(QarncU Ittiuerattg Siibtarg Jtlfara, Nrtn f orh FROM THE BENNO LOEWY LIBRARY COLLECTED BY BENNO LOEWY 1854-1919 BEQUEATHED TO CORNELL UNIVERSITY Cornell University Library PR5214.S5 A simpleton, and The wandering heir [a no 3 1924 013 538 867 Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013538867 BY THE SAME AUTHOR. Novels^ CompietSy Household Edition, Published with the Author's sanction. In Eleven Volumes. Bound in green morocco cloth, with gilt back and side. Hard Cash, i vol. ^The Cloister and the Hearth, i vol. Foul Play, i vol. .^ever Too Late to Mend- i vol. ^ White Lies, i vol. Peg Woffington, Christie Johnstone, r ' Love Me Little, Love Me Long. and other stories, i voL I voL Put Yourself in His Place, i voL Griffith Gaunt, i vol. A Terrible Temptation, i vol. •^A Simpleton, &c. i vol. Price per volume^ Cloth, $1.00. Half-Calf ^ $2.25. THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. T vol. 8vo. Paper covers . $ '35 A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION. Illustrated.- I vol. 8vo. Paper, 30 cents ; cloth i.oo FOUL PLAY. A Novel. Illustrated. 8vo. Paper covers, 25 cents; cloth 1.00 THE WANDERING HEIR. 1 vol. i6mo 1.00 *** For sale by all Booksellers. Sent; postpaid, on receipt ofprice^ by ike publisliers^ JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO., BOSTON. A SIMPLETON, THE WANDERING HEIR. CHARLES READE. HOUSEHOLD EDITION. BOSTON : JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, (L&T£ TICENOR ft FIELDS, AND FIELDS, OSGOOD, ft CO.) 1873- author's edition. Boston : Stereotyped and Printed by Randy A very^ &* Co% CONTENTS. PAGE A Simpleton .-,...... 1 The Wandering Hkir 213 A SIMPLETON. CHAPTER I. A YOUNG lady sat pricking a framed canvas in the drawing- room of Kent Villa, a mile from Gravesend. She was making, at a cost of time and tinted wool, a chair- cover, admirahly unfit to be sat up- on — except by some peevish artist bent on obliterating discordant col- ors. To do her justice, her mind was not in her work ; for she rustled softly with restlessness as she sat, and she rose three times in twenty minutes, and went to the window. Thence she looked down over a trim flowery lawn, and long sloping meadows, on to the silver Thames, alive with steamboats ploughing, white sails bellying, and great ships carrying to and fro the treasures of the globe. From this fair landscape and epitome of commerce she retired each time with listless disdain. She was waiting for somebody. Yet she was one of those whom few men care to keep waiting. Eo- sa Lusignan was a dark but dazzling beauty, with coal-black hair and glorious dark eyes that seemed to beam with soul all day long ; her eyebrows, black, straightish, and rather thick, would have been majes- tic, and too severe, had the other features followed suit ; but her black brows were succeeded by long silky lashes, a sweet oval face, two pout- ing lips studded with ivory, and an exquisite chin, as feeble as any man could desire in the partner of hig bosom. Person straight, elastic, and rather tall. Mind, nineteen. Accomplishments, numerous: a poor French scholar, a worse German, a worst English ; an admirable dancer, a.n inaccurate musician, a good rider, a bad draughtswoman ; a bad hair- dresser, at the mercy of her maid ; a hot theologian, knowing nothing ; a sorry accountant, no housekeeper, no seamstress, a fair embroideress, a capital geographer, and no cook. Collectively, namely, mind and body, the girl we kneel to. This ornamental member of soci- ety now glanced at the clock once more, and then glided to the window for the fourth time. She peeped at the side a good while with superflu- ous slyness, or shyness ; and present- ly she drew back, blushing crimson : then she peeped again, still more furtively, then retired softly to her frame, and, for the first time, set to work in earnest. As she plied her harpoon, smiling now, the large and vivid blush that had suffused her face and throat turned from carna- tion to rose, and melted away slowly but perceptibly, and ever so sweetly ; and somebody knocked at the street- door. The blow seemed to drive her deeper into her work. She leaned 1 A SIMPLETON. over it, graceful as a willow, and so absorbed she could not even see the door of the room open, and Dr. Staines come in. All the better ; her not perceiving that slight addition to her furniture gives me a moment to describe him. A young man, five feet eleven inches high, very square-shouldered and deep-chested, but so symmetrical and light in his movements that his size hardly struck one at first. He was smooth shaved, all but a short, thick auburn whisker ; his hair was brown. His features no more than comely ; the brow full ; the eyes wide apart and deep-seated; the lips rath- er thin, but expressive; the chin solid and square. It was a face of power, and capable of harshness, but leavened by an eye of an unusual color, between hazel and gray, and wonderfully tender. In complexion he could not compare with Rosa : his cheek was clear but pale ; for few young men had studied night and day so constantly. Though but twenty-eight years of age, he was lit> erally a learned physician, deep in hospital practice, deep in books, es- pecially deep in German science, — too often neglected or skimmed by English physicians. He had deliv- ered a course of lectures at a learned university with general applause. As my reader has divined, Bosa was preparing the comedy of a cool reception ; but, looking up, she saw his pale cheek tinted with a lover's beautiful joy at the bare sight of her, and his soft eye so divine with love that she had not the heart to chill him. She gave him her hand kind- ly, and smiled brightly on him in- stead of remonstrating. She lost notliin^' by it ; for the very first thing he did was to excuse himself eagerly. " I am behind time : the fact is, just as I was mounting my horse, a poor man came to the gate to consult me. He had a terrible disorder I have sometimes succeeded in arresting. I attack the cause instead of the symptoms, which is the old practice and so that detained me. You for- give me ? " " Of course. Poor man ! Only you said you wanted to see papa, and he always goes out at two." When she had been betrayed into saying this, she drew in suddenly, and blushed with a pretty conscious- ness. " Then don't let me lose another minute," said the lover. " Have you prepared him for — for what I am going to have the audacity to say ? " Rosa answered, with some hesita- tion, " I must have, a little. When I refused Col. Bright — you need not devour my hand quite; he is for- ty." Her sentence ended ; and away went the original topic, and gram- matical sequence along with it. Christopher Staines recaptured them both. " Yes, dear, when you re- fused Col. Bright — " Well, papa was astonished ; for everybody says the colonel is a most eligible match. Don't you hate that expression ? I do. Eligi- ble ! " Christopher made due haste, and recaptured her. " Yes, love, your papa said " — " I don't think I will teU you. He asked me was there anybody else ; and of course I said, ' No.' " "Oh!" " Oh, that is nothing I I had not time to make up my mind to tell the truth. Iwas takenbysm-prise; and you know one's first impulse is to fib — about that." " But did you really deceive him ■? " " No. I blushed ; and he caught me : so he said, ' Come now, there was.' " " And you said, ' Yes, there is,' like a bravo girl as you are." " What ! plump like that? No : I was frightened out of my wits, like a brave girl as I am not, and said I should never marry any one he could disapprove; and then — Oh ! then I believe I began to cry. A SIMPLETON. Christopher, I'll tell you something. I tind people leave off teasing you when you cry — gentlemen, I mean. Ladies go on all the more. So then dear papa kissed me, and told me I must not be imprudent and throw myself away, that was all; and I promised him I never would. I said he would be sure to approve my choice, and he said he hoped so. And so he will." Dr. Staines looked thoughtful, and said he hoped so too. " But now it comes to the point of asking him for such a treasure, I feel my deficiencies." " Why, what deficiencies ? You are young and handsome and good, and ever so much cleverer than oth- er people. You have only to ask for me, and insist on having me. Come, deas, go and get it-over." She add- ed, mighty coolly, " There is noth- ing so dreadful as suspense." " I'll go this minute," said he, and took a step toward the door ; but he turned, and in a moment was at her knees. He took both her hands in his, and pressed them to his beating bosom, while his beauti- ful eyes poured love into hers point blank. " May I tell him you love me? Oh! I know you cannot love me as I love you; but I may say you love me a little, may I not? That will go farther with him than any thing else. May I, Rosa, may I? — a little?" His passion mastered her. She drooped her head sweetly on his shoulder, and murmured, " You know you may, my own. Who would not love you ? " He parted lingeringly from her, then marched away, bold with love and hope, to demand her hand in marriage. Eosa ' leaned back in her chair, and quivered a little with new emo- tions. Christopher was right : she was not capable of loving like him ; but still the actual contact of so strong a passion made her woman's nature vibrate. A dewy tear hung on the fringes of her long lashes ; and she leaned back in her chair, and fluttered a while. That emotion, almost new to her, soon yielded, in her girlish mind, to a complacent languor, and that, in its turn, to a soft reverie. So she was going to be married ! To be mistress of a house, settle in Lon- don { that she had quite determined long ago ) ; be able to go out into the streets all alone, to shop or visit ; have a gentleman all her own, whom she could put her finger on any moment, and make him take her about, even to the opera and the theatre ; to give dinner-parties her own self, and even a little ball once in a way ; to buy whatever dresses she thought proper, instead of being crippled by an allowance ; have the legal right of speaking first in soci- ety, even to gentlemen rich in ideas but bad starters, instead of sitting mum-chance and mock-modest ; to be mistress instead of miss — con- temptible title; to be a woman in- stead of a girl ; and all this rational liberty, domestic power, and social dignity were to be obtained by mere- ly wedding a dear fellow who loved her, and was so nice : and the bright career to be ushered in with several delights, each of them dear to a girl's very soul, — presents from all her friends ; as many beautiful new dresses as if she was changing her body or her hemisphere instead of her name ; &lat ; going to church, which is a good English girl's thea- tre of display and temple of vanity, anil there tasting delightful publicity and whispered admiration, in a heav- enly long veil, which she could not wear even once if she remained sin- gle. This bright variegated picture of holy wedlock and its essential fea- tures, as revealed to young ladies by feminine tradition, though not enu- merated in the Book of Common Prayer composed by males, so en- tranced her that time flew by un- heeded, and Christopher Staines A SIMPLETON. came bad? from her father. His step was heavy : he looked pale and deeply distressed ; then stood like a statu?, and did not come close to her, but cast a piteous look, and gasped out one word, that seemed almost to choke him, — " Refuse!) ! " Miss Lusifjnan rose from her chair, and lookedalmostwildly at him witii her great eyes. " Refused 1 " said she faintly. " Yes," said he sadly. " Your father is a man of business ; and he took a mere business view of our love : he asked me directly what pro- vision [ could make for his daughter and her children. Well, I told him I had three thousand pounds in the Funds, and a good profession ; and then I said I had youth, health, and love, boundless love, the love that can do or suffer, the love that can conquer the world.'* " Dear Christopher ! And what could he say to all that % " " He ignored it entirely. There, I'll give you his very words. He said, ' In that case. Dr. Staines, the simple question is, what does your profession bring you in per an- num ■? ' " " Oh ! There, I always hated arithmetic ; and now I abominate it." " Then I was obliged to confess I had scarcely received a hundred pounds in fees this year; but I told him the reason: this is such a small district, and all the ground occupied. London, I said, was my sphere." " And so it is," said Rosa eagerly ; for this jumped with her own little designs. " Genius is wasted in the country. Besides, whenever any- body worth curing is ill down here, they always send to London for a doctor." " I told him so, dearest," said the lover. " But ho answered me di- rectly, then I must set up in Lon- don ; and, as soon as my books showed an income to keep a wife and servants and children, and insure my life for five thousand pounds " — " Oh, that is so like papa ! He is director of an insurance company ; so all the world must insure their lives." " No, dear, he was quite right there: professional incomes are most precarious. Death spares neither young nor old, neither warm hearts nor cold. I should be no true phy- sician if I could not see my own mortality." He hung his head, and ponilered a moment; then went on sadly, "It all comes to this: until 1 have a professional income of eight hundred a year at least, he will not hear of our marrying : and the cruel thing is, he will not even consent to an engagement. But," said the re- jected, with a look of sad anxiety, " you will wait for me without (^at, dear Rosa ? " She could give him that comfort; and. she gave it him with loving earnestness. " Of course I will ; and it shall not be very long. While you are making your fortune to please papa, I will keep fretting and pouting and crying till he sends for you." " Bless you, dearest. Stop ! not to make yourself ill ! not for all the world." There spoke the lover and the physician. He came, all gratitude, to her side ; and they sat, hand in hand, comforting each other; indeed, part- ing was such sweet sorrow that they sat, and very close to one another, till Mr. Lusignan, who thought five minutes quite enough for rational hoings to take leave in, walked into the room and surprised them. At sight of his gray hend and iron- gray eyebrows, Christopher Staines started up and looked confused : he thouirht some ajiology neces>ai'y, so he faltered out, "Forgive me,' sir; it is a bitter parting to me, you may be sure." Rosa's bosom heaved at these sim- ple words. She fiew to her father, and cried, " O papa I papa ! you A SIMPLETON. were never cruel before," and hid her burning face on his shoulder ; and then burst out crying, partly for Christopher, partly because she was now ashamed of herself for having taken a young man's part so openly. Mr. Lusignan looked sadly dis- composed at this outburst ; she had taken him by his weak point; he told her so. " Now, Rosa," said he, rather peevishly, " you know I hate a noise." Kosa had actually forgotten that trait for a single moment; but, being reminded of it, she reduced her sobs in the prettiest way, not to offend a tender parent wJio could not bear noise. Under this homely term, you must know he included all scenes, disturbances, rumpuses, passions, and expected all men, women, and things in Kent Villa to go smoothly, or go elsewhere. " Come, young people," said he, "don't make a disturbance. Where's the grievance ? Have I said he should never marry you ? Have I forbidden him to correspond, or even to call, say twice a year ? AH I say is, no marriage, nor contract of mar- riage, until there is an income." Then he turned to Christopher. " Now, if you can't make an income without her, how could you make one with her, weighed down by the load of expenses a wife entails ? I know her better than you do. She is a good girl, but rather luxurious and self-indulent. She is not cut out for a poor man's wife ; and pray don't go and fancy that nobody loves my child but you. Mine is not so hot as yours, of course ; but believe me, sir, it is less selfish. You would expose her to poverty and misery ; but I say no. It is my duty to pro- tect her from all chance of them ; and, in doing it, I am as much your friend as hers, if you could but see it. Come, Dr. Staines, be a man, and seethe world as it is. I have told you how to earn my daughter's hand and my esteem : you must gain both or neither. 1* Dr. Staines was never quite deaf to reason : he now put his hand to his brow, and said, with a sort of wonder and pitiful dismay, " My love for Rosa selfish ! Sir, your words are bitter and hard." Then, after a struggle, and with rare and touching candor, " Ay, but so are bark and steel ; yet they are good medicines." Then, with a great glow in his heart, and tears in his eyes, " My darling shall not be a poor man's wife, — she who would adorn a coronet, ay, or a crown. Good-by, Rosa, for the present." He darted to her, and kissed her hand with all his soul. " Oh, the sacrifice of leaving you ! " he faltered : " the very world is dark to me without you. Ah, well, I must earn the right to come again ! " He summoned all his manhood, and marched to the door. There he seemed to turn calmer all of a sud- den, and said, firmly yet humbly, " I'll try and show you, sir, what love can do." "And I'll show you what love can suflfer," said Rosa, folding her beautiful arms superbly. It was not in her to have shot such a bolt except in imitation ; yet how promptly the mimic thunder came, and how grand the beamy looked, with her dark brows and flashing eyes and folded arms ! nmch grand- er and more inspired than poor Staines, who had only furnished the idea. But between these two figures, swelling with emotion, the represent- ative of common sense, Lusignan pere, stood cool and impassive: he shrugged his shoulders, and looked on both lovers as a couple of rant- ing novices he was saving from each other and almshouses. For all that, when the lover had torn himself away, papa's compos- ure was suddenly disturbed by a misgiving. He stepped hastily to the stair-head, and gave it vent. "Dr. Staines," said he, in a loud whisper (Staines was half-way down the stairs: he stopped), "I 6 A SIMPLETON. trust to you, as a gentleman, not to mention this ; it will never transpire here. Whatever we do, no noise ! " CHAPTER II. EosA LusiGNAN Set herself pin- ing as she had promised, and she did it discreetly for so young a person ; she was never peevish, but always sad and listless. By this means she did not anger her parent, but only made him feel she was unhappy, and the house she had hitherto bright- ened exceeding dismal. By degrees this noiseless melan- choly undermined the old gentle- man ; and he well nigh tottered. But one day, calling suddenly on a neighbor with six daughters, he heard peals of laughter, and found Rosa, taking her full share of the senseless mirth. She pulled up short at sight of him, and colored high; but it was too late, for he launched a knowing look at her on the spot, and muttered something about seven foolish virgins. He took the first opportunity when tliey were alone, and told her he was glad to find she was only dis- mal at home. But Rosa had prepared for him. " One can be loud without being gay at heart," said she, with a lofty, languid air. " I have not forgotten your last words to him. We were to hide our broken hearts from the world. I try to obey you, dear pa- pa ; but, if I had my way, I would never go into the world at all. I have but one desire now, — to end my days in a convent." " Please begin them first. A con- vent ! Why, you'd turn it out of window. You are no more fit to be a nun than — a pauper." Not having foreseen this facer, Rosa had nothing ready : so she re- ceived it with a sad, submissive, helpless sigh, as one who should say, "Hit me, papa: I have no friend now." So then he was son-y he had been so clever; and, indeed, there is one provoking thing about " a woman's weakness," it is in- vincible. The next minute what should come but a long letter from Dr. Staines, detailing his endeavors to purchase a practice in London, and his ill-success. The letter spoke the language of love and hope, but the facts were discouraging ; and indeed a touching sadness pierced through the veirof the brave words. Rosa read it again and again, and cried over it before her father, to discourage him in -his heartless be- havior. About ten days after this, some- thing occurred that altered her mood. She became grave and thoughtful, but no longer lugubrious. She seem- ed desirous to atone to herfalher for having disturbed his cheerfulness. She smiled affectionately on him, and often sat on a stool at his knee, and glided her hand into his. He was not a little pleased, and said to himself, " She is coming round to common sense." Now, on the contrary, she was farther- from it than ever. At last he got the clew. One af- ternoon he met Mr. Wyman coming out of the villa. Mr. Wyman was the consulting surgeon of that part. "What! any body ill ■?" said Mr. Lusignan : " one of the servants 1 " " No : it is Miss Lusignan." "Why, what is the matter with herV Wyman hesitated. "Oh, noth- ing very alarming ! Would you mind asking her 1 " " Why f •' " The fiict is, she requested me notto tell you, — made me promise." "And I insist upon your telling me." " I think you are quite right, sir, as her father. Well, she is troubled with a little spitting of blood." A SIMPLETON. Mr. Lusignan turned pale. " My child ! spitting of blood ! God for- bid ! " "Oh, do not alarm yourself! It is nothing serious." " Don't tell me," said the father. " It is always serious. And she kept this from me ! " Masking his agitation for the time, he inquired how often it had occurred; — this grave symptom. " Three or four times this last month. But I may as well tell you at once, I have examined her care- fully, and I do not think it is from the lungs." " From the throat, then ? " " No, from the liver. Every thing points to that organ as the seat of derangement: not that there is any lesion; only a tendency to conges- tion. I am treating her according- ly, and have no doubt of the result." " Who is the ablest physician hereabouts t " asked Lusignau ab- ruptly. "Dr. Snell, I think." "Give me his address." " I'll write to him if you like, and appoint a consultation." He ad- ded, with vast but rather sudden alacrity, " It will be a great satisfac- tion to my own mind." " Then send to him, if you please, and. let him be here to-morrow morning; if not, I shall take her to London for advice at once." On this understanding they part- ed ; and Lusignan went at once to his daughter. "0 my child!" said he, .deeply distressed, "how could you hide tliis from me 1 " " Hide what, papa 1 " said the girl, looking the picture of uncon- sciousness. " That you have been spitting blood." " Who told you that ? " said she sharply. " Wyman ; he is attending you." Eosa colored with anger. " Chat- terbox ! He promised me faithfully not to." "But why, in. Heaven's name? What! would you trust this terri- ble thing to a stranger, and hide it from your poor father "i " " Yes," repUed Eosa quietly. The old man would not scold her now : he only said sadly, " I see how it is : because I will not let you marry poverty, you think I do not love you." And he sighed. "O papa!* the idea!" said Eo- sa. " Of course I know you love me. It was not that, you dear, dar- ling, foolish papa. There, if you must know, it was because I did not want you to be distressed. I thought I might get better with a little phy- sic ; and if not, why then I thought, ' Papa is an old man ; la ! I dare say I shall last his time;' and so, why should I poison your latter days with worrying about me ? " Mr. Lusignan stared at her, and his lip quivered ; but he thought the trait hardly consistent with her su- perficial character. He could not help saying, half-sadly, half-bitterly, " \Vell, but of course you have told Dr. S tames." Eosa opened her beautiful eyes like two suns. " Of course I have done nothing of the sort. He has enough to trouble him without that. Poor fellow ! there he is, worrying and striving to make his fortune and gain your esteem : ' they -go together,' you know you told him so." (Young cats will scratch when least expected.) "And for me to go and tell-him I am in dan- ger ! Why, he would go wild ; he would think of nothing but me and my health ; he would never make his fortune ; and so then, even when I am gone, he will never get a wife, because he has only got genius and goodness and three thousand pounds. No, papa, I have not told poor Christopher. I may tease those I love ; I liave been teasing i/ou this ever so long : but frighten them and make them miserable f No." And here, thinking of the anguish that was perhaps in store for those she loved, she wanted to cry; it al- A SIMPLETON. most choked her not to. But she fought it bravely down : she re- served her tears for lighter occasions and less noble sentiments. Her father held out his arms to her ; she ran her footstool to him, and sat nestling to his heart. "Please forgive me my miscon- duct. I have not been a dutilul daughter ever sine? you — But now I will. Kiss me, my own papa. There ! Now we are as we always were." Then she purred to him on every possible topic but the one that now filled his parental heart, and bade him good-night at last with a cheer- ful smile. Wyman was exact ; and ten min- utes afterward Dr. Snell drove up in a carriage and pair. He was inter- cepted in the hall by Wyman, and, after a few minutes' conversation, presented to Mr. Lusignan. The father gave vent to his pater- nal anxiety in a few simple but touching words, and was proceeding to state the symptoms as he had gathered them from his daii^ter ; but Dr. Suell interrupted him polite- ly, and said he had heard the prin- cipal symptoms from Mr. Wyman. Then, turning to the latter, he said, " We had better proceed to examine the patient." " Certainly," said Mr. Lusignan. " She is in the drawing-room ; " and he led the way, and was about to en- tev the room, when Wyman informed him that it was against etiquette for him to be present at the examina- tion. " Oh, Tcry well ! " said he. " Yes, I see the propriety of that. But oblige me by asking hor if she has any thing on her mind." Dr. Snell bowed a lofty assent; for to receive a hint from a layman was to confer a favnr on him. The men of science were closeted full half an hour with the patient. She was too beautiful to be slurred over, even by a busy doctor : he felt her pulse, looked at her tongue, and listened attentively to her lungs, to her heart, and to the organ suspected by Wyman. He left her at last with a kindly assurance that the case was perfectly curable. At tiie door they were met by the anxious father, who came, with throbbing heart, and asked the doc- ter's verdict. He was coolly informed that could not be given until the consultation had taken place ; the result of that consultation would be conveyed to him. " And pray why can't I be pres- ent at the consultation ? The grounds on which two able men agree or disagree must be well worth listening to." " No doubt," said Dr. Snell ; " but," with a superior smile, " my dear sir, it is not the etiquette." " Oh, very well ! " said Lusignan. But he muttered, " So, then, a father is nobody." And this unreasonable person retired to his study, miserable, and gave up the dining-room to the 'con- sultation. They soon rejoined him. Dr. Snell's opinion was commu- nicated by Wyman. " I am happy to tell you, that Dr. Snell agrees with me entirely ; the lungs are not affected, and the liver is congested, but not diseased." " Is that so. Dr. Snell ? " asked Lusisrnan anxiously. " It is so, sir." He added, " The treatment has been submitted to me, and I quite approve it." He then asked for a pen and pa- per, and wiote a prescription. He assured Mr. Lusignan that the case had no extraordinary feature what- ever ; ho was not to alarm himself. Dr. Snell then drove away, lea\ing the imrent rather pnzzled, but, on the whole, much comforted. And here I mu.st reveal an extra- ordinary circumstance, — Wy man's treatment was by drugs. Dr. Snell's was by drugs. A SIMPLETON. Dr. Snell, as you hare seen, en- tirely approved Wyman's treat- ment. His own had nothing in common with it. The arctic and antarctic poles are not farther apart than was his prescription from the prescrip- tion he thoroughly approved. Amiable science ! In which com- plete diversity of practice did not interfere with perfect uniformity of opinion. All this was kept from Dr. Staines ;■ and he was entirely occu- pied in trying to get a position that might lead to fortune and satisfy Mr. Lusignan. He called on_ every friend he had, to inquire where there was an opening. He walked miles and miles in the best quarters of London, looking for an opening ; he let it be known in many quarters that he would give a good premium to any physician who was about to retire, and would introduce him to his patients. a No ; he could hear of nothing. Then, after a great struggle with himself, he called upon his uncle, Philip Staines, a retired M.D., to see if he would do any thing for him. He left this to the last, for a very good reason ; Dr. Philip was an irritable old bachelor, who- had assisted most of his married rela- tives ; but, finding no bottom to the well, had turned rusty and crusty, and now was apt to administer kicks instead of checks to all who were near and dear to' him. How- ever, Christopher was the old gen- tleman's favorite, and was now des- perate ; so he mustered courage and went. He was graciously received, — warmly indeed. This gave him great hopes, and he told his tale. The old bachelor .sided with Mr. Lusignan. " What ! " said he, " do you want to marry, and propagate pauperism 1 I thought you had more sense. Confound it all ! I had just one nephew whose knock at my street-door did not make me tremble: he was a bachelor and a thinker, and came for a friendly chat ; the rest are married men, highwaymen, who come to say, ' Stand and deliver ; ' and now even you want to join the giddy throng. Well, don't ask me to have any hand in it. You are a man of proifi- ise ; and you might as well hang a millstone around your neck as a wife. Marriage is a greater mistake than ever now; the women dress more, and manage worse. I met your cousin Jack the other day and • his wife, with seventy pounds on her back, and next 4oor to paupers. No ; while you are a bachelor, like me, you are my favorite, and down in my will for a lump. Once mar- ry, and you join the noble array of footpads, leeches, vultures, paupers, gone coons, and babblers about brats, and I disown you." There was- no hope from old Crusty. Christopher left " him, snubbed and heart-sick. At last he met a sensible man, who made him see there was no short-cut in that profession. H^nust be content to play the up-hill game ; must settle in some good neit^hborhood, marry if possible, since husbands and fath- ers of families prefer married physi- cians ; and so be poor at thirty, comfortable at forty, and rich at fif- ty — perhaps. Then Christopher came down to his lodgings at Gravesend, and was very unhappy; and, after some days of misery, he wrote a letter to Bo;a in a moment of impatience, de- spondency, and passion. Rosa Lusignan got worse and worse. The slight but frequent hemorrhage was a drain upon her system, and weakened her visibly- She began to lose her rich complex- ion, and sometimes looked almost sallow ; and a slight circle showed it- self under her eyes. These symp- toms were unfavorable ; nevertheless Dr. Snell and Mr. Wyman accepted them cheerfully, as fresh indications that nothing was affected but the 10 A SIMPLETON. liver. .They multiplied and varied their prescriptions ; the malady ig- nored those prescriptions, iind went steadily on. Mr. Lusignan was ter- rified, but helpless ; Rosa resigned and reticent. " But it was not in human nature that a girl ot' this age could always, a)id at all hours, be mistress of her- self. One evening in particular she stood before the glass in the draw- ing-room, and looked at herself a long time with horror. " Is that Rosa Lusignan ? " said she aloud. " It is her ghost." A deep groan startled her. She turned ; it was her father. She thought he was fast asleep ; and so indeed he had been : but he was just awaking, and heard his daughter litter her real mind. It was a thun- der-clap. " O my child ! what shall I do ? " he cried. Then Rosa was taken hy surprise in her turn. She spoke out. " Send for a great physician, papa. Don't let us deceive ourselves • it is our only chance." • " I will ask Mr. Wyman to get a physician down from London." " No, no ; that is no use : they will put their heads together ; and he will say whatever Mr. Wyman tells him. La, papa ! a clever man like you not to see what a cheat that consultation was ! Why, from what you told me, one can see it was managed so that Dr. Snell could not possibly have an opinion of his own. No; no more echoes of Mr. Chatterbox. If you really want to cure me, send for Christopher Staines." " Dr. Staines ! He is very young." " But he is very clever, and he is not an echo. He won't care how many doctors he contradicts when I am in danger. Papa, it is your child's one chance." " I'll try it," said the old man eagerly. " How confident you look ! your color has come back. It is an inspiration. Where is he '! " " I think by this time he must be at his lodgings in Gravesend. Send to him to-morrow morning." " Not I. I'll go to him to-night. It is only a mile, and a fine clear night." " My own, good, kind papa ! Ah, well, come what may, I have lived long enough to be loved. Yes, dear papa, save me. I am very young to die ; and he loves me so dearly." The old man bustled away, to put on something warmer for his night walk ; and Rosa leaned back, and the tears welled out of her eyes, now he Avas gone. Before she had recovered her com- posure, a letter was brought her ; and this was the letter from Christopher Staines alluded to already. She took it from the servant with averted head, not wishing it to be seen she had been ciying ; and she started at the handwriting. It seemed such a coincidence that it *hould come just as she was sending for him. " Mt ows beloved Rosa, — I now write to tell you, with a heavy heart, that all is rain, I cannot make or purchase a connection, ex- cept as others do, by time and pa- tiense. Being a bachelor is qnite against a young physician. If I had a wife, and such a wife as you, I should be sure to get on. You would increase my connection very soon. What, then, lies before us? I see but two things : to wait till we are old, and our pockets are filled, but our hearts cliilled or soured ; or else to marry at once, and climb the hill togetlier. If you love me as I love you, you will be saving till the battle is over ; and I feel I cotild find energy and fortitude for both. Your father, who thinks so much of wealth, can surely settle some- thing on you ; and I am not too poor to furnish a house and start fair. I am not quite obscure, — my lectures have given me a name ; and to you, my own love, I hope I may A SIMPLETON. 11 say that I know more than many of my elders, thanks to good schools, good method, a genuine love of my noble profession, and a tendency to study from my childhood. Will you not risk something on my abil- ity ■? If not,- God help me ! for I shall lose you ; and what is life, or fame, or wealth, or any mortal thing to rae, without you. I cannot ac- cept your father's decision : you must decide my fate. " You see, 1 havekept away from you until I can do so no more. All this time the world to me has seemed to want the sun ; and my heart pines and sickens for one sight of you. Darling Rosa, pray let me look at your face once more. " When this reaches you, I shall be at your gate. Let me see you, though but for a moment, and let me hear my fate from no lips but yours. " My own love, " Your heart-broken lover, " Chkistopher Staines." This letter stunned her at first. Her mind of late had been turned away from love to such stern reali- ties. Now she began to be sorry she had not told him. " Poor thing!" she said to herself; "he little thinks that now all is changed. Papa, I sometimes think, would deny me nothing now. It is I who would not marry him, to be buried by him in a month or two. Poor Christopher ! " The next moment she started up in dismay. Why, her father would miss him. No, perhaps catch him waiting for her. What would he think ■? What would Christopher think? That she had shown her papa his letter. She rang the bell hard. The footman came. " Send Harriet to me this instant. Oh ! and ask papa to come to me ! " Then she sat down, and dashed off a line to Christopher. This was for Harriet to take out to him. Any thing better than for Christopher to be caught doing what was wrong. The footman came back first. "If you please, miss, master has gone out." " Run after him, the road to Gravesend." " Yes, miss." " No. It is no use. Never mind." "Yes, miss." Then Harriet came in. "Did you want me, miss ■? " " Yes. No, never mind now." She was afraid to do any thing, for fear of making matters worse. She went to the window and stood looking anxiously out, with her hands working. Presently she uttered a little scream, and shrank away to the sofa. She sank down on it, half-sitting, half-lying, hid her face in her hands, and waited. Staines, with a lover's impatience, had been more than an hour at the gate, or walking up and down close by it, his heart now burning with hope, now freezing with fear that she would decline a meeting on these terms. At last the postman came, and then he saw his mistake; but now in a few minutes Rosa would have his letter, and then he should soon know whether she would come or not. He looked up at the drawing- room windows. They were full of light. She was there, in all proba- bility. Yet she did not come to them. But whji should she, if she was coming out ■? He walked up and down the road. She did not come. His heart drooped ; and perhaps it was owing to this that he almost ran against a gentleman who was coming the other way. The moon shone bright on both faces. " Dr. Staines ! " ssiid Mr. Lusig- nan, surprised. Christopher uttered an ejaculation more eloquent than words. They stared at each other. " You were coming to see us ? " 12 A SIMPLETON. "N — no," stammered Christo- pher. Lusignan thought that odd ; how- ever, he said, politely, " No matter ; it is fortunate. Would you mind coining in "? " "No," faltered Christopher, and stared at him ruefully, puzzled more and more ; but beginning to think, after all, it might be a casual meet- ing. They entered the gate ; and m one momeathe saw Rosa at the window, and she saw him. Then he altered his opinion again. Rosa had sent her father out to him. But how was this ? The old man did not seem angry. Christopher's heart gave a leap inside him, and he began to glow with the wildest hopes. For what could this mean but relenting f Mr. Lusignan took him first into the study, and lighted two candles himself. He did not want the ser- vants prying. The lights showed Christopher a s. I never dressed a young lady as woie'em easier than you do." " There, papa. That will do, Harriet." Ilarjiet retired as far as the key- hole : she saw something was up. "Now," saiil Rosa, "you see I v,as rij;lit ; and, alter all, it was a match you did not a]iprove. Well, it is all OA'cr; and now you may write to your favorite, Colonel Bright. If he comes hire, I'll box his old cars. I hate him. I hate them all. Forgive your A\ayward girl. I'll stay with you all my days. I dare say that will not be long, now I have quarrelled with mv guardian angel : and all for what % Papa ! papa ! how can you sit there aud not speak me one word of comfort ■! A SIMPLETOX. 21 'Simpleton!' Ah! tliat I am, to throw away a love a queen is scarce- ly worthy of: and all for what? Really, if it wasn't for the ingrati- tude and wickedness of the thing, it is too lanijliahle. Ha! ha! — oh! oh! oh! — lui! ha! ha!" And off she went into hysterics, and began to gulp and choke fright- fully. Her father cried for help, in dis- may. In ran Harriet, saw, and screamed, but did not lose her head. This veracious person whipped a p lir of scissors off the table, and cat the young lady's stay-laces directly. Then there was a burst of impris- oned beauty; a deep, deep sigh of relief came from a bosom that would have done honor to Diana; and the scene soon concluded with fits of harmless weeping, renewed at inter- vals. When it had settled down to this, her father, to soothe her, said he would write to Ur. Staines, and bring about a reconciliation if she liked. "No," said she, "you shidl kill me sooner. I should die of shame." She added, " Oh, pray, from this hour never mention his name to me ! " And then she had another cry. Mr. Lusit^nan was a sensible man : he dropped the subject for the pres- ent; but he made up his mind to one thing, — that he would never part with Dr. Staines as a physi- cian. Ne-Kt day Rosa kept her own room until dinner-time, and was as un- hii]ipy as she deserved to be. She spent her time in sewing on stiff flannel linings, and crvinGT. She half-hoped Christopher would write to her, so that she might write back that she forgave him. But not a line. At half-past six, her volatile mind took a turn, real or affected. She would cry no more for an ungrate- ful fellow, — ungrateful for not see- ing through the stone walls how she had been employed all the morning, and making it up; so she bathed her rod eyes, made a great alteration in her dress, and came dancing into the room, humming an Italian ditty. As they were sitting together in the dining-room after dinner, two let- ters came by the same post to Mr. Lnsignan, — from Mr. Wyman and Dr. Snell. Mr. Wyman's letter. " Deae Sir, — I am sorry to hear from Miss Lnsignan that she intends to discontinue medical advice. The disorder was progressing favorably, and nothing to be feared, under proper treatment. " Yours, etc." Dr. Snell's letter. "Dea-R Sir, — Miss Lusignan has written to me somewhat impa- tiently, and seems disposed to dis- pense with my visits. I do not, however, think it -right to withdraw without teUing you candidly that this is an unwise step. Your daugh- ter's health is in "■ very precarious condition. " Yours, etc." Rosa burst out laughing. "I have nothing to fear; and I'm on the brink of the grave. That comes of writing without a consultation. If they had written at one table, I should have been neither' well nor ill. Poor Christopher!" and her sweet face began to work pitcously. " There, there : drink a glass of wine." She did, and a tear with it, that ran into the glass like lightning. Warned by this that grief sat very near the bright hilarious surface, Mr. Lusignan avoided all emotional subjects for the present. Next day, however, he told her she might dis- miss her lover ; but no power should make him dismiss his pet physician, unless her health improved. " I will not give you that excuse 22 A SIMPLETON. for inflicting Iiim on me again," said the young livpocrite. She licpt her word. Slia got better and better, stronger, brighter, gnyer. She took to walking every day, and increasing tlio distance, till she could walk ten miles without fa- tigue. Her favorite walk was to a certain cliff that commanded a noble view of the sea : to get to it, she must pass through the town of Gravcsend ; and we may be sure she did not pass so often through that city with- out some idea of meeting the lover she had used so ill, and eliciting an apoloqi/ from him. Sly puss ! When she had walked twenty times or thereabouts through the town and never seen him, she began to fear she had otfended him past hope. Then she used to cry at the end of every walk. But by-and-by bodily health, van- ity, and temper combined to rouse the defiant spirit. . Said she, " If he really loved me, ho would not take me at my word in snch a hnrry. And, besides, why does he not watch me, and find out what I am doing and where I walk f " At last she really began to per- suade herself that she was an ill-used and slighted girl. She was very angry at times, and disconsolate at others, — a mixed state, in which hasty and impulsive young ladies commit life-long follies. Mr. Ln^ignan observed the sur- face only. Ho saw his invalid daughter getting better every day, till at last she became a pictnre of health and bodily vigor. Relieved of his fears, he trnubled his head but lit- tle about Cliristophcr Staines. Yet he esteemed him, and had got to like him; but Rosa was a bcantv, and could do Iwtter than marry a strug- gling physician, however able. He launched out into a little g.ayety, resumed his quiet dinner parties, and, after some persuasion, took his now blooming daughter to a ball given by the officers at Chat- ham. She was the belle of the ball be- yond dispute, and danced with ethe- real grace and athletic endurance. She was madly fond of waltzing; and here she encountered what she was pleased to call a divine dancer. It was a Mr. Regiuidd Falcon, a gcntlenum who had retired to tlie sea-side to recruit his health and finances, sore tried by London and Paris. Falcon had run through his fortune, but had acquired, in the process, certain talents, wiiich, as they cost the acquirer dear, so they sometimes repay him, especially if he is not overburdened with princi- ple, and adopts the notion, that, the world having plucked him, he has a right to pluck the world. He could play billiards well, but never so well as when backing himself for a heavy stake. He could shoot pigeons wel I ; and his shooting improved under that which makes some marksmen miss, — a heavy het against the gun. Ho danced to perfection ; and being a well-bred, experienced, brazen, adroit fellow,"who knew a little of every thing that was going, he had always plenty to say : above all, he had made a particular study of the fair sex ; had met with many suc- cesses, many rebuffs, and at last, by keen study of their minds, and a hal)it he had acquired of watching their faces, and shifting his helm accordingly, had learned the great art of pleasing them. They ad- mired his face : to me the .short space between his eyes and his hair, his aquiline nose, aikd thin straight lips, suggested the bird oC prey a little too much ; but to fair doves, born to be clutched, this similitude perhajis was not very alarming, even if they observed it. ^ Rosa danced several times with him, and told hiin he danced like an angel. He informed her that was because, for once, ho was dancing with an angel. She laughed and blushed. Ho flattered deliciously, A SIMPLETON. 23 and it cost him little ; for he fell' in lovewitli her ihat night deeper thiin he hail ever been in his whole life ■of intrigue, lie asked leave to call on her ; she looked a little shy at that, and did not respond. 11^ in- stantly withdrew his proposal, with an apology and a sigli that raised her pity. However, she was not a forward girl, even when excited by dancing and charmed with her part- ner; so she left him to find his own way out of that difficulty. lie was not long about it. At the end of the next waliz, he asked her if he might venture to solicit an introdiietinn to her father. " Oh, certainly I" said she. "What a sellisii girl I am.! this is terribly dull for him." The introduction being made, and Rosa being engaged for the next three dances, Mr. Falcon sat by Mr. Lurfgnan and entertained him. For this little piece of appar- ent self-denial, he was paid in vari- ous coin ; Lusignan found out he was the son of an old acquaintance, and so the door of Kent Villa open- ed to him. Meantime, Rosa Lusig- nan never p.asscd him, even in the arms of a cavalry officer, without bestov/ing a gbmce of approval and gratitude on him. " What a good- hcartcd young man ! " thought she. " How kind of him to amuse papa ! anil now I can stay so much longer." Falcon followed up the dance by a call, and was infinitely .agreeable; followed up the call by another, and admired Eosa with so little disguise that Mr. Lusignan said to her, "I think you have made a conquest. His father had considerable estates in Essex. I presume ho inherits them." " Ob, never mind his estates ! " said lio'fa. " He dances like an angel, and gossips charmingly, and is so nice." Christopher Staines pined for this ■jtirl in silence; his fine frame got thinner, his pale cheek paler, as she got rosier and rosier ; and how ? Why, by following the very advice she had snubbed him for giving her. At last he heard she had been the belle of a ball, and that she had been seen walking miles from home, and blooming as a Hebe. Then his deep anxiety ceased, his pride sinng him furiously ; he began to think of his own value, and to struggle with all his might against his deep love. Sometimes he would even inveigh against her, and call her a fickle, ungrateful girl, capable of no strong passion but vanity. Many a hard term he applied to her in his sorrowful solitude, but not a word when he had a hearer. He found it hard to rest : he kept dashing np to London and ba(dt. He plunged furiously into study. 'He groaned and sighed, and fought the hard and bitter fight that is too often the lot of the deep that love the shallow. Strong, but .".iugle-hrarted, no other lady could comfort him. He turned from their female company, and shunned all for the fault of one. The inward contest wore him. He began to look very thin and wan, and all for a simpleton. Mr. Falcon ]irolonged his stay in the neighborhood, and drove a hand- some dog-cart over twice a week to visit Mr. Lusignan. He used to call on that gentleman at four o'clock ; for at that hour Jlr. Lusignan was always out, and his daughter always at home. She was at home at that hour, because she took her long walks in the morning. While her new ad- mirer was in bed, or dressing, or breakfasting, she was springing along the road with all the elasticity of youth and health and native vigor, braced by daily exercise. Twenty-one "of these walks did she take'with no other result than health and appetite ; but the twenty- second was more fertile, extremely fertile. Starting later than usual, she passed throutrh Giavesend while Reginald Falcon was smoking at 24 A SIMPLETON. his front window. He saw her, and " instantly doffed his dressing-gown and donned liis coat to follow her. He was madly in love with her ; and, being a man who had learned to shoot pigeons and opportunities fly- ing, he instantly resolved to join her in her walk, get her clear of the town, by the sea-beach, where beaaty melts, and propose to her. Yes, marriage had not been hitherto his habit; but this girl was peerless. He was pledged by honor and grati- tude to Phcobe Dale ; but hang all that now. " No man should marry one woman when he loves another ; it is dishonorable." He got into the street, and followed her as last as he could without running. It was not so easy to catch her. Ladies are -not built for running ; but a fine, tall, symmetrical girl, who has practised walking fast, can cover the ground wonderfully in walking — if she cliooses. It was a sight to see how Kosa Lusignan squared her shoulders and stepped out from the loins, like a Canadian girl skatinu', wliile her elastic foot slapped the pavement as she spanked along. She had nearly cleared the town before Falcon came up with her. He was hardly ten yards from her when an unexpected incident oc- curred. She whisked round the cor- ner of Bird Street, and ran plump against Christopher Staines ; in fact, she darted into his arms, and her face almost touched the breast she had wounded so deeply. CHAPTER IV. Bos.v cried, " Oh ! ".andputnp hei- hands to her face in lovely confu- sion, coloring like a peony. "I beg your pardon," said Chris- topher stiffly, but in a voice that trcnrbled. "No," said Ilosa: "it was I ran against you. I walk so fast now. Hope I did not hurt you." "Hurt me?" " Well, then, frighten you ■? " No answer. •■ Oh, please don't quarrel with me in the street ! " said Rosa, cunningly implying that he was the quarrel- some one. "I am going on the beach. Good-by." This iidieu she uttered soltlv, and in a hesitating tone, that belied it. She started off, however, but much more slowly than she was going before; ami, as she went, she turned her head with in- finite grace, and kept looking a.5kant down at the pavement two yards behind her : moreover, she went close to the wall, and left room at her side for another lo walk. Christopher hesitated a moment ; but the mute invitation, so arch yet timid, so pretty, tender, sly, .and womanly, was too much fur him, as it has generally proved for males ; and the philosopiier's f >ot was soon in the very j)iace to which the sim- pleton AVith the mere tail of Iter eye directed it. They walked along side by side in silence, Staines agitated, gloomy, con- lused ; Rosa r.idiant and glowing ; yet not knowing what to say tor herself, and wanting Christopher to begin. So they walked along with- out a word. Falcon followed them at some distance, to see whether it was an admirer or only an acquaintance ; a lover, he never drcauiL-d of, she had shown such evident pleasure iu his company, and had received his visits alone so constantly. However, when the jiair had got to the lieaoli.and were walking slow- er and slower, he felt a ]jang of rage and jealousy, turned on his liecl with an audible curse, and found Plicebo Dale a few yards behind liim with a white face ami !i peculiar look. He knew. what the look meant. He had brought it to that laithful lace before to-day. " You are better, Miss Lusig- A SIMPLETOI^. 25 "Better, Dr. Staines? I am health itself, tlianks to — Hera!" " Our estrangement has agreed with yon ? " This very bitterly. " You know very well it is not that. Oh, please don't make me cry in the streets ! " This humble petition, or rather meek threat, led to another long si- lence. It was continued till they had nearly reached the shore. But meantime, Rosa's furtive eyes scan- ned Christopher's face ; and her con- science smote her at the signs of suffering. She tijlt a desire to beg his pardon with deep humility ; but she suppressed that weakness. She hung her head with a pretty, sheep- ish air, and asked him if lie could not think of something agreeable to say to one after deserting one so long. "I am afraid not." said Christo- pher bluntly. " I have an awk- ward habit of speaking the truth ; andsonre people can't bear that, not even when it is spoken for their good." ■ " That depends on temper and nerves and things," said Rosa dep- recatingly; then soltly, "I could hear any thing fiom you now." " Indeed ! " said Cliristophor, grimly. " Well, then, I hear you had no sooner got rid of your old lover, for loving you too well, and telUng you the truth, than you took up another, — some flimsy man of fashion, who will tell you any lie you like." "It is a story, a wicked story," cried Rosa, thorouglily alarmed. " Mo, a lover? He dances like an angel. I ean't help that." " Are his visits at your house like angels', few and far between ? " And the true lover's brow lowered black upon her for the first time. Rosa changed color ; and her eyes fell a moment. "Ask papa," said she. " His father was an old friend of papa's." " Rosa, you are prevaricating. Young men do not call on old gen- 3 tlemen when there is an attractive young lady in the house." The argument was getting too close, so Rosa operated a diversion. " So," said she, with a sudden air of lofty disdain, swiftly and adroit- ly assumed, " you have had me watched." " Not I : I only hear what people say." "Listen to gossip, and not have me watched ! That shows how little you really cared for me. Well, if you hail, you would have made a little discovery ; that is all." " Should I ? " said Christopher puzzled. " What ? " " I shall not tell you. Think what 5'on please. Yes, sir, you would have found out ihat 1 take long walks every day, all alone ; and what is more, that 1 walk through Gravesend hoping, Hke a goose, that somebody really loved me, and would meet me, and beg my p.u'don ; and, if he had, I should have told him it was only my tongue and my nerves and things. My heart was his, and my gratitude; and, after all, what do words signify when I am a good, obedient girl at bottom t So tluLt is what you have lost by not eoiideseending to look after me. Fine love! Christopher, beg my pardon." " May I ask for what ? " " Why, for not understanding me ; for not knowing that I should be sorry the moment you were gone. I took them off the very next day, to please you," " Took off whom f Oh, I under- stand ! You did ? Then you are a good girl." " Didn't I tell you I was ? A good obedient girl, and any thing but a flirt." " I don't say that." " But I do. Don't interrupt. It is to your good advice I owe my health; and to love anybody but you, when I owe you my love and my life, I must be a heartless un- grateful, worthless — O Chris- 26 A SIMPLETON. topliev forgive mc '! No, no ; I mean, beg my ]iiucIon.'' "I'll do both," saiJ Chrlstophpr, taking licr in his arms. "I beg your pardon, and I f(jri^ive you/' ]iosa leaned her liead tend'jriy on .hii shoulder, and beu:ni to sigh. " Oh, dear, dear, I am a wirlied, foolish girl, not fit to walk alone I" On this admission, Christopher spoke out, and urged her to put an end to all these unhappy misunder- standings, and to his new -torment, jealousy, by marrying him. " And so I would this very min- iito, if papa would consent. But," said she shyly, " you never can he so fooli.^h to wish it. What ! a wise man like you marry a simple- ton ! " " Did I ever call you that 7 " asked Christopher, reproaclifully. "No, ilear; but yon are the only one who has not; and perhaps I should lose even the one, if you . wore to marry me. Oh, husbands are not so polite as lovers ! I have observed that, simpleton or not." Christoi)her assured her that he took quite. a different view of her character : he believed her to be too profound for shallow people to read all in a moment; he even iiitiinated that he himself had ex- perienced no little difficnity in understanding her at odd times. " And so," said he, " they tiirn round Uj>on you, and instead of saying, ' We arc too shallow to lafhnm you,' they pretend you are a simpleton." This solution of the mystery had n"ver occurred, to Rosa, nor, indeed, Avas it likely to occur to any creature less ingenioiis than a lover. It ])leased her hugely : her fine eyes sparkled ; ;vnd she nestled closer still to the strong arm that was to parry every ill, from mortal disease to galling epi- tbr.ts. I'.hc listened with a willing car to all his reasons, his hopes, his fears ; and, when they reached her father's duor, it was settled that he. should dine there that day, and urge his suit to her father after dinner. She would implore the old gentleman to liotcn to it favorably. The lovers parted ; and Christo- pher went home like one who has awakened from a hideous dream to dayli;4ht and happiness. He had not gone far before he met a dashing dog-cart driven by an exquisite. He turned to look after it, and saw it drive up to Kent Villa. In a moment, hedivincdhis rival ; and a sickness of heart came over him. But he recovered himself di- rectly, and said, " If that is the fel- low, she will not receive him now." She did receive him, though : at all events, the dog-cart stood at the door, and its master ]-emained in- side. Christopher stood and counted the minutes : five — ten — fifteen — twenty minutes ; and still the dog- cart stood there. It was more than he could bear. He turned savagely, and strode hack to Gravescnd, resolving that all this torture should end that night, one way or other. Phoebe Dale was the daughter of a farmer in Essex, and one of the happiest young women in England till she knew Kegiuald Palcon, Esq. She was . reared on wholesome food, in wholesome air, and used to churn biitter, make bread, cook a bit now and then, cut out and sew all her own dresses, get up her own linen, make hay, ride any thing on four legs, and, for all that, was a great reader, and taught in the Sun- day school to oblige the vicar ; wrote a neat hand, and was a good arith- metician ; kept all the house ac- ei>unts and farm accounts. She was a musician too — not profound, but ^■ery correct; she would take her turn at the h.armonium in church, and when she was there you never A SIMPLETON. 27 heard a wron"; note in the basi;, nor an iiiappiopriiitc flullri^h, nor biul time. Hiie i;oiild siiij;' too, butncver would, excci)t lier part in a psalm. Her voice was a deep contralto ; and site chose to be ashamed of this heavenly or^ijan because a pack of envious f;"''s liad giggled, and said it was like a nun's. In short, her natural ability, and the range and variety of her useful accomplishments, were considerable ; not that she was a prodigy, but she belongi'd to a small class of women in this island who are not too high to use their arms, nor too low to cultivate their minds; ami, having a faculty and a habit deplorably rare among her sex, viz., attention, slie had profited by her miscellaneous advantai^e-s. Hit tigure and face both told her breed at once : here was an old English pastoral beauty; not the round-l)acked, narrow-chested cotta- ger, but the well-fed, erect i-ustie, with broad, full bust and massive shoulder, and arm as liard as a rock with health and constant use; a hand finely cu', tlioii^h neither small nor very white, ami just a little hard inside compared witii Luxury's soft palm ; a face honest, fair, and rather large than small ; not beautiful, but exceedingly comely; a complexion not pink and white, but that deli- cately blended, brick-dusty color wliich tints the whole cheek in fine gradation, outlasts other complex- ions twenty years, and beautifies the true Northern even in old age. Gray, limpid, honest, point-blank, searching eyes ; hairtrue nut brown, wishout a shade of red or black, and a high smooth forehead, full of sense. Across it, ran one deep wrin- kle that dill not belong to her youth ; thiit wrinkle was the brand of trouble, the lino of agony. It had come of loving above her, yet below her, and of loving an egotist. 'riiree years brfore our tale com- menced a gentleman's horse ran ^way with him, and threw him on a heap of stones by the roadside, not very far from Farmer Dale's gate. The farmer had him taken in : the doctor said he must not be moved. He was insensible; his cheek like delicate wax ; his fair hair like silk stained with blood. He became Phoebe's patient, and, in due course, her convalescent: his pale, hand- some face and fascinating manners gained one charm more from weak- ness ; bis vices were in abeyance. The womanly nurse's heart yearned over her child, for he was feeble as a child ; and when be got well enough to amuse his weary hours by malcing love to her, and telling her a pack of arrant lies, she was a ready dupe. He was to marry her as soon as ever his old uncle died and left him the means, etc., etc. At last he got well enough to leave her, and went away, her open admirer and secret lover. He bor- rowed twenty pounds of hei" the day he left. He used to write her charming letters, and feed the flame : but one ilay her father sent her up to Lon- don, on bis own business, all of a sudden ; and she called on Mr. Fal- con at his feigned address. -She found he did not live there — only received letters. However, half a crown soon bought his real address, and thither Phoebe proceeded, with a troubled heart ; for she suspected that her true lover was in debt or trouble, and obliged to hide. Well, he must be got out of it, and hide at the farm meantime. So the loving girl knocked at the door, asked for Mr. Falcon, and was shown in to a lady rather showily dressed, who asked her business, and introduced herself as Mrs. Falcon. Phoebe Dale stared at her, and then turned pale as ashes. She was paralyzed, and could not find her tongue. " Why, what is the matter now 1 " said the other sharply. " Are you married to Reginald Falcon 1 " 28 A SIMPLETON. " Of course I am. Look at my wedijing-rinij." "Tliun I nm rot wanted here," faltered Phoebe, ready to sink on the floor. "Certainly not, if you are one of the by jjones," said the wumui coarsely ; and Phoebe Dale waited to hear no more, but found her way. Heaven knows how ! into the street, and there leaned, half tainting, on a vail, till a policeman came and told her she had been drinking, and sug- gested a cool cell as the best cure. " Not drink ; only a breaking heart," said she, in her low mellow voice that few could reiist. He got her a glass of water, drove away the boys that congregated di- rectly, and slie left the street. But she soon came back again, and wait- ed about for Reginald Falcon. It was night when he appeared. She seized him by the breast, and taxed him with his villany. What with her iron grasp, pale face, and flashing eyes, he lost his cool impudence, and blurted out ex- cuses. It was an old and unfortu- nate connection ; he would give the ■world to dis3olve«it, if he could do it like a gentleman. Phtfibe told him to please himself; he must part with one or the other. "Don't talk nonsense," said this man of brass. " I'll un-Falcon her on the spot." " Very well," said Phcebe. " I am going home, and if you are not there by to-morrow at noon" — She said no more, but looked a great deal. Then she departed, and refused liim her hand at parting. " We will see about that by and by," said she. By noon my lord came down to the farm, and, unfortunately for Phoilie, played the penitent so skilfully for about a montli that sire forgave him, and loved him all the more for hav- ing so nearly parted with him. Her peace was not to endure long. Ho was detected in an intrigue in the very village. The insult struck so home that Plicelie herself, to her parents' satis- fiicLion, ordered him out of the house at once. But when he was gone she had fits of weeping, and cuu.d settle to nothing for a long time. Months hud elapsed, and she was getting a sort of dull tranquillity, when one evening, taking a walk she had often taken with him, and mourning her solitude and wasted .affection, he waylaid her, and clung to her knees, and shed crocodile tears on her hands, and after a long resistance, vio ent at first, but fa lit- er and fainter, got her in his power again, and that so completely that she met him several times by night, being ashamed to be seen with him in those parts by day. This ended in fresh promises of marriage, and in a constant corre- spondence bj'^ letter. This pest knew exactly how to talk to a woman, and how to write to one. His letters fed the unhappy flame : and, mind you, he sometimes deceived himself and thought he loved her; but it was only himself he loved. She was an invaluable lovcr,'a faithful, disinter- ested friend : hers was a vile bargain; his an excellent one, and he clung to it. And so they wont on. She de- tected him in another infidelity, and reproached him bitterly; but she had no longer the strength to break with him. Nevertheless, this time she had the sense to make a straggle. She implored him on her very knees to show her a little mercy iii return for all her love. " For pity's sake, leave me!" she cried. " Voii are strong, and I am weak. You can end it forever; and pray do. Yon don't want me ; yon don't v.alueine : then leave me once and for all, and end this hell you keep me in." No ;■ he could not or he would not leave her alone, Look at a bird's wings! — how like an angel's! Yet so vile a thing as a bit of bird-lime subdues them utterly : and such was A SIMPLETON. 29 the fascinating power of this mean I man over this wortliy woman. She was a reader, a thinker, a model of respectability, industry, and sense; a business woman, Icecn and practi- cal ; could encounter sliarp hands in sharp trades ; could buy or sell hofjs, calves, or beasts with any far- mer or butcher in tlie country ; yet no match for a cunninfj fool. She had enshi-ined an idol in her heart ; and that heart adored it and clung to it, thoujih the superior head saw through it, dreaded it, despised it. No wonder tliree years of this had drawn a tell-tale wrinkle across tiie polished brow. Phrebe Dale had not received a letter for some days : that roused her suspicion and stung her jealousy ; she came up to London by fast train, and down to Gravesend directly. She had a thick veil that concealed her features ; and, with a little in- quiring and bribing, she soon found out that Mr. Falcon was tlierc with a showy dog-cart. " Ah ! " thought Plicebo, " he haS won a little money at play or pigeon-shooting; so now he has no need of me." She took lodgings opposite liim, but observed nothing till this very morning, when she saw him throw off his dressing-gown all in a hurry, and fling on his coat. - She tied on her bonnet as rapidly, and followed him until she discovered the object of his pursuit. It was a surprise to licr, and a j)uzzle, to see another man step in, as if to take her part. But, as Ueginald still followed the loiter- ing pair, she followed Ueginald, till he turned and found her at his heels, white atid lowering. She conlronted him in threaten- ing silence for .some time, during which he prepared his defence. " So it is a lud'i this time," said she, in her low, rich voice, sternly. "Is it?" " Yes, and I should say she is bo- spoke. That tall, fine-built gentle- man. But I suppose you care no 3* more for his feelings than you do fur mine." " Phoebe," said the egotist, " I will not try to decciv^e you. You have oltcn sai-d you are my true friend." " And I think I have proved it." " That you have. "Well, then, be my true friend now. I am in love — really in love — this time. You and I only torment each other ; let us part friends. There are plenty of farmers in E.-scx that would jump at you. As for me, I'll tell you the truth; I have run tin-ough every farthing ; my estate mortgaged bej'ond its value — two or three writs out against me — that is why I slipped down here. My only chance is to marry Money. Her fa- ther knows I have land, and he knows nothing about the mortga- ges; she is bis only daughter. Don't stand in my way, that is a good girl ; be my friend as you always were. Hang it all, Phoobe, can't you say a word to a fellow that is driven into a corner, instead of glaring at me like that : there, I know it is ungrateful — hut what can a fellow do ? I must live like a gentleman, or else take a dose of prnssic acid ; you don' t want to drive me to that. Why, you ]iro- posed to part, last time, yourself" She gave him one mnjestic, inde- scribable look, that made even his callous heart ' quiver, and turned away. Then the scamp admired her for despising him, and could liot bear to lose her. Ho followed her, and put forth all those jiowers of ]icr- snading and soothing which had so often proved irresistible. But this time it w.as in vnin. The insult was too savage and his egotism too bi u- tal for honcved phrases to blind her. After enduring it a long time with a silent shudder, she turned ■ and shook him fiercely off her, like some poisonous reptile. "Do yon want me to kill you 1 I'd lievei- kill myself for loving such a tiling as thou.. Go thy ways, man. 310 A SIMPLETON. and let me go mine." In her pas- sion, she dropped lier cultivation for one, and went back to tiie thou luiJ thee of lier grandiini. He colored tip, afid looked spite- ful enough ; btit lie soon recovered Ids cynical egotism, and went olF whistlinic an operatic passage. Slie crept to her lodgings, and buried her face in her piilow, and rocked herself to and fro for hours in the bitterest agony the heart can feel, groaning over her great affec- tion wasted, flung into the dirt. While she was tlius, she heard a little commotion. She came to the window and saw Falcon, exciuisite- ly dressed, drive off in his dog-cart, attended by tlie acclamations of eiglit boys. She saw at a glance he wa'i going courting. Her knees gave way under lier; and, such is the power of the mind, this stalwart girl lay weak as water on the sofa, and had not the power to go lio.ne, though just then she had but om wish, one liope, to see her idol's face no more, nor licar his wheedling tongue, that had ruined her peace. The exquisite Mr. Falcon was re- ceived by lioia Lusignan with a cer- tain tremor that llattered his hopes. He told her, in clnirming language, how he had admired her at first sight, then esteemed her, then loved her. She blushed and panted, and showed more than once a desire to interrupt Inm, but was too polite. Slio heard him out, with rising dis- may, and lie offered her his hand and heart. But, by this time, she had made up her mind what to s.ay. " Mr. Falcon ! " she cried, " how can voii speak to me in this way? Wliv, I m engaged I Didn't you know ?" " No ; and I am sure you are not, or you would never liave given mo tlio encouragement you have." ^ " Oh, all engaged young ladies flirt, ^ a little! and everybody hero knows I am engaged to Dr. Staines," " Why, I never saw him here ! " Rosa's tact was a quality that came and went ; so she blushed and faltered out, " We had a little tilF, as lovers will." "And you did me the honor to select me as cat's-paw, to bring him on again. Was not that rather heartless ? " Rosa's fitfid tact returned to her. " Oh, sir ,do not think so ill of me! I am not heartless, I am only unwise. And you are so superior to the people about you I could not help appreciating you : and I thought you knew I was engaged ; and so I was less on my guard. I hope I shall not lose your esteem, though I have no right to any thing more. Ah ! I see by your face I have behaved very ill : pray forgive me." And with this she turned on the waters of the Nile, better known to you perhaps as " crocodile tears." Falcon was a gentleman on the surface, and knew he should only make matters worse by quarrelling with her. So he ground his teeth, and said, "May your own heart never feel the pangs you have in- flicted ! I shall love j'ou and re- member you till my dying day." He bowed ccremonicnisly, and left her. " Ay," said he to himself, " I to/7/ remember you, you heartless jilt, and the man you have jilted me for. Staines is his d d name, is iti " He drove back crest-fallen, bitter, and, for once in his lite, heart-sick, and drew up at his lodgings. Here he founil attendants waiting to re- ceive him. , A shcrifFs officer took bis dog- cart and liorsc under a judgment; the disturbance this caused collected a tidy crowd, gaping and grinning, .and brought PlKcbe's white" face and eyes swollen with ^yeeping to the window. Falcon saw her, and brazened it out. " Take them," said he, with A SIMPLETOI^. 31 an oath. "I'll have a better turn- out by to-morrow, breakfast-time." The crowd cheered him for his •spirit. He got down, lit a cigar, chaffed •the officer and the crowd, and was, on the whole, admired. Then another officer, who had been hunting hiin in couples with the other, stepped forward and took him for the balance of a judgment debt. Then the swell's cigar fell out of his mouth, and he was seriously alarmed. " Wby, Cartwright," said he, " this is too bad ! You promised not to see me this month. You passed me full in the Strand." ' "You are mistaken, sir," said Cartwrigbt, with sullen irony, " I've got a twin brother , a many takes him for me, till they finds the differ- ence." Then, lowering his voice, " What call had you to boast in your club you had made it right with Bill Cartwrigbt, and he'd never see you 1 Tliat got about, and so I ■was bound to see you or lose my bread. There's one or two I don't see; but then they are real gentle- men, and thinks of mo as well as thcirselves, and doesn't blab." "I must have been drunk," said . Falcon apologetically. " More likely blowing a cloud. When you young gents gets a-smok- ing together, you'd tell on your own mothers. Come along, colonel ; off we go to Merrimashee." " Why, it is only twenty-six pounds. I have paid the rest." "More than that; there's the costs." " Come in, and I'll settle it." " All right, sir ; Jem, watch the back." " Oh, I shall not try that game with a sharp hand like you. Cart- wright I " " You had better not, sir," said Cartwrigbt; but he was softened a little by the compliment. When they were alone, Falcon be- gan by saying it was abad job for him. ^ "Why, I thought you was a-go- ing to pay it ail in a moment ! " " I can't : but I liave not a iiiend over the way that could, if she' chose. She has always got money somehow." " Oh ! if it is a she, it is all right " "I don't know. She has quar- reled with me; but give me a little time. Here, have a glass of siierry and a biscuit, while I try it on." Having thus muffled Cartwrigbt, this man of the world opened his window and looked out. 'i'he crowd had followed the captured dog-cart, so he had the street to himself He beckoned to Phoebe ; arxl, after con- siderable hesitation, she opened her window. "Phoebe," said he, in tones of tender regret, admirably natural and sweet, " I shall never offend you again ; so forgive me this once. I have given that girl up." " Not you," said I'hffibe sullenly. " Indeed I have. After our quar- rel I started to propose to her, but I had not the heart : I came back and left her," " Time will show. If it is not her, it will be some other, you false, heartless villain." " Come, I say, don't be so hard on mo in trouble. I am going to prison." " So I suppose.'' "Ah, but it is worse than you think ! I am only taken for a pal- try tliirty pounds or so." " Thirty-three, fifteen, five," sug- gested Cartwrigbt, in a muffled whisper, his mouth being full of biscuit. " But once they get me to a sponging-bouse, detainers will pour in, and my cruel creditors will con- fine me for life." " It is the best place for you. It will put a stop to your wickedness, and I shall be at peace. That's what I have never known, night or day, this three years." "But you v^ill not be happy if y-ou see me go to prison before your 32 A SIMPLETON. eyes. Were yon ever inside a ])ris()n ? Just think what it must be to be cooped up in those cold ■grim cells iill ulone ; fur they use a debtor like a oimirial uow." Phcebe shuddered; but she said bravely, " Well, tell them you haic been a-courting. There was a time I'd have died sooner than see a hair of your head hurt ; but it is all over now : you have worn nie out." Then slie began to cry. Falcon heaved a deep sigh. "It is no more than I deserve," said he. "I'll pack up my things and go with the officer. Give me one kind word at parting ; and I'll think of it in my prison night and day." ^ He withdrew from the window wiih another deep sigh, told Cart- wright, cheerfully, it was all right, and proceeded to pack up his traps. Meantime Phoibe sat at her win- dow and cried bitterly. Her words had been braver than her heart. Falcon managed to pay the trifle lie owed for the lodgings ; and pres- ently he came out with Cartwright, and the attendant called a cab. Jlis things were thrown in, and Cartwright invited him to follow. Then he looked up and cast a gen- uine look of terror and misery at Plioebo. He thought she would have relented before this. Her heart gave way : I am afraid it would, even without that piteous and mute appeal. She opened the wiuilow, and asked Mr. Cartwright if he would be good enough to come and speak to her. Cartwrii'ht committed his prison- er to the subordinate, and knocked at the door of I'hcebe's lodgings. Slie came down herself and let him in. She led the way upstairs, mo- tioned him to a scat, sat down by liitn, n\\i\ began to cry again. She was thoroughly unstrung. Caitwright Wiis human, and mut- tered some words of regret that a poor li.'llow must do his duty. " ()h, it is not that I" sobbed Phoebe ; " I can find the money. I have found more for liira than that many's the time." Then, dry- ing her eyes, " But you must know the world ; and I dare say you can see how 'tis with me." " I can," said Cartwright grave- ly. " I overheard you and him ; and, my girl, if you take my advice, why, let him go. He is a gentle- man skin deep, and dresses well, and can palaver a girl, no doubt; but, bless your heart ! I can see at a glance he is not worth your little linger, — .an honest, decent young woman like you. Why, it is like butter fighting with stone ! Let him go ; or I will tell you what it is, you will hang for him some day, or else make away with j'ourself." "Ay, sir," said Phoebe, "that's likelier ; and, if I was to let him go to prison, I should sit me down and think of his parting loch : and I should fling myself into the water for him before I was a day older." " Ye mustii't do that, any w-ay. While there's life there's hope." Upon this, I'hojbe put him a ques- tion, and found him ready to do any thing for her, in reason, — provided he was paid for it. And the end of it all was, the pri.^oner xias convey- ed to London. Phoebe got the re- quisite sum ; Falcon was deposited in a third-class carriage bound for Essex. Phoebe paid his debt, and gave Cartwright a present; and away rattled the train conveying the iuindsome egotist into temporary retirement, to wit, at a village five miles from the Dales' farm. She was too ashamed of her young gen- tleman and herself to be seen with him in her native village. On the road down, he was full of little prac- tiL'nl attentions ; .she received them coldly. His mellifluous mouth was often at her ear, pouring thanks and praises into it ; she never vouch- safed a word of reply. All she did was to shudder now and then, and cry at intervals. Yet, whenever ho - left her side, her whole body became restless ; and, when he came back to A SIMPLETON. 33 her, a furtive thrill announced the insane complacency his bare contact gave her. Surely of all the forms in which love torments the heart, this was the most terrible and pitia- ble. Mr. Lusignan found his daughter in teiirs. " Why, what is the matter now ? " said he, a little peevishly. " We have had nothing of this sort of thing lately." " Papa, it is because I have mis- conducted myself. 1 am a foolish, imprudent girl. I have been ilirting with Mr. Falcon ; and he has taken a a-uel advantage of it, — proposed to me, this verv afternoon, actu- ally ! " " "Has he'? Well, he is a fine fellow, and has a landed estate in Norfolk. There's nothing like land. They may well call it real property : there is something to show. You can walk on, it, and ride on it, and look-out of window at it: that is property." " papa ! What are you say- ing 1 Would you have me marry one man, when I belong to anoth- er ■> '• " But you don't belong to any one, except to me." " Oh, yes, I do ! I belong to my dear Christopher." " Why, you dismissed him before my very eyes ; and very ill you be- haved, begging your pardon ! The man was your able physician and your best friend, and said nothing that was not for your good ; and you treated him like a dog." '■ Yes, but he has apologized." " What for t for being treated like a dog ? " " Oh, don't say so, papa ! At all events, he has apologized, as a gen- tleman should whenever — when- ever " — " Whenever a lady is in the wrong." " Don't, papa ; and I have asked him to dinner." " With all my heart. I shall be downright glad to see him again. You used him abominably." "But you need not keep saying so,'' whined Kosa. " And that is not all, dear papa; ths worst of it is, Mr. Falcon proposing to me has opened my eyes. I am not fit to be trusted alone. I am too fond of dancing; and flirting will follow somehow. Oh, think how ill I was a few months ago, and how unhappy you "were about me ! They were killing me. He came and saved me. Yes, papa, I owe all this health and strength to Christopher. I did t;ike them off the very next day, and see the effect ot' it, and my long walks. I owe him my life, and, what I value far more, my good looks. ' La ! I wish I had not told you that ; and, after all this, don't I belong to my Christopher? How could I be happy, or respect myself, if I mar- ried any one else ? And papa ! bo looks wan and worn. He has been fretting for his simpleton. Oh, dear! I mustn't think of that; it makes me cry ; and you don't like scenes, do you?" " Hate 'em ! " " Well, then," said Rosa coax- ingly, " I'll tell yon how to end them. Marry your simpleton to the only man who is fit to take care of her. papa I think of bis deep, deep affection for me, and pray don't snub him if — by any chance — after dinner — he should happen to ask you — something." " Oh ! then it is possible that, by the meiest chance, the gentlemati you have accidentally asked to din- ner may, by some strange fortuity, be surprised into asking me a sec- ond time for something very much resembling my daughter's hand, eh?" Rosa colored high. "He might, you know. How can I tell wdiat gentlemen will say when the ladies have retired, nnd they ai'e left alone with — with " — " With the bottle. Ay, that's 34 A SIMPLETOit: true ! when the wine is in, the wit ii out." Said liosa, " Well, if he should happen to l)e so foolish, pray think o( me ; of all we owu hini, and how much I iove'him, and ought to love him." iSlie then hcstowcd a propi- tiiuoiy kis.s, and ran off to dreos foi' dinner : it was a niueh longer opera- tion to-day than usual. Dr. Staines was punctual. Mr. Lusignan commented favorably on tliat. " lie always is," said Rosa eager- ly- They dined together. Mr. Lusig- nan cliatied freely ; but Staines and Itosa were under a feeling of re- straint, Staiiies in particular: he could not help feeling that before long his fate must be settled. He would either obtain Rosa's hand, or have to resign her to some man of fortune who would step in ; for beauty such as hers could not long lack briliiint offers. Longing, though dreading, to know his fate, he was glad when dinner ended. Rosa sat with them a little while after dinner, then rose, bestowed another propiiiatoiy kiss on her father's head, and retired with a modest blush, and a look at Chris- topher that was almost divine. It inspired him with the courage of lions; and be commenced the at- tack at once. CHAPTETl V. "Mr. LtrsiGNAN," said he, "the last time I was here, you gave me some hopes that you might he pre- vailed on to trust that angel's health and happiness to my care." " Well, Dr. Staines, I will not boat about the bush with you. Mv judgment is still against this mnr- yiage : you need not look so abn-mcd ; it does not follow I shall forbid it. I feel I have hardly a right to ; for my Rosa might be in her grave now ' but for you. And another thing, when I interfered between you two, I had no proof you were a man of ability: I had only your sweetheart's word for that ; and I never knew a case before where a young lady's swan did not turn out a goose. Your rate ability gives you another chance in the profes- sional battle that is before you ; in- deed, it puts a different face on the whole matter. I siill think it pre- mature. Come, now, would it not be much wiser to wait, and secure a good practice before you marry a mere child ? There — there — I only ad- vise ; I don't dictate : you shall settle it together, you two wiseacres. Only I must make one positive condition : I have nothing to give my child during my lifetime; but one thing I have done for her; years ago I insured my life for six thousand pounds ; and you must do the same. I will not have her thrown on the world a widow, with a child or two perhaps, to support, and not a farthing ; you know the insecu- rity of mortal life." " I do, I do. Why, of course I will insure my life, and pay the annual premium out of my little capital until income flows in !" " Will you hand me over a sum sufficient to pay that premium for five years ? " " With pleasure." " Then I fear," saiil the old gen- tleman with a sigh, " my opposition to the match must cease here. I still recommend you to wait : but, there I might just as well advise fire and tow to live neighbors, and keep cool." To show the injustice of this simile. Christopher Staines started up, with his eyes all a'jflow, and cried out, rapturously, " sir ! may I tell lier?" ■ "Yes, yon may tell her," said Lnsignan with a smile. " Stop ! what are you going to tell her? " " That you consent, sir. God bless you ! God bless you ! Oh ! " A SIMPLETON. 33 "Yes, but that I advise you to wait. " "I'll tell her all," said Staines, and rushed out even as he spoke, and upset a heavy chair with a loud thud. " Ah ! ah ! " cried the old gentle- man in di.smay, and put his fingers in his ears. " Too late. I sec," said he, " there will be no peace and quiet now till they are out of the house." He liglited a soothing cigar, to counteract the fracas. " Poor little Rosa ! — a child but yesterday, and now to encounter the cares of a wife, and perhaps a mother. Ah! she is but young, but young." The old gentleman prophesied truly ; from that moment he had no peace till he withdrew all sem- blance of dissent, and even of pro- crastination. Christojjher insured his life for six thousand pounds, and assigned the policy to his wife. Four hun- dred pounds was handed to Mr. Lu- . signan to pay the jireiniums until the genius of Dr. Staines should have secured him that large pro- fcs.sional income, which does not come all at once even to the rare physician, who is Capax Efficax Saqax. The wedding-day was named. The bridemaids were selecteil, the guests invited. None refused but Uncle Philip. . He declined, in his fine bold hand, to countenance in person an act of folly he disapproved. Christopher put his letter away with a momentary sigh, and would not show it Rosa. All other letters they read together, — chai-ming pas- time of that happy period. Pres- ents poured in. Silver tea-pots, coffee-pots, sugar-basins, cream-jugs, fruit-dishes, silver-irilt inkstands, albums, photograph-books, little candlesticks, choice little services of china, shell salt-cellars in a case lined with maroon -velvet ; a Bible, superb in binding and cla;sps and every thing, but the text, — that was illegible ; a silk scarf from Ben- ares ; a gold chain from Bclhi, six feet long or nearly; a maltese neck- lace; a ditto in exquisite filigree, from Genoa; English' brooches, a trifle too big and brainless : apostle- spoons; a treble-lined parasol, with ivory stick and handle ; an ivory card-case, richly carved ; work-box of sandal-wood and ivory, &c. Mr. Lusignan's city friends, as usu- al with these gentlemen, sent the most valuable tilings. Evciy day oiie or two p.ickages were delivered ; and, on opening them, Rosa invaria- bly uttered a peculiar scream of de- light, and her father put his fingers in his ears ; yet there was music in this very scream — if lie would only have listened to it candidly, instead of fixing his mind on his viigue theory of screams — so ibrmed was she to please the ear as well as eye. At last came a parcel she opened and stared at, smiling : and coloring like a rose, but did not scream, being too dumb-foundered and perplexed ; for lo ! a tea-pot of some base material, but simple and elegant in form, being an exact re- production of a melon ; and inside this tea-pot a canvas bag containing ten guineas in silver, and a wash- leather bag containing tM'enty guin- eas in gold, and a, slip of paper, which Rosn, being no%v half recov- ered from her stupcfaeiion, read out to her father and i)r. Staines. "People that buy presents blind- fold give duplicates and triplicates ; and men seldom choose to a woman's taste : so be pleased- to acccjit the enclosed tea-leaves, and buy for yourself The tea-pot you can put on the hob ; for it is nickel." Rosa looked sore puzzled again. "Papa," said she timidly, "have we any friend that is — a little — deranged t " " A lot." " Oh, then, that accounts ! " " Why no, love," said Christo- 36 A SIMPLETON. plier. " I have hoard of much learning making a man mad, but niiver of much good sense." " Wliat! Do you call this sensi- ble?" "Don't you? " " I'll read it again," said Eosa. "Well — yes — I declare — it is not so mad as I thought; but it is very eccentric." Liisignan suggested there was nothing so eccentric as common- sense, espcciallj' in time of weddmg. "This," said he, "comes from the city. It is a friend of mine, some old fox: ho is throwing dust in your eyes with his reasons. His real reason was that his time is money ; it would have cost the old rogue a hundred pounds' worth of time — you know the city, Christopher — to go out and choose the girl a pi-es- ent; so he has sent his clerk out with a check to buy a pewter teapot, and fill it with specie." " Pewter ! " cried Eosa. " No such thing ! It's nickel. What is nickel, I wonder ■? " Tiie handwriting afforded no clew, so there the discussion ended : but it w.T.s a nice little mystery, and very convenient, made conversa- tion. Rosa had many an animated discussion about it with her female li'iends. The wedding-day came at last. The sun shone — actualli/, as Kosa observed. The carriages drove up. The bridemiiids, principally old school-fellows and impassioned cor- respondents of Rosa, were pretty, and dressed alike, and delightfully : but the bride was peerless; her southern beauty literally shone in that white satin dross and veil, and her head was regal with the crown of orange blossoms. Another crown she had, ttue virtjin modesty. A low murmur burst from the men the moment they saw her ; the old wom- en foi'gave her beauty on the spot, and the young women almost par- doned it; she was so sweet and womanly, and so sisterly to her own sex. When they started for the church, she began to tremble, she scarce knew "why ; and when the solemn words were said, and the ring was put on her finger, she cried a little, and looked half-imploringly at her bridemaids once, as if scared at leaving them for an untried and mysterious life with no woman near. They were married. Thou came the breakfast, that hour of uneasi- ness and blushing to such a bride as this; but at last she was released. She sped up stairs, thanking goo.l- ness it was over. Down came her last box. The bride followed in a plain travelling dress, whieh her glo- rious eyes and brows and her rich glowing cheeks seemed to ilhimiuc. She was handed into the carriage ; the bridegroom followed. All the young guests clustered about; the door, armed with wdiite shoes, — sli]>pers are gone by. They started : the ladies flung their white shoes ri:;ht and left with religious impartialitr, except thit not one of their missiles went at the objeet. The men, more skilful, sent a shower on to the roof of the ciiiriage, which is the lucky spot. The bride kissed her hand, and manageil to put off cryin"-, though it cost her a struggle. The party hurriihcd. Entliusiivstic youiln gath- ered fallen shoes, and ran and hiu'led them again with cheerful yells ; and away went the happy pair, the bride leaning sweetly and contidingly with both her white hands on the bride- groom's shoulder, while he dried the tears that would run now at leaving homo and parent forevei', ami ki>?-ed her often, and enclreleil her with his strong arm, and murmured comfort and love and pride and joy and sweet vows of life-long ten- derness into her ears, that soon stole nearer his lips to hear, and the fair chock grew softly to his shoulder. A SIMPLETON. 37 CHAPTER VI. Dr. Staines and Mrs. Stainos visiteJ Ij'nuice, Switzerland, and the Kliine, and passed a month of Klysiuni, before they came to London to face their real destiny and iiglit the bal de of life. And here, methinks a reader of novels may, perhaps, cry out and say, " What manner of tnan is ' this, who marries his hero and heroine, and then, instead of leaving them happy for life, and at rest from his uneasy pen, and all their other troubles, flows coolly on with their adventure-s 1 " To this I can only reply that the old English novel is no rule to me, and life is ; and I respectfully pro- pose an experiment : catch eight old married people, four of each sex, and say unto them, " Sir," or " Madame, did the more remarka- ble events of your life come to you before marriage or after ? " Most of them will say " .nfter," and let that be my excuse for treating the marriage of Christopher Staines and Rosa Lusignan as merely one inci- dent in their lives, — an incident which, so far from ending their story, led by degrees to more strik- ing events than any that occurreil to them before they were man and wife. They returned then from their honey-tour ; and Staines, who was methodical, and kept a diary, made the following entry therein : — " We have now a life of endurance and self-denial and economy before us : wo have to rent a house, and furnish it, and live in it, until profes- sional income shall flow in and make all things easy ; and we have two thou'^and five hundred pounds left to do it with." ■ They came to a family hotel ; and Doctor Staines went out, directly after breakfast, to look for a house. Actin;r on a friend's advice, he visit- ed tlie streets and places north of Oxford Street, looking ior a good commodious house adapted to his business, lie found three or four at fair rents, neither cheap nor dear, the district being respectable antl rather wealth)', but no longer fash- ionable. He came home with his notes, and found Rosa, beaming in a cr'iAp peupioir, and her lovely head its natural size and sbapj, liigh-bred and elegant. He sat down, and with her hand in his, proceeded to describe the houses to her, when a waiter threw open the door — "Mrs. John Cole." " Florence ! " cried Rosa, starting up. In flowed Florence : they both ut- tered a little squawk of delight, ami went at each other like tuo little ti- gresses, and kissed in swift alterna- tion with a singular ardor, di-awlng their crests back like snakes, and then darting them forward and in- dicting what, to the male philoso- pher looking on, seemed hard kisses, violent kisses, rather than the tender ones to bo expected from two tender creatures embracing each other. " Darling," said Rosa, " I knew you would be the Krst. Didn't I tell you so, Christopher '! My husband, iny darling Flurry ' Sit down, lore, and tell me every thing : he has just been looking out for a house. Ah ! 3'ou have got all that over long ago : she has been mariied six months. Florry, you are handsomer than ev- er; and What a beautiful dress! Ah, London is the place. Real Brussels, I declare ; " and she took hold of her friend's lace, and gloated on it. Christopher smiled good-natured- ly, and said, "I dare say you ladies have a good deal to say to each oth- er." "Oceans!" snid Rosa. "I will go and hunt houses acain.'' " There's a good husband," said Mrs. Cole, as soon as the door closed on him; "and such a hne man. Why, he must be six feet ! iMine is rather short. But he is very good ; refuses mp nothing. My will is law." " ThatN,s all risht, yon are so^ sen- sible; bqil want governing a little: 38 A SIMPLETON. and I like it — actually. Did the dressmaker find it, dear ? " " Oh, 110 ! I had it by me. I bought it at Brussels, on our wed- ding-tour : it is dearer there than in London." She said this, as if "dearer'' and ** better" were synonymous. "liut about your house, Rosie dear ? " " Yes, darling, I'll tell you all about it. I never saw a moire this shade before ; I don't care for them in general; but this is so distinc/ne." i^lorence rewarded her with a kiss. " The house," said Rosa. " Oh ! he has seen one in Portman Street, and one in Gloucester Place." " Oh, that will never do ! " cried Mrs. Cole. " It is no use being a phvsician in those out-of-the-way places. He must be in Mayfuir." " Must he 'i " " Of course. Besides, then my Johnnie can call him in, when they are just going to die. Johnnie is a general prac, and makes two thou- sand a year; and he shall call your one in : but ho must live in Mayfair. Why, Rosa, yon would not be such a goose as to live in those places ! they are quite gone by." " I shall do whatever you advise me, dear. Oh, what a comfort to have a dear friend ! and six months married, and knows things. How richly it is trimmed ! Why, it is nearly all trimmings ! " " That is the fashion.'' " Oh ! " And, after that big word, there was no more to be said. These two ladies in their conver- sation gravitated toward dress, and fell flat on it every half minute. Tliat great and elevating topic held thorn by a silken cord : but it al- lowed them to flutter U]n\'ard into other topics ; and in those intervals, numerous though brief, the lady who had been married six months found time to instruct the mairinionial nov- ice with great aulliority, and even a shade of pomposity. " My dear, the way ladies and gentlemen get a house — in the first place, you don't go about yourself like that, and you never go to the people themselves, or you are sure to be taken in, but to a respectable house-agent." " Yes, dear, that must be the best way, one would think." - "■ Of course it is ; and you a?k for a house in Mayliiir; and lie shows you several, and recommends you the best, and sees you are not cheat- ed." " Thank you, love," said Rosa : " now I know what to do ; I'll not forget a word. And the train is so beautifully shaped ! Ah, it is only in London or Paris they can make a dress flow behind like that," &c., &c. Dr. Staines came back to dinner in good spiiits: he had found a house in Harewood Square ; good entrance hall, whcie his gratuitous patients might sit on benches ; good dining-room, where his superior ]ia- tients niiuht wait, and good libraiy, to be used as a consulting-room. Rent only £85 per annum. But Kosa told him that would never do ; a physician nuist be in the fashionable part of the town. "Eventually," said Christopher; " but surely at first starling ; and yovt know tlicy say little boats should not go too far from shore." Then Rosa repeated all her friend's ariinnionts, and seemed so unhappy at the idea of not living near her, that Staines, who had not yet said the hard word " No " to her, gave in, consoling his prudence witli the re- flection that, after all, Mr. Cole could put many a guinea in his way ; for Mr. Cole was middle-aged — -though his wife was young — and had really a very large practice. So next day the newly-wedded pair called on a house-agent in JMay- fair, and his son and partner went v.'ith them to several places. The rcnis of bouses equal to that inllare- wood Square were £300 a year at least, and a premium to boot. A SIMPLETOK. 39 ; - Christopher tolil him these were qnite beyond, the mark. " Very well," saiJ the a,L;eut. " Then I'll show yoLi a Bijou." . Kosa clappeJ her hands. " Tluit is the thin;; for us. We don't want a large house, only a beautiful one, anil in Mayfair." " Then the Bijou will be sure to suit you." lie took them to the Bijou. The Bijou had n small dining- room with one very large window in two sheets of plate-glass, and a pro- jecting balcony full of flowers ; a still smaller library, which opened on a square yard enclosed. Here were a great many pots, with flow- ers dead or dying from nei^lect. On the first floor a lair-sized drawing- I'oom, and a tiny one at the back ; on the second floor one good bed- room, and a dressing-room, or little bedroom ; three garrets above. Kosa was in ecstasies. " It is a nest," said she. . " It is a bank-note,'' said the agent, simulating equal enthusiasm, after liis fashion, " You can always sell the leaie again for more mon- ey." Christopher kept cool. " I don't want a house to sell, but to live in, and do my business ; I am a physi- cian. Now, the drawing-room is built over the entrance to a mew. The back-rooins all look into a mew : we shall have the eternal poise and smell of a mew. My wife's rest will be broken by the car- riages rolling in and out. The hall is fearfully small and stuffy. The rent is abominably high ; and what is the premium for, I wonder 1 " " Always a premium in Mayfair. sir. A lease is property here : the gentleman is not acquainted with this part, madam." " Oh, yes, he is! " said Rosa, as boldly as a six years' wife ; " he knows every thing." " Then he knows that a house of this kind at £1.30 a year, in Mayfair, is a bank-note." Staines turned to Rosa. " The poor patients, where am I to re- ceive them 1 " " In the stable," suggested the house-agent. " Oh ! " said Rosa, shocked. " Well, then, the coach-house. Why, there's plenty of room ibr a brougham and one borse, and Hfty poo'r patients at a time. Bcggai-s mustn't be choosers. If you giie them physic ;;ratis, that is enough : you ain't bound to find 'em a p.alaoo to sit down in, and hot colfce and rump-steaks all around, doctor." This tickled IJosa so that she burst out laughing, and thencefor- ward gi^igled at intervals, wit of this refined nature having ail the charm of novelty for her. They inspected the stables, which were indeed the one redeeming fea- ture in the horrid little Bijou : and then the agent would show them the kitchen and the new stove. He ex- patiated on this to Sirs. St;iines. " Cook a dinner ibr thirty peojjle, madam ," " And thei'e's room for them to eat it, — in the road," said Staines. The agent reminded him there were larger places to be had by a vei-y simple process ; namely, pay- ing for them. Staines thought of the large com- fortable house in Harewood Square. ".£1.30 a year for this pokey little hole 1 " he groaned. " Why, it is nothing at all for a Bijou." " But it is too much for a band- box." Rosa laid her hand on his arm, with an imploring glance. " Well," said be, " I'll submit to the rent, but I really cannot give the premium ; it is too ridiculous. He ought to bribe me to rent it, not I him." " Can't be done without, sir." "Well, I'll give £100, and no more." " Impossible, sir," " Then good-morning. Now, dear- 40 A SIMPLETON", est, just come and see the house at llarewootl Sijiia e ; XS5 and no pre- mium." " Will you oblige me with your address, doctor ? " said fJio agrnt. " "Dr. Staines, Morlcy's Hotel." And so I hey k-ft JMayfair. Rosa sighed, and said, " Oh, tlie nice little place ! and wc have last it for E200." " Two hundred pounds is a great deal for its to thiow away." " Beiiisi; near the Coles would soon ha\e made that up to you : and such a cosey little nest." " Well, the house will not run away." "But somehody is sure to snap it up. It is a liijou." Shewasdisap- pointcil, and jialf-inelincd to pout. Hat she vented her fee iiigs in a let- ter to her heloved Florry, and ap- peared at dinner as sweet as usual. During dinner, a note came from the agent, accepting Dr. Staines's offer. He glozed the matter thus : lie had persuaded the owner it was better to take a good tenant at a moderate loss than to let the Bijou be uninhabited during the present rainy season. An assignment of the Ica^e, which contained the usual covenants, would be prepared im- mediately ; and Doctor Staines could have possession in forty-eight hours, by paying the premium. liosa was deliglited ; and as soon as dinner was over, and the waiters gone, she came and kissed Christo- pher. He smiled, and said, ""Well, yoa are pleased ; that is the princi- pal thing. I have saved X2iiii, and that is something. It will go toward furnishing." " La, yes ! " said Kosa ; " I forgot. Wc shall have to get furniture now. How nice ! " It was a pleasure the man of forecast could have willingly dispensed with; hut he< smiled at her, and they discussed furniture. And (.'hristopher, whose retentive memory had picked up a little of uwry thing, said there were wholesale upholsterers in the city, who sold cheaper than the "West End houses ; and he tliontiht the best way was to measure the rooms in the Bijou, and go to the city with a clear idea of what they wanted, ask the prices of various necessary articles, and then make a list, and demand a discount of fifteen per cent on the whole order, being so considerable, and paid for in cash. Rosa acquiesced, and told Chris- topher he was the cleverest man in Kngland. About nine o'clock Mrs. Cole came in to condole with her friend, and heard the good news. A\'hen Rosa told her how they thought of furnishing, she said, " Oh, no 1 you must not do that; you will pay double for every thing ! That is the mistake Johnnie and I made ; and, after that, a friend of mine took me to the auction-rooms, and I saw every thing sold. Oh, such Bargains ! — half, and less than half, their value. She has furnished her house almost entirely from sales ; and she has the loveliest things in the world, — such ducks of tables, and jardinieres and things, and beauti- ful rare china : her house swarms with it, for an old song, A sale is the place, and then so amusing." " Yes, but," said Christopher, " I should not like my wife to encoun- ter a public room." " iSot alone, of course ; hut with mo. La ! Dr. Staines, they are too full of buying and selling to trouble their heads about us." "0 Chri,-.to])hcr ! do let me go with her. Am I always to be a child?" Thus appealed to before a stran- ger, Staines replied warmly, " No, dearest, no ; you cannot ])leasc me better than fiy begiiming life in earnest. If you two hulies together can face an auction-room, go by all means ; only I must ask you not to buy china, or ormolu, or any thing that will break or spoil, hut* only solid, good furniture." " Won't you come with us ? " A SIMPLETON. 41 " No, or Tou might feel yourself in leadinij-striiins. Kemember the Bijou is a binall house : choose your farnituro to fit it ; and then we sliall save something by its being so small." Tliis was Wednesday. There was a weekly sale in Oxford Street on Friday ; and the ladies made the appointment accordin^'ly. iN'ext (hiy, after breakfast, Chris- topher was silent and thoughtful a while, and at last said to Rosa, " I'll show yon I don't look on you as a cliild : I'll consult you on a, delicate matter." lio.sa's eyes sparkled. " It is about my Uncle Philip. Ho has been very cruel : he has wounded me deeply ; he has wounded me tlirough my wife. I never thought he would refuse to come to our marriage." "And did he'? You never showed me his letter." " You were not my wife then. I kept an affront from j'ou ; but now, you see, I keep nothing." " Dear Christie ! " " I am so happy, I have got over that sting — almost ; and the mem- ory of many kind acts come back to me ; and — I don't know what to do. It seems ungrateful not to visit him : it seems almost mean to call." " I'll tell you ; take me to see him directly. He won't hate us forever, if he sees us often. We may as well begin at once. Nobody hates me long." Christopher was proud of his wife's courage and wisdom. He kissed her, begged her to put on the plainest dress she could ; and they went together to call on Uncle Philip. When they got to his house in Gloucester Place, Portman Square, Rosa's heart began to quake; and she was right glad when the servant said, " Not at home." They left their cards and address ; and shepersuadcd Christopher 10 take her to the salesroom to see the things. A lot of brokers were tlierc, like vultures ; and one after another stepped fonvard and pestered them to employ him in the morning. Y)i: Staines declined their services civilly but firmly; .and ho and Hosa looked over a quantity of furniture, and settled what sort of things to buy. Another broker came up, and, whenever the couple stopped before an article, proceeded to pi-aise it as something most extraordinary. Staines listened in cold, satirical silence, and told his wife, in Krcnch, to do the same. Notwithstanding their marked disgn.st, the impudent, intrusive fellow stuck to them, and forced his venal criticism on them, and made them uncomfortable, and siiortened their tour of observa- tion. " I think I shall come with you to-morrow," said Chrstopher, " or I shall have these blackguards pes- tering you." " Oh, Plorry will send them to the right about ! She is as brave as a lion." Next day Dr. Staines was sent for into the city at twelve, to pay the miiney, and receive the lease of the Bijou ; and this and the taking possession occupied him till four o'clock, when he came to his hotel. Meantime, his wife and Mrs. Cole had gone to the auction-room. It was a large room, with a good sprinkling of people, but not crowded, except about the table. At the head of this table, full twenty feet long, was the auctioneer's pulpit ; and the lots were brought in turn to the other end of the pulpit for sight and sale. " We must try and get a seat," said the entci'prising Mrs. Cole, and pushed boldly in. The timid Eosa followed strictly in her wake, and so evaded the human waves her leader clove. They were importuned at every step by brokers thrusting cat- alogues on them, with offers of their services, yet they soon got to the table. A gentleman resigned one 42 A SIMPLETOS. chair, a broker another, and they were seated. Mrs. Staines let down half her veil; hut Mrs. Colo , surveyed the coiiip.iny point-l)!ank. The broker wlio had given up his scat, and now stood behind Kosa, o!fercd her his cataloyue. " No, thank you," said Rosa, " I have one ; " and she produced it, and studied it, yet managed to look fur- tively at the company. There were not above a dozen pri- vate persons visible from wlierc Eoia sat; perhaps as many more in tire whole room. They were easily distinguishal)le by tlieir cleanly ap- pearance. The dealers, male and female, Averc more or less rusty, greasy, dirty, aquiline. Not even the amateurs were brightly dressed : that fundamental crrcn- was confined to .Mi'sdames Cole and Staines. The experienced, however wealthy, do not hunt bargains in silk and satin. , Tlie auctioneer called " Lot 7." Four sauce-pans, two trays, a kettle, a boot-jack, and a towel-horse." These were put up at two shilling'?, and speeilily knocked ilown for five, to a fat old woman in a greasy vel- vet jacket ; blind industry had sewed bugles on it, not artfully, but agri- culturally. " The lady on the left ! " said the auctioneer to his clerk. That meant, " Get the money." The old lady plunged a huge paw into a huge pocket, and pulled out a huge handful of coin, — copper, silver, and gold, and paid for the lot ; and Uosa surveyed her dirty hands and nails with innocent dis- may. " Oh, what a dreadful crea- ture! " she whispered; "and what' can she want with those old rubbishy things ^ I saw a hole in one from here." The broker overheard, and said, " She is a dealer, ma'am ; and the things were given a-way. She'll sell them for a guinea, easy." "Didn't I tell you V said Mrs. Co'e. Soon after this, the superior lots came on ; and six very neat bedroom chairs were sold to all appearance for fifieen shillings. The next lot was identical; and Rosa hazarded a bid, " Sixteen shillings." Instantly some dealer, one of the hooked-nosed that gatliered round each lot as it came to the foot of the table, cried, " Eighteen shillings." " i^Jinoteen," said Rosa. " A guinea," said the dealer. "Don't let it go," said the bro- ker behind her. "Don't let it go, ma'am." She colored at the intrusion, and left off bidding directly, and ad- dressed herself to Mrs. Cole. " Why should I give so much, when the last were sold for fifteen shillings 1 " The real reason was, that the first lot was not bid for at all except by the proprietor. However, the brok- er gave her a very different solution ; he said, " The trade always runs up a lady or a gentleiii.'in. Let me bid for you : they won't run me up ; thoy know better." Uosa did not reply, but looked at Mrs. Cole. " Yes, dear," said that lady, " you had much better let him bid for you." " Very well," said Rosa. " You can bid for this chest of drawers, — Lot 25." When Lot 2.5 came on, the broker bid in the silliest possible way, if his object had been to get a bari;ain : he began to hid early and ostenta- tiously ; the article was protected by somebody or other there present, who now, of course, saiv his way clear. He ran it up audaciously ; and it was purchased for Rosa at about the price it could have been bought for at a shop. The next thing she wanted was a set of oak chairs. They went up to twenty-eight pounds ; then she said, " I shall give no more, sir." " Better not lose them," said the agent; "they are a great bargain," and bid another pound for her on A SIMPLETON. 43 his own responsibility. They were still run up ; and Rosa peremotorily refused to give any more. Slio lost them accordingly, by good luck. Her faithful broker looked blank; 60 did the proprietor. But, as the sale proceeded, she being young, the competition, though most of it sham, being art- ful aad exciting, and the traitor she employed constantly puffing every article, she was drawn into wishing for things, and bidding by her feel- ings. Then her traitor played a game that has been played a hundred times, and the perpetrators never once lynehed, as they ought to be, on the spot : he signalled a con- federate with a hooked nose. The Jew rascal bid against the Christian scouudrel ; and so they ran up the more enticing things to twice their value under the hammer. Rosa got flushed; and her eye gleamed like a gambler's, and she bought away like wild-fire. In which sport she caught sight of an old gentleman with little black eyes, that kept twinkling at her. Slie complained of these eyes to Mrs. Cole. "Why does he twinkle so? I can see it is at me, I am doing something foolish — I know I am." Mrs. Cole turned and fixed a haughty stare on the old gentleman. "Would you believe it f Instead of sinking through the floor, he sat his ground, and retorted with a cool, clear grin. But now, whenever Rosa's agent bid for her, and the other man of straw against him, the black eyes twinkled ; and Rosa's courage be- gan to ooze away. At last she said, — " That is enough for one day. I shall go. Who could bear those eyes 1 " The broker took her address ; so did the auctioneer's clerk. The auctioneer asked her for no deposit; her beautiful, innocent, and high- bred face was enough for a man who was always reading faces and interpreting them. And so they retired. But this charming sex is like that same auctioneer's hammer, it can- not go abruptly. It is always go- ing — ^oing — going — a long time before it is ^oue. I think it would perhaps loiter at the door of a jail, with the order of release in its hand, after six years' confine- ment. Getting up to go quenches i in it the desire to go. So these la- dies, having got up to go, turned and lingered, and hung fire so long that at last another set of oak chairs came up. "Oh! I must see wlmt those go for," said Eosa, at the door. The bidding was mighty languid now Rosa's broker was not stimu- lating it ; and the auctioneer was just knocking down twelve chairs — oak and leather — and two arm- chairs, for twenty pounds, when, casting his eyes around, he caught sight of Rosa looking at him rather excited. He looked inquiringly at her. She nodded slightly ; he knocked them down to her at twenty guineas, and they were really a great bargain. "Twenty-two," cried a dealer. " Too late," said the auction- eer. "I spoke with the hammer, sir." " After the hammer, Isaacs." " S'help me God, we was togeth- er." One or two more of his tribe con- firmed this pious falsehood, and clamored to have them put up again. "Call the next lot," said the auc- tioneer peremptorily. "Make up your mind a little quicker next time, Mr. Isaacs; you have been long enough at it to know the value of oak and morocco." Mrs. Staines and her friend now started for Morley's Hotel, but went 44 A SIMPLETON. ronnd by Regent Street, whereby they got glued at Peter Robinson's window and nine other windows ; and it was nearly five o'clock when they readied Morley's. As they came near the door of their sitting- room, Mrs. Staines heard somebody laughing and talking to her husband. Tlie laugh, to her subtle ears, did not sound musical and genial, but keen, satirical, unpleasant : so it was with some timidity she opened the door; and there sat the old chap with the twinkling eyes. Both par- ties stared at each other a moment. " Why, it is them ! " cried the old gentleman ; " ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha!" Rosa colored all over, and felt guilty somehow, and looked mis- erable. " Rosa dear," said Doctor Staines, " this is our Uncle Philip." " Oh ! " said Rosa, and turned red and pale by turns : for she had a great desire to propitiate Uncle Philip. " You were in the auction-room, sir," said Mrs. Cole severely. " I was, madam. He ! he ! " " Furnishing a house f " " No, ma'am. I go to a dozen sales a week ; but it is not to buy : I enjoy the humors. Did you ever hear of Robert Burton, ma'am ? " " No. Yes, a great traveller, isn't he? Discovered the Nile — or the Niger — or somelhinq." This majestic vagueness stag- gered old Crusty at first ; but he re- covered his equilibrium, and said, " Wliy, yes, now I think of it, you are right ; he has ti-avellcd farther than most of us ; for about two cen- turies ago he visited that bourn whence no traveller returns. Well, wlicn he was alive — he was a stu- dent of Christ Church — he used to go down to a certain bridge over the Isis and enjoy the chaff of the barge- men. Now there are no bargemen left to, speak of: the mantle of Bobby .Burton's bargees has fallen on the Jews and demi-semi-Chris- tians, that buy and sell furniture at the weekly auctions : thither I re- pair, to hear wliat little coarse wit is left us : used to go to the House of Commons, but they are getting too civil by half for my money. Be- sides, characters come out in an auc- tion. For instance, only this very day I saw two ladies enter, in gor- geous attire, like heifers decked for sacrifice, and reduce their spolia- tion to a certainty by employmg a broker to bid. Now, what is a bro- ker t A fellow who is to he paid a shilling in the pound for all articles • purchased. What is his interest then? To buy cheap f Clearly not. He is paid in proportion to the dearness of the artiide. Rosa's face began to work pite- ously. " Accordingly, what did the bro- ker in question do ? He winked to another broker, and these two bid against one another, over their vic- tim's head, and ran every thing she wanted up at least a hundred per cent above the value. So open and transparent a swindle I have seldom seen, even in an auction-room. Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha! ha!" His mirth was interrupted by Rosa going to her husband, hiding her head on his shoulder, and meekly crying. Christopher comforted her like a man. "Don't you cry, darling," said he ; *' How should a pure crea- ture like you know the badness of the world all in a moment ? If it is my wife you are laughing at, Un- cle Philip, let me tell you this is the wrong place. I'd rntlier, a thousand times, have her as she is, than armed with the ounning and suspicions of a hardened old worldling like you." " With all my heart," said Uncle Philip, who, to do him justice, could take blows as well as give them ; "but why employ a broker 1 why pay a scoundrel five per cent to make you pay^a hundred per cent ? why pay a noisy fool a farthing to open his mouth for you when you A SIMPLETON. 45 have taken the trouble to be there yourself, and have got a mouth of your own to bid discreetly with "! Was ever such an absurdity ? " He began to get angry. " Do you want to quarrel with me, Uncle Philip f " said Christo- pher firing up ; " because sneering at my Rosa is the way, and tlie only way, and the sure way." " Oh, no ! " said Rosa interposing. " Uncle Philip was right. I am very foolish and inexperienced ; but I am not so vain as to turn from good advice. I will never employ a broker again, sir." Uncle Philip smiled, and looked pleased. Mrs. Cole cansed a diversion by taking leave, and Rosa followed her down stairs. On her return she found Christopher telling his uncle all about the bijou, and how he had taken it for £130 a year and £100 premium, and Uncle Philip staring fearfully. At last he found his tongue. "The bijou ! " said he. " Why, that is a nfime they gave to a little den in Dear Street, Mayfair. You haven't been and taken that! Built over a mews." Christopher groaned. " That is the place, I fear." " Why, the owner is a friend of mine ; an old patient. Stables stunk him out. Let it to a man ; I forget his name. Stables stunk him out. He said, ' I shall go.' ' Yoa can't,' said my friend ; ' you have taken a, lease.' ' Lease be d d,' said the other ; ' I never took your house ; here's quite a large stench not specified in your descrip- tion of the property : it can't be the same place : ' flung the lease at his head, and cut like the wind to foreign parts less odoriferous. I'd have got you the hole for ninety ; but you are like your wife, you must go to an agent. What ! don't you know that an agent is a man acting for you with an interest opposed to yours '( Employing an agent. It is like a Trojan seeking the aid of a Greek. You needn't cry, Mrs. Staines; your husband has been let in deeper than you have. Now you are young peo- ple beginning life : I'll give you a piece of advice. Employ others to do what you can't do, and it must be done ; but never to do any thing you can do better for yourselves. Agent ! the word is derived from a Latin word, ' agere,' to do : and agents act up to their etymology ; for they invariably do the nincom- poop that employs them, or deals with them in any mortal way. I'd have got you that beastly little bijou for £90 a year." Uncle Philip went away crusty, leaving the young couple finely mor- tified and discouraged. This did not last very long. Chris- topher noted the experience and Uncle Phil's wisdom in his diary, and then took his wife on his knee, and comforted her, and said, " Never mind ; experience is worth money, and it always has to be bought. Those who cheat us will die poorer than we shall, if we are honest and economical. I have observed that people are seldom ruined by the vices of others; these may hurt them, of course ; but it is only their own faults and follies that can destroy them." . " Ah, Christie ! "said Rosa, " you areaman. Oh, the comfort of being married to a man ! A "na" sees tho best side. I adore men. Dearest, I will waste no more of your money. I will go to no more sales." Christopher saw "she was deeply mortified ; and he said quietly, " On the contrary, you will go to the very next. Only take Uncle Philip's ad- vice ; employ no broker, and watch the prices things fetch when you are not bidding, and keep cool." • She caressed his ears with both her white hands, and thanked him for giving her another trial. So that trouble melted in the sunshine of conjugal love. Notwithstanding the agent's sol- emn assurance, the bijou was out of 46 A SIMPLETON. repair. Doctor Staines detected in- ternal odors, as well as tliose that flowed in from the mews. Ho wa.s not the man to let his wife perish by miasma ; so he had the drains all up and actually found brick drains and a cesspool ; he stopped that up, and laid down new pipe-drains, with a good fall, and properly trapped. The old drains were hidden, after the manner of builders. He had the whole course of his new drains marked upon all the floors they passed under and had several stones and boards hinged, to faciliate ex- amination at any period. But all this, with the necessary cleaning, wliitewashing, painting, arid papering, ran away with money. Then came Rosa's purchases, which, to her amazement, amounted to il90, and not a carpet, curtain, or bed, among the lot. Then there was the carriage home from the auction-room, an expense one avoids by buying at a shop, and the broker claimed his shilling in the pound. This, however, Staines refused. The man came and blustered. Rosa, who was there, trembled. Then, for the first time, she saw her hus- band's brow lower ; he seemed trans- figured, and looked terrible. " You scoundrel," said he, "you set another villain like yourself to bid against you, and you betrayed the innocent lady that emplpyed you. I could indict you and your confederate for a conspiracy : I take the goods out of respect of my wife's credit, but yon shall gain nothing by swindling her. Be off, you heartless miscreant, or I'll" — " I'll take the law if you do." " Take it, then : I'll give you something to howl for ; " and he seized him with a grasp so tremen- dous that the fellow cried out in dismay, " Oh ! don't hit me sir ; pray don't." On this abject appeal, Staines tore the door open with his left hand, and spun the broker out into the passage with his right. Two move- ments of the angry Hercules, and the man was literally whirled out of siglit with a rapidity and swiftness almost ludicrous ; it was like a trick in a pantomime : a clattL'r on the stairs betrayed that he had gone down the first steps in a wholesale and irregular manner, though he had just managed to keep his feet. As for Staines, he stood there still lowering like thunder, and his eyes like hot coals ; but his wife threw her arms around him, and begged him consolingly not to mind. She was trembling like an as- pen. "Dear me," said Christopher, with a ludicrous change to marked pbliteness and respect; "I forgot you in my righteous indignation." Next he becomes uxurious. " Did they frighten her, a duck ? Sit on my knee, darling, and pull my hair for not being more considerate— there — there." This was followed by the whole absurd soothing process as practised by manly husbands upon quivering and somewhat hysterica! wives ; and ended with a formal apology. " You must not think that I am passionate ; on the contrary, I am always practis- ing self-government. My maxim is, Aminum rege qui nisi paret imperat ; and that means. Make your temper your servant, or else it will be your master. But to ill-use my dear lit- tle wife, it is unnatural, it is monstrous, it makes my blood boil." " Oh, dear ! don't go into another. It is all over. I can't bear to see you in a passion ; you are so terri- ble, so _ beautiful. Ah! tlicy are fine things, courage and strength. There is nothing I admire so much." _ " Why, they are as common as dirt. What I admire is modesty, timidity, sweetness ; the sensitive cheek that pales or blushes at a word, the bosom that quivers, and clings to a fellow whenever any thing goes A SIMPLETON. 47 " Oh, that IS what you admire, is it t " said Kosa dryly. " Admire it ? said Christopher, not seeing the trap ; " I adore it." " Then, Christie dear_, you are a simpleton : that is all. And we are made for one another." The house was to be furnished and occupied as soon as possible ; so Mrs. Staines and Mrs. Cole went to another sale-room. Mrs. Staines re- membered all Uncle Philip had said, and went plainly dressed ; but her friend declined to sacrifice her showy dress to her friend's interests. Rosa thought that a little unkind, but said nothing. In this auction-room they easily pot a place at the table : but tliey did not find it heaven ; for a num- ber of second-hand carpets were in the sale, and these, brimful of dust, were all shown on the table, and the dirt choked and poisoned our fair friends. Brokers pestered them, until, at last, Rosa, smarting under her late exposure, addressed the auctioneer quietly, in her silvery tones : " Sir, these gentlemen are armoyingme by forcing their services on me. I do not intend to buy at all unless I can be allowed to bid for myself." When Rosa, blushing and amazed at her own boldness, uttered these words, she little foresaw their effect. She had touched a popular sore. " You are right, madam," said a respectable tradesman opposite her. " VVhat right have these dirty fellows, without a shilling in their pocket, to go and force themselves on a lady against her will ? " " It has been complained of in the papers again and again," said anotlier. " What, mayn't we live as well as you ?" retorted a broker. " Yes, but not to force yourself on a lady. Why, she'd give you in charge of the police if you tried it on outside." Then there was a downriiht elam- mor of discussion and chaff. Presently ujjrises very slowly a countryman so colossal that it seem- ed as if he never would have done getting up, and gives his experien- ces. He informed the company, in a broad Yorkshire dialect, that he did a bit in furniture, and at first starting those brokers buzzed about him like flies, and pestered him. "Ah damned 'em pretty hard," said he, " but they didn't heed any. So then ah spoke 'em civil, and ah said, ' Well, lads, ah dinna eomefra Yorkshire to sit like a dummy and let you buy wi' my brass : the first that pesters me again ah'll just fell him on t' plaace, like a caulf, and ah'm not very sure he'll get up again in a hurry.' So they dropped me like a hot potato ; never pestered me again. But if they won't give over pestering you, mistress, ah'll come round, and just stand lichind your chair, and bring neive with me," showing a fist like a leg of mutton. "No, no," said the auctioneer, "that will not do. I will have no disturbance here. Call the police- man." While the clerk went to the door for the bobby, a gentleman reminded the auctioneer that the journals had repeatedly drawn attention to the nuisance. "Fault of the piiblic, not mine, sir. Policeman, stand behind that lady's chair, and, if anybody annoys her, put him quietly into the street." " This auction-room will be to let soon," said a voice at the end of the table. " This auction-room," said the auctioneer, master of the gay or grave at a moment's notice, "is supported by the public and the trade ; it is not supported by paupers." A Jew upholsterer put in his word. " I do my own business ; but I like to let a poor man live." "Jonathan," s.iid the auctioneer to one of his servants, " after this 48 A SIMPLETON, sale yon may put up the shutters ; we have gone and offijnded Mr. Jacobs. He keeps a shop in Blind Allev, Whitechapel. Now then, Lot 69." Kosa bid timidly for one or two lots, and boufjht them cheap. The auctioneer kept looking her way, and she had only to nod. The obnoxious broker got oppo- site her, and ran her up a little out of spite; but as lie had only got half a crown about him, and no means of doubling it, he dared not go far. On the other side of the table was a figure to which Rosa's eyes often turned with interest : a fair young boy about twelve years old ; he had golden hair, and was in deep mourn- ing. His appearance interested Rosa, and she wondered how he came there, and why : he looked like a lamb wedged in among wolves, a flower among weeds. As the lots proceeded, the boy seemed to get uneasy ; and at last, when Lot 73 was put up, anybody could see in his poor little face that he was there to bid for it. " Lot 73, an arm-chair covered in morocco. An excellent and most useful article. Should not be at all surprised if it was made by Gillow." " Gillow would, though," said Jacobs, who owed him a turn. Chorus of dealers. — " Haw ! haw ! " The auctioneer. — "I like to hear some people run a lot down ; shows they are going to bid for it in ear- nest. Well, name your own price. Five pounds to begin 1 " 'Now, if nobody had spoken, the auctioneer would have gone on, " Well, four pounds then, three, two, whatever you like," and at last obtained a bona fide offer of thirty_ shillings; but the moment he said, " Five pounds to begin," the boy in black lifted up his child- ish treble, and bid thus, "Five pound ten," — " six pounds," — "six pound ten," — " seven pounds," — " seven pound ten," — " eight pounds," — "eight pound ten," — " nine pounds," — " nine pound ten," — "ten pounds!" without interruption, and indeed, almost in a breath. There was a momentary pause of amazement, and then an outburst of chaff. "Nice little boy!" " Didn't he say his lesson well ? " "Favor us with your card, sir. You are a gent as knows how to buy." " What did he stop for ? If it's worth ten, it is worth a hundred." " Bless the child ! " said a female dealer kindly, " what made you go on like that ? Why, there was no bid against you ! you'd have got it for two pounds, — a rickety old thing." Young master began to whimper. " Why, the gentleman said, ' Five pounds to liegin.' It was the chair poor grandpapa always sat in, and 'all the things are sold, and mamma said it would break her heart to lose it. She was too ill to come, so she sent me. She told me I was not to let it be sold away from us for less than ten pounds, or she sh — should bo m — m — miserable," and the poor little follow began to cry. Rosa followed suit promptly but unobtru- sively. " Sentiment always costs money," said Mr. Jacobs gravely. " How do you know ■? " asked Mr. Cohen. " Have you got any on hand 1 I never seen none at your shop." Some tomptin<^ things now came up, and Mrs. Staines bid freely ; but all of a sudden she looked down the table, and there was Uncle Philip t^vinkling as before. " Oh, dear ! what am I doing now ? " thought she. " I have got no broker." She bid on, but in fear and trem- bling because of those twinkling eyes. At last she mustered cour- age, wroto on a leaf of her pocket- book, and passed it down to him. A SIMPLETON. 49 " It would be only kind to warn me. What am I doing wrong ? " , He sent her back a line directly : "Auctioneer running you up him- self. Follow his eye when he bids ; you will see there is no bona fide bidder at your prices." Eosa did so, and found that it was true. She nodded to Uncle Philip ; and, with her expressive face, asked him what she should do. The old boy must have his joke. So he wrote back, " Tell him, as you see he has a fancy for certain arti- cles, you would not be so discourte- ous as to bid against him." The next article but one was a drawing-room suit Bosa wanted ; but the auctioneer bid against her ; so, at eighteen pounds, she stopped. " It is against you, madam," said the auctioneer. " Yes, sir," said Eosa ; " but as you are the only bidder, and you have been so kind to me, I would not think of opposing you." The words were scarcely out of her mouth when they were greeted with a roar of Homeric laughter that literally shook the room, and this time not at the expense of the inno- cent speaker. " That's into your mutton, gov- ernor." " Sharp's the word this time." " I say, governor, don't you want a broker to bid for ye ? " " Wink at me next time, sir ; I'll do the ofifice for you." " No greenhorns left now.'' " That lady won't give a ten-pound note for her grandfather's arm- chair." " Oh, yes, she will, if it's stuffed with bank-notes ! " "Put the next lot up with the owner's name and the reserve price. Open business." " And sing a psalm at starting.'' " A little less noise in Jiidsea, if you please," said the auctioneer, who had now recovered from the blow. "t,ot97." 5 This was a very pretty marque- terie cabinet ; it stood against the wall, and Rosa had set her heart upon it. Nobody would bid. She had muzzled the auctioneer effectu- ally. " Your own price." " Two pounds," said Rosa. A dealer offered guineas, and it advanced slowly to four pounds and half a crown, at whieli it was about to be knocked down to Rosa, when suddenly a new bidder arose iu the broker Rosa had rejected. They bid slowly and sturdily against each other, until a line was given to Rosa from Uncle Philip. " This time it is your own friend, the snipe-nosed woman. She tele- graphed a broker." Rosa read, and crushed the note. " Six guineas," said she. " Six-ten." "Seven." " Seven-ten." "Eight." " Eight-ten." " Ten guineas," said Rosa ; and then, with feminine cunning, steal- ing a sudden glance, caught her friend leaning back and signalling the broker not to give in. "Eleven pounds." "Twelve.^' " Thirteen." " Fourteen." " Sixteen." " Eighteen." " Twenty." " Twenty guineas." " It is yours, my faithfdl friend," said Rosa, turning suddenly round on Mrs. Cole with a magnificent glance no one would have thought her capable of. . Then she rose, and stalked away. Dumfoundered for the moment, Mrs. Cole followed her, and stopped her at the door. " Why, Rosie dear, it is the only thing I have bid for. There I've sat by your side like a mouse." Rosa turned gravely toward her. " You know it is not that. You 50 A SIMPLKTOK. had only to toll me you wanted It. I would never have been so mean as to bid against yovi." " Mean, indeed I " said Florence, tossinij her head. " Yes, mean ; to draw back and liide behind the friend you were with, and employ the very ro^ae she had turned off. But it is my own fault. Cecilia warned me against you. Slie always said you were a treach- erous girl." " And I say you are an impudent little minx. Only just married, and going about like two vagabonds, and talk to me like that ! " " We are not going about like two vagabonds. We have taken a house in Mayfair." " Say a stable." " It was by yonr advice, you false- hearted creature." " Yon are a fool." " You are worse : you are a trait- ress." " Then don't you have any thing to do with me." " Heaven forbid I should. You treacherous thing. " " You insolent — insolent — I ■iiate you." " And I despise you." " I always hated you at bottom." "That's why you pretended to love me, you wretch." " Well, I pretend no more. I am your enemy for life. " Thank you. You have told the truth for once in your life." "I have. And he shall never call in your husband ; so you may leave Mayfair as soon as you like." " Not to please you, madam. We can get on mthout traitors." And so they parted, with eyes that gleamed like tigers. Rosa drove home in great agita- tion, and tried to tell Christopher, but choked, and became hysterical. Tlie husband physician coaxed and and scolded her out of that; and presently in came Uncle Philip, full of the humors of the auction-room. He told about the little boy with a delight that disgusted Mrs. Staines ; and tljen was particularly merry on female friendships. " Pancy a man going to a sale with liis friend, and bidding against him on the sly." " She is no friend of min.e. We are enemies for life." " And you were to be friends tiU death," said Staines with a sigh. Philip inquired who she was. '■ Mrs. John Cole." " Not of Curzon Street ? " " Yes." "And you have quarrelled with her ? " " Yes." "Well, but her "husband is a general practitioner." " She IS a traitress." "But her husband could put a good deal of money in Christopher's way." " I can't help it. She is a trait- ress." " And you have quaiTelled with her about an old wardrobe." " No, for her disloyalty, and her base good-for-nothingness. Oh ! oh ! oh ! " Uncle Philip got up, looking sour. " Good-aftei-noon, JIi-s. Christo- pher," said he very dryly. Christopher accompanied him to the foot of the stairs. _ Well,Christopher," said he, " mat; rimony is a blunder at the best; and you have not done the thing by halves. You have maiTied a simple- ton. She will be your ruin." " Uncle Philip, since you only come here to insult us, I hope in future- you will stay at home." " Oh ! with pleasure, sir. Good- CHAPTER Vn. Christopher Staines came back looking pained and disturbed. " There," said he, " I feared it would come to this. I have quarrelled with Uncle Philip." " Oh ! how could you ? " A SIMPLETOIT. 51 " Ho affronted me.'' "What about?" "Never you mind. Don't let us say arjy thing more about it, durling. It is a pity, a sad pity — he was a good friend of mine once." He paused, entered what had passed in his diary, and then sat down with a gentle expression of sadness on his manly features. Rosa liung about him, soft and pitying, till it cleared away, at all events for the time. Next day they went together to clear the goods Rosa Iiad purchased. While the list was being made out in the otKoe, in came the fair-haired boy with a ten-pound note in his very hand. Rosa cauL'ht sight of it, and turned to the auctioneer with a sweet, pitying ftice : " Oil ! sir, sure- ly you will not take »11 that money from him, poor child, fur a rickety old chair." The auctioneer stared with amaze- ment at her simplicity, and said, " What would the vendors say to meV She looked distressed, and said, "Well, then, really we ought to raise a subscription, poor thing ! " " Why, ma'am," said the auction- eer, " he isn't hurt : tlie article be- longed to bis mother and her sister ; the brother-in-law isn't on good terms; so he demanded a public sale. She will gi't back four pun ten out of it." Here the clerk put in his word. " And there's five pounds paid, I forgot to tell you." " Oh ! left a deposit, did he ? " " No, sir. But the Laughing Hy- ena gave you five pounds at the end of the sale." "The Laughing Hyena, Mr. i Jones 1 " " Oh ! beg pardon : that is what we call him in the room. He has got such a curious laugh." " Oh ! I know the gent. He is a retired doctor. I wish he'd laugh less and buy more ; and he gave you five pounds toward the young gen- tleman's arm-chair ! Well, I should as soon have expected blood from a flint. You have got five pounds to pay, sir : so now the chair will cost your mamma ten shillings. Give him the order and the change, Mr. Jones." Ciiristopher and Rosa talked this over in the room while the men were looking out their purchases. " Come," said Rosa ; " now I for- give him sneering at me ; his heart is not really hard, you see." Staines, on the contrary, was very angry. " What I " he cried, " pity a boy who made one bad bargain, that, after all, was not a very bad bargain ; and he had no kindness, nor even common humanity, for my beautiful Rosa, in- experienced as a child, and buying for ber husband, like a good, affec- tionate, honest creature, among a lot of sharpers and hard-hearted cynics — like liimself." " It was cruel of him,'' said Rosa, altering her mind in a moment, and half inclined to cry. This made Christopher furious. " The ill-natured, crotchety, old — , The fact is, he is a misogynist." " Oh, the wretch ! " said Rosa warmly. " And what is that t " " A woman-hater." " Oh ! is that all ? Why, so do I — after that Florence Cole. Wo- men are mean, heartless things. Give me men ! they are loyal and true." "All of them ?" inquired Chris- topher a little satirically. " Read the papers." " Every soul of them," said Mrs. Staines, passing loftily over the pro- posed test. " 'That is, all the ones / care about ; and that is my own, own one." Disagreeable creatures to hava about one — these simpletons ! Mrs. Staines took Christopher to shops to buy the remaining requi- sites: and in three days more the house was furnished, two female ser- vants engaged, and the couple took their luggage over to the Bijou. Rosa was excited and happy at 52 A SIMPLETOK. the novelty of possession and an- thority, and that close sense of house proprietorship which belongs to wo- man. By dinner-time she could have told you how many shelves there were in every cupboard, and knew the Bijou by heart in a way that Christopher never knew it. All this ended, as running about and ex- citement generally does, with my lady being exhausted, and lax witli fatigue. So then he made her lie down on a little couch, while he went through his accounts. When he had examined all the bills carefully he looked very grave, and said, " Who would believe this? We began with X3000. It was to last us several years— 'till I got a good practice. Rosa, there is only jei440 left." Oh, impossible !" said Rosa. " Oh dear ! why did I ever enter a sale-room 1 " "No, no, my darling; you were bitten once or twice, but you made some good bargains too. Remem- ber there was i400 set apart for my , life policy." " What a waste of money ! " "Your father did not think so. Then the lease; the premium; re- pairs of the drains that would have poisoned my Rosa; turning the coach-house into a dispensary; paint- ing, papering and furnishing; china and linen and every thing to buy. We must look at this seriously. Only £1440 left. A slow profes- sion. No friends. I have quar- relled with Uncle Philip : you with Mrs. Cole; and her husband would have launched me." " And it was to please her we set- tled here. Oh, I could kill her: nasty cat ! " " Never mind ; it is not a ease for despondency, but it is for prudence. AH we have to do is to look the thing in the face, and be very economical in every thing. I had better give you an allowance for housekeeping; and I earnestly beg you to buy things yourself while you are a poor man's wife, and pay ready money for every thing. My mother was a great manager, and she always said, ' There is but one way ; be your own market-woman, and pay on the spot; never let the tradesmen get you ou their books, or what with false weight, double charges, and the things your servants order that never enter the house, you lose more than a hundred a year by cheat- ing.' " Kosa yielded, a languid assent to this part of his discourse, and it hardly seemed to enter her mind ; but she raised no objection, and in due course he made her a special al- lowance for housekeeping. It soon transpired that medical advice was to be had gratis at the Bijou from eight till ten, and there was generally a good attendance. But a week passed, and not one pa- tient came of the class this couple must live by. Chiistopher set this down to what people call the " Tran- sition period : " his Kent patients had lost him; his London patients not found him. He wrote to all his patients in the country, and many of his pupils at the university, to let them know where he was settled • and then he waited. Not a creature came. Rosa bore this very well for a time, so long as the house was a novelty ; but, when that excitement was worn out, she began to be very dull, and used to come and entice him out to walk with her; he would look wistfully at her, but object that if he left the house he should be sure to lose a patient. " Oh, they won't come any more for our staying in — tiresome things ! " said Rosa. But Christopher would kiss her, and remain firm, " My love," said he, " you do not realize how hard a fight there is before us. How should you t You are very young. No, for your sake, I must not throw a chance away. Write to your female friends : that will while away an hour or two." A SIMPLETON. 53 "What, after that Tlorenee ColeV " Write to those who have not made such violent professions." " So I will, dear. Especially to those that are married and come to London. Oh, and I'll write to that cold-blooded thing, Lady Cicely Tre- herne! Why do you shake your head 1 " " Did I ? I was not aware. Well, dear, if ladies of rank were to come here, I fear they might make you discontented with your lot." " All the women on earth could not do that. However, the chances are she will not come near me ; she left the school quite a, big girl, an immense girl, when I was only twelve. She used to smile at my capriccios, and once she kissed me — actually. She was an awful Sawney, though, and so affected. I think I will write to her." These letters brought just one lady, a Mrs. Turner, who talked to Rosa very glibly about herself, and amused llosa twice : at the third visit Rosa tried to change the con- versation. Mrs. Turner instantly got up and went away. She could not bear the sound of the human voice, unless it was talking about her and her affairs. And now Staines began to feel downright uneasy. Income was steadily going out ; not a shilling coming in. The lama, the blind, and the sick frequented his dispen- sary, and got his skill out of him gratis, and sometimes a little physic, a little wine, and other things that cost him money : but of the patients that pay, not one came to his front- door. He walked round and round his little yard, like a hyena in its cage, waiting, waiting, waiting : and oh ! how he envied tlie lot of those who can hunt for work, instead of hav- ing to stay at home and wait for others to come, whose will they can not influence. His heart began to sicken with hope deferred and dim 5* forebodings of the future ; and he saw, with grief, that his wile was getting duller and duller, and that her days dragged more heavily far than his own ; for he could study. At last his knocker begau to show signs of life : his visitors were phy- sicians. His lectures on "Diagno- sis " were well known to them ; and one after another found him out. They were polite, kind, even friend- ly ; but here it ended : these gentle- men, of course, did not resign their patients to him ; and the inferior class of practitioners avoided his door like a pestilence. Mrs. Staines, who had always lived for amusement, could strike out no fixed occupation ; her time hung like lead ; the house was small ; and in small houses the faults of servants ran against the mistress, and she can't help seeing them, and all the worse for her. It is easier to keep things clean in the country, and Rosa had a high standard, which her two servants could never quite attain. This annoyed her, and she began to scold a little. They an- swered civilly, but, in other re- spects, remained imperfect beings : they laid out every shilling they earned in finery; and this, I am ashamed to say, irritated Mrs. Staines, who was wearing out her wedding garments, and had no ex- cuse for buying, and Staines had begged her to he economical. The more they dressed, the more she scolded ; they began to answer. She gave the cook warning ; the other, though not on good terms with the cook, had a gush of espi-it du corps directly, and gave Mrs. Staines warning, Mrs. Staines told her husband all this : he took her part, though with- out openly interfering ; and they had two new servants, not as good as the last. This worried Rosa sadly ; but it was a flea-bite to the deeper nature and more forecasting mind of her husba'nd, still doomed to pace that 5-1 A SIMPLETON. miserable yard, like a hyena, chafing, seeking;, longing for the patient tliat never came. IJosa used to look out of his dress- ing-room window, and see him pace the yard. At first tears of pity stood in her eyes. By and by she got angry witli the world ; and at last, strange to say, a little irritated with him. It is hard for a weak woman to keep up all her respect for the man that fails. One day, after watching him a long time unseen, she got excited, put on her shawl and bonnet, and ran down to liira. She took him by the arm : " If you love me, come out of this prison, and walk with me ; we are too miserable. I shall be your first patient if this goes on much longer." He looked at her, saw she was very excited, and liad better iie humored ; so he kissed lier, and just said, with a melanchoiy smile, " How poor are they that have not patience ! " Then he put on his hat, and walked in the Park and Kensington Gardens with her. The season was just beginning. There were carriages enough, and gay Amazons enough, to make poor Rosa sigh more than once. Christopher heard the sigh, and pressed her arm,- and said, " Cour- age, love : I hope to see you among them yet." " The sooner the better," said she a little hardly. "And, meantime, which of them all is as beautiful as yqu ? " " All I know is, they are more at- tractive. Who looks at nje 1 walk- ing tamely by." Christopher said nothing: but these words seemed to imply a thirst for admiration, and made him a little uneasy. By arid by tlie walk put the swift- changing Rosa in spirits, and she began to chat gayly, and hung prat- tling and beaming on her husband's arm, when they entered Curzon Street. Here, however, occurred an incident, trifling in itself, but un- pleasant. Dr. Staines saw one of his best Kentish patients get feebly out of his carriage, and call on Ur. Bar. He started, and stopped. Uosa asked what was the matter. He told her. She said, " We are unfortunate." Staines said nothing; he only quickened his pace, but he was greatly disturbed. She expected liim to complain that she had dragged him out, and lost him that first chance. But he said nothing. VVIien they got home he asked the servant had anybody called. " No, Sir." " Surely you are mistaken, Jane. A gentleman in a carriage ! " " Not a creature have been since you went out, sir." " Well, then, dearest," said he sweetly, " we have nothing to re- proach ourselves with." Then he knit his brow gloomily. "It is worse tiian I thought. It seems even one's country patients go to another doc- tor when they visit London. It is hard. It is hard." Rosa leaned her head on his shoul- der, and curled 'round him, as one she would shield against the world's injustice; but she said nothing; slie was a little fiightened at his eye that lowered, and his noble frame that trembled a little, with ire sup- pressed. Two days after this a brougham drove up to the door, and a tallish, fiittish, pasty-faced man got out, and inquired for Dr. Staines. He was shown into the dining- room, and told Jane he had come to consult tlie doctor. KpsEj had peeped over the stairs, all curiosity ; she glided noiselessly down, and with love's swift foot got into the yard before Jane. " Ho is come ! he is come ! Kiss me.'' Dr. Staines kissed her iirst, and then asked who was cpme. " Oh, noliody of any consequence I Only the first patient. Kiss me again." Dr.' Staines kissed her again, and A SIMPLETON. 55 tlien was for going to the first pa- tient. " No," said she ; "not yet. I met a doctor's wife at Dr. Mayne's, and she told me things. You must al- ways keep them waiting, or else they think nothing of you. Such a funny woman ! '.Treat 'em like dogs, my dear,' she said. But I told her they wouldn't come to be treated like dogs or any other animal." " You had better have kept that to yourself, I think." " Oh ! if you are going to be dis- agreeable, good-by. You can go to yuur patient, sir. Christie dear, if he is very, very ill — and I'm sure I hope he is — oh, how wicked I am ! — may I have a new bonnet f " " If you really want one." On the patient's card was "Mr. Pettigrew, 47 Manchester Square." As soon as Staines entered the room the first patient told him who and what he was, a retired civilian from India; but he had got a son there still, a very rising man ; want- ed to be a parson, but he would not stand that ; bad profession ; don't rise by merit ; very hard to rise at all — no, India was the place. "As for me, I made my fortune there in ten years. Obliged to leave it now — invalid this many years; no tone. Tried two or three doctors in this neighborhood ; heard there was a new one, h.id written a book on something. Thought I would try him." To stop him, Staines requested to feel his pulse, and examine his tongue and eye. " You are suffering from indiges- tion," said he. " I will write you a prescription ; but, if you want to get well, you must simplify your diet very much." While he was writing the pre- scription, off went this patient's tongue, and ran through the topics of the day, and into his family his- tory again. Staines listened politely.. He could afford it, having only this one. At last the first patient, having delivered an octavo volume of noth- ing, rose to go ; but it seems that speaking an infinite deal of noth- ing exhausts the body, though it does not affect the mind ; for the first patient sank down in his chair again. " I have excited myself too much — feel rather faint." Staines saw no signs of coming syncope; he rang the bell quietly, and ordered a decanter of sherry to be brought; the first patient filled himself a glass ; then another ; and went off, revived, to chatter elsewhere. But at the door he said, " I had always a running- account with Dr. Mivar. I sujjpose you don't object to that system. Dou- ble fee the first visit, single after- ward." Dr. Staines bowed a little stiffly; he would have preferred the money. However, he looked at the Blue- Book, and found bis'visitor lived at 47 Manchester Square ; so that re- moved his anxiety. The first patient called every other day, chattered nineteen to the dozen, was exhausted, drank two glasses of sherry, and drove away. Soon after this a second patient called. This one was a deputy pa- tient — CoUett, a retired butler — kept a lodging-house, and waited at parties; he Uved close by, but had a married daughter in Chelsea. Would the doctor visit her, and he would be responsible ? Staines paid the woman a visit or two, and treated her so effectually that soon her visits were paid to him. She was cured, and Staines, who by this time wanted to see money, sent to Collett. Collett did not answer. Staines wrote warmly. Collett dead silent. Staines employed a solicitor. Collett said he had recommended the patient, that was all; he had never said he would pay her debts. That was her husband's business. Now, her husband was the mate 56 A SIMPLETON. of a sLip ; wo-nld not be in England for eighteen months. The woman, visited by lawyer's clerk, cried bitterly, and said she and her childrea had scarcely enough to eat. Lawyer advised Staines to aban- don the case, and pay him two pounds fifteen shillings, expenses. He did so. " This is damnable," said he. " I must get it out of Pettigrew : by the by, he has not been here' this two days." He waited another day for Petti- grew, and then wrote to him. Ko answer. Called. Pettigrew gone abroad. House in Manchester Square to let. Staines went to the house-agent with his tale. Agent was impene- trable at first, but at last, won by the doctor's manner and his unhap- piness, referred him to Pettigrew s solicitor; the sblicitur was a respect- able man, and said he would for- ward the claim to Pettigrew in Paris. But by this time Pettigrew was chatting and guzzling in Berlin ; and thence he got to St. Petersburg. In that stronghold of gluttony he gormandized more than ever, and, heinji: unable to chatter it off the stomach, as in other cities, had apo- plexy, and died. But, long before this, Staines saw his money was as irrecoverable as his sherry ; and he said to Rosa. " I wonder whether I shall ever live to curse the human race ? " Heaven forbid ! " said Rosa. " Oh ! they nse you cruelly, my poor, poor Christie f " Thus for months the young doc- tor's patients bled him, and that was all. And Rosa got more and more moped at being in the house so much, and' pestered Christopher to take her out, and he declined ; and, being a man hard to beat, took to writing on medical subjects, in hopes of getting some money from the various medical and scicntifie publications; but he found it as hard to get the wedge in there as to get patients. At last Rosa's remonstrance be- gan to rise into something that sounded like reproaches. One Sun- day she caine to him in her bonnet, and interrupted his studies to say he might as well lay down the pen and talk. Nobody would publish any thing he wrote. Christopher frowned, but con- tained himself; and laid down the pen. " I might as well not be man-ied at all as to be a doctor's wife. You are never seen out with me, not even to church. Do behave like a Christian, and come to church with me now." Dr. Staines shook his head. "Why, I wouldn't miss church for all the world. Any excitement is better than always moping. Come over the water with me. The time Jane and I went, the cler- gyman read a paper that Mr. Brown had fallen down in a fit. There was such a rush directly, and I'm sure fifty ladies went out — fancy, all Mrs. Browns! Wasn't that fun t " " Fun ? I don't see it. "Well, Rosa, your mind is evidently better adapted to diversion than mine is. Go you to church, love; and I'll continue my studies." " Then all I can say is, I wish I was back in my father's house. Husband I friend I companion ! — I have none." Then she burst out crying vio- lently ; and being shocked at what she had said, and at the agony it had brought into her husband's face, she went off into hysterics ; and as his heart would not let him bellow at her, or empty a bucket on her as he could on another patient, she had a good long bout of them, and got her way ; for she broke up his stud- ies for,that day, at all events. Even after the hysterics were got; A SIMPLETON-. 57 under, she continued* to moan and sigh very prettily, with her lovely, languid head pillowed on her hus- biind's arm ; in a word, though the hysterics were real, yet this inno- cent young person had the presence of mind to postpone entire convales- cence, and lay herself out to be petted all day. But fate willed it otherwise. While she was sighing and moaning, came to the door a scurrying of feet, and then a sharp, persistent ringing that meant some- thing. The moaner cocked eye and ear, and said, in her every-day voice, which, coming so suddenly, sounded very droll, " What is that, I wonder ? " Jane hurried to the street-door, and Rosa recovered by magic ; and, pre- ferring gossip to hysterics, in an al- most gleeful whisper ordered Chris- topher 10 open the door of the study The Bijou was so small that the following dialogue rang in their ears : — A boy in buttons gasped out, " Oh I if you please, will you ast the doctor to -come round directly'? there's a haccident." " La, bless me 1 " said Jane ; and never budged. " Yes, miss. It's our missus's little girl fallen right off an i chair, and cut her head dreadful, and smothered in blood." "La, to be sure ? " And she wait- ed steadily for more. " Ay, and missus she fainted right off ; and I've been to the reg- ler doctor, which he's out ; and Sarah, the house-maid, said I had better come here : you was only just set up, she said ; you wouldn't have so much to do, says she." " That is all she knows," said Jane. " Why, our master they pulls him in pieces which is to have him fust." " What an awful liar ! " " Oh, you good girl ! " whispered Dr. Staines and Rosa in one breath. "Ah, well ! " said Buttons, "any way, Sarah says she knows you are clever, cos her little girl as Uvea with her mother, and calls Sarah aunt, has bin to your • 'spensary with ringworm, and you cured her right off." " Ay, and a good many more," said Jane loftily. She was a house- maid of imagination ; and while Staines was putting some lint and an instrument into his pocket, she pi'oceeded to relate a number of miraculous cures. Doctor Staines interrupted them by suddenly emerging, and inviting Buttons to take him to the house. Mrs. Staines was so pleased with Jane for cracking up the doctor, that she gave her five shillings ; and after that used to talk to her a great deal more than to the cook, which in due course set all three by the ears. Buttons took' the doctor to a fine house in the same street, and told him his mistress's name on the way, — Mrs. Lucas. He was taken up to the nursery, and found Mrs. Lucas seated, crying and lament- ing, and a woman holding a little girl of about seven, whose brow had been cut open by the fender, on which she had fallen from a chair; it looked very ugly, and was even now bleeding. Dr. Staines lost no time; he ex- amined the wound keenly, and then said kindly to Mrs. Lucas, " I am happy to tell you it is not serious." He then asked for a large basin and some tepid water, and bathed it so softly and soothingly that the child soon became composed ; and the mother discovered the artist at once. He compressed the wound, and ex- plained to Mrs. Lucas that the prin- cipal thing really was to avoid an ugly scar. " There is no danger," said he. He then bound the wound neatly up, and had the girl put to bed. " You will not wake her at any particular hour, nurse. Let her sleep. Have a little strong beef tea ready, and give it her at any hour, night or day, she asks for 58 A SIMPLETON-. it. But do not force it on her, or you will do her more harm than good. She had better sleep bclore she eats." Mrs. Lucas begged him to come every morning ; and, as he was go- ing, she shook hands with him, and the soft palm deposited a hard sub- stance wrappc;d in paper. He took it with proi'essional gravity and seeming imconseiousness; but, once outside the liouse, went home on wings. He ran up to the drawing- room, and found his wife seated, and playing at reading. He threw himself on his knees, and the fee into her lap ; and, while she unfolded the paper with an ejaculation of pleasure, he said, " JJarling, the first real patient — the first real fee. It is yours to buy tlie new bonnet." "Oh, I'm so glad!" said she, with her eyes glistening. " But I'm afraid one can't get a bonnet fit to wear — for a guineii." Dr. Staines visited his little pa- tient every day, and received iiis guinea. Mrs. Lucas also called him in for her own little ailments, and they were the best possible kind of ailments : being almost imaginary, there was no limit to them. Then did Mrs. Staines turn jealous of her husband. " They never ask me," said she ; " and I am moped to death." "It is hard," said Christopher sadly. "But have a little patience. Society will come to you long before practice comes to me." About two o'clock one afternoon a carriage and pair drove up, and a gorgeous footman delivered a card, " Lady Cicely Trcherne." Of course Mrs. Staines was at home, and only withheld by propri- ety from bounding into the passage to meet her school-fellow. However, she composed herself in the drawing- room ; and presently the door was opened, and a very tall young wo- man, richly but not gayly dressed, drifted into the room, and stood I there a statue of composure. | Rosa had risen to fiy to her ; but the reverence a girl of eighteen strikes into a child of twelve hung about her stiil ; and she came timid- ly forward, blushing and sparkling, a curious contrast in color and mind to her visitor; for Lady Cicely was Languor in person — her hair wliite-brown, her face a fine oval, but almost colorless ; her eyes a pale gray, her neck and hands incomparably white and beautiful — a lymphatic young lady, a live anti- dote to emotion. However, Rosa's beauty, timidity, and undisguised affectionateness were something so different from what she was used to in the world of fashion that she ac- tually smiled, and held out both her hands a little way. Rosa seized them and pressed them; they let her, and remained passive and limp. "O Lady Cicely!" said Rosa, " how kind of you to come ! " " How kind of you to send to me," was the polite but perfectly cool reply. "But how you are gwown, and — may I say impwoved ? — you la petite Lusignan! It is incwedible, lisped her ladyship very calmly. " I was only a child," said Rosa. " You were always so beautiful and tall, and kind to a little monkey like me. Oh, pray sit down. Lady Cicely, and talk of old times." She di-ew her gently to the sofa, and they sat do\vn hand in hand ; but Lady Cicely's high-bred reserve made her a very poor gossip about any thing that touched herself and her family; so Rosa, though no egotist, was drawn into talking about herself more than she would have done had she deliberately planned the conversation. But here was an old school-fellow, and a singularly polite listener ; and so out came her love, her genuine hap- piness, her particular griefs, and es- pecially the crowning grievance, no society, moped to death, &c. Lady Cicely could hardly under- A SIMPLETON. 69 stand the Bentiment in a woman who so evidently loved her husband. " Society ! " said she, after due re- flection, "why, it is a boa." (And here I may as well explain that Lady Cicely spoke certain words falsely, and others affectedly; and as for the letter r, she could say it if she made a hearty effort, but was generally too lazy to throw her leg over it.) " Society ! I'm dwenched to death with it. If I could only catch flah like other women, and love somebody, I would rather have a tete-a-tete with him, than to go teawing about all day and all night, fi-om one unintwisting cwowd to another. To be sure," said she, puzzling the matter out, " you are a beauty, and would be more looked at." " The idea ! and, — oh, no ' no ! it is not that. But even in the coim- try we had always some society." "Well, dyah believe me, with your appcawance, you can have "as much society as you please ; but it will boa you to death, as it does me, and then you will long to be left quiet with a sensible man who loves you." Said Eosa, " When shall I have another tete-a-tete with you, I won- der 1 Oh, it has been such a com- fort to me ! Bless you for coming. There — I wrote to Cecilia, and Emily, and Mrs. Bosanquest that is now, and all my sworn friends, and to think of you being the one to come, — you that never kissed me but once, and an earl's daughter into the bargain." "Ha! ha! ha! " Lady Cicely actually laughed for once in a way, and she did not feel the effort. "As for kissing," said she, " if I fall shawt, fawgive me. I was ncvaa vewy demonstwative." " No ; and I have had a lesson. That Floronoe Cole — Florence Whiting that was, you know — was always kissing me, and she has turned out a traitor. I'll tell you all about her." And she did. Lady Cicely thought Mrs. Staines a little too unreserved in her con- versation, but was so charmed with her sweetness and freshness that she kept up the acquaintance, and called on her twice a week during the sea- son. At first she wondered that her visits were not returned ; but liosa let out that she was ashamed to call on foot in Grosvenor Square. Lady Cicely shrugged her beauti- ful shoulders a little at that; but she continued to do the visiting, and to enjoy the simple, innocent rap- ture with which she was receiv- ed. This lady's pronunciation of many words was false or affected. She said " good-murning " for "good- morning," and turned other vowels into diphthongs, and played two or three pranks with her " r's." But we cannot be all imperfection : with her pronunciation her folly came to a full stop. I really be- lieve she lisped less nonsense and bad taste in a year, than some of us articulate in a day. To be sure, folly is generally uttered in a hurry, and she was too deplorably lazy to speak fast on any occasion what- ever. One day Mrs. Staines took her up stairs, and showed her from the back window her husband pacing the yard waiting for patients. Lady Cicely folded her arms, and contem- plated him at first with a sort of zo- ological curiosity. Gentleman pa- cing back yard like hyena she had never seen before. At last she opened her mouth in a whisper, " What is he doing f " " Waiting for patients." " Oh ! Waiting— for— patients '! " "For patients that never come, and never will come." " Cuwious ! — How little I know of life ! " " It is that all day, dear, or else writintj " Lady Cicely, with her eyes fixed on Staines, made a motion'with her hand that she was attending. GO A SIMPLETON. " And they won't publish a word he writes." " Poor man ! " " Nice for me, is it not 1 " " I begin to understand," said Lady Cieoly quietly, and soon after retired with her invariable compo- sure. Meantime Dr. Staines, like a good husband, had thrown oat occasional hints to Mrs. Luca.s that he had a wife, beautiful, accomplished, moped. More than that, he went so far as to regret to her that Mrs. Staines, be- ing in a neighborhood new to him, saw so little society ; the more so as she was formed to shine, and had not been used to seclusion. All these hints fell dead on Mrs. Lueas. .A handsome and skilful doctor was welcome to her : his wife — that was quite another mat- ter. But one day Mrs.' Lucas saw Lady Cicely Treherne's carriage standing at the door. The style of the whole turn-out impressed her. She won- dered whose it was. On another occasion she saw it drive up, and the lady get out. She recognized her; and the very next day this parvenue said adroitly, "Now, Dr. Staines, really you can't be allowed to hide your wife in this way." (Staines stared.) "Why not introduce her to me next Wednes- day 1 It is my night. I would give a dinner expressly for her, but I don't like to do that while my hus- band is in Naples." When Staines carried the invita- tion to his wife she was delighted, and kissed him with childish frank- ness. But the Tory next moment she became thoughtful, uneasy, de- pressed. " Oh, dear ! I've nothing to wear." " Oh, nonsense, Rosa 1 Your wedding outfit." " The idea ! I can't go as a bride. It's not a masquerade." " But you have other dresses." "All gone by, more or loss; or not fit for such parties as sJw gives. A hundred carriages ! " " Bring them down, and let me see them." " Oh, yes ! " And the lady who had nothmg to wear paraded a very fair show of dresses. Staines saw something to admire in all of them Mrs. Staines found more to object to in each. At last he fell upon a silver-gray silk, o'f superlative quality. " That ! It is as old as the hills," shrieked Rosa. " It looks just out of the shop. Como, tell the truth : how often have you worn it 1 " "I wore it before I was mar- ried." " Ay, but how often ? " " Twice. Three times, I be- Ueve." " I thought so. It is as good as new." " But I have had it so long by me. I had it two years before I made it up." " What does that matter f Do you think the people can tell how long a dress has been lurking in your wardrobe "! This is childish, Rosa. There, with that dress as good as new, and your beauty, you will be as much admired, and per- haps hated, as your heart can de- sire." "I am afraid not," said Rosa naively. "Oh, how I wish I had known a week ago ! " " I am very thankful you did not," said Staines dryly. At ten o'clock Mrs. Staines was nearly dressed ; at (Quarter past ten she demanded ten mmutes ; at half past ten she sought a reprieve ; at a quarter to eleven, being assured that the street was full of carriages which had put down at Mrs. Lucas's she consented to emerge ; and in a minute they were at the house. They were shown first into a.cloak- room, and then into a tea-room, and then mounted the stairs. One ser- A SIMPLETON. 61 vant took their names, and bawled them out to another four yards otf, he to another about as near, and so on ; and they edged themselves into the room, not yet too crowded to move in. They had not taken many steps, on the chance of finding their hos- tess, when a slight buzz arose, and seemed to follow them. Rosa wondered what that was, but only for a moment ; she observed a tall, stout, aquiline woman fix an eye . of bitter, diabolical, malignant hatred on her ; and, as she advanced ■^gly noses were cocked disdainfully, and scraggy shoulders elevated at -the risk of sending the bones through the leather, and a titter or two shot after her. A woman's instinct gave her the key at once ; the sexes had complimented her at sight, each in its way — the men with respectful admiration, and the women with tlieiriuflammablojcalousy,audready hatred in another of the quality they value most in themselves. But the country girl wis too many for them : ibr she would neither see nor hear, but moved sedately on, and calmly crushed them with her south- em beauty. Their dry powdered faces would not live by the side of her glowing skin, with Nature's del- icate gloss upon it, and the rich blood mantling below it. The got-up beauties — /. p., the majority — seemed literally to fade and wither as she passed. Mrs. Lucas got to her, suppressed a slight maternal pang, having daughters ^o marry, and too^ her line in a moment: here was a de- coy-duck. Mrs. Lucas was all gra- ciousness, made acquaintance, and took a little turn with her, introdu- cing her to one or two persons ; among the rest, to the malignant woman, Mrs. Barr. Mrs. Barr, on this, ceased to look daggers, and substituted icicles ; but, on the hate- ful beauty jnoving away, dropped the icicles, and resumed the poniards. The rooms filled ; the heat be- came oppressive, and the mixed odors of flowers, scents, and per- spiring humanity, sickening. Some, unable to bear it, trickled out of the roum, and sat all down the stairs. Rosa began to feel faint. Up came a tall, sprightly girl, whose pertness was redeemed by a certain bonhomie, and said, "Mrs. Staines, I believe ? I am to make myself agreeable to you. That is the or- der from head-quarters." "Miss Lucas," said Staines. She jerked a little off-hand bow to him, and said, " Will you trust her to me for five minutes t " " Certainly." But he did not much like it. Miss Lucas carried her off, and told Ur. Staines, over her shoulder, now he could flirt to his heart's content. " Thank you," said he dryly. " I'll await your return." " Oh ! there are some much greater fhrts here than I am," said the ready Miss Lucas ; and, whis- pering something in Mrs. Staines's ear, suddenly glided with her be- hind a curtain, pressed a sort of button fixed to a looking-glass.door. Tha door opened, and behold they were in delicious place, for which I can hardly find a word, since it was a boudoir and a conservatory in one : a lai;ge octagon, the walls lined from floor to ceiling with looking-glasses of moderate width at intervals, and with creepers that covered the intervenina: spaces of the wall, and were trained so as to break the outline of the glasses without greatly clouding the reflec- tion. Ferns, in great variety, were grouped in a deep crescent, and in the bight of this green bay were a small table and chairs. As there were no hot-house plants, the tem- perature was very cool, compared with the reeking oven they had es- caped^ and a little fountain bub- bled and fed a little meandering gutter that trickled away among the ferns ; it ran crystal clear over 62 A SIMPLETOK. little bright pebbles and sbells. It did not always run, you understand ; but Miss Lucas turned a secret tap, and started it. " Oh, how heavenly ! " said Rosa, with a sigh of relief, " and how good of you to bring me here ! " " Yes ; by rights I ought to have waited, till you fainted ; but there is no making aequaintanee among all those people. Mamma will ask such crowds ; one is like a fly in a glue-pot." Miss Lucas had good nature, smartness, and animal spirits : hence arose a vivacity and fluency that were often amusing, and passed fur very clever. Reserve she h i d none ; would talk about strangers or friends, herself, her mother, her God, and the last buffoon singer, in a breath. At a hint from Rosa she told her who the lady in the pink dress was, and the lady in the vio- let velvet, and so on ; for each lady was defined by her dress, and, more or less, quizzed by the show-woman, not exactly out of malice, but be- cause it is smarter and more natu- ral to decry than to praise, and a little w&lisance is the spice to gossip, belongs to it, as mint-sauce to lamb. So they chattered away, and were pleased with each other, and made friends, an3 there, in cool grot, quite forgot the sufferings of their fellow-creatures in the adjacent Turkish bath, yclept Society. It w,is Rosa who first recollected her- self. " Will not Mrs. Lucas be an- gry with me if I keep you all to myself? " " Oh, no ! but I am afraid wc must go into the hothouse again. I like the greenhouse best, with Buch a nice companion." They slipped noiselessly into the throng again, and wri<;gled about. Miss Lucas presenting her new friends to several ladies and gentle- men. Pi'csently Staines found them, and then Miss Lucas wriirglcd away ; and, in due course, the room was thinned by many guests driv- ing off home, or to balls and other receptions, and L)r. Staines and Mrs. Staines went home to the Bijou. IJere the physician pre- scribed bed ; but the lady would not hear of such a thing until she had talked it over. So they com- pared notes, and Rosa told him how well she had got on with Miss Lucas and made a friendship. " But for that," said slie, " I should be sorry I wen t among those people, such a dowdy." "Dowdy I" said Staines. "Why, you stormed the town ; you were the great success of the night, and, for all I know, of the season." The wretch delivered this with un- becoming indifference. " It is too bad to mock me, Christie. Where were your eyes ? " " To the best of my rccnllectinn they %vcre one on each side of my nose." " Yes, but some people are eyes, and no eyes." " I scorn the imputation ; try me." " Very well. Then, did you see that lady in sky-blue silk, embroid- ered with flowers and flounced with white velvet, and the corsage point lace; and oh! such emer- alds ■? " " I did ; a tall, skinny woman, with eyes resembling her jewels in color, though not in bri;;htness." " Never mind her eyes ; it is her dress I am speaking of. Exqui- site ; and what a coiffure ! Well, did you sec her in the black velvet, trimmed so deep with Chantilly lace, wave on wave, and her head- dress of crinnson flowers, and such a riviere of diamonds ; oh, dear ! oh, dear ! " " I did, love. The room was an oven, but her rubicund face and suffocating costume made it seem a furnace." "Stuff! Well, did you .see the lady in the corn-colored silk, and poppies in her hair % " A SIMPLETON. G3 " Of course I did. Ceres in per- son. Sill! made me feel very hot too; but I cooled myself at her pale, sickly face." " Never mind their faces ; that is not the point." " Oh, excuse me ! it is always a point with us benighted males, all eyi's and no eyes." " Well, then, the lady in white, with cherry velvet bands, and a white tunic'looped with crimson, and head-dress of white illusion a la vierge, I think they call it." " It was very refreshing, and adapted to tliat awful atmosphere. It was the nearest approach to nu- dity I ever saw, even among fash- ionable people." " It was lovely ; and then, that superb figure in white illusion and gold, with all those narrow flounces over her slip of white silk y/ac^ and a wreatli of white flowers, with gold wheat-ears among them, in her hair ; and oh ! oh ! oh ! her pearls, Orien- tal, and as big as almonds ! " "And oh I oh! oh! her nose! reddish, and as long as a wood- cock's." "Noses! noses I stupid! That is not what strikes you first in a woman ch-essedlike an angel." " Well, if you were to run up against that one, as I nearly did, her rose would be the thing that would strike you first. Nose! it was a rostrum I the spear-head of Goliath." "Now don't, Christopher. This is no laughing matter. Do you mean you were not ashamed of your wife ? I was." " No, I was not : you had but one rival — a very young lady, wise before her ago, a blonde, with violet eyes. She was dressed in light mauve-colored silk, without a sin- gle flounce, or any other tomfoolery to fritter away the sheen and color of an exquisite material ; her sunny hair was another wave of color, wreathed with a thin line of white jasmine flowers closely woven, that scented the air. This girl was the moon of that assembly, and you were the sun." " I never even saw her." " Eyes, and no eyes. She saw you, and said, ' Oh, what a beautiful creature I ' for I heard her. As for the old stagers, whom you admire so, their faces were all clogged with powder, the pores stopped up, the true texture of the skin abolished. They looked downright nasty when- ever you or that young girl passed by them. Then it was you saw to what a frightful extent women are got up in our day, even young women, and respectable womeni No, Rosa, dress can do little foryou ; you have beauty — real beauty.'* " Beauty I That passes unnoticed unless one is well dressed." " Then what an obscure pair the Apollo Belvidere and the Venus de Medicis must be !" . " Oh ! they are dressed — in marble." Christopher Staines then smiled. " Well done," said ho admiring- ly. " That is a knock-down blow. So now you have silenced your husband, go you to bed directly. I can't afford you diamonds; so I will takff care of that little insignifi- cant trifle, your beauty." Mrs. Staines and Mrs. Lucas ex- changed calls, and soon Mrs. Staines could no longer complain she was out of the world. Mrs. Lucas in- vited her to every party, because her beauty was an instiument of attrac- tion she knew how to use ; and Miss Lucas took a downright fancy to her ; drove her in the Park, and on Sun- days to the Zoological Gardens, just beginning to be fashionable. The Lucases rented a box at the opera ; and if it was not let at the library by six o'clock, and if other engagements permitted, word was sent round to Mrs. Staines, as a matter of course, and she was taken to the opera. She began almost to live at the Lucases', and to be oftener fatigued than moped. 64 A SIMPLETON. The usual order of things was in- verted ; the maiden lady educated the matron ; for Miss Lucas knew all about everybody in the Fark, honoraljle or dishonorable; all the scandals, and all the flirtations ; and whatever she knew, she related point-blank. Being as inquisitive as voluble, she soon learned how Mrs. Staines and her husband were situated. She took upon her to ad- vise her in many things, and espe- cially impressed upon her that Dr. Staines must keep a carriage if he wanted to get on in medicine. This piece of advice accorded so well with Rosa's wishes tliat she urged it on her husband again and again. He objected that no money was coming in, and therefore it would be insane to add to their expenses. Eosa persisted, and at last worried Staines with her importunity. Ha began to give rather short answers. Then she quoted Miss Lucas against him. He treated the authority with marked contempt ; and then Rosa iired up a little. Then Staines lield his peace ; but did not buy a carriage to visit his no patients. So at last Rosa complained to Lady Cicely Treherne, and made her the judge between her husband and herself. Lady Cicely drawled out a prompt but polite refusal to play that part. All that could be elicited from her, and that with difficulty, was, " Why quail with your husband about a cawwigol He is your best friend." " Ah, that he is ! " said Rosa ; " but Miss Lucas is a good friend, and she knows the world. We don't; neither Chiistophor nor 1." So she continued to nag at her husband about it, and to say that he was throwing his only chance away. Galled as he was by neglect, this was iritating, and, at last, ho could not help telling her she was unrea- sonable. " You live a gay life, and I a sad one. I consent to this, and let you go about with these Lucases, because you were so dull ; but you should not consult them in our pri- vate affairs. Their interference is indelicate and improper. I will not set up a carriage till I have patients to visit. I am sick of seeing our capital dwindle, and no income creat- ed. I will never set up a carriage till I have taken a hundred-guinea fee." " Oh ! Then we shall go splash- ing through the mud all our days." " Or ride in a cab," said Christo- pher, with a quiet doggedness that left no hope of his yielding. One afternoon Miss Lucas called for Mrs. Staines to drive in the Park, but did not come up stairs ; it was an engagement, and she knew Mrs. Staines would be ready, or nearly. Mrs. Staines, not to keep her wait- ing, came down rather hastily, and, in the very passage, whipped out of her pocket a little glass, and a little powder-puff, and puffed her face all over in a trice. She was then going out; but her husband called her into the study. " Rosa, ray dear," said he, " you were going out with a dirty face." " Oh," cried she, " give me a glass ! " " There is no need of that. All you want is a basin and some nice rain-water. I keep a little reservoir of it." He then handed her the same with great politeness. She looked in his eye, and saw he was not to be trifled wiih. She complied like a lamb, and the heavenly color and velvet gloss that resulted were admirable. He kissed her, and said, " Ah ! now you are my Rosa again. Oblige me by handing over that powder-puff to me." She looked vexed, but complied. " When you come back I will tell you why." " You are a pest," said Mrs. Staines, and so joined her friend, rosy with rain water and a, rub. " Dear me, how handsome -you A SIMPLETON. 65 look to day ! " was Miss Lucas's first remark. Kosa never dreamed that rain- water and a rub could be the cause of her looking so well. " It is njy tiresome husband," said she. " He objects to powder, and he has taken away my puff." " And you stood that ? " " Obliged to." " Why, you poor-spirited little creature. I should like to see a husband presume to interfere with me in those things. Here, take mine." Rosa hesitated a little. "-Well — no — I think not." Miss Lucas laughed at her, and quizzed her go on her allowing a man to interfere in such sacred things as dress and cosmetics that she came back irritated with her husband, and gave liim a short answer or two. Then he asked what was the matter. " You treat me like a child — tak- ing away my very putf." "I treat you like a beautiful flower that no bad gardener shall wither while I am here." " What nonsense ! How could that wither me ? It is only violet powder — what They put on babies." " And who are the Herods that put it on babies f " " Their own mothers, that love them ten times more than the fathers do." " And kill a hundred of them for one a man ever kills. Mothers ! — the most wholesale homicides in the n.ition. We will examine your vio- let powder. Bring it down here." While she was gone, he sent for a breakfast-cupful of flour ; and when she came back he had his scales out, and begged her to put a teaspoonful of flour into one scale, and of vio- let powder into another. The flour kicked the beam, as Homer expresses himself. " Put another spoonful of flour." The one spoonful of violet powder outweighed the two of flour. " Now," said Staines, " does not 6* that show you the presence of a min- eral in your vegetable powder 1 I suppose they tell you it is made of white violets dried, and triturated in a diamond mill. Let us find out what metal it is. We need not go very deep into chemistry for that." He then applied a simple test, and detected the presence of lead in large quantities. Then he lectured her: " Invisible perspiration is a process of nature necessary to health and to life. The skin is made porous for that purpose. You can kill anybody in an hour or two by closing the pores. A certain infallible ass, called tope Leo XII., killed a little boy in two hours by gilding him to adorn the pageant of his first procession as pope. But what is death to the whole body must be injurious to a I)art. What madness, then, to clog the pores of so large and important a surface as the face, and check the invisible perspiration : how much more to insert lead into your system every day of your life : accumulative poison, and one so deadly and so subtle that the Sheffield iile-cutters die in their prime from merely ham- mering on a leaden anvil. And what do you gain by this suicidal habit? No plum has a sweeter bloom ormore delicious texture than the skin of your young face ; but this mineral filth hides that delicate texture, and substitutes a dry, uni- form appearance, more like a certain kind of leprosy tlian health. Na- ture made your face the rival of peaches, roses, lilies; and you say, ' No ; I know better than my Crea- tor and my God ; my face shall be like a dusty miller's. Go into any flour-mill, and there you shall see men with faces exactly like your friend Miss Lucas's. But before a . miller goes to his sweetheart, he al- ways washes his face. You ladies would never get a miller down to your level in brains. It is a miller's dirty face our monomaniacs of wo- men imitate, not the face a miller goes-a-courting with." 66 A SIMPLETON. " La ! what a fuss about noth- ing ! " " About nothing ! Is your health nothing 1 Is your beauty nothing f Well, then, it will eost you nothing to promise me never lo put powder on your face again." " Very well, I promise. Now, what will you do for me ? " " Work for you — write for you — suffer for you — be self-denying fur you — and even give myself the pain of disappointing you now and then — looking forward to the time when I shall be able to say ' Yes ' to every thing you ask me. Ah, child • you little know what it costs me to say ' No ' to you." Rosa put her arms around him, and acquiesced. She was one of those who go with the last speaker ; but, for that very reason, the eternal companionship of so flighty anil flirty a girl as Miss Lucas was injuri- ous to her. One day Lady Cicely Treherne was sitting with Mrs. Staines, smil- ing languidly at her talk, and occa- sionally drawling out a little plain good sense, when in came Miss Lu- cas, with her tongue well hung, as usual, and dashed into twenty topics at once. This young lady, in her discourse, was like those oily little beetles you see in small ponds, whose whole life is spent in tacking — confound them ! — generally at right angles. What they are in navigation was Miss Lu- cas in conversation ; tacked so eter- nally from topic to topic that no man on earth, and not every woman, could follow her. At the sight and sound of her. Lady Cicely congealed and stiffened. Easy and unpretending with Mrs. . Staines, she was all dignity, and even miijesty, in the presence of this chat- terbox ; and the smoothness wiih which the transfiguration was accom- plished marked that accomplished actress the high-bred woman of the world. Eosa, better able to estimate the change of manner than Miss Lucas was, who did not know how little this Sawney was a.^iiicted with mis- placed dignity, looked wistfully and distressed at her. Lady Cicely smiled kindly in reply, rose, without seem- ing to hurry — catch her condescend- ing to be rude to Charlotte Lucas — and took her departure, with a pru- fourid and most gracious courtesy to the lady who had driven her away. Mrs. Staines saw her down stairs, and said ruefullj', " I am afraid you do not like my friend Miss Lucas. She is a great rattle, but so good-na- tured asd clever." Lady Cicely shook her head. " Clevaa people don't talk so much nonsense before stangaas." " Oh, dear ! " said Rosa. " I was in hopes you would like her." " Do you like her." " Indeed I do ; but I shall not, if she drives an older friend away." " My dyah, I'm not easily dwiven from those I esteem. But you un- darstand that is not a woman for me to mispwonownce my ' all's ' befaw NOR rOK YOU TO MAICE A BO- SOM FRIEND OF — Rosa Staines." She said this with a sudden mater- nal solemnity and kindness that con- trasted nobly and strangely with her yea-nay style, and Mrs. Staines re- membered the words years alter they were spoken. It so happened that, after this, Mrs. Staines received no more visits from Lady Cicely for some time, and that vexed her. She knew her se.x enough to be aware that they are very jealous, and she permitted her- self to think that this high-minded Sawney was jealous of Miss Lucas. This idea, founded on a general estimate of her sex, was dispelled by a few lines from Lady Cicely, to say her family and herself were in deep distress : her brother. Lord Aycough, lay dying from an accident. Then Rosa was all remorse, and ran down to Staines to tell him. She found him with an open letter in his hand. It was from Br. Barr, A SIMPLETON. 67 and on the same subject. The doc- toi-, who had always been friendly to him, invited him to come down at once to Hallowtree Hall, in Huntingdonshire, to a consultation. There was a friendly intimation to start at once, as the patient might die any moment. Husband and wife embraced each other in a tumult of surprised thank- fulness. A few necessaries were thrown into a carpet-baij, and Dr. Staines was soon whirled into Hunt- ingdonshire. Having telegraphed beforehand, he was met at the sta- tion by the earl's carriage and peo- ple, and driven to the Hall. He was received by an old silver-haired butler, looking very sad, who con- ducted him to a boudoir, and then went and tapped gently at the door of the patient's room. It was opened and shut very soltly, and La- dy Cicely, dressed in black, and look- ing paler than ever, came into the room. " Dr. Staines, I think 1 " Pie bowed. " Thank you for coming so promptly. Dr. Barr is gone. I fear ho thinks — ho thinks — ^O Dr. Staines, no sign of life but in his poor hands, that keep moving day and night." Staines looked very grave at that. Lady Cicely observed it, and, faint at heart, could say no more, but led the way to the sick-room. There, in a spacious chamber, lighted by a grand oriel-window and two side windows, lay rank, title, wealth, and youth, stricken down in a moment by a common accident. The sufferer's face was bloodless, his eyes fixed, and no signs of life but in his thumbs, and they kept work- ing with strange regularity. In the room were a nurse and the surgeon ; the neighboring physi- cian, who had called in Dr. Barr, had just paid his visit and gone away. Lady Cicely introdttced Dr. Staines and Mr. Wliite, and then Dr Staines stood and fixed his eyes on the patient in profound silence. Lady Cicely scanned his counte- nance searchingly, and was struck with the extraordinary power and intensity it assumed in examining the patient ; but the i-esult was no^t encouraging. Dr. Staines looked grave and gloomy. At last, without removing his eye from the recumbent figure, he said quietly_ to Mr. White, " Thi-owu fi'om his horse, sir '! " " Horse fell on him, Dr. Staines." " Any visible injuries 1 " " Yes. Severe contusions, and a rib broken and pressed upon the lungs. I replaced and set it. Will you see f " " If you please." He examined and felt the pa- tient, and said it had been ably done. Then he was silent and search- ing. At last he spoke again. " The motion of the thumbs corresponds exactly with his pulse." " Is that so, sir ? " "It is. The case is without a parallel. How long has he been soV " Nearly a week." " Impossible ! " "It is so, sir." Lady Cicely confirmed this. "All the better," said Staines, upon reflection. "Well, sir," said he, " the visible injuries having been ably relieved, 1 shall look another way for the canse." Then, after another pause, "I must have his head shaved." Lady Cicely demurred a little to this ; but Dr. Staines stood firm, and his lordship's valet undertook the job. Staines directed him where to begin ; and when he had made a circular tonsure on the top of the head, had it sponged with tepid water. " I thought so," said he. "Here is the mischief; " and he pointed to a 68 A SIMPLETON. very slight indentation on the left I side of the pia mater. " Observe," said he, "there is no corresponding indentation on the other side. Un- derneath this trifling depression a minute piece of bono is doubtless pressing on the most sensitive part of the brain. He must be trephined." Mr. White's eyes sparkled. " You are a, hospital surgeon, sir?" " Yes, Dr. Staines. I have no fear of the operation." " Then I hand the patient over to you. The case at present is entirely surgical." White was driven home, and soon returned with the requisite instru- ments. The operation was neatly performed, and then Lady Cicely was called in. She came trembling ; her brother's fingers were still work- ing, but not so regularly. " That is only habit," said Staines ; " it will soon leave oif, now the cause is gone." And truly enough, in about five minutes the fingers became quiet. The eyes became human next, and within half an hour after the opera- tion the earl gave a little sigh. Lady Cicely clasped her hands, and uttered a little cry of delight. " This will not do," said Staines. " I shall have you screaming when he speaks." " O Dr. Staines ! will he ever ' " I think so ; and very soon. So be on your guard." This strange scene reached its climax soon after by the carl say- ing quietly, — " Are her knees broke, Tom 1 " Lady Cicely uttered a little scream, but instantly suppressed it. "No, my lord," said Staines smartly ; " only rubbed a bit. You can go to sleep, my lord. I'll take care of the mare." " All right," said his lordship, and composed himself to slumber. Dr. Staines, at the earnest request of Lady Cicely, staid all night; and in course of the day advised her how to nurse the patient, since both physician and surgeon had done with him. He said the patient's brain might be irritable for some days, and no women in silk dresses, or crinoline, or creaking shoes, must enter the room. He told her the nurse was evidently a clumsy woman, and would be letting things fall. She had better get some old soldier used to nursing. "And don't whisper in the room," said he ; " nothing ir- ritates them worse; and don't let anybody play a piano within hear- ing ; but m a day or two you may try him with slow and continuous music on the flute or violin, if you like. Don't touch his bed suddenly ; don't sit on it or lean on it. Dole sunlight into his room by degrees ; and jWhen he can bear it, drench him with it. Never mind what the old school tell you. About these things they know a good deal less than nothing." Lady Cicely received all this like an oracle. The cure was telegraphed to Dr. Barr, and he was requested to settle the fee. He was not the man to undersell the profession, and was jealous of nobody, having a large practice and a very wealthy wife. So he telegraphed back — " Fifty guineas, and a guinea a, mile from London." So, as Christopher Staines sat at an early breakfast, with the carriage waiting to take him to the train, two notes were brought him on a salver. They were both directed by Lady Cicely Trcherne. One of them contained a few kind and feeling words of gratitude and esteem ; the other a check, drawn by the earl's steward, for one hundred and thirty guineas. He bowled up to London, and told it all to Eosa. She sparkled with pride, affection, and joy. " Now, who says you are not » A SIMPLETON. 69 genius 1 " she cried. " A hundred and thirty guineas for one fee ! Now, if you lore your wife as she loves you, you will set up a brougham." CHAPTER Vni. ' Dr. Staines begged leave to dis- tinguish : he had not said he would set up a carriage at the first one hundred guinea fee, but only that he would not set up one before. Th'jre are misguided people who would call this logic; but Rosa said it was equivocating, and urged him so Warmly that at last he burst out, " Who can go on forever saying ' No ' to the only creature he loves?" — and caved. In forty- eight hours more a brougham waited at Mrs. S taines's door. The servant engaged to drive it was An- drew Pearman, a bachelor, and hitherto an undergroom. He read- ily consented to be coachman, and do certain domestic work as well. So Mrs. Staines had a man-servant as well as a carriage. Ere long three or four patients called or wrote, one after the other. These Rosa set down to brougham, and crowed. She even crowed to Lady Cicely Treherne, to whose in- fluence, and not to brougham's, every one of these patients was owing. Lady Cicely kissed her, and demurely enjoyed the poor soul's self-satisfaction. Staines himself, while he drove to or from these patients, felt more sanguine, and, buoyed as he was by the consciousness of ability, began to hope that he had turned the cor- ner. He sent an account of Lord Ay- cough's case to a medical maaazine ; and so full is the world of flnnkyism that this article, though he with- held the name, retaining only the title, got the literary wedge in for him at once ; and in due course he became a paid contributor to two medical organs, and used to study and write more, and indent the Uttle stone yard less, than heretofore. It was about this time, circumstan- ces made him acquainted with Phoebe Dale. Her intermediate history I will dispose in fewer words than it de- serves. Her Ruin, Mr. Reginald Falcon, was dismissed from his club for marking high cards on the back with his nail. This stopped his re- maining resource — borrowing; so he got more and more out at elbows till at last he came down to hang- ing about billiard-rooms, and mak- ing a little money by concealing his game ; from that, however, he rose to be a marker. Having culminated to that, he wrote and proposed marriage to Miss Dale, in a charming letter. She showed it to her father with pride. Now if his vanity, his disloyalty, his falsehood, his ingratitude, and his other virtues, had not stood in the way, he would have done this three years ago, and been jumped at. But the offer came too late ; not for Phcebe — she would have taken him in a moment — but for her friends. A bated hook is one thing, a bare hook is another. Earmer Dale had long discovered where Phoebe's money went : he said not a word to her, but went up to town like a shot ; found Falcon out, and told him he mustn't think to eat his daughter's bread. She should marry a man who could make a decent livelihood ; and if she was to run away with him, why they'd starve together. The farmer was resolute, and spoke very loud, like one that expects opposition, and comes prepared to quarrel. Instead of that, this artful rogue addressed him with deep respect and an affect- ed veneration that quite puzzled the old man ; acquiesced in every word, expressed contrition for his past misdeeds, and told the farmer he 70 A SIMPLETON. had quite determined to labor with his bauds. " You know, farmer," said he, " I am not the only gentle- man who has come to that m the present day. Now, all my Mends who have seen my sketches assure me I am a bom painter; and a painter I'll be — for love of Phcebe." The farmer made a wry face. "Painter! that is a sorry sort of a trade." " You are mistaken. It's the best trade going. There are gen- tlemen maldng their thousands a year by it " "Not in our parts, there hain't. Stop a bit. What be ye going to paint, sir 1 Housen, or tblk. ? " " Oh, hang it ! not houses. Fig- ures, landscapes." " Well, ye might just make a shift at it, I suppose, with here and there a signboard. They are the best paid, our way ; but, Lord bless ye, iheij wants head-piece ! Well, sir, let me see your work. Then we'll talk further." " I'll go to work this afternoon," said Falcon eagerly ; then, with af- fected surprise, " Bless me ! I for- got. I have no palette, no canvas, _no colors. You couldn't lend me a couple of sovereigns to buy them, could you ■? " " Ay, sir, I could, but I won't. I'll lend ye the things, tliough, if you have a mind to go with me and buy 'em." • Falcon agreed, with a lofty smile, and the purchases were made. Mr. Falcon painted a Landscape or two out of his imagination. The dealer to whom he took them de- clined them ; one advised the gen- tleman painter to color tea-boards ; " That's your line," said he. " The world has no taste,'' said the gentleman painter; "but it has got lots of vanity : I'll paint por- traits." He did — and formidable ones. His portraits were, amazingly like the people, and yet unlike men and women, especially about the face. One thing, he didn't trouble with lights and shades, but went slap at the features. His brush would never have kept him : but he carried an instrument in the use of which he was really an artist, viz., his tongue. By wheed- ling and underselling — for ho only charged a pound for the painted canvas — he contrived to live ; then he aspired to dress as well as live. With this second oljject in view, he hit upon a characteristic expedient. He used to prowl about ; and when he saw a young woman sweep- ing the afternoon streets with a long silk train, and, in short, dressed to ride in the park, yet parading the streets, he would take his hat off to her with an air of profound respect, and ask permission to take her por- trait. Generally he met a prompt rebuff; but if the fair was so unlucky as to hesitate a single moment, he told her a melting tale : he had once driven his four-in-hand, but by in- dorsing his friend's bills was reduced to painting likenesses — admirable likenesses in oils, only a guinea each. His piteous tale provoked more jibes than pity; but as he had no shame, the rebuffs went for nothing. He actually did get a few sitters by his audacity, and some of the sitters actually took the pictures and paid for them ; others declined them with f\iry as soon as they were finished. These he took b.ack with a, piteous sigh that sometimes extracted half a cro\vn. Then he painted over the rejected one, and let it dry ; so thaf sometimes a paid portrait would present a beauty enthroned on the de'hris of two or three rivals, and that is where few beauties would ob- ject to sit. All this time he wrote nice letters toj?hoebe, and ad,opted the tone of the struggling artist, and the true lover, who wins his bride by patience, perseverance, and indomitable indus- try ; a babbled of " Self-help." A SIMPLETON". 71 Meantime Plioabe was not idle; an excellent business woman, she took immediate advantage of a new station that was built near the farm to send up milk, butter, and eggs to London. Being genuine, they sold like wild-fire. Observing that, she extended her operations by buying of other formers and forwarding to London ; and then, having, of course, an eye to her struggling art- ist, she told her father she must have a shop in London, and somebody in it she could depend upon. " With all my heart, wench," said he ; " but it must not be thou. I can't spare thee." " May I have Dick, father ? " " Dick ! He is rather young." "But he is very quick, father, and minds every word I tell him." " Ay, he is as fond of thee as ever a cow was of a calf. Well, you can try him." So the love-sick woman of busi- ness set up a little shop, and put her brother Dick in it, and all to see more of her struggling artist. She staid several days, to open the little shop and start the business. She advertised pure milk, and challenged scientific analysis of every thing she sold. This came of her being a, reader. She knew, by the journals, that we live in a sinful and adulter- ating generation ; and any thing pure must be a Godsend to the poor poisoned public. Now Dr. Staines, though known to the profession as a diagnost, was also an analyst, and this challenge brought him down on Phoebe Dale. He told her he was a physician, and in salB'eh of pure food for his own family — would she really submit the milk to analysis'? Phoebe smiled an honest country smile, and said, " Surely, sir." She gave him every facility, and he ap- plied those simple tests which are commonly used in Franco, though hardly known in England. He found It perfectly pure, and told her so ; and gazed at Phoebe for a moment, as a phenomenon. She smiled again at that, her broad country smile. " That is a wonder in London, I dare say. It's my belief half the children that die here are perished with watered milk. Well, sir we sha'n't have that on our souls, father and I : he is a farmer in Essex. This comes a. many miles, this milk." Staines looked in her face with kindly approval marked on his own eloquent features. She blushed a little at so fixed a regard. Then he asked her if she would supply him with milk, butter, and eggs. " Why, if you mean sell you them, yes, sir, with pleasure. But for sending them home to yon in this big town", as some do, I can't, for there's only brother Dick and me : it is an experiment like." " Very well," said Staines ; " I will send for them." " Thank you kindly, sir. I hope you won't be oftended, sir ; but we only sell for ready money." " All the better : my order at home is, no bills." When he was gone, Phoebe, assum- ing vast experience, though this was only her third day, told Dick that was one of the right sort. "And Dick ! " said she, " did you notice his eye 1 " "Not particklar, sister." " There, now ! the boy is blind. "Why, 'twas like a jewel. Such an eye I never saw in a man's head, nor a woman's neither." Staines told his wife about Phoebe and her brother, and spoke of her with a certaip admiration that raised Kosa's curiosity, and even that sort of vague jealousy that iires at bare praise. " I should like to see this phenomenon," said she. "You shall," said he ■ "I have to call on Mrs. Manly. She lives near. I will drop you at the little shop, and come back for you." He did so, and that gave Kosa a quarter of an hour to make her pur- 72 A SIMPLETON. chases. When he came back he found her conyersing with Phcehe as if they were old friends, and Pick glaring at his wife with awe and admiration. He could hardly get her away. She was fannore extravagant in her praises than Dr. Staines had been. " What a good creature ! " said she. " And how clever ! To think of her setting up a shop like that all by herself; for her Dick is only seventeen." Dr. Staines recommended the Kttle shop wherever ha went, and even extended its operations. He asked Phoebe to get her own wheat ground at home, and send the flour up in bushel bags. " These assas- sins, the bakers," said he, " are put- ting copper into the flour now as well as alum. Pure flour is worth a fancy price to any family. With that we can make the bread of life. What you buy in the shops is the bread of death." Dick was a good, sharp boy, devoted to his sister. He stuck to the shop in London, and handed the money to Phcebe when she came for it. She worked for it in Essex, and extended her country connection for supply as the retail business increased. Staines wrote an article on pure food, and incidentally mentioned the shop as a place where flour, milk, and butter were to be had pure. This article was published in the Lancet, and caused quite a run upon the little shop. By and by Phoebe enlarged^ it, for which there were great capabilities, and made herself a pretty little parlor, and there she and Dick 'sat to Fal- con for their portraits ; here, too, she hung his rejected landscapes. They were fair in her eyes ; what matter whether they were like na^ turo ? his hand had painted them. She know fi-om him that cveryliody else had rejected them. With all the more pride and love did she have them framed in gold, and hung up with the portraits in her little sanctum. For a few months Phoebe Dale was as happy as she deserved to be. Her lover was working, and faithfal to her — at least she saw no reason to doubt it. He came to see her every evening, and seemed devoted to her ; would sit quietly with her, or walk with her, or take her to a play, or a music-hall — at her expense. She now lived in a quiet elysiura, with a bright and rapturous dream of the future ; for she saw she had hit on a good vein of business, and should soon he independent, and able to indulge herself with a hus- band, and ask no man's leave. She sent to Essex for a dairy- maid, and set her to chum milk into butter, coram populo, at a cer- tain hour every morning. This made a new sensation. At other times the woman was employed to deliver milk and cream to a few favored customers. Mrs. Staines dropped in now and then, and chatted with her. Her sweet face and her naivete won Phoebe's heart ; and one day, as happiness is apt to be communica- tive, she let out to her, in reply to a feeler or two as to whether she was quite alone, that she was engaged to be married to a gentleman ; " but he is not rich, ma'am," said Phoebe plaintively ; " he has had trouble — obliged to work for his living, like me ; he painted these pictures, every one of them. If it was not making too free, and you could spare a guinea — he charges no more for the picture, only you must go to the expense of the frame." " Of course I will," said Eosa warmly, " I'll sit for it here any day you like." Now, Kosa said this out of her ever-ready kindness, not to wound Phoebe ; but, having made the promise, she kept clear of the place for some days, hoping Phoebe would forget all about it. Meantime she sent her husband to buy. A SIMPLETON. 73 In about a fortniglit she called again, primed with evasions if she should be asked to sit ; but nothing of the kind was proposed. Phoebe was dealing when she went in. The customers disposed of, she said to Mrs. Staines, " ma'am ! I am glad you are come. I have some- thing I should like to show you." She took her into the parlor, and made her sit down ; then she opened a drawer, and took out a very small substance that looked like a tear of ground glass, and put it on the table before her. " There, ma'am," said she, "that is all he has had for painting a friend's picture." " Oh ! what a shame ! " " His friend was going abroad — to Natal ; to his uncle that farms out there, and docs very well. It is a first-rate part, if you take out a little stock with you, and some money ; so my one gave liim credit, and when the letter came with that postmark he counted on a five-pound note ; but the letter only said, he had got no money yet, but sent him something as a keepsake ; and there was this little stone. Poor fellow ! ho flung it down in a passion ; he was so disappointed." Phoebe's great gray eyes filled; and Rosa gave a little coo of sym- pathy that was very womanly and lovable. Phcebe leaned her cheek on her hand and said thoughtfully, " I picked it up, and brought it away ; for, after all, don't you think, ma'am, it is very strange that a friend should send it all that way if it was worth nothing at all? " " It is impossible. He could not be so heartless." f And do you know, ma'am, when I take it up in my fingers it doesn't feel like a thing that is worth nothing." " No more it does ; it makes my fingers tremble. May I take it home and show it to my husband 1 he is a great physician and knows every thing." 7 " 1 am sure I should ^be much obliged to you, ma'am." Rosa drove home on purpose to show it to Christopher. She ran into his study. " Christopher ! please look at that. You know that good creature we have our flour and milk and things of. She is engaged, and he is a painter. Oh, such daubs ! He painted a friend, and the fi'iend sent that home all the way from Natal ; and he dashed it down, and she picked it up, and what is it ? ground glass., or a pebb'e, or what ? " " Humph ! by its shape, and the great — brilliancy, — and refraction of light upon this angle, where the stone has got polished by rubbing other stones in the course of ages, I'm inclined to think it is — a dia- mond." " A diamond ! " shrieked Rosa. " No wonder my fingers trembled. Oh ! can it be ? Oh, you good, cold- blooded Christie ! Poor thing ! ' Come along. Diamond ! Oh, you beauty ! Oh, you duck ! " " Don't be in such a, hurry. I only said I thought it was a dia- mond. Let me weigh it against water, and then I shall know." He took it to his little laboratory, and returned in a few minutes, and said, "Yes. It is just three times and a half heavier than water. It is a diamond." " Are you positive t " " I'll stake my existence." " What is it worth "i " "My dear, I'm not a jeweller; but it is very large and pear-shaped, and I see no flaw : I don't think you could buy it for less than three hun- dred pounds." " Three hundred pounds ! It is worth £300." " Or sell it for more than £150." " A hundred and fifty ! It is worth .£150." " Why, my dear, one would think you had invented ' the dia- mond.' Show me how to crystal- lize carbon, and I will share your enthusiasm." 74 A SIMPLETON. " Oh ! •! leave you to carbonize crystal. I prefer to gladden hearts ; and I will do it this minute, with my diamond." " Do, dear ; and I will take that opportunity to finish my second ar- ticle on Adulteration." Eosa drove off to Phoebe Dale. Now, Phoebe was drinking tea with Reginald Palcon, in her little parlor. " Who is that, I wonder 1 " she said, when the carriage drew "P- . , Reginald drew back a comer of the gauze curtain which had been drawn across the little glass door leading from the shop. " -It is a lady, and a beautiful — Oh ! let me get out. " And he rushed out at the door leading to the kitchen, not to bo recognized. This set Phcebe all in a flutter ; and the next moment Mrs. Staines tapped at the little door, then open- ed it, and peeped. " Good news ! may I come in f " " Surely," said Phoebe, still troubled and confused by Reginald's strange agitation. " There ! It is a diamond ! " screamed Eosa. " My husband knew it directly. He knows every thing. If ever you are ill, go to him and nobody else — by the re- fraction, and the anijle, and its be- ing three times and a half as heavy as v/ater. It is worth £300 to buy, and £150 to seU." "Oh!" " So don't you go throwing it away, as he did." (In a whisper) " Two te^-cups ! Was that him ? I have driven him away. I am so sorry. I'll go ; and then you can tell him. Poor fellow ! " " ma'am, don't go yet ! " said Phti;be, trembling. " I haven't half thanked you." " Oh, bother thanks ! Kiss me ; that is the way." " May I ? " " You may, and must. There — and there — and there. Oh, dear, what nice things good luck and happiness are, and how sweet to bring them for once ! " Upon this Phoebe and she had a nice little cry together, and Mrs. Staines went off refreshed thereby, and as gay as a lark, pointing slyly at the door, and making faces to Phoebe that she knew he was there, and she only retired, out of her admi- rable discretion, that they might en- joy the diamond together. When she was gone, Reginald, whose eye and ear had been at the key-hole, alternately gloating on the face and drinking the accents of the only woman he had ever really loved, came out, looking pale and strangely disturbed, and sat down at uhe table without a word. Phoebe came back to him full of the diamond, " Did you hear what she said, my dear 1 It is a diamond ; it is worth £150 at least. Why, what ails you? Ah! to be sure! you know the lady." " I have cause to know her. Curs- ed jilt ! " " You seem a good deal put out at the sight of her." " It took me by surprise, that is all." " It takes me by surprise too. I thought you were cured. I thought mij turn had come at last." Reginald met this in sullen silence. Then Phoebe was soiTy she Iiad said il" ; for, after all, it wasn't the man's fault if an old sweetheart had run into the room, and given him a start. So she made him some fresh tea, and pressed him kindly to try her home-made bread and but- ter. My lord relaxed his frown and consented ; and, of course, they talked diamond. He told her loftily, he must take a studio ; and his sitters must come to him, and must no longer expect to be immortalized for £1. It must be £2 for a bust, and £3 for a kit-cat. " Nay, but, my dear," said Phoebe, " they will pay no more because yoii have a diamond." A SIMPLETON. 75 " Then they will have to go un- painteil," said Mr. Falcon. This was intended for a threat. Phcebe instinctively felt that it might not be so received ; she coun- selled moderation. "It is a great thing to have earned a diamond," said she : " but 'tis only once in a life. Now, be i-uled by me ; go on just as yoa are. Sell the diamond, and give me the money to keep for you. Why, you might add a little to it, and so would I, till we made it up .£200. And if you could only show .£200 you had made and laid by father would let us marry, and I would keep this shop — it pays well, I can tell you — and keep my gen- tleman in a sly corner : you need never be seen in it." " Ay, ay," said he, " that is the small game. But I am a man that have always preferred the big- game. I shall set up my studio, and make enough to keep us both. So give me the stone, if you please. I shall take it round to them all, and the rogues won't get it out of me for a hundred and fifty ; why, it is as big as a nut." "No, no, Reginald. . Money has always made mischief between you and me. You never had fifty pounds yet, you didn't fall i.ito temptation. Do pray let me keep it for you ; or else sell it — I know how to sell ; nobody better — and keep the money for a good occasion." "Is it yours, or mine I" said he sulkily. " Why, yours, dear ; you earned it." " Then give it me, please." And he almost forced it out of her hand. So now she sat down and cried over this piece of good luck, for her heart filled with forebod- ings. He laughed at her. But, at last, had the grace to console her, and assure her she was tormenting her- self for nothing. " Time will show," said she sadly. Time did show. Three or four days he came, as usu- al, to laugh at her for her forebodings. But presently his visits ceased. She knew what that meant : ha was liv- ing like a gentleman, melting his diamond, and playing her false with the first pretty face he met. This blow, coming after she had been so happy, struck Phcebe Dale stupid with grief The line on her high forehead deepened ; and at night she sat with her hands be- fiire her, sighing, and sighing, and listening ibr the footsteps that never came. "O Dick!" she said, "never you love any one. I am aweary of my life. And to think that, but for that diamond — oh, dear ! oh, dear ! oh, dear ' " Then Dick used to try and com- fort her in his way, and often put his arm round her neck, and gave her his rough but honest sympathy. Dick's rare affection was her one drop of comfort : it was sometliing to relieve her swelling heart. " Dick ! " she said to him one night, " I wish I had married him." "What, to ho ill-used?" " He couldn't use me worse. I have been wife and mother and sweatheart and all to him, and to be left like this. He treats me like the dirt beneath his feet." "'Tis your own fault, Phcebe, partly. You say the word, and I'll break CTcry bone in his carcass." " What, do him a mischief! Why, I'd rather die than harm a hair of his head. You must never lift a hand to him, or I shall hate you." "Hate me, Pbosbe?" "Ay, boy, I should. God for- give me, 'tis no use deceiving our- selves ; when a woman loves a man she despises, never you come between them : there's no reason in her love, so it is incurable. One comfort ; it can't go on forever ; it must kill me before my time, and so best. If I 76 A SIMPLETON. was only a mother, and had a little Reginald to dandle on my knee and gloat upon till he spent his money and came back to me. That is why I said I wished I was his wife. Oh ! why docs God fill a poor woman's bosom with love, and nothing to spend it on but a stone? for sure his heart must be one. If I had only something that would let me always love it — a little toddling thing at my knee, that would always let me look at it, and love it — something too young to be false to me, too weak to run away from my long — ing arms — and — yearn — ing heart ! " Then came a burst of agony, and moans of desolation, till poor Dick blubbered loudly at her grief, and then her tears flowed in streams. Trouble on trouble. Dick him- self got strangely out of sorts, and complained of shivers. Phoebe sent him to bed early, and made him some white wine whey very hot. In the morning he got up, and said he was better ; but after breakfast he was violently sick, and suffered sev- eral returns of nausea before noon. "One would think I was poisoned," said he. At one o'clock he was seized with a kind of spasm in the throat that lasted so long- it nearly choked him. Then Phcebe got frightened, and sent to the nearest surgeon. He did not hurry, "and poor Dick had another frightful spasm just as he came in. " It is hysterical," said the sur- geon. " No disease of the heart is there. Give him a little sal volatile every half hour." In spite of the sal volatile these terrible spasms seized him every half hour ; and now he used to spring off the bed with a cry of ter- ror wlion they came ; and each one left him weaker and weaker ; he had to be carried back by the women. A sad, sickening fear seized on Phoebe. She left Dick with the maid, and, tying on her bonnet in a moment, rushed wildly down the street, asking the neighbors for a great doctor, the best that could be had for money. One sent her east a mile, another west, and she was almost distracted, when, who should drive up but Doctor and Mrs. Staines, to make purchases. She did not know his name, but she knew he was a doctor. She ran to the window, and cried, " O doctor, my brother ! Oh, pray, come to him ! Oh ! oh ! " Doctor Staines got quickly but calmly out, told his wife to wait, and followed Phoebe up stairs. She told him, in a few agitated words, how Dick had been taken, and all the symptoms ; especially what had alarmed her so, his springing off the bed when the spasm came. Doctor Staines told her to hold the patient up. He lost not a ijio- ment, but opened his mouth reso- lutely, and looked down. " The glottis is swollen,'' said he : then he felt his hands, and said, witli the grave, terrible calm of experi- ence, " He is dying." " Oh, no ! no ! O doctor, save him ! save him ! " " Nothing can save him, unless we had a surgeon on the spot. Yes, I might save him, if you have the courage : opening his windpipe be- fore the next spasm is his one chance." " Open his windpipe ! doc- tor, it will kill him ! Let me look at you." She looked hard in his face. It gave her confidence. " Is it the only chance "! " " The only one : and it is flying while we chatter." " Do IT." He whipped out his lancet. " But I can't look on it. I trust to you and my Saviour's mercy." She fell on her knees, and bowed her head in prayer. Staines seized a basin, put it by A SIMPLETON. 77 the bedside, made an incision in the windpipe, and got Dick down on his stomach, with his face over the bed- side. Some blood ran, but not much. " Now !" he cried cheerfully, " a small bellows ! There's one in your parlor. Run." Phcebe ran for it, and, at Dr. Staines direction, lifted Dick a little, while the bellows, duly cleansed, were gently applied to the aperture in the windpipe, and the action of the lungs delicately aided by this primitive but effectual means. He showed Phoebe how to do it, tore a leaf out of his pocket-book, wrote a hasty direction to an able surgeon near, and sent his wife off with it in the carriage. Phoebe and he never left the pa- tient till the surgeon camo with all the instruments required ; among the rest, with a big, tortuous pair of nippers, with which he could reach the glottis and snip it. But they consulted, and thought it wiser to continue the surer method ; and so a little tube was neatly inserted into Dick's windpipe, and his throat ban- daged ; and by this aperture he did his breathing for some little time. Phoebe nursed him like a mother ; and the terror and the joy did her good ; and made her less desolate. Dick was only just well when both of them were summoned to the farm, and arrived only just in time to re- ceive their father's blessing and his last sigh. Their elder brother, a married man, inherited the farm, and was executor. Phoebe and Dick were left £1500 apiece, on condition of their leaving England and going to Natal. They knew directly what that meant. Phoebe was to he parted from a bad man ; and Dick was to comfort her for the loss. When this part of the will was read to Phoebe, she turned faint, and only her bealth and bodily vigor kept her from swooning right away. But she yielded. " It is the will 7* of the dead," said she ; " and I will obey it ; for, oh, if I had but listened to him more when he was alive to advise me, I should not sit here now, sick at heart and dry-eyed, when I ought to be thinking only of the good friend that is gone." When she had come to this, she be- came feverishly anxious to be gone. She busied herself in purchasing agricultural machines, and stores, and even stock; and, to see her pinching the beasts' ribs to find their condition, and parrying all attempts to cheat her, you would never have believed she could be a love-sick woman. Dick kept her up to the mark. He only left her to bargain with the master of a good vessel ; for it was no trifle to take out horses, and cows, and machines, and bales of cloth, cotton, and linen. When that was settled they came into town together, and Phoebe bought shrewdly, at wholesale houses in the city, for cash, and would have bargains : and the little shop in Street was turned into a warehouse. They were all ardor, as colonists should be : and, what pleased Dick most, she never mentioned Falcon ; yet he learned from the maid that worthy had been there twice, look- ing very seedy. 'The day drew near. Dick was in high spirits. " We shall soon make our fortune out there," he said : " and I'll get you a good husband." She shuddered, but said noth- ing. The evening before they went to sail, Phoebe sat alone, in her black dress, tired with work, and asking herself, sick at heart, could she ever really leave England, when the door opened softly, and Reginald Falcon, shabbily dressed, came in, and threw himself into a chair. She started up with a scream, then sank down again, trembling, and turned her face to the wall. 78 A SIMPLETON. " So yon are going to run away from me ? " said he savagely. " Ay, Reginald," said bhe meek- ly- " This is your fine love ; is it ? "You have wora it out, dear," she said softly, without turning lier head. " I wish I could say as much :' but, curse it, every time I leave you, I learn to love you more. I am never really happy but when I am with you." " 131ess you for saying that, dear. I often thought you must find that out one day ; but you took too long." " Oh, better late than never, Phoebe ! Can you have the heart to go to the Cape, and leave me all alone in the world with nobody that really cares for me ? Surely you are not obliged to go ? " " Yes ; my fi\ther left Dick and me £1,500 apiece to r. Staines '! It is in your depart- ment." " The universe in my depart- ment, captain '! " " Haw ! haw ! haw ! " went Fitz- roy and two more. " No, you rogue, the serpent." Dr. Staines, thus appealed to, asked the captain if he had ever seen small snakes out at sea. " Why, of course. Sailed through a mile of them once in the Archi- pelago." " Sure they were snakes 1 " " Quite suie : and the biggest was not eight feet long " " Very well, captain ; then sea- serpents exist, and it becomes a mere questiwn of size. Now, Avhich pro- duces the larger animals in every kind, land or sea f The grown ele- phant weighs, I believe, about two tons. The very smallest of the whale tribe weighs ten ; and they go as high as forty tons. There are smaller fish than the whale that are four times as heavy as the elephant. " Why doubt, then, that the sea can breed a snake to eclipse the boa-con- strictor? Even if the creature had never been seen, I should, by mere reasoning from analogy, expect the sea to produce a serpent excelling the boa-constrictor, as the lobster excells the cray-fish of our rivers. See how large things grow at sea ! The salmon born in our rivers weighs in six months a quarter of a pound, or less ; it goes out to sea, and comes back in one year weighing seven pounds. So (ar from doubting the large sea-serpents, I believe they ex- ist by the million. The only thing that puzzles me is, why they should ever show a nose above water ; they must be very numerous, I think." Capt. Hamilton laughed, and said, " Well, this is new. Doctor, in compliment to your opinion, we will go on deck and inspect the rep- tile you think so common." He stopped at the door, and said, " Doc- tor, the salt-cellar is by you. Would you uiind bringing it on deck ? We shall want a little to secure the ani- mal." So they all went on deck right merrily. The captain went up a few rat- lines in the mizzen rigging, and looked to windward, laughing all the time ; but all of a sudden there was a great change in his manner. " Good Heavens, it is alive — LUFF ! " The lielmsman obeyed ; the news spread like wild-fire. Mess kids, grog kids, pipes, were all let fall, and soon three hundred sailors clus- tered on the rigging like bees, to view the long-talked-of monster. It was soon discovered to be mov- ing lazily along, the propelling part being under water, and about twen- ty-five feet visible. It had a small head for so large a body ; and, as they got nearer, rough scales were seen, ending in smaller ones farther down the body. It had a mane, but not like a lion's, as some have pretended. If you have ever seen a pony with a hog-mane, that was more^he character of this creature's mane — if mane it was. They got within a hundred yards of it, and all saw it plainly, scarce believing their senses. When they could get no nearer for the wind, the captain yielded to that instinct which urges man always to kill a curiosity, " to en- courage the rest," as saith witty Voltaire. " Get ready a gun. Best shot in the ship lay and fire it." This was soon done. Bang went the gun ; the ."ihot struck the water close to the brute, and may have struck him uuncr water, for aught I know. Anyway, it sorely disturb- ed him ; for he reared into the air a column of serpent's flesh that looked as thick as the main-topmast of a seventy-four, opened a mouth that looked capacious enough to swallow the largest bacoy anchor in the ship, A SIMPLETON. 107 and, with a strange grating noise between a bark and a hiss, dived, and was seen no more. Wlien he was gone they all looked at one another, like men awakening from a dream. Staines alone took it quite coolly. It did not surprise him in the least. He had always thought it incredible that the boa-constrictor should be larger than any sea-snake. That Idea struck him as monstrous and absurd. He noted the sea-,serpert in his journal, but with this doubt, " Semble — more like a very large eel," Next day they crossed the line. Just before noon a young gentleman burst into Staines's cabin, apologiz- ing for want of ceremony ; but if Dr. Staines would like to see the line, it was now in sight from the mizzen-top. " Glad of it, sir," said Staines ; " collect it for me in the ship's buckets, if you please. I want to send a line to friends at home." Young gentleman buried his hands in his pockets, walked out in solemn silence, and resumed his position on the lee side of the quarter-deck. Nevertheless, the opening, coupled with what he had heard and read, made Staines a little uneasy, and he went to his friend Fitzroy, and said, — " Now look here : I am at the service of you experienced and hu- morous mariners. I plead guilty at once to the crime of never having passed the line; so make ready your swabs, and lather me ; your ship's scraper, and shave me ; and let us get it over. But Lord Tadcaster is nervous, sensitive, prouder than he seems, and I'm not going to have him driven into a fit for all the Nep- tunes and jtmphitrites in creation." Fitzroy heard him out, then burst out laughing, " Why, there is none of that game in the Royal Navy," said he. " Hasn'l been this twenty years." " I'm so son-y ! " said Dr. Staines. " If there is a form of wit I revere, it is practical joking." " Doctor, you arc a satirical beg- gar." Staines told Tadcaster, and he went forward and chaffed his friend the quartermaster, who was one of the forecastle wits. " I say, quar- termaster, why doesn't Neptune come on board ? " Dead silence. " I wonder what has become of poor old Nep 7 " " Gone ashore ! " growled the sea- man. " Last seen in tjie Ratiliff Highway. Got a shop there — lends a shilling in the pound on seamen's advance tickets." " Oh ! and Amphitrite ? " "Married the sexton at Wap- ping." "And the Nereids 1 " " Neruds ! " (scratching his head) "I harn't kept my eye on them small craft. But I believe they are selling oysters in the port of Leith." A light breeze carried them across the equator ; but soon after they got becalmed, and it was dreary work, and the ship rolled, gently but continuously, and upset Lord Tadcaster's stomach again, and quenched his manly spirit. At last they were fortunate enough to catch the S.E. trade, but it was BO languid at first that the ship barely moved through the water, though they set every stitch, and studding-sails alow and aloft, till really she was acres of canvas. While she was so creeping along, a man in the mizzen-top noticed an enormous shark gliding steadily in her wake. This may seem a small incident, yet it ran through the ship like wildfire, and caused more or less uneasiness in three hundred stout hearts : so near is every sea- man to death, and so strong the persuasion in their superstitious minds, that a shark does not follow a ship pertinaciously without a prophetic instinct of calamity. Unfortunately, the quarter-mas- 108 A SIMPLETOK. ter conveyed tHis idea to Lord Tad- caster, and confirmed it by numer- ous examples, to prove that tliure was death at hand when a shark fol- lowed the ship. Thereupon Tadcaster took it into his liead that he was under a relapse, and the shark was waiting for his dead body. He got quite low-spirit- ed. Staiaes told Fit/.roy. Fitzroy said, " Shark be hanged I I'll have him on deck in half an hour." He got leave from the captain. A hook was baited with a large piece of pork, and towed astern by a stout line, experienced old hands attend- ing to it by turns. The shark came up leisurely, sur- veyed the bait, and, I apprehend, ascertained the position of the hook : at all events, he turned quietly on his back, sucked the bait olf, and re- tired to enjoy it. Every olRcer ia the ship tried him in turn, but without success ; for if they got ready for him, and the mo- ment he took the bait jerked the rope hard, in that case ho opened his enormous mouth so wide that the bait and hook came out clear. But sooner or later, he always got the bait, and left hk captors the hook. This went on for days, and his huge dorsal fin always in the ship's wake. Then Tadcaster, who had watched these experiments with hope, lost his spirit and his appetite. Staines reasoned with him, but in vain. Somebody was to die; and although there were three hundred and more in the ship, he fhust be the one. At last he actually made his will, and threw himself into Staines's arms, and gave him mes- sages to his mother and Lady Cicely, and ended by frightening himself into a fit. . This roused Staines's pity, and also put him on his mettle. What, science be beaten by a shai'k ! He pondered the matter with all his might, and at last an idea came to him. He asked the captain's permission to try his hand. This was accorded immediately, and the ship's stores placed at his disposal very polite- ly, and with a sly, comic.d gnn. Dr. Staines got from the carpen- ter some sheets of zinc and spare copper and some flannel. These he cut into three-inch squares, and soaked the flannel in acidulated wa- ter. He than procured a quantity of bell-wire, the greater part of which he insulated by wrapping it round with hot gutta-percha. So eager was ho that he did not tui-n in all night. In the morning he prepared what he called an electric fuse. He filled a soda-water bottle with gunpowder, attaching some cork to make it buoyant, put in the fuse and bung, made it water-tight, connected and insulated his main wires, enveloped the bottle in pork, tied a lina to it and let the bottle over- board. The captain and officers shook their heads mysteriously. The tars peeped and grinned from every rope . to see a doctor try and catch a shark with a soda^-water bottle and no hook ; but somehow the doctor seemed to know what he was about, so they hovered around, and waited the result, mystified but curious, and showing their teeth from ear to ear. "The only thing I fear," said Staines, "is that the moment he takes the bait, he will cut the wire before I can complete the circuit and fire the fuse." Nevertheless, there was another objection to the success of the ex- periment. The shark had disap- Well," said the captain, " at all events you have frightened him- away." " No,'' said little Tadcaster, white as a ghost : " he is only under water, I know;, waiting — wait- ing." " There he is 1 " cried one in the ratlines. A SIMPLETON. 109 There was a rush to the taflfrail — great excitement. " Keep clear of me," said Staines, quietly but firmly. "It can only be done at the moment before he cuts the wire." The old shark swam slowly round the bait. He saw it was something new. He swam round and round it. " He won't take it," said one. " He suspects something." "Oh, yes ! he will take the meat somehow, and leave the peppur. Sly old fox." " He has eaten many a poor Jack, that one." The shark turned slowly on his back, and, instead of grabbing- the bait, seemed to di-aw it by gentle suction into that capacious throat, ready to blow it out in a moment if it was not all right. The moment the bait was drawn out of sight, Staines completed the circuit ; the bottle exploded with a fury that surprised him and every- body who saw it ; a ton of water flew into the air, and came down in spray, and a gory carcass floated belly uppermost, visibly staining the blue water. There was a roar of amazement and applause. The carcass was towed alongside, at Tadcaster's urgent request, and then the power of the explosion was seen. Confined, first by the bottle, then by the meat, then by the fish, and lastly by the water, it had ex- ploded with tenfold power, had blown the brute's head into a million atoms, and had even torn a great furrow in its carcass, exposing three feet of the backbone. Taddy gloated on his enemy, and began to pick up again from that hour. The wind improved, and, as usu- al in that latitude, scarcely varied a point. They had a pleasant time. Private theatricals, and other 10 amusements, till they got to latitude 26° S., and longitude 27°. Then the trade-wind desortL'd them. Light and variable winds succeed- ed. The master complained of the chronometers, and the captain thought it his duty to verify or correct them : and so shaped his course for the island of Tristan d'Acunha, then lying a little way out of his course. I ought, perhaps, to explain to the general reader that the exact position of this island, being long, ago recorded, it was an infallible guide to go by in verityiug a ship's chronome- ters. Next day the glass fell all day, and the captain said he should double reef-topsails at night-fall, for something was brewing. The weather, however, was fine, and the ship was sailing very fast, when, about half an hour before sunset, the mast-head man hailed that there was a balk of timber in sight, broad on the weather-bow. The signal-man wasiscnt up, and said it looked like a raft. The captain, who was on deck, levelled his glass at it, and made it out a raft, with a sort of rail to it, and the stump of a mast. He ordered the officer of the watch to keep the ship as close to the wind as possible. He should like to examine it if he could. The master represented respect- fully that it would be unadvisable to beat to windward for that. "I have no faith in our chronometers, sir, and it is important to make the island before dark : fogs rise here so suddenly." "Very well, Mr. Bolt: then I suppose we must let the raft go-" " Man on the raft to -wind- -WARD ! " hailed the signal-man. This electrified the ship. The captain ran up the mizzen rigging and scanned the raft, now nearly abeam. 110 A SIMPLETON. " It is a man ! " he cried, and was about to alter the ship's course when, at that moment the signal man hailed again : "Ir IS A CUKPSE." " How d'ye know "! " "By the gulls." Then succeeded an exciting diar logue between the captain and the master, who, being in his depart- ment, was very firm ; and went so far as to say he would not answer for the safety of the ship if they did not sight the land before dark. The captain said, " Very well/' and took a turn or two. But at last he said, " No. Her Majesty's ship must not pass a raft with a man on it, dead or alive." He then began to give tlie neces- sary orders, but before they frereout of his mouth, a fatal interruption oc- .cured. Tadcastor ran into Dr. Staines's cabin, crying, " A raft with a corpse close by ! " Staines sprang to the quarter- port to see ; and, craning eagerly out, the lower port chain, which had not been well secured, slipped, the port gave way, and, as his whole weight rested on it, canted him headlong into the sea. A smart seaman in the fore-chains saw the acciilent, and instantly roared out, " Man ovekboakd ! " a cry that sends a thrill through a ship's very ribs. Another smart fellow cut the life- buoy adrift so quickly that it struck the water within ten yards of Staines. The officer of the watch, without the interval of half a minute, gave the right orders in the voice of a Stentor : — " Let go life-buoy. " Life-boat's crew away. " Hands shorten sail. "M.ninsail up. " Main-topsail to mast." Those orders were executed with admirable swiftness. Meantime there was a mighty rush of feet throughout the fngate, every hatch- way was crammed with men eager to force their way on deck. In five seconds the middy of the watch and half her crew were in the lee cutter fitted with Cliflbrd's ap- paratus. " Lower nway I " cried the excit ed ofiTicer ; " the others will come down by the pendants." The man stationed, sitting on the bottom boards, eased away roundly, when suddenly there was a hitch — the boat would go no farther. " Lower away there in the cutter ! Why don't you lower i screamed the captain, who had come over to leeward expecting to see the boat in the water. " The rope has swollen, sir, and pendants won't unreeve," cried the middy in agony. " Volunteers for the weather- boat ! " shouted the first lieutenant ; but the order was unnecessary, for more than the proper number were in her already. " Plug in — lower away." But mishaps never come singly. Scarcely had this boat gone a foot from the davit than the volunteer who was acting as cockswain, in reaching out for something,- inad- vertently let go the line which, in Kynaston's apparatus, keeps the tackles hooked ; consequently, down went the boat and crew twenty feet, with a terrific crash ; the men were struggling for their lives, and the boat was stove. But meantime, more men having been sent into the Ice cutter, their weight caused the pendants to ren- der, and the boat got afloat, nnd was soon employed picking up the strug- gJing crew. Seeing this, Lieut. Fitzroy collected some hands, and lowered the life-boat gig, which was fitted with common tackles, got down into her himself by the falls, and, pulling round to windward, shouted to the signal-man for directions. A SIMPLETON. Ill The signal-man was at his post, and had fixed his eye on the man overboard, as his duty was : but his messmate was in the stove boat, and hu had cast one anxious look down to see if he was saved, and, sad to relate, in that one moment he had lost sight of Staines : the sudden darkness — there was no twilight — confused him more, and the ship had increased her drift. Fitzroy, however, made a rapid calculation, and pulled to windward with all his might. He was followed in about a minute by the other sound boat powerfully manned ; and both boats melted away into the night. There was a long and anxious suspense, during which it became pitch-dark, and the ship burned blue-lights to mark her position more plainly to the crews that were groping the sea for that beloved passenger. Capt. Hamilton had no doubt that the fate of Staines was decided, one way or other, long before this ; but he kept quiet until he saw the plain signs of a squall at hand. Then, as he was responsible for the safety of boats and ship, he sent up rockets to recall them. The cutter came alongside first. Lights were poured on her ; and quavering voices asked, " Have you got him f " The answer was dead silence, and sorrowful, drooping heads. Sadly and reluctantly was the order given to hoist the boat in. Then the gig came alongside. Fitzroy seated in her, with his hands before his face ; the men gloomy and sad. " Gone ! Gone ! " Soon the ship was battling a heavy squall. At midnight all quiet again, and hove to. Then, at the request of many, the bell was tolled, and the ship's company mustered bare- headed, anil many a stout seaman in tears, as the last service was read for Christopher Staines. dHAPTER XIII. KosA. fell ill with grief at the hotel, and could not move for some days; but, the moment she was strong enough, she insisted on leav- ing Plymouth : like all wounded things, she must drag herself home. But what a home ! How empty it struck, and she heart-sick and desolate ! Now all the familiar places wore a n^w aspect: the little yard, where he had so walked and waited, became a temple to her ; and she came out and sat in it, and now first felt to the full how much he had suffered there — with what for- titude ! She crept about the house, and kissed the chair he had sat in, and every much-used place and thing of the departed. Her shallow nature deepened and deepened under this bereavement, of which, she said to herself with a shudder, she was the cause. And this is the course of nature : there is nothing like suffering to enlighten the giddy brain, widen the narrow mind, improve the trivial heart. As her regrets were tender and deep, so her vows of repentance were sincere. Oh, what a wife she would make when he came back! how thoughtful ! howprudent! how loyal! and never have a secret. She who had once said, " What is the use of your writing? nobody will publish it," now collected and pe- rused every written scrap. With simple affection she even looked np his very waste-paper basket, full of fragments he had torn, or useless papers he had thrown there before he went to Plymouth. In the drawer of his writing- table she foimd his diary. It was a thick quarto : it began with their marriage, and ended with his leav- ing home — for then he took another volume. This diary became her Bible : she studied it daily, till her tears hid his lines. The entries were very miscellaneous, very exact. 112 A SIMPLETON. It was a map of their married life. But wliat she studied most was his observations on her own clmracter, so scientific, yet so kindly ; and his scholar-like and wise reflections. The book was an unconscious pic- ture of a great mind she had hith- erto but glanced at : now she saw it all plain before her ; saw it, under- stood it, adored it, mourned it. Such women are shallow, not for want of a head upon their shoulders, but of attention. They do not really study any thing ; they have been taught at their schools the bad art of skimming ; but let their hearts compel their brains to think and think, the result is considerable. The deepest philosopher never fath- omed a character more thoroughly than this poor child fathomed her husband when she had read his journal ten or eleven times, and bedewed it with a thousand tears. ' One passage almost cut her more in tclligent heart in twain : — " This dark day I have done a thing incredible. I have spoken ■with brutal harshness to the inno- cent creature I have sworn to pro- tect. She had run into debt, through inexperience, and. that unhappy timidity which makes women con- ceal an error until it ramifies, by concealment, into a fault; and I must storm and rave at her till she actually fainted away. Brute ! KufBan ! Monster f And she, how did she punish me, poor Lamb'? By soft and tender words — like a lady, as she is. Oh, ray sweet Rosa, I wish you could know how you are avenged ! Talk of the scourge — the cat ! I would be thankful for two dozen lashes. Ah ! there is no need, I think, to punish a man who has been cruet to a woman. Let him alone. He will punish himself more than you can, if he really is a man." From the date of that entry this self-reproach and self-torture kept cropping up every now and then m the diary ; and it appeared to have been not entirely without its infltL ence in sending Staines to sea, though the main reason he gave was that his Rosa might have the com- forts and luxuries she had enjoyed before she married him. One day, while she was crying over this diary, Uncle Philip called, but not to comfort her, I promise you. He burst on her, irate, to take her to task. He had returned, learned Christopher's departure, and settled the reason in his own mind. That uxorious fool was gone to sea, by a natural re-action ; his eyes were open to his wife at last, and he was sick of her folly ; so he had fled to distant climes, as who would not that could f " So, ma'am,'' said he, " my nephew is gone to sea, I find — all in a hurry. Pray, may I ask what he has done that for ? " It was a very simple question, yet it did not elicit a very plain answer. She only stared at this abrupt in- quisitor, and then cried piteously, " Uncle Philip ! " and burst out sobbing. " Why, what is the matter t " " You will hate me now. He is gone to make money for me; and I would rather have lived on a crust. Uncle, don't hate me. I'm a poor, bereaved, heart-broken creature, that repents." " Repents ! heigho ! why, what have you been up to now, ma'am ? No great harm, I'll be bound. Flirting a little — with some fool — eh?" * " Flirting ! Me ! a married wo- man ! " " Oh, to be sure ! I forgot. Why, surely he has not deserted you." " My Christopher desert me ! He loves me too well ; far more than I deserve, hut not more than I will. Uncle Philip, I am too con- fused and wretched to tell you all that has happened ; but I know yon love him though yon had a tilT. Uncle, lie called on you, to shake A SIMPLBtOK. 113 hands and ask your forgireness, poor fellow ! He was so sorry you were away. Please read his diary : it will tell you all, better than his poor foolish wife can. I know it by heart. I'll show you where you and he quarrelled about me. There, see." And she showed him the passage with her finger. " He never told me it was that, or I would have come and begged your par- don on my knees. But see how sorry he was. There, see. " And now I'll show you another place, where my Christopher speaks of your many, many acts of kind- ness. There, see. And now please let me show you how he longed for reconciliation. There, see. And it is the same through the book. And now I'll show you how grieved he wii s to go without your blessing. I told him I was sure you would give him that, and him going away. Ah, me ! will he ever return ? Uncle dear, don't hate me. You are his only relative ; and what shall I do, now he is gone, if you disown me 1 "Why, you are the only Staines left me to love." " Disown you, ma'am ! that I'll never do. You are a good-hearted young woman, I find. There, run and dry your eyes, and let me read Christopher's diary all through. Then I shall see how the land lies. " Rosa complied with this propo- sal; and left him alone while she bathed her eyes, and tried to com- pose herself, for she was all trem- bling at this sudden irruption. When she returned to the draw- ing-room he was walking about looking grave and thoughtful. " It is the old story," said he rather gently : " a misunderstanding. How. wise our Ancestors were that first used that word to mean a quarrel ! for look into twenty quar- rels, and you shall detect a score of mis-under-standings. Yet our American cousins must go and substitute the unideaed word, ' diflS- culty ; ' that is wonderful. I had 10* no quarrel with him ; delighted to see either of you. But I had called twice on him ; so I thought he ought to get over his temper, and call on a tried friend like me. A misunderstanding! Now, my dear, let us have no more of these misunderstandings. You will always be welcome at my house ; and I shall often come here; and look after you and your interests. What do you mean to do, I won- der 1 " " Sir, I'm to go home to my father, if he will be troubled with me. I have written to him." " And what is to become of the Bijou ■> " "My Christie thought I should like to part with it and the fur- niture ; but his own writing-desk and his chair, no, I never will ; and his little clock. Oh ! oh ! oh ! But I remember what you said about agents, and 1 don't know what to do; for I shall be away." " Then leave it to me. I'll come and live here with one servant : and I'll soon sell it for you." " You, Uncle Philip I " " Well, why not ■? " said he roughly. ■ " That will he a great trouble and discomfort to you, I'm afraid." "If I find it so, I'll soon drop it. I'm not the fool to put myself out for anybody. When you are ready to go out, send me»word, and I'll come in." Soon after this he bustled off. He gave her a hurried kiss at part- ing, as if he was ashamed of it, and wanted it over as- quickly as possible. Next day her father came, con- doled with her politely, assured her there was nothing to cry about ; husbands were asort of functionaries that always went to sea at some part of their career, and no harm ever came of it. On the contrary, " Absence makes the heart grow fonder," said this judicious par- ent. 114 A SIMPLETON. This sentiment happened to be | just a little too true, and set the daughter crviug bitterly; but slie fouglit against it, " Oh, no ! " said slie. " / mustn't. I will not be always crying in Kent Villa." " Lord forbid ! " "I shall get over it in time — a little." .„ ^ " Why, of course you will. But as to your coming to Kent Villa, I am afraid you would not be very com- fortable there. You linow, I am su]]erannuated. Only get my pen- sion now." " I know that, papa ; and — why, that is one of the reasons. I ' have a good income now ; and I thought if we put our means together." " Oh ! that is a very different thing. You will want a carriage, I suppo.se. I have put mine down." " No carriage, no horse, no footman, no luxury oi any iiind, till my Christie comes back. I ab- hor dress, I abhor expense ; I detest every thing I once liked too well ! I hate every folly that has parted us ; and I hate myself worst of all. Oh ! oh ! oh ! Forgive me for crying so." " Well, I think you had better come at once. I dare say there are associations about this place that upset you. I ^hall go and make ready for you, dear ; and then you can come as soon as you like." He bestowed a paternal kiss on her brow, and glided doucely away before she c^iuld possibly cry again. The very next week Rosa was at Kent Villa, with the relics of her Imsband about her : his chair, his writing-table, his clock, his waste- paper basket, a verv deep and large one. She had them all in her bed- room at Kent Villa. More the days glided quietly but heavily. She derived some com- fort from Uncle Philip. His rougli friendty w.iy was a tonic, and braced her; iSe called several times about the Bijou ; told her he had put up enormous boards all over the house, and puffed it finely. " I have had a hundred agents at me," said he ; " and the next thing, I hope, will be one customer ; that is about the proportion." At last he wrote her be had hooked a victim, and sold the lease and furniture for nine hundred guineas. Staines had as- signed tlic lease to Rosa, so she had full powers ; and Philip invested the money, and two hundred more she gave him, in a little mortgage at six per cent. Now came the letter from Ma^ deira. It gave her new life. Chris- topher was well, contented, hopeful. His example should animate her. She would bravely beajr the present, and share his hopes of the future. With these brighter views, nature co-operated. The instincts of ap- proaching maternity brightened the future. Slie fell into gentle rever- ies, and saw her husband return, and saw herself place their infant in his arms with all a wife's, a mother's, pride. In due course came another long letter from the equator, with a full journal, and more words of hope. Home in less than a year, with reputation increased by this last cure : home, to part no more. Ah ! what a changed wife he .should find ! how frugal, how can- did, how full of appreciation, admi- ration, and love of the noblest, dearest husband that ever breathed ! Lady Cicely Treherne waited some weeks, to'let kinder sentiments return. She then called in Dear Street, but found Mi-s. Staines was gone to Gravesend. She wrote to her. In a few days she received a re- ply, studiously polite and cold. This persistent injustice morti- fied her at last. She said to her- self, " Docs she think bis departure was no loss to me f It was to her interests, as well as his, I saeriflced A SIMPLETON. 115 my own selfish wishes. I will write to her no more." This resolution she steadily main- tained. It was shaken for a mo- ment, when she heard, by a side wind, that Mrs. Staines was fast approaching the great pain and peril of women. Then she wa- vered. But no : she prayed for her by name in the liturgy, but she troubled her no more. This state of things had lasted some six weeks, when she received a letter from her Cousin Tadcaster, close on the heels of his last, to wbich she had replied as I have in- dicated. She knew his handwrit- ing, and opened it with a smile. That smile soon died oiF her horror-stricken face. The letter ran thus : — " Tristan d'Acotha, Jan. 6. " Dear Cicely, — A terrible thing has just happened. We sig- nalled a raft, with a body on it ; and poor Dr. Staines leaned out of the port-hole, and fell overboard. Three boats were let down after him ; but it all went wrong somehow, or it was too late. • They could never find him ; he was drowned ; and the funeral service was read for the poor fellow. " We are all sadly cut up. Every- body loved him. It was dreadful, next day at dinner, when his chair was empty. The very sailors cried at not finding him. " First of all, I thought I ought to write to his wife. I know where she lives ; it is called Kent Villa, Gravesend. But I was afraid : it might kill her ; and you are so good and sensible, I thought I had better write to you, and perhaps you could break it to her by de- grees, before it gets in all the pa- pers. " I send this from the island, by a small vessel, and paid him ten pounds to take it. " Your affectionate cousin, " Tadcasiek." Words are powerless to describe a blow like this : the amazement, the stupor, the reluctance to be- lieve, — the rising, swelling, sur- ging horror. She sat like a woman of stone, crumpling the letter. "Dead! dead!" For a long time this was all her mind could realize, — that Christo- pher Staines was dead. He who had been so full of life and thought and genius, and worthier to live than all the Forld, was dead; and a million nobodies were still alive, and he was dead. It revealed to her, in one wither- ing flash, that she loved him. She loved him, and he was dead. She lay back on the sofa, and all the power left her Umbs. She could not move a hand. But suddenly she started up; for a, noble instinct told her this blow must not fall on the wife as it had on her, and in her time of peril. She had her bonnet on in a mo- ment, and, for the first time in her life, darted out of the house with- out her maid. She flew along the streets, scarcely feeling the ground. She got to Dear Street, and ob- tained Philip Staines's address. She flew to it, and there learned he was down to Kent Villa. Instantly she telegraphed to her maid to come down to her at Gravesend, with things for a short visit, and wait for her at the station ; and she went down by train to Gravesend. Hitherto she Ijad walked on air, driven by one overpowering im- pulse. Now, as she sat in the train, she thought a little of herself. What was before her? To break to Mrs. Staines that her husband was dead. To tell her all her mis- givings were more than justified. To encounter hSfr cold civility, and let her know, inch byinch, it must be exchanged for curses and tearing of hair : her husband was dead. To tell her this, and in the telling of it, perhaps reveal that it was her great 116 A SIMPLETON. bereavement, as well as the wife's ; for she had a deeper affection for him than she ought. Well, she trembled like an aspen- leaf — trembled like one in an ague, even as she sat; but she perse- vered. A nohle woman has her courage ; not exactly the same as that which leads forlorn hopes against hastions bristling with rifles, and tongued with flames and thunderbolts, yet not inferior to it. Tadcaster, small and dull, but no- ble by birth and instinct, had seen the right thing for her to do ; and she of the same breed, and nobler far, had seen it too ; and the great soul steadily drew the recoiling heart and quivering body to this fiery trial, this act of humanity, to do which was terrible and hard, to shirk it cowardly and cruel. She reached Gravesend, and drove in a fly to Kent Villa. The door was opened by a maid. " Is Mrs. Staines at home? " " Yes ma'am, she is at home ; but" — " Can I see her ? " " "Why, no, ma'am : not at pres- ent." " But I must see her. I am an old friend. Please take her my card. Lady Cicely Treherne." The maid hesitated, and looked confused. "Perhaps you don't know, ma'am. Mrs. Staines, she is — the doctor have been in the house all day." " Ah, the doctor ! I believe Dr. Philip Staines is here." " Why, that is the doctor, ma'am. Yes, he is here." "Then pray let me see him — or no ; I had better see Mr. Lusignan." " Master have pone out for the day, ma'am ; but, if you'll step in the drawing-room, I'll tell the doctor." Lady Cicely waited in the draw- ing-room some time, heart-sick and trembling. At last Doctor Philip came in, with her card in his hand, looking evidently a little cross at the inter- ruption. " Now, madam, please tell me, as briefly as you can, what I can do for you." " Are you Dr. Philip Staines?" " I am, madam, at your service — for five minutes. Can't quit my patient long, just now." " O sir, thank God I have found you ! Be prepared for ill news — sad news — a terrible calam- ity — I can't speak. Read that, sir." And she handed him Tad- caster's note. He took it and read it. He buried his face in his hands. " C bristopher ! my poor, j oor boy!" he groaned. But suddenly a terrible anxiety seized him. " Who knows of this I " he asked. " Only myself, sir. I came here to break it to her." " You are a good, kind ladv, for being so thoughtful. Madam, if this gets to my niece's ears it will kill her, as sure as we stand heie." " Then let us keep it from her. Command me, sir. I will do any thing. I will live here — take the letters in — the journals — any thing." " No, no ; you have done your part, and God bless you for it. I must stay here. Your ladyship's very presence, and your agitation, would set the servants talking, and some idiot-fiend among them bab- bling ; there is nothing so terrible as a fool." " May I stay at the inn, sir, just one night ?" " Oh, yes, I wish yon would ! and I will run over, if all is well with her — well with her 1 poor unfor- tunate girl ! " Lady Cicely saw he wished her gone, and she went directly. At nine o'clock that same evening, as she lay on a sofa in the best room of the inn, attended by her maid, Dr. Philip Staines came to her. She dismissed her maid. A SIMPLETOK. 117 Dr. Philip was too old — in other words, had lost too many friends — to be really broken down by a be- reavement ; but he was strangely subdued. The loud tones were out of him, and the loud laugh, and even the keen sneer. Yet he was the same man, but with a gentler surface ; and this was not without its pathos. " Well, madam," said he grave- ly and quietly, " it is as it always has been. ' As is the race of leaves, so that of man.' When one falls, another comes. Here's a little Christopher come, in place of him that is gone — a brave, beautiful boy, ma'am ; the finest but one I ever brought into the world. He is come to take his father's place in our hearts, — I see you valued his poor father, ma'am, — but he comes too late for me. At your age, ma'am, friendships come naturally ; they spring like loves in the soft heart of youth : at seventy, the gate is not so open ; the soil is more sterile. I shall never care for another Chris- topher; never see another grow to man's estate." " The mother, sir,'' sobbed Lady Cicely : " the poor mother'? " " Like them all, poor creature I in heaven, madam ; in heaven. New life! new existence! a new character. All the pride, glory, rap- ture, and amazement of maternity — thanks to her ignorance, which we must prolong, or I would not give one straw for her life, or her son's. I shall never leave the house till she does know it, and, come when it may, I dread the hour. She is not framed by nature to bear so deadly a shock." " Her father, sir, — would he not be the best person to break it to her 1 He was out to-day " "Her father, ma'am's I shall get no help from him. He is one of those soft, gentle creatures that come into the world with what your canting fools call a mission ; and his mission is to take care of uum- ber one. Not dishonestly, mind you, nor violently, nor rudely, but doucely and calmly. The care a brute like me takes of his vitals, that care Lusignan takes of his outer cuticle. His number one is a sensi- tive plant. No scenes, no noise : nothing painful — by the by, the little creature that writes in the papers, and calls calamities ;ja»i/i(/, is of Lusignan's breed. Out to-day ! of course he was' out, ma'am : he knew from me his daughter would be in peril all day, so he visited a friend. He knew his own tender- ness, and evaded paternal sensibili- ties : a self-defender. I count on no help from that charming man." " A man ! I call such men wep- tiles ! " said Lady Cicely, her ghast- ly cheek coloring for a moment. " Then you give them false im- portance." In the course of this interview, Lady Cicely accused herself sadly of having interfered between man and wife, and, with the best intentions, brought about this cruel calamity. " Judge, then, sir," said she, " how grateful I am to you for undertak- ing this cruel task. I was her school-fellow, sir, and I love her dearly ; but she has turned against me, and now, oh, with what horror she will regard me ! " " Madam," said the doctor, " there is nothing more mean and unjust than to judge others by events that none could foresee. Your conscience is clear. You did your best for my poor niece : she has many virtues, but justice is one you must not look for in that quarter. Justice requires brains. It's a virtue the heart does not deal in. You ranst be content with your own good con- science, and an old man's esteem. You did all for the best; and this very day you have done a good kind action. God bless you for it ! Then he left her ; and next day she went sadly home, and for many a long day the hollow world saw nothing of Cicely Treheme. 118 A SIMPLETON. When Mr. Lusignan came home that night, Dr. Philip told him the miserable story, and his fears. He received it not as Philip had ex- pected. The bachelor had counted without his dormant paternity. He was terror-stricken — abject — fell into a chair, and wrung his hands, and wept piteously. To keep it from his daughter till she should be stronger seemed to him chimerical, impossible. However, Philip .insisted it must be done ; and he must make some excuse for keeping out of her way, or his man- ner would rouse her suspicions. He consented readily to that, and, indeed, left all to Ur. Philip. Dr. Philip trusted nobody, not even his own confidential servant. He allowed no journal to come into the house without passing through his hands; and he read them all before he would let ony other soul in the house see them. He asked Eosa to let him be her secretary, and open her letters, giving as a pretext that it would be as well she should have no small worries or trouble just now. " Why," said she, " I was never so well able to bear thera. It must be a great thing to put me out now. I am so happy, and live in the fu- ture. Well, dear uncle, you can if you like — what does it matter? — only there must be one excep- tion ; my own Christie's letters, you know." " Of course," said he wincing in- wardly. The very next Jay came a letter of condolence from Miss Lucas. Dr. Philip intercepted it, and locked it up, to be shown her at a more fit- ting time. But how could he hope to keep so public a thing as this from enter- ing the house in one of a hundred newspapers 1 He went into Gravesend, and searched all the newspapers, to see what he had to contend with. To his horror, he found it in several dailies and weeklies, and in two illustrated papers. He sat aghast at the difficulty and the danger. The best thmg he could think of was to buy them all, and cut out the account. He did so, and brought all the papers, thus mutilated, into the house, and sent them into the kitchen. He said to his old servant, " These may amuse Mr. Lusignan's people, and I have extracted all that interests me." By these means he hoped that none of the servants would go and buy any more of these same papers elsewhere. Notwithstanding these precau- tions, he took the nurse apart, and said, " Now, you are an experienced woman, and to be trusted about an excitable patient. Mind, I object to any female servant entering Mrs. Staines's room with gossip. Keep them outside the door for the pres- ent, please. Oh ! and nurse, if any thing should happen likely to grieve or worry her, it must be kept from her entirely : can I trust you?" " You may, sir." " I shall add ten guineas to your fee if she gets through the month without a shock or disturbance of any kind." She stared at him inquiringly. Then she said, — " You may rely on me, doctor." " I feel I may. Still, she alarms me. She looks quiet now, but she is very excitable." Not all these precautions gave Dr. Philip any real sense of security ; still less did they to Mr. Lusignan. He was not a tender father, in small things ; but the idea of actual danger to his only child was terrible to him ; and he now passed his life in a con- tinual tremble. This is the less to be wondered at when I tell you that even the stout Philip began to lose his nerve, his appetite, his sleep, under this hourly terror and this hourly tor- ture. Well did the great imagination A SIMPLETON. 119 of antiquity feign a torment too great for tlie mind long to endure, in the sword of Damocles suspend- ed by a single hair over his head. Here the sword hung over an inno- cent creature, who smiled beneath it fearless ; but these two old men must sit and watch the sword, and ask themselves how long before that subtle salvation shall snap. " III news travel fast," says the proverb. " The birds of the air shall carry the matter,'' says Holy Writ ; and it is so. No bolts nor bars, no promises nor precau- tions, can long shut out a great calamity from the ears it is to blast, the heart it is to wither. The very air seems full of it, until it falls. Rosa's child was more than a fortnight old, and she was looking more beautiful than ever, as is often the case with a very young mother, and Dr. Philip complimented her on her looks. " Now," said he, "you reap the advantage of being good and obedient, and keeping qijiet. In another ten days or so, 1 may take you to the seaside for a week. I have the honor to in- form you that from about the fourth to the tenth of'March there is always a week of fine weather, which takes everybody by surprise except me. It does not astonish me, because I observe it is invariable. Now, what would you say if I gave you a week at Heme Bay, to set you up alto- gether ? " " As you please, dear uncle,'' said Mrs. Staines, with a sweet smile. " I shall bo very happy to go or to stay. I shall be happy every- where with my darling boy and the thought of my husband. Why, I count the days till he shall come back to me. No, to us — to us, my pet. Ilow dare a naughty mammy say ' to me,' as if ' me ' was half the " portanre of oo, a precious pets." Dr. rhilip was surprised into a sigh. "What is the matter, dear?" ^said Rosa' very quickly. " The matter? " "Yes, dear, the matter. You sighed — you, the laughing philoso- pher." " Did I ? " said he, to gain time. " Perhaps I remembered the un- certainty of human life, and of all mortal hopes. The old will have their thoughts, my dear. They have seen so much trouble." " But, uncle dear, he is a very healthy child." " Very." " And you told me yourself care- lessness was the cause so many chil- dren die." " That is true." She gave him a curious and rath- er searching look ; then, leaning over her boy, said, "Mammy's not afraid. Beautiful Pet was not born to die directly. He will never leave his mamma. No, uncle, he never can. Por my life is bound in his and his dear father's. It is a triple cord : one go, go all." She said this with a quiet resolu- tion that chilled Uncle Pliilip. At this moment the nurse, who had been bending so pertinaciously over some work that her eyes were invisible, looked quickly up, cast a furtive glance at Mrs. Staines, and, finding she was employed for the mo- ment, made an agitated signal to Dr. Philip. All she did was to clinch her two hands and lift them halt-way to her face, and then cast a frightened look toward the door; but Philip's senses were so sharpened by constant alarm and watching that he saw at once something serious was the matter. But, as he asked himself what he should -do in case of some sudden alarm, he merely gave a nod of intelligence to the nurse, scarcely perceptible, then cose quietly from his seat, and went to the window. " Snow coming, I think," said he. "Por all that, we shall have the March summer in ten days. You mark my words." He then went leisurely out of the room. At the 120 A SIMPLETON. door he turned, and, with, all the cun- ning he was master of, said, " Oh ! by the by, come to my room, nurse, when you are at leisure." " Yes, doctor," said the nurse, but never moved. She was too bent on hiding the agitation she really felt. " Had you not better go to him, nurse ? " " Perhaps I had, madam." She rose with feigned indifference, and left the room. She walked leisurely down the passage, then casting a hasty glance behind her, for fear Mrs. Staines should be watching her, burst into the doctor's room. They met at once in the middle of the room ; and Mrs. Bris- coe burst out, " Sir, it is known all over the house ! " " Heaven forbid ! What is known ? " " What you would give the whole world to keep from her. Why, sir, the moment you cautioned me, of course I saw there was trouble ; but little I thought — sir, not a servant in the kitchen or the stable but knows that her husband — poor thing ! poor thing ! Ah ! there goes the house-maid — to have a look at her." " Stop her ! " Mrs. Briscoe had not waited for this ; she rushed after the woman, and told her Mrs. Staines was sleeping, and the room must not be entered on any account. " Oh, very well I " said the maid rather sullenly. Mrs. Briscoe saw her return to the kitchen, and came back to Dr. Staines : he was pacing the room in torments of anxiety. " Doctor," said she, •" it is the old story : ' Servants' friends, the master's enemies." An old servant dime here to gossip with her friend the cook (she never could abide her while they were together, by all accounts), and told her the whole story of his b^ing drowned at sea." Dr. Philip groaned. "Cursed chatterbox ! " said he. " What is to be done "i Must we break it to her now ? Oh, if I could only buy a few days more! The heart to be crushed while the body is weak! It is too cruel. Advise me, Mrs. Briscoe. You are an experienced woman, and I think you are a kind- hearted woman." " Well, sir, " said Mrs. Bris- coe, "I had the name of it when I was younger, before Briscoe failed, and I took to nur.sing; which nursing hardens, sir, by use, and along of the patients them- selves ; for sick folk are lumps of selfishness : we see more of them than you do, sir. But this I wiU say, 'tisn't selfishness that lies now in that room, waiting for the blow that will bring her to death's door, I'm afraid, but a sweet, gentle, thoughtful creature, as ever supped sorrow : for I don't know how 'tis doctor, nor why 'tis, but an angel like that has always to sup sor- row." But you do not advise me,'' said the doctor, in agitation, " and some- thing must be done." " Advise you, sir ! it is not for me to do that. I am sure I'm at my wits' end, poor thing ! Well, sir, I don't see what you can do but try and break it to her. Better so than let It come to her like a clap of thun- der. But I think, sir, I'd have a wet-nurse ready befoi'e I said much ; for she is very quick, and ten too one but the first word of such a thing turns her blood to gall. Sir, I once knew a poor woman — she was a carpenters wife — a-nursing her child, in the afternoon ; and in runs a foolish woman, and tells her he was killed dead, off a scaf- fold. 'Twas the man's sister told her. Well, sir, she was knocked stupid like; and she sat staring, and nursing of her child, before she could take it in rightly. The child was dead before suppor-iime, and the woman was not long after. The whole family was swept away ; A SIMPLETON. 121 sir, in a few hours, and I mind the table was not cleared he had dined on when they came to lay them out. Well-a-day, nurses see sorrow ! " " We all see sorrow that live long, Mrs. Briscoe. I am heart-brolcen myself; I am desperate. You are a good soul, and I'll tell you. When my nephew married this poor girl I was very angry with him, and I soon found she was not fit to be a struggling man's wife, and then I was very angry with her. She had spoiled a first-rate physi- cian, I thought. But since I knew her better it is all changed, she is so lovable. How I shall ever tell her this terrible thing, God knows. All I know is, that I will not throw a chance away. Her body shall be stronger before I break her heart. Cursed idiots, that could not save a single man with their boats in a calm sea ! Lord forgive me for blaming people when I was not "there to see ! I say I will give her every chance. She shall not know it till she is stronger — no, not if 1 live at her door, and sleep there, and all. Good God I inspire me with something. There is al- ways something to be done, if one could but see it." Mrs. Briscoe sighed and said, " Sir, I think any thing is better than for her to hear it from a ser- vant; and they are sure to blurt it out. Young women are such fools." " No, no : I see what it is," said Dr. Philip. " I havegone all wrong from the first. I have been acting like a woman, when I should have acted like a man. Why, I only trust- ed ym by halves. There was a fool for you. Never trust people by halves." " That is true, sir." " Well, then, now I shall go at it like a man. I have a vile opinion of servants, hut no matter. I'll try them : they are human, I sup- pose. I'll hit them between the eyes like a man. Go to the kitchen, U Mrs. Briscoe, and tell them I wish to speak to all the servants, in-doors or out." " Yes, sir." She stopped at the door, and said, "I had better get back to her as soon as I have told them." " Certainly." " And what shall I tell her, sir ? Her first word will be to ask me what you wanted me for. I ?aw that in her eye. She was curious : that is why she sent me after you so quick." Doctor Philip groaned. He felt he was walking among pitfalls. He rapidly flavored some distilled water with ornnge-fiower, then tint- ed it a beautiful pink, and bottled it. " There," said he : "I was mixing a new medicine. Table-spoon four times a day: had to filter it. Aay lie you like." Mrs. Briscoe went to the kitchen and gave her message, then went to Mrs. Staines with the mixture. Dr. Philip went down to the kitchen, and spoke to the servants very solemnly. He said, " My good friends, I am come to ask your htdp in a matter of life and death. There is a poor young woman up stairs : she is a widow, and does not know it, and must not know it yet. If the blow fell now, I think it would kill her : indeed, if she hears it all of a sudden at any time, that might destroy her. We are in so sore a strait that a feather may turn the scale. So we must try all we can to gain a little time, and then trust to God's mercy after all. Well, now what do you say ? Will you help me keep it from her till the tenth of March, say ? and then I will break .it to her hy degrees. Forget she is your mistress. Mas- ter and servant, that is all very well at a proper time ; hut this is the time to remember nothins but that we are all one flesh and blood. We lie down together in the church- yard, and we hope to rise together where there will be no master 122 A SIMPLETON. and servant. Think of the poor unfortunate creature as your own flesh and blood, and tell me, will you help me try and save her under this terrible blow 1 " " Ay, doctor, that we will," said the footman. " Only you give us our orders, and you will see." " I have no right to give you orders ; but I entreat you not to show her, by word or look, that ca- lamity is upon her. Alas ! it is only a reprieve you can give to her and to me. The bitter hour must come when I must tell her she is a widow, and her boy an orphan. When that day comes, I will ask you all to pray for me that I may find words. But now I ask you to give me that ten days' reprieve. Let the poor creature recover a little strength before the thunder-bolt of affliction falls on her head. "Will you promise me ? " They promised heartily ; and more than one of the women began to cry. "A general assent will not sat- isfy me," said Dr. Pliilip. "I want every man and every woman to give me a hand upon it; then I shall feel sure of you." The men gave him their hands at once. The women wiped their harfds with their aprons, to make sure they were clean, and gave him their hands too. The cook said, " If any one of us goes from it, this kitchen will be too hot to hold her." " Nobody will go from it, cook," said the doctor. " I'm not afraid of that ; and now, since you have promised me, out of your own good hearts, I'll try and be even with you. If she knows nothing of it by the tenth of March, five guineas to every man and woman in this kitchen. You shall see, that, if you can be kind, we can be grateful." H« then hurried away. He found Mr. Lusignan in the draw- ing-room, and told him all this. Lusignan was fluttered, but grate- ful. " Ah, ray good friend," said he, " this is a hard trial to two old men like you and me." " It is," said Philip. " It has shown me my age. I declare I am trembling, — I, whose nerves were iron. But I have a particular contempt for servants. Mercenary wretches ! I think Heaven inspired me to talk to them.' After all, who knows "i perhaps we might find a way to their hearts, if we did not eternally shock their vanity, and forget that it is, and must be, far greater than our own. The women gave me their tears, and the men were earnest. Not one hand lay cold in mine. As for your kitchen-maid, I'd trust my life to that girl What a grip she gave me ! What strength ! What fidelity was in it ! My hand was never (grasped before. I think we are safe for a few days more." , Lusignan sighed. " What does it all come to ? We are pulling the trigger gently, that is all." "No, no ; that is not it. Don't let us confound the matter with similes, please. Keep them for children." Mrs. Staines left her bed, and would have left her room, but Dr. Philip forbade her strictly. One day, seated in her arm-chair, she said to the nurse, before Dr. Philip, " Nurse, why do the servants look so curiously at me % " Mrs. Briscoe cast a hasty glance at Dr. Philip, and then said, " I don't know, madam. I never noticed that." ^ " Uncle, why did nurse look at you before she answered such a, simple question ? " " I don't know. What ques- tion 1 " " About the servants." " Oh, about the servants ! " said he»contemptuously. "You should not turn up your nose at them, for they are all most A SIMPLETOlSr. 123 kind and attentive. Only I catch them looking at me so strangely ; really — as if they " — " Rosa, yon are talcing me quite out of ray depth. The looks of servant-girls ! Why, of course a lady in your condition is an object of especial interest to them. I dare say they are saying to one another, ' I wonder when my turn will come 1 ' A tellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind ; that is a proverb, is it not^ " " To be sure. I forgot that." She said no more, but seemed thoughtful, and not quite satisfied. On this, Dr. Philip begged the maids to go near her as little as possible. " You are not aware of it," said he ; " but your looks and your manner of speaking rouse her attention ; and she is quicker than I thouglit she was, and observes very subtlely." This was done ; and then she complained that nobody came near her. She insisted on coming down stairs : it was so dull. Dr. Philip consented, if she would be content to receive no visits for a week" Slie assented to that ; and now passed some hours every day in the drawing-room. In her morning wrappers, so fresh and crisp, she looked lovely, and increased in health and strength every day. Dr. Philip used to look at her, and his very flesh to creep at the thought, that, ere long, he must hurl this fair creature into the dust of affliction ; must, with a word, take the ruby from her lips, the rose from her cheeks, the sparkle from her glorious eyes, — eyes that beamed on him with sweet affec- tion, and a mouth that never opened but to show some simplicity of the mind or some pretty burst of the sensitive heart. He put off, and put off; and at last cowardice began to whisper, " Why tell her the whole truth at all? Why not take her through stages of doubt, alarm, and, after all, leave a grain of hope till her child gets so rooted in her heart that " — But conscience and good sense interrupted this temporary thought, and made him see to what a horrible life of suspense he should condemn a human creature, and live a perpetual lie, and be always at the edge of some pitfall or other. One day, while he sat looking at her, with all these thoughts, and many more, coursing through his mind, she looked up at him, and surprised him. " Ah ! " said she gravely. " What is the matter, my dear ■? " " Oh, nothing ! " said she cun- ningly. "Uncle dear," said she pres- ently, " when do we go to Heme Bay? " Now, Dr. Philip had given that up. He had got the servants at Kent Villa on his side, and he felt safer here than in any strange place ; so he said, "I don't knovy : that all depends. There is plenty of time." "No, uncle, " said Eosa* gravely. "I wish to leave this house. I can hardly breath in it. " " What ! your native air f " " MysterySs not my native air, and this house is full of mystery. Voices whisper at my door, and the people don't come in. The maids cast strange glances at me, and hurry away. I scolded that pert girl, Jane, and she answered me as mad as Moses. I catch you looking at me, with love, and something else. What is that some- thing ? It is pity ; that is what it is. Do you think, because I am called a simpleton, that I have no eyes, nor ears, nor sense ? What is this secret which you are all hiding from one person, and that is me ? Ah ! Christopher has not written this five weeks. Tell me the truth, for I will know it," and she started up in wild excitement. 124 A SIMPLETON. Then Dr. Philip saw the hour was come. He said, " My poor girl, you have read us aright. I am anxious ahout Christopher, and all the ser- vants know it. " "Anxious, and not tell me — his wife — the woman whose life is bound up in his ! " "Was it for us to retard your convalescence, and set you fretiing, and perhaps destroy your child % Rosa, my darling, think what a treasure Heaven has sent you, to love and care for." " Yes, " said she, tremhling, " Heaven has been good to me ; I hope Heaven will always be as good to me. I don't deserve it ; but I tell God so. I am very grateful, and very penitent. I never forget that if I had been a good wife, my husband — five weeks is a long time. Why do you tremble so? Why are you so pale — a strong man like you ? Calamity ! calamity ! " Dr. Philip hung his head. She looked at him, started wildly up, then sank back into her chaij-. So the stricken deer leaps, then falls. Yet even now she put on a deceitful calm, and said, " Tell me the truth. I have a right to know." ' He stammered out, " There is a report of an accident at sea." She kept silence. " Of a passenger drowned — out of that ship. This, coupled with his silence, fills our hearts with fear." " It is worse — you are breaking it to me — you have gone too far to stop. One word, is he alive ■? Oh, say he is alive ! " Philip rang the bell hard, and said, in a troubled voice, "Rosa, think of your child." " Not when my husband — is he alive, or dead ? " "It is hard to say, with such a terrible report about, and no letters, " faltered the old man, his courage failing him. "What are you afraid of? Do you think I can't die, and go to him ? Alive, or dead ? " and she stood before him, raging and quivering in every limb. The nurse came in. " Fetch her child," he cried. " God have mercy on her ! " " Ah, then, he is dead, " said she, with stony calmness. " I drove him to sea, and he is dead. " The nurse rushed in, and held the child to her. She would not look at it. " Dead ! " " Yes, our poor Christie is gone; but his child is here, the im- age of him. Do not forget the mother. Have pity on his child and yours." " Take it out of my sight ! " she screamed. "Away with it, or I shall murder it, as I have murdered its father. My dear Christie, before all that live ! I have killed him. I shall die for him. I shall go to him." She raved and tore her hair. Servants rushed in. Rosa was carried to her bed, screaming and raving, and her black hair all down on both sides, a piteous sight. Swoon followed swoon ; and that very night, brain-fever set in T\ith all its sad accompaniments. A poor bereaved creature, tossing and moaning; pale, anxious, but resolute faces of the nurse and the kitchen-maid watching ; on one table a pail of ice, and on another, alas ! the long, thick, raven hair of our poor simpleton, lying on clean' silver paper. Dr. Philip had cut it all off with his own hand ; and he was now folding it up, and crying over it ; for he thought to himself, " Perhaps in a few days more, only this will be left of her on earth." A SIMPLETON. 125 CHAPTER XIV. Staines fell head-foremost into the sea with a heavy plunge. Be- ing an excellent swimmer, he struck out the moment he touched the water ; and that arrested his dire, and brought him up with a slant, shocked and panting, drenched and confused. The next moment he saw, as through a fog — his eyes be- ing full of water — something fall from the ship. He breasted the big waves, and swam toward it : it rose on the top of a wave, and he saw it was a life-buoy. Encumbered vrith wet clothes, he seemed impotent in the big waves ; they threw him up so high, and do;vn so low. Almost exhausted, he got to the life-buoy, and clutched it with a fierce grasp and a wild cry of delight. He got it over his head, and, placing his arms round the buoyant circle, stood with his breast and head out of water, gasping. He now drew a long breath, and got his wet hair out of his eyes, already smarting with salt-water, and, raising himself on the buoy, looked out for help. He saw, to his great concern, the ship already at a distance. She seemed to have flown ; and she was still drifting fast away from him. He saw no signs of help. His heart began to turn as cold as his drenched bodyi A horrible fear crossed him. But presently he saw the weather- boat filled, and fall into the water ; and then a wave rolled between him and the ship, and he only saw her • topmast. The next time he rose on a migh- ty wave, he saw the boats together astern of the vessel, but not coming his way ; and the gloom was thick- ening, the ship becoming indistinct, and all was doubt and horror. A life of agony passed in a few minutes. He rose and fell like a cork on 11* the buoyant waves, — rose and fell, and saw nothing but the ship's lights, now terribly distant. But at last, as he rose and fell, he caught a few fitful glimpses of a smaller light rising and falling like himself. " A boat ! " he cried, and, raising himself as high as he could, shouted, cried, implored, for help. He stretched his hands across the water. " This way, this way ! " The light kept moving ; but it came no nearer. They had greatly underrated the drift. The other boat had no light. Minutes passed of suspense, hope, doubt, dismay, terror. Those min- utes seemed hours. In the agony of suspense the quaking heart sent beads of sweat to the brow, though the body was immersed And the gloom deepened, and the cold waves flung him up to heaven with their giant arms, and then down again to hell ; and still that light, his only hope, was several hun- dred yards from him. Only for a moment at a time could his eyeballs, straining with agony, catch this will-o'-the-wisp, — the boat's light. It groped the sea up and down, but came no nearer. When what seemed days of agony had passed, suddenly a rocket rose in the horizon : so it seemed to him. The lost man gave a shriek of joy ; so prone are we to interpret things hopefully. Misery ! The next time he saw that little light, that solitary spark of hope, it was not quite so near as before. A mortal sickness fell ou his heart. The ship had recalled the boats by rocket. He shrieked, he cried, he screamed, he raved, " Rosa, Rosa ! for her sake, men, men, do not leave me. I am here, here ! " In vain. The miserable man saw the boat's little light retire, recede, and melt into the ship's larger light; and that light glided away. 126 A SIMPLETON. Then a cold, deadly stupor fell on him. Then Death's icy claw seized his heart, and seemed to run from it to every part of him. He was a dead man. Only a question of time. Nothing to gain by float- ing. But the despairing mind could not quit the world in peace; and even here in the cold, cruel sea the quivering body clung to this frag- ment of life, and winced at Death's touch, though more merciful. He despised this weakness; he raged at it ; he could not overcome it. Unable to live or to die, condemn- ed to float slowly, hour by hour, down into Death's jaws. To a long, death-like stupor suc- ceeded frenzy. Fury seized this great and long-suffering mind. It rose against the cruelty and injustice of his fate. He cursed the world, whose stupidity had driven him to sea ; he cursed remorseless nature ; and at last he railed on the God who made him, and made the cruel water that was waiting for his body. " God's ■ justice ! God's mercy ! God's power ! they are all lies," he shouted, " dreams, chimeras, like him, the all-powerful and good, men babble of by the fire. If there was a God more powerful than the sea, and only half as good as men are, he would pity my poor Eosa and mo, and send a hurricane to drive those caitiffs back to the wretch they have abandoned. Nature alone is mighty. Oh ! if I could have her on my side, and only God against me ! But she is as deaf to prayer as he is, as mechan- ical and remorseless. I am a bubble melting into the sea. Soul I have none : my body will soon be nothing, nothing. So ends an honest, loving life. 1 always tried to love my fel- low-creatures. Curse them I curse them I Curse the earth ! Curse the sea ! Curse all nature ! there is no other God for me to curse." The moon came out. He raised his head and stanng eyeballs, and cursed her. The wind began to whistle, and flung spray in his face. He raised his fallen head and staring eyeballs, and cursed the wind. While he was thus raving, he became sensible of a black object to windward. It looked like a rail, and a man leaning on it. He stared ; he cleared the wet hair from his eyes, and stared again. The thing being larger than him- self, and partly out of water, was drifting to leeward faster than himself. He stared and trembled ; and at last it came nearly abreast, black, black. He gave a loud cry, and tried to swim toward it; but, encumbered with his life-buoy, he made little progress. The thing drifted abreast of mm but ten yards distant. As they each rose high upon the waves, he saw it plainly. It was the very raft that had been the innocent cause of his sad fate. He shouted with hope, he swam, he struggled ; he got near it, but not to it ; it drifted past, and he lost his chance of intercepting it. He strug- gled after it. The life-buoy would not let him catch it. Then he gave a cry of agony, rage, despair, and flimg off the life- buoy, and risked all on this one chance. lie gains a little on the raft. He loses. Ho gains. He cries, "Rosa, Bosa ! " and struggles with all his soul, as well as his body : he gains. But, when almost within reach, a wave half drowns him, and he loses. Ho cries, " Eosa, Eosa ! " and swims high and strong. "Eosa, Eosa, Rosa I " Ho is near it. He cries, " Rosa, Eosa ! " and, with all the energy of love and life, flings himself almost A SIMPLETON. 127 out of the water, and catches hold of the nearest thing on the raft. It was the dead man's leg. It seemed as if it would come away in his grasp. He dared not try to pull himself up by that. But he held on by it, panting, exhausting, faint. Thisfaintnessterrifiedhim. "Oh," thought he, " if I faint now, all is over." Holding by that terrible and strange support, he made a grasp, and caught hold of the wood-work at the bottom of the rail. He tried to draw himself up. Impossible. He was no better off than with his life-buoy. But in situations so dreadfi.il men think fast. He worked gradually round the bottom of the raft by his hands, till he got to leeward, still holding on. There he found a solid block of wood at the edge of the raft. He pried himself carefully up : the raft in that part then sank a little. He got his knee upon the timber of the raft, and, with a wild cry, seized the nearest upright, and threw both arms round it, and clung tight. Then first he found breath to speak. " Thank God ! " he cried, kneeling on the timber, and grasping the upright post, — " Oh, THANK God, thank God ! " CHAPTER XV. " Thank God ? " why, according to his theory, it should haye been " Thank Nature." But I observe, that, in such cases, even philosophers arc ungrateful to the mistress they worship. Our philosopher not only thanked God, but, being on his knees, prayed forgiveness for his late ravings, — prayed hard, with one arm curled round the upright, lest the sea, which ever and anon rushed over the hottom of the raft, should swallow Iiim up ia a, moment. Then he rose carefully, and wedged himself into the corner of the raft opposite to that other figure, ominous relic of the wild voyage the new-comer had entered upon. He put both arms over the rail, and stood erect. The moon was now up ; but so was the breeze. Fleecy clouds flew with vast rapidity across her bright face, and it was by fitful though vivid glances Staines examined the raft and his companion. — ^ The raft was large, and well made of timbers tied and nailed together; ' and a strong rail ran round it resting on several uprights. There were also some blocks of a very light wood screwed to the horizontal timbers; and these made it float high. But what arrested and fascinated the man's gaze was his dead com- panion, — sole survivor, doubtless, of a horrible voyage ; since the raft was not made for one, nor by one. It was a skeleton, or nearly, whose clothes the sea-birds had torn, and pecked every limb in all the fleshy parts : the rest of the body had dried to dark leather on the bones. The head was little more than an eyeless skull; but, in the fitful moonlight, those huge hollow caverns seemed gigantic lamp-like eyes, and glared at him fiendishly, . appallingly. He sickened at the sight. He tried not to look at it; but it would be looked at, and threaten him in the moonlight with great lack-lustre eyes- The wind whistled, and lashed his face with spray torn off thebig waves; and the water was nearly always up to his knees ; and the raft tossed so wildly, it was all he could do to hold on in his comer. In which struggle still those monstrous lack-lustre eyes, hke lamps of death, glared at him in the moon, and all else dark, except the fiery crests of the black mountain billows, tumbling and raging all around. What a night! 128 A SIMPLETON. But before morning the breeze sank, the moon set, and a sombre quiet succeeded, with only that grim figure in outline dimly visible. Ow- ing to the motion still retained by the waves, it seemed to nod and rear, and be ever preparing to rush upon him. The sun rose glorious on a lovely scene ; the sky was a very mosaic of colors siveet and vivid, and the tran- quil, rippling sea, peach-colored to the horizon, with lines of diamonds where the myriad ripples broke into smiles. Staines was asleep, exhausted. Soon the light awoke him, and he looked up. What an incongruous picture met his eye ! — that Heaven of color all above and around, and right before him, like a devil stuck in mid-heaven, that grinning corpse, whose fate foreshadowed his own. But daylight is a great strength- ener of the nerves. The figure no lon- ger appalled him, a man who had long learned to look with Science's calm eye upon the dead. When the sea became like glass, and from peach-color deepened to rose, he walked along the raft, and inspected the dead man. He found it was a man of color, but not a black. The body was not kept, in its place, as he had supposed, merely by being jammed into the angle caused by the rail : it was also lashed to the corner upright by a long, stout belt. Staines concluded this had kept the body there, and its companions had been swept away. This was not lost on him. He re- moved the belt for his own use: he then found it was not only a belt, but a receptacle. It was nearly full of small hard substances that felt like stones. When he had taken it off the body, he felt a compunction. "Ought he to rob the dead, and expose it to be swept into the sea at the first wave, like a dead dog? " He was about to replace the belt, when a middle course occurred to him. He was a man who always carried certain useful little things about him ; viz., needles, thread, scis- sors, and string. He took a piece of string, and easily secured this poor light skeleton to the raft. The belt he strapped to the rail, and kept for_ his own need. And now hunger gnawed him. No food was near. There was noth- ing but the lovely sea and sky, mo- saic with color, and that grim, omi- nous skeleton. Hunger comes and goes many times before it becomes insupporta- ble. All that day and night, and the next day, he suffered its pangs ; and then it became torture, but the thirst maddening. Toward night fell a gentle rain. He spread a handkerchief and caught it. He sucked the handkerchief. This revived him, and even al- layed in some degree the pangs of hunger. Next day was cloudless. A hot sun glared on his unprotected head, and battered down his enfeebled frame. He resisted as well as he could. He often dipped his head, and as often the persistent sun, with cruel glare, made it smoke again. Next day the same ; but the strength to meet it was waning. He lay down and thought of Rosa, and wept bitterly. He took the dead man's belt, and lashed himself to the upright. That act, and his tears for his beloved, were almost his last acts of perfect reason ; for next day came the delusions and the dreams that succeed when hunger ceases to tor- ture, and the vital powers begin to ebb. He lay and saw pleasant meadows, with meandering streams, and clusters of rich fruit that courted the hand, and melted in the mouth. Ever and anon they vanished, and he saw grim Death looking down on him with those big cavernous eyes. By and by — whether his body's eye saw the grim skeleton, or his mind's eye the juicy fruits, green A SIMPLETON. 129 meadows, and pearly brooks — all was shadowy. So in a placid calm, beneath a blue sky, the raft drifted dead, with its dead freight, upon the glassy pur- ple ; and he drifted, too, toward the world unknown. There came across the waters to that dismal raft a thing none too common by sea or land, — a good man. He was tall, stalwart, bronzed, and had hair like snow, before his time ; for he had known trouble. He com- manded a merchant steamer bound for Calcutta, on the old route. The man at the mas^head de- scried a floating wreck, and hailed the deck accordingly. The captain altered his course without one mo- ment's hesitation, and brought up alongside, lowered a boat, and brought the dead and the breathing man on board. A young middy lifted Staines in his arms from the wreck to the boat. He whose person I described in Chapter I. weighed now no more than that. Men are not always rougher than women. Their strength and nerve enable them now and then to be gen- tler than butter-flngered angels, who drop frail things through sensitive agitation, and break them. These rough men saw Staines was hover- ing between life and death, and they handled him like a thing the ebbing life might be shaken out of in a mo- ment. It was pretty to see how gin- gerly the sailors carried the sinking man up the ladder; and one fetched swabs, and the others laid him down softly on them at their captain's feet. " Well done, men ! " said he. " Poor fellow ! Pray Heaven we may not have come too late. Now stand aloof a bit. Send the surgeon aft." The surgeon came, and looked, and felt the heart. He shook his head, and called for branny. He had Staines's head raised, and got half a spoonful of diluted brandy down his throat. But there was an ominous gurgling. After several such attempts at in- tervals, he said plainly the man's life could not be saved by ordinary means. " Then try extraordinary," said the captain. " My orders are that he is to be saved. There is life in him. You have only got to keep it there. He mitst be saved ; he sliall be saved." " I should like to try Dr. Staines's remedy," said the surgeon. " Try it] then : what is it 1 " " A bath of beef-tea. Dr. Staines says he applied it to a starved child — in the Lancet." " Take a hundred-weight of beef, and boil it in the coppers." Thus encouraged, the surgeon went to the cook, and very soon beef was steaming on a scale and at a rate unparalleled. Meantime Capt. Dodd had the patient taken to his own cabin ; and he and his servant administered weak brandy and water with great caution and skill. There was no perceptible result. But, at all events, there was life and vital instinct left, or he could not have swallowed. Thus they hovered about him for some hours, and then the bath was ready. The captain took charge of the patient's clothes; the surgeon and a sailor bathed him in lukewarm beef-tea, and then covered him very warm with blankets next the skin. Guess how near a thing it seemed to them when I tell you they dared not rub him. Just before sunset his pulse became perceptible. The surgeon adminis- tered half a spoonful of egg-flip. The patient swallowed it. By and by he sighed. " He must not be left day or night," said the captain. " I don't know who or what he is ; but he is a 130 A SIMPLBTOK. in an; and I could not bear him to die now." That night Capt. Dodd over- hauled the patient's clothes, and looked for marks on his linen. There were none. " Poor devil !" said Capt. Dodd. " He is a bachelor." Capt. Dodd found his pocket- book, with bank-notes ^200. He took the numbers, made a memoran- dum of them, and locked the notes up. He lighted his lamp, examined the belt, unripped it, and poured out the contents on bis table. They were dazzling. A great many large pieces of amethyst, and some of white topaz and rock-crystal, a large number of smaller stones, car- buncles, chrysolites, and not a few emeralds. Dodd looked at them with pleasure, sparkling in thelamp- light. ""What a lot !" said he. "I won- der what they are worth." He sent for the first mate, who, he knew, did a little private business in pre- cious stones. " Masterton," said he, "oblit;e me by counting these stones with me, and valuing them." Mr. Masterton stared, and his mouth watered. However, he named the various stones, and valued them. He said there was only one stone, a large emerald without a flaw, that was worth a heavy sum by itself; but the pearls, very fine ; and, look- ing at the great number, they must be wortli a thousand pounds. Capt. Dodd then entered the wliole business carefully in the ship's log. The living man he described thus, "About five feet six in height, and about fifty years of age." Then he described the notes and the stones very exactly, and made Masterton, the valuer, sign the log. Staines took a good deal of egg- flip that night, and next day ate solid food ; but they questioned him in vain. His reason was entirely in abeyance : he had become an eater, and nothing else. Whenever they gave him food, he showed a sort of fawning animal gratitude. Other .sentiment he had none; nor did words enter Ijis mind any more than a bird's. And, since it is not pleas- ant to dwell on the wreck of a fine understanding, I will only say that they landed him at Cape 'Town, out of bodily danger, but weak, and his n)ind, to all appearance, a hope- less blank. They buried the skeleton, read the service of the English Church over a Malabar heathen. Dodd took Staines to the hospital, and left twenty pounds with the gov- ernor of it to cure him. But he de- posited Staines's.money and jewels with a friendly banker, and begged that the principal cashier might see the man, and be able to recognize him should he apply for his own. The cashier came and examined him, and also the ruby ring on his •finger, — a parting gift from Rosa, — and remarked this was a new way of doing business. " Why, it is the only one, sir," said Dodd. " How can we give you bis signature ? He is not in his right mind." " Nor never will be." "Don't say that, sir. Let us hope for the best, poor fellow." Having made these provisions, the worthy captain weighed anchor with a wann heart and a good con- science. Yet the image of the man he had saved pm^ued him ; and he resolved to look after liim next time he should coal at Cape Town, home- ward bound. Staines recovered his strength in about two months; but his mind returned in fragments, and very slowly. For a long, long time he remembered nothing that had pre- ceded his great calamity. His mind started afresh, aided only by certain fixed habits ; for instance, he could read and write. But, strange as it may appear, he had no idea who he was ; and, when his memory cleared A SIMPLETON. 131 a little on that head, he thought his surname was Christie; but he was cot sure. Nevertheless, the presiding phjr- sician discovered in him a certain progress of intelligence, which gave him great hopes. In the fifth month, having shown a marked interest in the other sick patients, coupled with a disposition to be careful and atten- tive, they made him a nurse, or rather a sub-nurse under the mecical orders of a responsible nurse I really believe it was done at first to avoid the alternative of sending him adrift, or transferring him to the insane ward of the hospital. In this con- genial pursuit he showed such watch- fulness and skill that by and by they found they had got a treasure. Two months after that, he began to talk about medicine, and astonished them still more. He became the puzzle of the establishment. The doctor and surgeon would converse with him, and try and lead him to his past life ; but, when it came to that, he used to put his hands to his head, with a face of great distress ; and it was clear some impassable barrier lay between his growing intelligence and the past events of his life. In- deed, on one occasion, he said to bis kind friend the doctor, " The past 1 — a black wall, a black wall ! " Ten months after his admission he was promoted to be an attendant, with a salary. He put by every shilling of it ; for he said, "A voice from the dark past tells me money is every thing in this world." A discussion was held by the anthorities as to whether he should be informed he had money and jew- els at the bank or not. Upon the whole, it was thought advisable to postpone this informa- tion, lest he should throw it away. But they told him he had been picked' up at sea, and both money and jew- els found on him ■ they were in safe hands; only the person was away for the time. Still he was not to look upon himself as either friend- less or moneyless. At this comrauniqation he showed an almost childish delight, that con- firmed the doctor in his opinion he was acting prudently, and for the real benefit of an amiable and af- flicted person not yet to be trusted with money and jewels. CHAPTER XVI. In his quality of attendant on the sick, Staines sometimes conducted a weak but convalescent patient into the open air ; and he was always pleased to do this, for the air of the Cape carries health and vigor on its wings. He had seen its fine recrea- tive properties; and he divined, some- how, that the minds of convalescents ought to he amused ; and so he often begged the doctor to let him take a convalescent abroad. Sooner than not, he would draw the patient sev- eral miles in a Bath chair. He rather liked this ; for he was a Her- cules, and had no egotism or false pride where the sick were concerned. Now, these open-air walks exerted a beneficial influence on his own darkened mind. It is one thing to struggle from idea to idea ; it is an- other when material objects mingle with the retrospect . they seem to supply stepping-stones in the grad- ual resuscitation of memory and reason. The ships going out of port were such a stepping-stone to him ; and a vague consciousness came back to him of having been in a ship. Unfortunately, along with this reminiscence came a desire to go in one again ; and this sowed discon- tent in his mind ; and, the more that mind enlarged, the more he began to dislike the hospital and its con- finement. The feeling grew, and hade fair to disqualify him for his humble office. The authorities could not fail to hear of this; and they 132 A SIMPLETON. had a little dtecussion about parting with him ; but they hesitated to turn him adrift, and they still doubted the propriety of trusting him with money and jewels. While matters were in this state, a remai-kablo event occurred. He drew a sick patient down to the quay one morning, and watched the busi- ness of the port with the keenest in- terest. A ship at anchor was un- loading, and a great heavy boat was sticking to her side like a black leech. Presently this boat came away, and moved sluggishly toward the shore, rather by help of the tide than of the two men, who went through the form of propelling her with two monstrous sweeps, while a third steered her. She contained English goods ; agri- cultural implements, some cases, four horses, and a buxom young woman with a thorough English face. The woman seemed a little excited ; and, as she neared the land- ing-place, she called out in jocund tones to a young man on the shore, " It is all right, Dick : they are beau- ties." And she patted the beasts as people do who are fond of them. She stepped lightly ashore ; and then came the slower work of land- ing her imports. She bustled about like a hen over her brood, and wasn't always talking, but put in her word every now and then, never crossly, and always to the point. Staines listened to her, and exam- ined her with a sort of puzzled look ; but she took no notice of him, her whole soul was in the cattle. They got the things on board well enough ; but the horses were fright- ened at the gangway, and jibbed. Then a man was for driving them, and poked one of them in the quar- ter ; he snorted and reared directly. " Man alive ! " cried the young woman, " that is not the way. They are docile enough, but fi-ightened. Encourage 'em, and let 'em look at it. Give 'em time. More haste, less speed, with timorsome cattle." " That is a very pleasant Toice," said poor Staines, rather more dio tatonally than became the present state of his intellect. He added softly, "A true woman's voice;" then, gloomily, " a voice of the past, — the dark, dark past." At this speech intruding itself upon the short sentences of business, there was a roar of laughter; and Phcebe Falcon turned sharply round to look at the speaker. She stared at him ; she cried " Oh ! " and clasped her hands, and colored all over. " Why, sui-e," said she, " I can't be mistook. Those eyes — 'tis you, doctor, isn't it ? " " Doctor ! " said Staines with a puzzled look. " Yes : I think they called me doctor once. I'm an at- tendant in the hospital now." " Dick ! " cried Phoebe in no little agitation. "Come here this minute!" "What, afore I get the horses ashore ? " " Ay, before you do another thing, or say another word. Come here now ! " So he came ; and she told him to take a good look at the man. "Now," said she, "who is that ? " " Blest if I know," said he. "What, not know the man that saved your own life ! Dick ! what are your eyes worth 1 " This discourse brought the few persons within hearing into one band of excited starers. Dick took a good look, and said, " I'm blest if I don't, though. It is the doctor that cut my throat.'' This strange statement drew forth quite a shout of ejaculations. " Oh ! better breathe through a slit than not at all," said Dick. " Saved my life with that cut, he did — didn't he, Pheeb?" " That he did, Dick ! Dear heart, I hardly know whether I am in my senses or not, seeing him a-looking so blank. You try him." Dick came forward. "Sure you remember mc, sir. Dick Dale. You cut my throat, and saved my life." " Cut your throat ! Why, that would kill you." A SIMPLETON. 133 " Not tto way yon done it. Well, SIT, you ain't the man you was, that is clear; but you was a good friend to mo ; and there's my hand." " Thank you, Dick," said Staines, and took his hand. "I don't remem- ber you. Perhaps you are one of the past. The past is a dead-wall to me, — a dark dead-wall." And he put his hands to his head with a look of distress. Everybody there now suspected the truth ; and some pointed myste- riously to their own heads. Phcebe whispered an inquiry to the sick person. He said a little pettishly, "All I know is, he is the kindest attendant in the ward, and very attentive." "Oh ! then he is in the public hos- pital." "Of course he is." The invalid, with the selfishness of his class, then begged Staines to take him out of all this bustle down to the beach. Staines complied at once with the utmost meekness, and said, " Good-by, old friends ; forgive me for not remembering you. It is my great affliction that the past is gone from me, — gone, gone." And he went sadly away, drawing his sick charge like a patient mule. Phcebe Falcon looked after him, and began to cry. " Nay, nay, Phoebe," said Dick : "don't yo take on about it." " I wonder at you," sobbed Phoebe. " Good people, I'm fonder of mj brother than he is of himself, it seems; for I can't take it so easy. Well, the world is full of trouble. Let us do what we are here for. But I shall pray for the poor soul every night, that his mind may be given back to him." So then she bustled, and gave herself to getting the cattle on shore, and the things put on board her wagon. But, when this was done, she said to her brother, " Dick, I did not think any thing on earth couldvtake my heart off the .cattle and the 12 things we have got from home ; but I can't leave this without going to the hospital about our poor dear doctor; and it is late for making a start, any way. And you mustn't forget the newspapers for Reginald, he is so fond of them; and you must contrive to have one sent out regular after this ; and I'll go to the hospital." She went, and saw the head doc- tor, and told him he had got an at- tendant there she had known in England in a very different condi- tion. And she had come to see if there was any thing she could do for him ; for she felt very grateful to him, and grieved to see him so. The doctor was pleased and sur- prised, and put several questions. Then she gave him a clear state- ment of what he had done for Dick in England. _ " Well," said the doctor, " I be- lieve it is the same man ; for, now you tell me this — yes, one of the nurses told me he knew more medi- cine than she did. His name, if you please." " His name, sir ? " " Yes, his name. Of course you know his name. Is it Christie ? " " Doctor," said Phoebe, blushing, " I don't know what you will think of me ; but I don't know his name. Laws forgive me, I never had the sense to ask it." A shade of suspicion crossed the doctor's face. Phoebe saw it, and colored to the temples. " sir ! " she cried pite- ously, "don't go for to think I have told you a lie ! Why should I ? And indeed I am not of that sort, nor Dick neither. Sir, I'll bring him to you, and he will say the same. Well, we were all in terror and con- fusion, and I met him accidentally in the street. He was only a custom- er till then, and paid ready money : so that is how I never knew his name; but, if I hadn't been the greatest fool in England, I should have asked his wife." 134 A SIMPLETOSr. " What ! he has a wife 1 " " Ay, sir, the loveliest lady yon ever clapped eyes on, and he is almost as handsome : has eyes in his head like jewels; 'twas by them I knew him on the quay ; and I think he knew my voice again, — said as good as he had heard it in past times." "Did he 7 Then we have got him," cried the doctor energetically. " La, sir." " Yes : if he knows your voice, you will be able, in time, to lead his memory back : at least, I think so. Do you live in Cape Town t " "Dear heart, no! I live at my own farm, a hundred and eighty miles from this." " What a pity ! " " Why, sir ? " "Well — hum!" " Oh ! if you think I could do the poor doctor good by having him ■with me, you have only to say the word, and out he goes with Dick and me to-morrow morning. We should have started for home to- night but for this." " Are you in earnest, madam ? " said the doctor, opening his eyes. " Would you really encumber your- self with a person whose reason is in suspense, and may never return ? " " But that is not his fault, sir. Why, if a dog had saved my broth- er's life, I'd take it home, and keep it all its days ; and this is a man, and a worthy man. O sir ! when I saw him brought down so, and his beautiful eyes clouded like, my very bosom yearned over the poor soul. A kind act done in dear old England — who could see the man in trouble here, and not repay it, ay, if it cost one's blood 1 But, indeed, he is strong and healthy, and hands always scarce our way ; and the odds are he will earn his meat one way or t'other ; and, if he doesn't, why, all the better for me : I shall have the pleasure of serving him for nought that once served me for neither money nor reward." " You are a good woman/' said the doctor warmly. "There's better, and there's worse," said Phcebe quietly, and even a little coldly. " More of the latter," said the doc- tor dryly. " Well, Mrs." — " Falcon, sir." " We shall hand him over to your care ; but first, — just for form, — if you are a married woman, we should like to see Dick here : he is your husband, I presume." Phoebe laughed merrily. " Dick is my brother; and he can't be spared to come here Dick! he'd say black was white if I told him to." "Then let us -see your husband about it, — just for form." " My husband is at the farm. I could not venture so far away, and not leave him in charge." If she had said, " I will not bring him into temptation," that would have been nearer tbe trath. " Let that fly stick on the wall, sir. What I do my husband will approve." " I see how it is. You rule the roost." Phosbe did not reply point-blank to that : she merely said, " All my chickens are happy, great and small ; " and an expression of lofty, womanly, innocent pride illumi- nated her face, and made it superb for a moment. In short, it was settled that Staines should accompany her next morning to Dale's Kloof Farm, if he chose. On inquiry, it appeared that he had just returned to the hos- pital with his patient. He was sent for, and Phoebe asked him sweetly if he would go with her to her house, one hundred and eighty miles away, and she would be kind to him. " On the water 1" " Nay, by land ; but 'tis a fine country, and you will see beautiful doer, and things running across the plains, and " — " Shall I find the past again, the past again 1 " " Ay, poor soul, -that we shall. A SIMPLETON. 135 God willing. You and I, we will hunt it together." He looked at her, and gave her his hand. " 1 will go with you. Your lace belongs to the past, so does your voice." He then inquired, rather abruptly, had she any children. She smiled. " Ay, that I have, the loveliest little boy you ever saw. When you are as you used to be, you wiU be his doctor, won't you ? " " Yes, I will nui-se him, and you will help me find the past." Phboee then begged Staines to be ready to start at six in the morning. She and Dick would take hira up on their way. While she was talking to him, the doctor slipped out ; and, to tell the truth, he went to consult with anolhor authority whether he should take this opportunity of telling Staines that he had money and jewels at the bank. He himself was half inclined to do so ; but the other, who had not seen Phcebe's face, advised him to do nothing of the kind. " They are always short of money, these colonial farmers," said he : " she would get every shilling out of him." " Most would ; but this is such an honest face ! " " Well ; but she is a mother, you say." "Yes." " Well, what mother could he just to a lunatic with her own sweet angel babes to provide for ■? " " That is true," said Dr. . "Maternal love is apt to modify the conscience." " What I would do, I would take her address, and make her promise to write if he gets well ; and, if he does get well, then write to him and tell him all about it." Dr. acted on this shrewd ad- vice, and ordered a bundle to be made up for the traveller out of the hospital stores : it contained a nice light summer suit, and two changes of linen. CHAPTER XVII. Next morning Staines and Dick Dale walked through the streets of Cape Town side by side. Dick felt the uneasiness of a sane man, not familiar with the mentally afflicted, who suddenly finds himself alone with one. Insanity turns men often- est into sheep and hares ; but it does now and then make them wolves and tigers ; and that has saddled the in- sane in general with a character for ferocity. Young Dale, then, cast many a suspicious glance at his com- rade as he took him along. These glances were re-assuring. . Christo- pher's face had no longer the mobil- ity, the expressive changes, that mark the superior mind. His countenance was monotonous ; but the one expression was engaging. There was a sweet, patient, lamb- like look, the glorious eye a little troubled and perplexed, but wonder- fully mild. Dick Dale looked and looked ; andhisunefisiness vanished. And the more he looked the more did a certain wonder creep over him, and make him scarce believe the thing he knew ; viz., that a learned doctor had saved him from the jaws of death by rare knowledge, saga- city, courage, and skill combined, and that mighty man of wisdom was brought down to this lamb, and would go north, south, east, or west, with sweet and perfect submission, even as he, Dick Dale, should ap- point. With these reflections hon- est Dick felt his eyes get a little misty ; and to use those words of Scripture, which nothing can sur- pass or equal, his bowels yearned over the man. As for Christopher, he looked straight forward, and said not a word till they cleared the town ; but when he saw the vast flowery vale, and the far-off violet hills, like Scot- land glorified, he turned to Dick with an ineffable expression of sweet- ness and good-fellowship, and said. 136 A SIMPLETON. " Oh, beautiful ! We'll hunt the past together." "We — will — so," said Dick with a sturdy, and indeed almost a stern resolution. Now, this he said, not that he cared for the past, nor intended to waste the present by soing upon its predecessor's trail ; but he had come to a resolution — full three minutes ago — to humor his companion to the top of his bent, and say " Yes " with hypocritical vigor to every thing not directly and immediately destructive to him and his. The next moment they turned a corner, and came upon the rest of their party, hitherto hidden by the apricot hedge and a turning in the road. A blue-black Caffr e with two yellow Hottentot drivers, man and boy, was harnessing, in the most primitive mode, four horses on to the six oxen attached to the wagon ; and the horses were flattening their ears, and otherwise resenting the incongruity. Meantime a fourth figure, a colossal young Caifre wo- man, looked on superior with folded arms like a sable Juno, looking down with that absolute composure upon the struggles of man and other animals, which Lucretius and his master Epicurus assigned to the divine nature. Without jesting, the grandeur, majesty, and repose of this figure, were unsurpassable in nature, and such as have vanished from sculpture two thousand years and more. Dick Dale joined the group imme- diately, and soon arranged the mat- ter. Meantime Pha'be descended from the wagon, and welcomed Christopher very kindly, and asked him if no would like to sit beside her, or to walk. He glanced into the wagon : it was covered and curtained, and dark as a cupboard. " I think," said he timidly, " I shall see more of the past out here." " So you will, poor soul," said Fboebe kindly, " and better for your health. But you must not go far from the wagon, for I'm a fidget ; and I have got the care of you now, you know, for want of a better. Come, Ucatella, you must ride with me, and help me sort the things : they are all higgledy-piggledy." So those two got into the wagon through the back curtains. Then the Caffre driver flourished his kam- bok, or long whip, in the air, and made it crack like a pistol, and the horses reared, and the oxen started, and slowly bored in between them, for they whinnied and kicked, and spread out like a fan all over the road : but a flick or two from the ter- rible kambok soon sent them bleed- ing and trembling, and rubbing shoulders, and the oxen mildly but persistently gorging their recalci- trating haunches, the intelligent animals went ahead, and revenged themselves 6y brealiing the harness ; but that goes for little in Cape travel. The body of the wagon was long and low and ^ery stout. The tilt strong and tight made. The roof inside, and most of the sides, lined with green baize. Curtains of the same to the little window and the back. There was a sort of hold literally built full of purchases, a small fire-proof safe, huge blocks of salt, saws, axes, pickaxes, adzes, flails, tools innumerable, bales of wool and linen stuffs, hams, and two hundred empty saclcs strewn over all. In large pigeon-holes fixed to the sides were light goods, groceries, collars, glaring cotton handkei'chicfa for Pha?be's aboriginal domestics, since not every year did she go to Cape Town, — a twenty -days' jour- ney by wagon : things dangled from the very roof; but no hard goods there, if you please, to batter one's head in a spill. Outside were latticed grooves with tent, tent-poles, and rifles. Great pieces of cork and bags of hay and com hung dangling from mighty hooks; the latter to feed the cattle, should they be compelled A SIMPLETON. 137 to camp out on some sterile spot in the Veldt, and, methinks, to act as buffers, should the whole concern roll down a nullah, or little precipice, — no very uncommon incident in the blessed region they must pass to reach Dale's Kloof. Harness mended ; fresh start. The Hottentots and CaflFre vociferated and yelled, and made the unearthly TOW of a dozen wild beasts wran- gling. The horses drew the bullocks, they the wagon : it crawled and creaked, and its appendages wabbled finely. Slowly they creaked and wabbled past' apricot-hedges and detached houses and huts, and got into an open country without a tree, but here and there a stunted camel-thorn. The soil was arid, and grew little food for man or beast, yet, by a sin- gular freak of nature, it put forth abundantly things that here at hoiua we find it harder to raise than homelygrass and oats. The ground was thickly clad with flowers of de- lightful hues ; pyramids of snow or rose-color bordered the track; yel- low and crimson stars bejewelled the ground; and a thousand bulbous plants burst into all imaginable col- ors, and spread a rainbow carpet to the foot of the violet hills : and all this glowed and gleamed and glit- tered in a sun shining with incredible brightness and purity of light, but, somehow, without giving a headache, or making the air sultry. Christopher fell to gathering flow- ers, and interrogating the past by means of them ; for he had studied botany. The past gave him back some pitiably vague ideas. He sigh- ed. " Never mind," said he to Dick, and tapped his forehead : it is here : it is only locked up." "All right," said Dick: "nothing is lost when you know where 'tis." " This is a beautiful country," suggested Christopher. " It is all flowers. It is like the garden of — the garden of — Locked up." "It is de — flight — ful," replied the self-compelled optimist sturdily. But here nature gave way. He was obliged to relieve his agricultural bile by getting into the cart, and com- plaining to his sister. " 'Twill take us all our time to cure him. He have been bepraising this here soil, which it is only fit to clean the wo- men's kettles. 'Twouldn't fjed three larks to an acre, I kno%; no, nor half so many." "Poor soul ! Mayhap) the flow- ers have took his eye. Sit here a bit, Dick. I want to talk to you about a many things." While these two were conversing, Ucatella, who was very fond of Phoebe, but abhorred wagons, step- ped out, and stalked by the side like an ostrich, a camelopard, or a Tag- lioni ; nor did the effort with which she subdued her stride to the pace of the procession appear: it was the poetry of walking. Christopher ad- mired it a moment ; but the noble expanse tempted him, and he strode forth like a giant, his lungs inflating in the glorious air, and soon left the wagon far behind. The consequence was, that when they came to a halt, and Dick and Phoebe got out to release and water the cattle, there was Christopher's figure retiring into space. " Hane rem cegre tulit Phcebe," as my old friend Livy would .on. Lady Cicely reHeeted. "If you write, I think she will say is'o." "Butiflgo ;". " Then it v\iU depend on how yon do it. Ilo-'a Staines is a true mourner. Wliatever you may think, I don't believe the idea of a sceoiul union has ever entered her head. But then she is very unselli.sh ; and j she likes you better than any one else, I dare say. I don't think your title or your money will weigh with her now. But, if you show her your happiness depends on it, she may perhaps cry and sob at the very idea of it, and then, after all, say, 'Well, why not, il' I can make the poor soul happy 'i ' " So, on this advice, Tadcaster went down to Grave^end, and Lady Cicely felt a certain self-satisfaction ; ibr her well-meant interference hav- ing lost Ivosa one husband, she was pleased to thiuk she had done something to give her anotlier. Lord Tadcaster came to Rosa Staines. He found her seated with her head upon her white hand, thinking sadly of the past. At siglit of him in deep mourn- ing she started, and said, " Oh ! " Then she said tenderly, " We are of one color now," and gave liim her hand. He sat down beside her, not know- ing how to begin. " I am not Tadcaster now. I am Earl of Jliltshire." " Ah, yes ! I forgot," said she indifferently. " This is my first visit to any one in that character." " Thank you." " It is an awfully important visit to me. I could not feel myself in- dependent, and able to secure your comfort and little Christie's, with- out coming to the lady, the only lady I ever saw, that — Mrs. Staines, Rosa ! who could see you as I have done, mingle his teal's ivith yours ;is I have done, and not love you, and long to ofter you his love ( " " Love ! to mc a broken-hearted woman, with nothing to live for but his memory and liis child ! " She looked at him with a sort of scared aniazement. " His child shall be mine. His memory is almost as dear to me as to yOu " " Nonsense, child, nonsense ! " said she almost sternly. < "Was he not my best friend? Should I have the health I enjoy, or even be alive, but for him'? Mrs. Staines, Bosa ! you will not A SIMPLETON". 165 live all your life unmarried ; and who will love you as 1 do ? You are my first and only love : my happiness depends on you." " Your happiness depend on me ! Heaven forbid ! — a- woman of my age, that feels so old, old, old." " You are not old : you are youn;;' and sad and beautiful, and my happiness depends on you." She began to tremble a little. Then he kneeled at her knees, and im- plored her; and his hot tears fell upon the hand she put out to stop him, while she turned her head away, and the teal's began to run. Oh ! never can the culd dissecting pen tell what rushes over the heart that has loved and lost, v/hen an- other true love first kneels and im- plores for love or pity, or any tiling the bereaved can give. CHAPTER XXII. When Falcon went, luck seemed to desert their claim. Day after day wont by without a find ; and the dis- coveries on every side made this the more mortifying. By this time, the diggers at Bui teel's pan were as miscellaneous as the audience at Drury Lane Theatre, only mixed more closely : tlie gal- lery folk and the stalls worked cheek by jowl. Here a gentleman with an affected lisp, and close by an honest fellow who could not deliver a sen- tence without an oath, or some still more horrible expletive that meant nothing at all in reality, but served to make respectable flesh creep ; in- terspersed with these, Hottentots, Cafiies, and wild blue-blacks gayly clad in an ostrich-feather, a scarlet ribbon, and a Tower musket sold them by some good Christian for a modern rifle. On one side of Staines were two swells, who lay on their backs, and talked opera half the day, but seldom condescended to work with- out finding a diamond of some sort. After a week's deplorable luck, his Catfre boy struck woi'k on account of a sore in his leg : the sore wa.i due to a very common cause, — tlie burn- ing sand had got into a scratch, arid festered. Staines, out of humanity, examined the sore; and, proceeding to clean it before bandaging, out popped a diamond worth forty pounds even in the depreciated mar- ket. Staines quietly pocketed it, and bandaged the leg. This made him suspect his blacks had been cheating him on a large scale ; and he borrowed Hans Bnltecl to w«tcli them, giving him a third, with which Master Hans was mightily plea.sed. But they could only find small dia- monds ; and by this time prodigious slices of luck were reported on every side. Caffi-es and Boers, that would not dig, but traversed large tracts of ground when the sun was shining, stumbled over diamonds. One Boer pointed to a wagon and eight oxen, and said that one lucky glance on the sand had given him that lot ; but day after day Staines returned home, covered with dust, and almost blinded, yet with little or nothing to show for it. One evening, complaining of his change of luck, Bulteel quietly pro- posed to him migration. "I am going," said he resignedly; "and you can come with me." " You leave your farm, sir 1 Why, they pay you ten shillings a claim, and that must make a large return : the pan is fifteen acres." " Yes, mine vriend," said the poor Hollander, " dey pay ; but deir mon- ey it cost too dear. Vere is mine peace f Dis farm is six tousand acres. If de cursed diamonds was farther off, den it vas veil. Bud dey are too near. Once I could smoke in peace, and zleep. Now diamonds is come, and^leep and peace is fled. Dere is four tousand tents, and to each' tent a dawg : dat dawg bark at four tousand oder davvgs all night ; and dey bark at him and at each oder. Den de masters of de dawgs dey get 166 A SIMPLETON". angry, and firo four tousand pistole at de iour tousand dawgs, and maku my bed shake wid de trcmbliiii^ of mine vrow. i\'iy vainily ia wid dia- monds infected. Day vill not vork. L)ey takes long valks, and always looks on de ground. Muie childre sljall bo liump-baeked, round-shoul- dered, looking down for diamonds. Vey shall forget Gott. He is on high : dcir eyes are always on de earth. De diggers found a diamond in mine plaster of mine wall of mine house. Dat plaster vas limestone ; it come from dose kopjes de good Gott made in his auger against man for his vickedness. I zay so. Dey not believe me. Dey tink dem abominable stones grow in mine house, and break out in mine plaster like de measle : dey vaunt to dig in mine wall, in mine garden, in mine floor. One day dey shall dig in mine body. I vill go. Better I love peace dan money. Here is English com- pany make me offer for mine varm. 3Dey forgive de diamonds." "You have not accepted if?" cried Staines in alarm. " No, but I vill. I have said I shall tink of it. Datismyvay. So I say yah." "An English company'? They will cheat you without mercy. No, they shall not, though ; for I will have a hand in the bargain." He set to work dh-ectly, added up the value of the claims, at ten shil- lings per month, and amazed the poor Hollander by his statement of the value of those fifteen acres, cap- italized. And, to close this part of the sub- ject, the obnoxious diamonds ob- tained him three times as much money as his father had paid for the whole si.'c thousand acres. The company got a great bargain ; but Bultoel received *vhat for him was a large capital, and, settling far to the south, this lineal descendant of " le philosophe sans le savoir " carried his godliness, his cleanliness, and liis love of peace, out of the tur- moil, and was happier than ever; since now he could compare his placid existence with one year of noise and clamor. But, long before this, events more pertinent to my stoyy had occurred. One day a Hottentot came into Bulteel's farm, and went about among the diggers till he found Staines. The Hottentot was one employed at Dale's ICloof, and knew him. He brought Staines a let- ter. Staines opened the letter, and an- other letter tell out : it was diiccted to " Reginald Falcon, E.^q-" "Why," thought Siaines, "what a time this letter must have been on the road ! So much for private mes- sengers." The letter ran thus : — " Dear Sie, — This leaves us all well at Dale's Kloof, as I hope it shall find you and my dear husband at the di^igings. Sir, I am happy to say I have good news for you. When you got well, by God's mercy, I wrote to the doctor at the hospital, and told him so. I wrote unbeknown to you, because I had promised him. Well, sir, he has written back to say you have two hundred pounds in money, and a great many valuable tilings, such as gold and jewels. They are all at the old bank in C:ipe Town ; and the cashier has seen you, and will deliver them on demand. So that is the first of my good news, because it is good news to you. But, dear sir, I think you will be pleased to hear that Dick and I are tliriving wonderfully, thanks to your good ad- vice. The wooden house it is built, and agreat oven. But, sir, the traffic came almost before we were ready, and the miners that call here, com- ing and going, every day, you would not believe, likewise wagons and carts. It is all busile, morn till night ; and dcarEoninald will never be dull here now. 1 hope you will be so kind an tell him so ; for I do long to see you both homo again. A SIMPLETON". 167 " Sir we are making onr fortunes. The grain we conid not sell at a fair pi-ice we sell as bread, and hiing to make friends wilh him over such a trifle as that. By ileurees, however, Christopher's zeal on her behalf broke the ice ; and besides, as the senreh proved un- availing, she needed sympathy ; and A SIMPLETOjST. 181 he gave it her, and did not abuse her husband, as Dick Dale did. One day, in the street, after a long thoiiglit, she said to liim, " Didn't you say, sir, you gave him a letter for me ? " "I gave him two letters: one of them was to you." " Could you remember what you said in it 1 " " Perfectly. I begged you, if you should go to England, to break the tnitli to my wife. She is very ex- citable ; and sudden joy has killed ere now. I gave you particular in- structions." " And you were very wise. But whatever could make you think I would go to England ? " " He told me you only wanted an excuse." " Oh ! " " When he told me that, I caught at it, of course. It was all tlie world to me to get my Rosa told by such a kind, good, sensible friend as you : and, Mrs. Falcon, I had no scruple about troubling you ; because I knew the stones would sell for at least a thousand pounds more in England tlian here, and that would pay your expenses." " I see, sir ; I see. 'Twas very natural : you love your wife." "Better tlian my life." " And he told you I only wanted an excuse to go to England^" " He did, indeed. It was not trae ? " " It was any thing but true. I had suffered so in England! I had been so happy here ! — too happy to last. Ah ! well, it is all over. Eet us think of the matter in hand. Sure that was not the only letter you gave my husband? Didn't you write to her ? " " Of course I did ; but that was enclosed to you, and not to bo given to her until you h.id brnlcen the joy- ful news to her. Yes, Mrs. ITalcon, I wrote, and told her every thin^', — my loss at sea ; how I was saved, after, by your kindness; our jour- 16 neys — from Cape Town, and then to the diggings ; my sudden goud- fortune, my hopes, my joy. O my poor Eosa ! and now I suppo.'.e she will never get it. It is too cruel of him. I shall go home by the next steamer. I can't stay here any longer, for you or anybody. Oil! and I enclosed my ruby ring, that she gave me; for I* thought she might not believe you witliout that." "Let me think," said Phccbe, turning ashy pnle. " For mercy's sake, let me think." " He has read both those letters, sir. She will never see hers, any more than I shall see mine." She paused again, thinking harder and harder. " We must take two places in the next mail-steamer. I mu.st look after my husband, AKD YOU AFTER yoCk whte." CHAPTER XXIV. Mks. Falcon's bitter feeling against Dr. Staines did not subside : it merely went out of sight a little. They were thrown together by po- tent circumstances, and, in a man- ner, connected by mutual obliga- tions ; and an open rupture seemed too unnatural. Still Phoebe was a woman, and, blinded by her love for her husband, could not forgive the innocent cause of their present un- happy separation ; though the fault lay entirely with Falcon. 'Staines took her on board the steamer, and paid her every atten- tion. She was also civil to him; but it was a cold and constrained civility. About a hundred miles from land, the steamer stopped ; and the i)as- sengers soon learned there was some- thing wrong with her machinery. 182 A SIMPLETON. In fact, after clue consultation, the captain decided to put back. This irritated and distressed Mrs. Falcon so, that the captain, desirous to oblige her, hailed a fast schooner that tacked across her iiows, and gave Mrs. Falcon the option of going back with him, or going on in the schooner with whose skipper he was acquainted. Staines advised her on no ac- count to trust to sails, when she could have steam with only a de- lay of four or five days. But she said, "Any thing, sooner than go back. I can't, 1 can't, on such an errand." Accordingly, she was put on board the .schooner ; and Staines, after some hesitation, felt bound to accompany her. It proved a sad error. Contrary winds assailed them the very next day, and with such severity, that they had repeatedly to lie to. On one of these occasions, with a ship reeling under them like a restive horse, and the waves runnim^ mountains high, poor Fhosbe's ter- rors overmastered both her hostility and her reserve. " Doctor," said she, "I believe 'tis Goil's will wc shall never see England. I must try and die more like a Christian than I have lived, forgiving all who have wronged me, and you, that have been my good friend and my worst enemy ; but you did not mean it. Sir, what has turned me against you so — your wife was my hus- band's sweetheart before he mar- ried me." " My wife your husband's — you are dreaming." " Nay, sir : once she came in my shop, and I saw directly I was no- thing to him, and he owned it all to me. He had courted her, and she jilted him. So he said. Why should he tell me a lie about that f I'd hiy my life 'tis true. And now you have sent him to her your own self; and, at sight of her, I shall be nothing again. Well, when this ship goes down, they can ma.rry, and I hops ho will be hap[)y, happier than I can make him, that tried my best, God knows." This conversation surprised Staines not a little. However, he Siiid, with great warmth, it was false. His wife had danced and flirted with some young gentleman at one time, when there was a brief misunderstanding between him and her; but sweetheart she had never had, except him. He had courted her fresh from school. " Now, my good soul," .said he, " make your luiml easy. The ship is a good one, and well handled, and in no dangcrwhat- ever ; and my wife is in no danger from your huslxmd. Since you and your brother tell me that he is a vil- lain, I am bound to believe you. But my wife is an angel. In our mis.'r- ahlehour of pai'ting she vowed not to marry again, should I he taken from her. Marry again ! what ami talk- ing of! Why, if he visits her at all, it will be to let her know I am alive, and give her my letter. Do you mean to tell me she will listen to vows of lo\'e from him, wdien her whole heart is in rapture for me ? Such nonsense ! " This burst of his did not affront her, and did comfort her. At last the wind abated ; and, after a wearisome calm, a light hreeze came, and the schooner crept home- ward. Phccbe restrained herself for seve- ral days; but at last she came back to the subject : this time it was in an apologetic tone at starting. " I know you think me a foolish wo- man," she said ; " btit my poor Re- ginald could never resist a pretty fijce ; and she is so lovely ! And yoii should have seen how he turned when she came in to my place. t)h, sir ! there has been more bc;v.'een them than you know of; and, when I think that he will have been in England so many months before we get there, O doctor ! sometimes I feel as I should go mad. ily head A SIMPLETON. 183 It is lilce a furnace, and see, my brow' is all wrinkled again." 'Ilicn Slaines tried to comfort her; astiuri'd her she was torment- ing herself idly : her husband would, perhaps, have spent some of the diamond money on hid amusement; but what if he had, he should deduct it out of the big diamond, which was also their joint property ; and the loss would hardly be felt. " As to my wife, madam, I have but one anxiety, — lest he should go blurting it out that 1 am alive, and almost kill her with joy." " He will not do that, sir. He is no fool." " I am glad of it; for there is nothing else to fear." " Man, 1 tell yoa there is every thing to fear. Tou don't know him as I do, nor his power over 'women." " Mrs. Falcon, are you bent on affronting mc ? " " No, sir : Heaven forbid ! " " Then please to close this subject forever* In three weeks we shall be in England." " Ay ; but he has been there six months." He bowed stiffly to her, went to his cabin, and avoided the poor foolish wOTrian as much as ho could with- out seeming too unkind. CHIpTER XXV. Mks. Staines made one or two movements — to stop Lord Tadcas- tcr — with her hand, that expressive feature with which, at such times, a sensitive woman can do all but speak. When, at last, he paused for her reply, she said, " Me marry again I Oh, for shame ! " " Mrs. Staines, Rosa, you will marry again some day." " Never. Me take another hus- band after such a man as I have lost ! I should be a monster. Be- sides " — " Besides what ? " "No matter. O Lord Tadcas- ter ! you have been so kind to mo, so sympathizing ! You made nie believe yoa loved my Christopher too ; and now you have spoiled all. It is too cruel." "Oh, .Mrs. Staines, do you think me capable of feigning'; don't you see my love for you has taken me by surprise '! But how could 1 visit you, look on, you, liear yon, mingle my regrets with yours ! Yours were the deepest, of course; but mine were honest." " I believe it." And she gave him her hand. He held it, and kissed it, and cried over it, as the young will, and implored her, on his knees, not to condemn herself to life-long wi- dowhood, and him to despair. Then she cried too ; but she was firm, and by degrees she made him see that her heart was inaceessible. Then, at last, he submitted, with tearful eyes, but a valiant heart. She ottered friendship timidly. But he was too much of a man to fall into that trap. " No," he said : " I could not, I could not. Love, or nothing." " You are right," said she pity- ingly. "Forgive me. In my selfish- ness and my usual folly, I did not see this coming on, or I would have spared you this mortification." "Never mind that," gulped the little earl. " I shall always ba proud I knew you, and proud I loved you, and offered you my hand." Then the magnanimous little fel- low blessed her, and left her, and discontinued his visits. Mr. Lusignan found her crying, and got the truth out of her. lie was in despair. He remonstrated kindly, but firmly. Truth compels mo to say that she politely ignored him. He observed that phenomenon, and said, " 'Very well, then, I shall telegraph for Uncle Philip." 184 A SIMPLETON. "Do,"sriid the rebel. "He is' always welcome." Philip tck'.i^raphecl ; came down that evtiiiii;^' ; likewise his littlcblaek hiif;. lie Ibnnd them in the draw- ing room ; papa with the Pall MaU Giizi'iie. Kosa seated, sewing, at a lamp. iSlio made little Christie's clothes herself; fancy that! Having ascertained that the little boy was well, Philip, adroitly liiding that he had come down torn with an.N.iety on that-liead, inquired, with a show of contemptuous indifference, ■»hi)secat was dead. " Nobody's, " said Lusignan crossly. " Do you see that young lady, stitching there so demurely ? " Philip put on his spectacles. " 1 see her," said he. " She does look a little too innocent. None of them are really so innocent as all that. Has she been swearing at the nurse, and boxing her ears 1 " " Worse than that. She has been and refused the Earl of Tad- caster." " Refused him ? What ! has that little monkey had the audacity ? " " The condescension, you mean ? " "Yes." " And she has refused him 1 " "And twenty thousand a year." " What immorality ! " " Wor.-e. \\'hat absurdity ! " " HoNV is it to be accounted for ■? Is it the old story : ' I could never love him "? Xo : that's inadequate ; for they all love a title and twenty thousand a yiar." Rosa sewed on in demure and ab- solute silence. " She ignores us," said Philip. "It is intolerable. She does not appreciate our politeness in talking at her. Let us arraign her before our sacred tribunal, and liave lirr into court. Now, mistress, the Senate of Venice is assembled; and you must be pleased to tell us why you refused a title and twenty thou- sand a year, with a small but sym- metrical earl taeked on." Bosa laid down her work, and said quietly, " Uncle, almost the last words that passed between me and ray Christopher, we promised each other solemnly ntver to marry again till death should us part. You know how deep my sorrow has been that I can find so few wishes of my lost Christopher to obey. Well, to-day i have had an opportunity at last. I have obeyed my own lost one. It has cost me a tear or two ; but, for all that, it has given me one little gleam of happiness. Ah, foolisli woman, that obeys too late ! " And with this the tears began to run. All this seemed a little too high- flown to Mr. Lusignan. " There," said he, " see on what a straw her mind turns ! to, but for that, you w ould have done the right thing, and married the earl ? " " I dare say I should — at the time — to stop his crying." And, with this listless remark, she quietly took up her sewing again. 'I he sagacious Philip looked at her sadly. He thought to himself how piteous it was to see so young and lovely a creature that had given up all hope of happiness for herself. These being his real thoughts, he expressed himself as follows : " We had better drop this subject, sir. This young lady will take us potent, grave, and reverend signors out of our depth, if we don't mind." But the moment he got her alone he kissed her paternally, and said, " Rusa, it is not lost on me, your fidelity to the dead. As ycai'S roll on, and your dee|) wound first closes, then skins, then heals " — " ,\h, let me die first " — " Time and iiature will absolve you from that vow ; but bless you for thinking this can never be. Rosa, your folly of this day has made you my heir : so never let money tempt you, for you have enough, and will have more than enough when I go-" He was as good as his word; A SIMPLETOK. 183 altered his will next day, and made Kosa his residuary legatee. When he had done this, foreseeing no fresh occasion for his services, he prepared for a long visit to Italy. He was paclting up his thin'js to go there, when he received a line from Lady Cicely Treherne, asldng him to call on her prolijssionally. As the lady's servant brought it, he sent back a line to say he no longer practised medicine, bnt would call on- her as a friend in an hour's time. He found her reclining, the pic- ture of lassitude. " How good of you to come ! " she drawled. " What's the matter t " said he bruslcly. " 1 wish to cawnsult you about myself. I think, if anybody can brighten me up, it is you I feel such a languor ! such a want of spirit ! and I got palaa, and that is not desiwalile." He examined her tongue and the white of her eye, and told her, in his blunt way, she ate and drank too much. " Excuse me, sir," said she stiffly. " I mean too often. Now, let's see. Cup of tea in bed, of a morn- ing ■? " " Yaas." " Dinner at two 1 " " We call it luncheon." " Are you a ventriloquist 1 " " No." " Then it is only your lips call it luncheon. Your poor stomach, could it speak, would call it dinner. Afternoon tea ? " " Yaas " " At half-past seven another din- ner. Tea after that. Your poor unhappy slomach gets no rest. You eat pastry ■? " " I confess it." " And sugar in a dozen forms ■? " She nodded. " Well, sugar is a poison to your temperament. Now, I'll set you up, if you can obey. Give up your morning dram, or " — 16* " What dwam f " " Tea in bed, before eating. Can't you see that is a dram "> Animal food twice a day. No wine but a little claret and water ; no pastry, no sweets, and play battle- door with one of your male suhjects." " Battledaw ! Won't a lady do for that ■? " " No : you will get talking, and not play ad sudorem." " Ad sudawem ! what is that ■? " " In earnest." "And will sudawem and the west put me in better spiwits, and give me a tinge'? " " It will incarnadine the lily, and make you the happiest young lady in England, as you are the be.^t." " Oh, dear ! I should like to be much happier than I am good, if we could manage it among us." " We will manage it among ns ; for, if the diet allowed should not make you boisterously gay, I iave a remedy behind, suited to your temperament. I am old-fashioned, and believe in the temperaments." " And what is that wemedy ? " " Try diet and hard exercise first." " Oh, yes! but let me know that wemedy." " I warn you it is what we call in medicine an heroic one." "Nevermind. I am despewate." " Well, then, the heroic remedy — to be used only as a desperate resort, mind — you must marry an Irishman." This took the lady's breath away. " Mawwy an ice man ? " " A nice man ; no ! Th.it means a fool. Marry scientifically, — a thing eternally neglected. Marry an Hibernian gentleman, a being as mercurial as you are lymphatic." " Mercurial ! lymphatic ! " — " Oh ! hard words break no bones, ma'am." " No, sir. And it is very cniioiis. No, I won't tell you. Yes, I will. Hem ! — I think I have noticed one." 186 A SIMPLETON. " One what? " " One Iwishman dangling after me." " Then your ladysliip has only to tisjhten ihe cord, and he's done for." Having administered this pre- scription, our laugliin^' pliilosoplicr went o(f to Italy ; and there fell in with some countrymen to lii.s mind : so he accoiiipanicd them to Egypt and Palestine. His ahsence, and Lord Tadcas- ter's, made Rosa Staines's life ex- tremely monotonous. Day followed day, and week followed week, each so unvarying, that, on a retrospect, three months seemed like one day. And I think, at last, youth and nature began to rebel, and secretly to crave some little change or in- cident to rutfle the stagnant pool. Yet she would not go into society, and would only receive two or three dull people at the villa: so she made the very monotony which was beginning to tire her, and nursed a sacred grief she had no need to nurse, it was so truly genuine. She was in this forlorn condition, when, one morning, a carriage drove to tile door, and a card was brought up to her — "Mr. Reginald Pal- con." Falcon's history, between this and our last advices, is soon disposed of. "When, after a little struggle with his better angel, he rode past his wife's gate, he intended, at first, only to go to Cape Town, sell the diamonds, have a lark, and biinir home the balance ; but, as ho rode south, his views expanded. He could have ten times the fun in London, and cheaper : since he could sell the diamonds for more money, and also conceal the true price. This was the Bohemian's whole mind in the business. He had no designs whatever on Mrs. Staines, nor did he intend to steal the diamonds, but to embezzle a portion of the purchase-money, and enjoy the pleasures and vices of the capital lor a i'uvi months ; then back to his milch cow, Phcebc, and lead a quiet life till the next un- controllable fit should come upon him alcjng with the means of satis- fying it. On the way, he read Staines's letter to Mrs. Falcon very carelully. He never broke the seal of the letter to Mrs. Staines. That was to bo given her when he had broken the good news to her ; and this he de- termined to do with such skill as should make Dr. Staines very un- willing to look suspiciously or ill- naturedly into money accounts. He reached London, and, being a thorough egotist, attended first to his own interests. He never went near Mrs. Staines until he had visited every diamond merchant and dealer in the metropolis. He showed the small stones to them all ; but he showed no more than one large stone to each. At last he got an offer of 1,200/. for the small stones, and the same for the large yellow stone, and 900/. for the second largest stone. He took this 900/., and instantly wrote to Phccl)e, telling her he had a sud- den inspiration to brnig the dia- monds to England, which lie could not rc'jret, since he had never done a wiser thing. He had sold a tingle stone for 800/., and had sent tlie doctor's 400/. to her account in Cape To^vn ; and, as each sale was effect- ed, the half would be so remitted. She would see by that lie was wiser than in former days. He should only stay so long as might be neces- sary to sell them all ecpially well. His own share ho would apply to jinying off mortgages on the family estate, of which he hoped some day to see her the mistress, or he would send it direct to her, whichever she miirht ])rcfcr. Now, the main object of this art- ful letter was to keep Phoebe quiet, A SIMPLETOK 187 and not have her coming after him, of which he felt she was very capa- ble. The money got safe to Cape Town ; but the letter to Phoebe mis- carried. How this happened was never positively known ; but the servant of the lodging-house was afterwards detected cutting stamps off a letter : so, perhaps, she had played that game on this occasion. By this means, matters took a curious turn. Falcon, intending to lull his wife into a false security, lulled himself into that state in- stead. When he had taken care of him- self, and got 5001. to play the fool with, then he condescended to re- member his erraiid of mercy ; and he came down to Gravesend" to see Mrs. Staines. On the road, he gave his mind seriously to the delicate and danger- ous task. It did not, however, dis- <]uiet him as it would you, sir, or you, madam. He had a great ad- vantage over you. He was a liar, — a smooth, ready, accomplished liar, — and he kne-w it. This was the outline he had traced in his mind He should appear very subdued and sad ; should wear an air of condolence. But, after a while, should say, "And yet men have been lost like that, and escaped. ^ A man was picked up on a raft in those very latitudes, and brought into Cape Town. A friend of mine saw him, months after, at the hospi- tal. His memory was shaken ; could not tell his name : but in other respects he was all right again." If Mrs. Staines took fire at this, he would say his friend knew all the particulars, and he would ask him, and so leave that to rankle till next visit. And, having planted his germ of hope, he would grow it and water it, by visits and corre- spondence, till he could throw off the mask, and say he was con- vinced Staines was alive ; and from that, by other degrees, till he could say, on his wife's authority, that the man picked up at sea, and cured at her house, was the very physi- cian who had saved her brother's life, and so on to the overwhelm- ing proof he carried in the ruby ring and the letter. I am afraid the cunning and dexteritjr, tlie subtlety and tact, re- quired, mterested him more in the commission than did the benevo- lence. He called, sent up his card, and composed his countenance for his part, like an actor at the wing. "Not at home." He stared with amazement. The history of a " Not at home," is not, in general, worth recording ; but this is an exception. On receiving Falcon's card, Mrs. Staines gave a little start, and col- ored faintly. She instantly re- solved not to sec him. What ! the man she had flirted with, almost jilted, and refused to marry — he dared to be alive when her Chris- topher was dead, and had come there to show her he was alive ! She said " Not at home " with a tone of unusual sharpness and de- cision, which left the sen'ant in no doubt he must be equally decided ait the hall door. Falcon received the sudden freezer with amazement. " Nonsense," said he. " Not at home at this lime of the morning — to an old friend ! " " Not at home ! " said the man doggedly. " Oh, very well ! " said Falcon with a bitter sneer, and returned to London. He felt sure she was at home ; and, being a tremendous egotist, he said, " Oh ! all right. If she would rather not know her husband is alive, it is all one to me." And he actually took no more notice of her for full a week, and never thought of her except to chuckle over the penalty she was paying for daring to affront his vanity. 188 A SIMPLETON. However, Sunday carae. He saw a dull day before him; and so he relented, and thought he would give her another trial. He went down to Gravesend by hoat, and strolled towards the villa. When he was about a hundred yards from the villa, a lady, all in black, came out with a nurse and child. Falcon knew her figure all that way off, and it gave him a curious thriU that surprised him. He fol- lowed her, and was not very far behind her when she reached the church. She tamed at the porch, kissed the child earnestly, and gave the nurse some directions; then entered the church. " Come," said Falcon, "I'll have a look at her, any way." He went into the church, and walked up a side aisle to a pillar, from which he thought he might be able to see the whole congregation. And, sure enough, there she sat a few yards from him. She was lovelier than ever. Mind had grown on her face with trouble. An angelic expression illuminated her beauty ; he gazed on her, fascinated. He drank and drank her beauty two mortal hours ; and when the church broke up, and she went home, he was half afraid to follow her, for he felt how hard it would be to say any thing to her but that the old love had returned on him with double force. However, having watched her home, he walked slowly to and fro, composing himself for the inter- view. He now determined to make the process of informing her a very long one. He would spm it out, and so secure many a sweet interview with her : and, who knows t he might fascinate her as she had him, and ripen gratitude into love, as he understood that word. He called ; he sent in his card. The man went in, and came back with a sonorous " Not at home." " Not at home ? Nonsense. Why she is just come in from church." "Not at home," said the man, evidently strong in his instruc- tions. Falcon turned white with rage at this second affront. " All the worse lor her," said he, and turned on his heel. He went home raging with dis- appointment and wounded vanity; and — since such love as his is sel- dom very far from hate — he swore she should never know from him that her husband was alive. He oven moralized. " This comes of being so unselfish," said he. " I'll give that game up forever," By and by a mere negative re- venge was not enough for him ; and he set his wits to work to make her smart and see it. He wrote to her from his lodg- ings : — " Deak Madam, — What a^ pity you are never at home to me. I had something to say about your husband, that I thought might in- terest you. " Yours truly, " R. Falcon." Imagine the effect of this abomi- nable note. It was like a rock flung into a placid pool. It set Eosa trembling all over. What could h^ mean '> She ran with it to her father, and asked him what Mr. Falcon could mean. " I have no idea," said he. " You had better ask him, not me." " I am afraid it is only to get to see me. You know he admired me once. Ah, how suspicious I am getting ! " Rosa ivrote to Falcon : — " Deak Sir, — Since my be- reavement I see scai-ccly anybody. My servant did not know you : so I hope you will excuse me. If it is too much trouble to call again. A SlMPIiBTON. 189 would you kindly explain your note to me by letter. " Yours respectfully, "Rosa Staines." Falcon chuckled bitterly over this. " No, my lady," said he, " I'll serve you out. Yon shall run after me like a little dog. I "have got the bone that will draw you." He wrote back coldly to say that the matter he had wished to com- municate was too delicate and im- portant to put on paper ; that he would try andgetdown to Gravesend again some day or other, but was much occupied, and had already put himself to inconvenience. He added, in a postscript, that he was always at home from four to five. Next day he got hold of the ser- vant, and gave her minute instruc- tions and a guinea. Then the wretch got some tools, and bored a hole in the partition- wall of his sitting-room. The paper had large flowers. He was artist enough to conceal the trick with water-colors. In his bedroom the hole came behind the curtains. That very afternoon, as he had foreseen, Mrs. Staines called on him. The maid, duly instructed, said Mr. Falcon was out, but would soon return, and she could wait his re- turn. The maid being so very civil, Mrs. Staines said she would wait a little while, and was immediately ushered into Falcon's sitting-room. ■ There she sat down, but was evi- dently ill at ease, restless, flushed. She could not sit quiet, and at last began to walk up and down the room, almost wildly. Her beauti- ful eyes glittered, and the whole woman seemed on fire. The cai- tiff, who was watching her, saw and gloated on all this, and enjoyed to the full her beauty and agitation, iand his revenge for her "Not at homes." But, after a long time, there was a re-action. She sat down, and ut- tered some plaintive sounds inarti- culate, or nearly; and at last she began to cry. Then it cost Faclon an effort not to come in and comfort her ; but he controlled himself, and kept quiet. She rang the bell. She asked for writing paper; and she wrote her unseen tormentor a humble note, begging him, for old acquaint- ance, to call on her, and tell her what his mysterious words meant that had filled her with agitation. This done, she went away, with a deep sigh ; and Falcon emerged, and pounced upon her letter. He kissed it ; he read it a dozen times. He sat down where she had sat; and his baseless passion over- .poweredhim. Herbcauty, her agi- tation, her fear, her tears, all com- bined to madden him, and do the devil's work in his false, selfish heart, so open to violent passions, so dead to conscience. For once in his life he was vio- lently agitated, and torn by conflict- ing feelings. He walked about the room more wildly than his victim had ; and if it be true, that in cer- tain great temptations, good and bad angels fight for a man, here you might have seen as fierce a battle of that kind as ever was. At last he rushed out into the air, and did not return till ten o'clock at night. He came back pale and haggard, and with a look of crime in his face. True Bohemian as he was, he sent for a pint of brandy. So, then, the die was cast; and something was to be done that needed brandy. He bolted himself in, and drank a wine-glass of it neat; then another; then another. Now his pale cheek is flushed, and his eye glitters. Drink for- ever ! great ruin of English souls, as well as bodies. He put the poker in the fire, and heated it red hot. He brought Staines's letter, and softened the sealing-wax with the 190 A SIMPLETON. hot poker ; then, with his pen-knife, made a neat incision in the wax, and opened the letter. He took out the ring, and put it carefully away. Then he lighted a cigar, and read the letter, and studied it. Many a man, capable of murder in heat of passion, could not have resisted the pathos of this letter. Many a Newgate thief, after reading it, would have felt such pity for the loving husband who had suffered to the verge of death, and then to the brink of madness, and for the poor bereaved wife, that he would have taken the letter down to Gravcsend that very night, though he picked two fresh pockets to defray the ex- penses of the road. But this was an egotist. Good- nature had curbed his egotism a little while ; but now vanity and passion had swept away all unselfish feelings, and the pure egotist alone remained. Now, the pure egotist has been defined as a, man who will burn down his neighbor's house to cook hitnself an egg. Murder is but ego- tism carried out to its natural cli- max. What is murder to a pure egotist, especially a brandied one t I knew an egotist who met a female acquaintance in Newhaven village. She had a one-pound note, and offered to treat him. She changed this note to treat him. Pish she gave him, and much whisr key. Cost her four shillings. He ate and drank with her at her ex- pense ; and, his principal blood-ves- sel being warmed with her whiskey, he murdered her for the change, — theodd sixteen shillings. I had the pleasure of seeing that egotist hung, with these eyes. It was a slice of luck, that, I grieve to Bay, has not occurred again to me . So much for a whiskeyed egotist. His less truculent, but equally remorseless, brother in villany, the brandied egotist. Falcon, could read that poor husband's letter without blenching. The love and the antici- pations of rapture — these made him writhe a little with jealousy ; but they roused not a grain of pity. He was a true egotist, blind, remorse- less. In this his true character he stud- ied the letter profoundly, and mas- tered all the facts, and digested them well. All manner of diabolical artifices presented themselves to his brain, barren of true intellect, yet fertile in fraud, but in that, and all low cunning and subtlety, far more than a match for Solomon or Bacon. His sinister studies were persisted in far into the night. Then he went to bed ; and his unbounded egotism gave him the sleep a grand- er criminal would have courted in vain on the verge of a monstrous and deliberate crime. Next day he went to a fashiona- ble tailor, and ordered a complete suit of black. This was made in forty-eight hours : the interval was spent mainly in concocting lies to be incorporated with the number of mi- nute facts he had gathered from Staines's letter, and in making close imitations of his handwriting. Thus armed, and crammed with more lies than the " Menteur" of Corneille, but not such innocent ones, he went down to Gravesend, all in deep mourning, with crape round his hat. He presented himself at the villa. The sei-vant was all obsequious- ness. Yes, i\Irs. Staines received ■ few visitors; but she was at home to hitn. He even began to falter excuses. " Nonsense," said Falcon, and slipped a sovereign into his hand. " You are a good servant," and obey orders." The servant's respect doubled ; and he ushered the visitor into the drawing-room, as one whose name was a passport. " Mr. Reginald Falcon, madam." Mrs. Staines was alone. She rose to meet him. Her color came and went. Her full eye fell on him, A SIMPLETOK 191 and took in all at a glance, — that he was all in black, and that he had a beard, and looked pale, and ill at ease. Little dreaming that this was the anxiety of a felon about to take the actual plunge into a novel crime, she was rather prepossessed by it. The beard gave him dignity, and hid his cruel mouth. His black suit seemed to say be, too, had lost some one dear to him ; and that was a ground of sympathy. She received him kindly, and thanked him fgr taking the trouble to come again. She begged him to be seated, and then, woman-like, she waited for him to explain. But he was in no hurry, and waited for her. He knew she would Bpcak if he was silent. She could not keep him waiting long. " Mr. Falcon," said she, hesi- tating a little, " you have something to say to me about him I have lost." " Yes," said^he softly. " I have something I could say ; and I think I ought to say it : but I am afraid; because I don't know what will be the result. I fear to make yo a more unhappy." "Me! more unhappy'? Mo, whose dear husband lies at the bottoip of the ocean. Other poor wounded creatures have the wretched comfort of knowing where ho lies, of canry- ing flowers to his tomb; but I — Mr. Falcon ! I am bereaved of all : even his poor remains lost, lost." She could say no more. Even that craven heart began .to quake at what he was doing, — quaked, jet persevered ; but his own voice quivered, and his cheek grew ashy pale. No wonder. If ever God condescended to pour his light- ning on a skunk, surely now was the time. SJiaking and^svfeating with ter- ror at his own act, he stammered out, " Would it be the least comfort to you to know that you are not denied that poor consolation ■? Sup- pose he died not so miserable as you think ? Suppose ho was picked up at sea, in a dying state ? ' " Ah ! " " Suppose he lingered, nm-sed by kind and sympathizing hands, that almost saved him f Suppose he was laid in hallowed ground, and a great many tears shed over his grave ? " " Ah, that would indeed be a com- fort ! And it was to say this you came. I thank you ! I bless you ! But my good, kind friend, you are deceived. You don't know my husband. You never saw him. He perished at sea." "Will it be kind, or unkind, to tell yon why I think he died as I tell you, and not at sea ? " " Kind, but impossible. You de- ceive yourself. Ah ! I see. You found some poor sufferer, and were good to him ; but it was not my poor Christie. Oh, if it were, I should worship you ! But I thank you, as it is. It was very kind to want to give me this little, little crumb of comfort ; for I know I did not behave well to you, sir : but you are generous, and have forgiven a poor heart-broken creature that never was very wise." Ho gave her time to cry, and then said to her, "I only wanted to be sure it would be any comfort to you. Mrs. Staines, it is true I did not even know his name, nor yours. When I met, in this very room, the great disappointment that has sad- dened my own life, I left England directly. I collected funds, went to Natal, and turned landowner and farmer. I have mad e a large fortune ; but I need not tell you I am not happy. Well, I had a yacht, and, sailing from Cape Town to AJgoa Bay, I picked up a raft with a dy- ing man on it. He was perishing of exhaustion and exposure. I got a little brandy between his lips, and kept him alive. I landed Vi'ith him at once : and we nursed him on shore. We had to be very cautious. He improved. We got him to take 192 A SIMPLETON. egg-flip. He smiled on us at first, and then he thanked 113. I nursed him day nnd night for ten days. He got mueh stronger. He spoke to me, thanked me again and again, and told me his name was Chris- topher Staines. He told me he should never get well. I implored him to have courage. He said he did not want' for courage ; but nature had been tried too hard. We got so fond of each other. Oh!" — and the caitiff pretended to break down ; and his feigned grief mingled with Rosa's despairing sobs. He made an apparent effort, and said, " He spoke to ma of his wife, his darling Kosa. The name made me start; but I could not know it Vias you. At last he was strong enough to write a few lines ; and he made me promise to take them to his wife." " Ah ? " said Ecsa. " Show them me." " I will." " This moment ! " And hei' hands began to work convulsively. " I cannot," said Falcon. " I have not brought them with me." Rosa cast a keen eye of suspicion and terror on him. His not bring- ing the letter seemed monstrous ; and so, indeed, it was. The fact is, the letter was not ■vvritten. Falcon affected not to notice her keen look. He flowed on, " The ad- dress he put on that letter astonished me. ' Kent Villa.' Of course I knew Kent Villa : and he called you 'Rosa.' " " How could you come to me without that letter "> " cried Rosa, wringing her hands. " How am I to know ■? It is all so strange, so in- credilile \" "Don't you believe moV said Falcon sadly. " Why should I de- ceive you ■? The first time I came down to tell you all this, I did not kiiitw who Mi'3. Staines was. I sus- pected, but no more. The second time, I saw you in the church; and then I knew, and followed you, to try and tell you all this ; and you were not at home to me." "Forgive me," said Rosa care- lessly : then, earnestly, " The letter — «hen can I see it '( " " I will send or bring it." " Bring it ! I am in agony till I see it, O my darling ! my dar- ling ! It can't be true. It was not my Christie. He lies in the depths of ocean. Lord Tadcaster was in the ship, and he says so : everybody says so." " And I say he sleeps in hallowed ground ; and these hands laid him there." Rosa lifted her hands to heaven, and cried pileously, " I don't know what to think. You would not will- ingly deceive me. But how can this be ? Uncle Philip ! why are you away from me'? Sir, you say he gave you a letter." " Yes." "Oh ! why, why, did yon not bring it ? " " Because he told me the contents ; and I thought he prized my poor efforts too highly. It did not oc- cur to me you would doubt my word." " Oh, no ! no more I do. But I fear it was not my Christie." "I'll go for the letter at once, Mrs. Staines." " Oh, thank you I Bless you ! Yes, this minute ! " ■The artful rogue did not go ; never intended. He rose to go, but had a sudden inspiration ; very sudden, of course. " Had he nothing about him you could recognize him by ■? " " Yes, he had a ring I gave him." Falcon took a black-edged enve- lope out of his pocket. "A ruby ring," said she, begin- ning to tremble at his quiet ac- tion. " Is that it f " and he handed her a ruby ring. A SIMPLETOI>r. 193 CHAPTER XXI. MkS. Staines uttered a sharp cry, and seized the ring. Her eyes di- lated over it, and she began to trem- ble in every limb ; and at last she sank slowly back, and her head fell on one side like a broken lily. The sudden sight of the ring over- powered her almost to fainting. Falcon rose to call for assistance ; but she made him a feeble motion not to do so. She got the better of her faint- ness ; and then she fell to kiss- ing the ring in an agony of love, and wept over it, and still held it, and gazed at it through her blinding tears. Falcon eyed her uneasily. But he soon found he had noth- ing to fear. For a long time she seemed scarcely aware of his pres- ence ; and, when she noticed him, it was to thank him almost passion- ately. " It was my Christie you were so good to. May Heaven bless you for it ! And you will bring me his letter ; will you not ? " >• Of course I will." " Oh I do not go yet. It is all so strange, so sad ! I seem to have lost my poor Christie again, since he did not die at sea. But no : I am ungrateful to God, and ungrateful to the kind friend that nursed him to the last. Ah, I envy you that ! Tell me all. Never mind my cry- ing. I have seen the time I could not cry. It was worse then than now. I shall always cry when I speak of him ; ay, to my dying day. Tell me, tell me nil." Her passion frightened the ego- tist, but did not turn him. He had gone too far. He told her, that, after raising all their hopes. Dr. Staines had suddenly changed for the worst, and sunk rapidly ; that his last_words had been about her ; and he 'had said, " My poor Rosa : who mil protect her 1 " That, to comfort him, he had said he would 17 protect her. Then the dying man had managed to write a line or two, and to address it. Almost his last words had been, " Be a father to my child." " That is strange." " You have no child? Then it must have been you he meant. He spoke of you as a child more thaa once." " Mr. Falcon, I have a child, but born since I lost my poor child's father." "Then I think he knew it. They say that dying men can see all over tlie world ; and I remember, when he said it, his eyes seemed fixed very strangely, as if on something distant. Oh, how strange this all is I May I see his child, to whom I promised " — The artist in lies left his sentence half completed. Rosa rang, and sent for her little boy. Mr. Falcon admired his beauty, and said quietly, " I shall keep my vow." He then left her with a promise to come back early next morning with the letter. She let him go only on those coa ditions. As soon as her father came in, she ran to him with this strange story. " I don't believe it," said he. " It is impossible." She showed him the proof, — the ruby ring. Then he became very uneasy, and begged her not to tell a soul. He did not tell her the reason ; but he feared theinsurance office would hear of it, and require proofs of Christo- pher's decease : whereas they had accepted it without a murmur, oil the evidence of Capt. Hamilton and the Amphitrite's log-book. As for Falcon, he went carefully through Staines's two letters ; and, wherever he found a word that suited his purpose, he traced it by the usual process; and so, in the 194 A SIMPLETON, course of a few hours, he concoct- ed a short letter, all the words in which, except three, were facsimiles, only here and there a little shaky. The three odd words he had to imi- tate by observation of the letters. The signature he got to perfection by tracing. He inserted this letter in the origi- nal envelope, and sealed it very carefully, so as to hide that the seal had been tampered with. Thus armed, he went down to Gravesend. There he hired a horse, and rode to Kent Villa. Why he hired a horse, he knew how hard it is to foi-go handwriting ; and he ehose to have the means of escape at hand. He came into the drawing-room, ghastly pale, and almost immedi- ately gave her the letter ; then turned his back, feigning delicacy. In reality, he was quaking with fear, lest she should suspect the handwriting. But the envelope was addressed by Staines, and paved the way for the letter. She was unsus- picious and good ; and her heart cried out for her husband's last written words. At such a moment what chance had judgment and sus- picion in an innocent and loving soul? Her eloquent sighs and sobs soon told the craven he had nothing to fear. The letter ran thus : — " My own Eosa, — " All that a brother could do for a beloved brother Falcon has done. He nursed fee night and day. But it is vain. I shall never see you again in this world. I send you a protector, and a father to your child, value him. He has promised to be your stay on earth ; and my spirit shall watch over you. " To my last breath, " Your loving husband, " Chbistophek Staines." Falcon rose, and began to steal "Jn tiptoe out of the room. Kosa stopped him. " Yon need not go," said she. " You are our friend. By and by I hope I shall find words to thank you." " Pray let me retire a moment," said the hypocrite. " A husband's last words ; too sacred — a stran- ger." And he went out into the garden. There he found the nurse- maid Emily, and the little boy. He stopped the child, and made love to the nursemaid ; showed her his diamonds (he carried them all about him) ; told her he had thirty thousand acres in Cape Colony, and diamonds on them; and was going to buy thirty thousand more of the government. " Here, take one," said he, " Oh! you needn'tbeshy. They are common enough on ray estates, I'll tell you what, though, you could not buy that for less than thirty pounds at any shop in Lon- don. Could she, my little duck? Never mind, it is no brighter than her eyes. Now, do you know what she will do with that. Master Chris- tie ? She will give it to some duff- er to put in a pin." " She won't do nothing of the kind," said Emily, flushing all over. " She is not such a fool," She then volunteered to tell him she had no sweetheart, and did not trouble her head about young men at all. He interpreted this to 'mean she was looking out for one. So do I, " No sweetheart! " said he ; "and the prettiest girl I have seen since I landed. Then I put in for the sit- uation," Here, seeing the footman coming, he bestowed a most paternal kiss on little Christie, and saying, "Not a word to John, or no more diamonds from me," he moved carefully away, leaving the girl all in a flutter with extravagant hopes. The next moment this wolf in the sheepfold entered the drawing-room. Mrs. Staines was not there. He waited and waited, and began to get rather uneasy, as men will who walk among pitfalls. A SIMPLETON", 195 Presently the footman came to say that Mrs. Staines was with her father, in his study ; but she would come to him in five minutes. This increased his anxiety. What ! She was taking advice of an older head. He began to be very seriously alarmed, and indeed had pretty well made up his mind to go down and gallop off, when the door opened, and Rosa came hastily in. Her eyes were very red with weeping. She came to him with both hands extended to him. He gave her his timidly. She pressed them with such earnestness and power as he could not have sus- pected ; and thanked him and blessed him with such a torrent of eloquence, that he hung his head with shame. And being unable to face it out, villain as he was, yet still artful to the core, he pretended to burst out crying, and ran out of the room, and rode away. He waited two days, and then called again. Rosa reproached him sweetly for going before she had half thanked liim. "All the better," said he. "I have been thanked a great deal too much already. Who would not do his best for a dying countryman, and fight night and day to save him for his wife and child at home ? If I had succeeded, then I would be greedy of praise : but now it makes me blush ; it makes me very sad" " You did your best," said Rosa tearfully. " Ah ! that I did. Indeed I' was ill for weeks after myself, through the strain upon my mind, and the disappointment, and going so many nights without sleep. But don't let us talk of that." " Do you know what my darling says to me in my letter ■? " '"No." " Would you like to see it V " Indeed 1 should ; but I have no right." " Every right. It is the only mark of esteem, worth any thing, I can show you." She handed him the letter, and buried her own face in her hands. He read it, and acted the deepest emotion. He handed it back without a word. CHAPTER XXII. Ekom this time Falcon was al- ways welcome at Kent Villa. He fascinated everybody in the house. He renewed his acquaintance with Mr. Lusignan, and got asked to stay a week in the house. He showed Rosa and her father the diamonds ; and, the truth must be owned, they made Rosa's eyes sparkle for the first time this eight- een months. He insinuated, rather than declared, his enormous wealth. In reply to the old man's eager questions, as the large diamonds lajr glittering on the table, and pointed every word, he said that a few of his Hottentots had found these for him. He had made them dig on a diamondiferous part of his estate, just by way of testing the matter ; and this was the result, — this, and a much larger stone, for wliich he had received eight thou- sand pounds from Posno. " If I was a young man," said Lusignan, " I would go out direct- ly, and dig on your estate." " I would not let you do any thing so paltry," said " le menteur." " Why, my dear sir, there are no fortunes to be made by grubbing for diamonds. The.fortunes are made out of the diamonds, but not in that way. Now, I have thirty thousand acres, and am just concluding a bar- gain for thirty thousand more, on which I happen to know there are diamonds in a sly corner. Well, on my thirty thousand tried acres,' a hundred only are diamondiferous. But I have four thousand thirty- 196 A SIMPLETON. foot claims, leased at ten shillings per month. Count that up." " Why, it is twenty-four thou- sand pounds a year." " Excuse me : you must deduct a thousand a year for the expenses of collection. But that is only one phase of the business. I have a large inn upon each of the three great routes from the diamonds to the coast; and these inns are sup- plied with the produce of my own farms. Mark the effect of the dia- monds on propertj-. My sixty thousand acres which are not dia- mondiferous will very soon be worth as much as sixty thousand English acres, say two pounds the acre, per annum. That is under the mark ; because, in Africa, the land is not burdened with poor- rates, tithes, and all the other ini- quities that crush the English land- owner, as I know to my cost. But that is not all, sir. Would you be- lieve it ? Even after the diamonds were declared, the people out there had so little foresight, that they allowed me to buy land all round. Port Elizabeth, Natal, and Cape Town, the three ports through which the world gets at the dia- monds, and the diamonds get at the world, — 1 have got a girdle of land round those three outlets, bought by the acre : in two years I shall sell it by the yard. Believe me, sir, English fortunes, even the largest, are mere child's play, compared with the colossal wealth a man can accumulate, if he looks beyond these great discoveries to their con- sequences, and lets others grub for him. But what is the use of it all to me ■? " said this Bohemian with a sigh. " I have no taste for luxu- ries, no love of display. I have not even charity to dispense on a large scale ; for there are no deserv- ing poor out there. And the pover- ty that springs from vice — that I never will encourage." John heard nearly all this, and took it iuto the kitchen ; and hence- forth Adoration was the only word for this prince of men, this rare combination of the Adonis and the millionnaire. He seldom held such discourses before Rosa, but talked her father into an impression of his boundless wealth, and half reconciled him to Rosa's refusal of Lord Tadcasler; since here was an old sijitor, who, doubtless, with a little encourage- ment, would soon come on again. Under this impression, Mr. Lu- signan gave Falcon more than a lit- tle encouragement ; and, as Rosa did not resist, he became a con- stant visitor at the villa, and was always there from Saturday to Mon- day. He exerted all his art of pleasing ; and he. succeeded. He was welcome to llosa, and she made no secret of it. Emily threw herself in his way, and had many a sly talk with him while he was pretending to be en- gaged with young Christie. He flattered her, and made her sweet on him, but was too much in love with Rosa, after his fashion, to flirt seriously with her. He thought he might want her services : so he worked upon her after this fashion, — asked her if she would like to keep an inn. "Wouldn't I just?" said she frankly. Then he told her, that, if all went to his wish in England, she should be landlady of one of his inns in the Cape Colony. " And you wUl get a good husband out there directly," said he. " Beauty is a very uncom- mon thing in those parts. But I shall ask you to marry somebody who can help you in the business, or not to marry at all." " I wish I had the inn ! " said Emily. " Husbands are soon got when a girl hasn't her face only to look to." " Well, I promise you the inn," said he, "and a good outfit of clothes, and money in both pockets. A SIMPLETON. 197 If you mil do me a good turn here in England." " That I- would, sh'. But laws, what can a poor girl like me do for a rich gentleman like you ? " " Can you keep a secret, Emily ? " " Nobody better. You try me, sir." He looked at her well ; saw she was one ef those who covild keep a secret if she chose ; and he resolved to risk it. ■ " Emily, my girl,"^ said he sadly, " I am an unhappy man." "You, SU-! Why you didn't ought to be." " I am, then. I am in love, and cannot win her." Then ho told the girl a pretty tender tale, that he had loved Mrs. Staines when she was JMiss Lusig- nan ; had thought himself beloved in turn, but was rejected. And now, though she was a widow, he had not the courage to court her : her heart was in the grave. He spoke in such a broken voice that the girl's good nature fought against her little pique at finding how little he was smitten with her ; and Falcon soon found means to array her cupidity on the side of her good nature. He gave her a five-pound note to buy gloves, aad promised her a fortune ; and she undertook to be secret as the grave, and say certain things adroitly to Mrs. Staines. Accordingly, this young woman omitted no opportunity of dropping a word in favor of Ealcon. For one thing, she said to Mrs. Staines, " Mr. Falcon must ho very fond of children, ma'am. Why, he worships Master Christie." " Indeed ! I have not observed that." " Why, no, ma'am. He is rather shy over it ; but, when he sees us alone, he is sure to come to us, and say, 'Let me look at my child, nurse : ' and he do seem fit to eat him. Onst he says to me, 'This boy is my heir, nurse.' What did he mean by that, ma'am ? " 17* " I don't know." " Is he any kin to you, ma'am "i " " None whatever. You must have misunderstood him. You should not repeat all that people say." " No, ma'am : only I did think it so odd. Poor gentleman ! I don't think he is happy, for all his money." " He is too good to be unhappy all his life." " So I think, ma'am." These conversations were always short ; for Rosa, though she was too kind and gentle to snub the girl, was also too delicate to give the least en- couragement to her gossip. But Rosa's was a mind that could be worked upon ; and these short but repeated eulogies were not altogether without effect. At last, the insidious Falcon, by not making his approaches in a way to alarm her, acquired her friendship as well as her gratitude; and, in short, she got used to him, and liked him. Not being bound by any limit of fact whatever, he entertained her, and took her out of herself a little by extemporaneous pictures. He told her all his thrilling adventures by flood and field, not one of which had ever occurred ; yet he made them all sound like truth. He invented strange characters, and set them talking. He went after great whales, and harpooned one, which slapped his boat info fragments with one stroke of its tail, then died ; and he hung on by the harpoon protruding from the carcass till a ship came and picked him up. He shot a lion that was carrying off his favorite Hot- tentot. He encountered another ; wounded him with both barrels ; was seised, and dragged along the ground, and gave himself up for lost ; but kept firing his revolver down the monster's thi-oat, till at last he sick- ened that one, and so escaped out of death's maw. He did not say how he had fired in the air, and ridden fourteen miles on end at the bare sight of a lion's cub ; but, to com- pensate that one reserve, plunged 198 A SIMPLETON. into a raging torrent, and saved a drowning woman by her long hair, which he caught in his teeth. He rode a race on an ostrich against a friend on a zebra, which went faster, but threw his rider, and screamed with rage at not being able to eat him ; he, Falcon, having declined to run unless his friend's zebra was muzzled. He fed the hungiy, clothed the naked, and shot a ivild elephant in the eye; and all this he enlivened with pictorial descrip- tions of no mean beauty, and as like South Africa as if it had been feu George Robins advertising the Con- tinent for sale. In short, never was there a more voluble and interesting liar by word of mouth; and never was there a more agreeable creature interposed between a bereaved mdow and her daily grief and regrets. He took her a little out of herself, and did her good. At last, such was the charm of infinite lying, she missed him on the days he did not come, and was brighter when he did come and lie. Things went smoothly, and so pleasantly, that he would gladly have prolonged this form of court- ship for a month or two longer sooner than risk a premature decla- ration. But more than one cause di-ove him to a bolder course, — his passion, which increased in violence by contact with its beautiful object, and also a great uneasiness he felt at not hearing from Phoebe. This silence was ominous. He and she knew each other, and what the other was capable of He knew she was the woman to cross the seas after him, if Staines left the diggings, and any explanation took place that might point to his whereabouts. These double causes precipitated matters; and at last ho began to throw more devotion into his man- ner. And, having so prepared her for a few days, he took his oppor- tunity, and said one day, "We are both unhappy. Give me the right to console you." She colored high, and said, " You have consoled me more than all the world. But there is a limit ; always will bo." One less adroit would have brought her to the point ; but this artist only sighed, and let the arrow rankle. By this means he out- fenced her ; for now she had listened (o a declaration, and not stopped it short. He played melancholy for a day or two; and then he tried her another way. He said, " I promised your dying husband to be your protector, and a father to his child. I see hut one way to keep my word ; and that gives me courage to speak : without that, I never could. Rosa, I loved you years ago ; I am unmarried for your sake. Let me be your hus- band, and a father to your child." Rosa shook her head. "I could not marry again. I esteem you; I am very grateful to you; and I know I behaved ill to you before. If I could marry again, it would be you. But I cannot. Oh, never, never ! " " Then we are both to be un- happy all our days." "1 shall, as I ought to be. You will not, I hope. I shall miss you sadly; but, for all that, I advise you to leave me. You will carry my everlasting gratitude, go where you \vill ; that and my esteem are all I have to give." " I ^vill go," said he ; " and I hope he who is gone will forgive my want of courage." "Ho who is gone took my prom- ise never to marry again." "Dyin^ men see clearer. I am sm-e he wished — no matter. It is too delicate." lie kissed her hand a.nd went out, a picture of dejec- tion. Mrs. Staines shed a tear for him. Nothing was heard of him for several days ; and Rosa pitied him more and more, and felt a certain A SIMPLETON. 199 discontent with herself, and doubt whether she had done right. Matters were in thia state, when, one morning, Emily came scream- ing in from the garden, " The child ! Master Christie ! Where is he ? Where is he ? " The house was alarmed. The garden searched, the adjoining pad- dock. The child was gone. Emily was examined, and owned, with many sobs and hysterical cries, that she had put him down in the summer-house for a minute, while she went to ask the gardener for some balm,«balm-tea being a favor- ite drink of hers. " But there was nobody near, that I saw," she sobbed. Further inquiry proved, however, that a tall gyps^ woman had been seen prowling about that morning ; and suspicion instantly fastened on her. Servants were sent out right and left, but nothing discovered ; and the agonized mother, terrified out of her wits, had Ealcon tele- graphed to immediately. He came galloping down that very evening, and heard the story. He galloped into Gravesend, and, after seeing the police, sent word out he should advertise. He placarded Gravesend with rewards, and a re- ward of a thousand pounds; the child to be brought to him, and no questions asked. Meantime, the police and many of the neighboring gentry came about the miserable mother with their vague ideas. Down comes Falcon again next day; tells what he has done, and treats them all with contempt. "Don'tyou he afraid, Mrs. Staines," said he. " You vriU get him back. I have taken the sure way. This sort of rogues dare not go near the police; and the police can't find them. You have no enemies : it is only some woman that has fancied a beantifiil child. Well, she can have them by the score for a thou- sand pounds." He was the only one with a real idea : the woman saw it, and clung to him. He left late at night. Next morning, out came the ad- vertisements ; and he sent her a handful by special messenger. His zeal and activity kept her bereaved heart from utter despair. At eleven that night came a tele- graph : — " I have got him. Coming down by special train." Then what a burst of joy and gratitude 1 The very walls of the house seemed to ring with it as a harp rings with, music. A special train too! He would not let the mother yearn all night. At one in the morning, he drove up with the child and a hired nurse. Imagine the scene ! — the moth- er's screams of joy, her fiitious kisses, her cooing, her tears, and all the miracles of nature at such a time. The servants all mingled with their employers in the general rapture ; and Emily, who was pale as death, cried and sobbed, and said, " O ma'am ! I'll never let him out of my sight again, no, not for one minute." Falcon made her a sig- nal, and went out. She met him in the garden. She was much agitated, and cried, " Oh, you did well to bring him to- day. I could not have kept it an- other hovir. I'm a wretch ! " " You are a good kind girl ; and here's the fifty pounds I promised you." " Well, and I have earned it.'' " Of course you have. Meet me in the garden to-morrow morning, and I'll show you you have done a kind thing to your mistress, as well as me. And, as for the fifty pounds, that is nothing ; do you hear "! It is nothing at all, compared with what I will do for you, if you will be true to me, and hold your tongue." " Oh ! as for that, my tongue sha'n't betray you, nor shame me. . You are a gentleman, and I do 200 A SIMPLETON. think you love her, or I would not help you." So she salved her nursemaid's conscience with the help of the fifty pounds. The mother was left to her rap- ture that night. In the morning Falcon told his tale. At two, p.m., a man had called on him, and had produced one of his advertisements, and had asked him if that was all square, — no hobbies on the lurk. " ' All square, my fine fellow,' said I. ' Weil,' said he, ' I suppose you are a gentleman.' — 'I am of that opinion too,' said I. ' Well, sir,' says he, ' I know a party as has found a young gent as comes werry nigh your advertisement.' — ' It will be a very lucky find to that party,' I said, ' if he is on the square.' — ' Oh ! we are always on the square, when the blunt is put down.' — ' The blunt for the child, when you like, and where you like,' said I. 'You are the right sort,' said he. ' I am,' replied I. ' Will you come and see if it is all right "i ' said he. 'In a minute,' said I. Stepped into my bedroom, and load- ed my six-shooter." " Whait is thaf? " said Lusignan. " A revolver with six barrels : by the by, the very same I killed the lion with. Ugh ! I never think of that scene without feeling a little quiver; and my nerves are pretty good too. Well, he took me into an awful part of the town, down a filthy close, into some boozing den, — I beg pardon, some thieves ' pub- lic-house." " Oil, my dear friend ! " said Rosa, " wore you not frightened t " " Shall I tell you the truth, or play the hero f I think I'll tell you the truth. I felt a little frightened, lest they should get my money and my life without my getting my godson ; that is what I call him now. Well, two ugly dogs came in, and said, ' Let us see the flim- sies before you see the kid.' " " ' That is rather sharp practice, I think,' said I ; ' however, here's the swag, and here's the watch- dog.' Bo I put down the notes, and my hand over them, with my revolver cocked, and ready to fire." " Yes, yes," said liosa panting- ly. " Ah, you were a match lor them ! " " Well, Mrs. Staines, if I was writing you a novel, I suppose I should tell you the rogues recoiled ; but the truth is they only laughed, and were quite pleased. ' Swell's in earnest,' said one. ' Jem, show the kid.' Jem whistled; and in came a great, tall, black gypsy wo- man, with the darling. My heart was in my mouth ; but I would not let them see it. I said, 'It is all right. Take half the notes here, and half at th^ door.' They agreed, and then I did it quick, — walked to the door ; took the child ; gave them the odd notes ; and mijile off as fast as I could ; hired a nurse at the hospital ; and the rest you know." "Papa,'' said Rosa with enthu- siasm, "there is but one man in England who would have got me back my child ; and this he." When they were alone. Falcon told her she had said words that had gladdened his very heart. " You admit I can carry out one- half of his wishes 7 " said he. Mrs. Staines said " Yes ; " then colored high; then, to turn it off, said, "But I cannot allow you to lose that large sum of money. You must let me repay you." "Large sum of money !" said he. " It is no more to me tlim sixpence to most people. I ddu't know what to do with ray money ; and I never shall know, unless yoa will make a sacrifice of your own feelings to the wishes of the diad. Mrs. Staines, Rosa ! do pray con- sider that a man of that wisdom sees the future, and gives wise ad- vice. Sure am I, that, if you could overcome your natural repugnance to a second marriage, it would ba A SIMPLETON. 201 the best thing for your little boy (I love him already as if he were my own), and in time would bring you peace and comfort, and some day, years hence, even happiness. You are my only love ; yet I should never have come to you again if he had not sent me. Do consider how strange it all is, and what it points to, and don't let me have «the mis- ery of losing you again, when you can do no better now, alas ! than reward my fidelity." She was much moved at this art- ful appeal, and said, " If I was sure I was obeying his will. But how can I feel that, when we both prom- ised never to wed again 1 " " A man's dying words are more sacred than any other. You have his letter." " Yes ; but he does not say ' mar- ry again.' " " That is what he meant, though." " How can you say that ? How can you know f " "Because I put the words he said to me together with that short line to yon. Mind, I don't say that he did not exaggerate my poor merits : on the contrary, I think he did ; but I > declare to you that he did hope I should take charge of you and your child. Right or wrong, it was his wish : so pray do not deceive yourself on that point." This made more impression on her than any thing else he could say ; and she said, " I promise you one thing, — I will never marry any man but you." Instead of pressing her further, as an inferior artist would, he broke into raptures, kissed her hand tenderly, and was in such high spirits, and so voluble all day, that she smiled sweetly on him, and thought to herself, " Poor soul ! how happy I could make him with a word ! " As he was always watching her face, — a practice he carried further than any male person living, — he divined that sentiment, and wrought upon it so, that at last he tormented her into saying she would n>arry him some day. When he had brought her to that, he raged inwardly to think he bad not two years to work in ; for it was evident she would marry him in time : but no, it had taken him move than four months, close siege, to bring her to that. No word from Phoebe. An ominous dread hung over his own soul. His wife would be upon him, or, worse still, her brother Dick, who, he knew, would beat him to a mummy on the spot, or, worst of all, the husband of Rosa Staines, who would kill him, or fling him into a prison. He must make a push. In this emergency he used his ally, Mr. Lusignan. He told him Mrs. Staines had promised to marry him,- but at some distant date. This would not do : ii!e must look after his enormous interests in the colo- ny, and he was so much in love, he could not leave her. The old gentleman was desperate- ly fond of Falcon, and bent on the match ; and he actually consented to give his daughter what Falcon called a little push. The little push was a very great one, I think. It consisted in directing the cler- gyman to call in church the banns of marriage between Reginald Fal- con and Rosa Staines, They were both in church to- gether when this was done. Rosa all but screamed, and then turned red as fire, and white as a ghost, by turns. She never stood up again all the service ; and, in going home, refused Falcon's arm, and walked swiftly home by herself. Not that she bad the slightest intention of passing this monstrous thing by in silence. On the contrary, her wrath was boiling over, and so hot, that she knew she should make a scene in the street if she said a word there. Once inside the house, she turned 202 A SIMPLETON. on Falcon, with a white cheek and a flashing eye, and said, " Follow me, sir, if jou please." She led the way to her father's study. " Papa," said she, " I throw myself on your protcftion. Mr. Falcon has aflront- ed me." " Rosa ! " cried Falcon, affect- ing utter dismay. " Publicly, publicly. He has had the banns of marriage cried in the church without my permission." " Don't raise your voice so loud, child. All the house will hear you." " I choose all the house to hear me. I will not endure it. I will never marry you now, — never ! " " Rosa, my child," said Lusignan, " you need not scold poor Falcon ; for I am the culprit. It was I who oidered the banns to be cried." " papa ! you had no right to do such a thing as Khat." " I think I had. I exercised pa- rental authority for once, and for your good and for the good of a true and faithful lover of yours, wliora you jilted once, and now you trifle with his affection and his in- terests. He loves you too well to leave you ; yet you know his vast estates and interests require his su- pervision." " That for his vast estates ! " said Rosa contemptuously. " I am not to be driven to the altar like this, when my heart is in the grave. Don't you do it again, papa, or I'll get up and forbid the banns ; affront for affront." " I should like to see that," said the old gentleman dryly. Rosa vouchsafed no reply, but swept out of the room with burn- ing cheeks and glittering eyes, and was not seen all day ; would not dine with them, in spite of three humble, deprecating notes Falcon sent her. " Let the spiteful cat alone," said old Lusignan. " You and I will dine together in peace and quiet." It was a dull dinner; but Falcon took advantage of the opportunity, impregnated the father with his views, and got him to promise to have the banns cried next Sunday. He consented. Rosa learned next Sunday morn- ing that this was to be done ; and her courage failed her. She did not go to church at all. She ciiied a great deal, and sub- mitted to violence, as your true women are too apt to do. They had compromised her, and so con- quered her. The permanent feel- ings of gratitude and esteem caused a re-action after her passion ; and she gave up open resistance as hopeless. Falcon renewed his visits, and was received with themere suUen languor of a woman who has given in. The banns were cried the third time. Then the patient Rosa bought laudanum enough to re-unite her to her Christopher in spite of them all, and, having provided herself with this resource, became more cheerful, and even kind and caress- ing. She declined to name the day at present ; and that was awkward. Nevertheless the conspirators felt sure- they should tire her out into doing that before long; for they saw their way clear : and she was perplexed in the extreme. In her perplexity she used to talk to a certam beautiful star she called her Christopher. She loved to fancy he was now an inhabitant of that bright star; and often, on a clear night, she would look up, and beg for guidance from this star. This I consider foolish : but then I am old and sceptical ; she was still young and innocent, and sorely puz- zled to know her husband's real will. I don't suppose the star had any thing to do with it, except as a focus of her thoughts ; but one fine night, after a long inspection of Christo- gher's star, she dreamed a dream, he thought that a lovely wedding- A SIMPLETON, 203 dress hung over a chair ; that a crown of diamonds as large as an almond sparkled ready for her on the dress- ing-table, and she was undoing her black gown, and about to take it off, when suddenly the diamonds began to pale, and the white satin dress to melt away ; and in its place there rose a pale face and a long beard, and Christopher Staines stood before her, and said quietly, " Is this how you keep your tow 1 " Then he sank slowly ; and the white dress was black, and the diamonds were jet : and she awoke with his gentle words of remonstrance, and his very tones, ringing in her ear. This dream, co-operating with her previous agitation and misgivings, shook her very much. She did not come down stairs till near dinner- time ; and both her father and Fal- con, who came as a matter of course to spend his Sunday, were struck with her appearance. She was pale, gloomy, morose, and had an air of desperation about her. Falcon would not see it. He knew that it is safest to let her sex alone when they look like that, and the storm sometimes subsides of itself. After dinner Rosa retired early ; and, soon after, she was heard walk- ing rapidly up and down the dress- ing-room. This was quite unusual, and made a noise. Papa Lusignan thought it im:on- siderate ; and after a while, remark- ing gently that he was not particu- larly fond of noise, he proposed they should smoke the pipe of peace on the lawn. They did so ; but after a Ti'hile, finding that Falcon was not smok- ing, he said, " Don't let me detain you. Rosa is alone." Falcon took the hint, and went to the drawing-room. Rosa met him on the stairs, with a scarf over her shoulders. "I must speak to papa," said she. " Where is he ? " "He is on the lawn, dear Rosa," eaid Falcon in his most dulcet tones. He was sure of his ally, and very glad to use him as a buffer to receive the first shock. So he went into the drawing-room, where all the lights were burning, and quietly took up a book. But he did not read a line : he was too occupied in trying to read his own future. The mean villain who is incapa- ble of remorse is, of all men, most capable of fear. His villany had, to all appearance, reached the goal ; for he felt sure that all Rosa's strug- gles would, sooner or later, succumb to her sense of gratitude and his strong will and patient temper. But, when the victory was won, what a life ! He must fly with her to some foreign country, pursued from pillar to post by an enraged husband and by the offended law. And, if he escaped the vindictive foe a year or two, how could he escape that other enemy he knew and dreaded, — poverty ? He foresaw he should come to hate the woman he was about to wrong, and she would instantly revenge herself by mak- ing him an exile, and, soon or late, a prisoner or a pauper. While these misgivings battled with his base but ardent passion, strange things were going on out of doors, which, however, will be best related in another sequence of events, to which, indeed, they fairly belong. CHAPTER XXin. Staines and Mrs. Falcon landed at Plymouth, and went up to town by the same train. They parted in London, — Staines to go down to Gravesend, Mrs. Falcon to visit her husband's old haunts, and see if she could find him. She did not find him ; but she heard of him, and learned that he always went down to Gravesend from Saturday till Monday. 204 A SIMPLETON. Notwithstanding all she had said to Staines, the actual information startled her, and gave her a turn. She was obliged to sit down; for her knees seemed to give way. It was but a momentary wealcness. She was now a wife and a mother, and had her rights. She said to herself, " My rogue has turned that poor woman's head long before this, no doubt. But I shall go down, and just bring him away by the ear." For once her bitter indignation overpowered every other sentiment, and she lost no time, but, late as it was, went down to Gravesend, or- dered a private sitting-room and bedroom for the night, and took a fly to Kent Villa. But Christopher Staines had the start of her. He had already gone down to Gravesend with his carpet bag, left it at the inn, and walked to Kent Villa that lovely summer night, the happiest husband in Eng- land. His heart had never for one in- stant been disturbed by Mrs. Fal- con's monstrous suspicion. He looked on her as a monomaniac, a sensible woman insane on one point, — her husband. When he reached the villa, how- ever, he thought it prudent to make sure that Falcon had come to Eng- land at all; and discharged his com- mission. He would not run the risk, small as he thought it, of pouncing unexpected on his Rosa, being taken for a ghost, and terrify- ing her, or exciting her to mad- ness. Now, the premises of Kent Villa were admirably adapted to what they call in war a reconnoissauce. The lawn was studded with lau- rustinas and other shrubs that had grown magnificently in that Kent- ish air. Staines had no sooner set his foot on the lawn than he heard voices. He crept towards them from bush to bush ; and, standing in impenetra- ble shade, he saw in the clear moon- light two figures, — Mr. Lusignan and Reginald Falcon. These two dropped out only a word or two at intervals ; but what they did say struck Staines as odd. For one thing, Lusignan remarked, " I suppose you will want to go back to the Cape. Such enormous es- tates as yours will want looking after." " Enormous estates ! " said Staines to himself. " Then they must have grown very fast in a few months." " Oh, yes ! " said Falcon ; " but I think of showing her a little of Europe first." Staines thought this still more mysterious. He waited to hear more ; but the succeeding remarks were of an ordinary kind. He noticed, however, that Falcon spoke of his wife by her Christian name, and that neither party men- tioned Christopher Staines. He seemed quite out of their little world, Staines began to feel a. strange chill creep down him. Presently Falcon went off to join Rosa ; and Staines thought it was quite time to ask the old gentleman whether Falcon had executed his commission, or not. He was only hesitating how to do it, not liking to pounce m the dark on a man -who abhorred every thing like excitement ; when Rosa herself came flying out in great agitation. Oh the thrill he felt at the sight of her I With all his self-possession, he would have sprung forward, and taken her in liis arms with a mighty cry of love, if she had not immedi- ately spoken words that rooted him to the spot with horror. But she came with the words in her very mouth, " Papa, I am come to tell you I cannot and will not marry Mr. Falcon." " Oh, yes ! you will, my dear." " Never ! I'll die sooner. Not that you will care for that. I tell you I saw my Christopher last night, — in a dream. He had a beard; but I saw him, oh, so plain ! and he A SIMPLETON. 205 said, ' Is this the way you keep your promise ? ' That is enough for me. I have prayed again and again to his star for light. I am so per- plexed and harassed by you all, and you make me believe what you like. Well, I have had a revelation. It is not my poor lost darling's wish I should wed again. I don't believe Mr. Falcon any more. I hear noth- ing hut lies by day. The truth comes to my bedside at night. I will not marry this man." " Consider, Rosa, your credit is pledged. You must not be always jilting him heartlessly. Dreams ! nonsense. There — I love peace. It is no use your storming at me. Eave to the moon and the stars, if you like, and, when you have done, do pray come in and behave like a rational woman, who has pledged her faith to an honorable man, and a man of vast estates, — a man that nursed your husband in his last ill- ness, found your child, at a great expense, when you had lost him, and merits eternal gratitude, not eternal jilting. I have no patience with you." The old gentleman retired in high dudgeon. Staines stood in the black shade of his cedar-tree, rooted to theground by this revelation of male villany and female credulity. He did not know what on earth to do. He wanted to kill Falcon, but not to terrify his own wife to death. It was now too clear she thought he was dead. . Rosa watched her father's retiring figure out of sight. " Very well," said she, clinching her teeth. Then suddenly she turned, and looked up to heaven. " Do you hear 1 " said she. " My Christie's star ! I am a poor perplexed creature. 1 asked you for a sign ; and that very night I saw him in a dream . Why should I many out of gratitude? Why should I marry one man when I love another ■? What does it matter his being dead 1 I love him too well to 18 be wife to any living man. They persuade me, they coax me, they pull me, they push me. I sec they will make me ; but I will outwit them. See, see ! " and she held up a little phial in the moon- light. " This shall cut the knot for me : this shall keep me true to my Christie, and save me from breaking promises I ought never to have made. This shall unite me once more with him I killed and loved." She meant she would kill herself the night before the wedding ; which perhaps she would not, and perhaps she would. Wbo can tell 1 'J he weak are violent. But Christopher, seeing the poison so near her lips, was perplexed, took two strides, wrenched it out of her hand with a snarl of rage, and instantly plunged into the shade again. Rosa uttered a shriek, and flew into the house. The farther she got, the more ter- rified she became ; and soon Christo- pher heard her screaming in the drawing-room in an alarming way. They were like the screams of the insane. He got terribly anxious, and fol- lowedher. AUthe doors were open. As he went up stairs, he heard her cry, " His ghost, his ghost ! I have seen his ghost ! No, no ! I feel his hand upon my aift now. A beard ! and so he had in the dream. He is alive. My darling is alive. You have deceived me. You are an impostor, a villain. Out of the house this moment, or he shall kill you." " Are you mad ? " cried Falcon. " How can he be alive when I saw him dead 1 " This was too much. Staines gave the door a blow with his arm, and strode into the apartment, looking white and tremendous. Falcon saw death in his face ; gave a shriek, drew his revolver, and flred at him with as little aim as he had at the lioness; then made for the open window. Staines seized a 206 A SIMPLETON. chair, followed him, and hurled it at him ; and the chair and the man went through the window together, and then there was a strange thud heaid outside. Rosa gave a loud scream, and swooned away. Staines laid his wife flat on the floor, got the women ahout her ; and at last she began to give the usual signs of returning life. Staines said to the oldest woman there, " If she sees me, she will go olf again. Cany her to her room, and tell her, by degrees, that I am aivc." All this time Papa Lusignan had sat trembling and whimpering in a chair, moaning, " This is a painful scene, very painful." But at last an idea struck him, — "Why, you HAVE ROBBED THE OFFICE !" Scarcely was Mrs. Staines out of the room, when a fly drove up ; and this was immediately followed by violent and continuous screaming close under the window. " Oh, dear ! " sighed Papa Lusig- nan. " But never mind." They ran down, and found Fal- con impaled at full length on the spikes of the villa, and Phcebe screaming over him, and trying in vain to lift him off them. He had struLjuled a little, in silent terror, but had tffen fainted from fear and loiS of blood ; and lying rather inside the rails, which were high, he could not be extricated from the outside. As soon as his miserable condi- tion was discovered, the servants ran down into the kitchen, and so up to the rails by the area steps. These rails had caughyiim : one had gone cli'an through his arm; the other had penetrated the fleshy part of the thigh ; and a third through his car. They got him off; but he was in- sensible, and the place drenched with his blood. Phoebe clutched Staines by the arm. "Let me know the worst," said she. " Is he dead ? " Staines examined him, and said, "No." " Can you save him ? " " I ? " " Yes. Who can, if you cannot ? Oh, have mercy on me ! " And she went on her knees to him, and put her head on his knees. He was touched by her simple faith ; and the noble traditions of his profession sided with his grati- tude to this injured woman. "My poor friend," said he, " I will do my best, for your sake." He took immediate steps for stanching the blood; and the fly carried Phcebe and her villain to the inn at Gravesend. Falcon came to on the road, but, finding himself alone with Phcebe, shammed unconsciousness of every thing but pain. Staines, being thoroughly en- raged with Rosa, yet remembering his solemn vow never to abuse her again, saw her father, and told him to tell her he should think over her conduct quietly, not wishing to be harder upon her than she de- served. Rosa, who had been screaming and crying for joy ever since she came to her senses, was not so much affficted at this message as one might have expected. He was alive ; and all things else were trifles. Nevertheless, when day after day went by, and not even a line from Christopher, she began to fear he would cast her off entirely ; the more so as she heard he was now and then at Gravesend to visit Mrs. Falcon at the inn. While matters were thus, Uncle Philip burst on her like a bomb. "He is alive! he is alive! he is alive ! " And they had a cuddle over it. " Uncle Philip ! Have you seen him ? " " Seen him ■? Yes. He caught me on the hop, just as I came in from Italy. I took him for a ghost." A SIMPLETON. 207 " Oh ! weren't you frightened ? " " Not a bit. I don't miijd ghosts. I'd have half a dozen to dinner eycry day, if I might choose 'em. I conl'dn't stand stupid ones. But I say, his temper isn't improved by all this dying, t He is in an awful rage with you ; and what for ? " " uncle ! what for ? Because I'm the vilest of women." " Vilest of fiddlesticks ! It's his fault, not yours. Shouldn't have died. It's always a dangerous ex- periment.'' " / shall die if he will not forgive me He keeps away from me and from his child." " I'll tell you. He heard in Gravescnd your banns had been cried : that has moved the peevish fellow's bile." " It was done without my con- sent : papa will tell you so. And oh, uncle ! if you knew the arts, the forged letter in my darling's hand, the way he wrought on me. O villain, villain I Uncle, forgive your poor silly niece, that the world is too wicked and too clever for her to live in it." " Because you are too good and innocent," said Uncle Philip. " There, don't you bo downhearted. I'll soon bring you two together again, — a couple of ninnies. I'll tell you what is the first thing. You must come and live with me. Come at once, bag and baggage. He won't show here, the sulky brntc." Philip Staines had a large house in Cavendish Square, a crusty old patient, like himself, had left him. It was his humor to live in a comer of this mansion ; though the whole ■was capitally furnished by his judi- cious purchases at auctions. He gave Rosa, and her boy, and his nurse, the entire first floor, and told her she was there for life. " Look here," said he, " this last affair has opened my eyes. Such women as you are the sweeteners of existence. You leave my roof no more. Your husband will make the same discovery. Let him run about and be miserable a bit. He will have to come to book." She shook her head sadly. " My Christopher will never say a harsh word to me. All the worse for me. He will quietly abandon a creature so inferior to him." "Stuff!" Now she was always inning to the window in hope that Christo- pher would call on his uncle, and that she might see him ; and one day she gave a scream so eloquent, Philip knew what it meant. " Get you behind that screen, you and your boy," said he, " and be as still as mic6. Stop — give me that letter the scoundrel forged, and the ring." This was hardly done, and Rosa out of sight, and trembling from head to foot, when Christopher was announced. Philip received him very affectionately, but wasted no time. "Been to Kent Villa yet?" " No," was the grim reply. " "Why not "> " " Because I have sworn never to say an angry word to her again ; and, if I was to go there, I should say a good many angry ones. Oh ! when I think that her folly drove me to sea, to do my best for her, and that I was nearer death for that woman than ever man was, and lost my reason for her, and went through toil, privations, hun- ger, exile, mainly for her ; and then to find the banns cried in open church with that scoundrel — say no more, uncle. I shall never re- proach her, and never forgive her." " She was deceived." "I don't doubt that ; but nobody has a right to be so great a fool as all that." " It was not her folly, but her in- nocence, that was imposed on. You a philosopher, and not know that wisdom itself is sometimes imposed on .ind deceived by cunning folly ! Have you forgotten your Mil- ton?— 208 A SIMPLETON. " At Wisdom's gate Suspicion sleeps, And deems no ill where no ill seems." Come, come : are you sure you are not a little to blame? Did you write home the moment you found you were not dead "! " Christopher colored high. " Evidently not," said the keen old man. -" Aha ! my fine fellow, have I found the flaw in your own armor ? " " I did wrong ; but it was for her. I sinned — for her. I could not bear her to be without money ; and I knew the insurance. I sinned for her. She has sinned against me " " And she had much better have sinned against God, hadn't she 1 He is more forgiving than we per- fect creatures, that cheat insurance companies. And so, my fine fellow, you hid the truth from her for two or three months." No answer. " Strike off tliose two or three months : would the banns have ever been cried '! " " Well, uncle," said Christopher, hard pressed, " I am glad slie has got a champion ; and I hope you will always keep your eye on her." " I mean to. " Good-morning." " No : don't be in a hurry. I have something else to say, not so provoking. Do you know the arts by which she was made to believe you wished her to marry again ? " " I wished her to marry again ! Are you mad, uncle ? " "Whose handwriting is on this envelope ? " " Mine, to be sure." " Now read the letter." Christopher read the forged let- ter. " Oh, monstrous ! " " This was given her witli your ruby ring, and a tale so artful that nothing we read about the devil comes near it. This was what did it. The Earl of Tadcastcr brought her title and wealth and love." " AVTiat, he too ! The little cub I saved, and lost myself for. Blank him ! blank him ! " " Why, you stupid ninny ! you forget you were dead. And he could not help loving her ; how could he 1 Well, but you see she refused him ; and why ■? Because he came without a forged letter from you. Do you doubt her love for you ? " " Of course I do. She never loved me as I loved her." " Christopher, don't you say that before me, or you and I shall quar- rel. Poor girl! she lay, in my sight, as near death for you as you were for her. I'll show you some- thing." He went to' a cabinet, and took out a silver paper : he unpinned it, and Inid Eosa's beautiful black hair upon her husband's knees. " Look at that, you hard-hearted brute ! " he roared to Christopher, who sat, any thing but hard-hearted, his eyes filling fast at the sad proof of his wife's love and suflFering. Eosa could bear no more. She came out with her boy in her hand. " O uncle ! do not speak harshly to him, or you will kill me quite." She came across the room, a pic- ture of timidity and penitence, vith her whole eloquent body bent for- ward at an angle. She kneeled at his knees, with streaming eyes, and held her boy up to him. "Plead for your poor mother, my darling : she mourns her fault, and will nev- er excuse it." The cause was soon decided. All Philip's logic was nothing, com- pared with mighty nature. Chris- topher gave one great sob, and took his darling to his heart without one word ; and he and Rosa clung to- gether, and cried over each other. Philip slipped out of the room, and left the restored ones together. I have something more to say about my hero and heroine, but must first deal with other charac- ters, not wholly uninteresting to the reader, I hope. A SIMPLETON. 209 Dr. Staines directed Phoebe Fal- con how to treat her husband. No medicine, no stimulants ; very wholesome food, in moderation, and the temperature of the body regular ed by tepid water. Under these in- structions, the injured but still de- voted wife was the real healer. He pulled through, but was lame for life, and ridiculously lame ; for he went with a spring halt, a sort of hop-and-go-one that made the girls laugh, and vexed Adonis. Phoebe found the diamonds, and offered them all to Staines in expi- ation of his villany. " See," she said, " he has only spent one." Staines said he was glad of it for her sake ; for he must be just to his own family. He sold them for three thousand two hundred pounds. But for the big diamond he got twelve thousand pounds ; and I believe it was worth double the money. Counting the two sums, and de- ducting six hundred for the stone Mr. Falcon had embezzled, he gave her over seven thousand pounds. She stared at him, and changed color at so large a sum. "But I have no claim on that, sir." " That is a good joke," said he. " Why, you and I are partners in the whole thing, — you and I and Dick. Why, it was with his horse and rifle I bought the big diamond. Poor, dear, honest, manly Dick. No, the money is honestly yours, Mrs. Falcon ; but don't trust a pen- ny to your husband." " He will never see it, sir. I shall take him back, and give him all his heart can ask for, with this ; but he will be little more than a servant in the house now, as long as Dick is single : I know that." And she could still cry at the humi- liation of her villain. Staines made her promise to write to him ; and she did write him a sweet womanly letter, to say that they were making an enormous fortune, and hoped to end their days 18* in England. Dick sent his kind love and thanks. I will add, what she only said by implication, that she was happy, after all. She still contrived to love the thing she could not respect. Once, when an officious friend pit- ied her for her husband's lameness, she said, " Find me a face, like his. The lamer the better : he can't run after the girls, like some." Dr. Staines called on Lady Cicely Treherne. The footman stared. He left his card. A week afterwards she called on him. She had a pink tinge in her cheeks, a genera] animation, and her face full of brightness and archness. "Bless me!" said he bluntly, " is this you 'i How you are im- proved ! " " Yes,'' said she. " And I am come to thank you for your pwescwiption. I followed it to the lettaa." " Woe is me ! I have forgotten it." " You diwected me to mawwy an ice man." " Never : I hate a nice man." " No, no, an Iwishman ; and I have done it." " Good gracious ! you don't mean that ! I must be more cau- tious in my prescriptions. After all, it seems to agree." " Admiwably." " He loves you ? " " To distwaction." " He amuses you ? " " Pwodigjously. Come and see." Dr. and Mrs. Staines live with Uncle Philip. The insurance mon- ey is returned ; but the diamond money makes them very easy. Staines follows his profession now under great advantages, — a noble house, rent free ; the curiosity that attaches to a man who has been canted out of a ship in mid-ocean, and lives to tell it. And then Lord Tadcaster, married into another noble house, swears by him, and talks of him : so does Lady Cicely 210 A SIMPLETON. Munster, late Trcherne ; and, when such friends as these are warm, it makes a physician the centre of an important clientelle; but his best friend of all is his unflagging indus- try, and his truly wonderful diagno- sis, which resembles divination. He has the ball at his feet, and, above all, that withoutwhich worldly success soon palls, — a happy home, a fireside warm with sympathy. Mrs. Staines is an admiring, sym- Eathizing wife, and an admirable ousekeeper. She still utters inad- vertencies now and then, commits new errors at odd times, but never repeats them when exposed. Ob- serving which docility. Uncle Philip has been heard to express a fear, that, in twenty years, she will be the wisest woman in England. " But, thank Heaven ! " he adds, " I shall be gone before that." Her conduct and conversation affords this cynic constant food for observation ; and he has delivered himself oracularly at various stages of the study : but I cannot say that his observations, taken as a whole, present that consistency wliich en- titles them to be regarded as a body of philosophy. Examples : in the second month after Mrs. Staines came to live with him, he delivered himself thus : " My niece Rosa is an anomaly. She gives you the impres- sion she is shallow. Mind your eye : in one moment she will take you out of your depth, or any man's depth. She is like those country streams I used to fish for pike when I was young. You go along, seeing the bottom ever3rwhere; but presently you come to a comer, aud it is fif- teen feet deep all in a moment, and souse you go over head and ears : that's my niece Rosa." In six months he had got to this, — and, mind you, each successive dogma was delivered in a loud, .ag- gressive tone, and in sublime obliv- ion of the preceding oracle, "My, niece Rosa is the most artful woman. (You may haw, haw, haw! as much as you like. You have not found out her little game : I have. ) What is the aim of all women t To be beloved by an unconscionable number of people. Well, she sets up for a simpleton, and so' disarms all the brilliant people, and they love her. Everybody loves her. Just you put her down in a room with six clever women, and you will see who is the favorite. She looks as shallow as a pond, and she as deep as the ocean." At the end of the year he threw off the mask altogether. "Thegrent sweetener of a man's life," said he, "is a simpleton. I shall not go abroad any more : ray house has become attractive : I've got a sim- pleton. When I have a headache, her eyes fill vrith tender concern, and she hovers about me, and pesters me with pillows. When I am cross with her, she is afraid I am ill. When I die, and leave her a lot of money, she will howl for months, and say, ' I don't want his money ; I waw-waw-waw-waw-want my Uncle Philip, to love me and scold me.' One day she told me, with a sigh, I hadn't lectui-ed her for a month. ' I am afraid I have offended you,' says she, 'or else worn you out, dear.' Wlien I am well, give me a simpleton, to make me laugh. When 1 am ill, give me a simpleton, to soothe me with her innocent tenderness. A simpleton shall wipe the dews of death, and close my eyes ; and, when I cross the river of death, let me be met by a band of the heavenly host, who were all simpletons here on earth, and too good for such a hole, so now they are in heaven, and their garments always wliite — because there are no laundresses there." An-ived at this point, I advise the Anglo-Saxon race to retire, grin- ning, to fresh pastures, and leave this chatapion of " a simpleton " to thunder paradoxes in a desert. THE WANDERING HEIR. Vixere f&rtes ante Ortona. CHAPTER I. One raw, windy day in the spring of 1726, thei-e was a strange buzzing by the side of a public road in the very heart of old Ireland. It came from a great many boys, seated by the roadside, plying their books and slates, with here and there a neighborly prod, followed by in- vectives, whispered, — for the peda- gogue was marching up and down the line with a keen eye, and an immensely long black ruler, well known to the back and limbs of the scholars, except three or four whose fathers asked him to dine on poultry or butcher's meat, whenever those rarities were at the fire. The schoolroom stood opposite, and still belched through its one window the peat-smoke that had driven out the hive. There was a chimney, but so constructed, that, on a windy day, the smoke pooh-poohed it, and sought the sky by vents more eon- genial to the habits of the nation. The boys were mostly farmers' sons, in long fiieze coats, breeches loose at the knee, clouted shoes tied with strips of raw neat-skin, and slovenly caubeens ; but there was a sprinkling of broadcloth, plain three- cornered hats, and shoe-buckles ; there were also five or six bare- footed urchins, not the worst schol- ars there ; for tWs strange anoma- lous people, with many traits of the pure savage, had been leaders in meditfival literature, had founded the University of Paris, and had still a noble reverence for learning. The humblest would struggle to pay a sharp boy's schooling, and so qualify him for business, perhaps for the priesthood itself, — pinnacle of an Irish peasant's ambition. Aloof from this motley line stood a single, timid figure, — a boy with delicate skin and exquisite golden hair, his face pale and anxious. He wore a straight-cut coat, scarlet once, but now a rusty red, no hat, shoes with steel buckles — and holes. This decayed little gentleman peered anxiously round a corner of the building, and, as soon as ever the school broke up with horrid yells, ran and hid himself. Too late. One quick young eye had seen him ; and while the rest dis- persed, — two or three galloping off' on rough ponies, neck or nought, in a style to set their unfortunate mothers screaming to the saints, — a little party of five, eager for divei^ion on the spot where they had suffered study, chased that golden-haired boy, with an appalling whoop. Fear gave him wings ; but numbers pre- vailed. They caught him, and plagued him sore ; jibed him, poked him, pinched him, got him by the ■ 213 Missing Page Missing Page 214 THE WAjSIDEKING HEIB. head and legs, and flogged a tree with him, and, in the exuberance of their gay hearts, pumped on liis head till he gasped, and cried for mercy — in vain. " That is foul play — five to one," said a cheerful voice, — crick, crack. Click, crack, crack, — and in a mo- ment Master' Matthews, one of the superior scholars, made all five heads ring with a light shillelah, hut not a grain of malice : only he was a promising young cudgel- player, and must be diverted as well as the younger ones. The obstrepe- rous mirth turned, with ludicrous swiftness, to yells of dismay ; but the warlike spirit of the O'TooIes and the O'Shaughnessies soon re- vived ; the pedagogue and his soli- tary servant NorahTau out staring, just in time to see battle arrayed with traditionary skill ; here a cres- cent of five armed with stones, there Master Matthews, with a tree at his back, the lid of a slop-pail for shield, and a shillelah for sword, grinding his teeth, and looking dangerous, the fair-haired boy clasping his hands apart. " Oeh, ye disperadoes ! ye mur- therin' villins : what is this at all ? " cried Mr. Hoolaghan. Then each side set to work to talk him over. " Masther avick," wliined the aiTQy, "he broke our heads, and kilt us with bis murthei-in' shil- lelah, the raaraudin' villin, intirely." " Masther, dear, they were five to one, torminting the life out of this little hoceawn. Why didn't ye catch up a flint and crack their skulls like nuts at Hallowe'en ? " " Och ! hear to the fungaleering rufSn_ ! " And five hands were lifted high in a moment, each armed with a pebble. Then the pedagogue grew warm, and gave them what he called his "tall English." "The first that rises a hand I'll poolverize um'. Lay down your bellicose weapons, ye in- surrectionary thaves, or Norah shall perforate ye — bring the spit out, wench — and transfix ye to the pri- mises, while I flagellate ye by dozens, till the hlood pours down yer heels ; lay dowu yer sprig of homicide, and stand on it this minit, ye vagabone, or I'll baste you with the kitchen poker till your back is coorant jelly and your head is a mashed turnup." Mrs. Malaprop observed, in the next generation, that " there is nothing so conciliating to young people as a little severity ; " and so it proved even in this. The weapons were laid down ; and then Matthew Hoolaghan, changing at once to the most affectionate and dulcet tones, said, " Now, honeys, we'll discoorse the matter, not like the barbarian voolgar, that can only ratiocinate with a bludgeon, but like good Chrischins and rale Piripatetic phi- losophers that I have msensed in polite laming, multiplication, and all the humanities, glory be to God ! Spake first, ye omadhaun, ye causa titirrima belly ; and revale your crime." " Masther, sir," said the victim, " 1 never done no crime. They do be always torminting me. I never olflnded them. Spake the truth, now : did iver I offind you ' " " Sowl, ye did, thin ! Masther, dear, look at nm : he's got a Pro- testant face," " Oh, fie ! my father is a good Catholic ; isn't he, then, sir ? " The pedagogue took fright at this turn. " Och, murther, murther ! " he shrieked. " Yeconthrairydivils, would ye import the apple o' dis- cord, an' set my two parishes crack- ing skulls and starving me ? Would ye conflagrate the Tiinple of the Muses with ojum Theologi- cum? The first that divairges to controvarsial polimics in this Acadi- my, I'll go to my brother, the priest, and have him exkimmini- cated alive. Fare ! it is a likely face enough, I'm thinkin'." "It's the purtiest in the school, ony way," said Norah, the argu- THE WANDERING HEIE. 215 ment haying now come within her scope, " and a dale the clanest." Whereupon one of these ready imps reminded her it was the oftenest pumped- on. Said another, " He shoiddn't pre- tind to be a lord's son, then, the little glorigoteen." " But 1 am a lord's son," said the boy stoutly. Then there was a roar of derision. But the boy per- sisted that he was Lord Altham's son, and half the county of Wexford belonged to his father. Both sides appealed to the master ; but he only said, " Hum ! " So Norah put in her word, and said the boy had been brought there by a great lord, in a coach and six ; and the lord had kissed him tenderly, and called liim his darling Jemmy in her sight and hearing. Mr. Hoolaghan admitted all that, but said, " If he was my lord's real son, would my lord leave his board, lodging, and schooling unpaid these fourteen months ? " " Divil a one of him ! " replied an urchin with the modest promptitude of his tribe. Jemmy was himself struck by this argument. "Alas, then ! " said he, " I fear he must be dead. He was always good to me before. I was never away from him in all my life till now. Norah, when we were at Kinna, I had a little horse and boots, and rode with him a-hunting. I went to a day-school, then ; and mine was the only laced hat in the school. I brought it here." " Thrue for you, ma bouchal," said Norah ; " and by the same token 'twas that thief o' the warld, Tim Doolan, that stripped it, and gave the lace to his cross-eyed wench, had luck to the pair of 'em ! " "0 master ! cried James, all of a sudden, clasping his hands, " you that knows every thing, tell me, is my father dead ? The only friend I have. Ochoon ! Ochoon ! " " Nay, nay," said Hoolaghan, touched by this cry of despair. " Jemmy avick, if Lord Altham is your father, ye needn't cry, and wring your hands ; for he. is alive, bad cess to him : my cousin seen him in Dublin a sennight ago, spinding money like wather, and divil a tinpenny has he paid me this fourteen mouths." " Masther, sir," said Jemmy firmly, " how far is it to Dublin, av ye plase ■? " " A hundre miles and more." " Then Til go to him there, sir." There was an ironical shout. " Give me one good male to start ■ on, and I'll go ; for I'm a lost boy here : and I'm ashamed to be in this place, an' him not paying for me, like the rest." Now, this sudden resolution was quite agreeable to Hoolaghan. Norah took the boy into the kitchen to feed him for the journey. The cubs began to feel rather sorry ; for they were thoughtless, not bad- hearted. They scraped together lour-pence for liis journey. Norah gave him an old hat, and kisses, and a word of feminine advice. "Ma- bouchal," said she, " wheniver you are in trouble, spake to the women ; they will be your best friends ; but keep clear of your own color — not intirely — only brown women and yellow women is more prifirabler, by raison you are fair, like an angel herself" The boys set him on his road a mile; then stopped, and blessed him, and asked his forgiveness, being, to tell the truth, now quak- ing in the shoes of superstition, lest he should put " the hard word " on them at parting, — and him "a piece of an orphan," as the biggest remarked. But his nature waS' too gentle for that. He forgave them, and blessed them; and they all kissed him, and he kissed them ; and they went their way. But Mat- thews would go another mile with him. At parting, he said, "Tell me God's truth. Are ye that lord's sou ? " 216 THE WANDERING HEIB. " Indeed, then, I am, sir.'' " I wish I had Icnown before. Let me look at thee well. I v,'onder whether I shall ever meet thee again, purty Jemmy." " Indeed, and I hope so, sir ; for you are all the friend I iver found in this place." " Jemmy, it seems hard to make friends one afternoon, and then to part forever," said the elder boy, philosophizing. Jemmy's heart was swelling al- ready ; and at this the lonely boy began to cry piteously. Then Mat- thews blubbered right out; and so they cried together, and kissed one another many times : and James Annesley began his wanderings. He walked on till dusk, and saw a small farm. He went by Norah's advice, — made up straight to the farmer's wife, and asked her leave to sleep on the premises. She looked at him full before she answered ; gave him some potatoes and butter- milk, and let him sleep in a little barn. He walked on the next day, and fared much the same ; but by the third day be got footsore, and could only limp along ; but ho per- severed. He sometimes got a lift in a cart ; and sometimes, when a farmer's wife or daughter, on horse- back, overtook him, he would ap- peal to her, especially if she was dark. And, true it was, the dark women, of whom there were plenty in Ireland, would generally take him up, and give him a ride before or behind, as might be most con- venient. Still creepinj^ on, he got into a county where the people had faces unlike those he had left behind ; and both men and women wore long frieze cloaks, and the women linen head-dresses, and sometimes a hand- kerchief over that. And he limped into a village where was a 'sort of fair ; but he had no money left to spend, and he sat down on the shaft of a cart, disconsolate, and, seeing others so merry, began to weep ■yvith fatigue, hunger, and sorrow. By and by a man saw him, and asked him what ailed him ; and he told his sad case. " Nay, then, sir," said the man, " you must come to the O'Brien." He took him to a little old man, exceedingly shab- by, on a little white horse. He doffed his caubeen, and said, " An it plase your Honor's worship, this is a gintleman's son in throuble : he's hunting his own father. Glory be to God ! " " Who is your father, friend ? " asked the O'Brien. " An please your Worship, he is my Lord Altham." The O'Brien made a wry face. " That is not Oirish," said he. "Some mushroom lord; maybe one of William's men." " Nay, sir ; he is a good Catholic. Glory be to the saints ! " By this time there was a bit of a crowd collected to hear ; but the dialogue was interrupted by a sim- ple fellow who had lost his wife. He burst in wildly, crying, "Arrah, people, people, did ye see Mary Sul- livan, — a tall woman, a tall yellow woman, not very yellow intirely, — with a white pipe in her cheek 1 " They roared at him j bijt he just rushed on, repeating that strange formula. The fair rang with it. Well, the little old scarecrow, de- scended from Ireland's kings, took Jemmy home on his saddle-bow. Caubeens were lifted in the village, wherever this decayed noble passed. He told the boy the whole county belonged to him and his ancestors ; and he should sup and sleep where he liked. Finally, he showed him a large mansion and a cabin, not far apart ; let him know that these houses were his ; only various families had lived in the mansion for the last few centuries. "Now, sir," said he, " will you slape in my large house, where other people live this five hundred years, by my lave, or in my small house, where I live — at prisent — for my coijvayu- THE WANDEEING HEIR 217 ience ? " Says Jemmy, " Sir, the small house, if it please you ; by reason I desire your company, as well as your house." The mighty scarecrow was pleased with this an- swer, and took him to his mud cab- in. He sent his one servant, a bare- legged girl, to demand a rasher from a neighboring farmer. No doubt she said the O'Brien had company ; for eggs and perch were sent directly, as well as a large piece of bacon. The tw» person- ages supped together, and slept on one heap of straw. In the morning, one peasant brought buttermilk, and another trout, and another oatmeal, and another a yehicle, the body of which was It square box, suspended on a sti'ap ; and the O'Brien's guest was taken iive miles on his road, and his blessing sought by his conductor, a simple peasant, who discoursed on the grandeur of the O'Brien, and boasted that neither he nor his race had ever done a hand's turn of work — and would never be allowed to — in the country. James limped out of that county into another, and met with no adventure till he came to Dunnyshallan, and was turned into a dice-box. The young men of the village had cut a gigan- tic back-gammon-board on the green, very neat : it occupied the sixth part of an acre ; and they had black and white flagstones to play with. Their dice-box was always a boy ; and, catching sight of James, one sang out, ^'Hurrooh! here's a strange, gossoon. We'll have luck all round." So James was seated on high, with his back to the players, and ordered, on pain of death, to sing out sixes, fours, quatre-ace, and all the combinations ad libitum. He complied, to avoid worse ; and then it was he learned the literature of curses, in which this one small island was so fertile and ingenious, that all the blasphemy in all the rest of Europe was poor and mo- 19 notonous by comparison. The infi- nite maledictions would doubtless have instructed and amused him, had they been levelled at another; but, being fired at him whenever he called a number that did not suit the player, and uttered with every appearance of fury, they frightened him, and he began to tremble and snivel. " Now, thin, ye vagabone, give me a good number, or may St. An- thony's sow trample out your in- trails ! " " oil, oh, oh ! Sixes." " Sixes ! ye conthrary villin ! la it sixes I'm asking ? The divil go a buck-hunting with ye ! " "Oh, oh, oh!" "Never heed the bally-ragging ruffin. Cry for me now, honey." " Oil ! I'm afraid. Deuce-ace." "Och ! ye're a broth of a boy. May ye live till the skirts of your coat knock your brains out ! Now cry for Barney." " Oh ! I am afraid to spake. The Virgin be good to me 1 Deuce-ace." " Och ! ye thafe o' the world. May you die with a caper in your heel, and give the crows a puddifi' ! " And so on till dark, when a losing player threatened to raurther the Dice. A winner objected. The two quarrelled : shillelahs crossed ; a ring was made ; and there was much subtle play, and the whistling cud- gels parried, or met with a clash, and bent over each other, till at last Jemmy's friend parried an ex- cessive blow, and, rising nimbly, delivered such a crasher on the other's skull, that it literally shot him to the ground like a bullet, and he rolled over by the impetus after he landed. Then Jemmy screamed with dis- may ; but the more experienced laughed at his notion of what the true old Irish skull would bear ; and the victor took him home to supper and bed, i.e., stirabout and straw. He came to a fall in a river, eight feet high, and saw salmon glittering 218 THE WANDEEIlSra HEIE. prismatic in the suti, like rainbows, as they leaped ; but they struck the descending column a toot too low, struggled in it a moment, then came down as stupid as tin fish. And here he saw a sight he might have travelled creation, and never seen elsewhere, — a corpse-like man lying flat in a coffin, and towed gingerly up to the fall by his bare- armed wife straddling on a rock : the man caught the salmon on the ground, one after the other, by the belly, with a cart-rope and three barbed hooks that would have landed a whale. 'Twas liis own coffin, ordered by his uneasy wife, with true Hibernian judgment, the moment he was expected to die. Bnt the salmon came up. from the sea, and began to leap like mad. Pat put off dying directly, and took to poaching VVe are creatures ofhaliit; and salmon-slaughtering was his custom at that time of year, not dying. Tiie woman being dark, — partly with dirt, — James liesoiight her for a fish supper. iShe boiled him half a salmon, and threw the rest to the pig; but she told James that in the big towns there were fools who would give 4s. a hundred-weight for the trash. Within fifteen miles of the ca])ital he witnessed two abductions, — one real, one sham; both com- monish customs. The imitation was the lineal descendant of the real ; and the men halloed and gallopcil so much alike in both pageants, and the two brides screamed so much alike, that he never knew for cer- tain which was the Pseudo-Sabine, whii'h the real, and never will. His feet were bleeding ; his clothes only just hung together; his little heart was faint ; when at last ho mounted a hill, and looked down on a city, which, by its buildings, its size, and its blue-slated roofs, far transcended all that he had ever im- agined of a mortal city. The town did not thcni overflow into pretty villas. Mud cabins prevailed up to , the city gates ; and from them this weary, wondering child plunged into streets and mansions. At the very first street he stopped, and asked a decent man where Lord Altham lived. The decent man met this question by another : " How was he to know ? " The same answer was returned in the next street, and the next ; and this poor little mite of humanity wan- dered up and down in vain. Then a great ^nd new fear fell on him : this Dublin was not a town, like Ross ; it was another world, — a world of stone and slate, and hard hearts, not like the simp^e country folk. He might as well grope for his father in all Ireland as in this wilderness of labyrinths of stone. Snubbed, sneered at, rejected on all sides, he cried his sick heart and his hungry stomach to sleep in a church porcli ; and so he passed his first night in the capital. Day after day the same, till at last he found a dark woman, a gen- tleman's cook, who listened to his tale, and gave him some broken victuals. She was an Englishwo- man ; her name was Martha. One day Jemmy came for his dinner, as usual, hut was disappointed. Kath- leen, the kitchen-maid, infoi-med him, with a marked elevation of the nose, that Madam had gone out for the day, and locked up the safe, like a mane, miserly Sassenach as she was, bad cess to her and all her dhirty breed; but she'd be back again by five. Hungry Jemmy at- tended faithfully at five, in spite of the rain ; and groat was liis surprise and awe when two chairmen brought np a chair, and there emerged from it — a duchess'? No; but a fair imitation thereof; Mrs. Martha, with hor income on her back, and two little black patches on her cheeks. She smiled at his adora- tion, paid the chairmen loftily, who retired with expressions of adulation, and sly satirical looks at each other ; • and she took James by the hand. THE "WANDEEIlirG HEIE. 219 and led him toiler sanctum. " Sir," said she, instead of " child," or " my dear," as heretofore, " I have been yislting my friends ; and, from one to anotlier, I have found ye my Lord Altham ; as luclc would have it, a countrywoman of mine, one Elizabeth Grainger, she lives in the house ; but she tells me she shall give her notice." — " O madam ! dear, good madam ! " began Jemmy — " Nay, sir," said she, " but you must hear me out. I'm afeard you will not be so welcome as you ought to be. You are a sensible little gentleman as e'er I saw ; so I'll e'en tell you the truth ; Mrs Betty did let me know my lord 'is in ill hands ; tliis Dame Gregory and her daughter have got him : the old ■woman goes about her own house like a servant; but miss, she is m is tress, and games wi th the quality , and spends money like dirt ; they are betrothed to each other, and his wife lying sick in the town, on her way back to England. Poor soul ! she rues the day she ever saw this hole of a country, I'll go bail. They look for her to die — for their convenience. Well, if I was her, I'd spite 'em ; I'd play the woman, and outlive the brute and the hussy both, saving your presence." " madam, an' if it please yon, where does my father live "! " " 'Tis in Frapper Lane, the cor- ner house. What, will you be going, and no supper ? Nay, then, God speed you. Give me a kiss, sweetheart. So. Your breath is toney. Sir," said she, courtesying to him all of a sudden, " I do wish you well. When you come into your estate, sir, prithee remember Martha Knatohbull, that took your part when Fortune frowned." "Ay, that I will, good, kind lady," said James, still overpowered by her glorious costume ; and so he .shuffled oft; liulping fast, and, in the hunger of his longing heart, forgot his hungry belly for a time. To give the reader some idea of the house he was going to, I will sketch the domestic performances from nine, p.m., on the previous evening. Lord Altham and friends had a drinking bout, at the end of which he was assisted to bed, and his friends sent home in chairs. But the ladies did not drink ; they gamed their lives away. Mistress Anne Gregory received Lady Dace and Mistress Carmichael, and other ladies gloriously dressed, and, at first starting, most polite and cere- monious ; they drank tea, and soon warmed into scandal, — each ac- cusing some other lady of her own especial vice, — till at last they got vipon politics. Inflamed by this topic, they soon boiled over : voices rose over voices ; not a single tongue was mute a moment; and such was the babel, that at last the fat, lazy lapdog wriggled himself erect, and looked furiously at the disturbers of his peace. Then a Neptune ai-ose to still the raging voices : in other words, Mrs. Betty set out the card-tables. Down they sat, and soon their eyes were gleam- ing, and their flesh trembUng with excitement. Mistress Anne Gre- gory held bad eai-ds ; she had to pawn ring after ring, — for these ladies, being well acquainted with each other, never played on parole, — and she kept bemoaning her bad luck. " Betty, I knew how 'twould be. The parson called to-day — This odious chair, why will you stick me in it ? — Stand further, girl. I always lose when you look on." Mrs. Betty tossed her heart, and went behind another lady. Miss Gregory still lost, and had to pawn her snuff-box to Lady Dace. She consoled herself by an insinuation : " My lady, you touched your wed- ding-ring. That was a sign to your partner here." "iNa}', madam, 'twas but a sigij my finger itched. But, if you go to that, you spoke a word which b-gan with H. Then she knew yon had the king of hearts." 220 THE "WANDEKING HEIK. " That is like miss, here," said another matron : " she rubs her chair when she hath Matadore in hand." " Set a thief to catch a thief, madam," was miss's ingenious and polished reply. '.' Hey-dcy ! " cries one. " Here's Spadillo got a mark on the hack : 'a child might know it in the dark. Mistress Pigot, I wish you'd Lie pleased to pare your nails." In short, they said things to each other all night, the s'ightest of which, among men, would have filled the Phoenix Park next morning with drawn swords : but it went for little here : they were all cheats, and knew it, and Imew thu others knew it, and didn't care. It was four o'clock before they broke up, huddled on their c'oaks and hood.^, and their chairs took them home with cold feet and aching heads. At twelve next day, Miss Gregory was prematurely distux'bed by her lapdog, barking like a demon for his breakfast. She stretched, gaped, nnglued her eyes, and rang for Betty. No answer. She rang again, and beat the wall viciously with her slipper. Betty came in yawning. " Here, child. Let in some light. Nay, not so much : wouldst blind me .' — I'm dead of the vapore. G«t me a dram of citron-w.ater. So. — Now bring me a looking-glass. I will lie abed. Alack .' I look fright- fully to-day. If ever I toucli a cai-d again. Didst ever sec such luck as mine ? Four Matadores, and lose CodUle ! " " Nay, ratidam," said Mrs. Betty, who was infected witli the tastes of her betters, " with submission, you played liad cards." " Hoity toity, wench ! " cried the lady : " was ever such assurance ? What is the woi-ld coming to ? " And .she packed her off contemp- tuously, to get her tea and cream . Betty turned pale with wrath, but retired. Once outside the door, she said, "I'll be even with the jade. I'm as good as she." Miss Gregory was at her glass when Betty returned with the tea. " Madam," said she, with a sly sneer, " the goldsmith waits below, to know if you'll redeem the silver cup." "There, give him that for in- terest." " And my Lady Dace has sent her maid." " That is for her winnings. Never was such a dun. Here, take these ten pistoles my lord left for the wine merchant. They are all light, thank heaven ! " At two, being half-dressed, and the room tidied, but not a window opened, she received the visit of a fop. He paid her hyperbolical com- phments, at wliich you should have seen Mrs. Betty's lip curl, and was consulted as to where she should put her patches ; but was driven out, like chaif before the wind, by a crea- ture more attractive, to wit, amercer with silks, patterns, and laces, from Paris : so the toilet was not com- plete at four, when a footman knocked at the door with, " Madam, dinner stays." " Then the cook must keep it back. I never can have time to dress ; and I am sure no living wo- man takes less." However, she soon came down, distended Avith an enormous hoop, glorious with brocaded skirt and quilted prtticont, and cocked up on red high-hetled shoes ; bedizened, b< laced, powdered, pomatumed, pul- villoed, patched, perfumed, and everything else — except washed ; yet less savage than the men in one respect ; the commode and all the pyramidal, scaffolded heads had gone out : her h;iir was her own, and, thou.fjh long, was compressed into a small compass, whereas the gentlemen had full-hottomed wigs that smothered their heads, con- tracted their cheeks, flowed over their shoulders, and bcflowered their backs. THE WANDBKING HEIE. 221 ■My Lord Altham and two or three other gentlemen were there, and three ladles. Lord Altham, a little dark man with a loud voice, received her with great respect, and told ' her they waited only for his brother, Capt. Eichard Annesley. " Nay, he will not come, me- thinks," said she. " He and I had words t'other day." " Nay, then, let the churl hang. Who waits 1 " A flaring footman appeared, as if his string had been pulled. " Bid them serve the dinner.'' " I will, my lord." For the conversation during dinner, see " Swift's Polite Con- versation." You will be a gainer by the exchange ; for the discourse at Lord Altham's board was half as coarse, and not half so witty. Soon after dinner the host pro- posed " Church and State." From that moment the ladies were evidently on their guard, and ready for flight. "Parson," says my lord, "I'll tell you a merry story." The ladies rose like one, and re- tired. My lord, having achieved his end, for at this time of night the bottle was his mistress until it bo- oame his master, substituted a toast for his song : — " The finest siglit beneath the moon la to see the ladies quit the room." He then ordered the present bottles and glasses to be exchanged for others that would not stand upright, the stems of the glasses having heen knocked off, and the decanters being made like a soda-water bottle. This insured so brisk a circulation, that, although they were gentlemen who had all " made their heads " in early life, the claret began to tell, as was proved by the swift alteraations of Bupei'fluous ire and hypei'bolical affection and peals of idiotic laugh- ter ; when, in the midst of the din, an altercation was heard in the hall. The disputants wore throe, and each 19' voice had its own key : first there was a sweet little quavering sopi-ano, appealing to a flaming footman ; than there was a flaming lootnuin, objurgating the cherubic voice an octave lower; then came the com- maniling alto of Mrs. Betty. "What is to dol" roared Lord Altham. " Why," said Mrs. Betty, seizing this opportunity, " 'tis a young gentleman that hath travelled an hundred miles to see my lord, and my lord's valet denied him, being stained with travel : but 'twas ifl done, and him of kin to my lord." " Of kin to my lord ! Nay, then. Mistress Betty, he is welcome to all here." Betty, who had her cue from the English cook, and who was already interested in the fair, sorrowful young face and golden hair, made no more ado, but led James into the room by the hand. The numer- ous lights in the candelabra dazzled him at first, and the fine clothes and perukes awed him ; he hid against Betty's capacious apron, that de- scended from waist to ankle. Then he peered, and saw Lord Altham standing up, looking half-pleased, half-vexed ; he gave a loud cry, as if his heart was flying out of his body, stretched out his arms, and flew to him. " father, father ! " The sorrow he had endured, the joy and infinite trust that swallowed all sorrow up at sight of his father, both spoke in that one wild cry ; it thrilled; it startled; it sent Mrs. Betty's apron to her eyes in a mo- ment, and pierced the heart even of this silly, brutal lord. "My" boy! Uiy sweet Jemmy!" he cried, and sat down, and folded him in his arm, and kissed him ten- derly, with a mawkish tear or two. The guests then stood up respect- fully, and drank welcome to the y^ung gentleman. " Not forgetting Mrs. Betty, that brought him to us," said the chaplain, who had a sheep's eye to her and her savings : she 222 THE WANDERING HEIE. was a Sassenach, and sure to have savings ; Irish savings were not, "Father," said Jt'inmy, " tlicy used me very crule at that school : had lueli to it. Tliey were always bating me; and the mastlicr would not rise a hand for me hekasc you sent him no money for my sclioulin.' Why didn^t you send him his mon- ey V This, which would have made a Sassenach father blush, did but di- vert my lord and his company. " I kept it lor yourself, Jemmy," said he. " My lord is a great saver, sir. Long life to him," said another. "Father avick, does my mother live here ? " said jemmy. Now, this quction made the com- pany very uncomfortable. It quite staggered Lord Altham for a min- ute. But he burst out furiously, " Thou hast no mother." " Nay, father ; then what hath come of the gentlewoman that had red shoes, two pair, made for me in Ross ; and the likely woman that ^brought me woollen hose she had made for me herself, and called me her child V Then, seeing my lord silent, and much disturbed, he be- thought himself, and said, " Well, if my mothers are both dead, I must love thee all the more." Botty, who was watching Lord Altham's face very keenly all the time, now stepped forward, and took James away. She fed him, and tlien proceeded to ablutions. The cleanliness of his skin, dusty but not grimed, surprised her: but, above all, his head " Gramerey ! " said she ; " not one to be seen, and they swarm in my lady's. To be sure, that same powder is a conve- nient habitation." She put him to bed ; and, being a notable woman, sat up half the night, and made him a loose habit and a tittle hat. With this, and clean linen, and a cambric tie, si* brought him to Lord Altbam while Bliss Gregory was iibcd. Lord Al- tham was surprised and pleased, and took him out in a chair, and had him shod on the spot, and meas- ured for a fine suit from top to toe. He was petted by everybody, and" especially l>y Miss Gregory. This was a very clever young lady : she was not going to risk Lord Althanr's affections by snubbing his son, a jiretty, amiable boy. Mrs. Betty's shot missed fire : Miss Gregory went with the stream, and had two rid- ing-suits made, one for James and one for herself, and she got him a pony, and he was her cavalier. They were the glory of Dublin .and the Phoenix, and had often a crowd at their tails. Their accoutrement was as follows : each had a lieaver hat, gold laced, looped, and with a handsome feather ; a coat and waist- coat blazing with gold lace and gold buttons: only the lady ended in a petticoat of the same stuff, clinging close to her as a blister. .She had' also a little powdered peruke, like a man ; her object being to seem a smart cavalier by day and a finick- ing fine lady, hooj.cd and fnrbe- lowed, at night. 'The only draw- back was that this exquisite cos- 'tume brought her mercer's bill to a climax ; and he demanded payment of the following trifles, and threat- ened law : Fine Holland smock, one guinea ; Marseilles quilted silk petti- coat, three pound six ; hcopcd pet- ticoat, two pound five; Italian quilled ditto, ten pounds; mantua and petticoat of French brocade, sev- enty-eight pounds; English stays, three pounds; Italian fan, five pounds ; a laced head, of FlnmUrs jioint, sixty pounds ; silk stockings, one pound ; a l)lack-laced hood, and a French silk a la mode hood, six pounds ; French garters, one pound five ; French bosom-knot, one pound twch'c ; beaver hat and feather, three' pounds ; ditto for James, two pounds; embroidered riding-suit of Lyons velvet and gold lace, forty- • ■ven piounds; ditto for my young ■ ' nineteen pounds ; sable muff. loi-il. THE WANDERING HEIE. 223 fire poiintis ; red shoes (English), two guineas ; tippet, seven guineas ; Freneh Icid gloves, two shillings and sixpence; with innumerable other articles, all for outside wear, the boily linen being in the proportion of the bread to the saek in FalstafF's tavern-bill. Many of these articles could have been had for half the price, if the lady would have lis- tened to Dr. Swift, and bought Irish goods ; but she would almost rather have gone bare. No, she was Irish to the core; so everything she wore must come from England or the Continent. This bill, and the man's threats, brought on a fit of the vapors ; another fashionable importation. She rode out with Jemmy one day, to .shake them off, and they met a gentleman riding, in a scarlet coat, and a hat like a bishop's mitre. He drew up, and saluted Miss Gregory stiffly, and cast a sour look at Jem- my. " Odzooks," said he ; " have you got that boy in the house ? " " What matters it to you, sir," said the lady, firing up, " since you do never come there ? " The officer explained that he and 'his brother. Lord Altham, had been out for some time. " To tell the truth, we are like cat and dog. Naught but want of money brings us together. You will see me now every day," said he, with a sneer : then, lowering his voice, " madain, I desire some private conference with you. Will it please you to be at home this afternoon 1 " " Certainly, sir; in one hour." When he was gone, she asked the boy if he knew the gentleman. James answered very gravely, that it was his uncle, Richard Annesley, and no friend to him, — "Never gave me a good word nor a look in his life." " Perhaps you are in his way," said she, with a laugh. She gave Capt. Annesley the tete-a-tete he had asked for, and he came to the point in a moment Lord Altham and himself were both in want of money, and, in order to get it, had patched up their quarrels : parading Jemmy about the streets of Dublin was unseasonable, and just the thing to stop the business, or at least retard it. The money-lenders might hesitate, and say there was another interest to be thought of. " Nay," said Miss Gregory, "that would never do ; for here 1 am threat- ened for £200 and more." Capt. Annesley worked on her cu- pidity till she consented to part far ther and son ; but she refused to do it with a high hand, or with brutal severity. She could never urge the father to turn his son out of the house. Richard Annesley, as artful as .he was unscrupulous, offered her his house at Inchicore ; and they set- tled that Lord Altham should be taken out there, and every means employed to separate him froni James till the money was raised. This artful pair now put their heads together every day, and the first thing done was to discharge Mrs. Betty. She went back to England, leavmg James in the house. Next all the servants were discharged, ex- cept two, who were sent on to Inchi- core, and an old woman left in charge of the house and Jemmy. Miss Gregory so worked on Lord Altham that he hid from James where he was going, stipul ating only, like a sot as he was, that Richard should look to the boy, and see he wanted for nothing. After all, the money-lenders hesi- tated, on account of the previous mortgages ; and my lord remained in hiding with Mrs. Gregory and her daughter, and had to cut down his expenses, and live upon his rents. .James Annesley staid in the house, hoping every day he should be sent for ; till one day an execution was put in for rent, his riding-suit was seized, and he was turned out inta the streets with nothing but what he carried on Ms back. Then he began to wonder and fear. 224 THE WAJSIDEBING HEIR He ran to Mrs. Martha, whom he had neglected in his prosperity.' She had left the town. He was amazed, confused, heart-sick. He wandered to and fro, wondering wliat this mightmean. He had to sell his fine suit for a plain one and a I'ery little money ; and, when that was done, starvation stared him in the face. Deserted and penniless, he had hard work to live. At first a playmate, one Byrne, brought him morsels of food in secret, and lodged him in a hay-loft. Then be got into the col- lege, and used to run errands and black shoes. Vacation came, and even that resource failed; and then he held horses, for a halfpenny or a farthing, in Ormond Miirket, and was almost in rags : no other ragged boy so unhappy as he, since under those rags there beat the heart of a little gentleman, and rankled the deep sense of injustice and un- natural cmelty. Of late he had avoided speaking of his parentage ; but one day insults dragged it out of him. A bigger boy was abusing him, because a gentleman, liking his face, had selected him to hold his horse : the boy called him a black- guard, a beggar, and other opprobri- ous terms. " You lie," said James, losing all patience : " I am come of better folk than thou. My fivtlier is a lord, and I am heir to great estates, and have been served by thy betters, and so should now, if the world was not so wicked." These words did not fall unheeded : henceforth he was the scoff of all the dirty boys in the place ; and they cried " Rly lord after him. One Farrell, that kept a shop on the quay, heard them at it, and said to his shop- man, " Why, I see no luimp on him ! the boy is straight enou!;h, and fair, if he were cleaned." He called James to him, and asked him why they called him " My lord." The boy hung his head, and would not say at first, he was so used to Be jeered ; but being pressed, and .■seeing a kindly face enough, began to tell his tale. But Farrell interrupted him. " Lord Altham," said he, " I know him, — to my cost. Well, I do re- member one time I went to Dun- maine for my nloney, and got mulled claret instead on't, there was a child there with my lady and his nurse." James said eagerly, that was him- self. "Nay, then," said Farrell, " why not seek thy mother. Lady Altham, if she be thy mother ? " " Oh, sir ! " said James, " I thought my mother was gone back to Eng- land. O dear, good sir ! have pity on me, and take me to her, if she is in this wicked place." " Child," said the man, " I know that ray Lady Altham sojourned with her friend. Alderman King ; but you are not fit to go there so. Come you home with me." So he took him home, and bade his wife clean hira, and lend an old suit of his son that was away at school. The wife complied, with no great cordiality; and Farrell sent aline about him to Alderman King, and then called at the alderman's house, and asked for my Lady Altham. " Nay," said the alderman, " my lady sailed for England a sc'nnight _ ago. But, Master Farrell, what tale ' is this you bring me f Why, my lady never had p son." " Oh ! " cried James, as if he had been struck. Farrell looked blank; but said, " Sure, your worship is mistook." "I tell ye. Master Fairell, she was eight montlis in this house, and spoke of all her troubles, and she never breathed a word about a son of hei-3. Did she. Mistress A^dce ? " turning to his housekeeper. " She did — to me, sir," said the woman coolly. " My lady was my country^voman, and opened her heart to nic. She spoke once of her son, and said the greatest of her grief was she could never see him." Here the alderman was called away, and Farrell took James home in tears.. " Jvoi';^ a stout heart, sir," said he : " your mother is gone ; but THE WANDEEING HEIE. 223 I'll soon find your father, if he is abore ground." rarrell wanted to keep hira, but his wife would not hear of it. ' " We have lost above £50 by that Lord Altham already. I'll have none of his breed in t'.iis house, bad scran to the dirty clan of 'em." Now, Farrell had a friend, a very honest fellow, one Purcell ; so he told him the whole story one day, over a pipe. "Let mo see him," said Purcell. " If I like his looks, — why, we can afi'ord to keep some- thing young about us. But I must see him first." So these two went to one likely place and another; and presently Farrell saw Jemmy in Smithflekl riding a horse, and pointed him out to Purcell. "Stand you aside," said Purcell, " and be not seen." He took a good look at the boy, and liked his face. " Child," said he, " what is your name 1 " " James Annesley, sir." " "Whose son are you ? " " Alas, sir," said James, " prithee, do not ask me. It makes me cry so. I'm a lost boy." Then the honest man's bowels were moved for the child; but he would not show it all at once. " Are you Lord Altham's son ? " said he, a little roughly. " Indeed, then, I am, sir," said he, and looked him in the face. " Then," says Purcell, still a little roughly, " get you off that horse ; for if you will be a good boy, I'll take you home with me; and," says he warmly, "you shall never want while I have it." Then Jemmy stared at him ; and the next moment fell on his knees in the market-place, and gave him a thou- sand blessings : "for oh, sir!" said he, " I am almost lost ; " and he trembled greatly. "Have a good heart, sir,'' said Purcell, and took him by the hand, all shabby and dirty as he was, and brought him home to his wife that was busy cooking, being a right good housewife. " There," says he, "Mary, hero's a little gentleman for thee." So she looked at him and smiled, and asked who he was. " Thou' It know anon," said he; " but take care of him as if he was thine own." Kow, she was not like Farrell's wife, but one that had a good man, and knew it " Go thy ways," said she, and gave him a merry push, " and come thou here no more till supper-time." Then he went away ; and she soon had a great pot on the fire, and made the boy wasli in a two-eared tub, and put decent clothes on him, and drew all his history from him with ber kind words and ways; and, when the honest man came home, he started at the door, for there sat his wife knitting, in her best apron ; :;nd there sat a lovely little gentle- man with golden hair, leaning on her shoulder, and they were prat- tling together ; and one was " My child,'" and the other was " Mammy," already. It was the happiest fireside in Ireland that night; and it de- served 10 be. Here was a respite to. all James Annesley's troubles. He grew, he fattened, he brightened ; he loved his Mammy and stout John Purcell, and they loved him. Unfortunately, Farrell found out Lord Altham at Inchicore, and went to dun him, and told him about Jemmy. Lord Altham was shocked, and promised to ronumeiate both Farrell and Purcell as soon as he could raise money. Meantime he blustered to Miss Gregory, and she must have told Richard Annesley ; for one September afternoon there walked into Purcell's shop a gentle- man with a gun and a setter, and inquired, " Is there not one Purcell lives here 1 " "Yes, sir," said Purcell, "I am the man." Then the gentleman called for a pot of beer, and sat do^m by the fire, inviting Purcell to partake. When the gentleman had drunk a drop, he asked Purcell if he had not 226 THE WANDERING HEIE. a boy called James Annesley. Pur- cell said yes; and the gentleman said he desired to sec him. Now Jemmy had been ailing a little, and was in the parlor with Mrs. Purccll, in an armchair, by the ⁣ so Purcell went in to tell him, and found him in tears. " Why, what is the mat- ter ? " said Purcell. Says the boy, " It is that gentleman : the sight of him has put such a dread on me, I don't know what to do with myself." " Nay," said Purcell, " the gentle- man is civil enough. Come and speak to him." So he came very unwillingly. The gentleman said, " So, James, how do you do ? " The boy answered, stiffly, " Sir, I thank you, I am pretty well." The gentleman said, " And I am glad you have fallen into such good hands." The boy said gravely, " Sir, I have reason to thank God for it. They are kinder to ms than my own kin." The gentleman said he must not say so, and asked him if he know him. " I know you well," said he : " you are my uncle, Richard Annes- ley." And, at the first opportunity, slipped back to his " Mammy," as he called her. He was all trembling ; and she asked him why he was so, and he said, " That's a wicked man ; he hates me ; he hates me. He never came near me but to hurt me. I'd liever meet the Devil. Some day he will kilt me." Whilst Dame Purcell was com- forting him, and telling him nobody should harm him under her wing, Richard Annesley treated Purccil, and told him Lord Althara should recompense him ; but Purcell de- clined that favor, and said rather contemptuously, " When he is man enough to take his own flesh and blood into the house, he knows where to find him ; but I ask no pay : I can keep a lord's son, if his father can't, and I can love one, if his father can't; for there never was a better boy stood in the walls of a house." Three months after this. Lord Altham had a short illness, and died. He was to be buried at Christ Church, and the sexton told Mrs. Purcell the afternoon before the funeral. They buried at night in those days. Mrs. Purcell had not the heart to keep it from the boy : he turned very pale, but he did not cry. Only he would go to the funeral. Purcell dissuaded him, and then he began to wring his hands. Mrs. Purcell had her way for once, and got him weepers, to attend. It was a fine -funeral, by torch- light, — velvets, plumes, mutes, flambeaux. One thing only was wanting, — mourners. The ten- ants of his vast estates — his nu- merous boon companions, his wife, his betrothed, his brothers, Lord Anglesey and Richard An- nesley — all drinking, pr gam- ing, or minding their own busi- ness. There stood by this wretched noble's open grave only two that cared, — an old coachman, Weedon, and the poor boy he had so basely abandoned. The rest were stran- gers, brought there by hard curios- ity. When the coffin began to sink out of sight, the tender heart of the deserted one almost burst with grief and wasted love. " O MY FATnEK, MY FATHER ! " cried the desolate child ; and that wild cry of woe rang in cars that re- membered it, and spoke of it years after. , When he came back, all in tears, Purcell said, " There, dame, I knew how 'twould be ; " and he was al- most angry. " But 'tis best so, John," said she ; " dear heart, when he comes to be old, would you have him remem- ber he could not find a tear for his father, and him no more ■? " " O mammy, mammy ! " said James, " only one old man and me to weep for him : those he loved before me never cared for him;" THE WANDBEING HEIK. 227 and then his tears burst out afresh. A day or two after this, a mes- sage came to James Anneslej that his uncle wanted to see him, at Mr. Jones's in the market. The boy re- fused to go. " It is not for any good, I linow," said he. But he consented to accompany Mr. Pur- cell, if he would go armed. Stout- hearted Purcell laughed at his fears, but yielded to his entreaties, and took a thick stick. James held him fast by the skirt all the way. In the entry to Jones's three fellows slouched against the wall. " Oho ! " thought John Purcell. Mr. Annesley met him, and Pur- cell took otf his hat, and Mr. Annes- ley gave him good-morning, and then, without more ceremony, called to one of the fellows to seize that thieving rogue, and take him to the proper place. " Who do you call a thief 1 " said Purcell sternly. " Confound you," says the gentle- man, " I am not speaking to you." Then he ordered the fellows again to take Jemmy away. But Purcell put the boy between his legs, and raised his stick high. " The first of you," said he, "lays a hand on him, I'll knock his brains out." Hearing him raise his voice in an- ger, one or two people came about the entry, and the bullies sneaked off. " You a gentleman ! " said John Purcell, " and would go to destroy this poor creature you were never man enough to maintain." " Go you and talk to his nurse," said Richard Annesley spitefully : " she knows more of him than you do." " This is idle chat," said John Purcell. " He has neither father, mother, nor nurse left in this king- dom, but my dame and me. Let us go home. Jemmy. We have fallen in in company." But from that day there were always fellows lurking about John Purcell's house; sometimes bailiffs or constables, or sharks disguised as such; and the boy one day lost his nerve and ran away : he entered the service of a Mr. Tighe, and sent word to Purcell that his life was not safe so long as his uncle knew where to find him ; and he also feared to bring him and his mammy into trouble. For this cowardice he paid dear. He had been watched, and an op- portunity was taken to seize him one day in the open street, by men disguised as bailiffs, on a charge of thelt ; and, instead of being taken to a court, he was brought to Eichard Aiinesley's house. Kichard Annes- ley charged him with stealing a silver spoon. The boy was quiet till he saw that fatal face, and then he began to scream, and to cry, " He will kill me, or transport me." Annesley's ej'es glittered fiendishly. " Ay, thou Icnave," said he, " I have been insulted enough for thee, and my very title denied me, because' of thy noise. Away with him ! " Then the men put him into a coach, and took him along by the quay, screaming and crying for help.- " They will kill me ; they will transport me, because I am Lord Altham's son ; " and people followed the coach, and murmured loud. But the men were quick and resolute ; and, while one told some lie or other to the people, the others got him into a boat, and pulled lustily out to a ship that lay ready to cross the bar, for all this had been timed beforehand ; and, once on boai'd that wooden hell, he had no chance. He was thrust into the hold. The law protected Englishmen from this, in theory, but not in ■ practice. Some agent of Richard Annesley's indented James Annes- ley as his nearest friend : acting at his request, and the sote record of this act of villany read like an act of plain, unobjectionable business. He was kept in the hold, and his cries unregarded. The ship spread 228 THE WANDEEING HEIR. her pinions, and away. Then the boy was allowed to come on deck and take his last look of Ireland. He asked a sailor-boy where they were going. " Bound for Philadel- phia," was the reply. At the bare word the poor little wretch uttered shriek upon shriek, and ran aft, to throw himself into the sea. The man at the wheel caught him by his okirt, and had much ado to hold him, till a sailor ran tip, and they got him on board again, screaming and biting like a wild-cat : the gen- tle boy was quite changed by des- peration ; for Philadelphia, though it means "Brotherly Love" in Greek, meant " White Slavery" to poor betrayed creatures from the mother country. Finally, after superhuman strug- gles, and shrieks of despair, so pite- ous that even the rugged sailors began to look blank, he went, off into a dead swoon, and was white as ashes, and his lips blue. " He is dead," was the cry. " Lord forbid ! " said the captain. " Stand aloof, ye fools, and give him air." " humane captain ! " says my reader; but "0 good trader cap- tain! "would be nearer the mark. This Richard Annesley, to save his purse, had given the captain an in- terest in the boy's life. The captain was to sell him over the water, and pocket the money. This fatal over- sight elevated a human creature into merchandise. The worthy captain set himself in earnest to keep it alive. He fanned his merchandise, sprinkled his mcrcliandisc ; and when his merchandise came to, and, witli a stare and a loud scream, went off into heart-rending and dis- tracting cries, he comforted bis merchandise, and gave it a sup of rum and water, and hurried it down into a cabin, and set a guard on it night and day, with orders to be kind to it, but very watchful : this done, he gave his mind to sailing the good ship " James of Dublin." But next day he was informed that the merchandise would not eat, nor drink, but was resolved to die. "Die! Not a bit of it; drench him," said the stout-hearted captain. " Drench him yourself," said the mate. " I'm sick on 't." Then the captain bade the cook prepare a savory dish, and brought it down to James : " Eat this, sir," said he, as one used to be obeyed. The young gentleman made no reply, but his eyes gleamed. The captain drew his hanger with one hand, and stuck a two-jironged fork into a morsel with the other. " Eat that, ye contrary toad," said he, " or I'll make minced collops of thee." The boy took the morsel. " So ! " said the captain, sneering over his shonlder at the mate. The boy spat it furiously in his face. " May God sink thy ship, thou knave, that wouldst steal away a nobleman's son, and sell him for a slave ! " The captain drew back a moment, like a dog a hen has flown at, and had hard work not to cut him in two : but he forehore, and said, " Starve then, and feed the fishes," and so left the cabin. The mate, at his back all the time, told the boat- swain young master was a noble- man's son, and was being spirited away, and there was " foul play " in it. Some remai'ks were made which it was intended the captain should hear. He took them up directly. "A nobleman's son! said he ; " ay, but only a mcrry- liegot, and so given to thieving he Mill do no good at home. Why, 'twas his own uncle shipped him, for his good." This quieted the men directly; and from that mo- ment they made light of the matter. When James was downright faint with hunger, the captain took quite anothi'i- way with him, — went to hira and said he feared there was some mistake, and he was sorry he had been led to take him on board, but the matter should be set right on THE WANDERING HEIK. 229 landing. "No, no," said James, " I shall be bound as a slave. May God revenge me on my wicked uncle ! I see now why he has done this, — to rob me of my estate and my title." " Indeed, I begin to think he is to blame," said the captain. " But why take fright at a word, sirl None can make you a slave for life, as the negroes are, but only an ap- prentice for a time." " I am beholden to you, sir," said James ; " but, call it what you will, 'tis slavery, and I'd liever die. But promise to send me back by the first ship, and I will give you a hatful of money when I come to my rights, and pray for you all my days." " Ay, but if I do so, will you eat and drink, and be of good heart 1 " " That will I, sir." " Then 'tis a bargain." They shook hands upon it ; and, from that hour, were good friends. James was treated like a guest : he ate and drank so heartily that the captain began to wince at his ap- petite ; and, in' a word, what with the sea-air, plentiful diet, and a mind relieved from fear of slavery, the young gentleman's cheeks plumped out, and became rosy ; he grew an inch and a half in height, and landed at Philadelphia a, picture of a little Briton. The planters boarded the ship. The captain threw off the mask, and sold him directly for a high price to one Druramond. James raged and cried, and de- manded to be taken before a justice. Then, for the first time, the cap- tain produced papers, all prepared by Richard Annesley, under legal advice. The colony wanted labor, and was ill disposed to sift the evi- dence that furnished it : it all ended in Drummond carrying his white slave home to Newcastle County. Next morning at five o'clock he found himself engaged, with otTier slaves, black and white, cutting pipe- staves, and an overseer standing by, provided with a whip of very su- perior construction to any thing he ever saw in Ireland. Being only a boy, and new at the work, he was first ridiculed, then threatened; and, before the day ended, the whip fell on his shoulders, stinging, branding, burn- ing his back much, his heart more : for then this noljle boy felt, with all his soul and all his body, what he was come to, — an ox, an ass, a beast, a slave. CHAPTER n. In this miserable condition of servitude James Annesley remained nearly seven years, having been in- dented for an extreme period ; and many a sigh he heaved, and many a tear he shed in solitude, thinking of what he had been, and what he had a right to be, and what he was. But, being now a full-gro%vn young man, tall, and very robust, he could do his work ; and his misery was alle- viated by caution, but, above all, by the Wessed thought that his ser- vitude was drawing to an end, since a white man could only be bound for a limited term. But let all shallow statesmen and pedantic lawyers, who trifle with the equal rights of humanity, be warned that you cannot play fast and loose with things so sacred. The mother country, in its stupidity, allowed its citizens to be made slaves for a time : the pilgrim fathers and their grand- children, though no men ever valued liberty more in their own persons, or talked more about it, had not that disinterested respect for it which marks their noble descendants ; and so they, by a by-law or custom, en- larged the term of servitude ; this they contrived by ordering that if one of these temporary slaves mis- behaved grossly, and, above all, attempted escape, his term of ser- vitude could be enlarged in proper- 230 THE WANDEEING HEIE. tion by jndgcs who were in the in- terest of the planters. So the game was, when the white slave's term of servitude drew near, to make his life intolerable : then, in his despair, he rebelled, or ran for it, and was recaptured, and re-en- slaved, by this by-law passed in the colony. " Where there's a multitude, there's a mixture," and not every planter played this heartless dodge ; but too many did, and no man more barbarously than this Drummond. By the help of an unscrupulous overseer, who did and said whatever he was ordered, he starved, he in- sulted, he flogged, he made his slaves' life intolerable : and so, in a fit of desperation, James stai-ted one night for the Delaware River; he armed himself with a little billhook, for he was quite resolved not to be taken alive. In the morning they found he was gone, and followed him horse and foot. But they did not catch him, for rather a curious reason : he had the ill-luck to miss his road, and got to the Susquehanna instead. He found his mistake whpn too late ; but he did not give up all hope ; for he saw some ships, and a' town, into which he resolved to penetrate at nightfall : it was then about ten o'clock. Meantime, he thought it best to lifde ; and coming to two roads, one of which turned to his right and passed through a wood, he turned oft' that way, and lay down in shelter, and unseen, though close to the roadside. Here fatigue over- powered him, and he went to sleep, fast as a church, and slept till four in the afternoon. Then he awoke, with voices in his ears ; and, peeping through the leafy screen, he saw, with surprise, that there was coni- Eany close to him : there was a man altering a horse to a tree near him, and another already haltered ; a gentlewoman in a riding-habit stood looking on, while another man drew provisions and wine froni some saddlebags, and spread a cloth on the grass, and made every prepara- tion for a repast. Then they all three sat down and enjoyed themselves, so that poor hungry James sighed involuntarily, and peeped through the leaves. The lady heard him, turned, saw him, screamed, pointed at him, and in a moment the men were upon him with drawn swords, crying, " Trai- tor ! Spy!" _ But James whipped behind a tree, and parleyed. " No traitor, sir, but a poor runaway slave, who never set eyes on you before." The men hesitated, and he soon convinced them of his innocence. One of them laughed, and said, " Why, then there's naught to fear from thee." The lady, however, still anxious, cross-questioned him herself. His answers satisfied her, his appearance pleased her, and it ended to his ad- vantage ; they made him sit down with them, and eat and drink heartily. At last the lady let out they were fugitives too, and could feel for him ; and she said, " We are going on board a sh'p bound for Holland. She lies at anchor waiting for us ; and, if you can run with us, we will e'en take you on board ; but, in sooth, we must lose no time." They started. The gentleman had the lady behind him, and James ran with his hand on the other horse's mane ; but, losing breath, the man, who was well mounted, took him up behind him. Night fell, and then they went more slowly; and James, to ease the good horse, walked by his side. But presently there was a fierce galloping of horses behind them, and lights seemed flying at them from behind. The lady looked back, and'scrcamed, " ' Tis he, him- self; we are lost ! " The men had only time to dis- mount and draw their swords, when the party was upon them with a score of blades flashing in the torch- THE ■WANDERING HEIR. 231 lipht. The men defended them- selves; and Jiimcs, forgetting it was no quarrel of liis, laid about him with his bill-hook : but the combat was too unequal. In three minutes the lady, in a dead swoon, was laid before one horseman, her lover and his servant were bound upon their own horses, and James was worse treated still, for his hands were tied together, and fastened to a horse's tail. In this wretched plight they were carried to the nearest village, and well guarded for the night in separ- ate rooms. At daybreak they were marched again ; and James Annesley, in that horrible attitude of a captive felon, was drawn at a horse's tail through four hooting villages, and lodged in Chester jail. Law did not halt here : they were all four put to the bar ; and then first he learned, by the evidence, who his companions were, and what he had been doing when he drew bill- hook in their favor. The lady was daughter of a trader in this very town of Chester. Her father, find- ing her in love with some one be- neath her, had compelled her to marry a rich planter. She hated him, and, in evil hour, listened to her lover, who persuaded her to fly with all she could lay her hands on. The money and jewels were found in the saddle-bags. The husband v.'as vindictive, the crime two-fold. The guilty pair, the servant, and James, who was taken fighting on their side, were condemned. James made an effort to separate his fate from the others. He told the judge who he was, and what master he had ran away from ; de- clared it was a mere accident his being there ; he had been surprised by the sudden attack on persons, wbo, whatever their faults, had been good to him. The judge took a note while he was pleading in ar- rest of judgment, bat said nothing ; and they were all four condemned to stand on the gallows for one hour with a rope round their necks, to be whipped on their bare backs with so many lashes well laid on, and then imprisoned for several years. CHAPTEE III. Two little rivers meet, and run to the sea as naturally as if they had always meant to unite : yet, go ' to their sources in the hills, how wide apart ! How unlikely to come together, or even approach each otlier! Why, one rises south, and the other north-east, and they do not even look the same way, at starting ! It is hard to believe they are doomed to trickle hither and thither, meander and curve, and meet at last, to part no more. And so it is with many human lives ; the facts of this story compel me to trace, from their tiny sources, two human currents, that I thinlc will bear out my simile. The James Annesley river is set flowing ; so now for the Joanna Philippa Ches- ter, and old England. . She was the orphan daufrhter of two very superior people, who died too young. Her mother was a Spaniard, her father an English- man, and a lawyer of great promise. They had but this child. 8he in- herited her mother's jewels and thir- teen thousand pounds : her fathci-, impressed by some cruel experience in his own family, had an almost morbid fear lest she should he caught up by some fortune-hunter, and mar- ried for her money, she being a bliick-browed girl with no great promise of beauty at that time. During his last illness he thought much of this, and spoke of it very earnestly to the two gentleman he had appointed her trustees. These two, Mr. Hanway and Mr. Thomas Chester, hated each other decently, but sincerely. Mr. Chester knew -that, and, with a lawyer's shrewd- 232 THE WANDEKING HEIK. ness, counted a little on it, as well as on their attachment to himself, to get his views carried out. He made them promise him, in writing, that Joanna's fortune should be concealed from her until she should be twenty-four, or some worthy per- son, unacquainted with her means, should offer her a marriage of af- fection : she was to be brought up soberly, taught to read and write very well, and cast accounts, and do plain stitching, but never to sit at a harpsichord nor a sampler. She was to live with Mr. Hanway, at Colebrook, till she was seventeen, and then with Mr. Thomas Chester, her uncle, till her marriage. Each trustee, in turn, to receive £100 a year, for her board and instruction. Her fortune was all out at good mortgage,- paying larger interest than is to be had on that security nowadays. The ilOO a year was of some im- portance to Mr. Hanway ; and he was not at all sorry that Joanna Philippa was to be taught only what he and his housekeeper could teach her : that saved expense. He did teach hei^ an hour every day ; and she was so quick, that, at ten years old, she could read and write and sum better than a good many duchesses. But the rest of the day slie was entirely neglected ; so she was nearly always out of doors, acquiring more health and strength and freckles than a girl is entitled to, and playing pranks that ought to have been restrained. She was, at this time, a most daring girl ; and she always played with the boys, and picked up tlieir ways, and, by superior intelligence, became their leader. From them she learned to look down on her own sex ; and the women, in return, called her a tom- boy and a witch : indeed, there was something witch-like in her agility, her unbounded daring, and her great, keen, gray eyes, with thick- ish eyebrows, black as jot, that actually met, not on her brows, but — with a slight dip — on the bridge of her nose. One summer afternoon, being then about eleven, she had just rid- den one of Farmer Newton's horses into the water to drink, according to her custom, and driven the others in before her, when she became aware of a gentleman in black, with a pale, but noble face, looking thoughtfully at her. It was the new vicar, a learned clerk from Oxford. He smiled on her, and said, ''My young madam, may I speak with you 1 " He knew who she was. " Ay, sir," says she ; and in a moment, from riding astride like a boy, she whipped one leg over and was seated like a woman, and brought the horse out, and slid off his fat ribs, and lighted like a bird down at the parson's feet, and took her hat off to him, instead of courte- sying. " Here be I," said the imp. " My dear," says the vicar, " that is not a pastime for a young gentle- woman." Joanna hung her head. " Not," said the parson, " that I would deprive you of amusement, at your age ; that were cruel : but — have you no little horse of your own to ride?" " Nay, not so much as a Jenny ass. Daddy Hanivay is — I know what he is, but I won't say till we are better acquainted." " Come, come, we are to be better acquainted, then." " Ay, an' you will. Now may I go, sir ■? " "Why, we have not half made acquaintnnce. Madam, I desire to show you my house." " Alack ! And I am dying to see it. So come on ! " and she caught him by the hand with a fiei-y little grasp. " Have with you, then ! " cried the parson-, affecting excitement, and proposed a r;ice to the vicarage : so they sped across the meadow. His reverence was careful to pound the earth, and make a great fuss, but THE WANDERING HEIE. 233 not to beat the imp, who, indeed, skimmed along lilce a swallow. " There," said she, panting, " there's none can beat me at run- ning, in this parish, except that Dick Caulfield. Od rabbit him." Tha vicar allowed that refined ex- pression to pass, for the present, and took her into his study. "U Jirainy ! " she cried ; " here's books. ""I ne'er thought there were as many in the world." " What ! you are fond of books f " said he, eagerly. "I dote on 'em, especially voy- ages. I have read every book in our house twice over ; there's the Bible, and ' Culpepper's Herbal,' and ' Pilgrim's Progress,' and the ' Ready Reckoner,' and the ' Prayer Book,' and a volume of the Specta- tor, and the book of receipts, and the ' Book of Thieves.' " " And which do you like the best of all those ? " " Why, the ' Pilgrim's Progress,' to be sure ; 'tis all travels ! " " Strange," said the clergyman, half to himself, " that a girl born in a country village should be so fond of travels." " Country village ! " said she. "Drat the country village. I ran away from it once ; but they caught me at Hounslow. I was only eight ; better luck next time, parson." " Nay, Mistress Joanna " — " An't please you, call me Phil- ippa. I like that name best." " Well, then. Mistress Philippa, I am of your mind about travelling. My studies, and a narrow income somewhat drawn upon by poor re- lations, have kept me at home ; but my mind has travelled on the wings of'books, as yours shall, Mistress Philippa, if you please. See, here 's Purchase for you, and Dampier, Cowley, Sharpe, Woodes Rogers, where you shall find the cream of ' Robinson Crusoe,' ' Stout John Dunton,' and 'Montaigne's Trav- els,' short, but priceless. Here be 'Coryat's Crudities,' and 'Mory- 20 son's Itinerary,' two travellers of the good old school, that footed Eu- rope, and told no lies. Ay, Phil- ippa, often as I sat in my study, or meditated beneath the stars, have I longed to escape the narrow terms of this small island, and see the strange and beautiful world : first of all, the Holy Land, where still the vine, the olive-tree, and the cornfield grow side by side ; where the Dead Sea rolls o'er those wicked cities, and Lot's wife, in salten pillar, still looks on : to see Rome, that immor- tal city where ancient and modern history meet and mingle in monu- ments of surpassing grandeur and beauty. Then would I run cast again, and behold the mighty caves of Elephanta, monument of a race that is no more ; the Pyramids of Egypt, and her temples approached by avenues of colossal sphinxes a -mile long. Thence to the pole, and see its spectral glories, great temples and palaces of prismatic ice, of which this new poet, Mr. Pope, singeth well, — 'As Atlas iixed, each hoary pile ap- pears The gathered winter of a thousand years.' Then away to sunny lands, where forever the sky is blue and flowers spring spontaneous, and the earth poureth forth pines and melons and luscious fruits, without the band of man, — ' And universal Pan, Knit with the graces and the hours in dance, Leads on the eternal Spring.' "Then I would see the famous mountains of the world, — Ararat, where the ark rested, as the waters of the flood abated ; Teneriffe's peak, shaped like a sugar-loaf, and by mariners seen often in the clear glassy sky one hundred miles at sea; and above all the mighty Andes, so high that no aspiring cloud may reach his bosom, and his great eye 234 THE WANDEEING HEIK. looks out ever calm, fi'om the empy- rean, upon half the world." The scholar would have gone on, dreaming aloud, an hour more ; but Ills words, that to him were only words, were fire to the aspiring girl, and set her pale and pa nting. " parson ! " she cried, " for the love of Uod take hat and come along to all these places;" and she cram- mod his hat into his hand, and tug- ged at him amain. " My young mistress," said he gravely, "you do use that sacred name too lightly." " Well, then, for the love of the Devil ; I care not, so we do go this minute." Then he held up his finger, and, with kind and soothing words, cooled this fiery creature down a little, and put Dampier's voyages into her hand. Down she flung her- self, — for it was erect as a dart, or flat as a pancake, with this young gentlewoman; no half measures — and sucked the book like an egg. He gave her the right to come and read when she pleased ; and from this beginning, by degrees, she became his pupil very willingly. He played the viol da gamba himself; so he asked her did she like music 7 " No," said she : " I hate it." Would she like to draw, and color 1 " Ay. But not to keep me from my travels." It turned out that she had an ex- cellent gift at drawing, and a fine eye for color ; so, with instruction, she soon got to draw from nature, aTid to color very prettily ; the only obji'ction was, in less than six months from the first lesson, every roadside barn-door within five miles presented a gross caricature, in chalk, of the farmer who owned it, and often of his wife and family into the bargain. The number and distance of these "sculptures," as she was pleased to call them ( why, I know not), revealed an active foot, a skilful hand, and a heart not to be daunted by moonlight. The parson tried to break her spirit — with arithmetic. But no: she was all docility and goodness by his side — she would learn arith- metic, or any thing else, with a ra- pidity that nothing but a precocious girl ever equalled, — but a daring demon when he was not at her back. In vain he begged her to consider that she was now thirteen years old, and must begin to play the gentle- woman : " I cannot," said she ; " gentlewomen are such mincing apes. The boys, they scorn them ; and so do I ; they make me sick. Parson," said she, " I love you ; " and she made but one spring, and her arms were round his jieck with the same movement. " Grant me a favor," said she, " because I love you. Have me made a boy ; "twill not cost much." The parson looked at her, gazing imploringly right into him with her groat eyes, and was sore puzzled what she would be at now. How- ever, the explanation followed in due course. " Why," said she, " 'tis but the price of a coat and waistcoat and breeches, instead of these things," slapping her petticoats contemptu- ously ; " and then I am a hoy. Oh, 'twill be sweet to have my freedom, and not to be checked at every word, because I am a she ! " " Why, what stuflF is this, child ? " said his reverence : " putting thee in boy's clothes will not make thee a boy." " Yes, it will. You know it will ; nay, to bo sure, there 's my hair ; but I can soon cut that." " Now, Philippa," said her precep- tor, "I cannot have you cutting jour beautiful hair, which is a woman's crown, and talking non- sense. Hum ! — the truth is — ahem ! when once one has been chris- tened Joanna Philippa in the church, one is a girl forever." THE "WANDEKING HEIR. 285 " Alas ! " whined Philippa, " and is it so"? Metliought it was the clothes the old folk put us in that did our business." Then, going into a fury, " Oh ! why did not I scratch their eyes out, when they came to christen me a girl 'i Why cried I not aloud, ' No ! No ! No ! — ABot! — ABoy'1" "Well, we must mate the best of it, my dear. I will read you what Erasmus saith, in his ' Gun- ffico- Synedrion,' of the female es- tate, and its advantages. Then you will see that each condition of life hath its comforts and its draw- backs." The compass of my talc does not permit me to deal largely in conver- sations ; otherwise, the intercourse of this gentle scholar's mind and this sharp girl's was curious, and interesting enough. It left Philip- pa, at fourteen years of age, very superior to the ladies of the period, in reading, writing, arithmetic, drawing, walking, leaping, and run- ning; but far more innocent, in spite of her wildness, than if she had consorted with the women of that day, whose tongues were too often foul. At this time the good parson fell ill, and, having friends in office, ob- tained leave to go on the Continent. He returned in two years, and found his pupil transformed into a tall, .beautiful girl ; even her black brows became her now, and dazzled the beholder. But such a change ! She was n*w extremely shy ; avoided the boys, blushed whenever they spoke to her, and played the prude even with her late preceptor. She had a great many new ideas in her head : need I say that love was one of them "! But as there was no- body in the parish that approached the being she had fixed on, — young, beautiful, fair, brave, good, and that had made the grand tour, — her favorite companion, after all, was the good parson ; only she now approached even him with a vast show of timidity. To tell tho truth, she had just as much devil in her as ever ; but, on the surface, was might^ guarded, demure, and bashful. And now, all of a sudden, came a lover. Mr. Hanway, seeing the time draw near when he must sur- render to the other trustee, could not resist the temptation of trying to get her for his son Silas. Silas was older than she, though he looked but a hobbadehoy. Tlie old man, to carry out his scheme, in- dulged miss with a pony, and a moderately masculine riding-dress, with a little purple velvet cap and white feather, vci-y neat, and set Silas to ride with her. She used to pace out of sight demurely, then dash out of the road into the ficlils and away, as the crow flies, over hedge and ditch, depositing Silas in the latter now and then. She treat- ed his clumsy courtship with queen- ly contempt, and once, when he vient to Idss her, she fetched him a slap that made his ears ring famously. One day, when Mr. Hanway was out, this young lady, who was now mighty curious, and always prying about the house, gave the old gen- tleman's desk a shake with both hands. She had often admired this desk : it was of enormous size and weight, and sculptured at the sides, — an antique piece of furniture. When she shook it, something me- tallic seemed to ring at the bottom. She looked inside, and there was nothing but papers. " That is odd," thought Joanna Philippa. . She shook it again. Same metallic sound. Then, with some difficulty, though she was a most sinewy girl, she turned it over, and saw a little button, scarcely perceptible. She pressed it, and lo ! a drawer flew out at quite another part of the desk. That . drawer dazzled her : it was literally full of sparkling jewels, some of them very beautiful and valuable. She screamed with sur- prise. She screamed again with de- 236 THE "WANDERING HBIE, light. She knew, in a moment, they were her mother's jewels, which Mr. Hanway had told her were a few trifling thinga, not*Eo be shown her till her twenty-first birthday, and then she was to have them for her own. " Oh, thou old knave 1 " said she. She did not hesitate one moment. " I'll have thera, and keep them too, if I hang for it ; for they are mine." So she swept them all into her apron, and fiew up stairs with tlicni and hid them ; then back again, and put the desk straight. That night she had them all on, one after another, before she went to bed, and marched about the room, like a peacock, surveying herself. Next day she took fright, and carried thera out of the house, and hid them in the thatch of an old cart-house that was never used now- adays, so not likely to be repaired On moonlight nights she would sometimes take a little hand-glass out, and wear* the diamond cross and brooch, and parade with them, sparkling in the moonlight. Her bedroom commanded a view of this sacred cart-shed; and she always took a look at it the last thing be- fore she went to sleep. Silas was to go to London, to be articled as a lawyer's clerk. His father thought now was the time to make a lasting impression; so he provided the youth with a ring to give her, and instructed him that ho must kiss her at parting, say he loved her dearly, and get her to be- troth herself to him, and so put the ring on her finger. When the time came. Miss was on the lawn hoeing weeds out of the gravel. Silas went to her with the ring. Mr. Hanway was dressing ; but he man- aged to peep behind a curtain at the approaching ceremony. It did not ^o smooth. The girl was ready to give Silas a civil good- by; but, at the very mention of love, she laughed him to scorn. That nettled him ; and ho told her she would be very lucky to get as good a husband. " Come, sweet- heart," said he, "here's the ring. E'en let me put it on thy hand, and give us a buss at parting." " I'll take no ring of thine," said the girl, beginning to pant at the double proposal. " I'd rather die tban wed thee." " And I'd rather die than not wed thee." He threw his arms round her neck, and dragged her to him. " Let me go," she screamed. "You are a churl and a ruffian. I'll not be used so." She struggled violently, and screamed ; and, when nothing else would do, she tore herself clear, with a fierce cry, all on fire with outraged modesty and repugnance, and gave him a savage blow on the bridge of the nose with her little hoe ; it brought him to one knee : and with that she was gone like the wind, and flung herself, sobbing, into a garden seat out of sight. Now this severe blow was not dangerous, but it made the lover's nose bleed profusely. It bled a great deal as he kneeled, half-stupe- fied; and, wheu he got up a little way, it bled freely again : he thought it would never leave off. His love was cooled forever. All he cared about now was not spoil- ing his new clothes ; so, after a while, he walked away very slowly, with his nose projecting, like a gan- der's ; and he was scarcely clear of the premises, when Joanna Phil- ippa, who had peeped, and seen him off, came back to her occupation, looldng as demure and innocent as any young lady you ever saw. She was rather dismayed, though, when she found the grass incar- nadined, and the gardener's turf- cutter literally drenched with blood, both blade and handle. While she was contemplating this grim sight, and wishing she had not hit so hard, the old man came at her all of a sudden, whita THE WANDEEING HEIE. 237 with rage. "Ay, look at your work, you tnonsjer ! " he cried, " and the poor boy leaving us for good. You hare killed him, or nearly, and I'll trounce you for it." He griped her by the arm, and raised his cane over her head. She was teiTified, and cried for mercy. " O* uncle I I did not mean. Oh, pray don't kill me! Don't kill me ! " He did not mean to kill her, nor even hurt her ; but, in his paternal rage, he struck her a great, many times about her petticoats, which made a great noise. She screamed all the time; only at first it was "Don't kill me ! " and then " Don't degrade me ! " "There," said he, "lot that teach thee not to be so ready with thy Hands, thou barbarous, ungrateful jade ! " But now she confronted him in sSencp, with a face as white as death, and eyes that glared, and her black brows that looked terrible by the contrast with her ashy cheek, a child no more, but a beautiful wo- man outraged. She said nothing, but gave him that one tremendous look, then fled, with a cry of shame and anguish. She ilew to the cart- hou'se, took out her jewels, and, in three minutes, she was out of the premises. She darted down one lane, and up another, till she got on the high road to London. She entered the' city at ten o'clock that evening, and slept at an inn. Next morning she lay in bed a while, thinking what she should do to avoid being captured, as iii her childish days. She thought the best thing was to make a change in her costume ; so she sold one of her rings, and took a modest lodging, and bought some stuffs, and set to work to make a suit such as she saw worn by tradesman's daughters of the better sort. All her fear was to be captured, and her mother's jewels taken from her. They were 20* all her fortune, she thought; and, besides, she loved them. One day, just before the new clothes were ready, and being weary of confinement, she strolled abroad, and, seeing a chocolate house, whipped on her mask, and entered it. While she was sipping her^ chocolate, a spark handed her the Daily Post, with a low bow, by way of preliminary to making her ac- quaintance. She tlianked him sb modestly, he hesitated, and let her read the paper in peace. It was a miserable sheet, with very little in it; but there was a curious adver- tisement : — "April 26. Lost, or mislaid, one pair large brilliant ear-rings, with drops of the first water : one diamond cross ; three large bars for the brciist (diamonds of the first water) : large pearl necklace; brooch of sapphire and brilliants ; one large ruby ring ; one emerald and bril- liants ; one locket, set with ame- thyst and rose diamonds. If offered to be sold, pawned, or valued, pray stop 'em {sic) and the party, es- pecially if a young lady, and give notice to Mr. Drummond, gold- smith, at Charing Cross, and you shall receive 200 guineas reward." The paper almost fell from her hands at first: yet, with the fine defensive cunning of her sex, she sipped her chocolate quite slowly, feeling very cold all the time ; and then she went home. The advertisement was very well worded for others ; but falling, un- luckily, into her hands, it disquieted as well as terrified her. " My jewels ! " said she ; " not me. He means to steal them. Well, he shall never see them, nor me again." She carried her new dress to a shop that sold masquerade dresses, and she easily exchanged it for a seaman's holiday dress, a merchant captain's, or mate's. She brought it home in a bundle. She purchased 238 THE WANDERING HEIE. ed a trank, and paid her landlady, and then she had only a crown left and her jewels. She took a coach, it being now darjf, and had the hardihood to change her clothes in the coach. The seafaring man's dress fitted her so loosely she had no trouble. The moment she had got into it her native courage revived, and she was ready to dance for joy. " Now find your young gentlewoman and her jewels," said she. " Nay, but I'll put the sea between us rather." She had noticed some clean-looking lodgings ; so she made the coach- man stop there. Wlien he let her out, he started at the metamorpho- sis ; but she put her finger to her lips, and said, " Only a masqiier- adiu':; folly," and gave him her last shilling. The landlady received the hand- some young mate, all smiles ; and they soon came to terms. In the morning she melted a jewel, and paid the landlady a week in advance. Tiien she took out her female cos- tume, and pawned it. She pur- chased shirts and good stockings of wool and cotton, and marched about with a little hanger by her side, but was mighty civil, not feef- ing desirou-j to draw the said hang- er. She always gave a fine gentle- man the wall. " She now a.skcd the prices of jewels at many places ; and, hear- ing of a good ship bound for Ameri- ica, she sold a ring, called herself a merchant's son, (Ire-iscd accordingly, and sailed, a passenger to Boston, in the bay of Massachusetts. Her first intention was to be a woman again, as soon as she got there. But there was what they called, in those days, a " Spirit" oil board theship, a gasconading agent, working for the planters; he told her such a tide about the American colonies, and how any man could dig a fortune there, that she agreed to indent as sen-ant and book-keep- er, and see whether it would suit I her. She thought it was no use being idle in man's clothes : indeed, she had too much energy. She was easily led into signing an inden- ture, the full effect of which she did not comprehend ; yet she was sharp enough to read the paper, and bar- gain that she was tojio no work but keeping accounts and overlooking laborers ; and this the agent wrote in, sooner than lose the prettiest young fellow he had ever seen ; anil, to make a long story short, a rich planter from Delaware acquir- ed this prize, and carried her off to a first-rate farm near Willing- town. There she remained a year, afford- ing perfect satisfaction to her em- ployer, reading every book she could lay hold of, taking in knowl- edge at every pore, flattering, and so winning the women, and watch- ing the men like a very cat, to know their minds. This study amused her greatly. She left the seeds of trouble be- hind her. At seven o'clock that very evening she ran away, Mr. Hanway's gardener, whose cottage was on the premises, took in his turf-cutter, and showed it to his wife, all bloody. He laughed, and said, " Why, one would tliink they had been a pig-killing, with this here !" His wife, instead of laughing, gave a scream, and then fell a trem- bling. "Oh, dear!" s.aidshe, "we shall hear more of this." Then she told him she had heard some poor creature crying for mercy, and say- ing, "Oh! don't kill me; don't kill mc!" and, after that, she had heard heavy blows. " John ! " said she, " put it away from me ; for I do feel sick at sight on't." So he went and put the turf-cutter away in the tool-house, just as it was. When he came back, he asked her if she knew wliose voice it was that had cried for mercy. " How can I tell, all that way off V said* she. " 'Twas a wo- man's voice, for certain : alack ! ask THE -WANDERING HEIR. 239 me not, John; I'm afeardofmyown tliouKhts." " Well, keep them to thyself, then : we have got a good place. Least said is soonest mended. Next morning the news was that Joanna had run away. The gar- dener told his wife at breakfast. She shook her head. " Kun away, poor thing ! She'll never run no more : she'll never be seen no more, with- out you do find her, digging about." " Hush ! " said the man. " Hold thy tongue : we have eaten his.hread a many years." " I shall never bear the sight of him again, I toll thee." " Well, keep out of his sight, then : he won't come after thee, I trow; hut if ye go hanging of him, with your tongue, and losing me a good place, I shall twist thy neck, sweetheart ; and then there will be a pair liung instead of one." These dark suspicions smoulder- ed for many months. Mr. Hanway went to Mr. Chester, and told him the girl was a thief, and had run away with the jewels. " A thief. Master Ilanway ! " said the other coldly. " The jewels were her mother's, and coming to her." " Ay, but she knew not that," said the old man, who was bitterly incensed against her. Not a word did he say to Thomas Chester about either of the violent scenes in the garden. Mr. Chester advised him to advertise, and drew the ad- vertisement for him. Months rolled on ; all hope of seeing Joanna oozed away : both trustees were unhappy about it and on ill terms ; for Hanway thought his allowance ought to go on ; but Chester ridiculed the idea; and so it stopped, since the money could only be drawn under both signa/- tures. Presently there arose in the vil- lage a vague, horrid whisper of "foul play." It reached Lawyer Chester. Ho fried to trace it : it was impalpable at first, like a sud- den smell of carrion. But this keen lawyer tracked it and tracked it, and discovered that an old blind man, walking in his garden, which adjoined Mr. Hanway's, had heard a voice cry, " uncle I don't kill me ! don't kill me I " and then sev- eral heavy blows. He learned, too, that the gardener's wife had lately thrown out mysterious hints as to what would become of some people, if she were to tell all she knew. Then Mr. Chester began to fear a crime had been committed : only he could see no motive. But murders are not alwaj's motived : the pas- sions slay as well as the interests. Being a just man, and feeling that his dislike to Hanway might preju- dice him, he carried his notes to a neighboring justice, and left the matter in his hands. This magistrate was young and zealous : he had seen Joanna rid- ing across country, and admired her : he went into the matter a little too much like a crown solicitor. Mr. Hanway was summoned to London to attend his son Silas, who had caught a violent fever. The magistrate in question heard of his absence, and took that opportu- nity to call on the gardener. He found the wife alone, and by coaxing and tlrreatening soon got her story out of her. He took possession of the turf-cutter, which tool she and the gardener had avoided with hor- ror ever since ; and the sight of it, added to theotherevidence, gavehira a shock, and convinced him he saw before him the proofs of a bloody murder. Every thing was therefore prepared for the arrest of Mr. Hanway, on his return. But that return was delayed by a truly pitiable cause. Silas was insensible when his father came ; and died a few hours after. The be- reaved father had a shell made for the remains, and brought them down to Colebrook. The sad burden was 240 THte WANDEEING HEIE. but just taken into the hall, when the officers of jusiice, who had rigorous orders, arrested tire bereaved father on a charge of murder. He stared at them stupidly, and said, " Are ye mad 1 " They told him no : the evidence was strong. " Is it so 1 " said he languidly. ' " Well, .let me bury my child ; and I'll go to the gallows, or where you will : I have nought left to live for." Then the officers of justice were puzzled what to do, However, as it happened, the magistrate himself came up ; and, when he heard, he directed them to let the funeral pro- ceed, but be careful the mourner did not escape. The grave was already dug, and the clergyman waiting : so poor Si- las was buried, attended by the whole parish, in strange silence ; for their horror of the murderer was checked by their pity for the deso- late father, to whom the charge of murder was, at that heavy hour, a feather-stroke compared with his be- reavement. He went home alone : the officers kept a little aloof from him, and so did the people. He was examined in his own house, and confronted with the witnesses. The turf-cutter was also produced. He told the simple truth : not a Boul believed it. He was committed for trial, and a reward of .£.50 offered to whoever should find the corpus delicto!, which was the one link in the evidence wanting. Months passed on, and no corpus deliclos. At last some bones were found in a peat heath hard by, and brought to the justice, followed by a crowd. " She is found ! she is found ! " was the cry. " The old rogue will be hanged now ; " and all day folk dropped in to see the bones of poor Joanna. The parson and Mr. Chester, who were good friends, went together. Says the parson, "I know these bones well " — " There ! there ! " was the cry : " Parson can swear to 'em : that is enow." " — I know them," continued the parson, calmly, " for the bones of the moose-deer, which ran in these parts four thousand years ago. I do bid against the ciown for these. I will give five shillings, and ten for the horns." That very evening two young men came to the vicarage, and told the maid, with a sheepish look, they had brought parson the gentlewoman's horns. They had dug a little far- ther. But this did not shake the general impression that a foul murder had been done and artfully concealed. Mr. Chester, however, who had started the inquiry, now felt uneasy in his mind at what he had done. He called on Mr. Hanway in prison, and found him piteously depressed. Mr. Hanway asked his forgiveness, if ever he had offended him. " Nay, sir," said Chester, " I did never affect you much, nor you me ; but, in truth, you never wronged me, that I know of: and, seeing j'ou in this plight, I blame myself, and would serve you. Come, cour- age, man. If she is alive, there is a way to find her." " Would to God I knew that way ! " " Advertise for her. Let her know your trouble, and that she is an heir- ess. That will be against the letter of her father's wish, but not the spirit. Write the advertisement yourself, and I will see it sent abroad." Then Hanway plucked up a little heart, and wrote a humble, touching advertisement, describing his per- il. Mr. Chester took it, and, having read it, was fain to wipe a tear from bis eye, and straightway dropped the judicial character, and shut his eyes to the evidence, and, resuming old habits, retained himself solicitor for the defendant. In that self-as- sumed character, he spared not his THE WANDEEING HEIE. 241 own pnrse, but scattered the adver- tisements far and wide, not in Eng- land only, but Scotland, Ireland, and every country that spoke the English tongue. CHAPTER IV. James Anneslet remained in prison, awaiting his sentence. He was not without hope : but his fear was greater ; and this fear soon rose to agony. For the unliappy pair, whose kindness had brought him to this, were led out to receive tlie first part of their sentence within sight of the grated windows of his cell. They had to sit under the gallows one hour, with a rope round their necks, and then received, the lover forty lashes, the woman thirty, and the servant twenty-one, all on their bare backs, and well laid on. Their groans and shrieks rent the air, and froze James Aiinesley to the bone; for he looked for his own turn to come next, and behind tlie cutting lash frowned the grim prison. A week passed, and a spanc of hope was reviving, when one morn- ing the jailer and another officer came and told hira he must go with them. His knees failed him. He groaned, and lay back almost insen- sible. They gave him a drop of brandy, and, seeing his mistal