemm'd Mr. Bellingham. "We canonly overlook that, when appealed to by a person of your distinction;"here he inclined himself gently. "Still, you will understand, asentence is a sentence. As for a temporary faintness, that is by nomeans outside our experience. Our Beadle--Shadbolt--invariably managesto revive them sufficiently to endure--er--the rest. "

I'll be shot if he will this time, thought the Collector grimly, with aglance down at a smear across the knuckle of his right-hand glove. The sight of it cheered him and steadied his temper. "Possibly, " saidhe aloud. "But your worships may not be aware--and as merciful men maybe glad to hear--that this poor creature's offence against the Sabbathwas committed under stress. Her mother and grandfather have starvedthis week through, as I happen to know. "

"That may or may not be, " put in Mr. Trask--a dry-complexioned, stubborn, malignant-looking man, seated next on the Chairman's right. "But the girl--if you mean Ruth Josselin--has not been scourged forSabbath-breaking. For that she will sit in the stocks--our invariablesentence for first offenders in this respect. " From under hisdown-drawn brows Mr. Trask eyed the Collector malevolently. "Ruth Josselin, " he continued, "has suffered the scourge for havingresisted Beadle Shadbolt in the discharge of his duty, and for unlawfulwounding. "

"Excuse me, " put in Mr. Somershall, speaking across from the Chairman'sleft. Mr. Somershall was afflicted with deafness, but liked to asserthimself whenever a word by chance reached him and gave him a cue. He leaned sideways, arching a palm around his one useful ear. "Excuse me; we brought it in 'attempted wounding, ' I believe? I have itnoted so, here on the margin of my charge-sheet. " He glanced at theClerk, who nodded for confirmation. 

"It didn't matter, " Mr. Trask snapped brutally. "She got it, just thesame. "

"Oh, quite so!" Mr. Somershall took his hand from his ear and nodded, satisfied with having made his point. 

"Wounding?" echoed the Collector, addressing the Chairman. "To be frankwith you, sir, I had not heard of this--though it scarcely affects myplea. "

Mr. Bellingham smiled indulgently. "Say no more, Captain Vyell--praysay no more! This is not the first time an inclination to deem ussevere has been corrected by a fuller acquaintance with the facts. . . . Yes, yes--chivalrous feeling--I quite understand; but you see--"He concluded his sentence with a gentle wave of the hand. "You will beglad to hear, since you take an interest in the girl, that Providenceoverruled her aim and Shadbolt escaped with a mere graze of the jaw--soslight, indeed, that, taking a merciful view, we decided not to considerit an actual wound, and convicted her only of the attempt. By the way, Mr. Leemy, where is the weapon?"

The Clerk produced it from his bag and laid it on the table. Captain Vyell drew a sharp breath. 

"It is my pistol. "

"Eh?"

"I have the fellow to it here. " He pulled out the other and handed itby the muzzle. 

"To be sure--to be sure; the pattern is identical, " murmured Mr. Bellingham, examining it and for the moment completely puzzled. "You--er--suggest that she stole it?"

"Certainly not. I lent it to her. "

There followed a slow pause. It was broken by the grating voice of Mr. Trask--

"You remember, Mr. Chairman, that the prisoner stubbornly refused totell how the pistol came in her possession? Does Captain Vyell give usto understand that his interest in this young woman is of older datethan this morning's encounter?"

"My interest in her--such as it is--dates, sir, from the evening beforelast, when she was dismissed from the Bowling Green Inn. The hour waslate; her home, as you know, lies at some distance--though doubtlesswithin the ambit of your authority. I lent her this small weapon toprotect herself should she be molested. "

"And she used it next day upon the Beadle! Dismissed, you say? Why wasshe dismissed?"

"I regret that I was not more curious at the time, " answered theCollector with the politest touch of weariness. "I believe it was forsaving the house from fire--something of that sort. As told to me, itsounded rather heroical. But, sir--" he turned again to the Chairman--"I suggest that all this does not affect my plea. Whatever her offence, she has suffered cruelly. She is physically unfit to bear this secondpunishment; and when I tell you on my word as a gentleman--or on oath, if you will--that on Saturday I found her grandparent starving and thather second offence was committed presumably to supply the householdwants, surely I shall not entreat your mercy in vain?"

The Chief Magistrate hesitated, and a frown showed his annoyance. "To tell you the truth, Captain Vyell, you put me in a quandary. I do not like to refuse you--" Here he glanced right and left. 

"But it can't be done, " snapped Mr. Trask. Mr. Wapshott, sitting justbeyond, shook his head gently and--as he hoped--unperceived by theCollector. 

"You see, sir, " explained Mr. Bellingham with a sigh, "we sit here toadminister justice without fear or favour. You see also to what scandalit might give rise if a culprit--merely on the intercession of agentleman like yourself--influential--er--and, in short--"

"--In short, sir, " the Collector broke in, "you have in the name ofjustice committed one damnable atrocity upon this child, and plead yourcowardice as an excuse for committing another. Influential, am I?And you prate to me of not being affected by that? Very well; I'll takeyou at your word. This girl resisted your ruffian in the discharge ofhis duty? So did I just now, and with such effect that he will resumeit neither to-day nor to-morrow. She inflicted, it appears, a slightgraze on his chin. I inflicted two cuts on his face and knocked inthree of his teeth. You can take cognisance of _my_ wounding, I promiseyou. Now, sir, will you whip _me_ through your town?"

"This is mere violence, sir. " Mr. Bellingham's face was flushed, but heanswered with dignity. "The law is as little to be exasperated asdefied. "

"I will try you in another way, then, " said the Collector, recoveringgrip of his temper and dropping his voice to a tone of politestinsolence. "It is understood that you have not the courage to do thisbecause, seated here and administering what you call justice, you have, each one of you, an eye upon England and preferment, and you know wellenough that to touch me would play the devil among the tailors with yourlittle ambitions. I except"--with a bow towards Mr. Trask--"thisgentleman, who seems to have earned his influence on your counsels byrugged force of character, And--" for here Mr. Trask, who enjoyed a digat his colleagues, cast his eyes down and compressed a grin--"is, Ishould judge, capable of striking a woman for the mere fun of it. "Here Mr. Bellingham and Mr. Wapshott looked demure in turn; for thatMr. Trask led his wife a dog's life was notorious. 

"--In truth, gentlemen, " the Collector continued easily, "I am at someloss in addressing you, seeing that through some defect of courtesy youhave omitted to wait on me, albeit informed (I believe) that I came asHis Majesty's Commissioner, and that therefore I have not even thepleasure of knowing your names. I may except that of Mr. Wapshott, whomI am glad to see convalescent this morning. " Here he inclined to Mr. Wapshott, whose gills under the surprised gaze of his colleagues took aperceptibly redder tinge. "Mr. Wapshott, gentlemen, " explained theCollector, smiling, "had a slight attack of vertigo yesterday, on thesteps of his Place of Worship. Well, sirs, as I was saying, I will tryyou in another way. You have not the courage to bring me to trial forassaulting your beadle. You have not even the courage, here and now, tothrow me out. I believe, however, that upon a confessed breach of thelaw--supported by evidence, if necessary--I can force you to try me. The Clerk will correct me if I am wrong. . . . Apparently he assents. Then I desire to confess to you that yesterday, at such-and-such anhour, I broke your laws or bye-laws of Lord's Day Observance; by bathingin the sea for my pleasure. I demand trial on this charge, and, if youconvict me--here you can hardly help yourselves, since to my knowledgesome of you witnessed the offence--I demand my due punishment of thestocks. "

"Really--really, Captain Vyell!" hemm'd the Chief Magistrate. "Passing over your derogatory language, I am at a loss to understand--"

"Are you? Yet it is very simple. Since you reject my plea for thispoor creature, I desire to share her punishment. "

"Let him, " snapped the mouth of Mr. Trask again, opening and shuttinglike a trap. 

"_You_ at any rate, sir, have sense, " the Collector felicitated him andturned to the Chief Magistrate. "And you, sir, if you will oblige me, may rest assured that I shall bear the magistracy of Port Nassau nogrudge whatever. "

Chapter XI. 

THE STOCKS. 

In the end they came to a compromise. That Dame Justice should behustled in this fashion--taken by the shoulders, so to speak, forced tocatch up her robe and skip--offended the Chief Magistrate's sense ofpropriety. It was unseemly in the last degree, he protested. Nevertheless it appeared certain that Captain Vyell had a right to betried and punished; and the Clerk's threat to set down the hearing foran adjourned sessions was promptly countered by the culprit's producingHis Majesty's Commission, which enjoined upon all and sundry "_toobserve the welfare of my faithful subject, Oliver John Dinham de CourcyVyell, now travelling on the business of this my Realm, and to furtherthat business with all zeal and expedition as required by him_"--acommand which might be all the more strictly construed for being looselyworded. To be sure the Court might by dilatory process linger out thehearing of the Weights and Measures cases--one of which was beingscandalously interrupted at this moment--or it might adjourn for dinnerand reassemble in the afternoon, by which time the sands of RuthJosselin's five hours' ignominy would be running out. But here Mr. Somershall had to be reckoned with. Mr. Somershall not only made it apractice to sit long at dinner and sleep after it; he invariably losthis temper if the dinner-hour were delayed; and, being deaf as well ashonest, he was capable of blurting out his mind in a fashion to confoundeither of these disingenuous courses. As for Mr. Wapshott, the wordingof the Commission had frightened him, and he wished himself at home. 

It was Mr. Trask who found the way out. Mr. Trask, his malevolent eyefixed on the Collector, opined that after all an hour or two in thestocks would be a salutary lesson for hot blood and pampered flesh. He suggested that, without insisting on a trial, the Captain might beobliged, and his legs given that lesson. He cited precedents. More than once a friend or relative had, by mercy of the Court, beenallowed to sit beside a culprit under punishment. If, a like leavebeing granted him, Captain Vyell preferred to have his anklesconfined--why, truly, Mr. Trask saw no reason for denying him theexperience. But the Captain, it was understood, must give his word ofhonour, first, to accept this as a free concession from the Bench, and, secondly, not to repent or demand release before the expiry of the fivehours. 

"With all my heart, " promised Captain Vyell; and the Chief Magistratereluctantly gave way. 

Ruth Josselin sat in the stocks. She had come so far out of her swoonthat her pulse beat, her breath came and went, she felt the sun warm onher face, and was aware of some pain where the edge of the wood pressedinto her flesh, a little above the ankle-bones--of discomfort, rather, in comparison with the anguish throbbing and biting across hershoulder-blades. Some one--it may have been in unthinking mercy--haddrawn down the sackcloth over her stripes, and the coarse stuff, irritating the raw, was as a shirt of fire. 

She had come back to a sense of this torture, but not yet to completeconsciousness. She sat with eyes half closed, filmed with suffering. As they had closed in the moment of swooning, so and with the same lookof horror they awoke as the lids parted. But they saw nothing; neitherthe sunlight dappling the maple shadows nor the curious faces of thecrowd. She felt the sunlight; the crowd's presence she felt not at all. 

But misery she felt; a blank of misery through which her reviving soul--like the shoot of a plant trodden into mire--pushed feebly towards thesunlight that coaxed her eyes to open. Something it sought there . . . A face . . . Yes, a face. . . . 

--Yes, of course, a face; lifted high above other faces that werehateful, hostile, mocking her misery--God knew why; a strong face, notvery pitiful--but so strong!--and yet it must be pitiful too, for itcondescended to help. It was moving down, bending, to help. . . . 

--What had become of it? . . . Ah, now (shame at length reawakening) sheremembered! She was hiding from him. He was strong, he was kind, butabove all he must not see her shame. Let the earth cover her and hideit! . . . And either the merciful earth had opened or a mercifuldarkness had descended. She remembered sinking into it--sinking--herhands held aloft, as by ropes. Then the ropes had parted. . . . She had fallen, plumb. . . . 

She was re-emerging now; and either shame lay far below, a cast-off weedin the depths, or shame had driven out shame as fire drives out fire. Her back was burning; her tongue was parched; her eyes were seared asthey half opened upon the crowd. The grinning faces--the mouths pulledawry, mocking a sorrow they did not understand--these were meaninglessto her. She did not, in any real sense, behold them. Her misery was asea about her, and in the trough of it she looked up, seeking one face. 

--And why not? It had shone far above her as a god's; but she had beensucked down as deep again, and there is an extreme of degradation maymeet even a god's altitude on equal terms. Stark mortal, stark god--itslimit of suffering past, humanity joins the celestial, clasping itsknees. 

Of a sudden, turning her eyes a little to the left, she saw him. 

He had come at a strolling pace across the square, with Manasseh and thedeputy-beadle walking wide beside him, and the Court-house rabble at hisheels, but keeping, in spite of themselves, a respectful distance. At the stocks he faced about, and they halted on the instant, as thoughhe had spoken a word of command. He smiled, seated himself leisurablyat the end of the bench on Ruth Josselin's left, and extended a leg forManasseh to draw off its riding-boot. At the back of the crowd a fewvoices chattered, but within the semicircle a hush had fallen. 

It was then that she turned her eyes and saw him. 

How came he here? What was he doing? . . . She could not comprehend atall. Only she felt her heart leap within her and stand still, as like awarm flood the consciousness of his presence stole through her, pouredover her, soothing away for the moment all physical anguish. She satvery still, her hands in her lap; afraid to move, afraid even to lookagain. This consciousness--it should have been shame, but it held noshame at all. It was hope. It came near, very near, to bliss. 

She was aware in a dull way of some one unlocking and lifting the upperbeam of the stocks. Were they releasing her? Surely her sentence hadbeen for five hours?--surely her faintness could not have lasted solong! This could not be the end? She did not wish to be released. She would not know what to do, where to go, when they set her free. She must walk home through the town, and that would be worst of all. 

Or perhaps _he_ was commanding them to release her? . . . No; the beamcreaked and dropped into place again. A moment ago his voice had beenspeaking; speaking very cheerfully, not to her. Now it was silent. After some minutes she gathered courage to turn her eyes again. 

Captain Vyell sat with his legs in durance. They were very shapelylegs, cased in stockings of flesh-coloured silk with crimson knee-ties. He sat in perfect patience, and rolled a tobacco-leaf between hisfingers. At his shoulder stood Manasseh like a statue, with faceimmobile as Marble--black marble--and a tinder-box ready in his hand. 

"Why? . . . "

He could not be sure if it were a word, or merely a sigh, deep in herbreast, so faintly it reached him. She had murmured it as if toherself, yet it seemed to hang on a question. His ear was alert. 

"Hush!" he said, speaking low and without glancing towards her, for theeyes of the crowd were on them. "The faintness is over?"

"Yes. "

"Do not talk at all. By-and-by we will talk. Now I am going to ask youa selfish question, and you are just to bend your head for 'yes' or'no. ' Will the smell of tobacco distress you, or bring the faintnessback? These autumn flies sting abominably here, under the trees. "

She moved her head slowly. "I do not feel them, " she said after awhile. 

He glanced at her compassionately before nodding to Manasseh for alight. "No, poor wretch, I'll be sworn you do not, " he muttered betweenthe puffs. "Thank you, Manasseh; and now will you step down to the Inn, order the horses back to stable, and bring George and Harry back withyou? I may require them to break a head or two here, if there should betrouble. Tell Alexander"--this was the coachman--"to have an eye onMaster Dicky, and see that he gets his dinner. The child is on noaccount to come here, or be told about this. His papa is detained onbusiness--you understand? Yes, and by the way, you may extract a bookfrom the valise--the Calderon, for choice, or if it come handier, thatsecond volume of Corneille. Don't waste time, though, in searching forthis or that. In the stocks I've no doubt a book is a book: theinstrument has a reputation for levelling. "

Manasseh departed on his errand, and for a while the Collector paid noheed to his companion. He and she were now unprotected, at the mercy ofthe mob if it intended mischief; and the next few minutes would becritical. 

He sat immersed apparently in his own thoughts, and by the look on hisface these were serious thoughts. He seemed to see and yet not to seethe ring of faces; to be aware of them, yet not concerned with them, nowhit afraid and quite as little defiant. True, he was smoking, butwithout a trace of affected insouciance or bravado; gravely rather, resting an elbow on his groin and leaning forward with a preoccupiedfrown. Two minutes passed in this silence, and he felt the dangerebbing. Mob insolence ever wants a lead, and--perhaps because with thereturn of fine weather the fishing-crews had put to sea early--this PortNassau crowd lacked a fugleman. 

"Are you here--because--of me?"

"Hush, again, " he answered quietly, not turning his head. "I like youto talk if you feel strong enough; but for the moment it will be betterif they do not perceive. . . . Yes, and no, " he answered her questionafter a pause. "I am here to see that you get through this. You are inpain?"

"Yes; but it is easier. "

"You are afraid of these people?"

"Afraid?" She took some time considering this. "No, " she said atlength. "I am not afraid of them. I do not see them. You are here. "

He took the tobacco-leaf from his lips, blew a thin cloud of smoke withgrave deliberateness, and in doing so contrived to glance at her face. 

"You have blood in you. That face, too, my beauty, " he muttered, "never came to you but by gift of blood. " Aloud he said, "That's brave. But take care when your senses clear and the strain comes back on you. Speak to me when you feel it coming; I don't want it to tauten you upwith a jerk. You understand?"

"Yes. . . . "

"I wonder now--" he began musingly, and broke off. The danger he hadbeen keeping account with was over; Manasseh had returned with the twogrooms, and they--perfectly trained servants on the English model--tooktheir posts without exhibiting surprise by so much as a twitch of theface. George in particular was a tight fellow with his fists, as thecrowd, should it offer annoyance, would assuredly learn. The Collectortook the volume which Manasseh brought him, and opened it, but did notbegin to read. "You despise these people?" he asked. 

He was puzzled with himself. He was here to protect her; and this, fromhim to her, implied a noble condescension. His fine manners, to besure, forbade his showing it; on no account would he have shown it. But the puzzle was, he could not feel it. 

She met his eyes. "No . . . Why should I despise them?"

"They are _canaille_. "

"What does that mean? . . . They have been cruel to me. Afterwards, Iexpect, they will be crueller still. But just now it does not matter, because you are here. "

"Does that make so much difference?" he asked thoughtlessly. 

She caught her breath upon a sob. "Ah, do not--" The voice died, strangled, in her throat. "Do not--" Again she could get no further, but sat shivering, her fingers interlocked and writhing. 

"Brute!" muttered the Collector to himself. He did not ask her pardon, but opened his Calderon, signed to Manasseh to roll a freshtobacco-leaf, and fell to reading his favourite _Alcalde de Zalamea_. 

The sun crept slowly to the right over the tops of the maples. It nolonger scorched their faces, but slanted in rays through the upperboughs, dappling the open walks with splashes of light which, as theyreceded in distance, took by a trick of the eyesight a pattern regularas diaper. By this time the Collector, when he glanced up from hisbook, had an ample view of the square, for the crowd had thinned. The punishment of the stocks was no such rare spectacle in Port Nassau;and five hours is a tedious while even for the onlooker--a very longwhile indeed to stand weighing the fun of throwing a handful of filthagainst the cost of a thrashing. The men-folk, reasoning thus, hadmelted away to their longshore avocations. The women, always morepatient--as to their nature the show was more piquant than to themen's--had withdrawn with their knitting to benches well withineyeshot. The children, playing around, grew more and more immersed intheir games; which, nevertheless, one or another would interrupt fromtime to time to point and ask a question. Above the Court-house thetown clock chimed its quarters across the afternoon heat. 

The Collector, glancing up in the act of turning a page, spied Mr. Traskhobbling down an alley towards the Jail. Mr. Trask, a martyr to gout, helped his progress with an oaken staff. He leaned on this as he haltedbefore the stocks. 

"Tired?" he asked. 

"Damnably!" answered the Collector with great cheerfulness. "It takesone in the back, you see. If ever the Town Fathers think of moving thismachine, you might put in a word for shifting it a foot or two back, against the prison wall. "

Mr. Trask grinned. 

"I suppose now, " he said after a pause, "you think you are doing a finething, and doing it handsomely?"

"I had some notion of the sort, but this confinement of the feet iswonderfully cooling to the brain. No--if you dispute it. Most humanactions are mixed. "

Mr. Trask eyed him, chin between two fingers and thumb. When he spokeagain it was with lowered voice. "Is it altogether kind to the girl?"he asked. 

"Eh?" The Collector in turn eyed Mr. Trask. 

"Or even quite fair to her?"

"Oh, come!" said the Collector. "Tongues? I hadn't thought of that. "

"I dare say not. " Mr. Trask glanced up at the windows of a two-storeyedhouse on the left, scarcely a stone's throw away, a respectable mansionwith a verandah and neat gateway of wrought iron. "But at the end ofthis what becomes of her?"

The Collector shrugged his shoulders. "I have thought of _that_, at allevents. My coach will be here to take her home. It lies on my road. As for me, I shall have to mount at once and ride through the night--asecond test for the back-bone. "

"Ride and be hanged to you!" broke out Mr. Trask with a snarl of scorn. "But for the rest, if your foppery leave you any room to consider thegirl, you couldn't put a worse finish on your injury. Drive her off inyour coach indeed!--and what then becomes of her reputation?"

"--Of what you have left to her, you mean? Damn it--_you_ to talk likethis!"

"Do not be profane, Captain Vyell. . . . We see things differently, andthis punishment was meted to her--if cruelly, as you would say--still inhonest concern for her soul's good. But if you, a loose-living man--"Mr. Trask paused. 

"Go on. "

"I thank you. For the moment I forgot that you are not at liberty. But I used not that plainness of speech to insult you; rather because itis part of the argument. If you, then, drive away with this child inpublic, through this town, you do her an injury for which merecarelessness is your best excuse; and the world will assign it a worse. "

"The world!"

"I mean the world this young woman will have to live in. But we talk atcross-purposes. When I asked, 'What becomes of her at the end of this?'I was thinking of the harm you have already done. As a fact, I haveordered my cart to be ready to take her home. "

Captain Vyell considered for a few seconds. "Sir, " he said, "sinceplain speech is allowed between us, I consider you a narrow bigot; but, I hasten to add, you are the best man I have met in Port Nassau. By theway--that house on our left--does it by chance belong to Mr. Wapshott?"

"It does. "

"I thought so. For a couple of hours past, in the intervals of myreading, I have discovered a family of tall young women peeking at usfrom behind the windows and a barrier of furniture; and once, it seemedto me, I detected the wattles of your worthy fellow-magistrate. He ought not to strain that neck; you should warn him of the danger. "

"It should have warned you, sir, of what mischief you are doing. "

"I seem to remember, " the Collector mused, "reading the words '_Honisoit qui mal y pense_' to-day written on the wall behind you. . . . Why, damn me, sir, for aught you or any of them can tell, I intend tomarry this girl! Why not? Go and tell them. Could there (you'll say)be a fairer betrothal? The reputable plight their troth with a singlering around the woman's finger; but here are four rings around the fourankles, and the bar locked. With your leave, which is the moresymbolical?"

"You are a reprobate man, Captain Vyell, " was the answer, "and I have norelish for your talk. I will only say this, When her punishment isdone, my cart shall be ready for her; and you, if you would vindicate anaction which--for I'll give you that credit--sprang from a generousimpulse, will go your ways and let this child live down herhumiliation. "

Mr. Trask turned and went his way up the alley, across which the sunmade level rays of flame. The Collector sat in thought. 

He turned his head, surprised by the sound of a sob. A small child haddrawn near--a toddle of four, trailing her wooden doll with its head inthe dust--and stood a few paces in front of Ruth Josselin, round-eyed, finger at mouth. 

"Steady, my girl. . . . Steady!"

At the murmured warning she braced her body stiffly, and no second sobcame. But the tears ran--the first in all her long agony--and smallshivers, as light winds play on aspen, chased one another down herthroat. Almost you could guess them passing down her flesh beneath thesackcloth, rippling over its torn and purple ridges. 

He did not check her weeping. The child--small, innocent cause of it--stood round-eyed, wondering. "She has been naughty. What has she done, to be so naughty?"

Over the maples the town clock slowly told the hour. 

They were free. The Collector tossed away the half-smokedtobacco-leaf--his twelfth--drew a long breath, and emitted it with a gaylaugh of relief. At the same moment he saw Mr. Trask's bullock-cartapproaching down the dappled avenue. 

Chapter XII. 

THE HUT BY THE BEACH. 

"And you'll never hold up your head again! No more will any of us. The disgrace of it! the disgrace of it!"

Ruth stood in the middle of the wretched room, with her hands hangingslack and her eyes bent wearily upon her mother, who had collapsed upona block of sawn timber, and sat there, with sack apron cast over herhead, rocking her body. 

"Hush, ye fool!" said old Josselin, and spat out of window. Mechanically, by habit, his dim eyes swept along the beach by thebreakers' edge. "What's the use, any way?" he added. 

"We, that always carried ourselves so high, for all our being poor!It's God's mercy that took your father before he could see this day. 'Twould have broken his sperrit. Your father a Josselin, and me aPocock, with lands of my own--if right was law in this world; and now tobe stripped naked and marched through the streets!"

Ruth's eyes met the Collector's. He stood within the doorway, and wasregarding her curiously. She did not plead or protest; only, as theireyes met, a flush rose to her cheek, and he guessed rightly that thetouch of shame was for her mother, not for herself. The flush deepenedas old Josselin turned and said apologetically, --

"You mustn't mind M'ria. She's weak-minded. Always was; but sence herhusband was drowned--he was my second son--she've lost whatever wits shehad. The gal here was born about that time. " Here the old man launchedinto some obstetrical guesswork, using the plainest words. It embarrassed the Collector; the girl did not so much as wince. 

"Poor might be stood, " moaned the woman; "but poor and shamed!"Then of a sudden, as though recollecting herself, she arose with an airof mincing gentility. "Ruth, " she said, "it's little we can offer thegentleman, but you _might_ get out the bread and cheese, after his beingso kind to you. "

"Sit down, you dormed fool, " commanded her father-in-law. "Here, fetchyour seat over to the look-out, an' tell me if that's a log I seefloatin'. She's wonderful good at that, " he explained, without loweringhis voice, "and it'll keep her quiet. It's true, though, what she saidabout the property. Thousands of acres, if she had her rights--up thisside of the Kennebee. " He jerked a thumb northwards. "The Pococksbought it off one of the Gorges, gettin' on for a hundred years sence;and by rights, as I say, a seventh share oughter be hers. But lawyers!The law's like a ship's pump: pour enough in for a start, and it'llreward ye with floods. But where's the money to start it?"

The Collector scarcely heard him. His eyes were on Ruth's face. He had walked briskly down from the Town Square to the Bowling GreenInn, refreshed himself, let saddle his horse, and set forth, leavingorders for his coach to follow. At the summit of the hill above PortNassau he had overtaken the cart with the poor girl lying in it, hadchecked his pace to ride alongside, and so, disregarding Mr. Trask'scounsel, had brought her home. Nay, dismissing the men with a guineaapiece, he had desired them to return to Mr. Trask and report hisconduct. 

"Listen to me, " he said suddenly, checking Old Josselin in full flow. "You say, both of you, that Ruth here will live under disgrace; and Idare say you are right. Why not send her away? Get her out of this. "

The woman by the window turned her head with a vague simper. The oldman, building a small heap of chips on the hearthstone, distended hischeeks and let out his breath slowly, as though coaxing a fire alreadykindled. 

"All very well--but where? And where's the money to come from?Besides, we can't spare the child; she vittles us. Dorm it, Ruth, " heexclaimed, on a sudden recollection, "you don't say you ha'n't broughtback the gun!"

"No, grandfather. "

"Why? The magistrates would have given it back. It's ruination for uswithout the gun, and that you might have remembered. Better step overand ask 'em for it to-morrow. "

"Must I?" asked the girl slowly. 

"'Course you'll have to, " said her grandparent. "_I_ can't walk thedistance, and that you know. --My eyesight's poor, " he explained to theCollector, "and I can't walk, because--" here he stated an organiccomplaint very frankly. "As for M'ria, she's an eye like a fish-hawk;but you never saw such a born fool with firearms. Well, must heat somewater, I reckon, to bathe the poor maid's back. "

"First give her food, " said the Collector. He stepped forward andhimself cut her a large manchet from the loaf the old man produced. She took it from him and ate ravenously, like a young wild animal, tearing at the crust with her white teeth. "They haven't broken yourbody's health, then, " he thought to himself. Aloud he said, "You don'tquite take my meaning, Mr. Josselin, and I'll put it to you in astraight offer. Let her come with me to Boston. She shall be put toschool there, say for three years; she shall live among folk who willtreat her kindly, and teach her at any rate to build up her spirit againand be happy, as she will never be within these miles of Port Nassau;and in return--"

"Ah!" said the old man significantly. 

"In return you shall accept from me a decent pension--enough, at anyrate, to fend off want. We will not quarrel over the amount, up ordown. Or, if you prefer, I will get the lawyers to look into this claimof your daughter-in-law's, and maybe make you an offer for it. "

"Ah!" repeated Old Josselin, and nodded. "Taken your eye, has she?Oh, I'm not blamin' your lordship! Flesh will after flesh, and--you canbelieve it or not--I was all for the women in my time. " He chuckled, and had added some gross particulars before the younger man could checkhim. Yet the old fellow was so naif and direct that his speech left noevil taste. He talked as one might of farm stock. "But we're decentfolk, we Josselins. It's hard to starve and be decent too, and timesenough I've been sorry for it; but decent we are. "

The Collector frowned. "Mr. Josselin, " he answered, "I am offering youto take your granddaughter away and have her educated. What that willmake of her I neither can tell you nor have I means of guessing; butthis I will undertake, and give you my word of honour for it: in threeyears' time she shall come back to you in all honesty, unharmed by me orby any one. By that time she will be a woman grown, able to decide as awoman; but she shall come to you, nevertheless. "

The old man fumbled with a finger, scraping together the flakes oftouchwood in a tinder-box. 

"D'ye hear, M'ria? His Honour wants our Ruth to go along with him. "

The Collector glanced at the girl's face. Years after, and a hundredtimes, he recalled the look with which she turned towards her mother. At the same instant her mother faced about with a vacuous silly smile. 

"Eh?"

"To larn to be a lady, " Old Josselin explained, raising his voice asthough she were deaf. 

"That would be a fine thing, " she answered mincingly, and returned hergaze to the window and the line of shore. 

Chapter XIII. 

RUTH SETS OUT. 

Manasseh had wrapped Master Dicky up warm in a couple of rugs, andspread a third about his feet. In the ample state seat of the coach thechild reclined as easily as in a bed. He began to doze while thevehicle yet jolted over the road crossing the headland; and when itgained the track, and the wheels rolled smoothly on the hard sand, themotion slid him deep into slumber. 

He came out of it with a start and a catch of the breath, and for a fullhalf-minute lay with all his senses numbed, not so much scared asbewildered. In his dreams he had been at home in Boston, and hesearched his little brain, wondering why he was awake, and if he shouldcall for Miss Quiney (who slept always within hail, in a small bedroom);and why, when the night-nursery window lay to the left of his bed, strange lights should be flashing on his right, where the picture ofKing William landing at Torbay hung over his washstand. 

The lights moved to and fro, then they were quenched, and all was darkabout him. But he heard Manasseh's voice, some way off, in thedarkness, and the sound of it brought him to his bearings. He was inthe coach, he remembered; and realising this, he was instantly glad--forhe was a plucky child--that he had not called out to summon Miss Quiney. 

Had there been an accident? At any rate he was not hurt. His fatherhad ridden on ahead, and would reach home many hours in advance. The boy had learnt this from Manasseh. He reasoned that, if an accidenthad happened, his father would not hear of it--would be ridingforward, further and further into the night. He wondered how Manassehand the grooms would manage without his father, who always gave theorders and was never at a loss. 

He sat up, peering out into the night. He was still peering thus, building hasty wild guesses, when again a light showed, waving as itdrew nearer. It came close; it was one of the coach-lamps, and blazedfull into his eyes through the window. The door opened, letting in theroar of the beach and smiting his small nostrils with sea-brine, thatwith one breath purged away the stuffy scent of leather. 

Manasseh was handing some one into the coach. 

"De child--Mas' Richard--if you'll tak' care, miss. He's fas' asleep, prob'ly. "

"But I'm _not_, " said Dicky, sitting bolt upright and gathering his rugsabout him. "Who is it?"

Manasseh perhaps did not hear. He made no reply, at any rate, butturned the lamp full on Ruth Josselin as she sank back against thecushions on Dicky's right. 

"You will find plenty rugs, miss. "

He shut the door. Dicky, holding his breath, heard him replace the lampin its socket, and felt the soft tilt of his great weight as he climbedto the perch behind. 

"R--right away!"

There was a tug, and the great coach rolled forward. In the darknessDicky caught the sound of a smothered sob. 

"Who are you?" he asked. There was no response, and after a moment headded, "I know. You are the girl who put out the fire. I like you. "

He was very sleepy. He wondered why she did not answer; but, hischildish instinct assuring him that she was a friend, in his somnolencehe felt nothing other than trust in her. He nestled close in his rugsand reached out an arm. 

It rubbed across the weals on Ruth's back, and was torture. She clenched her teeth, while tears--tears of physical anguish, irrepressible--over-brimmed her lashes and fell uncounted in thedarkness. 

"You are crying. Why? I like you. " The child's voice trailed off intodream. 

"Closer!" whispered Ruth, and would have forced the embrace upon herpain; but it relaxed. Dicky's head fell sideways, and rested, angledbetween the cushions and her shoulder. 

She sat wide-eyed, staring into folds of darkness, while the coachrolled forward smoothly towards the dawn. 

BOOK II. 

PROBATION. 

Chapter I. 

AFTER TWO YEARS. 

"Come down and play!"

Ruth, looking down from the open lattice, smiled and shook her head. "I must not; I'm doing my lessons. "

"Must not!" mimicked Master Dick. "You're getting stupider andstupider, living up here. If you don't look out, one of these daysyou'll turn into an old maid--just like Miss Quiney. "

"Hs-s-sh! She's downstairs somewhere. "

"I don't care if she hears. " Dicky ran his eyes defiantly along the lineof ground-floor windows under the verandah, then upturned his faceagain. "After coming all this way on purpose to play with you, " heprotested. 

"You have made yourself dreadfully hot. "

"I _am_ hot, " the boy confessed. "I gave Piggy the slip at the foot ofthe hill, and I've run every step of the way. "

"Is _he_ here?" Ruth glanced nervously toward a clump of elms aroundwhich the path from the entrance-gate curved into view. "But yououghtn't to call Mr. Silk 'Piggy, ' you know. It--it's ungentlemanly. "

"Why, I took the name from you! You said yourself, one day, that he wasa pig; and so he is. He has piggy eyes, and he eats too much, andthere's something about the back of his neck you must have noticed. "

"It's cruel of you, Dicky, to remember and cast up what I said when Iknew no better. You know how hard I am learning: in the beginning youhelped me to learn. "

"Did I?" mused Dicky. "Then I wish I hadn't, if you're going to grow upand treat me like this. Oh, very well, " he added stoutly after a pause, "then I'm learning too, learning to be a sailor; and it'll be first-ratepractice to climb aloft to you, over the verandah. You don't mind myspitting on my hands? It's a way they have in the Navy. "

"Dicky, don't be foolish! Think of Miss Quiney's roses. " Finding himinexorable, Ruth began to parley. "I don't want to see Mr. Silk. But if I come down to you, it will not be to play. We'll creep off tothe Well, or somewhere out of hail, and there you must let me read--orperhaps I'll read aloud to you. Promise?"

"What're you reading?"

"The Bible. "

Dicky pulled a face. "Well, the Bible's English, anyway, " he saidresignedly. The sound of a foreign tongue always made him feelpugnacious, and it was ever a question with him how, as a gentleman, totreat a dead language. Death was respectable, but had its ownobligations; obligations which Greek and Latin somehow ignored. 

The house, known as Sabines, stood high on the slope of the midmost ofBoston's three hills, in five acres of ground well set with elms. Captain Vyell had purchased the site some five years before, and hadbuilt himself a retreat away from the traffic that surged about hisofficial residence by the waterside. Of its raucous noises very few--the rattle of a hawser maybe, or a boatswain's whistle, or the yells ofsome stentorian pilot--reached to penetrate the belt of elms surroundingthe house and its green garth; but the Collector had pierced thiswoodland with bold vistas through which the eye overlooked Bostonharbour with its moving panorama of vessels, the old fort then standingwhere now stands the Navy Yard, and the broad waters of the Charlessweeping out to the Bay. 

For eighteen months he, the master of this demesne, had not set footwithin its front gate; not once since the day when on a suddenresolution he had installed Ruth Josselin here, under ward of MissQuiney, to be visited and instructed in theology, the arts, and thesciences, by such teachers as that unparagoned spinster might, with hisapproval, select. In practice he left it entirely to her, and MissQuiney's taste in teachers was of the austerest. What nutriment(one might well have asked) could a young mind extract from the husks ofdoctrine and of grammar purveyed to Ruth by the Reverend MalachiHichens, her tutor in the Holy Scriptures and in the languages of Greeceand Rome?

The answer is that youth, when youth craves for it, will draw knowledgeeven from the empty air and drink it through the very pores of the skin. Mr. Hichens might be dry--inhumanly dry--and his methods repellent; butthere were the books, after all, and the books held food for her hunger, wine for her thirst. So too the harpsichord held music, though MissQuiney's touch upon it was formal and lifeless. . . . In these eighteenmonths Ruth Josselin had been learning eagerly, teaching herself in ahundred ways and by devices of which she wist not. Yet always she wasconscious of the final purpose of this preparation; nay, it possessedher, mastered her. For whatever fate her lord designed her, she wouldbe worthy of it. 

He never came. For eighteen months she had not seen him. Was itcarelessly or in delicacy that he withheld his face? Or peradventure indispleasure? Her heart would stand still at times, and her face palewith the fear of it. She could not bethink her of having displeasedhim; but it might well be that he repented of his vast condescension. Almost without notice, and without any reason given, he had deported herto this house on the hill. . . . Yet, if he repented, why did hecontinue to wrap her around with kindness? Why had she these goodclothes, and food and drink, servants to wait on her, tutors to teachher--everything, in short, but liberty and young companions and hispresence that most of all she desired and dreaded?

On the slope to the south-west of the house, in a dingle well screenedwith willow and hickory, a stream of water gushed from the living rockand had been channelled downhill over a stairway of flat boulders, sothat it dropped in a series of miniature cascades before shooting out ofsight over the top of a ferny hollow. The spot was a favourite one withDicky, for between the pendent willow boughs, as through a frame, itoverlooked the shipping and the broad bosom of the Charles. Ruth and hestole away to it, unperceived of Miss Quiney; to a nook close beside thespray of the fall, where on a boulder the girl could sit and read whileDick wedged his back into a cushion of moss, somewhat higher up theslope, and recumbent settled himself so as to bring (luxurious youngdog!) her face in profile between him and the shining distance. 

She had stipulated for silence while she read her lesson over; but he atonce began to beg off. 

"If you won't let me talk, " he grumbled, "the least you can do is toread aloud. "

"But it's the Bible, " she objected. 

"Oh, well, I don't mind. Only choose something interesting. David andGoliath, or that shipwreck in the Acts. "

"You don't seem to understand that this is a lesson, and I must readwhat Mr. Hichens sets. To-day it's about Hagar and Ishmael. "

"I seem to forget about them; but fire away, and we'll hope there's astory in it. "

Ruth began to read: "_And Sarah saw the son of Hagar the Egyptian, whichshe had born unto Abraham, mocking her. Wherefore she said untoAbraham, Cast out this bondwoman_. . . "

She read on. Before she ended Dicky had raised himself to a sittingposture. "The whole business was a dirty shame, " he declared. "This Ishmael was his own son, eh? Then why should he cast out one sonmore than another?"

"There's a long explanation in the New Testament, " said Ruth. "It's bySt. Paul; and I dare say that Mr. Hichens too, if he sees anythingdifficult in it, will say that Ishmael stands for the bond and Isaac forthe free, and Abraham had to do it, or the teaching wouldn't comeright. "

"He can't make out it was fair; nor St. Paul can't neither, not if youread it to him like you did to me, " asserted Dicky. 

"But I shall not, " answered Ruth after a pause, "and it was ratherclever of you to guess. "

"Why not?"

"Because it would shock him. I used to find the Bible just as dull ashe makes it out: but one day I heard Mr. Langton standing up for it. Mr. Langton said it was the finest book in the world and the mostfascinating, if only you read it in the proper way; and the proper way, he said, is to forget all about its being divided into verses and justtake it like any other book. I tried that, and it makes all thedifference. "

"You mean to say you like it?" asked Dicky, incredulous. 

"I love it. I can't get away from the people in it. They are sosplendid, one moment; and, the next, they are just too mean and pettyfor words; and the queer part of it is, they never see. They tellfalsehoods, and they cheat, and the things they do to get into Palestineare simply disgusting--even if they had the shadow of a right there, which they haven't. "

"But the land was promised to them. "

She had a mind to criticise that promise, but checked her lips. He was a child, and she would do no violence to the child's mind. 

Getting no answer, he considered for a while, and harked back. "But I don't see, " he began, and halted, casting about to expresshimself. "I don't see why, if you read it like that to yourself, youshould read it differently to old Hichens. That's a sort of pretending, you know. "

She turned her eyes on him, and they were straight and honest, asalways. "Oh, " said she, "you are a man, of course!"

Master Dicky blushed with pleasure. 

"Men, " she went on, "can go the straight way to get what they wish. The way is usually hard--it ought to be hard if the man is worthanything--but it is always quite straight and simple, else it is wrong. Now women have to win through men; which means that they must go roundabout. "

"But old Hichens?"

To herself she might have answered, "He only is allowed to me here. On whom else can I practise to please? But, alas! I practise for amaster who never comes!" Aloud she said, "You are excited to-day, Dicky. You have something to tell me. "

"I should think I had!"

"What is it?"

"It's about Uncle Harry. Dad showed me a letter from him to-day, andhe's fought a splendid action down off Grand Bahama. Oh, you must hear!It seems he'd been beating about in his frigate for close on threemonths--on and off the islands on the look-out for those Spanish fellowsthat snap up our fruit-ships. Well, the water on board was beginning tosmell; so he ran in through the nor'-west entrance of ProvidenceChannel, anchored just inside, and sent his casks ashore to be refilled. They'd taken in the fresh stock, and the _Venus_ was weighing for seaagain almost before the last boatload came alongside. --Can't you seeher, the beauty! One anchor lifted, t'other chain shortened in, tops'lsand t'gallants'ls cast off, ready to cant her at the right moment--"

"Is that how they do it?"

"Of course it is. Well just then Uncle Harry spied a boat beating inthrough the entrance. He had passed her outside two days before--one ofthose small open craft that dodge about groping for sponges--splendidnaked fellows, the crews are. She had put about and run back in searchof him, and her news was of a Spanish guarda-costa making down towardsHavana with three prizes. Think of it! Uncle Harry was off and afterthem like a greyhound, and at sunrise next morning he sighted them in abunch. He had the wind of them and the legs of them; there isn't aspeedier frigate afloat than the _Venus_--although, he says, she wasgetting foul with weed: and after being chased for a couple of hours theSpaniard and two of the prizes hauled up and showed fight. Now for it!. . . He ran past the guarda-costa, drawing her fire, but no great harmdone; shot up under the sterns of the two prizes, that were lying nottwo hundred yards apart; and raked 'em with half-a-broadside apiece--notime, you see, to reload between. It pretty well cleaned every Spaniardoff their decks--Why are you putting your hands to your ears!"

"Go on, " said Ruth withdrawing them. 

"By this, of course, he had lost way and given the guarda-costa the windof him. But she couldn't reach the _Venus_ for twenty minutes and more, because of the prizes lying helpless right in her way, and in half thattime Uncle Harry had filled sail again and was manoeuvring out ofdanger. Bit by bit he worked around her for the wind'ard berth, got it, bore down again and hammered her for close upon three hours. Shefought, he says, like a rat in a sink, and when at last she pulled downher colours the two prizes had patched up somehow and were well off forHavana after the third, that had showed no fight from the beginning. Quick as lightning he gets his prisoners on board, heads off on the newchase, and by sundown has taken the prizes all three--the third one atimber-ship, full of mahogany . . . That wasn't the end of his luck, either; for the captain of the guarda-costa turned out to be ablackguard that two years ago took a British captain prisoner and cutoff his ears, which accounts for his fighting so hard. 'Didn't want tomeet me if he could help it, ' writes Uncle Harry, and says the manwouldn't haul down the flag till his crew had tied him up with ropes. "

"What happened to him?"

"Uncle Harry shipped him off to England. This was from Carolina, wherehe sailed in with all the four vessels in convoy. And now, guess!He has refitted there, and is sailing around for Boston, and papa haspromised to ask him to take me for a cruise, to see if he can make asailor of me!"

"But that won't be for years. "

"Oh yes, it will. You can join the Navy at any age. They ship you onas a cabin-boy, or sometimes as the Captain's servant; and papa saysthat for the first cruise Uncle Harry's wife will look after me. "

"But"--Ruth opened beautiful eyes of astonishment. "Your Uncle Harry isnot married? Why, more than once you have told me that you would nevertake a wife when you grew up, but be like your uncle and live only forsailing a ship and fighting. "

"He is, though. It happened at Carolina, whilst the _Venus_ wasrefitting; and I believe her father is Governor there, or something ofthe sort, but I didn't read that part of the letter very carefully. There was a lot of silly talk in it, quite different from the fighting. I remember, though, he said he was coming around here for his honeymoon;and I'm glad, on the whole. "

"On the whole? When you've dreamed, all this while, of seeing youruncle and growing up to be like him!"

"I mean that on the whole I'm glad he is married. It--it shows the twothings can go together after all; and, Ruth--"

She turned in some wonderment as his voice faltered, and wondered moreat sight of his young face. It was crimson. 

"No, please! I want you not to look, " he entreated. "I want you to turnyour face away and listen . . . Ruth, " he blurted, "I love you betterthan anybody in the whole world!"

"Dear Dicky!"

"--and I think you're the loveliest person that ever was--besides beingthe best. "

"It's lovely of you, at any rate, to think so. " Ruth, forgetting hiscommand, turned her eyes again on Dicky, and they were dewy. For indeedshe loved him and his boyish chivalrous ways. Had he not been herfriend from the first, taking her in perfect trust, and in the hour thathad branded her and in her dreams seared her yet? Often, yet, in themid-watches of the night she started out of sleep and lay quiveringalong her exquisite body from head to heel, while the awful writingawoke and crawled and ate again, etching itself upon her flesh. 

"But--but it made me miserable!" choked Dicky. 

"Miserable! Why?"

"Because I wanted to grow up and marry you, " he managed to saydefiantly. "And the two things didn't seem to fit at all. I couldn'tmake them fit. But of course, " he went on in a cheerfuller voice, theworst of his confession over, "if Uncle Harry can be married, whyshouldn't we?"

She bent her head low over the book. Calf-love is absurd, but sohonest, so serious; and like all other sweet natural foolishness shouldbe sacred to the pure of heart. 

"I ought to tell you something though, " he went on gravely andhesitated. 

"Yes, Dicky! What is it?"

"Well, I don't quite know what it means, and I don't like to ask any oneelse. Perhaps you can tell me. . . . I wouldn't ask it if it weren'tthat I'd hate to take you in; or if I could find out any other way. "

"But what is it, dear?"

"Something against me. I can't tell what, though I've looked at myselfagain and again in the glass, trying. " He met her eyes bravely, with aneffort. "Ruth, dear--what is a bastard?"

Ruth sat still. Her palms were folded, one upon another, over the bookon her knees. 

"But what is it?" he pleaded. 

"It means, " she said quietly, "a child whose father and mother are notmarried--not properly married. "

A pause followed--a long pause--and the tumbling cascade sounded louderand louder in Ruth's ears, while Dicky considered. 

"Do you think, " he asked at length "that papa was not properly marriedto my mother?"

"No, dear--no. And even if that were so, what difference could it maketo my loving you?"

"It wouldn't make any! Sure?"

"Sure. "

"But it might make a difference to papa, " he persisted, "if ever papahad another child--like Abraham, you know--" Here he jumped to hisfeet, for she had risen of a sudden. "Why, what is the matter?"

She held out a hand. There were many dragon-flies by the fall, and forthe moment he guessed that one of them had stung her. 

"Dicky, " she said. "Whatever happens, you and I will be friendsalways. "

"Always, " he echoed, taking her hand and ready to search for the mark ofthe sting. But her eyes were fastened on the water bubbling from thewell head. 

A branch creaked aloft, and to the right of the well head the hickorybushes rustled and parted. 

"So here are the truants!" exclaimed a voice. "Good-morning, MissJosselin!"

Chapter II. 

MR. SILK. 

The Reverend Nahum Silk, B. A. , sometime of St. Alban's Hall, Oxford, hadfirst arrived in America as a missioner seeking a sphere of labour inGeneral Oglethorpe's new colony of Georgia. He was then (1733-4) ayoung man, newly admitted to priest's orders, and undergoing what hetook to be a crisis of the soul. Sensual natures, such as his, notuncommonly suffer in youth a combustion of religious sentiment. The fervour is short-lived, the flame is expelled by its own blast, andleaves a house swept and garnished, inviting devils. 

For the hard fare of Georgia he soon began to seek consolations, andearly in the second year of his ministry a sufficiently gross scandaltumbled him out of the little colony. Lacking the grit to return toEngland and face out his relatives' displeasure, he had driftednorthwards to Massachusetts, and there had picked up with a slant ofluck. A number of godly and well-to-do citizens of Boston had recentlybanded themselves into an association for supplying religiousopportunities to the seamen frequenting the port, and to the CommitteeMr. Silk commended himself by a hail-fellow manner and a shrewdness ofspeech which, since it showed through a coat of unction, might besupposed to mean shrewdness in grain. Cunning indeed the man could be, for his short ends; but his shrewdness began and ended in a trick oftalking, and in the conduct of life he trimmed sail to his appetites. 

His business of missioner (or, as he jocosely put it, Chaplain of theFleet) soon brought him to the notice of Captain Vyell, Collector ofCustoms, with whom by the same trick of speech (slightly adapted) hemanaged to ingratiate himself, scenting the flesh-pots. For he belongedto the tribe to whom a patron never comes amiss. Captain Vyell wasamused by the man; knew him for a sycophant; but tolerated him at tableand promoted him (in Batty Langton's phrase) to be his trencherchaplain. He and Langton took an easy malicious delight, over theirwine, in shocking Mr. Silk with their free thought and seeing how"the dog swallowed it. "

The dog swallowed his dirty puddings very cleverly, and with just somuch show of protest as he felt to be due to his Orders. He had theaccent of an English gentleman and enough of the manner to pass muster. But the Collector erred when he said that "Silk was only a beast in hiscups, " and he erred with a carelessness well-nigh wicked when he madethe man Dicky's tutor. 

This step had coincided with the relegation of Ruth and Miss Quiney toSabines; but whether by chance or of purpose no one but the Collectorcould tell. Of his intentions toward the girl he said nothing, even toBatty Langton. Very likely they were not clear to himself. He knewwell enough how fast and far gossip travelled in New England; anddoubted not at all that his adventure at Port Nassau had within a fewdays been whispered and canvassed throughout Boston. His own grooms, nodoubt, had talked. But he could take a scornful amusement in bafflingspeculation while he made up his own mind. In one particular only hehad been prompt--in propitiating Miss Quiney. On reaching home, somehours ahead of the girl, he had summoned Miss Quiney to his library andtold her the whole story. The interview on her part had beenexclamatory and tearful; but the good lady, with all her absurdities, was a Christian. She was a woman too, and delighted to serve anovermastering will. She had left him with a promise to lay herconscience in prayer before the Lord; and, next morning, Ruth's beautyhad done the rest. 

"Good-morning, Miss Josselin!" Ruth started and glanced up the slopewith a shiver. The voice of Mr. Silk always curdled her flesh. 

"La! la!" went on Mr. Silk, nodding down admiration. "What a group tostartle!--Cupid extracting a thorn from the hand of Venus--or (shall wesay?) the Love god, having wounded his mother in sport, kisses thescratch to make it well. Ha, ha!"

"Shall I continue, sir?" said Ruth, recovering herself. "The pair aresurprised by a satyr who crept down to the spring to bathe his achinghead--"

"Hard on me, as usual!" Mr. Silk protested, climbing down the slope. "But 'tis the privilege of beauty to be cruel. As it happens, I drankmoderately last night, and I come with a message from the Diana of thesegroves. Miss Quiney wishes to communicate to you some news I have hadthe honour to bring in a letter from Captain Vyell--or, as we must nowcall him, Sir Oliver. "

"Sir Oliver?" echoed Ruth, not understanding at all. 

"The _Fish-hawk_ arrived in harbour this morning with the Englishmail-bags; and the Collector has letters informing him that his uncle, Sir Thomas Vyell, is dead after a short illness--the cause, jail fever, contracted while serving at Launceston, in Cornwall, on the Grand Jury. "

"Captain Vyell succeeds?"

"To the title and, I believe, to very considerable estates. His uncleleaves no male child. "

"Dicky had not told me of this. "

"--Because, " explained the boy, "I didn't know what it meant, and Idon't know now. Papa told me this morning that his uncle was dead, homein England; but I'd never heard of him, and it slipped out of my mind. Can titles, as you call them, be passed on like that? And if papa died, should I get one? Or would it go to Uncle Harry?"

"It would go to your uncle, " said Mr. Silk. "Now run along to the houseand tell Miss Quiney that I have found the pair of you. She was gettinganxious. "

Dicky hesitated. He knew that Ruth had a horror of his tutor. 

"Yes, run, " she commanded, reading his glance. "We follow at once. "

The boy scrambled up the slope. Mr. Silk looked after him and chuckled. 

"Dicky don't know yet that there are two sides to a blanket. "

Getting no answer--for she had turned and was stooping to pick up herbook--he went on, "Vyell had a letter, among others, from the widow, Lady Caroline; and that, between ourselves, is the cause of my errand. She writes that she is taking a trip across here, to restore her nerves, and is bringing her daughter for company. The daughter, so near as Igather, is of an age near-about Vyell's. See?"

"I am afraid I do not. " Ruth had recovered her book and her composure. A rose-flush showed yet on either cheek, but it lay not within Mr. Silk's competence to read so delicate a signal. "Will you explain?"

"Well"--he leered--"it did occur to me there might be some cleverness inthe lady's search after consolation. Her daughter and our Collectorbeing cousins--eh? At any rate, that's her first thought; to bring thegirl--woman, if you prefer it--over and renew acquaintance with theheir. Must be excused if I misjudge her. Set it down to zeal for you, Miss Josselin. "

"Willingly, Mr. Silk--if your zeal for me did not outrun myunderstanding. "

"Yet you're clever. But you won't persuade me you don't see thedifficulty. . . . Er--how shall I put it? The Collector--we'll have toget used to calling him Sir Oliver--is as cool under fire as any manthis side of the Atlantic; fire of criticism, I mean. There's a limitthough. He despises Colonial opinion--that's his pose; takes pride indespising it, encouraged by Langton. But England? his family?--that'sanother matter. An aunt--and that aunt an earl's daughter--If you'llbelieve me, Miss Josselin, I'm a man of family and know the sort. They're incredible. And the younger lady, if I may remind you, calledDiana; which--er--may warn us that she, too, is particular about thesethings. " Here Mr. Silk, having at length found his retort upon hersimilitude of the satyr, licked his lips. 

Ruth drew up and stood tapping her foot. "May I beg to be told exactlywhat has happened, sir?"

"What has happened? What has happened is that Vyell is placing Sabinesat the disposal of his aunt and cousin for so long as they may honourBoston with their presence. He sends the Quiney word to pack and holdherself in readiness for a flitting. Whither? I cannot say; nor can heyet have found the temporary nest for you. But doubtless you will hearin due course. May I offer you my arm?"

"I thank you, no. Indeed we will part here, unless you have furtherbusiness in the house--and I gather that your errand there isdischarged. . . . One question--Captain Vyell sent his message by aletter, which Miss Quiney no doubt will show to me. Did he furthercommission you with a verbal one? You had better, " she added quietly, "be particular about telling me the truth; for I may question him, andfor a discovered falsehood he is capable of beating you. "

"What I have said, " stammered the clergyman, "was--er--entirely on myown responsibility. I--I conceived you would find it sympathetic--helpful perhaps. Believe me, Miss Josselin, I have considerablefeeling for you and your--er--position. "

"I thank you. " She dismissed him with a gentle curtsy. "I feel almostsure you have been doing your best. "

Chapter III. 

MR. HICHENS. 

She turned and walked slowly back to the house. Once within the frontdoor and out of his sight, she was tempted to rush across the hall andup the stairs to her own room. She was indeed gathering up her skirtsfor the run, when in the hall she almost collided with the ReverendMalachi Hichens, who stood there with his nose buried in a vase ofroses, while behind his back his hands interwove themselves and pulledeach at the other's bony knuckles. 

"Ah!" He faced about with a stiff bow, and a glance up at the tallclock. "You are late this morning, Miss Josselin. But I dare say mygood brother Silk has been detaining you in talk?"

"On the contrary, " answered Ruth, "his talk has rather hastened me thannot. "

They entered the library. "Miss Quiney tells me, " he said, "that ourstudies are to suffer a brief interruption; that you are about to take acountry holiday. You anticipate it with delight, I doubt not?"

"Have I been, then, so listless a scholar?" she asked, smiling. 

"No, " he answered. "I have never looked on you as eager for praise, orI should have told you that your progress--in Greek particularly--hasbeen exceptional; for a young lady, I might almost say, abnormal. "

"I am grateful to you at any rate for saying it now. It happens thatjust now I wanted something to give me back a little self-respect. "

"But I do not suppose you so abnormal as, at your age, to undervalue aholiday, " he continued. "It is only we elders who live haunted by thewords 'Work while ye have the light. ' If youth extract any moral fromthe brevity of life it is rather the pagan warning, _Collige rosas_. "

Her eyes rested on him, still smiling, but behind her smile she waswondering. Did he--this dry, sallow old man, with the knock-knees andungainly frame, the soiled bands, the black suit, threadbare, hideous incut, hideous in itself (Ruth had a child's horror of black)--did hespeak thus out of knowledge, or was he but using phrases of convention?Ruth feared and distrusted all religious folk--clergymen above all; yetinstinct had told her at the first that Mr. Hichens was honest, evengood in an unlovely fashion; and by many small daily tests she hadproved this. Was it possible that Mr. Hichens had ever gathered rosesin his youth? Was it possible that, expecting Heaven and professing aspiritual joy in redemption, a man could symbolise his soul's state bywearing these dingy weeds? Had he no sense of congruity, or was allreligion so false in grain that it perverted not only the believer'sjudgment but his very senses, turning white into black for him, andmaking beauty and ugliness change places?

"For my part, " said Mr. Hichens wistfully, "I regret the interruption;for I had even played with the thought of teaching you some Hebrew. "He paused and sighed. "But doubtless the Almighty denies us these smallpleasures for our good. . . . Shall we begin with our repetition?I forget the number of the Psalm?"

"The forty-fifth, " said Ruth, finding the place and handing him thebook. "_My heart is inditing of a good matter: I speak of the thingswhich I have made unto the king_. " . . . She recited the opening linesvery quietly, but her voice lifted at the third verse. Beautiful wordsalways affected her poignantly, but the language of the Bible morepoignantly than any other, because her own unforgettable injury had beenderived from it and sanctioned by it, and because at the base of thingsour enemies in this world are dearer to us than friends. They clingcloser. 

Yet, --and paradox though it be--the Bible was the more alive to herbecause, on Mr. Langton's hint, she had taken it like any other book, ignoring the Genevan division of verses and the sophisticated chapterheadings. Thus studied, it had revenged itself by taking possession ofher. It held all the fascination of the East, and little by littleunlocked it--Abraham at his tent door, Rebekah by the fountain, her ownnamesake Ruth in the dim threshing-floor of Boaz, King Saul wrestlingwith his dark hour, the last loathly years of David, Jezebel at thewindow, Job on his dung-heap, Athaliah murdering the seed royal, andagain Athaliah dragged forth by the stable-way and calling _Treason!Treason!_ . . . Bedouins with strings of camels, scent of camels by thecity gate, clashing of distant cymbals, hush of fear--plot andcounterplot in the apartments of the women--outcries, lusts, hates--blood on the temple steps--blood oozing, welling across the gold--bloodcaking in spots upon illimitable desert sands--watchmen by the wall--inthe dark streets a woman with bleeding back and feet seeking andcalling, "_I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if ye find mybeloved_--"

"_Hearken, O daughter, and consider, incline thine ear_"--Ruth's voiceswelled up on a full note: "_forget also thine own people and thyfather's house. _"

"_So shall the King have pleasure in thy beauty: for he is thy lord, andworship thou him_. "

"Excuse me--'for he is thy Lord God, '" corrected Mr. Hichens. . . . "We are taking the Prayer Book's version. "

"I changed to the Bible version on purpose, " Ruth confessed;"and 'lord' ought to have a small 'l'. The Prayer Book makes nonsenseof it. They are bringing in the bride, the princess, to her lord. _She is all glorious within, her clothing is of wrought gold. She shallbe brought unto the King in raiment of needlework: the virgins that beher fellows shall bear her company_--"

"The Hebrew, " said Mr. Hichens, blinking over his own text which he hadhastily consulted, "would seem to bear you out, or at least to leave thequestion open. But, after all, it matters little, since, as the chapterheading explains in the Authorized Version, the supposed bride is theChurch, and the bridegroom, therefore, necessarily Our Lord. "

"Do you think that, or anything like that, was in the mind of the manwho wrote it?" asked Ruth, rebellious. "The title says, 'To the ChiefMusician upon Shoshannim'--whatever that may mean. "

"It means that it was to be sung to a tune called Shoshannim or Lilies--doubtless a well-known one. "

"It has a beautiful name, then; and he calls it too 'Maschil, A song ofLoves. '"

"Historically no doubt you are right, " agreed Mr. Hichens. "The song isundoubtedly later than David, and was written as a Prothalamion for aroyal bride. It is, as you say, exceedingly beautiful; but perhaps wehad best confine our attention to its allegorical side. You probably donot guess who the bride was?"

"No, " Ruth admitted. "Who was she?"

"It is generally admitted, I believe, to have been written as a bridalhymn for Queen Jezebel. "

"O--oh!" Ruth bit her lip, but had to laugh in spite of herself. 

Chapter IV. 

VASHTI. 

The first bad suggestion almost certainly came from Mr. Silk. Two or three of the company afterwards put their heads together and, comparing recollections, agreed that either Silk or Manley had startedit. Beyond the alternative they could not trace it. 

But the whole table, they admitted, had been to blame, and prettydamnably. To be sure they were drunk, every man Jack of them, theCollector included. The Collector, indolent by nature but capable oflong stretches of work at a pinch, had been at his desk since sixo'clock in the morning. The news brought by the _Fish-hawk_ had reachedhim at five; and after bathing, dressing, and drinking his chocolate, hehad started to write, and had been writing letters all day. The most ofthese were lengthy, addressed to England, to his relatives, his Londonlawyers, the steward at Carwithiel. . . . The Surveyor andDeputy-Collector could deal--as they usually did--with the officialcorrespondence of the Custom House; his own Secretary had the light taskof penning a score of invitations to dinner; but these letters ofcondolence and private business must be written by his own hand, as alsoa note to Governor Shirley formally announcing his accession and newtitle. 

The Collector dined at five. He laid down his pen at four, havingwritten for ten hours almost at a stretch, declining all food--for hehated to mix up work with eating and drinking. Before dressing fordinner he refreshed himself with another bath; but he came to table witha jaded brain and a stomach fasting beyond appetite for food; and thewine was champagne. 

Miss Quiney and Ruth Josselin, seated that evening in the drawing-roomat Sabines, were startled at eight o'clock or thereabouts by aknocking on the front door. Miss Quiney looked up from hertambour-work, with hand and needle suspended in mid-air, and gazedacross at Ruth, who, seated at the harpsichord, had been singingsoftly--murmuring rather--the notes of Ben Jonson's _Charis herTriumph_--

 "Have you seen but a bright Lillie grow Before rude hands have touch'd it?"--

--but desisted at the noise and slewed her body half around, letting herfingers rest on the keys. 

"Who in the world--at this hour?" demanded Miss Quiney. 

A serving-maid ushered in Manasseh. 

The tall black halted a little within the doorway, saluted and stoodgrinning respectfully, his white teeth gleaming in the candle-light. 

"Yo' pardon, ladies. His Honah sends to say he entertainin' to-night. Plenty people drink his Honah's health an' long life to Sir OlivahVyell. He wish pertick'ly Mis' Josselin drink it. He tol' me run, getout sedan-chair an' fetch Mis' Josselin along; fetch her back soon asshe likes. Chairmen at de door dis moment, waitin'. I mak' 'em run. "

Ruth stood up. Her hand went to the edge of her bodice open below thethroat. 

"Must I?" she asked, turning from Manasseh to Miss Quiney. Her voicewas tense. 

"I--I think so, dear, " Miss Quiney answered after a pause. "It is acommand, almost; and to-night naturally Captain Vyell--Sir Oliver--has aclaim on our congratulations. "

"You tell me to go? . . . Oh! but let me be sure you know what you areadvising. " She faced the negro again. "What guests is Sir Oliverentertaining?"

Manasseh enumerated a dozen. 

"All gentlemen! So, you see!"

"Captain--Sir Oliver (bless me, how I forget! ) has an aversion fromladies' society--Boston ladies. . . . It is not for me to criticise, butthe distaste is well known. "

"And the gentlemen, Manasseh--they will have taken a great deal of wineby now?"

Manasseh spread out his hands, and again his teeth gleamed. "To besho', Mis' Josselin; it is not ebery day in the yeah dat Cap'n Vyellbecome Sir Olivah--"

"I did not ask you, " interrupted Ruth coldly, "to excuse your errand. . . . And now, Tatty dear, do you still bid me to go?"

"On the contrary, I forbid it. "

Ruth stepped close to the little lady. Said she, standing straightbefore her and looking down, "It cost you some courage to say that. "

"It may cost me more to-morrow; but I am not afraid. "

"My brave Tatty! But the courage is thrown away, for I am going. "

"You do not mean this?"

"I do mean it. My master sends for me. You know what duty I owe him. "

"He is just. He will thank you to-morrow that you disobeyed. "

"I shall not disobey. "

Little Miss Quiney, looking up into her ward's eyes, argued this pointno further. "Very well, " said she. "Then I go too. " She closed hermouth firmly, squaring her jaw. 

"But in the sedan there is room for one only. "

"Then I go first, " said Miss Quiney, "and the chair shall return foryou. That, " she went on, falling back upon her usual pedantic speech, "presents no difficulty whatever to me. What I wear does not matter--the gentlemen will not regard it. But you must dress in what you haveof the best. It--it will assist you. Being without experience, youprobably have no notion how dress assists one's self-respect. "

"I think I have some little notion, " Ruth assured her demurely. 

"And while the chair is taking me and returning, you will have good timeto dress. On no account are you to hurry. . . . It is essential that atno point--at _no_ point, dear--you allow yourself to be hurried, or toshow any trace of hurry. "

Ruth nodded slowly. "Yes, Tatty. I understand. But, little lionessthat you are, do _you?_ You will be alone, and for some time withthese--with these--"

"I have never mentioned it to a living soul before, " said Miss Quiney, dismissing Manasseh with a wave of the hand and closing the door uponhim; "but I had an eldest brother--in the Massachusetts militia--who, not to put too fine a point on it, was sadly addicted to the bottle. It shortened his days. . . . A bright young genius, of which we hopedmuch, and (I fear me) not all unselfishly, for our family wasimpoverished. But he went astray. Towards the end he would bring homehis boon companions--I will say this for poor dear George, that hisfootsteps, at their unsteadiest, ever tended homeward; he never affectedlow haunts--and it fell to me as the eldest daughter of the house tokeep his hospitality within bounds--"

"Dear Tatty!" Ruth stooped and kissed the plain little face, cuttingshort the narrative. It was strange to note how these two of diverseages--between whom for the length of their acquaintance no dispute ofmastery had arisen--now suddenly and in quick alternation, out of purelove, asserted will against will. "You shall tell me to-morrow. (I always knew that your meekness and weakness were only pretence. )But just now we must hurry. "

"Hurry, as I must repeat, " answered Miss Quiney primly, smoothing downthe front of her creased grey satin skirt, "is--will be--our capitalmistake. For me, I need in this weather but an additional shawl. I am ready. . . . Go to your room . . . And let me enjoin a certaindeliberation even in crossing the hall. Manasseh is there, and beforeservants--even a negro--The white brocade if I may advise; it is fresherthan the rose-coloured silk--and the hair combed a trifle higher off thebrows. That, with the brocade, will correct your girlishness somewhat. Brocades are for dignity, and it is dignity we chiefly need to-night. . . . Shall I send Selina to you? No? Well, she would be persuadingyou to some new twist or experiment with your hair, and you are betterwithout her. Also I shall want a last word with you when I have fetchedmy cloak, and Selina is better out of the way. "

Miss Quiney's last word was a curious one. It took the form of a pearlnecklace, her one possession of value, last surviving heirloom of theQuineys, of whom she was the last surviving descendant: her lasttangible evidence, too, of those bygone better days. She never wore it, and it never saw the light save when she unlocked the worn jewel-case tomake sure that her treasure had not been stolen. 

She entered Ruth's room with it furtively. Despite her injunctionagainst hurry, the girl had already indued the white brocade and stoodbefore the mirror conning herself. She wore no jewels; she owned none. 

"Shut your eyes, dear, " commanded Miss Quiney, and, stealing up behindher, slipped and clasped the necklace about her throat, then fell back, admiring the reflection in the glass. 

"Oh, Tatty!"

But Ruth, too, had to pause for a moment to admire. When she turned, Miss Quiney, forgetting her own injunction, had stolen in haste from theroom. 

The girl's eyes moistened. For a moment she saw herself reflected fromthe glass in a blur. Then through the blur the necklace took shape, point by point of light, pearl by pearl, until the whole chain grewdefinite in the parting of the bodice, resting on the rise of her youngbosom. 

Yes, and the girl saw that it was good. 

A string of words danced upon her brain, as though the mirrored pearlsreflected them. 

_She shall be brought unto the King . . . The virgins that be herfellows shall bear her company_. 

Chapter V. 

SIR OLIVER'S HEALTH. 

"De lady is here, yo' Honah!"

Manasseh announced it from the doorway and stood aside. Of the companyfour had already succumbed and slid from their chairs. The othersstaggered to their feet, Sir Oliver as promptly as any. With a faceunnaturally white he leaned forward, clutching the edge of the long ovaltable, and stared between the silver candelabra down the broken ranks ofhis guests--Mr. Silk, purple of face as his patron was pale; Ned Manley, maundering the tag of a chorus; Captain St. Maur, Captain Goodacre, andEnsign Lumley, British officers captured by the French at Fort Chanseauand released to live at Boston on parole until the war should end; Mr. Fynes, the Collector's Secretary; Mr. Bythesea, Deputy-Collector; youngShem Hacksteed and young Denzil Baynes, sons of wealthy New Englanders, astray for the while, and sowing their wild oats in a society openlyscornful of New England traditions. 

Batty Langton's was the chair nearest the door, and Batty Langton wasthe one moderately sober man of the company. He had not heard, in timeto interfere, the proposal to send for Ruth: it had started somewhere atthe Collector's end of the table. But trifler though he was, he thoughtit cruel to the girl--a damnable shame--and pulled himself together toprevent what mischief he might. At the same time he felt curious to seeher, curious to learn if these many months of seclusion had fulfilledthe Collector's wager that Ruth Josselin would grow to be the loveliestwoman in America. At Manasseh's announcement he faced about, and, witha gasp, clutched at the back of his chair. 

In the doorway stood little Miss Quiney. It was so ludicrous adisappointment that for the moment no one found speech. Langton heardGoodacre, behind him, catch his breath upon a wondering "O--oh!" andfelt the shock run down the table along the unsteady ranks. At the farend a voice--Mr. Silk's--cackled and burst into unseemly laughter. 

Langton swung round. "Mr. Fynes, " he called sharply, "oblige me, please, by silencing that clergyman--with a napkin in his mouth, ifnecessary. "

He turned again to Miss Quiney. "Madam, " he said, offering his arm, "let me lead you to a seat by Sir Oliver. "

The little lady accepted with a curtsy. A faint flush showed uponeither cheek bone, and in her eyes could be read the light of battle. It commanded his admiration the more that her small arm trembled againsthis sleeve. "The courage of it, " he murmured; "and Miss Quiney of allwomen!"

She needed courage. The Collector's handsome face greeted her with ascowl and a hard stare; he could be intractable in his cups. 

"Excuse me, madam, but I sent for Miss Josselin. "

She answered him, but first made low obeisance. "Ruth Josselin willattend, sir, with all despatch. The sedan is capable of accommodatingbut one at a time. "

There stood an empty chair on the Collector's right. To set it for herMr. Langton had, as a preliminary, to stoop and drag aside the legs of areveller procumbent on the floor. The effort flushed him; but MissQuiney, with an inclination of the head, slipped into the seat as thoughshe had seen nothing unusual. 

"And it gives me the occasion, " she continued respectfully, as her eyespassed over the form of young Manley opposite, who stood with his glassat an angle, spilling its wine on the mahogany, "of expressing--I thankyou. . . . What? Is it Mr. Silk? A pleasure, indeed! . . . Yes, Irarely take wine, but on such an occasion as this--an occasion, as I wassaying, to felicitate Sir Oliver Vyell on his accession to a title whichwe, who have served him, best know his capacity to adorn. "

"Oh, damn!" growled the Collector under his breath. 

"Half a glassful only!" Miss Quiney entreated, as Mr. Silk poured forher. She was, in fact, desperately telling herself that if sheattempted to lift a full glass, her shaking hand would betray her. 

"Yo' Honah--Mis' Josselin!"

Mr. Langton had caught the sound of Manasseh's footfall in the corridorwithout, and was on the alert before the girl entered. But at sight ofher in the doorway he fell back for a moment. 

Yes, the Collector's promise had come true--and far more than true. She was marvellous. 

It was by mere beauty, too, that she dazzled, helped by no jewels butthe one plain rope of pearls at her throat. She stood there holdingherself erect, but not stiffly, with chin slightly lifted; not inscorn, nor yet in defiance, though you were no sooner satisfied of thisthan a tiniest curve of the nostril set you doubting. But no; she wasneither scornful nor defiant--alert rather, as a fair animal quiveringwith life, confronting some new experience that for the moment it failsto read. Or--borrowing her morning's simile, to convert it--you mightliken her to huntress-maiden Diana, surprised upon arrested foot;instep arched, nostril quivering to the unfamiliar, eyes travelling insudden speculation over a group of satyrs in a glade. For a certaintythat poise of the chin emphasised the head's perfect carriage; as didthe fashion of her head-tire, too--the hair drawn straight above thebrows and piled superbly, to break and escape in two carelesslove-locks on the nape of the neck--in the ripple of each a smile, correcting the goddess to the woman. The right arm hung almost straightat her side, the hand ready to gather a fold of the white brocadedskirt; the left slanted up to her bosom, where its finger-tips touchedthe stem of a white rose in the lace at the parting of the bodice. . . . 

So she stood--for ten seconds maybe--under the droop of the heavycurtain Manasseh held aside for her. The hush of the room was homage toher beauty. Her gaze, passing between the lines of his guests, soughtthe Collector. It was fearless, but held a hint of expectancy. Perhapsshe waited for him to leave his place and come forward to receive her. But he made no motion to do this; not being, in fact, sufficient masterof his legs. 

"Good-evening, my lord!" She swept him a curtsy. "You sent for me?"

Before he could answer, she had lowered her eyes. They rested on achair that happened to stand empty beside Batty Langton, and a slightinclination of the head gave Langton to understand that she wished himto offer it. He did so, and she moved to it. The men, embarrassed fora moment by their host's silence--they had expected him to answer her, but he stood staring angrily as one rebuffed--followed her cue andreseated themselves. He, too, dropped back in his chair, leaned forwardfor the decanter, and poured himself more wine. The buzz of talkrevived, at first a word or two here and there, tentative after thecheck, then more confidently. Within a minute the voices were babelagain. 

Batty Langton pondered. A baronet should not be addressed as "my lord, "and she had been guilty of a solecism. At the same time her manner hadbeen perfect; her carriage admirably self-possessed. Her choice of aseat, too, at the end of the table and furthest from Sir Oliver--if shehad come unwillingly--had been wittily taken, and on the moment, andwith the appearance of deliberate ease. 

"They will be calling on you presently to drink our host's health, " hesuggested, clearing a space of the table in front of her and collectingvery dexterously two or three unused wine-glasses. Champagne? . . . Miss Quiney is drinking champagne, I see, though her neighbours havedeserted it for red wine. Sir Oliver, by the way, grows lazy in pushingthe decanters. . . . Shall I signal to him?"

"On no account. Champagne, if you please . . . Though I had rather youkept it in readiness. "

"I am sorry, Miss Josselin, but there you ask of me the one thingimpossible. I cannot abide to let wine stand and wait; and champagne--watch it, how it protests!" He filled her glass and refilled his own. "By the way, " he added, sinking his voice, "one is permitted tocongratulate a debutante?"

"And to criticise. "

"There was nothing to criticise except--Oh, well, a trifle. At home inEngland we don't 'my lord' a mere baronet, you know. "

"But since he _is_ my lord?" She smiled gently, answering his puzzledstare. "How, otherwise, should I be here?"

Mr. Langton took wine to digest this. He shook his head. "You mustforgive me. It is clear that I am drunk--abominably drunk--for I missthe point--"

"You accuse yourself unjustly. "

"Do I? Well, I have certainly drunk a deal more wine than is good forme, and it will be revenged to-morrow. As a rule, "--he glanced aroundat his fellow-topers--"I pride myself that in head and legs I aminexpugnable. We all have our gifts; and i' faith until a moment ago Iwas patting myself on the back for owning this one. "

"And why, Mr. Langton?"

"On the thought, Mistress Josselin, that I had cut out the frigate, asour tars say, and towed the prize to moorings before the others couldfire a gun. "

"I had hoped, " she murmured, and bent her eyes on the wine-bubbleswinking against the rim of her glass, "you did it in simple kindness. "

"Well, " he owned slowly, "and so I did. This belittling of goodintentions, small enough to begin with, is a cursed habit, and I'llrenounce it for once. It was little--it was nothing; yet behold meeager to be thanked. "

"I thank you. " She fingered the stem of the glass, not lifting hereyes. "But you have belittled me, too. I read it in books, and here onthe threshold, as I step outside of books, you meet me with it. Wewomen are always, it seems, poor ships, beating the seas, fleeingcapture; and our tackle, our bravery--" She broke off, and sat musing, while her fingers played with the base of the glass. 

"I take back my metaphors, Miss Josselin. I admit myself no buccaneer, but a simple ass who for once pricked ears on an honest impulse. "

"That is better. But hush! Mr. Manley, yonder, is preparing to sing. "

Mr. Manley, a young protege of the Collector's, had a streak of geniusas an architect and several lesser gifts, among them a propensity forborrowing and a flexible tenor voice. He trolled an old song, slightlyadapted--

 "Here's a health unto Sir Oliver, With a fal-la-la, lala-la-la; Confusion to his enemies, With a fa-la-la, lala-la-la; And he that will not drink his health, I wish him neither wit nor wealth, Nor yet a rope to hang himself-- With a fa-la-la, lala-la-la. "

The effort was applauded. Above the applause the bull voice of Mr. Silkshouted, --

"But Miss Josselin has not drunk it yet! Langton monopolises her. Miss Josselin! What has Miss Josselin to say?"

The cry was taken up. "Miss Josselin! Miss Josselin!"

Batty Langton arose, glass in hand. "Is it a toast, gentlemen?"He glanced at Sir Oliver, who sat sombre, not lifting his eyes. "Our host permits me. . . . Then I give you 'Miss Josselin!'"Acclamations drowned his voice here, and the men sprang up, waving theirglasses. Sir Oliver stood with the rest. 

"Miss Josselin! Miss Josselin!" they shouted, and drank what theirunsteady hands left unspilt. Langton waited, his full glass halfupraised. 

"Miss Josselin, " he repeated very deliberately on the tail of theuproar, "who honours this occasion as Sir Oliver's ward. "

For about five seconds an awkward silence held the company. Their fuddled memories retained scraps of gossip concerning Ruth, herhistory and destiny--gossip scandalous in the main. One or two glancedat the Collector, who had resumed his seat--and his scowl. 

"The more reason she should drink his health. " Again Mr. Silk wasfugleman. 

His voice braved it off on the silence. Ruth was raising her glass. Her eyes sought Miss Quiney's; but Miss Quiney's, lifted heavenward, hadencountered the ceiling upon which Mr. Manley had recently depicted thehymeneals of Venus and Vulcan, not omitting Mars; and the treatment--ariot of the nude--had for the moment put the redoubtable little lady outof action. 

Ruth leaned forward in her seat, lifting her glass high. It brimmed, but she spilled no drop. 

"To Sir Oliver!"

Chapter VI. 

CAPTAIN HARRY AND MR. HANMER. 

"Guests, has he?--Out of my road, you rascal! Guests? I'll warrantthere's none so welcome--"

A good cheery voice--a voice the curtain could not muffle--rang it downthe corridor as on the note of a cornet. 

The wine was at Ruth's lip, scarcely wetting it. She lowered the glasssteadily and turned half-about in her chair at the moment when, asbefore a whirlwind, the curtain flew wide and a stranger burst in on therun with Manasseh at his heels. 

"Oliver!" The stranger drew himself up in the doorway--a well-knitfigure of a man, clear of eye, bronzed of hue, clad in blue sea-clothfaced with scarlet, and wearing a short sword at the hip. "Where's myOliver?" he shouted. "You'll forgive my voice, gentlemen. I'm HarryVyell, at your service, fresh from shipboard, and not hoarse withanthems like old what-d'ye-call-him. " Running his gaze along the table, he sighted the Collector and broke into a view-halloo. 

"Oliver! Brother Noll!" Captain Harry made a second run of it, caughthis foot on the prostrate toper whom Langton had dragged out of MissQuiney's way, and fell on his brother's neck. Recovering himself with a"damn, " he clapped his left hand on Sir Oliver's shoulder, seized SirOliver's right in his grip and started pump-handling--"as though"murmured Langton, "the room were sinking with ten feet of liquor in thehold. "

"Harry--is it Harry?" Sir Oliver stammered, and made a weak effort torise. 

"Lord! You're drunk!" Captain Harry crowed the cheerful discovery. "Well, and I'll join you--but in moderation, mind! Newly married man--if some one will be good enough to pass the decanter? . . . My dearfellow! . . . Cast anchor half an hour ago--got myself rowed ashorehot-foot to shake my Noll by the hand. Lord, brother, you can't thinkhow good it feels to be married! Sally won't be coming ashoreto-night; the hour's too late, she says; so I'm allowed an hour'sliberty. " Here the uxorious fellow paused on a laugh, indicating thathe found irony in the word. "But Sally--capital name, Sally, for asailor's wife; she's Sarah to all her family, Sal to me--Sally iscunning. Sally gives me leave ashore, but on condition I take Hanmer tolook after me. He's my first lieutenant--first-rate officer, too--butno ladies' man. Gad!" chuckled Captain Harry, "I believe he'd run amile from a petticoat. But where is he? Hi, Hanmer! step aft-alonghere and be introduced!"

A tall grave man, who had entered unnoticed, walked past the line ofguests and up to his captain. He too wore a suit of blue with scarletfacings, and carried a short sword or hanger at his belt. He stoodstiffly, awaiting command. The candle-light showed, beneath his rightcheek bone, the cicatrix of a recent wound. 

But Captain Harry, slewing round to him, was for the moment bereft ofspeech. His gaze had happened, for the first time, on little MissQuiney. 

"Eh?" he stammered, recovering himself. "Your pardon, ma'am. I wasn'taware that a lady--" Here his eyes, travelling to the end of the table, were arrested by the vision of Ruth Josselin. "Wh-e-ew!" he whistled, under his breath. 

"Sir Oliver--" Batty Langton stood up. 

"Hey?" The name gave Captain Harry yet another shock. He spun aboutagain upon his brother. "'Sir Oliver'? _Whats_ he saying?"

"You've not heard?" said the Collector, gripping his words slowly, oneby one. "No, of course you've not. Harry, our uncle is dead. "

There was a pause. "Poor old boy!" he muttered. "Used to be kind tous, Noll, after his lights. If it hadn't been for his womenkind. "

"They're coming across to visit me, damn 'em!"

"What? Aunt Carrie and Di'? . . . Good Lord!"

"They're on the seas at this moment--may be here within the week. "

"Good Lord!" Captain Harry repeated, and his eyes wandered again to RuthJosselin. "Awkward, hey? . . . But I say, Noll--you really _are_ SirOliver! Dear lad, I give you joy, and with all my heart. . . . Gad, here's a piece of news for Sally!"

Again he came to a doubtful halt, and again with his eyes on RuthJosselin. He was not a quick-witted man, outside of his calling, nor aman apt to think evil; but he had been married a month, and this hadbeen long enough to teach him that women and men judge by differentstandards. 

"Sir Oliver, " repeated Langton, "Miss Josselin craves your leave toretire. "

"Yes, dear"--Miss Quiney launched an approving nod towards her--"I wasabout to suggest it, with Sir Oliver's leave. The hour is late, and bythe time the sedan-chair returns for me--"

"There is no reason, Tatty, why we should not return together, " saidRuth quietly. "The night is fine; and, with Manasseh for escort, I canwalk beside your chair. "

"Pardon me, ladies, " put in Mr. Silk. "Once in the upper town, you maybe safe enough; but down here by the quay the sh--sailors--I know 'em--it's my buishness. 'Low me--join the eshcort. "

But here, perceived by few in the room, a somewhat remarkable thinghappened. Mr. Hanmer, who had stood hitherto like a statue, put out ahand and laid it on Mr. Silk's shoulder; and there must have been somepower in that grip, for Mr. Silk dropped into his seat without anotherword. 

Captain Harry saw it, and broke into a laugh. 

"Why, to be sure! Hanmer's the very man! The rest of ye too drunk--meaning no offence; and, for me, --well, for me, you see there's Sallyto be reckoned with. " He laughed aloud at this simple jocularity. "Hanmer!"

"Yes, sir. "

"Convoy. "

"If you wish it, sir. " The lieutenant bowed stiffly; but it was to benoted that the scar, which had hitherto showed white on a bronzed cheek, now reddened on a pale one. 

Miss Quiney hesitated. "The gentleman, as a stranger to Boston--"

"I'll answer for Hanmer, ma'am. You'll get little talk out of him; but, be there lions at large in Boston, Jack Hanmer'll lead you past 'em. "

"Like Mr. Greatheart in the parable, " spoke up Ruth, whose eyes had beentaking stock of the proposed escort, though he stood in the penumbra andat half the room's length away. "Tatty--if my lord permit andLieutenant Hanmer be willing--"

She stood up, and with a curtsy to Sir Oliver, swept to the door. Miss Quiney pattered after; and Mr. Hanmer, with a bow and hand liftedto the salute, stalked out at their heels. 

"I'll warrant Jack Hanmer 'd liefer walk up to a gun, " swore CaptainHarry as the curtain fell behind them. "He bolts from the sight ofSally. I'll make Sally laugh over this. " But here he pulled himself upand added beneath his voice, "I can't tell her, though. "

The road as it climbed above the town toward Sabines grew rough and fullof pitfalls. Even by the light of the full moon shining between theelms Miss Quiney's chairmen were forced to pick their way warily, sothat the couple on the side-walk--which in comparison was well paved--easily kept abreast of them. 

Ruth walked with the free grace of a Dryad. The moonlight shone now andagain on her face beneath the arch of her wimple; and once, as sheglanced up at the heavens, Mr. Hanmer--interpreting that she lifted herhead to a scent of danger, and shooting a sidelong look despitehimself--surprised a lustre as of tears in her eyes; whereupon he feltashamed, as one who had intruded on a secret. 

"Mr. Hanmer. "

"Ma'am?"

"I have a favour to beg. . . . Is it true, by the way, " she askedmischievously, "that to talk with a woman distresses you?"

"Ma'am--"

"My name is Ruth Josselin. "

Mr. Hanmer either missed to hear the correction or heard and put itaside. "Been at sea all my life, " he explained. "They caught meyoung. "

Ruth looked sideways at him and laughed--a liquid little laugh, muchlike the bubbling note of a thrush. "You could not have given an answermore pat, sir. I want to speak to you about a child, caught young andabout to be taken to sea. You are less shy with children, I hope?"

"Not a bit, " confessed Mr. Hanmer. He added, "They take to me, though--the few I've met. 

"Dick will take to you, for certain. Dicky is Sir Oliver's child. "

"I didn't know--" Mr. Hanmer came to a full stop. 

"No, " said Ruth, as though she echoed him. "He is eight years oldalmost. " Her eyes looked straight ahead, but she was aware that his hadscanned her face for a moment, and almost she felt his start ofreassurance. 

"So, the child being a friend of mine, and his father having promisedhim a cruise in the _Venus_, you see that I very much want to know whatmanner of lady is Captain Harry's wife; and that I could not ask youpoint-blank because you would have set the question down to idlecuriosity. . . . It might make all the difference to him, " she added, getting no answer. 

"A child of eight, and the country at war!" Mr. Hanmer muttered. "His father must know that we cruise ready for action. "

"I tell you, sir, what Dicky told me this morning. "

"But it's impossible!"

"To that, sir, I might find you half a dozen answers. To begin with, weall know--and Sir Oliver perhaps, from private information, knows betterthan any of us--that peace is in sight. Here in the northern Coloniesit has arrived already; the enemy has no fleet on this side of theworld, and on this coast no single ship to give you any concern. "

"Guarda-costas? There may be a few left on the prowl, even in theselatitudes. I don't believe it for my part; we've accounted for most of'em. Still--"

"And Captain Harry thinks so much of them that he sails from Carolina toBoston with his bride on board!"

"You are right, Miss Josselin, and you are wrong. . . . Mistress Vyellhas come to Boston in the _Venus_; and by reason that her husband, whenhe started, had as little acquaintance with fear for others as forhimself. But if she return to Carolina it will be by land or when peaceis signed. Love has made the Captain think; and thought has made him--well, with madam on board, I am thankful--" He checked himself. 

"You are thankful he did not sight a guarda-costa. " She concluded thesentence for him, and walked some way in silence, while he at her sidewas silent, being angry at having said so much. 

"Yet Captain Harry is recklessly brave?" she mused. 

"To the last degree, Miss Josselin, " Mr. Hanmer agreed eagerly. "To thelast degree within the right military rules. Fighting a ship's an art, you see. "

It seemed that she did not hear him. "It runs in the blood, " she said. She was thinking, fearfully yet exultantly, of this wonderful power ofwomen, for whose sake cowards will behave as heroes and heroes turn tocowards. 

They had outstripped the chairmen, and were at the gate of Sabines. He held it open for her. She bethought her that his last two or threesentences had been firmly spoken, that his voice had shaken off itshusky stammer, and on the impulse of realised power she took a fancy tohear it tremble again. 

"But if madam will not be on board to look after Dicky, the more will heneed a friend. Mr. Hanmer, will you be that friend?"

"You are choosing a rough sort of nurse-maid. "

"But will you?" She faced him, wonderful in the moonlight. 

His eyes dropped. His voice stammered, "I--I will do my best, MissJosselin. "

She held out a hand. He took it perforce in his rope-roughened paw, held it awkwardly for a moment, and released it as one lets a birdescape. 

Ruth smiled. "The best of women, " ran a saying of Batty Langton's, "if you watch 'em, are always practising; even the youngest, as a kittenplays with a leaf. "

They stood in silence, waiting for the chair to overtake them. 

"Tatty, you are a heroine!"

Miss Quiney, unwinding a shawl from her head under the hall-lamp, released herself from Ruth's embrace. Her nerve had been strained andneeded a recoil. 

"Maybe, " she answered snappishly. "For my part, I'd take more comfort, just now, to be called a respectable woman. "

Ruth laughed, kissed her again, and stood listening to the footsteps asthey retreated down the gravelled way. Among them her eardistinguished easily the firm tread of Mr. Hanmer. 

Chapter VII. 

FIRST OFFER. 

A little before noon next day word came to her room that Sir Oliver hadcalled and desired to speak with her. 

She was not unprepared. She had indeed dressed with special care inthe hope of it; but she went to her glass and stood for a minute or two, touching here and there her seemly tresses. 

Should she keep him waiting--keep him even a long while? . . . He deserved it. . . . But ah, no! She was under a vow never to be otherthan forthright with him; and the truth was, his coming filled her withjoy. 

"I am glad you have come!" These, in fact, were her first words as heturned to face her in the drawing-room. He had been standing by thebroad window-seat, staring out on the roses. 

"You guess, of course, what has brought me?" He had dressed himselfwith extreme care. His voice was steady, his eye clear, and only atouch of pallor told of the overnight debauch. "I am here to beforgiven. "

"Who am I, to forgive?"

"If you say that, you make it three times worse for me. Whatever youare does not touch my right to ask your pardon, or my need to beforgiven--which is absolute. "

"No, " she mused, "you are right. . . . Have you asked pardon of Tatty?"

"I have, ten minutes ago. She sent the message to you. "

"Tatty was heroic"--Ruth paused on the reminiscence with a smile--"and, if you will believe me, quite waspish when I told her so. "

"You should have refused to come. You might have known that I wasdrunk, or I could never have sent. "

"How does it go?" She stood before him, puckering her brows a little asshe searched to remember the words--"'_On the seventh day, when theheart of the king was merry with wine, he commanded the sevenchamberlains_--'"

"Spare me. "

"'--_to bring Vasbti the queen before the king with the crown royal, toshow the people and the princes her beauty, for she was fair to lookon_. ' Do I quote immodestly, my lord?"

"Not immodestly, " he answered. "For I think--I'll be sworn--no womanever had half your beauty without knowing it. But you quote_mal a propos_. Queen Vashti refused to come. "

"'_Therefore was the king very wroth, and his anger burned in him_. '"

"I think, again, that you were not the woman to obey any such fear. "

"No. Queen Vashti refused to come, being a queen. Whereas I, my lord--

 "'Being your slave, what should I do but tend Upon the hours and times of your desire?'"

"My slave?" he asked. "Setting aside last night--when I wasdisgustingly drunk--have you a single excuse for using that word?"

"Of your giving, none. You have been more than considerate. Of my ownchoosing, yes. "

He stared. 

"At any rate Tatty is not your slave, " she went on, and he smiled withher. "I am glad you asked Tatty's pardon. Did she forgive youeasily?"

"Too easily. She was aware, she said, that gentlemen would begentlemen. "

"She must have meant precisely the reverse. "

"Was I pretty bad?"

She put a hand across her eyes as if to brush the image from them. "What matters the degree? It was another man seated and wearing mylord's body. _That_ hurt. "

"By God, Ruth, it shall never happen again!"

She winced as he spoke her name, and her colour rose. "Please make nopromise in haste, " she said. 

"Excuse me; when a man takes an oath for life, the quicker he's throughwith it the better--at least that's the way with us Vyells. It's trifles--like getting drunk, for instance--we do deliberately. Believe me, child, I have a will of my own. "

"Yes, " she meditated, "I believe you have a strong will. "

"'Tis a swinish business, over-drinking, when all's said and done. "He announced it as if he made a discovery; and indeed something of adiscovery it was, for that age. "Weakens a man's self-control, besidesdulling his palate. . . . They tell me, by the way, that after you leftI beat Silk. "

Ruth looked grave. "You did wrong, then. "

"Silk is a beast. "

"An excellent reason for not making him your guest; none for strikinghim at your own table. "

"Perhaps not. " Sir Oliver shrugged his shoulders. "Well, he can havehis revenge, if he wants it. "

"How so? As a clergyman he cannot offer to fight you, and as a cowardhe would not if he could. "

"Is one, then, to be considerate with cowards?"

"Certainly, if you honour cowards with your friendship. "

"Friendship! . . . The dog likes his platter and I suffer him for histalk. When his talk trespasses beyond sufferance, I chastise him. That's how I look at it. "

"I am sorry, my lord, that Mr. Silk should make the third on your listthis morning. "

"Oh, come; you don't ask me to _apologise_ to Silk!"

"To him rather than to me. "

"But--oh nonsense! He was disgusting--unspeakable, I tell you. If yousuppose I struck him for nothing--"

"I do not. "

"You cannot think what he said. "

"Something about me, was it not?" Then, as Sir Oliver stood silent, "Something a great many folk--your guests included--are quite capable ofthinking about me, though they have not Mr. Silk's gift of language. "

"--That gift for which (you will go on to remind me) I suffer him. "

"No; that gift which (you said) trespasses beyond sufferance. "She did not remind him that he, after all, had exposed her and provokedMr. Silk's uncleanly words. 

Both were beating time now. He had come, as was meet, to offer anapology, and with no intent beyond. He found not only that RuthJosselin was grown a woman surpassing fair, but that her mere presence(it seemed, by no will of hers, but in spite of her will) laid hold ofhim, commanding him to face a further intent. It was wonderful, and yetjust at this moment it mattered little, that the daylight soberlyconfirmed what had dazzled his drunkenness over night; that her speechadded good sense to beauty. . . . What mattered at the moment was asense of urgency, oppressing and oppressed by an equal sense ofhelplessness. 

He had set the forces working and, with that, had chosen to standaside--in indolence partly, partly in a careful cultivated indifference, but in part also obeying motives more creditable. He had stood aside, promising the result, but himself dallying with time. And lo! of asudden the result had overtaken him. Had he created a monster, in placeof a beautiful woman, he had not been more at its mercy. 

But why this sense of urgency? And why should he allow it to oppresshim?

Here was a creature exquisite, desirable, educated for no purpose but tobe his. Then why not declare himself, leap the last easy fence and in ashort while make her his?

To be sure her education--which, as we have seen, owned one source andspring, the passion to make herself perfect for his sake--had fashioneda woman very different to the woman of _his_ planning. She had builtnot upon his careless defective design but upon her own incessantinstinct for the best. So much his last night's blunder had taught him. He had sent for her as for a handmaid; and as a handmaid she hadobeyed--but in spirit as a queen. 

To put it brutally, she could raise her terms, and he as a gentlemancould not beat her down. With ninety-nine women out of a hundred thosehigher terms could be summed up in one word--marriage. Well and again, why not? He was rich and his own master. In all but her poor originand the scandal of an undeserved punishment she was worthy--more thanworthy; and for the Colonials, among whom alone that scandal would countagainst her, he had a habit of contempt. He could, and would in hishumour, force Boston to court her salons and hold its tongue from allbut secret tattle. The thought, too, of Lady Caroline at this momentcrossing the high seas to be met with the news agreeably moved him tomirth. 

But somehow, face to face here, he divined that Ruth was not asninety-nine women in the hundred; that her terms were different. They might he less, but also they were more. They might be less. Had she not crossed her arms and told him she was his slave? But inthat very humility he read that they were more. There was no last easyfence. There was no fence at all. But a veil there was; a veil helacked the insight to penetrate, the brutality to tear aside. 

Partly to assure himself, partly to tempt her from this mysterious ringof defence, he went on, "I ought to apologise, too, for having sent Silkyesterday with my message. You received it?"

She bent her head. 

"My aunt and cousin invite themselves to Boston, and give me no chanceto say anything but 'Welcome. ' Two pistols held to my head. "He laughed. "There's a certain downrightness in Lady Caroline. And what do you suppose she wants?"

"Mr. Silk says she wants you to marry your cousin. "

"Told you that, did he?" His eyes were on her face, but it had notchanged colour; her clear gaze yet baffled him. "Well, and what do yousay?"

"Must I say anything?"

"Well"--he gave a short, impatient laugh--"we can hardly pretend--canwe?--that it doesn't concern you. "

"I do not pretend it, " she answered. "I am yours, to deal with as youwill; to dismiss when you choose. I can never owe you anything butgratitude. "

"Ruth, will you marry me?"

He said it with the accent of passion, stepping half a pace forward, holding out his hands. She winced and drew back a little; she, too, holding out her hands, but with the palms turned downward. Upon thatmovement his passion hung fire. (Was it actual passion, or rather asurrender to the inevitable--to a feeling that it had all happenedfatally, beyond escape, that now--beautiful, wonderful as she hadgrown--he could never do without her? At any rate their hands, outstretched thus, did not meet. )

"You talked lightly just now, " she said, and with the smallest catch inher voice, "of vows made in haste. You forget your vow that after threeyears I should go back--go back whence you took me--and choose. "

"No, " he corrected. "My promise was that you should go back andannounce your choice. If some few months are to run, nothing hindersyour choosing here and now. I do not ask you to marry me before theterm is out, but only to make up your mind. You hear what I offer?"

She swept him a low, obedient bow. "I do, and it is much to me, my dearlord. Oh, believe me, it is very much! . . . But I do not think I wantto be your wife--thus. "

"You could not love me? Is that what you mean?"

"Not love you?" Her voice, sweet and low, choked on the words. "Not love you?" she managed to repeat. "You, who came to me as a god--to me, a poor tavern drudge--who lifted me from the cart, the scourge;lifted me out of ignorance, out of shame? Lord--love--doubt what youwill of me--but not that!"

"You do love me? Then why--" He paused, wondering. The impalpablebarrier hung like a mist about his wits. 

"Did Andromeda not love Perseus, think you?" she asked lightly, recovering her smile, albeit her eyes were dewy. 

"I am dull, then, " he confessed. "I certainly do not understand. "

"You came to me as a god when you saved me. Shall you come to me asless by an inch when you stoop to love me?"

"Ah!" he said, as if at length he comprehended; "I was drunk last night, and you must have time to get that image out of your mind. "

She shook her head slowly. "You did not ask me last night to marry you. I shall always, I think, be able to separate an unworthy image of you, and forget it. "

"Then you must mean that I am yet unworthy. "

"My dear lord, " she said after a moment or two, in which she seemed toconsider how best to make it plain to him, "you asked me just now tomarry you, but not because you knew me to be worthy; and though you maycommand what you choose, and I can deny you nothing, I would notwillingly be your wife for a smaller reason. Nor did you ask me in thestrength of your will, your passion even, but in their weakness. Am I not right?"

He was dumb. 

"And is it thus, " she went on, "that the great ones love and beget noblechildren?"

"I see, " he said at length, and very slowly. "It means that I must veryhumbly become your wooer. "

"It means that, if it be my honour ever to reward you, I would fain itwere with the best of me. . . . Send me away from Sabines, my lord, andbe in no hurry to choose. Your cousin--what is her name? Oh, I shallnot be jealous!"

With a change of tone she led him to talk of the new home he hadprepared for her--at a farmstead under Wachusett. He was sendingthither two of his gentlest thoroughbreds, that she might learn to ride. 

"Books, too, you shall have in plenty, " he promised. "But there will bea dearth of tutors, I fear. I could not, for example, very well ask Mr. Hichens to leave his cure of souls and dwell with two maiden ladies inthe wilderness. "

She laughed. Her eyes sparkled already at the thought of learning tobe a horsewoman. 

"I will do without tutors. " She spread her arms wide, as with aswimmer's motion, and he could not but note the grace of it. The palms, turned outward and slightly downward, had an eloquence, too, which heinterpreted. 

"I have mewed you here too long. You sigh for liberty. "

She nodded, drawing a long breath. "I come from the sea-beach, remember. "

"Say but the word, and instead of the mountain, the beach shall beyours. "

"No. I have never seen a mountain. It will have the sound of waters, too--of its own cataracts. And on the plain I shall learn to gallop, and feel the wind rushing past me. These things, and a few books, andTatty--" Here she broke off, on a sudden thought. "My lord, there is aquestion I have put to myself many times, and have promised myself toput to you. Why does Tatty never talk to me about God and religion andsuch things?"

He did not answer at once. 

She went on: "It cannot only be because you do not believe in them. For Tatty is very religious, and brave as a lion; she would never besilent against her conscience. "

"How do you know that I don't believe in them?"

She laughed. "Does my lord truly suppose me so dull of wit? or will hefence with my question instead of answering it?"

"The truth is, then, " he confessed, "that before she saw you I thoughtfit to tell Miss Quiney what you had suffered--"

"She has known it from the first? I wondered sometimes. But oh, thedear deceit of her!"

"--And seeing that this same religion had caused your sufferings, Iasked her to deal gently with you. She would not promise more than towait and choose her own time. But Tatty, as you call her, is anhonourable woman. "

Ruth stretched out her hands. 

"Ah, you were good--you were good! . . . If only my heart were a glass, and you might see how goodness becomes you!"

He took her hands this time, and laying one over another, kissed theback of the uppermost, but yet so respectfully that Miss Quiney, entering the room just then, supposed him to be merely taking aceremonious leave. 

For a few minutes he lingered out his call, hat and walking-cane inhand, talking pleasantly of his last night's guests, and with a smilethat assumed his pardon to be granted. Incidentally Ruth learned how ithad happened that a chair stood empty for her by Mr. Langton's side. It appeared that Governor Shirley himself had called, earlier in theevening, to offer his felicitations; and finding the seat on SirOliver's right occupied by a toper who either would not or could notmake room, he had with some tact taken a chair at the far end of thetable and _vis-a-vis_ with his host, protesting that he chose it as thebetter vantage-ground for delivering a small speech. His speech, too, had been neat, happy in phrase, and not devoid of good feeling. Havingdelivered it, he had slipped away early, on an excuse of officialbusiness. 

Sir Oliver related this appreciatively; and it had, in fact, been one ofthose small courtesies which, among men of English stock, give a graceto public life and help to keep the fighting clean. But in fact also(Ruth gathered) the two men did not love one another. Shirley--able and_ruse_ statesman--had some sense of colonial independence, colonialambition, colonial self-respect. Sir Oliver had none; he was a Whigpatrician, and the colonies existed for the use and patronage ofEngland. More than a year before, when Massachusetts raised a militiaand went forth to capture Louisbourg--which it did, to the astonishmentof the world--the Governor, whose heart was set on the expedition, hadapproached Captain Vyell and privately begged him to command it. He wasanswered that, having once borne the King's commission, Captain Vyelldid not find a colonial uniform to his taste. 

Chapter VIII. 

CONCERNING MARGARET. 

He called again, next morning. He came on horseback, followed by agroom. The groom led a light chestnut mare, delicate of step us adancer, and carrying a side-saddle. 

Ruth's ear had caught the sound of hoofs. She looked forth at her openwindow as Sir Oliver reined up and hailed, frank as a schoolboy. 

"Your first riding lesson!" he announced. 

"But I have no riding-skirt, " she objected, her eyes opening wide withdelight as they looked down and scanned the mare. 

"You shall have one to-morrow. " He swung himself out of saddle and gaveover his own horse to the groom. "To-day you have only to learn how tosit and hold the reins and ride at a walk. "

She caught up a hat and ran downstairs, blithe as a girl should beblithe. 

He taught her to set her foot in his hand and lifted her into place. 

"But are you not riding also?" she asked as he took the leading-rein. 

"No. I shall walk beside you to-day . . . Now take up the reins--so; inboth hands, please. That will help you to sit square and keep the rightshoulder back, which with a woman is half the secret of a good seat. Where a man uses grip, she uses balance. . . . For the same reason youmust not draw the feet back; it throws your body forward and off itstrue poise on the hips. "

She began to learn at once and intelligently; for, unlike her othertutors, he started with simple principles and taught her nothing withoutgiving its reason. He led her twice around the open gravelled spacebefore the house, and so aside and along a grassy pathway that curvedbetween the elms to the right. The pathway was broad and allowed him towalk somewhat wide of the mare, yet not so wide as to tauten theleading-rein, which he held (as she learned afterwards) merely to giveher confidence; for the mare was docile and would follow him at a word. 

"I am telling you the why-and-how of it all, " he said, "because afterthis week you will be teaching yourself. This week I shall come everymorning for an hour; but on Wednesday you start for Sweetwater Farm. "

"And will there be nobody at the Farm to help me, " she asked, a trifledismayed. 

"The farmer--his name is Cordery--rides, after a fashion. But he knowsnothing of a side-saddle, if indeed he has ever seen one. "

"Then to trot, canter, and gallop I must teach myself, " she thought; foramong the close plantations of Sabines there was room for neither. "If I experiment here, they will find me hanging like Absalom from abough. " But aloud she said nothing of her tremors. 

"Dicky sits a horse remarkably well for his age, " said Sir Oliver aftera pause. "I had some thought to pack him off holidaying with you. But the puppy has taken to the water like a spaniel. He went off to the_Venus_ yesterday, and it seems that on board of her he struck up, thereand then, a close friendship with Harry's lieutenant, a Mr. Hanmer; andnow he can talk of nothing but rigging and running-gear. He's crazedfor a cruise and a hammock. Also it would seem that he used his time towin the affections of Madam Harry; which argues that his true calling isnot the Navy, after all, but diplomacy. "

Ruth sighed inaudibly. Dicky's companionship would have beendelightful. But she knew the child's craze, and would not claim him, tomar his bliss--though she well knew that at a word from her he wouldrenounce it. 

"Diplomacy?" she echoed. 

"Well, " said Sir Oliver, looking straight before him. "Sally--mybrother insists on calling her Sally--appears to have her head fixedwell on her shoulders: she looks--as you must not forget to look--straight between the horse's ears. But your young bride is apt to bethe greatest prude in the world. And Dicky, you see--"

Her hand weighed on the rein and brought the mare to a halt. 

"Tell me about Dicky?"

"About Dicky?" he repeated. 

"About his mother, then. "

"She is dead, " he answered, staring at the mare's glossy shoulder andsmoothing it. His brows were bent in a frown. 

"Yes . . . He told me that, in the coach, on our way from Port Nassau. It was the first thing he told me when he awoke. We had been rollingalong the beach for hours in the dark; and I remember how, almost at theend of the beach, it grew light inside the coach and he opened hiseyes. . . . "

She did not relate that the child had awaked in her arms. 

"It was the first thing Dicky told me, " she repeated; "and the onlything about--her. I think it must be the only thing he knows abouther. "

"Probably; for she died when he was born and--well, as the child grewup, it was not easy to explain to him. Other folks, no doubt--theservants and suchlike--were either afraid to tell or left it to me as mybusiness. And I am an indolent parent. " He paused and added, "To be quite honest, I dare say I distasted the job and shirked it. "

"You did wrongly then, " murmured Ruth, and her eyes were moist. "Dicky started with a great hole in his life, and you left it unfilled. Often, being lonely, he must have needed to know something of hismother. You should have told him all that was good; and that was notlittle, I think, if you had loved her?"

"I loved her to folly, " he answered at length, his eyes still fixed onthe mare's shoulder; "and yet not to folly, for she was a good woman: amarried woman, some three or four years older than I and close upontwenty years younger than her husband, who was major of my regiment. "

"You ran away with her? . . . Say that he was not your friend. "

"He was not; and you may put it more correctly that I helped her to runaway from him. He was a drunkard, and in private he ill-used herdisgustingly. . . . Having helped her to escape I offered him hissatisfaction. He refused to divorce her; but we fought and I ran himthrough the arm to avoid running him through the body, for he was ashockingly bad swordsman. "

Ruth frowned. "You could not marry her?"

"No, and to kill him was no remedy; for if I could not marry anundivorced woman, as little could she have married her husband'smurderer. " He hunched his shoulders and concluded, "The dilemma is notunusual. "

"What happened, then?"

"My mother paid twenty calls upon the Duke of Newcastle, and after thetwentieth I received the Collectorship of this port of Boston. It was exile, but lucrative exile. My good mother is a Whig and devout;and there is nothing like that combination for making the best of bothworlds. Indeed you may say that at this point she added the New World, and made the best of all three. She assured me that its solitudes wouldoffer, among other advantages, great opportunity for repentance. 'Of course, ' she said, 'if you must take the woman, you must. '"

He ended with a short laugh. Ruth did not laugh. Her mind wasmasculine at many points, but like a true woman she detested ironicalspeech. 

"That is Mr. Langton's way of talking, " she said; "and you are using itto hide your feelings. Will you tell me her name?--her Christian nameonly?"

"She was called Margaret--Margaret Dance. There is no reason why youshould not have it in full. "

"Is there a portrait of her?"

"Yes; as a girl she sat to Kneller--a Dryad leaning against an oak. The picture hangs in my dressing-room. "

"It should have hung, rather, in Dicky's nursery; which, " she added, picking up and using the weapon she most disliked, "need not havedebarred your seeing it from time to time. "

He glanced up, for he had never before heard her speak thus sharply. 

"Perhaps you are right, " he agreed; "though, for me, I let the dead burythe dead. I have no belief, remember, in any life beyond this one. Margaret is gone, and I see not how, being dead, she can advantage me orDicky. "

His words angered Ruth and at the same time subtly pleased her; and onsecond thoughts angered her the more for having pleased. She thoughtscorn of herself for her momentary jealousy of the dead; scorn forhaving felt relief at his careless tone; and some scorn to be soothed bya doctrine that, in her heart, she knew to be false. 

For the moment her passions were like clouds in thunder weather, mounting against the wind; and in the small tumult of them she letjealousy dart its last lightning tongue. 

"I am not learned in these matters, my lord. But I have heard that manmust make a deity of something. The worse sort of unbeliever, they say, lives in the present and burns incense to himself. The better sort, having no future to believe in, idolises his past. "

"Margaret is dead, " he repeated. "I am no sentimentalist. "

She bent her head. To herself she whispered. "He may not idolise hispast, yet he cannot escape from it. " . . . And her thoughts might havetravelled farther, but she had put the mare to a walk again and justthen her ears caught an unaccustomed sound, or confusion of sounds. 

At the end of the alley she reined up, wide-eyed. 

A narrow gateway here gave access to what had yesterday been a slopingpaddock where Miss Quiney grazed a couple of cows. To-day the cows hadvanished and given way to a small army of labourers. Broad strips ofturf had vanished also and the brown loam was moving downhill in scoresof wheel-barrows, to build up the slope to a level. 

Sir Oliver marked her amazement and answered it with an easy laugh. 

"The time is short, you see, and already we have wasted half an hour ofit unprofitably. . . . These fellows appear to be working well. "

She gazed at the moving gangs as one who, having come by surprise upon ahive of bees, stands still and cons the small creatures at work. 

"But what is the meaning of it?"

"The meaning? Why, that for this week I am your riding-master, and thatby to-morrow you will have a passable riding-school. "

Chapter IX. 

THE PROSPECT. 

This happened on a Thursday. On the following Wednesday, a while beforeday-break, he met her on horseback by the gate of Sabines, and they rodeforth side by side, ahead of the coach wherein Miss Quiney sat piledabout with baggage, clutching in one hand a copy of Baxter's _Saint'sEverlasting Rest_ and with the other the ring of a canary-cage. (It wasDicky's canary, and his first love-offering. Yesterday had been Ruth'sbirthday--her eighteenth--and under conduct of Manasseh he had visitedSabines to wish her "many happy returns" and to say good-bye. )

Sir Oliver would escort the travellers for twelve miles on their way, toa point where the inland road broke into cart-tracks, and the tracksdiverged across a country newly disafforested and strewn with jaggedstumps among which the heavy vehicle could by no means be hauled. Here Farmer Cordery was to be in waiting with his light tilt-coveredwagon. 

They had started thus early because the season was hot and they desiredto traverse the open highway and the clearings and to reach the forestbefore the sun's rays grew ardent. Once past the elms of Sabines theirroad lay broad before them, easy to discern; for the moon, well in herthird quarter, rode high, with no trace of cloud or mist. So clear sheshone that in imagination one could reach up and run a finger along herhard bright edge; and under moon and stars a land-breeze, virginallycool, played on our two riders' cheeks. Ungloving and stretching fortha hand, Ruth felt the dew falling, as it had been falling ever sincesundown; and under that quiet lustration the world at her feet andaround her, unseen as yet, had been renewed, the bee-ravished flowersreplaced with blossoms ready to unfold, the turf revived, reclothed inyoung green, the atmosphere bathed, cleansed of exhausted scents, madeready for morning's "bridal of the earth and sky ":--

"_As a vesture shall he fold them up. . . . In them hath he set atabernacle for the sun; which cometh forth as a bridegroom out of hischamber, and rejoiceth as a giant to run his course_. "

Darkling they rode, and in silence, as though by consent. Ruth hadnever travelled this high way before: it glimmered across a country ofwhich she knew nothing and could see nothing. But no shadow of fearcrossed her spirit. Her heart was hushed; yet it exulted, because herlord rode beside her. 

They had ridden thus without speech for three or four miles, when herchestnut blundered, tripped, and was almost down. 

"All right?" he asked, as she reined up and steadied the mare. 

"Yes. . . . She gave me a small fright, though. "

"What happened? It looked to me as if she came precious near crossingher feet. If she repeats that trick by daylight I'll cast her--as Iwould to-morrow, if I were sure. "

"Is it so bad a trick?"

"It might break your neck. It would certainly bring her down and breakher knees. "

"Oh!" Ruth shivered. "Do you mean that it would actually break them?"she asked in her ignorance. 

He laughed. "Well, that's possible; but I meant the skin of the knee. "

"That would heal, surely?"

He laughed again. "A horse is like a woman--" he began, but checkedhimself of a sudden. She waited for him to continue, and he went on, "It knocks everything off the price, you see. Some won't own a horsethat has once been down; and any knowledgeable man can tell, at aglance. It is the first thing he looks for. "

She considered for a moment. "But if the mark had been a scratch only--and the scratch had healed--might she not be as good a horse as ever?"

"It would damage her price, none the less. "

"But you are not a horse-dealer. Would _you_ value a horse by itsselling price?"

He laughed. "I am afraid, " he owned, "that I should be ruled by othermen's opinions. Your connoisseur does not collect chipped chinaware. . . . There's the chance, too, that the mare, having once fallen, willthrow herself again by the same trick. "

"And women are like horses, " thought Ruth as they rode on. The nightwas paling about them, and she watched the rolling champaign as littleby little it took shape, emerging from the morning mist and passing frommonochrome into faint colours: for albeit the upper sky was clear asever, mist filled the hollows of the hills and rolled up their sideslike a smoke. 

"Look!" commanded Sir Oliver, reining up and turning in his saddle. 

He pointed with his horse-whip. Behind them, over a tree-clad hill, laya long purple cloud; and above it, while he pointed, the sun thrust itsedge as it were the rim of a golden paten. Ruth wheeled her mare about, to face the spectacle, and at that moment the cloud parted horizontallyas though a hand had ripped the veil across. A flood of gold pouredthrough the rent, dazzling her eyes. 

The sun mounted and swam free: the upper portion of the veil floated offlike a wisp and drifted down the wind. Where the glory had shone, itlingered through tint after tint--rose, pale lemon, palest sea-green--and so passed into azure and became one with the rest of the heavens. 

Sir Oliver withdrew his eyes and sought hers. "When I find the need offaith, " he said, "I shall turn sun-worshipper. "

"You have never found that need?" she asked slowly. 

"Never, " he confessed. "And you?"

"Never as a need. I mean, " she explained, "that though I alwaysdespised religion--yes, always, even before I came to hate it--I neverdoubted that some wisdom must be at watch and at work all around me, ordering the sun and stars, for instance, and separating right fromwrong. I just cannot understand how any one can do without a faith ofthat sort: it's as necessary as breath. "

He shrugged his shoulders. "To me one Jehovah's as good as another, asunnecessary, and as incredible. I find it easier to believe that chaoshurtled around until it struck out some working balance; that the starslearned their places pretty much as men and women are learning theirsto-day. A painful process, I'll grant you, and damnably tedious; butthey came to it in the end, and so in the end, maybe, will poorimitative man. But, " he broke off, "this faith of yours must havefailed you, once. "

She shivered. "No; I made no claim on it, you see. Perhaps"--with alittle smile--"I did not think myself important enough. I only knowthat, whatever was right, those men were horribly wrong: for it _must_be wrong to be cruel. Then I woke up, and you were beside me--"

She would have added, "How could I doubt, then?" But her voice failedher, and she wheeled about that he might not see her tears. 

He, too, turned his horse. They rode on for a few paces in silence. 

"I wish, " she said, recovering her voice--"I wish, for your sake, youcould have felt what I have been feeling since we left Sabines; the_goodness_ all about us, watching us out of the night and the stars. "

She looked up; but the stars were gone, faded out into daylight. Hepushed his horse half a pace ahead, and glanced sideways at her face. Tears shone yet in her eyes, and his own, as he quickly averted them, fell on a tall mullein growing by the roadside. Big drops of dewadhered upon its woolly leaves and twinkled in the sunshine; and bycontrast he knew the colour of her eyes--that they were violet and ofthe night--their dew distilled out of such violet darkness as had beenthe quality of one or two Mediterranean nights that lingered among hismemories of the Grand Tour. More and more this girl surprised him withgraces foreign to this colonial soil, graces supposed by him to beclassical and lost, the appanage of goddesses. 

Like a goddess now she lifted an arm and pointed west, as he had pointedeast. Ahead of them, to the right of the road, rose a tall hill, woodedat the base, broken at the summit by craggy terraces. Two large birdswheeled and hovered above it, high in the blue, fronting the sunlight. 

"Eagles, by Jove!" cried Sir Oliver. 

Ruth drew a breath and watched them. She had never before seen aneagle. 

"Will they have their nest in the cliffs?" she asked. 

"Perhaps. . . . No, more likely they come from Wachusett; more likelystill, from the mountains beyond. They are here seeking food. "

"They do not appear to be seeking food, " she said after a pause duringwhich she watched their ambits of flight circling and intersecting"See the nearest one mounting, and the other lifting on a wider curve tomeet him above. One would say they followed some pattern, like folksdancing. "

"Some act of homage to the sun, " he suggested. "They have come down tothe sea to meet him--they look over the Atlantic from aloft there--andperform in his honour. Who knows?"

Across Ruth's inner vision there flashed a memory of Mr. Hichens, black-suited and bald, bending over his Hebrew Bible and expounding apassage of Job: "_Doth the eagle mount up at thy command, and make hernest on high? She dwelleth and abideth on the rock, upon the crag ofthe rock, and the strong place_. . . . "

To herself she said: "If it be so, the eagle's faith is mine; my lord'salso, perchance, if he but knew it. "

Aloud she asked, "Why are the noblest, birds and beasts, so few andsolitary?"

Sir Oliver laughed. "You may include man. The answer is the same, andsimple: the strong of the earth feed on the weak, and it takes all theweaklings to make blood for the few. "

She mused; but when she spoke again it was not to dispute with him. "You say they look over the sea from aloft there. Might we have sightof it from the top of the hill?"

"Perhaps. There is plenty of time to make sure before the coachovertakes us--though I warn you it will be risky. "

"I am not afraid. "

They cantered off gaily, plunged into the woods and breasted the slope, Sir Oliver leading and threading his way through the undergrowth. By-and-by they came to the bed of a torrent and followed it up, thehorses picking their steps upon the flat boulders between which thewater trickled. Some of these boulders were slimed and slippery, andtwice Sir Oliver reached out a hand and hauled the mare firmly on to herquarters. 

The belt of crags did not run completely around the hill. At the backof it, after a scramble out of the gully, they came on a slope of goodturf, and so cantered easily to the summit. 

Ruth gave a little cry of delight, and followed it up with a yet smallerone of disappointment. The country lay spread at her feet like a vastamphitheatre, ringed with wooded hills. Across the plain they encircleda river ran in loops, and from the crag at the edge of which she stood astreamlet emerged and took a brave leap down the hill to join it. 

"But where is the sea?"

"That small hill yonder must hide it. You see it, with its line ofelms? If those trees were down, we should see the Atlantic for acertainty. If you like the spot otherwise, I will have them removed. "

He said it seriously; but of course she took it for granted that hespoke in jest, albeit the jest puzzled her a little. Indeed when sheglanced up at him he was smiling, with his eyes on the distantlandscape. 

"The mountain too, " he added, "if the trees will not suffice. Thoughnot by faith, it shall be removed. "

Chapter X. 

THREE LADIES. 

"You may smoke, " said Dicky politely, setting down his glass. 

"Thank you, " answered Mr. Hanmer. "But are you sure? In my experienceof houses there's always some one that objects. "

Dicky lifted his chin. "We call this the nursery because it has alwaysbeen the nursery. But I do what I like here. "

Mr. Hanmer had accepted the boy's invitation to pay him a visit ashoreand help him to rig a model cutter--a birthday gift from his father; andthe pair had spent an afternoon upon it, seated upon the floor with thetoy between them and a litter of twine everywhere, Dicky deep in themysteries of knots and splices, the lieutenant whittling out miniatureblocks and belaying-pins with a knife that seemed capable of anything. 

They had been interrupted by Manasseh, bearing a tray of refreshments--bread and honey and cakes, with a jug of milk for the one; for the othera decanter of brown sherry with a dish of ratafia biscuits. The repastwas finished now, and Dicky, eager to fall to work again, feared thathis friend might make an excuse for departing. 

Mr. Hanmer put a hand in his pocket and drew out his pipe. 

"Your father would call it setting a bad example, I doubt?"

To this the boy, had he been less loyal, might have answered that hisfather took no great stock in examples, bad or good. He said:"Papa smokes. He says it is cleaner than taking snuff; and so it is, ifyou have ever seen Mr. Silk's waistcoat. "

So Mr. Hanmer filled and lit his pipe, doing wonders with a pockettinder-box. Dicky watched the process gravely through every detail, laying up hints for manhood. 

"I ought to have asked you before, " he said. "Nobody comes here ever, except Mr. Silk and the servants. "

Hapless speech and bootless boast! They had scarcely seated themselvesto work again, the lieutenant puffing vigorously, before they heardfootsteps in the corridor, with a rustle of silks, and a hand tapped onthe door. 

It opened as Dicky jumped to his feet, calling "Come in!"--and on thethreshold appeared Mrs. Vyell, in walking dress. Dicky liked "Mrs. Harry, " as he called her; but he stared in dismay at two magnificentladies in the doorway behind her, and more especially at the elder ofthe twain, who, attired in puce-coloured silk, stiff as a board, walkedin lifting a high patrician nose and exclaiming, --

"Fah! What a detestable odour!"

Mr. Hanmer hurriedly hid his pipe and scrambled up, stammering anapology. Dicky showed more self-possession. He gave a little bow tothe two strangers and turned to Mrs. Harry. 

"I am sorry, Aunt Sarah. But I didn't know, of course, that you werecoming and bringing visitors. "

"To be sure you did not, child, " said Mrs. Harry with a good-naturedsmile. She was a cheerful, commonsensical person, pleasant of facerather than pretty, by no means wanting in wit, and radiant ofhappiness, just now, as a young woman should be who has married the manof her heart. "But let me present you--to Lady Caroline Vyell and MissDiana. "

Dicky bowed again. "I am sorry, ma'am, " he repeated, addressing LadyCaroline. "Mr. Hanmer has put out his pipe, you see, and the window isopen. "

Lady Caroline carried an eyeglass with a long handle of tortoise-shell. Through it she treated Dicky to a deliberate and disconcerting scrutiny, and lowered it to turn and ask Mrs. Harry, --

"You permit him to call you 'Aunt Sarah'?"

Mrs. Harry laughed. "It sounds better, you will admit, than'Aunt Sally, ' and don't necessitate my carrying a pipe in my mouth. Oh yes, " she added, with a glance at the boy's flushed face, "Dicky andI are great friends. In any one's presence but Mr. Hanmer's I would say'the best of friends. '"

Lady Caroline turned her eyeglass upon Mr. Hanmer. "Is this--er--gentleman his tutor?" she asked. 

The question, and the sight of the lieutenant's mental distress, setMrs. Harry laughing again. "In seamanship only. Mr. Hanmer is myhusband's second-in-command and one of the best officers in the Navy. "

"I consider smoking a filthy habit, " said Lady Caroline. 

"Yes, ma'am, " murmured Mr. Hanmer. 

The odious eyeglass was turned upon Dicky again. He, to avoid it, glanced aside at Miss Diana. He found Miss Diana less unpleasant thanher mother, but attractive only by contrast. She was a tall woman, handsome but somewhat haggard, with a face saved indeed from peevishnessby its air of distinction, but scornful and discontented. She had beenriding, and her long, close habit became her well, as did herwide-brimmed hat, severely trimmed with a bow of black ribbon and asingle ostrich feather. 

"Diana, " said Lady Caroline, but without removing her stony stare, "the child favours his mother. "

"Indeed!" the girl answered indifferently. "I never met her. "

"Oliver has her portrait somewhere, I believe. We must get him to showit to us. A toast in her day, and quite notably good-looking--thoughafter a style I abominate. " She turned to Mrs. Harry and explained:"One of your helpless clinging women. In my experience that sort doesincomparably the worst mischief. "

"Oh, hush, please!" murmured Mrs. Harry. 

But Lady Caroline came of a family addicted to speaking its thoughtsaloud. "Going to sea, is he? Well, on the whole Oliver couldn't dobetter. The boy's position here must be undesirable in many ways; andat sea a lad stands on his own feet--eh, Mr. --I did not catch yourname?"

"Hanmer, ma'am. "

"Well, and isn't it so?"

"Not altogether, ma'am, " stammered Mr. Hanmer. "If ever your ladyshiphad been in the Navy--"

"God bless the man!" Lady Caroline interjected. 

"--you'd have found that--that a good deal of kissing goes by favour, ma'am. "

"H'mph!" said Lady Caroline when Mrs. Harry had done laughing. "The child will not lack protection, of course. Whether 'tis to theircredit or not I won't say, but the Vyells have always shown a consciencefor--er--obligations of this kind. "

On her way back to Sabines, where Sir Oliver had installed them, Lady Caroline again commended to her daughter his sound sense in packingthe child off to sea. 

"They will take 'em at any age, I understand; and Mrs. Vyell, itappears, has no objection. "

"She is not returning to Carolina by sea. "

"No; but she can influence her husband. I must have another talk withher . . . A pleasant, unaffected creature, and, for a sailor's wife, more than presentable. One had hardly indeed looked to find suchnatural good manners in this part of the world. Her mother was aQuakeress, she tells me: yet she laughs a good deal, which I hadimagined to be against their principles. She doesn't say 'thee' and'thou' either. "

"I heard her _tutoyer_ her husband. "

"Indeed? . . . Well, " Lady Caroline went on somewhat inconsequently, "Harry is a lucky man. When one thinks of the dreadful connectionsthese sailors are only too apt to form--though one cannot wholly blamethem, their opportunities being what they are . . . But, as I wassaying, Oliver couldn't have done better, for himself or for the child. At home the poor little creature could never be but a question; andsince he has this craze for salt water--curious he should resemble hisuncle in this rather than his father--one may almost call itprovidential. . . . At the same time, my dear, I wish you could haveshown a little more interest. "

"In the child? Why?"

"Really, Diana, I wish you would cure yourself of putting these abruptquestions. . . . Your Cousin Oliver is now the head of the family, remember. He has received us with uncommon cordiality, and put himselfout not a little--"

"I can believe _that_, " said Diana brusquely. 

"And it says much. All men are selfish, and Oliver as a youth was veryfar from being an exception. I find the change in him significant ofmuch. . . . At the same time you have mixed enough in the world, dear, to know that young men will be young men, and this sort of thinghappens, unfortunately. "

"If, mamma, you suppose I bear Cousin Oliver any grudge because of thischild--"

"I am heartily glad to hear you say it. There should be, with us women, a Christian nicety in dealing with these--er--situations; in retrospect, at all events. A certain--disgust, shall we say?--is natural, proper, even due to our sex: I should think the worse--very far the worse--of myDiana did she not feel it. But above all things, charity! . . . And letme tell you, dear, what I could not have told at the time, but I thinkyou are now old enough to know that such an experience is often the bestcure for a man, who thereafter, should he be fortunate in finding theright woman, anchors his affections and proves the most assiduous ofhusbands. This may sound paradoxical to you--"

"Dear mamma"--Diana hid a smile and a little yawn together--"believe meit does not. "

"Such a man, then, " pursued Lady Caroline, faintly surprised, "is likelyto be the more appreciative of any kindness shown to--er--what I maycall the living consequence of his error. "

"Why not say 'Dicky' at once, mamma, and have done with it. "

"To Dicky, then, if you will; but I was attempting to lay down thegeneral rule which Dicky illustrates. A little gentle notice taken ofthe child not only appeals to the man as womanly in itself, butdelicately conveys to him that the past is, to some extent, condoned. He has sown his wild oats: he is, so to speak, _range_; but he is nonethe less grateful for some assurance--"

Lady Caroline's discourse had whiled the way back to Sabines, to thedrawing-room; and here Diana wheeled round on her with the question, sudden and straight, --

"Do you suppose that Cousin Oliver is _range_, as you call it?"

"My child, we have every reason to believe so. "

"Then what do you make of this?" The girl took up a small volume thatlay on the top of the harpsichord, and thrust it into her mother'shands. 

"Eh? What?" Lady Caroline turned the book back uppermost and spelledout the title through her eyeglass. "'Ovid'--he's Latin, is he not?Dear, I had no notion that you kept up your studies in that--er--tongue. "

"I do not. I have forgot what little I learned of it, and that was nextto nothing. But open the book, please, at the title-page. "

"I see nothing. It has neither book-plate nor owner's signature. "(Indeed Ruth never wrote her name in her books. She looked upon them asher lord's, and hers only in trust. )

"The title-page, I said. You are staring at the flyleaf. "

"Ah, to be sure--" Lady Caroline turned a leaf. "Is this what youmean?" She held up a loose sheet of paper covered with writing. 

"Read it. "

The elder lady found the range of her eyeglass and conned--in silenceand without well grasping its purport--the following effusion:--

 Other maids make Love a foeman, Lie in ambush to defeat him; I alone will step to meet him Valiant, his accepted woman. Equal, consort in his car, Ride I to his royal war. 

 Victims of his bow and targe, Yet who toyed with lovers' quarrels, Envy me my braver laurels! Lord! thy shield of shadow large Lift above me, shout the charge!

"Well?"

"I make nothing of it, " owned Lady Caroline. "It appears to be poetryof a sort--probably some translation from the Latin author. "

"You note, at least, that the handwriting is a woman's?"

"H'm, yes, " Lady Caroline agreed. 

"Nothing else?"

"Dear, you speak in riddles. "

"It _is_ a riddle, " said Diana. "Take the first letter of each line, and read them down, in order. "

"O, L, I, V, E, R V, Y, E, L, L, " spelled Lady Caroline, and loweredher eyeglass. "My dear, as you say, this cannot be a mere coincidence. "

"_Did_ I say that?" asked Diana. 

"But who can it be, or have been? . . . That Dance woman, perhaps?She was infatuated enough. "

"It was not she, " said Diana positively. 

"_Somebody_ can tell us. . . . That Mr. Silk, for instance. "

"Ah, you too think of him?"

"As a clergyman--and to some extent a boon companion of Oliver's--hewould be likely to know--"

"--And to tell? You are quite right, mamma: I have asked him. "

Chapter XI. 

THE ESPIAL. 

Ruth Josselin came down from the mountain to the stream-side, where, bya hickory bush under a knoll, her mare Madcap stood at tether. Slipping behind the bush--though no living soul was near to spy on her--she slid off her short skirt and indued a longer one more suitable forriding; rolled the discarded garment into a bundle which she strappedbehind the saddle; untethered the mare, and mounted. 

At her feet the plain stretched for miles, carpeted for the most partwith short sweet turf and dotted in the distance with cattle, red in thesunlight that overlooked the mountain's shoulder. These were FarmerCordery's cattle, and they browsed within easy radius of a clump of elmsclustered about Sweetwater Farm. Some four miles beyond, on the faredge of the plain, a very similar clump of elms hid another farm, Natchett by name, in like manner outposted with cattle; and these werethe only habitations of men within the ring of the horizon. 

The afternoon sun cast the shadow of the mountain far across this plain, almost to the confines of Sweetwater homestead. A breeze descended fromthe heights and played with Ruth's curls as she rested in saddle for amoment, scanning the prospect; a gentle breeze, easily out-galloped. Time, place, and the horse--all promised a perfect gallop; her ownspirits, too. For she had spent the day's hot hours in clambering amongthe slopes, battling with certain craggy doubts in her own mind; andwith the afternoon shadow had come peace at heart; and out of peace acertain careless exultation. She would test the mare's speed and enjoythis hour before returning to Tatty's chit-chat, the evening lamp, andthe office of family prayer with which Farmer Cordery duly dismissed hishousehold for the night. 

She pricked Madcap down the slope, and at the foot of it launched her onthe gallop. Surely, unless it be that of sailing on a reach and in aboat that fairly heels to the breeze, there is no such motion to catchthe soul on high. The breeze met the wind of her flight and was beatenby it, but still she carried the moment of encounter with her as a waveon the crest of which she rode. It swept, lifted, rapt her out ofherself--yet in no bodiless ecstasy; for her blood pulsed in the beat ofthe mare's hoofs. To surrender to it was luxury, yet her hand on therein held her own will ready at call; and twice, where Sweetwater brookmeandered, she braced herself for the water-jump, judging the pace andthe stride; and twice, with many feet to spare, Madcap sailed over thesilver-grey riband. 

All the while, ahead of her, the mountain lengthened its shadow. She overtook and passed it a couple of furlongs short of the homestead;passed it--so clearly defined it lay across the pasture--with a firmerhold on the rein, as though clearing an actual obstacle. . . . She wasin sunlight now. Before her a wooden fence protected the elms and theirenclosure. At the gate of it by rule she should have drawn rein. 

She had never leapt a gate; had attempted a bank now and then, butnothing serious. Her success at the water-jumps tempted her; and themare, galloping with her second wind, seemed to feel the temptationevery whit as strongly. 

In the instant of rising to it Ruth wondered what Farmer Cordery wouldsay if she broke his top bar. . . . The mare's feet touched it lightly--rap, rap. She was over. 

A wood pile stood within the gate to the left, hiding the house. Shehad passed the corner of it before she could bring Madcap to astandstill, and was laughing to herself in triumph as she glancedaround. 

Heavens!

The house was of timber, with a deep timbered verandah; and in theverandah, not twenty paces away, beside a table laid for coffee, stoodTatty with three ladies about her--three ladies all elegantly dressedand staring. 

Ruth's hand went up quickly, involuntarily, to her dishevelled hair; andat the same moment the little lady, as though making a bolt fromcaptivity, stepped down from the verandah and came shuffling across theyard towards her, almost at a run. 

"Ruth, dear!" she panted. "Oh, dear, dear! I am so glad you have come!"

"Why, what's the matter?" The girl, scenting danger, faced it. She swung herself down from the saddle-crutch, picked up her skirt, andtaking Madcap's rein close beside the curb, walked slowly up to theverandah. "Have they been bullying you, dear?" she asked in a low quietvoice. 

"They have come all this way to see us--Lady Caroline Vyell, and MissDiana; yes, and Mrs. Captain Vyell--'Mrs. Harry, ' as Dicky calls her. They have ferreted us out, somehow--and the questions they have beenasking! I think, dear--I really think--that in your place I should walkMadcap round to her stable and run indoors for a tidy-up before facingthem. A minute or two to prepare yourself--I can easily make yourexcuses. "

"And a moment since you were calling me to come and deliver you!"answered Ruth, still advancing. "Present me, please. "

Little Miss Quiney, turning and running ahead, stammered some words toLady Caroline, who paid no heed to them or to her but kept her eyeglasslifted and fixed upon Ruth. Miss Diana stood a pace behind her mother'sshoulder; Mrs. Harry, after a glance at the girl, turned and madepretence to busy herself with the coffee-table. 

"So _you_ are the young woman!" ejaculated Lady Caroline. 

"Am I?" said Ruth quietly, and after a profound curtsy turned sidewaysto the mare. "A lump of sugar, Tatty, if you please. . . . I thankyou, ma'am--" as Mrs. Harry, anticipating Miss Quiney, stepped forwardwith a piece held between the sugar-tongs. "And I think she evendeserves a second, for clearing the yard gate. "

She fed the gentle creature and dismissed her. "Now trot around to yourstall and ask one of the boys to unsaddle you!" She stood for tenseconds, may be, watching as the mare with a fling of the head trottedoff obediently. Then she turned again and met Mrs. Harry's eyes with afrank smile. 

"It is the truth, " she said. "We cleared the gate. Come, please, andadmire--"

Mrs. Harry, in spite of herself, stepped down from the verandah andfollowed. The others stood as they were, planted in stiff disapproval. 

The girl led Mrs. Harry to the corner of the wood pile. "Admire!" sherepeated, pointing with her riding-switch; and then, still keeping thegesture, she sank her voice and asked quickly, "Why are you here?You have a good face, not like the others. Tell me. "

"Lady Caroline--" stammered Mrs. Harry, taken at unawares. "She has aright, naturally, to concern herself--"

"Does _he_ know?"

"Sir Oliver? No--I believe not. . . . You see, the Vyells are a greatfamily, and 'family' to them is a tremendous affair--a religion almost. Whatever touches one touches all; especially when that one happens to bethe head of his house. "

"Is that how Captain Vyell--how your husband--feels it?--No, please keeplooking towards the gate. I mean no harm by these questions, and youwill not mind answering them, I hope? It gives me just a little morechance of fair play. "

"To tell you the truth, " said Mrs. Harry, pretending to study the jump, "I looked at you because I could not help it. You are anextraordinarily beautiful woman. "

"Thank you, " answered Ruth. "But about 'Captain Harry, ' as we call him?I suppose he, as next of kin, is most concerned of all?"

"He did not tell me about you, if that is what you mean; or rather hetold me nothing until I questioned him. Then he owned that there wassuch a person, and that he had seen you. But he does not even know ofthis visit; he imagines that Lady Caroline is taking me for a pleasuretrip, just to view the country. "

Ruth turned towards the house. "You will tell him, of course, " she saidgravely, "when you return to the ship. "

"I--I suppose I shall, " confessed Mrs. Harry, and added, "There's onething. You may suppose that, as his wife, I am as much concerned asany--perhaps more than these others. But I don't want you to think thatI suggested hunting you up. "

"I do not think anything of the sort. In fact I am sure you did not. "

"Thank you. "

Ruth had a mind to ask "Who, then, had brought them?" but refrained. She had guessed, and pretty surely. 

"Well, " she said with half a laugh, "you have been good and given metime to recover. It's heavy odds, you see, and--and I have not beentrained for it, exactly. But I feel better. Shall we go back and facethem?"

"One moment, again!" Mrs. Harry's kindly face hung out signals ofdistress. "It's heavy odds, as you say. Everything's against you. But the Lord knows I'm a well-meaning woman, and I'd hate to be unjust. If only I could be sure--if only you would tell me--"

Ruth stood still and faced her. 

"Look in my eyes. "

Mrs. Harry looked and was convinced. "But you love him, " she murmured;"and he--"

"Ah, ma'am, " said Ruth, "I answer you one question, and you would ask meanother!"

Chapter XII. 

LADY CAROLINE. 

She walked back to the verandah. 

"I understand, " she said, "that Lady Caroline wishes a word with me. "

With a slight bow she led the way through a low window that opened uponthe Corderys' best parlour, through that apartment, and across a passageto the door of a smaller room lined with shelves--formerly a stillroomor store-chamber for home-made wines, cordials, preserves, but nowconverted into a boudoir for her use. Its one window looked out uponthe farmyard, now in shadow, and a farther doorway led to the dairy. It stood open, and beyond it the eye travelled down a vista of coolslate flags and polished cream-pans. 

On the threshold Ruth stood aside to let Lady Caroline enter; followed, and closed the door; stepped across and closed the door of the dairy. Lady Caroline meanwhile found a seat, and, lifting her eyeglass, studiedat long range the library disposed upon the store shelves. 

"We had best be quite frank, " said she, as Ruth came back and stoodbefore her. 

"If you please. "

"Of course it is all very scandalous and--er--nauseating, though I daresay you are unable to see it in that light. I merely mention it injustice to myself, lest you should mistake me as underrating or evencondoning Sir Oliver's conduct. You will guess, at any rate, how itmust shock my daughter. "

"Yes, " said Ruth; and added, "Why did you bring her?"

The girl's attitude--erect before her, patient, but unflinching--hadalready gone some way to discompose Lady Caroline. This straightquestion fairly disconcerted her; the worse because she could notquarrel with the tone of it. 

"I wish, " she answered, "my Diana to face the facts of life, ugly thoughthey may be. " As if aware that this hardly carried conviction--for, despite herself, something in Ruth began to impress her--she shiftedground and went on, "But we will not discuss my daughter, please. The point is, this state of things cannot continue. It may be hard foryou--I am trying to take your view of it--but what may pass in a youngman of blood cannot be permitted when he succeeds to a title and the--er--headship of his family. It becomes then his duty to give thatfamily clean heirs. I put it plainly?"

Ruth bent her head for assent. 

"Oliver Vyell, as no doubt you know, has already been mixed up in oneentanglement, and has a child for reminder. "

"Oh, but Dicky is the dearest child! The sweetest-natured, thecleanest-minded! Have you not seen him yet?"

Lady Caroline stared. As little as royalty did she understand beingcross-questioned. It gave her a quite unexpected sense of helplessness. 

"I fear you do not at all grasp the position, " she said severely. "After all, I had done better to disregard your feelings, whatever theymay be, and come to terms at once. "

"No, " answered Ruth, musing; "I do not understand the position; but Iwant to, more than I can say--and your ladyship must help me, please. "She paused a moment. "In New England we prize good birth, goodbreeding, and what we too call 'family'; but I think the word must meansomething different to you who live at home in England. "

"I should hope so!" breathed Lady Caroline. 

"It must be mixed up somehow with the great estates you have held forgenerations and the old houses you have lived in. No, " she went on, asLady Caroline would have interrupted; "please let me work it out in myown way, and then you shall correct me where I am wrong. . . . I haveoften thought how beautiful it must be to live in such an old house, onethat has all its corners full of memories--the nurseries most of all--of children and grandchildren, that have grown up in gentleness andcourtesy and honour--"

"Good Lord!" Lady Caroline interjected. "You mean"--Ruth smiled--"that I am talking like a book? That is partly my fault and partly ourNew England way; because, you see, we have to get at these things frombooks. Does it, after all, matter how--if only we get it right? . . . There's a tradition--what, I believe, you call an 'atmosphere'--and youare proud of it and very jealous. "

"If you see all this, " said Lady Caroline, mollified, "our businessshould be easier, with a little common sense on your part. "

"And it knits you, " pursued Ruth, "into a sort of family conspiracy--the womenkind especially--like bees in a hive. The head of the familyis the queen bee, and you respect him amazingly; but all the same youkeep your own judgment, and know when to thwart and when to disobey him, for his own and the family's good. I think you disobeyed Sir Oliver incoming here; or, at least, deceived him and came here without hisknowledge. "

"I am not accustomed, " said Lady Caroline, rising, "to direct my conductupon my nephew's advice. "

"That, more or less, is what I was trying to say. Dear madam, let mewarn you to do so, if you would manage his private affairs. "

They faced each other now, upon declared war. Lady Caroline's neck wassuffused to a purplish red behind the ears. She gasped for speech. Before she found it there came a tapping on the door, and Diana Vyellentered. 

Chapter XIII. 

DIANA VYELL. 

"Have you not finished yet?" Miss Diana closed the door, glanced fromone to the other, and laughed with a genial brutality. "Well, it's timeI came. Dear mamma, you seem to be getting your feathers pulled. "

There was a byword among the Whig families at home (who, byintermarrying, had learned to gauge another's weaknesses), that"the Pett medal showed ill in reverse. " Miss Diana had heard thesaying. As a Vyell--the Vyells were, before all things, critical--sheknew it to be just, as well as malicious; but as a dutiful daughter sheought to have remembered. 

As it was, her cool comment stung her mother to fury. The poor ladypointed a finger at Ruth, and spluttered (there is no more elegant wordfor the very inelegant exhibition), --

"A strumpet! One that has been whipped through the public streets. "

There was a dreadful pause. Miss Diana, the first to recover herself, stepped back to the door and held it open. 

"You must excuse dear mamma, " she said coolly. "She has overtiredherself. "

But Lady Caroline continued to point a finger trembling with passion. 

"Her price!" she shrilled. "Ask her that. It is all these creaturesever understand!"

Miss Diana slipped an arm beneath her elbow and firmly conducted herforth. Ruth, hearing the door shut, supposed that both women hadwithdrawn. She sank into a chair, and was stretching out her arms overthe table to bury her face in them and sob, when the voice of theyounger said quietly behind her shoulder, --

"It is always hard, after mamma's tantrums, to bring the talk back to adecent level. Nevertheless, shall we try?"

Ruth had drawn herself up again, rallying the spirit in her. It wasweary, bruised; but its hour of default was not yet. Her voice dragged, but just perceptibly, as she answered Miss Vyell, who nodded, noting hercourage and wondering a little, --

"I am sorry. "

"Sorry?"

"Yes; it was partly my fault--very largely my fault. But your motherangered me from the first by assuming--what she had no right to assume. It was horrible. "

Diana Vyell seated herself, eyed her steadily for a moment, and noddedagain. "Mamma can be _raide_, there's no denying. She was wrong, ofcourse; that's understood. . . . Still, on the whole you have donepretty well, and had your revenge. "

Ruth's eyes widened, for this was beyond her. 

Diana explained. "You have let us make the most impossible fools ofourselves. It may have been more by luck than by good management, asthey say; but there it is. Now don't say that revenge isn't sweet. . . . I've done you what justice I can; but if you pose as an angel fromheaven, it's asking too much. " While Ruth considered this, she added, "I don't know if you can put yourself in mamma's place for a moment; butif you can, the hoax is complete enough, you'll admit. "

"I had rather put myself in yours. "

Their eyes met, and Diana's cheek reddened slightly. "You are anextraordinary girl, " she said, "and there seems no way but to be honestwith you. Unfortunately, it's not so easy, even with the best will inthe world. Can you understand _that?_"

"If you love him--"

"Oh, for pity's sake spare me!" Diana bounced up and stepped to thewindow. The red on her cheek had deepened, and she averted it to stareout at the poultry in the yard. "You are unconscionable, " she saidafter a while, with a vexed laugh. "I have known my cousin Oliver sincewe were children together. Really, you know, you're almost as brutal asmamma. . . . The truth? Let me see. Well, the truth, so near as I cantell it, is that I just let mamma have her head, and waited to see whatwould happen. This was her expedition, and I took no responsibility forit from the first. "

"I understand. " Ruth, watching the back of her head, spoke musingly, with pursed lips. 

"Excuse me"--Diana wheeled about suddenly--"you cannot possiblyunderstand just yet. This last was my tenth season in London. One grows weary . . . And then in the confusion of papa's death--It comes to this, that I was ready for anything to get out of the oldrut. I--I--shall we say that I just cast myself on fate? It may havebeen at the back of my head that whatever happened might be worse, butcouldn't well be wearier. But if you think I had any design of settingmy cap at him--"

"Hush!" said Ruth softly. "I had no such thought. "

"And if you had, you would not have cared, " said Diana, eyeing her againlong and steadily. "Mamma--you really must forgive mamma. If you knewthem, there was never a Pett that was not _impayable_. Mamma spoke ofasking your price. . . . As if, for any price, he would give you up!"

"I have no price to ask, of him or of any one. "

"No, and you need have none. I am often very disagreeable, " said Dianacandidly, "but my worst enemy won't charge me with disparaging goodlooks in other women. "

"May I use your words, " said Ruth, with a shy smile, "and say that youhave no need?"

"Rubbish! And don't talk like that to me, sitting here and staring youin the face, or I may change my mind again and hate you! I never said Ididn't _envy_. . . . But there, the fault was mine for speaking of'good looks' when I should have said, 'Oh, you wonder!'" broke offDiana. "May I ask it--one question?"

"Twenty, if you will. "

"It is a brutal one; horrible; worse even than mamma's. "

"As I remember, " said Ruth gravely, "Lady Caroline asked none. It was Iwho did the questioning, and--and I am afraid that led to the trouble. "

Diana laughed, and after a moment the two were laughing together. 

"But what is your question?"

"No, I cannot ask it now. " Diana shook her head, and was grave again. 

"Please!"

"Well, then, tell me--" She drew back, slightly tilting her chin andnarrowing her eyes, as one who contemplates a beautiful statue or otherwork of art. "Is it true they whipped _that_, naked, through thestreets?"

Ruth bent her head. 

"It is true. "

"I wonder it did not kill you, " Diana murmured. 

"I am strong; strong and very healthy. . . . It broke something inside;I hardly know what. But there's a story--I read it the other day--abouta man who wandered in a dark wood, and came to a place where he lookedinto hell. Just one glimpse. He fainted, and when he awoke it wasdaylight, with the birds singing all around him. But he was changedmore than the place, for he listened and understood all the woodlandtalk--what the birds were saying, and the small creeping things. And when he went back among men he answered at random, and yet in a waythat astonished them; for he saw and heard what their hearts weresaying, at the back of their talk. . . . Of course, " smiled Ruth, "I am not nearly so wonderful as that. But something has happened tome--"

Diana nodded slowly. "--Something that, at any rate, makes you terriblydisconcerting. But what about Oliver? They tell me that he browbeatthe magistrates and insisted on sitting beside you. "

Ruth's eyes confirmed it. They were moist, yet proud. They shone. 

"I had always, " mused Diana, "looked on my cousin as a carefully selfishperson, even in the matter of that Dance woman. You must have turnedhis head completely. "

"It was not _that_. "

Diana stared, the low tone was so earnest, vehement even. "Well, at allevents I know him well enough to assure you he will never give you up. "

"Ah!" Ruth drew a long sigh over the joy in her heart, and, a secondlater, hated herself for it. 

"--until afterwards. "

"Afterwards?" the girl echoed. 

"Afterwards. My cousin Oliver is a tenacious man, and you would seem tohave worked him up to temporary heroics. But I beg you to reflect thatwhat for you must have been a real glimpse into hell"--Diana shivered--"was likely enough for him no more than an occasion for posing. Fine posing, I'll allow. " She paused. "It didn't degrade him, actually. He's a Vyell; and as another of 'em I may tell you there never was aVyell could face out actual degradation. You almost make me wish wewere capable of it. To lose everything--" She paused again. "You make it more alluring, somehow, than the prospect of endless Londonseasons--Diana Vyell, with a fading face and her market missed--that'show they'll put it--and, _pour me distraire_ this side of the grave, thedower-house, a coach, a pair of wind-broken horses, and the consolationsof religion! If we were capable of it. . . . But where's the use oftalking? We're Vyells. And--here's my point--Oliver is a Vyell. He may be strong-willed, but--did mamma happen to talk at all about the'Family'?"

"I think, " answered Ruth with another faint flash of mirth, "it was Iwho asked her questions about it. "

Diana threw out her hands, laughing. "You are invincible! Well, Icannot hate you; and I've given you my warning. Make him marry you; youcan if you choose, and now is your time. If there should be children--legitimate children, O my poor mamma!--there will be the devil to payand helpless family councils, all of which I shall charge myself toenjoy and to report to you. If there should be none, we're safe withMrs. Harry. She'll breed a dozen. . . . Am I coarse? Oh, yes, theVyells can be coarse! while as for the Petts--but you have heard dearmamma. "

They talked together for a few minutes after this. But their talk shallnot be reported: for with what do you suppose it dealt?

--With Dress. As I am a living man, with Dress. 

In the midst of it, and while Ruth listened eagerly to what Diana had totell of London fashions, Lady Caroline's voice was heard summoning herdaughter away. 

Diana rose. "It is close upon dusk, " she said, "and Mrs. Harry hascommand of the waggon. She drives very well--not better than I perhaps;but she understands this country better. All the same, the road--callit an apology for one--bristles with tree-stumps, and mamma's temperwill be unendurable if the dark overtakes us before we reach the nextfarm. I forget its name. "

"Natchett?"

"Yes, Natchett. We spend the night there. "

"But why did not Mr. Silk drive you over?"

"Did mamma tell you he was escorting us?"

"No. I guessed. "

"Nasty little fellow. Sloppy underlip. I cannot bear him. Can you?"

"I do not like him. "

"It's a marvel to me that my cousin tolerates him. . . . By the way, Ishall not wonder if he--Oliver, I mean--loses his temper heavily when helearns of our expedition, and bundles us straight back to Europe. I warned mamma. "

"So--I am afraid--did I. "

"Yes?"--and again they laughed together. 

"My poor parent! . . . She assured me that her duty to the Family washer armour of proof. Hark! She's calling again. "

They found Lady Caroline impatient in the verandah. Ruth, to avoidspeech with her, walked away to the waggon. Farmer Cordery stood at thehorse's head, and Mrs. Harry beside the step, ready to mount and takethe reins. 

But for some reason Mrs. Harry delayed to mount. "Is it you?" she saidvaguely and put out a hand, swaying slightly. Ruth caught it. 

"Are you ill?"

They were alone together for a moment and hidden from the farmer, whostood on the far side of the horse. 

"Nothing--a sudden giddiness. It's quite absurd, too; when I've been asstrong as a donkey all my life. "

Ruth asked her a question. . . . Some word of woman's lore, droppedyears ago by her own silly mother, crossed her memory. (They had beenoutspoken, in the cottage above the beach. ) It surprised Mrs. Harry, who answered it before she was well aware, and so stood staring, trembling with surmise. 

"God bless you!" Ruth put out an arm on an impulse to clasp her waist, but checked it and beckoned instead to Diana. 

"_You_ take the reins and drive, " she commanded. 

Diana questioned her with a glance, but obeyed and climbed on board. Ruth was helping Mrs. Harry to mount after her when Lady Caroline thrustherself forward, by the step. 

Now since Diana had hold of the reins, and Mrs. Harry was for the momentin no condition to lend a hand, and since Lady Caroline would as liefhave touched leprosy as have accepted help from Ruth Josselin, herascent into the van fell something short of dignity. The rearward ofher person was ample; she hitched her skirt in the step, thus exposingan inordinate amount of not over-clean white stocking; and, to makematters worse, Farmer Cordery cast off at the wrong moment and stoodback from the horse's head. 

"Losh! but I'm sorry, " said he, gazing after the catastrophic result. "Look at her, there, kickin' like a cast ewe. . . . " He turned aserious face on Ruth and added, "Vigorous, too, for her years. "

Ruth, returning to the verandah, bent over little Miss Quiney, who satunsmiling, with rigid eyes. "Dear Tatty, "--she kissed her--"were theyso very dreadful?"

Miss Quiney started as if awaking from a nightmare. 

"That woman--darling, whatever her rank, I _cannot_ term her a lady!--"

"Go on, dear. "

"I cannot. Sit beside me, here, for a while, and let me feel my armabout you. . . . "

They sat thus for a long while silent, while twilight crept over theplain and wrapped itself about the homestead. 

Ruth was thinking. "If I forfeit this, it will be hardest of all. "

Chapter XIV. 

MR. SILK PROPOSES. 

Farmer Cordery had six grown sons--Jonathan, George, William, Increase, Homer, and Lemuel--the eldest eight-and-twenty, the youngest sixteen. All were strapping fellows, and each as a matter of course had fallenover head and ears in love with Ruth. 

They were good lads and knew it to be hopeless. She had stepped intotheir home as a goddess from a distant star, to abide with them for awhile. They worshipped, none confessing his folly; but it made them herslaves, and emulous to shine before her as though she had been a queenof tournay. Because of her presence (it must be sadly owned)challengings, bickerings, even brotherly quarrels, disturbed more andmore the patriarchal peace of Sweetwater Farm. "I dunno what's comeover the boys, " their father grumbled; "al'ays showing off an'jim-jeerin'. Regilar cocks on a dunghill. A few years agone I'd 'vecured it wi' the strap; but now there's no remedy. "

William had challenged his eldest brother Jonathan to "put" a largeround-shot that lay in the verandah. Their father had brought it homefrom the capture of Louisbourg as a souvenir. Jonathan and George hadserved at Louisbourg too, in the Massachusetts Volunteers; but William, though of age to fight, had been left at home to look after the farm andhis mother. It had been a sore disappointment at the time; now thatJonathan and George had taken on a sudden to boast, it rankled. Hence the challenge. The three younger lads joined in. If they couldnot defeat their seniors, they could at least dispute the mastery amongthemselves. Thereupon in all seriousness (ingenuous youths!) they votedthat Miss Josselin should be asked to umpire. 

The contest took place next morning after breakfast, in a paddock beyondthe elms, with Ruth for umpire and sole spectator. Nothing had beensaid to the farmer, who was fast losing his temper with "these dernedwagerings, " and might have come down with a veto that none dareddisobey. He had ridden off, however, at sun-up to the mountain, to lookafter the half-wild hogs he kept at pasture among the woods at its base. 

Ruth measured out the casts conscientiously. In no event would theyoung men have disputed her arbitrament; but, as it happened, thisnicety was thrown away. Jonathan's "put" of forty feet--the shotweighed close upon sixteen pounds--easily excelled the others', who weresportsmen and could take a whipping without bad blood or dispute. The winner crowed a little, to be sure; it was the New England way. But Lemuel the youngest, who had outgrown his strength, had made adeplorable "put, " and the rest jeered at him, to relieve their feelings. The boy fired up. "Oh, have your laugh!" he blazed, with angry tears inhis eyes. "But when it comes to running, there's not one of you butknows I can put circles round him. "

"Take you on, this moment, " answered up young Increase. "Say, boys, we'll all take him on. "

Jonathan had no mind for any such "foolishness. " He had won, and wascontent; and running didn't become the dignity of a grown man. "We didn't run at Louisbourg, I guess. " George echoed him. George couldout-tire even Jonathan at wood-cutting, but had no length of leg. 

But Ruth having compassion on the boy's hurt feelings, persuaded them. They could refuse no straight request of hers. She pointed to anoutlying elm that marked the boundary of the second pasture field beyondthe steading. This should be the turning-post, and would give them acourse well over half a mile, with a water-jump to be crossed twice. She ranged them in line, and dropped her handkerchief for signal. 

They were off. She stood with the sun at her back and watched the race. George, of the short legs, broad shoulders, and bullet head, was asprinter (as we call it nowadays) and shot at once to the front, withHomer not far behind, and Increase disputing the third place withLemuel. Jonathan and William made scarcely a show of competing. The eldest lad, indeed, coming to the brook, did not attempt to jump, but floundered heavily through it, scrambled up the farther bank, andlumbered on in hopeless pursuit. It was here that Lemuel's long easystride asserted itself, and taking first place he reached the tree withseveral yards' lead. 

"He will win at his ease now, " said Ruth to herself; and just at thatmoment her ears caught the sound of a horse's footfall. She turned; butthe sun shone full in her eyes, and not for a second or two did sherecognise her visitor, Mr. Silk. 

He was on horseback, and, stooping from his saddle, was endeavouringjust now--but very unhandily--to unhasp the gate with the crook of hisriding-whip. Ruth did not offer to go to his help. 

He managed it at last, thrust the horse through by vigorous use of hisknees, and was riding straight up to the house. But just then he caughtsight of her, changed his course, and came towards her at a walk. 

"Ah, good-morning!" he called. 

"Good-morning. "

He dismounted. "Thought I'd ride over and pay you a call. The ladieswill not be starting on their return journey for another couple ofhours. So I borrowed a horse. "

"Evidently. "

"There's something wrong with him, I doubt. " Mr. Silk was disagreeablyred and moist. 

"I dare say he is not used to being ridden mainly--or was it wholly?--onthe curb. "

He grinned. "Well, and I'm not used to riding, and that's a fact. But"--he leered the compliment--"there are few dangers I would notbrave for a glance from Miss Josselin. "

"You flatter me, sir. But I believe you braved a worse, yesterday, without claiming that reward. "

"Ah! You mean that Sir Oliver will be angry when he gets wind of ourlittle expedition? The ladies persuaded me--Adam's old excuse; I candeny nothing to the sex. . . . But what have we yonder? A race?"

"It would appear so. "

"A very hollow one, if I may criticise. That youngster moves like adeer. . . . And what is his reward to be?--another glance of thesebright eyes? Ah, Miss Josselin, you make fools--and heroes--of us all!"

Ruth turned from him to applaud young Lemuel, who came darting into theenclosure. 

"See old Jonathan!" panted the boy, looking back and laughing. "That's how they ran at Louisbourg. . . . Miss Josselin, you should havemade it a mile and I'd have shown you some broken-winded ones. "He laughed again and turned in apology to Mr. Silk. "I'll take yourhorse to stable, sir, if you'll let me catch my breath. "

The others came straggling up, a little abashed at sight of thestranger, but not surprised out of their good manners. 

"A clergyman?" said Jonathan. "My father will be home before sundown, sir. He will be proud if you can stay and have dinner with us. "

Mr. Silk explained that he had ridden over from Natchett to call on MissJosselin and had but an hour to spare. They insisted, however, that hemust eat before leaving, and they led away his horse to bait, leavinghim and Ruth together. 

"Will you come into the house?" she asked. 

"With your leave we can talk better here. . . . So you guessed that Imade one of the party? Miss Vyell told me. "

"It was not difficult to guess. "

"And you admired my courage?"

Ruth's eyebrows went up to a fine arch. "When you were careful to keepin hiding?"

"From motives of delicacy, believe me. It occurred to me that LadyCaroline might--er--speak her mind, and I had no wish to be distressedby it, or to distress you with my presence. "

"I thank you for so much delicacy, sir. "

"But Lady Caroline--let us do her justice! She calls a spade a spade, but there's no malice in it. You stood up to her, I gather. We've beendiscussing you this morning, and you may take my word she don't thinkthe worse of you for it. They're sportsmen, these high-born people. I come of good family myself, and know the sort. 'Slog and take aslogging; shake hands and no bad blood'--that's their way. The fine oldBritish way, after all. " Mr. Silk puffed his cheeks and blew. 

"You have been discussing me with Lady Caroline?"

"Yes, " he answered flatly. "Yes, " he repeated, and rolled his eyes. "All for your good, you know. Of course she started by calling younames and taking the worst for granted. But I wouldn't have _that_. "

"Go on, sir, if you please. "

"I wouldn't have it, because I didn't believe it. If I did--hang it!--I shouldn't be here. You might do me that justice. "

"Why _are_ you here?"

"I'm coming to that; but first I want you to open your eyes to theposition. You may think it's all very pretty and romantic and like FairRosamond--without the frailty as yet: that's granted. But how will itend? Eh? That's the question, if you'd bring your common sense tobear on it. "

"Suppose you help me, sir, " said Ruth meekly. 

"That's right. I'm here to help, and in more ways than one. . . . Well, I know Sir Oliver; Lady Caroline knows him too; and if it'smarriage you're after, you might as well whistle the moon. You don'tbelieve me?" he wound up, for she was eyeing him with an inscrutablesmile. 

She lifted her shoulder a little. "For the sake of your argument wewill say that it is so. "

"Then what's to be the end? I repeat. Look here, missy. We spar a bitwhen we meet, you and I; but I'd be sorry to see you go the way you'regoing. 'Pon my honour I would. You're as pretty a piece of flesh as aman could find on this side of the Atlantic, and what's a sharp tonguebut a touch of spice to it? Piquancy, begad, to a fellow like me! . . . And--what's best of all, perhaps--you'd pass for a lady anywhere. "

She shrank back a pace before this incredible vulgarity; but not evenyet did she guess the man's drift. 

"So I put it to you, why not?" he continued, flushing as he came to thepoint and contemplated his prey. "You don't see yourself as a parson'swife, eh? You're not the cut. But for that matter _I'm_ not theordinary cut of parson. T'other side of the water we'd fly high. They'll not have heard of Port Nassau, over there, nor of the littlenest at Sabines; and with Lady Caroline to give us a jump-off--I haveher promise. She runs a Chapel of her own, somewhere off St. James's. Give me a chance to preach to the fashionable--let me get a foot insidethe pulpit door--and, with you to turn their heads in the Mall below, strike me if I wouldn't finish up a Bishop! _La belle Sauvage_--they'dput it around I'd found my beauty in the backwoods, and converted her. . . . Well, what d'ye say? Isn't that a prettier prospect than to endas Sir Oliver's cast-off?"

She put a hand backwards, and found a gate-rail to steady her. 

"Ah! . . . How you dare!" she managed to murmur. 

"Dare? Eh! you're thinking of Sir Oliver?" He laughed easily. "Lady Caroline will put _that_ all right. He'll be furious at first, nodoubt; my fine gentleman thinks himself the lion in the fable--when heshares out the best for himself, no dog dares bark. But we'll give himthe go-by, and afterwards he can't squeal without showing himself thepublic fool. . . . Squeal? I hope he will. I owe him one. "

At this moment young George and Increase Cordery came past the farcorner of the house with their team, their harness-chains jingling asthey rode afield. At sight of them a strong temptation assailed Ruth, but she thrust it from her. 

"Sir"--she steadied her voice--"bethink you, please, that I have only tolift a hand and those two, with their brothers, will drag you throughthe farm pond. "

Before he could answer, she called to them. As they turned and walkedtheir horses towards her she glanced at Mr. Silk, half mischievously inspite of her fierce anger. He was visibly perturbed; but his face, mottled yellow with terror, suggested loathing rather than laughter. 

"I am sorry to trouble you, but will you please fetch Mr. Silk's horse?He must return at once. "

When they were gone she turned to him. 

"I am sorry to dismiss you thus, sir, after the--the honour you havedone me; the more sorry because you will never understand. "

Indeed--his scare having passed--he was genuinely surprised, indignant. 

"I understand this much, " he answered coarsely, "that I've offered tomake you an honest woman, but you prefer to be--" The word was on histongue-tip, but hung fire there. 

She had turned her back on him, and stood with her arms resting forsupport on the upper rail of the gate. She heard him walk away towardsthe stable-yard. . . . By-and-by she heard him ride off--heard the clickof the gate behind him. A while after this she listened, and then bowedher face upon her arms. 

Chapter XV. 

THE CHOOSING. 

The minutes passed, and still she leaned there. At long intervals, whena sob would not be repressed, her shoulders heaved and fell. But it wascharacteristic of Ruth Josselin throughout her life that she hated toindulge in distress, even when alone. As a child she had been stoical;but since the day of her ordeal in Port Nassau she had not once wept inself-pity. She had taught herself to regard all self-pity as shameful. 

She made no sound. The morning heat had increased, and across it thesmall morning noises of the farm were borne drowsily--the repeatedstrokes of a hatchet in the backyard, where young Lemuel split logs; thevoice of Mrs. Cordery, also in the backyard, calling the poultry fortheir meal of Indian corn; the opening and shutting of windows as roomswere redded and dusted; lastly, Miss Quiney's tentative touch on thespinet. Sir Oliver in his lordly way had sent a spinet by cart fromBoston; and Tatty, long since outstripped by her pupil, had a trick ofpicking out passages from the more difficult pieces of music and"sampling" them as she innocently termed it--a few chords now and again, but melodies for the most part, note by note hesitatingly attempted withone finger. 

For a while these noises fell on Ruth's ear unheeded. Then somethinglike a miracle happened. 

Of a sudden either the noises ceased or she no longer heard them. It was as if a hush had descended on the farmstead; a hush ofexpectancy. Still leaning on the gate, she felt it operate withinher--an instantaneous calm at first, soothing away the spirit's anguishas though it were ointment delicately laid on a bodily wound. Not anache, even, left for reminder! but healing peace at a stroke, and in thehush of it small thrills awaking, stirring, soft ripples scarcelyperceptible, stealing, hesitating, until overtaken by reinforcements ofbliss and urged in a flood, bathing her soul. 

_He_ was near! He must be here, close at hand!

She lifted her head and gazed around. For minutes her closed eyeballshad been pressed down upon her arms, and the sunlight played tricks withher vision. Strange hues of scarlet and violet danced on the sky andaround the fringes of the elms. 

But he was there! Yes, beyond all doubting it was he. . . . 

He had ridden in through the gateway on his favourite Bayard, and with aled horse at his side. He was calling, in that easy masterful voice ofhis, for one of the Cordery lads to take the pair to stable. Lemuel came running. 

In the act of dismounting he caught sight of her and paused to lift hishat. But before dismissing the horses to stable he looked them over, asa good master should. 

He was coming towards her. . . . Three paces away he halted, and hissmile changed to a frown. 

"You are in trouble?"

"It has passed. I am happy now; and you are welcome, my lord. "

She gave him her hand. He detained it. 

"Who has annoyed you? Those women?"

She shook her head. "You might make a better guess, for you must havemet him on the way. Mr. Silk was here a while ago. "

"Silk?"

"And he--he asked me to marry him. "

"The hound! But I don't understand. Silk here? I see the game; hemust have played escort to those infernal women. . . . Somehow I hadn'tsuspected it, and Lady Caroline kept that cat in the bag when Isurprised her at Natchett an hour ago. I wonder why?"

Ruth had a shrewd guess; but, fearing violence, forbore to tell it. 

He went on: "But what puzzles me more is, how I missed meeting him. "

In truth the explanation was simple enough. Mr. Silk, turning thecorner of the lane, where it bent sharply around Farmer Cordery'swood-stacks, had chanced to spy Sir Oliver on a rise of the road to theeastward, and had edged aside and taken cover behind the stacks. He wasnow making for Natchett at his best speed. 

"A while ago, you say? How long ago? The thief cannot have gone far--"Sir Oliver looked behind him. Clearly he had a mind to call for hishorse again and to pursue. 

But Ruth put out a hand. "He is not worth my lord's anger. "

For a moment he stood undecided, then broke into a laugh. "Was he riding?"

"He was on horseback, to be more exact. "

"Then he'll find it a stony long way back to Boston. " He laughed again. "You see, I've been worrying myself, off and on, about that trick ofMadcap's--I'll be sworn she came within an ace of crossing her legs thatday. I'd a mind to ride over and bring you Forester--he's a sobererhorse, and can be trusted at timber. I'd resolved on it, in short, evenbefore my brother Harry happened to blurt out the secret of LadyCaroline's little expedition. Soon as I heard that, I put George thegroom on Forester, and came in chase. . . . I find her ladyship atNatchett, and after some straight talking I put George in charge of theconspirators, with instructions to drive them home. They chose to saynothing of Silk, and I didn't guess; so now the rogue must either leg itback or gall himself on a waggon-horse. "

"You worried yourself about me?"

"Certainly. You don't suppose I want my pupil to break her neck?"

"You do Madcap injustice. Why, yesterday she jumped--she almost flew--this very gate on which I am leaning. "

"The more reason--" he began, and broke off. His tone had been light, but when he spoke again it had grown graver, sincerer. "It is a factthat I worried about you, but that is not all the reason why I am here. The whole truth is more selfish. . . . Ruth, I cannot do without you. "

She put up a hand, leaning back against the gate as though giddy. 

"But why?" he urged, as she made no other response. "Is it that youstill doubt me--or yourself, perhaps?"

"Both, " she murmured. "It is not so easy as you pretend. " Bliss hadweakened her for a while, but the weakness was passing. 

"Those women have been talking to you. I can engage, whatever theysaid, I gave it back to 'em with interest. They sail by the next ship. . . . But what did they say?"

"_They say. What say they? Let them say_, " Ruth quoted, her lipssmiling albeit her eyes were moist. "Does it matter what they said?"

"No; for I can guess. However the old harridan put it, you were askedto give me up; and, after all, everything turns on our answer to that. I have given you mine. What of yours?" He stepped close. "Ruth, willyou give me up?"

She put out her hands as one groping, sightless, and in pain. 

"Ah, you are cruel! . . . You know I cannot. "

BOOK III. 

THE BRIDALS. 

Chapter I. 

BETROTHED. 

Sir Oliver rode back to Boston that same evening. Ruth had stipulatedthat his promise to her folk in the beach cottage still held good; thatwhen the three years were out, and not a day before, she would return tothem and make her announcement. Meanwhile, although the coast wouldsoon be clear of her enemies and he desired to have her near, she beggedoff returning to Sabines. Here at Sweetwater Farm she could ride, withthe large air about her and freedom to think. It was not that sheshirked books and tutors. She would turn to them again, by-and-by. But at Sweetwater she could think things out, and she had great need ofthinking. 

He yielded. He was passionately in love and could deny her nothing. He would ride over and pay his respects once a week. 

So he took his leave, and Ruth abode with the Corderys and Miss Quiney. Disloyal though she felt it, she caught herself wishing, more than once, that her lord could have taken dear Tatty back with him to Boston. 

I desire to depict Ruth Josselin here as the woman she was, not as anangel. 

Now Tatty, when Sir Oliver had led Ruth indoors and presented her as hisaffianced wife, had been taken aback; not scandalised, but decidedly--and, for so slight a creature, heavily--taken aback. It is undoubtedthat she loved Ruth dearly; nay, so dearly that in a general way nofortune was too high to befall her darling. What dreams she hadentertained for her I cannot tell. Very likely they had been at oncesplendid and vague. Miss Quiney was not worldly-wise, yet her wisdomdid not transcend what little she knew of the world. She had greatnotions of Family, for example. She had imagined, may be--still in avague way--that Sir Oliver would some day provide his _protegee_ with amate of good, or at least sufficient, Colonial birth. She had beenoutraged by Lady Caroline's suggestions. Now this, while ittriumphantly refuted them, did seem to show that Lady Caroline had notaltogether lacked ground for suspicion. 

In fine, the dear creature received a shock, and in her flurry could notdissemble it. 

Sir Oliver did not perceive this. In the first flush of conquest allmen are a trifle fatuous, unobservant. No woman is. Miss Quiney's armsdid not suddenly go out to Ruth. Ruth noted it. She was just: sheunderstood. But (I repeat) she was a woman, and women rememberindelibly whatever small thing happens at this crisis of their lives. 

In the end Miss Quiney stretched forth her arms; but at first she seemedto shrivel and grow very small in her chair. Nor can her first commentbe called adequate, --

"Dear sir--oh, but excuse me!--this is so sudden!"

Later, when she and Ruth were left alone, she explained, still a littletremulously, "You took me all of a heap, my dear! I can hardly realiseit, even now. . . . Such a splendid position! You will go to London, I doubt not; and be presented at Court; and be called Lady Vyell. . . . Have you thought of the responsibilities?"

She had, and she had not. Her own promised splendours, the command ofwealth and of a great household--this aspect of the future was blank toher as yet. But another presented itself and frightened her: it engagedher conscience in doubts even when she shook it free of fears. The Family--that mysterious shadow of which Lady Caroline no doubtshowed as the ugliest projection! Ruth was conscientious. She divinedthat behind Lady Caroline's aggressiveness the shadow held somethingtruly sacred and worth guarding; something impalpable and yet immenselysolid; something not to be defied or laughed away because inexplicable, but venerable precisely because it could not be explained; something notfashioned hastily upon reason, but built by slow accretion, with theyears for its builders--mortared by sentiments, memories, traditions, decencies, trivialities good and bad, even (may be) by the blood offoolish quarrels--but founded and welded more firmly, massed moreformidably, than any structure of mere reason; and withal a templewherein she, however chastely, might never serve without profaning it. 

I do most eagerly desire you, at this point in her story, to be just toRuth Josselin. I wish you to remember what she had suffered, in thestreets, at the hands of self-righteous folk; to understand that it hadkilled all religion in her, with all belief in its rites, but not theessential goodness of her soul. 

She at any rate, and according to the light given her, was incurablyjust. Weighing on the one hand her love and Oliver Vyell's, on theother the half-guessed injury their marriage might do to him and toothers of his race; weighing them not hastily but through long hours ofthought: carrying her doubts off to the hills and there considering themin solitude, under the open sky; casting out from the problem all ofself save only her exceeding love; this strange girl--made strange byman's cruelty--decided to give herself in due time, but to exact nomarriage. 

Why should she? The blessing of a clergyman meant nothing to her, asshe was sure it meant nothing to her lover. Why should she tie him aday beyond the endurance of his love? Beyond the death of the thingitself what sanctity could live in its husk? And, moreover, in anyevent was she not his slave?

So she reasoned: and let the reader call her reasoning by any name hewill. By some standards it was wicked; by others wrong. It forgot oneof the strongest arguments against itself, as she was in time to prove. But let none call her unchaste. 

After certain weeks she brought her arguments to him; standing beforehim, halting in her speech a little, but entreating him with eyes asstraight as they were modest. Her very childishness appealed againsther arguments. 

He listened, marvelled, and broke into joyous laughter. He would havenone of it. Why, she was fit to be a queen!--a thousand times too goodfor him. His family? Their prejudices should fall down before her andworship. As little as she did he set store by rites of the Church orbelieve in them: but, as the world went, to neglect them would be tostint her of the chief honour. Was this fair to him, who desired toheap honours upon her and would stretch for them even beyond his power?

His passion, rather than his arguments, overbore her. That passionrejuvenated him. Once or twice it choked his voice, and her heartleapt; for she was a sensible girl and, remembering the dead MargaretDance, had schooled herself to know that what was first love with her, drenching her heart with ecstasy, could never be first love with him. Yet now and again the miracle declared itself and instead of a lord, commanding her, he stood before her a boy: and with a boy's haltingspeech--ah, so much dearer than eloquence!

Beyond a doubt he was over head and ears in love. He was honest, too, in his desire to set her high and make a queen of her. In Boston, Mr. Ned Manley, architect of genius, was sitting up into the small hours ofmorning; now, between potations of brandy, cursing Sir Oliver for aslave-driver, while Batty Langton looked on and criticised with a smilethat tolerated a world of fools for the sake of one or two inspiredones; anon working like a demon and boasting while he worked. Already on a hillside between Boston and Sweetwater Farm--the hillitself could be seen from the farmstead, but not their operations, whichlay on the far side--three hundred labourers were toiling in gangs, levelling, terracing, hewing down forest trees, laying foundations. Already ships were heading for Boston Harbour with statuary and wroughtmarble in their holds, all to beautify a palace meet for Oliver Vyell'sbride. Thus love wrought in him, in a not extraordinary way if we allowfor his extraordinary means. He and Ruth, between them, were beginningto sing the eternal duet of courtship:--

 _He_. --Since that I love, this world has grown; Yea, widens all to be possest. _She_--Since that I love, it narrows down Into one little nest. 

 _He_. --Since that I love, I rage and burn O'erwhelming Nineveh with Rome! _She_. --In vain! in vain! Fond man return-- Such doings be at home!

He had reached an age to know himself in his own despite. He was noboy, to dream of building or overthrowing empires. But he could buildhis love a palace. His friend Batty Langton bore with all this energyand smiled wisely. 

Ruth guessed nothing of these preparations. But his vehemence brokedown her scruples, overbore and swept away what she had built in hoursof patient thinking. She yielded: she would be married, since he willedit. 

But the debate had been; and it left Tatty, with her maxims andtaken-for-granted practicalities, hard to endure at times. 

"The outfit?" Tatty would suggest. "At this distance from civilisationwe cannot even begin to take it in hand. Yet it should be worthy of theoccasion, and men--speaking with all respect of Sir Oliver--are apt tooverlook these things. Dear Ruth, I do not know if you have thought ofreturning to Sabines. . . . So much handier. . . . "

Ruth, half-wilfully, refused to think of returning to Sabines. 

But if Tatty fussed, the Cordery lads made more than recompense for herfussing. From the hour when, at supper-time, Sir Oliver led MissJosselin into the kitchen, his bride affianced, all discord ceasedbetween these young men. He was their master and patron, and theythenceforth were her servants only--her equal champions shouldoccasion ever be given. 

Thenceforth too, and until the hour when at nightfall she drove awayfrom Sweetwater Farm, she was their goddess: and as, while Phoebusserved shepherd to Admetus, his fellow swains noted that never hadharvest been so heavy or life so full of sweet and healthy rivalries, sothese young men, who but once or twice saw Ruth Josselin after the hourof her departure, talked in scattered homesteads all their days of thatgood time at Sweetwater, and of the season's wonderful bearings. Undoubtedly the winter was a genial one--so genial that scarcely a daydenied Ruth a bracing ride: the spring that followed seemed to rain andshine almost in obedience to Farmer Cordery's evening prayer (and itnever left the Almighty in doubt of his exact wishes). Summer came, andthe young men, emulous but no longer bickering, scythed down prodigiousswathes; harvest-fall, and they put in their sickles among tall stalkand full ear. 

Sir Oliver and Ruth watched the harvest. When all was gathered, theyoung men begged that she would ride home on the last load. They escorted her back to the farmstead, walking two-by-two before thecart, under the young moon. 

Next evening at the same hour she bade them farewell and climbed into alight waggon that stood ready, its lamps throwing long shafts of light. Horses had been sent on ahead, with two servants for escort, and wouldawait her at dawn, far on the road; but to-night she would sleep in thewaggon, upon a scented bed of hay. The reason for this belated startSir Oliver kept a secret from her. There was a certain hill upon theway, and he would not have her pass it by daylight. He had returnedthat morning to Boston; Miss Quiney with him. 

Ruth's eyes were moist to leave these good folk. Farmer Cordery clearedhis throat and blessed her in parting. She blessed them in return. 

The waggon, after following the Boston road for a while, turnednorthward, bearing her by strange ways and through the night towardsPort Nassau. 

Chapter II. 

THE RETURN. 

The breakers boomed up the beach, and in the blown spray Old Josselinpottered, bareheaded and barefoot. His eyesight had grown dimmer, butotherwise his bodily health had improved, for nowadays he ate foodenough: and, as for purblindness, why there was no real need to keepwatch on the sea. He did it from habit. 

Ruth came on him much as Sir Oliver had come on him three years before;the roar of the breakers swallowing all sound of Madcap's hoofs untilshe was close at his shoulder. Now as then he turned about with apuzzled face, peered, and lifted his hand a little way as if to touchhis forehead. 

"Your ladyship--" he mumbled, noting only her fine clothes. 

"Grandfather!"

She slipped down from saddle and kissed him, in sight of the grooms, whohad reined up fifty yards away. 

"What? Ruth, is it? . . . Here's news, now, for your mother, poorsoul!"

"How is she? Take me to her at once, please. "

"Eh! . . . Your mother keeps well enough; though doited, o' course--doited. Properly grown you be, too, I must say. . . . I didn'treckernise ye comin' on me like that. Inches ye've grown. "

"And you--well, you look just the same as ever; only fuller and haler. "

"Do I?" The old man gave her in the old way certain details of hishealth. "But I'm betterin'. Food's a blessin', however ye comeby it. "

On a sudden, as she read his thought, the very tokens of health in hisface accused her . . . And, a moment since, she had been merely glad tonote them. 

"Clothes too, ye'll say? I don't set store by clothes, meself; but afine han'some quean they make of ye. That's a mare, too! Cost ahundred guineas, I shouldn't wonder. . . . Well, an' how's the gentlemankeepin'? Turned into a lord, you told us, in one o' your letters: that, or something o' the sort. "

"Then at any rate you have read my letters?"

"Why, to be sure. My old eyes can't tackle 'em; but your mother reads'em out, over an' over, an' I tell her what this an' that means, an' getthe sense into her head somehow. "

"Take me to her. " Ruth signalled to the grooms, who came forward. They were well-trained servants, recent imports from England, and SirOliver had billeted them where they could hear no gossip of her history. They had kept their distance with faces absolutely impassive while theirmistress kissed and chatted with this old man, and they merely touchedtheir hats, with a "Very good, miss, " when she gave over the mare, saying she would walk up to the cottage and rest for an hour. 

"Oo-oof! the dear old smell!" Ruth, before she turned, drew in a deepbreath of it. There was no one near to observe and liken her, standingthere with blown tresses and wind-wrapt skirt on the edge of Ocean, tothe fairest among goddesses, the Sea-born. 

She walked up the beach, the old man beside her. 

"Ay: you reckernise the taste of it, I dessay. But you'd not come backto it, not you. . . . It must be nigh upon dinner: my belly still keepstime like a clock. M'ria shall cook us a few clams. Snuffin' won'tbring it back like clams. " He chuckled, supposing he had made a joke. 

Her mother had caught sight of them from the window where she sat asusual watching the sea. As they climbed the slope, picking their wayalong loosely-piled wreckwood, she opened the door and stood at firstfastening a clean apron and then rubbing her palms up and down upon it, as though they were sweaty and she would dry them before she shookhands. 

"That's so, M'ria!" the old man shouted cheerfully, as his eyes made outthe patch of white apron in the doorway. "It's our Ruth, all right--come to pay us a visit!" He bawled it, at close quarters. This was hisway of conveying intelligence to the crazed brain. 

Mrs. Josselin, awed by her daughter's appearance--a little perhaps, byher loveliness; more, belike, by her air of distinction and her finedress (though this was simple enough--a riding suit of grey velvet, witha broad-brimmed hat and one black feather)--withdrew behind her back thehand she had been wiping, and stood irresolute, smiling in a timid way. 

It was horrible. Ruth stretched out her arms lest in another moment hermother should bob a curtsy. 

"Mother--mother!"

She took the poor creature in her arms and held her, shivering a littleas she sought her lips; for Mrs. Josselin, albeit scrupulously clean, had a trace of that strange wild smell that haunts the insane. Ruth hadlived with it aforetime and ceased to notice it. Now she recognised it, and shivered. 

"Surely, surely, " said the mother as soon as the embrace released her. "I always said you would come back, some day. In wealth or in trouble, I always told grandfather you would come back. . . . That hat, now--thevery latest I'll be bound. . . . And how is your good gentleman?"

"Mother! Please do not call him that!"

"Why, you ha'n't quarrelled, ha' you?"

"Indeed, no. "

"That's right. " Mrs. Josselin nodded, looking extremely wise. "Show a good face always, no matter what happens; and, with your looksthere's no saying what you can't persuade him to. All the Pococks weregood-looking, though I say it who shouldn't: and as for the Josselins--"

"Sit down, mother, " Ruth commanded. She must get this over, and soon, for it was straining at her heart. "Sit down and listen to what I haveto tell. Afterwards you shall get me something to eat; and while youare dishing it--dear mother, you were always briskest about thefireplace--we will talk in the old style. "

"Surely, surely. " Mrs. Josselin seated herself on the block-stool. 

"You remember the promise? In three years--and yesterday the threeyears were up--I was to come back and report myself. "

"Is it three years, now? Time _do_ slip away!"

"The gel's right, " corroborated old Josselin, pausing as he filled apipe. "I remember it. "

"This is what I have to report--Sir Oliver has asked me to marry him. "

There was a pause. "I dunno, " said the old man sourly--and Ruth knewthat tone so well! He always used it on hearing good news, lest heshould be mistaken for genial--"I dunno why you couldn' ha' told us thatstraight off, without beatin' round the bush. It's important enough. "

"He has asked me to marry him, and I have said 'yes. '"

"What else _could_ ye say?"

"Of _course_ she said 'yes, ' the darling!" Mrs. Josselin clapped herhands together, without noise. "What did I ever say but that 'twas achance, if you used it? But when is it to be?" she added, suspiciously. 

"Very soon. As soon as I please, in fact. "

"You take my advice and pin him to it. The sooner the better--eh, darling?"

Ruth rose wearily. "I see the pot boiling, " she said with a glance atthe fireplace, "and I have been on horseback since seven o'clock. Mother, won't you give me food, at least? I am hungry as a hunter. "

--But this was very nearly a fib. She had been hungry enough, half anhour ago. Now her throat worked in disgust--not at the hovel and itspoverty; for these were dear--but at the thought that thus for threeyears her dearest had been thinking of her. It had been the home ofinfinite mutual tolerance, of some affection--an affection not patentperhaps--and for years it had been all she owned. Now it lived on, butwas poisoned; the atmosphere of the humble place was poisoned, andthrough her. 

"Food?"--her mother rose. "Food be sure, and a bed, deary: for you'llbe sleeping here, of course?"

"No. I go on to Port Nassau; and thence in a few days to a lodging upin the back country. "

"Such a mare as she's ridin' too!" put in the old man. 

"I wouldn' put up at Port Nassau, if I was you, " said her mother pausingas she made ready to lift the pot-handle. "They won't know what you'vetold us, and they'll cast up the old shame on you. "

"M'ria ha'n't talked so sensible for days, " said the old man. "Joy must ha' steadied her. . . . Clams, is it? Clams, I hope. "

The meal over, Ruth took leave of them, reproaching herself for herhaste, though troubled to have delayed the grooms so long. 

She mounted and rode forward thoughtfully. 

The grooms did not wear the Vyell white and scarlet, but a sober liveryof dark blue. Between more serious thoughts Ruth wondered if any one inPort Nassau would recognise her. 

The hostess of the Bowling Green did not, but came to the door anddropped curtsies to her, as to a grand lady. She startled Ruth, however, by respectfully asking her name. 

Ruth, who had forgotten to provide against this, had a happyinspiration. 

"I am Miss Ruth, " she said. 

The landlady desired to be informed how to spell it. "For, " said she, "I keep a list of all the quality that honour the Bowling Green. "

Ruth signed it boldly in the book presented, and ordered supper to bebrought to her room; also a fire to be lit. She was given the same roomin which she had knelt to pull off Oliver Vyell's boots. 

Whilst supper was preparing, in a panic lest she should be recognisedshe tied her hair high and wound it with a rope of pearls--her lover'sfirst gift to her. In her dress she could make little change. The waggon following in her wake would be due to-morrow with her boxes;but for to-night she must rely on the few necessaries of toilet thegrooms had brought, packed in small hold-alls at their saddle bows. 

Her fears proved to be idle. The meal was served by a small maid, uponwhom she once or twice looked curiously. She wondered if the landladyscolded her often. 

After supper she sat a long while in thought over the fire, shieldingits heat from her with her hands. They were exquisite hands, but onceor twice she turned them palms-uppermost, as though to make sure theybore no scars. 

Chapter III. 

NESTING. 

She spent a week in Port Nassau, recognised by none. She walked itsstreets, her features half hidden by a veil; and among the PortNassauers she passed for an English lady of quality who, by one of thosefreaks from which the wealthy suffer, designed to rent or build herselfa house in the neighbourhood. Her accent by this time was English; byunconscious preference she had learnt it from her lover, translating andadapting it to her own musical tones. It deceived the Port Nassauerscompletely. 

She visited many stores, always with a manservant in attendance; and, always paying down ready-money, bought of the best the little town couldafford (but chiefly small articles of furniture, with some saltedprovisions and luxuries such as well-to-do skippers took to sea fortheir private tables). The waggon had arrived; it, too, contained aquantity of wine and provisions, camp furniture, clothes, etc. 

At the end of the week she left Port Nassau with her purchases, the twomen escorting her, the laden waggon following. They climbed the hillabove the town, and struck inland from the base of the peninsula, travelling north and by west. The road--a passably good one--led themacross a dip of cultivated land, shaped like a saddle-back, with a lineof forest trees topping its farther ridge. This was the fringe of aconsiderable forest, and beyond the ridge they rode for miles in theshade of boughs, slanting their way along a gentle declivity, with hereand there glimpses of a broad plain below, and of a broad-banded riverwinding through it with many loops. 

But these glimpses were rare, and a stranger could not guess the extentof the plain until, stepping from the forest into broad day, he foundhimself on the very skirts of it. 

An ample plain it was; a grass ground of many thousand acres, wherefifty years ago the Indians had pastured, but where now the farmerslaboriously saved their hay when the floods allowed, and in springlaunched their punts and went duck-shooting with long guns andwading-boots. For in winter one sheet of water--or of ice, as it mighthappen--covered the meadows and made the great river one with the manybrooks that threaded their way to her. But at this season they ran lowbetween their banks and the eye easily traced their meanderings, whilethe main stream itself rolled its waters in full view--in places threehundred yards wide, and seldom narrower than one hundred. Dwarf willowsfringed it: at some distance back from the shore, alders and reddeningmaples dotted the meadows, with oaks here and there, and everywhere wildcranberry bushes in great moss-like hummocks. 

It ran sluggishly, and always--however long the curve--up to its near orright bank the plain lay flat, or broken only by these hummocks. But from the farther shore the ground rose at a moderate slope, and herewere farmhouses and haystacks planted above reach of the waters. A high ridge of forest backed this inhabited terrace, and dense forestfilled the eastward gap through which the river passed down to theselevels from the cleft hills. 

At one point on the farther shore the houses had drawn together in acluster, and towards this the road ran in a straight line on the raisedcauseway that had suffered much erosion from bygone floods. It cost thetravellers an hour to reach the river-bank, where a ferry plied to andfrom the village. It was a horse-boat, but not capable of conveying thewaggon, the contents of which must be unladen and shipped across inparcels, to be repacked in a cart that stood ready on the village quay. Leaving her men to handle this, Ruth crossed alone with her mare androde on, as the ferryman directed her, past the village towards herlodging, some two miles up the stream. The house stood beside a moreancient ferry, now disused, to which it had formerly served as a tavern. It rested on stout oaken piles driven deep into the river-mud; a notablebuilding, with a roof like the inverted hull of a galleon, pierced withdormer windows and topped by a rusty vane. Its tenants were a childlesscouple--a Mr. And Mrs. Strongtharm: he a taciturn man of fifty, a bornnaturalist and great shooter of wildfowl; she a douce woman, with eyeslike beads of jet, and an incurable propensity for mothering andspoiling her neighbours' children. 

The couple received her kindly, asking few questions. Their dwellingwas by many sizes too large for them, and she might have taken herchoice among a dozen of the old guest-chambers. But Sir Oliverhad come and gone a month before and selected the best for her. Its roof-timbers, shaped like the ribs of a ship, curved outwards anddownwards from a veritable keelson; and it was reached by way of azig-zagging corridor, lit by port-holes, and adorned in every niche andcorner with cases of stuffed wildfowl. Ruth supped well on game Mr. Strongtharm's gun had provided, and slept soundly, lulled between herdreams by the ripple of water swirling between the piles that supported, far below her, the house's cellarage. 

She awoke at daybreak to the humming of wind; and looked forth on aleaden sky, on the river ruffled and clapping in small waves against ashrill north-easter, and on countless birds in flocks rising from themeadows and balancing their wings against it. Before breakfast-time theweather had turned to heavy rain. But this mattered nothing; she had aday's work indoors before her. 

She spent the morning in unpacking the stores, which had arrived lateovernight from the ferry, and in putting a hundred small touches to herbedroom and sitting-room, to make them more habitable. By noon she hadfinished the unpacking, and dismissed the two grooms to make their wayback to Boston and report that all was well with her. It rained untilthree in the afternoon; and then, the weather clearing, she saddledMadcap with her own hands and rode to the edge of the forest. Little light remained when she reached its outskirts, and she peeredcuriously between the dim boles for a few minutes before turning for herhomeward ride. She had brought a beautiful scheme in her head, and theforest was concerned in it; but for the moment, in this twilight, theforest daunted her. She had--for she differed from most maidens--lefther lover to arrange all the business of the marriage ceremony, stipulating only that it must be private. But she had at the same timebound him by a lover's oath that all details of the honeymoon must beleft to her; that he should neither know where and how it was to bespent, nor seek to enquire. She would meet him at the church porch inthe village below--in what garb, even, she would not promise; and afterthe ceremony he must be ready to ride away with her--she would notpromise whither. 

Her project had been to build a camp far in the woods; and to this endshe had made her many purchases in Port Nassau. They included, besidesan array of provisions and cooking-pots, a hunter's tent such as thebackwoodsmen used in their expeditions after beaver and moose. It weighed many pounds, and a part of her problem was how to convey itto any depth of the forest unaided. 

The easterly gale blew itself out. The next morning broke with rifts ofblue, and steadied itself, after two hours, to clear sunshine. She awoke in blithe spirits, and after breakfast went off without wasteof time to saddle Madcap. By the stable door she found Mr. Strongtharmseated and polishing his gun, and paused to catechise him on the foresttracks, particularly on those leading up through Soldier's Gap--by whichname he called the gorge at the head of the plain. 

"The best track beyond, you'll find, lies pretty close 'longside theriver, " he said. "But 'tis no road for the mare. I doubt if a mulecould manage it after the third mile. The river, you see, comes throughin a monstrous hurry--by the look of it here you'd never guess. No, indeed, 'tisn't a river at all, properly speakin', but a whole heapo' streams tumblin' down this-a-way, that-a-way, out o' the sidevalleys; and what you may call the main river don't run in one body, butbreaks itself up considerable over waterfalls. Rock for the most part, an' pretty steep, with splashy ground below the falls. I han't beenright up the Gap these dozen years; an' a man's job it is at the best--atwo days' journey. The las' time I slept the night, goin' an' comin', in Peter Vanders' lodge. "

"A lodge?"

"That's what they call it. He was a trapper, and a famous one, butbefore my time; an' that was his headquarters--a sort o' cabin, prettystout, just by the head in the sixth fall, or maybe 'tis the seventh--I forget. He lived up there without wife or family--" Mr. Strongtharmwould have launched into further particulars about the dead trapper, whose skill and strange habits had passed into a legend in the valley. But Ruth wished to hear more of the cabin. 

"It's standin', no doubt, to this day. Vanders was a Dutchman, an'Dutchmen build strong by nature. The man who built _this_ yer house wasa Dutchman, an' look at the piles of it--_an_ the ribs you may ha'noticed. Ay, the lodge will be there yet; but you'll never find it, notunless I takes ye. That fourth fall is a teaser. "

Ruth saddled her mare, and rode off in the direction of the gap, thoughtfully. Mr. Strongtharm had given her a new notion. . . . 

It was close upon nightfall when she returned. She was muddy, butcheerful; and she hummed a song to herself in her chamber as she slidoff her mired garments and attired herself for supper. 

That song was her nesting song. Away Boston-wards, her lover, too, wasbuilding in his magnificent fashion; but Ruth had found a secret place, such as birds love, and shyly, stealthily as a mating bird, she setabout planning and furnishing. It is woman's instinct. . . . Every day, as soon as breakfast was done, she saddled and rode towards the Gap, andalways with a parcel or two dangling from the saddle-bow or strappedupon Madcap's back. 

For the first time in her life she had money to handle; money furnishedby Sir Oliver to be spent at her own disposal on the honeymoon. It seemed to her a prodigious sum, but she was none the less economicalwith it. I fear that sometimes she opened the bags and gloated over thecoins as over a hoard. She was neither miser nor spendthrift; butunlike many girls brought up in poverty, she brought good husbandry togood fortune. 

Yet "shopping"--to enter a store and choose among the goods for sale, having money to pay, but weighing quality and price--was undeniablypleasant. Twice or thrice, bethinking her of some trifle overlooked atPort Nassau, she enjoyed visiting the village store--it boasted butone--and dallying with a purchase. 

She was riding back from one of these visits--it had been (if the Musewill smile and condescend) to buy a packet of hairpins--when, half-wayup the village street, she spied a horseman approaching. An instantlater she recognised Mr. Trask. 

There was really nothing strange in her meeting him here. Mr. Traskowned a herd of bullocks, and had ridden over from Port Nassau tobargain for their winter fodder. He had not aged a day. His horse wasa tall grey, large-jointed, and ugly. 

Ruth wore a veil, but it was wreathed just now above the brim of herhat. Her first impulse was to draw it over her face, and her hand wentup; but she desisted in pride, and rode by her old enemy with a calmface. 

They passed one another, and she believed that he had not recognisedher; but after a few paces she heard him check his horse. 

"Hi, madam!"

She halted, and he came slowly back. 

"You are Ruth Josselin, " he said. 

"I am, sir. "

"And what are you doing here?"

She smiled at him a little scornfully. "Do you ask as a magistrate, sir, or in curiosity?"

He frowned, narrowing his eyes. "You are marvellously changed. You appear prosperous. Has Vyell married you yet?"

"No, sir. "

"Nor as yet cast you off, it would seem. "

"No, sir. "

"Ah, well, go your ways. You are a beautiful thing, but evil; and Iwould have saved ye from it. I whipped ye, remember. "

Her face burned, but she held her eyes steady on him. "Mr. Trask, " shesaid, "do you believe in hell?"

"Eh?" He was taken aback, but he could not frown away the question; forshe asked it with a certain authority, albeit very courteously. "Eh?To be sure I do. "

"I am going to prove to you (and some day you may take comfort from it)that, except on earth, there is no such place. "

"Ye'd like to believe that, I daresay!"

"For you see, " she went on, letting the sneer pass, "it is agreed that, if there be a hell, none but the wicked go there. "

"Well?"

"Why, then, hell must defeat itself. For, where all are wickedtogether, no punishment can degrade, because no shame is felt. "

"There's the pain, madam. " He eyed her, and barked it in a short, savage laugh. "The torment--the worm that dies not, the fire that's notquenched. Won't these content ye, bating the shame?"

Her eyes answered his in scorn. "No, sir. Because I once suffered yourcruelty, you have less understanding than I; but you have more ingenuitythan the Almighty, being able, in your district, to make a hell ofearth. "

"You blaspheme thus to me, that honestly tried to save your soul?"

"Did you? . . . Well, perhaps you did in your fashion, and you may takethis comfort for reward. Believe me, who have tried, hell isbottomless, but in its own way. Should ever you attain to it--and theremay in another world be such a place for the cruel--go down boldly; andit may be you will drop through into bliss. "

"You, to talk of another world!" he snapped. 

"And why not, Mr. Trask? Once upon a time you killed me. "

He turned his grey horse impatiently. "I whipped ye, " was his partingshot. "If 'twarn't too late, I'd take pleasure to whip ye again!"

Chapter IV. 

THE BRIDEGROOM. 

Mr. Trask had not concluded the bargain for his winter fodder. Just a week later he rode over from Port Nassau, to clinch it, and hadalmost reached the foot of the descent to the river meadows when abetter mounted rider overtook him. 

"Ah!" said the stranger, checking his horse's stride as he passed. "Good-morning, Mr. Trask! But possibly you do not remember me?"

"I remember you perfectly, " answered Mr. Trask. "You are Sir OliverVyell. "

"Whom, once on a time, you sentenced to the stocks. You recall our lastconversation? Well, I bear you no malice; and, to prove it, will askleave to ride to the ferry with you. You will oblige me? I likecompanionship, and my one fellow-traveller--a poor horseman--I have leftsome way behind on the road. "

"I have no wish to ride with you, Sir Oliver, " said Mr. Trask stiffly. "Forbye that I consider ye a son of Belial, I have a particular quarrelwith you. At the time you condescend to mention, I took it upon me togive you some honest advice--not wholly for your own sake. You floutedit, and 'that's nothing to me' you'll say; but every step we takeworsens that very sin against which I warned ye, and therefore I wantnone of your company. "

"Honest Mr. Trask, " Sir Oliver answered with a laugh. "I put it to youthat, having fallen in together thus agreeably, we shall make ourselvesbut a pair of fools if one rides ahead of the other in dudgeon. Add tothis that the ferry-man, spying us, will wait to tide us over together;and add also, if you will, that I have the better mount and it lies inmy will that you shall neither lag behind nor outstrip me. Moreover, you are mistaken. "

"I am not mistaken. This day week I met Ruth Josselin and had speechwith her. "

"Satisfactory, I hope?"

"It was not satisfactory; and if I must ride with you, Sir Oliver, you'll understand it to be under protest. You are a lewd man. You havetaken this child--"

Here Mr. Trask choked upon speech. Recovering, he said the mostunexpected thing in the world. 

"I am not as a rule a judge of good looks; and no doubt 'tis unreason inme to pity her the more for her comeliness. But as a matter of fact Ido. "

Sir Oliver stared at him. "_You_ to pity her! _You_ to plead herbeauty to _me_, who took it out of the mud where you had flung her, mauled by you and left to lie like a bloody clout!"

But the armour of Mr. Trask's self-righteousness was not pierced. "I sentenced her, " he replied calmly, "for her soul's welfare. Who said--what right have you to assume--that she would have been leftto lie there? Rather, did I not promise you in the market-square that, her chastening over, my cart should fetch her? Did I not keep my word?And could you not read in the action some earnest that the girl would belooked after? Your atheism, sir, makes you dull in spiritualunderstanding. "

"I am glad that it does, sir. "

"If your passion for Ruth Josselin held an ounce of honesty, you wouldnot be glad; for even in this world you have ruined her. "

"Mr. Trask, I have not. "

Mr. Trask glanced at him quickly. 

"--Upon my honour as a gentleman I have not, neither do I desireit . . . Sir, twice in this half-mile you have prompted me to ask, What, here on this meadow, prevents my killing you? Wait; I know youranswer. You are a courageous man and would say that as a magistrate youhave schooled yourself to accept risks and to despise threats. Yes, "Sir Oliver admitted with a laugh, "you are an infernally hard nut tocrack, and somehow I cannot help liking you for it. Are you spendingthe night yonder, by-the-bye?" He nodded towards the village. 

"No, sir. I propose returning this evening to Port Nassau. "

"Then it is idle to invite you to my wedding. I am to be married atnine o'clock to-morrow. "

Mr. Trask eyed him for a moment or two. Then his gaze wandered ahead tothe river, where already the ferrymen had caught sight of them and werepushing the horse-boat across with long sweeps; and beyond the river toa small wooden-spired church, roofed with mossy shingles that even atthis distance showed green in the slant sunlight. 

"Yonder?" he asked. 

"Ay: you would have been welcome. "

"I will attend, " said Mr. Trask. "A friend of mine--a farmer--willlodge me for the night. A hospitable man, who has made the offer ascore of times. After so many refusals I am glad of an excuse foraccepting. "

"I stipulate that you keep the excuse a secret from him. It is to bequite private. That, " said Sir Oliver, turning in saddle for a lookbehind him, "is one of my reasons for outriding my fellow-traveller. "

"The clergyman?"

"Ay . . . To-morrow, maybe, you'll admit to having misjudged us. "

"Maybe, " Mr. Trask conceded. "I shall at any rate thank God, provisionally. He is merciful. But I have difficulty in believing thatany good can come of it. "

Chapter V. 

RUTH'S WEDDING DAY. 

She had left it all to him, receiving his instructions by letter. It was to be quite private, as he had told Mr. Trask. She would ridedown to the village in her customary grey habit, as though on an earlyerrand of shopping. He would lodge overnight at the Ferry Inn, and beawaiting her by the chancel step. Afterwards--ah, that was her secret!In this, their first stage in married life, he had promised--reversingthe marriage vow--to obey. 

Happiness bubbled within her like a spring; overshadowed by a littleawe, but not to be held down. Almost at the last moment she must takeMrs. Strongtharm into her confidence. She could not help it. 

"Granny, " she whispered. (They were great friends. ) "I am to be marriedto-morrow. "

"Sakes!" exclaimed Mrs. Strongtharm, peering at her, misdoubting thatshe jested. 

But Ruth's face told its own tale. "May I?" asked the elder woman, andher arm went about the girl's waist. "God bless ye, dear, and send ye along family! Who's the gentleman? Not him as came an' took the roomsfor ye? He said you was a near relation o' his. . . . Well, never mind!The trick's as old as Abram. "

"Be down at the church at nine to-morrow, and you shall see him, whoeverhe is. But it is a secret, and you are not to tell Mr. Strongtharm. "

"Oh!" said Mrs. Strongtharm. "_Him!_"

"But you ought to make _some_ difference, " whispered the good woman nextmorning, after breakfast, as she was preparing to slip away to thevillage. "Be it but a flower in your bodice. But we've no garden, andthe season's late. "

Ruth took her kiss of benediction. She was scarcely listening; but thewords by a strange trick repeated themselves on her brain a few minuteslater, upstairs, as she went about her last preparations. 

She leaned out at the lattice over the river. A lusty creeper, rootedin _terra firma_ at the back of the house, had pushed its embrace overwest side and front. The leaves, green the summer through, were nowturned to a vivid flame-colour. She plucked three or four and pinnedthem over her bosom, glanced at the effect in the mirror, and wentquickly down the stairs. 

Fairer day could hardly have been chosen. "Happy is the bride the sunshines on. " . .. In the sunshine by the stable door Mr. Strongtharm satpolishing his gun. She asked him what sport he would be after to-day. 

He answered, "None. I don't reckon 'pon luck, fishing, after a body'smentioned rabbits; and I don't go gunning if I've seen a parson. A new parson, I mean. Th' old Minister's all in the day's work. "

"You have seen a strange clergyman to-day?"

"Yes; as I pulled home past the Ferry. I'd been down-stream early, tryin' for eels. On my way back I saw him--over my left shoulder too. He was comin' out o' the Inn by the waterside door, wipin' his mouth: aloose-featured man, with one shoulder higher than t'other, and a harddrinker by his looks. "

Ruth saddled-up and mounted in silence. Fatally she recognised the oldfellow's description; but--was it possible her lover had brought thisman to marry them?--this man, whose touch was defilement, to join theirhands? If the precisians of Port Nassau had made religion her tragedy, this man had come in, by an after-blow, to turn it into a blasphemousfarce. If Ruth had lost Faith, she yet desired good thoughts, to haveeverything about her pure and holy--and on this day, of all days!

Surely Oliver--she had taught herself to call him Oliver--would nevermisunderstand her so! Why, it was a misunderstanding that went down, down, almost to the roots. _Those whom God hath joined together let noman put asunder_ . . . But here was cleavage, and from within. Say rather of such sundering. What man could remedy it? _Those whomGod hath joined together_--ah, by such hands!

It was not possible! In all things her lover had shown himselfconsiderate, tender; guessing, preventing her smallest wish. As she rode she sought back once more to the wellspring of love. Had he not stooped to her as a god, lifted her from the mire?It was not possible. 

Yet, as she rode, the unconquerable common sense within her keptwhispering that this thing _was_ possible. . . . It darkened thesunlight. She rode as one who, having sung carelessly for miles, surmises a dreadful leap close ahead. Still she rode on, less and lesssure of herself, and came to the church porch, and alighted. 

The church was a plain oblong building, homely within to the lastdegree. The pews were of pitch-pine, the walls and rafters coated withwhite-wash, some of which had peeled off and lay strewing the floor. A smell of oil filled the air; it was sweet and sickly, and came fromthe oozings of half a dozen untended lamps. Ornament the place hadnone, save a decent damask cloth on the Communion table. 

Oliver Vyell stood by the chancel rail. The rest of the congregationcomprised Mr. Trask, seated stiff and solitary in the largest pew, Mrs. Strongtharm, and half a score of children whom Mrs. Strongtharm hadcollected on the way and against her will. They followed her by habit, after goodies; but just now, though they sat quiet, her reputation wassuffering from a transient distrust. (Allurements to piety rarely fellin the path of a New England child; but even he was child enough tosuspect them when they occurred. ) At the sound of the mare's footstepsthey turned their heads, one and all. Mr. Silk, clad in white surpliceand nervously turning the pages of the Office by the holy table, facedabout also. 

Ruth was seen alighting, out there in the sunlight. She hitched themare's bridle over a staple and came lightly stepping through the shadowof the porchway. Her lover walked down the aisle to meet her. He, too, stepped briskly, courteously. 

Three paces within the doorway she came to a halt. The sunlight fell onher again, through the first of the southern windows. It flamed on theleaves pinned to her bosom. 

He offered his arm. But she, that had come stepping like a wild fawn, like a fawn stood at gaze, terrified, staring past him at the figure bythe table. Mr. Silk commanded an oily smile and, book in hand, advancedto the chancel step. 

"Ah, no!" she murmured. "It is wicked--"

She cast her eyes around, as though for help. They did not turn--it waspitifullest of all--to him who was about to swear to help her throughoutlife. They turned and encountered Mr. Trask's. 

With a sob, as Sir Oliver would have taken her arm, she threw it up, broke from him, and fled back through the porchway. As she drew backthat one pace before fleeing, the sun fell full again on thatbreast-knot of scarlet leaves. 

He stared after her dumbfoundered, still doubting her intent. He saw her catch at the mare's bridle, and, with a bitter curse, ranforward. But he was too late. She had mounted, and was away. 

He heard the mare's hoofs clattering up the street. His own horse wasstabled at the Ferry Inn. It would cost him ten minutes at least tomount and pursue. . . . 

"I said 'provisionally. '" It was Mr. Trask's voice, speaking at hiselbow. "Nay, man, don't strike me; since you meant business, 'tisyourself you should strike for a fool. You were a fool to invite me;but she was scared before ever she caught sight of _me_--by thatbuck-parson of yours, I guess. "

He had fetched Bayard, had mounted, and was after her. He pulled reinat her lodgings. Yes, Mr. Strongtharm had seen her go by. The old fellow did not guess what was amiss; as how should he?"It's cruel for the mare's hoofs, " he commented, "forcing her that paceon the hard road. She rides well, s' far as ridin' goes; but the bestwomankind on horseback has neither bowels nor understandin'. "

He pointed towards Soldiers' Gap. "She rides there most days, " he said;"but it can't be far. There's no Christian road for a horse, onceyou're past the second fall. "

Oliver Vyell struck spur and followed. Already he had the decency tocurse himself, but not yet could he understand his transgressing. 

"Your atheism"--Mr. Trask had said it--"makes you dull in spiritualunderstanding. "

Sceptics are of two orders, and religious disputants gain a potentialadvantage, but miss truth, by confusing them. Oliver Vyell was dull, and his dullness had betrayed him, precisely because his reason was solucid and logical that it shut out those half-tones in which abide allmen's, all women's, tenderest feelings. He knew that Ruth had no morefaith than he in Christian dogma; no faith at all in what a minister'sintervention could do to sanctify marriage. He had inferred that shemust consider the tying of the knot by Mr. Silk, if not as a fair jest, at least as a gentle mockery, the humour of which he and she wouldafterwards taste together. Why had she not pleaded against rite of anykind? . . . Besides, the dog had once insulted her with a proposal. Sir Oliver never allowed Mr. Silk to guess that he had surprised hissecret; and Mr. Silk, tortuous himself in all ways, could not begin tobe on terms with a candid soul such as Ruth's, craving in all things tobe open where it loves. Sir Oliver had supposed it a pretty lesson toput on a calm, negligent face, and command the parson, who dared notdisobey, to perform the ceremony. Mr. Silk had cringed. 

Likewise, when inviting Mr. Trask to the nuptials, he had looked on himbut as a witness to his triumph. The very man who had sentenced her todegradation--was there not dramatic triumph in summoning him to beholdher exalted?

For behind all this reasoning, of course, and below all his real passionfor her, lay the poisonous, proud, Whig sense of superiority, theconviction that, desirable though she was, his choice exalted her. Would not ten thousand women--would not a hundred thousand--have countedit heaven to stand in her place?

Yet she had earnestly begged off the rite which to every one of thesewomen would have meant everything. This puzzled him. 

On second thoughts the puzzle had dissolved. She accepted hisnegations, and, woman-like, improved on them. The marriage service washumbug; therefore she had willed to have none of it. The attitude wastouching. It might have been convenient, had he been less in love. 

But he was deeply in love, so deeply that in good earnest he longed tolift and set her above all women. For this, nonsensical though theywere, due rites must be observed. 

At the last pinch she had broken away. Was it possible, then, thatafter all she did not love him? She had crossed her arms once andcalled herself his slave. . . . 

Not for one moment did he understand that other scepticism which, forcedout of faith, clasps and clings to reverence; which, though it count therite inefficient, yet sees the meaning, and counts the moment so holythat to contaminate the rite is to poison all. 

Not as yet did he understand one whit of this. But he vehementlydesired her, and his desire was straight. Because it was straight, while he rode some inkling of the truth pierced him. 

For, as he rode, he recalled how she had cast up an arm and turned toflee. His eyes had rested confusedly on the breast-knot of scarletleaves, and it seemed to him, as he rode, that he had seen her heartbeating there through her ribs. 

Chapter VI. 

"YET HE WILL COME--". 

The cabin stood close above the fall. It was built of oak logs split intwo, with the barked and rounded sides turned outward. Pete Vanderswould have found pine logs more tractable and handier to come by, andthey would have outlasted his time; but, being a Dutchman, he had builtsolidly by instinct. 

Also, he had chosen his ledge cunningly or else with amazing luck. A stairway shaped in the solid rock--eight treads and no more--led downto the very brink of the first cascade; yet through all these years, with their freshets and floods, the cabin had clung to its perch. Within doors the ears never lost the drone of the waters. There weretop-notes that lifted or sank as the wind blew, but below them the deepbass thundered on. 

Ruth had doffed her riding-dress for a bodice and short skirt of russet, and moved about the cabin tidying where she had tidied a score of timesalready. Through the window-opening drifted wisps of smoke, aromaticand pungent, from the fire she had built in an angle of the crags a fewyards from the house. (It had been the Dutchman's hearth. She hadfound it and cleared the creepers away, and below them the rock-face wasyet black with the smoke of old fires. ) Some way up the gorge, where, atthe foot of a smaller waterfall, the river divided and swirled about anisland covered with sweet grass--a miniature meadow--her mare grazed atwill. About a fortnight ago, having set aside three days for thesearch, on the second Ruth had found a circuitous way through the woods. A part of it she had cleared with a billhook, and since then Madcap hadtrodden a rough pathway with her frequent goings and comings. It had immensely lightened the labour of furnishing, but she feared thatthe pasturage would last but a day or two. Her lover, when he came, must devise means of sending the mare back. 

She never doubted his coming. He would probably miss the bridle-path, the opening of which she had carefully hidden, and be forced to make theascent on foot. But he would come. See, she was laying out his clothesfor him! He had sent to Sweetwater, at her request, two valises full, packed by Manasseh; and she had conveyed them hither with the rest ofthe furniture. Carefully now she made her selection from the store:coat, breeches of homespun and leather, stout boots, moccasined leggingssuch as the Indians wore, woollen shirts--but other shirts also offinest cambric--with underclothes of silk, and delicate nightshirts, andsilken stockings that could be drawn like soft ribbons between thefingers. She thrilled as she handled them garment by garment. Along the wall hung his two guns, with shot-bag and powder-flask. 

Here was his home. Here were his clothes. . . . She had forgiven him, hours ago, without necessity for his pleading. So would he forgive her. After all, what store did he set by church ceremony. He had vowed toher a dozen times that he set none. He loved her; that was enough, andassurance of his following. He would confess that she had been right. . . . As she moved about, touching, smoothing this garment and that, there crossed her memory the Virgilian refrain--

 "_Nihil ille deos, nil carmina curat. Ducite ab urbe domum, mea carmina, ducite Daphnin. _"

She murmured it, smiling to herself as she recalled also the dour figureof Mr. Hichens in the library at Sabines, seated stiffly, listeningwhile she construed. If only tutors guessed what they taught!

She hummed the lines: "_Nihil ille deos_"--he cared nothing for churchrites; "_nil carmina_"--she needed no incantations. 

She never doubted that he would arrive; but, as the day wore on, shetold herself that very likely he had missed his road. He would arrivehungered, in any event. . . . She stepped out to the cooking-pot, and, on her way, paused for a long look down the glen. The sun, streamingits rays over the high pines behind her, made rainbows in the spray ofthe fall and cast her shadow far over the hollow at her feet. The water, plunging past her, shot down the valley in three separatecascades, lined with slippery rock, in the crevices of which many fernshad lodged and grew, waving in the incessantly shaken air. From thepool into which the last cascade tumbled--a stone dislodged by her footdropped to it almost plumb--the stream hurtled down the glen, followingthe curve of its sides until they overlapped; naked cliffs above, touched with sunlight, their feet set in peat, up which the forest treesclambered as if in a race for the top--pines leading, with heather andscrubby junipers, oaks and hemlocks some way behind; alders, mostly bythe waterside, with maples in swampy patches, and here and there a birchwaving silver against the shadow. The pines kept their funereal plumes, like undertakers who had made a truce with death by making a business ofit. But these deciduous trees, that had rioted in green through springand summer, wrapped themselves in robes to die, the thinner the moreroyal; the maples in scarlet, the swamp-oak in purple--bloody purplewhere the sun smote on its upper boughs. Already the robes had wornthin, and their ribs showed. Leaves strewed the flat rock where Ruthstood, looking down. 

She was not thinking of the leaves, nor of the fall of the year. She was thinking that her lord would be hungered. She went back to hercooking-pot under the cliff overhung with heath and juniper. 

Herself fearless--or less fearful than other women--she did not for sometime let her mind run on possible accidents to him. He was a man, andwould arrive, though tired and hungered. Not until the sun sank behindthe upper pines did any sense of her own loneliness assail her. Then she bethought her that with night, if he delayed, the forest wouldwrap her around, formless, haunted by wild beasts. The singing ofbirds, never in daylight utterly drowned by the roar of the fall, hadceased about her; the call of the hidden chickadees, the cheep-cheep ofa friendly robin, hopping in near range of the cooking-pot, the sawingof busy chipmunks. 

These sounds had ceased; but she did not feel the silence until, far upthe valley behind her, a loon sent forth its sole unhappy cry. It rang a moment between the cliffs. As it died away she felt howfriendly had been these casual voices, and wondered what beasts theforest might hold. 

She went back to the cabin, lit a lamp, and lifted one of the guns offits rack. She charged it--well she had learnt how to charge a gun. 

Twilight was falling. The fire burned beneath the cooking-pot; but, seated on the flat stone with the gun laid across her knees and the fallsounding beneath her, she had another thought--that the fire, set in anangle of the rock, and moreover hidden around the house's corner, wasbut a poor signal. It shed no ray down the glen. 

She would light another fire on the flat stone. In the dusk shecollected dry twigs, piled stouter sticks above them, covered the wholewith leaves, and lit it, fetching a live brand from under thecooking-pot. The flame leapt up, danced over the leaves, died down andagain revived. When assured that it was caught, she sat beside it, staring across the flame over the valley now swallowed in darkness, still with the gun laid across her knees. 

"Ruth! O Ruth!"

His voice came up over the roar of the fall--which, while he stumbledamong the boulders below, had drowned his footsteps. 

"Dear! Ah--have a care!"

"Yes; hold a light. . . . It must be dangerous here. "

She snatched a brand from the fire. She had collected a fresh heap oftwigs and leaves in the lap of her gown, groping in the dusk for them;and his first sight of her had been as she stood high emptying them in ared stream to feed the flames. A witch she seemed, pouring sacrifice onthat wild altar, while the light of it danced upon her face and figure. Having gained the ledge of the second cascade, he anchored himself ongood foothold and stared up, catching breath before he hailed. 

Her first glimpse of him, as she held the blazing stick over the edge ofthe fall, was of a face damp with sweat or with spray, and of his handsreaching up the slimed rock, feeling for a grip. 

"Ah, be careful! Shall I come down to you?" For the first time sherealised his peril. 

"_Over rocks that are steepest_, " he quoted gaily, between grunts ofhard breathing. He had handhold now. "Hero on her tower--and faith, Leander came near to swimming for it--once or twice" (grunt) "_Over themountains, And over the waves_--hullo! that rock of yours overhangs. What's to the left?" (grunt) "Grass? I mistrust grass on these ledges. . . . Reach down your hand, dear Ruth, to steady me only. . . . "

She flung herself prone on the flat rock beside the fire, and gave ahand to him. He caught it, heaved himself over the ledge with a finalgrunt of triumph, and dropped beside her, panting and laughing. 

"You might have killed yourself!" she shivered. 

"And whom, then, would you have reproached?"

"You might have killed yourself--and then--and then I think I shouldhave died too. "

"Ruth!"

"My lord will be hungry. He shall rest here and eat. "

He flung a glance towards the cabin; or rather--for the dusk hid itsoutlines--towards the light that shone cosily through the window-hatch. 

"Not yet!" she murmured. "My lord shall rest here for a while. "She was kneeling now to draw off his shoes. He drew away his foot, protesting. 

"Child, I am not so tired, but out of breath, and--yes--hungry as ahunter. "

"My lord will remember. It was the first service I ever did for him. "It may have been an innocent wile to anchor him fast there and helpless. . . . At any rate she knelt, and drew off his shoes and carried them toa little distance. "Next, my lord shall eat, " she said; and havingrinsed her hands in the stream and spread them a moment to the flame todry, sped off to the cabin. 

In a minute she was back with glasses and clean napkins, knives, forks, spoons, and a bottle of wine; from a second visit she returned withplates, condiments, and a dish of fruit. Then, running to thecooking-pot, she fetched soup in two bowls. "And after that, " shepromised, "there will be partridges. Mr. Strongtharm shot them for me, for I was too busy. They are turning by the fire on a jack my mothertaught me to make out of threads that untwist and twist again. . . . Shall I sit here, at my lord's feet?"

"Sit where you will, but close; and kiss me first. You have not kissedme yet--and it is our wedding day. Our wedding feast! O Ruth--Ruth, mylove!"

"Our wedding feast! . . . Could it be better! O my dear, dear lord! . . . But I'll not kiss you yet. "

"Why, Ruth?"

"Why, sir, because I will not--and that's a woman's reason. Afterwards--but not now! You boasted of your hunger. What has becomeof it?"

They ate for a while in silence. The stream roared at their feet. Above them, in the gap of the hills, Jupiter already blazed, and as thelast of the light faded, star after star came out to keep him company. 

He praised her roasting of the partridges. "To-morrow, " she answered, "you shall take your gun and get me game. We must be good providers. To-morrow--"

"To-morrow--and for ever and ever--" He poured wine and drank itslowly. 

"Ah, look up at the heavens! And we two alone. Is this not best, after all? Was I not right?"

"Perhaps, " he answered after a pause. "It is good, at all events. "

"To-morrow we will explore; and when this place tires us--but my lordhas not praised it yet--"

"Must I make speeches?"

"No. When this place tires us, we will strike camp and travel upthrough the pass. It may be we shall find boatmen on the upper waters, and a canoe. But for some days, O my love, let these only woods beenough for us!"

Their dessert of fruit eaten, she arose and turned to the business ofwashing-up. He would have helped; but she mocked him, having hidden hisshoes. "You are to rest quiet, and obey!"

Before setting to work she brought him coffee and a roll oftobacco-leaf, and held a burning stick for him while he lit and inhaled. 

For twenty minutes, perhaps, he watched her, stretched on the rock, resting on his elbow, his hunger appeased, his whole frame fatigued, butin a delicious weariness, as in a dream. 

Far down the valley the full moon thrust a rim above the massed oaks andhemlocks. It swam clear, and he called to her to come and watch it. 

She did not answer. She had slipped away to the house--as he supposedto restore the plates to their shelves. Apparently it took her a longwhile. . . . He called again to her. 

The curtain of the doorway was lifted and she stood on the threshold, all in white, fronting the moon. 

"Will my lord come into his house?"

Her voice thrilled down to him. . . . Then she remembered that he stoodthere shoeless; and, giving a little cry, would have run barefoot downthe moonlit rocky steps, preventing him. 

But he had sprung to his unshod feet, and with a cry rushed up to her, disregarding the thorns. 

She sank, crossing her arms as a slave--in homage, or, it may be, toprotect her maiden breasts. 

"No, no--" she murmured, sliding low within his arms. "Look firstaround, if our house be worthy!"

But he caught her up, and lifting her, crushing her body to his, carriedher into the hut. 

Chapter VII. 

HOUSEKEEPING. 

She awoke at daybreak to the twittering of birds. Raising herselflittle by little, she bent over him, studying the face of her beloved. He slept on; and after a while she slipped from the couch, collected hergarments in a bundle, tiptoed to the door, and lifting its curtain, stole out to the dawn. 

Mist filled the valley below the fall. A purple bank of vapour blockedthe end of it. But the rolling outline was edged already with gold, andalready ray upon ray of gold shivered across the upper sky and touchedthe pinewoods at the head of the pass. 

Clad in cloak and night-rail, shod in loose slippers of Indianleather-work, she moved across to the fire she had banked overnight. Beside it a bold robin had perched on the rim of the cooking-pot. He fluttered up to a bough, and thence watched her warily. She remadethe fire, building a cone of twigs; fetched water, scoured the cauldron, and hung it again on its bar. As she lifted it the sunlight glinted onthe ring her lover had brought for the wedding and had slipped on herfinger in the cabin, binding her by this only rite. 

The fire revived and crackled cheerfully. She caught up the bundleagain and climbed beside the stream, following its right bank until shecame to the pool of her choice. There, casting all garments aside, shewent down to it, and the alders hid her. 

Half an hour later she returned and paused on the threshold of the hut, the sunlight behind her. In her arms she carried a cluster--a bundlealmost--of ferns and autumnal branches--cedar and black-alder, the oneberried with blue the other with coral, maple and aromatic spruce, withtrails of the grape vine. He was awake and lay facing the door, half-raised on his left elbow. 

"This for good-morning!" She held out the armful to show him, but sothat it hid her blushes. Then, dropping the cluster on the floor, sheran and knelt, bowing her face upon the couch beside him. But laying apalm against either temple he forced her to lift it and gaze at him, mastering the lovely shame. 

He looked long into her eyes. "You are very beautiful, " he said slowly. 

She sprang to her feet. "See the dew on my shoes! I have bathed, and--" with a gesture of the hand towards the scattered boughs--"afterwards I pulled these for you. But I was in haste and latebecause--because--" She explained that while bathing she had let thering, which was loose and heavy, slip from her finger into the pool. It had lodged endwise between two pebbles, and she had taken someminutes to find it. "As for these, " she said, "the flowers are alldone, but I like the leaves better. In summer our housekeeping mighthave been make-believe; now, with the frosts upon us, we shall have hardwork, and a fire to give thanks for. "

He slid from the couch and, standing erect, threw a bath-gown over hisshoulders. "I must build a chimney, " he said, looking around; "achimney and a stone hearth. "

"Then our house will be perfect. "

"I will start this very day. . . . Show me the way to your pool. "

They ate their breakfast on the stone above the fall, in the warmsunshine, planning and talking together like children. He would buildthe chimney; but first he must climb down to the lower valley and findBayard, deserted at the foot of the falls, and left to wander all nightat will. 

He must take the mare, too, she said; and promised to start him on thebridle-path, so that he could not miss it. 

"What! Must I ride on a side-saddle?"

"It should be easy for you, " she laughed. "You pretended to know allabout it when you taught me. " In the end it was settled that she shouldride and he walk beside till Bayard was found. "Then you can lead herback and leave her with Mr. Strongtharm. "

"But I shall need Bayard to bring home a sack of lime for my mortar. And you are over thoughtful for Madcap. I walked up to inspect thepasture, and there is enough to last the pair for a week. It is odds, too, we find some burnt lands at the back of these woods, with patchesof good grass. Let us keep the horses up here, at any rate until thenights turn colder. A taste of hard faring will be good for theirpampered flesh, as for mine. Besides--though you may not know it--I ama first-class groom. "

"As well as a mason? You will have to turn hunter, too, before long, else your cook will be out of work. Dear, dear, how we begin to crowdthe days!"

For a whole week he worked at intervals, building his chimney withstones from the river bed, and laying them well and truly. Ruth helpedhim at whiles, when household duties did not claim her. Now and then, when his back ached with the toil, he would break off for a spell andwatch her as she stooped over the cooking-pot, or knelt by thestream-side, bare-legged, with petticoat kilted high, beating the linenon a flat stone. 

When the chimney was finished they were in great anxiety lest, beingbuilt close under the cliff, it should catch a down-draught of the windand fill the dwelling with smoke. But the wind came, and, as it turnedout, made a leap from the cliff to the valley, singing high overhead andmissing the chimney clear. When they lit their first fire indoors andran forth to see the smoke rising in a thin blue pillar against thepines, they laughed elated, and at supper drank to their handiwork. 

Ruth's first sacrifice on the new hearth was the solemn heating of aflat iron, to crimp and pleat her lover's body-linen. 

Next day he shot a deer and flayed it; and, the next, set to work tobuild a bed. Their couch had been of white linen laid upon skins, theskins resting on a thick mat of leaves. Now he raised it from theground on four posts, joining the posts with a stout framework andlacing the framework with cords criss-crossed like the netting of ahammock. Also he replaced the curtain at the entrance with a door ofsplit pinewood, and fashioned a wooden bolt. 

The halcyon weather held for two weeks, the delicate weather of Indiansummer. Day by day the forest dropped its leaves under a blue windlesssky; but the nights sharpened their frosts. Ruth, stealing early to herbathing-pool, found it edged with thin ice, and paused, breaking it withtaps of her naked foot while she braced her body for the cold shock. 

The flat rock over the fall was still their supper-table. After suppingthey would wrap themselves closer in their cloaks of bearskin, and sitfor long, his arm about her body. The stars wheeled overhead. At a little distance shone the open window inviting them. From their ledge they overlooked the world. 

She marvelled at the zest he threw into every moment and detail of thisstrange honeymooning. He had taken pride even in skinning and cuttingup the slain deer. 

She had, in fact, being fearful of her experiment; had planned it, insome sort, as a test for him. She was no sentimentalist. She hadbelieved that he loved her--well she knew it now. But for him thiscould not be first love. Many times she had bethought her of the deadMargaret Dance, and as a sensible girl without resentment. But, herselfin the ecstasy of first love, she marvelled how it could die andanything comparable spring up in its room; and she had only her ownheart to interrogate. Her own heart told her that it was impossible. "Fool!" said her own heart. "Is it not enough that he condescends--thatyou have found favour in his sight--you, that asked but to be hisslave?"

"Fool!" said her heart again. "Would you be jealous of this dead woman?Then jealousy is not cruel as the grave, but crueller. "

And she retorted, "The woman is dead and cannot grudge it. Ah, conscience! are you the only part of me that has not slept in hisarms. I want him all--all!"

"How can that be--since you are not his first love?" objectedconscience, falling back upon its old position. 

"Be still, " she whispered back. "See how love is recreating him!"

Indeed, the secret may have lain in her passing loveliness--by night, beside their fire on the rock, he would sit motionless watching her facefor minutes together, or the poise of her head, or the curve of her chinas she tilted it to ponder the stars; and, in part, the woodland life, chosen by her so cunningly, may have bewitched him for a space. Certainit is that during their sojourn here he became a youth again, eager andglad as a youth, passionate as a youth, laughing, throwing his heartinto simple things and not shrinking from coarser trials--as when heplunged his hands into the blood of the deer. 

This story is of Ruth, not of Oliver Vyell; or of him only in so far ashis star ruled hers. For the moment their stars danced together and thecommon cares of this world stood back for a space and left a floor forthem. 

Their bliss was absolute. But the seed of its corruption lay in him. Her spirit was chaste, as her life had been. For him, before everMargaret Dance met and crossed his path, he had lived loosely, squandering his manhood; and of this squandering let one who laterunderwent it record the inevitable sentence. 

 "But ah! it hardens all within, And petrifies the feeling. "

Nor could this temporary miracle do more for Oliver Vyell than wake inhim a false springtide of the heart and delay by so long the revenge ofhis past upon his present self. 

Midway in the third week the weather broke. He had foreseen this, andearly one morning set forth upon Bayard, the mare following obedientlyas a dog, along the downhill circuit to the village. There he wouldleave them in stall at the Ferry Inn, to be fetched by his grooms. Ruth walked some way beside him, telling off a list of purchases to bemade at the village store to replenish their household stock. 

She left him and turned back, under boughs too bare to hide the loweringsky. She had gained the hut and he the village before the storm broke. Indeed it gave him time to make his purchases and reach the Inn, where aheavy mail-bag awaited him. He was served with bread, cheese, and beerin the Inn parlour, and dealt with the letters then and there; answeringsome, tearing up others, albeit still with a sense of bringing back hishabits of business to a world with which he had no concern. While hewrote, always in haste, on the cheap paper the Inn supplied, the stormbroke and with such darkness that he pulled out his watch. It was yetearly afternoon. He called for candles and wrote on. 

The last letter, addressed to Batty Langton, Esquire, he superscribed"_Most urgent_, " and having sealed it, arose and shouldered his sack forthe homeward tramp. By this time the wind howled through the villagestreet, blowing squall upon squall of rain before it. It blew, too, dead in his path; but he faced it cheerfully. 

Before he gained what should have been the shelter of the woods, thegale had increased so that they gave less than the road had given. The trees rocked above him; leaves and dead twigs beat on his face, andat length the blast forced him almost to creep on all fours. It wasdark, too, beneath the swaying boughs. But uppermost in his mind wasfear for his love, lest the hut should have given way before thetempest, and she be lying crushed beneath it. 

Still he fought his way. Darkness--the real darkness--was falling, andhe was yet a mile from the hut when in his path a figure arose from theundergrowth where it had been crouching. 

"Ruth!"

"Ah, you are safe! . . . I could not rest at home--"

They took hands and forced their way against the wind. 

"The cabin?"

"It stands, please God!"

After much battling they spied the light shining through the louvers ofits closed shutter. The gale streamed down the valley as through afunnel, but once past the angle of the cliff they found themselvesalmost in a calm. He pushed the door open. 

On the hearth--the hearth of his building--a pile of logs burnedcheerfully. Over these the kettle hissed; and the firelight fell ontheir bed, with its linen oversheet turned back and neatly folded. 

She entered and he closed the door behind her. She laughed as he pushedits bolt. They were drenched to the skin, the pair. 

"This is best, " said she with another soft and happy laugh. 

"This is best, " he repeated after her. "Better even than in fairweather. "

Chapter VIII. 

HOME-COMING. 

A week later they broke camp and set forth to climb to the head of thepass. 

Behind it--so Sir Oliver had learnt from old Strongtharm--lay an almostflat table-land, of pine-forest for the most part, through which formaybe half a dozen miles their river ran roughly parallel with anotherthat came down from the north-west. At one point (the old fellowdeclared) less than a mile divided their waters. 

"Seems, " he said, "as if Nature all along intended 'em to jine, andthen, at the last moment, changed her mind. " He explained the cause oftheir severance--an outcropping ridge of rock, not above a mile inlength; but it served, deflecting the one stream to the southward, theother to north of east, so that they reached the ocean a good twentyleagues apart. 

He showed a map and told Sir Oliver further that at the narrowest pointbetween the two rivers there dwelt a couple of brothers, Dave and AndyM'Lauchlin, with their households and long families, of whom all theboys were expert log-drivers, like their fathers. They were likewiseexpert boatmen, and for money, no doubt, if Sir Oliver desired, wouldnavigate the upper reaches of either stream for him. Of these reachesthe old man could tell little save that their currents ran moderately--"nothing out of the way. " The M'Lauchlins sent all their timber down tosea by the more northerly stream. "Our river 'd be the better by far, three-fourths of its way, but--" with a jerk of his thumb--"the Gap, yonder, makes it foolishness. "

Sir Oliver asked many questions, studying the map; and ended byborrowing it. 

He had it spread on his knee when Ruth came out of the cabin for thelast time, having said farewell to her household gods. 

"What are you reading?" she asked. 

"A map. " He folded it away hastily. 

"And I am not to see it?"

"Some day. Some day, if the owner will sell, you shall have it framed, with our travels marked out upon it. But, just now, it holds a smallsecret. "

She questioned him no further. "Come, " she said, "reach your arm in atthe window and draw the bolt, and afterwards we will pull the shutterand nail it. Are you going inside for a last look around?"

He laughed. "Why? The knapsacks are here, ready. "

"Our home!"

"I take the soul of it with me, taking you. "

It was prettily said. Yet perversely she remembered how he had oncespoken of Margaret Dance, saying, "Let the dead bury their dead. "

The sky, after six angry days--two sullen, four tempestuous--was clearagain and promised another stretch of fair weather. This wasimportant, for they counted on having to sleep a night in the openbefore reaching the M'Lauchlins' camp. Old Strongtharm had told SirOliver of a cave at the head of the pass and directed him how to findit. Should the sky's promise prove false, they would descend back tothe hut. Snow was their one serious peril. 

They carried but the barest necessaries; for although the worst of thefalls lay below and behind them, the upper part of the Gap was arduousenough, and the more difficult for being unknown; also Sir Oliver hadold Strongtharm's assurance that the M'Lauchlins would furnish them withall things requisite for voyaging by water. 

Sir Oliver climbed in silence. He was flinging a bridge, albeit a shortone, across the unknown, and the risk of it weighed on him. For himselfthis would have counted nothing, but he was learning the lesson commonto all male animals whose mates for the first time travel beside them. As for Ruth, it was wonderful--the course of the path once turned, thesmall home left out of sight--how securely she breasted the upward path. Her lover and she were as gods walking, treading the roof of the world. 

Through thickets they climbed, and by stairways beside the singingfalls. In a pool below one of these falls they surprised a great loonthat had resorted here to live solitary through his moulting-season. He rose and winged away with a cry like an inhuman laugh; and theyrecognised a sound which had often been borne down the gorge--once ortwice at night, to awake and puzzle them. 

They came to the uppermost fall a good hour before sunset, and after alittle search Sir Oliver found the cave. They could have pushed on, butdecided to sleep here: and they slept soundly, being in truth more wearythan their spirits, exhilarated in the high air, allowed them to guess. 

They might, as it turned out, by forcing the march, have found theM'Lauchlins' settlement before dusk. For scarcely had they travelledfive miles next morning before they came on an outpost of it: a largehut, half dwelling-house, half boat-shed. It stood in a clearing on theleft shore, and close by the water's edge was a young man, patching thebottom of an upturned canoe. Two children--a boy and a girl--haddropped their play to watch him. A flat-bottomed boat lay moored to thebank, close by. 

The children, catching sight of our travellers, must have uttered someexclamation; for the young man turned quickly, and after a brief lookcalled "Good-morning. " There was a ford (he shouted) fifty yardsupstream; but no need to wade. Let them wait a minute and he wouldfetch them. 

He laid down his tools, unmoored the flat-bottomed boat, and poledacross. On the way back he told them that he was Adam M'Lauchlin, sonof David. The little ones were children of his father by a second wife;but he had seven brothers and sisters of his own. . . . Yes, theirsettlement stood by the other river; at no great distance. "If you'llhark, maybe you can hear the long saws at work. . . . "

He led them to it, the small children bringing up the rear of theprocession. The _Z'm--Z'm_ of the saws grew loud in Ruth's ears beforecrossing the ridge she spied the huts between the trees--a congregationof ten or a dozen standing a little way back from a smooth-flowingriver. Between the huts and the river were many saw-pits, with men atwork. 

At young Adam's hail the men in view desisted, quite as though he hadsounded the dinner horn. Heads of others emerged from the pits. Within a minute there was a small crowd gathered, of burly fellowsdiffusing the fragrance of pine sawdust, all stamped in their degreeswith the M'Lauchlin family likeness, and all eager to know thestrangers' business. 

Sir Oliver explained that he wanted a boat and two strong guides, toexplore the upper waters. He would pay any price, in moderation. 

"Ay, " said their spokesman. He wore a magnificent iron-grey beardpowdered with saw-dust; and he carried a gigantic pair of shoulders, butrheumatism had contracted them to a permanent stoop. "Ay, I'm nofearin' about the pay. You'll be the rich man, the Collector fromBoston. "

Ruth was startled. She had supposed herself to be travelling deep intothe wilderness. She had yet to learn that in the wilderness, where mentraffic in little else, they exchange gossip with incredible energy--talk it, in fact, all the time. In those early colonial days thesettlers overleapt and left behind them leagues of primeval forest, toall appearance inviolate. But the solitude was no longer virgin. Wherefoot of man had once parted the undergrowth the very breath of the windfollowed and threaded its way after him, bearing messages to and fro. 

"I'm no speirin', " said the oldster cautiously. "But though our ladshave never been so far, there's talk of a braw house buildin'. "

Here, somewhat hastily, Sir Oliver took him aside, and they spent twentyminutes or so in converse together. Ruth waited. 

He came back and selected young Adam, with a cousin of his--a taciturnyouth, by name Jesse, son of Andrew--to be their boatman. Five or sixof the young men were evidently eager to be chosen; but none disputedhis choice. Rome, which reaches everywhere, reigned in the forest here;its old law of family unquestioned and absolute. The two youths swungoff to pack and provision the canoe. An hour later they reported thatall was ready; and by three in the afternoon the voyagers were on theirway up-stream. 

The voyage lasted four days and was seldom laborious; for the river ranin long loops through the table-land, and with an easy current. But here and there shallow runs of rock made stairways for it from onelevel to another, and each of these miniature rapids compelled aportage; so that towards the end of the second day the young men hadeach a red shoulder spot chafed by the canoe's weight. 

They camped by night close beside the murmuring water, ate their supperbeside a fire of boughs, slept on piled leaves beneath a tent of canvasstretched over a long ridge-pole. The two young men had a separate andsimilar tent. 

For two days the forest hemmed them in so closely that although frosthad half-stripped the deciduous trees, the eye found few vistas savealong the river ahead. On either hand was drawn a continuous curtain ofmossed stems and boughs overlapping and interlacing their delicatetwigs. Scarcely a bird sang within the curtain; scarcely a woodlandsound broke in upon the monotonous plash of the paddles. Alder, birch, maple, pine, spruce, and hemlock--the woods were a lifeless tapestry. Ahead curved and stretched the waterway, rippled now and again by amusk-rat crossing, swimming with its nose and no more above water. 

A little before noon on the third day they emerged from this forest upona wide track of burnt land; and certain hills of which the blue summitshad for some hours been visible above the tree-tops on their right, nowtook shape from the base up, behind thin clumps of birch, poplar, andspruce--all of them (but the spruce especially) ragged and stunted ingrowth. For the rest this burnt land resembled a neglected pasture, being carpeted for the most part with moss and blueberry. A mysteriousblight lay over all, and appeared to extend to the foot of the hills. 

All through the afternoon the chine of these hills closed the landscape;purpled at times by passing clouds, at times lit up by sun-rays thatdefined every bush and seam on the slopes. All through the afternoonthe folded gullies between the slopes unwound themselves interminably, little by little, as the voyagers traced up the river, paddling almostdue southward, along its loops and meanders. 

But by nightfall they had turned the last spur of the range, and thenext morning opened to them a vastly different landscape: an undulatingcountry, wooded like a park, with hills indeed, but scattered ones tothe south and west, and behind the hills the faint purple dome of afar-distant mountain, so faintly seen that at first Ruth mistook it fora cloud. 

She could not tell afterwards--though she often asked herself thequestion--at what point the landscape struck her as being strangelyfamiliar. Yet she was sure that the recognition came to her suddenly. Sir Oliver since the morning's start had been indisposed to talk. From time to time he drew out his map and consulted it. The M'Lauchlinlads, on the other hand, seemed to be restless. During the halt for themidday meal they drew aside together and Ruth heard them conversing ineager whispers. 

Possibly this stirred some expectation in her, which passed intosurmise, into certainty. Late in the afternoon she drew in the paddleshe had been plying, laid it across the canoe, and called softly, --

"Oliver!"

He turned. She was pointing to a hill now full in view ahead of them. 

"That cliff . . . You remember--the eagles?"

He laughed as though the question amused him. 

"It is very like. Yes, certainly, it is very like. But wait until weopen the clump of trees yonder. . . . "

They opened it, and her heart gave a leap. A moment before she had beensure this was the very hill. His laugh had confirmed it. . . . She remembered how, at the foot of it, just such a river as this loopeditself through the plain. . . . But, lo! in the opening gap, inch byinch, a long building displayed itself: a mansion, gleaming white, witha pillared front and pillared terraces, rising--terrace on terrace--fromthe woodland, into which a cascade of water, spouting half-way down theslope, plunged and was lost. 

She sat dumb. His eyes were upon her; and he laughed quietly. 

"It is yours--as you commanded. See!"

He flung out a hand to the left. She beheld a clearing--an avenue, thatran like a broad ribbon to the summit of a flat-topped rise. 

"You demanded sight of the ocean, " he was saying, and his voice seemedto lose itself in the beat of the churning paddles. "We cannot see itfrom here; but from the house--_your_ house--you shall look on it everyday. Did you not bid me remove a mountain?"

For the rest of the way she sat as in a dream. One of the M'Lauchlinlads had produced a cow-horn and was blowing it lustily. . . . They came to shore by river-stairs of stone, where two servants in theVyell livery stood like statues awaiting them. 

It was falling dusk when Sir Oliver disembarked and gave her his hand. The men-servants, who had bent to hold the canoe steady as she steppedashore, drew themselves erect and again touched foreheads to their lordand lady. 

Still as in a dream, her arm resting within her lover's, she went up thebroad stairways from terrace to terrace. Above her the long facade waslit with window after window blazing welcome. 

At the head of the perron, under the colonnaded portico, other tallmen-servants stood in waiting, mute, deferential. She passed betweentheir lines into a vast entrance hall, and there, almost as her footcrossed its threshold, across the marbled floor little Miss Quiney camerunning a-flutter, inarticulate, with reaching hands. 

Ruth drew back, almost with a cry. But before she could resist, Tatty'sarms were about her and Tatty's lips lifted, pressed against eithercheek. She suffered the embrace. 

"My darling Ruth!--at last!" Then with a laugh, "And in what strangeclothes! . . . But come--come and be arrayed!" She caught Ruth's coldhand and led her towards the staircase. "Nay, never look about you so:your eyes will not take in a tenth of all the wonders!"

Later, as an Indian gong sounded below, he came from his dressing-roominto the great bride-chamber where she stood, arrayed in satin, beforeher mirror, hesitating as her fingers touched one after another of thejewels scattered on the dressing-table under the waxen lights. Her maidslipped away discreetly. 

"Well?" he asked. He was resplendent in a suit of sapphire velvet, withcravat and ruffles of old Spanish lace. "Is my love content withher home-coming?"

She crossed her arms slowly. 

"You are good to me, " she said. "You do me too great honour, my lord. "

He laughed, and catching up a necklace of diamonds from thedressing-table, looped it across her throat, clasped it, leaned over hershoulder and kissed her softly between the ear and the cheek's delicateround. Their eyes met in the mirror. 

"I invited the Quiney, " he said gaily, "to give you a feeling of homeamong these strange faces. She will not dine with us, though, unlessyou choose. "

"Let us be alone, to-night!" she pleaded. 

"So be it. . . . But you shiver: you are cold. No? Then weary, perhaps--yes, and hungry. I've a backwoods hunger, for my part. Let us go down and dine. "

BOOK IV. 

LADY GOOD-FOR-NOTHING. 

Chapter I. 

BATTY LANGTON, CHRONICLER. 

_From Batty Langton, Esquire, to the Hon. Horatio Walpole_. 

 BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS, January 21st, 1748. 

. . . . . You ask me, my dear Sir, why I linger on year by year in thisland of Cherokees and Choctaws, as you put it, at the same time hintingvery delicately that now, with my poor old father in his grave and myown youthful debts discharged, you see no enduring reason for thisexile. It is kind of you to be so solicitous: kinder still to professthat you yet miss me. But that I am missed at White's is more than youshall persuade me to believe. In an earlier letter, written when theGaming Act passed, you told me they were for nailing up an escutcheon tomourn the death of play; they nailed up none for me. And I gather thatplay has recovered, and Dick Edgcumbe holds my cards. I doubt if Icould endure to revisit St. James's--save by moonlight perhaps. _Rappelez-moi_ to the waiters. They will remember me. 

But in good deed, dear Sir, what should I be doing at home among theMalvern Hills upon a patrimony of 800 pounds?--for to that it hasdwindled. Can I hoe turnips, or poke a knowledgeable finger into theflanks of beeves? I wonder if your literary explorations ever led youacross the furrow of an ancient ploughman who--

 --on a May morning, on Malvern hills

was weary of wandering and laid him down to sleep beside a brook--havingbeen chased thither betimes, no doubt, by a nagging bedfellow. I have no wife, nor mean to take one, and find it more to my comfort tosleep here by the River Charles and dream of Malvern, secure that Ishall wake to find myself detached from it by half a world. 

Yet your last letter touched me closely; for it happens that Sir O. V. , for love of whom rather than for any better reason I have kept thisexile, has taken to himself a Lady. That, you'll say, should be mydismissal; and that I like her, as she appears willing to be friendswith me, gives me, you'll say again, no excuse to linger. Yet I do, andshall. 

As for her history, Vyell picked her up in a God-forsaken fishing town, some leagues up the coast; brought her home; placed her undergouvernante and tutors; finally espoused her. Stay: finally he hasbuilt a palace for her, "Eagles" by name, whither he forces all Bostonto pay its homage. For convenience of access to the goddess he has cuta road twenty feet broad through the woodlands of her demesne. 

 The palace in a woody vale they found, High-raised, of stone--

or, to speak accurately, of stone and timber combined. Be pleased toimagine a river very much like that of Richmond, but covered with greycrags. "Fie, " you will say, "the site is savage, then, like all else inthis New World?" My dear sir, you were never more mistaken. Mr. Manley's young eye of genius fastened upon it at once, to adapt itto a house and gardens in the Italian style. 

Have I mentioned this Mr. Manley in former letters? He is a younggentleman of good Midland blood (his county, I believe, Bedfordshire), with a moderate talent for drinking, a something more than talent forliving on his friends, and a positive genius for architecture. He will have none of your new craze for Gothic. Palladio is his god, albeit he allows that Palladio had feet of clay, and corrects himboldly--though always, as he tells me, with help of his minor deities, Vignola and the rest, who built the great villas around Rome. He hasstudied in Italy, and tells me that at Florence he was much beholden toyour friend Mann, who, I dare swear, lost money by the acquaintance. 

Vyell, his present patron, takes him out and shows him the site. "Italy!" exclaims the Youth of Genius. "Italy?" echoes Maecenas, astonished. "We'll make it so, " says the Youth. "These terraces, thisspouting water, these pines to serve us for cypresses!" "But, my goodsir, the House?" cries the impatient Vyell. "A fig for your house!Any fool can design a house when the Almighty and an artist togetherhave once made the landscape for it. Grant me two years for thegardens, " he pleads. "You shall have ten months to complete landscape, house, everything. " "I shall need armies of workmen. " "You shall havethem. " The Youth groaned. "I shall have to be sober for ten months onend!" "What of that?" says V. Lovers are unconscionable. 

Well, the Youth sits down to his plans, and at once orders begin to flyacross ocean to this port and that for the rarest marbles--_rossoantico_ from Mount Taenarus, _verde antico_ from Thessally; with greenCarystian, likewise shipped from Corinth; Carrara, Veronese Orange, Spanish _broccatello_, Derbyshire alabaster, black granite from Vyell'sCornish estate, red and purple porphyries from high up the Nile. . . . The Youth conjures up his gardens as by magic. Here you have a terracefenced with columns; below it a cascade pouring down a stairway ofcircular basins--the hint of it borrowed from Frascati (from the VillaTorlonia, if I remember); there an alley you'd swear was Boboli dippingto rise across the river, on a stairway you'd swear as positively wasVal San Zibio. Yet all is congruous. The dog scouts the Villa d'Estefor a "toy-shop. "

The house at first disappoints one, being straight and simple to thelast degree. ("D----n me, " says he, "what can you look for, in tenmonths?") It is of two storeys, the windows of the upper storey loftierby one-third than those beneath; and has for sole ornament a balustradedparapet broken midway by an Ionic portico of twelve columns, with a_loggia_ deeply recessed above its entrance door. To this portico aflight of sixteen steps conducts you from the uppermost terrace. 

Such is Vyell's new pleasance of Eagles, Boston's latest wonder. I havedescribed it at this length because you profess to take more interest inhouses than in women; and also, to tell the truth, be cause I am shy ofdescribing Lady V. To call her roundly the loveliest creature I haveever set eyes on, or am like to, is (you will say) no description, though it may argue me in love with her. 

On my honour, no! or only as all others are in love--all the men, Imean, and even some pro portion of the womankind. The rest agree tocall her "Lady Good-for-Nothing, " upon a double rumour, of which onehalf is sad truth, and the other (my life on it) false as hell. 

They have heard that when Vyell found her she was a serving-girl, undergoing punishment (a whipping, to be precise) for some trumperyoffence against the Sabbath. Yes, my dear sir, this is true; as it istrue also that Vyell, like a knight-errant of old, offered to share herpunishment, and did indeed share it to the extent of sitting in thestocks beside her. You'd have thought an honest mind might find foodfor compassion in this, and even an excuse to believe the better ofhuman nature; but it merely scandalises these Puritan tabbies. They fear Vyell for his wealth and title; and he, despising them, forcesthem to visit her. 

Now for the falsehood. The clergyman who read the marriage ceremony forV. Somewhere in the backwoods (this, too, was his whim, and they have tobe content with it) is a low-bred trencher-chaplain, by name Silk. He should have been unfrocked the next week, not for performing afunction apostolically derived, but for spreading a report--I wait tofasten it on him--that before marriage she was no better than she shouldbe. I have earned better right than any other man to know Vyell, and Iknow it to be calumny. But the wind blows, and the name"Lady Good-for-Nothing" is a by-breath of it. 

Vyell guesses nothing of this. He has a masculine judgment and no smalldegree of wit--though 'tis of a hard intellectual kind; but throughmisprising his fellow creatures he has come to lack _flair_. His lady, if she scent a taint on the wind wafted through her routs andassemblies, no doubt sets it down to breathings upon her humble origin, or (it may be) even to some leaking gossip of her foregone wrong. (Women, my dear sir, are brutes to rend a wounded one of the herd. ) Shecan know nothing of the worse slander. 

She moves through her duties as hostess with a pretty well-bred grace, and a childishness infinitely touching. Yet something more protectsher; a certain common sense, which now and then very nearly achieveswit. For an instance--But yesterday a certain pompous lady lamented toher in my hearing (and with intention, as it seemed to me, who am grownsuspicious), the rapid moral decay of Boston society. "Alas!" sighs myheroine; "but what a comfort, ma'am, to think that neither of us belongsto it!" Add to this that she has learning enough to equip ten_precieuses_--and hides it: has read Plato and can quote her Virgil bythe page--but forbears. Yet all this while you have suspected me, nodoubt, of raving over a '_Belle Sauvage_, a Pocahontas. 

Well, I shall watch her progress. . . . I have become so nearly a partof Vyell that I charge myself to stand for him and supply what he lacks. He loves her; she loves him to doting; but I cannot see into theirfuture. 

Vyell, by the way, charges me to request your good offices with Mr. Mannto procure him a couple of Tuscan vases. I know that your friend isinfinitely obliging to all who approach him through you: and thisrequest which my letter carries as a tag should have been its pretext, as in fact it was its occasion. Adieu! my dear sir. 

 Yours most sincerely, BAT. LANGTON. 

Chapter II. 

SIR OLIVER SAILS. 

Mr. Langton was right. Theologians, preaching mysteries, arehelpless before the logical mind until they abandon defence andboldly attack their opponents' capital incapacity, saying, "Preciselybecause you insist upon daylight, you miss discovering the stars. "The battle is a secular one, and that sentence contains the reason, too, why it will never be ended in this world. But the theologiansmay strengthen their conviction, if not their argument, by noting howoften the more delicate shades of human feeling will opposethemselves to the logical mind as a mere wall of blindness. 

Oliver Vyell loved his bride as passionately as his nature, hardenedby his past, allowed him. To the women who envied her, to thegossips and backbiters, he opposed a nescience inexpugnable, unscalable as a wall of polished stone: but the mischief was, heequally ignored her sensitiveness. 

Being sensitive, she understood the hostile shadows better than thehard protecting fence. To noble natures enemies are often nearerthan friends, and more easily forgiven. 

But Mr. Langton was also right in guessing her ignorant of therumours set going by Silk, who, as yet, had whispered falsehoodsonly. The worst rumour of all--the truth--was beyond his courage. 

Ruth loved her lord devoutly. To love him was so easy that it seemedno repayment of her infinite debt. She desired some harder task; andtherefore, since he laid this upon her, she--who would have chosen asolitude to be happy in--rejoiced to meet these envious ladies withsmiles, with a hundred small graces of hospitality; and still herbliss swallowed up their rancour, scarcely tasting its gall. He(they allowed) was the very pattern of a lover. 

He was also a model man of business. Even from his most flagrantextravagances, as Batty Langton notes in another epistle, he usuallycontrived to get back something like his money's worth. He would lend money, or give it, where he chose: but to the man whooverreached him in a money bargain he could be implacable. Moreover, though a hater of quarrels, he never neglected an enmity he had oncetaken up, but treated it with no less exactitude than a businessaccount. 

Their happiness had endured a little more than three months when, onemorning, he entered Ruth's morning-room with a packet of letters inhis hand. He was frowning, not so much in wrath, as in distaste ofwhat he had to tell. 

"Dear, " he said brusquely, bending to kiss her, "I have ill news. Imust go back to England, on business. "

"To England ?" she echoed. Her wrists were laid along the arms ofher chair, and, as she spoke, her fingers clutched sharply at thepadding. She was not conscious of it. She was aware only thatsomehow, at the back of her happiness this shadow had always lurked;and that England lay across the seas, at an immense distance. . . . 

He went on--his tone moody, but the words brief and distinct. "For a few months, only; five or six, perhaps; with any luck, evenless. That infernal aunt of mine--"

"Lady Caroline ?" She asked it less out of curiosity than as aprompter gives a cue; for he had come to a full stop. She waswondering how Lady Caroline could injure him, being so faraway. . . . 

He laughed savagely, yet--having broken his news, or the worst ofit--with something of relief. "She shall smart for it--if thatconsole you?"

"Is it on my account?"

"Only, as I guess, in so far as she accuses you of having played thedevil with her plan for marrying me up with my cousin Di'? If Di'had been the last woman in the world. . . . But the old harridannever spoke to me after the grooming I gave her that morning atNatchett. 'Faith, and I did treat her to some plain talk!" he woundup with another laugh. 

"But what harm can she do you?"

He explained that his late uncle Sir Thomas had, in the closing yearsof his life, shown unmistakable signs of brain-softening, and that asymptom of his complaint had been his addiction to making a number ofwills--"two-thirds of 'em incoherent. Every two or three days he'dcompose a new one and send for Huskisson, his lawyer; and Huskisson, after reading the rigmarole through, as solemn as a judge, would getit solemnly witnessed and carry it off. He had three boxes full ofthese lunacies when the old man died, and I'll wager he has notdestroyed 'em. Lawyers never destroy handwriting, however foolish. It's against their principles. "

"But, " said Ruth, musing. "I understood that he died of a jailfever, caught at the Assizes, where he was serving on--what do youcall it?"

"The Grand Jury. "

"Well, how could he be serving on a Grand Jury if his head wasaffected as you say?"

"You don't know England, " he assured her. "Ten to one as a Countymagnate he stickled for it, and the High Sheriff put him on the panelto keep him amused. "

"But a Grand Jury deals sometimes with matters of life and death, does it not?"

"Often, but only in the first instance. It finds a true billusually, and sends the cause down to be tried by judge and jury, whodispose of it. Actually the incompetence of a grand juror or twodoesn't count, if the scandal be not too glaring. . . . But I seeyour drift. It will be a point for the other side, no matter howlunatic the document, that after perpetrating it he was still thoughtcapable by the High Sheriff of his county. "

"I do not know that the point struck me. I was wondering--" Hereshe broke off. The thought, in fact, uppermost in her mind was thathe had not suggested her voyaging to England with him. 

"It _is_ a point, anyway, " he persisted. "But it won't stand againstHuskisson's documentary proof of lunacy. . . . You see, the greaterpart of the property was entailed, and the poor old fool couldn'ttouch it. But there's an unentailed estate in Devonshire--Downton byname--worth about two thousand a year. By a will made in '41, whenhis mind was admittedly sound, he left it to me with a charge upon itof five hundred for Lady Caroline. By a second, made three yearslater and duly witnessed, he left her Downton for her life; and withthat I chose not to quarrel, though I could have brought evidencethat he was unfit to make any will. I agreed with the infernal womanto let things stand on that. But now, being at daggers drawn withme, she digs up (if you please) a will made in '46 and apparentlysane in wording, by which, without any provision for the heir-at-law, the whole bagful, real and personal, goes to her, to be used by herand willed away, as she pleases; this, although she well knows I canprove Sir Thomas to have been a blethering idiot at the time. "

"Is it worth while?"

"Worth while?" he echoed, as if doubtful that she had understood. "The woman is doing it out of spite, of course. Very likely she isfool enough to think that, fixed here with the Atlantic between us, Ishall give her the double gratification of annoying me and lettingher win by default. "

"It is a large sum, " she mused. 

"Of course it is, " he agreed sharply. "An estate yielding twothousand pounds interest. You would not suggest my letting it go, Ishould hope!"

"Certainly not, if you cannot afford it. "

"If it were a twentieth part of the sum, I'd not be jockeyed out ofit. " He laughed harshly. "As men go, I am well-to-do: but, dear, hasit never occurred to you to wonder what this place and its householdcost me?"

She answered with a small wry smile. "Often it has occurred to me. Often I tell myself that I am wicked to accept, as you are foolishperhaps to give, all this luxury. "

"You adorn it. . . . Dear, do not misunderstand me. All the offeringI can bring is too little for my love. "

"I know, " she murmured, looking up at him with moist eyes. "I know;and yet--"

"I meant only that you are not used to handling money or calculatingit--as why should you be?"

"If my lord will only try me!"

"Hey?"

"Of what use is a wife if she may not contrive for her husband'sgood--take thought for his household? Ah, my dear, these cares arehalf a woman's happiness! . . . I might make mistakes. Nay, 'tiscertain. I would the house were smaller: in a sense I would thatyour wealth were smaller--it would frighten me less. But somethingtells me that, though frightened, I should not fail you. "

He stared down at her, pulling his lip moodily. "I was thinking, "said he, "to ask Langton to be my steward. Would you really chooseto be cumbered with all this business?"

She held her breath for a moment; for his question meant that he hadno design to take her with him. Her face paled a little, but sheanswered steadily. 

"It will at least fill my empty hours. . . . Better, dear--it willkeep you before me in all the day's duties; since, though I miss you, all day long I shall be learning to be a good wife. "

As she said it her hand went up to her side beneath her left breast, as something fluttered there, soft as a bird's wing stirring. It fluttered for a moment under her palm, then ceased. The room hadgrown strangely still. . . . Yet he was speaking. 

He was saying--"I'll teach these good people who's Head of theFamily!"

Ah, yes--"the Family!" Should she tell him? . . . She bethought herof Mrs. Harry's sudden giddiness in the waggon. Mrs. Harrywas now the mother of a lusty boy--Sir Oliver's heir, and theFamily's prospective Head. . . . Should she tell him? . . . 

He stooped and kissed her. "Love, you are pale. I have broken thisnews too roughly. "

She faltered. "When must you start?"

"In three days. That's as soon as the _Maryland_ can take in therest of her cargo and clear the customs. "

"They will be busy days for you. "

"Desperately. "

"Yet you must spare me a part of one, and teach me to keep accounts, "said she, and smiled bravely albeit her face was wan. 

Chapter III. 

MISCALCULATING WRATH. 

Mr. Langton sat in his private apartment by Boston Quay trying thebalance of a malacca cane. 

Sir Oliver had sailed a week ago. Mr. Langton had walked down to theship with him and taken his farewell instructions. 

"By the way, " said Sir Oliver, "I want you to make occasion to visitEagles now and again, and pay your respects. I shall write to you aswell as to her; and the pair of you can exchange news from yourletters. She likes you. "

"I hope so, " answered Langton, "because 'tis an open secret that Iadore her. "

Sir Oliver smiled, a trifle ruefully. "Then you'll understand how ithits a man to leave her. Maybe--for I had meant to make youpaymaster in my absence--you'll also forgive me for having changed mymind?"

"I'd have called you a damned fool if you hadn't, " said Langtonequably. "She's your wife, hang it all: and I'll lay you five poundsyou'll return to find her with hair dishevelled over your monstrouscareless bookkeeping. My dear Noll, a woman--a good woman--is nevercompletely happy till convinced that she, and only she, has saved theman she loves from ruin; and, what's more, she's a fool if she can'tprove it. "

"Nevertheless she's a beginner; and I'll be glad of your promise torun over from time to time. A question or two will soon discover ifthings are running on an even keel. "

"I shall attempt no method so coarse, " Langton assured him. "I don'twant to be ordered out of the house--must I repeat that I adore her?It may be news to you that she repays my attachment with a certainrespect. . . . Should she find herself in any difficulty--and shewill not--I shall be sent for and consulted. In any event, fond man, you may count on my calling. "

As they shook hands Sir Oliver asked, "Don't you envy me, Batty?"

"Constantly and in everything, " answered Langton; "though--ass that Iam--I have rather prided myself on concealing it. "

"I mean, don't you wish that you, and not I, were sailing forEngland? For that matter, though, there's nothing prevents you. "

"Oh yes--there is. "

"What, then?"

"Use and wont, if you will; indolence, if you choose; affection foryou, Noll, if you prefer it. "

"That had been an excellent reason for coming with me. "

"It may be a better one for staying. . . . Well, as you walk up St. James's, give it my regards. "

"For so fine an intelligence Noll can be infernally crass at times, "muttered Mr. Langton to himself as he walked back to his lodgings. 

He kept his promise and rode over to Eagles ten days later, to payRuth a visit. He found her astonishingly cheerful. The sum left bySir Oliver for her stewardship had scared her at first. It scaredher worse to discover how the heap began to drain away as through asieve. But slowly she saw her way to stop some of the holes in thatsieve. He had calculated her expenses, taking for basis the accountsof the past few months; and in the matter of entertaining, forexample, she would save vast sums. . . . She foresaw herself a miseralmost, to earn his praise. 

"_--Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband shall safely trust in her, so that he shallhave no need of spoil. She will do him good and not evil all thedays of his life_. "

"_She seeketh wool, and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands. She is like the merchants's ships; she bringeth her food from afar. She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth meat to herhousehold. . . . She considereth a field and buyeth it. . . . She looketh well into the ways of her household_. "

"_Her children rise up, and call her blessed. . . . _" Her children?But she had let him go, after all, without telling her secret. 

Mr. Langton sat and balanced a malacca cane in his hand. When hisman announced the Reverend Mr. Silk, he laid it down carefully on thefloor beside him. 

"Show Mr. Silk up, if you please. "

Mr. Silk entered with an affable smile. "Ah, good-morning, Mr. Langton!" said he, depositing his hat on the table and pulling off apair of thick woollen gloves. "I am prompt on your call, eh?But this cold weather invites a man to walk briskly. Not tomention, " he added, with an effort at facetiousness, "that when Mr. Langton sends for a clergyman his need is presumably urgent. "

"It is, " said Mr. Langton, seemingly blind to the hand he proferred. "Would you, before taking a seat, oblige me by throwing a log on thefire? . . . Thank you--the weather is raw, as you say. "

"Urgent? But not serious, I hope?"

"Both. Sit down, please. . . . I am, as you know, a particularfriend of Sir Oliver Vyell's. "

"Say, rather, his best. " Mr. Silk bowed and smiled. 

"Possibly. At all events so close a friend that, being absent, hegives me the right to resent any dishonouring suspicion that toucheshim--or touches his lady. It comes to the same thing. "

Mr. Silk cocked his head sideways, like a bird considering a worm. "Does it?" he queried, after a slight pause. 

"Certainly. A rumour is current through Boston, touching LadyVyell's virtue; or, at least, her conduct before marriage. "

"'Tis a censorious world, Mr. Langton. "

"Maybe; but let us avoid generalities, Mr. Silk. What grounds haveyou for imputing this misconduct to Lady Vyell?"

"Me, sir?" cried Mr. Silk, startled out of his grammar. 

"You, sir. " Mr. Langton arose lazily, and stepping to the door, turned the key; then returning to the hearth, in leisurely mannerturned back his cuff's. "I have traced the slander to you, and holdthe proofs. Perhaps you had best stand up and recant it before youtake your hiding. But, whether or no, I am going to hide you, " hepromised, with his engaging smile. Stooping swiftly he caught up themalacca. Mr. Silk sprang to his feet and snatched at the chair, dodging sideways. 

"Strike as you please, " he snarled; "Ruth Josselin is a--" Butbefore the word could out Batty Langton's first blow beat down hisguard. The second fell across his exposed shoulders, the thirdstunningly on the nape of his neck. The fourth--a back-hander--welted him full in the face, and the wretched man sank screaming forpity. 

Batty Langton had no pity. "Stand up, you hound!" he commanded. The command was absurd, and he laughed savagely, tickled by itsabsurdity even in his fury, while he smote again and again. He showered blows until, between blow and blow, he caught his breathand panted. Mr. Silk's screams had sunk to blubbings and whimpers. Between the strokes he heard them. 

His valet was knocking timorously on the door. "All right!" calledLangton, lifting his cane and lowering it slowly--for his victim laystill. He stooped to drag aside the arm covering the huddled face. As he did so, Mr. Silk snarled again, raised his head and bitblindly, fastening his teeth in the flesh of the left hand. Langtonwrenched free and, as the man scrambled to his feet, dealt him withthe same hand a smashing blow on the mouth--a blow that sent himreeling, to overbalance and pitch backward to the floor again acrossan overturned chair. 

Somehow the pleasure of getting in that blow restored--literally at astroke--Langton's good temper. He laughed and tossed the cane into acorner. 

"You may stand up now, " said he sweetly. "You are not going to bebeaten any more. "

Mr. Silk stood up. His mouth trickled blood, and he nursed his rightwrist, where the cane had smitten across the bone. Langton steppedto the door and, unlocking it, admitted his trembling valet. 

"My good fool, " he said, "didn't I call to you not to be alarmed?Mr. Silk, here, has been seized with a--a kind of epileptic fit. Help him downstairs and call a chair for him. Don't stare; he willnot bite again for a very long time. "

But in this Mr. Langton was mistaken. 

He took the precaution of cauterising his bitten hand; and beforeretiring to rest that night contemplated it grimly, holding it out tothe warmth of his bachelor fire. It was bandaged; but above the edgeof the bandage his knuckles bore evidence how they had retaliatedupon Mr. Silk's teeth. 

He eyed these abrasions for a while and ended with a soft complacentlaugh. "Queer, how little removed we are, after all, from thenatural savage!" he murmured. "Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me tointroduce to your notice Batty Langton, Esquire, a child of nature--not perhaps of the best period--still using his naked fists and for awoman--primitive cause of quarrel. And didn't he enjoy it, byGeorge!"

He laughed again softly. But, could he have foreseen, he had beenwilling rather to cut the hand off for its day's work. 

Chapter IV. 

THE TERRACE. 

Ruth was happy. To-day, and for a whole week to come, she wasdetermined to be purely happy, blithe as the spring sunshine upon theterrace. For a week she would, like Walton's milkmaid, cast awaycare and refuse to load her mind with any fears of many things thatwill never be. Her spirit sang birdlike within her. And thereason?--that the _Venus_ had arrived in harbour, with Dicky onboard. 

Peace had been signed, or was on the point to be signed, and in theNorth Atlantic waters His Majesty's captains of frigates could makea holiday of duty. Captain Harry used his holiday to sail up forBoston, standing in for Carolina on his way and fetching off hiswife and his firstborn--a bouncing boy. It was time, they agreed, to pay their ceremonial visit to Sir Oliver and his bride; hightime also for Dicky to return and embrace his father. 

Sir Oliver had written of his approaching marriage. "Well, dear, "was Mrs. Harry's comment, "'twas always certain he would marry. Asfor Ruth Josselin, she is an amazingly beautiful girl and I believeher to be good. So there's no more to be said but to wish 'em joy. "

Captain Harry kissed his wife. "Glad you take it so, Sally. I washalf afraid--for of course there _was_ the chance, you know--"

"I'm not a goose, I hope, to cry for the moon!"

"Is that the way of geese?" he asked, and they both laughed. 

A second letter had come to them from Eagles, telling them of hishappiness, and franking a note in which Ruth prettily acknowledgedMrs. Harry's congratulations. 

A third had been despatched; a hurried one, announcing his departurefor England. Before this reached Carolina, however, the _Venus_ hadsailed, and Dicky rushed home to find his father gone. 

But a message came down to Boston Quay, with the great coach for Mrs. Vyell, and the baggage and saddle-horses for the gentlemen. Therewere three saddle-horses, for Ruth added an invitation forMr. Hanmer, "if the discipline of the ship would allow. "

"She always was the thoughtfullest!" cried Dicky. "Why, sir, to besure you must come too. . . . We'll go shooting. Is it too late forpartridge? . . . One forgets the time of year, down in the islands. "

Strangely enough Mr. Hanmer, so shy by habit, offered but a slightresistance. 

It was Dicky who, as Ruth sped to him with a happy little cry, hungon his heel a moment and blushed violently. She took him in herarms, exclaiming at his growth. 

"Why--look, Tatty--'tis a man! And is that what he means?--Ah, Dicky, don't say you're too tall to kiss your old playmate. "

Then, holding him a little away and still observing his confusion, she remembered his absurd boyish love for her and how he hadconfessed it. Well, she must put him at his ease. . . . She turnedlaughingly to welcome the others, and now for a moment she tooflushed rosy-red as she shook hands with Mr. Hanmer. She could nothave told why; but perhaps it was that instead of returning hersmile, his eyes rested on her face gravely, intently, as thoughunable to drag themselves away. 

Captain Harry and his wife marvelled, as well they might, at thehouse and its wonders. Sir Oliver had chosen to take his mealsFrench fashion and at French hours; and Ruth apologised for havingkept up the custom. Captain Harry, after protesting against soungodly a practice, admitted that his ride had hungered him, and at_dejeuner_ proved it not only upon the courses but upon the coldmeats on the side-table. 

"You must have a jewel of a housekeeper, my dear!" Mrs. Harry hadbeen taking in every detail of the ordered service. "'Housekeeper, 'do I say? 'Major-domo'--you'll forgive me--"

Ruth swept her a bow. "I take the compliment. "

"And she deserves it, " added Miss Quiney. 

"What? You don't tell me you manage it all yourself? . . . Thispalace of a house!"

"Already you are making it feel less empty to me. Yes, alone I doit; but if you wish to praise me, you should see my accounts. _They_are my real pride. But no, they are too holy to be shown!"

They sat later--the gentlemen by their wine--on the stone terraceoverlooking the wide champaign. 

"But, " said Ruth, for she observed that the boy was restless, "I mustleave Tatty to play hostess while I take a scamper with Dick. There's a pool below here, Dicky, with oh, such trout!"

Dicky was on his feet in a trice. "Rods?"

"Rods, if you will. But there are the stables, too, to be seen; andthe gunroom--"

"Stables? Gunroom?--Oh, come along!--the day is too short!" HereDicky paused. "But would you like to come too, sir?" he asked, addressing Mr. Hanmer. 

Mrs. Harry laughed. "Those two, " she told Ruth, "are like master anddog, and one never can be quite sure which is which. "

"My dear boy, " said Mr. Hanmer, "you must surely see that Lady Vyellwants you all to herself. Yet I dare say the captain and I will bestrolling around to the stables before long. "

"Ay, when this decanter is done, " agreed Captain Harry. 

"That was rather pretty of you, " said Ruth, as she and the boy wentdown the terrace stairs together. 

"What?--asking old Hanmer to come with us? . . . Oh, but he's thebest in the world, and, what's more, never speaks out of his turn. He has a tremendous opinion of you, too. "

"Indeed?"

"Worships the very ground you tread on. "

Ruth laughed. "Were those his words?"

Dicky laughed too. "Likely they would be! Fancy old Han talking likea sick schoolgirl! I made the words up to please you: but it's thetruth, all the same. "

They reached the pool; and the boy, after ten minutes spent indiscovering the biggest monster among the trout and attempting totickle him with a twig, fell to prodding the turfed brinkthoughtfully. 

"We talked a deal about you, first-along, " he blurted at length. "Ifancy old Han guessed that I was--was--well, fond of you and all thatsort of thing. "

"Dear Dicky!"

"Boys are terrible softies at this age, " my young master admitted. "And, after all, it was rather a knockdown, you know, when papa'sletter came with the news. "

"But we're friends, eh?--you and I--just as before?"

"Oh, of course--only you might have told. . . . And I've brought youa parrot. Remember the parrots in that old fellow's shop in PortNassau?"

She led him to talk of his sea adventures, of the ship, of the WestIndies among which they had been cruising; and as they wanderedback from terrace to terrace he poured out a stream of boyishgossip about his shipmates, from Captain Vyell down to the cook'sdog. Half of it was Hebrew to her; but in every sentence of it, andin the gay, eager voice, she read that the child had unerringlyfound his vocation; that the sea lent him back to the shore for aromp and a holiday, but that to the sea he belonged. 

"There's one thing against shipboard though. " He had come to a halt, head aslant, and said it softly, eyeing a tree some thirty yardsdistant. 

"What?"

"No stones lying about. " Picking up one, he launched it at anuthatch that clung pecking at the moss on the bark. "Hit him, byGeorge! Come--"

He ran and she raced after him for a few paces, but stopped half-way, with her hand to her side. The nuthatch was not hit after all, buthad bobbed away into the green gloom. 

"Tell you what--you can't run as you used, " he said critically. 

"No? . . . " She was wondering at the mysterious life a-flutter inher side--that it should be his brother. 

"Not half. I'll have to get you into training. . . . Now show me thestables, please. "

They were retracing their steps when along a green alley they saw Mr. Hanmer coming down to meet them. He was alone, and his face, alwaysgrave, seemed to Ruth graver than ever. 

"Dicky!" said he. "Service, if you please. "

"Ay, sir!" Dicky's small person stiffened at once, and Dicky's handwent up to the salute. 

"Wait here, please. I wish a word in private with Lady Vyell--if youwill forgive me, ma'am?"

"Why to be sure, sir, " she answered, wondering. As he turned, shewalked on with him. After some fifty paces she confronted him underthe pale-green dappled shadows of the alley. 

"Something has happened? Is it serious?"

"Yes. "

Looking straight before him, as they resumed their walk, he told her;in brief words that seemed, as he jerked them out, to be pumped fromhim; that made no single coherent sentence, and yet were concise as adespatch. 

This in substance was Mr. Hanmer's report:--

They had remained on the terrace, seated, as she had left them--Captain and Mrs. Harry, Miss Quiney and he. The Captain was talking. . . . A servant brought word that two ladies--Mr. Hanmer could notrecall their names--had called from Boston and desired to see Mrs. Vyell. "Surely, " protested Mrs. Harry, "they must mean Lady Vyell?"The servant was positive: Mrs. Captain Vyell had been the name. "They are anxious to pay their respects, " suggested Miss Quiney. "Anxious indeed! Why we landed but a few hours since. They musthave galloped. " Miss Quiney was sent to offer them refreshment anddiscover their business. 

Miss Quiney goes off on her errand. Minutes elapse. After manyminutes the servant reappears. "Miss Quiney requests Mrs. Harry'sattendance. " Mrs. Harry goes. 

"Women are queer cattle, " says Captain Harry sententiously, andtalks on. By-and-by the servant appears yet again. Mr. Hanmer issent for. "Why, 'tis like a story I've read somewhere, about afamily sent one by one to stop a tap running, " says Captain Harry. "But I'll say this for the women--I'm always the last they bother. "

Following the servant, Mr. Hanmer--so runs his report--enters thegreat drawing-room to find Miss Quiney stretched on the sofa, herface buried in cushions, and Mrs. Harry standing erect andconfronting two ladies of forbidding aspect. 

"In brief, " concluded Mr. Hanmer, "she sent me for you. "

"To confront them with her? I wonder what their business canbe. . . . " With a glance at his side face she added, "I think youhave not told me all. "

"No, " he confessed haltingly; "that's true enough. In--in factMrs. Harry first employed me to show them to the door. "

"And--on the way?"

"Honoured madam--"

"They said--what?--quoting whom?"

"A Mr. Silk. But again--ma'am, I am awkward at lying. I cannotmanage it. "

"I like you the better for it. "

"I did not believe--"

"Yet you might have believed. . . . And suppose that it were true, sir?"

He shook visibly. "I pray God to protect you, " he managed tostammer. 

Her face was white, but she answered him steadily. "I believe you tobe a good man. . . . I will go to them. Where is Dicky?"She glanced back along the alley. 

"Dicky will stand where I have told him to stand: for hours unless Irelease him. "

"Is that your naval code? And can a mere child stand by it soproudly? Oh, " cried she, fixing on him a look he remembered all hisdays, "would to God I had been born a man!"

Yet fearlessly as any man she entered the great drawing-room. MissQuiney still lay collapsed on her sofa. Mrs. Harry bent over her, but faced about. 

"Mr. Hanmer managed, then, to discover you? Two women have called. . . . I thought it better, their errand being what it was, to showthem out. "

"I can guess it, perhaps, " Ruth caught her up with a wan smile. "They managed to talk with him before he gave them their dismissal. "

"Forgive me. I had not thought them capable--"

"There is nothing to forgive, " Ruth assured her. "They probably toldthe truth, and the fault is mine. "

Miss Quiney, incredulous, slowly raised her face from the cushionsand stared. 

"Yes, " repeated Ruth, "the fault is entirely mine. "

"But--but, " stammered Mrs. Harry. Ruth had turned away towards thewindow, and the honest wife stared after her, against the light. "But he will make it all right when he returns. " She started, of asudden. Cunningly as Ruth had dressed herself, Mrs. Harry's eyesguessed the truth. "You have written to him?"

"No. "

"He guesses, at least?"

"No. "

"Then you are writing to him? There is enough time. "

"No. "

Their eyes met. Ruth's asked, "And if I do not, will you?" Mrs. Harry's met them for a few seconds and were abased. 

No words passed between these two. "And as for my Tatty, " said Ruthlightly, stepping to the sofa, "she is not to write. I command her. "

Chapter V. 

A PROLOGUE TO NOTHING. 

Sir Oliver wrote cheerfully. His lawsuit was prospering; his promptinvasion of the field had disconcerted Lady Caroline and heradvisers. He had discovered fresh evidence of the late Sir Thomas'sinsanity. His own lawyers were sanguine. They assured him that, atthe worst, the Courts would set aside the '46 will, and fall back fora compromise on that of '44, which gave the woman a life-interestonly in the Downton estates. But the case would not be taken thisside of the Long Vacation. . . . (It was certain, then, that he couldnot return in time. )

He had visited Bath and spent some weeks with his mother. He devoteda page or two to criticism of that fashionable city. It was clear hehad picked up many threads of his younger days; had renewed oldacquaintances and made a hundred new ones. Play, he wrote, was acraze in England; the stakes frightened a home-comer from NewEngland. For his part, he gamed but moderately. 

"As for the women, you have spoilt me for them. I see none--not one, dearest--who can hold a taper to you. Their artifices disgust me;and I watch them, telling myself that my Ruth has only to enter theirballs and assemblies to triumph--nay, to eclipse them totally. . . . And this reminds me to say that I have spoken with my mother. She had heard, of course, from more than one. Lady Caroline'saccount had been merely coarse and spiteful; but by that lady's laterconduct she was already prepared to discount it. The pairencountered in London, at my Lady Newcastle's; and my mother (who hasspirit) refused her bow. Diana, to her credit, appears to have doneyou more justice; and Mrs. Harry writes reams in your praise. To be sure my mother, not knowing Mrs. Harry, distrusts her judgmentfor a Colonial's; but I vow she is the soundest of women. . . . In short, dear Ruth, we have only to regularise things and we areforgiven. The good soul dotes on me, and imagines she has but a fewyears left to live. This softens her. . . . 

"There is a rumour--credit it, if you can!--that my Aunt Carolineintends to espouse a Mr. Adam Rouffignac, a foreigner and a winemerchant; I suppose (since he is reputed rich) to arm herself withmoney to pay her lawyers. What _his_ object can be, poor man, I amunable to conjecture. It is a strange world. While her ugly mothermates at the age of fifty, Diana--who started with all the advantagesof looks--withers upon the maiden thorn. . . . "

His letters, every one, concluded with protests of affection. She rejoiced in them. But it was now certain that he could notreturn in time. 

At length, as her day drew near, she wrote to him, conceiving this tobe her duty. She knew that he would take a blow from what she had totell, and covered it up cleverly, lightly covering all her own dread. She hoped the child would be a boy. ("But why do I hope it?" sheasked herself as she penned the words, and thought of Dicky. )

She said nothing of Mr. Silk's treachery; nothing of her ostracism. This indeed, during the later months, she recognised for the blessingit was. 

Towards the end she felt a strange longing to have her mother near, close at hand, for her lying-in. The poor silly soul could not travelalone. . . . Ruth considered this and hit on the happy inspiration ofinviting Mrs. Strongtharm to bring her. Tatty was useless, and amongthe few women who had been kind Mrs. Strongtharm had been thekindest. 

Ruth sat down and penned a letter; and Mrs. Strongtharm, unable towrite, responded valiantly. She arrived in a cart, with Mrs. Josselin at her side; and straightway alighting and neglecting Mrs. Josselin, sailed into a seventh heaven of womanly fuss. She examinedthe baby-clothes critically. 

"Made with your own pretty hands--and with all this mort o' servantstumblin' over one another to help ye. But 'tis nat'ral. . . . It came to nothing with me, but I know. And expectin' a boy o'course. . . . La! ye blushin' one, don't I know the way of it!"

When Ruth's travail came on her the three were gathered bycandle-light in Sir Oliver's dressing-room. Beyond the door, attended by her maid and a man-midwife, Ruth shut her teeth upon herthroes. So the prologue opens. 

 PROLOGUE. 

_Mrs. Josselin sits in an armchair, regarding the pattern of thecarpet with a silly air of self-importance; Mrs. Strongtharm in achair opposite. By the window Miss Quiney, pulling at her knuckles, stares out through the dark panes. A clock strikes_. 

_Miss Quiney (with a nervous start)_. Four o'clock . . . Nine hours. . . . 

_Mrs. Strongtharm. _ More. The pains took her soon after six. . . . When her bell rang I looked at the clock. I remember. 

_Miss Quiney_. My poor Ruth. 

_Mrs. Strongtharm_. Eh? The first, o' course. . . . But a longlabour's often the best. 

_Miss Quiney_. There has not been a sound for hours. 

_Mrs. Strongtharm_. She's brave. They say, too, that a man-child, if he's a real strong one, will wait for daybreak; but that's oldwomen's notions, I shouldn't wonder. 

_Miss Quiney_. A man-child? You think it will be?

_Mrs. Strongtharm_. (She exchanges a glance with Mrs. Josselin, whohas looked up suddenly and nods. ) Certain. 

_Mrs. Josselin_. Certain, certain! I wonder, now, what they'll callhim! After Sir Oliver, perhaps. Her own father's name was Michael. In my own family--that's the Pocock's--the men were mostly Williamsand Georges. Called after the Kings of England. 

_Mrs. Strongtharm (yawns)_. Oliver Cromwell was as good as any king, and better. Leastways my mar says so. For my part, I don't bothermy head wi' these old matters. 

_Miss Quiney (tentatively)_. Do you know, I was half hoping it wouldbe a girl, just like my darling. _(To herself)_ God forgive me, whenI think--

_Mrs. Strongtharm (interrupting the thought)_. _She_ won't be hopingfor a girl. You don't understand these things, beggin' your pardon, ma'am. 

_Miss Quiney (meekly)_. No. 

_Mrs. Josselin_. You don't neither of you understand. How shouldyou?

_Mrs. Strongtharm (stung)_. I understand as well as a fool, I shouldhope! _(She turns to Miss Quiney. )_ 'Twas a nat'ral wish in ye, ma'am, that such a piece o' loveliness should bear just such another. But wait a while; they're young and there's time. . . . My lady wantsa boy first, like every true woman that loves her lord. There's pride an' wonder in it. All her life belike she's feltherself weak an' shivered to think of battles, and now, lo an'behold, she's the very gates o' strength with an army marchin' forthto conquer the world. Ha'n't ye never caught your breath an' feltthe tears swellin' when ye saw a regiment swing up the street?

_Miss Quiney_. Ah! . . . Is it like that?

_Mrs. Strongtharm_. It's like all that, an' more. . . . An' thoughI've wet my pillow afore now with envy of it, I thank the Lord forgivin' a barren woman the knowledge. 

 _A pause_. 

_Mrs. Josselin (with a silly laugh)_. What wonderful patterns theymake in the carpets nowadays! Look at this one, now--runnin' in andout so that the eye can't hardly follow it; and all for my lord'sdressing-room! Cost a hundred pound, I shouldn't wonder. 

_Mrs. Strongtharm_. T'cht!

_Mrs. Josselin_. He must be amazing fond of her. Fancy, my Ruth! . . . It's a pity he's not home, to take the child. 

_Mrs. Strongtharm_. Men at these times are best out o' the way. 

_Mrs. Josselin_. When my first was born, Michael--that's myhusband--stayed home from sea o' purpose to take it. My first was agirl. No, not Ruth; Ruth was born after my man died, and I had herchristened Ruth because some one told me it stood for "sorrow. "I had three before Ruth--a girl an' two boys, an' buried them all. 

_Miss Quiney (listening)_. Hush!

_Mrs. Josselin (not hearing, immersed in her own mental flow)_. If you call a child by a sorrowful name it's apt to ward off theill-luck. Look at Ruth now--christened in sorrow an' married, afterall, to the richest in the land!

_Miss Quiney (in desperation)_. Oh, hush! hush!

_A low moan comes from the next room. The women sit silent, theirfaces white in the dawn that now comes stealing in at the window, conquering the candle-light by little and little_. 

_Mrs. Strongtharm_. I thought I heard a child's cry. . . . They cryat once. 

_Miss Quiney_. Ah? I fancied it, too--a feeble one. 

_Mrs. Strongtharm (rising after a long pause)_. Something iswrong. . . . 

_As she goes to listen at the door, it opens, and the man-midwifeenters. His face is grave_. 

_Mrs. Strongtharm and Miss Quiney ask him together, under theirbreath_--Well?

_He answers:_ It is well. We have saved her life, I trust. 

--And the child?

--A boy. It lived less than a minute. . . . Yet a shapelychild. . . . 

_Miss Quiney clasps her hands. Shall she, within her breast, thankGod? She cannot. She hears the voice saying_, --

A very shapely child. . . . But the labour was difficult. There wassome pressure on the brain, some lesion. 

They would have denied Ruth sight of the poor little body, but shestretched out her arms for it and insisted. Then as she held it, flesh of her flesh, to her breast and felt it cold, she--she, whosecourage had bred wonder in them, even awe--she who had smiled betweenher pangs, murmuring pretty thanks--wailed low, and, burying herface, lay still. 

Chapter VI. 

CHILDLESS MOTHER. 

In the sad and cheated days that followed, she, with the milk ofmotherhood wasting in her, saw with new eyes--saw many thingsheretofore hidden from her. 

She did not believe in any scriptural God. But she believed--shecould not help believing--in an awful Justice overarching all humanlife with its law, as it overarched the very stars in heaven. And this law she believed to rest in goodness, accessible to the pureconscience, but stern against the transgressor. 

Because she believed this, she had felt that the marriage rite, withsuch an one as Mr. Silk for intercessor between her vows and a cleanHeaven, could be but a sullying of marriage. Yes, and she felt itstill; of this, at any rate, she was sure. 

But in her pride--as truly she saw it, in her pride of chastity--shehad left the child out of account. _He_ had inherited the world toface, not armed with her weapon of scorn. _He_ had not won freedomthrough a scourge. He had grown to his fate in her womb, and in thewomb she had betrayed him. 

She had been blind, blind! She had lived for her lover and herself. To him and to her (it had seemed) this warm, transitory lifebelonged; a fleeting space of time, a lodge leased to bliss. . . . Now she fronted the truth, that between the selfish rapture of loversHeaven slips a child, smiling at the rapture, provident for the race. Now she read the secret of woman's nesting instinct; the underlyingwisdom stirring the root of it, awaking passion not to satisfypassion, but that the world may go on and on to its unguessed ends. Now she could read ironically the courtship of man and maid, dallyingby river-paths, beside running water, overarched by boughs that hadprotected a thousand such courtships. Each pair in turn--poor fools!--had imagined the world theirs, compressed into their grasp; whereasthe wise world was merely flattering, coaxing them, preparing for thechild. 

She should have been preparing, too. For what are women made but formotherhood? She? She had had but a hand to turn, a word to utter, and this child--healthily begotten, if ever child was, and to claim, if ever child could, the best--has broken triumphing through the gateof her travail. But she had betrayed him. The new-born spirit hadarrived expectant, had cast one look across the threshold, and withone wail had fled. Through and beyond her answering wail, as shelaid her head on the pillow, she heard the lost feet, the smallbetrayed feet, pattering away into darkness. 

When she grew stronger, it consoled her a little to talk with Mrs. Strongtharm; not confiding her regrets and self-reproaches, butspeculating much on this great book of Maternity into which she hadbeen given a glimpse. The metaphor was Mrs. Strongtharm's. 

"Ay, " said that understanding female, "a book you may call it, and awonderful one; written by all the women, white an' black, copper-skinan' red-skin, that ever groped their way in it with pangs an' joys;for every one writes in it as well as reads. What's more, 'tis allin one language, though they come, as my man would say, from all theairts o' Babel. "

"I wonder, " mused Ruth, "if somewhere in it there's a chapter wouldtell me why, when I lie awake and think of my lost one, 'tis hisfootsteps I listen for--feet that never walked!"

"Hush ye, now. . . . Isn't it always their feet, the darlings!Don't the sound of it, more'n their voices, call me to door a dozentimes a day? . . . I never bore child; but I made garments in hopeo' one. Tell me, when you knitted his little boots, wasn't itdifferent from all the rest?"

"Ah, put them away!"

"To be sure, dearie, to be sure--all ready for the next. "

"I shall never have another child. "

Mrs. Strongtharm smiled tolerantly. 

"Never, " Ruth repeated; "never; I know it. "

With the same assurance of prophesy she answered her lover on hisreturn, a bare two months later. 

"But you must have known. . . . Even your letters kept it secret. Yet, had you written, the next ship would have brought me. Surelyyou did not doubt _that?_"

"No. "

"Then why did you not tell me?"

It was the inevitable question. She had forestalled it so often inher thoughts that, when uttered at last, it gave her a curioussensation of re-enacting some long-past scene. 

"I thought you did not care for children. "

He was pacing the room. He halted, and stared at her in sheerastonishment. Many a beautiful woman touches the height of herbeauty after the birth of her first child; and this woman had neverstood before him in loveliness that, passing comprehension, so nearlytouched the divine. But her perversity passed comprehension yetfarther. 

"Do you call that an answer?" he demanded. 

"No. . . . You asked, and I had to say something; but it is noanswer. Forgive me. It was the best I could find. "

He still eyed her, between wrath and admiration. 

"I think, " she said, after a pause, "the true answer is just that Idid wrongly--wrongly for the child's sake. "

"That's certain. And your own?"

"My own? That does not seem to me to count so much. . . . Neither ofus believe that a priest can hallow marriage; but once I felt thatthe touch of a certain one could defile it. "

"You have never before reproached me with that. "

"Nor mean to now. I chose to run from him; but, dear, I do not askto run from the consequences. "

"The blackguard has had his pretty revenge. Langton told me of it. . . . All the prudes of Boston gather up their skirts, he says. "

"What matter? Are we not happier missing them? . . . Honester, surely, and by that much at any rate the happier. "

"Marry me, and I promise to force them all back to your feet. "

She laughed quietly, almost to herself, a little wearily. "Can younot see, my dear lord, that I ask for no such triumph? It is good ofyou--oh, I see how good!--to desire it for me. But did we want thesepeople in our forest days?"

"One cannot escape the world, " he muttered. 

"What? Not when the world is so quick to cast one out?"

"Ruth, " he said, coming and standing close to her, "I do not believeyou have given me the whole answer even yet. The true reason, please!"

"Must a woman give all her reasons? . . . She follows her fate, andat each new turning she may have a dozen, all to be forgotten at thenext. "

"I am sure you harbour some grudge--some reservation?" His eyesquestioned her. 

She kept him waiting for some seconds. 

"My lord, women have no consistency but in this--they are jealouswhen they love. As your slave, I demand nothing; as your mistress, Idemand only you. But if you wished also to set me high among women, you should have given me all or nothing. . . . You did not offer totake me with you. I was not worthy to be shown to that proud folk, your family. "

"If you had breathed a wish, even the smallest hint of one--"

"I had no wish, save that you should offer it. I had only somepride. I was--I am--well content; only do not come back and offer methese women of Boston, or anything second best in your eyes, howevermuch the gift may cost you. "

"Have it as you will, " said he, after a long pause. "I was wrong, and I beg your pardon. But I was less wrong than your jealousysuspects. My family will welcome you. Forgive me that I thought itwell--that it might save you any chance of humiliation--to preparethem. "

She swept him a curtsy. "They are very good, " she said. 

He detected the irony, yet he persisted, holding his temper well incontrol. "But all this presupposes, you see, that you marry me. . . . Ruth, you confess that you were wrong, for the child's sake. He is dead; and, on the whole, so much the better, poor mite!But for another, should another be born--"

"There would be time, " she said quietly. "But we shall never haveanother. "

She had hardened strangely. It was as if the milk of motherhood, wasting in her, had packed itself in a crust about her heart. He loved her; she never ceased to love him; but whereas under thepublic scourge something had broken, letting her free of opinion, tolove the good and hate the evil for their own sakes, under thissecond and more mysterious visitation, she kept her courage indeed, but certainty was hers no longer; nor was she any longer free ofopinion, but hardened her heart against it consciously, as against anenemy. 

Not otherwise can I account for the image of Ruth Josselin--my LadyVyell--Lady Good-for-Nothing--as under these various names it flits, for the next few years, through annals, memoirs, correspondence, scandalous chronicles; now vindicated, now glanced at with unseemlynods and becks, anon passionately denounced; now purely shining, nowbalefully, above and between the clouds of those times; but always astar and an object of wonder. 

"In all Massachusetts, " writes the Reverend Hiram Williams, B. D. , inhis tract entitled _A Shoe Over Edom_, "was no stronghold of Satan tocompare with that built on a slope to the rearward of Boston, by SirO--V--, Baronet. Here with a woman, born of this Colony, of passingwit and beauty (both alike the dower of the Evil One), he kept houseto the scandal of all devout persons, entertaining none but professedEnemies of our Liberties, Atheists, Gamesters. " Here one may pauseand suspect the reverend castigator of confusing several dislikes inone argument. It is done sometimes, even in our own day, byreligious folk who polemise in politics. "Cards they played on theSabbath. Plays they rehearsed too, by Shakespeare, Dryden, Congreveand others, whose names may guarantee their lewdness. . . . Thewoman, I have said, was fair; but of that sort their feet go downever _to_ Hell. . . . "

"My Noll's _Belle Sauvage_, " writes Langton to Walpole, "continues ariddle. I shall never solve it; yet 'till I have solved it, expectme not. 'Tis certain she loves him; and because she loves him, herloyalty allows not hint of sadness even to me, his best friend. Guess why she likes me? 'Tis because (I am sure of it) even in theold clouded days I never took money from Noll, nor borrowed ashilling that I didn't repay within the week. She is a puzzle, Isay; but somehow the key lies in this--_She is a woman that pays herdebts_. . . . 

"They sail for Europe next spring; but not, as I understand forEngland, where his family may not receive her, and where byconsequence he will not expose her to their slights. If I have madeyou impatient to set eyes on her, you must e'enpack and pay thatlong-promised visit to Florence. She is worth the pilgrimage. "

They sailed in the early spring of 1752--Langton with them--and dulycame to port in the Tagus. From Lisbon, after a short stay, theytravelled to Paris, and from Paris across Switzerland to Italy, visiting in turn Turin, Venice, Ravenna, Florence, Rome, Naples, andreturning from that port to Lisbon, where (the situation so charmedhim) Sir Oliver bought and furnished a villa overlooking the Tagus. 

As she passes through Paris we get a glimpse of her in the Memoirs ofthat agreeable rattle, Arnauld de Jouy:--

"I must not forget to tell of an amusing little comedy of errorplayed at the Opera-house this season (1752). All Paris was agog tosee the famous English--or rather Irish--beauty, my Lady Coventry, newly arrived in the Capital. She was one of the Gunning sisters, over whom all London had already lost its head so wildly that I amassured a shoemaker made no small sum by exhibiting their_pantoufles_ to the porters and chairmen at three sous a gaze. . . . On a certain night, then, it was rumoured that she would pay herfirst visit to the Opera, but none could say whose box she intendedto honour. . . . It turned out to be the Duc de Luxembourg's, andupon my lady's entrance--a little late--the whole audience rose toits feet in homage, though Visconti happened just then to be midwayin an _aria_. The singer faltered at the interruption, perplexed;her singing stopped, and lifting her eyes to the lines of boxes shedropped a sweeping curtsy--to the opposite side of the house! . . . All eyes turn, and behold! right opposite to Beauty Number One, intothe box of Mme. The Marechale de Lowendahl there has just entered aBeauty Number Two, not one whit less fair--so regally fair indeedthat the audience, yet standing, turn from one to the other, uncertain which to salute. Nor were they resolved when the actclosed. 

"Meantime my Lady Coventry (for in truth the first-comer was she) hassent her husband out to the _foyer_, to make enquiries. He comesback and reports her to be the lady of Sir Oliver Vyell, a greatAmerican Governor [But here we detect de Jouy in a slight error]newly arrived from his Province; that she is by birth an American, and has never visited Europe before. 'She must be Pocahontasherself, then, ' says the Gunning, and very prettily sends acrossafter the second Act, desiring the honour of her acquaintance. Nay, this being granted, she goes herself to the Marechale's box, andthe pair sit together in full view of all--a superb challenge, andmade with no show (as I believe, with no feeling) of jealousy. Theaudience is entranced. . . . Report said later that my Lady Coventry, who was given to these small indiscretions, asked almost in her firstbreath, yet breathlessly, her rival's age. Her rival smiled and toldit. 'Then you are older than I--but how long have you been married?'This, too, her rival told her. 'Then, ' sighed the Gunning, 'perhapsyou do not love your lord as I love my Cov. It _is_ wearing to thelooks; but 'faith, I cannot help it!'"

From Lisbon Sir Oliver paid several flying visits to England, wherehis suit against Lady Caroline still dragged. Nor was it concludeduntil the summer of 1754, when the _Gentleman's Magazine_ yields usthe following:--

"_June 4_. A cause between Sir Oliver Vyell, baronet, plaintiff, andthe lady of the late Sir Thomas, defendant, was tried in the Court ofKing's Bench by a special jury. The subject of the litigation was awill of Sir Thomas, suspected to be made when he was not of soundmind; and it appeared that he had made three--one in 1741, another in1744, and a third in 1746. In the first only a slender provision wasmade for his lady, by the second a family estate in Devonshire, of2, 000 pounds per annum, was given her for her life, and by the thirdthe whole estate real and personal was left to be disposed of at herdiscretion without any provision for the heir-at-law. The jury, after having withdrawn for about an hour and a half, set aside thelast and confirmed the second. In a hearing before the LordChancellor some time afterwards in relation to the costs, it wasdeemed that the lady should pay them all, both at common law and inChancery. "

Thus we see our Ruth by glimpses in these years which were far frombeing the best or the happiest of her life--"an innocent life, yetfar astray. "

But one letter of hers abides, kept in contrition by the woman towhom she wrote it, and in this surely the noble soul of her mountslike a star and shines, clear above the wreck of her life. 

"MY DEAR MRS. HARRY, --"

"Let there be few words between us. My childdid not live, and I shall never bear my lord another; therefore, outside of your feelings and mine, what you did or left undonematters not at all in this world. You talk of the next, and thereyou go beyond me; but if there be a next world, and my forgivenesscan help you there, why you had it long ago! . . . 'You reproachyourself constantly, ' you say; 'You should have told him and youwithheld the letter;' 'You did wickedly'--and the rest. Oh, my dear, will you not see that I have been a mother, too, and understand?In your place I might have done the same. Yes? No? At any rate Ishould have known the temptation. 

"Yours affectionately, "

"RUTH. "

The law business ended, she and Sir Oliver sailed for Boston andspent a few weeks at Eagles. He had resigned the Collectorship ofCustoms, but with no intent to return and make England his home. His attachment to Eagles had grown; he was perpetually making freshplans to enlarge and adorn it; and he proposed henceforth, layingaside all official cares, to spend his summers in New England, hiswinters in the softer climate of Lisbon. 

BOOK V. 

LISBON AND AFTER. 

Chapter I. 

ACT OF FAITH. 

"How is it possible for people beholding that glorious Body toworship any Being but Him who created it!"

Upon the stroke of nine the procession filed forth into the Square. It was headed by about a hundred Dominican friars, bearing the bannerof their founder. The banner displayed a Cross betwixt an olive treeand a sword, with the motto _Justitia et Misericordia_. 

After the Dominicans walked five penitents; each with a sergeant, orFamiliar, attending. Two of the five wore black mitres, three werebareheaded. All walked barefoot, clad in black sleeveless coats, andeach carried a long wax candle. These had escaped the extremesentence; and after them came one, a woman, who had escaped it also, but narrowly and as by fire. In token of this her black robe waspainted over with flames, having their points turned downward. Close behind followed three men on whose san-benitos the flamespointed upward. These were being led to execution, and two of themwho carried boards on their breasts, painted with dogs and serpents, were to die by fire for having professed doctrines contrary to theFaith; the third, who carried no board, was a "Relapsed, " and mightlook forward to the privilege of being strangled before being cast tothe flame. To each of these three was assigned, in addition to theFamiliar, a couple of Jesuit priests, to walk beside him and exhorthim. 

The man who was to be strangled came through the gateway of theInquisition Office with his gaze bent to the ground, apparentlyinsensible to the mob of sightseers gathered in the Square. The doomed man who followed--a mere youth, and, by his face, a Jew--stared about him fiercely and eagerly. The third was an oldman, with ragged hair and beard, and a complexion bleached by longimprisonment in the dark. He halted, blinking, uncertain how toplant his steps. Then, feeling rather than seeing the sun, hestretched up both arms to it, dropping his taper, calling aloud asmight a preacher, "How is it possible for people, beholding thatglorious Body, to worship any Being but Him who created it!"

A Jesuit at his side flung an arm across the old man's mouth; and asquickly the Familiar whipped out a cloth, pulled his head back, andgagged him. The young Jew had turned and was staring, still with hisfierce, eager look. He was wheeled about and plucked forward. 

Next through the gateway issued a troupe of Familiars on horseback, some of them nobles of the first families in Portugal; after them theInquisitors and other Officers of the Court upon mules; last of all, amid a train of nobles, the Inquisitor-General himself on a whitehorse led by two grooms: his delicate hands resting on the reins, hisface a pale green by reason of the sunlight falling on it through asilken scarf of that colour pendant over the brim of his immenseblack hat. 

All this passed before Ruth's eyes, and close, as she sat in themule-chaise beside Sir Oliver. She would have drawn the leatherncurtains, but he had put out a hand forbidding this. 

She could not at any rate have escaped hearing the old man'sexclamation; for their chaise was jammed in the crowd beside thegateway. Her ears still kept the echo of his vibrant voice; almostshe was persuaded that his eyes had singled her out from the crowd. 

--And why not? Had not she, also, cause to know what cruelties menwill commit in the name of religion?

Her heart was wrathful as well as pitiful. Her lord had given her nowarning of the auto-da-fe, and she now suspected that in suggestingthis Sunday morning drive he had purposely decoyed her to it. Presently, as the crowd began to clear, he confirmed the suspicion. 

"Since we are here, we may as well see the sp--" He was going to say"sport, " but, warned by a sudden stiffening of her body, he correctedthe word to "spectacle. " "They erect a grand stand on theseoccasions; or, if you prefer, we can bribe them to give room for thechaise. "

He bent forward and called to the coachman, "Turn the mules' heads, and follow!"

"Indeed I will not, " she said firmly. "Do you go--if such crimesamuse you. . . . For me, I shall walk home. "

He shrugged his shoulders. "It is the custom of the country. . . . But, as for your walking, I cannot allow it for a moment. Juan shalldrive you home. "

She glanced at him. His eyes were fixed on the opposite side of thesquare, and she surprised in them a look of recognition not intendedfor her. Following the look, she saw a chaise much like their own, moving slowly with the throng, and in it a woman seated. 

Ruth knew her. She was Donna Maria, Countess of Montalagre; and oflate Sir Oliver's name had been much coupled with hers. 

This Ruth did not know; but she had guessed for some time that he wasunfaithful. She had felt no curiosity at all to learn the woman'sname. Now an accident had opened her eyes, and she saw. 

Her first feeling was of slightly contemptuous amusement. Donna Maria, youthful wife of an aged and enfeebled lord, passed forone of the extremely devout. She had considerable beauty, but of anorder Ruth could easily afford to scorn. It was the _bizarrerie_ ofthe affair that tickled her, almost to laughter--Donna Maria'sdown-dropt gaze, the long lashes veiling eyes too holy-innocent foraught but the breviary; and he--he of all men!--playing the lover tothis little dunce, with her empty brain, her narrow religiosity!

But on afterthought, she found it somewhat disgusting too. 

"I thank you, " she said. "Juan shall drive me home, then. It willnot, I hope, inconvenience you very much, since I see the Countess ofMontalagre's carriage across the way. No doubt she will offer you aseat. "

He glanced at her, but her face was cheerfully impassive. 

"That's an idea!" he said. "I will run and make interest with her. "

He alighted, and gave Juan the order to drive home. He lifted hishat, and left her. She saw Donna Maria's start of simulatedsurprise. Also she detected, or thought she detected, the slytriumph of a woman who steals a man. 

All this she had leisure to observe; for Juan, a Gallician, was by nomeans in a hurry to turn the mules' heads for home. He had slewedhis body about, and was gazing wistfully after the throng. 

"Your Excellency, it would be a thousand pities!"

"Hey?"

"There has not been a finer burning these two years, they tell me. And that old blasphemer's beard, when they set a light to it! . . . I am a poor Gallego, your Excellency, and at home get so few chancesof enjoyment. Also I have dropped my whip, and it is trodden on, broken. In the crowd at the Terreiro de Paco I may perchance borrowanother. "

Ruth alighted in a blaze of wrath. 

"Wretched man, " she commanded, "climb down!"

"Your Excellency--"

"Climb down! You shall go, as your betters have gone, to feed youreyes with these abominations. . . . Nay, how shall I scold you, whodo what your betters teach? But climb down. I will drive the mulesmyself. "

"His Excellency will murder me when he hears of it. But, indeed, wasever such a thing heard of?" Nevertheless the man was plainly in twominds. 

"It is not for you to argue, but to obey my orders. "

He descended, still protesting. She mounted to his seat, and tookthe reins and whip. 

"The brutes are spirited, your Excellency. For the love of God havea care of them!"

For answer she flicked them with the whip--he had lied about thebroken whip--and left him staring. 

The streets were deserted. All Lisbon had trooped to the auto-da-fe. If any saw and wondered at the sight of a lady driving like a mere_bolhero_, she heeded not. The mules trotted briskly, and she keptthem to it. 

She had ceased to be amused, even scornfully. As she drove up theslope of Buenos Ayres--the favourite English suburb, where his villastood overlooking Tagus--a deep disgust possessed her. It darkenedthe sunshine. It befouled, it tarnished, the broad and noble mirrorof water spread far below. 

"Were all men beasts, then?"

Chapter II. 

DONNA MARIA. 

They would dine at four o'clock. On Sundays Sir Oliver chose to dineinformally with a few favoured guests; and these to-day would makenine, not counting Mr. Langton, who might be reckoned one of thehousehold. 

By four o'clock all had arrived--the British envoy, Mr. Castres, withhis lady; Lord Charles Douglas, about to leave Lisbon after a visitof pleasure; Mrs. Hake, a sister of Governor Hardy of New York--she, with an invalid husband and two children, occupied a villa somewhatlower down the slope of Buenos Ayres; white-haired old ColonelArbuthnot, _doyen_ of the English residents; Mr. Hay, British Consul, and Mr. Raymond, one of the chiefs of the English factory, with theirwives. . . . Ruth looked at the clock. All were here save only theirhost, Sir Oliver. 

Mr. Langton, with Lord Charles Douglas, had returned from theauto-da-fe. Like his friend George Selwyn--friend these many yearsby correspondence only--Mr. Langton was a dilettante in executionsand like horrors, and had taken Lord Charles to the show, to initiatehim. He reported that they had left Sir Oliver in a press of thecrowd, themselves hurrying away on foot. He would doubtless arrivein a few minutes. Mr. Langton said nothing of the executions. 

Mr. Castres, too, ignored them. He knew, of course, that theauto-da-fe had taken place, and that the Court had witnessed it instate from a royal box. But his business, as tactful Envoy of aProtestant country, was to know nothing of this. He went on talkingwith Mrs. Hake, who--good soul--actually knew nothing of it. Her children absorbed all her care; and having heard Miriam, theyounger, cough twice that morning, she was consulting the Envoy onthe winter climate of Lisbon--was it, for instance, prophylacticagainst croup. 

At five minutes past four Sir Oliver arrived. Before apologising hestood aside ceremoniously in the doorway to admit a companion--theCountess of Montalegre. 

"I have told them, " said he as Donna Maria tripped forward demurelyto shake hands, "to lay for the Countess. The business was long, byreason of an interminable sermon, and at the end there was a crush atthe exit from the Terreiro de Paco and a twenty good minutes' delay--impossible to extricate oneself. Had I not persuaded the Countess todrive me all the way home, my apologies had been a million instead ofthe thousand I offer. "

Had he brought the woman in defiance? Or was it merely to discoverhow much, if anything, Ruth suspected? If to discover, his designhad no success. Ruth saw--it needed less than half a glance--BattyLangton bite his lip and turn to the window. Lord Charles wore afaintly amused smile. These two knew, at any rate. For the othersshe could not be sure. She greeted Donna Maria with a gentlecourtesy. 

"We will delay dinner with pleasure, " she said, "while mywaiting-woman attends on you. "

During the few minutes before the Countess reappeared she conversedgaily with one and another of her guests. Her face had told himnothing, and her spirit rose on the assurance that, at least, she waspuzzling him. 

Yet all the while she asked herself the same questions. Had he donethis to defy her? Or to sound her suspicions?

In part he was defying her; as he proved at table by talking freelyof the auto-da-fe. Donna Maria sat at his right hand, and added adetail here and there to his description. The woman apparently hadno pity in her for the unhappy creatures she had seen slowly andexquisitely murdered. Were they not heretics, serpents, enemies ofthe true Faith?

"But ah!" she cried once with pretty affectation. "You make meforget my manners! . . . Am I not, even now, talking of these thingsamong Lutherans? Your good lady, for instance?"

At the far end of the table, Ruth--speaking across Mr. Castres andengaging Mrs. Hake's ear, lest it should be attracted by thishorrible conversation--discussed the coming war with France. She upheld that the key of it lay in America. He maintained thatIndia held it--"Old England, you may trust her; money's her blood, and the blood she scents in a fight. She'll fasten on India like abulldog. " Colonel Arbuthnot applauded. "Where the treasure is, "quoted Ruth, "there the heart is also. You give it a good Britishparaphrase. . . . But her real blood--some of the best of it--beatsin America. There the French challenge her, and she'll have, spiteof herself, to take up the challenge. Montcalm! . . . He means tobuild an empire there. " "Pardon me"--Mr. Castres smiledindulgently--"you are American born, and see all things American ina high light. We skirmish there . . . Backwoods fighting, you maycall it. "

"With a richer India at the back of the woods. Oh! I trust England, and Pitt, when his hour comes. England reminds me of Saul, alwaysgoing forth to discover a few asses and always in the end discoveringa kingdom. Other nations build the dream, dreams being no gift ofhers. Then she steps in, thrusts out the dreamers, inherits thereality. America, though you laugh at it, has cost the best dreamingof two nations--Spain first, and now France--and the best blood ofboth. Bating Joan of Arc--a woman--France hasn't bred a finer spiritthan Montcalm's since she bred Froissart's men. But to what end?England will break that great heart of his. "

She was talking for talking's sake, only anxious to divert Mrs. Hake's ears from the conversation her own ears caught, only tooplainly. 

Mrs. Hake said, "I prefer to believe Mr. Castres. My brother writesthat every one is quitting New York, and I'm only thankful-if warmust come, over there--that we've taken our house on a three years'lease only. No one troubles about Portugal, and I must say that I'venever found a city to compare with Lisbon. The suburbs! . . . Why, this very morning I saw the city itself one pall of smoke. You'd have thought a main square was burning. Yet up here, in BuenosAyres, it might have been midsummer. . . . The children, playing inthe garden, called me out to look at the smoke. _Was_ there a fire?I must ask Sir Oliver. "

Mrs. Hake had raised her voice; but Ruth managed to intercept thequestion. 

All the while she was thinking, thinking to herself. --"And he, whocan speak thus, once endured shame to shield me! He laughs at thingsinfinitely crueller. . . . Yet they differ in degree only from whatthen stirred him to fight. . . . "

--"Have I then so far worsened him? Is the blame mine?"

--"Or did the curse but delay to work in him?--in him, my love and myhero? Was it foreordained to come to this, though I would at anytime have given my life to prevent it?"

Again she thought. --"I have been wrong in holding religion to be thegreat cause why men are cruel, --as in believing that free-thoughtmust needs humanise us all. Strange! that I should discover my erroron this very day has showed me men being led by religion to deaths oftorture. . . . Yet an error it must be. For see my lord--hear how helaughs as cruelly, even, as the _devote_ at his elbow!"

They had loitered some while over dessert, and Ruth's eye soughtDonna Maria's, to signal her before rising and leaving the gentlemento their wine. But Donna Maria was running a preoccupied glancearound the table and counting with her fingers. . . . Presently theglance grew distraught and the silly woman fell back in her chairwith a cry. 

"Jesus! We are thirteen!"

"Faith, so we are, " said Sir Oliver with an easy laugh, aftercounting. 

"And I the uninvited one! The calamity must fall on _me_--there isno other way!"

"But indeed there is another way, " said Ruth, rising with a smile. "In my country the ill-luck falls on the first to leave the table. And who should that be, here, but the hostess?"

Chapter III. 

EARTHQUAKE. 

The auto-da-fe was but a preliminary to the festivities and greatprocessions of All Saints. For a whole week Lisbon had been sandingits squares and streets, painting its signboards, draping itsbalconies and windows to the fourth and fifth stories with hangingsof crimson damask. Street after street displayed this uniform vistaof crimson, foil for the procession, with its riot of gorgeousdresses, gold lace, banners, precious stones. 

Ruth leaned on the balustrade of her villa garden, and looked downover the city, from which, made musical by distance, the bells ofthirty churches called to High Mass. Their chorus floated up to heron the delicate air; and--for the chimneys of Lisbon were smokeless, the winter through, in all but severest weather, and the citizens didtheir cooking over braziers--each belfry stood up distinct, edgedwith gold by the brilliant morning sun. Aloft the sky spread itsblue bland and transparent; far below her Tagus mirrored it in a lakeof blue. Many vessels rode at anchor there. The villas to right andleft and below her, or so much of them as rose out of theirembosoming trees, took the sunlight on walls of warm yellow, withdove-coloured shadows. 

She was thinking. . . . He had tried to discover how much shesuspected; and when neither in word or look would she lower herguard, he had turned defiant. This very morning he had told herthat, if she cared to use it, a carriage was at her disposal. For himself, the Countess of Montalegre had offered him a seat inhers, and he had accepted. . . . He had told her this at the lastmoment, entering her room in the full court dress the stateprocession demanded; and he had said it with a studied carelessness, not meeting her eyes. 

She had thanked him, and added that she was in two minds about going. She was not dressed for the show, and doubted if her maid could arrayher in time. 

"We go to the Cathedral, " said he. "I should recommend that or theChurch of St. Vincent, where, some say, the Mass is equally fine. "

"If I go, I shall probably content myself with the procession. "

"If that's so, I've no doubt Langton will escort you. He likesprocessions, though he prefers executions. To a religious service Idoubt your bribing him. "

Upon this they had parted, each well aware that, but a few weeks ago, this small expedition would have been planned together, discussed, shared, as a matter of course. At parting he kissed her hand--he hadalways exquisite manners; and she wished him a pleasant day with avoice quite cheerful and unconstrained. 

From the sunlit terrace she looked almost straight down upon thegarden of Mrs. Hake's villa. The two little girls were at playthere. She heard their voices, shrill above the sound of the churchbells. Now and again she caught a glimpse of them, at hide-and-seekbetween the ilexes. 

She was thinking. If only fate had given her children such as these! . . . As it was, she could show a brave face. But what could thefuture hold?

She heard their mother calling to them. They must have obeyed andrun to her, for the garden fell silent of a sudden. The bells, too, were ceasing--five or six only tinkled on. 

She leaned forward over the balustrade to make sure that the childrenwere gone. As she did so, the sound of a whimper caught her ear. She looked down, and spoke soothingly to a small dog, an Italiangreyhound, a pet of Mr. Langton's, that had run to her trembling, andwas nuzzling against her skirt for shelter. She could not think whatailed the creature. Belike it had taken fright at a noise below theterrace--a rumbling noise, as of a cart mounting the hill heavilyladen with stones. 

The waggon, if waggon it were, must be on the roadway to the left. Again she leaned forward over the balustrade. A faint tremor ranthrough the stonework on which her arms rested. For a moment shefancied it some trick of her own pulse. 

But the tremor was renewed. The pulsation was actually in thestonework. . . . And then, even while she drew back, wondering, theterrace under her feet heaved as though its pavement rested on a waveof the sea. She was thrown sideways, staggering; and while shestaggered, saw the great flagstones of the terrace raise themselveson end, as notes of a harpsichord when the fingers withdraw theirpressure. 

She would have caught again at the balustrade. But it had vanished, or rather was vanishing under her gaze, toppling into the gardenbelow. The sound of the falling stones was caught up in a long, lowrumble, prolonged, swelling to a roar from the city below. Again theground heaved, and beneath her--she had dropped on her knees, andhung, clutching the little dog, staring over a level verge where thebalustrade had run--she saw Lisbon fall askew, this way and that: theroofs collapsing, like a toy structure of cards. Still the roar ofit swelled on the ear; yet, strange to say, the roar seemed to havenothing to do with the collapse, which went on piecemeal, steadily, like a game. The crescendo was drowned in a sharper roar and a crashclose behind her--a crash that seemed the end of all things. . . . The house! She had not thought of the house. Turning, she faced acloud of dust, and above it saw, before the dust stung her eyes, half-blinding her, that the whole front of the villa had fallenoutwards. It had, in fact, fallen and spread its ruin within twoyards of her feet. Had the terrace been by that much narrower, shemust have been destroyed. As it was, above the dust, she gazed, unhurt, into a house from which the front screen had been sharplycaught away, as a mask snatched from a face. 

By this the horror had become a dream to her. As in a dream she sawone of her servants--a poor little under-housemaid, rise to her kneesfrom the floor where she had been flung, totter to the edge of thehouse-front, and stand, piteously gazing down over a heightimpossible to leap. 

A man's voice shouted. Around the corner of the house, from thestables, Mr. Langton came running, by a bare moment escaping deathfrom a mass of masonry that broke from the parapet, and crashed tothe ground close behind his heels. 

"Lady Vyell! Where is Lady Vyell?"

Ruth called to him, and he scrambled towards her over the gapingpavement. He called as he came, but she could distinguish no words, for within the last few seconds another and different sound had grownon the ear--more terrible even than the first roar of ruin. 

"My God! look!" He was at her side, shouting in her ear, for a windlike a gale was roaring past them down from the hills. With one handhe steadied her against it, lest it should blow her over the verge. His other pointed out over Tagus. 

She stared. She did not comprehend; she only saw that a stroke moreawful than any was falling, or about to fall. The first convulsionhad lifted the river bed, leaving the anchored ships high and dry. Some lay canted almost on their beam ends. As the bottom sank againthey slowly righted, but too late; for the mass of water, flung tothe opposite shore, and hurled back from it, came swooping with arefluent wave, that even from this high hillside was seen to bemonstrous. It fell on their decks, drowning and smothering: theirmasts only were visible above the smother, some pointing firmly, others tottering and breaking. Some rose no more. Others, as thegreat wave passed on, lurched up into sight again, broken, dismasted, wrenched from their moorings, spinning about aimlessly, tossed likecorks amid the spume; and still, its crest arching, its deep notegathering, the great wave came on straight for the harbour quay. 

Ruth and Langton, staring down on this portent, did not witness theend; for a dense cloud of dust, on this upper side dun-colouredagainst the sunlight, interposed itself between them and the city, over which it made a total darkness. Into that darkness the greatwave passed and broke; and almost in the moment of its breaking asecond tremor shook the hillside. Then, indeed, wave and earthquaketogether made universal roar, drowning the last cry of thousands; forbefore it died away earthquake and wave together had turned theharbour quay of Lisbon bottom up, and engulfed it. Of all thepopulation huddled there to escape from death in the falling streets, not a corpse ever rose to the surface of Tagus. 

But Ruth saw nothing of this. She clung to Langton, and his arm wasabout her. She believed, with so much of her mind as was notparalysed, that the end of the world was come. 

As the infernal hubbub died away on the dropping wind, she glancedback over her shoulder at the house. The poor little _criada-moga_was no longer there, peering over the edge she dared not leap. Nay, the house was no longer there--only three gaunt walls, and betweenthem a heap where rooms, floors, roof had collapsed together. 

Of a sudden complete silence fell about them. As her eyes travelledalong the edge of the terrace where the balustrade had run, but ranno longer, she had a sensation of standing on the last brink of theworld, high over nothingness. Langton's arm still supported her. 

"As safe here as anywhere, " she heard him saying. "For the chancethat led you here, thank whatever Gods may be. "

"But I must find him!" she cried. 

"Eh? Noll?--find Noll? Dear lady, small chance of that!"

"I must find him. "

"He was to attend High Mass in the Cathedral--"

"Yes . . . With that woman. What help could such an one bring to himif--if--Oh, I must find him, I say!"

"The Cathedral, " he repeated. "You are brave; let your own eyes lookfor it. " He had withdrawn his arm. 

"Yet I must search, and you shall search with me. You were hisfriend, I think?"

"Indeed, I even believed so. . . . I was thinking of _you_. . . . It is almost certain death. Do you say that he is worth it?"

"Do you fear death?" she asked. 

"Moderately, " he answered. "Yet if you command me, I come; if yougo, I go with you. "

"Come. "

Chapter IV. 

THE SEARCH. 

They set out hand in hand. The small dog ran with them. 

Even the beginning of the descent was far from easy, for the highwalls that had protected the villa-gardens of Buenos Ayres lay inheaps, cumbering the roadway, and in places obliterating it. 

About a hundred and fifty yards down the road, by what had been thewalled entrance to the Hakes' garden, they sighted two forlorn smallfigures--the six and five year old Hake children, Sophie and Miriam, who recognised Ruth and, running, clung to her skirts. 

"Mamma! Where is mamma?"

"Dears, where did you leave her last?"

 "She pushed us out through the gateway, here, and told us to standin the middle of the road while she ran back to call daddy. She saidno stones could fall on us here. But she has been gone ever so long, and we can't hear her calling at all. "

While Ruth gathered them to her and attempted to console them, Mr. Langton stepped within the ruined gateway. In a minute or so hecame back, and his face was grave. 

She noted it. "What can we do with them?" she asked, and added witha haggard little smile, "I had actually begun to tell them to run upto our house and wait, forgetting--"

"They had best wait here, as their mother advised. "

"It is terrible!"

He lifted his shoulders slightly. "If once we begin--"

"No, you are right, " she said, with a shuddering glance down theroad; and bade the little ones rest still as their mother hadcommanded. She was but going down to the city (she said) to see ifthe danger was as terrible down there. The two little ones cried andclung to her; but she put them aside firmly, promising to look fortheir mamma when she returned. Langton did not dare to glance at herface. 

The dark cloud dust met them, a gunshot below, rolling up thehillside from the city. They passed within the fringe of it, and atonce the noonday sun was darkened for them. In the unnatural lightthey picked their way with difficulty. 

"She was lying close within the entrance, " said Langton. "The gateway arch must have fallen on her as she turned. . . . Oneside of her skull was broken. I pulled down some branches andcovered her. "

"Your own face is bleeding. "

"Is it?" He put up a hand. "Yes--I remember, a brick struck me, onmy way from the stables--no, a beam grazed me as I ran for theback-stairs, meaning to get you out that way. The stairs werechoked. . . . I made sure you were in the house. The horses . . . Have you ever heard a horse scream?"

She shivered. At a turn of the road they came full in view of theblack pall stretching over the city. Flames shot up through it, hereand there. Lisbon was on fire in half a dozen places at least; andnow for the first time she became aware that the wind had sprung upagain and was blowing violently. She could not remember when itfirst started: the morning had been still, the Tagus--she recalledit--unruffled. 

At the very foot of the hill they came on the first of three fires--two houses blazing furiously, and a whole side-street doomed, if thewind should hold. Among the ruins of a house, right in the face ofthe fire, squatted a dozen persons, men and women, all dazed byterror. The women had opened their parasols--possibly to screentheir faces from the heat--albeit they might have escaped this quiteeasily by shifting their positions a few paces. None of these folkbetrayed the smallest interest in Ruth or in Langton. Indeed, theyscarcely lifted their eyes. 

The suburbs were deserted, for the earthquake had surprised allLisbon in a pack, crowded within its churches, or in its centralstreets and squares. Yet the emptiness of what should have been thethoroughfares astonished them scarcely less than did the piles ofmasonry, breast-high in places, over which they picked their way inthe uncanny twilight. They had scarcely passed beyond the glare ofthe burning houses when Langton stumbled over a corpse--the firstthey encountered. He drew Ruth aside from it, entreating her in alow voice to walk warily. But she had seen. 

"We shall see many before we reach the Cathedral, " she said quietly. 

They stumbled on, meeting with few living creatures; and these fewasked them no questions, but went by, stumbling, with hands groping, as though they moved in a dream. A voice wailed "Jesus! Jesus!" andthe cry, issuing Heaven knew whence, shook Ruth's nerve for a moment. 

Once Langton plucked her by the arm and pointed to some men withtorches moving among the ruins. She supposed that they were seekingfor the dead; but they were, in fact, incendiaries, already at workand in search of loot. 

She passed three or four of these blazing houses, some kindled nodoubt by incendiaries, but others by natural consequences of theearthquake; for the kitchens, heated for the great feast, hadcommunicated their fires to the falling timberwork on which thehouses were framed; and by this time the city was on fire in at leastthirty different places. The scorched smell mingled everywhere withan odour of sulphur. 

There were rents in the streets, too--chasms, half-filled withrubble, reaching right across the roadway. After being snatched backby Langton from the brink of one of these chasms, Ruth steeled herheart to be thankful when a burning house shed light for herfootsteps. At the houses themselves, after an upward glance or two, she dared not look again. They leaned this way and that, the frontsof some thrust outward at an angle to forbid any but the foolhardiestfrom passing underneath. 

But, indeed, they had little time to look aloft as they penetrated tostreets littered, where the procession had passed, with wreckedchaises, dead mules, human bodies half-buried and half-burnt, charredlimbs protruding awkwardly from heaps of stones. Here, by ones andtwos, pedestrians tottered past, crying that the world was at an end;here, on a heap where, belike, his shop had stood, a man kneltpraying aloud; here a couple of enemies met by chance, seeking theirdead, and embraced, beseeching forgiveness for injuries past. These sights went by Ruth as in a dream; and as in a dream she heardthe topple and crack of masonry to right and left. Langton guidedher; and haggard, perspiring, they bent their heads to the strangewind now howling down the street as through a funnel, and foot byfoot battled their way. 

The wind swept over their bent heads, carrying flakes of fire tostart new conflagrations. The stream of these flakes became sosteady that Ruth began to count on it to guide her. She began tothink that amid all this dissolution to right and left, some charmmust be protecting them both, when, as he stretched a hand to helpher across a mound of rubble she saw him turn, cast a look up andfall back beneath a rush of masonry. A flying brick struck her onthe shoulder, cutting the flesh. For the rest, she stood unscathed;but her companion lay at her feet, with legs buried deep, body buriedto the ribs. 

"Your hand!" she gasped. 

He stretched it out feebly, but withdrew it in an agony; for thestones crushed his bowels. 

"You are hurt?"

"Killed. " He contrived a smile. "Not so wide as a church door, " hequoted, looking up at her strangely through the wan light; "but'twill serve. "

"My friend! and I cannot help you!" She plucked vainly at the massof stones burying his legs. 

He gasped on his anguish, and controlled it. 

"Let be these silly bricks. . . . They belong to some grocer'skitchen-chimney, belike--but they have killed me, and may as wellserve for my tomb. Reach me your hand. "

He took it and thrust it gently within the breast of his waistcoat. There, guided by him, her fingers closed on the handle of a tinystiletto. 

"The sheath too . . . It is sewn by a few stitches only. " He lookedup into her eyes. "You are too beautiful to be wandering thesestreets alone. "

"I understand, " she said gravely. 

"Now go. " He pressed the back of her hand to his lips, and releasedit. 

"Can I do nothing?" she asked, with a hard sob. 

"Yes . . . 'tis unlucky, they say, to accept a knife without payingfor it. One kiss. . . . You may tell Noll. Is it too high a price?"

She knelt and kissed him on the brow. 

"Ah! . . . " He drew a long sigh. "I have held you to-day, andto-day you have kissed me. Go now. "

She went. The dog ran with her a little way, then turned and creptback to its master. 

Chapter V. 

THE FINDING. 

"Hola!" hailed a man, signalling by a brazier with his back to thewind. "For what are you seeking?"

Ruth halted, gripping her stiletto. This man might help her, perhaps. At any rate, he seemed a cool-headed fellow who made thebest of things. 

For two hours she had searched, and for the time her strength wasnearly spent. Dust filled her hair and caked her long eyelashes. Her face, haggard with woe and weariness, was a mask of dust. 

"For one, " she answered, "who was to have attended High Mass in theCathedral. "

"Eh?" The man swept a hand to the ruined shell of that building, atthe end of the Square, and to a horrible pile of masonry coveringmany hundreds of bodies. "If he reached there, your Excellency hadbetter go home and pray for his soul; that is, if your Excellencybelieves it efficacious. But first, will your Excellency sit hereand rest?--no, not on the lee side, in the fumes of the charcoal, butto windward here, where the fire is bright, and where I have thehonour to give room. . . . So your Excellency did not attend theMass?--not approving of it, maybe?"

"It would seem that you know me?" said Ruth, answering something inhis tone, not his words. 

The question set him chuckling. "Not by that token--though 'faith'tis an ill wind blows nobody good. This earthquake, consideredphilosophically, is a great opportunity for heretics. You and I, forexample, may sit here in the very middle of the square and talkblasphemy to our heart's content; whereas--" He broke off. "But I forget my manners. I ought to have started by saying that noone, having once set eyes on your Excellency's face could ever forgetit; and, by St. James, that is no more than the truth!"

"Where have you seen me before?"

"By the gateway of the Holy Office, in a carriage with your lordbeside you. I marked his face, too. What it is to be young and richand beautiful! . . . And yet you might have remembered me, seeingthat I made part of the procession, though--praise be to fate!--A modest one. "

Ruth gazed at him. "I remember you, " she said slowly; "you were oneof the Penitents. "

"They were gracious enough to call me so. Yes, I can understand thata san-benito makes some difference to a man's personal appearance. . . . And old Gonsalvez--I saw your Excellency wince and yourExcellency's beauty turn pale when he cast up his hands to the sun. . . . Hey? _How is it possible_--how went the words?"

Ruth had them well by heart. "_How is it possible for people, beholding that glorious Body, to worship any Being but Him whocreated it?_"

Right--word for word! Well, they made a lens for that glorious Bodyand fried old Gonsalvez with it. Were you looking on?"

"No, " said Ruth, and shivered. 

"Well, I did--perforce. 'Twas part of my lesson; for you must knowthat I, too, had had my little difficulty over that same gloriousSun, touching his standing still over Gibeon at the command ofancient Joshua. 'Faith, I've no quarrel with a miracle or so, up anddown; but that one! . . . Well, they convinced me I was a fool tohave any doubt, and a worse fool to let it slip off the tongue. And yet, " said the Penitent, warming his hands and casting a look upat the sky, where the dust-cloud had given place to a rolling pall ofsmoke, "what a treat it is to let the tongue wag at times!"

Ruth, her strength refreshed by the few minutes' rest, thanked himand arose to continue her search. 

"Stay, " said the Penitent. "Your Excellency has not heard all thestory, nor yet arrived near the moral. . . . Between ourselves thereverend fathers were lenient with me because--well, it may have beenbecause I hold some influence among the beggars of Lisbon, who arenumerous and not always meek, in spite of the promise that meeknessshall inherit the earth. I may confess, in short, that my presencein the procession was to some extent a farce, and the result of acompromise. But, all the same, your Excellency does ill todisbelieve in miracles: as I dare say your Excellency, casting an eyeabout Lisbon on this particular day of All the Saints, will notdispute?"

"Alas, sir! I have seen too many horrors to-day to be in any mood toargue. "

"Then, " said the Penitent, skipping up, "you are in the precise moodto be convinced; as I have seen men, under extremity of torture, ready to believe anything. Come!"

She hesitated. "Where would you lead me?"

"To a miracle, " he answered, and, with a fine gesture, flinging histattered cloak over his shoulder, he led the way. He strode rapidlydown a couple of streets. Once or twice coming to a chasm across theroadway he paused, drew back, and cleared it with a leap. But atthese pitfalls he neither turned nor offered Ruth a hand. She followed him panting, so agile was his pace. 

The first street ran south, the second east. He entered a thirdwhich turned north again as if to lead back into the Square. After following it for twenty yards he halted and allowed her tocatch up with him. 

"You are a devoted wife, " said the Penitent admiringly. "Would italter your devotion at all to know that he was with another woman?"

"No, " answered Ruth. "I knew it, in fact. " She wondered that thisbeggar man could force her to speak so frankly. 

"In an earthquake, " said he, "one gets down to naked truth, or nearto it. If he were unfaithful now--would that alter your desire tofind and save him?"

"Sir, why do you ask these things?"

"Did your Excellency not know that its beggars are the eyes ofLisbon? But you have not answered me. "

"Nor will. That I am here--is it not enough?"

The Penitent peered at her in the dim light and nodded. He led herforward a pace or two and pointed to something imbedded in a pile ofstones, lime, rubble. It was the wreck of a chaise. Two males laycrushed under it, their heads and a couple of legs protruding. A splintered door, wrenched from its hinges, lay face-uppermostcrowning the heap. It bore a coronet and the arms of Montalegre. 

"Are they--" she stammered, but caught at her voice and recovered it. "--Are they _here_, under this?"

"No, " he said, and again led the way, crossing the street to a houseof which the upper storey overhung the street, supported by a line ofpillars. Three or four of these pillars had fallen. Of the rest, nine out of ten stood askew, barely holding up the house, through thefloors of which stout beams had thrust themselves and stuck at allangles from the burst plaster. 

"Here is Milord Vyell, " said the Penitent, picking up a broken lathand pointing with it. 

He lay on his back, as he had lain for close upon three hours, deepin the shadow of the overhanging house. His eyes were wide open. They stared up at the cobwebs that dangled from the broken plaster. A pillar, in weight maybe half a ton, rested across his thighs; anoaken beam across his chest and his broken left arm. The two pinnedhim hopelessly. 

Clutched to him in his right lay Donna Maria. She seemed to sleep, with her head turned from his breast and laid upon the upper arm. The weight of the pillar resting on her bowels had squeezed the lifeout of her. She was dead: her flesh by this time almost cold. 

"Oliver!--Ah, look at me!--I am here--I have come to help!"

The lids twitched slightly over his wide eyes. In the dim light shecould almost be sworn that the lips, too, moved as though to speak. But no words came, and the eyes did not see her. 

He was alive. What else mattered?

She knelt and flung her arms about the pillar. Frantically, vainly, she tugged at it: not by an inch or the tenth part of an inch couldshe stir it. 

"Speak to me, Oliver! . . . Look at least!"

"If your Excellency will but have patience!" The Penitent steppedout into the street and she heard him blowing a whistle. Clearly hewas a man to be obeyed; for in less than ten minutes a dozen figurescrowded about the entrance, shutting out the day. This darkness oftheir making was in truth their best commendation. For against anyone of them coming singly Ruth had undoubtedly held her dagger ready. They grumbled, too, and some even cursed the Penitent for havingdragged them away from their loot. The Penitent called themcheerfully his little sons of the devil, and adjured them to fall towork or it would be the worse for them. 

For his part, he lifted no hand: but stood overseer as the ruffianslifted the pillar, Ruth straining her strength with theirs. 

But when they came to lift Donna Maria, for a moment somethinghitched, and Ruth heard the sound of rending cloth. The poor wretchin her death-agony had bitten through Sir Oliver's arm to the bone. The corpse yet clenched its jaws on the bite. They had to wrench theteeth open--delicate pretty teeth made for nibbling sweetmeats. 

To his last day Oliver Vyell bore the mark of those pretty teeth, andtook it to the grave with him. 

Ruth drew out a purse. But the Penitent, though they grumbled, wouldsuffer his scoundrels to take no fee. Nay, he commanded two, andfrom somewhere out of devastated Lisbon they fetched a sedan-chairfor the broken man. "You may pay these if you will, " said he. "Honestly, they deserve it. "

On her way westward, following the chair, she called to them to stopand search whereabouts Mr. Langton had fallen. They found him withthe small greyhound standing guard beside the body. His head waspillowed on his arm, and he lay as one quietly sleeping. 

Chapter VI. 

DOCUMENTS. 

I. 

_From Abraham Castres Esq. : his Majesty's Envoy Extraordinary to theKing of Portugal, to the Secretary of State, Whitehall, London. _LISBON, _November 6th_, 1755. 

"SIR, --You will in all likelihood have heard before this of theinexpressible Calamity befallen the whole Maritime Coast, and inparticular this opulent City, now reduced to a heap of Rubbish andRuin, by a most tremendous Earthquake on the first of this Month, followed by a Conflagration which has done ten times more Mischiefthan the Earthquake itself. I gave a short account of our Misfortuneto _Sir Benjamin Keene_, by a _Spaniard_, who promised (as allintercourse by Post was at a stand) to carry my Letter as far as_Badajoz_ and see it safe put into the Post House. It was merely toacquaint His Excellency that, God be praised, my House stood out theShocks, though greatly damaged; and that, happening to be out of thereach of the Flames, several of my Friends, burnt out of theirHouses, had taken refuge with me, where I have accommodated them aswell as I could, under Tents in my large Garden; no Body but _LordCharles Dowglass_, who is actually on board the Packet, besides myChaplain and myself having dared hitherto to sleep in my House sincethe Day of our Disaster. The Consul and his Family have been saved, and are all well, in a Country House near this City. Those with meat present are the _Dutch_ Minister, his Lady, and their threeChildren, with seven or eight of their Servants. The rest of myCompany of the better Sort consists of several Merchants of thisFactory, who, for the most part have lost all they had; though someindeed, as Messrs. _Parry_ and _Mellish's_ House, and Mr. _Raymond_, and _Burrell_, have had the good Fortune to save their Cash, eitherin whole or in part. The number of the Dead and Wounded I can giveno certain Account of as yet; in that respect our Poor Factory hasescaped pretty well, considering the number of Houses we have here. I have lost my Good and Worthy Friend the _Spanish_ Ambassador, whowas crushed under the Door, as he attempted to make his Escape intothe Street. This with the Anguish I have been in for these five Dayspast, occasioned by the dismal Accounts brought to us every instantof the Accidents befallen to one or other of our Acquaintance amongthe Nobility, who for the most part are quite Undone, has greatlyaffected me; but in particular the miserable Objects among the lowersort of His Majesty's Subjects, who fly also to me for Bread, and liescattered up and down in my Garden, with their Wives and Children. I have helped them all hitherto, and shall continue to do so, as longas Provisions do not fail Us, which I hope will not be the Case, bythe Orders which _M. De Carvalho_ has issued in that respect. One of our great Misfortunes is, that we have neither an _English_ or_Dutch_ Man of War in the Harbour. Some of their Carpenters andSailors would have been of great use to me on this occasion, inhelping to prop up my House; for as the Weather, which has hithertobeen remarkably fair, seems to threaten us with heavy Rains, it willbe impossible for the Refugees in my Garden to hold out much longer;and how to find Rooms in my House for them all I am at a loss todevise; the Floors of most of them shaking under our Feet; and mustconsequently be too weak to bear any fresh number of Inhabitants. The Roads for the first Days having been impracticable, it wasbut yesterday I had the Honour in Company with _M. De la Calmette_, of waiting on the King of _Portugal_, and all the Royal Family at_Belem_, whom we found encamped; none of the Royal Palaces being fitto harbour Them. Though the loss His Most Faithful Majesty hassustained on this occasion is immense, and that His Capital-City isutterly Destroyed; He received us with more Serenity than weexpected, and among other things told us, that He owed Thanks toProvidence for saving His and His Family's Lives: and that He wasextremely glad to see us both safe. The Queen in her own Name, andall the young Princesses, sent us word that they were obliged to usfor our attention; but that being under their Tents, and in a Dressnot fit to appear in, They desired that for the present we wouldexcuse their admitting our Compliments in Person. Most of theconsiderable Families in our Factory have already secured tothemselves a passage to _England_, by three or four of our _London_Traders, that are preparing for their departure. As soon as thefatigue and great trouble of Mind I have endured for these first Daysare a little over, I shall be considering of some proper method forsheltering the poorer Sort, either by hiring a _Portuguese_ Hulk, orif that is not to be had, some _English_ Vessel till they can be sentto _England; _and there are many who desire to remain, in hopes offinding among the Ruins some of the little Cash they may have lost intheir Habitations. The best orders have been given for preventingRapine, and Murders, frequent instances of which we have had withinthese three Days, there being swarms of _Spanish_ Deserters in Town, who take hold of this opportunity of doing their business. As I havelarge sums deposited in my House, belonging to such of my Countrymenas have been happy enough to save some of their Cash, and that myHouse was surrounded all last Night with _Ruffians_; I have wrotethis Morning to _M. De Carvalho_, to desire a Guard, which I hopewill not be refused. We are to have in a Day or two a Meeting of ourscattered Factory at my House, to consider of what is best to be donein our present wretched Circumstances. I am determined to staywithin call of the Distressed, as long as I can remain on Shore withthe least Appearance of Security: and the same Mr. _Hay_ (the Consul)seemed resolved to do, the last time I conferred with him about it. I most humbly beg your Pardon, Sir, for the Disorder of this Letter, surrounded as I am by many in Distress, who from one instant to theother are applying to me either for Advice or Shelter. The Packethas been detained at the Desire of the Factory, till another appearsfrom _England_, or some Man of War drops in here from the_Streights_. This will go by the first of several of our MerchantShips bound to _England_. I must not forget to acquaint you, that_Sir Oliver Vyell_ and Lady are safe and well, and have the Honour tobe, &c. "

II. 

_From the Same to the Same. _'BELEM, _November 7th_, 1755. 

"Sir, --. . . The present Scene of Misery and Distress is not to bedescribed; the Kingdom of _Portugal_ is ruined and undone, and_Lisbon_, one of the finest Cities that ever was seen, is now nomore. The Escape of the forementioned _Sir. O. Vyell_ is one of themost providential Things that ever was heard of; for whilst he wasriding about the middle of the City in his Chaise, on the firstinstant, he observed the Driver to look behind him, and immediatelyto make the Mules gallop as fast as possible, but both he and theywere very soon killed and buried in the Ruins of a House which fellon them; whereupon _Sir Oliver_ jumped out of the Chaise, and raninto a House that instantly fell also to the Ground, and buried himin the Ruins for a considerable Time; but it pleased God that he wastaken out alive, and not much bruised. His Lady likewise wasprovidentially in the Garden when their House fell, and so escaped. About half an Hour after the first Shock, the City was on fire infive different Parts, and has been burning ever since, so that the_English_ Merchants here are entirely ruined. There have been threeShocks every Day since the first, but none so violent as the first. The King has ordered all the Soldiers to assist in burying the Dead, to prevent a Plague; and indeed upon that Account the Fire was ofService in consuming the Carcasses both of Men and Beasts. The _English_ have miraculously escaped, for notwithstanding theFactory was so numerous, not more than a Dozen are known to have beenkilled; amongst whom was poor _Mrs. Hake_, Sister to Governor _Hardy_of _New York_, who suffered as she was driving her Children beforeher; and the _Spanish_ Ambassador was killed also, with his youngChild in his Arms. Every person, from the King to the Beggar, is atpresent obliged to lie in the Fields, and some are apprehensive thata Famine may ensue. "

III. 

_An Extract of a Letter from on board a Ship in Lisbon Harbour, Nov: 19, to the same Purport_. 

"Mine will not bring you the first News of the most dreadful Calamitybefallen this City and whole Kingdom. On _Saturday_ the firstinstant, about half an Hour past nine o'clock, I was retired to myRoom after Breakfast, when I perceived the House began to shake, butdid not apprehend the Cause; however, as I saw the Neighbours aboutme all running down Stairs, I also made the best of my Way; and bythe time I had cross'd the Street, and got under the Piazzas of somelow House, it was darker than the darkest Night I ever was out in, and continued so for about a Minute, occasioned by the Clouds of Dustfrom the falling of Houses on all sides. After it cleared up, I raninto a large Square adjoining; but being soon alarmed with a Cry thatthe Sea was coming in, all the People crowded foreward to run to theHills, I among the rest, with Mr. _Wood_ and Family. We went neartwo Miles thro' the Streets, climbing over the Ruins of Churches, Houses, &c. , and stepping over hundreds of dead and dying People, Carriages, Chaises and Mules, lying all crushed to Pieces; and thatDay being a great Festival in their Churches, and happening just atthe time of celebrating the first Mass, thousands were assembled inthe Churches, the major part of whom were killed; for the greatBuildings, particularly those which stood on any Eminence, sufferedthe most Damage. Very few of the Churches or Convents have escaped. We staid near two Hours in an open Campo; and a dismal scene it was, the People howling and crying, and the Sacrament going about to dyingpersons: so I advised, as the best, to return to the Square near ourown House and there wait the event, which we did immediately; but bythe Time we got there the City was in Flames in several distantParts, being set on fire by some Villains, who confessed it beforeExecution. This completed the Destruction of the greatest Part ofthe City; for in the Terror all Persons were, no Attempt was made tostop it; and the Wind was very high, so that it was communicated fromone Street to another by the Flakes of Fire drove by the Winds. It raged with great Violence for eight Days, and this in theprincipal and most thronged Parts of the City; People being fled intothe Fields half naked, the Fire consumed all sorts of Merchandise, Household Goods, and Wearing Apparel, so that hardly anything is leftto cover People, and they live in Tents in the Fields. If the Firehad not happened, People would have recovered their Effects out ofthe Ruins; but this has made such a Scene of Desolation and Misery asWords cannot describe. "

"The King's Palace in the City is totally destroyed, with all theJewels, Furniture, &c. The _India_ Warehouses adjoining, full ofrich Goods, are all consumed. The Custom-house, piled up with Balesupon Bales, is all destroyed; and the Tobacco and other Warehouses, with the Cargoes of three _Brazil_ Fleets, shared the same Fate. In short, there are few Goods left in the whole City. "

IV. 

_From a Ship's Captain writing home under the same date_. 

". . . On Saturday the first instant, I arose at Five, in order toremove my Ship from the Custom-house, agreeable to my Order; by Ninewe sailed down and anchored off the upper end of the _Terceras_. Wind at N. E. A small Breeze, and a fine clear morning. Ten Minutesbefore Ten, I felt the Ship have an uncommon Motion, and could nothelp thinking she was aground, although sure of the Depth of Water. As the Motion increased, my Amazement increased also; and as I waslooking round to find out the Meaning of this uncommon Motion, I wasimmediately acquainted with the direful Cause; when at that Instantlooking towards the City, I beheld the tall and stately Buildingstumbling down, with great Cracks and Noise, and particularly thatpart of the City from _St. Paul's_ in a direct Line to _Bairroalto_;as also, at the same Time, that Part from the said Church along theRiver-side Eastward as far as the Gallows, and so in a curve LineNorthward again; and the Buildings as far as _St. Joze_ and the_Rofcio_, were laid in the three following Shocks, which were soviolent as I heard many say they could with great Difficulty stand ontheir Legs. There is scarce one House of this great City lefthabitable. The Earth opened, and rent in several Places, and manyexpected to be swallowed up. --As it happened at a Time when theKitchens were furnished with Fires, they communicated their Heat tothe Timber with which their Houses were built or adorned, and inwhich the Natives are very curious and expensive, both in Furnitureand Ceilings; and by this means the City was in a Blaze in differentParts at once. The Conflagration lasted a whole Week. --What chieflycontributed to the Destruction of the City, was the Narrowness of theStreets. It is not to be expressed by Human Tongue, how dreadful andhow awful it was to enter the City after the Fire was abated: whenlooking upwards one was struck with Terror at beholding frightfulPyramids of ruined Fronts, some inclining one Way, some another; thenon the other hand with Horror, in viewing Heaps of Bodies crushed todeath, half-buried and half-burnt; and if one went through the broadPlaces or Squares, there was nothing to be met with but Peoplebewailing their Misfortunes, wringing their Hands, and crying_The World is at an End_. In short, it was the most lamentable Scenethat Eyes could behold. As the Shocks, though Small, are frequent, the People keep building Wooden Houses in the Fields; but the Kinghas ordered no Houses to be built to the Eastward of _Alcantara_Gate. --Just now four _English_ Sailors have been condemned forstealing Goods, and hiding them in the Ballast, with Intent to make aProperty of them. "

Chapter VII. 

THE LAST OFFER

His villa being destroyed, they had carried Sir Oliver out to Belem, to one of the wooden hospitals hastily erected in the royal grounds. There the King's surgeon dressed his wounds and set the broken leftarm, Ruth attending with splints and bandages. 

When all was done and the patient asleep, she crept forth. She wouldfain have stayed to watch by him; but this would have meant crowdingthe air for the sufferers, who already had much ado to breathe. She crept forth, therefore, and slept that night out on the nakedground, close under the lee of the canvas. 

Early next morning she was up and doing. A dozen hospitals had beenimprovised and each was crying out for helpers. She chose that ofher friend Mr. Castres, the British envoy. It stood within ahigh-walled garden, sheltered from the wind which, for some daysafter the earthquake, blew half a gale. At first the hospitalconsisted of two tents; but in the next three days these increased toa dozen, filling the enclosure. Then, just as doctors and nursesdespaired of coping with it, the influx of wounded slackened andceased, almost of a sudden. In the city nothing remained now but tobury the dead, and in haste, lest their corpses should breedpestilence. It was horribly practical; but every day, as she awoke, her first thought was for the set of the wind; her first fear that inthe night it might have shifted, and might be blowing from the eastacross Lisbon. The wind, however, kept northerly, as though it hadbeen nailed to that quarter. She heard that gangs were at workclearing the streets and collecting the dead; at first burying themlaboriously after the third day, burning them in stacks. As thePenitent had said, in an earthquake one gets down to nakedness. During those next ten days Ruth lived hourly face to face with herkind, men and women, naked, bleeding, suffering. 

She contrived too, all this while, to have the small motherless Hakechildren near her, inventing a hundred errands to keep them busy. Thus, to be sure, they saw many things too sad for their young eyes, yet Ruth perceived that in feeling helpful they escaped the worstbroodings of bereavement, and, on the whole, watching them at times, as their small hands were busy tearing up bandages or washing outmedicine bottles, she felt satisfied that their mother would havewished it so. 

Sir Oliver's arm healed well, and in general (it seemed) he wasmaking a rapid recovery. It was remarkable, though, that he seldomsmiled, and scarcely spoke at all save to answer a question. He would rest for hours at a time staring straight in front of him, much as he had lain and stared up at the ceiling of the fatal house. Something weighed on his mind; or maybe the brain had received ashock and must have time to recover. Ruth watched him anxiously, keeping a cheerful face. 

But there came an evening when, as she returned, tired but cheerful, from the hospital, he called her to him. 

"Ruth!"

"My lord. " She was beside his couch in a moment. 

"I have something to say to you; something I have wanted to say fordays. But I wanted also to think it all out. . . . I have not yetasked you to forgive me--"

"Dear, you were forgiven long ago. "

"--But I have asked Heaven to forgive me. "

Ruth gave a little start and stared at him doubtfully. 

"Yes, " he went on, "as I lay pinned--those hours through, waiting fordeath--something opened to me; a new life, I hope. "

"And by a blessing I do not understand--by a blessing of blessings--you were given back to it, Oliver. "

"Back to it?" he repeated. "You do not understand me. The blessingwas God's special grace; the new life I speak of was a lifeacknowledging that grace. "

There was silence for many seconds; for a minute almost, Ruth's handshad locked themselves together, and she pulled at the intertwistedfingers. 

"I beg your pardon, " she said at length. "You are right--I do notunderstand. " Her voice had lost its ring; the sound of it wasleaden, spiritless. But he failed to note this, being preoccupiedwith his own thoughts. Nor did he observe her face. 

"I would not speak of this before, " he went on, still with his eyesturned to the window, "because I wanted to think it all out. But itis true, Ruth; I am a changed man. "

"I hope not. "

Again he did not hear, or he failed to heed. "Not, " he pursued, "that any amount of thinking could alter the truth. The mercy of Godhas been revealed to me. When a man has been through such horrors--lying there, with that infernal woman held to me--"

"Ah!" she interposed with a catch of the breath. "Do not curse her. She was dead, poor thing!"

"I tell you that I cursed her as I cursed myself. . . . Yes, we bothdeserved to die. She died with her teeth in my flesh--the fleshwhose desire was all we ever had in common. "

"Yes . . . I knew. "

"Have you the coat I wore?"

"It is folded away. Some boxes of clothes were saved from the house, and I laid it away in one of them. "

"Her teeth must have torn it?"

"Yes. " Ruth would have moved away in sheer heart-sickness. Why wouldhe persist in talking thus?

"I shall always keep that coat. If ever I am tempted to forget themercy of God, the rent in that coat shall remind me. "

She wanted to cry aloud, "Oh, cease, cease!" This new pietism of hisrevolted her almost to physical sickness. She recognised in it theselfishness she had too fatally learned to detect in all pietism. "At least he had owed enough to his poor little fellow-sinner tospare a thought of pity!" . . . But a miserable restraint held hertongue as he went on--

"Yes, Ruth. God showed Himself to me in that hour; showed me, too, all the evil of my past life. I had no hope to live; but I vowed toHim then, if I lived, to live as one reformed. "

He paused here, as if waiting for her to speak. She did not speak. She felt her whole body stiffening; she wanted too to laugh outright, scornfully. "The evil of his past life? Am I next to be expelled, as a part of it? Is it up to _this_ he would lead? . . . God helpme, if there be a God!--that this should be the man I loved!"

"And another oath I swore, " he went on solemnly: "to do whatcompensation I may to any my sinning has injured. You are the chiefof these. "

"I, Oliver?"

"You, who under Heaven were made, and properly, the means of savingmy life to repentance. "

Somehow with this new piety he had caught the very phraseology andintonation of its everyday professors, even those very tricks of badlogic at which he had been used to laugh. Ruth had always supposed, for example, that the presumption of instructing the Deity inappropriate conduct was impossible even to second-rate minds until byimitation slowly acquired as a habit. It was monstrous to her thathe should so suddenly and all unconsciously be guilty of it. Indeed for the moment these small evidences of the change in himdistressed her more than the change itself, which she had yet torealise; just as in company a solecism of speech or manners will makeus wince before we have time to trace it to the ill-breeding fromwhich it springs. His mother, she had heard (he, in fact, had toldher), was given to these pious tricks of speech. Surely his finebrain had suffered some lesion. He was not himself, and she mustwait for his recovery. But surely, too, he would recover and behimself again. 

"Ruth, I have done you great wrong. "

"O cease! cease, Oliver!" Her voice cried it aloud now, as shedropped to her knees and buried her face in the coverlet. "Do nottalk like this--I had a hundred times rather you neglected me thanhear you talk so! _You_ have done me evil? _You_, my lord, my love?You, who saved me? You, in whose eyes I have found grace, and inthat my great, great happiness? You, in whose light my life hasmoved? . . . Ah, love, do not break my heart!"

"You misunderstand, " he said quietly. "Why should what I am sayingbreak your heart? I am asking you to marry me. "

She rose from her knees very slowly and went to the window. Standing there, again she battled off the temptation to laugh wildly. . . . She fought it down after a minute, and turned to encounter hisgaze, which had not ceased to rest on her as she stood with herbeautiful figure silhouetted against the evening light. 

"You really think my marrying you would make a difference?"

"To me it would make all the difference, " he urged, but still verygently, as one who, sure of himself, might reason with a child. "I doubt if I shall recover, indeed, until this debt is paid. "

"A debt, Oliver? What kind of debt?"

"Why, of gratitude, to be sure. Did you not win me back fromdeath?--to be a new and different man henceforth, please God!"

Upon an excuse she left him and went to her own sleeping tent. It stood a little within the royal garden of Belem and (the weatherbeing chilly) the guard of the gate usually kept a small brazieralight for her. This evening for some reason he had neglected it, and the fire had sunk low. She stooped to rake its embers together, and, as she did so, at length her laughter escaped her; softlaughter, terrible to hear. 

In the midst of it a voice--a high, jolly, schoolboy voice--calledout from the gateway demanding, in execrable Portuguese, to be shownLady Vyell's tent. She dropped the raking-iron with a clatter andstood erect, listening. 

"Dicky?" . . . She breathed. 

Yes; the tent flap was lifted and Dicky stood there in the twilight;a Dicky incredibly grown. 

"Dicky!"

"Motherkin!" He was folded in her arms. 

"But what on earth brings you to this terrible Lisbon, of allplaces?"

"Well, motherkin, " said he with the finest air of importance, "a manwould say that if a crew of British sailors could be usefulanywhere--We'll teach your Portuguese, anyhow. Oh, yes, the_Pegasus_ was at Gibraltar--we felt the shock there pretty badly--andthe Admiral sent us up the coast to give help where we could. A coaster found us off Lagos with word that Lisbon had suffered worstof all. So we hammered at it, wind almost dead foul all theway . . . And here we are. Captain Hanmer brought me ashore in hisgig. My word, but the place is in a mess!"

"That is Captain Hanmer's footstep I hear by the gate. "

"Yes, he has come to pay his respects. But come, " said the boy, astonished, "you don't tell me you know Old Han's footstep--begginghis pardon--at all this distance. "

Yes she did. She could have distinguished that tread had it marchedamong a thousand. Her brain had held the note of it ever since thenight she had heard it at Sabines, crushing the gravel of the drive. Dicky laughed, incredulous. She held the boy at arm's length, lovingly as Captain Hanmer came and stood by the tent door. 

So life might yet sound with honest laughter; ay, and at the back oflaughter, with the firm tread of duty. 

The story of Ruth Josselin and Oliver Vyell is told. They weremarried ten days later in the hospital at Belem by a priest of theChurch of Rome; and afterwards, on their way to England in HisMajesty's frigate _Calliope_, which had brought out stores for therelief of the suffering city and was now returning with most of theEnglish survivors, Sir Oliver insisted on having the union againratified by the services of the ship's chaplain. Ruth, whose senseof humour had survived the earthquake, could smile at thissupererogation. 

They landed at Plymouth and posting to Bath, were tenderly welcomedby Lady Jane, to whom her son's conversion was hardly less a matterof rejoicing than his rescue from a living tomb. In Bath Ruth LadyVyell might have reigned as a toast, a queen of society; but SirOliver had learnt a distaste for fashionable follies, nor did shegreatly yearn for them. 

He remained a Whig, however, and two years later received appointmentto the post of Consul-General at Lisbon. Its duties were notarduous, and allowed him to cross the Atlantic half a dozen timeswith Lady Vyell and revisit Eagles, where Miss Quiney held faithfulstewardship. He never completely recovered his health. The pressureunder which he had lain during those three terrible hours had lefthim with some slight curvature of the spine. It increased, and endedin a constriction of the lungs, bringing on a slow decline. In 1767he again retired to Bath, where next year he died, aged fifty-oneyears. His epitaph on the wall of the Abbey nave runs as follows:--

 "To the memory of Sir Oliver Hastings Pelham Vyell of Carwithiel, Co. Cornwall, Baronet, Consul-General for many years at Lisbon, whence he came in hopes of Recovery from a Bad State of Health to Bath. Here, after a tedious and painful illness, sustained with the Patience and Resignation becoming to a Christian, he died Jan. 11, 1768, in the Fifty-second Year of his Life, without Heir. This Monument is erected by his affectionate Widow, Ruth Lady Vyell. "

EPILOGUE

Ruth Lady Vyell stood in the empty minster beneath her husband'sepitaph, and conned it, puckering her brow slightly in the effort tokeep her thoughts collected. 

She had not set eyes on the tablet since the day the stonemasons hadfixed it in place; and that was close upon eight years ago. On themorrow, her pious duty fulfilled, she had taken post for Plymouth, there to embark for America; and the intervening years had been livedin widowhood at Eagles until the outbreak of the Revolution hadforced her, early in 1775, to take shelter in Boston, and in the latefall of the year to sail back to England. For Eagles, thoughunravaged, had passed into the hands of the "rebels"; and Ruth, though an ardent loyalist, kept her old clearness of vision, andforesaw that King George could not beat his Colonists; that the starsin their courses fought against this stupid monarch. 

This pilgrimage to Bath had been her first devoir on reachingEngland. She had nursed him tenderly through his last illness, asshe had been in all respects an exemplary wife. Yet, standingbeneath his monument, she felt herself an impostor. She could findhere no true memories of the man whose look had swayed her soul, whose love she had served with rites a woman never forgets. This city of Bath did not hold the true dust of her lord and love. He had perished--though sinning against her, what mattered it?--yearsago, under a fallen pillar in a street of Lisbon. Doubtless the sitehad been built over; it would be hard to find now, so actively hadthe Marquis de Pombal, Portugal's First Minister, renovated theruined city. But whether discoverable or not, there and not here waswritten the last of Oliver Vyell. 

Somehow in her thoughts of him on the other side of the Atlantic, in her demesne of Eagles where they had walked together as lovers, she had not separated her memories of him so sharply. Now, suddenly, with a sense of having been cheated, she saw Oliver Vyell as twoseparate men. The one had possessed her; she had merely married theother. 

With the blank sense of having been cheated mingled a sense that sheherself was the cheat. The tablet accused her of it, confronting herwith words which, all too sharply, she remembered as of her owncomposing. "_After a tedious and painful Illness, sustained with thePatience and resignation becoming to a Christian_. " Why to aChristian more than to another? Was it not mere manliness to bear(as, to do him justice, he had borne) ill-health with fortitude, andface dissolution with courage? How had she ever come to utter cointhat rang with so false and cheap a note? She felt shame of it. The taint of its falsehood seemed to blend and become one with ageneral odour of humbug, sickly, infectious, insinuating itself, stealing along the darkened Gothic aisles. Since nothing is surerthan death, nothing can be corrupter than mortality deceiving itself. . . . The west door of the Abbey stood open. Ruth, striving tocollect her thoughts, saw the sunlight beyond it spread broad uponthe city's famous piazza. Sounds, too, were wafted in through thedoorway, penetrating the hush, distracting her; rumble of workdaytraffic, voices of vendors in distant streets; among these--assertingitself quietly, yet steadily, regularly as a beat in music--afootfall on the pavement outside. . . . She knew the footfall. She distinguished it from every other. Scores of times in thewatches of the night she had lain and listened to it, hearing it inimagination only, echoed from memory, yet distinct upon the ear asthe tramp of an actual foot, manly and booted; hearing it always witha sense of helplessness, as though with that certain deliberate treadmarched her fate upon her, inexorably nearing. This once again--shetold herself--it must be in fancy that she heard it. For how should_he_ be in Bath?

She stepped quickly out through the porchway to assure herself. She stood there a moment, while her eyes accustomed themselves to thesunlight, and Captain Hanmer came towards her from the shadow of thecolonnade by the great Pump-room. He carried his left arm in asling, and with his right hand lifted his hat, but awkwardly. 

"I had heard of your promotion, " she said after they had exchangedgreetings, "and of your wound, and I dare say you will let mecongratulate you on both, since the same gallantry earned them. . . . But what brings you to Bath? . . . To drink the waters, Isuppose, and help your convalescence. "

"They have a great reputation, " he answered gravely; "but I havenever heard it claimed that they can extract a ball or the splintersfrom a shattered forearm. The surgeons did the one, and time must dothe other, if it will be so kind. . . . No, I am in Bath because mymother lives here. It is my native city, in fact. "

"Ah, " she said, "I was wondering--"

"Wondering?" He echoed the word after a long pause. He was plainlysurprised. "You knew that I was here, then?"

"Not until a moment ago, when I heard your footstep. " As thisappeared to surprise him still more, she added, "You have, whetheryou know it or not, a noticeable footstep, and I a quick ear. Shall I tell you where, unless fancy played me a trick, I last provedits quickness?"

He bent his head as sign for assent. 

"It was in Boston, " she said, "last June--on the evening after thefight at Bunker Hill. At midnight, rather. Before seven o'clock thehospitals were full, and they brought half a dozen poor fellows to mylodgings in Garden Court Street. Towards midnight one of them, thathad lain all the afternoon under the broiling sun by the _Mystic_ andhad taken a sunstroke on top of his wound, began raving. My maid andI were alone in the house, and we agreed that he was dangerous. I told her that there was nothing to fear; that for an hour past someone had been patrolling the side-walk before the house; and I badeher go downstairs and desire him to fetch a surgeon. You were thatsentinel. "

Again he bent his head. "I was serving on board the _Lively_, " hesaid, "in the ferry-way between you and Charlestown. I had heard ofyou--that you had taken lodgings in Boston, and that the temper ofthe mob might be uncertain. So that night I got leave ashore, on thechance of being useful. I brought the doctor, if you remember. "

"But would not present yourself to claim our thanks. " She looked athim shrewdly. "To-day--did you know that I was in Bath?" she asked. 

He owned, "Yes; he had read of her arrival in the _Gazette_, amongthe fashionable announcements. " He did not add, but she divined, that he had waited for her by the Abbey, well guessing that her stepswould piously lead her thither and soon. She changed the subject insome haste. 

"Your mother lives in Bath?"

"She has lived here all her life. "

"Sir Oliver spent his last days here. I am sorry that I had not heracquaintance to cheer me. "

"It was unlikely that you should meet. We live in the humblest ofways. "

"Nevertheless it would be kind of you to make us acquainted. Indeed, " she went on, "I very earnestly desire it, having a greatneed--since you are so hard to thank directly--to thank you throughsomebody for many things, and especially for helping Dicky. "

He laughed grimly as he fell into step with her, or tried to--but hisobstinate stride would not be corrected. "All the powers that everwere, " he said, "could not hinder Dicky. He has his captaincy insight--at his age!--and will be flying the blue before he reachesforty. Mark my words. "

On their way up the ascent of Lansdowne Hill he told her muchconcerning Dicky--not of his success in the service, which she knewalready, but of the service's inner opinion of him, which set herblood tingling. She glanced sideways once or twice at the strong, awkward man who, outpaced by the stripling, could rejoice in hispromotion without one twinge of jealousy, loving him merely as onegood sailor should love another. She noted him as once or twice hetried to correct his pace by hers. Her thoughts went back to thetablet in the Abbey, commemorating a husband who (if it told truth)had never been hers. She compared him, all in charity, with two whohad given her an unpaid devotion. One slept at Lisbon, in theEnglish cemetery. The other walked beside her even with such a treadas out somewhere on the dark floor of the sea he had paced hisquarter-deck many a night through, pausing only to con his helmbeneath the stars. 

They turned aside into an unfashionable by-street, and halted beforea modest door in a row. Ruth noted the railings, that they werespick-and-span as paint could make them; the dainty window-blinds. Through the passage-way, as he opened the door, came wafted from aback garden the clean odour of flowering stocks. 

In the parlour to the right of the passage, a frail, small woman rosefrom her chair to welcome them. 

"Mother, " said her son, "this is Lady Vyell. "

The little woman stretched out her hands, and then, before Ruth couldtake them, they were lifted and touched her temples softly, and shebent to their benediction. 

"My son has often talked of you. May the Lord bless you my dear. May the Lord bless you both. May the Lord cause His face to shineupon you all your days!"