CHAPTER VII. 

THE RAPE OF THE MATTRESS. 

That Mr. Grabman slept calmly that night is probable enough, for his gin-bottle was empty the next morning; and it was with eyes more than usuallyheavy that he dozily followed the movements of Beck, who, according tocustom, opened the shutters of the little den adjoining his sitting-room, brushed his clothes, made his fire, set on the kettle to boil, and laidhis breakfast things, preparatory to his own departure to the duties ofthe day. Stretching himself, however, and shaking off slumber, as theremembrance of the enterprise he had undertaken glanced pleasantly acrosshim, Grabman sat up in his bed and said, in a voice that, if not maudlin, was affectionate, and if not affectionate, was maudlin, --

"Beck, you are a good fellow. You have faults, you are human, --humanismest errare; which means that you some times scorch my muffins. But, takeyou all in all, you are a kind creature. Beck, I am going into thecountry for some days. I shall leave my key in the hole in the wall, --you know; take care of it when you come in. You were out late lastnight, my poor fellow. Very wrong! Look well to yourself, or who knows?You may be clutched by that blackguard resurrection-man, No. 7. Well, well, to think of that Jason's foolhardiness! But he's the worse devilof the two. Eh! what was I saying? And always give a look into my roomevery night before you go to roost. The place swarms with cracksmen, andone can't be too cautious. Lucky dog, you, to have nothing to be robbedof!"

Beck winced at that last remark. Grabman did not seem to notice hisconfusion, and proceeded, as he put on his stockings: "And, Beck, you area good fellow, and have served me faithfully; when I come back, I willbring you something handsome, --a backey-box or--who knows?--a beautifulsilver watch. Meanwhile, I think--let me see--yes, I can give you thiselegant pair of small-clothes. Put out my best, --the black ones. Andnow, Beck, I'll not keep you any longer. "

The poor sweep, with many pulls at his forelock, acknowledged themunificent donation; and having finished all his preparations, hastenedfirst to his room, to examine at leisure, and with great admiration, thedrab small-clothes. "Room, " indeed, we can scarcely style the wretchedenclosure which Beck called his own. It was at the top of the house, under the roof, and hot--oh, so hot--in the summer! It had one smallbegrimed window, through which the light of heaven never came, for theparapet, beneath which ran the choked gutter, prevented that; but therain and the wind came in. So sometimes, through four glassless frames, came a fugitive tom-cat. As for the rats, they held the place as theirown. Accustomed to Beck, they cared nothing for him. 

They were the Mayors of that Palace; he only le roi faineant. They ranover his bed at night; he often felt them on his face, and was convincedthey would have eaten him, if there had been anything worth eating uponhis bones; still, perhaps out of precaution rather than charity, hegenerally left them a potato or two, or a crust of bread, to take off theedge of their appetites. But Beck was far better off than most whooccupied the various settlements in that Alsatia, --he had his room tohimself. That was necessary to his sole luxury, --the inspection of histreasury, the safety of his mattress; for it he paid, without grumbling, what he thought was a very high rent. To this hole in the roof there wasno lock, --for a very good reason, there was no door to it. You went up aladder, as you would go into a loft. Now, it had often been matter ofmuch intense cogitation to Beck whether or not he should have a door tohis chamber; and the result of the cogitation was invariably the same, --he dared not! What should he want with a door, --a door with a lock toit? For one followed as a consequence to the other. Such a novel pieceof grandeur would be an ostentatious advertisement that he had somethingto guard. He could have no pretence for it on the ground that he wasintruded on by neighbours; no step but his own was ever caught by himascending that ladder; it led to no other room. All the offices requiredfor the lodgment he performed himself. His supposed poverty was a bettersafeguard than doors of iron. Besides this, a door, if dangerous, wouldbe superfluous; the moment it was suspected that Beck had something worthguarding, that moment all the picklocks and skeleton keys in theneighbourhood would be in a jingle. And a cracksman of high reputelodged already on the ground-floor. So Beck's treasure, like the bird'snest, was deposited as much out of sight as his instinct could contrive;and the locks and bolts of civilized men were equally dispensed with bybird and Beck. 

On a rusty nail the sweep suspended the drab small-clothes, stroked themdown lovingly, and murmured, "They be 's too good for I; I should like topop 'em! But vould n't that be a shame? Beck, be n't you be ahungrateful beast to go for to think of nothin' but the tin, ven your'art ought to varm with hemotion? I vill vear 'em ven I vaits on him. Ven he sees his own smalls bringing in the muffins, he will say, 'Beck, you becomes 'em!'"

Fraught with this noble resolution, the sweep caught up his broom, creptdown the ladder, and with a furtive glance at the door of the room inwhich the cracksman lived, let himself out and shambled his way to hiscrossing. Grabman, in the mean while, dressed himself with more carethan usual, shaved his beard from a four days' crop, and while seated athis breakfast, read attentively over the notes which Varney had left tohim, pausing at times to make his own pencil memoranda. He then packedup such few articles as so moderate a worshipper of the Graces mightrequire, deposited them in an old blue brief-bag, and this done, heopened his door, and creeping to the threshold, listened carefully. Below, a few sounds might be heard, --here, the wail of a child; there, the shrill scold of a woman in that accent above all others adapted toscold, --the Irish. Farther down still, the deep bass oath of thecholeric resurrection-man; but above, all was silent. Only one floorintervened between Grabman's apartment and the ladder that led to Beck'sloft. And the inmates of that room gave no sound of life. Grabman tookcourage, and shuffling off his shoes, ascended the stairs; he passed theclosed door of the room above; he seized the ladder with a shaking hand;he mounted, step after step; he stood in Beck's room. 

Now, O Nicholas Grabman! some moralists may be harsh enough to condemnthee for what thou art doing, --kneeling yonder in the dim light, by thatcurtainless pallet, with greedy fingers feeling here and there, and aplacid, self-hugging smile upon thy pale lips. That poor vagabond whomthou art about to despoil has served thee well and faithfully, has bornewith thine ill-humours, thy sarcasms, thy swearings, thy kicks, andbuffets; often, when in the bestial sleep of drunkenness he has foundthee stretched helpless on thy floor, with a kindly hand he has movedaway the sharp fender, too near that knavish head, now bent on his ruin, or closed the open window, lest the keen air, that thy breath tainted, should visit thee with rheum and fever. Small has been his guerdon foruncomplaining sacrifice of the few hours spared to this weary drudge fromhis daily toil, --small, but gratefully received. And if Beck had beentaught to pray, he would have prayed for thee as for a good man, Omiserable sinner! And thou art going now, Nicholas Grabman, upon anenterprise which promises thee large gains, and thy purse is filled; andthou wantest nothing for thy wants or thy swinish luxuries. Why shouldthose shaking fingers itch for the poor beggar-man's hoards?

But hadst thou been bound on an errand that would have given thee amillion, thou wouldst not have left unrifled that secret store which thyprying eye had discovered, and thy hungry heart had coveted. No; sinceone night, --fatal, alas! to the owner of loft and treasure, when, needingBeck for some service, and fearing to call aloud (for the resurrection-man in the floor below thee, whose oaths even now ascend to thine ear, sleeps ill, and has threatened to make thee mute forever if thoudisturbest him in the few nights in which his dismal calling suffers himto sleep at all), thou didst creep up the ladder, and didst see theunconscious miser at his nightly work, and after the sight didst stealdown again, smiling, --no; since that night, no schoolboy ever morerootedly and ruthlessly set his mind upon nest of linnet than thine wasset upon the stores in Beck's mattress. 

And yet why, O lawyer, should rigid moralists blame thee more than suchof thy tribe as live, honoured and respectable, upon the frail and thepoor? Who among them ever left loft or mattress while a rap could bewrung from either? Matters it to Astraea whether the spoliation be madethus nakedly and briefly, or by all the acknowledged forms in which, itemon item, six-and-eightpence on six-and-eightpence, the inexorable handcloses at length on the last farthing of duped despair? Not--Heavenforbid!--that we make thee, foul Nicholas Grabman, a type for all theclass called attorneys-at-law! Noble hearts, liberal minds, are thereamongst that brotherhood, we know and have experienced; but a type artthou of those whom want and error and need have proved--alas! too well--the lawyers of the poor. And even while we write, and even while yeread, many a Grabman steals from helpless toil the savings of a life. 

Ye poor hoards, --darling delights of your otherwise joyless owner, --howeasily has his very fondness made ye the prey of the spoiler! Howgleefully, when the pence swelled into a shilling, have they beenexchanged into the new bright piece of silver, the newest and brightestthat could be got; then the shillings into crowns, then the crowns intogold, --got slyly and at a distance, and contemplated with what rapture;so that at last the total lay manageable and light in its radiantcompass. And what a total! what a surprise to Grabman! Had it been buta sixpence, he would have taken it; but to grasp sovereigns by thehandful, it was too much for him; and as he rose, he positively laughed, from a sense of fun. 

But amongst his booty there was found one thing that specially moved hismirth: it was a child's coral, with its little bells. Who could havegiven Beck such a bauble, or how Beck could have refrained from turningit into money, would have been a fit matter for speculation. But it wasnot that at which Grabman chuckled; he laughed, first because it was anemblem of the utter childishness and folly of the creature he was leavingpenniless, and secondly, because it furnished his ready wit with acapital contrivance to shift Beck's indignation from his own shoulders toa party more liable to suspicion. He left the coral on the floor nearthe bed, stole down the ladder, reached his own room, took up his brief-bag, locked his door, slipped the key in the rat-hole, where the trusty, plundered Beck alone could find it, and went boldly downstairs; passingsuccessively the doors within which still stormed the resurrection-man, still wailed the child, still shrieked the Irish shrew, he paused at theground-floor occupied by Bill the cracksman and his long-fingered, slender, quick-eyed imps, trained already to pass through broken window-panes, on their precocious progress to the hulks. 

The door was open, and gave a pleasant sight of the worthy family within. Bill himself, a stout-looking fellow with a florid, jolly countenance, and a pipe in his mouth, was sitting at his window, with his brawny legslolling on a table covered with the remains of a very tolerablebreakfast. Four small Bills were employed in certain sports which, nodoubt, according to the fashionable mode of education, instilled usefullessons under the artful guise of playful amusement. Against the wall, at one corner of the room, was affixed a row of bells, from which weresuspended exceedingly tempting apples by slender wires. Two of the boyswere engaged in the innocent entertainment of extricating the appleswithout occasioning any alarm from the bells; a third was amusing himselfat a table, covered with mock rings and trinkets, in a way that seemedreally surprising; with the end of a finger, dipped probably in someglutinous matter, he just touched one of the gewgaws, and lo, itvanished!--vanished so magically that the quickest eye could scarcelytrace whither; sometimes up a cuff, sometimes into a shoe, --here, there, anywhere, except back again upon the table. The fourth, an urchinapparently about five years old, --he might be much younger, judging fromhis stunted size; somewhat older, judging from the vicious acuteness ofhis face, --on the floor under his father's chair, was diving his littlehand into the paternal pockets in search for a marble sportively hiddenin those capacious recesses. On the rising geniuses around him Bill thecracksman looked, and his father's heart was proud. Pausing at thethreshold, Grabman looked in and said cheerfully, "Good-day to you; good-day to you all, my little dears. "

"Ah, Grabman, " said Bill, rising, and making a bow, --for Bill valuedhimself much on his politeness, --"come to blow a cloud, eh? Bob, " thisto the eldest born, "manners, sir; wipe your nose, and set a chair forthe gent. "

"Many thanks to you, Bill, but I can't stay now; I have a long journey totake. But, bless my soul, how stupid I am! I have forgotten my clothes-brush. I knew there was some thing on my mind all the way I was comingdownstairs. I was saying, 'Grabman, there is something forgotten! '"

"I know what that 'ere feelin' is, " said Bill, thoughtfully; "I had itmyself the night afore last; and sure enough, when I got to the ----. But that's neither here nor there. Bob, run upstairs and fetch down Mr. Grabman's clothes-brush. 'T is the least you can do for a gent who savedyour father from the fate of them 'ere innocent apples. Your fist, Grabman. I have a heart in my buzzom; cut me open, and you will findthere `Halibi, and Grabman!' Give Bob your key. "

"The brush is not in my room, " answered Grabman; "it is at the top of thehouse, up the ladder, in Beck's loft, --Beck, the sweeper. The stupid dogalways keeps it there, and forgot to give it me. Sorry to occasion myfriend Bob so much trouble. "

"Bob has a soul above trouble; his father's heart beats in his buzzom. Bob, track the dancers. Up like a lark, and down like a dump. "

Bob grinned, made a mow at Mr. Grabman, and scampered up the stairs. 

"You never attends our free-and-easy, " said Bill; "but we toasts you withthree times three, and up standing. "'T is a hungrateful world! Butsome men has a heart; and to those who has a heart, Grabman is a trump!"

"I am sure, whenever I can do you a service, you may reckon on me. Meanwhile, if you could get that cursed bullying fellow who lives underme to be a little more civil, you would oblige me. "

"Under you? No. 7? No. 7, is it? Grabman, h-am I a man? Is this a h-arm, and this a bunch of fives? I dares do all that does become a man;but No. 7 is a body-snatcher! No. 7 has bullied me, and I bore it! No. 7 might whop me, and this h-arm would let him whop! He lives with gravesand churchyards and stiff 'uns, that damnable No. 7! Ask some'at else, Grabman. I dares not touch No. 7 any more than the ghostesses. "

Grabman sneered as he saw that Bill, stout rogue as he was, turned palewhile he spoke; but at that moment Bob reappeared with the clothes-brush, which the ex-attorney thrust into his pocket, and shaking Bill by thehand, and patting Bob on the head, he set out on his journey. 

Bill reseated himself, muttering, "Bully a body-snatcher! Drot thatGrabman, does he want to get rid of poor Bill?"

Meanwhile Bob exhibited slyly, to his second brother, the sight of Beck'sstolen coral. The children took care not to show it to their father. They were already inspired by the laudable ambition to set up in businesson their own account. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

PERCIVAL VISITS LUCRETIA. 

Having once ascertained the house in which Helen lived, it was nodifficult matter for St. John to learn the name of the guardian whom Beckhad supposed to be her mother. No common delight mingled with Percival'samaze when in that name he recognized one borne by his own kinswoman. Very little indeed of the family history was known to him. Neither hisfather nor his mother ever willingly conversed of the fallen heiress, --itwas a subject which the children had felt to be proscribed; but in theneighbourhood, Percival had of course heard some mention of Lucretia asthe haughty and accomplished Miss Clavering, who had, to the astonishmentof all, stooped to a mesalliance with her uncle's French librarian. Thather loss of the St. John property, the succession of Percival's father, were unexpected by the villagers and squires around, and perhaps set downto the caprice of Sir Miles, or to an intellect impaired by apoplecticattacks, it was not likely that he should have heard. The rich have thepolish of their education, and the poor that instinctive tact, sowonderful amongst the agricultural peasantry, to prevent such unmannerlydisclosures or unwelcome hints; and both by rich and poor, the Vernon St. Johns were too popular and respected for wanton allusions to subjectscalculated to pain them. All, therefore, that Percival knew of hisrelation was that she had resided from infancy with Sir Miles; that aftertheir uncle's death she had married an inferior in rank, of the name ofDalibard, and settled abroad; that she was a person of peculiar manners, and, he had heard somewhere, of rare gifts. He had been unable to learnthe name of the young lady staying with Madame Dalibard; he had learnedonly that she went by some other name, and was not the daughter of thelady who rented the house. Certainly it was possible that this lastmight not be his kinswoman, after all. The name, though strange toEnglish ears, and not common in France, was no sufficient warrant forPercival's high spirits at the thought that he had now won legitimate andregular access to the house; still, it allowed him to call, it furnisheda fair excuse for a visit. 

How long he was at his toilet that day, poor boy! How sedulously, withcomb and brush, he sought to smooth into straight precision thatluxuriant labyrinth of jetty curls, which had never cost him a thoughtbefore! Gil Blas says that the toilet is a pleasure to the young, thougha labour to the old; Percival St. John's toilet was no pleasure to himthat anxious morning. 

At last he tore himself, dissatisfied and desperate, from the glass, caught his hat and his whip, threw himself on his horse, and rode, atfirst very fast, and at last very slowly, to the old, decayed, shabby, neglected house that lay hid, like the poverty of fallen pride, amidstthe trim villas and smart cottages of fair and flourishing Brompton. 

The same servant who had opened the gate to Ardworth appeared to hissummons, and after eying him for some moments with a listless, stupidstare, said: "You'll be after some mistake!" and turned away. 

"Stop, stop!" cried Percival, trying to intrude himself through the gate;but the servant blocked up the entrance sturdily. "It is no mistake atall, my good lady. I have come to see Madame Dalibard, my--my relation!"

"Your relation!" and again the woman stared at Percival with a lookthrough the dull vacancy of which some distrust was dimly perceptible. "Bide a bit there, and give us your name. "

Percival gave his card to the servant with his sweetest and mostpersuasive smile. She took it with one hand, and with the other turnedthe key in the gate, leaving Percival outside. It was five minutesbefore she returned; and she then, with the same prim, smilelessexpression of countenance, opened the gate and motioned him to follow. 

The kind-hearted boy sighed as he cast a glance at the desolate andpoverty-stricken appearance of the house, and thought within himself:"Ah, pray Heaven she may be my relation; and then I shall have the rightto find her and that sweet girl a very different home!" The old womanthrew open the drawing-room door, and Percival was in the presence of hisdeadliest foe! The armchair was turned towards the entrance, and fromamidst the coverings that hid the form, the remarkable countenance ofMadame Dalibard emerged, sharp and earnest, directly fronting theintruder. 

"So, " she said slowly, and, as it were, devouring him with her keen, steadfast eyes, --"so you are Percival St. John! Welcome! I did not knowthat we should ever meet. I have not sought you, you seek me! Strange--yes, strange--that the young and the rich should seek the suffering andthe poor!"

Surprised and embarrassed by this singular greeting, Percival haltedabruptly in the middle of the room; and there was something inexpressiblywinning in his shy, yet graceful confusion. It seemed, with silenteloquence, to apologize and to deprecate. And when, in his silveryvoice, scarcely yet tuned to the fulness of manhood, he said feelingly, "Forgive me, madam, but my mother is not in England, " the excuse evincedsuch delicacy of idea, so exquisite a sense of high breeding, that thecalm assurance of worldly ease could not have more attested the chivalryof the native gentleman. 

"I have nothing to forgive, Mr. St. John, " said Lucretia, with a softenedmanner. "Pardon me rather that my infirmities do not allow me to rise toreceive you. This seat, --here, --next to me. You have a strong likenessto your father. "

Percival received this last remark as a compliment, and bowed. Then, ashe lifted his ingenuous brow, he took for the first time a steady view ofhis new-found relation. The peculiarities of Lucretia's countenance inyouth had naturally deepened with middle age. The contour, always toosharp and pronounced, was now strong and bony as a man's; the linebetween the eyebrows was hollowed into a furrow. The eye retained itsold uneasy, sinister, sidelong glance, or at rare moments (as whenPercival entered), its searching penetration and assured command; but theeyelids themselves, red and injected, as with grief or vigil, gavesomething haggard and wild, whether to glance or gaze. Despite theparalysis of the frame, the face, though pale and thin, showed no bodilydecay. A vigour surpassing the strength of woman might still be seen inthe play of the bold muscles, the firmness of the contracted lips. Whatphysicians call "vitality, " and trace at once (if experienced) on thephysiognomy as the prognostic of long life, undulated restlessly in everyaspect of the face, every movement of those thin, nervous hands, which, contrasting the rest of that motionless form, never seemed to be at rest. The teeth were still white and regular, as in youth; and when they shoneout in speaking, gave a strange, unnatural freshness to a face otherwiseso worn. 

As Percival gazed, and, while gazing, saw those wandering eyes bent down, and yet felt they watched him, a thrill almost of fear shot through hisheart. Nevertheless, so much more impressionable was he to charitableand trustful than to suspicious and timid emotions that when MadameDalibard, suddenly looking up and shaking her head gently, said, "You seebut a sad wreck, young kinsman, " all those instincts, which Nature itselfseemed to dictate for self-preservation, vanished into heavenlytenderness and pity. 

"Ah!" he said, rising, and pressing one of those deadly hands in both hisown, while tears rose to his eyes, --"Ah! since you call me kinsman, Ihave all a kinsman's privileges. You must have the best advice, the mostskilful surgeons. Oh, you will recover; you must not despond. "

Lucretia's lips moved uneasily. This kindness took her by surprise. Sheturned desperately away from the human gleam that shot across thesevenfold gloom of her soul. "Do not think of me, " she said, with aforced smile; "it is my peculiarity not to like allusion to myself, though this time I provoked it. Speak to me of the old cedar-trees atLaughton, --do they stand still? You are the master of Laughton now! Itis a noble heritage!"

Then St. John, thinking to please her, talked of the old manor-house, described the improvements made by his father, spoke gayly of those whichhe himself contemplated; and as he ran on, Lucretia's brow, a momentruffled, grew smooth and smoother, and the gloom settled back upon hersoul. 

All at once she interrupted him. "How did you discover me? Was itthrough Mr. Varney? I bade him not mention me: yet how else could youlearn?" As she spoke, there was an anxious trouble in her tone, whichincreased while she observed that St. John looked confused. 

"Why, " he began hesitatingly, and brushing his hat with his hand, "why--perhaps you may have heard from the--that is--I think there is a young----. Ah, it is you, it is you! I see you once again!" And springingup, he was at the side of Helen, who at that instant had entered theroom, and now, her eyes downcast, her cheeks blushing, her breast gentlyheaving, heard, but answered not that passionate burst of joy. 

Startled, Madame Dalibard (her hands firmly grasping the sides of herchair) contemplated the two. She had heard nothing, guessed nothing oftheir former meeting. All that had passed before between them wasunknown to her. Yet there was evidence unmistakable, conclusive: the sonof her despoiler loved the daughter of her rival; and--if the virginheart speaks by the outward sign--those downcast eyes, those blushingcheeks, that heaving breast, told that he did not love in vain!

Before her lurid and murderous gaze, as if to defy her, the twoinheritors of a revenge unglutted by the grave stood, united mysteriouslytogether. Up, from the vast ocean of her hate, rose that poor isle oflove; there, unconscious of the horror around them, the victims foundtheir footing! How beautiful at that hour their youth; their veryignorance of their own emotions; their innocent gladness; their sweettrouble! The fell gazer drew a long breath of fiendlike complacency andglee, and her hands opened wide, and then slowly closed, as if she feltthem in her grasp. 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE ROSE BENEATH THE UPAS. 

And from that day Percival had his privileged entry into MadameDalibard's house. The little narrative of the circumstances connectedwith his first meeting with Helen, partly drawn from Percival, partlyafterwards from Helen (with blushing and faltered excuses from the latterfor not having mentioned before an incident that might, perhapsneedlessly, vex or alarm her aunt in so delicate a state of health), wasreceived by Lucretia with rare graciousness. The connection, not onlybetween herself and Percival, but between Percival and Helen, was allowedand even dwelt upon by Madame Dalibard as a natural reason for permittingthe artless intimacy which immediately sprang up between these youngpersons. She permitted Percival to call daily, to remain for hours, toshare in their simple meals, to wander alone with Helen in the garden, assist her to bind up the ragged flowers, and sit by her in the old ivy-grown arbour when their work was done. She affected to look upon themboth as children, and to leave to them that happy familiarity whichchildhood only sanctions, and compared to which the affection of matureryears seems at once coarse and cold. 

As they grew more familiar, the differences and similarities in theircharacters came out, and nothing more delightful than the harmony intowhich even the contrasts blended ever invited the guardian angel to pauseand smile. As flowers in some trained parterre relieve each other, nowsoftening, now heightening, each several hue, till all unite in oneconcord of interwoven beauty, so these two blooming natures, broughttogether, seemed, where varying still, to melt and fuse their affluencesinto one wealth of innocence and sweetness. Both had a native buoyancyand cheerfulness of spirit, a noble trustfulness in others, a singularcandour and freshness of mind and feeling. But beneath the gayety ofHelen there was a soft and holy under-stream of thoughtful melancholy, ahigh and religious sentiment, that vibrated more exquisitely to thesubtle mysteries of creation, the solemn unison between the bright worldwithout and the grave destinies of that world within (which is animperishable soul), than the lighter and more vivid youthfulness ofPercival had yet conceived. In him lay the germs of the active mortalwho might win distinction in the bold career we run upon the surface ofthe earth. In her there was that finer and more spiritual essence whichlifts the poet to the golden atmosphere of dreams, and reveals inglimpses to the saint the choral Populace of Heaven. We do not say thatHelen would ever have found the utterance of the poet, that her reveries, undefined and unanalyzed, could have taken the sharp, clear form ofwords; for to the poet practically developed and made manifest to theworld, many other gifts besides the mere poetic sense are needed, --sternstudy, and logical generalization of scattered truths, and patientobservation of the characters of men, and the wisdom that comes fromsorrow and passion, and a sage's experience of things actual, embracingthe dark secrets of human infirmity and crime. But despite all that hasbeen said in disparagement or disbelief of "mute, inglorious Miltons, " wemaintain that there are natures in which the divinest element of poetryexists, the purer and more delicate for escaping from bodily form andevaporating from the coarser vessels into which the poet, so called, mustpour the ethereal fluid. There is a certain virtue within us, comprehending our subtlest and noblest emotions, which is poetry whileuntold, and grows pale and poor in proportion as we strain it into poems. Nay, it may be said of this airy property of our inmost being that, moreor less, it departs from us according as we give it forth into the world, even, as only by the loss of its particles, the rose wastes its perfumeon the air. So this more spiritual sensibility dwelt in Helen as thelatent mesmerism in water, as the invisible fairy in an enchanted ring. It was an essence or divinity, shrined and shrouded in herself, whichgave her more intimate and vital union with all the influences of theuniverse, a companion to her loneliness, an angel hymning low to her ownlistening soul. This made her enjoyment of Nature, in its meresttrifles, exquisite and profound; this gave to her tenderness of heart allthe delicious and sportive variety love borrows from imagination; thislifted her piety above the mere forms of conventional religion, andbreathed into her prayers the ecstasy of the saint. 

But Helen was not the less filled with the sweet humanities of her ageand sex; her very gravity was tinged with rosy light, as a western cloudwith the sun. She had sportiveness and caprice, and even whim, as thebutterfly, though the emblem of the soul, still flutters wantonly overevery wild-flower, and expands its glowing wings on the sides of thebeaten road. And with a sense of weakness in the common world (growingout of her very strength in nobler atmospheres), she leaned the moretrustfully on the strong arm of her young adorer, not fancying that thedifference between them arose from superiority in her; but rather as abird, once tamed, flies at the sight of the hawk to the breast of itsowner, so from each airy flight into the loftier heaven, let but thethought of danger daunt her wing, and, as in a more powerful nature, shetook refuge on that fostering heart. 

The love between these children--for so, if not literally in years, intheir newness to all that steals the freshness and the dew from maturerlife they may be rightly called--was such as befitted those whose soulshave not forfeited the Eden. It was more like the love of fairies thanof human beings. They showed it to each other innocently and frankly;yet of love as we of the grosser creation call it, with its impatientpains and burning hopes, they never spoke nor dreamed. It was anunutterable, ecstatic fondness, a clinging to each other in thought, desire, and heart, a joy more than mortal in each other's presence; yet, in parting, not that idle and empty sorrow which unfits the weak for thehomelier demands on time and life, and this because of the wondrous trustin themselves and in the future, which made a main part of theircredulous, happy natures. Neither felt fear nor jealousy, or if jealousycame, it was the pretty, childlike jealousies which have no sting, --ofthe bird, if Helen listened to its note too long; of the flower, ifPercival left Helen's side too quickly to tie up its drooping petals orrefresh its dusty leaves. Close by the stir of the great city, with allits fret and chafe and storm of life, in the desolate garden of thatsombre house, and under the withering eyes of relentless Crime, revivedthe Arcady of old, --the scene vocal to the reeds of idyllist andshepherd; and in the midst of the iron Tragedy, harmlessly andunconsciously arose the strain of the Pastoral Music. 

It would be a vain effort to describe the state of Lucretia's mind whileshe watched the progress of the affection she had favoured, and gazed onthe spectacle of the fearless happiness she had promoted. The image of afelicity at once so great and so holy wore to her gloomy sight the aspectof a mocking Fury. It rose in contrast to her own ghastly and crime-stained life; it did not upbraid her conscience with guilt so loudly asit scoffed at her intellect for folly. These children, playing on theverge of life, how much more of life's true secret did they already knowthan she, with all her vast native powers and wasted realms of blackenedand charred experience! For what had she studied, and schemed, andcalculated, and toiled, and sinned? As a conqueror stricken unto deathwould render up all the regions vanquished by his sword for one drop ofwater to his burning lips, how gladly would she have given all theknowledge bought with blood and fire, to feel one moment as thosechildren felt! Then, from out her silent and grim despair, stood forth, fierce and prominent, the great fiend, Revenge. 

By a monomania not uncommon to those who have made self the centre ofbeing, Lucretia referred to her own sullen history of wrong and passionall that bore analogy to it, however distant. She had never beenenabled, without an intolerable pang of hate and envy, to contemplatecourtship and love in others. From the rudest shape to the most refined, that master-passion in the existence, at least of woman, --reminding herof her own brief episode of human tenderness and devotion, --opened everywound and wrung every fibre of a heart that, while crime had indurated itto most emotions, memory still left morbidly sensitive to one. But iftortured by the sight of love in those who had had no connection with herfate, who stood apart from her lurid orbit and were gazed upon only afar(as a lost soul, from the abyss, sees the gleam of angels' wings withinsome planet it never has explored), how ineffably more fierce andintolerable was the wrath that seized her when, in her hauntedimagination, she saw all Susan's rapture at the vows of Mainwaringmantling in Helen's face! All that might have disarmed a heart as hard, but less diseased, less preoccupied by revenge, only irritated more theconsuming hate of that inexorable spirit. Helen's seraphic purity, herexquisite, overflowing kindness, ever forgetting self, her airycheerfulness, even her very moods of melancholy, calm and seeminglycauseless as they were, perpetually galled and blistered that writhing, preternatural susceptibility which is formed by the consciousness ofinfamy, the dreary egotism of one cut off from the charities of theworld, with whom all mirth is sardonic convulsion, all sadness raylessand unresigned despair. 

Of the two, Percival inspired her with feelings the most akin tohumanity. For him, despite her bitter memories of his father, she feltsomething of compassion, and shrank from the touch of his frank hand inremorse. She had often need to whisper to herself that his life was anobstacle to the heritage of the son of whom, as we have seen, she was insearch, and whom, indeed, she believed she had already found in JohnArdworth; that it was not in wrath and in vengeance that this victim wasto be swept into the grave, but as an indispensable sacrifice to acherished object, a determined policy. As, in the studies of her youth, she had adopted the Machiavelism of ancient State-craft as a ruleadmissible in private life, so she seemed scarcely to admit as a crimethat which was but the removal of a barrier between her aim and her end. Before she had become personally acquainted with Percival she hadrejected all occasion to know him. She had suffered Varney to call uponhim as the old protege of Sir Miles, and to wind into his intimacy, meaning to leave to her accomplice, when the hour should arrive, thedread task of destruction. This not from cowardice, for Gabriel had oncerightly described her when he said that if she lived with shadows shecould quell them, but simply because, more intellectually unsparing thanconstitutionally cruel (save where the old vindictive memories thoroughlyunsexed her), this was a victim whose pangs she desired not to witness, over whose fate it was no luxury to gloat and revel. She wished not tosee nor to know him living, only to learn that he was no more, and thatHelen alone stood between Laughton and her son. Now that he had himself, as if with predestined feet, crossed her threshold, that he, like Helen, had delivered himself into her toils, the hideous guilt, before removedfrom her hands, became haunting, fronted her face to face, and filled herwith a superstitious awe. 

Meanwhile, her outward manner to both her meditated victims, if moody andfitful at times, was not such as would have provoked suspicion even inless credulous hearts. From the first entry of Helen under her roof shehad been formal and measured in her welcome, --kept her, as it were, aloof, and affected no prodigal superfluity of dissimulation; but she hadnever been positively harsh or unkind in word or in deed, and had coldlyexcused herself for the repulsiveness of her manner. 

"I am irritable, " she said, "from long suffering, I am unsocial fromhabitual solitude; do not expect from me the fondness and warmth thatshould belong to our relationship. Do not harass yourself with vainsolicitude for one whom all seeming attention but reminds more painfullyof infirmity, and who, even thus stricken down, would be independent ofall cares not bought and paid for. Be satisfied to live here in allreasonable liberty, to follow your own habits and caprices uncontrolled. Regard me but as a piece of necessary furniture. You can never displeaseme but when you notice that I live and suffer. "

If Helen wept bitterly at these hard words when first spoken, it was notwith anger that her loving heart was so thrown back upon herself. On thecontrary, she became inspired with a compassion so great that it took thecharacter of reverence. She regarded this very coldness as a mournfuldignity. She felt grateful that one who could thus dispense with, shouldyet have sought her. She had heard her mother say that she had beenunder great obligations to Lucretia; and now, when she was forbidden torepay them even by a kiss on those weary eyelids, a daughter's hand tothat sleepless pillow; when she saw that the barrier first imposed wasirremovable, that no time diminished the distance her aunt set betweenthem, that the least approach to the tenderness of service beyond themost casual offices really seemed but to fret those excitable nerves, andfever the hand that she ventured timorously to clasp, --she retreated intoherself with a sad amaze that increased her pity and heightened herrespect. To her, love seemed so necessary a thing in the helplessness ofhuman life, even when blessed with health and youth, that this rejectionof all love in one so bowed and crippled, struck her imagination assomething sublime in its dreary grandeur and stoic pride of independence. She regarded it as of old a tender and pious nun would have regarded theasceticism of some sanctified recluse, --as Theresa (had she lived in thesame age) might have regarded Saint Simeon Stylites existing aloft fromhuman sympathy on the roofless summit of his column of stone; and withthis feeling she sought to inspire Percival. He had the heart to enterinto her compassion, but not the imagination to sympathize with herreverence. Even the repugnant awe that he had first conceived for MadameDalibard, so bold was he by temperament, he had long since cast off; herecognized only the moroseness and petulance of an habitual invalid, andshook playfully his glossy curls when Helen, with her sweet seriousness, insisted on his recognizing more. 

To this house few, indeed, were the visitors admitted. The Miverses, whom the benevolent officiousness of Mr. Fielden had originally sentthither to see their young kinswoman, now and then came to press Helen tojoin some party to the theatre or Vauxhall, or a picnic in Richmond Park;but when they found their overtures, which had at first been politelyaccepted by Madame Dalibard, were rejected, they gradually ceased theirvisits, wounded and indignant. 

Certain it was that Lucretia had at one time eagerly caught at theirwell-meant civilities to Helen, --now she as abruptly declined them. Why?It would be hard to plumb into all the black secrets of that heart. Itwould have been but natural to her, who shrank from dooming Helen to noworse calamity than a virgin's grave, to have designed to throw her intosuch uncongenial guidance, amidst all the manifold temptations of thecorrupt city, --to have suffered her to be seen and to be ensnared bythose gallants ever on the watch for defenceless beauty; and to contrastwith their elegance of mien and fatal flatteries the grossness of thecompanions selected for her, and the unloving discomfort of the home intowhich she had been thrown. But now that St. John had appeared, thatHelen's heart and fancy were steeled alike against more dangeroustemptation, the object to be obtained from the pressing courtesy of Mrs. Mivers existed no more. The vengeance flowed into other channels. 

The only other visitors at the house were John Ardworth and GabrielVarney. 

Madame Dalibard watched vigilantly the countenance and manner of Ardworthwhen, after presenting him to Percival, she whispered: "I am glad youassured me as to your sentiments for Helen. She had found there thelover you wished for her, --'gay and handsome as herself. '"

And in the sudden paleness that overspread Ardworth's face, in hiscompressed lips and convulsive start, she read with unspeakable rage theuntold secret of his heart, till the rage gave way to complacency at thethought that the last insult to her wrongs was spared her, --that her son(as son she believed he was) could not now, at least, be the successfulsuitor of her loathed sister's loathed child. Her discovery, perhaps, confirmed her in her countenance to Percival's progressive wooing, andhalf reconciled her to the pangs it inflicted on herself. 

At the first introduction Ardworth had scarcely glanced at Percival. Heregarded him but as the sleek flutterer in the sunshine of fortune. Andfor the idle, the gay, the fair, the well-dressed and wealthy, the sturdyworkman of his own rough way felt something of the uncharitable disdainwhich the laborious have-nots too usually entertain for the prosperoushaves. But the moment the unwelcome intelligence of Madame Dalibard wasconveyed to him, the smooth-faced boy swelled into dignity andimportance. 

Yet it was not merely as a rival that that strong, manly heart, after thefirst natural agony, regarded Percival. No, he looked upon him less withanger than with interest, --as the one in whom Helen's happiness washenceforth to be invested. And to Madame Dalibard's astonishment, --forthis nature was wholly new to her experience, --she saw him, even in thatfirst interview, composing his rough face to smiles, smoothing his bluff, imperious accents into courtesy, listening patiently, watching benignly, and at last thrusting his large hand frankly forth, griping Percival'sslender fingers in his own; and then, with an indistinct chuckle thatseemed half laugh and half groan, as if he did not dare to trust himselffurther, he made his wonted unceremonious nod, and strode hurriedly fromthe room. 

But he came again and again, almost daily, for about a fortnight. Sometimes, without entering the house, he would join the young people inthe garden, assist them with awkward hands in their playful work on thegarden, or sit with them in the ivied bower; and warming more and moreeach time he came, talk at last with the cordial frankness of an elderbrother. There was no disguise in this; he began to love Percival, --whatwould seem more strange to the superficial, to admire him. Genius has aquick perception of the moral qualities; genius, which, differing thusfrom mere talent, is more allied to the heart than to the head, sympathizes genially with goodness. Ardworth respected that young, ingenuous, unpolluted mind; he himself felt better and purer in itsatmosphere. Much of the affection he cherished for Helen passed thusbeautifully and nobly into his sentiments for the one whom Helen notunworthily preferred. And they grew so fond of him, --as the young andgentle ever will grow fond of genius, however rough, once admitted to itscompanionship!

Percival by this time had recalled to his mind where he had first seenthat strong-featured, dark-browed countenance, and he gayly remindedArdworth of his discourtesy, on the brow of the hill which commanded theview of London. That reminiscence made his new friend writhe; for then, amidst all his ambitious visions of the future, he had seen Helen in thedistance, --the reward of every labour, the fairest star in his horizon. But he strove stoutly against the regret of the illusion lost; thevivendi causae were left him still, and for the nymph that had glidedfrom his clasp, he clung at least to the laurel that was left in herplace. In the folds of his robust fortitude Ardworth thus wrapped hissecret. Neither of his young playmates suspected it. He would havedisdained himself if he had so poisoned their pleasure. That he sufferedwhen alone, much and bitterly, is not to be denied; but in that masculineand complete being, Love took but its legitimate rank amidst the passionsand cares of man. It soured no existence, it broke no heart; the windswept some blossoms from the bough, and tossed wildly the agitatedbranches from root to summit, but the trunk stood firm. 

In some of these visits to Madame Dalibard's, Ardworth renewed with herthe more private conversation which had so unsettled his past convictionsas to his birth, and so disturbed the calm, strong currents of his mind. He was chiefly anxious to learn what conjectures Madame Dalibard hadformed as to his parentage, and what ground there was for belief that hewas near in blood to herself, or that he was born to a station lessdependent on continuous exertion; but on these points the dark sibylpreserved an obstinate silence. She was satisfied with the hints she hadalready thrown out, and absolutely refused to say more till betterauthorized by the inquiries she had set on foot. Artfully she turnedfrom these topics of closer and more household interest to those on whichshe had previously insisted, connected with the general knowledge ofmankind, and the complicated science of practical life. To fire hisgenius, wing his energies, inflame his ambition above that slow, laborious drudgery to which he had linked the chances of his career, andwhich her fiery and rapid intellect was wholly unable to comprehend--saveas a waste of life for uncertain and distant objects--became her task. And she saw with delight that Ardworth listened to her more assentinglythan he had done at first. In truth, the pain shut within his heart, theconflict waged keenly between his reason and his passion, unfitted himfor the time for mere mechanical employment, in which his genius couldafford him no consolation. Now, genius is given to man, not only toenlighten others, but to comfort as well as to elevate himself. Thus, inall the sorrows of actual existence, the man is doubly inclined to turnto his genius for distraction. Harassed in this world of action, heknocks at the gate of that world of idea or fancy which he is privilegedto enter; he escapes from the clay to the spirit. And rarely, till somegreat grief comes, does the man in whom the celestial fire is lodged knowall the gift of which he is possessed. At last Ardworth's visits ceasedabruptly. He shut himself up once more in his chambers; but the lawbooks were laid aside. 

Varney, who generally contrived to call when Ardworth was not there, seldom interrupted the lovers in their little paradise of the garden; buthe took occasion to ripen and cement his intimacy with Percival. Sometimes he walked or (if St. John had his cabriolet) drove home anddined with him, tete-a-tete, in Curzon Street; and as he made Helen hischief subject of conversation, Percival could not but esteem him amongstthe most agreeable of men. With Helen, when Percival was not there, Varney held some secret conferences, --secret even from Percival. Two orthree times, before the hour in which Percival was accustomed to come, they had been out together; and Helen's face looked more cheerful thanusual on their return. It was not surprising that Gabriel Varney, sodispleasing to a man like Ardworth, should have won little less favourwith Helen than with Percival; for, to say nothing of an ease and suavityof manner which stole into the confidence of those in whom to confide wasa natural propensity, his various acquisitions and talents, imposing fromthe surface over which they spread, and the glitter which they made, hadan inevitable effect upon a mind so susceptible as Helen's to admirationfor art and respect for knowledge. But what chiefly conciliated her toVarney, whom she regarded, moreover, as her aunt's most intimate friend, was that she was persuaded he was unhappy, and wronged by the world offortune. Varney had a habit of so representing himself, --of dwellingwith a bitter eloquence, which his natural malignity made forcible, onthe injustice of the world to superior intellect. He was a great accuserof Fate. It is the illogical weakness of some evil natures to lay alltheir crimes, and the consequences of crime, upon Destiny. There was aheat, a vigour, a rush of words, and a readiness of strong, if trite, imagery in what Varney said that deceived the young into the monstrouserror that he was an enthusiast, --misanthropical, perhaps, but only sofrom enthusiasm. How could Helen, whose slightest thought, when a starbroke forth from the cloud, or a bird sung suddenly from the copse, hadmore of wisdom and of poetry than all Varney's gaudy and painted seemingsever could even mimic, --how could she be so deceived? Yet so it was. Here stood a man whose youth she supposed had been devoted to refined andelevating pursuits, gifted, neglected, disappointed, solitary, andunhappy. She saw little beyond. You had but to touch her pity to winher interest and to excite her trust. Of anything further, even hadPercival never existed, she could not have dreamed. It was because asecret and undefinable repugnance, in the midst of pity, trust, andfriendship, put Varney altogether out of the light of a possible lover, that all those sentiments were so easily kindled. This repugnance arosenot from the disparity between their years; it was rather that namelessuncongeniality which does not forbid friendship, but is irreconcilablewith love. To do Varney justice, he never offered to reconcile the two. Not for love did he secretly confer with Helen; not for love did hisheart beat against the hand which reposed so carelessly on his murderousarm. 

CHAPTER X. 

THE RATTLE OF THE SNAKE. 

The progress of affection between natures like those of Percival andHelen, favoured by free and constant intercourse, was naturally rapid. It was scarcely five weeks from the day he had first seen Helen, and healready regarded her as his plighted bride. During the earlier days ofhis courtship, Percival, enamoured and absorbed for the first time in hislife, did not hasten to make his mother the confidante of his happiness. He had written but twice; and though he said briefly, in the secondletter, that he had discovered two relations, both interesting and onecharming, he had deferred naming them or entering into detail. This notalone from that indescribable coyness which all have experienced inaddressing even those with whom they are most intimate, in the early, half-unrevealed, and mystic emotions of first love, but because LadyDiary's letters had been so full of her sister's declining health, of herown anxieties and fears, that he had shrunk from giving her a new subjectof anxiety; and a confidence full of hope and joy seemed to him unfeelingand unseasonable. He knew how necessarily uneasy and restless an avowalthat his heart was seriously engaged to one she had never seen, wouldmake that tender mother, and that his confession would rather add to hercares than produce sympathy with his transports. But now, feelingimpatient for his mother's assent to the formal proposals which hadbecome due to Madame Dalibard and Helen, and taking advantage of theletter last received from her, which gave more cheering accounts of hersister, and expressed curiosity for further explanation as to his halfdisclosure, he wrote at length, and cleared his breast of all itssecrets. It was the same day in which he wrote this confession andpleaded his cause that we accompany him to the house of his sweetmistress, and leave him by her side, in the accustomed garden. Within, Madame Dalibard, whose chair was set by the window, bent over certainletters, which she took, one by one, from her desk and read slowly, lifting her eyes from time to time and glancing towards the young peopleas they walked, hand in hand, round the small demesnes, now hid by thefading foliage, now emerging into view. Those letters were the earlylove-epistles of William Mainwaring. She had not recurred to them foryears. Perhaps she now felt that food necessary to the sustainment ofher fiendish designs. It was a strange spectacle to see this being, sofull of vital energy, mobile and restless as a serpent, condemned to thathelpless decrepitude, chained to the uneasy seat, not as in the resignedand passive imbecility of extreme age, but rather as one whom in theprime of life the rack has broken, leaving the limbs inert, the mindactive, the form as one dead, the heart with superabundant vigour, --a, cripple's impotence and a Titan's will! What, in that drearyimprisonment and amidst the silence she habitually preserved, passedthrough the caverns of that breast, one can no more conjecture than onecan count the blasts that sweep and rage through the hollows ofimpenetrable rock, or the elements that conflict in the bosom of thevolcano, everlastingly at work. She had read and replaced the letters, and leaning her cheek on her hand, was gazing vacantly on the wall, whenVarney intruded on that dismal solitude. 

He closed the door after him with more than usual care; and drawing aseat close to Lucretia, said, "Belle-mere, the time has arrived for youto act; my part is wellnigh closed. "

"Ay, " said Lucretia, wearily, "what is the news you bring?"

"First, " replied Varney, and as he spoke, he shut the window, as if hiswhisper could possibly be heard without, --"first, all this businessconnected with Helen is at length arranged. You know when, agreeably toyour permission, I first suggested to her, as it were casually, that youwere so reduced in fortune that I trembled to regard your future; thatyou had years ago sacrificed nearly half your pecuniary resources tomaintain her parents, --she of herself reminded me that she was entitled, when of age, to a sum far exceeding all her wants, and--"

"That I might be a pensioner on the child of William Mainwaring and SusanMivers, " interrupted Lucretia. "I know that, and thank her not. Passon. "

"And you know, too, that in the course of my conversation with the girl Ilet out also incidentally that, even so, you were dependent on thechances of her life; that if she died (and youth itself is mortal) beforeshe was of age, the sum left her by her grandfather would revert to herfather's family; and so, by hints, I drew her on to ask if there was nomode by which, in case of her death, she might insure subsistence to you. So that you see the whole scheme was made at her own prompting. I didbut, as a man of business, suggest the means, --an insurance on her life. "

"Varney, these details are hateful. I do not doubt that you have doneall to forestall inquiry and elude risk. The girl has insured her lifeto the amount of her fortune?"

"To that amount only? Pooh! Her death will buy more than that. As noone single office will insure for more than 5, 000 pounds, and as it waseasy to persuade her that such offices were liable to failure, and thatit was usual to insure in several, and for a larger amount than the sumdesired, I got her to enter herself at three of the principal offices. The amount paid to us on her death will be 15, 000 pounds. It will bepaid (and here I have followed the best legal advice) in trust to me foryour benefit. Hence, therefore, even if our researches fail us, if noson of yours can be found, with sufficient evidence to prove, against thekeen interests and bought advocates of heirs-at-law, the right toLaughton, this girl will repay us well, will replace what I have taken, at the risk of my neck, perhaps, --certainly at the risk of the hulks, --from the capital of my uncle's legacy, will refund what we have spent onthe inquiry; and the residue will secure to you an independence sufficingfor your wants almost for life, and to me what will purchase witheconomy, " and Varney smiled, "a year or so of a gentleman's idlepleasures. Are you satisfied thus far?"

"She will die happy and innocent, " muttered Lucretia, with the growl ofdemoniac disappointment. 

"Will you wait, then, till my forgery is detected, and I have no power tobuy the silence of the trustees, --wait till I am in prison, and on atrial for life and death? Reflect, every day, every hour, of delay isfraught with peril. But if my safety is nothing compared to therefinement of your revenge, will you wait till Helen marries Percival St. John? You start! But can you suppose that this innocent love-play willnot pass rapidly to its denouement? It is but yesterday that Percivalconfided to me that he should write this very day to his mother, andcommunicate all his feelings and his hopes; that he waited but her assentto propose formally for Helen. Now one of two things must happen. Either this mother, haughty and vain as lady-mothers mostly are, mayrefuse consent to her son's marriage with the daughter of a disgracedbanker and the niece of that Lucretia Dalibard whom her husband would notadmit beneath his roof--"

"Hold, sir!" exclaimed Lucretia, haughtily; and amidst all the passionsthat darkened her countenance and degraded her soul, some flash of herancestral spirit shot across her brow. But it passed quickly, and sheadded, with fierce composure, "You are right; go on!"

"Either-and pardon me for an insult that comes not from me--either thiswill be the case: Lady Mary St. John will hasten back in alarm to London;she exercises extraordinary control over her son; she may withdraw himfrom us altogether, from me as well as you, and the occasion nowpresented to us may be lost (who knows?) forever, --or she may be a weakand fond woman; may be detained in Italy by her sister's illness; may beanxious that the last lineal descendant of the St. Johns should marrybetimes, and, moved by her darling's prayers, may consent at once to theunion. Or a third course, which Percival thinks the most probable, andwhich, though most unwelcome to us of all, I had wellnigh forgotten, maybe adopted. She may come to England, and in order to judge her son'schoice with her own eyes, may withdraw Helen from your roof to hers. Atall events, delays are dangerous, --dangerous, putting aside my personalinterest, and regarding only your own object, --may bring to our acts newand searching eyes; may cut us off from the habitual presence either ofPercival or Helen, or both; or surround them, at the first breath ofillness, with prying friends and formidable precautions. The birds noware in our hands. Why then open the cage and bid them fly, in order tospread the net? This morning all the final documents with the InsuranceCompanies are completed. It remains for me but to pay the firstquarterly premiums. For that I think I am prepared, without drawingfurther on your hoards or my own scanty resources, which Grabman willtake care to drain fast enough. "

"And Percival St. John?" said Madame Dalibard. "We want no idlesacrifices. If my son be not found, we need not that boy's ghost amongstthose who haunt us. "

"Surely not, " said Varney; "and for my part, he may be more useful to mealive than dead. There is no insurance on his life, and a rich friend(credulous greenhorn that he is!) is scarcely of that flock of geesewhich it were wise to slay from the mere hope of a golden egg. PercivalSt. John is your victim, not mine; not till you give the order would Ilift a finger to harm him. "

"Yes, let him live, unless my son be found to me, " said Madame Dalibard, almost exultingly, --"let him live to forget yon fair-faced fool, leaningnow, see you, so delightedly on his arm, and fancying eternity in thehollow vows of love; let him live to wrong and abandon her byforgetfulness, though even in the grave; to laugh at his boyish dreams, --to sully her memory in the arms of harlots! Oh, if the dead can suffer, let him live, that she may feel beyond the grave his inconstancy and hisfall. Methinks that that thought will comfort me if Vincent be no more, and I stand childless in the world!"

"It is so settled, then, " said Varney, ever ready to clinch the businessthat promised gold, and relieve his apprehensions of the detection of hisfraud. "And now to your noiseless hands, as soon as may be, I consignthe girl; she has lived long enough!"

CHAPTER XI. 

LOVE AND INNOCENCE. 

During this conference between these execrable and ravening birds ofnight and prey, Helen and her boy-lover were thus conversing in thegarden; while the autumn sun--for it was in the second week of October--broke pleasantly through the yellowing leaves of the tranquil shrubs, andthe flowers, which should have died with the gone summer, still fresh bytender care, despite the lateness of the season, smiled gratefully astheir light footsteps passed. 

"Yes, Helen, " said Percival, --"yes, you will love my mother, for she isone of those people who seem to attract love, as if it were a propertybelonging to them. Even my dog Beau (you know how fond Beau is of me!)always nestles at her feet when we are at home. I own she has pride, butit is a pride that never offended any one. You know there are someflowers that we call proud. The pride of the flower is not more harmlessthan my mother's. But perhaps pride is not the right word, --it is ratherthe aversion to anything low or mean, the admiration for everything pureand high. Ah, how that very pride--if pride it be--will make her loveyou, my Helen!"

"You need not tell me, " said Helen, smiling seriously, "that I shall loveyour mother, --I love her already; nay, from the first moment you said youhad a mother, my heart leaped to her. Your mother, --if ever you arereally jealous, it must be of her! But that she should love me, --that iswhat I doubt and fear. For if you were my brother, Percival, I should beso ambitious for you. A nymph must rise from the stream, a sylphid fromthe rose, before I could allow another to steal you from my side. And ifI think I should feel this only as your sister, what can be preciousenough to satisfy a mother?"

"You, and you only, " answered Percival, with his blithesome laugh, --"you, my sweet Helen, much better than nymph or sylphid, about whom, betweenourselves, I never cared three straws, even in a poem. How pleased youwill be with Laughton! Do you know, I was lying awake all last night toconsider what room you would like best for your own? And at last I havedecided. Come, listen, --it opens from the music-gallery that overhangsthe hall. From the window you overlook the southern side of the park, and catch a view of the lake beyond. There are two niches in the wall, --one for your piano, one for your favourite books. It is just largeenough to hold four persons with ease, --our mother and myself, your aunt, whom by that time we shall have petted into good humour; and if we cancoax Ardworth there, --the best good fellow that ever lived, --I think ourparty will be complete. By the way, I am uneasy about Ardworth, it is solong since we have seen him; I have called three times, --nay, five, --buthis odd-looking clerk always swears he is not at home. Tell me, Helen, now you know him so well, --tell me how I can serve him? You know, I amso terribly rich (at least, I shall be in a month or two), I can neverget through my money, unless my friends will help me. And is it notshocking that that noble fellow should be so poor, and yet suffer me tocall him 'friend, ' as if in friendship one man should want everything, and the other nothing? Still, I don't know how to venture to propose. Come, you understand me, Helen; let us lay our wise heads together andmake him well off, in spite of himself. "

It was in this loose boyish talk of Percival that he had found the way, not only to Helen's heart, but to her soul. For in this she (grand, undeveloped poetess!) recognized a nobler poetry than we chain torhythm, --the poetry of generous deeds. She yearned to kiss the warm handshe held, and drew nearer to his side as she answered: "And sometimes, dear, dear Percival, you wonder why I would rather listen to you than toall Mr. Varney's bitter eloquence, or even to my dear cousin's aspiringambition. They talk well, but it is of themselves; while you--"

Percival blushed, and checked her. 

"Well, " she said, --"well, to your question. Alas! you know little of mycousin if you think all our arts could decoy him out of his ruggedindependence; and much as I love him, I could not wish it. But do notfear for him; he is one of those who are born to succeed, and withouthelp. "

"How do you know that, pretty prophetess?" said Percival, with thesuperior air of manhood. "I have seen more of the world than you have, and I cannot see why Ardworth should succeed, as you call it; or, if so, why he should succeed less if he swung his hammock in a better berth thanthat hole in Gray's Inn, and would just let me keep him a cab and groom. "

Had Percival talked of keeping John Ardworth an elephant and a palaquin, Helen could not have been more amused. She clapped her little hands in adelight that provoked Percival, and laughed out loud. Then, seeing herboy-lover's lip pouted petulantly, and his brow was overcast, she said, more seriously, --

"Do you not know what it is to feel convinced of something which youcannot explain? Well, I feel this as to my cousin's fame and fortunes. Surely, too, you must feel it, you scarce know why, when he speaks ofthat future which seems so dim and so far to me, as of something thatbelonged to him. "

"Very true, Helen, " said Percival; "he lays it out like the map of hisestate. One can't laugh when he says so carelessly: 'At such an age Ishall lead my circuit; at such an age I shall be rich; at such an age Ishall enter parliament; and beyond that I shall look as yet--no farther. 'And, poor fellow, then he will be forty-three! And in the mean while tosuffer such privations!"

"There are no privations to one who lives in the future, " said Helen, with that noble intuition into lofty natures which at times flashed fromher childish simplicity, foreshadowing what, if Heaven spare her life, her maturer intellect may develop; "for Ardworth there is no such thingas poverty. He is as rich in his hopes as we are in--" She stoppedshort, blushed, and continued, with downcast looks: "As well might youpity me in these walks, so dreary without you. I do not live in them, Ilive in my thoughts of you. "

Her voice trembled with emotion in those last words. She slid fromPercival's arm, and timidly sat down (and he beside her) on a littlemound under the single chestnut-tree, that threw its shade over thegarden. 

Both were silent for some moments, --Percival, with grateful ecstasy;Helen, with one of those sudden fits of mysterious melancholy to whichher nature was so subjected. 

He was the first to speak. "Helen, " he said gravely, "since I have knownyou, I feel as if life were a more solemn thing than I ever regarded itbefore. It seems to me as if a new and more arduous duty were added tothose for which I was prepared, --a duty, Helen, to become worthy of you!Will you smile? No, you will not smile if I say I have had my briefmoments of ambition. Sometimes as a boy, with Plutarch in my hand, stretched idly under the old cedar-trees at Laughton; sometimes as asailor, when, becalmed on the Atlantic, and my ears freshly filled withtales of Collingwood and Nelson, I stole from my comrades and leanedmusingly over the boundless sea. But when this ample heritage passed tome, when I had no more my own fortunes to make, my own rank to build up, such dreams became less and less frequent. Is it not true that wealthmakes us contented to be obscure? Yes; I understand, while I speak, whypoverty itself befriends, not cripples, Ardworth's energies. But since Ihave known you, dearest Helen, those dreams return more vividly thanever. He who claims you should be--must be--something nobler than thecrowd. Helen, "--and he rose by an irresistible and restless impulse, --"Ishall not be contented till you are as proud of your choice as I ofmine!"

It seemed, as Percival spoke and looked, as if boyhood were cast from himforever. The unusual weight and gravity of his words, to which his tonegave even eloquence; the steady flash of his dark eyes; his erect, elastic form, --all had the dignity of man. Helen gazed on him silently, and with a heart so full that words would not come, and tears overflowedinstead. 

That sight sobered him at once; he knelt down beside her, threw his armsaround her, --it was his first embrace, --and kissed the tears away. 

"How have I distressed you? Why do you weep?"

"Let me weep on, Percival, dear Percival! These tears are like prayers, --they speak to Heaven--and of you!"

A step came noiselessly over the grass, and between the lovers and thesunlight stood Gabriel Varney. 

CHAPTER XII. 

SUDDEN CELEBRITY AND PATIENT HOPE. 

Percival was unusually gloomy and abstracted in his way to town that day, though Varney was his companion, and in the full play of those animalspirits which he owed to his unrivalled physical organization and theobtuseness of his conscience. Seeing, at length, that his gayety did notcommunicate itself to Percival, he paused, and looked at himsuspiciously. A falling leaf startles the steed, and a shadow the guiltyman. 

"You are sad, Percival, " he said inquiringly. "What has disturbed you?"

"It is nothing, --or, at least, would seem nothing to you, " answeredPercival, with an effort to smile, for I have heard you laugh at thedoctrine of presentiments. We sailors are more superstitious. "

"What presentiment can you possibly entertain?" asked Varney, moreanxiously than Percival could have anticipated. 

"Presentiments are not so easily defined, Varney. But, in truth, poorHelen has infected me. Have you not remarked that, gay as she habituallyis, some shadow comes over her so suddenly that one cannot trace thecause?"

"My dear Percival, " said Varney, after a short pause, "what you say doesnot surprise me. It would be false kindness to conceal from you that Ihave heard Madame Dalibard say that her mother was, when about her age, threatened with consumptive symptoms; but she lived many yearsafterwards. Nay, nay, rally yourself; Helen's appearance, despite theextreme purity of her complexion, is not that of one threatened by theterrible malady of our climate. The young are often haunted with theidea of early death. As we grow older, that thought is less cherished;in youth it is a sort of luxury. To this mournful idea (which you seeyou have remarked as well as I) we must attribute not only Helen'soccasional melancholy, but a generosity of forethought which I cannotdeny myself the pleasure of communicating to you, though her delicacywould be shocked at my indiscretion. You know how helpless her aunt is. Well, Helen, who is entitled, when of age, to a moderate competence, haspersuaded me to insure her life and accept a trust to hold the moneys (ifever unhappily due) for the benefit of my mother-in-law, so that MadameDalibard may not be left destitute if her niece die before she is twenty-one. How like Helen, is it not?"

Percival was too overcome to answer. 

Varney resumed: "I entreat you not to mention this to Helen; it wouldoffend her modesty to have the secret of her good deeds thus betrayed byone to whom alone she confided them. I could not resist her entreaties, though, entre nous, it cripples me not a little to advance for her thenecessary sums for the premiums. Apropos, this brings me to a point onwhich I feel, as the vulgar idiom goes, 'very awkward, '--as I always doin these confounded money-matters. But you were good enough to ask me topaint you a couple of pictures for Laughton. Now, if you could let mehave some portion of the sum, whatever it be (for I don't price mypaintings to you), it would very much oblige me. "

Percival turned away his face as he wrung Varney's hand, and muttered, with a choked voice: "Let me have my share in Helen's divine forethought. Good Heavens! she, so young, to look thus beyond the grave, always forothers--for others!"

Callous as the wretch was, Percival's emotion and his proposal struckVarney with a sentiment like compunction. He had designed to appropriatethe lover's gold as it was now offered; but that Percival himself shouldpropose it, blind to the grave to which that gold paved the way, was ahorror not counted in those to which his fell cupidity and his goadingapprehensions had familiarized his conscience. 

"No, " he said, with one of those wayward scruples to which the blackestcriminals are sometimes susceptible, --"no. I have promised Helen toregard this as a loan to her, which she is to repay me when of age. Whatyou may advance me is for the pictures. I have a right to do as I pleasewith what is bought by my own labour. And the subjects of the pictures, what shall they be?"

"For one picture try and recall Helen's aspect and attitude when you cameto us in the garden, and entitle your subject: 'The Foreboding. '"

"Hem!" said Varney, hesitatingly. "And the other subject?"

"Wait for that till the joy-bells at Laughton have welcomed a bride, andthen--and then, Varney, " added Percival, with something of his naturaljoyous smile, "you must take the expression as you find it. Once undermy care, and, please Heaven, the one picture shall laughingly upbraid theother!"

As this was said, the cabriolet stopped at Percival's door. Varney dinedwith him that day; and if the conversation flagged, it did not revert tothe subject which had so darkened the bright spirits of the host, and sotried the hypocrisy of the guest. When Varney left, which he did as soonas the dinner was concluded, Percival silently put a check into hishands, to a greater amount than Varney had anticipated even from hisgenerosity. 

"This is for four pictures, not two, " he said, shaking his head; andthen, with his characteristic conceit, he added: "Well, some years hencethe world shall not call them overpaid. Adieu, my Medici; a dozen suchmen, and Art would revive in England. "

When he was left alone, Percival sat down, and leaning his face on bothhands, gave way to the gloom which his native manliness and the delicacythat belongs to true affection had made him struggle not to indulge inthe presence of another. Never had he so loved Helen as in that hour;never had he so intimately and intensely felt her matchless worth. Theimage of her unselfish, quiet, melancholy consideration for that austere, uncaressing, unsympathizing relation, under whose shade her young heartmust have withered, seemed to him filled with a celestial pathos. And healmost hated Varney that the cynic painter could have talked of it withthat business-like phlegm. The evening deepened; the tranquil streetgrew still; the air seemed close; the solitude oppressed him; he roseabruptly, seized his hat, and went forth slowly, and still with a heavyheart. 

As he entered Piccadilly, on the broad step of that house successivelyinhabited by the Duke of Queensberry and Lord Hertford, --on the step ofthat mansion up which so many footsteps light with wanton pleasure havegayly trod, Percival's eye fell upon a wretched, squalid, ragged object, doubled up, as it were, in that last despondency which has ceased to beg, that has no care to steal, that has no wish to live. Percival halted, and touched the outcast. 

"What is the matter, my poor fellow? Take care; the policeman will notsuffer you to rest here. Come, cheer up, I say! There is something tofind you a better lodging!"

The silver fell unheeded on the stones. The thing of rags did not evenraise its head, but a low, broken voice muttered, --

"It be too late now; let 'em take me to prison, let 'em send me 'crossthe sea to Buttany, let 'em hang me, if they please. I be 's good fornothin' now, --nothin'!"

Altered as the voice was, it struck Percival as familiar. He looked downand caught a view of the drooping face. "Up, man, up!" he said cheerily. "See, Providence sends you an old friend in need, to teach you never todespair again. "

The hearty accent, more than the words, touched and aroused the poorcreature. He rose mechanically, and a sickly, grateful smile passed overhis wasted features as he recognized St. John. 

"Come! how is this? I have always understood that to keep a crossingwas a flourishing trade nowadays. "

"I 'as no crossin'. I 'as sold her!" groaned Beck. "I be's good fornothin' now but to cadge about the streets, and steal, and filch, andhang like the rest on us! Thank you kindly, sir, " and Beck pulled hisforelock, "but, please your honour, I vould rather make an ind on it!"

"Pooh, pooh! didn't I tell you when you wanted a friend to come to me?Why did you doubt me, foolish fellow? Pick up those shillings; get a bedand a supper. Come and see me to-morrow at nine o'clock; you knowwhere, --the same house in Curzon Street; you shall tell me then yourwhole story, and it shall go hard but I'll buy you another crossing, orget you something just as good. "

Poor Beck swayed a moment or two on his slender legs like a drunken man, and then, suddenly falling on his knees, he kissed the hem of hisbenefactor's garment, and fairly wept. Those tears relieved him; theyseemed to wash the drought of despair from his heart. 

"Hush, hush! or we shall have a crowd round us. You'll not forget, mypoor friend, No. ---- Curzon Street, --nine to-morrow. Make haste now, andget food and rest; you look, indeed, as if you wanted them. Ah, would toHeaven all the poverty in this huge city stood here in thy person, and wecould aid it as easily as I can thee!"

Percival had moved on as he said those last words, and looking back, hehad the satisfaction to see that Beck was slowly crawling after him, andhad escaped the grim question of a very portly policeman, who had nodoubt expressed a natural indignation at the audacity of so ragged askeleton not keeping itself respectably at home in its churchyard. 

Entering one of the clubs in St. James's Street, Percival found a smallknot of politicians in eager conversation respecting a new book which hadbeen published but a day or two before, but which had already seized thepublic attention with that strong grasp which constitutes always an erain an author's life, sometimes an epoch in a nation's literature. Thenewspapers were full of extracts from the work, --the gossips, ofconjecture as to the authorship. We need scarcely say that a book whichmakes this kind of sensation must hit some popular feeling of the hour, supply some popular want. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, therefore, its character is political; it was so in the present instance. It may beremembered that that year parliament sat during great part of the monthof October, that it was the year in which the Reform Bill was rejected bythe House of Lords, and that public feeling in our time had never been sokeenly excited. This work appeared during the short interval between therejection of the Bill and the prorogation of parliament [Parliament wasprorogued October 20th; the bill rejected by the Lords, October 8th]. And what made it more remarkable was, that while stamped with the passionof the time, there was a weight of calm and stern reasoning embodied inits vigorous periods, which gave to the arguments of the advocatesomething of the impartiality of the judge. Unusually abstracted andunsocial, --for, despite his youth and that peculiar bashfulness beforenoticed, he was generally alive enough to all that passed around him, --Percival paid little attention to the comments that circulated round theeasy-chairs in his vicinity, till a subordinate in the administration, with whom he was slightly acquainted, pushed a small volume towards himand said, --"You have seen this, of course, St. John? Ten to one you donot guess the author. It is certainly not B----m, though the LordChancellor has energy enough for anything. R---- says it has a touch ofS----r. "

"Could M----y have written it?" asked a young member of parliament, timidly. 

"M----y! Very like his matchless style, to be sure! You can have readvery little of M----y, I should think, " said the subordinate, with thetrue sneer of an official and a critic. 

The young member could have slunk into a nutshell. Percival, with verylanguid interest, glanced over the volume. But despite his mood, and hismoderate affection for political writings, the passage he opened uponstruck and seized him unawares. Though the sneer of the official wasjust, and the style was not comparable to M----y's (whose is?), still, the steady rush of strong words, strong with strong thoughts, heapedmassively together, showed the ease of genius and the gravity of thought. The absence of all effeminate glitter, the iron grapple with the pith andsubstance of the argument opposed, seemed familiar to Percival. Hethought he heard the deep bass of John Ardworth's earnest voice when sometruth roused his advocacy, or some falsehood provoked his wrath. He putdown the book, bewildered. Could it be the obscure, briefless lawyer inGray's Inn (that very morning the object of his young pity) who was thuslifted into fame? He smiled at his own credulity. But he listened withmore attention to the enthusiastic praises that circled round, and thevarious guesses which accompanied them. Soon, however, his former gloomreturned, --the Babel began to chafe and weary him. He rose, and wentforth again into the air. He strolled on without purpose, butmechanically, into the street where he had first seen Helen. He paused afew moments under the colonnade which faced Beck's old deserted crossing. His pause attracted the notice of one of the unhappy beings whom wesuffer to pollute our streets and rot in our hospitals. She approachedand spoke to him, --to him whose heart was so full of Helen! Heshuddered, and strode on. At length he paused before the twin towers ofWestminster Abbey, on which the moon rested in solemn splendour; and inthat space one man only shared his solitude. A figure with folded armsleaned against the iron rails near the statue of Canning, and his gazecomprehended in one view the walls of the Parliament, in which allpassions wage their war, and the glorious abbey, which gives a Walhallato the great. The utter stillness of the figure, so in unison with thestillness of the scene, had upon Percival more effect than would havebeen produced by the most clamorous crowd. He looked round curiously ashe passed, and uttered an exclamation as he recognized John Ardworth. 

"You, Percival!" said Ardworth. "A strange meeting-place at this hour!What can bring you hither?"

"Only whim, I fear; and you?" as Percival linked his arm into Ardworth's. 

"Twenty years hence I will tell you what brought me hither!" answeredArdworth, moving slowly back towards Whitehall. 

"If we are alive then!"

"We live till our destinies below are fulfilled; till our uses havepassed from us in this sphere, and rise to benefit another. For the soulis as a sun, but with this noble distinction, --the sun is confined in itscareer; day after day it visits the same lands, gilds the same planets orrather, as the astronomers hold, stands, the motionless centre of movingworlds. But the soul, when it sinks into seeming darkness and the deep, rises to new destinies, fresh regions unvisited before. What we callEternity, may be but an endless series of those transitions which mencall 'deaths, ' abandonments of home after home, ever to fairer scenes andloftier heights. Age after age, the spirit, that glorious Nomad, mayshift its tent, fated not to rest in the dull Elysium of the Heathen, butcarrying with it evermore its elements, --Activity and Desire. Why shouldthe soul ever repose? God, its Principle, reposes never. While wespeak, new worlds are sparkling forth, suns are throwing off theirnebulae, nebulae are hardening into worlds. The Almighty proves hisexistence by creating. Think you that Plato is at rest, and Shakspeareonly basking on a sun-cloud? Labour is the very essence of spirit, as ofdivinity; labour is the purgatory of the erring; it may become the hellof the wicked, but labour is not less the heaven of the good!"

Ardworth spoke with unusual earnestness and passion, and his idea of thefuture was emblematic of his own active nature; for each of us is wiselyleft to shape out, amidst the impenetrable mists, his own ideal of theHereafter. The warrior child of the biting North placed his Hela amidsnows, and his Himmel in the banquets of victorious war; the son of theEast, parched by relentless summer, --his hell amidst fire, and hiselysium by cooling streams; the weary peasant sighs through life forrest, and rest awaits his vision beyond the grave; the workman ofgenius, --ever ardent, ever young, --honours toil as the gloriousdevelopment of being, and springs refreshed over the abyss of the grave, to follow, from star to star, the progress that seems to him at once thesupreme felicity and the necessary law. So be it with the fantasy ofeach! Wisdom that is infallible, and love that never sleeps, watch overthe darkness, and bid darkness be, that we may dream!

"Alas!" said the young listener, "what reproof do you not convey tothose, like me, who, devoid of the power which gives results to everytoil, have little left to them in life, but to idle life away. All havenot the gift to write, or harangue, or speculate, or--"

"Friend, " interrupted Ardworth, bluntly, "do not belie yourself. Therelives not a man on earth--out of a lunatic asylum--who has not in him thepower to do good. What can writers, haranguers, or speculators do morethan that? Have you ever entered a cottage, ever travelled in a coach, ever talked with a peasant in the field, or loitered with a mechanic atthe loom, and not found that each of those men had a talent you had not, knew some things you knew not? The most useless creature that everyawned at a club, or counted the vermin on his rags under the suns ofCalabria, has no excuse for want of intellect. What men want is nottalent, it is purpose, --in other words, not the power to achieve, but thewill to labour. You, Percival St. John, --you affect to despond, lest youshould not have your uses; you, with that fresh, warm heart; you, withthat pure enthusiasm for what is fresh and good; you, who can even admirea thing like Varney, because, through the tawdry man, you recognize artand skill, even though wasted in spoiling canvas; you, who have only tolive as you feel, in order to diffuse blessings all around you, --fie, foolish boy! you will own your error when I tell you why I come from myrooms at Gray's Inn to see the walls in which Hampden, a plain countrysquire like you, shook with plain words the tyranny of eight hundredyears. "

"Ardworth, I will not wait your time to tell me what took you yonder. Ihave penetrated a secret that you, not kindly, kept from me. Thismorning you rose and found yourself famous; this evening you have come togaze upon the scene of the career to which that fame will more rapidlyconduct you--"

"And upon the tomb which the proudest ambition I can form on earth mustcontent itself to win! A poor conclusion, if all ended here!"

"I am right, however, " said Percival, with boyish pleasure. "It is youwhose praises have just filled my ears. You, dear, dear Ardworth! Howrejoiced I am!"

Ardworth pressed heartily the hand extended to him: "I should havetrusted you with my secret to-morrow, Percival; as it is, keep it for thepresent. A craving of my nature has been satisfied, a grief has founddistraction. As for the rest, any child that throws a stone into thewater with all his force can make a splash; but he would be a fool indeedif he supposed that the splash was a sign that he had turned a stream. "

Here Ardworth ceased abruptly; and Percival, engrossed by a bright idea, which had suddenly occurred to him, exclaimed, --

"Ardworth, your desire, your ambition, is to enter parliament; there mustbe a dissolution shortly, --the success of your book will render youacceptable to many a popular constituency. All you can want is a sum forthe necessary expenses. Borrow that sum from me; repay me when you arein the Cabinet, or attorney-general. It shall be so!"

A look so bright that even by that dull lamplight the glow of the cheek, the brilliancy of the eye were visible, flashed over Ardworth's face. Hefelt at that moment what ambitious man must feel when the object he hasseen dimly and afar is placed within his grasp; but his reason was proofeven against that strong temptation. 

He passed his arm round the boy's slender waist, and drew him to hisheart with grateful affection as he replied, --"And what, if now inparliament, giving up my career, --with no regular means of subsistence, --what could I be but a venal adventurer? Place would become so vitallynecessary to me that I should feed but a dangerous war between myconscience and my wants. In chasing Fame, the shadow, I should lose thesubstance, Independence. Why, that very thought would paralyze mytongue. No, no, my generous friend. As labour is the arch elevator ofman, so patience is the essence of labour. First let me build thefoundation; I may then calculate the height of my tower. First let me beindependent of the great; I will then be the champion of the lowly. Hold! Tempt me no more; do not lure me to the loss of self-esteem. Andnow, Percival, " resumed Ardworth, in the tone of one who wishes to plungeinto some utterly new current of thought, "let us forget for awhile thesesolemn aspirations, and be frolicsome and human. 'Nemo mortalium omnibushoris sapit. ' 'Neque semper arcum tendit Apollo. ' What say you to acigar?"

Percival stared. He was not yet familiarized to the eccentric whims ofhis friend. 

"Hot negus and a cigar!" repeated Ardworth, while a smile, full ofdrollery, played round the corners of his lips and twinkled in his deep-set eyes. 

"Are you serious?"

"Not serious; I have been serious enough, " and Ardworth sighed, "for thelast three weeks. Who goes 'to Corinth to be sage, ' or to the CiderCellar to be serious?"

"I subscribe, then, to the negus and cigar, " said Percival, smiling; andhe had no cause to repent his compliance as he accompanied Ardworth toone of the resorts favoured by that strange person in his rare hours ofrelaxation. 

For, seated at his favourite table, which happened, luckily, to bevacant, with his head thrown carelessly back, and his negus steamingbefore him, John Ardworth continued to pour forth, till the clock struckthree, jest upon jest, pun upon pun, broad drollery upon broad drollery, without flagging, without intermission, so varied, so copious, so ready, so irresistible that Percival was transported out of all his melancholyin enjoying, for the first time in his life, the exuberant gayety of agrave mind once set free, --all its intellect sparkling into wit, all itspassion rushing into humour. And this was the man he had pitied, supposed to have no sunny side to his life! How much greater had beenhis compassion and his wonder if he could have known all that had passed, within the last few weeks, through that gloomy, yet silent breast, which, by the very breadth of its mirth, showed what must be the depth of itssadness!

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE LOSS OF THE CROSSING. 

Despite the lateness of the hour before he got to rest, Percival hadalready breakfasted, when his valet informed him, with raised, supercilious eyebrows, that an uncommon ragged sort of a person insistedthat he had been told to call. Though Beck had been at the house before, and the valet had admitted him, so much thinner, so much more ragged washe now, that the trim servant--no close observer of such folk--did notrecognize him. However, at Percival's order, too well-bred to showsurprise, he ushered Beck up with much civility; and St. John waspainfully struck with the ravages a few weeks had made upon the sweeper'scountenance. The lines were so deeply ploughed, the dry hair looked sothin, and was so sown with gray that Beck might have beat all Farren'sskill in the part of an old man. 

The poor sweeper's tale, extricated from its peculiar phraseology, wassimple enough, and soon told. He had returned home at night to find hishoards stolen, and the labour of his life overthrown. How he passed thatnight he did not very well remember. We may well suppose that the littlereason he possessed was wellnigh bereft from him. No suspicion of theexact thief crossed his perturbed mind. Bad as Grabman's character mightbe, he held a respectable position compared with the other lodgers in thehouse. Bill the cracksman, naturally and by vocation, suggested the handthat had despoiled him: how hope for redress or extort surrender fromsuch a quarter? Mechanically, however, when the hour arrived to returnto his day's task, he stole down the stairs, and lo, at the very door ofthe house Bill's children were at play, and in the hand of the eldest herecognized what he called his "curril. "

"Your curril!" interrupted St. John. 

"Yes, curril, --vot the little 'uns bite afore they gets their teethin'. "

St. John smiled, and supposing that Beck had some time or other beenpuerile enough to purchase such a bauble, nodded to him to continue. Toseize upon the urchin, and, in spite of kicks, bites, shrieks, orscratches, repossess himself of his treasure, was the feat of a moment. The brat's clamour drew out the father; and to him Beck (pocketing thecoral, that its golden bells might not attract the more experienced eyeand influence the more formidable greediness of the paternal thief)loudly, and at first fearlessly, appealed. Him he charged and accusedand threatened with all vengeance, human and divine. Then, changing histone, he implored, he wept, he knelt. As soon as the startled cracksmanrecovered his astonishment at such audacity, and comprehended the natureof the charge against himself and his family, he felt the more indignantfrom a strange and unfamiliar consciousness of innocence. Seizing Beckby the nape of the neck, with a dexterous application of hand and foot hesent him spinning into the kennel. 

"Go to Jericho, mud-scraper!" cried Bill, in a voice of thunder; "and ifever thou sayst such a vopper agin, --'sparaging the characters of them'ere motherless babes, --I'll seal thee up in a 'tato-sack, and sell theefor fiv'pence to No. 7, the great body-snatcher. Take care how I eversets eyes agin on thy h-ugly mug!"

With that Bill clapped to the door, and Beck, frightened out of his wits, crawled from the kennel and, bruised and smarting, crept to his crossing. But he was unable to discharge his duties that day; his ill-fed, miserable frame was too weak for the stroke he had received. Long beforedusk he sneaked away, and dreading to return to his lodging, lest, sincenothing now was left worth robbing but his carcass, Bill might keep hisword and sell that to the body-snatcher, he took refuge under the onlyroof where he felt he could sleep in safety. 

And here we must pause to explain. In our first introduction of Beck wecontented ourselves with implying to the ingenious and practised readerthat his heart might still be large enough to hold something besides hiscrossing. Now, in one of the small alleys that have their vent in thegreat stream of Fleet Street there dwelt an old widow-woman who eked outher existence by charing, --an industrious, drudging creature, whose soleoccupation, since her husband, the journeyman bricklayer, fell from ascaffold, and, breaking his neck, left her happily childless as well aspenniless, had been scrubbing stone floors and cleaning out dingy houseswhen about to be let, --charing, in a word. And in this vocation had shekept body and soul together till a bad rheumatism and old age had put anend to her utilities and entitled her to the receipt of two shillingsweekly from parochial munificence. Between this old woman and Beck therewas a mysterious tie, so mysterious that he did not well comprehend ithimself. Sometimes he called her "mammy, " sometimes "the h-old crittur. "But certain it is that to her he was indebted for that name which hebore, to the puzzlement of St. Giles's. Becky Carruthers was the name ofthe old woman; but Becky was one of those good creatures who are alwayscalled by their Christian names, and never rise into the importance ofthe surname and the dignity of "Mistress;" lopping off the last syllableof the familiar appellation, the outcast christened himself "Beck. "

"And, " said St. John, who in the course of question and answer had gotthus far into the marrow of the sweeper's narrative, "is not this goodwoman really your mother?"

"Mother!" echoed Beck, with disdain; "no, I 'as a gritter mother nor she. Sint Poll's is my mother. But the h-old crittur tuk care on me. "

"I really don't understand you. St. Paul's is your mother? How?"

Beck shook his head mysteriously, and without answering the question, resumed the tale, which we must thus paraphrastically continue todeliver. 

When he was a little more than six years old, Beck began to earn his ownlivelihood, by running errands, holding horses, scraping together penceand halfpence. Betimes, his passion for saving began; at first with agood and unselfish motive, --that of surprising "mammy" at the week's end. But when "mammy, " who then gained enough for herself, patted his head andcalled him "good boy, " and bade him save for his own uses, and told himwhat a great thing it would be if he could lay by a pretty penny againsthe was a man, he turned miser on his own account; and the miserableluxury grew upon him. At last, by the permission of the policeinspector, strengthened by that of the owner of the contiguous house, hemade his great step in life, and succeeded a deceased negro in thedignity and emoluments of the memorable crossing. From that hour he felthimself fulfilling his proper destiny. But poor Becky, alas! had alreadyfallen into the sere and yellow leaf; with her decline, her goodqualities were impaired. She took to drinking, --not to positiveintoxication, but to making herself "comfortable;" and, to satisfy hercraving, Beck, waking betimes one morning, saw her emptying his pockets. Then he resolved, quietly and without upbraiding her, to remove to asafer lodging. To save had become the imperative necessity of hisexistence. But to do him justice, Beck had a glimmering sense of whatwas due to the "h-old crittur. " Every Saturday evening he called at herhouse and deposited with her a certain sum, not large even in proportionto his earnings, but which seemed to the poor ignorant miser, who grudgedevery farthing to himself, an enormous deduction from his total, and asum sufficient for every possible want of humankind, even to satiety. And now, in returning, despoiled of all save the few pence he hadcollected that day, it is but fair to him to add that not his leastbitter pang was in the remembrance that this was the only Saturday onwhich, for the first time, the weekly stipend would fail. 

But so ill and so wretched did he look when he reached her little roomthat "mammy" forgot all thought of herself; and when he had told histale, so kind was her comforting, so unselfish her sympathy, that hisheart smote him for his old parsimony, for his hard resentment at hersingle act of peculation. Had not she the right to all he made? Butremorse and grief alike soon vanished in the fever that now seized him;for several days he was insensible; and when he recovered sufficiently tobe made aware of what was around him, he saw the widow seated beside him, within four bare walls. Everything, except the bed he slept on, had beensold to support him in his illness. As soon as he could totter forth, Beck hastened to his crossing. Alas! it was preoccupied. His absencehad led to ambitious usurpation. A one-legged, sturdy sailor had mountedhis throne, and wielded his sceptre. The decorum of the street forbadealtercation to the contending parties; but the sailor referred discussionto a meeting at a flash house in the Rookery that evening. There a jurywas appointed, and the case opened. By the conventional laws thatregulate this useful community, Beck was still in his rights; hisreappearance sufficed to restore his claims, and an appeal to thepoliceman would no doubt re-establish his authority. But Beck was stillso ill and so feeble that he had a melancholy persuasion that he couldnot suitably perform the duties of his office; and when the sailor, not abad fellow on the whole, offered to pay down on the nail what reallyseemed a very liberal sum for Beck's peaceful surrender of his rights, the poor wretch thought of the bare walls at his "mammy's, " of the long, dreary interval that must elapse, even if able to work, before thefurniture pawned could be redeemed by the daily profits of his post, andwith a groan he held out his hand and concluded the bargain. 

Creeping home to his "h-old crittur, " he threw the purchase money intoher lap; then, broken-hearted and in despair, he slunk forth again in asort of vague, dreamy hope that the law, which abhors vagabonds, wouldseize and finish him. 

When this tale was done, Percival did not neglect the gentle task ofadmonition, which the poor sweeper's softened heart and dull remorse madeeasier. He pointed out, in soft tones, how the avarice he had indulgedhad been perhaps mercifully chastised, and drew no ineloquent picture ofthe vicious miseries of the confirmed miser. Beck listened humbly andrespectfully; though so little did he understand of mercy and Providenceand vice that the diviner part of the homily was quite lost on him. However, he confessed penitently that "the mattress had made him vorsenor a beast to the h-old crittur;" and that "he was cured of saving tothe end of his days. "

"And now, " said Percival, "as you really seem not strong enough to bearthis out-of-door work (the winter coming on, too), what say you toentering into my service? I want some help in my stables. The work iseasy enough, and you are used to horses, you know, in a sort of a way. "

Beck hesitated, and looked a moment undecided. At last he said, "Pleaseyour honour, if I bean't strong enough for the crossin', I 'se afearedI'm too h-ailing to sarve you. And voud n't I be vorse nor a wiper totake your vages and not vork for 'em h-as I h-ought?"

"Pooh! we'll soon make you strong, my man. Take my advice; don't letyour head run on the crossing. That kind of industry exposes you to badcompany and bad thoughts. "

"That's vot it is, sir, " said Beck, assentingly, laying his dexterforefinger on his sinister palm. 

"Well! you are in my service, then. Go downstairs now and get yourbreakfast; by and by you shall show me your 'mammy's' house, and we'llsee what can be done for her. "

Beck pressed his hands to his eyes, trying hard not to cry; but it wastoo much for him; and as the valet, who appeared to Percival's summons, led him down the stairs, his sobs were heard from attic to basement. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

NEWS FROM GRABMAN. 

That day, opening thus auspiciously to Beck, was memorable also to otherand more prominent persons in this history. 

Early in the forenoon a parcel was brought to Madame Dalibard whichcontained Ardworth's already famous book, a goodly assortment of extractsfrom the newspapers thereon, and the following letter from the youngauthor:--

You will see, by the accompanying packet, that your counsels have hadweight with me. I have turned aside in my slow, legitimate career. Ihave, as you desired, made "men talk of me. " What solid benefit I mayreap from this I know not. I shall not openly avow the book. Suchnotoriety cannot help meat the Bar. But liberavi animam meam, --excuse mypedantry, --I have let my soul free for a moment; I am now catching itback to put bit and saddle on again. I will not tell you how you havedisturbed me, how you have stung me into this premature rush amidst thecrowd, how, after robbing me of name and father, you have driven me tothis experiment with my own mind, to see if I was deceived when I groanedto myself, "The Public shall give you a name, and Fame shall be yourmother. " I am satisfied with the experiment. I know better now what isin me, and I have regained my peace of mind. If in the success of thishasty work there be that which will gratify the interest you so kindlytake in me, deem that success your own; I owe it to you, --to yourrevelations, to your admonitions. I wait patiently your own time forfurther disclosures; till then, the wheel must work on, and the grist beground. Kind and generous friend, till now I would not wound you byreturning the sum you sent me, --nay, more, I knew I should please you bydevoting part of it to the risk of giving this essay to the world, and somaking its good fortune doubly your own work. Now, when the publishersmiles, and the shopmen bow, and I am acknowledged to have a bank in mybrains, --now, you cannot be offended to receive it back. Adieu. When mymind is in train again, and I feel my step firm on the old dull road, Iwill come to see you. Till then, yours--by what name? Open theBiographical Dictionary at hazard, and send me one. GRAY'S INN. 

Not at the noble thoughts and the deep sympathy with mankind that glowedthrough that work, over which Lucretia now tremulously hurried, did shefeel delight. All that she recognized, or desired to recognize, werethose evidences of that kind of intellect which wins its way through theworld, and which, strong and unmistakable, rose up in every page of thatvigorous logic and commanding style. The book was soon dropped, thusread; the newspaper extracts pleased even more. 

"This, " she said audibly, in the freedom of her solitude, "this is theson I asked for, --a son in whom I can rise; in whom I can exchange thesense of crushing infamy for the old delicious ecstasy of pride! Forthis son can I do too much? No; in what I may do for him methinks therewill be no remorse. And he calls his success mine, --mine!" Her nostrilsdilated, and her front rose erect. 

In the midst of this exultation Varney found her; and before he couldcommunicate the business which had brought him, he had to listen, whichhe did with the secret, gnawing envy that every other man's successoccasioned him, to her haughty self-felicitations. 

He could not resist saying, with a sneer, when she paused, as if to askhis sympathy, --

"All this is very fine, belle-mere; and yet I should hardly have thoughtthat coarse-featured, uncouth limb of the law, who seldom moves withoutupsetting a chair, never laughs but the panes rattle in the window, --Ishould hardly have thought him the precise person to gratify your pride, or answer the family ideal of a gentleman and a St. John. "

"Gabriel, " said Lucretia, sternly, "you have a biting tongue, and it isfolly in me to resent those privileges which our fearful connection givesyou. But this raillery--"

"Come, come, I was wrong; forgive it!" interrupted Varney, who, dreading nothing else, dreaded much the rebuke of his grim stepmother. 

"It is forgiven, " said Lucretia, coldly, and with a slight wave of herhand; then she added, with composure, --

"Long since--even while heiress of Laughton--I parted with mere pride inthe hollow seemings of distinction. Had I not, should I have stooped toWilliam Mainwaring? What I then respected, amidst all the degradations Ihave known, I respect still, --talent, ambition, intellect, and will. Doyou think I would exchange these in a son of mine for the mere graceswhich a dancing-master can sell him? Fear not. Let us give but wealthto that intellect, and the world will see no clumsiness in the movementsthat march to its high places, and hear no discord in the laugh thattriumphs over fools. But you have some news to communicate, or someproposal to suggest. "

"I have both, " said Varney. "In the first place, I have a letter fromGrabman!"

Lucretia's eyes sparkled, and she snatched eagerly at the letter her son-in-law drew forth. 

LIVERPOOL, October, 1831. 

JASON, --I think I am on the road to success. Having first possessedmyself of the fact, commemorated in the parish register, of the birth andbaptism of Alfred Braddell's son, --for we must proceed regularly in thesematters, --I next set my wits to work to trace that son's exodus from thepaternal mansion. I have hunted up an old woman-servant, Jane Prior, wholived with the Braddells. She now thrives as a laundress; she is a rankPuritan, and starches for the godly. She was at first very wary andreserved in her communications; but by siding with her prejudices andhumours, and by the intercession of the Rev. Mr. Graves (of her ownpersuasion), I have got her to open her lips. It seems that theseBraddells lived very unhappily; the husband, a pious dissenter, hadmarried a lady who turned out of a very different practice and belief. Jane Prior pitied her master, and detested her mistress. Somecircumstances in the conduct of Mrs. Braddell made the husband, who wasthen in his last illness, resolve, from a point of conscience, to savehis child from what he deemed the contamination of her precepts andexample. Mrs. Braddell was absent from Liverpool on a visit, which wasthought very unfeeling by the husband's friends; during this timeBraddell was visited constantly by a gentleman (Mr. Ardworth), whodiffered from him greatly in some things, and seemed one of the carnal, but with whom agreement in politics (for they were both great politiciansand republicans) seems to have established a link. One evening, when Mr. Ardworth was in the house, Jane Prior, who was the only maidservant (forthey kept but two, and one had been just discharged), had been sent outto the apothecary's. On her return, Jane Prior, going into the nursery, missed the infant: she thought it was with her master; but coming intohis room, Mr. Braddell told her to shut the door, informed her that hehad intrusted the boy to Mr. Ardworth, to be brought up in a righteousand pious manner, and implored and commanded her to keep this a secretfrom his wife, whom he was resolved, indeed, if he lived, not to receiveback into his house. Braddell, however, did not survive more than twodays this event. On his death, Mrs. Braddell returned; but circumstancesconnected with the symptoms of his malady, and a strong impression whichhaunted himself, and with which he had infected Jane Prior, that he hadbeen poisoned, led to a posthumous examination of his remains. No traceof poison was, however, discovered, and suspicions that had been directedagainst his wife could not be substantiated by law; still, she wasregarded in so unfavourable a light by all who had known them both, shemet with such little kindness or sympathy in her widowhood, and had beenso openly denounced by Jane Prior, that it is not to be wondered at thatshe left the place as soon as possible. The house, indeed, was takenfrom her; for Braddell's affairs were found in such confusion, and hisembarrassments so great, that everything was seized and sold off, --nothing left for the widow nor for the child (if the last were everdiscovered. )

As may be supposed, Mrs. Braddell was at first very clamorous for thelost child; but Jane Prior kept her promise and withheld all clew to it, and Mrs. Braddell was forced to quit the place, in ignorance of what hadbecome of it. Since then no one had heard of her; but Jane Prior saysthat she is sure she has come to no good. Now, though much of this maybe, no doubt, familiar to you, dear Jason, it is right, when I put theevidence before you, that you should know and guard against what toexpect; and in any trial at law to prove the identity of VincentBraddell, Jane Prior must be a principal witness, and will certainly notspare poor Mrs. Braddell. For the main point, however, --namely, thesuspicion of poisoning her husband, --the inquest and verdict may setaside all alarm. 

My next researches have been directed on the track of Walter Ardworth, after leaving Liverpool, which (I find by the books at the inn where helodged and was known) he did in debt to the innkeeper, the very night hereceived the charge of the child. Here, as yet, I am in fault; but Ihave ascertained that a woman, one of the sect, of the name of Joplin, living in a village fifteen miles from the town, had the care of someinfant, to replace her own, which she had lost. I am going to thisvillage to-morrow. But I cannot expect much in that quarter, since itwould seem at variance with your more probable belief that WalterArdworth took the child at once to Mr. Fielden's. However, you see Ihave already gone very far in the evidence, --the birth of the child, thedelivery of the child to Ardworth. I see a very pretty case alreadybefore us, and I do not now doubt for a moment of ultimate success. Yours, N. GRABMAN. 

Lucretia read steadily, and with no change of countenance, to the lastline of the letter. Then, as she put it down on the table before her, she repeated, with a tone of deep exultation: "No doubt of ultimatesuccess!"

"You do not fear to brave all which the spite of this woman, Jane Prior, may prompt her to say against you?" asked Varney. 

Lucretia's brow fell. "It is another torture, " she said, "even to own mymarriage with a low-born hypocrite. But I can endure it for the cause, "she added, more haughtily. "Nothing can really hurt me in these obsoleteaspersions and this vague scandal. The inquest acquitted me, and theworld will be charitable to the mother of him who has wealth and rank andthat vigorous genius which, if proved in obscurity, shall command opinionin renown. "

"You are now, then, disposed at once to proceed to action. For Helen allis prepared, --the insurances are settled, the trust for which I hold themon your behalf is signed and completed. But for Percival St. John Iawait your directions. Will it be best first to prove your son'sidentity, or when morally satisfied that that proof is forthcoming, toremove betimes both the barriers to his inheritance? If we tarry for thelast, the removal of St. John becomes more suspicious than it does at atime when you have no visible interest in his death. Besides, now wehave the occasion, or can make it, can we tell how long it will last?Again, it will seem more natural that the lover should break his heart inthe first shock of--"

"Ay, " interrupted Lucretia, "I would have all thought and contemplationof crime at an end when, clasping my boy to my heart, I can say, 'Yourmother's inheritance is yours. ' I would not have a murder before my eyeswhen they should look only on the fair prospects beyond. I would castback all the hideous images of horror into the rear of memory, so thathope may for once visit me again undisturbed. No, Gabriel, were I tospeak forever, you would comprehend not what I grasp at in a son. It isat a future! Rolling a stone over the sepulchre of the past, it is aresurrection into a fresh world; it is to know again one emotion notimpure, one scheme not criminal, --it is, in a word, to cease to be asmyself, to think in another soul, to hear my heart beat in another form. All this I covet in a son. And when all this should smile before me inhis image, shall I be plucked back again into my hell by theconsciousness that a new crime is to be done? No; wade quickly throughthe passage of blood, that we may dry our garments and breathe the airupon the bank where sun shines and flowers bloom!"

"So be it, then, " said Varney. "Before the week is out, I must be underthe same roof as St. John. Before the week is out, why not all meet inthe old halls of Laughton?"

"Ay, in the halls of Laughton. On the hearth of our ancestors the deedsdone for our descendants look less dark. "

"And first, to prepare the way, Helen should sicken in these fogs ofLondon, and want change of air. "

"Place before me that desk. I will read William Mainwaring's lettersagain and again, till from every shadow in the past a voice comes forth, 'The child of your rival, your betrayer, your undoer, stands between thedaylight and your son!'"

CHAPTER XV. 

VARIETIES. 

Leaving the guilty pair to concert their schemes and indulge theiratrocious hopes, we accompany Percival to the hovel occupied by BeckyCarruthers. 

On following Beck into the room she rented, Percival was greatlysurprised to find, seated comfortably on the only chair to be seen, noless a person than the worthy Mrs. Mivers. This good lady in herspinster days had earned her own bread by hard work. She had captivatedMr. Mivers when but a simple housemaid in the service of one of hisrelations. And while this humble condition in her earlier life mayaccount for much in her language and manners which is nowadaysinconsonant with the breeding and education that characterize the wivesof opulent tradesmen, so perhaps the remembrance of it made her unusuallysusceptible to the duties of charity. For there is no class of societymore prone to pity and relieve the poor than females in domestic service;and this virtue Mrs. Mivers had not laid aside, as many do, as soon asshe was in a condition to practise it with effect. Mrs. Mivers blushedscarlet on being detected in her visit of kindness, and hastened toexcuse herself by the information that she belonged to a society ofladies for "The Bettering the Condition of the Poor, " and that havingjust been informed of Mrs. Becky's destitute state, she had looked in torecommend her--a ventilator!

"It is quite shocking to see how little the poor attends to the properwentilating their houses. No wonder there's so much typus about!" saidMrs. Mivers. "And for one-and-sixpence we can introduce a stream of h-air that goes up the chimbly, and carries away all that it finds!". 

"I 'umbly thank you, marm, " said the poor bundle of rags that went by thename of "Becky, " as with some difficulty she contrived to stand in thepresence of the benevolent visitor; "but I am much afeard that the h-airwill make the rheumatiz very rumpatious!"

"On the contrary, on the contrary, " said Mrs. Mivers, triumphantly; andshe proceeded philosophically to explain that all the fevers, aches, pains, and physical ills that harass the poor arise from the want of anair-trap in the chimney and a perforated network in the window-pane. Becky listened patiently; for Mrs. Mivers was only a philosopher in hertalk, and she had proved herself anything but a philosopher in heractions, by the spontaneous present of five shillings, and the promise ofa basket of victuals and some good wine to keep the cold wind she invitedto the apartment out of the stomach. 

Percival imitated the silence of Becky, whose spirit was so bowed down byan existence of drudgery that not even the sight of her foster-son coulddraw her attention from the respect due to a superior. 

"And is this poor cranky-looking cretur your son, Mrs. Becky?" said thevisitor, struck at last by the appearance of the ex-sweeper as he stoodat the threshold, hat in hand. 

"No, indeed, marm, " answered Becky; "I often says, says I: 'Child, you bethe son of Sint Poll's. '"

Beck smiled proudly. 

"It was agin the grit church, marm ---- But it's a long story. My poorgood man had not a long been dead, --as good a man as hever lived, marm, "and Becky dropped a courtesy; "he fell off a scaffold, and pitched righton his 'ead, or I should not have come on the parish, marm, --and that'sthe truth on it!"

"Very well, I shall call and hear all about it; a sad case, I dare say. You see, your husband should have subscribed to our Loan Society, andthen they'd have found him a 'andsome coffin, and given three pounds tohis widder. But the poor are so benighted in these parts. I'm sure, sir, I can't guess what brought you here; but that's no business of mine. And how are all at Old Brompton?" Here Mrs. Mivers bridled indignantly. "There was a time when Miss Mainwaring was very glad to come and chatwith Mr. M. And myself; but now 'rum has riz, ' as the saying is, --not butwhat I dare say it's not her fault, poor thing! That stiff aunt ofhers, --she need not look so high; pride and poverty, forsooth!"

While delivering these conciliatory sentences, Mrs. Mivers had gatheredup her gown, and was evidently in the bustle of departure. As she nownodded to Becky, Percival stepped up, and, with his irresistible smile, offered her his arm. Much surprised and much flattered, Mrs. Miversaccepted it. As she did so, he gently detained her while he said toBecky, --"My good friend, I have brought you the poor lad to whom you havebeen a mother, to tell you that good deeds find their reward sooner orlater. As for him, make yourself easy; he will inform you of the newstep he has taken, and for you, good, kind-hearted creature, thank theboy you brought up if your old age shall be made easy and cheerful. Now, Beck, silly lad, go and tell all to your nurse! Take care of this step, Mrs. Mivers. "

As soon as he was in the street, Percival, who, if amused at theventilator, had seen the five shillings gleam on Becky's palm, and feltthat he had found under the puce-coloured gown a good woman's heart tounderstand him, gave Mrs. Mivers a short sketch of poor Becky's historyand misfortunes, and so contrived to interest her in behalf of the nursethat she willingly promised to become Percival's almoner, to execute hiscommission, to improve the interior of Becky's abode, and distributeweekly the liberal stipend he proposed to settle on the old widow. Theyhad grown, indeed, quite friendly and intimate by the time he reached thesmart plate-glazed mahogany-coloured facade within which the flourishingbusiness of Mr. Mivers was carried on; and when, knocking at the privatedoor, promptly opened by a lemon-coloured page, she invited him upstairs, it so chanced that the conversation had slid off to Helen, and Percivalwas sufficiently interested to bow assent and to enter. 

Though all the way up the stairs Mrs. Mivers, turning back at every otherstep, did her best to impress upon her young visitor's mind the importantfact that they kept their household establishment at their "willer, " andthat their apartments in Fleet Street were only a "conwenience, " thestore set by the worthy housewife upon her goods and chattels wassufficiently visible in the drugget that threaded its narrow way up thegay Brussels stair-carpet, and in certain layers of paper which protectedfrom the profanation of immediate touch the mahogany hand-rail. Andnothing could exceed the fostering care exhibited in the drawing-room, when the door thrown open admitted a view of its damask moreen curtains, pinned back from such impertinent sunbeams as could force their waythrough the foggy air of the east into the windows, and the ells ofyellow muslin that guarded the frames, at least, of a collection ofcoloured prints and two kit-kat portraitures of Mr. Mivers and his ladyfrom the perambulations of the flies. 

But Percival's view of this interior was somewhat impeded by his portlyguide, who, uttering a little exclamation of surprise, stood motionlesson the threshold as she perceived Mr. Mivers seated by the hearth inclose conference with a gentleman whom she had never seen before. Atthat hour it was so rare an event in the life of Mr. Mivers to be foundin the drawing-room, and that he should have an acquaintance unknown tohis helpmate was a circumstance so much rarer still, that Mrs. Mivers maywell be forgiven for keeping St. John standing at the door till she hadrecovered her amaze. 

Meanwhile Mr. Mivers rose in some confusion, and was apparently about tointroduce his guest, when that gentleman coughed, and pinched the host'sarm significantly. Mr. Mivers coughed also, and stammered out: "Agentleman, Mrs. M. , --a friend; stay with us a day or two. Much honoured, hum!"

Mrs. Mivers stared and courtesied, and stared again. But there was anopen, good-humoured smile in the face of the visitor, as he advanced andtook her hand, that attracted a heart very easily conciliated. Seeingthat that was no moment for further explanation, she plumped herself intoa seat and said, --

"But bless us and save us, I am keeping you standing, Mr. St. John!"

"St. John!" repeated the visitor, with a vehemence that startled Mrs. Mivers. "Your name is St. John, sir, --related to the St. Johns ofLaughton?"

"Yes, indeed, " answered Percival, with his shy, arch smile. "Laughton atpresent has no worthier owner than myself. "

The gentleman made two strides to Percival and shook him heartily by thehand. 

"This is pleasant indeed!" he exclaimed. "You must excuse my freedom;but I knew well poor old Sir Miles, and my heart warms at the sight ofhis representative. "

Percival glanced at his new acquaintance, and on the whole wasprepossessed in his favour. He seemed somewhere on the sunnier side offifty, with that superb yellow bronze of complexion which betokens longresidence under Eastern skies. Deep wrinkles near the eyes, and a darkcircle round them, spoke of cares and fatigue, and perhaps dissipation. But he had evidently a vigour of constitution that had borne him passablythrough all; his frame was wiry and nervous; his eye bright and full oflife; and there was that abrupt, unsteady, mercurial restlessness in hismovements and manner which usually accompanies the man whose sanguinetemperament prompts him to concede to the impulse, and who is blessed orcursed with a superabundance of energy, according as circumstance mayfavour or judgment correct that equivocal gift of constitution. 

Percival said something appropriate in reply to so much cordiality paidto the account of the Sir Miles whom he had never seen, and seatedhimself, colouring slightly under the influence of the fixed, pleased, and earnest look still bent upon him. 

Searching for something else to say, Percival asked Mrs. Mivers if shehad lately seen John Ardworth. 

The guest, who had just reseated himself, turned his chair round at thatquestion with such vivacity that Mrs. Mivers heard it crack. Her chairswere not meant for such usage. A shade fell over her rosy countenance asshe replied, --

"No, indeed (please, sir, them chairs is brittle)! No, he is like Madameat Brompton, and seldom condescends to favour us now. It was but lastSunday we asked him to dinner. I am sure he need not turn up his nose atour roast beef and pudding!"

Here Mr. Mivers was taken with a violent fit of coughing, which drew offhis wife's attention. She was afraid he had taken cold. 

The stranger took out a large snuff-box, inhaled a long pinch of snuff, and said to St. John, --

"This Mr. John Ardworth, a pert enough jackanapes, I suppose, --a limb ofthe law, eh?"

"Sir, " said Percival, gravely, "John Ardworth is my particular friend. It is clear that you know very little of him. "

"That's true, " said the stranger, --"'pon my life, that's very true. ButI suppose he's like all lawyers, --cunning and tricky, conceited andsupercilious, full of prejudice and cant, and a red-hot Tory into thebargain. I know them, sir; I know them!"

"Well, " answered St. John, half gayly, half angrily, "your generalexperience serves you very little here; for Ardworth is exactly theopposite of all you have described. "

"Even in politics?"

"Why, I fear he is half a Radical, --certainly more than a Whig, " answeredSt. John, rather mournfully; for his own theories were all the other way, notwithstanding his unpatriotic forgetfulness of them in his offer toassist Ardworth's entrance into parliament. 

"I am very glad to hear it, " cried the stranger, again taking snuff. "And this Madame at Brompton--perhaps I know her a little better than Ido young Mr. Ardworth--Mrs. Brad--I mean Madame Dalibard!" and thestranger glanced at Mr. Mivers, who was slowly recovering from somevigorous slaps on the back administered to him by his wife as a counter-irritant to the cough. "Is it true that she has lost the use of herlimbs?"

Percival shook his head. 

"And takes care of poor Helen Mainwaring the orphan? Well, well, thatlooks amiable enough. I must see; I must see!"

"Who shall I say inquired after her, when I see Madame Dalibard?" askedPercival, with some curiosity. 

"Who? Oh, Mr. Tomkins. She will not recollect him, though, "--and thestranger laughed, and Mr. Mivers laughed too; and Mrs. Mivers, who, indeed, always laughed when other people laughed, laughed also. SoPercival thought he ought to laugh for the sake of good company, and alllaughed together as he arose and took leave. 

He had not, however, got far from the house, on his way to his cabriolet, which he had left by Temple Bar, when, somewhat to his surprise, he foundMr. Tomkins at his elbow. 

"I beg your pardon, Mr. St. John, but I have only just returned toEngland, and on such occasions a man is apt to seem curious. This younglawyer ---- You see the elder Ardworth, a good-for-nothing scamp, was asort of friend of mine, --not exactly friend, indeed, for, by Jove, Ithink he was a worse friend to me than he was to anybody else; still Ihad a foolish interest for him, and should be glad to hear something moreabout any one bearing his name than I can coax out of that droll littlelinen draper. You are really intimate with young Ardworth, eh?"

"Intimate! poor fellow, he will not let any one be that; he works toohard to be social. But I love him sincerely, and I admire him beyondmeasure. "

"The dog has industry, then;--that's good. And does he make debts, likethat rascal, Ardworth senior?"

"Really, sir, I must say this tone with respect to Mr. Ardworth's father--"

"What the devil, sir! Do you take the father's part as well as theson's?"

"I don't know anything about Mr. Ardworth senior, " said Percival, pouting; "but I do know that my friend would not allow any one to speakill of his father in his presence; and I beg you, sir, to consider thatwhatever would offend him must offend me. "

"Gad's my life! He's the luckiest young rogue to have such a friend. Sir, I wish you a very good-day. "

Mr. Tomkins took off his hat, bowed, and passing St. John with a rapidstep, was soon lost to his eye amongst the crowd hurrying westward. 

But our business being now rather with him than Percival, we leave thelatter to mount his cabriolet, and we proceed with Mr. Mivers's mercurialguest on his eccentric way through the throng. There was an odd mixtureof thoughtful abstraction and quick observation in the soliloquy in whichthis gentleman indulged, as he walked briskly on. 

"A pretty young spark that St. John! A look of his father, buthandsomer, and less affected. I like him. Fine shop that, very! Londonwonderfully improved. A hookah in that window, --God bless me!--a realhookah! This is all very good news about that poor boy, very. Afterall, he is not to blame if his mother was such a damnable--I mustcontrive to see and judge of him myself as soon as possible. Can't trustto others; too sharp for that. What an ugly dog that is, looking afterme! It is certainly a bailiff. Hang it, what do I care for bailiffs?Hem, hem!" And the gentleman thrust his hands into his pockets, andlaughed, as the jingle of coin reached his ear through the din without. "Well, I must make haste to decide; for really there is a verytroublesome piece of business before me. Plague take her, what can havebecome of the woman? I shall have to hunt out a sharp lawyer. ButJohn's a lawyer himself. No, attorneys, I suppose, are the men. Gad!they were sharp enough when they had to hunt me. What's that great billon the wall about? 'Down with the Lords!' Pooh, pooh! Master John Bull, you love lords a great deal too much for that. A prettyish girl!English women are very good-looking, certainly. That Lucretia, whatshall I do, if ---- Ah, time enough to think of her when I have got overthat mighty stiff if!"

In such cogitations and mental remarks our traveller whiled away the timetill he found himself in Piccadilly. There, a publisher's shop (and hehad that keen eye for shops which betrays the stranger in London), withits new publications exposed at the window, attracted his notice. Conspicuous amongst the rest was the open title-page of a book, at thefoot of which was placed a placard with the enticing words, "FOURTHEDITION; JUST OUT, " in red capitals. The title of the work struck hisirritable, curious fancy; he walked into the shop, asked for the volume, and while looking over the contents with muttered ejaculations, "Good!capital! Why, this reminds one of Horne Tooke! What's the price? Verydear; must have it though, --must. Ha, ha! home-thrust there!"--whilethus turning over the leaves, and rending them asunder with hisforefinger, regardless of the paper cutter extended to him by theshopman, a gentleman, pushing by him, asked if the publisher was at home;and as the shopman, bowing very low, answered "Yes, " the new-comer dartedinto a little recess behind the shop. Mr. Tomkins, who had looked upvery angrily on being jostled so unceremoniously, started and changedcolour when he saw the face of the offender. "Saints in heaven!" hemurmured almost audibly, "what a look of that woman; and yet--no--it isgone!"

"Who is that gentleman?" he asked abruptly, as he paid for his book. 

The shopman smiled, but answered, "I don't know, sir. "

"That's a lie! You would never bow so low to a man you did not know!"

The shopman smiled again. "Why, sir, there are many who come to thishouse who don't wish us to know them. "

"Ah, I understand; you are political publishers, --afraid of libels, Idare say. Always the same thing in this cursed country; and then theytell us we are 'free!' So I suppose that gentleman has written somethingWilliam Pitt does not like. But William Pitt--ha--he's dead! Very true, so he is! Sir, this little book seems most excellent; but in my time, aman would have been sent to Newgate for printing it. " While thus runningon, Mr. Tomkins had edged himself pretty close to the recess within whichthe last-comer had disappeared; and there, seated on a high stool, hecontrived to read and to talk at the same time, but his eye and his earwere both turned every instant towards the recess. 

The shopman, little suspecting that in so very eccentric, garrulous aperson he was permitting a spy to encroach upon the secrets of the house, continued to make up sundry parcels of the new publication which had soenchanted his customer, while he expatiated on the prodigious sensationthe book had created, and while the customer himself had already caughtenough of the low conversation within the recess to be aware that theauthor of the book was the very person who had so roused his curiosity. 

Not till that gentleman, followed to the door by the polite publisher, had quitted the shop, did Mr. Tomkins put this volume in his pocket, and, with a familiar nod at the shopman, take himself off. 

He was scarcely in the street when he saw Percival St. John leaning outof his cabriolet and conversing with the author he had discovered. Hehalted a moment irresolute; but the young man, in whom our readerrecognizes John Ardworth, declining St. John's invitation to accompanyhim to Brompton, resumed his way through the throng; the cabriolet droveon; and Mr. Tomkins, though with a graver mien and a steadier step, continued his desultory rambles. Meanwhile, John Ardworth strodegloomily back to his lonely chamber. 

There, throwing himself on the well-worn chair before the crowded desk, he buried his face in his hands, and for some minutes he felt all thatprofound despondency peculiar to those who have won fame, to add to thedark volume of experience the conviction of fame's nothingness. For someminutes he felt an illiberal and ungrateful envy of St. John, so fair, solight-hearted, so favoured by fortune, so rich in friends, --in a mother'slove, and in Helen's half-plighted troth. And he, from his very birth, cut off from the social ties of blood; no mother's kiss to reward thetoils or gladden the sports of childhood; no father's cheering word upthe steep hill of man! And Helen, for whose sake he had so often, whenhis heart grew weary, nerved himself again to labour, saying, "Let me berich, let me be great, and then I will dare to tell Helen that I loveher!"--Helen smiling upon another, unconscious of his pangs! What couldfame bestow in compensation? What matter that strangers praised, and thebabble of the world's running stream lingered its brief moment round thepebble in its way. In the bitterness of his mood, he was unjust to hisrival. All that exquisite but half-concealed treasure of imagination andthought which lay beneath the surface of Helen's childlike smile hebelieved that he alone--he, soul of power and son of genius--was worthyto discover and to prize. In the pride not unfrequent with thatkingliest of all aristocracies, the Chiefs of Intellect, he forgot thegrandeur which invests the attributes of the heart; forgot that, in thelists of love, the heart is at least the equal of the mind. In thereaction that follows great excitement, Ardworth had morbidly felt, thatday, his utter solitude, --felt it in the streets through which he hadpassed; in the home to which he had returned; the burning tears, shed forthe first time since childhood, forced themselves through his claspedfingers. At length he rose, with a strong effort at self-mastery, somecontempt of his weakness, and much remorse at his ungrateful envy. Hegathered together the soiled manuscript and dingy proofs of his book, andthrust them through the grimy bars of his grate; then, opening his desk, he drew out a small packet, with tremulous fingers unfolding paper afterpaper, and gazed, with eyes still moistened, on the relics kept till thenin the devotion of the only sentiment inspired by Eros that had ever, perhaps, softened his iron nature. These were two notes from Helen, someviolets she had once given him, and a little purse she had knitted forhim (with a playful prophecy of future fortunes) when he had last leftthe vicarage. Nor blame him, ye who, with more habitual romance oftemper, and richer fertility of imagination, can reconcile the tenderestmemories with the sternest duties, if he, with all his strength, feltthat the associations connected with those tokens would but enervate hisresolves and embitter his resignation. You can guess not the extent ofthe sacrifice, the bitterness of the pang, when, averting his head, hedropped those relics on the hearth. The evidence of the desultoryambition, the tokens of the visionary love, --the same flame leaped up todevour both! It was as the funeral pyre of his youth!

"So, " he said to himself, "let all that can divert me from the true endsof my life consume! Labour, take back your son. "

An hour afterwards, and his clerk, returning home, found Ardworthemployed as calmly as usual on his Law Reports. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

THE INVITATION TO LAUGHTON. 

That day, when he called at Brompton, Percival reported to MadameDalibard his interview with the eccentric Mr. Tomkins. Lucretia seemedchafed and disconcerted by the inquiries with which that gentleman hadhonoured her, and as soon as Percival had gone, she sent for Varney. Hedid not come till late; she repeated to him what St. John had said of thestranger. Varney participated in her uneasy alarm. The name, indeed, was unknown to them, nor could they conjecture the bearer of so ordinarya patronymic; but there had been secrets enough in Lucretia's life torender her apprehensive of encountering those who had known her inearlier years; and Varney feared lest any rumour reported to St. Johnmight create his mistrust, or lessen the hold obtained upon a victimheretofore so unsuspicious. They both agreed in the expediency ofwithdrawing themselves and St. John as soon as possible from London, andfrustrating Percival's chance of closer intercourse with the stranger, who had evidently aroused his curiosity. 

The next day Helen was much indisposed; and the symptoms grew so gravetowards the evening that Madame Dalibard expressed alarm, and willinglysuffered Percival (who had only been permitted to see Helen for a fewminutes, when her lassitude was so extreme that she was obliged to retireto her room) to go in search of a physician. He returned with one of themost eminent of the faculty. On the way to Brompton, in reply to thequestions of Dr. ----, Percival spoke of the dejection to which Helenwas occasionally subject, and this circumstance confirmed Dr. ----, after he had seen his patient, in his view of the case. In addition tosome feverish and inflammatory symptoms which he trusted hisprescriptions would speedily remove, he found great nervous debility, andwillingly fell in with the casual suggestion of Varney, who was present, that a change of air would greatly improve Miss Mainwaring's generalhealth, as soon as the temporary acute attack had subsided. He did notregard the present complaint very seriously, and reassured poor Percivalby his cheerful mien and sanguine predictions. Percival remained at thehouse the whole day, and had the satisfaction, before he left, of hearingthat the remedies had already abated the fever, and that Helen had falleninto a profound sleep. Walking back to town with Varney, the last saidhesitatingly, --

"You were saying to me the other day that you feared you should have togo for a few days both to Vernon Grange and to Laughton, as your stewardwished to point out to you some extensive alterations in the managementof your woods to commence this autumn. As you were so soon coming ofage, Lady Mary desired that her directions should yield to your own. Now, since Helen is recommended change of air, why not invite MadameDalibard to visit you at one of these places? I would suggest Laughton. My poor mother-in-law I know longs to revisit the scenes of her youth, and you could not compliment or conciliate her more than by such aninvitation. "

"Oh, " said Percival, joyfully, "it would realize the fondest dream of myheart to see Helen under the old roof-tree of Laughton; but as my motheris abroad, and there is therefore no lady to receive them, perhaps--"

"Why, " interrupted Varney, "Madame Dalibard herself is almost the veryperson whom les bienseances might induce you to select to do the honoursof your house in Lady Mary's absence, not only as kinswoman to yourself, but as the nearest surviving relative of Sir Miles, --the most immediatedescendant of the St. Johns; her mature years and decorum of life, herjoint kindred to Helen and yourself, surely remove every appearance ofimpropriety. "

"If she thinks so, certainly; I am no accurate judge of such formalities. You could not oblige me more, Varney, than in pre-obtaining her consentto the proposal. Helen at Laughton! Oh, blissful thought!"

"And in what air would she be so likely to revive?" said Varney; but hisvoice was thick and husky. 

The ideas thus presented to him almost banished anxiety from Percival'sbreast. In a thousand delightful shapes they haunted him during thesleepless night; and when, the next morning, he found that Helen wassurprisingly better, he pressed his invitation upon Madame Dalibard witha warmth that made her cheek yet more pale, and the hand, which the boygrasped as he pleaded, as cold as the dead. But she briefly consented, and Percival, allowed a brief interview with Helen, had the rapture tosee her smile in a delight as childlike as his own at the news hecommunicated, and listen with swimming eye when he dwelt on the walksthey should take together amidst haunts to become henceforth dear to heras to himself. Fairyland dawned before them. 

The visit of the physician justified Percival's heightened spirits. Allthe acuter symptoms had vanished already. He sanctioned his patient'sdeparture from town as soon as Madame Dalibard's convenience wouldpermit, and recommended only a course of restorative medicines tostrengthen the nervous system, which was to commence with the followingmorning, and be persisted in for some weeks. He dwelt much on the effectto be derived from taking these medicines the first thing in the day, assoon as Helen woke. Varney and Madame Dalibard exchanged a rapid glance. Charmed with the success that in this instance had attended the skill ofthe great physician, Percival, in his usual zealous benevolence, noweagerly pressed upon Madame Dalibard the wisdom of consulting Dr. ----for her own malady; and the doctor, putting on his spectacles and drawinghis chair nearer to the frowning cripple, began to question her of herstate. But Madame Dalibard abruptly and discourteously put a stop to allinterrogatories: she had already exhausted all remedies art couldsuggest; she had become reconciled to her deplorable infirmity, and lostall faith in physicians. Some day or other she might try the baths atEgra, but till then she must be permitted to suffer undisturbed. 

The doctor, by no means wishing to undertake a case of chronic paralysis, rose smilingly, and with a liberal confession that the German baths weresometimes extremely efficacious in such complaints, pressed Percival'soutstretched hand, then slipped his own into his pocket, and bowed hisway out of the room. 

Relieved from all apprehension, Percival very good-humouredly receivedthe hint of Madame Dalibard that the excitement through which she hadgone for the last twenty-four hours rendered her unfit for his society, and went home to write to Laughton and prepare all things for thereception of his guests. Varney accompanied him. Percival found Beck inthe hall, already much altered, and embellished, by a new suit of livery. The ex-sweeper stared hard at Varney, who, without recognizing, in sosmart a shape, the squalid tatterdemalion who had lighted him up thestairs to Mr. Grabman's apartments, passed him by into Percival's littlestudy, on the ground-floor. 

"Well, Beck, " said Percival, ever mindful of others, and attributing hisgroom's astonished gaze at Varney to his admiration of that gentleman'sshowy exterior, "I shall send you down to the country to-morrow with twoof the horses; so you may have to-day to yourself to take leave of yournurse. I flatter myself you will find her rooms a little morecomfortable than they were yesterday. "

Beck heard with a bursting heart; and his master, giving him a cheeringtap on the shoulder, left him to find his way into the streets and toBecky's abode. 

He found, indeed, that the last had already undergone the magictransformation which is ever at the command of godlike wealth. Mrs. Mivers, who was naturally prompt and active, had had pleasure inexecuting Percival's commission. Early in the morning, floors had beenscrubbed, the windows cleaned, the ventilator fixed; then followedporters with chairs and tables, and a wonderful Dutch clock, and newbedding, and a bright piece of carpet; and then came two servantsbelonging to Mrs. Mivers to arrange the chattels; and finally, when allwas nearly completed, the Avatar of Mrs. Mivers herself, to give the lastfinish with her own mittened hands and in her own housewifely apron. 

The good lady was still employed in ranging a set of teacups on theshelves of the dresser when Beck entered; and his old nurse, in theoverflow of her gratitude, hobbled up to her foundling and threw her armsround his neck. 

"That's right!" said Mrs. Mivers, good-humouredly, turning round, andwiping the tear from her eye. "You ought to make much of him, poor lad, --he has turned out a godsend indeed; and, upon my word, he looks veryrespectable in his new clothes. But what is this, --a child's coral?" as, opening a drawer in the dresser, she discovered Beck's treasure. "Dearme, it is a very handsome one; why, these bells look like gold!" andsuspicion of her protege's honesty for a moment contracted her thoughtfulbrow. "However on earth did you come by this, Mrs. Becky?"

"Sure and sartin, " answered Becky, dropping her mutilated courtesy, "Ibe's glad it be found now, instead of sum days afore, or I might havebeen vicked enough to let it go with the rest to the pop-shop; and I'msure the times out of mind ven that 'ere boy was a h-urchin that I'veristed the timtashung and said, 'No, Becky Carruthers, that maun't go tomy h-uncle's!'"

"And why not, my good woman?"

"Lor' love you, marm, if that curril could speak, who knows vot it mightsay, --eh, lad, who knows? You sees, marm, my good man had not a longbeen dead; I could not a get no vork no vays. 'Becky Carruthers, ' saysI, 'you must go out in the streets a begging!' I niver thought I shoulda come to that. But my poor husband, you sees, marm, fell from ascaffol', --as good a man as hever--"

"Yes, yes, you told me all that before, " said Mrs. Mivers, growingimpatient, and already diverted from her interest in the coral by a newcargo, all bright from the tinman, which, indeed, no lessinstantaneously, absorbed the admiration both of Beck and his nurse. Andwhat with the inspection of these articles, and the comments eachprovoked, the coral rested in peace on the dresser till Mrs. Mivers, whenjust about to renew her inquiries, was startled by the sound of the Dutchclock striking four, --a voice which reminded her of the lapse of time andher own dinner-hour. So, with many promises to call again and have agood chat with her humble friend, she took her departure, amidst theblessings of Becky, and the less noisy, but not less grateful, salutations of Beck. 

Very happy was the evening these poor creatures passed together overtheir first cup of tea from the new bright copper kettle and the almostforgotten luxury of crumpets, in which their altered circumstancespermitted them without extravagance to indulge. In the course ofconversation Beck communicated how much he had been astonished byrecognizing the visitor of Grabman, the provoker of the irritable grave-stealer, in the familiar companion of his master; and when Becky told himhow often, in the domestic experience her vocation of charing hadaccumulated, she had heard of the ruin brought on rich young men bygamblers and sharpers, Beck promised to himself to keep a sharp eye onGrabman's showy acquaintance. "For master is but a babe, like, " said he, majestically; "and I'd be cut into mincemeat afore I'd let an 'air on his'ead come to 'arm, if so be's h-as 'ow I could perwent it. "

We need not say that his nurse confirmed him in these good resolutions. 

"And now, " said Beck, when the time came for parting, "you'll keep fromthe gin-shop, old 'oman, and not shame the young master?"

"Sartin sure, " answered Becky; "it is only ven vun is down in the vorldthat vun goes to the Ticker-shop. Now, h-indeed, "--and she looked roundvery proudly, --"I 'as a 'spectable stashion, and I vould n't go for tolower it, and let 'em say that Becky Carruthers does not know how toconduct herself. The curril will be safe enuff now; but p'r'aps you hadbest take it yourself, lad. "

"Vot should I do vith it? I've had enuff of the 'sponsibility. Put itup in a 'ankerchiff, and p'r'aps ven master gets married, and 'as a babbyvots teethin', he vil say, 'Thank ye, Beck, for your curril. ' Vould notthat make us proud, mammy?"

Chuckling heartily at that vision, Beck kissed his nurse, and trying hardto keep himself upright, and do credit to the dignity of his cloth, returned to his new room over the stables. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

THE WAKING OF THE SERPENT. 

And how, O Poet of the sad belief, and eloquence "like ebony, at oncedark and splendid [It was said of Tertullian that "his style was likeebony, dark and splendid"], " how couldst thou, august Lucretius, deem itbut sweet to behold from the steep the strife of the great sea, or, safefrom the peril, gaze on the wrath of the battle, or, serene in thetemples of the wise, look afar on the wanderings of human error? Is itso sweet to survey the ills from which thou art delivered? Shall not thestrong law of SYMPATHY find thee out, and thy heart rebuke thyphilosophy? Not sweet, indeed, can be man's shelter in self when he saysto the storm, "I have no bark on the sea;" or to the gods of the battle, "I have no son in the slaughter;" when he smiles unmoved upon Woe, andmurmurs, "Weep on, for these eyes know no tears;" when, unappalled, hebeholdeth the black deeds of crime, and cries to his conscience, "Thouart calm. " Yet solemn is the sight to him who lives in all life, --seeksfor Nature in the storm, and Providence in the battle; loses self in thewoe; probes his heart in the crime; and owns no philosophy that sets himfree from the fetters of man. Not in vain do we scan all the contrastsin the large framework of civilized earth if we note "when the dustgroweth into hardness, and the clods cleave fast together. " Range, OArt, through all space, clasp together in extremes, shake idle wealthfrom its lethargy, and bid States look in hovels where the teacher isdumb, and Reason unweeded runs to rot! Bid haughty Intellect pause inits triumph, and doubt if intellect alone can deliver the soul from itstempters! Only that lives uncorrupt which preserves in all seasons thehuman affections in which the breath of God breathes and is. Go forth tothe world, O Art, go forth to the innocent, the guilty, the wise, and thedull; go forth as the still voice of Fate! Speak of the insecurity evenof goodness below; carry on the rapt vision of suffering Virtue through"the doors of the shadows of death;" show the dim revelation symbolledforth in the Tragedy of old, --how incomplete is man's destiny, howundeveloped is the justice divine, if Antigone sleep eternally in theribs of the rock, and Oedipus vanish forever in the Grove of the Furies. Here below, "the waters are hid with a stone, and the face of the deep isfrozen;" but above liveth He "who can bind the sweet influence of thePleiades, and loose the bands of Orion. " Go with Fate over the bridge, and she vanishes in the land beyond the gulf! Behold where the Eternaldemands Eternity for the progress of His creatures and the vindication ofHis justice!

It was past midnight, and Lucretia sat alone in her dreary room; her headburied on her bosom, her eyes fixed on the ground, her hands resting onher knees, --it was an image of inanimate prostration and decrepitude thatmight have moved compassion to its depth. The door opened, and Marthaentered, to assist Madame Dalibard, as usual, to retire to rest. Hermistress slowly raised her eyes at the noise of the opening door, andthose eyes took their searching, penetrating acuteness as they fixed uponthe florid nor uncomely countenance of the waiting-woman. 

In her starched cap, her sober-coloured stuff gown, in her prim, quietmanner and a certain sanctified demureness of aspect, there was somethingin the first appearance of this woman that impressed you with the notionof respectability, and inspired confidence in those steady good qualitieswhich we seek in a trusty servant. But more closely examined, anhabitual observer might have found much to qualify, perhaps to disturb, his first prepossessions. The exceeding lowness of the forehead, overwhich that stiff, harsh hair was so puritanically parted; the severehardness of those thin, small lips, so pursed up and constrained; even acertain dull cruelty in those light, cold blue eyes, --might have causedan uneasy sentiment, almost approaching to fear. The fat grocer's spoiltchild instinctively recoiled from her when she entered the shop to makeher household purchases; the old, gray-whiskered terrier dog at thepublic-house slunk into the tap when she crossed the threshold. 

Madame Dalibard silently suffered herself to be wheeled into theadjoining bedroom, and the process of disrobing was nearly completedbefore she said abruptly, --

"So you attended Mr. Varney's uncle in his last illness. Did he suffermuch?"

"He was a poor creature at best, " answered Martha; "but he gave me a dealof trouble afore he went. He was a scranny corpse when I strecked himout. "

Madame Dalibard shrank from the hands at that moment employed uponherself, and said, --

"It was not, then, the first corpse you have laid out for the grave?"

"Not by many. "

"And did any of those you so prepared die of the same complaint?"

"I can't say, I'm sure, " returned Martha. "I never inquires how folksdie; my bizness was to nurse 'em till all was over, and then to sit up. As they say in my country, 'Riving Pike wears a hood when the weatherbodes ill. '" [If Riving Pike do wear a hood, The day, be sure, will ne'er be good. A Lancashire Distich. ]

"And when you sat up with Mr. Varney's uncle, did you feel no fear in thedead of the night, --that corpse before you, no fear?"

"Young Mr. Varney said I should come to no harm. Oh, he's a clever man!What should I fear, ma'am?" answered Martha, with a horrid simplicity. 

"You have belonged to a very religious sect, I think I have heard yousay, --a sect not unfamiliar to me; a sect to which great crime is veryrarely known?"

"Yes, ma'am, some of 'em be tame enough, but others be weel [whirlpool]deep!"

"You do not believe what they taught you?"

"I did when I was young and silly. "

"And what disturbed your belief?"

"Ma'am, the man what taught me, and my mother afore me, was the first Iever kep' company with, " answered Martha, without a change in her floridhue, which seemed fixed in her cheek, as the red in an autumn leaf. "After he had ruined me, as the girls say, he told me as how it was allsham!"

"You loved him, then?"

"The man was well enough, ma'am, and he behaved handsome and got me ahusband. I've known better days. "

"You sleep well at night?"

"Yes, ma'am, thank you; I loves my bed. "

"I have done with you, " said Madame Dalibard, stifling a groan, as now, placed in her bed, she turned to the wall. Martha extinguished thecandle, leaving it on the table by the bed, with a book and a box ofmatches, for Madame Dalibard was a bad sleeper, and often read in thenight. She then drew the curtains and went her way. 

It might be an hour after Martha had retired to rest that a hand wasstretched from the bed, that the candle was lighted, and LucretiaDalibard rose; with a sudden movement she threw aside the coverings, andstood in her long night-gear on the floor. Yes, the helpless, paralyzedcripple rose, was on her feet, --tall, elastic, erect! It was as aresuscitation from the grave. Never was change more startling than thatsimple action effected, --not in the form alone, but the whole characterof the face. The solitary light streamed upward on a countenance onevery line of which spoke sinister power and strong resolve. If you hadever seen her before in her false, crippled state, prostrate andhelpless, and could have seen her then, --those eyes, if haggard still, now full of life and vigour; that frame, if spare, towering aloft incommanding stature, perfect in its proportions as a Grecian image ofNemesis, --your amaze would have merged into terror, so preternatural didthe transformation appear, so did aspect and bearing contradict the verycharacter of her sex, uniting the two elements most formidable in man orin fiend, --wickedness and power. 

She stood a moment motionless, breathing loud, as if it were a joy tobreathe free from restraint; and then, lifting the light, and gliding tothe adjoining room, she unlocked a bureau in the corner, and bent over asmall casket, which she opened with a secret spring. 

Reader, cast back your eye to that passage in this history when LucretiaClavering took down the volume from the niche in the tapestried chamberat Laughton, and numbered, in thought, the hours left to her uncle'slife. Look back on the ungrateful thought; behold how it has swelled andripened into the guilty deed! There, in that box, Death guards histreasure crypt. There, all the science of Hades numbers its murderousinventions. As she searched for the ingredients her design had pre-selected, something heavier than those small packets she deranged fell tothe bottom of the box with a low and hollow sound. She started at thenoise, and then smiled, in scorn of her momentary fear, as she took upthe ring that had occasioned the sound, --a ring plain and solid, likethose used as signets in the Middle Ages, with a large dull opal in thecentre. What secret could that bauble have in common with its ghastlycompanions in Death's crypt? This had been found amongst Olivier'spapers; a note in that precious manuscript, which had given to the handsof his successors the keys of the grave, had discovered the mystery ofits uses. By the pressure of the hand, at the touch of a concealedspring, a barbed point flew forth steeped in venom more deadly than theIndian extracts from the bag of the cobar de capello, --a venom to whichno antidote is known, which no test can detect. It corrupts the wholemass of the blood; it mounts in frenzy and fire to the brain; it rendsthe soul from the body in spasm and convulsion. But examine the dead, and how divine the effect of the cause! How go back to the records ofthe Borgias, and amidst all the scepticisms of times in which, happily, such arts are unknown, unsuspected, learn from the hero of Machiavel howa clasp of the hand can get rid of a foe! Easier and more natural topoint to the living puncture in the skin, and the swollen flesh round it, and dilate on the danger a rusty nail--nay, a pin--can engender when thehumours are peccant and the blood is impure! The fabrication of thatbauble, the discovery of Borgia's device, was the masterpiece in thescience of Dalibard, --a curious and philosophical triumph of research, hitherto unused by its inventor and his heirs; for that casket is rich inthe choice of more gentle materials: but the use yet may come. As shegazed on the ring, there was a complacent and proud expression onLucretia's face. 

"Dumb token of Caesar Borgia, " she murmured, --"him of the wisest head andthe boldest hand that ever grasped at empire, whom Machiavel, thevirtuous, rightly praised as the model of accomplished ambition! Whyshould I falter in the paths which he trod with his royal step, onlybecause my goal is not a throne? Every circle is as complete in itself, whether rounding a globule or a star. Why groan in the belief that themind defiles itself by the darkness through which it glides on itsobject, or the mire through which it ascends to the hill? Murderer as hewas, poisoner, and fratricide, did blood clog his intellect, or crimeimpoverish the luxury of his genius? Was his verse less melodious [It iswell known that Caesar Borgia was both a munificent patron and anexquisite appreciator of art; well known also are his powers ofpersuasion but the general reader may not, perhaps, be acquainted withthe fact that this terrible criminal was also a poet], or his love of artless intense, or his eloquence less persuasive, because he sought toremove every barrier, revenge every wrong, crush every foe?"

In the wondrous corruption to which her mind had descended, thus murmuredLucretia. Intellect had been so long made her sole god that the verymonster of history was lifted to her reverence by his ruthless intellectalone, --lifted in that mood of feverish excitement when conscience, oftenless silenced, lay crushed, under the load of the deed to come, into anexample and a guide. 

Though at times, when looking back, oppressed by the blackest despair, noremorse of the past ever weakened those nerves when the Hour called upits demon, and the Will ruled the rest of the human being as a machine. 

She replaced the ring, she reclosed the casket, relocked its depository;then passed again into the adjoining chamber. 

A few minutes afterwards, and the dim light that stole from the heavens(in which the moon was partially overcast) through the casement on thestaircase rested on a shapeless figure robed in black from head to foot, --a figure so obscure and undefinable in outline, so suited to the gloomin its hue, so stealthy and rapid in its movements, that had you startedfrom sleep and seen it on your floor, you would perforce have deemed thatyour fancy had befooled you!

Thus darkly, through the darkness, went the Poisoner to her prey.