p 
 
 One or Two 
 
 Thco. Douglas 
 

 1 { ^ 
 
 &5 
 
 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME 
 OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT 
 FUND GIVEN IN 1891 BY 
 
 HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE 
 
Cornell University Library 
 .E84205 
 
 ! M i(wo; a romance, by Theo Douglas [ps 
 
 3 1924 013 456 961 
 
B Cornell University 
 M Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013456961 
 
ONE OR TWO 
 
ONE OR TWO 
 
 H iRomance 
 
 BY 
 
 THEO DOUGLAS 
 
 AUTHOB OF 
 
 'Misa Caroline," "A Golden TruBt," etc. 
 
 BROWN LANGHAM & CO., LTD., 
 
 78, New Bond Street, London, W. 
 1907 
 
S^5i'6 
 
 U3 
 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGB 
 
 I. SCHOOL FRIENDS - - - g 
 
 II. CATCHING AT A STRAW - - 24 
 
 III. SALVADOR 41 
 
 IV. THE EXPERIMENT BEGINS - - 59 
 
 V. THE FOURTH VIGIL - - " 79 
 
 VI. SWORN TO SILENCE - - - 93 
 
 VII. THE BELL RINGS - - - I08 
 
 VIII. DIFFICULT QUESTIONS - - 123 
 
 IX. HOSTESS AND GUEST - - - I4I 
 
 X. LADY SARAH - - - "157 
 
 XI. THE DOCTOR IS CALLED IN - - 175 
 
 XII. A CONFIDENCE TO MAXWORTHY - I94 
 
 XIII. IN THE ROSE GARDEN - - 220 
 
 XIV. TWO WIVES 241 
 
 XV. THE LOST RING - - - - 262 
 
 XVI. A LATE CONFESSION - - - 278 
 
 XVII. " WENN DU DAS HERZ HAST " - 298 
 
ONE OR TWO 
 
ONE OR TWO 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 School Friends 
 
 It is the amiable few, and not the irascible 
 many, who are patient when interrupted; 
 though the urchin scholar may hail any dis- 
 turbance which breaks in on his detested 
 lessons, and perhaps the devotee does not 
 quarrel with a summons calling him away 
 from that dismal business of the self-inflicted 
 scourge. Ursula Adams drew her dark 
 brows together in the pucker of a frown, 
 as she laid down her graving-tool, and took 
 the dainty envelope her landlady held out, 
 a fold of apron protecting it from the inpact 
 of a blackened finger and thumb. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, just come from The Mount, 
 and the messenger seemed in a hurry. He 
 said as how Mrs. Bethune had told him to 
 take back word." 
 
 The good woman fell back a step or two, 
 
lo ONE OR TWO 
 
 and folded her hands complacently. The 
 situation afforded her a certain satisfaction. 
 Her cottage lodgings were cheap and small, 
 such as suit with narrow purses ; and it 
 pleased her to have a real born lady in 
 them, if only for once, on intimate terms 
 with Mrs. Bethune of The Mount, which 
 was the great house of the neighbourhood. 
 She felt her own importance exalted when 
 liveried servants called at her door, and 
 sometimes a carriage and pair stopped the 
 way in the green lane below, and Mrs. 
 Bethune waited there for Mrs. Adams. For 
 Mrs. Bethune was accustomed always to 
 be driven, even the short distance between 
 the great house and the cottage. Though 
 still quite a young woman, walking had 
 become irksome to her by reason of a 
 certain misfortune — an ill that flesh is heir 
 to, and more especially indolent flesh. 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Adams opened her letter, 
 ruthlessly breaking through the delicate 
 initial which distinguished the envelope. 
 That impatient knitting of the brow continued 
 as she read, though the contents were 
 brief. 
 
 " Tell the messenger to say yes. I will 
 be there in half an hour." She glanced back 
 at the open page, a single page of writing. 
 " And, Mrs. Minter," in a suaver tone, as 
 
SCHOOL FRIENDS ii 
 
 one mindful of compensations — " you can 
 keep the cold mutton over for to-morrow. 
 I shall stay to lunch with Mrs. Bethune." 
 
 The landlady withdrew, and Ursula Adams 
 proceeded to cover the block on which she 
 had been working, and fit back her tools 
 into the case. " Another three hours," she 
 was saying fretfully, in that internal colloquy 
 which becomes a habit of solitude, "and I 
 could have had it ready to send in. Never 
 mind ; I must make up time when I get 
 back, and I have still a day to spare.'* The 
 work was important to her, for it meant 
 butter to the very dry bread of small means ; 
 but the summons had importance also, from 
 another point of view. For Mrs. Adams 
 was the chosen friend and confidante of 
 her rich neighbour at the Mount, and sundry 
 indirect advantages accrued from that 
 association, though no salary was oflfered or 
 received for a serious tax upon her time. 
 The friendship dated back to their mutual 
 school-days, now remote by the passage of 
 a decade. But it suffered interruption, as 
 such friendships will, when the two girls 
 drifted apart and into the altered interests 
 of marriage, and had only of late been 
 renewed through an accidental encounter. 
 
 It had been a close friendship once — 
 ardent and almost loverlike, as the 
 
12 ONE OR TWO 
 
 attachment of very young girls is apt to be, 
 one for another ; clinging and adoring on 
 the side of Frances, admiring and protecting 
 on that of Ursula ; the weaker nature, slight 
 and sweet, imposing the weight of its own 
 helplessness upon the strong, after a fashion 
 not uncommon. And it was the ashes of 
 this flame which Ursula raked together with 
 a stick or two of circumstance, to serve in 
 these later days to warm her hands by — as 
 she was apt to think cynically to herself. 
 For the solitary young widow had a vein of 
 bitterness in her nature ; sorrow and sordid 
 struggle combined to harden her : she was 
 accustomed to regard the world as her oyster, 
 which she with sword would open — or any 
 less magniloquent tool which came handy, 
 and would not soil her fingers. For as to 
 soil she was wont to be fastidious, whether 
 typical or actual. Just at this time it served 
 her purpose to attach herself to Frances 
 Bethune ; and so, in spite of some self-con- 
 tempt, she lingered on at Saltringham till 
 a better opening should induce her to strike 
 the pole of her tent, and wander forth like 
 an Arab nomad into pastures new. 
 
 Her work put aside, she turned back to 
 the letter, checking the impulse to tear it 
 through till she had glanced again 
 over the brief message it contained. 
 
SCHOOL FRIENDS 13 
 
 " Dearest Ursula," it began. " I am in 
 the greatest trouble," — ^with many dashes 
 under the adjective. " I have had unexpected 
 news — such news! — and I don't know what 
 to do. Come at once and advise me. My 
 hand shakes so, I can hardly write. Your 
 utterly distracted— FRANCES." 
 
 The dainty initial F. which marked the 
 envelope, headed this sheet also in curves 
 and tendrils. It stood for many fond names, 
 as well as for the commonplace Frances : 
 Ursula remembered how a doting father used 
 to shower them upon her when she still was 
 Frances Wayland. She was his Fay, his 
 Fairy, his Fanchette, but more commonly 
 and enduringly his Fancy. Which did 
 Colonel Bethune call her by in these later 
 days of marriage, queried the widow. But 
 that did not come within her knowledge : 
 Colonel Bethune, far away in India, was 
 known to Ursula only by hearsay : in 
 school-girl times as the Paladin with whom 
 Frances was desperately in love, — latterly as 
 the distant husband who had become of 
 little account in her altered life. 
 
 The letter was torn across by this time, 
 and tossed into the waste-basket, and Ursula 
 was hurriedly arraying herself in the cottage 
 chamber overhead, — a small bare place,, 
 where the roof sloped inconveniently low on 
 
14 ONE OR TWO 
 
 either side, and the wretched square of mirror 
 in the dormer window shut out more than 
 half the light. But, wretched as it was, 
 Mrs. Adams surveyed herself in it with some 
 satisfaction as she fastened her plain black 
 gown, and clasped the belt about her slender 
 waist. She still wore black for the husband 
 whose death had left her a widow ere she 
 ceased to be a bride — black, or those soft 
 half-tones of grey and touches of violet which 
 are pretty in themselves, and becoming to an 
 emergent mourner. She could not wear 
 anything livelier, she was used to say, because 
 of poor Keith — though Keith had now been 
 more than six years dead, and even when he 
 was alive, poor fellow, had never inspired 
 her with a grand passion, such as Frances 
 once entertained for Colonel Bethune. 
 
 Yes, there was a distinct satisfaction in her 
 face as she contemplated her own trim figure. 
 Here at least the advantage was on her side, 
 and not on Frances Bethune's, though 
 Frances was the rich woman and she the 
 poor one. Frances was her junior by two 
 important years, the years from twenty-eight 
 to thirty, Frances could within reasonable 
 limits indulge her every caprice ; and yet she 
 would have given it all, and perhaps the 
 husband in India into the bargain, for 
 that same slenderness of shape which the 
 
SCHOOL FRIENDS 15 
 
 elder woman had successfully preserved. 
 
 Is it possible to interest the reader in a 
 heroine who is a victim to adipose tissue ? — 
 A fat man is not so hopeless : readers by the 
 hundred thousand have thrilled over the 
 villainies, have delighted in the daring, of a 
 certain Count Fosco, perhaps the fattest 
 serious character in Victorian fiction. But a 
 fat woman is beyond the pale of sympathy. 
 Her aspirations must of necessity be 
 ridiculous, her very woes become comic, — and 
 all because of that fifty or sixty pounds of 
 unnecessary flesh. The fat woman of fiction 
 may serve as a devoted nurse or a passably 
 good cook, but she is completely out of place 
 in any situation tender or tragical : no 
 average novel-devourer could be moved to 
 drop a tear over her woe. 
 
 And yet it is precisely this woe of Frances 
 Bethune's with which the reader is asked to 
 sympathise. If the lady of the Mount had 
 followed the fashions of ordinary humanity, 
 and remained shapely and commonplace, a 
 certain extraordinary hazard and perilous 
 perplexity would never have come about, and 
 there would have been no story worth 
 relating. As it is, the question of worth 
 hangs in the balance, and must be measured 
 at the end of the tale, and not at the 
 beginning. 
 
i6 ONE OR TWO 
 
 Though Mrs. Adams was well contented 
 with her own reflection in the cottage glass, 
 she did not waste time in regarding it. The 
 short distance was soon traversed between 
 her country lodging, and a side gate which 
 admitted her to the policies of the Mount, 
 She was at a loss to conjecture what had 
 prompted the urgency of the summons, but 
 her knowledge of Frances did not lead her to 
 apprehend any serious emergency. It was 
 altogether in her friend's character to suffer 
 from these transient despairs, and fling 
 herself, a helpless weight, upon the firm 
 support of somebody else's common-sense. 
 Ursula expected easily to succeed in drying the 
 facile tears, if tears indeed were flowing. The 
 woe of the superabundant tissue was a woe of 
 long-standing ; and nothing else was wrong 
 when they parted only yesterday. There 
 seemed no quarter of the serene horizon 
 which could suddenly develop any cloud. 
 
 The gate clicked to behind her, and 
 presently by a turn of the path and the 
 descent of some rocky steps, Mrs. Adams 
 emerged from the cover of plantation upon 
 a rustic bridge crossing a miniature ravine. 
 This ravine made a chief feature in the 
 picturesque surroundings of the Mount. 
 A swift brown stream, broken into foam by a 
 succession of falls, flowed far below ; and on 
 
SCHOOL FRIENDS 17 
 
 the left, from this point of vantage, the eye 
 wandered over woods already spreading the 
 delicate greens of spring, to a blue horizon 
 line — so blue and so clearly defined that it 
 could only be the sea. Ursula loved this 
 view, and, all in haste as she was, she paused 
 for a moment to gaze. Among the many 
 things which she in her indigence was minded 
 to envy Frances, perhaps she most keenly 
 envied her the possession of her beautiful 
 home. 
 
 She remembered well how sharply the 
 beauty and the luxury had struck a note of 
 contrast years before, when the poor pupil- 
 teacher came for the first time to spend her 
 holidays with her friend and school-mate, 
 Mr. Wayland's petted daughter. Three or 
 four such visits were paid to The Mount 
 before Frances took wing into the gay 
 world ; and a later and more memorable 
 one came about before the tide of 
 circumstance swept them utterly apart. 
 Frances fell ill — mainly because that doting 
 father had set his will against the lover she 
 desired ; and in her trouble she cried out for 
 Ursula, and Ursula was summoned. 
 Frances, or Fancy as they called her, was 
 dying of a broken heart — so she thought, and 
 so those about her began to believe — and all 
 because Mr. Wayland could not endure the 
 
i8 ONE OR TWO 
 
 thought of separation from his darling, and 
 had sent away the soldier-lover, Major 
 Bethune. By some odd association of idea, 
 the fresh appeal of the morning's letter 
 recalled that other long-past emergency. 
 As she hastened to The Mount, she thought 
 of her hurried journey and arrival there ten 
 years ago, and once more by the magic of 
 remembrance saw Fancy tossing about in 
 fever, her golden hair cropped short about 
 her pretty head, and heard the cry of her 
 distress. She could not live without Charles 
 Bethune ; she was dying because her father 
 had been cruel. Ursula did her best to 
 mediate, but Mr. Wayland was already 
 alarmed and penitent. The engagement was 
 allowed : but by the time Frances was able 
 to rise from her sick bed, and the lover to 
 return on leave of absence, Ursula had gone 
 back to her employer, who was on the eve of 
 removal abroad. 
 
 This proved the point of division, though 
 not forecasted in the parting. Frances was 
 not to marry till she had completed her 
 twenty-first year — so much the father still 
 stipulated ; and then Ursula should be 
 bidden to the gayest of gay weddings at The 
 Mount. But when the marriage came about 
 there could be no bidding of guests ; the 
 season was one of mourning, and the wedding 
 
SCHOOL FRIENDS 19 
 
 was hurried over privately on account of Mr. 
 Wayland's recent death. It was whispered 
 there had been no accident, but that Mr. 
 Wayland had met with serious losses in 
 business, and had died by his own hand. 
 
 Whether this were true or false, it is 
 certain that his affairs were left in great 
 disorder. Instead of inheriting a colossal 
 fortune, Frances had for her portion only 
 The Mount, and an income counted by 
 hundreds instead of the former thousands. 
 Major Bethune held himself absolved from 
 the undertaking to give up his profession ; 
 he married Frances and took her to India, 
 and from this time forward the few letters 
 exchanged with her friend grew ever colder 
 and shorter, and finally ceased altogether. 
 And then — not at once, but after a hard- 
 working interval, — came the one brief 
 romance of Ursula's own life. 
 
 So much for retrospect, — a necessary 
 sketch of past foundation, on which the 
 present was built up. Ursula only knew 
 that Frances fell ill during her last year 
 in India ; the climate was supposed not 
 to suit her : and she came back to live at 
 The Mount, with an elderly relative as 
 companion, till her husband's regiment was 
 ordered home. She knew also that Frances 
 bore the separation with equanimity ; for 
 
20 ONE OR TWO 
 
 the years had wrought their changes, and 
 she no longer cried out in despair with 
 fate, that life was not life to her unless 
 passed at the side of Charles Bethune, — 
 an alteration to the full as significant as 
 that which transformed the fairy figure 
 into a shapeless bulk, though not so 
 immediately obvious to the sense and eye. 
 
 The Mount was a big rambling house of 
 no architectural pretension ; sundry additions 
 had been built on to it, and it covered 
 an extravagant amount of ground. It was 
 low and spacious — the comfortable space of 
 wide passages and broad shallow staircases, 
 as well as airy rooms. The hall door stood 
 open to the spring sunshine, the hall itself 
 was deserted, but a voice called over the 
 balustrade of the upper gallery. 
 
 " Ursula, is that you ? Come up here at 
 once, to the boudoir." 
 
 The voice was imperative, and at the top 
 of the stairs Mrs. Adams was met by a short 
 figure in a tea-gown — intended for flowing 
 ease, but filled out unduly by the excessive 
 bulk within. Mrs. Bethune's face, naturally 
 a pretty one, was red and pale with weeping, 
 and the hands that closed on Ursula's 
 burnt hotly, as if with fever. 
 
 " You have come at last ! Oh, I have 
 wanted you, ever since the post came in ; but 
 
SCHOOL FRIENDS 21 
 
 at first I could not collect myself enough 
 to write, even to you, I hoped something 
 would tell you I was in trouble, and would 
 draw you here." 
 
 They were alone in the boudoir by now, 
 and the door was shut. A luxurious place, 
 with a bow-window looking towards the sea, 
 and so recessed and indrawn with curtains 
 that it formed a room within a room. There 
 was a couch heaped with cushions in manifest 
 disarray, and, thrust half behind them, 
 some crumpled papers. Ursula's first glance 
 noted these, but Mrs. Bethune drew her on 
 to the window-seat. Then she began to 
 cry again, and the explanation halted. 
 
 " The trouble came by post ? — Well, I am 
 here now, Frances," — in some impatience 
 at the falling tears, with her as rare an 
 expression as with the other they were facile. 
 " Tell me what is the matter." 
 
 Mrs Bethune made an attempt to dry her 
 eyes with a drenched and ineffectual hand- 
 kerchief, but her voice was still choked and 
 barely audible. " It . is about Charles," 
 she said. 
 
 Ursula looked again at the crumpled 
 letter on the distant sofa. " You have heard 
 that he is ill? Is that it?— Not— " The 
 woman who was a widow conjectured at 
 once the worst news that could be sent, but 
 
22 ONE OR TWO 
 
 she caught back the impulsive question 
 and altered it. " Not in danger ? " 
 
 " No, not now." The wife wept again. 
 " He has been ill, very ill, but it isn't that. 
 He says he is much better." 
 
 " He has written to you himself? " 
 
 Mrs. Bethune nodded with her face 
 hidden. 
 
 " Then the worst is over, and you must 
 be thankful. Of course—" rather 
 uncertainly, as one might step along a dark 
 road, for the direction of her assumption 
 led into the unknown. " Of course it is 
 a trial to you to hear he has been ill, far 
 away from you like that, and perhaps with 
 only strangers about him." A faintly 
 interrogative pause, which was not broken 
 by reply. " Was it an accident ? " 
 
 " No. More horrid than any accident. 
 Cholera. But he says he is getting strong." 
 
 There was a minute of shocked silence. 
 Ursula had perhaps a clearer notion than 
 the wife, of what a cholera visitation might 
 be. And yet something in Mrs. Bethune's 
 manner made her doubt whether this acute 
 distress had really been called forth by the 
 husband's past danger, and she waited for 
 the fuller information which would certainly 
 follow now Frances had found her voice. 
 
 " He writes — I forget the date, but 
 
SCHOOL FRIENDS 23 
 
 some time at the beginning of this month — 
 May." 
 
 Another pause, and a fresh sob. " Yes ? " 
 said Ursula. She must let Frances tell the 
 story in her own way, and her way seldom 
 went direct to the point : but she grew 
 vaguely uneasy, wondering what was 
 behind. When her friend began again, it 
 was on a fresh tack. 
 
 " You know — ^when I came home from 
 India, the regiment had four years to stay 
 out. Very nearly four ; three years and ten 
 months." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And Charles was bound to stay with it." 
 
 Ursula muttered something, again 
 tentatively : — " such a long separation was 
 a great trial." 
 
 " That is two years and a half ago. I 
 thought there would be all this year and 
 nearly all next, before there was the least 
 prospect of seeing him again." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 Mrs. Bethune dropped her handkerchief, 
 and looked Ursula full in the face. 
 
 " This illness of his has made all the 
 difference. He is not fit to stay in command, 
 and he has been invalided. He is ordered 
 home at once. Ursula, what shall I do ? 
 He will be here in sixteen days." 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 Catching at a Straw 
 
 Ursula looked back at her friend, and in 
 that first amaze could find nothing to say 
 to her. Was the trouble told at last, and 
 could it be that the absent husband was 
 about to return ? Was this changed woman 
 in tears and distress, really identical with 
 the Frances Wayland of long ago, who had 
 wept and wasted to a shadow because 
 forbidden to give her love-plight to Charles 
 Bethune ? 
 
 It was essential she should understand ; 
 unless the situation was made plain, she 
 could give neither help nor counsel. She 
 took the hpt hands in hers, and looked 
 into the puffed, pallid face and the red eyes. 
 " Frances, be reasonable," she said, almost 
 with asperity, almost as if they were once 
 again the girl-friends of long ago ; she could 
 
CATCHING AT A STRAW 25 
 
 hardly help giving her a little shake for 
 emphasis. " Why does this make you un- 
 happy ? Has anything gone wrong between 
 you ? — If I heard that Keith was coming back 
 
 !" — she caught her breath there, and 
 
 could not continue. " Can you really mean 
 you are in trouble because Colonel Bethune 
 is ordered home ? " 
 
 Mrs, Bethune did not resent the enquiry, 
 nor directly answer it. She rose and stood 
 before her questioner, the shapeless figure 
 in the wide gown which still was over-strait, 
 and made a despairing demonstration with 
 the hands she had drawn out of Ursula's. 
 " Look at me," she said. " Look what I 
 have become. He does not know." 
 
 Ursula did look, some shocked com- 
 prehension beginning to dawn on her. The 
 change which had passed upon the girl she 
 remembered was great indeed, and Frances 
 Wayland's nearest friends might be forgiven 
 if they passed her by unrecognised as 
 Frances Bethune. There is no disguise so 
 potent as adipose tissue, if only it is 
 deposited in sufficient quantity, — a point 
 clearly demonstrated in a certain famous 
 trial which is a memory of our youth. Mrs. 
 Bethune was not so hugely fat as the 
 Claimant ; but in her the slender girl, small- 
 boned and delicate featured, was covered 
 
26 ONE OR TWO 
 
 and burdened, body and limbs alike, till 
 resemblance to her former self had well- 
 nigh disappeared. There was still a certain 
 comeliness in the puffed face when not 
 disfigured by weeping ; her cheek was soft 
 in texture and bright in hue, her eyes were 
 still deeply blue, her fair hair abundant. 
 But such comeliness as remained was not 
 the comeliness of Frances Wayland, who 
 had once been light as a fairy, rare and 
 delicate as the unfolding of a flower. — 
 Ursula repeated in amazement — " He does 
 not know ? " 
 
 " No. I didn't tell him ; what was the 
 use? And Mrs. Romer never wrote to 
 him; I took care of that. I was not going 
 to be spied upon and reported, though he 
 had sent me home to her. I just wrote 
 my duty letters— as seldom as I could 
 with decency, and said as little. And 
 now he is coming back, and I am like 
 this!" 
 
 " Frances, you will write to him now. He 
 must be told." 
 
 " I can't write to him, even if I would. 
 He says when I get his letter he will be 
 already on the way. And he doesn't 
 want to be met; he is coming straight 
 here." 
 
 " Cannot you send to meet him, even 
 
CATCHING AT A STRAW 27 
 
 if you do not go ? Oh, why didn't you 
 tell him earlier ? " 
 
 "Think what a horrid thing it was to 
 tell. And I did not want to lose my 
 influence. It was the one thing left that 
 gave me power over him — my good looks, 
 and the admiration I used to get. That 
 was why he mewed me up with Mrs. Romer. 
 — And I thought I had plenty of time to 
 get better in. There was more than a 
 year ; and I have been to doctors and am 
 taking remedies — the Rasselas remedies, as 
 you know. And I am trying to diet as 
 well. — But what will that do for me, in 
 sixteen days ? " 
 
 " Let Mrs. Romer meet him. If he 
 has confidence in her, she will be the right 
 person." 
 
 " Now Ursula, you are foolish. Don't 
 you know she is at Buxton, and cannot 
 move with her gout ; and how could I 
 send her careering about the country — in 
 a bath-chair ! For Heaven's sake think 
 of something else. Is there nothing that 
 can be done ? " 
 
 " Were you quite slender when you left 
 India ? You had been ill there, hadn't 
 you ? Was not that the reason why you 
 came away ? " 
 
 " Quite, quite slender. Plumper perhaps 
 
28 ONE OR TWO 
 
 than when I married, but only what 
 improved me, not" — with a gesture of 
 disgust — " like this. Yes, I was ill in India ; 
 I had a bad accident, a fall out riding. I 
 was stunned — concussion of the brain, and 
 I was not properly conscious for weeks 
 and weeks. My head sometimes aches 
 from it now, and my memory isn't what 
 it used to be. But that was not why I 
 came home." 
 
 She paused abruptly and bit her lip, as 
 if the impluse of the moment had carried 
 her too far; then went on with a sort of 
 angry hardihood. 
 
 "I don't mind telling you; you will 
 understand the whole thing better if you 
 know. Romantic attachments are all very 
 well, but a time comes when people tire 
 of — honey, and all that. — It was after my 
 accident: Charles was different, and perhaps 
 1 was different too. I cared more about 
 being admired, and it pleased me when I 
 found out I had a new sort of power over 
 him — that I could make him jealous 
 There was a Mr. Prendergast ; there were 
 dozens of them, but he was the chief. 
 There was never any real wrong — oh, 
 never; but they said I had been com- 
 promised, and Charles was frantic : oh, he 
 was so angry. I know I was imprudent. 
 
CATCHING AT A STRAW 29 
 
 that I went too far. I don't know what 
 he did to that wretched man; I never 
 asked ; but he said I must go home. It 
 was only a pretence about my health." 
 
 Frances' tears were dry, her voice had 
 grown steady; the matter seemed after all 
 less vital than the other trouble of her 
 altered appearance. She went on, not 
 waiting for comment. 
 
 " I think Charles was sorry after, when 
 it occurred to him he had been hard on 
 me — that I might not be having an over 
 pleasant time, shut up here with Mrs. Romer. 
 He wanted to exchange — and then to get 
 leave and come back to me, but I would 
 not have it. He had sent me away for 
 four years, and for four years I said we 
 should remain apart. 1 had been needlessly 
 insulted, and I would not give in — not 
 a hair's breadth ; I would stand to the 
 barrier he had set up. Besides, by that 
 time this horrible change in me had 
 begun." 
 
 She made the same gesture of distaste with 
 those expressive hands, and positively 
 shuddered. 
 
 " Imagine after all that, and when he is at 
 last properly penitent, for him to discover 
 what I have become ; that there is nothing 
 left in me for him to admire, or for anybody 
 
30 ONE OR TWO 
 
 else to covet. Ursula, I can't face it. I 
 
 had rather die." 
 
 " Frances, you must not talk so. It is a 
 change — of course ; and it is hard to bear. 
 But if he really loves you ■? And, as he 
 wanted to make up the quarrel, he must love 
 you still." 
 
 " Love — ! I don't know about that. He 
 writes as if he did — sometimes, and sometimes 
 he is bitter and angry. He has sent me 
 presents ; the last one just before I went to 
 London, when I met you. I put it away 
 because I hated to look at it. I will show it 
 you, and then you can judge how I felt 
 when it came." 
 
 She pulled open the drawer of the cabinet 
 which stood in the recess, and took out a belt 
 of native gold-work, pierced medallions 
 studded with big dull turquoises, linked 
 together and to a jewelled clasp. " He said 
 he could not go far wrong, for he knew the 
 size of my waist." 
 
 The brief length of it would have amply 
 girded her as Frances Wayland, but it would 
 need doubling to belt the waist of her present 
 gown. She held it up significantly to Ursula, 
 and then shut it away out of sight. 
 
 " I cannot even wear my wedding-ring. It 
 hurt my finger, so I had to get a new one — to 
 save appearances, you know. And even that 
 
CATCHING AT A STRAW 31 
 
 is over tight for me now, as you see. But, 
 talking of letters, look at the one I had this 
 morning. Take it, — read it through." 
 
 The crumpled tear-blistered sheets were 
 those Ursula had seen on the sofa. Frances 
 thrust them in her hand, and turned away, as 
 if to leave her free to read. She looked 
 doubtfully down the page. 
 
 " Are you sure you want me to see this ? 
 It seems quite a private letter, intended only 
 for you." 
 
 " Yes — Yes, I wish you to read it," Frances 
 persisted. " I have no secrets — I don't care 
 for anything he says ; " ignoring the tears still 
 wet, which had fallen freely on the paper. 
 " Read it, and then you will know, once for 
 all, what a strait I am in." 
 
 So urged, Ursula did read. Of Charles 
 Bethune she knew nothing but by hearsay : 
 in former times the girl Fancy's raptures 
 about her lover; now the wife's chilling 
 account of quarrel and division — a division 
 which had come about as the consequence of 
 her own folly. But scant as was her know- 
 ledge of the writer, his letter touched her 
 profoundly. On his own illness and agony 
 he touched lightly, as if fearing to 
 cause distress ; the mention of it was mainly 
 to explain why he disobeyed her in returning. 
 " I am bound to come back, as the doctor 
 
32 ONE OR TWO 
 
 sends me," he wrote. " I must see you. 
 Frances : and then it shall be for you to say 
 how long my penance must continue. I would 
 fain to come home to my wife. If I was 
 careless of my treasure, if a misconception 
 made me over harsh, I have repented ; surely 
 you know that by now. You were so young I 
 should have watched over you — shielded you 
 from the danger to which your own innocence 
 exposed you. We both of us made mistakes : 
 — or shall I blot that out as unwritten, and 
 own, stiff-necked brute that I am, that the 
 mistakes were only mine ? But we will put 
 all that behind us, never to be thought of 
 again. Let us begin afresh from the 
 beginning, and you will find me wiser; I could 
 not be more truly your lover. Let us go back 
 to the old times ; let it be the girl I wooed 
 that I shall meet again in the garden of the 
 Mount, — once more among the roses, as on 
 that June day of long ago. Put on your 
 white dress, my darling, and come to the 
 gate as you came then, and all shall be 
 forgotten and forgiven at the touch of your 
 first kiss. When I shut my eyes now I can 
 see her, my Fancy who loved me ; I can feel 
 her arms about my neck. All my pain 
 will have lightly bought the hastening of 
 that moment, when again your lips meet 
 mine." 
 
CATCHING AT A STRAW 33 
 
 There was more to follow, — calculations of 
 route and time ; Port Said and Brindisi and 
 Calais ; the day he might be expected, and 
 almost the hour. She was not to meet him 
 on landing ; — though he had no expectation 
 she would wish it, that he forbade. He would 
 seek her at the Mount, he would find her 
 among the roses, — it was the idea which ran 
 through all the letter ; and then it should be 
 the Fancy Wayland of old that he would 
 hold in a lover's embrace. It was the cry of 
 a man who had suffered sharply and long, in 
 mind and body both ; a cry which came out 
 from the depths of his heart, and to which, 
 Ursula thought as she read, the heart of a 
 woman who once had loved him, must 
 assuredly respond. 
 
 " Oh," she said, almost with indignation, 
 " need you be afraid ? He does love you, 
 Frances ; can you doubt it after this ? Let 
 him only be told, and he will be sorry — he 
 will pity you for the misfortune of it. He 
 will not be alienated." 
 
 Frances, commonly so indolent, was 
 walking up and down the room in restless 
 impatience, as if inaction had become 
 intolerable. She stopped and struck her 
 hands together with sudden passion. 
 
 " You think so ! — ^well, it shows how little 
 you know — of men, or of the world. He 
 
 D 
 
34 ONE OR TWO 
 
 loves a memory, not me. Oh yes, I remember 
 you have married as well, but it was not for 
 long, and I daresay your husband was always 
 your lover. It is all very well for Charles to 
 romance ; but now I am no longer what he 
 admires — what he knows others will admire, 
 — I could not hold him. Not for a day — not 
 for an hour. Ursula," taking the other by her 
 shoulders — " what can I do ? I will not go 
 through the farce of meeting him here : I 
 have not the courage. It would be easier to 
 kill myself than to endure it. I must go 
 away. You must help me to go away and 
 to be lost, if you cannot find me a remedy. 
 Is there any remedy? Think! — think as if 
 the position were your own. I am double the 
 size I used to be ; I should make two of the 
 girl who waited for him in the garden. 
 And then to read that letter! — it is ridiculous; 
 it is terrible." 
 
 Ursula looked back at her in almost equal 
 distress. The situation had its tragic side, 
 for Charles Bethune as well as for his wife, 
 but this Frances seemed only capable of 
 taking in what touched herself. She had 
 been cruel in the long deception : to vanish 
 without explanation would be cruel and 
 cowardly both. And then all at once, under 
 the piercing scrutiny of the desperate woman 
 before her, her face changed. 
 
CATCHING AT A STRAW 35 
 
 " Ursula, what is it ? You have thought of 
 something : I see it in your eyes." 
 
 It is not always well to have a countenance 
 so transparent that it reveals the motions of 
 the mind ; or so Mrs. Adams thought. She 
 was manifestly unwilling to speak, but 
 Frances clung about her and would not be 
 gainsayed. 
 
 " It was nothing that could be of use. It 
 was only something I remembered — that 
 came into my mind I don't know how. Let 
 us think seriously of what you are to do. 
 You must not go away." 
 
 " I will not consider till you have told me. 
 You are poor — you want money — you have to 
 work : oh, I know about it, though you keep 
 it all so dark. I will make it worth your while 
 to help me — " 
 
 " Frances, if I could help you, I should not 
 need to be bribed." 
 
 " Tell me what your thought was. It can 
 do me no harm to hear it. Nothing 
 can make me worse or more unhappy than I 
 am." 
 
 Mrs. Adams had risen, shaking off the 
 imperious pressure of those clinging hands. 
 She stood looking out of the window as she 
 spoke, her eyes doubtful and troubled, 
 yielding reluctantly. She was annoyed with 
 herself and the inopportune memory — of a 
 
36 ONE OR TWO 
 
 suggestion made months before by a person 
 she despised, and which in the present crisis 
 must be void of application. 
 
 " You remember how we met, quite by 
 accident — in London at Miss Sedgeley's, 
 and why we were invited to her house ? " 
 
 " Of course. She had gone crazy about 
 spiritualism, and wanted to introduce a 
 medium who was supposed to be a wonder- 
 worker. I thought it might turn out to be 
 fun — real diabolism. But the only good I 
 got out of it was that I -met you." 
 
 " I don't know if you had any faith in 
 what went on ? " 
 
 " Not I. That Mrs. Warden was quite a 
 common sort of woman, who dropped her H's, 
 and did sewing. Why do you ask ? " 
 
 " Because what I thought of — what I have 
 to tell you — was something she said about 
 you when the sitting was over. You left 
 early, if you remember — the carriage came 
 for you ; but I was staying the night with 
 Miss Sedgeley. So I had a talk to Mrs. 
 Warden at supper." 
 
 " About me ? " 
 
 "I did not mention you, but she did. She 
 was talking of herself to begin with. She is 
 a large thick-set person, if you remember, but 
 she told us she could be slender if she chose. 
 The extra substance about her body is all 
 
CATCHING AT A STRAW 37 
 
 used — drawn out of her — when the spirits 
 materialise ; and then they put it back to 
 serve for another time. I daresay it was 
 sheer nonsense ; but she said if we could only 
 see her while the process is going on, she 
 would appear quite small." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " And then she turned to me, and said — 
 ' That very stout young lady who went away 
 — she is a friend of yours ; a friend you have 
 not met for many years. It is a great 
 trouble to her that her shape is altered, and 
 it will soon be a greater trouble still. When 
 the greater trouble comes to pass, tell her 
 from me that it could all be put right again, 
 if only she would sit as we have done 
 to-night. 
 
 That Mrs. Bethune was deeply impressed 
 was plain, despite her scoff at the illiterate 
 medium. Her whole expression altered. 
 " When the greater trouble comes." she 
 repeated slowly. " And now it has come 
 indeed, as she foretold. And — " reproach- 
 fully — " you did not want to tell me. — All 
 put right again ! why, for the sake of that, I 
 would sit with dozens of mediums, and 
 believe all their rubbish and pay their fees. — 
 Ursula, Ursula ! " — ^in a sudden illumination 
 of hope as wild as the previous despair : " do 
 you believe it; do you think it can be true? " 
 
38 ONE OR TWO 
 
 " No, I don't think it can. And I blame 
 myself for telling you, for it is no kindness to 
 excite false hopes. But that was the 
 message, in her very words." 
 
 " She knew the trouble that was coming — " 
 spoken meditatively. " Is not that an 
 assurance for the rest ? At least I can be no 
 worse off than I am now, even if I try what 
 she advises. — I have made up my mind. I 
 will see this woman, and sit with her." 
 
 A weak person's obstinacy is one of 
 the least controllable of forces, Ursula, 
 conscious of stronger intellect, accustomed to 
 be wise for Frances, found herself suddenly 
 powerless, carried away by the force of Mrs. 
 Bethune's resolve. There is a saying that 
 man is man and master of his fate ; 
 and in a lesser degree, woman may 
 be supposed mistress of hers. But fate is 
 sometimes like a river spread out over 
 shallows, suffering you to wade where you 
 will through the limpid water, but the same 
 river and the same water will have power to 
 whirl you to destruction where it slopes upon 
 the rapids. — Ursula had stepped unthinking 
 unto the depths with that recollected message, 
 and the position of the two friends was 
 suddenly reversed. But she did not give way 
 without a struggle. 
 
 " I was afraid you might be tempted ; but 
 
CATCHING AT A STRAW 39 
 
 I don't believe you will really do anything so 
 unwise. You had far better have patience, 
 and follow the doctors' treatment. Only 
 last week you thought you were a little 
 lighter. You know they said you might 
 be cured, or at any rate greatly reduced, 
 if you would live strictly by their rule." 
 
 " Yes, — in the course of months, or more 
 likely years — and Charles is coming in 
 sixteen days! No, Ursula, I am quite 
 resolved. And you have promised to help 
 me." 
 
 " I said I would help you if I could, but 
 how can I help you in this ? " 
 
 " I will tell you." The tears were dry 
 now, and the puiSed face full of purpose. 
 Mrs. Bethune was bending over the cabinet 
 where she had hidden the belt, unlocking an 
 inner drawer. " I keep my money here," she 
 said, " and this roll of notes came from the 
 bank only yesterday. Count it, there should 
 be ten of them ; fifty pounds. I want you to 
 go to London for me — at once, to-night if you 
 can. Go to Miss Sedgeley ; you know her 
 better than I do : she will tell you how this 
 sewing-woman is to be approached, and what 
 is her price. I will pay anything ; I do not 
 mind the cost. Bring her here to me by the 
 next train : I do not want to lose a day — an 
 hour. You understand ? — The money is for 
 
40 ONE OR TWO 
 
 you : for the help you are going to give me, 
 and for your expenses and your time. Yes, 
 I mean it : you must take it, I will have no 
 denial. And listen, Ursula ! If we succeed ; 
 if I get rid of this — this burden — as a conse- 
 quence of what you have told me, I will give 
 you fifty more." 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 Salvador 
 
 And so it came about that Ursula Adams — 
 reluctant, disapproving, but overborne in the 
 end by Mrs. Bethune's determination, the 
 sudden obstinate resolve of a weak nature 
 — departed to London on so strange an 
 errand. 
 
 She excused herself from the night journey, 
 but it was at a very early hour next morning 
 that she set out from Saltringham, disturbing 
 Mrs. Minter from her slumbers to boil the 
 kettle and cut the cold mutton into sand- 
 wiches. Fifty pounds 1 Her pride revolted 
 from the bribe, but it was a sore temptation 
 to her poverty ; and, after all, she was abet- 
 ting Frances in no actual wrong-doing, only 
 in something absurd. And, as she reflected 
 vaguely to herself, not shaping the matter in 
 the ugly distinctness of spoken words — it was 
 
42 ONE OR TWO 
 
 not like a thing done openly in the face of 
 day, for the world to smile at if the world 
 took notice : and of the affairs of each one of 
 us, however obscure, some small section of 
 the world is usually cognisant. Nobody need 
 know except Miss Sedgeley, who was herself 
 a crank, and the sempstress-medium, her 
 protegee. 
 
 Thus Mrs. Adams consoled herself during 
 her hurried journey, while the train was 
 drawing into London in the early afternoon. 
 And when, from under the vaulted roof of the 
 terminus, she plunged into busy streets full 
 of the pleasure-taking throng of mid-season, 
 the purpose she had in view seemed more 
 than ever unreal, impossible to reconcile with 
 any expectation of common experience. 
 
 The sunshine and the stir of the great city 
 raised her spirits in spite of herself, solitary 
 waif as she was, poor alike in purse and hope 
 — the wealth, the ease, the pleasure, which 
 swam like scum above the whirlpool, not for 
 her. The trees were spreading into fresh 
 green leaf in the park, flowers were abundant 
 in the balconies : but presently the swift- 
 trotting hansom whirled her into a stiller and 
 less fashionable quarter ; solid spacious 
 houses fronting the square, and looking out 
 upon a centre of common garden. She 
 alighted at Miss Sedgeley's number, and 
 
SALVADOR 43 
 
 presently a neat maid-servant opened the 
 door. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, Miss Sedgeley is at home, but 
 she is engaged at present. She has a meet- 
 ing of ladies in the drawing-room. Will you 
 come in and wait ? " 
 
 Ursula asked when the meeting would be 
 over. The maid thought in half an hour; 
 so after some brief indecision, her bag was 
 temporarily deposited in the hall, and she 
 paid and dismissed the driver. She could not 
 prosecute her errand till she had obtained 
 the medium's address, and there was nothing 
 for it but to wait Miss Sedgeley's leisure. — 
 She was shewn into a little writing- room, 
 hardly bookish enough to deserve the name 
 of library, but with books in abundance on 
 shelves and tables, and a large open secretary 
 strewn with letters and papers, which had the 
 air of constant use. The servant offered her 
 the Times, and she settled herself in the 
 easiest chair, unfastening her cloak, prepared 
 to abide the detention with what patience was 
 possible. 
 
 But she found it difHcult to fix her attention 
 on the morning's news ; her eyes wandered 
 about the little room, clean and fresh in its 
 flat sage-greens and studied plainness, per- 
 vaded with faint fragrance from a bunch of 
 violets newly placed in water. She became 
 
44 ONE OR TWO 
 
 conscious of a subdued excitement in herself, 
 not solely resulting from the whirl of her 
 journey: memory also was busy. The last 
 time she entered that house as Miss Sedgeley's 
 bidden guest, it had been with a certain ex- 
 pectation unavowed to any other ; the secret 
 of her own bosom. If there was truth indeed 
 in these occult dealings which Miss Sedgeley 
 exalted as a new dispensation, might it not be 
 that Keith, her Keith, would be able to give 
 her some token of nearness, some sign of 
 comfort ? He had loved her and leaned upon 
 her so entirely in the weakness of broken 
 health, that the thought of him alone in that 
 sphere of the departed which we call Heaven, 
 had ever moved her with an emotion akin to 
 pity. Surely, if possible for any to return 
 from that far bourne, he would be ready and 
 willing to return to her. — Such had been the 
 inducement which drew the widow ; not the 
 expectation of novelty and diablerie which 
 attracted Frances Bethune. 
 
 And, as she glanced round the four walls of 
 the little room, sweet with Miss Sedgely's 
 violets, Ursula remembered as vividly how 
 she was disenchanted. The commonplace 
 medium, the oppression of the darkness, the 
 brief touches of hands made palpable, the 
 head which floated bodiless over the table 
 illuminated by its own light, like the medium 
 
SALVADOR 45 
 
 in feature though bearded as a man, and with 
 the same suggestion of a dinner of onions 
 hinted by its breath. All possibly, though 
 improbably, genuine : but empty of the close 
 personal interest, and so not for her. The 
 hope had never found a voice, and the pang 
 of disappointment was equally silent ; but by 
 choice of her own she would not have 
 returned to the locality which revived it, had 
 she not been compelled by this business of 
 Mrs. Bethune's. 
 
 But a kind welcome was in store for her. 
 The half hour had hardly expired before 
 sounds of departure were evident in the hall, 
 and presently the door opened, and Miss 
 Sedgeley came in. 
 
 She was a little old lady with grey hair, 
 almost as white as the soft cap under which it 
 was smoothed away ; very plainly dressed, 
 and wearing a black silk apron which might 
 have suited her housekeeper ; but for all her 
 eccentricity and old-fashion, a gentlewoman, 
 and a kindly one. " My dear," she said to 
 Ursula, holding both her hands, " your 
 mother's daughter is always welcome. Mary 
 is taking your bag up to the spare bedroom, 
 and I hope you will stay with me while you 
 are in town. Have you travelled far? — 
 From Saltringham ? — That is a long journey 
 for only one night, but you must not think of 
 
46 ONE OR TWO 
 
 going to a hotel. — And no luncheon but a 
 sandwich in the train I You shall have 
 something substantial right away, and a cup 
 of tea with it ; and when you are rested it 
 will be time to tell me why you thought of 
 the old woman, and what she can do for you." 
 
 That errand of Frances proved difficult 
 telling face to face with those gentle eyes ; — 
 unexpectedly difficult, for Ursula had rashly 
 taken for granted that her mother's spiritu- 
 alistic friend must needs understand the 
 situation, and be willing to co-operate. 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Sedgeley when the tea- 
 table was drawn between them, and the 
 " something substantial " had been served on 
 a dainty little tray at Ursula's elbow. " Yes, 
 I recollect Mrs. Bethune, and what a pity I 
 thought it for such a young woman to be so 
 stout. The Whimpoles told me she took an 
 interest — no, was inclined to be curious : (I 
 think that was it, and there is a wide 
 difference :) — about the things which interest 
 me. That was why I asked her the evening 
 you came here, and I remember well how you 
 two discovered you used to be friends. — So 
 you have seen a good deal of her since, and 
 went down to Saltringham to be near her ? 
 That would be pleasant for you both." 
 
 Ursula agreed : yes, in a way it had been 
 pleasant, and that oyster motive of hers need 
 
SALVADOR 47 
 
 not be exposed to this dainty old gentle- 
 woman. But the consciousness of 
 concealment made her awkward, and the 
 purpose of her errand to London was after all 
 very baldly stated. Mrs. Bethune wanted 
 Mrs. Warden's address, and to arrange to 
 get her down to Saltringham for a series of 
 seances. Miss Sedgeley shook her head over 
 the last in doubt. 
 
 " I am sorry I thought your friend only 
 curious, as her curiosity has borne fruit in a 
 deeper interest. — But why does she not try 
 alone, for writing, as I do ; or with yourself, or 
 some other person in close affinity, whom she 
 can trust? Those objective phenomena are 
 useful in their way ; but they are as it were 
 only the shell of the subject, and I would 
 have her seek for the kernel. — Mrs. Warden 
 is very much tied. She works as a semps- 
 tress, and she has a young daughter dying of 
 consumption. She could not take a long 
 journey out of London." 
 
 " Mrs. Bethune is quite willing to pay for 
 the accommodation. Mrs. Warden would be 
 sure of a handsome fee." 
 
 " My dear ! — what sort of communications 
 would your friend be likely to get through a 
 mother who forsook her dying child for 
 hire ? " 
 
 So Ursula was forced into fuller explan- 
 
48 ONE OR TWO 
 
 ation, conscious throughout of that same 
 clumsiness, and of a certain shame. The old 
 white-haired lady heard her first in surprised 
 doubt, — then in positive concern. 
 
 " My dear," she said again. " I have been 
 for a great many years a spiritualist, and I 
 have every reason to thank God for granting 
 me this measure of His light. But, though my 
 own experience has been a happy one, I know 
 there are dangers on the threshold. Let him 
 who seeks take care lest God should answer 
 him according to the multitude of his idols. — 
 Do you see what I mean ? I would not be 
 harsh, I would not condemn, but here the 
 motive is altogether earthly, and for a selfish 
 advantage." 
 
 " Not quite that," said Ursula, driven to 
 defence. " Frances loves Colonel Bethune, 
 and is grieved at the thought of shocking 
 him by so great a change. It is not only her 
 vanity." 
 
 " Well, well, my dear, you know her, and 
 can judge her better than I. But, as your 
 Frances loves her husband, she should have 
 given him her confidence. Then he would 
 have been prepared. I will send round to Mrs. 
 Warden, and ask if she can come here to us 
 this evening. She will come if Edith is no 
 worse, just for a short time, as it is not far ; 
 and I daresay she will explain to us what she 
 
SALVADOR 49 
 
 meant by sending such a message to Mrs. 
 Bethune." 
 
 "Miss Sedgeley, do you think — you who are 
 wise in these matters — that such a thing 
 could be?" 
 
 " Nothing like it has come into my 
 experience ; that is all I can say. But, my 
 child, where the wonders we have proved are 
 possible, who will dare to set a limit, or say 
 what is beyond the scope of so great a power? 
 We know only the alphabet as yet, if indeed 
 we know it, of this difficult science ; we are 
 as children quarrelling about the letters, and 
 beginning to spell in the hornbook. I am not 
 a physical medium, except for the movements 
 of the pencil. But I have heard Mrs. 
 Warden say that she is lighter and smaller in 
 body when substance is drawn from her ; and 
 I have read of it in other cases. It is true 
 that the very substance of the living body 
 can be abstracted under certain conditions to 
 build up a temporary form, without affecting 
 life. And, granted the initial wonder which 
 is greater ; why should we stumble at the 
 lesser one ? — that, once abstracted, it might 
 be gradually destroyed, or held in suspense. 
 — But you shall ask Mrs. Warden for 
 yourself: I will try to get her in this evening, 
 and it is settled you will stay." 
 
 The evening was far advanced before the 
 
 E 
 
50 ONE OR TWO 
 
 sempstress medium made her appearance. 
 A neighbour had promised to sit by the sick 
 daughter for the hour or two of her absence ; 
 and for herself she was glad of the change, so 
 she said to Miss Sedgeley. She did look 
 tired and worn ; the same plain woman of the 
 working-class who had repelled Mrs. Bethune 
 by her want of culture. But Miss Sedgeley 
 did not seem to be repelled, and received her 
 kindly as a sister, making her rest in the easi- 
 est chair while talking to Ursula, who had 
 again to detail her errand. And here also, 
 instead of the comprehension she expected, 
 she was met by surprise. 
 
 The sempstress recollected sitting with 
 Miss Sedgeley's friends, remembered Ursula, 
 remembered the excessively stout young lady 
 who did not seem to be interested, and who 
 went away. But she had no recollection 
 whatever of sending her a message ; so the 
 whole structure of the hope and the journey 
 seemed about to collapse. " But you did say 
 it," Ursula insisted in her amazement. 
 " Those were your very words." 
 
 " I daresay, ma'am," Mrs. Warden 
 answered. I don't doubt you are right. 
 But I expect it was Salvador speaking to 
 you, and not me at all. It is often like 
 that ; he pops in and says something with my 
 mouth, and I'm not in the least aware." 
 
SALVADOR 51 
 
 Then to Miss Sedgeley, — "The young lady 
 doesn't know who Salvador is ; but you can 
 tell her he is just my control, and right down 
 clever about all sorts of things — ^worldly 
 matters as well as spiritual. And I see 
 nothing for it now but to ask him to explain. 
 He will know if there is a chance for the stout 
 lady, and what she should do. You will let 
 us go into the little room in front, and put 
 out the light ? " 
 
 Ursula could not repress a shudder of dis- 
 inclination ; but neither of the others took any 
 notice, so the adjournment was at once 
 arranged. It was all to come over again, 
 then ; the oppression of the darkness, the sud- 
 den touches, perhaps the near presence of 
 that unnatural face looking close into her 
 own. She could have found it in her heart to 
 fly to the door and take refuge in the street ; 
 but she was bound by her pledge to Frances ; 
 doubly bound by the transfer of that roll of 
 notes. The door of the little room was 
 locked inside, the shutters fastened to exclude 
 any glimmer of light, and the three women 
 sat down to a small table. Miss Sedgeley 
 keeping a candle and matches at her elbow. 
 
 Ursula held a hand of the medium's and a 
 hand of Miss Sedgeley's, one on either side, 
 and the others were supposed to be similarly 
 linked. There was an interval — whether long 
 
52 ONE OR TWO 
 
 or brief she hardh knew ; to her it seemed 
 interminable. Then a light appeared, as if 
 rising above the edge of the table : a light as 
 large as an egg, and enclosed in a substance 
 like crystal ; a light bright in itself, though it 
 did not illuminate the room. 
 
 Stay — it seemed to be lighting up some- 
 thing in its immediate neighbourhood, which 
 was not either of her companions. First a 
 hand — a large powerful hand, in which the 
 crystal appeared to lie. Then white drapery 
 surrounding the head and shoulders of a 
 figure ; lastly a face. 
 
 It was in profile when first she distin- 
 guished it ; the face she had seen before. A 
 man's face with a beard, and of a Jewish cast 
 of countenance, which resembled Mrs. 
 Warden as a brother may resemble a sister, 
 though of a distinctly masculine type, and 
 with a wider brow. It passed slowly before 
 her, floating above the table ; the eyes moved 
 and the lips, but there was no audible speech. 
 She heard Miss Sedgeley's voice bidding her 
 question Salvador ; but still she sat stupefied 
 and tongue-tied. If at that moment all 
 Frances' fortune had hung on the inquiry, 
 she could not have brought herself to address 
 this lemurian creature, a head without a body 
 and alive with borrowed life. The bearded 
 lips broke into a slow smile, and made 
 
SALVADOR 53 
 
 another fruitless effort after speech ; then the 
 Head turned gradually from her, once more 
 into profile, and the light vanished as if with- 
 drawn. 
 
 Following the disappearance came loud 
 rappings on the table, giving an order through 
 the alphabet ; and Miss Sedgeley lit her 
 candle. The medium lay back in her chair, 
 pale as death, and with her hand still clasped 
 in Ursula's ; the Head was nowhere to be 
 seen, nor any vestige of the voluminous 
 white drapery, and to all appearance Mrs. 
 Warden had not moved. " She is entranced," 
 said her hostess in explanation. " Listen to 
 what she says, for Salvador is going to speak 
 to you through her." 
 
 Was this about to be a new horror ? but it 
 was less disconcerting when there was 
 nothing visible. That is to say, nothing out- 
 standing; but as Mrs. Warden sat up, the 
 expression fixed upon her face was totally diff- 
 erent to the one she wore by nature. Her 
 voice was altered as well, with a manly depth 
 about it perhaps not impossible to assume, 
 though the cultivated intonation would, 
 Ursula thought, have been beyond her. The 
 voice took on a slightly foreign accent, and 
 spoke with a certain emphatic deliberation 
 which gave additional weight and dignity 
 to the measured words. 
 
54 ONE OR TWO 
 
 " I, Salvador, sent the message, tell your 
 friend, Mrs. Bethune ; and I, Salvador, am 
 persuaded that what she craves for can be 
 done. But it will be at a cost different to the 
 cost she counts out of her purse ; a cost she 
 cannot measure, and that I cannot certainly 
 foretell. She need not sit with this medium, 
 or with any other ; you, Ursula Adams, will 
 serve as her complement, for the impulse of 
 expulsion and division is in her own sphere. 
 You only must sit with her; you who were 
 once her friend for love's sake, and now have 
 been bought with a price. I can tell you how 
 to move the lever ; I can tell no more. You 
 understand, and will remember ? 
 
 " I have a further message for you to 
 deliver, and it is a message of warning. 
 
 " Let her think well before she undertakes 
 the trial, for once done there can be no 
 undoing. Once withdrawn as this will be 
 withdrawn, the substance taken from her 
 cannot be put back, not in life and not in 
 death, any more than can a child when born 
 from the womb. If inert matter only is 
 separated, all will be well ; but it is possible, 
 tell her it is possible, that life may be divided 
 out of life. Let her look to it that she is at 
 one in her soul, with strength to put from 
 her the evil and hold to the good. Then the 
 body will be strong likewise, to repel its 
 
SALVADOR 55 
 
 grossness and emerge as one new-born. 
 
 " You have heard me so far. Will you 
 warn her or approve her? Do you see 
 her in the image I have put before you ? I 
 see her, but not bare to the soul; she is 
 to me as one asleep, who has passed 
 under dominion. You, whose service has 
 been given and bought, are closer to her 
 than I, 
 
 "I, Salvador, will tell her how to act, if 
 she resolves upon the trial. She may discard 
 the healing because the means are simple ; 
 because no prophet comes forth to her to 
 strike his hand over the place and recover 
 the leper. Naaman was granted only a 
 message by the word of the Spirit, bidding 
 him dip seven times in Jordan ; nevertheless 
 at the seventh time his slough fell off him 
 like a garment, and he arose new-born, with 
 flesh as the flesh of a child. 
 
 " I, Salvador, will show you her Jordan. 
 Night following night, if need be to the full 
 measure of seven, she must sit in the house 
 of her birth, while you sit with her and 
 watch. For six nights maintain expectation 
 without discouragement; but if the seventh 
 night should also pass, and her burden 
 remain undivided, the impulse and the 
 power will have been spent in vain, and the 
 hope must be foregone. I, Salvador, believe 
 
56 ONE OR TWO 
 
 the separation will come, even to the 
 measure of her desire. 
 
 " There is an upper room. I see it in the 
 light of your knowledge. A room that is 
 double, with a window curved to the front, 
 and a window flat to the side. Close the 
 curved window from all light, and make that 
 portion dark and secure ; draw the silk 
 curtains over the recess till they hang close 
 together. She must sit alone within the 
 curtains, and you alone in the outer part, 
 barring the door against intrusion. You 
 will hear her groan and sigh, but she will 
 be as one asleep, and you must not look 
 within. Sit after the sun has set, and 
 while the household sleep, for the space of 
 two hours ; but you must not disturb her 
 trance if it should be further prolonged ; you 
 must wait, were it for all the night, till she 
 comes forth to you. — Leave the outer window 
 uncurtained to the moon and stars ! if the 
 night is oppressive you may even open it 
 for air. 
 
 " I see a piano there. When first your 
 friend goes into the recess, you may make 
 music for her, though you must not speak ; 
 soft music, to give her the assurance of 
 your presence lest she be afraid. But as 
 soon as her breathing becomes heavy and 
 audible, cease, for she will then have passed 
 
SALVADOR 57 
 
 beyond hearing into a deep sleep ; such a 
 sleep as came upon Adam when Eve was 
 formed of his substance. 
 
 " You, Ursula Adams, must abide at the 
 house on the hill from the beginning of the 
 ordeal to the end ; and from the beginning 
 of the ordeal to the end, neither you nor 
 Frances your friend must eat flesh food 
 which has known life, nor defile yourselves 
 with alcohol. When the ordeal is over give 
 her wine, for whether in failure or success she 
 will be weak. And Frances must enter each 
 night having newly bathed, and having 
 nothing upon her that is woollen, spun out 
 of animal life ; but garments of linen or 
 cotton : ungirded, and with her feet unshod. 
 
 "I, Salvador, speak by the word of the 
 spirit, saying to Frances Bethune : It is 
 hers to choose the good, and put forth that 
 which is impure. Let her see to it lest in 
 the division her part is cast with the evil, 
 and the lower soul abide." 
 
 The measured voice ceased ; the medium 
 sank back in her chair, and presently with 
 a gasp and a shiver appeared to come to 
 herself. It was once more the commonplace 
 sempstress looking cheerfully round at them, 
 asking if Salvador had spoken, and if he 
 had been able to explain. — But Ursula had 
 hardly a word to stammer in reply, so great 
 
58 ONE OR TWO 
 
 was the confusion of her mind, and so 
 overpowering the temporary impression. 
 Common-sense would pronounce on that 
 oration after a while, and appraise it at a 
 juster value ; for the moment she was 
 carried away, almost to believe. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 The Experiment Begins 
 
 Ursula had intended to travel back to 
 Saltringham early on the morrow, but the 
 morning found her prostrate with headache 
 and unable to rise, so her hostess telegraphed 
 to Mrs. Bethune, explaining the delay. By 
 mid-day, however, the worst symptoms had 
 abated ; and she managed to crawl down- 
 stairs, and announce her intention of leaving 
 by the afternoon train. Kind Miss Sedgeley 
 protested ; but finding she was really anxious 
 to be gone, did all in her power to speed the 
 parting guest, Ursula did not volunteer 
 any allusion to the seance when she thanked 
 the old lady for her hospitality ; but before 
 they parted Miss Sedgeley had a word to say. 
 
 " You would be interested in Salvador's 
 directions. But I think if I were you, my 
 dear, I would regard the experiment with 
 
6o ONE OR TWO 
 
 doubt. I would be inclined to use my 
 influence to dissuade Mrs. Bethune." 
 
 Ursula looked up with a change of 
 countenance. " You think it is not true," 
 she said. " You think Mrs. Warden was 
 deceiving us ? " 
 
 " No, not that — not that. I have known 
 Emily Warden for years, and I believe her 
 to be absolutely truthful." 
 
 " Then how " 
 
 " I cannot make you see the how : I do 
 not see it certainly myself. But there are 
 strange things in the world of spirit, and 
 dangers on the threshold. You were bidden 
 to warn your friend, were you not, even by 
 Salvador ? Don't omit that, Ursula my dear. 
 If you find her bent on having her way, I 
 would make the warning plain." 
 
 It was late at night before Ursula reached 
 Saltringham, and walked in upon Mrs. Minter, 
 taking her by surprise. Frances did not 
 expect her, so there was no need to report 
 herself at The Mount until to-morrow. She 
 was utterly jaded, fit for nothing but bed, 
 and the cup of tea her landlady hastened 
 to serve to her ; and she told herself it was 
 well there should be delay — that a few 
 more hours of reflection should intervene 
 before she was bound to give an account of 
 her mission. 
 
THE EXPERIMENT BEGINS 6i 
 
 And yet the result was a foregone con- 
 clusion, and she knew it in the innermost 
 recesses of her heart. In the pause of respite, 
 she stood as it were waist-deep in the river 
 of fate, barely able to maintain her footing 
 against the weight of the stream — that 
 smooth rush down upon the rapids which 
 must shortly sweep her away. Frances in 
 the pursuit of her object would certainly be 
 tempted : tempted by a motive she mis- 
 doubted as vanity rather than love. And if 
 Frances had after all the wisdom to draw 
 back, how would matters stand with her- 
 self ? would she truly endeavour to dissuade ? 
 Bought with a price ! — so the awful voice 
 had spoken, echoing the reproach of her own 
 conscience. If Mrs. Bethune changed her 
 mind, then surely those bank-notes must be 
 returned, the whole sum, deducting only the 
 cost of her journey. And the money was so 
 sorely needed, would be so immediately 
 useful — was owed to her indeed, as she strove 
 to assure herself, by the tax Mrs. Bethune 
 had imposed in these recent months upon 
 her time. Forty-five pounds securely hers, 
 if she only aided in this fantastic trial ; and 
 if the hoped-for result should come of it, 
 (though out of sober expectation,) was she 
 not promised fifty more ? All the tenacity of 
 her nature seemed to close on the nine bank- 
 
62 ONE OR TWO 
 
 notes still unbroken and locked away in safe 
 keeping; it would be hard indeed to give 
 them back, and with them all they symbolised 
 — temporary ease in that straitness of narrow 
 means which was wont to pinch her so 
 cruelly hard. 
 
 She fell asleep at last, and slept heavily ; 
 and between midnight and cock-crow 
 dreamed a dream. 
 
 The dream set her among scenes near at 
 hand and familiar ; following that path to 
 The Mount which she was bound to traverse 
 on the morrow. Frances had summoned 
 her in anger, reproaching her for delay : and 
 she was straining every nerve to obey and 
 hasten, though hindered again and again 
 by a grasp on her garments holding her back. 
 A hand pulled her cloak or dragged at her 
 skirt, and when she turned to shake it off, 
 impatient at the detention, she caught only 
 a glimpse of a figure vague as a shadow, 
 vanishing like a wreath of mist against the 
 hill. But she woke in the early dawn with 
 her heart beating and her eyes full of tears. 
 " Keith," she was crying in her sleep, " oh 
 Keith, can it be you ? " 
 
 The dream-portent passed unheeded. 
 She was early at The Mount ; so early that 
 the breakfast-tray and the post-bag were 
 only then going up to the lady of the house, 
 
THE EXPERIMENT BEGINS 63 
 
 so she was able to account with her presence 
 for the non-arrival of a letter from town. 
 Mrs. Bethune was eager for her story : dis- 
 appointed at first, and inclined to be indig- 
 nant, that she had failed to bring down the 
 medium, and sceptical that result of any 
 sort could accrue from the simple expedient 
 of sitting with Ursula. 
 
 " Why, if that is all that is wanted, we 
 have been together day after day for close 
 upon three months, and here am I not a bit 
 thinner or the better for it," she objected. 
 The breakfast was eaten by this time, (it was 
 her habit to take it in bed,) and she was 
 dressed and in the garden. A basket couch 
 and chairs were set out of doors under the 
 shade of a spreading cedar ; there was a gentle 
 warmth of early sunshine, while soft airs blew 
 over to them from the sea. 
 
 " Then you think it is not worth trying ? " 
 said her friend, mindful always of the money 
 which must be given back, and yet unwilling 
 to urge. " Certainly it seems ridiculous ; 
 and if there is really any risk — " 
 
 " Oh, risk ! " said Mrs. Bethune. " I don't 
 see how there can be risk in anything so 
 simple. We shut ourselves up in a room for 
 two hours, or perhaps three; and I sit be- 
 hind the curtains and go to sleep. How can 
 there be any risk in that ? It will be exceed- 
 
64 ONE OR TWO 
 
 ingly stupid for both of us,— an absurd 
 position, did anyone know ; but if it does no 
 good, it cannot possibly do harm. — Yes, I 
 mean to try it. I haven't any faith ; but 
 there is just a chance for me this way, and no 
 chance any other. That is how I look at it." 
 
 " I wish you had been with me in London. 
 I wish you had heard all that speech just as 
 I heard it, and what was said in warning, 
 instead of only being told about it after." 
 
 "It might have made a difference ; but — " 
 pluming herself — " you know I am not 
 imaginative — as you are, or used to be 
 when we were young. And it is the imagin- 
 ation in these cases which gets impressed, 
 and that accounts for everything. Oh, I 
 have read books about it, and I know ! " 
 
 " But the warning was not my imagination." 
 Ursula looked away, plucking a leaf to 
 pieces as she talked ; she felt guiltily con- 
 scious how weak were her objections, and 
 how strong her growing relief that Frances 
 was bent on the experiment even while she 
 contemned it. " I should never have 
 thought of danger, had it not been suggested 
 to me. And Miss Sedgeley was quite of the 
 opinion you would be wise to hesitate — 
 wiser not to try." 
 
 " Why does Miss Sedgeley preach what 
 she does not practise ? " — Mrs. Bethune 
 
THE EXPERIMENT BEGINS 65 
 
 tossed her rhead, with its crown of still 
 pretty golden hair. " She is always sitting 
 with those snuffy old mediums, — or sitting 
 by herself to get a lot of stupid communica- 
 tions which do nobody any good. And 
 because I want to have seances for a really 
 useful object, she must needs be up in arms ! 
 I can tell you, Ursula, I have no patience with 
 all that. And my mind is fully made up. 
 We will begin to-night — No not to-night, 
 for I had bacon for breakfast, did I not ? 
 — and I daresay you had some too. I'll order 
 vegetarian dishes — how old Choppington 
 will stare ! — for every meal all the week 
 through ; and you must leave Mrs. Minter's, 
 and come and stay with me at The Mount. 
 (I shall be glad to have you, for I am so low 
 when I think of Charles coming back, that 
 I can do nothing but sit and cry.) — And we 
 will make the first experiment to-morrow." 
 
 It was curious how the slight nature, which 
 yet was capable of such vehement storms, such 
 obstinate resolve, could put aside its grief for 
 the distraction of a new idea, and live easy 
 and amused in the present. The experiment 
 now bulked largely enough to fill up Frances's 
 mental view, and postpone consideration of 
 the crisis which had filled her, only three 
 days before, with tragical despair. After 
 trial and failure, it would be time enough to 
 
 F 
 
66 ONE OR TWO 
 
 think of the dreaded meeting, or of avoiding 
 it by some desperate expedient. Ursula was 
 astonished to find her laughing lightly over 
 her cook's surprise at the vegetarian orders, 
 and planning with appetite how to please her 
 own taste in the restricted diet. 
 
 " I shall tell Choppington I am trying a 
 new remedy, and then it will get about," she 
 said to her friend. "If any great change in 
 me really happens — as I hope, we must be 
 prepared to give a reason. And I mean to 
 tell the servants to put the lights out, and 
 fasten all the doors by nine o'clock, as I am 
 going to bed early, and wish for no dis- 
 turbance. They have a separate staircase in 
 the kitchen wing, and we can shut them oft 
 completely from our part of the house. My 
 bedroom is next to the boudoir ; and you 
 shall have the little white room at the end 
 of the passage, that we may be near together 
 if I need to call you in the night. My maid 
 has slept there sometimes when I have been 
 ill, but not of late. — And, Ursula," — striking 
 her fat hands together with another laugh — 
 " what a happy thing it is that Mrs. Romer is 
 safe away at Buxton going through her cure ! 
 We could never have explained our diablerie 
 to her. The ill wind which blew her that 
 last fit of rheumatic gout, has certainly blown 
 good to me."' 
 
THE EXPERIMENT BEGINS 67 
 
 So the morrow found Mrs. Adams installed 
 as a guest at The Mount ; and in the evening 
 when the house was still and dark, and the 
 hands of the clock pointed to half-past nine, 
 the two women shut themselves into the 
 boudoir. The only preparation needed was 
 to draw the silk curtains over the recess, and 
 unbar the side window to admit the lingering 
 twilight to the outer portion of the room, 
 Frances was ready attired in a white cambric 
 wrapper covering her nightgown ; she had 
 kicked off her slippers and was barefoot. 
 But at the last moment a shiver of nervous- 
 ness overcame her, and inclined her to cling 
 to Ursula. 
 
 " Would it make any difference, do you 
 think, if you came in there with me instead of 
 staying here ? " 
 
 " I had better not We know absolutely 
 nothing of the reasons why these directions 
 were given, and it might make all the 
 difference, and spoil your chance. — You are 
 not afraid ? " 
 
 *' No — o," with hesitation ; obviously the 
 true answer would be yes. " You see it will 
 be dark inside the curtains, and I was think- 
 ing of that head which appears with Mrs. 
 Warden. Am I likely to see anything of that 
 sort ? I did not mind it a bit in the circle, 
 when I had hold of somebody's hand, and 
 
68 ONE OR TWO 
 
 when I could think it was all a trick. But I 
 should be frightened here." 
 
 " Not at all likely." It was now Ursula's 
 turn to be alarmed, lest at the last moment 
 Frances should withdraw. " The object is 
 not to show anything in drawing from you, 
 but to dissipate the substance, and I suppose 
 to destroy it. Nothing will happen to you 
 but sleep ; and you will know I am close to 
 you all the while — " coaxingly, as to a child. 
 " I have opened the piano, and when once 
 you are in the chair I will play to you — any 
 little thing I can remember without my 
 notes ; it is too dark to see the music." 
 
 So Mrs. Bethune was persuaded, and took 
 her place ; and Ursula sat down to the 
 piano, touching the keys softly into the 
 dreamy melody of a cradle song ; wondering 
 the while if her playing would be audible in 
 the servant's quarter, after the given edict 
 that the house should be undisturbed. In 
 the first pause Frances called out — " Go on, 
 go on ; I am not asleep ; " but the next time 
 she suffered the vibration of a final chord to 
 die away into silence, there was no voice from 
 behind the curtains, only that sound of 
 deepened regular breathing which Salvador 
 had bidden her expect. She rose from the 
 piano stool, and, moving softly, stole to a 
 seat in the uncurtained window ; and pre- 
 
THE EXPERIMENT BEGINS 69 
 
 pared to keep her vigil, looking out upon the 
 night. 
 
 There was no absolute darkness, though 
 the moon had not risen ; she could see the 
 garden sleeping below, the stone border of 
 the terrace white in the summer dusk ; the 
 trees in silhouette against the sky, and above 
 them the clear shining of the stars. Even 
 the objects in the room could be distinguished 
 dimly when she turned to look within ; but, 
 waiting and vaguely anxious, it was a relief 
 to gaze outward and upward to the boundless 
 distance of the sky. 
 
 With her head resting against the pane, 
 even from this window the sea could be 
 glimpsed on the horizon ; and presently the 
 far-off line began to shine in borrowed silver. 
 A natural induction led her thoughts to the 
 distant ship, far away in the coming morning 
 of the east, and to the husband returning 
 after painful illness, weary for home. What 
 would he think of the reception Frances was 
 preparing for him, could he know : would he 
 be willing to believe it simply love which 
 made her wish to be young again and fair 
 again before she met his eyes ? Would a 
 man find it easier to credit the right motive 
 in all this, than she, Ursula, found it, who 
 was herself a woman ? Whenever she 
 recollected the letter Frances had forced upon 
 
yo ONE OR TWO 
 
 her, it was with a pang of sympathy so keen 
 as to be almost pain. To her it seemed 
 pitiful that one who loved as he had doubt- 
 less loved, and who had experienced — on 
 Frances's own showing — grievous disappoint- 
 ment and disillusion, should so cling to the 
 sweetness of an early dream, in the face of 
 clear and bitter knowledge. That she should 
 wait for him among the roses with the old 
 love in her heart, ready as he was ready to 
 take up life again from the beginning, and, 
 without reproach or recrimination, try to 
 make it a more perfect thing than before. 
 Such was Charles Bethune's prayer as Ursula 
 remembered it and understood ; and Frances 
 was meeting it after her manner, with all 
 this despair about the measure of her waist, 
 and her register upon the scales. Perhaps 
 neither woman was wholly in the right, 
 the one in losing sight of the ideal, and 
 the other of the practical ; Ursula might be 
 mistaken also, but she could see how far and 
 how deeply Frances was in the wrong, and 
 how baseless was the husband's hope. 
 
 The girl of his heart 1 Would any 
 emacerating process restore her as she was 
 once, let it be never so sucessful ? Greatly as 
 Frances had altered in body, the alteration 
 of mind was, so Ursula thought, far completer 
 and more significant. If all that surplus bulk 
 
THE EXPERIMENT BEGINS 71 
 
 should certainly disappear, would it be 
 possible for the worldliness, the selfishness, 
 the vanity, the indolence, which loaded and 
 warped . her spirit, to vanish also ? It would 
 be a miracle indeed which could restore the 
 Fancy Wayland of Ursula's earlier know- 
 ledge — the girl who loved with all the passion 
 of her child's heart, and was ready to die of 
 grief because denied her lover. Was this 
 what Salvador meant about putting forth the 
 evil, and holding to the higher nature of the 
 soul ? — a reform more radical than that which 
 touched only the grossness of the body. If 
 so, and success turned upon moral redemption 
 as well as physical, Frances Bethune was 
 lost indeed ; for in Ursula's opinion such a 
 miracle could never be. 
 
 What was the time ? She held her watch 
 against the faint light of the window, and 
 tried to see the dial ; and, as if in answer to 
 her thought, a clock struck in the hall below. 
 Eleven ; so the night was wearing on, the 
 first ordeal was nearly at an end. How was 
 Frances faring, she wondered, and had 
 anything been effected in this initial trial ? 
 The regular breathing deepened, and 
 presently was broken by an occasional groan 
 which seemed to speak of suffering. Ursula's 
 speculations ceased, and, during the 
 completion of the second hour, she sat 
 
72 ONE OR TWO 
 
 regarding the dimly-distinguished curtains in 
 growing uneasiness. The groans became 
 more frequent ; at length she felt it impossible 
 longer to endure the suspense. She must 
 strike a light and look within ; what would 
 become of her if Frances were to die ? But 
 she had hardly taken a step forward, when the 
 floor at her feet was smitten with a sudden 
 blow, — a single knock, so vehement in its 
 reminder that she shrank back and resumed 
 her seat. — It was the sole manifestation 
 of the seance. Not many minutes after, 
 Frances called to her in her natural voice : 
 " Ursula, is it over ? I am awake. I am 
 coming out to you ; " and the unchanged 
 solid figure appeared at the opening of the 
 curtains. 
 
 Mrs. Bethune was tired and sleepy : 
 nothing had happened to her, not even 
 dreams ; she only wanted to be put to bed. 
 And all the next day she was more than ever 
 lethargic and indolent, lying among her 
 cushions on the basket couch in the garden, 
 or else in the boudoir, not caring to rouse 
 herself even to talk. Visitors were admitted 
 in the afternoon, through some mistake of her 
 orders— friends who had driven from a 
 distance ; and when they were announced as 
 being in the drawing-room, Frances' vexation 
 was outspoken and unfeigned. And the 
 
THE EXPERIMENT BEGINS 73 
 
 carriage was already going round to the 
 stables in expectation of a lengthened 
 stay. 
 
 The card brought to her had three names 
 inscribed on it : Mrs. Wyndham Lancaster — ■ 
 Miss Lancaster — Miss Effie Lancaster. 
 " Oh," she said peevishly, " I cannot possibly 
 see these people, in the midst of what is 
 going on. You must go to them, Ursula; 
 say I have a headache — am ill — dead — 
 anything you please : stuff them with tea and 
 cakes, and get them to go away. I had no 
 idea they were back at Oakmarch. I thought 
 they were still in Florence. It is really too 
 annoying." 
 
 Ursula did not altogether relish her errand. 
 " Are they old friends ? " she said. " Tell me 
 something of them before I go." 
 
 " Papa used to know them : oh no, not 
 intimately. One party a year style, when 
 they happened to be down here. They are 
 more Charles's friends than ours. I think 
 there is some connection between the 
 families." 
 
 " Then don't you think — " persuasively — 
 "that it might be better for you to see 
 them ? " 
 
 " No, no, no. They will ask all sorts of 
 questions, they always do ; and make it plain 
 I am not cut out on their pattern, and so 
 
74 ONE OR TWO 
 
 must be in the wrong. They can't hurt you, 
 who are a stranger. Say anything you like 
 that is civil, only get them to go." 
 
 So commissioned, Ursula went down, black- 
 gowned and slim, to the large luxurious 
 drawing-room full of colour and light, and 
 bright with early flowers ; it was Frances's 
 wont to keep her reception-room always in 
 readiness, seldom as it was used. Three 
 stiff figures rose to receive her, but with a 
 slight air of surprise, her appearance being 
 unexpected. She made the needful apology 
 for Frances, and they reseated themselves as 
 stiffly in positions of vantage, the wide 
 window behind them, and Ursula's face in 
 full view. 
 
 They were presumably mother and 
 daughters, but none of the three had any 
 semblance of surviving youth. Ursula 
 addressed herself to the most extensive 
 bonnet, and the richest amplitude of skirt ; 
 failing other indications. The face under 
 that bonnet was perhaps the mildest; but it 
 was a question only of degree, where all alike 
 were keen. She was involuntarily reminded 
 of her one visit as spectator in a court of law, 
 and felt herself the witness under examination 
 by opposing counsel, suave in surface manner, 
 but hostile of intent. The Lancaster family 
 had set out in quest of information, and, 
 
THE EXPERIMENT BEGINS 75 
 
 failing Frances, they meant to make available 
 such means as offered. 
 
 " A friend of Mrs, Bethune's ^ Indeed !— 
 very pleased to meet you. Residing with her, 
 or only on a visit ? — A short visit ? — Perhaps 
 in Mrs. Romer's absence? It does not do, of 
 course, for such a young woman to live alone. 
 — And so Frances is not well ? We are used 
 to speak of her as Frances, because Colonel 
 Bethune is a connection of ours ; indeed a 
 distant cousin. Not serious, I hope ? We 
 all hope her indisposition is not of 
 consequence ? " 
 
 " No," Ursula hastened to add, " not at 
 all serious. Nothing but a headache." 
 
 " Ah," the three bonnets vibrated in 
 concert. "People of a lethargic temperament 
 often suffer from headache. Our dear 
 Frances is not very active. Does she walk 
 much in these days ? — is she in the habit 
 of employing herself actively in her garden — 
 in her house — in the parish — ?" the questions 
 flashing in first from one point, and then 
 from another. " It always seems strange 
 when a lady living in the country does not 
 care for parish visiting : our poorer neighbours, 
 you know, Mrs. Adams. And when so much 
 can be done by a word in season — a little 
 advice, a little interest. — Oh no, not gifts : 
 I hope indeed that Frances is not so foolish. 
 
76 ONE OR TWO 
 
 Gifts only pauperise: but to exert influence, 
 to advise, to make a worthy use of our 
 superior position, that is another matter. 
 Dear me ! so she does not walk much, does 
 not often drive ? Then what does she do—? 
 Oh, she reads, does she ? Come, if she 
 reads, that is something. Really solid books, 
 no doubt : surely not novels — the pernicious 
 trash that is published now-a-days ! You 
 do not mean novels, Mrs. Adams ? For an 
 occupation ! " 
 
 Ursula disclaimed any particular knowledge 
 of Mrs. Bethune's taste in literature. Her 
 friend was fond of reading — in general terms ; 
 she had not strong health. No doubt at 
 times she read novels, like other people. 
 
 The three ladies shook their heads. " A 
 sad employment, a degenerate employment, 
 for an immortal soul," sighed the younger Miss 
 Lancaster, who wore eyeglasses. And then 
 from generalities the catechism advanced to 
 the particular. 
 
 " We came over to-day," said Mrs. 
 Lancaster, shaking out her laces, " for we 
 saw in the paper that Colonel Bethune is 
 ordered home. Of course," with a keen 
 look at the witness, " Frances is aware ? " 
 
 Ursula acquiesced in the ' of course.' 
 
 " And from himself, I suppose ? A letter 
 written direct ? Ah," to her daughter, " I 
 
• THE EXPERIMENT BEGINS ^^ 
 
 thought it was not so bad as people hinted. 
 I thought they must correspond." Then 
 again to the deputy hostess : " We are 
 very interested in Charles, you know, and 
 in Frances for his sake. We are anxious 
 to hear about him, for I fear his illness has 
 been serious. He is really coming straight 
 to England ? He is coming here ? " 
 
 Ursula did not know how to evade the 
 rapid questions, and the still more rapid 
 inferences, which assumed before admission. 
 She ceased to wonder at Frances's access 
 of headache, as she strove to reply with some 
 amount of repressive dignity. She knew 
 nothing of Colonel Bethune's plans, except 
 that he had sent all information to his wife. 
 And that he was expected at The Mount. 
 
 Again the visitors looked at each other 
 with significant glances, and some nods and 
 tremblings of the graduated bonnets. The 
 senior bonnet was spokeswoman. 
 
 " As you are an intimate friend of 
 Frances, Mrs. Adams, you will understand 
 our anxiety. Have you known her long ? — 
 Oh, at school together, and did not meet 
 again till last winter. (Of course she knows 
 nothing of what went on in India. That 
 explains it!" Here the junior bonnets had 
 the aside.) Then again to Ursula, with 
 the air of one who of set purpose says little, 
 
78 ONE OR TWO 
 
 and withholds, but at the same time indicates, 
 a larger knowledge : — " There had been a — 
 a misunderstanding, such will arise at times 
 between young married people — " shaking 
 her head. " We are glad, very glad, to know 
 on your authority that Charles has written 
 to his wife, and that he is returning here. 
 Not any tea, I thank you : " — the servant 
 had just carried in the table to set beside 
 Ursula. " We will not stay longer, as 
 Frances is unable to receive us. I hope 
 her headache will be better. I hope, I really 
 trust, that all may now be well. Any 
 division is so sad ; you feel it to be so, I 
 am sure. May I ask for my carriage 
 immediately ? The ways of Providence are 
 mysterious. Frances is very much altered, 
 but we have thought it quite a dispensation, 
 — where beauty has been a snare, as it was 
 in her case, for the temptation to be removed. 
 — Pray give her our best wishes, Mrs. Adams, 
 and our congratulations on her husband's 
 return." 
 
 The coveted information had been 
 extracted, and the witness was free to stand 
 down. The three ornate bonnets and the 
 three stift skirts made a dignified exit ; and 
 presently Ursula, standing at the glass door 
 of the hall, watched with intense relief the 
 recession of their carriage down the drive. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 The Fourth Vigil 
 
 The s6ance of the second night proved 
 uneventful. Hope was still deferred, and 
 yet Frances continued sanguine. Ursula 
 was required to judge whether she had not 
 already changed somewhat in appearance ; 
 there was, Mrs. Bethune declared, at least 
 the sensation of difference. She felt lighter, 
 she affirmed, could move with greater 
 alacrity ; and, to her own perception, the 
 rounding of her limbs had become less solid. 
 Ursula could not honestly say she perceived 
 alteration, even when the stout arm was 
 stripped from its sleeve to exhibit, and she 
 was called upon to touch and examine. A 
 white arm, which still preserved the exquisite 
 fineness of skin that had been a personal 
 charm of Frances Wayland's ; but on the 
 under side, mid-way between the wrist and 
 
8o ONE OR TWO 
 
 elbow, there was a curious double scar. 
 " What an odd mark," said Ursula. 
 
 " Yes ; is it not strange I should have 
 been hurt twice over in the same place, and 
 so many years apart ? You remember how 
 I broke the window long ago at school, and 
 what a fuss there was about it. They 
 thought I had cut an artery, and the doctor 
 was called in to stop the bleeding. He 
 stitched the place : see, this is it. It is 
 whiter than the other, but I shall never lose 
 the mark. The red scar beside it is where 
 I hurt myself in India, when I had that 
 fall from my horse and was stunned. I was 
 not cut anywhere else ; it was the blow to 
 my head that made the danger. Is it not 
 a strange mark — half white and half red, 
 and like a Roman Two ?" 
 
 " You were very ill then, were you not ? " 
 
 " Yes, and for a long time my memory 
 was confused ; I could not remember 
 clearly what had gone before. And yet I 
 have to thank that illness for the happiest 
 time in all my life. Oh, I wish it could 
 come over again. It never can while I 
 remain like this. But if I get thin — if my 
 old looks come back to me — !" 
 
 She drew the sleeve down over her arm 
 with a sigh, hiding the scar. She seldom 
 spoke of India, and Ursula's curiosity was 
 
tHE I^OURTH VIGiL Si 
 
 quickened. "Tell me about it," she said. 
 They were again in the garden, sitting 
 under the cedar tree, for the day had proved 
 unusually warm. 
 
 "Well, it came about in this way. There 
 was some kind of disturbance with the frontier 
 tribes, and Charles was sent forward with a 
 detachment. Of course I could not have 
 gone, even if I had been well ; there was no 
 question of that : but the illness had made 
 him anxious, and he said I must have a 
 woman friend to stay. So Mrs. Clarkson 
 promised to look after me. I had not known 
 her long, but I liked her. She was older — 
 and clever and lively ; she always got a 
 great deal of attention, and she and I were 
 said to be the best dressed women on the 
 station. She was a Canadian by birth, and 
 her husband was away too." 
 
 Frances's story was inclined to halt 
 at this point, but presently she went 
 on, 
 
 " She made it all so different. She showed 
 me what a fool I had been to devote myself to 
 Charles, and let all the fun of life go by. 
 And how Charles himself would think more of 
 me and like me better if I was admired and 
 run after. And I was — I was ! Ursula, you 
 may not believe it, looking at me now, 
 but I was the rage at Bagharaun that winter. 
 
 G 
 
82 ONE OR TWO 
 
 Mrs. Clarkson and I were together always, 
 and nobody else had a chance against us — 
 such an effective contrast as we made, she 
 dark and tall, and I little and fair. It was a 
 lovely time. And then to have it spoiled 
 because of that tiresome Prendergast, and 
 because Charles took it into his head to be 
 stupid. If I could choose to live part of my 
 life over again, it would be just those weeks, 
 — those months. I often think of them ; I 
 dream of them at night — ! " 
 
 " What, happier than when you were a 
 girl, in love with Major Bethune ? Happier 
 than when your engagement was allowed ? " 
 Ursula could not help the question, but 
 her friend put it impatiently aside ; the vista 
 of those past triumphs seemed to fill up all 
 her mental view. 
 
 " I was happy then, of course," she 
 admitted ; " but it was a different sort of 
 happiness, and that is all so long ago I 
 hardly remember it now. It is the other that 
 I dream about. As I look back, those weeks 
 seem just perfect: every day with its new 
 interest to carry you on — full of fun and 
 flirtation, dancing and lights and flowers — 
 and whispers in the verandah — and the cool 
 evenings after the heat. Such whispers, 
 Ursula. And the joke it was to talk it over 
 afterwards with Mrs. Clarkson, and hear her 
 
THE FOURTH VIGIL 83 
 
 story in return. There was no harm in it — 
 no harm at all. I wonder where she is now. 
 I wonder what has become of Prendergast, 
 and all the others. And to think of Charles, 
 sending me home in disgrace, to mope 
 my heart out here with Mrs. Romer. No 
 wonder I lost my health ; no wonder I got 
 like this!" 
 
 Ursula turned away her face with a sharp 
 pang of pity — not for Frances, but for the 
 husband on board the oncoming ship, far 
 away there in the east. Was this the wife on 
 whom his hope was set, who was to meet 
 him with the flowers of June ! " 
 
 "And now he writes me that unreasonable 
 letter " Mrs. Bethune continued pouting, 
 as if in response to the unspoken thought. 
 "It is nonsense ; we cannot put the clock 
 back for the years that are gone ; he could 
 not really do it, any more than I. That sort 
 of romance was all very well when I was a 
 girl, and ignorant of life : why pretend to 
 recall it now ? He was always stupid 
 about remembering things and going back to 
 them ; he will have to understand that 
 nonsense was changed when I began to know. 
 Changed I — I felt like another woman in 
 another life; as if I had been dead before, 
 and only then knew what it was to be alive. 
 Don't look like that, Ursula ; I am quite 
 
84 ONE OR TWO 
 
 prepared to be a good wife to him, if only we 
 succeed. And I begin to hope we really 
 shall succeed, and I shall be able to fasten 
 the belt about my waist when the seventh 
 evening has come and gone." 
 
 That day, the third of the experiment, was 
 Sunday at The Mount ; and, as they sat 
 under the cedar, the church bells rang 
 unheeded from the valley below. Ursula did 
 not often disregard their summons, but 
 to-day Frances claimed all her companionship. 
 The lethargy had passed away, leaving 
 Mrs. Bethune restless, uneasy, nervously 
 expectant, counting the hours till the 
 seance. And, oddly enough, as her spirits 
 rose over their undertaking, Ursula's 
 declined ; she grew increasingly doubtful of 
 the task to which she was pledged, and 
 distrustful of the issue. When it came to 
 the third vigil, and she sat alone in the 
 twilight listening to those groans behind 
 the curtain, the warning words spoken in 
 London came back to her again and again, 
 and she was almost ready to give back the 
 hoarded notes, and refuse to play her part. 
 
 It was very late when Frances came to 
 herself. " Light the candles," she com- 
 manded, " light the candles and look at me. 
 There is a difference ; I am sure there is a 
 difference. The change has begun." And 
 
THE FOURTH VIGIL 85 
 
 under the branch of wax-lights hastily 
 kindled, the fair face did look altered, — 
 shrunken from the fulness of the cheeks, but 
 at the same time drawn and pale. 
 
 " I did not sleep so much to-night," she 
 went on, shuddering with chattering teeth, and 
 clinging to her friend. " I was awake for a 
 little in the middle of the time ; I heard the 
 clock strike. I had no power to call out to 
 you and no power to move, except to 
 close one hand about my arm, and it had 
 grown quite small; the bones just covered, 
 that was all. And " — shuddering again — " 
 " what do you think I saw ? " 
 
 Ursula was inclined to shudder also, as 
 she waited the information and thought 
 of Salvador. " Not a face, like Mrs. 
 Warden's ? " 
 
 " Oh no, nothing of that sort ; but billows 
 of white stuff all round me, like mist — or very 
 filmy mnslin. I seemed to be buried in it up 
 to the neck ; and it shone in a light of its own, 
 though the recess was dark. Do you know 
 what I think it was ? I believe it was all my 
 superfluous subtance drawn away, though it 
 cannot be quite separated as yet ; I suppose 
 it is too soon. I believe I was thin for the 
 time, though I am stout again now. And 
 I begin to be sure, Ursula — quite, quite sure 
 we shall succeed." 
 
86 ONE OR TWO 
 
 So upon hope aud fear the fourth day 
 dawned. A day of sultry heat, of gathering 
 darkness, of distant thunder, summer 
 Hghtnings glimmering over the sea from a 
 storm below the horizon. The friends were 
 driven in from the garden by the first drops of 
 falling rain, and before eight o'clock in the 
 evening a regular downpour had set in from 
 the dark sky. The windows of the dining- 
 room were open, and sitting at dinner they 
 could hear the rush of its descent on the gravel 
 terrace, and shrubs below. A shaded lamp 
 hung from the ceiling, and the table with its 
 snowy cloth was the centre of a glow of light ; 
 a table abundantly spread with sweets and 
 fruits as substitutes for the heavier diet 
 prohibited. Frances beamed with smiles as 
 she stirred her coffee ; and Ursula, anxiously 
 watching her, thought those full outlines had 
 undoubtedly diminished, and it might be true 
 after all that a gradual change had begun. 
 
 If really it came about, Mrs. Bethune was 
 saying, the change would take everybody by 
 surprise ; and because the truth could not be 
 told about it, she would be forced to attribute 
 the alteration to some one or other of the 
 remedies she had tried by turns, and tried in 
 vain. 
 
 " Think what an advertisment I shall be to 
 them ! I ought to get hundreds out of the 
 
THE FOURTH VIGIL 87 
 
 proprietors. In one short week; and a 
 doctor's certificate as to my state before and 
 after, the loss of — how many stones ! We 
 must invent a telling way to put it, Ursula. 
 And which do you think would give me the 
 biggest premium — the Rasselas Remedy 
 company, or the Finemdown Tablets ? I'll 
 put myself up to the highest bidder, and make 
 — oh, far more than the fee I promised 
 you ! " 
 
 Light laughter over this ; light laughter as 
 she pictured the astonishment of friends and 
 neighbours at the change forecasted — the 
 surprise of her dressmaker, who would have to 
 be summoned and charged with fresh orders. 
 She even sent for a fashion-paper, and spread 
 it beside her on the table, calling Ursula to 
 look at one pictured style after another, drawn 
 in the usual way, with impossible wasp-waists 
 and simpering faces. " That would suit me 
 to perfection," she said, " if I am as I used 
 to be. And that — and that ! Get a pencil 
 and mark them, that I may not forget." 
 The vanity adverse conditions had smothered 
 for a time, began again to stir. Her pale 
 cheeks flushed, her eyes shone ; and, full of 
 dreams of her dresses, and the hope of 
 fastening them once more about a shapely 
 waist, Mrs. Bethune disappeared behind the 
 curtains on the fourth night. The girl who 
 
88 ONE OR TWO 
 
 oved Charles Bethune with such sincerity of 
 passion, who waited for him in the June garden 
 long ago, was dead and gone out of Frances 
 world as if she had never been ; buried, 
 fathoms deep under the accretion of a coarser 
 nature, the domination of a shallower soul. 
 
 When the breathing Ursula listened for 
 became heavy and regular, she withdrew from 
 the piano to the window-seat as was her wont; 
 feeling her way in the complete darkness of 
 the room, for not a ray of moon or star 
 illuminated it from without. The air was 
 exceedingly oppressive, so, with light touch 
 to avoid noise, she undid the hasp of the 
 window and softly pushed it open, leaning 
 close to the rush of the rain, and drinking in 
 the grateful scent which exhaled from dripping 
 foliage, and thirsty earth. Everywhere else 
 the room was closely shut ; the door bolted, 
 the bow window in the recess which formed 
 the cabinet shuttered and barred ; nothing 
 was likely to disturb them from without, as 
 the room was on an upper floor. Nobody 
 could climb up by those wet rose-stems, or the 
 ropes of wistaria, to interrupt her vigil ; she 
 and Frances Bethune were absolutely alone, 
 except for Powers and Presences not of this 
 world, if such existed, — a belief she sought to 
 stifle, though at times it made her tremble. 
 
 The hours on this fourth night were long, 
 
THE FOURTH VIGIL 89 
 
 and went heavily by. She had no inclination 
 to sleep ; a certain pressing anxiety, a certain 
 unacknowledged fear, forbade the easy 
 oblivion which might have been hers under 
 the sloping roof at Mrs. Minter's. Darkness ; 
 the pouring of the ceaseless rain, the gurgling 
 of full spouts, the dripping of the eaves ; no 
 other sound but Frances' breathing, and at 
 long intervals the chiming of the tardy clock. 
 Surely no clock ever before compassed so 
 many minutes in its hour. Eleven — twelve, 
 the hour of ghostly midnight, but no 
 ghosts intruded on her watch. One — two. . . 
 Two so long past that three would shortly 
 strike ; and yet Frances made no sign in her 
 retirement. The new day would be upon 
 them, and find her keeping vigil ; she began 
 to speculate whether full daylight would 
 rouse Frances behind her curtains, or whether 
 the house would be astir about them, and she 
 still bound to wait, uncertain what to do. 
 
 She conjectured that the trance had ended 
 long since, and her friend had passed into 
 natural sleep, sunk in the comfort of her 
 cushioned chair, and yet she dared not rise to 
 draw the curtains or strike a light; she 
 remembered Salvador's warning, and also the 
 angry blow which struck the floor at her feet 
 in their first trial. Frances was alive, she 
 could hear her regular breathing, though the 
 
go ONE OR TWO 
 
 groans had ceased ; why should her friend be 
 harmed to-night, she argued with herself, 
 when she had remained unhurt before ? And 
 yet a conviction was growing upon her that 
 this fourth night had not been like the other 
 nights, but had surely brought about some 
 notable change. 
 
 Three at last upon the clock, and out of 
 doors the downpour of the rain relaxed, a 
 fresher air sighed among the trees, the 
 wind that goes before the dawn. The 
 grey light began to spread over the sky, a 
 ghostly glimmer ; the familiar aspect of the 
 room became dimly visible. Ursula shivered, 
 her limbs were stiff, her eyes strained by the 
 long effort to penetrate the darkness, she felt 
 herself utterly weary, and out of tune with the 
 new day. Surely the ordeal must now be 
 over, but the curtains which formed the 
 cabinet still hung together unstirred, covering 
 the mystery, if any mystery, dwelt within. 
 She bent forward again to listen to the 
 breathing which assured her Frances still 
 slept, and for the first time noticed a 
 pecuHarity which had not struck her earlier. 
 
 The regular sound had found an echo, 
 gentler and lighter than itself, but palpably 
 accompanying it ; a second breath repeating 
 the other, though slower as well as fainter. 
 Of course it was nothing but an echo, yet it 
 
THE FOURTH VIGIL 91 
 
 was curious, and she had not noticed it before. 
 Her nerves were strained with the long vigil, 
 she told herself with some self-scorn, holding 
 her own breath to listen ; but a shiver 
 crept through her veins, chilling the warm 
 pulse of the blood. 
 
 It was utterly impossible there could be 
 a second sleeper within those guarded 
 curtains, the recess was quite empty when 
 Frances took her place. She herself had 
 been awake and vigilant, nobody could 
 have tampered with the locked door, and 
 entered while she was unaware. It was 
 impossible, she said again in that inward 
 coUoquy^ — -and yet she shuddered, and could 
 have cried aloud in her relief when, some 
 minutes later, Mrs. Bethune stirred at 
 last. 
 
 She heard her move in the chair, and 
 stretch herself with a yawn ; then came a 
 faint affrighted exclamation, another move- 
 ment, and then the sound of a fall. What 
 had happened — had Frances fainted ? 
 It was her first thought as she sprang up ; 
 but before she could reach the curtains 
 they were torn asunder from within, and 
 the white-robed figure rushed out and fell 
 into her arms, panting and trembling, 
 clutching at her with frantic grasp as if 
 for life. 
 
92 ONE OR TWO 
 
 There was hardly any light in the room 
 as yet, for the one uncurtained window 
 did not face the east ; but before the 
 possibility of sight, touch was sufficiently 
 indicative. A change had passed upon 
 the form she held ; it was no longer the 
 solid and capacious armful, but a creature 
 as slender as herself who clung to her and 
 sobbed on her shoulder. " Ursula ! Ursula! " 
 cried the familiar voice, " tell me I am awake 
 and do not dream. Tell me, tell me — " 
 quivering with hysterical laughter — 
 " that the burden is gone indeed, and that 
 I am in truth set free ! " 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 Sworn to Silence 
 
 The surprise of their success was scarcely 
 lessened by the measure of expectation 
 which had gone before ; perhaps in her 
 inner mind Ursula never truly believed 
 that such a miracle could be. And Frances's 
 excitement was a further agitation ; she clung 
 to her friend in a sort of panic, even in 
 the moment of her joy. " Come away — 
 come away," she sobbed. " I daren't stay 
 here, I am frightened. Come into the 
 bedroom. No, don't touch the curtains, 
 leave everything as it is till after. I feel 
 giddy and faint, and so light — so light ! as 
 if I could float away. Will it last, do you 
 think ? " — And then she repeated again in 
 her wonder : " It is like a dream. Can it 
 be true — can it be true that I am free ? " 
 
 In the bedroom Ursula drew up the blinds 
 
94 ONE OR TWO 
 
 and lit the candles; and in that mingling 
 of wax-light and dawn, Frances was able 
 to view herself and to be viewed. Wine had 
 been kept in readiness for an emergency, 
 and presently the hysterical convulsion, the 
 sobbing laughter, passed away, though a 
 degree of bodily weakness still remained. 
 Ursula supported her to stand before the 
 long cheval-glass hung between the pillars 
 of her toilet-table, which reflected her from 
 head to foot ; and she pressed with eager 
 hands the loose wrapper to her figure, slight 
 once more, and spanned the compass of 
 her waist. The face which had been so 
 round was now small and shrunken, shadowed 
 on either side by falling hair ; but a flush of 
 excitement coloured her cheek, and her eyes 
 were bright with triumph. " Now Charles 
 can come as soon as he likes," she said 
 gleefully. " I can face him, I do not care. 
 And I can have the dresses, we will write 
 for them this very day." 
 
 Ursula begged her to lie down. " You must 
 rest, Frances, or you will be ill ; and then you 
 cannot wear the dresses when they come. 
 See how weak you are, and think how much 
 you have lost. I wonder where it has gone 
 to ; what they have done with it. You are 
 only half the size you were last night." 
 
 Mrs. Bethune was in bed by this time, 
 
SWORN TO SILENCE 95 
 
 looking small as a child under the coverlet ; 
 but she turned her face on the pillow with 
 a sharp shudder, and put out her hand 
 again for the wine. 
 
 " Were you unconscious all the time ? " 
 went on Ursula. " Did you see those waves 
 of white again ? And had you any pain ? " 
 
 " I knew nothing till I woke, and then 
 it was quite dark within the curtains. But 
 I was instantly aware something had 
 happened, — that I had changed. I felt — 
 oh, I can't tell you how I felt, all emptied 
 out and light. Then I wanted to get up, 
 but at first I could not," — and the shudder 
 came back. 
 
 " You were too weak ? " 
 
 " No, it wasn't that, it seemed as if 
 something heavy was weighing me down, — 
 the dead weight of a thing lying across my 
 knees. — I am frightened, I don't want to 
 think about it. No, perhaps I had better 
 tell you, only hold my hand." 
 
 " Something you felt, but did not see? " 
 
 " Yes — ^yes, I don't know what it was. But 
 it came into my mind that I must get away 
 from it ; must get out to you, or I should go 
 mad with fright. And as 1 struggled to my 
 feet, the thing slipped down on to the floor. It 
 really fell : I stumbled over it — I think I trod 
 on it — as I rushed out to you." 
 
g6 ONE OR TWO 
 
 This was all Mrs. Bethune had to tell of 
 the working of the miracle. She did not care 
 to dwell on that uncanny episode, but at once 
 reverted to delight in her bodily change, and 
 she lay looking at her hands and arms in 
 their new slenderness, while the daylight 
 strengthened, and the sun rose upon the 
 young morning and the rain-washed woods. 
 
 " Ursula, I am thinking what I can put on. 
 I cannot lie in bed, you know, till new clothes 
 are made for me ; and nothing I have will fit. 
 Yes, I know there are the loose gowns ; but it 
 would be ridiculous to wear them now. — Do 
 you think Truscott will be up yet ? I want 
 you to ring for her. There is a trunk upstairs, 
 packed with some of my Indian dresses. I 
 kept them — a few of them — for love of that 
 time I told you of. I could not bear to throw 
 them away, though they are old-fashioned. 
 I have not worn them since, for it was cold 
 weather when I got to England, and before 
 the snmmer came round again, my shape had 
 altered. Tell Truscott to have the trunk 
 brought down, and we will undo it here." 
 
 " Have you made up your mind what you 
 are going to say, how you will account for 
 the sudden change, to Truscott and the 
 others ? You see, it is so great, it will 
 astonish them so much." Ursula was putting 
 out the candles, her own face looking altered 
 
SWORN TO SILENCE 97 
 
 in the early light, pale and drawn after her 
 vigil. "Don't you think you had better 
 wear the loose gown, at any rate for to-day, 
 so that the surprise of it may come upon 
 them by degrees ? — And before we ring up 
 the servants, or they are likely to be astir, I 
 will go and shut the window in the boudoir, 
 and rearrange the recess, so that it may look 
 as usual." 
 
 Mrs. Bethune did not oppose, and Ursula 
 went on her errand. She had not attached 
 importance to Frances' story, but she felt a 
 slight disposition in herself to shudder as she 
 went back into the room. The window was 
 open as they left it, not now upon darkness 
 and rain, but admitting the freshness of the 
 morning, and framed about with fluttering 
 leaves. The silk curtains still hung together, 
 swaying a little in the draught. Ursula took 
 hold of one of them to draw it back. 
 
 There was the cushioned chair where Frances 
 had slept in her trance ; but what was this, 
 lying on the floor in front of it, white and 
 quiet? Was it — could it be — the Thing 
 which had lain upon her knees ? 
 
 Ursula barely restrained a cry which must 
 have alarmed the house ; and only her grasp 
 of the curtain kept her from falling, in the 
 thrill and shock which ran over all the nerves 
 of her body from head to foot. She was not 
 
 H 
 
98 ONE OR TWO 
 
 a coward by nature, but here her courage 
 failed ; she dropped the folds of silk, and fled 
 to the window, to the comfort of the light and 
 air, looking back over her shoulder, and with 
 one hand pressed hard against the beating of 
 her heart. 
 
 The curtains fell together, hiding the new- 
 found terror, and hung as before unmoved 
 except for those stirrings of the air; while she 
 questioned with herself what it was that she 
 had seen. 
 
 Nothing terrible in itself, but horribly 
 suggestive, knowing what had gone before. 
 Could Frances' burden have taken human 
 shape in separating from her, and did a body 
 remain, for which they must account, or of 
 which they must dispose ? And the house 
 would soon be astir. 
 
 Whatever it was, she was bound to face 
 it and acquaint herself with the worst. Not 
 a moment must be given to irresolution, 
 however great the revolt of her humanity 
 from this thing which was out of nature. She 
 forced herself back to the curtain. 
 Materialised shapes were said to be evanes- 
 cent ; Salvador had melted into air, though 
 his living face had confronted her at Miss 
 Sedgeley's. This might be merely a phantom, 
 and would have disappeared when the screen 
 was again withdrawn. 
 
SWORN TO SILENCE 99 
 
 With a desperate efifort she flung the 
 curtains aside to right and left, so that full 
 daylight flooded the recess. Alas, it was no 
 transitory apparition. Face downwards at 
 the foot of the chair, one slender arm thrown 
 forward and the other bent under her, lay the 
 naked body of a girl. Not in death, which 
 was her first thought, but in profound sleep. 
 The white shoulder heaved with the expansion 
 of the chest, and when she touched it with a 
 reluctant finger, it was warm and soft with 
 the warmth of living flesh. 
 
 This was no lifeless body, hideously 
 suggesting murder, but a naked stranger to be 
 clothed and accounted for. The whole 
 problem narrowed to the need of the moment, 
 spurring her on to action. The servants 
 would be astir in another half hour ; the awful 
 tidings must be broken to Frances. Where 
 could a hiding-place be found ? And first the 
 stranger must be clothed. 
 
 Hurrying to her room she fetched a night- 
 dress, and braced her nerves to handle and 
 turn the sleeper, dreading an awakening 
 shriek which must betray them. But that 
 sleep or trance proved deep beyond dis- 
 turbance. The girl only sighed as the garment 
 was drawn down over her limbs, and fastened 
 at the breast and throat; and again when 
 Ursula, with an exertion of all her strength, 
 
loo ONE OR TWO 
 
 lifted the prone weight into a small American 
 chair with rockers which stood in the boudoir. 
 To carry such a burden along the landing to 
 the bedroom would have been impossible ; to 
 drag the chair was not difficult; and ten 
 minutes later she drew a breath of intense 
 relief, with the lock of her own door fastened 
 on the outside, and the key in her hand. 
 
 But a task equally hard lay before her in 
 returning to Mrs. Bethune. During a hasty 
 rearrangement of the boudoir, she tried to con 
 over some scheme of announcement ; but in 
 Frances' presence she stood dumb and white, 
 the power of speech deserting her, so unfore- 
 seen and so terrible was the thing she had to 
 tell. Mrs. Bethune was not usually observant 
 of what concerned others, but this was too 
 palpable to be overlooked. 
 
 " Good gracious ! Ursula what is the 
 matter? You are not going to faint, are 
 you ? Take some of the wine — at once." 
 And then, more imperiously, " What is it ? " 
 
 The difficult words had to be spoken, no 
 tact in communication could make them 
 easier to endure. " I went back to the 
 boudoir," she stammered. " Frances, you 
 must not agitate yourself. Remember, you 
 are not strong." 
 
 Mrs. Bethune raised herself on her elbow 
 and looked keenly at the other, there was 
 
SWORN TO SILENCE loi 
 
 apprehension in her face rather than surprise. 
 — Was she quite in ignorance of what had 
 remained behind ? 
 
 " You If now how altered you are — what a 
 quantity of substance has been withdrawn. 
 We wondered what would be done with it, 
 living matter as it was. I suppose it ac- 
 counts for what I found." 
 
 Those blue eyes looked bright as steel, 
 searching into Ursula's ; and the hand which 
 was changed and thin, came with a compel- 
 ling grip upon her arm. " What ? " she said. 
 " Speak 1 " 
 
 " You told me — that something heavy lay 
 on your knees when you woke, and slipped 
 down at your feet and you trod on it. And 
 before, in the trance, I heard a double breath- 
 ing behind the curtains — yours and another. 
 Frances, when I drew them back I found a 
 body — a fully formed body, sleeping, but 
 alive. A young girl perfectly naked, lying on 
 the floor." 
 
 " It is a fraud," Mrs. Bethune cried out, 
 feeling for the words with white lips. " An 
 impudent fraud. Somebody must have got 
 in — to play a trick on us — on me." 
 
 " The doors were locked — I was awake and 
 watching. Nobody could have got in, no- 
 body knew what we were doing, it was a 
 secret between us two. There is no fraud. 
 
102 ONE OR TWO 
 
 unless I am in the fraud, and you will not 
 think that." 
 
 No, she could not think that, looking in 
 Ursula's face. " I suppose it is one of those 
 things they call materialisations," she said 
 slowly, with a shudder of repulsion, " built up 
 out of me. If so, it will only last for a little 
 while. It will dissolve — whatever it is that 
 becomes of them — and disappear." 
 
 " It will not dissolve, unless it dissolves 
 back into you ; and then you would be large 
 again, as you were before. But I think that 
 will not be possible. Do you remember what 
 Salvador said at the stance — that there could 
 be no putting back in this case, any more 
 than when a child is naturally born. I be- 
 lieve the form will remain. How are we to 
 account for it ? What are we to do ? 
 
 " And the Thing really seems to be alive ? 
 A girl, you say ? Is it a child ? " 
 
 " Alive, but asleep. Not a child, a fully 
 formed woman, slender, but in weight as 
 much as I could lift from the floor." 
 
 " You lifted it ? Where is it now ? " 
 
 Ursula hastily recounted what she had 
 done. " I could not leave it for the servants 
 to find, and they will soon be stirring. I took 
 it — her — into my own room and laid her on the 
 bed. And the door is locked ; I have the key." 
 
 Mrs. Bethune sat up in bed, considering ; a 
 
SWORN TO SILENCE 103 
 
 new and harder expression on her thin face. 
 What with the bodily change in her, and that 
 look of a different mind, Ursula scarcely knew 
 her for the Frances of the day before. As the 
 silence continued, she ventured a fresh 
 suggestion. 
 
 " We shall have to think of an excuse to 
 account for her presence here. And some 
 plan for the future, if she lives." 
 
 Mrs. Bethune turned that newly-hardened 
 face slowly upon Ursula. " Why should the 
 Creature live ? " she said in a whisper. " It 
 is not a human being, it can have no natural 
 life. It cannot have a mind or a soul, only a 
 sort of mock vitality borrowed from me. To 
 kill such a thing could not be murder. They 
 say doctors do away with unnatural births, I 
 don't know whether it is true. In this 
 horrible case of ours — " the thrill of a fresh 
 shudder running over her — " there would be 
 equal reason and no more crime. Ursula 
 — " leaning out of bed, and grasping the 
 other to draw her close. " If the Creature is 
 asleep, it would not be hard to do. Now, 
 this moment. I would make it worth your 
 while, I would give you money. A wet 
 towel on the face, held till the breathing 
 stops. There need be no violence — or — • 
 blood." Perhaps of all the horrors of the 
 night, this was the greatest. 
 
I04 ONE OR TWO 
 
 Could it be Frances who spoke ? Frances, 
 whose worst faults were a transparent selfish- 
 ness, an indolent weakness of character, easily 
 led ? Oh, if the clock could be put back to 
 the day before ; or back over the space of 
 time, so short a time in retrospect, before she 
 coveted the money, and knew the other 
 woman in her vanity would yield. And now 
 money was offered her again, and for what 
 service ! The fresh fair early morning 
 brightened outside the window, God's world 
 as it used to be ; but with a ghastly difference 
 here within, and in her heart. The horror 
 of it paralysed her like a nightmare, as she 
 looked at her friend's altered face. Mrs. 
 Bethune's body had grown shapely, but what 
 deforming change had passed upon her soul ! 
 
 Ursula shrank away from the compelling 
 grasp, from the words breathed into her ear. 
 " Frances, how dare you ? You would bribe 
 me — to do murder!" 
 
 " It would not be murder," returned the 
 other with a frown. " The Creature is 
 unnatural, and should be destroyed." 
 
 " It would be taking life, however given. 
 And it would leave us with a dead body to 
 account for, more dangerous and difficult 
 than a live one. The Law will not admit 
 your explanation, remember that. No 
 witness of ours will convince the Law that it 
 
SWOEN TO SILENCE 105 
 
 was built up out of yours, in the way we must 
 assert, and was therefore yours to destroy. 
 — Oh, Frances, be yourself ; you frighten 
 me; turn away from such dreadful thoughts. 
 Let us take counsel together what is to be 
 done." 
 
 Mrs. Bethune dropped her eyes in a sort of 
 shamed silence which still was sullen. She 
 said presently, " What do you suggest ? " 
 
 " Can you pretend — to the servants — 
 that a friend has come on a visit ? A friend 
 who arrived unexpectedly, late at night, after 
 the house was shut up. You might say I 
 gave up my room to her, as it was too late to 
 prepare another. And that she is keeping 
 her bed because indisposed. — It sounds 
 unlikely, I know; but can you think of 
 anything more probable ? We cannot hide 
 the fact that she is here. The pretence of 
 illness will give us time to watch development 
 — to see if there is intelligence, anything 
 beyond bare life. And for the rest. Colonel 
 Bethune will advise you when he comes." 
 
 Frances listened with averted face until 
 the mention of her husband's name. Then 
 she flashed an altered look upon Ursula, and 
 her mouth set hard again ; the mouth which 
 used to be so soft and ready for smiles. 
 Had she forgotten Colonel Bethune, and his 
 relation to the new difficulty ? 
 
io6 ONE OR TWO 
 
 " Of course he must be told," Ursula went 
 on. 
 
 " And how do you know that he will believe 
 us, any more than the Law ?" 
 
 " Why — your husband would believe you, 
 Frances. He would know that you told 
 him the truth, however strange the tale." 
 
 Perhaps Mrs. Bethune, reviewing her 
 matrimonial experience, did not feel the 
 suggested certainty. She made no direct 
 reply. 
 
 " This calamity about the Creature is my 
 own affair, to divulge or to withhold. You 
 understand that, Ursula ? I will tell Colonel 
 Bethune, in my own time and way, and until 
 I speak, you must be silent ; to him, and to 
 everybody else, without exception. Promise 
 me to be silent." 
 
 " You are the right person to tell him ; I do 
 not want to say anything. But we cannot 
 foresee what may happen." 
 
 " All the same, I want your promise. I 
 should have asked for it in any case, about 
 this change of appearance. I do not want it 
 proclaimed on the housetops, how it came to 
 pass and what I have done. And no one has 
 any right to interfere — between me and 
 Charles." 
 
 She watched Ursula narrowly as she spoke, 
 pressing her with insistent will, exacting the 
 words which came reluctantly, a vague 
 
SWORN TO SILENCE 107 
 
 apprehension striving to the last to keep them 
 back. 
 
 " Very well, I promise." 
 
 _" You see those books there on the shelf. 
 Give me the one at the end — the last but one 
 — bound in dark leather — " 
 
 " Why, Frances, it is a Bible ! " 
 
 " I know ; bring it here. You are a 
 Christian, and you hold a promise sacred. 
 Then you can have no objection to confirm it 
 with an oath. Kiss the book, and swear," 
 
 " No, I won't do that, it is not necessary. 
 A promise is enough. I will make it in any 
 terms you like, and I am used to keep my 
 word." 
 
 " Well — repeat it after me ; and here is the 
 Bible open between us, as a witness of our 
 faith. You have been mixed up in this, 
 without any fault of your own. I don't blame 
 you for what has come of it, and I don't 
 forget what I offered to pay if we succeeded 
 and I got back my figure. Promise never to 
 breathe a word to any one of what we have 
 done together, you and I. Or of what this 
 Creature truly is, and how she came to be, 
 unless I give you leave, or unless I am dead. 
 Say the words as I say them ; promise or oath, 
 it is all one. As you believe in Heaven : 
 upon your faith, upon your soul. Promise 
 me, Ursula." 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 The Bell Rings 
 
 Frances carried her point, as she had a 
 way of doing, and Ursula was pledged to 
 secrecy. No lips but Mrs. Bethune's might 
 disclose the secret of that June night ; and in 
 her heart of hearts she had no least intention 
 of avowing the ugly truth, to her husband or 
 to any other. Her strength and energy re- 
 turned, stimulated by the wine and the brief 
 rest ; and when Truscott knocked at the door 
 some half-hour later, she was up in her 
 loose wrapper, already seated at the toilet- 
 table and ready for the service of her 
 maid. 
 
 The attitude and the loose robe served 
 for some measure of concealment : still 
 Truscott's amazement was evident. The 
 woman looked gray and aghast, and her hands 
 were unsteady as she combed out the long 
 
THE BELL RINGS 109 
 
 fair hair, and prepared to arrange it as 
 usual. Frances in the glass had a full view 
 of the maid's face, but she maintained an ad- 
 mirable composure, giving her orders as easily 
 as if concerned with nothing out of the 
 common. 
 
 " I shall not require the tray this morning, 
 Truscott." 
 
 " No, ma'am ? " _ 
 
 " Tell Susan I intend to breakfast down- 
 stairs with Mrs. Adams, and we shall both be 
 ready for it early. — I think you know my 
 large trunk in the box-room, where I have 
 some dresses put away ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " I want it brought down here, for I am 
 going to look it through. I may be able to 
 make use of some of the things, now I am 
 thinner." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am ; " this time with a gasp. 
 
 " I am very much thinner, and I daresay 
 you notice it. That remedy has worked 
 wonders, and more rapidly than the doctors 
 expected. And, Truscott, we have a visitor 
 in the house, come unexpectedly." 
 
 " A visitor, ma'am ? " 
 
 "Yes, and another room must be got 
 ready ; the Blue room in the wing. The 
 arrival was late last night, after you were all 
 in bed, so Mrs. Adams was good enough to 
 
no ONE OR TWO 
 
 give up her room to the lady, and to sleep 
 with me." 
 
 It was evident that Truscott marvelled 
 greatly as she withdrew. " You were right 
 about the loose gown," said Frances, when 
 the maid finally departed. " I may have to 
 wear it for a day or two, lest people should 
 be too much startled. I thought old 
 Truscott's eyes would have jumped out of her 
 head when she saw me. She has not been 
 here long, and never knew me anything but 
 stout." Her eyes were on the glass as she 
 spoke, smiling at her reflection, and with a 
 hand on either side to mark the changed out- 
 line of her shape. "And now, Ursula, I want 
 you to unlock your door, and see what has 
 happened to — to that Creature ; and bring me 
 word again." 
 
 So Ursula went with her key, sending away 
 a servant knocking with hot water before she 
 ventured to fit it in the lock. She entered 
 cautiously, on shoes of silence ; but the 
 mysterious stranger was still asleep, unmoved 
 from the position in which she had been laid 
 down, straight as a corpse upon the bed, with 
 the coverlet drawn up to her chin. Yet 
 nothing but the attitude suggested death, the 
 girl was certainly alive. Ursula drew aside 
 the shade from the window, to admit a fuller 
 light, and this time she held her breath in 
 
THE BELL RINGS iii 
 
 amazement. Not because of any visible 
 horror; the burden of the mysterious presence 
 was dreadful to these conspirators, but 
 nothing met the eye that was not fair and 
 sweet. She recognised the intruder ; there 
 lay the wonder and surprise which seemed 
 again to arrest the beating of her heart. The 
 face on the pillow was a face once dearly 
 loved, and long unseen, lost to her with her 
 girl-friend Fancy Wayland, and never found 
 again in Mrs. Bethune. 
 
 She looked, and looked again, and strove 
 to chide herself for a deceptive imagination. 
 The associations of the place must have 
 suggested the idea. The little room, a bower 
 of white dimity and white enamel furniture, 
 with sprays of roses on the walls, had been 
 Fancy Wayland's bedroom, when first her 
 school-friend came as a visitor to The Mount. 
 And it was here Ursula found her, laid with 
 cropped curls on the pillow, in those days of 
 dread and illness, when the one darling 
 daughter of the house was thought to be 
 dying for love of Charles Bethune. 
 
 During Frances's married life and years of 
 absence, The Mount saw Httle change. It 
 had been let furnished to an old couple who 
 were childless, and careful tenants ; and now 
 on her return, the chief alterations were in 
 those larger rooms which Mrs. Bethune 
 
112 ONE OR TWO 
 
 occupied, and filled full of luxury for herself. 
 She had forgotten all her tenderness for the 
 little white bower, as she forgot many other 
 affections of her earlier life ; it served in these 
 days as a third or fourth-rate spare bedroom, 
 and so was good enough for Mrs. Adams 
 when she became an inmate. — Now, as 
 Ursula turned to the bed, the face on the 
 pillow, pale and peaceful, was Fancy 
 Wayland's face ; the same soft bright hair 
 curled about it in short tendrils ; the 
 stranger's lip took on the same half piteous 
 curve, till she looked like a child who had 
 sobbed herself to sleep, as Fancy long ago 
 sobbed in her sorrow. 
 
 The likeness seemed to grow as Ursula 
 gazed, doubting and dreading to realise the 
 danger of such a duplication. Any one who 
 had known Mrs. Bethune in her youth, must 
 recognise as her very image this unnatural 
 creature, born from her, not as a child is born, 
 but as Eve was taken out of Adam in the 
 beginning. There were friends in the 
 neighbourhood, friends of long standing like 
 the Lancasters, who could so remember. It 
 was well there were no old servants at The 
 Mount to compare and comment, and make 
 the mystery and the scandal greater still. 
 
 And all the while the sleeper slept, 
 undisturbed by Ursula's presence and close 
 
THE BELL RINGS 113 
 
 scrutiny, moved only by that gentle stirring 
 of the breath ; her trance as deep, her 
 suspension as profound, as when she lay 
 white and naked on the floor of the boudoir. 
 Would there never be any quickening to 
 completer life ? Would food ever be needed 
 to sustain life, as in the case of common 
 humanity commonly born ? Or would the 
 unconscious existence go on unfed, except 
 mysteriously from Frances, for days and 
 weeks, perhaps for months and years, exactly 
 as now, without development or soul ? 
 
 " Come and look at her," she said later on 
 to Mrs. Bethune. " There is nothing terrible 
 to see." And when she entered the room 
 again, the mistress of The Mount accom- 
 panied her, and they stood together by the 
 bed. Frances had been hard to persuade, 
 for all her uneasy curiosity about the stranger; 
 but once at that bedside she stood there, 
 fixed and fascinated, the woman of full age 
 confronting the incarnation of her youth. 
 
 The girl slept as before ; but, while they 
 watched, a faint colour began to steal into 
 the pale cheek, as if from a stronger stirring 
 of the heart. Yes, the two faces resembled 
 each other, feature by feature, as might two 
 impressions struck from the same die; and 
 yet there was a difference, subtle, significant. 
 The stranger's likeness was to the former 
 
 I 
 
114 ONE OR TWO 
 
 rather than the present Frances; for in the 
 loss of bulk, the alteration she so ardently- 
 desired, Mrs. Bethune had not reverted to 
 her old appearance except in the mere out- 
 line of her form. Her face had regained its 
 former oval, her features were sharpened 
 into delicacy, but the change had aged her as 
 if by the passing of years. The fine skin had 
 slightly withered in shrinking after expan- 
 sion, and its flower-like texture and tint had 
 disappeared. Ursula looked from one to the 
 other, and thought they might have passed 
 for mother and daughter, so greatly was 
 Frances aged by the transformation of the 
 night ; changed also by the expression of an 
 altered mind. Then she became aware that 
 Mrs. Bethune was trembling; her teeth 
 clicked together as she shuddered and 
 caught at Ursula. " Take me away," she 
 said ; " take me away ! " 
 
 The door was locked again upon the 
 incubus, and the conspirators were alone, 
 but Mrs. Bethune's agitation continued. " I 
 will not go near her again," she declared with 
 vehemence. " You will have to see to her, 
 and do what is necessary. She looks like a 
 human being ; she is not horrible ; but I had 
 the strangest feeling as I stood beside her. It 
 was as if my life were being sucked out of me 
 — into her. I felt as if I should die — ! " 
 
THE BELL RINGS 115 
 
 " Did you notice the likeness ? " 
 
 Frances frowned over the question. " She 
 has light hair, I noticed that. I suppose you 
 think she is like the Waylands ? " 
 
 " She is the very image of what you used 
 to be when you were young — a school-girl at 
 Mrs. Pryor's. I thought you would see it for 
 yourself." 
 
 " I hate to think of it — or her. I daresay 
 it is all your fancy. But if we have to give 
 her a name — to the servants — you had better 
 call her Wayland. Say she is Miss Wayland, 
 and my cousin." 
 
 It was curious in the sequel to remember 
 that Frances herself bestowed the name, and 
 was the first to call her by it. And the need 
 became immediate. The presence of a guest 
 was known already to the household, and 
 wonder doubtless was astir. Visitors were 
 infrequent in these days at The Mount, — and 
 this one had arrived at a shut up house in 
 the middle of the night, had been admitted 
 by Mrs Bethune herself, contrary to any 
 precedent, and now lay in a locked room, 
 which the usual service was not allowed to 
 enter. There was of course the excuse of 
 indisposition, of fatigue after a journey; but 
 to have left her unnamed would have added 
 to the mystery. The whole situation bristled 
 with difficulty, from Frances's change of 
 
ii6 ONE OR TWO 
 
 shape to the introduction of the stranger. 
 — No care or tact could make it appear 
 natural ; however great the prudence 
 exercised, comment was bound to follow. 
 
 And Frances was not prudent. Her 
 elation over the personal result of the experi- 
 ment, began to outweigh her horror of the 
 other and more embarrassing consequence ; it 
 seemed as if she could shut off the respon- 
 sibility of that dormant life with the locked 
 door, and stop out reflection by plunging 
 back into her vanities. She wore her loose 
 gown about the house that morning, but, 
 even under its partial disguise, her altered 
 appearance was manifest. Ursula caught 
 the wondering looks of the servants, and 
 noticed that, on one pretext or another, the 
 whole establishment was encountered on the 
 stairs or in the passages. Mrs Choppington 
 came for her morning interview, and emerged 
 purple and well-nigh speechless, intercepting 
 Ursula in the hall. 
 
 " I beg your pardon for remarking it, Mrs 
 Adams," she said gasping, with one hand on 
 her large side, as if entirely overcome ; " but 
 it has given me such a turn to see the mis- 
 tress, if it really is the mistress ? " — the last 
 with an interrogative stare. " Whatever can 
 have come to her to be stout as she was 
 yesterday, as stout as me, though maybe 
 
THE BELL RINGS 117 
 
 younger, and to-day all gone to bone, the 
 like of which I never saw. If it has been 
 them vegetarian dishes — which I never did 
 hold with—" 
 
 Ursula did her best to smooth over 
 matters. Mrs Bethune had been under- 
 going treatment to reduce her size, as Mrs. 
 Choppington knew. It had taken effect 
 suddenly, but she was not ill, and would 
 probably be stronger now than before. 
 
 Mrs Choppington shook her head; the 
 hopeful view was not for her. " Nothing 
 can be good, begging your pardon ma'am, 
 which brings them down that sudden. And 
 the mistress so sharp-like with it, not her- 
 self at all, ' Choppington, I leave it to 
 you,' that is what she used to say, ' and 
 it'll be sure to be right.' I don't disguise it 
 give me such a shock, that I don't know 
 however I can stay." 
 
 The loose gown was adhered to through 
 the morning ; but with afternoon came the 
 opening of her Indian stores, and then no- 
 thing could deter Mrs Bethune from setting 
 off her changed figure with that hoarded, 
 finery. The huge travelling-case opened 
 with a waft of sandal-wood, a breath of 
 the dear delightful past, or so it seemed to 
 Frances. 
 
 Many were the dresses lying in close rank 
 
ii8 ONE OR TWO 
 
 within, and they unfolded Httle the worse 
 for their long entombment. But altered 
 fashions made them practically useless in 
 Mrs Bethune's regard, except for present 
 makeshift ; and an urgent summons was sent 
 all the same to her modiste. White washing 
 gowns and gauzy silks, the underwear of a 
 hot climate, a wardrobe that would have 
 been wealth to another. Frances turned 
 them all over with vivid interest, trying on 
 one costume after another, each of them 
 bringing to mind some episode of that gay 
 time through which her domestic happiness 
 had suffered shipwreck. Finally she arrayed 
 herself in a gown of changeful tint, with soft 
 blue upper lights " shoaling into green," like 
 that robe of old romance displayed to Enid ; 
 and fastened about the waist of it Colonel 
 Bethune's jewelled girdle. She turned from 
 the glass to Ursula with a smile of delighted 
 triumph, and announced her intention of wear- 
 ing it for the rest of the day. The gown had 
 once been costly, that was evident, above the 
 common cost of such apparel, and it was as 
 manifestly over-fine for the absence of 
 occasion. But Ursula's objection was based 
 on the imprudence of displaying all the 
 change in her, by showing herself to the 
 household in a gown which fitted to her 
 shape. 
 
THE BELL RINGS 119 
 
 " I don't care about that, they must see 
 how much I have altered," turning about 
 to catch a new point of view in a hand- 
 mirror. " And the sooner they get 
 accustomed to it the better ! Truscott and 
 all of them. My figure is just as it used 
 to be, but I can't think what makes me 
 look so pale. Even my hair seems to have 
 faded. I shall have to send to London 
 for some of that stuff which brightens it. 
 But I can put my complexion right at once, 
 without needing to wait." 
 
 This meant the production of rouge and 
 pearl-powder, and certain slight and artistic 
 applications of these pigments to the faded 
 face ; effective doubtless, but marking a line 
 of division deeper and wider than ever, 
 between the present Frances and that 
 youthful memory of her which the stranger 
 had recalled. Mrs. Bethune was elated at 
 the success of her operations, and boldly 
 went downstairs ; tea should be served to 
 them in the drawing-room, for after last 
 night she hated to sit in the boudoir. And 
 once in the big saloon, with its old-fashioned 
 console tables and tall mirrors, she fluttered 
 from one to the other, delighting in her 
 own reflection, like a child who has played 
 at dressing-up. 
 
 Ursula sat in one of the windows, which 
 
I20 ONE OR TWO 
 
 on this side of the house commanded the 
 downward slope of the drive, visible at 
 intervals between groups of ornamental 
 shrubs. Presently she caught sight of 
 an ascending figure. 
 
 " You don't want to receive visitors, do 
 you, Frances ? There is a man — he looks 
 like a gentleman — coming up to the door." 
 
 Mrs. Bethune came behind her to look 
 out. " It is Maurice Moore," she said. 
 " He must be staying at Lady Sarah's. 
 Yes, he can come in, it will be fun. He 
 has not seen me for three or four months. 
 I wonder what he will think of the change." 
 
 The order was given accordingly, and 
 the visitor entered : a good-looking young 
 fellow, supposed to be reading for an 
 examination, but rather concerned with 
 skimming the cream of life in the way of 
 irresponsible enjoyment. The hostess stood 
 up to receive him, but he paused and made 
 a formal bow, as to a stranger. Frances 
 burst out laughing. 
 
 " Don't you know me, Mr. Moore ? " she 
 said, a good deal of gratification mixed with 
 her amusement. " Have I altered so very 
 much ? Must I introduce myself over 
 again ? " 
 
 Mr. Moore coloured all over his ingenuous 
 forehead as he came forward, and made 
 
THE BELL RINGS 121 
 
 what excuse he could to cover the momentary 
 awkwardness. He was short-sighted, he 
 explained, and ladies had a way of trans- 
 forming themselves when they put on fresh 
 gowns, " You are so splendid to-day, Mrs. 
 Bethune, that you really must excuse me. 
 People are sometimes dazzled, don't you 
 know, like looking at the sun." But the 
 fact remained, that she had changed beyond 
 recognition, and so did her pleasure in it, 
 
 Mr. Moore was presented to Ursula, and 
 then explained his errand. He was the 
 bearer of a message from his aunt. Lady 
 Sarah, about a book-club volume. She 
 desired to retain it a little longer, but 
 promised to send it in at a certain time 
 which he was instructed to specify, — if not 
 inconvenient to Mrs. Bethune. Frances 
 gave a ready permission, and was altogether 
 gracious ; the book was a dry one, it seemed ; 
 one of those solid works advocated by the 
 Lancasters. Lady Sarah was welcome to 
 keep it for the double turn if she wished, 
 for she, Frances, was positive she should 
 die of yawning if she did but look within the 
 covers. 
 
 Much more followed in the same flippant 
 style, while tea was brought in and dispensed, 
 Moore was willing to play his part in that 
 airy tossing of the conversational shuttlecock, 
 
122 ONE OR TWO 
 
 the idlest pastime imaginable, and Mrs. 
 Bethune was as ready to second him as if 
 she had not a care in the world. He had 
 no real admiration for bis hostess, but he 
 saw before him a pretty woman prettily 
 dressed, and it was a sufficiently pleasant 
 occupation for an empty hour, thus to 
 consume her tea and strawberries while 
 tossing back that feathered badinage, 
 together with a spice of hinted homage to 
 give zest to the game. 
 
 It was merely a game, at which both were 
 practised players, and neither one nor the 
 other was in the slightest danger of any 
 heart-wound. But it was just this spice for 
 which Frances hungered ; her palate long 
 had lacked the flavour, and she gloried in 
 it as the earnest of triumphs yet to come. 
 Probably she had utterly forgotten the 
 incubus of the night ; the faint tinkle of a 
 bell, far away in the servants' quarter, 
 informed nobody, not even Ursula. A few 
 minutes passed, and then a maid appeared 
 at the door, 
 
 " I beg your pardon, ma'am, but can I 
 speak to you ? — The visitor upstairs. Miss 
 Wayland, she has rung her bell. And the 
 door seems somehow to be fastened, for we 
 can't get in to answer it." 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Difficult Questions 
 
 Mrs. Bethune paled under her rouge, and 
 her light manner suddenly deserted her. 
 " Ursula," she said, as if her voice failed her 
 for more than the appeal ; and then added 
 hoarsely — "You know about it, will you go ? " 
 Maurice Moore was acute enough to notice 
 something had gone wrong, some domestic 
 difficulty was on the tapis ; so he negatived 
 that offer of a second cup which had been on 
 the point of acceptance, and presently took 
 himself off, while Mrs, Adams hastened to 
 the upper floor. 
 
 As she ascended the stairs the bell rang 
 again, and this time more decidedly. It is 
 not an exaggeration to say the blood ran cold 
 about her heart in a veritable panic of terror, 
 although she forced herself to go on. The 
 summons was alarming and unexpected 
 
124 ONE OR TWO 
 
 because so ordinary. A disturbance of vague 
 outcry would have seemed less terrible ; but 
 that this being in her newly separated 
 existence, ignorant of necessity as the veriest 
 infant is ignorant, should yet know how to 
 ring a bell and summon a servant, found her 
 altogether unprepared. 
 
 Susan was waiting on the landing, and she 
 witnessed the production of the key from 
 Mrs. Adams's pocket, but this was no moment 
 to delay. The white hangings, which were 
 arranged tent-fashion in a style now obsolete, 
 hid the foot of the bed and its occupant, but 
 a voice spoke from within as Ursula opened 
 the door. 
 
 " Polly, is that you ? I want my breakfast. 
 I have been asleep a long while, and I am 
 very hungry." 
 
 Here was a fresh astonishment ; the 
 reaction of the commonplace in the natural 
 girlish voice, the natural demand. She 
 looked back to the servant on the landing to 
 give the order, and then, with desperate 
 self-possession, advanced beyond the curtains 
 into view. 
 
 The girl had raised herself on her elbow, 
 her lovely eyes were open and full of in- 
 telligence. Evidently she was looking for a 
 different entrance ; for when she caught sight 
 of Mrs. Adams' her expression changed — 
 
DIFFICULT QUESTIONS 125 
 
 first to surprise, and then to positive 
 delight. 
 
 " Ursula, is it you ? My dear ! Oh, I am 
 so glad. How ever did you get over Mrs. 
 Pryor, to let you come away ? " 
 
 The eyes were Fancy Wayland's eyes, the 
 voice her voice, the eager embrace was 
 proffered in the old impulsive style. What 
 could Ursula do but yield to it, and feel, if 
 only for the moment and despite herself, that 
 the long ten years were blotted out ? The 
 illusion was too perfect as yet, to leave room 
 for wonder and dread before the deepened 
 mystery. She stood again by Fancy 
 Wayland's couch of sickness, the same little 
 white couch, called there by the anxious 
 father's urgent summons. Not then could 
 she question or doubt who this girl could be, 
 who had sprung into existence in the night, 
 and yet called her by her name and talked 
 familiarly of Mrs. Pryor. 
 
 " My dear old Ursula ! I have been ill, 
 but I shall be better now you have come to 
 me. Did papa send for you ? Do you know it 
 has all come right ? He has been kind about 
 Charles — at last 1 " 
 
 What words were these, and how was she 
 to answer them ? Yet, as she returned the 
 offered kiss, and suffered the golden head to 
 rest against her shoulder, the heart which had 
 
126 ONE OR TWO 
 
 trembled with fear began to warm to the 
 stranger. It was as if she had found again, 
 unaccountably and beyond all expectation, the 
 girl-friend once dearly loved, who had been 
 lost in Mrs. Bethune. She spoke as she 
 might have spoken to the real Fancy, in the 
 time which had gone by. 
 
 " Yes, you have been ill. A long, long 
 illness; and now you are getting better you 
 must not excite yourself, or I shall not be 
 able to stay." 
 
 " A long illness ! And yet it seems only 
 like last night that Papa came in and cried, 
 and said he would write to Charles to come 
 to us — to come home. — So he sent for you as 
 well ? Ursula, tell me," the arms closing 
 about her, and the girl's cheek flushing 
 warmly against hers. "Has Charles come 
 yet ? Is he in the house ? " 
 
 Ursula shuddered in her very soul. But to 
 this question she was able truthfully to 
 answer No. 
 
 " Not yet, — not yet," whispered the girl to 
 herself. " A little longer to wait, and to be 
 patient. But he is coming," turning again to 
 Ursula a face radiant with ineffable joy. 
 " He is coming, with the morning out of the 
 east. I heard somebody say that when I was 
 asleep, like a promise. He will soon be 
 here. 
 
DIFFICULT QUESTIONS la; 
 
 A knock : the maid at the door, bringing 
 in the tray before Ursula in her bewilder- 
 ment could decide for or against admission. 
 But there was nothing Susan might not 
 see in this lovely delicate looking girl sit- 
 ting up in bed, while Mrs. Adams arranged 
 the pillows for her support. The tray was 
 put on her knees, with its tiny fragrant pot, 
 and thin-sliced bread-and-butter. " Will 
 the lady have anything else," queried the 
 hand-maid, " as she didn't take no dinner ? " 
 
 " I'll send down if more is wanted," 
 said Ursula hastily, anxious at all risks to 
 dismiss her. Then timidly to her charge, 
 hardly daring to add the name. " Are you 
 hungry, — Fancy ? " 
 
 The girl did not answer directly. " That 
 is a new servant," she said. "Where is 
 Polly ? " 
 
 It was many a long year since Ursula had 
 thought of Polly, who used to live at The 
 Mount. She recalled her now as the 
 servant who waited on Fancy in her illness, 
 and was especially her maid. 
 
 " Polly is gone," she said. And then 
 added hesitatingly, thinking of the great 
 gulf between the past and present, and not 
 knowing how to explain. " You have been 
 ill a long time, you know. And time brings 
 changes." 
 
128 ONE OR TWO 
 
 " I don't want to think of changes now," 
 said this incarnation of the past, " if they 
 are changes for the worse. I am sorry 
 Polly is gone ; I wonder why she left. 
 Perhaps her mother was ill again ? — To- 
 night we will only remember the changes 
 for the better, and reckon them up. I 
 have you, dear Ursula ; it was kind of you 
 to come to me, and that is a change on 
 the good side. And Papa has relented 
 about Charles, so there is another. And 
 Charles is coming home, as fast as the ship 
 can bring him, and that is best of all. — 
 Then there is another change for the better : 
 I am getting well. Indeed I am not ill 
 at all ; I feel quite strong. I am sure I 
 could get up and dress. I don't know why 
 I am in bed." 
 
 " You must not be imprudent," said 
 Ursula hastily. " You must stay where you 
 are, at least until to-morrow." And she 
 quailed again before the mountains of un- 
 calculated difficulty ; Pelion seemed indeed 
 to be heaped upon Ossa. Here was this 
 new-born creature utterly destitute, even 
 of clothing ; Mr. Wayland dead, and Frances 
 Bethune in possession, reigning mistress of 
 the altered house below ! 
 
 " Oh no," said the girl easily," I won't 
 be imprudent. But you were always over 
 
DIFFICULT QUESTIONS 129 
 
 careful, you dear old Ursula. — And now 
 I want you tell me all the news at Mrs. 
 Pryor's. Does Mr. Houssaye still take 
 the drilling-class ; and has he proposed to 
 Mademoiselle, as we always expected ? 
 And is Fraulein as disagreeable as ever ? 
 You told me in your last letter that you 
 thought Mrs. Pryor knew of it, and was 
 going to send her away." 
 
 Alas, that last letter, dust and ashes ten 
 years since ; and all the tragedy of her own 
 life acted out and buried in between ! The 
 voice which talked in her ear was like a voice 
 out of a grave. — This strange resurrected 
 Fancy, happy and ignorant, was sitting up 
 full in view ; and as she chattered on, her 
 hands moved about over the tray to plate 
 and cup. It was impossible not to see that 
 the small left hand had a ring upon it, a 
 pretty ring of clustered blue stones, worn on 
 the wedding-finger. Where had she got 
 such an adornment ? With an impulse of 
 curiosity, Ursula captured the little hand 
 and looked at it ; she was afraid she remem- 
 bered that ring as an early love-plight. And 
 yet the real ring must surely be in Frances' 
 possession as the wife. How could it be 
 worn by this duplicated Fancy, who had 
 come naked into the world in the night, 
 and whom she had been forced to clothe ? 
 
 K 
 
I30 ONE OR TWO 
 
 The warm colour flushed again into Fancy's 
 cheek, as she yielded her hand to Ursula. 
 " Charles gave me that," she said softly. 
 " He gave it me as a keepsake when we 
 were obliged to part. And I wore it night 
 and day about my neck when I could not 
 wear it openly. But last night when Papa 
 consented — (it still seems like last night) 
 — I put it on, for its place is on my finger. 
 And Charles will find it there when he 
 comes. It will be a sign that I am true." 
 
 What could be said or done ? Ursula 
 was speechless. Meanwhile her friend, 
 girl-like, returned the scrutiny, turning over 
 the hands which had taken hers, and on 
 which there was a gleam of gold. One ring 
 only, but that the unmistakeable plain circlet 
 which is so significant a token. Fancy 
 cried out in her surprise. 
 
 " Why, Ursula, what is this ? You are not 
 married ? " 
 
 " Yes. For a very little while, and I am 
 now a widow. I am not at Mrs. Pryor's any 
 longer. I told you there had been changes, 
 many changes ; but you were right — we will 
 not talk of them to-night. Another time — " 
 
 " Married ! And I never knew it ; you 
 never told me ! To somebody you loved, as 
 I love Charles ? You have an altered 
 name ! " 
 
DIFFICULT QUESTIONS 131 
 
 " My name is Adams, but it makes no 
 difference; I am always Ursula to you. I 
 cannot explain — how it is you did not know. 
 You would not understand unless I told you 
 much — much more, and there is not time this 
 evening." 
 
 " Married ! " Fancy was repeating in an 
 undertone, as if trying to take the wonder 
 in. " Married I and I never knew. And now 
 a widow, so soon, so soon. Poor, poor 
 Ursula!" — Further questions would have 
 followed, but at this point came interruption. 
 Susan knocked at the door. 
 
 " If you please, ma'am, Mrs. Bethune has 
 sent me. She says will you come to her." 
 
 Ursula signified assent, and was rising, 
 when Fancy caught her by the wrist. 
 
 " I will not be long, dear. Finish your 
 tea. I will come back as soon as I can." 
 
 " Who did the woman say had sent for 
 you ? Did she say Mrs. Bethune ? " 
 
 " Yes. Don't keep me : I will come back." 
 
 " Wait — one moment. Is it Charles's 
 mother ? Did she come because I was ill ? " 
 
 The question took Ursula by surprise ; for 
 such an inquiry as this she was unprepared. 
 What explanation could she give of the latter 
 day Frances to this incarnation of her youth ? 
 The truth must be gently broken if made 
 known ; such precaution would only b§ 
 
132 ONE OR TWO 
 
 humanity towards this girl who wore Charles 
 Bethune's ring, whatever the mystery of her 
 origin. — So in her haste and confusion she 
 prevaricated. 
 
 " No, not his mother. Quite another 
 person ; no one that you know." 
 
 Fancy released her, but with the question- 
 ing look of one not wholly satisfied. — And 
 from the one interrogator, she passed to 
 another. 
 
 It was a singular transition from Fancy 
 Wayland to Frances Bethune ; to behold the 
 expanded flower flaunting a hue so diverse 
 from its early promise, when she had just 
 looked upon that promise in the bud. Had 
 Frances been from the first a double 
 personality, Ursula queried and marvelled ; 
 were two souls embodied in her organism at 
 birth, a higher and a lower ? And in the 
 mystery of the night, had the pure soul 
 separated itself and taken shape, leaving the 
 original form wholly to the evil ? — Mrs. 
 Bethune's face darkened with anger over that 
 narrative of the awakening, and the indi- 
 cative mystery of the intelligence revealed. 
 " If you had done as I bade you," she 
 muttered between her teeth ; " if you had 
 smothered the life out of this Thing before it 
 began to rave, it would have been easier for 
 us both, — better for you, and better for me. 
 
DIFFICULT QUESTIONS 133 
 
 But you would not, so you are responsible for 
 it, no less than I." 
 
 She walked the length of the room and 
 back, her chest heaving and anger in her 
 eyes, passing and repassing the mirrors, but 
 this time without a glance of gratified vanity 
 at the shapely figure and the fitting girdle. 
 Then she stopped before Ursula, holding out 
 both hands, and clenching and spreading her 
 fingers. 
 
 " I think I might have strength to do it," 
 she said, " even now." 
 
 " Frances ! Put all such thoughts away : I 
 will not hear them : I will not help you if 
 they are in your mind. And if you act 
 unworthily I will not screen you. — Have you 
 thought of the danger ? To the law this girl 
 is a separate being, whatever may be your 
 knowledge. Remember, you can never 
 explain. Nobody would ever believe." 
 
 The force of this reasoning proved con- 
 vincing for the second time. For the second 
 time the murderous impulse seemed to die 
 away; and presently the fixed face relaxed 
 into a slow smile. 
 
 " I know what we can do," she whispered, 
 " and it will be better than the other. If 
 there is any difficulty, we can give out that 
 she is mad." 
 
 The smile seemed to Ursula as evil as the 
 
134 ONE OR TWO 
 
 anger. " It would bp too cruel," she said in 
 hasty opposition. " And besides, you could 
 not prove it. She is quite rational." 
 
 " Not prove it ? Is there no madness in a 
 fixed delusion about identity ? Are not 
 hundreds of people shut up in lunatic asylums 
 for no worse thing than this ? What she has 
 said to you would be enough, if she persists in 
 it. I suppose you will hardly dispute that 
 I am I, in spite of all this change that we 
 have brought about ? " 
 
 " You are the Frances I met in London, 
 that I have known for these last months as 
 Mrs. Bethune. But as surely as you seem to 
 be yourself, she is the Fancy Wayland I 
 once knew, that I was called to by your 
 father all those years ago." 
 
 Mrs. Bethune laughed, but the laugh had 
 little mirth in it. 
 
 " I am glad at least that you acknowledge 
 I am I. And as you seem to have some 
 tenderness for this unnatural creature — (for 
 whom we are both responsible, as I said 
 before) — you will not mind assuming the 
 charge of her. If she persists in annoying 
 me, an asylum may be necessary ; but it will 
 serve the present purpose if I send her out of 
 the way with you. Granted that I am I, it is 
 my plain duty to hold fast to my identity and 
 my place in the world ; an impostor claiming 
 
DIFFICULT QUESTIONS 135 
 
 these, proves herself either insane or a 
 criminal. I am safe, it seems to me ; the 
 danger will be hers, as well as the onus of 
 proof. — I look to you to take her away, the 
 length and breadth of England away from 
 me ! to another hemisphere, if you will. You 
 will do it — for money ! " 
 
 There was a faint sneer about the last 
 remark, but Ursula answered steadily : — " I 
 could not do it without money. I am poor, 
 as you know." 
 
 Frances moved to her writing-table and sat 
 down, beginning to fill in a slip of lilac paper, 
 which was a blank cheque. To take the 
 girl away! that did indeed seem the best 
 and safest emergence from this horrible 
 entanglement ; and neither she nor Mrs. 
 Bethune forecasted any difficulty attending 
 the removal. It would be easy to love 
 this Fancy, so she thought ; and the care 
 of her might also mean a living — that 
 consideration which she was bound to keep 
 in view. Yes, she would take her away, away 
 from the danger of Frances' hatred, the 
 murderous impulse quick in her now that she 
 was abandoned to the lower soul; away from 
 that threat of the madhouse, which was 
 a danger more tangible still. Strange that 
 she should feel so keen a concern for this 
 non-human projection, which might prove 
 
136 ONE OR TWO 
 
 soulless and evanescent ; but to her, rational 
 or irrational, it was the girl Fancy of her 
 early affection, whose fate hung in the 
 balance. 
 
 Mrs. Bethune returned with her strip of 
 paper. 
 
 " Here is fifty pounds. I promised to 
 give it you if our experiment succeeded, and 
 if all went well. It has succeeded physically, 
 to the utmost of my hope ; but things are 
 hardly well while that creature remains to 
 trouble us. Take her away, keep her 
 where you please and how you please, so 
 long as she is far from me and mine. And 
 when you have spent the money, I will 
 send you more." 
 
 Thus offered, it was the passport of 
 Fancy's freedom ; Ursula could not reject 
 it. Did her conscience remind her how she 
 had coveted the offered money, treading in 
 devious ways in pursuit of that small gain. 
 Now a higher motive prompted the taking 
 of the bribe ; pity, a desire to protect, a 
 yearning which was almost affection. She 
 folded the thin edges of the paper together, 
 ready for her purse, while Frances Bethune 
 watched. 
 
 " When do you wish us to go? " 
 
 " So far as the Creature is concerned, I 
 would say, this moment; but I am sorry 
 
DIFFICULT QUESTIONS 137 
 
 to part with you, Ursula. There may be 
 difficulties yet before me in which I shall 
 want your help, as you are the only person 
 who knows the truth and understands. 
 You came for a week; stay that time out 
 at least, and perhaps a day or two beyond. 
 We must not part as if we had quarrelled, 
 or it may set people talking. This is the 
 fifth of June ; Charles calculated he might 
 be here on the thirteenth. Stay with me 
 till the ninth, by then you will have some 
 plan set in order, and can give notice to 
 Mrs. Minter. I must manage to endure the 
 Creature until then. "Will it be necessary 
 for me ever to see her? " 
 
 " You must judge whether it will not be 
 safer to treat her as an ordinary guest, 
 even if distasteful and difficult. You do not 
 want the scandal of keeping her a prisoner?" 
 
 " No." Mrs. Bethune shrugged her 
 shoulders, as it were involuntarily. "But 
 equally I do not want the scandal of her 
 claim." 
 
 " And when she is sent away, she must 
 have clothes to go in; such belongings as 
 would be natural to a person of refinement 
 making her home with me. You will supply 
 these ? And the provision will take time." 
 
 "You are a woman of business, Ursula, and 
 shrewd over a bargain. But what you ask is 
 
138 ONE OR TWO 
 
 not unreasonable. There are a good many- 
 things in the India box that will come in for 
 her ; those old washing dresses of mine, and 
 some of the linen. I will see that she has 
 what is needful, when you dress her to take 
 her away." 
 
 " We must have some clothing ready as 
 soon as to-morrow, to wear while she 
 remains here ; for she says she feels well, and 
 wonders that she is kept in bed. She will 
 expect to find her own things — your things, 
 Frances, in all those drawers and cupboards 
 which are standing empty, except for the 
 small luggage I brought in. My heart fails 
 me when I think how I am to make her 
 understand — ! " 
 
 " What does it matter whether she under- 
 stands or not ? — if she troubles you with 
 questions, say the first thing that comes into 
 your head, anything to keep her quiet, and 
 get her away. Tell her Papa lost all his 
 money, he did lose a great deal of it ; and if 
 you want to account for me, say I bought 
 the house and everything in it, with the 
 encumbrance of herself as a fixture. 
 And hint politely that I am tired of my guest, 
 and now she has come to herself I expect her 
 to go away. Tell her I married Charles's twin 
 brother, or his first cousin, if you like it 
 better. And let her think she is going in 
 
DIFFICULT QUESTIONS 139 
 
 search of her own Charles, when she sets out 
 with you." 
 
 " I mean to tell her the truth so far as I 
 can. It is only right — " 
 
 " Right ! in a case like this, and to a 
 creature not human? You might as well 
 scruple to excite a false hope in your dog, 
 when you feign to throw him a stone, and 
 hold it back in your hand. The whole thing 
 is horrible — out of nature, and we must 
 fight through it the readiest way, without 
 stopping to pick our steps. Did you not tell 
 me she is expecting Charles ? That she 
 believes he is engaged to her, and wjll 
 come ? " 
 
 " Exactly as you were expecting him when 
 I left you, years ago." 
 
 " And that she even wears a ring, like the 
 one he gave to me ? " 
 
 "A small ring, with a cluster of blue stones 
 about a diamond. Where is that ring, 
 Frances ? You used to wear it." 
 
 " I have it upstairs, or I believe I have it ; 
 I have not worn it for ages. You see it was a 
 shabby little thing, and he gave me a hand- 
 somer one when he came in for that money 
 from his uncle. My fingers have been too 
 large of late to put any rings on, though I 
 have some very good ones, really fine 
 stones. They were all locked away together. 
 
I40 ONE OR TWO 
 
 and I believe the blue ring is with them. Now 
 if it has been stolen, will not that look as if 
 she might after all be a real person and a 
 fraud ? I will go and see if the drawer is safe, 
 for it is where I keep all my diamonds ! " 
 
 She went on the impulse of the alarm, and 
 when she and Ursula next encountered, it was 
 on the stairs. Frances held up her hand, 
 which was laden and sparkling with jewels. 
 
 " They are all safe, except that ring. 
 Nothing of value has been taken. And I 
 cannot be sure the little blue ring was ever in 
 the drawer with the others ; I don't remember 
 when I had it last. It was a trumpery little 
 thing, and I never wear it ; so if the Creature 
 likes to have it, she is welcome to it for 
 mel" 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 Hostess and Guest 
 
 There was to be uo elucidation, even of 
 the mystery of the ring. Ursula laid her 
 tired head on the pillow in the blue room, 
 too weary to question further, while the 
 bewilderment which encompassed them melted 
 into the phantasmagoria of a dream. The 
 separated soul slept doubtless in her white 
 bower, dreaming of her lover and the rose- 
 garden where they were to meet. Frances 
 Bethune slumbered also, rejoicing in release 
 from that encumbering flesh, though it had 
 been drawn away at a cost she could not 
 gauge as yet. Perhaps her dreams were of 
 modes and compliments, and of the gay 
 world for which she yearned ; if they 
 concerned the new-formed creature under her 
 roof, which was herself and not herself, and 
 hinted at disaster and peril, the warning 
 
142 ONE OR TWO 
 
 was blotted from her mind before the dawn. 
 
 So sleep and silence settled down 
 under the roof-tree of The Mount ; sleep 
 which visited alike the one who feared, and 
 the two who were confident ; and checked, at 
 least for a time, the clack of tongues among 
 the wondering household. It had been rife 
 through the previous day, over the surprising 
 alteration in Mrs. Bethune, and the singular 
 advent of her guest — a young lady ill enough 
 to keep her bed, who arrived in the middle of 
 the night, unheard by anybody in the wing, 
 and without accompaniment of luggage. 
 And surprise was likely soon to spread into a 
 larger circle. Mr. Moore knew nothing of 
 the coming of the stranger, but he had 
 witnessed the change in Frances' appearance ; 
 and to whisper such a piece of news to 
 Lady Sarah was tantamount in itself to 
 publication abroad. The whisper left the 
 old lady profoundly curious as well as deeply 
 amazed. She seldom bestirred herself to 
 visit her neighbours, but she would have 
 called on Frances in person had not a severe 
 cold kept her indoors ; and it was more 
 than probable that a fresh errand to The 
 Mount would be devised for her nephew in 
 the course of the morrow. 
 
 The new-found life in Fancy leapt up to 
 meet her second morning. " I am well," she 
 
HOSTESS AND GUEST 143 
 
 repeated to Ursula. " I don't know why I am 
 lying here. Cannot I get up at once ? Must 
 I really wait for the doctor to give leave ? " — 
 for this had been suggested as a reason for 
 delay. " It cannot do me any harm to dress 
 and go downstairs, and into the garden. Look 
 how fine it is ; and I long for the sun and the 
 air." 
 
 So Ursula brought her such garments and 
 appliances as Mrs. Bethune was disposed to 
 allot to her guest, and offered her own 
 assistance — as Polly had gone away. But the 
 toilet was quickly made, Fancy's own fingers 
 were sufficiently deft, and the bright rings of 
 short-cropped hair needed only a brush to set 
 them curling anew about her pretty head. 
 The white morning gown out of the India 
 box might be somewhat flattened with lying 
 by, but it fitted her to perfection, — the fit a 
 matter of course, for had it not been made for 
 her counterpart? — and all her fresh young 
 beauty was set off" by the simple array, while 
 glad anticipation smiled from eyes and lips. 
 
 " What are you looking so grave for, you 
 dear old Ursula ? I am ready to go down." 
 
 " Do you remember what I said last night : 
 that there had been changes ? And you said 
 we would not talk of them then. You will 
 find a changed house beyond this room. I 
 wanted to tell you — to prepare you, but I 
 
144 ONE OR TWO 
 
 have not known how to begin." 
 
 Fancy looked over her shoulder, her hand 
 was already on the door. 
 
 " Let us go down, and I will see for myself. 
 Then you shall tell me, anything you please. 
 Come ! " 
 
 She went swiftly out, and Ursula could 
 only follow. Descending the stairs, the broad 
 staircase with its shallow easy steps and 
 substantial balusters, she paused on the 
 middle landing. 
 
 " Change number one," she said, and 
 laughed. " Not serious enough to account 
 for your long face. This stair-carpet is not 
 the same, though it does not look new. But 
 oh, why has the picture been sent away? 
 The picture I was so fond of ! " 
 
 A landscape by a foreign artist hung there 
 formerly, showing to excellent advantage in 
 the upper light. Mr. Wayland had possessed 
 several pictures of value, but they were sold 
 after his death by order of the executors. 
 Ursula could just recollect the Poussin. Now 
 the wall was filled with a trophy of horns and 
 Indian weapons, above a stand of flowers. 
 
 " I don't mind about the carpet, though I 
 would like to have chosen the new one. I 
 call this ugly ; I hate these mixed colours. 
 But I must ask Papa about my picture — " 
 
 Here again Ursula tried to interpose, but 
 
HOSTESS AND GUEST 145 
 
 the girl with her light swift step went on, 
 down into the hall. A small room on the 
 left, lighted by a French window opening to 
 the floor, had been Mr. Wayland's study ; in 
 these days it was quite unused. Fancy 
 tapped at the door, while Ursula stood behind 
 her with a sinking heart. Now at last the tale 
 must be told, the tale she found so hard. 
 And the room Fancy chose to enter promised 
 solitude ; it was the one in all the house where 
 they were least likely to be disturbed. 
 
 There was of course no answer to the 
 knock. " Papa must have gone out," she said. 
 " That is a pity, for I wanted to surprise him." 
 And then she opened the door. 
 
 The shutters were folded back, and the 
 room was rigidly in order, but it was the cold 
 order of disuse. The bureau, which used to 
 stand open at an angle convenient for the 
 light, was closed and pushed away against the 
 wall ; the clock on the mantelpiece had 
 stopped. Something in the indicative 
 emptiness struck chill to Fancy's heart, a 
 first apprehension touched her as she stood 
 arrested, while Ursula followed her in and 
 shut the door. 
 
 " Papa is not at home ? Ursula, you had 
 something to tell me. Is the change — about 
 him ? " 
 
 She had grown very pale. If to love and to 
 
 L 
 
146 ONE OR TWO 
 
 fear proves humanity, this truly was a human 
 soul, entering now upon its heritage of woe. 
 
 " Yes. The greatest change of all. He 
 will never suffer or be sorry any more." 
 
 " Dead ?— Papa dead ! " She put her 
 hand to her heart, and the eyes which had 
 never wept before, filled and ran over with 
 bright drops. Then, through all the difficulty 
 of speech, " When ? And why cannot I 
 remember ? " 
 
 " You are sure you don't remember, 
 Fancy ? " 
 
 " I did not. But now it seems as if it 
 came to me, like a whisper in my sleep ; as 
 if in another world, and some other life, I 
 must have known. Oh, why, why have I 
 been ill ? I could do nothing for him. I 
 was only a vexation and a burden. He 
 came to my room and cried, and said that 
 Charles should come. And now I cannot 
 thank him, I shall never be able to thank 
 him. I shall never see him any more. Oh, 
 my father! oh, Papa, Papa! " 
 
 The words were sobbed out, broken by 
 her weeping, and it was long before Ursula 
 could soothe her. " This is the great 
 change," she said at last. " But I remember 
 you said changes. Is there — anything more ? 
 Is there no message ? Am I to stay here 
 till Charles takes me away ? " 
 
HOSTESS AND GUEST 147 
 
 " It was about that. The house is not 
 yours any longer. It belongs to another 
 person — " 
 
 Ursula stopped from sheer inability to 
 speak further ; this thing which she had to 
 tell, seemed all at once so cruelly hard. 
 
 " It was Papa's own house. Do you mean 
 that he left it away from me ? " 
 
 "I do not know how to explain. He 
 wished it to be yours, but he had losses, 
 heavy losses in business about the time that 
 you were ill." 
 
 " I suppose it had to be sold ? " Ursula let 
 her silence pass for assent. " Then who does 
 it belong to now ? And why am I here ? " 
 
 A natural inference, and rational questions; 
 there was a rational mind to be dealt with, 
 as well as a feeling heart. Ursula had placed 
 her in the great arm-chair where Mr. 
 Wayland used to sit, and, hoping to over- 
 come the passion of her weeping, set wide 
 both leaves of the French window to the 
 air, as the shut-up room felt close. The 
 window opened on the gravel terrace which 
 ran round two sides of the house, a wide 
 terrace with a stone balustrade twined about 
 with creepers ; the greenness and the 
 fragrance of the garden lay beyond. 
 
 "Who does it belong to now?" Fancy 
 repeated. 
 
148 ONE OR TWO 
 
 " You heard the name yesterday when the 
 servant came for me. It belongs to Mrs. 
 Bethune." 
 
 The name had attracted her instantly the 
 night before, but now it seemed to pass 
 without remark. She was leaning forward 
 in her chair, looking out upon the terrace. 
 
 Ursula turned to follow the direction of 
 her eyes. There at the opposite side, Frances 
 was standing. She had just come up the steps 
 from the lower garden, a slim figure in pale 
 blue, girt about the waist with a crimson sash, 
 bare-headed, with her face full in the light. 
 
 Fancy started to her feet, pale and agitated, 
 while Ursula put an arm about her for 
 support. " What is it ? " she whispered, a 
 whisper full of dread. " Look, do you see 
 it too ? What is it ; is it a ghost ? " 
 
 Frances moved slowly forward, enjoying 
 the warm air, and swinging her hat by the 
 strings. She was passing along the terrace, 
 before the window, and probably would go 
 by without observing it had been opened. 
 ' Is it a ghost ? ' — strange question for the 
 derived form to put about the real woman ! 
 Fancy's eyes were wide with horror, her 
 trembling finger still pointed. 
 
 " Hush, hush," said Ursula. " That is 
 Mrs. Bethune." 
 
 Did the pointed finger attract Frances ? 
 
HOSTESS AND GUEST 149 
 
 She stopped and shivered, as if suddenly- 
 cold ; turned, and saw the open window and 
 the figures within, Ursula, and that girl- 
 semblance with the curling hair, which was 
 the incarnation of her youth. It would be 
 necessary some time, sooner or later, for 
 her to come to speech with the obnoxious 
 guest ; now might be as good a time as any 
 other. Overcoming her repugnance by an 
 effort, she moved forward to the window 
 entrance, her face hardening to the pitiless 
 look Ursula had learnt to know. 
 
 She came up the two steps, still saying 
 nothing, but staring full at Fancy ; while 
 Fancy, white and fascinated, stared back at 
 her. Ursula could only look on dumbly, the 
 situation had passed out of her control. But 
 it was to her that Frances spoke, when at 
 last she broke silence. 
 
 "Is this your charge ? " she said coldly. 
 " Had you not better explain to her who I 
 am ? " Then direct to the Projection, who 
 did not count with its originator as human, 
 who had no claim even to courtesy. " I 
 understand you are Miss Wayland. I 
 suppose you know that I am mistress here ? 
 You have been told my name ? " 
 
 Fancy roused herself to reply to the direct 
 question in the mocking voice, which yet, 
 tone for tone, was the echo of her own. 
 
I50 ONE OR TWO 
 
 " I beg your pardon — madam. I am only- 
 just aware of it : I would not have intruded 
 on you knowingly. There are many things 
 I have not known, that I am learning for the 
 first time. My father's death — " 
 
 "Your father!" muttered angrily, between 
 her teeth. " Well, well, let that pass. 
 But if Ursula is explaining things," — she 
 laughed again, in that hard new way of hers, 
 shifting her eyes from one to the other, and 
 then fixing them on the girl, who seemed 
 to shrink under their power. " If Ursula 
 is explaining things, I hope she has made 
 the position plain to you. You are left in 
 my charge, and are bound to do as I say. 
 You are quite without means, except what 
 I supply." 
 
 " Madam—! " 
 
 " I do not ask for thanks, but I expect to 
 find you obedient. You can have this room 
 to sit in while you remain here. Probably 
 under the peculiar circumstances of — of your 
 bereavement, you will prefer to be alone. 
 Ursula is taking you away next week ; a 
 change will be good for you, and welcome to 
 me. I thought it well you should know of 
 the arrangement from me direct. I wish you 
 good morning." 
 
 Mrs. Bethune turned and went down the 
 steps, out from the shadow into the sun, 
 
HOSTESS AND GUEST 151 
 
 which set her crimson ribbons aflame above 
 the blue. She left silence behind her, till 
 Fancy panted out — 
 
 " Is it true, Ursula ? Ursula, can it be 
 true ? " 
 
 " Can what be true ? " drawing the girl 
 back into her chair, and trying to soothe 
 her. 
 
 " That Papa — perhaps he could not help it 
 — left me to depend on her ? " 
 
 "It was not his fault. Fancy; I can tell 
 you so much, though I cannot tell you why. 
 Oh, my dear, you must take it patiently. 
 For the present it cannot be helped, and it is 
 true." 
 
 The girl put her hands to her breast, as if 
 struck with physical pain, and sat for awhile 
 silent, her eyes tearless and intent. Then 
 she began to whisper to herself. 
 
 " For the present — only for the present ; 
 and I must be patient. No, I don't forget 
 that he is coming — with the morning out of 
 the east. When Charles comes for me it will 
 be over, the trouble will be all over, for he 
 will take me away." 
 
 And Ursula, listening and understanding, 
 was silent and a coward. She could not bear 
 to break down a last refuge of comfort, and 
 let in the full flood of desolation upon that 
 innocent soul. 
 
152 ONE OR TWO 
 
 So much for the morning of the second 
 day ; later on, it had a further noteworthy- 
 incident. It was made known to the house- 
 hold that Miss Wayland, being an invalid, 
 would occupy the study during her brief stay 
 at The Mount ; and that meals would be 
 served to her there, separately from Mrs. 
 Bethune's table. Frances was at first 
 inclined to demur at any service which 
 brought her guest in touch with the domestics, 
 lest the girl should gossip with or question 
 them, and scandal should creep abroad, the 
 scandal of Fancy's claim to the identity which 
 was her own. But of this she had little to 
 fear. After their interview Fancy became 
 dull and quiet, brooding over her sorrow, and 
 hardly rousing herself to speak, even to 
 Ursula. The small tray of luncheon was 
 barely touched, but she thanked the maid 
 who brought it with a gentle courtesy which 
 belonged to the earlier nature, and Susan was 
 moved to compassion by the sad young figure 
 in the great chair. There was a little sofa in 
 the next room that would be convenient; might 
 she bring it in ? she asked of Mrs. Adams. 
 The mistress never used it, and the study was 
 that bare ! Permission for this was asked of 
 Frances and obtained, but sundry other small 
 comforts smuggled in, owed their introduction 
 solely to Susan's good will ; a handy table to 
 
HOSTESS AND GUEST 153 
 
 set at the elbow of the supposed invalid, and 
 some papers and periodicals for her amuse- 
 ment. " She was the very moral of the 
 mistress," Susan said in an aside to Mrs. 
 Adams, " only she was so young and fresh-like, 
 and looked so sweet." Ursula wondered 
 what would happen if Fancy took up one of 
 the papers and observed the date ; but her 
 eye wandered listlessly over the pictured page, 
 and she put it down again, her mind too full 
 of troubled thought for any such diversion. 
 
 " She can walk in the garden if she likes, 
 for the short time she is here," said Frances 
 at lunch, with the air of one making a 
 concession. " But she must keep out of my 
 way. And I will not have her go beyond ; 
 Heaven knows who she might meet, or what 
 she might say! See to that, Ursula. And 
 any communication between us you must 
 manage for the future. I don't want ever to 
 see her or speak to her again ; it gives me too 
 dreadful a sensation," and she too put her 
 hand to her breast, as Fancy had done 
 before. " I am the stronger now, and I can 
 nerve myself to master her. But I think if 
 we were much together, the mastery would 
 be hers and the subjection mine." 
 
 Perhaps this feeling, and the effort to 
 overcome it, accounted for her anger and 
 harshness as prompted by instinctive fear. 
 
154 ONE OR TWO 
 
 But she seemed able to dismiss apprehension 
 from her mind when the afternoon brought 
 her a visitor. Maurice Moore again. There 
 had been some suggestion of croquet the day 
 before, and now the two adjourned with 
 mallets to a level lawn in the lower garden, 
 while Ursula went back to her charge. 
 
 " Come for a turn on the terrace," she 
 said to Fancy. " The air will do you 
 good, and you will not meet anybody. 
 Mrs. Bethune is on the croquet lawn with 
 a friend." 
 
 So persuaded the girl went out, clinging 
 to Ursula's arm, and with a light scarf thrown 
 about her. As if governed by their thoughts, 
 she moved like the invalid they feigned 
 her; all the joyful elasticity of the morning 
 seemed to be gone. She looked about her 
 in silence ; up at the house with its plain 
 walls smothered in creepers, and round at 
 the bright garden reflecting back the 
 sunshine like a smile. 
 
 " My house — my garden ! " she said 
 slowly, " and now not mine any more. That 
 is the lesson I have to learn. And it was 
 his wish that I should have it always for 
 my home, — poor Papa ! He wanted Charles 
 to give up the army, and come and live 
 with us here." Then after a while : " You 
 must tell me all about it, Ursula, when I 
 
HOSTESS AND GUEST 155 
 
 can bear to hear. For to-day I have heard 
 enough ; I can endure no more." 
 
 " You remember nothing ? " 
 
 " It is all chaos, dim, like a forgotten 
 dream ; but I feel as if the link might still 
 be there, though it escapes me ; as if 
 something — the least touch — might bring 
 it back and make it whole. That happens 
 sometimes with a dream. I must have 
 been very ill." 
 
 Another pause while they traversed the 
 length of the gravel, and turned again to 
 face the blue line of distance which was the 
 sea. Fancy's eyes dwelt upon it with 
 yearning, as one who looks outward to a 
 hope, the hope of the hastening ship and 
 of the coming lover, but she did not speak. 
 The next remark was Ursula's, hazarded 
 to probe a mystery which she regarded with 
 curiosity and awe. 
 
 " Why were you so frightened this 
 morning when you saw Mrs. Bethune ? 
 Why did you ask me if she was a ghost ? " 
 
 " Did I say a ghost ? I was taken by 
 surprise. Of course she could not have 
 been a ghost ; that is too foolish. But you 
 will think it quite as foolish, Ursula, if I 
 tell you what was in my mind." 
 
 " Tell me." 
 
 " I haven't the least reason for what I 
 
156 ONE OR TWO 
 
 thought. But it seemed — for the moment 
 — as if I was looking into a mirror, and 
 instead of — of that person who came 
 in and spoke to me — I saw a reflection of 
 myself. Not myself as I am now, but as 
 I might be in the years to come, if I grew 
 old and evil. I suppose it is because I have 
 been ill, and have — forgotten things, that 
 I had such a strange fancy. And then 
 it was like myself speaking to myself, and 
 despising all that used to be in my heart." 
 
 " Ursula, I want you ! " 
 
 That other voice, which was identical 
 in tone with the soft one speaking beside 
 her, came ringing up from the lower garden. 
 Fancy shrank back instantly on hearing 
 it. 
 
 " I will go indoors," she said hastily. 
 " I don't want to see her, or for her to 
 find me here." 
 
 " Ursula ! " 
 
 Mrs. Adams repHed, looking down over 
 the balustrade, for the second summons 
 was peremptory. Frances was standing 
 on the walk below. 
 
 " Send Truscott here to me with my other 
 hat, and a sunshade — oh, and a pair of 
 gloves. I am going to walk down to the 
 village with Mr. Moore, and call on Lady 
 Sarah." 
 
CHAPTER X 
 Lady Sarah 
 
 Mrs. Bethune departed with her cavalier. 
 The walk was not a long one, hardly more 
 than a mile ; Lady Sarah lived but a 
 short distance out of Saltringham on the 
 Braxton road. Saltringham itself, a small 
 township, lay between The Mount and the 
 sea. Even had Mrs. Romer been at home 
 and at her post of sheepdog, she could 
 hardly have objected to Frances visiting 
 her old friend, escorted by so tame a wolf 
 as the friend's youthful nephew; and it 
 was no part of Ursula's duty to remonstrate 
 or to accompany. She remained behind with 
 Fancy, and coaxed her again into the garden, 
 out on the lawn under the cedar, now that 
 the mistress of the house had taken herself 
 away. 
 
 The lawn under the cedar ! it was in that 
 
158 ONE OR TWO 
 
 very spot that she and Frances sat when 
 they discussed the experiment, and when 
 it still hung doubtfully in the balance, to 
 be or not to be. Did Ursula remember all 
 that filled her mind as she broke the leaf 
 in her hand, divided between Salvador's 
 warning and possession of the money she 
 coveted, which was to be so dearly earned ? — 
 Whatever the memory revived by association 
 of place, Mrs. Adams strove to talk lightly 
 of common matters, and to divert her 
 charge. But Fancy was thoughtful and 
 disposed to be silent, which vaguely alarmed 
 her companion. Had she a clue as yet, 
 Ursula wondered, to the passage of time ; 
 and had she begun to reckon with amaze 
 the gap of years between her present and 
 her past ? What was she, Ursula, to say 
 when that question was formulated and 
 pressed home ? —and the girl seemed so 
 absolutely rational that sooner or later it 
 must surely come. She strove to prepare 
 herself, plying her knitting-needles and 
 waiting, but when next the silence was 
 broken, it was by a cry of pain. 
 
 Fancy was sitting up, with both hands 
 pressed upon her bosom : she gasped 
 breathlessly in the effort to reply to Ursula's 
 inquiry. 
 
 "It flutters — flutters here ; it is like a 
 
LADY SARAH 159 
 
 string drawing tight. Is this how I was ill 
 before ? And — Ursula — ^with just a little 
 more — my mind would open — I should 
 remember 1 " 
 
 She was greatly agitated, that at least was 
 plain ; it seemed as if some seizure, hysteric 
 or otherwise, had become imminent. Ursula 
 hurried to the house for water, and presently 
 supported her back into the study. The 
 crisis was not of long duration ; it had passed 
 and she was calm again, when wheels were 
 heard approaching in the drive. There was 
 some bustle of arrival, and then a servant 
 tapped at the door and summoned Mrs. 
 Adams. 
 
 " If you please, ma'am, will you come to 
 Mrs. Bethune ? She has been taken ill, and 
 brought home in a fly." 
 
 Ursula hastened out. Frances had 
 returned, and Maurice Moore and Lady 
 Sarah were both with her in the dining-room. 
 Mr. Moore had assisted in carrying her to the 
 nearest couch, and he was about to leave the 
 room as Ursula entered. Lady Sarah 
 remained to give an account of what had 
 happened : in spite of her cold, which was 
 really a severe one, she had felt it her duty to 
 accompany Frances home. 
 
 " She would have done a great deal better 
 to stay with me, and let us send for the doctor 
 
i6o ONE OR TWO 
 
 to see her there," the old dame said severely, 
 yet with a certain grim enjoyment of the 
 situation. " But we could not get her to 
 consent. She must go back, she said ; and 
 she seemed so distressed about it, that 
 Maurice went out and .fetched a fly, and 
 came with us on the box — for I did not know 
 what might happen." 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you," said 
 Frances from the sofa, " but I am a great 
 deal better now; I am indeed." She did 
 look ill, and was still ghastly pale under her 
 rouge, which showed an unnatural red on 
 either cheek. Truscott was giving her some 
 wine. 
 
 The old lady shook her head. " She did 
 not feel well when she was walking down. 
 Maurice says she had to stop more than once 
 for breath, and at last she took his arm. But 
 the attack did not come on till she got into 
 my room ; faintness it seemed to be, and 
 pain about the heart. — Well, my dear, I hope 
 you will be persuaded, and will have the 
 doctor and do as he says. I am glad to see 
 you safe back in your own house, and with 
 your own people about you. And now, as 
 Maurice is waiting, it is time I thought of 
 getting back. The fly is at the door." 
 
 " You will have tea. Lady Sarah ? oh yes, 
 I beg of you, or I shall be quite distressed, 
 
LADY SARAH i6i 
 
 after all the trouble I have given. Ursula, 
 will you see to it : in the drawing-room ? 
 Truscott will stay with me." 
 
 Lady Sarah was doubtful about the tea; 
 she did truly wish to return, and was 
 conscious of having made a toilet in 
 haste, her bonnet was frankly crooked, and 
 her cloak an old one kept for garden use. 
 But she had a soul which could rise above 
 such disadvantages, and the opportunity of 
 acquiring information was too valuable to be 
 let slip. She allowed herself to be persuaded, 
 and contrived to get rid of Maurice Moore, 
 who awaited them in the drawing-room. 
 Ursula would be more accessible in a 
 tete-a-tete. 
 
 " You can tell the fly-man to wait for me," 
 she said to him, " but I'll not detain you. 
 You will like to be walking on, and this good 
 creature, Mrs. Adams, is giving me a cup of 
 tea. Young men don't care for tea, you 
 know," in an aside to Ursula, who stood by 
 amused as much as her anxiety made 
 possible, remembering the day before, and 
 certain evidence that Mr. Moore had found 
 their tea-table attractive. He was quick, 
 however, to take the hint and accept his 
 dismissal : and easily accepted reassurance 
 about Mrs. Bethune. 
 
 " Now come and sit down here," said the 
 
 M 
 
i62 ONE OR TWO 
 
 old dame, when once the door had 
 closed upon him " I want to have a talk with 
 you. This attack of Frances, you know, I 
 don't suppose it is serious, but it must be 
 plain to the meanest capacity what has 
 brought it about. Such a change I never saw 
 in any woman; I could hardly believe 
 Maurice when he told me of it yesterday. 
 She must have lost pretty well half her 
 weight, and in a very short time. Whatever 
 the treatment was to bring about such a 
 result, it cannot but be dangerous. And 
 tight-lacing into the bargain, I haven't a 
 doubt!" (The last remark sotto voce.) 
 " As you have been staying here, you must 
 know all about it." 
 
 This was a terrible old woman, Ursula 
 thought ; despairing over her office of tea- 
 maker, which exposed her to attack. The 
 Lancaster cross-examination had been 
 nothing to this, for then she was less 
 conscious of a secret to conceal. She did 
 her best to fence off the enemy, without any 
 glaring departure from the truth. Yes, she 
 admitted, it was true she had seen a great 
 deal of Mrs. Bethune in the last few months, 
 and lately she had stayed in the house ; but 
 Frances did not care to speak about her 
 medicines, except in general terms, that 
 she was trying a remedy and dieting. Ursula 
 
LADY SARAH 163 
 
 believed it was under the advice of her 
 local doctor, and also of a specialist consulted 
 in London. For a long time the decrease 
 had been gradual, but in the end the change 
 was rapid, and very effectual — as Lady 
 Sarah could see. 
 
 " I see it indeed. Call it a change ! it is a 
 transformation. But I am not sure that it 
 is wholly for the better. I never did admire 
 bones, or the sort of figures Burne-Jones 
 used to draw. And that's what she has 
 come to now." Lady Sarah had a way of 
 calling a spade a spade, which was sometimes 
 rather galling. " She has got to look a good 
 deal older. And I must say I like young 
 women to leave their complexions alone, 
 and I shan't spare to tell her as much, once 
 she is better. How many pounds has she 
 lost, do you know that ? And what was the 
 average in a day ? " 
 
 Ursula could not tell her, there had 
 been no register on the scales. 
 
 " Dear me ! I should have thought 
 observations would have been kept, if only 
 as a matter of interest. And how many 
 days is it since the rapid efifect set in ? " 
 
 Here was a question which must be 
 answered, other observers would testify, 
 even if she were silent, and Lady Sarah was 
 prepared to probe, and probe again. The 
 
i64 ONE OR TWO 
 
 change in a single night could not be 
 admitted, so the answer at last shaped 
 itself into, " Four or five days, less than 
 a week." 
 
 " Four or five days ? You don't say so ! 
 it is most extraordinary. And of course 
 illness has followed ; think of the depletion 
 of the heart, the strain on all the organs, 
 through such violent means. I should not 
 wonder if it cost her her life. I remember 
 Mary Cumbermere, though hers could not be 
 taken as a parallel case, for it was nothing 
 like so rapid. She was a Lacy, you know, 
 and her grandmother an Alverstoke, and 
 both those families have a way of getting 
 fat. She wanted to keep her figure, which 
 perhaps was natural, and she took some 
 drug or other, an over-strong dose of it, and 
 lost her health completely. She was an 
 invalid for years, an old woman before her 
 time, and I am afraid something of the sort 
 will happen to Frances Bethune. I don't 
 like this attack that she has had to-day." 
 
 Such was the discourse over the tea-table, 
 Ursula longing all the while to cut it short 
 and to escape. The five minutes were 
 doubled and re-doubled before Lady Sarah 
 fastened her shabby cloak, and made 
 preparation to depart, disturbing the old 
 hired horse from his doze between the shafts 
 
LADY SARAH 165 
 
 in the sun. She did feel anxious about Mrs. 
 Bethune's illness, quite apart from Lady- 
 Sarah's wisdom, and that supposed similar 
 case of Mary Cumbermere's. But Frances 
 herself made light of it ; the giddy sensations 
 which had troubled her, the fluttering and 
 sinking of the heart. She was not used to 
 walking, and had been unwise to attempt 
 the exercise so soon, and after standing over 
 her croquet ; she had thought the disagreeable 
 symptoms would pass off, and that it would 
 be wiser to persevere in reaching Lady 
 Sarah's, than to turn and reascend the hill. 
 But the further she went, the worse she 
 became, " and at last I really thought I 
 was dying," she said in conclusion. " I got 
 better very quickly when we were in the 
 carriage driving home. I suppose it was 
 passing through the air." 
 
 On Thursday the sixth of June, the dress- 
 maker arrived from town with a stock of 
 patterns and models, and for some two or 
 three hours Mrs. Bethune was perfectly 
 happy, shut up in consultation with her, 
 and oblivious of all other troubles, even 
 the incubus of Fancy's existence. Great 
 was the wonder and admiration over the 
 lady's recovered figure, and profuse the 
 promises made (on behall of a celebrated 
 
i66 ONE OR TWO 
 
 modiste who shall be nameless) that, despite 
 all the pressure of the season business, at 
 least one costume should be completed 
 and despatched early in the following week. 
 It was Frances's tribute to her husband's 
 return ; if impossible to give him again the 
 heart of their early affection, she could at 
 least receive him in a gown of so late a 
 fashion that it might be considered a 
 prophecy. Surely here was a practical 
 demonstration of welcome far above 
 romance ! 
 
 On this important day she had not 
 leisure to be visible, even to Maurice Moore, 
 who called to inquire for her from Lady 
 Sarah ; there could be no question of 
 croquet or of walks abroad, for the serious 
 business of the hour engrossed her till too 
 late. But after the modiste's delegate had 
 taken her departure, and an interval of 
 refreshment to the inner woman, Mrs. 
 Bethune ordered round her carriage. 
 
 " I am going for a drive, Ursula," she 
 said in explanation. " After all we have 
 done to-day, I really want the air. And 
 I will take you with me, if you can leave 
 the Creature. Will she be quiet, do you 
 think, and not likely to gossip with Susan ? " 
 
 Poor Fancy ! Ursula thought she might 
 be safely left. There had been a discovery 
 
LADY SARAH 167 
 
 the night before, of the absolute bareness 
 of the drawers and cupboards in the little 
 white bower ; the loss of all her old 
 possessions, her childish treasures: and this 
 came as a fresh stab upon the deeper wound 
 of the bereavement newly learned. She 
 had been robbed, and was passionately 
 indignant with the robber; all unaware of 
 the strange fusion and division which left 
 her without identity and claim. Ursula 
 made petition to Frances whether it were 
 possible for any of these belongings to be 
 given up, if still they existed, rightly 
 believing her value for them would be small. 
 A few books were found and surrendered, 
 an old-fashioned workbox, and a small 
 locked desk which belonged to that period 
 of her youth. " I don't know what is in 
 the desk," Mrs. Bethune said frankly. " It 
 was left behind here when I married, so 
 there can be nothing in it to signify. I 
 don't mind giving it up to her if it will 
 save a fuss. It is locked as you see, and 
 the key is lost ; but perhaps that will not 
 matter. She may not have the wit to wish 
 to look within." 
 
 Fancy's wit was sounder than Mrs. 
 Bethune credited, and she did demand the 
 key. Fortunately the lock was slight and 
 common, and a key on Ursula's bunch had 
 
i68 ONE OR TWO 
 
 served to open it, so she was now engrossed in 
 a first examination of the contents. Mrs. 
 Bethune directed her coachman to the 
 upper road winding among the hills above 
 Saltringham, a favourite drive from the 
 variety of view, commanding the inland 
 valley as well as the sweep of the indented 
 bay. The evening was fine, her spirits high, 
 the horses fresh after a long rest in the stable; 
 but the second mile was barely traversed 
 before they were arrested. Ursula's eyes were 
 on the distant landscape, and thoughts busy 
 with her coming journey and altered plan of 
 life, when she was roused by a smothered 
 exclamation from her companion. Mrs. 
 Bethune had fallen back in her seat and was 
 gasping for breath, her face livid, and both 
 hands pressed above her heart. 
 
 "What is the matter, Frances? Are you 
 ill ? " 
 
 " Stop, stop," the other panted. And, 
 when the carriage was brought to a standstill, 
 "Tell him to turn back: I must go home. 
 Drive quickly." 
 
 The colour had vanished even from her 
 lips, and she seemed unable to add a word in 
 explanation. But as the horses were rapidly 
 urged along the uphill road back to The 
 Mount, she drew a long breath of relief, and 
 presently opened her eyes. 
 
LADY SARAH i6g 
 
 " Ursula, what can be the matter with me ? 
 It was the same attack, just Uke yesterday. I 
 felt I should die if I went on. And this time 
 there was no walking — no exertion — nothing to 
 account for it ! " 
 
 " You are better now ? " 
 
 " I am getting better. It is passing, the 
 dreadful sensation is passing off, just as it 
 did yesterday when they brought me back. 
 I will have a little wine when I get in, but I 
 shall soon be well." 
 
 " Would you like Bolton to turn again, and 
 drive a little farther ? He might go very 
 quietly." 
 
 But the suggestion did not meet with 
 approval. Mrs. Bethune shut her eyes again 
 and shook her head. " No, no," she said, 
 '• I dare not, I am afraid. I will not risk it 
 again, I will go home." 
 
 She was well enough to get out of the 
 carriage unsupported when they reached The 
 Mount ; and as Truscott was summoned to 
 attend to her, Ursula passed at once into the 
 study where she had left her charge. Their 
 absence had been so brief that she was not 
 surprised to find Fancy still sitting at the 
 table, still to all appearance engaged in 
 examining the little desk. Something found 
 there had perhaps touched a chord of 
 association, and moved her to keener sorrow ; 
 
I70 ONE OR TWO 
 
 for she had sunk forward upon it, her face 
 hidden on her arms, and she was very still. 
 Ursula went forward and laid a hand upon 
 her shoulder ; and then, as there was no 
 response, in sudden alarm lifted her head. 
 
 It was only a fainting fit. She revived 
 quickly when laid on the sofa, and her dress 
 unfastened in the air, but in the first awestruck 
 moment the fear had been of death. And 
 sitting beside her afterwards Ursula wondered 
 how it would have fared with Frances had 
 her counterpart veritably died. Fancy could 
 give no reason for her seizure ; a fluttering 
 about the heart, a pain in all the chest like 
 the drawing of a tightened string, and then 
 she remembered no more. Not serious, and 
 yet coincident in time with Mrs. Bethune's 
 attack, just as was the faintness of the day 
 before. 
 
 Of this coincidence, not the former specula- 
 tion, Ursula ventured to hint to Frances ; 
 but Mrs. Bethune would not admit the 
 possibility of a connection between the two. 
 Nor would she consent to see the doctor; she 
 was well again, she said, and it was quite 
 unnecessary, she did not want to send for 
 him at present, as he was sure to ask all 
 manner of awkward questions about her 
 altered appearance, and she hated to be 
 cross-examined. No doubt the rapid change 
 
LADY SARAH 171 
 
 had affected her, as Lady Sarah said; but 
 she had only to be careful for a few more 
 days or weeks, and her full strength would 
 return. 
 
 And for the next few days she did take 
 scrupulous care, resting on the sofa in the 
 boudoir, which she no longer desired to avoid, 
 or on the wicker couch in the garden, after 
 her old indolent fashion. Again on this 
 second Sunday nobody went to church. 
 Fancy did not suggest it ; she seemed to take 
 no notice of a distinction in the days of the 
 week, any more than she did of the yet 
 undiscovered number of the year. And the 
 fewer people in Saltringham who saw the girl 
 before her departure, the better it would be — 
 so Mrs. Bethune said and thought. That 
 departure, and the journey beyond, was now 
 definitely fixed for the morrow — Monday 
 the nth. 
 
 Mrs. Adams had paid off her landlady, 
 and packed and removed all her possessions 
 to The Mount. Their destination in the first 
 place would be Richmond : lodgings were 
 engaged where Ursula had resided formerly, 
 and she intended to stay there for some 
 weeks before maturing any furthur plan. 
 Much would depend on Fancy ; whether she 
 proved easy to control, content with the 
 restricted life of limited means. There was 
 
172 ONE OR TWO 
 
 also packing and preparation of Fancy's few 
 belongings, such as were granted to be 
 hers ; the little desk among them being a 
 treasure beyond price, for did it not contain 
 Charles Bethune's early letters, and portraits 
 of him and of her father ? Those few letters, 
 tied with a bit of faded ribbon, the girl would 
 read and ponder over by the hour together : 
 and Ursula could safely venture to leave 
 her happy in their possession, when herself 
 engaged in business which could not be 
 transacted in the study. For her the days 
 were full of occupation ; she had no time, 
 or so she told herself, to question whether that 
 happiness over the lover's letters were not 
 in its concession cruel. 
 
 Sunday brought a comparative rest, a 
 brief breathing-space before the Monday of 
 departure. " You will be careful of your- 
 self, Frances, will you not? " she said to Mrs. 
 Bethune. " And when your husband comes, 
 I beg, I implore of you to tell him all." 
 
 " Of course I will be careful. I have been 
 perfectly well since Thursday, and I don't 
 think I am likely to be troubled any more." 
 As to the other entreaty Frances would not 
 directly answer, but the mulish expression 
 again disfigured her face, and Ursula felt 
 more that doubtful if from her lips Charles 
 Bethune would ever learn the truth. 
 
LADY SARAH 173 
 
 This passed at their farewell. The hired 
 fly was at the door, and Mrs. Bethune was 
 shut in her boudoir, for she wished to 
 avoid the sight of Fancy, and the need 
 of exchanging any word with her. The girl 
 was very pale and quiet ; whatever she may 
 have felt over this sad unfriended departure 
 from her early home, she did not put it 
 into words, even to Ursula. A veil covered 
 her fair face, her white dress was hidden 
 by a shabby old dust-cloak of Mrs. 
 Bethune's, there was no one to bid her 
 good-bye, or say a parting word of regret, 
 except Susan who had been kind. The last 
 box was hoisted on the fly, the hall door 
 closed, the horse jerked into a trot. Fancy 
 drew up the window on her side, and bent 
 her head; the tears were running down 
 beneath her veil. 
 
 A drive of some four miles lay before 
 them, as they were bound for the junction 
 with the main line, there to take up the 
 express. A short bye-line of railway ran 
 down into Saltringham, but it was customary 
 with the dwellers at The Mount to drive 
 direct to Braxton, and save the local change. 
 The hired horse lacked spirit, and, luggage- 
 laden, made slow progress up the hills. 
 Ursula looked anxiously at her watch, and 
 more than once put her head out of the 
 
174 ONE OR TWO 
 
 window to urge the driver to greater speed ; 
 but as they rounded the last curve, a train 
 was seen emerging from the station, puffing 
 white clouds of steam into the still June air. 
 
 " Look, Fancy ! How provoking ! I 
 believe we have lost the express. And the 
 next train is a slow one. We shall not get 
 in till I do not know how late to-night ! " 
 
 Mrs. Adams was really ruffled, she had 
 a sharp word for the driver, and for the 
 porter who awaited their arrival and barely 
 disguised a grin. The men were hauling 
 down their trunks from the roof of the fly, 
 when the clatter of horses' hoofs advancing 
 at a gallop sounded behind them. " A 
 runaway, ain't it ? " queried the youth in 
 velveteens from his lower position on the 
 pavement. The driver on his box stood up 
 and looked along the road, shielding his 
 eyes from the sun. 
 
 "Why," he said slowly, " I'm Mowed if it 
 isn't the carriage from The Mount. And 
 it looks for all the world as if it was a- 
 coming after us I " 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 The Doctor is Called in 
 
 The reeking horses were sharply checked, 
 and stood with heaving flanks ; they really 
 were Mrs. Bethune's horses, and Bolton, the 
 coachman from The Mount, was on the 
 box. " Are the ladies gone ? " he shouted to 
 the driver; and as that worthy answered, 
 Mrs. Adams came forward. Bolton touched 
 his hat. 
 
 " If you please, ma'am^ will you go back at 
 once, and bring Miss Wayland. I have 
 orders to drive you, and for the luggage to 
 follow on the fly. 
 
 " Is anything the matter ? " 
 
 "Well ma'am, I understood as Mrs. 
 Bethune was taken ill. The order came 
 out very urgent. I was not to spare the 
 horses, but follow and bring you back, and 
 especially Miss Wayland. I didn't think I 
 
176 ONE OR TWO 
 
 had a chance, but I did my best; and you 
 having missed the train was just a Provi- 
 dence. I'll turn round this very minute, if 
 you and the young lady will get in." 
 
 There was nothing for it but to obey the 
 imperative summons ; their departure was to 
 be no departure after all. The porter 
 opened the door of the landau, and Bolton 
 again whipped up his horses, though not to 
 the headlong pace of the pursuit. Ursula 
 glanced at Fancy, who had not uttered a 
 word, obeying this order as mechanically as 
 she had acquiesced in her banishment. If 
 really they were recalled on account of Mrs. 
 Bethune's sudden illness, Fancy had ex- 
 perienced no coincident seizure. Just then 
 the girl raised her hands to Frances' 
 cast-off hat, to release and put back her veil, 
 and Ursula had a fuller view of her face. 
 
 " You are not feehng faint ? " 
 
 " No : I am better now. That fluttering 
 in my chest came on again, and the sensation 
 of a string drawn tight — tight — till it was 
 ready to break. I wonder what would 
 happen if it did break. Should I be free ? " 
 
 A question to which her companion could 
 find no answer. They were not free as it 
 was, and their bondage had just been demon- 
 strated. Ursula was conscious of impatient 
 anger with untoward circumstances, recol- 
 
THE DOCTOR IS CALLED IN 177 
 
 lecting their delayed start, and the tardy- 
 progress of the fly. Five minutes would 
 have made all the difference ; and now 
 instead of being dragged back to The Mount 
 at the dictation of Mrs. Bethune's caprice, 
 they would have been on their way tc 
 London, speeding on the wings of steam 
 beyond summons or arrest. It was natural 
 to her to love freedom, for it was her only 
 possession ; she hated thus to feel her feet 
 caught in the toils. 
 
 The Mount again, with gates set open, and 
 curious faces looking from the lodge. The 
 ascent of the steep drive was cut with fresh 
 wheel-tracks, and a single brougham, a 
 typica doctor's carriage, stood at the door. 
 Susan opened to them immediately, and had 
 doubtless been on the watch. 
 
 She was ready with voluble answer to 
 Ursula's question, overflowing with the desire 
 to communicate. Mrs. Bethune had been 
 taken very ill not long after they started, 
 and all her cry was that they must be 
 followed and brought back — Mrs. Adams and 
 Miss Wayland both, and she was very par- 
 ticular in saying Miss Wayland. And then, 
 as she was getting worse every minute, 
 Truscott took it on herself to send for Dr. 
 Maxworthy. The messenger met him on 
 the hill, which was most fortunate, as he 
 
 N 
 
178 ONE OR TWO 
 
 came in at once, and had been with the 
 mistress ever since. Mrs. Bethune was 
 better, she heard Truscott say ; Truscott had 
 been up and down waiting on the doctor. 
 
 So much on the steps and in the porch, 
 Ursula and Fancy entered the hall just as a 
 gentleman came down the staircase from the 
 upper regions. An elderly man, harsh of 
 feature, and with a pair of very keen but not 
 unkindly eyes looking out from under a grey 
 penthouse of bushy eyebrow. At sight of 
 him Fancy started forward with a cry of 
 joy. 
 
 " Dr. Maxworthy ! I am glad, glad to see 
 you. I wanted to thank you for your kind- 
 ness — about Charles." 
 
 The quick colour flushed into her cheeks, 
 her eyes shone, the borrowed hat fell back 
 and showed the brightness of her clustered 
 hair ; she was a fair vision, even in her 
 shabby cloak. The old doctor took the two 
 small ungloved hands which were stretched 
 out for his. 
 
 " My dear young lady — I confess you 
 have the advantage of me." 
 
 The happy confidence in her face paled 
 and altered. " Don't you know me, Doctor ! 
 ■ — don't you know me ? Not the little girl 
 who stolejyour spectacles — who used to sit 
 on your knee ? " 
 
THE DOCTOR IS CALLED IN L79 
 
 It was the doctor's turn to look distressed. 
 " My dear," he said again, " you must for- 
 give an old man's memory. But I can be 
 quite sure of one thing, from your likeness 
 to the family. You are related to the 
 Waylands." 
 
 Fancy drew back with a gesture of des- 
 pair ; her eyes were full of tears. " What 
 is it that has happened ? " she said brokenly. 
 " Why — why is everything so changed ? And 
 why cannot I understand ? " 
 
 The door of the study was set open, close 
 to where they stood, and she fled within 
 as to a refuge, shutting herself in alone. 
 
 The doctor made a bow to Mrs; Adams. 
 
 " Here at least I can recognize a former 
 acquaintance. May I ask for a word with 
 you ? A word in private ? " 
 
 Already in Ursula's mind the drawing- 
 room was associated with her experiences 
 of the witness-box, and the /(ewe /or/e etdure. 
 Was another cross-examination to begin, 
 more terrible than what had gone before ? 
 She moved there instinctively, and Max- 
 worthy opened the door for her, shutting 
 it upon Susan in the hall. 
 
 " Mrs. Adams, I believe? " 
 
 Ursula bowed. 
 
 "And formerly Miss Horton. A school- 
 friend of Mrs, Bethune's, who used tg 
 
i8o ONE OR TWO 
 
 stay with her before her marriage ? — Ay, ay, I 
 thought so ; it all comes back to me : it is 
 seldom that I forget a face. — And the young 
 lady with you : who is she ? " 
 
 " She is Miss Wayland." 
 
 " Yes, of course a Wayland : I was sure 
 of it. But what relation to the Waylands 
 here, and when did she know me ? — 
 Charles, she said ! " — in a meditative aside, 
 as if cogitating. 
 
 " I do not know the relationship. She 
 has been staying with Mrs. Bethune, and 
 I was to escort her up to London. But 
 we missed our train at the junction, and 
 the carriage was sent to bring us back. I 
 hope Mrs. Bethune — that there is nothing 
 serious — ? " 
 
 Ursula's voice faltered in her embarrass- 
 ment, which might very well pass for 
 anxiety. The doctor looked at her. 
 
 " I want to speak to you about Mrs. 
 Bethune — to ask you a question. I can 
 hardly pronounce yet about her illness ; I 
 must know more fully as to the cause. 
 She was better when I left her, but I am 
 going back. Sit down ; you don't look 
 very strong, and perhaps you have been 
 alarmed. I suppose / am not alarming ? " 
 
 It was a sudden thrust, and close upon 
 the truth. Ursula felt half-choked by the 
 
THE DOCTOR IS CALLeID m iSi 
 
 beating of her heart, but she was not 
 aware of showing outward tremor. She 
 seated herself as bidden, and Maxworthy 
 drew his chair, doctor fashion, very close 
 to hers. She was full under the fire of 
 those keen eyes : he might have been going 
 to feel her pulse. 
 
 He began on the same tack as Lady 
 Sarah. " You have been a great deal with 
 Mrs. Bethune latterly ; lodging in Saltring- 
 ham, staying at The Mount. I come to you 
 to know what she has been doing to herself. 
 It is essential I should be informed." 
 
 " You mean about her changed 
 appearance ? " 
 
 " Yes, of course. You are in her con- 
 fidence. What has she taken — what has 
 she done ? " 
 
 Only the first question was possible to 
 answer. Ursula named the remedy which 
 had been prescribed for Frances, adding — 
 " I understood she took it under your 
 advice." 
 
 "Ay, ay: I know 'that. And what 
 else ? " 
 
 " Nothing — that I am aware of." 
 
 The doctor looked at her as she sat 
 before him with hands clasped on her 
 knee, rigidly guarding her self-control. 
 His keen eyes pierced into hers, searching 
 
i82 ONE OR TWO 
 
 her through and through; and he gave a 
 snort of incredulity and anger. 
 
 "Nothing else! And would ye have me 
 believe that yon Rasselas stuff — it is good 
 enough stuff in its way, or I should not have 
 advised it — could have brought about the 
 change I see in her in anything like the time ? 
 It is past the power of iodides, or of any 
 drug in the pharmacopoeia. God bless my 
 soul I It may be a case of life or death. 
 If she has taken nothing but the Rasselas, 
 what has she done ? " 
 
 " She tried a vegetarian diet, but perhaps 
 you know that. There is really nothing 
 that I can tell. Is Frances too ill to speak 
 for herself? Why do you ask me ? " 
 
 " I ask you, for I gave you credit for the 
 sense to know you could best serve your 
 friend by putting me in possession of the 
 truth. On my word of honour, madam, this 
 is serious. You take a grave responsibility 
 if you refuse." Then after a pause, re- 
 lapsing into the slower speech that was usual 
 with him when not excited. " I can wait. 
 I will give you time." 
 
 He got up from that too close neighbour- 
 hood, walked the length of the room to the 
 further recessed window, and stood there 
 looking out. Then he turned and came 
 back, threading his way among the small 
 
THE DOCTOR IS CALLED IN 183 
 
 tables and flowerstands with which Frances 
 had crowded the apartment. The chair was 
 taken again, and even drawn an inch or 
 or two nearer. " Now ? " he said. 
 
 Ursula's first attempt to speak died in 
 her throat; she was more successful at a 
 second effort, but her voice sounded 
 strange to herself. 
 
 " You are mistaken — in thinking I can 
 help you. I would if I could." 
 
 " It takes a woman 1 " was Maxworthy's 
 comment to himself. " Tell a lie and stick to 
 it, all the world over ; though she knows she's 
 lying, and she knows I know it I " Then 
 aloud, and with a wry smile : 
 
 "I'll go over it again — what I know, and 
 what I want to know — and perhaps that will 
 help you to see your way. Here is Mrs. 
 Bethune, a young woman — flabby, indolent ; 
 vexed over her changed appearance, which is 
 natural. I attend her, prescribe dietary, 
 exercise, Rasselas ; but she hasn't the firm- 
 ness of mind to carry it through : will suck 
 sweets and lie on the sofa, and is always 
 picking up some quack thing from an adver- 
 tisement, and coming to me to know if it will 
 do her good. She gets a letter to say her 
 husband is coming home, and immediately 
 falls into distress about her figure ; Truscott 
 tells me this. She sends for you ; and the 
 
i84 ONE OR TWO 
 
 next morning you go up to London, and are 
 away two days and a night. You are follow- 
 ing me ? I am correct so far." 
 
 Ursula bent her head in acquiescence. 
 Nothing would be gained by denial. 
 
 " It is a natural assumption that you, who 
 have been so much at her disposal, went on 
 her errand. You telegraphed to her from 
 town ; there was some unexpected delay, and 
 she was very restless and anxious- — " 
 
 " You are ingenious. Dr. Maxworthy. But I 
 have my own affairs to attend to ; I am not 
 solely occupied with Mrs. Bethune's. I went 
 to see an old friend, and was detained in her 
 house by illness. It was she who telegraphed 
 to Frances." 
 
 " Wait : I have not finished. You return, 
 and move here from your lodgings. Different 
 orders are given about diet and hours, for 
 which I conclude there was a reason : Mrs. 
 Bethune does not go out as usual; will not see 
 visitors ; and you are always closeted together. 
 Five days later comes the change — " 
 
 " I repeat, sir, it was not in consequence of 
 anything I gave her." 
 
 " Truscott tells me she undressed her the 
 night before, a stout woman with a large body 
 and heavy limbs. The next morning she 
 would hardly accept any assistance, and wore 
 a loose gown ; but the change in her was plain 
 
THE DOCTOR IS CALLED IN 185 
 
 to see. She had fallen away to skin and 
 bone, — in less than twelve hours, to be as she 
 is now." 
 
 A pause, which Ursula did not break. The 
 maid's observation had been fatally precise. 
 
 " The change was so sudden, and is so 
 great, that there might well be a doubt of 
 identity. How would you like to be charged 
 with smuggling away the real Mrs. Bethune, 
 and putting this skeleton in her place ? — why, 
 at first I was constrained myself to doubt ; I, 
 who have known her all her life ! But no, I 
 won't accuse ye of that. 'Tis the same 
 woman, with the same whims and vanities ; it 
 it is easier to melt the solid flesh, so it seems, 
 than to part a fool from his folly. And such 
 a nice child as she was ; such a pretty little 
 girl ! pity 'tis, that sort of kitten should ever 
 grow into a cat. By the way, she was the 
 child who stole my spectacles : who used to 
 sit on my knee — ! " 
 
 His sttention seemed to wander from 
 Ursula, as if in a sudden amaze. " That 
 Miss Wayland is her living image — as she 
 used to be at eighteen. And she said she 
 wanted to thank me about Charles — ! " 
 
 It was impossible he could have found the 
 clue, though he seemed to scent a mystery. 
 He was returning to the charge, when the 
 door opened and brought an interruption — 
 
i86 ONE OR TWO 
 
 welcome as such to Ursula, though in itself 
 an astonishment. 
 
 Frances entered in her dressing-gown, 
 walking feebly like a person risen from a 
 sick bed, but erect and unsupported. She 
 laughed as she came forward, steadying 
 herself with a hand upon the furniture. Her 
 unrouged face looked sallow and shrunken, 
 her hair was hanging loose ; she had 
 evidently been too much in haste to study 
 appearances. 
 
 " You did not expect to see me, Doctor ! 
 I heard you were still here, shut up with 
 Ursula. So I thought I would take you by 
 surprise, and show you I was well again 1 " 
 
 One clause in this speech revealed the 
 motive: "shut up with Ursula." What did 
 she apprehend might be divulged ? She 
 looked keenly at her friend as she spoke, 
 and Ursula made the slightest possible 
 gesture in the negative, not unobserved by 
 Maxworthy. The double action was a 
 complete admission, and he had been right 
 all through. These women held some secret 
 between them which bore upon the case, 
 and which his patient desired to conceal 
 from him. He had failed to wring it out of 
 Ursula, but he did not despair ; there was a 
 considerable amount of dogged obstinacy in 
 his nature which might match with theirs, 
 
THE DOCTOR IS CALLED IN 187 
 
 and he had the nose of a sleuth-hound for 
 a trail. For this time he thought it better 
 to accept defeat. So he congratulated his 
 patient on her restoration, added some 
 commonplace cautions, and made his adieux. 
 
 " I shall soon get another summons, if I 
 am right in my diagnosis. Whatever she 
 has done to herself, it has resulted in serious 
 mischief, and these attacks will be frequent : 
 may even be suddenly fatal." He had got 
 himself out into the hall by this time, and 
 was cramming on his hat ; the thought of 
 Fancy and the wonder about her were 
 dissipated for the time, and he had put no 
 question to Mrs. Bethune. " Confound all 
 women," he said between his teeth and almost 
 audibly, as he slammed himself into the 
 single brougham. " I would make a clean 
 sweep of the entire sex if I had my way. 
 Though — " with a grim laugh at his own 
 expense — " without them we doctors would 
 live but poorly ! " 
 
 He was on his way to another lady- 
 patient, keenly interested in all the doings of 
 The Mount. As a rule he set his face 
 against the feminine weakness of gossip, but 
 on this occasion he might indulge her. 
 
 " Ye'd better go on with the liniment. 
 Lady Sarah. And I'll send you down 
 something fresh for the cough that takes you 
 
i88 ONE OR two 
 
 at night, something a little more soothing. By 
 the way — you are always great on genealogies 
 — do you know much of the Wayland family? 
 Has Mrs. Bethune got any near relatives 
 living, on the father's side ? " 
 
 To ask such a question was to touch direct 
 on Lady Sarah's chief hobby ; if there was 
 one thing she prided herself on above another, 
 it was on always knowing who was who. She 
 settled herself in her chair with an expression 
 of real enjoyment, floating away from the 
 commonplace consideration of doctor's stuflfs 
 and physical ills. 
 
 " You can hardly call the Waylands a 
 family, my dear doctor. If James Wayland 
 knew his own grandfather, it was as far back 
 as he could go, and I doubt if he was 
 altogether certain, even at that. His father 
 made the money — out of leather ; but I'm 
 told he was a respectable tradesman, as trades 
 go. He had just the one son who lived to 
 grow up ; the other children died off young. 
 No, Frances has no relatives on the father's 
 side, that I ever heard of. There is Mrs. 
 Romer, of course ; but she is her mother's 
 cousin, and a Dorrington. Why do you 
 ask ? " 
 
 " I'm too busy a man, am I not, to be curious 
 about my neighbours ? There is a young 
 girl staying at the Mount, a Miss Wayland, 
 
THE DOCTOR IS CALLED IN 189 
 
 who is the image of our friend Frances as she 
 was ten years ago. I wondered what relation 
 she could be, and if you knew her; I must 
 plead guilty of curiosity — to that extent." 
 
 " A young girl like Frances ? And named 
 Wayland ? When did you see her, Doctor ? " 
 
 " I happened to call in this morning, and I 
 met her in the hall. She seemed to remember 
 me — spoke of having known me when she was 
 a child ; but to the best of my knowledge I 
 never set eyes on her before." 
 
 " I was there the other day, and saw 
 Frances, and her friend Mrs. Adams ; but 
 nothing was said to me of any other 
 guest. I haven't a notion who she is. She 
 can't be a near relative ; and Frances 
 never has had cousins to stay, except the 
 Dorringtons. But Doctor," seeing her 
 chance, and alertly taking it — " you are 
 attending Mrs. Bethune. There never was 
 such a change in anybody as the change in 
 her. And to come so suddenly as it did ! 
 I tried to get out of that Mrs. Adams what 
 she had taken, but of course you will know. 
 And do you think it can be safe ? " 
 
 Dr. Maxworthy got briskly on to his legs, 
 and pulled out a pale watch : flight is held 
 to be cowardly, but there is such a thing as 
 strategic retreat. " My medicines were quite 
 safe," he said laughing, "and so I believe is 
 
igo ONE OR TWO 
 
 Rasselas. Mrs. Bethune assures me she has 
 taken nothing else, and I am bound to believe 
 a lady. Yes, there is a change in her ; she 
 has grown quite fashionably slim. I'll send 
 you down the medicine — " 
 
 " Ay, but I can tell you what you may 
 not know — for she made light of it herself, 
 and did not want anything said. You 
 should have seen her here, on that sofa, 
 only last week. I never was so frightened in 
 my life. I wanted to send for you." 
 
 Lady Sarah had caught her victim ; the 
 watch slipped back into his pocket 
 unregarded, the man hesitated and was lost : 
 women sometimes have the best of it at such 
 a game as this. Here was a plain duty : to 
 learn all he could about a case which puzzled 
 him ; and side-lights sometimes are 
 illuminative. He would not stultify himself 
 by sitting down again, but he stood over her, 
 keenly attentive. 
 
 "It was very soon after the — the alteration. 
 At least, so I gathered from what Ursula 
 Adams let out, but she did not seem at 
 liberty to tell—" 
 
 Maxworthy smiled to himself. Lady 
 Sarah was right enough there : Ursula 
 Adams was very far from being at 
 liberty, 
 
 " My nephew Maurice had been up at The 
 
THE DOCTOR IS CALLED IN 191 
 
 Mount playing croquet; and either he said 
 would she walk down and see me, or else 
 she volunteered it: I forgot which. He 
 knew I wanted to see her, for I had 
 heard she was looking different." 
 
 The smile twitched the corners of his 
 mouth, but was not suffered to display itself 
 further. 
 
 " So they set out together when the game 
 was over. Now it is downhill all the way, as 
 you know; easy walking, even for an old 
 woman like me; but she had to stop more 
 than once to get her breath, and hold by his 
 arm. And when she come in here her lips were 
 blue, and she cried out in a wild way that 
 she must go back, — she would die unless she 
 went back. I made her lie down on that 
 sofa, and wanted her to stay and let me 
 send for you, but she wouldn't hear of 
 it. Maurice fetched a fly, and I went back 
 with her myself — and have had my chest 
 worse ever since. But you should have seen 
 her as she lay there. I thought she was 
 going to faint, but it wasn't a faint. She 
 was like a person convulsed, and there was 
 froth on her lips — " 
 
 "Ay!" 
 
 " Maurice had pretty well to carry her to 
 the fly when it came, she seemed so far 
 gone. But she revived wonderfully on the 
 
192 ONE OR TWO 
 
 way back to The Mount, and when we got 
 to the hall door she had quite come round. 
 Now I don't know if she told you all this 
 herself?" 
 
 " She said she had not been well ; she 
 did not give particulars." 
 
 " That was precisely what happened, 
 and I consider you ought to know it. No 
 such change could come about without a 
 serious risk, to any young creature's con- 
 stitution. I remember Mary Cumbermere — " 
 
 But this anecdote has been told before, 
 and perhaps it was not new to Dr. 
 Maxworthy. No further details were 
 forthcoming about Frances' attack, so he 
 meanly evaded the recital, going forth with 
 a gloomy brow upon his further round. The 
 problem remained with him, and held him 
 uneasy all that day. But when he carried 
 a flat candle up to his room at night, another 
 thought supervened. He recalled two soft 
 hands put confidingly in his, and a young 
 bright face which had grown perplexed 
 and tearful ; and taking off his coat and 
 waistcoat, he folded them together with a 
 sigh. 
 
 " A pretty creature. I wonder why I don't 
 remember her, when she seemed so certain 
 she knew me. Stole my spectacles, did she ? 
 And sat on my knee ? " 
 
THE DOCTOR IS CALLED IN 193 
 
 Maxworthy had a way of talking to himself, 
 in common with other solitary persons ; but 
 he did not speak again till the candle was 
 out, and he was pulling a nightcap down 
 about his ears. " Strange," he said, glaring 
 into the darkness as if it figured the blank 
 in his memory. " And she said Charles — ! " 
 
 o 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 A Confidence to Maxworthy 
 
 It has been said by wise men in the 
 East, that the night brings counsel to a 
 soul in perplexity. But such counsel may 
 suit itself to the open ear, and be the 
 whisper of an angel or a fiend. Frances 
 Bethune woke the following morning with 
 a certain plan of action matured in her 
 brain, and her will ready to put it to the 
 proof. 
 
 She sat before the toilet-glass studying 
 her own reflection and the maid's face behind 
 her shoulder, as Truscott combed out the 
 long fair hair already brightened by the 
 application of some cunning dye. The 
 mirror showed her own countenance 
 sharpened and aged, far beyond her years, 
 which were those of woman's early prime. 
 But as she noted the absence of that 
 superfluity of tissue which had inflated the 
 fine-drawn oval into a foolish roundness, 
 
A CONFIDENCE 195 
 
 her eager eyes read only improvement, 
 and exulted and were blind. 
 
 For the alteration was not only of form, 
 there was another and a subtler change 
 in the reflected face. In the eyes and on 
 the mouth was set the signet of a harder 
 soul — a soul rapacious in self-indulgence, 
 ruthless in self-will, a soul that once 
 determined could be cruel and would not 
 spare. Truscott's service had passed in 
 silence ; but now the mistress fixed her 
 eyes on the maid's face in the mirror, and 
 roused herself to speak. 
 
 " I suppose you know that Colonel 
 Bethune is expected in England immediately. 
 He may be here the day after to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am. Susan said she had 
 orders to put the best room ready for 
 him." 
 
 " I did not intend to have visitors in 
 the house when he arrived, but I changed 
 my mind at the last moment about sending 
 away Miss Wayland." 
 
 Silence on the part of the abigail. 
 
 " I did not feel fully satisfied about 
 the place to which I was consigning her." 
 
 " No, ma'am ? " — interrogatively. 
 
 " The charge of her is a heavy re- 
 sponsibility to have fallen on me just now, 
 
196 ONE OR TWO 
 
 but I am anxious to do my best for her. 
 I hope Mrs. Adams will help us." 
 
 Another silence: Truscott had a hairpin 
 in her mouth ; but at the same time she was 
 keenly attentive to what might be coming. 
 
 " Of course you all know what is the 
 matter with her ? Poor girl ; it is a great 
 misfortune." 
 
 Truscott got rid of the hairpin in time 
 to say " No, ma'am ? " again as a question. 
 She was plainly waiting to be informed. 
 
 " No ? I thought it must have been 
 evident to everybody. She is not in her 
 right mind ; she is subject to insane 
 delusions." 
 
 " Indeed, ma'am ? I havn't seen much 
 of the young lady, but she seems quite the 
 lady, and very gentle and quiet." 
 
 " She has never been violent that I know 
 of, here ; but of course she may become 
 so. That is a great anxiety, in a private 
 house, and without a keeper. But it is the 
 nature of her delusion which is the worst 
 annoyance, to me." 
 
 Her eyes met Truscott's in the glass, 
 and read, as she expected, aroused interest 
 and curiosity. 
 
 " She has always been considered — in 
 our family — the image of what I was as 
 a girl. No doubt that suggested it in the 
 
A CONFIDENCE 197 
 
 first place. Her craze is an awkward one : 
 she believes herself to be my father's 
 daughter; she thinks The Mount is her 
 property, and cannot understand who I am, 
 and why I am here. Her object all along 
 has been to escape from restraint, and force 
 her way to Saltringham. At last she 
 succeeded, and that was why she arrived 
 so unexpectedly in the night." 
 
 A plausible story; Frances paused and 
 waited for comment. " It's very sad," said 
 Truscott, " a very great pity. But I haven't 
 heard of the young lady saying anything — 
 not to any of us." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it : I am glad she 
 has been reticent so far. The care of her 
 devolves on me, because the — the old 
 relative on whom she depended is dead. 
 I intend to keep her here for the present." 
 
 " I should have thought, ma'am — if I may 
 say it — that the young lady would be better 
 away from The Mount, if the place fosters 
 her delusion." 
 
 " I am told not. I am told it is better 
 she should be here, and learn the lesson 
 by degrees that it is another person's 
 property, and that she has no right over 
 it, nor authority in the house. But it is 
 of course an experiment, and I shall have 
 to consult Colonel Bethune." 
 
igS ONE OR TWO 
 
 The last twist of golden hair was settled 
 into place, the last pin fastened. Frances 
 rose from her seat. " Ay, my lady," thought 
 the waiting-maid to herself in inward 
 address, " that poor pretty creature down 
 below may be all you say, or she may not. 
 But, however it is, you would be a wiser 
 woman if you sent her out of the house 
 before the gentleman comes into it. She's 
 as pretty as a picture in spite of her 
 sorrowful face ; and few there be who would 
 look twice at you when she was standing 
 by, for all your fine dresses, and your 
 powders and your dyes ! " — But there was 
 no chair of truth to render this speech 
 audible, and, satisfied with the impression 
 she had made, the mistress went downstairs. 
 
 Breakfast was over ; Ursula and Fancy 
 were together in the study, engrossed over 
 some sort of new-fashioned stitchery, a 
 lesson from the elder to the younger. 
 Women are said to find in work a species 
 of nepenthe ; and, bending over her needle, 
 the girl looked almost happy. Upon this 
 scene the door opened, and admitted Frances 
 Bethune. 
 
 That she should seek Fancy's society 
 was noteworthy and ominous. Hitherto 
 she had kept sedulously apart from the 
 being who inspired her with so much 
 
A CONFIDENCE igg 
 
 repulsion, the life divided from her life, 
 the animating spirit which had once been 
 as her own. The surprise of both the 
 workers was too great for any common 
 greeting, and Mrs. Bethune offered none. 
 She swept on to a seat which fronted the 
 others across the table scattered with small 
 womanish litter ; the morning paper, folded 
 together, was in her hand. 
 
 As she sat down she looked full at Fancy, 
 and Fancy returned the hard stare as if 
 evilly fascinated. 
 
 " I have come to speak to you. Miss 
 Wayland. There are several matters 
 which, in justice to myself, I wish to 
 explain." 
 
 Ursula wondered what was to follow, and 
 listened with quickened apprehension. Mrs. 
 Bethune had professed herself too unwell 
 the day before for any consideration of the 
 future ; and instinct told her, her friend 
 was acting without consultation, because 
 in a direction she, Ursula, was certain to 
 oppose. 
 
 " I have changed my mind about sending 
 you away, and I shall for the present keep 
 you at The Mount. But perhaps you wish 
 to ask why you are at my disposal, and why 
 governed and restricted as you are and 
 must be, whether here or elsewhere ? " 
 
200 ONE OR TWO 
 
 Fancy dropped the strip of linen on her 
 lap, and replied with a first assertion of 
 spirit. 
 
 "Yes, I do ask that. It will not be for 
 long, as Charles will come for me. But 
 whether the time is long or short, I ought 
 not to depend on you, a stranger. If I have 
 no money, as you say, surely I can earn 
 something ; enough to live." 
 
 The slow insulting smile widened on 
 Frances' mouth. 
 
 "It is always the cry of the inexperienced, 
 that they are willing to earn. But the 
 demand of the market is for trained ability, 
 and what training have you to show ? And 
 who will employ a person of defective 
 intellect ? You have recovered a measure 
 of reason, it is true ; but how about the 
 long interval when you were mindless ? And 
 what assurance can you give that the 
 condition will not return ? " 
 
 There was a stricken horror in the girl's 
 face which was not good to see. Fancy 
 gasped after the voice which deserted her, 
 but the shocked protest she tried to utter 
 was inaudible. 
 
 " I will test you. Can you answer a single 
 precise question ? Tell me the day of 
 the week — the month — the year ? " 
 
 " I know I have been ill, but I am sane ; 
 
A CONFIDENCE 201 
 
 you are cruel to doubt it. There has been 
 a blank, but in illness that might happen 
 to anyone. — " 
 
 " Well — answer my question." 
 
 " This is Tuesday: you said so just now, 
 Ursula, did you not ? I can see the month 
 is summer ; I believe it is still June. It 
 was April when I was taken ill." 
 
 " It is the twelfth of June. And the year ? " 
 
 " 1887. Did you think I had forgotten ? " 
 
 For answer Frances unfolded the morning 
 paper which lay under her hand, and 
 pushed it across the table to her victim. 
 There was the heading in all the plainness 
 of print, showing the advance of ten years. 
 
 Silence, but silence sufficiently eloquent. 
 Fancy's face changed, conviction succeeding 
 doubt: then came an utter and piteous 
 dismay. 
 
 "You will hardly think me guilty of 
 forging a newspaper, whatever else you may 
 think of me. It is not my fault if 
 circumstances are cruel ; surely it is better 
 for you to face the truth than to live on 
 in delusion. The grave you lament has 
 long been green ; the lover you look for 
 exists no longer, in all the world for you. 
 Those blank ten years have blotted out 
 the hopes that once were yours. The 
 chances are that life and its changes would 
 
202 ONE OR TWO 
 
 have blotted them equally, had you lived 
 out the interval a sane woman. So you 
 are not very greatly the worse." 
 
 Fancy made a shield of both her hands 
 from the hard scrutiny of her torturer's 
 pitiless eyes. Frances went on : 
 
 " I am responsible for you, so you 
 need have no anxiety about ways and 
 means. I look upon you as a legacy 
 from — from Mr. Wayland. All you have 
 to do is to remain tranquil and obedient — 
 and let us have no more of this nonsense 
 about an expected lover. Charles Bethune 
 was married years ago ; he is a middle-aged 
 man ; he has forgotten your existence. 
 Take my advice, a friend's advice I assure 
 you, and think no more of him." 
 
 Mrs. Bethune had said her say ; she 
 rose and swept out of the room as imperiously 
 as she had entered it, shutting the door 
 behind her on all that helpless woe. 
 It was not long before Ursula followed, 
 to find her in the drawing-room. She 
 was affecting to occupy herself in the 
 rearrangement of her flower-stands, while 
 the warm air breathed heavy with sensuous 
 lily-scents, exhaling in the summer noon. 
 
 " Was it necessary, Frances, to be so 
 cruel ? You have broken her heart." 
 
 " I thought you had come to reproach 
 
A CONFIDENCE 203 
 
 me ; there is a whole sermon written in 
 your face. Yes, it was necessary. Only 
 a sharp lesson would be effectual. If 
 live she must, a thorn in my side for 
 ever, surely I am justified if I try to blunt 
 the thorn, and render the position 
 endurable. Cruel ? — it would be cruel if 
 you will to foster her illusions, when my 
 husband will be here in a few days, — perhaps 
 as soon as to-morrow." 
 
 " Surely you will not keep her at 
 The Mount when Colonel Bethune 
 returns ? " 
 
 " I did not intend it, and I don't desire it ; 
 but — Ursula, do be reasonable — what am 
 I to do ? Look at the terrible position 
 I am in : don't keep your sympathies only 
 for her. It is as if we were two souls . and 
 two bodies, with only one life — one 
 vitality — between us. I will not repeat 
 the agony of yesterday; I discovered then, 
 past all doubt, what it was that ailed me. 
 I hate her, I loathe the sight of her, but 
 I must keep her close at hand — of necessity, 
 if I am to go on living. There she is 
 stronger than I, mistress of the life that 
 is mine. I can hold my will over hers, I can 
 keep her out of the position she would 
 claim ; I can make her wretched as I did 
 but now, and as I shall again, just as soon 
 
204 ONE OR TWO 
 
 as it is necessary. But when we are divided 
 beyond a certain distance, her attraction 
 IS greater than mine, and the hfe is wrenched 
 away from me to be vital in her. That 
 was the matter yesterday, though I could 
 not tell the doctor : that was what 
 happened at Lady Sarah's, and when I 
 went out driving with you. I would not 
 believe it at first, but since yesterday I have 
 known." 
 
 " Then what is to be done ? " 
 
 " Nothing can be done — I suppose ; 
 and that is the horror of it, the horror 
 I have to face. Where I go, she must 
 go too ; where I stay, she must stay : if 
 we are torn apart, there is no help for it — 
 I must die. The cousin of weak intellect, 
 to whom I am kind : such is the role 
 marked out by fate for her to fill. 
 And it is absolutely essential she should 
 leave off" thinking about Charles." 
 
 " Let us go to London, the three of us 
 together, and consult Miss Sedgeley. 
 She might devise something — Salvador 
 might know. Or let me go and ask, as I 
 went before." 
 
 " No, no : remember your oath : we must 
 keep our own counsel. I will have no one 
 told as yet. I may think of some other 
 way of breaking the link — " stooping her 
 
A CONFIDENCE 205 
 
 face into shadow. "Time may help us: a 
 thousand things may happen. If I do 
 send you back to Salvador, it will be 
 as a last resource. Not yet, — not now." 
 
 " Then what am I to do, Frances ? Shall 
 I go to my rooms at Mrs. Minter's. It would 
 be better." 
 
 " No : I have thought it all out, you 
 must stay and help me here. You are 
 responsible for this — this horrible misfortune 
 — as much as I. When Charles asks me why 
 you are living with us, I shall say you are 
 my salaried companion, in charge of the 
 Wayland girl : he will be quite satisfied, 
 he will say no more. You know he wished 
 me to have a companion, it was one of 
 the stipulations. And you have come to 
 me in place of my mother's cousin Mrs. 
 Romer, who fell ill." 
 
 The study door was heard to open 
 and shut, and a footstep crossed the hall. 
 
 " There she is again ! " — stamping an 
 impatient foot upon the floor. " For 
 Heaven's sake, go to her, — keep her out of 
 my way. Let me forget her while I can. 
 Anything else there is to settle must wait 
 till another time. If you love me, Ursula, 
 go!" 
 
 ■ • • • • 
 
 Dr. Maicworthy paid no visit to The Mount 
 
2o6 ONE OR TWO 
 
 that Tuesday; but the day following he 
 thought it incumbent on him again to see 
 after his patient. The single brougham 
 and the good grey horse had served him 
 in the night, summoned out far into the 
 country, so he made his morning round on 
 foot. Approaching in this humble fashion 
 up the curved sweep of the drive, the terrace 
 on the west side of the house came first 
 into view. 
 
 This was the terrace on which the study 
 window opened, and opposite those glass 
 doors a solitary small figure in a white 
 gown leaned against the balustrade, looking 
 far away to the blue horizon of the sea. 
 As the doctor caught sight of the mysterious 
 guest, whose address had haunted him 
 through the intervening day, he felt that 
 fortune was throwing in his way a chance 
 not to be passed by. Curiosity would 
 hardly be deemed impertinent, when his 
 acquaintance had been claimed by this 
 young lady, who was ready to weep because 
 he failed to remember her. The conventional 
 summons at the front door, and enquiry 
 for the mistress of the house, might wait a 
 while ; he was in no haste. So he turned 
 along the terrace, under windows empty of 
 spectators, and approached the forlorn white 
 figure. 
 
A CONFIDENCE 207 
 
 Fancy roused herself at the sound of a 
 footstep, and turned a startled face on the 
 intruder; a face which bore but too plainly 
 the trace of recent tears. Her first impulse 
 after flight was arrested : if this friend of 
 former times could be made to know her, 
 surely from a doctor better than from any 
 other, might she seek counsel in her strait. 
 
 Maxworthy raised his hat. " Forgive me 
 for disturbing you, Miss Wayland. My 
 memory was at fault on Monday, an old 
 man's memory, and I come to you to help 
 it out. 
 
 " I suppose I am very much changed," 
 she said frankly, putting her hand into his. 
 " And I did not know then — Mrs. Bethune 
 had not told me — why all my friends have 
 forgotten. 1 should be glad to tell you, 
 to ask you, if I may. Perhaps you will 
 advise me, for my father's sake." 
 
 The eyes raised to his overflowed with 
 two large tears, and her breast heaved with 
 a sob. Maxworthy held her hand. That 
 keen old face of his could be kind — even 
 very kind on occasions ; and now it looked 
 good to trust, gentle as well as strong. 
 
 " I want you to tell me. And if I can 
 advise you, you may count on me. Where 
 can we have our talk ? " He glanced round, 
 for the situation was an exposed one; 
 
2o8 ONE OR TWO 
 
 interruption might come at any moment, 
 and he did not intend to be interrupted. 
 
 " There is a seat in the arbour. Will 
 that do?" — leading the way thither. "Mrs. 
 Bethune allows me to go in the garden 
 when I do not disturb her : " — spoken rather 
 bitterly. " I ought not to be ungrateful, 
 but it was my own garden years ago." 
 
 The arbour was covered with hanging 
 creepers, which screened it from observation, 
 and the rickety seat within afforded ample 
 room for two. Maxworthy groaned inwardly 
 when he thought of his rheumatism, but he 
 followed the girl and sat down. 
 
 " Now, my dear young lady, I am at 
 your service. Something is troubling you : 
 tell me what it is." 
 
 " Dr. Maxworthy, what is a girl to do, 
 who finds — on a sudden — that she has lost 
 ten years out of her life ? Ten years of 
 utter blank, slept away perhaps ; pa'ssed 
 she knows not how. What is she to do 
 when she wakes, and her reason comes 
 again ? Is her place in the world quite 
 gone ? " 
 
 " That is not your case, surely ? " 
 
 " Yesterday morning I believed myself to 
 be eighteen years old, just recovered from 
 an illness measured by days, or perhaps 
 weeks : no more, nor worse, than that. And 
 
A CONFIDENCE iog 
 
 now they tell me I am twenty-eight, and 
 lost out of life — forgotten by all I ever 
 loved ! " 
 
 " My dear, to judge by appearances, you 
 are certainly no older than eighteen." 
 
 " I was eighteen in 1887, late in March. 
 Is it true — oh, Dr. Maxworthy, can it be 
 true, that ten years have gone by ? That 
 woman showed me a newspaper with the 
 date—!" 
 
 " It is truly 1897. But have you made 
 no mistake ? " 
 
 " No — no ; I have made no mistake." 
 Fancy wrung her hands together with a 
 gesture of despair, and then repeated : 
 " What am I to do ? " 
 
 " First you shall answer me some questions ; 
 at present I fail to understand. You said 
 I must advise you for your father's sake. 
 Did I know your father ? " 
 
 She raised her eyes to his in sudden 
 wonder. " Of course you knew him ; you 
 knew us all. I can remember you from the 
 time I was a little child." 
 
 " My dear, you must tell me in plain terms 
 who you are. I don't dispute a word you 
 say, but it is necessary I should be assured. 
 Who was your father ? " 
 
 " He was James Wayland, your friend, 
 who bought this house and added to it, and 
 
 P 
 
210 ONE OR TWO 
 
 made the garden just as it is now. He 
 was alive when my memory ceases ; and 
 now they tell me he is dead. Ursula says 
 so too : it must be true. You know it ? " 
 
 Yes, Maxworthy remembered well the 
 circumstances of that death. It was one of 
 those scenes and experiences which are not 
 quickly forgotten, even by a man whose 
 profession brings him in common touch with 
 suffering and sorrow, He bowed his head 
 in assent. " And you ? " he asked. 
 
 " I am his only daughter ; Frances 
 Wayland, but they call me Fancy. Oh, 
 surely, Doctor, you remember me ? You 
 were so kind to me when I was a little girl. 
 I used to sit on your knee." 
 
 " My dear — I remember Frances Wayland, 
 and you are her living image. But there 
 is much that perplexes me. The long 
 interval — ! " 
 
 The sentence broke, for the man was 
 penetrated with profound astonishment over 
 this incredible claim. If in truth this girl was 
 Frances Wayland, who and what could be 
 the woman who reigned as mistress of The 
 Mount, and called Charles Bethune her 
 husband ? 
 
 " And I am perplexed too. I want you to 
 tell me what happened to me, and how it 
 came to pass. Surely if I fell ill you must 
 
A CONFIDENCE 211 
 
 have been consulted ; you would know. I 
 remember falling ill ; I remember that you 
 came to me, and you were kind. You said 
 your medicines were of no use, because I 
 was fretting. Oh, don't you remember ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, my dear. I remember." 
 
 " And you persuaded Papa — about Charles. 
 And Papa came in one evening and cried, and 
 said perhaps he had been too hard, and he 
 never intended to break his little daughter's 
 heart. He said we might be engaged, if I 
 would promise to get well ; and he would 
 write to Charles at once, that very night, to 
 come home as soon as ever his colonel would 
 give leave. I was so happy 1 I cried too, all 
 for joy ; and I put on my ring, which was 
 tied on a ribbon round my neck. See, here it 
 is, on my finger now. And then, because I 
 was so tired and weak, I turned round on the 
 pillow and fell fast asleep — 0, the sweetest 
 sleep I ever knew ! " 
 
 " And what came next ? " 
 
 " Nothing — if you can believe me ! I 
 cannot believe myself. Nothing but the 
 blank blotting out of the ten years. I woke a 
 week ago, in my own little white bed where I 
 lay down, and believed it to be the morning 
 after that night. I was quite alone ; and then 
 Ursula came, who was my friend at school, 
 who knew all about Charles, and of the 
 
212 ONE OR TWO 
 
 difficulty, and why I had been sad. I was 
 not so much surprised at first, because Papa 
 said something about sending for her if Mrs. 
 Pryor would let her off to come." 
 
 " And did she tell you ? — What did she tell 
 you ; what did she say ? " 
 
 " She did not tell me at once ; I began to 
 find out, bit by bit, that a long time had gone 
 by. There was a strange servant, instead of 
 my own maid. And I saw the wedding-ring 
 on her finger, and discovered she had been 
 married and was a widow ; but even then 
 I was stupid, I did not realise it was more 
 than a few weeks out of that same year. 
 Next morning I would not lie in bed any 
 longer ; I insisted on going downstairs, for I 
 was well — strong — the illness was past and 
 gone. Ursula brought me some clothes to 
 dress in ; not my own clothes, for everything 
 belonging to me had been taken away. 
 Think of that, Doctor ; all the little things I 
 had had from my childhood — the things my 
 own father gave me ; surely it was cruel ? 
 She wanted to tell me before I left my room, 
 but I was in too great a hurry to listen. I 
 wanted to go down to the study, to my father ; 
 but he was gone — the room empty — every- 
 thing changed. Then Ursula began to tell 
 me — that he had died — " 
 
 The tears were running over again, but she 
 
A CONFIDENCE 213 
 
 dashed them away, and strove to speak 
 steadily. 
 
 " And presently Mrs. Bethune came — in 
 through the window, from the terrace. I was 
 frightened when I saw her ; she terrifies me, 
 she is like my evil genius. Dr. Maxworthy, 
 you know her. Tell me, who is she, and 
 what is she ? I know why she is here." 
 
 " Tell me first what you know." 
 
 " She told me, Ursula told me too ; at 
 least she did not deny it — " The doctor 
 noticed that Fancy put one hand to her fore- 
 head, as if it became an effort to remember. 
 
 " Yes, tell me what they said." 
 
 " They said, she said ; it was she who made 
 me understand, in that clear bitter way of 
 hers, which cuts like an edge of steel. She 
 said my father lost all he had, and died deep 
 in debt, so that everything belonging to him 
 was sold. This house, and all that it con- 
 tains. And she bought it, charged with the 
 obligation to provide for me; I suppose to 
 keep me here," 
 
 There had been much lying in this strange 
 case, or double dyed delusion ; that at least 
 was evident ; but there was no question in his 
 mind that Fancy told the truth as she 
 received it. And what could be Mrs. 
 Bethune's motive for such a fabrication ? 
 
 " She did not tell me then how long a time 
 
214 ONE OR TWO 
 
 had passed. I knew of Ursula's marriage, 
 but somehow I thought Mr Adams was quite 
 newly dead. It was terrible to find myself 
 dependent, and upon her, but I had still a 
 hope. The hope that Charles was coming 
 back. That he would soon be here to take 
 me away." 
 
 Here a sob broke in again : but the doctor 
 was steadily attentive and expectant, and she 
 went on. 
 
 " The woman made a plan to send me 
 away with Ursula ; and I was glad to go — to 
 be free of her, till Charles should come. 
 We were to have travelled last Monday — 
 to Richmond ; but we were hardly started 
 away, when she sent to pluck us back. And 
 yesterday she told me all." 
 
 " What was the ' all' ? " 
 
 " About the long blank interval ; ten years 
 she said : you say so too : the date is printed 
 on the daily paper so. That I had been all 
 the while unconscious or insane. That my 
 reason had but just come back, when I woke 
 in my own bed where I lay down. Could 
 I have been there for ten years, Dr Max- 
 worthy ? Surely it is not possible ? " 
 
 " No, no, my dear, I can be sure of that. 
 You were not there." 
 
 " She says I have not a penny in the world 
 but what she chooses to give me. And that 
 
A CONFIDENCE 215 
 
 I cannot earn, for nobody will employ a 
 person afflicted as I have been. And that 
 Charles has given me up and forgotten me, 
 and I must think of him no more. Doctor, 
 you were kind to me when I was little, — you 
 and my father were friends. My heart is 
 breaking ; be a friend to me now, and tell me 
 what to do ! " 
 
 Maxworthy was not of a nature lightly to 
 regard such an appeal. Possibly a phreno- 
 logist would have discovered in his cranium 
 an abnormal development of the organs of 
 benevolence and wonder ; this girl's pathetic 
 case and her amazing story excited both, 
 though he was resolved to submit the latter 
 to the keenest analysis. This elderly doctor 
 was something more than a commonplace 
 practitioner ; he was in his scant leisure a 
 speculative writer on psychology — under a 
 pseudonym, so as not to scare away his 
 patients. In his desk at home lay the 
 unfinished sheets of a work on Double 
 Consciousness and the Suspensions of 
 Trance; and here at his hand was a subject 
 who might prove of incalculable value. — 
 And for further motive, setting benevolence 
 aside, he desired to probe to the full Mrs 
 Bethune's part in this matter ; that it was a 
 discreditable one he had no manner of doubt. 
 
 She and Ursula, her accomplice, had set 
 
2i6 ONE OR TWO 
 
 themselves to deceive him about the emaci- 
 ation, they had lied to this girl who was so 
 strangely in their power : before he had done 
 with them, or they with him, he meant to 
 strip both mysteries of their disguise. He 
 considered himself an adept at physiognomy, 
 and he credited Fancy with truth-speaking 
 to the extent of her knowledge. Those eyes, 
 to his thinking, were as full of transparent 
 innocence as they brimmed just now with 
 tears : while it was easy to believe Frances 
 guilty of the sort of deception which hides 
 under a painted face. But the motive was 
 still to seek ; and Mrs Adams presented a 
 problem, for the arch of her head and the 
 clear contour of her brow, would have 
 suggested honesty. These women had plotted 
 against his old friend's daughter, who he 
 believed he held before him : that was the 
 dominant impression, to be further sifted and 
 considered. 
 
 He took both her hands in his, and dried 
 her full eyes with his own handkerchief, doing 
 his best to soothe her. 
 
 " My dear child — I can promise at least 
 to stand your friend. I must think this over 
 before I can advise you ; but if you are in 
 trouble here — in greater trouble, or any 
 sudden need ; send for me, or come to me. 
 You remember where the old man lives ? the 
 
A CONFIDENCE 217 
 
 same little house that Fancy Wayland knew. 
 And I believe you are Fancy Wayland." 
 
 " I know it ! With the mulberry-tree in the 
 back garden — and the bowling-green — and 
 the birds I used to feed. And those high 
 wires to keep the cats out, because you did 
 not like cats — ! " 
 
 " I see you have not forgotten. Now 
 Fancy, listen to me. I don't think your 
 suspension (whatever its nature) goes so far 
 back as you suppose, though you have lost 
 memory from that date. My former know- 
 ledge of you shows that to be impossible. 
 — But there came a later time when — when 
 I was no longer familiar with your daily 
 life, and when some shock, mental or 
 physical, may have thrown you into the 
 condition you indicate. I think your mem- 
 ory may come back — " 
 
 " Yes, Ursula said so too. And I feel 
 sometimes as if I almost remembered — 
 later things. As if it wanted only a touch, 
 and the blank would pass away." 
 
 " Exactly. I believe your memory will 
 return and render plain what now perplexes, 
 what greatly perplexes even me. I ask 
 you to trust me. I will not tell you yet ; 
 I will not prompt you yet ; though the time 
 may come when I shall think well to do both. 
 — I will not even answer the question you 
 
2i8 ONE OR TWO 
 
 put to me about your hostess here, who is 
 my patient ; I am on my way to see her now : 
 —perhaps I cannot certainly answer it even 
 to myself. I ask you to trust me. Be patient, 
 be submissive, do not loose heart. I must 
 know more before I can safely act, even 
 for your protection. But I can tell you 
 this, my dear : henceforward your father's 
 daughter shall be as my own child. And 
 now, time presses. I must go, but certainly 
 I will return." 
 
 They both rose, she with a detaining hand 
 upon his sleeve. 
 
 " You are good : you give me new life. I 
 will trust you. I will be patient. But oh, 
 Doctor, do you think they have told me truly 
 about Charles ? Must we be lost to each 
 other? Has he indeed forgotten me ? " 
 
 The doctor looked at her, with a pause 
 and arrest of recollection running over his 
 nerves like a physical shock. He had 
 forgotten the husband. Charles Bethune 
 on his way home was almost at the door. 
 He at least should know which was the 
 woman he married — this girl who lingered 
 over his name as if it were the echo of a 
 passionate charm, or the painted creature 
 who called herself Mrs Bethune, and reigned 
 as mistress at The Mount. And if Frances 
 were indeed an impostor, how was it she had 
 
A CONFIDENCE 219 
 
 dared to introduce the real wife under her 
 roof at a juncture such as this ? 
 
 " My dear — I cannot reply to your 
 question : I can only ask you to wait. To 
 be frank with you, I do not know. But I 
 mean to know very shortly. You shall not 
 be kept in suspense an unnecessary 
 moment." 
 
 The windows again were without witness : 
 could the denizens of The Mount be under 
 a spell of enchantment on this momentous 
 day ? He walked round to the porch, but 
 before he could enter, running feet behind 
 him came quickly up the drive. The mess- 
 enger was in urgent haste, and had just 
 caught sight of his quarry ; not this morning 
 was it fated for Dr Maxworthy to interview 
 Mrs Bethune. He was called to an 
 accident case, a divided artery, and 
 imminent danger; and the summons found him 
 again the ready surgeon, alert and prac- 
 tical, speculations and suspicions put aside. 
 He clapped his hand to the pocket which 
 carried his instrument case ; and a moment 
 later, Fancy and Frances alike forgotten, 
 his long strides outstripped the lad 
 who brought the message, hastening in 
 the direction of the town. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 In the Rose Garden 
 
 While Maxworthy and Fancy sat in 
 the arbour and cemented their alliance, Mrs 
 Bethune, all unconscious of increasing 
 danger, descended from those upper regions 
 where she was accustomed to pass the 
 morning, and betook herself to her favourite 
 nook under the cedars. Here the rug was 
 spread as usual for her feet, and the wicker 
 couch was set out with its cushions ; Ursula 
 also was in attendance. Her new duties 
 as companion included secretarial work — so 
 it appeared ; and on this particular morning 
 there were several letters Mrs Bethune 
 wished to dictate — one of them being a sharp 
 remonstrance to her dressmaker, who had 
 failed to send the promised gown. Ursula 
 carried out writing materials ; but Frances 
 was not disposed immediately to concern 
 herself with business. The morning's letters 
 were in her lap, and with them a small 
 
IN THE ROSE GARDEN 221 
 
 registered packet which bore a jeweller's 
 label. This was the first to receive 
 attention. 
 
 " I am glad it has come in time," she said, 
 smiling. " It might have been awkward if 
 Charles had returned, and found me with no 
 wedding ring to wear." 
 
 " No wedding-ring ? " 
 
 " Why, when my hand altered so much, 
 of course it did not fit ; it was nearly as big 
 as a curtain-hoop. So I sent it, and the 
 little old one I was married with, to have it 
 made the proper size." 
 
 " Why did you not wear the original ring 
 when your finger was small again ? That 
 would have been simpler." 
 
 " Oh, but I like a broad ring, such as is 
 the fashion now. That little old one is so 
 commonplace ; a cottage-woman's would be 
 just the same. Here it is, you see ; and here 
 is the thick one, which looks a great deal 
 better. But I have had the names engraved 
 inside, and the date with them, copied from 
 the, other. I want something to remind me 
 of the date ; for do you know — it is curious 
 — my memory of that time seems to have 
 grown so faint and far away. Last night I 
 got out Charles's photograph and looked at 
 it — the one he had taken in India, for, try 
 as I would, I could not recall his face. He 
 
222 ONE OR TWO 
 
 is a good-looking man, but I cannot get up 
 any interest in him. I wish he was not 
 coming home." 
 
 This was surely a strange avowal for the 
 wife. Ursula listened in surprise, though, 
 in these later times, she had never credited 
 Mrs Bethune with any strong affection for 
 her husband. Frances began to justify 
 herself. 
 
 " He is so particular about the things I 
 do ; and he is certain to be jealous, as he 
 was before. If only he had stayed away ! I 
 might have had a good time now I am thin 
 again — even shackled to the Creature. We 
 could have gone to London for what is left of 
 the season and to Cowes for the yachting 
 — and have kept her in the background, only 
 near enough for safety. I want to be happy 
 again. Surly I have a right to be happy, 
 and get some fun out of life like other women 
 — not always to be shut up here ! " 
 
 She had slipped the broad ring on her 
 finger and was looking at it, while the other 
 lay neglected among the papers in her lap. 
 The self-revelation might have been yet more 
 full, but it was doomed to interruption. A 
 servant came down the steps to this sheltered 
 lawn, tray in hand, on which a significant 
 brown envelope lay displayed. 
 
 There is always something about these 
 
IN THE ROSE GARDEN 223 
 
 brown envelopes which arrests attention, even 
 of recent times when they are frequent. 
 Frances tore hers open with eagerness. 
 " Now I do hope this is from Aldegonde," she 
 said ; and then her countenance changed. 
 
 " Ursula, — Charles is in England ! He is 
 coming to-day." 
 
 " You thought it might be as soon as to- 
 day, did you not ? " 
 
 " This is the earliest day he mentioned 
 as possible ; but I did not expect it would 
 really be so soon." There was complaint in 
 her tone ; no joy to meet the news. The 
 telegram dropped from her hand ; Ursula 
 caught it up and read it aloud. 
 
 " ' London, 10-30. I am spending an hour 
 at Mary's ; shall then come on at once. 
 Hope to be with you about six.' — Who is 
 Mary?" 
 
 " His sister, Mary Bethune. She is older 
 than he is, and a sort of Protestant nun, 
 given over to good works : a stupid person, 
 but he is very fond of her. By six! — that 
 means the 5-15 train at the junction, And oh, 
 how tiresome it is I have not got my dress." 
 
 " You look very well in those you are 
 wearing. And men seldom know anything 
 about the fashion." 
 
 " He may remember I had them in India. 
 A gown four years old ! — it is enough to 
 
224 ONE OR TWO 
 
 stamp any woman as a dowdy, and first 
 impressions count for much. — Ursula, I won't 
 write to Aldegonde, I'll telegraph that it is 
 urgent. And Bolton must be ready to take 
 the carriage to Braxton, to meet Charles's 
 train—! " 
 
 She sprang up full of energy, grasping the 
 papers on her lap, but forgetful of the little 
 golden circle once endeared. It slipped to 
 the ground unoticed by either of the women, 
 and, falling edgewise, rolled beyond the rug, 
 finding shelter in some tufted grass about the 
 roots of the tree. 
 
 From this time forward Ursula had scant 
 leisure to think of Fancy, none to question 
 her about the employment of her morning : 
 even had the girl been ready with any 
 confidence about the old doctor's kindness, no 
 one was at hand to receive it. Frances was 
 moved to some excitement over the home- 
 coming, despite her avowal of indifference ; 
 and she kept the newly-styled companion 
 fully employed over her preparations, and 
 capricious changes of arrangement. The 
 whole of her available wardrobe was displayed 
 by Truscott, and Ursula was expected to 
 assist in the examination and choice. " You 
 can attend to the Creature by-and-by," Mrs. 
 Bethune whispered. " As soon as Charles 
 arrives, you can go to her and keep her out of 
 
IN THE ROSE GARDEN 225 
 
 the way." The elaborate toilet, the final 
 tinting of complexion, was but just complete 
 when the carriage was heard returning. It 
 proved, however, to be empty when Bolton 
 drew up to the door, except for a wooden box 
 upon the seat. 
 
 " If you please, ma'am, the Colonel wasn't 
 there; and as there isn't another train till 
 half-past nine, I thought I'd best come back. 
 — The station-master put in a parcel, which 
 he said was for The Mount." 
 
 The dress at last from Aldegonde's ; and 
 the satisfaction of this arrival effaced all 
 disappointment in the other failure. The box 
 was ordered to her room, and Ursula must 
 accompany her there to see the gown put on : 
 it would help to pass the time, as Charles 
 could not arrive till late. 
 
 " You are sure he would travel by the 
 5-13?" said Mrs. Adams doubtfully. " The 
 telegram said six." 
 
 " That meant for arriving here. Oh yes, 
 quite certain. It is the best train in the day ; 
 we always use it. Mary must have kept him 
 talking. And a good thing too, for now I 
 have my dress." 
 
 Ursula seemed hardly satisfied. " It is not 
 possible, is it, that he would come on by the 
 other line ? " 
 
 " Possible perhaps, but most unlikely. 
 
 Q 
 
226 ONE OR TWO 
 
 AUonby is only a wayside station, and no 
 conveyance to be had. He would have to 
 walk over the hills." 
 
 " But if he missed the direct route, might 
 he not take that instead of waiting ? " 
 
 " He might, but I don't think it. He 
 would not be in such a romantic hurry. He 
 will wait for the 9.30., and come down 
 comfortably to Braxton : — and I'll send word 
 to Mrs. Choppington to have a supper ready. 
 — Come upstairs, Ursula ; I can't wait any 
 longer. We must have that box opened, and 
 see what Aldegonde has sent." 
 
 It is often the unexpected which happens ; 
 and the romance with which Mrs. Bethune 
 did not credit her husband, had actually de- 
 termined his choice of route. While his wife 
 hastened upstairs to inspect her gown, he was 
 already on his way from Allonby by the path 
 traversing the hills. After the confinement 
 of travel and burning tropical heats, that 
 wide stretch of upland, green with early 
 summer, the soft air, the cool sky with its 
 blue half-veiled in cloud, were all a refresh- 
 ment and delight. A shower had lately 
 fallen, and he breathed the odour of damp 
 earth and springing herbage, and left the 
 track for the pleasure of treading beside it 
 OH the short turf of the downs. — English 
 
IN THE ROSE GARDEN 227 
 
 grass, for long a stranger to his foot. 
 
 The old country was dear to the exile ; if 
 his wife's welcome was in store for him, it 
 would be dearer still. Had the letter he 
 wrote her from India, almost from his sick 
 bed, touched the hoped-for chord ? — would 
 her heart indeed turn back to him, back to its 
 old allegiance, and all the coldness of 
 division and distance be done away ? Much 
 in the past had wounded his love and hurt 
 his pride ; but all should be forgotten and 
 forgiven to the Frances Wayland of old, 
 when he held his wife in his arms, believing 
 in the affection she had once professed. — In 
 London he felt vaguely disappointed ; it was 
 true he had bidden her await him here, and 
 he could not expect to be met ; but she might 
 have written to him to Mary's care, so he 
 thought : one word to await his landing would 
 have told him all he yearned to know. And 
 Mary had heard nothing, so she said ; and 
 except from the newspapers did not know of 
 her brother's expected return. 
 
 But again the absence of any word might 
 be taken as hopeful. He was at least unfor- 
 bidden. Surely when they met, when he 
 held her hands in his and could look in her 
 eyes, the ice of their long estrangement might 
 be trusted to melt away. Far off in exile, 
 in health and working days, and still more 
 
228 ONE OR TWO 
 
 in illness and danger and the weary weak- 
 ness of convalescence, he had longed for the 
 Fancy of the past, the maiden he wooed, the 
 girl-wife he had won, to whom he once was 
 all in all. And at last he grew to believe, or 
 to half believe, that his very longing must of 
 necessity recall her and re-create her — back 
 from vanity and coldness and change, out of 
 all the dismal deterioration of soul he had 
 witnessed aforetime, till love was lost in a 
 burning flame of wrath and wrong, and 
 honour alone remained, an honour hardly 
 saved. 
 
 He asked himself again as he walked, — 
 how did he fail towards this wife of his, for 
 the hope and promise of their union to make 
 such early shipwreck ? Was it want of 
 patience on his part, lack of those outward 
 forms of tenderness which familiarity is apt 
 to lay aside ? Had he made too sure of her 
 affection — trusted overmuch that she would 
 be certain of his, as a wife ought to be 
 certain, not needing the constant assurance of 
 the lover ? Had there been fault of his as 
 well as fault of hers ? — or was it all due to 
 the physical change of her illness, the 
 influence of a vile woman, the accident of 
 his absence during those weeks of border 
 fighting, when he was forced to leave her 
 under Mrs. Clarkson's care ? 
 
IN THE ROSE GARDEN 229 
 
 The physical change of her illness! 
 There the line of demarcation cut sharply 
 across their lives. With that sudden peril, 
 the blow which stunned her and held her un- 
 conscious, the Fancy of his love died utterly ; 
 and when the bodily life, which for a while 
 hung in the balance, revived and was 
 restored, there almost seemed to be a 
 different animation. A new Frances came 
 into being, of whom he had afterwards most 
 bitter knowledge. The caprices and ex- 
 actions with which she tried him in the be- 
 ginning, were thought only the peevish temper 
 of a sick woman ; but then, hard upon her 
 recovery, there followed the disastrous as- 
 sociation with Mrs. Clarkson. He had 
 sometimes been tempted to wonder whether 
 the angel in her was killed by that blow and 
 long suspension of conscious life, leaving only 
 a baser soul. And now, in his home-coming, 
 it was the angel that he yearned for, the old 
 Fancy with whom he hoped to join hands in 
 reconciliation, and begin life anew. 
 
 Would she remember, he wondered, the 
 occasion of the father's relenting when he 
 came back to her before ? — would she divine 
 how, to repeat it in all its circumstances, he 
 had travelled to Allonby instead of Braxton, 
 walking over the hill-path to The Mount ? 
 Would she come down in her white dress to 
 
230 ONE OR TWO 
 
 the rose-garden, as he asked her in the letter, 
 — would she meet him there, as she met him 
 all those years ago ? The Indian Frances, 
 who had graduated in Mrs. Clarkson's school, 
 would be ready to scoff at such romance 
 when the hero of it was only a husband ; but 
 Fancy his lost angel, Fancy his early love, 
 would understand and be tender to the 
 recollection and the wish. Which was he 
 fated to meet, he asked himself, walking 
 rapidly forward with The Mount almost in 
 view ; and the doubt took him by the throat, 
 man as he was, with a choke of strong 
 emotion that might have been a woman's. 
 
 The familiar road was gained, the gate 
 came into view, the side-gate of the garden : 
 no flaming sword debarred him from his 
 Paradise ; but what were Paradise without 
 an Eve ? The sheltered dell which Mr. 
 Wayland had beautified, lay beyond the 
 close-ranked shrubberies ; and now, as in 
 that former June, the banks were bright 
 with blossoming roses and sweet with the 
 very breath of summer. And surely the cry 
 of his heart had found its answer ; for 
 there was the girlish figure gowned in white, 
 descending the steps from the upper garden. 
 Not in haste, as if aware of one who waited ; 
 but lingering here and there, bending to 
 inhale the fragrance, lifting a drooped flower 
 
IN THE ROSE GARDEN 231 
 
 into view with delicate touch that did not 
 break or mar. This was the angel Fancy, 
 the Fancy of his love ; — so he told himself 
 with beating heart as he watched her, 
 dwelling on her simple dress, and noting 
 her uncovered hair — worn as he remembered 
 it of old, still short from the doctor's scissors, 
 and clustering in curls about the little head. 
 He moved forward, holding out his arms : 
 whether he spoke her name he could not 
 tell ; perhaps it was only the advancing 
 step which caught her ear. She turned — 
 looked — and the sad young face was at 
 once transfigured with the white radiance 
 and wonder of an overwhelming joy. 
 
 His arms held her once more ; her lips met 
 his full in the kiss he longed for, and so 
 silenced speech — the broken words of thank- 
 fulness and love. In that first recovery 
 he could only hold her, he grudged even to 
 put her apart for the joy of sight. But soon 
 it became possible to speak — to hear. 
 
 It was his name she was sobbing out 
 in breathless appeal. " Charles, — Charles ! 
 You have not forgotten me ! You love me 
 still, after all these years ? " 
 
 " My darling ! " The question seemed to 
 need no answer but the closer kiss. "You 
 expected me ? You had my wire this 
 morning ? " 
 
232 ONE OR TWO 
 
 " No : I had nothing — I heard nothing. 
 I was trying to be resigned : to believe it 
 was all over, and that I should never see 
 you any more." 
 
 " Fancy, what put such a thought into 
 your mind ? Surely you knew — you could 
 not doubt I loved you through it all ? At 
 least you knew I was coming back. You 
 had my letter ? " 
 
 " I had no letter, but I thought I knew. 
 I thought I could be sure, till she told me 
 all those dreadful things, and broke my 
 heart." 
 
 " No letter ! Is it possible it did not 
 reach you ? And she ? who told you ? who 
 do you mean ? Don't cry, my dearest. 
 We are going to begin again, a new life, you 
 and I together, and forget the old, as if it 
 had never been." 
 
 " I hoped for that : it was my one hope. — 
 Charles, hold me safe ; tell me it is true. 
 That you are come for me indeed, and that 
 you will take me away ? " 
 
 " Yes — yes. As soon as ever you like. 
 To-morrow, if you will." 
 
 " To-morrow ? " she said, drawing back 
 and looking at him. " But could we be 
 married as soon as to-morrow ? " 
 
 It was now his turn to look at her. 
 " Married ? " he said in astonishment. " We 
 
IN THE ROSE GARDEN 233 
 
 have been separated it is true, but there 
 was nothing to break our marriage. Why- 
 need we be married over again ? " 
 
 He had no clue to the doubt and distress 
 in her face. " Is it possible ? " she was 
 saying, more to herself than him. " Have I 
 been married, and can I have forgotten it ? 
 Was that what Dr. Maxworthy meant when 
 he talked to me only this morning ? " Then 
 she looked at her hand. " If I had been 
 married, even if I had forgotten it, I should 
 wear a ring." 
 
 He took the small hand in his, still 
 holding her with that clasp about her waist. 
 There was the blue betrothal ring still in its 
 place ; but the marriage-circlet, fitted on 
 years before in haste and mourning, was no 
 longer to be seen. 
 
 " I don't know where the ring has gone 
 to, but most certainly I put it on, — as 
 surely as I gave you the other which you 
 wear. Fancy, if you love me, what do you 
 mean by forgetting ? Make me understand." 
 
 The distress in her eyes overflowed into 
 tears, which she hid upon his breast. " Don't 
 you know ? " she said. " Must I tell you ? 
 Oh, I hoped you knew it, and that you 
 had come back to me in spite of all." 
 
 What could she mean? A chill shadow 
 of apprehension passed over that perfect 
 
234 ONE OR TWO 
 
 joy. " Tell me," he said with peremptory 
 tenderness. " Do not keep me in suspense." 
 
 " They say — she says — that I have lost 
 my memory. That there had been a blank of 
 years and years till I woke the other day, a 
 week ago. I had not forgotten you, — I had 
 not forgotten our love ; never think that, my 
 dear, my dear — ! " 
 
 She lifted up her face and he kissed it, 
 though in doubt. It was much that she clung 
 to him in her trouble, and he found it sweet 
 to console. 
 
 " — But I fancied Papa had just given his 
 consent ; all else was a blank to me. I 
 fancied it was the morning after that night, — 
 when I was so ill, you know ; and he came to 
 me and cried, and said we might be married. 
 I believed he had sent for you — " 
 
 Her voice broke again, and failed her. 
 Was this all, he thought as he held her in his 
 arms ; and if so — if he truly understood — was 
 it not the fulfilment of his hope and dream ? 
 That all the pain, the disappointment, should 
 be blotted out, and that she should be as the 
 girl again, his bride. But how had it come 
 about, and why had there been nobody to 
 send him word ? 
 
 " I can remember all that happened when I 
 was quite young ; but nothing nearer than 
 that night, until I woke the other day. And 
 
IN THE ROSE GARDEN 235 
 
 now will it change your thought of me, that I 
 am not like other people ? That there has 
 been this blank ? " 
 
 His assurance met the question before it 
 was half spoken. She was his wife, he 
 said ; his dearest wife. 
 
 " Can I be your wife if I have forgotten ? 
 And there is another thing : I have no money, 
 I am poor." Then another thought seemed 
 to strike her with wonderment. " But if I am 
 indeed your wife, how is it I am here, depend- 
 ing upon her ? " 
 
 She drew back anxious-eyed, looking in 
 his face for reply. 
 
 " Why, Fancy ! — Poverty is comparative ; 
 but my wife would not be poor, even if she 
 had no means but mine. You are not so 
 rich as was once expected, because Mr. 
 Wayland had losses ; but you are not de- 
 pendent upon anybody. Who do you mean 
 by her ? " 
 
 A strong shudder thrilled through her as 
 she answered, sinking her voice to a whisper. 
 " She is like a ghost — she frightens me : she 
 told me all those cruel things. The woman 
 who bought this house after my father died ; 
 who says she keeps me here for charity. Mrs. 
 Bethune." 
 
 ' My darling — " the former alarm return- 
 ing : could there be aberration of mind, as 
 
236 ONE OR TWO 
 
 well as this strange oblivion ? " What can 
 you mean ? You are Mrs. Bethune." 
 
 She shook her head. " There is another, 
 as you will see : I suppose you will have to see 
 her, before you take me away. A cruel 
 woman, with hard eyes. The house belongs 
 to her. She was sending me away on Monday, 
 because she would not be troubled with me 
 any longer. I was to live at Richmond with 
 Ursula : I used to tell you about Ursula, who 
 was my friend at school. We had actually 
 started, we were at the station, when she 
 changed her mind at the last, and sent for us 
 to come back. Charles, if I had gone, 
 would you ever have found me ? You would 
 have come here to look for me, and I should 
 have been away ; and — oh, she is hard, hard ! 
 — she would never have told. She said I had 
 lost you for ever, and I must not think of you 
 again ; she said there was no such person any 
 more, in all the world for me. It broke my 
 heart—" 
 
 " Don't cry, my Fancy. See, here I am. 
 I exist, do I not ? " — smiling at her in the 
 midst of his own perplexity. " But who 
 could have treated you like that, and told 
 you such lies ? Mrs. Bethune ! Who on 
 earth is the woman, and what can be her 
 motive ? " 
 
 " It is strange she should have your name : 
 
IN THE ROSE GARDEN 237 
 
 I did not think of it before. You will find 
 her there, at the house. And Ursula seems 
 in some odd way to depend on her as well ; 
 she rules everybody. I cannot account for 
 her; I cannot even guess. But Dr. Max- 
 worthy knows her. You remember Dr. 
 Maxworthy ? " 
 
 " The old doctor who was your father's 
 crony, and who took our side about the en- 
 gagement. He has been attending you ? " 
 It flashed through Bethune's mind that here 
 was something tangible at last ; a common- 
 sense person who would throw light on 
 Fancy's delusion. " You are his patient ? " 
 
 "I saw him this morning; no, he is not 
 attending me. I told him my story, and he 
 was very kind, but he seemed puzzled. He 
 promised to stand my friend, and help to 
 protect me from her." 
 
 " Do you mean that this woman, this Mrs. 
 Bethune, is at The Mount now ? That if we 
 go on to the house, I shall find her there ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes," — ^with the same shudder. 
 " But you will not go ? " 
 
 " I must, my darling. I must see who 
 this is that makes my wife unhappy in her 
 home, and puts her out of her place. 
 You need not be afraid of her, or of any one 
 now I am with you. Come ! " 
 
 He put his arm round her waist again, and 
 
238 ONE OR TWO 
 
 led her up the steps ; but the fear he depre- 
 cated still remained. She clung to him, and 
 
 he could see she had grown very pale, 
 
 * * * 
 
 The windows of Frances' upper rooms 
 looked upon the garden, the bedroom as well 
 as the boudoir. The fitting on of the new 
 gown had proved a lengthy affair; some 
 small matter of adjustment was not to the 
 wearer's mind, and Truscott was called into 
 requisition with needle and thread, to alter, 
 and alter again. All this made delay ; but at 
 last Mrs. Bethune was arrayed to her mind, 
 and able to withdraw a fixed attention from 
 the mirror, and bestow it on less important 
 affairs. Truscott was dismissed, but for a 
 while she still stepped to and fro before that 
 long swing-glass of hers, a small reflecting 
 mirror in her hand, contemplating the back 
 view of bodice and sweep of skirt. Finally 
 she laid it down, and turned to the window. 
 
 " The room is very close, don't you 
 think so, Ursula ? I will put up the sash 
 before we go down." 
 
 She pushed up the window and leaned 
 out, breathing the cool air. Then she drew 
 back abruptly, changing colour under her 
 rouge. " Look ! " she said, seizing her 
 companion's arm and pulling her forward. 
 " Look there ! " 
 
IN THE ROSE GARDEN 239 
 
 Two figures were ascending the grassy 
 slope to the foot of the steps ; one tall, 
 upright, soldierly, with a cheek browned by 
 foreign suns, and hair just touched with 
 grey: the other a girl in white, the projection 
 of Frances' experiment, the incarnation of 
 her youth. The stranger's arm was round 
 his companion's shoulders, her face was 
 raised, as if in eager confidence. Mrs. 
 Adams' exclamation died unuttered ; small 
 need was there for any question, the 
 situation was too plain. 
 
 It is possible to be jealous without love ; 
 to be angry at an invaded right, though 
 the right has been unprized. Both passions 
 found in Frances an expression so fatal 
 that Ursula was stricken with alarm, and 
 checked her as she turned to the door. 
 
 " Frances ! What are you going to do ? " 
 
 " To ask him how he dares — ! Has he 
 come back to insult me ? " 
 
 " Don't you see it is a mistake ? He has 
 taken her for you. And surely it is not 
 wonderful. She is what you were once." 
 
 "A mistake I will set right. Don't hold 
 me : let me go." Her hands clenched beside 
 her, her teeth clicked together; she looked 
 like a Fury incarnate. 
 
 " For your own sake, be gentle. Have 
 mercy on the girl. And oh, Frances, I 
 
240 ONE OR TWO 
 
 entreat you, be open with your husband. 
 Tell him all." 
 
 The remonstrance was hardly heard. Mrs. 
 Bethune vanished through the door. 
 Ursula heard a rush of feet on the stairs, 
 and turned back to the open window ; but 
 it did not command the point of meeting. 
 And so, with apprehension at her heart, 
 she followed to the garden. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 Two Wives 
 
 This enemy of Fancy's had made herself 
 profoundly feared ; so much at least was 
 plain to Colonel Bethune. He strove to 
 rally and reassure her as they approached 
 the house ; but the sweet tint of her joy 
 paled and whitened, and she spoke only in 
 a whisper. Once she stopped and held him 
 back as if in panic. " She will part us," 
 she said, " I know it : she will send me away 
 where you will never find me any more. 
 Oh, don't go ; don't go ! " 
 
 But wiser counsels prevailed, and they 
 ascended the steps, and gained the upper 
 terrace. And there, as Fate had decreed 
 the three met face to face. 
 
 Colonel Bethune was a bold man, the 
 habit of perilous adventure had steeled his 
 nerve, he had been trained in a school which 
 develops heroes. Had he returned to 
 this safe England to quail before a woman, 
 
 R 
 
242 ONE OR TWO 
 
 He did not want for courage, but his 
 heart stood still within him as he looked. 
 Here was the survival of his sorrow, his pain, 
 his disillusioning, as surely as the girl 
 beside him was the survival of his joy. What 
 could the division mean ? What evil 
 witchcraft had set in his path, older, decked 
 out by fashion, false of face, the very 
 Frances, Mrs. Clarkson's pupil, who in those 
 Indian years had brought misery on herself 
 and him ? She came on swiftly, thrusting 
 herself between them, pushing Fancy aside. 
 " Charles," she said, " Charles ! don't you 
 know me ? I am your wife." 
 
 He looked at her sternly and hardly, 
 for all that sinking of the heart. " No," 
 he said, and lied as he said it, but where 
 was a place for truth ? His love, his Fancy 
 of the rose-garden, came first to his arms, 
 and he could own no other — the frail white 
 girl who shrank back with a heart-sick cry, 
 and seemed to flutter away broken like a 
 shot bird before that anger and that claim. 
 
 " No," he repeated, " no. My wife is 
 here." But he held out an empty hand 
 to the white dream. Fancy was in the grasp 
 of another woman who came hurriedly from 
 the house, and held her arm, urging her 
 away. And when he would have followed, 
 Frances came between them, commanding, 
 
TWO WIVES 243 
 
 restraining him ; mistress of the situation 
 for the one crucial moment, while he stood 
 paralysed. He looked at her again, 
 fascinated by repulsion : she was speaking, 
 words cut through with sobs, shaken with 
 passion. He did not know her, he would 
 not hear her, he would only know the other ; 
 and yet she was horribly like his wife — 
 aged beyond the years of their separation, 
 which after all were few — painted, deterior- 
 ated, the evil in her grown like a rank 
 weed to be weed only, and no flower. 
 
 " I cannot understand you," he said — 
 brutally in his strait. " I don't know you. 
 I must have proof — " 
 
 " She caught up the word with a cry. 
 " Proof — proof ! " she said ; "he asks for 
 proof, when I am his wife ! Have you 
 forgotten already how you married me and 
 took me away? Proof that I was Frances 
 Wayland, and you made me Frances Bethune : 
 is that indeed your demand ? well, I can give 
 it you to the full. I suppose you are con- 
 spiring with that idiot girl, my cousin : fool ! 
 to be taken in by her so soon. Is it to insult 
 me that you have come home ? " 
 
 That idiot girl ! — Fancy had disappeared 
 into the house, and here again was the 
 woman who led her away. A slender 
 woman in a black gown, who dared to 
 
244 ONE OR TWO 
 
 interrupt the torrent of passionate speech 
 which flooded ears and sense. " Frances, 
 I implore you," she began. 
 
 Mrs. Bethune turned frantically on Ursula. 
 " He does not know me," she cried ; " he 
 says he does not know me ! " The sobs 
 choked in her throat, mixed with frenzied 
 laughter rising to a scream ; and then she 
 fell down at Bethune's feet twisted in con- 
 vulsion, and with froth gathering on her lips. 
 
 " What have you done ? " said Ursula, 
 alarm quickening indignation. " She is ill — 
 in danger. If you have any humanity left, 
 help me to carry her in. We must have 
 the doctor instantly, or she will die." 
 
 This was no moment for repudiation : wife 
 or no wife, his aid was claimed for a fellow 
 creature in sore need. Frances seemed 
 quite unconscious, and was livid under her 
 rouge ; she moaned and writhed feebly as he 
 carried her, the light small figure in his arms, 
 into the house, up the broad shallow stairs 
 to her own chamber, Ursula directing, and 
 laid her under the lace canopy of the bed. 
 The bell was rung for Truscott ; there was a 
 hurrying hither and thither in alarm, for 
 remedies, and to summon Dr. Maxworthy. 
 But ere he withdrew, Bethune spoke out to 
 Ursula. Except in name, the two were 
 strangers ; but the slender woman in black 
 
TWO WIVES 245 
 
 appeared to be in authority. "I do not 
 know this person," he repeated. " I do not 
 recognize her claim on me. But this is my 
 wife's house, and therefore mine. I await 
 explanation, and I shall be found below." 
 
 He went down to the dining-room, and 
 sat alone there in a confusion and horror of 
 mind that at first made only solitude en- 
 durable. To deny — to repudiate ; there lay 
 his sole hope : but what if this horrible thing 
 should be proved true ? And where was 
 Fancy ; his white Fancy of the rose-garden ? 
 He had seen her enter the house, but she 
 did not come to him ; where and in what 
 durance was she held ? He got up after 
 a while and crossed the hall, opening one 
 by one the doors of the deserted sitting-rooms : 
 he glanced up the staircase, but did not 
 venture again upon the unknown regions of 
 the bed-room floor. Frances' chamber was 
 open as the servants hurried in and out, and 
 her moans were audible below ; it seemed 
 as if they barred the way like a prohibition, 
 and he could not continue the search. The 
 long minutes went by. A brougham drove 
 up. Dr. Maxworthy arrived, and hurried to 
 the sick room ; not then could Bethune 
 intercept him with his questions. There was 
 nothing for it but to wait. 
 
 Wheels again upon the gravel: a station 
 
246 ONE OR TWO 
 
 fly, and his servant who had followed with 
 the luggage on the other line. Bethune went 
 out to speak to him before there could be 
 any summons at the bell, and sent him away 
 to find quarters at the Saltringham inn. 
 Later on, as he stood looking moodily from 
 the window over the wide landscape which 
 began to brown with twilight, a maid 
 came in to light the lamps and lay the cloth ; 
 meals are accounted necessary to poor 
 humanity, even in the enactment of a tragedy. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir, for being late. 
 Mrs. Adams hopes you will take something, 
 and is sorry it was forgotten earlier." 
 
 Mrs. Adams ! so she was the woman in 
 the black gown, who took command of the 
 situation and directed the servants. He was 
 doubtful how to frame his enquiry without 
 giving the sick woman the title she had 
 claimed. 
 
 " How is — your mistress ? " 
 
 " I beUeve she is better, sir ; but the doctor 
 is not satisfied, and he won't leave her yet. 
 He is coming down for dinner by-and-by, 
 but you are asked not to wait, as he may 
 still be detained." 
 
 The swift ordering of the table went 
 forward ; place was set for two persons, and 
 a covered dish brought in. " Dinner is 
 served, sir." 
 
TWO WIVES 247 
 
 Bethune hesitated ; he felt strongly 
 disinclined to sit down to any meal under 
 that roof while the circumstances were so 
 extraordinary, but his hope lay in waiting 
 for the doctor. And Fancy, if a guest here, 
 might she not be present also ? 
 
 " Are neither of the ladies coming in ? " 
 
 " No, sir. Mrs. Adams is engaged with 
 the mistress, and Miss Wayland never 
 dines at table." 
 
 Miss Wayland ! — so that was what they 
 called her ; she had taken back her maiden 
 name with her maiden nature. Of necessity, 
 doubtless, when the other title was assumed 
 by the usurper. 
 
 " Where is Miss Wayland ? " 
 
 " She has gone up to bed, sir. She 
 commonly goes early. Susan has taken 
 her some bread and milk ; it is all she ever 
 has for supper." 
 
 While this information was imparting, 
 a quick tread came downstairs and Dr. 
 Maxworthy entered. 
 
 " Glad to see you. Colonel Bethune : a 
 long time now since we have met. Mrs. 
 Adams told me I should find you below, 
 and I want to have a talk with you." 
 
 The doctor naturally took the guest's 
 chair at the side, and Bethune felt obliged, 
 for all his hesitations, to do the honours of 
 
248 ONE OR TWO 
 
 that table. When both were helped to the 
 viands, Maxworthy said with his customary 
 abruptness — " We can wait on ourselves I 
 think ; and my time is limited." And 
 then as the servant withdrew, not impossibly 
 curious : — " I want to speak to you about 
 your wife." 
 
 " And I no less. But your communication 
 shall take first rank. What I have to say 
 can wait." 
 
 " First about my patient upstairs, Mrs. 
 Bethune— " 
 
 " Ah — you mark a distinction. You know 
 there is a doubt ! " 
 
 " There has been a doubt in my mind 
 since this morning : I do not suppose there 
 is any in yours. There are two women 
 under this roof, both claiming to be James 
 Wayland's daughter. But only one of 
 them carries it further, and styles herself 
 Mrs. Bethune." 
 
 " And that is the patient upstairs. 
 Well," — pushing away his untasted plate. 
 "What of her?" 
 
 " I feel bound to tell you her health is in 
 a very unsatisfactory condition — due to her 
 own fault or folly, as I believe, though I 
 can give you no particulars. Just now her 
 life hung on a thread ; but she has rallied, 
 and will recover — for the time. But if the 
 
TWO WIVES 249 
 
 attack recurs, it may be even suddenly 
 fatal." 
 
 " You tell me this — and expect me to be 
 interested ? " 
 
 " I tell you because it is my duty when 
 you are called her husband. Is it true the 
 seizure was brought on by agitation, because 
 you failed to recognise her? " — looking very 
 keenly at his interlocutor across the division 
 of the table. 
 
 " Doctor — you said there was another, 
 and under this very roof : I repeat your 
 words. I have but just landed from India, 
 invalided home. I walked over the hills 
 from AUonby. I had asked my wife to 
 meet me in the rose-garden ; there was a 
 reason for it of old remembrance. She was 
 there, — the girl I married, the wife I loved. 
 I never doubted my good fortune." 
 
 " She knew you ? " 
 
 " At once ; there was no uncertainty, no 
 hesitation. But when we came to talk, she 
 told me strange things. Of a blank of 
 memory — of dispossession here, in the house 
 which should be her own. Of a woman 
 who played the tyrant, and who called 
 herself— Mrs. Bethune." 
 
 " Ay, ay ? " 
 
 " We walked up to the house together, 
 and the woman, your patient, came to meet 
 
250 ONE OR TWO 
 
 us. She — assumed injury, inferred a claim 
 on me, — the claim her name would indicate. 
 I asked for proof. She fell into a fury, and 
 then into this fit : I cannot think myself 
 to blame. Now I have not married two 
 wives — " 
 
 " Of course not." 
 
 " What does Fancy mean by a blank of 
 memory ? You are the doctor here, you 
 would attend her if anything went wrong. 
 Has there been illness — a period of insanity — 
 and why have I not known ? And who is 
 this other woman who calls herself Mrs. 
 Bethune ? " 
 
 " God bless my soul, are you in the dark 
 too ? I have looked to you to clear up all 
 the mystery. Surely you must know which 
 of the two is your wife ? " 
 
 " Doctor, I married an angel. I suppose 
 it is in the nature of marriage to dispel 
 illusions, but my angel kept her wings. She 
 had been four years my wife when she was 
 thrown from her horse — out there in India, 
 and a serious illness followed." 
 
 " The wings came off, I suppose. Well, 
 it is a way they have. What sort of 
 illness ? " 
 
 " Concussion of the brain. She lay 
 between life and death for weeks, totally 
 unconscious." 
 
TWO WIVES 251 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " And when she came to herself, she was 
 like another person, not my Frances, but 
 a stranger. We did not get on well ; and 
 at last we agreed to separate for a time, 
 and she came home." 
 
 " Could there have been an actual 
 substitution, in that illness ? " 
 
 "I never thought of it: I don't see 
 how. No. She was the same in body : it 
 was like the animation of a different soul. 
 A very much lower soul." 
 
 " Go on : I understand you." 
 
 " My hope in my home-coming was to 
 find again the wife that alteration lost to 
 me ; and I believe I have found her. The 
 woman who calls herself Mrs. Bethune 
 is horribly like the survival of what came 
 after, but with all the evil intensified." 
 
 " And yet, it is not a queston of which 
 you would choose, but of positive identity." 
 
 " That is the awful part of it. But if 
 Mrs. Bethune is my wife, how do you 
 account for Fancy — for her recognition of 
 me, her love for me, her recollection of 
 the past? The other woman called her 
 * my idiot cousin.' I appeal to your 
 knowledge of them both. Who is she 
 supposed to be ? " 
 
 "I'll tell you what I know of her ; and, 
 
252 ONE OR TWO 
 
 frankly, my opinion inclines to believe her 
 Wayland's daughter and your wife. But 
 there is one very curious difficulty. I 
 wonder it has not occurred to you." 
 
 " What difficulty ? " 
 
 " She looks like a girl of eighteen ; it is 
 hard to believe her a day older. And on 
 the other hand, Mrs. Bethune (as she 
 calls herself) has the air of a patched-up 
 forty, mutton dressed lamb fashion. And 
 your wife should be eight and twenty ; in 
 the very prime of womanhood, but yet no 
 girl. But if she is right in her account 
 of herself — I am talking of Fancy : if there 
 has been any long suspension of con- 
 sciousness, such as she believes — that 
 would account for the youthful look. I 
 am almost sure of it. I have made a study 
 of those suspensions ; and while in them 
 the wheels go round without friction, don't 
 you see ? It is the wear and tear of life 
 that makes us old." 
 
 " You say she gave you an account of 
 herself ? " 
 
 " Since you married her and took her 
 away — if she is the real Frances Wayland 
 — I have seen her only twice ; on Monday 
 for the first time, and again this morning. 
 She came to The Mount a week ago, 
 secretly in the middle of the night : the 
 
TWO WIVES 253 
 
 servants say so, and I conclude they know. 
 On Monday I was called to Mrs, Bethune, 
 who was ill with the sort of seizure she 
 has had to-day, but not such a bad attack. 
 As I came down from her, I met this girl 
 and Mrs. Adams in the hall. Fancy came 
 forward at once, as if to an old friend, 
 but I could not recognize her, and I am 
 afraid I showed it. She was disappointed 
 and shrank back ; and her eyes — they are 
 pretty eyes — filled with tears as if she were 
 going to cry about it. I am rather a soft- 
 hearted old fellow, and I could not get 
 the look of her face or the tone of her voice 
 out of my head. It haunted me, for I 
 was sure I knew it, and yet I could not 
 put a name to her, as the country people 
 say : I never thought — how could I think ? 
 — that she was James Wayland's daughter. 
 This morning I caught sight of her out 
 there on the terrace, and got a chance to 
 speak to her alone. It seems she woke up 
 in her own room the other day, and 
 thought it was ten years ago ; that her 
 engagement to you was just allowed, and 
 her father still alive. Possibly a return 
 to familiar surroundings may have restored 
 her reason after suspension. Such cases 
 are on record. She knows nothing about 
 the interval, but I have hope her memory 
 
254 ONE OR TWO 
 
 may come back and help us. She was in 
 great distress when I saw her, for Mrs. 
 Bethune had enHghtened her, not very 
 gently, and told her some manifest lies " 
 
 " As to the property? Yes: 1 gathered that." 
 
 " And she asked me to help her and 
 stand her friend. I promised, and I mean 
 to keep my word. And the truest service 
 I can render, will be to find the right 
 thread out of all this snarl. Strange 
 things have happened here of late, which 
 raised my curiosity before ever I knew 
 of Fancy. Mrs. Bethune is an unac- 
 countable woman." 
 
 " Unaccountable indeed ! " 
 
 " But now tell me something on your 
 side. Have you been in regular correspond- 
 ence with your wife during your separation ? 
 Or was there any long period during which 
 you knew nothing and heard nothing, and 
 her way of life was unknown to you ? " 
 
 " I had letters at long intervals ; stiff, cold 
 letters, with as little information in them as 
 might be about herself or her surroundings. 
 But, as I told you, we parted in anger, and I 
 suppose I could expect no more. I knew, or 
 I thought I knew, that she was living with 
 her old cousin Mrs. Romer, first in the south 
 of France, and afterwards when this house 
 was vacant for her, here." 
 
TWO WIVES 255 
 
 " Mrs. Romer is going through a ' cure ' at 
 Buxton, but she survives and can be interro- 
 gated. Were the letters all in your wife's 
 writing ? " 
 
 " I believe they were ; it never occurred to 
 me to doubt. I did not preserve them. They 
 were not such as a man cares to receive." 
 
 " Handwriting can be imitated, so that is 
 not conclusive. Well, as you know, this 
 place was let to the Wades, and Mrs. 
 Bethune did not return here till their lease 
 expired. She was out of health, and I was 
 called in, — as I believed to my little friend of 
 former years, the girl who was the light of 
 Wayland's eyes, who set her young heart on 
 marrying you. — " 
 
 " And was she the same ? " 
 
 " I was constrained to believe her Frances 
 Wayland, as she was in Frances Wayland's 
 place, and called herself by your name. But 
 she might well have been a stranger. There 
 was a change in her, a change of which, I was 
 given to understand, you were ignorant. The 
 woman who came back here as Wayland's 
 heiress and your wife, had grown hugely fat, 
 and was altered beyond recognition." 
 
 " She is thin enough now. I carried her 
 into the house, and she seemed to weigh no 
 more than a child." 
 
 "Ay, and on that further metamorphosis 
 
256 ONE OR TWO 
 
 hangs my tale. But at the time I speak of, 
 she was shapeless in person and bloated in 
 face, and yet a young woman to look at, 
 which made the pity of it all the greater. She 
 wanted to consult me about treatment, and 
 cried over her lost figure ; told me her 
 diseased condition — for the putting on of 
 adipose tissue is a disease, and a serious one 
 — had set in eighteen months before, and had 
 made rapid advance. I sent her to a speci- 
 alist in town ; indeed she paid him several 
 visits. There was hope for her — I thought, 
 and he confirmed me — if she would adhere to 
 rule ; diet, exercise, and so on. But for all 
 her lamentation, she had no more firmness 
 than a wet rag. She was thoroughly indolent 
 and thoroughly self-indulgent, and had got it 
 fixed in her empty head that some quack 
 dodge or other might be found, which would 
 put her right by magic." 
 
 " Well — you and the specialist succeeded, 
 to judge by appearances. Or was it the 
 quack dodge ? " 
 
 " It was the quack dodge, more shame to 
 me and my diplomas ! But for the life of me 
 I can't think what it can have been, and she 
 will not tell. Nothing that I gave her could 
 have worked snch a change in anything like 
 the time. Why, it happened in a few hours, 
 in the course of a single night, and she was a 
 
TWO WIVES 257 
 
 changed creature to look at — thin as a lath, 
 as you see her now. And she is close as wax 
 about it, and stands me out it was my own 
 medicines, which is a flat impossibiliy. — " 
 
 Maxworthy was too much ruffled to 
 continue any pretence of dinner ; he got up 
 and took his stand on the rug. The enigma 
 of Frances' proceedings had touched him on 
 a tender point, the professional acumen 
 which was his greatest pride. 
 
 " I am pretty sure Mrs. Adams, that friend 
 of hers who used to be a friend to the real 
 Fancy, is in her confidence, and could lay 
 bare the whole conspiracy if she would, and 
 about your wife into the bargain. There was 
 a great sensation when the news came that 
 you were expected home earlier, as you 
 know, than was expected. Mrs. Adams took 
 a hurried journey to town, and no doubt 
 brought the drug back with her, whatever it 
 was. I'd give half I'm worth to find out, and 
 to experiment with it in a guarded way: it 
 would make any man's fortune. But given as 
 they gave it, suddenly, violently, no wonder 
 there is organic injury. She has just thrown 
 away her life." 
 
 " You think she will not recover ? " 
 
 " She may linger, but she will never have a 
 day's health again. There has been excessive 
 strain upon the heart, and failure is sure to 
 
 S 
 
258 ONE OR TWO 
 
 follow — perhaps in one of these seizures, 
 which are pseudo-epileptic. Think of the 
 result attained : pretty well half the substance 
 of the whole body burnt up by the vital heat, 
 or rendered fluidic and drained away. I tell 
 you she turned the scale at over fifteen stone, 
 and now I doubt if she weighs eight. Talk 
 about latter-day miracles, here is one for you 
 with a vengeance." 
 
 " It seems to me there are two pretenders 
 in the field against my wife ; the fat Mrs. 
 Bethune who has disappeared, and the thin 
 Mrs. Bethune who remains. Surely they 
 cannot be identical ! " 
 
 " I was tempted myself to doubt it, but 
 they are identical. There was a scar on the 
 fore-arm, a very singular scar, and that 
 remains. I took an opportunity to look for it. 
 And, more indicative than all, the personality 
 is the same. The alteration you were sensible 
 of in India did not occur." 
 
 " You think we could get at the root of the 
 mystery, the double mystery, if we put the 
 screw on Mrs. Adams ? " 
 
 " I think it is our best chance. I can 
 frighten her with Mrs. Bethune's danger, — 
 hint that she will be held responsible in case 
 of death, for having administered the drug. 
 And when thoroughly alarmed on that count, 
 we can charge her also with the plot against 
 
TWO WIVES 259 
 
 your wife. For I believe she introduced 
 Fancy into the house, as she was instrumental 
 afterwards in taking her away. The motive 
 for it is inexplicable, so far as I can guess : 
 and so is Mrs. Bethune's in sending for them 
 back when once set off upon their journey. 
 Why should she risk discovery by having 
 Fancy here at all, when she knew you were 
 expected home ? " 
 
 " Then, Doctor, what must be our action ? 
 I am willing to be guided by your counsel." 
 
 " We cannot do anything to-night, I take 
 it. Mrs. Bethune's state forbids it, and the 
 other woman cannot leave her. Any fresh 
 agitation may be fatal, and we must not for- 
 get humanity. To-morrow I propose to 
 question them, — apart, not together. And I 
 look for your help in this." 
 
 " You may be quite sure I will give it." 
 
 " They must satisfy us, satisfy you, the 
 husband, who the girl is that they call Fancy 
 Wayland. We must be put in possession of 
 her previous history, and referred to credible 
 witnesses ; and if they assert her to be of 
 weak intellect, they must say who has so 
 pronounced, and who has been in charge of 
 her hitherto. All such particulars must be 
 closely sifted. She cannot have dropped 
 from the skies ; there must be continuous 
 history of some kind, in her case as well 9.3 
 
26o ONE OR TWO 
 
 in Mrs. Bethune's. That is the chief 
 point of attack ; though with Mrs. Adams I 
 shall work in the other charge about the 
 drug." 
 
 " And now for my own course, pending 
 this. — I am going to the hotel." 
 
 " I think you are wise. Though you are 
 expected to remain here, and a guest-chamber 
 has been made ready." 
 
 Colonel Bethune got up to stand beside 
 him on the rug. 
 
 " Look here, Dcotor. Will you stay and 
 occupy it ? Cannot you make a professional 
 pretext out of the patient's state ? The fact 
 is, I hate to leave my wife without a pro- 
 tector, under the same roof as these women 
 who are her enemies ; and yet I cannot 
 remove her without scandal. I must avoid 
 that, for her sake, till all is proved and 
 known. She bears her maiden name, she 
 does not remember her marriage, and I am 
 here supposed to be the husband of that 
 woman upstairs. If Mrs. Bethune, as she 
 calls herself, would only die, it would simplify 
 matters enormously. I would marry Fancy 
 over again — " 
 
 " Stop, stop ; you are running on too 
 fast." 
 
 " If I stay here to-night, and without open 
 protest, I may appear to admit that woman's 
 
TWO WIVES 261 
 
 claim on me. I will not do it. Doctor, will 
 you stay instead ? " 
 
 " Since you wish it, I will stay ; but the 
 girl is safe enough. They dare not hurt her, 
 they cannot spirit her away. Come back 
 early in the morning, when I must leave to 
 go on my round ; and for the rest you may 
 make your mind easy. I remain in charge." 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 The Lost Ring 
 
 No full measure of night's oblivion visited 
 Colonel Bethune at the Saltringham hotel. 
 and there were sleepless pillows also at The 
 Mount. Ursula kept watch in Frances' 
 room, sitting up in a deep chair wheeled be- 
 side the bed ; medicines had to be dropped 
 and given in the small hours, and some 
 spoonsful of light nourishment, for the patient 
 was very weak. Early in the night she lay in 
 an exhausted doze ; but, later on, Ursula 
 noticed that her eyes were always open, and 
 her face had lost the repose of sleep. When 
 the first light began to look into the room, 
 she raised herself on her elbow, speaking in a 
 whisper. 
 
 " I want you to do something for me. No 
 — I don't need to take anything, and I could 
 speak louder if I chose, but I do not wish to 
 be overheard. I intend to remain the invalid 
 for a day or two, and keep my room : it seems 
 
THE LOST RING 263 
 
 to be expected, and will be useful, for I can 
 keep that man and his questions at arm's 
 length — better so. Ursula, I am in a dread- 
 ful strait." 
 
 It was Mrs. Adams's conviction also, and 
 had been the subject of her cogitations 
 through the wakeful night. The strait was a 
 strait indeed. 
 
 " I see only one way out of it, indeed, 
 Frances ; and that is perfect frankness. Tell 
 your husband the truth ; then at least your 
 conscience will be clear. Begin at the be- 
 ginning; tell him your motive, and how the 
 suggestion came, as well as the consequence 
 of what we did — unforeseen by either of us 
 in its development and confusion. Leave 
 him to act for the best — " 
 
 " It would kill me to tell him : it would kill 
 me for any one to know that — that Creature 
 — is flesh of my flesh, separated from my 
 substance, as I suppose she must have been. 
 And who could believe such a story ? Would 
 you, if told of another ? " 
 
 " Let me tell him, if confession is more 
 than you can bear. Nothing can be gained 
 by deceit. I believe the truth will carry con- 
 viction, as it should. What else can explain 
 the position in which we are placed ? Give 
 me leave to tell." 
 
 " No — no : remember your oath. It ma\ 
 
264 ONE OR TWO 
 
 come to that ; but I have one more expedient 
 — to try first." Her eyes shifted from 
 Ursula's, and she turned her face to the 
 pillow and was silent, plucking at the coverlet 
 with restless fingers. 
 
 " What expedient ? " 
 
 The question seemed to rouse her, and 
 renew a purpose drifting away. 
 
 " I will not confess, till we have asked 
 Salvador whether there is any hope or help. 
 Ask him if this thing can be undone, even if it 
 should leave me as before. Or if that link of 
 vitality can be broken, so that I may send the 
 Creature away, and keep her far from me 
 where she will trouble us no more. That is 
 what I want to know." 
 
 " Am I to write and ask ? " 
 
 " No, you must not write. I want you to 
 go, now, immediately : is it not nearly time 
 for that first train from Saltringham to the 
 Junction ? — Go softly across to your own 
 room, and get what you need ; and let your- 
 self out at the side door. Nobody must 
 know, lest you should be hindered, kept 
 and questioned. The doctor and Charles 
 are here, both bursting with curiosity I doubt 
 not. We cannot tell what may happen, 
 once it is day." 
 
 " I am to go to London ? " 
 
 " Did I not say so ? " — her restless im- 
 
THE LOST RING 265 
 
 patience growing with the manifest reluc- 
 tance of the other. " Go straight to Miss 
 Sedgeley. I suppose you must tell her, 
 under seal of secrecy ; but I am never likely 
 to have anything to do with her again, so I 
 do not care. She is an old woman ; she will 
 soon die. — Get her to have in the medium, 
 so that you may speak to Salvador. He 
 has got us into this scrape with his horrible 
 counsel : he is bound to get us out of it 
 again, and there must be a possible way. If 
 his evil magic could bring such a thing about, 
 surely it can also undo — " 
 
 " He said not, if you remember. He said 
 it would be irrevocable." 
 
 " Never mind what he said before : ask him 
 — beg of him : tell him the trouble I am in. 
 You will know how to put it — only go, go ! " 
 
 " I will go on one condition. Frances, you 
 must promise me, if Salvador cannot help 
 us, that you will tell your husband. Promise 
 me you will tell him to-morrow, or let me 
 tell him, as soon as I get back. Then I will 
 do your errand, though it will be of no use. 
 I am sure of that before I set out." 
 
 " I will see about it. — Well, well, if you 
 must have it, I promise. Provided Salvador 
 can suggest nothing ; provided the situation 
 is unchanged. — You will only just have time. 
 Look at the clock." 
 
266 ONE OR TWO 
 
 " I am going immediately. Will you 
 ring, or shall I call Truscott to come to 
 you ? " 
 
 " You are not to call anybody," spoken 
 with peremptory emphasis. " The house 
 is not to be disturbed ; no one must suspect 
 you are leaving till you are safely away. If 
 I want Truscott I will ring for her ; see, the 
 bell is close to my hand. And now, — go." 
 
 Mrs. Adams obeyed, and for a while 
 Frances - lay motionless, listening with 
 guarded breath till she heard the light foot- 
 step pass her door again, and in descending 
 creak upon a faulty stair. Then the side 
 door opened and softly closed : her messenger 
 had set out. 
 
 When time enough had elapsed to make 
 Ursula's departure certain, the patient sat 
 up, still listening. Then, with stealthy 
 movement on her own part, she slipped out 
 of bed, and crossed the room bare-footed to 
 a cupboard set high up in the corner of the 
 wall. When opened, it disclosed an array 
 of pots and phials, cosmetics for the most 
 part, or such drugs as are innocuous. But 
 quite at the back was a bottle of different 
 appearance, carefully closed with glass 
 stopper, as if the contents were volatile. 
 Frances took this from its place of conceal- 
 ment, and looked about for her wrapper. 
 
THE LOST RING 267 
 
 Hurriedly arraying herself, and choosing a 
 large handkerchief from a drawer, she turned 
 at last to the door. 
 
 The strength of her purpose had kept 
 her real weakness in subjection, but a 
 genuine disablement remained from the con- 
 vulsion of the evening before, and was about 
 to assert itself. The light faded out of 
 her eyes, and instead of finding the handle, 
 she fell forward blindly against the door, and 
 there leaned, panting and helpless, afraid to 
 move further lest consciousness should 
 wholly desert her. It seemed an age before 
 the feeble heart regained its power ; then, 
 dazed and trembling and drawing difficult 
 breath, she crawled back to her bed, first 
 bestowing the bottle in a fresh hiding-place 
 easier of access. 
 
 It was a white pinched face laid now upon 
 the pillow, with that warning shadow of 
 blueness plain to see about the mouth ; a 
 face which looked as if this world and its 
 concerns would soon be unimportant, unless 
 indeed some device of Salvador's could re- 
 store to the fount of life all the vital 
 essence which had been drained away to fill 
 full the cup of another existence. Yet the 
 woman's heart was hot within her, raging 
 with baffled passion over her impotence and 
 failure. She had never hated the Projection, 
 
268 ONE OR TWO 
 
 the duplicate Fancy who was young and 
 fair, as she hated her now; when memory 
 showed her at Charles Bethune's side, and 
 with his arm about her waist. " If I could 
 but pull myself together, for one little half 
 hour," she was saying in wordless self- 
 commune, clenching her nails into the palm. 
 " It might have been over by now, all over, 
 and her power to harm me at an end. 
 Another day is an added danger ; still 
 I have one chance left. Ursula cannot 
 return till to-morrow, and there are all these 
 hours to grow strong in. I have to-night : 
 I have to-night ! " 
 
 Colonel Bethune was punctual to his 
 appointment, and released the doctor, coming 
 early to The Mount. Maxworthy shook his 
 head when asked about his patient. " Not 
 at all satisfactory," he said. " There appears 
 to be great weakness, though the pulse is 
 certainly steadier. Just now she seemed 
 hardly able to rouse herself to attend to me. 
 I am afraid our questions must wait. But 
 one is answered already, to my mind, if not 
 to yours. There is no doubt Mrs. Adams 
 is guilty. She has taken herself oflf." 
 
 " Not really gone ? " 
 
 " Clean gone. She let herself out of the 
 house before the servants were astir, and 
 
THE LOST RING 269 
 
 she must have got away by the early train 
 from Saltringham. She thinks the game is 
 up, and the reckoning about to follow. Mrs. 
 Bethune says she expects her back to- 
 morrow, but we shall see." 
 
 " And with her goes our best chance of 
 finding out the truth ! " 
 
 " Some part of it perhaps, but I do not 
 lose hope. Mrs. Bethune may come to con- 
 fession now her accomplice has deserted her. 
 I'll be back again later on, and then I will 
 have a word with her. Now I must be off 
 upon my round." 
 
 So Bethune was left at The Mount, on 
 guard as he considered. The servant looked 
 curiously at him when he asked for Miss 
 Wayland, and did not seem disposed to 
 further the meeting ; she professed to be 
 unaware of Fancy's whereabouts, as she did 
 not happen to be in the study. Was the 
 woman acting under direction, or was it the 
 natural thought that he was remiss in 
 neglecting his supposed wife, upstairs in her 
 sick room ? The situation, complicated by 
 the sudden illness of the impostor, proved 
 appallingly difficult ; but with regard to Fancy 
 he had already determined what to do 
 Mary should give her an asylum in that 
 Anglican convent of hers, till the right had 
 been established and made clear. The 
 
270 ONE OR TWO 
 
 convent was accustomed to take in paying 
 guests for temporary retreat : and there 
 under his sister's care Fancy might be 
 sheltered and happy ; safe from her enemies ; 
 pledged to a future husband, as in those 
 days to which her memory reverted, oblivious 
 of all the pain and sorrow that had come 
 between. 
 
 He had already sent an urgent telegraphic 
 summons to Sister Mary Cordelia, which he 
 knew she would not disobey : he would meet 
 her at Braxton by the last train and tell his 
 story ; and on the morrow she and Fancy 
 should depart together for London. And 
 now it was necessary Fancy should be in- 
 formed, and should consent to go. Pending 
 the servant's search for her, he wandered 
 into the drawing-room, where Frances' 
 lilies bloomed in their stands, and the air 
 was oppressive, heavy with perfume, though 
 the windows stood open to the sun. 
 
 Something in the air of the room stirred 
 a chord of association, and smote him again 
 with horrible misgiving, as on the previous 
 day in the garden, when he met Frances 
 face to face. What if this woman should be 
 proved his wife, the link between them one 
 he could not break : what if the girl who met 
 him among the roses and gave him kiss for 
 kiss, had touched his life only for the moment, 
 
THE LOST RING 271 
 
 and was fated to fade away from him like a 
 dream unrealised ? In that brief yesterday- 
 he held in his arms his utmost hope, attained 
 and perfected : could it be doomed to evade 
 him evermore? The married Frances of 
 India had loved these cloying scents, the 
 breath of them brought to mind the bungalow 
 where she had reigned : here, littered about 
 the many tables, were toys and trinkets of 
 hers which he remembered ; he knew the 
 embroideries draped upon the wall, the rug 
 he was treading underfoot ; her personality 
 informed the whole. These things might 
 well have been filched from his wife by the 
 imposter who had stolen place and name ; 
 but the sight of them now was like a stab, — 
 the danger and the doubt seemed nearer 
 and more real, while the hope became remote. 
 He turned back from the threshold with a 
 shudder. In some other place he and his 
 love might meet, he might take Fancy in his 
 arms and kiss her with the kisses that belonged 
 to former years ; but here it was impossible 
 for him to deceive himself, and believe her 
 as he desired, his very wife. 
 
 Fancy had risen early, and wandered into 
 the garden. All night long she lived again 
 through the meeting of the afternoon, the 
 echo of her lover's words lingered in her ear, 
 
272 ONE OR TWO 
 
 and she turned her face and blushed to the 
 pillow at the sweetness of his recollected kiss. 
 The sun of her life had risen, and the clouds 
 and darkness which gathered thick about her 
 would soon be dissipated by its beams. She 
 understood in a vague way that Frances was 
 still in opposition, but hope brightened with 
 the morning : now that Charles had found 
 her, the crooked would be made straight, and 
 all the confusion plain. The rose-garden 
 was a first attraction ; but after a while she 
 tired of its solitude, and wandered on by 
 devious paths of Mr. Wayland's planning 
 and planting, till she came beneath the spread- 
 ing cedars where Frances commonly sat. 
 
 On this one morning she felt free to 
 wander ; Mrs. Bethune was ill and keeping 
 her room, so Susan informed her; and as 
 Ursula had gone away — without any farewell 
 to her, at which she wondered — there was no 
 companionship to seek. The couch and 
 the carpet were not set out to-day for the 
 mistress, but a rustic seat girt the cedar 
 round about, and from under a screen of 
 thick-shelving branches could be seen the 
 far prospect of the sea. The seat, the spot, 
 were endeared by associations of her youth, 
 her childhood even, which seemed near at 
 hand as only yesterday. Had she truly 
 grown old as they said, and had so much 
 
THE LOST RING 273 
 
 happened to her in those blank years, only 
 to be wiped out as a sponge is passed over a 
 slate ? Sometimes she fancied she could 
 almost remember other and later events — 
 dimly, like an escaped dream, as if it wanted 
 but a touch to make it plain. And her lover 
 spoke even of marriage : was it possible she 
 could have been marriedy and not know ? 
 
 Thinking thus, and intent upon her thought, 
 she pushed the pebbles to and fro under a 
 restless foot, her eyes bent on the ground. 
 One rounder than its fellows escaped the 
 pressure, and jerked away into the tufted 
 grass. With mechanical attention her glance 
 followed it ; she saw the gleam of gold, and 
 stopped to look more nearly. 
 
 The little ring Frances despised as fit only 
 for a cottage-woman's finger, lay on Fancy's 
 palm to be regarded and wondered over. 
 Was this the needed touch ? Her memory, 
 blind and imperfect, began to stir. A ring ! 
 and might it not be hers, which Charles said 
 he had given, and she had lost, though she 
 knew it not ? Her lips parted with quick 
 breath, the colour dyed her cheek and again 
 left it pale, fluttering with the flutter of her 
 heart. And at this moment steps came up 
 behind her, over the gravel and the grass. 
 
 " Look," she said, turning to him. " Look 
 what I have found ! " 
 
 T 
 
274 ONE OR TWO 
 
 He took the hand in his, with the marriage- 
 ring on the palm, held out for him to see. 
 How fair she was, and, as Maxworthy said, 
 how young ! Hers was that early charm of 
 womanhood, which in the first bloom of its 
 unfolding preserves much of the child. She 
 was just as he remembered at the time of 
 their betrothal ; and who would credit her 
 with the intervening years of wifehood, which 
 to her memory were a blank ? Again his 
 heart sank as he thought of that other, 
 unaccountably in possession, who might 
 stand between him and his desire. He was 
 more intent on her than on what she was 
 displaying. 
 
 " A ring, Fancy ? Is it yours ? " 
 
 " Do you think it can be mine ? You said 
 — yesterday — that, although I had forgotten, 
 you once put on my finger — a ring like this." 
 
 The significance of the little circle and its 
 recovery flashed upon him. " Where did 
 you find it ? " he asked. 
 
 " There, in the grass under the tree. I 
 think it would fit me, but — can it be mine ? " 
 
 He took it up, and looked within. It was 
 worn with use, but the engraving was still 
 legible which marked it with the date of 
 marriage, and with the two names, his and 
 hers ; an inscription cut within it by his 
 order all those years ago. There could be no 
 
THE LOST RING 275 
 
 doubt; however lost, and now so strangely 
 restored. " Read this," he said, " and then 
 you will be sure." 
 
 " * Charles — Frances.' And a date." She 
 looked at him with again that fluttering 
 colour, and eyes that just met his and swiftly 
 fell. " It is my name, and yours," she 
 answered timidly. 
 
 "It is the proof of what I told you. Let 
 me put it on your finger as I did before. 
 See, I take off this other, only for a moment, 
 that it may pass on first, as it should. 
 Fancy, look at it. Does it not seem familiar? 
 Oh, my love, now it is on your hand again, 
 have you no memory now ? " 
 
 She trembled at the entreaty in his voice ; 
 she dared not look him in the face. A wave 
 of agitation heaved her breast and made 
 speech difficult, but the instinct of obedience 
 spurred her to the effort. She would at 
 least tell him what she could. 
 
 " Nothing that is clear. But when I look 
 at it, here on my finger, something rises that 
 is like a dream of shadows. Was there an 
 empty church, very early in the morning ? 
 And had I a black dress on, not like a bride 
 at all ? And did something fall down at the 
 back and make a noise, just when the 
 clergyman said 'whom God hath joined 
 together ' ? " 
 
276 ONE OR TWO 
 
 " My darling, yes. Thank God, you do 
 remember, you are mine. We were married 
 hastily, after your father died, that I might 
 take you away. And you did wear the black 
 gown, and I remember the noise. Some 
 bench fell over. If I could but take you 
 away with me now, as I did then — ! " 
 
 The temptation was strong upon him. 
 Why should he wait for his sister's coming, 
 for the long delay of legal process to expose 
 the conspiracy ; when the false pretension 
 might by some quibble triumph, and result in 
 life-long division? The evil of a nine days' 
 scandal, a passing breath on her fair name, 
 what was it weighed against the greater evil 
 and danger that they might in the end lose 
 each other and be held apart ? It was hard 
 to hold to right and prudence ; but was it not 
 his plain duty to think for her, to be wise for 
 her ? The self indulgence of such hasty 
 action might jeopardise her place in the 
 world, and play the enemy's game. 
 
 " If I could but take you away, as I did on 
 our marriage morning ! " He almost groaned 
 as he kissed the fair face laid upon his 
 breast. '■ My dearest, when we met yesterday 
 I thought no other ; and now I am compelled 
 to wait, even to send you from me. The 
 woman there who is ill ; I cannot explain, 
 but things have been very wrong here in my 
 
THE LOST RING 277 
 
 absence. You have been supplanted and 
 ill-used, and I am bound to see you righted. 
 Your knight must fight your battles before he 
 claims his guerdon. Do you understand ? " 
 " You are sending me away — alone ? " 
 " I cannot let you remain at The Mount 
 with this woman calling herself mistress, 
 and I cannot' pull her out of her sick-bed. 
 I want to place you in safety : while you 
 stay I dare not attack. I have sent for 
 Mary. You remember Mary? " 
 
 " I know who you mean. Your sister." 
 " She lives in a sort of nunnery and 
 works among the poor ; she has the kindest 
 heart in the world. She will love you and 
 take care of you till all the trouble is 
 over, and all the wrong put right. I have 
 sent her a message to come to me, and I 
 want you to go back with her to-morrow. 
 Will you do this for my sake. Fancy my 
 wife ? " 
 
 " I will do all you wish. But will it be 
 for long ? What if I forget again ! You 
 will come to me ? " 
 
 " Certainly I will come. And the love 
 of you and the thought of you will be in my 
 heart every moment of every hour. They 
 will be longer hours to me than to you ; 
 of that be sure. Now, listen : Mary will 
 bring a carriage for you, here to the house, 
 
278 ONE OR TWO 
 
 early to-morrow. There is to be nothing 
 secret, nothing clandestine, about your going 
 away; but I do not want you to say a 
 word beforehand about a possible departure. 
 Have ready all you care to bring away. 
 Then at the last, if there is opposition, 
 I shall proclaim who you are, and maintain 
 your right to take your freedom, and go 
 at my sister's invitation, as her guest. But 
 I do not think the woman will dare." 
 
 The girl shuddered in his arms, as she had 
 shuddered the day before. " I hope I shall 
 not see her. I am afraid of her : she is 
 terrible. Who is she, Charles, and what 
 has been the wrong ? Why does my father's 
 house belong to her ? Do you know ? " 
 
 And he, man as he was, was fain to 
 shudder also, thinking of what reply he 
 might be forced to give. The doubt and 
 danger rose up dark before him, the riddle 
 of the confused identity, the fear which smote 
 him when he thought of Frances. 
 
 He answered " No." And then, because 
 of the necessity there is for doublet and hose 
 to show itself courageous, he added more 
 cheerfully — " Not yet. But I mean to know, 
 and so does Maxworthy ; and between us 
 we shall make it plain." 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 A Late Confession 
 
 Very little could be elicited from Mrs. 
 Bethune, and that little was not encouraging. 
 She kept her bed the whole day, and lay 
 there in a condition of complete prostration, 
 hardly able to speak above a whisper. 
 Maxworthy was sharp enough to suspect 
 some clever feigning ; but the mischief the 
 stethescope revealed was too acutely serious, 
 for him to embark at once upon the course 
 he meditated. It was quite possible she 
 desired to gain time, though he knew not 
 to what end, unless to facilitate Mrs. Adams's 
 escape. — For the rest, she seemed in no 
 way agitated by his questions : doubtless 
 she expected them. The young visitor 
 was a cousin of her own ; a girl of weak 
 intellect. Colonel Bethune could have all 
 particulars as soon as she was well enough 
 
28o ONE OR TWO 
 
 to give them : she had nothing, she said, 
 to conceal. The cousin's name was 
 Wayland ; and the delusion which led this 
 younger Frances to personate herself had 
 been annoying, but she had never supposed 
 it of consequence, or that anybody could be 
 deceived ; the girl was hardly more than 
 a child. 
 
 It was plain the struggle must be deferred 
 until the morrow : to get Fancy away into 
 safe keeping, and without exposure or 
 scandal, was the object first to be attained. 
 And so the day wore to an end. Bethune 
 met his sister by the late train at Braxton, 
 and took her to the Saltrington hotel, where 
 the two sat up late in their comfortless 
 private sitting-room, discussing the situation, 
 which to the gentle nun seemed an amazing 
 one indeed. Maxworthy agreed to remain 
 through this second night at The Mount, 
 with a view to Fancy's protection rather 
 than his patient's danger ; and on paying 
 a late visit to the sick-room, Mrs. Bethune 
 declared herself better, and seemed 
 unreasonably irritated by his fiat that a 
 night watch should be kept. It was quite 
 unnecessary she said, even with asperity : 
 she did not want Truscott ; she could never 
 rest when any one was near her in the room. 
 She should sleep much better if left alone, 
 
A LATE CONFESSION 281 
 
 and she could ring if she wanted anything. 
 But the doctor was absolute ; Truscott 
 was not much of a nurse perhaps, but she 
 was better than nobody; for this one night 
 at least, Truscott must sit up. He would 
 get somebody more efficient, if Mrs. Bethune 
 preferred it, on the morrow. 
 
 Perhaps Frances saw the wisdom of 
 submission, for she said no more ; and this 
 second night began after the pattern of the 
 former one, but with the maid in Ursula's 
 place in the great chair. The window was 
 set open behind the curtains, the night-lamp 
 flickered and threw strange shadows on 
 the wall ; and the mistress of The Mount 
 lay watching them with wide open eyes, 
 sleeping not at all. Truscott was attentive 
 and vigilant ; the medicines, the ordered 
 nourishment, were all at hand ; but about 
 two o'clock the patient expressed a wish 
 for something else. 
 
 " I would like a cup of tea, Truscott. I 
 am so thirsty ; and I think if I had it I could 
 sleep. The doctor said I might have tea, 
 provided I did not take it strong. Make a 
 little pot and bring it up ; and a cup for 
 yourself as well, as you are watching. I 
 hate to take anything alone." 
 
 An unusual sentiment for Mrs. Bethune, 
 and an unusual piece of consideration. The 
 
282 ONE OR TWO 
 
 maid obeyed her and brought up the tray, 
 and the two cups were poured out on the 
 small bedside table. When both were ready, 
 the mistress bethought her of a Shetland 
 shawl which lay in the wardrobe; she felt 
 chilly, she said, when she sat up in bed. 
 And as Truscott crossed the room in search 
 of it, and had her back turned opening 
 drawers, Mrs. Bethune leant over and 
 dropped something from her hand into the 
 further tea-cup, — not her own. 
 
 It did not hinder Truscott's consumption 
 of the beverage. But when stationed again 
 in the watcher's chair, the light doze she 
 thought she might permit herself now the 
 mistress had settled down, deepened into 
 downright slumber audibly enjoyed. When 
 the first nasal sounds became apparent, 
 Frances drew down the covering with which 
 her own face had been screened, and watched 
 her companion with a curious smile — the 
 self-surrender of the attitude, the dropped- 
 back head, the open nostrils and mouth. 
 Then with careful movement on her own 
 part, she slipped out of bed on the side 
 furthest from the chair, sought that hidden 
 bottle ; and, without daring to seek for slippers 
 or wrapping-gown, in her night-dress and 
 barefoot, crept softly from the room. 
 
 A few steps along the gallery brought her 
 
A LATE CONFESSION 283 
 
 to the white bower, where lay the other self 
 who had become her rival and her enemy. 
 Not till she touched the door, did it occur 
 to her that her victim might have fastened 
 herself in ; but the misgiving was hardly 
 felt ere it opened under her hand: wholly 
 unsuspicious of evil, the girl had not sought 
 even the slight protection of the bolt. The 
 window was open, the room was in deep 
 twilight, the darkness of a summer night 
 which is not absolute. The bed-foot was 
 screened by the tent curtain : and behind 
 it Frances waited and listened, till reassured 
 by the soft even breath, just heard from 
 within. 
 
 That very room had sheltered Frances 
 Wayland's childhood and innocence, but no 
 such recollection had power over Mrs. 
 Bethune. The past was dead for her since 
 the purer soul withdrew, leaving only the 
 evil. A terrible embarrassment had closed 
 about her, and under its pressure she knew 
 no relenting ; the girl must die. This 
 unnatural existence could not be counted 
 as humanity, nor its extinction be the same 
 as murder ; it belonged neither to earth nor 
 heaven, and she the begetter had a right 
 to crush it into nothingness if she could find 
 the power. That the stroke which divided 
 the borrowed life, might by the same act 
 
284 ONE OR TWO 
 
 sever her own, she did not think at all. 
 It would, she imagined, be possible to 
 simulate a death from apoplexy, or some 
 such natural cause ; and how could she be 
 suspeeted, if known to be helpless in her 
 bed ? She loosened the stopper in her 
 bottle, and crept round beside the sleeper, 
 crouching low; she could dimly see the fair 
 head on the pillow, dark in contrast to the 
 faintly shimmering whiteness above it and 
 around. 
 
 No ill-timed headache detained Ursula in 
 London on this second visit, and the return 
 train deposited her at Braxton at two in the 
 afternoon. The branch communication 
 with Saltringham would entail a delay of 
 half an hour ; so, pledged as she was to 
 haste, she secured an open fly to drive out 
 to The Mount. The air and the quiet would 
 be welcome after the heat and harass of her 
 journey ; a fruitless journey, for no expedient 
 had been suggested for relief. Her old 
 friend received her with every kindness, but 
 wonder and concern over the story she came 
 to tell ; the sempstress-medium was bidden 
 for the evening as before, and the scene of 
 three weeks earlier repeated itself in all its 
 leading details. Again the floating torso, 
 wrapped in drapery and dimly lighted. 
 
A LATE CONFESSION 285 
 
 formed over the table in that oppressive 
 darkness ; again the swarthy face, Jewish 
 in character, resembUng the medium as a 
 brother may resemble a sister, turned full 
 before her, and opened a pair of bright 
 penetrating eyes which seemed to search 
 into her soul. This time she found courage 
 to address it, and speak out her reproach. 
 " We did as you directed," she said, " and 
 terrible harm has followed. There are two 
 bodies and two souls instead of one. Which 
 is the true Frances ? What is the link 
 between them ? Can it be undone ? Can 
 the link be broken ? " 
 
 The open eyes regarded her with the steady 
 intelligence of one who hears and under- 
 stands ; and then the face floated away, the 
 light paled and vanished, and the medium 
 was entranced as before. 
 
 "You were warned," the voice spoke 
 solemnly in answer. " You were told of a 
 possibility, but you were warned. The 
 urgency and the prompting were not mine." 
 
 " What was the use of so vague a 
 warning ? " continued Ursula. " Why did 
 you not tell me plainly it meant division into 
 a double life, and that misery and confusion 
 would follow? We thought only of dissipated 
 bulk." 
 
 The solemn voice went on. " I could not 
 
286 ONE OR TWO 
 
 tell you what I did not foreknow. It might 
 have been dissipation and no more, had the 
 woman been one only. And what is, is well. 
 The true soul has gone forth in the fresh 
 embodiment; and the lower animation will 
 not endure, it has had its day and its desire. 
 Be content : there can be no undoing." 
 
 A pause followed, and Ursula repeated — 
 " What is the link ? Can the link be 
 broken ? " though she scarcely expected 
 further speech. 
 
 " There is but one life betwixt the two. 
 That is the link. It will continue only for a 
 time. And when it breaks, the true soul will 
 go free." 
 
 " Is that all ? Can nothing be done ? 
 Have you no message ? " 
 
 " If I sent a message, it would be of no 
 avail ; you will return too late. Shall I tell 
 you what I see reflected as in a mirror ; an 
 action present or to come, I know not which, 
 for the time-limit is not shown. I see the 
 Two which were One, and can be One no 
 more. And the hand of the lower is lifted 
 against the higher, but not to prevail. And 
 the Link breaks, - so that the higher can go 
 free. It is shadowed as present or to come, 
 but when you return it will be past." 
 
 A dark saying, hard to understand : Ursula 
 pondered over it as she drove. One thing 
 
A LATE CONFESSION 287 
 
 was certain ; the help Frances craved could 
 not be given, and the confession to the 
 husband must be made, whether credited or 
 no. Had the true soul indeed gone forth, 
 while yet personality remained ? It was 
 beyond comprehension, she told herself; she 
 dared not take it in. And if the Oracle spoke 
 truly, which was the wife ? The hired 
 conveyance reached the brow of the hill, the 
 driver quickened his pace, and so passed 
 rapidly a similar equipage, on its way to the 
 station. Ursula in her abstraction hardly 
 noticed the occupants : the lady next her wore 
 a conventual dress, and, bending forward in 
 hood and veil, screened the figure beyond, a 
 girl lying back in the carriage as if faint or 
 ill : the man sitting opposite she did not 
 observe at all. Had she seen the second 
 face there would have been instant recogni- 
 tion, as also of Colonel Bethune : Sister Mary 
 Cordelia was unknown to her. Bethune on 
 his part did not notice the open fly, nor the 
 anxious-eyed woman it conveyed, her black 
 dress dusty with travel. Both he and Mary 
 were intent upon their charge, setting out on 
 her journey this time unopposed ; and the 
 three had started for London by the time 
 Ursula reached The Mount. The gate was 
 open, the hall door stood wide, an air of 
 something unusual hung about the house ; at 
 
288 ONE OR TWO 
 
 least to her excited imagination. Salvador's 
 words were again in her ear, — " You will 
 return too late." 
 
 She paid and dismissed the driver ; and as 
 she entered, Susan came into the hall, looking 
 startled and distressed. 
 
 " Oh, ma'am, they thought you were not 
 coming back. Such dreadful things have 
 happened. My mistress is dying." 
 
 " What has been the matter ? Is it 
 another attack ? Is the doctor here ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, I think it is the same sort of 
 attack. But it came on in the night, and in 
 Miss Wayland's room. And Truscott says 
 the mistress tried to do something dreadful 
 to the young lady, and might have killed her. 
 Miss Wayland was ill too, but she is better, 
 and they have taken her away." 
 
 " Away ? Where ? " 
 
 " I don't know, ma'am, but she has only 
 just gone. She went with a lady like a nun, 
 who is the Colonel's sister ; and the Colonel 
 went too — in an open fly. He was dreadfully 
 upset, but he did not go near the mistress." 
 
 " Is the doctor with Mrs. Bethune ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am. Dr. Maxworthy is with her, 
 but he says there is nothing he can do. She 
 is quite unconscious, and is sinking fast." 
 
 Ursula stayed only to throw off her outdoor 
 things, and went straight to Frances' room, 
 
A LATE CONFESSION 289 
 
 entering softly. Dr. Maxworthy looked up, 
 expecting Truscott. 
 
 " Mrs. Adams— you ! " 
 
 " I have just returned. Can I do 
 anything ? Is it really so serious ? " 
 
 Here was the chance which had slipped 
 through his fingers, suddenly , presented 
 again, the chance of penetrating the 
 mystery, of unmasking the conspiracy, 
 of which he was persuaded this confederate 
 had full knowledge. He stood up on 
 one side of the bed, as Ursula came to 
 the other; the dying woman lay between 
 them. 
 
 " You are the last person I expected to 
 see. I thought you had made good your 
 escape." 
 
 " My escape ! " repeated in amazement, 
 and with the sensation, if not the physical 
 manifestation of recoil. " From what ? " 
 
 " From the consequences of — this," 
 signing at the white fixed face. " Yes, there 
 is one thing you can do. Put me in 
 possession of the facts, before it is too late. 
 What has she taken? What did you 
 bring her from London when you came 
 before ? While there is life there is hope : 
 I may save her yet. You lied to me once. 
 Now I must have the truth." 
 
 He was too imperatively in earnest to 
 
 u 
 
290 ONE OR TWO 
 
 soften manner or words. The time was 
 ripe for confession ; it must follow this 
 demand. And then, standing as at the bar 
 of judgment, Ursula felt the full weight of 
 her difficulty. She had to confess what 
 was incomprehensible, incredible, save to 
 the instructed ; and the instructed would 
 be few. Ninety-five people out of any 
 ordinary hundred would scoff at her story, 
 and meet it with utter disbelief: would 
 this elderly doctor, with his air of rough 
 unfriendliness, of keen suspicion, prove the 
 ninety-sixth who might believe ? Her grey 
 steady gaze fronted his, and he, the 
 physiognomist, thought again that she 
 looked strangely unlike a woman who would 
 lie. 
 
 " I will tell you all I know. I begged 
 Frances to speak out from the first, but she 
 would not. Yesterday morning she promised 
 me to confess all to her husband if I failed 
 to help her in London. I have failed ; and 
 surely the secrecy I swore to her may be 
 broken now ! " 
 
 " I repeat what I said before. You are 
 bound to speak: it is her only chance of 
 life." 
 
 " You ask me what she has taken. I 
 remember you put the question once before, 
 and I replied to it. She has taken nothing. 
 
A LATE CONFESSION 291 
 
 It is what she has done, and what I helped 
 her to do." 
 
 " Go on : tell me all." 
 
 " I daresay you know nothing and believe 
 nothing about such things as mediums, 
 and sitting in circle, and communications, 
 and the building up of forms — ? " 
 
 " I know something of it. I know it may 
 be playing with edged tools if handled by 
 the ignorant. What I believe is beside the 
 question." 
 
 " I met Frances at a seance in a friend's 
 house, after a separation of years. And 
 when she was in distress about her altered 
 figure, I repeated to her — as I now know, 
 unwisely — a remark the medium made to 
 me about her bulk. That if she ' sat ' as 
 they call it, it might be drawn away and 
 dissipated, leaving her slender as she was 
 before. She caught at the notion : and when 
 she sent me to London the first time, it was 
 to inquire of this same medium how the 
 sitting should be managed, and what she 
 was to do ? " 
 
 " And I suppose the medium offered 
 her services, and stipulated for an ample 
 fee ? " 
 
 " No : Frances wanted her to come to The 
 Mount, but she refused. And the advice 
 it seemed was not hers ; she knew nothing 
 
292 ONE OR TWO 
 
 about it. It came from a spirit who spoke 
 through her — " 
 
 " Ay ; they all say that." 
 " The spirit told us what to do. We were 
 to sit in the boudoir at night, Frances and I, 
 with a curtain drawn between us in the 
 dark, and wait for what might come. The 
 expected effect was that her bulk would 
 disappear. I do not think she quite believed 
 in it : I did not either. But it seemed 
 simple and harmless, and we resolved to 
 try." 
 
 " On your honour, was this all ? " 
 " That was all. She was told to bathe 
 before sitting, and to abstain from flesh- 
 meats and from wine, but there was nothing 
 to be taken. The change came on the 
 fourth night—" 
 
 " Was it complete at once ? " 
 " Entirely, as you see her now. She 
 spoke of feeling lighter at the earlier 
 sittings, but there was no alteration in 
 appearance. She came from behind the 
 curtain on the fourth night a different 
 creature, wild with delight over the change. 
 Oh, if that had been all ! " 
 " How do you mean ? " 
 " No harm would have been done ; nothing 
 but good. And we meant no other ; neither 
 she nor I. Of the astounding consequence 
 
A LATE CONFESSION 293 
 
 we had no suspicion — no slightest thought ! " 
 
 She stopped abruptly, for the remembered 
 scene was plain and vivid before her — the 
 shock again curdled through her blood, as 
 when she drew the curtain, and found the 
 separated figure lying behind it. But her 
 hearer still regarded her with keen expec- 
 tation and attention, and she was bound to 
 go on. 
 
 " I took her to lie down here, for she was 
 weak, and gave her wine ; we were instructed 
 so. Then I went back to set the boudoir in 
 order, lest the servants should suspect any- 
 thing unusual. It was beginning to be light 
 in the morning : we had sat all through that 
 night." 
 
 Another pause to master her voice, for it 
 grew hoarse and failed her. 
 
 " It was my business to put back the 
 curtain, behind which Frances had been 
 placed. She said something heavy seemed 
 to slip down off her knees, when she came 
 to herself and got up. And there, lying on 
 the floor, was the form of a young girl ; 
 breathing — alive — ! " 
 
 " You don't mean the girl who was here ? 
 You don't mean Fancy ? '' 
 
 " Yes. I found her there ; and that is 
 all we know of her, or can tell. She was 
 naked, and in a deep sleep, — lying on her 
 
294 ONE OR two 
 
 face. There were two bodies where one 
 had been before : two souls, and yet the same. 
 That was what had happened. Then came 
 the question, what were we to do ? How 
 could we account for her ; who would believe 
 us if the truth were told ? " 
 
 " It would have been better to tell the 
 truth." 
 
 " It was Frances' secret, not mine. And 
 in the first embarrassment she made me swear 
 to keep her counsel ; before I had time to 
 think ; before we knew that the girl would 
 prove a real thing with a mind and heart, and 
 not only the breathing form she was at first." 
 
 " What did you do with her ? " 
 
 " I was a guest here, sleeping in the white 
 bedroom — a. room which has never been 
 altered since Frances was young : it used in 
 those days to be hers. I put a nightdress on 
 her, and laid her in my own bed ; and Frances 
 pretended to the household that a guest had 
 arrived unexpectedly, late at night. We said 
 she was tired and must not be disturbed ; and 
 we locked the door and took away the key." 
 
 " And she woke a rational being, the Fancy 
 of ten years ago, and thought her engagement 
 was just allowed, and her father was still 
 alive. Is that what you mean to say ? " 
 
 " Yes. I don't know how you know ? " 
 
 " I know it from herself. She told me ; 
 
A LATE CONFESSION 295 
 
 she spoke of her trouble over what she be- 
 lieved to be the blank of memory. So it was 
 a lie about the cousin of weak intellect ? " 
 
 " A lie, but not of my devising. What 
 was Frances to do ? There was her old 
 self again, in love with Charles Bethune, 
 broken-hearted about her father : the 
 very girl she used to be, as I who knew 
 her know. And yet here was still Frances in 
 her altered body ; Frances as the added years 
 had made her — older, harder, grown quite 
 away from all tenderness for the past. 
 Think of the position ! You have the whole 
 truth now, whether you believe or disbelieve. 
 I am thankful the responsibility of action is 
 yours and not mine. I am thankful you 
 know all, though the knowledge cannot avail 
 to save her as you thought. — Must she die ? " 
 
 " I can do no more. Her heart is worn 
 out ; the strain on it has been over-great, the 
 attacks have followed over quickly. Perhaps 
 it is as well. Trouble will follow if she lives. 
 Do you know what happened in the night ? " 
 
 " Susan began to tell me — but I was in 
 haste ; I did not understand." 
 
 " I found her in the girl's room, and with- 
 out doubt she had attempted murder. A 
 sudden madness we must call it. Better she 
 should go." 
 
 A quiver of movement passed over the 
 
296 ONE OR TWO 
 
 figure in the bed, which caught the doctor's 
 eye, and his finger sought the pulse. Ursula 
 listened to him with caught breath, and 
 horrified realisation of the tragedy barely 
 prevented. He looked up at her again, the 
 wrist still held, and saw her speechless. 
 
 " The responsibility has become mine, as 
 you said just now. And all authority here. 
 I assume it in full till Colonel Bethune 
 returns." 
 
 " You wish me to leave the house ? I 
 was Frances' guest, and she is dying. Let 
 me stay till all is over, and I will trouble 
 you no more." 
 
 " Not so. I ask you to stay here at our 
 disposal : I ask you to be silent as to the 
 mystery, till Colonel Bethune resolves how 
 he will act. Pledge me your word for this." 
 
 " I freely give it. Dr. Maxworthy, you 
 have asked for my word. About this other 
 matter — do you believe me ? " 
 
 How was it possible to answer ? The re- 
 ply was never spoken, for interruption came. 
 The woman on the bed opened her eyes, in a 
 last effort before the vital flame sank in the 
 socket. She looked at the two who fought 
 their duel above her, — at Maxworthy who had 
 forced to light her secret, at Ursula who had 
 revealed it, first at one and then at the other, 
 whether consciously or not they could not 
 
A LATE CONFESSION 297 
 
 tell. Her friend bent down to her, and 
 there was a movement of the lips, as if 
 attempting speech, but without sound of 
 words. A last sharp shudder followed, a grey 
 shadow on the face, and the eyes fixed, still 
 open. The end had come. 
 
 An hour later Dr. Maxworthy despatched 
 the following wire to town, addressing 
 Colonel Bethune. " Come at once to 2, Cliff 
 Road — urgent — I want you. Your wife is 
 dead." 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 "Wenn Du Das Herz Hast—" 
 
 Number two, Cliff Road, was an old- 
 fashioned house of time-worn red brick, 
 shouldered on either side by pert modern 
 villas, but preserving the privacy of its own 
 walled garden. The French window of Dr. 
 Maxworthy's bachelor parlour opened at the 
 back on a smooth bowling-green of perfect 
 turf, set round with thick shrubberies and 
 some half dozen forest trees. A paradise for 
 birds, who had the boldness of privileged 
 guests : the great-grand descendants of those 
 fed by Frances in her childhood, twittered in 
 the branches and looked for a daily dole ; 
 while the high iron standards and wire netting 
 still surmounted the walls, their defence against 
 the prowling cat. To this parlour in the early 
 morning of the following day, was shown a 
 traveller by the night train ; Colonel Bethune. 
 
"WENN DU DAS HERZ HAST" 299 
 
 He had hardly time for impatience, before 
 the doctor came in from his consulting-room 
 to bid him welcome. " You have been 
 prompt, and that is well. Can I give you 
 breakfast ? " 
 
 " I breakfasted at the hotel : I went there to 
 wash and change. Your wire said ' urgent,' 
 and I took it literally. So the woman is 
 dead. But why did you call her my wife ?" 
 
 Dr. Maxworthy looked him full in the face 
 from under his bushy eyebrows ; the specu- 
 lative scientist fronting the man of action. 
 The problem had kept him wakeful in the 
 night watches, querying how this impatient 
 young soldier would brook the tale he had to 
 tell : young he called him ; for to his greater 
 age, Bethune's middle level of life seemed to 
 belong to youth. 
 
 " Because I have reason to believe her 
 identical with the Frances Wayland you 
 married, so far as touches corporeity. Hear 
 me out with patience, and remember death 
 divorces, and has swept the main difficulty out 
 of your path. What you could have done 
 had she lived, God knows ! " 
 
 " I will tell you what I should have done — 
 and I thought we were agreed upon it. I 
 should have charged her with conspiracy 
 and attempted murder, and maintained 
 Fancy's claim. I cannot put her in the 
 
300 ONE OR TWO 
 
 dock as she has escaped me by dying, but I 
 have still to re-establish Fancy." 
 
 " Sit down quietly, and hear me. It is a 
 position in which we must walk warily, 
 above all for Fancy's sake. How did you 
 leave her ? " 
 
 " Still weak — tired with travelling, but re- 
 viving every hour : happy I think, with 
 Mary." 
 
 " Good, so far." Maxworthy in his own 
 mind had questioned whether the derived 
 life would persist, now the source of it was 
 cold : that doubt at least was anwered. 
 " Now, look here. Ursula Adams has come 
 back : she is at The Mount on parole : I have 
 her full confession, given over the deathbed, 
 when ' the woman' as you call her, might 
 still have revived to give her the lie. I had a 
 further talk with her last night, and I wrote 
 out a statement, which she has signed. She 
 is pledged to an absolute silence if we require 
 it, and if you agree with me in thinking it 
 best, — in Fancy's interest and your own. I 
 want you to read this over : there are several 
 sheets, as you see, for it is a full account of 
 all that took place. I will leave you to your- 
 self, for I have got some patients waiting : 
 but by the time you come to the end, I shall 
 be free. We can then discuss what must be 
 done." 
 
"WENN DU DAS HERZ HAST" 301 
 
 The sheets were closely written, but the 
 Doctor's hand was fairly legible. Ursula's 
 signature stood at the end. As Bethune 
 glanced over them, his face changed: then he 
 turned back to the first page, and began to 
 read with close attention. 
 
 Nearly an hour went by before Maxworthy 
 returned. The papers lay on the table, and 
 Bethune was pacing the room, his face pale 
 under the sunburn. It seemed difficult at 
 first even to speak. 
 
 " Doctor," he said, " you don't mean to say 
 you believe this ? " 
 
 " I believe Mrs. Adams has told truth so 
 far as she knows it: I commit myself to 
 nothing beyond. I grant you the thing is ex- 
 traordinary — beyond parallel. But I have 
 studied experiments which lead in this direc- 
 tion, — which may be taken as stepping-stones, 
 though they go only part of the way." 
 
 "Is it not simpler to conclude she is 
 screening herself, and the conspiracy we 
 thought we knew of only yesterday — behind a 
 a lie, which on the face of it this seems to 
 be ? " 
 
 " If she had chosen to lie, she would have 
 thought of something more probable. 
 Strange as this is, it fits the whole position, 
 Frances' altered bulk, the girl's sudden 
 appearance, her partial memory, her presence 
 
302 ONE OR TWO 
 
 here when you were about to return, (which 
 would have been fatal to a contemplated 
 fraud,) — her manifest youth, astounding when 
 we thought of her as eight and twenty and 
 your wife. Mrs. Adams says Frances' 
 identity with the woman lying dead up 
 yonder, can be proved step by step 
 throughout. Mrs. Romer is old and ill, but 
 she still has her wits about her : she joined 
 Frances as soon as she landed from India, 
 and lived with her in France as well as here, 
 and in both places they had friends. Mrs. 
 Romer is a woman of unblemished character, 
 and a near relation of your wife's. She 
 would have nothing to gain in putting forward 
 an impostor. You cannot think of her as 
 privy to any plot which would dispossess the 
 true Frances, and establish a stranger in her 
 place." 
 
 " She is above a bribe, and therefore to 
 be trusted : is that what you would say ? And 
 this Mrs. Adams, on whose word you rely, 
 was bribed, on her own showing 1 " 
 
 " Frances offered her money, it is true ; 
 but it was no large sum, and I think she had 
 earned it. She was at your wife's beck and 
 call for months, as an unpaid companion. 
 And in trying the experiment they did, neither 
 of them intended any harm, or fraud upon 
 you." 
 
"WENN DU DAS HERZ HAST" 303 
 
 " Doctor, don't you see how intolerable 
 this is to me ? To have the woman I love 
 made ont an unnatural creature — with no 
 human birth, or place in existence — an ignis- 
 fatuus, who may fade out of life as 
 mysteriously as she has entered it, and leave 
 me wedded to a dream ! How can I believe ? 
 I would rather fight to the last — ! " 
 
 " I was afraid you might take it so. Make 
 the fullest enquiry, test the thing from every 
 point ; there I am entirely with you. But set 
 up no open scandal till you find you have 
 ground to go upon, or it will hamper your 
 action after. If you cannot disprove the 
 Frances who lived with Mrs Romer and was 
 mistress at The Mount, and still wish to 
 marry Fancy, all your friends will pity you as 
 the victim of an adventuress, and will turn 
 their backs on her. She at least is 
 innocent." 
 
 " I would stake my life upon it ; and, 
 Maxworthy, I love her. But — marriage ! If 
 she is what this damnable story would 
 make out, can marriage be thought of? 
 Suppose there were children : suppose in 
 the years to come they asked me who was 
 their mother ? And yet if I forsake her, 
 what will become of her ? " 
 
 The old doctor looked away from his 
 questioner, out at the green lawn and the 
 
304 ONE OR TWO 
 
 fenced garden : perhaps he saw again a 
 little child feeding his birds, with the sun- 
 shine on her hair. The fingers of one hand 
 tapped a devil's tattoo on the table, with him 
 a rare sign of disturbance ; but he spoke 
 quietly enough, a dry statement to the 
 point. 
 
 " I will see to that. My home is open to 
 her ; she shall be my daughter by adoption, 
 if she may not be reckoned as Wayland's. I 
 loved her when she was a child. She will 
 need nothing at your hands. But she may 
 break her heart." 
 
 " You say you loved her as a child ! But 
 the contention of this story is that she has 
 had no childhood. That she is just — built 
 up, as I understand it, out of the substance 
 of another body, and animated by half a soul. 
 If you believe Mrs. Adams — as I never can 
 and never will — how do you reconcile the 
 two ? " 
 
 " You ask for my theory? It is an imperfect 
 one : I do not expect it to satisfy you : I 
 cannot fully say it satisfies myself. Experi- 
 ment has proved the existence in some excep- 
 tional natures of a double personality, as if a 
 twin birth of soul had been incarnated in one 
 body through lack of material. Let us call 
 them A. and B. — A. is dominant at first, and 
 we know nothing of B. till some accidental 
 
"WENN DU DAS HERZ HASt" 305 
 
 shock subverses the system. A. goes under 
 and B. comes to the surface, and confounds 
 the onlookers, who give A. credit for sudden 
 madness. Sometimes B. has been suffi- 
 ciently awake to share A.'s knowledge and 
 A.'s past, and only manifests a changed dis- 
 position and nature : in other cases the B. 
 phase is totally ignorant, and has to be 
 taught to read and cipher like a child. A. 
 may be a saint and B. a sinner, and all that 
 would have turned A. sick with disgust, B. 
 will revel in. (I am not romancing, my 
 friend : don't think it. I can give you chapter 
 and verse for all I say.) I should contend 
 this was the case with your wife. A. the 
 primal soul, was — is — the child I knew, the 
 girl you loved. Did you not tell me yourself 
 that Frances changed utterly after an illness 
 in India, an illness brought on by sudden 
 shock, a fall' from her horse, brain concussion 
 and long insensibility ? She came to herself 
 another person, though the same in body : I 
 quote your very words. Your home was 
 wrecked, your happiness blighted, by the 
 change in her." 
 
 " That is true, I grant you. But — " 
 " Wait and hear me. A. had gone under . 
 B. had come to the surface. Not a malig- 
 nant B., but heartless and frivolous : B. with 
 a knowledge of A.'s past, but no tenderness 
 
 X 
 
3o6 ONE OR TWO 
 
 for it, and little affection for anybody but 
 herself. A. slumbers dormant, and would 
 have slumbered till the end of life, but that 
 it occurs to B. to try the experiment you 
 know of, hoping to have her substance 
 melted away from her by spiritual 
 manipulation." 
 
 " There again you go beyond me into the 
 incredible. Can such a thing be done ? " 
 
 " I can bear no personal witness, but there 
 is a fair amount of testimony ; enough to 
 hang half Saltringham ; to the withdrawal 
 of substance from the medium — the alteration 
 of weight upon the scales, and that without 
 vital injury, during the building up of 
 temporary forms. I know nothing about 
 permanent change ; but I do not see why 
 it might not be rendered permanent, when 
 the initial difficulty of displacement has been 
 overcome. But to return. B. sits in an 
 improvised cabinet, the process goes forward; 
 the veil of the body is rent, and the 
 superfluous tissue drawn away. But here 
 comes in the unexpected, for the dormant 
 soul is projected also. It has been supposed 
 that every soul is in itself a centre of vital 
 energy, attractive and creative. The fluidic 
 substance, instead of dissipating, gathers to 
 a fresh embodiment. A. and B., separate 
 entities from the beginning, are henceforth 
 
"WENN DU DAS HERZ HAST" 307 
 
 separate persons, as, but for an accident of 
 nature, they should have been born. There 
 is my theory. A. is the woman you loved 
 and wedded in the body she shared with B. 
 Where is the horror and the objection to 
 marrying her over again in the body she now 
 has of her own ? It is social and fictitious, 
 not radical and natural, so far as I can see." 
 
 The haggard-eyed man looked in silence 
 at this expounder of marvels. The ex- 
 planation sounded plausible : it had a ring 
 of possible truth. 
 
 " Mind, I do not urge you. I would not 
 lift a finger to push you two together, with a 
 danger of after regret. Better the child 
 should break her heart now, than live your wife 
 burdened with bitter knowledge. She will be 
 safe with me." 
 
 " My little Fancy." There was the choke 
 of a sob in Bethune's voice. " In my arms 
 this time yesterday : loving me ; looking for 
 me. If I could only be certain: if it were 
 possible to know ! " 
 
 How would the struggle end, what would 
 be the far-reaching consequences to both 
 these lives ? " Wenn du das Herz hast," 
 Rohtraut's stipulation, might have been 
 spoken also to him. " If thou hast manhood 
 sufficient to dare and do, put out thine hand 
 and take : not otherwise." 
 
3o8 ONE OR TWO 
 
 Bethune was left alone a second time, for 
 one of the frequent calls which break in upon 
 a doctor's leisure, summoned Maxworthy 
 away. He strolled out bare-headed in the 
 quiet garden, treading soft turf under foot, 
 lingering under the shade of trees still delicate 
 with early summer. The little innocent 
 figure which used to frequent that garden, 
 could not be visible to him as to the old 
 doctor's memory ; but something of its 
 influence may have lingered, plea ling Fancy's 
 cause not ineffectually to a willing heart. 
 He could not understand, he would not 
 believe, but he could dare. That was the 
 result of his musings : anything rather than 
 to lose her. And having dared, there should 
 be no misgiving, no shadow between them : 
 he had set his hand to the plough, and there 
 should be no looking back. 
 
 He carried a clearer brow into the house 
 when his host returned. " Doctor," he said, 
 " I have made up my mind. Fancy shall be 
 my wife." 
 
 Neither of these men were prone to express 
 emotion in word or gesture. But the elder 
 put out his hand to the younger, and the 
 close clasp was eloquent on both sides, not 
 only of approval, but of assurance given and 
 received.; 
 
 " I am not going to take anything for granted. 
 
"WENN DU DAS HERZ HAST" 309 
 
 If I can restore her to her place in the world, 
 I will make a fight for it yet. But, should 
 it prove impracticable to reinstate her, I will 
 marry her over again, and she shall have 
 every honour I can give. I mean to follow 
 your advice, and raise *no scandal till the 
 case is plain. I intend to see Mrs. Romer, 
 to question this Mrs. Adams ; most likely I 
 shall cross over to France, where my wife 
 first made her home. Meanwhile Fancy 
 shall stay with Mary : I would let her come 
 here to you, but it is wiser for the present 
 to keep her away from Saltringham. If I 
 fail, her fortune will be lost to her. Nothing 
 remains but my life-interest, as no doubt you 
 know." 
 
 " You have that under her settlement ? " 
 " Yes ; and failing issue, she had power to 
 appoint beyond. She made no will in India ; 
 if the woman at The Mount made none, it 
 will go to her next of kin." 
 
 " And be scrambled for among a host of 
 collaterals. Poor James Wayland ; he 
 would have been sorry. But loss of money 
 is the lightest evil ; you will have gained, I 
 take it, in the truer riches. I wish you God 
 speed, my son, upon your quest, whether you 
 succeed in it or no." 
 
 The summer had passed beyond its prime. 
 
3IO ONE OR TWO 
 
 into those dry heats of August which mark its 
 decadence and age. London grew insup- 
 portable, and Sister Mary Cordelia on her 
 holiday carried Fancy to a cool retreat high up 
 the river, among shorn meadows and leafy 
 ways. It was only* a farmhouse lodging, but 
 it seemed a Paradise after bricks and mortar, 
 the glare of pavements and the dust of traffic. 
 Some boarded-out children from the slums 
 went with them, and furnished occupation ; 
 and there Fancy waited for the lover or the 
 husband who was pledged surely to return. 
 Perhaps Sister Mary knew more than she 
 chose to say ; for as the days went on, some 
 secret preparations were in progress, a note of 
 expectation was in the air. And one August 
 evening she took care to leave Fancy alone 
 in the parlour they shared together, at a 
 certain hour when the down train was due at 
 the wayside station, and a pedestrian might 
 reach them by the path across the fields. 
 The sun had just dipped under ; but where 
 Fancy sat at work, the western window was 
 still flooded with light reflected from a 
 glowing sky. A firm strong step long un- 
 heard came striding through the house ; the 
 door opened. 
 
 If sometimes to himself he had questioned 
 her reality, he could not doubt it now that 
 her arms were about his neck, her sweet 
 
"WENN DU DAS HERZ HAST" 311 
 
 eyes looking into his. She was true woman, 
 real as Eve, externalised out of his substance 
 in a deep sleep, was to her husband Adam. 
 What mattered the mystery which hung, a 
 cloud undissipated, upon the past ; from 
 henceforth love should be lord of all. His 
 love, his wife, Bethune called her as he 
 kissed her. Never to part again after the 
 morrow, if she was content to have it so. 
 
 He had one arm about her waist, and held 
 her hand in his, — the hand with the thin gold 
 circle on the wedding finger, and the cluster 
 of blue stones still worn above. I shall put 
 on a new ring to-morrow morning," he said, 
 " and we will drop the old one in the river, 
 because everything begins afresh from now. 
 Fancy, will you trust me, will you forgive me ? 
 Your knight has been worsted, and yet he 
 claims his guerdon. Just one word about the 
 past, and then we will both forget it — drop 
 it in the river with the ring. I had to leave 
 that woman in her grave with the right she 
 claimed. I found to tear it off her would 
 avail nothing, and might do far-reaching 
 harm. Are you satisfied, my wife, that it 
 should be so, even to your loss ? To believe 
 I acted for the best, having your interests at 
 heart ? " 
 
 She put up her face to his in mute 
 assurance. Hers was the simple trust, 
 
312 ONE OR TWO 
 
 the reliance of a child ; he should judge for 
 her ; she was abundantly content. 
 
 "And because of this it seems better — 
 necessary — that there should be a fresh 
 marriage to legalise our union. You suggest- 
 ed it yourself — in the garden, where we met." 
 
 " Yes," she whispered, " but then I had 
 forgotten." 
 
 " And now, my darling, you remember "^ " 
 
 " Just that ; hardly more than I did. And 
 a very little, dimly, about India. Like a 
 dream ; I might have dreamt it all." 
 
 " But although you remember, we both 
 remember, there must be a fresh marriage ; 
 there are reasons why. I have arranged 
 everything ; very early to-morrow at the 
 church here. Dr. Maxworthy is with me at 
 the inn, and he will give you away." 
 
 " Dear Dr. Maxworthy ; he was always 
 kind." 
 
 " He loves you, but that is not wonderful. 
 I could not think it wonderful, could I ? But 
 I have something to ask of you, from him. I 
 think you will consent. Knowing we both 
 wish it, both he and I." 
 
 " I will consent. Why should you doubt 
 it ? " — drawing apart to look at him, for a 
 faint uneasiness had crept into his tone, and 
 his face was serious. How would she take 
 what he was going to say ? Would she have 
 
"WENN DU DAS HERZ HAST" 313 
 
 misgivings, and probe for the reason why ? 
 
 " He told you once you should be as 
 a daughter to him, now your own father is 
 dead : do you remember ? He wishes 
 you really to regard him as your father, 
 your adopted father, from now henceforward. 
 And he wants you to take his name, and 
 be married in it. We thought you would 
 consent, and the license has been made out 
 so." 
 
 He unfolded a paper from his pocket, 
 and showed her the names. It was a special 
 permission for the union of two persons, both 
 of age : Charles Bethune, and Frances 
 Wayland Maxworthy. 
 
 " There, my dearest, you see and you 
 sanction it ? Tell me so in plain terms, 
 that I may take word to him — to the old 
 man who loves you. It will only be for 
 this one night. You will have my name 
 again to-morrow." 
 
 The strangeness of the request might be 
 realised hereafter; she thought little of 
 it now. It passed as a whim of the old 
 doctor, who was her father's friend. What 
 chiefly impressed her was that her lover- 
 husband should ask her consent with that 
 quiver in his voice. 
 
 " Yes," she said. " For to-night I will be 
 Frances Maxworthy." 
 
314 ONE OR TWO 
 
 " For to-night ; only for to-night. From 
 to-morrow, and for ever after, you shall be 
 Fancy Bethune." 
 
 He lifted the fair face, the face which met 
 him in the rose-garden, and sealed the 
 pledge once more upon her lips with a kiss. 
 . • • . • 
 
 The seasons succeed each other and pass 
 away; and Mother Earth, vital with 
 perpetual youth, spins round the vast track 
 of her orbit regardless of her dust of human 
 atoms, and their lives and fates. That 
 summer faded and dropped into the past, 
 and so did the nine days' wonder over 
 Bethune's second marriage. The Lady 
 Sarahs and the Miss Lancasters of the 
 neighbourhood — and perhaps of wider 
 neighbourhoods — wagged their heads over 
 confidential cups of tea, and discussed it 
 after their manner. " So indecently soon ; " 
 that was the prevailing comment. " And 
 a girl he cannot have known anything of, 
 if it is true he met her for the first time at 
 The Mount on his return. A poor relation 
 of Frances Wayland's; and you know, 
 my dear, the Waylands were a very low 
 lot: Frances' good blood was on the 
 mother's side. Dr. Maxworthy adopted her, 
 and I daresay there was a reason ; a bar 
 sinister somewhere that is not talked about. 
 
"WENN DU DAS HERZ HAST" 315 
 
 She used to be called Wayland, but she was 
 married in his name: didn't you see the 
 announcement ? Oh, there was quite a stir 
 about it in Saltringham. Adopted daughter 
 of Dr. Maxworthy ; and I expect she will 
 get his money. Not that the doctor is a 
 rich man, but he must have laid by 
 something, and the house he lives in is his 
 own." 
 
 And then a further voice. " I would 
 have given Charles Bethune credit for better 
 sense ; he is not like a young man to be 
 infatuated with a pretty face. But they say 
 there is no fool like an old fool ! You 
 remember Truscott, poor Frances' maid? 
 She has gone to live at Copestone ; and 
 Augusta tells me she hears from her that this 
 Maxworthy girl is half-witted. Very pretty 
 of course, and all that, but hardly more than 
 an idiot. She was at The Mount with her 
 for a fortnight, so of course she ought to 
 know; and, what is more, she had it from 
 poor Frances herself." 
 
 " I don't know whether Truscott mentioned 
 it, but — " Here the speaker's voice was 
 carefully lowered, and the four chairs drew 
 nearer together. " I heard it on the best 
 authority. There was something curious 
 about the way in which Frances died. She 
 had been very much excited over her 
 
3i6 ONE OR TWO 
 
 husband's return ; and soon after he came 
 back she fell down in a fit, and never got 
 over it. You know they were not on good 
 terms. Of course Dr. Maxworthy certified 
 to the cause of death, but perhaps he 
 had this marriage in his eye, even then." 
 
 " I don't think anything of that ; Frances 
 was subject to fits. She was taken with 
 one in my house before Charles Bethune 
 came home ; " — (it was now Lady Sarah 
 who put in her word.) " She had been 
 taking strong medicines to reduce her figure : 
 that was what was the matter. It was just 
 her vanity which killed her, neither more nor 
 less." 
 
 " Then you heard no whisper that she was 
 jealous of the Maxworthy girl, and that she 
 tried to smother her or strangle her in the 
 night ? Frances did her best to send her 
 away when Colonel Bethune was expected, 
 but the girl insisted on coming back. Oh, it 
 was all hushed up, I am quite aware, and 
 Mary Bethune took her away into Retreat 
 before poor Frances died ; but there was 
 something in it, beyond a doubt. You don't 
 get smoke of that kind without fire. And 
 now The Mount is let, on a long lease I 
 understand, and the newly married pair have 
 gone abroad. Perhaps we may meet them at 
 Florence : it is very awkward, you know, for 
 
"WENN DU DAS HERZ HAST" 317 
 
 Charles Bethune is a connection ; but we 
 can hardly be expected to notice her!" 
 
 It is not known whether the Bethunes and 
 the Lancasters did encounter at Florence ; 
 but another meeting took place on the wed- 
 ding journey, a tour prolonged over that 
 winter into the early spring. 
 
 The short afternoon was drawing to a close ; 
 the throng on the terrace had already 
 thinned ; the hotel windows began to shine 
 from within, and lights to twinkle in the town 
 below. An elderly lady, returning from a 
 promenade in her bath chair, was apparently 
 a person of consequence, for she had an 
 escort of three persons, her own man and own 
 maid, and a lady-companion in addition. The 
 own man and own maid helped the infirm 
 invalid up the steps into the hotel ; the 
 companion looked at her watch. 
 
 " I will stay out, I think, for another half 
 hour, if you are not likely to want me. My 
 head aches, and is better in the air." 
 
 The excuse was admitted, the three figures 
 disappeared under the portico, and Mrs. 
 Adams, for it was she, turned back to the 
 terrace. 
 
 It appeared to be solitude she wanted, and 
 not exercise. She wrapped her arms in her 
 mantle — for the air, so mild at mid-day, was 
 
3i8 ONE OR TWO 
 
 apt to grow sharp about sundown — and stood 
 leaning against the parapet, lost in thought, 
 or watching the passers by under the lights. 
 They were growing fewer, when a fresh couple 
 turned into view. The outlines of these new 
 figures struck her as familiar, even at a 
 distance. He was tall, with a soldier's up- 
 right carriage ; he seemed intent on his 
 companion, who was slight and small in 
 figure, while she looked up at him, smiling 
 as she spoke. There was an air of happy 
 confidence, of frank enjoyment, about them 
 both, evident to the most casual observer : it 
 caught and fixed the attention of the lonely 
 woman who watched. They came nearer, 
 walking quickly ; and now the delicate face 
 was plain to see, fair as a flower above its 
 setting of dark fur. 
 
 As they passed behind her, she heard the 
 girl exclaim to her companion : " Charles, 
 did you see that woman ? She looked just 
 like Ursula. Can it be Ursula — here ! I 
 should like to go back — " 
 
 " And then the man's objection : " No, no : 
 impossible. And see how late it is ! I want 
 to get you in." 
 
 The couple turned to the hotel. But 
 perhaps Colonel Bethune did not think it so 
 impossible as he professed to do. After a 
 brief interval he emerged from under the 
 
"WENN DU DAS HERZ HAST" 319 
 
 portico, and approached the figure in the 
 mantle. Ursula had not moved. 
 
 He lifted his hat. " Mrs. Adams, I 
 believe ? " 
 
 " Yes. I knew you at once." And then, 
 with some latent reproach : " You would not 
 let her speak to me." 
 
 " I thought it better not. From no ill- 
 feeling, believe me. But there are some things 
 I would have my wife forget. I do not want 
 her to put questions, and she might question 
 you. I would rather you did not meet." 
 
 " I promised silence, and I have kept my 
 promise and will keep it. But you are 
 within your rights; we will be strangers 
 henceforward. — I need not ask if she is well 
 and happy : I saw her face." 
 
 " She is well, happy also ; and it is that 
 happiness I fear to disturb." Ursula turned 
 towards the hotel, and he walked beside her. 
 " You are staying — here ? " He indicated 
 the hotel before them ; they were almost at 
 the steps. 
 
 " Only for one more night. You need 
 not be afraid. We leave early to-morrow, 
 and we have private rooms. I am travelling 
 with Lady Stallington, as her companion. 
 We go on to Nice. She moves from place 
 to place, and is well nowhere, and never will 
 be. But there is always hope." 
 
320 ONE OR TWO 
 
 The tone was bitterer than the words ; 
 and Bethune, seeing her face in the illumin- 
 ation of the hall as they entered, thought 
 she looked like one who failed to find the 
 hope of which she spoke. He felt an impulse 
 of pity, but it was only a faint one ; men 
 seldom have ruth for a woman who has 
 crossed either their affection or their will. 
 And this woman had been intimately 
 concerned with an episode which displeased 
 him in the past ; and instead of helping him 
 to disprove and blot it out, had baffled him 
 by adhering simply to the truth. It not 
 unfrequently happens that plain truth is 
 incredible, and any specious substituted 
 falsehood is easier of belief. So pity was 
 nipped in the bud, and only courtesy re- 
 mained ; such frigid courtesy as may subsist 
 between foe and foe who meet after a pass- 
 age at arms. The world might continue to 
 be a hard world for Mrs. Adams ; it was 
 no business of his or of Fancy's to render 
 her path smoother to her feet. He lifted 
 his hat again with a formal gesture of 
 farewell ; and the two turned apart in the 
 lighted vestibule, never more to stand face 
 to face till the secrets of all hearts shall 
 be made known. 
 
 The End 
 
 The Anchcr Fress Ltd., Tiptree, Essex