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 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME 
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 FUND GIVEN IN 1891 BY 
 
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Cornell University Library 
 PR 5684.S63 1868 
 
 The small house at Allington.A novel. 
 
 3 1924 013 565 621 
 
The original of tiiis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
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 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 3565621 
 
THE 
 
 SMALL HOUSE AT ALLIIGTOi 
 
 ^ NatJd. 
 
 BY ANTHONY TROLLOPE, 
 
 AUTHOR OE 
 
 "OELEY FARBI," "CASTLE RICHMOND," "FBAMLEY PARSONAGE," "DOCTOR 
 
 THORNE," "THE BERTRAMS," "RACHEL RAY," 
 
 (Sec, &e., &c. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 NEW YOKK: 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 FRANKLIN SQUARE. 
 1868. 
 
By ANTHONY TROLLOPE. 
 
 The Last Chronicle of Barset. A Novel. 
 With Illustrations by Geokge H. Thomas. 
 8vo, Cloth, $2 00 ; Paper, $1 50. 
 
 Can You Forgive Her ? A Novel. With 
 Illustrations by H. K. Bkowne. 8vo, Cloth, 
 .$2 00; Paper, $1 50. 
 
 Miss Mackenzie, 
 
 50 cents. 
 
 Rachel Ray 
 
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 A Novel. 8vo, Paper, 
 A Novel. 8vo, Paper, 50 
 
 The Small House at Alliugton. A Nov- 
 el. Illustrated by J. E. Millais. 8vo, Cloth, 
 $2 00 , Paper, $1 nO. 
 
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 MiLiTAis. 8vo, Cloth, $2 00 ; Paper, $1 50. 
 
 The Belton Estate. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. 
 
 The Struggles of Brown, Jones, and 
 Robinson. A Novel. By One op the 
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 Framley Parsonage. A Novel. With Il- 
 lustrations by Millais. 12mo, Cloth, $1 75. 
 
 The Three Clerks. A Novel. 12mo, Cloth, 
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 $150. 
 
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 Main. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 
 
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 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, Franklin Square, New York. 
 
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CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. p^ ^ 
 
 The Squire of Allington 9 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 The Tvi^o Peakls of Alungton 12 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 The Widow Dale, op Allington 17 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 Mrs. Roper's Boarding-house 22 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 About L. D 26 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 Beautiful Days 30 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 The beginning op Troubles 35 
 
 CHAPTER Vm. 
 It can not be - .^ 41 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 Mrs. Dale's little Party 44 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 Mrs. Lupex and Amelia Roper 49 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 Social Life 52 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 Lilian Dale becomes a Butterfly 56 
 
 CHAPTER Xin. 
 A Visit to Guestwick 62 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 JoH^t Eames takes a Walk 66 
 
iv CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. p^g^ 
 
 The Last Dat 70 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 Mr. Ckosbie meets an old Clekgtman on his way to Couect Castle 74 
 
 CHAPTER XVn. 
 CouRCT Castle 78 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 Lilt Dale's first Love-letter 84 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 The Squire makes a Visit to the Small House 87 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 Dr. Crofts 91 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 John Eames encounters two Adventures, and displays great Courage in both... 94 
 
 CHAPTER XXn. 
 Lord de Guest at Home 100 
 
 CHAPTER XXm. 
 Mr. Plantagenet Palliser 104 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 A Mother-in-law and a Father-in-law 112 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 Adolphus Crosbie spends an Evening at his Club 114 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 Lord de Courcy<in the Bosom op his Family 119 
 
 CHAPTER XXVn. 
 "On my Honor, I do not understand it" 123 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 The Board , 128 
 
 CHAPTER XXrx. 
 John Eames eetuens to Burton Crescent _, 133 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 Is IT FROM HIM? I37 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 The WOUNDED Pawn 141 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 Pawkins's in Jehmyn Street 145 
 
CONTENTS. V 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIII. 
 
 Page 
 
 "The Time will comb'' 149 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 The Combat 154 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXV. 
 Vm Victis 157 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVI. 
 "See, the CoNQtrEEiUG Hbko comes" 162 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVII. 
 An old Man's Complaint 168 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVIII. 
 DocTOH Ceopts is called in 171 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 Doctor Ckofts is turned out 176 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 Pkepaeations pok the Wedding 181 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 Domestic Tboubles 187 
 
 CHAPTEE XLII. 
 Lilt's Bedside 191 
 
 CHAPTEE XLIII. 
 Fie, pie! I94. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 Valentine's Dat at A.LLiNfiTON.. 199 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 Valentine's dat in London 203 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 John Eames at his Ofpice 208 
 
 CHAPTEE XLVn. 
 The new Peivatb Sechetakt 213 
 
 CHAPTER XLVm. 
 Nemesis 216 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 Peeparations roE going , ... 221 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 Mes. Dale is thankful foe a good Thing 22" 
 
vi CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER LI. pgge 
 
 John Eames does Things which he ought not to have done 230 
 
 CHAPTER LH. 
 The fikst Visit to the Guestwicij Bridge 235 
 
 CHAPTER LIU. 
 Loquitur Hopkins 239 
 
 CHAPTER* LIV. 
 The second Visit to the Guestwick Bridge 243 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 Not very fie pie after all 248 
 
 CHAPTER LVI. 
 Showing how Mb. Crobbie became again a Happy Man 253 
 
 CHAPTER LVII. 
 Lilian Dale vanquishes her Mother 257 
 
 CHAPTER LVIII. 
 The Fate op the Small House 261 
 
 CHAPTER LIX. 
 John Eames becomes a Man 265 
 
 CHAPTER LX. 
 Conclusion 269 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Allington Chukch-takd 9 
 
 "Please, Ma'am, can we have the Pease to shell?" 19 
 
 Croquet 22 
 
 "And TOti LOVE me?" said she , 28 
 
 Gkuddock's Gate 35 
 
 Lilt sfeAKS. "It's all the Fault of the naughty Partridges" 38 
 
 Johnny Eames's Letters 49 
 
 "Me. Ceadell, tour Hand" 53 
 
 Hobbies 62 
 
 "Why, it's Young Eames!" 68 
 
 In Barchester Cathedral 75 
 
 "There is Mr. Harding, coming out of the Deanery" 77 
 
 John Eames's Meditations 87 
 
 "And have I not really loved you?" 98 
 
 Just Missed 101 
 
 Mr. Palliser and Lady Dumbello 110 
 
 It's quite True 115 
 
 "Devotedly attached to the Young Man!" 122 
 
 Before the Club-house 128 
 
 The Board 132 
 
 The wounded Pawn Ul 
 
 "Won't you take some more Wine?" 147 
 
 At the Office 154 
 
 "And you went in at him on the Station?" 163 
 
 The Small House at Allington 168 
 
 "Let me beg you to think over the Matter again" 175 
 
 The Garden 181 
 
 "That might do" , 184 
 
 The Gate 195 
 
 "Mamma," she said at last, "it is over now, I'm sure'' 202 
 
 In Town 208 
 
 "Why, on Earth, on Sunday?" 21,8 
 
 Packing Up 222 
 
 "Bell, here's the Inkstand" 225 
 
 The Cottage ■ 235 
 
 "She has refused me, and it is all over" 247 
 
 In the Garden 261 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTOK 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE SQUIRE OF ALUNGTON. 
 
 Of course there was a Great House at Al- 
 lington. How otherwise should there have 
 been a Small House? Our story will, as its 
 name imports, have its closest relations with 
 those who lived in the less dignified domicile of 
 the two ; but it will have close relations also 
 with the more dignified, and it may be well that 
 I should, in the first instance, say a few words 
 as to the Great House and its owner. 
 
 The squires of Allington had been squires of 
 AUington since squires, such as squires are now, 
 were first known in ^England. From father to 
 son, and from uncle to nephew, and, in one in 
 stance, from second cousin to second cousin, the 
 sceptre had descended in the family of the Dales ; 
 and the acres had remained intact growing in 
 value, and not decreasing in number, though 
 guarded by no entail and protected by no won- 
 derful amount of prudence or wisdom. The es- 
 tate of Dale of Allington had been coterminous 
 with the parish of Allington for some hundreds 
 of years ; and though, as I have said, the race 
 of squires had possessed nothing of superhuman 
 discretion, and had perhaps been guided in their 
 walks through life by no very distinct principles, 
 A 
 
 still iJiere had been with them so much of ad- 
 herence to a sacred law, that no acre of the 
 property had ever been parted from the hands 
 of the existing squire. Some futile attempts 
 had been made to increase the territory, as in- 
 deed had been done by Kit Dale, the father of 
 Christopher Dale, who will appear as our squire 
 of Allington when the persons of our drama are 
 introduced. Old Kit Dale, who had married 
 money, had bought outlying farms — a bit of 
 ground here and a bit there — talking, as he did 
 so, much of pplitical influence and of the good 
 old Tory cause. But these farms and bits of 
 ground had gone again before our time. To 
 them had been attached no religion. When 
 ; old Kit had found himself pressed in that matter 
 of the majority of the Nineteenth Dragoons, in 
 , which crack regiment his second son made for 
 himself quite a career, he found it easier to sell 
 than to save — seeing that that which he sold was 
 his own and not the patrimony of the Dales. 
 At his death the remainder of these purchases 
 had gone. Family arrangements required com- 
 pletion, and Christopher Dale required ready 
 money. The outlying farms flew away, as such 
 new purchases had flown before ; but the old 
 patrimony of the Dales remained untouched, as 
 it had ever remained. 
 
 It had been a religion aniong them ; and see- 
 ing that the worship had been carried on with- 
 out fail, that the vestal fire had never gone down 
 upon the hearth, I should not have said that the 
 Dales had walked their ways without high prin- 
 ciple. To this religion they had all adhered, 
 and the new heir had ever entered in upon his 
 domain without other encumbrances than those 
 with which he himself was then already bur- 
 dened. And yet there had been no entail. The 
 idea of an entail was not in accordance with the 
 peculiarities of the Dale mind. It was neces- 
 sary to the Dale religion that each squire should 
 have the power of wasting the acres of Allington, 
 and that he should abstain from wasting them. 
 I remember to have dined at a house the whole 
 glory and fortune of which depended on the 
 safety of a glass goblet. We all know the story. 
 If the luck of Edenhall should be shattered the 
 doom of the family would be sealed. Neverthe- 
 less I was bidden to drink out of the fatal glass, 
 as were all guests in that house. It would not 
 have contented the chivalrous mind of the mas- 
 ter to protect his doom by look and key and 
 padded chest. And so it was with the Dales of 
 Allington. To them an entail would have been 
 a lock and key and a padded chest ; but the old 
 
10 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 chivalry of their house denied to them the use 
 of such protection. 
 
 I have spoken something slightingly of the 
 acquirements and doings of the family ; and in- 
 deed their acquirements had been few and their 
 doings little. At Allington, Dale of Allington 
 had always been known as a king. At Guest- 
 wick, the neighboring market town, he was a 
 gi'eat man — to be seen frequently on Saturdays, 
 standing in the market-place, and laying down 
 the law as to barley and oxen among men who 
 knew usually more about barley and ox^ than 
 did he. At Hamersham, the assize town, he 
 was generally in some repute, being a constant 
 grand juror for the county, and a man who paid 
 his way. But even at Hamersham the glory of 
 the Dales had, at most periods, begun to pale, 
 for they had seldom been widely conspicuous in 
 the county, and had earned no great reputation 
 by their knowledge of jurisprudence in the gi'and 
 jury room. Beyond Hamersham their fame had 
 not spread itself. 
 
 They had been men generally built in the 
 same motild, inheriting each from his father the 
 same virtues and the same vices- — men who 
 would have lived, each, as his father had lived 
 before him, had not the new ways of the world 
 gradually drawn away with them, by an invisi- 
 ble magnetism, the upcoming Dale of the day — 
 not indeed in any case so "moving him as to 
 bring him up to the spirit of the age in which he 
 lived, but dragging him forward to a line in ad- 
 vance of that on which his father had trodden. 
 They had been obstinate, men ; believing much 
 in themselves ; just accoMing to their ideas of 
 justice ; hard to their tenants — but not known 
 to be hard even by the tenants themselves, for 
 the rules followed had ever been the rules on 
 the Allington estate ; imperious to their wives 
 and children, but imperious within bounds, so 
 that no Mrs. Dale had fled from her lord's roof, 
 and no loud scandals had existed between father 
 and sons : exacting in their ideas as to money, 
 expecting that they were to receive much and to 
 give little, and yet not thought to be mean, for 
 they paid their way, and gave money in parish 
 charity and in county charity. They had ever 
 been steady supporters of the Church, gracious- 
 ly receiving into their parish such new vicars 
 as, from time to time, were sent to them from 
 King's College, Cambridge, to which establish- 
 ment the gift of the living belonged ; but, never- 
 theless, the Dales had ever carried on some un- 
 pronounced warfare against the clergyman, so 
 that the intercourse between the lay family and 
 the clerical had seldom been in all respects 
 pleasant. 
 
 Such had been the Dales of Allington time 
 out of mind, and such in all respects would have 
 been the Christopher Dale of our time had he 
 not suffered two accidents in his youth. He 
 had fallen in love with a lady who obstinately 
 refused his hand, and on her account he had re- 
 mained single ; that was his first accident. The 
 second had fallen upon him with reference to 
 his father's assumed wealth. He had supposed 
 
 himself to be richer than other Dales of Alling- 
 ton when coming in upon his property, and had 
 consequently entertained an idea of sitting in 
 Parliament for his county. In order that he 
 might attain this honor he had allowed himself 
 to be talked by the men of Hamersham and 
 Guestwick out of his old family politics, and had 
 declared himself a liberal. He had never gone 
 to the poll, and, indeed, had never actually 
 stood for the seat. But he had come foi-ward as 
 a liberal politician, and had failed ; and al- 
 though it was well-known to all around that 
 Christopher Dale was in heart as thoroughly 
 conservative as any of his forefathers, this acci- 
 dent had made him sour and silent on the sub- 
 ject of politics, and had somewhat estranged 
 him from his brother squii-es. 
 
 In other respects our Christopher Dale was, 
 if any thing, superior to the average of the fam- 
 ily. Those whom he did love he loved dearly. 
 Those whom he hated he did not ill-use beyond 
 the limits of justice. He was close in small 
 matters of money, and yet in certain family ar- 
 rangements he was, as we shall see, capable of 
 much liberality. He endeavored to do his duty 
 in accordance with his lights, and had succeeded 
 in weaning himself from personal indulgences, 
 to which during the early days of his high hopes 
 he had become accustomed. And in that mat- 
 ter of his unrequited love he had been true 
 throughout. In his hard, dry, unpleasant way 
 he had loved the woman ; and when at last he 
 learned to know that she would not have his 
 love he had been unable to transfer his heart to 
 another. This had happened just at the period 
 of his father's death, and he had endeavored to 
 console himself with politics, with whjit fate we 
 have already seen. A constant, upright, and 
 by no means insincere man was our Christopher 
 Dale — thin and meagre in his mental attributes, 
 by no means even understanding the fullness of 
 a full man, with power of eye-sight very limited 
 in seeing aught which was above him, but yet 
 worthy of regard in that he had realized a path 
 of duty and did endeavor to walk therein. And, 
 moreover, our Mr. Christopher Dale was a gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 . Such in character was the squire of Allington, 
 the only regular inhabitant of the Great House. 
 In person he was a plain, dry man, with short 
 grizzled hair and thick grizzled eyebrows. Of 
 beard he had very little, carrying the smallest 
 possible gray whiskers, which hardly fell below 
 the points of his ears. His eyes were sharp and 
 expressive, and his nose was straight and well 
 formed — as was also his chin. But the nobility 
 of his face was destroyed by a mean mouth with 
 thin lips ; and his forehead, which was high and 
 narrow, though it forbade you to take Mr. Dale 
 for a fool, forbade you also to take him for a 
 man of great parts, or of a wide capacity. In 
 height he was about five feet ten ; and at the 
 time of our story was as near to seventy as he 
 was to sixty. But years had treated him very 
 lightly, and he bore few signs of age. Such in 
 person was Christopher Dale, Esq., the squire 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 11 
 
 of Allington, and owner of some three thousand 
 a year, all of which proceeded from the lands of 
 that parish. 
 
 And now I will speak of the Great House of 
 Allington. After all, it was not very great; 
 nor was it surrounded by much of that exquisite 
 nobility of park appurtenance which graces the 
 habitations of most of our old landed pi'oprietors. 
 But the house itself was very graceful. It had 
 been built in the days of the early Stuarts, in 
 that stjile of architecture to which we give the 
 name of the Tudors. On its front it showed 
 three pointfed roofs, or gables, as I believe they 
 should be called ; and between each ga,ble a thin 
 tall chimney stood, the two chimneys thus rais- 
 ing themselves just above the three peaks I have 
 mentioned. I think that the beauty of the house 
 depended much on those two chimneys ; on 
 them, and on the mullioned windows with which 
 the front of the house was closely filled. The 
 door, with its jutting porch, was by no means in 
 the centre of the house. As you entered, thei'e 
 was but one window on your right hand, while 
 on your left there were three. And over these 
 theris was a line of five windows, one taking its 
 place above the porch. We all know the beau- 
 tiful old Tudor window, with its stout stone mul- 
 lions and its stone transoms, crossing from side 
 to side at a point much nearer to the top than 
 to the bottom. Of all windows ever invented it 
 is the sweetest. And here, at Allington, I think 
 their beauty was enhanced by the fact that they 
 were not regular in their shape. Some of these 
 windows were long windows, while some of them 
 were high. That to the right of the door, and 
 that at the other extremity of the house, were 
 among the former. But the others had been 
 put in without regard to uniformity, a long win- 
 dow here, and a high window there, with a gen- 
 eral effect which could hardly have been im- 
 proved. Then above, in the three gables, were 
 three other smaller apertures. But these also 
 were mullioned, and the entire frontage of the 
 house was uniform in its style. 
 
 Round the house there were trim gardens, not 
 very large, but worthy of much note in that they 
 were so trim — gardens with broad gravel paths, 
 with one walk running in front of the house so 
 broad as to be fitly called a terrace. But this, 
 though in front of the house, was sufiiciently re- 
 moved from it to iWow of a coach road running 
 inside it to the front door. The Dales of Al- 
 lington had always been gardeners, and their 
 garden was perhaps more noted in the county 
 than any other of their properties. But outside 
 the gardens no pretentions had been made to the 
 grandeur of a domain. The pastures round the 
 house were but pretty fields, in which timber was 
 abundant. There was no deer park at Alling- 
 ton ; and though the Allington woods were well 
 known, they formed no portion of a whole of 
 which the house was a part. They lay away, 
 out of sight, a full mile from the back of the 
 house ; but not on that account of less avail for 
 the fitting preservation of foxes. 
 
 And the house stood much too near the road 
 
 for purposes of grandeur, had such purposes ever 
 swelled the breast of any of the squires of Al- 
 lington. But I fancy that our ideas of rural 
 grandeur have altered since many of our older 
 country seats were built. To be near the vil- 
 lage, so as in some way to afford comfort, pro- 
 tection, and patronage, and perhaps also with 
 some view to the pleasantness of neighborhood 
 for its own inmates, seemed to be the object of 
 a gentleman when building his house in the old 
 days. A solitude in the centre of a wide park 
 is now the only site that can be recognized as 
 eligible. No cottage must be seen, unless the 
 cottage orne' of the gardener. The village, if it 
 can not be abolished, must oe got out of sight. 
 The sound of the church bells is not desirable, 
 and the road on which the profane vulgar travel 
 by their own right must be at a distance. When 
 some old Dale of Allington built his house he 
 thought differently. There stood the church 
 and there the village, and, pleased with such 
 vicinity, he sat himself down close to his God 
 and to his tenants. . 
 
 As you pass along the road from Guestwick 
 into the village you see the church near to you 
 on your left hand ; but the house is hidden from 
 the road. As you appi-oach the church, reach- 
 ing the gate of it, which is not above two hun- 
 dred yards from the high road, you see the full 
 front of the Great House. Perhaps the best view 
 of it is from the church-yard. The lane leading 
 up to the church ends in a gate, which is the en- 
 trance into Mr. Dale's place. There is no lodge 
 there, and the gate generally stands open — in- 
 deed always does so, unless some need of cattle 
 grazing within requires that it should be closed. 
 But there is an inner gate leading from the 
 home paddock through the gardens to the house, 
 and another inner gate, some thirty yards far- 
 ther on, which will take yoii into the farm-yard. 
 Perhaps it is a defect at Allington that the farm- 
 yard is very close to the house. But the stables, 
 and the straw-yards, and the unwashed carts, 
 and the lazy lingering cattle of the homestead, 
 are screened off by a row of chestnuts, which, 
 when in its glory of flower in the early days of 
 May, no other row in England can surpass in 
 beauty. Had any one told Dale of Allington 
 — this Dale or any former Dale — that his place 
 wanted wood, he would have pointed with 
 mingled pride and disdain to his belt of chest- 
 nuts. 
 
 Of the church itself I will say the fewest pos- 
 sible number of words. It was a church such 
 as there are, I think, thousands in England — 
 low, incommodious, kept with difficulty in re- 
 pair too, often pervious to the wet, and yet 
 strangely picturesque, and correct too, accord- 
 ing to great rules of architecture. It was built 
 with a nave and aisles, visibly in the form of a 
 cross, though with its arms clipped down to the 
 trunk, with a separate chancel, with a large 
 square short tower, and with a bell-shaped spire, 
 covered with lead and irregular in its propor- 
 tions. Who does not know the low porch, the 
 perpendicular Gothic window, the flat-roofed 
 
12 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 aisles, and the noble old gray tower of such a 
 eliurch as this? As regards its interior, it was 
 dusty; it was blocked up with high-backed ugly 
 pews ; the gallery in which the children sat at 
 the end of the church, and in which two ancient 
 musicians blew theirbassoons, was all awry, and 
 looked as though it would fall ; the pulpit was an 
 ugly, useless edifice, as high nearly as the roof 
 would allow, and the reading-desk under it hard- 
 ly permitted the parson to keep his head free 
 from the dangling tassels of the cushion above 
 him. A clerk also was there beneath him, hold- 
 ing a third position somewhat elevated ; and upon 
 the whole things there were not quite as I would 
 have had them, feut, nevertheless, the place 
 looked like a church, and I can hardly say so 
 much for all the modern edifices which have been 
 built in my days toward the glory of God. It 
 looked like a church, and not the less so because 
 in walking up the passage between the pews the 
 visitor trod upon the brass plates which digni- 
 fied the resting-places of the departed Dales of 
 old. 
 
 Below the church, and between that and the 
 village, stood the vicarage, in such position that 
 the small garden of the vicarage stretched from 
 the church-yard down to the backs of the village 
 cottages. This was a pleasant residence, newly 
 built within the last thirty years, and creditable 
 to the ideas of comfort entertained by the rich 
 collegiate body from which the vicars of Ailing- 
 ton always came. Doubtless we shall in the 
 course of our sojourn at Allington visit the vic- 
 arage now and then, but I do not know that any 
 further detailed account of its comforts will be 
 necessary to us. 
 
 Passing by the lane leading to the vicarage, 
 the church, and to the house, the high road 
 descends rapidly to a little brook which runs 
 through the village. On the right as you de- 
 scend you will have seen the "Eed Lion," and 
 will have seen no other house conspicuous in 
 any way. At the bottom, close to the brook, is 
 the post-ofiice, kept surely by the crossest old 
 woman in all those parts. Here the road passes 
 through the water, the accommodation of a nar- 
 row wooden bridge having been afforded for 
 those on foot. But before passing the stream 
 you will see a cross street, running to the left, 
 as had run that other lane leading to the house. 
 Here, as this cross street rises the hill, are the 
 best honses in the village. The baker lives 
 here, and that respectable woman, Mrs. Frum- 
 mage, who sells ribbons, and toys, and soap, 
 and straw bonnets, with many other things too 
 long to mention. Here, too, lives an apotheca- 
 ry, whom the veneration of this and neighboring 
 parishes has raised to the dignity of a doctor. 
 And here also, in the smallest but prettiest cot- 
 tage that can be imagined, lives Mrs. Hearn, 
 the widow of a former vicar, on terms, however, 
 with her neighbor the squire which I regret to 
 say are not as friendly as they should be. Be- 
 yond this lady's modest residence, Allington 
 Street, for so the road is called, turns suddenly 
 round toward the church, and at the point of 
 
 the turn is a pretty low iron railing with a gate, 
 and with a covered way, which .leads up to the 
 front door of the house which stands there. I 
 will only say here, at this fag end of a chapter, 
 that it is the Small House at Allington. Alling- 
 ton Street, as I have said, turns short round to- 
 ward the church at this point, and there ends at 
 a white gate, leading into the church-yard by a 
 second entrance. 
 
 So much it was needful that I should say of 
 Allington Great House, of the squire^ and of 
 the village. Of the Small House I will speak 
 separately in a further chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 THE TWO PEARLS OP ALLINGTOK. 
 
 " Bdt Mr. Crosbie is only a mere clerk.^' 
 
 This sarcastic condemnation was spoken by 
 Miss Lilian Dale to her sister Isabella, and re- 
 ferred to a gentleman with whom we shall liave 
 much concern in these pages. I do not say 
 that Mr. Crosbie will be our hero, seeing that 
 that part in the drama will be cut up, as it were, 
 into fragments. Whatever of the magnificent 
 may be produced will be diluted and apportion- 
 ed out in very moderate quantities among two 
 or more, probably among three or four, young 
 gentlemen — to none of whom will be vouchsafed 
 the privilege of much heroic action. 
 
 "I don't know what you call a mere clerk, 
 Lily. Mr. Eanfaron is a mere barrister, and 
 Mr. Boyce is a mere clergyman." Mr. Boyce 
 was the vicar of Allington, and Mr. Eanfaron 
 was a lawyer who had made his way over to 
 Allington during the last assizes. " You might 
 as well say that Lord De Guest is a mere earl." 
 
 "So he is — only a mere earl. Had he ever 
 done any thing except have jat oxen one wouldn't 
 say so. You know what I mean by a mere clerk. 
 It isn't much in a man to be in a public office, 
 and yet Mr. Crosbie gives himself airs." 
 
 ".You don't suppose that Mr. Crosbie is the 
 same as John Eames," said Bell, who, by her 
 tone of voice, did not seem inclined to under- 
 value the qualifications of Mr. Crosbie. Now 
 John Eames was a young man from Guestwick, 
 who had been appointed to a clerkship in the 
 Income-tax Office, with eighty pounds a year, 
 two years ago. 
 
 " Then Johnny Eames is a mere clerk,'' said 
 Lily ; " and Mr. Crosbie is — After all. Bell, 
 what is Mr. Crosbie, if he is not a mere clerk ? 
 Of course he is older than John Eames ; and, 
 as he has been longer at it, I suppose he has 
 more than eighty pounds a }'ear. " 
 
 "I am not in Mr. Ciosbie's confidence. He 
 is in the General Committee Office, I know ■ 
 and, I believe, has pretty nearly the manage- 
 ment of the whole of it. I have heard Bernard 
 say that he has six or seven young men under 
 him, and that — ; but of course I don't know 
 what he does at his office." 
 
 "I'll tell you what he is, Bell; Mr. Crosbie 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 13 
 
 is a swell." AAd Lilian Dale was right; Mr. 
 Crosbie was a swell. 
 
 And here I may perhaps best explain who 
 Bernard was, and who was Mr. Crosbie. Cap- 
 tain Bernard Dale was an officer in the corps 
 of Engineers, was the first cousin of the two 
 girls who have been speaking, and was nephew 
 and heir-pi-esumptive to the squire. His father. 
 Colonel Dale, and his mother, Lady Fanny 
 Dale, were still living at Torquay — an effete, 
 invalid, listless couple, pretty well dead to all 
 tlie world beyond the region of the Torquay 
 card-tables. He it was 'who had made for him- 
 s3lf quite a career in the Nineteenth Dragoons. 
 This he did by eloping with the penniless daugh- 
 ter of that impoverished earl, the Lord De Guest. 
 After the conclusion of that event circumstances 
 had not afforded him the opportunity of making 
 himself conspicuous ; and he had gone on de- 
 clining gradually in the world's esteem — for the 
 world had esteemed him when he first made 
 good his running with the Lady Fanny — till 
 now, in his slippered years, he and his Lady 
 Fanny were unknown except among those Tor- 
 quay Bath chairs and card-tables. His elder 
 brother was still a hearty man, walking in thick 
 slioes, and constant in his saddle; but the col- 
 onel, with nothing beyond his wife's title to keep 
 his body awake, had fallen asleep somewhat 
 prematurely among liis slippers. Of him and 
 of Lady Fanny, Bernard Dale was the only son. 
 Daughters they had had ; some were dead, some 
 married, and one living with them among the 
 card-tables. Of his parents Bernard had lat- 
 terly not seen much ; not more, that is, than 
 duty and a due attention to the fifth command- 
 ment required of him. He also was making a 
 career for himself, having obtairted a commis- 
 sion in the Engineers, and being known to all 
 his compeers as the nephew of an earl, and as 
 the heir to a property of three thousand a year. 
 And when I say that Bernard Dale was not in- 
 clined to throw away any of these^dvantages, I 
 by no means intend to speak in his dispraise. 
 The advantage of being heir to a good property 
 is so manifest — the advantages over and beyond 
 those which are raereljr fiscal, that no man 
 thinks of throwing them away, or expects an- 
 other man to do so. Moneys in possession or 
 in expectation do give a set to the head, and a 
 confidance to the voice, and an assurance to the 
 man, wliich will help him much in his walk in 
 life-^if the owner of them will simply use them, 
 and not abuse them. And for Bernard Dale I 
 will say that he did not often talk of his uncle 
 the earl. He was conscious that his uncle was 
 an earl, and that other men knew the fact. He 
 knew that he would not otherwise have been 
 elected at the Beaufort, or at that most aristo- 
 cratic of little clubs called Sebright's. When 
 noble blood was called in question he never al- 
 luded specially to his own, but he knew how to 
 speak as one of whom all the world was aware 
 on which side he had been placed by the circum- 
 stances of his birth. Thus he used his advant- 
 age, and did not abuse it. And in his profes- 
 
 sion he had been equally fortunate. By indus- 
 try, by a small but wakeful intelligence, and by 
 some aid from patronage, he had got on till he 
 had almost acliieved tlie reputation of talent. 
 His name had become known among scientific 
 experimentalists, not as that of one who had 
 himself invented a cannon or an antidote to a 
 cannon, but as of a man understanding in can- 
 nons and well fitted to look at those invented 
 by others ; who would honestly test this or that 
 antidote ; or, if not honestly, seeing that such 
 thin-minded men can hardly go to the proof of 
 any matter without some pre-judgment in their 
 minds, at any rate with such appearance of hon- 
 esty that tlie world might be satisfied. And in 
 this way Captain Dale was employed much at 
 home, about London, and was not called on to 
 builil barracks in Nova Scotia, or to make roads 
 in the Punjaub. 
 
 He was a small, slight man, smaller than his 
 uncle, but in face very like him. He had the 
 same eyes, and nose, and chin, and the same 
 mouth ; but his forehead was better — less high 
 and pointed, and better formed about the brows. 
 And then he wore mustaches, which somewhat 
 hid the thinness of his mouthi On the whole, 
 he was not ill-looking ; and, as I have said bq,- 
 fore, he carried witli him an air of self-assurance 
 and a conlident balance, which in itself gives a 
 grace to a young man. 
 
 He was staying at the present time in his 
 uncle's house, during the delicious warmth of 
 the summer — for, as yet, the month of July was 
 not all past ; and his intimate friend, Adolphus 
 Crosbie, who was or was not a mere clerk as my 
 readers may choose to form their own opinions 
 on that matter, was a guest in .the house with 
 him. I am inclined to say that Adolphus Cros- 
 bie was not a mere clerk ; and I do not think 
 that he would have been so called, even by Lily 
 Dale, had lie not given signs to her that he was 
 a "swell." Now a man in becoming a swell — a 
 swell of such an order as could possibly be known 
 to Lily Dale — must have ceased to be a mere 
 clerk in that very process. And, moreover. Cap- 
 tain Dale would not have been Damon to any 
 Pythias, of whom it might fairly be said that he 
 was a mere clerk. Nor could any mere clerk 
 have got himself in either at the Beaufort or at 
 Sebright's. The evidence against that former 
 assertion made by Lily Dale is very strong ; but 
 then the evidence as to her latter assertion is as 
 strong. Mr. Crosbie certainly was a swell. It 
 is true that he was a clerk in the General Com- 
 mittee Office. But then, in the first place, the 
 General Committee Office is situated in White- 
 hall; whereas poor John Eames was forced to 
 travel daily from his lodgings in Burton Cres- 
 cent, ever so far beyond Russell Square, to his 
 dingy room in Somerset House. And Adolphus 
 Crosbie, when very young, had been a private 
 secretary, and had afterward mounted up in his 
 office to some quasi authority and senior-clerk- 
 ship, bringing him in seven hundred a year, and 
 giving him a status among assistant secretaries 
 and the like, which even in an official point of 
 
14 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 view was something. But the triumphs of Adol- 
 phus Ci'osbie had been other that these. Kot 
 because he had been intimate with assistant sec- 
 retaries, and was allowed in Whitehall a room 
 to himself with an arm-chair, would he have 
 been entitled to stand upon the rug at Sebright's 
 and speak while rich men listened — rich men, 
 and men also who had handles to their names ! 
 Adolphus Crosbie had done more than make 
 minutes with discretion on the papers of the 
 General Committee Office. He had set himself 
 down before the gates of the city of fashion, and 
 had taken them by storm ; or, perhaps, to speak 
 with more propriety, he had picked the locks and 
 let himself in. In his walks of life .he was some- 
 body in London. A man at the West End who 
 did not know who was Adolphus Crosbie knew 
 nothing. I do not say that he was the intimate 
 friend of many great men ; but even great men 
 acknowledged the acquaintance of Adolphus 
 Crosbie, and he was to be seen in the drawing- 
 rooms, or at any rate on the staircases, of Cab- 
 inet Ministers. 
 
 Lilian Dale, dear Lily Dale— ^for my reader 
 must know that she is to be very dear, and that 
 my story will be nothing to him if he do not love 
 Lily Dale — Lilian Dale had discovered that Mr. 
 Crosbie was a swell. But I am bound to say 
 that Mr. Crosbie did not habitually proclaim the 
 fact in any oflensive manner ; nor in becoming 
 a swell had he become altogether a bad fellow. 
 It was not to be expected that a man who 
 was petted at Sebright's should carry himself in 
 the AUington drawing-room as would Johnny 
 Eames, who had never been petted by any one 
 but his mother. And this fraction of a hero of 
 ours had other advantages to back him, over and 
 beyond those which fashion had given him. He 
 was a tall, well-looking man, with pleasant eyes 
 and an expressive mouth — a man whom you 
 would probably observe in whatever room you 
 might meet him. And he knew how to talk, 
 and had in him something which justified talk- 
 ing. He was no butterfly or dandy, who flew 
 about in the world's sun, warmed into prettiness 
 by a sunbeam. Crosbie had his opinion on things 
 — on politics, on religion, on the philanthropic 
 tendencies of the age, and had read something 
 here and there as he formed his opinion. Per- 
 haps he might have done better in the world had. 
 he not been placed so early in life in that White- 
 hall public office. There was that in him which 
 might have earned better bread for him in an 
 open profession. 
 
 But in that matter of his bread the fate of 
 Adolphus Crosbie had by this time l)een decided 
 for him, and he had reconciled himself to fate 
 that was now inexorable. Some very slight 
 patrimony, a hundred a year or so, had fallen 
 to his share. Beyond that he had his salary 
 from his office, and nothing else; and on his 
 income, thus made up, he had lived as a bache- 
 lor in London, enjoying all that London could 
 give him as a man in moderately easy circum- 
 stances, and looking forward to no costly luxu- 
 ries — such as a wife, a house of his own, or a 
 
 stable full of horses. Those which he did enjoy 
 of the good things of the world would, if known 
 to John Eames, have made him appear fabulous- 
 ly rich in the eyes of that brother clerk. His 
 lodgings in Mount Street were elegant in their 
 belongings. During three months of the season 
 in London he called himself the master of a very 
 neat hack. He was always well dressed, though 
 never over-dressed. At his clubs he could live 
 on equal terms with men having ten times his 
 income. He was not married. He had ac- 
 knowledged to himself that he could not marry - 
 without money ; and he would not marry for 
 money. He had put aside from him, as not 
 within his reach, the comforts of marriage. 
 Bnt — We will not, however, at the present 
 moment, inquire more curiously into the private 
 life and circumstances of our new friend Adol- 
 phus Crosbie. 
 
 After the sentence pronounced against him by 
 Lilian the two girls remained silent for a while. 
 Bell was, perhaps, a little angry with her sister. 
 It was not often that she allowed herself to say 
 much in praise of any gentleman ; and now that 
 she had spoken a word or two in favor of Mr. 
 Crosbie, she felt herself to be rebuked by her 
 sister for this unwonted enthusiasm. Lily was 
 at work on a drawing, and in a minute or two 
 had forgotten all about Mr. Crosbie; but the 
 injury remained on Bell's mind, and prompted 
 her to go back to the subject. "I don't like 
 those slang words, Lily." 
 
 " What slang words ?" 
 
 "You know what you called Bernard's friend." 
 
 "Oh, a swell! I fancy I do like slang. I 
 think it's awfully jolly to talk about things being 
 jolly. Only .that I was afraid of your nerves I 
 should have called him stunning. It's so slow, 
 you know, to use nothing but words out of a 
 dictionary." 
 
 "I don't think it's nice in talking of gentle- 
 men." 
 
 "Isn't it?« Well, I'd like to be nice— if I 
 knew how." 
 
 If she knew how ! JThere is no knowing how, 
 for a girl, in that matter. If nature and her 
 mother have not done it for her there is no hope 
 for her on that head. I think I may say that 
 nature and her mother had been sufficiently 
 efficacious for Lilian Dale in this respect, 
 
 "Mr. Crosbie is, at any rate, a gentieraan, 
 and knows how to make himself pleasant. That 
 was all that I meant. Mamma said a great deal 
 more about him than I did." 
 
 "Mr. Crosbie is an Apollo; and I always 
 look upon Apollo as the greatest — you know 
 what — that ever lived. I mustn't say the word, 
 because Apollo was a gentleman." 
 
 At this moment, while the name of the god 
 was still on her lips, the high open window of 
 the drawing-room was darkened, and Bernard 
 entered, followed by Mr. Crosbie. 
 
 ■ ' ' Who is talking about Apollo ?" said Captain 
 Dale. 
 
 The girls were both stricken dumb. How 
 would it be with them if Mr. Crosbie had heard 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALI^INGTON. 
 
 15 
 
 himself spoken of in those last words of poor 
 Lily's? This was the rashness of which Bell 
 was ever accusing her sister, and heraKwas the 
 result 1 But, .in truth, Bernard had heard no- 
 thing more than the name, and Mr. Crosbie, 
 who had been behind him, had heard nothing. 
 
 " ' As sweet and musical As bright Apollo's 
 lute, strung with his hair,'" said Mr. Crosbie, 
 not meaning much by the quotation, but per- 
 ceiving that the two girls had been in some way 
 put out and silenced. 
 
 "What very bad music it must have made," 
 said Lily; "unless, indeed, his hair was very 
 difterent from ours." 
 
 "It was all sunbeams," suggested Bernard. 
 But by that time Apollo had served his turn, 
 and the ladies welcomed their guests in the 
 proper form. 
 
 "Mamma is in the garden," said Bell, with 
 that hypocritical pretense so common with young 
 ladies when young gentlemen call ; as though 
 tliey were aware that mamma was the object 
 specially sought. 
 
 " Picking pease, with a sun-bonnet on," said 
 Lily. 
 
 "Let us by all means go and help her,'' said 
 Mr. Crosbie ; and then they issued out into the 
 garden. 
 
 The gardens of the Great House of AUington 
 and those of the Small House open on to each 
 other. A proper boundary of thick laurel hedge, 
 and wide ditch, and of iron spikes guarding the 
 ditch, there is between them ; but over the wide 
 ditch there is a foot-bridge, and at the bridge 
 there is a gate which has no key ; and for all 
 purposes of enjoyment the gardens of each house 
 are open to the other. And the gardens of the 
 Small House are very pretty. The Small House 
 itself is so near the road that there is nothing 
 between the dining-room windows and the iron 
 rail but a narrow edge rather than border, and 
 a little path made with round fixed.cobble-stones, 
 not above two feet broad, into which no one but 
 the gardener ever makes his way. The distance 
 from the road to the house is not above five or 
 six feet,, and the entrance from the gate is shut 
 in by a covered way. But the garden behind 
 the house, on to which the windows from the 
 drawing-room open, is to all the senses as private 
 as though there were no village of AUington, 
 and no road up to the church within a hundred 
 yards of the lawn. The steeple of the church, 
 indeed, can be seen from the lawn, peering, as 
 It were, between the yew-trees which stand in 
 the corner of the church-yard adjoining to Mrs. 
 Dale's wall. But none of the Dale family have 
 any objection to the sight of that steeple. The 
 glory of the Small House at AUington certainly 
 consists in its lawn, which is as smooth, as level, 
 and as much like velvet as grass has ever yet 
 been made to look. Lily Dale, taking pride in 
 her own lawn, has declared often that it is no 
 good attempting to play croquet up at the Great 
 House. The grass, she says, grows in tufts, and 
 nothing that Hopkins, the gardener, can or will 
 do has any effect upon the tufts. But there are 
 
 no tufts at the Small House. As the squire 
 himself has never been very enthusiastic about 
 croquet, the croquet implements have been moved 
 permanently down to the Small House, and 
 croquet there has become quite an institution. 
 
 And while I am on the subject of the garden 
 I may also mention Mrs. Dale's conservatory, 
 as to which Bell was strenuously of opinion that 
 the Great House had nothing to offer equal to it 
 -r-' ' For flowers, of course, I mean, " she would 
 say, correcting herself; for at the Great House 
 there was a grapery very celebrated. On this 
 matter the squire would be less tolerant than as 
 regarded the croquet, and would tell his niece 
 that she knew nothing about flowers. "Per- 
 liaps not. Uncle Christopher," she would say. 
 ^' AH the same, I like our geraniums best;" for 
 there was a spice of obstinacy about Miss Dale — 
 as, indeed, there was in all the Dales, male and 
 female, young and old. 
 
 It may be as well to explain that the care of 
 this lawn and of this conservatory, and indeed 
 of the entire garden belonging to .the Small 
 House, was in the hands of Hopkins, the head 
 gardener to the Great House ; and it was so sim- 
 ply for this reason, that Mrs. Dale could not af- 
 ford to keep a gardener herself. A working lad, 
 at ten shillings a week, who cleaned the knives 
 and shoes, and dug the ground, was the only 
 male attendant on the three ladies. But Hop- 
 kins, the head gardener of AUington, who had 
 men under him, was as widely awake to the 
 lawn and the conservatory of the humbler estab- 
 lishment as he was to the grapery, peach-walls, 
 •and terraces of the grander one. In his eyes it 
 was all one place. The Small House belonged 
 to his master, as indeed did the very furniture 
 within it ; and it was lent, not let, to Mrs. Dale. 
 Hopkins, perhaps, did not love Mrs. Dale, see- 
 ing that he owed her no duty as one born a 
 ■Dale. The two young ladies he did love, and 
 also snubbed in a very peremptory way some- 
 times. To Mrs. Dale he was coldly civil, al- 
 ways referring to the squire if any direction 
 worthy of special notice as concerning the gar- 
 den was given to him. 
 
 All this will serve to explain the terms on 
 which Mrs. Dale was living at the Small House 
 — a matter needful of explanation sooner or lat- 
 er. Her husband had been the youngest of 
 three brothers, and in many respects the bright- 
 est. Early in life he had gone up to London, 
 and there had done well as a land surveyor. He 
 had done so well that Government had employ- 
 ed him, and for some three or four years he had 
 enjoyed a large income. But death had come 
 suddenly on him, while he was only yet ascend- 
 ing the ladder ; and when he died he had hard- 
 ly begun to realize the golden prospects which 
 he had seen before him. This had happened 
 some fifteen years before our story commenced, 
 so that the two girls hardly retained any memo- 
 ry of their father. For the first five years of her 
 widowhood Mrs. Dale, who had never been a fa- 
 vorite of the squire's, lived with her two little 
 girls in such modest way as her very limited 
 
16 
 
 THE SMAXL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 means allowed. Old Mrs. Dale, the squire's 
 mother, then occupied the Small House. But 
 when old Mrs. Dale died the squire offered the 
 place rent-free to his sister-in-law, intimating to 
 her that her daughters would obtain considera- 
 ble social advantages by living at AUington. 
 She had accepted the offer, and the social ad- 
 vantages had certainly followed. Mrs. Dale 
 was poor, her whole income not exceeding three 
 hundred a year, and therefore her own style of 
 living was of necessity very unassuming ; but she 
 saw her girls becoming popular in the county, 
 much liked by the families around them, and 
 enjoying nearly all the advantages which would 
 have accrued to them had they been the daugh- 
 ters of Squire Dale, of AUington. Under such 
 circumstances it was little to her whether or na» 
 she were loved by her brother-in-law or respect- 
 ed by Hopkins. Her own girls loved her and 
 respected her, and that was pretty much all that 
 she demanded of the world on her own behalf 
 
 And Uncle Christopher had been very good to 
 the girls in his own obstinate and somewhat un- 
 gracious manner. There were two ponies in the 
 stables of the Great House, which they were al- 
 lowed to ride, and which, unless on occasions, 
 nobody else did ride. I think he might have 
 given the ponies to the girls, but he thought dif- 
 ferently. And he contributed to their dresses, 
 sending them home now and again things which 
 he thought necessary, not in the pleasantest way 
 in the world. Money he never gave them, nor 
 did he makS them any promises. But they were 
 Dales, and he loved them ; and with Christo- 
 pher Dale to love once was to love always. Bell 
 was his chief favorite, sharing with his nephew 
 Bernard the best warmth of his heart. About 
 these two he had his projects, intending that 
 Bell should be the future mistress of the Great 
 House of AUington ; as to which project, how- 
 ever, Miss Dale was as yet in very absolute ig- 
 norance. 
 
 We may now, I think, go back to our four 
 friends as they ^^lalked out upon the lawn. They 
 were understood to be on a mission to assist Mrs. 
 Dale in the picking of the pease ; but pleasure 
 intervened in the way of business, and the young 
 people, forgetting the labors of their elder, al- 
 lowed themselves to be carried away by the fas- 
 cinations of croquet. The iron hoops and the 
 sticks were fixed. The mallets and the balls 
 were lying about; and then the party was so 
 nicely made up! "I haven't had a game of 
 croquet yet," said Mr. Crosbie. Ifcan not be 
 said that he had lost much time, seeing that he 
 had only arrived before dinner on the preceding 
 day. And then the mallets were in their hands 
 in a moment. 
 
 "We'll play sides, of course,'' said Lily. ' ' Ber- 
 nard and I'll play together." But this was not 
 allowed. Lily was well known to be the queen 
 of the croquet ground ; and as Bernard was sup- 
 posed to be more eiBcient than his friend, Lily 
 had to take Mr. Crosbie as her partner. " Apol- 
 lo can't get through the hoops," Lily said after- 
 ward to her sister ; "but then how gracefully he 
 
 fails to do it !" Lily, however, had been beaten, 
 and may therefore be excused for a little spite 
 against lier partner. But it so turned out that 
 before Mr. Crosbie took his final departure from 
 AUington he could get through the hoops ; and 
 Lily, though she was still queen of the croquet 
 ground, had to acknowledge a male sovereign in 
 that dominion. 
 
 "That's not the way we played at — ," said 
 Crosbie, at one point of the game, and then 
 stopped himself 
 
 "Where was that?" said Bernard. 
 
 "A place I was at last summer — in Shrop- 
 shire." 
 
 " Then they dont play the game, Mr. Cros- 
 bie, at the place you were at last summer — in 
 Shropshire," said Lily. 
 
 "You mean Lady Hartletop's," said Bernard. 
 Now the Marchioness of Hartletop was a very 
 great person indeed, and a leader in the fashion- 
 able world. 
 
 "Oh! Lady Hartletop's! "said Lily. "Then 
 I suppose we must give in ;" which little bit of 
 sarcasm was not lost upon Mr. Crosbie, and was 
 put down by him in the tablets of his mind as 
 quite undesei-ved. He had endeavored to avoid 
 any mention of Lady Hartletop and her croquet 
 ground, and her ladyship's name had been forced 
 upon him. Nevertheless' he liked Lily Dale 
 through it all. But he thought that he liked 
 Bell the hest, though she said little; for Bell 
 was the beauty of the family. 
 
 During the game Bernard remembered that 
 they had especially come over to bid the three 
 ladies to dinner at the house on that day. They 
 had all dined there on the day before, and tho 
 girls' uncle had now sent directions to them to 
 come again. " I'll go and ask mamma about 
 it," said Bell, who was out first. And then she 
 returned, saying that she and her sister would 
 obey their uncle's behest ; but that her mother 
 would prefer to remain at home. "There are 
 the pease to be eaten, you know," said Lily. 
 
 "Send them up to the Great House," said 
 Bernard. 
 
 "Hopkins would not allow it," said Lily. 
 ' ' He calls that a mixing of things. Hopkins 
 doesn't like mixings." And then when the game 
 was over, they sauntered about, out of the small 
 garden into the larger one, and through the 
 shrubberies, and out upon the fields, where they 
 found the still lingering remnants of the hay- 
 making. And Lily took a rake, and raked for 
 two minutes ; and Mr. Crosbie, making an at- 
 tempt to pitch the hay into the cart, had to pay 
 half a crown for his footing to the hay-makers ; 
 and Bell sat quiet under a tree, mindful of her 
 complexion ; whereupon Mr. Crosbie, finding 
 the hay-pitching not much to his taste, threw 
 himself under the same tree also, quite after the 
 manner of Apollo, as Lily said to her mother 
 late in the evening. Then Bernard covered Lily 
 with hay, which was a great feat in the jocose 
 way for him ; and Lily, in returning the com- 
 pliment, almost smothered Mr. Crosbie — by ac- 
 cident. 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 17 
 
 "Oh, Lily!" said Bell. 
 
 " ['m Blue I beg your pardon, Mr. Crosbie. 
 It was Bernard's fault. Bernard, I never will 
 come into a hay-field with you again." And so 
 they all became very intimate ; while Bell sat 
 quietly under the tree, listening to a word or 
 two now and then as Mr. Crosbie chose to speak 
 them. There is a kind of enjoyment to be had 
 in society in which very few words are necessary. 
 Bell was less vivacious than her sister Lily; and 
 when, an hour after this, she was dressing her- 
 self for dinner, she acknowledged that she had 
 passed a pleasant afternoon, though Mr. Crosbie 
 had not said very much. 
 
 CHAPTER m. « 
 
 THE WIDOW DALE, OF ALLINGTOK. 
 
 As Mrs. Dale, of the Small House, was not a 
 Dale by birth, there can be no necessity for in- 
 sisting on the fact that none of the Dale pecul- 
 iarities should be sought for in her character. 
 These peculiarities were not, perhaps, very con- 
 spicuous in her daughters, who had taken more 
 in that respect from their mother than from their 
 father ; but a close observer might recognize the 
 girls as Dales. They were constant, piJl'haps 
 obstinate, occasionally a little uncharitable in 
 their judgment, and prone to think that there 
 was a great deal in being a Dale, though not 
 prone to say much about it. But they had also 
 a better pride than this, which had come to them 
 as their mother's heritage. 
 
 Mrs. Dale was certainly a proud woman — not 
 that there was any thing appertaining to herseTf 
 in which she took a pride. In birth she had 
 been much lower than her husband, seeing that 
 her grandfather had been almost nobody. Her 
 fortune had been considerable for her rank in 
 life, and on its proceeds she now mainly depend- 
 ed, but it had not been sufficient to give any 
 of the pride of wealth. And she had been a 
 beauty ; according to my taste, was still very 
 lovely ; but certainly at this time of life, she, a 
 widow of fifteen years' standing, with two grown- 
 up daughters, took no pride in her beauty. Nor 
 had she any conscious pride in the fact that she 
 was a lady. That she was a lady, inward and 
 outward, from the crown of her head to the soles 
 of her feet, in head, in heart, and in mind, a 
 lady by education and a lady by nature, a lady 
 also by birth in spite of that deficiency respect- 
 ing her grandfather, I hereby state as a fact — 
 meo periculo. And the squire, though he had 
 no special love for her, had recognized this, and 
 in all respects treated her as his equal. 
 
 But her position was one which required that 
 she should either be very proud or else very 
 humble. She was poor, and yet her daughters 
 moved in a position which belongs, as a rule, to 
 the daughters of rich men only. This they did 
 as nieces of the childless squire of Allington, 
 and as his nieces she felt that they were entitled 
 to accept his countenance and kindness, without 
 
 loss of self-respect either to her or to them. She 
 would have ill done her duty as a mother to 
 them had she allowed any pride of her own to 
 come between them and such advantage in the 
 world as their uncle might be able to give them. 
 On their behalf she had accepted the loan of the . 
 house in which she lived, and the use of many 
 of the appurtenances belonging to her brother- 
 in-law ; but on her own account she had ac- 
 cepted nothing. Her marriage with Philip Dale 
 had been disliked by his brother the squire, and 
 the squire, while Philip was still living, had con- 
 tinued to show that his feelings in this respect 
 were not to be overcome. They never had been 
 overcome ; and now, though the brother-in-law 
 and sister-in-law had been dose neigjjibors for 
 years, living as one may say almost in the same 
 family, they had never become friends. There 
 had not been a word of quarrel between them. 
 They met constantly. The squire had uncon- 
 sciously come to entertain a profound respect for 
 his brother's widow. The widow had acknowl- 
 edged to herself the truth of the affection shown 
 by the uncle to her daughters. But yet they 
 had never come together as friends. Of her own 
 money matters Mrs. Dale had never spoken a 
 word to the squire. Of his intention respecting 
 the girls the squire had never spoken a word to 
 the mother. And in this way they had lived 
 and were living at Allington. 
 
 The life which Mrs. Dale led was not alto- 
 gether an easy life — was not devoid of much 
 painful effort on her part. The theory of her 
 life one may say was this — that she should bury 
 herself in order that her daughters might live 
 well above-ground. And irt order to carry out 
 this theory it was necessary that she should ab- 
 stain from all complaint or show of uneasiness 
 before her girls. Their life above-ground would 
 not be well if they understood that their mother, 
 in this under-ground life of hers, was enduring 
 any sacrifice on their behalf. It was needful 
 that they should think that the picking of pease 
 in Hi sun-bonnet, or long readings by her own 
 fire-side, and solitary hours spent in thinking, 
 were specially to her mind. " Mamma doesn't 
 like going out." "I don't think mamjna is 
 happy any where out of her own drawing-room. " 
 I do not say that the girls were taught to say 
 such words, but they were taught to have 
 thougjits which led to such words, and in the 
 early days of their going out into the world used 
 so to speak of their mother. But a time came 
 to them before long — to one first and then to 
 the other — in which they knew that it was not 
 so, and knew also all that their mother had suf- 
 fered for their sakes. 
 
 And in truth Mrs. Dale could have been as 
 young in heart as they were. She, too, could 
 have played croquet, and have coquetted with 
 a haymaker's rake, and have delighted in her 
 pony, ay, and have listened to little nothings 
 from this and that Apollo, had she thought that 
 things had been conformable thereto. Women 
 at forty do not become ancient misanthropes, or 
 stern llhadamanthine moralists, indifferent to 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 the world's pleasures — no, not even though they 
 be widows. There are those who think that 
 such should be the phase of their minds. I 
 profess that I do not so think. I would have 
 women, and men also, young as long as they 
 can be young. It is not that a woman should 
 call herself in years younger than her fathei-'s 
 Family Bible will have her to be. Let her who 
 is forty call herself forty ; but if she can be 
 young in spirit at forty let her show that she 
 is so. 
 
 I think that Mrs. Dale was wrong. She would 
 have joined that party on the croquet-ground, 
 instead of remaining among the pea-sticks in her 
 sun-bonnet, had she done as I would have coun- 
 seled her. Not a word was spoken among the 
 four that she did not hear. Those pea-sticks 
 were only removed from the lawn by a low wall 
 and a few shrubs. She listened, not as one sus- 
 pecting, hut simply as one loving. The voices 
 of her girls were very dear to her, and the silver 
 ringing tones of Lily's tongue were as sweet to 
 her ears a£ the music of the gods. She heard 
 all that about Lady Hartletop, and shuddered 
 at Lily's bold sarcasm. And she heard Lily say 
 that mamma would stay at home and eat the 
 ])ease, and said to herself sadly that that was 
 now her lot in life. 
 
 • ' ' Dear darling girl — and so it should be ! " 
 
 It was thus her thoughts ran. And then, 
 when her ear had traced them as they passed 
 across the little bridge into the other grounds, 
 she returned across the lawn to the house with 
 lier burden on her arm, and sat herself down on 
 the step of the drawing-room window, looking 
 out on the sweet summer flowers and the smooth 
 surface of the grass before her. 
 
 Had not God done well for her to place her 
 where she was ? Had not her lines been set for 
 her in pleasant places ? Was she not happy in 
 lier girls — her sweet, loving, trusting, trusty chil- 
 dren ? As it was to be that her lord, that best 
 half of herself, was to be taken from her in early 
 life, and that the springs of all the lighter pleas- 
 ures were to be thus stopped for her, had it not 
 been well that in her bereavement so much had 
 been done to soften her lot in life and give it 
 gi-ace and beauty ? 'Twas so, she argued with 
 herself, and yet she acknowledged to herself that 
 she was not happy. She had resolved, as she 
 herself had said often, to put away childish things, 
 and now she pined for those things which she so 
 put from her. As she sat she could still hear 
 Lily's voice as they went through the shrubbery 
 — hear it when none but a mother's ears would 
 have distinguished the sound. Now that those 
 young men were at the Great House it was nat- 
 ural that her girls should he there too. The 
 squire would not have had young men to stay 
 with him had there been no ladies to grace his 
 table. But for her — she knew that no one would 
 want her there. Now and again she must go, 
 as otherwise her very existence, without going, 
 would be a thing disagreeably noticeable. But 
 there was no other reason why she should join 
 the party ; nor in joining it would she either 
 
 give or receive pleasure. Let her daughters eat 
 from her brother's table and drink of his cup. 
 They were made welcome to do so from the heart. 
 For her there was no such welcome as that at 
 the Great House — nor at any other house, or any 
 other table ! 
 
 " Mamma will stay at home to eat the pease. " 
 
 And then she repeated to herself the words 
 which Lily had. spoken, sitting there, leaning 
 with her elbow on her knee, and her head upon 
 her hand. 
 
 " Please, ma'am, cook says, can we have the 
 pease to shell ?" and then her reverie was broken. 
 
 Whereupon Mrs. Dale got up and gave over 
 her basket. ' ' Cook knows that the ydung ladies 
 are going to dine at the Great House?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " She ijfedn't mind getting dinner for me. I 
 will have tea early." And so, after all, Mrs. 
 Dale did not perform that special duty appoint- 
 ed for her. 
 
 But she soon set herself to work upon another 
 duty. When a family of three persons has to 
 live upon an income of three hundred a year, 
 and, nevertheless, makes some pretense of going 
 into society, it has to be vei-y mindful of small 
 details, even though that family may consist only 
 of ladies. Of this Mrs. Dale was well aware, 
 and as it pleased her that her daughters should 
 be nice and fresh, and pretty in their attire, 
 many a long hour was given up to that care. 
 The squire would send them shawls in winter, 
 and had given them riding habits, and had sent 
 them down brown silk dresses from London — so 
 limited in quantity that the due manufacture of 
 two dresses out of the material had been found 
 tO" be beyondithe art of woman, and the brown 
 silk garments had been a difficulty from that ' 
 day to this — the squire having a good memory 
 in such matters, and being anxious to see the 
 fruits of his liberality. All this was doubtless 
 of assistance, but had the squire given the amount 
 which he so expended in money to his nieces the 
 benefit would have been greater. As it was, the 
 girls were always nice and fresh and pretty, they 
 themselves not being idle in that matter; but 
 their tire -woman in chief was their mother. 
 And now she went up to their room and got out 
 their muslin frocks, and — ^but, perhaps, I should 
 not tell such tales ! — She, however, felt no shame 
 in her work, as she sent for a hot iron, and with 
 her own hands smoothed out the creases, and 
 gave the proper set to the crimp flounces, and 
 fixed a new ribbon where it was wanted, and 
 saw that all was as it should be. Men think 
 but little how much of this kind is endured that 
 their eyes may be pleased, even though it be but 
 for an hour. 
 
 " Oh, mamma, how good you are !" said Bell, 
 as the two girls came in, only just in time to 
 make themselves ready for returning to dinner. 
 I "Mamma is always good," said Lily. "I 
 j wish, mamma, I could do the same for you 
 oftener ;" and then she kissed her mother. But 
 the squire was exact about dinner, so they dressed 
 themselves in haste, and went off again through 
 
THE SMAXL HOUSE AT AUilNGTON. 
 
 19 
 
 FLEASB, MA'AM, 0AM WE HAVE filE PEASE TO SHELL?" 
 
 the garden, their mother accompanying them 
 to the little bridge. 
 
 "Your uncle did not seem vexed at my not 
 coming?" said MrsJ Dale. 
 
 "We have not seen him, mamma," said Lily. 
 " We have been ever so far down the fields, and 
 forgot altogether what o'clock it was." 
 
 " I don't think Uncle Christopher was about 
 the place, or we should have met him," said 
 Bell. 
 
 "But I am vexed with you, mamma. Are 
 not yon. Bell ? It is very bad of you to stay 
 here all alone, and not come." 
 
 ' ' I suppose mamma likes being at home bet- 
 ter than up at the Great House," said Bell, very 
 gently; and as she spoke she was holding her 
 mother's hand. 
 
 "Well, good-by, dears. I shall expect you 
 between ten and eleven. But don't hurry your- 
 selves if any thing is going on." And so they 
 
20 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 went, and the widow was again alono. The 
 l)atli from the bridge ran straight up toward the 
 baclc of the Great House, so that for a moment 
 or two she could see them as they tripped on al- 
 most in a run. And then she saw their dresses 
 flutter as they turned sharp round, up the ter- 
 race steps. She would not go beyond the nook 
 among the laurels by which she was surrounded, 
 lest any one should see her as she looked after 
 her girls. But when the last flutter of pink 
 muslin had been whisked away from her sight, 
 she felt it hard that she might not follow them. 
 She stood there, however, without advancing a 
 step. She would not have Hopkins telling how 
 she watched her daughters as they went from 
 her own jjome to that of her brother-in-law. It 
 was not within the capacity of Hopkins to un- 
 derstand why she watched them. 
 
 "Well, girls, you're not much too soon. I 
 think your mother might have come with you," 
 said Uncle Christopher. And this was the man- 
 ner of the man. Had he known his own wishes 
 he must have acknowledged to himself that he 
 was better pleased that Mrs. Dale should stay 
 away. He felt himself more absolutely master 
 and more comfortably at home at his own table 
 without her company than with it. And yet he 
 frequently made a grievance of her not coming, 
 and himself believed in that grievance. 
 
 "I think mamma was tired," said Bell. 
 
 " Hem. It's not so very far across from one 
 house to the other. If I were to shut myself up 
 whenever I'm tired — But never mind. Let's 
 go to dinner. Mr. Crosbio, will you take my 
 niece Lilian." Ami then, ofi'ering his own arm 
 to B3II, he walked off' to the dining-room. 
 
 ' ' If he scolds mamma any more, I'll go away," 
 said Lily to her companion ; by which it may 
 b3 seen that they had all become very intimate 
 during the long day that they had passed to- 
 gether. 
 
 Mrs. Dale, after remaining for a moment on 
 the bridge, went into her tea. What succeda- 
 neum of mutton chop or broiled ham she had 
 for the roast duck and green pease which were to 
 have been provided for the family dinner we will 
 not particularly inquire. We may, however, 
 imagine that she did not devote herself to her 
 evening repast with any peculiar energy of ap- 
 petite. She took a book with her as she sat 
 lierself down — some novel, probably, for Mrs. 
 Dale was not above novels — and read a page or 
 two as she sipped her tea. But the book was 
 soon laid on one side, and the tray on which the 
 warm plate had become cold was neglected, and 
 she threw herself back in her own familiar chair, 
 thinking of herself, and of her girls, and think- 
 ing also what might have been her lot in life had 
 he lived who had loved her truly during the few 
 years tliat they had been together. 
 
 It is especially the nature of a Dale to be con- 
 stant in his likings and his dislikings. Her hus- 
 band's affection for her had been unswerving — 
 so much so that he had quarreled with his broth- 
 er because his brother would not express him- 
 self in brotherly terms about his wife; but, nev- 
 
 ertheless, the two brothers had loved each other 
 always. Many years had now gone by since 
 these things had occurred, but still the same 
 feelings remained. When she had first come 
 down to Allington she had resolved to win the 
 squire's regard, but she had now long known 
 that any such winning was out of the question ; 
 indeed there was no longer a wish for it. Mrs. 
 Dale was not one of those soft-hearted women 
 who sometimes thank God that they can love 
 any one. She could once have felt affection for 
 her brother-in-law — affection, and close, care- 
 ful, sisterly friendship ; but she could not do so 
 now. He had been cold to her, and had with 
 perseverance rejected her advances. That was 
 now seven years since ; and during those yeare 
 Mrs. Dale had been, at any rate, as cold to him 
 as he had been to her. 
 
 But all this was very hard to bear. That 
 her daughters should love their uncle was not 
 only reasonable but in every way desirable. 
 He was not cold to them. To tiiem he was 
 generous and affectionate. If she were only 
 out of the way he would have taken them to his 
 house as his own, and they would in all respects 
 have stood before the world as his adopted chil- 
 dren. Would it not be better if she were out 
 of the way ? 
 
 It was only in her most dismal moods that 
 this question would get itself asked within her 
 mind, and then she would recover herself, and , 
 answer it stoutly with an indignant protest against 
 her own morbid weakness. It would not be well 
 that she should be away from her girls — not 
 though their uncle should have been twice a 
 better uncle ; not though, by her absence, they 
 might become heiresses of all Allington. Was 
 it not above every thing to them that they should 
 have a mother near them ? And as she asked 
 of herself that morbid question — wickedly asked 
 it, as she declared to herself — did she not know 
 that they loved her better than all the world be- 
 sides, and would prefer her caresses and hey care 
 to the guardianship of any uncle let his house 
 be ever so great ? As yet they loved her bet- 
 ter than all the world besides. Of other love, 
 should it come, she would not be jealous. And 
 if it should come, and should be happy, might 
 there not yet be a bright evening of life for her- 
 self? If they should marry, and if their lords 
 would accept her love, her friendship, and her 
 homage, she might yet escape from the death- 
 like coldness of that Great House, and be happy 
 in some tiny cottage, from which she might go 
 forth at times among those who would reallv 
 welcome her. A certain doctor there was, liv- 
 ing not very far from Allington, at Guestwick, 
 as to whom she had once thought that he might 
 fill that place of son-in-law — to be well-beloved. 
 Her quiet, beautiful Bell had seemed to like the 
 man ; and he had certainly done more than seem 
 to like her. But now, for some weeks past, this 
 hope, or rather this idea, had faded away. Mrs. 
 Dale had never questioned her daughter on the 
 matter ; she was not a woman prone to put such 
 questions. But during the month or two last 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 21 
 
 past she had seen with regret that Bell looked 
 almost coldly on the man whom her mother fa- 
 vored. 
 
 In thinking of all this the long evening pass- 
 ed away, and at eleven o'clock she heard the 
 coming steps across the garden. The young 
 men had, of course, accompanied the girls home ; 
 ■ and as she stepped out from the still open win- 
 dow of tier own drawing-room, she saw them all 
 on the centre of the lawn before her. 
 
 "There's mamma," said Lily. "Mamma, 
 Ml'. Crosbie wants to play croquet by moon- 
 light." 
 
 " I don't think there is light enough for that," 
 said Mrs. Dale. 
 
 "There is light enough for him," said Lily, 
 "for he plays quite independently of tlie hoops ; 
 don't you, Mr. Crosbie ?" 
 
 "There's very pretty croquet light, I should 
 say,' said Mr. Crosbie, looking up at the bright 
 moon; "and then it is so stupid going to 
 bed." 
 
 "Yes, it is stupid going to bed," said Lily; 
 "but people in the country are stupid, you 
 know. Billiards, that you can play all night 
 by gas, is much better, isn't it?" 
 
 " Your arrow falls terribly astray there. Miss 
 Dale, for I never touch a cue ; you should talk 
 to your cousin about billiards." 
 
 '"Is Bernard a great billiard-player?" asked 
 Bell. 
 
 "Well, I do play now and again ; about as 
 well as Crosbie does croquet. Come, Crosbie, 
 we'll go home and smoke a cigar." 
 • " Yes," said Lily ; " and then, you know, we 
 stupid people can go to bed. Mamma, I wish 
 you had 3, little smoking-room here for us. I 
 don't like being considered stupid." And then 
 they parted — the ladies going into the house, 
 and the two men returning across the lawn. 
 
 "Lily, my love," said Mrs. Dale, when they 
 were all together in her bedroom, "it seems to 
 me that you are very hard upon Mr. Crosbie." 
 ' "She has been going on like that all the 
 evening," said Bell. 
 
 "I'm sure we are very good friends," said 
 Lily. 
 
 "Oh, very," said Bell. 
 
 "Now, Bell, you're jealous; you know you 
 are." And then, seeing that her sister was in 
 some slight degree vexed, she went up to her 
 and kissed her. " She sha'n't be called jealous ; 
 shall she, mamma?" 
 
 "I don't think she deserves it," said Mrs. 
 Dale. 
 
 " Now, you don't mean to say that you think 
 I meant any thing," said Lily. "As if I cared 
 a buttercup about Mr. Crosbie." 
 
 "Or I either, Lily." 
 
 ' ' Of course.you don't. But I do care for him 
 very much, mamma. He is such a duck of an 
 Apollo. I shall always call him Apollo : Phoe- 
 bus Apollo ! And when I draw his picture he 
 shall have a mallet in his hand instead of a bow. 
 Upon my word I am very much obliged to Ber- 
 nard for bringing him down here; and I do 
 
 wish he was not going away the day after to- 
 morrow. " 
 
 " The day after to-morrow !" said Mrs. Dale. 
 "It was hardly worth coming for two days." 
 
 " No, it wasn't ; disturbing us all in our quiet 
 little ways just for such a spell as that — not giv- 
 ing one time even to count his rays." 
 
 "But he says he shall perhaps come again," 
 skid Bell. 
 
 " There is that hope for us," said Lily. " Un- 
 cle Christopjier asked him to come down when 
 he gets his long leave of absence. This is only 
 a short sort of leave. He is better off than 
 poor Johnny Eames. Johnny Eames only has 
 a month ; but Mr. Crosbie has two months just 
 whenever he likes it, and seems to be pretty much 
 his own master aU the year round besides." 
 
 " And Uncle Christopher asked him to come 
 down for the shooting in September, " said Bell. 
 
 " And though he didn't say he'd come, I think 
 he meant it," said Lily. "There is that hope 
 for us, mamma." , 
 
 " Then you'll have to draw Apollo with a gun 
 instead of a mallet. " 
 
 ' ' That is the worst of it, mamma. We sha'n't 
 see much of him or of Bernard either. They 
 wouldn't let us go out into the woods as beaters, 
 would they ?" 
 
 "You'll make too much noise to be of any 
 use." 
 
 "Should I? I thought the beaters had to 
 shout at the birds. I should get very tired of 
 shouting at birds, so I think I'll stay at home 
 and look after my clothes." 
 
 "I hope he will come, because Uncle Chris- 
 topher seems to like him so much," said Bell. 
 
 "I wonder whether a certain gentleman at 
 Guestwick will like his coming, " said Lily. And 
 then, as soon as she had spoken the words, she 
 looked at her sister and saw that she had gi-ieved 
 her. 
 
 " Lily, you let your tongue run too fast," said 
 Mrs. Dale.- 
 
 ' ' I didn't mean any thing. Bell," said Lily. 
 "I beg your pardon." 
 
 " It doesn't signify," said Bell. " Only Lilj' 
 say^ things without thinking." And then that 
 conversation came to an end, and nothing more 
 was said among them beyond what appertained 
 to their toilet and a, few last words at parting. 
 But the two girls occupied the same room, and 
 when their own door was closed upon them Bell 
 did allude to what had passed with some spirit. 
 
 "Lily, you promised me," she said, "that 
 you would not say any thing more to me about 
 Dr. Croft." 
 
 " I know I did, and I was very wrong. I 
 beg your pardon, Bell ; and I won't do it again 
 — not if I can help it. " 
 
 "Not help it, Lily!" 
 
 "But I'm sure I don't know why I shouldn't 
 speak of him — only not in the way of laughing 
 at you. Of all the men I ever saw in my life I 
 like him best. And only that I love you better 
 than I love myself I could find it in my heart to 
 grudge you his — " 
 
22 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 "Lily, what did you promise just now." 
 
 "Well, after to-night. And I don't know 
 why you should turn against him." 
 
 "I have never turned against him or for 
 him." 
 
 "There's no turning about him. He'd give 
 his left hand if you'd only smile on him. Or 
 his right either — and that's what I should like 
 to see ; so now you've heard it." 
 
 "You know you are talking nonsense." 
 
 "So I should like to see it. And so would 
 mamma too, I'm sure; though I never heard 
 her say a word about him. In my mind he's 
 the finest fellow I ever saw. What's Mr. Apol- 
 lo Crosbie to him? And now, as it makes you 
 unhappy, I'll never say another word about 
 him." 
 
 As Bell wished her sister good-night with per- 
 haps more than her usual aifection, it was evi- 
 dent that Lily's words and eager tone had in 
 some way pleased her, in spite of their oppo- 
 sirlon to the request which she had made. And 
 Lily was aware that it was so. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MRS. roper's BOARDING-HOITSE. 
 
 I HATE said that John Eames had been petted 
 by none but his mother, but I would not have 
 it supposed, on this account, that John Eames 
 had no friends. There is a class of young men 
 who never get petted, though they may not be 
 the less esteemed, or perhaps loved. They do 
 not come forth to the world as ApoUos, nor shine 
 
 at all, keeping what light they may have for in- 
 ward purposes. Such young men are often awk- 
 ward, ungainly, and not yet formed in their gait; 
 they straggle with their limbs, and are shy; words 
 do not come to them with ease, when words are 
 required, among any but their accustomed as- 
 sociates. Social meetings are periods of pen- 
 ance to them, and any appearance in public will 
 unnerve them. They go much about alone, and 
 blush when women speak to them. In truth 
 they are not as yet men, whatever the number 
 may be of their years ; and as they are no lon- 
 ger boys, the world has found for them the un- 
 graceful name of hobbledehoy. 
 
 Such observations, however, as I have been 
 enabled to make on this matter have led me to 
 believe that the hobbledehoy is by no means the 
 least valuable species of the human race. When 
 I compare the hobbledehoy of one or tw^ and 
 twenty to some finished Apollo of the same age, 
 I regard the former as unripe fruit, and the lat- 
 ter as fruit that is ripe. Then comes the ques- 
 tion as to the two fruits. Which is the better 
 fruit, that which ripens early— which is, per- 
 haps, favored with some little forcing apparatus, 
 or which, at least, is backed by the warmth of a 
 southern wall — or that fruit of slower growth, 
 as to which nature works without assistance, on 
 which the sun operates in its own time, or per- 
 haps never operates if some ungenial shade has 
 been allowed to interpose itself? The world, no 
 doubt, is in favor of the forcing apparatus or of 
 the southern wall. The fruit comes certainly, 
 and at an assured period. It is spotless, speck- 
 less, and of a certain quality by no means despi- 
 cable. The owner has it when he wants it, and 
 it serves its turn. But, nevertheless, according 
 to my thinking, the fullest flavor of the sun is 
 given to that other fruit — is given in the sun's 
 own good time, if so be that no ungenial shade 
 has interposed itself. I like the smack of the 
 natural growth, and like it, perhaps, the better 
 because that which has been obtained has been 
 obtained without favor. 
 
 But the hobbledehoy, though he blushes when 
 women address him, and is uneasy even when 
 he is near them, though he is not master of his 
 limbs in a ball-room, and is hardly master of his 
 tongue at any time, is the most eloquent of be- 
 ings, and especially eloquent among beautiful 
 women. He enjoys all the triumphs of a Don 
 Juan without any of Don Juan's heartlessness, 
 and is able to conquer in all encounters through 
 the force of his wit and the sweetness of his 
 voice. But this eloquence is heard only by his 
 own inner ears, and these triumphs are the .tri- 
 umphs of his imagination. 
 
 The true hobbledehoy is much alone, not being 
 gi-eatly given to social intercourse even with oth- 
 er hobbledehoys — a trait in his character which 
 I think has hardly been sufficiently observed by 
 the world at large. He has probably become a 
 hobbledehoy instead of an Apollo because cir- 
 cumstances have not afforded him much social 
 intercourse ; and, therefore, he wanders about in 
 solitude, taking long walks, in which he dreams 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 23 
 
 of those successes which are so far removed from 
 his powers of achievement. Out in the fields, 
 with his stick in his hand, he is very eloquent, 
 cutting off the heads of the springing summer 
 weeds as he practices his oratory with energy 
 
 ment — as is not unusual with pretty girls who 
 have hobhledehoys among their intimate friends, 
 and who are not themselves unaccustomed to 
 the grace of an Apollo. 
 
 I may as well announce at once that John 
 
 And thus he feeds an imagination for which those *Eames, when he went up to London, was ahso- 
 who know him give him but scanty credit, and , lutely and irretrievably in love with Lily Dale, 
 unconsciously prepares himself for that latter I He had declared his passion in the most moving 
 
 ripening, if only the ungenial shade will some 
 day cease to interpose itself. 
 
 Such hobbledehoys receive but little petting 
 unless it be from a mother ; and such a hobble- 
 dehoy was John Eames when he was sent away 
 from Guestwick to begin his life in the big room 
 of a public office in London. We may say that 
 there was nothing of the young Apollo about 
 him. But yet he was not without friends — 
 friends who wished him well and thought much 
 of his welfare. And he had a younger sister 
 who loved him dearly, who had no idea that he 
 was a hobbledehoy, being somewhat of a hobble- 
 dehoya herself. Mrs. Eames, their mother, was 
 a widow, living in a small house in Guestwick, 
 whose husband had been throughout his whole 
 life an intimate friend of our squire. He had 
 been a man of many misfortuneSf having begun 
 the world almost with affluence, and having end- 
 ed it in poverty. He had lived all his days in 
 Guestwick, having at one time occupied a large 
 tract of land, and lost much money in experi- 
 mental farming ; and late in life he had taken a 
 small house on the outskirts of the town, and 
 there had died some two years previously to the 
 commencement of this story. With no other man 
 had Mr. Dale lived on terms so intimate ; and 
 when Mr. Eames died Mr. Dale acted as execu- 
 tor under his will and as guardian to his chil- 
 dren. He had, moreover, obtained for John 
 Eames that situation under the Crown which he 
 now held. 
 
 And Mrs. Eames had been and still was on 
 vei-y friendly terms with Mrs. Dale. The squire 
 had never taken quite kindly to Mrs. Eames, 
 whom her husband had not met till he ^as al- 
 ready past forty years of age. But Mrs. Dale 
 had made up by her kindness to the poor forlorn 
 woman for any lack of that cordiality which 
 might have been shown to her from the Great 
 House. Mrs. Eames was a poor forlorn woman 
 — forlorn even during the time of her husband's 
 life, but very wobegone now in her widowhood. 
 In matters of importance the squire had been 
 kind to her ; arranging for her her little money 
 affairs, advising her about her house and income, 
 also getting for her that appointment for her 
 son. But he snubbed her when he met her, and 
 poor Mrs. Eames held him in great awe. Mrs. 
 Dale held her brother-in-law in no awe, and 
 sometimes gave to the widow from Guestwick 
 advice quite at variance to that given by the 
 squire. In this way there had grown up an in- 
 timacy between Bell and Lily and the young 
 Eames, and either of the girls was prepared to 
 declare that Johnny Eames was her own and 
 well-loved friend. Nevertheless ■ they spoke of 
 him occasionally with some little dash of merri- 
 
 language a hundred times ; but he had declared 
 it only to himself. He had written much po- 
 etry about Lily, but he kept his lines safe under 
 double lock and key. When he gave the reins 
 to his imagination, he flattered himself that he 
 might win not only her but the world at large 
 also by his verses ; but he would have perished 
 rather than exhibitthem to human eye. During 
 the last ten weeks of his life at Guestwick, while 
 he was preparing for his career in London, he 
 hung about Allington, walking over frequently 
 and then walking back again; but all in vain. 
 During these visits he would sit in Mrs. Dale's 
 drawing-room, speaking but little, and address, 
 ing himself usually to the mother ; but on each 
 occasion, as he started on his long, hot walk, 
 he resolved, that he would say something by 
 which Lily might know of his love. When he 
 left for London that something had not been said. 
 
 He had not dreamed of asking her to be his 
 wife. John Eames was about to begin the world 
 with eighty pounds a year, and an allowance of 
 twenty more from his mother's purse. He was 
 well aware that with such an income he could 
 not establish himself as a married man in Lon- 
 don, and he also felt that the man who might be 
 fortunate enough to win Ijily for his wife should 
 be prepared to give her eveiy soft luxury that 
 the world could afford. He knew well that he 
 ought not to expect any assurance of Lily's love ; 
 but, nevertheless, he thought it possible that ho 
 might give her an assurance of his love. It 
 would probably be in vain. He had no real hope, 
 unless when he was in one of those poetic moods. 
 He had acknowledged to himself, in some indis- 
 tinct way, that he was no more than a; hobble- 
 dehoy, awkward, silent, ungainly, vcith a face 
 unfinished, as it were, or unripe. All this he 
 knew, and knew also that there were ApoUos in 
 the world who would be only too ready to CftiTy 
 off Lily in their splendid cars. But hot the less 
 did he make up his mind that having loved her 
 once, it behooved him, as a true man, to love 
 her on to the end. 
 
 One little word he had said to her when they 
 parted, but it had be#n a word of friendshiji 
 rather than of love. He had strayed out after 
 her on to the lawn, leaving Bell alone in the 
 drawing-room. Perhaps Lily had understood 
 something of the boy's feeling, and had wished 
 to speak kindly to him at parting, or almost more 
 than kindly. There is a silent love which women 
 recognize, and which in some silent way they 
 acknowledge — giving gracious but silent thanks 
 for the respect which accompanies it. 
 
 ' ' I have come to say good-by , Lily, " said John- 
 ny Eames, following the girl down one of the 
 paths. 
 
24 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 " Good-by, John," said she, turning round. 
 "You know how sorry we are to lose you. But 
 it's a great thing for you to be going up to Lon- 
 don." 
 
 " Well ; yes. I suppose it is. I'd sooner re-, 
 main here, though." 
 
 ' ' What ! stay here, doing nothing ! I am sure 
 you would not." 
 
 " Of course, I should like to do something. 
 I mean — " 
 
 " You mean that it is painful to part with old 
 friends ; and I'm sure that we all feel that at 
 parting with you. But you'll have a holiday 
 sometimes, and then we shall see you." 
 
 "Yes; of course, I shall see you then. I 
 think, Lily, I shall care more about seeing you 
 than any body." 
 
 "Oh no, John. There'll be your own mo- 
 ther and sister." 
 
 "Yes ; there'll be mother and Mary, of course. 
 But I will come over here the very first day — 
 that is, if you'll care to see me ?" ' 
 
 "We shall care to see you very much. You 
 know that. And — dear John, I do hope you'll 
 be happy. " 
 
 There was n tone in her voice as she spoke 
 which almost upset him ; or, I should rather 
 say, which almost put him up upon his legs and 
 made him speak ; but its ultimate effect was less 
 powerful. "Do you?" said he, as he held her 
 hand for a few happy seconds. "And I'm sure 
 I hope you'll always be happy. Good-by, Lily." 
 Then he left her, returning to the house, and 
 she continued her walk, wandering down among 
 the trees in the shrubbery, and not showing her- 
 self for the next half hour. How many girls have 
 some such lover as that — a lover who says no 
 more to them than Johnny Eames then said to 
 Lily Dale, who never says more than that ? And 
 yet when, in after-years, they count over the 
 name^ of all who have loved them, the name of 
 that awkward youth is never forgotten. 
 
 That farewell had been spoken nearly two 
 years since, and Lily Dale was then seventeen. 
 Since that time John Eames had been home 
 once, and during his month's holidays had often 
 visited AUington. But he had never improved 
 upon that occasion of which I have told. It 
 had seemed to him that Lily was colder to him 
 than in old days, and he had become, if any 
 thing, more shy in his ways with her. He was 
 to return to Guestwick again during this au- 
 tumn ; but, to tell honestly the truth in the mat- 
 ter, Lily Dale did not Ihink or care very much 
 for his coming. Girls of nineteen do not care 
 for lovers of one-and-twenty, unless it be when 
 the fruit has had the advantage of some forcing 
 apparatus or southern wall. 
 
 John Eames's love was still as hot as ever, 
 having been sustained on poetry, and kept alive, 
 perhaps, by some close confidence in the ears of 
 a brother clerk ; but it is not to be supposed that 
 during these two years he had been a melan- 
 choly lover. It might, perhaps, have been bet- 
 ter for him had liis disposition led him to that 
 line of life. Such, however, had not been the 
 
 case. He had already abandoned the flute on 
 wliich he had learned to sound three sad notes 
 before he left Guestwick, and, after the fifth or 
 sixth Sunday, he had relinquished his solitary 
 walks along the towing-path of tlie Regent's 
 Park Canal. To think of one's absent love is 
 very sweet ; but it becomes monotonous after a 
 mile or two of a towing-path, and the mind will 
 turn away to Aunt Sally, the Cremorne Ga-- 
 dens, and financial questions. I doubt whether 
 any girl would be satisfied with her lover's mind 
 if she knew the whole of It. 
 
 " I sayl Caudle, I wonder whether a fellow 
 could get into a club ?" 
 
 This proposition was made, on one of those 
 Sunday walks, by John Eames to the friend of 
 his bosom, a brother clerk, whose legitimate 
 name was Cradell, and who was therefore call- 
 ed Caudle by his friends. 
 
 "Get into a club? Fisher in our room be- 
 longs to a club." 
 
 " That's only a chess-club. I mean a regu- 
 lar club. " 
 
 " One of the swell ones at the West End ?" 
 said Cradell, almost lost in admiration at the 
 ambition of bis friend. 
 
 ' ' I shouldn't want it to be particularly swell. 
 If a man isn't a swell, I don't see what he gets 
 by going among those who are. But it is so 
 uncommon slow at Mother Roper's. " Now Mrs. 
 Roper was a respectable lady, who kept a bbard- 
 ing-house in Burton Crescent, and to whom 
 Mrs. Eames had been strongly recommended 
 when she was desirous of finding a specially safe 
 domicile for her son. For the first year of his 
 life in London John Eames had lived alone in 
 lodgings ; but that had resulted in discomfort, 
 solitude, and, alas ! in some amount of debt, 
 which had come heavily on the poor widow. 
 Kow, for the second year, some safer mode of 
 life was necessary. Slie had learned that Mrs. 
 Cradell, the widow of a barrister, who had also 
 succeeded in getting her son into the Income- 
 tax Office, had placed him in charge of Mrs. 
 Roper ; and she, with many injunctions to that 
 motherly woman, submitted her own boy to the 
 same custody. 
 
 "And about going to church?" Mrs. Eames 
 had said to Mrs. Roper. 
 
 "I don't suppose I can look after that, 
 ma'am," Mrs. Roper had answered, conscien- 
 tiously. ' ' Young gentlemen choose mostly their 
 own churches." 
 
 "But they do go?" asked the mother, very 
 anxious in her heart as to this new life in which 
 her boy was to be left to follow in so many things 
 the guidance of his own lights. 
 
 "They who have been brought up steady do 
 so, mostly." 
 
 " He has been brought up steady, Mrs. Ro- 
 per. He has, indeed. And you won't give him 
 a latch-key ?" 
 
 " Well, they always do ask for it." 
 
 "But he won't insist, if you tell him that I 
 had rather that lie shouldn't have one." 
 
 Mrs. Roper promised accordingly, and John- 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 25 
 
 ny Earaes was left under her charge. He did 
 ask for the latch-key, and Mrs. Roper answered 
 as she was bidden. But he asked again, hav- 
 ing been sophisticated by the philosophy of Cra- 
 dell, and then Mrs. Eoper handed hira the key. 
 She was a woman who plumed herself on being 
 as good as her word, not understanding that any 
 one could justly demand from her more than 
 that. She gave Johnny Eames the key, as 
 doubtless she had intended to do ; for Mrs. Eo- 
 per knew the world, and understood that young 
 men without latch-keys would not remain with 
 her. 
 
 "I thought you didn't seem to find it so dull 
 since Amelia came home," said Cradell. 
 
 "Amelia! What's Amelia to me? I have 
 told you every thing, Cradell, and yet you can 
 talk to me about Amelia Roper!" 
 
 "Come now, Johnny — " He had always 
 been called Johnny, and the name had gone 
 with him to his ofiBce. Even Amelia Roper had 
 called him Johnny on more than one occasion 
 before this. "You were as sweet to her the 
 other night as though there were no such person 
 as L. D. in existence." John Eames turned 
 away and shook his head. Nevertheless, the 
 words of his friend were grateful to him. The 
 character of a Don Juan was not unpleasant to 
 his imagination, and he liked to think that he 
 migh* amuse Amelia Roper with a passing word, 
 though his heart was true to Lilian Dale. In 
 truth, however, many moi-e of the passing words 
 had been spoken by the fair Amelia than by 
 him. 
 
 Mrs. Roper had been quite as good as her 
 word when she told Mrs. Eames that her house- 
 hold was composed of herself, of a son who was 
 in an attorney's office, of an ancient maiden 
 cousin, named Miss Spruce, who lodged with 
 her, and of Mr. Cradell. The divine Amelia 
 had not then been living with her, and the na- 
 ture of the statement which she was making by 
 no means compelled her to inform Mrs. Eames 
 tliat the young lady would probably return home 
 in the following winter. A Mr. and Mrs. Lupex 
 had also joined the family latefy, and Mrs. Ro- 
 per's house was now supposed to be full. 
 
 And it must be acknowledged that Johnny 
 Eames had, in certain unguarded moments, con- 
 fided to Cradell the secret of a second, weaker 
 passion for Amelia. "She is a fine girl--a 
 deuced fine girl!" Johnny Eames had said, 
 using a style of language which he had learned 
 since he left Guestwick and AUington. Mr. 
 Cradell, also, was an admirer of the fair sex ; 
 and, alas ! that I should say so, Mrs. Lupex, at 
 tlie present moment, was the object of his ad- 
 mu-ation. Not that he entertained the slightest 
 idea of wronging Mr. Lupex— a man who was a 
 scene-painter, and knew the world. Mr. Cra- 
 dell admired Mrs. Lupex as a connoisseur, not 
 simply as a man. " By Heavens ! Johnny, what 
 a figure that woman has !" he said, one morning, 
 as they were walking to their office. 
 " Yes ; she stands well on her pins." 
 "I should tliink she did. If I understand 
 B 
 
 any thing of form," said Cradell, "that woman 
 is nearly perfect. What a torso she has !" 
 
 From which expression, and from the fact 
 that Mrs. Lupex depended greatly upon her 
 stays and crinoline for such figui'e as she suc- 
 ceeded in displaying, it may, perhaps, be under- 
 stood that Mr. Cradell did not understand much 
 about form. 
 
 "It seems to me that her nose isn't quite 
 straight," said Johnny Eames. Now, it un- 
 doubtedly was the fact that the nose on Mrs. 
 Lupex's face was a little awry. It was a long, 
 thin nose, which, as it progressed forward into 
 the air, certainly had a preponderating bias to- 
 ward the left side. 
 
 "I care more for figure than face," said Cra- 
 dell. "But Mrs. Lupex has fine eyes— very- 
 fine eyes." 
 
 " And knows how to use them, too," said 
 Johnny. 
 
 "Why shouldn't she? And then she has 
 lovely hair." 
 
 "Only she never brushes it in the morn- 
 ing." i 
 
 "Do you know, I like that kind of desha- 
 bille," said Cradell. "Too much care always 
 betrays itself." 
 
 "But a woman should be tidy." 
 
 " What a word to apply to such a creature as 
 Mrs. Lupex! I call her a splendid woman. 
 And how well she was got up last night ! Do 
 you know, I've an idea that Lupex treats her 
 very badly. She said a word or two to me yes- 
 terday that — " And then he paused. There are 
 some confidences which a man does not share 
 even with his dearest friend. 
 
 " I rather fancy it's quite the other way," said 
 Eames. 
 
 " How the other way ?" 
 
 "That Lupex has quite as muph as he likes 
 of Mrs. L. The sound of her voice sometimes 
 makes me shake in my shoes, I know." 
 
 " I like a woman with spirit, " said Cradell. 
 
 " Oh, so do I. But one may have too much 
 of a good thing. Amelia did tell me — only you 
 won't mention it." 
 
 " Of course, I won't." 
 
 "Slie told me that Lupex sometimes was 
 obliged to run away from her. He goes down 
 to the theatre, and remains there two or tliree 
 days at a time. Then she goes to fetch him, 
 and there is no end of a row in the house. " 
 
 "The fact is, he drinks," said Cradell. "By 
 George, I pity a woman whose husband drinks 
 — and such a woman as that, too!" 
 
 "Take care, old fellow, or you'll find your- 
 self in a scrape. " 
 
 "I know what I'm at. Lord bless you, I'm 
 not going to lose my head because I see a fine 
 woman." 
 
 " Or your heart either?" 
 
 "Oh, heart! There's nothing of that kind 
 of thing about me. I regard a woman as a pic- 
 ture or a statue. I dare say I shall marry some 
 day, because men do ; but I've no idea of losing 
 myself about a woman." 
 
26 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 "I'd lose mysolf ten times over for — " 
 
 "L. D.," said Cradell. 
 
 "That I would. And yet I know I shall 
 never have her. I'm a jolly, laughing sort of 
 fellow; and yet, do you know, Caudle, when 
 tlxiit girl marries it will be all up with me. It 
 will, Indeed." 
 
 ' ' Do you mean that you'll cut yqur throat ?" 
 
 "No; I sha'n't do that. I sha'n't do any 
 thing of that sort ; and yet it will be all up with 
 me." 
 
 " You are going down there in October ; why 
 don't you ask her to have you ?" 
 
 ' ' With ninety pounds a year ! " His grateful 
 country had twice increased his salary at the 
 rate of five pounds each year. "With ninety 
 pounds a year, and twenty allowed me by my 
 mother!" 
 
 "She could wait, I suppose. I should ask 
 her, and no mistake. If one is to love a girl, 
 it's no good one going on in that way." 
 
 "It isn't much good, certainly, "said Johnny 
 Eames. And then they reached the door of tlie 
 Income-tax Office, an^d each went away to his 
 own desk. 
 
 Prom this little dialogue it may be imagined 
 that though Mrs. Eoper was as good as her word, 
 she was not exactly the woman whom Mrs. 
 Eames would have wished to select as a protect- 
 ing angel for her son. But the truth I take to 
 be this, that protecting angels for widows' sons, 
 at forty-eight pounds a year, paid quarterly, are 
 not to be found very readily in London. Mrs. 
 Roper was not worse than others of her class. 
 Siie would much have preferred lodgers who 
 were respectable to those who were not so — if 
 she could only have found respectable lodgers as 
 she wanted them. Mr. and Mrs. Lupex hardly 
 came under that denomination ; and when she 
 gave them up her big front bedroom at a hun- 
 dred a year she knew she was doing wrong. 
 And she was troubled, too, about her own daugh- 
 ter Amelia, who was already over thirty years 
 of age. Amelia was a very clever young wo- 
 man, who had been, if the truth must be told, 
 first young lady at a millinery establisliment in 
 Manchester. Mrs. Eoper knew that Mrs. Eames 
 and Mrs. Cradell would not wish their sons to 
 assoiiate with her daughter. But what could 
 she do ? She could not refuse the shelter of her 
 own house to her own child, and yet her heart 
 misgave her when she saw Amelia flirting with 
 young Eames. 
 
 " I wish, Amelia, you wouldn't have so much 
 to say to that young man." 
 
 "Laws, mother!" 
 
 " So I do. If you go on like that, you'll put 
 me out of both my lodgers." 
 
 " Go on like what, mother ? If a gentleman 
 speaks to me, I suppose I'm to answer him ? I 
 know how to behave myself, I believe." And 
 then she gave her head a toss. Whereupon her 
 mother was silent ; for her mother was afraid 
 of her. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ABOTIT L. D. 
 
 Apollo Cbosbie left London for Allington 
 on the 31st of August, intending to stay there 
 font weeks, with the declared intention of re- 
 cruiting his strength by an absence of two 
 months from official cares, and with no fixed 
 purpose as to his destiny for the last of those 
 two months. Offers of hospitality had been 
 made to him by the dozen. Lady Hartletop's 
 doors, in Shropshire, were open to him, if he 
 chose to enter them. He had been invited by 
 the Countess de Courcy to join her suite at 
 Courcy Castle. His special friend, Montgom- 
 erie Dobbs, had a place in Scotland, and then 
 there was a yachting party by which he was 
 much wanted. But Mr. Crosbie had as yet 
 knocked himself down to none of these biddings, 
 having before him when he left London no other 
 fixed engagement than that which took him to 
 Allington. On the first of October we shall 
 also find ourselves at Allington in company 
 with Johnny Eames ; and Apollo Crosbie will 
 still be there — by no means to the comfort of our 
 friend from the Income-tax Office. 
 
 Johnny Eames can not be called unlucky in 
 that matter of his annual holiday, seeing that he 
 was allowed to leave London in October, a month 
 during which few chose to own that they remain 
 in town. For myself, I always regard May as 
 the best month for holiday-making; but then 
 no Londoner cares to be absent in May. Young 
 Eames, though he lived in Burton Crescent and 
 had as yet no connection with the West End, 
 had already learned his lesson in this respect. 
 "Those fellows in the big room want me to 
 take May," he had said to his friend Cradell. 
 "They must think I'm uncommon green." 
 
 "It's too bad," said Cradell. "A man 
 shouldn't b'e asked to take his leave in May. I 
 never did, and what's more, I never will. I'd 
 go to the Board first." 
 
 Eames had escaped this evil without going to 
 the Board, and had succeeded in obtaining for 
 himself for his 'own holiday that month of Oc- 
 tober, wliich, of all inonths, is perhaps the most 
 highly esteemed for holiday purposes. " I shall 
 go down by the mail-train to-morrow night," he 
 said to Amelia Roper, on the evening before his 
 departure. At that moment he was sitting alone 
 with Amelia in Mrs. Roper's back drawing-room. 
 In the front room Cradell was talking to Mrs. 
 Lupex ; but as Miss Spruce was with them, it 
 may be presumed that Mr. Lupex need have had 
 no cause for jealousy. 
 
 " Yes, " said Amelia ; "I know how great is 
 your haste to get down to that fascinating spot. 
 I could not expect that you would lose one single 
 hour in hurrying away from Burton Crescent." 
 
 Amelia Roper was a tall, well-grown young 
 woman, with dark hair and dark eyes ; not hand- 
 some, for her nose was thick, and the lower part 
 of her face was heavy, but yet not without some 
 feminine attractions. Her eyes were bright ; 
 but then, also, they were mischievous. She 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 27 
 
 could talk fluently enough ; but then, also, she 
 could scold. She could assume sometimes the 
 plumage of a dove ; but then again she could 
 occasionally ruffle her feathers like an angry 
 kite. I am quite prepared to acknowledge that 
 John Eames should have kept himself clear of 
 Amelia Eoper ; but then young men so frequent- 
 ly do those things which they should not do ! 
 
 " After twelve months up here in London one 
 is glad td get. away to one's own fiieads, " said 
 Johnny. 
 
 " Your own friends, Mr. Eames ! What sort 
 of friends ? Do you suppose I don't know ?" 
 
 " Well, no. I don't think you do know." 
 
 "L. D. !" said Amelia, showing that Lily 
 had been spoken of among people who should 
 never have been allowed to hear her name. But 
 perhaps, after all, no more than those two ini- 
 tials were known in Burton Crescent. From 
 the tone which was now used in naming them 
 it was sufficiently manifest that Amelia consid- 
 ered herself to be wronged by their very exist- 
 ence. 
 
 "L. S. D.," said Johnny, attempting the line 
 of a witty, gay young spendthrift. ' ' That's my 
 love — pounds, shillings, and pence ; and a very 
 coy mistress she is." 
 
 "Nonsense, Sir. Don't talk to me in that 
 way. As if I didn't know where your heart 
 was. What right had you to fepeak to me if you 
 had an L. D. down in the country?" 
 
 It should be here declared on behalf of poor 
 John Eames that he had not ever spoken to 
 Amelia — he had not spoken to her in any such 
 phrase as her words seemed to imply. But 
 then he had written to her a fatal note of which 
 we will speak further before long, and that per- 
 haps was quite as bad, or worse. 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Johnny. But the 
 laugh was assumed, and not assumed with ease. 
 
 "Yes, Sir; it's a laughing matter to you, I 
 dare say. It is very easy for a man to laugh 
 under such circumstances; that is to say, if he 
 is perfectly heartless, if he's got a stone inside 
 his bosom instead of flesh and blood. Some 
 men are made of stone, I know, and are troubled 
 with no feelings." 
 
 " What is it you want me to say f You pre- 
 tend to know all about it, and it wouldn't be 
 civil in me to contradict you." 
 
 "What is it I want? You know very well 
 what I want ; or rather, I don't want any thing. 
 What is it to me ? It is nothing to me about 
 L. D. You can go down to Allingtou and do 
 what you like for me. Only I hate such ways." 
 
 "What ways, Amelia?" 
 
 " What way s ! Now, look here, Jotinny : I'm 
 not going to make a fool of myself for any man. 
 When I came home here three months ago — 
 and I wish I never had" — she paused here a 
 moment, waiting for a word of tenderness ; but 
 as the word of tenderness did not come, she 
 went on — " but when I did come home, I didn't 
 think there was a man in all London could 
 make me care for him: that I didn't. And 
 now you're going away, without so much as 
 
 hardly saying a word to me." And then she 
 brought out her handkerchief. 
 
 " What am I to say when you keep on scold- 
 ing me all the time ?" 
 
 " Scolding you ! And me too! No, Johnny, 
 I ain't scolding you, and don't mean to. If it's 
 to be all over between us, say the word, and I'll 
 take myself away out of the house before you 
 come back again. I've had no secrets fiqm 
 you. I can go back to my business in Man- 
 chester, though it is beneath my birth, and not 
 what I've been used to. If L. D. is more to 
 you than I am, I won't staud in your way. 
 Only say the word." 
 
 L. D. was more to him than Amelia Eoper 
 — ten times more to him. L. D. would have 
 been every thing to him, and Amelia Eoper was 
 worse than nothing. He felt all this at the mo- 
 ment, and struggled hard to collect an amount 
 of courage that would make him free. 
 
 " Say the word," said she, rising on her feet 
 befure him, " and all between you and me shall 
 be over. I have got your promise, but I'd scoi n 
 to take advantage. If Amelia hasn't got your 
 heart, she'd despise to take your hand. Only I 
 must have an answer." 
 
 It would seem that an easy way of escape was 
 ofFiired to him ; but the lady jirobably knew that 
 the way as offered by her was not easy to such 
 a one as John Eames. 
 
 "Amelia," he said, still keeping his seat. 
 
 "Well, Sir?" 
 
 "You know I love you." 
 
 " And about L. D. ?" 
 
 "If you choose to believe all the nonsense 
 that Cradell puts into your head I can't help it. 
 If you like to make yourself jealous about two 
 letters it isn't ray fault." 
 
 " And you love me ?" said she. 
 
 "Of course I love you." And then, upon 
 hearing these words, Amelia threw herself into 
 his arms. 
 
 As the folding doors between the two rooms 
 were not closed, and as Miss Spruce was sitting 
 in her easy-chair immediately opposite to them, 
 it was probable that she saw what passed. But 
 Miss Spruce was a taciturn old lady, not easily 
 excited to any show of surprise or admiration; 
 and as .she had lived with Mrs. Eoper for the 
 last twelve years, she was probably well ac- 
 quainted with her daughter's ways. 
 
 " You'll be true to me ?" said Amelia, during 
 the moment of that embrace ; " true to me for- 
 ever?" 
 
 "Oh yes; that's a matter of course," said 
 Johnny Eames. And then she liberated him ; 
 and the two strolled into the front sitting-room. 
 
 "I declare, Mr. Eames," said Mrs. Lupex, 
 "I'm glad you've come. Here's Mr. Cradell 
 does say such queer things." 
 
 " Queer things !" said Cradell. "Now, Miss 
 Spruce, I appeal to you. Have I said any queer 
 things?" 
 
 "If you did. Sir, I didn't notice them," said 
 Miss Spruce. 
 
 "I noticed them, then," said Mrs. Lupex. 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTOX. 
 
 **AMD TOU LOVB MB?" 8AI1> SUB. 
 
 "An nnmarried man like Mr. Cradell has no 
 business to know whether a married lady wears 
 a cap or her own hair; has he, Mr. Eames?" 
 
 "I don't think I ever know," said Johnny, 
 not intending any sarcasm on Mrs. Lnpex. 
 
 "I dare say not. Sir," said the lady. "Wo 
 all know where your attention is riveted. If 
 you were to wear a cap, my dear, somebody 
 would see the difference very soon ; wouldn't 
 thev, Miss Spruce?" 
 
 " I dare say they would," said Miss Spruce. 
 
 "If I could look as nice in a cap as you do, 
 Mrs. Lupex, I'd wear one to-morrow," said 
 Amelia, who did not wish to quarrel with the 
 married lady at the present moment. There 
 were occasions, however, on which Mrs. Liipex 
 and Miss Roper were by no means so gracious 
 to eiich other. 
 
 "Does Lupex like caps?" asked Cradell. 
 
 " If I wore a plumed helmet on my head, it's 
 my belief he wouldn't know the difference ; nor 
 yet if I had got no head at all. That's what 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 comes of getting married. If you'll take my 
 advice, Miss. Roper, you'll stay as you are, even 
 though somebody should break his heart about 
 it. Wouldn't you, Miss Spruce?" 
 ^ " Oh, as for me I'm an old woman, you 
 know," said Miss Spruce, which was certainly 
 true. 
 
 ' ' I don't see what any woman gets by marry- 
 ing," continued Mrs. Lnpex. "But a man 
 gains every thing. He don't know how to live 
 unless he's got a woman to help him." 
 
 "But is love to go for nothing?" said Cradell. 
 
 "Oh, love! I don't believe in love. I sup- 
 pose I thought I loved once, but what did it 
 come to, after all ? Now, there's Mr. Eames — 
 we all know he's in love." 
 
 "It comes natural to me, Mrs. Lupex. I was 
 born so," said Johnny. 
 
 "And there's Miss Roper — one never ought 
 to speak free about a lady, but perhaps she's in 
 love too." 
 
 "Speak for yourself, Mrs. Lupex,'' said Ame- 
 lia. 
 
 "There's no harm in saying that, is there? 
 I'm sure, if you ain't, you're very hard-hearted ; 
 for if ever there was a true lover, I believe .you've 
 got one of your own. My ! — if there's not Lu- 
 pex's step on the stair! What can bring him 
 home at this hour? If lie's been drinking, he'll 
 come home as cross as any thing." Then Mr. 
 Lupex entered the room, and the pleasanStiess 
 of the party was destroyed. 
 
 It may be said that neither Mrs. Cradell nor 
 Mrs. Eames would have placed their sons in 
 Burton Crescent if they had known the dangers 
 into which the young men would fall. Each, it 
 must be acknowledged, was imprudent ; but each 
 clearly saw the imprudence of the other. Not a 
 week before this Cradell had seriously warned his 
 friend against the arts of Miss Roper. "By 
 George, Johnny, you'll get yourself entangled 
 with that girl." 
 
 •'One always has to go through that sort of 
 thing," said Johnny. 
 
 "Yes; but those who go through too much 
 of it never get out again. Where would you be 
 if she got a written promise of marriage from 
 you?" 
 
 Poor Johnny did not answer this immediate- 
 ly, for in very truth Amelia Roper had such a 
 document in her possession. 
 
 "Where should I be?" said he. "Among 
 the breaches of promise, ! suppose." 
 
 "Either that or else among the victims of 
 matrimony. My belief of you is, that if you 
 gave such a promise you'd carry it out." 
 
 "Perhaps I should," said Johnny; "but I 
 don't know. It's a matter of doubt what a man 
 ought to do in such a case." 
 
 " But there's been nothing of that kind yet?" 
 
 "Oh, dear, no!" 
 
 " If I was you, Johnny, I'd keep away from 
 her. It's very good fun, of course, that sort of 
 thing; butit is so uncommon dangerous! Where 
 would you be now with such a girl as that for 
 your wife?" 
 
 29 
 
 Such had been the caution given by Cradell 
 to his friend. And now, just as he was starr- 
 ing for AUington, Eames returned the compli- 
 ment. They had gone together to the Great 
 Western station atPaddington, and Johnny ten- 
 dered his advice as they were walking together 
 up and down the platform. 
 
 "I say. Caudle, old boy, you'll find yourself 
 in trouble with that Mrs. Lupex if you don't 
 take care of yourself." 
 
 "But I shall take care of myself. There's 
 nothing so safe as a little nonsense with a mar- 
 ried woman. Of course it means nothing, you 
 know, between her and me." 
 
 "I don't suppose it does mean any thing. 
 But she's always talking about Lupex being 
 jealous; and if he was to cut up rough, you 
 wouldn't find it pleasant." 
 
 Cradell, however, seemed to think that there 
 was no danger. His little affair with Mrs. Lu- 
 pex was quite platonic and safe. As for doing 
 any real harm, his principles, as he assured his 
 friend, were too high. Mrs. Lupex was a wo- 
 man of talent, whom no one seemed to under- 
 stand, and therefore he had taken some pleas- 
 ure in studying her cliaracter. It was merely a 
 study of character, and nothing more. Then the 
 friends parted, and Eames was carried away by 
 the night mail-train down to Guestwick. 
 
 How his mother was up to receive him at four 
 o'clock in the morning, how her maternal heart 
 was rejoiced at seeing the improvement in his 
 gait, and the manliness of appeai'ance imparted 
 to him by his whiskers, 1 need not describe at 
 length. Many of the attributes of a hobbledehoy 
 had fallen from him, and even Lily Dale might 
 now probably acknowledge that he was no longer 
 a boy. All which might be regarded as good, 
 if only in putting off childish things he had taken 
 up things which were better than childish. 
 
 On the very first day of his arrival he made 
 his way over to AUington. He did not walk on 
 this occasion as he had used to do in tlie old hap- 
 py days. He had an idea that it might not be 
 well for him to go into Mrs. Dale's drawing-room 
 with the dust of the road on his boots and the 
 heat of the day on his brow. So he borrowed a 
 horse and rode over, taking some pride in a pair 
 of spurs which he had bought in Piccadilly, and 
 in his kid gloves, which were brought out new 
 for the occasion. Alas, alas ! I fear that those 
 two years in London have not improved John 
 Eames; and yet I have to acknowledge that 
 John Eames is one of the heroes of my story. 
 
 On entering Mrs. Dale's drawing-room he 
 found Mrs. Dale and her eldest daughter. Lily 
 at the moment was not there, and as he shook 
 hands with the other two, of course he asked for 
 lier. 
 
 " She is only in the garden," said Bell. ' ' She 
 will be here directly." 
 
 " She has walked across to the Great House 
 with Mr. Ci'osbie," said Mrs. Dale ; " but she is 
 not going to remain. She will be so glad to see 
 you, John. We all expected you to-day." 
 
 "Did you?" said Johnny, whose heart had 
 
30 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 been plunged into cold water at the mention of 
 Mr. Crosbie's name. He had been thinlcing of 
 Lilian Dale ever since his friend had left him 
 on the railway platform ; and, as I beg to assure 
 all ladies who may read my tale, the truth of 
 his love for Lily had moulted no feather through 
 that unlioly liaison between him and Miss Eoper. 
 I fear that I shall be disbelieved in this ; but it 
 was so. His heart was and ever had been true 
 to Lilian, although he had allowed himself to 
 be talked into declarations of affection by such a 
 creature as Amelia Roper. He had been think- 
 ing of his meeting with Lily all the night and 
 throughout the morning, and now he heard that 
 she was walking alone about the gardens with 
 a strange gentleman. That Mr. Crosbie was 
 very grand and very fashionable he had heard, 
 but he linew no more of him. Why should Mr. 
 Crosbie be allowed to walk with Lily Dale ? 
 And why should Mrs. Dale mention the circum- 
 stance as though it were quite a thing of course? 
 Such mystery as there was in this was solved 
 very quickly. 
 
 "I'm sure Lily won't object to my telling 
 such a dear friend as you what has happened," 
 said Mrs. Dale. " She is engaged to be married 
 to Mr. Crosbie." 
 
 The water into wliich Johnny's heart had 
 been plunged now closed over his head and left 
 him speechless. Lily Dale was engaged to be 
 married to Mr. Crosbie! He knew that lie 
 should have spoken when he heard the tidings. 
 He knew that the moments of silence as they 
 passed by told his secret to the two women be- 
 fore him — that secret which it would now be- 
 lioove him to conceal from all the world. But 
 yet he could not speak. 
 
 " We are all very well pleased at the match," 
 said Mrs. Dale, wishing to spare him. 
 
 "Nothing can be nicer than Mr. Crosbie," 
 said Bell. " We have often talked about you, 
 and he will be so happy to know you." 
 
 " He won't know much about me," said John- 
 ny ; and even in speaking these few senseless 
 words — words which he uttered because it was 
 necessary that he should say something — the 
 tone of his voice was altered. He would have 
 given the world to have been master of himself 
 at this moment, but he felt that he was utterly 
 vanquished. 
 
 " There is Lily coming across the lawn," said 
 Mrs. Dale. 
 
 " Then I'd better go," said Eames. " Don't 
 say any thing about it ; pray don't." And then, 
 without waiting for another word, he escaped 
 out of the drawing-room. 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 BEAUTIFUL DATS. 
 
 I AM well aware that I have not as yet given 
 any description of Bell and Lilian Dale, and 
 equally well aware that the longer the doing so 
 is postponed the greater the difficulty becomes. 
 
 I wish it could be understood without any de- 
 scription that they were two pretty, fair-haired 
 girls, of whom Bell was the tallest and the pret- 
 tiest, whereas Lily was almost as pretty as her 
 sister, and perhaps was more attractive. 
 
 They were fair-haired girls, very like each 
 other, of whom I have before my mind's eye a 
 distinct portrait, which I fear I shall not be able 
 to draw in any such manner as will make it dis- 
 tinct to others. They were something below 
 the usual height, being slight and slender in all 
 their proportions. Lily was the shorter of the 
 two, but the difference was so trifling that it was 
 hardly remembered unless the two were togeth- 
 er. And when I said that Bell was the pretti- 
 er, I should, perhaps, have spoken more justly 
 liad I simply declared that her features were 
 more regular than her sister's. The two girls 
 were very fair, so that the soft tint of color 
 which relieved the whiteness of their complex- 
 ion was rather acknowledged than distinctly 
 seen. It was there, telling its own tale of 
 health, as its absence would have told a tale of 
 present or coming sickness ; and yet nobody 
 could ever talk about the color in their cheeks. 
 The hair of the two girls was so alike in hue 
 and texture that no one, not even their mother, 
 could say that there was a difference. It was 
 not flaxen hair, and yet it was very light. Nor 
 did it approach to auburn ; and yet there ran 
 through it a golden tint that gave it a distinct 
 brightness of its own. But with Bell it was 
 more plentiful than with Lily, and therefore 
 Lily would always talk of her own scanty locks, 
 and tell how beautiful were those belonging to 
 her sister. Nevertheless Lily's head was quite 
 as lovely as her sister's ; for its form was per- 
 fect, and the simple braids in which they both 
 wore their hair did not require any great exu- 
 berance in quantity. Their eyes were brightly 
 blue ; but Bell's were long, and soft, and tender, 
 often hardly daring to raise themselves to your 
 face ; while those of Lily were rounder, but 
 brighter, and seldom kept by any want of cour- 
 age from flxing themselves where they pleased. 
 And Lily's face was perhaps less oval in its form 
 — less perffectly oval — than her sister's. The 
 shape of the forehead was, I think, the same, 
 but with Bell the chin was something more slen- 
 der and delicate. But Bell's chin was unmark- 
 ed, whereas on her sister's there was a dimple 
 which amply compensated for any other defi- 
 ciency in its beauty.- Bell's teeth were more 
 even than her sister's ; but then she showed her 
 teeth more frequently. Her lips were thinner, 
 and, as I can not but think, less expressive. 
 Her nose was decidedly more regular in its beau- 
 ty, for Lily's nose was somewhat broader than 
 it should have been. It may, therefore, be un- 
 derstood that Bell would be considered the beau- 
 ty by the family. 
 
 But there was, perhaps, more in the general 
 impression made by these girls, and in the whole 
 tone of their appearance, than in the absolute 
 loveliness of their features or the grace of their 
 figures. There was about them a dignity of 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 31 
 
 demeanor devoid of all stiffness or pride, and a 
 maidenly modesty which gave itself no airs. In 
 them was always apparent that sense of security 
 which women should receive from an uncon- 
 scious dependence on their own mingled purity 
 and weakness. These two girls were never 
 afraid of men — never loolsed as though they 
 were so afraid. And I may say that they had 
 little cause for that kind of fear to which I al- 
 lude. It might be the lot of either of them to 
 be ill-used by a man, but it was hardly possible 
 that either of them should ever be insulted by 
 one.* Lily, as may, perhaps, have been akeady 
 seen, could be full of play, but in her play she 
 never so carried herself that any one could for- 
 get what was due to her. 
 
 And now Lily Dale was engaged to be mar- 
 ried, and the days of her playfulness were over. 
 It sounds sad, this sentence against her, but I 
 fear that it must be regarded as true. And 
 when I think that it is true — when I see that 
 the sportiveness and kitten-like gambols of girl- 
 hood should be over, and generally are over, 
 when a girl has given her troth, it becomes a 
 matter of regret to me that the feminine world 
 should be in such a hurry after matrimony. I 
 have, however, no remedy to offer for the evil ; 
 and, indeed, am aware that the evil, if there be 
 an evil, is not well expressed in the words I have 
 used. The hurry is not for matrimony, but for 
 love. Then, the love once attained, matrimo- 
 ny seizes it for its own, and the evil is accom- 
 plished. 
 
 And Lily Dale was engaged to be married to 
 Adolphus Crosbie — to Apollo Crosbie, as she 
 still called him, confiding -her little joke to his 
 own ears. And to her he was an Apollo, as a 
 man who is loved should be to the girl who loves 
 him. He was handsome, graceful, clever, self- 
 confident, and always cheerful"' when she asked 
 him to be cheerful. But he had also his more 
 serious moments, and could talk to her of serious 
 matters. He would read to her, and explain 
 to her things which had hitherto been too hard 
 for her young intelligence. His voice, too, was 
 pleasant, and well under command. It could 
 be pathetic if pathos were required, or ring with 
 laughter as merry as her own. Was not such 
 a man fit to be an Apollo to such a girl, when 
 once the girl had acknowledged to herself that 
 she loved him ? 
 
 She had acknowledged it to herself, and had ac- 
 knowledged it to him — as the reader will perhaps 
 say without much delay. But the courtship had 
 so been carried on that no delay had been need- 
 ed., All the world had smiled upon it. When 
 Mr. Crosbie had first come among them at Al- 
 lington, as Bernard's guest, during those few 
 days of his early visit, it had seemed as though 
 Bell had been chiefly noticed by him. And 
 Bell in her own quiet way had accepted his ad- 
 miration, saying nothing of it and thinking but 
 very little. Lily was heart-free at the time, and 
 had ever been so. No first shadow from Love's 
 wing had as yet been thrown across the pure 
 tablets of her bosom. With Bell it was not so 
 
 — not so in absolute strictness. Bell's story, 
 too, must be told, but not on this page. But 
 before Crosbie had come among them, it was a 
 thing fixed in her mind that such love as she had 
 felt must be overcome and annihilated. We may 
 say that it had been overcome and annihilated, 
 and that she would have sinned in no way had 
 she listened to vows from this new Apollo. It is 
 almost sad to think that such a man might have 
 had the love of either of such girls, but I fear 
 that I must acknowledge that it was so. Apolb, 
 in the plenitude of his power, soon changed his 
 mind ; and before the end of his first visit had 
 transferred the distant homage which he was 
 then paying from the elder to the younger sister. 
 He afterward returned, as the squire's guest, 
 for a longer sojourn among them, and at the 
 end of the first' month had already been accept- 
 ed as Lily's future husband. 
 
 It was beautiful to see how Bell changed in. 
 her mood toward Crosbie and toward her sister 
 as soon as she perceived how the affair was go- 
 ing. She was not long in perceiving it, having 
 caught the first glimpses of the idea on that 
 evening when they both dined at the Great 
 House, leaving their mother alone to eat or to 
 neglect the pease. For some six or seven weeks 
 Crosbie had been gone, and during that time 
 Bell had been much more open in speaking of 
 him than her sister. She had been present 
 when Crosbie had bid them good-by, and had 
 listened to his eagerness as he declared to Lily 
 that he should soon be back again at Allington. 
 Lily had taken this very quietly, as though it 
 had not belonged at all to herself ; but Bell had 
 seen something of the truth, and, believing in 
 Crosbie as an earnest, honest man, had spoken 
 kind words of him, fostering any little aptitude 
 for love which might already have formed itself 
 in Lily's bosom. 
 
 "But he is such an Apollo, you know," Lily 
 had said. 
 
 " He is a gentleman ; I can see that." 
 
 " Oh yes ; a man can't be an Apollo unless 
 he's a gentleman." 
 
 "And he's very clever." 
 
 ' ' I suppose he is clever. " There was nothing 
 more said about his being a mere clerk. In- 
 deed, Lily had changed her mind on that sub- 
 ject. Johnny Enmes was a mere clerk ; where- 
 as Crosbie, if he was to be called a clerk at all, 
 was a clerk of some very special denomination. 
 There may be a great difference between one 
 clerk and another! A Clerk of the Council 
 and a parish clerk are very different persons. 
 Lily had got some such idea as this into her 
 head as she attempted in her own mind to res- 
 cue Mr. Crosbie from the lower orders of the 
 Government service. 
 
 " I wish he were not coming," Mrs. Dale had 
 said to her eldest daughter. 
 
 "I think you are wrong, mamma." 
 
 " But if she should become fond of him, and 
 then—" 
 
 ' ' Lily will never become really fond of any 
 man till he shall have given her proper reason. 
 
32 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 And if he admires her, why should they not 
 come together ?" 
 
 " But she is so young, Bell." 
 
 " She is nineteen ; and if they were engaged, 
 perhaps, tliey might wait for a year or so. But 
 it's no good talking in that way, mamma. If 
 you were to tell Lily not to give him encourage- 
 ment she would not speak to him." 
 
 " I should not think of interfering." 
 
 "No, mamma; and therefore it must take 
 its course. For myself, I like Mr. Crosbie very 
 much." 
 
 " So do I, my dear." 
 
 " And so does my uncle. I wouldn't have 
 Lily take a lover of my uncle's choosing.'' 
 
 "I should hope not." 
 
 " But it must be considered a good thing if 
 she happens to choose one of his liking. " 
 
 In this way the matter had been talked over 
 between the mother and her elder daughter. 
 Then Mr. Crosbie had come ; and before the 
 end of the first month his declared admiration 
 for Lily had proved the correctness of her sis- 
 ter's foresight. And during that short court- 
 ship all had gone well with the lovers. The 
 squire from the first had declared himself satis- 
 fied with the match, informing Mrs. Dale, in his 
 cold manner, that Mr. Crosbie was a gentleman 
 with an income suflScient for matrimony. 
 
 " It would be close enough in London," Mrs. 
 Dale had said. 
 
 ' ' He has more than my brother had when he 
 married," said the squire. 
 
 " If he will only make her as happy as your 
 brotlier made me — while it lasted ! " said Mrs. 
 Dale, as she turned away her face to conceal a 
 tear that was coming. And then there was no- 
 thing more said about it between the squire and 
 his sister-in-law. The squire spoke no word as 
 to assistance in money matters — did not even 
 suggest that he would lend a hand to the young 
 people at starting, as an uncle in such a position 
 might surely have done. It may well be con- 
 ceived that Mrs. Dale herself said nothing on 
 the subject. And, indeed, it may be conceived, 
 also, that the squire, let his intentions be what 
 they might, would not divulge them to Mrs. 
 Dale. "This was uncomfortable, but the posi- 
 tion was one that was well understood between 
 them. • 
 
 Bernard Dale was still at AUington, and had 
 remained there through the period of Crosbie's 
 absence. Whatever words Mrs. Dale might 
 choose to speak on the matter would probably be 
 spoken to him; but, then, Bernard could be 
 quite as close as his uncle. When Crosbie re- 
 turned, he and Bernard had, of course, lived 
 much together ; and, as was natural, there came 
 to be close discussion between them as to the 
 two girls, when Crosbie allowed it to be under- 
 stood that hisliking for Lily was becoming strong. 
 
 "You know, I suppose, that my uncle wishes 
 me to marry the elder one," Bernard had said. 
 
 " I have guessed as much." 
 
 "And I su]5pose the match will come off. 
 She's a pretty girl, and as good as gold." 
 
 "Yes, she is." 
 
 "I don't pretend to be very much in love 
 with her. It's not my way, you know. But, 
 some of these days, I shall ask her to have me, 
 and I suppose it'll all go right. The governor 
 has distinctly promised to allow me eight hun- 
 dred a year off the estate, and to take us in fur 
 tliree months every year if we wish it. I told 
 him simply that I couldn't do it for less, and he 
 agreed with me." 
 
 " You and he get on very well together." 
 
 "Oh yes! There's never been any fal-lal 
 between us about love, and duty, and all that. 
 I think we understand each other, and that's 
 every thing. He knows the comfort of stand- 
 ing well with the heir, and I know the comfort 
 of standing well with the owner." It must be 
 admitted, I think, that there was a great deal 
 of sound common sense about Bernard Dale. 
 
 "What will he do for the younger sister?" 
 asked Crosbie ; and, as he asked the important 
 question, a close observer might have perceived 
 that there was some slight tremor in his voice. 
 
 "Ah! that's more than I can tell you. If I 
 were you I should ask him. The governor is a 
 plain man, and likes plain business." 
 
 " I suppose you couldn't ask him ?" 
 
 " No ; I don't think I could. It is my be- 
 lief that he will not let her go by any means 
 empty-handed." 
 
 " Well, I suppose not." 
 
 " But remember this, Crosbie — I can say no- 
 thing to you on which you are to depend. Lily, 
 also, is as good as gold ; and, as you seem to 
 be fond of her, I should ask the governor, if I 
 were you, in so many words, what he intends to 
 do. Of course it's against my interest, for ev- 
 ery shilling he gives Lily will ultimately come 
 out of my pocket. But I'm not the man to 
 care about that, as you know. " 
 
 What might be Crosbie's knowledge on this 
 subject we will not here inquire ; but we may 
 say that it would have mattered very little to 
 him out of whose pocket the money came so 
 long as it went into his own. When he felt 
 quite sure of Lily — having, in fact, received 
 Lily's permission to speak to her uncle, and 
 Lily's promise that she would herself speak to 
 her mother — he did tell the squire what was his 
 intention. This he did in an open, manly way, 
 as though he felt that in asking for much he also 
 offered to give much. 
 
 "I have nothing to say against it," said the 
 squire. 
 
 "And I have your permission to consider 
 myself as engaged to her ?" 
 
 "If you have hers and her mother's. Of 
 course you are aware that I have no authority 
 over her." 
 
 " She would not marry without your sanc- 
 tion." 
 
 "She is very good to think so much of her 
 uncle," said the squire ; and his words as he 
 spoke them sounded very cold in Crosbie's eai-s. 
 After that Crosbie said nothing about money, 
 having to confess to himself that he was afraid 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTOK 
 
 33 
 
 to do so. " And what would be the use ?" said 
 he to himself, wishing to make excuses for what 
 he felt to be weak in his own conduct. " If he 
 should refuse to give her a shilling I could not 
 go back from it now." And then some ideas 
 ran across his mind as to the injustice to which 
 men are subjected in this matter of matrimony. 
 A man has to declare himself before it is fitting 
 tliat he should make any inquii-y about a lady's 
 money ; and then, when he has declared him- 
 self, any such inquiry is unavailing. Which 
 consideration somewhat cooled the ardor of his 
 happiness. Lily Dale was very pretty, very 
 nice, very refreshing in her innocence, her puri- 
 ty, and her quick intelligence. No amusement 
 could be more delicionsly amusing than that of 
 making love to Lily Dale. Her way of flatter- 
 ing her lover without any intention of flattery 
 on her part, had put Crosbie into a seventh 
 heaven. In all his experience he had known 
 nothing like it. "You may be sure of this," 
 she had said — " I shall love yon with all my 
 heart and all my strength." It was very nice; 
 but then what were they to live upon? Could 
 it be that he, Adolphus Crosbie, should settle 
 down on the north side of the New Eoad, as a 
 married man, with eight huiidred a year? If 
 indeed the squire would be as good to Lily as he 
 had promised to be to Bell, then indeed things 
 might be made to arrajige themselves. 
 
 But there was no such drawback on Lily's 
 happiness. Her ideas about money were rather 
 vague, but they were very honest. She knew 
 she had none of her own, but supposed that it 
 was a husband's duty to find what would be 
 needful. She knew she had none of her own, 
 and was therefore aware that she ought not to 
 expect luxuries in the little household that was 
 to be prepared for her. She hoped, for his sake, 
 that her uncle might give some assistance, but 
 was quite prepared to prove that she could be a 
 good poor man's wife. In the old colloquies on 
 such matters between her and her sister she had 
 always declared that some decent income should 
 be considered as indispensable before love could 
 be entertained. But eight hundred a year had 
 been considered as doing much more than fulfill- 
 ing this stipulation. Bell had had high-flown 
 notions.as to the absolute glory of poverty. She 
 had declared that income should not be consid- 
 ered at all. If she had loved a man she would 
 allow herself to be engaged to him, even though 
 he had no income. Such had been their theo- 
 ries; and, as regarded money, Lily was quite 
 contented with the way in which she had car- 
 ried out her own. 
 
 In these beautiful days there was nothing to 
 check her happiness. Her mother and sister 
 united in telling her that she had done well- 
 that she was happy in her choice, and justified 
 in her love. On that first day, when she told 
 her mother all, she had been made exquisitely 
 blissful by the way in which her tidings had been 
 received. 
 
 "Oh! mamma, I must tell you something," 
 she said, coming up to her mother's bedroom, 
 
 after a long ramble with Mr. Crosbie through 
 those Allington fields. 
 
 "Is it about Mr. Crosbie?" 
 
 " Yes, mamma." And then the rest had been 
 said through the medium cJf warm embraces and 
 happy tears rather than by words. 
 
 As she sat in her mother's room, hiding her 
 face on her mother's shoulders. Bell had come, 
 and had knelt at her feet. 
 
 "Dear Lily," she had said, "I am so glad!" 
 And then Lily remembered liow she had, as it 
 were, stolen her lover from her sister, and she 
 put her arms round Bell's neck and kissed her. 
 
 " I knew how it was going to be from the very 
 first," said Bell. ' ' Did I not, mamma ?" 
 
 "I'm sure I didn't," said Lily. ".I never 
 thought .such a thing was possible. " 
 
 " But we did — mamma and I." 
 
 "Did you?" said Lily. 
 
 " Bell told me that it was to be so,'' said Mrs. 
 Dale. "But I could hardly bring myself at 
 first to think that he was good enough for my 
 darling." 
 
 "Oh, mamma ! you must not say that. You 
 must think that he is good enough for any 
 thing." 
 
 ' ' I will think that he is very good. " 
 
 "Who could be better? And then, when 
 you remember all that he is to give up for my 
 sake! — And what can I do for him iu return? 
 What have I got to give him ?" 
 
 Neither Mrs. Dale nor Bell could look at the 
 matter in this light, thinking that Lily gave 
 quite as much as she received. But they both 
 declared that Crosbie was pei'fect, knowing that 
 by such assurances only could they now admin- 
 ister to Lily's happiness ;. and Lily, between 
 them, was made perfect in her happiness, receiv- 
 ing all manner of encouragement in her love, 
 and being nourished in her passion by the sym- 
 pathy and appi'oval of her mother and sister. 
 
 And then had come that visit from Johnny 
 Eames. As the poor fellow marched out of the 
 room, giving them no time to say farewell, Mrs. 
 Dale and Bell looked at each other sadly ; but 
 they were unable to concoct any arrangement, 
 for Lily had run across the lawn, and was al- 
 ready on the ground before the window. 
 
 " As soon as we got to the end of the shrub- 
 bery there were Uncle Christopher and Bernard 
 close to us ; so I told Adolphus he might go on 
 by himself. " 
 
 "And who do you think has been here?" 
 said Bell. But Mrs. Dale said nothing. Had 
 time been given to her to use her own judgment 
 nothing should have been said at that moment 
 as to Johnny's visit. 
 
 " Has any body been here since I went ? 
 Whoever it was didn't stay very long." 
 
 "Poor Johnny Eames," said Bell. Then 
 the color came up into Lily's face, and she be- 
 thought herself in a moment that the old friend 
 of her young days had loved her ; that he, too, 
 had had hopes as to his love ; and that now he 
 had heard tidings which would put an end to 
 such hopes. She understood it all in a moment, 
 
31 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 but understood also that it was necessary that 
 slie should conceal such understanding. 
 
 "Dear Johnny!" she said. "Why did he 
 not wait for me?" 
 
 "We told him yotf were out," said Mrs. Dale. 
 " He will be here again before long, no doubt." 
 
 "And he knows — ?" 
 
 " Yes ; I thought you would not object to my 
 telling him." 
 
 " No, mamma ; of course not. And he has 
 gone back to Guestwick?" 
 
 There was no answer given to this question, 
 nor were there any further words then spoken 
 about Johnny Eames. Each of these women 
 understood exactly how the matter stood, and 
 each knew that the others understood it. The 
 young man was loved by them all, but not loved 
 with that sort of admiring affection which had 
 been accorded to Mr. Crosbie. Johnny Eames 
 could not have been accepted as a suitor by their 
 pet. Mrs. Dale and Bell both felt that. And 
 yet they loved him for his love, and for that dis- 
 tant, modest respect which had restrained him 
 from any speech regarding it. Poor Johnny ! 
 But he was young-^hardly as yet out of his hob- 
 bledehoyhood — and he would easily recover this 
 blow, remembering, and perhaps feeling to his 
 advantage, some slight touch of its passing ro- 
 mance. It is thus women think of men who 
 love young and love in vain. 
 
 But Johnny Eames himself, as he rode back 
 to Guestwick, forgetful of his spurs, and with 
 his gloves stuffed into his pocket, thought of the 
 matter very differently. He had never promised 
 to himself any success as to his passion for Lily, 
 and had, indeed, always acknowledged that he 
 could have no hope ; but now that she was act- 
 ually promised to another man, and as good as 
 married, he Was not the less broken-hearted be- 
 canse his former hopes had not been high. He 
 had never dared to speak to Lily of his love, but 
 he was conscious that she knew it, and he did 
 not now dare to stand before her as one con- 
 victed of having loved in vain. And then, as 
 he rode back, he thought also of his other love, 
 not with many of those pleasant thoughts which 
 Lotharios and Don Juans may be presumed to 
 enjoy when they contemplate their successes. "I 
 suppose I shall marry her, and there'll be an 
 end of me," he said to himself, as he remem- 
 bered a short note which he had once written to 
 her in his madness. There had been a little 
 supper at Mrs. Roper's, and Mrs. Lupex and 
 Amelia had made the punch. After supper, he 
 bad been by some accident alone with Amelia in 
 'the dining-parlor ; and when, warmed by the 
 generous god, he had declared his passion, she 
 had shaken her head mournfully, and had fled 
 from him to some upper region, absolutely re- 
 fusing his proffered embrace. But on the same 
 night, before his head had found its pillow, a 
 note had come to him, half repentant, half af- 
 fectionate, half repellent — "If, indeed, he would 
 swear to her that his love was honest and man- 
 ly, then, indeed, she might even yet — see him 
 through the chink of the door-way witli the pur- 
 
 port of telling him that he w^s forgiven. " Where- 
 upon, a perfidious pencil being near to his hand, 
 he had written the requisite words. "My only 
 object in life is to call you my own forever." 
 Amelia had her misgivings whether such a prom- 
 ise, in order that it might be used as legal evi- 
 dence, should not have been written in ink. It 
 was a painful doubt ; but nevertheless she was 
 as good as her word, and saw him through the 
 chink, forgiving him for his impetuosity in the 
 parlor with, perhaps, more clemency than a mere 
 pardon required. " By George ! how well slie 
 looked with her hair all loose," he said to him- 
 self, as he at last regained his pillow, still warm 
 with the generous god. But now, as he thought 
 of that night, returning on his road from AUinj;- 
 ton to Guestwick, those loose, floating locks 
 were remembered by him with no strong feeling 
 as to their charms. And he thought also of Lily 
 Dale, as she was when he had said farewell to 
 her on that day before he first went up to Lon- 
 don. "I shall care more about seeing you than 
 any body, " he had said ; and he had often thought 
 of the words since, wondering whether she had 
 understood them as meaning more than an as- 
 surance of ordinary friendship. And he remem- 
 bered well the dreas she had then worn. It was 
 an old brown merino, which he had known be- 
 fore, and which, in truth, had nothing in it to 
 recommend it specially .to a lover's notice. 
 " Horrid old thing!" had been Lily's own ver- 
 dict respecting the ftock, even before that day. 
 But she had hallowed it in his eyes, and he would 
 have been only too happy to have worn a shred 
 of it near his heart, as a talisman. How won- 
 derful in its nature is that passion of which men 
 speak when they acknowledge to themselves that 
 they are in love ! Of all things, it is, under one 
 condition, the most foul, and under another, the 
 most fair. As that condition is, a man shows 
 himself either as a beast or as a god ! And so 
 we will let poor Johnny Eames ride back to 
 Guestwick, suffering much in that he had loved 
 basely — and suffering much, also, in that he had 
 loved nobly. 
 
 Lily, as she had tripped along through the 
 shrubbery under her lover's arm, looking up, 
 every other moment, into his face, had espied 
 her uncle and Bernard. " Stop," she had said, 
 giving a little pull at the arm ; " I won't go on. 
 Uncle is always teasing me with some old-fash- 
 ioned wit. And I've had quite enough of you 
 to-day, Sir. Mind you come over to-moiTow 
 before you go to your shooting. " And so she 
 had left him. 
 
 We may as well learn here what was the 
 question in dispute between the uncle and consin, 
 as they were walking there on the broad gravel 
 path behind the Great House. "Bernard," the 
 old man had said, " I wish this matter could be 
 settled between you and Bell." 
 
 " Is there any hurry about it. Sir?" 
 
 "Yes, there is hurry; or, rather, as I hate 
 hurry in all things, I would say that there is 
 ground for dispatch. Mind, I do not wish to 
 drive you. Ifyou do not like your cousin, say so." 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTO^. 
 
 35 
 
 " But I do like her ; only I have a sort of 
 feeling that these things grow best by degrees. 
 1 quite share your dislike to being in a hur- 
 ry." 
 
 " But time enough has been .taken now. You 
 see, Bernai'd, I am going to make a great sacri- 
 fice of income on yom- behalf." 
 
 "I'm sure I am very grateful." 
 
 " I have no children, and have therefore al- 
 ways regarded you as. my own. But there is no 
 reason why my brother Philip's daughter should 
 not be as dear to me as my brother Orlando's 
 son." 
 
 "Of course not, Sir; or, rather, his two 
 daughters." 
 
 "You may leave that matter to me, Bernard. 
 The younger girl is going to marry this friend 
 of yours, and as he has a sufBcient income to 
 support a wife, I think that my sister-in-law has 
 good reason to be satisfied by the match. She 
 will not be expected to give up any part of her 
 small income, as she must have done had Lily 
 married a poor man." 
 
 "I suppose she could hardly give up much." 
 
 " People must be guided by circumstances. I 
 am not disposed to put myself in the place of a 
 parent to them both. There is no reason why 
 I should, and I will not encourage false hopes. 
 If I knew that this matter between you and Bell 
 was arranged, I should have reason to feel satifi- 
 fied with what I was doing." From all which 
 Bernard began to perceive that poor Cuosbie's 
 expectations in the matter of money would not 
 probably receive much gratification. But he 
 also perceived, or thought that he perceived, a 
 kind of threat in this warning from his uncle. 
 " I have promised you eight hundred a year with 
 your wife," the warning seemed to say. " But 
 if you do not at once accept it, or let me feel 
 that it will be accepted, it may be well for me to 
 change my mind, especially as this other niece 
 is about to be married. If I am to give you so 
 large a fortune with Bell, I need do nothing for 
 Lily. But if you do not choose to take Bell 
 and the fortune, why then — " And so on. It 
 was thus that Bernard read his uncle's caution, 
 as they walked together on the broad gravel 
 path. 
 
 " I have no desire to postpone the matter any 
 longer," said Bernard. " I will propose to Bell 
 at once, if you wish it." 
 
 "If your mind be quite made up, I can not 
 see why you should delay it. " 
 
 And then, having thus arranged that matter, 
 (Ifliey received their future relative with kind 
 smiles and soft words. 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 
 THE BEOINNING OF TEOtTBLES. 
 
 Lilt, as she parted with her lover in the 
 garden, had required of him to attend upon 
 her the next morning as he went to his shoot- 
 ing, and in obedience to this command he ap- 
 
 peared on Mrs. Dale's lawn after breakfast, 
 accompanied by Bernard and two dogs. The 
 men had guns in their hands, and were got up 
 with all proper sporting appurtenances, but it so 
 turned' out that they did not reach the stubble- 
 fields on the farther side of the road until after 
 luncheon. And may it not be fairly doubted 
 whether croquet is not as good as shooting when 
 a man is in love ? 
 
 It will be said that Bernard Dale was not in 
 love ; but they who bring sucli accusation against 
 him will bring it falsely. He was in love with 
 liis cousin Bell according to his manner and 
 fashion. It was not his nature to love Bell as 
 John Eames loved Lily ; but then neither would 
 his nature bring him into such a trouble as 
 that which the charms of Amelia Roper had 
 brought upon the poor clerk from the Income- 
 tax Ofiice. Johnny was susceptible, as tlie word 
 goes ; whereas Captain Dale was a man who had 
 his feelings well under control. He was not one 
 to make a fool of himself about a girl, or to die,, 
 of a broken heart ; but, nevertheless, he would 
 probably love his wife when he got a wife, and 
 would be a careful father to his children. 
 
 They were very intimate with each other now, 
 these four. It was Bernard and Adolphus — or 
 sometimes Apollo — and Bell and Lily among 
 them ; and Crosbie found it to be pleasant 
 enough. A new position of life had come upon 
 him, and one exceeding pleasant; but, never- 
 theless, there were moments in which cold fits 
 of a melancholy nature came upon him. He 
 was doing the very thing which througliout all 
 the years of his manhood he had declared to 
 himself that he would not do. According to his 
 
36 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 plan of life he was to have eschewed marriage, 
 aud to have allowed himself to regard it as a 
 possible event only under the circumstances of 
 wealth, rank, and beauty all coming in his way 
 together. As he had expected no such glorious 
 prize, he had regarded himself as a man who 
 would reign at the Beaufort and be potent at 
 Sebright's to the end of his chapter. But now — 
 
 It was the fact that he had fallen from his 
 settled position, vanquished by a silver voice, a 
 pretty wit, and a pair of moderately bright eyes. 
 He was very fond of Lily, having In truth a 
 stronger capability for falling in love than his 
 friend Captain Dale ; but was the sacrifice worth 
 his while? This was the question which he 
 asked himself in those melancholy moments; 
 while he was lying in bed, for instance, awake 
 in the morning, when he was shaving himself, 
 and sometimes also when the • squire was prosy 
 after dinner. At such times as these, while he 
 would be listening to Mr. Dale, his self-reproach- 
 es would sometimes be very bitter. Why should 
 he undergo this — he, Crosbie of Sebright's, Cros- 
 bie of the General Committee Office, Crosbie 
 who would allow no one to bore him between 
 Charing Cross' and the far end of Bayswater 
 — why should he listen to the long-winded 
 stories of such a one as Squire Dale ? If, in- 
 deed, the squire intended to be liberal to his 
 niece, then it might be very well. But as yet 
 the squire had given no sign of such intention, 
 and Crosbie was angry with himself in that he 
 had not had the courage to ask a question on 
 that subject. 
 
 And thus the course of love was not all smooth 
 to our Apollo. It was still pleasant for him 
 when he was there on the croquet ground, or 
 sitting in Mrs. Dale's drawing-room with all the 
 ])rivileges of an accepted lover.* It was pleasant 
 to him also as he sipped the squire's claret, 
 knowing that his coffee would soon be handed 
 to him by a sweet girl who would have tripped 
 across the two gardens on purpose to perform for 
 him this service. There is nothing pleasanter 
 than all this, although a man when so treated 
 does feel himself to look like a calf at the altar, 
 ready for the knife, with blue ribbons round his 
 horns and neck. Crosbie felt that he was such 
 a calf — and the more calf-like, in that he not as 
 yet dared to ask a question about his wife's for- 
 tune. " I will have it out of the old fellow this 
 evening," he said to himself, as he buttoned on 
 his dandy shooting gaiters that morning. 
 
 " How nice he looks in them!" Lily said to 
 her sister afterward, knowing nothing of the 
 thoughts which had troubled her lover's mind 
 while he was adorning his legs. 
 
 "I suppose we shall come back this way," 
 Crosbie said, as they prepared to move away on 
 their proper business when lunch was over, 
 
 "Well, not exactly!" said Bernard. "We 
 shall make our way round byDarvell's farm, and 
 so back by Gruddock's. Are the girls going to 
 dine up at the Great House to-day ?" 
 
 The girls declared that they were not going to 
 dine up at the Great House, that they did not 
 
 intend going to the Groat House at all that 
 evening. 
 
 ' ' Then, as you won't have to dress, you might 
 as well meet us at Gruddock's gate, at the back 
 of the farm-yard. We'll be there exactly at 
 half past five." 
 
 "That is to say, we're to be there at half past 
 five, and you'll keep us waiting for three-quar- 
 ters of an hour, " said Lily. Nevertheless the 
 arrangement as proposed was made, and the two 
 ladies were not at all unwilling to make it. It 
 is thus that the game is carried on among un- 
 sophisticated people who really live in the coun- 
 try. The farm-yard gate at Farmer Gruddock's 
 has not a fitting sound as a trysting-place in 
 romance, but for people who are in earnest it 
 does as well as any oak in the middle glade of a 
 forest. Lily Dale was quite in earnest — and so 
 indeed was Adolphus Crosbie — only with him 
 the earnest was beginning to take that shade of 
 brown which most earnest things have to wear 
 in this vale of tears. With Lily it was as yet 
 all rose-colored. And Bernard Dale was also 
 in earnest. Throughout this morning he had 
 stood very near to Bell on the lawn, and had 
 thought that his cousin did not receive his little 
 whisperings with any aversion. Why should 
 she? Lucky girl that she was, thus to have 
 eight hundred a year pinned to her skirt ! 
 
 "I say, Dale," Crosbie said, as in the course 
 of their day's work they had come round upon 
 Gruddock's gi'ound, and were preparing to finish 
 off his turnips before they reached the farm-yard 
 gate. And now, as Crosbie spoke, they stood 
 leaning on the gate, looking at the turnips while 
 the two dogs squatted on their haunches. Cros- 
 bie had Tjeen very silent for the last mile or two, 
 and had been making up his mind for this con- 
 versation. ' ' I say. Dale, your uncle has never 
 said a word to me yet as to Lily's fortune." 
 
 "As to Lily's fortune! The question is 
 whether Lily has got a fortune." 
 
 " He can hardly expect that I am to take her 
 without something. Your uncle is a man of the 
 world, and he knows — " 
 
 "Whether or no my uncle is a man of the 
 world I will not say; but you are, Crosbie, 
 whether he is or not. Lily, as you have always 
 known, has nothvig of her own." 
 
 "I'm not talking of Lily's own. I'm speak- 
 ing of her uncle. I have been straightforward 
 with him ; and when I became attached to your 
 cousin I declared what I meant at once." 
 
 " You should have asked him the question, if 
 you thought there was any room for such a» 
 question." 
 
 "Thought there was any room I Upon my 
 word you are a cool fellow. " ' 
 
 " Now look here, Crosbie ; you may say what 
 you like about my uncle, but you must not say a 
 word against Lily." 
 
 "Who is going to say a word against her? 
 You can little understand rae if you don't know 
 that the protection of her name against evil 
 words is already more my care than it is yours. 
 I regard Lily as my own." 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 37 
 
 "1 only meant to say, that any discontgnt 
 you may feel as to her money, or want of money, 
 you must refer to my uncle, and not to the fam- 
 ily at the Small House." 
 
 "I am quite well aware of that." 
 
 " And though you are quite at liberty to say 
 what you like to me about my uncle, I can not 
 say that I can see that he has been to blame." 
 
 ' ' He should have told me what her prospects 
 are." 
 
 "But if she have got no prospects! It can 
 not be an uncle's duty to tell every body that he 
 does not mean to give his niece a fortune. In 
 point of fact, why should you suppose that he 
 has such an intention?" 
 
 " Do you know that he has not ? because you 
 once led me to believe that he would give his 
 niece money." 
 
 " Now, Crosbie, it is necessary that you and 
 I should understand each other in this mat- 
 ter—" 
 
 "But did you not?" 
 
 " Listen to me for a moment. I never said a 
 word to you about my uncle's intentions in any 
 way, until after you had become fully engaged 
 to Lily with the knowledge of us all. Then, 
 when my belief on the subject could make no 
 ppssible difference in your conduct, I told you 
 that I thought my uncle would do something for 
 her. I told you so because I did think so ; and 
 as your friend, I should have told you what I 
 thought in any matter that concerned your in- 
 terest." 
 
 " And now you have changed your opinion ?" 
 
 " I have changed my opinion ; but very prob- 
 ably without sufficient ground." 
 
 "That's hard upon me." 
 
 ' ' It may be hard to bear disappointment ; but 
 you can not say that any body has ill-used you." 
 
 "And you don't think he will give her any 
 thing?" 
 
 "Nothing that will bo of much moment to 
 you." 
 
 "And I'm not to say that that's hard? I 
 think it confounded hard. Of course I must 
 put off my marriage." 
 
 "Why do you not speak to my uncle ?" 
 
 " I shall do so. To tell the truth; I think it 
 would have come better from him ; but that is a 
 matter of opinion. I shall tell him very plainly 
 what I think about it ; and if he is angry, why, 
 I suppose I must leave his house; that will be 
 all." 
 
 "Look here, Crosbie ; do not begin your con- 
 versation with the purpose of angering him. 
 He is not a, bad-hearted man, but is very ob- 
 stinate. " 
 
 " I can be quite as obstinate as he is." And 
 then, without further parley, they went in among 
 the turnips, and each swore against his luck as 
 he missed his birds. There are certain phases 
 of mind in which a man can neither ride nor 
 shoot, nor play a stroke at billiards, nor remem- 
 ber a card at whist, and to such a phase of mind 
 had come both Crosbie and Dale after their con- 
 versation over the gate. 
 
 They were not above fifteen minutes late at 
 the trysting-place, but nevertheless, punctual 
 though they had been, the girls were there be- 
 fore them. Of course the first inquiries were 
 made about the game, and of course the gentle- 
 men declared that the birds were scarcer than 
 they had ever been before, that the dogs were 
 wilder, and their luck more excruciatingly bad — 
 to all which apologies very little attention was 
 paid. Lily and Bell had not come there to in- 
 quire after partridges, and would have forgiven 
 the sportsmen even though no single bird had 
 been killed. But they could not forgive the 
 want of good spirits which was apparent. 
 
 "I declare I don't know what's the matter 
 with you," Lily said to her lover. 
 
 " We have been over fifteen miles of gi'ound, 
 and—" 
 
 ' ' I never knew any thing so lackadaisical as 
 you gentlemen from London. Been over fifteen 
 miles of ground ! Why Uncle Christopher would 
 think nothing of that." 
 
 "Uncle Christopher is made of sterner stuff 
 than we are," said Crosbie. "They used to be 
 born so sixty or seventy years ago." And then 
 they walked on through Gruddock's fields, and 
 the home paddocks, back to the Great House, 
 where they found the squire standing in the 
 front of the porch. * 
 
 The walk had not been so pleasant as they 
 had all intended that it should be when they 
 made their arrangements for it. Crosbie had 
 endeavored to recover his happy state of mind, 
 but had been unsuccessful ; and Lily, fancying 
 that her lover was not all that he should be, had 
 become reserved and sile* Bernard and Bell 
 had not shared this discomfiture, but then Ber- 
 nard and Bell were, as a rule, much more given 
 to silence than the other two. 
 
 "Uncle," said Lily, "these men have shot 
 nothing, and you can not conceive how unhappy 
 they are in consequence. It's all the fault of 
 the naughty partridges." 
 
 " There are plenty of partridges if they knew 
 how to get them," said the squire. 
 
 " The dogs are uncommonly wild," said Cros- 
 bie. 
 
 " They are not wild with me, " said the squire ; 
 " nor yet with Dingles." Dingles was the 
 squire's game -keeper. "The fact is, you 
 young men nowadays expect to have dogs train- 
 ed to do all the work for you. It's too much 
 labor for you to walk up to your game. You'll 
 be late for dinner, girls, if you don't look sharp." 
 
 "We're not coming up this evening. Sir," 
 said Bell, 
 
 "And why not?" 
 
 " We're going to stay with mamma." 
 
 ■"And why will not your mother come with 
 you ? I'll be whipped if I can understand it. 
 One would have thought that under the present 
 circumstances she would have been glad to see 
 you all as much together as possible. " 
 
 " We're together quite enough," said Lily. 
 "And as for mamma, I suppose she thinks — " 
 And then she stopped herself, catching the glance 
 
ss 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 
 LILY SPEAKS, '* 1T"S ALL TUE FAULT OF THE NADGIITY FAETRIDGES." 
 
 of Bell's Imploring eye. She was going to make 
 some indignant excuse for her mother — some 
 excuse which would be calculated to make her 
 uncle angry. It was her practice to say such 
 sharp words to him, and consequently he did 
 not regard her as warmly as her more silent and 
 more prudent sister. At the present moment 
 he turned quickly round and went into the house ; 
 and then, with a very few wo'rds of farewell, the 
 two young men followed him. The girls went 
 
 back brer the little bridge by themselves, feel- 
 ing that the afternoon had not gone off altogeth- 
 er well. 
 
 ' ' You shouldn't provoke him, Lily," paid Bell. 
 
 "And he shouldn't say those things about 
 mamma. It seems to me that you don^ mind 
 what he says." 
 
 "Oh, Lily!" 
 
 "No more you do. He makes me so angry 
 that I can not hold my tongue. He thinks that 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 39 
 
 because all the j)lace is his, he is to say just what ' 
 he likes. Why should mamma go up there to 
 please his humors ?" 
 
 " You may be sure that mamma will do what 
 she thinks best. She is stronger-minded than 
 Uncle Christopher, and does not want any one 
 to help her. But, Lily, you shouldn't speak as 
 though I were careless about mamma. You 
 didn't mean that, I know." 
 
 ' ' Of course I didn't. " Then the two girls 
 joined their mother in their own little domain ; 
 but we will return to the men at the Great House. 
 
 Crosbie, when he went up to dress for dinner, 
 fell into one of those melancholy fits of which I 
 have spoken. Was he absolutely about to de- 
 stroy all the good that he had done for himself 
 throughout the past years of his hitherto success- 
 ful life ? or rather, as he at last put the question 
 to himself more strongly, was it not the case 
 that he had already destroyed all that success ? 
 His marriage with Lily, whether it was to be for 
 good or bad, was now a settled thing, and was 
 not regarded as a matter admitting of any doubt. 
 To do the man justice, I must declare that in all 
 these moments of misery he still did the best he 
 could to think of Lily herself as of a great treas- 
 ure which he had won — as of a treasure which 
 should, and perhaps would, compensate him for 
 his misery. But there was the misery very 
 plain. He must give up his clubs, and his fash- 
 ion, and all that he had hitherto gained, and be 
 content to live a plain, humdrum, domestic life, 
 with eight hundred a year, and a small house, 
 full of babies. It was not the kind of Elysium 
 for which he had tutored himself. Lily was 
 very nice, very nice indeed. She was, as he said 
 to himself, "by odds the nicest girl that he had 
 ever seen." Whatever might now turn op, her 
 happiness should be his first care. But as for 
 his own, he began to fear that the compensation 
 would hardly be perfect. "It is my own do- 
 ing," he said to himself, intending to be rather 
 noble in the purport of his soliloquy; "I have 
 trained myself for other things — very foohshly. 
 Of course I must suffer — snffer damnably. But 
 she shall never know it. iTear, sweet, innocent, 
 pretty little thing !" And then he went on about 
 the squire, as to whom he felt himself entitled to 
 be indignant by liis own disinterested and manly 
 line of conduct toward the niece. "But I will 
 let him know what I think about it," he said. 
 " It's all very well for Dale to say that I have 
 been treated fairly. It isn't fair for a man to 
 put forward his niece under false pretenses. Of 
 course I thought that he intended to provide for 
 her." And then, having made up his mind in 
 a very ftianly way that he would not desert Lily 
 altogether after having promised to. marry her, 
 he endeavored to find consolation in the reflec- 
 tion that he- might, at any rate, allow himself 
 two years' more run as a bachelor in London. 
 Girls who have to get themselves married with- 
 out fortunes always know that they will have to 
 wait. Indeed, Lily had already told him that, 
 as far as she was concerned, she was in no hurry. 
 He need not, therefoire, at once withdraw his 
 
 name from Sebright'!. Thus he endeavored to 
 console himself, still, however, resolving tliat ho 
 would have a little serious conversation with the 
 squire that very evening as to Lily's fortune. 
 
 And what was the state of Lily's mind at the 
 same moment, while she, also, was performing 
 some slight toilet changes preparatory to their 
 simple dinner at the Small House ? 
 
 "I didn't behave well to him," she said to 
 herself; "I never do. I forget how much ho 
 is giving up for me ; and then, when any thing 
 annoys him, I make it worse instead of comfort- 
 ing him." And upon that she made accusation 
 against herself that she did not love him half 
 enough — that she did not let him see how thor- 
 oughly and perfectly she loved him. She had 
 an idea of her own, that as a girl should never 
 show any preference for a man till circumstances 
 should have fully entitled him to such manifest- 
 ation, so also should she make no drawback on 
 her love, but pour it forth for his benefit with 
 all her strength when such circumstances had 
 come to exist. But she was ever feeling that 
 she was not acting up to. her theory, now that the 
 time for such practice had come. She would un- 
 wittingly assume little reserves, and make small 
 pretenses of indifference in spite of her own judg- 
 ment. She had done so on this afternoon, and 
 had left him without giving him her hand to 
 press, without looking >ip into his face with an 
 assurance of love, and therefore she was angry 
 with herself. " I know I shall teach him to hate 
 me," she said out loud to Bell. 
 
 "That would be very sad," said Bell; "but 
 I don't see it." 
 
 "If you were engaged to a man you would 
 be much better to him. You would not say so 
 much, but what you did say would be all affec- 
 tion. I am always making horrid little speech- 
 es, for which I should like to cut out my tongue 
 afterward." 
 
 " Whatever sort of speeches they are I* think 
 that he likes them." 
 
 "Does he? I'm not all so sure of that. 
 Bell. Of course I don't expect that he is to 
 scold me — not yet, that is. But I know by his 
 eye when he is pleased and when he is dis- 
 pleased." 
 
 And then they went down to their dinner. 
 
 Up at the Great House the three gentlemen 
 met together in apparent good-hihnor. Bernard 
 Dale was a man of an equal temperameint, who 
 rarely allowed any feeling, or even any annoy- 
 ancej to interfere with his usual manner — a man 
 who could always come to table with a smile, 
 and meet either his friend or his enemy with a 
 properly civil greeting. Not that he was espe- 
 cially a false man. There was nothing of deceit 
 in liis placidity of demeanor. It arose from true 
 equanimity; but it was the equanimity of a cold 
 disposition rather than of one well ordered by 
 discipline. Tlie squire was aware that he had 
 been unreasonably petulant before dinner, and 
 having taken himself to task in his own way, 
 now e"ntered the dining-room with the courteous 
 greeting of a host. "I find that your bag was 
 
40 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 not so bad after all," he said ; " and I hope that 
 your appetite is at least as good as your bag." 
 
 Crosbie smiled, and made himself pleasant, 
 and said a few flattering words. A man who 
 intends to take some very decided step in an 
 hour or two generally contrives to bear himself 
 . in the mean time as though the trifles of the 
 world were quite suflScient for him. So he 
 praised the squire's game, said a good-natured 
 word as to Dingles, and bantered himself as to 
 Ms own want of skill. Then all went merry — 
 not quite as a marriage bell; but still merry 
 enough for a party of three gentlemen. 
 
 But Crosbie's resolution was fixed; atid as 
 soon, therefore, as the old butler was perma- 
 nently gone, and the wine steadily in transit 
 upon the table, he began his task, not without 
 some apparent abruptness. Having fully con- 
 sidered the matter, he had determined that he 
 would not wait for Bernard Dale's absence. He 
 thought it possible that he might be able to fight 
 his battle better in Bernard's presence than he 
 could do behind his back. 
 
 " Squire," he began. They all called him 
 squire when they were on good terms together, 
 and Crosbie thought it well to begin as though 
 there was nothing amiss between them. " Squire 
 of course I am thinking a good deal at the pres- 
 ent moment as to my intended marriage." 
 
 "That's natural enough," said the squire. 
 
 "Yes, by George! Sir, a man doesn't make 
 a change like that without finding that he has 
 got something to think of." ' 
 
 "I suppose not," said the squire. "I never 
 was in the way of getting married myself, but I 
 can easily understand that." 
 
 " I've been the luckiest fellow in the world in 
 finding such a girl as your niece — " Where- 
 npon the squire bowed, intending to make a lit- 
 tle courteous declaration that the luck in the 
 matter was on the side of the Dales. '-' I know 
 tliat," continued Crosby, "she is exactly every 
 thing that a girl ought to be." 
 
 " She is a good girl," said Bernard. 
 
 "Yes, I think she is," said the squire. 
 
 "But it seems to me," said Crosbie, finding 
 that it was necessary to dash at once headlong 
 into the water, " that something ought to be said 
 as to my means of supporting her properly. " 
 
 Then he paused for a moment, expecting that 
 the squire would speak. But the squire sat per- 
 fectly still, looking intently at the empty fire- 
 place, and saving nothing. " Of supporting 
 her," continued Crosbie, "with all those com- 
 forts to which she has been accustomed." 
 
 "She has never been used to expense," said 
 the squire. " Her mother, as you doubtless 
 know, is not a rich woman." 
 
 "But living here, Lily has had great ad- 
 vantages — a horse to ride, and all that sort of 
 thing." 
 
 ^'I don't suppose she expects a horse in the 
 park," said the squire, with a very perceptible 
 touch of sarcasm in his voice. 
 
 " I hope not," said Crosbie. 
 
 " I believe she ha.s had the use of one of the 
 
 ponies here sometimes, but I hope that has not 
 made her extravagant in her ideas. I did not 
 think that there was any thing of that nonsense 
 about either of them." 
 
 " Nor is there, as far as I know." 
 " Nothing of the sort," said Bernard. 
 "But the long and the short of it is this, 
 Sir!" and Crosbie, as he spoke, endeavored to 
 maintain his ordinary voice and usual coolness; 
 but his heightened color betrayed that he was 
 nervous. "Am I to expect any accession of 
 income with my wife ?" 
 
 "I have not spoken to my sister-in-law on 
 the sulgect," said the squire; "but I should 
 fear that she can not do much." 
 
 "As a matter of course, 1 would not take a 
 shilling from her," said Crosbie. 
 
 "Then that settles it," said the squire. 
 Crosbie paused a moment, during which his 
 color became very red. He unconsciously took 
 up an apricot and ate it, and then he spoke out. 
 ' ' Of course I was not alluding to Mrs. Dale's 
 income; I would not, on any account, disturb 
 her arrangements. But I wished to learn. Sir, 
 whether you intend to do any thing for your 
 niece. " 
 
 "In the way of giving her a fortune? No- 
 thing at all. I intend to do nothing at all. " 
 
 "Then I suppose we understand each other 
 — at last," said Crosbie. 
 
 "I should have thought that we might have 
 understood each other at first," said the squire. 
 " Did I ever make you any promise or give you 
 any hint that I intended to provide for my niece ? 
 Have I ever held out to you any such hope? I 
 don't know what you mean by that word 'at 
 last, ' unless it be to give offense. " 
 
 " I meant the truth. Sir — I meant this — that 
 seeing the manner in which your nieces lived 
 with you, I thought it probable that yon would 
 treat them both as though they were your daugh- 
 ters. Now I find out my mistake ; that is all!" 
 "You have been mistaken, and without a 
 shadow of excuse for your mistake." 
 
 " Others have been mistaken with me," said 
 Crosbie, forgetting, ?n the spur of the moment, 
 that he had no right to drag the opinion of any 
 other person into the question. 
 
 "What others?" said the squire, with anger; 
 and his mind immediately betook itself to his 
 sister-in-law. 
 
 "I do not want to make any mischief," said 
 Crosbie. 
 
 "If any body connected with my family has 
 presumed to tell you that I intended to do more 
 for my niece Lilian than I have already done, 
 such person has not only been false but un- 
 grateful. I have given to no one any authority 
 to make any promise on behalf of my niece." 
 
 "No such promise has been made. It was 
 only a suggestion," said Crosbie. 
 
 He was not in the least aware to whom the 
 squire was alluding in his anger ; but he per- 
 ceived that his host was angry, and, having al- 
 ready reflected that he should not have alluded 
 to the words which Bereard Dale had spoken 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 41 
 
 in his friendship, he resolved to name no one. 
 Bernard, as he sat by listening, knew exactly 
 how the matter stood ; but, as he thought, there 
 could be no reason why he should subject him- 
 self to his uncle's ill-will, seeing that he had 
 committed no sin. 
 
 " No such suggestion should have been made, " 
 said the squire. "No one has had a right to 
 make such a suggestion. No one has been placed 
 by me in a position to make such a suggestion 
 to you without manifest impropriety. I will 
 ask no further questions about it ; but it is quite 
 as well that you should understand at once that 
 I do not consider it to be my duty to give my 
 niece Lilian a fortune on her marriage. I trust 
 that your offer to her was not made under any 
 such delusion." 
 
 "No, Sir, it was not," said Crosbie. 
 
 "Then I suppose that no great harm has 
 hsen done. I am sorry if false hopes have been 
 given to you ; but I am sure you will acknowl- 
 eJgp tliat they were not given to you by me." 
 
 "I think you have misunderstood me. Sir. 
 My hopes were never very high ; but I thought 
 it right to ascertain your intentions." 
 
 "Now you know them. I trust, for the girl's 
 sake, that it will make no difference to her. I 
 can hardly believe that she has been to blame 
 in the matter." 
 
 Crosbie hastened at once to exculpate Lily ; 
 and then, with' more awkward blunders than a 
 man should have made who was so well ac- 
 quainted with fashionable life as the Apollo of 
 tlie Beaufort, he proceeded to explain that, as 
 Lily was to have nothing, his own pecuniary 
 arrangements would necessitate some little de- 
 lay in their marriage. 
 
 "As far as I myself am concerned," said the 
 squire, "I do not like long engagements. But 
 I am quite aware that in this matter I have no 
 right to interfere, unless, indeed — " and then he 
 stopped himself. 
 
 "I suppose it will be well to fix some day; 
 eh, Crosbie ?" said Bernard. 
 
 " I will discuss that matter with Mrs. Dale," 
 said Crosbie. 
 
 "If you and she understand each other," 
 said the squire, "that will be sufficient. Shall 
 we go into the drawing-room now, or out upon 
 the lawn ?" 
 
 That evening, as Crosbie went to bed, he felt 
 that he had not gained the victory in his en- 
 counter with the squire. 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 IT CAN NOT BE. 
 
 On the following morning at breakfast each 
 of the three gentlemen at the Great House re- 
 ceived a little note on pink paper, nominally 
 from Mrs. Dale, asking them to drink tea at the 
 Small House on that day week. At the bottom 
 of the note which Lily had written for Mr. Cros- 
 bie was added : " Dancing on the lawn, if wo 
 can get any body to stand up. Of course you 
 C 
 
 must come, whether you like it or not. And 
 Bernard also. Do your possible to talk my 
 uncle into coming." And this note did some- 
 thing toward recreating good-humor among them 
 at the breaktast-table. It was shown to the 
 squire, and at last he was brought to say thiit 
 he would perhaps go to Mrs. Dale's little even- 
 ing-party. 
 
 It may be well to explain that this prom- 
 ised entertainment had been originated with no 
 special view to the pleasure of Mr. Crosbie, but 
 altogether on behalf of poor Johnny Eames. 
 What was to be done in that matter? This 
 question had been fully discussed between Mrs. 
 Dale and Bell, and they had come to the con- 
 elusion that it would be best to ask Johnny over 
 to a little fiiendly gathering, in which he might 
 be able to meet Lily with some strangers around 
 them. In this way his embarrassment might be 
 overcome. It would never do, as Mis. Dale 
 said, that ho should be suffered to stay away 
 unnoticed by them. "When the ice is once 
 broken he won't mind it," said Bell. And, 
 therefore, early in the day, a messenger was 
 sent over to Guestwick, who returned with a 
 note from Mrs. Eames, saying that she would 
 come on the evening in question with her son 
 and daughter. They would keep the fly and 
 get back to Guestwick the same evening. This 
 was added, as an offer had been made of beds ■ 
 for Mrs. Eames and Mary. 
 
 Before the evening of the party another mem- 
 orabletjccurrence had taken place at Allington, 
 which must be described, in order that the feel- 
 ings of the different people on that evening may 
 be understood. The squire had given his neph- 
 ew to understand that he wished to have that 
 matter settled as to his niece Bell f and as Ber- 
 nard's views were altogether in accordance with 
 the squire's, he resolved to comply with his un- 
 cle's wishes. The project with him was not a 
 new thing. He did love his cousin quite suffi- 
 ciently for purposes of matrimony, and was 
 minded that it would be a good thing for him 
 to marry. He could not marry without money; 
 but this marriage would give him an income 
 without the trouble of intricate settlements, or 
 the interference of lawj'ers hostile to his own in- 
 terests. It was possible that he might do bet- 
 ter; but then it was possible also that he might 
 do much worse ; and, in addition to this, he was 
 fond of his cousin. He discussed the matter 
 within himself very calmly ; made some excel- 
 lent resolutions as to the kind of life which it 
 would behoove him to live as a married man ; 
 settled on the street in London in which he 
 would have his house, and behaved very prettily 
 to Bell for four or five days running. 'That he 
 did not make love to her, in the ordinary sense 
 of the word, must, I suppose, be taken for grant- 
 ed, seeing that Bell herself did not recognize 
 the fact. She had always liked her cousin, and 
 thought that in these days he was making him- 
 self particularly agreeable. 
 
 On the evening before the party the girls were 
 at the Great House, having come up nominally 
 
42 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 with the intention of discussing the expediency 
 of dancing on the lawn. Lily had made up her 
 mind that it was to be so, but Bell had objected 
 that it would be cold and damp, and that the 
 drawing-room would be nicer for dancing. 
 
 "You see we've only got four young gentle- 
 men and one ungrown, " said Lily ; " and they 
 will look so stupid standing up all properly in a 
 room, as though we had a regular party." 
 
 " Thank you for the compliment," said Cros- 
 bie, taking off his straw-hat. 
 
 " So you will ; and we girls will look more 
 stupid still. But out on the lawn it won't look 
 stupid at all. Two or three might stand up on 
 the lawn, and it would be jolly enough." 
 
 "I don't quite see it," said Bernard. 
 
 ' ' Yes, I think I see it, " said Crosbie. ' ' The 
 unadaptability of the lawn for the purpose of a 
 ball— " 
 
 "Nobody is thinking of a ball," said Lily, 
 with mock petulance. 
 
 "I'm defending you, and yet you won't let 
 me speak. The unadaptability of the lawn for 
 the purposes of a ball will conceal the insuffi- 
 ciency of four men and a boy as a supply of 
 male dancers. But, Lily, who is the ungrown 
 gentleman? Is it your old friend Johnny 
 Eames?" 
 
 Lily's voice became sobered as she answered 
 him. 
 
 " Oh no ; I did not mean Mr. Eames. He 
 is coming, but I did not mean him. Dick 
 Boyce, Mr. Boyce's son, is only sixteen. He is 
 the ungrown gentleman." 
 
 " And who is the fourth adult?" 
 
 " Dr. Croft, from Guestwick. I do hope you 
 will like him, Adolphus. We think he is the 
 very perfection of a man." 
 
 "Then of course I shall hate him; and be 
 very jealous, too!" 
 
 And then that pair went off together, fighting 
 their own little battle on that head, as turtle- 
 doves will sometimes do. They went off, and 
 Bernard was left with Bell standing together 
 over the ha-ha fence which divides the garden 
 at the back of the house from the field. 
 
 "Bell," he said, "they seem very happy, 
 don't they?" 
 
 " And they ought to be happy now, oughtn't 
 they ? Dear Lily ! I hope he will be good to 
 her. Do you know, Bernard, though he is 
 your friend, I am very, very anxious about it. 
 It is such a vast trust to put in a man when we 
 do not quite know him." 
 
 " Yes, it is ; but they'll do very well together. 
 Lily will be happy enough." 
 
 "And he?" 
 
 "I suppose he'll be happy too. He'll feel 
 himself a little straitened as to income at first, 
 but that will all come round." 
 
 " If he is not, she will be wretched." 
 
 "They vrill do very well. Lily must be pre- 
 pared to make the money go as far as she can, 
 that's all." 
 
 "Lily won't feel the want of money. It is 
 not that. But if he lets her know that she has 
 
 made him a poor man, then she will be unhappy. 
 Is he extravagant, Beniard?" 
 
 But Bernard was anxious to discuss another 
 subject, and therefore would not speak such words 
 of wisdom as to Lily's engagement as might have 
 been expected from him had he been in a differ- 
 ent frame of mind. 
 
 "No, I should say not," said he. "But, 
 Bell—" 
 
 " I do not know that we could have acted 
 otherwise than we have done, and yet I fear that 
 we have been rash. If he makes her unhappy, 
 Bernard, I shall never forgive you." 
 
 But as she said this she put her hand lovingly 
 upon his arm, as a cousin might do, and spoke 
 in a tone which divested her threat of its acerb- 
 ity. 
 
 " You must not quarrel with me. Bell, what- 
 ever may happen. I can not afford to quarrel 
 with you." 
 
 " Of course I was not in earnest as to that." 
 
 "You and I must never quarrel. Bell ; at least, 
 I hope not. I could bear to quarrel with any 
 one rather than with you." And then, as he 
 spoke, there was something in his voice which 
 gave the girl some slight, indistinct warning of 
 what might be his intention. Not that she said 
 to herself at once that he was going to make her 
 an offer of his hand — now, on the spot ; but she 
 felt that he intended something beyond the ten- 
 derness of ordinary cousinly affection. 
 
 "I hope we shall never quarrel," she said. 
 But as she spoke her mind was settling itself — 
 forming its resolution, and coming to a conclu- 
 sion as to the sort of love which Bernard might, / 
 perhaps, expect. And it formed another con- 
 clusion ; as to the sort of love which might be 
 given in return. 
 
 " Bell," he said, " you and I have always been 
 dear friends." 
 
 "Yes, always." 
 
 " Why should we not be something more than 
 friends?" 
 
 To give Captain Dale his due I must declare 
 that his voice was perfectly natural as he asked 
 this question, and that he showed no signs of 
 nervousness, either in his face or limbs. He had 
 made up his mind to do it on that occasion, and 
 he did it without any signs of outward disturb- 
 ance. He asked his question, and then he waited 
 for his answer. In this he was rather hard upon 
 his cousin; for, though the question had cer- 
 tainly been asked in language that could not be 
 mistaken, still the matter had not been put for- 
 ward with all that fullness which a young lady, 
 under such circumstances, has a right to expect. 
 
 They had sat down on the turf close to the 
 ha-ha, and they were so near that Bernard was 
 able to put out his hand with the view of taking 
 that of his cousin within his own. But she con- 
 trived to keep her hands locked together, so that 
 he merely held her gently by the wrist. 
 
 "I don't quite understand, Bernard," she said, 
 after a minute's pause. 
 
 " Shall we be more than cousins? Shall we 
 be man and wife ?" 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 43 
 
 Now, at least, she could not say that she did 
 not understand. If the question was ever asked 
 plainly, Bernard Dale had asked it plainly. 
 Shall we be man and wife ? Few men, I fancy, 
 dare to put it all at once in so abrupt a way, and 
 yet I do not know that the English language af- 
 fords any better terms for the question. 
 " Oh, Bernard ! you have surprised me." 
 
 " I hope I have not pained you, Bell. I have 
 been long thinking of this, but I am well aware 
 that my own manner, even to you, has not been 
 that of a lover. It is not in me to smile and say 
 soft things as Crosbie can. But I do not love 
 you the less on that account. I have looked 
 about for a wife, and I have thought that if I 
 could gain you I should be very fortunate. " 
 
 He did not then say any thing about his uncle 
 and the eight hundred a year, but he fully in- 
 tended to do so as soon as an opportunity should 
 serve. He was quite of opinion that eight hun- 
 dred a year and the good-will of a rich uncle were 
 strong grounds for matrimony — were grounds 
 even for love ; and he did not doubt but his 
 cousin would see the matter in the same light. 
 
 " You are very good to me — more than good. 
 Of course I know that. But oh, Bernard! I 
 did not expect this a bit." 
 
 "But you will answer me. Bell! Or if 
 you would like time to think, or to speak to 
 my aunt, perhaps you will answer me to-mor- 
 row?" 
 
 "I think I ought to answer you now." 
 
 ' ' Not if it be a refusal, Bell ! Think well of 
 it before you do that. I should have told you 
 that our uncle wishes this match, and that he 
 will remove any difSculty there might be' about 
 money." 
 
 " I do not care for money." 
 
 " But, as you were saying about Lily, one has 
 to be prudent. Now, in our marriage, every 
 thing of that kind would be well arranged. My 
 uncle has promised me that he would at once 
 allow us—" 
 
 " Stop, Bernard. You must not be led to 
 suppose that any offer made by ray uncle would 
 help to purchase — Indeed, there can be no 
 need for us to talk about money." 
 
 "I wished to let you know the facts of the 
 case, exactly as they are. And as to our uncle, 
 I can not but think that you would be glad, in 
 such a matter, to have him on your side." 
 
 '■Yes, I should be glad to have him on my 
 side ; that is, if I were going— But my uncle's 
 wishes could not influence my decision. The 
 fact is, Bernard — " 
 
 "Well, dearest, what is the fact?" 
 
 " I liave always regarded yon rather as a 
 brother than as any thing else." 
 
 "But that regard may be changed." 
 
 " No ; I think not. Bernard, I will go fur- 
 ther and speak on at once. It can not be 
 changed. I know myself well enough to say 
 that with certainty. It can not be changed." 
 
 "You mean that you can not love me?" 
 
 " Not as you would have me do. I do love 
 you very dearly — very dearly, indeed. I would 
 
 go to you in any trouble, exactly as I would go 
 to a brother." 
 
 " And must that be all, Bell ?" 
 " Is not that all the sweetest love that can be 
 felt ? But you must not think me ungrateful, 
 or proud. I know well that you are — are pro- 
 posing to do for me much more than I deserve. 
 Any girl might be proud of such an offer. But, 
 dear Bernard — " 
 
 "Bell, before you give me a final answer, 
 sleep upon this and talk it over with your mo- 
 ther. Of course you were unprepared, and I 
 can not expect that you should promise me so 
 much without a moment's consideration." 
 
 ' ' I was unprepared, and therefore I have not 
 answered you as I should have done. But as it 
 has gone so far, I can not let you leave me in 
 uncertainty. It is not necessary that I should 
 keep you waiting. In this matter I do know 
 my own mind. Dear Bernard, indeed, indeed 
 it can not be as you have proposed. " 
 
 She spoke in a low voice, and in a tone that 
 had in it something of almost imploring humil- 
 ity ; but, nevertheless, it conveyed to her cousin 
 an assurance that she was in earnest ; an assur- 
 ance also that that earnest would not readily be 
 changed. Was she not a Dale? And when 
 did a Dale change his mind ? For a while he 
 sat silent by her ; and she too, having declared 
 her- intention, refrained from further words. For 
 some minutes they thus remained, looking down 
 into the ha-ha. She still kept her old position, 
 holding her hands clasped together over her 
 knees ; but lie was now lying on his side, sup- 
 porting his head upon his arm, with his face in- 
 deed turned toward her, but with his eyes fixed 
 upon the grass. During this time, however, he 
 was not idle. His cousin's answer, though it 
 had grieved him, had not come upon him as a 
 blow stunning him for a moment, and rendering 
 him unfit for instant thought. He was grieved, 
 more grieved than he had thought he would 
 have been. The thing that he had wanted 
 moderately, he now wanted the more in that it 
 was denied to him. But he was able to per- 
 ceive the exact truth of his position, and to cal- 
 culate what might be his chances if he went on 
 with his suit, and what his advantage if he at 
 once abandoned it. 
 
 "I do not wish to press you unfairly, Bell; 
 but may I ask if any other preference — " 
 
 " There is no other preference," she answered. 
 And then again they were silent for a minute or 
 two. 
 
 "My uncle will be much grieved at this," he 
 said at last. 
 
 "If that be all," said Bell, "I do not think 
 that we need either of us trouble ourselves. He 
 can have no right to dispose of our hearts." 
 
 "I understand the taunt, Bell." 
 
 "Dear Bernard, there was no taunt. I in- 
 tended none." 
 
 "I need not speak of my own grief. You 
 can not but know how deep it must be. Why 
 should I have submitted myself to this mortifica- 
 tion had not my heart been concerned? But 
 
44: 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 that I will bear, if I must bear it — " And then 
 he paused, looking up at her. 
 
 " It will soon pass away," she said. 
 
 " I will accept it at any rate without com- 
 plaint. But as to my uncle's feelings, it is 
 open to me to speak, and to you, I should think, 
 to listen without indifference. He has been 
 kind to us both, and loves us two above any 
 other living beings. It's not surprising that he 
 should wish to see us married, and it will not be 
 surprising if your refusal should be a great blow 
 to him." 
 
 " I shall be sorry — very sorry." 
 
 "I also shall be sorry. I am now speaking 
 of him. He has set his heart upon it ; and as 
 he has but few wishes, few desires, so is he the 
 more constant in those which he expresses. 
 When he knows this, I fear that we shall find 
 him very stern." 
 
 " Then he will be unjust." 
 
 " No ; he will not be unjust. He is always a 
 just man. But he will be unhappy, and will, 1 
 fear, make others unhappy. Dear Bell, may 
 not this thing remain for a while unsettled ? 
 You will not find that I take advantage of your 
 goodness. I will not intrude it on you again — 
 say for a fortnight — or till Crosbie shall be 
 gone." 
 
 "No, no, no," said Bell. 
 
 " Why are you so eager in your noes ? There 
 can be no danger in such delay. I will not 
 press you — and you can let my uncle think 
 that you have at least taken time for considera- 
 tion." 
 
 " There are things as to which one is bound 
 to answer at once. If I doubted myself, I 
 would let you persuade me. But I do not 
 doubt myself, and I should be wrong to keep 
 you in suspense. Dear, dearest Bernard, it can 
 not be ; and as it can not be, you, as my brother, 
 would bid me say so clearly. It can not be." 
 
 As she made this last assurance, they heard 
 the steps of Lily and her lover close to them, 
 and they both felt that it would be well that 
 their intercourse should thus be brought to a 
 close. Neither had known how to get up and 
 leave the place, and yet each had felt that no- 
 thing further could then be said. 
 
 "Did you ever see any thing so^eet and 
 affectionate and romantic?" said Lily, .standing 
 over them and looking at them. "And all the 
 while we have been so practical and worldly. 
 Do you know. Bell, that Adolphus seems to 
 think we can't very well keep pigs in London ? 
 It makes me so unhappy. " 
 
 "It does seem a pity," said Crosbie, "for 
 Lily seems to know all about pigs!" 
 
 ' ' Of coarse I do. I haven't lived in the coun- 
 try all my life for nothing. Oh, Bernard, I 
 should so like to see you rolled down into the 
 l)Ottom of the ha-ha. Just remain there, and 
 we'll do it between us." 
 
 Whereupon Bernard got up, as did Bell also, 
 and they ail went in to tea. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MRS. dale's little PARTY. 
 
 The next day was the day of the party. Not 
 a word more was said on that evening between 
 Bell and her cousin, at least not a word more 
 of any peculiar note ; and when Crosbie sug- 
 gested to his friend on the following morning 
 that they should both step down and see how 
 the preparations were getting on at the Small 
 House, Bernard declined. 
 
 "You forget, my dear fellow, that I'm not in 
 love as you are, " said he. 
 
 " But I thought you were, " said Crosbie. 
 
 " No ; not at all as you are. You are an ac- 
 cepted lover, and will be allowed to do any thing 
 — whip the creams, and tune the piano, if you 
 know how. I'm only a half sort of lover, med- 
 itating a mariage de convenance to oblige an un- 
 cle, and by no means required by the terms of 
 my agreement to undergo a very rigid amount 
 of drill. Your position is just the reverse." In 
 saying all which Captain Dale was no doubt very 
 false ; but if falseness can be forgiven to a man 
 in any position, it may be forgiven in that which 
 he then filled. So Crosbie went down to the 
 Small House alone. 
 
 ".Dale wouldn't come," said he, speaking to 
 the three ladies together. ' ' I suppose he's keep- 
 ing himself up for the dance on the lawn." 
 
 " I hope he will be here in the evening," said 
 Mrs. Dale. But Bell jiaid never a word. She 
 had determined that, under the existing circum- 
 stances, it wotild be only fair to her cousin that 
 his offer and her answer to it should be kept 
 secret. She knew why Bernard did not come 
 across from the Great House with his friend, but 
 she said nothing of her knowledge. Lily looked 
 at her, but looked without speaking ; and as for 
 Mrs. Dale, she took no notice of the circum- 
 stance. Thus they passed the afternoon togeth- 
 er without further mention of Bernard Dale; 
 and it may be said, at any rate of Lily and 
 Crosbie, that his presence was not missed. 
 
 Mrs. Eames, with her son and daugliter, were 
 the first to come. " It is so nice of you to come 
 early, " said Lily, trying on the spur of the mo- 
 ment to say something which should sound 
 pleasant and happy, but in truth using that form 
 of welcome which to my ears sounds always the 
 most ungracious. "Ten minutes before the 
 time named ; and, of course, you must have un- 
 derstood that I meant thirty minutes after it !" 
 That is my interpretation of the words when I 
 am thanked for coming early. But Mrs. Eames 
 was a kind, patient, unexacting woman, who 
 took all civil words as meaning civility. And, 
 indeed, Lily had meant nothing else. 
 
 " Yes ; we did come early," said Mrs. Eames, 
 " because Mary thought she would like to go up 
 into the girl's room and just settle her hair, you 
 know." 
 
 "So she shall," said Lily, who had taken 
 Mary by the hand. 
 
 "And we knew we shouldn't be in the way. 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 45 
 
 Johnny can go out into the garden if there's any 
 thing left to be done." 
 
 "He sha'n't be banished unless he likes it," 
 said Mrs. Dale. "If he finds us women too 
 much for his unaided strength — " 
 
 John Eames muttered something about being 
 very well as he was, and then got himself into 
 an arm-chair. He had shaken hands with Lily, 
 trying as he did so to pronounce articulately a 
 little speech which he had prepared for the occa- 
 sion. " I have to congratulate you, Lily, and I 
 hope with all my heart that you will be happy." 
 The words were simple enough, and were not 
 ill-chosen, but the poor young man never got 
 them spoken. The word "congratulate" did 
 reach Lily's ears, and she understaod it all ; 
 both the kindness of the intended speech and 
 the reason why it could not be spoken. 
 
 ' ' Thank you, John," she said ; "I hope I shall 
 see so much of you in London. It will be so 
 nice to have an old G-uestwick friend near me." 
 She had her own voice, and the pulses of her 
 heart better under command than had he ; but 
 she also felt that the occasion was trying to her. 
 The man had loved her honestly and truly — still 
 did love her, paying her the great homage of 
 bitter grief in that he had lost her. Where is 
 the girl who will not sympathize with such love 
 and such grief, if it be shown only because it 
 can not be concealed, and be declared against 
 the will of him who declares it ? 
 
 Then came in old Mrs. Hearn, whose cottage 
 was not distant two minutes' walk from the 
 Small House. She always called Mrs. Dale 
 "my dear," and petted the girls as though they 
 had been children. When told of Lily's mar- 
 riage she had thrown up her hands with sur- 
 prise, for she had still left in some corner of her 
 drawers remnants of sugar-plums which she had 
 bought for Lily. "A. London man, is he? 
 Well, well. I wish he lived in the country. 
 Eight hundred a year, my dear?" she had said 
 to Mrs. Dale. " That sounds nice down here, 
 because we are all so poor. But I suppose 
 eight hundred a year isn't very much up in 
 London?" 
 
 "The sqnire's coming, I suppose, isn't he?" 
 said Mrs. Hearn, as she seated herself on the 
 sofa close to Mrs Dale. 
 
 "Yes, he'll be here by-and-by; unless he 
 changes his mind, you know. He doesn't stand 
 on ceremony with me." 
 
 " He change his mind ! When did you ever 
 know Christopher Dale change his mind ?" 
 
 " He is pretty constant, Mrs. Hearn." 
 
 " If he promised to give a man a penny, he'd 
 give it. But if he promised to take away a 
 pound, he'd take it, though it cost, him years to 
 ^et it. He's going to turn me out of my cot- 
 tage, he says." 
 
 " Nonsense, Mrs. Hearn !" 
 
 "Jolliffe came and told me" — Jolliffe, I 
 should explain, was the bailiff — "that if I 
 didn't like it as it was, I might leave it, and 
 that the squire could get double the rent for it. 
 Now all I asked was tliat he should do a little 
 
 painting in the kitchen ; and the wood is all as 
 black as his hat." 
 
 "I thought it was underetood you were to 
 paint inside." 
 
 " How can I do it, my dear, with a hundred 
 and forty pounds for every thing ? I must live, 
 you know ! And he that has workmen about 
 him every day of the year! And was that a 
 message to send to me, who have lived in the 
 parish for fifty years ? Here he is." And Mrs. 
 Hearn majestically raised herself from her seat 
 as the squire entered the roorn. 
 
 With him entered Mr. and Mrs. Boyce, from 
 the parsonage, with Dick Boyce, the ungrown 
 gentleman, and two girl Boyces, who were four- 
 teen and fifteen years of age. Mrs. Dale, with 
 the amount of good-nature usual on such occa- 
 sions, asked reproachfully why Jane, and Charles, 
 and Florence, and Bessy, did not come — Boyce 
 being a man who had his quiver full of them — 
 and Mrs. Boyce, giving the usual answer, de- 
 clared that she already felt that they had come 
 as an avalanche. 
 
 " But where are the — the— the young men ?" 
 asked Lily, assuming a look of mock astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 "They'll be across in two or three hour^' 
 time," said the squire. " They both dressed for 
 dinner, and, as I thought, made themselves very 
 smart ; but for such a grand occasion as this they 
 thought a second dressing necessary. How do 
 you do, Mrs. Hearn? I hope you are quite well. 
 No rheumatism left, eh ?" This the squire said 
 very loud into Mrs. Hearn's ear. Mrs. Hearn 
 was perhaps a little hard of hearing ; but it was 
 very little, and she hated to be thought deaf. 
 She did not, moreover, like to be thought rheu- 
 matic. This the squire knew, and therefore his 
 iflode of address was not good-natured. 
 
 "Tou needn't make me jump so, Mr. Dale. 
 I'm pretty well now, thank ye. I did have a 
 twinge in the spring — that cottage is so badly 
 built for draughts ! ' I wonder you can live in 
 it,' my sister said to me the last time she was 
 over. I suppose I should be better off over with 
 her at Hamersham, only one doesn't like to 
 move, you know, after living fifty years in one 
 parish." 
 
 " You mustn't think of going away from us," 
 Mrs. Boyce said, speaking by no means loud, 
 but slowly and plainly, hoping thereby to flatter 
 the old woman. But the old woman understood 
 it all. " She's a sly creature, is Mrs. Boyce," 
 Mrs. Hearn said to Mrs. Dale before the evening 
 was out. There are some old people whom it is 
 veiy hard to fla,tter, and with whom it is, never- 
 theless, almost impossible to live unless you do 
 flaitter them. 
 
 At last the two heroes came in across the lawn 
 at the drawing-room window ; and Lily, as they 
 entered, dropped a low courtesy before them, 
 gently swelling down upon the ground with her 
 light muslin dress, till she looked like some won- 
 drous flower that had bloomed upon the carpet, 
 and putting her two hands, with the backs of 
 her fingers pressed together, on the buckle of her 
 
46 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 girdle, she said, " We are waiting upon your 
 honors' kind grace, and feel how much we owe 
 to you for favoring our poor abode." And then 
 she gently rose up again, smiling, oh, so sweet- 
 ly, on the man she loved, and the puffings and 
 swellings went out of her muslin. 
 
 I think there is nothing in the world so pretty 
 as the conscious little tricks of love played off by 
 a girl toward the man she loves, when she has 
 made up her mind boldly that all the world may 
 know that she has given herself away to him. 
 
 I am not sure that Crosbie liked it all as much 
 as he should have done. The bold assurance 
 of her love when they two were alone together 
 he did like. What man does not like such as- 
 surances on such occasions ? But perhaps he 
 would have been better pleased had Lily shown 
 more reticence — been more secret, as it were, as 
 to her feelings when others were around them. 
 It was not that he accused her in his thoughts 
 of any want of delicacy. He read her character 
 too well ; was, if not quite aright in his reading 
 of it, at least too nearly so to admit of his mak- 
 ing against her any such accusation as that. It 
 was the calf-like feeling that was disagreeable to 
 him. He did not like to be presented, even to 
 the world of AUington, as a victim caught for 
 the sacrifice, and bound with ribbon for the altar. 
 And then there lurked behind it all a feeling that 
 it might be safer that the thing should not be 
 so openly manifested before all the world. Of 
 course every body knew that he was engaged to 
 Lily Dale ; nor had he, as he said to himself, 
 perhaps too frequently, the slightest idea of 
 breaking from that engagement. But then the 
 marriage might possibly be delayed. He had 
 not discussed that matter yet with Lily, having, 
 indeed, at the first moment of his gratified love, 
 created some little difficulty for himself by press- 
 ing for an early day. . "I will refuse you no- 
 thing, " she had said to him ; " but do not make 
 it too soon." He saw, therefore, before him some 
 little embarrassment, and was inclined to wish 
 that Lily would abstain from that manner which 
 seemed to declare to all the world that she was 
 about to be married immediately. " I must 
 speak to her to-morrow," he said to himself, as 
 he accepted her salute with a mock gravity equal 
 to her own. 
 
 Poor Lily ! How little she understood as yet 
 what was passing through his mind. Had she 
 known his wish she would have wrapped up her 
 love carefully in a napkin, so that no one should 
 have seen it — no one but he, when he might 
 choose to have the treasure uncovered for his 
 sight. And it was all for his sake that she had 
 been thus open in her ways. She had seen 
 girls who were half-ashamed of their love ; but 
 she would never be ashamed of hers or of him. 
 She had given herself to him ; and now all the 
 world might know it, if all the world cared for 
 such knowledge. Why should she be ashamed 
 of that which, to her thinking, was so great an 
 honor to her? She had heard of girls who would 
 not speak of their love, arguing to themselves 
 cannily that there may be many a slip between 
 
 the cup and the lip. There could be no need 
 of any such caution with her. There could sure- 
 ly be no such slip ! Should there be such a fall 
 —should any such fate, either by falseness or 
 misfortune, come upon her — no such caution 
 could be of service to save her. The cup would 
 have been so shattered in its fall that no fur- 
 ther piecing of its parts would be in any way 
 possible. So much as this she did not exactly 
 say to herself; but she felt it all, and went 
 bravely forward — bold in her love, and careful 
 to hide it from none who chanced to see it. 
 
 They had gone through the ceremony with 
 the cake and tea-cups, and had decided that, at 
 any rate, the first dance or two should Ipe held 
 upon the lawn when the last of the guests ar- 
 rived. 
 
 " Oh, Adolphus, I am so glad he has come !" 
 said Lily. "Do try to like him." Of Dr. 
 Croft, who was the new-comer, she had some- 
 times spoken to her lover, but she had never 
 coupled her sister's name with that of the doc- 
 tor, even in speaking to him. Nevertheless, 
 Crosbie had in some way conceived the idea 
 that this Croft either had been, or was, or was 
 to be, in love with Bell ; and as he. was pre- 
 pared to advocate his friend Dale's claims in 
 that quarter he was not particularly anxious to 
 welcome the doctor as a thoroughly intimate 
 friend of the family. He knew nothing as yet 
 of Dale's offer, or of Bell's refusal, but he was 
 prepared for war if war should be necessary. 
 Of the squire, at the present moment, he was 
 not very fond; but if his destiny intended to 
 give him a wife out of this family he should 
 prefer the owner of AUington and nephew of 
 Lord De Guest as a brother-in-law to a village 
 doctor — as he took upon himself, in his pride, 
 to call Dr. Croft. 
 
 "It is very unfortunate," said he, "but I 
 never do like Paragons." 
 
 " But you must like this Paragon. Not that 
 he is a Paragon at all, for he smokes and hunts, 
 and does all manner of wicked things." And 
 then she went forward to welcome her friend. 
 
 Dr. Croft was a slight, spare man, about five 
 feet nine in height, with very bright dark eyes, 
 a broad forehead, with dark hair that almost 
 curled, but which did not come so forward over 
 his brow as it should have done for purposes of 
 beauty, with a thin, well-cut nose, and a month 
 that would have been perfect had the lips been 
 a little fuller. The lower part of his face, 
 when seen alone, had in it somewhat of stern- 
 ness, which, however, was redeemed by the 
 brightness of his eyes. And yet an artist would 
 have declared that the lower features of his face 
 were by far the more handsome. 
 
 Lily went across to him and greeted him 
 heartily, declaring how glad she was to have 
 him there. "And I must introduce you to 
 Mr. Crosbie," she said, as though she was de- 
 termined to carry her point. The two men 
 shook hands with each other, coldly, without 
 saying a word, as young men are apt to do 
 when they are brought together in that way. 
 
THE SMALt HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 47 
 
 Then they separated at once, somewhat to the 
 disappointment of Lily. Crosbie stood off by 
 himself, both his eyes turned up toward the ceil- 
 ing, and looking as though he meant to give 
 himself airs ; while Croft got himself quickly up 
 to the fire-place, making civil little speeches to 
 Mrs. Dale, Mrs. Boyce, and Mrs. Hearn. And 
 then at last he made his way round to Bell. 
 
 "1 am so glad," he said, "to congratulate 
 you on your sister's engagement." 
 
 "Yes," said Bell; "we knew that you would 
 be glad to hear of her happiness." 
 
 "Indeed I am glad, and thoroughly hope that 
 she may be happy. You all like him, do you 
 not?"-. 
 
 " We like him very much." 
 
 " And I am told that he is well off. He is a 
 very fortunate man — very fortunate — very for- 
 tunate." 
 
 " Of course we think so," said Bell. "Not, 
 however, because he is rich." 
 
 "No ; not because he is rich. But because, 
 being worthy of such happiness, his circum- 
 stances should enable him to marry and to en- 
 joy it." 
 
 " Yes, exactly," said Bell. " That is just it." 
 Then she sat down, and in sitting down put an 
 end to the conversation. " That is just it," she 
 had said. But as soon as the words were spoken 
 she declared to herself that it was not so, and 
 that Croft was wrong. "We love h'im," she 
 said to herself, "not because he is rich enough 
 to marry without anxious thought, but because, 
 he dares to marry although he is not rich." 
 And then she told herself that she was angry 
 with the doctor. 
 
 After that Dr. Croft got off toward the door, 
 and stood there by himself, leaning against the 
 wall, with the thumbs of both his hands stuck 
 into the arm-holes of his waistcoat. People said 
 that he was a shy man. I suppose he was shy, 
 and yet he was a man that was by no means 
 afraid of doing any thing that he had to do. 
 He could speak before a multitude without be- 
 ing abashed, whether it was a multitude of men 
 or of women. He could be very fixed, too, in 
 his own opinion, and eager, if not violent, in the 
 prosecution of his purpose. But he could not 
 stand and say little words when he had, in truth, 
 nothing to say. He could not keep his ground 
 when he felt that he was not using the ground 
 upon which he stood. He had not learned the 
 art of assuming himself to be of importance in 
 whatever place he might find himself. It was 
 this art which Crosbie had learned, and by this 
 art that he had flourished. So Croft retired 
 and leaned against the wall near the door, and 
 Crosbie came forward and shone like an Apollo 
 among all the guests. " How is it that he does 
 it?" said John Eames to himself, envying the 
 perfect happiness of the London man of fashion. 
 
 At last Lily got the dancers out upon the 
 lawn, and then they managed to go through one 
 quadrille. But it was found that it did not an- 
 swer. The music of the single fiddle which 
 Crosbie had hired from Guestwick was not suf- 
 
 ficient for the pm-pose ; and then the grass, 
 though it was perfect for purposes of croquet, 
 was not pleasant to the feet for dancing. 
 
 "This is very nice,"said Bernard to his cousin. 
 "I don't know any thing that could be nicer; 
 but perhaps — " 
 
 "I know what you mean," said Lily. " But 
 I shaTfl stay here. There's no touch of romance 
 about any of you. Look at the moon there at 
 the back of the steeple. I don't mean to go in 
 all night." Then she walked off by one of tlie 
 paths, and her lover went after her. 
 
 "Don't you like the moon ?" she said, as she 
 took his arm, to which she was now so accus- 
 tomed that she hardly thought of it as she took it. 
 
 "Like the moon? — well; I fancy I like the 
 sun better. I don't quite believe in moonlight. 
 I think it does best to talk about when one wants 
 to be sentimental." 
 
 " Ah ; that is just what I fear. That is what 
 I say to Bell when I tell her that her romance 
 will fade as the roses do. And then I shall have 
 to learn that prose is more serviceable than po- 
 etry, and that the mind is better than the heart, 
 and — and — and that money is better than love. 
 It's all coming, I know ; and yet I do like the 
 moonlight." 
 
 " And the poetry — and the love ?" 
 
 ' ' Yes. The poetry much, and the love more. 
 To be loved by you is sweeter even than any of 
 my dreams — is better than all the poetry I have 
 read." 
 
 " Dearest Lily," and his unchecked arm stole 
 round her waist. 
 
 " It is the meaning of the moonlight, and the 
 essence of the poetry," continued the impassioned 
 girl. "I did not know then why I liked such 
 things, but now I know. It was because I longed 
 to be loved." 
 
 ■'And to love." 
 
 "Oh yes. I would be nothing without that. 
 But that, you know,' is your delight — or should 
 he. The other is mine. And yet it is a delight 
 to love you; to know that I may love you." 
 
 ' ' You mean that this is the realization of your 
 romance." 
 
 " Yes ; but it must not be the end of it, Adol- 
 phus. You must like the soft twilight, and the 
 long evenings when we shall be alone ; and you 
 must read to me the books I love, and you must 
 not teach me to think that the world is hard, and 
 dry, and cruel— not yet. I tell Bell so very often ; 
 but you must not say so to me." 
 
 " It shall not be dry and cruel, if I can pre- 
 vent it." 
 
 "You understand what I mean, dearest. I 
 will not think it dry and cruel, even though sor- 
 row should come upon us, if you — I think you 
 know what I mean." 
 
 " If I am good to you.'' 
 
 " I am not afraid of that — I am not the least 
 afraid of that. You do not think that I could 
 ever distrusi! you ? But you must not be ashamed 
 to look at the moonlight, and to read poetiy, and 
 to-" 
 
 "To talk nonsense, you mean." 
 
48 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTQN. 
 
 But as ho said it, he pressed her closer to his 
 side, and his tone was pleasant to her. 
 
 "I suppose I'm talking nonsense now?" she 
 said, pouting. "You liked me better when I 
 was talking about the jiigs ; didn't you?" 
 
 "No; I like you best now." 
 
 " And why didn't you like me then ? Did I 
 say any thing to offend you ?" m 
 
 "I like you best now, because — " 
 
 They were standing in the naiTow pathway of 
 the gate leading from the bridge into the gardens 
 of the Great House, and the shaddwof the thick- 
 spreading laurels was around them. But the 
 moonlight still pierced brightly through the lit- 
 tle avenue, and she, as she looked up to him, 
 could see the form of his face and the loving 
 softness of his eye. 
 
 " Because — " said he ; and then he stooped 
 over her and pressed her closely, while she put 
 up lier lips to his, standing on tip-toe that she' 
 might reach to his face. 
 
 "Oh, my love !" she said. "My love! my 
 love ! " 
 
 As Crosbie walked back to the Great House 
 that night he made a firm resolution that no 
 consideration of worldly welfare should ever in- 
 duce him to break his engagement with Lily 
 Dale. He went somewhat further also, and de- 
 termined that he would not put off the marriage 
 for more than six or eight months, or, at the 
 most, ten, if he could possibly get his affairs ar- 
 ranged in that time. To be sure he must give 
 up every thing — all the aspirations and ambition 
 of his life ; but then, as he declared to himself 
 somewhat mournfully, he was prepared to do 
 that. Such were his resolutions, and as he 
 thouglit of them in bed he came to the conclu- 
 sion that few men were less selfish than he was. 
 
 "But what will they say to us for staying 
 away?' said Lily, recovering herself. "And 
 1 ought to be making the people dance, you 
 know. Come along, and do make yourself nice. 
 Do waltz with Mary Eames — pray, do. If you 
 don't, I won't speak to you all night ! " 
 
 Acting under which threat, Crosbie did, on 
 his return, solicit the lionor of that young lady's 
 hand, thereby elating her into a seventh heaven 
 of happiness. What could the world afford bet- 
 ter than a waltz with sucli a partner as Adolphus 
 Crosbie? And poor Mary Eames could waltz 
 well, though she could not talk much as she 
 danced, and would pant a good deal when she 
 stopped. She put too much of her energy into 
 tlie motion, and was too anxious to do the me- 
 chanical part of the work in a manner that should 
 be satisfactory to her partner. "OIi! thank 
 you ; it's very nice. I shall be able to go on — 
 again directly." Her conversation with Crosbie 
 did not get much beyond tliat, and yet she felt 
 that she had never done better than on this occa- 
 sion. 
 
 Though there wore, at most, not above five 
 couples of dancers, and though they who did not 
 dance, such as the squire and Mr. Boyce, and a 
 curate from a neighboring parish, had, in fact, 
 nothing to amuse them, the affair was kept on 
 
 very merrily for a considerable number of Iiours. 
 Exactly at twelve o'clock there was a little sup- 
 per, which no doubt served to relieve Mrs. 
 Hearn's ennui, and at which Mrs. Boyce also 
 seemed to enjoy herself As to the Mrs. Boyces 
 on such occasions, I profess that I feel no. pity. 
 They are generally happy in tlieir children's 
 happiness, or if not, they ought to be. At any 
 rate, they are simply performing a manifest duty, 
 which duty, in their time, was performed on 
 their behalf But on what account do the Mrs. 
 Hearns betake themselves to such gatherings ? 
 Why did that ancient lady sit there liour after 
 hour yawning, longing for her bed, looking ev- 
 ery ten minutes at her watch, while her old bonis 
 were stiff and sore, and her old ears pained with 
 the noise ? It could hardly have been simply for 
 the sake of the supper. After the supper, how- 
 ever, her maid took her across to her cottage, 
 and Mrs. Boyce also then stole away home, and 
 the squire went off with some little parade, sug- 
 gesting to the young men that they should make 
 no noise in the house as they returned. But the 
 poor curate remained, talking a dull word every 
 now and then to Mrs. Dale, and looking on with 
 tantalized eyes at the joys which the world had 
 prepared for others than him. I must say that 
 I think that public opinion and the bishops to- 
 gether are too hard upon curates in this particu- 
 lar. 
 
 In the'latter part of the night's delight, when 
 time and practice had made them all happy to- 
 gether, John Eames stood up for the first time 
 to dance with Lily. She had done all she could, 
 short of asking him, to induce him to do her 
 this favor — for she felt that it would be a favor. 
 How great had been the desire on his part to 
 ask her, and at the same time how great the re., 
 pugnance, Lily perhaps did not quite under- 
 stand. And yet she understood much of it. 
 She knew that he was not angry with her. She , 
 knew tliat he was suffering from the injured 
 pride of futile love, almost as much as from the 
 futile love itself. She wished to pat him at his 
 ease in this ; but she did not quite give hiiu 
 credit for the full sincerity and the upright, un- 
 controlled heartiness of his feelings. 
 
 At length he did come up to her, and though 
 in truth she was engaged, she at once accepted 
 his offer. Then she tripped across the room. 
 " Adolphus," she said, " I can't dance with you, 
 though I said I would. John Eames has asked 
 me, and I haven't stood up with him before. 
 You understand, and you'll be a good boy, won't 
 you?" 
 
 Crosbie not being in the least jealous, was a 
 good boy, and sat himself down to rest, hidden 
 behind a door. 
 
 For the first few minutes the conversation be- 
 tween Eames and Lily was of a very matter-of- 
 fact kind. She repeated her wish that she might 
 see him in London ; and he said that of course 
 he should come and call. Then there was si- 
 lence for a little while, and they went through 
 their figure dancing. 
 
 "I don't at all know yet when we are to be 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 49 
 
 married," said Lily, as soon as they were again 
 standing together. 
 
 "No; I dare say not," said Eames. 
 "But not this year, I suppose. Indeed, 'l 
 should say, of course not." 
 
 "In the spring, perhaps," suggested Eames. 
 He had an unconscious desire that it might be 
 postponed to sotae Greek kalends, and yet he 
 did not wish to injure Lily. 
 
 "The reason I mention it is this, that we 
 should be so very glad ii' you could be here. We 
 all love you so much, and I should so like to 
 liaveyou here on that day !" 
 
 Why is it that girls so constantly do this — so 
 frequently ask men who have loved them to be 
 present at tlieir marriages with other men ? 
 There is no triumph in it. It is done in sheer 
 kindness and affection. They intend to offer 
 something which shall soften and not aggravate 
 the sorrow that they have caused. " You can't 
 marry me yourself," the "lady seems to say. 
 "But the next greatest blessing which I can 
 offer you shall be yours — you shall^ee me mar- 
 ried to somebody else." I fully appreciate tho 
 intention, but in honest truth I doubt the eligi- 
 bility of the proffered entertainment. 
 
 On the present occasion John Eames seemed 
 to be of this opinion, for he did not at once ac- 
 cept the invitation. 
 
 "Will you not oblige me so far as that?" 
 said she, softly. 
 
 "I would do iiny thing to oblige you," said 
 he, gruffly ; " almost any thing." 
 "But not that?" 
 
 " No; not that. I could not do that." Then 
 he went off upon his figure, and when they were 
 next both standing together they remained silent 
 till their turn for dancing had again come. Why 
 was it that after that night Lily thought more of 
 John Eames than ever she had thought before — 
 felt for him, I mean, a higher respect, as fur a 
 man wlio had a will of liis own? 
 
 And in that quadrille Croft and Bell had been 
 dancing together, and they also had been talk- 
 ing of Lily's marriage. "A man may undergo 
 what he likes for himself," he had said; "but 
 he has no right to make a woman undergo pov- 
 erty." 
 
 " Perhaps not," said Bell. 
 ' ' That which is no suffering for a man — 
 which no man should think of for himself — will 
 make a hell on earth for a woman." 
 
 "I suppose it would," said Bell, answering 
 him without a sign of feeling in her face or 
 voice. But she took in every word that he spoke, 
 and disputed their ti-uth Inwardly with all the 
 strength of her heart and mind, and with the 
 very vehemence of her soul. " As if a woman 
 can not bear more than a man I" she said to her- 
 self, as she walked the length of the room alone, 
 when she had got herself free from the doctor's 
 arm. 
 
 After that they all went to bed. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 MES. LDPEX AND AMKLIA ROPEH. 
 
 I SHOtJLD simply mislead a confiding reader 
 if I were to tell him that Mrs. Lupex was an 
 amiable woman. Perhaps the fact that she was 
 not amiable is the one great fault that should be 
 laid to her charge ; but that fault had spread it- 
 self so widely, and had cropped forth in so many 
 different places of her life, like a strong rank 
 plant that will show itself all over a garden, that 
 it may almost be said that it made her odious in 
 evei7 branch of life, and detestable alike to those 
 who knew her little and to those who knew her 
 much. If a searcher could have got at the in- 
 side spirit of the woman, that searcher would 
 have found that she wished to go right — that 
 she did make, or, at any rate, promise to her- 
 self that she would make, certain struggles to 
 attain decency and propriety. But it was so 
 natural to her to torment those whose misfor- 
 tune brought them near to her, and especially 
 that wretched man who in an evil day had taken 
 lier to his bosom as his wife, that decency fled 
 from her ajid propriety would not live in her 
 quarters. 
 
 Mrs. Lupex was, as I have already described 
 her, a woman not without some feminine attrac- 
 tion in the eyes of those who like morning neg- 
 ligence and evening finery, and do not object 
 to a long nose somewhat on one side. She was 
 clever in her way, and could say smart things. 
 She could flatter also, though her very flattery 
 had always in it something that was disagreea- 
 ble. And she must have had some power of 
 will, as otherwise her husband would have es- 
 
50 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 caped from her before the days of which I am 
 writing. Otherwise, also, she could hardly have 
 obtained her footing and kept it in Mrs. Roper's 
 drawing-room. Por though the hundred pounds 
 a year, either paid or promised to be paid, was 
 matter with Mrs. Roper of vast consideration, 
 nevertheless the first three months of Mrs. Lu- 
 pex's sojourn in Burton Crescent were not over 
 before the landlady of that house was most anx- 
 iously desirous of getting herself quit of her mar- 
 ried boarders. 
 
 I shall perhaps best describe a little incident 
 that had occurred in Burton Crescent during 
 the absence of our friend Eames, and the* man- 
 ner in which things were going on in that local- 
 ity, by giving at length two letters which John- 
 ny received by post at Guestwick on the morn- 
 ing after Mrs. Dale's party. One was from his 
 friend Cradell, and the other from the devoted 
 Amelia. In this instance I will give that from 
 the gentleman first, presuming that I shall best 
 consult my readers* wishes by keeping the great- 
 ei' delicacy till the last : 
 
 "Incomb-Tax Opficb, Septemhtr, 186-, 
 "My dear Johnny, — We have had a terrible affair in 
 the Crescent, and I really hardly know how to tell you ; 
 and yet I must do it, for I want your advice. You know 
 the sort of standing that I was on with Mrs. Lupex, and 
 perhapa you remember what we were saying on the plat- 
 form at the station. I hare, no doubt, been fond of her 
 society, aa I might be of that of any other friend. I knew, 
 of course, that she was a fine woman ; and if her husband 
 chose to be jealous I couldn't help that. But I never in- 
 tended any tiling wrong ; and, if it wa9 necessary, couldn* t 
 I call you as a witness to prove it P I never spoke a word 
 tn her out of Mrs. Roper's drawing-room : and Miss Spruce, 
 or Mra. Roper, or somebody has always been there. You 
 know he drinks horribly sometimes, but J do not think he 
 ever gets downright drunk. Well, he came home lost 
 night about nine o'clock, after one of these bouts. From 
 what Jemima says" [Jemima was Mrs. Roper's parlor- 
 maid], '^ I believe he had been at it down at the theatre 
 for three days. We hadn't seen him since Tuesday. He 
 went straight into the parlor and sent up Jemima to me 
 to say that he wanted to see me. Mrs, Lupex was in the 
 room, and heard the girl summon me, and, jumping up, 
 she declared that if there was going to be blood shed she 
 would leave the house. There was nobody else in the 
 r jom but Miss Spruce, and fihe didn't say a word, but took 
 her candle and went up stairs. You must own it looked 
 very uncomfortable. What was I to do with a drunken 
 man down in the parlor? However, she seemed to think 
 I ought to go. *If he comes up here,' said she, 'I shall 
 be the victim. You little know of what that man is ca- 
 pable when his wrath has been inflamed by wine.' Now, 
 I think you are aware that I am nofe likely to be very 
 much afraid of any man ; but why was I to be got into a 
 row in such a way as this? I hadn't done any thing. 
 And then, if there was to be a quarrel, and any thing was 
 to come of it, as she seemed to expect — like bloodshed, I 
 mean, or a fight, or if he were to knock me on the head 
 with the poker, where should I be at my office ? A man 
 in a public office, as you and I are, can't quarrel like any 
 body else. It was this that I felt so much at the moment. 
 ' Go down to him,' said she, * unless you wish to see me 
 murdered at your feet.' Fisher says that, if what I say 
 is true, they must have arranged it all between thera. I 
 don't think that ; for I do believe that she really is fond 
 of me. And then every body knows that they never do 
 agree about any thing. But she certainly did implore me 
 to go down to him. Well, I went down ; and as I got to 
 the bottom of the stairs, where I found Jemima, I heard 
 him walking up and down the parlor. ' Take care of your- 
 self, Mr. Cradell,* said the girl; and I could see by her face 
 that she wan in a terrible flight. 
 ^'' At that moment I happened to see my hat on the hall 
 
 table, and it ocnirred to me that I ought to put mvfelf 
 into the hands of a fiiend. Of course I was not afraid of 
 tliat man in the dining-room ; but should I have been juat- 
 ifted in engaging in a struggle, perhaps for dear life, in 
 Mrs. Roper's house? I was bound to think of her hiter- 
 ests. So i took up my hat and deliberately walked out 
 of the front door. ^ Tell him,' said I to Jemima, '• that I'm 
 not at home.' And eo I went away direct to Fiaher't*, 
 meaning to send him back to Lupex as my friend ; but 
 Fisher was at his chess-club. 
 
 '* As I thought there was no time to be lost on such an 
 occasion aa this I went down to the club and called him 
 out. You know what a cool fellow Fisher is. I don't sup- 
 pose auy thing would ever excite him. When I told him 
 the story he said that he would sleep upon it, and I had to 
 walk up and down before the club while he finished his 
 game. Fisher seemed to think that I might go back to 
 Burton Gr^cent, but of courae I knew that that would be 
 out of the question. So it ended in my going home and 
 sleeping on his sofa, and sending for some of my things in 
 the morning. I wanted him to get up and see Lupex be- 
 fore going to the office this morning. But he seemed to 
 think it would be better to put it off, and so he will call 
 upon him at the theatre immediately after office hours. 
 
 *'I want you to write to me at once, saying what you 
 know about the matter. "I ask you, aa I don't want to lug 
 in any of the other people at Roper's. It is veiy uncom- 
 fortable, as I can't exactly leave her at once because of 
 last quarter's money ; otherwise I should cut and run, for 
 the house is not the sort of place either for you or me. 
 You may take my woi*d for that. Master Johnny. And I 
 could tell you something, too, about A. R., only I don't 
 want to make mischief. But do you write immediately. 
 And now I think of it you had better write to Fisher, so 
 that he can show your letter to Lupex— just saying that 
 to the best of your belief there had never been any thing 
 between her and me but mere friendship; and that of 
 couife you, as my friend, must have known every thing. 
 Whether I shall go back to Roper's to-night will depend 
 on what Fisher says after the interview. 
 
 '•■Good-by, old fellow! I hope you are enjoying your- 
 self, and that L. D. is quite well. 
 
 '^ Your sincere friend, Joseph Cradell." 
 
 John Eames read this letter over twice before 
 he opened that from Amelia. He had never 
 yet received a letter from Miss Roper, and felt 
 very little of that ardor for its perusal which 
 young men generally experience on the receipt 
 of a first letter from a young lady. The mem- 
 ory of Amelia was at the present moment dis- 
 tasteful to him, and he would have thrown the 
 letter unopened into the fire had he not felt it 
 might be dangerous to do so. As regarded his 
 friend Cradell he could not but feel ashamed of 
 him — ashamed of him, not for running away 
 from Mr. Lupex, but for excusing his escape on 
 false pretenses. 
 
 And then, at last, he opened the letter from 
 Amelia. "Dearest John," it began, and as he 
 read the words he crumpled the paper up be- 
 tween his fingers. It was written in a fair fe- 
 male hand, with sharp points instead of curves 
 to the letters, but still very legible, and looking 
 as though there were a decided purport in every 
 word of it : 
 
 " Deaeest John, — It feels so strange to me to write to 
 you in such language as this. And yet you are dearest^ 
 and have I not a right to call you so? And are you not 
 my own? and am not I yours?" [Again he crunched the 
 paper up in hia hand, and as he did so he muttered words 
 which I need not repeat at length. But still he went on 
 with hia letter.] " I know that we understand each other 
 perfectly, and when that is the case heart should be allow- 
 ed to speak openly to heart Those are my feelings, and 
 I believe that you will find them reciprocal in your own 
 bosom. I^ it not sweet to be loved ? I find it so. And, 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 61 
 
 denreat John, let me assure you, with open candor, that 
 there is no room for jealouay in this breast with regard to 
 you. I have too much confidence for that, I can assure 
 you, both in your honor and in my own — 1 would say 
 charms, only you would call me vain. You must not sup- 
 pose that 1 meant what 1 said about L. D. Of course you 
 will be glad to see the friends of your childhood, and it 
 would be far from your Amelia's heart to begrudge you 
 such delightful pleasure. Your friends will, I hope, some 
 day be my friends." [Another cranch.] " And if there 
 be any one among them, any real L. D. whom you have 
 specially lilced, I will receive her to my heart, specially, 
 also." [This assurance on the part of his Amelia was too 
 much for him, and he threw the letter from him, think- 
 ing whence he might get relief— whether from suicide or 
 from the colonies ; but presently he took it up again, and 
 drained the bitter cup to the bottom.] " And if I seemed 
 petulant to you before you went away you must forgive 
 your own Amelia. I had nothing before me but misery 
 for the month of your absence. There is no one here con- 
 genial to my feelings— of course not. And you would not 
 wish me to be happy in your absence — would you ? I can 
 assure you, let your wishes be what they may, I never can 
 be happy again unless you are with me. Write to me one 
 little line, and tell me that you are grateful to me for my 
 devotion. 
 
 *' And now I must tell you that we have had a sad affair 
 in the house, and I do not think that your friend Mr. Cra- 
 dell has behaved at all well. You remember how he has 
 been always going on with Mrs. Lupex. Mother was quite 
 unhappy about it, though she didn't like to say any thing. 
 Of course when a lady's name is concerned it is particular. 
 But Lupex has become dreadful jealous during the last 
 week, and we all knew that something wiis coming. Slie 
 is an artful woman, but I don't think she meant any thing 
 bad — only to drive her husband to desperation. He came 
 here yesterday in one of his tantrums, and wanted to see 
 Gradell; but he got frightened, and took his hat and went 
 oflf. Now that wasn't quite right. If he was innocent, 
 why didn't he stand his ground and explain the mistake? 
 As mother says, it gives the house such a name. Lupex 
 swore last night that he'd be off to the Income-tax Office 
 this morning, and have Cradell out before all the commis- 
 sioners, and clerks, and every body. If he does that it 
 will get into the papers, and all London will be full of it. 
 She would like it, I know, for all she cares for is to be 
 talked about ; but only think what it will be for mother's 
 house 1 I wish you were here, for your high prudence 
 and courage would set every thing right at once— at least 
 I think so. 
 
 *^ I shall count the minutes till I get an answer to this, 
 and shall envy the postman who mil have your letter be- 
 fore it will reach me. Do write at once. If I do not hear 
 by Monday morning I shall think that something is the 
 matter. Even though you are among your dear old friends, 
 surely you Can find a moment to write to your own Amelia. 
 
 *' Mother is very unhappy about this affair of the Lu- 
 pexes. She says that if you were here to advise her she 
 should not mind it so much. It is very hard upon her, for 
 she does strive to make the house respectable and comfort- 
 able for every body. I would send my duty and love to 
 your dear mamma if I only knew her, as I hope I shall do 
 one day, and to your sister, and to L. D. also, if you like 
 to tell her how we are situated together. So now no more 
 from your Always affectionate sweet-heart, 
 
 "Amelia Eopbe." 
 
 Poor Eames did not feel the least gratified by 
 any part of this fond letter, but the last para- 
 graph of it was the worst. Was it to be endured 
 by him that this woman should send her love to 
 his mother and to his sister, and even to Lily 
 Dale ? He felt that there was a pollution in the 
 very mention of Lily's name by such » one as 
 Amelia Roper. And yet Amelia Eoper was, 
 as she had assured him — :hi8 own. Much as he 
 disliked her at the present moment, be did be- 
 lieve that he was — her own. He did feel that 
 she had obtained a certain property in him, and 
 
 that his destiny in life would tie him to her. 
 He had said very few words of love to her at any 
 time — very few, at least, that were themselves of 
 any moment; but among those few there had 
 undoubtedly been one or two in which he had 
 told her that he loved her. And he had written 
 to her that fatal note ! Upon the whole, would 
 it not be as well for him to go out to the gi'eat 
 reservoir behind Guestwick, by which the Ha- 
 mersham Canal was fed with its waters, and put 
 an end to his miserable existence ? 
 
 On that same day he did write a letter to 
 Fisher, and he wrote also to Cradell. As to 
 those letters he felt no difficulty. To Fisher he 
 declared his belief that Cradell was innocent as 
 he was himself as regarded Mrs. Lupex. "I 
 don't think he is the sort of man to make up to 
 a married woman," he said, somewhat to Cra- 
 dell's displeasure, when the letter reached the 
 Income-tax Oifice ; for that gentleman was not 
 averse to the reputation for success in love which 
 the little adventure was, as he thought, calcu- 
 lated to give him among his brother-clerks. At 
 the first bursting of the shell, when that des- 
 perately jealous man was raging in the parlor, 
 incensed by the fumes both of wine and love, 
 Cradell had felt that the affair was disagreeably 
 painful. But on the morning of the third day 
 — for he had passed two nights on his friend 
 Fisher's sofa — he had begun to be somewhat 
 proud of it, and did not dislike to hear Mrs. 
 Lupex's name in the mouths of the other clerks. 
 When, therefore, Fisher read to him the letter 
 from Guestwick, he hardly was pleased with his 
 friend's tone. "Ha, ha, ha!" said he, laugh- 
 ing. " That's just what I wanted him to say. 
 Make up to a married woman, indeed ! No ; 
 I'm the last man in London to do that sort of 
 thing." 
 
 "Upon my word, Caudle, I think you are," 
 said fisher i "the very last man." 
 
 And then poor Cradell was not happy. On 
 that afternoon he boldly went to Burton Cres- 
 cent and ate his dinner there. Neither Mr. nor 
 Mrs. Lupex were to be seen, nor were their 
 names mentioned to him by Mrs. Eoper. In 
 the course of the evening he did pluck up cour- 
 age to ask Miss Spruce Where they were; but 
 that ancient lady merely shook her head solemn- 
 ly, and declared that she know nothing about 
 such goings on — no, not she. 
 
 But what was John Eames to do as to that 
 letter from Amelia Roper? He felt that any 
 answer to it would be very dangerous, and yet 
 that he could not' safely leave it unanswered. 
 He walked off by himself across Guestwick Com- 
 mon, and through the woods of Guestwick Man- 
 or, up by the big avenue of elms in Lord De 
 Guest's park, trying to resolve how he might 
 rescue himself from this scrape. Here, over the 
 same ground, he had wandered scores of times 
 in his earlier years, when he knew nothing be- 
 yond the innocency of his country home, think- 
 ing of Lily Dale and swearing to himself that 
 she should be his wife. Here he' had strung to- 
 gether his rhymes, and fed his ambition with 
 
52 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 hiRh hopes, building gorgeous castles in the air, 
 in all of which Lilian reigned as a queen ; and 
 though in those days he had known himself to 
 be awkward, poor, uncared for by any in the 
 world except his mother and his sister, yet he 
 had been happy in his hopes — happy in his hopes 
 even though he had never taught himself I'eally 
 to believe that tliey would be realized. But 
 now there was nothing in his hopes or thoughts 
 to make him happy. Every thing was black, 
 and wretched, and ruinous. What would it 
 matter, after all, even if he should marry Amelia 
 Roper, seeing that Lily wa^ to be given to an- 
 other ? But then the idea of Amelia as he had 
 seen her that night through the chink in the 
 door came upon his memory, and he confessed 
 to himself that life with such a wife as that 
 would be a living death. 
 
 At one moment he thought that he would tell 
 his mother every thing, and leave her to write an 
 answer to Amelia's letter. Should the worst 
 come to the worst, the Ropers could not abso- 
 lutely destroy him. That they could bring an 
 action against him, and have him locked up for 
 a term of years, and dismissed from his office, 
 and exposed in all the newspapers, he seemed to 
 know. That might all, however, be endured, if 
 only the gauntlet could be thrown down for him 
 by some one else. The one thing which he felt 
 that he could not do was, to write to a girl whom 
 he had professed to love and tell her that he did 
 not love her. He knew that he could not him- 
 self form such words upon the paper ; nor, as 
 he was well aware, could he himself find the 
 courage to tell her to her face that he had 
 changed his mind. He knew that he must be- 
 come the victim of his Amelia, unless he could 
 find some friendly knight to do battle in his fa- 
 vor : and then again he thought of his mother. 
 
 But when hs returned home he was as far as 
 ever from any resolve to tell her how he was 
 situated. I may say that his walk had done 
 him no good, and that he had not made up his 
 mind to any thing. He had been building those 
 pernicious castles in, the air during more than 
 half the time ; not castles in the building of 
 which he could make himself happy, as he had 
 done in the old dayS, but black castles, with 
 cruel dungeons, into which hardly a ray of life 
 could find its way. In all these edifices his im- 
 agination pictured to him Lily as the wife of 
 Mr. Crosbie. ' He accepted that as a fact, and | 
 then went to Work in his misery, making her as 
 wretched as himself through the misconduct and 
 harshness of her husband. He tried to think, 
 and to resolve what he would do ; but there is 
 no task so hard as that of thinking, when the 
 mind has an objection to the matter brought be- 
 fore it. The mind, under such circumstances, 
 is like a horse that is brought to the water but 
 refuses to drink. So Johnny returned to his 
 home, still doubting whether or no he would 
 answer Amelia's letter. And if he did not an- 
 swer it, how would he conduct himself on his 
 return to Burton Crescent ? 
 
 I need hardly say that Miss Roper, in writing 
 
 hor letter, had been aware of all this, and that 
 Johnny's position had been carefully prepared 
 for him by — his aifectionate sweet-heart. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 SOCIAL LIFE. 
 
 Mb. and Mrs. Lupex had eaten a sweet- 
 bread together in much connubial bliss on that 
 day which had seen Cradell returning to Mrs. 
 Roper's hospitable board. 'They had together 
 eaten a sweet-bread, with some other delicacies 
 of the season, in the neighborhood of the theatre, 
 and had washed down #,11 unkindness with bitter 
 beer and brandy-and-water. But of this recon- 
 ciliation Cradell had not heard ; and when he 
 saw them come together into the drawing-room, 
 a few rhinutes after the question he had ad- 
 dressed to Miss Spruce, he was certainly sur- 
 prised. 
 
 Lupex was not an ill-natured man, nor one 
 naturally savage by disposition. He was a man 
 fond of sweet-bread and little dinners, and one 
 to whom hot brandy-and-water was too dear. 
 Had the wife of his bosom been a. good help- 
 mate to him he might have gone through the 
 world, if not respectably', at any rate without 
 open disgrace. But she was a woman who lefl 
 a man no solace except that to be found in bran- 
 dy-and-water. For eight years they had been 
 man and wife ; and sometimes — I grieve to say 
 it — he had been driven almost to hope that she 
 would commit a married woman's last sin, and 
 leave him. In his misery any mode of escape 
 would have been welcome to him. Had his en- 
 ergy been sufficient he would have taken his 
 scene-painting capabilities off to Australia — or 
 to the furthest shifting of scenes known on the 
 world's stage. But he was an easy, listless, self- 
 indulgent man ; and at any moment, let his mis- 
 ery be as keen as might be, a little dinner, a few 
 soft words, and a glass of brandy-and-water 
 would bring him round. The second glass would 
 make him the fondest husband living; but the 
 third would restore to him the memory of all his 
 wrongs, and give him courage against his wife 
 or all the world — even to the detriment of the 
 furniture around him, should a stray poker 
 chance to meet his hand. AH these peculiari- 
 ties of his character were not, however, known 
 to Cradell ; and when our friend saw him enter 
 tlie drawing-room with his wife on his arm he 
 was astonished. 
 
 "Mr. Cradell, your hand," said Lupex, who 
 had advanced as far as the second glass of bran- 
 dy-and-water, but had not been allowed to go 
 beyond it. "There has been a misunderstand- 
 ing between us ; let it be forgotten." 
 
 "Mr. Cradell, if I know him," said the lady, 
 "is too much the gentleman to bear any anger 
 when a gentleman has offered him his hand." 
 
 "Oh, I'm sure," said Cradell, " I'm quite — 
 indeed, I'm delighted to find there's nothing 
 wrong after all!" And then he shook hands 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 53 
 
 ^MB. OKjVDELL. YOUK HAMD. 
 
 with both of them ; whereupon Miss Spruce got 
 .up, courtesied low, and also shook hands with 
 the husband and wife. 
 
 "You're not a married man, Mr. Cradell," 
 said Lupex, " and therefore you can not under- 
 stand the workings of a husband's heart. There 
 have been moments when my regard for that 
 woman has been too much for me." 
 
 " Now, Lupex, don't !" said she, playfully tap- 
 ping him with an old parasol which she still held. 
 
 "And I do not hesitate to say that my regard 
 
 for her was too much for me on that night when 
 I sent for you to the dining-room." 
 
 "I'm glad it's all put right now," said Cra- 
 dell. 
 
 "Very glad indeed," said Miss Spruce. 
 
 "And, therefore, we need not say any more 
 about it," said Mrs. Lupex. 
 
 " One word," said Lupex, waving his hand. 
 "Mr. Cradell, I greatly rejoice that you did not 
 obey my summons on that night. Had you done 
 so — I confess it now — had you done so blood 
 
54 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 ■[Would have been the consequence. I was mis- 
 Mjten. I acknowledge my mistake ; but blood 
 wouldjiave been the consequence." 
 
 "D^ai", dear, dear!" said Miss Spruce. 
 
 '■' Miss SpTuce, xContinued Lupex, " there are 
 
 moments when thelfeaffi b?e6mea^toostrgj}g,f(l^ js:ejgii.jveUjhat in^inyTnelajicholy.jjpsiti9n I hare 
 a man." — ,^^^^ ^^ ^.j^j^^ to'find fault, and I don't pretend to 
 
 " I dare say," said Miss Spruce. 
 
 ' ' Now, Lupex, that will dOj " said his wife. 
 
 " Yes ; that will do. But I think it right to 
 tell Mr. Cradell that I am glad he did not come 
 to me. Your friend, Mr. Cradell, did me the 
 honor of calling on me at the theatre yesterday, 
 at half past four ; but I was in the slings then, 
 and could not very well come down to him. I 
 shall be happy to see you both any day at five, 
 and to bury all unkindness with a chop and glass 
 at the Pot and Poker, in Bow Street." 
 
 "Pm sure youVe very kind," said Cradell. 
 
 ' ' And Mrs. Lupex will join us. There's a 
 delightful little snuggery up stairs at the Pot 
 and Poker ; and if Miss Spruce will condescend 
 to—" 
 
 "Oh, I'm an old woman, Sir." 
 
 "No — no — no," said Lupex, "I deny that. 
 Come, Cradell, what do you say? — -just a snug 
 little dinner for four, you know." 
 
 It was, no doubt, pleasant to see Mr. Lupex 
 in his present mood — much pleasanter than in 
 that other mood of which blood would have 
 been the consequence; but pleasant as he now 
 was, it was nevertheless apparent that he was 
 not quite sober. Cradell, therefore, did not 
 settle the day for the little dinner, but merely 
 remarked that he should be very happy at some 
 future day. 
 
 ' ' And now, Lupex, suppose you get off to 
 bed, " said his wife. ' ' You've had a very trying 
 day, you know." 
 
 "And you, ducky?" 
 
 ' ' I shall come presently. Now don't be mak- 
 ing a fool of yourself, but get yourself off. 
 Come^-" and she stood close up against the 
 open door, waiting for him to pass. 
 
 "I rather think I shall remain where I am, 
 and have a glass of something hot," said he. 
 
 "Lupex, do you want to aggravate me 
 again ?" said the lady, and she looked at him 
 with a glance of her eye which he thoroughly 
 understood. He was not in a humor for fight- 
 ing, nor was he at present desirous for blood ; 
 so he resolved to go. But as he went he pre- 
 pared himself for new battles. "I shall do 
 something desperate, I am sure; I know I 
 shall," he said, as he pulled off his boots. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Cradell," said Mrs. Lupex, as soon 
 as she had closed the door behind her retreating 
 husband, "how am I ever to look you in the 
 face again after the events of these last memor- 
 able days?" And then she seated herself on 
 the sofa, and hid her face in a cambric hand- 
 kerchief. 
 
 "As for that," said Cradell, "what does it 
 signify among friends like us, you know ?" 
 
 "But that it should be known at your office, 
 as of course it is, because of the gentleman that 
 
 went down to him at the theatre ! I don't think 
 I shall ever survive it. " 
 
 "You see I was obliged to send somebody, 
 Mrs. Lupex." 
 
 " I'm not finding fault, Mr. Cradell. I know 
 
 understand gentlemen's feelings toward each 
 other. But to have had my name mentioned 
 up with yours in that way is — Oh ! Mr. Cra- 
 dell, I don't know how I'm ever to look you in 
 the face again." And again she buried hers in 
 her pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 " Handsome is as handsome does," said Miss 
 Spruce ; and there was that in her tone of voice 
 which seemed to convey much hidden mean- 
 ing. 
 
 "Exactly so. Miss Spruce," said Mrs. Lupex; 
 "and that's. my only comfort at the present mo- 
 ment. Mr. Cradell is a gentleman who would 
 scorn to take advantage — I'm quite sure of that." 
 And then she did contrive to look at him over 
 the edge of the hand which held the handker- 
 chief. 
 
 "That I wouldn't, I'm sure," said Cradell. 
 "That is to say — " And then he paused. He 
 did not wish to get into a scrape about Mrs. 
 Lupex. He was by no means anxious to en- 
 counter her husband in one of his fits of jealousy. 
 But he did like the idea of being talked of as the 
 admirer of a married woman, and he did like the 
 brightness of the lady's eyes. When the unfor- 
 tunate moth in his semiiblindness whisks him- 
 self and his wings within the flame of the candle, 
 and finds himself mutilated and tortured, he 
 even then will not take the lesson, but returns 
 again and again till he is destroyed. Such a 
 moth was poor Cradell. There was no warmth 
 to be got by him from that flame. There was 
 no beauty in the light, not even the false brill- 
 iance of unhallowed love. Injury might come 
 to him, a pernicious clipping of the wings, which 
 might destroy all power of future flight ; injury, 
 and not improbably destruction, if he should 
 persevere. But one may say that no single hour 
 of happiness could accrue to him from his inti- 
 macy with Mrs. Lupex. He felt for her no love. 
 He was afraid of her, and, in many respects, dis- 
 liked her. But to him, in his moth-hke weak- 
 ness, ignorance, and blindness, it seemed to be 
 a great thing that he should be allowed to fly 
 near the candle. Oh! my friends, if you will 
 but think of it, how many of you have been 
 moths, and are now going about ungracefully 
 with wings more or less burned off, and with 
 bodies sadly scorched ! 
 
 But before Mr. Cradell could make up his 
 mind whether or no he would take advantage 
 of the present opportunity for another dip into 
 the flame of the candle — in regard to which pro. 
 ceeding, however, he could not but feel that the 
 presence of Miss Spruce was objectionable — the 
 door of the room was opened, and Amelia Eoper 
 joined the party. 
 
 "Oh, indeed, Mrs. Lupex,"she said. "And 
 Mr. Cradell!" 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 55 
 
 " And Miss Sprnce, my dear," said Mrs. Ln- 
 pex, pointing to the ancient lady. 
 
 "I'm only an old woman," said Miss Spruce. 
 
 "Oh yes; I see Miss Spruce," said Amelia. 
 ' ' I was not hinting at any thing,, I can assure 
 you." 
 
 " I should think not, my 'dear," said Mrs. Lu- 
 pex. 
 
 ' ' Only I didn't know that you two were quite — 
 That is, when last I heard about it, I fancied — 
 But if the quarrel's made up, there's nobody 
 more rejoiced than I am." 
 
 "The quarrel is made up," said Cradell. 
 
 "If Mr. Lupex is satisfied, I'm sure I am," 
 said Amelia. 
 
 " Mr. Lupex is satisfied," said Mrs. Lupex ; 
 "and let me tell you, my dear, seeing that you 
 are expecting to get married yourself — " 
 
 ' ' Mrs. Lupex, I'm not expecting to get mar- 
 ried — not particularly, by any means. " 
 
 " Oh, I thought you were. And let me tell 
 you, that when you've got a husband of your 
 own, you won't find it so easy to keep every 
 thing straight. That's the worst of these lodg- 
 ings, if there • is any little thing eveiy body 
 knows it. Don't they. Miss Spruce ?" 
 
 "Lodgings is so much more comfortable than 
 housekeeping," said Miss Spruce, who lived 
 rather in fear of her relatives, the Eopers. 
 
 "Everybody knows it; does he?" said Ame- 
 lia. "Why, if a gentleman will come home at 
 night tipsy and threaten to murder another gen- 
 tleman in the same house ; and if a lady — " 
 And then Amelia paused, for she knew that the 
 line-of-battle-ship which she was preparing to 
 encounter had within her much power of fight- 
 ing. 
 
 ' ' Well, miss, " said Mrs. Lupex, getting on 
 her feet, " and what of the lady ?" 
 
 Now we may say that the battle had begun, 
 and that the two ships were pledged by the gen- 
 eral laws of courage and naval warfare to main- 
 tain the contest till one of them should be abso- 
 lutely disabled, if not blown up or sunk. And 
 at this moment it might be difficult for a by- 
 stander to say with which of the combatants 
 rested the better chance of permanent success. 
 Mrs. Lupex had doubtless on her side more ma- 
 tured power, a habit of fighting which had given 
 her infinite skill, a courage which deadened her 
 to the feeling of all wounds while the heat of the 
 battle should last, and a recklessness which made 
 her almost indiff'erent whether she sank or swam. 
 But then Amelia carried the greater guns, and 
 was able to pour in heavier metal than her ene- 
 my could use; and she, too, swam in her own 
 waters. Should -they absolutely come to grap- 
 pling and boarding, Amelia would no doubt 
 have the best of it;* but Mrs. Lupex would 
 probably be too crafty to permit such a proceed- 
 ing as that. She was, however, ready for the 
 occasion, and greedy for the fight. 
 ■ " And what of the lady ?" said she, in a tone 
 of voice that admitted of no pacific rejoinder. 
 
 "A lady; if she is a lady," said Amelia, "will 
 know how to behave herself." 
 
 "And you're going to teach me, are you. 
 Miss Roper? I'm sure I'm ever so much 
 obliged to you. It's Manchester manners I sup- 
 pose that you prefer?" 
 
 ' ' I prefer honest manners, Mrs. Lupex, and 
 decent manners, and manners that won't shock 
 a whole houseful of people ; and I don't care 
 whether they come from Manchester or London." 
 "Milliner's manners, I suppose?" 
 " I don't care whether they are milliner's 
 manners or theatrical, Mrs. Lupex, as long as 
 they're not downright bad manners — as yours 
 are, Mrs. Lupex. And now you've got it. 
 What are you going on for in this way with 
 that young man till you'll drive your husband 
 into a mad-house with drink and jealousy ?" 
 
 "Miss Eoper! Miss Eoper!" said Cradell; 
 ' ' now really — " 
 
 "Don't mind her, Mr. Cradell," said Mrs. 
 Lupex ; ' ' she's not worthy for you to speak to. 
 And as to that poor fellow Eamcs, if you've 
 any friendship for him, you'll let him know 
 what she is. My dear, how's Mr. Juniper, of 
 Grogram's house, at Salford ? I know all about 
 you, and so shall John Eames, too — poor un- 
 fortunate fool of a fellow ! Telling me of drink 
 and jealousy, indeed!" 
 
 "Yes, telling you! And now you've men- 
 tioned Mr. Jlmiper's name, Mr. Eames, and 
 Mr. Cradell too, may know the whole of it. 
 There's been nothing about Mr. Juniper that 
 I'm ashamed of." 
 
 '> It would be difficult to make you ashamed 
 of any thing, I believe." 
 
 " But let me tell you this, Mrs. Lupex, you're 
 not going to destroy the respectability of this 
 house by your goings on." 
 
 " It was a bad day for me when I let Lupex 
 bring me into it." 
 
 "Then pay your bill and walk out of it, " said 
 Amelia, waving her hand toward the door. 
 " I'll undertake to say there sha'n't be any no- 
 tice required. Only you pay mother what you 
 owe, and you're free to go at once." 
 
 " I shall go just when I please, and not one 
 hour before, Who are you, you gipsy, to speak 
 to me in this way?" 
 
 "And as for going, go you shall, if we have 
 to call in the police to make you." 
 
 Amelia, as at this period of the fight she 
 stood fronting her foe with her arms akimbo, 
 certainly seemed to have the best of the battle. 
 But the bitterness of Mrs. Lupex's tongue had 
 hardly yet produced its greatest results. I am 
 inclined to think that the married lady would 
 have silenced her who was single, had the fight 
 been allowed to rage — always presuming that no 
 resort to grappling-irons took place. But at this 
 moment Mrs. Eoper entered the room, accom- 
 panied by her son, and both the combatants for 
 a moment retreated. 
 
 "Amelia, what's all this?" said Mrs. Eoper, 
 
 trying to assume a look of agonized amazement. 
 
 " Ask Mrs. Lupex," said Amelia. 
 
 "And Mrs. Lupex will answer," said that 
 
 lady. "Your daughter has come in here, and 
 
66 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 attacked me — in such language — before Mr. 
 Cradell, too — " 
 
 "Why doesn't she pay what she owes and 
 leave the house ?" said Amelia. 
 
 "Hold your tongue," said her brother. 
 " What she owes is no affair of yours." 
 
 "But it's an affair of mine, when I'm insult- 
 ed by such a creature as that." 
 
 " Creature !" said Mrs. Lupex. "I'd like to 
 know which is most like a creature ! But I'll 
 tell you what it is, Amelia Eoper — " 
 
 Here, however, her eloquence was stopped, 
 for Amelia had disappeared through the door, 
 having been pushed out of the room by her 
 lirother. Whereupon Mrs. Lupex, having found 
 a sofa convenient for the service, betook herself 
 to hysterics. There for the moment we will 
 leave her, hoping that poor Mrs. Koper was not 
 kept late out of her bed. 
 
 " What a deuce of a mess Eames will make 
 of it if he marries that girl ! " Such was Cra- 
 dsll's reflection as he betook himself to his own 
 room. But of his own part in the night's trans- 
 actions he was rather proud than otherwise, 
 feeling that the married lady's regard for him 
 had been the cause of the battle which had 
 raged. So, likewise, did Paris derive much 
 gratification from the ten years' siege of Troy. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 LTUAN DALE BECOMES A BnTTEKFLT. 
 
 And now we will go back to Allington. The 
 same morning that brought John Eames the 
 two letters which were given in the last chapter 
 but one, brought to the Great House, among 
 others, the following epistle for Adolphus Cros- 
 bie. It was from a countess, and was written 
 on pink paper, beautifully creamlaid and scent- 
 ed, ornamented with a coronet and certain sin- 
 gularly-entwined initials. Altogether, the let- 
 ter was very fashionable and attractive, and 
 Adclphus Crosbie was by no means sorry to re- 
 ceive it : ' 
 
 '* CouBCY Castlb, Beptemier, 186-. 
 
 " My dear Me. Cbobbie, — "We have heard of you from 
 ttie Gazebees, who have come down to us, and who tell ub 
 that you are rust'cating at a charming little village, in 
 which, among \)ther attractions, there are wood-nymphs 
 and water- nymphs, to whom much of your time is devoted. 
 As this is just the thing for your taste, I would not for 
 worlds disturb you ; but, if you should ever tear yourself 
 away from the groves and fountains of Allington, we shall 
 be delighted to welcome you here, though you will find us 
 veiy unromantic, after your late Elysium. 
 
 " Lady Durabello is coming to us, who I know is a fa- 
 vorite of yourf. Or is it the other way, and are you a fa- 
 vorite of hers ? I did ask Lady Hartletop, but she can not 
 get away from the poor marquis, who is, you know, so 
 very infirm. The duke isn't at Gatherum at present, but, 
 of course, I don't mean that that has any thing to do with 
 ^3ear Tjady Hartletop's not coming to us. I believe we 
 shall have the house full, and shall not want for nymphs 
 either, though I (ear they will not be of the wood and water 
 kind. Margaretta and Alexandrina par icularly want you 
 to come, as they say you are so clever at making a house- 
 ful of people go off well. If you can give us a week before 
 you go back to manage the affairs of the nation, pray do. 
 *' Yours very sincerely, 
 
 " EOSINA De Coitboy." 
 
 The Countess De Courcy was a very old friend 
 of Mr. Crosbie's ; that is to say, as old fi-iends 
 go in the world in which he had been living. 
 He had known her for the last six or seven years, 
 and had been in the habit of going to all her 
 London balls, and dancing with her daughters 
 every where, in a most good-natured and affable 
 way. He had been intimate, from old family re- 
 lations, with Mr. Mortimer Gazebee, who, though 
 only an attorney of the more distinguished kind, 
 had married the countess's eldest daughter, 
 and now sat in Parliament for the city of Ear- 
 chester, near to which Courcy Castle was sit- 
 uated. And, to tell the truth honestly at once, 
 Mr. Crosbie had been on terms of great friend- 
 ship with Lady De Courcy's daughters, the La- 
 dies Margaretta and Alexandrina, perhaps es- 
 pecially so with the latter, though I would not 
 have my readers suppose by my saying so that 
 any thing more tender than friendship had ever 
 existed between them. 
 
 Crosbie said nothing about the letter on that 
 '• morning ; but during the day, or, perhaps, as 
 he thought over the matter in bed, he made up 
 his mind that he would accept Lady De Courcy's 
 invitation. It was not only that he would be 
 glad to see the Gazebees, or glad to stay in the 
 same house with that great master in the high 
 art of fashionable life, Lady Dumbello, or glad 
 to renew his friendship with the Ladies Marga- 
 retta and Alexandrina. Had he felt that the 
 circumstances of his engagement with Lily made 
 it expedient for him to stay with her till the end 
 of his holidays he could have thrown over the 
 De Courcys without a struggle. Bat he told 
 himself that it would be well for him now to 
 tear himself away from Lily ; or perhaps he said 
 that it would be well for Lily that he should be 
 torn away. He must not teach her to think that 
 they were to live only in the sunlight of each 
 other's eyes during those months, or perhaps 
 years, which must elapse before their engage- 
 ment could be carried out. Nor must he allow 
 her to suppose that either he or^^she were to de- 
 pend solely upon the other for the amusements 
 and employments of life. In this way he argued 
 the matter very sensibly within his own mind, 
 and resolved, without much difficulty, that he 
 would go to Courcy Castle, and bask for a week 
 in the sunlight of the fashion which would be 
 collected there. The quiet humdrum of his own 
 fireside would come upon him soon enough ! 
 
 " I think I shall leave you on Wednesday, 
 Sir," Crosbie said to the squire at breakfast on 
 Sunday morning. 
 
 " Leave us on Wednesday !" said the squire, 
 who had an old-fashioned ide."* that people who 
 were e,ngaged to marry each other should remain 
 together as long as circumstances could be made 
 to admit of their doing so. "Nothing wrong, 
 is there?" 
 
 " Oh dear, no ! But every thing must come 
 to an end some day ; and as I must make one 
 or two short visits before I get back to town, I 
 might as well go on Wednesday. Indeed, I have 
 made it as late as I possibly could, " 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 57 
 
 "Where do you go from here?" asked Ber- 
 nard. 
 
 "Well, as it happens, only into the next 
 county — to Courcy Castle." And then there was 
 nothing more said about the matter at that break- 
 fast-table. 
 
 It had become their habit to meet together on 
 the Sunday mornings before church, on the lawn 
 belonging to the Small House, and on this day 
 the three gentlemen walked down together, and 
 found Lily and Bell already waiting for them. ' 
 They generally had some few minutes to spare 
 on those occasions before Mrs. Dale summoned 
 them to pass through the house to church, and 
 such was the case at present. The squire at 
 these times would stand in the middle of the 
 grass-plot, surveying his grounds, and taking 
 stock of the shrubs, and flowers, and fruit-trees 
 round him ; for he never forgot that it was all 
 his own, and would thus use this opportunity, 
 as he seldom came dowi) to see the spot on other 
 days. Mrs. Dale, as she would see him from her 
 own window while she was tying on her bon- 
 net, would feel that she knew what was passing 
 through his mind, and would regret that circum- 
 stances had forced her to be beholden to him for 
 such assistance. But, in truth, she did not know 
 all that he thought at such times. " It is mine," 
 he would say to himself, as he looked around on 
 the pleasant place. " But it is well for me that 
 they should enjoy it. She is my brother's wid- 
 ow, and she is welcome — very welcome." I 
 think that if those two persons had known more 
 than they did of each other's hearts and minds 
 they might have loved each other better. 
 
 And then Crosbie told Lily of his intention. 
 " On Wednesday !" she said, turning almost pale 
 with emotion as she heard this news. He had 
 told her abruptly, not thinking, probably, that 
 such tidings would affect her so strongly. 
 
 ' ' Well, yes. I have written to Lady De Cour- 
 cy and said Wednesday. It wouldn't do for me 
 exactly to drop every body, and perhaps — " 
 
 "Oh no! And, Adolphus, .you don't sup- 
 pose I begrudge your going. Only it does seem 
 so sudden ; does it not?" 
 
 "You see, I've been here over six weeks." 
 
 "Yes; you've been very good. When I 
 think of it, what a six weeks it has been ! I 
 wonder whether the difference seems to you as 
 great as it does to me. I've left off being 'a 
 grub, and begun to be a butterfly." 
 
 " But you mustn't be a butterfly when you're 
 married, Lily." 
 
 " No ; not in that sense. But I meant that 
 my real position in the world — that for which I 
 would fain hope that I was created — opened to 
 me only when I knew you and knew that you 
 loved me. But mamma is calling us, and we 
 must go through to church. Going on Wednes- 
 day ! There are only three days more then !" 
 
 "Yes, just three days," he said, as he took 
 her on his arm and passed through the house 
 on to the road. 
 
 "And when are we to see you again?" she 
 asked, as they reached the church-yard. 
 D 
 
 " Ah, who is to say that yet ? We must ask 
 the Chairman of Committees when he will let 
 me go again." Then there was nothing more 
 said, and they all followed the squire through 
 the little porch and up to the big family-pew in 
 which they all sat. Here the squire took his 
 place in one special corner which he had occu- 
 pied ever since his father's death, and from 
 which he read the responses loudly and plainly 
 — so loudly and plainly that the parish clerk 
 could by no means equal him, though with em- 
 ulous voice he still made the attempt. " T' 
 squire 'd like to be squire, and parson, and 
 clerk, and every thing, so a would," the poor 
 clerk would say when complaining of the ill- 
 usage which he suffered. 
 
 If Lily's prayers were interrupted .by her new 
 sorrow I think that her fault in that respect 
 would be forgiven. Of course she had known 
 that Crosbie was not going to remain at Ailing- 
 ton much longer. She knew quite as well as 
 he did the exact day on which his leave of ab- 
 sence came to its end, and the hour at which it 
 behooved him to walk into his room at the Gen- 
 eral Committee Office. She had taught her- 
 self to think that he would remain with them 
 up to the end of his vacation, and now she felt 
 as a school-boy would feel who was told sud- 
 denly, a day or two before the time, that the 
 last week of his holiday's was to be taken from 
 him. The grievance would have been slight had 
 she known it from the first ; but what school-boy 
 could stand such a shock when the loss amount- 
 ed to two-thirds of his reiSaining wealth ? Lily 
 did not blame her lover. She did not even 
 think that he ought to stay. She would not al- 
 low herself to suppose that he could propose 
 any thing that was unkind. But she felt her 
 loss, and more than once, as she knelt at her 
 prayers, she wiped a hidden tear from her eyes. 
 
 Crosbie also, was thinking of his departure 
 more than he should have done during Mr. 
 Boyce's sermon. " It's easy listening to him," 
 Mrs. Hearn used to say of her husband's suc- 
 cessor. "It don't give one much trouble fol- 
 lowing him into his arguments." Mr. Crosbie, 
 perhaps, found the difficulty greater than did 
 Mrs. Hearn, and would have devoted his mind 
 more perfectly to the discourse had the argu- 
 ment been deeper. It is very hard, that neces- 
 sity of listening to a man who says nothing. 
 On this occasion Crosbie ignored the necessity 
 altogether, and gave up his mind to the con- 
 sideration of what it might be expedient that 
 he should say to Lily before he went. He re- 
 membered weH those few words which he had 
 spoken in the first ardor of his love, pleading 
 that an early day might be fixed for their mar- 
 riage. And he remembered, also, how prettily 
 Lily had yielded to him. " Only do not let it 
 be too soon," she had said. Now he must un- 
 say what he had then said. He must plead 
 against his own pleadings, and explain to her 
 that he desired to postpone the marriage rather 
 than to hasten it — a task wliich, I presume, 
 must always be an unpleas^t one for any man 
 
 inpleas^t oi 
 
58 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 engaged to be married. "I might as well do 
 it at once," he said to himself, as he bobbed his 
 head forward into his hands by way of return- 
 ing thanks for the termination of Mr. Boyce's 
 sermon. 
 
 As he had only three days left it was certain- 
 ly as well that he should do this at once. See- 
 ing that Lily had no fortune, she could not in 
 justice complain of a prolonged engagement. 
 That was the argument which he used in his 
 own mind. But he as often told himself that 
 she would have very great ground of complaint 
 if she were left for a day unnecessarily in doubt 
 as to this matter. Why had he rashly spoken 
 those hasty words to her in his love, betraying 
 himself into all manner of scrapes, as a school- 
 boy might do, or such a one as Johnny Eames ? 
 What an ass he had been not to have remem- 
 bered himself and to have been collected — not 
 to have bethought himself on the occasion of 
 all that might be due to Adolphus Crosbie! 
 And then the idea came upon him whether he 
 had not altogether made himself an ass in this 
 matter. And as he gave his arm to Lily out- 
 side the church-door he shrugged his shoulders 
 while making that reflection. "It is too late 
 now, "he said to himself, and then turned round 
 and made some sweet little loving speech to her. 
 Adolphus Crosbie was a clever man ; and he 
 meant also to be a true man, if only the tempta^ 
 tions to falsehood might not be too great for him. 
 
 "Lily," he said to her, "will you walk in 
 the fields after lunch ?" 
 
 Walk in the fields <vith him ! Of course she 
 would. There were only three days left, and 
 would .sh^ not give up to him every moment of 
 her time if he would accept of all her moments ? 
 And then they lunched at the Small House, 
 Mrs. Dale having promised to join the dinner- 
 party at the squire's table. The squire did not 
 eat any lunch, excusing himself on the plea 
 that lunch in itself was a bad thing. " He can 
 eat lunch at his own house," Mrs. Dale after- 
 ward said to Bell. "And I've often seen him 
 take a glass of sherry." While thinking of this 
 Mrs. Dale made her own dinner. If her broth- 
 er-in-law would not eat at her board neither 
 would she eat at his. 
 
 And then in a few minutes Lily had on her 
 hat, in place of that decorous, church-going 
 lionnet which Crosbie was wont to abuse with a 
 lover's privilege, feeling well assured that he 
 might say what he liked of the bonnet as long 
 as he would praise the hat. " Only three days," 
 she said, as she walked down with him across 
 the lawn at a quick pace. But she said it in a 
 voice which made no complaint — which seemed 
 to say simply this — that as the good time was 
 to be so short they must make the most of it. 
 And what compliment could be paid to a man 
 so sweet as that? What flattery could be more 
 gratifying ? All my earthly heaven is with you ; 
 and now, for the delight of these immediately 
 present months or so, there are left to me but 
 three days of this heaven ! Come, then ; I will 
 make the most of what happiness is given to 
 
 me. Crosbie felt it all as she felt it, and rec- 
 ognized the extent of the debt he owed her. 
 "I'll come down to them for a day at Christ- 
 mas, though it be only for a day," he said to 
 himself. Then he reflected that, as such was 
 his intention, it might be well for him to open 
 his present conversation with a promise to that 
 eifect. 
 
 "Yes, Lily; there are only three days left 
 now. But I wonder whether — I suppose you'll 
 all be at home at Christmas?" 
 
 " At home at Christmas ? — of course we shall 
 be at home. You don't mean to say you'll come 
 tons!" 
 
 "Well, I think I will, if you'll have me." 
 
 " Oh ! that will make such a difference. Let 
 me see. That will only be three months.' And 
 to have you here on Christmas Day ! I would 
 sooner have you then than on any other day in 
 the year." 
 
 ' ' It will only be for .one day, Lily. I shall 
 come to dinner on Christmas Eve, and must go 
 away the day after." 
 
 " But you will come direct to our house?" 
 
 " If you can spare me a room." 
 
 " Of course we can. So we could now. Only 
 when you came, you know — " Then she look- 
 ed up into his face and smiled. 
 
 ' ' When I came I was the squire's friend and 
 your cousin's rather than yours. But that's all 
 changed now." 
 
 " Yes ; you're my friend now — mine special- 
 ly. I'm to be now and always, your own special, 
 dearest friend — eh, Adolphus?" And then 
 she exacted from him the repetition of the 
 promise which he had so often given her. 
 
 By this time they had passed through the 
 grounds of the Great House and were in the 
 fields. ,"Lily," said he, speaking rather sud- 
 denly, and making her feel by his manner that 
 something of importance was to be said, "I 
 want to say a few words to you about — business." 
 And he gave a little laugh as he spoke the last 
 M'ord, making her fully understand that ho was 
 not quite at his ease. 
 
 " Of course I'll listen. And, Adolphus, pray 
 don't be afraid about me. What I mean is, 
 don't think that I can't bear cares and troubles. 
 I can bear any thing as long as you love me. I 
 say that because I'm afraid I seemed to complain 
 about your going. I didn't mean to." 
 
 "I never thought you complained, dearest. 
 Nothing can be better than you are at all times 
 and in every way. A man would be Very hard 
 to please if you didn't please him." 
 
 " If I can only please you — " 
 
 "You do please me in every thing. Dear 
 Lily, I think I found an angel when I found 
 you. But now about this business. Perhaps 
 I'd better tell you every thing." 
 
 " Oh yes ! tell me every thing." 
 
 "But then you mustn't misunderstand me. 
 And if I talk about money, you mustn't suppose 
 that it has any thing to do with my love for you." 
 
 "I wish for your sake that I wasn't such a 
 little pauper." 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 59 
 
 "What I mean to say is this, that if I seem 
 to be anxious about money, you must not sup- 
 pose that that anxiety bears any reference what- 
 ever to my affection for you. 1 should love you 
 just the same, and look forward just as much to 
 my happiness in marrying you, whether you 
 were rich or poor. You understand that?" 
 
 She did not quite understand him ; but she 
 merely pressed his arm so as to encourage him 
 to go on. She presumed that he intended to tell 
 her something as to their future mode of life — 
 something which he supposed it might not be 
 pleasant for her to hear, and she was determ- 
 ined to show him that she would receive it 
 pleasantly. 
 
 "You know," said he, "how anxious I 
 have been that our marriage should not be de- 
 layed. To me, of course, it must be every thing 
 now to call you my own as soon as possible." 
 In answer to which little declaratioi) of love she 
 merely pressed his arm again, the subject being 
 one on which she had not herself much to say. 
 
 " Of course I must be very anxious, but I 
 find it not so easy as I expected." 
 
 " You know what I said, Adolphus. I said 
 that I thought we had better wait. I'm sure 
 mamma thinks so. And if we can only see you 
 now and then — " 
 
 "That will be a matter of course. But, as I 
 was saying — Let me see. Yes — all that wait- 
 ing will be intolerable to me. It is such a bore 
 for a man when he has made up his mind on 
 such a matter as marriage not to make the 
 change at once, especially when he is going to 
 take to himself such a little angel as you are," 
 and as he spoke these loving words his arm was 
 again put round her waist; "but — " and then 
 he stopped. He wanted to make her understand 
 that this change of intention on his part was 
 caused by the unexpected misconduct of her 
 uncle. He desired that she should know ex- 
 actly how the matter stood ; that he had been 
 led to suppose that her uncle would give her 
 some small fortune; that he had been disap- 
 pointed, and had a right to feel the disappoints 
 ment keenly ; and that in consequence of this 
 blow to his expectations he must put off his mar- 
 riage. But he wished her also to understand, 
 at the same time, that this did not in the least 
 mar his love for her ; that he did not join her 
 at all in her uncle's, fault. All this he was anx- 
 ious to convey to her, but he did not know how 
 to get it said in a manner that would not be of- 
 fensive to her personally, and that should not 
 appear to accuse himself of sordid motives. He 
 had begun by declaring that he would tell her 
 all ; but sometimes it is not easy, that task of 
 telUng a person every thing. There are things 
 which will not get themselves told. 
 
 "You mean, dearest," said she, "that you 
 can not afford to marry at once." 
 
 "Yes; that is it. I had expected that I 
 should be able, but — " 
 
 Did any man in love ever yet find himself 
 able to tell the lady whom he loved that he was 
 very much disappointed on discovering that she 
 
 had got no money ? If so, his courage, I should 
 say, was greater than his love. Crosbie found 
 himself unable to do it, and thought himself 
 cruelly used because of the difficulty. The de- 
 lay to which he intended to subject her was oc- 
 casioned, as he felt, by the squire, and not by 
 himself. He was ready to do his part, if only 
 the squire had been willing to do the part which 
 properly belonged to him. The squire would 
 not; and, therefore, neither could he — not as 
 yet. Justice demanded that all this should be 
 understood ; bnt when he came to the telling 
 of it, he found that the story would not form 
 itself properly. He must let the thing go and 
 bear the injustice, consoling himself as best he 
 might by the reflection that he at least was be- 
 having well in the matter. 
 
 "It won't make me unhappy, Adolphus." 
 
 "Will it not?" said he. "As regards my- 
 self, I own that I can not bear the delay with so 
 much indifference." 
 
 "Nay, my love; but you should not misun- 
 derstand me," she said, stopping and facing him 
 on the path in which they were walking. "I 
 suppose I ought to protest, according to' the com- 
 mon rules, that I would rather wait. Young 
 ladies are expected to say so. If you were 
 pressing me to marry at once, I should say so, 
 no doubt. But now, as it is, I will be more 
 honest. I have only one wish in the world, 
 and that is to be your wife — to be able to share 
 every thing with you. The sooner we can be 
 together the better it will be — at any rate, for 
 me. There; will that satisfy you?" 
 
 "My own, own Lily!" 
 
 "Yes, your own Lily. You shall have no 
 cause to doubt me, dearest. But I do not ex- 
 pect that I am to have every thing exactly as I 
 want it. I say again that I shall not be unhap- 
 py in waiting. How can I be unhappy while I 
 feel certain of your love ? I was disappointed 
 just now when you said that you were going so 
 soon ; and I am afraid I showed it. But those 
 little things are more unendurable than the big 
 things." 
 
 " Yes ; that's very true." 
 
 "But there are three more days, and I mean 
 to enjoy them so much! And then you will 
 write to me: and you will come at Christmas. 
 And next year, when you have your holiday, 
 you will come down to us again ; will you not ?" 
 
 " You may be quite sure of that." 
 
 "And so the time will go by till it suits you 
 to come and take me. I shall not be unhappy." 
 
 "I, at any rate, shall be impatient." 
 
 " Ah, men always are impatient. It is one 
 of their privileges, I suppose. And I don't think 
 that a man ever has the same positive and com- 
 plete satisfaction in knowing that he is loved 
 which a girl feels. You are my bird that I 
 have shot with my own gun, and the assurance 
 of my success is sufficient for my happiness." 
 
 "You have bowled me over, and know that I 
 can't get up again." 
 
 ' ' I don't know about can't. I would let you 
 up quick enough if you wished it." 
 
60 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 How he made his loving assurance that he did 
 not wish it, never would nor could wish it, the 
 reader will readily understand. And then he 
 considered that he might as well leave all those 
 money questions as they now stood. His real 
 object had been to convince her that their joint 
 circumstances did not admit of an immediate 
 marriage ; and as to that she completely under- 
 stood him. I'erhaps, during the next three 
 days, some opportunity might arise for explain- 
 ing the whole matter to Mrs. Dale. At any 
 rate, he had declared his pwn purpose honestly, 
 and no one could complain of him. 
 
 On the following day they all rode over to 
 Guestwick together^the all consisting of the 
 two girls, with Bernard and Crosbie. Their 
 object was to pay two visits — one to their very 
 noble and highly exalted ally, the Lady Julia 
 De Guest ; and the other to their much hum- 
 bler and better known friend, Mrs. Eames. As 
 Guestwick Manor lay on their road into the 
 town, they performed the grander ceremony 
 the first. The present Earl De Guest, brother 
 of that Lady Eanny who ran away with Major 
 Dale, was an unmarried nobleman, who devoted 
 himself chiefly to the breeding of cattle. And 
 as he bred very good cattle, taking infinite satis- 
 faction in the employment, devoting all his ener- 
 gies thereto, and abstaining from all prominent- 
 ly evil courses, it should be acknowledged that 
 he was not a bad member of society. He was a 
 thorough-going old Tory, whose proxy was al- 
 ways in the hand of the leader of his party ; and 
 who seldom himself went near the metropolis, 
 unless called thither by some occasion of cattle- 
 showing. He was a short, stumpy man, with 
 red cheeks and a round face ; who was usually 
 to be seen till dinner-time dressed in a very old 
 shooting-coat, with breeches, gaiters, and very 
 thick shoes. He lived generally out of doors, 
 and was almost as great in the preserving of 
 game as in the breeding of oxen. He knew 
 every acre of his own estate, and every tree upon 
 it, as thoroughly as a lady knows the ornaments 
 in her drav,ing-room. There was no gap in a 
 fence of which he did not remember the exact 
 bearings, no path hither or thither as to which 
 he could not tell the why and the wherefore. 
 He had been in his earlier years a poor man as 
 regarded his income — very poor, seeing that he 
 was an earl. But he was not at present by any 
 means an impoverished man, having been taught 
 a lesson by the miseries of his father and grand- 
 father, and having learned to live within his 
 means. Now, as he was going down the vale 
 of years, men said that he was becoming rich, 
 and that he had ready money to spend — a posi- 
 tion in which no Lord De Guest had found him- 
 self for many generations back. His father and 
 grandfather had been known as spendthrifts; 
 and now men said that this earl was a miser. 
 
 There was not much of nobility in his appear- 
 ance ; but they greatly mistook Lord De Guest 
 who conceived that on that account his pride of 
 place was not dear to his soul. His peerage 
 dated back to the time of King John, and there 
 
 were but three lords in England whose patents 
 had been confen-ed before his own. He knew 
 what privileges were due to him on behalf of his 
 blood, and was not disposed to abate one jot of 
 them. He was not loud in demanding them. 
 As he went through the world he sent no trum- 
 peters to the right or left, proclaiming that the 
 Earl De Guest was coming. When he spread 
 his board for his friends, which he did but on 
 rare occasions, he entertained them simply, with 
 a mild, tedious, old-fashioned courtesy. We 
 may say that, if properly treated, the earl never 
 walked over any body. But he could, if ill-, 
 treated, be gi-andly indignant ; and if attacked, 
 could hold his own against all the world. He 
 knew himself to be every inch an earl, pottering 
 about after his oxen with his muddy gaiters and 
 red cheeks, as much as though he were glitter- 
 ing with stars in courtly royal ceremonies among 
 his peers at Westminster — ay, more an earl 
 than any of those who use their nobility for pa- 
 geant purposes. Woe be to him who should 
 mistake that old coat for a badge of rural degra- 
 dation ! Now and again some unlucky wight 
 did make such mistake, and had to do his pen- 
 ance very uncomfortably. 
 
 With the carl lived a maiden sistei-, the Lady 
 Julia. Bernard Dale's father had, in early life, 
 run away with one sister, but no suitor had been 
 fortunate enough to induce the Lady Julia to 
 run with him. Therefore she still lived, in 
 maiden blessedness, as mistress of Guestwick 
 Manor ; and, as such, had no mean opinion of 
 the high position which destiny had called upon 
 her to fill. She was a tedious, dull, virtuous 
 old woman, who gave herself infinite credit for 
 having remained all her days in the home of her 
 youth — probably forgetting, in her present ad- 
 vanced years, that her temptations to leave it 
 had not been strong or numerous. She gener- 
 ally spoke of her sister Fanny with some little 
 contempt, as though that poor lady had degraded 
 herself in marrying a younger brother. She 
 was as proud of her own position as was the earl 
 her brother, but her pride was maintained with 
 more of outward show and less of inward nobil- 
 ity. It was hardly enough for her that the 
 world should know that she was a De Guest, 
 and therefore she had assumed little pompous 
 ways and certain airs of condescension which 
 did not make her popular with her neighbors. 
 
 The intercourse between Guestwick Manor 
 and Allington was not very frequent or very cor- 
 dial. Soon after the running away of the Lady 
 Fanny, the two families had agreed to acknowl- 
 edge their connection with each other, and to 
 let it be known by the world that they were on 
 friendly terms. Either that course was neces- 
 sary to them, or the other course, of letting it be 
 known that they were enemies. Friendship was 
 the less troublesome, and therefore the two fam- 
 ilies called on each other from time to time, and 
 gave each other dinners about once a year. The 
 earl regarded the squire as a man who had de- 
 serted his politics, and had thereby forfeited the 
 respect due to him as a hereditary land mag- 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 61 
 
 nate; and the squire was wont to belittle the 
 earl as one who understood nothing of the outer 
 world. At Guestwick Manor Bernard was to 
 some extent a favorite. He was actually a rel- 
 ative, having in his veins blood of the De Guests, 
 and was not the less a favorite because he was 
 the heir to Allington, and because the blood of 
 the Dales was older even than that of the noble 
 family to which he was allied. When Bernard 
 should come to be the squire, then indeed there 
 might be cordial relations between Guestwick 
 Manor and Allington ; unless, indeed, the earl's 
 heir and the squire's heir should have some fresh 
 cause of ill-will between themselves. 
 
 They found Lady Julia sitting in her draw- 
 ing-room alone, and introduced to her Mr. Cros- 
 bie in due form. The fact of Lily's engagement 
 was of course known at the Manor, and it was 
 quite understood that her intended husband was 
 now brought over that he might be looked at and 
 approved. Lady Julia made a very elaborate 
 Courtesy, and expressed a hope that her young 
 friend might be made happy in that sphere of 
 life to which it had pleased God to call her. 
 
 " I hope I shall. Lady Julia," said Lily, with 
 a little laugh ; "at any rate I mean to try." 
 
 " We all try, my dear, but many of us fail to 
 try with sufficient energy of purpose. It is only 
 by doing our duty that we can hope to be happy, 
 whether in single life or in married." 
 
 " Miss Dale means to be a dragon of perfec- 
 tion in the performance of hers, " said Crosbie. 
 
 "A dragon!" said Lady Julia. "No; I 
 hope Miss Lily Dale ^^ill never become a drag- 
 on." And then she turned to her nephew. It 
 may be as well to say at once that she never for- 
 gave Mr. Crosbie the freedom of the expression 
 which he had used. He had been in the draw- 
 ing-room of Guestwick Manor for two minutes 
 only, and it did not become him to talk about 
 dragons. " Bernard," she said, " I heard from 
 your mother yesterday. I am afraid she does 
 not seem to be very strong." And then there 
 was a little convei-sation, not very interesting in 
 its nature, between the aunt and the nephew as 
 to the general health of Lady Fanny. 
 
 " I didn't know my aunt was so unwell, " said 
 Bell. 
 
 " She isn't ill," said Bernard. " She never 
 is ill ; but then she is never well." 
 
 "Your aunt" — said Lady Julia, seeming to 
 put a touch of sarcasm into the tone of her voice 
 as she repeated the word — "your aunt has never 
 enjoyed good health since she left this house ; 
 but that'is a long time ago." 
 
 "A veiy long time," said Crosbie, who was 
 not accustomed to be left in his chair silent. 
 " You, Dale, at any rate, can hardly remember 
 it." 
 
 "But I can remember it," said Lady Julia, 
 gathering herself up. ' ' I can remember when 
 my sister Eanny was recognized as the beauty 
 of the country. It is a dangerous gift, that of 
 beauty." 
 
 ' ' Very dangerous, " said Crosbie. Then Lily 
 laughed again, and Lady Julia became more 
 
 angry than ever. What odious man was this 
 whom her neighbors were going to take into 
 their very bosom ! But she had heard of Mr. 
 Crosbie before, and Mr. Crosbie also had heard 
 of her. 
 
 "By-the-by, Lady Julia," said he, "I think 
 I know some very dear friends of yours. " 
 
 " Very dear friends is a very strong word. I 
 have not many very dear friends." 
 
 ' ' I mean the Gazebees. I have heard Mor- 
 timer Gazehee and Lady Amelia speak of you." 
 
 Whereupon Lady Julia confessed that she 
 did know the Gazebees. Mr. Gazebee, she said, 
 was a man who in early life had wanted many 
 advantages, but still he was a very estimable 
 person. He was now in Parliament, and she 
 understood that he was making himself useful. 
 She had not quite approved of Lady Amelia's 
 marriage at the time, and so she had told her 
 very old friend Lady De Courcy ; but — And 
 then Lady Julia said many words in praise of 
 Mr. Gazebee, which seemed to amount to this : 
 that he was an excellent sort of man, with a full 
 conviction of the too great honor done to him by 
 the earl's daughter who had married him, and a 
 complete consciousness that even that marriage 
 had not put him on a par with his wife's rela- 
 tions, or even,with his wife. And then it came 
 out that Lady Julia in the course of the next 
 week was going to meet the Gazebees at Courcy 
 Castle. 
 
 "I am delighted to think that I shall have 
 the pleasure of seeing you there," said Cros- 
 bie. 
 
 "Indeed!" said Lady Julia. 
 
 ' ' I am going to Courcy on Wednesday. That, 
 I fear, will be too early to allow of my being of 
 any service to your ladyship. " 
 
 Lady Julia drew herself up, and declined the 
 escort which Mr. Crosbie had seemed to oifer. 
 It grieved her to find that Lily Dale's future 
 husband was an intimate friend of her friend's, 
 and it especially grieved her to find that he was 
 now going to that friend's house. It was a grief 
 to her, and she showed that it was. It also 
 grieved Crosbie to find that Lady Julia was to 
 be a fellow-guest with himself at Courcy Castle ; 
 but he did not show it. He expressed nothing 
 but smiles and civil self-congi-atulation on the 
 matter, pretending that he would have much 
 delight in again meeting Lady Julia; but, in 
 truth, he would have given much could he have 
 invented any manoeuvre by which her ladyship 
 might have been kept at home. 
 
 ' ' What a horrid old woman she is ! " said Lily, 
 as they rode back down the avenue. " I beg 
 your pardon, Bernard ; for, of course, she is 
 your aunt." 
 
 "Yes, she is my aunt; and though I am not 
 very fond of her, I deny that she is a horrid old 
 woman. She never murdered any body, or 
 robbed any body, or stole away any other wo- 
 man's lover." 
 
 "I should think not," said Lily. 
 
 ' ' She says her prayers earnestly, I have no 
 doubt," continued Bernard, "and gives away 
 
62 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 money to the poor, and would Bacrifiee to- 
 moiTow any desire of her own to her brother's 
 wish. I acknowledge that she is ugly, and 
 pompous, and that, being a woman, she ought 
 not to have such a long black beard on her 
 upper lip. " 
 
 " I don't care a bit about her beard," said 
 Lily. "But why did she tell me to do my 
 .duty? I didn't go there to have a sermon 
 preached to me." 
 
 "And why did she talk about beauty being 
 dangerous?" said Bell. "Of course, we all 
 knew what she ftieant." 
 
 ' ' I didn't know at all what she meant, " said 
 Lily ; " and I don't know now." 
 
 "I think she's a charming woman, and I 
 shall be especially civil to her at Lady Do Cour- 
 cy's," said Crosbie. 
 
 And in this way, saying hard things of the 
 poor old spinster whom they had left, they made 
 their way into Guestwick, and again dismounted 
 at Mrs. Eames's door. 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 A VISIT TO GUESTWICK, 
 
 As the party from Allington rode up the 
 narrow High Street of Guestwick, and across 
 tlie market square toward the small, respecta- 
 ble, but very dull row of new houses in which 
 Mrs. Eames lived, the people of Guestwick were 
 all aware that Miss Lily Dale was escorted by 
 her future husband. The opinion that she had 
 been a very fortunate girl was certainly general 
 among the Guestwickians, though it was not al- 
 ways expressed in open or generous terms. "It 
 
 was a great match for her," some said, but shook 
 their heads at the same time, hinting that Mi-. 
 Crosbie's life in London was not all that it 
 should be, and suggesting that she might have 
 been more safe had she been content to bestow 
 herself upon some country neighbor of less dan- 
 gerous pretensions. Others declared that it was 
 no such great match after all. They knew his 
 income to a penny, and believed that the young 
 people would find it very difficult to keep a house 
 in London unless the old squire intended to as- 
 sist them. But, nevertheless, Lily was envied 
 as she rode through the town with her handsome 
 lover by her side. 
 
 And she was very happy. I will not deny 
 that she had some feeling of triumphant satis- 
 faction in the knowledge that she was envied. 
 Such a feeling on her part was natural, and is 
 natural to all men and women who are con- 
 scious that they have done well in the adjust- 
 ment of their own affairs. As she herself had 
 said, he was her bird, the spoil of her own 
 gun, the product of such capacity as she had 
 in her, on which she was to live, and, if pos- 
 sible, to thrive during the remainder of 
 her life. Lily fully recognized the im- 
 portance of the thing she was doing, and, 
 in soberest guise, had thought much of 
 this matter of marriage. But the more 
 she thought of it the more satisfied she 
 was that she was doing well. And yet 
 she knew that there was a risk. Hfe who 
 was now every thing to her might die ; 
 nay, it was possijile that he might be 
 other than she thought him to be ; that 
 lie might neglect her, desert her, or mis- 
 use her. But she had resolved to trust 
 in every thing, and having so trusted she 
 would not provide for herself any possi- 
 bility of retreat. Her ship should go out 
 into the middle ocean, beyond all ken of 
 the secure port from which it had sailed ; 
 ter army should fight its battle with no 
 1 ope of other safety than that which vic- 
 )ry gives. All the world might know 
 hat she loved him if all the world chose 
 to inquire about the matter. She tii- 
 umphed in her lover, and did not deny 
 even to herself that she was triumphant. 
 Mrs. Eames was delighted to see them. 
 It was so good m Mr. Crosbie to come 
 over and call upon such a poor, forlorn 
 woman as her, and so good in Captain 
 Dale; so good also in the dear girls, who, at 
 the present moment, had so much to make them 
 happy at home at Allington ! Little things, ac- 
 counted as bare civilities by others, were esteem- 
 ed as great favors by Mrs Eames. 
 
 " And dear Mrs. Dale ? I hope she was not 
 fatigued when we kept her up the other night 
 so unconscionably late?" Bell and Lily both 
 assured her that their mother was none the worse 
 for what she had gone through ; and then Mrs. 
 Eames got up and left the room, with the de- 
 clared purpose of looking for John and Mary, 
 but bent, in truth, on the production of some 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 63 
 
 cake and sweet wine which she kept under lock 
 and key in the little parlor. 
 
 " Don't let's stay here very long, " whispered 
 Crosbie. 
 
 "No, not very long," said Lily. " But when 
 you come to see my friends you mustn't be in a 
 hurry, Mr. Crosbie." 
 
 " He had his turn with Lady Julia," said 
 Bell, "and we must have ours now." 
 
 "At any rate, Mrs. Eames won't tell us to 
 do our duty and to beware of being too beauti- 
 ful," said Lily. 
 
 Mary and John came into the room before 
 their mother returned ; then came Mrs. Eames, 
 and a few minutes afterward the cake and wine 
 arrived. It certainly was rather dull, as none 
 of the party seemed to be at their ease. The 
 grandeur of Mr. Crosbie was too great for Mrs, 
 Eames and her daughter, and John was almost 
 silenced by the misery of his position. He had 
 not yet answered Miss Roper's letter, nor had 
 he even made up his mind whether he would 
 answer it or no. And then the sight of Lily's 
 happiness did not fill him with all that friendly 
 joy which he should perhaps have felt as the 
 friend of her childhood. To tell the truth, he 
 hated Crosbie, and so he had told himself; and 
 had so told his sister also very frequently since 
 the day of the party. 
 
 "1 tell you what it is, Molly," he had said, 
 " if there was any way of doing it, I'd iight that 
 man." 
 
 " What ! and make Lily wretched ?" 
 
 " She'll never be happy with him. I'm sure 
 she won't. I don't want to do her any harm, 
 but yet I'd like to fight that man — if I only knew 
 how to manage it." And then he bethought 
 himself that if they could both be slaughtered in 
 such an encounter it would be the only fitting 
 termination to the present state of things. In 
 that way, too, there would be an escape from 
 Amelia, and, at the present moment, he saw 
 none other. 
 
 When he entered the room he shook hands 
 with all the party from Allington, but, as he told 
 his sister afterward, his flesh crept when he 
 touched Crosbie. Crosbie, as he contemplated 
 the Eames family sitting stiff and ill at ease in 
 their own drawing-room chairs, made up his 
 mind that it would be well that his wife should 
 see as little of John Eames as might be when 
 she came to London — not that he was in any 
 way jealous of her lover He had learned every 
 thing from Lily — all, at least, that Lily knew— 
 and regarded the matter rather as a good joke. 
 "Don't see him too often," he had said to her, 
 "for fear he should make an ass of himself." 
 Lily had told him every thing — all that she could 
 tell ; but yet he did not in the least comprehend 
 that Lily had, in truth, a warm affection for the 
 young man whom he despised. 
 
 "'rhank you, no," said Crosbie. "I never 
 do take wine in the middle of the day . " 
 
 " But a bit of cake ?" And Mrs. Eames by 
 her look implored him to do her so much honor. 
 She implored Captain Dale also, but they were 
 
 both inexorable. I do not know that the two 
 girls were at all more inclined to eat and drink 
 than the two men ; but they understood that 
 Mrs. Eames would be broken-hearted if no one 
 partook of her delicacies. The little sacrifices 
 of society are all made by women, as are also 
 the great sacrifices of life. A man who is good 
 for any thing is always ready for his duty, and 
 so is a good woman always ready for a sacrifice. 
 
 "We really must go now," said Bell, "be- 
 cause of the horses." And under this excuse 
 they got away. "You will come over before 
 you go back to London, John?" said Lily, as 
 he came out with the intention of helping her 
 mount, from which purpose, however, he was 
 forced to recede by the iron will of Mr. Crosbie. 
 
 "Yes, I'll come over again — before I go. 
 Good-by." 
 
 "Good-by, John," said Bell. "Good-by, 
 Eames," said Captain Dale. Crosbie, as he 
 seated himself in the saddle, made the very 
 slightest sign of recognition, to which his rival 
 would not condescend to pay any attention. 
 " I'll manage to have a fight with him in some 
 way, " said Eames to himself as he walked back 
 through the passage of his mother's house. And 
 Crosbie, as he settled his feet in the stirrups, 
 felt that he disliked the young man more and 
 more. It would be monstrous to suppose that 
 there could be aught of jealousy in the feeling; 
 and yet he did dislike him very strongly, and 
 felt almost angry with Lily for asking him to 
 come again to Allington. " I must put an end 
 to all that," he said to himself as he rode silent- 
 ly out of town. 
 
 "You must not snub my friends,- Sir," said 
 Lil)', smiling as she spokcj but yet with some- 
 thing of earnestness in her voice. They were 
 out of the town by this time, and Crosbie had 
 hardly uttered a word since they had left Mrs. 
 Eames's door. They were now on the high-road, 
 and Bell and Bernard Dale were somewliat in 
 advance of them. 
 
 "I never snub any body," said Crosbie, petu- 
 lantly ; ' ' that is, unless they have absolutely de- 
 served snubbing." 
 
 "And have I deserved it? Because I seem 
 to have got it," said Lily. 
 
 " Nonsense, Lily. I never snubbed you yet, 
 and I don't think it likely that I shall begin. 
 But you ought not to accuse me of not being 
 civil to your friends, In the first place, I an* as 
 civil to them as my nature will allow me to be. 
 And, in the second place — " 
 
 " Well; in the second place — ?" 
 
 " I am not quite sure that you are very wise 
 to encourage that young man's — friendship just 
 at present." 
 
 " That means, I suppose, that I am very 
 wrong to do so ?" 
 
 "No, dearest, it does not mean that. If I 
 meant so I would tell you so honestly. I mean 
 just what I say. There can, I suppose, be no 
 doubt that he has filled himself with some kind 
 of romantic attachment for you, a foolish kind 
 of love which I don't suppose he ever expected 
 
64 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 to gratify, but the idea of which lends a sort of 
 grace to his life. When he meets some young 
 woman fit to be his wife he will forget all about 
 it, but till then he will go about fancying him- 
 self a despairing lover. And then such a young 
 man as John Eames is very apt to talk of his 
 fancies. " 
 
 " I don't believe for a moment that he would 
 mention my name to any one." 
 
 "But, Lily, perhaps I may know more of 
 young men than you do." 
 
 ' ' Yes, of course you do. " 
 
 ' ' And I can assure you that they are general- 
 ly too well inclined to make free with the names 
 of girls whom they think that they like. You 
 must not be surprised if I am unwilling that any 
 man should make free with your name." 
 
 After this Lily was silent for a minute or two. 
 She felt that an injustice was being done to her, 
 and she was not inclined to put up with it, but 
 she could not quite see where the injustice lay. 
 A great deal was owing from her to Crosbie. 
 In very much she was bound to yield to him, 
 and she was anxious to do on his behalf even 
 more than her duty. But yet she had a strong 
 conviction that it would not be well that she 
 should give way to him in every thing. She 
 wished to think as he thought as far as possible, 
 but she could not say that she agreed with him 
 when she knew that she differed from him. 
 John Eames was an old friend whom she could 
 not abandon, and so much at the present time 
 she felt herself obliged to say. 
 
 "But, Adolphus— " 
 
 "Well, dearest?" 
 
 "You would not wish me to be unkind to so 
 very old a friend as John Eames? I have 
 known him all my life, and we have all of us 
 bad a very great regard for the whole family. 
 His fatherwas my uncle's mostparticular friend." 
 
 "I think, Lily, you must understand what I 
 mean. I don't want you to quarrel with any 
 of them, or to be what you call unkind. But 
 you need not give special and pressing invita- 
 tions to this young man to come and see you 
 before he goes back to London, and then to 
 come and see you directly you get to London. 
 You tell me that he has some kind of romantic 
 idea of being in love with you ; of being in de- 
 spair because you are not in love with him. It's 
 all great nonsense, no doubt ; but it seems to me 
 thit, under such circumstances, you'd better — ■ 
 just leave him alone." 
 
 Again Lily was silent. These were her three 
 last days, in which it was her intention to be 
 especially happy, but, above all things-, to make 
 liim especially happy. On no account would 
 slio say to him sharp words, or encourage in her 
 own heart a feeling of animosity against him, 
 and yet she believed him to be wrong; and, so 
 believing, could hardly bring herself to bear the 
 injury. Such was her nature, as a Dale. And 
 let it be remembered that vei-y many who can 
 devote themselves for great sacrifices, can not 
 bring themselves to the endurance of little in- 
 juries. Lily could have given up any gratifica- 
 
 tion for her lover, but she could not allow her- 
 self to have been in the wrong, believing herself 
 to have been in the right. 
 
 "I have asked him now, and he must come,'' 
 she said. 
 
 "But do not press him to come any more." 
 
 "Certainly not, after what you have said, 
 Adolphus. If he comes over to Allington, he 
 will see me in mamma's house, to which he has 
 always been made welcome by her. Of course, 
 I understand perfectly — " 
 
 " You understand wliat, Lily ?" 
 
 But she had stopped herself, fearing that she 
 might say that which would be offensive to him, 
 if she continued. 
 
 " What is it you understand, Lily?" 
 
 ' ' Do not press me to go on, Adolphus. As far 
 as I can, I will do all that you want me to do." 
 
 " You meant to say that when you find your- 
 self an inmate of my house, as a matter of 
 course you could not ask your own friends to 
 come and see you. Was that gracious?" 
 
 " Whatever I may have meant to say, I did 
 not say that. Nor, in truth, did I mean it. 
 Pray don't go on about it now. These are to 
 be our last days, you know, and we shouldn't 
 waste them by talking of things that are un- 
 pleasant. After all, poor Johnny Eames is no- 
 thing to me ; nothing, nothing. How can any 
 one be any thing to me when I think of you ?" 
 
 But even this did not bring Crosbie back at 
 once into a pleasant humor. Had Lily yielded 
 to him, and confessed that he was right, he 
 would have made himself at once as pleasant as 
 the sun in May. But this she had not done. 
 She had simply abstained from her argument 
 because she did not choose to be vexed, and had 
 declared her continued purpose of seeing Eames 
 on his promised visit. Crosbie would have had 
 her acknowledge herself wrong, and would have 
 delighted in the privilege of forgiving her. But 
 Lily Dale was one who did not greatly relish 
 forgiveness, or any necessity of being forgiven. 
 So they rode on, if not in silence, without much 
 joy in their conversation. It was now late on 
 the Monday afternoon, and Crosbie was to go 
 early on the Wednesday morning. What if 
 these tliree last days should come to be marred 
 with such terrible drawbacks as these ! 
 
 Bernard Dale had not spoken a word to his 
 cousin of his suit since they had been interrupt- 
 ed by Crosbie and Lily as they were lying on 
 the bank by the ha-ha. He had danced with 
 her again and again at Mrs. Dale's party, and 
 had seemed to revert to his old modes of con- 
 versation without difficulty. Bell, therefore, had 
 believed the matter to be over, and was thank- 
 ful to her cousin, declaring within her own bo- 
 som that the whole matter should be treated by 
 her as though it had never happened. To no 
 one — not even to her mother — would she tell it. 
 To such reticence she bound herself for his sake, 
 feeling that he would be best pleased that it 
 should be so. But now, as they rode on togeth- 
 er, far in advance of the other couple, he again 
 returned to the subject. 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 65 
 
 "Bell," said he, "am I to have any hope?" 
 
 "Any hope as to what, Bernard ?" 
 
 "I hardly know whether a man is bound to 
 take a single answer on such a subject. But 
 this I know, that, if a man's heart is concerned, 
 he is not very willing to do so." 
 
 ' ' When that answer has been given honestly 
 and truly — " 
 
 "Oh,, no doubt. I don't at all suppose that 
 you were dishonest or false when you refused to 
 allow me to speak to you." 
 
 " But, Bernard, I did not refuse to allow you 
 to speak to me. " 
 
 "Something very like it. But, however, I 
 have no doubt you were true enough. But, 
 Bell, why should it be so ? If you were in love 
 with any one else I could understand it." 
 
 " I am not in love with any one else.'' 
 
 "Exactly. And there are so many reasons 
 why you and I should join our fortunes to- 
 gether." > 
 
 " It can not be a question of fortune, Bernard." 
 
 "Do listen to me. Do let me speak, at any 
 rate. I presume I may at least suppose that 
 you do not dislike me." 
 
 "Oh no." 
 
 "And though you might not be willing to ac- 
 cept any man's hand merely on a question of 
 fortune, surely the fact that our marriage would 
 be in every way suitable as regards money should 
 not set you against it. Of my own love for you 
 I will not speak farther, as I do not doubt that 
 you believe what I say ; but should you not 
 question your own feelings very closely before 
 you determine to oppose the wishes of all those 
 who are nearest to you ?" 
 
 "Do you mean mamma, Bernard?" 
 
 "Not her especially, though I can not but 
 think she would like a marriage that would 
 keep all the family together, and would give 
 you an equal claim to the property to that which 
 I have." 
 
 "That would not have a, feather's- weight 
 with mamma." 
 
 " Have you asked her ?" 
 
 "No, I have mentioned the matter to no 
 one." 
 
 "Then you can not know. And as to my 
 uncle, I have the means of knowing that it is 
 the great desire of his life. I must say that I 
 think some consideration for him should induce 
 you to pause before you give a final answer, even 
 though no consideration for me should have any 
 weight with you." 
 
 "I would do more for you than for him — 
 much more." 
 
 "Then do this for me. Allow me to think 
 that I have not yet had an answer to my pro- 
 posal; give me to this day month, to Christ- 
 mas ; till any time that you like to name, so 
 that I may think that it is not yet settled, and 
 may tell Uncle Christopher that such is the 
 case. " 
 
 "Bernard, it would be useless." 
 
 ' ' It would at any rate show him that you are 
 willing to think of it." 
 
 " But I am not willing to think of it ; not in 
 that way. I do know my own mind thorough- 
 ly, and I should be very wrong if I were to de- 
 ceive you." 
 
 " And you wish me to give that as your only 
 answer to my uncle ?" 
 
 "To tell the truth, Bernard, I do not much 
 care what you may say to my uncle in this mat- 
 ter. He can have no right to inteifere in the 
 disposal of my hand, and therefore I need not 
 regard his wishes on the subject. I will ex- 
 plain to you in one word what my feelings are 
 about it. I would accept no man in opposition 
 to mamma's wishes ; but not even for her could 
 I accept any man in opposition to my own. 
 But as concerns my uncle, I do not feel myself 
 called on to consult him in any way on such a 
 matter. " 
 
 ' ' And yet he is the head of our family. " 
 
 " I don't care any thing about the family — 
 not in that way." 
 
 "And he has been very generous to yon all." 
 
 "That I deny. He has not been generous 
 to mamma. He is very hard and ungenerous to 
 mamma. He lets her have that house because 
 he is anxious that the Dales should seem to be 
 respectable before the world ; and she lives in 
 it, because she thinks it better for us that she 
 should do so. If I had my way she should 
 leave it to-morrow — or, at any rate, as soon as 
 Lily is married. I would much sooner go into 
 Guestwiek, and live as the Eames do. " 
 
 " I think you are ungrateful. Bell." 
 
 "No; I am not ungrateful. And as to con- 
 sulting, Bernard, I should be much more in- 
 clined to consult you than him about my mar- 
 riage. If you would let me look on you alto- 
 gether as a brother, I should think little of 
 promising to marry no one whom you did not 
 approve. " 
 
 But such an agreement between them would 
 by no means have> suited Bernard's views. He 
 had thought, some four or five weeks back, that 
 he was not personally very anxious for this 
 match. He had declared to himself that he 
 liked his cousin well enough ; that it would be 
 a good thing for him to settle himself; that his 
 uncle was reasonable in his wishes and suffi- 
 ciently liberal in his offers ; and that, therefore, 
 he would marry. It had hardly occurred to him 
 as probable that his cousin would reject so eligi- 
 ble an offer, and had certainly never occurred to 
 him that he would have to suffer any thing from 
 such rejection. He had entertained none of 
 that feeling of which lovers speak when they de- 
 clare that they are staking their all upon the 
 hazard of a die. It had not seemed to him 
 that he was staking any thing as he gently told 
 his tale of languid love, lying on the turf by 
 the ha-ha. He had not regarded the possibility 
 of disappointment, of sorrow, and of a deeply 
 vexed mind. He would have felt but little tri- 
 umph if accepted, and had not thought that he 
 could be humiliated by any rejection. In this 
 frame of mind he had gone to his work; but 
 now he found, to his own surprise, that this 
 
66 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 girl's answer had made him absolutely unhappy. 
 Having expressed a wish for this thing, the 
 very expression of the wish made him long to 
 possess it. He found, as he rode along silently 
 by her side, that he was capable of more earn- 
 estness of desire than he had known himself to 
 possess. He was at this moment unhappy, dis- 
 appointed, anxious, distrustful of the future, 
 and more intent on one special toy than he had 
 ever been before, even as a boy. He was vexed, 
 and felt himself to be sore at heart. He looked 
 round at her, as she sat silent, quiet, and some- 
 what sad upon her pony, and declared to him- 
 self that she was very beautiful — that she was a 
 thing to be gained if still there might be the 
 possibility of gaining her. He felt that he really 
 loved her, and yet he was almost angry with 
 himself for so feeling. Why had he subjected 
 himself to this numbing weakness ? His love 
 had never given him any pleasure. Indeed he 
 had never hitherto acknowledged it ; but now he 
 was driven to do so on finding it to be the source 
 of trouble and pain. I think it is open to us to 
 doubt whether, even yet, Bernard Dale was in 
 love with his cousin ; whether he was not rather 
 in love with his own desire. But against himself 
 he found a verdict that he was in love, and was 
 angry with himself and with all the world. 
 
 "Ah, Bell!" he said, coming close up to her, 
 "I wish you could understand how I love you." I 
 And, as he spoke, his cousin unconsciously rec- 
 ognized more of affection in his tone, and less 
 of that spirit of bargaining which had seemed to 
 pei-vade all his former pleas, than she had ever 
 found before. 
 
 " And do I not love you ? Have I not offered 
 to be to you in all respects as a sister ?" 
 
 "That is nothing. Such an offer to me now 
 is simply laughing at me. Bell, I tell you what 
 — I will not give you up. The fact is, you do not 
 know me yet — not know me as you must know 
 any man before you choose him for your hus- 
 band. You and Lily are not alike in this. 
 You are cautious, doubtful of yourself, and per- 
 haps, also, somewhat doubtful of others. My 
 heart is set upon this, and I shall still try to 
 succeed." 
 
 "Ah, Bernard, do not say that ! Believe me, 
 when I tell you that it can never be. " 
 
 " No : I will not believe you. I will not allow 
 myself to be made utterly wretched. I tell you 
 fairly that I will not believe you. I may surely 
 hope if I choose to hope. No, Bell, I will never 
 give you up — unless,- indeed, I should see you be- 
 come another man's wife." 
 
 As he said this they all turned in through the 
 squire's gate, and rode up to the yard in which it 
 was their habit to dismount from their horses. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 JOHN BAMES TAKES A WALK. 
 
 John Eames watched the party of cavaliers 
 as they rode away from his mother's door, and 
 
 then started upon a solitary walk, as soon as the 
 noise of the horses' hoofs had passed away out 
 of the street. He was by no means happy in his 
 mind as he did so. Indeed, he was overwhelmed 
 with care and trouble, and as he went along very 
 gloomy thoughts passed through his mind. Had 
 he not better go to Australia, or Vancouver's 
 
 Island, or ? I will not name the places 
 
 which the poor fellow suggested to himself as 
 possible terminations of the long journeys which 
 he might not improbably be called upon to take. 
 That very day, just before the Dales had come 
 in, he had received a second letter from his dar- 
 ling Amelia, written very closely upon the heels 
 of the first. Why had he not answered her? 
 Was he ill ? Was he untrue ? No ; she would 
 not believe that, and therefore fell back upon the 
 probability of his illness. If it was so, she would 
 rush down to see him. Nothing on earth should 
 keep her from the bedside of her betrothed. If 
 she did not get an answer from her beloved John 
 by return of post, she would he down with him 
 at Guestwick by the express train. Here was a 
 position for such a young man as John Eames ! 
 And of Amelia Roper we may say that she was 
 a young woman who would not give up her 
 game as long as the least chance remained of 
 her winning it. " I must go somewhere," John 
 said to himself, as he put on his slouched hat 
 and wandered forth through the back streets of 
 Guestwick. What would his mother say when 
 she heard of Amelia Roper? What would she 
 say when she saw her? 
 
 He walked away toward the Manor, so that 
 he might roam about the Guestwick woods in 
 solitude. There was a path with a stile, lead- 
 ing off from the high-road, about half a mile be- 
 yond the lodges through which the Dales had 
 ridden up to the house, and by this path John 
 Eames turned in, and went away till he had left 
 the Manor-house behind him, and was in the 
 centre of the Guestwick woods. He knew the 
 whole ground well, having roamed there ever 
 since he was first allowed to go forth upon his 
 walks alone. He had thought of Lily Dale by 
 the hour together, as he had lost himself among 
 the oak-trees ; but in those former days he had 
 thought of her with some pleasure. Now he 
 could only think of her as of one gone from him 
 forever ; and then he had also to think of her 
 whom he had taken to himself in Lily's place. 
 
 Young men, very young men — men so young 
 that it may be almost a question whether or no 
 they have as yet reached their manhood — are 
 more inclined to be earnest and thoughtful when 
 alone than they ever are when with others, even 
 though those others be their elders. I fancy 
 that, as we grow old ourselves, we are apt to 
 forget that it was so with us ; and, forgetting it, 
 we do not believe that it is so with our children. 
 We constantly talk of the thoughtlessness of 
 youth. I do not know whether we might not 
 more appropriately speak of its thoughtfulness. 
 It is, however, no doubt, true that thought will 
 not at once produce wisdom. It may almost be 
 a question whether such wisdom as many of us 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 67 
 
 have in oiir mature years has not come from the 
 dying out of the power of temptation, rather than 
 as the I'esults of thought and resolution. Men, 
 full fledged and at their work, are, for the most 
 part, too busy for much thought ; but lads, on 
 whom the work of the world has not yet fallen 
 with all its pressure — they have time for think- 
 ing. 
 
 And thus John Eames was thoughtful. They 
 who knew him best accounted him to be a gay, 
 good-hearted, somewhat reckless young man, 
 open to temptation, but also open to good im- 
 pressions ; as to whom no great success could be 
 predicated, but of whom his friends might fairly 
 hope that he might so live as to bring upon them 
 no disgrace and not much trouble. But, above 
 all things, they would have called him thought- 
 less. In so calling him, they judged him wrong. 
 He was ever thinking — thinking much of the 
 world as it appeared to him, and of himself as 
 he appeared to the world : and thinking, also, 
 of things beyond the world. What was to be 
 his fate here and hereafter ? Lily Dale was gone 
 from him, and Amelia Eoper was hanging round 
 his neck like a millstone ! What, under such cir- 
 cumstances, was to be his fate here and here- 
 after? 
 
 We may say that the difficulties in his way 
 were not as yet very great. As to Lily, Indeed, 
 he had no room for hope ; but, then, his love for 
 Lily had, perhaps, been a sentiment rather than 
 a passion. Most young men have to go through 
 that disappointment, and are enabled to bear it 
 without much injury to their prospects or happi- 
 ness. And in after-life the remembrance of such 
 love is a blessing rather than a curse, enabling 
 the possessor of it to feel that in tliose early 
 days there was something within him of which 
 he had no cause to be ashamed. I do not pity 
 John Eames mucli in regard to Lily Dale. And 
 then, as to Amelia Roper — had he achieved but 
 a tithe of that lady's experience in the world, or 
 possessed a quarter of her audacity, surely such 
 a difficulty as that need not have stood much in 
 liis way ! What could Amelia do to him if he 
 fairly told her that he was not minded to marry 
 her? In very truth he had never promised to 
 do so. He was in no way bound to her, not even 
 by honor. Honor, indeed, with such as her ! 
 But men are cowards before women until they 
 become tyrants ; and are easy dupes, till of a 
 sudden they recognize the fact that it is pleas- 
 anter to be the victimizer than the victim — and 
 as easy. There are men, indeed, who never 
 learn the latter lesson. 
 
 But though the cause for fear was so slight, 
 poor John Eames was thoroughly afraid. Lit- 
 tle things which, in connection with so deep a 
 sorrow as his, it is almost ridiculous to mention, 
 added to his embarrassments, and made an es- 
 cape from them seem to him to be impossible. 
 He could not return to London without going to 
 Burton Ci'cscont, because his clothes were there, 
 and because he owed to Mrs. Roper some small 
 sum of money which on his return to London he 
 would not have immediately in his pocket. He 
 
 must therefore meet Amelia, and he knew that 
 he had not the courage to tell a girl, face to face, 
 that he did not love her, after he had once been 
 induced to say that he did do so. His boldest 
 conception did not go beyond the writing of a 
 letter in which he would renounce her, and re- 
 moving himself altogether from that quarter of 
 the town in which Burton Crescent was situated. 
 But then about his clothes, and that debt of his? 
 And what if Amelia should in the mean time 
 come down to Guestwick and claim him ? Could 
 he in his mother's presence declare that she had 
 no- right to make such claim? The difficulties, 
 in truth, were not very great, but they were too 
 heavy for that poor young clerk from the In- 
 come-tax Office. 
 
 You will declare that he must have been a fool 
 and a coward. Yet he could read and under- 
 stand Shakspeare. He knew much — by far too 
 much — of Byron's poetry by heart. He was a 
 deep critic, often writing down his criticisms in a 
 lengthy journal which he kept. He could write 
 quickly, and with understanding ; and I may de- 
 clare that men at his office had already ascer- 
 tained that he was no fool. He knew his busi- 
 ness, and could do it — as many men failed to 
 do who were much less foolish before the world. 
 And as to that matter of cowardice, he would 
 have thought it the greatest blessing in the world 
 to be shut up in a room with Crosbie, having 
 permission to fight with him till one of them 
 should have been brought by stress of battle to 
 give up his claim to Lily Dale. Eames was no 
 coward. He feared no man on earth. But he 
 was terribly afraid of Amelia Roper. 
 
 He wandered about through the old Manor 
 woods very ill at ease. The post from Guest- 
 wick went out at seven, and he must at once 
 make up his mind whether or no he would write 
 to Amelia on that day. He must also make up 
 his mind as to what he would say to her. He 
 felt that he should at least answer her letter, let 
 his answer be what it might. Should he prom- 
 ise to marry her— say in ten or twelve years' 
 time ? Should he tell her that he was a blight- 
 ed being, unfit for love, and with humility en- 
 treat of her that he might be excused ? Or should 
 he write to her mother, telling her that Burton 
 Crescent would not suit him any longer, prom- 
 ising her to send the balance on receipt of his 
 next payment, and asking her to send his clothes 
 in a bundle to the Income-tax Office ? Or should 
 he go home to his own mother and boldly tell it 
 all to her ? 
 
 He at last resolved that he must write the let- 
 ter, and as he composed-it in his mind he sat 
 himself down beneath an old tree which stood 
 on a spot at which many of the forest tracks met 
 and crossed each other. The letter, as he framed 
 it here, was not a bad letter, if only he could 
 have got it written and posted. Every word of 
 it he chose with precision, and in his mind he 
 emphasized every expression which told his mind 
 clearly and justified his purpose. " He acknowl- 
 edged himself to ha.ve been wrong in misleading 
 his correspondent, and allowing her to imagine 
 
68 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 " WHY, IT'S TOnuQ EAMES 1' 
 
 that she possessed his heart. He had not a heart 
 at her disposal. He had been weak not to write 
 to her before, having been deterred from doing 
 so by the fear of giving her pain ; but now he 
 felt that he was bound in honor to tell her the 
 truth. Having so told her, he would not return 
 to Burton Crescent if it would pain her to see 
 him there. He would always have a deep regard 
 for her" — oh, Johnny ! — " and would hope anx- 
 iously that her welfare in life might be complete." 
 That was the letter as he wrote it on the tablets 
 of his mind under the tree ; but the getting it 
 
 put on to paper was a task, as he knew, of great- 
 er difficulty. Then, as he repeated it to himself, 
 he fell asleep. 
 
 " Young man," said a voice in his cars as he 
 slept. At first the Voice spoke as a voice from 
 his dream without waking him ; but when it was 
 repeated he sat up and saw that a stout gentle- 
 man was standing over him. For a moment he 
 did not know where he was or how he had come 
 there ; nor could he recollect, as he saw the trees 
 about him, how long he had been in the wood. 
 But he knew the stout gentleman well enough, 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 69 
 
 though he had not seen him for more than two 
 years. " Young man," said the voice, " if you 
 want to catch rheumatism that's the way to do 
 it. Why, it's young Eames, isn't it?" 
 
 " Yes, my lord," said Johnny, raising himself 
 up so that he was now sitting, instead of lying, 
 as he looked up into the earl's rosy face. 
 
 "I knew your father, and a very good man 
 he was, only he shouldn't have taken to farm- 
 ing. People think they can farm without learn- 
 ing the trade, but that's a very great mistake. 
 I can farm, because I've learned it. Don't you 
 think you'd better get up ?" Whereupon John- 
 ny raised himself to his feet. "Not but what 
 you're very welcome to lie there if you like it. 
 Only in October, you know — " 
 
 " I'm afraid I'm trespassing, my lord," said 
 Eames. " I came in off the path, and — " 
 
 " You're welcome ; you're very welcome. If 
 you'll come up to the house I'll give you some 
 luncheon." . This hospitable offer, however, 
 Johnny declined, alleging that it was late, and 
 that he was going home to dinner. 
 
 "Come along," said the earl. "You can't 
 go any shorter way than by the house. Dear, 
 dear, how well I remember your father! He 
 was a much cleverer man than I am — very 
 much ; but he didn't know how to send a beast 
 to market any better than a child. By-the-by, 
 they have put you into a public office, haven't 
 they?" 
 
 "Yes, my lord." 
 
 " And a very good thing, too — a very good 
 thing, indeed. But why were you asleep in the 
 wood? It isn't warm, you know. I call it 
 rather cold." And the earl stopped, and looked 
 at him, scrutinizing him, as though resolved to 
 inquire into so deep a mystery. 
 
 " I was taking a walk, and thinking of some- 
 thing, I sat down." 
 
 "Leave of absence, I suppose?" 
 "Yes, my lord." 
 
 "Have you got into trouble? You look as 
 though you were in trouble. Your poor father 
 used to be in trouble." 
 
 " I haven't taken to farming," said Johnny, 
 with an attempt at a smile. 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha — quite right. No, don't take 
 to farming. Unless you learn it, you know, 
 you might just as well take to shoemaking ; just 
 the same. You haven't got into trouble, then ; 
 eh?" 
 
 "No, my lord, not particularly.'' 
 "Not particularly! I know very well that 
 young men do get into trouble when they get 
 up to London. If you want any — any advice, 
 or that sort of thing, you may come to me ; for I 
 knew your father well. Do you like shooting ?" 
 " I never did shoot any thing." 
 " Well, perhaps better not. To tell the truth, 
 I'm not very fond of young men who take to 
 shooting without having any thing to shoot at. 
 By-the-by, now I think of it, I'll send your mo- 
 ther some game." It may, however, here be 
 fair to mention that game very often came from 
 Guestwick Manor to Mrs. Eames. " And look 
 
 here, cold pheasant for breakfast is the best 
 thing I know of. Pheasants at dinner are rub- 
 bish — mere rubbish. Here we are at the house. 
 Will you come in and have a glass of wine ?" 
 
 But this John Eames declined, pleasing the 
 earl better by doing so than he would have done 
 by accepting it. Not that the lord was inhos- 
 pitable or insincere in his offer, but he preferred 
 that such a one as John Eames should receive 
 his proffered familiarity without too much im- 
 mediate assurance. He felt that Eames was a 
 little in awe of his companion's rank, and he 
 liked him the better for it. He liked him the 
 better for it, and was a man apt to remember 
 his likings. " If you won't come in, good-by," 
 and he gave Johnny his hand. 
 
 "Good-evening, my lord," said Johnny. 
 
 "And remember this; it is the deuce of a 
 thing to have rheumatism in your loins. I 
 wouldn't go to sleep under a tree if I were you 
 — not in October. But you're always welcome 
 to go any where about the place." 
 
 "Thank you, my lord." 
 
 ' ' And if yon should take to shooting — but I 
 dare say you won't ; and if you come to trouble, 
 and want advice, or that sort of thing, write to 
 me. I knew your father well." And so they 
 parted, Eames returning on his road toward 
 Guestwick. 
 
 For some reason, which he could not define, 
 he felt better after his interview with the earl. 
 There had been something about the fat, good- 
 natured, sensible old man which had cheered 
 him, in spite of his sorrow. "Pheasants for 
 dinner are rubbish — mere rubbish," he said to 
 himself, over and over again as he went along 
 the road ; and they were the first words whicli 
 he spoke to his mother after entering the house. 
 
 ' ' I wish we had some of that sort of rubbish, " 
 said she. 
 
 " So you will, to-morrow;" and then he de- 
 scribed to her his interview. 
 
 " The earl was, at any rate, quite right about 
 lying upon the ground. I wonder you can be 
 so foolish. And he is right about your poor 
 father too. But you have got to change your 
 boots ; and we shall be ready for dinner almost 
 immediately." 
 
 But Johnny Eames, before he sat down to 
 dinner, did write his letter to Amelia, and did 
 go out to post it with his own hands — much to 
 his mother's annoyance. But the letter would 
 not get itself written in that strong and appro- 
 priate language which had come to him as he 
 was roaming through the woods. It was a bald 
 letter, and somewhat cowardly withal. 
 
 "Deae Amelia" (the letter ran)— "I have received 
 both of youi-3 ; and did not answer the first because I felt 
 that there was a difficulty in expressing what I wish to 
 say ; and now it will be better that you should allow the 
 subject to stand over till I am back in town. I shall be 
 there in ten days from this. I have been quite well, and 
 am so ; but of course am much obliged by your inquiries. 
 I know you will think this very cold; but when I tell you 
 every thing you will agree with me that it is best. If I 
 were to marry, I know that we should be unhappy, be- 
 cause we should have nothing to live on. If I have ever 
 said any thing to deceive you, I beg your pardon with all 
 
70 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 my heart; but perhaps it will he better to let tlie subject 
 remaia till we shall meet again in London. 
 
 *' Believe me to bo your most sincere fi'iend, and I may 
 say admirer"— [Oh, John Eames I] " John Eaues." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE LAST DAT. 
 
 Last days are wretched days ; and so are last 
 moments wretched moments. It is not the fact 
 that the parting is coming which makes these 
 days and moments so wretched, but the feeling 
 that something special is expected from them, 
 which something they always fail to produce. 
 Spasmodic periods of pleasure, of affection, or 
 even of study, seldom fail of disappointment 
 when premeditated. When last days are com- 
 ing, they should be allowed to come and to glide 
 away without special notice or mention. And 
 as for last moments, there should be none such. 
 Let them ever be ended, even before their pres- 
 ence has been acknowledged. 
 
 But Lily Dale had not yet been taught these 
 lessons by her world's experience, and she ex- 
 pected that this sweetest cup of which she had 
 over drank should go on being sweet — sweeter 
 and still sweeter — as long as she could press it 
 to her lips. How the dregs had come to mix 
 themselves with the last drops we have already 
 seen ; and on that same day — on the Monday 
 evening — the bitter task still remained ; for 
 Crosbie, as they walked about through the gar- 
 dens in the evening, found other subjects on 
 which he thought it necessary to give her sundry 
 hints, intended for.heiredification, which came 
 to her with much of the savor of a lecture. A 
 girl, when she is thoroughly in love, as surely 
 was the case with Lily, likes to receive hints as 
 to her future life from the man to whom she is 
 devoted; but she would, I think, prefer that 
 such hints should be short, and that the lesson 
 should be implied rather than declared — that 
 they should, in fact, be hints and not lectures. 
 Crosbie, who was a man of tact, who understood 
 the world and had been dealing with women for 
 many years, no doubt understood all this as well 
 as we do. But he had come to entertain a no- 
 tion that he was an injured man, that he was 
 giving very much more than was to be given to 
 liim, and that therefore he was entitled to take 
 liberties which might not fairly be within the 
 reach of another lover. My reader will say that 
 i n all this he was ungenerous. Well ; he was 
 ungenerous. I do not know that I have ever 
 said that much generosity was to be expected 
 from him. He had some principles of right and 
 wrong, under the guidance of which it may per- 
 haps be hoped that he will not go utterly astray ; 
 but his past life had not been of a nature to make 
 him unselfish. He was ungenerous, and Lily 
 felt it, though she would not acknowledge it 
 even to herself. She had been very open with 
 him — acknowledging the depth of her love for 
 him ; telling him that he was now all in all to 
 her ; that life without his love would be impos- 
 
 sible to her : and in a certain way he took ad- 
 vantage of these strong avowals, treating her as 
 though she were a creature utterly in his power ; 
 as indeed she was. 
 
 On that evening he said no more of Johnny 
 Eames, but said much of the difficulty of a man 
 establishing himself with a wife in London, who 
 had nothing but his own moderate income on 
 which to rely. He did not in so many words 
 tell her that if her friends could make up for her 
 two or three thousand pounds — that being much 
 less than he had expected when he first made 
 his offer — this terrible difficulty would be re- 
 moved ; but he said enough to make her under- 
 stand that the world would call him very impru- 
 dent in taking a girl who had nothing. And as 
 he spoke of these things, Lily remaining for the 
 most part silent as he did so, it occurred to him 
 that he might talk to her freely of his past life — 
 more freely than he would have done had he fear- 
 ed that he might lose her by any such disclosures. 
 He had no fear of losing her. Alas ! might it 
 not be possible that he had some such hope ! 
 
 He told her that his past life had been ex- 
 pensive ; that, though he was not in debt, he 
 had lived up to every shilling that he had, and 
 that he had contracted habits of expenditure 
 which it would be almost impossible for him to 
 lay aside at a day's notice. Then he spoke of 
 entanglements, meaning, as he did so, to ex- 
 plain more fully what were their nature, but not 
 daring to do so when he found that Lily was al- 
 together in the dark as to what he meant. No ; 
 he was not a generous man — a very ungenerous 
 man. And yet, during all this time, he thought 
 that he was guided by principle. " It will be 
 best that I should be honest with her," he said 
 to himself. And then he told himself, scores 
 of times, that when making his offer he had ex- 
 pected, and had a right to expect, that she 
 would not be penniless. Under those circum- 
 stances he had done the best he could for her 
 — offering her his heart honestly, with a quick 
 readiness to make her his own at the earliest day 
 that she might think possible. Had he been 
 more cautious, he need not have fallen into this 
 cruel mistake ; but she, at any rate, could not 
 quarrel with him for his imprudence. And still 
 he was determined to stand by his engagement, 
 and willing to many her, although, as he the 
 more thought of it, he felt the more strongly 
 that he would thereby ruin his prospects, and 
 thrust beyond his own reach all those good 
 things which he had hoped to win. As he con- 
 tinued to talk to her, he gave himself special 
 credit for his generosity, and felt that he was 
 only doing his duty by her in pointing out to her 
 all the difficulties which lay in the way of their 
 marriage. 
 
 At first Lily said some words intended to con- 
 vey an assurance that she would be the most 
 economical wife that man ever had, hut she soon 
 ceased from such promises as these. Her per- 
 ceptions were keen, and she discovered that the 
 difficulties of which he was afraid were those 
 which he must overcome before his marriage, not 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 71 
 
 any which might be expected to overwhelm him 
 after it. "A cheap and nasty menage would be 
 my aversion," he said to her. " It is that which 
 I want to avoid— chiefly for yom- sake." Then 
 she promised him that she would wait patiently 
 for his time — "even though it should be for 
 seven years," she said, looking up into his face, 
 and trying to find there some sign of approba- 
 tion. "That's nonsense," he said. "People 
 are not patriarchs nowadays. I suppose we 
 shall have to wait two years. And that's a 
 deuce of a bore — a terrible bore." And there 
 was that in the tone of his voice which grated on 
 Iier feelings, and made her wretched for the mo- 
 ment. 
 
 As he parted with her for the night on her 
 own side of the little bridge which led from one 
 garden to the other, he put his arm round her to 
 embrace her and kiss her, as he had often done 
 at that spot. It had become a habit with them 
 to say their evening farewells there, and the se- 
 cluded little nook among the shrubs was inex- 
 pressibly dear to Lily. But on the present oc- 
 casion she made an effort to avoid his caress. 
 She turned from him — very slightly, but it was 
 enough, and he felt it. ' ' Are you angry with 
 me?" he said. "Oh no, Adolphus; how can 
 I be angry with you ?" . And then she tui-ned to 
 him, and gave him her face to kiss almost before 
 tie had again asked for it. " He shall not, at 
 any rate, think that I am unkind to him — and 
 it will not matter now," she said to herself, as 
 she walked slowly across the lawn, in th6 dark, 
 up to her mother's drawing-room window. 
 
 "Well, dearest," said Mrs. Dale, who was 
 there alone, "did the beards wag merry in the 
 Great Hall this evening?" That was a joke 
 with them, for neither Crosbie nor Bernard Dale 
 used a razor at his toilet. 
 
 "Not specially merry. And I think it was 
 my fault, for I have a headache. Mamma, I 
 believe I will go at once to bed." 
 
 " My darling, is there any thing wrong?" 
 
 " Notliing, mamma. But we had such a long 
 ride ; and then Adolphus is going, and of course 
 we have so much to say. To-morrow will be 
 the last day, for I shall only just see him on 
 Wednesday morning ; and as I want to be well, 
 if possible, I'll go to bed." And so she took 
 her candle and went. 
 
 When Bell came up Lily was still awake, 
 but she begged her sister not to disturb her. 
 " Don't talk to me. Bell," she said. " I'm try- 
 ing to make myself quiet, and I half feel that I 
 should get childish if I went on talking. 1 
 have almost more to think of than I know how 
 to manage." And she strove, not altogether 
 unsuccessfally, to speak with a cheery tone, as 
 though the cares which weighed upon her were 
 not unpleasant in their nature. Then her sis- 
 ter kissed her and left her to her thoughts. 
 
 And she had great matter for thinking ; so 
 great that many hours sounded in her ears from 
 the clock on' the stairs before she brought her 
 thoughts to a shape that satisfied herself. She 
 did so bring them at last, and then she slept. 
 
 She did so bring them, toiling over her work 
 with tears that made her pillow wet, with heart- 
 burning and almost with heart-breaking, with 
 nmch doubting, and many anxious, eager in- 
 quiries within her own bosom as to that which 
 she ought to do, and that which she could en- 
 dure to do. But at last her resolve was taken, 
 and then she slept. 
 
 It had been agi-eed between them that Crosbie 
 should come down to the Small House on the 
 next day after breakfast, and remain there till 
 the time came for riding. But Lily determ. 
 ined to alter this arrangement, and accordingly 
 put on her hat immediately after breakfast, and 
 posted herself at the bridge, so as to intercept 
 her lover as he came. He soon appeared with 
 his friend Dale, and she at once told him her 
 purpose. 
 
 "I want to have a talk with you, Adolphus, 
 before you go in to mamma ; so come with me 
 into the field." 
 
 "All right," said he. 
 
 "And Bernard can finish his cigar on the 
 lawn. Mamma and Bell will join him there." 
 
 "All right," said Bernard. So they sepa- 
 rated; and Crosbie went away with Lily into 
 the field where they had first learned to know 
 each other in those hay-making days. 
 
 She did not say much till they were well 
 away from the house, but answered what words 
 he chose to speak, not knowing very well of 
 what he spoke. But when she considered that 
 they had reached the proper spot, she began 
 very abruptly : 
 
 "Adolphus," she said, "I have something to 
 say to you^something to which you must listen 
 very carefully." Then he looked at her, and 
 at once knew that she was in earnest. 
 
 " This is the last day on which I could say 
 it," she continued, "and I am very glad that I 
 have not let the last day go by without saying 
 it. I should not have known how to put it in 
 a letter." 
 
 "What is it, Lily?" 
 
 "And I do not know that I can say it prop- 
 erly ; but I hope that you will not be hard upon 
 me. Adolphus, if you wish that all this be- 
 tween us should be over, I will consent." 
 
 "Lily!" 
 
 ' ' I mean what I say. If you wish it, I will 
 consent ; and when I have said so, proposing it 
 myself, you may be quite sure that I shall never 
 blame you if you take me at my word." 
 
 " Are you tired of me, Lily ?" 
 
 "No. I shall never be tired of you — never 
 weary with loving you. I did not wish to say 
 so now ; but I will answer your question boldly. 
 Tired of you ! I fancy that a girl can never 
 grow tired of her lover. But I would sooner 
 die in the struggle than be the cause of your 
 ruin. It would be better — in every way better." 
 
 "I have said nothing of being ruined." 
 
 "But listen to me. I should not die if you 
 left me — not be utterly broken-hearted. No- 
 thing on earth can I ever love as I have loved 
 you. But I have a God and a Saviour that will 
 
72 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 be enough for me. I can turn to them with 
 content if it be well that you should leave me. 
 I have gone to them, and — " But at this, mo- 
 ment she could utter no more words. She had 
 broken down in her effort, losing her voice 
 through the strength of her emotion. As she 
 did not choose that he should see her overcome, 
 she turned from him and walked away across 
 the grass. 
 
 Of course he followed her ; but he was not so 
 quick after her but that time had been given to 
 her to recover herself. "It is true," she said. 
 "I have the strength of which I tell you. 
 Though I have given myself to you as your 
 wife, I can bear to be divorced from you now 
 — now. And, my love, though it may sound 
 heartless, I would sooner be so divorced from 
 you than cling to you as a log that must drag 
 you down under the water, and drown you in 
 trouble and care. I would — indeed I would. If 
 you go, of course that kind of thing is over for me. 
 But the world has more than that — -much more ; 
 and I would make myself happy — yes, my love, 
 I would be happy. You need not fear that." 
 
 "But, Lily, why is all this said to me here 
 to-day f" 
 
 "Because it is my duty to say it. I under- 
 stand all your position now, though it is only 
 now. It never flashed on me till yesterday. 
 When you proposed to me you thought that I — 
 that I had some fortune." 
 
 "Never mind that now, Lily." 
 
 "But you did. I see it all now. I ought 
 perhaps to have told you that it was not so. 
 There has been the mistake, and we are both 
 sufferers. But we need not make the suffering 
 deeper than needs be. My love, you are free — 
 from this moment. And even my heart shall 
 not blame you for accepting your freedom." 
 
 "And are you afraid of poverty?" he asked 
 her. 
 
 " I am afraid of poverty for you. You and I 
 have lived differently. Luxuries, of which I 
 know nothing, have been your daily comforts. 
 I tell you I can bear to part with you, but I can 
 not bear to become the source of your unhappi- 
 ness. Yes. I will bear it ; and none shall dare 
 in my hearing to speak against you. I have 
 brought you here to say the word ; nay, more 
 than that, to advise you to say it." 
 
 He stood silent for a moment, during which 
 he held her by the hand. She was looking into 
 his face, but he was looking away into the clouds, 
 striving to appear as though he was the master 
 of the occasion. But during those moments 
 his mind was wracked with doubt. What if he 
 should take her at her word ? Some few would 
 say bitter things against him, but such bitter 
 things had been said against many another man 
 without harming him. Would it not be well 
 for both if he should take her at her word ? She 
 would recover and love again, as other girls had 
 done; and as for him, he would thus escape 
 from the ruin at which he had been gazing for 
 the last week past. For it was ruin, utter ruin. 
 He did love her; so he declared to himself. 
 
 But was he a man who ought to throw the 
 world away for love? Such men there were;, 
 but was he one of them? Could he be happy 
 in that small house, somewhere near the New 
 Road, with five children and horrid misgivings 
 as to the baker's bill ? Of all men living, was 
 not he the last that should have allowed liim- 
 self to fall into such a trap? All this passed 
 through his mind as he turned his face up to 
 the clouds with a look that was intended to be 
 grand and noble. 
 
 ' ' Speak to me, Adolphus, and say that it 
 shall be so." 
 
 Then his heart misgave him, and he lacked 
 the courage to extricate himself from his trouble; 
 or, as he afterward said to himself, he had not 
 the heart to do it. " If I understand you right- 
 ly, Lily, all this comes from no want of love on 
 your own part?" 
 
 ' ' Want of love on my part ? But you should 
 not ask me that. " 
 
 " Until you tell me that there is such a want 
 I will agree to no parting." Then he took her 
 hand and put it within his arm. "No, Lily; 
 whatever may be our cares and troubles we are 
 bound together, indissolubly." 
 
 "Are we?" said she; and as she spoke her 
 voice trembled, and her hand shook. 
 
 "Much too firmly for any such divorce as 
 that. No, Lily, I claim the right to tell you all 
 my troubles ; but I shall not let you go." 
 
 ' ' But, Adolphus — ■" and the hand on his arm 
 was beginning to cling to it again. 
 
 "Adolphus," said he, "has got nothing more 
 to say on that subject. He exercises the right 
 which he believes to be his own, and chooses to 
 retain the prize which he has won." 
 
 She was now clinging to him in very truth. 
 "Oh, my love!" she said. "I do not know 
 how to say it again. It is of you that I am 
 thinking; of you, of you!" 
 
 "I know you are; but you have misunder- 
 stood me a little ; that's all." 
 
 "Have I? Then listen to me again, once 
 more, my heart's own darling, my love, my hus- 
 band, my lord ! If I can not be to yon at once 
 like Euth, and never cease from coming after 
 you, my thoughts to yon shall be like those of 
 Euth : if aught but death part thee and me, may 
 God do so to me and more also." Then she fell 
 upon his breast and wept. 
 
 He still hardly understood the depth of her 
 character. He was not himself deep enough to 
 comprehend it all. But yet he was awed by 
 her great love, and exalted to a certain solem- 
 nity of feeling which for the time made him re- 
 joice in his late decision. For, a few hours he 
 was minded to throw the world behind him, and 
 wear this woman, as such a woman should be 
 worn — as a comforter to him in all things, and 
 a strong shield against great troubles. ' ' Lily, " 
 he said, " my own Lily !" 
 
 "Yes, your own, to take when you please, 
 and leave untaken while you please ; and as 
 much your own in one way as in the other." 
 Then slie looked up again, and essayed to laugh 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 73 
 
 as she did so. "You ■will think I am frantic, 
 but I am so happy. I don't care about your go- 
 ing now ; indeed I don't. There ; you may go 
 now, this minute, if you like it." And she with- 
 drew her hand from him. " I feel so different- 
 ly from what I have done for the last few days. 
 I am so glad you have spoken to me as you did. 
 Of course I ought to bear all those things with 
 you. But I can not be unhappy about it now. 
 I wonder if I went to work and made a lot of 
 things whether that would help?" 
 
 "A set of shirts for me, for instance?" 
 
 " I could do that, at any rate." 
 
 "It may come to that yet, some of these 
 
 "I pray God that it may." Then again she 
 was serious, and the tears came once more into 
 her eyes. "I pray God that it may. To be 
 of use to you, to work for you, to do something 
 for you that may have in it some sober, earnest 
 purport of usefulness ; that is what I want above 
 all things. I want to be with you at once that 
 I may be of service to you. Would that you 
 and I were alone together, that I might do ev- 
 ery thing for you. I sometimes think that a 
 very poor man's wife^is the liappiest, because she 
 does do every thing." 
 
 "You shall do every thing very soon," said 
 he; and then they sauntered along pleasantly 
 through the morning hours, and when they again 
 appeared at Mrs. Dale's table Mrs. Dale and 
 Bell were astonished at Lily's brightness. All 
 her old ways had seemed to return to her, and 
 she made her little saucy speeches to Mr. Cros- 
 bie as she had used to do when he was first 
 becoming fascinated by her sweetness. "You 
 know that you'll be such a swell when you get 
 to that countess's house that you'll forget all 
 about AUington." 
 
 " Of course I shall," said he. 
 
 "And the paper you write upon will be all 
 over coronets — that is, if ever you do write. Per- 
 haps you will to Bernard some day, just to show 
 that you are staying at a castle." 
 
 "You certainly don't deserve that he should 
 write to you," said Mrs. Dale. 
 
 "I don't expect it for a moment — not till he 
 gets back to London and finds that he has no- 
 thing else to do at his office. But I should so 
 like to see how you and Lady Julia get on to- 
 gether. It was quite clear that she regarded 
 you as an ogre ; didn't she. Bell ?" 
 
 "So many people are ogres to Lady Julia," 
 said Bell. 
 
 "I believe Lady Julia to be a very good wo- 
 man," said Mrs. Dale, "and I won't have her 
 abused." 
 
 "Particularly before poor Bernard, who is 
 her pet nephew," said Lily. . " I dare say Adol- 
 phus will become a pet too when she has been a 
 week with him at Courcy Castle. Do try and 
 cut Bernard out." 
 
 From all which Mrs. Dale learned that some 
 
 care which had sat heavy on Lily's heart was 
 
 now lightened, if not altogether removed. She 
 
 had asked no questions of her daughter, but she 
 
 E 
 
 had perceived during the past few days that Lily 
 was in trouble, and she knew that such trouble 
 had arisen from her engagement. She had asked 
 no questions, but of course she had been told 
 what was Mr. Crosbie's income, and had been 
 made to understand that it was not to be con- 
 sidered as amply sufficient for all the wants of 
 matrimony. There was little difficulty in guess- 
 ing what was the source of Lily's care, and as 
 little in now perceiving that something had been 
 said between them by which that care had been 
 relieved. 
 
 After that they all rode, and the afternoon 
 went by pleasantly. It was the last day indeed, 
 but Lily had determined that she would not be 
 sad. She had told him that he might go now, 
 and that she would not be discontented at his 
 going. She knew that the morrow would be 
 very blank to her ; . but she struggled to live up 
 to the spirit of her promise, and she succeeded. 
 They all dined at the Great House, even Mrs. 
 Dale doing so upon this occasion. When they 
 had come in from the garden in the evening, 
 Crosbie talked more to Mrs. Dale than he did 
 even to Lily, while Lily sat a little distant, list- 
 ening with all her ears, sometimes saying a low- 
 toned word, and happy beyond expression in the 
 feeling that her mother and her lover should 
 understand each other. And it must be under- 
 stood that Crosbie at this time was fully determ- 
 ined to conquer the difficulties of which he had 
 thought so much, and to fix the earliest day 
 which might be possible for his marriage. The 
 solemnity of that meeting in the field still hung 
 about him, and gave to his present feelings a 
 manliness and a truth of purpose which were too 
 generally wanting to them. If only those feel- 
 ings would last! But now he talked to Mrs. 
 Dale about her daughter, and about their future 
 prospects, in a tone which he could not have 
 used had not his mind for the time been true to 
 her. He had never spoken so freely to Lily's 
 mother, and at no time had Mrs. Dale felt for 
 him so much of a ihother's love. He apologized 
 for the necessity of some delay, arguing that he 
 could not endure to see his young wife without 
 the comfort of a home of her own, and that he 
 was now, as he always had been, afraid of in- 
 curring debt. Mrs. Dale disliked waiting engage- 
 ments — as do all mothers-^but she could not 
 answer unkindly to such pleading as this. 
 
 "•Lily is so very young," she said, "that she 
 may well wait for a year or so." 
 
 "For seven years," said Lily, jumping up 
 and whispering into her mother's ear. "I shall 
 hardly be six-and-twenty then, which is not at 
 all too old." 
 
 And so the evening passed away very pleas- 
 antly. 
 
 " God bless you, Adolphus!" Mrs. Dale said 
 to him, as she parted with him at her own door. 
 It was the first time that she had called him by 
 his Christian name. "I hope you understand 
 how much we are trusting to you." 
 
 "I do — I do!" said he, as he pressed her 
 hand. Then as he walked back alone he swore 
 
74 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 to himself, binding himself to the oatli with all 
 his heart, that he would be true to those women 
 — both to tlie daughter and to the mother; for 
 the solemnity of the morning was still upon him'. 
 
 He was to start the next morning before eight, 
 Bernard having undertalcen to drive him over 
 to the railway at Guestwick. The breakfast was 
 on the table shortly after seven, and just as the 
 two men had come down Lily entered the room 
 with her hat and shawl. " I said I would be in 
 to pour out your tea," said she; and then she 
 sat herself down over against the tea-pot. 
 
 It was a silent meal, for people do not know 
 what to say in those last minutes. And Ber- 
 nard, too, was there; proving how true is the 
 adage which says, that two are company, but 
 that three are not. I think that Lily was wrong 
 to come up on that last morning ; but she would 
 not hear of letting him start without seeing him, 
 when her lover had begged her not to put her- 
 self to so much trouble. Trouble ! Would she 
 not have sat up all night to see even the last of 
 the top of his hat ? 
 
 Then Bernard, muttering something about 
 the horse, went away. "I have only one min- 
 ute to speak to you, " said she, jumping up, ' ' and 
 I have been thinking all night of what I had to 
 say. It is so easy to think, and so hard to speak. " 
 
 " My darling, I understand it all." 
 
 " But you must understand this, that I will 
 never distrust you. I will never ask you to 
 give me up again, or say that I could be happy 
 without you. I could not live without you ; 
 that is, without the knowledge that you are 
 mine. But I will never be impatient, never. 
 I'ray, pray believe me! Nothing shall make 
 me distrust you." 
 
 "Dearest Lily, I will endeavor to give you 
 no cause." 
 
 " I know you will not; but I specially want- 
 ed to tell you that. And you will write — very 
 soon ?■' 
 
 "Directly I get there." 
 
 "And ai often as you can. But I won't 
 bother you ; only your letters will make me so 
 happy. I shall be so pi'oud when they come to 
 me. I shall be afraid of writing too much to 
 you, for fear I should tire you. " 
 
 ' ' You will never do that. " 
 
 " Shall I not? But you must write first, yon 
 know. If you could only understand how I 
 shall live upon your letters ! And now good- 
 by. There are the wheels. God bless you, my 
 own, my own ! " And she gave herself up into his 
 arms, as she had given herself up into his heart. 
 
 She stood at the door as the two men got into 
 the gig, and, as it passed down through the gate, 
 she hurried out upon the terrace, from whence 
 she could see it for a few yards down the lane. 
 Tlien she ran from the terrace to the gate, and, 
 luirrying through the gate, made her way into 
 the church-yard, from the farther corner of which 
 she could see the heads of the two men till they 
 had made the turn into the main road beyond 
 the parsonage. There she remained till the 
 very sound of the wheels no longer reached her 
 
 ears, stretching her eyes in the direction they 
 had taken. Then she turned round slowly and 
 made her way out at the church-yard gate, 
 which opened on to the road close to the front 
 door of the Small House. 
 
 "I should like to punch his head," said Hop- 
 kins, the gardener, to himself, as he saw the 
 gig driven away, and saw Lily trip after it, that 
 she might see the last of him whom it carried. 
 "And I wouldn't think nothing of doing it; no 
 more I wouldn't," Hopkins added in his solilo- 
 quy. It was generally thought about the place 
 that Miss Lily was Hopkins's favorite, though 
 he showed it chiefly by snubbing her more fre- 
 quently than he snubbed her sister. 
 
 Lily had evidently intended to return home 
 throtigh the front door; but she changed her 
 purpose before she reached the house, and made 
 her way slowly back through the church-yard, 
 and by the gate of the Great House, and by the 
 garden at the back of it, till she crossed the lit- 
 tle bridge. But on the bridge she rested a 
 while, leaning against the railing as she had 
 often leaned with him, and thinking of all that 
 had passed since that July day on which she 
 had first met him. On no spot had he so often 
 told her of his love as on this, and nowhere had 
 she so eagerly sworn to him that she would be 
 his own dutiful loving wife. 
 
 "And by God's help so I will," she said to 
 herself, as she walked firmly up to the house. 
 "He has gone, mamma," she said, as she en- 
 tered the breakfast-room. " And now we'll go 
 back to our work-a-day ways ; it has been all 
 Sunday for me for the last six weeks." 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 MR. CROSEIE MEETS AN OLD CLERGYMAN ON 
 HIS WAY TO COCROY CASTLE. 
 
 PoB the first mile or two of their journey 
 Crosbie and Bernard Dale sat, for the most 
 part, silent in their gig. Lily, as she ran down 
 to the church-yard corner, and stood there look- 
 ing after them with her loving eyes, had not 
 been seen by them. But the spirit of her devo- 
 tion was still strong upon them both, and they 
 felt that it would not be well- to strike at once 
 into any ordinary topic of conversation. And, 
 moreover, we may presume that Crosbie did feel 
 much at thus parting from such a girl as Lily 
 Dale, with whom he had lived in close inter- 
 course for the last six weeks, and whom he 
 loved with all his heart — with all the heart thiit 
 he had for such purposes. In those doubts as 
 to his marriage which had troubled him he had 
 never expressed to himself any disapproval of 
 Lily. He had not taught himself to think that 
 she was other than he would have her be, that 
 he might thus give himself an excuse for part- 
 ing from her. Not as yet, at any rate, had he 
 had recourse to that practice, so common with 
 men who wish to free themselves from the bonds 
 with which they have permitted themselves to 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 75 
 
 be bound. Lily had been too sweet to his eyes, 
 to his touch, to all his senses, for that. He had 
 enjoyed too keenly the pleasure of being with her, 
 and of hearing her tell him that she loved him, 
 to allow of his being personally tired of her. 
 He had not been so spoiled by his club life but 
 that he had taken exquisite pleasure in all her 
 nice country ways, and soft, kind-hearted wom- 
 anly humor. He was by no means tired of 
 Lily. Better than any of his London pleasures 
 was this pleasure of making love in the green 
 fields to Lily Dale. It was the consequences of 
 it that affrighted him. Babies, with their be- 
 longings, would come ; and dull evenings, over 
 a dull fire, or else the pining grief of a disap- 
 pointed woman. He would be driven to be 
 careful as to his clothes, because the ordering 
 of a new coat would entail a serious expenditure. 
 He could go no more among countesses and their 
 daughters, because it would be out of the ques- 
 tion that his wife should visit at their houses. 
 All the victories that he had ever won must be 
 given up. He was thinking of this even while 
 the gig was going round the corner near the par- 
 sonage house, and while Lily's eyes were still 
 blessed with some view of his departing back ; 
 but he was thinking also, that moment, that 
 there might be other victory in store for him ; 
 that it might be possible for him to learn to 
 like that fireside, even though babies should 
 be there, and a woman opMsite to him intent 
 on baby cares. He was straggling, as best he 
 knew how ; for the solemnity which Lily had 
 imparted to him had not yet vanished from his 
 spirit. 
 
 "I hope that, upon the whole, you feel con- 
 
 tented with your visit?" said Bernard to him, 
 at last. 
 
 ' ' Contented ? Of course I do. " 
 
 " That is easily said, and civility to me per- 
 haps demands as much. But I know that you 
 have, to some extent, been disappointed. " 
 
 " Well, yes. I have been disappointed as re- 
 gards money. It is of no use denying it." 
 
 "I should not mention it now, only that I 
 want to know that you exonerate me." 
 
 "I have never blamed you — neither you nor 
 any body else, unless, indeed, it has been myself. " 
 
 "You mean that you regret what you've 
 done?" 
 
 " No, I don't mean that. I am too devoted- 
 ly attached to that dear girl whom we have just 
 left to feel any regret that I have engaged my- 
 self to her. But I do think that, had I man- 
 aged better with your uncle, things might have 
 been different." 
 
 " I doubt it. Indeed I know that it is not 
 so, and can assure you that you need iiot make 
 yourself unhappy on that score. I had thought, 
 as you well know, that he would have done 
 something for Lily — something, though not as 
 much as he always intended to do for Bell. 
 But you may be sure of this, that he had made 
 up his mind as to what he would do. Nothing 
 that you or I could have said "would have changed 
 him." 
 
 "Well, we won't say any thing more about 
 it," said Crosbie. 
 
 Then they went on again in silence, and ar- 
 rived at Guestwick in ample time for the train. 
 
 "Let me know as soon as you get to town," 
 said Crosbie. 
 
 'i Oh, of course. I'll write to you before that." 
 
 And so they parted. As Dale turned and 
 went, Crosbie felt that he liked him less than 
 he had done before ; and Bernard, also, as he 
 was driving him, came to the conclusion that 
 Crosbie would not be so good a fellow as a 
 brother-in-law as he had been as a chance friend. 
 " He'll give us trouble in some way, and I'm 
 sorry that I brought him down." That was 
 Dale's inward conviction in the matter. 
 
 Crosbie's way from Guestwick lay, by railway, 
 to Barchester, the cathedral city lying in the 
 next county, from whence he purposed to have 
 himself conveyed over to Courcy. There had, 
 in truth, been no cause for his very early de- 
 parture, as he was aware that all arrivals at 
 country houses should take place at some hour 
 not much previous to dinner. He had been de- 
 termined to be so soon upon the road by a feel- 
 ing that it would be well for him to get over 
 those last hours. Thus he found himself in 
 Barchester at eleven o'clock, with nothing on 
 his hands to do ; and, having nothing else to 
 do, he went to church. There was a full serv- 
 ice at the cathedral, and as the verger marshal- 
 ed him up to one of the empty stalls a little 
 spare old man was beginning to chant the Lita- 
 ny. "I did not mean to fall in for all this," 
 said Crosbie to himself, as he settled himself 
 with his arms on the cushion. But the peculiar 
 
76 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 charm of that old man's yoioe soon attracted 
 him — a voice that, though tremulous, was yet 
 strong ; and he ceased to regret the saint whose 
 honor and glory had occasioned the length of 
 that day's special service. 
 
 " And who is the old gentleman who chanted 
 the Litany ?" he asked the verger afterward, as 
 he allowed himself to be shown round the mon- 
 uments of the cathedral. 
 
 "That's our precentor, Sir; Mr. Harding. 
 You must have heard of Mr. Harding." But 
 Crosbie, with a full apology, confessed his igno- 
 rance. 
 
 " Well, Sir, he's pretty well known too, though 
 he Is so shy like. He's father-in-law to our dean. 
 Sir; and father-in-law to Archdeacon Grantly 
 also." 
 
 "His daughters have all gone into the pro- 
 fession, then?" 
 
 ' ' Why, yes ; but Miss Eleanor — for I remem- 
 ber her before she was married at all — when 
 they lived at the hospital — " 
 "At the hospital?" 
 
 "Hiram's Hospital, Sir. He was warden, 
 you know. You should go and see the hospital, 
 Sir, if you never was there before. Well, Miss 
 Eleanor — that was his youngest — she married 
 Mr. Bold as her first. But now she's the dean's 
 lady." » 
 
 " Oh ! the dean's lady, is she ?" 
 " Yes, indeed. And what do you think. Sir? 
 Mr. Harding might have been dean himself if 
 he'd liked. They did offer it to him." 
 "And he refused it?" 
 "Indeed he did, Sir." 
 
 ' ' Nolo decanari. I never heard of that be- 
 fore. What made him so modest?" , 
 
 " Just that. Sir ; because he is modest. He's 
 past his seventy now — ever so much ; but he's 
 just as modest as a, young girl. A deal more 
 modest than some of them. To see him and 
 his grand-daughter together ! " 
 
 "And who is his grand-daughter?" 
 " Why, Lady Dumbello, as will be the Mar- 
 chioness of Hartletop. " 
 
 " I know Lady Dumbello," said Crosbie — not 
 meaning, however, to boast to the verger of his 
 noble acquaintance. 
 
 "Oh, do you. Sir?" said the man, uncon- 
 sciously touching his hat at this sign of great- 
 ness in the stranger ; though in truth he had 
 no love for her ladyship. ' ' Perhaps you're go- 
 ing to be one of the party at Courcy Castle." 
 "Well, I believe I am." 
 "You'll find her ladyship there before you. 
 She lunched with her aunt at the deanery as 
 she went through yesterday, finding it too much 
 trouble to go out to her father's at Plumpstead. 
 Her father is the archdeacon, you know. They 
 do say — ^but her ladyship is your friend ! " 
 
 ' ' No friend at all — only a very slight acquaint- 
 ance. She's quite as much above my line as 
 she is above her father's." 
 
 "Well, she is above them all. They say she 
 would hardly as much as speak to the old gen- 
 tleman." 
 
 "What, her father?" 
 
 ■"No, Mr. Harding — he that chanted the Lit- 
 any just now. There he is. Sir, coming out of 
 the deanery." 
 
 They were now standing at the door leading 
 out from one of the transepts, and Mr. Harding 
 passed them as they were speaking together. 
 He was a little, withered, shambling old man, 
 with bent shoulders, dressed in knee-breeches 
 and long black gaiters, which hung rather loose- 
 ly about his poor old legs — rubbing his hands 
 one over the other as he went. And yet he 
 walked quickly — not tottering as he walked, but 
 with an uncertain, doubtful step. The verger, 
 as Mr. Harding passed, put his hand to his head, 
 and Crosbie also raised his hat. Whereupon 
 Mr. Harding raised his, and bowed, and turiied 
 round as though he were about to speak. Cros- 
 bie felt that he had never seen a face on which 
 traits of human kindness were more plainly writ- 
 tea. But the old man did not speak. He turn- 
 ed his body half round, and then shambled back, 
 as though ashame|yof his intention, and passed 
 on. ^ 
 
 " He is of that s«'t that they make the angels 
 of," said the vergy. "But they can't make 
 many if they want them all as good as he is. 
 I'm much obliged to you, Sir." And he pock- 
 eted the half-crown which Crosbie gave him. 
 
 "So that's Lady Dumbello's grandfather," 
 said Crosbie to himself, as he walked slowly 
 round the close toward the hospital, by the path 
 which the verger had shown him. He had no 
 great love for Lady Dumbello, who had dared 
 to snub him — even him. " They may make an 
 angel of the old gentleman," he continued to 
 say; "but they'll never succeed in that way 
 with the grand-daughter." 
 
 He sauntered slowly on over a little bridge ; 
 ailii at the gate of the hospital he again came 
 upon Mr. Harding. "I was going to venture 
 in," said he, "to look at the place. But per- 
 haps I sliall be intruding ?" 
 
 "No, ffl^ by no means,'' said Mr. Harding. 
 "Pray come in. I can not say that I am just 
 at home here. I do not live here — not now. 
 But I know the ways of the place well, and can 
 make you welcome. That's the warden's house. 
 Perhaps we won't go in so early in the day, as 
 the lady has a very large family. An excellent 
 lady, and a dear friend of mine — as is her hus- 
 band." 
 
 " And he is warden, you say ?" 
 
 "Yes, warden of the hospital. You see the 
 hause. Sir. Very pretty, isn't it ? Very pretty. 
 To my idea it's the prettiest built house I ever 
 saw." 
 
 "I won't go quite so far as that," said Cros- 
 bie. 
 
 "But you would if you'd lived there twelve 
 years, as I did. I lived in that house twelve 
 years, and I don'Jnhink there's so sweet a spot 
 on the earth's surface. Did you ever see such 
 turf as that?" 
 
 " Very nice indeed," said Crosbie, who began 
 to make a comparison with Mrs. Dule's turf at 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 77 
 
 ^TUEUE IB ftfR. UABDINQ, COAIINa OUT OB THE DEANEBY." 
 
 the Small House, and to determine that the 
 AlUngton turf was better than that of the lios- 
 pital. 
 
 "I had that turf laid down myself. There 
 were hordere there when I first came, with hol- 
 lyhocks, and those sort of things. The turf 
 was an improTement." 
 
 "There's no doubt of that, 1 should say." 
 
 "The turf was an improvement, certainly. 
 And I planted those shrubs, too. There isn't 
 such a Portugal laurel as that in the county." 
 
 " Were you warden here, Sir?" And Cros- 
 
 bie, as he asked the question, remembered that, 
 in his very young days, he had heard of some 
 newspaper quarrel which had taken place about 
 Hiram's hospital at Barchester. 
 
 " Yes, Sir. I was warden here for twelve 
 years. Dear, dear, dear! If they had put any 
 gentleman here that was not on friendly terms 
 with me it would have made me very unhappy — 
 very. But, as it is, I go in and out just as I 
 like ; almost as much as I did before they — But 
 they did not turn me out. There were reasons 
 which made it best that I should resign." 
 
78 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 " And you live at the deanery now, Mr. 
 Harding?" 
 
 "Yes ; I live at the deanery now. But I am 
 not dean, you know. My son-in-law. Dr. Ar- 
 abin, is the dean. I have another daughter 
 married in the neighborhood, and can truly say 
 that my lines have fallen to me in pleasant 
 places." 
 
 Then he took Croshie in among the old men, 
 into all of whose rooms he went. It was an 
 alms-houSB for aged men of the city ; and before 
 Crosbie had left him Mr. Harding had explain- 
 ed all the circumstances of the hospital, and of 
 the way iu' which he had left it. " I didn't like 
 going, you know ; I thought it would break my 
 heai't. But I could not stay when they said such 
 things as that — I couldn't stay. And, what is 
 more, I should have been wrong to stay. I see 
 it all now. But when I went out under that 
 arch, Mr. Crosbie, leaning on my daughter's 
 arm, I thought that my heart would have bro- 
 ken." And the tears ev#i now ran down the old 
 man's cheeks as he spoke. 
 
 It was a long story, and it need not be re- 
 peated here. And there was no reason why it 
 should have been told to Mr. Crosbie, other than 
 this — that Mr. Harding was a fond, garrulous 
 old man, who loved to indulge his mind in rem- 
 iniscences of the past. But this was remarked 
 by Crosbie, that, in telling his story, no word 
 was said by Mr. Harding injurious to any one. 
 And yet he had been injured — injured very deep- 
 ly. " It was all for the best," he said, at last ; 
 "especially as the happiness has not been denied 
 to me of making myself at home at the old place. 
 I would take you into the house, which is very 
 comfortable — very ; only it is not always con- 
 venient early in the day, where there's a large 
 family." In hearing which Crosbie was again 
 made to think of his own future home and lim- 
 ited income. 
 
 He had told the old clergyman who he was, 
 and that he was on his way to Courcy. " Where, 
 as I understand, I shall meet a grand-daughter 
 of yours!" 
 
 "Yes, yes; she is my grandchild. She and 
 I have got into different walks of life now, so 
 that I don't see much of her. They tell me that 
 she does her duty well in that sphere of life to 
 which it has pleased God to call her." 
 
 "That depends," thought Crosbie, "on what 
 the duties of a viscountess may be supposed to 
 be." But he wished his new friend good-by, 
 without saying any thing further as to Lady 
 Dumbello, and at about six o'clock in the even- 
 ing had himself driven up under the portico of 
 Courcy Castle. 
 
 V 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 COURCY CASTLE. 
 
 CouECT Castle was very full. In the first 
 place, there was a, great gathering there of all 
 the Courcy family. The earl was there — and 
 the countess, of course. At this period of the 
 
 year Lady De Courcy was always at home ; hut 
 the presence of the earl himself had heretofore 
 been by no means so certain. He was a man 
 who had been much given to royal visitings and 
 attendances, to parties in the Highlands, to — 
 no doubt necessary — ^prolongations of the Lon- 
 don season, to sojonrnings at certain German 
 watering-places, convenient, probably, in order 
 that he might study the ways and ceremonies of 
 German Courts — and to various other absences 
 from home, occasioned by a close pursuit of his 
 own special aims in life ; for the Earl De Courcy 
 had been a great courtier. But of late gout, 
 lumbago, and perhaps also some diminution in 
 his powers of making himself generally agreea- 
 ble, had reconciled him to domestic duties, and 
 the earl spent much of his time at home. The 
 countess, in former days, had been heard to 
 complain of her lord's frequent absence. But it 
 is hard to please some women — and now she 
 would not always be satisfied with his presence. 
 And all the sons and daughters were there — 
 excepting Lord Porlock, the eldest, who never 
 met his father. The earl and Lord Porlock were 
 not on terms, and indeed hated each other as 
 only such fathers and such sons can hate. The 
 Honorable George De Courcy was there with 
 his bride, he having lately performed a mani- 
 fest duty, in having married a young woman 
 with money. Very young she was not — having 
 reached some years of her life in advance of thir- 
 ty ; hut then, neither was the Honorable George 
 very young ; and in this respect the two were 
 not ill-sorted. The lady's money had not been 
 very much — perhaps thirty thousand pounds or 
 so. But then the Honorable George's money 
 had been absolutely none. Now he had an in- 
 come on which he could live, and therefore his 
 father and mother had forgiven him all his sins, 
 and taken him again to their bosom. And the 
 marriage was matter of great moment, for the 
 elder scion of the house had not yet taken to him- 
 self a wife, and the De Courcy family might have 
 to look to this union for an heir. 'The lady her- 
 self was not beautiful, or clever, or of imposing 
 manners — nor was she of high birth. But neither 
 was she ugly, nor unbearably stupid. Her man- 
 ners were, at any rate, innocent ; and as to her 
 birth — seeing that, from the first, she was not 
 supposed to have had any — no disappointment 
 was felt. Her father had been a coal-merchant. 
 She was always called Mrs. George, and the ef- 
 fort made respecting her by every body in and 
 about the family was to treat her as though she 
 were a figure of a woman, a large well-dressed 
 resemblance of a being, whom it was necessary 
 for certain purposes that the De Courcys should 
 carry in their train. Of the Honorable George 
 we may farther observe, that, having teen a 
 spendthrift all his life, he had now become 
 strictly parsimonious. Having reached the dis- 
 creet age of forty, he had at last learned that 
 beggary was objectionable; and he therefore 
 devoted every energy of his mind to saving shil- 
 lings and pence wherever pence and shillings 
 might be saved. When first this turn came upon 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 79 
 
 him both his father and mother were delighted 
 to observe it ; but, altliough it had hardly yet 
 lasted over twelve months, some evil results 
 were, beginning to appear. Though possessed 
 of an income, he would take no steps toward 
 possessing himself of a house. He hung by the 
 paternal mansion, either in town or country; 
 drank the paternal wines, rode the paternal 
 horses, and had even contrived to obtain his 
 wife's dresses from the maternal milliner. In 
 the completion of which little last success, how- 
 ever, some slight family dissent had showed it- 
 self. • 
 
 The Honorable John, the third son, was also 
 at Courcy. He had as yet taken to himself no 
 wife, and as he had not hitherto made himself 
 conspicuously useful in any specifil walk of life 
 his family were beginning to regard him as a 
 burden. Having no income of his own to save, 
 he had not copied his brother's virtue of parsi- 
 mony ; and, to tell the truth plainly, had made 
 himself so generally troublesome to his father, 
 that he had been on more than one occasion 
 threatened with expulsion from the family roof. 
 But it is not easy to expel a son. Human fledge- 
 lings can not be driven out of the nest like young 
 birds.» An Honorable John turned adrift into 
 absolute poverty will make himself heard of in 
 the world — if in no other way, by his ugliness as 
 he starves. A thorough-going ne'er-do-well in 
 the upper classes has eminent advantages on his 
 side in the battle which he fights against respect- 
 ability. He can't be sent to Australia against 
 his will. He can't be sent to the poor-house 
 without the knowledge of all the world. He 
 can't be kept out of tradesmen's shops ; nor, with- 
 out terrible scandal, can he be kept away from 
 the paternal properties. Tiie earl had threatened, 
 and snarled, and shown his teeth ; he was an 
 angry man, and a man who could look very an- 
 gry ; with eyes which could almost become red, 
 and a brow that wrinkled itself in perpendicular 
 wrinkles, sometimes very terrible to behold. But 
 he was an inconstant man, and the Honorable 
 John had learned to measure his father, and in 
 an accurate balance. 
 
 I have mentioned the sons first, because it is 
 to be presumed that they were the elder, seeing 
 that their names were mentioned before those 
 of their sisters in all the peerages. But there 
 were four daughters — the Ladies Amelia, Rosina, 
 Margaretta, and Alexandrina. They, we may 
 say, were the flowers of the family, having so 
 lived that they had created none of those family 
 feuds which had been so frequent between their 
 father and their brothers. They were discreet, 
 high-bred women, thinking, perhaps, a little too 
 much of their own position in the world, and 
 somewhat apt to put a wrong value on those ad- 
 vantages which they possessed, and on those 
 which they did not possess. The Lady Amelia 
 was already married, having made a substan- 
 tial if not a brilliant match with Mr. Mortimer 
 Gazebee, a flourishing solicitor, belonging to a 
 firm which had for many years acted as agents 
 to the De Courcy property. Mortimer Gazebee 
 
 was now member of Parliament for Barchester, 
 partly through the influence of his father-in-law. 
 That this should be so was a matter of great dis- 
 gust to the Honorable George, who thought that 
 the seat should have belonged to him. But as 
 Mr. Gazebee had paid the very heavy expenses 
 of the election out of his own pocket, and as 
 George De Courcy certainly could not have paid 
 them, the justice of his claim may be question- 
 able. Mrs. Gazebee was now the happy mother 
 of many babies, whom she was wont to carry 
 with her on her visits to Courcy Castle, and had 
 become an excellent partner to her husband. 
 He would perhaps have liked it better if she had 
 not spoken so frequently to him of her own high 
 position as tlie daughter of an earl, or so fre- 
 quently to others of her low position as the wife 
 of an attorney. But, on the whole, they did 
 very well together, and Mr. Gazebee had gotten 
 from his marriage quite as much as he expected 
 when he made it. 
 
 The Lady Eosina was very religious ; and I 
 do not know that she was conspicuous in any 
 other way, unless it might be that she somewhat 
 resembled her father in her temper. It was of 
 the Lady Eosina that the servants were afraid, 
 especially with reference to that so-called day 
 of rest which, under her dominion, had become 
 to many of them a day of restless torment. It 
 had not always been so with the Lady Eosina ; 
 but her eyes had been opened by the wife of a 
 great church dignitary in the neighborhood, and 
 she had undergone regeneration. How great 
 may be the misery inflicted by an energetic, un- 
 married, healthy woman in that condition — a 
 woman with no husband, or children, or duties, 
 to distract her' from her work — I pray that my 
 readers may never know. 
 
 The Lady Margaretta was her mother's favor- 
 ite, and she was like her motlier in all things — 
 except that her mother had been a beauty. The 
 world called her proud, disdainful, and even in- 
 solent ; but the world was not aware that in all 
 that she did she was acting in accordance with a 
 principle which had called for much self-abne- 
 gation. She had considered it her duty to be a 
 De Courcy and an earl's daughter at all times ; 
 and consequently she had sacrificed to her idea 
 of duty all popularity, adulation, and such ad- 
 miration as would have been awarded to her as 
 a well-dressed, tall, fashionable, and by no means 
 stupid young woman. To be at all times in 
 something higher than they who were manifest- 
 ly below her in rank — that was the effort that 
 she was ever making. But she had been a good 
 daughter, assisting her mother, as best she might, 
 in all family troubles, and never repining at the 
 cold, colorless, unlovely life which had been 
 vouchsafed to her. 
 
 Alexandrina was the beauty of the family,/ 
 and was in truth the youngest. But even she 
 was not very young, and was beginning to make 
 her friends uneasy lest she, too, should let the 
 precious season of hay-harvest run by withopt 
 due use of her summer's sun. She had, per- 
 haps, counted too much on her beauty, which 
 
80 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGT.ON. 
 
 had been beauty according to law rather than 
 beauty according to taste, and had looked, prob- 
 ably, for too bounteous a harvest. That her 
 forehead, and nose, and cheeks, and chin were 
 well-formed, no man could deny. Her hair 
 was soft and pleniiful. Her teeth were good, 
 and her eyes were long and oval. But the 
 fault of her face was this — that when you left 
 her you could not remember it. After a first 
 acquaintance you could meet her again and not 
 know her. After many meetings you would fail 
 to carry away with you any portrait of her feat- 
 ures. But such as she had been at twenty, such 
 was she now at thirty. Years had not robbed 
 her face of its regularity, or ruffled the smooth- 
 ness of her too even forehead. Rumor had de- 
 clared that on more than one, or perhaps more 
 than two occasions. Lady Alexandrina had been 
 already induced to plight her troth in return for 
 proffered love; bvlt we all know that Rumor, 
 when she takes to such topics, exaggerates the 
 truth, and sets down much in malice. The 
 lady was once engaged, the engagement lasting 
 for two years, and the engagement had been 
 broken off owing to some money difficulties be- 
 tween the gentlemen of the families. Since 
 that she had become somewhat querulous, and 
 was supposed to be uneasy on that subject of her 
 hay-making. Her glass and her maid assured 
 her that her sun shone still as brightly as ever ; 
 but her spirit was becoming weary with waiting, 
 and she dreaded lest she should become a terror 
 to all, as was her sister Rosina, or an object of 
 interest to none, as was Margaretta. It was 
 from her especially that this message had been 
 sent to our friend Crosbie ; for during the last 
 spring in London she and Crosbie had known 
 each other well. Yes, my gentle readers ; it is 
 true as your heart suggests to you. Under such 
 circumstances Mr. Crosbie should not have gone 
 to Courcy Castle. 
 
 Such was tlie family circle of the De Courcys. 
 Among their present guests I need not enumer- 
 ate many. First and foremost in all respects 
 was Lady Dumbello, of whose parentage and po- 
 sition a few words were said in the last chapter. 
 She. was a lady still very young, having as yet 
 been little more than two years married. But 
 in those two years her triumphs had been many 
 — so many, that in the great world her standing 
 already equaled that of her celebrated mother- 
 in-law, the Marchioness of Hartletop, who, for 
 twenty years, had owned no greater potentate 
 than herself in the realms of fashion. But Lady 
 Dumbello was every inch as great as she ; "and 
 men said, and women also, that the daughter-in- 
 law would soon be the greater. 
 
 "I'll be hanged if I can understand how she 
 does it, " a certain noble peer had once said to 
 Crosbie, standing at the door of Sebright's, dur- 
 ing the latter days of the last season. "She 
 never says any thing to any one. She won't 
 speak ten words a whole night through." 
 
 " I don't think she has an idea in her head," 
 said Crosbie. 
 
 "Let me tell you that she must be a very 
 
 clever woman," continued the noble peer. "No 
 fool could do as she does. Remember, she's 
 only a parson's daughter ; and as for beauty — " 
 
 "I don't admire her for one," said Crosbie. 
 
 "I don't want to run away with her, if you 
 mean that," said the peer ; "but she is hand- 
 some, no doubt. I wonder whether Dumbello 
 likes it." 
 
 Dumbello did like it. It satisfied his ambi- 
 tion to be led about as the senior lackey in his 
 wife's train. He believed himself to be a great 
 man because the world fought for his wife's pres- 
 ence ; and considered himself to be distinguished 
 even among the eldest sons of marquises, by the 
 greatness reflected from the parson's daughter 
 whom he had married. He had now been 
 brought to Courcy Castle, and felt himself proud 
 of his situation because Lady Dumbello had made 
 considerable difficulty in according this week to 
 the Countess de Courcy. 
 
 And Lady Julia de Guest was already there, 
 the sister of the other old earl who lived in the 
 next county. She had only arrived on the day 
 before, but had been quick in spreading the news 
 as to Crosbie's engagement. "Engaged to one 
 of the Dales, is he?" said the countess, with a 
 pretty little smile, which showed plainly that 
 the matter was one of no interest to herself. 
 "Has she got any money?" 
 
 "Not a shilling, I should think," said the 
 Lady Julia. 
 
 "Pretty, I suppose?" suggested the count- 
 ess. 
 
 "Why, yes; she is pretty — and a nice girl. 
 I don't know whether her mother and uncle were 
 very wise in encouraging Mr. Crosbie. I don't 
 hear that he has any thing special to recommend 
 him — in the way of money, I mean." 
 
 " I dare say it will come to nothing," said the 
 countess, who liked to hear of girls being en- 
 gaged and then losing their promised husbands. 
 She did not know that she liked it, but she did ; 
 and already had pleasure in anticipating poor 
 Lily's discomfiture. But not the less was she 
 angry with Crosbie, feeling that he was making 
 his way into her house under false pretenses. 
 
 And Alexandrina also was angry when Lady 
 Julia repeated the same tidings in her hear- 
 ing. " I really don't think we care very much 
 about it. Lady Julia," said she, with a little 
 toss of her head. "That's three times we've 
 been told of Miss Dale's good fortune." 
 
 "The Dales are related to you, I think?" 
 said Margaretta. 
 
 ' ' Not at all, " said Lady Julia, bristling up. 
 " The lady whom Mr. Crosbie proposes to marry 
 is in no way connected with us. Her cousin, 
 who is the heir to the AUington property, is my 
 nephew by his mother." And then th6 subject 
 was dropped. 
 
 Crosbie, on his arrival, was .shown up into his 
 room, told the hour of dinner, and left to his de- 
 vices. He had been at the castle before, and 
 knew the ways of the house. So he sat himself 
 down to his table, and began a letter to Lily. 
 But he had not proceeded far, not having as yet 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 81 
 
 indeed made up his mind as to the form in which 
 he would commence it, but was sitting idly with 
 the pen in his hand, thinlcing of Lily, and think- 
 ing also how such houses as this in which he 
 now found himself would be soon closed against 
 him, when there came a rap at his door, and be- 
 fore he could answer the Honorable John en- 
 tered the room. 
 
 " Well, old fellow," said the Honorable John, 
 "how are you?" 
 
 Crosbie had been intimate with John De 
 Courcy, but never felt for him either friendship 
 or liking. Crosbie did not like such men as 
 John De Courcy ; but nevertheless, they called 
 each other old fellow, poked each other's ribs, 
 and were very intimate. 
 
 " Heard yon were here," continued the Hon- 
 orable John ; " so I thought I would come up 
 and look after you. Going to be married, ain't 
 you?" 
 
 "Not that I know of," said Crosbie. 
 
 "Come, we know better than that. The wo- 
 men have been talking about it for the last three 
 days. I had her name quite pat yesterday, but 
 I've forgot it now. Hasn't got a tanner ; has 
 slio ?" And the Honorable John had now seated 
 himself upon the table. 
 
 "You seem to know a great deal more about 
 it than I do." 
 
 "It is that old woman from Guestwick who 
 told us, then. The women will be at you at 
 once, you'll find. If there's nothing in it, it's 
 
 what I call a d shame. Why should they 
 
 always pull a fellow to pieces in that way? 
 They were going to marry me the other day !" 
 
 "Were they indeed, though?" 
 
 " To Harriet. Twistleton. You know Harriet 
 Twistleton ? An uncommon fine girl, you know. 
 But I wasn't going to be caught like that. I'm 
 very fond of Harriet — in my way, you know ; 
 but they don't catch an old bird like me with 
 chaff. " 
 
 " I condole with Miss Twistleton for what she 
 has lost." 
 
 "I don't know about condoling. But upon 
 my word that getting married is a very slow 
 thing. Have you seen George's wife?" 
 
 Crosbie declared that he had not as yet had 
 that pleasure. 
 
 " She's here now, you know. I wouldn't have 
 taken her, not if she'd had ten times thirty thou- 
 sand pounds. By Jove, no. But he likes it 
 well enough. Would you believe it now ? he 
 cares for nothing on earth except money. You 
 never saw such a fellow. But I'll tell you what, 
 his nose will be out of joint yet, for Porlock is 
 going to marry. I heard it from Colepepper, 
 who almost lives with Porlock. As soon as 
 Porlock heard that she was in the family way he 
 immediately made up his mind to cut him out." 
 
 "That was a great sign of brotherly love," 
 said Crosbie. 
 
 " I knew he'd do it," said John ; "and so I 
 told George before he got himself spliced. But 
 he would go on. . If he'd remained as he was for 
 four or five years longer there would have been 
 
 no danger ; for Porlock, you know, is leading 
 the deuce of a life. I shouldn't wonder if he 
 didn't reform now, and take to singing, psalms 
 or something of that sort." 
 
 "There's no knowing what a man may come 
 to in this world." 
 
 "By George, no. But I'll tell you what, 
 they'll find no change in me. If I marry it will 
 not be with the intention of giving up life. I 
 say, old fellow, have you got a cigar here ?" 
 
 " What, to smoke up here do yon mean ?" 
 
 " Yes ; why not? we're ever so far from the 
 women." 
 
 " Not while I am occupier of this room. Be- 
 sides, it's time to dress for dinner." 
 
 " Is it ? So it is, by George ! But I mean 
 to have a smoke first, I can tell you. So it's all 
 a lie about your being engaged ; eh ?" 
 
 " As far as I know, it is, " said Crosbie. And 
 then his friend left him. 
 
 What was he to do at once, now, this very 
 day, as to his engagement? He had felt sure 
 that the report of it would be carried to Courcy 
 by Lady Julia De Guest, but he had not settled 
 down upon any resolution as to what he would 
 do in consequence. It had not occurred to him 
 that he would immediately be charged with tho 
 offense, and called upon to plead guilty or not 
 guilty. He had never for a moment meditated 
 any plea of not guilty, but he was aware of an 
 aversion on his part to declare himself as en- 
 gaged to Lilian Dale. It seemed that by doing 
 so he would cut himself off at once from all 
 pleasure at such houses as Courcy Castle ; and, 
 as he argued to himself, why should he not enjoy 
 the little remnant of his bachelor life? As to 
 his denying his engagement to John De Courcy 
 — that was nothing. Any one would under- 
 stand that he would be justified in concealing a 
 fact concerning himself from such a one as he. 
 The denial repeated from John's mouth would 
 amount to nothing — even among John's own sis- 
 ters. But now it was necessary that Crosbie 
 should make up his mind as to what he would 
 say when questioned by the ladies of the house. 
 If he were to deny the fact to them the denial 
 would he very serious. And, indeed, was it 
 possible that he should make such denial with 
 Lady Julia opposite to him ? 
 
 Make such a denial ! And was it the fact 
 that he could wish to do so — that he should 
 think of such falsehood, and even meditate on 
 the perpetration of such cowardice? He had 
 held that young girl to his heart on that very 
 morning. He had sworn to her, and had also 
 sworn to himself, that she should have no rea- 
 son for distrusting him. He had acknowledged 
 most solemnly to himself that, whether for good 
 or for ill, he was bound to her ; and could it be 
 that he was already calculating as to the prac- 
 ticability of disowning her ? In doing so must 
 he not have told himself that he was a villain ? 
 But in truth he made no such calculation. His 
 object was to banish the subject, if it were possi- 
 ble to do so ; to think of some answer by which 
 he might create a doubt. It did not occur to 
 
82 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 him to tell the countess boldly that there was no 
 truth whatever in the report, and that Miss Dale 
 was nothing to him. But might he not skill- 
 fully laiigh off the subject, even in the presence 
 of Lady Julia? Men who were engaged did so 
 usually, and why should not he ? It was gen- 
 erally thought that solicitude for the lady's feel- 
 ings should prevent a man from talking openly 
 of his own engagement. Then he remembered 
 the easy freedom with which his position had 
 been discussed throughout the whole neighbor- 
 hood of AUington, and felt for the first time that 
 the Dale family had been almost indelicate in 
 tlieir want of reticence. "I suppose it was 
 done to tie me the faster," he said to himself, as 
 he pulled out the ends of his cravat. "What a 
 fool I was to come here, or indeed to go any 
 where, after settling myself as I have done!" 
 And then he went down into the drawing-room. 
 
 It was almost a relief to him when he found 
 that he was not charged with his sin at once. 
 He himself had been so full of the subject that 
 he had expected to be attacked at the moment 
 of his entrance. He was, however, greeted with- 
 out any allusion to the matter. The countess, 
 in her own quiet way, shook hands with him as 
 though she had seen him only the day before. 
 The earl, who was seated in his arm-chair, asked 
 some one, out loud, who the stranger was, and 
 then, with two fingers put forth, muttered some 
 apology for a welcome. But Crosbie was quite 
 up to that kind of thing. " How do, my lord?" 
 he said, turning his face away to some one else 
 as he spoke ; and then he took no further notice 
 of the master of the house. " Not know him, 
 indeed ! " Crippled though he was by his matri- 
 monial bond, Crosbie felt that, at any rate as 
 yet, he was the earl's equal in social importance. 
 After that, he found himself in the back part of 
 tlie drawing-room, away from the elder people, 
 standing with Lady Alexandrina, with Miss 
 Gresham, a cousin of the De Courcys, and sun- 
 dry other of the younger portion of the assem- 
 bled community. 
 
 "So you have Lady Dumbello here?" said 
 Crosbie. 
 
 ' ' Oh yes ; the dear creature ! " said Lady Mar- 
 garetta. "It was so good of her to come, you 
 know." 
 
 "She positively refused the Duchess of St. 
 Bungay," said Alexandrina. " I hope you per- 
 ceive how good we've been to you in getting you 
 to meet her. People have actually asked to 
 come." 
 
 ' ' I am grateful ; but, in truth, my gratitude 
 has more to do with Courcy Castle and its ha- 
 bitual inmates than with Lady Dumbello. Is 
 he here?" 
 
 ' ' Oh yes ! he's in the room somewhere. 
 There he is, standing up by Lady Clandidlem. 
 He always stands in that way before dinner. 
 In the evening he sits down much after the same 
 fashion." 
 
 Crosbie had seen him on first entering the 
 room, and had seen every individual in it. Ho 
 knew better than to omit the duty of that scru- 
 
 tinizing glance ; but it sounded well in his line 
 not to have observed Lord Dumbello. 
 
 " And her ladyship is not down ?" said he. 
 
 " She is generally last, " said Lady Margaretta. 
 
 "And yet she has always three women to 
 dress her, " said Alexandrina. 
 
 "But when finished, what a success it is!" 
 said Crosbie. 
 
 " Indeed it is! "said Margaretta, with energy. 
 Then the door was opened, and Lady Dumbello 
 entered the room. 
 
 There was immediately a commotion among 
 them all. Even the gouty old lord shuffled up 
 out of his chair, and tried, with a grin, to look 
 sweet and pleasant. The countess came forward, 
 looking very sweet and pleasant, making little 
 complimentary speeches, to which the viscount- 
 ess answered simply by a gracious smile. Lady 
 Clandidlem, though she was very fat and heavy, 
 left the viscount, and got up to join the group. 
 Baron Potsneuf, a diplomatic German of great 
 celebrity, crossed his hands upon his breast and 
 made a low bow. The Honorable George, who 
 had stood silent for the last quarter of an hour, 
 suggested to her ladyship that she must have 
 found the air rather cold ; and the Ladies Mar- 
 garetta and Alexandrina fluttered up with lit- 
 tle complimentary speeches to their dear Lady 
 Dumbello, hoping this and beseeching that, as 
 though the "Woman in White" before them had 
 been the dearest friend of their infancy. 
 
 She was a woman in white, being dressed in 
 white silk, with white lace over it, and with no 
 other jewels upon her person than diamonds. 
 Very beautifully she was dressed ; doing infinite 
 credit, no doubt, to those three artists who had, 
 between them, succeeded in turning her out of 
 hand. And her face, also, was beautiful, with 
 a certain cold, inexpressive beauty. She walked 
 up the room very slowly, smiling here and smil- 
 ing there ; but still with very faint smiles, and 
 took the place which her hostess indicated to 
 her. One word she said to the countess and 
 two to the earl. Beyond that she did not open 
 her lips. All the homage paid to her she re- 
 ceived as though it were clearly her due. She 
 was not in the least embarrassed, nor did she 
 show herself to be in the slightest degree ashamed 
 of her own silence. She did not look like a fool, 
 nor was she even taken for a fool ; but she con- 
 tributed nothing to society but her cold, hard 
 beauty, her gait, and her dress. We may say 
 that she contributed enough, for society acknowl- 
 edged itself to be deeply indebted to her. 
 
 The only person in the room wlio did not 
 move at Lady Dumbello's entrance was her hus- 
 band. But he remained unmoved from no want 
 of enthusiasm. A s|iark of pleasure actually 
 beamed in his eye as he saw the triumphant en- 
 trance of his wife. He' felt that he had made 
 a match that was becoming to him as a great 
 nobleman, and that the world was acknowledg- 
 ing that he had done his duty. And yet Lady 
 Dumbello had been simply the daughter of a 
 country parson, of a clergyman who had reach- 
 ed no higher rivnk than that of an archdeacon.. 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 83 
 
 "How wonderfully well that woman has edu- 
 cated her!" the countess said that evening, in 
 her dressing-room, to Margaretta. The woman 
 alluded to was Mrs. Grantly, the wife of the par- 
 son and mother of Lady Dumbello. 
 
 The old earl was very cross because destiny 
 and the table of precedence required him to take 
 out Lady Clandidlem to dinner. He almost in- 
 sulted her as she kindly endeavoi'ed to assist him 
 in his infirm step I'ather than to lean upon him. 
 
 "Ugh!" he said, "it's a bad arrangement 
 that makes two old people like you and me be 
 sent out together to help each other." 
 
 " Speak for yourself," said her ladyship, with 
 a laugh. "I, at any rate, can get about with- 
 out any assistance" — which, indeed, was true 
 enough. 
 
 " It's well for you !" gi-owled the earl, as he 
 got himself into his seat. 
 
 And after that he endeavored to solace his 
 pain by a flirtation with Lady Dumbello on his 
 left. The earl's smiles and the earl's teeth, 
 when he whispered naughty little nothings to 
 pretty young women, were phenomena at which 
 men might marvel. Whatever those naughty 
 nothings were on the present occasion, Lady 
 Dumbello took them all with placidity, smiling 
 graciously, but speaking hardly more than mon- 
 osyllables. 
 
 Lady Alexandrina fell to Crosbie's lot, and 
 he felt gratified that it was so. It might be 
 necessary for him, as a married man, to give up 
 such acquaintances as the De Courcys, but he 
 should like, if possible, to maintain a friendship 
 with Lady Alexandrina. "What a friend Lady 
 Alexandrina would be for Lily, if any such 
 friendship were only possible! What an ad- 
 vantage would such an alliance confer upon that 
 dear little girl ; for, after all, though the dear 
 little girl's attractions were very great, he could 
 not but admit to himself that she wanted a 
 something — a way of holding herself and of 
 speaking, which some people call style. Lily 
 might certainly learn a great deal from Lady 
 Alexandrina ; and it was this conviction, no 
 doubt, which made him so sedulous in-pleasing 
 that lady on the present occasion. 
 
 And she, as it seemed, was well inclined to be 
 pleased. She said no word to him during din- 
 ner about Lily ; and yet she spoke about the 
 Dales and about AUington, showing that she 
 knew in what quarters he had been staying; 
 and then she alluded to their last parties in Lon- 
 don — those occasions on which, as Crosbie now 
 remembered, the intercourse between them had 
 almost been tender. It was manifest to him 
 that at any rate she did not wish to quarrel with 
 him. It was manifest, also, that she had some 
 little hesitation in speaking to him about his en- 
 gagement. He did not for the moment doubt 
 that she was aware of it. And in this way mat- 
 ters went on between them till the ladies left 
 the room. 
 
 " So you're goingto be married too," said the 
 Honorable George, by whose side Crosbie found 
 himself seated when the ladies were gone. Cros- 
 
 bie was employing himself upon a walnut, and 
 did not find it necessary to make any a;iswer. 
 
 "It's the best thing a fellow can do," con- 
 tinued George ; " that is, if he has been careful 
 to look to the main chance — if he hasn't been 
 caught napping, you know. It doesn't do for a 
 man to go hanging on by nothing till he finds 
 himself an old man." 
 
 "You've feathered your own nest, at any 
 rate." 
 
 "Yes; I've got something in the scramble, 
 and I mean to keep it. Where will John be 
 when the governor goes oflT the hooks ? Porlock 
 wouldn't give him a bit of bread and cheese and 
 a glass of beer to save his life — that is to say, 
 not if he wanted it." 
 
 ' ' I'm told your elder brother is going to be 
 married. " 
 
 " You've heard that from John. He's spread- 
 ing that about every where to take a rise out of 
 me. I don't believe a word of it. Porlock nev- 
 er Was a marrying man, and, what's more, from 
 all I hear, I don't think he'll live long." 
 
 In this way Crosbie escaped from his own dif- 
 ficulty, and when he rose from the dinner-table 
 had not as yet been driven to eonfess any thing 
 to his own discredit. 
 
 But the evening was not yet over. When he 
 returned to the drawing-room he endeavored to 
 avoid any conversation with the countess her- 
 self, believing that the attack would more prob- 
 ably come from her than from her daughter. 
 He therefore got into conversation first with 
 one and then with another of the girls, till at 
 last he found himself again alone with Alexan- 
 drina. 
 
 "Mr. Crosbie," she said, in a low voice, as 
 they were standing together over one of the dis- 
 tant tables, with their backs to the rest of the 
 company, "I want you to tell me something 
 about Miss Lilian Dale." 
 
 • "About Miss Lilian Dale!" he said, repeat- 
 ing her words. 
 
 "Is she very pretty?" 
 
 "Yes, she certainly is pretty." 
 
 "And very nice, and attractive, and clever, 
 and all that is delightful ? Is she perfect ?" 
 
 "She is very attractive," said he; "but I 
 don't think she's perfect." 
 
 " And what are her faults ?" 
 
 "That question is hardly fair, is it? Sup- 
 pose any one were to ask me what were your 
 faults, do you think I should answer the ques- 
 tion?" 
 
 "I am quite sure you wotild, and make a. 
 very long list of them too. But as to Miss 
 Dale, you ought to think her perfect.^ If a gen- 
 tleman were engaged to me, I should expect him 
 to swear before all the world that I was the very 
 pink of perfection." 
 
 "But supposing the gentleman were not en- 
 gaged to you?" 
 
 "That would be a different thing." 
 
 "I am not engaged to you," said Crosbie. 
 "Such happiness and such honor are, I fear, 
 very far beyond my reach. But, nevertheless. 
 
84 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 I am prepared to testify as to your perfection 
 any where." 
 
 "And what would Miss Dale say?" 
 
 ' ' Allow me to assure you that such opinions 
 as I may choose to express of my friends will be 
 my own opinions, and not depend on those of 
 any one else." 
 
 "And you think, then, that you are not 
 bound to be enslaved as yet? How many 
 more mouths of such freedom are you to en- 
 joy?" 
 
 Crosbie remained silent for a minute before 
 he answered, and then he spoke in a serious 
 voice. " Lady Alexandrina," said he, "I would 
 beg from you a great favor." 
 
 "What is the favor, Mr. Crosbie?" 
 
 ' ' I am quite in earnest. Will yon be good 
 enough, kind enough, enough my friend, not to 
 connect my name again with that of Miss Dale 
 while I am here?" 
 
 " Has there been a quarrel ?" 
 
 " No, there has been no quaiTel. I can not 
 explain to you now why I make this request ; 
 but to you I will explain it before I go. " 
 
 "Explain it to me!" 
 
 "I have regarded you as more than an ac- 
 quaintance — as a friend. In days now past 
 there were moments when I was almost rash 
 enough to hope that I might have said even 
 more than that. I confess that I had no war- 
 rant for such hopes, but I believe that I may 
 Ktill look on you as a friend ?" 
 
 "Oh yes, certainly," said Alexandrina, in a 
 very low voice, and with a certain amount of 
 tenderness in her tone. "I have always re- 
 garded you as a friend." 
 
 "And therefore I venture to make the re- 
 quest. The subject is not one on which I can 
 speak openly, without regret, at the present mo- 
 ment. But to you, at least, I promise that I 
 will explain it all before I leave Courcy." 
 
 He, at any rate, succeeded in mystifying 
 Lady Alexandrina. " I don't believe he is en- 
 gaged a bit," she said to Lady Amelia Gazebee 
 that night. 
 
 "Nonsense, my dear. Lady Julia wouldn't 
 speak of it in that certain way if she didn't 
 kno.w. Of course he doesn't wish to have it 
 talked about." 
 
 "If ever he has been engaged to her he has 
 broken it off again," said Lady Alexandrina. 
 
 "I daee say he will, my dear, if you give 
 him encouragement," said the married sister, 
 with great sisterly good-nature. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 LILT dale's first LOVE-LETTEK. 
 
 Crosbie was rather proud of himself when 
 he went to bed. He had succeeded in baffling 
 the charge made against him without saying 
 any thing as to which his conscience need con- 
 demn him. So, at least, he then told himself. 
 The impression left by what he had said would 
 
 be that there had been some question of an en- 
 gagement between him and Lilian Dale, but 
 that nothing at this moment was absolutely fix- 
 ed. But in the morning his conscience was not 
 quite so clear. What would Lily think and 
 say if she knew it all ? Could he dare to tell to 
 her, or to tell any one, the real state of his 
 mind? 
 
 As he lay in bed, knowing that an hour re- 
 mained to him before he need encounter the per- 
 ils of his tub, he felt that he hated Courcy Cas- 
 tle and its inmates. Who was there, among 
 them all, that was comparable to Mrs. Dale and 
 her daughters? He detested both George and 
 John. He loathed the earl. As to the count- 
 ess herself, he was perfectly indifferent, regard- 
 ing her as a woman whom it was well to know, 
 but as one only to be known as the mistress of 
 Courcy Castle and a house in London. As to 
 the daughters, he had ridiculed them all from 
 time to time — even Alexandrina, whom he now 
 professed to love. Perhaps, in some sort of 
 way, he had a weak fondness for her; but it 
 was a fondness that had never touched his heart. 
 He could measure the whole thing at its worth 
 — Courcy Castle with its privileges. Lady Dum- 
 bello. Lady Clandidlem, and the whole of it. 
 He knew that he had been happier on that lawn 
 at AUington, and more contented with himself, 
 than ever he had been even under Lady Hartle- 
 top's splendid roof in Shropshire. Lady Dum- 
 bello was satisfied with these things, even in the 
 inmost recesses of her soul ; but he was not a 
 male Lady Dumbello. He knew that there 
 was something better, and that that something 
 was within his reach. 
 
 But, nevertheless, the air of Courcy was too 
 much for him. In arguing the matter with 
 himself he regarded himself as one infected with 
 a leprosy from which there could be no recov- 
 eiy, and who should, therefore, make his whole 
 life suitable to the circumstances of that lep- 
 rosy. It was of no use for hini to tell himself 
 that the Small House at AUington was better 
 than Courcy Castle. Satan knew that heaven 
 was better than hell ; but he found himself to 
 be fitter for the latter place. Crosbie ridiculed 
 Lady Dumbello, even there among her friends, 
 with all the cutting words that his wit could 
 find ; but, nevertheless, the privilege of staying 
 in the same house with her was dear to him. 
 It was the line of life into which he had fallen, 
 and he confessed inwardly that the struggle to 
 extricate himself would be too much for him. 
 All that had troubled him while he was yet at 
 AUington, but it overwhelmed him almost with 
 dismay beneath the hangings of Courcy Castle. 
 
 Had he not better run from the place at once? 
 He had almost acknowledged to himself that he 
 repented his engagement with Lilian Dale, but 
 he still was resolved that he would fulfill it. He , 
 was bound in honor to marry "that little girl)" 
 and he looked sternly up at the drapery over his 
 head as he assured himself that he was a man 
 of honor. Yes ; he would saei'iflee himself. As 
 he had been induced to pledge his word, he would 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 85 
 
 not go back from it. He was too much of a man 
 for that ! 
 
 Bat had he not been wrong to refuse the re- 
 sult of Lily's wisdom when she told him in the 
 field that it would be better for them to part? 
 He did not tell himself that he had refused her 
 offer merely because he had not the courage to 
 accept it on the spur of the moment. No. "He 
 had been too good to the poor girl to take her 
 at her word." It was thus he argued on the 
 matter within his own breast. He had been too 
 true to her ; and now the effect would be that 
 they would both be unhappy for life 1 He could 
 not live in content with a family upon a small 
 income. He was well aware of that. No one 
 could be harder upon him in that matter than 
 was he himself. But it was too late now to 
 remedy the ill effects of an early education. 
 
 It was thus that he debated the matter as he 
 lay in bed — contradicting one argument by an- 
 other over and over a^ain, but still in all of 
 them teaching himself to think that this en- 
 gagement of his was a misfortune. Poor Lily ! 
 Her last words to him had conveyed an assur- 
 ance that she would never distrust him. And 
 she also, as she lay wakeful in her bed on this 
 the first morning of his absence, thought much 
 of their mutual vows. How true she would be 
 to them ! How she would be his wife with all 
 her heart and spirit ! It was not only that she 
 would love him ; but in her love she would 
 serve him to her utmost ; serve him as regard- 
 ed this world, and, if possible, as regarded the 
 next. 
 
 "Bell," she said, "I wish you were going to 
 be married too." 
 
 "Thank'ye, dear," said Bell. "Perhaps I 
 shall some day." 
 
 " Ah ! but I'm not joking. It seems such a 
 serious thing. And I can't expect you to talk 
 to me about it now as you would if you were 
 in the same position yourself. Do you think I 
 shall make him happy ?" 
 
 "Tes, I do, certainly." 
 
 "Happier than he would be with any one 
 else that he might meet? I dare not think 
 that. I think I could give him up to-morrow, 
 if I could see any one that would suit him bet- 
 ter." What would Lily have said had she been 
 made acquainted with all the fascinations of 
 Lady Alexandrina De Courcy ? 
 
 The countess was very civil to him, saying 
 nothing about his engagement, but still talking 
 to him a good deal about his sojourn at Ailing- 
 ton. Crosbie was a pleasant man for ladies in 
 a large house. Though a sportsman, he was 
 not so keen a sportsman as to be always out 
 with the gamekeepers. Though a politician, he 
 did not sacrifice his mornings to the perusal of 
 blue-books or the preparation of party tactics. 
 Though a reading man, he did not devote him- 
 self to study. Though a horseman, he was not 
 often to be found in the stables. He could sup- 
 ply conversation when it was wanted, and could 
 take himself out of the way when his presence 
 among the women was not needed. Between 
 
 breakfast and lunch on the day following his 
 arrival he talked a good deal to the countess, 
 and made himself very agreeable. She contin- 
 ued to ridicule him gently for his prolonged 
 stay among so primitive and rural a tribe of 
 people as the Dales, and he bore her little sar- 
 casm with the utmost good-humor. 
 
 "Six weeks at AUington without a move! 
 Why, Mr. Crosbie, you must have felt yourself 
 to be growing there." 
 
 "So I did — like an ancient tree. Indeed, I 
 was so' rooted that I could hardly get away." 
 " Was the house full of people all the time?" 
 " There was nobody there but Bernard Dale, 
 Lady Julia's nephew." 
 
 ' ' Quite a case of Damon and Pythias. Fan- 
 cy your going down to the shades of AUington 
 to enjoy the uninterrupted pleasures of friend- 
 ship for six weeks." 
 
 "Friendship and the partridges." 
 "There was nothing else, then?" 
 " Indeed there was. There was a widow with 
 two veiy nice daughters, living, not exactly in 
 the same house, but on the same grounds." 
 
 " Oh, indeed. That makes such a differ- 
 ence, doesn't it ? You are not » man to bear 
 much privation on the score of partridges, nor a 
 great deal, I imagine, for friendship. But when 
 you talk of pretty girls — " 
 
 " It makes a difference, doesn't it ?" 
 "A very great difference. I think I have 
 heard of that Mrs. Dale before. And so her 
 girls are nice ?" 
 
 " Very nice indeed." 
 
 " Play croquet, I suppose, and eat syllabubs 
 on the lawn ? But, really, didn't you get very 
 tired of it ?" 
 
 " Oh dear, no. I was happy as the day was 
 long." 
 
 "Going about with a crook, I suppose ?" 
 " Not exactly a live crook ; but doing all that 
 kind of thing. I learned a great deal about 
 pigs." 
 
 " Under the guidance of Miss Dale ?" 
 " Yes ; under the guidance of Miss Dale." 
 ' ' I'm sure one is very much obliged to you 
 for tearing yourself away from such charms, and 
 coming to such unromantic people as we are. 
 But I fancy men always do that sort of thing 
 once or twice in their lives ; and then they talk 
 of their souvenirs. I suppose it won't go be- 
 yond a souvenir with you?" . 
 
 This was a direct question, but still admitted 
 of a fencing answer. "It has, at any rate, giv- 
 en me one," said he, "which will last me my 
 life!" 
 
 The countess was quite contented. That 
 Lady Julia's statement was altogether true she 
 had never for a moment doubted. That Cros- 
 bie should become engaged to a young lady in 
 the country, whereas he had shown signs of be- 
 ing in love with her daughter in London, was 
 not at all wonderful. Nor, in her eyes, did such 
 practice amount to any great sin. Men did so 
 daily, and girls were prepared for|heir so doing. 
 A man in her eyes was not to be regarded as 
 
86 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 safe from attack because he was engaged. Let 
 the young lady who took upon herself to own 
 him have an eye to that. When she looked 
 back on the past careers of her own flock she 
 had to reckon more than one such disappoint- 
 ment for her own daughters. Others besides 
 Alexandrina had been so treated. Lady De 
 Courcy had had her grand hopes respecting her 
 girls, and after them moderate hopes, and again 
 after them bitter disappointments. Only one 
 liad been married, and she was married to an 
 attorney. It was not to be supposed that she 
 would have any very high-toned feelings as to 
 Lily's rights in this matter. 
 
 Such a man as Crosbie was certainly no great 
 match for an earl's daughter. Such a marriage, 
 indeed, would, one may say, be but a poor tri- 
 umph. When the countess, during the last sea- 
 son in town, had observed how matters were 
 going with Alexandrina, she had cautioned her 
 child, taking her to task for her imprudence. 
 But the child had been at this work for fourteen 
 years, and was weary of it. Her sisters had 
 been at the work longer, and had almost given 
 it up in despair. Alexandrina did not tell her 
 parent that her heart was now beyond her con- 
 trol, and that she had devoted herself to Crosbie 
 forever ; but she pouted, saying that she knew 
 very well what she was about, scolding her mo- 
 ther in return, and making Lady De Courcy 
 perceive that the struggle was becoming very 
 weary. And then there were other considera- 
 tions. Mr. Crosbie had not much certainly in 
 his own possession, but he was a man out of 
 whom something might be made by family in- 
 fluence and his own standing. He was not a 
 hopeless, ponderous man, whom no leaven could 
 raise. He was one of whose position in soci- 
 ety the countess and her daughters need not be 
 ashamed. Lady De Courcy had given no ex- 
 pressed consent to the arrangement, but it had 
 come to be understood between her and her 
 daughter that the scheme was to be entertained 
 as admissible. 
 
 Then came these tidings of the little girl down 
 at Allington. She felt no anger against Cros- 
 bie. To be angry on such a subject would be 
 futile, foolish, and almost indecorous. It was 
 a part of the game which was as natural to her 
 as fielding is to a cricketer. One can not have 
 it all winnings at any game. Whether Crosbie 
 should eventually become her own son-in-law or 
 not, it came to her naturally, as a part of her 
 duty in life, to bowl down the stumps of that 
 young lady at Allington. If Miss Dale knew 
 the game well and could protect her own wick- 
 et, let her do so. 
 
 She had no doubt as to Crosbie's engagement 
 with Lilian Dale, but she had as little as to his 
 being ashamed of that engagement. Had he 
 really oared for Miss Dale he would not have 
 left her to come to Courcy Castle. Had he been 
 really resolved to many her he would not have 
 warded all questions respecting his engagement 
 with fictitioljl answers. He had amused him- 
 self with Lily Dale, and it was to be hoped that 
 
 the young lady had not thought very seriously 
 about it. That was the most charitable light in 
 which Lady De Courcy was disposed to regard 
 the question. 
 
 It behooved Crosbie to write to Lily Dale be- 
 fore dinner. He had promised to do so imme- 
 diately on his arrival, and he was aware that he 
 would be regarded as being already one day be- 
 yond his promise. Lily had told him that she 
 would live upon his letters, and it was absolute- 
 ly necessary that he should furnish her with her 
 first meal. So he betook himself to his room 
 in sufSeient time before dinner, and got out his 
 pen, ink, and paper. 
 
 He got out his pen, ink, and paper, and then 
 he found that his difficulties were beginning. I 
 beg that it may be understood that Crosbie was 
 not altogether a villain. He could not sit down 
 and write a letter as coming from his heart, of 
 which as he wrote it he knew the words to be 
 false. He was an ungenerous, worldly, incon- 
 stant man, very prone to think well of himself, 
 and to give himself credit for virtues which he 
 did not possess ; but he could not be false with 
 premeditated cruelty to a woman he had sworn 
 to love. He could not write an affectionate, 
 warm-hearted letter to Lily without bringing 
 himself, at any rate for the time, to feel toward 
 her in an affectionate, warm-hearted way. There- 
 fore he now sat himself to work, while his pen 
 yet remained dry in his hand, to remodel his 
 thoughts, which had been turned against Lily 
 and Allington by the craft of Lady De Courcy. 
 It takes some time before a man can do this. 
 He has to struggle with himself in a very un- 
 comfortable way, making efforts which are often 
 ■ unsuccessful. It is sometimes easier to lift a 
 couple of hundred-weights than to raise a few 
 thoughts in one's mind which at other moments 
 will come galloping in without a whistle. 
 
 He had just written the date of his letter 
 when a little tap came at the door, and it was 
 opened. 
 
 "I say, Crosbie," said the Honorable John, 
 "didn't you say something yesterday about a 
 cigar before dinner ?" 
 
 " Not a word," said Crosbie, in rather an an- 
 giy tone. 
 
 "Then it must have been me," said John. 
 " But bring your case with you, and come down 
 to the harness-room, if you won't smoke here. 
 I've had a regular little snuggery fitted up there ; 
 and we can go in and see the fellows making 
 up the horses." 
 
 Crosbie wished the Honorable John at the 
 mischief. 
 
 "I have letters to write," said he. "Be- 
 sides, I never smoke before dinner." 
 
 " That's nonsense. I've smoked hundreds 
 of cigars with you before dinner. Are you go- 
 ing to turn curmudgeon, too, like George and 
 the rest of them? I don't know what's coming 
 to the world ! I suppose the fact is, that little 
 girl at Allington won't let you smoke." 
 
 "The little girl at Allington—" began Cros- 
 bie ; and then he reflected that it would not be 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 87 
 
 ■well for him to say any thing to his present com- 
 panion about that little girl. "I'll tell you 
 what it is," said he. "I really have got letters 
 to write which must go by this post. There's 
 my cigar-case on the dressing-table." 
 
 " I hope it will be long before I'm brought to 
 such a state," said John, taking up the cigars in 
 bis hand. 
 
 "Let me have the case back," said Crosbie. 
 
 "A present from the little girl, I suppose?" 
 said John. "All right, old fellow! you shall 
 have it." 
 
 " There would be a nice brother-in-law for a 
 man ! " said Crosbie to himself, as the door closed 
 behind the. retreating scion of the De Courcy 
 family. And then, again, he took up his pen. 
 The letter must be written, and therefore he 
 threw himself upon the table, resolved that the 
 words should come and the paper be fiUed : 
 
 '*COTmoY Castlb, October^ 186-. 
 
 '* Dearest Ltly, — This la the first letter I ever wrote 
 to you, except those little notes when 1 Bent you my com 
 pliments discreetly ; and it sounds so odd. You will think 
 that this does not come as soon as it should ; but the truth 
 is that, after all, I only got in here just before dinner yes- 
 terday. I staid ever so long in Barchester, and came 
 across such a queer character. For you must know I 
 went to church, and afterward fraternized with the cler- 
 gyman who did t)ie service ; such a gentle old soul — and, 
 singularly enough, he is the grandfather of Lady Dumbel- 
 lo, who is staying here. 1 wonder what you'd think of 
 Lady Dumbello, or how you'd like to be shut up in the 
 same house with her for a week? 
 
 ^* But with reference to my staying at Barchester, 3 
 must tell you the truth now, though I was a gross impos- 
 tor the day that I went away. I wanted to avoid a part- 
 ing on that last morning, and therefore I started much 
 sooner than I need have done. I know you will be very 
 angry with me ; but open confession is good for the soul 
 You frustrated all my little plan by your early rising; and 
 as I saw you standing on the terrace, looking after us as 
 we went, I acknowledged that you had been light, and 
 that I was wrong. "When the time came, I was very glad 
 to have you with me at the last moment. If you remem- 
 ber, Lily, you can not think how different this place is 
 from the two former ones ; nor liow much I prefer the 
 sort of life which belongs to the latter. Since then I 
 have been what the world calls worldly, but you will 
 have to cure me of that. I have questioned myself very 
 much since 1 left you, and 1 do not think that I am quite 
 beyond the reach of a cure. At any rate, I will put my- 
 self trustingly into the doctor's hands. I know it is hard 
 for a man to change his habits^ but I can with truth say 
 this for myself, that I was happy at .Mlington, enjoying 
 every hour of the day, and that here I am ennuy6 by ev- 
 ei'y body, and nearly by every thing. One of the girls of 
 the house 1 do like ; but as to other people, I can hardly 
 find a companion Euq[iong them, let alone a fiiend. How- 
 ever, it would not have done for me to have broken away 
 from all such alliances too suddenly. 
 
 *' When I get up to Ldndon — and now I really am anx- 
 ious to get there— I can write to you more at my ease, and 
 more freely than I do here. I know that I am hardly my- 
 self among these people — or rather, I am hardly myself 
 as you know me, and as I hope you always will know me. 
 But, nevertheless, I am not so overcome by the miasma 
 but what I can tell you how truly I love you. Even though 
 ^my-spijit should be here,-which it is not, my heart would 
 be on the MUngton lawns. That dear lawn and that dear 
 bridge ! \ 
 
 ^' Give ray kind love to Bell and your mother. I feel al- 
 ready that I might almost say my mother. And Lily, my 
 darling, write to me at once. I expect your letters to me 
 to be lontjer, and better, and brighter than mine to you. 
 But I will endeavor to make mine nicer when I get back 
 to to\vn. 
 "God bless you 1 Yours, with all my heart, A. C." 
 
 As he had waxed warm with his writing he 
 had forced himself to be affectionate, and, as he 
 flattered himself, frank and candid. Neverthe- 
 less, he was partly conscious that he was pre- 
 paring for himself a mode of escape in those 
 allusions of his to his own worldliness ; if escape 
 should ultimately be necessary. " I have tried," 
 he would then say; "I have struggled honest- 
 ly, with my best eiforts for success ; but I am 
 not good enough for such success." I do not 
 intend to say that he wrote with a premeditated 
 intention of thus using his words ; but as he 
 wrote them he could not keep himself from re- 
 flecting that they might be used in that way. 
 
 He read his letter over,- felt satisfied with it, 
 and resolved that he might now free his mind 
 from that consideration for the next forty-eight 
 hours. Whatever might be his sins he had done 
 his duty by Lily ! And with this comfortable 
 reflection he deposited his letter in the Courcy 
 Castle letter-box. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 THE BQUIEB MAKES A VISIT TO THE SMALl 
 HOUSE. 
 
 Mrs. Dale acknowledged to herself that 
 she had not much ground for hoping that she 
 should ever find in Crosbie's house much per- 
 sonal happiness for her future life. She did_not 
 dislike Mr. Crosbie, nor in any great degree 
 mistrust him ; but she had seen enough of him 
 to make her certain that Lily's future home in 
 London could not be a home for her. He was 
 worldly, or, at least, a man of the world. He 
 
88 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON: 
 
 would be anxious to make the most of his in- 
 come, and his life would be one long straggle, 
 not perhaps for money, but for those things which 
 money only can give. There are men to whom 
 eight hundred a year is great wealth, and houses 
 to which it brings all the comforts that life re- 
 quires. But Crosbie was not such a man, nor 
 would his house be such a house. Mrs. Dale 
 hoped that Lily would be happy with him, and 
 satisfied with his modes of life, and she strove 
 to believe that such would be the case ; but as 
 regarded herself she was forced to confess that 
 in such a marriage her child would be much 
 divided from her. That pleasant abode to which 
 she had long looked forward that she might 
 have a welcome there in coming years should be 
 among fields and trees, not in some narrow Lon- 
 don street. Lily must now become a city lady ; 
 but Bell would still be left to her, and it might 
 still be hoped that Bell would find for herself 
 some country home. 
 
 Since the day on which Lily had first told her 
 mother of her engagement Mrs. Dale had found 
 herself talking much more fully and more fre- 
 quently with Bell than with her younger daugh- 
 ter. As long as Crosbie was at Allington this 
 was natural enough. He and Lily were of course 
 together, while Bell remained with her mother. 
 But the same state of things continued even after 
 Crosbie was gone. It was not that there was 
 any coolness or want of affection between the 
 mother and daughter, but that Lily's heart was 
 full of her lover, and that Mrs. Dale, though she 
 had given her cordial consent to the marriage, 
 felt that she had but few points of sympathy with 
 her future son-in-law. She had never said, even 
 to herself, that she disliked him ; nay, she had 
 sometimes declared to hei-self that she was fond 
 of him. But, in truth, ho was not a man after 
 her own heart. He was not one who could ever 
 be to her as her own son and her own child. 
 
 But she and Bell would pass hours together 
 talking of Lily's prospects. " It seems so strange 
 to me," said Mrs. Dale, " that she of all girls 
 should have been fancied by such a man as Mr. 
 Crosbie, or that she should have liked him. I 
 can not imagine Lily living in London." 
 
 " If he is good and affectionate to her she will 
 be happy wherever he is," said Bell. 
 
 " I hope so — I'm sure I hope so. But it 
 seems as though she will be so fai" separated from 
 us. It is not the distance, but the manner of 
 life which makes the separation. I hope you'll 
 never be taken so far from me." 
 
 ' ' I don't think I shall allow myself to be taken 
 up to London, " said Bell, laughing. ' ' But one 
 can never tell. If I do you must follow us, 
 mamma." 
 
 " I do not want another Mr. Crosbie for you, 
 dear." 
 
 "But perhaps I may want one for myself. 
 You need not tremble quite yet, however. Apol- 
 los do not come this road every day." 
 
 "Poor Lily! Do you remember when she 
 first called him Apollo ? I do, well. I remem- 
 ber his coming here the day after Bernard brought 
 
 him down, and how you were playing on the 
 lawn, while I was in the other garden. I little 
 thought then what it would come to." 
 
 "But, mamma, you don't regret it?" 
 
 " Not if it's to make her happy. If she can 
 be happy with him, of course I shall not regret 
 it ; not though he were to take her to the world's 
 end away from us. What else have I to look 
 for but that she and you should both be happy?" 
 
 "Men in London are happy with their wives 
 as well as men in the country." 
 
 " Oh yes ; of all women I should be the first 
 to acknowledge that. " 
 
 ' ' And as to Adolphus himself, I do not know 
 why we should distrust him." ■ 
 
 "No, my dear ; there is no reason. If I did 
 distrust him, I should not have given so ready an 
 assent to the marriage. But, nevertheless — " 
 
 " The truth is, you don't like him, mamma." 
 
 "Not so cordially as 1 hope I may like any 
 man whom you may choose for your husband." 
 
 And Lily, though she said nothing on the 
 subject to Mrs. Dale, felt that her mother was 
 in some degree estranged from her. Crosbie's 
 name was frequently mentioned between them, 
 but in the tone of Mrs. Dale's voice, and in her 
 manner when she spoke of him, there was lack- 
 ing that enthusiasm and heartiness which real 
 sympathy would have produced. Lily did not 
 analyze her own feelings, or closely make inqui- 
 ry as to those of her mother, but she perceived 
 that it was not all as she would have wished it 
 to have been. " I know mamma does not love 
 him," she said to Bell on the evening of the day 
 on which she received Crosbie's first letter. 
 
 " Not as you do, Lily; but she does love him." 
 
 ' ' Not as I do ! To say that is nonsense. Bell ; 
 of course she does not love him as I do. But 
 the truth is, she does not love him at all. Do 
 you think I can not see it ?" 
 
 "I'm afraid that you see too much." 
 
 ' ' She never says a word against him ; but if 
 she really liked him she would sometimes say a 
 word in his favor. I do not think she would 
 ever mention his name unless you or I spoke of 
 him before her. If she did not approve of him, 
 why did she not say so sooner?" 
 
 " That's hardly fair upon mamma," said Bell, 
 with some earnestness. " She does not disap- 
 prove of him, an^she never did. You know 
 mamma well enough to be sure that she would 
 not interfere with us in sudi a matter without 
 very strong reason. As 'regards Mr. Crosbie, 
 she gave her consent without a moment's hesi- 
 tation." 
 
 "Yes, she did." 
 
 " How can you say, then, that she disapproves 
 of him?" 
 
 "I didn't mean to find fault with mamma. 
 Perhaps it will come all right." 
 
 " It will come all right." But Bell, though 
 she made this very satisfactory promise, was as 
 well aware as either of the others that the fam- 
 ily would be divided when Crosbie should have 
 married Lily and taken her off to London. 
 
 On the following morning Mrs. Dale and Bell 
 
THE SMAXL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 89 
 
 were sitting, together. Lily was above in her 
 own room, either writing to her lover, or read- 
 ing his letter, or thinking of him, or working for 
 him. In some way she was employed on his 
 behalfj'and with this object she was alone. It 
 was now the middle of October, and the fire was 
 lit in Mrs. Dale's drawing-room. The window 
 which opened npon the lawn was closed, the 
 heavy curtains had been put back in their places, 
 and it had been acknowledged as an unwelcome 
 fact that the last of the summer was over. This 
 was always a sorrow to Mrs. Dale ; but it is one 
 of those sorrows which hardly admit of open ex- 
 pression. 
 
 "Bell," she said, looking up suddenly, "there's 
 your uncle at the window; let him in." For 
 now, since the putting up of the curtains, the 
 window had been bolted as well as closed. So 
 Bell got up, and opened a passage for the squire's 
 entrance. It was not often that he came down 
 in this way, and when he did do so it was gener- 
 ally for some purpose which had been expressed 
 before. 
 
 "What! fires already?" said he. "I never 
 have fires at the other house in the morning till 
 the first of November. I like to see a spark in 
 the grate after dinner." 
 
 " I like a fire when I'm cold," said Mrs. Dale. 
 But this was a subject on which the squire and 
 his sister-in-law had differed before, and as Mr. 
 Dale had some business in hand he did not now 
 choose to waste his energy in supporting his own 
 views on the question of fires. 
 
 "Bell, my dear," said he, "I want to speak 
 to your mother for a minute or two on a matter 
 of business. You wouldn't mind leaving us for 
 a little while, would you?" Whereupon Bell 
 collected up her work and went up stairs to her 
 sister. " Uncle Christopher is below with mam- 
 ma," said she, " talking about business. I sup- 
 pose it is something to do with your marriage." 
 But Bell was wrong. The squire's visit had no 
 reference to Lily's marriage. 
 
 Mrs. Dale did not move or speak a word when 
 Bell was gone, though it was evident that the 
 squire paused in order that she might ask some 
 question of him. " Mary," said he, at last, " I'll 
 tell you what it is that I have come to say to 
 you." Whereupon she put the piece of needle- 
 work which was ill her hands down upon the 
 work-basket before her, and settled herself to 
 listen to him. 
 
 " I wish to speak to you about Bell." 
 
 "About Bell?" said Mrs. Dale, as though 
 much surprised that he should have any thing to 
 say to her respecting her eldest daughter. 
 
 "Yes, about Bell. Here's Lily going to be 
 married, and it will be well that Bell should be 
 married too." 
 
 " I don't see that at all, " said Mrs. Dale. " I 
 am by no means in a hun-y to be rid of her.'' 
 
 " No, I dare say not. But of course you only 
 regard her welfare, and I can truly say that I do 
 the same. There would be no necessity for hur- 
 ry as to a marriage for her under ordinary cir- 
 cumstances; but there may be circumstances to 
 F 
 
 make such a thing desirable, and I think that 
 there are." It was evident from the squire's 
 tone and manner that he was very much in earn- 
 est ; but it was also evident that he found some 
 difiiculty in opening out the budget with which 
 he had prepared himself. He hesitated a little 
 in his voice, and seemed to be almost nervous. 
 Mrs. Dale, with some little spice of ill-nature, 
 altogether abstained from assisting him. She 
 was jealous of interference from him about her 
 girls, and though she was of course bound to 
 listen to him, she did so with a prejudice against 
 and almost with a resolve to oppose any thing 
 that he might say. When he had finished 
 his little speech about circumstances the squire 
 paused again ; but Mrs. Dale still sat silent, 
 with her eyes fixed upon his face. 
 
 "I love your children very dearly," said he, 
 " though I believe you hardly give me credit for 
 doing so." 
 
 "I am sure you do," said Mrs. Dale, "and 
 they are both well aware of it." 
 
 "And I am very anxious that they should be 
 comfortably established in life. I have no chil- 
 dren of my own, and those of my two brothers 
 ai'e every thing to me." 
 
 Mrs. Dale had always considered it as a mat- 
 ter of course that Bernard should be the squire's 
 heir, and had never felt that her daughters had 
 any claim on that score. It was a well under- 
 stood thing in the family that the senior male 
 Dale should have all the Dale property and all 
 the Dale money. She fully recognized even 
 the propriety of such an arrangement. But it 
 seemed to her that the squire was almost guilty 
 of hypocrisy in naming his nephew and his two 
 nieces together, as though they were the joint 
 heirs of his love. Bernard was his adopted son, 
 and no one had begrudged to the uncle the right 
 of making such adoption. Bernard was every 
 thing to him, and as being his heir was bound 
 to obey him in many things. But her daugh- 
 ters were no more to him than any nieces might 
 be to any uncle. He had nothing to do with 
 their disposal in marriage; and the mother's 
 spirit was already up in arras and prepared to do 
 battle for her own independence, and for that of 
 her children. " If Bernard would marry well," 
 said she, "I have no doubt it would be a comfort 
 to you" — meaning to imply thereby that the 
 squire had no right to trouble himself about any 
 other marriage. 
 
 " That's just it," said the squire. " It would 
 be a great comfort to me. And if he and Bell 
 could make up their minds together, it would, 
 I should think, be a great comfort to you also. " 
 
 "Bernard and Bell!" exclaimed Mrs. Dale. 
 No idea of such a union had ever yet come upon 
 her, and now in her surprise she sat silent. 
 She had always liked Bernard Dale, having felt 
 for him more family affection than for any other 
 of the Dale family beyond her own hearth. He 
 had been very intimate in her house, having 
 made himself almost as a brother to her girls. 
 But she had never thought of him as a husband 
 for either of them. 
 
90 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 "Then Bell has not spoken to you about it?" 
 said the squire. 
 
 "Never a word." 
 
 " And you have never thought about it?" 
 
 "Certainly not." 
 
 " I have thought about it a great deal. For 
 some years I have always been thinking of it. 
 I have set my heart upon it, and shall be very 
 unhappy if it can not be brought about. They 
 are both very dear to me — dearer than any body 
 else. If I could see them man and wife, I 
 should not much care then how soon I left the 
 old place to them." 
 
 There was a purer touch of feeling in this 
 than the squire had ever before shown in his sis- 
 ter-in-law's presence, and more heartiness than 
 she had given him the credit of possessing. 
 And she could not but acknowledge to herself 
 that her own child was included in this unex- 
 pected warmth of love, and that she was bound 
 at any rate to entertain some gratitude for such 
 kindness. 
 
 " It is good of you to think of her," said the 
 mother; "very good." 
 
 "I think a great deal about her," said the 
 squire. "But that does not much matter now. 
 The fact is, that she has declined Bernard's 
 offer." 
 
 " Has Bernard offered to her?" 
 
 "So he tells me; and she has refused him. 
 It may perhaps be natural that she should do so, 
 never having taught herself to look at him in 
 the light of a lover. I don't blame her at all. 
 I am not angry with hfer." 
 
 " Angry with her ! No. You can hardly be 
 angry with her for not being in love with her 
 cousin." 
 
 " I say that I am not angry with her. But I 
 think she might undertake to consider the ques- 
 tion. You would like such a match, would you 
 not?" 
 
 Mrs. Dale did not at first make any answer, 
 but began to revolve the thing in her mind, and 
 to look at it in various points of view. There 
 was a great deal in such an arrangement which 
 at the first sight recommended it to her very 
 strongly. All the local circumstances were in 
 its favor. As regarded herself it would promise 
 to her all that she had ever desired. It would 
 give her a prospect of seeing very much of Lily ; 
 for if Bell were settled at the old family house, 
 Crosbie would naturally be much with his friend. 
 She liked Bernard also ; and for a moment or 
 two fancied, as she turned it all over in her 
 mind, that even yet, if such a marriage were to 
 take place, there might grow up something like 
 true regard between her and the old squire. 
 How happy would be her old age in that small 
 house, if Bell with her children were living so 
 close to her ! 
 
 "Well?" said the squire, who was looking 
 very intently into her face. 
 
 " I was thinking, " said Mrs. Dale. " Do yon 
 say that she has already refused him?" 
 
 " I am afraid she has ; but then you know — " 
 
 " It must of course be left for her to judge." 
 
 "If you mean that she can not be made to 
 marry her cousin, of course we all know she 
 can't." 
 
 " I mean rather more than that." 
 
 "What do you mean, then?" 
 
 " That the matter must be left altogether to 
 her own decision ; that no persuasion must be 
 used by you or me. If he can persuade her, 
 indeed — " 
 
 "Yes, exactly. He must persuade her.. I 
 quite agree with you that he should have liber- 
 ty to plead his own cause. But look you here, 
 Mary, she has always been a very good child to 
 you — " 
 
 "Indeed she has." 
 
 " And a word from you would go a long way 
 with her, as it ought. If she knows that you 
 would like her to marry her cousin, it will make 
 her think it her duty — " 
 
 " Ah ! but that is just what I can not try to 
 make her think. " 
 
 "Will you let me speak, Mary? You take 
 me up and scold me before the words are half 
 out of my mouth. Of course I know that, in 
 these days, a young lady is not to be compelled 
 into marrying any body — not but that, as far as 
 I can see, they did better than they do now when 
 they had not quite so much of their own way." 
 
 "I never would take upon myself to ask a 
 child to marry any man." 
 
 " But you may explain to her that it is her 
 duty to give such a proposal much thought be- 
 fore it is absolutely refused. A girl either is in 
 love or she is not. If she is, she is ready to 
 jump down a man's throat ; and that was the 
 case with Lily." 
 
 " She never thought of the man till he had 
 proposed to her fully. " 
 
 "Well, never mind now. But if a girl is 
 not in love, she thinks she is bound to swear 
 and declare that she never will be so." 
 
 "I don't think Bell ever declared any thing 
 of the kind." 
 
 " Yes, she did. She told Bernard that she 
 didn't love him, and couldn't love him, and, in 
 fact, that she wouldn't think any thing more 
 about it. Now, Mary, that's what I call being 
 headstrong and positive. I don't want to drive 
 her, and I don't want you to drive her. But 
 here is an arrangement which for her will be a 
 very good one ; you must admit that. We all 
 know that she is on excellent terms with Ber- 
 nard. It isn't as though they had been falling 
 out and hating each other ^1 their lives. She 
 told him that she was very fond of him, and 
 talked nonsense about being his sister, and all 
 that." 
 
 "I don't see that it was nonsense at all." 
 
 " Yes, it was nonsense — on such an occasion. 
 If a man asks a girl to marry him, he doesn't 
 want her to talk to him about being his sister. 
 I think it is nonsense. If she would only con- 
 sider about it properly, she would soon learn to 
 love him." 
 
 " That lesson, if it be learned at all, must be 
 learned without any tutor." 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 91 
 
 " You won't do any thing to help me, then?" 
 
 " I will, at any rate, do nothing to mar yon. 
 And, to tell the truth, I must- think over the 
 matter fully before I can decide what I had bet- 
 • ter say to Bell about it. From her not speak- 
 ing to me — " 
 
 " I think she ought to have told you." 
 
 "No, Mr. Dale. Had she accepted him, of 
 course she would have told me. Had she thought 
 of doing so, she might probably have consulted 
 me. But if she maUe up her mind that she 
 must reject him — " 
 
 " She oughtn't to have made up her mind." 
 
 " But if she did, it seems natural to me that 
 she should speak of it to no one. She might 
 probably think that Bernard would be as well 
 pleased that it should not be known." 
 
 " Pshaw — known ! of course it will be known. 
 As you want time to consider of it, I will say 
 nothing more now. If she were my daughter, 
 I should have no hesitation in telling her what 
 I thought best for her welfare." 
 
 " I have none ; though I may have some in 
 making up my mind as to what is best for her 
 welfare. But, Mr. Dale, you may be sure of 
 this — I will speak to her very earnestly of your 
 kindness and love for her. And I wish you 
 would believe that I feel your regard for her 
 very strongly." 
 
 In answer to this he merely shook his head, 
 and hummed and hawed. " You would be glad 
 to see them married, as regards yourself?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Certainly I would," said Mrs. Dale. "I 
 have always liked Bernard, and I believe my 
 girl would be safe with him. But then, you 
 see, it's a question on which my own likings or 
 dislikings should not have any bearing." 
 
 And so they parted, the squire making his 
 way back again through the drawing-room win- 
 dow. He was not above half pleased with his 
 interview ; but then he was a man for whom 
 half pleasure almost sufficed. He rarely in- 
 dulged any expectation that people would make 
 themselves agreeable to him. Mrs. Dale, since 
 she had come to the Small House, had never 
 been a source of satisfaction to him, but he did 
 not on that account regret that he had brought 
 her there. He was a constant man ; urgent in 
 carrying out his own plans, but not sanguine in 
 doing so, and by no means apt to expect that 
 all things would go smooth with him. He had 
 made up his mind that his nephew and his niece 
 should be married, and, should he ultimately 
 fail in this, such failure would probably embit- 
 ter his future life ; but it was not in the nature 
 of the ma* to be angry in the mean time, or to 
 fume and scold because he met with opposition. 
 .He had told Mrs. Dale that he loved Bell dear- 
 ly. So he did, though he seldom spoke to her 
 With much show of special regard, and never was 
 soft and tender with her. But, on the other 
 hand, he did not now love her the less because 
 she opposed his wishes. He was a constant, 
 undemonstrative man, given rather to brooding 
 than to thinking ; harder in liis words than in 
 
 his thoughts, with more of heart than others be- 
 lieved, or that he himself knew ; but, above all, 
 he was a man who, having once desired a thing, 
 would desire it always. 
 
 Mrs. Dale, when she was left alone, began to 
 turn over the question in her mind in a much 
 fuller manner than the squire's presence had as 
 yet made possible for her. Would not such a 
 marriage as this be for them all the happiest do- 
 mestic arrangement which circumstances could 
 afford? Her daughter would have no fortune, 
 but here would be prepared for her all the com- 
 forts which fortune can give. She would be 
 received into her uncle's house, not as some 
 penniless, portionless bride whom Bernard might 
 have married and brought home, but as the wife 
 whom of all others Bernard's friends had thought 
 desirable for him. And then, as regarded Mrs. 
 Dale herself, there would be nothing in such a 
 marriage which would not be delightful to her. 
 It would give a realization to all her dreams of 
 future happiness. 
 
 But, as she said to herself over and over 
 again, all that must go for nothing. It must 
 be for Bell, and for her only, to answer Ber- 
 nard's question. In her mind there was some- 
 thing sacred in that idea of love. She would 
 regard her daughter almost as a castaway if she 
 were' to marry any man without absolutely lov- 
 ing him — loving him as Lily loved her lover, 
 with all her heart and all her strength. 
 
 With such a conviction as this strong upon 
 her she felt that she could not say much to Bell 
 that would be of any service. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 DK. CKOFTS. 
 
 If there was any thing in the world as to 
 which Isabella Dale was quite certain, it was 
 this — that she was not in love with Dr. Crofts. 
 As to being in love with her cousin Bernard, 
 she had never had occasion to ask herself any 
 question on that head. She liked him very 
 well, but she had never thought of marrying 
 him ; and now, when he made his proposal, she 
 could not bring herself to think of it. But as 
 regards Dr. Crofts, she had thought of it, and 
 had made up her mind — in the manner above 
 described. 
 
 It may be said that she could not have been 
 justified in discussing the matter even within 
 her own bosom, unless authorized to do so by 
 Dr. Crofts himself. Let it then be considered 
 that Dr. Crofts had given her some such au- 
 thority. This may be done in more ways than 
 one ; and Miss Dale could not have found her- 
 self asking herself questions about him unless 
 there had been fitting occasion for her to do so. 
 
 The profession of a medical man in a small 
 provincial town is not often one which gives to 
 its owner in early life a large income. Perhaps 
 in no career has a man to work harder for what 
 he earns, or to do more work without earning 
 
92 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 any thing. It has sometimes seemed to me as 
 though the young doctors and the old doctors 
 had agreed to divide between them the different 
 results of their profession — the young doctors 
 doing all the wQrk and the old doctors taking 
 all the money. If this be so, it may account for 
 that appearance of premature gravity which is 
 borne by so many of the medical profession. 
 Under such an avTangement a man may be ex- 
 cused for a desire to put away childish things 
 very early in life. 
 
 Dr. Crofts had now been practicing in Guest- 
 wick nearly seven years, having settled himself 
 in that town when he was twenty-three years 
 old, and being at this period about thirty. Dur- 
 ing those seven years his skill and industry had 
 been so fully admitted that he had succeeded in 
 obtaining the medical care of all the paupers in 
 the union, for which work he was paid at the 
 rate of one hundred pounds a year. He was 
 also assistant-surgeon at a small hospital which 
 was maintained in that town, and held two or 
 three other similar public positions, all of which 
 attested his respectability and general proficien- 
 cy. They, moreover, thoroughly saved him 
 from any of the dangers of idleness ; but, unfor- 
 tunately, they did not enable him to regard him- 
 self as a successful professional man. Whereas 
 old Dr. Gruffen, of whom but few people Spoke 
 well, had made a fortune in Guestwick, and 
 even still drew from the ailments of the town a 
 considerable and hardly yet decreasing income. 
 Now this was hard upon Dr. Crofts — unless 
 there was existing some such well-understood ar- 
 rangement as that above named. 
 
 He had been known to the family of the Dales 
 long previous to his settlement at Guestwick, 
 and had been very intimate with them from that 
 time to the present day. Of all the men, young 
 or old, whom Mrs. Dale counted among her in- 
 timate friends, he was the one whom she most 
 trusted and admired. And he was a man to be 
 trusted by those who knew him well. He was 
 not bright and always ready, as was Crosbie, 
 nor had he all the practical worldly good sense 
 of Bernard Dale. In mental power I doubt 
 whether he was superior to John Eames; to 
 John Eames, such as he might become when 
 the period of his hobbledehoyhood should have 
 altogether passed away. But Crofts, compared 
 with the other three, as they all were at present, 
 was a man more to be trusted than any of them. 
 And there was, moreover, about him an occa- 
 sional dash of humor, without which Mrs. Dale 
 would hardly have regarded him with that thor- 
 ough liking which she had for him. But it was 
 a quiet humor, apt to show itself when he had 
 but one friend with him, rather than in general 
 society. Crosbie, on the other hand, would be 
 much faore bright among a dozen than he could 
 with a single companion. Bernard Dale was 
 never bright ; and as for Johnny Eames — ; but 
 in this matter of brightness, Johnny Eames had 
 not yet shown to the world what his character 
 might be. 
 
 It was now two years since Crofts had been 
 
 called upon for medical advice on behalf of his 
 friend Mrs. Dale. She had then been ill for a 
 long period — some two or three months, and Dr. 
 Crofts had been frequent in his visits at AUing- 
 ton. At that time he became very intimate' 
 with Mrs. Dale's daughters, and especially so 
 with the eldest. Young unmarried doctors 
 ought perhaps to be excluded from houses in 
 which there are young ladies. I know, at any 
 rate, that many sage matrons hold very strongly 
 to that opinion, thinking, no doubt, that doctors 
 ought to get themselves married before they ven- 
 ture to begin working for a living. Mrs. Dale, 
 perhaps, regarded her own girls as still merely 
 children, for Bell, the elder, was then hardly 
 eighteen; or perhaps she held imprudent and 
 heterodox opinions on this subject; or it may 
 be that she selfishly preferred Dr. Crofts, with 
 all the danger to her children, to Dr. Gruffen, 
 with all the danger to herself Put the result 
 was that the young doctor one day informed 
 himself, as he was riding back to Guestwick, 
 that much of his happiness in this world would 
 depend on his being able to marry Mrs. Dale's 
 eldest daughter. At that time his total income 
 amounted to little more than two hundred a 
 year, and he had resolved within his own mind 
 that Dr. Gruffen was esteemed as much the bet- 
 ter doctor by the general public opinion of Guest- 
 wick, and that Dr. Gruffen's sandy-haired as- 
 sistant would even have a better chance of suc- 
 cess in the town than himself should it ever 
 come to pass that the doctor«was esteemed too 
 old for personal practice. Crofts had no fortune 
 of his own, and he was aware that Miss Dale 
 had none. Then, under those circumstances, 
 what was he to do ? 
 
 It is not necessary that we should inquire at 
 any great length into those love passages of the 
 doctor's life which took place three years before 
 the commencement of this narrative. He made 
 no declaration to Bell; but Bell, young as she 
 was, understood well that he would fain have 
 done so had not his courage failed him, or rath- 
 er, had not his prudence prevented him. To 
 Mrs. Dale he did speak, not openly avowing hi? 
 love even to her, but hinting at it, and then 
 talking to her of his unsatisfied hopes and pro- 
 fessional disappointments. "It is not that I 
 complain of being poor as I am," said he ; " or, 
 at any rate, not so poor that my poverty must be 
 any source of discomfort to me; but I could 
 hardly marry with such an income as I have at 
 present." 
 
 " But it will, increase, will it not ?" said Mrs. 
 Pale. 
 
 " It may some day, when I am becoming an 
 old man," he said. "But of what use will it 
 be to me then ?" 
 
 Mrs. Dale could not tell him that, as far as 
 her voice in the matter went, he was welcome 
 to woo her daughter and marry her, poor as he 
 was, and doubly poor as they would both be to- 
 gether on such a pittance. He had not even 
 mentioned Bell's name, and had he done so she 
 could only have bade him wait and hope. After 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 93 
 
 that he said nothing further to her upon the suh- 
 ject. To Bell he spoke no word of overt love ; 
 but on an autumn day, when Mrs. Dale was al- 
 ready convalescent, and the repetition of his 
 professional visits had become unnecessary, he 
 got her to walk with him through the half-hid- 
 den shrubbery paths, and then told her things 
 which he should never have told her if he really 
 wished to bind her heart to his. He repeated 
 that story of his income, and explained to her 
 that his poverty was only grievous to him in that 
 it prevented him from thinking of marriage. 
 "I suppose it must," said Bell. "I should 
 think it wrong to ask any lady to share such an 
 income as mine," said he. Whereupon Bell 
 had suggested to him that some ladies had in- 
 comes of their own, and that he might in that 
 way get over the difficulty. " I should be afraid 
 of myself in marrying a girl with money," said 
 he ; " besides, that is altogether out of the ques- 
 tion now." Of course Bell did not ask him why 
 it was out of the question, and for a time they 
 went on walking in silence. " It is a hard thing 
 to do," he then said — not looking at her, but 
 looking at the gravel on which he stood. " It 
 is a hard thing to do, but I will determine to 
 think of it no further. I believe a man may 
 be as happy single as he may married — almost." 
 " Perhaps more so," said Bell. Then the doc- 
 tor left her; and Bell, as I have said before, 
 made up her mind with great firmness that she 
 was not in love with him. I may certainly say 
 that there was nothing in the world as to which 
 she was so certain as she was of this. 
 
 And now, in these days, Dr. Crofts did not 
 come over to AUington very often. Had any of 
 the family in the Small House been ill, he would 
 have been there of course. The squire himself 
 employed the apothecaiy in the village, or if 
 higher aid was needed would send for Dr. GrufF- 
 en. On the occasion of Mrs. Dale's party Crofts 
 was there, having been specially invited ; but 
 Mrs. Dale's special invitations to her friends 
 were very few, and the doctor was well aware 
 that he must himself make occasion for going 
 there if he desired to see the inmates of the 
 house. But he very rarely made such occasion, 
 perhaps feeling that he was more in his element 
 at the work-house and the hospital. 
 
 Just at this time, however, he made one very 
 great and unexpected step toward success in his 
 profession. He was greatly surprised one morn- 
 ing by being summoned to the Manor House to 
 attend upon Lord De Guest. The family at the 
 Manor had employed Dr. Gruffen for the last 
 thirty years, and Crofts, when he received the 
 earl's message, could hardly believe the words. 
 "The earl ain't very bad," said the servant, 
 "but he would be glad to see you, if possible, a 
 little before dinner." 
 
 "You're sure he wants to see me?" said 
 Crofts. 
 
 " Oh yes ; I'm sure enough of that, Sir.'^ 
 
 "It wasn't Dr. Gruffen?" 
 
 "No, Sir; it wasn't Dr. Gruffen. I believe 
 his lordship's had about enough of Dr. Gruffen. 
 
 The doctor took to chaflBng his lordship one 
 day." 
 
 " Chaffed his lordship — his hands and feet, 
 and that sort of thing ?" suggested the doctor. 
 
 "Hands and feet!" said the man. "Lord 
 bless yon. Sir, he poked his fun at him, just as 
 though he was nobody ! I didn't hear, but Mrs. 
 Connor says that my lord's back was up terribly 
 high." And so Dr. Crofts got on his horse and 
 rode iip to Guestwick Manor. 
 
 The earl was alone. Lady Julia having al- 
 ready gone to Courcy Castle. " How d'ye do, 
 how d'ye do?" said the earl. "I'm not very 
 ill, but I want to get a little advice from you. 
 It's quite a trifle, but I thought it well to see 
 somebody." Whereupon Dr. Crofts of course 
 declared that he was happy to wait upon his 
 lordship. 
 
 "I know all about you, you know," said the 
 earl. ' ' Your grandmother Stoddard was a very 
 old friend of my aunt's. You don't remember 
 Lady Jemima ?" 
 
 "No," said Crofts. "I never had that hon- 
 or," 
 
 "An 'excellent old woman, and knew your 
 grandmother Stoddard well. You see, Gruffen 
 has been attending us for I don't know how 
 many years ; but upon my word — " And then 
 the earl stopped himself. 
 
 ' ' It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good," 
 said Crofts, with a slight laugh. 
 
 " Perhaps it'll blow me some good, for Gruff- 
 en never did me any. The fact is this : I'm 
 very well, you know — as strong as a horse." 
 
 " You look pretty well." 
 
 "No man could be better — not of my age. 
 I'm sixty, you know." 
 
 "Yon don't look as though you were ailing." 
 
 " I'm always out in the open air, and that, I 
 take it, is the best thing for a man. " 
 
 "There's nothing like plenty of exercise, 
 certainly. " 
 
 " And I'm always taking exercise," said the 
 earl. " There isn't a man about the place 
 works much harder than I do. And, let me 
 tell you, Sir, when you undertake to keep six 
 or seven hundred acres of land in your own 
 hand, you must look after it unless you mean 
 to lose money by it. " 
 
 "I've always heard that your lordship is a 
 good farmer." 
 
 "Well, yes; wherever the grass may grow 
 about my place, it doesn't grow under my feet. 
 You won't often find me in bed at six o'clock, I 
 can tell you." 
 
 After this Dr. Crofts ventured to ask his lord- 
 ship as to what special physical deficiency his 
 own aid was invoked at the present time. 
 
 "Ah, I was just coming to that," said the 
 earl. " They tell me it's a very dangerous prac- 
 tice to go to sleep after dinner." 
 
 "It's not very uncommon at any rate," said 
 the doctor. 
 
 " I suppose not ; but Lady Julia is always at 
 me about it. And, to tell the truth, I think I 
 sleep almost too sound when I get to my arm- 
 
94 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 chair in the drawing-room. Sometimes my sis- 
 ter really can't wake me — so, at least, she says." 
 
 ' ' And how's your appetite at dinner ?" 
 
 " Oh, I'm quite right there. I never eat any 
 luncheon, you know, and enjoy my dinner thor- 
 oughly. Then 1 drink three or four glasses of 
 port wine — " 
 
 "And feel sleepy afterward?" 
 
 " That's just it," said the earl. 
 
 It is not perhaps necessary that we should in- 
 quire what was the exact nature of the doctor's 
 advice ; but it was, at any rate, given in such a 
 way that the earl said he would be glad to see 
 him again. 
 
 "And look here, Doctor Crofts, I'm all alone 
 just at present. Suppose you come over and 
 dine with me to-morrow ; then, if I should go 
 to sleep, you know, you'll be able to let me know 
 whether Lady Julia doesn't exaggerate. Just 
 between ourselves, I don't quite believe all she 
 says about my — my snoring, you know." 
 
 Whether it was that the earl restrained his 
 appetite when at dinner under the doctor's eyes, 
 or whether the mid-day mutton chop which had 
 been ordered for him had the desired effect, or 
 whether the doctor's conversation was more live- 
 ly than that of the Lady Julia, we will not say ; 
 but the earl, on the evening in question, was 
 triumphant. As he sat in his easy-chair after 
 dinner he hardly winked above once or twice ; 
 and when he had taken the large bowl of tea, 
 which he usually swallowed in a semi-somnolent 
 condition, he was quite lively. 
 
 "Ah yes," he said, jumping up and rubbing 
 his eyes , "I think I do feel lighter. I enjoy a 
 snooze after dinner; I do indeed; I like it; but 
 then, when one comes to go to bed, one does it 
 m such a sneaking sort of way, as though one 
 were in disgrace ! And my sister, she thinks it 
 a crime — literally a sin, to go to sleep in a chair. 
 Nobody ever caught her napping! By-the-by, 
 Dr. Crofts, did you know that Mr. Crosbie whom 
 Bernard Dale brought down to AUington ? Lady 
 Julia and he are staying at the same house now." 
 
 "I met him once at Mrs. Dale's." 
 
 "Going to many one of the girls, isn't he?" 
 
 Whereupon Dr. Crofts explained that Mr. 
 Crosbie was engaged to Lilian Dale. 
 
 "Ah yes; a nice girl, I'm told. You know 
 all those Dales are connections of ours. My 
 sister Fanny married their uncle Orlando. My 
 brother-in-law doesn't like traveling, and so I 
 don't see very much of him ; but of course I'm 
 interested about the family." 
 
 "They're very old friends of mine,'' said 
 Crofts. 
 
 "Yes, I dare say. There are two girls, are 
 there not?" 
 
 "Yes, two." 
 
 "And Miss Lily is the youngest. There's 
 nothing about the elder one getting married, is 
 there?" 
 
 "I've not heard any thing of it." 
 
 "A very pretty girl she is, too. I remember 
 seeing her at her uncle's last year. I shouldn't 
 wonder if she were to marry her cousin Ber- 
 
 nard. He is to have the property, you know ; 
 and he's my (lephew." 
 
 " I'm not quite sure that it's a good thing for 
 cousins to marry," said Crofts. 
 
 "They do, you know, very often; and it 
 suits some family arrangements. I suppose Dale 
 must provide for them, and that would take one 
 off his hands without any trouble." 
 
 Dr. Crofts didn't exactly see the matter in 
 this light, but he was not anxious to argue it 
 very closely with the earl. " The younger one," 
 he said, ' ' has provided for herself. " 
 
 " What, by getting a husband? But I sup- 
 pose Dale must give her something. They're 
 not married yet, you know, and, from what I < 
 hear, that fellow may prove a slippery customer. 
 He'll not marry her unless old Dale gives her 
 something. You'll see if he does. I'm told 
 that he has got another string to his bow at 
 Courcy Castle." 
 
 Soon after this Crofts took his horse and rode 
 home, having promised the earl that he would 
 dine with him again before long. 
 
 "It'll be a great convenience to me if you'd 
 come about that time," said the earl, "and as 
 you're a bachelor perhaps you won't mind it. 
 You'll come on Thursday at seven, will you? 
 Take care of yourself. It's as dark as pitch. 
 John, go and open the first gates for Dr. Crofts." 
 And then the earl took himself off to bed. 
 
 Crofts, as he rode home, could not keep his 
 mind from thinking of the two girls at AUing- 
 ton. "He'll not marry her unless old Dale 
 gives her something." Had it come to that 
 with the world, that a man must be bribed into 
 keeping his engagement with a lady? Was 
 there no romance left among mankind, no feel- 
 ing of chivalry? " He's got another string to 
 his bow at Courcy Castle," said the earl ; and 
 his lordship seemed to be in no degree shocked 
 as he said it. It was in this tone that men 
 spoke of women nowadays, and yet he himself 
 had felt such awe of the girl he loved, and such 
 a fear lest he might injure her in her worldly 
 position, that he had not dared to tell her that 
 he loved her. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 JOHN EAMES ENCOUNTEKS TWO ADVENTURES, 
 AND DISPLAYS GREAT COURAGE IN BOTH. 
 
 Lilt thought that her lover's letter was all 
 that it should be. She was not quite aware 
 what might be the course of post between Cour- 
 cy and AUington, and had not, therefore, felt 
 very grievously disappointed when the letter did 
 not come on the very first day. She had, how- 
 ever, in the course of the morning walked down 
 to the post-office, in order that she might be 
 sure that it was not remaining there. 
 
 " Why, miss, they be all delivered ; you know 
 thatf" said Mrs. Crump, the post-mistress. 
 
 "But one might be left behind, I thought.'' 
 
 "John Postman went up to the house this 
 very day, with a newspaper for your mamma. 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 95 
 
 I can't make letters for people if folks don't 
 write them." 
 
 "But they are left behind sometimes, Mrs. 
 Crump. He wouldn't come up with one letter 
 if he'd got nothing else for any body in the 
 street." 
 
 "Indeed but he would then. I wouldn't let 
 him leave a letter here no how, nor yet a paper. 
 It's no good your coming down here for letters, 
 Miss Lily. If he don't write to you, I can't 
 make him do it. " And so poor Lily went home 
 discomforted. 
 
 But the letter came on the next morning, and 
 all was right. According to her judgment it 
 lacked nothing, either in fullness or in affection. 
 When he told her how he had planned his early 
 departure in order that he might avoid the pain 
 of parting with her on the last moment, she 
 smiled and pressed the paper, and rejoiced in- 
 wardly that she had got the better of him as to 
 that manoeuvre. And then she kissed the words 
 which told her that he had been glad to have 
 her with him at the last moment. When he 
 declared that he had been happier at Allington 
 than he was at Courcy, she believed him thor- 
 oughly, and rejoiced that it should be so. And 
 when he accused himself of being worldly, she 
 excused him, persuading herself that he was 
 nearly perfect in this respect as in others. Of 
 course a man living in London, and having to 
 earn his bread out in the world, must be more 
 worldly than a country girl ; but the fact of his 
 being able to love such a girl, to choose such a 
 one for his wife — was not that alone sufficient 
 proof that the world had not enslaved him? 
 " My heart is on the Allington lawns," he said ; 
 and then, as she read the words, she kissed the 
 paper again. 
 
 In her eyes, and to her ears, and to her heart, 
 the letter was a beautiful letter. T believe there 
 ia no bliss greater than that which a thorough 
 love-letter gives to a girl who knows that in re- 
 ceiving it she commits no fault, who can open it 
 before her father and mother with nothing more 
 than the slight blush which the consciousness of 
 her position gives her. And of all love-letters 
 the first must be the sweetest ! What a value 
 there is in every word ! How each expression 
 is scanned and turned to the best account ! 
 With what importance are all those little phrases 
 invested, whick too soon become mere phrases, 
 used as a matter of course. Crosbie had finish- 
 ed his letter by bidding God bless her; "and 
 you too," said Lily, pressing the letter to her 
 bosom. 
 
 "Does he say any thing particular?" asked 
 Mrs. Dale. 
 
 "Yes, mamma; it's all very particular." 
 "But there's nothing for the public ear. " 
 "He sends his love to you and Bell." 
 " We are very much obliged to him.'' 
 '■' So you ought to be. And he says that he 
 went to church going through Barohester, and 
 that the clergyman was the grandfather of that 
 Lady Durabello. When he got to Courcy Castle 
 Lady Dumbello was there." 
 
 "What a singular coincidence!" said Mrs. 
 Dale. 
 
 ' ' I won't tell you a word more about his let- 
 ter, " said Lily. So she folded it up, and put it 
 in her pocket. But as soon as she found her- 
 self alone in her own room she had it out again, 
 and read it over some half a dozen times. 
 
 That was the occupation of her morning; 
 that, and the manufacture of some very intricate 
 piece of work which was intended for the adorn- 
 ment of Mr. Crosbie's person. Her hands, how- 
 ever, were very full of work ; or, rather, she in- 
 tended that they should be full. She would 
 take with her to her new home, when she was 
 married, all manner of household gear, the 
 produce of her own industry and economy. She 
 had declared that she wanted to do something 
 for her future husband, and she would begin that 
 something at once. And in this matter she did 
 not belie her promises to herself, or allow her 
 good intentions to evaporate unaccomplished. 
 She soon surrounded herself with harder tasks 
 than those embroidei-ed slippers with which she 
 indulged herself immediately after his departure. 
 And Mrs. Dale and Bell — though in their gen- 
 tle way they laughed at her — nevertheless they 
 worked with her, sitting sternly to their long 
 tasks, in order that Crosbie's house might not 
 be empty when their darling should go to take 
 her place there as his wife. 
 
 But it was absolutely necessary that the let- 
 ter should be answered. It would in her eyes 
 have been a great sin to have let that day's post 
 go without carrying a letter from her to Courcy 
 Castle— a sin of which she felt no temptation to 
 be guilty. It was an exquisite pleasure to her 
 to seat herself at her little table, with her neat 
 desk and small appurtenances for epistle-craft, 
 and to feel that she had a letter to write in 
 which she had truly much to say. Hitherto 
 her correspondence had been uninteresting and 
 almost weak in its nature. From her mother 
 and sister she had hardly yet been parted ; and 
 though she had other friends, she had seldom 
 found herself with very much to tell them by 
 post. What could she communicate to Mary 
 Eames at Guestwick which should be in itself 
 exciting as she wrote it? When she wrote to 
 John Eames, and told ' ' Dear John" that mamma 
 hoped to have the pleasure of seeing him to tea 
 at such an hour, the work of writing was of lit- 
 tle moment to her, though the note when written 
 became one of the choicest treasures of him 
 to whom it was addressed. 
 
 But now the matter was very different. When 
 she saw the words " Dearest Adolphus" on the 
 paper before her she was startled with their 
 significance. "And four months ago I had 
 never even heard of him," she said to herself, 
 almost with awe. And now he was more to 
 her, and nearer to her, than even was her sister 
 or her mother! She recollected how she had 
 laughed at him behind his back, and called him 
 a swell on the first day of his coming to the 
 Small House, and how, also, she had striven, in 
 her innocent way, to look her best when called 
 
96 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 upon to go out and walk with the stranger from 
 London. He was no longer a stranger now, 
 but her own dearest friend. 
 
 She had put down her pen that she might 
 think of all this — by no means for the first time 
 — and then resumed it with a sudden start as 
 though fearing that the postman might be in 
 the village before her letter was finished. ' ' Dear- 
 est Adolphus — I need not tell you how delighted 
 I was when your letter was brought to me this 
 morning." But I will not repeat the whole of 
 her letter here. She had no incident to relate, 
 none even so interesting as that of Mr. Crosbie's 
 encounter with Mr. Harding at Barchester. She 
 had met no Lady Dumbello, and had no coun- 
 terpart to Lady Alexandrina, of whom, as a 
 friend, she could say a word in praise. John 
 Eames's name she did not mention, knowing 
 that John Eames was not a favorite with Mr. 
 Crosbie, nor had she any thing to say of John 
 Eames that had not been already said. He 
 had, indeed, promised to come over to AUing- 
 ton ; but this visit had not been made when 
 Lily wrote her first letter to Crosbie. It was a 
 sweet, good, honest love-letter, full of assur- 
 ances of unalterable afiection and unlimited con- 
 fidence, indulging in a little quiet fun as to the 
 grandees of Courcy Castle, and ending with a 
 promise that she would be happy and contented 
 if she might receive his letters constantly, and 
 live with the hope of seeing him at Christ- 
 mas. 
 
 " I am in time, Mrs. Crump, am I not ?" she 
 said, as she walked into the post-ofiice. 
 
 " Of course you be — ^for the next half hour. 
 T' postman — he hain't stirred from t' ale'us yet. 
 Just put it into t' box, wull ye ?" 
 
 "But you won't leave it there?" 
 
 " Leave it there ! Did you ever hear the like 
 of that ? If you're afeared to put it in, you can 
 take it away f that's all about it, Miss Lily. " 
 And then Mrs. Crump turned away to her avoca- 
 tions at the washing-tub. Mrs. Crump had a bad 
 temper, but perhaps she had some excuse. A 
 separate call was made upon her time with refer- 
 ence to almost every letter brought to her office, 
 and for all this, as she often told her friends in 
 profound disgust, she received as salary no more 
 than " tuppence farden a day. It don't find me 
 in shoe-leather; no more it don't." As Mrs. 
 Crump was never seen out of her own house, 
 unless it was in church once a month, this latter 
 assertion about her shoe-leather could hardly 
 have been true. 
 
 Lily had received another letter, and had an- 
 swered it before Eames made his promised visit 
 to AUington. He, as will be remembered, had 
 also had a correspondence. He had answered 
 Miss Boper's letter, and had since that been 
 living in fear of two things ; in a lesser fear of 
 some terrible rejoinder from Amelia, and in a 
 greater fear of a more terrible visit from his 
 lady-love. Were she to swoop down in very 
 truth upon his Guestwick home, and declare 
 herself to his mother and sister as his afiianced 
 bride, what mode of escape would then be left 
 
 for him ? But this she had not yet done, nor 
 had she even answered his cruel missive. 
 
 " What an ass I am to be afraid of her?" he 
 said to himself, as he walked along under the 
 elms of Guestwick manor, which overspread the 
 road to Allington. When he first went over to 
 AUington after his return home, he had mount- 
 ed himself on horseback, and had gone forth 
 brilliant with spurs, and trusting somewhat to 
 the glories of his dress and gloves. But he had 
 then known nothing of Lily's engagement. Now 
 he was contented to walk ; and as he had taken 
 up his slouched hat and stick in the passage of 
 his mother's house he had been very indifierent 
 as to his appearance. He walked quickly along 
 the road, taking for the first three miles the 
 shade of the Guestwick elms, and keeping his 
 feet on the broad green-sward which skirts the 
 outside of the earl's palings. ' ' What an ass I 
 am to be afraid of her !" And as he swung his 
 big stick in his hand, striking a tree here and 
 there, and knocking the stones from his path, 
 he began to question himself in earnest, and to 
 be ashamed of his position in the world. "No- 
 thing on earth shall make me marry her," he 
 said ; " not if they bring a dozen actions against 
 me. She knows as well as I do that I have 
 never intended to marry her. It's a cheat from 
 beginning to end. If she comes down here I'll 
 tell her so before my mother." But as the 
 vision of her sudden arrival came before his 
 eyes he acknowledged to himself that he still 
 held her in great fear. He had told her that he 
 loved her. He had written as rtiuch as that, 
 If taxed with so much he must confess his sin. 
 
 Then, by degrees, his mind turned away from 
 Amelia Roper to Lily Dale, not giving him a 
 prospect much more replete with enjoyment than 
 that other one. He had said that be would call 
 at Allington before he returned to town, and he 
 was now redeeming his promise. But he did 
 not know why he should go there. He felt that 
 he should sit silent and abashed in Mrs. Dale's 
 drawing-room, confessing by his demeanor that 
 secret which it behooved him now to hide from 
 every one. He could not talk easily before Lily, 
 nor could he speak to her of the only subject 
 which would occupy his thoughts when in her 
 presence. If indeed he might find her alone — 
 But perhaps that might be worse for him than 
 any other condition. 
 
 When he was shown into the drawing-room 
 there was nobody there. ' ' They were here a 
 minute ago, all three,"said the servant girl. "If 
 you'll walk down the garden, Mr. John, you'll 
 be sure to find some of 'em." So John Eames, 
 with a little hesitation, walked down the garden. 
 
 First of all he went the whole way round the 
 walks, meeting nobody. Then he crossed the 
 lawn, returning again to the farther end ; and 
 there, emerging from the little path which led 
 from the Great House, he enoonnteredLily alone. 
 "Oh John," she said, "how d'ye do? I'm 
 afraid yon did not find any body in the house. 
 Mamma and Bell are with Hopkins, away in the 
 large kitchen-garden." 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 97 
 
 "I've just come over," said Eames, "because 
 I promised. I said I'd come before I went back 
 to London.'' 
 
 " And they'll be very glad to see you, and so 
 am I. Shall we go after them into the other 
 grounds ? But perhaps you walked over and are 
 tired." 
 
 "I did walk," said Eames; "not that I am 
 very tired." But in truth he did not wish to go 
 after Mrs. Dale, though he was altogether at a 
 loss as to what he would say to Lily while re- 
 maining with her. He had fancied that he would 
 like to have some opportunity of speaking to her 
 alone before he went away — of making some 
 special use of the last interview which he should 
 have with her before she became a married wo- 
 man. But now the opportunity was there, and 
 he hardly dared to avail himself of it. 
 
 " You'll stay and .dine with us," said Lily. 
 
 " No, I'll not do that, for I especially told my 
 mother that I would be back." 
 
 " I'm sure it was very good of you to walk so 
 far to see us. If you really are not tired, I think 
 we will go to mamma, as she would be very sorry 
 to miss you." 
 
 This she said remembering at the moment 
 what had been Crosbie's injunctions to her about 
 John Eames. But John had resolved that he 
 would say those words which he had come to 
 speak, and that, as Lily was there with him, he 
 would avail himself of the chance which fortune 
 had given him. 
 
 "I don't think I'll go into the squire's gar- 
 den," he said. 
 
 " Uncle Christopher is not there. He is about 
 the farm somewhere. " 
 
 " If you don't mind, Lily, I think I'll stay 
 here. I suppose they'll be back soon. Of course 
 I should like to see them before I go away to 
 London. But, Lily, I came over now chiefly to 
 see you. It was you who asked me to promise." 
 ■ Had Grosbie been right in those remarks of 
 his ? Had she been imprudent in her little en- 
 deavor to be cordially kind to her old friend ? 
 ' ' Shall we go into the drawing-room ?" she said, 
 feeling that she would be in some degree safer 
 there than out among the shrubs and paths of 
 the garden. And I think she was right in this. 
 A man will talk of love out among the lilacs and 
 roses, who would be stricken dumb by the demure 
 propriety of the four walls of a drawing-room. 
 John Eames also had some feeling of this kind, 
 for he determined to remain out in the garden, 
 if he could so manage it. 
 
 "I don't want to go in unless you wish it," 
 he said. "Indeed, I'd rather stay here. So, 
 Lily, you're going to be married?" And thus 
 he rushed at once into the middle of his dis- 
 course. 
 
 "Yes," said she, "I believe I am." 
 
 " I have not told you yet that I congratulated 
 you." 
 
 "I have known very well that you did so in 
 your heart. I have always been sure that you 
 wished me well." 
 
 "Indeed I have. And if congratulating a 
 
 person is hoping that she may always be happy, 
 I do congratulate you. But, Lily — " And then 
 he paused, abashed by the beauty, purity, and 
 woman's grace which had forced him to love 
 her. 
 
 " I think I understand all that you would say. 
 I do not want ordinary words to tell me that I 
 am to count you among my best friends." 
 
 "No, Lily; you don't understand all that I 
 would say. You have never known how often 
 and how much I have thought of you ; how dear- 
 ly I have loved you." 
 
 " John, you must not talk of that now." 
 
 " I can not go without telling you. When I 
 came over here, and Mrs. Dale told me that you 
 were to be married to that man — " 
 
 "You must not speak of Mr. Crosbie in that 
 way," she said, turning upon him almost fiercely. 
 
 ' ' I did not mean to say any thing disrespect- 
 ful of him to you. I should hate myself if I 
 were to do so. Of course you like him better 
 than any body else." 
 
 " I love him better than all the world besides.'' 
 
 "And so do I love you better than all the 
 world besides." And as he spoke he got up 
 from his seat and stood before her. "I know 
 how poor I am, and unworthy of you ; and only 
 that you are engaged to him I don't suppose that 
 I should now tell you. Of course you couldn't 
 accept such a one as me. But I have loved yon 
 ever since you remember ; and now that you are 
 going to be his wife I can not but tell you that 
 it is so. You will go and live in London ; but 
 as to my seeing you there, it will be impossible. 
 I could not go into that man's house." 
 
 "Oh, John!" 
 
 " No, never ; not if you became his wife. I 
 have loved you as well as he does. When Mrs. 
 Dale told me of it I thought I should have fall- 
 en. I went away without seeing you because I 
 was unable to speak to you. I made a fool of 
 myself, and have been a fool all along. I am 
 foolish now to tell you this, but I can not help 
 it." 
 
 . " You will forget it all when you meet some 
 girl that you can really love. " 
 
 " And have I not really loved you ? Well, 
 never mind. I have said what I came to say, 
 and I will now go. If it ever happens that we 
 are down in the country together perhaps I may 
 see you again ; but never in London. Good-by, 
 Lily !" And he put out his hand to her. 
 
 " And won't you stay for mamma ?" she said. 
 
 " No. Give her my love, and to Bell. They 
 understand all about it. They will know why I 
 have gone. If ever you should want any body 
 to do any thing for yon, remember that I will 
 do it, whatever it is." And as he paced away 
 from her across the lawn, the special deed in her 
 favor to which his mind was turned — that one 
 thing which he most longed to do on her be- 
 half — was an act of corporal chastisement upon 
 Crosbie. If Crosbie would but ill-treat her — 
 ill-treat her with some antinuptial barbarity — 
 and if only he could be called in to avenge her 
 wrongs ! And as he made his way back along 
 
98 
 
 THE SJHALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTOUT. 
 
 'AWD HAVE I MOT BEALLY LOVED YOU?" 
 
 the road toward Guestwick he built up within 
 his own bosom a castle in the air, for her part 
 in which Lily Dale would by no means have 
 thanked him. 
 
 Lily when she was left alone burst into tears. 
 She had certainly said very little to encourage 
 her forlorn suitor, and had so borne herself dur- 
 ing the interview that even Crosbie could hard- 
 ly have been dissatisfied ; but now that Eames 
 was gone her heart became very tender toward 
 him. She felt that she did love him also— not 
 
 at all as she loved Crosbie, but still with a love 
 that was tender, soft, and true. If Crosbie could 
 have known all her thoughts at that moment I 
 doubt whether he would have liked them. She 
 burst into tears, and then hurried away into 
 some nook where she could not be seen by her 
 mother and Bell on their return. 
 
 Eames went on his way, walking very quietly, 
 swinging his stick and kicking through the dust, 
 with his heart full of the scene which had just 
 Ha was angry with himself, thinking 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 99 
 
 that he had played his part badly, accusing him- 
 self in that he had been rough to her, and self- 
 ish in the expression of his love ; and he was 
 angi'y with her because she had declared to him 
 that she loved Crosbie better than all the world 
 besides. He knew that of course she must do 
 so ; that at any rate it was to be expected that 
 such was the case. Yet, he thought, she might 
 have refrained from saying so to him. " She 
 chooses to scorn me now," he said to himself; 
 "but the time may come when she will wish 
 that she had scorned him." That Crosbie was 
 wicked, bad, and selfish, he believed inost fully. 
 He felt sure that the man would ill-use her and 
 make her wretched. He had some slight doubt 
 whether he would marry her, and from this doubt 
 he endeavored to draw a scrap of comfort. If 
 Crosbie would desert her, and if to him might 
 be accorded the privilege of beating the man to 
 death with his fists because of this desertion, 
 then the world would not be quite blank for 
 him. In all this he was no doubt very cruel to 
 Lily ; but then had not Lily been very cruel to 
 him ? 
 
 He was still thinking of these things when he 
 came to the first of the Guestwick pastures. The 
 boundary of the earl's property was very plainly 
 marked, for with it commenced also the shady 
 elms along the road-side, and the broad green 
 margin of turf, gratefal equally to those who 
 walked and to those who rode. Eames had got 
 himself on to the grass, but in the fullness of 
 his thoughts was unconscious of the change in 
 his path, when he was startled by a voice in the 
 next field and the loud bellowing of a bull. Lord 
 De Guest's choice cattle he knew were there ; 
 and there was one special bull which was es- 
 teemed by his lordship as of great value, and re- 
 garded as a high favorite. The people about 
 the place declared that the beast was vicious ; 
 but Lord De Guest had often been heard to 
 boast that it was never vicious with him. " The 
 boys tease him, and the men are almost worse 
 than the boys," said the earl; "but he'll never 
 hurt any one that has not hurt him." Guided 
 by faith in his own teaching, the earl had taught 
 himself to look upon his bull as a large, horned, 
 innocent lamb of the flock. 
 
 As Eames paused on the road he fancied that 
 he recognized the earl's voice, and it was the 
 voice of one in distress. Then the bull's roar 
 sounded very plain in his ear, and almost close, 
 upon hearing which he rushed on to the gate, 
 and, without much thinking what he was doing, 
 vaulted over it, and advanced a few steps into 
 the field. 
 
 "Halloo!" shouted the earl. "There's a 
 man. Come on!" And then his continued 
 shoutings hardly formed themselves into intelli- 
 gible words ; but Eames plainly understood that 
 he was invoking assistance under great pressure 
 and stress of circumstances. The bull was mak- 
 ing short runs at his owner, as though determ- 
 ined in each run to-have a toss at his lordship ; 
 and at each run the earl would retreat quickly 
 for a few paces ; but he retreated always facing 
 
 his enemy, and as the animal got near to him 
 would make digs at his face with the long spud 
 which he carried in his hand. But in thus mak- 
 ing good his retreat he had been unable to keep 
 in a direct line to the gate, and there seemed to 
 be great danger lest the bull should succeed in 
 pressing him up against the hedge. "Come 
 I on ! " shouted the earl, who was fighting his bat- 
 tle manfully, but was by no means anxious to 
 carry off all the laurels of the victory himself. 
 "Come on, I say!" Then he stopped in his 
 path, shouted into the bull's face, brandished 
 his spud, and threw about his arms, thinking 
 that he might best dismay the beast by the dis- 
 play of these warlike gestures. 
 
 Johnny Eames ran on gallantly to the peer's 
 assistance, as he would have run to that of any 
 peasant in the land. He was one to whom I 
 should be perhaps wrong to attribute at this pe- 
 riod of his life the gift of very high courage. 
 He feared many things which no man should 
 fear ; but he did not fear personal mishap or in- 
 jury to his own skin and bones. When Cra- 
 dell escaped out of the house in Burton Crescent, 
 making his way through the passage into the 
 outer air, he did so because he feared that Lu- 
 pex would beat him, or kick him, or otherwise 
 ill-use him. John Eames would also have de- 
 sired to escape under similar circumstances ; but 
 he would have so desired because he could not 
 endure to be looked upon in his diflSculties by 
 the people of the house, and because his imagina- 
 tion would have painted the horrors of a police- 
 man dragging him off with a black eye and a 
 torn coat. There was no one to see him now, 
 and no policeman to take offense. Therefore 
 he rushed to the earl's assistance, brandishing 
 his stick, and roaring in emulation of the bull. 
 
 When the animal saw with what unfairness 
 he was treated, and that the number of his foes 
 was doubled, while no assistance had lent itself 
 on his side, he stood for a while, disgusted by 
 the injustice of humanity. He stopped, and, 
 throwing his head up to the heavens, bellowed 
 out his complaint. "Don't come close!'! said 
 the earl, who was almost out of breath. " Keep 
 a little apart. Ugh! ugh! whoop, whoop!" 
 And he threw up his arms manfully, jobbing 
 about with his spud, ever and'anon rubbing the 
 perspiration from off his eyebrows with the back 
 of his hand. 
 
 As the bull stood pausing, meditating wheth- 
 er, under such circumstances, flight would not 
 be preferable to gratified passion, Eames made 
 a rush in at him, attempting to hit him on the 
 head. The earl, seeing this, advanced a step 
 also, and got his spud almost up to the animal's 
 eye. But these indignities the beast could not 
 stand. He made a charge, bending his head 
 first toward John Eames, and then, with that 
 weak vacillation which is as disgraceful in a 
 bull as in a general, he changed his purpose, 
 and turned his horns upon his other enemy. 
 The consequence was that his steps carried him 
 in between the two, and that the earl and Eames 
 found themselves for a while behind his tail. 
 
100 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 " Now for the gate," said the earl. 
 
 " Slowly does it ; slowly does it ; don't run!" 
 said Johnny, assuming, in the heat of the mo- 
 ment, a tone of counsel which would have been 
 very foreign to him under other circumstances. 
 
 The earl was not a whit offended. "All 
 right, " said he, taking with a backward motion 
 the direction of the gate. Then, as the bull 
 again faced toward him, he jumped from the 
 ground, laboring painfully with arms and legs, 
 and ever keeping his spud well advanced against 
 the foe. Eames, holding his position a little 
 apart from his friend, stooped low and beat the 
 ground with his stick, and as though defying 
 the creature. The bull felt himself defied, stood 
 still and roared, and then made another vacil- 
 lating attack. 
 
 " Hold on till we reach the gate," said Eames. 
 
 "Ugh! ugh! whoop! whoop!" shouted the 
 earl. And so gradually they made good their 
 ground. 
 
 "Now get over," said Eames, when they had 
 both reached the comer of the field in which 
 the gate stood. 
 
 "And what'U you do?" said the earl. 
 
 "I'll go at the hedge to the right." And 
 Johnny, as he spoke, dashed his stick about so 
 as to monopolize for a moment the attention of 
 the brute. The earl made a spring at the gate, 
 and got well on to the upper rung. The bull, 
 seeing that his prey was going, made a final 
 rush upon the earl, and struck the timber fu- 
 riously with his head, knocking his lordship 
 down on the other side. Lord De Guest was 
 already over, but not off the rail; and thus, 
 though he fell, he fell in safety on the sward 
 beyond the gate. He fell in safety, but utterly 
 exhausted. Eames, as he had purposed, made 
 a leap almost sideways at a thick hedge, which 
 divided the field from one of the Guestwick 
 copses. There was a fairly broad ditch, and on 
 the other side a quickset hedge, which had, how- 
 ever, been weakened and injured by trespassers 
 at this corner, close to the gate. Eames was 
 young and active, and jumped well. He jump- 
 ed so well that he carried his body full into the 
 middle of the quickset, and then scrambled 
 through to the other side, not without much in- 
 jury to his clothes, and some damage also to 
 his hands and face. 
 
 The beast, recovering from his shock against 
 the wooden bars, looked wistfully at his last re- 
 treating enemy, as he still struggled amidst the 
 bushes.. He looked at the ditch and at the 
 broken hedge, but he did not understand how 
 weak were the impediments in his way. He 
 had knocked his head against the stout timber, 
 which was strong enougli to oppose him, but was 
 dismayed by the brambles which he might have 
 trodden under foot without an effort. How 
 many of us are like the bull, turning away con- 
 quered by opposition which should be as nothing 
 to us, and breaking our feet, and worse still, our 
 hearts, against rocks of adamant ! The bull at 
 last made up his mind that he did not dare to 
 face the hedge ; so he gave one final roar, and 
 
 then, turning himself round, walked placidly 
 back amidst the herd. 
 
 Johnny made his way on to the road by a 
 stile that led out of the copse, and was soon 
 standing over the earl, while the blood ran down 
 his cheeks from the scratches. One of the legs 
 of his trowsers had been caught by a stake, and 
 was torn from the hip downward, and his hat 
 was left in the field, the only trophy for the bull. 
 "I hope you're not hurt, my lord," he said. 
 
 " Oh dear, no ; but I'm terribly out of breath. 
 Why, you're bleeding all over. He didn't get 
 at you, did he ?" 
 
 "It's only the thorns in the hedge," said 
 Johnny, passing his hand over his face. "But 
 I've lost my hat." 
 
 " There are plenty more hats," said the earl. 
 
 " I think I'll have a try for it," said Johnny, 
 with whom the means of getting hats had not 
 been so plentiful as with the earl. " He looks 
 quiet now." And he moved toward the gate. 
 
 But LordDe Guest jumped npon his feet and 
 seized the young man by the collar of his coat. 
 " Go after your hat !" said he. " You must be 
 a fool to think of it ! If you're afraid of catch- 
 ing cold you shall have mine." 
 
 "I'm not the least afraid of catching cold," 
 said Johnny. " Is he often like that, my lord ?" 
 And he made a motion with his head toward 
 the bull. 
 
 " The gentlest creature alive ; he's like a lamb 
 generally — just like a lamb. Perhaps he saw 
 my red pocket-handkerchief." And Lord De 
 Guest showed his friend that he carried such an 
 ai'ticle. " But where should I have been if you 
 hadn't come up ?" 
 
 " You'd have got to the gate, my lord." 
 
 " Yes, with my feet foremost, and foui* men 
 carrying me. I'm veiy thirsty. You don't hap- 
 pen to carry a flask, do you ?" 
 
 " No, my lord, I don't." 
 
 ' ' Then we'll make the best of our way home, 
 and have a glass of wine there." And on this 
 occasion his lordship intended that his offer 
 should be accepted. 
 
 CHAPTER XXn. 
 
 LOKD I)E GUEST AT HOME. 
 
 The Earl and John Eames, after their es- 
 cape from the bull, walked up to the Manor 
 House together. "You can write a note to 
 your mother, and I'll send it by one of the 
 boys," said the earl. This was his lordship's 
 answer when Eames declined to dine at the' 
 Manor House, because he would be expected 
 home. 
 
 "But I'm so badly off for clothes, my lord," 
 pleaded Johnny. "I tore my trowsers in the 
 hedge. " 
 
 "There will be nobody there besides us two 
 and Dr. Crofts. The doctor will forgive you 
 when he hears the story ; and as for me, I didn't 
 care if you hadn't a stitch to your back. You'll 
 have company back to Guestwick, so come along." 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTOK 
 
 101 
 
 -^M^-^^' 
 
 r- 
 
 Eames had no further excuse to offer, and 
 therefore did as he was bidden. He was by no 
 means as much at home with the earl now as 
 during those minutes of the combat. He would 
 rather have gone home, being somewhat ashamed 
 of being seen in his present tattered and bare- 
 headed condition by the servants of the house ; 
 and moreover, his mind would sometimes re- 
 vert to the scene which had taken place in the 
 garden at Allington. But he found himself 
 obliged to obey the earl, and so he walked on 
 with him through the woods. 
 
 The earl did not say veiy much, being tired 
 and somewhat thoughtful. In what little he did 
 say he seemed to be specially hurt by the in- 
 gratitude of the bull toward himself. " I never 
 teased him, or annoyed him in any way." 
 
 "I suppose they are dangerous beasts?" said 
 Eames. 
 
 "Not a bit of it, if they're properly treated. 
 It must have been my handkerchief, I suppose. 
 I remember that I did blow my nose." 
 
 He hardly said a word in the way of thanks 
 to his assistant. "Where should I have been 
 if you had not come to me?" he had exclaimed 
 immediately after his deliverance ; but having 
 said that he didn't think it necessary to say much 
 more to Eames. But he made himself very 
 pleasant, and by the time he had reached the 
 house his companion was almost glad that he 
 had been forced to dine at the Manor House. 
 "And now we'll have a drink," said the earl. 
 "I don't know how you feel, but I never was so 
 thirsty in my life." 
 
 Two servants immediately showed themselves, 
 and evinced some surprise at Johnny's appear- 
 
 ance. "Has the gentleman hurt hisself, my 
 lord?" asked the butler, looking at the blood 
 upon our friend's face. 
 
 ' ' He has hurt his trowsers the worst, I be- 
 lieve,", said the earl. "And if he was to put 
 on any of mine they'd be too short and too big, 
 wouldn't they? I am sorry you should be so 
 uncomfortable, but yon mustn't mind it for 
 once." 
 
 " I don't mind it a bit," said Johnny. 
 
 "And I'm sure I don't," said the earl. " Mr. 
 Eames is going to dine here, Vickera." 
 
 " Yes, my lord." 
 
 "And his hat is down in the middle of the 
 nineteen acres. Let three or four men go for it." 
 
 "Three or four men, my lord!" 
 
 "Yes, three or four men. There's something 
 gone wrong with that bull. And you must get 
 a boy with a pony to take a note into Guestwick 
 to Mrs. Eames. Oh, dear, I'm better now," 
 and he put down tBe tumbler -from which he'd 
 been drinking. "Write your note here, and 
 then we'll go and see my pet pheasants before 
 dinner." 
 
 Vickei's and the footman knew that something 
 had happened of much moment, for the earl 
 was usually very particular about his dinner- 
 table. He expected every guest who sat there 
 to be dressed in such guise as the fashion of the 
 day demanded ; and he himself, though his 
 morning costume was by no means brilliant, 
 never dined, even when alone, without having 
 put himself into a suit of black, with a white 
 cravat, and having exchanged the old silver 
 hunting-watch, which he carried during the day 
 tied round his neck by a bit of old ribbon, for 
 a small gold watch, with a chain and seals, which 
 in the evening always dangled over his waist- 
 coat. Dr. Gruffen had once been asked to din- 
 ner at Guestwick Manor. "Just a bachelor's 
 chop," said the earl; "for there's nobody at 
 home but myself." Whereupon Dr. Gruffen 
 had come in colored trowsers — and had never 
 again been asked to dine at Guestwick Manor. 
 All this Vickers knew well ; and now his lord- 
 Ship had brought young Eames home to dine 
 with him with his clothes all hanging about him 
 in a manner which Vickers declared in the serv- 
 ants', hall wasn't more than half decent. There- 
 fore they all knew that something very particur 
 lar must have happened. "It's some trouble 
 about the bull, I know," said Vickers; "but 
 bless you, the bull couldn't have tore his things 
 in that way ! " 
 
 Eames wrote his note, in which he told his 
 mother that he had had an adventure with Lord 
 De Guest, and that his lordship had insisted on 
 bringing him home to dinner. ". I have torn 
 my -trowsers all to pieces, " he added in a post- 
 script, "and have lost my hat. Eveiy thing 
 else is all right." He was not aware that the 
 earl also sent a short note to Mrs. Eames. 
 
 "Deae Madam"— ran the earl's note— " your Bon has, 
 under Providence, probably saved my life. I will leave 
 the story for him to tell. He has been good enough to ac- 
 company me home, and will return to Guestwick after din- 
 ner with Dr. Crofts, who dines here. 1 congratulate yon 
 
102 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 on having a son with so much cool courage aad good feel- 
 ing, Your very faitliful servant, 
 
 "DeGdest. 
 
 " GuBSTWiCK Manob, Thursday, Oetoler, 186-.'' 
 
 And then they went to see the pheasants. 
 "Now I'll tell you what, "said the earl. "I 
 advise you to take to shooting. It's the amuse- 
 ment of a gentleman when a man chances to 
 have the command of game." 
 
 "But I'm always up in London." 
 
 ' ' No, you're not. You're not up in London 
 now. You always have your holidays. If you 
 choose to try it, I'll see that you have shooting 
 enough while you're here. It's better than go- 
 ing to sleep under the trees. Ha, ha, ha! I 
 wonder what made you lay yourself down 
 there. You hadn't been fighting a bull that 
 day?" 
 
 " No, my lord. I hadn't seen the bull 
 then." 
 
 " Well; you think of wliat I've been saying. 
 When I say a thing, I mean it. You shall have 
 shooting enough if you have a mind to try 
 it." Then they looked at the pheasants, and 
 pottered about the place till the eai'l said it was 
 time to dress for dinner. ' ' That's hard upon 
 you, isn't it?" said he. "But, at any rate, 
 you can wash your hands, and get rid of the 
 blood. I'll be down in the little drawing-room 
 five minutes before seven, and I suppose I'll find 
 you there." 
 
 At five minutes before seven Lord De Guest 
 came into the small drawing-room, and found 
 Johnny seated there, with a book before him. 
 The earl was a little fussy, and showed by his 
 manner that he was not quite at his ease, as 
 some men do when they have any piece of work 
 on hand which is not customai-y with them. He 
 held something in his hand, and shuffled a little 
 as he made his way up the room. He was 
 dressed, as usual, in black ; but his gold chain 
 was not, as usual, dangling over his waistcoat. 
 
 " Eames," he said, "I want you to accept 
 a little present from me — just as a memorial of 
 our affair with the bull. It will make you 
 think of it sometimes, when I'm perhaps gone." 
 
 "Oh, my lord — " 
 
 ' ' It's my own watch, that I have been wear- 
 ing for some time ; but I've got another . two 
 or three, I believe, somewhere up stairs. You 
 mustn't refuse me. I can't bear being refused. 
 There are two or three little seals, too, which I 
 have worn. I have taken off the one with my 
 arms, because that's of no use to you, and it is 
 to me. It doesn't want a key, but winds up at 
 the handle, in this way ;" and the earl proceed- 
 ed to explain the nature of the toy. 
 
 " My lord, you think too much of what hap- 
 pened to-day," said Eames, stammering. 
 
 "No, I don't; I think very little about it. I 
 know what I think of. Put the watch in your 
 pocket before the doctor comes. There ; I hear 
 his horse. Why didn't he drive over ? and then 
 he could have taken you back?" 
 
 ' ' I can walk very well. " 
 
 " I'll make that all right. The servant shall 
 
 ride Crofts's horse, and bring back the little 
 phaeton. How d'you do, doctor? You know 
 Eames, I suppose ? You needn't look at him 
 in that way. His leg is not broken ; it's only 
 his trowsers." And then the earl told the story 
 of the bull. 
 
 " Johnny will become quite a hero in town," 
 said Crofts. 
 
 " Yes ; I fear he'll get the most of the credit; 
 and yet I was at it twice as long as he was. I'll 
 tell you what, young men, when I got to that 
 gate I didn't think I'd breath enough left in me 
 to get over it. It's all very well jumping into a 
 hedge when you're only two-and- twenty; but 
 when a man comes to be sixty he likes to take 
 his time about such things. Dinner ready, is 
 It? So am I. I quite forgot that mutton chop 
 of yours to-day, doctor. But I suppose a man 
 may eat a good dinner after a fight with a 
 bull?" 
 
 The evening passed by without any very 
 pleasurable excitement, and I regret to say that 
 the earl went fast to sleep in the, drawing-room 
 as soon as he had swallowed his cup of coifee. 
 During dinner he had been very courteous to 
 both his guests, but toward Eames he had used 
 a good-humored and almost affectionate famil- 
 iarity. He had quizzed him for having been 
 found asleep under the tree, telling Crofts that 
 he had looked very forlorn — " So that I haven't 
 a doubt about his being in love," said the earl. 
 And he had asked Johnny to tell the name of 
 the fair one, bringing up the remnants of his 
 half-forgotten classicalities to bear out the joke. 
 " If I am to take more of the severe Palernian," 
 said he, laying his hand on the decanter of port, 
 "I must know the lady's name. Whoever she 
 be, I'm well sure you need not blush for her. 
 What ! you refuse to tell ! Then I'll drink no 
 more. " And so the earl had walked out of the 
 dining-room ; but not till he had perceived by 
 his guest's cheeks that the joke had been too 
 true to be pleasant. As he went, however, he 
 leaned with his hand on Eames's shoulder, and 
 the servants looking on saw that the young man 
 was to be a favorite. ' ' He'll make him his 
 heir," said Vickers. " I shouldn't wonder a bit 
 if he don't make him his heir." But to this the 
 footman objected, endeavoring to prove to Mr. 
 Vickers that, in accordance with the law of the 
 land, his lordship's second cousin, once removed, 
 whom the earl had never seen, but whom he 
 was supposed to hate, must be his heir. " A 
 hearl can never choose his own heir, like you or 
 me," said the footman, laying down the law. 
 "Can't he, though, really now? That's very 
 hard on him, isn't it ?" said the pretty house- 
 maid. "Pshaw!" said Vickers: "you know 
 nothing about it. My lord could make young 
 Eames his heir to-morrow ; that is, the heir of 
 his property. He couldn't make him a hearl, 
 because that must go to the heirs of his body. 
 As to his leaving him the place here, I don't just 
 know how that'd be; and I'm sure Richard 
 don't." 
 
 "But suppose he hasn't got any heirs of his 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 loa 
 
 body ?" asked the pretty honse-maid, who was 
 rather fond of putting down Mr. Vlckers. 
 
 "He must have heirs of his body," said the 
 butler. " Every body haa 'em. If a man don't 
 know 'em himself, the law finds 'em out." And 
 then Mr. Vlckers walked away, avoiding further 
 dispute. 
 
 In the mean time, the earl was asleep up 
 stairs, and the two young men from Gnestwick 
 did not find that they could, amuse themselves 
 with any satisfaction. Each took up a book ; 
 but there are times at which a man is quite un- 
 able to read, and when a book is only a cover 
 for his idleness or dullness. At last, Dr. Crofts 
 suggested, in a whisper, that they might as well 
 begin to think of going home. 
 
 "Eh ; yes ; what?" said the earl : " I'm not 
 asleep." In answer to which the doctor said 
 that he thought he'd ^o home, if his lordship 
 would let him order his horse. But the earl 
 was again fast bound in slumber, and took no 
 further notice of the proposition. 
 
 "Perhaps we could get off without waking 
 him," suggested Eames, in a whisper. 
 
 "Eh; what?" said the earl. So they both 
 resumed their books, and submitted themselves 
 to their martyrdom for a further period of fifteen 
 minutes. At the expiration of that time the 
 footman brought in tea. 
 
 " Eh ; what? tea !" said the earl. " Yes, we'll 
 have a little tea. I've heard every word you've 
 been saying." It was that assertion on the part 
 of the earl which always made Lady Julia so 
 angiy. ' ' You can not have heard what I have 
 been saying, Theodore, because I have said no- 
 thing," she would reply. "But I should have 
 heard it if you had," the earl would rejoin, snap- 
 pishly. On the present occasion neither Crofts 
 nor Eames contradicted him, and he took his 
 tea and swallowed it while still three parts asleep. 
 
 "If you'll allow me, my lord, I think I'll 
 order my horse, " said the doctor, 
 
 "Yes; horse — yes — " said the earl, nodding. 
 
 "But what are you to do, Eames, if I ride?" 
 said the doctor. 
 
 " I'll walk," whispered Eames, in his very low- 
 est voice. 
 
 "What — what — what?" said the earl, jump- 
 ing up on his feet. " Oh, ah, yes ; going away, 
 are you ? I suppose you might as well as sit 
 here and see me sleeping. But, doctor — I didn't 
 snore, did I ?" 
 
 " Only occasionally." 
 
 "Not loud, did I? Come, Eames, did I 
 snore loud ?" 
 
 "Well, my lord, you did snore rather loud 
 two or three times." 
 
 "Did I?" said the earl, in a voice of great 
 disappointment. "And yet, do you know, I 
 heard every word you said." 
 
 The small phaeton had been already ordered, 
 and the two young men started back to Guest- 
 wick together, a servant from the house riding 
 the doctor's horse behind them. " Look here, 
 Eames," said the earl, as they parted on the 
 steps of the hall door. " You're going back to 
 
 town the day after to-morrow you say, so I 
 sha'n't see you again ?" 
 
 "No, my lord," said Johnny. 
 
 " Look you here, now. I shall be up for the 
 Cattle-show before Christmas. You must dine 
 with me at my hotel, on the twenty-second of 
 December, Pawkin's, in Jermyn Street; seven 
 o'clock, sharp. Mind you do not forget, now. 
 Put it down in your pocket-book when you get 
 home. Good-by, doctor; good-by. I see I 
 must stick to that mutton chop in the middle of 
 the day." And then they drove off. 
 
 "He'll make him his heir for certain,'' said 
 "Vickers to himself, as he slowly returned to his 
 own quarters. 
 
 "You were returning from AUington, I sup- 
 pose," said Crofts, "when you came across Lord 
 De Guest and the ball?" 
 
 "Yes: I just walked over to say good-by to 
 them." 
 
 "Did you find them all well?" 
 
 "I only saw one. The other two were out." 
 
 "Mrs. Dale, was it?" 
 
 "No; it was Lily." 
 
 " Sitting alone, thinking of her fine London 
 lover, of course? I suppose we ought to look 
 upon her as a very lucky girl. I have no doubt 
 she thinks herself so." 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know," said Johnny. 
 
 ' ' I believe he's a very good young man," sai d 
 the doctor ; " but I can't say I quite liked his 
 manner." 
 . , " I should think not," said Johnny. 
 
 *"But then in all probability he did not like 
 mine a bit better, or perhaps yours either. And 
 if so it's all fair. " 
 
 "I don't see that it's a bit fair. He's a 
 snob," said Eames ; " and I don't believe that I 
 am." He had taken a glass or two of the earl's 
 " severe Ealernian," and was disposed to a more 
 generous confidence, and perhaps also to stron- 
 ger language, than might otherwise have been 
 the case. 
 
 "No ; I don't think he is a snob," said Crofts. 
 " Had he been so, Mrs. Dale would have per- 
 ceived it. " 
 
 "You'll see," said Johnny, touching up the 
 earl's horse with energy as he spoke. "You'll 
 see. A man who gives himself airs is a snob ; 
 and he gives himself airs. And I don't believe 
 he's a straightforward fellow. It was » bad 
 day for us all when he came among them at 
 AUington." 
 
 " I can't say that I see that." 
 
 "I do. But mind, I haven't spoken a word 
 of this to any one. And I don't mean. What 
 would be the good ? I suppose she must marry 
 him now?" 
 
 " Of course she must." 
 
 " And be wretched all her life. Oh-h-h-h !" 
 and he muttered a deep groan. " I'll tell you 
 what it is. Crofts. He is going to take the 
 sweetest girl out of this country that ever was 
 in it, and he don't deserve her." 
 
 "I don't think she can be compared to her 
 sister," said Crofts, slowly. 
 
104 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 " What ; not Lily ?" said Eames, as though 
 the proposition made by the doctor were one 
 that could not hold water for a minute. 
 
 "I have always thought that Bell was the 
 more admired of the two," said Crofts. 
 
 " I'll tell you what," said Eames. "I have 
 never yet set my eyes on any human creature 
 whom I thought so beautiful as Lily Dale. And 
 now that beast is going to marry her ! I'll tell 
 you what. Crofts ; I'll manage to pick a quarrel 
 with him yet." Whereupon the doctor, seeing 
 the nature of the complaint from which his com- 
 panion was suffering, said nothing more, either 
 about Lily or about Bell. 
 
 Soon after this Eames was at his own door, 
 and was received there by his mother and sister 
 with all the enthusiasm due to a hero. "He 
 has saved the earl's life!" Mrs. Eames had ex- 
 claimed to her daughter on reading Lord De 
 Guest's note. "Oh, goodness !" and she threw 
 herself back upon the sofa almost in a fainting 
 condition. 
 
 " Saved Lord De Guest's life !" said Mary. 
 
 " Yes — under Providence, " said Mrs. Eames, 
 as though that latter fact added much to her 
 son's good deed. 
 
 "But how did he do it?" 
 
 "By cool courage and good feeling; so his 
 lordship says. But I wonder how he really did 
 do it ?" 
 
 "Whatever way it was, he's torn all his 
 clothes and lost his hat," said Mary. 
 
 "I don't care a bit about that," said Mjs. 
 Eames. "I wonder whether the earl has &ny 
 interest at the Income-tax. What « thing it 
 would be if he could get Johnny a step ! It 
 would be seventy pounds a year at once. He 
 was quite right to stay and dine when his lord- 
 ship asked him. And so Dr. Crofts is there. 
 It couldn't have been any thing in the doctor- 
 ing way, I suppose." 
 
 "No, I should say not; because of what he 
 says of his trowsers." And so the two ladies 
 were obliged to wait for John's return. 
 
 "How did you do it, John?" said his mo- 
 ther, embracing him, as soon as the door was 
 opened. 
 
 "How did you save the earl's life?" said 
 Mary, who was standing behind her mother. 
 
 "Would his lordship really have been killed 
 if it had not been for you ?" asked Mrs. Eames. 
 
 "And was he very much hurt ?" asked Mary. 
 
 " Oh, bother," said Johnny, on whom the re- 
 sults of the day's work, together with the earl's 
 Ealernian, had made some still remaining im- 
 pression. On ordinary occasions Mrs. Eames 
 would have felt hurt at being so answered by 
 her son ; but at the present moment she re- 
 garded him as standing so high in general fa- 
 vor that she took no offense. " Oh, Johnny, 
 do tell us. Of course we must be very anxious 
 to know it all." 
 
 " There's nothing to tell, except that a bull 
 ran at the earl as I was going by ; so I went 
 into the field and helped him, and then he made 
 me stav and dine with him." 
 
 "But his lordship says that yon saved his 
 life," said Mary. 
 
 "Under Providence," added their mother. 
 
 " At any rate, he has given me a gold watch 
 and chain," said Johnny, drawing the present 
 out of his pocket. ' ' I wanted a watch badly. 
 All the same, I didn't like taking it." 
 
 " It would have -been very wrong to refuse," 
 said his mother. " And I am so glad you have 
 been so fortunate. And look here, Johnny: 
 when a friend like that comes in your way, 
 don't turn your back on him." Then, at last, 
 he thawed beneath their kindness, and told 
 them the whole of the story. I fear that, in 
 recounting the earl's efforts with the spud, he 
 hardly spoke of his patron with all that defer- 
 ence which would have been appropriate. 
 
 CHAPTER XXm. 
 
 ME. PLANTAGENET PALLISEE. 
 
 A WEEK passed over Mr. Crosbie's head at 
 Courcy Castle without much inconvenience to 
 him from the well-known fact of his matrimo- 
 nial engagement. Both- George De Courcy and 
 John De Courcy had in their different ways 
 charged him with his offense, and endeavored 
 to annoy him by recurring to the subject ; but 
 he did not care much for the wit or malice of 
 George or John De Courcy. The countess had 
 hardly alluded to Lily Dale after those few words 
 which she said on the first day of his visit, and 
 seemed perfectly willing to regard his doings at 
 AUington as the occupation natural to a young 
 man in such a position. He had been seduced 
 down to a dull country house, and had, as a 
 matter of course, taken to such amusements as 
 the place afforded. He had shot the partridges 
 and made love to the young lady, taking those 
 little recreations as compensation for the tedium 
 of the squire's society. Perhaps he had gone a 
 little too far with the young lady ; bat then no 
 one knew better than the countess how difficult 
 it is for a young man to go far enough without 
 going too far. It was not her business to make 
 herself a censor on a young man's conduct. 
 The blame, no doubt, rested quite as much with 
 Miss Dale as with him. She was quite sorry 
 that any young lady should be disappointed; 
 but if girls will be imprudent, and set their 
 caps at men above their mark, they must en- 
 counter disappointment. With such language 
 did Lady De Courcy speak of the affair among 
 her daughters, and her daughters altogether 
 agreed with her that it was out of the question 
 that Mr. Crosbie should marry Lily Dale. From 
 Alexandrina he encountered during the week 
 none of that raillery which he had expected. 
 He had promised to explain to her before he 
 left the castle all the circumstances of his ac- 
 quaintance with Lily, and she at last showed 
 herself determined to demand the fulfillment 
 of this promise ; but previous to that she said 
 nothing to manifest either offense or a lessened 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 105 
 
 friendship. And, I regret to say, that in the in- 
 tercourse which had taken place between them 
 that friendship was by no means less tender 
 than it had been in London. 
 
 " And when will you tell me what you prom- 
 ised?" she asked him one afternoon, speaking 
 in a low voice, as they were standing together 
 at the window of the billiard-room, in that idle 
 half hour which always occurs before the neces- 
 sity for dinner preparation has come. She had 
 been riding, and was still in her habit, and he 
 had returned from shooting. She knew that 
 she looked more than ordinarily well in her tall 
 straight hat and riding gear, and was wont to 
 hang about the house, walking skillfully with 
 her upheld drapery, during this period of the 
 day. It was dusk, but not dark, and there was 
 no artificial light in the billiard-room. There 
 had been some pretense of knocking about the 
 balls, but it had been only pretense. "Even 
 Diana," she had said, " could not have played 
 billiards in a habit." Then she had put down 
 her mace, and they had stood talking together in 
 the recess of a large bow-window. 
 
 "And what did I promise?" said CrOsbie. 
 
 "You know well enough. Not that it is a 
 matter of any special interest to me ; only, as 
 you undertook to promise, of course my curiosity 
 has been raised." 
 
 " If it be of no special interest, " said Crosbie, 
 "you will not object to absolve me from my 
 promise." 
 
 "That is just like you," she said. "And 
 how false you men always are ! You made up 
 your mind to buy my silence on a distasteful 
 subject by pretending to offer me your future 
 confidence ; and now you tell me that you do 
 not mean to confide in me." 
 
 " You begin by telling me that the matter is 
 one that does not in the least interest you." 
 
 " That is so false again ! You know very 
 well what I meant. Do you remember what 
 you said to me the day you came? and am I 
 not bound to tell you after that that your mar- 
 riage with this or that young lady is not mat- 
 ter of special interest to me? Still, as your 
 friend—" 
 
 " Well, as my friend ! " 
 
 "I shall be glad to know — But I am not 
 going to beg for your confidence ; only I tell you 
 this fairly, that no man is so mean in my eyes 
 as a man who fights under false colors." 
 
 "And am I fighting under false colors ?" 
 
 " Yes, you are " And now, as she spoke, the 
 Lady Alexandrina blushed beneath her hat ; and 
 dull as was the remaining light of the evening, 
 Crosbie, looking into her face, saw her height- 
 ened color. "Yes, you are. A gentleman is 
 fighting under false colors who comes into a 
 house like this, with a puljlic rumor of his being 
 engaged, and then conducts himself as though 
 nothing of the kind existed. Of course, it is 
 not any thing to me specially ; but that is fight- 
 ing under false colors. Now, Sir, you may re- 
 deem the promise you made me when you first 
 came here, or you may let it alone." 
 G 
 
 It must be acknowledged that the lady was 
 fighting her battle with much courage, and- also 
 with some skill. In three or four days Crosbie 
 would be gone ; and this victory, if it were ever 
 to be gained, must be gained in those three or 
 four days. And if there were to be no victory, 
 then it would be only fair that Crosbie should be 
 punished for his duplicity, and that she should 
 be avenged as far as any revenge might be in 
 her power. Not that she meditated any deep 
 revenge, or was prepared to feel any strong an- 
 ger. She liked Crosbie as well as she had ever 
 liked any man. She believed that he liked her 
 also. She had no conception of any very strong 
 passion, but conceived that a married life was 
 more pleasant than one of single bliss. She 
 had no doubt that he had promised to make Lily 
 Dale his wife, but so had he previously promised 
 her, or nearly so. It was a fair game, and she 
 would win it if she could. If she failed she 
 would show her anger ; but she would show it 
 in a mild, weak mahner — turning up her nose 
 at Lily before Crosbie's face, and saying little 
 things against himself behind his back. Her 
 wrath would not carry her much beyond that. 
 
 "Now, SirJl^ou may redeem the promise you 
 made me when you first came here — or you may 
 let it alone." So she spoke, and then she turn- 
 ed her face away from him, gazing out into the 
 darkness. 
 
 "Alexandrina!" he said. 
 
 " Well, Sir ? But you have no right to speak 
 to me in that style. You know that you have 
 no right to call me by my name in that way ! " 
 
 " You mean that you insist upon your title ?" 
 
 " All ladies insist on what you call their title 
 from gentlemen, except under the privilege of 
 greater intimacy than you have the right to 
 claim. You did not call Miss Dale by her 
 Christian name till you had obtained permission, 
 I suppose ?" 
 
 ' ' You used to let me call you so. " 
 
 ' ' Never ! Once or twice, when you have 
 done so, I have not forbidden it, as I should 
 have done. Very well. Sir, as you have nothing 
 to tell me, I will leave you. I must confess 
 that I did not think you were such a coward." 
 And she prepared to go, gathering up the skirts 
 of her habit, and taking up the whip which she 
 had laid on the window-sill. 
 
 " Stay a moment, Alexandrina," he said ; "I 
 am not happy, and you should not say words 
 intended to make me more miserable." 
 
 "And why are you unhappy ?" 
 
 "Because — I will tell you instantly, if I 
 may believe that I am telling you only, and not 
 the whole household." 
 
 " Of course I shall not talk of it to others. 
 Do you think that I can not keep a secret?" 
 
 " It is because I have promised to marry one 
 woman, and because I love another. I have 
 told you every thing now ; and if you choose to 
 say again that I am fighting under false colors 
 I will leave the castle before you can see me 
 again." 
 
 "Mr. Crosbie 1" 
 
106 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 "Now you know it all, and may imagine 
 whether or no I am very happy. I think you 
 said it was time to dress ; suppose we go ? " And 
 without further speech the two went off to their 
 separate rooms. 
 
 Crosbie, as soon as he was alone in his cham- 
 ber, sat himself down in his arm-chair, and went 
 to work striving to make up his mind as to his 
 future conduct. It must not be supposed that 
 the declaration just made by him had been pro- 
 duced solely by his difficulty at the moment. 
 The atmosphere of Courcy Castle had been at 
 work upon him for the last week past. And 
 every word that he had heard, and every word 
 that he had spoken, had tended to destroy all 
 that was good and true within him, and to fos- 
 ter all that was selfish and false. He had said 
 to himself a dozen times during that week that 
 he never could be happy with Lily Dale, and 
 that he never could make her happy. And then 
 he had used the old sophistry in his endeavor to 
 teach himself that it was right to do that which 
 he wished to do. Would it not be better for 
 Lily that he should desert her than marry her 
 against the dictates of his own heart? And if 
 he really did not love her, woulc^Jie not be com- 
 mitting a greater crime in marrying her than in 
 deserting her ? He confessed to himself that he 
 had been very wrong in allowing the outer world 
 to get such a hold upon him, that the love of a 
 pure girl like Lily could not suffice for his hap- 
 piness. But there was the fact, and he found 
 himself unable to contend against it. If by any 
 absolute self-sacrifice he could secure Lily's well- 
 being, he would not hesitate for a moment. But 
 would it be well to sacrifice her as well as him- 
 self? 
 
 He had discussed the matter in this way with- 
 in his own breast, till he had almost taught 
 himself to believe that it was his duty to break 
 oif his engagement with Lily ; and he had also 
 almost taught himself to believe that a marriage 
 with a daughter of the house of Courcy would 
 satisfy his ambition and assist him in his battle 
 with the world. That Lady Alexandrina would 
 accept him he felt certain, if he could only in- 
 duce her to foi'give him for his sin in becoming 
 engaged to Miss Dale. How very prone she 
 would be to forgiveness in this matter he had 
 not divined, having not as yet learned how easi- 
 ly such a woman can forgive such a sin, if the 
 ultimate triumph be accorded to herself. 
 
 And there was another reason which operated 
 much with Crosbie, urging him on in his pres- 
 ent mood and wishes, though it should have 
 given an exactly opposite impulse to his heart. 
 He had hesitated as to marrying Lily Dale at 
 once because of the smallness of his income. 
 Now he had a prospect of considerable increase 
 to that income. One of the commissioners at 
 his office had been promoted to some greater 
 commissionership, and it was understood by ev- 
 ery body that the secretary at the General Com- 
 mittee Office would be the new commissioner. 
 As to that there was no doubt. But then the 
 question had arisen as to the place of secretary. 
 
 Crosbie had received two or three letters on the 
 subject, and it seemed that the likelihood of his 
 obtaining this step in the world was by no means 
 slight. It would increase his official income 
 from seven hundred a year to twelve, and would 
 place him altogether above the world. His 
 frjjfind, the present secretary, had written to him, 
 assuring him that no other probable competitor 
 was spoken of as being in the field against him. 
 If such good fortune awaited him, would it not 
 smooth any present difficulty which lay in the 
 way of his marriage with Lily Dale ? But, alas, 
 he had not looked at the matter in that light ! 
 Might not the countess help him to this prefer- 
 ment ? And if his destiny intended for him the 
 good things of this world — secretaryships, com- 
 missionerships, chairmanships, and such like, 
 would it not be well that he should struggle on 
 in his upward path by such assistance as good 
 connections might give him? 
 
 He sat thinking over it all in his own room 
 on that evening. He had written twice to Lily 
 since his arrival at Courcy Castle. His first 
 letter has, been given. His second was written 
 much in the same tone ; though Lily, as she had 
 read it, had unconsciously felt somewhat less 
 satisfied than she had been with the first. Ex- 
 pressions of love were not wanting, but they 
 were vague and without heartiness. They sa- 
 vored of insincerity, though there was nothing 
 in the words themselves to convict them. Tew 
 liars can lie with the full roundness and self- 
 sufficiency of truth ; and Crosbie, bad as he was, 
 had not yet become bad enough to reach that 
 perfection. He had said nothing to Lily of the 
 hopes of promotion which had been opened to 
 him ; but he had again spoken of his own world- 
 liness — acknowledging that he received a,n un^ 
 satisfying satisfaction from the pomps and van- 
 ities of Courcy Castle., , In fact he was paving 
 the way for that which he had almost resolved 
 that he would do, now he had told Lady Alex- 
 andrina that he loved her ; and he was obliged 
 to confess to himself that the die was cast. 
 
 As he thought of all this there was not want- 
 ing to him some of the satisfaction of an escape. 
 Soon after making that declaration of love at 
 AUington he had begun to feel that in making 
 it he had cut his throat. He had endeavored 
 to persuade himself that he could live comfort- 
 ably with his throat cut in that way; and as 
 long as Lily was with him he would believe that 
 he could do so; but as soon as he was again 
 alone he would again accuse himself of suicide. 
 This was his frame of mind even while he was 
 yet at Allington, and his ideas on the subject 
 had become stronger dming his sojourn at Cour- 
 cy. But the self-immolation had not been com- 
 pleted, and he now began to think that he could 
 save himself. I need hardly say that this was 
 not all triumph to him. Even had there been 
 no material difficulty as to his desertion of Lily 
 — no uncle, cousin, and mother whose anger he 
 must face — no vision of a pale face, more elo- 
 quent of wrong in its silence than even uncle, 
 cousin, and mother, with their indignant storm 
 
THE SMAJLL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 107 
 
 of words — ^he was not altogether heartless. How 
 should he tell all this to the girl who had loved 
 him so well ; who had so loved him that, as he 
 himself felt, her love would fashion all her future 
 Ufe, either for weal or for woe ? "I am unwor- 
 thy of her, and will tell her so," he said to him- 
 self. How many a false hound of a man has 
 endeavored to salve his own conscience by such 
 mock humility ? But he acknowledged at this 
 moment, as he rose from his seat to dress him- 
 self, that the die was cast, and that it was open 
 to him now to say what he pleased to Lady Al- 
 exandrina. "Others have gone through the 
 same fire before," he said to himself, as he walk- 
 ed down stairs, "and have come out scathless." 
 And then he recalled to himself the names of 
 various men of high repute in the world who 
 were supposed to have committed in their youn- 
 ger days some such little mistake as that into 
 which he had been betrayed. 
 
 In passing through the hall he overtook Lady 
 Julia De Guest, and was in time to open for her 
 the door of the drawing-room. He then remem- 
 bered that she had come into the billiard-room 
 at one side, and had gone out at the other, while 
 he was standing with Alexandrina at the window. 
 He had not, however, then thought much of 
 Lady Julia ; and as he now stooA.for her to pass 
 by him through the doorway, he made to her 
 some indifferent remark. 
 
 But 'Lady Julia was on some subjects a stem 
 woman, and not without a certain amount of 
 courage. In the last week she had seen what 
 had been going on, and had become more and 
 more angry. Though she had disowned any 
 family connection with Lily Dale, nevertheless 
 she now felt for her sympathy and almost affec- 
 tion. Nearly every day she had repeated stiiBy 
 to the countess some incident of Crosbie's courts 
 ship and engagement to Miss Dale — speaking of 
 it as with absolute knowledge, as a thing settled 
 at all points. This she had done to the countess 
 alone, in the presence of the countess and Alex- 
 andrina, and also before all the female guests of 
 the castle. But what she had said was received 
 simply with an incredulous smile. ' ' Dear me 1 
 Lady Julia," the countess had replied at last, " I 
 shall begin to think you are in love with Mr. 
 Crosbie yourself; you harp so constantly on this 
 affair of his. One would think that young la^ 
 dies in your part of the world must find it very 
 difficult to get husbands, seeing that the success 
 of one young lady is trumpeted so loudly. ' ' I"or 
 the moment Lady Julia was silenced; but it 
 was not easy to silence her altogether when she 
 had a subject for speech near her heart. 
 
 Almost all the Courcy world were assembled 
 in the drawing-room as she now walked into the 
 room with Crosbie at her heels. When she 
 found herself near the crowd she turned round 
 and addressed him in a voice more audible than 
 that generally required for purposes of drawing- 
 room conversation. "Mr. Crosbie," she said, 
 ' ' have yon heard lately from our dear friend, 
 Lily Dale?" And she looked him full in the 
 face, in a manner more significant, probably, 
 
 than even she had intended it to be. There 
 was, at once, a general hush in the room, and 
 all eyes were turned upon her and upon him. 
 
 Crosbie instantly made an effort to bear the 
 attack gallantly, but he felt that he could not 
 quite command his color, or prevent a sudden 
 drop of perspiration from showing itself upon 
 his brow. " I had a letter from AUington yes- 
 terday," he said. " I suppose you have heard 
 of your brother's encounter with the bull?" 
 
 "The bull!" said Lady Julia. And it was 
 instantly manifest to all that her attack had been 
 foiled and her flank turned. 
 
 "Good gracious! Lady Julia, how very odd 
 you are ! " said the countess. 
 
 "But what about the bull ?" asked the Hon. 
 George. 
 
 " It seems that the earl was knocked down in 
 the middle of one of his own fields." 
 
 "Oh, dear!" exclaimed Alexandrina. And 
 sundry other exclamations were made by all the 
 assembled ladies. 
 
 "But he wasn't hurt," said Crosbie. "A 
 young man named Eames seems to have fallen 
 from the sky and carried off the earl on his 
 back." 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha, ha!" growled the other earl, as 
 he heard of the discomfiture of his brother peer. 
 
 Lady Julia, who had received her own letters 
 that day from Guestwick, knew that nothing of 
 importance had happened to her brother; but 
 she felt that she was foiled for that time. 
 
 " I hope that there has not really been any 
 accident," said Mr. Gazebee, with a voice of 
 great solicitude. 
 
 " My brother was quite well last night, thank 
 you," said she. And then the little groups again 
 formed themselves, and Lady Julia was left alone 
 on the corner of a sofa. 
 
 "Was that all an invention of yours, Sir?" 
 said Alexandrina to Crosbie. 
 
 " Not quite. I did get a letter this morning 
 from my friend Bernard Dale — ^that old harri- 
 dan's nephew; and Lord De Guest has been 
 worried by some of his animals. I wish I had 
 told her that his stupid old neck had been 
 broken." 
 
 "Fie, Mr. Crosbie!" 
 
 "What business has she to interfere with 
 me?" 
 
 "But I mean to ask the same question that 
 she asked, and you won't put me off with a cock- 
 and-bull story like that." But then, as she was 
 going to ask the question, dinner was announced. 
 
 "And is it true that De Guest has been tossed 
 by a bull?" said the earl, as soon as the ladies' 
 were gone. He had spoken nothing during din- 
 ner except what words he had muttered into the 
 ear of Lady Dumbello. It was seldom that con- 
 versation had many charms for him in his own 
 house ; but there was a savor of pleasantry in 
 the idea of Lord De Guest having been tossed, 
 by which even he was tickled. 
 
 " Only knocked down, I believe," said Cros- 
 bie. 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha!" growled the earl; then he 
 
108 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 filled his glass, and allowed some one else to 
 pass the bottle. Poor man ! There was not 
 much left to him now in the world which did 
 amuse him. 
 
 "I don't see any thing to laugh at," said 
 Plantagenet Palliser, who was sitting at the 
 earl's right hand, opposite to Lord Dumbello. 
 
 "Don't you?" said the earl. "Ha, ha, ha!" 
 
 "I'll be shot if I do. From all I hear De 
 Guest is an uncommon good farmer. And I 
 don't see the joke of tossing a farmer merely be- 
 cause he's a nobleman also. Do you?" and he 
 turned round to Mr. Gazebee, who was sitting 
 on the other side. The earl was an earl, and 
 was also Mr. Gazebee's father-in-law. Mr. 
 Plantagenet Palliser was the heir to a dukedom. 
 Therefore, Mr. Gazebee merely simpered, and 
 did not answer the question put to him. Mr. 
 Palliser said nothing more about it, nor did the 
 earl ; and then the joke died away. 
 
 Mr. Plantagenet Palliser was the Duke of 
 Omnium's heir — heir to that nobleman's title 
 and to his enormous wealth ; and, therefore, was 
 a man of mark in the world. He sat in the 
 House of Commons, of course. He was about 
 live-and-twenty years of age, and was, as yet, un- 
 married. He did not hunt or shoot or keep a 
 yacht, and had been heard to say that he had 
 never put a foot upon a race-course in his life. 
 He dressed very quietly, never changing the 
 color or form of his garments ; and in society 
 was quiet, reserved, and very often silent. He 
 was tall, slight, and not ill-looking; but more 
 than this can not be said for his personal appear- 
 ance — except, indeed, this, that no one could 
 mistake him for other than a gentleman. With 
 his uncle, the duke, he was on good terms ; that 
 is to say, they had never quarreled. A very 
 liberal allowance had been made to the nephew ; 
 but the two relatives had no tastes in common, 
 and did not often meet. Once a year Mr. Pal- 
 liser visited the duke at his great country seat 
 for two or three days, and usually dined witJi 
 him two or three times during the season in 
 London. Mr. Palliser sat for a borough which 
 was absolutely under the duke's command ; but 
 had accepted his seat under the distinct under- 
 standing that he was to take whatever part in 
 politics might seem good to himself. Under 
 these well - understood arrangements the duke 
 and his heir showed to the world quite a pattern 
 of a happy family. "So different to the earl 
 and Lord Porlock !" the people of West Barset- 
 shire used to say. Por the estates, both of the 
 duke and of the earl, were situated in the west- 
 ern division of that county. 
 
 Mr. Palliser was chiefly known to the world 
 as a rising politician. We may say that he had 
 every thing at his command, in the way of pleas- 
 ure, that the world could offer him. He had 
 wealth, position, power, and the certainty of at- 
 taining the highest rank among, perhaps, the 
 most brilliant nobility of the world. He was 
 courted by all who could get near enough to 
 court him. It is hardly too much to say that he 
 might have selected a bride from all that was 
 
 most beautiful and best among English women. 
 If he would have bought race-horses, and have 
 expended thousands on the turf, he would have 
 gratified his uncle by doing so. He might have 
 been the master of hounds, or the slaughterer of 
 hecatombs of birds. But to none of these things 
 would he devote himself. He had chosen to be 
 a politician, and in that pursuit he labored with 
 a zeal and perseverance which would have made 
 his fortune at any profession or in any trade. 
 He was constant in committee-rooms up to the 
 very middle of August. He was rarely absent 
 from any debate of importance, and never from 
 any important division. Though he seldom 
 spoke, he was always ready to speak if his pur- 
 pose required it. No man gave him credit for 
 any great genius ; few even considered that he 
 could become either an orator or a mighty states- 
 man. But the world said that he was a rising 
 man, and old Nestor of the Cabinet looked on 
 him as one who would be able, at some far fu- 
 ture day, to come among them as a younger 
 brother. Hitherto he had declined such inferior 
 oiBces as had been offered to-him, biding his 
 time carefully ; and he was as yet tied hand and 
 neck to no party, though known to be liberal 
 in all his political tendencies. He was a great 
 reader ; not taking up a book here, and another 
 there, as chance brought books before him, but 
 working through an enormous course of books, 
 getting up the great subject of the world's his- 
 tory — filling himself full of facts — though per- 
 haps not destined to acquire the power of nsing 
 those facts otherwise than as precedents. He 
 strove also diligently to become a linguist ; not 
 without success, as far as a competent under- 
 standing of various languages. He was a thin- 
 minded, plodding, respectable man, willing to 
 devote all his youth to work, in order that in old 
 age he might be allowed to sit among the Coun- 
 cilors of the State. 
 
 Hitherto his name had not been coupled by 
 the world with that of any woman whom he had 
 been supposed to admire; but latterly it had 
 been observed that he had often been seen in the 
 same room with Lady Dumbello. It had hardly 
 amounted to more than this ; but when it was 
 remembered how undemonstrative were the two 
 persons concerned — how little disposed was either 
 of them to any strong display of feeling — even 
 this was thought matter to be mentioned. He 
 certainly would speak to her from time to time 
 almost with an air of interest ; and Lady Dum- 
 bello, when she saw that he was in the room, 
 would be observed to raise her head with some 
 little show of life, and to look round as though 
 there were something there on which it might he 
 worth her while to allow her eyes to rest. When 
 such innuendoes were abroad no one would 
 probably make more of them than Lady De 
 Courcy. Many, when they heard that Mr. Pal- 
 liser was to be at the castle, had expressed their 
 surprise at her success in that quarter. Others, 
 when they learned that Lady Dumbello had con- 
 sented to become her guest, had also wondered 
 greatly. But when it was ascertained that the 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 ]09 
 
 two were to be there together, her good-natured 
 friends had acknowledged that she was a very 
 clever woman. To have either Mr. Palliser or 
 Lady Dumbello would have been a feather in 
 her cap ; but to succeed in getting both, by en- 
 abling each to know that the other would be 
 there, was indeed a triumph. As regards Lady 
 Dumbello, however, the bargain was not fairly 
 carried out ; for, after all, Mr. Palliser came to 
 Courcy Castle only for two nights and a day, 
 and during the whole of that day he was closeted 
 with sundry large blue-books. As for Lady De 
 Courcy, she did not care how he might be em- 
 ployed. Blue-books and Lady Dumbello were 
 all the same to her. Mr. Palliser had been at 
 Courcy Castle, and neither enemy nor friend 
 could deny the fact. 
 
 This was his second evening ; and as he had 
 promised to meet his constituents at Silverbridge 
 at one p.m. on the following day, with the view 
 of explaining to them his own conduct and the 
 political position of the world in general ; and 
 as he was not to return from Silverbridge to 
 Courcy, Lady Dumbello, if she made any way 
 at all, must take advantage of the short gleam 
 of sunshine which the present hour afforded her. 
 No one, however, could say that she showed any 
 active disposition to monopolize Mr. Palliser's 
 attention. When he sauntered into the drawing- 
 room she was sitting, alone, in a large, low chair, 
 made without arms, so as to admit the full ex- 
 pansion of her dress, but hollowed and round at 
 the back, so as to afford her the support that was 
 necessary to her. She had barely spoken three 
 words since she had left the dining-room, but 
 the time had not passed heavily with her. Lady 
 Julia had again attacked the countess about Lily 
 Dale and Mr. Crosbie, and Alexandrina, driven 
 almost to rage, had stalked off to the farther end 
 of the room, not concealing her special concern 
 in the matter. 
 
 " How I do wish they wei-e married and done 
 with !'' said the countess ; " and then we should 
 hear no more about them." 
 
 All of which Lady Dumbello heard and un- 
 derstood ; and in all of it she took a certain in- 
 terest. She remembered such things, learning 
 thereby who was who, and regulating her own 
 conduct by what she learned. She was by no 
 means idle at this or at other such times, going 
 through, we may say, a considerable amount of 
 really hard work in her manner of working. 
 There she had sat speechless, unless when ac- 
 knowledging by a low word of assent some ex- 
 pression of flattery from those around her. Then 
 the door opened, and when Mr. Palliser entered 
 she raised her head, and the faintest possible 
 gleam of satisfaction might have been discerned 
 upon her features. But she made no attempt 
 to speak to him ; and when, as he stood at the 
 table, he took up a book and remained thus 
 standing for a quarter of an hour, she neither 
 showed nor felt any impatience. After that 
 Lord Dumbello came in, and he stood at the 
 table without a book. Even then Lady Dum- 
 bello felt no impatience. 
 
 Plantagenet Palliser skimmed through his 
 little book, and probably learned something. 
 When he put it down he sipped a cup of tea, 
 and remarked to Lady De Courcy that he 
 believed it was only 'twelve miles to Silver- 
 bridge. 
 
 "I wish it was a hundred and twelve," said 
 the countess. 
 
 "In that case I should be forced to start to- 
 night," said Mr. Palliser. 
 
 " Then I wish it was a thousand and twelve," 
 said Lady De Courcy. 
 
 " In that case I should not have come at all," 
 said Mr. Palliser. He did not mean to be un- 
 civil, and had only stated a fact. 
 
 "The young men are becoming absolute 
 bears," said the countess to her daughter Mai- 
 garetta. <■ 
 
 Ho had been in the room nearly an hour when 
 he did at last find himself standing close to Lady 
 Dumbello — close to her, and without any other 
 very near neighbor. 
 
 "I should hardly have expected to find you 
 here, " he said. 
 
 " Nor I you," she answered. 
 
 " Though, for the matter of that, we are both 
 near our own homes." 
 
 " I am not near mine." 
 
 " I meant Plumstead ; your father's place." 
 
 "Yes; that was my home once." 
 
 " I wish I could show you my uncle's place. 
 The castle is very fine, and he has some good 
 pictures." 
 
 "So I have heard." 
 
 "Do you stay here long?" 
 
 " Oh, no. I go to Cheshire the day after to- 
 morrow. Lord Dumbello is always there when 
 the hunting begins." 
 
 " Ah, yes ; of course. What a happy fellow 
 he is ; never any work to do ! His constituents 
 never trouble him, I suppose?" 
 
 " I don't think they ever do, much." 
 
 After that Mr. Palliser sauntered away again, 
 and Lady Dumbello passed the rest of the even- 
 ing in silence. It is to be hoped that they 
 both were rewarded by that ten minutes of 
 sympathetic intercourse for the inconvenience 
 which they had suffered in coming to Courcy 
 Castle. 
 
 But that which seems so innocent to us had 
 been looked on in a different light by the stern 
 mdralists of that house. 
 
 "By Jove!" said the Honorable George to 
 his cousin, Mr. Gresham, ' ' I wonder how Dum- 
 bello likes it. " 
 
 ' ' It seems to me that Dumbello takes it very 
 easily." \ 
 
 " There are some men who will take any 
 thing easily," said George, who, since his own 
 marriage, had learned to have a holy horror of 
 sucli wicked things. 
 
 " She's beginning to come out a little," said 
 Lady Clandidlem to Lady De Courcy, when 'the 
 two old women found themselves together over 
 a fire in some back sitting-room. " Still waters 
 always run deep, you know." 
 
110 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 MB. PAIJ.I8EB AND LAUT DUMUELLO. 
 
 " I shouldn't at all wonder if she were to go 
 off with him," said Lady De Conrcy. 
 
 " He'll never be such a fool as that," said 
 Lady Clandidlem. 
 
 "I believe men will be fools enough for any 
 thing," said Lady De Courcy. "But, of course, 
 if he did, it would come to nothing afterward. 
 I Iinow one who would not he sorry. If ever a 
 man was tired of a woman. Lord Dumbello is 
 tired of her." 
 
 But in this, as in almost every thing else, the 
 wicked old woman spoke scandal. Lord Dum- 
 bello was still proud of his wife, and as fond of 
 her as a man can be of a woman, whose fond- 
 ness depends upon mere pride. 
 
 There had not been much that was danger- 
 ous in the conversation between Mr. Palliser 
 and Lady Dumbello, but I can not say the same 
 as to that which was going on at the same mo- 
 ment between Crosbie and Lady Alexandriniu 
 
THE SMAI.L HOUSK AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 in 
 
 She, as I havfe said, walked away in almost open 
 dudgeon when Lady Julia recommenced her at- 
 tack about poor Lily, nor did she return to the 
 general circle during the evening. There were 
 two large drawing-rooms at Courcy Castle, join- 
 ed together by a narrow link of a room, which 
 might hare been called a passage had it not been 
 lighted by two windows coming down to the 
 floor, carpeted as were the drawing-rooms, and 
 warmed with a separate flre-place. Hither she 
 tetook herself, and was soon followed by her 
 married sister Amelia. 
 
 "That woman almost drives me mad," said 
 Alexandrina, as they stood together with their 
 toes upon the fender. 
 
 "But, my dear, you of all people should not 
 allow yourself to be driven mad on such a sub- 
 ject." 
 
 "That's all very well, Amelia." 
 
 " The question is this, my dear — what does 
 Mr. Crosbie mean to do?" 
 
 "How should Iknow?" 
 
 " If you don't know, it will be safer to sup- 
 pose that he is going to marry this girl ; and in 
 that case — " 
 
 "Well, what in that case? Are you going 
 to be another Lady Julia? What do I care 
 about the girl?" 
 
 "I don't suppose you care much about the 
 girl ; and if you care as little about Mr. Crosbie, 
 there's an end of it ; only in that case, Alexan- 
 drina — " 
 
 "Well, what in that case?" 
 
 "You know I don't want to preach to you. 
 Can't you tell me at once whether you really 
 like him? You and I have ajways been good 
 friends." And the married sister put her arm 
 affectionately round the waist of her who wished 
 to be married. 
 
 "I like him well enough." 
 
 "And has he made any declaration to you?" 
 
 " In a sort of a way he has. Hatk, here he 
 is!" And Crosbie, coming in from the larger 
 room, joined the sisters at the fire-place. 
 
 "We were driven away by the clack of Lady 
 Julia's tongue," said the elder. ' 
 
 "I never met such a woman," said Crosbie. 
 
 " There can not well be many like her," said 
 Alexandrina. And after that they all stood si- 
 lent for a minute or two. Lady Amelia Gaze- 
 bee was considering whether or no she would do 
 well to go and leave the two together. If it 
 were intended that Mr. Crosbie should marry 
 her sister, it would certainly be well to give him 
 an opportunity of expressing such a wish on his 
 own part. But if Alexandrina was simply mak- 
 ing a fool of herself, then it would be well for 
 her to stay. "I suppose she would rather I 
 should go," said the elder sister tp herself; and 
 then, obeying the rule which should guide all 
 our actions from one to another, she went back 
 and joined the crowd. 
 
 "Will you come on into the other room?" 
 said Crosbie. 
 
 " I think we are very well here," Alexandri- 
 na replied. 
 
 "But I wish to speak to yon — particularly," 
 'said he. 
 
 "And can not you speak here ?" 
 
 "No. They will be passing backward and 
 forward." Lady Alexandrina said nothing fur- 
 ther, but led the way into the other large room. 
 That also was lighted, and there' were in it four 
 or five persons. Lady Eosina was reading a 
 work on the millennium, with a light to herself 
 in one comer. Her brother John was asleep in 
 an arm-chair, and a joung gentleman and lady 
 were playing chess. There was, however, am- 
 ple room for Crosbie and Alexandrina to take 
 up a position apart. 
 
 "And now, Mr. Crosbie, what have you got 
 to say to me ? But, first, I mean to repeat 
 Lady Julia's question, as I told you that I 
 should do : When did you hear last from Miss ^ 
 Dale?" 
 
 " It is cruel in you to ask me such a question, 
 after what I have already told you. You know 
 that I have given to Miss Dale a promise of 
 marriage." 
 
 ' ' Very well. Sir. I don't see why you should 
 bring me in here to tell me any thing that is so 
 publicly known as that. With such a herald as 
 Lady Julia it was quite unnecessary." 
 
 "If you can only answer me in that tone I 
 will make an end of it at once. When I told 
 you of my engagement I told you also that an- 
 other woman possessed my heart. Am I wrong 
 to suppose that you knew to whom I alluded ?" 
 
 "Indeed I did not, Mr. Crosbie. I am no 
 conjuror, and I have not scrutinized you so close- 
 ly as your friend Lady Julia. " 
 
 "It is you that I love. I am sure I need 
 hardly say so now." 
 
 "Hardly, indeed — considering that you are 
 engaged to Miss Dale." 
 
 "As to that, I have, of course, to own that I 
 have behaved foolishly— worse than foolishly, if 
 you choose to say so. ' You can not condemn 
 me more absolutely than I condemn myself. 
 But I have made up my mind as to one thing : 
 I will not marry where I do not love." Oh, if 
 Lily could have heard him as he then spoke ! 
 "It would be impossible for me to speak in 
 terms too high of Miss Dale ; but I am quite 
 sure that I could not make her happy as hor 
 husband." 
 
 " Why did you not think of that before you 
 asked her ?" said Alexandrina. But there was 
 very little of condemnation in her tone. 
 
 "I ought to have done so; but it is hardly 
 for you to blame me with severity. Had you, 
 when we were last together in London — had you 
 been less — " 
 
 "Less what?" 
 
 " Less defiant," said Crosbie, " all this might 
 perhaps have been avoided. " 
 
 Lady Alexandrina could not remember that 
 she had been defiant ; but, however, she let that 
 pass. " Oh, yes ; of course it was my fault." 
 
 " I went down there to AUington with my 
 heart ill at ease, and now I have fallen into this 
 trouble. I tell you all as it has happened. It 
 
112 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 is impossible that I should marry Miss Dale. 
 It would be wicked in me to do so, seeing that- 
 my heart belongs altogether to another. I have 
 told you who is that other ; and now may I hope 
 for an answer?" 
 
 " An answer to what ?" 
 
 " Alexandrina, will you be my wife ?" 
 
 If it had been her object to bring him to a 
 point-blank declaration and proposition of mar- 
 riage, she had certainly achieved her object 
 now. And she had that trust in her own power 
 of management, and in her mother's, that she 
 did not fear that in accepting him she would in- 
 cur the risk of being served as he was serving 
 Lily Dale. She knew her own position and his 
 too well for that. If she accepted him she would 
 in due course of time become his wife — let Miss 
 Dale and all her friends say what they might to 
 the contrary. As to that head she had no fear. 
 But nevertheless she did not accept hira at 
 once. Though she wished for the prize, her 
 woman's nature hindered her from taking it 
 when it was offered to her. 
 
 "How long is it, Mr. Crosbie," she said, 
 "since you put the same question to Miss Dale?" 
 
 " I have told you every thirig, Alexandrina, 
 as I promised that I would do. If you intend 
 to punish me for doing so — " 
 
 "And I might ask another question. How 
 long will it be before you put the same ques- 
 tion to some other girl ?" 
 
 He turned round as though to walk away 
 from her in anger ; but when he had gone half 
 the distance to the door he returned. 
 
 "By Heaven!" he said, and he spoke some- 
 what roughly too, " I'll have an answer. You, 
 at any rate, have nothing with which to reproach 
 me. All that I have done wrong I have done 
 through you, or on your behalf. You have 
 heard my proposal. Do you intend to accept it ? " 
 
 " I declare you startle me ! If you demand- 
 ed my money or my life you could not be more 
 imperious. " 
 
 ' ' Certainly not more resolute in my determ- 
 ination." 
 
 "And if I decline the honor?" 
 
 ' ' I shall think you the most fickle of your 
 sex." 
 
 "And if I were to accept it?" 
 
 "I would swear that you were the best, the 
 dearest, and the sweetest of women." 
 
 " I would rather have your good opinion than 
 your bad, certainly," said Lady Alexandrina. 
 And then it was understood by both of them 
 that that affair was settled. Whenever she was 
 called on in future to speak of Lily, she always 
 called her "that poor Miss Dale ; " but she nev- 
 er again spoke a word of reproach to her future 
 lord about that little adventure. "I shall tell 
 mamma to-night," she said to him, as she bade 
 him good-night in some sequestered nook to 
 which they had betaken themselves. Lady Ju- 
 lia's eye was again on them as they came out 
 from the sequestered nook, but Alexandrina no 
 longer cared for Lady Julia. 
 
 " George, I can not quite understand about 
 
 that Mr. Palliser. Isn't he to be a duke, and 
 oughtn't he to be a lord now?" This question 
 was asked by Mrs. George De Courcy of her 
 husband, when they found themselves together 
 in the seclusion of the nuptial chamber. 
 
 " Yes ; he'll be Duke of Omnium when the 
 old fellow dies. I think he's one of the slowest 
 fellows I ever came across. He'll take deuced 
 good care of the property, though." 
 
 " But, George, do explain it to me. It is so 
 stupid not to understand, and I am afraid of 
 opening my mouth for fear of blundering." 
 
 "Then keep your mouth shut, my dear. 
 You'll learn all those sort of things in time, 
 and nobody notices it if you don't say any thing." 
 
 "Yes; but, George, I don't like to sit silent 
 all the night. I'd sooner be up here with a novel 
 if I can't speak about any thing." 
 
 ' ' Look at Lady Dnmbello. She doesn't want 
 to be always talking." 
 
 "Lady Dumbello is very different from me. 
 But do tell me, who is Mr. Palliser?" 
 
 "He's the duke's nephew. If he were the 
 duke's son he would be the Marquis of Silver- 
 bridge." 
 
 "And will he be plain Mister till his uncle 
 dies?" 
 
 "Yes, a very plain Mister." 
 
 " What a pity for him ! But, George — ^if I 
 have a baby, and if he should be a boy, and if — " 
 
 "Oh, nonsense ! it will be time enough to 
 talk of that when he comes. I'm going to sleep," 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A MOTHER-IN-LAW AND A PATHEE-IN-LAW. 
 
 On the following morning Mr. Plantagenet 
 Palliser was off upon his political mission before 
 breakfast — either that, or else some private com- 
 fort was afforded to him in guise of solitary rolls 
 and coffee. The public breakfast at Courcy 
 Castle was going on at eleven o'clock, and at 
 that- hour Mr. Palliser was already closeted with 
 the Mayor of Silverbridge. 
 
 " I must get off by the 3.45 train," said Mr. 
 Palliser. "Who is there to speak after me?" 
 
 " Well, I shall say a few words ; and Growdy 
 — he'll expect them to listen to him. Growdy 
 has always stood very firm by his grace, Mr. 
 Palliser." 
 
 "Mind we are in the room sharp at one. 
 And you can have a fly, for me to get away to 
 the station, ready in the yard. I won't go a 
 moment before I can help. I shall be just an 
 hour and a half myself. No, thank you, I nev- 
 er take any wine in the morning." And I may 
 here state that Mr. Palliser did get away by the 
 3.45 train, leaving Mr. Growdy still talking on 
 the platform. Constituents must be treated with 
 respect ; but time has become so scarce nowa- 
 days that that respect has to be meted out by 
 the quarter of an hour with parsimonious care. 
 
 In the mean time there was more leisure at 
 Courcy Castle. Neither the countess nor Lady 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 133 
 
 Alexandrina came down to breakfast, but their 
 absence gave rise to no special remark. Break- 
 fast at the castle was a morning meal at which 
 people showed themselves, or did not show them- 
 selves, as it pleased them. Lady Julia was 
 there, looking very glum, and Crosbie was sit- 
 ting next to his future sister-in-law Margaretta, 
 who already had placed herself on terms of 
 close affection with him. As he finished his 
 tea she whispered into his ear, "Mr. Crosbie, if 
 you could spare half an hour, mamma would so 
 like to see you in her own room." Crosbie de- 
 clared that he would be delighted to wait upon 
 her, and did in truth feel some gratitude in be- 
 ing welcomed as a son-in-law into the house. 
 And yet he felt also that he was being caught, 
 and that in ascending into the private domains 
 of the countess he would be setting the seal upon 
 his own captivity. 
 
 Nevertheless, he went with a smiling face 
 and a light step, Lady Margaretta ushering him 
 the way. "Mamma," said she, " I have brought 
 Mr. Crosbie up to you. I did not know that 
 you were here, Alexandrina, or I should have 
 warned him." 
 
 The countess and her youngest daughter had 
 been breakfasting together in the elder lady's 
 sitting-room, and were now seated in a very 
 graceful and well - arranged deshabille. The 
 tea-cups out of which they had been drinking 
 were made of some elegant porcelain, the tea-pot 
 and cream-jug were of chased silver and as deli- 
 cate in their way. The remnant of food con- 
 sisted of morsels of French roll which had not 
 even been allowed to crumble themselves in a 
 disorderly fashion, and of infinitesimal pats of 
 butter. If the morning meal of the two ladies 
 had been as unsubstantial as the appearance of 
 tlie fragments indicated, it must be presumed 
 that they intended to lunch early. The count- 
 ess herself was arrayed in an elaborate morning 
 wrapper of figured silk, but the simple Alexan- 
 drina wore a plain white muslin peignoir, fast- 
 ened with pink ribbon. Her hair, which she 
 usually carried in long rolls, now hung loose 
 over her shoulders, and certainly added some- 
 thing to her stock of female charms. The 
 countess got up as Crosbie entered and greeted 
 him with an open hand ; but Alexandrina kept 
 her seat, and merely nodded at him a little wel- 
 come. " I must run down again," said Marga- 
 retta, " or I shall have left Amelia witli all the 
 cares of the house upon her. " 
 
 "Alexandrina has told me all about it," said 
 the countess, with hir sweetest smile ; "and I 
 have given her my approval. I really do think 
 you will suit each other very well. " 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you," said Cros- 
 bie. " I'm sure at any rate of this — that she 
 will suit me very well. " 
 
 " Yes ; I think she will. She is a good, sensi- 
 ble girl." 
 
 " Pshaw, mamma ; pray don't go on in that 
 Goody Twoshoes sort of way." 
 
 "So you are, my dear. If yoxi were not it 
 would not be well for you to do as you are going 
 
 to do. If you were giddy and harum-scarum, 
 and devoted to rank and wealth and that sort 
 , of thing, it would not be well for you to marry 
 a commoner without fortune. I'm sure Mr. 
 Crosbie will excuse me for saying so much as 
 that." 
 
 "Of course I know," said Crosbie, "that I 
 had no right to look so high." 
 
 "Well; we'll say nothing more about it," 
 said the countess. 
 
 " Pray don't, " said Alexandrina. " It sounds 
 so like a sermon. " 
 
 "Sit down, Mr. Crosbie," said the countess, 
 ' ' and let us have a little conversation. She 
 shall sit by you, if you like it. Nonsense, 
 Alexandrina — if he asks it !" 
 
 "Don't, mamma; I mean to remain where I 
 am." 
 
 "Very well, my dear; then remain where 
 you are. She is a willful girl, Mr. Crosbie ; as 
 you will say when you hear that she has told 
 me all that you told lier last night." Upon 
 hearing this he changed color a little, but said 
 nothing. " She has told me," continued the 
 countess, " about that young lady at Allin^on. 
 Upon my word, I'm afraid you have been very 
 naughty. " 
 
 " I have been foolish. Lady De Courcy." 
 
 ' ' Of course ; I did not mean any thing worse 
 than that. Yes, you have been foolish ; amus- 
 ing yourself in a thoughtless way, you know, 
 and, perhaps, a little piqued because a certain 
 lady was not to be won so easily as your Royal 
 Highness wished. Well, now, all that must bo 
 settled, you know, as quickly as possibla. I 
 don't want to ask any indiscreet questions ; but 
 if the young lady has really been left witli any 
 idea that you meant any thing, don't you think 
 you should undeceive her at oncp ?" 
 
 " Of course he will, mamma." 
 
 " Of course you will ; and it will be a great 
 comfort to Alexandrina to know that the matter 
 is arranged. You hear what Lady Julia is saj'- 
 ing almost every hour of her life. Now, of 
 course, Alexandrina does not care what an old 
 maid like Lady Julia may say ; but it will be 
 better for all parties that the rumor should be put 
 a stop to. If the earl were to hear it, he might, 
 you know — " And the countess shook her head, 
 thinking that she could thus best indicate what 
 the earl might do, if he were to take it into his 
 head to do any thing. 
 
 Crosbie could not bring himself to hold any 
 very confidential intercourse with the countess 
 about Lily ; but he gave% muttered assurance 
 that he should, as a matter of course, make 
 known the truth to Miss Dale with as little de- 
 lay as possible. He could not say exactly when 
 he would write, nor whether he would write to 
 her or to her mother ; but the thing should be 
 done immediately on his return to town. 
 
 " If it will make the matter easier, I will write 
 to Mrs. Dale," said the countess. But to this 
 scheme Mr. Crosbie objected very strongly. 
 
 And then a few words were said about the 
 earl. "I will tell him this afternoon," said the 
 
114 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 countess; "and then yon can see him to-mor- 
 row morning. I don't suppose he will say very 
 much, you know ; and perhaps he may think — 
 you won't mii)d my saying it, I'm sure — that 
 Alexandrina might have done better. But I 
 don't believe that he'll raise any strong objec- 
 tion. There will be something about settle- 
 ments, and that sort of thing, of course." Then 
 the countess went away, and Alexandrina was 
 left with her lover for half an hour. When the 
 half hour was over, he felt that he would have 
 given all that he had in the world to have back 
 the last four and twenty hours of his existence. 
 But he had no hope. To jilt Lily Dale would, 
 no doubt, be within his power, but he knew 
 that he could not jilt Lady Alexandrina De 
 Courcy. 
 
 On the next morning at twelve o'clock he 
 had his interview with the father, and a very un- 
 pleasant interraew it was. He was ushered into 
 the earl's room, and found the great peer stand- 
 ing on the rug, with his back to the fire, and his 
 hands in his breeches' pockets. 
 
 '^So you mean to marry my daughter?" said 
 he. "I'm not very well, as you see ; I seldom 
 am.'' 
 
 These last words were spoken in answer to 
 Crosbie's greeting. Crosbie had held out his 
 hand to the earl, and had carried his point so 
 far that the earl had been forced to take one of 
 his own out of his pocket, and give it to his pro- 
 posed son-in-law. 
 
 "If your lordship has no objection. I have, 
 at any rate, her permission to ask for yours. " 
 
 "I believe yon have not any fortune, have 
 you ? She's got none ; of course you know 
 that?" 
 
 " I have a few thousand pounds, and I be- 
 lieve she has as much." 
 
 "About as much as will buy bread to keep 
 the two of you from starving. It's nothing to 
 me. You can marry her if you like ; only, look 
 here, I'll have no nonsense. I've had an old 
 woman in with me this morning — one of those 
 that are here in the house — telling me some story 
 about some other girl that you have made a fool 
 of. It's nothing to me how much of that sort 
 of thing you may have done, so that you do 
 none of it here. But, if you play any prank of 
 that kind with me, you'll find that you've made 
 a mistake. " 
 
 Crosbie hardly made any answer to this, but 
 got himself out of the room as quickly as he could. 
 
 "You'd better talk toGazebee about the trifle 
 of money you've got,* said the earl. Then he 
 dismissed the subject i^om his mind, and no 
 doubt imagined that he had fully done his duty 
 by his daughter. 
 
 On the day after this Crosbie was to go. On 
 the last afternoon, shortly before dinner, he was 
 waylaid by Lady Julia, who had passed the day 
 in preparing traps to catch him. 
 
 "Mr. Crosbie," she said, "let me have one 
 word with you. Is this true?" 
 
 "Lady Julia," he said, " I really do not know 
 why you should inquire into my private aifairs." 
 
 "Yes, Sir, you do know; yon know very 
 well. 'That poor young lady, who has no father 
 , , and no brother, is my neighbor, and her friends 
 are my friends. She is a friend of my own, and 
 being an old woman I have a right to speak for 
 her. If this is true, Mr. Crosbie, you are treat- 
 ing her like a villain." 
 
 "Lady Julia, I really must decline todiscnss 
 the matter with you." 
 
 "I'll tell every body what a villain you are; 
 I will, indeed ; a villain and a poor, weak, silly 
 fool. , She was too good for you ; that's what 
 she was." Crosbie, as Lady Julia was address- 
 ing to him the last words, hurried up stairs away 
 from her, but her ladyship, standing on a land- 
 ing-place, spoke up loudly, so that no word should 
 be lost on her retreating enemy. 
 
 "We positively must get rid of that woman," 
 the countess, who heard it all, said to Marga- 
 retta. "She is disturbing the house and dis- 
 gracing herself every day." 
 
 " She went to papa this morning, mamma." 
 
 " She did not get much by that move," said 
 the countess. 
 
 On the following morning Crosbie returned 
 to towu, but just before he left the castle he re- 
 ceived a third letter from Lily Dale. " I have 
 been rather disappointed at not hearing this 
 morning," said Lily, "for I thought the post- 
 man would have brought me a letter. But I 
 know you'll be a better boy when you get back 
 to London, and I won't scold you. Scold you, 
 indeed ! No ; I'll never scold you, not though 
 I shouldn't hear for a month. " 
 
 He would have given all that he had in the 
 world, three times told, if he could have blotted 
 out that visit to Courcy Castle from the past 
 facts of his existence. 
 
 CHAPTER XSV. 
 
 ADOLPHnS CKOSEIE SPEKDS AN EVENING AT 
 HIS CLUB. 
 
 Crosbie, as he was being driven from the 
 castle to the nearest station, in a dog^cart 
 hired from the hotel, could not keep himself 
 from thinking of that other morning, not yet a 
 fortnight past, on which he had left AUington ; 
 and as he thought of it he knew that he was a 
 villain. On this morning Alexandrina had not 
 come out from the house to watch his departure, 
 and catch the last glance of his receding figure. 
 As he had not started very early she had sat 
 with him at the breakfast table ; but others also 
 had sat there, and when he got up to go, she 
 did no more than smile softly and give him her 
 hand. It had been already settled that he was 
 to spend his Christmas at Courcy, as it had 
 been also settled that he was to spend it at 
 AUington. 
 
 Lady Amelia was, of all the family, the most 
 affectionate to him, and perhaps of them all she 
 was the one whose affection was worth the most. 
 She was not a woman endowed with a very high 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 115 
 
 mind or with very noble feelings. She had 
 begun life trusting to the nobility of her blood 
 for every thing, and declaring somewhat loudly 
 among her friends that her father's rank and her 
 mother's birth imposed on her the duty of stand- 
 ing closely by her own order. Nevertheless, at 
 the age of thirty-three she had married her fa- 
 ther's man of business, under circumstances which 
 were not altogether creditable to her. But she 
 had done her duty in her new sphere of life with 
 some constancy and a fixed purpose ; and now 
 that her sister was going to marry, as she had 
 done, a man much below herself in social stand- 
 ing, she was prepared to do her duty as a sister 
 and a sister-in-law. 
 
 " We shall be up in town in November, a,nd 
 of course you'll come to us at once. Albert Vil- 
 la, you know, in Hamilton Terrace, St. John's 
 Wood. We dine at seven, and on Sundays at 
 two ; and you'll always find a place. Mind you 
 come to us, and make yourself quite at home. 
 I do so hope you and Mortimer will get on well 
 together." 
 
 "I'm sure we shall," said Crosbie. But he 
 had had higher hopes in marrying into this no- 
 ble family than that of becoming intimate with 
 Mortimer Gazebee. What those hopes were he 
 could hardly define to himself now that he had 
 brought himself so near to the fruition of them. 
 Lady De Courcy had certainly promised to write 
 to her first cousin who was Under-Secretary of 
 State for India, with reference to that secretary- 
 ship at the General Committee OflSce ; but Cros» 
 bie, when he came to weigh in his mind what 
 good might result to him from this, was dis- 
 posed to think that his chance of obtaining the 
 promotion would be quite as good without the 
 interest of the Under-Secretary of State for India 
 
 as with it. Now that he belonged, as we may 
 say, to this noble family, he could hardly discern 
 what were the advantages which he had expect- 
 ed from this alliance. He had said to himself 
 that it would be much to have a countess for a 
 mother-in-law ; but now, even already, although 
 the possession to which he had looked was not 
 yet garnered, he was beginning to tell himself 
 that the thing was not worth possessing. 
 
 As he sat in the train, with a newspaper in 
 his hand, he went on acknowledging to himself 
 that he was a villain. Lady Julia h^ spoken 
 the truth to him on the stairs at Courcy, and so 
 he confessed over and over again. But he was 
 chiefly angry with himself for this — that he had 
 been a villain without gaining any thing by his 
 villainy ; that he had been a villain, and was to 
 lose so much by his villainy. He made com- 
 parison between Lily and Alexandrina, and 
 owned to himself, over and over again, that 
 Lily would make the best wife that a man could 
 take to his bosom. As to Alexandrina, he knew 
 the thinness of her character. She would stick 
 by him, no doubt; and in a circuitous, discon- 
 tented, unhappy way, would probably be true to 
 her duties as a wife and mother. She would be 
 nearly such another as Lady Amelia Gazebee. 
 But was that a prize snfiSciently rich to make 
 him contented with his own prowess and skill in 
 winning it ? And was that a prize sufficiently 
 rich to justify him to himself for his terrible vil- 
 lainy ? Lily Dale he had loved ; and he now 
 declared to himself that he could have continued 
 to love her through his whole life. But what 
 was there for any man to love in Alexandrina 
 De Courcy? 
 
 While resolving, during his first four or five 
 days at the castle, that he would throw Lily 
 Dale overboard, he had contrived to quiet his 
 conscience by inward allusions to sundry heroes 
 of romance. He had thought of Lothario, Don 
 Juan, and of Lovelace ; and had told himself 
 that the world had ever been full of such heroes. 
 And the world, too, had treated such heroes well ; 
 not punishing them at all as villains, but caress- 
 ing them rather, and- calling them curled dar- 
 lings. Why should not he be a'curled darling 
 as well as another ? Ladies had ever been fond 
 of the Don Juan character, and Don Juan had 
 generally been popular with nien also. And 
 then he named to himself a dozen modern Lo- 
 tharios — men who were holding their heads well 
 above water, although it was knoWn that they 
 had played this lady false, and brought that 
 other one to death's-doorj or perhaps even to 
 death itself. War and love were alike, and the 
 world was prepared to forgive any guile to mili- 
 tants in either camp. 
 
 But now that he had done the deed he found 
 himself forced to look at it from quite another 
 point of view. Suddenly that character of Lo- 
 thario showed itself to him in a different light, 
 and one in which it did not please him to look 
 at it as belonging to himself. He began to feel 
 that it would be almost impossible for him to 
 write that letter to Lily which it was absolutely 
 
116 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 necessary that he should write. He was in a 
 position in which his mind would almost turn 
 itself to thoughts of self-destruction as the only 
 means of escape. A fortnight ago he was a 
 happy man, having every thing before him that 
 a man ought to want; and now — now that he 
 was the accepted son-in-law of an earl, and the 
 confident expectant of high promotion — he was 
 the most miserable, degraded wretch in the 
 world ! 
 
 He changed his clothes at his lodgings in 
 Mount Street and went down to his club to 
 dinner. He could, at any rate, do nothing 
 that night. His letter to Allington must, no 
 doubt, be written at once ; but, as he could not 
 send it before the next night's post, he was not 
 forced to set to work upon it that evening. As 
 he walked along Piccadilly on his way to St. 
 James's Square, it occurred to him that it might 
 be well to write a short line to Lily, telling her 
 nothing of the truth — a note written as though 
 his engagement with her was still unbroken, but 
 yet written with care, saying nothing about 
 that engagement, so as to give him a little time. 
 Then he thought that he would telegraph to 
 Bernard and tell every thing to him. Bernard 
 would, of course, be prepared to avenge his 
 cousin in some way, but for such vengeance 
 Crosbie felt that he should care little. Lady 
 Julia had told him that Lily was without father 
 or brother, thereby accusing him of the basest 
 cowardice. " I wish she had a dozen biotliers," 
 he said to himself. But he hardly knew why 
 he expressed such a wish. 
 
 He returned to London on the last day of 
 October, and he found the streets at the West 
 End nearly deserted. Ho thought, therefore, 
 that he should be quite alone at his club, but as 
 he entered the dinner-room he saw one of his 
 oldest and most intimate friends standing before 
 the fire. Fowler Pratt was the man who had 
 first brought him into Sebright's, and had given 
 him almost his earliest start on his successful 
 career in life. Since that time he and his friend 
 Fowler Pratt had lived in close communion, 
 though Pratt had always held a certain ascend- 
 ency in their friendship. He was in age a few 
 years senior to Crosbie, and was in truth a man 
 of better parts. But he was less ambitious, less 
 desirous of shining in the world, and much less 
 popular with men in general. He was possessed 
 of a moderate private fortune on which he lived 
 in a quiet, modest manner, and was unmarried, 
 not likely to marry, inoffensive, useless, and 
 prudent. For the first few years of Crosbie's 
 life in London he had lived very much with his 
 friend Pratt, and had been accustomed to de- 
 pend much on his friend's counsel ; but latterly, 
 since he had himself become somewhat noticea- 
 ble, he had found more pleasure in the society 
 of such men as Dale, who were not his supepors 
 either in age or wisdom But there had been 
 no coolness between him and Pratt, and now 
 they met with perfect cordiality. 
 
 " I thought you were down in Barsetshire," 
 8aid Pratt. 
 
 " And I thought you were in Switzerland." 
 
 "I have been in Switzerland,'' said Pratt. 
 
 "And I have been in Barsetshire," said 
 Crosbie. Then they ordered their dinner to- 
 gether. 
 
 "And so you're going to be married?" said 
 Pratt, when the waiter had carried away the 
 cheese. 
 
 "Who told you that?" 
 
 " Well, but you are ? Never mind who told 
 me, if I was told the truth." 
 
 "But ifit be not true?" 
 
 "I have heard it for the last month," said 
 Pratt, " and it has been spoken of as a thing 
 certain ; and it is true ; is it not ?" 
 
 " I believe it is," said Crosbie, slowly. 
 
 " Why, what on earth is the matter with you 
 that you speak of it in that way? Am I to 
 congratulate you, or am I not ? The lady, I'm 
 told, is a cousin of Dale's." 
 
 Crosbie had turned his chair from the table 
 round to the fire, and said nothing in answer to 
 this. He sat with his glass of sherry in his 
 hand, looking at the coals, and thinking wheth- 
 er it would not be well that he should tell the 
 whole story to Pratt. No one could give him 
 better advice ; and no one, as far as he knew 
 his friend, would be less shocked at the telling 
 of such a story. Pratt had no romance about 
 women, and had never pretended to very high 
 sentiments. 
 
 " Come up into the smoking-room and I'll 
 tell you all about it," said Crosbie. So thfey 
 went off together, and, as the smoking-room 
 was untenanted, Crosbie was able to tell -his 
 story. 
 
 He found it very hard to tell ; much harder 
 than he had beforehand fancied. " I have got 
 into terrible trouble," he began by saying. 
 Then he told how he had fallen suddenly in 
 love with Lily, how he had been rash and im- 
 prudent, how nice she was — ' ' infinitely too 
 good for such a man as I am," he said — how 
 she had accepted him, and then how he had re- 
 pented. ' ' I should have told you beforehand, " 
 he then said, "that I was already half-engaged 
 to Lady Alexandrina De Courcy." The read- 
 er, however, will understand that this half-en- 
 gagement was a fiction. 
 
 ' ' And now you mean that you are altogether 
 engaged to her?" 
 
 "Exactly so." 
 
 " And that Miss Dale must be told that, on 
 second thoughts, you have changed your mind ?" 
 
 "I know that I have behaved very badly," 
 said Crosbie. 
 
 " Indeed you have," said his friend. 
 
 " It is one of those troubles in which a man 
 finds himself involved almost before he knows 
 where he is." 
 
 , " Well, I can't look at it exactly in that light. 
 A man may amuse himself with a girl, and I 
 can understand his disappointing her and not 
 offering to marry her — though even that sort of 
 thing isn't much to my taste. But, by George, 
 to make an off^or of marriage to such a girl as 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 117 
 
 that in September, to live for a month in her 
 family as her affianced husband, and then cool- 
 ly go away to another house in October, and 
 make an offer to another girl of higher rank — " 
 
 " You know very well that that has had no- 
 thing to do with it." 
 
 "It looks very like it. And how are you 
 going to communicate these tidings to Miss 
 Dale ?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Crosbie, who was be- 
 ginning to be very sore. 
 
 "And you have quite made up your mind 
 that you'll stick to the earl's daughter?" 
 
 The idea of jilting Alexandrina instead of 
 Lily had never as yet presented itself to Cros- 
 bie ; and now, as he thought of it, he could not 
 perceive that it was feasible. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I shall marry Lady Alex- 
 andrina — that is, if I do not cut the whole con- 
 cern and my own throat into the bargain." 
 
 "If I were in your shoes I think I should 
 cut the whole concern. I could not stand it. 
 What do you mean to say to Miss Dale's 
 uncle?" 
 
 " I don't care a for Miss Dale's uncle," 
 
 said Crosbie. "If he were to walk in at that 
 door this moment I would tell him the whole 
 story, without — " 
 
 As he was yet speaking one of the club serv- 
 ants opened the door of the smoking-room, and, 
 seeing Crosbie seated in a lounging chair near 
 the fire, went up to him with a gentleman's card. 
 Crosbie took the card and read the name. " Mr. 
 Dale, AUington." 
 
 "The gentleman is in the waiting-room," 
 said the servant. 
 
 Crosbie for the moment was struck dumb. 
 He had declared that very moment that he 
 should feel no personal disinclination to meet 
 Mr. Dale, and now that gentleman was within 
 the walls of the club waiting to see him. 
 
 " Who's that?" asked Pratt. And then Cros- 
 bie handed him the card. " Whew-w-w-hew," 
 whistled Pratt. 
 
 "Did you tell the gentleman I was here?" 
 asked Crosbie. 
 
 "I said I thought you were up stairs. Sir." 
 
 "That will do," said Pratt. "The gentle- 
 man will no doubt wait for a minute." And 
 then the servant went out of the room. "Now, 
 Crosbie, you must make up your mind. By 
 one of these women and all her friends you will, 
 ever be regarded as a rascal, and they, of course, 
 will look out to punish you with such punish- 
 ment as may come to their hands. You must 
 now choose which shall be the sufferer." 
 
 The man was a coward at heart. The reflec- 
 tion that he might, even now, at this moment, 
 meet the old squire on pleasant terms — or, at 
 any rate, not on terms of defiance — pleaded 
 more strongly in Lily's favor than had any oth- 
 er argument since Crosbie had first made up his 
 mind to abandon her. He did not fear person- 
 al ill-usage; he was not afraid lest he should 
 be kicked or beaten ; but he did not dare to face 
 the just anger of the angry man. 
 
 "If I were you," said Pratt, "I would not 
 go down to that man at the present moment for 
 a trifle." 
 
 "But what can I do?" 
 
 " Shirk away out of the club. Only, if you 
 do that, it seems to me that you'll have to go 
 on shirking for the rest of your life." 
 
 ' ' Pratt, I must say that I expected something 
 more like friendship from you." 
 
 "What can I do for you? There are posi- 
 tions in which it is impossible to help a man. 
 I tell you plainly that you have behaved very 
 badly. I do not see that I can help you." 
 
 " Would you see him?" 
 
 "Certainly not, if I am to be expected to 
 take your part." 
 
 "Take any part you like — only tell him the 
 truth." 
 
 " And what is the truth ?" 
 
 "I was part engaged to that other girl be- 
 fore ; and then, when I came to think of it, I 
 knew that I was not fit to marry Miss Dale. I 
 know I have behaved badly ; but, Pratt, thou- 
 sands have done the same thing before." 
 
 " I can only say that I have not been so un- 
 fortunate as to reckon any of those thousands 
 among my friends." 
 
 "You mean to tell me, then, that you are 
 going to turn your back on me?" said Cros- 
 bie. 
 
 "I haven't said any thing of the kind. I 
 certainly won't undertake to defend you, for I 
 don't see that your conduct admits of defense. 
 I will see this gentleman if you wish it, and 
 tell him any thing that you may desire me to 
 tell him." 
 
 At this moment the servant returned with a 
 note for Crosbie. Mr. Dale had called for pa- 
 per and envelope, and sent up to him the fol- 
 lowing missive : "Do you intend to come down 
 to me? I know that you are in the house." 
 "For Heaven's sake go to him," said Crosbie. 
 " He is well aware that I was deceived about 
 his niece — that I thought he was to give her 
 some fortune. He knows >^ about that, and 
 that when I learned from him that she was to 
 have nothing — " 
 
 "Upon my word, Crosbie, I wish you could 
 find another messenger." 
 
 " Ah ! you do not understand," said Crosbie, 
 in his agony. ' ' You think that I am inventing 
 this plea about her fortune now. It isn't so. 
 He will understand. We have talked all this 
 over before, and he knew how terribly I was 
 disappointed. Shall I wait for you here, or 
 will you come to my lodgings ? Or I will go 
 down to the Beaufort, ^d will wait for you 
 there." And it was finally arranged that he 
 should get himself out of this club and wait at 
 the other for Pratt's report of the interview. 
 
 "Do you go down first," said Crosbie. 
 
 "Yes; I had better," said Pratt. "Other- 
 wise you may be seen. Mr. Dale would have 
 his eye upon you, and there would he a row in 
 the house. " There was a smile of sarcasm on 
 Pratt's face as he spoke which angered Crosbie 
 
118 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 even in his misery, and made him long to tell 
 his friend that he would not trouble him with 
 this mission — that he would manage his own 
 affairs himself; but he was weakened and ijien- 
 tally humiliated by the sense of his own rascali- 
 ty, and had already lost the power of asserting 
 himself, and of maintaining his ascendency. 
 He was beginning to recognize the fact that he 
 had done that for which he must endure to be 
 kicked — to be kicked morally if not materially ; 
 and that It was no longer possible for him to 
 hold his head up without shame. 
 
 Pratt took Mr. Dale's note in his hand and 
 went down into the strangers' room. There he 
 found the squire standing so that he could see 
 through the open door of the room to the foot 
 of the stairs down which Crosbie must descend 
 before he could leave the club. As a measure 
 of first precaution the embassador closed the 
 door; then he bowed to Mr. Dale, and asked 
 him if he would take a chair. 
 
 "I wanted to see Mr. Crosbie," said the 
 squire. 
 
 "I have your note to that gentleman in my 
 hand," said he. " He has thought it better that 
 you should have this interview with me ; and 
 under all the circumstances perhaps it is better." 
 
 "Is he such a coward that he dare not see 
 me?" 
 
 " There are some actions, Mr. Dale, that will 
 make a coward of any man. My friend Cros- 
 bie is, I take it, brave enough in the ordinary 
 sense of the word, but he has injured you." 
 
 "It is all true, then?" 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Dale ; I fear it is all true." 
 
 " And you call that man your friend ! Mr. — ; 
 I don't know what your name is." 
 
 " Pratt — Fowler Pratt. I have known Cros- 
 bie for fourteen years — ever since he was a boy; 
 and it is not my way, Mr. Dale, to throw over 
 an old friend under any circumstances." 
 
 "Not if he committed a murder." 
 
 " No ; not though he committed a murder." 
 
 "If what I hear is true, this man is worse 
 than a murderer." 
 
 " Of course, Mr Dale, I can not know what 
 you have heard. I believe that Mr. Crosbie has 
 behaved very badly to your niece. Miss Dale ; I 
 believe that he was engaged to marry her, or, at 
 any rate, that some such proposition had been 
 made." 
 
 "Proposition! Why, Sir, it was a thing so 
 completely understood that every body knew it 
 in the county. It was so positively fixed that 
 there was no secret about it Upon my honor, 
 Mr. Pratt, I can't as yet understand it. If I 
 remember right, it's not a fortnight since he left 
 my house at Allington — not a fortnight. And 
 that poor girl was with him on the morning of 
 his going as his betrothed bride. Not a fort- 
 night since ! And now I've had a letter from 
 an old family friend telling me that he is going 
 to marry one of Lord De Courcy's daughters ! 
 I went instantly off to Courcy, and found that 
 he had started for London, Now I have fol- 
 lowed him here j and you tell me it's all true." 
 
 " I am afraid it is, Mr. Dale; too true." 
 
 "I don't understand it; I don't, indeed. I 
 can not bring myself to believe that the man 
 who was sitting the other day at my table should 
 be so great a scoundrel. Did he mean it all the 
 time that he was there ?" 
 
 "No; certainly not. Lady Alexandrina De 
 Courcy was, I believe, an. old friend of his, with 
 whom, perhaps, he had had some lover's quar- 
 rel. On, his going to Courcy they made it up ; 
 and this is the result." 
 
 "And that is to be sufficient for my poor 
 giri?" 
 
 " You will, of course, understand that I am 
 not defending Mr. Crosbie. The whole affair 
 is very sad — very sad, indeed. I can only say, 
 in his excuse, that he is not the first man who 
 has behaved badly to a lady." 
 
 " And this is his message to me, is it ? And 
 that is what I am to tell my niece ? You have 
 been deceived by a scoundrel. But what then ? 
 You are not the first! Mr. Pratt, I give yon, 
 my word as a gentleman I do not understand it, 
 I have lived a good deal out of the world, and 
 am, therefore, perhaps, more astonished than I 
 ought to be." 
 
 " Mr. Dale, I feel for you—" 
 
 " Feel for me ! What is to become of my 
 girl ? And do you suppose that I will let this 
 other marriage go on ? that I will not tell the 
 De Courcys, and all the world at large, what 
 sort of a man this is ? that I will not get at him 
 to punish him ? Does he think that I will put 
 up with this?" 
 
 " I do not know what he thinks ; I must only 
 beg that you will not mix me up in the matter, 
 as though I were a pai'ticipator in his offense." 
 
 "Will you tell him from me that 1 desire to 
 see him ?" 
 
 " I do not think that that would do any good." 
 
 " Never mind. Sir ; you have brought me his 
 message; will you have the goodness now to 
 take back mine to him ?" 
 
 " Do you mean at once — this evening — now?" 
 
 "Yes, at once — this evening — now — this min- 
 ute." 
 
 " Ah ; he has left the club ; he is not here 
 now ; he went when I came to you." 
 
 " Then he is a coward as well as a scoundrel." 
 In answer to which assertion Mr. Fowler Pratt 
 merely shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " He is a coward as well as a scoundrel. Will 
 you have the kindness to tell your friend from 
 me that he is a coward and a scoundrel — and a 
 liar. Sir?" 
 
 " If it be so, Miss Dale is well quit of her en- 
 gagement." 
 
 " That Is your consolation, is it? That may 
 be all very well nowadays ; but when I was a 
 young man I would sooner have burnt out my 
 tongue than have spoken in such a way on such 
 a subject. I would, indeed. Good-night, Mr. 
 Pratt ! Pray make your friend understand that 
 he has not yet seen the last of the Dales; al- 
 though, as you hint, the ladies of that family 
 will no doubt have learned that he is not fit to 
 
THE SMAIL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 119 
 
 associate with them." Then,, taking up his hat, 
 the squire made his way out of the club. 
 
 "I would not have done it," said Pratt to 
 himself, " for all the beauty, and all the wealth, 
 and all the rank that ever were owned by a wo- 
 man." 
 
 CHAPTEK XXVI. 
 
 LORD DE COURCY IN THE BOSOM OP HIS 
 FAMILY. 
 
 Lady Julia Db Guest had not during her 
 life written many letters to Mr. Dale of AUing- 
 ton, nor had she ever been very fond of him. 
 But when she felt certain how things were going 
 on at Couroy — or rather, as we may say, how 
 they had already gone — she took pen in hand, 
 and sat herself to work, doing, as she conceived, 
 her duty by her neighbor : 
 
 "Mif DEAR Me. Dale" — she said — "I believe I need 
 make no secret of having known that your niece Lilian is 
 engaged to Mr. Crosbie, of London. I thinli it proper to 
 warn yoii that if this be true Mr. Croabie ia behaving him- 
 self in a very improper manner here. I am not a person 
 wlio concern myself much in the affairs of other people; 
 and under ordinary circumstances the conduct of Mr. 
 Crosbie would be nothing to me — or, indeed, less than no- 
 thing ; but I do to you as I would wish that others should 
 do t^ifi me. I believe it ia only too true that Mr. Crosbie 
 has Reposed to Lady Alexandrina De Gourcy, and been 
 accepted by her. I think you will believe that I would 
 not say this ^vlthout warrant, and if there be any thing in 
 it, it may be well, for the poor yoimg lady's sake, that you 
 should put yourself in the way of learning the trutli. 
 *' Believe me to be youra sincerely, 
 
 "JULLA De Guest. 
 
 " CcfUHOY Cabtib, Thitrsdaj/." 
 
 The squire had never been very fond of any 
 of the De Guest family, and had, perhaps, liked 
 Lady Julia the least of them all. He was wont 
 to call her a meddling old woman — remembering 
 her bitterness and pride in those now long by- 
 gone days in which the gallant major had run 
 off with Lady Fanny. When he first received 
 this letter he did not, on the first reading of it, 
 believe a word of its contents. " Cross-grained 
 old harridati," he said out loud to his nephew. 
 "Look what that aunt of yours has written to 
 me." Bernard read the letter twice, and as he 
 did so his face became hard and angry. 
 
 " You don't mean to say you believe it?" said 
 the squire. 
 
 "I don't think it will be safe to disregard it." 
 
 ' ' What ! you think it possible that your friend 
 is doing as she says?" 
 
 " It is certainly possible. He was angry when 
 he found that Lily had no fortune." 
 
 "Heavens, Bernard! And you can speak 
 of it in that way ?" 
 
 " I don't say that it is true ; but I think we 
 should look to it. I will go to Gourcy Castle 
 and learn the truth." 
 
 The squire at last decided that he would go. 
 He went to Gourcy Castle, and found that Cros- 
 bie had started two hours before his arrival. He 
 asked for Lady Julia, and learned from her that 
 Crosbie had actually left the house as the be- 
 trothed husband of Lady Alexandrina. 
 
 " The countess, I am sure, will not contradict 
 it, if you will see her," said Lady Julia. But 
 this the squire was unwilling to do. He would 
 not proclaim the wretched condition of his niece 
 more loudly than was necessary, and therefore 
 he started on his pursuit of Crosbie. What was 
 his success on that evening we have already 
 learned. 
 
 Both Lady Alexandrina and her mother heal-d 
 of Mr. Dale's arrival at the castle, but nothing 
 was said between them on the subject. Lady 
 Amelia Gazebee heard of it also, and she ven- 
 tured to discuss the matter with her sister. 
 
 " You don't know exactly how far it went, 
 do you?" 
 
 " No ; yes ; — ^not exactly, that is," said Alex- 
 andrina. 
 
 " I suppose he did say something about mar- 
 riage to the girl?" 
 
 "Yes, I'm afraid he did." 
 
 " Dear, dear ! It's very unfortunate. What 
 sort of people are those Dales ? I suppose he 
 talked to you about them." 
 
 " No, he didn't ; not very much. I dare say 
 she is an artful, sly thing ! It's a great pity men 
 should go on in such a way." 
 
 " Yes, it is," said Lady Amelia. " And I do 
 suppose that in this case the blame has been 
 more with him than with her. It's only right I 
 should tell you that." 
 
 "But what can I do?" 
 
 " I don't say you can do any thing j but it's 
 as well you should know." 
 
 "But 1 don't know, and you don't know; 
 and I can't see that there is any use talking about 
 it now. I knew him a long while before she did, 
 and if she has allowed him to make a fool of 
 her, it isn't my fault. " 
 
 "Nobody says it is, my dear." 
 
 "But you seem to preach to me about it. 
 What can I do for the girl ? The fact is, he 
 don't care for her a bit, and never did." 
 
 "Then he shouldn't have told her that he 
 did." 
 
 "That's all very well, Amelia; but people 
 don't always do exactly all that they ought to 
 do I suppose Mr. Crosbie isn't the first man 
 that has proposed to two ladies. I dare say it 
 was wrong, but I can't help it. As to Mr. Dale 
 coming here with a tale of his niece's wrongs, I 
 think it very absurd — very absurd indeed. It 
 makes it look as though there had been a scheme 
 to catch Mr. Crosbie, and it's my belief that there 
 was such a scheme." 
 
 '*I only hope tihat there'll be no quarrel." 
 
 "Men don't fight duels nowadays, Amelia." 
 
 " But do you remember what Prank Gresham 
 did to Mr Moffatt when he behaved so badly to 
 poor Augusta ?" 
 
 "JMr. Crosbie isn't afraid of that kind of 
 thing. And I always thought that Frank was 
 very wrong — ^very wrong indeed. What's the 
 good of two men beating each other in the street ?" 
 
 ' ' Well I I'm sure I hope there'll be no quar- 
 rel. But I own I don't like the look of it. You 
 see the uncle must have known all about it, and 
 
120 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 have consented to the marriage, or he would not 
 have come here." 
 
 ' ' I don't see that it can make any difference 
 to me, Amelia." 
 
 "No^ my dear, I don't see that it can. We 
 shall be up in town soon, and I will see as much 
 as possible of Mr. Crosbie. The marriage, I 
 hope, will take place soon." 
 
 " He talks of February." 
 
 "Don't put it off. Alley, whatever you do. 
 There are so many slips, you know, in these 
 things." 
 
 " I'm not a bit afraid of that," said Alexan- 
 drina, sticking up her head. 
 
 " I dare say not ; and you may be sure that 
 we will keep an eye on him. Mortimer will 
 get him up to dine with us as often as possible, 
 and as his leave of absence is all over he can't 
 get out of town. He's to be here at Christmas, 
 isn't he ?" 
 
 "Of course he is." 
 
 "Mind you keep him to that. And as to 
 these Dales, I would be very careful, if I were 
 you, not to say any thing unkind of them to 
 any one. It sounds badly in your position.'.' 
 And with this last piece of advice Lady Amelia 
 Gazebee allowed the subject to drop. 
 
 On that day Lady Julia returned to her own 
 home. Her adieux to the whole family at 
 Courcy Castle were very cold, but about Mr. 
 Crosbie and his lady-love at Allington she said 
 no further word to any of them. Alexandrina 
 did not show herself at all on the occasion, and 
 indeed had not spoken to her enemy since that 
 evening on which she had felt herself constrain- 
 ed to retreat from the drawing-room. 
 
 "Good-by," said the countess. "You have 
 been so good to come, and we have enjoyed it 
 so much." 
 
 "I thank you very much. Good-morning," 
 said Lady Julia, with a stately courtesy. 
 
 " Pray remember me to your brother. I wish 
 we could have seen him ; I hope he has not been 
 hurt by the — the bull." And then Lady Julia 
 went her way. 
 
 " What a fool I have been to have that wo- 
 man in the house!" said the countess, before 
 the door was closed behind her guest's back. 
 
 " Indeed you have," said Lady Julia, scream- 
 ing back through the passage. Then there was 
 a long silence, then a suppressed titter, and aft- 
 er that a loud laugh. 
 
 " Oh, mamma, what shall we do ?" said Lady 
 Amelia. 
 
 "Do!" said Margaretta ; "■why should we do 
 any thing ? She has heard the truth for once 
 in her life." 
 
 "Dear Lady Dumbello, what will you think 
 of us?" said the countess, turning round to an- 
 other guest, who was also just about to depart. 
 "Did any one ever know such a woman be- 
 fore?" 
 
 "I think she's very nice," said Lady Dum- 
 bello, smiling. 
 
 "I can't quite agree with you there," said 
 Lady Clandidlem. "But I do believe she 
 
 means to do her best. She is very charitable, 
 and all that sort of thing." 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know," said Bosina. "I 
 asked her for a subscription to the mission for 
 putting down the Papists in the west of Ireland, 
 and she refused me point-blank." 
 
 " Now, my dear, if you're quite ready," said 
 Lord Dumbello, coming into the room. Then 
 there was another departure ; but on this occa- 
 sion the countess waited till the doors were shut, 
 and the retreating footsteps were no longer heard. 
 "Have you observed," said she to Lady Clan- 
 didlem, "that she has not held her head up 
 since Mr. Palliser went away ?" 
 
 "Indeed I have," said Lady Clandidlem. 
 "As for poor Dumbello, he's the blindest creat- 
 ure I ever saw in my life." 
 
 "We shall hear of something before next 
 May, " said Lady De Courcy, shaking her head ; 
 "but for all that she'll never be Duchess of 
 Omnium." 
 
 " I wonder what your mamma will say of me 
 when I go away to-morrow," said Lady Clan- 
 didlem to Margaretta, as they walked across 
 the hall together. 
 
 ' ' She won't say that you are going to run 
 away with any gentleman," said Margaretta. 
 
 "At any rate not with the earl," saidlfady 
 Clandidlem. "Ha, ha, ha! Well, we are all 
 very good-natured, are we not? The best is 
 that it means nothing." 
 
 Thus by degrees all the guests went, and the 
 family of the De Courcys was left to the bliss 
 of their own domestic circle. This, we may 
 presume, was not without its charms, seeing 
 that there were so many feelings in common 
 between the mother and her children. There 
 were drawbacks to it, no doubt, arising per- 
 haps chiefly from the earl's bodily infirmities. 
 "When your father speaks to me," said Mrs. 
 George to her husband, " he puts me in such a 
 shiver that I can not open my mouth to answer 
 him." 
 
 "You should stand up to him,'' said George. 
 "He can't hurt you, you know. Your money's 
 your own ; and if I'm ever to be the heir, it 
 won't be by his doing." 
 
 " But he gnashes his teeth at me." 
 
 " You shouldn't care for that, if he don't 
 bite. He used to gnash them at me; and 
 when I had to ask him for money I didn't like 
 it ; but now I don't mind him a bit. He threw 
 the peerage at me one day, but it didn't go 
 within a yard of my head." 
 
 "If he throws any thing at me, George, I 
 shall drop upon the spot." 
 
 But the countess had a worse time with the 
 earl than any of her children. It was neces- 
 sary that she should see him daily, and neces- 
 sary also that she should say much that he did 
 not like to hear, and make many petitions that 
 caused him to gnash his teeth. The earl was 
 one of those men who could not endure to live 
 otherwise tlian expensively, and yet was made 
 miserable by every recurring expense. He 
 ought to have known by this time that butch- 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 121 
 
 ers, and bakers, and corn-chandlers, and coal- 
 merchants will not supply their goods for no- 
 thing; and yet it always seemed as though he 
 had expected that at this special period they 
 would do so. He was an embarrassed man, 
 no doubt, and had not been fortunate in his 
 speculations at Newmarket or Homburg ; but, 
 nevertheless, he had still the means of living 
 without daily torment ; and it must be sup- 
 posed that his self-imposed sufferings, with re- 
 gard to money, rose rather from his disposition 
 than his necessities. His wife never knew 
 whether he were really rained, or simply pre- 
 tending it. She had now become so used to 
 her position in this respect that she did not al- 
 low fiscal considerations to mar her happiness. 
 Food and clothing had always come to her — 
 including velvet gowns, new trinkets, and a 
 man-cook — and she presumed that they would 
 continue to come. But that daily conference 
 with her husband was almost too much for her. 
 She struggled to avoid it ; and, as far as the 
 ■ways and means were concerned, would have 
 allowed them to arrange themselves, if he would 
 only have permitted it. But he insisted on see- 
 ing her daily in his own sitting-room ; and she 
 had acknowledged to her favorite daughter, 
 Margaretta, that those half hours would soon 
 be the death of her. "I sometimes feel," she 
 said, "that I am going mad before I can get 
 out." And she reproached herself, probably 
 without reason, in that she had brought much 
 of this upon herself. In former days the earl 
 had been constantly away from home, and the 
 countess had complained. Like many other 
 women she had not known when she was well 
 off. She had complained, urging upon her 
 lord that he should devote more of his time to 
 his own hearth. It is probable that her lady- 
 ship's remonstrances had been less efficacious 
 than the state of his own health in producing 
 that domestic constancy which he now prac- 
 ticed ; but it is certain that she looked back 
 with bitter regret to the happy days when she 
 was deserted, jealous, and querulous. ' ' Don't 
 you wish we could get Sir Omicron to order 
 liim to the German Spas?" she had said to 
 Margaretta. Now Sir Omicron was the great 
 London physician, and might, no doubt, do 
 much in that way. 
 
 But no such happy order had as yet been 
 given ; and, as far as the family could foresee, 
 paterfamilias intended to pass the winter with 
 them at Courcy. The guests, as I have said, 
 were all gone, and none but the family were in 
 the house, when her ladyship waited upon her 
 lord one morning at twelve o'clock, a few days 
 after Mr. Dale's visit to the castle. He always 
 breakfasted alone, and after breakfast found in a 
 French novel and n cigar what solace those in- 
 nocent recreations were still able ro afford him. 
 When the novel no longer excited him, and 
 when he was saturated with smoke, he would 
 send for his wife. After that his valet would 
 dress him. " She gets it worse than I do," the 
 man declared in the servants' hall ; " and minds 
 H 
 
 it a deal more. I can give warning, and she 
 can't." 
 
 "Better? No, I ain't better," the husband 
 said, in answer to his wife's inquiries. ' ' I nev- 
 er shall be better while you keep that cook in 
 the kitchen. " 
 
 "But where are we to get another if we send 
 him away?" 
 
 "It's not my business to find cooks. I don't 
 know where you're to get one. It's my belief 
 you won't have a cook at all before long. It 
 seems you have got two extra men into the 
 house without telling me. " 
 
 "We must have servants, you know, when 
 there is company. It wouldn't do to have Lady 
 Dumbello here, and no one to wait on her." 
 
 ' ' Who asked Lady D umbello ? I didn't. " 
 
 "I'm sure, my dear, you liked having her 
 here." 
 
 "D Lady Dumbello!" and then there 
 
 was a pause. The countess had no objection 
 whatsoever to the above proposition, and was 
 rejoiced that that question of the servants was 
 allowed to slip aside through the aid of her lady- 
 ship. 
 
 "Look at that letter from Porlock," said the 
 earl ; and he piished over to the unhappy mo- 
 ther a letter from her eldest son. Of all her 
 children he was the one she loved the best; 
 but him she was never allowed to see under her 
 own roof. ' ' I sometimes think that he is the 
 greatest rascal with whom I ever had occasion to 
 concern myself," said the earl. 
 
 She took the letter and read it. The epistle 
 was certainly not one which a father could re- 
 ceive with pleasure from his son ; but the dis- 
 agreeable nature of its contents was the fault 
 rather of the parent than of the child. The 
 writer intimated that certain money due to him 
 had not been paid with necessary punctuality, 
 and that unless he received it he should instruct 
 his lawyer to take some authorized legal pro- 
 ceedings. Lord De Courcy had raised certain 
 moneys on the family property, which he could 
 not have raised without the co-operation of his 
 heir, and had bound himself, in return for that 
 co-operation, to pay a certain fixed income to 
 his eldest son. This he regarded as an allow- 
 ance from himself; but Lord Porlock regarded 
 it as his own by lawful claim. The son had not 
 worded his letter with any affectionate phrase^ 
 ology. "Lord Porlock begs to inform Lord 
 De Courcy — " Such had been the commence- 
 ment. 
 
 "I suppose he must have his money; else 
 how can he live ?" said the countess, trembling. 
 
 "Live!" shouted the earl. "And so you 
 think it proper that he should write such a let- 
 ter as that to his father !" 
 
 "It is all very unfortunate,'' she replied. 
 
 "I don't know where the money's to come 
 from. As for him, if he were starving, it 
 would serve him right. He's a disgrace to the 
 name and the family. From all I hear he won't 
 live long." 
 
 "Oh, De Courcy, don't talk of it in that way !'' 
 
122 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 '* DEVOTEDLY ATTACHED TO THE YOUNG MAN ! 
 
 "What way am I to talk of it? If I say 
 that he's my greatest comfort, and living as be- 
 comes a nobleman, and is a fine healthy man 
 of his age, with a good wife and a lot of legiti- 
 mate children, will that make you believe it? 
 Women are such fools ! Nothing that I say 
 will make him worse than he is." 
 
 "But he may reform." 
 
 " Reform ! He's over forty, and when I last 
 saw him he looked nearly sixty. There ; you 
 may answer his letter: I won't." 
 
 "And about the money?" 
 
 " Why doesn't he wi-ite to Gazebee about his 
 dirty money? Why does ho trouble me? 1 
 haven't got his money. Ask Gazebee about 
 his money. I won't trouble myself about it." 
 Then there was another pause, during which 
 the countess folded the letter and put it in htr 
 pocket. 
 
 "How long is George going to remain here 
 with that woman?" he asked. 
 
 "I'm sure she is very harmless," pleaded the 
 countess. 
 
 " I always think when I see her that I'm sit- 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 123 
 
 ting down to dinner with my own housemaid. 
 I never saw such a woman. How he can put 
 up with it ! But I don't suppose he cares for 
 any thing." 
 
 "It has made him very steady." 
 
 "Steady!" 
 
 "And as she will be confined before long it 
 m'ay be as well that she should remain here. 
 If Porlock doesn't marry, you know — " 
 
 "And so he means to live here altogether, 
 does he ? I'll tell you what it is — I won't have 
 it. He's better able to keep a house over his 
 own head and his wife's than I am to do it for 
 them, and so you may tell them. I won't have 
 it. D'ye hear?" Then there was another'short 
 pause. "D'ye hear?" he shouted at her. 
 
 "Yes; of course I hear. I was only think- 
 ing you wouldn't wish me to tlirn them out— just 
 as her confinement is coming on." 
 
 " I know what that means. Then they'd nev- 
 er go. I won't have it ; and if you don't tell 
 them I will. " In answer to this Lady De Courcy 
 promised that she would tell them, thinking per- 
 haps that the earl's mode of telling might not be 
 beneficial in that particular epoch which was 
 now coming in the life of Mrs. George. 
 
 "Did you know," said he, breaking out on a 
 new subject, "that a man had been here named 
 Dale, calling on somebody in this house?" In 
 answer to which the countess acknowledged that 
 she had known it. 
 
 ' ' Then why did you keep it from me ?" And 
 that gnashing of the teeth took place which was 
 so specially objectionable to Mrs. George. 
 
 " It was a matter of no moment. He came 
 to see Lady Julia De Guest." 
 
 " Yes ; but he came about that man Crosbie." 
 
 " I suppose he did." 
 
 " Why have you let that girl be such a fool? 
 You'll find he'll play her some knave's trick." 
 
 " Oh, dear, no." 
 
 "And why should she want to marry such a 
 man as that ?" 
 
 "He's quite a gentleman, you know, and 
 very much thought of in the world. It won't 
 be at all bad for her, poor thing ! It is so very 
 hard for a girl to get married nowadays without 
 money." 
 
 "And so they're to take up with any body. 
 As far as I can see, this is a worse affair than 
 that of Amelia." 
 
 "Amelia has done very well, my dear," 
 
 "Oh, if you call it doing well for your girls, 
 I don't. I call it doing uncommon badly; about 
 as bad as they well can do. But it's your affair. 
 I have never meddled with them, and don't in- 
 tend to do it now." 
 
 "I really think she'll be happy, and she is 
 devotedly attached to the young i»an." 
 
 "Devotedly attached to the young man!" 
 The tone and manner in which the earl repeat- 
 ed these words were such as to warrant an opin- 
 ion that his lordship might have done rery well 
 un the stage had his attention been called to that 
 profession. "It makes me sick to hear people 
 talk in that way. She wants to get married, 
 
 and she's a fool for her pains ; I can't help that ; 
 only remember that I'll have no nonsense here 
 about that other girl. If he gives me trouble 
 
 of that sort, by I'll be the death of him. 
 
 When is the marriage to be?" 
 
 " They talk of February." 
 
 "I won't have any tomfoolery and expense. 
 If she chooses to marry a clerk in an office, she 
 shall marry him as clerks are married." 
 
 " He'll be the secretary before that, De 
 Courcy." 
 
 "What difference does that make? Secre- 
 tary, indeed ! What sort of men do you sup- 
 pose secretaries are ? A beggar that came from 
 nobody knows where ! I won't liave any tom- 
 foolery; d'ye hear?" Whereupon the countess 
 said that she did hear, and soon afterward man- 
 aged to escape. The valet then took his turn ; 
 and repeated, after his hour of service, that 
 "Old Nick" in his tantrums had been more 
 like the Prince of Darkness than ever. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 "ON MY HONOR, I DO NOT UNDERSTAND IT." 
 
 In the mean time Lady Alexandrina endeav- 
 ored to realize to herself all the advantages and 
 disadvantages of her own position. She was 
 not possessed of strong affections, nor of depth 
 of character, nor of high purpose ; but she was 
 no fool, nor was she devoid of principle. She 
 had asked herself many times whether her pres- 
 ent life was so happy as to make her think that 
 a permanent continuance in it would suffice for 
 her desires, and she had always replied to her- 
 self that she would fain change to some other life 
 if it were pdfesible. She had also questioned 
 herself as to her rank, of which she was quite 
 sufficiently proud, and had told herself that she 
 could not degrade herself in the world without a 
 heavy pang. But she had at last taught her- 
 self to believe that she had more to gain by be- 
 coming the wife of such a man as Crosbie than 
 by remaining as an unmarried daughter of her 
 father's house. There was much in her sister 
 Amelia's position which she did not envy, but 
 there was less to envy in that of her sister Eo- 
 sina. The Gazebee house in St. John's Wood 
 Road was not so magnificent as Courcy Castle ; 
 but then it was less dull, less embittered by tor- 
 ment, and was moreover her sister's own. 
 
 "Very many do marry commoners," she had 
 said to Margaretta. 
 
 "Oh yes, of course. It makes a difference, 
 you know, when a man has a fortune." 
 
 Of course it did make a difference. Crosbie 
 had no foi'tune, was not even so rich as Mr. 
 Gazebee, could keep no carriage, and would 
 have no country-house. But then he was a man 
 of fashion, was more thought of in the world than 
 Mr. Gazebee, might probably rise in his own pro- 
 fession — and was at any rate thoroughly pre- 
 sentable. She would have preferred a gentleman 
 with £5000 a year ;. but then as- no gentleman 
 
124 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 with £5000 a year came that way, would she not 
 be happier with Mr. Crosbie than she would be 
 with no husband at all ? She was nftt very much 
 in love with Mr. Crosbie, but she thought that 
 she could live with him comfortably, and that on 
 the whole it would be a good thing to be mai'ried. 
 
 And she made certain resolves as to the man- 
 ner in which she would do her duty by her hus- 
 band. Her sister Amelia was paramount in her 
 own house, ruling indeed with a moderate, en- 
 durable dominion, and ruling much to her hus- 
 band's advantage. Alexandrina feared that she 
 would not be allowed to rule, but she could at 
 any rate try. She would do all in her power to 
 make him comfortable, and would be specially 
 careful not to irritate him by any insistence on 
 her own higher rank. She would be v^ meek 
 in this respect ; and if children should come she 
 would be as painstaking about them as though 
 her own father had been mei-ely a clergyman or 
 a lawyer. She thought also much about poor 
 Lilian Dale, asking herself sundry questions, 
 with'an idea of being high-principled as to her 
 duty in that respect. Was she wrong in taking 
 Mr. Crosbie away from Lilian Dale ? In an- 
 swer to these questions she was able to assure 
 herself comfortably that she was not wrong. 
 Mr. Crosbie would not, under any circumstan- 
 ces, marry Lilian Dale. He had told her so 
 more than once, and that in a solemn way. She 
 could therefore be doing no harm to Lilian Dale. 
 If she entertained any inner feeling that Cros- 
 bie's fault in jilting Lilian Dale was less than it 
 would have been had she herself not been an 
 earl's daughter — that her own rank did in some 
 degree extenuate her lover's falseness — she did 
 not express it in words even to herself. 
 
 She did not get very much sympathy froip her 
 own family. "I'm afraid he dofes not think 
 much of liis religious duties. I'm told that 
 young men of that sort seldom do," said Rosina. 
 "I don't say you're wrong," said Margaretta. 
 " By no means. Indeed, I think less of it now 
 than I did when Amelia did the same thing. I 
 shouldn't do it myself, that's all." Her father 
 told her that he supposed she knew her own 
 mind. Her mother, who endeavored to com- 
 fort and in some sort to congratulate her, nev- 
 ertheless harped constantly on the fact that she 
 was marrying a man without rank and without 
 a fortune. Her congratulations were apologetic, 
 and her comfortings took the guise of consola- 
 tion. "Of course you won't be rich, my dear; 
 but I really think you'll do very well. Mr. 
 Crosbie may be received any where, and you 
 never need be ashamed of him." By which the 
 countess implied that her elder married daugh- 
 ter was occasionally called on to be ashamed of 
 her husband. " I wish he could keep a carriage 
 for you, but perhaps that will come some day." 
 Upon the whole Alexandrina did not repent, and 
 stoutly told her father that she did know her own 
 mind. 
 
 During all this time Lily Dale was as yet per- 
 fect in her happiiiess. That delay of a day or 
 two in the receipt of the c.\|e -ted letter from her 
 
 lover had not disquieted her. She had prom- 
 ised him that she would not distrust him, and 
 she was firmly minded to keep her promises. 
 Indeed no idea of breaking it came to her at this 
 time. She was disappointed when the postman 
 would come and bring no letter for her — disap- 
 pointed as is the husbandman when the longed- 
 for rain does not come to refresh the parched 
 earth ; but she was in no degree angry. " He 
 will explain it," she said to herself. And she 
 assured Bell that men never recognized the 
 hunger and thirst after letters which women feel 
 when away from those whom they love. 
 
 Then they heard at the Small House that the 
 squire had gone away from Allington. During 
 the last tew days Bernard had not been much 
 with them, and now they heard the news, not 
 through their cousin, but from Hopkins. "I 
 really can't undertake to say. Miss Bell, where 
 the master's gone to. It's not likely the mas- 
 ter 'd tell me where he was going to ; not un- 
 less it was about seeds or the likes of that." 
 
 "He has gone very suddenly," said Bell. 
 
 " Well, miss, I've nothing to say to that. And 
 why shouldn't he go sudden if he likes ? I only 
 know he had his gig, and went to the station. 
 If you was to bury me alive I couldn't tell you 
 more." 
 
 " I should like to try," said Lily, as they 
 walked away. ' ' He is such a cross old thing. 
 I wonder whether Bernard has gone with my 
 UQcIe. " And then they thought no more about it. 
 
 On the day after that Bernard came down to 
 the Small House, but he said nothing by way 
 of accounting for the squire's absence. " He is 
 in London, I know," said Bernard. 
 
 " I hope he'll call on Mr. Crosbie,'' said Lily. 
 But on this subject Bernard said not a word. 
 He did ask Lily whether she had heard from 
 Adolphus, in answer to which she replied, with 
 as indifferent a voice as she could assume, that 
 she had not had a letter that morning 
 
 " I shall be angry with him if he's not a good 
 corresijondent," said Mrs. Dale, when she and 
 Lily were alone together. 
 
 " No, mamma, you mustn't be angry with him 
 I won't let you be angry with him. Please to 
 remember he's my lover and not yours." 
 
 "But I can see you when you watch for the 
 postman." 
 
 " I won't watch for the postman any more if it 
 makes you have bad thoughts about him. Yes, 
 they are bad thoughts. I won't have you think 
 that he doesn't do every thing that is right." 
 
 On the next morning the postman brought a 
 letter, or rather a note, and Lily at once saw that 
 it was from Crosbie. She had contrived to in- 
 tercept it near the back-door, at which the post- 
 man called, so that her mother should not watch 
 her watchings, nor see her disappointment if 
 none should come. "Thank you, Jane," she 
 said, very calmly, when the eager, kindly girl ran 
 to her with the little missive ; and she walked 
 off to some solitude, trying to hide her impa- 
 tience. The note had seemed so small that it 
 amazed her; but when she opened it the con- 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 125 
 
 tents amazed her more- There was neither be- 
 ginning nor end. There was no appellation of 
 love, and no signature. It contained but two 
 lines : " I will write to you at length to-morrow. 
 This is my first day in London, and I have been 
 so driven about that I can not write." That was 
 all, and it was scrawled on half a sheet of note- 
 paper. Why, at any rate, had he not called her 
 his dearest Lily ? Why had he not assured her 
 that he was ever her own ? Such expressions, 
 meaning so much, may be conveyed in a glance 
 of the pen. " Ah," she said, "if he knew how 
 I hunger and thirst after his love !" 
 
 She had but a moment left to her before she 
 must join her mother and sister, and she used 
 that moment in remembering her promise. ' ' I 
 know it is all right, " she said to herself. " He 
 does not think of these things as I do.- He had 
 to write at the last moment, as he was leaving 
 his office." . And then, with a quiet, smiling 
 face, she walked into the breakfast-parlor. 
 
 " What does he say, Lily ?" asked Bell. 
 
 "What would you give to know ?" said Lily. 
 
 "I wouldn't give twopence for the whole of 
 it," said Bell. 
 
 " When you get any body to write to you let- 
 ters, I wonder whether you'll show them to every 
 body?" 
 
 " But if there's any special London news, I 
 suppose we might hear it," said Mrs. Dale. 
 
 "But suppose there's no special London news, 
 mamma. The poor man had only been in town 
 one day, you know : and there never is any news 
 at this time of the year. " 
 
 "Had he seen Uncle Christopher?" 
 
 "I don't think he had; but he doesn't say. 
 We shall get all the news from him when he 
 comes. He cares much more about London 
 news than Adolphus does." And then there 
 was no more said about the letter. 
 
 But Lily had read her two former letters over 
 and over again at the breakfast-table ; and though 
 she had not read them aloud, she had repeated 
 many words out of them, and had so annotated 
 npon them that her mother, who had heard her, 
 could have almost re-written them. Now, she 
 did not even show the paper ; and then her ab- 
 sence, during which she had read the letter, had 
 hardly exceeded a minute or two. All this Mrs. 
 Dale observed, and she knew that her daughter 
 had been again disappointed. 
 
 In fact that day Lily was very serious, but 
 she did not appear to be unhappy. Early after 
 breakfast Bell went over to the parsonage, and 
 Mrs. Dale and her youngest daughter sat to- 
 gether over their work. "Mamma," she said, 
 ' ' I hope you and I are not to be divided when I 
 go to live in London." 
 
 "We shall never be divided in heart, my 
 love." 
 
 " Ah, but that will not be enough for happi- 
 ness, though perhaps enough to prevent absolute 
 unhappiness. I shall want to see you, touch 
 you, and pet you as I do now." And she 
 came and knelt on the cushion at her mother's 
 feet. 
 
 " You will have some one else to caress and 
 pet — perhaps many others." 
 
 "Do you mean to say that you are going to 
 throw me oif, mamma?" 
 
 " God forbid, my darling. It is not mothers 
 that throw off their children. What shall I 
 have left when you and Bell are gone from 
 me?" 
 
 " But we will never be gone. That's what I 
 mean. We are to be just the same to you al- 
 ways, even though we are'married. I must have 
 my right to be here as much as I have it now ; 
 and, in return, you shall have your right to be 
 there. His house must be a home to you — not 
 a cold place which you may visit now and 
 again, with your best clothes on. You know 
 what I mean, when I say that we must not be 
 divided." 
 
 "But Lily— " 
 
 "Well, mamma?" 
 
 " I have no doubt we shall be happy together 
 — you and I." 
 
 "But you were going to say more than that." 
 
 " Only this, that your house will be his house, 
 and will be full without me. A daughter's mar- 
 riage is always a painful parting." 
 
 "Is it, mamma?" 
 
 "Not that I would have it otherwise than it 
 isi Do not think that I would wish to keep you 
 at home with me. Of course you will both 
 marry and leave me. I hope that he to whom 
 you are going to devote yourself may be spared 
 to love you and protect you." Then the widow's 
 heart became too full, and she put away her 
 child from her that she might hide her face. 
 
 " Mamma, mamma, I wish I was not going 
 from you." 
 
 " No, Lily ; do not say that. I should not 
 be contented with life if I did not see both my 
 girls married. I think that it is the only lot 
 which can give to a woman perfect content and 
 satisfaction. I would have you both married. 
 I should be the most selfish being alive if I 
 wished otherwise." 
 
 "Bell will settle herself near you, and then 
 you will see more of her and love her better 
 than you do me." 
 
 "I shall not love her better." 
 
 " I wish she. would marry some London man, 
 and then you would come with us, and be near 
 to us. Do you know, mamma, I sometimes 
 think you don't like this place here." 
 
 " Your uncle has been very kind to give it to 
 us." 
 
 "I know he has; and we have been very 
 happy here. But if Bell should leave you — " 
 
 "Then should I go also. Your uncle has 
 been very kind, but I sometimes feel that his 
 kindness is a burden which I should . not be 
 strong enough to bear solely on my own shoul- 
 ders. And what should keep me. here, then ?" 
 Mrs. Dale as she said this felt that the " here" 
 of which she spoke extended beyond the limits 
 of the home which she held through the charity 
 of her brother-in-law. Might not all the world, 
 as far as she was concerned in it, be contained 
 
126 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 in that here ? How was she to live if both her 
 children should be taken away from her ? She 
 had already realized the fact that Crosbie's house 
 could never be a home to her, never even a tem- 
 porary home. Her visits there must be of that 
 full-dressed nature to which Lily had alluded. 
 It was impossible that she could explain this to 
 Lily. She would not prophesy that the hero 
 of her girl's heart would be inhospitable to his 
 wife's mother ; but such had been her reading 
 of Crosbie's character.* Alas, alas, as matters 
 were to go, his hospitality or inhospitality would 
 be matter of small moment to them. 
 
 Again in the afternoon the two sisters were 
 together, and Lily was still more serious than 
 her wont. It might almost have been gathered 
 from her manner that this marriage of hers was 
 about to take place at once, and that she was 
 preparing to leave her home. " Bell," she said, 
 " I wonder why Dr. Crofts never comes to see 
 us now?" • 
 
 ' ' It isn't a month since he was here, at our 
 party." 
 
 " A month ! But there was a time when he 
 made some pretext for being here every other 
 day." 
 
 "Yes, when mamma was ill." 
 
 "Ay, and since mamma was well, too. But 
 I suppose I must not break the promise you made 
 me give you. He's not to be talked about even 
 yet, is he?" 
 
 "I didn't say he was not to be talked about. 
 You know what I meant, Lily; and what I 
 meant then I mean now." 
 
 " And how long will it be before you mean 
 something else ? I do hope it will come some 
 day — I do indeed." 
 
 " It never will, Lily. I once fancied that I 
 cared for Dr. Crofts, but it was only fancy. I 
 know it, because — " She was going to explain 
 that her knowledRO on that point was assured to 
 her, because since that day she had felt that she 
 might have learned to love another man. But 
 that other man had been Mr. Crosbie, and so 
 she stopped herself. 
 
 "I wish he would come and ask you him- 
 self." 
 
 " He will never do so. He would never ask 
 such a question without encouragement, and I 
 shall give him none. Nor will he ever think 
 of marrying till he can do. so without — without 
 what he thinks to be imprudence as regards 
 money. He has courage enough to be poor him- 
 self without unhappiness, but he has not cour- 
 age to endure poverty with a wife. I know well 
 what his feelings are." 
 
 " Well, we shall see," said Lily. " I shouldn't 
 wonder if you were married first now, Bell. For 
 my part, I'm quite prepared to wait for three 
 years. " 
 
 Late on that evening the squire returned to 
 Allington, Bernai-d having driven over to meet 
 him at the station. He had telegraphed to his 
 nephew that he would be back by a late train, 
 and no more than this had been heard from him 
 since he went. On that day Bernard had seen 
 
 none of the ladies at the Small House. With 
 Bell at the present moment it was impossible 
 that he should be on easy terms. He could not 
 meet her alone without recurring to the one 
 special subject of interest between them, and as 
 to that he did not choose to speak without much 
 forethought. He had not known himself when 
 he had gone about his wooing so lightly, think- 
 ing it a slight thing whether or no he might be 
 accepted. Now it was no longer a slight thing 
 to him. I do not know that it was love that 
 made him so eager — not good, honest, down- 
 right love. But he had set his heart upon the 
 object, and with the willfulness of a Dale was 
 determined that it should be his. He had no 
 remotest idea of giving up his cousin, but he 
 had at last persuaded himself that she was not 
 to be won without some toil, and perhaps also 
 some delay. 
 
 Nor had he been in a humor to tfilk either to 
 Mrs. Dale or to Lily. He feared that Lady 
 Julia's news was true — that at any rate there 
 might be in it something of truth ; and while 
 thus in doubt he could not go down to the Small 
 House. So he hung about the place by himself, 
 with a cigar in his mouth, fearing that some- 
 thing evil was going to happen, and, when the 
 message came for him, almost shuddered as he 
 seated himself in the gig. What would it be- 
 come him to do in this emergency if Crosbie had 
 truly been guilty of the villainy with which Lady 
 Julia had charged him? Thirty years ago he 
 would have called the man out, and shot at him 
 till one of them was hit. Nowadnys it was 
 hardly possible for a man to do that ; and yet 
 what would the world say of him if he allowed 
 such an injury as this to pass without venge- 
 ance? 
 
 His uncle, as he came forth from the station 
 with his traveling-bag in his hand, was stern, 
 gloomy, and silent. He came out and took his 
 place in the gig almost without speaking. There 
 were strangers about, and therefore his nephew 
 at first could ask no question, but as the gig 
 turned the corner out of the station-house yai'd 
 he demanded the news. 
 
 " What have you heard ?" he said. But even 
 then the squire did not answer at once. He 
 shook his head and turned away his face, as 
 though he did not choose to be interrogated. 
 
 " Have you seen him. Sir?" asked Bernard. 
 
 " No ; he has not dared to see me." 
 
 "Then it is true?" 
 
 "True? — yes, it is all true. Why did you 
 bring the scoundrel here? It has been your 
 fault." 
 
 " No, Sir ; I must contradict that. I did not 
 know him for a scoundrel." 
 
 "But it was your dnty to have known him 
 before you brought him here among them. Poor 
 girl ! how is she to be told ?" 
 
 " Then she does not know it ?" 
 
 " I fear not. Have you seen them ?" 
 
 ' ' I saw them yesterday, and she did not know 
 it then ; she may have heard it to-day." 
 
 "I don't think so. I believe he has been too 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 127 
 
 great a coward to write to her. A coward in- 
 deed! .How can any man And the courage to 
 write such a letter as that?" 
 
 By degrees the squire told his tale. How he 
 liad gone to Lady Julia, had made his way to 
 London, had traclced Crosbie to his club, and 
 had there learned the whole truth fromCrosbie's 
 friend. Fowler Pratt, we already know. "The 
 uoward escaped me while I was talking to the 
 man he sent down," said the squire. "It was 
 a concerted plan, and I think he was right. I 
 should have brained him in the hall of the club." 
 On the following morning Pratt had called upon 
 hira at his inn with Crosbie's apology. "His 
 apology!" said the squire. "I hare it in my 
 pocket. Poor reptile ! wretched worm of a 
 man ! I can not understand it. On my hon- 
 or, Bernard, I do not understand it. I think 
 men are changed since I knew much of them. 
 It would have been impossible for me to write 
 such a letter as that." He went on telling how 
 Pratt had brought him this letter, and had stated 
 that Crosbie declined an interview. ' ' The gen- 
 tleman had the goodness to assure me that no 
 good could come from such a meeting. ' You 
 mean,' I answered, ' that I can not touch pitch 
 and not be defiled !' He acknowledged that the 
 man was pitch. Indeed, he could not say a 
 word for his friend." 
 
 "I know Pratt. He is a gentleman. I am 
 sure he would not excuse him." 
 
 " Excuse him ! Ho^ could any one excuse 
 him ? Words could not be found to excuse 
 him." And then he sat silent for some half 
 mile. "On my honor, Bernard, I can hardly 
 yet bring myself to believe it. It is so new to 
 me. It makes me feel that the world is changed, 
 and that it is no longer worth a, man's while to 
 live in it." 
 
 " And he is engaged to this other girl ?" 
 
 "Oh yes; with the full consent of the fam- 
 ily. It is all arranged, and the settlements, no 
 doubt, in the lawyer's hands by this time. He 
 must have gone away from here deterpiined to 
 throw her over. Indeed, I don't suppose he 
 ever meant to maiTy her. He was just passing 
 away his time here in the country." 
 
 "He meant it up to the time of his leaving." 
 
 "I don't think it. Had he found me able 
 and willing to give her a fortune he might, per- 
 haps, have married her. But I don't think he 
 meant it for a moment after I told him that she 
 would have nothing. Well, here we are. I 
 may truly say that I never before came back to 
 my own house with so sore a heart." 
 
 They sat silently over their supper, the squire 
 showing more open sorrow than might have 
 been expected from his character. "What am 
 I to say to them in the morning?" he repeated 
 over and over again. "How am I to do it? 
 And if I tell the mother, how is she to tell her 
 child?" 
 
 "Do you think that he has given no intima- 
 tion of his purpose ?" 
 
 " As far as I can tell, none. That man Pratt 
 knew that he had not done so yesterday after- 
 
 noon. I asked him what were the intentions 
 of his blackguard friend, and he said that ho 
 did not know — that Crosbie would probably have 
 written to me. Then he brought me this letter. 
 There it is ; " and the squire threw the letter over 
 the table; "read it, and let me have it back. 
 He thinks probably that the trouble is now over 
 as far as he is concerned." 
 
 It was a vile letter to have written — not be- 
 cause the language was bad, or the mode of ex- 
 pression unfeeling, or the facts falsely stated — 
 but because the thing to be told was in itself so 
 vile. There are deeds which will not bear a 
 gloss ; sins as to which the perpetrator can not 
 speak otherwise than as a reptile ; circumstances 
 which change a man a«.d put upon him tlie 
 worthlessness of vermin. Crosbie had struggled 
 hard to write it, going home to do it after his 
 last interview on that night with Pratt. But 
 he had sat moodily in his chair at his lodgings, 
 unable to take the pen in his hand. Pratt was 
 to come to him at his office on the following 
 morning, and he went to bed resolving that he 
 would write it at his desk. On the next day 
 Pratt was there before a word of it had been 
 written. 
 
 " I can't stand this kind of thing," said Pratt. 
 "If you mean me to take it, you must write it 
 at once." Then, with inward groaning, Cros- 
 bie sat himself at his table, and the words at 
 last were forthcoming. Such words as they 
 were ! "I know that I can have no excuse to 
 make to you — or to her. But, circumstanced 
 as I now am, the truth is the best. I feel that 
 I should not make Miss Dale happy ; and there- 
 fore, as an honest man, I think I best do my 
 duty by relinquishing the honor which she and 
 you had proposed for me." There was more 
 of it, but we all know of what words such let- 
 ters are composed, and how men write when 
 they feel themselves constrained to write as 
 reptiles. 
 
 "As an honest man ! " repeated the squire. 
 ' ' On my honor, Bernard, as a gentleman, I do 
 not understand it. I can not believe it possible 
 that the man who wrote that letter was sitting 
 the other day as a guest at my table. " 
 
 "What are we to do to him ?" said Bernard, 
 after a while. 
 
 "Treat him as you would a rat. Throw 
 your stick at him if he comes under your feet ; 
 but beware, above all things, that he does not 
 get into your house. That is too late for us 
 now." 
 
 "There must be more than that, uncle." 
 
 " I don't know what more. There are deeds 
 for committing which a man is doubly damned, 
 because he has screened himself from overt pun- 
 ishment by the nature of his own villainy. We 
 have to remember Lily's name, and do what 
 may best tend to her comfort. Poor girl ! poor 
 girl!" 
 
 Then they were silent till the squire rose and 
 took his bed candle. "Bernard,'-' he said, "let 
 my sister-iifcaw know early to-morrow that I 
 will see her here, if she will be good enough to 
 
128 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 come to me after breakfast. Do not have any 
 thing else said at the Small House. It may be 
 that he has written to-day." 
 
 Then the squire went to bed, and Bernard 
 sat over the dining-room fire meditating on it 
 i\ll. How would the world expect that he should 
 behave to Crosbie ? and what should he do when 
 he met Crosbie at the club ? 
 
 CHAPTER XXVni. 
 
 THE BOARD. 
 
 CiiosBiE, as we already know, went to his 
 office in Whitehall on the morning after his es- 
 cape from Sebright's, at which establishment he 
 left the Squire of AUington in conference with 
 Fowler Pratt. He had seen Fowler Pratt again 
 that same night, and the course of the story will 
 have shown what took place at that interview. 
 
 He went early to his office, knovving that he 
 had before him the work of writing two letters, 
 neither of which would run very glibly from his 
 pen. One was to be his missive to the squire, 
 to be delivered by his friend ; the other that fatal 
 epistle to poor Lily, which, as the day passed 
 away, he found himself utterly unable to accom- 
 plish. The letter to the squire he did write, un- 
 der certain threats ; and, as we have seen, was 
 considered to have degraded himself to the ver- 
 min rank of humanity by the meanness of his 
 production. 
 
 But on reaching his ofBce he found that other 
 cares awaited him — cares which h#would have 
 taken much delight in bearing, had the state of 
 
 his mind enabled him to take delight in any 
 thing. On entering the lobby of his office, at 
 ten o'clock, he became aware that he was re- 
 ceived by the messengers assembled there with 
 almost more than their usual deference. He 
 was always a great man at the General Commit- 
 tee Office ; but there are shades of greatness and 
 shades of deference, which, though quite beyond 
 the powers of definition, nevertheless manifest 
 themselves clearly to the experienced ear and 
 eye. He walked through to his own apartment, 
 and there found two official letters addressed to 
 him lying on his table. The first which came 
 to hand, though official, was small, and marked 
 private, and it was addressed in the handwriting 
 of his old friend Butterwell, the outgoing secre- 
 tary. "I shall see you in the morning, nearly 
 as soon as you get this," said the semi-official 
 note ; " but I must be the first to congratulate 
 you on the acquisition of my old shoes. They 
 will be very easy in the wearing to you, though 
 they pinched ray corns a little at first. I dare 
 j say they want new soling, and perhaps they are 
 j a little down at heels ; but you will find some 
 excellent cobbler to make them all right, and 
 will give them a grace in the wearing which they 
 have sadly lacked since they came into my pos- 
 session. I wish you much joy with them," etc., 
 etc. He then opened the larger official letter, 
 but that had now but little, interest for him. 
 i He could have made a copy of the contents with- 
 out seeing them. Thg Board of Commission- 
 ers had had great pleasure in promoting him to 
 the office of 'secretary, vacated by the promotion 
 of Mr. Butterwell to a seat at their own Board ; 
 and then the letter was signed by Mr. Butterwell 
 himself. 
 
 How delightful to him would have been this 
 welcome on his return to his office had his heart 
 in other respects been free from care ! And as 
 he thought of this he remembered all Lily's 
 charms. He told himself how much she ex- 
 celled the noble scion of the De Courcy stock, 
 with wli^ he was now destined to mate him- 
 self ; how the bride he had rejected exDelledthe 
 one he had chosen in grace, beauty, faith, fresh- 
 ness, and all feminine virtues. If he could only 
 wipe out the last fortnight from the facts of his 
 existence ! But fortnights such as those are not 
 to be wiped out — not even with many sorrowful 
 years of tedious scrubbing. 
 
 And at this moment it seemed to him as 
 though all those impediments which had fright- 
 ened him when he had thought of marrying 
 Lily Dale were withdrawn. That which would 
 have been terrible with seven or eight hundred 
 a year would have been made delightful with 
 twelve or thirteen. Why had his fate been so 
 unkind to him ? Why had not this promotion 
 come to him but one fortnight earlier ? Why 
 had it not been declared before he had made bis 
 visit to that terrible castle? He even said to 
 himself that if he had positively known the fact 
 before Pratt had seen Mr. Dale he would have 
 sent a different message to the squire, and would 
 have braved the anger of all the race of the De 
 
THE SMAIL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 129 
 
 Courcys. But in that he lied to himself, and he 
 knew that he did so. An earl, in his imagina- 
 tion, was hedged by so strong a divinity that his 
 treason toward Alexandrina could do no more 
 than peep at what it would. It had been con- 
 sidered but little by him, when the project first 
 offered itself to his mind, to jilt the niece of a 
 small rural squire ; but it was not in him to jilt 
 the daughter of a countess. 
 
 That house full of babies in St. John's Wood 
 appeared to him now under a very different guise 
 from that which it wore as he sat in his room at 
 Courcy ^ Castle on the evening of his arrival 
 there. Then such an establishment had to him 
 the flavor of a grave-yard. It was as though he 
 were going to bury himself alive. Now that it 
 was out of his reach he thought of it as a para- 
 dise upon earth. And then he considered what 
 sort of a paradise Lady Alexandrina would make 
 for him. It was astonishing how ugly was the 
 Lady Alexandrina, how old, how graceless, how 
 destitute of all pleasant charm, seen through 
 the spectacles which he wore at the present mo- 
 ment. 
 
 During his first hour at the office he did no- 
 thing. One or two of the younger clerks came 
 in and congratulated him with much heartiness. 
 He was popular at his office, and they had got 
 a step by his promotion. Then he met one or 
 two of the elder clerks, and was congratulated 
 with much less heartiness. ' ' I suppose it's all 
 right," said one bluff old gentleman. "My 
 time is gone by, I know. I married, too early to 
 be able to wear a good coat when I was young, 
 and I never was acquainted with any lords or 
 lords' families." The sting of this was the 
 sharper because Crosbie had begun to feel how 
 absolutely useless to him had been all that high 
 interest and noble coniiection which he had 
 formed. He had really been promoted because 
 he knew more about his work thati any of the 
 other men, and Lady De Courcy's influential 
 relation at the India Board had not yet even had 
 time to write a note upon the subject. 
 
 At eleven Mr. Butterwell came into Crosbie's 
 room, and the new secretary was forced to clothe 
 himself in smiles. Mr. Butterwell was a pleas- 
 ant, handsome man of about fifty, who had nev- 
 er yet set the Thames on fire, and had never at- 
 tempted to do so. He was perhaps a little more 
 civil to gi-eat men and a little more patronizing 
 to those below him than he would have been had 
 he been perfect. B ut there was solBlething frank 
 and English even in his mode of bowing before 
 the mighty ones, and to those who were not 
 mighty he was rather too civil than either stern 
 or supercilious. He knew that he was not very 
 clever, but he knew also how to use those who 
 were clever. He seldom made any mistake, 
 and was very scrupulous not to tread on men's 
 corns. Though he had no enemies, yet he had 
 a friend or two ; and we may therefore say of 
 Mr. Butterwell that he had walked his path in 
 life discreetly. At the age of thirty.five he had 
 married a lady with some little fortune, and 
 no\v he lived a pleasant, easy, smiling life in a 
 
 villa at Putney. When Mr. Butterwell heard, 
 as he often did hear, of the difficulty which an 
 English gentleman has of earning his bread in 
 his own country, he was wont to look back on 
 his own career with some complacency. He 
 knew that he had not given the world much ; 
 yet he had received largely, and no one had be- 
 grudged it to him. " Tact," Mr. Butterwell 
 used to say to himself, as he walked along the 
 paths of his Putney villa. "Tact. Tact. Tact." 
 
 " Crosbie," he said, as he entered the room, 
 cheerily, "I congratulate you with all my heart. 
 I do, indeed. You have got the step early in 
 life, and you deserve it thoroughly — much bet- 
 ter than I did when I was appointed to the same 
 office." 
 
 "Oh no," said Crosbie, gloomily. 
 
 "But I say. Oh yes. We are deuced lucky 
 to haye such a man, and so I told the commis- 
 sioners." 
 
 " I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you." 
 
 "I've known it all along — before you left 
 even. Sir Raffle Buffle had told me he was to 
 go to the Income-tax Office. The chair is two 
 thousand there, you know; and I had been 
 promised the first seat at the Board." 
 
 "Ah — I wish I'd known," said Crosbie. 
 
 "You are much better as you.are," said But- 
 terwell. ' ' There's no pleasure like a surprise ! 
 Besides, one knows a thing of that kind, and 
 yet doesn't know it. I don't mind saying now 
 that I knew it — swearing that I knew it — but I 
 wouldn't have said so to a living being the day 
 before yesterday. There are such slips between 
 the cups and the lips. Suppose Sir Baffle had 
 not gone to the Income-tax !" 
 
 ' ' Exactly so, " said Crosbie. 
 
 " But it's all right now. Indeed I sat at the 
 Board yesterday, though I signed the letter after- 
 ward. I'm not sure that I don't lose more than 
 I gain." 
 
 " What ! with three hundred a year more and 
 less work ?" 
 
 "Ah, but look at the interest of the thing. 
 The secretary sees every thing and knows every 
 thing. But I'm getting old, and, as you say, 
 the lighter work will suit me. By-the-by, will 
 you come down to Putney to-morrow? Mrs. 
 Butterwell will be delighted to see the new sec- 
 retary. There's nobody in town now, so you 
 can have no ground for refusing." 
 
 But Mr. Crosbie did find some ground for re- 
 fusing. It would have been impossible for him 
 to have sat and smiled at Mrs. Butterwell's table 
 in his present frame of mind. In a mysterious, 
 half-explanatory manner, he let Mr. Butterwell 
 know that private affairs of importance made it 
 absolutely necessary that he should remain that 
 evening in town. "And indeed," as he said, 
 "he was not his own master just at present." 
 
 " By-the-by — of course not. I had quite for- 
 gotten to congratulate you on that head. So 
 you're going to be married? Well; I'm very 
 glad, and hope you'll be as lucky as I have been." 
 
 "Thank you," said Crosbie, again rather 
 gloomily. 
 
130 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 " A young lady from near Guestwick, isn't it ; 
 or somewhere in those parts?" 
 
 "N — no," stammered Crosbie. "The lady 
 comes from Barsetshire." 
 
 " Why, I heard the name. Isn't she a Bell, 
 or Tait, or Ball, or some such name as that?" 
 
 "No," said Crosbie, assuming what bold- 
 ness he could command. "Her name is De 
 Courcy." 
 
 "One of the earl's daughters?" 
 
 " Yes," said Crosbie. 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon. I'd heard wrong. 
 You're going to be allied to a very noble family, 
 and I am heartily glad to hear of your success 
 in life. " Then Butterwell shook him very cord- 
 ially by the hand — having offered him no such 
 special testimony of approval when under the 
 belief that he was going to marry a Bell, a Tait, 
 or a Ball. All the same, Mr. Butterwell began 
 to think that there was something wrong. He 
 had heard from an indubitable source that Cros- 
 bie had engaged himself to a niece of a squire 
 with whom he had been staying near Guestwick 
 — a girl without any money ; and Mr. Butter- 
 well, in his wisdom, had thought his friend 
 Crosbie to be rather a fool for his pains. But 
 now he was going to marry one of the De 
 Courcys! Mr. Butterwell was rather at his 
 wit's ends. 
 
 " Well ; we shall be sitting at two, you know, 
 and of course you'll come to us. If you're at 
 leisure before that I'll make over what papers I 
 have to you. I've not been a Lord Eldon in my 
 office, and they won't break your back." 
 
 Immediately after that Fowler Pratt had been 
 shown into Crosbie's room, and Crosbie had 
 written the letter to the squire under Pratt's 
 eye. 
 
 He could take no joy in his promotion. When 
 Pratt left him he tried to lighten his heart. He 
 endeavored to throw Lily and her wrongs be- 
 hind him, and fix his thoughts on his advancing 
 successes in life ; but he could not do it. A 
 self-imposed trouble will not allow itself to be 
 banished. If a man lose a thousand pounds by 
 a friend's fault, or by a turn in the wheel of for- 
 tune, he can, if he be a man, put his grief down 
 and trample it under foot ; he can exorcise the 
 spirit of his grievance, and bid the evil one de- 
 part from out of his house. But such exorcism 
 is not to be used when the sorrow has come from 
 a man's own folly and sin — especially not if it 
 has come from his own selfishness. Such are 
 the cases which make men drink; which drive 
 them on to the avoidance of all thought ; which 
 create gamblers and reckless prodigals ; which 
 are the promoters of suicide. How could he 
 avoid writing this letter to Lily? He might 
 blow his brains out, and so let there be an end 
 of it all. It was to such reflections that he 
 came when he sat himself down endeavoring to 
 reap satisfaction from his promotion. 
 
 But Crosbie was not a man to commit suicide. 
 In giving him his due I must prcrtest that he 
 was too good for that. He knew too well that 
 a pistol-bullet could not bo the be-all and the 
 
 end-all here, and there was too much manliness 
 in him for so cowardly an escape. The burden 
 must be borne. But how was he to bear it? 
 Tliere he sat till it was two o'clock, neglecting 
 Mr. Butterwell and his office papers, and not 
 stirring from his seat till a messenger summoned 
 him before the Board. The Board, as he en- 
 tered the room, was not such a Board as the 
 public may, perhaps, imagine such Boards to be. 
 There was a round table, with a few pens lying 
 about, and a comfortable leathern arm-chair at 
 the side of it, farthest from the Boor. Sir 
 Kaffle Buffle was leaving his late colleagues, and 
 was standing with his back to the fire-place 
 talking very loudly. Sir Raffle was a great 
 bully, and the Board was uncommonly glad to 
 be rid of him ; but as this was to be his last ap- 
 pearance at the Committee Office, they submit- 
 ted to his voice meekly. Mr. Butterwell was 
 standing close to him, essaying to laugh mildly 
 at Sir Raffle's jokes. A little man, hardly more 
 than five feet liigh, with small but honest-look- 
 ing eyes, and close-cut hair, was standing be- 
 hind the arm-chair, rubbing his hands togetlier, 
 and longing for the departure of Sir Raffle, in 
 order that he might sit down. This was Mr. 
 Optimist, the new chairman, in praise of whose 
 appointment the Daily Jupiter had been so loud, 
 declaring that the present Minister was showing 
 himself superior to all Ministers who had ever 
 gone before him, in giving promotion solely on 
 the score of merit. The Uaily Jupiter, a fort^ 
 night since, had published a very eloquent ar- 
 ticle, strongly advocating the claims of Mr. Op- 
 timist, and was naturally pleased to find that its 
 advice had been taken. Has not an obedient 
 Minister a right to the praise of those powers 
 which he obeys? 
 
 Mr. Optimist was, in truth, an industrious 
 little gentleman, very well connected, who had 
 served the public all his life, and who was, at 
 any rate, honest in his dealings. Nor was he a 
 bully, sucli as his predecessor. It might, how- 
 ever, be a question whether he carried guns 
 enough for the command in which he was now to 
 be employed. There was but one other member 
 of the Board, Major Fiasco by name, a discon- 
 tented, broken-hearted, silent man, who had 
 been sent to the General Committee Office some 
 few years befoi'e because he was not wanted any 
 where else. He was a man who had intended 
 to do great things when he entered public life; 
 and had po^ssed the talent and energy for 
 things moderately great. He had also possessed 
 to a certain extent the ear of those high in office ; 
 but, in some way, matters had not gone well with 
 him, and in running his course he had gone on 
 the wrong side of the post. He was still In the 
 prime of life, and yet all men knew that Major 
 Fiasco had nothing further to expect from the 
 public or from the Government. Indeed, there 
 were not wanting those who said that Major 
 Fiasco was already in receipt of a liberal income, 
 for which he gave no work in return ; that he 
 merely filled a chair for four hours a day four or 
 five days a week, signing his name to certain 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALUNGTON. 
 
 131 
 
 forms and documents, reading, or pretending to 
 read, certain papers, but, in truth, doing no 
 good. Major Fiasco, on the other hand, con- 
 sidered himself to be a deeply injured individual, 
 and he spent his life in brooding over his wrongs. 
 He believed now in nothing and in nobody. He 
 had begun public life striving to be honest, and 
 he now regasided all around him as dishonest. 
 He had no satisfaction in any man other than 
 that which he found when some event would 
 show to him that this or that other compeer of 
 his own had proved himself to be self-interested, 
 false, or fraudulent. "Don't tell me. Butter- 
 well," he would say — for with Mr. Butterwell he 
 maintained some semi-ofBcial intimacy, and he 
 would take that gentleman by the button-hole, 
 holding him close — "Don't tell me. I know 
 whiit men are. I've seen the world. I've been 
 looking at things with my eyes open. I knew 
 what he was doing. " And then he would tell of 
 the sly deed of some official known well to them 
 both, not denouncing it by any means, but af- 
 fecting to take it for granted that the man in 
 question was a rogue. Butterwell would shrug 
 his shoulders, and laugh gently, and say that, 
 upon his word, he didn't think the world so bad 
 as Fiasco made it out to be. 
 
 Nor did he ; for Butterwell believed in many 
 things. He believed in his Putney villa on this 
 earth, and he believed also that he might achieve 
 some sort of Putney villa in the world beyond 
 without undergoing present martyrdom. His 
 Putney villa first, with all its attendant com- 
 forts, and then his duty to the public afterward. 
 It was thus that' Mr. Butterwell regulated his 
 conduct ; and as he was solicitous that the villa 
 should be as comfortable a home to his wife as 
 to himself, and that it should be specially com- 
 fortable to his friends, I do not think that we 
 need quarrel with his creed. 
 
 Mr, Optimist believed in every thing, but 
 especially he believed in the Prime Minister, in 
 the Dailij Jupiter, in the General Committee 
 Office, and in himself. He had long thought 
 that every thing was nearly right ; hut now that 
 he himself was chairman at the General Com- 
 mittee Office, he was quite sure that every thing 
 must be right. In Sir EaflSe Buffle, indeed, he 
 had never believed ; and now it was, perhaps, 
 the greatest joy of liis life that he should never 
 again be called upon to hear the tones of that 
 terrible knight's hated voice. 
 
 Seeing who were the components of the new 
 Board, it may be presumed that Crosbie would 
 look forward to enjoying a not uninfluential 
 position in his office. There were, indeed, some 
 among the clerks wfio did not hesitate to say 
 that the new secretary would have it pretty 
 >>€arlvaUliis^n way. As for " old Opt, " there 
 would be, they said, no difficulty about him. 
 Only tell him that such and such a decision was 
 his own, and he would be sure to believe the 
 teller. Butterwell was not fond of work, and 
 had been accustomed to lean upon Crosbie for 
 many years. As for Fiasco, he would be cynic- 
 al in words, but wholly indifferent in deed. If 
 
 the whole office were made to go to the mis- 
 chief. Fiasco, in his own grim way, would enjoy 
 the confusion. 
 
 "Wish you joy, Crosbie," said Sir Baffle, 
 standing up on the rug, waiting for the new 
 secretai-y to go up to him and shake hands. But 
 Sir Raffle was going, and the new secretary did 
 not indulge him. 
 
 "Thank ye, Sir Raffle," said Crosbie, with' 
 out going near the rug. 
 
 "Mr. Crosbie, I congratulate you most sin- 
 cerely," said Mr. Optimist. "Your promotion 
 has been the result altogether of your own merit. 
 You have been selected for the high office which 
 you are now called upon to fill solely because it 
 has been thought that you are the most fit man 
 to perform the onerous duties attached to it. 
 Hum — h-m — ha. As regards my share in the 
 recommendation which we found ourselves bound 
 to submit to the Treasury, I must say that I 
 never felt less hesitation in my life, and I be- 
 lieve I may declare as much as regards the oth- 
 er members of the Board." 
 
 And Mr. Optimist looked around him for ap- 
 proving words. He had come forwardf from his 
 standing ground behind his chair to welcome 
 Crosbie, and had shaken his hand cordially. 
 Fiasco also had risen from his seat, and had 
 assured Crosbie in a whisper that he had feath- 
 ered his nest uncommon well. Then he had 
 sat down again, 
 
 " Indeed you may, as far as I am concerned," 
 said Butterwell. 
 
 "I told the Chancellor of the Exchequer," 
 said Sir Raffle, speaking very loud and with 
 much authority, " that unless he had some first- 
 rate man to send from elsewhere I could name 
 a fitting candidate. 'Sir Raffle,' he said, 'I 
 mean to keep it in the office, and therefore shall 
 be glad of your opinion.' 'In that case, Mr. 
 Chancellor,' said I, 'Mr. Crosbie must be the 
 man.' ' Mr. Crosbie shall be the man,' said the 
 Chancellor. And Mr. Crosbie is the man." 
 
 " Your friend Sark spoke to Lord Bi'ock about 
 it, " said Fiasco. Now the Earl of Sark was a 
 young nobleman of much influence at the pres- 
 ent moment, and Lord Brock was the Prime 
 Minister. "You should thank Lord Savk." 
 
 "Had as much to do with it as if my foot- 
 man had spoken," said Sir Raffle. 
 
 "I am very much obliged to the Board for 
 their good opinion, " said Crosbie, gravely. ' ' I 
 am obliged to Lord Sark as well — and also to 
 your footman. Sir Raffle, if, as you seem to say, 
 he has interested himself in my favor." 
 
 " I didn't say any thing of the kind, " said Sir 
 Raffle. " I thought it right to make you un- 
 derstand that it was my opinion, given, of course, 
 officially, which prevailed with the Chancellor 
 of the Exchequer. Well, gentlemen, as I shall 
 be wanted in the city, I will say good-morning 
 to you. Is my carriage ready, Boggs ?" Upon 
 which the attendant messenger opened the door, 
 and the great Sir Baffle Buffle took his final de- 
 parture from the scene of his former labors. 
 
 " As to the duties of your new office" — and 
 
132 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 'il^ LjUAUL). 
 
 Mr. Optimist continued his speech, takii^ no 
 other notice of the departure of his enemy than 
 what was indicated by an increased brightness 
 of his eye and a more satisfactory tone of voice 
 — "you will find yourself quite familiar with 
 them." 
 
 " Indeed he will," said Butterwell. 
 
 " And I am quite sure that you will perform 
 them with equal credit to yourself, satisfaction 
 to the department, and advantage to the public. 
 We shall always be glad to have your opinion on 
 
 any subject of importance that may come before 
 us ; and as regards the internal discipline of the 
 office, we feel that we may leave it safely in your 
 hands. In any matter of importance you will, 
 of course, consult us, and I feel very confident 
 that we shall go on together with great comfort 
 and with mutual confidence." Then Mr. Op- 
 timist looked at his brother commissioners, sat 
 down in his arm-chair, and taking in his hands 
 some papers before him, began the routine busi- 
 ness of the day. 
 
THE SMALL HOUSK AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 133 
 
 It was nearly five o'clock when, on this spe- I 
 cial occasion, the secietary returned from the 
 board-room to hia own office. Not for a mo- 
 ment had the weight been off his shoulders while 
 Sir Baffle had been bi-agging or Mr. Optimist 
 making his speech. He had been thinking, not 
 of them, but of Lily Dale; and though they had 
 not discovered his thoughts, they had perceived 
 that he was hardly like himself. 
 
 ' ' I never saw a man so little elated by good 
 fortune in my life," said Mr. Optimist. 
 
 "Ah, he's got something on his mind," said 
 Butterwell. "He's going to be married, I be- 
 lieve." 
 
 " If that's the case, it's no wonder he shouldn't 
 be elated," said Major Fiasco, who was himself 
 a bachelor. 
 
 When in his own room again Crosbie at once 
 seized on a sheet of note-paper, as though by hur- 
 rying himself on with it' he could get that letter 
 to Allington written. But though the paper was 
 before him, and the pen in his hand, the letter 
 did not, would not, get itself written. With 
 what wordS' was he to begin it? To whom 
 should it be written ? How was he to declare 
 himself the villain which he had made himself? 
 The letters from his office were taken away every 
 night shortly after six, and at six o'clock he had 
 not written a word. " I will do it at home to- 
 night," he said to himself, and then, tearing off 
 a scrap of paper, he scratched those few lines 
 which Lily received, and which she had declined 
 to communicate to her mother or sister. Cros- 
 bie, as he wrote them, conceived that they would 
 in some way prepare the poor girl for the com- 
 ing blow — that they would, at any rate, make her 
 know that all was not right ; but in so supposing 
 he had not counted on the constancy of her na- 
 ture, nor. had he thought of the promise which 
 she had given him that nothing should make 
 her doubt him. He wrote the scrap, and then 
 taking his hat walked off through the gloom of 
 the November evening up Charing Cross and 
 St. Martin's Lane toward the Seven Dials and 
 Bloomsbury, into regions of the town with which 
 he had no business, and which he never fre- 
 quented. He hardly knew where he went or 
 wherefore. How was he to escape from the 
 weight of the burden which was now crushing 
 him? It seemed to him as though he would 
 change his position with thankfulness for that 
 of the junior clerk in his office, if only that jun- 
 ior clerk had upon his mind no such betrayal 
 of trust as that of which he was guilty. 
 
 At half past seven he found himself at Se- 
 bright's, and there he dined. A man will dine, 
 even though his heart be breaking. Then he 
 ROt into a cab, and had liimself taken home to 
 Mount Street. During his walk he had sworn 
 to himself that he would not go to bed that night 
 till the letter was written and posted. It was 
 twelve before the first words were marked on 
 the paper, and yet he kept his oath. Between 
 two and three, in the cold moonlight, he crawled 
 out and deposited his letter in the nearest post- 
 office. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 JOHN EAMES BETORNS TO BUETON CEESCENT. 
 
 • 
 
 John Eames and Crosbie returned to town 
 on the same day. It will be remembered how 
 Eames had assisted Lord De Guest in the matter 
 of the bull, and how great had been the earl's 
 gratitude on the occasion. The memory of this, 
 and the strong encouragement which he receivad 
 from his mother and sister for having made such 
 a friend by his gallantry, lent some slight satis- 
 faction to his last hours at home. But his two 
 misfortunes were too serious to allow of any 
 thing like real happiness. He was leaving Lily 
 behind him, engaged to be married to a man 
 whom he hated, and he was returning to Bur- 
 ton Crescent, where he would have to face Amelia 
 Roper — Amelia either in her rage or in her love. 
 The prospect of Amelia in her rage was very 
 terrible to him ; but his greatest fear was of 
 Amelia in her love. He had in his letter de- 
 clined matrimony ; but what if she talked down 
 all his objections, and carried him off to church 
 in spite of himself! 
 
 When he reached London and got into a cab 
 with his portmanteau, he could hardly fetch up 
 courage to bid the man drive him to Burton 
 Crescent. ' ' I might as well go to a hotel for 
 the night," he said to himself, " and then I can 
 learn how things are going on from Cradell at 
 the office." Nevertheless, he did give the direc- 
 tion to Burton Crescent, and when it was once 
 given felt ashamed to change it. But as he 
 was driven up to the well-known door his heart 
 was so low within him that he might almost be 
 said to have lost it. When the cabman de- 
 manded whether he should knock, he could not 
 answer ; and when the maid-servant at the door 
 greeted him, he almost ran away. 
 
 " Who's at home ?" said he, asking the ques- 
 tion in a very low voice. 
 
 "There's missus," said the girl, "and Miss 
 Spruce, and Mrs. Lupex. He's away some- 
 where, in his tantrums again; and there's 
 Mr.—" 
 
 "Is Miss Roper here ?" he said, still whisper- 
 ing. 
 
 " Oh yes ! Miss Mealyer's here," said the 
 girl, speaking in a cruelly loud voice. ' ' She 
 was in the dining-room just now putting out the 
 table. Miss Mealyer!" And the girl, as she 
 called out the name, opened the dining-room 
 door. Johnny Eames felt that his Jbnees were 
 too weak to support him. 
 
 But Miss Mealyer was not in the dining- 
 room. She had perceived the advancing cab 
 of her sworn adorer, and had thought it expe- 
 dient to retreat from her domestic duties, and 
 fortify herself among her brushes and ribbons. 
 Had it been possible that she should know how 
 very weak and cowardly was the enemy against 
 whom she was called u^on to put herself in ac- 
 tion, she might probably have fought her battle, 
 somewhat difterently, and have achieved a speedy 
 ' victory, at the cost of an energetic shot or two. 
 I But she did not know. She thought it probable 
 
134 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 that she might obtain power over him and man- 
 age him ; but it did not occur to her that his 
 , legs were so weak beneath him that she might 
 almost blow him over with a breath. None but 
 the worst and most heartless of women know 
 the extent of their own power over men; as 
 none but the worst and most heartless of men 
 know the extent of their power over women. 
 Amelia Roper was not a good specimen of the fe- 
 male sex, but there were worse women than her. 
 
 " She ain't there, Mr. Earaes ; but you'll see 
 her in the drawen-room ;" said the girl. "And 
 it's she'll be glad to see you back again, Mr. 
 Eames." But he scrupulously passed the door 
 of the up-stairs sitting room, not even looking 
 within it, and contrived to get himself into his 
 own chamber without having encountered any 
 body. " Here's yer 'ot water, Mr. Eames," said 
 the girl, coming up to him after an interval of 
 half an hour ; ' ' and dinner'U be on the table in 
 ten minutes. Mr. Cradcll is come in, and so is 
 missus's son." 
 
 It was still open to him to go out and dine at 
 some eating-house in the Strand. He could 
 start out, leaving word that he was engaged, 
 and so postpone the evil hour. He had almost 
 made up his mind to do so, and certainly would 
 have ■ done it, had not the sitting-room door 
 opened as he was on the landing-place. The 
 door opened, and he found himself confronting 
 the assembled company. Pirst came Cradell, 
 and leaning on his arm, I regret to say, was Mrs. 
 Lnpex — Egyptia conjtix .' Then there came 
 Miss Spruce witli young Koper ; Amelia and her 
 mother brought up the rear together. There 
 was no longer question of flight now ; and poor 
 Eames, before he knew what he was doing, was 
 carried down into the dining-room with the rest 
 of the company. They were all glad to see 
 him, and welcomed him back warmly, but he 
 was so much beside himself that he could not 
 ascertain whether Amelia's voice was joined with 
 the others. He was already seated at table, 
 and had before him a plate of soup, before he 
 recognized the fact that he was sitting between 
 Mrs. Roper and Mrs. Lupex. The latter lady 
 had separated herself from Mr. Cradell as she 
 entered the room. " Under all the circum- 
 stances perhaps it will be better for us to be 
 apart," she said. "A lady can't make herself 
 too safe ; can she, Mrs. Roper ? There's no dan- 
 ger between you and me, is there, Mr. Eames — 
 specially ^en Miss Amelia is opposite ?" The 
 last words, however, were intended to be whis- 
 pered into his ear. 
 
 But Johnny made no answer to her; content- 
 ing himself for the moment with wiping the 
 perspiration from his brow. There was Amelia 
 opposite to him, looking at him — the very Ame- 
 lia to whom he had written, declining the honor 
 of marrying her. Of what her mood toward 
 him might be he could form no judgment from 
 her looks. Her face was simply stern and im- 
 jiassive, and she seemed inclined to eat her din- 
 ner in silence. A slight smile of derision had 
 passed across her face as she heard Mrs. Lupex 
 
 whisper, and it might have been discerned that 
 her nose, at the same time, became tomewhat 
 eleva'ed ; but she said not a word. 
 
 "I hope you've enjoyed yourself, Mr. Eames, 
 among the vernal beauties of the country," said 
 Mrs. Lupex. 
 
 " Very much, thank yon," he replied. 
 
 " There's nothing like the country at this 
 autumnal season of the year. As for myself, 
 I've never been accustomed to remain in London 
 after the breaking up of the beau monde. We've 
 usually been to Broadstairs, which is a very 
 charming place, with most elegant society, but 
 now — " And she shook her head, by which all 
 the company knew that she intended to allude 
 to the sins of Mr. Lupex. 
 
 " I'd never wish to sleep out of London, for 
 my part," said Mrs. Roper. " When a woman's 
 got a house over her head, I don't think her 
 mind's ever easy out of it." 
 
 She had not intended any reflection on Mrs. 
 Lupex for not having a house of her own, but 
 that lady immediately bristled up. ' ' That's just 
 what the snails say, Mrs. Roper. And as for 
 having a house of one's own, it's a very good 
 thing, no doubt, sometimes ; but that's accord- 
 ing to circumstances. It has suited me lately to 
 live in lodgings, but there's no knowing whether 
 I mayn't fall lower than that yet, and have — " 
 But here she stopped herself, and looking over at 
 Mr. Cradell nodded her head. 
 
 "And have to let them," said Mrs. Roper. 
 " I hope you'll be more lucky with your lodgers 
 than I have been with some of mine. Jemima, 
 hand the potatoes to Miss Spruce. Miss Spruce, 
 do let me send you a little more gravy? There's 
 plenty here, really." Mrs. Roper was probably 
 thinking of Mr. Todgers. 
 
 " I hope I shall," said Mrs. Lupex. " But, 
 as I was saying, Broadstairs is delightful. Were 
 you ever at Broadstairs, Mr. Cradell ?" 
 
 ' ' Never, Mrs. Lupex. I generally go abroad 
 in my leave. One sees more of the world, you 
 know. I was at Dieppe last June, and found 
 tliat very delightful — though rather lonely. I 
 shall go to Ostend this year ; only December is 
 so late for Ostend. It was a deuced shame my 
 getting December, wasn't it, Johnny ?" 
 
 " Yes, it was," said Eames. " I managed bet- 
 ter." 
 
 "And what have you been doing, Mr. 
 Eames?" said Mrs. Lupex, with one of her 
 sweetest smiles. " Whatever it may have been, 
 you've not been false to the cause of beauty, I'm 
 sure." And she looked over to Amelia with a 
 knowing smile. But Amelia was engaged upon 
 her plate, and went on with her dinner without 
 turning her eyes either on Mi's. Lupex or on 
 John Eames. 
 
 "I haven't done any thing particular," said 
 Eames. " I've just been staying with my mo- 
 ther." 
 
 " We've been very social here, haven't we. 
 Miss Amelia?" continued Mrs. Lupex. '' Only 
 now and then a cloud comes across the heav- 
 ens, and the lights at the banquet are dark- 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 135 
 
 ened." Then she put her handkerchief up to 
 hei- eyes, sobbing deeply, and they all knew that 
 she was again alluding to the sins of her hus- 
 band. 
 
 As soon as dinner was over the ladies with 
 young Mr. Koper retired, and Eames and Cra- 
 dell were left to take their wine over the dining- 
 room fire — or their glass of gin and water, as it 
 might be. "Well, Caudle, old fellow," said 
 one. "Well, Johnny, my boy," said the other. 
 "What's the news at the office?" said Eames. 
 
 " Muggeridge has been playing the very mis- 
 chief." Muggeridge was the second clerk in 
 Cradell's room. " We're going to put him into 
 Coventry, and not speak to him except officially. 
 But to tell you the truth, my hands have been 
 so full here at home that I haven't thought much 
 about the office. What am I to do about that 
 woman ?" 
 
 "Do about her? How do about her?" 
 
 " Yes ; what am I to do about her ? How am 
 I tp manage with her ? There's Lupex off again 
 in one of his fits of jealousy. " 
 
 "But it's not your fault, I suppose?" 
 
 "Well; I can't just say. I am fond of her, 
 and that's the long and the short of it ; deuced 
 fond of her." 
 
 " But, my dear Caudle, you know she's that 
 man's wife." 
 
 " Oh yes, I know all about it. I'm not going 
 to defend myself. It's wrong, I know — pleasant, 
 but wrong. But what's a fellow to do ? I sup- 
 pose in strict morality I ought to leave the lodg- 
 ings. But, by George, I don't see why a man's 
 to be turned out in that way. And then I 
 couldn't make a clean score with old mother 
 Eoper. But I say, old fellow, who gave you the 
 gold chain ?" 
 
 " Well ; it was an old family friend at Guest- 
 wick ; or rather, I should say, a man wbo said 
 he knew my father." 
 
 " And he gave you that because he knew your 
 governor ! Is there a watch to it ?" 
 
 "Yes, there's a watch. It wasn't exactly 
 that. There was some trouble about a bull. To 
 tell the truth, it was Lord De Guest ; the queer^ 
 est fellow. Caudle, you ever met in your life ; 
 but such a trump. I've got to go and dine with 
 him at Christmas." And then the old story of 
 the bull was told. 
 
 " I wish I could find a lord in a field with a 
 bull," said Cradell. We may, however, be per- 
 mitted to doubt whether Mr. Cradell would have 
 earned a watch even if he had had his wish. 
 
 "You see," continued Cradell, reverting to 
 the subject on which he most delighted to talk, 
 "I'm not responsible for that man's ill-con- 
 duct." 
 
 " Does any body say you are ?" 
 
 " No ; nobody says so. But people seem to 
 think so. When he is by I hardly speak to her. 
 She is thoughtless and giddy, as women are, and 
 takes my arm, and that kind of thing, you know. 
 It makes him mad with rage, but upon my honor 
 I don't think she means any harm." 
 
 "I don't suppose she does," said Eames. 
 
 " Well ; she may or she mayn't. I hope with 
 all my heart she doesn't." 
 
 " And where is he now?" 
 
 "This is between ourselves, you know; but 
 she went to firtd him this afternoon. Unless he 
 gives her money she can't stay here, nor, for the 
 matter of that, will she be able to go away. If 
 I mention something to you, you won't tell any 
 one?" 
 
 " Of course I won't." 
 
 " I wouldn't have it known to any one for the 
 world. I've lent her seven pounds ten. It's that 
 which makes me so short with mother Roper.'' 
 
 "Then I think you're a fool for your pains." 
 
 " Ah, that's so like you. I always said you'd 
 no feeling of real romance. If I cared for a wo- 
 man I'd give her the coat ofi' my back." 
 
 " I'd do better than that," said Johnny. " I'd 
 give her the heart out of my body. I'd be chopped 
 up alive for a girl I loved ; hut it shouldn't be 
 for another man's wife." 
 
 ' ' That's a matter of taste. But she's been to 
 Lupex to-day at that house he goes to in Drury 
 Lane. She had a terrible scene there. He was 
 going to commit suicide in the middle of the 
 street, and she declares that it all comes from 
 jealousy. Think what a time I have of it — 
 standing always, as one may say, on gunpow- 
 der. He may turn up here any moment, you 
 know. But, upon my word, for the life of me 
 I can not desert her. If I were to turn my back 
 on her she wouldn't have a friend in the world. 
 And how's L. D. ? I'll tell you what it is — 
 you'll have some trouble with the divine Amelia. ' ' 
 
 "Shall I?" 
 
 " By Jove, you will. But how's L. D. all 
 this time ?" 
 
 " L. D. is engaged to be married to a man 
 named Adolphus Crosbie," said poor Johnny, 
 slowly. "If you please, we will not say any 
 more about her." 
 
 "Whew — w — w! That's what makes you 
 so down in the mouth ! L. D. going to marry 
 Crosbie! Why, that's the man who is to be 
 the new secretary at the General Committee 
 Office. Old Huffle Scuffle, who was their chair, 
 has come to us, you know. There's been a gen- 
 eral move at the G. C, and this Crosbie has got 
 to be secretary. He's a lucky chap, isn't he?" 
 
 "I don't know any thing about his luck. 
 He's one'of those fellows that make me hate 
 them the first time I look at them. I've a sort 
 of a feeling that I shall live to kick him some 
 
 day," 
 
 "That's the time, is it? Then I suppose 
 Amelia will have it all her own way now." 
 
 "I'll tell you what. Caudle. I'd sooner get 
 up through the trap-door, and throw myself 
 off the roof into the area, than marry Amelia 
 Roper. " 
 
 "Have you and she had any conversation 
 since you came back ?" 
 
 ' ' Not a word. " 
 
 " Then I tell you fairly you've got trouble be- 
 fore you. Amelia and Maria — Mrs. Lupex, I 
 mean — are as thick as thieves just at present. 
 
136 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 and they have been talking you over. Maria 
 — that is, Mrs. Lupex — lets it all out to me. 
 You'll have to mind where you are, old fellow." 
 
 Eames was not inclined to discuss the matter 
 any further, so he finished his tdddy in silence. 
 Cradell, however, who felt that there was some- 
 tliing in his affairs of which he had reason to be 
 proud, soon returned to the story of his own 
 very extraordinary position. " By Jove, I don't 
 know that a man was ever so circumstanced," 
 he said. " She looks to me to protect her, and 
 yet what can I do ?" 
 
 At last Cradell got up and declared that he 
 must go to the ladies. " She's so nervous that 
 unless she has some one'to countenance her she 
 becomes unwell." 
 
 Eames declared his purpose of going to the 
 divan, or to the theatre, or to take a walk in the 
 streets. The smiles of beauty had no longer 
 charms for him in Burton Crescent. 
 
 "They'll expect you to take a cup of tea the 
 first night," said Cradell; but Eames declared 
 that they might expect it. "I'm in no humor 
 ibr it," said he. "I'll tell yoU what, Cradell, 
 I shall leave this place, and take rooms for my- 
 self somewhere. I'll never go into a lodging- 
 house again." 
 
 As he so spoke, he was standing at the din- 
 ing-room door ; but he was not allowed to escape 
 in this easy way. Jemima, as he went out into 
 the passage, was there with a three-cornered 
 note in her hand. "From Miss Mealyer," she 
 said. " Miss Mealyer is in the back parlor all 
 by herself." 
 
 Poor Johnny took the note and read it by the 
 lamp over the front door. 
 
 "Are you not going to speak to me on the 
 day of your return ? It can not be that you 
 will leave the house without seeing me for a mo- 
 ment. I am in the back parlor." 
 
 When he had read these words, he paused in 
 the passage with his hat on. Jemima, who 
 could not understand why any young man should 
 hesitate as to seeing his lady-love in the back 
 parlor alone, whispered to him again, in her 
 audible way, " Miss Mealyer is there. Sir ; and 
 all the rest on 'em's up stairs !" So compelled, 
 Eames put down his hat, and walked with slow 
 steps into the back parlor. 
 
 How was it to be with the enemy ? Was he 
 to encounter Amelia in anger, or A.melia in 
 love ? She had seemed to be stern and defiant 
 when he had ventured to steal a look at her 
 across the dining-table, and now he expected 
 that she would turn upon him with loud threat- 
 enings and protestations as to her wrongs. But 
 it was not so. When he eiitered the room she 
 was standing with her back to him, leaning on 
 the mantle-piece, and at the first moment she 
 did not essay to speak. He walked into the 
 middle of the room and stood there waiting for 
 her to begin. 
 
 " Shut the door!" she said, looking over her 
 shoulder. "I suppose you don't want the girl 
 to hear all you've got to say to me !" 
 
 Than he shut the door; but still Amelia 
 
 stood with her back to him leaning upon the 
 mantle-piece. 
 
 It did not seem that he had much to say, for 
 he remained peifectly silent. 
 
 " Well !" said Amelia, after a long pause, and 
 she then again looked over her shoulder. " Well, 
 Mr. Eames!" 
 
 "Jemima gave me your note, and so I've 
 come," said he. 
 
 "And is this the way we meet!" she ex- 
 claimed, turning suddenly upon him, and throw- 
 ing her long black hair back over her shoulders. 
 There certainly was some beauty about her. 
 Her eyes were large and bright, and her shoul- 
 ders were well turned. She might have done 
 as an artist's model for a Judith, but I doubt 
 whether any man, looking well into her face, 
 could think that she would do well as a wife. 
 " Oh, John, is it to be thus, after love such as 
 ours?" And she clasped her hands together 
 and stood before him. 
 
 " I don't know what you mean," said Eames. 
 
 " If you are engaged to marry L. D., tell me 
 so at once. Be a man, and speak out. Sir." 
 
 ' ' No, " said Eamos ; "I am not engaged to 
 marry the lady to whom you allude." 
 
 "On your honor?" 
 
 " I won't have her spoken about. I'm not 
 going to marry her, and that's enough." 
 
 "Do you think that I wish to speak of her? 
 What can L. D. be to me as long as she is no- 
 thing to you ? Oh, Johnny, why did you write 
 me that heartless letter ?" Then she leaned 
 upon his shoulder — or attempted to do so. 
 
 I can not say that Eames shook her oif, see- 
 ing that he lacked the courage to do so ; but he 
 shuffled his shoulder about so that the support 
 was uneasy to her, and she was driven to stand 
 erect again. "Why did yon write that cruel 
 letter ?" she said again. 
 
 " Because I thought it best, Amelia. What's 
 a man to do with ninety pounds a year, you 
 know?" 
 
 " But your mother allows you twenty." 
 
 "And what's a man to do with a hundred 
 and ten ?" 
 
 "Rising five pounds every year," said the 
 well-informed Amelia. " Of course we should 
 live here with mamma, and you would just go 
 on paying her as you do now. If your heart 
 was right, Johnny, you wouldn't think so much 
 about money. If you loved me — as you said 
 you did — " Then a little sob came, and the 
 words -were stopped. The words were stopped, 
 but she was again upon his shoulder. What 
 was he to do ? In truth, his only wish was to 
 escape, and yet his arm, quite in oppositiiw to 
 his own desires, found its way round her waist. 
 In such a combat a woman has so many points 
 in her favor! "Oh, Johnny," she said again, 
 as soon as she felt the pressure of his arm. 
 " Gracious, what a beautiful watch you've got!" 
 and she took the trinket out of his pocket. "Did 
 you buy that?" 
 
 " No ; it was given to me." 
 
 "John Eames, did L. D. give it you?" 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 137 
 
 "No, no, no!" he shouted, stamping on the 
 floor as he spoke. 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon," said Amelia, quell- 
 ed for the moment by his energy. " Perhaps it 
 was your mother." 
 
 " No ; it was a man. Never mind about the 
 watch now." 
 
 "I wouldn't mind any thing, Johnny, if you 
 would tell me that you loved me again. Per- 
 haps I oughtn't to ask you, and it isn't becom- 
 ing in a lady ; but how can I help it, when you 
 know you've got my heart? Come up stairs 
 and have tea with us now, won't you ?" 
 
 What was he to do ? He said that he would 
 go up and have tea ; and as he led her to tlie 
 door he put down his face and kissed her. Oh, 
 Johnny Eames ! But then a woman in such a 
 contest has so many points in. her favor. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 IS IT FKOM HIM ? 
 
 I HAVE already declared that Crosbie wrote 
 and posted the fatal letter to Alliugton, and we 
 must now follow it down to that place. On the 
 morning following the squire's return to his own 
 house Mrs. Crump, the post-mistress at Ailing- 
 ton, received a parcel by post directed to her- 
 self. She opened it, and found an inclosure 
 addressed to Mrs. Dale, with a written request 
 that she would herself deliver it into that lady's 
 own hand at once. This was Crosbie's letter. 
 
 "It's from Miss Lily's gentleman," said Mrs. 
 Crump, looking at the handwriting. " There's 
 something up, or he wouldn't be writing to her 
 mamma in this way." But Mrs. Crump lost no 
 time in putting on her bonnet, and trudging 
 up with the letter to the Small House. "I 
 must see the missus herself, " said Mrs. Crump. 
 Whereupon Mrs. Dale was called down stairs 
 into the hall, and there received the packet. 
 Lily was in the breakfast-parlor, and had seen 
 the post-mistress arrive ; had seen also that she 
 carried a letter in her hajid. For a moment 
 she had thought that it was for her, and imag- 
 ined that the old woman had brought it herself 
 from simple good-nature. But Lily, when she 
 heard her mother mentioned, instantly with- 
 drew and shut the parlor door. Her heart mis- 
 gave her that something was wrong, but she 
 hardly tried to think what it might be. After 
 all, the regular postman might bring the letter 
 she herself expected. Bell was not yet down 
 stairs, and she stood alone over the tea-cups on 
 the breakfast-table, feeling that there was some- 
 thing for her to fear. Her mother did not come 
 at once into the room, but, after a pause of a 
 moment or two, went again up stairs. So she 
 remained, either standing against the, table, or 
 at the window, or seated in one of the two arm- 
 chairs, for a space of ten minutes, when Bell 
 entered the room. 
 
 "Isn't mamma down yet?'' said Bell. 
 
 " Bell," said Lily, " something has happened 
 Mamma has got a letter." 
 I 
 
 "Happened ! What has happened ? Is any 
 body ill ? Who is the letter from ?" And Bell 
 was going to return through the door in search 
 of her mother. 
 
 "Stop, Bell," said Lily. " Do not go to ner 
 yet. I think it's from — Adolphus." 
 
 " Oh, Lily, what do you mean ?" 
 
 "I don't know, dear. We'll wait a little 
 longer. Don't look like that. Bell." And Lily 
 strove to appear calm, and strove almost suc- 
 cessfully. 
 
 " You have frightened me so !" said Bell. 
 
 "I am frightened myself. He only sent me 
 one line yesterday, and now he has sent no- 
 thing. If some misfortune should have hap- 
 pened to him ! Mrs. Crump brought down the 
 letter herself to mamma, and that is so odd, 
 you know." * 
 
 "Are you sure it was from him?" 
 
 " No ; I have not spoken to her. I will go 
 up to her now. Don't you come. Bell. Oh ! 
 Bell, do not look so unhappy." She then went 
 over and kissed her sister, and after that, with 
 very gentle steps, made her way up to her mo- 
 ther's room. " Mamma, may I come in ?" she 
 said. 
 
 "Oh! my child!" 
 
 ' ' I know it is from him, mamma. Tell mo 
 all at once." 
 
 Mrs. Dale had read the letter. With quick, 
 glancing eyes, she had made herself mistress of 
 its whole contents, and was already aware of the 
 nature and extent of the sorrow which had come 
 upon them. It was a sorrow that admitted of 
 no hope. The man who had written that letter 
 could never return again; nor if he should re- 
 turn could he be welcomed back to them. The 
 blow had fallen, and it was to be borne. Inside 
 the letter to herself had been a very small note 
 addressed to Lily. "Give her the inclosed," 
 Crosbie had said in his letter, " if you do not 
 now think it wrong to do so. I have left it 
 open, that you may read it." Mrs. Dale, how- 
 ever, had not yet read it, and she now concealed 
 it beneath her handkerchief. 
 
 I will not repeat at length Crosbie's letter to 
 Mrs. Dale. It covered four sides of letter-paper, 
 and was such a letter that any man who wrote 
 it must have felt himself to be a rascal. We 
 saw that he had difficulty in writing it, but the 
 miracle was that any man could have found it 
 possible to write it. "I know you will curse 
 me," said he ; "and I deserve to be cursed. I 
 know that I shall be punished for this, and I 
 must bear my punishment. My worst punish- 
 ment will be this — that I never more shall hold 
 up my head again." And then again he said : 
 " My only excuse is my conviction that I should 
 never make her happy. She has been brought 
 up as an angel, with pure thoughts, with holy 
 hopes, with a belief in all that is good, and 
 high, and noble. I have been surrounded through 
 my whole life by things low, and mean, and ig- 
 noble. How could I live with her, or she with 
 me ? I know now that this is so ; but my fault 
 has been that I did not know it wheal was there 
 
138 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 with her. I choose to toll you all," he contin- 
 ued, toward the end of tlie letter, " anJ there- 
 fore' I let you know that I have engaged myself 
 to marry another woman. Ah! I can foresee 
 ho\"bitter will be your feelings when you read 
 this , but they will not be so bitter as mine while 
 I write it. Yes ; I am already engaged to one 
 wlio will suit me, and whom I may suit. You 
 will not expect me to speak ill of her who is to 
 be near and dear to me. But she is one with 
 whom I may mate myself without an inward 
 conviction that I shall destroy all her happiness 
 by doing so. Lilian," he said, "shall always 
 liave my prayei-s ; and I trust that she may Soon 
 forget, in the love of an honest man, that she 
 ever knew one so dishonest as — Adolphus Cros- 
 
 BIE." 
 
 Of what like ihust have been his countenance 
 as he sat writing such words of himself under the 
 ghastly light of his own small, solitary lamp ? 
 Had- he written his letter at his office, in the 
 daytime, with men coming in and out of his 
 room, he conld hardly have written of himself 
 so plainly. He would have bethought himself 
 that the written words might remain, and be 
 read hereafter by other eyes than those for which 
 they were intended. But as he' sat alone, dur- 
 ing the small hours of the night, almost repent- 
 ing of his. sin with true repentance, he declared 
 to himself that he did not care who might read 
 them. They should, at any rate, be true. Now 
 they had been read by her to whom they had 
 been addressed, and the daughter was standing 
 before the mother to hear her doom. 
 
 " Tell me all at once," Lily had sai^ ; but in 
 what words was her mother to tell her? 
 
 " Lily," she said, rising from her seat and 
 leaving the two letters on the couch — that ad- 
 dressed to the daughter was hidden beneath a 
 handkerchief, but that which she had read she 
 left open and in siglit. She took both the girl's 
 hands in hers as she looked into her face, and 
 spoke to her. "Lily, my child!" Then she 
 burst into sobs, and was unable to tell her tale. 
 
 " Is it from him, mamma? May I read it? 
 He can not be — " 
 
 " It is from Mr. Crosbie." 
 
 " Is he ill, mamma ? Tell me at once. If 
 he is ill I will go to him." 
 
 " No, my darling, ho is not ill. Not yet ; — 
 do not read it yet. Oh, Lily ! It brings bad 
 news; very bad news." 
 
 " Mamma, if he is not in danger I can read 
 it. Is it bad to him, or only bad to me?" 
 
 At this moment the servant knocked, and not 
 waiting for an answer half opened the door. 
 
 " If you please, ma'am, Mr. Bernard is below, 
 and wants to speak to you." 
 
 "Mr. Bernard ! ask Miss Bell to see him." 
 
 " Miss Bell is with him, ma'am, but he says 
 that he specially wants to speak to you." 
 
 Mrs. ]3ale felt that she could not leave Lily 
 alone. She could not take the letter away, nor 
 could she leave her child with the letter open. 
 
 "I can not see him," said Mrs. Dale. "Ask 
 him what it is. Tell him I can not come down 
 
 just at present." And then the servant went, 
 and Bernard left his message with Bell. 
 
 "Bernard," she had said, "do you know of 
 any thing? Is there any thing wrong about 
 Mr. Crosbie ?" Then, in a few words, he told 
 her all, and understanding why his aunt had not 
 come down to him, he went back to the Great 
 House. Bell, almost stupefied by the tidings, 
 seated herself at the table unconsciously, lean- 
 ing upon her elbows. 
 
 " It will kill her," she said to herself. "My 
 Lily, my darling Lily ! It will surely Kill her." 
 
 But the mother was still with the daughter, 
 and the story was still untold. 
 
 "Mamma," said Lily, "whatever it is, I 
 must, of course, be made to know it. I begin 
 to guess the truth. It will pain you to say it. 
 Shall I read the letter?" 
 
 Mrs. Dale was astonished at her calmness. 
 It could not be that she had guessed the truth, 
 or she would not stand like that, with tearless 
 eyes and nnquelled courage before her. 
 
 " You shall read it, but I ought to tell you 
 first. Oh, my child, my own one!" Lily was 
 now leaning against the bed, and her mother 
 was standing over her caressing her. 
 
 "Then tell me," said she. "But I know 
 what it is. He has thought it all over while 
 away from me, and he finds that it must not be 
 as we have supposed. Before he went I offered 
 to release him, and now he knows that he had. 
 better accept my offer. Is it so, mamma ?" In 
 answer to this IVIrs. Dale did not speak, but Lily 
 understood from her signs that it was so. 
 
 "He might have written it to me myself," 
 said Lily, very proudly. " Mamma, we will go 
 down to breakfast. He has sent nothing to me, 
 then ?" 
 
 "There is a note. He bids me read it, but 
 I have not opened it. It is here. " 
 
 "Give it me," said Lily, almost sternly. 
 "Let me have his last words to me;" and she 
 took the note from her mother's hands. 
 
 "Lily," said the note, "your mother will 
 have told you all. Before you read these few 
 words you will know that you have trusted one 
 who was quite untrustworthy. I know that you 
 will hate me. — I can not even ask you to forgive 
 me. You will let me pray that you may yet be 
 happy. — A. C." She read these few words still 
 leaning against the bed. Then she got up, and, 
 walking to a chair, seated herself with her back 
 to her mother. Mrs. Dale, moving silently aft- 
 er her, stood over the back of the chair, not dar- 
 ing to speak to her. So she sat for some five 
 minutes, with her eyes fixed upon the open win- 
 dow, and with Crosbie's note in her hand. 
 
 " I will not hate him, and I do forgive him,'' 
 she said at last, struggling to command her 
 voice, an4 hardly showing that she could not al- 
 together succeed in her attempt. " I may not 
 write to him again, but you shall write and tell 
 him so. Now we will go down to breakfast." 
 And so saying, she got up from her chair. 
 
 Mrs. Dale almost feared to speak to her, her. 
 composure was so complete, and her manner so 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 139 
 
 stern and fixed. She hardly knew how to offer 
 pity and sympathy, seeing that pity seemed to 
 be 30 little necessary, and that even sympathy 
 was not demanded. And she could not under- 
 stand all that Lily had said. What had she 
 meant by the offer to release him ? Had there, 
 then, been some quarrel between them before he 
 went? Crosbie had made no such allusion in 
 his letter. But Mrs. Dale did not dare to ask 
 any questions. 
 
 " You frighten me, Lily," she said. "Your 
 very calmness frijjhtens me." 
 
 "Dear mamma!" and the poor girl absolute- 
 ly smiled as, she embraced her mother. " You 
 need not be frightened by my calmness. I know 
 the truth well. I have been very unfortunate — 
 very. The brightest hopes of my hfe are all 
 gone ; and I shall never again see him whom I 
 love beyond all the world ! " Then at last she 
 broke down, and wept in her mother's arms. 
 
 There was not a word of anger spoken then 
 against him who had done all this. Mrs. Dale 
 felt that she did not dare to speak in anger 
 against him, and words of anger were not likely 
 to come from poor Lily. She, indeed, hitherto 
 did not know the whole of his offense, for she 
 had not read his letter. 
 
 ' ' Give it me, mamma, " she said at last. ' ' It 
 has to be done sooner or later." 
 
 "Not now, Lily. I have told you all — all 
 that you need know at present." 
 
 " Yes, now, mamma," and again that sweet 
 silvery voice became stern. "I will read it 
 now, and there shall be an end." Whereupon 
 Mrs. Dale gave her the letter, and she read it in 
 silence. Her mother, though standing some- 
 what behind her, watched her narrowly as slio 
 did so. She was now lying over upon the bed, 
 and the letter was on the pillow as she propped 
 herself upon her arm. Her tears were running, 
 and ever and again she would stop to dry her 
 eyes. Her sobs, too, were veiy audible, but she 
 went on steadily with her reading till she came 
 to the line on which Crosbie told that he had 
 already engaged himself to another woman. 
 Then her mother could see that she paused sud- 
 denly, and that a shudder slightly convulsed all 
 her limbs. 
 
 "He has been very quick," she said, almost 
 in a whisper ; and then she finished the letter. 
 "Tell him, mamma," she said, " that I do for- 
 give him, and I will not hate him. You will 
 tell him that — from me; will you not?" And 
 then she raised herself from the bed. 
 
 Mrs. Dale would give her no such assurance. 
 In her present mood her feelings against Cros- 
 bie were of a nature which she herself hardly 
 could understand or analyze. She felt that if 
 he were present she could almost fly at him as 
 would a tigress. She had never hated before as 
 she now hated this man. He was to her a mur- 
 derer, and worse than it murderer. He had made 
 his way like a wolf into her little fold, and torn 
 her ewe-larab and left her maimed and mutila- 
 ted for life. How could a mother forgive such 
 an offense as that, or consent to be the me- 
 
 dium through which forgiveness should be ex- 
 pressed ? 
 
 "You must, mamma; or, if you do not, I 
 shall do so. Remember that I love him. You 
 know what it. is to have loved one single man. 
 He has made me very unhappy ; I hardly know 
 yet how unhappy. But I have loved him, and 
 do love him. I believe in my heart that ho still 
 loves me. Where this has been there must not 
 be hatred and unforgiveness." » 
 
 "I will pray that I may become able' to for- 
 give him," said Mrs. Dale. 
 
 "But you must write to him those words. 
 Indeed you must, mamma! ' She bids me tell 
 you that she has forgiven you, and will not hate 
 you.' Promise me that!" 
 
 "I can make no promise now, Lily. I will 
 think about it, and endeavor to do my duty." 
 
 Lily was now seated, and was holding the 
 skirt of her mother's dress. 
 
 "Mamma," she said, looking up into her 
 mother's face, "you must be very good to me 
 now, and I must be very good to you. We 
 shall be always together now. I must be your 
 friend and counselor, and bo every thing to you, 
 more than ever. I must fall in love with you 
 now;"' and she smiled again, and the tears were 
 almost dry upon her cheeks. 
 
 At last they went down to the breakfast-room, 
 from which Bell had not moved. Mrs. Dale 
 entered the room first, and Lily followed, hiding 
 lierself for a moment behind her mother. . Then 
 she came forward boldly, and taking Bell in her 
 arms clasped her close to her bosom. 
 
 "Bell," she said, "he has gone." 
 
 "Lily! Lily! Lily !" said Bell, weeping. 
 
 " Ho has gone! We shall talk it over in a 
 few days, and shall know how to do so without 
 losing ourselves in misery. To-day we will- say- 
 no more about it. I am so thirsty. Bell ; do 
 give me my tea;" and she sat herself down at 
 the breakfast-table. 
 
 Lily's tea was given to her, and she drank it. 
 Beyond that I can not say that any of them par- 
 took with much heartiness of the meal. They 
 sat there, as they would have sat if no terrible 
 thunder-bolt had fallen among them, and no 
 word further was spoken about Crosbie and his 
 conduct. Immediately after breakfast they went 
 into the other room, and Lily, as was her wont, 
 sat herself immediately down to her drawing. 
 Her mother looked at her with wistful eyes, 
 longing to bid her spare herself, but she shrank 
 from interfering with her. For a quarter of an 
 hour Lily sat over her board with her brush or 
 pencil in her hand, and then she rose up and 
 put it away. 
 
 " It is no good pretending," she said. " I 
 am only spoiling the things ; but I will be better 
 to-morrow. I'll go away and lie down by my- 
 self, mamma.". And so she went. 
 
 Soon after this Mrs. Dale took her bonnet and 
 went up to the Great House, having received 
 her brother-in-law's message from Bell. 
 
 "I know what he has to tell me," she said; 
 "but I might as well go. It will be necessary 
 
140 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, 
 
 that we should speak to each other about it." 
 So she walked across the lawn, and up into the 
 hall of the Great House. ' ' Is my brother in the 
 book-room ?" she said to one of the maids ; and 
 then, knocking at the door, went in unannounced. 
 
 The squire rose from his arm-chair and came 
 forward to meet her. 
 
 " Mai-y," he said, ' ' I believe you know it all." 
 
 "Yes," she said. "You can read that;" 
 atll she handed him Crosbie's letter. " How 
 was one to know that any man could be so 
 wicked as that?" 
 
 "And she has heard it?" asked the squire. 
 "Is she able to bear it?" 
 
 " Wonderfully ! She has amazed me by her 
 strength. It frightens me, for I know that a 
 relapse must come. She has never sunk for a 
 moment beneath it. Por myself, I feel as though 
 it were her^ strength that enables me to bear my 
 share of it." And then she described to the 
 squire all that had taken place that morning. 
 
 " Poor child ! " said the squire. " Poor child ! 
 What can we do for her? Would it be good 
 for her to go away for a time ? She is a sweet, 
 good, lovely girl, and has deserved better than 
 that. Sorrow and disappointment come to us 
 all ; but they are doubly heavy when they come 
 so early. " 
 
 Mrs. Dale was almost surprised at the amount 
 of sympathy which he showed. 
 
 "And what is to be his punishment?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " The scorn which men and women will feel 
 
 •for him ; those, at least, whose esteem or scorn 
 
 are matters of concern to any one. I know no 
 
 other punishment. You need not have Lily's 
 
 name brought before a tribunal of law ?" 
 
 "Certainly not that." 
 
 "And I will not have Bernard calling him 
 out. Indeed, it would be for nothing; for in 
 these days a man is not expected to fight duels." 
 
 " You can not think that I would wish that." 
 
 " What punishment is there, then ? I know 
 of none. There are evils which a man may do 
 and no one can punish him. I know of nothing. 
 I went up to London after him, but he continued 
 to crawl out of my way. What can you do to 
 a rat but keep clear of him ?" 
 
 Mrs. Dale had felt in her heart that it would 
 be well if Crosbie could be beaten till all his 
 bones were sore. I hardly know whether such 
 should have been a woman's thought, but it was 
 hers. She had no wish that he should be made 
 to fight a duel. In that there would have been 
 much that was wicked, and in her estimation 
 nothing that was just. But she felt that if Ber- 
 nard would thrash the coward for his cowardice 
 she would love her nephew better than ever she 
 had loved him. Bernard also had considered 
 it probable that he might be expected to horse- 
 whip the man who had jilted his cousin, and, as 
 regarded the absolute bodily risk, he would not 
 have felt any insuperable objection to undertake 
 the task. But such a piece of work was dis- 
 agreeable to him in many ways. He hated the 
 idea of a row at his club. He was most desir- 
 
 ous that his cousin's name should not be made 
 public. He wished to avoid any thing that 
 might be impolitic. A wicked thing had been 
 done, and he was quite ready to hate Crosbie as 
 Crosbie ought to be hated ; but as regarded him- 
 self, it made him unhappy to think that the 
 world might probably expect him to punish the 
 man who had so lately been his friend. And 
 then he did not know where to catch him, or 
 how to thrash him when caught. He was very 
 sorry for his cousin, and felt strongly that Cros- 
 bie should not be allowed to escape. But what 
 was he to do ? 
 
 "Would she like to go any where ?" said the 
 squire again, anxious, if he could, to- afford sol- 
 ace by some act of generosity. At this moment 
 he would have settled a hundred a year for life 
 upon his niece if by so doing he could have done 
 her any good. 
 
 ' ' She will be better at home," said Mrs. Dale. 
 "Poor thing. For a while she will wish to 
 avoid going out." 
 
 "I sappose so ;" and then there was a pause. 
 "I'll tell you what, Mary; I don't understand 
 it. On my honor, I don't understand it. It is 
 to me as wonderful as though I had caught the 
 man picking my pence out of my pocket. I 
 don't think any man in the position of a gentle- 
 man would have done such a thing when I was 
 young. I don't think any man would have 
 dared to do it. But now it seems that a man 
 may act in that way and no harm come to him. 
 He had a friend in London who came to me 
 and talked about it as though it were some or- 
 dinary, everyday transaction of life. Yes, you 
 may come in, Bernard. The poor child knows 
 it all now." 
 
 Bernard offered to his aunt what of solace and 
 sympathy he had to offer, and made some sort 
 of half-expressed apology for having introduced 
 this wolf into their flock. " We always thought 
 very much of him at his club," said Bernard. 
 
 "I don't know much about your London 
 clubs nowadays," said his uncle, " nor do I wish 
 to do so if the society of that man can be en- 
 dured after what he has now done." 
 
 "I don't suppose half a dozen men will ever 
 know any thing about it," said Bernard. 
 
 " Umph ! " ejaculated the squire. He could 
 not say that he wished Crosbie's villainy to be 
 widely discussed, seeing that Lily's name was 
 so closely connected with it. But yet he could 
 not support the idea that Crosbie should not be 
 punished by the frown of the world at large. 
 It seemed to him that from this time forward 
 any man speaking to Crosbie should be held to 
 have disgraced himself by so doing. 
 
 "Give her my best love," he said, as Mrs. 
 Dale got up to take her leave; "my very best 
 love. If her old uncle can do any thing for her 
 she has only to let me know. She met the man 
 in my house, and I feel' that I owe her much. 
 Bid her come and see me. It will be better for 
 her than moping at home. And Mary" — this 
 he said to her, whispering into her ear-^" think 
 of what I said to ydu about Bell." 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 141 
 
 Mrs. Dale, as she walked back to her own 
 house, acknowledged to herself that her brother- 
 in-law's manner was different to her from any 
 thing that she had hitherto known of him. 
 
 During the whole of that day Crosbie's name 
 was not mentioned at the Small House. Nei- 
 ther of the girls stirred out, and Bell spent the 
 greater part of the afternoon sitting, with her 
 arm round her sister's waist, upon the sofa. 
 Each of them had a book ; but though there 
 was little spoken, there was as little read. Who 
 can describe the thoughts that were passing 
 through Lily's mind as she remembered the 
 hours which she had passed with Crosbie, of his 
 warm assurances of love, of his accepted caress- 
 es, of her uncontrolled and acknowledged joy 
 in his affection ? It had all been holy to her 
 then ; and now those things which were then 
 sacred had been made almost disgraceful by his 
 fault. And yet as she thought of this she de- 
 clared to herself, over and over again, that she 
 would forgive him — nay, that she had forgiven 
 liim. "And he shall know it, too," she said, 
 speaking almost out loud. 
 
 "Lily, dear Lily," said Bell, "turn your 
 thoughts away from it for a while, if you can." 
 
 "Tliey won't go away,'' said Lily. And that 
 was all that was said between them on the subject. 
 
 Every body would know it ! I doubt wheth- 
 ■er that must not be one of the bitterest drops in 
 the cup which a' girl in such circumstances is 
 made to drain. Lily perceived early in the day 
 that the parlor-maid well knew that she had been 
 jilted. The girl's manner was intended to con- 
 vey sympathy ; but it did convey pity ; and Lily 
 for a moment felt angry. But she remembered 
 that it must be so, and smiled upon the girl, 
 and spoke kindly to her. What mattered it? 
 AH the world would know it in a day or two. 
 
 On the following day she went up, by her 
 mother's advice, to see her uncle. 
 
 "My child," said he, "I am sorry for you. 
 My heart bleeds for you.'' 
 
 "Unc]|i," she said, "do not mind it. Only 
 do this for me — do not talk about it — I mean to 
 me." 
 
 " No, no ; I will not. That there should ever 
 have been in my house so great a rascal — " 
 
 "Uncle! uncle! I will not have that! I 
 will not listen to a word against him from any 
 human being — not a word ! Remember that I " 
 And her eyes flashed as she spoke. 
 
 He did not answer her, but took her hand 
 and pressed it, and then she left him. " The 
 Dales were ever constant!" he said to himself as 
 he walked up and down the terrace before his 
 house — "ever constant!" 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE WOUNDED FAWN. 
 
 Nearly two months passed away, and it 
 was now Christmas time at AUington. It 
 may be presumed that there was no intention 
 
 at either house that the mirth should he very 
 loud. Such a wound as that received by Lily 
 Dale was one from which recovery could not be 
 quick, and it was felt by all the family that a 
 weight was upon them which made gayety im- 
 practicable. As for Lily herself, it may be said 
 that she bore her misfortune with all a woman's 
 cpurage. For the first week she stood tip as a 
 tree that stands against the wind, which is soon 
 to be shivered to pieces because it will not bend. 
 During that week her mother and sister were 
 frightened by her calmness and endurance. She 
 would perform her daily task. She would go 
 out through the village, and apjjear at her place 
 in church on the first Sunday. She would sit 
 over her book of an evening, keeping back her 
 tears ; and would chide her mother and sister 
 when she found that they were regarding her 
 with earnest anxiety. 
 
 "Mamma, let it all be as though it had nev- 
 er been," she said. 
 
 " Ah, dear ! if that were but possible !" 
 
 " God forbid that it should be possible in- 
 wardly," Lily replied. "But it is possible out- 
 wardly. I feel that you are more tender to me 
 than you used to be, and that upsets me. If 
 you would only scold me because I am idle, I 
 should soon be better." But her mother could 
 not speak to her as she perhaps might have 
 spoken had no grief fallen upon her pet. She 
 could not cease from those anxious tender 
 glances which made Lily know that she was 
 looked on as a fewn wounded almost to death. 
 
 At the end of the first yeek she gave way. 
 "I won't get up. Bell," she said one morning, 
 almost petulantly. " I am ill ; I had better lie 
 hereout of the way. Don't make a fuss about 
 it. I'm stupid and foolish, and that makes me 
 ill." 
 
 Thereupon Mrs. Dale and Bell were fright- 
 ened, and looked into each other's blank faces, 
 
U2 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 remembering stories of poor broken-hearted girls 
 who had died because their loves had been un- 
 fortunate — as small wax tapers whose lights are 
 quenched if a breath of wind blows upon them 
 too strongly. But then Lily was in truth no 
 such slight taper as that. Nor was she the 
 stem that must be broken because it will not 
 bend. She bent herself to the blast during that 
 week of illness, and then arose with her form 
 still straight and graceful, and with her bright 
 light unquenched. 
 
 • After that she would talk more openly to her 
 mother about her loss — openly and with a true 
 appreciation of the misfortune which had be- 
 fallen her; but with an assurance of strength 
 which seemed to ridicule the idea of a broken 
 heart. " I know that I can bear it," she said, 
 " and that I can bear it without lasting unhap- 
 piness. Of course I shall always love him, and 
 must feel almost as' you felt when you lost my 
 father. " 
 
 In answer to this Mrs. Dale could say nothing. 
 She could not speak out her thoughts about 
 Crosbie, and explain to Lily that he was un- 
 worthy of her love. Love does not follow 
 worth, and is not given to excellence — nor is it 
 destroyed by ill-usage, nor killed by blows and 
 mutilation. When Lily declared that she still 
 loved the man who had so ill-used her, Mrs. 
 Dale would be silent. Each perfectly under- 
 stood the other, but on that matter even they 
 could not interchange their thoughts with free- 
 dom. ^ 
 
 "You must promise never to be tired of me, 
 mamma," said Lily. 
 
 " Mothers do not often get tired of their chil- 
 dren, whatever the children may do of their mo- 
 thers." 
 
 "I'm not so sjire of that when the children 
 turn out old maids. And I mean to have a will 
 of my own too, mamma ; and a way also, if it 
 be possible. "When Bell is married I shall con- 
 sider it a partnership, and I sha'n't do what I'm 
 told any longer. " 
 
 "Forewarned will be forearmed." 
 
 "Exactly; and I don't want to take you by 
 surprise. For a year or two longer, till Bell is 
 gone, I mean to be dutiful ; but it would be 
 very stupid for «. person to be dutiful all their 
 lives." 
 
 All of which Mrs. Dale understood thorough- 
 ly. It amounted to an assertion on Lily's part 
 that she had loved once and could never love 
 again ; that she had played her game, hoping, 
 as other girls hope, that she might win the prize 
 of a husband ; but that, having lost, she could 
 never play the game again. It was that inward 
 conviction on Lily's part which made her say 
 such words to her mother. But Mrs. Dale 
 would by no means 'allow herself to share this 
 conviction. She declared to herself that time 
 would cure Lily's wound, and that her child 
 'might yet be crowned by the bliss of a happy 
 marriage. She would not in her heart consent 
 to that jiliin in accordance with which Lily's 
 destiny in life was to be regarded as already 
 
 fixed. She had never really liked Crosbie as a 
 stiitor, and would herself have preferred John 
 Eames, with all the faults of his hobbledehoy- 
 hood on his head. It might yet come to pass 
 that John Eames's love might be made happy. 
 
 But in the mean time Lily, as I have said, 
 had become strong in her courage, and recom- 
 menced the work of living with no lackadaisical 
 self-assurance that because she had been made 
 more unhappy than others, therefore she should 
 allow herself to be more idle. Morning and 
 night she prayed for him ; and daily, almost 
 hour by hour, she assured herself that it was still 
 her duty to love him. It was hard, this duty 
 of loving without any power of expressing such 
 love. But still she would do her duty. ' ' Tell 
 me at once, mamma," she said one morning, 
 "when you hear that the day is fixed for his 
 marriage. Pray don't keep me in the dark." 
 
 "It is to be in February," said Mrs. Dale. 
 
 "But let me know the day. 'It must not be 
 to me like ordinary days. But do not look un 
 happy, mamma ; I am not going to make a fool 
 of myself; I sha'n't steal off and appear in the 
 church like a ghost." And then, having uttered 
 her little joke, a sob came, and she hid her face 
 on her mother's bosom. In a moment she raised 
 it again. "Believe me, mamma, that I am 
 not unhappy," she said. 
 
 After the expiration of that second week Mrs." 
 Dale did write a letter to Crosbie : 
 
 '* I suppose" — she said — " it is light that I should ac- 
 knowledge the receipt of your letter. I do not know that 
 I have aught else to aay to you. It would not become me 
 as a woman to say what 1 think of your conduct, but I be- 
 lieve that your conscience will tell you the same things. 
 If it do not, you must, indeed, be hardened. I have prom- 
 ised, my child that I will send to you ft message from her. 
 She bids me tell you that she has forgiven you, and that 
 she does not hate you. May God also forgive you, and may 
 you recover his love. Maby Dale. 
 
 *^I beg that no rejoinder may be made to this letter, 
 either to myself or to any of my family." 
 
 The squire wrote no answer to the letter which 
 he had received, nor did he take any steps to-' 
 ward the immediate punishment of*, Crosbie. 
 Indeed lie had declared that no such steps could 
 be taken, explaining to his nephew that such a 
 man could be served only as one serves a rat. 
 
 "I shall never see him," he said once again; 
 " if I did, I should not scruple to hit him on the 
 head with my stick ; but I should think ill of 
 myself to go after him with such an object. " 
 
 And yet it was a terrible sorrow to the old 
 man that the scoundrel whe had so injured him 
 and his should escape scot-free. He had not 
 forgiven Crosbie. No idea of forgiveness had 
 ever crossed his mind. He would have hated 
 himself had he thought it possible that he could 
 be induced to forgive such an injury. "There 
 is an amount of rascality in it, of low meanness, 
 which I do not understand," he would say over 
 and over again to his nephew. And then as he 
 would walk alone on the terrace he would spec- 
 ulate within his own mind whether Bernard 
 would take any steps toward avenging his cous- 
 in's injury. "He is right," he would say to 
 himself; "Bernard vi quite right. But when I 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 U3 
 
 was young I could not have stood it. In those 
 days a gentleman might have a fellow out who 
 had treated him las he has treated us. A man 
 was satisfied in feeling that he had done some- 
 thing. I suppose the world is different nowa- 
 days." The world is different; but the squire 
 by no means acknowledged in his heart that 
 there had been any improvement. 
 
 Bernard also was greatly troubled in his mind. 
 He would have had no objection to fight a duel 
 with Ojpsbie, had duels in these days been pos- 
 sible. TBut he believed them to be no longer 
 possible — at any rate without ridicule. And if 
 he could not fight the man, in what other way 
 was he to punish him ? Was it not the fact that 
 for such a fault thafctvorld afforded no punish- 
 ment ? Was it not in the power of a man like 
 Crosbie to amuse himself for a week or two at 
 the expense of a girl's happiness for life, and 
 then to escape absolutely without any ill effects 
 to himself? " I shall be barred out of my club 
 lest I should meet him," Bernard said to him- 
 self, "but he will not be barred out." More- 
 over, there was a feeling within him that the 
 matter would be one of triumph to Crosbie 
 rather than otherwise. In having secured for 
 himself the pleasure of his courtship with such 
 a girl as Lily Dale, without encountering the 
 penalty usually consequent upon such amuse- 
 ment, he would be held by many as having 
 merited much admiration. He had sinned 
 against all the Dales, and yet the suffering 
 arising from his sin was to fall upon the Dales 
 exclusively. Such was Bernard's reasoning, as 
 he speculated on the whole affair, sadly enough 
 —wishing to be avenged, but not knowing where 
 to look for vengeance. For myself I believe 
 him to have been altogether wrong as to the 
 light in which he supposed that Crosbie's false- 
 hood would be regarded by Crosbie's friends. 
 Men will still talk of such things lightly, pro- 
 fessing that all is fair in love as it is in war, and 
 speaking almost with envy of the good fortunes 
 of a practiced deceiver. But I have never come 
 across the man who thought in this way with 
 reference to an individual case. Crosbie's own 
 judgment as to the consequences to himself of 
 what he had done was more correct than that 
 formed by Bernard Dale. He had regarded the 
 act as venial as long as it was still to do — while 
 it was still within his power to leave it undone; 
 but from the moment of its accomplishment it 
 had forced itself upon his own view in its proper 
 light. He knew that he had been a scoundrel, 
 and he knew that other men would so think of 
 him. His friend Fowler Pratt, who had the rep- 
 utation of looking at women simply as toys, had 
 so regarded him. Instead of boasting of what 
 he had done, he was as afraid of alluding to any 
 matter connected with his marriage as a man is 
 of talking of the articles which he has stolen. 
 He had already felt that men at his club looked 
 askance at him ; and, though he was no coward 
 as regarded his own skin and bones, he had an 
 undefined fear lest some day he might encounter 
 Bernard Dale purposely armed with a stick. 
 
 The squire and his nephew were wrong in sup- 
 posing that Crosbie was unpunished. 
 
 And as the winter came on he felt that he 
 was closely watched by the noble family of De 
 Courcy. Some of that noble family he had al- 
 ready learned to hate cordially. The Honor- 
 able John came up to town in November and 
 persecuted him vilely ; insisted on having din- 
 ners given to him at Sebright's, of smoking 
 throughout the whole afternoon in his future 
 brother-in-law's rooms, and on borrowing his 
 future brother-in-law's possessions ; till at last 
 Crosbie determined that it would be wise to 
 quarrel with the Honorable John — and he quar- 
 reled with him accordingly, turning him out of 
 his rooms, and telling him in so many words 
 that h'e would have no moi-e to do with him. 
 
 "You'll have to do it, as I did," Mortimer 
 Gazebee had said to him; "I didn't like it be- 
 cause of the family, but Lady Amelia told mo 
 that it must be so." Whereupon Crosbie took 
 the advice of Mortimer Gazebee. 
 
 But the hospitality of the Gazebees was per- 
 haps more distressing to him than even the im- 
 portunities of the Honorable John. It seemed 
 as though his future sister-in-law was determ- 
 ined not to leave him alone. Mortimer was 
 sent to fetch him up for the Sunday afternoons, 
 and he found that he was constrained to go to 
 the villa in St. John's Wood, even in opposition 
 to his own most strenuous will. He could not 
 quite analyze the circumstances of his own posi- 
 tion, but he felt as though he were a cock with 
 his spurs cut off — as a dog with his teeth drawn. 
 He found himself becoming humble and meek. 
 He had to acknowledge to himself that he was 
 afraid of Lady Amelia, and almost even afraid 
 of Mortimer Gazebee. He was aware that they 
 watched him, and knew all his goings out and 
 comings in. They called him Adolphus, and 
 made him tame.' That coming evil day in Feb- 
 ruary was dinned into his ears. Lady Amelia 
 would go and look at furniture for him, and 
 talked by the hour about bedding and sheets. 
 " You had better get your kitchen things at 
 Tomkins's. They're all good, and he'll give you 
 ten per cent, ofi' if you pay him ready money — 
 which of course you will, you know!" Was it 
 for this that he had sacrificed Lily Dale ? — for 
 this that he had allied himself wiih the noble 
 house of De Courcy ? 
 
 Mortimer had been at him about the settle- 
 ments from the very first moment of his return 
 to London, and had already bound him up hand 
 and foot. His life was insured, and the policy 
 was in Mortimer's hands. His own little bit of 
 money had been already handed over to be tied 
 up with Lady Alexandrina's little'bit. It seemed 
 to him that in all the arrangements made the 
 intention was that he should die off speedily, 
 and that Lady Alexandrina should be provided 
 with a decent little income, sufficient for St. 
 John's Wood. Things were to be so settled 
 that he could not even spend the proceeds of his 
 own money or of hers. They were to go, under 
 the fostering hand of Mortimer Gazebee, in pa}'- 
 
144 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 ing insurances. If he would only die the day 
 after his marriage there would really be a very 
 nice sura of money for Alexandrina, almost 
 worthy of the acceptance of an earl's daughter. 
 Six months ago he would have considered him- 
 self able to turn Mortimer Gazebee round his 
 finger on any subject that could be introduced 
 between them. When they chanced to meet 
 Gazebee had been quite humble to him, treating 
 him almost as a superior being. He had looked 
 down on Gazebee from a very great height. But 
 now it seemed as though he were powerless in 
 this man's hands. 
 
 But perhaps the countess had become his 
 greatest aversion. She was perpetually writing 
 to him little notes in which she gave him multi- 
 tudes of commissions, sending him about as 
 though he had been her servant. And she pes- 
 tered him with advice which was even worse 
 than her commissions, telling him of the style 
 of life in which AlesJandrina would expect to 
 live, and warning him very frequently that such 
 a, one as he could not expect to be admitted 
 within the bosom of so noble a family without 
 paying very dearly for that inestimable privilege. 
 Her letters had become odious to him, and he 
 would chuck them on one side, leaving them 
 for the whole day unopened. He had already 
 made up his mind that he would quarrel with 
 the countess also, very shortly after his mar- 
 riage; indeed, that he would separate himself 
 from the whole family if it were possible. And 
 yet he had entered into this engagement mainly 
 with the view of reaping those advantages which 
 would accrue to him from being allied to the 
 De Courcys ! The squire and his nephew were 
 wretched in thinking that this man was escaping 
 without punishment, but they might have spared 
 themselves that misery. 
 
 It had been understood from the first that he 
 was to spend his Christmas at Courcy Castle. 
 Prom this undertaking it was quite out of his 
 power to enfranchise himself; but he resolved 
 that his visit should be as short as possible. 
 Christmas Day unfortunately came on a Monday, 
 and it was known to the De Courcy world that 
 Saturday was almost a dies non at the General 
 Committee Office. As to those three days there 
 was no escape for him ; but he made Alexan- 
 drina understand that the three Commissioners 
 were men of iron as to any extension of those 
 three days. "I must be absent again in Feb- 
 ruary, of course," he said, almost making his 
 wail audible in the words he used, "and there- 
 fore it is quite impossible that I should stay now 
 beyond the Monday." Had there been attrac- 
 tions for him at Courcy Castle I think he might 
 have arranged with Mr. Optimist for a week or 
 ten days. " We shall be all alone," the count- 
 ess wrote to him, " and I hope you will have an 
 opportunity of learning more of our ways than 
 you have ever really been able to do as yet." 
 This was bitter as gall to him. . But in this 
 world all valuable commodities have their price ; 
 and when such men as Crosbie aspire to obtain 
 for themselves an alliance with noble families. 
 
 they must pay the market-price for the article 
 which they purchase. 
 
 "You'll all come up and dine with us on 
 Monday," the squire said to Mrs. Dale, about 
 the middle of the previous week. 
 
 "Well, I think not," said Mrs. Dale; "we 
 are better, perhaps, as we are." 
 
 At this moment the squire and his sister-in- 
 law were on much more friendly terms than had 
 been usual with them, and he took her reply in 
 good part, understanding her feeling. , There- 
 fore he pressed his request, and succeeded. 
 
 "I think you're wrong," he said; "I don't 
 suppose that we shall have a very merry Christ- 
 mas. You and the girls will hardly have that, 
 whether you eat your puJding here or at the 
 Great House. But it will be better for us all 
 to make the attempt. It's the right thing to do. 
 That's the way I look at it." 
 
 "I'll ask Lily," said Mrs. Dale. 
 
 "Do, do. Give her my love, and tell her 
 from me that, in spite of all that has come and 
 gone, Christmas Day should still be to her a 
 day of rejoicing. We'll dine about three, so 
 that the servants can have the afternoon." 
 
 "Of course we'll go, " said Lily ; " why not ? 
 We always do. And we'll have blindman's- 
 buff with all the Boyces, as we had last year, if 
 uncle will ask them up." But the Boyces were 
 not asked up for that occasion. 
 
 But Lily, though she put on it all so brave a 
 face, had much to suffer, and did in truth suffer 
 greatly. If you, my reader, ever chanced to 
 slip into the gutter on a wet day, did you not 
 find that the sympathy of the by-standers was 
 by far the severest part of your misfortune? 
 Did you not declare to yourself that all might 
 yet be well, if the people would only walk on 
 and not look at you? And yet you can not 
 blame those who stood and pitied you ; or, per- 
 haps, essayed to rub you down, and assist yon 
 in the recovery of your bedaubed hat. You, 
 yourself, if you see a man fall, can not walk by 
 as though nothing uncommon had happened to 
 him. It was so with Lily. The people of Al- 
 lington could not regard her with their ordinary 
 eyes. They would look at her tenderly, know- 
 ing that she was a wounded fawn, and thus they 
 aggravated the soreness of her wound. Old 
 Mrs. Hearn condoled with her, telling her that 
 very likely she would be better off as she was. 
 Lily would not lie about it in any way. ' ' Mrs. 
 Hearn," she said, "the .subject is painful to 
 me." Mrs. Hearn said no more about it, but 
 on every meeting between them she looked the 
 things she did not say. "Miss Lily!" said 
 Hopkins one day, " Miss Lily !" — and as he 
 looked up into her face a tear had almost form- 
 ed itself in his old eye — " I knew what he was 
 from the first. Oh, dear! oh, deal- ! if I could 
 have had him killed!" "Hopkins, how dare 
 you?" said Lily. "If you speak to me again 
 in such a way I will tell my uncle." She turn- 
 ed away from him ; but immediately turned 
 back again, and put out her little hand to him. 
 ' ' I beg your pardon," she said. ' ' I know how 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 145 
 
 kind you are, and I love you for it." And then 
 she went away. "I'll go after him yet, and 
 break the dirty neck of him," said Hopkins to 
 himself, as he walked down the path. 
 
 Shortly before Christmas Day she called, with 
 her sister, at the vicarage. Bell, in the course 
 of the visit, left the room with one of the Boyce 
 girls to look at the last chrysanthemums of the 
 year. Then Mrs. Boyce took advantage of the 
 occasion to make her little speech. " My dear 
 Lily," she said, "you will think me cold if I do 
 not say one word to you." "No, I shall not," 
 said Lily, almost sharply, shrinking from the 
 finger that threatened to touch her sore. " There 
 are things which should never be talked about." 
 "Well, well, perhaps so," said Mrs. Boyce. But 
 for a minute or two she was unable to fall back 
 upon any other topic, and sat looking at Lily 
 with painful tenderness. I need hardly say what 
 were Lily's sufferings under such a gaze; but 
 she bote it, acknowledging to herself in her mis- 
 ery that the fault did not lie with Mrs. Boyce. 
 How could Mrs. Boyce have looked at her oth- 
 erwise than tenderly ? 
 
 It was settled, then, that Lily was to dine up 
 at the Great House on Christmas Day, and thus 
 show to the AUington world that she was not to 
 be regarded as a person shut out from the world 
 by the depth of her misfortune. That she "was 
 right there can, I think, be no doubt ; but as she 
 walked across the little bridge with her mother 
 and sister, after returning from church, she 
 would have given much to be able to have turn- 
 ed round, and have gone to bed instead of to 
 her uncle's dinner. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 PAWKINS'S IN JERMYN STREET. 
 
 The show of fat beasts in London took place 
 this year on the twentieth day of December, 
 and I have always understood that a certain 
 bullock exhibited by Lord De Guest was de- 
 clared by the metropolitan butchers to have 
 realized all the possible excellences of breeding, 
 feeding, and condition. No doubt the butchers 
 of the next half century will have learned much 
 better, and the Guestwick beast, could it be em- 
 balmed and then produced, would excite only 
 ridicule at the agricultural ignorance of the 
 present age ; but-Lord De Guest took the praise 
 that was offered to him, and found himself in a 
 seventh heaven of delight. He was never so 
 happy as when surrounded by butchers, gi-aziers, 
 and salesmen who were able to appreciate the 
 work of his life, and who regarded him as a 
 model nobleman. "Look at that fellow," he 
 said to Eames, pointing to the prize bullock. 
 Eames had joined his patron at the show after 
 his office hours, looking on upon the living beef 
 by^gaslight. "Isn't he like his sire? He was 
 got by Lambkin, you know." 
 
 "Lambkin," said Johnny, who had not as 
 yet been able to learn much about the Guest- 
 wick stock. 
 
 " Yes, Lambkin. The bull that we had the 
 trouble with. He has just got his sire's back 
 and fore-quarters. Don't you see ?" 
 
 " I dare say," said Johnny, who looked very 
 hard, but could not see. 
 
 "It's very odd," exclaimed the earl, "but do 
 you know that bull has been as quiet since that 
 day — as quiet as — as any thing. I think it must 
 have been my pocket-handkerchief." 
 
 " I dare say it was," said Johnny ; "or per- 
 haps the flies." 
 
 "Flies!" said the earl, angrily. "Do you 
 suppose he isn't used to flies ? Come away. I 
 ordered dinner at seven, and it's past six now. 
 My brother-in-law. Colonel Dale, is up in town, 
 and he dines with us." So he took Johnny's 
 arm, and led him off through the show, calling 
 his attention as he went to several beasts which 
 were inferior to his own. 
 
 And then they walked down through Port- 
 man Square and Grosvenor Square, and across 
 Piccadilly to Jermyn Street. John Eames ac- 
 knowledged to himself that it was odd that he 
 should have an earl leaning on his arm as he 
 passed along through the streets. At home, in 
 his own life, his daily companions were Cradell 
 and Amelia Roper, Ifcs. Lupex and Mrs. Ro- 
 per. The difference was very great, and yet he 
 found it quite as easy to talk to the earl as to 
 Mrs. Lupex. 
 
 " You know the Dales down at Allington, of 
 course," said the earl. 
 
 "Oh yes, I know them.'' 
 
 " But perhaps you never met the colonel." 
 
 "I don't think I ever did." 
 
 "He's a queer sort of fellow j very well in 
 his way, but he never does any thing. He and 
 my sister live at Torquay, and as far as I can find 
 out they neither of them have any occupation 
 of any sort. He's come up to town now because 
 we both had to meet our family lawyers and sign 
 some papers, but he looks on the journey as a 
 great hardship. As for me, I'm a year older 
 than he is, but I wouldn't mind going up and 
 down from Guestwick every day. " 
 
 " It's looking after the bull that does it," said 
 Eames. 
 
 "By George! you're right. Master Johnny. 
 My sister and Crofts may tell me what they like, 
 but when a man's out in the open air for eight 
 or nine hours every day, it doesn't much matter 
 where he goes to sleep after that. This is Paw- 
 kins's — capital good house, but not so good as it 
 used to be while old Pawkins was alive. Show 
 Mr. Eames up into a bedroom to wash his 
 hands." 
 
 Colonel Dale was much like his brother in 
 face, but was taller, even thinner, and apparent- 
 ly older. When Eames went into the sitting- 
 room the colonel was there alone, and had to 
 take upon himself the trouble of introducing 
 himself. He did not get up from his arm-chair, 
 but nodded gently at the young man. "Mr. 
 Eames, I believe ? I knew your father at Guest- 
 wick a great many years ago ;" then he turned 
 his face back toward the fire and sighed. 
 
14« 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 "It's got vevy cold this afternoon," said 
 Johnny, trying to make conversation. 
 
 "It's always cold in London," said the col- 
 onel. 
 
 " If you had to be here in August you wouldn't 
 say so." 
 
 "God forbid," said the colonel, and he sigh- 
 ed again, with his eyes fixed upon the fire. 
 Eames had heard of the very gallant way in 
 which Orlando Dale had persisted in running 
 away with Lord De Guest's sister in opposition 
 to very terrible obstacles, and as he now looked 
 at the intrepid lover he thought that there must 
 have been a great change since those days. Aft- 
 er that nothing more was said till the earl came 
 down. 
 
 Pavvkins's house was thoroughly old-fashion- 
 ed in all things, and the Pawkins of that day 
 himself stood behind the earl's elbow when the 
 dinner began, and himself removed the cover 
 from the soup tureen. Loi-d De Guest did not 
 require much personal attention, but he would 
 have felt annoyed if this hadn't been done. As 
 it was he had a civil word to say to Pawkins 
 about the fat cattle, thereby showing that he did 
 not mistake I'awkins for one of the waiters. 
 Pawkins then took his loufchip's orders about the 
 wine and retired. 
 
 " He keeps up the old house pretty well," 
 said the earl to his brother-in-law. "It isn't 
 like what it was thirty years ago, but then ev- 
 eiy thing of that sort has got worse and worse. " 
 
 "I suppose it has," said the colonel. 
 
 "I remember when old Pawkins had as good 
 a glass of port as I've got at home — or nearly. 
 They can't get it now, you know." 
 
 "I never drink port," said the colonel. " I 
 seldom take any thing after dinner except a lit- 
 tle negus." 
 
 His brother-in-law said nothing, but made a 
 most eloquent grimace as he turned his face to- 
 ward his soup-p^ate. Eames saw it, and could 
 hardly refrain from laughing. When, at half 
 past nine o'clock, the colonel retired from the 
 room, the earl, as the door was closed, threw up 
 his hands, and uttered the one word "negus!" 
 Then Eames took heart of grace and had his 
 laughter out. 
 
 ■The dinner was very dull, and before the col- 
 onel went to bed Johnny regretted that he had 
 been induced to dine at Pawkins's. It might be 
 a very fine thing to be asked to dinner with an 
 earl, and John Eames had perhaps received at 
 his office some little accession of dignity from the 
 circumstances, of which he had been not unpleas- 
 antly aware; but as he sat at the table, on 
 which there were four or five apples and a plate 
 of dried nuts, looking at the earl, as he endeav- 
 ored to keep his eyes open, and at the colonel, 
 to wliom it seemed absolutely a matter of in- 
 difference whether his companions were asleep 
 or awake, he confessed to himself that the price 
 he was paying was almost too dear. Mrs. Ro- 
 per's tea-tiible was not pleasant to him, but even 
 that would have been preferable to the black 
 dinginess of Pawkins's mahogany, with the com- 
 
 pany of two tired old men, with whom he seein 
 ed to have no mutual subject of conversation. 
 Once or twice he tried a word with the colonel, 
 for the colonel sat with his eyes open looking at 
 the fire. But he was answered with monosyl- 
 lables, and it was evident to him that the col- 
 onel did not wish to talk. To sit still, with liis 
 hands closed over each other on his hip, was 
 work enough for Colonel Dale during his after- 
 dinner hours. 
 
 But the earl knew what was going on . During 
 that terrible conflict between him and his slum- 
 ber, in which the drowsy god fairly vanquished 
 him for some twenty minutes, his conscience 
 was always accusing him of treating his guests 
 badly. He was very angry with himself, and 
 tried to arouse himself and talk. But his broth- 
 er-in-law would not help him in his efl'orts ; 
 and even Eames was not bright in rendering 
 him assistance. Then for twenty minutes he 
 slept soundly, and at the end of that he woke 
 himself with one of his own snorts. "By 
 George !" he said, jumping up and standing on 
 the rug, "we'll have some coflTee;" and after 
 that he did not sleep any more. 
 
 " Dale," said he, " won't you take some more 
 wine ?" 
 
 "Nothing more," said the colonel, still look- 
 ing at the fire, and shaking his head very slowly. 
 
 "Come, Johnny", fill your glass." He had 
 already got into the wny of calling his young* 
 friend Johnny, having found that Mrs. Eames 
 generally spoke of her son by that name. 
 
 "I have been filling my glass all the time," 
 said Eames, taking the decanter again in his 
 hand as he spoke. 
 
 "I'm glad you've found something, to amuse 
 you, for it has seemed to ine that you and Dale 
 haven't had much to say to each other. I've 
 been listening all the time." 
 
 "You've been asleep," said the colonel. 
 
 " Then there's been some excuse for my hold- 
 ing ray tongue," said the earl. "By-the-by, 
 Dale, what do you think of that fellow Crosbie ?" 
 
 Eames's ears were instantly on the alert, and 
 the spirit of dullness vanished from him. 
 
 "■Think of him ?" said the colonel. 
 
 "He ought to have every bone in his skin 
 broken," said the earl. 
 
 "So he ought," said Eames, getting up from 
 his chair in his eagerness, and speaking in a 
 tone somewhat louder than was perhaps becom- 
 ing in the presence of his seniors. "So he 
 ought, my lord. He is the most abominable 
 rascal that ever I met in my life. I wish I was 
 Lily Dale's brother." Then he sat down again, 
 remembering that he was speaking in the pres- 
 ence of Lily's uncle, and of the father of Bernard 
 Dale, who might be supposed to occupy the place 
 of Lily's brother. 
 
 The colonel turned his head round, and looked 
 at the young man with surprise. "I beg your 
 pardon. Sir," said Eames, "but I have known 
 Mrs. Dale and your nieces all my life." 
 
 "Oh, have you?" said the colonel. " Never- 
 theless it is, perhaps, as well not to make too 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 U7 
 
 ' WOM'T you TAKE BO.ME MORE "WINE?" 
 
 free with a young lady's name. Not that I blame 
 you in the least, Mr. Eames." 
 
 " I should think not," said the earl. " I hon- 
 or him for his feeling. Johnny, my boy, if ever 
 I am unfortunate enough to meet that man I 
 shall tell him my mind, and I believe you will 
 do the same." On hearing this John Eames 
 winked at the earl, and made a motion with his 
 head toward the colonel, whose back was turned 
 to him. And then the earl winked back at 
 Eames, 
 
 "De Guest," said the colonel, "I think I'll 
 go up stairs ; I always have a little arrow-root 
 in my own room." 
 
 " I'll ring the bell for a candle," said the host. 
 Then the colonel went, and as the door was 
 closed behind him, the earl raised his two hands 
 and uttered that single word, ' ' negus ! " Where- 
 upon Johnny burst out laughing, and coming 
 round to the fire, sat himself down in the arm- 
 chair which the colonel had left. 
 
 "I've no doubt it's all right," said the earl; 
 
U8 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 "but I shouldn't like to drink negus myself, nor 
 yet to have arrow-root up in my bedroom." 
 
 " I don't suppose there's any harm in it." 
 
 " Oh dear, no ; I wonder what Pawkins says 
 about him. But I suppose they have them of 
 all sorts in a hotel." 
 
 " The waiter didn't seem to think much of it 
 when he brought it." 
 
 ' ' No, no. If he'd asked for senna and salts 
 the waiter wouldn't have showed any surprise. 
 By-the-by, you touched him up about that poor 
 girl." 
 
 " Did I, my lord ? I didn't mean it." 
 
 " You see he's Bernard Dale's father, and the 
 question is, whether Bernard shouldn't punish 
 the fellow for what he has done. Somebody 
 ought to do it. It isn't right that he should 
 escape. Somebody ought to let Mr. Crosbie 
 know what a scoundrel he has made himself." 
 
 "I'd do it to-morrow, only I'm afraid — " 
 
 "No, no, no," said the earl; "you are not 
 the right person at all. What have you got to 
 do with it ? You've merely known them as fam- 
 ily friends, but that's not enough." 
 
 " No, I suppose not," said Eames, sadly. 
 
 "Perhaps it's best as it is," said the earl. 
 ' ' I don't know that any good would be got by 
 knocking him over the head. And if we are to 
 be Christians, I suppose we ought to be Chris- 
 tians." 
 
 " What sort of a Christian has he been ?" 
 
 " That's true enough ; and if I was Bernard 
 I should be very apt to forget my Bible lessons 
 about meekness." 
 
 ' ' Do you know, my lord, I should think it 
 the most Christian thing in the world to pitch 
 into him ; 1 should, indeed. There are some 
 things for which a man ought to be beaten black 
 and blue." 
 
 " So that he shouldn't do them again?" 
 
 " Exactly. You might say it isn't Christian 
 to hang a man." 
 
 "I'd always hang a murderer. It wasn't 
 right to hang men for stealing sheep." 
 
 " Much better hang such a fellow as Crosbie," 
 said Eames. 
 
 " Well, I believe so. If any fellow wanted 
 now to curry favor with the young lady what 
 an opportunity he'd have !" 
 
 Johnny remained silent for a moment or two 
 before he answered. ' ' I'm not so sure of that, " 
 he said, mournfully, as though grieving at the 
 thought that there was no chance of currying 
 favor with Lily by thrashing her late lover. 
 
 " I don't pretend to know much about girls," 
 said Lord De Guest ; "but I should think itwould 
 be so. I should fancy that nothing would please 
 her so much as hearing that he had caught it, 
 and that all the world knew that he'd caught 
 it." The earl had declared that he didn't know 
 much about girls, and in so saying he was no 
 doubt right. 
 
 " If I thought so, "said Eames, ' ' I'd find him 
 out to-morrow. " 
 
 "Why so? what difference does it make to 
 you?" Then there was another pause, during 
 
 which Johnny looked rery sheepish. "You 
 don't mean to say that you're in love with" Miss 
 Lily Dale?" 
 
 "I don't know much about being in love with 
 her," said Johnny, turning very red as he spoke. 
 And then he made up his mind, in a wild sort 
 of way, to tell all the truth to his friend. Paw- 
 kins's port-wine may, perhaps, have had some- 
 thing to do with the resolution. " But I'd go 
 through fire and water for her, my lord. I 
 knew her years before he had ever seen her, 
 and have loved her a great deal better than he 
 will ever love any one. When I heard that she 
 had accepted him I had half a mind to cut my 
 own throat — or else his." 
 
 " Highty tighty !" said the earl. 
 
 "It's very ridiculous, I know," said Johnny, 
 " and of course she would never have accepted 
 me." 
 
 "I don't see that at all." 
 
 "I haven't a shilling in the world." 
 
 "Girls don't care much for that." 
 
 ' ' And then a clerk in the Income-tax Office ! 
 It's such a poor thing." 
 
 " The other fellow was only a clerk in anoth- 
 er office." 
 
 The earl living down at Guestwick did not 
 understand that the Income-tax Office in the 
 city and the General Committee Office at White- 
 hall were as far apart as Dives and Lazarus, and 
 separated by as impassable a gulf. 
 
 "Oh yes," said Johnny; Chut his office is 
 another kind of thing, and then he was a swell 
 himself." 
 
 "By George, I don't see it," said the earl. 
 
 " I don't wonder a bit at her accepting a fel- 
 low like that. I hated him the first moment I 
 saw him ; but that's no reason she should hate 
 him. He had that sort of manner, you know. 
 He was a swell, and girls like that kind of thing. 
 I never felt angry with her, but I could have 
 eaten him." As he spoke he looked as though 
 he would have made some such attempt had 
 Crosbie been present. 
 
 ' ' Did you ever ask her to have you ?" said 
 the earl. 
 
 "No; how could I ask her when I hadn't 
 bread to give her ?" 
 
 "And you never told her — that you were in 
 love with her, I mean, and all that kind of 
 thing?" 
 
 " She knows it now," said Johnny ; " I went 
 to say good-by to her the other day — when I 
 thought she was going to be married. I could 
 not help telling her then." 
 
 "But it seems to me, my dear fellow, that 
 you ought to be very much obliged to Crosbie 
 — that is to say, if you've a mind to — " 
 
 ' ' I know what you mean, my lord . I am not 
 a bit obliged to him. It's my belief that all this 
 will about kill her. As to myself, if I thought 
 she'd ever have me — " 
 
 Then he was again silent, and the earl could 
 see that the tears were in his eyes. 
 
 "I think I begin to understand it," said the 
 earl, "and I'll give you a bit of advice. You 
 
THE SMAXL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 149 
 
 come down and spend your Christmas with me 
 at Guestwick." 
 
 "Oh, my lord!" 
 
 " Never mind my-lording me, but do as I tell 
 you. Lady Julia sent you a message, though I 
 forgot all about it till now. She wants to thank 
 you herself for what you did in the field." 
 
 "That's all nonsense, my lord." 
 
 "Very well ; you can tell her so. You may 
 take my word for this, too — my sister hates 
 Crosbie quite as much as you do. I think she'd 
 'pitch into him,' as you call it, herself, if she 
 knew how. You come down to Guestwick for 
 the Christmas, and then go over to Allington 
 and tell them all plainly what you mean." 
 
 " I couldn't say a word to her now." 
 
 " Say it to the squire, then. Go to him, and 
 tell him what you mean — holding your head up 
 like a man. Don't talk to me about swells. 
 The man who means honestly is the best swell 
 I know. He's the only swell I recognize. Go 
 to old Dale, and say you come from me — from 
 Guestwick Manor. Tell him that if he'll put a 
 little stick under the pot to make it boil, I'll put a 
 bigger one. He'll understand what that means. " 
 
 "Oh no, my lord." 
 
 "But I say, oh yes ;" and the earl, who was 
 now standing on the rug before the fire, dug 
 his hands deep down into his trowsers' pockets. 
 " I'm very fond of that girl, and would do much 
 for her. You ask Lady Julia if I didn't say so 
 to her before I ever knew of your casting a 
 sheep's-eye that way. And I've a sneaking 
 kindness for you too. Master Johnny. Lord 
 bless you ! I knew your father as well as I ever 
 knew any man ; and to tell the truth, I believe 
 I helped to ruin him. He held land of me, you 
 know, and there can't be any doubt that he did 
 ruin himself. He knew no more about a beast 
 when he'd done than — than — than that waiter. 
 If he'd gone on to this day he wouldn't have 
 been any wiser." 
 
 Johnny sat silent, with his eyes full of tears. 
 What "was he to say to his friend? 
 
 "You come down with me," continued the 
 carl, " and you'll find we'll make it all straight. 
 I dare say you're right about not speaking to 
 the girl just at present. But tell every thing to 
 the uncle, and then to the mother. And, above 
 all things, never think that you're not good 
 enough yourself A man should never think 
 that. My belief is that in life people will take 
 you very much at your own reckoning. If you 
 are made of dirt, like that fellow Crosbie, you'll 
 be found out at last, no doubt. But then I 
 don't think you are made of dirt." 
 
 "I hope not." 
 
 " And so do I. You Can come down, I sup- 
 pose, with me the day after to-morrow ?" 
 
 " I'm afraid not. I have had all my leave." 
 
 " Shall I write to old Buffle, and ask it as a 
 favor?" 
 
 "No," said Johnny ; " I shouldn't like that. 
 But I'll see to-morrow, and then I'll let you 
 know. I can go down by the mail-train on 
 Saturday, at any rate." 
 
 " That won't be comfortable. See and come 
 with me if you can. Now, good-night, my dear 
 fellow, and remember this — when I say a thing 
 I mean it. I think I may boast that I never 
 yet went back from my word." 
 
 The earl as he spoke gave his left hand to his 
 guest, and looking somewhat grandly up over 
 the young man's head, he tapped his own breast 
 thrice with his right hand. As he went through 
 the little scene John Eames felt that he was ev- 
 ery inch an earl. 
 
 " I don't know what to say to you, my lord." 
 
 " Say nothing — not a word more to me. But 
 say to yourself that faint heart never won fair 
 lady. Good-night, my dear boy, good-night. I 
 dine out to-morrow, but you can call and let me 
 know at about six." 
 
 Eames then left the room without another 
 word, and walked out into the cold air of Jer- 
 myn Street. The moon was clear and bright, 
 and the pavement in the shining light seemed to 
 be as clean as a lady's hand. AH the world was 
 altered to him since he had entered Pawkins's 
 Hotel. Was it then possible that Lily Dale 
 might even yet become his wife ? Could it be 
 true that he, even now, was in a position to go 
 boldly to the Squire of Allington, and tell him 
 what were his views with reference to Lily ? 
 And ho* far would he be justified in taking the 
 earl at his word ? Some incredible amount of 
 ■wealth would be required before he could marry 
 Lily Dale. Two or three hundred pounds a 
 year at the very least ! The earl could not mean 
 him to understand that any such sum as that 
 would be made up with such an object ! Nev- 
 ertheless he resolved as he walked home to Bur- 
 ton Crescent that he would go down to Guest- 
 wick, and that he would obey the earl's behest. 
 As regarded Lily herself he felt that nothing 
 could be said to her for many a long day as yet. 
 
 " Oh, John, how late you are !" said Amelia, 
 slipping out from the back parlor as he let him- 
 self in with his latch-key. 
 
 " Yes, I am — very late," said John, taking his 
 candle, and passing her by on the stairs without 
 another word. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 "the time will come." 
 
 " Did you hear that young Eames is staying 
 at Guestwick Manor ?" 
 
 As these were the first words which the squire 
 spoke to Mrs. Dale as they walked together up 
 to the Great House, after church, on Christmas 
 Day, it was clear enough that the tidings of 
 Johnny's visit, when told to him, had made some 
 impression. 
 
 "At Guestwick Manor!" said Mrs. Dale. 
 "Dear me! Do you hear that. Bell ? There's 
 promotion for Master Johnny !" 
 
 " Don't you remember, mamma," said Bell, 
 " that he helped his lordship in his trouble with 
 the bull ?" 
 
150 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 Lily, who remembered accurately all the pas- 
 sages of her last interview with John Eames, 
 said nothing, but felt, in some sort, sore at the 
 idci that he should be so near her at such a 
 time. In some unconscious way she had liked 
 him for coming to her and saying all that he did 
 say. She valued him more highly after that 
 scene than she did before. But now she would 
 feel herself injured and hurt if he ever made his 
 way into her presence under circumstances as 
 they existed. 
 
 "I should not have thought that Lord De 
 Guest was the man to show so much gratitude 
 for so slight a favor," said the squire. " How- 
 ever, I'm going to dine there to-morrow.'' 
 
 "To meet young Eames?" said Mrs. Dale. 
 
 " Yes — especially to meet young Eames. At 
 least, I've been very specially asked to come, 
 and I've been told that he is to be there. " 
 
 " And is Bernard going ?" 
 
 "Indeed I'm not," said Bernard. "I shall 
 come over and dine with you." 
 
 A half-formed idea flitted across Lily's mind, 
 teaching her to Imagine for a moment that she 
 might possibly be concerned in this arrange- 
 ment. But the thought vanished as quickly as 
 it came, merely leaving some soreness behind 
 it. There are certain maladies which make the 
 whole body sore. The patient, let him be touch- 
 ed on any point — let him even be nearly touch- 
 ed — will roar with agony as though his whole 
 body had been bruised. So is it also with mal- 
 adies of the mind. Sorrows such as that of 
 poor Lily's leave the heart sore at every point, 
 and compel the sufferer to be ever in fear of 
 new wounds. Lily bore her cross bravely and 
 well ; but not the less did it weigh heavily upon 
 her at every turn because she had the strength 
 to walk as though she did not bear it. Nothing 
 happened to her, or in her presence, that did 
 not in some way connect itself with her misery. 
 Her uncle was going over to meet John Eames 
 at Lord De Guest's. Of course the men there 
 would talk about her, and all such talking was 
 an injury to her. 
 
 The afternoon of that day did not pass away 
 brightly. As long as the servants were in the 
 room the dinner went on much as other dinners. 
 At such times a certain amount of hypocrisy 
 must always be practiced in closely domestic 
 circles. At mixed dinner-parties people can 
 talk before Richard and William the same words 
 that they would use if Richard and William 
 were not there. People so mixed do not talk 
 together their inward home thoughts. But 
 when close friends are together a little conscious 
 reticence is practiced till the door is tiled. At 
 such a meeting as this that conscious reticence 
 was of service, and created an effort which was 
 salutary. When the door was tiled, and when 
 the servants were gone, how could they be mer- 
 ry together '/ By what mirth should the beards 
 be made to wag on that Christmas Day ? 
 
 " My father has been up in town," said Ber- 
 nard. " Ho was with Lord De Guest at Paw- 
 kins's." 
 
 "Why didn't you go and see him?" asked 
 Mrs. Dale. 
 
 "Well, I don't know. He did not seem to 
 wish it. • I shall go down to Torquay in Febru- 
 ary. I must be up in London, you know, in a 
 fortnight, for good." Then they were all silent 
 again for a few minutes. If Bernard could have 
 owned the truth he would have acknowledged 
 that he had not gone up to London because he 
 did not yet know how to treat Crosbie when he 
 should meet him. His thoughts on this matter 
 threw some sort of shadow across poor Lily's 
 mind, making her feel that her wound was again 
 opened. 
 
 ' ' I want him to give up his profession alto- 
 gether," said the squire, speaking ■ firmly and 
 slowly. " It would be better, I think, for both 
 of us that he should do so." 
 
 " Would it be wise at his time of life," said 
 Mrs. Dale, "and when he has been doing so 
 well?" , 
 
 "I think it would be wise. If he were my 
 son it would be thought better that he should 
 live here upon the property, among the people 
 who are to become his tenants, than remain up 
 in London, or perhaps be sent to India. He 
 has one profession as the heir of this place, and 
 that, I think, should be enough." 
 
 ' ' I should have but an idle life of it down ' 
 here," said Bernard. 
 
 " That would be your own fault. But if you 
 did as I would have you, your life would not be 
 idle." In this he was alluding to Bernard's 
 proposed marriage, but as to that nothing fur- 
 ther could be said in Bell's presence. Bell un- 
 derstood it all, and sat quite silent, with demure 
 countenance ; perhaps even with something of 
 sternness in her face. 
 
 "But the fact is," said Mrs. Dale, speaking 
 in a low tone, and having well considered what 
 she was about to say, "that Bernard is not ex- 
 actly the same as your son," 
 
 " Why not?" said the squire. " I have even 
 offered to settle the property on him if he will 
 leave the service." 
 
 " You do not owe him so much as you would 
 owe your son ; and, therefore, he does not owe 
 you as much as he would owe his father. " 
 
 ' ' If you mean that I can not constrain him, 
 I know that well enough. As regards money, I 
 have offered to do for him quite as much as any fa- 
 ther would feel called upon to do for an only son. " 
 
 " I hope you don't think me ungrateful," said 
 Bernard. 
 
 "No, I do not; but I think you unmindful. 
 I have nothing more to say about it, however ; 
 not about that. If you should marry — " And 
 then he stopped himself, feeling that he could 
 not go on in Bell's presence. 
 
 "If he should marry," said Mrs. Dale, "it 
 may well be that his wife would like a house of 
 her own." ' 
 
 "Wouldn't she have this house?" said the 
 squire, angrily. " Isn't it big enough ? I only 
 want one room for myself, and I'd give up that 
 if it were necessary." 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 151 
 
 "That's nonsense," said Mrs. Dale. 
 
 " It isn't nonsense," said the squire. 
 
 ' ' You'll be squire of Allington for the next 
 twenty years," said Mrs. Dale. " And as long 
 as you are the squire you'll be master of this 
 house ; at least, I hope so. I don't approve of 
 monarchs abdicating in favor of young peo- 
 ple." 
 
 " I don't think Uncle Christopher would look 
 at all well like Charles the Fifth," said Lily. 
 
 " 1 would always keep a cell for you, my dar- 
 ling, if I did," said the squire, regarding her 
 with that painful, special tenderness. Lily, who 
 was sitting next to Mrs. Dale, put her hand out 
 secretly and got hold of her mother's, thereby 
 indicating that she did not intend to occupy the 
 cell offered to her by her uncle; or to look to 
 him as the companion of her monastic seclusion. 
 After that there was nothing more then said as 
 to Bernard's prospects. 
 
 " Mrs. Heani is dining at the vicarage, I sup- 
 pose?" asked the squire. 
 
 "Yes; she went in after church," said Bell. 
 " I saw her go with Mrs. Boyce. " 
 
 "She told me she never would dine with 
 them again after dark in winter," said, Mrs. 
 Dale. ' ' The last time she was there thtf boy 
 _let the lamp blow out as she was going home 
 and she lost her way. The truth was, she was 
 angry because Mr. Boyce didn't go with her." 
 
 " She's always angry," said the squire. " She 
 hardly speaks to me now. When she paid her 
 rent the other day to JoUiflFe she said she hoped 
 it would do me much good — as though she 
 thought me a brute for taking it." 
 
 " So she does," said Bernard. 
 
 " She's very old, you know," said Bell. 
 
 " I'd give her the house for nothing if I were 
 you, uncle," said Lily. 
 
 " No, my dear ; if you were me you would 
 not. I should be very wrong to do so. Why 
 should Mrs. Hearn have her house for nothing 
 any more than her meat or her clothes? It 
 would be much more reasonable were I to give 
 her so much money into her hand yearly; but 
 it would be wrong in me to do so, seeing that 
 she is not an object of charity ; and it would be 
 wrong in her to take it." 
 
 "And she wouldn't take it," said Mrs. Dale. 
 
 " I don't think she would. But if she did, 
 I'm sure she would grumble because it wasn't 
 double the amount. And if Mr. Bpyce had 
 gone home with her, she would have grumbled 
 because he walked too fast." 
 
 " She is veiy old," said Bell, again. 
 
 "But, nevertheless, she ought to know better 
 than to speak disparagingly of me to my serv- 
 ants. She should have more respect for her- 
 self." And the squire showed by the tone of his 
 voice that he thought very much about it. 
 
 It was very long and very dull that Christ- 
 mas evening, making Bernard feel strongly that 
 he would be very foolish to give up his profes- 
 sion, and tie himself down to a life at Allington. 
 Women are more accustomed than men to long, 
 dull, unemployed hours; and, therefore, Mrs. 
 
 Dale and her daughters bore the tedium cour- 
 ageously. While he yawned, stretched him- 
 self, and went in and out of the room, they sat 
 demurely, listening as the squire laid down the 
 law on small matters, and contradicting hiin 
 occasionally when the spirit of either of them 
 prompted her specially to do so. " Of course 
 you know much better than I do," he would 
 say. "Not at all," Mrs. Dale would answer. 
 "I don't pretend to know any thing about it. 
 But — " So the evening wore itself away ; and 
 when the squire was left alone at half past nine, 
 he did not feel that the day had passed badly 
 with him. That was his style of life, and he 
 expected "no more from it than he got. He did 
 not look to find things very pleasant, and, if not 
 happy, he was, at any rate, contented. 
 
 "Only think of Johnny Eames being at 
 Guestwick Manor !" said Bell, as they were go- 
 ing home. 
 
 " I don't see why he shouldn't be there," said 
 Lily. "I would rather it should be he than I, 
 because Lady Julia is so grumpy." 
 
 " But asking your Uncle Christopher especial- 
 ly to meet him !" said Mrs. Dale. " There must 
 be some reason for it. " Then Lily felt the sore- 
 ness come upon her again, and spoke no fur- 
 ther upon the subject. 
 
 We all know that there was a special reason, 
 and that Lily's soreness was not false in its mys- 
 terious forebodings. Eames, on the evening 
 after his dinner at Pawkins's, had seen the earl, 
 and explained to him that he could not leave 
 town till the Saturday evening; but that he 
 could remain over the Tuesday. He must be 
 at his office by twelve on Wednesday, and could 
 manage to do that by an early train from Guest- 
 wick. 
 
 "Very well, Johnny," said the earl, talking 
 to his young friend with the bedroom candle in 
 his hand, as he was going up to dress. "Then 
 I'll tell you what ; I've been thinking, of it. I'll 
 ask Dale to come over to dinner on Tuesday ; 
 and if he'll come, I'll explain the whole matter 
 to him myself. He's a man of business, and 
 he'll understand. If he won't come, why then 
 you must go over to Allington, and find him, if 
 you can, on the Tuesday morning; or I'll go 
 to him myself, which will be better. You 
 mustn't keep me now, as I am ever so much 
 too late." 
 
 Eames did not attempt to keep him, but went 
 away feeling that the whole matter was being 
 arranged for him in a very wonderful way. And 
 when he got to Allington he found that the 
 squire had accepted the earl's invitation. Then 
 he declared to himself that there was no longer 
 any possibility of retractation for him. Of 
 course he did not wish to retract. The one 
 great longing of his life was to call Lily Dale 
 his own. But he felt afraid of the squire — that 
 the squire would despise him and snub him, 
 and that the earl would perceive that he had 
 made a mistake when he saw how his client was 
 scorned- and snubbed. It was arranged that 
 the earl was to take the squire into his own 
 
152 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 voom for a few minutes before dinner, and 
 Johnny felt tliat he would be hardly able to 
 stand his ground in the drawing-room when 
 the two old men should make their appearance 
 together. 
 
 He got on very well with Lady Julia, who 
 gave herself no airs, and made herself very civil. 
 Her brother had told her the whole story, and 
 she felt as anxious as he did to provide Lily 
 with another husband in place of that horrible 
 man Crosbie. " She has been very fortunate 
 in her escape," she said to her brother; "very 
 fortunate;" The earl agreed with this, saying 
 th'at in his opinion his own favorite Johnny 
 would make much the nicer lover of the two. 
 But Lady Julia had her doubts as to Lily's ac- 
 quiescence. "But, Theodore, he must not 
 speak to Miss Lilian Dale herself about it yet a 
 while." 
 
 "No," said the earl; "not for a month or 
 so." 
 
 " He will have a better chance if he can re- 
 main silent for six months," said Lady Julia. 
 
 "Bless my soul! somebody else will have 
 picked her up before that," said the earl. 
 
 In answer to this Lady Julia merely shook 
 her head. 
 
 Johnny went over to his mother on Christ- 
 mas Day after church, and was received by her 
 and by his sister with great honor. And she 
 gave him many injunctions as to his behavior at 
 the earl's table, even descending to small details 
 about his boots and linen. But Johnny had 
 already begun to feel at the Manor that, after 
 all, people are not so very different in their ways 
 of life as they are supposed to be. Lady Julia's 
 manners were certainly not quite those of Mrs. 
 Eoper; but she made the tea very much in the 
 way in which it was made at Burton Crescent, 
 and Eames found that he could eat his egg, at any 
 rate on the second morning, without any tremor 
 in his hand, in spite of the coronet on the silver 
 egg-cup. He did feel himself to be rather out of 
 his place in the Manor pew on the Sunday, con- 
 ceiving that all the congregation was looking at 
 him ; but he got over this on Christmas Day, 
 and sat quite comfortably in his soft corner dur- 
 ing the sermon, almost going to sleep. And 
 when he walked with the earl after church to 
 the gate over which the noble peer had climbed 
 in his agony, and insspected the hedge through 
 which he had thrown himself, he was quite at 
 home with his little jokes, bantering his august 
 companion as to the mode of his somersault. 
 But be it always remembered that there are two 
 modes in which a young man may be free and 
 easy with his elder and superior — the mode 
 pleasant, and the mode offensive. Had it been 
 in Johnny's nature to try the latter, the earl's 
 back would soon have been up at once, and the 
 play would have been over. But it was not in 
 Johnny's nature to do so, and therefore it was 
 that the earl liked him. 
 
 At last came the hour of dinner on Tuesday) 
 or at least the hour at which the squire had 
 been asked to show himself at the Manor House. 
 
 Eames, as by agreement with his patron, did 
 not come down so as to show himself till after 
 the interview. Lady Julia, who had been pres- 
 ent at their discussions, had agreed to receive 
 the squire, and then a servant was to ask him 
 to step into the earl's own room. It was pretty 
 to see the way in which the three conspired to- 
 gether, planning and plotting with an eagerness 
 that was beautifully green and fresh. 
 
 "He can be as cross as an old stick when he 
 likes it," said the earl, speaking of the squire ; 
 "and we must take care not to rub him the 
 wrong way." 
 
 " I sha'n't know what to say to him when I 
 come down, " said Johnny. 
 
 "Just shake hands with him and don't say 
 any thing," said Lady Julia. 
 
 ' ' I'll give him some port-wine that ought to 
 soften his heart," said the earl, " and then we'll 
 see how he is in the evening." 
 
 Eames heai-d the wheels of the squire's little 
 open carriage and trembled. The squire, un- 
 conscious of all schemes, soon found himself 
 with Lady Julia, and within two minutes of 
 his entrance was walked off to the earl's private 
 room. "Certainly," he said, "certainly," and 
 followed the man-servant. The earl, as he en- 
 tered, was standing in the middle of the room, 
 and his round rosy face was a picture of good- 
 humor. 
 
 "I'm very glad you've come, Dale," said he. 
 " I've something I want to say to you." 
 
 Mr. Dale, who neither in heart nor in man- 
 ner was so light a man as the earl, took the 
 proffered hand of his host, and bowed his head 
 slightly, signifying that he was willing to listen 
 to any thing. 
 
 "I think I told you," continued the earl, 
 ' ' that young John Eames is down here ; but 
 be goes back to-morrow, as they can't spare 
 him at his office. He's a very good fellow-:^ 
 as far as I am able to judge, an uncommonly 
 good young man. I've taken a great fancy to 
 him myself." 
 
 In answer to this Mr. Dale did not say much. 
 He sat down, and in some general terms ex- 
 pressed his good-will toward all the Eames family. 
 
 "As you know. Dale, I'm a very bad hand 
 at talking, and therefore I won't beat about the 
 bush in what I've got to say at present. Of 
 course we've all heard of that scoundrel Cros- 
 bie, and .the way he has treated yom' niece 
 Lilian." 
 
 "He is a scoundrel — an unmixed scoundrel. 
 But the less we say about that the better. It 
 is ill mentioning a girl's name in such a matter 
 as that." 
 
 " But, my dear Dale, I must mention it at the 
 present moment. Dear young child, I would do 
 any thing to comfort her! And I hope that 
 something may be done to comfort her. Do 
 you know that that young man was in love with 
 her long before Crosbie ever saw her?" 
 
 " What— John Eames !" 
 
 "Yes, John Eames. And I wish heartily; 
 for his sake, that he had won her regard before 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 133 
 
 she had met that rascal whom you had to stay 
 down at your house." 
 
 ' ' A man can not help these things, De Guest, " 
 said the squire. 
 
 "No, no, no! There are such men about 
 the world, and it is impossible to know them at 
 a glance. He was my nephew's friend, and I 
 iim not going to say that my nephew was in 
 fault. But I wish — I only say tliat I wish — 
 she had first known what are this young man's 
 feelings toward her." 
 
 "But she might not have thought of him as 
 you do." 
 
 "He is an uncommonly good-looking young 
 fellow ; straight made, broad in the chest, with 
 a good, honest eye, and a young man's proper 
 courage. He has never been taught to give 
 liimself airs like a dancing monkey ; but I think 
 he's all the better for that." 
 
 "But it's too late now, De Guest." 
 
 "No, no ; that's just where it is. It mustn't 
 be too late ! That chil^ is not to lose her whole 
 life because a villain has played her false. Of 
 course she'll suffer. Just at present it wouldn't 
 do, I suppose, to talk to her about a new sweet- 
 heart. But, Dale, the time will come ; the time 
 will come; the tinne always does come." 
 
 "It has never come to you and me," said the 
 squire, with the slightest possible smile on his 
 dry cheeks. The story of their lives had been 
 so far the same ; each had loved, and each had 
 been disappointed, and then each had remained 
 single through life. 
 
 "Yes, it has," said the earl, with no slight 
 touch of feeling and even of romance in what 
 he said. "We have retricked our beams in 
 our own ways, and our lives have not been des- 
 olate. But for her — you and her mother will 
 look forward to see her married some day." 
 
 " I have not thought about it." 
 
 "But I want you to think about it. I want 
 to interest you in this fellow's favor, and in do- 
 ing so I mean to be very open with you. I 
 suppose you'll give her something?" 
 
 "I don't know, I'm sure," said the squire, 
 almost offended at an inquiry of such a nature. 
 
 "Well, then, whether you do or not, I'll give 
 him something," said the earl. "I shouldn't 
 have ventured to meddle in the matter had I 
 not intended to put myself in such a position 
 with reference to him as would justify me in 
 asking the question." And the peer as he 
 spoke di'ew himself up to his full height. "If 
 such a match can be made, it shall not be a bad 
 marriage for yoUr niece in a pecuniary point of 
 view. I shall have pleasure in giving to him ; 
 but I shall have more pleasure if she can share 
 what I give." 
 
 " She ought to be very much obliged to you," 
 said the squire. 
 
 "I think she would be if she knew young 
 Eames. I hope the day may come when she 
 will be so. I hope that you and I may see them 
 happy together, and that you too may thank me 
 for having assisted in making them so. Shall 
 we go in to Lady Julia now ?" The earl had 
 K 
 
 felt that he had not quite succeeded ; that his 
 offer had been accepted somewhat coldly, and 
 had not much hope that further good could be 
 done on that day, even with the help of his best 
 port-wine. 
 
 "Haifa moment," said the squire. " There 
 are matters as to which I never find myself able 
 to speak quickly, and this certainly seems to be 
 one of them. If you will allow me I will think 
 over what you have said, and then see you again. " 
 
 "Certainly, certainly." 
 
 "But for your own part in the matter, for 
 your great generosity and kind heart, I beg to 
 offer you my warmest thanks." Then the squire 
 bowed low, and preceded the earl out of the room. 
 
 Lord De Guest still felt that he had not suc- 
 ceeded. We may probably say, looking at the 
 squire's character and peculiarities, that no 
 marked success was probable at the first open- 
 ing out of such a subject. He had said of him- 
 self that he was never able to speak quickly in 
 matters of moment ; but he would more correct- 
 ly have described his own character had he de- 
 clared that he could not think of them quickly. 
 As it was, the earl was disappointed ; but had 
 he been able to read the squire's mind his dis- 
 appointment would have been less strong. Mr. 
 Dale knew well enough that ho was being treat- 
 ed well, and that -the effort being made was in- 
 tended with kindness to those belonying to him ; 
 but it was not in his nature to be demonstrative 
 and quick at expressions of gi'atitude. So he 
 entered the drawing-room with a cold, placid 
 face, leading Eames, and Lady Julia also, to 
 suppose that no good had been done. 
 
 "How do you do, Sir?" said Johnny, walk- 
 ing up to him in a wild sort of manner— going 
 through a premeditated lesson, but doing it 
 without any presence of mind. 
 
 "How do you do, Eames?" said the squire, 
 speaking with a very cold voice. And then 
 there was nothing further said till the dinner 
 was announced. 
 
 " Dale, I know you drink port," said the earl 
 when Lady Julia left them. "If you say you 
 don't like that, I shall say you know nothing 
 about it." 
 
 "Ah! that's the '20," said the squire, tasting 
 it. 
 
 "I should rather think it is," said the earl. 
 "I was lucky enough to get it early, and it 
 hasn't been moved for thirty years. I like to 
 give it to ii. man who knows it, as you do, at 
 the first glance. Now there's my friend Johnny 
 there; it's thrown away upon him." 
 
 "No, my lord, it is not. I think it's uncom- 
 monly nice." 
 
 " Uncommonly nice ! So is Champagne, or 
 ginger-beer, or lollipops — for those who like 
 them. Do you mean to tell me you can taste 
 wine with half a pickled orange in your mouth ?" 
 
 "It'll come to him soon enough," said the 
 squire. 
 
 " Twenty port won't come to him when he is 
 as old as we are," said the earl, forgetting that 
 by that time sixty port will be as wonderful to 
 
154 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 the then living seniors of the age as was his own 
 pot vintage to him. 
 
 The good wine did in some sort soften the 
 squire ; but, as a matter of course, nothing fur- 
 ther was said as to the new matrimonial scheme. 
 The earl did observe, however, that Mr. Dale 
 was civil, and even kind, to his own young 
 friend, asking a question here and there as to 
 his life in London, and saying something about 
 the work at the Income-tax Office. 
 
 " It is hard work," said Eames. " If you're 
 under the line they make a great row about it, 
 send for you, and look at yon as though you'd 
 been robbing the bank ; but they think nothing 
 of keeping you till five." 
 
 "But how long do you have for lunch and 
 reading the papers ?" said the earl. 
 
 " Not ten minutes. We take a paper among 
 twenty of us for half the day. That's exactly 
 nine minutes to each ; and as for lunch, we only 
 have a biscuit dipped in ink." 
 
 " Dipped in ink !" said the squire. 
 
 " It comes to that, for you have to be writing 
 while you munch it." 
 
 " I hear all about yon," said the earl ; "Sir 
 Raffle Buffle is an old crony of mine." 
 
 "I don't suppose he ever heard my name as 
 yet," said Johnny. "But do you really know 
 him well. Lord De Guest?" 
 
 " Haven't seen him these thirty years ; but I 
 did know him." 
 
 "We call him old Hnffle Scuffle." 
 
 "Huffle Scuffle! Ha, ha, ha! He always 
 was Huffle Scuffle ; a noisy, pretentious, emp- 
 ty-headed fellow. But I oughtn't to say so be- 
 fore you, young man. Come, we'll go into the 
 dramng-room." 
 
 , "And what did he say?" asked Lady Julia, 
 as soon as the squire was gone. There was no 
 attempt at concealment, and the question was 
 asked in Johnny's presence. 
 
 "Well, he did not say much. And coming 
 from him, that ought to be taken as a good sign. 
 He is to think of it, and let me see him again. 
 You hold your head up, Johnny, and remem- 
 ber that you sha'n't want a friend on your side. 
 Faint heart never won fair lady." 
 
 At seven o'clock on the following morning 
 Eames started on his return journey, and was at 
 his desk at twelve o'clock; — as per agreement 
 with his task-master at the Income-tax Office. 
 
 I CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE COMBAT, 
 
 I HAVE said that John Eames Was at his 
 office punctually at twelve ; but an incident had 
 happened before his arrival there very important 
 in the annals which are now being told — so im- 
 portant that it is essentially necessary that it 
 should be described with some minuteness of 
 detail. 
 
 Lord De Guest, in the various conversations 
 which he had had with Eames as to Lily Dale 
 
 and her present position, had always spoken of 
 Crosbie with the most vehement abhori'ence. 
 "He is a damned blackguard," said the earl, 
 and tlie fire had come out of his round eyes as 
 he spoke. Now the earl was by no means given 
 to cursing and swearing, in the sense which is 
 ordinarily applied to these words. When he 
 made use of such a phrase as that quoted above, 
 it was to be presumed that he in some sort meant 
 what he said ; and so he did, and had intended 
 to signify that Crosbie by his conduct had mer- 
 ited all such condemnation as was the fitting 
 punishment for blackguardism of the worst de- 
 scription. 
 
 "He ought to have his neck broken," said 
 Johnny. 
 
 "I don't know about that,'' said the earl. 
 " The present times have become so pretty be- 
 haved that corporal punishment seems to have 
 gone out of fashion. I shouldn't care so much 
 about that, if any other punishment had taken 
 its' place. But it seems to me that a black- 
 guard such as Crosbie can escape now altogether 
 unscathed." 
 
 " He hasn't escaped yet," shid Johnny. 
 
 " Don't you go and put your finger in the pie 
 and make a fool of yourself," said the earl. If 
 it had behooved any one to resent in any violent 
 fashion the evil done by Crosbie, Bernard Dale, 
 the earl's nephew, shoul Jhave been the avenger. 
 This the earl fell, but under these circumstances 
 he was disposed to think that there should be no 
 such violent vengeance. "Things were differ- 
 ent when I was young," he said to himself. But 
 Eames gathered from the earl's tone that the 
 earl's words were not sttictly in accordance witli 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 155 
 
 Ws thoughts, and he declared to himself over 
 and over again that Crosbie had not yet escaped. 
 
 He got into the train at Guestwiclt, talcing a 
 , first-class ticket, because the earl's groom in liv- 
 ery was in attendance upon him. Had he been 
 alone he would have gone in a cheaper carriage. 
 Very weak in him, was it not? little also, and 
 mean ? My friend, can you say that you would 
 not have done the same at his age? Are you 
 quite sure that you would not do the same now 
 that you are double his age? Be that as it 
 may, Johnny Eames did that foolish thing, and 
 gave the groom in livery half a crown into the 
 bargain. 
 
 "We shall have you down again soon, Mr. 
 John," said the groom, who seemed to under- 
 stand that Mr. Eames was to be made quite at 
 home at the manor. 
 
 He went fast to sleep in the carriage, and did 
 not awake till the train was stopped at the Bar- 
 chester Junction. 
 
 "Waiting. for the up-train from Barchester, 
 Sir," said the guard. "They're always late." 
 Then he went to sleep again, and was aroused 
 in a few minutes by some one entering the car- 
 riage in a great hurry. The branch train had 
 come in just as the guardians of the line then 
 present had made up their minds that the pas- 
 sengers on the main line should not be kept wait- 
 ing any longer. The transfer of men, women, 
 and luggage was therefore made in great haste, 
 and they who were now taking their new seats 
 had hardly time to look about them. An old 
 gentleman, very red about the gills, first came 
 into Johnny's carriage, which up to that mo- 
 ment he had shared with an old lady. The old 
 gentleman was abusing every body because he 
 was hurried, and would not take himself well 
 into the compartment, but stuck in the doorway, 
 standing on the step. 
 
 "Now, Sir, when you're quite at leisure," said 
 a voice behind the old man, which instantly made 
 Eames start up in his seat. 
 
 " I'm not at all at leisure," said the old man ; 
 " and I'm not going to break my legs if I know 
 it." 
 
 " Take your time, Sir," said the guard. 
 
 " So I mean," said the old man, seating him- 
 self in the corner nearest to the open door, op- 
 posite to the old lady. Then Eames saw plain- 
 ly that it was Crosbie who had first spoken, and 
 that he was getting into the carriage. 
 
 Crosbie at the first glance saw no one but the 
 old gentleman and the old lady, and he imme- 
 diately made for the unoccupied corner seat. He 
 was busy with his umbrella and his dressing- 
 bag, and a little fiustered by the pushing and 
 hurrying. The carriage was actually in motion 
 before he perceived that John Eames was oppo- 
 site to him : Eames had, instinctively, drawn up 
 his legs so as not to touch him. He felt that Tie 
 had become very red in the face, and, to tell the 
 truth, the perspiration had broken out upon his 
 brow. It was a gi-eat occasion — great in its im- 
 minent trouble, and great in its opportunity for 
 action. How was he to carry himself at the 
 
 first moment of his recognition by his enemy, 
 and what was he to do afterward ? 
 
 It need hardly be explained that Crosbie had 
 also been spending his Christmas with a certain 
 earl of his acquaintance, and that he too was 
 returning to his office. In one respect he had 
 been much more fortunate than poor Eames, for 
 he had been made happy with the smiles of his 
 lady love. Alexandrina and the countess had 
 fluttered about him softly, treating him as a 
 tame chattel, now belonging to the noble house 
 of De Courcy, and in this way he had been ini- 
 tiated into the inner domesticities of that illus- 
 trious family. The two extra men-servants, 
 hired to wait upon Lady Dumbello, had vanish- 
 ed. The Champagne had ceased to flow in a 
 perennial stream. Lady Eosina had come out 
 from her solitude, and had preached at him con- 
 stantly. Lady Margaretta had given him some 
 lessons in economy. The Honorable John, in 
 spite of a late quarrel, had borrowed five pounds 
 from him. The Honorable George had engaged 
 to come and stay with his sister during the next 
 May. The earl had used a father-in-law's priv- 
 ilege, and had called him a fool. Lady Alex- 
 andrina had told him more than once, in rather 
 a tart voice, that this must be done, and that that 
 must be done ; and the countess had given him 
 her orders as though it was his duty, in the 
 course of nature, to obey every word that fell 
 from her. Such had been his Christmas de- 
 lights ; and now, as he returned back from the 
 enjoyment of them, he found himself con- 
 fronted in the railway carriage with Johnny 
 Eames ! 
 
 The eyes of the two met, and Crosbie made a 
 slight inclination of his head. To this Eames 
 gave no acknowledgment whatever, but looked 
 straight into the other's face. Crosbie imme- 
 diately saw that they were not to know each oth- 
 er, and was well contented that it should be so. 
 Among all his many troubles the enmity of 
 John Eames did not go for much. He showed 
 no appearance of being disconcerted, though our 
 friend had shown much. He opened his bag, 
 and taking out a book was soon deeply engaged 
 in it, pursuing his studies as though the man 
 opposite was quite unknown to him. I will not 
 say that his mind did not run away from his 
 book, for indeed there were many things of 
 which he found it impossible not to think ; hut 
 it did not revei't to John Eames. Indeed, when 
 the carriages reached Paddington, he had in 
 truth all but forgotten him ; and as he stepped 
 out of the carriage, with his bag in his hand, 
 was quite free from any remotest trouble on his 
 account. 
 
 But it had not been so with Eames himself. 
 Every moment of the journey had for him been 
 crowded with thought as to what he would do 
 now that chance had brought his enemy within 
 his reach. He had been made quite wretched 
 by the intensity of his thinking ; and yet, when 
 the carriages stopped, he had not made up his 
 mind. His face had been covered with perspi- 
 ration ever since Croslye had come across him. 
 
156 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 and his limhs had hardly been under his own 
 command. Here had ccme to him a great op- 
 portunity, and he felt so little confidence in him- 
 self that he almost knew that he would not use 
 it properly. Twice and thrice he had almost 
 flown at Crosbie's throat in the carriage, but he 
 was restrained by an idea that the world and the 
 police would be against him if he did such a 
 thing in the presence of that old lady. 
 
 But when Crosbie turned his back upon him, 
 and walked out, it was absolutely necessary that 
 he should do something. He was not going to 
 let the man escape, after all that he had said as 
 to the expediency of thrashing hira. Any other 
 disgrace would be preferable to that. Fearing, 
 therefore, lost his enemy should be too quick 
 for him, he hurried out after him, and only just 
 gave Crosbie time to turn round and face the 
 carriages before he was upon him. "Yon con- 
 founded scoundrel ! " he screamed out. "You 
 confounded scoundrel!" and seized him by the 
 thrpat, throwing himself upon liiin, and almost 
 devouring him by the fury of his eyes. 
 
 The crowd upon the platform was not very 
 dense, but there were quite enough of people to 
 make a very respectable audience for this little 
 play. Crosbie, in his dismay, retreated a step 
 or two, and his retreat was much accelerated by 
 the weight of Eames's attack. He endeavored 
 to free his thrOat from his foe's grasp ; but in 
 that he failed entirely. For the minute, how- 
 ever, he did manage to escape any positive blow, 
 owing his safety in that respect rather to Eames's 
 awkwardness than to his own efforts. Some- 
 thing about the police he was just able to utter, 
 and there was, as a matter of course, an imme- 
 diate call for a supply of those functionaries. 
 In about three minutes three policemen, assist- 
 ed by six porters, had captured our poor friend 
 Johnny ; but this had not been done quick 
 enough for Crosbie's purposes. The by-stand- 
 ers, taken by surprise, had allowed the combat- 
 ants to fall back upon Mr. Smith's book-stall, 
 and there Eamcs laid his foe prostrate among 
 tlie newspapers, falling himself into the yellow 
 shilling-novel depot by tlie over-fury of his own 
 energy ; but as he fell he contrived to lodge one 
 blow with his fist in Crosbie's right eye — one 
 telling blow ; and Crosbie had, to all intents and 
 purposes, been thrashed. 
 
 "Con — founded scoundrel, rascal, black- 
 guard!" shouted Johnny, with what remnants 
 of voice were left to him, as the police dragged 
 him oif. "If you only knew — what he's — 
 done." But in the mean time the policemen 
 held him fast. 
 
 "As a matter of course the first burst of public 
 sympathy went with Crosbie. He had been as- 
 saulted, and the assault had come from Eames. 
 In the British bosom there is so firm a love of 
 well-constituted order that these facts alone were 
 sufficient to bring twenty knights to the assist- 
 ■ance of the three policemen and the six porters ; 
 so that for Eames, even had he desired it, there 
 was no possible chance of escape. But he did 
 not desire it. One onl^ sorrow consumed hira 
 
 at present. He had, as he felt, attacked Cros- 
 bie, but had attacked him in vain. He had had 
 his opportunity, and had misused it. He was 
 perfectly unconscious of that happy blow, and , 
 was in absolute ignorance of the great fact that 
 his enemy's eye was already swollen and closed, 
 and that in another hour it would be as black 
 as his hat. 
 
 "He is a con — founded rascal !" ejaculated 
 Eames, as the policemen and porters hauled hini 
 about. " You don't know what he's done." 
 
 "No, we don't," said the senior constable; 
 "but we know what you have done. I say, 
 Bushers, where's that gentleman ? He'd better 
 come along with us." 
 
 Crosbie had been picked up from among the 
 newspapers by another policeman and two or 
 three other porters, and was attended also by 
 the guard of the train, who knew him, and knew 
 that he had come up from Courcy Castle. Three 
 or four hangers-on were standing also around 
 him, together with a benevolent medical man, 
 who was proposing to him an immediate applica- 
 tion of leeches. If he could have done as he 
 wished he would have gone his way quietly, al- 
 lowing Eames to do the same. A great evil 
 had befallen him, but he could in no way miti- 
 gate that evil by taking the law of the man who 
 had attacked him. To have the thing as little 
 talked about as possible should be his endeavor. 
 What though he should have Eames locked up 
 and fined, and scolded by a police magistrate ? 
 That would not in any degree lessen his calam- 
 ity. If he could have parried the attack and got 
 the better of his foe ; if he could have adminis- 
 tered the black eye instead of receiving it, then, 
 indeed, he could have laughed the matter off' at 
 his. club, and his original crime would have been 
 somewhat glozed over by his success in arms. 
 But such good fortune had not been his. He 
 was forced, however, on the moment to decide as 
 to what he would do. 
 
 " We've got him here in custody. Sir," said 
 Bushers, touching his hat. It had become 
 known from the guard that Crosbie was some- 
 what of a big man, a frequent guest at Courcy 
 Castle, and of repute and station in the higher 
 regions of the Metropolitan world. " The magis- 
 trates will be sitting at Paddington now, Sir — 
 or will be by the time we get there." 
 
 By this time some mighty railway authority 
 had come upon the scene and made himself 
 cognizant of the facts of the row — a stern of- 
 ficial, who seemed to carry the weight of many 
 engines on his brow ; one at the very sight of 
 whom smokers would drop their cigars, and 
 porters close their fists against sixpences; a 
 great man, with an erect chin, a quicic step, and 
 a well-brushed hat powerful with an elaborately 
 upturned brim. This was the platform-super- 
 intendent, dominant even over the policemen. 
 
 " Step into ray room, Mr, Crosbie," he said. 
 "Stubbs, bring that man in with you." And 
 then, before Crosbie had been able to make up 
 his mind as to any other Ifno of conduct, he 
 found himself in the superintendent's room, ac- 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 157 
 
 companied by the guard and by the two police- 
 men who conducted Johnny Eames between 
 them. 
 
 "What's all this?" said the superintendent, 
 still keeping on his hat ; for he was aware how 
 much of the excellence of his personal dignity 
 was owing to the arrangement of that article ; 
 and as he spoke he frowned upon the culprit 
 with his utmost severity. "Mr. Crosbie, I am 
 very sorry that you should have been exposed 
 to such brutality on our platform." 
 
 "You don't know what he has done," said 
 Johnny. "He is the most confounded scoun- 
 drel living. He has broken — " But then he 
 stopped himself. He was going to tell the su- 
 perintendent that the confounded scoundrel had 
 broken a beautiful young lady's heart ; but he 
 bethought himself that he would not allude 
 more specially to Lily Dale in that hearing. 
 
 "Do you know who he is, Mr. Crosbie?" 
 said the superintendent. 
 
 "Oh yes," said Crosbie, whoso eye was al- 
 ready becoming blue. " He is a clerk in the 
 Income-tax Office, and his name is Eames. I 
 believe you had better leave him to me." 
 
 But the superintendent at once wrote down 
 the words " Income-tax Office — Eames," oa his 
 tablet. "We can't allow a row like that to 
 take place on our platform and not notice it. 
 I shall bring it before the directors. It's a 
 most disgraceful affair, Mr. Eames — most dis- 
 graceful. " 
 
 But Johnny by this time had perceived that 
 Crosbie's eye was in a state which proved satis- 
 factorily that his morning's work had not been 
 thrown away, and his spirits were rising ac- 
 cordingly. He did not care two straws for the 
 superintendent, or even for the policeman, if 
 only the story could be made to tell well for 
 himself hereafter. It was his object to have 
 thrashed Crosbie, and now, as he looked at his 
 enemy's face, he acknowledged that Providence 
 had been good to him. 
 
 "That's your opinion," said Johnny. 
 
 "Yes, Sir, it is," said the superintendent; 
 "and I shall know how to represent the mat- 
 ter to your superiors, young man." 
 
 "You don't know all about it," said Eames ; 
 "and I don't suppose you ever will. I had 
 made up my mind what I'd do the first time I 
 saw that scoundrel there ; and now I've done 
 it. He'd have got much worse in the railway 
 carriage, only there was a lady there." 
 
 "Mr. Crosbie, I really think we had better 
 take him before the magistrates." 
 
 To this, however, Crosbie objected. He as- 
 sured the superintendent that he would himself 
 know how to deal with the matter — which, how- 
 ever, was exactly what lie did not know. Would 
 the superintendent allow one of the railway serv- 
 ants to get a cab for him and to find his luggage? 
 He was very anxious to get home without be- 
 ing subjected to any more of Mr. Eames's inso- 
 lence. 
 
 " You haven't done with Mr. Eames's inso- 
 lence yet, I can tell you. All London shall 
 
 hear of it, and shall know why. If you have 
 any shame in you, you shall be ashamed to 
 show your face." 
 
 Unfortunate man ! Who can say that pun- 
 ishment — adequate punishment — had not over- 
 taken him ? For the present he had to sneak 
 home with a black eye, with the knowledge in- 
 side him that he had been whipped by a clerk 
 in the Income-tax Office ; and for the future — 
 he was bound over to marry Lady Alexandrina 
 De Courcy. 
 
 He got himself smuggled off in a cab, with- 
 out being forced to go again upon the platform, 
 his luggage being brought to him by two assid- 
 uous porters. But in all this there was very 
 little balm for his hurt pride. As he ordered 
 the cabman to drive to Mount Street he felt 
 that he had ruined himself by that step in life 
 which he had taken at Courcy Castle. Which- 
 ever way he looked he had no comfort. " D — 
 the fellow!" he said, almost tout loud, in the 
 cab ; but though he did with his outward voice 
 allude to Eames, the curse in his inner thoughts 
 was uttered against himself. 
 
 Johnny was allowed to make his way down 
 to the platform, and there find his own carpet- 
 bag. One young porter, however, came up and 
 fraternized with him. 
 
 "You guve it him tidy just at that last mo- 
 ment, Sir. But laws, Sir, you should have let 
 out at him at fust. What's the use of clawing 
 a man's neck-collar?" 
 
 It was then a quarter past eleven, but, never- 
 theless, Eames appeared at his office precisely at 
 twelve. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 V..E VICTIS. 
 
 Crosbie had two engagements for that day ; 
 one being his natural engagement to do his 
 work at his office, and the other an engage- 
 ment, which was now very often becoming as 
 natural, to dine at St. John's Wood with Lady 
 Amelia Gazebee. It was manifest to him when 
 he looked at himself in the glass that he could 
 keep neither of these engagements. " Oh, Uiw.«, 
 Mr. Crosbie !" the woman of the house exclaim- 
 ed when she saw him. 
 
 "Yes, I know," said he. "I've had an ac- 
 cident and got a black eye. What's a good 
 thing for it?" 
 
 "Oh, an accident!" said the woman, who 
 knew well that that mark had been made by 
 another man's fist. "They do say that a bit 
 of raw beef is about the best thing. But then 
 it must be held on constant all the morning." 
 
 Any thing would be better than leeches, which 
 tell long-enduring tales, and therefore Crosliio 
 sat through the greater part of the morning hold- 
 ing the raw beef to his eye. 
 
 Bnt it was necessary that he should write two 
 notes as he held it, one to Mr. Butterwell. at his 
 office, and the other to his future sister-in-law. 
 rfe felt that it would hardly be wise to attempt 
 
158 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 any entire concealment of the nature of his ca- 
 tastrophe, as some of the circumstances would 
 assuredly become known. If he said that he 
 had fallen over ttie coal-scuttle or on to the 
 fender, thereby cutting his face, people would 
 learn that he had fibbed, and would learn also 
 that he had had some reason for fibbing. There- 
 fore he constructed his notes with a phraseology 
 that bound him to no details. To Butterwell 
 he said that he had had an accident — or rather 
 a row — and that he had come out of it with 
 considerable damage to his frontispiece. He 
 intended to be at the office on the next day, 
 whether able to appear decently there or not. 
 Bat for the sake of decency he thought it well 
 to give himself that one half-day's chance. Then 
 to the Lady Amelia he also said that he had 
 had an accident, and had been a little hurt. 
 "It is nothing at all serious, and affects only 
 my appearance, so that I had better remain in 
 for a day. I shall certainly be with you on 
 Sunday. Don't let Gazebee trouble himself to 
 come to me, as I sha'n't be at home after to- 
 day." Gazebee did trouble himself to come to 
 Mount Street so often, and South Audley Street, 
 in which was Mr. Gazebee's office, was so dis- 
 agreeably near to Mount Street, that Crosbie in- 
 serted this in order to protect himself if possi- 
 ble. Then he gave special orders that he was 
 to be at home to no one, fearing that Gazebee 
 would call for him after the hours of business — 
 to make him safe and carry him oil' bodily to 
 St. John's Wood. 
 
 The beef-steak and the dose of physic and the 
 cold-water application which was kept upon it 
 all night was not efficacious in dispelling that 
 horrid black-blue color by ten o'clock on the fol- 
 lowing morning. 
 
 "It certainly have gone down, Mr. Crosbie ; 
 it certainly have, " said the mistress of the lodg- 
 ings, touching the part affected with her finger. 
 "But the black won't go out of them all in a 
 minute ; it won't indeed. Couldn't you just 
 stay in one more day?" 
 
 "But will one day do it, Mrs. Phillips?" 
 
 Mrs. Phillips couldn't take upon herself to say 
 that it would. "They mostly come with little 
 red streaks across the black before they goes 
 away," said Mrs. Phillips, who would seem to 
 have been the wife of a prize-fighter, so well was 
 she acquainted with black eyes. 
 
 "And that won't be till to-morrow," said 
 Crosbie, affecting to be mirthful in his agony. 
 
 " Not till the third day; and then they wears 
 themselves out, gradual. I never knew leeches 
 do any good." 
 
 He staid at home the second day,, and then 
 resolved that he would go to his ofiice, black 
 eye and all. In that morning's newspaper he 
 saw an account of the whole transaction, saying 
 how Mr. C -, of the office of General Com- 
 mittees, who was soon about to lead to the 
 hymeneal altar the beautiful daughter of the 
 
 Earl de C , had been made the subject of a 
 
 brutal personal attack on the platform of the 
 Great Western Kailway Station, and how he 
 
 was confined to his room from the injuries which 
 he had received. The paragraph went on to 
 state that the delinquent had, as it was believed, 
 dared to raise his eyes to the same lady, and 
 that his audacity had been treated with scorn by 
 every member of the noble family in question. 
 "It was, however, satisfactory to know," so said 
 
 the newspaper, "that Mr. C had amply 
 
 avenged himself, and had so flogged the young 
 man in question that he had been unable to 
 stir from his bed since the occurrence." 
 
 On reading this Crosbie felt that it would be 
 better that he should show himself at once, and 
 tell as much of the truth as the world would be 
 likely to ascertain at last without his telling. 
 So on that third morning he put on his hat and 
 gloves, and had himself taken to his ofiice, 
 though the red-streaky period of his misfortune 
 had hardly even yet come upon him. The task 
 of walking along the office passage, through the 
 messengers' lobby, and into his room, was very 
 disagreeable. Of course every body looked at 
 him, and of course he failed in his attempt to 
 appear as though he did not mind it. " Boggs," 
 he said to one of the men as he passed by, "just 
 see if Mr. Butterwell is in his room," and then, 
 as he expected, Mr. Butterwell came to him 
 after the expiration of a few minutes. 
 
 "Upon my word, that is serious," said Mr. 
 Butterwell, looking into the secretai-y's damaged 
 face. "I don't think I would have come out if 
 I had been you." 
 
 "Of course it's disagreeable," said Crosbie; 
 " but it's better to put up with it. Fellows do 
 tell such horrid lies if a man isn't seen for a day 
 or two. I believe it's best to put a good face 
 upon it.'" 
 
 " That's more than you can do just at pres- 
 ent, eh, Crosbie ?" And then Mr. Butterwell 
 tittered. "But how on earth did it happen? 
 The paper says that you pretty well killed the 
 fellow who did it." 
 
 "The paper lies, as papers always do. I 
 didn't touch him at all." 
 
 " Didn't you, though ? I should like to have 
 had a poke at him after getting such a tap in 
 the face as that. " 
 
 "The policemen came, and all that sort of 
 thing. One isn't allowed to fight it out in a 
 row of that kind as one would have to do on 
 Salisbury heath. Not that I mean to say that I 
 could lick the fellow. How's a man to know 
 whether he can or not ?" 
 
 "How, indeed, unless he gets a licking — or 
 gives it? But who was he, and what's this 
 about his having been scorned by the noble 
 family?" 
 
 "Trash and lies, of coarse. He had never 
 seen any of the De Courcy people." 
 
 "I suppose the truth is, it was about that 
 other — eh, Crosbie ? I knew you'd find your- 
 self in some trouble before you'd done." 
 
 "I don't know what it was about, or why he 
 should have made such a brute of himself. 
 You have heard about those people at AUing- 
 ton ?" 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 159 
 
 " Oh, yes ; 1 have'heard about them." 
 
 " God knows, I didn't mean to say any thing 
 against them. They knew nothing about it." 
 
 "But the young fellow knew them? Ah, 
 yes, I see all about it. He wants to step into 
 your shoes. I can't say that he sets about it in 
 a bad way. But what do you mean to do ?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 ' ' Nothing ! Won't that look queer ? I think 
 I should have him before the magistrates." 
 
 "You see, Butterwell, I am bound to spare 
 that girl's name. I know I have behaved bad- 
 
 ly." 
 
 "Well, yes; I fear you have.'' 
 
 Mr. Butterwell said this with some consider- 
 able amount of decision in his voice, as though 
 he did not intend to mince matters, or in any 
 way to hide his opinion. Crosbie had got into 
 a way of condemning himself in this matter of 
 his marriage, but was very anxious that others, 
 on hearing such condemnation from him, should 
 say something in the way of palliating his fault. 
 It would be so easy for a friend to remark that 
 such little peccadilloes were not altogether un- 
 common, and that it would sometimes happen 
 in life that people did not know their own minds. 
 He had hoped for some such benevolence from 
 Fowler Pratt, but had hoped in vain. Butter- 
 well was a good-natured, easy man, anxious to 
 stand well with all about him. never pretending 
 to any very high tone of feeling or of morals ; 
 and yet Butterwell would say no word of com- 
 fort to him. He could get no one to slur over 
 his sin for him, as though it were no sin — only 
 an unfortunate mistake; no one but the De 
 Courcys, who had, as it were, taken possession 
 of him and swallowed him alive. 
 
 "It can't be helped now," said Crosbie. 
 "But as for that fellow who made such a brutal 
 attack on me the other morning, he knows that 
 he is safe behind her petticoats. I can do no- 
 thing which would not make some mention of 
 her name necessary." 
 
 "Ah, yes; I see,'' said Butterwell. "It's 
 very unfortunate ; very. I don't know that I 
 can do any thing for you. Will you come be- 
 fore the Board to-day ?" 
 
 "Yes; of course I shall,"' said Crosbie, who 
 was becoming very sore. His sharp ear had told 
 him that all Butterwell's respect and cordiality 
 were gone — at any rate for the time. Butter- 
 well, though holding the higher official rank, 
 had always been accustomed to treat him as 
 though he, the inferior, were to be courted. He 
 had possessed, and had known himself to pos- 
 sess, in his office as well as in the outside world, 
 a sort of rank much higher than that which from 
 his position he could claim legitimately. Now 
 he was being deposed. There could be no bet- 
 ter touch-stone in such a matter than Butterwell. 
 He would go as the world went, but he would 
 perceive almost intuitively how the world in- 
 tended to go. " Tact, tact, tact," as he was in 
 the habit of saying to himself when walking 
 along the paths of his Putney villa. Crosbie 
 was now secretary, whereas a few months before 
 
 he had been simply a clerk ; but, nevertheless, 
 Mr. Butterwell's instinct told him that Crosbie 
 had fallen. Therefore he declined to offer any 
 sympathy to the man in his misfortune, and felt 
 aware, as he left the secretary's room, that it 
 might probably be some time before he visited 
 it again. 
 
 Crosbie resolved in his soreness that hence- 
 forth he would brazen it out. He would go to 
 the Board, with as much indifference as to his 
 black eye as he was able to assume, and if any 
 one said aught to him he would be ready with 
 his answer. He would go to his club, and let 
 him who intended to show him any slight be- 
 ware of him in Ws wrath. He could not turn 
 upon John Eames, but he could turn upon oth- 
 ers if it were necessar}. He had not gained for 
 himself a position before the world, and held it 
 now for some years, to allow himself to be 
 crushed at once because he had made a mistake. 
 If the world, his world, chose to go to war with 
 him, he would be ready for the fight. As for 
 Butterwell — Butterwell the incompetent, But- 
 terwell the vapid — for Butterwell, who in every 
 little official difficulty had for years past come 
 to him, he would let Butterwell know what it 
 was to be thus disloyal to one who had conde- 
 scended to be his friend. He would show them 
 all at the Board that he scorned them, and could 
 be their master. Then, too, as he was making 
 some other resolves as to his future conduct, he 
 made one or two resolutions respecting the De 
 Courcy people. He would make it known to 
 them that he was not going to be their very 
 humble servant. He would speak out his mind 
 with considerable plainness ; and if upon that 
 they should choose to break off this "alliance," 
 they might do so ; he would not break his heart. 
 And as he leaned back in his arm-chair, think- 
 ing of all this, an idea made its way into his 
 brain — a floating castle in the air, rather than 
 the image of a thing that might by possibility be 
 realized ; and in this castle in the air he saw 
 himself kneeling again at Lily's feet, asking her 
 pardon, and begging that he might once more 
 be taken to her heart. 
 
 "Mr. Crosbie is here to-day," said Mr. But- 
 terwell to Mr. Optimist. 
 
 "Oh, indeed," said Mr. Optimist, very grave- 
 ly ; for he had heard all about the row at the 
 railway-station. 
 
 "They've made a monstrous show of him." 
 
 "I am very sorry to hear it. It's so — so — 
 so — If it were one of the younger clerks, you 
 know, we should tell him that it was discredita- 
 ble to the department." 
 
 " If a man gets a blow in the eye he can't 
 help it, you know. He didn't do it himself, I 
 suppose," said Major Fiasco. 
 
 "I am well aware that he didn't do it him- 
 self," continued Mr. Optimist; "but I really 
 think that, in his position, he should have kept 
 himself out of any such encounter." 
 
 "He would have done so if he could, with all 
 his heart," said the major. " I don't suppose he 
 liked being thrashed any better than I should." 
 
180 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 "Nobody gives me a black eye," said Mr. 
 Optimist. 
 
 "Nobody has as yet," said the major. 
 
 "I hope they never will," said Mr. Butter- 
 well. Then, the hour for their meeting having 
 come round, Mr. Crosbie came into the Board- 
 room. 
 
 "We have been very sorry to hear of this 
 misfortune, " said Mr. Optimist, very gravely. 
 
 "Not half so sorry as I have been," said Cros- 
 bie, with a langh. ' ' It's an uncommon nuisance 
 to have a black eye, and to go about looking like 
 a prize-fighter." 
 
 " And like a prize-fighter that didn't win his 
 battle, too," said Fiasco. 
 
 "I don't know that there's much diiference 
 as to that," said Crosbie. "But the whole 
 thing is a nuisance, and, if you please, we won't 
 say any thing more about it." 
 
 Mr. Optimist almost entertained an opinion 
 that it was his duty to say something more about 
 it. Was not he the chief Commissioner, and 
 was not Mr. Crosbie secretary to the Board ? 
 Ought he, looking at their respective positions, 
 to pass over without a word of notice such a 
 manifest impropriety as this? Would not Sir 
 Raffle Buffle have said something had Mr. But- 
 terwell, when secretary, come to the office with 
 a black eye? He wished to exercise all the 
 full rights of a chairman ; but, nevertheless, as 
 he looked at the secretary he felt embarrassed, 
 and was unable to find the proper words. ' ' H — m, 
 ha, well; we'll go to business now, if you please," 
 he said, as though reserving to himself the right 
 of returning to the secretary's black eye, when 
 the more usual business of the Board should 
 be completed. But when the more usual busi- 
 ness of the Board had been completed, the sec- 
 letavy left the room without any further refer- 
 ence to his eye. 
 
 Crosbie, when he got back to his own apart- 
 ment, found Mortimer Gazebee waiting there 
 for him. 
 
 " My dear fellow," said Gazebee, "this is a 
 very nasty affair." 
 
 "Uncommonly nasty," said Crosbie; "so 
 nasty that I don't mean to talk about it to any 
 body." 
 
 "Lady Amelia is quite unhappy." He al- 
 ways called her Lady Amelia, even when speak- 
 ing of lier to his own brothers and sisters. He 
 was too well-behaved to take the liberty of call- 
 ing an earl's daughter by her plain Christian 
 name, even though that earl's daughter was his 
 own wife. " She fears that you have been a 
 good deal hurt." 
 
 "Not at all hurt; but disfigured, as you 
 see." 
 
 "And so you beat the fellow well that did 
 it?" 
 
 " No, I didn't," said Crosbie, very angrily. 
 "I didn't beat him at all. You don't believe 
 every thing you read in the newspapers, do 
 you?" 
 
 ' ' No, I don't believe every thihg. Of course 
 I didn't believe about his having aspired to an 
 
 alliance with Lady Alexandrina. That was un- 
 true, of course." Mr. Gazebee showed by the 
 tone of his voice that imprudence so unparal- 
 leled as that was quite incredible. 
 
 "You shouldn't believe any thing; except 
 this — that I have got a black eye." 
 
 " You certainly have got that. Lady Amelia 
 thinks you would be more comfortable if you 
 would come up to us this evening. You can't 
 go out, of course ; but Lady Amelia said, very 
 good-naturedly, that you need not mind with 
 her." 
 
 "Thank you, no ; I'll come on Sunday." 
 
 " Of course Lady Alexandrina will be very 
 anxious to hear from her sister; and Lady 
 Amelia begged me very particularly to press 
 you to come. " 
 
 "Thank you, no; not to-day.'' 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Oh, simply because I shall be better at 
 home." 
 
 " How can you be better at home ? You can 
 have any thing that you want. Lady Amelia 
 won't mind, you know." 
 
 Another beef-steak to his eye, as he sat in 
 the drawing-room, a cold water bandage, or any 
 little medical appliance of that sort ; these were 
 the things which Lady Amelia would, in her 
 domestic good-nature, condescend not to mind ! 
 
 "I won't trouble her this evening," said 
 Crosbie. 
 
 " Well, npon my word, I think you're wrong. 
 All manner of stories will get down to Courcy 
 Castle, and to the countess's ears ; and you 
 don't know what harm may come of it. Lady 
 Amelia thinks she had better write and explain 
 it ; but she can't do so till she has heard some- 
 thing about it from you." 
 
 "Look here, Gazebee. I don't care one 
 straw what story finds its way down to Courcy 
 Castle." 
 
 " But if the earl were to hear any thing, and 
 be oflfended?" 
 
 " He may recover from his offense as he best 
 likes." 
 
 "My dear fellow — that's talking wildly, you 
 know." 
 
 " What on earth do you suppose the earl can 
 do to me? Do you think I'm going to live in 
 fear of Lord De Courcy all my life, because I'm 
 going to marry his daughter? I shall write to 
 Alexandrina myself to-day, and you can tell 
 her sister so. I'll be up to dinner on Sunday, 
 unless my face makes it altogether out of the 
 question." 
 
 "And you won't come in time for church?" 
 
 " Would you have mo go to church with such 
 a face as this?" 
 
 Then Mr. Mortimer Gazebee went, and when 
 he got home he told his wife that Crosbie was 
 taking things with a high hand. " The fact is, 
 my dear, that he's ashamed of himself, and 
 therefore tries to put a bold face upon it." 
 
 "It was very foolish of him throwing him- 
 self in the way of that young man — very ; and 
 so I shall tell him on Sunday. If he chooses 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 161 
 
 to give himself airs to me, I shall make him 
 underatand that he is very wrong. He should 
 remember now that the way in which he con- 
 ducts himself is a matter of moment to all our 
 family." 
 
 " Of course he should," said Mr. Gazebee. 
 When the Sunday came the red-stveaky pe- 
 riod had arrived, but had by no means as yet 
 passed away. The men at the office had almost 
 become used to it ; but Crosbie, in spite of his 
 determination to go down to the club, had not 
 yet shown himself elsewhere. Of course he did 
 not go to church, but at five he made his ap- 
 pearance at the house in St. John's Wood. 
 They always dined at five on Sundays, having 
 some idea that by doing so they kept' the Sab- 
 bath better than they would have done had they 
 dined at seven. If keeping the Sabbath con- 
 sists in going to bed early, or is in any way as- 
 sisted by such a practice, they were right. To 
 the cook that semi-early dinner might perhaps 
 be convenient, as it gave her an excuse for not 
 going to church in the afterndon, as the serv- 
 ants' and children's dinner gave her a similar 
 excuse in the morning. Such little attempts at 
 goodness — proceeding half the way, or perhaps, 
 as in this instance, one quarter of the way, on 
 the disagreeable path toward goodness — are 
 very common with respectable people, such as 
 Lady Amelia. If she would have dined at one 
 o'clock, and have eaten cold meat, one, perhaps, 
 might have felt that she was entitled to some 
 praise. 
 
 "Dear, dear, dear; this is very sad, isn't it, 
 Adolphus?" she said on first seeing him. 
 
 " Well, it is sad, Amelia," he said. He al- 
 ways called her Amelia, because she called him 
 Adolphus ; but Gazebee himself was never quite 
 pleased when he heard it. Lady Amelia was 
 older than Crosbie, and entitled to call him any 
 thing she liked ; but he should have remem- 
 bered the great difference in their rank. " It is 
 . sad, Amelia," he said. "But will you oblige 
 me in one thing?" 
 
 "What thing, Adolphus?" 
 
 "Not to say a word more about it. The 
 black eye is a bad thing no doubt, and has 
 troubled me much; but the sympathy of my 
 friends has troubled me a great deal more. I 
 had all the family commiseration from Gazebee 
 on Fiiday, and if it is repeated again, I shall 
 lay down and die." 
 
 "Shall 'oo die, uncle Dolphus, 'cause 'oo've 
 got a bad eye ?" asked De Couroy Gazebee, the 
 eldest hope of the family, looking up into his 
 face. 
 
 "No, my hero," said Crosbie, taking the boy 
 up into his arms, " not because I've got a black 
 eye. There isn't very much harm in that, and 
 you'll have a great many before you leave school. 
 But because the people will go on talking about 
 it." 
 
 " But aunt Dina on't like 'oo, if 'oo've got an 
 ugly bad eye." 
 
 "But, Adolphus," said Lady Amelia, settling 
 herself for an argument, "that's all very well. 
 
 you know — and I'm sure I'm very sorry to cause 
 you ijny annoyance — but really one doesn't know 
 how to pass over such a thing without speaking 
 of it. I have had a letter from mamma." 
 
 ' ' I hope Lady De Couroy is quite well. " 
 
 " Quite well, thank you. But as a matter 
 of course she is very anxious about this affair. 
 She had read what has been said in the news- 
 papers, and it may be necessary that Mortimer 
 should take it up as the family solicitor." 
 
 " Quite out of the question," said Adolphus. 
 
 " I don't think I should advise any such step 
 as that," said Gazebee. 
 
 "Perhaps not; very likely not. But you 
 can not be surprised, Mortimer, that my mother 
 under such circumstances should wish to know 
 what are the facts of the case." 
 
 "Not at all surprised," said Gazebee. 
 
 "Then once for all, I'll tell you the facts. 
 As I got out of the train a man I'd seen once 
 before in my life made an attack upon me, and 
 before the police came up I got a blow in the 
 face. Now you know all about it." 
 
 At that moment dinner was announced. 
 "Will you give Lady Amelia your arm?" said 
 the husband. 
 
 "It's a very sad occurrence," said Lady 
 Amelia with a slight toss of her head, " and, 
 I'm afraid, will cost my sister a great deal of 
 vexation." 
 
 "You agree with De Courcy, do you, that 
 aunt Dina won't like me with an ugly black 
 eye ?" 
 
 "I really don't think it's a joking matter,'' 
 said the Lady Amelia. And then there was 
 nothing more said about it during the dinner. 
 
 There was nothing more said aoout it durinjc 
 the dinner, but it was plain enough from Lady 
 Amelia's countenance that she was not very 
 well pleased with her future brother-in-law's 
 conduct. She was very hospitable to him, 
 pressing him to eat ; but even in doing that she 
 made repeated little references to his present un- 
 fortunate state. She told him that she did not 
 think fried plum-pudding would be bad for liim, 
 but that she would recommend him not to drink 
 port-wine after dinner. " By-the-by, Mortimer, 
 you'd better have some claret up, " she remarked. 
 "Adolphus shouldn't take any thing that is 
 heating." 
 
 "Thank you," said Crosbie. "I'll have 
 some brandy-and-water, if Gazebee will give it 
 me." 
 
 "Brandy-and-water!" said Lady Amelia. 
 Crosbie in truth was not given to the drinking 
 of brandy-and-water; but he was prepared to 
 call for raw gin, if he were driven much further 
 by Lady Amelia's solicitude. 
 
 At these Sunday dinners the mistress of the 
 house never went away into the drawing-room, 
 and the tea was always brought into them at the 
 table on which they had dined. It was another 
 little step toward keeping holy the first day of 
 the week. When Lady Eosina was there, she 
 was indulged with the sight of six or seven solid 
 good books which were laid upon the mahogany 
 
162 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 as soon as the bottles were taken off it. At her 
 first prolonged visit she had obtained for herself 
 the privilege of reading a sermon ; but as on 
 such occasions both Lady Amelia and Mr. 
 Gazebee would go to sleep — and as the footman 
 had also once shown a tendency that way — the 
 sermon had been abandoned. But the master 
 of the house, on these evenings, when his sister- 
 in-law was present, was doomed to sit in idle- 
 ness, or else to find solace in one of the solid 
 good books. But Lady Rosina just now was in 
 the country, and therefore the table was left un- 
 furnished. 
 
 "And what am I to say to my mother?" 
 said Lady Amelia, when they were alone. 
 
 " Give her my kindest regards," said Crosbie. 
 It was quite clear, both to the husband and to 
 the wife, that he was preparing himself for re- 
 bellion against authority. 
 
 For some ten minutes there was nothing said. 
 Crosbie amused himself by playing with the boy 
 whom he called Dicksey, by way of a nickname 
 for De Courcy. 
 
 "Mamma, he calls me Dicksey. Am I 
 Dicksey? I'll call 'oo old Cross, and then 
 aunt Dina on't like 'oo. " 
 
 "I wish you would not call the child nick- 
 names, Adolphus. It seems as though you 
 would wish to cast a slur upon the one which 
 he bears." 
 
 "I should hardly think that he would feel 
 disposed to do that," said Mr. Gazebee. 
 
 "Hardly, indeed," said Crosbie. 
 
 "It has never yet been disgraced in the an- 
 nals of our country by being made into a nick- 
 name," said the proud daughter of the house. 
 She was probably unaware that among many 
 of his associates her father had been called Lord 
 De Curse'ye, from the occasional energy of his 
 language. " And any such attempt is painful 
 in my ears. I think something of my family, 
 I can assure you, Adolphus, and so does my 
 husband." 
 
 "A very great deal," said Mr. Gazebee. 
 
 "So do I of mine," said Crosbie. "That's 
 natural to all of us. One of my ancestors came 
 over with William the Conqueror. I think he 
 was one of the assistant cooks in the king's tent. " 
 
 " A cook !" said young De Courcy. 
 
 " Yes, my boy, a cook. That was the way 
 most of our old families were made noble. 
 They were cooks or butlers to the kings, or 
 sometimes something worse." 
 
 " But your family isn't noble ?" 
 
 "No; I'll tell you how that was. The king 
 wanted this cook to poison half a dozen of his 
 officers who wished to have a way of their own. 
 But the cook said, ' No, my Lord King ; I am 
 a cook, not an executioner.' So they sent him 
 into the scullery ; and when they called all the 
 other servants barons and lords, they only call- 
 ed him Cookey. They've changed the name to 
 Crosbie since that by degrees." 
 
 Mr. Gazebee was awe-struck, and the face of 
 the Lady Amelia became very dark. Was it 
 not evident that this snake, when taken into 
 
 their innermost bosoms that they might there 
 warm him, was becoming an adder, and pre- 
 paring to sting them ? There was very little 
 more conversation that evening, and soon after 
 the story of the cook Crosbie got up and went 
 away to his own home. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVL 
 
 "SEE, THE CONQUEKING HERO COMES." 
 
 John Eames had reached his office precisely 
 at twelve o'clock, but when he did so he hardly 
 knew whether he was standing on his heels or 
 his head. The whole morning had been to him 
 one of intense excitement, and latterly, to a cer- 
 tain extent, one of triumph. But he did not at 
 all know what might be the results. Would he 
 be taken before a magistrate and locked up? 
 Would there be a row at the office? Would 
 Crosbie call him out, and, if so, would it be in- 
 cumbent on him to fight u duel with pistols? 
 What would Lord De Guest say — Lord De 
 Guest, who had specially warned him not to 
 take upon himself the duty of avenging Lily's 
 wi-ongs ? What would all the Dale family say 
 of his conduct? And, above all, what would 
 Lily say and think ? Nevertheless, the feeling 
 of triumph was predominant ; and now, at this 
 interval of time, he was beginning to remember 
 with pleasure the sensation of his fist as it went 
 into Crosbie's eye. 
 
 During his first day at the office he heard 
 nothing about the affair, nor did he say a word 
 of it to any one. It was known in his room 
 that he had gone down to spend his Christmas 
 holiday with Lord De Guest, and he was treat- 
 ed with some increased consideration accord- 
 ingly. And, moreover, I must explain, in order 
 that to give Johnny Eames his due, he was grad- 
 ually acquiring for himself a good footing among 
 the income-tax officials. He knew his work, 
 and did it with some manly confidence in his 
 own powers, and also with some manly indiffer- 
 ence to the occasional frowns of the mighty men 
 of the department. He was, moreover, popu- 
 lar — being somewhat of a radical in his official 
 demeanor, and holding by his own rights, even 
 though mighty men should frown. In truth, 
 he was emerging from his hobbledehoyhood and 
 entering upon his young-manhood, having prob- 
 ably to go through much folly and some false 
 sentiment in that period of his existence, but 
 still with fair promise of true manliness beyond, 
 to those who were able to read the signs of his 
 character. 
 
 Many questions on that first day were asked 
 him about the glories of his Christmas, but he 
 had very little to say on the subject. Indeed, 
 nothing could have been much more common- 
 place than his Christmas visit, had it not been 
 for the one great object which had taken him 
 down to that part of the country, and for the 
 circumstance with which his holiday had been 
 ended. On neither of these subjects was he 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 163 
 
 *AND YOU WBNT IN AT HIM ON THE STATIOW ?" 
 
 disposed to speak openly; but as he walked 
 home to Burton Crescent with Cradell he did 
 tell him of the affair with Crosbie. 
 
 "And you went in at him on the station?" 
 asked Cradell, with admiring doubt. 
 
 " Yes, I did. If I didn't do it there, where 
 was I to do it? I'd said I would, and there- 
 fore when I saw him I did it." Thenlhe whole 
 aifair was told as to the black eye, the police, 
 and the superintendent. " And what's to come 
 next?" asked our hero. 
 
 " Well, he'il put it in the hands of a friend, 
 of course, as I did with Fisher in that affair 
 with Lupex. And, upon my word, Johnny, I 
 shall have to do something of the kind again.: 
 His conduct last night was outrageous. Would 
 you believe it — " • 
 
 "Oh, he's a fool." 
 
 " He's a fool you wouldn't like to meet when 
 he's in one of his mad fits, I can tell you that. 
 I absolutely had to sit up in my own bedroom 
 all last night. Mother Boper told me that if I 
 
164 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 remained in the drawing-room she would feel 
 hei'self obliged to have a policeman in the house. 
 What could I do, yoii know ? I made her have 
 a fire for me, of course." 
 
 " And then you went to bed." 
 
 "I waited ever so long, because I thought 
 that Maria would want to see me.' At last she 
 sent me a note. Maria is so imprudent, you 
 know. If he had found any thing in her writ- 
 ing it would have been terrible, you know — quite 
 terrible. And who can say whether Jemima 
 mayn't tell?" 
 
 "And what did she say?" 
 
 ' ' Come, that's tellings. Master Johnny. I 
 took very good care to take it with me to the 
 office this morning, for fear of accidents." 
 
 But Eames was not so widely awake to the 
 importance of his friend's adventures as he might 
 have been had he not been weighted with ad- 
 ventures of his own. 
 
 " I shouldn't care so much," said he, "about 
 that fellow, Crosbie, going to a friend as I should 
 about his going to a police magistrate." 
 
 "He'll put it in a friend's hands, of course," 
 said Cradell, with the air of a man who from 
 experience was well up in such matters. " And 
 I suppose you'll naturally come to mc. It's a 
 deuced bore to a man in a public office, and all 
 that kind of thing, of course. But I'm not the 
 man to desert my friend. I'll stand by you, 
 Johnny, my boy." 
 
 "Oh, thank you," said Eames; "I don't 
 think that I shall want that." 
 
 " You must be ready with a friend, you know." 
 
 "I should write down to a man I know iu 
 the country, and ask his advice," said Eames ; 
 " an older sort of friend, you know." 
 
 ' ' By Jove, old fellow, take care what you're 
 about. Don't let them say of you that you show 
 the white feather. Upon my honor, I'd sooner 
 have any thing said of rao than that. I would, 
 indeed — any thing." 
 
 "I'm not afraid of that," said Eames, with a 
 touch of scorn in his voice. "There isn't mucli 
 thought about white feathers nowadays — not in 
 the way of fighting duels." 
 
 After that Cradell managed to carry back the 
 conversation to Mrs, Lupex and his own pecul- 
 iar position ; and as Eames did not care to ask 
 from his companion further advice in his own 
 matters he listened nearly in silence till they 
 reached Burton Crescent. . 
 
 " I hope you found the noble earl well," said 
 Mrs. Roper to him, as soon as they were all 
 seated at dinner. 
 
 "I found the noble earl pretty well, thank 
 you," said Johnny. 
 
 It had become plainly understood by all the 
 Eoperites that Eames's position was quite alter- 
 ed since he had been honored with the friend- 
 ship of Lord De Guest. Mrs. Lupex, next to 
 whom he always sat at dinner, with a view to 
 protecting her as it were from the dangerous 
 neighborhood of Cradell, treated him with a 
 marked courtesy. Miss Spruce always called 
 him "Sir." Mrs. Eoper helped him the first 
 
 of the gentlemen, and was mindful about his 
 fat and gravy ; and Amelia felt less able than 
 she was before to insist upon the possession of 
 his heart and affections. It must not be sup- 
 posed that Amelia intended to abandon the 
 fight, and allow the enemy to walk off with his 
 forces ; but she felt herself constrained to treat 
 him with a deference that was hardly compati- 
 ble with the perfect equality which should attend 
 any union of hearts. 
 
 " It is such a privilege to be on visiting terms 
 with the nobility," said Mrs. Lupex. "When 
 I was a girl I used to be very intimate — " 
 
 ' ' You ain't a girl any longer, and so you'd 
 better not talk about it," said Lupex. Mr. Lu- 
 pex had been at that little shop in Drury Lane 
 after he came down from his scene-painting. 
 
 "My dear, you needn't be a brute to me bei- 
 fore all Mrs. Roper's company. If, led away by 
 feelings which I will not now describe, I left my 
 proper circles in marrying you', you need not 
 before all the world teach me how much I have 
 to regret." And Mrs. Lupex, putting down 
 her knife and fork, applied her handkerchief to 
 her eyes. 
 
 "That's pleasant for a man over his meals, 
 isn't it?" said Lupex, appealing to Miss Spruce. 
 " I have plenty of that kind of thing, and you 
 can't think how I like it." 
 
 "Them whom God has joined together let 
 no man put asunder," said Miss Spruce. "As 
 for me myself, I'm' only an old woman." 
 
 This little ebullition threw a gloom over the 
 dinner-table, and nothing more was said on the 
 occasion as to the glories of Eames's career. 
 But, in the course of the evening, Amelia heard 
 of the encounter which had taken place at the 
 railway station, and at once perceived that she 
 might use the occasion for her own purposes. 
 
 "John," she whispered to her victim, find- 
 ing an opportunity for coming upon him when 
 almost alone, "what is this I hear? I insist 
 upon knowing. Are you going to fight a duel?" 
 
 "Nonsense," said Johnny. 
 
 " But it is not nonsense. You don't know 
 what my feelings will be if I think that such a 
 thing is going to happen. But then you are so 
 hard-hearted ! " 
 
 " I ain't hard-hearted a bit, and I'm not go- 
 ing to fight a duel." 
 
 "But is it true that you beat Mr. Crosbie at 
 the station ?" 
 
 " It is true. I did beat him." 
 
 "Oil, John ! not that I mean to say you were 
 wrong, and indeed I honor you for the feeling. 
 There can bo nothing so dreadful as a, young 
 man's deceiving a young woman and leaving 
 her after he has won her heart — particularly 
 when she has had his promise in plain words, 
 or, perhaps, even in black and white." John 
 thought of that horrid, foolish, wretched note 
 which he had written . ' ' And a poor girl, if 
 she can't right herself by a breach of promise, 
 doesn't know what to do. Does she, John ?" 
 
 " A girl who'd right herself that way wouldn't 
 be worth having." 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 165 
 
 ' ' I don't know about that. When a poor 
 girl is in such a position she has to be served by 
 her friends. I suppose, then, Miss Lily Dale 
 won't bring a breach of promise against him." 
 
 This mention of Lily's name in sucb a place 
 was sacrilege in the ears of poor Eames. " I 
 can not tell," said he, " what may be the inten- 
 tion of the lady of whom you speak. But from 
 what I know of her friends, I should not think 
 that she will be disgraced by such a proceeding." 
 
 "That may be all very well for Miss Lily 
 Dale — " Amelia said, and then she hesitated. 
 It would not be well, she thought, absolutely to 
 threaten him as yet — not as long as there was 
 any possibility that he might be won without a 
 threat. "Of course I know all about it," she 
 continued. "She was your L. D., you know. 
 Not that I was ever jealous of her. To you 
 she was no more than one of childhood's friends. 
 Was she, Johnny?" 
 
 He stamped his foot upon the floor, and then 
 jumped up from his seat. "I hate all that 
 sort of twaddle about childhood's friends, and 
 you know I do. You'll make ine swear that 
 I'll never come into this room again." 
 
 "Johnny!" 
 
 " So I will. The whole thing makes me 
 sick. And as for that Mrs. Lupex — " 
 
 " If this is what you learn, John, by going to 
 a lord's house, I think you had better stay at 
 home with your own friends." 
 
 " Of course I had — much better stay at home 
 with my own friends. Here's Mrs. Lupex, and 
 at any rate I can't stand her. " So he went off, 
 and walked round the Crescent, and down to 
 the New Koad, and almost into the Regent's 
 Park, thinking of Lily Dale and of his own cow- 
 ardice with Amelia Roper. 
 
 On the following morning he received a mes- 
 sage, at about one o'clock, by the mouth of the 
 Board-room messenger, informing him that Iiis 
 presence was required in the Board-room. ' ' Sir 
 Raffle Buffle has desired your presence, Mr. 
 Eames." 
 
 "My presence, Tupper! what for?" said 
 Johnny, turning upon the messenger almost 
 with dismay. 
 
 "Indeed I can't say, Mr. Eames; but Sir 
 Raffle Buffle has desired your presence In the 
 Board-room." 
 
 Such a message as that in ofScial life always 
 strikes awe into the heart of a young man. And 
 yet young men generally come forth from such 
 interviews without having received any serious 
 damage, and generally talk about the old gen- 
 tleman whom they have encountered with a good 
 deal of light-spirited sarcasm — or chaff, as it is 
 called in the slang phraseology of the day. It 
 is that same " majesty which doth hedge a king" 
 that does it. The turkey-cock in his own farm- 
 yard is master of the occasion, and the thought 
 of him creates fear. A bishop in his lawn, a 
 judge- on the bench, a chairman in a big room 
 at tliQ end of a long table, or a policeman with 
 his bull's-eye lamp upon his beat, can all make 
 themselves terrible by means of those appanages 
 
 of Aajesty which have been vouchsafed to them. 
 But how mean is the policeman in his own 
 home, and how few thought much of Sir Raffle 
 Buffle as he sat asleep after dinner in his old 
 slippers ! How well can I remember the terror 
 created within me by the air of outraged dignity 
 with which a certain fine old gentleman, now 
 long since gone, could rub his hands slowly, one 
 on the other, and look up to the ceiling, slight- 
 ly shaking his head, as though lost in the con- 
 templation of my iniquities ! I would become 
 sick in my stomach, and feel as though my ankles 
 had been broken. That upward turn of the eye 
 unmanned me so completely that I was speech- 
 less as regarded any defense. I think that that 
 old man could hardly have known the extent of 
 his own power. 
 
 Once upon a time a careless lad, having the 
 charge of a bundle of letters addressed to the King 
 — petitions and such like, which in the course 
 of business would not get beyond the hands of 
 some lord-in-waiting's deputy assistant — sent 
 the bag which contained them to the wronj; 
 place ; to Windsor, perhaps, if the Court were 
 in London ; or to St. James's, if it were at Wind- 
 sor. He was summoned ; and the great man 
 of the occasion contented himself with holding 
 his hands up to the heavens as he stood up from 
 his chair, and exclaiming twice, "Mis-sent the 
 Monarch's pouch! Mis -sent the Monarch's 
 pouch !" That young man never knew how he 
 escaped from the Board-room ; but for a time 
 he was deprived of all power of exertion, and 
 could not resume his work till he had had six 
 months' leave of absence, and been brought 
 round upon rum and asses' milk. In that in- 
 stance the peculiar use of the word-Monarch had 
 a power which the offlcial magnate had never 
 contemplated. The story is traditional ; but I 
 believe that the circumstance happened as lately 
 as in the days of George the Third. 
 
 John Eames could laugh at the present chair- 
 man of the Income-tax Office with great free- 
 dom, and call him old Huffle Scuffle, and the 
 like ; but, now that he was sent for, he also, in 
 spit^ of his radical propensities, felt a little weak 
 about his ankle-joints. He knew from the first 
 hearing of the message that he was wanted witli 
 reference to that affair at the railway station. 
 Perhaps there might be a rule that any clerk 
 should be dismissed who used his fists in any 
 public place. There were many rules entailing 
 the punishment of dismissal for many offenses 
 — and he began to think that he did remember 
 something of such a regulation. However, he 
 got up, looked once around him upon his friends, 
 and then followed Tupper into the Board-room. 
 
 "There's Johnny been sent for by old Scuf- 
 fles," said one clerk. 
 
 " That's about his row with Crosbie," said an- 
 other. " The Board can't do any thing to him 
 for that." 
 
 "Can't it?" said the first. "Didn't young 
 Outonites have to resign because of that row at 
 the Cider Cellars, though his cousin, Sir Con- 
 stant Outonites, did all that he could for him?" 
 
166 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 " But he was regularly up the spout witl» ac- 
 commodation bills." 
 
 " I toll you that I wouldn't he in Eames's 
 shoes for a trifle. Crosbie is secretax'y at the 
 Committee Office, where Scuffles was chairman 
 before he came here ; and of course they're as 
 thick as thieves. I shouldn't wonder if they 
 didn't make him go down and apologize." 
 
 "Johnny won't do that," said the other. 
 
 In the mean time John Eames was standing 
 ^n the august presence. Sir Raffle Buffle was 
 throned in his great oak arm-chair at the head 
 of a long table in a very large room : and by 
 him, at the corner of the table, was seated one 
 of the assistant secretaries of the office. Another 
 member of the Board was also at work upon the 
 long table ; but he was reading and signing 
 papers at some distance from Sir Raffle, and 
 paid no heed whatever to the scene. The assist- 
 ant secretary, looking on, could see that Sir Raffle 
 was annoyed by this want of attention on the 
 part of his colleague, but all this was lost upon 
 Eames. 
 
 ' ' Mr. Eames ?" said Sir Raffle, speaking with 
 a peculiarly harsh voice, and looking at the cul- 
 prit through a pair of gold-rimmed glasses, 
 which he perched for the occasion upon his big 
 nose. " Isn't that Mr. Eames ?" 
 
 ' ' Yes," said the assistant secretary, ' ' this is 
 Eames." 
 
 " Ah !" — and then there was a pause. " Come 
 a little nearer, Mr. Eames, will you?" and John- 
 ny drew nearer, advancing noiselessly over the 
 Turkey carpet. 
 
 " Let me see ; in the second class, isn't he ? 
 Ah ! Do you know, Mr. Eames, that I have 
 received a letter from the secretary to the Direct- 
 ors of the Great Western Railway Company, de- 
 tailing circumstances which — if truly stated in 
 that letter — redound verv much to your discred- 
 it?" 
 
 "I did get into a row there yesterday, Sir." 
 
 " Got into a row ! It seems to me that you 
 have got into a very serious row, and that I must 
 tell the Directors of the Great Western Railway 
 Company that the law must be allowed to take 
 its course. " 
 
 "I sha'n't mind that, Sir, in the least," said 
 Eames, brightening up a little under this view 
 of the case. 
 
 "Not mind that. Sir!" said Sir Raffle — or 
 rather, he shouted out the words at the offender 
 before him. I am inclined to think that he 
 overdid it, missing the effect which a milder 
 tone might have attained. Perhaps there was 
 lacking to him some of that majesty of demeanor 
 and dramatic propriety of voice which had been 
 so efficacious in tlie little story as to the King's 
 bag of letters. As it was, Johnny gave a slight 
 jump, but after his jump he felt better than he 
 had been before. " Not mind, Sir, being dragged 
 before the criminal tribunals of your country, 
 and being punished 'as a felon — or rather, as a 
 misdemeanor — for an outrage committed on a 
 public platform ! Not mind it ! What do you 
 mean, Sir?'L 
 
 "I mean, that I don't think the magistrate 
 would say very much about it, Sir. And I don't 
 think Mr. Crosbie would come forward." 
 
 " But Mr. Crosbie must come forward, young 
 man. Do you suppose that an outrage against 
 the peace of the Metropolis is to go unpunished 
 because he may not wish to pursue the matter ? 
 I'm afraid you must be very ignorant, young 
 man." 
 
 " Perhaps I am," said Johnny. 
 
 "Very ignorant indeed — very ignorant in- 
 deed. And are you aware. Sir, that it would 
 become a question- with the Commissioners of 
 this Board whether you could be retained in the 
 service of this department if you were publicly 
 punished by a police magistrate for such a dis- 
 graceful outrage as that ?" 
 
 Johnny looked round at the other Commis- 
 sioner, but that gentleman did not raise his face 
 from his papers. 
 
 " Mr. Eames is a very good clerk," whispered 
 the assistant secretary, but in a voice which 
 made his words audible to Eames ; " one of the 
 best young men we have, " he added, in a voice 
 which was not audible. 
 
 " Oh — ah ; very well. Now, I'll tell you 
 what, Mr. Eames, I hope this will be a lesson to 
 you — a very serious lesson." 
 
 The assistant secretary, leaning back in his 
 chair so as to be a little behind the head of Sir 
 Raffle, did manage to catch the eye of the other 
 Commissioner. The other Commissioner, bare- 
 ly looking round, smiled a little, and then the 
 assistant secretary smiled also. Eames saw 
 this, and he smiled too. 
 
 "Whether any ulterior consequences may 
 still await the breach of the peace of which 
 you have been guilty, I am not yet prepared 
 to say," continued Sir Raffle. " You may go 
 now." 
 
 And Johnny returned to his own place, with 
 no increased reverence for the dignity of the 
 chairman. 
 
 On the following morning one of his colleagues 
 showed him with great glee the passage in the 
 newspaper which informed the world that he had 
 been so desperately beaten by Crosbie that he was 
 obliged to keep his bed at this present time in 
 consequence of the flogging that he had received. 
 Then his anger was aroused, and he bounced 
 about the big room of the Income-tax Office, 
 regardless of assistant secretaries, head clerks, 
 and all other official grandees whatsoever, de- 
 nouncing the iniquities of the pubKc press, and 
 declaring his opinion that it would be better to 
 live in Russia than in a country which allowed 
 such audacious falsehoods to be propagated. 
 
 " He never touched me, Fisher: I don't think 
 he ever tried ; but, upon my honor, he never 
 touched me." 
 
 " But, Johnny, it was bold in yon to make 
 up to Lord De Courcy's daughter," said Eisher. 
 " I never saw one of them in my life.* 
 " He's going it altogether among the aris- 
 tocracy now,'' said another; "I suppose yon 
 wouldn't look at any body under a viscount?" 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 167 
 
 " Can I help what that thief of an editor puts 
 into his paper ? Flogged ! Huffle Souffle told 
 me I was a felon, but that wasn't half so bad as 
 this fellow;" and Johnny kicked the newspaper 
 across the room. 
 
 "Indict him for a libel," said Fisher. 
 
 " Particularly for saying you wanted to mar- 
 ry a countess's daughter," said another clerk. 
 
 "I never heard such a scandal in my life," 
 declared a third ; " and then to say that the girl 
 wouldn't look at you." 
 
 But not the less was it felt by all in the office 
 that Johnny Eames was becoming a leading 
 man among them, and that he was one with 
 whom each of them would be pleased to be inti- 
 mate. And even among the grandees this af- 
 fair of the railway station did him no real harm. 
 It was known that Crosbie had deserved to be 
 thrashed, and known that Eames had thrashed 
 him. It was all very well for Sir Raffle Buffle 
 to talk of police magistrates and misdemeanors, 
 but all the world at the Income-tax Office knew 
 very well that Eames had come out from that 
 affair with his head upright, and his right foot 
 foremost. 
 
 "Never mind about the newspaper," a thought- 
 ful old senior clerk said to him. "As he did 
 get the licking and you didn't, you can afford to 
 laugh at the newspaper." 
 
 "And you wouldn't write to the editor?" 
 
 "No, no; certainly not. No one thinks of 
 defending himself to a newspaper except an ass ; 
 unless it be some fellow who wants to have his 
 name puffed. You may write what's as true 
 as the gospel, but they'll know how to make fun 
 of it." 
 
 Johnny therefore gave up his idea of an in- 
 dignant letter to the editor, but he felt that he 
 was bound to give some explanation of the whole 
 matter to Lord De Guest. The affair had hap- 
 pened as he was coming from the earl's house, 
 and all his own concerns liad now been made so 
 much a matter of interest to his kind friend, 
 that he thought that he could not lyith propri- 
 ety leave the earl to learn from the newspapers 
 either the facts or the falsehoods. And, there- 
 fore, before he left his office he wrote the follow- 
 ing letter : 
 
 Incoub-Tax Office, December 29, 186-. 
 Mr LOBD,— 
 
 He thought a good deal about the style in 
 which he' ought to address the peer, never hav- 
 ing hitherto written to him. He began, "My 
 dear Lord," on one sheet of paper, and then put 
 it aside, thinking that it looked over-bold. 
 
 Mt Lobd,— As you have been bo very kind to me, I feel 
 that I ought to tell you what happened the other moniing 
 at the railway station as I was coming back from Guest- 
 wick. That scoundrel Crosbie got into the same cavriage 
 with me at the Barchester Junction, nnd sat opposite to 
 me all the way up to London. I did not speak a word to 
 him, or he to me ; but when he got out at the Paddington 
 Station, I thought I ought not to let him go away, so 
 I— I can't say that I thrashed him as I wished to do ; 
 but I made an attempt, and I did give him a black eye. 
 A whole quantity of policemen got round us, and I hadn't 
 a fair chance. I know you will think that I was wrong, 
 and perhaps I was j but what could I do when he sat op- 
 
 posite to me there for two hours, looking as though he 
 thought himself the finest fellow in all London ? 
 
 They've put a horrible paragraph into one of the news- 
 papers, saying that I got so " flogged" that I haven't been 
 able to stir since. It is an atrocious falsehood, as is all 
 the rest of the newspaper account. 1 was not touched. 
 He was not nearly so bad a customer as the bull, and 
 seemed to take it all very quietly. I must acknowledge, 
 though, that he didn't get such a beating as he deserved. 
 
 Your friend Sir R. B. sent for me this morning, and 
 told me I was a felon. I didn't seem to care much for that, 
 for lie might as well have called me a murderer or a bur- 
 glar; bub I shall care very much indeed if I have made 
 you angry with me. But what I most fear is the anger 
 of some one else — at Allington. 
 
 Believe me to be, my Lord, 
 
 Yours very much obliged and most fincerely, 
 JonN EAms. 
 
 "I knew he'd do it if ever he got the oppor- 
 tunity," said the earl when he had read his let- 
 ter ; and he walked about his room striking his 
 hands together, and then thrusting his thumbs 
 into his waistcoat-pockets. "I knew he was 
 made of the right stuff," and the earl rejoiced 
 greatly in the prowess of his favorite. "I'd 
 have done it myself if I'd seen him. I do be- 
 lieve I would." Then he went back to the 
 breakfast-room and told Lady Julia. "What 
 do you think?" said he; "Johnny Eames has 
 come across Crosbie, and given him a desperate 
 beating." 
 
 "No!" said Lady Julia, putting down her 
 newspaper and spectacles, and expressing by the 
 light of her eyes any thing but Christian horror 
 at the wickedness of the deed. 
 
 "But he has, though. I knew he would if 
 he saw him." 
 
 " Beaten him ! Actually beaten him !" 
 
 "Sent him home to Lady Alexandrina with 
 two black eyes." 
 
 " Two black eyes ! What a young pickle ! 
 But did he get hurt himself?" 
 
 "Not a scratch, he says." 
 
 " And what'U they do to him ?" 
 
 "Nothing. Crosbie won't be fool enough to 
 do any thing. A man becomes an outlaw when 
 he plays such a game as he has played. Any 
 body's hand may be raised against him with 
 impunity. He can't show his face, you know. 
 He can't come forward and answer questions as 
 to what he has done. There are offenses which 
 the law can't touch, but which outrage public 
 feeling so strongly that any one may take upon 
 himself the duty of punishing them. He has 
 been thrashed, and4hat will stick to him till he 
 dies." 
 
 "Do tell Johnny from me that I hope he 
 didn't get hurt," said Lady Julia. The old 
 lady could not absolutely congratulate him on 
 his feat of arms, but she did the next thing 
 to it. 
 
 But the earl did congratulate him, with a full 
 open assurance of his approval. 
 
 "I hope," he said, "I should have done the 
 same at your age, under similar circumstances, 
 'and I'm very glad that he proved less difficult 
 than the bull. I'm quite sure you didn't want 
 any one to help you with Master Crosbie. As 
 for that other person at Allington, if I under- 
 
168 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 stand such matters at all, I think she will for- 
 give you." It may, however, be a question 
 whether the earl did understand such matters 
 at all. And then he added, in a postscript: 
 "When you write to me again — and don't be 
 long first, begin your letter, ' My dear Lord De 
 Guest' — that is the proper way." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIL 
 
 AN OLD man's complaint. 
 
 " Have you been thinking again of what I 
 wag saying to you. Bell?" Bernard said to his 
 cousin one morning. 
 
 "Thinking of it, Bernard? Why should I 
 think more of it ? I had hoped that you had 
 forgotten it yourself." 
 
 "No," he said; "I am not so easy-hearted 
 as that. I can not look on such a thing as I 
 would the purchase. of a horse, which I could 
 give up without sorrow if I found that the ani- 
 mal was too costly for my purse. I did not tell 
 you that I loved you till l*was sure of myself, 
 and having made myself sure I can not change 
 at all." 
 
 " And yet you would have me change." 
 
 "Yes, of course I would. If your heart be 
 free now, it must of course be changed before 
 you come to love any man. Such change as 
 that is to be looked for. But when you have 
 loved, then it will not be easy to change you." 
 
 "But I have not." 
 
 " Then I have a right to hope. I have been 
 hanging on here, Bell, longer than I ought to 
 have done, because I could not bring myself to 
 leave you without speaking of this again. I 
 did not wish to seem to you to be importunate — " 
 
 "If you could only believe me in what I say. " 
 
 " It is not that I do not believe. I am not a 
 puppy or a fool, to flatter myself that you must 
 be in love with me. I believe you well enough. 
 But still it is possible that your mind may alter." ' 
 
 "It is impossible." 
 
 "I do not know whether my uncle or your 
 mother have spoken to you about this." 
 
 " Such speaking would have no effect." 
 
 In fact her mother had spoken to her, but she 
 truly said that such speaking would have no ef- 
 fect. If her cousin could not win the battle by 
 his own skill, he might have been quite sure, 
 looking at her character as it was known to him, 
 that he would not be able to win it by the skill 
 of others. 
 
 "We have all been made very unhappy," he 
 went on to say, "by this calamity which has 
 fallen on poor Lily." 
 
 " And because she has been deceived by the 
 man she did love, I atn to make matters square 
 by marrying a man I — " and then she paused., 
 "Dear Bernard, you should not drive me to say 
 words which will sound harsh to you." 
 
 "No words can be harsher than those which 
 you have already spoken. But, Bell, at any 
 rate, you may listen to me." 
 
 Then he told her how desirable it was with 
 reference to all the concerns of the Dale family 
 that she should endeavor to look favoi'ahly on 
 his proposition. It would be good for them all, 
 he said, especially for Lily, as to whom, at the 
 present moment, their uncle felt so kindly. He, 
 as Bernard pleaded, was so anxious at lieart for 
 this marriage that he would do any thing that 
 was asked of him if he were gratified. But if 
 he were not gratified in this, he would feel that 
 he had ground for displeasure. 
 
 Bell, as she had been desired to listen, did 
 listen very patiently. But when her cousin had 
 finished, her answer was very short. " Nothing 
 that my uncle can say, or think, or do, can make 
 any difference in this," said she. 
 
 " You will think nothing, tlien, of the happi- 
 ness of others." 
 
 " I would not marry a man I did not love to 
 insure any amount of happiness to others — at 
 least I know I ought not to do so. But I do not 
 believe I should insure any one's happiness by 
 this marriage. Certainly not yours." 
 
 After this Bernard had acknowledged to him- 
 self that the difiiculties in his way were great. 
 "I will go away till next autumn," he said to 
 his uncle. 
 
 "If you would give up your profession and 
 remain here, she would not be so perverse." 
 
 ' ' I can not do that. Sir. I can not risk the 
 well-being of my life on such a chance." Then 
 his uncle had been angry with him, as well as 
 with his niece. In his anger he determined that 
 he would go again to his sister-in-law, and, after 
 some unreasonable fashion, he resolved that it 
 would become him to be very angiy with her 
 also, if she declined to assist him with all her 
 influence as a mother. 
 
 "Why should they not both marry?" he saiJ 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 169 
 
 to himself. Lord De Guest's offer as to young 
 Barnes had heea very generous. As he had 
 then declared, he had not been able to express 
 his own opinion at once ; but on thinking over 
 what the isarl had said, he had found himself 
 very willing to heal the family wound in the 
 manner proposed, if any such healing might be 
 possible. That, however, could not be done 
 quite as yet. When the time should come, and 
 he thought it might come soon — perhaps in the 
 spring when the days should be fine and the 
 evenings again long — he would be willing to 
 take his share with the earl in establishing that 
 new household. To Crosbie he had refused to 
 give any thing, and there was upon his con- 
 science a shade of remorse in that he had so re- 
 fused, * But if Lily could be brought to love 
 this other man, he would be more open-handed. 
 She should have her share as though she was in 
 fact his daughter. But then, if he intended to 
 do so much for them at the Small House, should 
 not they in return do something also for him? 
 So thinking, he went again to his sister-in-law, 
 determined to explain his views, even though it 
 might be at the risk of some hard words between 
 them. As regarded himself, he did not much 
 care for hard words spoken to him. He almost 
 expected that people's words should be hard and 
 painful. He did not look for the comfort of 
 affectionate soft greetings, and perhaps would 
 not have appreciated them had they come to 
 him. He caught Mrs. Dale walking in the gar- 
 den, and brought her into his own room, feeling 
 that he had a better chance there than in her 
 own house. She, with an old dislike to being 
 lectured in that room, had endeavored to avoid 
 the interview, but had failed. 
 
 " So I met John Eames at the manor," he 
 had said to her in the garden. 
 
 "Ah, yes ; and how did he get on there ? I 
 can not conceive poor Johnny keeping holi- 
 day with the earl and his sister. How did he 
 behave to them, and how did they behave to 
 him?" 
 
 " I can assure you he was very much at home 
 there." 
 
 " Was he, indeed ? Well, I hope it will do 
 him good. He is, I'm sure, a very good young 
 man; only rather awkward. " 
 
 " I didn't think him awkward at all. You'll 
 find, Mary, that he'll do very well ; a great deal 
 better than his father did." 
 
 " I'm sure I hope he may." After that Mrs. 
 Dale made her attempt to escape ; but the squire 
 had taken her prisoner, and led her captive into 
 the house. " Mary, " he said, as soon as he had 
 induced her to sit down, "it is time that this 
 should be settled between my nephew and niece." 
 
 "I am afraid there will be nothing to set- 
 tle." 
 
 " What do you mean ; that you disapprove 
 of it?" 
 
 "By no means — ^personally. I should ap- 
 prove of it very strongly. But that has nothing 
 to do with the question." 
 
 " Yes, it has. I beg your pardon, but it must 
 L 
 
 have, and should have a great deal to do vdth 
 it. Of course, I am not saying that any body 
 should now ever be compelled to marry any 
 body." 
 
 " I hope not." 
 
 "I never said that they ought, and never 
 thought so. But I do think that the wishes of 
 all her family should have veiy great weight 
 with a girl that has been well brought up." 
 
 " I don't know whether Bell has been well 
 brought up ; but in such a matter as this nobody's 
 wishes would weigh a feather with her ; and, in- 
 deed, I could not take upon myself even to ex- 
 press a wish. To you I can say that I should 
 have been very happy if she could have regarded 
 her cousin as you wish her to do. " 
 
 "You mean that you are afraid to tell her 
 so?" 
 
 " I am afraid to do what I think is wrong, if 
 you mean that." 
 
 "I don't think it would be wrong, and there- 
 fore I shall speak to her myself. " 
 
 "You must do as you like about that, Mr. 
 Dale ; I can't prevent you. I shall think you 
 wrong to harass her on such a matter, and I fear 
 also that her answer will not be satisfactory to 
 you. If you choose to tell her your opinion, 
 you must do so. Of course I shall •think you 
 wron§, that's all." 
 
 Mrs. Dale's voice as she said this was stern 
 enough, and so was her countenance. She could 
 not forbid the uncle to speak his mind to his 
 niece, but she specially disliked the idea of any 
 interference with her daughter. The squire got 
 up and walked about the room, trying to com- 
 pose himself that he might answer her rationally, 
 but without anger. 
 
 "May I go now?" said Mrs. Dale. 
 
 ' ' May you go ? Of course you may go if you 
 like it. If you think that I am intruding upon 
 you in speaking to you of the welfare of your 
 two girls, whom I endeavor to regard as my 
 own daughters — except in this, that I know they 
 have never been taught to love me — if you think 
 that it is an interference on my part to show 
 anxiety for their welfare, of course you may go." 
 
 " I did not mean to say any thing to hurt you, 
 Mr. Dale." 
 
 " Hurt me ! What does it signify whether I 
 am hurt or not ? I have no children of my own, 
 and of course my only business in life is to pro- 
 vide for my nephews and nieces. I am an old 
 fool if I expect that they are to love me in re- 
 turn, and if I venture to express a wish I am 
 interfering and doing wrong ! It is hard, verv 
 hard. I know well that they have been brought 
 up to dislike me, and yet I am endeavoring to 
 do my duty by them." 
 
 "Mr. Dale, that accusation has not been de- 
 served. They have not been brought up to dis- 
 like you. I believe that they have both loved 
 and respected you as their uncle ; but such love 
 and respect will not give you a right to dispose 
 of their hands." 
 
 "Who wants to dispose of their hands?" 
 
 "There are some things in which I think no 
 
170 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 unele — no parent — should interfere, and of all 
 such things this is the chief. If after that you 
 may choose to tell her your wishes, of course 
 you can do so." 
 
 "It will not be much good after you have set 
 her against me." 
 
 "Mr. Dale, you have no right to say such 
 things to me, and you are very unjust in doing 
 so. If you think that I have set my girls against 
 you, it will be much better that we should leave 
 Allington altogether. I have been placed in 
 circumstances which have made it difficult for 
 me to do my duty to my children ; but I have 
 endeavored to do it, not regarding my own per- 
 sonal wishes. I am quite sure, however, that it 
 would be wrong in me to keep them here, if I 
 am to be told by you that I have taught them 
 to regard yon unfavorably. Indeed, I can not 
 suffer such a thing to be said to me." 
 
 All this Mrs. Dale said with an air of decis- 
 ion, and with a voice expressing a sense of in- 
 jury received, which made the squire feel that 
 she was very much in earnest. 
 
 "Is it not true," he said, defending himself, 
 " that in all that relates to the girls you have 
 ever regarded me with suspicion ?" 
 
 "No, it is not true." And then she correct- 
 ed herself, feeling that there was something of 
 truth in the squire's last assertion. "Ce#ainly 
 not with suspicion," she said. "But as this 
 matter has gone so far, I will explain what my 
 real feelings have been. In worldly matters you 
 can do much for my girls, and have done much." 
 
 " And wish to do more," said the squire. 
 
 "I am sure you do. But I can not on that 
 account give up my place as their only living pa- 
 rent. They are my children, and not yours. 
 And even could I bring myself to allow you to 
 act as their guardian and natural protector, they 
 would not consent to such an arrangement. You 
 can not call that saspicion." 
 
 " I can call it jealousy." 
 
 " And should not a mother be jealous of her 
 children's love ?" 
 
 During all this time the squire was walking 
 up and down the room with his hands in his 
 trowsers pockets. And when Mrs. Dale had 
 last spoken, he continued his walk for some 
 time in silence. 
 
 "Perhaps it is well that yon should have 
 spoken out," he said. 
 
 "The manner in which you accused me made 
 it necessary." 
 
 " I did not intend to accuse you, and I do not 
 do so now ; but I think that you have been, and 
 that you are^ very hard to me — very hard in- 
 deed. I have endeavored to make your chil- 
 dren, and yourself also, sharers with me in such 
 prosperity as has been mine. I have striven to 
 add to your comfort and to their happiness. I 
 am most anxious to secure their future welfare. 
 You would have been very wrong had you de- 
 clined to accept this on their behalf; but I think 
 that in return for it you need not have begrudged 
 me the affection and obedience which generally 
 follows from such good offices." 
 
 "Mr. Dale, I have begrudged you nothing of 
 this." 
 
 ' ' I am hurt— I am hurt, " he continued. And 
 she was surprised by his look of pain even more 
 than by the unaccustomed warmth of iiis words. 
 " What you have said has, I have known, been 
 the case all along. But though I had felt it 
 to be so, I own that I am hurt by your open 
 words." 
 
 "Because I have said that my own children 
 must ever be my own?" 
 
 "Ah, you hava said more than that. You 
 and the girls have been living here, close to me, 
 for — how many years is it now ? — and during all 
 those years there has grown up for me no kindly 
 feeling. Do you think that I can not hear, and 
 Bee, and feel ? Do you suppose that I am a fool 
 and do not know ? As for yourself, you would 
 never enter this house if you did not feel your- 
 self constrained to do so for the sake of appear- 
 ances. I suppose it is all as it should be. Hav- 
 ing no children of ray own, I owe the duty of a 
 parent to my nieces ; but I have no right to ex- 
 pect from them in return either love, regard, or 
 obedience. I know I am keeping you here 
 against your will, Mary. I won't do so any 
 longer." And he made a sign to her that she 
 was to depart. 
 
 As she rose from her seat her heart was soft- 
 ened toward him. In these latter days he had 
 shown much kindness to the girls — a kindness 
 that was more akin to the gentleness of love 
 than had ever come from him before. Lily's 
 fate had seemed to melt even his sternness, and 
 he had striven to be tender in his words and 
 ways. And now he spoke as though he had 
 loved the girls, and had loved them in vain. 
 Doubtless he had been a disagreeable neighbcr 
 to his sister-in-law, making her feel that it was 
 never for her personally that he had opened his 
 hand. Doubtless he had been moved by an un- 
 conscious desire to undermine and take upon 
 himself her authority with her own children. 
 Doubtless he had looked askance at her from the 
 first day of her marriage with his brother. She 
 had been keenly alive to all this since she had 
 first known him, and more keenly alive to it 
 than ever since the failure of those efforts she 
 had made to live with him on terms of affection, 
 made during the first year or two of her resi- 
 dence at the Small House. But, nevertheless, 
 in spite of all, her heart bled for him now. She 
 had gained her victory over him, having fully 
 held her own position vrith her children; but 
 now that he complained that he had been beat- 
 en in the struggle, her heart bled for him. 
 
 " My brother," she said, and as she spoke she 
 offered him her hands, "it maybe that we have 
 not thought as kindly of each other as we should 
 have done." 
 
 "I have endeavored," said the old man. "I 
 have endeavored — " And then he stopped, either 
 hindered by some excess of emotion, or unable 
 to find the words which were necessary for the 
 expression of his meaning. 
 
 "Let us endeavor once again — both of us." 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 171 
 
 "What, begin again at near seventy! No, 
 Mary, tliere is no more beginning again for me. 
 All this shall make no difference to the girls. 
 As long as I am here they shall have the house. 
 If they marry, I will do for them what I can. I 
 believe Bernard is much in earnest in his suit, 
 and- if Bell will listen to him she shall still be 
 welcomed here as mistress of AUington. What 
 you have said shall make no difference — but as 
 to beginning again, it is simply impossible." 
 
 After that Mrs. Dale walked home through 
 the garden by herself. He had studiously told 
 her that that house in which they lived should 
 be lent, not to her, but to her children, during 
 his lifetime. He had positively declined the 
 offer of her warmer regard. He had made her 
 understand that they were to look on each other 
 almost as enemies; but that she, enemy as she 
 was, should still be allowed the use of his muni- 
 ficence, because he chose to do his duty by his 
 nieces ! 
 
 "It will be better for us that we shall leave 
 it," she said to herself as she seated hei-self in 
 her own arm-chair over the drawing-room fire. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 DOCTOR CROFTS IS CALLED IN. 
 
 • 
 
 Mrs. Dale had not sat long in her drawing- 
 room before tidings were brought to her which 
 for a while drew her mind away from that ques- 
 tion of her removal. " Mamma," said Bell, en- 
 tering the room, " I really do believe that Jane 
 has got scarlatina." Jane, the parlor-maid, had 
 been ailing for the last two days, but nothing 
 serious had hitherto been suspected. 
 
 Mrs. Dale instantly jumped up. "Who is 
 with her?" she asked. 
 
 It appeared from Bell's answer that both she 
 and Lily had been with the girl; and that Lily 
 was still in the room. Whereupon Mrs. Dale 
 ran up stairs, and there was on the sudden a 
 commotion in ibe house. In an hour or so the 
 village doctor was there, and he expressed an 
 opinion that the girl's ailment was certainly 
 scarlatina. Mrs. Dale, not satisfied with this, 
 sent off a boy to Guestwick for Dr. Crofts, hav- 
 ing herself maintained an opposition of many 
 years' standing against the medical reputation of 
 the apothecary, and gave a positive order to the 
 two girls not to visit poor Jane again. She her- 
 self had had scarlatina, and might do as she 
 pleased. Then, too, a nurse was hired. 
 
 All this changed for a few hours the current 
 of Mrs. Dale's thoughts : but in the evening she 
 went back to the subject of her morning conver- 
 sation, and before the three ladies went to bed 
 they held together an open council of war upon 
 the subject. Dr. Crofts had been found to be 
 away from Guestwick, and word had been sent 
 on his behalf that he would be over at AUington 
 early on the following morning. Mrs. Dale had 
 almost made up her mind that the malady of her 
 favorite maid was not scarlatina, but had not on 
 
 that account relaxed her order as to the absence 
 of her daughters from the maid's bedside. 
 
 "Let us go at once," said Bell, who was even 
 more opposed to any domination on the part of 
 her uncle than was her mother. In the discus- 
 sion which had been taking place between them 
 the whole matter of Bernard's courtship had 
 come upon the carpet. Bell had kept her cous- 
 in's offer to herself as long as she had been able 
 to do so ; but since her uncle had pressed the 
 subject upon Mrs. Dale, it was impossible for Bell 
 to remain silent any longer. ' ' You do not want 
 me to marry him, mamma; do you?" she had 
 said, when her mother had spoken with some 
 show of kindness toward Bernard. In answer 
 to this, Mrs. Dale had protested vehemently that 
 she had no such wish, and Lily, who still held 
 to her belief in Dr. Crofts, was almost equally 
 animated. To them all the idea that their un- 
 cle should in any way interfere in their own 
 views of life, on the strength of the pecuniary 
 assistance which they had received from him, 
 was peculiarly distasteful. But it was especially 
 distasteful that he should presume to have even 
 an opinion as to their disposition in marriage. 
 They declared to each other that their uncle 
 could have no right to object to any marriage 
 which either of them might contemplate as long 
 as their mother should approve of it. The poor 
 old squire had been right in saying that he was 
 regarded with suspicion. He was so regarded. 
 The fault had certainly been his ownyHh having 
 endeavored to win the daughters without think- 
 ing it worth his while to win the mother. The 
 girls had unconsciously felt that the attempt was 
 made, and had vigorously rebelled against it. 
 It had not been their fault that they had been 
 brought to live in their uncle's house, and made 
 to ride on his ponies and to eat partially of his 
 bread. They had so eaten, and so lived, and 
 declared themselves to be grateful. The squire 
 was good in his way, and they recognized his 
 goodness ; but not on that accoiint would they 
 transfer to him one jot of the allegiance which 
 as children they owed to their mother. When 
 she told them her tale, explaining to them the 
 words which their uncle had spoken that morn- 
 ing, they expressed their regret that he should 
 be so grieved ; but they were strong in assurances 
 to their mother that she had been sinned against, 
 and was not sinning. 
 
 " Let us go at once," said Bell. 
 
 "It is much easier said than done, my dear." 
 
 " Of course it is, mamma ; else we sliouldn't 
 be here now. What I mean is this — let us take 
 some necessary first step at once. It is clear 
 that my uncle thinks that our remaining here 
 should give him some right over us. I do not 
 say that he is wrong to think so. Perhaps it is 
 natural. Perhaps, in accepting his kindness, we 
 ought to submit ourselves to him. If that be so, 
 it is a conclusive reason for our going." 
 
 "Could we not pay him rent for the house," 
 said Lily, "as Mrs. Hearn dpes? You would 
 like to remain here, mamiaa, if you could do 
 that?" 
 
172 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 "But we could not do that, Lily. We must 
 choose for ourselves a smaller house than this, 
 and one that is not burdened with the expense 
 of a garden. Even if we paid but a moderate 
 rent for this place we should not have the means 
 of living here." 
 
 "Not if we lived on toast and tea?" said 
 Lily, laughing. 
 
 "But I should hardly wish you to live upon 
 toast and tea ; and indeed I fancy that I should 
 get tired of such a diet myself." 
 
 " Never, mamma," said Lily. " As for me, 
 I confess to a longing after mutton-chops ; but 
 I don't think you would ever want such vulgar 
 things." 
 
 "At any rate it would be impossible to re- 
 main here," said Bell. " Uncle Christopher 
 would not take rent from mamma ; and even if 
 he did, we should not know how to go on with 
 our other arrangements after such a, change. 
 No ; we must give up the dear old Small House." 
 
 " It is a dear old house," said Lily, thinking, 
 as she spoke, more of those late scenes in the 
 garden, when Crosbie had been with them in 
 the autumn months, than of any of the former 
 joys of her childhood. 
 
 "After all, I do not know that I should be 
 right to move," said Mrs. Dale, doubtingly. 
 
 " Yes, yes," said both the girls at once. "Of 
 course you will be right, mamma ; there can not 
 be a doubt about it, mamma. If we can get any 
 cottage, ^r even lodgings, that would be better 
 than remaining here, now that we know what 
 uncle Christopher thinks of it." 
 
 "It will make him very unhappy," said Mrs. 
 Dale. 
 
 But even this argument did not in the least 
 move the girls. They were very sorry that their 
 uncle should be unhappy. They would endeav- 
 or to show him by some increased show of affec- 
 tion that their feelings toward him were not un- 
 kind. Should he speak to them they would en- 
 deavor to explain to him that their thoughts 
 toward him were altogether affectionate. But 
 they could not remain at AUington increasing 
 their load of gi'atitude, seeing that he expected 
 a certain payment which they did not feel them- 
 selves able to render. 
 
 " We should be robbing him if we staid here," 
 Bell declared; "willfully robbing him of what 
 he believes to be his just share of the bargain." 
 
 So it was settled among them that notice 
 should be given to their uncle of their intention 
 to quit the Small House of AUington. 
 
 And then came the question as to their new 
 home. Mrs. Dale was aware that her income 
 was at any rate better than that possessed by 
 Mrs. Eames, and therefore" she had fair ground 
 for presuming that she could afford to keep a 
 house at Guestwick. " If we do go away, that 
 is what we must do," she said. 
 
 "And we shall have to walk out with Mary 
 Eames, instead of Susan Boyce," said Lily. "It 
 won't make so much difference after all." 
 
 " In that respect we shall gain as much as we 
 lose," said Bell. 
 
 "And then it will be so nice to have the 
 shops," said Lily, ironically. 
 
 " Only we shall never have any money to buy 
 any thing," said Bell. 
 
 " But we shall see more of the world," said 
 Lily. " Lady Julia's carriage comes into town 
 twice a week, and the Miss Gruffens drive about 
 in great style. Upon the whole, we shall gain 
 a great deal; only for the poor old garden. 
 Mamma, I do think I shall break my heart at 
 parting with Hopkins ; and as to him, I shall 
 be disappointed in mankind if he ever holds his 
 head up again after I am gone." 
 
 But in truth there was very much of sadness 
 in their resolution, and to Mrs. Dale it seemed 
 as though she were managing matters badly for 
 her daughters, and allowing poverty and mis- 
 fortune to come upon them through her own 
 fault. She well knew how great a load of sor- 
 row was lying on Lily's heart, hidden beneath 
 those little attempts at pleasantly which she 
 made. When she spoke of being disappointed 
 in mankind, Mrs. Dale could hardly repress an 
 outward shudder that would betray her thoughts. 
 And now she was consenting to take them forth 
 from their comfortable home, from the luxury 
 of their lawns and gardens, and to bring them 
 to some small dingy corner of a provincial town 
 — because she had failed to make herself happy 
 with her brother-iuiiaw. Could she be right to 
 give up all the advantages which they enjoyed 
 at AUington — advantages which had come to 
 them from so legitimate a source — because her 
 own feelings had been wounded ? In all their 
 future want of comfort, in the comfortless dow- 
 diness of the new home to which she would re- 
 move them, would she not always blame herself 
 for having brought them to that by her own false 
 pride ? And yet it seemed to her that she now 
 had no alternative. She could not now teach 
 her daughters to obey their uncle's wishes in all 
 things. She could not make Bell understand 
 that it would be well that she should marry 
 Bernard because the squire had set his heart on 
 such a marriage. She had gone so far that she 
 could not now go back. 
 
 " I suppose we must move at Lady-day ?" said 
 Bell, who was in favor of instant action. "If 
 so, had you not better let uncle Christopher 
 know at once ?" 
 
 " I don't think that we can find a house by 
 that time." 
 
 " We can get in somewhere," continued Bell. 
 "There ai-e plenty of lodgings in Guestwick, 
 yon know." But the sound of the word lodg- 
 ings was uncomfortable in Mrs. Dale's ears. 
 
 "If we are to go, let us go at once," said 
 Lily. "We need not stand much upon the or- 
 der of our going." 
 
 "Your uncle will be very much shocked," 
 said Mrs. Dale. 
 
 "He can not say that it is your fault," said 
 Bell. 
 
 It was thus agreed between them that the 
 necessary information should be at once given 
 to the squire, and that the old, well-loved house 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTOK 
 
 173 
 
 should be left forever. It would be a great fall 
 in a worldly point of view — from the Allington 
 Small House to an abode in some little street of 
 Guestwick. At Allington they had been county 
 people — raised to a level with their own squire 
 and other squires by the circumstance of their 
 residence; but at Guestwick they would be 
 small even aipong the people of the town. They 
 would be on an equality with the Barneses, and 
 much looked down upon by the Gruffens. They 
 would hardly dare to call any more at Guestwick 
 Manor, seeing that they certainly could not ex- 
 pect Lady Julia to call upon them at Guestwick. 
 Mrs. Boyce no doubt would patronize them, and 
 they could already anticipate the condolence 
 which would be offered to them by Mrs. Hearn. 
 Indeed such a movement on their part would be 
 tantamount to a confession of failure in the full 
 hearing of so much oi the world as was known 
 to them. 
 
 I must not allow my readers to suppose that 
 these considerations were a matter of indiffer- 
 ence to any of the ladies at the Small House: 
 To some women of strong mind, of highly- 
 strang philosophic tendencies, such considera- 
 tions might have been indifferent. But Mrs. 
 Dale was not of this nature, nor were her daugh- 
 ters. The good things of the world were good 
 in their eyes, and they valued the privilege of 
 a pleasant social footing among their friends. 
 They were by no means capable of a wise con- 
 tempt of the advantages which chance had hith- 
 erto given to them. They could not go forth 
 rejoicing in the comparative poverty of their al- 
 tered condition. But then, neither could they 
 purchase those luxuries which they were about 
 to abandon at the price which was asked for 
 them. 
 
 "Had' you not better write to my uncle?" 
 said one of the girls. But to this Mrs. Dale 
 objected that she could not make a letter on 
 such a subject clearly intelligible, and that 
 therefore she would see the squire on the follow- 
 ing morning. "It will be very dreadful," she 
 said, "but it will soon be over. It is not what 
 he will say at the moment that I fear so much 
 as the bitter reproaches of his face when I shall 
 meet him afterward." So, on the following morn- 
 ing she again made her way, and now without 
 invitation, to the squire's study. 
 
 "Mr. Dale," she began, starting upon her 
 work with some confusion in her manner and 
 hurry in her speech, " I have been thinking over 
 what we were saying together yesterday, and I 
 have come to a resolution which I know I ought 
 to make known to you without a moment's 
 delay." 
 
 The squire also had thought of what had 
 passed between them, and had suffered much as 
 he had done so ; but he had thought of it with- 
 out acerbity or anger. His thoughts were ever 
 gentler than his words, and his heart softer than 
 any exponent of his heart that he was able to 
 put forth. He wished to love his brother's chil- 
 dren, and to be loved by them ; but even failing 
 that, he wished to do good to them. It had not 
 
 occurred to him to be angry with Mrs. Dale 
 after that interview was over. The conversa- 
 tion had not gone pleasantly with him ; but then 
 he hardly expected that things would go pleas- 
 antly. No idea had occurred to him that evil 
 could come upon any of the Dale ladies from 
 the words which had then been spoken. He re- 
 garded the Small House as their abode and 
 home as surely as the Great House was his own. 
 In giving him his due, it must be declared that 
 any allusion to their holding these as a benefit 
 done to them by him had been very far from his 
 thoughts. Mrs. Hearn, who held her cottage 
 at half its real value, grumbled almost daily at 
 him as her landlord ; but it never occurred to 
 him that therefore he should raise her rent, or 
 that in not doing so he was acting with special 
 munificence. It had ever been to him a grum- 
 bling, cross-grained, unpleasant world ; and he 
 did not expect from Mrs. Hearn, or from his 
 sister-in-law, any thing better than that to which 
 he had ever been used. 
 
 " It will make me very happy," said he, " if 
 it has any bearing on Bell's marriage with her 
 cousin." 
 
 " Mr. Dale, that is out of the question. I 
 would not vex you by saying so if I were not 
 certain of it ; but I know my child so well." 
 
 " Then we must leave it to time, Mary." 
 
 " Yes, of course ; but no time will suffice to 
 make Bell change her mind. We will, however, 
 leave the subject. And now, Mr. Dale, I have 
 to tell you of something else ; — we have resolved 
 to leave the Small House." 
 
 "Resolved on what?" said the squire, turn- 
 ing his eyes full upon her. 
 
 ' ' We have resolved to leave the Small Housel^ 
 
 " Leave the Small House!" he said, repeating 
 her words ; " and where on earth do you mean 
 to go ?" 
 
 "We think we shall go into Guestwick." 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 ' ' Ah, that is so hard to explain. If you would 
 only accept the fact as I tell it to you, and not 
 ask for the reasons which have guided me !" 
 
 "But that is out of the question, Mary. In 
 such a matter as that I must ask your reasons ; 
 and I must tell you also that, in my opinion, you 
 will not be doing your duty to your daughters in 
 carrying out such an intention, unless your rea- 
 sons are very strong indeed." 
 
 "But they are very strong," said Mrs. Dale; 
 and then she paused. 
 
 "I can not understand it!" said the squire. 
 " I can not bring myself to believe that you are 
 really in earnest. Are you not comfortable 
 there?" 
 
 " More comfortable than we have any right 
 to be with our means." 
 
 "But I thought you always did veiy nicely 
 with your money. You never get into debt." 
 
 "No ;■ I never get into debt. It is not that, 
 exactly. The fact is, Mr. Dale, we have no 
 rigfit to live there without paying rent ; but we 
 could not afford to live there if we did pay rent." 
 
 " Who has talked about rent?" he said, jump- 
 
174 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON; 
 
 ing up from his chair. "Some one has been 
 speaking falsehoods of me behind my back." 
 No gleam of the real truth had yet come to him. 
 No idea had reached his mind that his relatives 
 thought it necessary to leave his house in conse- 
 quence of any word that he himself had spoken. 
 He had never considered himself to have been 
 in any special way generous to them, and would 
 not have thought it reasonable that they should 
 abandon the house in which they had been liv- 
 ing, even if his anger against them had been 
 strong and hot. ' ' Mary, " he said, " I must in- 
 sist upon getting to the, bottom of this. As for 
 your leaving the house, it is out of the question, 
 Where can you be better off, or so well ? As to 
 going into Guestwick, what sort of Jife would 
 there be for the girls? I put all that aside as 
 out of the question ; but I must know what has 
 induced you to make such a proposition. Tell 
 me honestly — has any one spoken evil of me be- 
 hind my back?" 
 
 Mrs. Dale had been prepared for opposition 
 and for reproach ; but there was a decision about 
 the squire's words, and an air of mastordom in 
 his manner, which made her recognize more 
 fully than she had yet doHe the difficulty of her 
 position. She almost began to fear that she 
 would lack power to carry out her purpose. 
 
 " Indeed, it is not so, Mr. Dale." 
 
 "Then what is it?" 
 
 "I know that if I attempt to tell you, you 
 will be vexed, and will contradict me." 
 
 "Vexed I shall be, probably." 
 
 "And yet I can not help it. Indeed, I am 
 endeavoring to do what is right by you and by 
 the children." 
 
 * " Never mind me ; your duty is to think of 
 them." 
 
 " Of course it is ; and in doing this they most 
 cordially agree with me." 
 
 In using such argument as that, Mrs. Dale 
 showed her weakness, and the squire was not 
 slow to take advantage of it. " Your duty is to 
 them," he said; "but I do not, mean by that 
 that your duty is to let them act in any way 
 that may best please them for the moment. I 
 can understand that they should be run away 
 with by some romantic nonsense, but I can not 
 understand it of you." 
 
 "The truth is this, Mr. Dale. You think 
 that my children owe to you that sort of obedi- 
 ence which is due to a parent, and as long as 
 they remain here, accepting from your hands so 
 large a part of their daily support, it is perhaps 
 natural that you should think so. In this un- 
 happy affair about Bell — " 
 
 " I hare never said any thing of the kind," 
 said the squire, interrupting her. 
 
 ' ' No ; you have not said so. And I do not 
 wish you to think that I make any complaint. 
 But I feel that It is so, and they feel it. And, 
 therefore, we have made up our minds to go 
 away." 
 
 Mrs. Dale, as she finished, was aware that 
 she had not told her story well, but she had ac- 
 knowledged to herself that it was quite put of 
 
 her power to tell it as it should be told. Her 
 main object was to make her brother-in-law un- 
 derstand that she certainly would leave his house, 
 and to make him understand this with as little 
 pain to himself as possible. She did not in the 
 least mind him thinking her foolish, if only she 
 could so carry her point as to be able to tell her 
 daughters on her return that the matter was 
 settled. But the squire, from his words and 
 manners, seemed indisposed to give her this 
 privilege. 
 
 " Of all the propositions which I ever heard," 
 said he, "it is the most unreasonable. It 
 amounts to this, that you, are too proud to live 
 rent-free in a house which belongs to your hus- 
 band's brother, and therefore you intend to sub- 
 ject yourself and your, children to the great dis- 
 comfort of a very straitened income. If yoa 
 yourself only were concerned I should have no 
 right to say any thing; but I think myself 
 bound to tell you that, as i-egards the girls, ev- 
 ery body that knows you will think you to have 
 been very wrong. It is in the natural course 
 of things that they should live in that house. 
 The place has never been let. As far as I 
 know no rent has ever been paid for the house 
 since it was built. It has always been given to 
 some fnember of the family who has been con- 
 sidered as having the best right to it. I have 
 considered your footing there as firm as my own 
 here. A quarrel between me and your children 
 would be to me a great calamity, though, per- 
 haps, they might be Indifferent to it. But if 
 there were such a quarrel it would afford no 
 reason for their leaving that house. Let me 
 beg you to think over the matter again." 
 
 The squire could assume an air of authority 
 on certain occasions, and he had done so now. 
 Mrs. Dale found that she could only answer him 
 by a simple repetition of her own intention; 
 and, indeed, failed in making him any service- 
 able answer whatsoever. 
 
 "I know that you are very good to my girls," 
 she said. 
 
 ' ' I will say nothing about that, " he answered ; 
 not thinking at that moment of the Small House, 
 but of the full possession which he had desired 
 to give to the elder of all the privileges which 
 should belong to the mistrfess of AUington — 
 thinking also of the means by which he was 
 hoping to repair poor Lily's shattered fortunes. 
 What words were further said had no great 
 significance, and Mrs. Dale got herself away, 
 feeling that she had failed. As soon as she was 
 gone the squire arose, and putting on his great- 
 coat, went forth with his hat and stick to the 
 front of the house. He went out in order that his 
 thoughts might be more free, and that he might 
 indulge in that solace which an injured man finds 
 in contemplating his injury. He declared to 
 himself that he was very hardly used — so hardly 
 used that he almost began to doubt himself and his 
 own motives. Why was it that the people around 
 him disliked him so strongly — avoided him and 
 thwarted him in the efforts which he made for 
 their welfare ? He offered to his nephew all the 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 176 
 
 *'LET MB BEG YOU TO THINK OVEB THE MATTEB AGAIN.' 
 
 privilege3 of a son — much more indeed than the 
 privileges of a son — merely asking in return that 
 he would consent to live permanently in the 
 house which was to be his own. But his nephew 
 refused. "He can not bear to live with me," 
 said the old man to himself, sorely. He was 
 pr^ared to treat his nieces with more generos- 
 ity than the daughters of the House of Alling- 
 ton had usually received from their fathers; 
 nnd they repelled his kindness, running away 
 from him, and telling him openly that they 
 would not be beholden to him. He walked 
 
 slowly up and down the terrace, thinking of this 
 very bitterly. He did not find in the contem- 
 plation of his grievance all that solace which a 
 grievance usually gives, because he accused him- 
 self in his thoughts rather than others. He de- 
 clared to himself that he was made to be hated, 
 and protested to himself that it would be well 
 that he should die and be buried out of memory, 
 so that the remaining Dales might have a better 
 chance of living happily; and then as he thus 
 discussed all this within his own bosom his 
 thoughts were very tender, and though he was 
 
176 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 aggrieved he was most affectionate to thoje 
 who had most injured him. But it was abso- 
 lutely beyond his power to reproduce outwardly, 
 with words and outward signs, such thoughts 
 and feelings. 
 
 It was now very nearly the end of the year, 
 but the weather was still soft and open. The 
 air was damp rather than cold, and the lawns 
 and fields still retained the green tints of new 
 vegetation. As the squire was walking on the 
 terrace Hopkins came up to him, and, touching 
 his hat, remarked that they should have frost in 
 a day or two. 
 
 "I suppose we shall," said the squire. 
 
 "We must have the mason to the flues of that 
 little grape-house. Sir, before I can do any good 
 with a fire there." 
 
 " Which grape-house ?" said the squire, crossly. 
 
 " Why, the grape-house in the other garden. 
 Sir. It ought to have been done last year by 
 rights." This Hopkins said to punish his mas- 
 ter for being cross to him. On that matter of 
 the flues of Mrs. Dale's grape-house he had, 
 with much consideration, spared his master dur- 
 ing the last winter, and he felt that this ought 
 to be remembered now. "I can't put any fire 
 in it, not to do any real good, till something's 
 done. That's sure." 
 
 ' ' Then don't put any fire in it. " said the squire. 
 
 Now the grapes in question were supposed to 
 be peculiarly fine, and were the glory of the 
 garden of the Small House. They were always 
 forced, though not forced so early as those at the 
 Great House, and Hopkins was in a state of great 
 confusion. 
 
 " They'll never ripen, Sir ; not the whole year 
 through." 
 
 "Then let them be unripe," said the squire, 
 walking about. 
 
 Hopkins did not at all understand it. The 
 squire in his natural course was very unwilling 
 to neglect any such matter as this, but would be 
 specially unwilling to neglect any thing touch- 
 ing the Small House. So Hopkins stood on 
 the terrace, raising his hat and scratching his 
 head. ' ' There's something wrong among them," 
 said he to himself, sorrowfully. 
 
 But when the squire had walked to the end 
 of the terrace, and had turned upon the path 
 which led round the side of the house, he stopped 
 and called to Hopkins. 
 
 " Have what is needful done to the flue," hp 
 said. 
 
 "Yes, Sir; very well, Sir. It'll only be re- 
 setting the bricks. Nothing more ain't needful, 
 just this winter." 
 
 "Have the place put in perfect order while 
 you're about it," said the squire, and then he 
 walked away. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 DOCTOR CBOnS IS TUENED OUT. 
 
 "Have you heard the news, my dear, from 
 the Small House?" said Mrs. Boyce to her hus- 
 
 band, some two or three days after Mrs. Dale's 
 visit to the squire. It was one o'clock, and the 
 parish pastor had come in from his ministrations 
 to dine with his wife and children. 
 
 "What news?" said Mr. Boyce, for he had 
 heard none. 
 
 ' ' Mrs. Dale and the girls are going to leave 
 the Small House ; they're going into Guestwick 
 to live." 
 
 " Mrs. Dale going away ; nonsense!" said the 
 vicar. "What on earth should take her into 
 Guestwick ? She doesn't pay a shilling of rent 
 where she is." 
 
 " I can assure you it's true, my dear. I was 
 with Mrs. Hearn just now, and she had it direct 
 from Mrs. Dale's own lips. Mrs. Hearn said 
 she'd never been taken so much aback in her 
 whole life. There's been some quarrel, you may 
 be sure of that." 
 
 Mr. Boyce sat silent, pulling off his dirty shoes 
 preparatory to his dinner. Tidings so import- 
 ant, as touching the social life of his parish, had 
 not come to him for many a day, and he could 
 hardly bring himself to credit them at so short 
 a notice. 
 
 " Mrs. Hearn says that Mrs. Dale spoke ever 
 so firmly about it, as though determined that 
 nothing should change her." 
 
 "And did she say why ?" 
 
 "Well, not exactly. But Mrs. Hearn said 
 she could understand there had been words be- 
 tween her and the squire. It couldn't be any 
 thing else, you know. Probably it had some- 
 thing to do with that man Crosbie." 
 
 ".They'll be very pushed about money," said 
 Mr. Boyce, thrusting his feet into his slippers. 
 
 "That's just what I said to Mrs. Hearn. 
 And those girls have never been used to any 
 thing like real economy. What's to become of 
 them I don't know;" and Mrs. Boyce, as she 
 expressed her sympathy for her dear friends, re- 
 ceived considerable comfort from the prospect 
 of their future poverty. It always is so, and 
 Mrs. Boyce was not worse than her neighbors. 
 
 "Tou'll find they'll make it up before the 
 time comes, " said Mr. Boyce, to whom the ex- 
 citement of such a change in affairs was almost 
 too good to be true. 
 
 "I am afraid not," said Mrs. Boyce; "I'm 
 afraid not. They are both so determined. I 
 always thought that riding and giving the girls 
 hats and habits was injurious. It was treating 
 them as though they were the squire's daugh- 
 ters, and they were not the squire's daughters." 
 
 " It was almost the same thing." 
 
 "But now we see the difference," said the 
 judicious Mrs. Boyce. "I often said that 
 dear Mrs. Dale was wrong, and it turns out 
 that I was right. It will make no difference to 
 me, as regards calling on them and that sort of 
 thing." 
 
 " Of course it won't." 
 
 "Not but what there must be a difference, 
 and a very great difference too. It will be, a 
 terrible come down for poor Lily, with the loss 
 of her fine husband and all." 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 177 
 
 After dinner, when Mr. Boyce had again 
 gone forth upon his labors, the same subject 
 was discussed between Mrs. Boyce and her 
 daughters, and the mother was very careful to 
 teach her children that Mrs. Dale would be just 
 as good a person as ever she had been, and 
 quite as much a lady, even though she should 
 live in a very dingy house at Guestwick ; from 
 which lesson the Boyce girls learned plainly 
 that Mrs. Dale, ^ith Bell and Lily, were about 
 to have a fall in the world, and that they were 
 to be treated accordingly. 
 
 From all this it will be discovered that Mrs. 
 Dale had not given way to the squire's argu- 
 ments, although she had found herself unable 
 to -answer them. As she had returned home 
 she had felt herself to be almost vanquished, 
 and had spoken to the girls with the air and 
 tone of a woman who hardly knew in which 
 course lay the line of her duty. But they had 
 not seen the squire's manner on the occasion, 
 nor heard his words, and they could not under- 
 stand that their own purpose should be aban- 
 doned because he did not like it. So they 
 talked their mother into fresh resolves, and on 
 the following morning she wrote a note to her 
 brother-in-law, assuring him that she had 
 thought much of all that he had said, but again 
 declaring that she regarded herself as bound in 
 duty to leave the Small House. To this he had 
 returned no answer, and she had communicated 
 her intention to Mrs. Heam, thinking it better 
 that there should be no secret in the matter. 
 
 "I am sorry to hear that your sister-in-law is 
 going to leave us," Mr. Boyce said to the squire 
 that same afternoon. 
 
 "Who told you that?" asked the squire, 
 showing by his tone that he by no means liked 
 the topic of conversation which the parson had 
 chosen. 
 
 "Well, I had it from Mrs. Boyce, and I 
 think Mrs. Hearn told her." 
 
 "I wish Mrs. Hearn would mind her own 
 business, and not spread idle reports." 
 
 The squire said nothing more, and Mr. Boyce 
 felt that he had been very unjustly snubbed. 
 
 Dr. Crofts had come over and pronounced as 
 a fact that it was scarlatina. Village apothe- 
 caries are generally wronged by the doubts 
 which are thrown upon them, for the town 
 doctors when they come always confirm what 
 the village apothecaries have said. 
 
 "There can be no doubt as to its being scar- 
 latina," the doctor declared; "but the symp- 
 toms are all favorable." 
 
 There was, however, much worse coming 
 than this. Two days afterward Lily found 
 herself to be rather unwell. She endeavored to 
 keep it to herself, fearing that she should be 
 brought under the doctor's notice as a patient ; 
 but her efforts were unavailing, and on the fol- 
 lowing morning it was known that she had also 
 taken the disease. Dr. Crofts declared that 
 every thing was in her favor. The weather 
 was cold. The presence of the malady in the 
 house had caused them all to be careful, and, 
 
 moreover, good advice was at hand at once. 
 The doctor begged Mrs. Dale not to be uneasy, 
 but he was very eager in begging that the two 
 sisters might not be allowed to be together. 
 " Could you not send Bell into Guestwick — to 
 Mrs. Eames's?" said he. But Bell did not 
 choose to he sent to Mrs. Eames's, and was 
 with great difficulty kept out of her mother's 
 bedroom, to which Lily as an invalid was trans- 
 ferred. 
 
 " If you will allow me to say so," he said to 
 Bell, on the second day after Lily's complaint 
 had declared itself, "you are wrong to stay 
 here in the house." 
 
 "I certainly shall not leave mamma, when 
 she has got so much upon her hands," said Bell. 
 
 "But if you should be taken ill she would 
 have more on her hands," pleaded the doctor. 
 
 "I could not do it," Bell replied. "If I 
 were taken over to Guestwick, I should be so 
 uneasy that I should walk back to AUington 
 the first moment that I could escape from the 
 house." 
 
 "I think your mother would be more com- 
 fortable without you." 
 
 " And I think she would be more comforta- 
 ble with me. I don't ever like to hear of a wo- 
 man running away from illness; but when a 
 sister or a daughter does so it is intolerable." 
 So Bell remained, without permission indeed to 
 see her sister, but performing various outside ad- 
 ministrations which were much needed. 
 
 And thus all manner of trouble came upon 
 the inhabitants of the Small House, falling upon 
 them as it were in a heap together. It was 
 as yet barely two months since those terrible 
 tidings had come respecting Crosbie; tidings 
 which, it was felt at the time, would of them- 
 selves be sufficient to crush them ; and now to 
 that misfortune other misfortunes had been add- 
 ed — one quick upon the heels of another. In 
 the teeth of the doctor's kind prophecy Lily be- 
 came very ill, and after a few days was deliri- 
 ous. She would talk to her mother about 
 Crosbie, speaking of him as she used to speak 
 in the autumn that was passed. But even in 
 her madness she remembered that they had re- 
 solved to leave their present home ; and she 
 asked the doctor twice whether their lodgings in 
 Guestwick were ready for them. 
 
 It was thus that Crofts first heard of their in- 
 tention. Now, in these days of Lily's worst ill- 
 ness, he came daily over to AUington, remain- 
 ing there, on one occasion, the whole night. For 
 all this he would take no fee ; nor had he ever 
 taken a fee from Mrs. Dale. " I wish you would 
 not come so often," Bell said to him one even- 
 ing, as he stood with her at the drawing-room 
 fire, after he had left the patient's room : " you 
 are overloading us with obligations." On that 
 day Lily was over the worst of the fever, and he 
 had been able to tell Mrs. Dale that he did not 
 think that she was now in danger. 
 
 "It will not be necessary much longer," he 
 said; "the worst of it is over." 
 
 " It is such a luxury to hear you say so. I 
 
178 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 suppose we shall owe her life to you ; hut never- 
 theless — " 
 
 "Oh no; scarlatina is not such a terrible 
 thing now as it used to be. " 
 
 "Then why should you have devoted your 
 time to her as you have done ? It frightens me 
 when I think of the injury we must have done 
 you." 
 
 "My horse has felt it more than I have," 
 said the doctor, laughing. "My patients at 
 Guestwick are not so very numerous." Then, 
 instead of going, he sat himself down. "And 
 it is really true," he said, " that you are all go- 
 ing to leave this house ?" 
 
 " Quite true. We shall do so at the end of 
 March if Lily is well enough to be moved." 
 
 "Lily vnll be well long before that, I hope; 
 not, indeed, that she ought to be moved out of 
 her own rooms for many weeks to come yet." 
 
 "Unless we are stopped by her we shall cer- 
 tainly go at the end of March." Bell now had 
 also sat down, and they both remained for some 
 time looking at the fire in silence. 
 
 "And why is it. Bell?" he said, at last. 
 "But I don't know whether I have a right to 
 ask." 
 
 " You have a right to ask any question about 
 us," she said. "My uncle is very kind. He 
 is more than kind; he is generous. But he 
 seems to think that our living here gives him a 
 right to interfere with mamma. We don't like 
 that, and, therefore, we are going." 
 
 The doctor still sat on one side of the fire, 
 and Bell still sat opposite to him ; but the con- 
 versation did not form itself very freely between 
 them. " It is bad news," he said, at last. 
 
 " At any rate, when we are ill you will not 
 have so far to come and see us. " 
 
 " Ye% I understand. That means that I am 
 imgracious not to congratulate myself on hav- 
 ing you all so much nearer to me ; but I do not 
 in the least; I can not bear to think of you as 
 living any where but here at AUington. Dales 
 will be out of their place in a street at Guest- 
 wick." 
 
 "That's hard upon the Dales, too.'' 
 
 "It is hard upon them. It's a sort of off- 
 shoot from that very tyrannical law of noblesse 
 oblige. I don't think you ought to go away 
 from AUington, unless the circumstances are 
 very imperative." 
 
 " But they are very imperative." 
 
 " In that case, indeed !" And then again he 
 fell into silence. 
 
 "Have you never seen that mamma is not 
 happy here?" she said, after another pause. 
 ' ' For myself, 1 never quite understood it all be- 
 fore as I do now ; but now I see it." 
 
 " And I have seen it — have seen at least what 
 you mean. She has led a life of restraint ; but 
 then, how frequently is such restraint the neces- 
 sity of a life ? I hardly think that your mother 
 would move on that account." 
 
 "No, It is on our account. But this re- 
 straint, as you call it, makes us unhappy, and 
 ibe is governed by seeing that. My uncle is 
 
 generous to her as regards money ; but in other 
 things — in matters of feeling — I think he has 
 been ungenerous." 
 
 ' ' Bell, " said the doctor ; and then he paused. 
 
 She looked up at him, but made no answer. 
 He had always called her by her Christian name, 
 and they two had ever regarded each other as 
 close friends. At the present moment she had 
 forgotten all else besides this, and yet she had 
 infinite pleasure in sitting there and talking to 
 him. 
 
 "I am going to ask you a question which 
 perhaps I ought not to ask, only that I have 
 known you so long that I almost feel that I am 
 speaking to a sister." 
 
 "You may ask me what you please," said 
 she. 
 
 " It is about your cousin Bernard." 
 
 "About Bernard!" said Bell. 
 
 It was now dusk ; and as they were sitting 
 without other light than that of the fire, she 
 knew that he could not discern the color which 
 covered her face as her cousin's name was men- 
 tioned. But, had the light of day pervaded 
 the whole room, I doubt whether Crofts would 
 have seen that blush, for he kept his eyes firmly 
 fixed upon the fire. 
 
 "Yes, about Bernard ? I don't know wheth- 
 er I ought to ask you." ^ 
 
 "I'm sure I can't say," said Bell, speaking 
 words of the nature of which she was not con- 
 scious. 
 
 " There has been a rumor in Guestwick that 
 he and you — " 
 
 "It is untrue," said Bell; "quite unti-ue. 
 If you hear it repeated, you should contradict 
 it. I wonder why people should say such 
 things." 
 
 " It would have been an excellent marriage: 
 all your friends must have approved it." 
 
 "What do you nlean, Dr. Crofts? How I 
 do hate those words, 'an excellent marriage!' 
 In them is contained more of wicked worldli- 
 ness than any other words that one ever hears 
 spoken. You want me to marry my cousin 
 simply because I should have a great house to. 
 live in and a coach. I know that you are my 
 friend ; but I hate such friendship as that." 
 
 "I think you misunderstand me. Bell. I 
 mean that it would have been an excellent mar- 
 riage, provided you had both loved each other." 
 
 "No, I don't misunderstand you. Of couree 
 it would be an excellent marriage if we loved 
 each other. You might say the same if I loved 
 the butcher or the baker. What you mean is, 
 that it makes a reason for loving him. " 
 
 " I don't think I did mean that." 
 
 " Then you mean nothing." 
 
 After that there were again some minutes of 
 silence, during which Dr. Crofts got up to go 
 away. " You have scolded me very dreadfully," 
 he said, with a slight smile, "and I believe I 
 have deserved it for interfering — " 
 
 " No ; not at all for interfering." 
 
 " But at any rate you must forgive me before 
 I go." 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 179 
 
 ' ' I won't forgive you at all, unless you repent 
 of your sins and alter altogether the wickedness 
 of your mind. You will become very soon as 
 bad as Dr. Gruffen." 
 
 " Shall 1?" 
 
 "Oh, but I will forgive you; for, after all, 
 you are the most generous man in the world." 
 
 "Oh yes; of course I am. Well — good-by." 
 
 "But, Dr. Crofts, you should not suppose 
 others to be so much more worldly than your- 
 self. You do not care for money so very 
 much — " 
 
 " But I do care very much." 
 
 " If you did, you would not come here for no- 
 thing day after day." 
 
 "I do care for money very much. I have 
 sometimes nearly broken my heart because I 
 could not get opportunities of earning it. It is 
 the best friend that a man can have — " 
 
 "Oh, Dr. Crofts!" 
 
 " — the best friend that a man can have, if it 
 be honestly come by. A wo.man can hardly re- 
 alize the sorrow which may fall upon a man 
 from the want of such a friend." 
 
 " Of course a man likes to earn a decent liv- 
 ing by his profession ; and you can do that." 
 
 " That depends upon one's ideas of decency." 
 
 "Ah I mine never ran very high. I've al- 
 ways had a sort of aptitude for living in a pig- 
 sty — a clean pig-sty, you know, with nice fresh 
 bean-straw to lie upon. I think it was a mis- 
 take when they made a lady of me. I do, in- 
 deed." 
 
 " I do not," said Dr. Crofts. 
 
 " That's because you don't quite know me yet. 
 I've not the slightest pleasure in putting on three 
 different dresses a day. I do it very often be- 
 cause it comes to mo to do it, from the way in 
 which we have been taught to live. But when 
 we get to Guestwick I mean to change all that ; 
 and if you come in to tea, you'll see me in the 
 same brown frock that I wear in the morning — 
 unless, indeed, the moiiiing work makes the 
 brown frock dirty. Oh, Dr. Crofts ! you'll have 
 it pitch dark riding home under the Guestwick 
 elms." 
 
 "I don't mind the dark," he said; and it 
 seemed as though he hardly intended to go even 
 yet. 
 
 " But I do," said Bell, " and I shall ring for 
 candles." But he stopped her as she put her 
 hand out to the bell-pull. 
 
 "Stop a moment, Bell. You need hardly 
 have the candles before I go, and you need not 
 begrudge my staying either, seeing that I shall 
 be all alone at home." 
 
 "Begrudge your staying!" 
 " But, however, you shall begrudge it, or else 
 make me very welcome." He still held her by 
 the wrist, which he had caught as he prevented 
 her from sumtnoning the servant. 
 
 "What do you mean?" said she. "You 
 know you are welcome to us as flowers in May. 
 You always were welcome ; but now, when you 
 have come to us in our trouble — At any rate, 
 you shall never say that I turn you out." 
 
 " Shall I never say so ?" And still he held 
 her by the wrist. He had kept his chair through- 
 out, but she was standing before him — between 
 him and the fire. But she, though he held her 
 in this way, thought little of his words or of his 
 action. They had known each other with great 
 intimacy, and though Lily would still laugh at 
 her, saying that Dr. Crofts was her lover, she 
 had long since taught herself that no such feel- 
 ing as that would ever exist between them. 
 
 "Shall I never say so, Bell? What if so 
 poor a man as I ask for the hand that you will 
 not give to so rich a man as your cousin Ber- 
 nard?" 
 
 She instantly withdrew her arm and moved 
 back very quickly a step or two across the rug. 
 She did it almost with the motion which she 
 might have used had he insulted her ; or had a 
 man spoken such words who would not, under 
 any circumstances, have a right to speak them. 
 "Ah, yes! I thought it would be so," he said. 
 "X may go now, and may know that I have 
 been turned out." 
 
 "What is it you mean, Dr. Crofts? What 
 is it you are saying ? Why do you talk that 
 nonsense, trying to see if you can provoke me?" 
 "Yes; it is nonsense. I have no right to ad- 
 dress you in that way, and certainly should not 
 have done it now that I am in your house in the 
 way of my profession. I beg your pardon." 
 Now he also was standing, but he had not moved 
 from his side of the fire-place. "Are you going 
 to forgive me before I go ?" 
 
 " Forgive you for what ?" said she. 
 "For daring to love you; for having loved 
 you almost as long as you can remember ; for 
 loving you better than all besides. This alone 
 you should forgive ; but will you forgive me for 
 having told it ?" 
 
 He had made her no oifer, nor did she expect 
 that he was about to make one. She herself 
 had hardly yet realized the meaning of his 
 words, and she certainly had asked herself no 
 question as to the answer which she should give 
 to them. There are cases in which lovers pre- 
 sent themselves in so unmistakable a gnise that 
 the first word of open love uttered by them tells 
 their whole story, and tells it without the' possi- 
 bility of a surprise. And it is generally so when 
 the lover has not been an old friend, when even 
 his acquaintance has been of modem date. It 
 had been so essentially in the case of Crosbie 
 and Lily Dale. When Crosbie came to Lily 
 and made his offer, he did it with perfect ease 
 and thorough self-possession, for he almost knew 
 that it was expected. And Lily, though she had 
 been flurried for a moment, had her answer pat 
 enough. She already loved the man with all 
 her heart, delighted in his presence, basked in 
 the sunshine of his manliness, rejoiced in his 
 wit, and had tuned her ears to the tone of his 
 voice. It had all been done and the world 
 expected it. . Had he not made bis offer Lily 
 would have been ill-treated — though, alas, alas; 
 there was future ill-treatment so much heavier 
 in store for her! But there are other cases in 
 
180 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 which a lover can not make himself known as 
 such without great difiBculty, and when he does 
 do so, can not hope for an immediate answer in 
 his favor. It is hard upon old friends that this 
 difficulty should usually fall the heaviest upon 
 them. Crofts had been so intimate with the 
 Dale family that very many persons had thought 
 it probable that he would marry one of the girls. 
 Mrs. Dale herself had thought so, and had al- 
 most hoped it. Lily had certainly done both. 
 These thoughts and hopes had somewhat faded 
 away, but yet their former existence should have 
 been in the doctor's favor. But now, when he 
 had in some way spoken out, Bell started hack 
 from him and would not believe that he was in 
 earnest. She probably loved him better than 
 any man in the world, and yet, when he spoke 
 to her of love, she could not bring herself to un- 
 derstand him. 
 
 "I don't know what you mean. Dr. Crofts; 
 indeed I do not," she said. 
 
 " I had meant to ask you to be my wife ; sim- 
 ply that. But you shall not have the pain of 
 making me a positive refusal. As I rode here 
 to-day I thought of it. During my frequent 
 rides of late I have thought of little else. But 
 I told myself that I had no right to do it. I 
 have not even a house in which it would be fit 
 that you should live." 
 
 "Dr. Crofts, if I loved you — if I wished to 
 marry you — " and then she stopped herself. 
 
 "But you do not?" 
 
 " No ; I think not. I suppose not. No. But 
 in any way no consideration about money has 
 any thing to do with it." 
 
 "But I am not that butcher or that baker 
 whom you could love ?" 
 
 " No," said Bell; and then she stopped her- 
 self from further speech, not as intending to 
 convey all her answer in that one word, but as 
 not knowing how to fashion any further words. 
 
 "I knew it would be so," said the doctor. 
 
 It will, I fear, be thought by those who con- 
 descend to criticise this lover's conduct and his 
 mode of carrying on his suit, that he was very 
 unfit for such work. Ladies will say that he 
 wanted courage, and men will say that he want- 
 ed wit. I am inclined, however, to believe that 
 he behaved as well as men generally do behave 
 on such occasions, and that he showed himself 
 to be a good average lover. There is your bold 
 lover, who knocks his lady-love over as he does 
 a bird, and who would anathematize himself all 
 over, and swear that his gun was distraught, 
 and look about as though he thought the world 
 was coming to an end, if he missed to knock 
 over his bird. And there is your timid lover, 
 who winks his eyes when he fires, who has felt 
 certain from the moment in which he buttoned 
 on his knickerbockers that he at any rate would 
 kill nothing, and vifho, when he hears the loud 
 congratulations of his friends, can not believe 
 that he really did bag that beautiful winged 
 thing by his own prowess. The beautiful wing- 
 ed thing which the timid man carries home in 
 his hpsom, declining to have it thrown into a 
 
 miscellaneous cart, so that it may never be lost 
 in a common crowd of game, is better to him 
 than are the slaughtered hecatombs to those who 
 kill their birds by the hundred. 
 
 But Dr. Crofts had so winked his eye that he 
 was not in the least aware whether he had wing- 
 ed his bird or no. Indeed, having no one at 
 hand to congratulate him, he was quite sure 
 that the bird had flown away uninjured into the 
 next field. "No" was the only word which 
 Bell had given in answer to his last sidelong 
 question, and No is not a comfortable word to 
 lovers. But there had been that in Bell's No 
 which might have taught him that the bird was 
 not escaping without a wound, if he had still 
 had any of his wits about him. 
 
 " Now I will go," said he. Then he paused 
 for an answer, biit none came. ' ' And you will 
 understand what I meant when I spoke of being 
 tm-ned out." 
 
 "Nobody turns you out." And Bell, as she 
 spoke, had almost descended to a sob. 
 
 " It is time, at any rate, that I should go ; is 
 it not? And, Bell, don't suppose that this lit- 
 tle scene will keep me away from your sister's 
 bedside. I shall be here to-morrow, and you 
 will find that you will hardly know me again for 
 the same person." Then in the dark he put out 
 his hand to her. 
 
 "Good-by," she said, giving him her hand. 
 He pressed hers very closely, but she, though 
 she wished to do so, could not bring herself to 
 return the pressure. Her hand remained pas- 
 sive in his, showing no sign of ofiense ; but it 
 was absolutely passive. 
 
 " Good-by, dearest friend," he said. 
 
 "Good-by," she answered ; and then he was 
 gone. 
 
 She waited quite still till she heard the front, 
 door close after him, and then she crept silently 
 up to her own bedroom, and sat herself down in 
 a low rocking-chair over the fire. It was in ac- 
 cordance with a custom already established that 
 her mother should remain with Lily till the tea 
 was ready down stairs ; for in these days of ill- 
 ness such dinners as were provided were eaten 
 early. Bell therefore knew that she had still 
 some half hour of her own, during which she 
 might sit and think undisturbed. 
 
 And what naturally should have been her first 
 thoughts? — that she had ruthlessly refused a 
 man who, as she now knew, loved her well, 
 and for whom she had always felt at any rate 
 the warmest friendship? Such were not her 
 thoughts,' nor were they in any way akin to this. 
 They ran back instantly to years gone by — over 
 long yeai'S, as her few years were counted — and 
 settled themselves on certain halcyon days, in 
 which she had dreamed that he had loved her, 
 and had fancied that she had loved him. How 
 she had schooled herself for those days since 
 that, and taught herself to know that her thoughts 
 had been overbold ! And now it had all come 
 round. The only man that she had ever liked 
 had loved her. Then there came to her a mem- 
 ory of a certain day in which she had been al- 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 181 
 
 most proud to think that Crosbie had admired 
 her, in which she had almost hoped that it inight 
 be so ; and as she thought of this she blushed, 
 and struck her foot twice upon the floor. ' ' Dear 
 Lily !" she said to herself — "poor Lily !" But 
 the feeling which induced her then to think of 
 her sister had had no relation to that which had 
 first brought Crosbie into her mind. 
 
 And this man had loved her through it all — 
 this priceless, peerless man — this man who was 
 as true to the back-bone as that other man had 
 shown himself to be false ; who was as sound as 
 the other man had proved himself to be rotten. 
 A smile came across her face as she sat looking 
 at the fire, thinking of this. A man had loved 
 her whose love was worth possessing. She hard- 
 ly remembered whether or no she had refused 
 him or accepted him. She hardly asked herself 
 what she would do. As to all that it was nec- 
 essary that she should have many thoughts, but 
 the necessity did not press upon her quite imme- 
 diately. For the present, at any rate, she might 
 sit and triumph ; and thus triumphant she sat 
 there till the old nurse came in and told her 
 that her mother was waiting for her below. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 PKBPAEATION8 FOR THE WEDDING. 
 
 The fourteenth of February was finally set- 
 tled as the day on which Mr. Crosbie was 
 to be made the happiest of men. A- later day 
 had been at first named, the twenty-seventh or 
 twenty-eighth having been suggested as an im- 
 provement over the first week in March ; but 
 Lady Amelia had been frightened by Crosbie's be- 
 
 havior on that Sunday evening, and had made the 
 countess understand that there should be no un- 
 necessary delay. " He doesn't scruple at that kind 
 of thing," Lady Amelia had said, in one of her 
 letters, showing perhaps less trust in the potency 
 of her own rank than might have been expected 
 from her. The countess, however, had agreed 
 with her, and when Crosbie received from his 
 mother-in-law a very affectionate epistle setting 
 forth all the reasons which would make the four- 
 teenth so much more convenient a day than the 
 twenty-eighth, he was unable to invent an ex- 
 cuse for not being made happy a fortnight ear- 
 lier than the time named in the bargain. His 
 first impulse had been against yielding, arising 
 from some feeling which made him think that 
 more than the bargain ought not to be exacted. 
 But what was the use to him of quarreling? 
 What the use, at least, of quarreling just then ? 
 He believed that he could more easily enfran- 
 chise himself from the De Courcy tyranny when 
 he should be once married than he could do 
 now. When Lady Alexandrina should be his 
 own he would let her .know that he intended 
 to be her master. If in doing so it would be 
 necessary that he should divide himself alto- 
 gether from the De Courcys, such division should 
 be made. At the present moment he would 
 yield to them, at any rate in this matter. And 
 so the fourteenth of February was fixed for the 
 marriage. 
 
 In the second week in January Alexandrina 
 came up to look after her things ; or, in more 
 noble language, to fit herself with becoming 
 bridal appanages. As she could not properly do 
 all this work alone, or even under the surveil- 
 lance and with the assistance of a sister. Lady 
 De Courcy was to come up also. But Alexan- 
 drina came first, remaining with her sister in 
 St. John's Wood till the countess should arrive. 
 The countess had never yet condescended to 
 accept of her son-in-law's hospitality, but always 
 went to the cold, comfortless house in Portman 
 Square — the house which had been the De 
 Courcy town family mansion for many years, 
 and which the countess would long since have 
 willingly exchanged for some abode on the other 
 side of Oxford Street ; but the earl had been ob- 
 durate ; his clubs and certain lodgings which he 
 had occasionally been wont to occupy were on 
 the right side of Oxford Street ; why should he 
 change his old family residence? So the count- 
 ess was coming up to Portman Square, not hav- 
 ing been even asked on this occasion to St. 
 John's Wood. 
 
 ' ' Don't you think we'd better?" Mr. Gazebee 
 had said to his wife, almost trembling at the re- 
 newal of his own proposition. 
 
 "I think not, my dear," Lady Amelia had 
 .answered. "Mamma is not very particular; 
 but there are little things, you know—" 
 
 "Oh yes, of course," said Mr. Gazebee ; and 
 then the conversation had been dropped. He 
 would most willingly have entertained his au- 
 gust mother-in-law during her visit to the me- 
 tropolis, and yet her presence in his house would 
 
182 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 have made him miserable as long as she remain- 
 ed there. 
 
 But for a week Alexandrina sojourned under 
 Mr. Gazebee's roof, during which time Cros- 
 bie was made happy with all the delights of an 
 expectant bridegroom. Of course he was given 
 to understand that he was to dine at the Gaze- 
 bee's' eveiy day, and spend all his evenings 
 there ; and, under the circumstances, he had no 
 excuse for not doing so. Indeed, at the present 
 moment, his hours would otherwise have hung 
 heavily enough upon his hands. In spite of his 
 bold resolution with reference to his eye, and his 
 intention not to be debarred from the pleasures 
 of society by the marks of the late combat, he 
 had not, since that occurrence, frequented his 
 club Very closely ; and though London was now 
 again becoming fairly full, he did not find him- 
 self going out so much as had been his wont. 
 The brilliance of his coming marriage did not 
 seem to have added much to his popularity ; in 
 fact, the world — his world — was beginning to 
 look coldly at him. Therefore that daily at- 
 tendance at i6t. John's Wood was not felt to be 
 so irksome as might have been expected. 
 
 A residence had been taken for the couple 
 in a very fashionable row of buildings abutting 
 upon the Bayswater Road, called Princess Eoyal 
 Crescent. The house was quite new, and the 
 street being unfinished had about it a strong 
 smell of mortar, and a general aspect of build- 
 ers' poles and brickbats ; but nevertheless, it 
 was acknowledged to be a quite correct locality. 
 From one end of the crescent a corner of Hyde 
 Park could be seen, and the other abutted on a 
 very handsome terrace indeed, in which lived an 
 embassador — from South America — a few bank- 
 ers' senior clerks, and a peer of the realm. We 
 know how vile is the sound of Baker Street, and 
 how absolutely foul to the polite ear is the name 
 of Fitzroy Square. The houses, however, in 
 those purlieus are substantial, warm, and of good 
 size. The house in Princess Royal Crescent 
 was certainly not substantial, for in these days 
 substantially-built houses do not pay. It could 
 hardly have been warm, for, to speak the truth, 
 it was even yet not finished throughout; and 
 as for the size, though the drawing-room was a 
 noble apartment, consisting of a section of the 
 whole house, with a corner cut out for the stair- 
 case, it was very much cramped in its other 
 parts, and was made like a cherub, in this re- 
 spect, that it had no rear belonging to it. " But 
 if you have no private fortune of your own you 
 can not have every thing," as the countess ob- 
 served when Crosbie objected to the house be- 
 cause a closet under the kitchen-stairs was to be 
 assigned to him as his own dressing-room. 
 
 When the question of the house was first de- 
 bated Lady Amelia had been anxious that St. 
 John's Wood should be selected as the site, but 
 to this Crosbie had positively objected. 
 
 "I think you don't like St. John's Wood," 
 Lady Amelia had said to him somewhat sternly, 
 thinking to awe him into a declaration that he 
 entertained no general enmity to the neighbor- 
 
 hood. But Crosbie was not weak enough for 
 this. 
 
 "No; I do not," he said. "I have always 
 disliked it. It amounts to a prejudice, I dare 
 say. But if I were made to live here I am con- 
 vinced I should cut my throat in the first six 
 months." 
 
 Lady Amelia had then drawn herself up, de- 
 claring her sorrow that her house should be so 
 hateful to him. 
 
 "Oh dear, no," said he. "I like it very 
 much for you, and enjoy coming heie of all 
 things. I speak only of the effect which living 
 here myself would have upon me." 
 
 Lady Amelia was quite clever enough to un- 
 derstand it all ; but she had her sister's interest 
 at heart, and therefore persevered in her affec- 
 tionate solicitude for her brother-in-law, giving 
 up that point as to St. John's Wood. Crosbie 
 himself had wished to go to one of the new Pim- 
 lieo squares, down near Vauxhall Bridge and 
 the river, actuated chiefly by consideration of 
 the enormous distance lying between that local- 
 ity and the northern region in which Lady Ame- 
 lia lived; but to this Lady Alexandrina had 
 objected strongly. If, indeed, they could have 
 achieved Eaton Square, or a street leading out 
 of Eaton Square — if they could have crept on 
 to the hem of the skirt of Belgravia — the bride 
 would have been delighted. And at first she 
 was very nearly being taken in with the idea 
 that such was the proposal made to her. Her 
 geographical knowledge of Pimlico had not been 
 perfect, and she had nearly fallen into a fatal 
 error. But a friend had kindly intervened. 
 " For Heaven's sake, my dear, don't let him 
 take you any where beyond Eccleston Square !" 
 had been exclaimed to her in dismay by a faith- 
 ful married friend. Thus warned, Alexandi-i- 
 na had been firm, and now their tent was to be 
 pitched in Princess Eoyal Crescent, from one 
 end of which the Hyde Park may be seen. 
 
 The furniture had been ordered chiefly under 
 the inspection and by the experience of the Lady 
 Amelia. Crosbie had satisfied himself by de- 
 claring that she at any rate could get the things 
 cheaper than he could buy them, and that he 
 had no taste for such employment. Neverthe- 
 less, he had felt that he was being made subject 
 to tyranny and brought under the thumb. of. 
 subjection. He could not go cordially into this 
 matter of beds and chairs, and therefore at last 
 deputed the whole matter to the De Courey fac- 
 tion. And for this there was another reason, 
 not hitherto mentioned. Mr. Mortimer Gaze- 
 bee was finding the money with which all the 
 furniture was being bought. He, with an hon- 
 est but almost unintelligible zeal for the De 
 Conrcy family, had tied up every shilling on 
 which he could lay his hand as belonging to 
 Crosbie, in the interest of Lady Alexandrina. 
 He had gone to work for her, scraping herej 
 and arranging there, strapping the new husbnnd 
 down upon the grindstone of his matrimonial 
 settlement, as though the future bread of his, 
 Gazebee's, own children were dependent on the 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 183 
 
 validity of his legal workmanship. And for this 
 he was not to receive a penny, or gain any ad- 
 vantage, immediate or ulterior. It came from 
 his zeal — his zeal for the coronet which Lord 
 De Courcy wore. According to his mind an 
 earl and an earl's belongings were entitled to 
 such zeal. It was the theory in which he had 
 been educated, and amounted to a worship which, 
 unconsciously, he practiced. Personally, he dis- 
 liked Lord De Courcy, who ill-treated him. He 
 knew that the earl was a heartless, cruel, bad 
 man. But as an earl he was entitled to an 
 amount of service which no commoner could 
 have commanded from Mr. Gazebee. Mr. Gaze- 
 bee, having thus tied up all the available funds 
 in favor of Lady Alexandrina's seemingly ex- 
 pected widowhood, was himself providing the 
 money with which the new house was to be fur- 
 nished. "You can pay me a hundred and fifty 
 a year with four per cent, till it is liquidated," 
 he said to Crosbie; and Crosbie had assented 
 with a grunt. Hitherto, though he had lived 
 in London expensively, and as a man of fash- 
 ion, he had never owed any one any thing. He 
 was now to begin that career of owing. But 
 when a clerk in a public ofSce marries an earl's 
 daughter he can. not expect to have every. thing 
 his own way. 
 
 Lady Amelia had bought the ordinary furni- 
 ture — the beds, the stair-carpets, the washing- 
 stands, and the kitchen things^ Gazebee had 
 got a bargain of the dinner-table and sideboard. 
 But Lady Alexandrina herself was to come up 
 with reference to the appurtenances of the draw- 
 ing-room. It was with reference to matters of 
 costume that the countess intended to lend her 
 assistance — matters of costume as to which the 
 bill could not be sent in to Gazebee, and be paid 
 for by him with five per cent, duly charged against 
 the bridegroom. The bridal trousseau must be 
 produced by De Courcy's means, and, there- 
 fore, it was necessary that the countess herself 
 should come upon the scene. " I will have no 
 bills, d'ye hear?" snarled the earl, gnashing and 
 snapping upon his words with one specially ugly 
 black tooth. "I won't have any bills about this 
 affair." And yet he made no offer of ready 
 money. It was very necessary under such cir- 
 cumstances that the countess herself should come 
 upon the scene. An ambiguous hint had been 
 conveyed to Mr. Gazebee, during a visit of busi- 
 ness which he had lately made to Courcy Castle, 
 that the milliner's bills might as well be pinned 
 on to those of the furniture-makers, the crock- 
 ery-mongers, and the like. The countess, put- 
 ting it in her own way, had gently suggested 
 that the fashion of the thing had changed late- 
 ly, and that such an arrangement was consider- 
 ed to be the proper thing among people who 
 lived really in the world. Bnt Gazebee was a 
 clear-headed, honest man ; and he knew the 
 countess. He did not think that such an ar- 
 rangement could be made on the present occa- 
 sion. Whereupon the countess pushed her sug- 
 gestion no further, but made up her mind that 
 she must come up to London herself. 
 
 It was pleasant to see the Ladies Amelia and 
 Alexandrina, as they sat within a vast empo- 
 rium of carpets in Bond Street, asking questions 
 of the four men who were waiting upon them, 
 putting their heads together and whispering, cal- 
 culating accurately as to extra twopences a yard, 
 and occasioning as much trouble as it was possi- 
 ble for them to give. It was pleasant because 
 they managed their large hoops cleverly among 
 the huge rolls of carpets, because they were en- 
 joying themselves thoroughly, and taking tc 
 themselves the homage of the men as clearly 
 their due. But it was not so pleasant to look 
 at Crosbie, who was fidgeting to get away to his 
 office, to whom no power of choosing in the matter 
 was really given, and whom the men regarded as 
 being altogether supernumerary. The ladies had 
 promised to be at the shop by half past ten, so 
 that Crosbie should reach his office at eleven — or 
 a little after. But it was nearly eleven before 
 they left the Gazebee residence, and it was very 
 evident that half an hour among the carpets 
 would be by no means sufficient. It seemed as 
 though miles upon miles of gorgeous coloring were 
 unrolled before them ; and then when any pattern 
 was regarded as at all practicable, it was unrolled 
 backward and forward till a room was nearly cov- 
 ered by it. Crosbie felt for the men who were 
 hauling about the huge heaps of material ; but 
 Lady Amelia sat as composed as though it wei-e 
 her duty to inspect every yard of stuff in the 
 warehouse. " I think we'll look at that one at 
 the bottom again. " Then the men went to work 
 and removed a mountain. "No, my dear, that 
 green in the scroll-work won't do. It would fly 
 directly if any hot water were spilt." The man 
 smiling ineffably, declared that that particular 
 green never flew any where. But Lady Amelia 
 paid no attention to him, and the carpet for 
 which the mountain had been removed became 
 part of another mountain. 
 
 "That might do," said Alexandrina, gazing 
 upon a magnificent crimson ground, through 
 which rivers of yellow meandered, carrying with 
 them in their streams an infinity of blue flowers. 
 And as she spoke she held her head gi-acefuUy 
 on one side, and looked down upon the carpet 
 doubtingly. Lady Amelia poked it with her 
 parasol as though to test its durability, and whis- 
 pered something about yellows showing the dirt. 
 Crosbie took out his watch and groaned. 
 
 "It's a superb carpet, my lady, and about 
 the newest thing we have. We put down four 
 hundred and' fifty yards of it for the Duchess of 
 South Wales, at Cwddglwleh Castle, only last 
 month. Nobody has had it since, for it has not 
 been in stock. " Whereupon Lady Amelia again 
 poked it, and then got up and walked upon it. 
 Lady Alexandrina held her head a little more 
 on one side. 
 
 "Five and three?" said Lady Amelia. 
 
 "Oh no, my lady; five and seven; and the 
 cheapest carpet we have in the house. There 
 is twopence a yard more in the color ; there is, 
 indeed." 
 
 "And the discount?" asked Amelia. 
 
184 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 THiT MIGHT DO. * 
 
 " Two and a half, my lady." 
 
 "Oh dear, no," said Lady Amelia. "I al- 
 ways have five per cent, for immediate pay- 
 ment; quite immediate, you know." Upon 
 which the man declared the question must be 
 referred to his master. Two and a half was the 
 rule of the house. Crosbie, who had been look- 
 ing out of the window, said that upon his honor 
 he couldn't wait any longer. 
 
 "And what do you think of it, Adolphus?" 
 asked Alexandrina. 
 
 "Think of what?" 
 
 " Of the carpet — this one, you know I" 
 
 ' ' Oh — what do I think of the carpet ? I don't 
 think I quite like all these yellow bands ; and 
 isn't it too red ? I should have thought some- 
 thing brown with a small pattern would have 
 been better. But, upon my word, I don't much 
 care." 
 
 "Of course he doesn-'t," said Lady Amelia- 
 Then the two ladies put their heads together for 
 another five minutes, and the carpet was chosen, 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 185 
 
 subject to that question of the discount. "And 
 now about the rug," said Lady Amelia. But 
 here Crosbie rebelled, and insisted that he must 
 leave them and go to his office. "You can't 
 want me about the rug," he said. " Well, per- 
 haps not, " said Lady Amelia. But it was mani- 
 fest that Alexaudrina did not approve of being 
 thus left by her senior attendant. 
 
 The same thing happened in Oxford Street 
 with reference to the chairs and sofas, and Cros- 
 bie began to wish that he were settled, even 
 though ho should have to dress himself in the 
 closet below the kitchen-stairs. He was learn- 
 ing to hate the whole household in St. John's 
 Wood, and almost all that belonged to it. He 
 was introduced there to little family economies 
 of which hitherto he had known nothing, and 
 which were disgusting to him, and the necessity 
 for which was especially explained to him. It 
 was to men placed as he was about to place him- 
 self that these economies were so vitally essen- 
 tial — to men who with limited means had to 
 maintain a decorous outward face toward the 
 fashionable world. Ample supplies of butchers' 
 meat and unlimited washing-biUs might be very 
 well upon fifteen hundred a year to those who 
 went out but seldom, and who could use the 
 first cab that came to hand when they did go 
 out. But there were certain things that Lady 
 Alexandrina must do, and therefore the strictest 
 household economy became necessary. Would 
 Lily Dale have required the use of a carriage, 
 got up to look as though it were private, at the 
 expense of her husband's beef-steaks and clean 
 shirts? That question and others of that na- 
 ture were asked by Crosbie, within his own 
 mind, not unfreqnently. 
 
 But, nevertheless, he tried to love Alexandri- 
 na, or rather to persuade himself that he loved 
 her. If he could only get her away from the 
 De Courcy faction, and especially from the 
 Guzebee branch of it, he would break her of all 
 that. He would teach her to sit triumphantly 
 in a street cab, and to cater for her table with a 
 plentiful hand. Teach her ! — at some age over 
 thirty, and with such careful training as she had 
 already received ! Did he intend to forbid her 
 ever again to see her relations, ever to go to St. 
 John's ''^ood, or to correspond with the count- 
 ess and Lady Miirgaretta ? Teach her, indeed ! 
 Had he yet to learn that he could not wash a 
 blackamoor white? — that he could not have 
 done so even had he himself been well adapted 
 for the attempt, whereas he was in truth nearly 
 as ill adapted as a man might be? But who 
 could pity him? Lily, whom he might hav^ 
 had in his bosom, would have been no blacka- 
 moor! 
 
 Then came the time of Lady De Courcy's vis- 
 it to town, and Alexandrina moved herself off 
 to Portman Square. There was some apparent 
 comfort in this to Crosbie ; for he would there- 
 by be saved from those daily dreary journeys up 
 to the northwest. I may say that he positively 
 hated that windy corner near the church, round 
 which he had to walk in getting to the Gazebee 
 M 
 
 residence, and that he hated the lamp which 
 guided him to the door, and the very door it- 
 self. This stood buried as it were in a wall, 
 and opened on to a narrow passage which ran 
 across a so-called garden, or front yard, con- 
 taining on each side two iron receptacles for 
 geraniums, painted to look like Palissy ware, 
 and a naked female on a pedestal. No spot in 
 London was, as he thought, so cold as the bit 
 of pavement immediately in front of that door. 
 And there he would be kept five, ten, fifteen 
 minutes, as he declared — though I believe in 
 my heart that the time never exceeded three — 
 while Richard was putting off the trappings of 
 his work and putting on the trappings of his 
 grandeur. 
 
 If people would only have their doors opened 
 to you by such assistance as may come most 
 easily and naturally to the work ! I stood late- 
 ly for some minutes on a Tuesday afternoon at 
 a gallant portal, and as I waxed impatient a 
 pretty maiden came and opened it. She was a 
 pretty maiden, though her hands, and face, and 
 apron told tales of the fire-grates. "Laws, 
 Sir," she said, " the visitors' day is Wednesday ; 
 and if you would come then -there would be the 
 man in livery!" She took my card with the 
 corner of her apron, and did just ^s well as the 
 man in livery ; but what would have happened 
 to her had her little speech been overheard by 
 her mistress ? 
 
 Crosbie hated the house in St. John's Wood, 
 and therefore the coming of the countess was a 
 relief to him. Portman Square was easily to be 
 reached, and the hospitalities of the countess 
 would not be pressed upon him so strongly as 
 those of the Gazebees. When he first called he 
 was shown into the great family dining-room, 
 which looked out toward the back of the house. 
 The front windows were, of course, closed, as 
 the family was not supposed to be in London. 
 Here he remained inthe room for some quarter 
 of an honr, and then the countess descended 
 upon him in all her grandeur. Perhaps he had 
 never before seen her so grand. Her dress was 
 very large, and rustled through the broad door- 
 way, as if demanding even a broader passage. 
 She had on a wonder of a bonnet, and a velvet 
 mantle that was nearly as expansive as her pet- 
 ticoats. She threw her head a little back as she 
 accosted him, and he instantly perceived that he 
 was enveloped in the fumes of an affectionate 
 but somewhat contemptuous patronage. In old 
 days he had liked the countess, because her man- 
 ner to him had always been flattering. In his 
 intercourse with her he had been able to feel 
 that he gave quite as much as he got, and that 
 the countess was aware of the fact. In all the 
 circumstances of their acquaintance the ascend- 
 ency had been with him, and therefore the ac- 
 quaintance had been a pleasant one. The count- 
 ess had been a good-natured, agreeable woman, 
 whose rank and position had made her house 
 pleasant to him ; and therefore he had consent- 
 ed to shine upon her with such light as he had 
 to give. Why was it that the matter was. re- 
 
186 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 Tersed, now that there was so much stronger 
 a cause for good feeling between them? He 
 knew that there was such change, and with bit- 
 ter internal upbraidings he acknowledged to 
 himself that this woman was getting the mas- 
 tery over him. As the friend of the countess 
 he had been a great man in her ejes ; in all her 
 little words and looks she had acknowledged his 
 power ; but now, as her son-in-law, he was to 
 become a very little man — such as was Mortimer 
 Gazebee ! 
 
 "My dear Adolphus," she said, taking both 
 his hands, ' ' the day is coming very near now ; 
 is it not?" 
 
 "Very near, indeed," he said. 
 
 "Yes, it is very near. I hope you feel your- 
 self a happy man." 
 
 "Oh yes, that's of course." 
 
 "It ought to be. Speaking very seriously, I 
 mean that it ought to be a matter of course. 
 She is every thing that a man should desire in 
 a wife. I am not alluding now to her rank, 
 though of course you feel what a great advant- 
 age she gives you in this respect, " 
 
 Crosbie muttered something as to his con- 
 sciousness of having drawn a prize in the lot- 
 tery ; but he so muttered it as not to convey to 
 the lady's ears a proper sense of his dependent 
 gratitude. ' ' I know of no man more fortunate 
 than you have been," she continued; "and I 
 hope that my dear girl will find that you are 
 fiiUy aware that it is so. I think that she is 
 looking rather fagged. You have allowed her 
 to do m6re than was good for her in the way of 
 shopping." 
 
 "She has done a good deal, certainly," said 
 Crosbie. 
 
 "She is so little used to any thing of that 
 kind ! But of Course, as things have turned out, 
 it was necessary that she should see to these 
 things herself." 
 
 "I rather think she liked it," said Crosbie. 
 
 "I believe she will always like doing her duty. 
 We are jjist going now to Madame Millefraiic's, 
 to see some silks ; perhaps you would wish to go 
 with us?" 
 
 Just at this moment Alexandrina came into 
 the room, and looked as though she were in all 
 respects a smaller edition of her mother. They 
 were both well-grown women, with handsome, 
 large figures, and a certain air about them which 
 answered almost for beauty. As to the count- 
 ess, her face, on close inspection, bore, as it was 
 entitled to do, deep signs of age ; but she so 
 managed her face that any such close inspec- 
 tion was never made ; and her general appear- 
 ance for her time of life was certainly good. 
 Very little more than this could be said in favor 
 of her daughter. 
 
 "Oh dear, no, mamma," she said, having 
 heard her mother's last words. " He's the worst 
 person in a shop in the world. He likes no- 
 thing, and dislikes nothing. Do you, Adol- 
 phus?" 
 
 "Indeed I do. I like all the cheap things, 
 and dislike all the dear things." 
 
 " Then you certainly shall not go with us to 
 Madame Millefranc's," said Alexandrina. 
 
 " It would not matter to him there, you know, 
 my dear," said the countess, thinking perhaps 
 of the suggestion she had lately made to Mr. 
 Gazebee. 
 
 On this occasion Crosbie managed to escape, 
 simply promising to return to Portman Square 
 in the evening after dinner. " By-the-by, Adol- 
 phus," said the countess, as he handed her into 
 the hired carriage which stood at the door, "I 
 vrish you would go to Lambert's, on Ludgate 
 Hill, for me. He has had a bracelet of mine 
 for nearly three months. Do, there's a good 
 creature. Get it if you can, and bring it up 
 this evening." 
 
 Crosbie, as he made his way back to his of- 
 fice, swore that he would not do the bidding of 
 the countess. He would not trudge ofi' into the 
 city after her trinkets. But at five o'clock, when 
 he left his ofiice, he did go there. "He apolo- 
 gized to himself by saying that he had nothing 
 else to do, and bethought himself that at the 
 present moment his lady mother-in-law's smiles 
 might be more convenient than her frowns. So 
 he went to Lambert's, on Ludgate Hill, and 
 there learned that the bracelet had been sent 
 down to Cou'qpy Castle full two months since. 
 
 After that he dined at his club, at Sebright's. 
 He dined alone, sitting by no means in bliss 
 with his half-pint of sherry on the table before 
 him. A man now and then came up and spoke 
 to him, one a few words, and another a few, 
 and two or three congratulated him as to his 
 marriage ; but the club was not the same thing 
 to him as it had formerly been. He did not 
 stand in the centre of the rug, speaking indiffer- 
 ently to all or any around him, ready with his 
 joke, and loudly on the alert with the last news 
 of the day. How easy it is to be seen when any 
 man has fallen from his pride of place, though 
 the altitude was ever so small, and the fall ever 
 so slight ! Where is the man who can endure 
 such a fall without showing it in his face, in his 
 voice, in his step, and in every motion of every 
 limb? Crosbie knew that he had fallen, and 
 showed that he knew it by the manner in which 
 he ate his mutton-chop. 
 
 At half past eight he was again in Portman 
 Square, and found the two ladies crowding over 
 a small fire in a small back drawing-room. The 
 furniture was all covered with brown holland, 
 and the place had about it that cold, comfortless 
 feeling which uninhabited rooms always pro- 
 duce. Crosbie, as he had walked from the club 
 up to Portman Square, had indulged in some 
 serious thoughts. The kind of life which he 
 had hitherto led had certainly passed away from 
 him. He could never again be the pet of a 
 club, or indulged as one to whom all good things 
 were to be given without any labor at earning 
 them on his part. Such for some years had 
 been his good fortune, but such coidd be his 
 good fortune no longer. Was there any thing 
 within his reach which he might take in lieu of 
 that which he had lost ? He might still be vie- 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 187 
 
 torious at his office, having more capacity for 
 such victory than others around him. But such 
 success alone would hardly suffice for him. 
 Then he considered whether he might not even 
 yet be happy in his own home — whether Alex- 
 andrina, when separated from her mother, might 
 not become such a wife as he could love. No- 
 thing softens a man's feelings so much as fail- 
 ure, or makes him turn so anxiously to an idea 
 of home as buflfetings from those he meets abroad. 
 He had abandoned Lily because his outer world 
 had seemed to him too bright to be deserted. 
 He would endeavor to supply her place with 
 Alexandrina, because his outer world had seem- 
 ed to him too harsh to be supported. Alas! 
 alas ! a man can not so easily repent of his sins, 
 and wash himself white from their stains ! 
 
 When he entered the room the two ladies 
 were sitting over the fire, as I have stated, and 
 Crosbie could immediately perceive that the 
 spirit of the countess was not serene. In fact, 
 there had been a few words between the mother 
 and child on that matter of the trousseau, and 
 Alexandrina had plainly told her mother that if 
 she were to be married at all she would be mar- 
 ried with such garments belonging to her as were 
 fitting for an earl's daughter. It was in vain 
 that her mother had explained, with many cir- 
 cumlocutional phrases, that the fitness in this 
 respect should be accommodated rather to the 
 plebeian husband than to the noble parent. Al- 
 exandrina had been very firm, and had insisted 
 on her rights, giving the countess to understand 
 that if her orders for finery were not complied 
 with she would return as a spinster to Courcy, 
 and prepare herself for partnership with Eosina. 
 
 "My dear," said the countess, piteously, "you 
 can have no idea of what I shall have to go 
 through with your father. And, of course, you 
 could get all these things afterward." 
 
 "Papa has no right to treat me in such a way. 
 And if he would not give me any money him- 
 self, he should have let me have some of my 
 own." 
 
 " Ah, my dear, that was Mr. Gazebee's fault." 
 
 " I don't care whose fault it was. It certain- 
 ly was not mine. I won't have him to tell me" 
 — him was intended to signify Adolphus Cros- 
 bie — "that he had to pay for my wedding- 
 clothes." 
 
 "Of course not that, my dear." 
 
 "No ; nor yet for the things which I wanted 
 immediately. I'd much rather go and tell him 
 at once that the marriage must be put oif." 
 
 Alexandrina of course carried her point, the 
 countess reflecting with a maternal devotion 
 equal almost to that of the pelican, that the earl 
 could not do more than kill her. So the things 
 were ordered as Alexandrina chose to order 
 them, and the countess desired that the bills 
 might be sent in to Mr. Gazebee. Much self- 
 devotion had been displayed by the mother, but 
 the mother thought that none had been dis- 
 played by the daughter, and therefore she had 
 been very cross with Alexandrina. 
 
 Crosbie, takmg a chair, sat himself between 
 
 them, and in a very good-humored tone ex- 
 plained the little affair of the bracelet. "Your 
 ladyship's memory must have played you felse," 
 said he, with a smile. 
 
 "My memory is very good," said the count- 
 ess ; " very good indeed. If Twitch got it, and 
 didn't tell me, that was not my fault." Twitch 
 was her ladyship's lady's-maid. Crosbie, seeing 
 how the land lay, said nothing more about the 
 bracelet. 
 
 After a minute or two he put out his hand 
 to take that of Alexandrina. Thoy were to be 
 married now in a week or two, and such a sign 
 of love might have been allowed to him, even 
 in the presence of the bride's mother. He did 
 succeed in getting hold of her fingers, but found 
 in them none of the softness of a response. 
 "Don't," said Lady Alexandrina, withdrawing 
 her hand ; and the tone of her voice as -she 
 spoke the word was not sweet to his ears. He 
 remembered at the moment a certain scene 
 which took place one evening at the little bridge 
 at Allington, and Lily's voice, and Lily's words, 
 and Lily's passion, as he carisssed her: "Oh, 
 my love, my love, my love !" 
 
 "My dear," said the countess, "they know 
 how tired I am. I wonder whether they are 
 going to give us any tea." Whereupon Crosbie 
 rang the bell, and, on resuming his chair, moved 
 it a little farther away from his lady-love. 
 
 Presently the tea was brought to them by the 
 housekeeper's assistant, who did not appear to 
 have made herself very smart for the occasion, 
 and Crosbie thojjght that he was de trop. This, 
 however, was a mistake on his part. As ho 
 had been admitted into the family, such little 
 matters were no longer subject of care. Two 
 or three months since, the countess would have 
 fainted at the idea of such a domestic appearing 
 with a tea-tray before Mr. Crosbie. Now, how- 
 ever, she was utterly indifferent to any such 
 consideration. Crosbie was to be admitted into 
 the family, thereby becoming entitled to certain 
 privileges, and thereby also becoming subject to 
 certain domestic drawbacks. In Mrs. Dale's lit- 
 tle household there had been no rising to gran- 
 deur ; but then, also, there had never been any 
 bathos of dirt. Of this also Crosbie thought as 
 he sat with his tea in his hand. 
 
 He soon, however, got himself away. When 
 he rose to go Alexandrina also rose, and he was 
 permitted to press his nose against her cheek- 
 bone by way of a salute. 
 
 " Good-night, Adolphus," said the countess, 
 putting out her hand to him. "But stop a 
 minute ; I know there is something I want you 
 to do for me. But you will look in as you go 
 to your office to-morrow morning." 
 
 CHAPTER XLL 
 
 DOMESTIC TROUBLES. 
 
 When Ci-osbie was making his ineffectual 
 inquiry after Lady De Courcy's bracelet at 
 Lambert's, John Eames was in the act of en- 
 
188 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 tering Mrs. Eoper's front door in Burton Cres- 
 cent. 
 
 "Oh, John, Where's Mr. Cradell?" were the 
 first words which greeted him, and they were 
 spoken by the divine Amelia. Now, in her usual 
 practice of life, Amelia did not interest herself 
 much as to the whereabouts of Mr. Cradell. 
 
 "Where's Caudle?" said Eames, repeating 
 the question. "Upon my word, I don't know. 
 I walked to the office with him, but I haven't 
 seen him since. We don't sit in the same room, 
 you know." 
 
 "John !" and then she stopped. 
 
 " What's up now ?" said John. 
 
 " John ! That woman's off and left her hus- 
 band. As sure as your name's John Eames, 
 that foolish fellow has gone off with her." 
 
 " What, Caudle ? I don't believe it. " 
 
 " She went out of this house at two o'clock in 
 the afternoon, and has never been back since." 
 That, certainly, was only four hours from the 
 present time, and such an absence from home in 
 the middle of the day was but weak evidence on 
 which to charge a married woman with the great 
 sin of running off with a lover. This Amelia 
 felt, and therefore she went on to explain. 
 "He's there up stairs in the drawing-room, the 
 very picture of disconsolateness." 
 
 "Who— Caudle?" 
 
 " Lupex is. He's been drinking a little, I'm 
 afraid; but he's very unhappy, indeed. He 
 had an appointment to meet his wife here at four 
 o'clock, and when he came he found her gone. 
 He rushed up into their room, |,nd now he says 
 she has broken open a box he had and taken off 
 all his money." 
 
 "But he never had any money." 
 
 "He paid mother some the day before yes- 
 terday." 
 
 "That's just the reason he shouldn't have 
 any to-day." 
 
 " She certainly has taken things she wouldn't 
 have taken if she'd merely gone out shopping 
 or any thing like that, for I've been up in the 
 room and looked about it. She'd three neck- 
 laces. They weren't much account; but she 
 must have them all on, or else have got them in 
 her pocket." 
 
 " Caudle has never gone off with her in that 
 way. He may be a fool — " 
 
 "Oh, he is, you know. I've never seen such 
 a fool about a woman as he has been." 
 
 " But he wouldn't be a party to stealing a lot 
 of trumpery trinkets, or taking her husband's 
 money. Indeed, I don't think he has any thing 
 to do with it." Then Eames thought over the 
 circumstances of the day, and remembered that 
 he had certainly not seen Cradell since the morn- 
 ing. It was that public servant's practice to 
 saunter into Eames's room in the middle of the 
 day, and there consume bread and cheese and 
 beer — in spite of an assertion which Johnny had 
 once made as to crumbs of biscuit bathed in 
 ink. But on this special day he had not done 
 so. "I can't think he has been such a fool as 
 that, '' said Johnny. 
 
 "But he has," said Amelia. "It's dinner- 
 time now, and where is he? Had he any mon- 
 ey left, Johnny?" 
 
 So interrogated Eames disclosed a secret con- 
 fided to him by his friend which no other cir- 
 cumstances would have succeeded in dragging 
 from his breast. 
 
 " She borrowed twelve pounds from him 
 about a fortnight since, immediately after quar- 
 ter-day. And she owed him money, too, be- 
 fore that." 
 
 "Oh, what a soft!" exclaimed Amelia ; "and 
 he hasn't paid mother a shilling for the last two 
 months!" 
 
 " It was his money, perhaps, that Mrs. Boper 
 got from Lupex the day before yesterday. If so, 
 it comes to the same thing as far as she is con- 
 cerned, you know." 
 
 " And what are we to do now ?" said Amelia, 
 as she went before her lover up stairs. "Oh, 
 John, what will become of me if ever you serve 
 me in that way ? What should I do if you were 
 to go off with another lady ?" 
 
 "Lupex hasn't gone off," said Eames, who 
 hardly knew what to say when the matter was 
 brought before him with so closely personal, a 
 reference. 
 
 "But it's the same thing," said Amelia. 
 "Hearts is divided. Hearts that have been 
 joined together ought never to be divided; 
 ought they ?" And then she hung upon his 
 arm just as they got to the drawing-room door. 
 
 " Hearts and darts are all my eye," said 
 Johnny. " My belief is that a man had better 
 never marry at all. How d'you do, Mr. Lu- 
 pex ? Is any thing the matter ?" 
 
 Mr. Lupex was seated on a chair in the mid- 
 dle of the room, and was leaning with his head 
 over the back of it. So despondent was he in 
 his attitude that his head would have fallen off 
 and rolled on to the "fioor had it followed the 
 course which its owner seemed to intend that it 
 should take. His hands hung down also along 
 the back legs of the chair, till his fingers almost 
 touched the ground, and altogether his appear- 
 ance was pendent, drooping, and wobegone. 
 Miss Spruce was seated in one comer of the 
 room, with her hands folded in her lap before 
 her, and Mrs. Eoper was standing on the rug 
 with a look of severe virtue on her brow — of vir- 
 tue which, to judge by its appearance, was very 
 severe. Nor was its severity intended to be ex- 
 ercised solely against Mrs. Lijpex. Mrs. Eoper 
 was becoming very tired of Mr. Lupex also, and 
 would not have been unhappy if he also had run 
 away — ^leaving behind him so much of his prop- 
 erty as would have paid his bill. 
 
 Mr. Lupex did not stir when first addressed 
 by John Eames, but a certain convulsive move- 
 ment was to be seen on the back of his head, 
 indicating that this new arrival in the drawing- 
 room had produced a fresh accession of agony. 
 The chair, too, quivered under him, and his fin- 
 gers stretched themselves nearer to the ground 
 and shook themselves. 
 
 "Mr. Lupex, we're going to' dinner imme- 
 
THE SAIALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTOK 
 
 189 
 
 diately, " said Mrs. Roper. " Mr. Eamas, where 
 is your friend Mi\ Cradell?" 
 
 " Upon my word I don't know," said Eames. 
 
 "But I know," said Lupex, jumping up and 
 standing at his full height, while he knocked 
 down the chair which had lately supported him. 
 " The traitor to domestic bliss ! I know. And 
 wherever he is, he has that false woman in his 
 arms. Would he were here !" And as he ex- 
 pressed the last wish he went through a motion 
 with his hands and arms which seemed intend- 
 ed to signify that if that unfortunate young man 
 were in the company he would pull him in pieces 
 and double him up, and pack him close, and 
 then dispatch his remains off, through infinite 
 space, to the Prince of Darkness. "Traitor!" 
 he exclaimed, as he finished the process. "False 
 traitor! Eoul traitor! And she too!" Then, 
 as he thought of this softer side of the subject, 
 he prepared himself to relapse again on to the 
 chair. Finding it on the ground he had to 
 pick it up. He did pick it up, and once more 
 flung away his head over the back of it, and 
 stretched his finger-nails almost down to the 
 carpet. 
 
 "James," said Mrs. Roper to her son, who 
 was now in the room, "I think you'd better 
 stay with Mr. Lupex while we are at dinner. 
 Come, Miss Spruce, I'm very sorry that you 
 should be annoyed by this kind of thing."- 
 
 "It don't hurt me," said Miss Spruce, pre- 
 paring to leave the room. " I'm only an old 
 woman." 
 
 "Annoyed!" said Lupex, raising himself 
 again from his chair, not perhaps altogether dis- 
 posed to remain up stairs while the dinner, for 
 which it was intended that he should some day 
 pay, was being eaten below. "Annoyed! It 
 is a profound sorrow to me that any lady should 
 be annoyed by my misfortunes. As regards 
 Miss Spruce, I look upon her character with 
 profound veneration." 
 
 "You needn't mind me; I'm only an old 
 woman," said Miss Spruce. 
 
 "But, by Heavens, I do mind!" exclaimed 
 Lupex ; and, hurrying forward, he seized Miss 
 Spruce by the hand. " I shall always regard 
 age as entitled — " But the special privileges 
 which Mr. Lupex would have accorded to age 
 were never made known to the inhabitants of 
 Mrs. Roper's boarding-house ; for the door of the 
 room was again opened at this moment, and Mr. 
 Cradell entered. 
 
 " Here you are, old fellow, to answer for your- 
 self," said Eames. 
 
 Cradell, who had heard something as he came 
 in at' the front door, but had not heard that Lu- 
 pex was in the drawing-room, made a slight 
 start backward when he saw that gentleman's 
 face. " Upon my word and honor," he began ; 
 but he was able to carry his speech no further. 
 Lupex, dropping the hand of the elderly lady 
 whom he reverenced, was upon him in an in- 
 stant, and Cradell was shaking beneath his grasp 
 like an aspen leaf — or rather not like an aspen 
 leaf, unless an aspen leaf when shaken is to be 
 
 seen with its eyes shut, its mouth open, and its 
 tongue hanging out. 
 
 " Come, I say," said Eames, stepping forward 
 to his friend's assistance ; " this won't do at all, 
 Mr. Lupex. You've been drinking. You'd bet- 
 ter wait till to-morrow morning, and speak to 
 Cradell then." 
 
 "To-morrow morning, viper!" shouted Lu- 
 pex, still holding his prey, but looking back at 
 Eames over his shoulder. Who the viper was 
 had not been clearly indicated. "When will 
 he restore to me my wife ? When will he re- 
 store to me my honor?" 
 
 ' ' Upon-on-on-on my — " It was for the mo- 
 ment in vain that poor Mr. Cradell endeavored 
 to asseverate his innocence, and to stake his 
 honor upon his own purity as regarded Mrs. 
 Lupex. Lupex still held to his enemy's cra- 
 vat, though Eames had now got him by the 
 arm, and so far impeded his movements as to 
 hinder him from proceeding to any graver at- 
 tack. 
 
 "Jemima, Jemima, Jemima!" shouted Mrs. 
 Roper. " Run for the police ; run for the po- 
 lice ! " B ut Amelia, who had more presence of 
 mind than her mother, stopped Jemima as she 
 was making to one of the front windows. ' ' Keep 
 where you are," said Amelia. "They'll come 
 quiet in a minute or two." And Amelia, no 
 doubt, was right. Calling for the police when 
 there is a row in the house is like summoning 
 the water-engines when the soot is on fire in the 
 kitchen chimney. In such cases good manage- 
 ment will allow the soot to burn itself out, with- 
 out aid from the water-engines. In the present 
 instance the police were not called in, and I am 
 inclined to think that their presence would not 
 have been advantageous to any of the party. 
 
 " Upon-my-honor — I know nothing about 
 her," were the first words which Cradell was 
 able to articulate, when Lupex, under Eames's 
 persuasion, at last relaxed his hold. 
 
 Lupex turned round to Miss Spruce with a 
 sardonic grin. "You hear his words — this en- 
 emy to domestic bliss. Ha, ha ! man, tell me 
 whither you have conveyed my wife !" 
 
 " If you were to give me the Bank of England, 
 I don't know, " said Cradell. 
 
 "And I'm sure he does not know," said Mrs. 
 Roper, whose suspicions against Cradell were 
 beginning to subside. But as her suspicions 
 subsided. her respect for him decreased. Such 
 was the case also with Miss Spruce, and with 
 Amelia, and iwith Jemima. They had all 
 thought him to be a great fool for running away 
 with Mrs. Lupex, but now they were beginning 
 to think him a poor creature because he had not 
 done so. Had he conlmitted that active folly, 
 he would have been an interesting fool. But 
 now, if, as they all suspected, he knew no more 
 about Mrs. Lupex than they did, he would be a 
 fool without any special interest whatever. 
 
 " Of course he doesn't," said Eames. 
 
 "No more than I do," said Amelia. 
 
 "His very looks show him innocent," said 
 Mrs. Roper. 
 
190 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 "Indeed they do," said Miss Spruce. 
 
 Lupex turned from one to the other as they 
 thus defended the man whom he suspected, and 
 shook his head at each assertion that was made. 
 ' ' And if he doesn't know, who does ?" he asked. 
 " Haven't I seen it all for the last three months ? 
 Is it reasonable to suppose that a creature such 
 as she, used to domestic comforts all her life, 
 should have gone off in this way, at dinner-time, 
 taking with her my property and all her jewels, 
 and that nobody should have instigated her ; no- 
 body assisted her! Is that a story to tell to 
 such a man as me ! You may tell it to the ma^ 
 rines!" Mr. Lupex, as he made this speech, 
 was walking about the room, and as he finished 
 it he threw his pocket-handkerchief with vio- 
 lence on the floor. "I know what to do, Mrs. 
 Eoper," he said. " I know what steps to take. 
 I shall put the affair into the hands of my law- 
 yer to-morrow morning." Then he picked up 
 his handkerchief and walked down into the din- 
 ing-room. 
 
 ' ' Of course you know nothing about it ?" said 
 Eames to his friend, having run up stairs for the 
 purpose of saying a word to him while he wash- 
 ed his hands. 
 
 ' ' What — about Maria ? I don't know where 
 she is, if you mean that." 
 
 "Of course I mean that. What else should 
 I mean ? And what makes you call her Maria?" 
 
 "It is wrong. I admit it's wrong. The 
 word will come out, you know." 
 
 "Will come but! I'll tell you what it is, 
 old fellow, you'll get yourself into a mess, and 
 all for nothing. That fellow will have you up 
 before the police for stealing his things — " 
 
 "But, Johnny — " 
 
 " I know all about it. Of course you have 
 not stolen them, and of course there was no- 
 thing to steal. But if you go on calling her 
 Maria you'll find that he'll have a pull on you. 
 Men don't call other men's wives names for no- 
 thing." 
 
 " Of course we've been friends," said Cradell, 
 who rather liked this view of the matter. 
 
 "Yes — you have been friends! She's did- 
 dled you out of your money, and that's the be- 
 ginning and the end of it. And now, if you 
 go on showing off your friendship, you'll be 
 done out of more money. You're making an 
 ass of yourself. That's the long and the short 
 of it." 
 
 " And what have you made of yourself with 
 that girl? There are worse as|ps than I am 
 yet, Master Johnny." Eames, as he had no 
 answer ready to this counter attack, left the 
 room and went down stairs, Cradell soon fol- 
 lowed him, and in a few minutes they were all 
 eating their dinner together at Mrs. Eoper's 
 hospitable table. 
 
 Immediately after dinner Lupex took him- 
 self away, and the conversation up stairs be- 
 came general on the subject of the lady's de- 
 parture. 
 
 " If I was him I'd never ask a question about 
 her, but let her go," said Amelia. 
 
 " Yes ; and then have all her bills following 
 you, wherever you went," said Amelia's brother. 
 
 "I'd sooner have her bills than herself," said 
 Eames. 
 
 "My belief is, that she's been an ill-used 
 woman," said Cradell. ' ' If she had a husband 
 that she could respect and have loved, and all 
 that sort of thing, she would have been a charm- 
 ing woman. " 
 
 "She's every bit as bad as he is," said Mrs. 
 Eoper. 
 
 ' ' I can't agree with you, Mrs. Eoper," con- 
 tinued the lady's champion. " Perhaps I ought 
 to understand her position better than any one 
 here, and — " 
 
 " Then that's just what you ought not to do, 
 Mr. Cradell," said Mrs. Eoper. And now the 
 lady of the house spoke out her mind with much 
 maternal dignity and with some feminine sever- 
 ity. "That's just what a young man like you 
 has no business to know. What's a married wo- 
 man like that to you, or you to her; or what 
 have you to do with understanding her posi- 
 tion? When you've a wife of your own, if 
 ever you do have one, you'll find you'll have 
 trouble enough then without any body else in- 
 terfering with you. Not but what I believe 
 you're innocent as a lamb about Mrs. Lupex; 
 that is, as far as any harm goes. But you've 
 got yourself into all this trouble by meddling, 
 and was like enough to get yourself choked up 
 stairs by that man. And who's to wonder when 
 you go on pretending to be in love with a wo- 
 man in that way, and she old enough to be 
 your mother? What would your mamma say 
 if she saw you at it ?" 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Cradell. 
 
 " It's all very well your laughing, but I hate 
 such folly. If I see a young man in love with 
 a young woman, I respect him for it ;" and then 
 she looked at Johnny Eames. " I respect him 
 for it — even though he may now and then do 
 things as he shouldn't. They most of 'em does 
 that. But to see a young man like you, Mr. 
 Cradell, dangling after an old married woman, 
 who doesn't know how to behave herself; and 
 all just because she lets him to do it — ugh ! — an 
 old broomstick with a petticoat on would do just 
 as well ! It makes me sick to see it, and that's 
 the truth of it. I don't call it manly ; and it 
 ain't manly, is it, Miss Spruce ?" 
 
 "Of course I know nothing about it," said 
 the lady to whom the appeal was thus made. 
 " But a young gentleman should keep himself 
 to himself till the time comes for him to speak 
 out — begging your pardon all the same, Mr. 
 Cradell." 
 
 ' ' I don't see what a married woman should 
 want with any one after her but her own hus- 
 band," said Amelia. 
 
 "And perhaps not always that," said John 
 Eames. 
 
 It was about an hour after this when the 
 front-door bell was rung, and a scream from 
 Jemima announced to them all that some crit- 
 ical moment had arrived. Amelia, jumping 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 191 
 
 up, opened the door, and then the rustle of a 
 woman's dress was heard on the lower stairs. 
 "Oh, laws, ma'am, you have given us sich a 
 turn," said Jemima " We all thought you 
 was run away." 
 
 "It's Mrs. Lnpex," said Amelia. And in 
 two minutes more that ill-used lady was in the 
 room. 
 
 "Well, my dears," said she, gayly, "I hope 
 nobody has waited dinner." 
 
 "No; we didn't wait dinner," said Mrs. 
 Boper, very gravely. 
 
 "And Where's my Orson? Didn't he dine 
 at home ? Mr. Cradell, will you oblige me by 
 taking my shawl ? But perhaps you had better 
 not. People are so censorious ; ain't they, Miss 
 Spruce ? Mr. Eames shall do it ; and every 
 body knows that that will be quite safe. Won't 
 it, Miss Amelia?" 
 
 " Quite, I should think," said Amelia. And 
 Mrs. Lupex knew that she was not to look for 
 an ally in that quarter on the present occasion. 
 Eames got up to take the shawl, and Mrs. Lupex 
 went on. 
 
 "And didn't Orson dine at home? Per- 
 haps they kept him down at the theatre. But 
 I've been thinking all day what fun it would be 
 when he thought his bird was flown." 
 
 "He did dine at home," said Mrs. Roper; 
 "and he didn't seem to like it. There wasn't 
 much fun, I can assure you." 
 
 "Ah, wasn't there, though? I believe that 
 man would like to have me tied to his button- 
 hole. I came across a few friends — lady frighds, 
 Mr. Cradell, though two of them had their hus- 
 bands ; so we made a party and just went down 
 to Hampton Court. So my gentleman has gone 
 again, has he ? That's what I get for gadding 
 about myself, isn't it. Miss Spruce ?" 
 
 Mrs. Roper, as she went to bed that night, 
 made up her mind that, whatever might be the 
 cost and trouble of doing so, she would lose no 
 further time in getting rid of her mai-ried guests. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 lily's bedside. 
 Lilt Dale's constitution was good, and her 
 recovery was retarded by no relapse or lingering 
 debility; but, nevertheless, she was forced to 
 keep her bed for many days after the fever had 
 left her. Daring all this period Dr. Crofts 
 came every day. It was in vain that Mrs. Dale 
 begged him not to do so ; telling him in simple 
 words that she felt herself bound not to accept 
 from him all this continuation of his unremu- 
 nerated labors now that the absolute necessity 
 for them was over. He answered her only by 
 little jokes, or did not answer her at all ; but 
 still he came daily, almost always at the same 
 hour, just as the day was waning, so that he 
 could sit for a quarter of an hour in the dusk, 
 and then ride home to Guestwick in the dark. 
 At this time Bell had been admitted into her 
 
 sister's room, and she would always meet Dr. 
 Crofts at Lily's bedside ; but she never sat with 
 him alone since the day on which he had of- 
 fered her his love with half-articulated words, 
 and she had declined it with words also half-ar- 
 ticulated. She had seen him alone since that 
 on the stairs, or standing in the hall, but she 
 had not remained with him, talking to him after 
 her old fashion, and no further word of his love 
 had been spoken in speech either half or wholly 
 articulate. 
 
 Nor had Bell spoken of what had passed to 
 any one else. Lily would probably have told 
 both her mother and sister instantly ; but then 
 no such scene as that which had taken place 
 with Bell would have been possible with Lily. 
 In whatever way the matter might have gone 
 with her, there would certainly have been some 
 clear tale to tell when the interview was over. 
 She would have known whether or no she loved 
 the man, or could love him, and would have 
 given him some true and intelligible answer. 
 Bell had not done so, but had given him an 
 answer which, if true, was not intelligible, and 
 if intelligible was not true. And yet, when 
 she had gone away to think over what had 
 passed, she had been happy and satisfied, and 
 almost triumphant. She had never yet asked 
 herself whether she expected any thing further 
 from Dr. Crofts, nor what that something fur- 
 ther might be — and yet she was happy ! 
 
 Lily had now become pert and saucy in her 
 bed, taking upon herself the little airs which 
 are allowed to a convalescent invalid as com- 
 pensation for previous suffering and restraint. 
 She pretended to much anxiety on the subject 
 of her dinner, and declared that she would go 
 out on such or such a day, let Dr. Crofts be as 
 imperious as he might. " He's an old savage, 
 after all," she said to her sister, one evening, 
 after he was gone, "and just as bad as the rest 
 of them." 
 
 "I do not know who the rest of them are," 
 said Bell, " but at any rate he's not very old." 
 
 "You know what I mean. He's just as 
 grumpy as Dr. Gruffen, and thinks every body 
 is to do what he tells them. Of course, you 
 take his part." 
 
 "And of course you ought, seeing how good 
 he has been. " 
 
 "And of course I should, to any body but 
 you. I do like to abuse him to you." 
 
 "Lily, Lily!" 
 
 " So I do. It's so hard to knock any fire out 
 of you, that when one does find the place where 
 the flint lies, one can't help hammering at it. 
 What did he mean by saying that I shouldn't 
 get up on Sunday ? Of course I shall get up 
 if I like it." 
 
 "Not if mamma asks you not?" 
 
 "Oh, but she won't, unless he interferes and 
 dictates to her. Oh, Bell, what a tyrant he 
 would be if he were married !" 
 
 "Would he?" 
 
 "And how submissive you would be if you 
 were his wife ! It's a thousand pities that you 
 
192 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 are not in love with each other — that is, if you 
 are not." 
 
 "Lily, I thought that there was a promise 
 between us about that." 
 
 " Ah ! but that was in other days. Things 
 are all altered since that promise was given — all 
 the world has been altered." And as she said 
 this the tone of her voice was changed, and it 
 had become almost sad. " I feel as though I 
 ought to be allowed now to speak about any 
 thing I please. " 
 
 "You shall, if it pleases you, my pet." 
 
 "You see how it is. Bell; I can never again 
 have any thing of my Own to talk about." 
 
 "Oh, my darling, do not say that." 
 
 "But it is so, Bell; and why not say it? 
 Do you think I never say it to myself in the 
 hours when I am all alone, thinking over it — 
 thinking, thinking, thinking. You must not — 
 you must not grudge to let me talk of it some- 
 times." 
 
 "I will not grudge you any thing — only I 
 can not believe that it must be so always." 
 
 "Ask yourself, Bell, how it would be with 
 you. But I sometimes fancy that you measure 
 me differently from yourself." 
 
 " Indeed I do, for I know how much better 
 you are." 
 
 " I am not so much better as to be ever able 
 to forget all that. I know I never shall do so. 
 I have made up my mind about it clearly and 
 with an absolute certainty." 
 
 "Lily, Lily, Lily! pray do not say so." 
 
 "But I do say it. And yet I have not been 
 very mopish and melancholy ; have I, Bell ? 
 I do think I deserve some little credit, and yet, 
 I declare, you won't allow me the least privi- 
 lege in the world." 
 
 " What privilege would you wish me to give 
 yon?" 
 
 "To talk about Dr. Crofts." 
 
 "Lily, you are a wicked, wicked tyrant." 
 And Bell leaned over her, and fell upon her, 
 and kissed her, liiding her own face in the 
 gloom of the evening. After that it came to 
 be an accepted understanding between them 
 that Bell was not altogether indifferent to Dr. 
 Crofts. 
 
 " You heard what he said, my darling," Mrs. 
 Dale said the next day, as the three were in the 
 room together after Dr. Crofts was gone. Mrs. 
 Dale was standing on one side of the bed, and 
 Bell on the other, while Lily was scolding them 
 both. "You can get up for an hour or two to- 
 morrow, but he thinks you had better not go out 
 of the room." 
 
 " What wonld be the good of that, mamma ? 
 I am BO tired of looking always at the same pa- 
 per. It is such a tiresome paper. It makes 
 one count the pattern over and over again. I 
 wonder how you ever can live here." 
 
 "I've got used to it, you see." 
 
 "I never can get used to that sort of thing; 
 but go on counting, and counting, and count- 
 ing. I'll tell you what I should like ; and I'm 
 sure it would be the best thing too." 
 
 " And what would yon like ?" said Bell. 
 
 "Just to get up at nine o'clock to-morrow 
 and go to church as though nothing had hap- 
 pened. Then, when Dr. Crofts came in the 
 evening, you would tell him I was down at the 
 school." 
 
 "I wouldn't quite advisa that," said Mrs. 
 Dale. 
 
 "It would give him such a delightful start. 
 And when he found I didn't die immediately, 
 as of course I ought to do according to rule, he 
 would be so disgusted. " 
 
 "It would be very ungrateful, to say the 
 least of it," said Bell. 
 
 "No, it wouldn't a bit. He needn't come 
 unless he likes it. And I don't believe he 
 comes to see me at all. It's all very well, 
 mamma, your lookjng in that way; but I'm 
 sure it's true. And I'll tell you what I'll do. 
 I'll pretend to be bad again, otherwise the poor 
 man will be robbed of his only happiness." 
 
 " I suppose we must allow her to say what 
 she likes till she gets well," said Mrs. Dale, 
 laughing. It was now nearly dark, and Mrs. 
 Dale did not see that Bell's hand had crept un- 
 der the bed-clothes, and taken hold of that of 
 her sister- "It's true, mamma," continued 
 Lily, "and I defy her to deny it. I would 
 forgive him for keeping me in bed if he wonld 
 only make her fall in love with him." 
 
 " She has made a bargain, mamma," said 
 Bell, ' ' that she is to say whatever she likes till 
 she gets well." 
 
 " I am to say whatever I like always; that 
 was the bargain, and I mean to stand to it." 
 
 On the following Sunday Lily did get up, but 
 did not leave her mother's bedroom. There she 
 was, seated in that half-dignified and half-luxu- 
 rious state which belongs to the first getting up 
 of an invalid, when Dr. Crofts called. There 
 she had eaten her tiny bit of roast mutton, and 
 had called her mother a stingy old creature be- 
 cause she would not permit another morsel ; and 
 there she had drunk her half glass of port-wine, 
 pretending that it was very bad, and twice worse 
 than the doctor's physic ; and there, Sunday 
 though it was, she had fully enjoyed the last 
 hour of daylight, reading that exquisite new 
 novel which had just completed itself, amidst 
 the jarring criticisms of the youth and age of 
 the reading public. 
 
 ' ' I am quite sure she was right in accepting 
 him, Bell," she said, putting down the book as 
 the light was fading, and beginning to praise 
 the story. 
 
 "It was a matter of course," said Bell. " It 
 always is right in the novels. That's why I 
 don't like them. They are too sweet." 
 
 " That's why I do like them, because they 
 are so sweet. A sermon is not to tell you what 
 you are, but what you ought to be ; and a novel 
 should tell you not what you are to get, but 
 what you'd like to get." 
 
 "If so, then, I'd go back to the old school, 
 and have the heroine really a heroine, walking 
 all the way up from Edinburgh to London, and 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 193 
 
 falling among thieves ; or else nursing a wound- 
 ed hero, and describing the battle from the win- 
 dow. We've got tired of that, or else the people 
 who write can't do it nowadays. But if we are 
 to have real life, let it be real." 
 
 " No, Bell, nol" said Lily. " Real life some- 
 times is so painful." Then her sister, in a mo- 
 ment, was down on the floor at her feet, kissing 
 her hand and caressing her knees, and praying 
 that the wound might be healed. 
 
 On that morning Lily had succeeded in in- 
 ducing her sister to tell her all that had been 
 said by Dr. Crofts. All that had been said by 
 herself, also. Bell had intended to tell ; but 
 when she came to this part of the story her ac- 
 count was very lame. "1 don't think I said 
 any thing," she said. "But silence always 
 gives consent. He'll know that," Lily had re- 
 joined. " No, he will not ; my silence didn't 
 give any consent ; I'm sure of that. And he 
 didn't think that it did." "But you didn't 
 mean to refuse him?" "I think I did. I 
 don't think I knew what I meant ; and it was 
 safer, therefore, to look no than to look yes. 
 If I didn't say it, I'm sure I looked it." "But 
 you wouldn't refuse him now?" asked Lily. "I 
 don't know," said Bell. " It seems as though I 
 should want years to make up my mind ; and 
 he won't ask me again. " 
 
 Bell was still at her sister's feet, caressing 
 them, and praying with all her heart that that 
 wound might be healed in due time, when Mrs. 
 Dale came in and announced the doctor's daily 
 visit. "Then I'll go," said Bell. 
 
 " Indeed you won't," said Lily. ' ' He's com- 
 ing simply to make a morning call, and nobody 
 need run away. Now, Dr. Crofts, you need not 
 come and stand over me with your watch, for I 
 won't let you touch my hand except to shake 
 hands with me;" and then she held her hand 
 out to him. " And all you'll know of my 
 tongue you'll learn from the sound." 
 
 "I don't care in the least for your tongue." 
 
 " I dare say not, and yet you may some of 
 these days. I can speak out, if I like it ; can't 
 I, mamma?" 
 
 "I should think Dr. Crofts knows that by 
 this time, my dear." 
 
 " I don't know. There are some things gen- 
 tlemen are very slow to learn. But you must 
 sit down. Dr. Crofts, and make yourself com- 
 fortable and polite; for you must understand 
 that you are not master here any longer. I'm 
 out of bed now, and your reign is over." 
 
 "That's the gratitude of the world all 
 through," said Mrs. Dale. 
 
 "Who is ever grateful to a doctor? He only 
 cures yon that he may triumph over some other 
 doctor, and declare, as he goes by Dr. Gruffen's 
 door, ' There, had she called you in, she'd have 
 been dead before now ; or else would have been 
 ill for twelve months ' Don't you jump for joy 
 when Dr. Gruffen's patients die?" 
 
 " Of course I do— out in the market-place, 
 so that every body shall see me," said the doc- 
 tor. 
 
 "Lily, how can you say such sliocking 
 things?" said her sister. 
 
 Then the doctor did sit down, and they were 
 all very cozy together over the fire, talking about 
 things which were not medical, or only half 
 medical in their appliance. By degrees the 
 conversation came round to Mrs. Eames and to 
 John Eames. Two or three days since Crofts 
 had told Mrs. Dale of that aifair at the railway 
 station, of which up to that time she had heard 
 nothing. Mrs. Dale, when she was assured that 
 young Eames had given Crosbie a tremendous 
 thrashing — the tidings of the affair which had 
 got themselves substantiated at Guestwick so 
 described the nature of the encounter — could not 
 withhold somfe meed of applause. 
 
 "Dear boy!" she said, almost involuntarily. 
 "Dear boyl It came from the honestness of 
 his heart !" And then she gave special injunc- 
 tions to the doctor — injunctions which were 
 surely unnecessary — that no word of the matter 
 should be whispered before Lily. 
 
 "I was at the manor yesterday," said the 
 doctor, " and the earl would talk about nothing 
 but Master Johnny. He says he's the finest 
 fellow going." Whereupon Mrs. Dale touched 
 him with her foot, fearing that the conversation 
 might be led away in the direction of Johnny's 
 prowess. 
 
 "lam so glad," said Lily. "lalwaysknew 
 that they'd find John out at last." 
 
 "And Lady Julia is just as fond of him," 
 said the doctor. 
 
 " Dear me !" said Lily. "Suppose they were 
 to make up a match !" 
 
 "Lily, how can you be so absurd,?" 
 
 "Let me see; what relation would he be to 
 us ? He would certainly be Bernard's uncle, 
 and uncle Christopher's half brother-in-law. 
 Wouldn't it be odd?" 
 
 " It would rather," said Mrs. Dale. 
 
 " I hope he'll be civil to Bernard. Don't you, 
 Bell ? Is he to give up the Income-tax Office, 
 Dr. Crofts?" 
 
 "I didn't hear that that was settled yet." 
 And so they went on talking about John Eames. 
 
 "Joking apart," said Lily, "I am very glad 
 that Lord De Guest has taken him by the hand. 
 Not that I think an earl is better than any body 
 else, but because it shows that people are begin- 
 ning to understand that he has got something in 
 him. I always said that they who laughed at 
 John would see him hold np his head yet." All 
 which words sank deep into Mrs. Dale's mind. 
 If only, in some coming time, her pet might be 
 taught to love this new young hero ! But then 
 would not that last heroic deed of his militate 
 most strongly against any possibility of such 
 love! 
 
 "And now I may as well be going," said the 
 doctor, rising from his chair. At this time Bell 
 had left the room, but Mrs. Dale was still there. 
 
 "You need not be in such a huny, especially 
 this evening," said Lily. 
 
 "Why especially this evening?" 
 
 " Because it will be the last. Sit down again, 
 
194 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 Doctor Crofts. I've got a little speech to make 
 to you. I've been preparing it all the morning, 
 and you must give me an opportunity of speak- 
 ing it." 
 
 " I'll come the day after to-morrow, and iI'U 
 hear it then." 
 
 "But I choose, Sir, that you should hear it 
 now. Am I not to be obeyed when I first get 
 up on to my own throne? Dear, dear Dr. 
 Crofts, how am I to thank you for all that you 
 have done?" 
 
 "How are any of us to thank him?" said 
 Mrs. Dale. 
 
 " I hate thanks," said the doctor. "One kind 
 glance of the eye is worth them all, and I've had 
 many such in this house." 
 
 "You have our hearts' love, at any rate," 
 said Mrs. Dale. 
 
 ' ' Grod bless you all ! " said he, as he prepared 
 to go. 
 
 "But I haven't made my speech yet," said 
 Lily. "And to tell the truth, mamma, you 
 must go away, or I shall never be able to make 
 it. It's very improper, is it not, turning you 
 out, but it shall only take three minutes." Then 
 Mrs. Dale, with some little joking word, left the 
 room ; but, as she left it, her mind was hardly 
 at ease. "Ought she to have gone, leaving it to 
 Lily's discretion to say what words she might 
 think fit to Dr. Crofts ? Hitherto she had never 
 doubted her daughters — not even their discre- 
 tion ; and therefore it had been natural to her 
 to go when she was bidden. But as she went 
 down stairs she had her doubts whether she was 
 right or no- 
 
 "Dr. Crofts," said Lily, as soon as they were 
 alone. " Sit down there, close to me. I want 
 to ask you a question. What was it you said to 
 Bell when you were alone with her the other 
 evening in the parlor?" 
 
 The doctor sat for a moment without answer- 
 ing, and Lily, who was watching liira closely, 
 could see by the light of the fire that he had 
 been startled — had almost shuddered as the 
 question was asked him. 
 
 "What did I say to her?" and he repeated 
 her words in a very low voice. "I asked her 
 if she could love me, and be my wife." 
 
 " And what answer did she make to you ?" 
 
 ' ' What answer did she make ? She simply 
 refused me." 
 
 "No, no, no; don't believe her. Dr. Crofts. 
 It was not so ; I think it was not so. Mind 
 you, I can say nothing as coming from her. 
 She has not told me her own mind. Bnt if you 
 really love her, she will be mad to refuse you." 
 
 " I do love her, Lily ; that at any rate is true." 
 
 " Then go to her again. I am speaking for 
 myself now. I can not afford to lose such a 
 brother as you would be. I love you so dearly 
 that I can not spare you. And she — I think 
 she'll learn to love you as you would wish to be 
 loved. You know her nature, how sil?nt she 
 is, and averse to talk about herself. She has 
 confessed nothing to me but this, that you spoke 
 to her and took her by surprise. Are we to 
 
 have another chance? I know how wrong I 
 am to ask such a question. But, after all, is 
 not the truth the best?" 
 
 " Another chance !" 
 
 "I know what you mean, and I think she is 
 worthy to be your wife. I do, indeed ; and if 
 so, she must be very worthy. You won't tell 
 of me, will you now, doctor ?" 
 
 " No ; I won't tell of you." 
 
 "And you'll try again ?" 
 
 "Yes; I'll try again." 
 
 "God bless you, my brother! I hope — I 
 hope you'll be my brother." Then, as he put 
 out his hand to her once more, she raised her 
 head toward him, and he, stooping down, kissed 
 her forehead. " Make mamma come to me," 
 were the last words she spoke as he went out. 
 
 "So you've made your speech," said Mrs. 
 Dale. 
 
 "Yes, mamma." 
 
 "I hope it was a discreet speech.'' 
 
 "I hope it was, mamma. But it has made 
 me so tired, and I believe I'll go fo bed. Do 
 you know I don't think I should have done much 
 good down at the school to-day?" 
 
 Then Mrs. Dale, in her anxiety to repair 
 what injury might have been done to her daugh- 
 ter by over-exertion, omitted any further men- 
 tion of the farewell speech. 
 
 Dr. Crofts as he rode home enjoyed but little 
 of the triumph of a successful lover. "It may 
 be that she's right," he said to himself; "and, 
 at any rate, I'll ask again." Nevertheless, that 
 " No" which Bell had spoken, and had repeated, 
 still sounded in his ears harsh and conclusive. 
 There are men to whom a peal of noes rattling 
 about their ears never takes the sound of a true 
 denial, and others to whom the word once pro- 
 nounced, be it whispered ever so softly, comes 
 as though it were an unchangeable verdict from 
 the supreme judgment-seat. 
 
 CHAPTEB XLin. 
 
 BIE, FIE ! 
 
 Will any reader remember the loves — no, 
 not the loves ; that word is so decidedly ill ap- 
 plied as to be incapable of awakening the re- 
 membrance of any reader; but the flirtations 
 — of Lady Dumbello and Mr. Plantagenet Pal- 
 liser ? 'Those flirtations, as they had been car- 
 ried on at Courcy Castle, were laid bare in all 
 their enormities to the eye of the public ; and it 
 must be confessed that if the eye of the public 
 was shocked that eye must be shocked very 
 easily. 
 
 But the eye of the public was shocked, and 
 people who were particular as to their morals 
 said very strange things. Lady De Courcy her- 
 self said very strange things indeed, shaking her 
 head, and dropping mysterious words ; whereas 
 Lady Clandidlem spoke much more openly, de- 
 claring her opinion that Lady Dumbello would 
 be off before May. They both agreed that it 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 195 
 
 would not be altogether bad for Lord Dumbello 
 that he should lose his wife, but shook their 
 heads very sadly when^they spofce of poor Plan- 
 tagenet Palllser. As to the lady's fate — that 
 lady whom they had both almost worshiped dur- 
 ing the days at Courcy Castle — they did not 
 seem to trouble themselves about that. 
 
 And it must be admitted that Mr. Palliser 
 had been a little imprudent — imprudent, that is, 
 if he knew any thing about the rumors afloat — 
 seeing that soon after his -visit at Courcy Castle 
 he had gone down to Lady Hartletop's place in 
 Shropshire, at which the Dumbellos intended to 
 spend the winter, and on leaving it had express- 
 ed his intention of returning in February. The 
 Hartletop people had pressed him very much — 
 the pressure having come with peculiar force 
 from Lord Dumbello. Therefore it is reasona- 
 ble to suppose that the Hartletop people had, at 
 any rate, not heard of the rumor. 
 
 Mr. Plantagenet Palliser spent his Christmas 
 with his uncle, the Duke of Omnium, at Gath- 
 erum Castle. That is to ?ay, he reached the 
 castle in time for dinner on Christmas-eve, and 
 left it on the morning after Christmas-day. 
 This was in accordance with the usual practice 
 of his life; and the tenants, dependents, and 
 followers of the Omnium interest were always 
 delighted to see this manifestation of a healthy 
 English domestic family feeling between the 
 duke and his nephew. But the amount of in- 
 tercourse on such occasions between them was 
 generally trifling. The duke would smile as 
 he put out his right hand to his nephew, and 
 say, 
 
 " Well, Plantagenet — very busy, I suppose ?" 
 
 The duke was the only living being who call- 
 ed him Plantagenet to his face, though there 
 were some scores of men who talked of Planty 
 Pal behind his back. The duke had been the 
 only living being so to call him. Let us hope 
 that it still was so, and that there had arisen no 
 feminine exception, dangerous in its nature and 
 improper in its circumstances. 
 
 "Well, Plantagenet," said the duke on the 
 present occasion — " very busy, I suppose ?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed, duke," said Mr. Palliser. 
 "When a man gets the harness on him he does 
 not easily get quit of it." 
 
 The duke remembered that his nephew had 
 made almost the same remark at his last Christ- 
 mas visit. 
 
 "By-the-by," said the duke, "I want to say 
 a word or two to you before you go." 
 
 Such a proposition on the duke's part was a 
 great departure from his usual practice ; but the 
 nephew, of course, undertook to obey his uncle's 
 behests. 
 
 "I'll see you before dinner to-morrow," said 
 Plantagenet. 
 
 "Ah! do," said the duke. " PU not keep 
 you five minutes." And at six o'clock on the 
 following afternoon the two were closeted to- 
 gether in the duke's private room. 
 
 " I don't suppose there is much in it," began 
 the duke, "but people are talking about you 
 and Lady Dumbello." 
 
 " Upon my word people are veiy kind. " And 
 Mr. Palliser bethought himself of the fact — 
 for it certainly was a fact — that people for a 
 great many years had talked about his uncle 
 and Lady Dumbello's mother-in-law. 
 
 ."Yes, kind enough; are they not? You've 
 just come from Hartlebury, I believe. " Hartle- 
 bury was the Marquis of Hartletop's seat in 
 Shropshire. 
 
 " Yes, I have. And I'm going there again 
 in February." 
 
 "Ah, I'm sorry for that. Not that I mean, 
 of course, to interfere with your arrangements. 
 You will acknowledge that I have not often done 
 so in any matter whatever." 
 
 "No ; you have not," said the nephew, com- 
 forting hiAself with an inward assurance that 
 no such interference on his uncle's part could 
 have been possible. 
 
 "But in this instance it would suit me, and 
 I really think it would suit you too, that you 
 should be as little at Hartlebury as possible. 
 You have said you would go there, and of course 
 you will go. But if I were you, I would not 
 stay above a day or two." 
 
 Mr. Plantagenet Palliser received every thing 
 he had in the world from his uncle. He sat in 
 Parliament through his uncle's interest, and re- 
 ceived an allowance of ever so many thousand 
 a year, which his uncle could stop to-morrow by 
 his mere word. He was his uncle's heir, and the 
 dukedom, with certain entailed properties, must 
 ultimately fall to him, unless his uncle should 
 marry and have a son. But by far the greater 
 portion of the duke's property was unentailedj 
 
196 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 the dnke might probably live for the next twenty 
 years or more ; and it was quite possible that, if 
 offended, he might marry and become a father. 
 It may be said that no man could well be more 
 dependent on another than Plantagenet Palliser 
 was upon his uncle ; and it may be said also that 
 no father or uncle ever troubled his heir with 
 less interference. Nevertheless, the nephew im- 
 mediately felt himself aggrieved by this allusion 
 to his private life, and resolved at once that he 
 would not submit to such surveillance. 
 
 " I don't know how long I shall stay," said 
 he ; " but I can not say that my visit will be 
 influenced one way or the other by such a rumor 
 as that." 
 
 "No; probably not. But it may perhaps he 
 influenced by my request." And the duke, as 
 he spoke, looked a little savage. 
 
 "You wouldn't ask me to regard a report 
 that has no foundation." 
 
 " I am not asking about its foundation. Nor 
 do I in the least wish to interfere with your 
 manner in life. " By which last observation the 
 duke intended his nephew to understand that 
 he was quite at liberty to take away any other 
 gentleman's wife, but that he was not at liberty 
 to give occasion even for a surmise that he want- 
 ed to take Lord Dumbello's wife. "The fact 
 is this, Plantagenet. I have for many years 
 been intimate with that family. I have not 
 many intimacies, and shall probably never in- 
 crease them. Such friends as I have I wish to 
 keep, and you will easily perceive that any such 
 report as that which I have mentioned might 
 make it unpleasant for me to go to Hartlebury, 
 or for the Hartlebury people to come here." 
 The duke certainly could not have spoken plain- 
 er, and Mr. Palliser understood him thoroughly. 
 Two such alliances between the two families 
 could not be expected to run pleasantly togeth- 
 er, and even the rumor of any such second alli- 
 ance might interfere with the pleasantness of the 
 former one. 
 
 "That's all," said the duke. 
 
 "It's a most absurd slander," said Mr. Pal- 
 liser. 
 
 " I dare say. Those slanders always are ab- 
 surd ; but what can we do ? We dan't tie up 
 people's tongues." And the duke looked as 
 though he wished to have the subject considered 
 as finished, and to be left alone. 
 
 " But we can disregard them," said the neph- 
 ew, indiscreetly. 
 
 "You may. I have never been able to do so. 
 And yet, I believe, I have not earned for my- 
 self the reputation of being subject to the voices 
 of men. You think that I am asking much of 
 you ; but you should remember that hitherto I 
 have given much and have asked nothing. I 
 expect you to oblige me in this matter." 
 
 Then Mr. Plantagenet Palliser left the room, 
 knowing that he had been threatened. What 
 the duke had said amounted to this — If you go on 
 dangling after Lady Dumbello I'll stop the seven 
 thousand a year which I give you. I'll oppose 
 your next return at Silverbridge, and I'll make 
 
 a will and leave away from you Matching and 
 the Horns — a beautiful little place in Surrey, 
 the use of which had been already offered to Mr. 
 Palliser in the event of his marriage ; all the 
 Littlebury estate in Yorkshire, and the enor- 
 mous Scotch property. Of my personal goods, 
 and money invested in loans, shares, and funds, 
 you shall never touch a shilling, or the value of 
 a shilling. And, if I find that I can suit my- 
 self, it may be that I'll leave you plain Mr. 
 Plantagenet Palliser, with a little first cousin 
 for the head of your fia.mily. 
 
 The full amount of this threat Mr. Palliser 
 understood, and, as he thought of it, he acknowl- 
 edged to himself that he had never felt for Lady 
 Dumbello any thing like love. No conversa- 
 tion between them had ever been warmer than 
 that of which the reader has seen a sample. 
 Lady Dumbello had been nothing to him. But 
 now — now that the matter had been put before 
 him in this way, might it not become him, as a 
 gentleman, to fall in love with so very beautiful 
 a woman, whose name had already been linked 
 with his own ? We all know that story of the 
 priest, who, by his question in the confessional, 
 taught the hostler to grease the horses' teeth. 
 "I never did yet," said the hostler, "but I'll 
 have a try at it." In this case the duke had 
 acted the part of the priest, and Mr. Palliser, 
 before the night was over, had almost become as 
 ready a pupil as the hostler. As to the threat, 
 it would ill become him, as a Palliser and a 
 Plantagenet, to regard it. The duke would not 
 marry. Of all men in the world he was the 
 least likely to spite his own face by cutting off 
 his own nose ; and for the rest of it Mr. Palliser 
 would take his chance. Therefore he went down 
 to Hartlebury early in February, having fully 
 determined to be very particular in his atten- 
 tions to Lady Dumbello. 
 
 Among a houseful of people at Hartlebury he 
 found Lord Porlock, a slight, sickly, worn-out 
 looking man, who had something about his eye 
 of his father's hardness, but nothing in his mouth 
 of his father's ferocity. 
 
 " So your sister's going to be married?" said 
 Mr. Palliser. 
 
 "Yes. One has no right to be surprised at 
 any thing they do, when one remembers the life 
 their father leads them. " 
 
 "I was going to congratulate you.'" 
 
 "Don't do that." 
 
 " I met him at Courcy, and rather liked him." 
 
 Mr. Palliser had barely spoken to Mr. Cros- 
 bie at Courcy, but then in the usual course of 
 his social life he seldom did more than barely 
 speak to any body. 
 
 " Did you ?" said Lord Porlock. " For the 
 poor girl's sake I hope he's not a ruffian. How 
 any man should propose to my father to marry 
 a daughter out of his house is more than I can 
 understand. How was my mother looking?" 
 
 "I didn't see any thing amiss about her." 
 
 "I expect that he'll murder her some day." 
 Then that conversation came to an end. 
 
 Mr. Palliser himself perceived — as he looked 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 197 
 
 at her he could not but perceive — that a certain 
 amount of social energy seemed to enliven Lady 
 Dumbello when he approached her. She was 
 given to smile when addressed, but her usual 
 smile was meaningless, almost leaden, and nev- 
 er in any degree flattering to the person to whom 
 it was accorded. Very many women smile as 
 they answer the words which are spoken to them, 
 and most who do so flatter by their smile. The 
 thing is so common that no one thinks of it. 
 The flattering pleases, but means nothing. The 
 impression unconsciously taken simply conveys 
 a feeling that the woman has made herself agree- 
 able, as it was her duty to do — agreeable, as far 
 as that smile went, in some very infinitesimal 
 degree. But she has thereby made her little 
 contributic. to society. She will make the same 
 contribution a hundred times in the same even- 
 ing. No one knows that she has flattered any 
 body; she does not know it herself; and the 
 world calls her an agreeable woman. But Lady 
 Dumbello put no flattery into her customary 
 smiles. They were cold, unmeaning, accom- 
 panied by no special glance of the eye, and sel- 
 dom addressed to the individual. They were 
 given to the room at large ; and the room at 
 large, acknowledging her great pretensions, ac- 
 cepted them as suflicient. But when Mr. Pal- 
 liser came near to her she would turn herself 
 slightly, ever so slightly, on her seat, and would 
 allow her eyes to rest for a moment upon his 
 face. Then when he remarked that it had been 
 rather cold, she would smile actually upon him 
 as she acknowledged the truth of his observa- 
 tion. All this Mr. Palliser taught himself to 
 observe, having been instructed by his foolish 
 Uncle in that lesson as to the greasing of the 
 horses' teeth. 
 
 But, nevertheless, during the first week of 
 his stay at Hartlebury he did not say a word to 
 her more tender than his observation about the 
 weather. It is ti'ue that he was very busy. He 
 had undertaken to speak upon the address, and 
 as Parliament Tfas now about to be opened, and 
 as his speech was to be based upon statistics, he 
 was fall of figures and papers. His correspond- 
 ence was pressing, and the day was seldom long 
 enough for his purposes. He felt that the in- 
 timacy to' which he aspired was hinder'ed by the 
 laborious routine of his life ; but,, nevertheless, 
 he would dp something before he left Hartle- 
 bury to show the special nature of his regard. 
 He would say something to her that should open 
 to her view the secret of— shall we say his heart? 
 Such was his resolve, day after day. And yet 
 day after day went by, and nothing was said. 
 He fancied that Lord Dumbello was somewhat 
 less friendly in his manner than he had been, 
 that he put himself in the way and looked cross; 
 but, as he declared to himself, he cared very 
 little for Lord Dumbello's looks. 
 
 " When do you go to town ?" he said to her 
 one evening. 
 
 " Probably in April. We certainly shall not 
 leave Hartlebury before that." 
 
 "Ah, yes. You stay for the hunting." 
 
 "Yes; Lord Dumbello always remains here 
 through March. He may run up to town for a 
 day or two." 
 
 "How comfortable! I must be in London 
 on Thursday, you know." 
 
 " When Parliament meets, I suppose ?" 
 
 "Exactly. It is such a bore; but one has 
 to do it." 
 
 "When a man makes a business of it, I sup- 
 pose he must." 
 
 " Oh dear, yes; it's quite imperative." Then 
 Mr. Palliser looked round the room and thought 
 he saw Lord Dumbello's eye fixed upon him. 
 It was really very hard work. If the truth must 
 be told, he did not know how to begin. What 
 was he to say to her? How was he to com- 
 mence a conversation that should end by being 
 tender? She was very handsome, certainly, 
 and for him she could look interesting ; but for 
 his very life he did not know how to begin to 
 say any thing special to her. A liaison with 
 such a woman as Lady Dumbello — Platonic, in- 
 nocent, but, nevertheless, very intimate — would 
 certainly lend a grace to his life, which, under 
 its present circumstances, was rather, dry. He 
 was told — told by public rumor which had 
 reached him through his uncle — that the lady 
 was willing. She certainly looked as though 
 she liked him ; but how was he to begin ? The 
 art of startling the House of Commons and 
 frightening the British public by the volumin- 
 ous accuracy of his statistics he had already 
 learned; but what was he to say to a pretty 
 woman ? 
 
 " You'll be sure to be in London in April ?" 
 
 This was on another occasion. 
 
 "Oh yes; I think so." 
 
 "In Carlton Gardens, I suppose?" 
 
 ' ' Yes ; Lord Dumbello has got a lease of the 
 house now." 
 
 "Has he, indeed? Ah, it's an excellent 
 house ! I hope I shall be allowed to call there 
 sometimes." 
 
 "Certainly — only I know you must be so 
 busy." 
 
 "Not on Saturdays and Sundays.'' 
 
 "I always receive on Sundays," said Lady 
 Dumbello. Mr. Palliser felt that there was no- 
 thing peculiarly gracious in this. A permission 
 to call when all her other acquaintances would 
 be there, was not much; but still, perhaps, it 
 was as much as he could expect to obtain on 
 that occasion. He looked up and saw that Lord 
 Dumbello's eyes were again upon him, and that 
 Lord Dumbello's brow was black. He began to 
 doubt whether a country-house, where all the 
 people were thrown together, was the best place 
 in the world for such manceuvring. Lady Dum- 
 bello was very handsome, and he liked to look 
 at her, but he could not find any subject on 
 which to interest her in that drawing-room at 
 Hartlebury. Later in the evening he found 
 himself saying something to her about the sugar 
 duties, and then he knew that he had better give 
 it up. He had only one day more, and that was 
 required imperatively for his speech. The mat- 
 
198 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 ter would go much easier in London, and he 
 would postpone it till then. In the crowded 
 rooms of London private conversation would be 
 much easier, and Lord Dumbello wouldn't stand 
 over and look at him. Lady Dumbello had 
 taken his remarks about the sugar very kindly, 
 and had asked for a definition of an ad valorem 
 duty. It was a nearer approach to a real con- 
 versation than he had ever before made; but 
 the subject had been unlucky, and could not, in 
 his hands, be brought round to any thing tender ; 
 so he resolved to postpone his gallantry till the 
 London spring should make it easy, and felt as 
 he did so that he was relieved for the time from 
 a heavy weight. 
 
 " Good-by, Lady Dumbello," he said, on the 
 next evening. " I start early to-morrow morning. " 
 
 " Good-by, Mr. Palliser." 
 
 As she spoke she smiled ever so sweetly, but 
 she certainly had not learned to call him Plan- 
 tagenet as yet. He went up to London and im- 
 mediately got himself to work. The accurate 
 and voluminous speech came off with considera- 
 ble credit to himself — credit of that quiet, en- 
 during kind which is accorded to such men. 
 The speech was respectable, dull, and correct. 
 Men listened to it, or sat with their hats over 
 their eyes, asleep, pretending to do so ; and the 
 Daily Jupiter in the morning had a leading ar- 
 ticle about it, which, however, left the reader at 
 its close altogether in doubt whether Mr. Pal- 
 liser might be supposed to be a great financial 
 pundit or no. Mr. Palliser might become a 
 shining light to the moneyed world, and a glory 
 to the banking interests ; he might be a future 
 Chancellor of the Exchequer. But then again, 
 it might turn out that, in these affairs, he was 
 a mere ignis fatuns, a blind euide — a man to be 
 laid aside as very respectable, but of no depth. 
 Who, then, at the present time, could judiciously 
 risk his credit by declaring whether Mr. Palliser 
 understood his subject or did not understand it ? 
 We are not content in looking to our newspa- 
 pers for all the information that earth and hu- 
 man intellect can afford ; but we demand from 
 them what we might demand if a daily sheet 
 could come to us from the world of spirits. The 
 result, of course, is this — that the papers do pre- 
 tend that they have come daily from the w6rld 
 of spirits ; but the oracles are very doubtful, as 
 were those of old. 
 
 Plantagenet Palliser, though he was contented 
 with this article, felt, as he sat in his chambers 
 in the Albany, that something else was wanting 
 to his happiness. This sort of life was all very 
 well. Ambition was a grand thing, and it be- 
 came him, as a Palliser and a future peer, to 
 make politics his profession. But might he not 
 spare an hour or two for Amaryllis in the shade ? 
 Was it not hard, this life of his ? Since he had 
 been told that Lady Dumbello smiled upon him, 
 he had certainly thought more about her smiles 
 than had been good for his statistics. It seemed 
 as though a new vein in his body had been 
 bronght into use, and that blood was running 
 where blood had never run before. If he bad 
 
 seen Lady Dumbello before Dumbello had seen 
 her, might he not have married her? Ah! in 
 such case as that, had she been simply Miss 
 Grantly, or Lady Griselda Grantly, as the case 
 might have been, he thought he might have 
 been able to speak to her with more ease. As 
 it was, he certainly had found the task difficult, 
 down in the country — though he had heard of 
 men of his class doing the same sort of thing all 
 his life. For my own part, I believe, that the 
 reputed sinners are much more numerous than 
 the sinners. 
 
 As he sat there, a certain Mr. Fothergill came 
 in upon him. Mr. Fothergill was a gentleman 
 who managed most of his uncle's ordinary af- 
 fairs — a clever fellow, who knew on which side 
 his bread was buttered. Mr. Fothergill was nat- 
 urally anxious to stand well with the heir ; but 
 to stand well with the owner was his business in 
 life, and with that business he never allowed 
 any thing to interfere. On this occasion Mr. 
 Fothergill was very civil, complimenting his fu- 
 ture possible patron on his very powerful speech, 
 and predicting for him political power with much 
 more certainty than the newspapers which had, 
 or had not, come from the world of spirits. Mr. 
 Fothergill had come in to say a word or two 
 about some matter of business. As all Mr. Pal- 
 liser's money passed through Mr. Fothergill's 
 hands, and as his electioneering interests were 
 managed by Mr. Fothergill, Mr. Fothergill not 
 unfrequently called to say a necessary word or 
 two. When this was done he said another word 
 or two, which might be necessary or not, as the 
 case might be. 
 
 " Mr. Palliser," said he, "I wonder you don't 
 think of marrying. I hope you'll excuse me." 
 
 Mr. Palliser was by no means sure that he 
 would excuse him, and sat himself suddenly up- 
 right in his chair in a manner that was intended 
 to exhibit a first symptom of outraged dignity. 
 But, singularly enough, he had himself been 
 thinking of maniage at that moment. How 
 would it have been with him hafl he known the 
 beautiful Griselda before the Dumbello alliance 
 had been arranged ? Would he have married 
 her? Would he have been comfortable if he 
 had married her? Of course he could not 
 marry now, seeing that he was in love with 
 Lady Dumbello, and that the lady in question, 
 unfortunately, had a husband of her own ; but 
 though he had been thinking of man-ying, he 
 did not like to have the subject thus roughly 
 thrust before his eyes, and, as it were, into his 
 very lap by his uncle's agent. Mr. Fothergill, 
 no doubt, saw the first symptom of outraged 
 dignity, for he was a clever, sharp man. But, 
 perhaps, he did not in truth much regard it. 
 Perhaps he had received instructions which he 
 was bound to regard above all other matters. 
 
 "I hope you'll excuse me, Mr. Palliser, I do, 
 indeed ; but I say it because I am half afraid 
 of some — some — some diminution of good feel- 
 ing, perhaps, I had better call it, between you 
 and your uncle. Any thing of that kind would 
 be such a monstrous pity." 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 199 
 
 " I am not aware of any such probability." 
 This Mr. Palliser said, with considerable digni- 
 ty; but when the words were spoken he be- 
 thought himself whether he had not told a fib. 
 
 " No, perhaps not. I trust there is no such 
 probability. But the duke is a very determined 
 man if he takes any thing into his head ; and 
 then he has so much in his power." 
 
 "He has not me in his power, Mr. Fother- 
 giU." 
 
 "No, no, no. One man does not have an- 
 other in his power in this country — ^not in that 
 way ; but then, you know, Mr. Palliser, it would 
 hardly do to oifend him ; would it?" 
 
 "I would rather not offend him, as is natu- 
 ral. Indeed, I do not wish to offend any one." 
 
 "Exactly so ; and least of all the duke, who 
 has the whole property in his own hands. We 
 may say the whole, for he can marry to-mor- 
 row if he pleases. And then his life is so good. 
 I don't know a stouter man of his age any 
 where." 
 
 "I'm very glad to hear it." 
 
 "I'm sure you are, Mr. Palliser. But if he 
 were to take offense, you know?" 
 
 ".I should put up with it." 
 
 "Yes, exactly; that's what you would do. 
 But it would be worth while to avoid it, seeing 
 how much he has in his power." 
 
 "Has the duke sent you to me now, Mr. 
 Fothergill?" 
 
 "No, no, no — ^nothing of the sort. But he 
 dropped words the other day which made me 
 fancy that he was not quite — quite — quite at 
 ease about you. I have long known that he 
 would be very glad Indeed to see an heir born 
 to the property. The other morning— I don't 
 know whether there was any thing in it — but I 
 fancied he was going to make some change in 
 the present arrangements. He did not do it, 
 and it might have been fancy. Only think, 
 Mr. Palliser, what one word of his might do ! 
 If he says a word, he never goes back from it. " 
 Then, having said so much, Mr. Fothergill went 
 his way. 
 
 Mr. Palliser understood the meaning of all 
 this very well. It was not the first occasion on 
 which Mr. Fothergill had given him advice — ad- 
 vice such as Mr. Fothergill himself had no right 
 to give him. He always received such counsel 
 with an air of half-injured dignity, intending 
 thereby to explain to Mr. Fothergill that he 
 was intruding. But he knew well whence the 
 advice came ; and though, in all such cases, he 
 had made up his mind not to follow such coun- 
 sel, it had generally come to pass that Mr. Palli- 
 ser's conduct had more or less accurately con- 
 formed itself to Mr. Fothergill's advice. A word 
 from the duke might certainly do a great deal I 
 Mr. Palliser resolved that in that affair of Lady 
 Dumbello he would follow his own devices. 
 But, nevertheless, it was undonbtedly true that 
 a word from the duke might do a great deal ! 
 
 We, who are in the secret, know how far Mr. 
 Palliser had already progressed in his iniquitous 
 passion before he left Hartlebury. Others, who 
 
 were perhaps not so well informed, gave him 
 credit for a much more advanced success. Lady 
 Clandidlem, in her letter to Lady de Courcy, 
 written immediately after the departure of Mr. 
 Palliser, declared that, having heard of that gen- 
 tleman's intended matutinal departure, she had 
 confidently expected to learn at the breakfast- 
 table that Lady Dumbello had flown with him. 
 From the tone of her ladyship's language, it 
 seemed as though she had been robbed of an 
 anticipated pleasure by Lady Dumbello's pro- 
 longed sojourn in the halls of her husband's an- 
 cestors. "I feel, however, quite convinced," 
 said Lady Clandidlem, " that it can not go on 
 longer than the spring. I never yet saw a man 
 so infatuated as Mr. Palliser. He did not leave 
 her for one moment all the time he was here. 
 No one but Lady Hartletop would have permit- 
 ted it. But, you know, there is nothing so 
 pleasant as good old family friendships." 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 valentine's day at ALUN6TON. 
 
 Lilt had exacted a promise from her mother 
 before her illness, and during the period of her 
 convalescence often referred to it, reminding 
 her mother that that promise had been made, 
 and must be kept. Lily was to be told the day 
 on which Crosbie was to be married. It had 
 come to the knowledge of them all that the mar- 
 riage was to take place in February. But this 
 was not sufficient for Lily. She must know the 
 day. 
 
 And as the time drew nearer — Lily becom- 
 ing stronger the while, and less subject to med- 
 ical authority — the marriage of Crosbie and 
 Alexandrina was spoken of much more fre- 
 quently at the Small House. It was not a sub- 
 ject which Mrs. Dale or Bell would have chosen 
 for conversation ; but Lily would refer to it. 
 She would begin by doing so almost in a droll- 
 ing strain, alluding to herself as a forlorn dam- 
 sel in a play-book; and then she would go on to 
 speak of his interests as a matter which was still 
 of great moment to her. But in the course of 
 suqji talking she would too often break down, 
 showing by some sad word or melancholy tone 
 how great was the burden on her heart. Mrs. 
 Dale and Bell would willingly have avoided the 
 subject, but Lily would not have it avoided. 
 For them it was a very diificult matter on which 
 to speak in her hearing. It was not permitted 
 to them to say a word of abuse against Crosbie, 
 as to whom they thought that no word of con- 
 demnation could be sufficiently severe; and they 
 were forced to listen to such excuses for his con- 
 duct as Lily chose to manufacture, never daring 
 to point out how vain those excuses were. 
 
 Indeed, in those days Lily reigned as a queen 
 at the Small House. Ill-usage and illness to- 
 gether falling into her hands had given her such 
 power that none of the other women were able 
 to withstand it. Nothing was said about it ; 
 
200 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 bat it was understood by them all, Jane and the 
 cook included, that Lily was for the time para- 
 mount. She was a dear, gracious, loving, brave 
 queen, and no one was anxious to rebel ; only 
 that those praises of Crosbie were so very bitter 
 in the ears of her subjects. The day was named 
 soon enough, and the tidings came down to Al- 
 lington. On the fourteenth of February Crosbie 
 was to be made a happy man. This was not 
 known to the Dales till the twelfth, and they 
 would willingly have spared the knowledge then, 
 had it been possible to spare it. But it was 
 not so, and on that evening Lily was told. 
 
 During these days Bell used to see her uncle 
 daily. Her visits were made with the pretense 
 of taking to him information as to Lily's health ; 
 but there was perhaps at the bottom of them a 
 feeling that, as the family intended to leave the 
 Small House at the end of March, it would be 
 well to let the squire know that there was no en- 
 mity in their hearts against him. Nothing more 
 had been said about their moving — nothing, 
 that is, from them to him. But the matter was 
 going on, and he knew it. Dr. Crofts was al- 
 ready in treaty on their behalf for a small fur- 
 nished house at Guestwick. The squire was 
 very sad about it — very sad indeed. When 
 Hopkins spoke to him on the subject he sharply 
 desired that faithful gardener to hold his tongue, 
 giving it to be understood that such things were 
 not to be made matter of talk by the Ailing- 
 ton dependents till they had been Officially an- 
 nounced. With Bell during these visits he nev- 
 er alluded to the matter. She was the chief 
 sinner, in that she had refused to marry her 
 cousin, and had declined even to listen to ra- 
 tional counsel upon the matter. But the squire 
 felt that he could not discuss the subject with 
 her, seeing that he had been specially informed 
 by Mrs. Dale that his interference would not be 
 permitted ; and then he was perhaps aware that 
 if he did discuss the subject with Bell, he would 
 not gain much by such discussion. Their con- 
 versation, therefore, generally fell upon Crosbie, 
 and the tone in which he was mentioned in the 
 Great House was very different from that as- 
 sumed in Lily's presence. 
 
 "He'll be a wretched man," said the squire, 
 when he told Bell of the day that had been 
 fixed. 
 
 "I don't want him to be wretched," said 
 Bell. "But I can hardly think that he can 
 act as he has done without being punished." 
 
 "He will be a wretched man. He gets no 
 fortune with her, and she will expect every thing 
 that fortune can give. I believe, too, that she 
 is older than he is. I can not understand it. 
 Upon my word, I can not understand how a man 
 can be such a knave and such a fool. Give my 
 love to Lily. I'll see her to-morrow or the next 
 day. She's well rid of him ; I'm sure of that ; 
 though I suppose it would not do to tell her 
 so." 
 
 The morning of the fourteenth came upon 
 them at the Small House as comes the morning 
 of those special days which have been long con- 
 
 sidered, and which are to be long remembered. 
 It brought with it a hard, bitter frost — a black, 
 biting fro^t — such a frost as breaks the water- 
 pipes, and binds the ground to the hardness of 
 granite. Lily, queen as she was, had not yet; 
 been allowed to go back to her own chamber, 
 but occupied the larger bed in her mother's room, 
 her mother sleeping on a smaller one. 
 
 " Mamma," she said, " how cold they'll be !" 
 Her mother had announced to her the fact of 
 the black frost, and these were the first words 
 she spoke. 
 
 "I fear their hearts will be cold also," said 
 Mrs. Dale. She ought not to have said so. 
 She was transgressing the acknowledged rule of 
 the house in saying any word that could be con- 
 strued as being inimical to Crosbie or his bride. 
 But her feeling on the matter was too strong, 
 and she could not restrain herself. 
 
 "Why should their hearts be cold? Oh, 
 mamma, that is a terrible thing to say. Why 
 should their hearts be cold?" 
 
 " I hope it may not be so." 
 
 " Of course you do ; of course we all hope it. 
 He was not cold-hearted, at any rate. A man 
 is not cold-hearted because he does not know 
 himself. Mamma, I want you to wish for their 
 happiness." 
 
 Mrs. Dale was silent for a minute or two be- 
 fore she answered this, but then she did answer 
 it. "I think I do, " said she. ' ' I think I do 
 wish for it. " 
 
 "I am very sure that I do," said Lily. 
 
 At this time Lily had her breakfast up stairs, 
 but went down into the drawing-room in the 
 course of the morning. 
 
 " You must be very careful in wrapping your- 
 self as you go down stairs," said Bell, who stood 
 by the tray on which she had brought up the 
 toast and tea. "The cold is what you would 
 call awful." 
 
 "Ishould call it jolly," said Lily, "if Icould 
 get up and go out. Do you remember lectur- 
 ing me about talking slang the day that he first 
 came?" 
 
 "Did I, my pet?" 
 
 "Don't you remember, when I called him a 
 swell? Ah, dear! so he was. That was the 
 mistake, and it was all my own fault, as I had 
 seen it from the first." 
 
 Bell for a moment turned her face away, and 
 beat with her foot against the ground. Her an- 
 ger was more difficult of restraint than was even 
 her mother's — and now, not restraining it, but 
 wishing to hide it, she gave it vent in this way. 
 
 "I understand. Bell. I know what your foot 
 means when it goes in that way ; and you sha'n't 
 do it. Come here. Bell, and let me teach you 
 Christianity. I'm a fine sort of teacher, am I 
 not ? And I did not quite mean that." 
 
 " I wish I could learn it from some one," said 
 Bell. ' ' There are circumstances in which what 
 we call Christianity seems to me to be hardly 
 possible." 
 
 " When your foot goes in that way it is a very 
 unchristian foot, and you ought to keep it still. 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 201 
 
 It means anger against him, because he dis- 
 covered before it was too late that he would not 
 be happy — that is, that he and I would not be 
 happy together if we were married. " 
 
 "Don't scrutinize my foot too closely, Lily." 
 "But your foot must bear scrutiny, and your 
 eyes, and your voice. He was very foolish to 
 fall in love with me. And so was I very fool- 
 ish to let him love me, at a moment's notice — 
 without a thought as it were. I was so proud 
 of having him, that I gave myself up to him all 
 at once, without giving him a chance of think- 
 ing of it. In a week or two it was done. Who 
 could expect that such an engagement should 
 be lasting?" > 
 
 "And why not? That is nonsense, Lily. 
 But we will not talk about it." 
 
 "Ah, but I want to talk about it. It was as 
 I have said, and if so, you shouldn't hate him 
 because he did the only thing which he honestly 
 could do when he found out bis mistake. " 
 
 " What ; become engaged again within a 
 week!" 
 
 " There had been a very old friendship, Bell ; 
 you must remember that. But I was speaking 
 of his conduct to me, and not of bis conduct 
 to — " And then she remembered that that 
 other lady might at this very moment possess 
 the name which she had once been so proud to 
 think that she would bear herself. "Bell," she 
 said, stopping her other speech suddenly, "at 
 what o'clock do people get married in London ?" 
 " Oh, at all manner of hours — any time before 
 twelve. They will be fashionable, and will be 
 married late." 
 
 "You don't 'think she's Mrs. Crosbie yet, 
 then?" 
 
 ' ' Lady Alexandrina Crosbie," said Bell, shud- 
 dering. 
 
 " Yes, of course ; I forgot. I should so like 
 to see her. I feel such an interest about her. 
 I wonder what colored hair she has. I suppose 
 she is a sort of Juno of a woman — very tall and 
 handsome. I'm sure she has not got a pug- 
 nose like me. Do you know what I should 
 really like, only of course it's not possible — to 
 be godmother to his first child." 
 "Oh, Lily!" 
 " I should. Don't you hear me say that I 
 know it's not possible? I'm not going up to 
 London to ask her. She'll have all manner of 
 grandees for her godfathers and godmothers. I 
 wonder what those grand people are really like." 
 " I don't think there's any difference. -Look 
 at Lady Julia." 
 
 "Oh, she's not a grand person. It isn't 
 merely having a title. Don't you remember 
 that he told us that Mr. Palliser is about the 
 grandest grandee of them all. I suppose peo- 
 ple do learn to like them. He always used to 
 say that he had been so long among people of 
 that sort that it would be very difficult for him 
 to divide himself off from them. I should never 
 have done for that kind of thing ; should I ?" 
 
 "There is nothing I despise so much as what 
 you call that kind of thing." 
 N 
 
 "Do you? I don't. After all, think how 
 much work they do. He used to tell me of 
 that. They have all the governing in their 
 hands, and get very little money for doing it." 
 
 "Worse luck for the country." 
 
 " The country seems to do pretty well. But 
 you're a radical. Bell. My belief is, you 
 wouldn't be a lady if you could help it. " 
 
 " I'd sooner be an honest woman." 
 
 " And so you are — my own dear, dearest, hon- 
 est Bell — and the fairest lady that I know. If I 
 were a man. Bell, you are just the girl that I 
 should worship." 
 
 " But you are not a man ; so it's no good." 
 
 "But you mustn't let your foot go astray in 
 that way ; you mustn't, indeed. Somebody said 
 that whatever is is right, and I declare I believe 
 it." 
 
 "I'm sometimes inclined to think that what- 
 ever is is wrong." 
 
 "That's because you're a radical. I think 
 I'll get up now, Bell; only it's so frightfully 
 cold that I'm afraid." 
 
 "There's a beautiful fire," said Bell. 
 
 "Yes; I see. But the fire won't go all 
 around me, like the bed does. I wish I could 
 know the very moment when they're at the altar. 
 It's only half past ten yet." 
 
 " I shouldn't be at all surprised if it's over." 
 
 " Over ! What a word that is ! A thing 
 like that is over, and then all the world can not 
 put it back again. What if he should be un- 
 happy after all?" 
 
 " He must take his chance,'' said Bell, think- 
 ing within her own mind that that chance would 
 be a very bad one. 
 
 " Of course he must take his chance. Well 
 — I'll get up now." And then she took her first 
 step out into the cold world beyond her bed. 
 " We must all take our chance. I have made 
 up my mind that it will be at half past eleven." 
 
 When half past eleven came, she was seated 
 in a large easy-chair over the drawing-room fire, 
 with a little table by her side, on which a novel 
 was lying. She had not opened her book that 
 morning, and had been sitting for some time 
 perfectly silent, with her eyes closed, and her 
 watch in her hand. 
 
 " Mamma," she said at last, " it is over now, 
 I'm sure." 
 
 "What is over, my dear?" 
 
 " He has made that lady his wife. I hope 
 God will bless them, and I pray that they may 
 be happy." 
 
 As she spoke these words there was an un- 
 wonted solemnity in her tone which startled 
 Mrs. Dale and Bell. 
 
 "I also will hope so," said Mrs. Dale. "And 
 now, Lily, will it not be well that you should 
 turn your mind away from the subject, and en- 
 deavor to think of other things ?" 
 
 "But I can't, mamma. It is so easy to say 
 that ; but people can't choose their own thoughts. " 
 "They can usually direct them as they will, 
 if they make the effort." 
 
 "But I can't make the effort. Indeed. I 
 
209 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 ^^ MAMMA/' SUE SAID AT LAST, " IT 18 OVKtt MOW, I'M SUEE.' 
 
 don't know why I should. It seems natural to 
 me to tiiink about him, and I don't suppose it 
 can be very wrong. When yon have had so deep 
 an interest in a person, you can't drop him all 
 of a sudden." Then there was again silence, 
 and after a while Lily took up her novel. She 
 made that effort of which her mother had spoken, 
 but she made it altogether in vain. " I declare. 
 Bell," she said, "it's the greatest rubbish I ever 
 attempted to read." This was specially ungrate- 
 ful, because Bell had recommended the book. 
 
 "All the books have got to be so stupid! I 
 think I'll read Pilgrim's Progress again." 
 
 " What do you say to Robinson Crusoe?" said 
 Bell. 
 
 " Or Paul and Virginia ?" said Lily. "But 
 I believe I'll have Pilgrim's Progress. I never 
 can understand it, but I rather think that makes 
 it nicer." ' 
 
 " I hate books I can't understand," said Bell. 
 "I like a book to be clear as running wnter, so 
 that the whole meaning may be seen at once." 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 203 
 
 "The quick seeing of the meaning must de- 
 pend a little on the reader, must it not ?" said 
 Mrs. Dale. 
 
 "The reader mustn't be a fool, of course," 
 said Bell. 
 
 "But then so many readers are fools,'' said 
 Lily. "And yet they get something out of 
 their reading. Mrs. Crump is always poring 
 over the Revelations, and nearly knows them by 
 heart. I don't think she could interpret a sin- 
 gle image, but she has a hazy, misty idea of the 
 truth. That's why she likes it — because it's too 
 beautiful to be understood; and that's why I 
 like Pilgrim's Progress." After which Bell of- 
 fered to get the book in question. 
 
 " No, not now," said Lily. " I'll go on with 
 this, as you say it's so grand. The personages 
 are always in their tantrums, and go on as though 
 they were mad. Mamma, do you know where 
 they're going for the honey-moon?" 
 
 "No, my dear." 
 
 " He used to talk to me about going to the 
 lakes." And then there was another pause, 
 during which Bell observed that her mother's 
 face became clouded with anxiety. "But I 
 won't think of it any more," continued Lily ; 
 " I will fix my mind to something." And then 
 she got up from her chair. "I don't think it 
 would have been so difficult if I had not been 
 ill?" 
 
 " Of course it would not, my darling." 
 
 " And I'm going to be well again now, im- 
 mediately. Let me see: I was told to read 
 Carlyle's History of the French Revolution, and 
 I think I'll begin now." It was Crosbie who 
 had told her to read the book, as both Bell and 
 Mrs. Dale were well aware. " But I must put it 
 off till I can get it down from the other house." 
 
 "Jane shall fetch it if you really want it," 
 said Mrs. Dale. 
 
 " Bell shall get it, when she goes up in the 
 ■ afternoon ; will you. Bell ? And I'll try to get 
 on with this stuff in the mean time." Then 
 again she sat with her eyes fixed upon the pages 
 of the book. "I'll tell you what, mamma-^ 
 you may have some comfort in this : that when 
 ta-day's' gone by, I sha'n't make a fuss about any 
 other day." 
 
 " Nobody thinks that you are making a fuss, 
 Lily." 
 
 " Yes, but I am. Isn't it odd. Bell, that it 
 should take place on Valentine's day ? I won- 
 der whether it was so settled on purpose, be- 
 cause of the day. Oh dear, I used to think so 
 often of the letter that I should get from him on 
 this day, when he would tell me that I was his 
 valentine. Well; he's got another — valen — tine 
 — now. " So much she said with articulate voice, 
 and then she broke down, bursting out into con- 
 vulsive sobs, and crying in her mother's arms as 
 though she would break her heart. And yet her 
 heart was not broken, and she was still strong in 
 that resolve which she had made, that her grief 
 should not overpower her. As she had herself 
 said, the thing would not have been so difficult, 
 had she not been weakened by illness. 
 
 "Lily, my darling; my poor, ill-used dar- 
 ling." 
 
 "No, mamma, I won't be that." And she 
 struggled grievously to get the better of the hys- 
 terical attack which had overpowered her. " I 
 won't be regarded as ill-used ; not as specially 
 ill-used. But I am your darling, your own dar- 
 ling. Only I wish you'd heat me and thump me 
 when I'm such a fool, instead of pitying me. It's 
 a great mistake being soft to people when they 
 make fools of themselves. There, Bell ; there's 
 your stupid book, and I won't have any more of 
 it. I believe it was that that did it." And she 
 pushed the book away from her. 
 
 After this little scene she said no further word 
 about Crosbie and his bride on that day, but 
 turned the conversation toward the prospect of 
 their new house at Guestwicfc. 
 
 "It will be a great comfort to be nearer Dr. 
 Crofts ; won't it. Bell ?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Bell. 
 
 "Becauseif we are ill, he won't have such a 
 terrible distance to come?" 
 
 "That will be a comfort for him, I should 
 think," said Bell, very demurely. 
 
 In the evening the first volume of the French 
 Revolution had been procured, and Lily stuck 
 to her reading with laudable perseverance ; till 
 at eight her mother insisted on her going to bed, 
 queen as she was. 
 
 "I don't believe a bit, you know, that the 
 king was such a bad man as that," she said. 
 
 "I do," said Bell. 
 
 "Ah, that's because you're a radical. I nev- 
 er will believe that kings are so much worse than 
 other people. As for Charles the First, he was 
 about the best man in history." 
 
 This was an old subject of dispute ; but Lily 
 on the present occasion was allowed her own 
 way, as being an invalid. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 valentine's DAT IN LONDON. 
 
 The fourteenth of February in London was 
 quite as black, and cold, and as wintersome as 
 it was at AUington, and was, perhaps, somewhat 
 more melancholy in its coldness. Nevertheless, 
 Lady Alexandrina De Courcy looked as bright 
 as bridal finery could make her, when she got 
 out of her carriage and walked into St. James's 
 Church at eleven o'clock on that morning. 
 
 It had been finally arranged that the marriage 
 should take place in London. There were cer- 
 tainly many reasons which would have made a 
 marriage from Courcy Castle more convenient. 
 The De Courcy family were all assembled at 
 their country family residence, and could there- 
 fore have been present at the ceremony without 
 cost or trouble. The castle too was warm with 
 the warmth of life, and the pleasantness of home 
 would have lent a grace to the departure of one 
 of the daughters of the house. The retainers 
 and servants were there, and something of the 
 
201 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 rich mellowness of a noble alliance might have 
 been felt, at any rate by Crosbie, at a marriage 
 so celebrated. And it must have been acknowl- 
 edged, even by Lady De Courcy, that the house 
 in Portman Square was very cold — that a mar- 
 riage from thence would be cold — that there 
 could be no hope of attaching to it any honor 
 and glory, or of making it resound with fashion- 
 able dclat in the columns of the Morning Post. 
 But then, had they been married in the country, 
 the earl would have been there; whereas there 
 was no probability of his traveling up to London 
 for the purpose of being present on such an oc- 
 casion. 
 
 The earl was very tenible in these days, and 
 Alexandrina, as she became confidential in her 
 communications with her future husband, spoke 
 of him as of an ogre, who could not by any 
 means be avoided in all the concerns of life, but 
 whom one might shun now and again by some 
 subtle device and careful arrangement of favor- 
 able circumstances. Crosbie had more than 
 once taken upon himself to hint that he did not 
 specially regard the ogre, seeing that for the fu- 
 ture he could keep himself altogether apart from 
 the malicious monster's dominions. 
 
 " He will not come to me in our new home," 
 he had said to his love, with some little touch 
 of affection. But to this view of the case Lady 
 Alexandrina had demurred. The ogre in ques- 
 tion was not only her parent, but was also a no- 
 ble peer, and she could not agree to any arrange- 
 ment by which their future connection with the 
 earl, and with nobility in general, might be en- 
 dangered. Her parent, doubtless, was an ogre, 
 and in his pgreship could make himself very 
 terrible to those near him ; but then might it 
 not be better for them to be near to an earl who 
 was an ogre than not to be near to any earl at 
 all ? She had therefore signified to Crosbie that 
 the ogre must be endured. 
 
 But, nevertheless, it was a great thing to be 
 rid of him on that happy occasion. He would 
 have said very dreadful things — things so dread- 
 ful that there might have been a question wheth- 
 er the bridegroom could have borne them. Since 
 he had heard of Crosbie's accident at the rail- 
 way station he had constantly talked with fiend- 
 ish glee of the beating which had been adminis- 
 tered to his son-in-law. Lady De Courcy, in 
 taking Crosbie's part and maintaining that the 
 match was fitting for her daughter, had ventured 
 to declare before her husband that Crosbie was 
 a man of fashion ; and the earl would now ask, 
 with a loathsome grin, whether the bridegroom's 
 fashion had been improved by his little adven- 
 ture at Paddington. Crosbie, to whom all this 
 was not repeated, would have preferred a wed- 
 ding in the country. But the countess and Lady 
 Alexandrina knew better. 
 
 The earl had strictly interdicted any expendi- 
 ture, and the countess had of necessity construed 
 this as forbidding any unnecessaiy expense. " To 
 marry a girl without any immediate cost was a 
 thing which nobody could understand," as the 
 countess remarked to her eldest daughter. 
 
 "I would really spend as little as possible," 
 Lady Amelia had answered. ' ' You see, mam- 
 ma, there are circumstances about it which one 
 doesn't wish to have talked about just at pres- 
 ent. There's the story of that girl ; and then 
 that fracas at the station. I really think it 
 ought to be as quiet as possible." The good 
 sense of Lady Amelia was not to be disputed, 
 as her mother acknowledged. But then if the 
 marriage were managed in any notoriously quiet 
 way, the very notoriety of that quiet would be 
 as dangerous as an attempt at loud glory, "But 
 it won't cost as much," said Amelia. And thus 
 it had been resolved that the wedding should be 
 very quiet. 
 
 To this Crosbie had assented very willingly, 
 though he had not relished the manner in which 
 the countess had explained to him her views. 
 
 "I need not tell you, Adolphus," she had 
 said, " how thoroughly satisfied I am with this 
 marriage. My dear girl feels that she can be 
 happy as your wife, and what more can I want? 
 I declared to her and to Amelia that I was not 
 ambitious, for their sakes, and have allowed 
 them both to please themselves." 
 
 "I hope they have pleased themselves," said 
 Crosbie. 
 
 " I trust so ; but nevertheless — I don't know 
 whether I make myself understood?" 
 
 " Quite so. Lady De Courcy. If Alexandrina 
 were going to maiTy the eldest son of a marquis 
 you would have a longer procession to church 
 than will be necessary when she marries me." 
 
 " Yon put it in such an odd way, Adolphus." 
 
 "It's all right so long as we understand each 
 other. I can assure you I don't want any pro- 
 cession at all. I should be quite contented to 
 go down with Alexandrina, arm in arm, like 
 Darby and Joan, and let the clerk give her 
 away." 
 
 We may say that he would have been much 
 better contented could he have been allowed to . 
 go down the street without any encumbrance on 
 his arm. But there was no possibility now for 
 such deliverance as that. 
 
 Both Lady Amelia and Mr. Gazebee had long 
 since discovered the bitterness of his heart and 
 the fact of his repentance; and Gazebee had 
 ventured to suggest to his wife that his noble 
 sister-in-law was preparing for herself a life of 
 misery. 
 
 "He'll become quiet and happy when he's 
 used to it," Lady Amelia had replied, thinking, 
 perhaps, of her own experiences. 
 
 "I don't know, my dear; he's not a quiet 
 man. There's something in his eye which tells 
 me that he could be very hard to.a woman." 
 
 "It has gone too far now for any change,'' 
 Lady Amelia had answered. 
 
 " Well, perhaps it has." 
 
 "And I know my sister so well: she would 
 not hear of it. I really think they will do very 
 well when they become used to each other." 
 
 Mr. Gazebee, who also had had his own ex- 
 periences, hardly dared to hope so much. His 
 home had been satisfactory to him, because ha 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 205 
 
 had been a calculating man ; and having made 
 his calculation correctly was willing to take the 
 net result. He had done so all his life with 
 success. In his house his wife was paramount 
 — as he very well knew. But no effort on his 
 wife's part, had she wished to make such effort, 
 could have forced him to spend more than two- 
 thirds of his income. Of this she also was 
 aware, and had trimmed her sails accordingly, 
 likening herself to him in this respect. But of 
 such wisdom, and such trimmings, and such 
 adaptability, what likelihood was there with Mr. 
 Crosbie and Lady Alexandrina ? 
 
 "At any rate, it is too late now," said Lady 
 Amelia, thus concluding the conversation. 
 
 But, nevertheless, when the last moment 
 came, there was some little attempt at glory. 
 Who does not know the way in which a lately- 
 married couple's little dinner-party stretches it- 
 self out from the pure simplicity of a fried sole 
 and a leg of mutton to the attempt at dear soup, 
 the unfortunately cold dish of round balls which 
 is handed about after the sole, and the brightly 
 red jelly, and beautifully pink cream, which are 
 ordered, in the last agony of ambition, from the 
 next pastry-cook's shop. 
 
 " We can not give a dinner, my dear, with 
 only cook and Sarah." 
 
 It has thus begun, and the husband has de- 
 clared that he has no such idea. "If Phipps 
 and Dowdney can come here and eat a bit of 
 mutton, they are very welcome ; if not, let them 
 stay away. And you might as well ask Phipps's 
 sister ; just to have some one to go with you into 
 the drawing-room." 
 
 "I'd much rather go alone, because then I 
 can read" — or sleep, we may say. 
 
 But her husband has explained that she would 
 look friendless in this solitary state, and there- 
 fore Phipps's sister has been asked. Then the 
 dinner has progressed, down to those costly jel- 
 lies which have been ordered in a last agony. 
 There has been a conviction on the minds of 
 both of them that the simple leg of mutton would 
 have been more jolly for them all. Had those 
 round balls 'not been carried about by a hired 
 man ; had simple mutton with hot potatoes been 
 handed to Miss Phipps by Sarah Miss Phipps 
 would not have simpered with such unmeaning 
 stiffness when young Dowdney spoke to her. 
 They would have been much more jolly. ' ' Have 
 a bit more mutton, Phipps ; and where do you 
 like it?" How pleasant it sounds! But we 
 all know that it is impossible. My young friend 
 had intended this, but his dinner had run itself 
 away to cold round balls and colored forms from 
 the pastry-cook. And so it was with the Cros- 
 bie marriage. 
 
 The bride must leave the church in a proper- 
 ly appointed carriage, and the postboys must 
 have wedding favors. So the thing grew ; not 
 into noble proportions ; not into proportions of 
 true glory, justifying the attempt and making 
 good the gala. A well-cooked rissole, brought 
 pleasantly to you, is good eating. A gala mar- 
 riage, when every thing is in keeping, is excel- 
 
 lent sport. Heaven forbid that we should have 
 no gala marriages! But the small spasmodic 
 attempt, made in opposition to manifest propri- 
 ety, made with an inner conviction of failure — 
 that surely should be avoided in marriages, in 
 dinners, and in all affairs of life. 
 
 There were bridemaids and there was a break- 
 fast. Both Margaretta and Eosina came up to 
 London for the occasion, as did also a first 
 cousin of theirs, one Miss Gresham, a lady 
 whose father lived in the same county. Mr. 
 Gresham had married a sister of Lord De Cour- 
 cy^s, and his services were also called into requi- 
 sition. He was brought up to give away the 
 bride, because the earl — as the paragraph in the 
 newspaper declared — was confined at Courcy 
 Castle by his old hereditary enemy, the gout. 
 A fourth bridemaid also was procured, and thus 
 there was a bevy, though not so large a bevy as 
 is now generally thought to be desirable. There 
 were only three or four carriages at the church ; 
 but even three or four were something. The 
 weather was so frightfully cold that the light- 
 colored silks of the ladles carried with them a 
 show of discomfort. Girls should be very young 
 to look nice in light dresses on a frosty morning, 
 and the bridemaids at Lady Alexandrina's wed- 
 ding were not very young. Lady Eosina's nose 
 was decidedly red. Lady Margaretta was very 
 wintry, and apparently very cross. Miss Gresh- 
 am was dull, tame, and insipid ; and the Hon- 
 orable Miss O'Flaherty, who filled the fourth 
 place, was sulky at finding that she had been 
 invited to take a share in so veiy lame a per- 
 formance. 
 
 But the marriage was made good, and Cros- 
 bie bore up against his misfortunes like a man. 
 Montgomerie Dobbs and Eowler Pratt both stood 
 by him, giving him, let us hope, some assurance 
 that' he was not absolutely deserted by all the 
 world — that he had not given himself up, bound 
 hand and foot, to the De Courcys, to be dealt 
 ^irith in all matters as they might please. It was 
 that feeling which had been so grievous to him, 
 and that other feeling, cognate to it, that if he 
 should ultimately succeed in rebelling against 
 the De Courcys he would find himself a solitary 
 man. 
 
 "Yes; I shall go," Fowler Pratt had said 
 to Montgomerie Dobbs. "I always stick to 
 a fellow if I can. Crosbie has behaved like a 
 blackguard, and like a fool also ; and he knows 
 that I think so. But I don't see why I should 
 drop him on that account. I shall go as he has 
 asked me." 
 
 " So shall I," said Montgomerie Dobbs, who 
 considered that he would be safe in doing what- 
 ever Fowler Pratt did ; and who remarked to 
 himself that, after all, Crosbie was marrying 
 the daughter of an earl. 
 
 Then, after the marriage came the breakfast, 
 at which the countess presided with much noble 
 magnificence. She had not gone to church, 
 thinking, no doubt, that she would be better 
 able to maintain her good humor at the feast if 
 she did not subject herself to the chance of lum- 
 
THJ! SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 bago in the church. At the foot of the table 
 sat Mr. Gresham, her brother-in-law, who had 
 undertaken to give the necessary toast and make 
 the necessary speech. The Honorable John was 
 there, saying all manner of ill-natured things 
 about his sister and new brother-in-law, because 
 he had been excluded from his proper position 
 at the foot of the table. But Alexandrina had 
 declared that she would not have the matter in- 
 trusted to her brother. The Honorable George 
 would not come, because the countess had not 
 asked his wife. 
 
 "Maria may be slow, and all that sort of 
 thing," George had said ; " but she is my wife. 
 And she had got what they haven't. Love me, 
 love my dog, you know." So he had staid 
 down at Courcy — ^very properly, as I think. 
 
 Alexandrina had wished to go away before 
 breakfast, and Crosbie would not have cared 
 how early an escape had been provided for him ; 
 but the countess had told her daughter that if 
 she would not wait for the breakfast, there should 
 be no breakfast at all, and, in fact, no wedding ; 
 nothing but a simple marriage. Had there been 
 a grand party, that going away of the bride and 
 bridegroom might be very well ; but the countess 
 felt that on such an occasion as this nothing but 
 the presence of the body of the sacrifice could 
 give any reality to the festivity. So Crosbie and 
 Lady Alexandrina Crosbie heard Mr. Gresham's 
 speech, in which he prophesied for the young 
 couple an amount of happiness and prosperity 
 almost greater than is compatible with the cir- 
 cumstances of humanity. His young friend 
 Crosbie, whose acquaintance he had been de- 
 lighted to make, was well known as one of the 
 rising pillars of the State. Whether his future 
 career might be parliamentary, or devoted to the 
 permanent Civil Service of the country, it would 
 be alike great, noble, and prosperous. As to 
 his dear niece, who was now filling that position 
 in life which was most beautiful and glorious 
 for a young woman, she could not have don* 
 better. She had preferred genius to wealth — 
 so said Mr. Gresham — and she would find her 
 fitting reward. As to her finding her fitting re- 
 ward, whatever her preferences may have been, 
 there Mr. Gresham was no doubt quite right. 
 On that head I myself have no doubt whatever. 
 After that Crosbie returned thanks, making a 
 much better speech than nine men do out of ten 
 on such occasions, and then the thing was over. 
 No other speaking was allowed, and within half 
 an hour from that time he and his bride were in 
 the post-chaise, being carried away to the Folke- 
 stone railway station ; for that place had been 
 chosen as the scene of their honey-moon. It 
 had been at one time intended that the journey 
 to Folkestone should be made simply as the first 
 stage to Paris, but Paris and all foreign travel- 
 ing had been given up by degrees. 
 
 "J don't care a bit about France, we have 
 been there so often," Alexandrina said. 
 
 She had wished to be taken to Naples, but 
 Crosbie had made her understand, at the first 
 whispering of the word, that Naples was quite 
 
 out of the question. He must look now in all 
 things to money. From' the very first outset of 
 his career he must save a shilling wherever a 
 shilling cQuld be saved. To this view of life no 
 opposition was made by the De Courcy interest. 
 Lady Amelia had explained to her sister that 
 they ought so to do their honey-moonirig that it 
 should not cost more than if they began keep- 
 ing house at once. Certain things must be done 
 which, no doubt, were costly in their nature. 
 The bride must take with her a well-dressed 
 lady's-maid. The rooms at the Folkstone hotel 
 must be large, and on the first floor. A car- 
 riage must be hired for her use while she re- 
 mained ; but every shilling must be saved the 
 spending of which would not make itself ap- 
 parent to the outer world. Oh, deliver us /rom 
 the poverty of those who, with small means, 
 affect a show of wealth ! There is no whiten- 
 ing equal to that of sepulchres whited as they 
 are whited ! 
 
 By the proper administration of a slight bribe 
 Crosbie secured for himself and his wife a com- 
 partment in the railway carriage to themselves. 
 And as he seated himself opposite to Alexan- 
 drina, having properly tucked her up with all her 
 bright-colored trappings, he remembered that he 
 had never in truth been alone with her before. 
 He had danced with her frequently, and been 
 left with her for a few minutes between the fig- 
 ures. He had flirted with her in crowded draw- 
 ing-rooms, and had once found a moment at 
 Courcy Castle to tell her that he was willing to 
 marry her in spite of his engagement with Lilian 
 Dale. But he had never walked with her for 
 hours together as he had walked with Lily. He 
 had never talked to her about government, and 
 politics, and books ; nor had she talked to him 
 of poetry, of religion, and of the little duties and 
 comforts of life. He had known the Lady Alex- 
 andrina for the last six or seven years ; but he 
 had never known her — perhaps never would know 
 her — as he had learned to know Lily Dale with- 
 in the space of two months. 
 
 And now that she was his wife, what was he 
 to say to her? They two had commenced u 
 partnership which was to make of them for the 
 remaining term of their lives one body and one 
 flesh. They were to be all in all to each other. 
 But how was he to begin this all-in-all partner- 
 ship ? Had the priest, with his blessing, done 
 it so snfSciently that no other doing on Crosbie's 
 own part was necessary? There she was, op- 
 posite to him, his very actual wife — ^bone of his 
 bone ; and what was he to say to her ? As he 
 settled himself on his seat, taking over his own 
 knees a part of a fine fur rug trimmed with scar- 
 let with which he had covered her other mufflings, 
 he bethought himself how much easier it would 
 have been to talk to Lily. And Lily would have 
 been ready with all her ears, and all her mind, 
 and all her wit, to enter quickly upon whatever 
 thoughts had occurred to him. In that respect 
 Lily would have been a wife indeed — a wife, that 
 would have transferred herself with quick men- 
 tal activity into her husband's mental sphere. 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 207 
 
 Had ho begun about his office Lily would have 
 been ready for him, but Alexandrina had never 
 yet asked him a single question about fiis offi- 
 cial life. Had hejjjeen prepared with a plan for 
 to-morrow's happiness Lily would have taken it 
 up eagerly, but Alexandrina never cared for 
 such trifles. 
 
 "Are you quite comfortable?" he said, at 
 last. 
 
 "Oh yes, quite, thank you. By-the-by, 
 what did you do with my dressing-case ?" 
 
 And that question she did ask with some en- 
 ergy. 
 
 "It is under you. You can have it as foot- 
 stool if you like it." 
 
 " Oh no ; I should scratch it. I was afraid 
 that if Hannah had it it might be lost." Then 
 again there was silence, and Crosbie again con- 
 sidered as to what he would next say to his wife. 
 
 We all know the advice given us of old as to 
 what we should do under such circumstances ; 
 and who can be so thoroughly justified in fol- 
 lowing that advice as a newly-married husband? 
 So he put out his hand for hers and drew her 
 closer to him., 
 
 "Take care of my bonnet," she said, as she 
 felt the motion of the railway carriage when he 
 kissed her. I don't think he kissed her again 
 till he had landed her and her bonnet safely at 
 Folkestone. How often would he have kissed 
 Lily, and how pretty would her bonnet have been 
 when she reached the end of her journey, and 
 how delightfully happy would she have looked 
 when she scolded him for bending it ! But 
 Alexandrina was quite in earnest about her 
 bonnet ; by far too much in earnest for any ap- 
 pearance of happiness. 
 
 So he sat without speaking till the train came 
 to the tunnel. 
 
 "I do so hate tunnels," said Alexandrina. 
 
 He had half intended to put out his hand 
 again, under some mistaken idea that the tun- 
 nel afforded him an opportunity. The whole 
 journey was one long opportunity had he de- 
 sired it I but his wife hated tunnels, and so he 
 drew his hand back again. Lily's little fingers 
 would have been ready for his touch. He thought 
 of this, and could not help thinking of it. 
 
 He had The T^mes newspaper in his dressing- 
 bag. She also had a novel with her. Would 
 she be offended if he took out the paper and 
 read it? The miles seemed to pass by very 
 slowly, and there was still another hour down 
 to Folkestone. He longed for his Times, but 
 resolved, at last, that he would not read unless 
 she read first. She also had remembered her 
 novel ; but by nature she was more patient than 
 he, and she thought that on such a journey any 
 reading might perhaps be almost improper. So 
 she sat tranquilly, with her eyes fixed on the 
 netting over her husband's head. 
 
 At last he could stand it no longer, and he 
 dashed off into a conversation intended to be 
 most affectionate and seriouj. 
 
 "Alexandrina," he said, and his voice was 
 well tuned for tRe tender, serious manner, had 
 
 her ears been alive to such tuning. "Alexan- 
 drina, this is a very important step that you and 
 I have taken to-day." 
 
 "Yes; it is, indeed," said she. 
 
 "I trust we shall succeed in making each oth- 
 er happy." 
 
 " Yes ; I hope we shall." 
 
 " If we both think seriously pf it, and re- 
 member that that is 6ur chief duty, we shall do 
 so." 
 
 "Yes; I suppose we shall. I only hope we 
 sha'n't find the house very cold. It is so new, 
 and I am so subject to colds in my head. Amelia 
 says we shall find it very cold ; but then she was 
 always against our going there." 
 
 " The house will do very well," said Crosbie. 
 And Alexandrina could perceive that there was 
 something of the master in his tone as he spoke. 
 
 " I am only telling you what Amelia said," 
 she replied. 
 
 Had Lily been his bride, and had he spoken 
 to her of their future life and mutual duties, 
 how she would have kindled to the theme! 
 She would have knelt at his feet on the floor 
 of the carriage, and, looking up into his face, 
 would have promised him to do her best — her 
 best — her very best. And with what an eager- 
 ness of inward resolution would she have de- 
 termined to keep" her promise ! He thought of 
 all this now, but he knew that he ought not to 
 think of it. Then, for some quarter of an hour, 
 he did take out his newspaper, and she, when 
 she saw him do so, did take out her novel. 
 
 He took out his newspaper, but he could not 
 fix his mihd upon the polities of the day. Had 
 he not made a terrible mistake? Of what use 
 to him in life would be that thing of a woman 
 that sat opposite to him ? Had not a great 
 punishment come upon him, and had he not 
 deserved the punishment? In truth, a great 
 punishment had come upon him. It was not 
 only that he had married a woman incapable 
 of understanding the higher duties of married 
 life, but that he himself would have been capa- 
 ble of appreciating the value of a woman who 
 did understand them. He would have been 
 happy with Lily Dale ; and therefore we may 
 surmise that his unhappiness with Lady Alex- 
 andrina would be the greater. There are men 
 who, in marrying such as Lady Alexandrina De 
 Courcy, would get the article best suited to them, 
 as Mortimer Gazebee had done in marrying her 
 sister. Miss Griselda Grantly, who had become 
 Lady Dumbello, though somewhat colder and 
 somewhat cleverer than Lady Alexandrina, had 
 been of the same sort. But in manying her 
 Lord Dumbello had got the article best suited 
 to him ; if only the ill-natured world would al- 
 low him to keep the article. It was in this that 
 Crosbie's failure had been so grievous — that he 
 had seen and approved the better course, but 
 had chosen for himself to walk in that which 
 was worse. During that week at Courcy Cas- 
 tle — the week which he passed there immediate- 
 ly after his second visit to AUington — he had 
 deliberately made up his mind that he was more 
 
208 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON". 
 
 fit for the bad course than for the good one. 
 The course was now before him, and he had no 
 choice but to walk in it. 
 
 It was very cold when they got to Folke- 
 stone, and Lady Alexandrina shivered as she 
 stepped into the private-looking carriage which 
 had been sent to the station for her use. 
 
 ' ' We shall, find a good fire in the parlor at 
 the hotel," said Crosbie. ' 
 
 " Oh, I hope so," said Alexandrina, " and in 
 the bedroom too." 
 
 The young husband felt himself to be offend- 
 ed, but he hardly knew why. He felt himself 
 to be offended, and with difficulty induced him- 
 self to go through all those little ceremonies the 
 absence of which would have been remarked by 
 every body. He did his work, however, seeing 
 to all her shawls and wrappings, speaking with 
 good-nature to Hannah, and paying special at- 
 tention to the dressing-case. 
 
 ' ' What time would you like to dine ?" he 
 asked, as he prepared to leave her alone with 
 Hannah in the bedroom. 
 
 "Whenever you please; only I should like 
 some tea and bread-and-butter presently." 
 
 Crosbie went into the sitting-room, ordered 
 the tea and bread-and-butter, ordered also the 
 dinner, and then stood himself up with his back 
 to the fire, in order that he might think a little 
 of his future career. 
 
 He was a man who had long since resolved 
 that bis life should be a success. It would seem 
 that all men would so resolve, if the matter 
 were simply one of resolution. But the major- 
 ity of men, as I take it, make no such resolu- 
 tion, and very many men resolve that they will 
 be unsuccessful. Crosbie, however, had resolved 
 on success, and had done much toward carrying 
 out his purpose. He had made a name for 
 himself, and had acquired a certain fame. That, 
 however, was, as he acknowledged to himself, 
 departing from him. He looked the matter 
 straight in the face, and told himself that his 
 fashion must be abandoned ; but the office re- 
 mained to him. He might still rule over Mr. 
 Optimist, and make a subservient slave of But- 
 lierwell. That must be his line in life now, and 
 to that line he would endeavor to be true. As 
 to his wife and his home, he would look to them 
 for his breakfast, and perhaps his dinner. He 
 would have a comfortable arm-chair, and if 
 Alexandrina should become a mother, he would 
 endeavor to love his children ; but above all 
 things he would never think of Lily. After 
 that he stood and thought of her for half an 
 hour. 
 
 "If you please, Sir, my lady wants to know 
 at what time you have ordered, dinner ?" 
 "At seven, Hannah." 
 
 "My lady says she is very tired, and will lay 
 down till dinner-time." 
 
 "Very weU, Hannah. I will go into her 
 room when it is time to dress. I hope they are 
 making you comfortable down stairs?" 
 
 Then Crosbie strolled out on the pier in the 
 4usk of the cold winter evening. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVL 
 
 JOHN EAME8 AT HIS OFFICE. 
 
 Mk. Crosbie and his wife went upon their 
 honey-moon tour to Folkestone in the middle 
 of February, and returned to London about the 
 end of March. Nothing of special moment to 
 the interests of our story occurred during those 
 six weeks, unless the proceedings of the young 
 married couple by the sea-side may be thought 
 to have any special interest. With regard to 
 those proceedings I can only say that Crosbie 
 was very glad when they were brought to a clos^. 
 All holiday-making is hard work, but holiday- 
 making with nothing to do is the hardest work 
 of all. At the end of March they went into 
 their new house, and we will hope that Lady 
 Alexandrina did not find it very cold. 
 
 During this time Lily's recovery from her ill- 
 ness was being completed. She had no relapse, 
 nor did any thing occur to create a new fear on 
 her account. But, nevertheless. Dr. Crofts gave 
 it as his opinion that it would be inexpedient to 
 move her into a fresh house at Lady-day. March 
 is not a kindly month for invalids ; and there- 
 fore, with some regret on the part of Mrs. Dale, 
 with much impatience on that of Bell, and with 
 considerable outspoken remonstrance from Lily 
 herself, the squire was requested to let them re- 
 main through the month of April. How the 
 squire received this request, and in what way he 
 assented to the doctor's reasoning, will be told 
 in the course of a chapter or two. 
 
 In the mean time John Fames had continued 
 his career in London without much immediate 
 satisfaction to himself, or to the^ady who boasted 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 209 
 
 to be his heart's chosen queen. Miss Amelia 
 Eoper, indeed, was becoming very cross, and in 
 her ill temper was playing a game that was tend- 
 ing to create a frightful amount of hot water in 
 Burton Crescent. She was devoting herself to 
 a flirtation with Mr. Cradell, not only under the 
 immediate eyes of Johnny Eames, but also un- 
 der those of Mrs. Lupex. John Eames, the 
 blockhead, did not like it. He was above all 
 things anxious to get rid of Amelia and her 
 claims ; so anxious, that on certain moody oc- 
 casions he would threaten himself with diverse 
 tragical terminations to his career in London. 
 He would enlist. He would go to Australia. 
 He would blow out his brains. He would have 
 " an explanation" with Amelia, tell her that she 
 was a vixen, and proclaim his hatred. He would 
 rush down to Allington and throw himself in 
 despair at Lily's feet. Amelia was the bug- 
 bear of his life. Nevertheless, when she ilirted 
 with Cradell he did not like it, and was ass 
 enough to speak to Cradell about it. 
 
 "Of course I don't care," he said, "only it 
 seems to me that you are making a fool of your- 
 self." 
 
 "I thought you wanted to get rid of her." 
 " She's nothing on earth to me ; only it does, 
 you know — " 
 
 "Does do what?" asked Cradell. 
 "Why, if I was to be fal-lalling with that 
 married woman, you wouldn't like it. That's 
 all about it. Do you mean to marry her?" 
 "What!— Amelia?" 
 "Yes; Amelia." 
 "Not if I know it." 
 
 "Then if I were you I would leave her alone. 
 She's only making a fool of you." 
 
 Eames's advice may have been good, and the 
 view taken by him of Amelia's proceedings may 
 have been correct ; but as regarded his own part 
 in the affair he was not wise. Miss Boper, no 
 doubt, wished to make him jealous; and she 
 succeeded in the teeth of his aversion to her and 
 of his love elsewhere. He had no desire to say 
 soft things to Miss Roper. Miss Roper, with all 
 her skill, could not extract a word pleasantly 
 soft from him once a week. But, nevertheless, 
 soft words to her and from her in toother quar- 
 ter made him uneasy. Such being the case, 
 must we not acknowledge that John Eames was 
 still floundering in the ignorance of his hobble- 
 dehoyhood? 
 . The Lupexes at this time still held their 
 ground in the Crescent, although repeated warn- 
 ings to go had been given them. Mrs. Roper, 
 though she constantly spoke of sacrificing all 
 that they owed her, still hankered, with a natu- 
 ral hankering, after her money. And as each 
 warning was accompanied by a demand for pay- 
 ment, and usually produced some slight subsidy 
 on account, the thing went on from week to 
 week ; and at the beginning of April Mr. and 
 Mrs. Lupex were still boarderB at Mrs. Roper's 
 house. 
 
 Eames had heard nothing from Allington 
 since the time of his Christmas visit, and his 
 
 subsequent correspondence with Lord De Guest. 
 In his letters from his mother he was told that 
 game came frequently from Guestwick Manor, 
 and in this way he knew that he was not for- 
 gotten by the earl. But of Lily he had heard 
 not a. word — except, indeed, the rumor, which 
 had now become general, that the Dales from 
 the Small House were about to move themselves 
 into Guestwick. When first he learned this he 
 colfstrued the tidings as favorable to himself, 
 thinking that Lily, removed from the grandeur 
 of Allington, might possibly be more easily with- 
 in his reach ; but, latterly, he had given up any 
 such hope as that, and was telling himself that 
 his friend at the Manor had abandoned all idea 
 of making up the marriage. Three months had 
 already elapsed since his visit. Five months 
 had passed since' Crosbie had surrendered his 
 claim. Surely such a knave as Crosbie might 
 be forgotten in five months ! If any steps could 
 have been taken through the squire, surely three 
 months would have sufficed for them ! It was 
 very manifest to him that there was no ground 
 of liope for him at Allington, and it would cer- 
 tainly be well for him to go off to Australia. 
 He would go to Australia, but he would thrash 
 Cradell first for having dared to interfere with 
 Amelia Roper. That, generally, was the state 
 of his mind during the first week in April. 
 
 Then there came to him a letter from the earl 
 which instantly effected a great change in all his 
 feelings ; which taught him to regard Australia 
 as a dream, and almost put him into a good hu- 
 mor with Cradell. The earl had by no means 
 lost sight of his friend's interests at Allington ; 
 and, moreover, those interests were now backed 
 by an ally who in this matter must be regard- 
 ed as much more powerful than the earl. The 
 squire had given his consent to the Eames alli- 
 ance. 
 The earl's letter was as follows : 
 
 " GuBSTWicK Manor, April t, 18 — . 
 
 " My deab Jouw, — I told you to write to me again, and 
 you haven't done it. I saw your mother the other day, or 
 else you might have been dead for any thing I knew. A 
 young man always ought to write letters when he is told 
 to do so, [Eames, when he had got so far, felt himself 
 rather aggrieved by this rebuke, knowing that he had ab- 
 stained from writing to his patron simply £rom an unwill- 
 ingness to intrude upon him with his letters. *■ By Jove, 
 m write to him every week of his life, till he's sick of 
 me,' Johnny said to himself when he found himself thus 
 instructed as to a young man's duties.] 
 
 "And now I have got to tell you a long story, and I 
 should like it much better if you were down here, so that I 
 might save myself the trouble ; but you would think me 
 ill-natured if I were to keep you waiting. I happened to 
 meet Mr. Dale the other day, and he said that he should 
 be very glad if a certain young lady would make up her 
 mind to listen to a certain young friend of mine. So I 
 asked him what he meant to do about the young lady's 
 fortune, and he declared himself willing to give her a 
 hundred a year during his life, and to settle four thousand 
 pounds upon her after his death. I said that I would do 
 as much on my part by the young man ; but as two hun- 
 dred a year, with your salary, would hardly give you 
 enough to begin with, Til make mine a hundred and fifty. 
 You'll be getting up in your office soon, and with five hun- 
 dred a year you ought to be able to get along; especially 
 as you need not insure your life. I should live sotaewhere 
 near Bloomsbury Square at first, because I'm told you can 
 get a house for nothing. After all,- what's ftishion worth f 
 
210 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 You can bring your wife down here in the autumn^ and 
 have some aliooting. She won't let you go to sleep under 
 the ti-eea, I'll be bound. 
 
 *'But you must look after the young lady. You will 
 understand that no one baa aaid a word to her about it ; or, 
 if they have, I don't know it. You'll find the squire' on 
 your side, that's all. Couldn't you manage to come down 
 this Easter P Tell old Buflie, with my compliments, that 
 I want you. I'll write to him if you like it. I did know 
 him at one time, though I can't say I was ever very fond 
 of him. It stands to reason that you can't get on with 
 Miss Lily without seeing her; unless, indeed, you tike 
 better to write to her, which always seems to me to be 
 very poor sort of fun. You'd much better come down, and 
 go a wooing in the regulai" old-fashioned way. I need not 
 tell you that Lady Julia will be delighted to see you. You 
 are a prime favorite with her since that affair at the rail- 
 way station. She thinks a great deal more about that 
 than she does about the buU. 
 
 '^ Now, my dear fellow, you know all about it, and I 
 shall take it very much amiss of you if you don't answer 
 my letter soon.— Your very sincere friend, 
 
 "DeGtihst." 
 
 When Eames had finished this letter, sitting 
 at his office-dest, his surprise and elation were 
 so gi-eat that he hardly knew where he was or 
 what he ought to do. Could it be the truth 
 that Lily's uncle had not only consented that 
 the match should be made, but that he had also 
 promised to give his niece a considerable for- 
 tune ? For a few minutes it seemed to Johnny 
 as though all obstacles to his happiness were 
 removed, and that there was no impediment 
 between him and an amount of bliss of which 
 he had hitherto hardly dared to dream. Then, 
 when he considered the earl's munificence, he 
 almost cried. He found that he could not com- 
 pose his mind to think, or even his hand to 
 write. He did not know whether it would be 
 right in him to accept such pecuniary liberality 
 from any living man, and almost thought that 
 he should feel himself bound to reject the earl's 
 offer. As to the squire's money, that he knew 
 he might accept. All that comes in the shape 
 of a young woman's fortune may be taken by 
 any man. 
 
 He would certainly answer the earl's letter, 
 and that at once. He would not leave the office 
 till he had done so. His friend should have 
 cause to bring no further charge against him of 
 that kind. And then again he reverted to the 
 injustice which had been done to him in the 
 matter of letter-writing — as if that consideration 
 were of moment in such a state of circumstances 
 as was now existing. But at last his thoughts 
 brought themselves to the real question at issue. 
 Would Lily Dale accept him ? After all, the 
 realization of his good fortune depended alto- 
 gether upon her feelings ; and, as he remembered 
 this, his mind misgave him sorely. It was filled 
 not only with a young lover's ordinary doubts — 
 with the fear and trembling incidental to the 
 bashfulness of hobbledehoyhood — but with an 
 idea that that affair with Crosbie would still 
 stand in his way. He did not, perhaps, rightly 
 understand all that Lily had suffered, but he 
 conceived it to be probable that there had been 
 wounds which even the last five months might 
 not yet have cured. Could it be that she would 
 allow him to cure these wounds ? As he thought 
 
 of this he felt almost crushed to the earth by an 
 indomitable bashfulness and conviction of his 
 own unworthiness. What had he to offer wor- 
 thy of the acceptance of such a girl as Lilian Dale ? 
 
 I fear that the Crown did not get out of John 
 Eames an adequate return for his salary on that 
 day. So adequate, however, had been the re- 
 turn given by him for some time past, that pro- 
 motion was supposed throughout the Licome- 
 tax Office to be coming in his way, much to the 
 jealousy of Cradell, Fisher, and others, his im- 
 mediate compeers and cronies. And the place 
 assigned to him by rumor was one which was 
 generally regarded as a perfect Elysium upon 
 earth in the Civil Service world. He was, so 
 rumor said, to become private secretary to the 
 First Commissioner. He would be removed by 
 such a change as this from the large uncarpeted 
 room in which he at present sat ; occupying the 
 same desk with another man to whom he had 
 felt himself to be ignominiously bound, as dogs 
 mtist feel when they are coupled. This room 
 had been the bear-garden of the office. Twelve 
 or fourteen men sat in it. Large pewter pots 
 were brought into it daily at one o'clock, giving 
 it an air that was not aristocratic. The senior 
 of the room, one Mr. Love, who was presumed 
 to have it under his immediate dominion, was a 
 clerk of the ancient stamp, dull, heavy^ unambi- 
 tious, living out on the farther side of Islington, 
 and unknown beyond 'the limits of his office to 
 any of his younger brethren. He was generally 
 regarded as having given a bad tone to the 
 room. And then the clerks in this room would 
 not unfrequently be blown up — with very palpa- 
 ble blowings up — by an official swell, a certain 
 chief clerk, named Kissing, much higher in 
 standing though younger in age than the gen- 
 tleman of whom we have before spoken. He 
 would hnrty in, out of his own neighboring 
 chamber, with quick step and nose in the air, 
 shuffling in his office slippers, looking on each 
 occasion as though there were some cause to 
 fear that the whole Civil Service were coming 
 to an abrupt termination, and would lay about 
 him with hard words, which some of those in 
 the big room did not find it very easy to bear. 
 His hair was always brushed straight up, his 
 eyes were always very wide open — and he usual- 
 ly carried a big letter-book with him, keeping 
 in it a certain place with his finger. This book 
 was almost too much for his strength, and he 
 would flop it down, now on this man's desk and . 
 now on that man's, and in a long career of such 
 floppings had made himself to be very much 
 hated. On the score of some old grudge he and 
 Mr. Love did not speak to each other ; and for 
 this reason, on all occasions of fault-finding, the 
 blown up young man would refer Mr. Kissing to 
 his enemy. 
 
 "I know nothing about it," Mr. Love would 
 say, not lifting hia face from his desk for a mo- 
 ment. 
 
 "I shall certainly lay the matter before the 
 Board, " Mr. Kissing would reply, and would then 
 shuffle out of the room with the big book. 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 211 
 
 Sometimes Mr. Kissing would lay the matter 
 before the Board, and then he, and Mr. Love, 
 and two or three delinquent clerks would be 
 summoned thither. It seldom led to much. 
 The delinquent clerks would be cautioned. One 
 Commissioner would say a word in private to 
 Mr. Love, and another a word in private to Mr. 
 Kissing. Then, when left alone, the Commis- 
 sioners would have their little jokes, saying that 
 Kissing, they feared, went by favor ; and that 
 Love should still be lord of all. But these 
 things were done in the mild days, before Sir 
 Baffle Buffle came to the Board. 
 
 There had been some fun in this at first ; but 
 of late John Eames had become tired of it. He 
 disliked Mr. Kissing, and the big book out of 
 which Mr. Kissing was always endeavoring to 
 convict him of some official sin, and had got 
 tired of that joke of setting Kissing and Love by 
 the ears together. When the Assistant Secre- 
 tary first suggested to him that Sir Raffle had an 
 idea pf selecting him as private secretary, and 
 when he remembered the cozy little room, all 
 carpeted, with a leathern arm-chair and a sep- 
 arate washing-stand, which in such case would 
 be devoted to his use, and remembered also that 
 he would be put into receipt of an additional hun- 
 dred a year, and would stand in the way of still 
 better promotion, he was overjoyed. But there 
 were certain 'drawbacks. The present private 
 secretary — who had been private secretary also 
 to the late First Commissioner — was giving up 
 his Elysium because he could not endure the 
 tones of Sir Raffle's voice. It was understood 
 that Sir Raffle required rather more of a private 
 secretary, in the way of obsequious attendance, 
 than was desirable, and Eames almost doubted 
 his own fitness for the place. 
 
 "And why should he choose me?" he had 
 asked the Assistant Secretary. 
 
 "Well, we have talked it over together, and 
 I think that he prefers you to any other that has 
 been named." , 
 
 "But he was so very hard upon me about 
 the affair at the railway station." 
 
 " I think he has heard more about that since ; 
 I think that some message has reached him from 
 your friend, Earl De Guest." 
 
 "Oh, indeed!" said Johnny, beginning to 
 comprehend what it was to have an earl for his 
 friend. Since his acquaintance with the noble- 
 man bad commenced he bad studiously avoided 
 all mention of the earl's name at his office ; and 
 yet he received almost daily intimation that the 
 fact was well known there, and not a little con- 
 sidered. 
 
 " Bat he is so very rough," said Johnny. 
 
 "Tou can put up with that," said his friend 
 the Assistant Secretary. "His bark is worse 
 than his bite, as you know ; and then a hundred 
 a year is worth having." Eames was at that 
 moment inclined to take a gloomy view of life 
 in general, and was disposed to refuse the place, 
 should it be offered to him. He had not then 
 received the earl's letter; but now, as he sat 
 with that letter open before him, lying in the 
 
 drawer beneath his desk so that he could still 
 read it as he leaned back in his chair, he was 
 enabled to look at things in general through a 
 different atmosphere. In the first place, Lilian 
 Dale's husband ought to have a room to him- 
 self, with a carpet and an arm-chair ; and then 
 that additional hundred a year would raise his 
 income at once to the sum as to which the earl 
 had made some sort of stipulation. But could 
 he get that leave of absence at Easter ? If he 
 consented to be Sir Raffle's private secretary he 
 would make that a part of the bargain. 
 
 At this moment the door of the big room was 
 opened, and Mr. Kissing shuffled in with very 
 quick little steps. He shuffled in, and coming 
 direct up to John's desk, flopped his ledger 
 down upon it before its owner had had time to 
 close the drawer which contained the precious 
 letter. 
 
 "What have you got in that drawer, Mr. 
 Eames?" 
 
 "A private letter, Mr. Kissing." 
 
 "Oh, a private letter!" said Mr. Kissing, 
 feeling strongly convinced there was a novel 
 hidden there, but not daring to express his be- 
 lief. "I have been half the morning, Mr. 
 Eames, looking for this letter to the Admiralty, 
 and you've put it under S ! " A by-stander list- 
 ening to Mr. Kissing's tone would have been led 
 to believe that the whole Income-tax Office was 
 jeopardized by the terrible iniquity thus dis- 
 closed. 
 
 " Somerset House," pleaded Johnny. 
 
 " Pshaw ; — Somerset House ! Half tlie offices 
 in London — " 
 
 "You'd better ask Mr. Love," said Eames. 
 "It's all done under his special instructions." 
 Mr. Kissing looked at Mr. Love, and Mr. Love 
 looked steadfastly at his desk. "Mr. Love 
 knows all about the indexing," continued John- 
 ny. " He's index master general to the depart- 
 ment." 
 
 "No, I'm not, Mr. Eames," said Mr. Love, 
 who rather liked John Eames, and hated Mr. 
 •Kissing with his whole heart. "But I believe 
 the indexes, on the whole, are very well done 
 in this room. Some people don't know how to 
 find letters." 
 
 " Mr. Eames," began Mr. Kissing, still point- 
 ing with a finger of bitter reproach to the mis- 
 used S, and beginning an oration which was in- 
 tended for the benefit of the whole room, and 
 for the annihilation of old Mr. Love, " if you 
 have yet to learn that the word Admiralty be- 
 gins with A and not with S, you have much to 
 learn which should have been acquired before 
 you first came into this office. Somerset House 
 is not a department." Then he turned round 
 to the room at large, and repeated the last 
 words, as though they might become very useful 
 if taken well to heart — "Is not a department. 
 The Treasury is a department ; the Home Office 
 is a department ; the India Board is' a depart- 
 ment — " 
 
 "No, Mr. Kissing, it isn't," said a young 
 clerk from the other end of the room. 
 
212 
 
 THE SMAI.L HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 " You know very well what I mean, Sir. The 
 India Office is a department." 
 
 " There's no Board, Sir." 
 
 "Never mind ; but how any gentleman who 
 has been in the service three months — not to 
 say three years — can suppose Somerset House 
 to be a department, is beyond my comprehen- 
 sion. If you have been improperly instruct- 
 ed—" 
 
 "We shall know all about it another time," 
 said Eames. "Mr. Love will make a memo- 
 randum of it.'' 
 
 " I sha'n't do any thing of the kind," said Mr. 
 Love. 
 
 "If you have been wrongly instructed — " 
 Mr. Kissing began again, stealing a glance at 
 Mr. Love as he did so ; but at this moment the 
 door was again opened, and a messenger sum- 
 moned Johnny to the presence of the really 
 great man. "Mr. Eames, to wait upon Sir 
 Kaffle." Upon hearing this Johnny immediate- 
 ly started, and left Mr. Kissing and the big 
 book in possession of his desk. How the battle 
 was waged, and how it raged in the large room, 
 we can not stop to hear, as it is necessary that 
 we should follow our hero into the presence of 
 Sir Raffle Baffle. 
 
 "Ah, Eames — yes,'' said Sir Eaffle, looking 
 np from his desk when the young man entered ; 
 "just wait half a minute, will you ?" And the 
 knight went to work at his papers, as though 
 fearing that any delay in what he was doing 
 might be very prejudicial to the nation at large. 
 "Ah, Eames — well — ^yes," he said again, as he 
 pushed away from him, almost with a jerk, the 
 papers on which he had been writing. ' ' They 
 tell me that you know the business of this office 
 pretty well." 
 
 " Some of it. Sir," said Eames. 
 
 •" Well, yes ; some of it. But you'll have to 
 understand the whole of it if you come to me. 
 And you must be very sharp about it too. You 
 know that FitzHoward is leaving me ?" 
 
 " I have heard of it. Sir." 
 
 "A very excellent young man, though per-- 
 haps not — But we won't mind that. The 
 work is a little too much for him, and he's going 
 back into the office. I believe Lord De Guest 
 is a friend of yours ; isn't he ?" 
 
 " Yes ; he is a friend of mine, certainly. 
 He's been very kind to me." 
 
 "Ah, well. I've known the earl for many 
 years — for very many years ; and intimately at 
 one time. Perhaps you may have heard him 
 mention my name?" 
 
 "Yes, I have. Sir Eaffle." 
 
 "We were intimate once, but those things go 
 off, you know. He's been the country mouse 
 and I've been the town mouse. Ha, ha, ha! 
 You may tell him that I say so. He won't 
 mind that coming from me." 
 
 " Oh no ; not at all," said Eames. 
 
 " Mind you tell him when you see him. The 
 earl is a man for whom I've always had a great 
 respect — a very great respect — I may say regard. 
 And now, Eames, what do you say to taking 
 
 FitzHoward's place ? The work is hard. It is 
 fair that I should tell you that. The work will, 
 no doubt, be very hard. I take a greater share 
 of what's going than my predecessors have done ; 
 and I don't mind telling you that I have been 
 sent here, because a man was wanted who would 
 do that." The voice of Sir Eaffle, as he con- 
 tinued, became more and more harsh, and 
 Eames began to think how wise FitzHoward 
 had been. " I mean to do my duty, and I shall 
 expect that my private secretary will do his. 
 But, Mr. Eames, I never forget a man. Wheth- 
 er he be good or bad, I never forget a man. You 
 don't dislike late hours, I suppose." 
 
 ' ' Coming late to the office, you mean ? Oh 
 no, not in the least." 
 
 " Staying late — staying late. Six or seven 
 o'clock if necessary — putting your shoulder to 
 the wheel when the coach gets into the mud. 
 That's what I've been doing all my life. They've 
 known what I am very well. 'They've always 
 kept me for the heavy roads. If they paid, in 
 the Civil Service, by the hour, I believe I should 
 have drawn a larger income than any man in 
 it. If you take the .vacant chair in the next 
 room you'll find it's no joke. It's only fair that 
 I should tell you that." 
 
 "I can work as hard as any man," said 
 Eames. 
 
 " That's right. That's right. 'Stick to that 
 and I'll stick to you. It will be a great grati- 
 fication to me to have by me a friend of my old 
 friend De Guest. Tell him I say so. And now 
 you may as well get into harness at once. Fitz- 
 Howard is there. You can go into him, and at 
 half past four exactly I'll see you both. I'm 
 very exact, mind — very; and therefore you must 
 be exact." Then Sir Eaffle looked as though 
 he desired to be left alone. 
 
 " Sir Eaffle, there's one favor I want to ask 
 of you, " said Johnny. 
 
 "And what's that?" 
 
 " I am most anxious to be absent for a fort- 
 night or three weeks, just at Easter. I shall 
 want to go in about ten days." 
 
 " Absent for three weeks at Easter, when the 
 parliamentary work is beginning ! That won't 
 do for a private secretary." 
 
 "Bnt it's very important. Sir Eaffle." 
 
 ' ' Out of the question, Eames ; quite out of 
 the question." 
 
 " It's almost life and death to me.'' 
 
 "Almost life and death! Why, what are 
 you going to do?" With all his grandeur and 
 national importance Sir Eaffle would be very 
 curious as to little people. 
 
 " Well, I can't exactly tell you, and I'm not 
 quite sure myself." 
 
 "Then don't talk nonsense. It's impossible 
 that I should spare my private secretary just at 
 that time of the year. I couldn't do it. The 
 service won't admit of it. You're not entitled 
 to leave at that season. Private secretaries al- 
 ways take their leave in the autumn." 
 
 "I should like to be absent in the autumn 
 too, but — " 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 " It's out of the question, Mr. Eames." 
 
 Then John Eames reflected that it behooved 
 him in such an emergency to fire off his big 
 gun. He had a great dislilce to firing this big 
 gun, but, as he said to himself, there are occa- 
 sions which make a big gun very necessary. 
 "I got a letter from Lord De Guest this morn- 
 ing, pressing me very much to go to him at 
 Easter. It's about business," added Johnny. 
 "If there was any difficulty, he said, he should 
 write to you." 
 
 "Write to me !" said Sir RaiBe, who did not 
 like to be approached too familiarly in his office, 
 even by an earl. 
 
 "Of course I shouldn't tell him to do that. 
 But, Sir Raffle, if I remained out there in the 
 office" — and Johnny pointed toward the big 
 room with his head— "I could choose April for 
 my month. And as the matter is so important 
 to me and to the earl — " 
 
 " What can it be ?" said Sir Baffle. 
 
 "It's quite private," said Jphn Eames. 
 
 Hereupon Sir Raffle became veiy petulant, 
 feeling that a bargain was being made with 
 him. This young man would only consent to 
 become his private secretary upon certain terms 1 
 " Well, go in to FitzHoward now. I can't lose 
 all my day in this way." 
 
 "But I shall be able to get away at Eas- 
 ter?" 
 
 " I don't know. We shall see about it. But 
 don't stand talking there now." Then John 
 Eames went into FitzHoward's rOom and re- 
 ceived that gentleman's congratulations on his 
 appointment. '.' I hope you like being rung for, 
 like a servant, every minute, for he's always 
 ringing that bell. And he'll roar at you till 
 you're deaf. You must give up all dinner en- 
 gagements ; for though there is not much to do, 
 he'll never let you go. I don't think any body 
 ever asks him out to dinner, for he likes being 
 here till seven. And you'll have to write all 
 manner of lies about big people. And some- 
 times, when he has sent Rafferty out about his 
 private business, he'll ask you to bring him his 
 shoes." Now Rafferty was the First Commis- 
 sioner's messenger. 
 
 It must be remembered, however, that this 
 little account was given by an outgoing and dis- 
 comfited private secretary. "A man is not 
 asked to bring another man his shoes," said 
 Eames to himself, "until he shows himself fit 
 for that sort of business. " Then he made with- 
 in his own breast a little resolution about Sir 
 Baffle's shoes. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVn. 
 
 THE NEW PRIVATE SECEETART. 
 
 " IncohB'Tax Offiob, April 8, 18 — . 
 "My deab Lobs Db Giiibt,— I hardly know how to 
 answer your letter, it Is so very kind — more than kind. 
 And about not writing before. I must explain that I have 
 not liked to trouble you with letters. I should have seem- 
 ed to be encroaohing if I had written much. Indeed it 
 didn't come from not thinking about you. And firet of 
 nil, about the money— as to your offer, I mean. I really 
 
 213 
 
 feel that I do not know what I ought to say to you about 
 it, without appearing to be a simpleton. The truth is, I 
 don't know what I ought to do, and can only trust to you 
 not to put me wrong. I have an idea that a man ought 
 not to accept a present of money, unless from his father, 
 or somebody like that. And the sum you mention is so 
 very large that it makes me wish you had not named it. 
 If you choose to be so generous, would it not be better that 
 you should leave it me in your will?" 
 
 " So that he might always want me to be dy. 
 ing," said Lord De Guest, as he read the letter 
 out loud to his sister. 
 
 " I'm sure he wouldn't want that," said Lady 
 Julia. "But you may live for twenty-five years, 
 you know." 
 
 " Say fifty," said the earl. And then he con- 
 tinued the reading of his letter : 
 
 "But all that depends so much upon another person 
 that it is hardly worth while talking about it. Of course 
 I am very much obliged to Mr. Dale — very much indeed 
 — and Ijbhink that he is behaving very handsomely to his 
 niece. But whether it will do me any good, that is quite 
 another thing. However, I shall certainly accept your 
 kind invitation for Easter, and iind out whether I have a 
 chance or not. I must tell you that Sir Kaffle Buffle has 
 made me his private secretaiy, by which I get a hundred 
 a year. He sa^s he was a great crony of youi'S many 
 years ago, and seems to like talking about you very much. 
 You will understand what all that means. He has sent 
 you ever so many messages, but I don't suppose you will 
 care to get them. I am to go to him to-morrow, and from 
 all I hear I shall have a hard time of it." 
 
 "By George, he will," said the earl. "Poor 
 fellow!" 
 
 " But I thought a private secretary never had 
 any thing to do," said Lady Julia. 
 
 "I shouldn't like to be private secretary to 
 Sir Raffle myself. But he's young, and a hun- 
 dred a year is a great thing. How we all of us 
 used to hate that man ! His voice sounded like 
 a bell with a crack in it. We always used to 
 be asking for some one to muffle the Bnffie. 
 They call him Ruffle Scuffle at his office. Poor 
 Johnny !" Then he finished the letter : 
 
 '■'• I told him that I must have leave of absence at Easter, 
 and he at first declared that it was impossible. But I shall 
 carry my point about that. I would not stay away to be 
 made private secretary to the Prime Minister; and yet 1 
 almost feel that I might as well stay away for any good 
 that I shall do. 
 
 *' Give my kind regards to Lady Julia, and tell her how 
 very much obliged to her I am. I can not express the 
 gratitude which I owe to you. But pray believe me, my 
 dear Lord De Guest, always very faithfully yours, 
 
 "John Eames." 
 
 It was late before Eames had finished his let- 
 ter. He liad been making himself ready for his 
 exodus from the big room, and preparing his 
 desk and papers for his successor. About half 
 past five Cradell came up to him, and suggested 
 that they should walk home together. 
 
 "What! you here still?" said Eames. "I 
 thought you always went at four." Cradell had 
 remained, hanging about the office, in order that 
 he might walk home with the new private secre- 
 tary. But Eames did not desire this. He had 
 much of which he desired to think alone, and 
 would fain have been allowed to walk by himself. 
 
 " Yes ; I had things to do. I say, Johnny, I 
 congratulate you most heartily ; I do, Indeed." 
 
214 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTONI 
 
 " Thank you, old fellow I" 
 
 "It is such a grand thing, you know. A 
 hundred a year all at once ! And then such a 
 snug room to yourself — and that fellow, Kissing, 
 never can come near you. He has been mak- 
 ing himself such a beast all day. But, Johnny, 
 I always knew you'd come to something more 
 than common. I always said so." 
 
 " There's nothing uncommon about this ; ex- 
 cept that Fitz says that old Huffle Scuffle makes 
 himself uncommon nasty." 
 
 "Never mind what Fitz says. It's all jeal- 
 ousy. You'll have it all your own way, if you 
 look sharp. I think you always do have it all 
 your own way. Are you nearly ready ?" 
 
 "Well — not quite. Don't wait for me, Cau- 
 dle." 
 
 "Oh, I'll wait. I don't mind waiting. They'll 
 keep dinner for us if we both stay. Besides, 
 what matters ? I'd do more than that for you." 
 
 " I have some idea of working on till eight, 
 and having a chop sent in," said Johnny. " Be- 
 sides — ^I've got somewhere to call, by myself." 
 
 Then Cradell almost cried. Hq remained si- 
 lent for two or three minutes, striving to master 
 his emotion; and at last, when he did speak, 
 had hardly succeeded in doing so. " Oh, John- 
 ny," he said, "I know what that means. You 
 are going to throw me over because you are get- 
 ting up in the world. I have always stuck to 
 yon, through every thing ; haven't I ?" 
 
 "Don't make yourself a fool. Caudle." 
 
 " Well ; so I have. And if they had made 
 me private secretary I should have been just 
 the same to you as ever. You'd have found no 
 change in me." 
 
 " What a goose you are ! Do you say I'm 
 changed, because I want to dine in the city?" 
 
 " It's all because you don't want to walk home 
 with me, as we used to do. I'm not such a 
 goose but what I can see. But, Johnny — I 
 suppose I mustn't call you Johnny, now." 
 
 "Don't be such a — con — founded — " Then 
 Earaes got up, and walked about the room. 
 "Come along," said he, "I don't care about 
 staying, and don't mind where I dine." And 
 he bustled away with his hat and gloves, hardly 
 giving Cradell time to catch him before he got 
 out into the streets. "I tell you what it is, 
 Caudle," said he, " all that kind of thing is dis- 
 gusting." 
 
 " But how would yon feel?" whimpered Cra- 
 dell, who had never succeeded in putting him- 
 self quite on a par with his friend, even in his 
 own estimation, since that glorious victory at 
 the railway station. If he could only have 
 thrashed Lupex as Johnny had thrashed Cros- 
 bie ; then indeed they might have been equal — 
 a pair of heroes. But he had not done so. He 
 had never told himself that he was a coward, 
 but he considered that circumstances had been 
 specially unkind to him. " But how would you 
 feel," he whimpered, " if the friend whom yon 
 liked better than any body else in the world 
 turned his back upon you?" 
 
 "I haven't turned my back upon you, except 
 
 that I can't get you to walk fast enough. Come 
 along, old fellow ! and don't talk confounded non- 
 sense, I hate all that kind of thing. You nev- 
 er ought to suppose that a man will give him- 
 self airs, but wait till he does. I don't believe 
 I shall remain with old Scuffles above a month 
 or two. From all that I can hear that's as much 
 as any one can bear." 
 
 Then Cradell by degrees became happy and 
 cordial, and during the whole walk flattered 
 Eames with all the flattery of which he was 
 master. And Johnny, though he did profess 
 himself to be averse to " all that kind of thing," 
 was nevertheless open to flattery. When Cra- 
 dell told him that though FitzHoward could not 
 manage the Tartar knight, he might probably 
 do so, he was inclined to believe what Cradell 
 said. "And as to getting him his shoes," said 
 Cradell, "I don't suppose he'd ever think of 
 asking you to do such a thing, unless he was in 
 a veiy great hurry, or something of that kind." 
 
 "Look here, Johnny," said Cradell, as they 
 got into one of the streets bordering on Burton 
 Crescent, " you know the last thing in the world 
 I should like to do would be to oifend you." 
 
 "All right. Caudle," said Eames, going on, 
 whereas his companion had shown a tendency 
 toward stopping. 
 
 "Look here, now ; if I have vexed you about 
 Amelia Boper, I'll make you a promise never to 
 speak to her again." 
 
 " D — Amelia Eoper," said Eames, sudden- 
 ly stopping himself and stopping Cradell ss 
 well. The exclamation was made in a deep, 
 angry voice which attracted the-notice of one or 
 two who were passing. Johnny was very wrong 
 — wrong to utter any curse — very wrong to 
 ejaculate that curse against a human being ; and 
 especially wrong to fulminate it against a wo- 
 man, a woman whom he had professed to love ! 
 But he did do so, and I can not tell my story 
 thoroughly without repeating the wicked word. 
 
 Cradell looked up at him and stared. "I 
 only meant to say," said Cradell, "I'll do any 
 thing yon like in the matter." 
 
 "Then never mention her name tome again. 
 And as to talking to her, you may talk to her 
 till you're both blue in the face, if you please." 
 
 "Oh — I didn't know. You didn't seem to 
 like it the other day." 
 
 "I was a fool the other day — a confounded 
 fool. And so I have been all my life. Amelia 
 Eoper ! Look here, Caudle ; if she makes up 
 to you this evening, as I've no doubt she will, 
 for she seems to be playing that game constant- 
 ly now, just let her have her fling. Never mind 
 me ; I'll amuse myself with Mrs. Lupex or Miss 
 Spruce." 
 
 " But there'll be the deuce to pay with Mrs. 
 Lupex. She's as cross as possible already when- 
 ever Amelia speaks to me. You don't know 
 what a jealous woman is, Johnny." Cradell 
 had got upon what he considered to be his high 
 ground. And on that he felt himself equal to 
 any man. It was no doubt true that Eames 
 had thrashed a man, and that he had not ; it 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 21S 
 
 was true also that Eames had risen to very high 
 place in the social world, having become a pri- 
 vate secretary ; but for a dangerous, mysterious, 
 overwhelming, life-enveloping intrigue, was not 
 he the acknowledged hero of such an affair? 
 He had paid very dearly, both in pocket and in 
 comfort, for the blessing of Mrs. Lupex's socie- 
 ty ; but he hardly considered that he had paid 
 too dearly. There are certain luxuries which a 
 man will find to be expensive ; but, for all that, 
 they may be worth their price. Nevertheless as 
 he went up the steps of Mrs. Eoper's house he 
 made up his mind that he would oblige his friend. 
 The intrigue might in that way become more 
 mysterious, and more life-enveloping; whereas 
 it would not become more dangerous, seeing that 
 Mr. Lupex could hardly find himself to be ag- 
 grieved by such a proceeding. 
 
 The whole number of Mrs. Eoper's boarders 
 were assembled at dinner that day. Mr. Lupex 
 seldom joined that festive board, but on this 
 occasion he was present, appearing from his 
 voice and manner to be in high good-humor. 
 Cradell had communicated to the company in 
 the drawing-room the great good fortune which 
 had fallen upon his friend, and Johnny had 
 thereby become the mark of a certain amount 
 of hero-worship. 
 
 " Oh, indeed!" said Mrs. Eoper. "An 'appy 
 woman your mother will be when she hears it. 
 But I always said you'd come down right side 
 uppermost." 
 
 " Handsome is as handsome does," said Miss 
 Spruce. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Eames !" exclaimed Mrs. Lupex, 
 #7ith graceful enthusiasm, ' ' I wish you joy from 
 the very depth of my heart. It is such an ele- 
 gant appointment." 
 
 " Accept the hand of a true and disinterested 
 friend," said Lupex. And Johnny did accept 
 the hand, though it was very dirty and stained 
 all over with paint. 
 
 Amelia stood apart and conveyed her con- 
 gratulations by a glance, or, I might better say, 
 by a series of glances. " And now — now will 
 you not be mine," the glance said ; " now that 
 you are rolling in wealth and prosperity ?" And 
 th6n before they went down stairs she did whis- 
 per one word to him. "Oh, I am so happy, 
 John — so veiy happy." 
 
 "Bother 1" said Johnny, in a tone quite loud 
 enough to reach the lady's ear. Then, making 
 his way round the room, he gave his arm to Miss 
 Spruce. Amelia, as she walked down stairs 
 alone, declared to herself that she would wring 
 his heart. She had been employed in wringing 
 it for some days past, and had been astonished 
 at her own success. It had been clear enough 
 to heir that Eames had been piqued by her over- 
 tures to Cradell, and s$e .resolved therefore to 
 play out that game. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Cradell," she said, as she took her 
 seat next to him. " The friends I like are the 
 friends that remain always the same. I hate 
 your sudden rises. They do so often make a 
 man upsetting." 
 
 " I should like to try, myself, all the same,'' 
 said Cradell. 
 
 " Well, I don't think it would make any dif- 
 ference in you ; I don't, indeed. And of course 
 your time will come too. It's that earl as has 
 done it — he that was worried by the bull. Since 
 we have known an earl we have been so mighty 
 fine." And Amelia gave her head a little toss, 
 and then smiled archly, in a manner which, to 
 Cradell's eyes, was really very becoming. But 
 he saw that Mrs. Lupex was looking at him from 
 the other side of the table, and he could not 
 quite enjoy the goods which the gods had pro- 
 vided for him. 
 
 When the ladies left the dining-room Lupex 
 and the two young men drew their chairs near 
 the fire, and each prepared for himself a mod- 
 erate potation. Eames made a little attempt 
 at leaving the room, but he was implored by 
 Lupex with such earnest protestation of friend- 
 ship to remain, and was so weakly fearful of 
 being charged with giving himself airs that he 
 did as he was desired. 
 
 "And here, Mr. Eames, is to your very good 
 health," said Lupex, raising to his mouth a 
 steaming goblet of gin-and-water, "and wish- 
 ing you many years to enjoy your ofiicial pros- 
 perity ! " 
 
 "Thank ye," said Eames. "I don't know 
 much about the prosperity, but I'm just as much 
 obliged." 
 
 "Yes, Sir; when I see a young man of your 
 age beginning to rise in the world, I know he'll 
 go on. Now look at me, Mr. Eames. Mr. 
 Cradell, here's your very good health, and may 
 all uukindness be drowned in the flowing bowl! — 
 Look at me, Mr. Eames. I've never risen in the 
 world ; I've never done any good in the world, 
 and never shall." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Lupex, don't say that." 
 
 " Ah, but I do say it. I've always been pull- 
 ing the devil by the tail, and never yet got as 
 much as a good hold on to that. And I'll tell 
 you why ; I never got a chance when I was 
 young. If I could have got any big fellow, a 
 star, you know, to let me paint his portrait when 
 I was your age — such a one, let us say, as your 
 friend Sir Raffle— " 
 
 " What a star!" said Cradell. 
 
 " Well, I suppose he's pretty much known in 
 the world, isn't he? Or Lord Derby, or Mr. 
 Spurgeon. You know what I mean. If I'd got 
 such a chance as that when I was young, I should 
 never have been doing jobs of scene-painting at 
 the minor theatres at so much a square yard. 
 You've got the chance now, but I never had it." 
 Whereupon Mr. Lupex finished his first meas- 
 ure of gin-and-water. 
 
 "It's a very queer thing — life is," continued 
 Lupex ; and, though he did not at once go to 
 work boldly4at the mixing of another glass of 
 toddy, he began gradually, and as if by instinct, 
 to finger the things which would be necessary 
 for that operation. " A very queer thing. Now, 
 remember, young gentleman, I'm not denying 
 that success in life will depend upon good con- 
 
216 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 duct ; of course it does ; but, then, how often 
 good conduct comes from success ? Should I 
 have been what I am now, do you suppose, if 
 some big fellow had taken me by the hand when 
 I was struggling to make an artist of myself? I 
 could have drunk claret and Champagne just as 
 well as gin-and-water, and worn ruffles to my 
 shirt as gracefully as many a fellow who used to 
 be very fond of me, and now won't speak to me 
 if he meets me in the streets. I never got a 
 chance — never. " 
 
 " But it's not too late yet, Mr. Lupex," said 
 Eames. 
 
 "Yes, it is, Eames — yes, it is." And now 
 Mr. Lupex had grasped the gin-bottle. " It's too 
 late now. The game's over, and the match is 
 lost.' The talent is here. I'm as sure of that 
 now as ever I was. I've never doubted my own 
 ability — never for a moment. There are men 
 this very day making a thousand a year off their 
 easels who haven't so good and true an eye in 
 drawing as I have, or so good a feeling in colors. 
 I could name them ; only I won't." 
 
 "And why shouldn't you try again?" said 
 Eames. 
 
 " If I were to paint the finest piece that ever 
 delighted the eye of man, who would come and 
 look at it ? Who would have enough belief in 
 me to come as far as this place and see if it 
 were true ? No, Eames ; I know my own posi- 
 tion and my own ways, and I know my own 
 weakness. I couldn't do a day's work now un- 
 less I were certain of getting a certain number 
 of shillings at the end of it. That's what a man 
 comes to when things have gone against him. " 
 
 "But I thought men got lots of money by 
 scene-painting ?" 
 
 ' ' I don't know what you may call lots, Mr. 
 Cradell ; I don't call it lots. But I'm not com- 
 plaining. I know who I have to thank ; and if 
 ever I blow my own brains out I sha'n't be put- 
 ting the blame on the wrong shoulders. If you'll 
 take my advice"— and now he turned round to 
 Eames — "you'll beware of marrying too soon 
 in'life." 
 
 " I think a man should marry early, if he 
 marries well," said Eames. 
 
 " Don't misunderstand me," continnedLupex. 
 " It isn't about Mrs. L. I'm speaking. I've al- 
 ways regarded my wife as a very fascinating wo- 
 man." 
 
 "Hear, hear, hear!" said Cradell, thumping 
 the table. 
 
 " Indeed she is," said Eames. 
 
 "And when I caution you against marrying, 
 don't you misunderstand me. I've never said a 
 word against her to any man, and never will. 
 If a man don't stand by his wife who will he 
 stand by ? I blame no one but myself. But I 
 do say this ; I never had a chance — I never had 
 a chance — never had a chance." ^And as he 
 repeated the words for the third time, his lips 
 wei-e already fixed to the rim of his tumbler. 
 
 At this moment the door of the dining-room 
 was opened and Mrs. Lapex put in her head. 
 
 "Lupex," she said, " what are you doing?" 
 
 " Yes, my dear. I can't say I'm doing any 
 thing at the present moment. I was giving a 
 little advice to these young gentlemen." 
 
 "Mr. Cradell, I wonder at you. And, Mr. 
 Eames, I wonder at you, too — in your position! 
 Lupex, come up stairs at once." She then 
 stepped into the room and secured the gin-bottle. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Cradell, do come here," said Ame- 
 lia, in her liveliest tone, as soon as the men made 
 their appearance above. "I've been waiting 
 for you this half-hour. I've got such a puzzle 
 for you." And she made way for him to a chair 
 which was between herself and the wall. Cradell 
 looked half afraid of his fortunes as he took the 
 proffered seat ; but he did take it, and was soon 
 secured from any positive physical attack by the 
 strength and breadth of Miss Eoper's crinoline. 
 
 "Dear me! Here's a change," sa^d Mrs. 
 Lupex, out aloud. 
 
 Johnny Eames was standing close, and whis- 
 pered into her ear, "Changes are so pleasant 
 sometimes! Don't you think so ? I do." 
 
 CHAPTER XLVm. 
 
 NEMESIS. 
 
 Ckosbie had now settled down to the calm 
 realities of married life, and was beginning to 
 think that the odium was dying away which for 
 a week or two had attached itself to him, partly 
 on account of his usage of Miss Dale, but more 
 strongly in consequence of the thrashing which 
 he had received from John Eames. Not that 
 he had in any way recovered his former tone of 
 life, or that he ever hoped to do so. But he was 
 able to go in and out of his club without embar- 
 rassment. He could talk with his wonted voice, 
 and act with his wonted authority at his office. 
 He could tell his friends, with some little de- 
 gree of pleasure in the sound, that Lady Alex- 
 andrina would be very happy to see them. And 
 he could make himself comfortable in his own 
 chair after dinner, with his slippers and his news- 
 paper. He could make himself comfortable-^ 
 or at any rate could tell his wife that he did so. 
 
 It was very dull. He was obliged to ac- 
 knowledge to himself, when he thought over 
 the subject, that the life which he was leading 
 was dull. Though he could go into his club 
 without annoyance, nobody there ever thought 
 of asking him to join them at dinner. It was 
 taken for granted that he was going to dine at 
 home ; and in the absence of any provocation 
 to the contrary he always did dine at home. He 
 had now been in his house for three weeks, and 
 had been asked with his wife to a few bridal din- 
 ner-parties, given chiefly by friends of the De 
 Courcy family. Except on such occasions he nev- 
 er passed an evening ottt of his own house, and 
 had not yet, since his marriage, dined once away 
 from his wife. He told himself that his good 
 conduct in this respect was the result of his own 
 resolution ; but, nevertheless, he felt that there 
 was nothing else left for him to do. Nobody 
 asked him to go to the theatre. Nobody begged 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 217 
 
 him td drop in of an evening. Men never asked 
 him why he did not play a rnbher. He would 
 generally saunter into Sebright's after he left his 
 office, and lounge about the room for half an 
 hour, talking to a few men. Nobody was un- 
 civil to him. But he knew that the whole thing 
 was changed, and he resolved, witli some wis- 
 dom, to accommodate himself to his altered cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 Lady Alexandrina also found her new life 
 rather dull, and was sometimes inclined to be 
 a little querulous. She would tell her husband 
 that she never got out, and would declare, when 
 he offered to walk with her, that she did not care 
 for walking in the streets. "I don't exactly 
 see, then, where you are to walk," he once re- 
 plied. She did not tell him that she was fond 
 of riding, and that the Park was a very fitting 
 place for such exercise ; but she looked it, and 
 he understood her. " I'll do all I can for her," 
 he said to. himself ; " but I'll not Tui» myself." 
 "Amelia is coming to take me for a drive," she 
 said another time. " Ah, that'll be very nice," 
 he answered. "No; it won't be very nice,"' 
 said Alexandrina. "Amelia is always shop- 
 ping and bargaining with the trades-people. But 
 it will be better than being kept in the house 
 without ever stirring out." 
 
 They breakfasted nominally at half past nine ; 
 in truth, it was always nearly ten, as Lady Alex- 
 andrina found it difficult to get herself out of her 
 room. At half past ten punctually he left his 
 house for his office. He usually got home by 
 six, and then spent the greatest part of the hour 
 before dinner in the ceremony of dressing. He 
 went, at least, into his dressing-room, after speak- 
 ing a few words to his wife, and there remained, 
 pulling things about, clipping his nails, looking 
 over any paper that came in his way, and killing 
 the time. He expected his dinner punctually at 
 seven, and began to feel a little cross if he were 
 kept waiting. After dinner he drank one glass 
 of wine in company With his wife, and one oth- 
 er by himself, during which latter ceremony he 
 would stare at the hot coals, and think of the 
 thing he had done. Then he would go up stairs, 
 and have, first, a cup of coffee, and then a cup 
 of tea. He would read his newspaper, open a 
 book or two, hide his face when he yawned, and 
 try to make believe that he liked it. She had 
 no signs or words of love for him. She never 
 sat on his knee, or caressed him. She never 
 showed him that any happiness had come to her 
 in being allowed to live close to him. They 
 thoughtthat they loved each other — each thought 
 so; but there was no love, no sympathy, no 
 wannth. The very atmosphere was cold — so 
 cold that no fire could remove the chill. 
 
 In what way would it have been different had 
 Lily Dale sat opposite to him there as his wife, 
 instead of Lady Alexandrina ? He told himself 
 frequently that either with one or with the oth- 
 er life would have been the same; that he had 
 made himself for a while unfit for domestic life, 
 and that he must cure himself of that unfitness. 
 But though he declared this to himself in one 
 O 
 
 set of half-spoken thoughts, he would also de- 
 clare to himself in another set that Lily would 
 have made the whole house bright with her 
 brightness; that had he brought her home to 
 his hearth, there would have been a sun shining 
 on him every morning and every evening. But 
 nevertheless he strove to do his duty, and re- 
 membered that the excitement of oflScial life was 
 still open to him. From eleven in the morning 
 till five in the afternoon he could still hold a 
 position which made it necessary that men should 
 regard him with respect, and speak to him with 
 deference. In this respect he was better off 
 than his wife, for she had no office to which she 
 could betake herself. 
 
 "Yes," she said to Amelia, "it is all very 
 nice, and I don't mind the house being damp ; 
 but I get so tired of being alone. " 
 
 ' ' That must be the case with women who are 
 married to men of business." 
 
 " Oh, I don't complain. Of course I knew 
 what I was about. I suppose it won't be so 
 very dull when every body is up in London. " 
 
 "I don't find the season makes much differ- 
 ence to us after Christmas," said Amelia; "but 
 no doubt London is gayer in May. You'll find 
 you'll like it better next year ; and perhaps you'll 
 have a baby, you know." 
 
 " Pshaw !" ejaculated Alexandrina ; "I don't 
 want a baby, and don't suppose I shall have one." 
 
 "It's always something to do, you know." 
 
 Lady Alexandrina, though she was not of an 
 energetic temperament, could not but confess 
 to herself that she had made a mistake. She 
 had been tempted to marry Crosbie because 
 Cr6sbie was a man of fashion, and now she was 
 told that the London season would make no dif- 
 ference to her — the London season which had 
 hitherto always brought to her the excitement 
 of parties, if it had not given her the satisfaction 
 of amusement. She had been tempted to mar- 
 ry at all because it appeared to her that a mai-- 
 ried woman could enjoy society with less re- 
 straint than a girl who was subject to her mo- 
 ther or her chaperon ; that she would have more 
 freedom of action as a married woman ; and 
 now she was told that she must wait for a baby 
 before she could have any thing to do. Courcy 
 Castle was sometimes dull, but Courcy Castle 
 would have been better than this. 
 
 When Crosbie returned home after this little 
 conversation about the baby, he was told by his 
 wife that they were to dine with the Gazebees 
 on the next Sunday. On hearing this he shook 
 his head with vexation. He knew, however, 
 that he had no right to make complaint, as he 
 had been only taken to St. John's Wood once 
 since they had come home from their marriage 
 trip. There was, however, one point as to 
 which he could grumble. "Why, on earth, 
 ori Sunday?" 
 
 " Because Amelia asked me for Sunday. If 
 you are asked for Sunday, you can not say you'll 
 go on Monday." 
 
 " It is so terrible on a Sunday afternoon. At 
 what hour?" 
 
218 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 WHY, O^ EABTH, ON BUKDAY?" 
 
 " S!ie said half past five." 
 
 "Heavens and earth! What are we to do 
 all the evening?" 
 
 " It is not kind of you, Adolphus, to speak in 
 that way of my relations." 
 
 "Come, my love, that's a joke ; as if I hadn't 
 heard you say the same thing twenty times. 
 You've complained of having to go up there 
 much more bitterly than I ever did. You know 
 I like your sister, and, in liis way, Gazebee is a 
 very good fellow ; but, after three or four hours, 
 one begins to have had enough of him." 
 
 ' ' It can't be much duller than it is — " but 
 Lady Alexandrina stopped herself before she 
 finished her speech. 
 
 " One can always read at home, at any rate," 
 said Crosbie. 
 
 "One can't always be reading. However), I 
 have said you would go. If you choose to re- 
 fuse you must wiite and explain." 
 
 When the Sunday came the Crosbies, of 
 course, did go to St. John's Wood, arriving^ 
 punctually at that door which he so hated at 
 i half past five. One of the earliest resolutions 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 which he made when he first contemplated the 
 De Courcy match was altogether hostile to the 
 Gazebees. He would see but very little of them. 
 He would shake himself free of that connection. 
 It was not with that branch of the family that 
 he desired an alliance. But now, as things had 
 gone, that was the only branch of the family 
 with which he seemed to be allied. He was al- 
 ways hearing of the Gazebees. Amelia and 
 Alexandrina were constantly together. He was 
 now dragged there to a Sunday dinner; and he 
 knew that he should often be dragged there — 
 that he could not avoid such draggings. He al- 
 ready owed money to Mortimer Gazebee, and 
 was aware that his affairs had been allowed to 
 fall into that lawyer's hands in such a way that 
 he could not take them out again. His house 
 was very thoroughly furnished, and he. knew 
 that the bills had been paid ; but he had not 
 them: every shilling had been paid through 
 Mortimer Gazebee. 
 
 " Go with your mother and aunt, De Courcy," 
 the attorney said to the lingering child after din- 
 ner ; and then Crosbie was left alone with his 
 wife's brother-in-law. This was the period of 
 the St. John's Wood purgatory which was so 
 dreadful to him. .With his sister-in-law he 
 could talk, remembering perhaps always that 
 she was an earl's daughter. But with Gazebee 
 he had nothing in common. And he felt that 
 Gazebee, Who had once treated him with great 
 deference, had now lost all such feeling. Cros- 
 bie had once been a man of fashion in the esti- 
 niation of the attorney, but that was all over. 
 Crosbie, in the attorney's estimation, was now 
 simply the secretary .of a public office — a man 
 who owed him money. The two had married 
 sisters, and there was no reason why the light 
 of the prosperous attorney should pale before 
 that of the civil servant, who was not very pros- 
 perous. All this was understood thoroughly by 
 both the men. 
 
 "There's terrible bad news from Courcy," 
 said the attorney, as soon as the boy was gone. 
 
 "Why, what's tffe matter?" 
 ' "Porlock has married — ^that woman, you 
 know." 
 
 "Nonsense!" 
 
 " He has. The old lady has been obliged to 
 tell me, and she's nearly broken-hearted about 
 it. But that's not the worst of it to my mind. 
 All the world knows that Porlock had gone to 
 the mischief. But he is going to bring an ac- 
 tion against his father for some arrears of his 
 allowance, and he threatens to have every thing 
 out in court, if he doesn't get his money." 
 
 "But is there money due to him?" 
 
 ' ' Yes, there is. A couple of thousand pounds 
 or so. I suppose I shall have to find it. But, 
 upon my honor, I don't know where it's to come 
 from ; I don't, indeed. In one way or another 
 I've paid over fourteen hundred pounds for you." 
 
 "Fourteen hundred pounds!" 
 
 "Yes, indeed: what with the insurance and 
 the furniture, and the bill from our house for 
 the settlements. That's not paid yet, but it's the 
 
 219 
 
 same thing. A man doesn't get Carried for 
 nothing, I can tell Jou." 
 "But you've got security." 
 "Oh yes, I've got security. But the thing 
 is the ready money. Our house has advanced 
 so much on the Courcy property that they don't 
 like going any further ; and therefore it is that 
 I have to do this myself. They'll all have to g6 
 abroad— that'll be the end of it. There's beAn 
 such a scene between the earl and George. 
 George lost his temper, and told the earl that 
 Porlook's marriage was his fault. It has ended 
 in George with his wife being turned out." 
 
 "He has money of his own." 
 
 "Yes, but he won't spend it. He's coming 
 up here, and we shall find him hanging about 
 us, I don't mean to give him a bed here, and 
 I advise you not to do so either. You'll not get 
 rid of him if you do." 
 
 " I have the greatest possible dislike to him." 
 
 ' ' Yes ; he's a bad follow. So is John. Por- 
 lock was the best, but he's gone altogether to 
 ruin. They've made a nice mess of it between 
 them; haven't they?" 
 
 This was the family for whose sake Crosbie 
 had jilted Lily Dale! His single and simple 
 ambition had been that of being an earl's son-in- 
 law. To achieve that it had been necessary that 
 he should m^ke himself a villain. In achieving 
 it he had gone through all manner of dirt and 
 disgrace. He had mamed a woman whom he 
 knew he did not love. He was thinlcing almost 
 hourly of a girl whom he had loved, whom he 
 did love, but whom he had so injured that, un- 
 der no circumstances, could he be allowed to 
 speak to her again. The attorney there, who 
 sat opposite to him, talking about his thousands 
 of pounds with that disgusting assumed solici- 
 tude which such men put on, when they know 
 very well what they are doing, had made a sim- 
 ilar marriage. But he had known what he was 
 about. He had got from his marriage all that 
 he had expected. But what had Crosbie got ? 
 
 " They're a bad set — a bad set," said he, in 
 his bitterness. 
 
 " The men are, " said Gazebee, very comfort- 
 ably. 
 
 "H — m," said Crosbie. It was manifest to 
 Gazebee that his friend was expressing a feeling 
 that the women also were not all that they should 
 be ; but he took no offense, though some portion 
 of the censure might thereby be supposed to at- 
 tach to his own wife. 
 
 "The countess means well," said Gazebee. 
 "But she's had a hard life of it — a very hard 
 life. I've heard him call her names that would 
 frighten a coal-heaver. I have, indeed. But 
 he'll die soon, and then she'll be comfortable. 
 She has three thousand a year jointure." 
 
 He'll die soon, and then she'll be comforta- 
 ble ! That was one phase of married life. As 
 Crosbie's mind dwelt upon the words he i-emeni- 
 bered Lily's promise, made in the fields, that she 
 would do eveiy thing for him. He remembered 
 her kisses ; the touch of her fingers ; the low 
 silvery laughing voice ; the feel of her dress as 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 she would press close to him. After that he 
 reflected whether it would not be well that he 
 too should die, so that Alexandrina might be 
 comfortable. She and her mother might be 
 very comfortable together, with plenty of money, 
 at Baden Baden ! 
 
 The squire at Allington, and Mrs. Dale, and 
 Lady Julia De Guest had been, and still were, 
 uneasy in their minds because no punishment 
 had fallen upon Crosbie — no vengeance had 
 overtaken him in consequence of his great sin. 
 How little did they know about it ! Could he 
 have been prosecuted, and put into prison, with 
 hard labor, for twelve months, the punishment 
 would not have been heavier. He would in that 
 case, at any rate, have been saved from Lady 
 Alexandrina. 
 
 " George and his wife are coming up to town ; 
 couldn't we ask them to come to us for a week 
 or so?" said his wife to him, as soon as they 
 were in the fly together going home. 
 
 " No," shouted Crosbie ; " we will do no such 
 thing." There was not another word said on 
 the subject — nor on any other subject till they 
 got home. When they reached their house Al- 
 exandrina had a headache, and went up to her 
 room immediately. Crosbie threw himself into 
 a chair before the remains of a fire in the dining- 
 room, and resolved that he would cut the whole 
 De Courcy family together. His wife, as his 
 wife, should obey him. She should obey him — 
 or else leave him, and go her way by herself, 
 leaving him to go his way. There was an in- 
 come of twelve hundred a year. Would it not 
 be a fine thing for him if he could keep six hun- 
 dred for himself, and return to his old manner 
 of life ? All his old comforts, of course, he would 
 not have — nor the old esteem and regard of men. 
 But the luxury of a club dinner he might enjoy. 
 Unembarrassed evenings might be his — with lib- 
 erty to him to pass them as he pleased. He knew 
 many men who were separated from their wives, 
 and who seemed to be as happy as their neighbors. 
 And then he remembered how ugly Alexandrina 
 had been this evening, wearing a great tinsel 
 coronet full of false stones, with a cold in her 
 head which had reddened her nose. There had, 
 too, fallen upon her in these her married days a 
 certain fixed dreary dowdiness. She certainly 
 was very plain! So he said to himself, and 
 then he went to bed. I myself am inclined to 
 think that his punishment was sufficiently severe. 
 
 The next morning his wife still complained 
 of headache, so that he breakfasted alone. Since 
 that positive refusal which he had given to her 
 proposition for inviting her brother there had 
 not been much conversation between them. 
 "My head is splitting, and Sarah shall bring 
 some tea and toast up to me if you will not 
 mind it." 
 
 He did not mind it in the least, and ate his 
 breakfast by himself, with more enjoyment than 
 usually attended that meal. 
 
 It was clear to him that all the present satis- 
 faction of his life must come to him from his 
 office work. There are men who find It diffi- 
 
 cult to live without some source of daily com- 
 fort, and he was such a man. He could hardly 
 endure his life unless there were some page in 
 it on which he could look with gratified eyes. 
 He had always liked his work, and he now de- 
 termined that he would like it better than ever. 
 But in order that he might do so it was. neces- 
 saiy that he should have much of his own way. 
 According to the«theory of his office, it was in- 
 cumbent on him as Secretary simply to take the 
 orders of the Commissioners, and see that they 
 were executed; and to such work as this his 
 predecessor had strictly confined himself. But 
 he had already done more than this, and had 
 conceived the ambition of holding the Board al- 
 most under his thumb. He flattered himself 
 that he knew his own work and theirs better 
 than they knew either, and that by a little man- 
 agement he might be their master. It is not 
 impossible that such might have been the case 
 had there been no fracas at the Paddington 
 station ; but, as we all know, the dominant cock 
 of the farm-yard must be ever dominant. When 
 he shall once have had his wings so smeared with 
 mud as to give him even the appearance of ad- 
 versity, no other cock will ever respect him again. 
 Mr. Optimist and Mr. Butterwell knew very well 
 that their secretary had been cudgeled, and they 
 could not submit themselves to a secretary who 
 had been so treated. 
 
 "Oh, by-the-by, Crosbie," said Butterwell, 
 coming into his room, soon after his arrival at 
 his office on that day of his solitary breakfast, 
 ' ' I want to say just a few words to you. " And 
 Butterwell turned round and closed the door, 
 the lock of which had not .previously been fast- 
 ened. Crosbie, without much thinking, imme- 
 diately foretold himself the nature of the com« 
 ing conversation. 
 
 "Do you know — " said Butterwell, begin- 
 ning. 
 
 " Sit down, won't you?" said Crosbie, seating 
 himself as he spoke. If there was to be a con- 
 test, he would make the best fight he could. 
 He would show a better spint here than he had 
 done on the railway platform. Butterwell did* 
 sit down, and felt, as he did so, that the very 
 motion of sitting took away some of his power, j 
 He ought to have sent for Crosbie into his own 
 room. A man, when he wishes to reprimand 
 another, should always have the benefit of his 
 own atmosphere. 
 
 " I don't want to find any fault," Butterwell 
 began. 
 
 "I hope you have not any cause," said 
 Crosbie. 
 
 "No, no; I don't say that I have. But we 
 think at the Board — " 
 
 " Stop, stop, Butterwell. If any thing un- 
 pleasant is coming, it had better come from the 
 Board . I should take it in better spirit ; I should, 
 indeed. " 
 
 "What takes place at the Board must be 
 official." 
 
 ' ' I shall not mind that in the least. I should 
 rather like it than otherwise." 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 221 
 
 "It simply amounts to this— that we think 
 you are taking a little too much on yourself. 
 No doubt it's a fault on the right side, and arises 
 from your wishing to have the work well done." 
 
 "And if I don't do it, who will?" asked 
 Crosbie. 
 
 "The Board is very well able to get through 
 all that appertains to it. Come, Crosbie, you 
 and I have known each other a great many 
 years, and it would be a pity that we should 
 have any words. I have come to you in this 
 way because it would be disagreeable to you to 
 have any question raised officially. Optimist 
 isn't given to being very angry, but he was down- 
 right angry yesterday. You had better take 
 what I say in good part, and go along a little 
 quieter." 
 
 But Crosbie was not in a humor to take any 
 thing quietly. He was sore all over, and prone 
 to hit out at every body that he met. " I have 
 done my duty to the best of my ability, Mr. But- 
 terwell," he said, " and I believe I have done it 
 well. I believe I know my duty here as well as 
 any one can teach me. If I have done more 
 than my share of the work, it is because other 
 people have done less than theirs." As he 
 spoke there was a black cloud upon his brow, 
 and the Commissioner could perceive that the 
 Secretary was very wrathful. 
 
 " Oh, very well," said Butterwell, rising from 
 his chair. "I can only, under such circum- 
 stances, speak to the Chairman, and he will tell 
 you what he thinks at the Board. I think you're 
 foolish; I do, indeed. As for myself, I have 
 only meant to act kindly by you." After that 
 Mr. Butterwell took himself off. 
 
 On the same afternoon Crosbie was sum- 
 moned into the board-room in the usual way, 
 between two and three. This was a daily occur- 
 rence, as he always sat for about an hour with 
 two out of the three Commissioners, after they 
 had fortified themselves with a biscuit and a 
 glass of sherry. On the present occasion the 
 usual amount of business was transacted, but it 
 was done in a manner which made Crosbie feel 
 that they did not all stand together on their 
 usual footing. The three Commissioners were 
 all there. The Chairman gave his directions in 
 a solemn, pompous voice, which was by no means 
 usual to him when he was in good humor. The 
 major said little or nothing; but there was a 
 gleam of satisfied sarcasm in his eye. Things 
 were going wrong at the Board, and he was 
 pleased. Mr. Butterwell was exceedingly civil 
 inihis demeanor, and rather more than ordina- 
 rily brisk. As soon as the regular work of the 
 day was over, Mr. Optimist shuffled about on his 
 chair, rising from his seat, and then sitting down 
 again. He looked through a lot of papers close 
 to his hand, peering at them over his spectacles. 
 Then he selected one, took off his spectacles, 
 leaned back in his chair, and began his little 
 
 "Mr. Crosbie," he said, "we are all very 
 much gratified — very much gratified, indeed — 
 by your zeal and energy in the service." 
 
 " Thank you. Sir," said Crosbie ; " I am fond 
 of the service." 
 
 ' ' Exactly, exactly ; we all feel that. But we 
 think that you — if I were to say take too much 
 upon yourself, I should say, perhaps, more than 
 we mean. " 
 
 "Don't say more than you mean, Mr. Opti- 
 mist." Crosbie's eyes, as he spoke, gleamed 
 slightly with his momentary triumph; as did 
 also those of Major Eiasco. 
 
 "No, no, no," said Mr. Optimist; "I would 
 say rather less than more to so very good a pub- 
 lic servant as yourself. But you, doubtless, un- 
 derstand me." 
 
 " I don't think I do quite. Sir. If I have not 
 taken too much on me, what is it that I have 
 done that I ought not to have done ?" 
 
 "You have given directions in many cases 
 for which you ought first to have received au- 
 thority. Here is an instance," and the selected 
 paper was at once brought out. 
 
 It was a matter in which the Secretary had 
 been manifestly wrong according to written law, 
 and he could not defend it on its own merits. 
 
 "If you wish me," said he, " to confine my- 
 self exactly to the positive instructions of the 
 office I will do so ; but I think yon will find it 
 inconvenient." 
 
 "It will be far the best," said Mr. Optimist. 
 
 " Very well," said Mr. Crosbie, " it shall be 
 done." And he at once determined to make 
 himself as unpleasant to the three gentlemen in 
 the room as he might find it within his power 
 to do. He could make himself very unpleasant, 
 but the unpleasantness would be as much to him 
 as to them. 
 
 Nothing would now go right with him. He 
 could look in no direction for satisfaction. He 
 sauntered into Sebright's as he went home, but 
 he could not find words to speak to any one 
 about the little matters of the day. He went 
 home, and his wife, though she was up, com- 
 plained still of her headache. 
 
 " I haven't been out of the house all day,'' 
 she said, " and that has made it worse." 
 
 " I don't know how you are to get out, if you 
 won't walk, " he answered. 
 
 Then there was no more said between them 
 till they sat down to their meal. 
 
 Had the squire at AUington known all, he 
 might, I think, have been satisfied with the pun- 
 ishment which Crosbie had encountered. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 PEEPABATIONS TOE GOING. 
 
 " Mamma, read that letter." 
 
 It was Mrs. Dale's eldest daughter who spoke 
 to her, and they were alone together in the par- 
 lor at the Small House. Mrs. Dale took the let- 
 ter and read it very carefully. She then put it 
 back into its envelope and returned it to Bell. 
 
 "It is at any rate a good letter, and, as I 
 believe, tells the truth." 
 
222 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 "I think it tells a little more than the truth, 
 mamma. As you say, it is a well-written let- 
 ter. He always writes well when he is in earn- 
 est. But yet — " 
 
 "Yet what, my dear?" 
 
 " There is more head than heart in it." 
 
 " If so, he will suffer the less ; that is, if you 
 are quite resolved in the matter." 
 
 " I am quite resolved, and I do not think he 
 will suffer much. He would not, I suppose, 
 have taken the trouble to wi'ite like that if he 
 did not wish this thing." 
 
 " I am quite sure that he does wish it, most 
 earnestly; and that he will be greatly disap- 
 pointed." 
 
 "As he would be if any other scheme did 
 not turn out to his satisfaction ; that is all." 
 
 The letter, of course, was from Bell's cousin 
 Bernard, and containing the strongest plea he 
 was able to make in favor of his suit for her 
 hand. Bernard Dale was better able to press 
 such a plea by letter than by spoken words. He 
 was a man capable of doing any thing well in 
 the doing of which a little time for consideration 
 might be given to him ; but he had not in him 
 that power of passion which will force a man to 
 eloquence in asking for that which he desires to 
 obtain. His letter on this occasion was long, 
 and well argued. If there was little in it of 
 passionate love, there was much of pleasant flat- 
 tery. He told Bell how advantageous to both 
 their families their marriage would be ; he de- 
 clared to her that his own feeling in the mat- 
 ter had been rendered strfmger by absence ; he 
 alluded without boasting to his past career of 
 life as her best guarantee for his future conduct ; 
 
 he explained to her that if this marriage coiild 
 be arranged there need then, at any rate, be no 
 further question as to his aunt removing with 
 Lily' from the Small House ; and then he told 
 her that his affection for herself was the absorb- 
 ing passion of his existence. Had the letter 
 been written with the view of obtaining from a 
 third person a favorable verdict as to his suit, it 
 would have been a very good letter indeed ; but 
 there was not a word in it that could stir the 
 heart of such a girl as Bell Dale. 
 
 " Answer him kindly," Mrs. Dale said. 
 
 "As kindly as I know how," said Bell. " I 
 wish you would write the letter, mamma. " 
 
 " I fear that would not do. What I should 
 say would only tempt him to try sfgain." 
 
 Mrs. Dale knew very well — had known for 
 some months past — that Bernard's suit was 
 hopeless. She felt certain, although the mat- 
 ter had not been discussed between them, that 
 whenever Dr. Crofts might choose to come agarin 
 and ask for her daughter's hand he would not 
 be refused. Of the two men she probably liked 
 Dr. Crofts the best ; but she liked them both, 
 and she could not but remember that the one, 
 in a worldly point of view, would be a veiy poor 
 match, whereas the other would, in all respects, 
 be excellent. She would not, on any account, 
 say a word to influence her daughter, and knew, 
 moreover, that no word which she could say 
 would influence her; but she could not divest 
 herself of some regret that it should be so. 
 
 "I know what you would wish, mamma," 
 said Bell. 
 
 " I have but one wish, dearest, and that is for 
 your happiness. May God preserve you from 
 any such fate as Lily's ! When I tell you to 
 write kindly to yotir cousin, I simply mean that 
 I think him to have deserved a kind reply by his 
 honesty." 
 
 "It shall be as kind as I can make it, mam- 
 ma ; but you know what the lady says in the 
 play — how hard it is to take the sting from that 
 word, ' no.' " Then Bell walked out alone for 
 a while, and on her return got her desk and 
 wrote her letter. It was very firm and decisive. 
 As for that wit which should pluck the sting 
 "from such a sharp and waspish word as ' no,' " 
 I fear she had it not. "It will be better to 
 make him understand that I also am in earn- 
 est," she said to herself; and in this frame of 
 mind she wrote her letter. " Pray do not al- 
 low yourself to think that what I have said is 
 unfriendly," she added, in a postscript. "I 
 know how good you are, and I know the great 
 value of what I refuse ; but in this matter it 
 must be my duty to tell you the simple truth." 
 
 It had been decided between the squire and 
 Mrs. Dale that the removal from the Small 
 House to Guestwick was not to take place till 
 the first of May. When he had been made to 
 understand that Dr. Crofts had thought it inju- 
 dicious that Lily should be taken out of their 
 present house in March, he had used all the elo- 
 quence of which he was master to induce Mrs. 
 Dale to consent to abandon her project. He 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 223 
 
 had told her that he had always considered that 
 house as belonging, of right, to some other of 
 the family than himself ; that it had always been 
 so inhabited, and that no squire of Allington had 
 for years past taken rent for it. " There is no 
 favor conferred — none at all," he had said; 
 but spealting, nevertheless, in his usual sharp, 
 ungenial tone. 
 
 "There is a favor, a great favor, and great 
 generosity," Mrs. Dale had replied. "And I 
 have never been too proud to accept it ; but when 
 I tell you that we think we shall be happier at 
 Guestwick, you will not refuse to let us go. 
 Lily has had a great blow in that house, and 
 Bell feels that she is running counter to your 
 wishes on her behalf — wishes that are so very 
 kind!" 
 
 "No more need be said about that. All that 
 may come right yet, if you will remain where 
 you are." 
 
 But Mrs. Dale knew that "all that" could 
 never come right, and persisted. Indeed, she 
 would hardly have dared to tell her girls that 
 she had yielded to the squire's entreaties. It 
 was just then, at that very time, that the squire 
 was, as it were, in treaty with the earl about Lily's 
 fortune ; and he did feel it hard that he should 
 be opposed in such a way by his own relatives 
 at the moment when he was behaving toward 
 them with so much generosity. But in his ar- 
 guments about the house he said nothing of Lily 
 or her future prospects. 
 
 They were to move on the first of May, and 
 one week of April was already past. The squire 
 had said nothing further on the matter after the 
 interview with Mrs. Dale to which allusion has 
 just been made. He was vexed and sore at the 
 separation, thinking that he was ill-used by the 
 feeling which was displayed by this refusal. He 
 had done his duty by them, as he thought ; in- 
 deed more than his duty, and now they told him 
 that they were leaving him because they could 
 no longer bear the weight of an obligation con- 
 ferred by his hands. But in truth he did not 
 understand them, nor did they understand him. 
 He had been hard in his manner, and had occa- 
 sionally domineered, not feeling that his posi- 
 tion, though it gave him all the privileges of a 
 near and a dear friend, did not ^ive him the 
 authority of a father or a husband. In that 
 matter of Bernard's proposed marriage he had 
 spoken as though Bell should have considered 
 his wishes before she refused her cousin. He had 
 ■ taken upon himself to scold Mrs. Dale, and had 
 thereby given offense to the girls, which they at 
 the time had found it utterly impossible to forgive. 
 
 But they were hardly better satisfied in the 
 matter than was he ; and now that the time had 
 come, though they could not bring themselves 
 to go back from their demand, almost felt that 
 they were treating the squire with cruelty. 
 When their decision had been made — while it 
 had been making— -he had been stern and hard 
 to them. Since that he had been softened by 
 Lily's misfortune, and softened also by the an- 
 ticipated loneliness which would come upon him 
 
 when they should be gone from his side. It 
 was hard upon him that they should so treat 
 him when he was doing his best for them all ! 
 And they also felt this, though they did not 
 know the extent to which he was anxious to go 
 in serving them. When they had sat round the 
 fire planning the scheme of their removal, their 
 hearts had been hardened against him, and they 
 had resolved to assert their independence. But 
 now, when the time for action had come, they 
 felt that theirgrievances against him had already 
 been in a great measure assuaged. This tinged 
 all that they did with a certain sadness ; but 
 still they continiied their work. 
 
 Who does not know how terrible are those 
 preparations for house-moving ; how infinite in 
 number are the articles which must be packed, 
 how inexpressibly uncomfortable is the period of 
 packing, and how poor arid tawdry is the aspect 
 of one's belongings while they are thus in a state 
 of dislocation ? Nowadays people who under- 
 stand the world, and have money commensu- 
 rate with their understanding, have learned the 
 way of shunning all these disasters, and of leaving 
 the work to the hands of persons paid for doing 
 it. The crockery is left in the cupboards, the 
 books on the shelves, the Wine in the bins, the 
 curtains on their poles, and the family that is 
 understanding goes for a fortnight to Brighton. 
 At the end of that time the crockery is comfort- 
 ably settled in other cupboards, the books on 
 other shelves, the wine in other bins, the cur- . 
 tains are hung on other poles, and all is arranged. 
 But Mrs.Dale and her daughters understood no- 
 thing of such a method of moving as this. The 
 assistance of the village carpenter in filling cer- 
 tain cases that he had made was all that they 
 knew how to obtain beyond that of their own 
 two servants. Every article had to pass through 
 the hands of some one of the family ; and as they 
 felt almost overwhelmed by the extent of the 
 work to be done, they began it much sooner than 
 was necessary, so that it became evident as they 
 advanced in their work that they would have to 
 pass a dreadfully dull, stupid, uncomfortable 
 week at last, among their boxes and cases, in 
 all the confusion of dismantled furniture. 
 
 At first an edict had gone forth that Lily was 
 to do nothing. She was an invalid, and was to be 
 petted and kept quiet. But this edict soon fell 
 to the ground, and Lily worked harder than 
 either her mother or sister. In truth she was 
 hardly an invalid any longer, and would not 
 submit to an invalid's treatment. She felt her- 
 self that for the present constant occupation 
 could alone save her from the misery of looking 
 back — and she had conceived an idea that the 
 harder that occupation was the better it would 
 be for her. While pulling down the books, and 
 folding the linen, and turning out from their old 
 hiding-places the small long-forgotten properties 
 of the household, she would be as gay as ever 
 she had been in old times. She would talk over 
 her work, standing with flushed cheek and 
 laughing eyes among the dusty ruins around 
 her, till for a moment her mother would think 
 
224 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 that all was well within her. But then at other 
 moments, when the reaction came, it would 
 seem as though nothing were well. She could 
 not sit quietly over the fire, with quiet, rational 
 work in her hands, and .chat in a rational, quiet 
 way. Not as yet could she do so. Nevertheless 
 it was well with her — within her own bosom. 
 She had declared to herself that she would con- 
 quer her misery — as she had also declared to her- 
 self during her illness that her misfortune should 
 not kill her — and she was in the way to conquer 
 it. She told herself that the world was not over 
 for her because her sweet hopes had been frus- 
 trated. The wound had been deep and very 
 sore, but the flesh of the patient had been sound 
 and healthy, and her blood pure. A physician 
 having knowledge in such cases would have de- 
 clared, after long watching of her symptoms, 
 that a cure was probable. Her mother was the 
 physician who watched her with the closest 
 eyes ; and she, though she was sometimes 
 driven to doubt, did hope, with stronger hope 
 from day to day, that her child might live to 
 remember the story of her love without abiding 
 agony. 
 
 That nobody should talk to her about it — that 
 had been the one stipulation which she had seem- 
 ed to make, not sending forth a request to that 
 effect among her friends in so many words, but 
 showing by certain signs that such was her stip- 
 ulation. . A word to that effect she had spoken 
 to her uncle — as may be remembered, which 
 word had been regarded with the closest obedi- 
 ence. She had gone out into her little world 
 very soon after th« news of Crosbie's falsehood 
 had reached her — first to church and then among 
 the people of the village, resolving to carry her- 
 self as though no crushing weight had fallen 
 upon her. The village people had understood it 
 all, listening to her and answering her without 
 the proffer of any outspoken parley. 
 
 "Lord bless 'ee," said Mrs. Crump, the post- 
 mistress — and Mrs. Crump was supposed to have 
 the sourest temper in Allington — " whenever I 
 look at thee. Miss Lily, I thinks that surely thee 
 is the beautifulest young 'ooman in all these 
 parts." 
 
 " And you are the crossest old woman," said 
 Lily, laughing, and giving her hand to the post^ 
 mistress. 
 
 " So I be," said Mrs. Crump. " So I be." 
 Then Lily sat down in the cottage and asked aft- 
 er her ailments. With Mrs. Hearn it was the 
 same. Mrs. Hearn, after that first meeting 
 which had been already mentioned, petted and 
 caressed her, but spoke no further word of her mis- 
 fortune. When Lily called a second time upon 
 Mrs. Boyce, which she did boldly by herself, 
 that lady did begin one other word of commisera- 
 tion. " My dearest Lily, we have all been made 
 so unhappy — " So far Mrs. Boyce got, sit- 
 ting close tO' Lily and striving to look into her 
 face ; but Lily, with a slightly heightened color, 
 turned sharp around upon one of the Boyce girls, 
 tearing Mrs. Boyce's commiseration into the 
 smallest shreds. " Minnie," she said, speaking 
 
 quite loud, almost with girlish ecstasy, " what 
 do you think Tartar did yesterday? I never 
 laughed so much in my life." Then she told a 
 ludicrous story about a very ugly terrier which 
 belonged to the squire. After that even Mrs. 
 Boyce made no further attempt. Mrs. Dale 
 and Bell both understood that such was to be 
 the rule — the rule even to them. Lily would 
 speak to them occasionally on the matter — to 
 one of them at a time, beginning with some al- 
 most single *ord of melancholy resignation, and 
 then would go on till she opened her very bosom 
 before them ; but no such conversation was ever 
 begun by them. But now, in these busy days of 
 the packing, that topic seemed to have been ban- 
 ished altogether. 
 
 "Mamma," she said, standing on the top 
 rung of a house-ladder, from which position she 
 was handing down glass out of a cupboard, 
 " are you sure that these things are ours? I 
 think some of them belong to the house." 
 
 " I'm sure about that bowl at any rate, be- 
 cause it was my mother's before I was married." 
 
 "Oh dear, what should I do if 1 were to 
 break it ? Whenever I handle any thing very 
 precious I always feel inclined to throw it down 
 and smash it. Oh! it was as nearly. gone as 
 possible, mamma ; but that was your fault." 
 
 "If you don't take care you'll be nearly gon? 
 yourself. Do take hold of something." 
 
 "Oh, Bell, here's the inkstand for which 
 you've been moaning for three years." 
 
 ' ' I haven't been moaning for three years ; but 
 who could have put it up there?" 
 
 " Catch it," said Lily ; and she threw the 
 bottle down on to a pile of carpets. 
 
 At this moment a step was heard in the haU, 
 and the squire entered through the open door of 
 the room. " So you're all at work ?" said he. 
 
 "Yes, we're at work," said Mrs. Dale, al- 
 most with a tone of shame. " If it is to he 
 done it is as well that it should be got over." 
 
 "It makes me wretched enough," said the 
 squire. " But I didn't come to talk about that. 
 I've brought you a note from Lady Julia De 
 Guest, and I've had one from the earl. They 
 want us all to go there and stay the week after 
 Easter." 
 
 Mrs. Dale and the girls, when this very sud- 
 den proposition was made to them, all remained 
 fixed in their places, and, for a moment, were 
 speechless. Go and stay a week at Guestwick 
 Manor ! The whole family ! Hitherto the in- 
 tercourse between the Manor and the Small 
 House had been confined to morning calls, very 
 far between. Mrs. Dale had never dined there^ 
 and had latterly even deputed the calling to her 
 daughters. Once Bell had dined there with her 
 uncle, the squire, and once Lily had gone over 
 with her uncle Orlando. Even this had been 
 long ago, before they were quite brought out, 
 and they had regarded the occasion with the 
 solemn awe of children. Now, at this time of 
 their flitting into some small mean dwelling at 
 Guestwick, they had previously settled among 
 themselves that that affair of calling at the 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 225 
 
 "bbi-l, hebe*E3 the inkstand." 
 
 Manor might be allowed to drop. Mrs. Eames 
 never called, and they were descending to the 
 level of Mrs. Eames. " Perhaps we shall get 
 game sent to us, and: that will be better," Lily 
 had said. And now, at this very moment of 
 their descent in life, they were all asked to go 
 and stay a week at the Manor ! Stay a week 
 with Lady Julia! Had the Queen sent the 
 Lord Chamberlain down to bid them all go to 
 Windsor Castle it could hardly have startled 
 them more at the first blow. Bell had been 
 
 seated on the folded carpet when her uncle had 
 entered, and now had again sat herself in the 
 same place. Lily was still standing at the top 
 of the ladder, and Mrs. Dale was at the foot 
 with one hand on Lily's dress. The squire had 
 told his story very abruptly, but he was a man 
 who, having a story to tell, knew -nothing bet- 
 ter than to tell it out abruptly, letting out every 
 thing at the first moment. 
 
 "Wants us all!" said Mrs. Dale. "How 
 many does the all mean ?" Then she opened 
 
226 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 Lady Julia's note and read it, not moving from 
 her position at the foot of the ladder. 
 
 " Do let me see, mamma," said Lily ; and 
 then the note was handed np to her. Had Mrs. 
 Dale well considared the matter she might prob- 
 ably have kept the note to herself for a while, 
 but the whole thing was so sudden that she had 
 not considered the matter well : 
 
 "My dear Mes. Dale" — the letter ran — ''I send this 
 inaide a note from my brother to Mr. Dale. We particu- 
 larly want you and your two gii-ls to come to UB for a week 
 from the seventeenth of this month. Consideiiug our near 
 connection we ought to have seen more of each other than 
 we have done for years past, and of course it has been our 
 fault. But it is never too late to amend one's ways ; and 
 I hope you will receive my confession in the true spirit of 
 affection in which it is intended, and that you will show 
 your goodness by coming to ua. I will do all I can to 
 make the house pleasant to your girls, for both of whom I 
 have much real regard. 
 
 *'I should tell you that John Eames will be here for the 
 same week. My brother is very fond of him, and thinks 
 him the best young man of the day. He is one of my 
 
 heroes, too, I must confess ^Very sincerely yours, 
 
 " Julia db Guest." 
 
 Lily, standing on the ladder, read the letter 
 very attentively. The squire meanwhile stood 
 below speaking a word or two to his sister-in- 
 law and niece. No one could see Lily's face, as 
 it was turned away toward the window, and it 
 was still averted when she spoke. ' ' It is out of 
 the question that we should go, mamma ; that 
 is, all of us." 
 
 "Why out of the question?" said the squire. 
 
 "A whole family!" said Mrs. Dale. 
 
 "That is just what they want," said the 
 squire. 
 
 ' ' I should like of all things to be left alone 
 for a week," said Lily, "if mamma and Bell 
 would go." 
 
 "That wouldn't do at all," said the squire. 
 "Lady Julia specially wants you to be one of 
 the party." 
 
 The thing had been badly managed altogether. 
 The reference in Lady Julia's note to John 
 Eames had explained to Lily the whole scheme 
 at once, and had so opened her eyes that all the 
 combined influence of the Dale and De Guest 
 families could not have dragged her over to the 
 Manor. 
 
 "Why not do?" said Lily. "It would be 
 out of the question a whole family going in that 
 way, but it would be very nice for Bell." 
 
 "No, if would not," said Bell. 
 
 "Don't be ungenerous about it, my dear," 
 said the squire, turning to Bell; "Lady Julia 
 means to be kind. But, my darling," and the 
 squire turned again toward Lily, addressing her, 
 as was his wont in these days, with an affection 
 that was almost vexatious to her; "but, my 
 darling, why should you not go ? A change of 
 scene like that will do you all the good in the 
 world, just when you are getting well. Mary, 
 tell the girls that they ought to go." 
 
 Mrs. Dale stood silent, again reading the 
 note, and Lily came down from the ladder. 
 When she reached the floor she went directly up 
 to her uncle, and taking his hand turned him 
 
 round with herself toward one of the windows, 
 so that they stood with their backs to the room. 
 " Uncle," she said, "do not be angry with me. 
 I can't go ;" and then she put up her face to kiss 
 liim< 
 
 He stooped and kissed her and still held her 
 hand. He looked into her face and read it 
 all. He knew well, now, why she could not 
 go ; or rather, why she herself thought that she 
 could not go. " Can not you, my darling?" he 
 said. 
 
 " No, uncle. It is very kind, very kind ; 
 but I can not go. I am not fit to go any 
 where." 
 
 "But you should get over that feeling. You 
 should make a struggle." 
 
 " I am struggling, and I shall succeed ; but I 
 can not do it all at once. At any rate I could 
 not go there. You must give my love to Lady 
 Julia, and not let her think me cross. Per- 
 haps Bell will go." 
 
 What would be the good of Bell's going — or 
 the good of his putting himself out of the way, 
 by a visit which would of itself be so tiresome to 
 him, if the one object of the visit could not be car- 
 ried out? The earl and his sister had planned 
 the invitation with the express intention of 
 bringing Lily and Eames together. It seemed 
 that Lily was firm in her determination to resist 
 this intention ; and, if so, it would be better that 
 the whole thing should fall to the ground. He 
 was very vexed, and yet he was not angry with 
 her. Every body lately had opposed him in 
 every thing. All his intended family arrange- 
 ments had gone wrong. But yet he was seldom 
 angry respecting them. He was so accustomed 
 to be thwarted that he hardly expected success. 
 In this matter of providing Lily with a second 
 lover he had not come forward of his own ac- 
 cord. He had been appealed to by his neighbor 
 the earl, and had certainly answered the appeal 
 with much generosity. He had been induced to 
 make the attempt with eagerness, and a true de- 
 sire for its accomplishment ; but in this, as in 
 all his own schemes, he was met at once by op- 
 position and failure. 
 
 " I will leave you to talk it over among your- 
 selves," he said. "But, Mary, you had better 
 see me before you send your answer. If you 
 will come up by-and-by Ealph shall take the 
 two notes over together in the afternoon." So 
 saying, he left the Small House and went back 
 to his own solitary home. 
 
 "Lily, dear," said Mrs. Dale, as soon as the 
 front door had been closed, " this is meant for 
 kindness to you — for most affectionate kindness." 
 
 "I know it, mamma; and you must go to 
 Lady Julia, and must tell her that I know it. 
 You must give her my love. And, indeed, I 
 do love her now. But — " 
 
 "You won't go, Lily?" said Mrs. Dale, be- 
 seechingly. 
 
 " No, mamma ; certainly I will not go.'' Then 
 she escaped out of the room by hereelf, and for 
 the next hour neither of them dared to go to 
 her. 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 227 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 MRS. DALE IS THANKFUL FOK A GOOD THING. 
 
 On that day they dined early at the Small 
 House, as they had been in the habit of doing 
 since the packing had commenced. And after 
 dinner Mrs. Dale went through the gardens, up 
 to the other house, with a written note in her 
 hand. In that note she had told Lady Julia, 
 with many protestations of gi-atitude, that Lily 
 was unable to go out so soon after her illness, 
 and that she herself was obliged to stay witli 
 Lily. She explained also that the business of 
 moving was in hand, and that therefore she 
 could not herself accept the invitation. But 
 her other daughter, she said, would be very 
 happy to accompany her uncle to Guestwiclc 
 Manor. Then, without closing her letter, she 
 took it up to the squire in order that it might 
 be decided whether it would or w<5uld not suit 
 his views. It might well be that he would 
 not care to go to Lord De Guest's with Bell 
 alone. 
 
 "Leave it with me," he said; "that is, if 
 you do not object." 
 
 "Oh dear, no!" 
 
 " I'll tell you the plain truth at once, Mary. 
 I shall go over myself with it and see the earl. 
 Then I will decline it or not according to what 
 passes between me and him. I wish Lily would 
 have gone." 
 
 " Ah I she could not." 
 
 "I wish she could. I wish she could. I 
 wish she could." As he repeated the words 
 over and over again, there was an eagerness in 
 his voice that filled Mrs. Dale's heart with ten- 
 derness toward him. 
 
 "The truth is," said Mrs. Dale, "she could 
 not go there to 'meet John Eames." 
 
 "Oh, I know," said the squire: "I uiider- 
 stand it. But that is just what we want her to 
 do. Why should She not spend a week in the 
 same house with an honest young man whom 
 we all like?" 
 
 "There are reasons why she would not wish 
 it." 
 
 "Ah, exactly; the very reasons which should 
 make us induce her to go there if we can. Per- 
 haps I had better tell yon all. Lord De Guest 
 has taken him by the hand and wishes him to 
 marry. He has promised to settle on him an in- 
 come which will make him comfortable for life." 
 
 " That is very generous ; and I am delighted 
 to hear it-rfor John's sake." 
 
 " And they have promoted him at his office." 
 
 " Ah ! then he will do well." 
 
 " He will do very well. He is private secre- 
 tary now to their head man. And, Mary, so 
 that she, Lily, should not be empty-handed if 
 this marriage can be arranged, I have under- 
 taken to settle a hundijpd a year on her — on her 
 and her children if she will accept him. Now 
 you know it all. . I did not mean to tell you ; 
 but it is as well that you should have the means 
 of judging. That other man was a villain. 
 This man is honest. Would it not be well that 
 
 she should learn to like him ? She always did 
 like him, I thought, before that other fellow 
 came down here among us." 
 
 " She has always liked him — as a friend." 
 
 " She will never get a better Ibver." 
 
 Mrs. Dale sat silent, thinking over it all. 
 Every word that the squire said was tnie. It 
 would be a healing of wounds most desirable 
 and salutary ; an arrangement advantageous to 
 them all ; a destiny for Lily most devoutly to 
 be desired — if only it were possible. Mrs, 
 Dale firmly believed that if her daughter could 
 be made to accept John Eames as her second 
 lover in a year or two all would be well. Cros- 
 bie would then be forgotten or thought of with- 
 out regret, and Lily would become the mistress 
 of a happy home. But there are positions 
 which can not be reached, though there be no 
 physical or material objection in the way. It 
 is the view which the mind takes of a thing 
 which creates the sorrow that arises from it. 
 If the heart were always malleable and the feel- 
 ings could be controlled, who would permit him- 
 self to be tormented by any of the reverses which 
 affection meets? Death would create no sor- 
 row ; ingratitude would lose its sting ; and the 
 betrayal of love would do no injury beyond that 
 which it might entail upon worldly circum- 
 stances. But the heart is not malleable ; nor 
 will the feelings admit of such control. 
 
 "It is not possible for her," said Mrs. Dale. 
 " I fear it is not possible. It is too soon." 
 
 "Six months," pleaded the squire. 
 
 "It will take years — not months," said Mrs. 
 Dale. 
 
 "And she will lose all her youth." 
 
 " Yes ; he has done all that by his treachery. 
 But it is done, and we can not now go back. 
 She loves him yet as dearly as she ever loved 
 him." 
 
 Then the squire muttered certain words below 
 his breath — ejaculations against Crosbie, which 
 were hardly voluntary ; but even as involuntary 
 ejaculations were very improper. Mrs. Dale 
 heard them, and was not offended either by their 
 impropriety or their warmth. "But you can 
 understand," she said, " that she can not bring 
 herself to go there. " The squire struck the ta- 
 ble with his fist, and repeated his ejaculations. 
 If he could only have known how very disagree- 
 able Lady Alexandrina was making herself, his 
 spirit might, perhaps, have been less vehement- 
 ly disturbed. If, also, he could have perceived 
 and understood the light in which an alliance ■ 
 with the De Courcy family was now regarded by , 
 Crosbie, I think that he would have received some 
 consolation from that consideration. Those who 
 offend us are generally punished for the offense 
 they give ; but we so frequently miss the satis- 
 faction of knowing that we are avenged ! It is 
 arranged, apparently, that the injurer shall be 
 punished, but that the person injured shall not 
 gratify his desire for vengeance. 
 
 "And will you go to Guestwick yourself?" 
 asked Mrs. Dale. 
 
 " I will take the note," said'the squire, " and 
 
228 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 will let you know to-morrow. The earl has be- 
 haved so kindly that every possible consideration 
 is due to him. I had better tell him the whole 
 truth, and go or stay as he may wish. I don't 
 see the good of going. What am I to do at 
 Guestwick Manor ? I did think that if we had 
 all been there it might have cured some difficul- 
 ties." 
 
 Mrs. Dale got up to leave him, but she could 
 not go without saying some word of gratitude 
 for all that he had attempted to do for them. 
 She well knew what he meant by the curing of 
 difficulties. He had intended to signify that 
 had they lived together for a week at Guestwick 
 the idea of flitting from Allington might possi- 
 bly have been abandoned. It seemed now to 
 Mrs. Dale as though her brother-in-law were 
 heaping coals of fire on her head in return for 
 that intention. She felt half-ashamed of what 
 she was doing, almost acknowledging to herself 
 that she should have borne with his sternness in 
 return for the benefits he had done to her daugh- 
 ters. Had she not feared their reproaches she 
 would, even now, have given way. 
 
 " I do not know what I ought to say to you 
 for your kindness."- 
 
 " Say nothing — either for my kindness or un- 
 kindness; but stay where you are, and let us 
 live like Christians together, striving to think 
 good and not evil." These were kind, loving 
 words, showing in themselves a spirit of love and 
 forbearance ; but they were spoken in a harsh, 
 nnsympathizing voice, and the speaker, as he 
 uttered them, looked gloomily at the fire. In 
 truth the squire, as he spoke, was half-ashamed 
 of the warmth of what he said. 
 
 "At any rate I will not think evil," Mrs. 
 Dale answered, giving him her hand. After 
 that she left him and returned home. It 
 was too late for her to abandon her project of 
 moving and remain at the Small House, but as 
 she went across the garden she almost confessed 
 to herself that she repented of what she was 
 doing. 
 
 In these days of the cold early spring, the way 
 from the lawn into the house, through the draw- 
 ing-room window, was not as yet open, and it 
 was necessary to go round by the kitchen-garden 
 on to the road, and thence in by the front door ; 
 or else to pass through the back door, and into 
 the house by the kitchen. This latter mode of 
 entrance Mrs. Dale now adopted; and as she 
 made her way into the hall Lily came upon her, 
 with very silent steps, out from the parlor, and 
 arrested her progress. There was a smile upon 
 Lily's face as she lifted up her finger as if in 
 caution, and no one looking at her would have 
 supposed that she was herself in trouble. "Mam- 
 ma," she said, pointing to the drawing-room 
 door, and speaking almost in a whisper, "you 
 must not go in there; come into the parlor." 
 
 "Who's there? Where's Bell?" and Mrs. 
 Dale went into the parlor as she was bidden. 
 "But who is there?" she repeated. 
 
 "He's there!" 
 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 " Oh, mamma, don't be a goose ! Dr. Crofts 
 is there, of course. He's been nearly an hour. 
 I wonder how he is managing, for there is no- 
 thing on earth to sit upon but the old lump of a 
 carpet. The room is strewed about with crock- 
 ery, and Bell is such a figure ! She has got on 
 your old checked apron, and when he came in 
 she was rolling up the fire-irons in brown paper. 
 I don't suppose she was ever in such a mess be» 
 fore. There's one thing certain — he can't kiss 
 her hand." 
 
 "It's yon are the goose, Lily." 
 
 "But he's in there, certainly, unless he has 
 gone out through the window, or up the chim- 
 ney." 
 
 "What made you leave them?" 
 
 ' ' He met me here, in the passage, and spoke 
 to me ever so seriously. ' Come in,' I said, ' and 
 see Bell packing the pokers and tongs. ' ' I will 
 go in,' he said ; ' but don't come with me.' He 
 was ever so serious, and I'm sure he had been 
 thinking of it all the way along." 
 
 "And why should he not be serious?'' 
 
 "Oh no, of course, he ought to be serious; 
 but are you not glad, mamma ? I am so glad. 
 We shall live alone together, you and I; but 
 she will be so close to us ! My belief is that 
 he'll stay there forever unless somebody does 
 something. I have been so tired of waiting and 
 looking out for you. Perhaps he's helping her 
 to pack the things. Don't you think we might 
 go in ; or would it be ill-natured?" 
 
 ' ' Lily, don't be in too great a hurry to say 
 any thing. You may be mistaken, you know ; 
 and there's many a slip between the cup and 
 the lip." 
 
 "Yes, mamma, there is," said Lily, putting 
 her hand inside her mother's arm ; " that's true 
 enough." '* 
 
 "Oh, my darling, forgive me," said the mo- 
 ther, suddenly remembering that the use of the 
 old proverb at the present moment had been al- 
 most cruel. 
 
 "Do not mind it," said Lily; "it does not 
 hurt me ; it does me good ; that is to say, when 
 there is nobody by except yourself. But, with 
 God's help, there shall be no slip here, and she 
 shall be happy. It is all the difference between 
 one thing done in a hurry, and another done 
 with much thinking. But they'll remain there 
 forever if we don't go in. Come, mamma, you 
 open the door." 
 
 Then Mrs. Dale did open the door, giving 
 some little premonitory notice with the handle, 
 so that the couple inside might be warned of 
 approaching footsteps. Crofts had not escaped, 
 either through the window or up the chimney, 
 but was seated in the middle of the room on an 
 empty box, just opposite to Bell, who was seated 
 upon the lump of carpeting. Bell still wore the 
 checked apron as described by her sister. What 
 might have been the state of her hands I will 
 not pretend to say ; but I do not believe that 
 her lover had found any thing amiss with them. 
 " How do you do, doctor?" said Mrs. Dale, striv- 
 ing to use her accustomed voice, and to look as 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTOIT. 
 
 229 
 
 though there were nothing of special importance 
 in his visit. " I liave just come down from the 
 Great House." 
 
 " Mamma," said Bell, jumping up, "you must 
 not call him doctor any more." 
 
 ' ' Must I not ? Has any one undootored him ?" 
 
 " Oh, mamma, you understand," said Bell. 
 
 "I understand," said Lily, going up to the 
 doctor and giving him her cheek to kiss. " He 
 is to be my brother, and I mean to claim him 
 as such from this moment. I c:xpect him to do 
 every thing for us, and not to call a moment of 
 his time his own." 
 
 " Mrs. Dale," said the doctor, " Bell has con- 
 sented that it shall'be so, if you will consent." 
 
 "There is but little doubt of that," said Mrs. 
 Dale. 
 
 " We shall not be rich — '" began the doctor. 
 
 " I hate to be rich," said Bell. " I hate even 
 to talk about it. I don't think it quite manly 
 even to think about it ; and I am sure it isn't 
 womanly." 
 
 "Bell was always a fanatic in praise of pov- 
 erty, " said Mrs. Dale. 
 
 "No: I am no fanatic. I'm very fond of 
 money earned. I would like to earn some my- 
 self if I knew how." 
 
 . "Let her go out and visit the lady patients," 
 said Lily. "They do in America." 
 
 Then they all went into the parlor and sat 
 round the fire talking as though they were al- 
 ready one family. The proceeding, consider- 
 ing the nature of it — that a young lady, ac- 
 knowledged to be of great beauty and known to 
 be of good birth, had on ttie occasion been asked 
 and given in marriage — was carried on after a 
 somewhat humdrum fashion, and in a manner 
 that must be called commonplace. How differ- 
 ent had it been when Crosbie had made his 
 oifer 1 Lily for the time had been raised to a 
 pinnacle — a pinnacle which might be danger- 
 ous, but which was, at any rate, lofty. "With 
 what a pretty speech had Crosbie been greeted ! 
 How it had been felt by all concerned that the 
 fortunes of the Small House wore in the ascend- 
 ant — felt, indeed, with some trepidation, but 
 still with much inward triumph ! How great 
 had been the occasion, forcing Lily almost to 
 lose herself in wonderment at what had oc- 
 curred ! There was no great occasion now, and 
 no wonderment. No one, unless it was Crofts, 
 felt very triumphant. But they were all very 
 happy, and were sure that there was safety in 
 their happiness. It was but the other day that 
 one of them had been thrown rudely to the 
 ground through the treachery of a lover, but yet 
 none of them feared treachery from this lover. 
 Bell was as sure of her lot in life as though she 
 wei;e already being taken home to her modest 
 house in Guestwick. Mrs. Dale already looked 
 upon the mta as her son, and the party of four 
 as they sat round the fire grouped themselves as 
 though they already formed one family. 
 
 But Bell was not seated next to her lover. 
 Lily, when she had once accepted Crosbie, 
 Seemed to think that she could never be too 
 
 near him. She had been in nowise ashamed 
 of her love, and had shown it constantly by 
 some little caressing motion of her hand, lean- 
 ing on his arm, looking into his face, as though 
 she were continually desirous of some palpable 
 assurance of his presence. It was not so at all 
 with Bell. She was happy in loving and in be- 
 ing loved, but she required no overt testimonies 
 of aifection. I do not think it would have 
 made her unhappy if some sudden need had re- 
 quired that Crofts should go to India and back 
 before they were married. .The thing was set- 
 tled, and that was enough for her. But, on the 
 other hand, when he spoke of the expediency 
 of an immediate marriage, she raised no diffi- 
 culty. As her mother was about to go into a 
 new residence, it might be as well that that 
 residence should be fitted to the wants of two 
 persons instead of three. So they talked about 
 chairs and tables, carpets and kitchens, in a 
 most unromantic, homely, useful manner! A 
 considerable portion of the furniture in the house 
 they were now about to leave belonged to the 
 squire — or to the house rather, as they were in 
 the habit of saying; The older and more solid 
 things — articles of household stuff that stand the 
 wear of half a century — had been in the Small 
 House when they came to it. There was, there- 
 fore, a question of buying new furniture for a 
 house in Guestwick, a question not devoid of 
 importance to the possessor of so moderate an 
 income as that owned by Mrs. Dale. In the 
 first month or two they were to live in lodgings, 
 and their goods were to be stored in some friend- 
 ly warehouse. Under such circumstances would 
 it not be well that Bell's marriage should be so 
 arranged that the lodging question might not be 
 in any degree complicated by her necessities? 
 This was the last suggestion made by Dr. Crofits, 
 induced no doubt by the great encouragement 
 he had received. 
 
 ' ' That would be hardly possible, " said Mrs. 
 Dale. " It only wants three weeks ; and with 
 the house in such a condition !" 
 
 "James is joking," said Bell. 
 
 " I was not joking at all," said the doctor. 
 
 "Why not send for Mr. Boyce, and cany her 
 ofi^ at once on a pillion behind you ?" said Lily. 
 " It's just the sort of thing for primitive people 
 to do, like you and Bell. All the same. Bell, 
 I do wish you could have been married from this 
 house." 
 
 " I don't think it will make much difference," 
 said Bell. 
 
 " Only if you would have waited till summer 
 we would have had such a nice party on the 
 lawn. It sounds so ugly being married from 
 lodgings; doesn't it, mamma?" 
 
 "It doesn't sound at all ugly to me," said 
 Bell. 
 
 " I shall always call you Dame Commonplace 
 when you're married," said Lily. 
 
 Then they had tea, and after tea Dr. Crofts 
 got on his horse and rode back to Guestwick. 
 
 " Now may I talk about him ?" said Lily, as 
 soon as the door was closed behind his back. 
 
230 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 " No ; you may not." 
 
 " As if I hadn't known it all along ! And 
 wasn't it hard to bear that you should have 
 scolded me with such pertinacious austerity, and 
 that I wasn't to say a word in answer ! " 
 
 " I don't remember the austerity," said Mrs. 
 Dale. 
 
 "Nor yet Lily's silence," said Bell. 
 
 "But it's all settled now," said Lily, "and 
 I'm downright happy. I never felt more satis- 
 faction — never, Bell ! " 
 
 ' ' Nor did I, " said her mother ; "I may truly 
 say that I thank G^d for this good thing." 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 JOHN BAMES DOES THINGS WHICH HE OUGHT 
 NOT TO HAVE DONE. 
 
 John Eames succeeded in making his bargain 
 with Sir Raffle Buffle. He accepted the private- 
 secretaiyship on the plainly expressed condition 
 that he was to have leave of absence for a fort- 
 night toward the end of April. Having ar- 
 ranged this he took an affectionate leave of Mr. 
 Iiove, who was really much affected at parting 
 with him, discussed valedictory pots of porter in 
 the big room, over which many wishes were ex- 
 pressed that he might be enabled to compass the 
 length and breadth of old Huffle's feet, uttered a 
 last cutting joke at Mr. Kissing as he met that 
 gentleman hurrying through the passages with 
 an enormous ledger in his hands, and then took 
 his place in the comfortable arm-chair which 
 KtzHoward had been forced to relinquish, 
 
 "Don't tell any of the fellows," said Fitz, 
 "but I'm going to cut the concern altogether. 
 My governor wouldn't let me stop here in any 
 other place than that of private secretary. " 
 
 ' ' Ah ! your governor is a swell, " said Eames. 
 
 "I don't know about that," said FitzHoward. 
 " Of course he has a good deal of family inter- 
 est. My cousin is to come in for St. Bungay at 
 the next election, and then I can do better than 
 remain here. " 
 
 "That's a matter of course," said Eames. 
 "If my cousin were Member for St. Bungay, 
 I'd never stand any thing east of Whitehall." 
 
 ' ' And I don't mean, " said FitzHoward. "This 
 room, you know, is all very nice ; but it is a 
 bore coming into the City every day. And then 
 one doesn't like to be rung for like a servant. 
 Not that I mean to put you out of conceit with 
 it." 
 
 "It will do very well for me," said Eames. 
 "I never was very particular." And so they 
 parted, Eames assuming the beautiful arm-chair 
 and the peril of being asked to carry Sir Raffle's 
 shoes, while FitzHoward took the vacant desk in 
 the big room till such time as some member of 
 his family should come into Parliament for the 
 borough of St. Bungay. 
 
 But Eames, though he drank the porter, and 
 quizzed FitzHoward, and gibed at Kissing, did 
 not seat himself in his new arm-chair without 
 
 some serious thoughts. He was aware that his 
 career in London had not hitherto been one on 
 which he could look back with self-respect. He 
 had lived with friends whom he did not esteem ; 
 he had been idle, and sometimes worse .than 
 idle ; and he had allowed himself to be hamper, 
 ed by the pretended love of a woman for whom 
 he had never felt any true affection, and by 
 whom he had been cozened out of various fool- 
 ish promises which even yet were hanging over 
 his head. As he sat with Sir Raffle's notes be- 
 fore him he thought almost with horror of the 
 men and women in Burton Crescent. It was 
 now about three years since he had first known 
 Cradell, and he shuddered as he remembered 
 how very poor a creature was he whom he had 
 chosen for his bosom friend. He could not 
 make for himself those excuses which we can 
 make for him. He could not tell himself that 
 he had been driven by circumstances to choose 
 a friend before he had learned to know what were 
 the requisites for which he should look. He 
 had lived on terms of closest intimacy with this 
 man for three years, and now his eyes were open- 
 ing themselves to the nature of his friend's char- 
 acter. Cradell was in age three years his senior. 
 " I won't drop him," he said to himself; "but 
 he is a poor creature." He thought, too, of the, 
 Lupexes, of Miss Spruce, and of Mrs. Roper, and 
 tried to imagine what Lily Dale would do if she 
 found herself among such people. It would be 
 impossible that she should ever so find herself. 
 He might as well ask her to drink at the bar of 
 a gin-shop as to sit down in Mrs. Roper's draw- 
 ing-room. If destiny had in store for him such 
 good fortune as that of calling Lily his own, it 
 was necessary that he should altogether alter his 
 mode of life. 
 
 In truth his hobbledehoyhood was dropping 
 off from him, as its old skin drops from a snake. 
 Much of the feeling and something of the knowl- 
 edge of manhood was coming on him, and he 
 was beginning to recognize to himself that the 
 future manner of his life must be to him a mat- 
 ter of very serious concern. No such thought 
 had come near him when he first established 
 himself in London. It seems to me that in this 
 respect the fathers and mothers of the present 
 generation understand but little of the inward 
 nature of the young men for whom they are so 
 anxious. They give them credit for so much 
 that it is impossible they should have, and then 
 deny them credit for so much that they possess ! 
 They expect from them when boys the discre- 
 tion of men — that discretion which comes from 
 thinking ; but will not give them credit for any 
 of that power of thought which alone can ulti- 
 mately produce good conduct. Young men are 
 generally thoughtful — more thoughtful than 
 their seniors ; but the fruit of their thought is 
 not as yet there. And then so little is done for 
 the amusement of lads who are turned loose 
 into London at nineteen or twenty. Can it be 
 that any mother really expects her son to sit 
 alone evening after evening in a dingy room 
 drinking bad tea and reading good books ? And 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 231 
 
 yet it seems that mothers do so expect — the very 
 mothers who talk about the thoughtlessness of 
 youth ! O ye mothers who from year to year 
 see your sons launched forth upon the perils of 
 the world, and who are so careful with your 
 good advice, with under-flannel shirtings, with 
 books of devotion and tooth-powder, does it nev- 
 er occur to you that provision should be made 
 for amusement, for dancing, for parties, for the 
 excitement and comfort of women's society? 
 That excitement your sons will have, and if it 
 be not provided by you of one kind, will cer- 
 tainly be provided by themselves of another kind. 
 If I were a mother sending lads out into the 
 world, the matter most in my mind would be 
 this-^to what houses full of nicest girls could I 
 get them admission, so that they might do their 
 flirting in good company. 
 
 Poor John Eames had been so placed that he 
 had been driven to do his flirting in very bad 
 company, and he was now fully aware that it 
 had been so. It wanted but two days to his de- 
 parture for Guestwick Manor, and as he sat 
 breathing a while after the manufacture of a 
 large batch of Sir Raffle's notes, he made up his 
 mind that he would give Mrs. Eoper notice be- 
 fore he started that on his return to London he 
 would be seen no more in Burton Crescent. He 
 would break his bonds altogether asunder, and 
 if there should be any penalty for such break- 
 ing he would pay it in what best manner he 
 might be able. He acknowledged to himself 
 that he had been behaving badly to Amelia, 
 confessing, indeed, more sin in that respect than 
 he had in truth committed; but this, at any 
 rate, was clear to him — that he must put him- 
 self on a proper footing in that quarter before 
 he could venture to speak to Lily Dale. 
 
 As he came to a definite conclusion on this 
 subject the little hand-bell which always stood 
 on Sir Baffle's table was sounded, and Eames 
 was called into the presence of the great man. 
 " Ah," said Sir Raffle, leaning back in his arm- 
 chair, and stretching himself after the great ex- 
 ertions which he had been making — "Ah, let 
 me see? You are going out of town tlie day 
 after to-morrow." 
 
 "Yes, Sir Raffle, the day after to-morrow.'' 
 
 " Ah, it's a great annoyance — a very great an- 
 noyance. But on such occasions I never think 
 of myself. I never have done so, and don't 
 suppose I ever shall. So you're going down to 
 my old friend De Guest?" 
 
 Eames was always angered when his new 
 patron Sir Raffle talked of his old friendship 
 with the earl, and never gave the Commissioner 
 any encouragement. "I am going down to 
 Guestwick, " said he. 
 
 "Ah yes; to Guestwick Manor? I don't 
 remember that I was ever there. I dare say I 
 may have been, but one forgets those things." 
 
 " I never heard Lord De Guest speak of it." 
 
 "Oh dear, no. Why should his memory be 
 better than mine? Tell him, will you? how 
 very glad I shall be to renew our old intimacy. 
 I should think nothing of running down to him 
 
 for a day or two in the dull time of the year — 
 say in September or October. It's rather a co- 
 incidence our both being interested about you, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 "I'll be sure to tell him." 
 
 " Mind you do. He's one of our most thor- 
 oughly independent noblemen, and I respect 
 him very highly. Let me see ; didn't I ring 
 my bell? What was it I wanted? I think I 
 rang my bell." 
 
 "You did ring your bell." 
 
 " Ah yes ; I know. I'm going away, and I 
 wanted my — Would you tell Eafferty to bring 
 me — my boots ?" Whereupon Johnny rang the 
 bell — not the little hand-bell, hut the other bell. 
 " And I sha'n't be here to-morrow," continued 
 Sir Raffle. " I'll thank you to send my letters 
 up to the square ; and if they should send down 
 from the Treasury — but the Chancellor would 
 write, and in that case you'll send up his letter 
 at once by a special messenger, of couBse. " 
 
 "Here's Rafferty," said Eames, determined 
 that he would not even sully his lips with speak- 
 ing of Sir Raffle's boots. 
 
 "Oh, ah, yes ; Eatferty, bring me my boots." 
 
 " Any thing else to say ?" asked Eames. 
 
 " No, nothing else. Of course you'll be care- 
 ful to leave every thing straight behind you." 
 
 "Oh yes; I'll leave it all straight." Then 
 Eames withdrew, so that he might not be pres- 
 ent at the interview between Sir Raffle and his 
 boots. "He'll not do," said Sir Raffle to him- 
 self. " He'll never do. He's not quick enough 
 — has no go in him. He's not man enough for 
 the place. I wonder why the earl has taken 
 him by the hand in that way." 
 
 Soon after the little episode of the boots 
 Eames left his office and walked home alone to 
 Burton Cre|jpnt. He felt that he had gained a 
 victory in Sir Raffle's room, but the victory there 
 had been easy. Now he had another battle on 
 his hands, in which, as he believed, the achieve- 
 ment of victory would be much more difficult. 
 Amelia Roper was a person much more to be 
 feared than the Chief Commissioner ? He had 
 one strong arrow in his quiver on which he would 
 depend, if there should come to him the neces- 
 sity of giving his enemy a death-woundt; Dur- 
 ing the last week she had been making power- 
 ful love to Cradell, so as to justify the punish- 
 ment of desertion from a former lover. He 
 would not throw Cradell in her teeth if he could 
 help it ; but it was incumbent on him to gain a 
 victory, and if the worst should come to the 
 worst, he must use such weapons as destiny and 
 the chance of war had given him. 
 
 He found Mrs. Roper in the dining-room as 
 he entered, and immediately begun his work. 
 "Mrs. Roper," he said, "I'm going out of town 
 the day after to-morrow." 
 
 " Oh yes, Mr. Eames, we know that. You're 
 going as a visitor to the noble mansion of the 
 Earl De Guest." 
 
 ' ' I don't know about the mansion being very 
 noble, but I'm going down into the conntry for 
 a fortnight. When I come back — " 
 
232 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 " When you come back, Mr. Eames, I hopo 
 you'll find your room a deal more comfortable. 
 I know it isn't quite what it should be for a gen- 
 tleman like you, and I've been thinking for some 
 time past — " 
 
 "But, Mrs. Eoper, I don't mean to come 
 back here any more. It's just that that I want 
 to say to you." 
 
 "Not come back to the crescent!" 
 
 "No, Mrs. Eoper. A fellow must move 
 sometimes, you know ; and I'm sure I've been 
 very constant to you for a long time." 
 
 " But where are you going, Mr. Eames ?" 
 
 "Well, I haven't just made up my mind as 
 yet. That is, it will depend on what I may 
 do — on what friends of mine may say down in 
 the country. You'll not think I'm quarreling 
 with you, Mrs. Eoper." 
 
 "It's them Lupexes as have done it," said 
 Mrs. Eoper, in her deep distress. 
 
 " No, indeed, Mrs. Eoper, nobody has done it." 
 
 ' ' Yes, it is ; and I'm not going to blame you, 
 Mr. Eames. They've made the house unfit for 
 any decent young gentleman like you. I've 
 been feeling that all along ; but. it's hard upon 
 a lone woman like me, isn't it, Mr. Eames S" 
 
 "But, Mrs. Eoper, the Lupexes have had no- 
 thing to do with my going." 
 
 " Oh yes, they have ; I understand it all. 
 But what could I do, Mr. Eames? I've been 
 giving them warning every week for the last six 
 months ; but the more I give them warning the 
 more they won't go. Unless I were to send for 
 a policeman and have a row in the house — " 
 
 " But I haven't complained of the Lupexes, 
 Mrs. Eoper." 
 
 "You wouldn't be quitting without any rea- 
 son, Mr. Eames. You are not going to be 
 married in earnest, are you, Mr. !^mes ?" 
 
 "Not that I know of." 
 
 ' ' You may tell me ; yon may, indeed. I 
 won't say a word — not to any body. It hasn't 
 been my fault about Amelia. It hastft really. " 
 
 " Who says there's been any fault?" 
 
 " I can see, Mr. Eames. Of course it didn't 
 do for me to interfere. And if you had liked 
 her, I will say I believe she'd have made as good 
 a, wifc'sts any young man ever took : and she 
 can make a few pounds go farther than most 
 girls. You can understand a mother's feelings ; 
 and if there was to be any thing, I couldn't spoil 
 it ; could I, now ?" 
 
 "But there isn't to be any thing." 
 
 " So I've told her for months past. I'm not 
 going to say any thing to blame you ; but young 
 men ought to be very particular; indeed they 
 ought." Johnny did not choose to hint to the 
 disconsolate mother that it also behooved young 
 women to be very particular, but he thought 
 it. "I've wished many a time, Mr. Eames, 
 that she had never come here ; indeed I have. 
 But what's a mother to do ? I couldn't put 
 her outside the door." Then Mrs. Eoper raised 
 her apron up to her eyes, and began to sob. 
 
 " I'm very sorry if I've made any mischief," 
 said Johnny. 
 
 "It hasn't been your fault,'' continued the 
 poor woman, from whom, as her tears became 
 uncontrollable, her true feelings forced them- 
 selves and the real outpouring of her feminine 
 nature. " Nor it hasn't been my fault. But I 
 knew what it would come to when I saw how 
 she was going on ; and I told her so. I knew 
 you wouldn't put up with the likes of her." 
 
 "Indeed, Mrs. Eoper, I've always had a 
 great regard for her, and for you too." 
 
 "But you weren't going to marry her. Tve 
 told her so all along, and I've begged her not 
 to do it — almost on my knees I have; but she 
 wouldn't be said by me. She never would. 
 She's always been that willful that I'd sooner 
 have her away from me than with me. Though 
 she's a good young woman in the house — she is 
 indeed, Mr. Eames ; and there isn't a pair of 
 hands in it that works so hard ; but it was no 
 use my talking." 
 
 "I don't think any harm has been done." 
 
 " Yes, there has ; great harm. It has made 
 the place not respectable. It's the Lupexes is 
 the worst. There's Miss Spruce, who has been 
 with me for nine years — ever since I've had the 
 house — she's been telling me this morning that 
 she means to go into the country. It's all the 
 same thing. I understand it. I can see it. 
 The house isn't respectable, as it should be; 
 and your mamma, if she were to know all, 
 would have a right to be angry with me. I did 
 mean to be respectable, Mr. Eames ; I did, in- 
 deed." 
 
 " Miss Spruce will think better of it." 
 
 " You don't know what I've had to go through. 
 There's none of them pays, not regular — only 
 she and you. She's been like the Bank of En- 
 gland, has Miss Spruce." 
 
 "I'm afraid I've not been very regular, Mrs. 
 Eoper." 
 
 " Oh yes, you have. I don't think of a 
 pound or two more or less at the end of a quar- 
 ter, if I'm sure to have it some day. The butch- 
 er — he understands one's lodgers just as well as 
 I do — if the money's really coming, he'll wait ; 
 but he won't wait for such as them Lupexes, 
 whose money's nowhere. And there's Cradell ; 
 would you believe it, that fellow owes me eight- 
 and-twenty pounds !" 
 
 ' ' Eight-and-twenty pounds ! " 
 
 ' ' Yes, Mr. Eames, eight-and-twenty pounds I 
 He's a fool. It's them Lupexes as have had 
 his money. I know it. He don't talk of pay- 
 ing and going away. I shall be just left with 
 him and the Lupexes on my hands, and then 
 the bailiffs may come and seU every stick about 
 the place. I won't say nay to them." Then 
 she threw herself into the old horse-hair arm- 
 chair, and gave way to her womanly sorrow. 
 
 "I think I'll go up stairs and get ready for 
 dinner," said Eames. 
 
 "And you must go away when you come 
 back?" said Mrs. Eoper. 
 
 " Well, yes, I'm afraid I must. I meant you 
 to have a month's warning from to-day. Of 
 course I shall pay for the mpnth." 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 233 
 
 " I don't wiint to take any advantage ; indeed 
 I don't. But I do hope you'll leave your things. 
 You can have them whenever you like. If 
 Chunipend knows that you and Miss Spruce are 
 both going, of course he'll be down upon me 
 ^ for his money." Chumpend was the butcher. 
 But Eames made no answer to this piteous plea. 
 Whether or no he could allow his old boots to 
 remain in Burton Crescent for the next week or 
 two must depend on the manner in which he 
 might be received by Amelia Eoper this evening. 
 
 When he came down to the drawing-room 
 there was no one there but Miss Spruce. ' ' A 
 fine day, Miss Spruce," said he. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Eames, it is a fine day for Lon- 
 don ; but don't you think the country air is very 
 nice?" 
 
 " Give me the town," said Johnny, wishing 
 to say a good word for poor Mrs. Eoper, if it 
 were possible. 
 
 " You're a young man, Mr. Eames ; but I'm 
 only an old woman. That makes a difference," 
 said Miss Spruce. 
 
 "Not much," Said Johnny, meaning to be 
 civil. "You don't like to be dull any more 
 than I do." 
 
 "I like to be respectable, Mr.Eames. I al- 
 ways have been respectable, Mr. Eames." This 
 the old woman said almost in a whisper, look- 
 ing anxiously to see that the door had not been 
 opened to other listening ears. 
 
 "I'm sure Mrs. Eoper is very respectable." 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. Roper is respectable, Mr. Eames ; 
 but there are some here that — Hush-sh-sh !" 
 And the old lady put her finger up to her lips. 
 The door opened, and Mrs. Lupex swam into 
 the room. 
 
 " How d'ye do. Miss Spruce ? I declare 
 you're always first. It's to get a chance of 
 having one of the young gentlemen to yourself, 
 I believe. What's the news in the city to-day, 
 Mr. Eames ? In your position now, of course, 
 you hear all the news." 
 
 "Sir Eaifle Buflfle'has got a new pair of 
 shoes. I don't know that for certain, but I 
 guess it from the time it took him to put them 
 on." 
 
 "Ah! now you're quizzing. That's always 
 the way vrith you gentlemen when you get a lit- 
 tle up in the world. You don't think women 
 are worth talking to then, unless just for a joke 
 or so," 
 
 " I'd a great deal sooner talk to you, Mrs. 
 Lupex, than I would to Sir Baffle Bnffle." 
 
 "It's all very well for you to say that. But 
 we women know what such compliments as 
 those mean — don't we. Miss Spruce? A wo- 
 man that's been married five years as I have — 
 or I may say six — doesn't expect much atten- 
 tion from young men. And though I was 
 young when I married — ^young in years, that is 
 —I'd seen too much, and gone through too 
 much, to be young in heart." This she said 
 almost in a whisper ; but Miss Spruce heard it, 
 and was confirmed in her belief that Burton 
 Crescent was no longer respectable. 
 
 "I don't know what yoii were then, Mrs. 
 Lupex," said Eames ; " but you're young enough 
 now for any thing." 
 
 " Mr. Eames, I'd sell all that remains of my 
 youth at a cheap rate— at a very cheap rate, if 
 I could only be sure of—" 
 
 " Sure of what, Mrs. Lupex?" 
 
 "The undivided affection of the one person 
 that I loved. That is all that is necessary to a 
 woman's happiness." 
 
 "And isn't Lupex — " 
 
 "Lupex! But hush — nevermind. I should 
 not have allowed myself to be betrayed into an 
 expression of feeling. Here's your friend Mr. 
 Cradell. • Do you know I sometimes wonder 
 what you find in that man to be so fond of him." 
 Miss Spruce saw it all and heard it all, and pos- 
 itively resolved upon moving herself to those 
 two small rooms at Dulwich. 
 
 Hardly a word was exchanged between Ame- 
 lia and Eames before dinner. Amelia still de- 
 voted herself to Cradell, and Johnny saw that 
 that arrow, if it should be needed, would be a 
 strong weapon. Mrs. Eoper they found seated 
 at her place at the dining-tahle, and Eames 
 could perceive the traces of her tears. Poor 
 woman ! Few positions in life could be harder 
 to bear than hers ! To be ever tugging at oth- 
 ers for money that they could not pay ; to be 
 ever tugged at for money which she could not 
 pay; to desire respectability for its own sake, 
 hut to be driven to confess that it was a luxury 
 beyond her means*; to put up with disreputable 
 belongings for the sake of lucre, and then not to 
 get the lucre, but to be driven to feel that she 
 was ruined by the attempt ! How many Mrs. 
 Eopers there are who from year to year sink 
 down and fall away, and no one knows whither 
 they Jietake themselves ! One fancies that one 
 sees them from time to time at the comers of 
 the streets in battered bonnets and thin gowns, 
 with the tattered remnants of old shawls upon 
 their shoulders, still looking as though they had 
 within them a faint remembrance of long-dis- 
 tant respectability. With anxious eyes they 
 peer about as though searching in the streets 
 for other lodgers. Where do they get their 
 daily morsels of bread, and their poor cups of 
 thin tea — their cups of thin tea, with perhaps a 
 pennyworth of gin added to it, if Providence be 
 good ! Of this state of things Mrs. Eoper had 
 a lively appreciation, and now, poor woman, she 
 feared that she was reaching it by the aid of tlie 
 Lupexes. On the present occasion she carved 
 her joint of meat in silence, and sent out her 
 slices to the good guests that would leave her, 
 and to the bad guests that would remain, with 
 apathetic impartiality. What was the use now 
 of doing favor to one lodger or disfavor to an- 
 other ? Let them take their mutton — they who 
 would pay for it and they who would not. She 
 would not have the carving of many more joints 
 in that house if Chumpend acted up to all the 
 threats which he had uttered to her that morn- 
 
 ing. 
 
 The reader may, 
 
 perhaps, remember the little 
 
234 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 back room behind the dining-parlor. A descrip- 
 tion was given in some former pages of an in- 
 terview which was held there between Amelia 
 and her lover. It was in that room that all the 
 interviews of Mrs. Eoper's establishment had 
 their existence. A special room for interviews 
 is necessary in all households of a mixed nature. 
 If a man lives alone with his wife, he can have 
 his interviews where he pleases. Sons and 
 daughters, even when they are grown up, hardly 
 create the necessity of an interview -chamber, 
 though some such need may be felt if the daugh- 
 ters are marriageable and independent in their 
 natures. But when the family becomes more 
 complicated than this, if an extra young man be 
 introduced, or an aunt comes into residence, or 
 grown-up children by a former wife interfere with 
 the domestic simplicity, then such accommoda- 
 tion becomes quite indispensable. No woman 
 would think of taking in lodgers without such a 
 room ; and this room there was at Mrs. Eoper's, 
 very small and dingy, but still sufficient — just 
 behind the dining-parlor and opposite to the 
 kitchen stairs. Hither, after dinner, Amelia was 
 summoned. She had just seated herself between 
 Mrs. Lupex and Miss Spruce, ready to do battle 
 with the former because she would stay, and with 
 the latter because she would go, when she was 
 called out by the servant girl. 
 
 "Miss Mealyer, Miss Mealyer — sh — sh — sh!" 
 And Amelia, looking round, saw a large red hand 
 beckoning to her. " He's down there," said Je- 
 mima, as soon as her young mistress had joined 
 her, " and want's to see you most partic'Iar." 
 
 "Which of 'em ?" asked Amelia, in a whisper. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Heames, to be sure. Don't you 
 go and have any think to say to the other one. 
 Miss Mealyer, pray don't ; he ain't no good ; he 
 ain't indeed." 
 
 Amelia stood still for a moment on the land- 
 ing, calculating whether it would be well for her 
 to have the interview, or well to decline it. Her 
 objects were two ; or, rather, her object was in 
 its nature twofold. She was, naturally, anxious 
 to drive John Eames to desperation ; and anx- 
 ious also, by some slight added artifice, to make 
 sure of Cradell if Eames's desperation did not 
 have a very speedy effect. She agreed with Je- 
 mima's criticism in the main, but she did not go 
 quite so far as to think that Cradell was no good 
 at all. Let it be Eames, if Eames were possible ; 
 but let the other string be kept for use, if Eames 
 were not possible. Poor girl ! in coming to this 
 resolve she had not done so without agony. She 
 had a heart, and with such power as it gave her, 
 she loved John Eames. But the world had been 
 hard to her ; knocking her about hither and thith- 
 er unmercifully ; threatening, as it now threat- 
 ened, to take from her what few good things she 
 enjoyed. When a girl is so circumstanced she 
 can not afford to attend to her heart. She al- 
 most resolved not to see Eames on the present 
 occasion, thinking that he might be made the 
 more desperate by such refusal, and remember- 
 ing also that Cradell was in the house and would 
 know of it. 
 
 " He's there awaiting, Miss Mealyer. Why 
 don't yer come down?" and Jemima plucked 
 her young mistress by the arm. 
 
 " I am coming," said Amelia. And with dig- 
 nified steps she descended to the interview. 
 
 "Here she is, Mr. Heames," said the girl, 
 and then Johnny found himself alone with his 
 lady-love. 
 
 "You have sent for me, Mr. Eames, " she said, 
 giving her head a little toss, and turning her face 
 away from him. " I was engaged up stairs, but 
 I thought it uncivil not to come dcwn to you as 
 you sent for me so special." 
 
 " Yes, Miss Roper, I did want to see you very 
 particularly." 
 
 "Oh dear!" she exclaimed, and he under- 
 stood fully that the exclamation referred to his 
 having omitted the customary use of her Chris- 
 tian name. 
 
 " I saw your mother before dinner, and I told 
 her that I am going away the day after to-mor- 
 row. " 
 
 ' ' We all know about that ; to the earl's, of 
 course ! " And then there was another chuck of 
 her head. 
 
 " And I told her also that I had made up my 
 mind not to come back to Burton Crescent. '" 
 
 "What ! leave the house altogether !" 
 
 "Well; yes. A fellow must make a change 
 sometimes, you know." 
 
 " And where are you going, John ?" 
 
 "That I don't know as yet." 
 
 "Tell me the truth, John; are you going to 
 be married ? Are you — going — to marry — that 
 young woman — Mr. Crosbie's leavings ? I de- 
 mand to have an answer at once. Are you go- 
 ing to marry her ?" 
 
 He had determined very resolutely that no- 
 thing she might say should make him angry, but 
 when she thus questioned him about "Crosbie's 
 leavings" he found it very difficult to keep his 
 temper. "I have not come," said he, "to speak 
 to you about any one but ourselves. " 
 
 " That put-off won't do with me. Sir. Yon 
 are not to treat any girl you may please in that 
 sort of way ; . oh, John ! " Then she looked' at 
 him as though she did not know whether to fly 
 at him and cover him with kisses, or to fly at him 
 and tear his hair. 
 
 ' ' I know I haven't behaved quite as I should 
 have done," he began. 
 
 "Oh, John!" and she shook her head. "You 
 mean, then, to tell me that you are going to mar- 
 ry her?" 
 
 ' ' I mean to say nothing of the kind. I only 
 mean to say that I am going away from Burton 
 Crescent. " 
 
 " John Eames, I wonder what you think will 
 come to you ! Will you answer me this ? have 
 I had a promise from you — a distinct promise, 
 over and over again, or have I not ?" 
 
 "I don't know about a distinct promise — '- 
 
 "Well, well! I did think that you was a 
 gentleman that would not go back from your 
 word. I did think that. I did think that you 
 would never put a young lady to the necessity 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 235 
 
 of bringing forward her own letters to prove that 
 she is not expecting more than she has a right ! 
 Yon don't Isnow ! And that after all that has 
 been between us ! ■ John Eames ! " And again 
 it seemed to him as though she were about to fly. 
 
 " I tell you that I know I haven't behaved 
 well. What more can I say ?" 
 
 "What more can you say? Oh, John! to 
 ask me such a question ! If you were a man 
 you would know very well what more to say. 
 But all you private secretaries are given to de- 
 ceit, as the sparks fly upward. However, I de- 
 spise you — ^I do, indeed. I despise you." 
 
 "If you despise me, we might as well shake 
 hands and part at once. I dare say that will 
 be best. One doesn't like to be despised, of 
 course ; but sometimes one can't help it." And 
 then be put out his hand to her. 
 
 "And is this to be the end of all?" she said, 
 taking it. ' 
 
 " Well, yes ; I suppose so. You say I'm de- 
 spised." 
 
 "You shouldn't take up a poor girl in that 
 way for a sharp word — not when she is suflnsring 
 as I am made to suffer. If you only think of it 
 — think what I have been expecting!" And 
 now Amelia began to cry, and to look as though 
 she were going to fall into his arms. 
 
 "It is better to tell the truth," he said; 
 "isn't it?" 
 
 "But it shouldn't be the truth." 
 
 "But it is the truth. I couldn't do it. I 
 should ruin myself and you too, and we should 
 never be happy." 
 
 "I should be happy; — very happy indeed." 
 At this moment the poor girl's tears were unaf- 
 fected, and he'r words were not artful. For a 
 minute or two her heart — her actual heart — was 
 allowed to prevail. 
 
 " It can not be, Amelia. Will you not say 
 good-by?" 
 
 " Good-by," she said, leaning against him as 
 she spoke. 
 
 " I do so hope yon will be happy," he said. 
 And then, putting his arm round her waist, he 
 kissed her; which he certainly ought not to 
 have done. 
 
 When the interjiew was over he escaped 
 out into the crescent, and as he walked down 
 through the squares — Woburn Square, and Rus- 
 sell Square, and Bedford Square — toward the 
 heart of London, he felt himself elated almost 
 to a state of triumph. He had got himself well 
 out of his difficulties, and now he would be ready 
 for his love-tale to Lily. 
 
 CHAPTEE LII. 
 
 THE FIRST VISIT TO THE GDESTWICK BEIDGE. 
 
 When John Eames arrived at Guestwick 
 JIanor, he was first welcomed by Lady Julia. 
 ''My dear Mr. Eames," she said, "I can not 
 tell you how glad we are to see you.'' After 
 that she always called him John, and treated 
 
 him throughout his visit with wonderful kind- 
 ness. ■ No doubt that affair of the bull had 
 in some measure produced this feeling ; no 
 doubt, also, she was well disposed to the man 
 who she hoped might be accepted as a lover by 
 Lily Dale. But I am inclined to think that the 
 fact of his having beaten Crosbie had been the 
 most potential cause of this affection for our hero 
 on the part of Lady Julia. Ladies — especially 
 discreet old ladies, such as Lady Julia de Guest 
 — are bound to entertain pacific theories, and to 
 condemn all manner of violence. Lady Julia 
 would have blamed any one who might have 
 advised Eames to commit an assault upon Cros- 
 bie. But, nevertheless, deeds of prowess are 
 still dear to the female heart, and a woman, be 
 she ever so old and discreet, understands and 
 appreciates the summary justice which m^y be 
 done by means of a thrashing. Lady Julia, 
 had she been called upon to talk of it, would 
 undoubtedly have told Eames that he had com- 
 mitted a fault in striking Mr. Crosbie ; but the 
 deed had been done, and Lady Julia became 
 very fond of John Eames. 
 
 "Vickers shall show you your room, if you 
 like to go up stairs ; but you'll find my brother 
 close about the house if you choose to go out ; I 
 saw him not half an hour since." But John 
 seemed to be well satisfied to sit in the arm- 
 chair over the fire, and talk to his hostess ; so 
 neither of them moved. 
 
 "And now that you're a private secretary, 
 how do you like it?" 
 
 " I like the work well enough ; only I don't 
 like the man. Lady Julia. But I shouldn't say 
 so, because he is such an intimate friend of your 
 brother's." 
 
 "An intimate friend of Theodore's! — Sir 
 Eafile Bufile!" Lady Julia stiffened her back 
 and put on a serious face, not being exactly 
 
236 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 pleased at being told that the Earl de Guest had 
 any such intimate friend. 
 
 " At any rate he tells me so about four times 
 a day,. Lady Julia. And he particularly wants 
 to come down here next September." 
 " Did he tell you that, too ?" 
 "Indeed he did. Tou can't believe what a 
 goose he is! Then his voice sounds like a 
 cracked bell ; it's the most disagreeable voice 
 you ever heard in your life. And one has al- 
 ways to be on one's guard lest he should make 
 one do something that is — is — that isn't quite 
 the thing for a gentleman. You understand — 
 what the messenger ought to do." 
 
 "You shouldn't be too much afraid of your 
 own dignity." 
 
 " No, I'm not. If Lord de Guest were to ask 
 me to fetch him his shoes, I'd run to Guestwick 
 and back for them and think nothing of it — just 
 because I know he's my friend. He'd have a 
 right to send me. But I'm not going to do 
 such things as that for Sir Baffle Buffle." 
 " Fetch him his shoes !" 
 "That's what FitzHoward had to do, and he 
 didn't like it." 
 
 " Isn't Mr. FitzHoward nephew to the Duch- 
 ess of St. Bungay ?" 
 
 "Nephew, or cousin, or something." 
 "Dear me!" said Lady Julia, "what a hor- 
 rible man !" And in this way John Eames and 
 her ladyship became very intimate. 
 
 There was no one at dinner at the Manor 
 that day but the earl and his sister and their 
 single guest. The earl when he came in was 
 very warm in his welcome, slapping his young 
 friend on the back, and poking jokes at him 
 with a good-humored if not brilliant pleasantry. 
 "Thrashed any body lately, John?" 
 " Nobody to speak of," said Johnny. 
 " Brought your night-cap down for your out- 
 o'-doors nap?" 
 
 " No ; but I've got a grand stick for the bull," 
 said Johnny. 
 
 ' ' Ah ! that's no joTie now, I can tell you, " 
 said the earl. "We had to sell him, and it 
 half broke my heart. We don't know what had 
 come to him, but he became quite unruly after 
 that ; knocked Darvell down in the straw-yard ! 
 It was a very bad business — a very bad business, 
 indeed ! Come, go and dress. Do yon remem- 
 ber how you came down to dinner that day ? I 
 shall never forget how Crofts stared at you. 
 Come, you've only got twenty minutes, and you 
 London fellows always want an hour." 
 
 "He's entitled to some consideration now 
 he's a private secretary," said Lady Julia. 
 
 "Bless us all! yes; I forgot that. Come, 
 Mr. Private Secretary, don't stand on the grand- 
 eur of your neck-tie to-day, as there's nobody 
 here but ourselves. You shall have an oppor- 
 tunity to-morrow." 
 
 Then Johnny was handed over to the groom 
 of the chambers, and exactly in twenty minutes 
 he reappeared in the drawing-room. 
 
 As soon as Lady Julia had left them after 
 dinner, the earl began to explain his plan for 
 
 the coming campaign. " I'll tell you now what 
 I have arranged," said he. "The squire is to 
 be here to-morrow with his eldest niece — your 
 Miss Lily's sister, you know." 
 
 "What, Bell?" 
 
 "Yes, with Bell, if her name is Bell. She's 
 a very pretty girl, too. I don't know whether 
 she's not the prettiest of the two, after all." 
 
 "That's a matter of opinion." 
 
 " Just so, Johnny ; and do you stick to your 
 own. They're coming here for three or four 
 days. Lady Julia did ask Mrs. Dale and 
 Lily. I wonder whether you'll let me call her 
 Lily ?" 
 
 "Oh, dear! I wish I might have the power 
 of letting you." 
 
 "That's just the battle that you've got to 
 fight. But the mother and the younger sister 
 wouldn't come. Lady Julia says it's all right : 
 that, as a matter of course, she wouldn't come 
 when she heard yoti were to be here. I don't 
 quite understand it. In my days the young 
 girls were ready enough to go where they knew 
 they'd meet their lovers, and I never thought 
 any the worse of them for it. " 
 
 " It wasn't because of that," said Eames. 
 
 "That's what Lady Julia says, and I always 
 find her to be right in things of that sort. And 
 she says you'll have a better cHance in going 
 over there than you would here, if she were in 
 the same house with you. If I was going to 
 make love to a girl, of course I'd sooner have 
 her close to me — staying in the same house. I 
 should think it the best fun in the world. And 
 we might have had a dance, and all that kind 
 of thing. But I couldn't make her come, you 
 know." 
 
 " Oh no ; of course not. " 
 
 "And Lady Julia thinks that it's best as it 
 is. You must go over, you know, and get the 
 mother on your side if you can. I take it, the 
 truth' is this ; you mustn't be angry with me, 
 you know, for saying it." 
 
 "You may be sure of that." 
 
 "I suppose she was fond of that fellow Cros- 
 bie. She can't be very fond of him now, I 
 should think, after the way he has treated her ; 
 but she'll find a difficulty in» making her confes- 
 sion that she really likes you better than she 
 ever liked him. Of course that's what you'll 
 want her to say." 
 
 "I want her to say that she'll be my wife — 
 some day " » 
 
 " And when she has agreed to the some day, 
 then you'll begin to press her to agree to your 
 day; eh. Sir? My belief is you'll bring her 
 round. Poor girl ! why should she break her 
 heart when a decent fellow like yon will only be 
 too glad to make her a happy woman ?" And 
 in this way the earl talked to Eames till the 
 latter almost believed that the difficulties were 
 vanishing from out of his path. " Could it be 
 possible," he asked himself, as he went to bed, 
 "that in a fortnight's time Lily Dale should 
 have accepted him as her future husband?" 
 Then he remembered that day on which Cros- 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 237 
 
 bie, with the two girls, had called at hia mo- 
 ther's house, when, in the bitterness of his heart, 
 he had sworn to himself that he would always 
 regard Crosbie as his enemy. Since then the 
 world had gone well with him ; and he had no 
 longer any very bitter feeling against Crosbie. 
 That matter had been arranged on the platform 
 of the PadJington Station. He felt that if Lily 
 would now accept him he could almost shake 
 hands with Crosbie. The episode in his life 
 and in Lily's would have been painful ; but he 
 would learn to look back upon that without re- 
 gret, if Lily could be taught to believe that a 
 kind fate had at last given her to the better of 
 her two lovers. "I'm afraid she won't bring 
 herself to forget him," he had said to the earl. 
 "She'll only be too happy to forget him," the 
 earl had answered, " if you can induce her to 
 begin the attempt. Of course it is very bitter 
 at first ; all the world knew about it ; but, poor 
 girl, she is not to be wretched forever, because 
 of that. Do you go about your work with some 
 little confidence, and I don't doubt but what 
 you'll have your way. You have every body in 
 your favor — the squire, her mother, and all." 
 While such words as these were in his ears how 
 could he fail to hope and to be con fident ? While 
 he was sitting cozily over his bedroom fire he 
 resolved that it should be as the earl had said. 
 But when he got up on the following morning, 
 and stood shivering as he came out of his bath, 
 he could not feel the same confidence. ' ' Of 
 course I shall go to her," he said to himself, 
 " and make, a plain story of it. But I know 
 what her answer will be. She will tell me that 
 she can not forget him." Then his feelings to- 
 ward Crosbie 'were not so friendly as they had, 
 been on the previous evening. 
 
 He did not visit the Small House on that, 
 his first day. It had been thought better that 
 he should first meet the squire and Bell at Guest- 
 wick Manor, so he postponed his visit to Mrs. 
 Dale till the next morning. 
 ■ " Go when you like, " said the earl. "There's 
 the brown cob for you to do what you like with 
 him while you are here." 
 
 "I'll go and see my mother," said John; 
 "but I won't take the cob to-day. If you'll let 
 me have him to-morrow, I'll ride to Allington." 
 So he walked off to Guestwick by himself. 
 
 He knew well every yard of the ground over 
 which he went, remembering every gate, and 
 stile, and green-sward from the time of his early 
 boyhood. And now, as he went along through 
 his old haunts, he could not but look back and 
 think of the thoughts which had filled his mind 
 in his earlier wanderings. As I have said be- 
 fore in some of these pages, no walks taken by 
 the man are so crowded with thought as those 
 taken by the boy. He had been early taught to 
 understand that the world to him would be very 
 hard ; that he had nothing to look to but his 
 own exertions, and that those exertions would 
 not, unfortunately, be backed by any great clev- 
 erness of his own. I do not know that any body 
 had told him that he was a fool ; but he had come 
 
 to understand, partly through his own modesty, 
 and partly, no doubt, through the somewhat ob- 
 trusive difSdence of his mother, that he was less 
 sharp than other lads. It is probably true that 
 he had come to his sharpness later in life than 
 is the case with many young men. He had not 
 grown on the sunny side of the wall. Before 
 that situation in the Income-tax Office had fall- 
 en in his way very humble modes of life had 
 offered themselves, or, rather, had not offered 
 themselves for his acceptance. He had en- 
 deavored to become an usher at a commercial 
 seminary not supposed to be in a very thriving 
 condition ; but he had been, luckily, found de- 
 ficient in his arithmetic. There had been some 
 chance of his going into the leather-warehouse 
 of Messrs. Basil and Pigskin, but those gentle- 
 men had required a premium, and any payment 
 of that kind had been quite out of his mother's 
 power. A country attorney, who had known 
 the family for years, had been humbly solicited, 
 the widow almost kneeling before him with 
 tears, to take Johnny by the hand and make a 
 clerk of him ; but the attorney had discovered 
 that Master Johnny Eames was not supposed to 
 be sharp, and would have none of him. Dur- 
 ing those days, those gawky, gainless, unadmired 
 days, in which he had wandered about the lanes 
 of Guestwick as his only amusement, and had 
 composed hundreds of rhymes in honor of Lily 
 Dale which no human eye but his own had ever 
 seen, he had come to regard himself as almost 
 a burden upon the earth. Nobody seemed to 
 want him. His own mother was very anxious ; 
 but her anxiety seemed to him to indicate a 
 continual desire to get rid of him. For hours 
 upon hours he would fill his mind with castles 
 in the air, dreaming of wonderful successes, in 
 the midst of which Lily Dale always reigned as 
 a queen. He would carry on the same story, in 
 his imagination from month to month, almost 
 contenting himself with such ideal happiness. 
 Had it not been for the possession of that pow- 
 er, what comfort could there have been to him 
 in his life ? There are lads of seventeen who 
 can find happiness in study, who can busy them- 
 selves in books, and be at their ease among the 
 creations of other minds. These are they who 
 afterward become well-informed men. It was 
 not so with John Eames. He had never been 
 studious. The perusal of a novel was to him, 
 in those days, a slow affair ; and of poetry he 
 read but little, storing up accurately in his 
 memory all that he did read. But he created 
 for himself his own romance, though to the 
 eye a most unromantic youth ; and he wander- 
 ed through the Guestwick woods with many 
 thoughts of which they who knew him best 
 knew nothing. All this he thought of now as, 
 with devious steps,,%e made his way toward his 
 old home ; with verydevious steps, for he went 
 backward through the woods by a narrow path 
 which led right away from the town down to a 
 little water-course, over which stood a wooden 
 foot-bridge with a rail. He stood on the cen- 
 tre of the plank, at a spot which he knew well. 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 and, rubbing his hand upon the rail, cleansed it 
 for the space of a few inches of the vegetable 
 growth produced by the spray of the water. 
 There, rudely carved in the wood, was still the 
 word LILY. When he cut those letters she 
 had been almost a, child. "I wonder whether 
 she will come here with me and let me show it 
 to her," he said to himself. Then he took out 
 his knife and cleared the cuttings of the letters, 
 and, having done so, leaned upon the rail, and 
 looked down upon the running water. How 
 well things in the world had gone for him! 
 How well ! And yet what would it all be if 
 Lily would not come to him ? How well the 
 world had gone for him ! In those days when 
 he stood there carving the girl's name every 
 body had seemed to regard him as a heavy bur- 
 den, and he had so regarded himself. Now he 
 was envied by many, respected by many, taken 
 by the hand as a friend by those high in the 
 world's esteem. When he had come near the 
 Guestwick mansion in his old walks — always, 
 however, keeping at a great distance lest the 
 grumpy old lord should be down upon him and 
 scold him — he had little dreamed that he and 
 the grumpy old lord would ever be together on 
 such familiar terms, that he would tell to that 
 lord more of his private thoughts than to any 
 other living being; yet it had come to that. 
 The grumpy old lord had now told "him that 
 that gift of money was to be his whether Lily 
 Dale accepted him or no. " Indeed, the thing's 
 done," said the gi'umpy lord, pulling out from 
 his pocket certain papers, "and you've got to 
 receive the dividends as they become due." 
 Then, when Johnny had expostulated — as, in- 
 deed, the circumstances had left him no altern- 
 ative but to expostulate — the earl had roughly 
 bade him hold his tongue, telling him that he 
 would have to fetch Sir Baffle's boots directly 
 he got back to London. So the conversation 
 had quickly turned itself away to Sir Eaffle, 
 whom they had both ridiculed with much satis- 
 faction. "If he finds his way down here in 
 September, Master Johnny, or in any other 
 month either, you may fit my head with a fool's- 
 cap. Not remember, indeed ! Is it not won- 
 derful that any man should make himself so 
 mean a fool?" All this was thought over again 
 as Eames leaned upon the bridge. ' He remem- 
 bered every word, and remembered many other 
 words — earlier words, spoken years ago, filling 
 him with desolation as to the prospects of his 
 life. It had seemed that his friends had united 
 in prophesying that the outlook into the world 
 for him was hopeless, and that the earnings of 
 bread must be forever beyond his power. And 
 now his lines had fallen to him in very pleas- 
 ant places, and he was among those whom the 
 world had determined to caress. And yet what 
 would it all be if Lily would not share his hap- 
 piness? When he had carved that name on 
 the rail his love for Lily had been an idea. It 
 had now become a reality which might probably 
 be full of pain. If It were so — if such should 
 be the result of his wooing— would not those 
 
 old dreamy days have been better than these — 
 the days of his success ? 
 
 It was one o'clock by the time that he reach- 
 ed his mother's house, and he found her and 
 his sister in a troubled and embarrassed state. 
 " Of course you know, John," said his mother, 
 as soon as their first embraces were over, "that 
 we are going to dine at the Manor this evening?" 
 But he did not know it, neither the earl nor Lady 
 Julia having said any thing on the subject. 
 "Of course we are going," said Mrs Eames, 
 " and it was so very kind. But I've never been 
 out to such a house for so many years, John, 
 and I do feel in such a twitter. I dined there 
 once, soon after we were married ; but I have 
 never been there since that." 
 
 "It's not the earl I mind, but Lady Julia," 
 said Mary Eames. 
 
 " She's the most good-natured woman in the 
 world," said Johnny. 
 
 " Oh dear ; people say she is so cross !" 
 
 "That's because people don't know her. If 
 I was asked who is the kindest-hearted woman 
 I know in the world, I think I should say Lady 
 Julia de Guest. I think 1 should. " 
 
 "Ah ! but then they're so fond of you," said 
 the admiring mother. " Yon saved his lord- 
 ship's life — under Providence." , 
 
 "That's all bosh, mother. You ask Dr. 
 Crofts. He knows them as well as I do." 
 
 "Dr. Crofts is going to marry Bell Dale," 
 said Mary ; and then the conversation was turn- 
 ed from the subject of Lady Julia's perfections, 
 and the awe inspired by the earl. 
 
 "Crofts going to marry Bell!" exclaimed 
 Eames, thinking almost with dismay of the doc- 
 tor's luck in thus getting himself accepted all at 
 once, while he had been suing with the constancy 
 almost of a Jacob. 
 
 "Yes," said Mary; "and they say that she 
 has refused her cousin Bernard, and that, there- 
 fore, the squire is taking away the house from 
 them. You know they're all coming into Guest- 
 wick." 
 
 " Yes, I know they are. But 1 don't believe 
 that the squire is taking away the house." 
 
 "Why should they come, then ? Why should 
 they give up such a charming place as that ?" 
 
 "Rent free !" said Mrs. Eames. 
 
 "I don't know why they should come away, 
 but I can't believe tlie squire is turning them 
 out; at any rate not for that reason." The 
 squire was prepared to advocate John's suit, and 
 therefore John was bound to do battle on the 
 squire's behalf. 
 
 " He is a very stern man," said Mrs. Eames, 
 "and they say that since that afiair of poor 
 Lily's he has been more cross than ever with 
 them. As far as I know, it was not Lily's 
 fault." 
 
 " Poor Lily !" said Mary. " I do pity her. 
 If I was her I should hardly know how to show 
 my face ; I shouldn't, indeed." 
 
 "And why shouldn't she show her face?" 
 said John, in an angry tone. "What has she 
 done to be ashamed of? Show her face indeed ! 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 I can not understand the spite which one wo- 
 man will sometimes have to another." 
 
 " There is no spite, John ; and it's very wrong 
 of you to say so," said Mary, defending herself. 
 "But it is a very unpleasant thing for a girl to 
 be jilted. All the world knows that she was 
 engaged to him." 
 
 "And all the world knows — " But he would 
 not proceed to declare that all the world knew 
 also that Crosbie had been well thrashed for his 
 baseness. It would not become him to men- 
 tion that even before his mother and sister. 
 All the world did know it ; all the world that 
 cared to know any thing of the matter — except 
 Lily Dale herself. Nobody had ever yet told 
 Lily Dale of that occurrence at the Paddington 
 Railway Station, and it was well for John that 
 her friends and his had been so discreet. 
 
 " Oh,' of course you are her champion," said 
 Mary. "And I didn't mean to say any thing 
 unkind. Indeed I didn't. Of course it was a 
 misfortune." 
 
 "I think it was the best piece of good fortune 
 that could have happened to her not to marry a 
 
 d scoundrel like — " 
 
 "Oh, John!" exclaimed Mrs. Eames. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, mother. But it isn't 
 
 swearing to call such a man as that a d 
 
 scoundrel." And he particularly emphasized 
 the naughty word, thinking that thereby he 
 would add to its import and take away from 
 its naughtiness. " But we won't talk any more 
 about him. I hate the man's very name, I hated 
 him the first moment that I saw him, and knew 
 that he was a blackguard from his look. And I 
 don't believe a word about the squire having 
 been cross to them. Indeed I know he has 
 been the reverse of cross. So Bell is going to 
 marry Dr. Crofts!" 
 
 "There is no doubt on earth about that," 
 said Mary. ' ' And they say that Bernard Dale 
 is going abroad with his regiment." 
 
 Then John discussed with his mother his 
 duties as private secretary, and his intention 
 of leaving Mrs. Roper's house. "I suppose it 
 isn't nice enough for you now, John," said his 
 mother. 
 
 "It never was very nice, mother, to tell you 
 the truth. There were people there — But 
 you mustn't think I am turning up my nose be- 
 cause I'm getting grand. I don't want to live 
 any better than we all lived at Mi's. Roper's; 
 but she took in persons that were not agreeable. 
 There is a Mr. and Mrs. Lupex there." Then 
 he described something of their life in Burton 
 Crescent, but did not say much about Amelia 
 Roper. Amelia Roper had not made her ap- 
 pearance in Guestwick, as he had once feared 
 that she would do; and therefore it did not 
 need that he should at present make known to 
 his mother that episode in his life. 
 
 When he got back to the Manor House he 
 fbund that Mr. Dale and his niece had arrived. 
 They were both sitting with Lady Julia when 
 he went into the morning room, and Lord de 
 Guest was standing over the fire talking to them. 
 
 239 
 
 Eames as he came among them felt terribly con- 
 scious of his position, as though all there were 
 aware that he had been brought down from Lon- 
 don on purpose to make a declaration of love ; 
 as, indeed, all of them were aware of that fact. 
 Bell, though no one had told her so in direct 
 words, was as sure of it as the others. 
 
 "Here comes the prince of matadores," said 
 the earl. 
 
 ' ' No, my lord ; you're the_prince. I'm only 
 your first follower." Though he could contrive 
 that his words should be gay, his looks were 
 sheepish, and when he gave his hand to the 
 squire it was only by a struggle that he could 
 bring himself to look straight into the old man's 
 face. 
 
 "I'm very glad to see you, John," said the 
 squire, " very glad indeed." 
 
 "And so am I," said Bell. " I have been so 
 happy to hear that you have been promoted at 
 your office, and so is mamma." 
 
 "I hope Mrs. Dale is quite well," said he; 
 "and Lily." The word had been pronounced, 
 but it had been done with so manifest an effort 
 that all in the room were conscious of it, and 
 paused as Bell prepared her little answer. 
 
 "My sister has been very ill, you know, with 
 scarlatina. But she has recovered with wonder- 
 ful quickness, and is nearly well again now. She 
 will be so glad to see you if you will go over." 
 
 "Yes ; I shall certainly go over," said John. 
 
 ' ' And now shall I show you your room. Miss 
 Dale ?" said Lady Julia. And so the party was 
 broken up, and the ice had been broken. 
 
 fPTER LIIL 
 
 LOQUITUB HOPKINS. 
 
 The squire had been told that his niece Bell 
 had accepted Dr. Crofts, and he had signified a 
 sort of acquiescence in the arrangement, saying 
 that if it. were to be so, he had nothing to say 
 against Dr. Crofts. He spoke this in a melan- 
 choly tone of voice, wearing on his face that look 
 of subdued sorrow which was now almost habit- 
 ual to him. It was to Mrs. Dale that he spoke 
 on the subject. "I could have wished that it 
 might have been otherwise," he said, " as you 
 are well aware. I had family reasons for wish- 
 ing that it might be otherwise. But I have no- 
 thing to say against it. Dr. Crofts, a3 her hus- 
 band, shall be welcome to my house." Mrs. 
 Dale, who had expected much worse than this, 
 began to thank him for his kindness, and to say 
 that she also would have preferred to see her 
 daughter married to her cousin. " But in such 
 a matter the decision should be left entirely to 
 the girl. Don't you think so ?" 
 
 "I have not a word to say against her," he 
 repeated. Then Mrs. Dale left him, and told 
 her daughter that her uncle's manner of receiv- 
 ing th6 news had been, for him,, very gracious. 
 "You were his favorite, but Lily will be so 
 now," said Mrs. Dale. 
 
240 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 "I don't care a bit about that; or, rather, I 
 do care, and think it will be in every way better. 
 But as I, who am the naughty one, will go away, 
 and as Lily, who is the good one, will remain 
 with you, doesn't it almost seem a pity that you 
 should be leaving the house ?" 
 
 Mrs. Dale thought it was almost a pity, but 
 she could not say so now. " You think Lily 
 will remain," she said. 
 
 " Yes, mamma; I feel sure she will." 
 
 " She was always very fond of John Eames ; 
 and he is doing so well." 
 
 "It will be of no use, mamma. She is fond 
 of him, very fond. In a sort of a way she loves 
 him — so well, that I feel sure she never men- 
 tions his name without some inward reference to 
 her old childish thoughts and fancies. If he had 
 come before Mr. Crosbie it would have all been 
 well with her. But she can not do it now. 
 Her pride would prevent her, even if her heart 
 permitted it. Oh ! dear ; it's very wrong of me 
 to say so, after all that I have said before ; but 
 I almost wish you were not going. Uncle Chris- 
 topher seems to be less hard than he used to be ; 
 and as I was the sinner, and as I am disposed 
 of—" 
 
 " II is too late now, my dear." 
 
 " And we should neither of us have the cour- 
 age to mention it to Lily," said Bell. 
 
 On the following morning the squire sent for 
 his sister-in-law, as it was his wont to do when 
 necessity came for any discussion on matters of 
 business. This 'was perfectly understood be- 
 tween them, and such sending was not taken as 
 indicating any lack of courtesy on the part of 
 Mr. Dale. "Mary," he said, as soon as Mrs. 
 Dale was seated, "I shall jijtfor Bell exactly 
 what I have proposed to do tor Lily. I had in- 
 tended more than that once, of course. But 
 then it would all have gone into Bernard's 
 pocket ; as it is, I shall make no difference be- 
 tween them. They shall each have a hundred 
 a year, that is, when they marry. You had bet- 
 ter tell Crofts to speak to me." 
 
 " Mr. Dale, he doesn't expect it. He does 
 not expect a penny." 
 
 "So much the better for him; and, indeed, 
 so much the better for her. He won't make her 
 the less welcome to his home because she brings 
 some assistance to it." 
 
 "We have never thought of it, any of us. 
 The offer has come so suddenly that I don't 
 know what I ought to say." 
 
 " Say — nothing. If you choose to make me 
 a return for it — ; but I am pnly doing what I 
 conceive to be my duty, and have no right to 
 ask for a kindness in return." 
 
 "But what kindness can we show you, Mr. 
 Dale ?" 
 
 "Remain in that house." In saying these 
 last words he spoke as though he were again 
 angry — as though he were again laying down 
 the law to them — as though he were telling her 
 of a dufy which was due to him and incumbent 
 on her. His voice was as stern and his face as 
 acid as ever. He said that he was asking for 
 
 a kindness ; but surely no man ever asked for 
 kindness in a voice so peremptory. "Eemain 
 in that house." Then he turned himself in to- 
 ward his table as though he had no more to say. 
 
 But Mrs. Dale was beginning, now at last, to 
 understand something of his mind and real char- 
 acter. He could be affectionate and forbearing 
 in his giving ; but when asking, he could not 
 be otherwise than stern. Indeed, he could not 
 ask ; he could only demand. 
 
 "We have done so much now," Mrs. Dale 
 began to plead. 
 
 " Well, well, well. I did not mean to speak 
 about that. Things are unpacked easier than 
 they are packed. But, however — Nevermind. 
 Bell is to go with me this afternoon to Guestwiek 
 Manor. Let her be up here at two. Grimes 
 can bring her box round, I suppose." 
 
 " Oh yes ; of course." 
 
 " And don't be talking to her about money 
 before she starts. I had, rather yon didn't ; you 
 understand. But when you see Crofts, tell him 
 to come to me. Indeed, he'd better come at 
 once, if this thing is to go on quickly." 
 
 It may easily be understood that Mrs. Dale 
 would disobey the injunctions contained in the 
 squire's last words. It was quite out of the 
 question that she should return to her daugh- 
 ters and not tell them the result of her morn- 
 ing's interview with their uncle. A hundred a 
 year in the doctor's modest household would 
 make all the difference between plenty and want, 
 between modest plenty and endurable want. Of 
 course she told them, giving Bell to understand 
 that she must dissemble so far as to pretend ig- 
 norance of the affair. 
 
 "Ishall thank him at once," said Bell; "and 
 tell him that I did not at all expect it, but am 
 not too proud to accept it." 
 
 ' ' Pray don't, my dear ; not just now. I am 
 breaking a sort of promise in telling you at all — 
 only I could not keep it to myself. And he has 
 so many things to worry him ! Though he says 
 nothing about it now, he has half broken his 
 heart about you and Bernard." Then, too, Mrs. 
 Dale told the girls what request the squire had 
 just made, and the manner in which he had 
 made it. "The tone of his voice as he spoke 
 brought tears into my eyes. I almost wish We 
 had not done any thing." 
 
 "But, mamma," said Lily, "what difference 
 can it make to him ? You know that our pres- 
 ence near him was always a trouble to him. He 
 never really wanted us. He liked to have Bell 
 there when he thought that Bell would marry 
 his pet." 
 
 " Don't be unkind, Lily." 
 
 "I don't mean to be unkind. Why shouldn't 
 Bernard be his pet? I love Bernard dearly, 
 and always thought it the best point in uncle 
 Christopher that he was so fond of him. I knew, 
 you know, that it was no use. Of course I knew 
 it, as I understood all about — somebody else. 
 But Bernard is his pet." 
 
 "He's fond of you all, in his own way," said 
 Mrs. Dale. 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 241 
 
 " But 13 he fond of.you ? that's the question," 
 said Lily. ' ' We could have forgiven him any 
 thing done to us, and have put up with any 
 words he might have spoken to us, because he 
 regards us as children. His giving a hundred a 
 year to BeU won't make you comfortable in this 
 house if he still domineers over you. If a neigh- 
 bor be neighborly, near neighborhood is very 
 nice. But uncle Christopher has not been neigh- 
 borly. He has wanted to be more than an un- 
 cle to us, on condition that he might be less than 
 a brother to you. BeU and I have always felt 
 that his regard on such terms was not worth 
 having." 
 
 "I almost feel that we have been wrong," 
 said Mrs. Dale ; " but in truth I never thought 
 that the matter would be to him one of so much 
 moment." 
 
 When Bell had gone, Mrs. Dale and Lily were 
 not disposed to continue with much energy the 
 occupation on which they had all been employed 
 for some days past. There had been life and 
 excitement in the work when they had first 
 commenced their packing, but now it was grown 
 wearisome, dull, and distasteful. Indeed so 
 much of it was done that but little was left to 
 employ them, except those final strappings and 
 fastenings, and that last collection of odds and 
 ends which could not be accomplished till they 
 were absolutely on the point of starting. The 
 squire had said that unpacking would be easier 
 than packing, and Mrs. Dale, as she wandered 
 about among the hampers and cases, began to 
 consider whether the task of restoring all the 
 things to their old places would be very disa- 
 greeable. She said nothing of this to Lily, and 
 Lily herself, whatever might be her thoughts, 
 made no such suggestion to her mother. 
 
 "I think Hopkins will miss us more than 
 anyone else," she said. "Hopkins will have 
 no one to scold." 
 
 Just at that moment Hopkins appeared at the 
 parlor window, and signified his desire for a 
 conference. 
 
 "You must come round," said Lily. "It's 
 too cold for the window to be opened. I al- 
 ways like to get him into the house, because he 
 feels himself a little abashed by the chairs and 
 tables ; or, perhaps, it is the carpet that is too 
 much for him. Out on the gravel-walks he is 
 such a terrible tyrant, and in the green-house 
 he almost tramples upon one!" 
 
 Hopkins, when he did appear at the parlor 
 door, seemed by his manner to justify Lily's dis- 
 cretion. He was not at all masterful in his 
 tone or bearihg, and seemed to pay to the chairs 
 and tables all the deference which they could 
 have expected. 
 
 "So you be going in earnest, ma'am," he 
 said, looking down at Mrs. Dale's feet. 
 
 As Mrs. Dale did not answer him at once, 
 Lily spoke: "Yes, Hopkins, we. are going in 
 a very few days now. We shall see you some- 
 times, I hope, over at Guestwick." 
 
 "Humph!" said Hopkins. "So you be 
 really going ! I didn't think it'd ever come to 
 
 that, miss; I didn't indeed — and no more it 
 oughtn't ; but of course it isn't for me to speak." 
 • " People must change their residence some- 
 times, you know," said Mrs. Dale, using the 
 same argument by which Eames had endeav- 
 ored to excuse his departure to Mrs. Roper. 
 
 "Well, ma'am; it ain't for me to say any 
 thing. But this I will say, I've lived here about 
 t' squire's place, man and boy, jist all my life, 
 seeing I was born here, as you knows, Mrs. 
 Dale ; and of all the bad things I ever see come 
 about the place this is a sight the worst." 
 
 "Oh, Hopkins!" 
 
 "The worst of all, ma.'am ; the worst of all ! 
 It'll just kill t' squire ! There's ne'ery doubt 
 in the world about that. It'll be the very death 
 oft' old man." 
 
 " That's nonsense, Hopkins," said Lily. 
 
 ' ' Very well, miss. I don't say but what it 
 is nonsense; only you'll see. There's Mr. 
 Bernard — he's gone away ; and by all accounts 
 he never did care very much for the place. 
 They all say he's a-going to the Hingies. And 
 Miss Bell is going to be married — which is all 
 proper, in course: why shouldn't she? And 
 why shouldn't you, too. Miss Lily?" 
 
 "Perhaps I shall, some day, Hopkinsj" 
 
 " There's no day like the present. Miss Lily. 
 And I do say this, that the man as pitched into 
 him would be the man for my money." This, 
 which Hopkins spoke in the excitement of the 
 moment, was perfectly unintelligible to Lily, 
 and Mrs. Dale, who shuddered as she heard 
 him, said not a word to call for any explanation. 
 "But," continued Hopkins, "that's all as it 
 may be. Miss Lily, and you be in the hands of 
 Providence — as is others." 
 
 "Exactly so, Hopkins." 
 
 "But why should your mamma be all for 
 going away ? She ain't going to marry no one. 
 Here's the house, and there's she, and there's 
 t' squire; and why should she be for going 
 away ? So much going away all at once can't 
 be for any good. It's just a breaking up of 
 every thing, as though nothing wasn't good 
 enough for nobody. I never went away, and I 
 can't abide it." 
 
 "Well, Hopkins, it's settled now," said Mrs. 
 Dale, " and I'm afraid it can't be unsettled." 
 
 " Settled ; well. Tell me this : do you ex- 
 pect, Mrs. Dale, that he's to live there all alone 
 by hisself, without any one to say a cross word 
 to — unless it be me or Dingles; for Jolliffe's 
 worse than nobody, he's so mortial cross hisself. 
 Of course he can't stand it. If you goes away, 
 Mrs. Dale, Mister Bernard, he'll be squire in 
 less than twelve months. He'll come back 
 from the Hingies, then, I suppose?" 
 
 "I don't think my brother-in-law will take it 
 in that way, Hopkins." 
 
 "Ah, ma'am, you don't know him — not as I 
 knows him — ^all the ins and outs and crinks and 
 crannies of him. I knows him as I does the 
 old apple-trees that I've been a-handling for 
 forty year. There's a deal of bad wood about 
 them old cankered trees, and some folk say they 
 
242 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT AXLINGTON. 
 
 ain't worth the ground they stand on; hut I 
 know where the sap runs, and when the fruit- 
 blossom shows itself I know where the fruit 
 will be the sweetest. It don't take much to kill 
 one of them old trees — but there's life in 'm yet 
 if they be well handled." 
 
 "I'm sure I hope my brother's life may be 
 long spared to him," said Mrs. Dale. 
 
 ' ' Then don't be taking yourself away, ma'am, 
 into them gashly lodgings at Guestwick. I says 
 they are gashly for the likes of a Dale. It is 
 not for me to speak, ma'am, of course. And I 
 only came up now just to know what things 
 you'd like with you out of the green-house. " 
 
 "Oh, nothing, Hopkins, thank you," said 
 Mrs. Dale. 
 
 "He told me to put up for you the best I 
 could pick, and I means to do it;" and Hop- 
 kins, as he spoke, indicated by a motion of his 
 head that he was making reference to the squire. 
 
 " We sha'n't have any place for them," said 
 Lily. 
 
 " I must send a few, miss, just to cheer you 
 up a bit. I fear you'll be very dolesome there. 
 And the doctor — he ain't got what you can call 
 a regular garden, but there is a bit of a place 
 behind." 
 
 "But we wouldn't rob the dear old place," 
 said Lily. 
 
 " For the matter of that what does it signify ? 
 T' squire'U be that wretched he'll turn sheep in 
 here to destroy the place, or he'll have the gar- 
 den plowed. You see if he don't. As for the 
 place, the place is clean done for if yon leave 
 it. You don't suppose he'll go and let the 
 Small House to strangers ! T' squire ain't one 
 of that sort any ways." 
 
 "Ah me!" exclaimed Mrs. Dale, as soon as 
 Hopkins had taken himself off. 
 
 "What is it, mamma? He's a dear old 
 man, but surely what he says can not make you 
 really unhappy." 
 
 " It is so hard to know what one ought to 
 do. I did not mean to be selfish, but it 'seems 
 to me as though I were doing the most selfish 
 thing in the world." 
 
 "Nay, mamma; it has been any thing but 
 selfish. Besides, it is we that have done it; 
 not you." 
 
 " Do you know, Lily, that I also have that 
 feeling as to breaking up one's old mode of 
 life of which Hopkins spoke. I thought that I 
 should be glad to escape from this place, but 
 now that the time has come I dread it." 
 
 "Do you mean that you repent?" 
 
 Mrs. Dale did not answer her daughter at 
 once, fearing to commit herself by words which 
 could not be retracted. But at last she said, 
 " Yes, Lily ; I think I do repent. I think that 
 it has not been well done." 
 
 " Then let it be undone," said Lily. 
 
 The dinner-party at Guestwick Manor on that 
 day was not very bright, and yet the earl had 
 done all in his power to make his guests happy. 
 But gayety did not come naturally to his house, 
 which, as will have been seen, was an abode 
 
 very unlike in its nature to that of the other 
 earl at Courcy Castle. Lady de Courcy at any 
 rate understood how to receive and entertain a 
 houseful of people, though the practice of doing 
 so might give rise to difficult questions in the 
 privacy of her domestic relations. Lady Julia 
 did not understand it ; but then Lady Julia was 
 never called upon to answer for the expense of 
 extra servants, nor was she asked about twice a 
 week who the was to pay the wine-mer- 
 chant's bill? As regards Lord de Guest and 
 the Lady Julia themselves, I think they had the 
 best of it ; but I am bound to admit, with refer- 
 ence to chance guests, that the house was dull. 
 The people who were now gathered at the earl's 
 table could hardly have been expected to be 
 very sprightly when in company with each oth- 
 er. The squire was not a man much given to 
 general society, and was unused to amuse a ta- 
 ble full of people. On the present occasion he 
 sat next to Lady Julia, and from time to time 
 muttered a few words to her about the state of 
 the country. Mrs. Eames was terribly afraid of 
 every body there, and especially of the earl, 
 next to whom she sat, and whom she continual- 
 ly called "my lord," showing by her voice as 
 she did so that she was almost alarmed by the 
 sound of her own voice. Mr. and Mrs. Boyce 
 were there, the pai'son sitting on the other side 
 of Lady Julia, and the parson's wife on the oth- 
 er side of the earl. Mrs. Boyce was very studi- 
 ous to show that she was quite at home, and 
 talked perhaps more than any one else ; but in 
 doing BO she bored the earl most exquisitely, so 
 that he told John Eames the next ndorning that 
 she was worse than the buU. The parson ate 
 his dinner, but said little or nothing between 
 the two graces. He was a heavy, sensible, slow 
 man, who knew himself and his own powers. 
 "Uncommon good stewed beef," he said, as he 
 went home ; "why can't we have our beef stewed 
 like that?" "Because we don't pay our cook 
 sixty pounds a year, " said Mrs. Boyce. ' ' A wo- 
 man with sixteen pounds can stew beef as well 
 as a woman with sixty," said he; "she only 
 wants looking after." The earl himself was pos- 
 sessed of a sort of gayety. There was about him 
 a lightness of spirit which often made him an 
 agreeable companion to one single person. John 
 Eames conceived him to be the most sprightly 
 old man of his day — an old man with the fun 
 and frolic almost of a boy. But this spirit, 
 though it would show itself before John Eames, 
 was not up to the entertainment of John Eames's 
 mother and sister, together with the squire, the 
 parson, and the parson's wife of AUington. So 
 that the earl was overweighted, and did not shine 
 on this occasion at his own dinner-table. Dr. 
 Crofts, who had also been invited, and who had 
 secured the place which was now peculiarly his 
 own next to Bell Dale, was no doubt happy 
 enough; as, let us hope, was the young lady 
 also ; but they added very little to the general 
 hilarity of the company. John Eames was 
 seated between his own sister and the parson, 
 and did not at all enjoy his position. He had 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 243 
 
 a full view of the doctor's felicity, as the happy- 
 pair sat opposite to him, and conceived himself 
 to be hardly treated by Lily's absence. 
 
 The party was certainly very dull, as were all 
 snch dinners at Guestwick Manor. There are 
 houses, which, in their everyday course, are 
 not conducted by any means in a sad or unsat- 
 isfactory manner — in which life, as a rale, runs 
 along merrily enough ; but which can not give 
 a dinner-party ; or, I might rather say, should 
 never allow themselves to be allured into the 
 attempt. The owners of such houses are gen- 
 erally themselves quite aware of the fact, and 
 dread the dinner which they resolve to give 
 quite as much as it is dreaded by their friends. 
 •They Itnow that they prepare for their guests 
 an evening of misery, and for themselves cer 
 tain long hours of purgatory which are hardly 
 to be endured. But they will do it. Why that 
 long table, and all those supernumerary glasses 
 and knives and forks, if they are never to be 
 used? That argument produces all this mis- 
 ery ; that and others cognate to it. On the 
 present occasion, no doubt, there were excuses 
 to be made. The squire and his niece had been 
 invited on special cause, and their presence 
 would have been well enough. The doctor add- 
 ed it would have done no harm. It was good- 
 natured, too, that invitation given to Mrs. Eames 
 and her daughter. The error lay in the parson 
 and his wife. There was no necessity for their 
 being there, nor had they any ground on which 
 to stand, except the party-giving ground. Mr. 
 and Mrs. Boyce made the dinner-party, and de- 
 stroyed the social circle. Lady Julia knew that 
 she had been wrong as soon as she had sent out 
 the note. 
 
 Nothing was said on that evening which has 
 any bearing on our story. Nothing, indeed, was 
 said which had any bearing on any thing. The 
 eavl's professed object had been to bring the 
 squire and young Eames together ; but people 
 are never brought together on such melancholy 
 occasions. Though they sip their port in close 
 contiguity they are poles asunder in their minds 
 and feelings. When the Guestwick fly came 
 for Mrs. Eames, and the parson's pony phaeton 
 came' for him and Mrs. Boyce, a great relief was 
 felt ; but the misery of those who were left had 
 gone too far to allow of any reaction on that 
 evening. The squire yawned, and the earl 
 yawned, and then there was an end of it for 
 that night. 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 THE SECOM) VISIT TO THE GUESTWICK BEIDGE. 
 
 Bell had declared that her sister would be 
 very happy to see John Eames if he would go 
 over to AUington, and he had replied that of 
 course he would go there. So much having 
 been, as it were, settled, he was able to speak 
 of his visit as a matter of course at the break- 
 fast-table on the morning after the earl's dinner- 
 
 party. " I must get you to come round with 
 me. Dale, and see what I am doing to the 
 land," the earl said. And then he proposed to 
 order saddle-horses. But the squire preferred 
 walking, and in this way they were disposed of 
 soon after breakfast. 
 
 John had it in his mind to get Bell to him- 
 self for half an hour, and hold a conference 
 with her ; but it either happened that Lady 
 Julia was too keen in her duties as a hostess, 
 or else, as was more possible. Bell avoided the 
 meeting. No opportunity for such an inter- 
 view offered itself, though he hung about the 
 drawing-room all the morning. "You had 
 better wait for luncheon, now," Lady Julia 
 said to him about twelve. But this he de- 
 clined; and taking himself away hid himself 
 about the place for the next hour and a half. 
 During this time he considered much whether 
 it would be better for him to ride or walk. If 
 she should give him any hope, he could ride 
 back triumphant as a iield-marshal. Then the 
 horse wouliTbe delightful to him. But if she 
 should give him no hope — if it should be his 
 destiny to be rejected utterly on that morning — 
 then the horse would be terribly in the way of 
 his sorrow. Under such circumstances what 
 could he do but roam wide about across the 
 iields, resting when he might choose to rest, 
 and running when it might suit him to run. 
 "And she is not like other girls," he thought 
 to himself. " She won't care for my boots be- 
 ing dirty." So at last he elected to walk. 
 
 "Stand up to her boldly, man," the earl had 
 said to him. " By George, what is there to be 
 afraid of? It's my belief they'll give most to 
 those who ask for most. There's nothing sets 
 'em against a man like being sheepish." How 
 the earl knew so much, seeing that he had not 
 himself given signs of any success in that walk 
 of life, I am not prepared to say. But Eames 
 took his advice as being in itself good, and re- 
 solved to act upon it. "Not that any resolu- 
 tion will be of any use," he said to himself, as 
 he walked along. "When the moment comes 
 I know that I shall ti-emble before her, and I 
 know that she'll see it ; but I don't think it will 
 make any difference in her." 
 
 He had last seen her on the lawn behind the 
 Small House just at that time when her passion 
 for Crosbie was at the strongest. Eames had 
 gone thither impelled by a foolish desire to de- 
 clare to her his hopeless love, and she had an- 
 swered him by telling him that she loved Mr. 
 Crosbie better than all the world besides. Of 
 course she had done so at that time ; but, nev- 
 ertheless, her manner of telling him had seemed 
 to him to be cruel. And he also had been 
 cruel. He had told her that he hated Crosbie 
 — calling him "that man," and assuring her 
 that no earthly consideration should induce 
 him to go into "that man's house." Then he 
 had walked away moodily, wishing him all 
 manner of evil. Was it not singular that all 
 the evil things which he, in his mind, had 
 meditated for the man, had fallen upon him? 
 
244 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 Crosbie had lost his love ! He had so proved 
 himself to be a villain that his name might not 
 be so much as mentioned ! He had been igno- 
 mlnioasly thrashed ! But what good would all 
 this be if his image were still dear to Lily's heart ? 
 "I told her that I loved her then," ha said to 
 himself, "though I had no right to do so. At 
 any rate I have a right to tell her now." 
 
 When he reached Allington he did not go in 
 through the village and up to the front of the 
 Small House by the cross street, but turned by 
 the church gate, and passed over the squire's 
 terrace, and by the end of the Great House 
 through the garden. Here he encountered Hop- 
 kins. " "Why, if that b'aint Mr. Eames !" said 
 the gardener. " Mr. John, may I make so 
 bold ?" and Hopkins held out a very dirty hand, 
 which Eames of course took, unconscious of the 
 cause of this new affection. 
 
 "I'm just going to call at the Small House, 
 and I thought I'd come this way." 
 
 " To be sure ; this way, or that way, or any 
 way, who's so welcome, Mr. John ? I envies 
 you ; I envies you more than I envies any man. 
 If I could a got him by the scuff of the neck I'd 
 a treated him jist like any wermin — I would, 
 indeed! Ha was wermin! I oUays said it. I 
 hated him oUays; I did, indeed, Mr. John, 
 from the first moment when he used to be nig- 
 ging away at them foutry balls, knocking them 
 in among the rhododendrons, as though there 
 weren't no flower blossoms for next year. He 
 never looked at one as though one were a 
 Christian ; did he, Mr. John ?" 
 
 " I wasn't very fond of him myself, Hopkins." 
 
 "Of course you weren't very fond of him. 
 Who was ? — only she, poor young lady. She'll 
 be better now, Mr. John, a deal better. He 
 wasn't a wholesome lover — not like you are. 
 Tell me, Mr. John, did you give it him well 
 when you got him? I heerd you did — two 
 black eyes, and all his face one mash of gore ! " 
 And Hopkins, who was by no means a young 
 man, stiffly put himself into a fighting attitude. 
 
 Eames passed on over the little bridge, which 
 seemed to be in a state of fast decay, unattend- 
 ed to by any friendly carpenter, now that the 
 days of its use were so nearly at an end ; and 
 on into the garden, lingering on the spot where 
 he had last said farewell to Lily. He looked 
 about as though he expected still to find her 
 there ; but there was no one to be seen in the 
 garden, and no sound to be heard. As every 
 step brought him nearer to her whom he was 
 seeking, he became more and more conscious 
 of the hopelessness of his errand. Him she had 
 never loved, and why should he venture to hope 
 that she would love him now ? He would have 
 turned back had he not been aware that his 
 promise to others required that he should perse- 
 vere. He had said that he would do this thing, 
 and he would be as good as his word. But he 
 hardly ventured to hope that he might be suc- 
 cessful. In this frame of mind he slowly made 
 his way up across the lawn. 
 
 "My dear, there is John Eames," said Mrs. 
 
 Dale, who had first seen him from the parlor 
 window. 
 
 "Don't go, mamma." 
 
 " I don't know ; perhaps it will be better that 
 I should." 
 
 " No, mamma, no ; what good can it do ? It 
 can do no good. I like him as well as I can 
 like any one. I love him dearly. But it can 
 do no good. Let him come in here, and be 
 very kind to him ; but do not go away and leave 
 us. Of course I knew he would come, and I 
 shall be very glad to see him." 
 
 Then Mrs. Dale went round to the other 
 room, and admitted her visitor through the win- 
 dow of the drawing-room. "We are in terri- 
 ble confusion, John, are we not ?" 
 
 ' ' And so you are really going to live in Guest- 
 wick?" 
 
 " Well, it looks like it, does it not ? But, to 
 tell you a secret — only it must be a secret ; you 
 must not mention it at Guestwick Manor ; even 
 Bell does not know — we have half made up our 
 minds to unpack all our things and stay where 
 we are." 
 
 Eames was so intent on his own purpose, and 
 so fully occupied with the difficulty of the task 
 before him, that he could hardly receive Mrs. 
 Dale's tidings with all the interest which they 
 deserved. "Unpack them all again," he said. 
 " That will be very troublesome. Is Lily with 
 yon, Mrs. Dale ?" ' 
 
 ' ' Yes, she is in the parlor. Come and see 
 her." So he followed Mrs. Dale through the 
 hall, and found himself in the presence of his 
 love. 
 
 "How do you do, John?" "How do yon 
 do, Lily?" We all know the way in which 
 such meetings are commenced. Each longed 
 to be tender and affectionate to the other — each 
 in a different way ; but neither knew how to 
 throw any tenderness into this first greeting. "So 
 you're staying at the Manor House," said Lily. 
 
 "Yes; I'm staying there. Your uncle and 
 Bell came yesterday afternoon." 
 
 "Have you heard about Bell?" said Mrs. 
 Dale. 
 
 " Oh yes ; Mary told me. I'm so glad of it. 
 I always liked Dr. Crofts very much. I have 
 not congratulated her, because I didn't know 
 whether it was a secret. But Crofts was there 
 last night, and if it is a secret he didn't seem to 
 be very careful about keeping it." 
 
 " It is no secret," said Mrs. Dale. " I don't 
 know that I am fond of such secrets." But as 
 she said this she thought of Crosbie's engage- 
 ment, which had been told to every one, and of 
 its consequences. 
 
 " Is it to be soon ?" he asked. 
 
 ' ' Well, yes ; we think so. Of course nothing 
 is settled." 
 
 "It was such fun," said Lily. "James, 
 who took, at any rate, a year or two to make 
 •his proposal, wanted to be married the next day 
 afterward." 
 
 "No, Lily; not quite that." 
 
 "Well, mamma, it was very nearly that. He 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 245 
 
 thought it could all be done this week. It has 
 made us so happy, John ! I don't know any- 
 body I should so much like for a brother. I'm 
 very glad you like him ; very glad. I hope 
 you'll be friends always." There was some lit- 
 tle tenderness in this — as John acknowledged to 
 himself. 
 
 " I'm sure we shall — if he likes it. That is, 
 if I ever happen to see him. I'll do any thing 
 for him I can if he ever comes up to London. 
 Wouldn't it be a good thing, Mrs. Dale, if he 
 settled himself in London ?" 
 
 " No, John ; it would be a very bad thing. 
 Why should he wish to rob me of my daugh- 
 ter ?" 
 
 Mrs. Dale was speaking of her eldest daugh- 
 ter ; but the very allusion to any such robbery- 
 covered John Eames's face with a blush, made 
 him hot up to the roots of his hair, and for the 
 moment silenced him. 
 
 " Tou think he would have a better career in 
 London ?" said Lily, speaking under the influ- 
 ence of her superior presence of mind. 
 
 She had certainly shown defective judgment 
 in desiring her mothet not to leave them alone ; 
 and of this Mrs. Dale soon felt herself aware. 
 The thing had to be done, and no little precau- 
 tionary measure, such as this of Mrs. Dale's en- 
 forced presence, would prevent it. Of this Mrs. 
 Dale was well aware ; and she felt, moreover, 
 that John was entitled to an opportunity of 
 pleading his own cause. It might be that such 
 opportunity would avail him nothing, but not 
 the less should he have it of right, seeing that 
 he desired it. But yet Mrs. Dale did not dare 
 to get up and leave the room. Lily had asked 
 her not to do so, and at the present period of 
 their lives all Lily's requests were sacred. They 
 continued for some time to talk of Crofts and 
 his marriage ; and when that subject was fin- 
 ished, they discussed their own probable^or, as 
 it seemed now, improbable — removal to Guest- 
 wick. " It's going too far, mamma," said Lily, 
 " to say that you think we shall not go. It was 
 only last night that you suggested it. The truth 
 is, John, that Hopkins came in and discoursed 
 with the most wonderful eloquence. Nobody 
 dared to oppose Hopkins. He made us almost 
 cry, he was so pathetic." 
 
 " He has just been talking to me, too," said 
 John, " as I came through the squire's garden." 
 
 " And what has he been saying to you ?" said 
 Mrs. Dale. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know ; not much. '' John, how- 
 ever, remembered well, at this moment, all that 
 the gardener had said to him. Did she know 
 of that encounter between him and Crosbie ? 
 and if she did know of it, in what light did she 
 regard it ? 
 
 They had sat thus for an hour together, and 
 Eames was not as yet an inch nearer to his ob- 
 ject. He had sworn to himself that he would 
 not leave the Small House without asking Lily' 
 to be his wife. It seemed to him as though he 
 would be guilty of falsehood toward the earl if 
 he did so. Lord De Guest had opened his house 
 
 to him, and had asked all the Dales there, and 
 had offered himself up as a sacrifice at the cruel 
 shrine of a serious dinner-party, to say nothing 
 of that easier and lighter sacrifice which he had 
 made in a pecuniary point of view, in order that 
 this thing might be done. Under such circum- 
 stances Eames was too honest a man not to do 
 it, let the difficulties in his way be what they 
 might. 
 
 He had sat thgre for an hour,. and Mrs. Dale 
 still remained with her daughter. Should be 
 get up boldly and ask Lily to put on her bonnet 
 and come out into the garden ? As the thought 
 struck him he rose and grasped at his hat. "I 
 am going to walk back to Guestwick," said he. 
 
 "It was very good of you to come so far to 
 see us." 
 
 "I was always fond of walking," he said. 
 "The earl wanted me to ride; but I prefer be. 
 ing on foot when I know the country as I do 
 here." 
 
 " Have a glass of wine before you go ?" 
 
 " Oh, dear, no. I think I'll go back through 
 the squire's fields, and out on the road at the 
 white gate. The path is quite dry now." 
 
 "I dare say it is," said Mrs. Dale. 
 
 "Lily, I wonder whether you would come as 
 far as that with me. " As the request was made 
 Mrs. Dale looked at her daughter almost be- 
 seechingly. "Do, pray do," said he; "it is a 
 beautiful day for walking." 
 
 . The path proposed lay right across the field 
 into which Lily had taken Crosbie when she 
 made her offer to let him off from his engage- 
 ment. Could it be possible that she should 
 ever walk there again with another lover? 
 "No, John," she said; "not to-day, I think. 
 I am almost tired, and I had rather not go out." 
 
 "It would do you good," said Mrs. Dale. 
 
 ' ' I don't want to be done good to, mamma. 
 Besides, I should have to come back by myself." 
 
 " I'll come back with you," said Johnny. 
 
 " Oh yes ; and then I should have to go again 
 with you. But, John, really I don't wish to 
 walk to-day." Whereupon John Eames again 
 put down his hat. 
 
 " Lily," said he ; and then he stopped. Mrs. 
 Dale walked away to the window, turning her 
 back upon her daughter and visitor. "Lily, I 
 have come over here on purpose to speak to yon. 
 Indeed, I have come down from London only 
 that I might see you." 
 
 "Have you, John?" 
 
 ' ' Tes, I have. You know well all that I have 
 got to tell you. I loved you before he ever saw 
 you ; and now that he has gone I love you bet- 
 ter than I ever did. Dear Lily!" and he put 
 out his hand to her. 
 
 "No, John, no," she answered. 
 
 ' ' Must it be always no ?" 
 
 "Always no to that. How can it be other- 
 wise ? You would not have me marry you while 
 I love another!" 
 
 "But he is gone. He has taken another 
 wife." 
 
 "I can not change myself because he is 
 
246 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 changed. If you are kind to me you will let 
 that be enough." 
 
 " But you are so unkind to me !" 
 
 " No, no ; oh, I would wish to be so kind to 
 you. John, here; take my hand. It is the 
 hand of a friend who loves you, and will always 
 love you. Dear John, I will do any thing — ev- 
 ery thing for you but that." 
 
 "There is only one thing," said he, still 
 holding her by the hand, but with his face turn- 
 ed from her. 
 
 "Nay, do not say so. Are you worse off 
 than I am ? I could not have tlaat one thing, 
 and I was nearer to my heart's longings than 
 you have ever been. I can not have that one 
 thing ; but I know that there are other things, 
 and I will not allow myself to be broken-heart- 
 ed." 
 
 " You are stronger than I am," he saddi 
 
 "Not stronger, but more certain. Make 
 yourself as sure as I am, and you, too, will be 
 strong. Is it not so, mamma?" 
 
 " I wish it could be otherwise — I wish it could 
 be otherwise ! If you can give him any hope — " 
 
 "Mamma!" 
 
 " Tell me that I may come again — in a year," 
 he pleaded. 
 
 " I can not tell you so. Ton may not come 
 again, not in this way. Do you remember what 
 I told you before, in the garden — that I loved 
 him better than all the world besides? It is 
 still the same. I still love him better than all 
 the world. How, then, can I give you any 
 hope?" 
 
 "But it will not be so forever, Lily." 
 
 ' ' Forever ! Why should he not be mine as 
 well as hers when that forever comes? John, 
 if you understand what it is to love you will say 
 nothing more of it. I have spoken to you more 
 openly about this than I have ever done to any 
 body, even to mamma, because I have wished to 
 make you understand my feelings. I should be 
 disgraced in my own eyes if I admitted the love 
 of another man after — after — It is to me al- 
 most as though I had married him. I am not 
 blaming him, remember. These things are dif- 
 ferent with a man." 
 
 She had not dropped his hand, and as she 
 made her last speech was sitting in her old chair 
 with her eyes fixed upon the ground. She spoke 
 in a low voice, slowly, almost with difficulty; 
 but still the words came very clearly, with a 
 clear, distinct voice, which caused them to be 
 remembered with accuracy both by Eames and 
 Mrs. Dale. To him it seemed to be impossible 
 that he should continue his suit after such a 
 declaration. To Mrs. Dale they were terrible 
 words, speaking of a perpetual vridowhood, and 
 telling of an amount of suffering greater even 
 than that which she had anticipated. It was 
 true that Lily had never said so much to her as 
 she had now said to John Eames, or had at- 
 tempted to -make so clear an exposition of her 
 own feelings. "I should be disgiaced in my 
 own eyes if I admitted the love of another man !" 
 They were terrible words, but very easy to be 
 
 understood. Mrs. Dale had felt, from the first, 
 that Eames was coming too soon ; that the earl 
 and the squire together were making an effort to 
 cure the wound too quickly after its infliction ; 
 that time should have been given to her girl to 
 recover. But now the attempt had been made, 
 and words had been forced from Lily's lips, the 
 speaking of which would never be forgotten by 
 herself. 
 
 " I knew that it would be so," said John. 
 
 "Ah, yes; you know it, because your heart 
 understands my heart. And you will not be 
 angry with me, and say naughty, cruel words, 
 as you did once before. We will think of each 
 other, John, and pray for each other ; and will 
 always love one another. When we do meet 
 let us be glad to see each other. No other friend 
 shall ever be dearer to me than you are. Yon 
 are so true and honest! When you marry I 
 will tell your wife what an infinite blessing God 
 has given her." 
 
 " You shall never do that." 
 
 " Yes, I will. I understand what you mean ; 
 but yet I will." 
 
 " Good-by, Mrs. Dale," he said. 
 
 ' ' Good-by, John. If it could have been oth- 
 erwise with her you should have had all my best 
 wishes in the matter. I would have loved you 
 dearly as my son; and I will love you now." 
 Then she put up her lips and kissed his face. 
 
 "And so will I love you," said Lily, giving 
 him her hand again. He looked longingly into 
 her face as though he had thought it possible 
 that she also might kiss him ; then he pressed 
 her hand to his lips, and without speaking any 
 fui-ther farewell, took up his hat and left the 
 room. 
 
 " Poor fellow !" said Mrs. Dale. 
 
 " They should not have let him come," said 
 Lily. " But they don't understand. They 
 think that I have lost a toy, and they mean to be 
 good-natured, and to give me another." Very 
 shortly after that Lily went away by herself, and 
 sat alone for hours ; and when she joined her 
 mother again at tea-time, nothing further was 
 said of John Eames's visit. 
 
 He made his way out by the front door, and 
 through the church-yard, and in this way on to 
 the field through which he had asked Lily to 
 walk with him. He hardly began to think of 
 what had passed till he had left the squire's house 
 behind him. As he made his way through the 
 tombstones he paused and read one, as though it 
 interested him. He stood a moment under the 
 tower looking up at the clock, and then pulled 
 out his own watch, as though to verify the one 
 by the other. He made, unconsciously, a strug- 
 gle to drive away from his thoughts the facts of 
 the late scene, and for some five or ten minutes 
 he succeeded. He said to himself a word or two 
 about Sir Rafiie and his letters, and laughed in- 
 wardly as he remembered the figure of Eafferty 
 bringing in the knight's shoes. He had gone 
 some half mile upon his way before he ventured- 
 to stand still and tell himself that he had failed 
 in the great object of his life. 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 247 
 
 
 'It 
 
 N '*- 'A 4", 'i 
 
 ' SHE HAS KKPU8ED MB, AND IT IB ALL OTBE.'' 
 
 Yes ; he had failed : and he acknowledged to 
 himself, with bitter reproaches, that he had fail- 
 ed, now and forever. He told himself that he 
 had obtruded upon her in her sorrow with an un- 
 ffiannerly love, and rebuked himself as having 
 been not only foolish but ungenerous. His friend 
 the earl had been wont, in his waggish way, to 
 call him the Conquering hero, and had so talked 
 him out of his common sense as to have made 
 him almost think that he would be successful in 
 his suit. Now, as he told himself that any such 
 
 success must have been impossible, he almost 
 hated the earl for having brought him to this 
 condition. A conquering hero, indeed ! How 
 should he manage to sneak back among them all 
 at the Manor House, crest-fallen and abject in 
 his misery? Every body knew the errand on 
 which he had gone, and every body must know 
 of his failure. How could he have been such a 
 fool as to undertake such a task under the eyes 
 of so many lookers-on ? Was it not the fcase 
 that he had so fondly expected success, as to 
 
248 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 think only of his triumph in returning, and not 
 of his more probable disgrace ? He had allowed 
 others to make a fool of him, and had so made 
 a fool of himself that now all hope and happiness 
 were over for him. How could he escape at once 
 out of the country — ^back to London? How 
 could he get away without saying a word further 
 to any one ? That was the thought that at first 
 occupied his mind. 
 
 He crossed the road at the end of the squire's 
 property, where the parish of Allingtdn divides 
 itself from that of Abbot's Guest in which the 
 earl's house stands, and made his way back along 
 the copse which skirted the field in which they 
 had encountered the bull, into the high woods 
 which were at the back of the park. Ah, yes ; 
 it had been well for him that he had not come 
 out on horseback. That ride home along the 
 Jhigh-road and up to the Manor House stables 
 would, under his present circumstances, have 
 been almost impossible to him. As it was, he 
 did not think it possible tbat he should return to 
 his place in the earl's house. How could he 
 pretend to maintain his ordinary demeanor un- 
 der the eyes of those two old men ? It would be 
 better for him to get home to his mother, to send 
 a message from thence to the Manor, and then 
 to escape back to Loudon. So thinking, but 
 with no resolution made, he went on through 
 the woods, and down from the hill back toward 
 the town till he again came to the little bridge 
 over the brook. There he stopped and stood 
 a while with his broad hand spread over the letters 
 which he had cut in those early days, so as to hide 
 them from his sight. ' ' What an ass I have been 
 — always and ever ! " he said to himself. 
 
 It was not only of his late disappointment 
 that he was thinking, but of his whole past life. 
 He was conscious of his hobbledehoyhood — of 
 that backwardness on his part in assuming man- 
 hood which had rendered him incapable of mak- 
 ing himself acceptable to Lily before she had 
 fallen into the clutches of Crosbie. As he 
 thought of this he declared to himself that if he 
 could meet Crosbie again he would again thrash 
 him — that he would so belabor him as to send 
 him out of the world, if such sending might pos- 
 sibly be done by fair beating, regardless whether 
 he himself might be called upon to follow him. 
 Was it not hard that for the two of them — for 
 Lily and for him also — there should be such 
 punishment because of the insincerity of that 
 man ? When he had thus stood upon the bridge 
 for some quarter of an hour he took out his knife, 
 and, with deep, rough gashes in the wood, cut 
 out Lily's name from the rail. 
 
 He had hardly finished, and was still looking 
 at the chips as they were being carried away by 
 the stream, when a gentle step came close up to 
 him, and turning round, he saw that Lady Julia 
 was on the bridge. She was close to him, and 
 had already seen his handiwork. ' ' Has she of- 
 fended you, John?" she said. 
 
 "Oh, Lady Julia!" 
 
 " Has she offended you?" 
 
 " She has refused me, and it is all over." 
 
 "It may be that she has refused you, and that 
 yet it need not be all over. I am soriy that you 
 have cut out the name, John. Do you mean to 
 cut it out from your heart ?" 
 
 "Never. I would if I could, but I never 
 shall." 
 
 "Keep to it as to a great treasure. It will 
 be a joy to you in after-years, and not a sorrow. 
 To have loved truly, even though you shall have 
 loved in vain, will be sL consolation when you are 
 as old as I am. It is something to have had a 
 heart." 
 
 " I don't know. I wish that I had none." 
 
 "And, John — I can understand her feeling 
 now; and, indeed, I thought all through that 
 you were asking her too soon ; but the time may 
 yet come when she will think better of your 
 wishes." 
 
 " No, no ; never. I begin to know her now." 
 
 " If you can be constant in your love you may 
 win her yet. Eemember how young she is; 
 and how young you both are. Come again in 
 two years' time, and then, when you have won 
 her, you shall tell me that I have been a good 
 old woman to you both." 
 
 " I shall never win her. Lady Julia.'' As he 
 spoke these last words the tears were running 
 down his cheeks, and he was weeping openly 
 in presence of his companion. It was well for 
 him that she had come upon him in his sorrow. 
 When he once knew that she had seen his tears, 
 he could pour out to her the whole story of his 
 grief; and as he did so she led him back quietly 
 to the house. 
 
 CHAPTEE LV. 
 
 NOT VEEY FIE FIE AFTER ALL. 
 
 It will perhaps be remembered that terrible 
 things had been foretold as about to happen 
 between the Hai'tletop and Omnium families. 
 Lady Pumbello had smiled whenever Mr. Plan- 
 tagenet Palliser had spoken to her. Mr. Pal- 
 liser had confessed to himself that politics were 
 not enough for him, and that Love was neces- 
 sary to make up the full complement of his hap- 
 piness. Lord Dumbello had frowned latterly 
 when his eyes fell on the tall figure of the duke's 
 heir; and the duke himself — that potentate, 
 generally so mighty in his silence — the duke 
 himself had spoken. Lady De Courcy and Lady 
 Clandidlem were, both of them, absolutely cer- 
 tain that the thing had been fully arranged. I 
 am, therefore, perfectly justified in stating that 
 the world was talking about the loves — the illicit 
 loves — of Mr. Palliser and Lady Dumbello. 
 
 And the talking of the world found its way 
 down to that respectable country parsonage in 
 which Lady Dumbello had been born, and from 
 which she had been taken away to those noble 
 halls which she now graced by her presence. 
 The talking of the world was he^rd at Plnm- 
 Btea4 Episcopi, where still lived Archdeacon 
 Grantly, the lady's father ; and was heard also 
 dt the deanery of Barchester, where lived the 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 249 
 
 lady's aunt and grandfather. By whose ill- 
 mannered tonRue the rumor was spread in these 
 ^ecclesiastical regions it boots not now to tell. 
 But it may be remembered that Courcy Castle 
 was not far from Barchester, and that Lady De 
 Courcy was not given to hide her lights under a 
 bushel. 
 
 It was a terrible rumor. To what mother 
 must not such a rumor respecting her daughter 
 l)e very terrible ? In no mother's ears could it 
 have sounded more frightfully tlian it did in 
 those of Mrs. Grantly. Lady Dumbello, the 
 daughter, might be altogether worldly ; but Mrs. 
 Grantly had never been more than half worldly. 
 In one moiety of her character, her habits, and 
 her desires, she had been wedded to things good 
 in themselves — to religion, to charity, and to 
 honest-hearted uprightness. It is true that the 
 circumstances of her life had induced her to 
 serve both God and Mammon, and that, there- 
 fore, she had gloried greatly in the marriage of 
 her daughter with the heir of a marquis. She 
 had reveled in the aristocratic elevation of her 
 child, though she continued to dispense books 
 and catechisms with her own hands to the chil- 
 dren of the laborers of Plumstead Episcopi. 
 When Griselda had first become Lady Dum- 
 bello the mother feared. somewhat lest her child 
 should find herself unequal to the exigencies of 
 her new position. But the child had proved 
 herself more than equal to them, and had 
 rnounted up to a dizzy height of success, which 
 brought to the mother great glory and great fear 
 also. She delighted to think that her Griselda 
 was great even among the daughters of mar- 
 quises; but she trembled as she reflected how 
 deadly would be the fall from such a height — 
 should there ever be a fall ! 
 
 But she had never dreamed of such a fall as 
 this ! She would have said — indeed, she often 
 had said — to the archdeacon that Griselda's re- 
 ligious principles were too iirmly fixed to be 
 moved by outward worldly matters ; signifying, 
 it may be, her convi<:tion that that teaching of 
 Plumstead Episcopi had so fastened lier daugh- 
 ter into a groove that all the future teaching of 
 Hartlebury would not suffice to undo the fasten- 
 ings. When she had thus boasted no such idea 
 as that of her daughter running from her hus- 
 band's, house had ever come upon her ; but she 
 had alluded to vices of a nature kindred to that 
 vice — to vices into which other aristocratic la- 
 dies sometimes fell, who had been less firmly 
 grooved; and her boasting had amounted to 
 this, that she herself had so successfully served 
 God and Mammon together, that her child might 
 go forth and enjoy all worldly things without 
 risk of damage to things lieavenly. Then came 
 upon her this rumor. The archdeacon told her 
 in a hoarse whisper that he had been recom- 
 mended to look to it, that it was current through 
 the world that Griselda was about to leave her 
 husband. 
 
 " Nothing on earth shall make me believe it," 
 said Mrs. Grantly. But she sat alone in her 
 drawing-room afterward and trembled. Then 
 
 Q 
 
 came her sister, Mrs. Arabin, the dean's wife, 
 over to the parsonage, and in half-hidden words 
 told the same story. She had heard it from 
 Mrs. Proudie, the bishop's wife. "That wo- 
 man is as false as the father of falsehoods," said 
 Mrs. Grantly. But she trembled the more ; and 
 as she prepared her parish work, could tliink of 
 nothing but her child. What would be all her 
 life to come, what would have been all that was 
 past of her life, if this thing should happen to 
 her? She would not believe it; but yet she 
 trembled the more as she thought of her daugh- 
 ter's exaltation, and remembered that such things 
 had been done in that world to which Griselda 
 now belonged. Ah ! would it not have been 
 better for them if they had not raised their heads 
 so high ! And she walked out alone among the 
 tombs of the neighboring church-yard, and stood 
 over the grave in which had been laid the body 
 of her other daughter. Could it be that the fate 
 of that one had been the happier? 
 
 Very few words were spoken on the subject 
 between her and the archdeacon, ajid yet it 
 seemed agreed among th^m that something 
 should be done. He went up to London, and 
 saw his daughter — not daring, however, to men- 
 tion such a subject. Lord Dumbello was cross 
 with him, and very uncommunicative. Indeed 
 both the archdeacon and Mrs. Grantly had found 
 that tlieir daughter's house was not comfortable 
 to them, and as they were sufficiently proud 
 among their own class they had not cared to 
 press themselves on the hospitality of their son- 
 in-law. But he had been able to perceive that 
 all was not right in the house in Carlton Gar- 
 dens. Lord Dumbello was not gracious with 
 his wife, and there was something in the silence, 
 rather than in the speech, of men, which seemed 
 to justify the report which had reached him. 
 
 " He is there oftener than he should be," said 
 the archdeacon. "And I am sure of this, at 
 least, that Dumbello does not like it." 
 
 "I will write to her," said Mrs. Grantly at 
 last. "I am still her mother — I will write to 
 her. It may be that she does not know what 
 people say of her." 
 
 And Mrs. Grantly did write. 
 
 *' Pldmbtbad, ^pril, 188 — 
 '*Dbarebt GaiSET.nA, — It seems sometimes that you 
 have been' moved so far away from me that I have hardly 
 a right to concern myself mora in the affairs of your dally 
 life, and I know that it is impossible that you should re- 
 fer to me for advice or sympathy, as you would have done 
 had you married some gentleman of our own standing. 
 But I ain quite sure that my child does not forget her mo- 
 ther, or fail to look back upon her mother*'s love ; and that 
 she will allow me to speak to her if she be in trouble, as I 
 would to any other child whom I had ICved and cherished. 
 I pray God that I may be wrong in supposing that such 
 trouble is near you. If I am so you will forgive me my 
 solicitude. 
 
 " Rumors have reached ua flt'om more than one quarter 
 that— Gh ! Griselda, I hardly know in what worda to con- 
 ceal and yet to declare that which I have to write. They 
 say that you are intimate with Mr. Palliaer, the nephew 
 of the duke, and that your husband is much offended. 
 Perhaps I had better tell you all, openly, cautioning you 
 not to suppose that I have believed it. "They say that it is 
 thought that you are going to put yourself under Mr. Pal- 
 liser'B protection. My dearest child, I think you can im- 
 
250 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 agine with what an agony I write theae words— with what 
 terrible grief I must have been oppressed before I could 
 have allowed myself to entertain the thoughts which have 
 produced them. Such things are said openly in Barches- 
 ter, and your father, who has been in town and has seen 
 you, feels liimself unable to tell me that my mind may be 
 at rest. 
 
 ^^ I will not say to you a word as to the injury in a world- 
 ly point of view which would come to you from any rupture 
 with your husband. I believe that you can see what would 
 be the effect of so terrible a step quite as plainly as I can 
 show it you. You would break the heart of your father, 
 and send your mother to her grave ; but it is not even on 
 that that I may most insist. It is this — that you would 
 offend your God by the worst sin that a woman can commit, 
 and cast yourself into a depth of infamy in which repent- 
 ance before God is almost impossible, and from which es- 
 cape before man ie not permitted. 
 
 " I do not believe it, my dearest, dearest child — my only 
 living daughter ; I do not believe what they have said to 
 me. But as a mother I have not dared to leave the slan- 
 der unnoticed. If you will write to me and say that it ia 
 not so, you will make me happy again, even though you 
 should rebuke me for my suspicion. 
 
 "Believe that at all times and under all circumstances 
 I am still your loving mother, as I was in other days. 
 " Susan Gramtly." 
 
 We will now go back to Mr. Palliser as he 
 sat in his chambers at the Albany, thinking of 
 his love. The duke had cautioned hira, and 
 the duke's agent had cautioned him ; and he, in 
 spite of his high feeling of independence, had 
 almost been made to tremble. All his thou- 
 sands a year were in the balance, and perhaps 
 also every thing on which depended his position 
 before the world. But, nevertheless, though he 
 did tremble, he resolved to persevere. Statis- 
 tics were becoming dry to him, and love was 
 very sweet. Statistics, he thought, might be 
 made as enchanting as ever, if only they could 
 be mingled with love. The mere idea of loving 
 Lady Dumbello had seemed to give a salt to his 
 life of which he did not now know how to rob him- 
 self. It is true that he had not as yet enjoyed 
 many of the absolute blessings of love, seeing 
 that his conversations with Lady Dumbello had 
 never been warmer than those which have been 
 repeated in these pages ; but his imagination 
 had been at work ; and now that Lady Dumbel- 
 lo was fully established at her house in Carlton 
 Gardens, he was determined to declare his pas- 
 sion on the fii'st convenient opportunity. It was 
 sufficiently manifest to him that the world ex- 
 pected him to do so, and that the world was al- 
 ready a little disposed to find fault with the 
 slowness of his proceedings. 
 
 He had been once at the Carlton Gardens 
 since the season had commenced, and the lady 
 had favored him with her sweetest smile. But 
 he had only been half a minute alone with her, 
 and during that half-minute had only time to 
 remark that he supposed she would now remain 
 in London for the season. 
 
 " Oh yes," she had answered, " we shall not 
 leave till July." Nor could he leave till July, 
 because of the exigencies of his statistics. He 
 thei'efore had before him two, if not three, clear 
 months in which to manoeuvre, to declare his pur- 
 poses, and prepare for the future events of his 
 life. As he resolved on a certain morning that 
 he would say his first tender word to Lady Dum- 
 
 bello that very night, in the drawing-room of 
 Lady De Courcy, where he knew that he should 
 meet her, a letter came to him by the post. He 
 well knew the hand and the intimation which it 
 would contain. It was from the duke's agent, 
 Mr. Fothergill, and informed him that a certain 
 sum of money had been placed to his credit at 
 his banker's. But the letter went further, and 
 informed him also that the duke had given his 
 agent to understand that special instmctiona 
 would be necessary before the next quarterly 
 payment could he made. Mr. Fothergill said 
 nothing further, but Mr. Palliser understood it 
 all. He felt his blood run cold round his heart ; 
 but, nevertheless, he determined that he would 
 not break his word to Lady De Courcy that 
 night. 
 
 And Lady Dumbello received .her letter also 
 on the same morning. She was being dressed 
 as she read it, and the maidens who attended 
 her found no cause to suspect that any thing in 
 the letter had excited her ladyship. Her lady- 
 ship was not often excited, though she was vigi- 
 lant in exacting from them their utmost cares. 
 She read her letter, however, very carefully, and 
 as she sat beneath the toilet impjements of her 
 maidens, thought deeply of the tidings which 
 had been brought to her. She was angry with 
 no one ; she was thankful to no one. She felt 
 no special love for any person concerned in the 
 matter. Her heart did not say, " Oh, my lord 
 and husband !" or, " Oh, my lover !" or, " Oh, 
 my mother, the friend of my childhood !" But 
 she became aware that matter for thought had 
 been brought before her, and she did think. 
 "Send my love to Lord Dumbello," she said, 
 when the operations were nearly completed, 
 "and tell him that I shall be so glad to see 
 him if he will come to me while I am at break- 
 fast." 
 
 "Yes, my lady.'' And then the message 
 came back: "His lordship would be with her 
 ladyship certainly." 
 
 "Gustavus," shfe said, as soon as she had 
 seated herself discreetly in her chair, "I have 
 had a letter from my mother, which you had 
 better read ;" and she handed to him the docu- 
 ment. "I do not know what I have done to 
 desenre such suspicions from her; but she lives 
 in the country, and has probably been deceived 
 by ill-natured people. At any rate you must 
 read it, and tell me what I should do. " 
 
 We may predicate from this that Mr. Palli- 
 ser's chance of being able to shipwreck himself 
 upon that rock was but small, and that he would, 
 in spite of himself, be saved from his uncle's an- 
 ger. Lord Dumbello took the letter and read it 
 very slowly, standing, as he did so, with his back 
 to the fire. He read it very slowly, and his wife, 
 though she never turned her face directly upon 
 his, could perceive that he became very red, tliat 
 he was fluttered and put beyond himself, and 
 that his answer was not ready. She was well 
 aware that his conduct to her during the la.«t 
 three months had been much altered from his 
 former usages ; that he had been rougher with 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 251 
 
 her in his speech when alone, and less courteous 
 in his attention when in society ; but she had 
 made no complaint or spoken a word to show 
 him that she had marked the change. She had 
 known, moreover, the cause of his altered man- 
 ner, and having considered much, had resolved 
 that she would live it down. She had declared 
 to herself that she had done no deed and spoken 
 no word that justified suspicion, and therefore 
 she would make no change in her ways, or show 
 herself to be conscious that she was suspected. 
 But now — ^having her mother's letter in her hand 
 — she could bring him to an explanation without 
 making him aware that she had ever thought 
 that he had been jealous of her. To her her 
 mother's letter was a great assistance. It justi- 
 fied a scene like this, and enabled her to fight 
 lier battle after her own fashion. As for eloping 
 with any Mr. Palliser, and giving up the position 
 which she had won — no, indeed ! She had been 
 fastened in her grooves too well for that! Her 
 mother, in entertaining any fear on such a sub- 
 ject, had shown herself to be ignorant of the 
 solidity of her daughter's character. 
 
 "Well, Gustavus," she said, at last. "You 
 must say what answer I shall make, or whether 
 I shall make any answer." But he was not even 
 yet ready to instruct her. So he unfolded the 
 letter and read it again, and she poured out for 
 herself a cup of tea. 
 
 " It's a very serious matter," said he. 
 "Yes, it is serious; I could not but think 
 such a letter from my mother to be serious. 
 Had it come from any one else I doubt whether 
 I should have troubled you ; unless, indeed, it 
 had been from any as near to you as she is to me. 
 As it is, you can not but feel that I am right." 
 " Right ! Oh yes, you are right — quite right 
 to tell me; you should tell me every thing. 
 D them !" But whom he meant to con- 
 demn he did not explain. 
 
 "I am above all things averse to cause ypu 
 trouble," she said. "I have seen some little 
 things of late — " 
 
 "Has he ever said any thing to you?" 
 " Who — Mr. Palliser ? Never a word. " 
 "He has hinted at nothing of this kind?" 
 "Never a word. Had he done so I must 
 have made you understand that he could not 
 have been allowed again into ray drawing-room." 
 Then again he read the letter, or pretended to 
 do so. 
 
 " Your mother means well," he said. 
 "Oh yes, she means well. She has been 
 foolish to believe the tittle-tattle that has reach- 
 ed her — very foolish to oblige me to give you 
 this annoyance." 
 
 " Oh, as for that, I'm not annoyed. By Jove, 
 no. Come, Griselda, let us have it all out ; oth- 
 er people have said this, and I have been unhap- 
 py. Now you know it all." 
 "Have I made you unhappy ?" 
 "Well, no; not you. Don't be hard upon 
 me when I tell you the whole truth. Fools and 
 brutes have whispered things that have vexed 
 me. They may whisper till the devil fetches 
 
 them, but they sha'n't annoy me again. Give 
 me a kiss, my girl. " And he absolutely put out 
 his arms and embraced her. "Write a good- 
 natured letter to your mother, and ask her to 
 come up for a week in May. That'll be the 
 best thing; and then she'll understand. By 
 Jove, it's twelve o'clock ! Good-by." 
 
 Lady Dumbello was well aware that she had 
 triumphed, and that her mother's letter had been 
 invaluable to her. But it had been used, and 
 therefore she did not read it again. She ate her 
 breakfast in quiet comfort, looking over a mil- 
 liner's French circular as she did so ; and then, 
 when the time for such an operation had fully 
 come, she got to her writing-table and answered 
 her mother's letter : 
 
 "Deab Mamma" — she said— ^" I thought it best to show 
 your letter at once to Lord Dumbello. He said that people 
 would be ill-natured, and seemed to think that the telling 
 of such stories could not be helped. As regards you, he was 
 not a bit angry, but said that you and papa had better come 
 to us for a week about the end of next month. Do come. 
 We are to have rather a large diuuer-party on the 23d. 
 His Eoyal Highuess is coming, and I think papa would 
 like to meet him. Have you observed that those very high 
 bonnets have all gone out ? I never liked them ; and as I 
 had got a hint from Paris, I have been doing my best to 
 put them down. I do hope nothing will prevent your 
 coming. Your affectionate daughter, 
 
 " G. DraiBELLO. 
 " Cablton Gakdbns, Wedneadatf." 
 
 Mrs. Grantly was aware, from the moment 
 in which she received the letter, that she had 
 wronged her daughter by her suspicions. It 
 did not occur to her to disbelieve a word that 
 was said in the letter, or an inference that was 
 implied. She had been wi-ong, and rejoiced 
 that it was so. But nevertheless there was that 
 in the letter which annoyed and irritated her, 
 though she could not explain to herself the 
 cause of her annoyance. She had thrown all 
 her heart into that which she had written, but 
 in the words which her child had written not 
 a vestige of heart was to be found. In that 
 reconciling of God and Mammon which Mrs. 
 Grantly had carried on so successfully in the 
 education of her daughter the organ had not 
 been required, and had become withered, if not 
 defunct, through want of use. 
 
 "We will not go there, I think," said Mrs. 
 Grantly, speaking to her husband. 
 
 "Oh dear, no; certainly not. If you want 
 to go to town at all, I vnll take rooms for you. 
 And as for his Eoyal Highness — ! I have a 
 great respect for his Royal Highness, but I do 
 not in the least desire to meet him at Dumbello's 
 table." 
 
 And so that matter was settled, as regarded 
 the inhabitants of Plumstead Episcopi. 
 
 And whither did Lord Dumbello betake him- 
 self when he left his wife's room in so great a 
 hurry at twelve o'clock? Not to the Park, nor 
 to Tattersall's, nor to a committee-room of the 
 House of Commons, nor yet to the bow-window 
 of his club. But he went straight to a great 
 jeweler's in Ludgate Hill, and there purchased 
 a wonderful green necklace, very rare and cu- 
 rious, heavy with green sparkling drops, with 
 
252 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 three rows of shining green stones embedded in 
 chaste gold — a necklace amounting almost to a 
 jeweled cuirass in weight and extent. It had 
 been in all the exhibitions, and was very costly 
 and magnificent. While Lady Dumbello was 
 still dressing in the evening this was brought to 
 lier with her lord's love, as his token of renewed 
 confidence ; and Lady Dumbello, as she count- 
 ed the sparkles, triumphed inwai-dly, telling her- 
 self that she had played her cards well. 
 
 But while she counted the sparkles produced 
 by her full reconciliation with her lord, poor 
 Plantagenet Palliser was still trembling in his 
 ignorance. If only he could have been allowed 
 to see Mrs. Grantly's letter, and the lady's an- 
 swer, and the lord's present ! But no such see- 
 ing was vouchsafed to him, and he was carried 
 off in his brougham to Lady De Courcy's house, 
 twittering with expectant love, and trembling 
 with expectant ruin. To this conclusion he had 
 come at any rate, that if any thing was to be 
 done, it should be done now. He would speak 
 a word of love, and prepare his future in ac- 
 cordance with the acceptance it might receive. 
 
 Lady De Courcy's rooms were very crowded 
 when he arrived there. It was the first great 
 crushing party of the season, and all the world 
 had been collected into Portman Square. Lady 
 De Courcy was smiling as though her lord had 
 no teeth, as though her eldest son's condition 
 was quite happy, and all things were going well 
 with the De Courcy interests. Lady Margaretta 
 was there behind her, bland without and bitter 
 within ; and Lady Bosina also, at some further 
 distance, reconciled to this world's vanity and 
 finery because there was to be no dancing. And 
 the manied daughters of the house were there 
 also, striving to maintain their positions-on the 
 strength of their undoubted birth, but subjected 
 to some snubbing by the lowness of their abso- 
 lute circumstances. Gazebee was there, happy 
 in the absolute fact of his connection with an 
 earl, and blessed with the consideration that was 
 extended to him as an earl's son-in-law. And 
 Crosbie, also, was in the rooms — was present 
 there, though he had sworn to himself that he 
 would no longer dance attendance on the count- 
 ess, and that he would sever himself away from 
 the wretchedness of the family. But if he gave 
 up them and their ways, what else would then 
 be left to him? He had come, therefore, and 
 now stood alone, sullen, in a corner, telling 
 himself that all was vanity. Yes ; to the vain 
 all will be vanity, and to the poor of heart all 
 will be poor. 
 
 Lady Dumbello was there in a small inner 
 room, seated on a couch to which she had been 
 brought on her first arrival at the house, and on 
 which she would remain till she departed. From 
 time to time some very noble or very elevated 
 personage would come before her and say a word, 
 and she would answer that elevated personage 
 with another word ; but nobody had attempted 
 with her the task of conversation. It was un- 
 derstood that Lady Dumbello did not converse 
 ' — unless it were occasionally with Mr. Palliser. 
 
 She knew well that Mr. Palliser was to meet 
 her there. He had told her expressly that he 
 should do so, having inquired, with much solici- 
 tude, whether she intended to obey the invita- 
 tion of the countess. "I shall probably be 
 there," she had said, and now had determined 
 that her mother's letter and her husband's con- 
 duct to her should not cause her to break her 
 word. Should Mr. Palliser " forget" himself, 
 she would know how to say a word to him as 
 she had known how to say a word to her hus- 
 band. Porget himself? She was very sure 
 that Mr. Palliser had been making up his mind 
 to forget himself for some months past. 
 
 He did come to her, and stood over her look- 
 ing unutterable things. His unutterable things, 
 however, were so looked that they did not ab- 
 solutely demand notice from the lady. He did 
 not sigh like a furnace, nor open his eyes upon 
 her as though there were two suns in the firma- 
 ment above her head, nor did he beat his breast 
 or tear his hair. Mr. Palliser had been brought 
 up in a school which delights in tranquillity, and 
 never allows its pupils to commit themselves 
 either to the sublime or to the ridiculous. He 
 did look an unutterable thing or two ; but he 
 did it with so decorous an eye that the lady, 
 who was measuring it all with great accuracy, 
 could not, as yet, declare that Mr. Palliser had 
 "forgotten himself." 
 
 There was room by her on the couch, and 
 once or twice, at Hartlebury, he had ventured 
 so to seat himself. On the present occasion, 
 however, he could not do so without placing 
 himself manifestly on her dress. She would 
 have known how to fill a larger couch even 
 than that — as she would have known, also, how 
 to make room — had it been her mind to do so. 
 So he stood still over her and she smiled at him. 
 Such a smile ! It was cold as death, flattering 
 no one, saying nothing, hideous in its unmean- 
 ing, unreal grace. Ah ! how I hate the smile 
 of a woman who smiles by rote ! It made Mr. 
 Palliser feel very uncomfortable ; but he did not 
 analyze it, and persevered. 
 
 "Lady Dumbello," he said, and his voice 
 was very low, ' ' I have been looking forward to 
 meeting you here." 
 
 "Have you, Mr. Palliser? Yes; I remem- 
 ber that you asked me whether I was coming." 
 
 "I did. Hra— Lady Dumbello!" and he 
 almost trenched upon the outside verge of that 
 schooling which had taught him to avoid both 
 the sublime and the ridiculous. But he had 
 not forgotten himself as yet, and so she smiled 
 again. 
 
 "Lady Dumbello, in this world in which we 
 live it is so hard to get a moment in which we. 
 can speak." He had thought that she would 
 move her dress, but she did not. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," she said ; " one doesn't 
 often want to say very much, I think." 
 
 "Ah, no; not often, perhaps. But when 
 one does want! How I do hate these crowded 
 rooms !" Yet when he had been at Hartlebury 
 ho had resolved that the only ground for him 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 253 
 
 would be the crowded drawing-room of some 
 large London house. " I wonder whether you 
 ever desire any thing beyond them?" 
 
 "Oh yes," said she; "but I confess that I 
 am fond of parties." 
 
 Mr. Palliser looked around and thought that 
 he saw that he was unobserved. He had made 
 up his mind as to what be would do, and he 
 was determined to do it. He had in him none 
 of that readiness which enables some men to 
 make love and carry off their Dulcineas at a 
 moment's notice, but he had that pluck which 
 would have made himself disgraceful in his own 
 eyes if he omitted to do that as to the doing of 
 which he had made a solemn resolution. He 
 would have preferred to do it sitting, but, faute 
 de mieux, seeing that a seat was denied to him, 
 he would do it standing. 
 
 "6riselda,"he said — and it must be admitted 
 that his tone was not bad. The word sank softly 
 into her ear, like small rain upon moss, and it 
 sank into no other ear. " Griselda !" 
 
 "Mr. Palliser!" said she; and though she 
 made no scene, though she merely glanced upon 
 him once, he could see that he was wrong. 
 " May I not call you so ?" 
 " Certainly not. Shall I ask you to see if 
 my people are there ?" He stood a moment be- 
 fore her hesitating. "My carriage, I mean." 
 As she gave the command she glanced at him 
 again, and then he obeyed her orders. 
 
 When he returned she had left her seat ; but 
 he heard her name announced on the stairs, and 
 caught a glance of the back of her head as she 
 made her way gracefully down through the 
 crowd. He never attempted to make love to 
 her again, utterly disappointing the hopes of 
 Lady De Courcy, Mrs. Proudie, and Lady 
 Clandidlem. 
 
 As I would wish those who are interested in 
 Mr. Palliser's fortunes to know the ultimate re- 
 sult of this adventure, and as we shall not have 
 space to return to his affairs in this little his- 
 tory, I may, perhaps, be allowed to press some- 
 what forward, and tell what Fortune did for 
 him before the close of that London season. 
 Every body knows that in that spring Lady 
 Glencora MacCluskie was brought out before 
 the world, and it is equally well known that 
 she, as the only child of the late Lord of the 
 Isles, was the great heiress of the day. It is 
 true that the hereditary possession of Skye, 
 Staffa, Mull, Arran, and Bute went, with the 
 title, to the Marquis of Auldreekie, together 
 with the counties of Caithness and Boss-shire. 
 But the property in Eife, Aberdeen, Perth, and 
 Kincardineshire, comprising the greater part of 
 those counties, and the coa!^-mines in Lanark, as 
 well as the enormous estate within the city of 
 Glasgow, were unentailed, and went to the Lady 
 Glencora. She was a fair girl, with bright blue 
 eyes and short wavy flaxen hair, very soft to the 
 eye. The Lady Glencora was small in stature, 
 and her happy round face lacked, perhaps, the 
 highest grace of female beauty. But there was 
 ever a smile upon it, at which it was very pleas- 
 
 ant tp look ; and the intense interest with which 
 she would dance, and talk, and follow up every 
 amusement that was offered her, was very charm- 
 ing. The horse she rode was the dearest love ; 
 oh ! 'she loved him so dearly 1 And she had a 
 little dog that was almost as dear as the horse. 
 The friend of her youth, Sabrina Scott, was — 
 oh, such a girl ! And her cousin, the little 
 Lord of the Isles, the heir of the marquis, was 
 so gracious and beautiful that she was always 
 covering him with kisses. Unfortunately he was 
 only six, so that there was hardly a possibility 
 that the properties should be brought together. 
 But Lady Glencora, though she was so charm- 
 ing, had even in this, her first outset upon the 
 world, given great uneasiness to her friends, and 
 caused the Marquis of Auldreekie to be almost 
 wild with dismay. There was a terribly hand- 
 some man about town, who had spent every shil- 
 ling that any body would give him, who was 
 very fond of brandy, who was known, but not 
 trusted, at Newmarket, who was said to be deep 
 in every vice, whose father would not speak to 
 bim ; and with him the Lady Glencora was 
 never tired of dancing. One morning she had 
 told her cousin the marquis, with a flashing eye 
 — for the round blue eye could flash — that Burgo 
 Fitzgerald was more sinned against than sin- 
 ning. Ah me! what was a guardian marquis, 
 anxious for the fate of the family property, to do 
 under such circumstances as that? 
 
 But before the end of the season the marquis 
 and the duke were both happy men, and we 
 will hope that Lady Glencora also was satisfied. 
 Mr. Plantagenet Palliser had danced with her 
 twice, and had spoken his mind. He had an 
 interview with the marquis, which was pre-em- 
 inently satisfactory, and every thing was settled. 
 Glencora no doubt told him how she had ac- 
 cepted that plain gold ring from Burgo Fitzger- 
 ald, and how she had restored it ; but I doubt 
 whether she ever told him of that wavy lock of 
 golden hair which Burgo still keeps in his re- 
 ceptacle for such treasures. 
 
 "Plantagenet," said the duke, with quite un- 
 accustomed warmth, "in this, as in all things, 
 you have shown yourself to be every thing that 
 I could desire. I have told the marquis that 
 Matching Priory, with the whole estate, should 
 be given over to you at once. It is the most 
 comfortable country-house I know. Glencora 
 shall have The Horns as her wedding present." 
 
 But the genial, frank delight of Mr. Foth'er- 
 gill pleased Mr. Palliser the most. The heir of 
 the Pallisers had done his duty, and Mr. Foth- 
 ergill was unfeignedly a happy man. 
 
 CHAPTER LVI. 
 
 SHOVING HOW MR. CROSEIE BECAME AGAIN A 
 HAPPY MAN. 
 
 It has been told in the last chapter how Lady 
 De Gpurcy gave a great party in London in the 
 latter days of April, and it may therefore be 
 
254 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 thought that things were going well with the 
 De Conrcys ; but I fear the inference would 
 be untrue. At any rate, things were not going 
 well with Lady Alexandrina, for she, on her mo- 
 ther's first arrival in town, had rushed to Port- 
 luan Square with a long tale of her suiferings. 
 
 "Oh, mamma ! you would not believe it ; but 
 he hardlj ever speaks to me." 
 
 " My dear, there are worse faults in a man 
 than that." 
 
 " I am alone there all the day. I never get 
 out. He never offers to get me a carriage. He 
 asked me to walk with him once last week, when 
 it was raining. I saw that he waited till the 
 rain began. Only think, I have not been out 
 three evenings this month, except to Amelia's ; 
 and now he says he won't go there any more, 
 because a fly is so expensive. You can't be- 
 lieve how uncomfortable the house is." 
 
 "I thought you chose it, my dear." 
 
 ' ' I looked at it, but, of course, I didn't know 
 what a house ought to be. Amelia said it wasn't 
 nice, but he would have it. He hates Amelia. 
 I'm sure of that, for he says every thing he can 
 to snub her and Mr. Gazebee. Mr. Gazebee is 
 as good as he, at any rate. What do you think ? 
 He has given Richard warning to go. You nev- 
 er saw him, but he was a very good servant. He 
 has given him warning, and he is not talking 
 of getting another man. I won't live with him 
 without somebody to wait upon me. " 
 
 " My dearest girl, do not think of such a thing 
 as leaving him." 
 
 "But I will think of it, mamma. You do 
 not know what my life is in that house. He 
 never speaks to me — never. He comes home 
 before dinner at half past six, and when he has 
 just shown himself he goes to his dressing-room. 
 He is always silent at dinner-time, and after din- 
 ner he goes to sleep. He breakfasts always at 
 nine, and goes away at half past nine, though I 
 know he does not get to his office tiU eleven. If 
 I want any thing, he says that it can not be af- 
 forded. I never thought before that he was 
 stingy, but I am sure now that he must be a 
 miser at heart." 
 
 "It is better so than a spendthrift, Alexan- 
 drina." 
 
 " I don't know that it is better. He could 
 not make me more unhappy than I am. Un- 
 happy is no word for it. What can I do shut 
 up in such a house as that by myself from nine 
 o'clock in the morning till six in the evening ? 
 Every body knows what he is, so that nobody 
 will come to see me. I tell you fairly, mamma, 
 I will not stand it. If you can not help me, 
 I will look for help elsewhere." 
 
 It may, at any rate, be said that things were 
 not going well with that branch of the De Cour- 
 cy family. Nor, indeed, was it going well with 
 some other branches. Lord Porlock had mar- 
 ried, not having selected his partner for life from 
 the choicest cream of the aristocratic circles, 
 and his mother, while endeavoring to say a 
 word in his favor, had been so abused by the 
 earl that she had been driven to declare that she 
 
 could no longer endure such usage. She had 
 come up to London in direct opposition to his 
 commands, while he was fastened to his room 
 by gout ; and had given her party in defiance 
 of him, so that people should not say, when her 
 back was turned, that she had slunk away in 
 despair. 
 
 "I have borne it," she said to Margaretta, 
 "longer than any other woman in England 
 would have done. While I thought that any 
 of you would marry — " 
 
 "Oh, don't talk of that, mamma," said Mar- 
 garetta, putting a little scorn into her voice. 
 She had not been quite pleased that even her 
 mother should intimate that all her chance was 
 over, and yet she herself had often told her mo- 
 ther that she had given up all thought of marry- 
 ing. 
 
 " Eosina will go to Amelia's," the countess 
 continued ; " Mr. Gazebee is quite satisfied that 
 it should be so, and he will take care that she 
 shall have enough to cover her own expenses. 
 I propose that you and I, dear, shall go to Ba- 
 den-Baden." 
 
 " And about money, mamma?" 
 
 "Mr. Gazebee must manage it. In spite of 
 all that your father says, I know that there must 
 be money. The expense will be much less so 
 than in our present way." 
 
 " And what will papa do himself?" 
 
 " I can not help it, my dear. No one knows 
 what I have had to bear. Another year of it 
 would kill me. His language has become worse 
 and worse, and I fear every day that he is going 
 to strike me with his crutch." 
 
 Under all these circumstances it can not be 
 said that the De Courcy interests were prosper- 
 ing. 
 
 But Lady De Courcy, when she had made up 
 her mind to go to Baden-Baden, had by no 
 means intended to take her youngest daughter 
 with her. She had endured for years, and 
 now Alexandrina was unable to endure for six 
 months. Her chief grievance, moreover, was 
 this — that her husband was silent. The mother 
 felt that no woman had a right to complain 
 much of any such sorrow as that. If her earl 
 had sinned only in that way, she would have 
 been content to have remained by him till the 
 last! 
 
 And yet I do not know whether Alexandrina's 
 life was not quite as hard as that of her mother. 
 She barely exceeded the truth when she said 
 that he never spoke to her. The houra with her 
 in her new comfortless house were very long — 
 very long and veiy tedious. Marriage with her 
 had by no means been the thing that she had 
 expected. At home, with her mother, there 
 had always been people around her, but they 
 had not always been such as she herself would 
 have chosen for her companions. She had 
 thought that, when married, she could choose 
 and have those about her who were congenial to 
 her; but she found that none came to her. Her 
 sister, who was a wiser woman than she, had 
 begun her married life with a definite idea, and 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTOK 
 
 255 
 
 had carried it out; but this poor creature found 
 lierself, as it were, stranded. When once she 
 had conceived it in her heart to feel anger against 
 her husband — and she had done so before they 
 had been a week together — there was no love to 
 bring her back to him again. She did not know 
 that it behooved her to look pleased when he en- 
 tered the room, and to make him at any rate 
 think that his presence gave her happiness. 
 She became gloomy before she reached her new 
 house, and never laid her gloom aside. He 
 would have made a struggle for some domestic 
 comfort had any seemed to be within his reach. 
 As it was, he struggled fftr domestic propriety, 
 believing that he might so best bolster up his 
 present lot in life. But the task became harder 
 and harder to him, and the gloom became denser 
 and more dense. He did not think of her un- 
 happiness, but of his own ; as she did not think 
 of his tedium, but of hers. " If this be domes- 
 tic felicity!" he would say to himself, as he sat 
 in his arm-chair, striving to fix his attention 
 upon a book. 
 
 "If this be the happiness of married life !" 
 she thought, as she remained listless, without 
 even the pretense of a book, behind her tea-cups. 
 In truth she would not walk with him, not carilig 
 for such exercise round the pavement of a Lon- 
 don square ; and he had resolutely determined 
 that she should not run him into debt for car- 
 riage hire. He was not a curmudgeon with his 
 money ; he was no miser. But he had found 
 that in manying an earl's daughter he had made 
 himself a poor man, and he was resolved that he 
 would not also be an embarrassed man. 
 
 When the bride heard that her mother and 
 sister were about to escape to Baden-Baden, 
 there rushed upon her a sudden hope that she 
 might be able to accompany the flight. She 
 would not be parted from he% husband, or at 
 least not so parted that the world should suppose 
 that they had quarreled. She would simply go 
 away and make a long visit — a very long visit. 
 Two years ago a sojourn with her mother and 
 Margaretta at Baden-Baden would not have of- 
 fered to her much that was attractive ;l3urnow, 
 in her eyes, such a life seemed to be a life in 
 Paradise. In truth, the tedium of those hours 
 in Princess Royal Crescent had been very heavy. 
 But how could she contrive that it should be 
 so? That conversation with her mother had 
 taken place on the day preceding the party, and 
 Lady De Courcy had repeated it with dismay to 
 Margaretta. 
 
 "Of course he would allow her an income," 
 Margaretta had coolly said. 
 
 "But, Tny dear, they have been married only 
 ten weeks." 
 
 " I don't see why any body is to be made ab- 
 , solutely wretched because they are married," 
 Margaretta answered. "I don't want to per- 
 suade her to leave him, but if what she says is 
 true it must be very uncomfortable." 
 
 Crosbie had consented to go to the party in 
 Portman Square, but had not greatly enjoyed 
 himself on that festive occasion. He had stood 
 
 about moodily, speaking hardly a word to any 
 one. His whole aspect of life seemed to have 
 been altered during the last few months. It was 
 here, in such spots as this that he had been used 
 to find his glory. On such occasions he had 
 shone with a peculiar light, making envious tlie 
 hearts of many who watched the brilliance, of 
 his career as they stood around in dull quies- 
 cence. But now no one in those rooms had 
 been more dull, more silent, or less courted than 
 he ; and yet he was established there as the son- 
 in-law of that noble house. ' ' Rather slow work ; 
 isn't it?" Gazebee bad said to him, having, 
 after many efforts, succeeded in reaching his 
 brother-in-law in a comer. In answer to this 
 Crosbie had only grunted. "As for myself," 
 continued Gazebee, "I would a deal sooner be 
 at home with my paper and slippers. It seems 
 to me these sort of gatherings don't suit married 
 men." Crosbie had again grunted, and had 
 then escaped into another corner. 
 
 Crosbie and his wife went home together in a 
 cab — speechless both of them. Alexandrina 
 hated cabs — but she had been plainly told that 
 in such vehicles, and in such vehicles only, could 
 she be allowed to travel. On the following morn- 
 ing he was at the breakfast-table punctually by 
 nine, but she did not make her appearance till 
 after he had gone to his office. Soon after that, 
 however, she was away to her mother and her 
 sister ; but she was seated grimly in her draw- 
 ing-room when he came in to see her, on his re- 
 turn to his house. Having said some word which 
 might be taken for a greeting, he was about to 
 retire ; but she stopped him with a request that 
 he would speak to her. 
 
 " Certainly," said he. " I was only going to 
 dress. It is nearly the half hour." 
 
 I won't keep you very long, and if dinner is 
 a few minutes late it won't signify. Mamma 
 and Margaretta are going to Baden-Baden." 
 " To Baden-Baden, are they ?" 
 "Yes; and they intend to remain there — for 
 a considerable time." There was a little pause, 
 and Alexandrina found it necessary to clear her 
 voice and to prepare herself for further speech 
 by a little cough. She was determined to make 
 her proposition, but was rather afraid of the man- 
 ner in which it might be first received; 
 
 " Has any thing happened at Courcy Castle?" 
 Crosbie asked. 
 
 "No; thatis, yes; there may have been some 
 words between papa and mamma ; but I don't 
 quite know. That, however, does, not matter 
 now. Mamma is going, and purposes to remain 
 there for the rest of the year." 
 
 "And the house in town will be given up ?" 
 " 1 suppose so, but that will be as papa 
 chooses. Have you any objection to my going 
 with mamma?" 
 
 What a question to be asked by a bride of 
 ten weeks' standing! She had hardly been 
 above a month with her husband in her new 
 house, and she was now asking permission to 
 leave it, and to leave him also, for an indefinite 
 number of months — perhaps forever. But she 
 
266 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 showed no excitement as she made her request. 
 There was neither sorrow, nor regret, nor hope 
 in her face. She had not put on half the ani- 
 mation which she had once assumed in asking 
 for the use, twice a week, of a carriage done up 
 to look as though it were her own private pos- 
 session. Crosbie had then answered her with 
 great sternness, and she had wept when his re- 
 fusal was made certain to her. But there was 
 to be no weeping now. She meant to go — with 
 his permission if he would accord it, and with- 
 out it if he should refuse it. The question of 
 money was no doubt important, but Gazebee 
 should manage that — as he managed all those 
 things. 
 
 ' ' Going with them to Baden-Baden ?" said 
 Crosbis. ' ' For how long ? " 
 
 " Well ; it would be no use unless it were for 
 some time." 
 
 " For how long a time do you mean, Alexan- 
 drina ? Speak out what you really have to say. 
 For a month ?" 
 
 " Oh, m )re than that." 
 
 ' ' For two months, or six, or as long as they 
 may stay there?" 
 
 " We could settle that afterward, when I am 
 there." During all this time she did not once 
 look into his face, though he was looking hard 
 at her throughout. 
 
 " You mean," said he, " that you wish to go 
 away from me." 
 
 " In one sense it would be going away, cer- 
 tainly." 
 
 "But in the ordinary sense? is it not so? 
 When you talk of going to Baden-Baden for an 
 unlimited numbei: of months, have you any idea 
 of coming back again ?" 
 
 " Back to London, you mean ?" 
 
 "Back to me — to my house — to your duties 
 as a wife ! Why can not you say at once what 
 it is you want ? You wisli to be separated from 
 me?" 
 
 "lam not happy here — in this house. " 
 
 " And who chose the house ? Did I want to 
 come here? But it is not that. If you are 
 not happy here, what could you have in any 
 other house to make you happy ?" 
 
 ' ' If you were left alone in this room for seven 
 or eight hours at a time, without a soul to come 
 to you, you would know what I mean. And 
 even after that, it is not much better. You 
 never speak to me when you are here." 
 
 "Is it my fault that nobody comes to you? 
 The fact is, Alexandrina, that you will not rec- 
 oncile yourself to the manner of life which is 
 suitable to my income. You are wretched be- 
 cause you can not have yourself driven round 
 the Park. I can not find you a carriage, and 
 will not attempt to do so. You may go to 
 Baden-Baden if you please ; that is, if your 
 mother is willing to take you." 
 
 "Of course I must pay my own expenses," 
 said Alexandrina. But to this he made no an- 
 swer on the moment. As soon as he had given 
 his permission he had risen from his seat and 
 was going, and her last words only caught him 
 
 in the doorway. After all, would not this be 
 the cheapest arrangement that he could make ? 
 As he went through his calculations he stood up 
 with his elbow on the mantle-piece in his dress- 
 ing-room. He had scolded his wife because 
 she had been unhappy with him ;. but had he 
 not been quite as unhappy with her? Would 
 it not be better that they should part in this 
 quiet, half- unnoticed way ; that they should 
 part and never again come together? He was 
 lucky in this, that hitherto had come upon them 
 no prospect of any little Crosbie to mar the ad- 
 vantages of such an arrangement. If he gave 
 her four hundred a year, and allowed Gazebee 
 two more toward the paying off of encumbrances, 
 he would still have six on which to enjoy him- 
 self in London. Of course he could not live as 
 he had lived in those happy days before his mar- 
 riage, nor, independently of the cost, would such 
 a mode of life be within his reach. But he 
 might go to his club for his dinners ; he might 
 smoke his cigar in luxury ; he would not be 
 bound to that wooden home which, in spite of 
 all his resolutions, had become almost unendur- 
 able to him. So he made his calculations, and 
 found that it would be well that his bride should 
 go. He would give over his house and furni- 
 ture to Gazebee, allowing Gazebee to do as he 
 would about that. To be once more a bache- 
 lor, in lodgings, with six hundred a year to 
 spend on himself, seemed to him now such a 
 prospect of happiness that he almost became 
 light-hearted as he dressed himself. He would 
 let her go to Baden-Baden. 
 
 There was nothing said about it at dinner, 
 nor did he mention the subject again till the 
 servant had left the tea-things on the drawing- 
 room table. "You can go with your mother 
 if you like it," he then said. 
 
 " I think it will be best," she answered. 
 
 " Perhaps it will. At any rate you shall suit 
 yourself." 
 
 " And about money ?" 
 
 ' ' You had better leave me to speak to Gaze- 
 bee about that." 
 
 "Very well. Will yon have some tea?" And 
 then the whole thing was finished. 
 
 On the next day she went after lunch to her 
 mother's house, and never came back again to 
 Princess Eoyal Crescent. During that morn- 
 ing she packed up those things which she cared 
 to pack herself, and sent her sisters there, with 
 an old family servant, to bring away whatever 
 else might be supposed to belong to her. "Dear, 
 dear," said Amelia, " what trouble I had in get- 
 ting these things together for them, and only 
 the other day ! I can't but think she's wrong 
 to go away." 
 
 "I don't know," said Margaretta. "She has 
 not been so lucky as you have in the man she 
 has married. I always felt that she would find 
 it difficult to manage him." 
 
 "But, my dear, she has not tried. She has 
 given up at once. It isn't management that 
 was wanting. The fact is that when Alexan- 
 drina began she didn't make up her mind to the 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 kind of thing she was coming to. I did. I 
 knew it wasn't to be all party-going and that 
 sort of thing. But I must own that Crosbie 
 isn't the same sort of man as Mortimer. I don't 
 think I could have gone on with him. You 
 might as well have those small books put up ; 
 he won't care about them." And in this way 
 Crosbie's house was dismantled. 
 
 She saw him no more, for he made no fare- 
 well visit to the house in Portman Square. A 
 note had been brought to him at his office. "I 
 am here with mamma, and may as well say good- 
 by now. We start on Tuesday. If you wish to 
 write you can send your letters to the house- 
 keeper here. I hope you will make yourself 
 comfortable, and that you will be well. Yours 
 affectionately, A. C." He made no answer to 
 it, but went that day and dined at his club. 
 
 "I haven't seen you this age," said Mont- 
 gomerie Dobbs. 
 
 ' ' No. My wife is going abroad with her mo- 
 ther, and while she is away I shall come back 
 here again." 
 
 There was nothing more said to him, and no 
 one ever made any inquiry about his domestic 
 affairs. It seemed to him now as though he 
 had no friend sufSciently intimate with him to 
 ask him after his wife or family. She was gone, 
 and in a month's time he found himself again 
 in Mount Street — beginning the world with five 
 hundred a year, not six. For Mr. Gazebee, 
 when the reckoning came, showed him that a 
 larger income at the present moment was not 
 possible for him. The countess had for a long 
 time refused to let Lady Alexandrina go with 
 her on so small a pittance as four hundred and 
 fifty ; and then were there not the insurances to 
 be maintained ? 
 
 But I think he would have consented to ac- 
 cept his liberty with three hundred a year — so 
 great to him was the relief. 
 
 CHAPTER LVII. 
 
 LILIAN DALE VANQUISHES HER MOTHER. 
 
 Mrs. Dale had been present during the in- 
 terview in which John Eames had made his 
 prayer to her daughter, but she had said little or 
 nothing on that occasion. All her wishes had 
 been in favor of the suitor, but she had not dared 
 to express them, neither had she dared to leave 
 the room. It had been hard upon him to be 
 thus forced to declare his love in the presence of 
 a third person, but he had done it, and had gone 
 away with his answer. Then, when the thing 
 was over, Lily, without any communion with her 
 mother, took herself off, and was no more seen 
 till the evening hours had come on, in which it 
 was natural that they should he together again. 
 Mrs. Dale, when thus alone, had been able to 
 think of nothing but this new suit for her daugh- 
 ter's hand. If only it might be accomplished ! 
 If any words from her to Lily might be effica- 
 cious to such an end! And yet, hitherto, she 
 had been afraid almost to utter a word. 
 
 257 
 
 She knew that it was very difficult. She de- 
 clared to herself over and over that he had come 
 too soon — that the attempt had been made too 
 quickly after that other shipwreck. How was it 
 possible that the ship should put to sea again at 
 once, with all her timbers so rudely strained f 
 And yet, now that the attempt had been made, 
 now that Eames had uttered his request and been 
 sent away with an answer, she felt that she must 
 at once speak to Lily on the subject, if ever she 
 were to speak upon it. She thought that she 
 understood her child and all her feelings. She 
 recognized the violence of the shock which must 
 be encountered before Lily could be brought to 
 acknowledge such a change in her heart. But 
 if the thing could be done Lily would be a hap- 
 py woman. When once done it would be in all 
 respects a blessing. And if it were not done, 
 might not Lily's life be blank, lonely, and love- 
 less to the end ? Yet when Lily came down in 
 the evening, with some light, half-joking word 
 on her lips, as was usual to her, Mrs. Dale was 
 still afraid to venture upon her task. 
 
 " I suppose, mamma, we may consider it as 
 a settled thing that every thing must be again 
 unpacked, and that the lodging scheme will be 
 given up." 
 
 "I don't know that, my dear." 
 
 " Oh, but I do — after what yon said just now. 
 What geese every body will think us !" 
 
 "I shouldn't care a bit for that, if we didn't 
 think ourselves geese, or if your uncle did not 
 think us so." 
 
 " I believe he would think we were swans. 
 If I had ever thought he would be so muph in 
 earnest about it, or that he would ever have 
 cared about our being here, I would never have 
 voted for going. But he is so strange. He is 
 affectionate when ho ought to be angry, and 
 ill-natured when he ought to be gentle and 
 kind." 
 
 " He has, at any rate, given us reason to feel 
 sure of his affection. " 
 
 "For us girls I never doubted it. But, 
 mamma, I don't think I could face Mrs. Boyce. 
 Mrs. Hearn and Mrs. Crump would be very 
 bad, and Hopkins would come down upon us 
 terribly when he found that we had given way. 
 But Mrs. Boyce would be worse than any of 
 them. Can't you fancy the tone of her con- . 
 gratnlations?" 
 
 " I think I should survive Mrs. Boyce." 
 
 "Ah, yes; because we should have to go 
 and tell her. I know your cowardice of old, 
 mamma ; don't I ? And Bell wouldn't care a 
 bit, because of her lover. Mrs. Boyce will he 
 nothing to her. It is I that must bear it all. 
 Well, I don't mind ; I'll vote for staying if you 
 will promise to be happy here. Oh, mamma, 
 I'll vote for any thing if you will he happy." 
 
 ' ' And will you be happy ?" 
 
 " Yes ; as happy as the day is long. Only I 
 know we shall never see Bell. People never do 
 see each other when they live just at that dis- 
 tance. It's too near for long visits,- and too fai- 
 for short visits. I'll tell yon what ; we might 
 
258 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 make arrangements each to walk half-way, and 
 meet at the corner of Lord De Guest's wood. 
 I wonder whetheir they'd let us put up a seat 
 there. I think we might have a little house 
 and carry sandwiches and a bottle of beer. 
 Couldn't we see something of each other in that 
 way ?" 
 
 Thus it came to be the fixed idea of both of 
 them that they would abandon their plan of 
 migrating to Guestwick, and on this subject 
 they continued to talk over their tea-table ; but 
 on that evening Mrs. Dale ventured to say no- 
 thing about John Eames. 
 
 But they did not even yet dare to commence 
 the work of reconstructing their old home. Bell 
 must come back before they would do that, and 
 the express assent of the squire must be formally 
 obtained. Mrs. Dale must, in a degree, acknowl- 
 edge herself Id have been wrong, and ask to be 
 forgiven for her contumacy. 
 
 ' ' I suppose the three of us had better go up 
 in sackcloth, and throw ashes on our foreheads 
 as we meet Hopkins in the garden," said Lily, 
 "and then I know he'll heap coals of fire on our 
 heads by sending us an early dish of pease. And 
 Dingles would bring us in a pheasant, only that 
 pheasants don't grow in May." 
 
 " If the sackcloth doesn't take an unpleasant- 
 er shape than that I sha'n't mind it." 
 
 "That's because you've got no delicate feel- 
 ings. And then uncle Christopher's gratitude !" 
 
 "Ah! I shall feel that." 
 
 "But, mamma, we'll wait till Bell comes 
 home. She shall decide. She is going away, 
 and therefore she'll be free from prejudice. If 
 uncle ofi'ers to paint the house — and I know he 
 will — then I shall be humbled to the dust." 
 
 But yet Mrs. Dale had said nothing on the 
 subject which was nearest to her heart. When 
 Lily in pleasantry had accused her of cowardice 
 her mind had instantly gone off to that other 
 matter, and she had told herself that she was a 
 coward. Why should she be afraid of offering 
 her counsel to her own child ? It seemed to 
 her as though she had neglected some duty in 
 allowing Crosbie's conduct to have passed away 
 without hardly a word of comment on it between 
 herself and Lily. Should she not have forced 
 upon her daughter's conviction the fact that 
 • Crosbie had been a villain, and as such should 
 be discarded from her heart? As it was, Lily 
 had spoken the simple truth when she told John 
 Eames that she was dealing more openly with 
 him on that affair of her engagement than she 
 had ever dealt, even with her mother. Think- 
 ing of this as she sat in her own room that 
 night before she allowed herself to rest, Mrs. 
 Dale resolved that on the next morning she 
 would endeavor to make Lily see as she saw, 
 and think as she thought. 
 
 She let breakfast pass by before she began 
 her task, and even then she did not rush at it at 
 once. Lily sat herself down to her work when 
 the tea-cups were taken away, and Mrs. Dale 
 went down to her kitchen as was her wont. It 
 was nearly eleven before she seated herself in 
 
 the parlor, and even then she got "her work-box 
 before her and took out her needle. 
 
 " I wonder how Bell gets on with Lady Julia," 
 said Lily. 
 
 " Very well, I'm sure." 
 
 "Lady Julia won't bite her, I know, and I 
 suppose her dismay at the tall footmen has 
 passed off by this time." 
 
 "I don't know that they have any tall foot- 
 men." 
 
 ' ' Short footmen then — ^you know what I 
 mean ; all the noble belongings. They must 
 startle one at first, I'm sure, let one determine 
 ever so much not to be startled. It's a veiy 
 mean thing, no doubt, to be afraid of a lord 
 merely because he is a lord ; yet I'm sure I 
 should be afraid at first, even of Lord De 
 Guest, if I were staying in the house." 
 
 "It's well you didn't go, then." 
 
 "Yes, I think it is. Bell is of a firmer 
 mind, and I dare say she'll get over it after the 
 first day. But what on earth does she do there ? 
 I wonder whether they mend their stockings in 
 such a house as that." 
 
 " Not in public, I should think." 
 
 " In very grand houses they throw them away 
 at once, I suppose. I've often thought about it. 
 Do you believe the Prime Minister ever has his 
 shoes sent to a cobbler?" 
 
 " P%rhaps a regular shoemaker will conde- 
 scend to mend a Prime Minister's. shoes." 
 
 "You think they are mended, then? But 
 who orders it ? Does he see himself when 
 there's a little hole coming, as I do ? Does an 
 archbishop allow himself so many pairs of 
 gloves in a year?" 
 
 "Not very strictly, I should think." 
 
 "Then I suppose it comes to this, that he 
 has a new pair whenever he wants them. But 
 what constitutes the want? Does he ever say 
 to himself that they'll do for another Sunday? 
 I remember the bishop coming here once, and 
 he had a hole at the end of his thumb. I was 
 going to be confirmed, and I remember thinking 
 that he ought to have been smarter." 
 
 " Why didn't you offer to mend it?" 
 
 "I shouldn't have dared for all the world." 
 
 The conversation had commenced itself in a 
 manner that did not promise much assistance 
 to Mrs. Dale's project. When Lily got upon 
 any subject she was not easily induced to leave 
 it, and when her mind had twisted itself in one 
 direction it was difficult to untwist it. She 
 was now bent on a consideration of the smaller 
 social habits of the high and mighty among us, 
 and was asking her mother whether she sup- 
 posed that the royal children ever carried half- 
 pence in their pockets, or descended so low as 
 fourpenny bits. 
 
 " I suppose they have pockets like other chit 
 dren," said Lily. 
 
 But her mother stopped her suddenly : 
 
 " Lily, dear, I want to say something to you 
 about John Eames." 
 
 "Mamma, I'd sooner talk about the Royal 
 Family just at present." 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 259 
 
 _ "But, dear, you must forgive me if I per- 
 sist. I have thought much about it, and I'm 
 sure you will not oppose me when I am doing 
 what I think to be my duty." 
 
 " No, mamma ; I won't oppose you, certain- 
 ly." 
 
 "Since Mr. Crosbie's conduct was made 
 known to you I have mentioned his name in 
 your hearing very seldom. " 
 
 "No, mamma, you have not. And I have 
 loved you so deai-ly for your goodness to me. 
 Do not think that I have not understood and 
 known how generous you have been. No other 
 mother ever was so good as you have been. I 
 have known it all and thought of it every day 
 of my life, and thanked you in my heart for 
 your trusting silence. Of course I understand 
 your feelings. You think him bad, and you 
 hate him for what he has done." 
 
 " I would not willingly hate any one, Lily." 
 
 "Ah, but you do hate him. If I were you I 
 should hate him ; but I am not you, and I love 
 him. I pray for his happiness every night and 
 morning, and for hers. I have forgiven him al- 
 together, and I think that he was right. When 
 I am old enough to do so without being wrong 
 I will go to him and tell him so. I should like 
 to hear of all his doings and all his success, if 
 it were only possible. How, then, can you and 
 I talk about him ? It is impossible. You have 
 been silent, and I have been silent ; let us re- 
 main silent." 
 
 "It is not about Mr. Crosbie that I wish to 
 
 ■ speak. But I think you ought to understand 
 
 that conduct such as his will be rebuked by aU 
 
 the world. You may forgive him, but you 
 
 should acknowledge — " 
 
 "Mamma, I don't want to acknowledge any 
 thing — not about him. There are things as to 
 which a person can not argue." Mrs. Dale felt 
 that this present matter was one as to which 
 she could not argue. "Of course, "mamma," 
 continued Lily, ' ' I don't want to oppose you in 
 any thing, but I think we had better be silent 
 about this." 
 
 " Of course I am thinking only of your future 
 
 ' I know you are ; but pray believe me that 
 you need not be alarmed. I do not mean to 
 be unhappy. Indeed, I think I may say I am 
 not unhappy ; of course I have been unhappy — 
 very unhappy. I did think that my heart would 
 break. But that has passed away, and I believe 
 I can be as happy as my neighbors. We're all 
 of us sure to have some troubles, as you used to 
 tell us when we were children." 
 
 Mrs. Dale felt that she had begun wrong, 
 and that she would have been able to make 
 better progress had she omitted all mention of 
 Crosbie's name. She knew exactly what it was 
 that she wished to say — what were the argu- 
 ments which she desired to expottnd before her 
 daughter ; but she did not know what language 
 to use, or how she might best put her thoughts 
 into words. She paused for a while, and Lily 
 went on with her work as though the conversa- 
 
 tion was over. But the conversation was not 
 over. 
 
 " It was about John Eames, and not about 
 Mr. Crosbie, that I wished to speak to you." 
 
 " Oh, mamma !" 
 
 " My dear, you must not hinder me in doing 
 what I think to be a duty. I heard what he 
 said to you and what you replied, and of course 
 I can not but have my mind full of the subject. 
 Why should you set yourself against him in so 
 fixed a manner?" 
 
 " Because I love another man." These words 
 she spoke out loud, in a steady, almost dogged 
 tone, with a certain show of audacity — as though 
 aware that the declaration was unseemly, but re- 
 solved that, though unseemly, it must be made. 
 
 "But, Lily, that love, from its very nature, 
 must cease ; or, rather, such love is not the same 
 as that you felt when you thought that you were 
 to be his wife. " 
 
 " Yes, it is.: If she died, and he came to me 
 in five years' time, I would still take him. I 
 should think myself constrained to take him." 
 
 " But she is not dead, nor likely to die." 
 
 " That , makes no difference. You don't un- 
 derstand me, mamma." 
 
 " I think I do, and I want you to understand 
 me also. I know how difficult is your position ; 
 I know what your feelings are ; but I know this 
 also, that if you could reason with yourself, and 
 bring yourself in time to receive John Eames 
 as a dear friend — " 
 
 "I did receive him as a dear friend. Why 
 not ? He is a dear friend. I love him heartily 
 — as you do. " 
 
 "You know what I mean?" 
 
 " Yes, I do ; and I tell you it is impossible." 
 
 "If you would make the attempt, all this 
 misery would soon be forgotten. If once you 
 could bring yourself to regard him as a friend 
 who might become your husband, all this would 
 be changed, and I should see you happy." 
 
 "You are strangely anxious to be rid of me, 
 mamma!" 
 
 . "Yes, Lily; to be rid of you in that way. 
 If I could see you put your hand in his as his 
 promised wife, I think that I should be the hap- 
 piest woman in the world." 
 
 " Mamma, I can not make you happy in that 
 way. If you really understood my feelings, my 
 doing as you propose would make yon very un- 
 happy. I should commit a great sin — the sin 
 against which women should be more guarded 
 than against any other. In my heart I am 
 married to that other man. I gave myself to 
 him, and loved him, and rejoiced in his love. 
 When he kissed me I kissed him again, and I 
 longed for his kisses. I seemed to live only 
 that he might cai'ess me. All that time I never 
 felt myself to be wrong, because he was all in all 
 tome. I was his own. That has been changed, 
 to my great misfortune ; but it can not be un- 
 done or forgotten. I can not be the givl I was 
 before he came here. There are things that 
 will not have themselves buried and put out of 
 sight, as though they had never been. I am as 
 
260 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 you are, mamma, widowed. But you have your 
 daughter, and I have my mother. If you will 
 be contented, so will I." Then she got up and 
 threw herself on her mother's neck. 
 
 Mrs. Dale's argument was over now. To 
 such an appeal as that last made by Lily no re- 
 joinder on her part was possible. After that 
 she was driven to acknowledge to herself that 
 she must be silent. Years as they rolled on 
 might make a change, but no reasoning could 
 be of avail. She embraced her daughter, weep- 
 ing over her, whereas Lily's eyes were dry. "It 
 shall be as you will," Mrs. Dale murmured. 
 
 ' ' Yes, as I will. I shall have my own way ; 
 shall I not ? That is all I want ; to be a tyrant 
 over you, and make you do my bidding in ev- 
 ery thing, as a well-behaved mother should do. 
 But I won't be stern in my orderings. If you 
 will only be obedient, I will be so gracious to 
 you ! 'There's Hopkins again ; I wonder wheth- 
 er he has come to knock us down and trample 
 upon us with another speech." 
 
 Hopkins knew very well to which window 
 he must come, as only one of the rooms was 
 at the present time habitable. He came up to 
 the dining-room, and almost flattened his nose 
 against the glass. 
 
 " Well, Hopkins," said Lily, "here we are." 
 Mrs. Dale had turned her face away, for she 
 knew that the tears were still on her cheek. 
 
 "Yes, Miss, I see you. I want to speak to 
 your mamma, Miss." 
 
 "Come round," said Lily, anxious to spare 
 her mother the necessity of showing herself at 
 once. " It's too cold to open the window ; come 
 round, and I'll open the door." 
 
 "Too cold!" muttered Hopkins, as he went. 
 "They'll find it a deal colder in lodgings at 
 Guestwick." However, he went round through 
 the kitchen, and Lily met him in the hall. 
 
 "Well, Hopkins, what is it? Mamma has 
 got a headache." 
 
 "Got a headache, has she? I won't make 
 her headache no worse. It's my opinion that 
 there's nothing for a headache so good as fresh 
 air. Only some people can't abear to be blowed 
 upon, not for a minute. If you don't let down 
 the lights in a green-house more or less every 
 day, you'll never get any plants — never ; and it's 
 just the same with the grapes. Is I to go back 
 and say as how I couldn't see her?" 
 
 " You can come in if you like ; only be quiet, 
 you know." 
 
 " Ain't I oUays quiet. Miss? Did any body 
 ever hear me rampage ? If you please, ma'am, 
 the squire's come home." 
 
 "What, home from Guestwick? Has he 
 brought Miss Bell?" 
 
 " He ain't brought none but hisself, 'cause he 
 come on horseback ; and it's my belief he's going 
 back almost immediate. But he wants you to 
 come to him, Mrs. Dale." 
 
 "Oh yes, I'll come at once." 
 
 " He bade me say with his kind love. I don't 
 know whether that makes any difference." 
 
 "At any rate I'll come, Hopkins." 
 
 " And I ain't to say nothing about the head- 
 ache?" 
 
 "About what?" said Mrs. Dale. 
 
 "No, no, no," said Lily. "Mamma will be 
 there at once. Go and tell my uncle — there's a 
 good man," and she put up her hand and backed 
 him out of the room. 
 
 " I don't believe she's got no headache at all," 
 said Hopkins, grumbling, as he returned through 
 the back premises. " What lies gentlefolks do 
 tell ! If I said I'd a headache when I ought to 
 be out among the things what would they say 
 to me ? But a poor man mustn't never lie, nor 
 yet drink, nor yet do nothing." And so he went 
 back with his message. 
 
 " What can have brought your uncle home?" 
 said Mrs. Dale. 
 
 "Just to look after the cattle, and to see that 
 the pigs are not all dead. My wonder is that 
 he should ever have gone away. " 
 
 " I must go up to him at once." 
 
 "Oh yes, of course." 
 
 "And what shall I say about the house ?" 
 
 " It's not about that, at least I think not. I 
 don't think he'll speak about that again till you 
 speak to him." 
 
 " But if he does ?" 
 
 "You must put your trust In Providence. 
 Declare you've got a bad headache, as I told 
 Hopkins just now ; only you would throw me 
 over by not understanding. I'll walk with you 
 down to the bridge. " So they went off together 
 across the lawn. 
 
 But Lily was soon left alone, and continued 
 her walk, waiting for her mother's return. As 
 she went round and round the gravel paths she 
 thought of the words that she had said to her 
 mother. She had declared that she also was 
 widowed. " And so it should be," she said, de- 
 bating the matter with herself. " What can a 
 heart be worth if it can be transferred hither and 
 thither as*-circumstances and convenience and 
 comfort may require ? When he held me here in 
 his arms" — and, as the thoughts ran through her 
 brain, she remembered the very spot on which 
 they had stood — "oh, my love!" she had said 
 to him then as she returned his kisses — " oh, 
 my love, my love, my love!" "When he held 
 me here in his arms, I told myself that it was 
 right, because he was my husband. He has 
 changed, but I have not. It might be that I 
 should have ceased to love him, and then I 
 should have told him so. I should have done 
 as he did." But, as she came to this, she shud- 
 dered, thinking of the Lady Alexandrina. " It 
 was very quick," she said, still speaking to her- 
 self; "very, very. But then men are not the 
 same as women." And she walked on eagerly, 
 hardly remembering where she was, thinking 
 over it all, as she did daily ; remembering ev- 
 ery little thought and word of those few eventful 
 months in which she had learned to regard Cros- 
 bie as her husband and master. She had de- 
 clared that she had conquered herunhappiness ; 
 but there were moments in which she was al- 
 most wild with misery. "Tell me to forget 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTOW. 
 
 261 
 
 him!" she said. "It is the one thing which 
 will never be forgotten." 
 
 At last she heard her mother's step coming 
 down across the squire's garden, and she took 
 up her post at the bridge. 
 
 " Stand and deliver," she said, as her mo- 
 ther put her foot upon the plank. " That is, if 
 you've got any thing worth delivering. Is any 
 thing settled ?" 
 
 " Come up to the house," said Mrs. Dale, 
 "and I'll tell you all." 
 
 CHAPTEE LVIII. 
 
 THE FATE OP THE SMALL HOnSE. 
 
 There was something in the tone of Mrs. 
 Dale's voice, as she desil-ed her daughter to 
 come up to the house, and declared that her 
 budget of news should be opened there, which at 
 once silenced Lily's assumed pleasantry. Her 
 mother had been away fully two hours, during 
 which Lily had still continued her walk round 
 the garden, till at last she had become impatient 
 for her mother's footstep. Something serious 
 must have been said between her uncle and her 
 mother during those long two hours. The in- 
 terviews to which Mrs. Dale was occasionally 
 summoned at the Great House did not usually 
 exceed twenty minutes, and the upshot would 
 be communicated to the girls in a turn or two 
 round the garden ; but in the present instance 
 Mrs. Dale positively declined to speak till she 
 was seated within the house. 
 
 "Did he come over on purpose to see you, 
 mamma ?" 
 
 " Yes, my dear, I believe so. He wished to 
 
 see you, too ; but I asked his permission to post- 
 pone that till after I had talked to you." 
 
 " To see me, mamma ? About what ?" 
 
 "To kiss you, and bid you love him ; solely 
 for that. He has not a word to say to you that 
 will vex you." 
 
 " Then I will kiss him, and love him too." 
 
 "Yes, you will when I have told you all. I 
 have promised him solemnly to give up all idea 
 of going to Guest^ick. So that is over." 
 
 " Oh, oh! And we may begin to unpack at 
 once ? What an episode in one's life ! " 
 
 " "We may certainly unpack, for I have pledged 
 myself to him ; and he is to go into Guestwick 
 himself and an-ange about the lodgings." 
 
 "Does Hopkins know it?" 
 
 " I should think not yet." 
 
 ' ' Nor Mrs. Boyce ! Mamma, I don't believe 
 I shall be able to survive this next week. We 
 shall look such fools ! I'll tell you what we'll 
 do — it will be the only comfort I can have — we'll 
 go to work and get every thing back into its place 
 before Bell comes home, so as to surprise her." 
 
 "What! in two days?" 
 
 "Why not? I'll make Hopkins come and 
 help, and then he'll not be so bad. I'll begin 
 at once and go to the blankets and beds, because 
 I can undo them myself." 
 
 " But I haven't half told you all ; and; in- 
 deed, I don't know how to make you understand 
 what passed between us. He is very unhappy 
 about Bernard. Bernard has determined to go 
 abroad, and may be away for years." 
 
 "One can hardly blame a man for following 
 up his profession." 
 
 " There was no blaming. He only said that 
 it was very sad for him that, in his old age, he 
 should be left alone. This was before there was 
 any talk about our remaining. Indeed he seem- 
 ed determined not to ask that again as a favor. 
 I could see that in his eye, and I understood it 
 from his tone. He went on to speak of you and 
 Bell, saying how well he loved you both ; but 
 that, unfortunately, his hopes regarding you had 
 not been fulfilled." 
 
 "Ah, but he shouldn't have had hopes of that 
 sort." 
 
 "Listen, my dear, and I think that you will 
 not feel angry with him. He said that he felt 
 his house had never been pleasant to you. Then 
 there followed words which I could not repeat, 
 even if I could remember them. He said much 
 about myself, regretting that the feeling between 
 us had not been more kindly. 'But my heart,' 
 he said, 'has ever been kinder than my words.' 
 Then I got up from where I was seated, and go- 
 ing oVer to him, I told him that we would re- 
 main here." 
 
 "And what did he say?" 
 " I don't know what he said. I know that I 
 was crying and that he kissed me. It was the 
 first time in his life. I know that he was pleased 
 — beyond measure pleased. After a while he 
 became animated, and talked of doing ever so 
 many things. He promised that very painting 
 of which you spoke. " 
 
262 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 "Ah, yes, I know it; and Hopkins will be 
 here with the pease before dinner-time to-mor- 
 row, and Dingles with his shoulders smothered 
 with rabbits. And then Mrs. Boyce! Mam- 
 ma, he didn't think of Mrs. Boyfie ; or, in very 
 charity of heart, he would still have maintained 
 his sadness." 
 
 "Then he did not think of her; for when I 
 left him he was not at all sad. But I haven't 
 told you half yet." 
 
 "Dear me, mamma; was there more than 
 that?" 
 
 "And I've told it all wrong; for what I've 
 got to tell now was said before a word was spoken 
 about the house. He brought it in just after 
 what he said about Bernard. He said that Ber- 
 nard would, of course, be his heir. " 
 
 " Of course he will." 
 
 "And that he should think it wrong to en- 
 cumber the property with any charges for you 
 girls." 
 
 " Mamma, did any one ever — " 
 
 " Stop, Lily, stop ; and make your heart 
 kinder toward him if you can." 
 
 "It is kind; only I hate to be told that I'm 
 not to have a lot of money, as though I had 
 ever shown a desire for it. I have never envied 
 Bernard his man-servant, or his maid-servant, 
 or his ox, or his ass, or any thing that is his. 
 To tell the truth I didn't even wish it to be 
 Bell's, because I knew well that there was some- 
 body she would like a great deal better than 
 ever she could like Bernard." 
 
 "I shall never get to the end of my story." 
 
 "Tes, yon will, mamma, if you persevere." 
 
 "The long and short of it is this, that he 
 has given Bell three thousand pounds, and has 
 given you three thousand also." 
 
 "But why me, mamma?" said Lily, and the 
 color of her cheeks became red as she spoke. 
 There should if possible be nothing more said 
 about John Eames ; but whatever might or 
 might not be the necessity of speaking, at any 
 rate let there be no mistake. " But why me, 
 mamma ?" 
 
 "Because, as he explained to me, he thinks 
 it right to do the same by each of you. The 
 money is yours at this moment — to buy hair- 
 pins with, if you please. I had no idea that he 
 could command so large a sum." 
 
 "Three thousand pounds! The last money 
 he gave me was half a crown, and I thought 
 that he was so stingy ! I particularly wanted 
 ten shillings. I should have liked it so much 
 better now if he had given me a nice new five- 
 pound note." 
 
 " You'd better tell him so." 
 
 "No; because then he'd give me that too. 
 But with five pounds I should have the feeling 
 that I might do what I liked with it ; buy a 
 dressing-ease, and a thing for a squirrel to run 
 round in. But nobody ever gives girls money 
 like that so that they can enjoy it." 
 
 " Oh, Lily ; you ungrateful child !" 
 
 "No, I deny it. I'm ijot ungrateful. I'm 
 very grateful, because his heart was softened. 
 
 and because he cried and kissed you. I'll be 
 ever so good to him ! But how I'm to thank 
 him for giving me three thousand pounds I can 
 not think. It's a sort of thing altogether be- 
 yond my line of life. It sounds like something 
 that's to come to me in another world, but which 
 I don't want quite yet. I am grateful, but with 
 a misty, mazy sort of gratitude. Can you tell 
 me how soon I shall have a new pair of Balmoral 
 boots because of this money? If that were 
 brought home to me I think it would enliven 
 my gratitude. " 
 
 The squire, as he rode back to Guestwick, 
 fell again from that animation which Mrs. Dale 
 had described into his natural sombre mood. 
 He thought much of his past life, declaring to 
 himself the truth of those words in which he 
 had told his sister-in-law that his heai-t had ever 
 been kinder than his words. But the world, 
 and all those nearest to him in the world, had 
 judged him always by his words rather than by 
 his heart. They had taken the appearance, 
 which he could not command or alter, rather 
 than the facts, of which he had been the mas- 
 ter. Had he not been good to all his relations? 
 — and yet was there one among them that cared 
 for him ? " I'm almost sorry that they are go- 
 ing to stay," he said to himself; " I know that 
 I shall disappoint them." Yet when he met 
 Bell at the Manor-house he accosted her cheeri- 
 ly, telling her with much appearance of satis- 
 faction that that flitting into Guestwick was not 
 to be accomplished. 
 
 " I am so glad," said she. " It is long since 
 I wished it." 
 
 "And I do not think your mother wishes it 
 now." 
 
 ' ' I am sure she does not. It was all a mis- 
 understanding from the first. When some of 
 us could not do all that you wished, we thought 
 it better — " Then Bell paused, finding that 
 she would get herself into a mess if she perse- 
 vered. 
 
 "We will not say any more about it," said 
 the squire. "The thing is over, and I am very 
 glad that it should be so pleasantly settled. I 
 was talking to Dr. Crofts yesterday." 
 
 "Were you, uncle?" 
 
 "Yes ; and he is to come and stay with me 
 the day before he is married. We have ar- 
 ranged it all. And we'll have the breakfast up 
 at the Great House. Only you must fix the 
 day. I should say some time in March. And, 
 my dear, you'll want to make yourself fine; 
 here's a little money for you. You are to spend 
 that before your marriage, you know." 'Then 
 he shambled away, and as soon as he was alone 
 again became sad and despondent. He was a 
 man for whom we may predicate some gentle 
 sadness and continued despondency to the end 
 of his life's chapter. 
 
 We left John Eames in the custody of Lady 
 Julia, who had overtaken him in the act of 
 erasing Lily's name from the railing which ran 
 across the brook. He had been premeditating 
 an escape home to his mother's house in Guest- 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 263 
 
 wick, and thence back to London, without mak- 
 ing any further appearance at the Manor-house. 
 But as soon as he heard Lady Julia's step, and 
 saw her figure close upon him, he knew that his 
 retreat was cut off from him. So he allowed 
 himself to be led away quietly up to the house. 
 With Lady Julia herself Be openly discussed 
 the whole matter— telling her that his hopes 
 were over, his happiness gone, and his heart 
 ''half-broken. Though he would perhaps have 
 cared but little for her congratulations in suc- 
 cess, he could make himself more amenable to 
 consolation and sympathy from her than from 
 any other inmate in the earl's house. " I don't 
 know what I shall say to your brother," he 
 whispered to her, as they approached the side 
 door at which she intended to enter. 
 
 "Will you let me break it to him? After 
 that he will say a few words to you of course, 
 but you need not be afraid of him." 
 
 "And Mr. Dale?" said Johnny. "Every 
 body has heard about it. Every body will know 
 what a fool I have made myself." She suggest- 
 ed that the earl should speak to the squire, as- 
 sured him that nobody would think him at all 
 foolish, and then left him to make his way up 
 to his own bedroom. When there he found a 
 letter from Cradell, which had been delivered in 
 his absence ; but the contents of that letter may 
 best be deferred to the next chapter. They were 
 not of a nature to give him comfort or to add 
 to his sorrow. 
 
 About an hour before dinner there was a 
 knock at his door, and the earl himself, when 
 summoned, made his appearance in the room. 
 He was dressed in his usual farming attire, hav- 
 ing been caught by Lady Julia on his first ap- 
 proach to the house, and had come away direct 
 to his young friend, after having been duly train- 
 ed in what he ought to say by his kind-hearted 
 sister. I am not, however, prepared to declare 
 that he strictly followed his sister's teaching in 
 all that he said upon the occasion. 
 
 "Well, my boy," he began, "so the young 
 lady has been perverse." 
 
 " Yes, my loi'd. That is, I don't know about 
 being perverse. It is all over. " 
 
 "That's as may be, Johnny. As far as I 
 know not half of them accept their lovers the 
 first time of asking." 
 
 " I shall not ask her again.'' 
 
 "Oh yes, you will. You don't mean to say 
 you are angry with her for refusing you ?" 
 
 " Not in the least. 1 have no right to be an- 
 gry. I am only angry with myself for being 
 such a fool, Lord De Guest. I wish I had been 
 dead before I came down here on this errand. 
 Now I think of it, I know there are so many 
 things which ought to have made me sure how 
 it would be." 
 
 " I don't see that at all. You come down 
 again — let me see — it's May now. Say you 
 come when the shooting begins in September. 
 If we can't get you leave of absence in any other 
 way, we'll make old Buffle come too. Only, by 
 George, I 'believe he'd Shoot us all. But never 
 
 mind ; we'll manage that. You keep up your 
 spirits till September, and then we'll fight the 
 battle in another way. The squire shall get up 
 a little party for the bride, and my lady Lily 
 must go then. You shall meet her so ; and 
 then we'll shoot over the squire's land. We'll 
 bring you together so; you see if we don't. 
 Lord bless me ! Refused once ! My belief is, 
 that in these days a girl thinks nothing of a man 
 till she has refused him half a dozen times." 
 
 " I don't think Lily is at aU like that." 
 
 " Look here, Johnny. I have not a word to 
 say against Miss Lily. I like her very, much, 
 and think her one of the nicest girls I know. 
 When she's your wife I'll love her dearly, if 
 she'll let me. But she's made of the same stuff 
 as other girls, and will act in the same way. 
 Things have gone a little astray among you, 
 and they won't right themselves all in a minute. 
 She knows now vrhpt your feelings are, and 
 she'll go on thinking of it, till at last you'll be 
 in her thoughts more than that other fallow. 
 Don't tell me about her becoming an old maid 
 because at her time of life she has been so un- 
 fortunate'as to come across a false-hearted man 
 like that. It may take a little time; but if you'll 
 carry on and not be down-hearted, you'll find 
 it will all come right in the end. Every body 
 doesn't get all that they want in a minute. How 
 I shall quiz you about all this when you have 
 been two or three years married!" 
 
 "I don't think I shall ever be able to ask her 
 again ; and I feel sure, if I do, that her answer 
 will be the same. She told me in so many 
 words — ; but never mind, I can not repeat her 
 words." 
 
 "I don't want you to repeat them; nor yet 
 to heed them beyond their worth. Lily Dale is 
 a very pretty girl ; clever, too, I believe, and 
 good, I'm sure ; but her words are not more sa- 
 cred than those of other men or women. What 
 she has said to you now she means, no doubt ; 
 but the minds of men and women are prone to 
 change, especially when such changes are con- 
 ducive to their own happiness." 
 
 "At any rate I'll never forget your kindness, 
 Lord De Guest." 
 
 "And there is one other thing I want to say 
 to you, Johnny. A man should never allow 
 himself to be cast down by any thing — not out- 
 wardly, to the eyes of other men." 
 
 "But how is he to help it ?" 
 
 "His pluck should prevent him. You were 
 not afraid of a roaring bull, nor yet of that man 
 when you thrashed him at the railway station. 
 You've pluck enough of that kind. You must 
 now show that you've that other kind of pluck. 
 You know the story of the boy who would not 
 cry though the wolf was gnawing him under- 
 neath his frock. Most of us have some wolf 
 to gnaw us somewhere; but we are generally 
 gnawed beneath our clothes, so that the world 
 doesn't see, and it behooves us so to bear it that 
 the world shall not suspect. The man who 
 goes about declaring himself to be miserable will 
 be not only miserable, but contemptible as well." 
 
264 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 " But the wolf hasn't gnawed me beneath my 
 clothes ; every body knows it." 
 
 "Then let those who do know it leavn that 
 yon are able to bear such wounds without out- 
 ward complaint. I tell you fairly that I can 
 not sympathize with a lackadaisical lover. " 
 
 "I know that I have made myself ridiculous 
 to every body. I wish I had never come here. 
 I wish you had never seen me." 
 
 "Don't say that, my dear boy; but take my 
 advice for what it is worth. And remember 
 wliat it is that I say ; with your grief I do sym- 
 pathize, but not with any outward expression of 
 it ; — not with melancholy looks, and a sad voice, 
 and an unhappy gait. A man should always 
 be able to drink his wine and seem to enjoy it. 
 If he can't, he is so much less of a man than he 
 would be otherwise — not so much more, as some 
 people seem to think. Now get yourself dressed, 
 my dear fellow, and come down to dinner as 
 though nothing had happened to you." 
 
 As soon as the earl was gone John looked at 
 his watch and saw that it still wanted some forty 
 minutes to dinner. Fifteen minutes would suf- 
 fice for him to dress, and therefore there was 
 time sufficient for him to seat himself in his 
 arm-chair and think over it all. He had for a 
 moment been very angry when his friend had 
 told him that he could not sympathize with a 
 lackadaisical lover. It was an ill-natured word. 
 He felt it to be so when he heard it, and so he 
 continued to think during the whole of the half 
 hour that he sat in that chair. But it probably 
 did him more good than any word that the earl 
 had ever spoken to him — or any other word that 
 he could have used. "Lackadaisical ! I'm not 
 lackadaisical," he said to himself, jumping up 
 from his chair, and instantly sitting down again. 
 "I didn't say any thing to him. I didn't tell 
 him. Why did he come to me?" And yet, 
 though he endeavored to abuse Lord De Guest 
 in his thoughts, he knew that Lord De Guest 
 was right, and that he was wrong. He knew 
 that he had been lackadaisical, and was ashamed 
 of himself; and at once resolved that he would 
 henctforth demean himself as though no calam- 
 ity had happened to him. "I've a good mind 
 to take him at his word, and drink wine till I'm 
 drunk." Then he strove to get up his courage 
 by a song. 
 
 If she be not fair "for me, 
 What cave I how — 
 
 "But I do care. What stuff it is a man 
 writing poetiy and putting itito it such lies as 
 that ! Every body knows that he did care — that 
 is, if he wasn't a heartless beast." 
 
 But nevertheless, when the time came for 
 him to go down into the drawing-room he did 
 make the effort which his friend had counseled, 
 and Walked into the room with less of that hang- 
 dog look than the earl and Lady Julia had ex- 
 pected. They were both there, as was also the 
 squire, and Bell followed him in less than a 
 minute. 
 
 "You haven't seen Crofts to-day, John, have 
 you?" said the earl. 
 
 " No ; I haven't been any where his way !" 
 
 " His way ! His ways are every way, I take 
 it. I wanted him to come and dine, but he 
 seemed to think it improper to eat two dinners 
 in the same house two days running. Isn't that 
 his theory, Miss Dale ?" 
 
 " I'm sure I dont know, Lord De Guest. At 
 any rate it isn't mine ?" 
 
 So they went to their feast, and before his 
 last chance was over John Eames found himself* 
 able to go through the pretense of enjoying his 
 roast mutton. 
 
 There can, I think, be no doubt that in all 
 such calamities as that which he was now suffer- 
 ing the agony of the misfortune is much in- 
 creased by the conviction that the facts of the 
 case are known to those round about the suffer- 
 er. A most warm-hearted and intensely-feeling 
 young gentleman might, no doubt, eat an excel- 
 lent dinner after being refused by the girl of his 
 devotions, provided that he had reason to be- 
 lieve that none of those in whose company he 
 ate it knew any thing of his rejection. But the 
 same warm-hearted and intensely-feeling young 
 gentleman would find it very difficult to go 
 through the ceremony with any appearance of 
 true appetite or gastronomic enjoyment, if he 
 were aware that all his convives knew all the 
 facts of his little misfortune. Generally, we 
 may suppose, a man in such condition goes to 
 his club for his dinner, or seeks consolation in 
 the shades of some adjacent Richmond or Hamp- 
 ton Court. There he meditates on his condi- 
 tion in silence, and does ultimately enjoy, his 
 little plate of whitebait, his cutlet, and his mod- 
 erate pint of sherry. He probably goes alone to 
 the theatre, and in his stall speculates with a 
 somewhat bitter sarcasm on the vanity of the 
 world. Then he returns home, sad indeed, but 
 with a moderated sadness, and as he puffs out 
 the smoke of his cigar at the open window — with 
 perhaps the comfort of a little brandy-and-water 
 at his elbow — swears to himself that, "By Jove, 
 he'll have another try for it." Alone, a man 
 may console himself, or among a crowd of un- 
 conscious mortals ; hut it must be admitted that 
 the position of John Eames was severe. He 
 had been invited down there to woo Lily Dale, 
 and the squire and Bell had been asked to be 
 present at the wooing. Had it all gone well 
 nothing could have been nicer. He would have 
 been the hero of the hour, and every body would 
 have sung for him his song of triumph. But 
 every thing had not gone well, and he found it 
 very difficult to carry himself otherwise than 
 lackadaisically. On the whole, however, his 
 effort was such that the earl gave him credit for 
 his demeanor, and told him when parting with 
 him for the night that he was a fine fellow, and 
 that every thing should go right with him yet. 
 
 "And you mustn't be angry with me for 
 speaking harshly to you," he said. 
 
 "I wasn't a bit angiy." 
 
 "Yes, you were; and I rather meant that 
 you should be. But you mustn't go away in 
 dudgeon." 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 265 
 
 He staid at the Manor-house one day longer, 
 and then he returned to his room at the Income- 
 tax Office, to the disagreeable sound of Sir 
 Raffle's little bell, and the much more disagree- 
 able sound of Sir Baffle's big voice. 
 
 CHAPTER LIX. 
 
 JOHN EAMES BECOMES A MAN. 
 
 Eames, when he was half-way up to London 
 in the railway carriage, took out from his pocket 
 a letter and read it. During the former portion 
 of his journey he had been thinking of other 
 things; but gradually he had resolved that it 
 would be better for him not to think more of 
 those other things for the present, and therefore 
 he had recourse to his letter by way of dissipat- 
 ing his thoughts. It was from Cradell, and ran 
 as follows : 
 
 "Incomb-Tax Office, JSay — , 186-. 
 *' My deas John, — I hope the tidings which I have to 
 give you will not make you angry, and that you will not 
 think 1 am untrue to the great friendship which I have 
 for you hecause of that which I am now going to tell you. 
 There is no man — [and the word man was underscored] 
 — there is no man whose regard I value so highly as I do 
 yours ; and though I feel that you can have no just ground 
 to he displeased with me after all that 1 have heard you 
 say on many occasions, nevertheless in matters of the 
 heart it is very hard for one person to understand the sen- 
 timents of another, and when the affections of a lady are 
 concerned, I know that quarrels will sometimes arise." 
 
 Eames, when he had got so far as this, on the 
 first perusal of the letter, knew well what was to 
 follow. "Poor Caudle!" he said to himself; 
 " he's hooked, and he'll never get himself off the 
 hook again." 
 
 **But let that be as it may, the matter has now gone 
 too far for any alteration to he made by me; nor would 
 any mere earthly inducement suf&ce to change me. The 
 claims of friendship are very strong, }mt these of love are 
 paraTnount Of course I know all that has passed between 
 you and Amelia Boper. Much of this I had heard ftom 
 you before, but the rest she has now told me with that 
 pure-minded honesty which is the most remarkable feat- 
 ure in her character. She has confessed that at one time 
 she felt attached to you, and that she was induced by your 
 perseverance to allow you to regard her as your fiancy. 
 [Fancy-girl he probably conceived to be the vulgar English 
 for the elegant term which he used.] But all that must be 
 over between you now. Amelia has promised to be mine 
 
 [this also was underscored] — and mine I intend that she 
 
 shall be. That you may find in the kind smiles of L. D. 
 consolation for any disappointment which this may occa- 
 sion you, is the ardent wish of your true friend, 
 
 (t JOBEPH GOADELL. 
 
 " p.g.— Perhaps I had better tell you the whole. Mrs. 
 Roper has been in some trouble about her house. She is 
 a little in arrears with her rent, and some bills have not 
 been paid. As she has explained that she has been brought 
 into this by those dreadful Lupexes, I have consented to 
 take the house into my own hands, and have given bills to 
 one or two tradesmen for small amounts. Of course she 
 will take them up, but it was the credit that was wanting. 
 She will carry on the house, but I shall, in fact, be the 
 proprietor. I suppose it will not suit you now to remain 
 here, but don't you think I might make it comfortable 
 enough for some of our fellows; say half a dozen, or so? 
 That is Mrs. Roper's idea, and I certainly think it is not a 
 bad one. Our first effort must be to get rid of the Lu- 
 pexes. Miss Spruce goes next week. In the mean time 
 we are all taking our meals up in our own rooms, so that 
 there is nothing for the Lupexes to eat. But they dont 
 R 
 
 seem to mind that, and still keep the sitting-room and 
 best bedtoom. We mean to lock them out after Tuesday, 
 and send all their boxes to the public house." 
 
 Poor Cradell ! Eames, as he threw himself 
 back upon his seat and contemplated the depth 
 of misfortune into which his friend had fallen, 
 began to be almost in love with his own position. 
 He himself was, no doubt, a very miserable fel- 
 low. There was only wne thing in life worth 
 living for, and that he could not get. He had 
 been thinking for the last three days of throw- 
 ing himself before a locomotive steam-engine, 
 and was not quite sure that he would not do it 
 yet; but, nevertheless, his place was a place 
 among the gods as compared to that which poor 
 Cradell had selected for himself. ,To be not 
 only the husband of Amelia Roper, but to have 
 been driven to take upon himself as his bride's 
 fortune the whole of his future mother-in-law's 
 debts ! To find himself the owner of a very in- 
 different lodging-house — the owner as regarded 
 all responsibility, though not the owner as re- 
 garded any possible profit! And then, above 
 and almost worse than all the rest, to find him- 
 self saddled with the Lupexes in the beginning 
 of his career ! Poor Cradell indeed ! 
 
 Eames had not taken his things away from 
 the lodging-house before he left London, and 
 therefore determined to drive to Burton Cres- 
 cent immediately on his arrival, not with the 
 intention of remaining there, even for a night, 
 but that he might bid them farewell, speak his 
 congratulations to Amelia, and arrange for his 
 final settlement with Mrs. Roper. It should 
 have been explained in the last chapter that the 
 earl had told him before parting with him that 
 his want of success with Lily would make no 
 difference as regarded money. John had, of 
 course, expostulated, saying that he did not 
 want any thing, and would not, under his ex- 
 isting circumstances, accept any thing ; but the 
 earl was a man who knew how to have his own 
 way, and in this matter did have it. Our 
 friend, therefore, was a man of wealth when he 
 returned to London, and could tell Mrs. Roper 
 that he would send her a check for her little 
 balance as soon as he reached his office. 
 
 He arrived in the middle of the day — not 
 timing his return at all after the usual manner 
 of Government clerks, who generally manage to 
 reach the metropolis not more than half an hour 
 before the moment at which they are bound to 
 show themselves in their seats. But he had 
 come back two days before he was due, and had 
 run away from the country as though London in 
 May to him were much pleasanter than the 
 woods and fields. But neither had London nor 
 the woods and fields any influence on his re- 
 turn. He had gone down that he might throw 
 himself at the feet of Lily Dale — gone down, as 
 he now confessed to himself, with hopes almost 
 triumphant, and he had returned because Lily 
 Dale would not have him at her feet. ' ' I loved 
 him — him, Crosbie — ^better than all the world 
 besides. It is still the same. I still love him 
 better than all the world." Those were the 
 
266 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 words which had driven him back to London ; 
 and having been sent away with such words as 
 those, it was little matter to him whether he 
 reached his office a day or two sooner or later. 
 The little room in the city, even with the ac- 
 companiment of Sir Raffle's bell and Sir Raffle's 
 voice, would now be more congenial to him than 
 Lady Julia's drawingrroom. He would there- 
 fore present himself to Sir Raffle on that very 
 afternoon, and expel some interloper from his 
 seat. But he would first call in Burton Cres- 
 cent and say farewell to the Ropers. 
 
 The door was opened for him by the faithful 
 Jemima. "Mr. Heames, Mr. Heames ! ho 
 dear, ho dear!" and the poor girl, who had al- 
 ways taken his side in the adventures of the 
 lodging-house, raised her hands on high and la- 
 mented the fate which had separated her favor- 
 ite from its fortunes. "I suppose you knows 
 it all, Mister Johnny?" Mister Johnny said 
 that he believed he did know it all, and asked 
 for the mistress of the house. "Yes, sure 
 enough, she's at home. She don't dare stir 
 out much, 'cause of them Lupexes. Ain't this 
 a pretty game? No dinner and no nothink! 
 Them boxes is Miss Spruce's. She's agoing 
 now, this minute. You'll find 'em all up stairs 
 in the drawen-room." So up stairs into the 
 drawing-room he went, and there he found the 
 mother and daughter, and with them Miss 
 Spruce, tightly packed up in her bonnet and 
 shawl. "Don't, mother," Amelia was saying; 
 "what's the good of going on in that way ? If 
 slie chooses to go, let her go." 
 
 " But she's been with me now so many years, " 
 said Mrs. Roper, sobbing ; " and I've always 
 done every thing for her ! Haven't I, now, 
 SaUy Spruce ?" It struck Eames immediately 
 that, though he had been an inmate in the house 
 for two years, he had never before heard that 
 maiden lady's Christian name. Miss Spruce was 
 the first to see Eames as he entered the room. 
 It is probable that Mrs. Roper's pathos might 
 have produced some answering pathos on her 
 part had she remained unobserved, but the sight 
 of a young man brought her back to her usual 
 state of quiescence. " I'm only an old woman," 
 said she; "and here's Mr. Eames come back 
 again." 
 
 "How d'ye do, Mrs. Roper? how d'ye do 
 
 Amelia? how d'ye do. Miss Spruce?" and he 
 «hook hands vrith them all. 
 
 "Oh, laws," said Mrs. Roper, "you have 
 given me such a start ! " 
 
 "Dear me, Mr. Eames; only, think of your 
 coming back in that way, " said Amelia. 
 
 " Well, what way should I come back ? You 
 didn't hear me knock at the door, that's all. So 
 Miss Spruce is really going to leave you ?" 
 
 "Isn't it dreadful, Mr. Eames? Nineteen 
 years we've been together — taking both houses 
 together, Miss Spruce, we have, indeed." Miss 
 Spruce at this point struggled very hard to con- 
 vince John Eames that the period in question 
 had in truth extended over only eighteen years, 
 but Mrs. Roper was authoritative, and would 
 
 not permit it. "It's nineteen years if it's a day. 
 No one ought to know dates if I don't, and there 
 isn't one in the world understands her ways un- 
 less it's me. Haven't I been up to your bed- 
 room every night, and with my own hand given 
 you — " But she stopped herself, and was too 
 good a woman to declare before a young man 
 what had been the nature of her nightly minis- 
 trations to her guest. 
 
 "I don't think you'll be so comfortable any 
 where else, Miss Spruce," said Eames. 
 
 "Comfortable! of course she won't," said 
 Amelia. " But if I was mother I wouldn't have 
 any more words about it." » 
 
 " It isn't ^e money I'm thinking of, but the 
 feeling of it," said Mrs. Roper. "The house 
 will be so lonely like. I sha'n't know myself; 
 that I sha'n't. And now that things are all set- 
 tled so pleasantly, and that the Lupexes must 
 go on Tuesday — I'll tell you what, Szdly ; I'll 
 pay for the cab myself, and I'll start off to Dnl- 
 wich by the omnibus to-morrow, and settle it all 
 out of my own pocket. I will indeed. Come ; 
 there's the cab. Let me go down, and send him 
 away." 
 
 "I'll do that," said Eames. " It's only six- 
 pence off the stand," Mrs. Roper called to him 
 as he left the room. But the cabman got a 
 shilling, and John, as he returned, found Jemi- 
 ma in the act of carrying Miss Spruce's boxes 
 back to her room. " So much the better for 
 poor Caudle," said he to himself. "As he has 
 gone into the trade it's well that he should have 
 somebody that will pay him." 
 
 Mrs. Roper followed Miss Spruce up the stairs 
 and Johnny was left with Amelia. " He's writ^ 
 ten to you, I know," said she, with her face 
 turned a little away from him. She was certain- 
 ly very handsome, but there was a hard, cross, 
 almost sullen look about her, which robbed her 
 countenance of all its pleasantness. And yet 
 she had no intention of being sullen with him. 
 
 "Yes," said John. "He has told me how 
 it's all going to be." 
 
 "Well?" she said. 
 
 "Well?" said he. 
 
 "Is that all you've got to say?" 
 
 "I'll congratulate you, if you'll let me." 
 
 " Pshaw — congratulations ! I hate such hum- 
 bug. If you've no feelings about it, I'm sure 
 that I've none. Indeed I don't know what's the 
 good of feelings. They never did me any good. 
 Are you engaged to marry L. D. ?" 
 
 "No; I am not." 
 
 "And you've nothing else to say to me?" 
 
 "Nothing — except my hopes for your happi- 
 ness. What elsecan I say? You are engaged 
 to marry my friend Cradell, and I think it will 
 be a happy match. " 
 
 She turned away her face further from him, 
 and the look of it became even more sullen. 
 Could it be possible that at such a moment she 
 still had a hope that he might come back to 
 her? 
 
 "Good-by, Amelia," he said, patting out his 
 hand to her. 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 267 
 
 "And this is to be the last of you in this 
 house ?" 
 
 " Well, I don't know about that. I'll come 
 and call upon you, if you'll let me, when you're 
 married." 
 
 "Yes," she said, "that there may be rows 
 in the house, and noise, and jealousy — as there 
 have been with that wicked woman up stairs. 
 Not if I know it, you won't ! John Eames, I 
 wish I'd never seen you. I wish we might have 
 both fallen dead when we first met. I didn't 
 think ever to have cared for a man as I've cared 
 for you. It's all trash and nonsense and fool- 
 ery ; I know that. It's all very well for young 
 ladies as can sit in drawing-rooms all their lives, 
 but when => woman has her way to make in the 
 world it's all foolery. And such a hard way, 
 too, to' make as mine is !" 
 
 "But it won't be hard now." 
 
 ' ' Won't it ? But I think it will. I wish you 
 would try it. Not that I'm going to complain. 
 I never minded work, and as for company, I can 
 put up with any body. The world's not to be 
 all dancing and fiddling for the likes of me. I 
 know that well enough. But — " and then she 
 paused. 
 
 " What's the 'but' about, Amelia?" 
 
 "It's like you to ask me ; isn't it ?" To tell 
 the truth he should not have ftsked her. ' ' Nev- 
 er mind. I'm not going to have any words with 
 you. If you've been a knave I've been a fool, 
 and that's worse." 
 
 " But I don't think I have been a knave." 
 
 "I've been both," said the girl; "and both 
 for nothing. After that you may go. I've told 
 you what I am, and I'll leave you to name your- 
 self. I didn't think it was in me to have been 
 such a fool. It's that that frets me. Never 
 mind, Sir; it's all over now, and I wish you 
 good-by." 
 
 I do not think that there was the slightest 
 reason why John should have again kissed her 
 at parting, but he did so. She bore it, not strug- 
 gling with him ; but she took his caress with 
 sullen endurance. "It'll be the last," she said. 
 "Good-by, John Eames." 
 
 ' ' Good-by, Amelia. Try to make him a good 
 wife, and then you'll be happy." She turned 
 up her nose at this, assuming a look of unutter- 
 able scorn. But she said nothing further, and 
 then he left the room. At the parlor door he 
 met Mrs. Eoper, and had his parting words 
 with her. 
 
 "I am so glad you came," said she. "It 
 was just that word you said that made Miss 
 Spruce stay. Her money is so ready, you know ! 
 And so you've had it all out with her about Cra- 
 dell. She'll make him a good wife, she will in- 
 deed ; much better than you've been giving her 
 credit for." 
 
 " I don't doubt she'll be a very good wife." 
 
 "You see, Mr. Eames, it's all over now, and 
 we understand each other ; don't we ? It made 
 me very unhappy when she was setting her cap 
 at you ; it did indeed. She is my own daugh- 
 ter, and I couldn't go against her ; could I ? 
 
 But I knew it wasn't in any way suiting. 
 Laws, I know the difference. She's good 
 enough for him any day of the week, ■ Mr. 
 Eames." 
 
 "That she is — Saturdays or Sundays," said 
 Johnny, not knowing exactly what he ought to 
 say. 
 
 " So she is ; and if he does his duty by her 
 she won't go astray in hers by him. And as for 
 you, Mr. Eames, I'm sure I've always felt it an 
 honor and a pleasure to have you in the house ; 
 and if ever you could use a good word in send- 
 ing to me any of your young men, I'd do by 
 them as a mother should; I would indee'd. I 
 know I've been to blame about those Lupexes, 
 but haven't I sufiered for it, Mr. Eames ? And 
 it was difficult to know at first ; wasn't it? And 
 as to you and Amelia, if you would send %ny 
 of your young men to try, there couldn't be 
 any thing more of that kind, could there? I 
 know it hasn't all been just as it should have 
 been ; that is as regards you ; but I should like 
 to hear you say that you've found me honest 
 before you went. I have tried to be honest, I 
 have indeed." 
 
 Eames assured her that he was convinced of 
 her honesty, and that he had never thought of 
 impugning her character either in regard to 
 those unfortunate people, the Lupexes, or in 
 reference to other matters. ' ' He did not think, " 
 he said, " that any young men would consult 
 him as to their lodgings ; but if he could be of 
 any service to her, he would." Then he bade 
 her good-by, and having bestowed half a sover- 
 eign on the faithful Jemima, he took a long 
 farewell of Burton Crescent. Amelia had told 
 him not to come and see her when she should 
 be married, and he had resolved that he would 
 take her at he» word. So he walked off from 
 the Crescent, not exactly shaking the dust from 
 his feet, but resolving that he would know no 
 more either of its dust or of its dirt. Dirt 
 enough he had encountered there certainly, and 
 he was now old enough to feel that the inmates 
 of Mrs. Roper's house had not been those among 
 whom a resting-place for his early years should 
 judiciously have been sought. But he had 
 come out of the fire comparatively unharmed, 
 and I regret to say that he felt but: little for the 
 teiTible scorchings to which his friend had been 
 subjected and was about to subject himself. He 
 was quite content to look afthe matter exactly 
 as it was looked at by, Mrs. Roper. Amelia 
 was good enough for Joseph Cradell — any day 
 of the week. Poor Cradell, of whom in these 
 pages after this iiotice no more will be heard ! 
 I can not but think that a hard measure of 
 justice was meted out to him, in proportion to 
 the extent of his sins. More weak and foolish 
 than our friend and hero he had been, but not 
 to my knowledge more wicked. But it is to the 
 vain and foolish that the punishments fall ; and 
 to them they fall so thickly and constantly that 
 the thinker is driven to think that vanity and 
 folly are of all sins those which may be the least 
 forgiven. As for Cradell I may declare that he 
 
268 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 did marry Amelia, that he did, with some pride, 
 take the place of toaster of the house at the 
 bottom of Mrs. Eoper's table, and that he did 
 make himself responsible for all Mrs. Roper's 
 debts. Of his future fortunes there is not space 
 to speak in these pages. 
 
 Going away from the Crescent, Eames had 
 himself driven to his office, which he reached 
 just as the men were leaving it, at four o'clock. 
 Cradell was gone, so that he did not see him on 
 that afternoon ; but he had an opportunity of 
 shaking hands with Mr. Love, who treated him 
 with all the smiling courtesy due to an official 
 big-iflg — ^for a private secretary, if not absolute- 
 ly a big-wig, is semi-big, and entitled to a cer- 
 tain amount of reverence — and he passed Mr. 
 Kissing in the passage, hurrying along as usual 
 wifh a huge book under his arm. Mr. Kissing, 
 hurried as he was, stopped his shuffling feet; 
 but Eames only looked at him, hardly honoring 
 him with the acknowledgment of a nod of his 
 liead. Mr. Kissing, however, was not offended; 
 he knew that the private secretary of the First 
 Commissioner had been the guest of an earl ; 
 and what more than a nod could be expected 
 from him? After that John made his way 
 into the august presence of Sir Raffle, and found 
 that great man putting on his shoes in the pres- 
 ence of FitzHoward. FitzHoward blushed ; but 
 the shoes had not been touched by him ; as he 
 took occasion afterward to inform John Eames. 
 
 Sir Raffle was all smiles and civility. ' ' De- 
 lighted to see you back, Eames : am, upon my 
 word ; though 1 and FitzHoward have got on 
 capitally in your absence; haven't we, FitzHow- 
 ard ?" 
 
 " Oh yes," drawled FitzHoward. " I haven't 
 minded it for a time, just while Eames has been 
 away." 
 
 ' ' You're much too idle to keep at it, I know ; 
 but your bread will be buttered for you else- 
 where, so it doesn't signify. My compliments 
 to the duchess when you see her." Then Fitz- 
 Howard went. "And how's my dear old friend ?" 
 asked Sir Raffle, as though of all men living 
 Lord De Guest were the one for whom he had 
 the strongest and the oldest love. And yet he 
 must have known that John Eames knew as 
 mucli about it as he did himself. But there are 
 men who have the most lively gratification in 
 calling lords and marquises their friends, though 
 they know that nobody believes a word of what 
 they say — even though they know how great is 
 the odium they incur, and how lasting is the 
 ridicule which their vanity produces. It is a 
 gentle insanity which prevails in the outer courts 
 qI every' aristocracy ; and as it brings with it- 
 self considerable annoyance and but a lukewarm 
 pleasure, it should not be treated with too keen 
 a severity. 
 
 "And how's my dear old friend?" .Eames 
 assured him that his dear old friend was all 
 right, that Lady Julia was all right, that the 
 dear old place was all right. Sir Raffle now 
 spoke as though the " dear old place" were quite 
 well known to him. "Was the game doing 
 
 pretty well ? Was there a promise of birds ?" 
 Sir Raffle's anxiety was quite intense, and ex- 
 pressed with almost familiar affection. "And, 
 by-the-by, Eames, where are you living at pres- 
 ent?" 
 
 "Well, I'm not settled. I'm at the Great 
 Western Railway Hotel at this moment." 
 
 " Capital house, very ; only it's expensive if 
 you stay there the whole season." Johnny had 
 no idea of remaining there beyond one night, 
 but he said nothing as to this. "By-the-by, 
 you might as well come and dine with us to- 
 morrow. Lady Buffle is most anxious to know 
 you. There'll be one or two with us. I did 
 ask my friend Dumbello, but there's some non- 
 sense going on in the House, and he thinks that 
 he can't get away." Johnny was more gracious 
 than Lord Dumbello, and accepted the invita- 
 tion. "I wonder what Lady Buffle will be 
 like?" he said to himself, as he walked away 
 from the office. 
 
 He had turned into the Great Western Hotel, 
 not as yet knowing where to look for a home ; 
 and there we will leave him, eating his solitary 
 mutton-chop at one of those tables which are so 
 comfortable to the eye, but which are so com- 
 fortless in reality. I speak not now with refer- 
 ence to the excellent establishment which has 
 been named, but to the nature of such tables in 
 general. A solitary mutton-chop in a hotel cof- 
 fee-room is not a banquet to be envied by any 
 god ; and if the mutton-chop be converted into 
 soup, fish, little dishes, big dishes, and the rest, 
 the matter becomes worse and not better. What 
 comfort are you to have, seated alone on that 
 horse-hair chair, staring into the room and 
 watching the waiters as they whisk about their 
 towels ? No one but an Englishman has ever 
 yet thought of subjecting himself to such a posi- 
 tion as that! But here we will leave John 
 Eames, and in doing so I must be allowed to de- 
 clare that only now, at this moment, has he en- 
 tered on his manhood. Hitherto he has been a 
 hobbledehoy — a calf, as it were, who had carried 
 his calfishness later into life than is common with 
 calves ; but who did not, perhaps, on that ac- 
 count, give promise of making a worse ox than 
 the rest of them. His life hitherto, as recorded 
 in these pages, had afforded him no brilliant suc- 
 cess — had hardly qualified him for the role of 
 hero which he has been made to play. I feel 
 that I have been in fault in giving such prom- 
 inence to a hobbledehoy, and that I should have 
 told my story better had I brought Mr. Crosbie 
 more conspicuously forward on my canvas. He, 
 at any rate, has gotten to himself a wife — as a 
 hero always should do ; whereas I must leave 
 my poor friend Johnny without any matrimonial 
 prospects. 
 
 It was thus that he thought of himself as he 
 sat moping over his solitary table in the hotel 
 coffee-room. He acknowledged to himself that 
 he had not hitherto been a man; but at the 
 same time he made some resolution which, .1 
 trust, may assist him in commencing his man- 
 hood from this date. 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER LX. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 It was early in June that Lily went np to her 
 uncle at the Great House, pleading for Hopkins 
 — pleading that to Hopkins might be restored 
 all the privileges of head gardener at the Great 
 House. There was some absurdity in this, see- 
 ing that he had never really relinquished his 
 privileges ; but the manner of the quarrel had 
 been in this wise : 
 
 There was in those days, and had been for 
 years, a vexed question between Hopkins and 
 
 Jolliife the bailiflf on the matter of stable 
 
 manure. Hopkins had pretended to the right 
 of taking what he required from the farm-yard, 
 without asking leave of any one. JoUiffe in re- 
 turn had hinted that, if this were so, Hopkins 
 would take it all. "But I can't eat it," Hop- 
 kins had said. JoUiffe merely grunted, signify- 
 ing by the grunt, as Hopkins thought, that though 
 a gardener couldn't eat a mountain of manure 
 fifty feet long and fifteen high — couldn't eat it 
 in the body — he might convert it into things ed- 
 ible for his own personal use. And so there had 
 been a great feud. The unfortunate squire had 
 of course been called on to arbitrate, and, hav- 
 ing postponed his decision by every contrivance 
 possible to him, had at last been driven by Jol- 
 liffe to declare that Hopkins should take nothing 
 that was not assigned to him. Hopkins, when 
 the decision was made known to him by his mas- 
 ter, bit his old lips, and turned round upon his 
 old heel, speechless. " You'll find it's so at all 
 other places," said the squire, apologetically, 
 "Other places ! " sneered Hopkins. Where would 
 he find other gardeners like himself? It is hard- 
 ly necessary to declare that from that moment 
 he resolved that he would abide by no such or- 
 der. JoUiffe on the next morning informed the 
 squire that the order had been broken, and the 
 squire fretted and fumed, wishing that JoUiffe 
 were well buried under the mountain in question. 
 " If they all is to do as they like," said JoUiffe, 
 "then nobody won't care for nobody." The 
 squire understood that an order if given must be 
 obeyed, and therefore, with many inner groan- 
 ings of the spirit, resolved that war must be 
 waged, against Hopkins. 
 
 On the following morning he found the old 
 man himself wheeling a huge barrow of manure 
 round from the yard into the kitchen garden. 
 Now, on ordinary occasions, Hopkins was not 
 required to do with bis own hands work of that 
 description. He had a man under hiih who 
 hewed wood and carried water and wheeled bar- 
 rows — one man always, and often two. The 
 squire knew when he saw him that he was sin- 
 ning, and bade him stop upon his road. 
 
 " Hopkins," he said, " why didn't you ask for 
 what you wanted before you took it?" The 
 old man put down the barrow on the ground, 
 looked up in his master's face, spat into his 
 hands, and then again resumed his barrow. 
 " Hopkins, that won't do," said the squire. 
 •' Stop where you are." 
 
 269 
 
 "What won't do?" said Hopkins, stiU hold- 
 ing the barrow from the ground, but not as yet 
 progressing. 
 
 "Put it down, Hopkins," and Hopkins did 
 put it down. "Don't you know that you are 
 flatly disobeying my orders?" 
 
 " SquirOj I've been here about this place go- 
 ing on nigh seventy years." 
 
 "If you've been going on a hundred and sev- 
 enty it wouldn't do that there should be more 
 than one master. I'm the master here, and I 
 intend to be so to the end. Take that manure 
 back into the yard." ♦ 
 
 "Back into the yard?" said Hopkins, very 
 slowly. 
 
 "Yes ; back into the yard." 
 
 " What— afore aU their faces?" 
 
 "Yes; you've disobeyed me before aU their 
 
 Hopkins paused a moment, looking away from 
 the squire, and shaking his head as though he 
 had need of deep thought, but by the aid of deep 
 thought had come at last to a right conclusion. 
 Then he resumed the barrow, and putting him- 
 self almost into a trot, carried away his prize 
 into the kitchen garden. At the pace which he 
 went it would have been beyond the squire's pow- 
 er to stop him, nor would Mr. Dale have wish- 
 ed to come to a personal encounter with his 
 servant. But he called after the man in dire 
 wrath that if he were not obeyed the disobedi- 
 ent servant should rue the consequences forever. 
 Hopkins, equal to the occasion, shookhis head 
 as he trotted on, deposited his load at the foot 
 of the cucumber frames, and then at once re- 
 turning to his master, tendered to him the key 
 of the green-house. 
 
 " Master," said Hopkins, speaking as best he 
 could with his scanty breath, ' ' there it is — there's 
 the key; of course I don't want no warning, 
 and doesn't care about my week's wages. I'll be 
 out of the cottage afore night, and as for the 
 work'us, I suppose they'll let me in at once, if 
 your honor'U give 'em a line." 
 
 Now as Hopkins was well known by the squire 
 to be the owner of three or four hundred pounds, 
 the hint about the work-house must be allowed 
 to have been melodramatic. 
 
 " Don't be a fool," said the squire, almost 
 gnashing his teeth. 
 
 "I know I've been a fool," said Hopkins, 
 " about that 'ere doong; my feelings has been 
 too much for me. When a man's feeUngs has 
 been too much for him, he'd better just takehis- 
 self off, and lie in the work'us till he dies." 
 And then he again tendered the key. But the 
 squire did not take the key, and so Hopkins 
 went on. "I s'pose I'd better just see to the 
 lights and the like of that till you've suited 
 yourself, Mr. Dale. It 'ud be a pity all them 
 grapes should go off, and they, as you may say, 
 all one as fit for the table. It's a long way the 
 best crop I ever see on 'em. I'^^een that 
 careful with 'em that I haven't hnpti natural 
 night's rest, not since February. There ain't 
 nobody about this place as understands grapes, 
 
270 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 nor yet any whgre nigh that could be got at. 
 My lord's head man Is wery ignorant ; but even 
 if he knew ever so, of course he couldn't come 
 here. I suppose I'd better keep the key till 
 you're suited, Mr. Dale." 
 
 Then for a fortnight there was an interreg- 
 num in the gardens, terrible in the annals of 
 AUington. Hopkins lived in his cottage indeed, 
 and looked most sedulously after the grapes. 
 In looking after the grapes, too, he took the 
 green-houses under his care ; but he would have 
 nothing to do with the outer gardens, took no 
 wages, returning the amount sent to him back 
 to the squire, and insisted with every body that 
 he had been dismissed. He went about with 
 some terrible horticultural implement always in 
 his hand, with which it was said that he intend- 
 ed to attack JoUiife ; but JoUiife prudently kept 
 out of his way. 
 
 As soon as it had been resolved by Mrs. Dale 
 and Lily that the flitting from the Small House 
 at AUington was not to be accomplished, Lily 
 communicated the fact to Hopkins. 
 
 "Miss," said he, "when I said them few 
 words to you and your mamma, I knew that 
 you would listen to reason." 
 
 This was no more than Lily had expected ; 
 that Hopkins should claim the honor of having 
 prevailed by his arg-uments was a matter of 
 course. 
 
 "Yes," said Lily; "we've made up our 
 minds to stay. Uncle wishes it." 
 
 ' ' Wishes it ! Laws, miss, it ain't only wishes. 
 And we all wishes it. Why, now, look at the 
 reason of the thing. Here's this here house — " 
 
 " But, Hopkins, it's decided. We're going 
 to stay. What I want to know is this ; can you 
 come at once and help me to unpack ?" 
 
 " What ! this very evening, as is — " 
 
 "Yes, now, we want to have the things 
 about again before they come back from Guest- 
 wick. " 
 
 Hopkins scratched his head and hesitated, not 
 wishing to yield to any proposition that could 
 be considered as childish ;>but he gave way at 
 last, feeling that the work itself was a good 
 work. Mrs. Dale also assented, laughing at 
 Lily for her folly as she did so, and in this way 
 the things were unpacked very quickly, and the 
 alliance between Lily and Hopkins became, for 
 the time, very close. This work of unpacking 
 and resettling was not yet over, when the battle 
 of the manure broke out, and therefore it was 
 that Hopkins, when his feelings had become al- 
 together too much for him "about the doong," 
 came at last to Lily, and laying down at her 
 feet all the weight and all the glory of his sixty 
 odd years of life, implored her to make matters 
 straight for him. ' ' It's been a killing me, miss, 
 S0|it has, to see the way they've been a cutting 
 that sparagus. It ain't cutting at all. It's just 
 hocking it up — what is fit, and what isn't, alto- 
 gether. Affld they've been a putting the plants 
 in where irTidn't mean 'em, though they know'd 
 I didn't mean 'em. I've stood by, miss, and 
 said never a word. I'd a died sooner. But, 
 
 Miss Lily, what my sufferings have been, 'cause 
 of my feelings getting the better of me about 
 that — you know, miss — nobody will ever tell ; 
 nobody — nobody — nobody." Then Hopkins 
 turned away and wept. 
 
 " Uncle," said Lily, creeping close up against 
 his chair, " I want to ask you a great favor." 
 
 "A great favor. Well, I don't think I shall 
 refuse you any thing at present. It isn't to ask 
 another earl to the house, is it ?" 
 
 "Another earl I" said Lily. 
 
 "Yes; haven't you heard? Miss Bell has 
 been here this morning, insisting that I should 
 have over Lord De Guest and his sister for 
 the marriage. It seems that there was some 
 scheming between Bell and Lady Julia." 
 
 " Of course you'll ask them." 
 
 " Of course I must. I've no way out of it. 
 It'll be all very well for Bell, who'll be off to Wales 
 with her lover ; but what am I to do with the 
 earl and Lady Julia, when they're gone? Will 
 you come and help me ?" 
 
 In answer to this, Lily of course promised that 
 she would come and help. " Indeed," said she, 
 "I thought we were all asked up for the day. 
 And now for my favor. Uncle, you must forgive 
 poor Hopkins." 
 
 "Forgive a fiddlestick!" said the squire. 
 
 "No, but you must. You • can't think how 
 unhappy he is." 
 
 " How can I forgive a man who won't forgive 
 me? He goes prowling about the place doing no- 
 thing ; and he sends me back his wages, and he 
 looks as though he were going to murder some 
 one J and all because he wouldn't do as he was 
 told. How am I to forgive such a man as that ?" 
 
 "But, uncle, why not?" 
 
 "It would be his forgiving me. He knows 
 very well that he may come back whenever he 
 pleases ; and, indeed, for the matter of that he 
 has never gone away." 
 
 "But he is so very unhappy." 
 
 "What can I do to make him happier?" 
 
 "Just go down to his cottage and tell him 
 that you forgive him. " 
 
 " Then he'll argue with me." 
 
 " No ; I don't think he will. He is too much 
 down in the world for arguing now." 
 
 " Ah ! you don't know him as I do. AU the 
 misfortunes in the world wouldn't stop that man's 
 conceit. Of course I'll go if you ask me, but 
 it seems to me that I'm made to knock under to 
 every body. I hear a great deal about other 
 people's feelings, but I don't know that mine 
 are very much thought of." He was not alto- 
 gether in a happy mood, and Lily almost re- 
 gretted that she had persevered; but she did 
 succeed in carrying him off across the garden to 
 the cottage, and as they went together she prom- 
 ised him that she would think of him always — 
 always. The scene with Hopkins can not be 
 described now, as it would take too many of our 
 few remaining pages. It resulted, I am afraid 
 I must confess, in nothing more triumphant to 
 the squire than a treaty of mutual forgiveness. 
 Hopkins acknowledged with much self-reproach 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 271 
 
 that his feelings had been too many for him ; 
 but then, look at his provocation ! He could 
 not keep his tongue from that matter, and cer- 
 tainly said as much in his own defense as he did 
 in confession of his sins. The substantial tri- 
 umph was altogether his, for nobody again ever 
 dared to interfere with his operations in the 
 farm-yard. He showed his submission to his 
 master mainly by consenting to receive his wa- 
 ges for the two weeks which he had passed in 
 idleness. 
 
 Owing to this little accident Lily was not so 
 much oppressed by Hopkins as she had expect- 
 ed to be in that matter of their altered plans ; 
 but this salvation did not extend to Mrs. Hearn, 
 to Mrs. Crump, or, above all, to Mrs. Boyce. 
 They, all of them, took an interest more or less 
 strong in the Hopkins controversy ; but their 
 interest in the occupation of the Small House 
 was much stronger, and it was found useless to 
 put Mrs. Hearn off with the gardener's persist- 
 ent refusal of his wages, when she was big with 
 inquiry whether the house was to be painted in- 
 side as well as out. " Ah," said she, " I think 
 I'll go and look at lodgings at Guestwick myself, 
 and pack up some of my beds." Lily made no 
 answer to this, feeling that it was a part of that 
 punishment which she had expected. "Dear, 
 dear, " said Mrs. Crump to the two girls ; ' ' well, 
 to be sure, we should a been lone without 'ee, 
 and mayhap we might a got worse in your 
 place ; but why did 'ee go and fasten up all 
 •your things in them big boxes just to unfasten 
 'em all again?" 
 
 " We changed our minds, Mrs. Crump," said 
 Bell, with some severity. 
 
 "Tees, I know ye changed your mindses. 
 Well, it's all right for the loiks o' ye, no doubt ; 
 but if we changes our mindses we hears of it." 
 
 "So, it seems, do we!" said Lily. "But 
 never mind, Mrs. Crump. Do you send us our 
 letters up early, and then we won't quarrel." 
 
 "Oh, letters ! Drat them for letters. I wish 
 there weren't no sich things. There was a man 
 here yesterday with his imperence. I don't 
 know where he come from — down from Lun'on, 
 I b'leeve: and this was wrong, and that was 
 wrong, and every thing was wrong ; and then 
 he said he'd have me discharged the sarvice." 
 
 "Dear me, Mrs. Crump ; that wouldn't do at 
 all." 
 
 "Discharged the sarvice! Tuppence farden 
 a da^ So I told 'um to discharge hisself, and 
 take all the old bundles and things away upon 
 his shoulders. Letters indeed! What busi- 
 ness have they with post-missusses, if they can 
 not pay 'em better nor tuppence farden a day?" 
 And in this way, under the shelter of Mrs. 
 Crump's storm of wrath against the inspector 
 who had visited her, Lily and Bell escaped much 
 that would have fallen upon their own heads ; 
 but Mrs. Boyce still remained. I may here 
 add, in order that Mrs. Crump's history may be 
 carried on to the farthest possible point, that she 
 was not "discharged the sarvice," and that she 
 still receives her twopence- farthing a day from 
 
 the Crown. "That's a bitter old lady,'' said 
 the inspector to the man who was driving him. 
 "Yes, Sir; they all says the same about she. 
 There ain't none of 'em get much change out of 
 Mrs. Crump." 
 
 Bell and Lily went together also to Mrs. 
 Boyce's. ' ' If she makes herself very disagree- 
 able I shall insist upon talking of your mar- 
 riage," said Lily. 
 
 " I've not the slightest objection," said Bell ; 
 "only I don't know what there can be to say 
 about it. Marrying the doctor is such a very 
 commonplace sort of thing." 
 
 " Not a bit more commonplace than marrying 
 the parson," said Lily. 
 
 " Oh yes, it is. Parsons' marriages are often 
 very grand affairs. They come in among coun- 
 ty people. That's their luck in life. Doctors 
 never do ; nor lawyers. I don't think lawyers 
 ever get married in the country. They're sup- 
 posed to do it up in London. But a country 
 doctor's wedding is not a thing to be talked 
 about much." 
 
 Mrs. Boyce probably agreed in this view of 
 the matter, seeing that she did not choose the 
 coming marriage as her first subject of conversa- 
 tion. As soon as the two girls were seated she 
 flew away immediately to the house, and began 
 to express her very great surprise — her surprise 
 and her joy also — at the sudden change which 
 had been made in their plans. " It is so much 
 nicer, you know," said she, " that things should 
 be pleasant among relatives." 
 
 " Things always have been tolerably pleasant 
 with us," said Bell. 
 
 "Oh yes; I'm sure of that. I've always said 
 it was quite a pleasure to see you and your uncle 
 together. And when we heard about your all 
 having to leave — " 
 
 "But we didn't have to leave, Mrs. Boyce. 
 We were going to leave because we thought 
 mamma would be more comfortable in Guest- 
 wick ; and now we're not going to leave, because 
 we've all 'changed our mindses,' as Mrs. Crump 
 calls it." 
 
 "And is it true the house is going to be 
 painted?" asked Mrs. Boyce. 
 
 " I believe it is true," said Lily. 
 
 "Inside and out?" 
 
 "It must be done some day,'' said Bell. 
 
 " Yes, to be sure ; but I must say it is gener- 
 ous of the squire. There's such a deal of wood- 
 work about your house. I know I wish the 
 ecclesiastical commissioners would paint ours ; 
 but nobody ever does any thing for the clergy. 
 I'm sure I'm delighted you're going to stay. As 
 I said to Mr. Boyce, what should we ever have 
 done without you? I' believe the squire had 
 made up his mind that he would not let the 
 place." 
 
 " I don't think he ever has let it." 
 
 "And if there was nobody in it, it would all 
 go to rack and ruin; wouldn't it? Had your 
 mamma to pay any thing for the lodgings she 
 engaged at Guestwick ?" 
 
 " Upon my word I don't know. Bell can tell 
 
272 
 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 
 
 you better about that than I, as Dr. Crofts set- 
 tled it. I suppose Dr. Crofts tells her every 
 thing." And so the conversation was changed, 
 and Mrs. Boyce was made to understand that 
 whatever further mystery there might be, it 
 would not be unraveled on that occasion. 
 
 It was settled that Dr. Crofts and Bell should 
 be married about the middle of June, and the 
 squire determined to give what grace he could to 
 the ceremony by opening his own house on the 
 occasion. Lord De Guest and Lady Julia were 
 invited by special arrangement between her lady- 
 ship and Bell, as has been before explained. 
 The colonel also with Lady Eanny came up from 
 Torquay on the occasion, this being the first 
 visit made by the colonel to his paternal roof for 
 many years. Bernard did not accompany his 
 father. He had not yet gone abroad, but there 
 were circumstances which made him feel that 
 he would not find himself comfortable at the 
 wedding. The service was performed by Mr. 
 Boyce, assisted, as the County Chronicle very 
 fully remarked, by the Reverend John Joseph 
 Jones, M.A., late of Jesus College, Cambridge, 
 and curate of St. Peter's, Northgate, Guestwick ; 
 the fault of which little advertisement was this, 
 that as none of the readers of the paper had pa^ 
 tieuce to get beyond the Reverend John Joseph 
 Jones, the fact of Bell's marriage with Dr. Crofts 
 was not disseminated as widely as might have 
 been wished. 
 
 The marriage went off very nicely. The 
 squire was upon his very best behavior, and wel- 
 comed his guests as though he really enjoyed 
 their presence there in his halls. Hopkins, who 
 was quite aware that he had been triumphant, 
 decorated the old rooms with mingled flowers 
 and greenery with an assiduous care which 
 pleased the two girls mightily. And during 
 this work of wreathing and decking there was 
 one little morsel of feeling displayed which may 
 as well be told in these last lines. Lily had 
 been encouraging the old man while Bell for a 
 moment had been absent. 
 
 "I wish it had been for thee, my darling!" 
 he said ; "I wish it had been for thee !!' 
 
 "It is much better as it is, Hopkins," she 
 answered, solemnly. 
 
 "Not with him, though," he went on, "not 
 with him. I wouldn't a hung a bough for him. 
 But with t'other one." 
 
 Lily said no word further. She knew that 
 the man was expressing the wishes of all around 
 her. She said no word further, and then Bell 
 returned to them. 
 
 But no one at the wedding was so gay as Lily 
 —so gay, so bright, and so wedding-like. She 
 flirted with the old earl till he declared that he 
 would marry her himself. No one seeing her 
 that evening, and knowing nothing of her im- 
 mediate history, would have imagined that she 
 herself had been cruelly jilted some six or eight 
 months ago. And those who did know her could 
 not imagine that what she then suffered had hit 
 her so hard that no recovery seemed possible for 
 hec But though no recovery, as she herself be- 
 
 lieved, was possible for her — though she was as 
 a man whose right arm had been taken from him 
 in the battle, still all the world had not gone 
 with that right arm. The bullet which had 
 maimed her sorely had not touched her life, and 
 she scorned to go about the world complaining 
 either by word or look of the injury she had re- 
 ceived. "Wives when they have lost their hus- 
 bands still eat and laugh," she said to herself, 
 ' ' and he is not dead like that. " So she resolved 
 that she would be happy, and I here declare 
 that she not only seemed to carry out her resolu- 
 tion, but that she did carry it out in very truth, 
 "You're a dear good man, and I know you'll 
 be good to her," she said to Crofts just as he 
 was about to start vrith his bride. 
 
 "I'll try, at any rate," he answered. 
 
 "And I shall expect you to be good to me 
 too. Remember you have married the whole 
 family; and. Sir, you mustn't believe a word 
 of what that bad man says in his novels aibout 
 mothers-in-law. He has done a great deal of 
 harm, and shut half the ladies in England out 
 of their daughters' houses." 
 
 "He sha'n't shut Mrs. Dale out of mine." 
 
 "Remember he doesn't. Now, good-by!" 
 So the bride and bridegroom went off, and Lily, 
 was left to flirt with Lord De Guest. 
 
 Of whom else is it necessary that a word or 
 two should be said before I allow the weary pen 
 to fall from my hand ? The squire, after much 
 inward struggling on the subject, had acknowl- 
 edged to himself that his sister-in-law had not 
 received from him that kindness which she had 
 deserved. He had acknowledged this, purport- 
 ing to do his best to amend his past errors ; and 
 I think I may say that his efforts in that line 
 would not be received ungraciously by Mrs. 
 Dale. I am inclined therefore to think that 
 life at AUington, both at the Great House and 
 at the Small, would soon become pleasanter than 
 it used to be in former days. Lily soon got the 
 Balmoral boots, or, at least, soon learned that 
 the power of getting them as she pleased had 
 devolved upon her from her uncle's gift ; so that 
 she talked even of buying the squirrel's cage ; 
 but I am not aware that her extravagance led 
 her as far as that. 
 
 Lord De Courcy was left suffering dreadfully 
 from gout and iU-temper at Courcy Castle. Yes, 
 indeed ! To him in his latter days life did not 
 seem to offer much that was comfortable. His 
 wife had now gone from him, and declar^ pos- 
 itively to her son-in-law that no earthly consid- 
 eration should ever induce her to go back again; 
 — " not if I were to starve !" she said. By which 
 she intended to signify that she would be firm in 
 her resolve, even though she should thereby lose 
 her carriage and horses. Poor Mr. Gazebee 
 went down to Courcy, and had a dreadful inter- 
 view with the earl ; but matters were at last ar- 
 ranged, and her ladyship remained at Baden- 
 Baden in a state of semi-starvation. That is to 
 say, she had but one horse to her carriage. 
 
 As regards Crosbie, I am inclined to believe 
 that he did again recover his power at his ofSce. 
 
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLENGTON. 
 
 273 
 
 He was Mr. Butterwell's master, and the mas- 
 ter also of Mr. Optimist, and the major. He 
 knew his business, and could do it, which was 
 more; perhaps, than might fairly he said of any 
 of the other three. Under such circumstances 
 lie was sure to get in his hand and lead again. 
 But elsewhere his star did not recover its as- 
 cendency. He dined at his club almost daily, 
 and there were those with whom he habitually 
 formed some little circle. But he was not the 
 Crosbie of former days — the Crosbie known in 
 
 Belgravia and in St. James's Street. He had 
 taken his little vessel bravely out into the deep 
 waters, and had sailed her well while fortune 
 stuck close to him. But he had forgotten his 
 nautical rules, and success had made him idle. 
 His plummet and lead had not been used, and 
 he had kept no look-out ahead. Therefore the 
 first rock he met shivered his bark to pieces. 
 His wife, the Lady Alexandrina, is to be seen 
 in the one-horse carriage with her mother at 
 Baden-Baden. 
 
 THE ENR 
 
Useful Books for the Country 
 
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 London Review. 
 It was once said of a very charming and high-minded 
 woman that to know her was in itself a liberal education ; 
 and we are inclined to set an almost equally high value on 
 an acquaintance with the writings of" George EHot." For 
 those who read them aright they possess the faculty of ed- 
 ucating in its highest sense, of invigorating the intellect, 
 giving a healthy tone to the taste, appeahng to the nobler 
 teelings of the heart, training its impulses aright, and 
 awakening or developing in every mind the consciousness 
 of a craving for something higher than the pleasures and 
 rewards of that life which only the senses realize, the be- 
 lief in a destiny of a nobler nature than can be grasped by 
 experience or demonstrated by argument^ In reading 
 them we seem to be raised above the low'ffounds where 
 the atmosphere is heavy and tainted, and the sunlight has 
 to struggle through Winding veils of mist, and to be set 
 upon the higher ranges where the air is fresh and bracing, 
 where the sky is bright and clear, and where earth seems 
 of less account than before and heaven more near at home. 
 And as, by those who really feel the grandeur of mountain 
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 hushes the whispers in which vanity, and meanness, and 
 self-interest are wont to make their petty suggestions; 
 and as for them the paltry purposes of a brief and fitful 
 life lose their significance in the presence of the mighty 
 types of steadfastness and, eternity by which they are sur- 
 rounded ; so, on those readers who are able to appreciate 
 a lofty independence of thought, a rare nobility of feeling, 
 and an exquisite sympathy with the joys and sorrows of hu- 
 man nature, " George Eliot's" writings can not fail to ex- 
 ert an invigorating and purifying influence, the good ef- 
 fects of which leaves behind it a lastmg impression. 
 
 Worcester Palladium. 
 " George Eliot," or whoever he or she may be, has a 
 wonderful power in giving an air of intense reafity to what- 
 ever scene is presented, whatever character is portrayed. 
 
 Philadelphia Evening Telegraph. 
 She resembles Shakspeare in her power of delineation. 
 It is from this characteristic action on the part of each of 
 \he menibers of the dramatis persona that we feel not 
 only an interest, even and consistent throughout, but also 
 *n admiration for " George EHot" above all other writers. 
 
 Boston Transcript. 
 Few women — no living woman indeed — have so much 
 strength as " George Eliot," and, more than that, she nev- 
 er allows it to degenerate into coarseness. With all her 
 so-called "masculine" vigor, she has a feminine tender- 
 ness, which is nowhere shown more plainly than in het 
 descriptions of children. 
 
 Saturday Review, 
 She looks out upon the world with the most entire 
 enjoyment of all the good that there is in it to enjoy, and 
 with an enlarged compassion for all the ill that there is in 
 it to pity. But she never either whimpers over the sor- 
 rowful lot of man, or snarls and chuckles over his follies 
 and littlenesses and impotence. 
 
 Macmillan*s Magazine, 
 In "George Eliot's" books the effect is produced by 
 the most delicate strokes and the nicest proportions. In 
 her pictures men and women fill the foreground, while 
 thm lines and faint color show us the portentous clouds 
 of fortune or circumstance looming in the dim distance be- 
 hind them and over their heads. She does not paint the 
 world as a huge mountain with pigmies crawHng or scram- 
 bling up its rugged sides to inaccessible peaks, and only 
 
 tearing their flesh more or less for their pains Eacli 
 
 and all of * George Eliot's" novels abound in reflections 
 that beckon on the alert reader into pleasant paths and 
 firuitful fields of thought. 
 
 Spectator. 
 " George Eliot" has Sir Walter Scott's art for revivify- 
 ing the past. You plunge into it with as headlong an in- 
 terest as into the present. For this she compensates by a 
 wider and deeper intellectual grasp. 
 
 Reader. 
 Her acquaintance with different phases of outward life, 
 and the power of analyzing feeling and the working of the. 
 mind, are alike wonderfiil. 
 
 Examiner. 
 " George Eliot's" novels belong to the enduring litera- 
 ture of our country— durable, not for the fashioaableness 
 of its pattern, but for the texture of its stuff. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 Harper & Brothers wia send any of the above works iy Mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United 
 
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By Miss Mulock. 
 
 These Novels form a most admirable series of popular fiction. They are marked by their faithful delineation 
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 MISS MULOCK'S NOVELS. 
 
 She attempts to show how the trials, perplexities, joys, sorrows, labors, and successes of life deepen or wither the 
 character according to its inward bent. 
 
 She cares to teach, not how dishonesty is always plunging men into infinitely more complicated external difficulties 
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 There are few writers who have exhibited a more marked progress, whether in fi-eedom of touch or in depth of 
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 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
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 diamonds. — London Reader. 
 
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 We are entitled to look for something beyond the common in all that Mrs. Oliphant writes, 
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 London Daily News. 
 
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 Barrington. 
 
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