Cornell University Library 
 
 arV1363 
 
 Cecilia de Noei / 
 
 3 1924 031 229 283 
 olin,anx 
 
The original of tliis bool< 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/cu31924031229283 
 
CECILIA DE NOEL 
 
MACM[LLAN AND CO., Limited 
 
 LONDON • BOMBAY ■ CALCUTTA 
 MELBOURNE 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK ■ BOSTON • CHICAGO 
 ATLANTA ■ SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 
 
 TORONTO 
 
CECILIA DE NOEL 
 
 BY 
 
 LANOE FALCONEK 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'MADEMOISELLE IXE' 
 
 ' Through sueh souls alone, 
 
 God, stooping, shows sufficient of His Light 
 For us i' the dark to rise hy . ' 
 
 The Ring and the Book. 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED 
 
 ST. MAETIN'S STREET, LONDON 
 
 1908 
 
First Edition printed October 1891 
 Reprinted November 1891, 1892, 1908 
 
TO MY PRIESD 
 
 GERTRUDE IRELAND BLACKBURNE 
 
 I DEDICATE THE STUDY, WHICH OWES SO MUCH TO 
 HER SYMPATHY AND HELP. 
 
 LANCE FALCONER. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Atherlet's Gospel 1 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 The Stbanger's Gospel ... .26 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 Mrs. Mosttn's Gospel . .... 54 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 Canon Vernadb's Gospel 82 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 Austyn's Gospel . . . . . .110 
 
viii CONTENTS 
 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 Mrs. Molynbux's Gospel 
 
 PAGE 
 
 138 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 Cecilia's Gospel . • • . IC 1 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 atherley's gospel 
 
 ' There is no revelation but that of science,' 
 said Atherley. 
 
 It was after dinner in the drawing-room. 
 From the cold of the early spring night, 
 closed shutters and drawn curtains carefully 
 protected us; shaded lamps and a wood fire 
 diffused an exquisite twiUght; we breathed 
 a mild and even balmy atmosphere scented 
 with hothouse flowers. 
 
 'And this revelation completely satisfies 
 all reasonable desires,' he continued, surveying 
 his small audience from the hearthrug where 
 he stood ; * mind, I say all reasonable desires. 
 If you have a healthy appetite for bread, you 
 S B 
 
CECILIA DE NOEL 
 
 will get it and plenty of it, but if you have 
 a sickly craving for manna, why then you 
 will come badly off, that is all. This is the 
 gospel of fact, not of fancy : of things as they 
 actually are, you know, instead of as A 
 dreamt they were, or B decided they ought 
 to be, or C would like to have them. So 
 this gospel is apt to look a little dull beside 
 the highly coloured romances the churches 
 have accustomed us to — as a modern plate- 
 glass window might, compared with a stained- 
 glass oriel in a mediaeval cathedral. There 
 is no doubt which is the prettier of the two. 
 The question is, do you want pretty colour 
 or do you want clear daylight ? ' 
 
 He paused, but neither of his listeners 
 spoke. Lady Atherley was counting the 
 stitches of her knitting ; I was too tired ; so 
 he resumed : ' For my part, I prefer the 
 daylight and the glass, without any daubing. 
 What does science discover in the universe ? 
 Precision, accuracy, reliability — any amount 
 of it ; but as to pity, mercy, love ! The 
 
ATHERLEY'S GOSPEL 
 
 fact is, that famous simile of the angel 
 playing at chess was a mistake. Very smart, 
 I grant you, but altogether misleading. 
 Why ! the orthodox quote it as much as the 
 others — always a bad sign. It tickles these 
 anthropomorphic fancies, which are at the 
 bottom of all their creeds. Imagine your- 
 self playing at chess, not with an angel, 
 but with an automaton, an admirably con- 
 structed automaton whose mechanism can 
 outwit your brains any day : calm and 
 strong, if you like, but no more plajdng for 
 love than the clock behind me is ticking 
 for love; there you have a much clearer 
 notion of existence. A much clearer notion, 
 and a much more satisfactory notion too, 
 I say. Fair play and no favour ! What 
 more can you ask, if you are fit to live ? ' 
 
 His kindling glance sought the farther end 
 of the long drawing-room ; had it fallen upon 
 tne instead, perhaps that last challenge might 
 have been less assured ; and yet how bravely 
 it became the speaker, whose wide-browed head 
 
CECILIA DE NOEL 
 
 a no less admirable frame supported. Even 
 the stiff evening uniform of his class could not 
 conceal the grace of form which health and 
 activity had moulded, working through highly 
 favoured generations. There was latent force 
 implied in every line of it, and, in the steady 
 poise of look and mien, that perfect nervous 
 balance which is the crown of strength. 
 
 'And with our creed, of course, we shift 
 our moral code as well. The ten command- 
 ments, or at least the second table, we retain 
 for obvious reasons, but the theological virtues 
 must be got rid of as quickly as possible. 
 Charity, for instance, is a mischievous 
 quality — it is too indulgent to weakness, 
 which is not to be indulged or encouraged, 
 but stamped out. Hope is another pernicious 
 quality leading to all kinds of preposterous 
 expectations which never are, or can be, 
 fulfilled ; and as to faith, it is simply a vice. 
 So far from taking anything on trust, you 
 must refuse to accept any statement what- 
 soever till it is proved so plainly you can^^t 
 
ATHERLEY'S GOSPEL 
 
 help believing it whether you like it or not; 
 just as a theorem in ' 
 
 ' George,' said Lady Atherley, ' what is 
 that noise ? ' 
 
 The question, timed as Lady Atherley's 
 remarks so often were, came with something 
 of a shock. Her husband, thus checked in 
 fall flight, seemed to reel for a moment, 
 but quickly recovering himself, asked 
 resignedly : ' What noise ? ' 
 
 ' Such a strange noise like the howling 
 of a dog.' 
 
 ' Probably it is the howling of a dog.' 
 
 'No, for it came from inside the house, 
 and Tip sleeps outside now, in the saddle- 
 room, I believe. It sounded in the servants' 
 wing. Did you hear it, Mr. Lyndsay ? ' 
 
 I confessed that I had not. 
 
 'Well, as I can offer no explanation,' 
 said Atherley, 'perhaps I may be allowed 
 to go on with what I was saying. Doubt, 
 obstinate and almost invincible doubt, is the 
 virtue we must now cultivate, just as * 
 
CECILIA DE NOEL 
 
 'Why, there it is again,' cried Lady 
 Atherley. 
 
 Atherley instantly rang the bell near him, 
 and while Lady Atherley continued to repeat 
 that it was very strange, and tliat she could 
 not imagine what it would be, he waited 
 silently till his summons was answered by a 
 footman. 
 
 ' Charles, what is the meaning of that 
 crying or howling which seems to come from 
 your end of the house ? ' 
 
 ' I think, Sir G-eorge,' said Charles, with 
 the coldly impassive manner of a highly- 
 trained servant — ' I think. Sir George, it must 
 be Ann the kitchen-maid that you hear.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! and may I ask what Ann the 
 kitchen-maid is supposed to be doing ? ' 
 
 'If you please, Sir George, she is in hysterics,' 
 
 ' Oh ! why ? ' exclaimed Lady Atherley 
 plaintively. 
 
 ' Because, my lady, Mrs. Mallet has seen the 
 ghost ! ' 
 
 ' Because Mrs. Mallet has seen the ghost ! ' 
 
ATHERLEY'S GOSPEL 
 
 repeated Atherley. ' Pray, what is Mrs. Mallet 
 herself doing under the circumstances ? ' 
 
 'She is having some brandy-and- water, Sir 
 George.' 
 
 'Mrs. Mallet is a sensible woman,' said 
 Atherley heartily; ' Ann, the kitchen-maid, had 
 better follow her example.' 
 
 ' You may go, Charles,' said Lady Atherley; 
 and as the door closed behind him, exclaimed, 
 ' I wish that horrid woman had never entered 
 the house ! ' 
 
 ' What horrid woman ? Your too sympathetic 
 kitchen-maid ? ' 
 
 ' No, that— that Mrs. Mallet' 
 
 'Why are you angry with her? Because 
 she has seen the ghost ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, for I told her most particularly the 
 very day I engaged her, after Mrs. Webb left 
 us in that sudden way — I told her I never 
 allowed the ghost to be mentioned.' 
 
 ' And why, my dear, did you break your 
 own excellent rule by mentioning it to her ? ' 
 
 ' Because she had the impertinence to tell 
 me, almost directly she came into the morning- 
 
CECILIA DE NOEL 
 
 room, that she knew all about the ghost ; but 
 I stopped her at once, and said that if ever she 
 spoke of such a thing, especially to the other 
 servants, I should be very much displeased ; 
 and now she goes and behaves in this way,' 
 
 ' Where did you pick up this viper ? ' 
 
 ' She comes from Quarley Beacon. There 
 was no one in this stupid village who could 
 cook at all, and Cecilia de Noel, who recom- 
 mended her ' 
 
 ' Cecilia de Noel ! ' repeated Atherley, with 
 that long-drawn emphasis which suggests so 
 much. 'My dear Jane, I must say that in 
 taking a servant on Cissy's recommendation 
 you did not display your usual sound common 
 sense. I should as soon have thought of asking 
 her to buy me a gun, knowing that she would 
 carefully pick out the one least likely to shoot 
 anything. Cissy is accustomed to look upon a 
 servant as something to be waited on and taken 
 care of. Her own household, as we all know, 
 is composed chiefly of chronic invalids.' 
 
 ' But I explained to Cecilia that I wanted 
 
ATHERLEY'S GOSPEL 
 
 somebody who was strong as well as a good cook ; 
 and I am sure there is nothing the matter with 
 Mrs. Mallet. She is as fat as possible, and as 
 red ! Besides, she has never been one of Cecilia's 
 servants ; she only goes there to help some- 
 times ; and she says she is perfectly respectable.' 
 
 'Mrs. MaUet says that Cissy is perfectly 
 respectable ? ' 
 
 ' No, George ; it is not likely that I should 
 allow a person in Mrs. Mallet's position to speak 
 disrespectfully to me about Cecilia. Cecilia 
 said Mrs. Mallet was perfectly respectable.' 
 
 ' I should not think dear old Ciss exactly 
 knew the meaning of the word.' 
 
 ' Cecilia may be peculiar in many ways, 
 but she is too much of a lady to send me any 
 one who was not quite nice. I don't believe 
 there is anything against Mrs. Mallet's char- 
 acter. She cooks very weU, you must allow 
 that; you said only two days ago you never had 
 tasted an omelette so nicely made in England.' 
 
 ' Did she cook that omelette ? Then I am 
 sure she is perfectly respectable ; and pray let 
 
CECILIA DE NOEL 
 
 her see as many ghosts as she cares to, 
 especially if it leads to nothing worse than 
 her taking a moderate quantity of brandy. 
 Time to smoke, Lindy. I am off.' 
 
 I dragged myself up after my usual 
 fashion, and was preparing to follow him when 
 Lady Atherley, directly he was gone, began : 
 
 ' It is such a pity that clever people can 
 never see things as others do. George always 
 goes on in this way as if the ghost were of no 
 consequence, but I always knew how it would 
 be. Of course it is nice that George should 
 come in for the place, as he might not have 
 done if his uncle had married, and people 
 said it would be delightful to live in such an 
 old house, but there are a good many draw- 
 backs, I can assure you. Sir Marmaduke lived 
 abroad for years before he died, and every- 
 thing has got into such a state. We have 
 had to nearly refurnish the house; the bed- 
 rooms are not done yet. The servants' 
 accommodation is very bad too, and there was 
 no proper cooking-range in the kitchen. But 
 
ATHERLEY'S GOSPEL 
 
 the worst of all is tlie ghost. Directly I heard 
 of it I knew we should have trouble with the 
 servants ; and we had not been here a montli 
 when our cook, who had lived with us for 
 years, gave warning because the place was 
 damp. At first she said it was the ghost, 
 but when I told her not to talk such nonsense 
 she said it was the damp. And then it is so 
 a,wkward about visitors. What are we to do 
 when the fishing season begins ? I cannot get 
 Greorge to understand that some people have 
 a great objection to anything of the kind, and 
 are quite angry if you put them into a haunted 
 room. And it is much worse than having 
 only one haunted room, because we could make 
 that into a bachelor's bedroom — I don't think 
 they mind ; or a linen cupboard as they do 
 at Wimbourue Castle ; but this ghost seems to 
 appear in ;xll the rooms, and even in the halls and 
 passages, so I cannot think what we are to do.' 
 I said it was extraordinary, and I meant it. 
 That a ghost should venture into Atherley's 
 aeighbourhood was less amazing than that it 
 
CECILIA DE NOEL 
 
 should continue to exist in his wife's presence, 
 so much more fatal than his eloquence to all 
 but the tangible and the solid. Her orthodoxy 
 is above suspicion, but after some hours of her 
 society I am unable to contemplate any aspects 
 of life save the comfortable and the uncomfort- 
 able : while the Universe itself appears to me 
 only a gigantic apparatus especially designed 
 to provide Lady Atherley and her class with 
 cans of hot water at stated intervals, costly 
 repasts elaborately served, and all other re- 
 quisites of irreproachable civilisation. 
 
 But before I had time to say more, Atherley 
 in his smoldng-coat looked in to see if I was 
 coming or not. 
 
 ' Don't keep Mr. Lyndsay up late, Greorge,' 
 said my kind hostess ; ' he looks so tired.' 
 
 'You look dead beat,' he said later on, in 
 his own particular and untidy den, as he 
 carefully stuffed the bowl of his pipe. 'I 
 think it would go better with you, old chap, 
 if you did not hold yourself in quite so tight. 
 I don't want you to rave or commit suicide in 
 
I ATHERLEY'S GOSPEL 13 
 
 some untidy fashion, as the hero of a French 
 novel does ; but you ai-e as well-behaved as a 
 woman, without a woman's grand resources of 
 hysterics and general unreasonableness all round. 
 You always were a little too good for human 
 nature's daily food. Your notions on some points 
 are quite unwholesomely superfine. It would be 
 a comfort to see you let out in some way. I 
 wisli you would have a real good fling for once.' 
 
 ' I should have to pay too dear for it after- 
 wards. My superfine habits are not a matter 
 of choice only, you must remember.' 
 
 * Oh ! the women ! Not the best of 
 
 them is worth bothering about, let alone a 
 shameless jilt.' 
 
 'You were always hard upon her, George. 
 She jilted a cripple for a very fine specimen of 
 the race. Some of your favourite physiologists 
 would say she was quite right.' 
 
 ' You never understood her, Lindy. It was 
 not a case of jilting a cripple at all. She jilted 
 three thousand a year and a small place for 
 ten thousand a ye^ir and a big one.' 
 
14 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 After all, it did hurt a little, which Atherley 
 must have divined, for crossing the room on 
 some pretext or another he let his strong hand 
 rest, just for an instant, gently upon my 
 shoulder, thus, after the manner of his race, 
 mutely and concisely expressing affection and 
 sympathy that might have swelled a canto. 
 
 ' I shall be sorry,' he said presently, lying 
 rather than sitting in the deep chair beside 
 the fire, ' very sorry, if the ghost is going to 
 make itself a nuisance.' 
 
 ' What is the story of the ghost ? ' 
 
 ' Story ! God bless you, it has none to tell, 
 sir ; at least it never has told it, and no one 
 else rightly knows it. It — I mean the ghost 
 — is older than the family. We found it here 
 when we came into the place about two 
 hundred years ago, and it refused to be dis- 
 lodged. It is rather uncertain in its habits. 
 Sometimes it is not heard of for years ; then 
 all at once it reappears, generally, I may ob- 
 serve, when some imaginative female in the 
 house is in love, or out of spirits, or bored in 
 
I ATHERLEY'S GOSPEL 15 
 
 any other way. She sees it, and then of course 
 — the complaint being highly infectious — so 
 do a lot more. One of the family started the 
 theory it was the ghost of the portrait, or rather 
 the unknown individual whose portrait hangs 
 high up over the sideboard in the dining-room.' 
 
 ' You don't mean the lady in green velvet 
 with the snuflf-box ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly not ; that is my own great-grand- 
 aunt. I mean a square of black canvas with 
 one round yellow spot in the middle and a 
 dirty white smudge under the spot. There 
 are members of this family — Aunt Eleanour, 
 for instance — who tell me the yellow spot is a 
 man's face and the dirty white smudge an 
 Elizabethan ruff. Then there is a picture of a 
 man in armour in the oak room, which I don't 
 believe is a portrait at all ; but Aunt Henrietta 
 swears it is, and of the ghost too — as he was 
 before he died, of course. And very interest- 
 ing details both my aunts are ready to furnish 
 concerning the two originals. It is extra- 
 ordinary what an amount of information is 
 
CECILIA DE NOEL 
 
 always forthcoming about things of which 
 nobody can know anything — as about the 
 next world, for instance. The last time I 
 went to church the preacher gave as minute 
 an account of what our post-mortem experi- 
 ences were to be as if he had gone through it 
 all himself several times.' 
 
 ' Well, does the ghost usually appear in a 
 ruff or in armour ? ' 
 
 ' It depends entirely upon who sees it — a 
 ghost always does. Last night, for instance, 
 I lay you odds it wore neither ruff nor armour, 
 because Mrs. MaUet is not likely to have heard 
 of either the one or the other. Not that she 
 saw the ghost — not she. What she saw was 
 a bogie, not a ghost.' 
 
 ' Why, what is the difference ? ' 
 
 ' Immense ! As big as that which separates 
 the objective from the subjective. Any one 
 can see a bogie. It is a real thing belonging 
 to the external world. It may be a bright 
 light, a white sheet, or a black shadow — always 
 at night, you know, or at least in the dusk. 
 
I ATHERLEY'S GOSPEL 17 
 
 when you are apt to be a little mixed in your 
 observations. The best example of a bogie 
 was Sir Walter Scott's. It looked — in the 
 twilight, remember — exactly like Lord Byron, 
 who had not long departed this life at the time 
 Sir Walter saw it. Nine men out of ten 
 would have gone oflF and sworn they had seen 
 a ghost ; why, religions have been founded on 
 just such stuff : but Sir Walter, as sane a man 
 as ever lived — though he did write poetry — 
 kept his head clear and went up closer to his 
 ghost, which proved on examination to be a 
 waterproof.' 
 
 'A waterproof?' 
 
 ' Or a railway rug — I forget whicli : the 
 moral is the same.' 
 
 * Well, what is a ghost ? * 
 
 'A ghost is nothing — an airy nothing 
 manufactured by your own disordered senses 
 or your own over-excited brain.' 
 
 ' I beg to observe that I never saw a ghost 
 in my life.' 
 
 ' I am glad to hear it It does you credit. 
 
1 8 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 If ever any one had an excuse for seeing a 
 ghost it would be a man whose spine was 
 jarred. But I meant nothing personal by the 
 pronoun — only to give greater force to my 
 remarks. The first person singular will do 
 instead. The ghost belongs to the same lot 
 as the faces that make mouths at me when I 
 have brain -fever, the reptUes that crawl 
 about when I have an attack of the D.T., or 
 — to take a more familiar example — the spots 
 I see floating before my eyes when my liver is 
 out of order. You will allow there is nothing 
 supernatural in all that ? ' 
 
 'Certainly. Though, did not that pretty 
 niece of Mrs. Molyneux'3 say she used to see 
 those spots floating before her eyes when a 
 misfortune was impending ? ' 
 
 ' I fancy she did, and true enough too, as 
 such spots would very likely precede a bilious 
 attack, which is misfortune enough whUe it 
 lasts. But stm, even Mrs. Molyneux's niece, 
 even Mrs. Molyneux herself, would not say the 
 fever faces, or the reptiles, or the spots, were 
 
I ATHERLEY'S GOSPEL 19 
 
 supernatural. And in fact the ghost is, so 
 far, more — more rechercM, let us say, than 
 the other things. It takes more than a bilious 
 attack or a fever, or even D.T., to produce 
 a ghost. It takes nothing less than a pretty 
 high degree of nervous sensibility and excit- 
 able imagination. Now these two disorders 
 have not been much developed yet by the 
 masses, in spite of the school-boards : ergo, 
 any apparition which leads to hysterics or 
 brandy-and-water in the servants' hall is a 
 bogie, not a ghost.' 
 
 He knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and 
 added : 
 
 ' And now, Lindy, as we don't want another 
 ghost haunting the house, I will conduct you 
 to by-by.' 
 
 It was a strange house. Weald Manor, de- 
 signed, one might suppose, by some inveterate 
 enemy of light. It lay at the foot of a steep 
 hill which screened it from the morning sun, 
 and the few windows which looked towards 
 the rising day were so shaped as to admit but 
 
CECILIA DE NOEL 
 
 little of its brightness. At night it was even 
 worse, at least in the halls and passages, for 
 there, owing probably to the dark oak which 
 lined both walls and floor, a generous supply 
 of lamps did little more than illumine the 
 surface of the darkness, leaving unfathomed 
 and unexplained mysterious shadows that 
 brooded in distant corners, or, towering giant- 
 wise to the ceUing, loomed ominously over- 
 head. WUl-o'- the -wisp -like reflections from 
 our lighted candles danced in the polished 
 surface of panel and balustrade, as from the 
 hall we went upstairs, I helping myself from 
 step to step by Atherley's arm, as instinctively, 
 as unconsciously almost, as he ofiered it. We 
 stopped on the first landing. Before us rose 
 the stairs leading to the gallery where Ather- 
 ley's bedroom was ; to our left ran ' the 
 bachelor's passage,' where I was lodged. 
 
 'Night, night,' were Atherley's parting 
 words. ' Don't dream of flirts or ghosts, but 
 sleep sound.' 
 
 Sleep sound ! the kind words sounded like 
 
ATHERLEY'S GOSPEL 
 
 mockery. Sleep to me, always chary of her 
 presence, was at best but a fair-weather friend, 
 instantly deserting me when pain or exhaus- 
 tion made me crave the more for rest and 
 forgetfulness ; but I had something to do in 
 the interim — a little auto-da-fi to perform, by 
 which, with that faith in ceremonial, so deep 
 laid in human nature, I meant once for all to 
 lay the ghost that haunted me — the ghost of 
 a delightful but irrevocable past, with which I 
 had dallied too long. 
 
 Sitting before the wood-fire I slowly un- 
 folded them : the three faintly - perfumed 
 sheets with the gilt monogram above the 
 pointed writing. 
 
 ' Dear Mr. Lyndsay,' ran the first, ' why 
 did you not come over to-day ? I was expect- 
 ing you to appear all the afternoon. — Yours 
 sincerely, G. E. L.* 
 
 The second was dated four weeks later — 
 
 ' You silly boy ! I forbid you ever to write 
 or talk of yourself in such a way again. You 
 are not a cripple ; and if you had ever had a 
 
CECILIA DE NOEL 
 
 mother or a sister, you would know how little 
 women think of such things. How many more 
 assurances do you expect from me ? Do you 
 wish me to propose to you again ? No, if you 
 won't have me, go. — Yours in spite of your- 
 self, Gladys.' 
 
 The third — the third is too long to quote 
 entire ; besides, the substance is contained in 
 this last sentence — 
 
 ' So I think, my dear Mr. Lyndsay, for 
 your sake more than my own, our engagement 
 had better be broken off.' 
 
 In this letter, dated six weeks ago, she had 
 charged me to burn all that she had written to 
 me, and as yet I had not done so, shrinking 
 trom the sharp unreasonable pain with which we 
 bury the beloved dead. But the time of my 
 mourning was accomplished. I tore the paper 
 into fragments and dropped them into the 
 flames. 
 
 It must have been the pang with which 
 I watched them darken and shrivel that 
 brought back the memory of another sharp 
 
1 ATHERLEY'S GOSPEL 23 
 
 stab. It was that day ten years ago, when I 
 walked for the first time after my accident. 
 Supported by a stick on one side, and by 
 Atherley on the other, I crawled down the 
 long gallery at home and halted before a high 
 wide-open window to see the sunlit view of 
 park and woods and distant downland. Then 
 all at once, ridden by my groom. Charming 
 went past with feet that verily danced upon 
 the greensward, and quivering nostrils that 
 rapturously inhaled the breath of spring and 
 of morning. I said : ' George, I want you to 
 have Charming.' And it made me smile, even 
 in that bitter moment, to remember how in- 
 distinctly, how churlishly almost, Atherley 
 accepted the gift in his eager haste to get 
 me out of sight and thought of it. 
 
 It was long before the last fluttering rags 
 had vanished, transmuted into fiery dust. 
 The clock on the landing had many times 
 chanted its dirge since I had heard below the 
 footsteps of the servants carrying away the 
 lamps from the sitting-rooms and the hall. 
 
44 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 Later still came tlie far-off sound of Atherley's 
 door closing behind him, like the final good- 
 night of the waking day. Over all the uncon- 
 scious household had stolen that silence which 
 is more than sUence, that hush which seems 
 to wait for something, that stillness of the 
 night - watch which is kept alone. It was 
 familiar enough to me, but to-night it had a 
 new meaning ; like the sunlight that shines 
 when we are happy, or the rain that falls 
 when we are weeping, it seemed, as if in sym- 
 pathy, to be repeating and accenting what I 
 could not so vividly have told in words. In 
 my life, and for the second time, there was 
 the same desolate pause, as if the dreary tale 
 were finished and only the drearier epilogue 
 remained to live through — the same sense of sad 
 separation from the happy and the healthful. 
 
 I made a great effort to read, holding the 
 book before me and compelling myself to follow 
 the sentences, but that power of abstraction 
 which can conquer pain does not belong to 
 temperaments like mine. If only I could have 
 
I ATHERLEY'S GOSPEL 25 
 
 slept, as men have been able to do even upon 
 the rack ; but every hour that passed left 
 me more awake, more alive, more super- 
 sensitive to suffering. 
 
 Early in the morning, long before the dawn, 
 I must have been feverish, I think. My head 
 and hands burned, the air of the room stifled 
 me, I was losing my self-control. 
 
 I opened the window and leant out. The 
 cool air revived me bodily, but to the fever 
 of the spirit it brought no relief To my 
 heart, if not to my lips, sprang the old old cry 
 for help which anguish has wrung from gener- 
 ation after generation. The agony of mine, 
 I felt wildly, must pierce through sense, time, 
 space, everything — even to the Living Heart 
 of all and bring thence some token of pity ! 
 For one instant my passion seemed to beat 
 against the silent heavens, then to fall back 
 bruised and bleeding. 
 
 Out of the darkness came not so much as a 
 wind whisper or the twinkle of a star. 
 
 Was Atherley right after all ? 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE stranger's GOSPEL 
 
 From the short unsatisfying slumber which 
 sometimes follows a night of insomnia I was 
 awakened by the laughter and shouts of 
 children. When I looked out I saw brooding 
 above the hollow a still gray day, in whose 
 light the woodlands of the park were all in 
 sombre brown, and the trout stream between 
 its sedgy banks glided dark and lustreless. 
 
 On the lawn, stUl wet with dew, and crossed 
 by the shadows of the bare elms, Atherley's 
 little sons, Harold and Denis, were playing 
 with a very unlovely but much-beloved mongrel 
 called Tip. They had bought him with their 
 own pocket-money from a tinker who was ill- 
 using him, and then claimed for him the hos- 
 
CHAP. II THE STRANGER'S GOSPEL 27 
 
 pitality of their parents ; so, though Atherley 
 often spoke of the dog as a disgrace to the 
 household, he remained a member thereof, and 
 received from a family incapable of being 
 uncivil, far less unkind, to an animal, as much 
 attention as if he had been high-bred and 
 beautifal — which indeed he plainly supposed 
 himself to be. 
 
 When, about an hour later, after their daily 
 custom, this almost inseparable trio fell into 
 the breakfast-room as if the door had suddenly 
 given way before them, the boys were able to 
 revenge themselves for the rebuke this entrance 
 provoked by the tidings they brought with 
 them. 
 
 ' I say, old Mallet is going,' cried Harold 
 cheerfully, as he wriggled himself on to his 
 chair. ' Denis, mind I want some of that 
 egg-stuff.' 
 
 * Take your arms off the table, Harold,' said 
 Lady Atherley. ' Pray, how do you know Mrs. 
 Mallet is going ? ' 
 
 ' She said so herself. She said,' he went 
 
28 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 on, screwing up his nose and speaking in a 
 falsetto to express tlie intensity of his scorn — 
 ' she said she was afraid of the ghost.' 
 
 ' I told you I did not allow that word to be 
 mentioned.' 
 
 ' I did not ; it was old Mallet.' 
 
 'But, pray, what were you doing in old 
 Mallet's domain ? ' asked Atherley. 
 
 ' Cooking cabbage for Tip.' 
 
 ' Hum ! What with ghosts by night and 
 boys by day, our cook seems to have a pleasant 
 time of it ! I shall be glad when Miss Jones's 
 holidays are over. Castleman, is it true that 
 Mrs. Mallet talks of leaving us because of the 
 ghost ? ' 
 
 'I am sure I don't know, Sir George,' 
 answered the old butler. ' She was going on 
 about it very foolish this morning.' 
 
 ' And how is the kitchen-maid ? ' 
 
 'Has not come down yet. Sir George; says her 
 nerve is shook,' said Castleman, retiring with a 
 plate to the sideboard ; then added, with the 
 freedom of an old servant, ' Bile, / should say.' 
 
II THE STRANGER'S GOSPEL 29 
 
 ' Probably. We had better send for Doctor 
 What's-his-name. ' 
 
 ' The usual doctor is away,* said Lady 
 Atherley. 'There is a London doctor in his 
 place. He is clever, Lady Silvia said, but he 
 gives himself airs.' 
 
 ' Never mind what he gives himself if he 
 gives his patients the right thing.' 
 
 ' And after all we can manage very well with- 
 out Ann, but what are we to do about Mrs. 
 Mallet ? I always told you how it would be.' 
 
 ' But, my dear, it is not my fault. You 
 look as reproachfully at me as if it were my 
 ghost which was causing all this disturbance 
 instead of the ghost of a remote ancestor — pre- 
 decessor, in fact.' 
 
 * No, but you will always talk just as if it 
 was of no consequence.' 
 
 ' I don't talk of the cook's going as being of 
 no consequence. Far from it. But you must 
 not let her go, that is all.' 
 
 ' How can I prevent her going ? I think 
 you had better talk to her yourself.' 
 
30 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 ' I should like to meet her very much ; 
 would not you, Lindy ? I should like to hear 
 her story ; it must be a blood-curdling one, to 
 judge from its eflFect upon Ann. The only 
 person I have yet met who pretended to have 
 seen the ghost was Aunt Eleanour.' 
 
 ' And what was it like, daddy ? ' asked 
 Denis, much interested. 
 
 ' She did not say. Den. She would never 
 teU me anything about it.' 
 
 ' Would she tell me ? ' 
 
 ' I am afraid not. I don't think she would 
 teU any one, except perhaps Mr. Lyndsay. 
 He has a way of worming things out of 
 people.' 
 
 ' Mr. Lyndsay, how do you worm things out 
 of people ? ' 
 
 * I don't know, Denis ; you must ask your 
 father.' 
 
 ' First, by never asking any questions,' said 
 Atherley promptly ; ' and then by a curious 
 way he has of looking as if he was listening 
 attentively to what was said to him, instead 
 
II THE STRANGER'S GOSPEL 31 
 
 of thinking, as most people do, what he shall 
 say himself when he gets a chance of putting 
 a word in.' 
 
 'But how could Aunt Eleanour see the 
 ghost when there is not any such thing ? ' 
 cried Harold. 
 
 ' How indeed ! ' said his father, rising ; 
 'that is just the puzzle. It will take you 
 years to find it out. Lindy, look into the 
 morning-room in about half an hour, and you 
 will hear a tale whose lightest word will 
 harrow up thy soul, etc. etc' 
 
 As Lady Atherley kindly seconded this 
 invitation I accepted it, though not with the 
 consequences predicted. Anything less sug- 
 gestive of the supernatural, or in every way less 
 like the typical ghost -seer, was surely never 
 produced than the round and rubicund little 
 person I found in conversation with the 
 Atherleys. Mrs. Mallet was a brunette who 
 might once have considered herself a beauty, 
 to judge by the self-conscious and self-satisfied 
 simper which the ghastliest recollections were 
 
32 CECILIA DE NOEL chap, 
 
 unable to banish. As I entered I caught only 
 the last words of Atherley's speech — 
 
 * treating you well, Mrs. Mallet ? ' 
 
 ' Oh no, Sir George,' answered Mrs. Mallet, 
 standing very straight and stiflf, with two 
 plump red hands folded demurely before her ; 
 ' which I have not a word to say against any 
 one, but have met, ever since I come here, 
 with the greatest of kindness and respect. 
 But the noises, sir, the noises of a night is 
 more than I can abear.' 
 
 ' Oh, they are only rats, Mrs. Mallet.' 
 ' No rats in this world ever made sech a 
 noise, Sir George ; which the very first night as 
 I slep here, there come the most mysterioustest 
 sounds as ever I hear, which I says to Hann, 
 " Whatever are you a-doing ? " which she woke 
 up all of a suddent, as young people wUl, and 
 said she never hear nor yet see nothing.' 
 ' What was the noise like, Mrs. Mallet ? ' 
 ' Well, Sir George, I can only compare it to 
 the dragging of heavy furniture, which I really 
 thought at first it was her ladyship a-coming 
 
II THE STRANGER'S GOSPEL 33 
 
 upstairs to waken me, took bad with burglars 
 or a fire.' 
 
 ' But, Mrs. Mallet, I am sure you are too 
 brave a woman to mind a little noise.' 
 
 ' It is not only noises, Sir George. Last 
 night ' 
 
 Mrs. Mallet drew a long breath and closed 
 her eyes. 
 
 ' Yes, Mrs. Mallet, pray go on ; I am very 
 curious to hear what did happen last night.' 
 
 ' It makes the cold chills run over me to 
 think of it. We was all gone to bed — least- 
 ways the maids and me, and Hann and me 
 was but just got to my room when says 
 she to me, "Oh la ! whatever do you think ? " 
 says she ; "I promised Ellen when she went 
 out this afternoon as I would shut the windows 
 in the pink bedroom at four o'clock, and never 
 come to think of it tiU this minute," she says. 
 " Oh dear," I says, " and them new chintzes will 
 be entirely ruined with the damp. "Why, what a 
 good-for-nothing girl you are !" I says; "and 
 what you thinks on half your time is more 
 
 D 
 
34 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 than I can tell." "Whatever shall I do?" 
 she says, " for go along there at this time of 
 night all by myself I dare not," says she. 
 " Well," I says, " rather than you should go 
 alone, I'll go along with you," I says, "for 
 stay here by myself I would not," I says, " not 
 if any one was to pay me hundreds." So we 
 went down our stairs and along our passage 
 to the door which you go into the gallery, 
 Hann a-clutching hold of me and starting, 
 which when we come into the gallery I was all 
 of a tremble, and she shook so I said, " La ! 
 Hann, for goodness' sake do carry that candle 
 straight, or you will grease the carpet shame- 
 ful " ; and come to the pink room I says, 
 " Open the door." " La ! " says she, " what if 
 we was to see the ghost ? " " Hold your silly 
 nonsense this minute," I says, " and open the 
 door," which she do, but stand right back for 
 to let me go first, when, true as ever I am 
 standing here, my lady, I see something white 
 go by like a flash, and struck me cold in the 
 face, and blew the candle out, and then come 
 
n THE STRANGER'S GOSPEL 35 
 
 the fearfuUest noise, which thunderclaps is 
 nothing to it. Hann began a-screaming, and 
 we ran as fast as ever we could till we come 
 to the pantry, where Mr. Castleman and the 
 footman was. I thought I should ha' died : 
 died I thought I should. My face was as 
 white as that antimacassar.' 
 
 'How could you see your face, Mrs. 
 Mallet ? ' somewhat peevishly objected Lady 
 Atherley. 
 
 But Mrs. Mallet with great dignity re- 
 torted — 
 
 ' Which I looked down my nose, and it 
 were like a corpse's.' 
 
 ' Very alarming,' said Atherley, * but easily 
 explained. Directly you opened the door 
 there was, of course, a draught from the open 
 window. That draught blew the candle out 
 and knocked something over, probably a 
 screen.' 
 
 ' La' bless you, Sir George, it was more like 
 paving-stones than screens a-falling.' 
 
 And indeed Mrs. Mallet was so far right. 
 
36 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 that., when to settle the weighty question once 
 for all, we adjourned in a body to the pink 
 bedroom, we discovered that nothing less than 
 the celling, or at least a portion of it, had 
 fallen, arid was lying in a heap of broken 
 plaster upon the floor. However, the moral, 
 as Atherley hastened to observe, was the 
 same. 
 
 ' You see, Mrs. Mallet, this was what made 
 the noise.' 
 
 Mrs. Mallet made no reply, but it was 
 evident she neither saw nor intended to see 
 anything of the kind ; and Atherley wisely 
 substituted bribery for reasoning. But even 
 with this he made little way till accidentally 
 he mentioned, the name of Mrs. de Noel, when, 
 as if it had been a name to conjure by, Mrs. 
 Mallet showed signs of softening. 
 
 ' Yes, think of Mrs. de Noel, Mrs. Mallet ; 
 what will she say if you leave her cousin to 
 starve ? ' 
 
 ' I should not wish such a thing to happen 
 for ■ a moment,' said Mrs. Mallet, as if this 
 
n THE STRANGER'S GOSPEL 37 
 
 had been no figure of speech but the actual 
 alternative, 'not to any relation of Mrs. de 
 Noel.' 
 
 And shortly after the debate ended with a 
 cheerful ' Well, Mrs. Mallet, you will give us 
 another trial,' from Atherley. 
 
 'There,' he exclaimed, as we all three 
 returned to the morning-room—' there is as 
 splendid an example of the manufacture of a 
 bogie as you are ever likely to meet with. 
 All the spiritual phenomena are produced 
 much in the same way. Work yourself up 
 into a great state of terror and excitement, in 
 the first place ; in the next, procure one com- 
 panion, if not more, as credulous and excitable 
 as yourself ; go at a late hour and with a dim 
 light to a place where you have been told you 
 will see ' something supernatural ; steadfastly 
 and determinedly look out for it, and — yoii 
 will have your reward. These are precisely 
 the lines on which a spiritual 'seance is con- 
 ducted, only instead of plaster, which is not 
 always so obliging as to fall in the nick . of 
 
38 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 time, you have a paid medium who supplies 
 the material for your fancy to work upon. 
 Mrs. Mallet, you see, has discovered all this 
 for herself — that woman is a born genius. 
 Just think what she might have been and seen 
 if she had lived in a sphere where neither 
 cooking nor any other rational occupation 
 interfered with her pursuit of the supernatural. 
 Mrs. Molyneux would be nowhere beside her.' 
 
 ' I suppose she really does intend to stay/ 
 said Lady Atherley. 
 
 ' Of course she does. I always told you my 
 powers of persuasion were irresistible.' 
 
 ' But how annoying about the ceiling,' said 
 Lady Atherley. ' Over the new carpet too ! 
 What can make the plaster fall in this way ? ' 
 
 ' It is the quality of the climate,' said 
 Atherley. ' It is horribly destructive. If you 
 would read the batch of letters now on my 
 writing-table from tenant-farmers you would see 
 what I mean : barns, roofs, gates, everything 
 is falling to pieces and must immediately be 
 repaired — at the landlord's expense, of course.' 
 
11 THE STRANGER'S GOSPEL 39 
 
 ' We must send for a plasterer,' said Lady 
 Atherley, ' and then the doctor. Perhaps you 
 would have time to go round his way, 
 George.' 
 
 ' No, I have no time to go anywhere but 
 to Northside Farm. Hunt has been waiting 
 nearly half an hour for me as it is. Lindy, 
 would you like to come with me ? ' 
 
 ' No, thank you, G-eorge ; I too am a land- 
 owner, and I mean to look over my audit 
 accounts to-day.' 
 
 'Don't compare yourself to a poor over- 
 worked underpaid landowner like me. You 
 are one of the landlords they spout about in 
 the London parks on Sundays. You have 
 nothing to do but sign receipts for your rents, 
 paid in fuU and up to date.' 
 
 ' Mr. Lyndsay is an excellent landlord,' said 
 Lady Atherley; 'and they tell me the new 
 church and the schools he has built are 
 charming.' 
 
 ' Very mischievous things both,' said Ather- 
 ley. ' Ta-ta ' 
 
40 CECIUA DE NOEL chap 
 
 That afternoon, Atherley being still absent, 
 and Lady Atherley having gone forth to pay a 
 round of calls, the little boys undertook my 
 entertainment. They were in rather a sober 
 mood for them, having just forfeited four 
 weeks' pocket-money towards expenses in- 
 curred by Tip in the dairy, where they had 
 foolishly allowed him to enter; so they ac- 
 cepted very good-humouredly my objections 
 to wading in the river or climbing trees, and 
 took me instead for a walk to Beggar's Stile. 
 We climbed up the steep carriage-drive to the 
 lodge, passed through the big iron gates, turned 
 sharply to the left, and went down the road 
 which the park palings border and the elms 
 behind them shade, past the little copse beyond 
 the park, till we came to a tumble-down gate 
 with a stile beside it in the hedgerow; and 
 this was Beggar's Stile. It was just on the 
 brow of the little hill which sloped gradually 
 downward to the village beneath, and com- 
 manded a wide view of the broad shallow 
 v^alley and of the rising ground beyond. 
 
11 THE STRANGER'S GOSPEL 41 
 
 I was glad to sit down on the step of the 
 stile. 
 
 ' Are you tired already, Mr. Lyndsay ? ' in- 
 quired Harold incredulously. 
 
 'Yes, a little.' 
 
 ' I s'pose you are tired because you always 
 have to pull your leg after you,' said Denis, 
 turning upon me two large topaz-coloured eyes. 
 ' Does it hurt you, Mr. Lyndsay ? ' 
 
 'Mother told you not to talk about Mr. 
 Lyndsay's leg,' observed Harold sharply. 
 
 ' No, she didn't ; she said I was not to 
 talk about the funny way he walked. She 
 said ' 
 
 ' Well, never mind, little man,' I interrupted. 
 ' Is that Weald down there ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' cried Denis, maintaining his balance 
 on the topmost bar but one of the gate with 
 enviable ease. ' All these cottages and houses 
 belong to Weald, and it is all daddy's on 
 this side of the river down to where you see 
 the white railings a long way down near the 
 poplars, and that is the road we go to tea with 
 
42 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 A.unt Eleanour ; and do you see a little blue 
 speck on the hill over there ? You could see 
 if you had a tefelscope. Daddy showed me 
 once ; but you must shut your eye. That is 
 Quarley Beacon, where Aunt Cissy lives.' 
 
 'No, she does not, stupid,' cried Harold, 
 now suspended, head downwards, by one foot 
 from the topmost rail of the gate. ' No one 
 lives there. She lives in Quarley Manor, just 
 behind.' 
 
 Denis replied indirectly to the discourteous 
 tone of this speech by trying with the point of 
 his own foot to dislodge that by which Harold 
 maintained his remarkable position, and a 
 scuffle ensued, wherein, though a non-com- 
 batant, I seemed likely to get the worst, when 
 their attention was fortunately diverted by 
 the sight of Tip sneaking off, and evidently 
 with the vilest motives, towards the covert. 
 
 My memory was haunted that day by cer- 
 tain words spoken seven months ago by 
 Atherley, and by me at the time very un- 
 graciously received : 
 
II THE STRANGER'S GOSPEL 43 
 
 ' Remember, if you do come a cropper, it 
 will go tard with you, old man; you can't 
 shoot or hunt or fish off the blues, like other 
 men.' 
 
 No, nor could I work them off, as some might 
 have done. I possessed no distinct talents, no 
 marked vocation. If there was nothing behind 
 and beyond all this, what an empty freak of 
 destiny my life would have been — full, not 
 even of sound and fury, but of dull common- 
 place suffering : a tale told by an idiot with a 
 spice of malice in him. 
 
 Then the view before me made itself felt, 
 as a gentle persistent sound might have done : 
 a flat, almost featureless scene — a little vUlage 
 church with cottages and gardens clustering 
 about it, straggling away from it, by copses 
 and meadows in which witfter had left only 
 the tenderest shades of the saddest colours. 
 The winding river brightened the dull picture 
 with broken glints of silver, and the tawny 
 hues of the foreground faded through soft 
 gradations of violet and azure into a far dis- 
 
44 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 tance of pearly gray. It is not the scenery 
 men cross continents and oceans to admire, 
 and yet it has a message of its own. I felt it 
 that day when I was heart-weary, and was 
 glad that in one comer of this restless world 
 the little hills preach peace. 
 
 Meantime Tip had been recaptured, and 
 when he, or rather the ground close beside him, 
 had been beaten severely with sticks, and he 
 himself upbraided in terms which left the 
 censors hoarse, we went down again into the 
 hollow. Then Lady Atherley returned and 
 gave me tea ; and afterwards, in the library, 
 I worked at accounts tUl it was nearly too 
 dark to write. No doubt on the high ground 
 the sky was aflame with brilliant colour, of 
 which only a dim reflection tinged the dreary 
 view of sward aifd leafless trees, to which, for 
 some mysterious reason, a gig crawling down 
 the carriage - drive gave the last touch of 
 desolation. 
 
 Just as I laid my pen aside the door opened, 
 and Castleman introduced a stranger. 
 
II THE STRANGER'S GOSPEL 45 
 
 ' If you will wait here, sir, I will find lier 
 ladyship.' 
 
 The new-comer was young and slight, with 
 an erect carriage and a firm step. He had the 
 finely-cut features and dull colouring which I 
 associate with the high-pressure life of a busy 
 town, so that I guessed who he was before his 
 first words told me. 
 
 ' No, thank you, I will not sit down ; I 
 expect to be called to my patient immediately.' 
 
 The thought of this said patient made 
 me smile, and in explanation I told him from 
 what she was supposed to be suffering. 
 
 ' Well ; it is less common than other forms 
 of feverishness, but will probably yield to the 
 same remedies,' was his only comment. 
 
 ' You do not believe in ghosts ? ' 
 
 ' Pardon me, I do, just as I believe in all 
 symptoms. When my patient tells me he 
 hears bells ringing in his ear, or feels the 
 ground swaying under his feet, I believe 
 him implicitly, though I know nothing of the 
 kind is actually taking place. The ghost, so 
 
46 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 far, belongs to the same class as the other ex- 
 periences, that it is a symptom — ^it may be of 
 a very trifling, it may be of a very serious 
 disorder.' 
 
 The voice, the keen flash of the eye, im- 
 pressed me. I recognised one of those alert 
 intelligences, beside whose vivid flame the 
 mental Kfe of most men seems to smoulder. 
 I wished to hear \\\m speak again. 
 
 ' Is this your view of all supernatural mani- 
 festations ? ' 
 
 ' Of all so-called supernatural manifesta- 
 tions ; I don't understand the word or the 
 distinction. No event which has actually 
 taken place can be supernatural. Since it 
 belongs to the actual it must be governed by, 
 it must be the outcome of, laws which every- 
 where govern the actual — everywhere and at 
 aU times. In fact, it must be natural, what- 
 ever we may think of it.' 
 
 ' Then if a miracle could be proven, it would 
 be no miracle to you \ ' 
 
 ' Certainly not.' 
 
It THE STRANGER'S GOSPEL 47 
 
 ' And it could convince you of nothing ? ' 
 ' Neither me nor any one else who has out- 
 grown his childhood, I should think. I have 
 never been able to understand the outcry of 
 the orthodox over their lost miracles. It 
 makes their position neither better nor worse. 
 The miracles could never prove their creeds. 
 How am I to recognise a divine messenger ? 
 He makes the furniture float about the room ; 
 he changes that coal into gold ; he projects 
 himself or his image here when he is a thousand 
 miles away. Why, an emissary from the devil 
 might do as much ! It only proves — always 
 supposing he really does these things instead 
 of merely appearing to do . so — it proves that 
 he is better acquainted with natural laws than 
 I am. What if he could kill me by an efibrt 
 of the wUl ? What if he could bring me to 
 life again ? It is always the same ; he might 
 still be morally my inferior ; he might be a 
 false prophet after all.' 
 
 He took out his watch and looked at it, 
 by this simple action illustrating and remind- 
 
48 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 ing me of the difference between us — he talk- 
 ing to pass away the time, I thinking aloud 
 the gnawing question at my heart. 
 
 ' And you have no hope for anything be- 
 yond this ? ' 
 
 Something in my voice must have struck 
 his ear, trained like every other organ of ob- 
 servation to quick and fine perception, for 
 he looked at me more attentively, and it was 
 in a gentler tone that he said — 
 
 ' Surely, you do not mean for a life beyond 
 this ? One's best hope must be that the whole 
 miserable business ends with death.' 
 
 ' Have you found life so wretched ? ' 
 
 ' I am not speaking from my own particular 
 point of view, I am singularly, exceptionally, 
 fortunate. I am healthy ; I have tastes which 
 I can gratify, work which I keenly enjoy. 
 Whether the tastes are worth gratifying or 
 the work worth doing, I cannot say. At least 
 they act as an anodyne to self-consciousness ; 
 they help me to forget the farce in which I 
 play my part. Like Solomon, and all who 
 
THE STRANGER'S GOSPEL 49 
 
 have had the best of life, I call it vanity. 
 What do you suppose it is to those — by far 
 the largest number, remember — ^who have had 
 the worst of it ? To them it is not vanity, 
 it is misery.' 
 
 ' But they suflFer under the invariable laws 
 you speak of — laws working towards deliver- 
 ance and happiness in the future.' 
 
 'The fature? Yes, I know that form of 
 consolation which seems to satisfy so many. 
 To me it seems a hollow one. I have never 
 yet been able to understand how any amount 
 of ecstasy enjoyed by B a million years hence 
 can make up for the torture A is suffering 
 to-day. I suppose, dealing so much with indi- 
 viduals as I do, I am inclined to individualise 
 like a woman. I think of units rather than 
 of the mass. At this moment I have before 
 me a patient now left suffering pain as acute 
 as any the rack ever inflicted. How does it 
 affect his case that centuries later such pain 
 may be unknown ? ' 
 
 ' Of course, the individual's one and only 
 
50 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 hope is a future existence. Then it may be 
 all made up to him.' 
 
 ' I see no reason to hope so. Either there 
 is no God, and we shall still be at the mercy 
 of the blind destiny we suffer under here ; or 
 there is a God, the God who looks on at this 
 world and makes no sign ! The sooner we 
 escape from Him by annihilation the better.' 
 
 ' Christians would teU you He had given a 
 sign.' 
 
 ' Yes ; so they do in words and deny it 
 in deeds. Nothing is sadder in the whole 
 tragedy, or comedy, than these pitiable efforts 
 to hide the truth, to gloss it over with fables 
 which nobody in his heart of hearts believes 
 — at least in these days. Why not face the 
 worst like men ? If we can't help being un- 
 happy, we can help being dishonest and 
 cowardly. Existence is a misfortune. Let 
 us frankly confess that it is, and make the 
 best of it.' 
 
 He was not looking at his watch now ; he 
 was pacing the room. At last, he was in 
 
II THE STRANGER'S GOSPEL 51 
 
 earnest, and had forgotten all accidents of time 
 and place before the same enigma which 
 perplexed myself. 
 
 'The best of it!' I re-echoed. 'Surely, 
 under these circumstances, the best thing 
 would be to commit suicide ? ' 
 
 ' No,' he cried, stopping and turning sharply 
 upon me. 'The worst, because the most 
 cowardly ; so long as you have strength, 
 brains, money — anything with which you can 
 do good.' 
 
 He looked past me through the window 
 into the outer air, no longer faintly tinged, but 
 dyed deep red by the light of the unseen but 
 resplendent sunset, and added slowly, de- 
 jectedly, as if speaking to himself as much as 
 to me — 
 
 ' Yes, there is one thing worth living for — 
 to help to make it all a little more bearable 
 for the others.' 
 
 And then, all at once, his face, so virile yet 
 so delicate, so young and yet so sad, reminded 
 me of one I had seen in an old picture — the face 
 
52 CECILIA DE NOEL chap, 
 
 of an angel watching beside the dead Christ ; 
 and I cried — 
 
 ' But are you certain He has made no sign ; 
 not hundreds of years ago, but in your own 
 lifetime ? not to saint or apostle, but to you, 
 yourself? Has nothing which has happened 
 to you, nothing you have ever seen or read or 
 heard, tempted you to hope in something 
 better?' 
 
 ' Yes,' he said deliberately ; ' I have had my 
 weak moments. My conviction has wavered, 
 not before religious teaching of any kind, how- 
 ever, nor before Nature, in which some people 
 seem to find such promise ; but I have met 
 one or two women, and one man — all of them 
 unknown, unremarkable people — whom the 
 world never heard of, nor is Ukely to hear of, 
 living uneventful obscure lives in out-of-the- 
 way corners. For instance, there is a lady 
 in this very neighbourhood, a relation of 
 Sir George Atherley, I believe, Mrs. de 
 No ' 
 
 ' Her ladyship would like to see you in the 
 
It THE STRANGER'S GOSPEL 53 
 
 drawing-room, sir,' said Castleman, suddenly 
 coming in. 
 
 The doctor bowed to me and immediately 
 left the room. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 MRS. MOSTYNS GOSPEL 
 
 ' No, they have not seen any more ghosts, sir,' 
 replied Castleman scornfully next day, ' and 
 never need have seen any. It is all along of 
 this tea -drinking. We did not have this 
 bother when the women took their beer 
 regular. These teetotallers have done a lot 
 of harm. They ought to be put down by Act 
 of Parliament.' 
 
 And the kitchen-maid was better. Mrs. 
 Mallet, indeed, assured Lady Atherley that 
 Hann was not long for this world, having 
 turned just the same colour as the late Mr. 
 Mallet did on the eve of his death ; but 
 fortunately the patient herself, as well as the 
 doctor, took a more hopeful view of the case. 
 
CHAP. Ill MRS. MOSTYN'S GOSPEL 55 
 
 ' I can see Mrs. Mallet is a horrible old 
 croaker,' said Lady Atherley. 
 
 ' Let her croak,' said Atherley, ' so long as 
 she cooks as she did last night. That curry 
 would have got her absolution for anything if 
 your uncle had been here.' 
 
 'That reminds me, G-eorge, the ceiling of 
 the spare room is not mended yet.' 
 
 ' Why, I thought you sent to Whitford for 
 a plasterer yesterday ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, and he came ; but Mrs. Mallet has 
 some extraordinary story about his falling into 
 his bucket and spoiling his Sunday coat, and 
 going home at once to change it. I can't 
 make it out, but nothing is done to the 
 celling.' 
 
 ' I make it out,' said Atherley ; ' I make out 
 that he was a little the worse for drink. 
 Have we not a plasterer in the village ? ' 
 
 ' I think there is one, I fancy the Jacksons 
 did not wish us to employ him, because he is 
 a dissenter ; but after all, giving him work is 
 not the same as giving him presents.' 
 
56 CECILIA DE NOEL chap 
 
 ' No, indeed ; nor do I see why, because lie 
 is a dissenter, I, who am only an infidel, am 
 to put up with a hole in my ceiling.' 
 
 ' Only, I don't know what his name is.' 
 
 'His name is Smart. Everybody in our 
 village is called Smart — most inappropriately 
 too.' 
 
 'No, George, the man the doctor told us 
 about who is so dangerously iU is called 
 Monk.' 
 
 ' I am glad to hear it ; but he doesn't 
 belong to our parish, though he lives so close. 
 He is actually in Eood Warren. His cottage 
 is at the other side of the Common.' 
 
 'Then we can leave the wine and things 
 as we go. And, George, while the boys are 
 having tea with Aunt Eleanour, I think I 
 shall drive on to Quarley Beacon and try 
 and persuade Cecilia to come back and spend 
 the night with us. I think we could manage 
 to put her up in the little blue dressing- 
 room. She is so good-natured; she won't 
 mind its being so small.' 
 
Ill MRS. MOSTYN'S GOSPEL 57 
 
 ' Yes, do ; I want Lyndsay to see her. 
 And give my best love to Aunt Eleanour, 
 and say that if she is going to send me any 
 more tracts against Popery, I should be 
 extremely obliged if she would prepay the 
 postage sufficiently.' 
 
 ' Oh no, George, I could not. It was 
 only threepence.' 
 
 • Well, then, tell her it is no good sending 
 any at all, because I have made up my 
 mind to go over to Rome next July.' 
 
 'No, Greorge; she might not like it, and 
 I don't believe you are going to do any- 
 thing of the kind. Oh, are you off already ? 
 I thought you would settle something about 
 the plasterer.' 
 
 ' No, no ; I can't think of plasterers and 
 repairs to-day. Even the galley-slave has 
 his holiday — this is mine. I am going to 
 see the hounds throw off at Eood Acre, 
 and forget for one day that I have an inch 
 of landed property in the world.' 
 
 'But, George, if the pink -room ceiling 
 
58 CECILIA DE NOEL ■ 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 is not put right by Saturday, where shall 
 we put Uncle Augustus ? ' 
 
 ' Into the room just opposite to Lindy's.' 
 
 ' What ! that little room ? In the bachelor's 
 passage? A man of his age, and of his 
 position ! ' 
 
 ' I am sure it is large enough for any one 
 under a bishop. Besides, I don't think he 
 is fussy about anything except his dinner.' 
 
 ' It is not the way he is accustomed to be 
 treated when he is on a visit, I can assure 
 you. He is a person who is generally con- 
 sidered a great deal.' 
 
 'Well, I consider him a great deal. I 
 consider him one of the finest old heathen 
 I ever knew.' 
 
 Fortunately for their domestic peace, 
 Lady Atherley usually misses the points of 
 her husband's speeches, but there are some 
 which jar upon her sense of the becoming, 
 and this was one of them. 
 
 'I don't think,' she observed to me, the 
 offender himself having escaped, 'that even 
 
Ill MRS. MOSTYN'S GOSPEL 59 
 
 if Uncle Augustus were not my uncle, a 
 heathen is a proper name to call a clergyman, 
 especially a canon — and one who is so looked 
 up to in the Church. Have you ever heard 
 him preach ? But you must have heard 
 about him, and about his sermons? I 
 thought so. They are beautiful. When he 
 preaches the church is crammed, and with 
 the best people — in the season, when they 
 are in town. And he has written a great 
 many religious books too — sermons and 
 hymns and manuals. There is a little book 
 in red morocco you may have seen in my 
 sitting-room — I know it was there a week 
 ago — which he gave me, The lAfe of Prayer, 
 with a short meditation and a hymn for 
 every hour of the day — all composed by 
 him. We don't see so much of him as I 
 could wish. He is so grieved about George's 
 views. He gave him some of his own 
 sermons, but of course George would not 
 look at them ; and — so annoying — the last 
 time he came I put the sermons, two 
 
6o CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 beautiful large volumes of them, on the 
 drawing-room table, and when we were all 
 there after dinner George asked me quite 
 loud what these smart books were, and 
 where they came from ? So altogether he 
 has not come to see us for a long time; 
 but as he happened to be staying with the 
 Mountshires, I begged biTin to come over 
 for a night or two ; so you will hear him 
 preach on Sunday.' 
 
 At lunch that day Lady Atherley proposed 
 that I should accompany them to Woodcote. 
 ' Do come, Mr. Lyndsay,' said Denis. ' We shall 
 have cakes for tea, and jam-sandwiches as well.' 
 
 'And there is an awfully joUy banister 
 for sliding down,' added Harold, 'without 
 any turns or landing, you know.' 
 
 I professed myself unable to resist such 
 inducements. Indeed, I was almost glad to 
 go. The recollection of Mrs. Mostyn's cheer- 
 ful face was as alluring to me that day 
 as the thought of a glowing hearth might 
 be to the beggar on the door -step. Here, 
 
in MRS. MOSTYN'S GOSPEL 6i 
 
 at least, was one to whom life was a 
 blessing; wlio partook of all it could bestow 
 with an appetite as healthfully keen as 
 her nephew's, but without his disinclination 
 or disregard for anything besides. 
 
 The mild March day felt milder, the rooks 
 cawed more cheerfully, and the spring flowers 
 shone out more fearlessly around us when 
 we had passed through the white gates of 
 Woodcote — a favoured spot gently declining 
 to the sunniest quarter, and sheltered from 
 the north and north-east by barricades of 
 elm-woods. The tiny domain was exquisitely 
 ordered, as I love to see everything which 
 appertains to woman ; and within the low 
 white house, furnished after the simple and 
 stiff fashion of a past generation, reigned the 
 same dainty neatness, the same sunny cheer- 
 fulness, the native atmosphere of its chate- 
 laine Mrs. Mostyn — a white-haired old lady 
 long past seventy, with the bloom of youth on 
 her cheek, its vivacity in her step, and its 
 sparkle in her eyes. 
 
62 CECILIA DE NOEL 
 
 Hardly were the first greetiags exchanged 
 when the children opened the ball of con- 
 versation by inquiring eagerly when tea 
 would be ready. 
 
 'How can you be so greedy?' said their 
 mother. ' Why, you have only just finished 
 your dinner.' 
 
 'We dined at half- past one, and it is 
 nearly half-past three.' 
 
 ' Poor darlings ! ' cried Mrs. Mostyn, re- 
 garding them with the enraptured gaze of the 
 true child-lover ; ' their drive has made them 
 hungry; and we cannot have tea very well 
 before half-past four, because some old women 
 from the village have come up to have tea, 
 and the servants are busy attending to them. 
 But I can tell you what you could do, dears. 
 You know the way to the dairy ; one of the 
 maids is sure to be there ; tell her to give you 
 some cream. You will like that, won't you ? 
 Yes, you can go out by this door.' 
 
 ' And remember to ' 
 
 Lady Atherley's exhortation remained un- 
 
Ill MRS. MOSTYN'S GOSPEL 63 
 
 finished, her sons having darted through the 
 door-window like arrows from the bow. 
 
 ' Since Miss Jones has been gone for her 
 holiday the children are quite unmanageable,' 
 she observed. 
 
 ' Oh, it is such a good sign ! ' cried Mrs. 
 Mostyn heartily ; ' it shows they are so 
 thoroughly well. Mr. Lyndsay, why have 
 you chosen that uncomfortable chair ? Come 
 and sit over beside me, if you are not afraid 
 of the fire. And now, Jane, my love, tell me 
 how you are getting on at Weald ? ' 
 
 Then followed a long catalogue of accidents 
 and disappointments, of faithlessness and 
 incapacity, to which Mrs. Mostyn supplied a 
 running commentary of interjections sym- 
 pathetic and consoling. There were, more- 
 over, many changes for the worse since Sir 
 Marmaduke had resided there : the shooting 
 and the fishing had been alike neglected ; the 
 farmers were impoverished ; the old places had 
 changed hands. 
 
 ' And a good many quite new people have 
 
64 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 come to live in small houses round Weald/ 
 said Lady Atherley. 'They have left cards 
 on us. Do you know what they are like ? ' 
 
 ' Quite ladies and gentlemen, I believe, 
 and nice enough as long as you don't get to 
 know them too intimately; but they are 
 always quarrelling.' 
 
 'About what?' 
 
 'About everything; but especially about 
 church matters — decorations and anthems and 
 other rubbish. What they want is less of the 
 church and more of the Bible.' 
 
 'I believe Mr. Jackson has a Bible -class 
 every week.' 
 
 ' But is it a Bible-class, or is it only called 
 so ? There is Mr. Austyn at Eood Warren, a 
 Romanist in disguise if ever there was one : 
 he is by way of having a Bible-class, and one 
 of our farmers' daughters attended it. " And 
 what part of the Bible are you stud5dng 
 now ? " I asked her. " We are studying early 
 church history." "I don't know any such 
 chapter in the Bible as that," I said, and yet 
 
in MRS. MOSTYN'S GOSPEL 65 
 
 I know my Bible pretty well. She explained it 
 was a continuation of the Acts of the Apostles. 
 I said : " My dear child, don't you be misled by 
 any jugglery of that kind; there is no continua- 
 tion of the Bible ; and as to what people call 
 the early church, its doings and sayings are of 
 no consequence at all. The one question we 
 have to ask ourselves is this : ' What does the 
 Book say V What is in the Book is God's word : 
 what is not in the Book is only man's." ' 
 
 The effect of this exposition on Lady 
 Atherley was to make her ask eagerly whether 
 the curate in charge at Eood Warren was one 
 of the Austyns of Temple Leigh. 
 
 ' I believe he is a nephew,' Mrs. Mostyn 
 admitted, quite gloomily for her. ' It is 
 painful to see people of good standing going 
 astray in this manner.' 
 
 ' I was thinking it would be so convenient 
 to get a young man over to dinner some- 
 times ; and Kood Warren cannot be very far 
 from us, for one of Mr. Austyn's parishioner^ 
 lives just at the end of Weald,' 
 
66 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 ' If you take my advice, my dearest Jane, 
 you will not have anything to do with him. 
 He is certain to be attractive — men of that 
 sort always are ; and there is no saying what 
 he might do : perhaps gain an influence over 
 George himself.' 
 
 'I don't think there need be any fear of 
 that, for at dinner, you know, we need not 
 have any religious discussions ; I never will 
 have them ; they are almost as bad as politics, 
 they make people so cross.' 
 
 Then she rose and explained her visit to 
 Mrs. de Noel. 
 
 'But, Mr. Lyndsay,' said Mrs. Mostyn, 
 ' are you going to desert the old woman for 
 the young one, or are you going to stay and 
 see my gardens and have tea ? That is right. 
 Good-bye, my dearest Jane. Give my dear 
 love to Cissy, and tell her to come over and 
 see me — but I shall have a glimpse of her on 
 your way back' 
 
 ' I hope Mrs. de Noel may be persuaded to 
 come back,' I said, as the carriage drove off, 
 
Ill MRS. MOSTYN'S GOSPEL 67 
 
 and we walked along a gravel path by lawns 
 of velvet smoothness ; ' I would so much like 
 to meet her.' 
 
 ' Have you never met her ? Dear Cecilia ! 
 She is a sweet creature — the sweetest, I think, 
 I ever met, though perhaps I ought not to 
 say so of my own niece. She wants but one 
 thing — the grace of God.' 
 
 We passed into a little wood, tapestried 
 with ivy, carpeted with clustering primroses, 
 and she continued — 
 
 ' It is most mysterious. Both Cecilia and 
 George, being left orphans so early, were 
 brought up by my dear sister Henrietta. 
 She was a believing Christian, and no children 
 ever had greater religious advantages than 
 these two. As soon as they could speak 
 they learnt hymns or texts of Scripture, and 
 before they could read they knew whole 
 chapters of the Bible by heart. George even 
 now, I will say that for him, knows his Bible 
 better than a good many clergymen. And 
 the Sabbath, too. They were taught to 
 
68 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 reverence the Lord's day in a way children 
 never are nowadays. All games and picture- 
 books put away on Saturday night ; regularly 
 to church morning and afternoon, and in the 
 evening Henrietta would talk to them and 
 question them about the sermon. And after 
 all, here is George who says he believes in 
 nothing ; and as to Cecilia, I never can make 
 out what she does or does not believe. How- 
 ever, I am quite happy in my mind about 
 them. I feel they are of the elect. I am as 
 certain of their salvation as I am of my 
 own. 
 
 A sudden scampering of feet upon the 
 gravel was followed by the appearance of the 
 boys, rosy with exercise and excitement. 
 
 ' Well, my darling boys, have you had your 
 cream ? ' 
 
 ' Oh yes. Aunt Eleanour,' cried Harold, ' and 
 we have been into the farm -yard and seen 
 the little pigs. Such jolly little beasts, Mr. 
 Lyndsay, and squeak so funnUy when you pull 
 their taUs.' 
 
Ill MRS. MOSTYN'S GOSPEL 69 
 
 * Oil, but I can't have my pigs unkindly 
 treated.' 
 
 ' Not unkindly, auntie,' cried Denis, swing- 
 ing affectionately upon my arm ; ' we only 
 just tried to make their tails go straight, you 
 know. And, Mr. Lyndsay, there is such a 
 dear little baby calf.' 
 
 ' But I want to give apples to the horses,' 
 cried Harold. 
 
 So we went to the fruit-house for apples, 
 which Mrs. Mostyn herself selected from an upper 
 shelf, mounting a ladder with equal agUity and 
 grace ; then to the stables, where these dainties 
 were crunched by two very fat carriage-horses ; 
 then to the miniature farm -yard, and the tiny 
 ivy-covered dairy beyond ; and just as I was 
 beginning to feel the first qualms of my be- 
 setting humiliation, fatigue, Mrs. Mostyn led us 
 round to the garden — a garden with high red 
 walls, and a dial in the meeting-place of the 
 flower-bordered paths ; and we sat down in a 
 rustic seat cosily fitted into one sunny corner, 
 just behind a great bed of hyacinths in flower. 
 
70 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 The children had but one regret : Tip had 
 been left behind. 
 
 ' But mamma would not let us bring him,' 
 cried Harold in an aggrieved tone, ' because he 
 wUl roll in the flower-beds.' 
 
 'Do you think it is nearly half-past four, 
 A.unt Eleanour ? ' asked Denis, 
 
 ' Very nearly, I should think. Suppose you 
 were to go and see if they have brought the 
 tea-kettle in ; and if they have, call to me from 
 the drawing-room window, and I will come.' 
 
 The tempered sunlight fell full upon the 
 delicate hyacinth clusters — coral, snow-white, 
 and faintest lilac — exhaling their exquisite 
 odour, and the warm sweet air seemed to 
 enwrap us tenderly. My spirits, heavy as 
 lead, began to rise — strangely, irrationally. 
 Sunlight has always for me a supersensuous 
 beauty, while the colour and perfume of flowers 
 move me as sound vibrations move the 
 musician. Just then it was to me as if through 
 Nature, from that which is behind Nature, there 
 reached me a pitying, a comforting caress. 
 
nt MRS. MOSTYN'S GOSPEL 71 
 
 And in tlie same key were Mrs. Mostyn's 
 words when she next spoke. 
 
 'Mr. Lyndsay, I am an old woman and 
 you are very young, and my heart goes out to 
 all young creatures in sorrow, especially to one 
 who has no mother of his own, no, nor father 
 even, to comfort him. I know what trouble 
 you have had. Would you be oflfended if I 
 said how deeply I felt for you ? ' 
 
 ' Oflfended, Mrs. Mostyn ! ' 
 
 ' No. I see you understand me ; you will 
 not think me obtrusive when I say that 1 
 pray this great trial may be for your lasting 
 good ; may lead you to seek and to find 
 salvation. The truth is brought home to us 
 in many diflferent ways, by many diflferent 
 instruments. My own eyes were opened by 
 very extraordinary means.' 
 
 She was silent for a few instants, and then 
 went on — 
 
 ' When I was young, Mr. Lyndsay, I lived 
 for the world only. I went to church, of 
 course, like other people, and said my prayers 
 
72 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 and called myself a Christian, but I did not 
 know what the word meant. My sister 
 Henrietta would often talk seriously to me, 
 but it had no effect, and she was quite 
 grieved over my hardened state ; but my dear 
 mother, a true saint, used to tell her to have 
 no fear, that some day I should be sharply 
 awakened to my soul's danger. But it was 
 not till years after she was in heaven that her 
 words came true. ' 
 
 I looked at her and waited. 
 
 ' We were stUl living at Weald Manor 
 with my brother Marmaduke, and we had 
 young people staying with us. They were all 
 going — all but myself — to a ball at Car- 
 chester. I stayed at home because I had a 
 slight cold, which made me feel tired and 
 feverish, and disinclined to be dancing till early 
 next morning. I went to bed early, and when I 
 had sent away my maid I sat beside the fire for 
 a little, thinking. You know the long gallery ? ' 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 ' My room was there ; so I was quite alone. 
 
HI MRS. MOSTYN'S GOSPEL 73 
 
 for the servants slept, just as they do now, in 
 the opposite end of the house. But I had my 
 dog with me, such a dear little thing, a black- 
 and-tan terrier. He was lying asleep on the 
 rug beside me. Well, all at once he got up 
 and put his head on one side as if he heard 
 something, and he began barking. I only 
 said, "Nonsense, Totty, lie down," and paid 
 no more attention to him, till some moments 
 afterwards he made a strange kind of noise as 
 if he were trying to bark and was choked in 
 some way. This made me look at him, and 
 then I observed that he was trembling from 
 head to foot, and staring in the strangest way 
 at something behind me. I will honestly tell 
 you he made me feel so uncomfortable I was 
 afraid to look round ; and still it was almost 
 as bad to sit there and not look round ; so at 
 last I summoned up courage and turned my 
 head. Then I saw it.' 
 
 ' The ghost ? ' 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 ' What was it like ? ' 
 
74 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 ' It was like a shadow, only darker, and 
 not lying against the wall as a shadow 
 would do, but standing out from it in the air. 
 It stood a little way from me in a corner of 
 the room. It was in the shape of a man, with 
 a ruff round his neck, and sleeves puflFed out at 
 the shoulders, as you often see in old pictures ; 
 but I don't remember much about that, for at 
 the time I could think of nothing but the face.' 
 
 ' And that ? ' 
 
 'That was simply dreadful. I can't tell 
 you what it was like. I could not have 
 imagioed it if I had not seen it. It was the 
 look — the look in its eyes. After aU these 
 years it makes me tremble when I think of it. 
 But what I felt was not the same nervous 
 feeling which made me afraid to turn round. 
 It went much deeper — ^indeed it went deeper 
 than anything in my life had ever gone 
 before; it went right down to my soul, in 
 fact, and made me feel I had a soul.' 
 
 She had turned quite pale. 
 
 'Yes, Mr. Lyndsay, strange as it sounds. 
 
»t MRS. MOSTYN'S GOSPEL 75 
 
 the mere sight of that face made me realise 
 in an instant what I had read and heard 
 thousands of times, and what my mother and 
 Henrietta had told me over and over again 
 about the utter nothingness of earthly aims 
 and comforts — of what in an ordinary way is 
 called life. I had heard very fine sermons 
 preached about the same thing : " What is 
 our life, it is even a vapour," and the " vain 
 shadow " in which we walk. Have you ever 
 thought how we can go on hearing and even 
 repeating true and wise words without getting 
 at their real sense, and, what is worse, with- 
 out suspecting our own ignorance ? ' 
 
 ' I know it well.' 
 
 ' When Henrietta used to say that the 
 whirl of worldly occupations and interests 
 and amusements in which I was so engrossed 
 did not deserve to be called life, and could 
 never satisfy the eternal soul within me, it 
 used to seem to me an exaggerated way of 
 saying that the next world would be better 
 than this one ; but I saw the meaning of her 
 
76 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 words, I saw the truth of them, as I see these 
 flowers before me, and feel the gravel under my 
 feet : it came to me in a moment, the night 
 these terrible eyes looked into mine. The 
 feeling did not last, but I have never for- 
 gotten it, and never shall. It was as if a 
 veil were lifted for an instant, and I was 
 standing outside of my life and looking back 
 at it; and it seemed so poor and worthless 
 and unreal — I can't explain myself properly.' 
 ' And did the figure remain for any time ? ' 
 'I do not know. I think I must have 
 fainted. They found me lying in a half- 
 unconscious state in my chair when they 
 came home. J was Ul in bed for weeks with 
 what the doctors call low fever. But neither 
 the fever nor anything else could remove the 
 impression that had been made. That terrible 
 thing was a blessed messenger to me. My real 
 conversion was not till years later, but the 
 way was prepared by the great shock I then 
 received, and which roused me to a sense of 
 my danger.' 
 
HI MRS. MOSTYN'S GOSPEL 77 
 
 'What do you think the thing you saw 
 was, Mrs. Mostyn ? ' 
 
 ' The ghost ? ' 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 Slowly, thoughtfully, she answered me — 
 
 ' I am certain it was a lost soul : nothing 
 else could have worn that dreadful look.' 
 
 She paused for a few moments and then 
 continued — 
 
 ' Perhaps you are one of those who do not 
 believe in the punishment of sin ? ' 
 
 ' Who can disbelieve it, Mrs. Mostyn ? Call 
 it what we like, it is a fact. It confronts us 
 on every side. We might as well refuse to 
 believe in death.' 
 
 ' It is not that I meant ! I was talking of 
 punishment in the next world, Mr. Lyndsay.' 
 
 ' Well, there, too, no doubt it must continue, 
 until the uttermost farthing is paid. I believe 
 — at least I hope — that' 
 
 She shook her head with a troubled ex- 
 pression. 
 
 ' There is no paying that debt in the next 
 
78 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 world. It can only be paid here. Here, a free 
 pardon is offered to us, and if we do not accept 
 
 it, then It is the fashion, even among 
 
 believers, nowadays to avoid this awfiil 
 subject. Preachers of the Gospel do not speak 
 of it in the pulpit as they once did. It is con- 
 sidered too shocking for our modem notions. 
 I have no patience with such weakness, such 
 foUy — worse than folly. It seems to me even 
 more wrong to try and hide this terrible 
 danger from ourselves and from others than to 
 deny it a,ltogether, as some poor deluded souls 
 do. Mr. Lyndsay, have you ever realised what 
 the place of torment will be like ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; once, Mrs. Mostyn,' 
 
 ' You were in pain ? ' 
 
 ' I suppose it was pain,' I said. 
 
 For always, when anything revives this 
 recollection, seared into my memory, the 
 question rises : was it merely pain, physical 
 pain, of which we all speak so easily and 
 lightly? It lasted only ten minutes; ten 
 minutes by the clock, that is. For me time 
 
Ill MRS. MOSTYN'S GOSPEL 79 
 
 was annihilated. There was no past or future, 
 but only an intolerable present, in which mind 
 and soul were blotted out, and all of sentient 
 existence that remained was the animal con- 
 sciousness of agony. I cannot share men's 
 stoical contempt for a Gehenna which is 
 nothing worse. 
 
 ' Mr. Lyndsay, imagine pain, worse than any 
 ever endured on earth going on and on, for ever ! ' 
 
 A bird, not a thrush, but one of the minor 
 singers, lighting on a bough near us, trilled 
 one simple but ecstatic phrase. 
 
 'Do you really and truly believe, Mrs. 
 Mostyn, that this will be the fate of any single 
 being ? ' 
 
 ' Of any single being ? Do we not know 
 that it is what will happen to the greatest 
 number. For what does the Book say? 
 " Many are called but few are chosen." ' 
 
 Through the still, mild air, across the 
 sun -steeped gardens, came the voices of the 
 children — 
 
 • Aunt Eleanour ! Aunt Eleanour ! ' 
 
8o CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 ' Many are called,' she repeated, ' but few 
 are chosen ; and those who are not chosen 
 shall be cast into everlasting fire.' 
 
 There was a pause. She turned to look at 
 me, and, as if struck by something in my face, 
 said gently, soothingly : 
 
 * Yes, it is a terrible thought, but only for 
 the unregenerate. It has no terror for me. 
 I trust it need have no terror for you. After 
 all, how simple, how easy is the way of escape ! 
 You have only to believe.' 
 
 'And then?' 
 
 ' And then you are safe, safe for evermore. 
 Think of that. The foolish people who wish 
 to explain away eternal punishment, forget 
 that at the same time they explain away 
 eternal happiness ! You will be safe now, and 
 after death you will be in heaven for evermore.' 
 
 'I shaU be in heaven for evermore, and 
 always there will be hell.' 
 
 'Yes.'. 
 
 ' Where the others will be ? ' 
 
 ' What others ? Only the wicked I ' 
 
in MRS. MOSTYN'S GOSPEL 8i 
 
 * Aunt Eleanour ! Aunt Eleanour ! ' called 
 the children once more. 
 
 ' I must go to them ! But, Mr. Lyndsay, 
 think over what I have said.' 
 
 And I remained and obeyed her, and be- 
 held, entire, distinct, the spectre that drives 
 men to madness or despair — illimitable omni- 
 potent Malice. In its shadow the colour of 
 the flowers was quenched, and the music of 
 the birds rang false. Yet it wore the con- 
 secration of time and authority ! What if it 
 were true ? 
 
 'Mr. Lyndsay,' said Denis at my elbow, 
 'Aunt Eleanour has sent me to fetch you 
 to tea. Mr. Lyndsay, do you hear ? Why 
 do you look so strange ? ' 
 
 He caught my hand anxiously as he spoke, 
 and by that little human touch the spell was 
 broken. The phantom vanished ; and, looking 
 into the child's eyes, I felt it was a lie. 
 
 G 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 CANON VERNADe's GOSPEL 
 
 There was no Mrs. de Noel in the carriage 
 when it returned ; she had gone to London to 
 stay with Mrs. Donnithorne, whom Atherley 
 spoke of as Aunt Henrietta, and was not ex- 
 pected home till Wednesday. 
 
 'I am sorry,' Lady Atherley observed, as 
 we drove home through the dusk ; ' I should 
 like to have had her here when Uncle 
 Augustus was with" us. I would have asked 
 Mrs. Mostyn to dine with us, but I am not 
 sure she and Uncle Augustus would get on. 
 When her sister, Mrs. Donnithorne, met Uncle 
 Augustus and his wife at lunch at our house 
 once, she said she thought no minister of the 
 Gospel ought to allow his child to take part 
 
CHAP. IV CANON VERNADE'S GOSPEL 83 
 
 in worldly amusements or ceremonials. It 
 was very awkward, because Uncle Augustus's 
 eldest girl had been presented only the day 
 before. And Aunt Clara, Uncle Augustus's 
 wife, you know, who is rather quick, said it 
 depended whether the minister of the Grospel 
 was a gentleman or a shoe-black, because Mrs. 
 Donnithorne was attending a dissenting chapel 
 then where the preacher was quite a common 
 uneducated sort of person. And after that 
 they would not talk to each other, and alto- 
 gether, I remember, it was very unpleasant. 
 I do think it is such a pity,' cried Lady 
 Atherley with real feeling, ' when people will 
 take up these extreme religious views as all 
 the Atherleys do. I am sure it is quite a 
 comfort to have some one like you in the 
 house, Mr. Lyndsay, who is not particular 
 about religion,' 
 
 ' If this is the best Aunt Eleanour has to 
 show in the way of a ghost, she does well 
 to keep so quiet about it,' was Atherley 's 
 
84 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 comment on that part of the story which, by 
 special permission, I repeated to him next 
 day. ' I never heard a weaker ghost story. 
 She explains the whole thing away as she 
 tells it. She was, as she candidly admits, ill 
 and feverish — sickening for a fever, in fact, 
 when the most rational person's senses are apt 
 to play them strange tricks. She is alone at 
 the dead of night in a house she believes to be 
 haunted ; and then her dog — an odious little 
 beast, I remember him well, always barking 
 at something or nothing ; — the dog suggests 
 there is somebody near. She looks round 
 into a dark part of the room, and naturally, 
 inevitably — aU things considered — sees a 
 ghost. Did you say it wore a ruff and puffed 
 sleeves ? ' 
 
 ' So Mrs. Mostyn said.' 
 
 ' Of course, because, as I told you. Aunt 
 Eleanour believed in the Elizabethan portrait 
 theory. If it had been Aunt Henrietta, the 
 ghost would have been in armour. Ghosts 
 and all visitors from the other world obligingly 
 
IV CANON VERNADE'S GOSPEL 85 
 
 correspond with the preconceived notions of 
 the visionary. When a white robe and a halo 
 were considered the proper celestial outfit, 
 saints and angels always appeared with white 
 robes and halos. In the same way, the 
 African savage, who believes in a god with a 
 crooked leg, always sees him in dreams, 
 waking or asleep, with a crooked leg ; and ' 
 
 Here we were interrupted by a great stir 
 in the hall outside, and Lady Atherley looked 
 in to explain that the carriage with Uncle 
 Augustus was just coming down the drive. 
 
 Her manner reminded me of the full im- 
 portance of this arrival, as well as of the 
 unfortunate circumstance that, owing to the 
 iU-timed absence of the dissenting plasterer, 
 the Canon must be lodged in the little room 
 opposite to my own. 
 
 However, when I went into the drawing- 
 room, I found him accepting his niece's 
 apologies and explanations with great good- 
 humour. To me also he was especially 
 gracious. 
 
86 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 ' I had the pleasure of dining at Lindesford, 
 Mr. Lyndsay, when you must have been in 
 long clothes. I remember we had some of the 
 finest trout I ever tasted. Are they still as 
 good in your river ? ' 
 
 His voice, like himself, was massive and 
 impressive; his bearing and manner inspired 
 me with wistful admiration : what must life 
 be to a man so self-confident, and so rightly 
 self-confident ? 
 
 ' Is not Uncle Augustus a fine-looking man? ' 
 asked Lady Atherley, when he had left the 
 room with Atherley. ' I cannot think why they 
 do not make him a bishop ; he would look so 
 weU in the robes. He ought to have had 
 something when the last ministry was in, for 
 Aunt Clara and Lord Lingford are cousins ; 
 but, unfortunately, the families were on bad 
 terms because of a lawsuit.' 
 
 The morning after was bright and fair, so 
 that sunlight mingled with the drowsy calm — 
 Sunday in the country as we remember it, 
 looking lovingly back from lands that are not 
 
IV CANON VERNADE'S GOSPEL 87 
 
 English to the tenderer side of the Puritan 
 Sabbath. But I missed my little auhade from 
 the lawn, and not till breakfast-time did I 
 behold my small friends, who then came into 
 the breakfast-room, one on either side of their 
 mother — two miniature saUors, exquisitely neat 
 but visibly dejected. Behind walked Tip, 
 demurely recognising the change in the atmo- 
 sphere, but, undisturbed thereby, he at once, 
 with his usual air of self-satisfied dignity, 
 assumed his place in the largest arm-chair. 
 
 ' The landau could take us all to church 
 except you, George,' said Lady Atherley, 
 looking thoughtfully into the fire as we waited 
 for breakfast and the Canon. ' But I suppose 
 you would prefer to walk ? ' 
 
 ' Why should you suppose I am going to 
 church, either walking or driving ? ' 
 
 ' Well, I certainly hoped you would have 
 gone to-day ; as Uncle Augustus is going to 
 preach it seems only polite to do so.' 
 
 ' Well, I don't mind ; I daresay it will do 
 me no harm ; and if it is understood I attend 
 
88 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 only out of consideration for my wife's uncle, 
 then ' 
 
 He was interrupted by tlie entrance of the 
 person in question. 
 
 Many times during breakfast Denis looked 
 thoughtfully at his great-uncle, and at last 
 inquired — 
 
 ' Do you preach very long sermons, Uncle 
 Augustus ? ' 
 
 ' They are not generally considered so,' 
 replied the Canon with some dignity. 
 
 ' Denis, I have often told you not to ask 
 questions,' said Lady Atherley. 
 
 ' When I am grown up,' remarked Harold, 
 ' I will be an atheist.' 
 
 ' Do you know what an atheist is ? ' inquired 
 his father. 
 
 ' Yes, it is people who never go to church.' 
 
 'But they go to lecture-room, which you 
 would find worse.' 
 
 ' But they don't have sermons.' 
 
 ' Don't they ? Hours long, especially when 
 they bury each other.' 
 
IV CANON VERNADE'S GOSPEL 89 
 
 ' Oh ! ' said Harold, evidently taken aback, 
 and somewhat reconciled to the church. 
 
 ' When I am grown up,' said Denis, ' I 
 mean to be the same church as Aunt Cissy.' 
 
 ' And what may that be ? ' inquired the 
 Canon. 
 
 Denis was silent and looked perplexed ; but 
 some time afterwards, when we were talking 
 of other things, he called out, with the joy of 
 one who has captured that elusive thing, a 
 definition : 
 
 ' In Aunt Cissy's church they climb trees 
 and make tofiee on Sundays.' 
 
 After which Lady Atherley seemed glad 
 to take them both away with her. 
 
 It was perhaps this remark that led the 
 Canon to ask, on the way to church — 
 
 ' Is it true that Mrs. de Noel attends a 
 dissenting chapel ? ' 
 
 'No,' said Lady Atherley. 'But I know 
 why people say so. She lent a field last year 
 to the Methodists to have their camp-meeting 
 in.' 
 
go CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 ' Oh ! but that is a pity,' said the Canon. 
 ' A very great pity — a person in her position 
 encouraging dissent, especially when there is 
 no real occasion for it. Clara's nephew, young 
 Littlemore, did something of the kind last 
 year, but then he was standing for the county ; 
 and though that hardly justifies, it excuses, a 
 little pandering to the multitude.' 
 
 'Cissy only let them have it once,' said 
 Lady Atherley, as if making the best of it. 
 ' And, indeed, I believe it rained so hard that 
 day they were not able to have the meeting 
 after all.' 
 
 Then the carriage stopped before the lych- 
 gate, through which the fresh -faced school 
 children were trooping; and whUe the. bell 
 clanged its last monotonous summons, we 
 walked up between the village graves to the 
 old church porch that older yews overshadow, 
 where the village lads were loitering, as 
 Sunday after Sunday their sleeping fore- 
 fathers had loitered before them. 
 
 We worshipped that morning in a magnifi- 
 
IV CANON VERNADE'S GOSPEL 91 
 
 cent pew to one side of the chancel, and quite 
 as large, from which we enjoyed a full view of 
 clergy and congregation. The former consisted 
 of the Canon, Mr. Jackson, clergyman of the 
 parish, and a young man I had not seen before. 
 Not a large number had mustered to hear the 
 Canon ; the front seats were well filled by men 
 and women in goodly apparel, but in the 
 pews behind and in the side aisles there was a 
 mere sprinkling of worshippers in the Sunday 
 dress of country labourers. Our supplications 
 were offered with as little ritualistic pageantry 
 as Mrs. Mostyn herself could have desired, 
 though the choir probably sang oftener and 
 better than she would have approved. In 
 spite of their efforts it was as uninspiring a 
 service as I have ever taken part in. This was 
 not due, as might be suspected, to Atherley's 
 presence, for his demeanour was irreproach- 
 able. His little sons, delighted at having 
 him with them, carefully found his places for 
 him in prayer and hymn-book, and kept watch 
 that he did not lose them afterwards, so that 
 
92 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 he perforce assumed a really edifying degree of 
 attention. Nor, indeed, did the rest of the 
 congregation err in the direction of restless- 
 ness or wandering looks, but rather in the 
 opposite extreme, insomuch that during the 
 litany, when we were no longer supported by 
 music, and had, most of us, assumed attitudes 
 favourable to repose, we appeared one and all 
 to succumb to it, especially towards the close, 
 when, from the body of the church at least, 
 only the aged clerk was heard to cry for 
 mercy. But with the third service there came 
 a change, which reminded me of how once yo. a 
 foreign cathedral, when the procession filed 
 by — the singing-men nudging each other, the 
 standard-bearers giggling, and the English 
 tourists craning to see the sight — the face of 
 one white-haired old bishop beneath his 
 canopy transformed for me a foolish piece of 
 mummery into a prayer in action. So it was 
 again, when the young stranger turned to us 
 his pale clear-cut face, solemn with an awe as 
 rapt as if he verily stood before the throne of 
 
IV CANON VERNADE'S GOSPEL 93 
 
 Him he called upon, and felt Its glory beating 
 on his face ; then, by that one earnest and 
 believing presence, all was transformed and 
 redeemed ; the old emblems recovered their 
 first significance, the time-worn phrases 
 glowed with life again, and we ourselves 
 were altered — our very heaviness was pathetic : 
 it was the lethargy of death itself, and our 
 poor sleepy prayers the strain of manacled 
 captives striving to be free. 
 
 The Canon's sermon did not maintain 
 this high-strung mood, though why not it 
 would be difficult to say. Like all his, it was 
 eloquent, brilliant even, declaimed by a fine 
 voice of wide compass, whose varying tones he 
 used with the skill of a practised orator. The 
 text was ' Our conversation is in Heaven,' its 
 theme the contrast between the man of this 
 world, with his heart fixed upon its pomps, 
 its vanities, its honours, and the believer 
 indifierent to all these, esteeming them as 
 dross merely compared to the heavenly 
 treasure, the one thing needful. Certainly 
 
94 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 the utter wortUessness of the prizes for which 
 men labour and so late take rest, barter their 
 happiness, their peace, their honour, was never 
 more scathingly depicted. I remember the 
 organ-like bass of his note in passages which 
 denounced the grovelling worship of earthly 
 pre-eminence and riches, the clarion-like cry 
 with which he concluded a stirring eulogy 
 of the Christian's nobler service of things 
 unseen. 
 
 ' Brethren, as His kingdom is not of this 
 world, so too our kingdom is not of this 
 world.' 
 
 ' I think you will admit, George,' said Lady 
 Atherley, as we left the church, ' that you have 
 had a good sermon to-day.' 
 
 ' Yes, indeed,' heartily assented Atherley. 
 'It was excellent. Your uncle certainly 
 knows his business, which is more than can 
 be said of most preachers. It was a really 
 splendid performance. But who on earth was 
 he talking about — those wonderful people who 
 don't care for money or success, or the best of 
 
IV CANON VERNADE'S GOSPEL 95 
 
 everything generally ? I never met any like 
 them.' 
 
 ' My dear George ! How extraordinary 
 you are ! Any one could see, I should have 
 thought, that he meant Christians.' 
 
 Atherley and the children walked home 
 while we waited for the Canon, who stayed 
 behind to exchange a few words in the vestry 
 with his old schoolfellow, Mr. Jackson. 
 
 As we drove home he made, aloud, some 
 reflections, probably suggested by the difier- 
 ence between their positions. 
 
 ' It really grieves me to see Jackson where 
 he is at his age. He deserves a better living. 
 He is an excellent feUow, and not without 
 ability, but wanting, unfortunately, in tact 
 and savoir-faire. He always had an unhappy 
 knack of blurting out the truth in season 
 and out of season. I did my best to get 
 him a good li\'ing once — a first-rate living — 
 in Sir John Marsh's gift ; and I warned him 
 before he went to lunch with Sir John to 
 be careful what he said. " Sir John," I said, 
 
96 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 ■'is one of the old school; he thinks the 
 Squire is pope of the parish, and you will have 
 to humour him a little. He will talk a great 
 deal of nonsense in this strain, and be care- 
 ful not to contradict him, for he can't bear 
 it." But Jackson did contradict him — flatly ; 
 he told me so himself, and of course Sir 
 John would have nothing to say to him. 
 " But he made such extravagant statements," 
 said Jackson. " If I had kept quiet he would 
 have thought I agreed with him." — "What 
 did that matter ? " I said. " Once you were 
 vicar you could have shown him you didn't." 
 — " The truth is," said Jackson, " I can- 
 not sit by and hear black called white 
 without protesting." That is Jackson all 
 over ! A man of that kind will never get 
 on. And then, such an imprudent marriage 
 — a woman without a penny ! ' 
 
 ' I have never seen any one who wore such 
 extraordinary bonnets,' said Lady Atherley. 
 
 ' Who was that young man who bowed to 
 the altar and crossed himself?' asked the Canon. 
 
IV CANON VERNADE'S GOSPEL 97 
 
 'I suppose that must be Mr. Austyn, 
 curate in charge at Eood Warren. He comes 
 over to help Mr. Jackson sometimes, I be- 
 lieve. George has met him; I have not. 
 I want to get him over to dinner. He is a 
 nephew of Mr. Austyn of Temple Leigh.' 
 
 ' Oh, that family ! ' said the Canon. ' I 
 am sorry he has taken up such an extreme 
 line. It is a great mistake. In the Church, 
 preferment in these days always goes to 
 the moderate men.' 
 
 ' Kood Warren is not far from here,' said 
 
 Lady Atherley, ' and he has a parishioner 
 
 Oh, that reminds me. Mr. Lyndsay, would 
 you be so kind as to look out and tell the 
 coachman to drive round by Monk's ? I want 
 to leave some soup.' 
 
 ' Monk, I presume, is a sick labourer ? ' 
 said the Canon. ' I hope you are not as 
 indiscriminate in your charities as most 
 Ladies Bountiful.' 
 
 ' Mr. Jackson says this is a really deserv- 
 ing case. He knows all about him, though 
 
 H 
 
98 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 he really is in Mr. Austyn's parish. Monk 
 has never had anything from the parish, 
 and been working hard all his life, and he 
 is past seventy. He was breaking stones 
 on the road a few weeks ago ; but he caught 
 a chill or something one very cold day, and 
 has been laid up ever since. This is the 
 house. Oh, Mr. Lyndsay, you should not 
 trouble to get out. As you are so kind, 
 will you carry this in ? ' 
 
 The interior of the tiny thatched cottage 
 was scrupulously clean and neat, as they 
 nearly all are in the valley, but barer and 
 more scantily furnished than most of them. 
 No photographs or pictures decorated the 
 white-washed walls, no scraps of carpet or 
 matting hid the red-brick floor. The Monks 
 were evidently of the poorest. An old piece 
 of faded curtain had been hung from a rope 
 between the chimney-piece and the door to 
 shield the patient from the draught. He 
 sat in a stifi" wooden arm-chair near the fire, 
 drawing his breath laboriously. 'He was 
 
IV CANON VERNADE'S GOSPEL 99 
 
 better now,' said his wife, a nurse as old and 
 as frail-looking as himself. ' Nights was the 
 worst.' His shoulders were bent, his hair 
 white with age, his withered features almost 
 as coarse and as unshapely as the poor clothes 
 he wore. The mask had been rough-hewn, to 
 begin with ; time and exposure had farther 
 defaced it. No gleam of intellectual life 
 transpierced and illumined all. It was the 
 face of an animal — ugly, ignorant, honest, 
 patient. As I looked at it there came over 
 me a rush of the pity I have so often felt 
 for this suffering of age in poverty — so un- 
 picturesque, so unwinning, to shallow sight 
 so unpathetic — and I put out my hand 
 and let it rest for a moment on his own, 
 knotted with rheumatism, stained and seamed 
 with toil. Then he looked up at me from 
 under his shaggy brows with haggard, wist- 
 ful eyes, and gasped : ' It's hard work, sir ; 
 it's hard work.' And I went out into the 
 sunshine, feeling that I had heard the epitome 
 of his life. 
 
loo CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 That night Mrs. Mallet surpassed herself 
 by her rendering of a menu, especially com- 
 posed by Atherley for the delectation of their 
 guest. Their pains were not wasted. The 
 Canon's commendation of each course — and 
 we talked of little else, I remember, from 
 soup to dessert — was as discriminating as it 
 was warm. 
 
 ' I am glad you approve of our cook, 
 Uncle,' said Lady Atherley in the drawing- 
 room afterwards, ' for she is only a stop-gap. 
 Our own cook left us quite suddenly the other 
 day, and we had such difficulty in finding this 
 one to take her place. No one can imagine 
 how inconvenient it is to have a haunted house.' 
 
 ' My dear Jane, you don't mean to tell me 
 you are afraid of ghosts ? ' 
 
 ' Oh no. Uncle.' 
 
 ' And I am sure your husband is not ? ' 
 
 ' No ; but unfortunately cooks are.' 
 
 ' Eh ! what ? ' 
 
 Then Lady Atherley willingly repeated the 
 story of her troubles. 
 
CANON VERNADE'S GOSPEL 
 
 ' Preposterous ! perfectly preposterous ! ' 
 cried the Canon. 'The Education Act in 
 operation for all these years, and our lower 
 orders still believe in bogies and hobgoblins ! 
 And yet it is hardly to be wondered at ; their 
 social superiors are not much wiser. The 
 nonsense which is talked ia society at pre- 
 sent is perfectly incredible. Persons who are 
 supposed to be in their right mind gravely 
 relate to me such incidents that I could 
 imagine myself transported to the Middle 
 Ages. I hear of miraculous cures, of spirits 
 summoned from the dead, of men and women 
 floating in the air ; and as to diabolic posses- 
 sion, it seems to have become as common as 
 colds in the head.' 
 
 He had risen, and now addressed us from 
 the hearthrug. 
 
 ' Then Mrs. MohTieux and others come and 
 tell me about personal friends of their own 
 who can foretell everything that is going to 
 happen ; who can read your inmost thoughts ; 
 who can compel others to do this and to do 
 
CECILIA DE NOEL 
 
 that, whether they like it or no ; who, being 
 themselves in one quarter of the globe, con- 
 stantly appear to their acquaintances in 
 another. " What ! " I say. " They can be in 
 two places at once, then ! Certainly no 
 conjurer can equal that ! " ' 
 
 ' And what do they say to that ? ' asked 
 Atherley. 
 
 'Oh, they assure me the extraordinary 
 beings who perform these marvels are not 
 impostors, but very superior and religious 
 characters. " If they are not impostors," I 
 say, "then their right place is the lunatic 
 asylum." " Oh but. Canon Vernade, you don't 
 understand ; it is only our Western ignorance 
 which makes such things seem astonishing! 
 Far more marvellous things are going on, and 
 have been going on for centuries, in the East ; 
 for instance, in the Brotherhoods of — I forget 
 — some unpronounceable name." " And how 
 do you know they have?" I ask. "Oh, by 
 their traditions, which have been handed on 
 for generations." " That is very reliable 
 
IV CANON VERNADE'S GOSPEL 103 
 
 information, indeed," I say. "Pray, have 
 you ever played a game of Russian scandal ? " 
 " Well ; but, then, there are the sacred books. 
 There can be no mistake about them, for they 
 have been translated by learned European 
 professors, who say the religious sentiments 
 are perfectly beautiful." " Very possibly," I 
 say. "But it does not follow that the his- 
 torical statements are correct." 
 
 'I gave my ladies' Bible -class a serious 
 lecture about it all the other day. I said : 
 " Do, my dear ladies, get rid of these childish 
 notions, these uncivilised hankerings after 
 marvels and magic, which make you the dupe 
 of one charlatan after another. Take up 
 science, for a change ; study natural philo- 
 sophy; try and acquire accurate notions of 
 the system under which we live ; realise that 
 we are not moving on the stage of a Christmas 
 pantomime, but in a universe governed by 
 fixed laws, in which the miraculous perform- 
 ances you describe to me never can, and never 
 could, have taken place. And be sure of this, 
 
I04 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 that any book and any teacher, however admir- 
 able their moral teaching, who tell you that 
 two and two make anything but four, are not 
 inspired, so far as arithmetic and common 
 sense are concerned." ' 
 
 ' Hear, hear ! ' cried Atherley heartily. 
 
 The Canon's brow contracted a little. 
 
 ' I need hardly explain,' he said, ' that what 
 I said did not apply to revealed truth. Jane, 
 my dear, as I must leave by an early train 
 to-morrow, I think I shall say good-night' 
 
 I fell asleep that night early, and dreamt 
 that I was sitting with Gladys in the frescoed 
 dining-room of an old Italian palace. It was 
 night, and through the open window came 
 one long shaft of moonlight, that vanished in 
 the aureole of the shaded lamp standing with 
 wine and fruit upon the table between us. 
 And I said in my dream — 
 
 ' Oh, Gladys, will it be always like this, or 
 must we part again ? ' 
 
 And she, smiling her slow soft smile, said : 
 ' You may stay with me till the knock comes.' 
 
IV CANON VERNADE'S GOSPEL 105 
 
 ' What knock, my darling ? ' 
 
 But even as I spoke I heard it, low and 
 penetrating, and I stretched out my arms 
 imploringly towards Gladys ; but she only 
 smiled, and the knock was repeated, and the 
 whole scene dissolved around me, and I was 
 sitting up in bed in semi -darkness, while 
 somebody was tapping with a quick agitated 
 touch at my door. I remembered then that 
 I had forgotten to unlock it before I went 
 to bed, and I rose at once and made haste 
 to open it, not without a passing thrill of 
 unpleasant conjecture as to what might be 
 behind it. It was a tall figure in a long gray 
 garment, who carried a lighted candle in his 
 hand. For a moment, startled and stupefied 
 as I was, I failed to recognise the livid face. 
 
 ' Canon Vernade ! You are iU ? ' 
 
 Too ill to speak, it would seem, for without 
 a word he staggered forward and sank into a 
 chair, letting the candle almost drop from his 
 hand on to the table beside him ; but when I 
 put out my hand to ring the bell, he stayed 
 
io6 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 me by a gesture. I looked at him, deadly 
 pale, with blue shadows about the mouth and 
 eyes, his head thrown helplessly back, and 
 then I remembered some brandy I had in my 
 dressing-bag. He took the glass from me and 
 raised it to his lips with a trembling hand. I 
 stood watching him, and debating within my- 
 self whether I should disobey him by caUing 
 for help or not; but presently, to my great 
 relief, I saw the stimulant take effect, and life 
 come slowly surging back in colour to his 
 cheeks, in strength to his whole prostrate 
 frame. He straightened himself a little, and 
 turned upon me a less distracted gaze than 
 before. 
 
 ' Mr. Lyndsay, there is something horrible 
 in this house.' 
 
 ' Have you seen it ? ' 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 ' I saw nothing ; it is what I felt.' 
 
 He shuddered. 
 
 I looked towards the grate. The fire had 
 long been out, but the wood was still uncon- 
 
IV CANON VERNADE'S GOSPEL 107 
 
 sumed, and I managed, inexpertly enough, to 
 religlit it. When a long blue flame sprang 
 up, he drew his chair near the hearth and 
 stretched towards the blaze his still tremulous 
 hands. 
 
 ' Mr. Lyndsay,' he said, in a voice as 
 strangely altered as his whole appearance, 
 'may I sit here a little — till it is light? I 
 dread to go back to that room. But don't let 
 me keep you up.' 
 
 I said, and in all honesty, that I had no 
 inclination to sleep. I put on my dressing- 
 gown, threw a rug over his knees, and took 
 my place opposite to him on the other side of 
 the fire ; and thus we kept our strange vigil, 
 while slowly above us broke the grim, cold 
 dawn of early spring-time, which even the 
 birds do not brighten with their babble. 
 
 Silently staring into the fire, he vouchsafed 
 no further explanations, and I did not venture 
 to ask for any ; but I doubt if even such lan- 
 guage as he could command would have been 
 so full of horrible suggestion as that gray set 
 
io8 CECILIA DE NOEL chap, 
 
 face, and the terror-stricken gaze, wliicli the 
 growing light made every minute more dis- 
 tinct, more weird. What had so suddenly 
 and so completely overthrown, not his own 
 strength merely, but the defences of his faith ? 
 He groped amongst them still, for, from time 
 to time, I heard him murmuring to himself 
 familiar verses of prayer and psalm and 
 gospel, as if he sought therewith to banish 
 some haunting fear, to quiet some torturing 
 suspicion. And at last, when the dull gray 
 day had fully broken, he turned towards me, 
 and cried in tones more heart-piercing than 
 ever startled the great congregations in church 
 or cathedral — 
 
 ' What if it were all a delusion, and there 
 be no Father, no Saviour ? ' 
 
 And the horror of that abyss into which he 
 looked, flashing from his mind to my own, left 
 me silent and helpless before him. Yet I 
 longed to give him comfort ; for, with the 
 regal self-possession which had fallen from 
 him, there had slipped from me too some unde- 
 
IV CANON VERNADE'S GOSPEL 109 
 
 fined instinct of distrust and disapproval. All 
 that I felt now was the sad tie of brotherhood 
 which united us, poor human atoms, strong 
 only in our capacity to suffer, tossed and 
 driven, whitherward we knew not, in the pur- 
 poseless play of soulless and unpitying forces. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 austyn's gospel 
 
 ' He did not see the ghost, you say ; he only 
 felt it ? I should think he did — on his chest. 
 I never heard of a clearer case of nightmare. 
 You must be careful whom you tell the story 
 to, old chap ; for at the first go-oflf it sounds 
 as if it was not merely eating too much that 
 was the matter. It was, however, indigestion, 
 sure enough. No wonder ! If a man of his 
 age who takes no exercise will eat three 
 square meals a day, what else can he ex- 
 pect ? And Mallet is rather liberal with her 
 cream.' 
 
 Atherley it was, of course, who propounded 
 this simple interpretation of the night's 
 alarms, as he sat in his smoking-room review- 
 
CHAP. V. AUSTYJ\rS GOSPEL. m 
 
 ing his trout-flies after an early breakfast we 
 had taken with the Canon. 
 
 'You always account for the mechanism, 
 but not for the effect. Why should indiges- 
 tion take that mental form ? ' 
 
 ' Why, because indigestion constantly does 
 in sleep, and out of it as well, for that matter. 
 A nightmare is not always a sense of oppres- 
 sion on the chest only ; it may be an over- 
 powering dread of something you dream you 
 see. Indigestion can produce, waking or 
 asleep, a very good imitation of what is 
 experienced in a blue funk. And there is 
 another kind of dream which is produced by 
 fasting — that, I need hardly say, I have never 
 experienced. Indeed, I don't dream.' 
 
 ' But the ghost — the ghost he almost saw.' 
 
 'The sinking horror produced the ghost, 
 instead of vice versd, as you might suppose. 
 It is like a dream. In unpleasant dreams we 
 fancy it is the dream itself which makes us 
 feel uncomfortable. It is just the other way 
 round. It is the discomfort that produces 
 
112 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 the dream. Have you ever dreamt you were 
 tramping through snow, and felt cold in con- 
 sequence ? I did the other night. But I did 
 not feel cold because I dreamt I was walking 
 through snow, but because I had not enough 
 blankets on my bed ; and because I felt cold 
 I dreamt about the snow. Don't you know 
 the dream you make up in a few moments 
 about the knocking at the door when they 
 call you in the morning ? And ghosts are 
 only waking dreams.' 
 
 'I wonder if you ever had an illusion 
 yourself — gave way to it, I mean. You were 
 in love once — twice,' I added hastUy, in 
 deference to Lady Atherley. 
 
 ' Only once,' said Atherley calmly. ' Do 
 you ever see her now, Lindy? She has 
 grown enormously fat. Certainly I have had 
 my illusions, and I don't object to them when 
 they are pleasant and harmless — on the 
 contrary. Now, falling in love, if you don't 
 fall too deep, is pleasant, and it never lasts 
 long enough to do much mischief. Marriage, 
 
V AUSTYN'S GOSPEL 113 
 
 of course, you will say, may be mischievous — 
 only for the individual, it is useful for the race. 
 What I object to is the deliberate culture of 
 illusions which are not pleasant but distinctly 
 depressing, like half your religious beliefs.' 
 
 ' George,' said Lady Atherley, coming into 
 the room at this instant; 'have you — oh, 
 dear ! what a state this room is in ! ' 
 
 ' It is the housemaids. They never will 
 leave things as I put them.' 
 
 'And it was only dusted and tidied an 
 hour ago. Mr. Lyndsay, did you ever see 
 anything like it ? ' 
 
 I said ' Never.' 
 
 ' If Lindy has a fault in this world, it is 
 that he is as pernickety, as my old nurse used 
 to say — as pernickety as an old maid. The 
 stiflF formaUty of his room would give me the 
 creeps, if anything could. The first thing I 
 always want to do when I see it is to make 
 hay in it.' 
 
 ' It is what you always do do, before you 
 have been an hour there,' I observed. 
 
 I 
 
114 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 ' Jane, in Heaven's name leave those things 
 alone ! Is this sort of thing all you came in 
 for?' 
 
 ' No ; I really came in to ask if you had 
 read Lucinda Molyneux's letter.' 
 
 'No, I have not; her. writing is too bad 
 for anything. Besides, I know exactly what 
 she has got to say. She has at last found the 
 religion which she has been looking for all her 
 life, and she intends to be whatever it is for 
 evermore.' 
 
 ' That is not all. She wants to come and 
 stay here for a few days.' 
 
 'What! Here? Now? Why, what— oh, 
 I forgot the ghost ! By Jove ! You see, 
 Jane, there are some advantages in having 
 one on the premises when it procures you a 
 visit from a social star like Mrs. Molyneux. 
 But where are you going to put her ? Not in 
 the bachelor's room, where your poor uncle 
 made such a night of it? It wouldn't hold 
 her dressing-bag, let alone herself.' 
 
 'Oh, but I hope the pink room will be 
 
V AUSTYN'S GOSPEL 115 
 
 ready. The plasterer from Whitford came 
 out yesterday to apologise, and said he had 
 been keeping his birthday.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! and how many times a year does 
 he have a birthday ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know, but he was quite sober ; 
 and he did the most of it yesterday and will 
 finish it to-day, so it will be all right.' 
 
 ' When is she coming, then ? ' 
 
 ' To-morrow. You would have seen that if 
 you had read the letter. And there is a 
 message for you in it, too.' 
 
 ' Then find me the place, like an angel ; I 
 cannot wade through all these sheets of 
 hieroglyphics. In the postscript? Let me 
 see : " Tell Sir George I look forward to 
 explaining to him the religious teachiag 
 which I have been studying for months." 
 Months ! Come ; there must be something in 
 a religion which Mrs. Molyneux sticks to for 
 months at a time — "studying for months 
 under the guidance of its great apostle Baron 
 Zinkersen " What is this name ? " The 
 
ii6 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 deeper I go into it all, the more I feel in it 
 that faith, satisfying to the reason as well 
 as to the emotions, for which I have been 
 searching all my life. It is certainly the 
 religion of the future " — future underlined — 
 " and I believe it will please even Sir George, 
 for it so distinctly coincides with his own 
 favourite theories." Favourite theories in- 
 deed ! I haven't any. My mind is as open 
 as day to truth from any quarter. Only I 
 distrust apostles with no vowels in their 
 names ever since that one, two years agOj 
 made off with the spoons.' 
 
 'No, George, he did not take any plate. 
 It was money, and money Lucinda gave him 
 herself for bringing her letters from her 
 father.' 
 
 ' Where was her father, then ? ' I inquired, 
 much interested. 
 
 ' Well, he was — a — he was dead,' answered 
 Lady Atherley ; ' and after some time a very 
 low sort of person called upon Lucinda and 
 said she wrote all the letters; but Lucinda 
 
V AUSTYN'S GOSPEL 117 
 
 could not get the money back without going 
 to law, as some people wished her to do ; but 
 I am glad she did not, as I think the 
 papers would have said very unpleasant things 
 about it.' 
 
 'The apostle I liked best,' said Atherley, 
 'was the American one. I really admired 
 old Stamps, and old Stamps admired me ; for 
 she knew I thoroughly understood what an 
 unmitigated humbug she was. She had a 
 fine sense of humour, too. How her eye used 
 to twinkle when I asked posers at her prayer- 
 meetings ! ' 
 
 ' Dreadful woman ! ' cried Lady Atherley. 
 ' Lucinda brought her to lunch once. Such 
 black nails, and she said she could make the 
 plates and dishes fly about the room, but I 
 said I would rather not. I am thankful she 
 does not want to bring this baron with her.' 
 
 ' I would not have him. I draw the line 
 there, and also at spiritual seances. I am too 
 old for them. Do you remember one I took 
 you to at Mrs. Molyneux's, Lindy, five years 
 
ii8 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 ago, when they raised poor old Professor 
 Delaine, and he danced on the table and spelt 
 bliss with one s ? I was haunted for weeks 
 afterwards by the dread that there might be a 
 future life, in which we should make fools of 
 ourselves in the same way. What is this ? ' 
 
 ' It is the carriage just come back from the 
 station. Mr. Lyndsay and the little boys are 
 going over to Eood Warren with a note for 
 me. I hope you will see Mr. Austyn, Mr. 
 Lyndsay, and persuade him to come over to- 
 morrow.' 
 
 'What! To dine?' said Atherley. 'He 
 won't come out to dinner in Lent.' 
 
 I thought so myself, but I was glad of the 
 excuse to see again the delicate, austere face. 
 As we drove along, I tried to define to myself the 
 quality which marked it out from others. Not 
 sweetness, not marked benevolence, but the re- 
 pose of absolute spiritual conviction. Austyn's 
 God can never be my God, and in his heaven 
 I should find no rest; but, one among ten 
 thousand, he believed in both, as the martyrs 
 
V AUSTYN'S GOSPEL 119 
 
 believed who perished in the flames, with a 
 faith which would have stood the atheist's test ; 
 — ' We believe a thing, when we are prepared 
 to act as if it were true.' 
 
 Kood Warren lay in a little hollow beside 
 an armlet of the stream that waters all the 
 valley. The hamlet consisted of a tiny chutch 
 and a group of labourers' cottages, in one of 
 which, presumably because there was no other 
 habitation for him, the curate in charge made 
 his home. An apple-faced old woman received 
 me at the door, and hospitably invited me to 
 wait within for Mr. Austyn's return from morn- 
 ing service, which I did, while the carriage, 
 with the little boys and Tip in it, drove up 
 and down before the door. The room in which 
 I waited, evidently the one sitting-room, was 
 destitute of luxury or comfort as a monk's cell. 
 
 Profusion there was in one thing only — 
 books. They indeed furnished the room, cloth- 
 ing the walls and covering the table; but 
 ornaments there were none, not even sacred 
 or symbolical, save, indeed, one large and 
 
i2o CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 beautifully-carved crucifix over a mantelpiece 
 covered with letters and manuscripts. I have 
 thought of this early home of Austyn's many 
 a time as dignities have been literally thrust 
 upon him by a world which since then has 
 discovered his intellectual rank. He will end 
 his days in a palace, and, one may confidently 
 predict of him, remain as absolutely indifiierent 
 to his surroundings as in the little cottage at 
 Rood Warren. 
 
 But he did not come, and presently his 
 housekeeper came in with many apologies to 
 explain he would not be back for hours, having 
 started after service on a round of parish visit- 
 ing instead of first returning home, as she had 
 expected. She herself was plainly depressed 
 by the fact. ' I did hope he would have come 
 in for a bit of lunch first,' she said sadly. 
 
 All I could do was to leave the note, to 
 which late in the day came an answer, declining 
 simply and directly on the ground that he did 
 not dine out in Lent. 
 
 ' I cannot see why,' observed Lady Atherley, 
 
V AUSTYN'S GOSPEL 121 
 
 as we sat together over the drawing-room fire 
 after tea, ' because it is possible to have a very 
 nice dinner without meat. I remember one 
 we had abroad once at an hotel on Good 
 Friday, There were sixteen courses, chiefly 
 fish, no meat even in the soup, only cream and 
 eggs and that sort of thing, all beautifully 
 cooked with exquisite sauces. Even George 
 said he would not mind fasting in that way. It 
 would have been nice if he could have come to 
 meet Mrs. Molyneux to-morrow. I am sure 
 they must be connected in some way, because 
 Lord ' 
 
 And then my mind wandered whilst Lady 
 Atherley entered into some genealogical cal- 
 culations, for which she has nothing less than a 
 genius. My attention was once again captured 
 by the name de Noel, how introduced I know 
 not, but it gave me an excuse for asking — 
 
 'Lady Atherley, what is Mrs. de Noel 
 like?' 
 
 * Cecilia ? She is rather tall and rather 
 fair, with brown hair. Not exactly pretty, 
 
CECILIA DE NOEL 
 
 but very ladylike-looking. I think she would 
 be very good-looking if she thought more 
 about her dress.' 
 
 ' Is she clever ? ' 
 
 ' No, not at all ; and that is very strange, 
 for the Atherleys are such a clever family, and 
 she has quite the ways of a clever person, too ; 
 so odd, and so stupid about little things that 
 any one can remember. I don't believe she 
 could tell you, if you asked her, what relation 
 her husband was to Lord Stowell.' 
 
 * She seems a great favourite.' 
 
 ' Oh, no one could possibly help liking her. 
 She is the most good-natured person ; there is 
 nothing she would not do to help one ; she is a 
 dear thing, but most odd, so very odd. I 
 often think it is so fortunate she married a 
 sailor, because he is so much away from home.' 
 
 'Don't they get on, then ?' 
 
 ' Oh dear, yes ; they are devoted to each 
 other, and he thinks everything she does quite 
 perfect. But then he is very different from most 
 men ; he thinks so little about eating, and he 
 
V AUSTVN'S GOSPEL 123 
 
 takes everything so easy ; I don't think he cares 
 what strange people Cecilia asks to the house.' 
 
 ' Strange people ! ' 
 
 ' Well ; strange people to have on a visit. 
 Invalids and — people that have nowhere else 
 they could go to.' 
 
 'Do you mean poor people from the East 
 End ? ' 
 
 ' Oh no ; some of them are quite rich. 
 She had an idiot there with his mother once 
 who was heir to a very large fortune in the 
 colonies somewhere; but of course nobody 
 else would have had them, and I think it 
 must have been very uncomfortable. And 
 then once she actually had a woman who had 
 taken to drinking. I did not see her, I am 
 thankful to say, but there was a deformed 
 person once staying there, I saw him being 
 wheeled about the garden. It was very un- 
 pleasant. I think people like that should 
 always live shut up.' 
 
 There was a little pause, and then Lady 
 Atherley added — 
 
124 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 ' Cecilia has never been the same since her 
 baby died. She used to have such a bright 
 colour before that. He was not quite two 
 years old, but she felt it dreadfully ; and it 
 was a great pity, for if he had lived he would 
 have come in for all the Stowell property.' 
 
 The door opened. 
 
 'Why, George; how late you are, and — 
 how wet ! Is it raining ? ' 
 
 'Yes; hard.' 
 
 ' Have you bought the ponies ? ' 
 
 ' No ; they won't do at all. But whom do 
 you think I picked up on the way home? 
 You will never guess. Your pet parson, Mr. 
 Austyn.' 
 
 ' Mr. Austyn ! ' 
 
 ' Yes ; I found him by the roadside not far 
 from Monk's cottage, where he had been 
 visiting, looking sadly at a spring-cart, which 
 the owner thereof, one of the Rood Warren 
 farmers, had managed to upset and damage 
 considerably. He was giving Austyn a lift 
 home when the spill took place. So, remem- 
 
V AUSTYN'S GOSPEL 125 
 
 bering your hankering and Lindy's for the 
 society of this young Ritualist, I persuaded 
 him that instead of tramping six miles through 
 the wet he should come here and put up for 
 the night with us ; so, leaving the farmer free 
 to get home on his pony, I clinched the matter 
 by promising to send him back to-morrow in 
 time for his eight o'clock service.' 
 
 ' Oh dear ! I wish I had known he was 
 coming. I would have ordered a dinner he 
 would Uke.' 
 
 'Judging by his appearance, I should say 
 the dinner he would like will be easily provided.' 
 
 Atherley was right. IMr. Austyn's dinner 
 consisted of soup, bread, and water. He 
 would not even touch the fish or the eggs 
 elaborately prepared for his especial benefit. 
 Yet he was far from being a skeleton at the 
 feast, to whose immaterial side he contributed 
 a good deal — ^not taking the lead in conversa- 
 tion, but readily following whosoever did, giv- 
 ing his opinions on one topic after another in 
 the manner of a man well informed, cultured, 
 
126 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 thouglitful, original even, and at tlie same 
 time with no warmer interest in all lie spoke 
 of than the inhabitant of another planet might 
 have shown. 
 
 Atherley was impressed and even surprised 
 to a degree unflattering to the rural clergy. 
 
 ' This is indeed a rara avis of a country 
 curate,' he confided to me after dinner, while 
 Lady Atherley was unravelling with Austyn 
 his connection with various families of her 
 acquaintance. ' We shall hear of him in time 
 to come, if, in the meanwhile, he does not 
 starve himself to death. By the way, I lay 
 you odds he sees the ghost. To begin with, 
 he has heard of it — everybody has in this 
 neighbourhood ; and then St. Anthony himself 
 was never in a more favourable condition for 
 spiritual visitations. Look at him ; he is blue 
 with asceticism. But he won't turn tail to the 
 ghost; he'll hold his own. There's metal in him.' 
 
 This led me to ask Austyn, as we went down 
 the bachelor's passage to our rooms, if he were 
 afraid of ghosts. 
 
V AUSTYN'S GOSPEL 127 
 
 ' No ; that is, I don't feel any fear now. 
 Whether I should do so if face to face with 
 one, is another question. This house has the 
 reputation of being haunted, I believe. Have 
 you seen the ghost yourself? ' 
 
 ' ' No, but I have seen others who did, 
 or thought they did. Do you believe in 
 ghosts ? ' 
 
 ' I do not know that I have considered 
 the subject sufficiently to say whether I 
 do or not. I see no primd facie objection 
 to their appearance. That it would be super- 
 natural offers no difficulty to a Christian 
 whose religion is founded on, and bound up 
 with the supernatural.' 
 
 ' If you do see anything, I should like 
 to know.' 
 
 I went away, wondering why he repelled 
 as well as attracted me ; what it was behind 
 the almost awe-inspiring purity and earnest- 
 ness I felt in him that left me with a chil] 
 sense of disappointment? The question was 
 so perplexing and so interesting that I 
 
128 CECILIA DE NOEL , chap. 
 
 determined to follow it up next day, and 
 ordered my servant to call me as early as 
 Mr. Austyn was wakened. 
 
 In the morning I had just finished 
 dressing, but had not put out my candles, 
 when a knock at the door was followed by 
 the entrance of Austyn himself. 
 
 'I did not expect to find you up, Mr. 
 Lyndsay ; I knocked gently, lest you should 
 be asleep. In case you were not, I intended 
 to come and tell you that I had seen the ghost.' 
 
 'Breakfast is ready,' said a servant at 
 the door. 
 
 ' Let me come down with you and hear 
 about it,' I said. 
 
 We went down through staircase and 
 hall, still plunged in darkness, to the dining- 
 room, where lamps and fire burned brightly. 
 Their glow falling on Austyn's face showed 
 me how pale it was, and worn as if from 
 watching. 
 
 Breakfast was set ready for him, but he 
 refused to touch it. 
 
V AUSTYN'S GOSPEL 129 
 
 ' But tell me what you saw.' 
 
 'I must have slept two or three hours 
 when I awoke with the feeling that there 
 was some one besides myself in the room. 
 I thought at first it was the remains of a 
 dream and would quickly fade away ; but 
 it did not, it grew stronger. Then I raised 
 myself in bed and looked round. The 
 space between the sash of the window 
 and the curtains — my shutters were not 
 closed — allowed one narrow stream of 
 moonlight to enter and lie across the 
 floor. Near this, standing on the brink 
 of it, as it were, and rising dark against it, 
 was a shadowy figure. Nothing was clearly 
 outlined but the face ; tliat I saw only too 
 distinctly. I rose and remained up for at 
 least an hour before it vanished. I heard 
 the clock outside strike the hour twice. 
 I was not looking at it all this time — on 
 the contrary, my hands were clasped across 
 my closed eyes; but when from time to 
 time I turned to see if it was gone, it was 
 
 K 
 
I30 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 always there immovable, watchful. It 
 reminded me of a wild beast waiting to 
 spring, and I seemed to myself to be hold- 
 ing it at bay all the time with a great 
 strain of the wUl, and, of course' — he 
 hesitated for an instant, and then added — 
 ' in virtue of a higher power.' 
 
 The reserve of all his school forbade him 
 to say more, but I understood as well as 
 if he had told me that he had been on his 
 knees, praying all the time, and there rose 
 before my mind a picture of the scene — 
 moonlight, kneeling saint and watching 
 demon, which the leaf of some illustrated 
 missal might have furnished. 
 
 The bronze timepiece over the fireplace 
 struck half-past six. 
 
 ' I wonder if the carriage is at the door,' 
 said Austyn rather anxiously. He went 
 into the hall and looked out through the 
 narrow windows. There was no carriage 
 visible, and I deeply regretted the second in- 
 terruption that must follow when it did come. 
 
V AUSTYN'S GOSPEL 131 
 
 ' Let US walk up the hill and on a little 
 way together. The carriage will overtake 
 us. My curiosity is not yet satisfied.' 
 
 'Then first, Mr. Ljmdsay, you must go 
 back and drink some cofiee ; you are not 
 strong as I am, or accustomed to go out 
 fasting into the morning air.' 
 
 Outside in the shadow of the hill, where 
 the fog lay thick and white, the gloom and 
 the cold of the night still lingered, but as 
 we climbed the hill we climbed, too, into 
 the brightness of a sunny morning — brilliant, 
 amber-tinted above the long blue shadows. 
 
 I had to speak first. 
 ' Now tell me what the face was like.' 
 'I do not thiuk I can. To begin with, 
 I have a very indistinct remembrance of 
 either the form or the colouring. Even at 
 the time my impression of both was very 
 vague ; what so overwhelmed , and transfixed 
 my attention, to the exclusion of everything 
 besides itself, was the look upon the face.' 
 
132 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 ' And that ? ' 
 
 'And that I literally cannot describe. 
 I know no words that could depict it, no 
 images that could suggest it; you might 
 as well ask me to tell you what a new colour 
 was like if I had seen it in my dreams, as 
 some people declare they have done. I 
 could convey some faint idea of it by 
 describing its eflfect upon myself, but that 
 too is very difficult — that was like nothing 
 I have ever felt before. It was the realisa- 
 tion of much which I have affirmed all my 
 life, and steadfastly believed as well, but 
 only with what might be called a notional 
 assent, as the blind man might believe 
 that light is sweet, or one who had never 
 experienced pain might believe it was some- 
 thing from which the senses shrink. Every 
 day that I have recited the creed, and 
 declared my belief in the Life Everlasting, 
 I have by implication confessed my entire 
 disbelief in any other. I knew that what 
 seems so solid is not solid, so real is not 
 
V AUSTYN'S GOSPEL 133 
 
 real ; that the life of the flesh, of the senses, 
 of things seen, is but the " stuff that dreams 
 are made of" — " a dream within a dream," as 
 one modern writer has called it ; " the shadow 
 of a dream," as another has it. But last 
 night ' 
 
 He stood still, gazing straight before him, 
 as if he saw something that I could not see. 
 
 ' But last night ? ' I repeated, as we walked 
 on again. 
 
 ' Last night ? I not only believed, I saw, I 
 felt it with a sudden intuition conveyed to me 
 in some inexplicable manner by the vision of 
 that face. I felt the utter insignificance of 
 what we name existence, and I perceived too 
 behind it that which it conceals from us — ^the 
 real Life, illimitable, unfathomable, the element 
 of our true being with its eternal possibilities 
 of misery or joy.' 
 
 'And all this came to you through some- 
 thing of an evil nature ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; it was like the effect of lightning 
 on a pitch-dark night — the same vivid and 
 
134 CECILIA DE NO EL chap. 
 
 lurid illumination of tilings unperceived before. 
 It must be like the revelation of death, I 
 should think, without, thank God, that fearful 
 sense of the irrevocable which death must 
 bring with it. Will you not rest here ? ' 
 
 For we had reached Beggar's Stile. But I 
 was not tired for once, so keen, so life-giving 
 was the air, sparkling with that fine elixir 
 whereby morning braces us for the day's 
 conflict. Below, through slowly - dissolving 
 mists, the village showed as if it smiled, each 
 little cottage hearth lifting its soft spiral 
 of smoke to a zenith immeasurably deep, im- 
 maculately blue. 
 
 ' But the ghost itself? ' I said, looking up at 
 him as we both rested our arms upon the gate. 
 ' What do you think of that ? ' 
 
 ' I am afraid there is no possible doubt 
 what that was. Its face, as I tell you, was a 
 revelation of evil — evil and its punishment. 
 It was a lost soul.' 
 
 ' Do you mean by a lost soul, a soul that is 
 in never-ending torment ? ' 
 
V AUSTYN'S GOSPEL 135 
 
 ' Not in physical torment certainly ; that 
 would be a very material interpretation of the 
 doctrine. Besides, the Church has always 
 recognised degree and difference in the punish- 
 ment of the lost. This, however, they all have 
 in common — eternal separation from the 
 Divine Being.' 
 
 'Even if they repent and desire to be 
 reunited to Him ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly ; that must be part of their 
 suflFering.' 
 
 ' And yet you believe in a good God ? ' 
 
 ' In what else could I believe even without 
 revelation ? But goodness, divine goodness, is 
 far from excluding severity and wrath, and 
 even vengeance. Here the witness of science 
 and of history are in accord with that of the 
 Christian Church ; their first manifestation of 
 God is always of " one that is angry with us 
 and threatens evil." ' 
 
 The carriage had overtaken us and stopped 
 now close to us. I rose to say good-bye. 
 Austyn shook me by the hand and moved 
 
136 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 towards the carriage ; then, as if checked by a 
 sudden thought, returned upon his steps and 
 stood before me, his earnest eyes fixed upon 
 me as if the whole self-denying soul within 
 him hungered to waken mine. 
 
 ' I feel I must speak one word before I 
 leave you, even if it be out of season. With 
 the recollection of last night still so fi-esh, 
 even the serious things of life seem trifles, 
 far more its small conventionalities. Mr. 
 Lyndsay, your friend has made his choice, but 
 you are dallying between belief and unbelief. 
 Oh, do not dally long ! We need no spirit 
 from the dead to tell us life is short. Do we 
 not feel it passing quicker and quicker every 
 year ? The one thing that is serious in all its 
 shows and delusions is the question it puts to 
 each one of us, and which we answer to our 
 eternal loss or gain. Many difi"erent voices 
 call to us in this age of . false prophets, but 
 one only threatens as well as invites. Would 
 it not be only wise, prudent even, -to give the 
 preference to that? Mr. Lyndsay, I beseech 
 
V AUSTYN'S GOSPEL 137 
 
 you, accept the teaching of the Church, which 
 is one with that of conscience and of nature, 
 and believe that there is a God, a Sovereign, 
 a Lawgiver, a Judge.' 
 
 He was gone, and I still stood thinking of 
 his words, and of his gaze while he spoke 
 them. 
 
 The mists were all gone, now, leaving behind 
 them in shimmering dewdrops an iridescent 
 veil on mead and copse and garden ; the river 
 gleamed in diamond curves and loops, while 
 in the covert near me the birds were singing 
 as if from hearts that over-brimmed with 
 
 joy- 
 
 And slowly, sadly, I repeated to myself 
 the words — Sovereign, Lawgiver, Judge. 
 
 I was hungering for bread ; I was given a 
 stone. 
 
CHAPTEE VI 
 
 MRS. MOLYNEUX'S GOSPEL 
 
 'The room is all ready now,' said Lady 
 Atherley, ' but Lucinda has never written to 
 say what train she is coming by.' 
 
 ' A good thing too,' said Atherley ; ' we 
 shall not have to send for her. Those un- 
 lucky horses are worked off their legs already. 
 Is that the carriage coming back from Rood 
 Warren? Harold, run and stop it, and tell 
 Marsh to drive round to the door before he 
 goes to the stables. I may as well have a 
 lift down to the other end of the village.' 
 
 ' What do you want to do at the other end 
 of the village ? ' 
 
 'I don't want to do anything, but my 
 unlucky fate as a landowner compels me to 
 
CHAP. VI MRS. MOLYNEUX'S GOSPEL 139 
 
 go over and look at an eel -weir which has 
 just burst. Lindy, come along with me, and 
 cheer me up with one of your ghost stories. 
 You are as good as a Christmas annual.' 
 
 ' And on your way back,' said Lady Ather- 
 ley, ' would you mind the carriage stopping to 
 leave some brandy at Monk's ? Mr. Austyn 
 told me last night he was so weak, and the 
 doctor has ordered him brandy every hour.' 
 
 Atherley was disappointed with what he 
 called my last edition of the ghost ; he com- 
 plained that it was little more definite than 
 the Canon's. 
 
 'Your last two stories are too highflown 
 for my simple tastes. I want a good co- 
 herent description of the ghost himself, not 
 the peculiar emotions he excited. I had ex- 
 pected better things from Austyn. Upon 
 my word, as far as we have gone, old Aunt 
 Eleanour's is the best. I think Austyn, with 
 his mediaeval turn of mind and his quite 
 mediaeval habit of living upon air, might 
 have managed to raise something with horns 
 
I40 CECILIA DE NOEL chap 
 
 and hoofs. It is a curious thing that in the 
 dark ages the devil was always appearing 
 to somebody. He doesn't make himself so 
 cheap now. He has evidently more to do ; 
 but there is a fashion in ghosts as in other 
 things, and that reminds me our ghost, from 
 all we hear of it, is decidedly rococo. K 
 you study the reports of societies that hunt 
 the supernatural, you wUl find that the latest 
 thing in ghosts is very quiet and common- 
 place. Battling chains and blue lights, and 
 even fancy dress, have quite gone out. And 
 the people who see the ghosts are not even 
 startled at first sight; they think it is a 
 visitor, or a man come to wind the clocks. 
 In fact, the chic thing for a ghost in these 
 days is to be mistaken for a living person.' 
 
 'What puzzles me is that a sceptic like 
 you can so easily swallow the astonishing 
 coincidence of these difierent people all having 
 imagined the ghost in the same house.' 
 
 ' Why, the coincidence is not a bit more 
 astonishing than several people in the same 
 
VI MRS. MOLYNEUX'S GOSPEL 141 
 
 place having the same fever. Nothing in the 
 world is so infectious as ghost-seeing. The 
 oftener a ghost is seen, the oftener it will be 
 seen. In this sort of thing particularly, one 
 fool makes many. No, don't wait for me. 
 Heaven only knows when I shall be released.' 
 
 The door of Monk's cottage was open, but 
 no one was to be seen within, and no one 
 answered to my knock, so, anxious to see 
 him again, I groped my way up the dark 
 ladder -like stairs to the room above. The 
 first thing I saw was the bed where Monk 
 himself was lying. They had drawn the 
 sheet across his face : I saw what had hap- 
 pened. His wife was standing near, looking 
 not so much grieved as stunned and tired. 
 ' Would you like to see him, sir ? ' she asked, 
 stretching out her withered hand to draw the 
 sheet aside. I was glad afterwards I had not 
 refused, as, but for fear of being ungracious, 
 I would have done. 
 
 Since then I have seen death — 'in state,' 
 as it is called — invested with more than royal 
 
142 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 pomp, but I have never felt his presence so 
 majestic as in that poor little garret. I know 
 his seal may be painful, grotesque even : 
 here it was wholly benign and beautiful. 
 All discolorations had disappeared in an even 
 pallor as of old ivory ; all furrows of age and 
 pain were smoothed away, and the rude 
 peasant face was transfigured, glorified, by 
 that smile of ineffable and triumphant repose. 
 Many times that day it rose before me, 
 never more vividly than when, at dinner, 
 Mrs. Molyneux, in colours as briUiant as her 
 complexion, and jewels as sparkling as her 
 eyes, recounted in her silvery treble the 
 latest flowers of fashionable gossip. I am 
 always glad to be one of any audience which 
 Mrs. Molyneux addresses, not so much out of 
 admiration for the discourse itself, as for the 
 charm of gesture and intonation with which 
 it is delivered. But the main question — the 
 subject of Atherley's conversion — she did not 
 approach till we were in the drawing-room, 
 luxuriously established in deep and softly- 
 
VI MRS. MOLYNEUX'S GOSPEL 143 
 
 cushioned chairs. Then, near the fire, but 
 turned away from it so as to face us all, and 
 in the prettiest of attitudes, she began, grace- 
 fully emphasising her more important points 
 by movements of her spangled fan. 
 
 ' I do not mention the name of the reli- 
 gion I wish to speak to you about, because 
 — now I hope you won't be angry, but I am 
 going to be quite horribly rude — because Sir 
 George is certain to be so prejudiced against 
 — oh yes. Sir George, you are ; everybody is 
 at first. Even I was, because it has been so 
 horribly misrepresented by people who really 
 know nothing about it. For instance, I have 
 myself heard it said that it was only a kind 
 of spiritualism. On the contrary, it is very 
 much opposed to it, and has quite convinced 
 me for one of the wickedness and danger of 
 spiritualism.' 
 
 ' Well, that is so much to its credit,' 
 Atherley generously acknowledged. 
 
 ' And then, people said it was very immoral. 
 Far from that ; it has a very high ethical 
 
144 CECILIA DE NOEL chai-. 
 
 standard indeed — a very high moral aim. One 
 of its chief objects is to establish a universal 
 brotherhood amongst men of all nations and 
 sects.' 
 
 ' A what % ' asked Atherley. 
 
 ' A universal brotherhood.' 
 
 ' My dear Mrs. Molyneux, you don't mean 
 to seriously offer that as a novelty. I never 
 heard anything so hackneyed in my life. 
 Why, it has been preached ad nauseam for 
 centuries ! ' 
 
 ' By the Christian Church, I suppose you 
 mean. And, pray, how have they practised 
 their preaching ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, but excuse me ; that is not the ques- 
 tion. If your religion is as brand-new as you 
 gave me to understand, there has been no time 
 for practice. It must be all theory, and I 
 hoped I was going to hear something original.' 
 
 'Oh really. Sir George, you are quite too 
 naughty. How can I explain things if you 
 are so flippant and impatient ? In one sense 
 it is a very old religion ; it is the truth which 
 
VI MRS. MOLYNEUX'S GOSPEL 145 
 
 is in all religions, and some of its interesting 
 doctrines were taught ages before Christianity 
 was ever heard of, and proved, too, by miracles 
 far far more wonderful than any in the New 
 Testament. However, it is no good talking to 
 you about that ; what I reaUy wanted you to 
 understand is how infinitely superior it is to 
 all other religions in its theological teaching. 
 You know. Sir George, you are always finding 
 fault with all the Christian Churches — and even 
 with the Mahommedans too, for that matter — 
 because they are so anthropomorphic, because 
 they imply that God is a personal being. 
 Very well, then, you cannot say that about 
 this religion, because — this is what is so 
 remarkable and elevated about it — it has 
 nothing to do with God at all.' 
 
 'Nothing to do with what did you say?' 
 asked Lady Atherley, diverted by this last 
 remark from a long row of loops upon an 
 ivory needle which she appeared to be 
 counting. 
 
 'Nothing to do with God.' 
 
146 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 ' Do you know, Lucinda,' said Lady Ather- 
 ley, ' if you would not mind, I fancy the coffee 
 is just coming in, and perhaps it would be as 
 well just to wait for a little, you know — just 
 till the servants are out of the room ? They 
 might perhaps think it a little odd.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Atherley, ' and even un- 
 orthodox.' 
 
 Mrs. Molyneux submitted to this interrup- 
 tion with the greatest sweetness and com- 
 posure, and dilated on the beauty of the new 
 chair -covers tUl Castleman and the footman 
 had retired, when, with a coffee-cup instead of 
 a fan in her exquisite hand, she took up the 
 thread of her exposition. 
 
 'As I was sajdng, the distinction of this 
 religion is that it has nothing to do with God. 
 Of course it has other great advantages, which 
 I will explain later, like its cultivation of a 
 sixth sense, for instance ' 
 
 ' Do you mean common sense ? ' 
 
 'Jane, what am I to do with Sir 
 George? He is really incorrigible. How 
 
VI MRS. MOLYNEUX'S GOSPEL 147 
 
 can I possibly explain things if you will not 
 be serious ? ' 
 
 ' I never was more serious in my life. 
 Show me a religion which cultivates common 
 sense, and I will embrace it at once.' 
 
 ' It is just because I knew you would go on 
 in this way that I do not attempt to say any- 
 thing about the supernatural side of this 
 religion, though it is very important and most 
 extraordinary. I assure you, my dear Jane, 
 the powers that people develop under it are 
 really marvellous. I have friends who can 
 see into another world as plainly as you can 
 see this drawing-room, and talk as easUy with 
 spirits as I am talking with you.' 
 
 * Indeed ! ' said Lady Atherley politely, 
 with her eyes fixed anxiously on something 
 which had gone wrong with her knitting. 
 
 ' Unfortunately, for that kind of thing you 
 require to undergo such severe treatment ; my 
 health would not stand it ; the London season 
 itself is almost too much for me. It is a pity, 
 for they aU say I have great natural gifts that 
 
148 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 way, and I should liave so loved to have taken 
 it up ; but to begin with, one must have no 
 animal food and no stimulants, and the 
 doctors always tell me I require a great deal 
 of both.' 
 
 ' Besides, le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle,' 
 said Atherley, ' if the spirits you are to con- 
 verse with are anjrthing like those we used to 
 meet in your drawing-room.' 
 
 ' That is not the same thing at all ; these 
 were only spooks.' 
 
 ' Only what ? ' 
 
 * No, I will not explain ; you only mean to 
 make fun of it, and there is nothing to laugh 
 at. What I am trying to show you is that 
 side of the religion you wUl really approve — 
 the unanthropomorphic side. It is not any- 
 thing like atheism, you know, as some ill- 
 natured people have said ; it does not declare 
 there is no God ; it only declares that it is 
 worse than useless to try and think of Him, 
 far less pray to Him — because it is simply 
 impossible. And that is quite scientific and 
 
VI MRS. MOLYNEUX'S GOSPEL 149 
 
 philosophical, is it not? For all the great 
 men are agreed now that the conditioned can 
 know nothing of the unconditioned, and the 
 finite can know nothing of the infinite. It is 
 quite absurd to try, you know; and it is 
 equally absurd to say anything about Him. 
 You can't call Him Providence, because, as the 
 universe is governed by fixed laws, there is 
 nothing for Him to provide ; and we have no 
 business to call Him Creator, because we 
 don't really know that things were created. 
 Besides,' said Mrs. Molyneux, resuming her 
 fan, which she furled and unfarled as she 
 continued, ' I was reading in a delightful book 
 the other day — I can't remember the author's 
 name, but I think it begins with K or ]^. It 
 explained so clearly that if the universe was 
 created at all, it was created by the human 
 mind. Then you can't call Him Father — it is 
 quite blasphemous ; and it is almost as bad to 
 say He is merciful or loving, or anything of 
 that kind, because mercy and love are only 
 human attributes ; and so is consciousness too, 
 
ISO CECILIA DE N0£L chap. 
 
 therefore we know He cannot be conscious; 
 and I believe, according to tbe highest philo- 
 sophical teaching, He has not any Being. So 
 that altogether it is impossible, without being 
 irreverent, to think of Him, far less speak to 
 Him or of Him, because we cannot do so 
 without ascribing to Him some conceivable 
 quality — and He has not any. Indeed, even 
 to speak of Him as He is not right ; the pro- 
 noun is very anthropomorphic and mislead- 
 ing. So, when you come to consider all this 
 carefully, it is quite evident — though it sounds 
 rather strange at first — that the only way you 
 can really honour and reverence God is by 
 forgetting Him altogether.' 
 
 Here Mrs. Molyneux paused, panting 
 prettUy for breath ; but quickly recovering 
 herself, proceeded : ' So, in fact, it is just the 
 same, practically speaking — remember I say 
 only practically speaking — as if there were no 
 God ; and this religion ' 
 
 ' Excuse me,' said Atherley ; ' but if, as you 
 have so forcibly explained to us, there is, prac- 
 
VI MRS. MOLYNEUX'S GOSPEL 151 
 
 tically speaking, no God, why should we 
 hamper ourselves with any religion at all ? ' 
 
 ' Why, to satisfy the universal craving 
 after an ideal; the yearning for something 
 beyond the sordid realities of animal existence 
 and of daily life ; to comfort, to elevate ' 
 
 ' No, no, my dear Mrs. Molyneux ; pardon 
 me, but the sooner we get rid of all this sort 
 of rubbish the better. It is the indulgence 
 they have given to such feelings that has 
 made all the religions such a curse to the 
 world. I don't believe, to begin with, that they 
 are universal. I never experienced any such 
 cravings and yearnings except when I was out 
 of sorts ; and I never met a thoroughly happy 
 or healthy person who did. If people keep 
 their bodies in good order and their minds 
 well employed, they have no time for yearn- 
 ings. It was bad enough when there was 
 some pretext for them; when we imagined 
 there was a God and a world which was better 
 than this one. But now we know there is not 
 the slightest ground for supposing anything 
 
152 CECILIA DE NOML chap 
 
 of the kind, we had better have the courage 
 of our opinions, and live up to them, or down 
 to them. As to the word " ideal," it ought to 
 be expunged from the vocabulary ; I would 
 like to make it penal to pronounce, or write, 
 or print the word for a century. Why, we 
 have been surfeited with the ideal by the 
 Christian Churches ; that's why we find the 
 real so little to our taste. We've been so 
 long fed upon sweet trash, we can't relish 
 wholesome food. The cure for that is to 
 take wholesome food or starve, not provide 
 another sickly substitute. Pray, let us have 
 no more religions. On the contrary, our first 
 duty is to be as irreligious as possible — to 
 believe in as little as we can, to trust in 
 nobody but ourselves, to hope for nothing 
 but the actual, to get rid of all high-flown 
 notions of human beings and their destiny, 
 and, above all, to avoid as poison the ideal, 
 
 the sublime, the ' 
 
 His words were drowned at last in musical 
 cries of indignation from Mrs. Molyneux. I 
 
VI MRS. MOLYNEUX'S GOSPEL 153 
 
 remember no more of the discussion, except 
 that A-therley continued to reiterate his doc- 
 trine in different words, and Mrs. Molyneux 
 to denounce it with unabated fervour. 
 
 My thoughts wandered — I heard no more. 
 I was tired and depressed, and felt gratefal to 
 Lady Atherley when, with invariable punc- 
 tuality, at a quarter to eleven, she interrupted 
 the symposium by rising and proposing that 
 we should all go to bed. 
 
 My last distinct recollection of that evening 
 is of Mrs. Molyneux, with the folds of her 
 gown in one hand, and a bedroom candlestick 
 in the other, mounting the dark oak stairs, 
 and calling out fervently as she went — 
 
 ' Oh, how I pray that I may see the 
 ghost ! ' 
 
 The night was stormy, and I could not 
 sleep. The wind wailed fitfully outside the 
 house, while within doors and windows 
 rattled, and on the stairs and in the passages 
 wandered strange and unaccountable noises, 
 like stealthy footsteps or stifled voices. To 
 
IS4 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 this dreary accompaniment, as I lay awake in 
 the darkness, I heard the lessons of the last 
 few days repeated : witness after witness 
 rose and gave his varying testimony; and 
 when, before the discord and irony of it all, 
 I bitterly repeated Pilate's question, the smile 
 on that dead face would rise before me, and 
 then I hoped again. 
 
 Between three and four the wind fell 
 during a short space, and all responsive noises 
 ceased. For a few minutes reigned absolute 
 silence, then it was broken by two piercing 
 cries — the cries of a woman in terror or in 
 pain. 
 
 They disturbed even the sleepers, it was 
 evident ; for when I reached the end of my 
 passage I heard opening doors, hurrying foot- 
 steps, and bells ringing violently in the 
 gallery. After a little the stir was increased, 
 presumably by servants arriving from the 
 farther wing ; but no one came my way tUl 
 Atherley himself, in his dressing-gown, went 
 hurriedly downstairs. 
 
VI MRS. MOLYNEUX'S GOSPEL 155 
 
 ' Anything wrong ? ' I called as lie passed 
 me. 
 
 ' Only Mrs. Molyneux's prayer has been 
 granted.' 
 
 ' Of course she was bound to see it,' he 
 said next day, as we sat together over a late 
 breakfast. ' It would have been a miracle 
 if she had not ; but if I had known the inter- 
 view was to be followed by such unpleasant 
 consequences I shouldn't have asked her 
 down. I was wandering about for hours 
 looking for an imaginary bottle of sal-volatile 
 Jane described as being in her sitting-room ; 
 and Jane herself was up tUl late — or rather 
 early — this morning, trying to soothe Mrs. 
 Molyneux, who does not appear to have found 
 the ghost quite such pleasant company as she 
 expected. Oh yes, Jane is down ; she break- 
 fasted in her own room. I believe she is order- 
 ing dinner at this minute in the next room.' 
 
 Hardly had he said the words when out- 
 side, in the hall, resounded a prolonged and 
 stentorian wail. 
 
156 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 ' What on earth is the matter now ? ' said 
 Atherley, rising and making for the door. 
 He opened it just in time for us to see Mrs. 
 Mallet go by — Mrs. Mallet bathed in tears 
 and weeping as I never have heard an adult 
 weep before or since — in a manner which is 
 graphically and literally described by the 
 phrase ' roaring and crying.' 
 
 ' Why, Mrs. Mallet ! What on earth is the 
 matter ? ' 
 
 ' Send for Mrs. de Noel,' cried Mrs. Mallet 
 in tones necessarily raised to a high and 
 piercing key by the sobs with which they 
 were accompanied. ' Send for Mrs. de Noel ; 
 send for that dear lady, and she will tell 
 you whether a word has been said against 
 my character till I come here, which I never 
 wish to do, being frightened pretty nigh to 
 death with what one told me and the other ; 
 and if you don't believe me, ask Mrs. Stubbs 
 as keeps the little sweet-shop near the church, 
 if any one in the village will so much as come 
 up the avenue after dark ; and says to me. 
 
VI MRS. MOLYNEUX'S GOSPEL 157 
 
 the very day I come here, "You have a 
 nerve," she says ; "I wouldn't sleep there 
 if you was to pay me," she says ; and I says, 
 not wishing to speak against a family that 
 was cousin to Mrs. de Noel, " Noises is neither 
 here nor there," I says, " and ghostisses keeps 
 mostly to the gentry's wing," I says. And 
 then to say as I put about that they was all 
 over the house, and frighten the London 
 lady's maid, which all I said was — and Hann 
 can teU you that I speak the truth, for she 
 was there — " some says one thing," says I, 
 " and some says another, but I takes no notice 
 of nothink." But put up with a deal, I have — 
 more than ever I told a soul since I come 
 here, which I promised Mrs. de Noel when 
 she asked me to oblige her ; which the blue 
 lights I have seen a many times, and tapping 
 of cofi&n-naUs on the wall, and never close 
 my eyes for nights sometimes, but am entirely 
 wore away, and my nerve that weak; and 
 then to be so hurt in my feelings, and spoke 
 to as I am not accustomed, but always treated 
 
iS8 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 everywliere I goes with the greatest of kind- 
 ness and respect, which ask Mrs. de Noel 
 she will tell you, since ever I was a widow ; 
 but pack my things I will, and walk every 
 step of the way, if it was pouring cats and 
 dogs, I would, rather than stay another 
 minute here to be so put upon ; and send 
 for Mrs. de Noel if you don't believe me, 
 and she will tell you the many high families 
 she recommended me, and always give satis- 
 faction. Send for Mrs. de Noel ' 
 
 The swing door closed behind her, and 
 the sounds of her grief and her reiterated 
 appeals to Mrs. de Noel died slowly away in 
 the distance. 
 
 'What on earth have you been saying to 
 her ? ' said Atherley to his wife, who had come 
 out into the haU. 
 
 ' Only that she behaved very badly indeed 
 in speaking about the ghost to Mrs. Molyneux's 
 maid, who, of course, repeated it all directly 
 and made Lucinda nervous. She is a most 
 troublesome, mischievous old woman.' 
 
VI MRS. MOLYNEUX'S GOSPEL 159 
 
 ' But she can cook. Pray what are we to 
 
 do for dinner ? ' 
 
 ' I am sure I don't know. I never knew 
 
 anything so unlucky as it all is, and Lucinda 
 
 looking so ill.' 
 
 ' Well, you had better send for the doctor.' 
 ' She won't hear of it. She says nobody 
 
 could do her any good but Cecilia.' 
 
 ' What ! " Send for Mrs. de Noel ? " Poor 
 
 Cissy ! What do these excited females imagine 
 
 she is going to do ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know, but I do wish we could get 
 
 her here.' 
 
 'But she is in London, is she not, with 
 
 Aunt Henrietta ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, and only comes home to-day.' 
 
 ' Well, I will teU you what we might do if 
 
 you want her badly. Telegraph to her to 
 
 London and ask her to come straight on here.' 
 ' I suppose she is sure to come ? ' 
 * Like a shot, if you say we are all ill.' 
 ' No, that would frighten her. I will just 
 
 say we want her particularly.' 
 
i6o CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 ' Yes, and say the carriage shall meet the 
 5.15 at Whitford station, and then she will 
 feel bound to come. And as I shall not be 
 back in time, send Lindy to meet her. It 
 wUl do him good. He looks as if he had been 
 sitting up all night with the ghost.' 
 
 It was a melancholy day. The wind was 
 quieter, but the rain still fell. Indoors we 
 were all in low spirits, not even excepting the 
 little boys, much concerned about Tip, who 
 was not his usual brisk and complacent self. 
 His nose was hot, his little stump of a taU was 
 limp, he hid himself under chairs and tables, 
 whence he turned upon us sorrowful and 
 beseeching eyes, and, most alarming symptom 
 of all, refused sweet biscuits. During the 
 afternoon he was confided to me by his little 
 masters while they made an expedition to the 
 stables, and I was sitting reading by the 
 library fire with the invalid beside me when 
 Lady Atherley came in to propose I should go 
 into the drawing-room and talk to Mrs. Moly- 
 neux, who had just come down. 
 
VI MRS. MOLYNEUX'S GOSPEL 16 1 
 
 ' Did she ask to see me ? ' 
 
 ' No ; but when I proposed your going in, 
 she did not say no.' 
 
 I did as I was asked to do, but with some 
 misgivings. It was one of the few occasions 
 when my misfortune became an advantage. 
 No one, especially no woman, was likely to 
 rebuflf too sharply the intruder who dragged 
 himself into her presence. So far from that, 
 Mrs. Molyneux, who was leaning against the 
 mantelpiece and looking down listlessly into 
 the fire, moved to welcome me with a smile 
 and to offer me a hand startlingly cold. But 
 after that she resumed her first attitude and 
 made no attempt to converse — she, the most 
 ready, the most voluble of women. Then 
 followed an awkward pause, which I des- 
 perately broke by saying I was afraid she was 
 not better. 
 
 ' Better ! I was not ill,* she answered, 
 
 almost impatiently, and walked away towards 
 
 the other side of the room. I understood that 
 
 she wished to be alone, and was moving to- 
 
 M 
 
1 62 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 wards tlie door as quietly as possible when I 
 
 was suddenly checked by her hand upon my 
 
 elbow. 
 
 ' Mr. Lyndsay, why are you going ? Was 
 
 I rude ? I did not mean to be. Forgive me ; 
 
 I am so miserable.' 
 
 'You could not be rude, I think, even if 
 
 you wished to. It is I who am inconsiderate 
 
 in intruding ' 
 
 ' You are not intruding ; please stay.' 
 ' I would gladly stay if I could help you.' 
 ' Can any one help me, I wonder V 
 She went slowly back to the fire and sat 
 
 down upon the fender-stool, and resting her 
 
 chin upon her hand, and looking dreamily 
 
 before her, repeated — 
 
 ' Can any one help me, I wonder ? ' 
 
 I sat down on a chair near her and said — 
 
 ' Do you think it would help you to talk of 
 
 what has frightened you ? ' 
 
 ' I don't think I- can. I would tell you, 
 
 Mr. Lyndsay, if I could tell any one ; for you 
 
 know what it is to be weak and suffering. ; you 
 
VI MRS. MOLYNEUX'S GOSPEL 163 
 
 are as sympathetic as a woman, and more 
 merciful than some women. But part of the 
 horror of it all is that I cannot explain it. 
 Words seem to be no good, just because I 
 have used them so easily and so meaninglessly 
 all my life — just as words and nothing more.' 
 ' Can you tell me what you saw ? ' 
 • A face, only a face, when I woke up sud- 
 denly. It looked as if it were painted on the 
 darkness. But oh, the dreadfulness of it and 
 what it brought with it ! Do you remember 
 the line, " Bring with you airs from heaven or 
 blasts from hell " ? Yes, it was in heU, because 
 hell is not a great gulf, like Dante described, 
 as I used to think ; it is no place at all — it 
 is something we make ourselves. I felt all 
 this as I saw the face, for we ourselves are not 
 what we think. Part of what I used to play 
 with was true enough; it is all M^yli,, a de- 
 lusion, this sense-life — it is no life at all. The 
 actual life is behind, under it all ; it goes deep 
 deep down, it stretches on, on — and yet it has 
 nothing to do with space or time. I feel as if 
 
i64 CECILIA DE NOEL chap, 
 
 I were beating myself against a stone wall. 
 My words can liave no sense for you any more 
 than they would have had for me yesterday.' 
 
 ' But tell me, why should this discovery of 
 this other life make you so miserable ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, because it brings such a want with it. 
 How can I explain ? It is like a poor wretch 
 stupefied with drink. Don't you know the 
 poor creatures in the East-end sometimes drink 
 just that they may not feel how hungry and 
 how cold they are ? " They remember their 
 misery no more." Is the life of the world and 
 of outward things like that, if we live too 
 much in it ? I used to be so contented with 
 it all — its pleasures, its little triumphs, even its 
 gossip ; and what I called my aspirations I 
 satisfied with what was nothing more than 
 phrases. And now I have found my real self, 
 now I am awake, I want much more, and there 
 is nothing — only a great silence, a great loneli- 
 ness like that in the face. And the theories 
 I_ talked about are no comfort any more ; they 
 are just what pretty speeches would be to a. 
 
VI MRS. MOLYNEUX'S GOSPEL 165 
 
 person in torture. Oh, Mr. Lyndsay, I always 
 feel that you are real, that you are good ; tell 
 me what you know. Is there nothing but 
 this dark void beyond when life falls away 
 from us ? ' 
 
 She lifted towards me a face quivering with 
 excitement, and eyes that waited wUd and 
 famished for my answer, — the answer I had 
 not for her, and then indeed I tasted the full 
 bitterness of the cup of unbelief. 
 
 'No,' she said presently, 'I knew it; no 
 one can do me any good but Cecilia de Noel.' 
 
 ' And she believes ? ' 
 
 ' It is not what she believes, it is what 
 she is.' 
 
 She rested her head upon her hand and 
 looked musingly towards the window, down 
 which the drops were trickling, and said — 
 
 'Ever since 1 have known CecOia I have 
 always felt that if all the world faUed this 
 would be left. Not that I reaUy imagined the 
 world would fail me, but you know how one 
 imagines things, how one asks oneself questions. 
 
i66 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 If I was like this, if I was like that, what 
 should I do ? I used to say to myself, if the 
 very worst happened to me, if I was ill of 
 some loathsome disease from which everybody 
 shrank away, or if my mind was unhinged and 
 I was tempted with horrible temptations like 
 I have read about, I would go to Cecilia. She 
 would not turn from me ; she would run to 
 meet me as the father in the parable did, not 
 because I was her friend but because I was in 
 trouble. All who are in trouble are Cecilia's 
 friends, and she feels to them just as other 
 people feel towards their own children. And 
 I could tell her everything, show her every- 
 thing. Others feel the same; I have heard 
 them say so — men as well as women. I know 
 why — Cecilia's pity is so reverent, so pure. 
 A great London doctor said to me once, " Ee- 
 member, nothing is shocking or disgusting to 
 a doctor." That is like Cecilia. No suffering 
 could ever be disgusting or shocking to Cecilia, 
 nor ridiculous, nor grotesque. The more 
 humiliating it was, the more pitiful it would 
 
VI MRS. MOLYNEUX'S GOSPEL 167 
 
 be to her. Anything that suffers is sacred to 
 Cecilia. She would comfort, as if she went 
 on her knees to one ; and her touch on 
 one's wounds, one's ugliest wounds, would be 
 like,' — she hesitated and looked about her in 
 quest of a comparison, then, pointing to a pic- 
 ture over the door, a picture of the Magdalene, 
 kissing the bleeding feet upon the Cross, ended, 
 ' like that' 
 
 ' Oh, Mrs. Molyneux,' I cried, ' if there be 
 love like that in the world, then ' 
 
 The door opened and Castleman entered. 
 
 ' If you please, sir, the carriage is at the 
 door.' 
 
CHAPTER VTI 
 
 CECILIA S GOSPEL 
 
 The rain gradually ceased falling as we drove 
 onward and upward to the station. It stood 
 on high ground, overlooking a wide sweep of 
 downland and fallow, bordered towards the 
 west by close-set woodlands, purple that even- 
 ing against a sky of limpid gold, which the 
 storm-clouds discovered as they lifted. 
 
 I had not long to wait, for, punctual to its 
 time, the train steamed into the station. From 
 that part of the train to which I first looked, 
 four or five passengers stepped out ; not one of 
 them certainly the lady that I waited for. 
 Glancing from side to side I saw, standing at 
 the far end of the platform, two women ; one 
 of them was tall ; could this be Mrs. de Noel ? 
 
CHAP. VII CECILIA'S GOSPEL 169 
 
 And yet no, I reflected as I went towards 
 them, for she held a baby in her arms — a baby 
 moreover swathed, not in white and laces, but 
 in a tattered and discoloured shawl ; while her 
 companion, lifting out baskets and bundles 
 from a third-class carriage, was poorly and 
 even miserably clad. But again, as I drew 
 nearer, I observed that the long fine hand 
 which supported the child was delicately 
 gloved, and that the cloak which swung back 
 from the encircling arm was lined and bordered 
 with very costly fur. This and something in 
 the whole outline 
 
 ' Mrs. de Noel ? ' I murmured inquiringly. 
 
 Then she turned towards me, and I saw her, 
 as I often see her now in dreams, against that 
 sunset background of aerial gold which the 
 artist of circumstance had painted behind 
 her, like a new Madonna, holding the child of 
 poverty to her heart, pressing her cheek 
 against its tiny head with a gesture whose 
 exquisite tenderness, for at least that fleeting 
 instant, seemed to bridge across the gulf which 
 
176 CECILIA DE NOEL chai- 
 
 still yawns between Dives and Lazarus. So 
 standing, she looked at me with two soft 
 brown eyes, neither large nor beautiful, but in 
 their outlook direct and simple as a child's. 
 Remembering as I met them what Mrs. 
 Molyneux had said, I saw and comprehended 
 as well what she meant. Benevolence is but 
 faintly inscribed on the faces of most men, 
 even of the better sort. " I will love you, my 
 neighbour," we thereon decipher, "when I 
 have attended to my own business, in the first 
 place ; if you are lovable, or at least likable, 
 in the second." But in the transparent gaze 
 that Cecilia de Noel turned upon her fellows 
 beamed love poured forth without stint and 
 without condition. It was as if every man, 
 woman, and child who approached her became 
 instantly to her more interesting than herself, 
 their defects more tolerable, their wants more 
 imperative, their sorrows more moving than 
 her own. In this lay the source of that 
 mysterious charm so many have felt, so few 
 have understood, and yielding to which even 
 
VII CECILIA'S GOSPEL 171 
 
 those least capable of appreciating her con- 
 fessed that, whatever her conduct might be, 
 she herself was irresistibly lovable. A kind 
 of dream- like haze seemed to envelop us as I 
 introduced myself, as she smiled upon me, as 
 she resigned the child to its mother and bid 
 them tenderly farewell ; but the clear air of the 
 real became distinct again when there stood 
 suddenly before us a fat elderly female, whose 
 countenance was flushed with mingled anxiety 
 and displeasure. 
 
 ' Law bless me, mem ! ' said the newcomer, 
 'I could not think wherever you could be. 
 I have been looking up and down for you, all 
 through the first-class carriages.' 
 
 ' I am so sorry. Parkins,' said Mrs. de Noel 
 penitently; 'I ought to have let you know 
 that I changed my carriage at Carchester. I 
 wanted to nurse a baby whose mother was 
 looking ill and tired. I saw them on the 
 platform, and then they got into a third-class 
 carriage, so I thought the best way would be 
 to get in with them.' 
 
172 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 ' And where, if you please, mem,' inquired 
 Parkins, in an icy tone and with a face 
 stiffened by repressed displeasure — ' where do 
 you think you have left your dressing-bag and 
 humbreUa ? ' 
 
 Mrs. de Noel fixed her sweet eyes upon the 
 speaker, as if striving to recollect the answer 
 to this question, and then replied — 
 
 ' She told me she lived quite near the 
 station. I wish I had asked her how far. She 
 is much too weak to walk any distance. I 
 might have found a fly for her, might I not ? ' 
 
 Upon which Parkins gave a snort of 
 irrepressible exasperation, and, .evidently 
 renouncing her mistress as beyond hope, 
 forthwith departed in search of the missing 
 property. I accompanied her, and, with the 
 aid of the guard, we speedily found and 
 secured both bag and umbrella, and, as the 
 train steamed off, returned with these treasures 
 to Mrs. de Noel, stiE on the same spot and in 
 the same attitude as we had left her, and all 
 that she said was — 
 
VII CECILIA'S GOSPEL 173 
 
 ' It was SO stupid, so forgetful, so just like 
 me not to have asked her more about it. She 
 had been ill ; the journey itself was more than 
 she could stand ; and then to have to carry the 
 baby ! She said it was not far, but perhaps 
 she only said that to please me. Poor people 
 are so afraid of distressing one ; they often 
 make themselves out better oflf than they really 
 are, don't they ? ' 
 
 I was embarrassed by this question, to which 
 my own experience did not authorise me to 
 answer yes ; but I evaded the difficulty by 
 consulting a porter, who fortunately knew the 
 woman, and was able to assure us that her 
 cottage was barely a stone's throw from the 
 station. When I had conveyed to Mrs. de 
 Noel this information, which she received with 
 an eager gratitude that the recovery of her 
 bag and umbrella had failed to rouse, we left 
 the station to go to the carriage, and then it 
 was that, pausing suddenly, she cried out in 
 dismay — 
 
 * Ah, you are hurt ! you ' 
 
174 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 She stopped abruptly ; she had divined 
 the truth, and her eyes grew softer with such 
 tender pity as not yet had shone for me — 
 motherless, sisterless — on any woman's face. 
 As we drove home that evening she heard the 
 story that never had been told before. 
 
 'You may have your faults. Cissy,' said 
 Atherley, 'but I will say this for you — for 
 smoothing people down when they have been 
 rubbed the wrong way, you never had your 
 equal.' 
 
 He lay back in a comfortable chair looking 
 at his cousin, who, sitting on a low seat 
 opposite the drawing-room fire, shaded her 
 eyes from the glare with a little hand-screen. 
 
 ' Mrs. Molyneux, I hear, has gone to sleep,' 
 he went on ; ' and Mrs. Mallet is unpacking 
 her boxes. The only person who does not 
 seem altogether happy is my old friend 
 Parkins. When I inquired after her health 
 a few minutes ago her manner to me was 
 barely civil.' 
 
 ' Poor Parkins is rather put out,' said Mrs. 
 
VII CECILIA'S GOSPEL 175 
 
 de Noel in her slow gentle way. ' It is all my 
 fault. I fdrgot to pack up the bodice of my 
 best evening gown, and Parkins says it is the 
 only one I look fit to be seen in.' 
 
 ' But, my dear Cecilia,' said Lady Atherley, 
 looking up from the work which she pursued 
 beside a shaded lamp, ' why did not Parkins 
 pack it up herself ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, because she had some shopping of 
 her own to do this forenoon, so she asked me 
 to finish packing for her, and of course I said 
 I would ; and I promised to try and forget 
 nothing ; and then, after all, I went and left 
 the bodice in a drawer. It is provoking ! 
 The fact is, James spoUs me so when he is at 
 home. He remembers everything for me, and 
 when I do forget anything he never scolds 
 me.' 
 
 ' Ah, I expect he has a nice time of it,' 
 said Atherley. ' However, it is not my fault. 
 I warned him how it would be when he was 
 engaged. I said : " I hope, for one thing, you 
 can live on air, old chap, for you will get 
 
176 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 nothing more for dinner if you trust to Cissy 
 to order it." ' 
 
 'I don't believe you said anything of the 
 kind,' observed Lady Atherley. 
 
 ' No, dear Jane ; of course he did not. He 
 was very much pleased with our marriage. 
 He said James was the only man he ever 
 knew who was fit to marry me.' 
 
 ' So he was,' agreed Atherley ; ' the only 
 man whose temper could stand all he would 
 have to put up with. We had good proof of 
 that even on the wedding-day, when you kept 
 him kicking his heels for half an hour in the 
 church while you were admiring the efiiect of 
 your new finery in the glass.' 
 
 'What ! ' cried Lady Atherley incredulously. 
 
 ' What really did happen, Jane,' said Mrs. 
 de Noel, ' was that when Edith Molyneux was 
 trying on my wreath before a looking-glass 
 over the fireplace, she unfortunately dropped 
 it into the grate, and it got in such a mess. 
 It took us, a long time to get the black off. 
 and some of the sprays were so spoiled. 
 
VII CECILIA'S GOSPEL 177 
 
 we had to take them out. And it was very 
 unpleasant for Edith, as Aunt Henrietta was 
 extremely angry, because the wreath was her 
 present, you know, and it was very expensive ; 
 and as to Parkins, poor dear, she was so 
 vexed she positively cried. She said I was 
 the most trying lady she had ever waited 
 upon. She often says so. I am afraid it is 
 true.' 
 
 ' Not a doubt of it,' said Atherley. 
 
 'Do not believe him, Cecilia,' said Lady 
 Atherley ; ' he thinks there is no one in the 
 world like you.' 
 
 ' Fortunately for the world,' said Atherley ; 
 ' any more of the sort would spoil it. But I 
 am not going to stay here to be bullied by 
 two women at once. Eather than that, I will 
 go and write letters.' 
 
 He went, and soon afterwards Lady 
 Atherley followed him. 
 
 Then the two little boys came in with Tip. 
 
 * We are not allowed to take him upstairs,' 
 explained Harold, 'so we thought he might 
 
 N 
 
178 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 stay with you and Mr. Lyndsay for a little, 
 till Charles comes for him.' 
 
 ' If you would let him lie upon your dress, 
 Aunt Cissy,' suggested Denis ; ' he would Kke 
 that.' 
 
 Accordingly he was carefully settled on the 
 outspread folds of the serge gown ; and after 
 the little boys had condoled with hira in 
 tones so melancholy that he was affected 
 almost to tears, they went off to supper and 
 to bed. 
 
 SUence followed, broken only by the 
 ticking of the clock and the waUing of the 
 wind outside. Mrs. de Noel gazed into the 
 fire with intent and unseeing eyes. Its warm 
 red light softly illumined her whole face and 
 figure, for in her abstraction she had let the 
 hand-screen fall, and was stroking mechanically 
 the little sleek head that nestled against her. 
 Meantime I stared attentively at her, thinking 
 I might do so without offence, seeing she 
 had forgotten me and aU else around her. 
 Once, indeed, as if rising for a minute to the 
 
vii CECILIA'S GOSPEL 179 
 
 surface, with eyes that appeared to waken, she 
 looked up and encountered my earnest gaze, 
 but without shade of displeasure or discom- 
 fiture. She only smiled upon me, placidly as 
 a sister might smile upon a brother, benignly 
 as one might smile upon a child, and fell into 
 her dream again. It was a wonderful look, 
 especially from a woman, as unique in its 
 complete unconsciousness as in its warm 
 good-will ; it was as soothing as the touch of 
 her fine soft fingers must have been on Tip's 
 hot head. I felt I could have curled myself 
 up, as he did, at her feet and slept on — for 
 ever. But, alas ! the clock was checking the 
 flying minutes and chanting the departing 
 quarters, and presently the dressing-bell rang. 
 Mrs. de Noel stirred, gave a long sigh, and, 
 plainly from the fulness of her heart and of 
 the thoughts she had so long been following, 
 said — 
 
 ' Mr. Lyndsay, is it not strange ? So many 
 people from the great world come and ask me 
 if there is any God. Eeally good people, you 
 
i8o CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 know, SO honourable, so generous, so self- 
 sacrificing. It is just the same to me as if 
 they should ask me whether the sun was 
 shining, when all the time I saw the sunshine 
 on their faces.' 
 
 ' By the way,' said Atherley that night after 
 diuner, when Mrs. Molyneux was not present, 
 'where are you going to put Cissy to-night? 
 Are you going to make a bachelor of her 
 too?' 
 
 ' Oh, such an uncomfortable arrangement ! ' 
 said Lady Atherley. ' But Lucinda has set her 
 heart on having CecUia near her; so they 
 have put up a little bed in the dressing-room 
 for her.' 
 
 ' Cissy is to keep the ghost at bay, is she ? ' 
 said Atherley. 'I hope she may. I don't 
 want another night as lively as the last.' 
 
 ' Who else has seen the ghost ? ' asked Mrs. 
 de Noel thoughtfully. ' Has Mr. Lyndsay ? ' 
 
 ' No, Lindy will never see the ghost ; he is 
 too much of a sceptic. Even if he saw it he 
 would not believe in it, and there is nothing a 
 
VII CECILIA'S GOSPEL i8i 
 
 ghost hates like that. But he has seen the 
 people who saw the ghost, and he tells their 
 several stories very well.' 
 
 ' Would you tell me, Mr. Lyndsay ? ' asked 
 Mrs. de Noel. 
 
 I could do nothing but obey her wish ; still 
 I secretly questioned the wisdom of doing so, 
 especially when, as I went on, I observed steal- 
 ing over her listening face the shadow of some 
 disturbing thought. 
 
 ' Well now. Cissy is thoroughly well fright- 
 ened,' observed Atherley. 'Perhaps we had 
 better go to bed.' 
 
 ' It is no good saying so to Lucinda,' said 
 Lady Atherley, as we aU rose, ' because it only 
 puts her out; but I shall always feel certain 
 myself it was a mouse ; because I remember in 
 the house we had at Bournemouth two years 
 ago there was a mouse in my room which 
 often made such a noise knocking down the 
 plaster inside the wall, it used to quite 
 startle me.' 
 
 That night the storm finally subsided. 
 
i82 CECILIA DE NOEL chap, 
 
 ^Vlien the morning came the rain fell no 
 longer, the cry of the wind had ceased, and 
 the cloud - curtain above us was growing 
 lighter and softer as if penetrated and suf- 
 fused by the growing sunshine behind it. 
 
 I was late for breakfast that day. 
 
 ' Mr. Lyndsay, Tip is all right again,' cried 
 Denis at sight of me. 'Mrs. Mallet says it 
 was chicken bones he stole from the cat's dish.' 
 
 ' Is that aU ? ' observed Atherley sardonic- 
 ally; 'I thought he must have seen the 
 ghost. By the bye, Cissy, did you see it ? ' 
 
 'Yes,' said Mrs. de Noel simply, at which 
 Atherley visibly started, and instantly began 
 talking of something else. 
 
 Mrs. Molyneux was to leave by an after- 
 noon train, but, to the relief of everybody, it 
 was discovered that Mrs. Mallet had indefi- 
 nitely postponed her departure. She remained 
 in the mildest of humours and in the most 
 philosophical of tempers, as I myself can 
 testify ; for, meeting her by accident in the 
 hall, I was encouraged by the amiability of 
 
VII CECILIA'S GOSPEL 183 
 
 her simper to say that I hoped we should 
 have no more trouble with the ghost, when 
 she answered in words I have often since 
 admiringly quoted — 
 
 ' Perhaps not, sir, but I don't seem to care 
 even if we do ; for I had a dream last night, 
 and a spirit seemed to whisper in my ear, 
 " Don't be afraid ; it is only a token of death.'" 
 
 After Mrs. Molyneux had started, with 
 Mrs. de Noel as her companion as far as the 
 station, and all the rest of the party had gone 
 out to sun themselves in the brightness of the 
 afternoon, I worked through a long arrears of 
 correspondence; and I was just finishing a 
 letter, when Atherley, whom I supposed to 
 be far distant, came into the library. 
 
 ' I thought you had gone to pay calls with 
 Lady Atherley ? ' 
 
 'Is it likely? Look here, Lindy, it is 
 quite hot out of doors. Come, and let me tug 
 you up the hill to meet Cissy coming home 
 from the station, and then I promise you a 
 rare treat.' 
 
1 84 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 Certainly to meet Mrs. de Noel anywhere 
 might be so considered, but I did not ask if 
 that was what he meant. It was milder ; one 
 felt it more at every step upward. The sun, 
 low as it was, shone warmly as well as bril- 
 liantly between the clouds that he had thrust 
 asunder and scattered in wild and beautiful 
 disorder. It was one of those incredible days 
 in early spring, babny, tender, which our 
 island summer cannot always match. 
 
 We went on tOI we reached Beggar's Stile. 
 
 ' Sit down,' said Atherley, tossing on to the 
 wet step a coat he carried over his arm. ' And 
 there is a cigarette ; you must smoke, if you 
 please, or at least pretend to do so.' 
 
 ' What does all this mean ? What are you 
 up to, George ? ' 
 
 'I am up to a delicate psychical investi- 
 gation which requires the greatest care. The 
 medium is made of such uncommon stuflF ; she 
 has not a particle of brass in her composition. 
 So she requires to be carefully isolated from 
 all disturbing influences. I allow you to be 
 
VII CECILIA'S GOSPEL 185 
 
 present at tlie experiment, because discretion 
 is one of your strongest points, and you 
 always know when to hold your tongue. 
 ■Besides, it will improve your mind. Cissy's 
 story is certain to be odd, like herself, and 
 
 will illustrate what I am always saying that 
 
 Here she is.' 
 
 He went forward to meet and to stop the 
 carriage, out of which, at his suggestion, Mrs. 
 de Noel readily came down to join us. 
 
 'Do not get up, Mr. Lyndsay,' she called 
 out as she came towards us, ' or I will go 
 away. I don't want to sit down.' 
 
 ' Sit down, Lindy,' said Atherley sharply, 
 ' Cissy likes tobacco in the open air.' 
 
 She rested her arms upon the gate and 
 looked downwards. 
 
 ' The dear dear old river ! It makes me 
 feel young again to look at it.' 
 
 ' Cissy,' said Atherley, his arms on the gate, 
 his eyes staring straight towards the opposite 
 horizon, 'tell us about the ghost; were you 
 frightened ? ' 
 
1 86 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 There was a certain tension in the pause 
 which followed. Would she tell us or not? 
 I almost felt Atherley's rebound of satisfaction 
 as well as my own at the sound of her voice. 
 It was uncertain and faint at first, but by 
 degrees grew firm again, as timidity was lost 
 in the interest of what she told : 
 
 ' Last night I sat up with Mrs. Molyneux, 
 holding her hand till she fell asleep, and that 
 was very late, and then I went to the dressing- 
 room, where I was to sleep ; and as I un- 
 dressed, I thought over what Mr. Lyndsay 
 had told us about the ghost ; and the more I 
 thought, the more sad and strange it seemed 
 that not one of those who saw it, not even 
 Aunt Eleanour, who is so kind and thoughtftd, 
 had had one pitying thought for it. And we 
 who heard about it were just the same, for it 
 seemed to us quite natural and even right that 
 everybody should shrink away from it because 
 it was so horrible ; though that should only 
 make them the more kind ; just as we feel ^^e 
 must be more tender and loving to any one who 
 
VII CECILIA'S GOSPEL 187 
 
 is deformed, and the more shocking his defor- 
 mity the more tender and loving. And what, I 
 thought, if this poor spirit had come by any 
 chance to ask for something ; if it were in pain 
 and longed for relief, or sinful and longed for 
 forgiveness? How dreadful then that other 
 beings should turn from it, instead of going to 
 meet it and comfort it — so dreadful that I 
 almost wished that I might see it, and have 
 the strength to speak to it ! And it came into 
 my head that this might happen, for often 
 and often when I have been very anxious to 
 serve some one, the wish has been granted in 
 a quite wonderful way. So when I said my 
 prayers, I asked especially that if it should 
 appear to me, I might have strength to 
 forget all selfish fear and try only to know 
 what it wanted. And as I prayed the foolish 
 shrinking dread we have of such things seemed 
 to fade away ; just as when I have prayed for 
 those towards whom I felt cold or unforgiving; 
 the hardness has all melted away into love 
 towards them. And after that came to me 
 
CECILIA DE NOEL 
 
 that lovely feeling wMcli we all have some- 
 times — in church, or when we are praying 
 alone, or more often in the open air, on beauti- 
 ful summer days when it is warm and stall ; 
 as if one's heart were beating and overflowing 
 with love towards everything in this world 
 and in all the worlds ; as if the very grasses 
 and the stones were dear, but dearest of all, the 
 creatures that still suffer, so that to wipe away 
 their tears forever, one feels that one would 
 die — oh, die so gladly ! And always as if this 
 were something not our own, but part of that 
 wonderful great Love above us, about us, every- 
 where, clasping us all so tenderly and safely ! ' 
 
 Here her voice trembled and failed; she 
 waited a little and then went on, 'Ah, I am 
 too stupid to say rightly what I mean, but 
 you who are clever will understand. 
 
 ' It was so sweet that I knelt on, drinking it 
 in for a long time ; not praying, you know, 
 but just resting, and feeling as if I were in 
 heaven, tUl all at once, I cannot explain why, 
 I moved and looked round. It was there at 
 
vu CECILIA'S GOSPEL 189 
 
 the other end of the room. It was . . . — 
 much worse than I had dreaded it would be ; 
 as if it looked out of some great horror deeper 
 than I could understand. The loving feeling 
 was gone, and I was afraid — so much afraid, I 
 only wanted to get out of sight of it. And I 
 think I would have gone, but it stretched out 
 its hands to me as if it were asking for some- 
 thing, and then, of course, I could not go. So, 
 though I was trembling a little, I went nearer 
 and looked into its face. And after that, I 
 was not afraid any more, I was too sorry for 
 it ; its poor poor eyes were so full of anguish. 
 I cried : " Oh, why do you look at me like that ? 
 Tell me what I shall do." 
 
 ' And directly I spoke I heard it moan. Oh, 
 George, oh, Mr. Lyndsay, how can I tell you 
 what that moaning was Hke ! Do you know 
 how a little change in the face of some one 
 you love, or a little tremble in his voice, can 
 make you see quite clearly what nobody, not 
 even the great poets, had been able to show 
 you before ? 
 
igo CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 'George, do you remember the day that 
 grandmother died, when they all broke down 
 and cried a little at dinner, all except Uncle 
 Marmaduke ? He sat up looking so white and 
 stern at the end of the table. And I, foolish 
 little chUd, thought he was not so grieved as 
 the others — that he did not love his mother so 
 much. But next day, quite by chance, I heard 
 him, all alone, sobbing over her coflfin. I 
 remember standing outside the door and 
 listening, and each sob went through my 
 heart with a little stab, and I knew for the 
 first time what sorrow was. But even his 
 sobs were not so pitiful as the moans of that 
 poor spirit. While I listened I learnt that iu 
 another world there may be worse for us to 
 bear than even here — sorrow more hopeless, 
 more lonely. For the strange thing was, the 
 moaning seemed to come from so far far 
 away ; not only from somewhere millions and 
 millions away, but — this is the strangest of 
 all — as if it came to me from time long since 
 past, ages and ages ago. I know this sounds 
 
vn CECILIA'S GOSPEL 191 
 
 like nonsense, but indeed I am trying to put 
 into words the weary long distance that 
 seemed to stretch between us, like one I 
 never should be able to cross. At last it 
 spoke to me in a whisper which I could only 
 just hear ; at least it was more like a whisper 
 than anjrthing else I can think of, and it 
 seemed to come like the moaning from far far 
 away. It thanked me so meekly for looking 
 at it and speaking to it. It told me that by 
 sins committed against others when it was on 
 earth it had broken the bond between itself 
 and all other creatures. While it was what 
 we caU alive, it did not feel this, for the senses 
 confuse us and hide many things from the 
 good, and so still more from the wicked ; but 
 when it died and lost the body by which it 
 seemed to be kept near to other beings, it 
 found itself imprisoned in the most dreadful 
 loneliness — loneliness which no one in this 
 world can even imagine. Even the pain of 
 solitary confinement, so it told me, which 
 drives men mad, is only like a shadow or type 
 
192 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 of this loneliness of spirits. Others there might 
 be, but it knew nothing of them — nothing 
 besides this great empty darkness everywhere, 
 except the place it had once lived in, and the 
 people who were moving about it ; and even 
 those it could only perceive dimly as if look- 
 ing through a mist, and always so unutterably 
 away from them all. I am not giving its own 
 words, you know, George, because I cannot 
 remember them. I am not certain it did 
 speak to me ; the thoughts seemed to pass in 
 some strange way into my mind ; I cannot 
 explain how, for the still far-away voice did 
 not really speak. Sometimes, it told me, the 
 loneliness became agony, and it longed for a 
 word or a sign from some other being, just as 
 Dives longed for the drop of cold water ; and 
 at such times it was able to make the living 
 people see it. But that, alas ! was useless, for 
 it only alarmed them so much that the bravest 
 and most benevolent rushed away in terror or 
 would not let it come near them. But still it 
 went on showing itself to one after another, 
 
vii CECILIA'S GOSPEL 193 
 
 always hoping that some one would take pity 
 on it and speak to it, for it felt that if com- 
 fort ever came to it, it must be through a 
 living soul, and it knew of none save those 
 in this world and in this place. And I 
 said : " Why did you not turn for help to 
 God?" 
 
 ' Then it gave a terrible answer : it said, 
 "What is God?" 
 
 ' And when I heard these words there came 
 over me a wild kind of pity, such as I used 
 to feel when I saw my little child struggling 
 for breath when he was ill, and I held out 
 my arms to this poor lonely thing, but it 
 shrank back, crying : 
 
 ' " Speak to me, but do not touch me, brave 
 human creature. I am all death, and if 
 you come too near me the Death in me may 
 kill the life in you."' 
 
 ' But I said : " No Death can kill the life 
 in me, even though it kill my body. Dear 
 feUow-spirit, I cannot tell you what I 
 know; but let me take you in my arms; 
 
 
 
194 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 rest for an instant on my heart, and 
 perhaps I may make you feel what I feel all 
 around us." 
 
 ' And as I spoke I threw my arms around 
 the shadowy 'form and strained it to my 
 breast. And I felt as if I were pressing to 
 me only air, bat air colder than any ice, so 
 that my heart seemed to stop beating, and T 
 could hardly breathe. But I still clasped it 
 closer and closer, and as I grew colder it 
 seemed to grow less chill. 
 
 ' And at last it spoke, and the whisper was 
 not far away, but near. It said : 
 
 ' " It is enough ; now I know what God is ! " 
 
 ' After that I remember nothing more, till 
 I woke up and found myself lying on the 
 floor beside the bed. It was morning, and 
 the spirit was not there ; but I have a strong 
 feeling that I have been able to help it, and 
 that it will trouble you no more. 
 
 ' Surely it is late ! I must go at once. I 
 promised to have tea with the children.' 
 
VII CECILIA'S GOSPEL 195 
 
 Neither of us spoke ; neither of us stirred ; 
 when the sound of her light footfall was 
 heard no more, there was complete silence. 
 Below, the mists had gathered so thickly that 
 now they spread across the valley one dead 
 white sea of vapour in which village and 
 woods and stream were all buried — all except 
 the little church spire, that, stUl unsubmerged, 
 pointed triumphantly to the sky ; and what 
 a sky ! For that which yesterday had steeped 
 us in cold and darkness, now, piled even to 
 the zenith in mountainous cloud-masses, was 
 dyed, every crest and summit of it, in crimson 
 fire, pouring from a great fount of colour, 
 where, to the west, the heavens opened to 
 show that wonder -world whence saints and 
 singers have drawn their loveliest images of 
 the Rest to come. 
 
 But perhaps I saw all things irradiated by 
 the light which had risen upon my darkness — 
 the light that never was on land or sea, but 
 shines reflected in the human face. 
 
196 CECILIA DE NOEL chap. 
 
 'George, I am waiting for your interpre- 
 tation.' 
 
 ' It is very simple, Lindy,' he said. 
 
 But there was a tone in his voice I had 
 heard once — and only once — before, when, 
 through the first terrible hours that followed 
 my accident, he sat patiently beside me in 
 the darkened room, holding my hot hand in 
 his broad cool palm. 
 
 ' It is very simple. It is the most easily 
 explained of aU the accounts. It was a dream 
 from beginning to end. She fell asleep pray- 
 ing, thinking, as she says; what was more 
 natural or inevitable than that she should 
 dream of the ghost? And it aU confirms 
 what I say : that visions are composed by the 
 person who sees them. Nothing could be 
 more characteristic of Cissy than the story 
 she has just told us.' 
 
 'And let it be a dream,' I said. 'It is 
 of no consequence, for the dreamer remains, 
 breathing and walking on this solid earth. 
 I have touched her hand, I have looked 
 
vit CECILIA'S GOSPEL 197 
 
 into her face. Thank God ! she is no vision, 
 the woman who could dream this dream ! 
 George, how do you explain the miracle of 
 her existence ? ' 
 
 But Atherley was silent. 
 
 THE ElfD 
 
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BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
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 fiction is likely to be better known in this country than hitherto." 
 
 THE METTLE OF THE PASTURE. Crown 8vo. Gilt top. 6s. 
 
 DAILY TELEGRAPH,— ^'^ No careful reader will fail to note the frequent passages 
 of exquisite beauty which delight both eye and ear, . . . The character drawing is also 
 perfect. . . . Always charming book." 
 
 LITERAR Y IVORLD.— "The publication of a new novel by Mr. James Lane Allen 
 is now a real event in the literary world. Of all the American novelists his work stands 
 out most prominently for its style, its thought, its sincerity. His artistry places him side 
 by side with Mr. J. M. Barrie among the supreme literary craftsmen of the age. . . . The 
 book is strong and convincing." 
 
 THE mCRBASING PURPOSE. 
 
 *' Yet I doubt not thro' the ages one increasing purpose runs, 
 And the thoughts of men are widen'd with the process of the suns." — Tennyson. 
 Crown 8vo. Gilt top. 6s. 
 WESTMINSTER GAZETTE.-^" Such a book as this is a rare event, and as 
 refreshing as it is rare. This book ... is a beautiful one — beautiful alike in thought, tone, 
 and language." 
 
 LITERATURE. — "We may safely assert that it will achieve a large success, and 
 achieve it on its merits." 
 
 THE CHOIR INVISIBLE. Globe 8vo. 6s. PAso the Edition de 
 Luxe^ with Illustrations by ORSON LowELL. Extra Crown 
 8vo. 7s. 6d. net. 
 
 ACADEMY. — "A book to read, and a book to keep after reading. Mr. Allen's gifts 
 are many — a style pellucid and picturesque, a vivid and disciplined power of characterisation, 
 and an intimate knowledge of a striking epoch and an alluring country. The Choir 
 Invisible is a fine achieveinenL" 
 
 A KENTUCKY CARDINAL. Globe 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 AFTERMATH. Being Part II. oi A Kentucky Cardinal. Globe 
 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 A KENTUCKY CARDINAL, AND AFTERMATH. Complete 
 in one volume. With Headpieces, Initials, and Illustrations 
 by Hugh Thomson. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 OUTLOOK.— ^^ His work has purity, delicacy, and unfailing charm. He gives you 
 matter for laughter, matter for tears, and matter to think upon, with a very fine hand." 
 
 SUMMER IN ARCADT. Globe 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 DAILY TELEGRAPH.—" Most charming. ... In this little sketch Mr. Allen's 
 writing of nature is of his best. The whole picture is seen through a glorifying haze oi 
 summer heat and mystery. Overflowing with life, rich in perfume, warm and irresistible. 
 The scene ;;lows side by side with the nsing love in the two young hearts." 
 
 FLUTE AND VIOLIN AND OTHER KENTUCKY TALES 
 AND ROMANCES. Crown 8va 6s. 
 
 DAILY NEWS. — *' The stories will be warmly welcomed in their new form by all 
 lovers of art and of nature, and by those especially who already know and appreciate the 
 enchanted Kentucky of Mr. James Lane Allen." 
 
 THE BLUE-GRASS REGION OF KENTUCKY. AND 
 OTHER KENTUCKY ARTICLES. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 SPECT.4T0R.—"'Ih\s charming book. . . . Mr. Allen can paint word landscapes 
 with Astonishmg clearness and delicacy." 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO., Ltd., LONDON. 
 
MACMILLAN'S 
 THREE-AND-SIXPENNY 
 
 LIBRARY OF BOOKS 
 BY POPULAR AUTHORS 
 
 Crown 8vo. 
 
 n^HIS SERIES comprises over four 
 hundred volumes in various depart- 
 ments of Literature. Prom,inent among 
 them, is a new and attractive edition of 
 The "Works of Thackeray, issued under 
 the editorship of Mr. Lewis Melville. It 
 contains all the Original Illustrations, and 
 includes a great number of scattered pieces 
 and illustrations which have not hitherto 
 appeared in any collected edition of the 
 works. The Works of Charles Dickens, 
 reprinted from, the first editions, with all 
 the Original Illustrations, and with Intro- 
 ductions, Biographical and Bibliographical, 
 by Charles Dickens the Younger, and an 
 attractive edition of The Novels of Charles 
 Lever, illustrated by Phiz and G. Cruik- 
 
Macmillain and Co.'s 
 
 shcmk, have dzlso a place in the Library. 
 The attention of book buyers imay be es- 
 pecially directed to The Border Edition 
 of the W^averley Novels, edited by Mr. 
 Andrew Lang, which, with its large type 
 and convenient form, and its copious illus- 
 trations by well-known artists, possesses 
 features which place it in the forefront of 
 editions now obtainable of the fatuous novels. 
 The Works of Mr. Thomas Hardy, in- 
 cluding the poems, have also been added 
 to the Three-and-Sixpenny Library. 
 
 Among other works by notable con- 
 temporary authors will be found those of 
 Mr. F. Marion Crawford, Rolf Boldrewood, 
 Mr. H. G. Wells, Gertrude Atherton, Mr. 
 Egerton Castle, Mr. A. E. W. Mason, 
 Maarten Maartens, and Miss Rosa Nou- 
 ehette Carey ; while among the Productions 
 of an earlier period may be mentioned the 
 works of Charles Kingsley, Frederick Deni- 
 son Maurice, Thomas Hughes, and Dean 
 Farrar ; and the novels and tales <?/'Charlotte 
 M. Yonge, Mrs. Craik, and Mrs. Oliphant. 
 
Three-and-Sixpenny Library 3 
 
 THE 
 
 WORKS OF THACKERAY 
 
 Reprints of the First Editions, with all the Original Illustrations, 
 and with Facsimiles of Wrappers, etc. 
 
 Messrs. Macmillan & Co., Limited, beg leave to invite the 
 attention of booik buyers to the^ Edition of Thk WORKS OF 
 Thackeray in their Three-iand-Sixpenny Library, which is the 
 Completest Edition of the Author's Works that has been placed 
 on the ntarket. 
 
 The Publishers have been fortunate in securing the services ol 
 Mr. Lewis MelvijLLE, the well-known Thackeray Expert. With 
 his assistance they have been able to include in this Edition a. 
 great number of scattered pieces from- Thackeray's pen, and illus- 
 trations from his pencil which have not hitherto been contained in 
 any collected edition of the works. Mr. Melville has. read all. 
 the sheets as they passed through the press, and collated them 
 carefully with the original editions. He has also provided Biblio- 
 graphical Introductions and occasional Footnotes. 
 
 List of tke Series. 
 
 VOL. 
 
 1. Vanity Fair. With 190 Illustrations. 
 
 2. The 'History of Pcndennis. With 180 
 
 Illustrations. 
 
 3. The Nev/comes. With 167 Illustrations 
 
 4. The History of Henry Esmond. 
 
 5. The Virginians. With 148 Illustrations. 
 
 6. Barry Lyndon and Catherine. With 4 
 
 Illustrations. 
 
 7.. The Pans and Irish Sketch Books. With 
 
 63 Illustrations. 
 
Macmillan and Co.'s 
 
 THACKERAY'S ^OKMiS—conHnued. 
 
 VOL. 
 
 8. Christmas Books — Mrs. Perkins's 
 
 Ball: Our Street: Dr. Birch and his Young 
 FiuENDs : The . Kickleburys on the Rhine : The 
 Rose and the Ring. With 127 Illustrations. 
 
 9. Burlesques : From Comhill to Grand 
 
 Cairo : and Juvenilia. With 84 Illustrations. 
 
 10. The Book of Snobs, and other Contri- 
 
 butions to Punch. With 159 Illustrations. 
 
 11. The Yellowplush Correspondence : 
 
 Jeames's Diaiy : The Great Hoggarty Diamond : Etc, 
 With 47 Illustrations. 
 
 12. Critical Papers in Literature. 
 
 13. Critical Papers in Art ; Stubbs's Calen- 
 
 dar : Barber Cox. With 99 Illustrations. 
 
 14. Lovel the Widower, and other Stories. 
 
 With 40 Illustrations. 
 
 15. The Fitz-Boodle Papers (including 
 
 Men's Wives), and various Artides. 8 Illustrations. 
 
 16. The English Humourists of the i8th 
 
 Century: The Four Georges : Etc. 45 Illustrations. 
 
 17. Travels in London : Letters to a Young 
 
 Man about Town : and other Contributions to PutuA 
 (1845 — 1850). With 73 Illustrations. 
 
 18. Ballads and Verses, and Miscellaneous 
 
 Contributions to Punch. With 78 Illustrations. 
 
 19. A Shabby Genteel Story, and The 
 
 Adventures of Philip. With Illustrations. 
 
 20. Roundabout Papers and Denis Duval, 
 
 With Illustrations. 
 
Three-and-Sixpenny Library 5 
 
 MACMILLAN'S 
 EDITION OF THACKERAY 
 
 SOME OPINIONS OF THE PRESS 
 
 EXPOSITORY TIMES.— "Kvi edition to do credit even to this 
 publishing house, and not likely to be surpEissed until they surpass it with 
 a cheaper and better themselves." 
 
 WHITEHALL IlEVIEm—"Nevei betore has such a cheap and 
 excellent edition of Thackeray been seen." 
 
 ACADEMY. — "A better one-volume edition at three shillings and 
 sixpence could not be desired." 
 
 GRAPHIC. — " In its plain but pretty blue binding is both sei-viceable 
 and attracttve." 
 
 DAILY GRAPHIC— " Aa sTLceileiA, cheap reprint." 
 
 PALL MALL GAZET7E.—"'thc size of the books is handy, paper 
 and printing are good, and the binding, which is of blue cloth, is simple 
 but tastefiil. Altogether the publishers are to be congratulated upon a 
 reprint which ought to be popular." 
 
 GLOBE. — "The paper is thin but good, the type used is clear to read, 
 and the binding is neat and effective." , 
 
 LADTS PICTORIAL.— "The paper is good, the type clear and 
 large, and the binding tastefiil. Messrs. Macmillan are to be thanked tor 
 so admirable and inexpensive an edition oi our great satirist." 
 
 JfO^ZZ).— "Nothing could be better than the new edition." 
 
 BLACK AND WHITE.— "Tha more one sees of the edition the 
 more enamoured of it he becomes. It is so good and neat, immaculate as 
 to print, and admirably bound." 
 
 SCOTSMAN.— " This admirable edition. " 
 
 LITERARY WORLD.— "The paper and printing and general get 
 up are everything that one could desire." 
 
 ST. JAMES'S GAZETTE.—" A clear and pretty edition." 
 
6 MacmiHan and Co.'s 
 
 THE 
 
 WORKS OF DICKENS 
 
 Reprints of the First Editions, with all the original Illustrations, 
 
 and with Introductions, Biographical and Bibliographical, 
 
 by Charles Dickens the Younger. 
 
 THE PICKWICK PAPERS. With 50 Illustrations. 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. With 27 Illustrations. 
 
 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. With 44 Illustrations. 
 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. With 41 Illustrations. 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. With 97 Illustra- 
 tions. 
 
 BARNABY RUDGE. With 76 Illustrations. 
 
 DOMBEY AND SON. With 40 Illustrations. 
 
 CHRISTMAS BOOKS. With 65 Illustrations. 
 
 SKETCHES BY BOZ. With 44 Illustrations. 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES and PICTURES FROM 
 ITALY. With 4 Illustrations. 
 
 DAVID COPPERFIELD. With 40 Illustrations. 
 
 BLEAK HOUSE. With 43 Illustrations. 
 
 LITTLE DORRIT. With 40 Illustrations. 
 
 THE LETTERS OF CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 A TALE OF TWO CITIES. With 15 Illustrations. 
 
 GREAT EXPECTATIONS ; and HARD TIMES. 
 
 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. With 40 Illustrations. 
 
Three-and-Sixpenny Library 7 
 
 MACMILLAN'S 
 EDITION OF DICKENS 
 
 SOME OPINIONS OF THE PRESS 
 
 ATHENJEVM.—" Handy in form, well printed, illustrated with re- 
 productions of the original plates, introduced with bibliographical notes by 
 the novelist's son, and above all issued at a most moderate price, this 
 edition will appeal successfully to a large number, of readers." 
 
 SPEAKER.—" We do not think there exists a better edition.'' 
 
 MORNING POST.— "The edition will be highly appreciated." 
 
 SCOTSMAN. — " This reprint offers peculiar attractions. Of a handy 
 size, in one volume, of clear, good-sized print, and with its capital comic 
 illustrations, it is a volume to be desired." 
 
 NEWCASTLE CHRONICLE.— " The most satisfactory edition of 
 the book that has been issued. " 
 
 GLASGOW HERALD.— "'^one of the recent editions of Dickens 
 can be compared with that which Messrs. Macmillan inaugurate with the 
 issue of Pickwick. . . . Printed in a large, clear type, very readable. " 
 
 GLOBE. — "They have. used an admirably clear type and good paper, 
 and the binding is unexceptionable. . . . May be selected as the most 
 desirable cheap edition of the immortal ' Papers ' that has ever been offered 
 to the public." 
 
 MANCHESTER EXAMINER.— "Handy in form, well printed, 
 illustrated with reduced reproductions of the original plates, introduced 
 with bibliographical notes by the novelist's son, and above all issued at a 
 moderate price, this edition will appeal successfully, to a large number of 
 readers." • 
 
 THE QUEEN. — "A specially pleasant and convenient form in which 
 to re-read Dickens." 
 
 THE STAR.— "This new 'Dickens Series,' with its reproductions of 
 the original illustrations, is a joy to the possessor." 
 
8 Macmillan and Go.'s 
 
 Complete in Twenty-four Volumes, Crown &vo, tastefully bound in 
 green cloth, gilt. Price y, 6d, each. 
 
 In special cloth binding, flat backs, gilt tops. Supplied in Sets only oj 
 24 volumes. Price £4 4s, 
 
 Also an edition with all the 250 original etchings. In 24 volumes. 
 Crown Svo, gilt tops. Price 6s, each. 
 
 THE LARGE TYPE 
 BORDER EDITION OF THE 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS 
 
 EDITED WITH 
 
 INTRODVCTORY ESSAYS AND NOTES 
 
 ANDREW LANG 
 
 Supplementing those of the Axjthor. 
 
 With Two Hundred and Fifty New and Original Illustrations iy 
 Eminent Artists. 
 
 BY the kind permission of the Hon. Mrs. Maxwell-Scott, 
 of Abbotsford, the great-granddaughter of Sir Walter, 
 the MSS. and other material at Abbotsford were examined by 
 Mr. \ndrew Lang during the preparation of his Introductory 
 Essays and Notes to the Series, so that the Border Edition 
 may be said to contain all the results of the latest researches 
 as to the composition of the Waverley Novels. 
 
Three-and-Sixpenny Library 9 
 
 The Border Waverley 
 
 1. Waverley. With 12 Illustrations by Sir H. Rae- 
 
 BURN, R.A., R. W. Macbeth, A.R.A., John Pettie, R.A., 
 H. Macbeth-Raeburn, D. Herdman, W. J. Leitch, 
 Robert Herdman, R.S.A.", and J. Eckford Lauder. 
 
 2. Guy Mannering. With 10 Illustrations by J. 
 
 MacWhirter, A.R.A., R. W. Macbeth, A.R.A., C. O. 
 Murray, Clark Stanton, R.S.A., Gourlay Steell, 
 R.S.A., F. S. Walker, R. Herdman, R.S.A., and J. B. 
 Macdonald, A.R.S.A. 
 
 3. The Antiquary. With 10 Illustrations by J. 
 
 MacWhirter, A.R.A., Sam Bough, R.S.A., R. Herd- 
 man, R.S.A., W. M'Taggart, A.R.S.A., J. B. Mac- 
 donald, A.R.S.A., and A. H. TOURRIER. 
 
 4. Rob Roy. With 10 Illustrations by R. W. MACBETH, 
 
 A.R.A., and Sam Bough, R.S.A. 
 
 5. Old Mortality. With 10 Illustrations by J. Mac- 
 
 Whirter, A.R.A., R. Herdman, R.S.A., Sam Bough, 
 R.S.A., M. L. Gow, D. Y. Cameron, Lockhart Bogle, 
 and Alfred Hartley. 
 
 6. The Heart of Midlothian. With 10 Illustra- 
 
 tions by Sir J. E. MiLLAIS, Bart., HUGH CAMERON, R.S.A., 
 Sam Bough, R.S.A., R. Herdman, R.S.A., and Wal. 
 Paget. ' 
 
 7. A Legend of Montrose and The Black Dwarf. 
 
 With 7 Illustrations by Sir George Reid, P.R.S.A., 
 George Hay, R.S.A., Horatio MacCulloch, R.S.A. 
 W. E. Lockhart, R.S.A., H. Macbeth-Raeburn, and 
 T. Scott. 
 
 8. The Bride OF LammERMOOR. With 8 Illustrations 
 
 by Sir J. E. Millais, Bart., John Smart, R.S.A., Sam 
 Bough, R.S.A., George Hay, R.S.A., and H. Macbeth- 
 Raeburn. 
 
 9. Ivanhoe. With 12 Illustrations by Ad. Lalauze. 
 
 10. The Monastery. With 10 Illustrations by Gor- 
 
 don Browne. 
 
 11. The Abbot. With 10 Illustrations by GORDON 
 
 Browne. 
 
lo Macmiilan and Co.'s 
 
 The Border Waverley 
 
 12. Kenilworth. With 12 Illustrations by Ad. 
 
 Lalauze. 
 
 13. The Pirate. With 10 Illustrations by W. E. 
 
 LocKHART, R.S.A., Sam Bough, R.S.A., Herbekt 
 DicKSEE, W. Strang, Lockhart Bogle, C. J. Holmes, 
 and F. S. Walker. 
 
 14. The Fortunes of Nigel. With 10 Illustrations 
 
 by John PfiTXiE, R.A., and R. W. Macbeth, A.R.A. 
 
 15. Peveril of the Peak. With 15 Illustrations by 
 
 W. Q. Orchardson, R.A. John Pettie, R.A., F. Dadd> 
 R.I., Arthur Hopkins, A.R.W.S., and S. L. Wood. 
 
 16 Quentin Durward. With 12 Illustrations by 
 Ad. Lalauze. 
 
 17. St. Ronan's Well. With 10 Illustrations by Sir 
 
 G. Reid, P.R.S.A., R. W. Macbeth, A.R.A., W. Hole, 
 R.S.A., and A. Forestier. 
 
 18. Redgauntlet. With 12 Illustrations by Sir James 
 
 D. Linton, P.R.L, James Orrock, R.I., Sam Bough, 
 R.S.A., W. Hole, R.S.A., G. Hay, R.S.A., T. Scott, 
 A.R.S.A., W. Boucher, and Frank Short. 
 
 19. The Betrothed and The Talisman. With 10 
 
 Illustrations by Herbert Dicksee, Wal. Paget, and 
 J. Le Blant. 
 
 20. Woodstock. With 10 Illustrations by W. Hole. 
 
 R.S.A. 
 
 21. The Fair Maid of Perth., With, 10 Illustrations 
 
 by Sir G. Reid, P.R.S.A., John Pettie, R.A., R. W. 
 Macbeth, A.R.A., and Robert Herdman, R.S.A. 
 
 22. Anne of Geierstein. With 10 Illustrations by 
 
 R. de Los Rios. 
 
 23. Count Robert of Paris and The Surgeon's 
 
 Daughter. With 10 Illustrations by W. Hatherell, 
 R.I., and W. B. Wollen, R.I. 
 
 24. Castle Dangerous, Chronicles of the Canon - 
 
 gate, etc. With 10 Illustrations by H. Macbeth-Rak- 
 burn and G. D. Armour. 
 
Three-and-Sixpenny Library 1 1 
 
 The Border Waverley 
 
 SOME OPINIONS OF THE PRESS 
 
 TIMES. — "It would be difficalt to find in these days a mote com- 
 petent and sympathetic editor of Scott than his countryman, the brilliant 
 and versatile man of letters who has undertaken th« task, and if any proof 
 were wanted either of Iris qualifications or of his skill and discretion in 
 displaying them, Mr. Lang has furnished it abundantly in his charming 
 Introduction to 'Waverley.' The editor's own notes are judiciously sparing, 
 but conspicuously to the point, and they are very discreetly separated from 
 those of the author, Mr. Lang's laudable purpose being to illustrate and 
 explain Scott, not to make the notes a pretext for displaying his own 
 critical faculty and literary erudition. The illustrations by various competent 
 hands are beautiful in themselves and beautifully executed, and, altogether, 
 the 'Border Edition' of the Waverley Novels bids fair to become the 
 classical edition of the great Scottish classic." 
 
 SPECTATOR. — " We trust that this fine edition of our greatest and 
 most poetical of novelists will attain, if it has not already done so, the high 
 popularity it deserves. To all Scott's lovers it is a pleasure to know that, 
 despite the daily and weekly inrush of ephemeral fiction, the sale of his 
 works is said by the booksellers to rank riext below Tennyson's in poetry, 
 and above that of everybody else in prose." 
 
 ATHENMUM. — " The handsome ' Border Edition' has been brought 
 to a successful conclusion. The publisher deserves to be complimented 
 on the manner in which the edition has been printed and illustrated, and 
 Mr. Lang on the way in which he has performed his portion of the work. 
 His introductions have been tasteful and readable ; he has not overdone 
 his part ; and, while he has supplied much useful information, he has by no 
 means overburdened the volumes with notes. " 
 
 NOTES AND Qt7fi^Z£5.—" This spirited and ambitious enterprise 
 has been conducted to a safe termination, and the most ideal edition of the 
 Waverley Novels in existence is now completed. " 
 
 SATURDAY REVIEW.— ''Oi all the many collections of tht 
 Waverley Novels, the ' Border Edition' is incomparably the most handsome 
 and the- most desirable. . . . Type, paper, illustrations, are altogether 
 admirable." 
 
 MAGAZINE OFART.—"SAxe, type, paper, and printing, to say 
 nothing of the excessively liberal and charming introduction of the illustra- 
 tions, make this perhaps the most desirable edition of Scott ever issued on 
 this side of the Border. " 
 
 DAILY CHRONICLE.—'' There is absolutely no fault to be found 
 with it, as to paper, type, or arrangement." 
 
12 Macmillan and Co.'s 
 
 THE WORKS OF 
 
 THOMAS HARDY 
 
 Collected Edition 
 
 1. TESS OF THE D'URBERVILLES. 
 
 2. FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. 
 
 3. THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE. 
 
 4. A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 5. TWO ON A TOWER. 
 
 6. THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 7. THE WOODLANDERS. 
 
 8. JUDE THE OBSCURE. 
 
 9. THE TRUMPET-MAJOR. 
 
 10. THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 11. A LAODICEAN. 
 
 12. DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 13. WESSEX TALES. 
 
 14. LIFE'S LITTLE IRONIES. 
 
 15. A GROUP OF NOBLE DAMES. 
 
 16. UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE. 
 
 17. THE WELL-BELOVED. 
 
 18. WESSEX POEMS, and other Verses. 
 
 19. POEMS OF THE PAST and THE PRESENT. 
 
Three-and-Sixpenny Library 13 
 
 THE 
 WORKS OF THOMAS HARDY 
 
 SOME PRESS OPINIONS OF THE THREE-AND-SIXPENNY ISSUE 
 
 PALL MALL GAZETTE.—". . . their charming edition of the 
 works of Thomas Hardy ... the price aslced for it ... is absurdly 
 cheap. . . . Any more convenient and beautiful form of presentation for 
 these books it would be difficult to find." 
 
 ATHEN^VM. — "This edition is so comely and so moderate in 
 price fhat it may well placate those who have sighed for earlier issues out 
 of their reach. Mr. Hardy's prefaces to the volumes should not be missed, 
 for they are models of a difficult art, whether reflective, informative, or 
 combative." 
 
 UNIFORM EDITION OF THE 
 
 NOVELS OF CHARLES LEVER 
 
 With all the Original Illustrations. 
 
 1. HARRY LORREQUER. Illustrated by Phiz. 
 
 2. CHARLES O'MALLEY. Illustrated by Phiz. 
 
 3. JACK HINTON THE GUARDSMAN. Illustra- 
 
 . ted by Phiz. 
 
 4. TOM BURKE OF OURS. Illustrated by Phiz. 
 
 5. ARTHUR O'LEARY. Illustrated by G. Cruie- 
 
 SHANK. 
 
 6. LORD KILGOBBIN. Illustrated by Luke Fildes. 
 
14 Macmillan and Co.'s 
 
 THE NOVELS OF 
 
 F. MARION CRAWFORD 
 
 MR. ISAACS: A Tale of Modern India. 
 
 ^T'/f^^^i/'J*/.— "A work of unusual ability. . . . It fully deserves the notice it !s 
 sure to attract." 
 
 DOCTOR CLAUDIUS: A True Story. 
 
 A THENMUM.—" Few recent books have been so difficult to lay down when once 
 begun." 
 
 A ROMAN SINGER. 
 
 TIMES. — " A masterpiece of narrative. . . . Unlike any ottier romance in English 
 literature.'' 
 
 ZOROASTER. . 
 
 GUARDIAN.— " ka instance of the highest and noblest form of novel. . . . Alike 
 in the originality of its conception and the power with which it is wrought out, it stands 
 on a level that is almost entirely its own." 
 
 MARZIO'S CRUCIFIX. 
 
 TIMES.—" Pi. subtle compound of artistic feeling, avarice, malice, and criminal 
 frenzy is this Carver of silver chalices and crucifixes. 
 
 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 
 
 GUARDIAN.— "The tale is written with all Mr. Crawford's skill." 
 
 PAUL PATOFF. 
 
 .ST. JAMES'S GAZETTE.— "those who neglect to read Paul Patoff will throw 
 away a very pleasurable opportunity." 
 
 WITH THE IMMORTALS. 
 
 SPECTATOR. — "Cannot fail to please a reader who enjoys crisp, clear, vigoroas 
 writing, and thoughts that are alike original and suggestive." 
 
 GREIFENSTEIN. 
 
 SPECTATOR.— " Mtop:t)ieT, we like Greifenstein decidedly— so much so as to 
 doubt whether it does not dislodge A Roman Singer from the place hitherto occupied by 
 the latter as our favourite amongst Mr. Crawford s novels." 
 
 TAQUISARA: A Novel. 
 
 PALL MALL GAZETTE. — " Cannot fail to be read with interest and pleasure by 
 all to whom clever characterisation and delicate drawing make appeal." 
 
 A ROSE OF YESTERDAY. 
 
 SPEAKER. — "There is something in A Rose of Yesterday which makes. the book 
 linger yath a distinct aroma of its own in the reader's memory.' 
 
 SANT' ILARIO. 
 
 ATHENjSUM. — "The plot is skilfully concocted, and the interest is sustained to 
 the end. . . . A very clever piece of work.' 
 
 A CIGARETTE-MAKER'S ROMANCE. 
 
 GLOBE.— "Vte are inclined to think this is the best of Mr. Marion Crawford's 
 stories." 
 
 KHALED : A Tale of Arabia. 
 
 ANTI-JACOBIN.— "Mt. Crawford has written sAme stories more powerful, but 
 none more attractive than this." 
 
 THE THREE FATES. 
 
 NA TIONAL OBSER VER.—" Increases in strength and in interest even to the 
 end." 
 
 THE WITCH OF PRAGUE. 
 
 ACADEMY.—" Is so remarkable a book as to be certain of as wide a popularity as 
 any of its predecessors; it is a romance of singular daring and power." 
 
Three-and-Sixpenny Library 15 
 THE NOVELS OF 
 
 F. MARION CRAWFORD 
 
 MARION DARCHE : A Story without Comment. 
 A THEN^UM. — " Readers in search of a good novel may be recommended to lose 
 DO time in making the acquaintance of Marion Darche, her devoted friends, and her one 
 enemy." 
 
 KATHARINE LAUDERDALE. 
 
 PUNCH. — "Admirable in its simple pathos, its unforced humour, and, above all, in 
 its truth to human nature." 
 
 THE CHILDREN OF THE KING. 
 DAILY CHRONICLE.— '^Ux, Crawford has not done better than The Children 
 oj the King- ior a long time. The story itself is a simple and beautiful one." 
 PIETRO GHISLERI. 
 SPEAKER. — "Mr. Marion Crawford is an artist, and a great one, and he has been 
 brilliantly successful in a task in which ninety-nine out of every hundred writers would 
 have failed." 
 
 DON ORSINO. 
 
 ^ ATHENjSUM. — "Don Orsino is a story with many strong points, and it is told 
 with alJ the spirit we have been wont to expect from its author." 
 CASA BRACCIO. 
 GUARDIAN. — " A very powerful story and a finished work of art." 
 
 ADAM JOHNSTONE'S SON. 
 DAILY NEWS. — "Mr. Crawford^ has written stories richer in incident and more 
 powerful in intention, but we do not think that he has handled more deftly or shown a 
 more delicate insight into tendencies that go towards making some of the more spiritual 
 tragedies of life," 
 
 THE RALSTONS. 
 ATHENE UAf. — "The present instalment of what promises to be a very voluminous 
 family history, increasing in interest and power as it develops, turns upon the death of 
 Robert and the disposition of his millions, which afford ample scope for the author's 
 pleasantlyjngenious talent in raising and surmounting difficulties of details." 
 
 CORLEONE: A Tale of Sicily. 
 PALL MALL G^Z^rr^.—" A splendid romance.' 
 
 VIA CRUCIS: A Romance of the Second Crusade. 
 GRAPHIC.—" A stirring story.' 
 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING: A Love Story of Old Madrid. 
 SPECTA TOR.—'' A truly thrilling tale." 
 
 CECILIA: A Story of Modern Rome. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED LONDON NEWS.— " Ca.n only enhance Mr. Crawford's 
 repatation. . . . Admirably treated with all the subtlety, finesse, and delicacy which are 
 characteristic of the author at his best." 
 
 MARIETTA: A Maid of Venice. 
 
 PUNCH. — " Marion Crawford is at his very best in Marietta^ A Maid of Venice. 
 It is a powerfully dramatic story of Venice under 'The Ten,' told in a seriesof picturesque 
 scenes described in strikingly artistic word-painting, the action being carried on by well- 
 imanned clearly-defined ^aracters." 
 
 THE HEART OF ROME. 
 
 PALL MALL GAZETTE.— ^^ Iq freshness, delicacy, and pictorial charm, it has 
 all the marks of its author's best work and his essential spirit." 
 
 SOPRANO: A Portrait. 
 ACADEMY. — " Always interesting, and told with the author's deep knowledge of 
 human nature, and his unvarying charm." 
 
 WHOSOEVER SHALL OFFEND . . . 
 DAIL Y TELEGRAPH. — " Mr. Marion Crawford's new novel will, it is safe to say, 
 take its place among the most successful and most widely-admired of all his stories. . . . 
 Sure to be read by thousands, and to give pleasure and entertainment wherever it is read." 
 
i6 Macmillan and Co.'s 
 
 THE NOVELS OF 
 
 ROLF BOLDREWOOD 
 
 ROBBEB'7 TJKDEB ABMS. 
 
 A STORY OF LIFE AND ADVENTURE IN THE BUSH AND IN THE 
 GOLD-FIELDS OF AUSTRALIA. 
 GUARDIAN. — "A singularly spirited and stirring ule of Australian life, chiefly 
 in the remoter settlements." 
 
 A M;0DEIIN BTTCOAITEEIl. 
 DAILY CHRONICLE. — "We do not forget RoHtry under Armt, or any ol its 
 various successors, when we say that Rolf Boldrewood has never done anything so good as 
 A Modem Buccaneer. It is good, too, in a manner which is for the author a new one." 
 
 THE MINER'S BiaHT. 
 
 A TALE OF THE AUSTRALIAN GOLD-FIELDS. 
 World. — " Full of good passages, passages abounding in vivacity, in the rolour 
 and play of life. . . . The pith of the book lies in its singularly fresh and vivid pictures 
 of the humours of the gold-fields — tragic humours enough they are, too, here and again." 
 THE SQTJATTEK'S DREAM. 
 FIELD. — *' The details are filled in by a hand evidently well conversant with his 
 subject, and everything is ben trovaio^ if not actually true. A perusal of these cheerfaUy- 
 written pages will probably give a better idea of realities of Australian life than could be 
 obtained firom many more pretentious works." ' 
 
 A S'7DNE7-SIDE SAXOK. 
 
 GLASGOIV HERALD.— "Ihsmtstest never flags, and altogether A Sydit^^Sub 
 Saxon is a really refreshing book." 
 
 A COI.ONIA£ REFORMER. 
 
 A THENjS UM. — " A series of natural and entertaining pictures of Australian life, 
 which are, above all things, readable." 
 
 NEVERMORE. 
 
 OBSERVER. — "An exciting story of Ballarat in the 'fifties. .Its heio, Lance 
 Trevanion, is a character which for force of delineation has no equal in Rolf Boldtewood's 
 previous novels." 
 
 PLAIN LIVING. A Bust IdyU. 
 
 ACADEMY. — "A hearty story, deriving charm from the odours of the bush and the 
 bleating of incalculable sheep." 
 
 MY RUN HOME. 
 
 A THENjSUM. — " Rolf Boldrewood's last story is a racy volume. It has many of 
 the best qualities of Whyte- Melville, the breezy freshness and vigour of Frank Smedley, 
 with the dash and something of the abandon of Lever. . . . His last volume is one of his 
 best." 
 
 THE SEALSKIN CLOAK. 
 
 T'/ilf^.S.—" A well-written story." 
 
 THE CROOKED STICK; or, PolUe's Probation. 
 
 ACADEMY. — "A charming picture of Australian station life." 
 OLD MELBOTTRNE MEMORIES. 
 NA TIONAL OBSER VER.—" His book deserves to be read in England with as 
 much appreciation as it has already gained in the country of its birth." 
 
 A ROMANCE OF CANVAS TO"WN, and other Stories. 
 ATHEN^UM.—"The hook is interesting for its obvious insight into life in the 
 Australian bush." 
 
 "WAR TO THE KNIFE; or, Tansata Maori. 
 -4C.XZ>£fl/I'. -" A stirring romance." 
 
 BABES IN THE BXTSH. 
 
 OUTLOOK. — " A lively and picturesque story." 
 
 DAILY TELEGRAPH.—" Bristles with thrilling incident." 
 
 IN BAD COMPANY, and other Stories. 
 DAILY NEtVS, — "The best work this popular author has done for some time." 
 
Three-and-Sixpenny Library 17 
 
 By H. G. WELLS 
 
 THE PLATTNER STORY : and others. 
 
 TALES OF SPACE AND TIME. 
 
 THE STOLEN BACILLUS : and other Incidents. 
 
 THE INVISIBLE MAN. A Grotesque Romance. 
 Eighth Edition. 
 
 LOVE AND MR. LEWISHAM. A Story of a very 
 
 Young Couple. 
 WHEN THE SLEEPER WAKES. 
 THE FIRST MEN IN THE MOON. 
 TWELVE STORIES AND A DREAM. 
 
 THE FOOD OF THE GODS AND HOW IT 
 
 Came to Earth. 
 
 KIPPS : The Story of a Simple Soul. 
 
 By A. E. W. MASON 
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MORRICE BUCKLER. 
 THE PHILANDERERS. 
 MIRANDA OF THE BALCONY. 
 
 By EGERTON CASTLE 
 THE BATH COMEDY. 
 
 THE PRIDE OF JENNICO. Being a Memoir of 
 
 Captain Basil Jennico. 
 "LA BELLA," AND OTHERS. 
 "YOUNG APRIL." 
 
 By MAARTEN MAARTENS 
 THE GREATER GLORY. A Story of High Life. 
 MY LADY NOBODY. A Novel. 
 GOD'S FOOL. A Koopstad Story. 
 THE SIN OF JOOST AVELINGH. A Dutch Story. 
 HER MEMORY. 
 
i8 Macmillan and Co.'s 
 
 THE NOVELS OF 
 
 ROSA N. CAREY 
 
 Nearly 700,000 of these works have been printed. 
 
 52nd Thousand. 
 NELLIE'S MEMORIES. 
 STANDARD. — " Miss Carey has the gift of writing naturally and simply, her pathos. 
 is tme and unforced, and her conversations are sprightly and sharp." 
 38th Thousand. 
 WEE WIFIE. 
 ImADY^ — " Miss Carey's novels are always welcome ; they are out of the common ran,, 
 immaculately pure, and very high in tone." 
 
 22nd Thousand. / 
 
 BARBARA HEATHCOTE'S TRIAL. 
 DAIL y TELEGRAPH.— " k. novel ol asort which it would be a real loss to miss. 
 25th Thousand. 
 ROBERT ORD'S ATONEMENT. 
 STANDARD.—" Robert OrtTs A tonemeni is a delightful hook, very quiet asto its. 
 story, but very strong in character, and instinct with that delicate pathos which is the- 
 salient point of all the writings of this author." 
 
 3Sth Thousand. 
 WOOED AND MARRIED. 
 STANDARD. — " Thire is plenty of romance in the heroihe's life. But it would not 
 be fair to tell our readers wherem that romance consists or how it ends. Let them read> 
 the book for themselves. We will undertake to promise that they will like it." 
 24th Thousand. ■ 
 
 HERIOT'S CHOICE. 
 MORNING /"OiT.—" Deserves to be extensively known and read. . . . Will doubt- 
 less find as many admirers as readers." 
 
 29th Thousand. 
 QUEENIE'S WHIM. 
 GUARDIAN, — " A thoroughly good and wholesome story." 
 38th Thousand. 
 
 NOT Like other girls. 
 
 PALL MALL GAZETTE.—" Like all the other stories we have had from the- 
 same gifted pen, this volume,^ Not Like Other Girlst takes a sane and healthy view of 
 life and its concerns. ... It is an excellent story to put in the hands of girls." 
 24th Thousand. 
 MARY ST. JOHN. 
 JOHN BULL, — "The story isa simple one, but told with much grace and unaffected- 
 pathos." 
 
 23rd Thousand. 
 FOR LILIAS. 
 
 VANITY PAIR. — *' A simple, earnest, and withal very interesting story ; welt 
 conceived, carefully worked out, and sympathetically told." 
 31st Thousand. 
 UNCLE MAX. 
 LADY. — " So intrinsically good that the world of novel-readers ought to be genuinely, 
 grateful." 
 
 2lst Thousand. 
 
 RUE WITH A difference. 
 
 BOOKMAN. — '* Fresh and charming. ... A piece of distinctly good work." 
 
 23id Thousand. 
 
 THE HIGHWAY OF FATE. 
 
 BOOKMAN. — ' ' This pretty love story ... is charming, sparkling, and neverraawkish.'*' 
 
Three-and-Sixpenny Library 19 
 THE NOVELS OF 
 
 ROSA N CAREY 
 
 Nearly 700,000 of these works have been printed. 
 
 34th Thousand. 
 ONLY THE GOVERNESS. 
 PALL MALL GAZETTE.— "This novel is for those who like stories with some- 
 thing of Jane Austen's power, but with more intensity of feeling than Jane Austen dis- 
 played, who are not inclined to call pathos twaddle, and who care to see life and human 
 nature in their most beautiful form." 
 
 27th Thousand. 
 LOVER OR FRIEND.' 
 GUARDIAN. — " The refinement of style and delicacy of thought will make Lover 
 or^ Friend? popular with all readers who are not too deeply bitten with a desire for 
 things improbable in their lighter literature." 
 
 2 1 St Thousand. 
 BASIL LYNDHURST. 
 
 PALL MALL GAZETTE.—" We doubt whether anything has been written of late 
 years so fresh, so pretty, so thoroughly natural and bright. The novel as a whole is charming." 
 
 125th Thousand. 
 SIR GODFREY'S GRAND-DAUGHTERS. 
 
 OBSERVER. — " A capital story. The interest steadily grows, and by the time one 
 reaches the third volume the story has become enthralling." 
 24th Thousand. 
 THE OLD, OLD STORY. 
 DAILY NEWS. — "Miss Carey's fluent pen has not lost its power of writing fresh 
 and wholesome fiction." 
 
 27th Thousand. 
 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM. 
 PALL MALL GAZETTE. — "Miss Carey's untiring pen loses none of its power, 
 and her latest work is as gracefully written, as full of quiet home charm, as fresh and 
 wholesome, so to speak, as its many predecessors." 
 
 14th Thousand. 
 MRS. ROMNEY and "BUT MEN MUST WORK." 
 
 PALL MALL GAZETTE.— "'Ey no means the least attractive of the works of this 
 charming writer." 
 
 3rd Thousand. 
 OTHER PEOPLE'S LIVES. 
 BRADFORD OSSER VER.—" There is a quiet charm about this stoiy which finds 
 its way into the innermost shrines of life. The book is wholesome and good, and cannot 
 fall to give pleasure to those who love beauty." 
 
 25th Thousand. 
 HERB OF GRACE. 
 WESTMINSTER GAZETTE.— " A clevei delineator of character, possessed of a 
 reserve of strength in a quiet, easy, flowing style. Miss Carey never fails to please a large 
 class of readers. Herd o/ Grace is ao exce^ion to the rale. ..." 
 22nd "Thousand. 
 A PASSAGE PERILOUS. 
 TIMES. — " Told with all Miss Carey's usual charm of quiet, well-bred sentiment." 
 2 1st Thousand. 
 AT THE MOORINGS. 
 DAILY NEWS. — " Miss Carey's many admirers will undoubtedly accord the book 
 a hearty welcome." 
 
 1 8th Thousand. 
 THE HOUSEHOLD OF PETER. 
 BOOKMAN. — "A safe and charming hook." 
 
20 Macmillan and Co.'s 
 
 THE NOVELS AND TALES OF 
 
 CHARLOTTE M. YONGE 
 
 THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE. With Illustrations by KATE 
 Greenaway. 
 
 HEARTSEASE; or, the Brother's Wife. New Edition. With 
 Illustrations by Kate Greenaway. 
 
 HOPES AND FEARS ; or, Scenes from the Life of a Spinster. 
 With Illustrations by Herbert Gandy. 
 
 DYNEVOR TERRACE ; or, the Clue of Life. With Illustrations 
 by Adrian Stokes. 
 
 THE DAISY CHAIN ■, or, Aspirations. A Family Chronicle 
 With Illustrations by J. P. Atkinson. 
 
 THE TRIAL : More Links of the Daisy Chain. With Illustra- 
 tions by J. P. Atkinson. 
 
 THE PILLARS OF THE HOUSE ; or. Under Wode, under 
 Rode. Two Vols. With Illustrations by Herbert Gandy. 
 
 THE YOUNG STEPMOTHER ; or, a Chronicle of Mistakes. 
 With Illustrations by Marian Huxley. 
 
 THE CLEVER WOMAN OF THE FAMILY. With lUustra- 
 tions by Adrian Stokes. 
 
 THE TH.REE BRIDES. With lUustrations by ADRIAN STOKES. 
 
 MY YOUNG ALCIDES : A Faded Photograph. With Illustra- 
 tions by Adrian Stokes. 
 
 THE CAGED LION. With Illustrations by W. J. Hennessy. 
 
 THE DOVE IN THE EAGLE'S NEST. With Illustrations 
 by W. J. Hennessy. 
 
 THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS; or, the White and Black 
 Ribaumont With Illustrations by W. J. Hennessy. 
 
 LADY HESTER ; or, Ursula's Narrative ; and THE DANVERS 
 PAPERS. ,With Illustrations by Jane E. Cook. 
 
 MAGNUM BONUM ; or. Mother Carey's Brood. With Illustra- 
 tions by W. J. Hennessy. 
 
 LOVE AND LIFE: an Old Story in Eighteenth Century Costume. 
 With Illustrations by W. J. Hennessy. 
 
 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. A Story of the Captivity of Mary 
 of Scotland. With Illustrations by W. J. Hennessy. 
 
 STRAY PEARLS. Memoirs of Margaret de Ribaumont, Vis- 
 countess of Bellaise. With Illustrations by W. J. Hennessy. 
 
Three-and-Sixpenny Library 21 
 THE NOVELS AND TALES OF 
 
 CHARLOTTE M. YONGE 
 
 THE ARMOURER'S 'PRENTICES. With Illustrations by 
 W. J. Hennessy. 
 
 THE TWO SIDES OF THE SHIELD. With Illustrations by 
 W. J. Hennessy. 
 
 NUTTIE'S FATHER. With Illustrations by W. J. HENNESSY. 
 
 SCENES AND CHARACTERS; or, Eighteen Months at 
 
 Beechcroft. With Illustrations by W. J. Hennessy. 
 CHANTRY HOUSE. With Illustrations bv W. J. Hennessy. 
 A MODERN TELEMACHUS. With Illustrations by W. J. 
 
 Hennessy. 
 BYWORDS. A collection of Tales new and old. 
 BEECHCROFT AT ROCKSTONE. 
 MORE BYWORDS. 
 A REPUTED CHANGELING ; or, Three Seventh Years Two. 
 
 Centuries Ago. 
 THE LITTLE DUKE, RICHARD THE FEARLESS. With 
 
 Illustrations. 
 THE LANCES OF LYNWOOD. With Illustrations byJ.B. 
 THE PRINCE AND THE PAGE : A Story of the Last Crusade. 
 
 With Illustrations by Adrian Stokes. 
 TWO PENNILESS PRINCESSES. With Illustrations by 
 
 W. J. Hennessy. 
 THAT STICK. 
 AN OLD WOMAN'S OUTLOOK IN A HAMPSHIRE. 
 
 VILLAGE. 
 GRISLY GRISELL ; or, The Laidly Lady of Whitburn. A Tale 
 
 of the Wars of the Roses. 
 HENRIETTA'S WISH. Second Edition. 
 THE LONG VACATION. 
 
 THE RELEASE ; or, Caroline's French Kindred. 
 THE PILGRIMAGE OF* THE BEN BERIAH. 
 THE TWO GUARDIANS ; or, Home in this World. Secondt 
 
 Edition. 
 COUNTESS KATE AND THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 
 MODERN BROODS ; or, Developments Unlooked for. 
 STROLLING PLAYERS : A Harmony of Contrasts. By C, M, 
 YoNGE and C. R. Coleridge. 
 
22 Macmillan and Co.'s 
 
 Works by Mrs. Craik 
 
 Olive : A Novel. With Illustrations by G. Bowers. 
 
 The Ogilvies : A Novel. With Illustrations. 
 
 Agatha's Husband: A Novel. With Illustrations by 
 Walter Crane. 
 
 The Head of the Family : A Novel. With Illustrations 
 by Walter Crane. 
 
 Two Marriages. 
 
 The Laurel Bush. 
 
 King Arthur: N®t a Love Story. 
 
 About Money, and other Things. 
 
 Concerning Men, and other Papers. 
 
 Works by Mrs. Oliphant 
 
 Neighbours on the Green. 
 
 Kirsteen : the Story of a Scotch Family Seventy Years Ago. 
 
 A Beleaguered City : A Story of the Seen and the Unseen. 
 
 Hester : a Story of Contemporary Life. 
 
 He that Will Not when He May. 
 
 The Railway Man and his Children. 
 
 The Marriage of Elinor. 
 
 Sir Tom. 
 
 The Heir-Presumptive and the Heir-Apparent. 
 
 A Country Gentleman and his Family. 
 
 A Son of the Soil. 
 
 The Second Son. 
 
 The Wizard's Son : A Novel. 
 
 The Curate in Charge. 
 
 Lady William. | Young Musgrave. 
 
Three-and-Sixpenny Library 23 
 
 The Works of Dean Farrar 
 
 •SEEKERS AFTER GOD. The Lives of Seneca, Epictetus, and 
 
 Marcus Aurelius. 
 ETERNAL HOPE. Sermons preached in Westminster Abbpy. 
 THE FALL OF MAN : and other Sermons. 
 THE WITNESS OF HISTORY TO CHRIST. 
 THE SILENCE AND VOICES OF GOD, with other Sermons. 
 " IN THE DAYS OF THY YOUTH." Sermons on Practical 
 
 Subjects. 
 SAINTLY WORKERS. Five Lenten Lectures. 
 EPHPHATHA ; or, the Amelioration of the World. 
 MERCY AND JUDGMENT : a few last words on Christian 
 
 Eschatology. 
 SERMONS & ADDRESSES DELIVERED IN AMERICA. 
 
 THE WORKS OF 
 
 Frederick Denison Maurice 
 
 SERMONS PREACHED IN LINCOLN'S INN CHAPEL. 
 
 In six vols. 
 SERMONS PREACHED IN COUNTRY CHURCHES. 
 •CHRISTMAS DAY : and other Sermons. 
 THEOLOGICAL ESSAYS. 
 THE PROPHETS AND KINGS OF the OLD TESTAMENT. 
 
 THE PATRIARCHS AND LAWGIVERS OF THE OLD 
 TESTAMENT. 
 
 THE GOSPEL OF THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN. 
 
 THE GOSPEL OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 THE EPISTLES OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 THE FRIENDSHIP OF BOOKS : and other Lectures. 
 
 THE PRAYER BOOK AND THE LORD'S PRAYER. 
 
 THE DOCTRINE OF SACRIFICE. Deduced from the 
 Scriptures. 
 
 THE ACTS OF THE APOSTLES. 
 
 THE KINGDOM OF CHRIST ; or, Hints to a Quaker re- 
 specting the Principles, Constitution, and Ordinances of the 
 Catholic Church, 2 vols. 
 
24 Macmillan and Co/s 
 
 THE WORKS OF 
 
 CHARLES KINGSLEY 
 
 WESTWARD HO 1 
 
 HYP ATI A; or, New Foes with an old Face. 
 
 TWO YEARS AGO. 
 
 ALTON LOCKE, Tailor and Poet. An Autobiography. 
 
 HEREWARD THE WAKE, "Last of the English." 
 
 YEAST : A Problem. 
 
 POEMS: including . The Saint's Tragedy, Andromeda, Songs 
 Ballads, etc. 
 
 THE WATER-BABIES : A Fairy Tale for a Land-Baby. With 
 
 Illustrations by Linley Sambourne. 
 THE HEROES ; or, Greek Fairy Tales for my Children. With 
 
 Illustrations by the Author. 
 
 GLAUCUS ; or, The Wonders of the Shore. With Illustrations. 
 
 MADAME HOW AND LADY WHY; or, First Lessons in 
 Earth Lore for Children. With Illustrations. 
 
 AT LAST. A Christmas in the West Indies. With Illustrations. 
 
 THE HERMITS. 
 
 HISTORICAL LECTURES AND ESSAYS. 
 
 PLAYS AND PURITANS, and other Historical Essays. 
 
 THE ROMAN AND THE TEUTON. 
 
 PROSE IDYLLS, New and Old. 
 
 SCIENTIFIC LECTURES AND ESSAYS. 
 
 SANITARY AND SOCIAL LECTURES AND ESSAYS. 
 
 LITERARY AND GENERAL LECTURES AND ESSAYS. 
 
 ALL SAINTS' DAY : and other Sermons. 
 
 DISCIPLINE : and other Sermons. 
 
 THE GOOD NEWS OF GOD. Sermons. 
 
 GOSPEL OF THE PENTATEUCH. 
 
 SERMONS FOR THE TIMESi 
 
 SERMONS ON NATIONAL SUBJECTS. 
 
 VILLAGE SERMONS, AND TOWN AND COUNTRY 
 SERMONS. . ^ y^i^x 
 
 THE WATER OF LIFE : and other Sermons. 
 WESTMINSTER SERMONS. 
 
Three-and-Sixpenny Library 25 
 
 ENGLISH 
 MEN OF LETTERS 
 
 Edited by JOHN MORLEY. 
 
 Arranged in 13 Volumes, each containing the Lives of three Authors. 
 
 I. Chaucer. By Dr. A. W. Ward. Spenser. By Dean 
 
 Church. Dryden. By Prof. Saintsbury. 
 II. Milton. By Mark Pattison. Goldsmith. By W. 
 Black. Cowper. By Goldwin Smith. 
 
 III. Byron. By Professor Nichol. Shelley. By J. A. 
 
 Symonds. Keats. By Sidney Colvin. 
 
 IV. \Vordsworth. By F. W. H. Myers. Southey. By 
 
 Prof. DowDEN. Landor. By Sidney Colvin. 
 
 V. Charles Lamb. By Canon Ainger. Addison. By 
 W. J. CouRTHOPE. Swift. By Sir Leslie Stephen, 
 K.C.B. 
 
 VI. Scott. By R. H. Hutton. Burns. By Principal 
 Shairp. Coleridge. By H. D. Traill. 
 
 VII. Hume. By Prof. Huxley, F.R.S. Locke. By Thos. 
 Fowler. Burke. By John Morley. 
 
 VIII. Defoe. By W. Minto. Sterne. By H. D. Traill. 
 Hawthorne. By Henry James. 
 
 IX. Fielding. By Austin Dobson. Thackeray. By 
 Anthony Trollope. Dickens. By Dr. A. W. 
 Ward. 
 
 X. Gibbon. By J. C. Morison. Carlyle. By Professor 
 Nichol. Macaulay. By J. C. Morison. 
 
 XI. Sydney. By J. A. Symonds. De Quincey. By 
 Prof. Masson. Sheridan. By Mrs. Oliphant. 
 
 XII. Pope. By Sir Leslie Stephen, K.C.B. Johnson. 
 By Sir Leslie Stephen, R.C.B. Gray. By Edmund 
 
 GOSSE. 
 
 XIII. Bacon. By Dean Church. Bunyan. By J. A. 
 Froude. Bentley. By Sir Richard Jebb. 
 
26 Macmillan and Co.'s 
 
 By GERTRUDE ATHERTON 
 
 THE CONQUEROR. 
 
 A DAUGHTER OF THE VINE. 
 
 THE CALIFORNIANS. 
 
 By J. H. SHORT HOUSE 
 
 JOHN INGLESANT: A Romance. 
 
 SIR PERCIVAL: a Story ofthe Past and of the Present. 
 
 THE LITTLE SCHOOLMASTER MARK. 
 
 THE COUNTESS EVE. 
 
 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN. 
 
 BLANCHE, LADY FALAISE. 
 
 By HUGH CONWAY 
 
 A FAMILY AFFAIR. | LIVING OR DEAD. 
 
 By W. CLARK RUSSELL 
 MAROONED. 
 
 By ANNIE KEARY 
 
 A YORK AND A LANCASTER ROSE. 
 
 CASTLE DALY : the Story of an Irish Home thirty 
 years ^o. 
 
 JANET'S HOME. | OLDBURY. 
 
 A DOUBTING HEART. 
 
 THE NATIONS AROUND ISRAEL. 
 
 By E. WERNER 
 
 FICKLE FORTUNE. 
 
Three-and-Sixpenny Library 27 
 
 By W. WARDB FOWLER 
 
 A YEAR WITH THE BIRDS. Illustrated. 
 TALES OF THE BIRDS. Illustrated. 
 MORE TALES OF THE BIRDS. Illustrated. 
 SUMMER STUDIES OF BIRDS AND BOOKS. 
 
 By FRANK BUCKLAND 
 
 CURIOSITIES OF NATURAL HISTORY. lUus- 
 trated. In four yolumes : 
 
 First Series — Rats, Serpents, Fishes, Frogs^rMonkays, etc. 
 
 Second Series— Fossils, Bears, Wolves, Cats, Eagles, Hedge- 
 hogs, Eels, Herrings, Whales. 
 
 Third Series— Wild Ducks, Fishing, Lions, Tigers, Foxes, 
 Porpoises. 
 
 Fourth Series— Giants, Mummies, Mermaids, Wonderful 
 People, Salmon, etc. 
 
 By ARCHIBALD FORBES 
 
 BARRACKS, BIVOUACS, AND BATTLES. 
 SOUVENIRS OF SOME CONTINENTS. 
 
 By THOMAS HUGHES 
 
 TOM BROWN'S SCHOOLDAYS. 
 
 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 THE SCOURING OF THE WHITE HORSE. 
 
 ALFRED THE GREAT. 
 
 By MONTAGU WILLIAMS 
 
 LEAVES OF A LIFE. | LATER LEAVES. 
 
 ROUND LONDON. 
 
 By W. E. NORRIS 
 
 THIRLBY HALL. 
 
 A BACHELOR'S BLUNDER. 
 
 The ^A^orks of SHAKESPEARE 
 VICTORIA EDITION. In Three Volumes. 
 Vol. I. Comedies. Vol. II. Histories. Vol. III. Tragedies. 
 
28 Three-and-Sixpenny Library 
 
 Works by Various Authors 
 
 Eogan, H.F. 
 
 Flitters, Tatters, and the Counsellor 
 
 The New Antigone | Hemories of Father Healy 
 
 Canon ATKINSON.— The Last of the GKant Killers 
 
 Playhonrs and Half-Holidays ; or, f(irtl\er Ezperiencea 
 
 of Two Schoolboys 
 
 SiK S. BAKER.— True Tales for my Grandsons 
 
 R. H. 6ARHAM.— The Ingoldsby Legends 
 
 Rev. R. H. D. BARHAM.— Life of Theodore Hook 
 
 BLENNERHASSET and SLEEMAN.— Adventures in Mashona- 
 laad 
 
 LANOE falconer*— Cecilia de Noel 
 
 W. FORBES-MITCHELL.— Beminiscences of the Great Untiny 
 
 Rev. J. GILMORE.— Storm Warriors 
 
 CUTCLIFFE HYNE.— The "Paradise" Coal-Boat 
 
 MARY LINSKILL.— Tales of the North Biding 
 
 5. R. LYSAGHT.— The Marplot 
 
 One of the Grenvilles 
 
 M. M'LENNAN. — Muckle Jock, and other Stories 
 LUCAS MALET.— Mrs. Lorimer 
 
 6. MASSON.— A Compendious Dictionary of the Freneb 
 
 ' Language 
 Major GAMBIER PARRY.— The Story of Dick 
 E. C. PRICE.— In the Lion's Mouth 
 Lord REDESDALE.— Tales of Old Japan 
 W. C. RHOADES.— John Trevennick 
 MARCHESA TttEODOLI.— Under Pressure 
 ANTHONY TROLLOPE.— The Three Clerks 
 Mrs. HUMPHRY WARD.— Miss Bretherton 
 CHARLES WHITEHEAD.— Bichard Savage 
 
THE GLOBE LIBRARY 
 
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 with full gilt back and gilt edges, ^s. net each. 
 
 •Boswell's Life of Johnson. With an Introduction by 
 
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 •Burns's Complete Works. Edited from the best Printed 
 
 and MS. Authorities, with Memoir and Glossarial Index. By A. Smith. 
 *The Works of Geoffrey Chaucer. Edited by Alfred 
 
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 *Cowper's Poetical Works. Edited, with Biographical 
 
 Introduction and Notes by W. Bbnham, B.D. 
 Robinson Crusoe. Edited after the original Edition, with 
 
 a Biographical Introduction by Henry Kingsley, F.R.G.S. 
 *Dryden's Poetical Works. Edited, with a Memoir, 
 
 Revised Texts, and Notes, by W. D. Christie, M.A. 
 *The Diary of John Evelyn. With an Introduction and 
 
 Notes by Austin Dobson, Hon. LL.D. Edin. 
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 Edited by G. C. Macaulay, M.A. 
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 Introduction by Professor Masson. 
 Horace. Rendered into English Prose, with Introduction, 
 
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 Morte D'Arthur. The Book 01 King Arthur, and of his 
 
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