PR veeo CORNELL : UNIVERSITY LIBRARY FROM Date Due ORLEY PARI BY ANTHONY TROLLOPE, AUTHOR OF CAN TOU FOEGIVE HER," " CASTLE RICHMOND,' " RACHEL RAr," ETC. NEW EDITION. LONDON : WARD, LOCK AND CO., WARWICK H0U8E, SALISBURY SQUARE, E.G. NEW YORK: 10, BOND STREET. [y/ie riglii of TrumUdion is reseyvrd,^ Cornell University Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 3565449 ORLEY FARM, BY ANTHON ss. DOCTOR TIIORNE THE MACDERMOTS OF BALLY- CLORAN RACHEL RAY THE KELLYS AND THE O'liELLYS TALES OF ALL COUNTSIES CASTLE RICHMOND THE BERTRAMS MISS MACKENZIE THE BELTON ESTATE Y TROLLOTE. Vols. AN EDITOR'S TALES RALPH THE HEIR LA VENDEE LADY ANNA VICAR OF BULLHAMPTON SIR HARKY HOTSPUR IS HE POPENJOY? AN EYE FOR EYE COUSIN HENRY LOTTA SCHMIDT ORLEY FARM CAN YOU FORGIVE HER? PHINEAS FINN THE DUKE'S CHILDREN 2S. 6d. Vols. HE KNEW HE WAS RIGHT EUSTACE DIAMONDS PHINEAS REDUX THE PRIME MINISTER LONDON: WARD, LOCK AND CO., SALISBURY SQUARE. E.C CO^ lENTS I. — THE COMMENCEMENT OP THE SEEAT OIILEV f AEM CASS 1 II. — LADY MASOS AND HEK SON - - . . 9 HI. — TEE ClEEVfi - - - - 19 IV.— THE PEKILS OP YOUTH ... 24 V. — SIR PEREGiilNE MAKES A SECOND PKOM'SE - - 30 VI.— THE COMMisncIAL ROOM, BULL INN, i.EEDS . - 35 VII.— THE MASONS OF GROBY PARK ■• - - 44 VIII.— MRS. MASON'S HOT LUNCHEON - - . 54 IX. — A CONVIVIAL MEETING - - . - - 58 X, — MR., MRS., AJID MISS FUKNIVAL • - 67 XI. — MRS. FURNiVAL AT HOME - 7i XII. — ME. FURNHaL's CHAMBElta - - .80 XIII. — GUILTY, OK UOT GUILTY - 87 XIV. — DINNER AT THE CLEEVE 9i XV, A MORNING CALL AT MOUNT PLEASANT VILLA- - 102 XVI. — MR. DOCKWr^ATH IN BEDFORD ROW . - 109 IV-% — VON BAUHR .... - 116 IVXJ. — THE ENGLISH VON BAUHR - - . 123 UX. — THE STAVELEY FAMILY - - - 129 iX.— MR. DOCKWRATH IN HIS OWN OFFICE - 1 39 XXI. — CHRISTMAS IN HARLEY STREET - - • liS IXII. — CHRISTMAS AT NONINGSBY .... 153 CXIII. — CHRISTMAS AT GHOBY PARK - - ] 63 XXIV. — CHRISTMAS IN GREAT ST. HELENS . . - 16U IIV. — ^MH. FURNITAL AGAIN AT HIS CHAMBERS - • 178 Vi CONTENTS. CHAPI2B ^' l^' XXVI. — WHt SHOULD I NOT? ... - 182 XXVII. — COMMERCE - - - - •• .191 XXVIIt. — MONKTON GRANGE ..... 193 XXIX. — BBEAKIKG COVERT ..... 204 XXX. ANOTHER FALL - - . - .211 XXXI. FOOTSTEPS IX TilE CORl:lDOr. - . .218 XXXir. — Vi^HAT BRIDGET nOLSTEB HAD TO SAY . - 224 XXXIII. THE ANGEL OP LIGHT- .... 234 XXXIV. — ME. FURNIVAL LOOKS FOB ASSISTAXCE - . 242 XXXV. — LOVE WAS STILL THE LOED OF ALL- - . 247 XXXVL — WHAT THE YOUNG MEN THOUGHT ABOUT IT -257 XXXVIL PEREGEINE's ELOQUENCE - - . .264 XXXVin, — OH, INDEED ! . - - - - - 271 XXXIX. — WHY SHOULD HE GO ? - - - - 277 XL. — I CALL IT AWFUL ..... 289 XLI. — HOW CAN 1 SAVE HIM ? - - - . 294 XLU. — JOHN KENNEBY GOES TO HAMWOETU - - 301 XLIIL — JOHN KENNEBY's COURTSHIP- . - -307 XLFV. — SHOWING HOW LADY MASON COULD BE VERY NOBLE - 314 XLV. — SHOWINGHOWMES.OEME COULD BE VERY WEAK-MINDED 324 XLVI. — A woman's IDEA OP FEIENDSHIP ... 333 XLVIL THE GEM OF THE FOUE FAMILIES - . . 338 XLVIII. — THE ANGEL OF LIGHT DNDEE A CLOUD - - 345 XLIX. MEo. FUESIVAL CAN'T PUT UP WITH IT . . SSC! L. — IT IS QUITE IMPOSSIBLE - - . . 'P.GO LI. — mks. fdknival's journey to hamworth - . 370 LII. SHOWING how THINGS WENT ON AT NONINGSBY - 370 LIII.— LADY MASON RETUENS HOME - 383 LIV. — TELLISGALL THAT HAPPENED EENEATHTHELAMP-POST 391 LV. — WHAT TOOK PLACE IN HAELEY STEEET - - 398 LVI. — HOW SIE PEEF.GRIKE DID BUSINESS WITH MR. ROUND . 406 CONTENTS. vii Otuiica tVn.— THE LOVES iND HOPES OE ALBERT HITZAiLEN IVIII. — MISS STAVELEY DECLINES TO EAT MIXCED VEAL IIX. — NO STJRKENDER LX. — "WHAT EEBEKAH DID rjR HER SON IXI. — THE STATE OS rUELIC OrlNION IJCII. — WHA'l' the FOUR LAWYliRS TIIOUGUT ABOUi 11 LXin. — THE EVENING BEFORE TUE TRIAL LXIV. — TUE FIRST JOURNEY TO ALSTON LXV. — FELIX GRAHAM RETURNS TO NONINGSBY LXVI. — HOW MISS FURNIVAL TREATED HER LCVERS • LXVII. — MR. MOULDER BACKS HIS OPINION IXVIII. — TUE FIRST DAY OF THE TRIAL LXIX. THE TTTO JUDGES LXX. — HOW AM I TO BEAR IT ? LXXI. — SHOWING HOW JOHN KENNEBY AND BRIDGET BOLSTER BORE THEMSELVES IN COURT LXXII.^MR. FURNIVAL's SPEECH ^ . . tXXIII. — MRS. ORME TELLS THE STORY . - - LXXIV. — YOUNG LOCUINVAR . . , LXXV. — THE LAST DAY - - . . LXXVI. — I LOVE HER STILL LXXVII. — JOHN KENNEBY's DOOM tXXVIII. — THE LAST OF THE LAWYERS - LXXIX. — FAREWELL - ... IXSX. — SHOWING HOW AFFAIRS SETTLED THEMSEIVES AT I-0NIJ(G6IST .... Ilea 413 418 427 431 4i] Ub 455 4C:S 470 479 480 491 499 505 513 523 529 537 544 552 558 565 574 OELEY FARM. CHAPTER I. THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE GEEAT ORLfiT FARM CASE, It is not true that a rose by any other name will smell as sweeJ Were it true, I should call this story " The Great Orlev Parm Ca^e." But who would ask for the ninth number of a serial work burthened with so very uncouth an appellation ? Thence, and therefore,— Orley Tarm. I say so much at commencing in order that I may have an oppor- tunity of explainina; that this book of mine will not be devoted in any special way to rural delights. The name might lead to the idea that new precepts were to be given, in the pleasant guise of a novel, as to cream-cheeses, piM with small bones, wheat sown in drills, or artificial manure. No such aspirations are mine. I make no attempts in that line, and declare at once that a,giculturists will gain nothing from my present performance. Orley Parm, my readers, will be our scene during a portion of our present sojourn together, but the name has been chosen _ as having been intimately connected with certain legal questions which made a considerable stir in our courts of law. It was twenty years before the date at which this story will be sup- posed to commence that the name of Orley Farm first became known to the *earers of the long robe. At that time had died an old gentle- man, Sir Joseph Mason, who left behind him a landed'estate in York- shire of considerable extent and value. This he bequeathed, in a proper way, to his eldest son, the Joseph Mason, Esq., of our date. Sir ^ Joseph had been a London merchant ; had made his own money, having commenced the world, no doubt, with half-a-crown ; had be- come, in turn, alderman, mayor, and knight ; and in the fulness of time was gathered to his fathers. He had purchased this estate in York- shire late in life — we may as well become acquainted with the name, Groby Park — and his eldest son had lived there with such enjoyment of the privileges of an English country gentleman as he had been al)le to master for himself. Sir Joseph had also had three daughters, full sisters 1 > 8 OELEY FAEM. of Joseph of Groby, wliom he endowed sufficiently and gave over to three respective loving husbands. And then shortly before his death, three years or so, Sir Joseph had married a second vrife, a lady forty- five years his junior, and by her he also left one son, an infant only two years old when he died. For many years this prosperous gentleman had lived at a small country house, some five and twenty miles from London, called Orley Parm. This had been his first purchase of land, and he had never given up his residence there, although his wealth would have entitled him to the enjoyment of a larger establishment. On the birth of his youngest sou, at which time his eldest was neailf ::'crty years old, he madei certain moderate provision for the infant, as he had already made moderate provision for his young wife ; but it was then clearly under- stood by the eldest son that Orley Parm was to go with the Groby Park estate to him as the heir. When, however. Sir Joseph died, a codicil to his will, executed with due legal formaUties, bequeathed Orley Parm to his youngest son, little Lucius Mason. Then commenced those legal proceedings which at last developed themselves into the great Orley Parm Case. The eldest son contested the vaUdity of the codicil; and indeed there were some grounds on which it appeared feasible that he should do so. This codicil not only left Orley Farm away from him to baby Lucius, but also interfered in another respect with the previous will. It devised a sum of two thousand pounds to a certain Miriam Us^ech, the daughter of one ■ Jonathan Usbech, who was himself the attorney who had attended upon Sir Joseph for the making out of this very will, and also of this very codicil. This sum of two thousand pounds was not, it is true, left away from the surviving Joseph; but was to be produced out of certain personal property which had been left by the first will to the M'idow. And then old Jonathan Usbech had died, while Sir Joseph Mason was stiU hving. All the circumstances of the trial need not be detailed here. It was clearly proved that Sir Joseph had during his whole life expressed his intention of leaving Orley Parm to his eldest son; ; that he was a man void of mystery, and not given to' secrets in his money matters, and one very little likely to change his opinion on such subjects. It was proved that old Jonathan IJsbech at the time in which the will was made was in very bad circumstances, both as regards money and liealth. His business had once not been bad, but he had eaten and drunk .it, and at this period was feeble and penniless, overwhelmed both by gout and debt. He had for many years been much employed by Sir Joseph in money matters, and it was known that he was so employed almost up to the day of his death. The question was whether he had been employed to make this codicil. The body of the will was in the handwriting of the widow, as was iJso the codicil. It was stated by her at the trial that the words v,'ere dictated to her by Usbech, in her husband's hearmg,- and that the document was then signed by her husband in the presence of them i)oth, and also in tiie presence of two other persons — a young maa jiax, isV«r» anrouting on his cheek, well grouttdeS LADY MASOJt ASD HEE SON. 15 sn Greek, Latin, and Euclid, grounded also in French and Italian, and possessing many more acquu-ements than he would have learned at Harrow. But added to these, or rather consequent on them, was a conceit which a public-school education would not have created A\ hen their mothers compared them in the holidays, not openly with outspoken words, but silently in tlieir hearts, Lucius Mason was found by each to be the superior both in manners and knowledge ; but each acknowledged also that there was more of iugei^us boyhood about Peregrine Orme. Peregrine Orme was a year the younger, aiid therefore his com- parative deficiencies were not the cause of any intense sorrow at The Cleeve ; but his grandfather would probably have been better satisfied — and perhaps also so would his mother — had he been less addicted to the catching of rats, and better inclined towards Miss Edgewotth's novels and Skakspeare's plays, which were earnestly recommended to him by the lady, and the gentleman. But boys generally are fond of rats, and very frequently are not fond of reading; and therefore, all this having been duly considered, there was not much deep sorrow in those days at The Cleeve as to the boyhood of the heir. But there was great pride at Or ley Earm, althougn tnat pride was shown openly to no one. Lady Mason in her visits at The Cleeve said but little as to her son's iiresent excellencies. As to his future career in life she did say much both to Sir Peregrine and to Mrs. Orme, asking the counsel of the one and expressmg her fefirs to the other ;' and then. Sir Peregrine having given his consent, she sent the lad to Germany. , . _ He was allowed to come of age without any special signs of manhood, or (jught of the glory of property ; although,' in his case, that coming of age did put him into absolute possession 'of his inherit- ance. On that day, had he been so minded, he could have turned his mother out of the farm-house, and taken exclusive possession of the estate ; but he did m fact remain in Germany for a year beyond this •period, and returned to Orley Earni only in time to be present at the celebration of the twenty-first birthday of his friend Peregrine, Orme. This ceremony, as may be surmised, , was by no means slurred over without due rejoicing. The heir at the tune was at Chfistchurch ; but at such a period a sKght interruption to his studies was not to be lamented. There had been Sir Peregrine Ormes in those parts ever smce the days of James I.; and indeed in days long antecedent to those there had been knights bearmg that name, some of whom had been honourably beheaded for treason, others imprisoned for heresy ; and one made away with on account of a supposed royal amour,— to the great glorification of all his descendants. Looking to the antecedents . of the family, it was only proper that the coming of age of the heu: should be duly celebrated; but Lucius Mason had had no antecedents ; BO great-great-grandfather of his had knelt at the feet of an improper prmcess; .and therefore Lady Mason, though she had been at J.lie Oeeve, had not mentioned the fact that on that very- day her sou bsO. 16 OKLET PAEM. become a man. Bat when Peregrine Ornrie became a man— though still in his manhood too much devoted to rats— she gloried greatly m her quiet waj, and wliispered a hope into the baronet's ear Uiat the young heir would not imitate the ambition of his ancestor. " No, by Jove ! it would not do now at all," said Sir Peregrine, by no means displeased at the allusion. And then that question as to the future life of Lucius Mason became one of great importance, and it was necessary to consult, not only Sir Peregrine Orme, but the young man himself. His mother had suggested to him first the law : the great Mr. Purnival, formerly of the home circuit, but now practising only in London, was her very special friend, and would give her and her son all possible aid in this direction. And what living man could give better aid than the great Mr. Pumival ? But Lucius Mason would have none of the law. This resolve he pronounced very clearly while yet in Germany, whither his mother visited him, bearing^ with her along letter written by the great Mr. Furnival himself. But nevertheless young Mason would have none of the law. "I have an idea," he said, "that lawyers are all liars." Whereupon his mother rebuked him for his conceited ignorance and want of charity ; but she did not gain her point. She had, however, another string to her bow. As he objected to be a lawyer, he might become a civil engineer. Circumstances had made Sir Peregrine Orme very intimate with the great Mr. Brown. Lideed, •Mr. Brown was under great obUgations to Sir Peregrine, and Sit Peregrine had promised to use his influence. But Lucius Mason said that civil engineers were only tradesmen of an upper class, tradesmen with intellects ; and he, he said, wished to use his intellect, but he did not choose to be a tradesman. His mother rebuked him again, as he well deserved that she should, — and then asked him of what profession he himself had thought. " Philology," said he ; " or as a profession, perhaps literature. I shall devote myself to philology and the races of man. Nothing considerable has been done with them as a combined pursuit." And with these views he returned home, — while Peregrine Orme at Oxford was still addicted to the hunting of rats. But with philology and the races of man he consented to combine the pursuit of agriculture. When his mother found that he wished to take up his abode in his own house, she by no means opposed him, and suggested that, as such was his intention, he himself should farm his own land. He was very ready to do this, and had she not represented that such a step was in every way impolitic, he would willingly have requested Mr. Greenwood of the Old Parm to look elsewhere, and have spread himself and his energies over the whole domain. As it was he contented himself with desiring that Mr. Dockwrath would vacate his small holding, and as he was imperative as to that his mother gave way without making it the cause of a battle. Site would willingly have left Mr. Dockwrath in possession, and did say a word or two as to the milk necessary for those siKteen children. But Lucius Mason was ducal in his ideas, and Intimated an opinion that he had a right to do what he liked with his own. Had not Mr. Dockwrath been told, when the LADY MASON AND HER SOIf. 17 fields were surrendered to him as a favour, that he would only have them in possession till the heir should coD'e of age ? Mr. Dockwratli had been so told ; but tellings such as these are easily forgotten by men with sixteen children. And thus Mr. Mason became an agriculturist with special scientific views as to chemistry, and a philologist with the object of making that pursuit bear upon his studies with reference to the races of man. He was convinced that by certain admixtures of ammonia and earths ho could produce cereal results hitlierto unknown to the farming world, and that by tracing out the roots of words he could trace also the wanderings of man since the expulsion of Adam from the garden. As to the latter question his mother was not inclined to contradict him. Seeing that he would sit at the feet neither of Mi . Furnival nor of Mr. Brown, she had no objection to the races of man. She could endure to be talked to about the Oceanic Mongolidae and the lapetidsB of the Indo-Germanio class, and had perhaps her own ideas that such matters, though somewhat foggy, were better than rats. But when he came to the other subject, and informed her that the properly plentiful feeding of the world was only kept waiting for the chemists, she certainly did have her fears. Chemical agriculture is expensive ; and though the results may possibly be remunerative, still, while we are thus kept waiting by the backwardness of the chemists, there must be much risk in making any serious expenditure with such views. " Mother," he said, when he had now been at home about three months, and when the flat for the expulsion of Samuel Dookwrath had already gone forth, " I shall go to Liverpool to-morrow." " To Liverpool, Lucius ? " " Yes. That guano which I got from Walker is adulterated. I have analysed it, and find that it does not contain above thirty-two and a half hundi-edths of of that which it ought to hold in a proportion of seventy-five per cent, of the whole." " Does it not ? " " No ; and it is impossible to obtain results while one is working with such fictitious materials. Look at that bit of grass at the bottom of Greenwood's HiU." "The fifteen-acre field? Wliy, Lucius, we always had the heaviest crops of hay in the parish off that meadow." "That's all very well, mother; but you have never tried, — nobody about here ever has tried, what the land can really produce. I will throw that and the three fields beyond it into one ; 1 will get Green- wood to let me have that bit of the hUl-side, giving him compensation of course " "And then Dockwrath would want compensation." " Dockwrath is an impertinent rascal, and I shall take an opportunity of telling him so. But as I was saying, I will throw those seventy acres together, and then I wUl try what will be the relative effects of guano and the patent blood. But I must have real guano, and so I shall go to Liverpool." " I think I would wait a little, Lucius. It is almost too late for anj change of that kind this year." 3 18 OELEY FAEM. " Wait ! Yes, and vrixat has come of waiting ? We don't wait at all in doubling our population every thirty-three years ; but when we come to the feeding of them we are always for waiting. It is that w^ting which has reduced the intellectual development of one hall ot the flumanraee to its present terribly low_ state— or rather prevented its rising in a degree proportionate to the increase of the population. No more waiting for me, mother, if I can help it." "But, Lucius, should not such new attempts as that be made by men with large capital ? " said the mother. " Capital is a bugbear," said the son, speaking on this matter quite ex cathedra, as no doubt he was entitled to do by his extensive reading at a German university—" capital is a bugbear. The capital that is really wanting is thought, mind, combination, knowledge." "But, Lucius " T J > I, " Yes, I know what you are going to say, mother. I don t boast that I possess all these things ; but I do say that I will endeavour to obtain them." " I have no doubt yoU wUl ; but should not that come first ? " " That is waiting again. We all know as much as this, that good manure will give good crops if the sun be allowed full play_ upon the land, and nothing but the crop be allowed to grow. That is what I shall attempt at first, and there can be no great danger in that." And so he went to Liverpool. Lady Mason during his absence began to regret that she had not left him in the undisturbed and inexpensive possession of the Mongolidse and the lapetidae. His rent from the estate, including that which she would have paid him as tenant of the smaller farm, would have enabled him to live with all comfort ; and, if such had been his taste, he might have become a philosophical student, and lived respectably without adding anything to his income by the sweat of his brow. But now the matter was likely to become serious enough. Tor a gentleman farmer determined to wait no longer for the chemists, whatever might be the results, an immediate profitable return per acre could not be expected as one of them. Any rent from that smaller farm would now be out of the question, and it would be well' if the payments made so punctually by old Mr. Greenwood were not also swallowed up in the search after unadulterated guano. Who could tell whether in the pursuit of Science he might not insist on chartering a vessel, himself, fCT the Feruviari coast ? TPJ CIEEVR, CHAPTER 111. THE CLEEVE. I HAVE said, that Sir Peregrine Orme was not a ricU man, meaning thereby that he was not a rich man considering his acknowledged position in the county. Such men not uncommonly have their tens, twelves, and twenty thousands a year ; but Sir Peregrine's estate did not give him above three or four. He was lord of the manor of Hamworth, and possessed seignorial rights, or rather the skeleton and remembrance of such rights with reference to a very large district of country; but his actual property — that from which he still received tie substantial benefits of ownership — was not so large as those of some of his neighbours. There was, however, no place withm the county which was so beautifully situated as The Cleeve, or which had about it so many of the attractions of age. The house itself had been built at two periods, — a new set of rooms having been added to the remains of the old Elizabethan structure in the time of Charles II. It had not about it anything that was peculiarly grand or imposing, nor were the rooms large or even commodious; but everything was old, venerable, and picturesque. Both the dining-room and the library were panelled v/ith black wamscoating ; and though the drawiug-rooms were papered, the tall, elaborately-worked wooden chimney-pieces still stood in them, and a wooden band or belt round the rooms showed that the panels were still there, although liidden by the modern paper. Bup it was for the beauty and wildness of its grounds that The Cleeve was remarkable. The land fell here and there into, narrow, wild ravines and woody crevices. The soil of the park was not rich, and could give but little assistance to the chemists in supplying the plentiful food expected by Mr. Mason for the commg multitudes of the world ; it produced in some parts heather instead of grass, and was as wild and unprofitable as Cleeve Common, which stretched for miles outside the park palings; but it seemed admirably adapted for deer and for the maintenance of half-decayed venerable oaks. Young tmiber also throve well about the place, and in this respect Sir Peregrine was a careful landlord. There ran a river through the park,— the Eiver Cleeve, from which the place and parish are said to have taken their names ; — a river, or rather a stream, very narrow and inconsiderable as to its volume of water, but which passed for some two miles through so narrow a passage as to give to it the appearance of a cleft or fissure in the rocks. The water tumbled over the stones through this entire course, making it seem to be fordable almost everywhere without danger ■ of wet feet ; but in truth there was hardly a spot at which it could be crossed ivithont a bold leap from rock to rock. Narrow as was the aperture through which the water Lad cut its way, nevertheless a path 3—3 20 OKLEY FARM. Bad been contrived, now on one side of the stream and now on the other, crossing it liere and there by slight hanging wooden bridges The air here was always damp with spray, and the rocks on both sides were covered with long mosses, as were also the overhanging boughs of the old trees. This place was the glory of _ The CLeeve, and as far as picturesque beauty goes it was very glorious. ihero was a spot in the river from whence a steep path led down trom tb6 park to the water, and at this spot the deer would come to drink. I know nothing more beautiful than this sight, when three or four of theni «Duld be so seen from one of the wooden bridges towards the hour of sunset in the autumn. , Sir Peregrine himself at this time was an old man, havine passed Ins seventieth year. He was a fine, handsome English gentleman with white ban-, keen gray eyes, a nose slightly aquiliie, and lips now too closely pressed together in consequence of the havoc which time had made among his teeth. He was tall, but had lost something of his height from stooping, — was slight in his form, but well made, and vain of the smalhess of his feet and the whiteness of his hands. He was generous, quick tempered, and opinionated; generally very mUd to those who would agree with him and submit to him, but intolerant of contradiction, and conceited as to his experience of the world and the wisdom which he had thence derived. To those who were manifestly his inferiors he was affable, to his recognised equals he was courteous, to women he was almost always gentle ; — ^but to men who claimed an equality which he would not acknowledge, he could make himself particularly disagreeable. In judging the position which a man should iiold in the world. Sir Peregrine was very resolute in ignormg all claims made by wealth alone. Even property in land could not, in his eyes create a gentleman. A gentleman, according to his ideas, should at any rate have great-grandfathers capable of being traced in the world's history; and the greater the number of such, and the more easily traceable they might be on the world's surface, the more tinquestionable would be the status of the claimant in question. Such being the case, it may be imagined that Joseph Mason, Esq., of Groby Park, did not rank high in the estimation of Sir Peregrine Orme. I have said that Sir Peregrine was fond of his own opinion; but nevertheless he was a man whom it was by no means difficult to lead. In the first place he was singularly devoid of suspicion. The word of a man or of a woman was to him always credible, until full proof had come home to him that it was utterly unworthy of credit. After that such a man or woman might as well spare all speech as regards the hope of any effect on the mind of Sir Peregrine Orme. He did not easily believe a fellow-creature to be a liar, but a liar to him once was a liar always. And then he was amenable to flattery, and few that are BO are proof against the leading-strings of their flatterers. All this was well understood of Sir Peregrme by those about him. His gardener, his groom, and liis woodman all knev/ about his foibles. They all loved him, respected him, and worked for him faithfully : but each of them had his own way in hi? own branch. ' ' THE CLEEVE. 91 And there was anotlier person at The Cleeve who took into her own hands a considerable share of the management and leading of Sir Peregrine, though, in truth, she made no efforts m that direction. This was Mrs. Orme, the widow of his only child, and the mother of his heir. Mrs. Orme was a younger woman than Mrs. Mason of Orley Farm by nearly five years, though her son was but twelve months junior to Lucius Mason. She had been the daughter of a brother Baronet, whose family was nearly as old as that of the Ormes ; and therefore, though she had come penniless to her husband. Sir Peregrine had considered that his son had married well. She had been a great beauty, very small in size and dehcate of limb, fair haired, with soft blue wondering eyes, and a dimpled cheek. Such she had been when young Peregrine Orme brought her home to The Cleeve, and the bride at once became the darling of her father-in-law. One year she had owned of married joy, and then all the happiness of the family had been utterly destroyed, and for the few following years there had been no sadder household in all the country-side than that of Sir Peregrine Orme. His son, his only son, the pride of all who knew him, the hope of his poHtical party in the county, the brightest among the bright ones of the day for whom the world was just opening he; richest treasures, fell from his horse as he was crossing into a road, and his lifeless body was brought home to The Cleeve. All this happened now twenty years since, but the widow still wear.^ the colours of mourning. Of her also the world of course said tbat she would soon console herself with a second love; but she too haa given the world the lie. From that day to tlie present she has never left the house of her father-in-law ; she has been a true child to him, and she has enjoyed all a child's privileges. There has been but Uttle favour for any one at The Cleeve who has been considered by tb; baronet to disregard the wishes of the mistress of the establishment- Any word from her has been law to him, and he has of course expeeted also that her word should be law to others. He has yielded to her in all things, and attended to her will as though she were a little queen, recognising in her feminme weakness a sovereign power, as some men can and do ; and having thus for years indulged himself in a Quixotic gallantry to the lady of his household, he has demanded of others that they also should bow the knee. During the last twenty years The Cleeve has not been a gay house. During the last ten those living there have been contented, and in the main happy ; but there has seldom been many guests in the old hall, and Sir Peregrine has not been fond of gomg to other men's feasts. He inherited the property very early in life, and then there were on it some few encumbrances. While yet a young man he added something to these, and now, since his own son's death, he has been settmg hii^ house in order, that his grandson should receive the family acres intact. Every shilling due on the property has been paid off; and it is well that this should be so, for there is reason to fear that the heir will want a helping hand out of some of youth's difficulties,— perhaps once Of twice before his passion for rats gives place to a good English gentl* i% OELET PARM. manlike resolve to liuni; twice a week, look after his timber, and live , well witliia his means. The chief fault in the character of young Peregrine Orme was that he was so yomig. There are' men who are old at one-and-twenty,— • are quite fit for parliament, the magistrate's bench, the care of a wife, and even for that much sterner duty, the care of a balance at the bankers; but there are others 'who at that age are still boys,— whose inner persons and characters have not begun, to clothe themselves with the "toga virilis." I am not sure that those whose boyhoods are so protracted have the worst of it, if in this hurrying and competitive age they can be saved from being absolutely trampled in the dust before they are able to do a little trampKng on their own account. Emit that grows ripe the quickest is not the sweetest ; nor wben housed and garnered will it keep the longest. For young Peregrine there was no need of competitive struggles. The days have not yet come, though they are no doubt coming, when " detur digniori" shall be the rule of succession to all titles,' honours, and privileges whatsoever. Only thmk what a lift it would give to the education of the country in general, if any lad from seventeen to twenty-one could go in for a vacant dukedom ; and if a goodly inheritance could be "made absolutely incompatible with incorrect spelling and doubtfiil piroSciency in rule of three ! Luckily for Peregrine junior these days are not yet at hand, or I fear that there would be little chance for him. While Lucius Mason was beginnuig to think that the chemists might be hurried, and that agriculture might be beneficially added to philology, our friend Peregrme had just 'been rusticated, and the head of his college bad intimated to the baronet that it would be well to take the young man's name off the college books. This accordingly had been done, and the heir of The Cleeve was at present at home with his mother and grandfather. What special act of grace had led to this severity we need not inquire, but we may be sure that the frolics of which he had been guilty had been essentially young in their nature. He had assisted in driving a farmer's sow into the man's best parlour, or had daubed the top of the tutor's cap with white paint, or had perhaps given liberty to a Dag full of rats in the college hall at dinner-time. Such were the youth's academical amusements, and as they . were- pursued with unremitting energy it was thought well that he should be removed from Oxford. Then had come the terrible question of his university bills. One after another, half a score of them reached Sir Peregrine, and then took place that terrible interview, — such as most young men have had to undergo at least once, — in which he was asked how he . intended to absolve himself from the pecuniary liabilities which he had incurred. " I am sure I don't know," said young Orme, sadly. " But I shall be glad, Sk, if you will favour me with your intentions," »aid Sir Peregrme, with severity. " A gentleman does not, I presume, send his orders to a tradesman without having some intenlion of paying lim for his goods." THE CLEETTE. 93 "i intended that they should all be paid, of course." " And how, Sir ? by whom ? " "Well, Sir, — I suppose I intended that you should pay them;" and the scapegrace as he spoke looked full up into the baronet's face with his bright blue eyes, — not impudently, as though defying his grandfather, but with a bold confidence which at once softened tlie old man's heart. Sir Peregrine turned away and walked twice the length of the library ; then, returning to the spot where the other stood, he put his band on his grandson's shoulder. " Well, Peregrine, I will pay them," he said. "I have no doubt that you did so intend when you incurred them;— and that was perhaps natural. I will pay them ; but for your own sake, and for your dear mother's sake, I hope that they are" not very heavy. Can you give me a list of all that you owe ? " Young Peregrine said that he thought he could, and 'itting down at once he made a clean breast of it. With all his forjles, foUies, and youthful ignorances, in two respects he stood on good yround. He was neither false nor a coward. He continued to scrawl down items as long as there were any of which he could think, and then handed over the list in order that his grandfather might add them up. It was the last he ever heard of the matter ; and when he revisited Oxford some twelve months afterwards, the tradesmen whom he had honoured with his custom bowed to him as low as though he had already inherited twenty thousand a year. Peregrine Orme was short in stature as was his mother, and he also had his mother's wonderfully bright blue eyes : but in other respects he was very like his father and grandfather ; — very hke all the Ormes who had lived for ages past. His hair was light ; his forehead was not large, but well formed and somewhat prominent ; his nose had some- thing, though not much, of the eagle's beak ; his mouth was handsome in its curve, and his teeth were good, and his chin was divided by a deep dimple. His figure was not only short, but stouter than that of the Ormes in 'general. He was very strong on his legs; he could wrestle, and box, and use the single-stick with a quickness and precision that was the terror of all the freshmen who had come in his way. Mrs. Orme, his mother, no doubt thought that he was perfect. Looking at the reflex of her own eyes in his, and seeing in his face so sweet a' portraiture of the nose and mouth and forehead of him whom she had loved so dearly and lost so soon, she could not but thmk hun perfect. When she was told that the master of Lazarus had desired that her son should be removed from his college, she had accused the tyraht of unrelenting, persecuting tyranny ; and the gentle arguments of Sir Peregrine had no eifect towards changing her ideas. On that disagreeable matter of the bills httle or nothmg was said to her' Indeed, money was a subject with which she was never troubled. Sir Peregrine conceived that money was a man's business, and that the softness of a woman's character should be preserved by a total absence of all recuniary thoughts and cares. Aad then there arose at The Cleeve a question as to what should a ORLEI I' ASM, immediately bo done with tlie heir. He himself was by no means SO well prepared with an answer as had been his friend Lucius Mason. When consulted by his grandfather, he said that he did not know. He would do anything that Sir Peregrine wished. Would Sir Peregrine think it well that he should prepare himself for the arduous duties ot a master of liounds ? Sir Peregrine did not think this at all well, but it did not appear that lie himself was prepared witli any immediate proposition. Then Peregrine discussed tlie matter with his mother. Explaining that he had hoped at any rate to get the next winter's hunting with the li. H. ;— which letters have represented the Ham- worth Fox Hunt among sporting men for many years past. 'To this his mother made no objection, expressing a hope, however, that he would go abroad m the spring. "Home-staying youths have ever homely wits," she said to him, smiling on him ever so sweetly. "That's quite true, mother," he said. "And that's why I should like to go to Leicestershire this wintei-." But gomg to Leicestershire this winter was out of the question. CHAPTER IV. TUE PERILS 01' YOUTH. Going to Leicestershire was quite out of the question for young CVme at this period' of his Ufe, but going to London unfortunately was ncit so. He had become acquainted at Oxford with a gentleman of gr!at skill in his peculiar line of life, whose usual residence was in the metropohs ; and so great had been the attraction found in tlie character and pursuits of this skilful gentleman, that our hero had not been long at The Cleeve, after his retirement from the university, before he visited his iriend. Cowcross Street, Smithfield, was 'the site of this professor's residence, the destruction of rats in a barrel was his profession, and his name was Carroty Bob. It is not my intention to introduce the reader to Carrotjr Bob in person, as cir- cumstances occurred about this time which brought his intimacy with Mr. Orme to an abrupt conclusion. It would be needless to tell how our hero was induced to back a certain terrier, presumed to be the pride of Smithfield ; how a great match came off, second only in im- portance to a contest for the belt of England ; how money was lost and quarrels arose, and how Peregrine Orme thrashed one sporting "ent within an inch o.' his life, and fought his way out of Carroty Bob's house at twelve o'clock at night. The tale of the row got into the newspapers, and of course reached The Cleeve. Sir Peregrine sent for his grandson into his study, and insisted on knowing every- thing ;— how much money there was to pay, and what chance theie THE PERILS OS Yotria. 25 Tiigbt be of an action and damages. Of an action and damages thera lid not seem to be any chance, and the amount of money claimed was not large. Eats have this advantage, that they usually come cheaper than ^race-horses ; but then, as Sir Peregrine felt sorely, they do not sound so well. "J)o you know. Sir, that you ai-e breaking your mother's heart?' said Sir Peregrine, looking very sternly at the young man— as sternly as he was able to look, let him do his worst. Peregrine the younger had a very strong idea that he was not doing anything of the kind. He had left her only a quarter of an hour since ; and though she had wept during the interview, she had forgiven liim with many caresses, and had expressed her opinion that the chief fault had lain with Carroty Bob and those other wretched people who had lured her dear child into their villainous den. She haa altogether failed to conceal her pride at his having fought his way out from among them, and had ended by supplying his pocket out of her own immediate resources. "I hope not. Sir," said Peregrine the youuger, thinking over some of these things. " But you will. Sir, if you go on with this shameless career. I do not speak of myself. I do not expect you to sacrifice your tastes for -•ne ; out I did think that you loved your mother ! " " So I do ; and you too." " I am not speaking about myself. Sir. Wlien I thLuk what your father was at your age ; — how nobly " And then the baronet was stopped in his speech, and wiped liis eyes with his handkerchief. "Do you think that your father. Sir, followed such pursuits as these ? Do you think that he spent his time in the pursuit of — rats ? " " Well ;_ I don't know ; I don't think he did. But I have heard you say. Sir, that you sometimes went to cockfights when you were young." "To cockfights ! well, yes. But let me tell you, Sir, that I always went in the company of gentlemen — that is, when I did go, which was very seldom." The baronet in some after-dinner half- hour had allowed this secret of his youth to escape from him, im- prudently. "And I went to the house in Cowcross Street with Lord John Titzjoly." " The last man in all London with whom you ought to associate ! But I am not going to argue with you. Sir. If you think, and will continue to think, that the slaughtering of vermin is a proper pur- suit " "But, Sir, foxes are vermin also." " Hold your tongue. Sir, and Hsten to me. You know very well what I mean. Sir. If you think that— rats are a proper pursuit for a gentleman in your sphere of life, and if all that I can say has no effect in changing your opinion, — I shall have done. I have not many years of life before me, and when I shall be no more, you can squander the property in any vile pursuits that may be pleasing to yon. But, 86 ORLET FA£3t. Sir, you sLall not do it while I am living; nor, if I can L^ip it, shall you rob your rhotlier of such peace &f mind ■ as is left for Tier in this world. I haye only one alternative for you, Sir— — -" Sir Peregrine did not' stop to explain what might be the other branch of this alternative. " Will you ,give me your word of honour as a gentleman that you will never again concern yourself in this? disgusting pursuit ? " " Never, grandfather ! " said Sir Peregrine, solemnly. Su- Peregrine before he answered bethought 'hiniself that any pledge given for a whole life-time must be foohsh; and he bethought himself also that if he could wean his heir from rats for a year or so, the taste would perish from' lack of nourishment; " I will say for two years,'"' said Peregrine, still maintaining his austere look. " Por two years ! " repeated Peregrine the younger ; " and this is the fourth of October." " Yes, Sir ; for two years," said the baronet, more angary than ever at the young man's pertinacity, and yet almost aniused at his grandson's already formed resolve to go back to his occupation at the first oppor- tunity all'owed. . , : ; ■ "Couldn't you date it from the end of August, Sir? The best of the matches always come off in September." " No, Sir ; I win not date it from any other time than the present. Will you give me your word of honour as a gentleman, for two years 'i" ' ' Peregrine thought over the proposition for a minute or two in sad anticipation of all that be was to lose, and then slowly gave his adhesion to the terms. " Very well. Sir ; — for two years." And then he took out his pocket-book and wrote in it slowly. It was at any rate manifest that he intended to keep his word, and that was much ; so Sir Peregrine accepted the prftmb'e for what it was worth. " And now," said he, " if you have got nothing better to do, we wiU ride down to Crutchley Wood." ' • " I should like it of all thuigs,'* said his grandson.' "Samson wants me to cut a new bridle-path thlrov^h- from the larches at the top of the hill dbwn to Crutchley Bottom; but I don't think Pll have it done. Tell Jacob to let us have the nags ; ril ride the gray pony. And ask your mother if she'll ride with us." It was the maimer of Sir Peregrme to forgive altogether when he did forgive, and to commence his forgiveness in all its integrity from ■the first moment of thfe pardon. There was nothing he disliked so much as being on bad terms with those around him, and '-^th none more so than with his grandson. Peregrine well knew how -to -make himself pleasant to the old man, and when ddy- encouraged would always do so. And thus the family party, as they rode on this occasion ■through the woods of The Cleeve, dbcussed oaks aid larches, beech and buches, as though there were no such animal as a rat in 'Ciistence, and no such place known as Cowcross Street.' ' " Well, Perry, as you and Samson are both of one mind, I suppose the path must be made," said Sir Peregrine, as ce got off his horse THE PERILS 01' YOTITH. 27 at the entrance of the stable-yai-d, and prepared to give liis feeble aid to Mrs. Orme. Shortly after this the folio wmg note was brought up to The Gleeve by a messenger from Orley Farm :^ — ' "Mt DEA.E Sir Peregrine, " H you are quite disengaged at twelve o'clock to-morrow, I will walk over to The Gleeve at that hour. Or if it would suit, you better to call here as you are ridmg, I would remain within till you come. I want your kind advice on a certain matter. ' " Most sincerely yours, "Tlmrsdayr "Mart Mason." Lady Mason, when she wrote this note, was well aware that it would not be necessary for her to go to The Gleeve. Sir Peregrine's courtesy would not permit. Mm to impose any trouble on a lady when the alternative of taking that trouble on himself was given to him Moreover, he liked to have some object for his daily ride; he lik«d to be consulted " on certain matters ; " and he especially Uked being so cons)ilted by Lady Mason. So he sent word back that he would be .at the farm at twelve on the following day, and exactly at that houT his gray pony or cob might have been seen slowing walking up the avenue to the farm-house. The Gleeve was not distatit from Orley Parm more than two miles by the nearest walking-path, although it could not be driven ■ much under five. With any sort of carriage one was obliged to come from The Gleeve House down to the lodge on the HamWorth and Alston Road, and then to drive through the town of Hamworth, and so back to the farm. But in walking one would take the path along the river for nearly a mile, thence rise up the hill to the top of Crutchley Wood, descend through the wood to Crutchley Bottom, and passing along the valley, come out at the foot of Gleeve Hill , just opposite to Orley Parm Gate. The distance for a horseman Was somewhat greater, seeing that there was not as ' yet any bridle-way through Grutchley Wood. Under these circumstances the journey between the. two houses was very frequently made on foot ; and for those walking ■ from The Gleeve House to Hamworth the nearest way was bv Lady Mason's Gate. Lady Mason's drawing-room was very pretty, though it was by no means fashionably furnished. Lideed, she eschewed fashibn ■ in all things, and made no pretence of coming out before the world as a great lady. She had never kept any kind of carriage, though' her means, combined with her son's income, would certainly ' have ■ justified her in a pony-chaise. Smce Lucius had become master of the house he had presented her with such a vehicle, and also with thepony and harness complete; but as yet she had never used it, being afraid, as she said to him with a smiTe, of appearing ambitious before the stern citizens of Hamworth. "Nonsense, mother," he Lad replied, with a consider- able amount of young dignity in his face. " Wc are all entitled to 38 OKLEY PAEM. those comforts for which we can afford to pay without injury to any one. I shall take it ill of you if I do not see you using it." "Oh, Sir Peregrine, this is so kind of vou," said Lady Mason, coming forward to meet her friend. She was plainly dressed, without any full exuberance of costume, and yet everything about her was neat and pretty, and everythmg had been the object of feminine care. A very plain dress may occasion as much study as the most elaborate,— and may be quite as worthy of the study it has caused. Lady Mason, I am inclined to think, was by no means indifferent to the subject, but then to her belonged the great art of hiding her artifice. , , , ^ "Not at all; not at aU," said Sir Peregrine, takmg her hand and pressing it, as he always did. " What is the use of neighbours if they are not neighbourly?" This was all very well from Sir Peregrine in the existing case ; but he was not a man who by any means recognised the necessity of being civil to all who lived near him. To the great and to the poor he was neighbourly ; but it may be doubted whether he would have thought much of Lady Mason if s.ue had been less good looking or less clever. "Ah! I know how good you always are to me. But I'll tell you why I am troubling you now. Lucius went off two days since to Liverpool." "My grandson told me that he had left home." " He is an excellent young man, and I am sure that I have every reason to be thankful." Sir Peregrine, remembering the affair in Cow- cross Street, and certain other affairs of a somewhat similar nature, thought that she had ; but for all that he would not have exchanged his own bright-eyed lad for Lucius Mason with all his virtues and all his learning. "And indeed I am thankful," continued the widow. "Nothing can be better than his conduct and mod« of life ; but " "I hope he has no attraction at Liverpool, of which you dis- approve." " No, no ; there is nothing of that kind. His attraction is ; but perhaps I had better explain the whole matter. Lucius, you know, has laken to farming." "He has taken up the land which you held yourself, has he not?" " Yea, and a little more ; and he is anxious to add even to that. He is very energetic about it, Sir Peregrine." " Well ; the life of a gentleman farmer is not a bad one ; though in his special circumstances I would certainly have recommended a profession." " Acting upon your advice I did urge him to go to the bar. But he has a will of his own, and a mind altogether made up as to the line of life which he thinks will suit him best. What I fear now is, that he will spend more money upon experiments than he can afford." "Experimental farming is an expensive amusement," said Sir Peregrine, with a very serious shake of his head. THE PEKILS OP TOTJTE. ijq " I am afraid it is ; and now he lias gone to Liverpool to buy guano," said the widow, feeling some httle shame m coming to so inconsiderable a conclusion after her somewhat stately pro- logue. " To buy guano ! Why could he not get his guano from Walker, aa my man Symonds does ? " " He says it is not good. He analysed it, and " "Fiddlestick! Why didn't he order it in London, if he didn't like Walker's ? Gone to Liverpool for guano ! I'll tell you what it is, Lady Mason ; if he intends to farm his land in that way, he should have a very considerable capital at his back. It will be a long time before he sees his money again." Sir Peregrme had been farming all his life, and had his own ideas on the subject. He knew very well that no gentleman, let him set to work as he might with his own land, could do as well with it as a farmer who must make a living out of his farming besides paying the rent ; — who must do that or else have no living; and he knew also that such operations as those which his young friend was now about to attempt was an amusement fitted only for the rich. It may be also that he was a little old fasliioned, and therefore prejudiced against new combinations oetween agriculture and chemistry. " He must put a stop to that kind of work very soon. Lady Mason; he must indeed; or he will Drihg himself to ruin — and you with him." Lady Mason's face became very grave and serious. "But what can I say to him, Sir Peregrine 'i In such a matter as that I am afraid that he would not mind me. If you would not object to speaking to him ? " Sir Peregrine was graciously pleased to say that he would not abject. It was a disagreeable task, he said, that of giving advice to a young man who was bound by no tie either to take it or even to receive it with respect. " You will not find him at all disrespectful ; I think I can promise that," said the frightened mother : and that matter was ended by a promise on the part of the baronet to take the case in hand, and to see Lucius immediately on his return from Liverpool. "He had better come and dme at The Cleeve," said Sir Peregrine, " and we i7ill have it out after dinner." AH of which made Lady Mason verr Sisteful. 'dQ CBLET FABSL CHAPTER V. SIK PEKEGKINE MAItES A SECOND PSOMISE. We left- Lady, Mason very grateful at the end of the last ciiaptei for the promise made to her by Sir Peregrine with reference to her son; but there was still a weight on Lady Mason's mind. They say- that the pith of a. lady's letter is in the postscript, and it maybe that that which remained for Lady Mason to say, was after all the matter as to, which she was most anxious for assistance. "As you are here," she said to, the baronet, " would you let me mention another subject ? " ■• " Surely," said he, again putting down his hat and riding-stick. Sir Peregrine was not given to close observation of those around him, or he niight have seen by the heightened colour of the lady's face, and by the sHght nervous hesitation with which she began to speak, that she was much in earnest as to this other matter. And had he been clever in his powers of observation he might have seen also that she was anxious to hide this feeling. " You remember the circumstances of that terrible lawsuit ? " she said, at last. "What! as to. Sir Joseph's will? Yes; I remember them weU." , : " I know that I shall never forget all the kindness that you showed me,"' said she. " I don't know liow I should have lived through it without you and dear Mrs. Orme." " But: what about now ? " " I fear I am going to have further trouble." "Do you mean that the man at Groby Park is going to try the case again ? It is not possible after such a lapse of time. I am no lav^er, but I do not think that he, can do it." "i do not know— ;I do, not know what he intends, or whether he intends anything; but I am sure of this, — that he will give me trouble if he can. But I will tell you the whole story, Sir Pere- gme. It is not much, and perhaps after all may not be worth at- tention. You know the attorney in Hamworth who married Miriam Usbech? " " What, Samuel Dockwrath ? Oh, yes ; I know him well enough ; and to tell the truth I do not thmk very well of him. Is he not a tenant of yours ? " " Not at present." And then Lady Mason explained the manner m which the two fields had been taken out of the lawyer's hands by her son's order. "Ah! he was wrong there," said the baronet. "When a man has held land so long it should not be taken away fi-om him exceot under pressing circumstances ; that is if he pavs his rent." 8IK PEKEGRINE JUKES A SECOND PSOMISE. 31 Mr. Docfcwrath (Ud pay his, rent, certainly; and now, I fear, he is deternuned to do all he can to injure us." " But what injury can Mr. Dockwrath do you ? " _^"I do not know; but he has gone down to Yorkshire,— to Mr Masons place; I know that; and he was searchmg through some papers of old Mr. Usbech's before he went. Indeed, I may say that I know as a fact that he has gone to Mr. Mason with the hope that these law proceedings may be brought on again " ■ " You know it as a fact ?" , < " I think I may say so." "But, dear Lady Mason, may I ask you how you know tnis as a fact ? " " His wife was with me yesterday," she said, with some feehng oi shame as she disclosed the source from whence she had obtained her information. " And did she tell the tale against her own husband ? " " Not as meanmg to say anythmg against him, Sir Peregrine ; you must not think so badly of her as that; nor must you think that I would willingly obtain information in such a manner. But you must understand that I have always been her friend ; and when she found that Mr. Dockwrath had left home on a matter in which I am 90 nearly concerned,. I cannot but think it natural that she should let me know." To this Sir Peregrme made no direct answer., He could not (juite say that he thought it was natural, nor could he give any expressed' approval of any such intercourse between Lady Mason and the attorney's wife. He thought it- would be better that Mr. Dockwrath should be allowed to do his worst, if he had any in- tention of domg evil, and that Lady Mason should pass it by with- out condescending to notice the circumstance. But he made allow- ances for her weakness, and did not give utterance to his disapproval in words. " I know you think that I have done wrong," she then said ap- pealing to him ; and there was a tone of sorrow in her voice which went to his heart. " No, not wrong ; I cannot say that you have done wrong. It may be a question whether you have done wisely." "Ah ! if you only condemn my folly, I will not despair. j.t is probable I may not have done wisely, seeing that I had not you to* direct me. .But what shall I do now ? Oh, Sir Peregrine, say th^t you will not desert me if all this trouble is coming on me »gain ! " ' " No, I will Hot desert vou. Lady Mason;, yon may be sure of that.''' ' ' ^ "Dearest friend!" " But I would advise you to take no notice whatever of Mr. Dock- wrath and his proceedings. I regard him as a person entirely beneath your notice, -akd^ if' I were you I should not move at all in tliis matter •inless I received some legal summons which made it necessary for 32 OBLEY PAHM. me to do so. 1 have not the honour of any personal acquaintance with Mr. Mason of Grobj; Park." It was in this way that Sir Pere- gruie always designated his friend's step-son — " but if I understand the motives by which he may probably be actuated in this or in any other matter, I do not think it hkely that "he will expend money on so very unpromising a case." " He would do anything for vengeance." " I doubt if he would throw away his money even for that, un- less he were very sure of his prey. And in this matter, what can he possibly do ? He has the decision of the jury against him, and at the time he was afraid to carry the case up to a court of appeal." " But, Sir Peregrine, it is impossible to know what documents he may have obtained since that." "What documents can do you any harm; — unless, indeed, there should turn out to be a will subsequent to that under which your son inherits the property ? " " Oh, no ; there was no subsequent will." "Of course there was not; and therefore you need not frighten yourself. It is just possible that some attempt may be made now that your son is of age, but I regard even that as improbable." "And you would not advise me then to say anything to Mr. Furnival?" " Ko ; certainly not — unless you receive some legal notice which may make it necessary for you to consult a lawyer. Do nothing; and if Mrs. Doekwrath comes to you again, tell her that you are not disposed to take any notice of her information. Mrs. Doekwrath is, I am sure, a very good sort of woman. Indeed I have always heard so. But, if I were you, I don't think that I should feel inclined to have much conversation with her about my private affairs. What you tell her you tell also to her husband." And then the baronet, having thus spoken words of wisdom, sat silent in his arm-chair ; and Lady Mason, atiU looking into his face, remained silent also for a few minutes. "I am so glad I asked you to come," she then said. " I am dehghted, if I have been of any service to you." " Of any service ! Oh, Sir Peregrine, you cannot understand what it, is to hve alone as I do, — for of course I cannot trouble Lucius wita these matters ; nor can a man, gifted as you are, comprehend bow a woman can tremble at the very idea that those law proceedings may possibly be repeated." Sir Peregrine could not but remember as he looked at her that during all those law proceedings, when an attack was made, not only on her income but on her honesty, she had never seemed to tremble. She lu*d always been constant to herself, even when thmgs appeared to be going against her. Bat years passing over her head since' that time Cad pcrliaps told upon her courage. "But I will fear nothing now, as you have promised that you will still be my friend." SIB PEREGRINE MAKES A SECSNl) PKOMIfjE. 33 " You may be very sure of that, Lady Mason. I believe that I iiwy fairly boast that I do not easily abandon those wliom I have once regarded with esteem and affection ; among whom Lady Mason will 1 am sure, allow me to say that she is reckoned as by no means the least.'' And then taking her hand, the old gentleman bowed over it and kissed it. " My dearest, dearest friend ! " said she ; and lifting Sir Peregrine's beautifully white hand to her lips she also kissed that. Ir, will be re- membered that the gentleman was over seventy, and that this pretty scene could therefore be enacted without impropriety on either side. Sir Peregrine then went, and as he passed out of the door Lady Mason smiled on him very sweetly. It is quite true that he was over seventy; but nevertheless the smile of a pretty woman still had charms for him, more especially if there was a tear in her eye the while; — for Sir Peregrine Orme had a soft heart. As soon as the door was closed behmd him Lady Mason seated herself in her accustomed chair, and all trace of the smUe vanished from her face. She was alone now, and could allow her countenance to be a true index of her mind. If such was the case her heart surely was very sad. She sat there perfectly still for nearly an hour, and durmg the whole of that time there was the same look of agony en her brow. Once or twice she rubbed her hands across her forehead, brushing back her hair, and showing, had there been any one by to see 1^ that there was many « gray lock there mixed with the brown hairs. Had there been any one by, she would, it may be surmised, have been more careful. There was no smile in her face now, neither was their any tear in her eye. The one and the other emblem were equally alien to her present mood. But there was sorrow at her heart, and deep thought m her mind. She knew that her enemies were conspiring against her, — against her and against her son ; and what steps might she best take in order that she might baffle them ? " I have got that woman on the hip now." Those were the words which Mr. Dockwrath had uttered into his wife's ears, after two days spent in searching through her father's papers. The poor woman had once thought of burning all those papers — in old days before she had become Mrs. Dockwrath. Her friend. Lady Mason, had counselled lier to do so, pointing out to her that they were troublesome, and could by no possibility lead to profit ; but she had consulted her lover, and he had counselled her to burn nothing. " Would that she had been guided by her friend ! " she now said 'to herself with regard to that old trunk, and perhaps occasionally with regard to some othe."- things. "1 have got that woman on the hip at last ! " and there had beeni gleam of satisfaction in Samuel's eye as he uttered the words which hatt convinced his wife that it was not an idle threat. She knew nothing what the box had contained ; and now, even if it had not been kept safe from her under Samuel's private key, the contents which were of la- tereat had of course none. "I have business in the north, and shall biS 3 24 OELEY VAKli. away for about a week," Mr. Dockwrath had said to her on the follow- ing morning. " Oh, very well ; then I'll put up your thing?," she had answered in her usual mild, sad, whining, household voice. Her voice at home was always sad •and whining, for she was overworked, and had too many cares, and her lord was a tyrant to her rather thai a husband. i i -nr- • " Yes, I must see Mr. Mason immediately. And look here, Minam, I positively insist that you do not go to Orley Earm, or hold any inter- course whatever with Lady Mason. D'ye hear ? " Mrs. Dockwrath said that she did hear, and promised obedience. Mr. Dock*rath probably guessed that the moment his back was turned all would be told at the farm, and probably also had no real objection to her doing so. Had he in truth wished to keep his proceedings secret from Lady Miason he would not have divulged them to his wife. And then Mr. Dockwrath did start for the north, bearing certain documents with him ; and soon after his departure Mrs. Dockwrath did pay a visit to Orley Parm. Lady Mason sat there perfectly still for about an hour thinking what she Would do. She had asked Sir Peregrine, and had the advantage of his advice ; but that did not weigh much with her. What she wanted from Sir Peregrine was countenance and absolute assistance in the day of trouble, — not advice. She had desired to renew his interest in her favour/ and to receive from him his assurance that he would not desert herj and that she had obtained. It was of course also necessary that she should consult liim ; but in turning over within her own mind this and that line of conduct, she did not, consciously, attach any weight to Sir Peregrine's opinion. The great question for her to decide was .this ; — shoidd she put herself and her case into the hands of her friend Mr. Pnrnival now at once, or should she wait till she had received some certain symptom of hostile proceedings -? If she did see Mr. ruriiival, what could she tell him ? only this, that Mr. Dockwrath had found some document among the papers of old Mr. Usbech, and had gone off with ■the same to Groby Park in yorkshire. What that document might be ■she was as ignorant as the attorney's wife. When the hour was ended she had made up her mind that she would .ic nothing more in the matter, at any rate on that day. IKE COMMEKCIAL EOOM, BULL INN, LES05. 35 CHAPTER VI. THE COMMEKCIAi EOOM, BULL INN, LEEBS. Mr. Samuel Dockweath was a little man, with sandy hair, a pale face, and stone-blue eyes. In judging of him by appearance only, and not by the ear, one would be inclined to doubt that he could be a very sharp attorney abroad and a very persistent tyrant at home. Bat when Xr. Dockwrath began to talk, one's respect for him began to grow. He talked well and to the point, and with a tone of voice that could com- mand where command was possible, persuade where persuasion was re- quired, mystify when mystiiScation was needed, and express with accu- racy the tone of an obedient humble servant when servihty was thought to be expedient. We wfll now accompany him on his little tour into Yorkshire. Groby Park is about seven miles from Leeds, and as Mr. Dockwrath had in the first instance to travel from Hamworth up to London, he did not reach Leeds till late in the>evening. It was a nasty cold, drizzhng night, so that the beauties and marvels of the large manufacturing town offered him no attraction, and at nine o'clock he had seated himself be- fore the fire in the commercial room at the Bull, had called for a pair of pubKc slippers, and was about to solace all his cares with a glass of mahogany-coloured brandy and water and a cigar. The room had no present occupant but himself, and therefore he was able to make the most of all its comforts. He had taken the solitary arm-chair, and had so placed himself that the gas would fall direct from behind his head on 10 that day's Leeds and Hahfax Chronicle, as soon as he should choose to devote himself to local poUtics. The waiter had looked at him with doubtful eyes when he asked to be shown into the commercial room, feeling all but confident that such a guest had no right to be there. He had no bulky bundles of samples, nor any of those outward characteristics of a commercial "gent" with which all men conversant with the rail and road are acquainted, and which the accustomed eye of a wa;iter recognises at a glance. And here it may be well to explain' that ordinary travellers are in this respect badly treated by the customs of England, or rather by the hotel-keepers. All inn-keepers have commercial rooms, as certainly as they have taps and bars, but all of them do not have commercial rooms in the properly exclusive sense. A stranger, therefore, who has asked for and obtained his mutton-chop m the commercial room of the Dolphin, the Bear, and the George, not unnaturally asks to be shown into the same chamber at the King's Head. But the Kmg's Head does a busmess with real com- mercials, and the stranger finds himself— out of his element. "'Mercial,Shr?" said the waiter at the Bull Inn, Leeds, to Mr. Dockwrath, in that tone of doubt which seemed to carry an answer w bis own question. But Mr. Dockwrath was not a man to be put io'^v 3—2 36 0KLE1 JfAJlM.. by a waiter. " Yes," said he. "Didn't you Lear me say so? " And then the waiter gave way. None of those lords of the road were in the house at the moment, and it might be that none would come that night. Mr. Dockwrath had arrived by the 8-22 p.m. down, hut the 8-45 p.m. up from the north '.VUowed quick upon his heels, and he had hardly put his brandy and watei \o his mouth before a rush and a sound of many voices were heard iu the hall. There is a great difference between the entrance into an inn of men who are not known there and of men who are known. The men who are not known are shy, diffident, doubtful, ' and anxious to propitiate the chambermaid by great courtesy. The men who are known are loud, jocular, and assured ;— or else, in case of defi- cient accommodation, loud, angry, and full of threats. The guests who had now arrived were well known, and seemed at present to be- in the former mood. " Well, Mary, my dear, what's tlie time of day with you ? " said a rough, bass voice, within the hearing of Mr. Dockwrath. " Much about the old tune, Mr. Moulder," said the girl at the bar. " Time to look alive and keep moving. Will you have them boxes up stairs, Mr. Kantwise ? " and then there were a few words about the luggage, and two real commercial gentlemen walked into the room. Mr. Dockwrath resolved to stand upon his rights, so he did not move liis chair, but looked up over his shoulder at the new comers. The first man who entered was short and very fat ; — so fat that he could not have seen his own knees for some considerable time past. His face rolled with fat, as also did all his limbs. His eyes were large, and blood- shot. He wore no beard, and therefore showed plainly the triple bag- ging of his fat chin. In spite of his overwhelming fatness, there was something in Im lace that was masterful and almost vicious. His body nad been overcome by eating, but not as yet his spirit, — one would be inchned to say. This was Mr. Moulder, well known on the road as being in the grocery and spirit line ; a pushing man, who understood liis business, and was well trusted by his firm in spite of his habitual in- temperance. What did the firm care whether or no he kUled himself by eating and drinking ? He sold his goods, collected his money, and made his remittances. If he got drunk at night that was nothing to them, seeing that he always did his quota of work the next day. But ]!l^j. Moulder did not get drunk. His brandy and water went into his bljod, and into his eyes, and into his feet, and mto his hands, — but not iato kis brain. The other was a little spare man, in the hardware line, of the name of Kantwise. He disposed of fire-irous, grates, ovens, and kettles, and was at the present moment heavily engaged in the sale of certain newly- invented metaUic tables and chairs lately brought out by the Patent Steel Turniture Company, for which Mr. Kantwise did business. He looked as though a skin rather too small for the purpose had been drawn over his head and face, so that his forehead and cheeks and chin were tight and shiny. His eyes were small and green, always moving about iu his head, and were seldom used by Mr. Kantwise in the ordiuarv way At whatever he looked he looked sideways j it was not that be did not look THE CoaMEfiClAi. ROOM, BULL INK, LEEDS. 37 yoa Ui the face, but he always looked at you with a sidelong glance, never ehoosiug to have you straight in front of him. And the move eager he was in conversation — the more anxious he might be to gam his point, the more he averted his face and looked askance ; so tliat sometimes he would prefer to have his antagonist almost behind his slioulder. And then as he did this, he would thrust forward his ,chin, and bavin| looked at you round the corner till his eyes were nearly out of his head, he would close theui both and suck in his lips, and shake his head with rapid little shakes, as though he were saying to himself, "Ah, Sir! you're a bad un, a very bad un." His nose— for I should do Mr. Kantwise injustice if I did not mention this feature — seemed to have been compressed almost into nothing by that skin-squeezing operation It was long enough, taking the measurement down the bridge, and projected sufficiently, counting the distance from the upper lip; but it had all the properties of a line; it possessed length without breadth. There was nothing in it from side to side. If you essayed to pull it your fingers would meet. When I shall have also said that the hair on Mr. Kantwise's head stood up erect all round to the height of two inches, and that it was very red, I shall have been accurate enough in his personal description. That Mr. Moulder represented a firm good business, doing tea, coffee, and British brandy on a well-estabUshed basis of capital and profit, the travelling commercial world in the north of England was well aware. No one entertained any doubt about his employers. Hubbies and Grease, of Houndsditch. Hubbies and Grease were all right, as they had been any time for the last twenty years. But I cannot say that there was quite so strong a confidence felt in the Patent Steel Pumiture Company generally, or in the individual operations of Mr. Kantwise in particular. The world in Yorkshire and Lancashire was doubtful about metalho tables, and it was thought that Mr. Kantwise was too eloquent in their praise. Mr. Moulder, when he had entered the room, stood still, to enable the waiter to peel off from him his great-coat and the large shawl with which his neck was enveloped, and Mr. Kantwise performed the same operation for himself, carefully folding up the articles of clothing as he took them oft'. Then Mr. Moulder fixed his eyes on Mr. Dockwrath, and stared at him very hard. "Who's the party, James ? " he said to the waiter, speaking in a whisper that was plauily heard by the attorney. " Gen'elman by the 8'22 down," said James. " Commercial 't " asked Mr. Moulder, with angry frown. "He says so himself, anyways," said the waiter. " Gammon ! " replied Mr. Moulder, who knew all the bearings of a commercial man thoroughly, and could have put one together if he were only supplied with a little bit— say the mouth, as Professor Owen always does with the Dodoes. Mr. Moulder now began to be angry, for he was a stickler for the lights and privileges of his class, and had an idea that the world wai not so conservative iu that respect as it should be. Mr, DockwratD, however, was not to S8 ofitEir fAftlt. be frightened, so he drew his chair a thought nearer to the fire, took a sup of brandy and water, and prepared himself for war, if war should be necessary. "Cold evening, Sir, for the time of. year," said Mr. Moulder, walking up to the fireplace, and rollmg the lumps of his forehead about in his attempt at a frown. In spite of his terrible burden of flesh, Mr. 'Moulder could look angry on occasions, but he could only do so when he was angry. He was not gifted with a com- mand of his facial muscles. "Yes," said Mr. Dockwrath, not taking his eyes from off the Leeds and Halifax Chronicle. "It is coldish. Waiter, bring ms a cigar." This was very provoking, as must be confessed. Mr. Moulder had not been prepared to take any step towards turning the gentleman out, though doubtless he might have done so had he chosen to exercise his prerogative. But he did expect that the gentleman would have ac- knowledged the weakness of his footing, by moving himself a little to- wards one side of the fire, and he did not expect that, he would have presumed to smoke without asking whether the practice was held to be objectionable by the legal possessors of the room. Mr. Dockwrath was free of any such pusillanimity.. ".Waiter," he said again, " bring me a Digar, d'ye hear ? " The great heart of Moulder could not stand this unmoved. He had been an accustomed visitor to that room for fifteen years, and had always done his best to preserve the commercial code unsuUied., He was now so well known that no one else ever presumed to take the chair at the four o'clock commercial dinner if he were present. It was incumbent on him to stand forward and make a fight, more especially in the presence of Kantwise, who was by no means stanch to his order. Kantwise would at all times have been glad to have outsiders in the room, in order that he might puff his tables, and if possible effect a sale ; — a mode of proceeding held in much aversion by the upright, old- fashioned, commercial mind. " Sir," said Mr. Moulder, having become very red about the cheeks and chin, " I and this gentleman are gomg to have a bit of supper, and it ain't accustomed to smoke in commercial rooms during meals. You know the rules, no doubt, if you're commercial yourself; — as I suppose you are, seeing you in this room." Now Mr. Moulder was wrong in his law, as he himself was very well aware. Smoking is allowed in all commercial rooms when the dinner has been some hour or so off the table. But then it was necessary that he should hit the stranger in some way, and the chances were that the stranger would know nothing about commercial law. Nor did he ; so he merely looked Mr. Moulder hard. in the face. But Mr. Kantwise knew the laws well enough, and as he saw before . him a possible pur- chaser of metallic tables, he came to the assistance of the attorney. "I think you're a Kttle wrong there, Mr. Moulder; eh; ain't you?" laid he. " Wrong about what ? " said Moulder, turning very sharply upon hia base-minded compatriot. THE COMMERCIAI, ROOM, BULL INK, LEEDS. S8 "Well, as to smoking. It's nine o'clock, and if tlie gentle- man " "I don't care a brass fartliing about the clock," said the other, "but when I'm going to have a bit of steak with my tea, in my own room, I chooses to have it comfortable." "Goodness me, Mr. Moulder, how many times have I seen you sittmg there with a pipe in your mouth, and half a dozen gents eating their teas the while m this very room ? The rule of the case I take to be this ; when " "Bother your rules." " Well ; it was you spoke of them." "The question I take to be this," said Moulder, now emboldened by the opposition he had received. "Has the gentleman any right to be in this room at all, or has he not ? Is he commercial, or ia he -^ miscellaneous ? That's the chat, as I take it." "You're on the square there, I must allow," said Kantwise. "James," said Moulder, appealing with authority to the waiter, who had remained in the room during the controversy; — and now Mr. Moulder was determined to do his duty and vindicate his pro- fession, let the consequences be what they might. "James, is that gentleman commercial, or is he not ? " It was clearly necessary now that Mr. Dockwrath himself should take his own part, and fight his own battle. "Sir," said he, turn- ing to Mr. Boulder, " I think you'll find it extremely difficult to de- fine that word — extremely difiioult. In this enterprising country all men are more or less commercial." "Hear! hear!" said Mr. Kantwise. "That's gammon," said Mr. Moulder. " Gammon it may be," said Mr. Dockwrath, " but nevertheless it's right in law. Taking the word in its broadest, strictest, and most inteUigible sense, I am a commercial gentleman; and as such I do maintain that I have a full right to the accommodation of this pubUc room." "That's very well put," said Mr. Kantwise. "Waiter," thundered out Mr. Moulder, as though he imagined that that functionary was down the yard at the tap-room instead of standing within three feet of his elbow. "Is this gent a commer- cial, or is he not ? Because if not, — then I'll trouble you to send Mr. Crump here. My compliments to Mr. Crump, and I wish to see him." Now Mr. Crump was the landlord of the Bull Inn. "Master's just stepped out, down the street," said James. " Why don't you answer my question, Sir ? " said Moulder, be- coming redder and still more red about his shirt-collars. "The gent said as how he was 'mercial," said the poor man. "Was I to go to contradict a gent, and tell liim he wasn't when he said as how he was ? " " If you please," said Mr. Dockwrath, " we wiU not brmg the waiter into this discussion. I askoi for the commercial room, and he did his duty itt showJflg me to the door of it. The fact I take to be this ; in 40 OBLEt FABH. the south of England tbe rules to which you refer are not kept se strictly as in these more mercantile localities." " I've always observed that," said Kantwise. " I travelled for three years in Devonshire, Somersetshire, and Wilt- shire," said Moulder, " and the commercial rooms were as well kept tliere as any I ever see." " I alluded to Surrey and Kent," said Mr. Dockwrath. " They're uncommonly miscellaneous in Surrey and Kent," said Kaub wise. "There's no doubt in the world about that." " If the gentleman means to say that he's come in here because he didn't knovv the custorh of the country, I've no more to say, of course," said Moulder. " And in that case, I, for one, shall be very happy if the gentleman can make himself comfortable in this room as a stranger, and 1 may say guest ; — paying his own shot, of course." " And as for me, I shall be delighted," said Kantwise. " I never did like too much exclusiveness. What's the use of bottling oneself up ? that's what I always say. Besides, there's no charity in it. We gents as are always on the road should show a little charity to them as ain't so well accustomed to the work." At this allusion to charity Mr. Moulder snuffled through his nose to show his great disgust, but he made no further answer. Mr. Dock- wrath, who was determined not to yield, but who had nothing to gain by further fighting, bowed his head, and declared that he felt very much obliged. Whether or no there was any touch of irony in his tone, Mr. Moulder's ears were not fine enough to discover. So they now sat round the fire together, the attorney still keeping his seat in the middle. And then Mr. Moulder ordered his little bit of steak with his tea. " With the gravy in it, James," he said, solemnly. " And a bit of fat, and a lew slices of onion, thin mind, put on raw, not with all the taste fried out and tell the cook if she don't do it as it should be done, I'll be down into the kitchen and do it myself. You'll join me, Kantwise, eh ? " " Well, I think not ; I dined at three, you know." " Dined at three I What of that ? a dinner at three won't last a man for ever. You might as well join me." " No, I think not. Have you got such a thing as a nice red herring in the house, James ? " " Get one round the corner, Sir." " Do, there's a good fellow ; and I'll take it for a relish with my tea. I'm not so fond ofyour solids three times a day. They heat theblood toomueh." " Bother," grunted Moulder ; and then they went to their evening meal, over which we will not disturb them. The steak, we may presume, was cooked aright, as Mr. Moulder did not visit the kitchen, and Mr. Kantwise no doubt made good play with his un- substantial dainty, as he spoke no further till his meal was alto- gether finished. " Did you ever hear anything o£ that Mr. Mason who lives near Bradford i* " asked Mr. Kantwise, addressing himself to Mr. Moulder, as soon as the things had been cleared from the table, and that latter gentleman had been furnished with a pipe and a supply of cold without. 1»* COMMEttClAL HOOM, BULL ISS, LtEllS. 41 " 1 remember liis father when I was a boy," said Moulder, not troubling himself to take his pipe from his mouth. "Mason and Martock in the Old Jewry ; very good people they were too." " He's decently well off now, I suppose, isn't he ? " said Kantwise, turning away his face, and looking at his companion out of the corners of his eyes. " I suppose he is. That place there by the road-side is all his own, T take it. Have you been at him with some of your rusty, rickety tables and chairs ? " " Mr. Moulder, you forget that there is a gentleman here who won't understand that you're at your jokes. I was doing business at Groby Park, but I found the party uncommon hard to deal with." " Didn't complete the transaction ? " " Well, no ; not exactly ; but I intend to call again. He's close (nougli himself, is Mr. Mason. But his lady, Mrs. M. ! Lord love you, Mr. Moulder ; that is a woman ! " " Slie is ; is slie ? As for me, I never have none of these private deahngs. It don't suit my book at all ; nor it ain't what I've been accustomed to. If a man's wholesale, let him be wholesale." And tlien, iaving enunciated this excellent opinion with much energy, he took a long pull at his brandy and water. "Very old fashioned, Mr. Moulder," said Kantwise, looking round the corner, then shutting his eyes and shaking his head. " Maybe," said Moulder, " and yet none the worse for that. I Dall it hawking and peddling, that going round the country with your goods on yonr back. It ain't trade." And then there was a lull in the conversation, Mr. Kantwise, who was a very religious gentleman, having closed his eyes, and being occupied with some internal anathema against Mr. Moulder. " Begging your pardon. Sir, I think you were talking about one ill-. Mason who lives in these parts," said Dockwrath. "Exactly. Joseph Mason, Esq., of Groby Park," said Mr. Kant- wise, now turning his face upon the attorney. " I suppose 1 shall be likely to find him at home to-morrow, if I call?" " Certainly, Sir ; certainly ; leastwise I should say so. Any personal acquaintance with Mr. Mason, Sir ? If so, I meant nothing offensive by my allusion to the lady. Sir ; nothing at all, I can assure you." " The lady's nothing to me, Sir ; nor the gentleman either ; — only that I have a little business with him." " Shall be very happy to join you in a gig. Sir, to-morrow, as far as Groby Park ; or fly, if more convenient. 1 shall only take a few patterns with me, and they're no weight at all ; — none in the least, Sir. They go on behind, and you wouldn't know it. Sir." To this, however, Mr. Dockwrath would not assent. As he wanted to see Mr. Mason very specially, he should go early, and preferied gouig by himself. " No offence, I hope," said Mr. Kantwise. "JNione in the least," said Mr. Dockwrath. "And if you would allow me. Sir, to have the pleasure of showiEg 42 ORLEt EiSX.. you a few of my patterns, I'm sure 1 should be delighted." Tliia Im said Observing that Mr. Moulder was sitting over his empty glass with the pipe in his hand, and his eyes fast closed. " 1 thmk, Sir, I co^d show you an article that would ;please you very much.^ You see, Sir, that new ideas are coming in every day, and wood. Sir, is altogether going out,— altogether going out as regards furniture. In^ another twenty years. Sir, there won't be such a thing as a wooden table in the country', unless with some poor person that can't afford to refurnish. Believe me. Sir, iron's the thing nowadays." "And indian-rubber," said Dockwrath. " Yes ; indian-rubber's wonderful too. Are you in that line. Sir ? " "Well; no; not exactly." "It's not like iron. Sir. You can't make a dinner-table for fourteen people out of indian-rubber, that will shut up into a box 3—6 by 2—4 deep, and 2—6 broad. Why, Sir, I can let you have a set of drawing- room furniture for fifteen ten that you've never seen equalled in wood for three times the money ; — ornamented in the tastiest way. Sir, and fit for any lady's drawing-room or boodoor. The ladies of quality are all getting them now for their boodoors. There's three tables, eight chairs, easy rocking-chair, music-stand, stool to match, and pair of stand-up screens, all gilt in real Louey catorse ; and it goes in three boxes 4—2 by 2—1 and 2—3. Think of that, Sir. Jot fifteen ten and the boxes in." Then there was a pause, after which Mr. Kantwise added — "If ready money, the carriage paid." And then he turned his head very much away, and looked back very hard at his expected customer. " I'm afraid the articles are not in my line," said Mr. Dockwrath. " It's the tastiest present for a gentleman to make to his lady that lias come out since — since those sort of things have come out at all. You'll let me show you the articles. Sir. It will give me the sinoerest pleasure." And Mr. Kantwise proposed to leave the room in order that he might introduce the three boxes in question. " They would not be at all in my way," said Mr. Dockwrath. "The trouble would be nothing,'' said Mr. Eantwise, " and it gives me the greatest pleasure to make them known when I find any one who can appreciate such undoubted luxuries ; " and so saying Mr. Kantwise skipped out of the room, and soon returned with James and Boots, each of the three bearing on his shoulder a deal box nearly as big as a coffin, all of which were deposited in different parts of the room. Mr. Moulder in the meantime snored heavily, his head falling on his breast every now and agaui. But nevertheless he held fast by his pipe. Mr. Kantwise skipped about the room with wonderful agility, un- fastening the boxes, and taking out the contents, while Joe the boots and James the waiter stood by assisting. They had never yet seen the glories of these chairs and tables, and were therefore not unwilling to be present. It was singular to see how ready Mr. Kantwise was at the Irork, how recklessly he threw aside the white-brown paper in which the various pieces of painted iron were enveloped, and with what a practised hand he put together one article after another. Pirst there was a THE COMMERCIAL ECOM, BtJLL INN, LEEDS. 43 rooud .00-table, not quite so large in its circumfeieace as some people might think desirable, but, nevertheless, a round loo-table. The pedestal with its three claws was all together. With a knowing touch Mr. Kantwise separated the bottom of what looked like a yellovv stick, and, lo ! there were three legs, which he placed carefully on the ground. Then a small bar was screwed on to the top, and over the bar was screwed the leaf, or table itself, which consisted of three pieces unfolding with hinges. These, when the screw had been duly fastened in the centre, opened out upon the bar, and there was the table complete. It was certainly a " tasty " article, and the pride with which Mr. Kantwise glanced back at it was quite dehghtful. The top of the table was blue, with a red bird of paradise in the middle ; and the edges of the table, to the breadth of a couple of inches, were yellow. The pillar also was yellow, as were the three legs. " If s the real Louey catorse," said Mr. Kantwise, stooping down to go on with table number two, which was, as be described it, a " chess," having the proper number of blue and light-pink squares marked upon it ; but this also had been made Louey catorse with reference to its legs and edges. The third table was a " sofa," of proper shape, but rather small in size. Then, one after another, he brought forth and screwed up the chairs, stools, and sundry screens, and within a quarter of an hour he had put up the whole set complete. The red bird of paradise and the blue ground appeared on all, as did also the yellow legs and edgings which gave to them their pecuUarly fashionable character. " There," said Mr. Kantwise, looking at them with fond admiration, " I don't mind giving a personal guarantee that there's nothing equal to that for the money either in England or in Prance." "They are very nice," said Mr. Dockwrath. When a man has had produced before him for his own and sole delectation any article or articles, how can he avoid eulogium ? Mr. Dockwrath found himself obliged to pause, and almost feared that he should find himself obliged to buy. "Nice! I should rather think they are," said Mr. Kantwise, becoming triumphant, — " and for fifteen ten, delivered, boxes included. There's nothing like iron, Sir, nothing ; you may take my word for that. They're so strong, you know. Look here. Sir." And then Mr. Kantwise, taking two of the pieces of white-brown paper which had been laid aside, carefully spread one on the centre of the round table, and the other on the seat of one of the chairs. Then lightly poising himself on his toe, he stepped on to the chair, and from thence on to the table. In that position he skilfully brought his feet together, so that his weight was directly on the leg, and gracefully waved his hands over Ms head. James and Boots stood by admiring, with open mouths, and Mr. Dockwrath, with his hands in his pockets, was meditatmg whether he could not give the order without complying with the terms as to ready money. " Look at that for strength," said Mr. Kantwise from his exalted position. "I don't think any lady of your acquaintance. Sir, would a ORLEl i'AEM. allow you to stand ou liev rosewood or mabogany loo tabl6. And if sb« did, you would not like to adventure it yourself. But look at this r strength," and he waved his arms abroad, still keeping bis feet skilfuljj together in the same exact position. At that moment Mr. Moulder awoke. " So you've got your iron traps out, have you ? " said be. " What ; you're there, are you? Upon my word I'd sooner you than me." "I certainly should not like to see you up here, Mr. Moulder. I doubt whecher even this table would bear five-and-twenty stone. Joe, lend me your shoulder, there's a good fellow." And then Mr. Kantwise, bearing very lightly on the chair, descended to the ground without accident. " Now, that's what I call gammon," said Moulder. " What is gammon, Mr. Moulder ? " said the other, begmmng to be angry. " It's all gammon. The chairs and tables b gammon, and so is the stools and the screens." "Mr. Moulder, I didn't call your tea and coffee and brandy gammon." " You can't ; and you wouldn't do any harm if you did. Hubbies and Grease are too well known in Yorkshire for you to hurt them. But as for all that show-off and gimcrack-work, I tell you fairly it ain't what 1 call trade, and it ain't tit for a commercial room. It's gammon, gammon, gammon ! James, give me a bed candle." And so Mr. Moulder took himself off to bed. " I think I'll go too," said Mr. Dockwrath. " You'll let me put you up the set, eh ? " said Mr. Kantwise. " Well ; I'll think about it," said the attorney. " I'll not just give you an answer to-night. Good-night, Sir ; I'm very much obliged to you." And he too went, leaving Mr. Kantwise to repack his chairs and tables with the assistance of James the waiter. CHAPTER VII. THE MASONS OJ GKOBY PAHK. Geoby Park is about seven miles from Leeds, in the direction ot Bradford, and thitlier on the morning after the scene described in the last chapter Mr. Dockwrath was driven in one of the gigs belonging to the Bull Inn. The park itself is spacious, but is flat and uninterestmg, being surrounded by a thin belt of new-looking fir-trees, and containing but very little old or handsome timber. There are on the high road two very important lodges, between which is a large ornamented gate, and from thence an excellent road leads to the mansion, situated in the very middle of the domain. The house is Greek in its style of :.HE MASONS OP GROBT PAKK. 45 architecture, — at least so the owner says; and if a portico with a pediment and seven Ionic columns makes a house Greek, the house in Groby Park undoubtedly is Greek. Here lived Mr. and Mrs. Mason, the three Misses Mason, and occasionally the two young Messrs. Mason ; for the master of Groby Park was blessed with five children. He himself was a big, broad, heavy-browed man, in whose composition there was nothing of tender ness, nothing of poetry, and nothing of taste ; but I cannot say that he was on the whole a bad man. He was just in his dealings, or at any rate endeavoured to be so. He strove bard to do his duty as a county magistrate against very adverse circumstances. He endeavoured to enaole his tenants and labourers to live. He was severe to his children, and was not loved by them ; but nevertheless lliey were dear to him, and he endeavoured to do his duty by them. The wife of liis bosom was not a pleasant woman, but nevertheless he did his duty by her; that is, he neither deserted her, nor beat her, nor locked her up. I am not sure that lie would not have been justified in doing one of these three things, or even all the three ; for Mrs. Mason of Groby Park was not a pleasant woman. But yet he was a bad man in that he could never forget and never forgive. His mind and heart were equally harsh and hard and inflexible. He was a man who considered that it behoved him as a man to resent all injuries, aud to have his pound of flesh in all cases. In his inner thoughts he had ever boasted to himself that he had paid all men aU that he owed. He had, so he thought, injured no one in any of the relations of life. His tradesmen got their money regularly. He answered every man's letter. He exacted nothing from any man for which he did not pay. He never ill used a servant either by bad language or by over work. He never amused liimself, but devoted his whole time to duties. He would fain even have been hospitable, could he have gotten his neighbours to come to him and have induced his wife to put upon the table sufiicient food for them to eat. Such being his virtues, what right had any one to injure him ? When he got from his grocer adulterated cofiee, — he analysed the coffee, as bis half-brother had done the guano, — he would have flayed the man ahve if the law would have allowed him. Had he not oaid the man monthly, giving him the best price as though for the best article ? When he was taken in with a warranty for a horse, he pursued the culprit to the uttermost. Maid-servants who would not come from tlieir bed-rooms at six o'clock, he would himself disturb while enjoymg their stolen slumbers. From his children he exacted all titles of respect, because he had a right to them. He wanted nothing that belonged to any one else, but he could not endure that aught should be kept from iiiin which he believed to be his own. It may be imagmed, therefore, m what Hght he esteemed Lady Mason and her son, aud how he regarded their residence at Orley Farm, seeing that he firmly believed that Orley Farm was his own, if all the truth were known. I have already hmted that Mrs. Mason was not a delightful woman. She had been a beauty, aud still imaa;iued that she had not Inst aU «6 OBLET FABU. pretension to be so considered. She spent, therefore, a considerable portion of her day in her dressing-room, spent a great deal of money for clothes, and gave herself sundry airs. She was a Lttle woman witn long eyes, and regular eyelashes, with a straight nose, and thru lips and rcMlar teeth. Her face was oval, and her hair was brown. It had at least once been all brown, and that which was now seen was brown also. But, nevertheless, although she was possessed of aU these charms, you might look at her for ten days together, and on the eleventh you would not know her if you met her in the streets. But the appearance of Mrs. Mason was not her forte. She had been a beauty; but if it had been her lot to be known in history, it was not as a beauty that she would have been famous. Parsimony was her gi-eat virtue, and a power of saving her strong point. I have said that she spent much money in dress, and some people will perhaps think that the two points of character are not compatible. Such people know nothing of a true spirit of parsimony. It is from the backs and bellies of other people that savings are made with the greatest constancy and the most satisfactory results. The parsimony of a mistress of a household is best displayed on matters eatable ;— on matters eatable and drinkable; for there is a fine scope for domestic savings in tea, beer, and milk. And in such matters chiefly did Mrs. Mason operate, going as far as she dared towards starring even her husband. But nevertheless she would feed herself in the middle of the day, having a roast fowl with bread sauce in her own -Dora. The miser who starves himself and dies without an ounce of fleah on his bones, while his skinny head lies on a bag of gold, is, after all, respectable. There has been a grand passion in his Ufe, and that grandest work of man, self-denial. You cannot altogether despise one who has clothed himself with rags and fed himself with bone-scrapings, while broad-cloth and ortolans were within his easy reach. But there are women, wives and mothers of famiUes, who would give the bone- scrapings to their husbands and the bones to their servants, while they hide the ortolans for themselves ; and would dress their children in rags, while they cram chests, drawers, and boxes with silks and satins for their own backs. Such a woman one can thoroughly despise, and even hate ; and such a woman was Mrs. Mason of Groby Park. I shall not trouble the reader at present with much description' of the young Masons. The eldest son was in the amy, and the younger it Cambridge, both spending much more money than their father allowed them. Not that he, in this respect, was specially close-fisted. He ascertained -what was sufficient, — amply suf&cient as he was told by the colonel of the regiment and the tutor of the college, — and that amount he allowed, assuring both Joseph and John that if they spent more, they would themselves have to pay for it out of the moneys which should enrich them in future years. But how could the sons of such a mother be other than spendthrifts ? Of course they were extravagant ; of course tliey spent more than they should have done ; and their father, resolved that he would keep his word with them religiously. The daughters wpre inucb less fortunate, having no possible nieaKg THE MASONS OS GROBY PARK. 47 cf extravagance allowed to them. Both the father and mother decided that they should go out into the county society, and therefore their clothing was not absolutely of rags. But any young lady who does go into society, whether it be of county or town, wiU tuUy understand the difference between a liberal and a stingy wardrobe. Girls with slender provisions of millinery may be fit to go out, — quite fit in their father's eyes ■ and yet all such going out may be matter of intense pam. It is all very well for the world to say that a girl should be happy without ■reference to her clothes. Show me such a girl, and I will show you one whom 1 should be very sorry that a boy of mine should choose as his sweetheart. The three Misses Mason, as they always were called by the Groby Park people, had been christened Diana, Creusa, and Penelope, their mother having a passion for classic literature, which she indulged by a use of Lempriere's dictionary. They were not especially pretty, nor were they especially plain. They were well grown and healthy, and quite capable of enjoying themselves in any of the amusements customary ro young ladies, — if only the opportunities were afforded them. Mr. Dockwrath had thought it well to write to Mr. Mason, acquainting that gentleman with his intended visit. Mr. Mason, he said to himself would recognise his iiame, and know whence he came, and under such circumstances would be sure to see him, although the express purpose of the proposed interview should not have been explained to him. Such in result was exactly the case. Mr. Mason did remember the name of Dockwrath, though he had never hitherto seen the bearer of it ; and as the letter was dated from Hamworth, he felt sufficient interest in the matter to await at home the coming of his visitor. " I know your name, Mr. Mason, Sir, and have known it long," sail? Mr. Dockwrath, seating himself in the chair which was offered to him in the magistrate's study ; " though I never had the pleasure of seeing you before, — to my knowledge. My name is Dockwrath, Sir, and I am a soHcitor. I live at Hamworth, and I married the daughter of old Mr. Usbech, Sir, whom you will remember " Mr. Mason listened attentively as these details were uttered before him so clearly, but he said nothing, merely bowing his head at each separate statement. He knew all about old Usbech's daughter nearly as well as Mr. Dockwrath did himself, but he was a man who knew how to be silent upon occasions. " I was too young. Sir," continued Dockwrath, " when you had that iiial about Orley Parm to have anything to do with the matter myself, but nevertheless I remember all the circumstances as though it was yesterday. I suppose. Sir, you remember them also ? " " Yes, Mr. Dockwrath, I remember them very well " "Well, Sir, my impression has always been that " And then the attorney stopped. It was quite his intention to speak out plainly before Mr. Mason, but he was anxious that that gentleman should speak out too. At any rate it might be well that he should be induced to express some little interest in the matter. 'lour impression, you say, has always been " said Mr. Masou, 48 ORLET FARM. repeating the words of his companion, and looking as ponderous and grave as ever. His countenance, however, expressed nothing but his usual ponderous solemnity. " My impression always was that there was something that had ret been as yet found out." " What sort of thing, Mr. Dockwrath ? " " Well ; some secret. I don't think that your lawyers managed the matter well, Mr. Mason." " You think you would have done it better, Mr. Dockwrath ? " " I don't say that, Mr. Mason. I was only a lad at the time, and could not have managed it at all. But they didn't ferret about enough. Mr. Mason, there's a deal better evidence tlian any that is given by word of mouth. A clever counsel can turn a witness pretty nearly any way he likes, but he can't do that with little facts. He hasn't the tinie, you see, to get round them. Your kwyers. Sir, didn't get up the little facts as they should have done." " And you have got them up since, Mr. Dockwrath ? " " I don't say that, Mr. Mason. You see all my interest lies in maintaining the codicil. My wife's fortune came to her under that deed. To be sure that's gone and spent long since, and the Lord Chancellor with all the judges couldn't enforce restitution ; but, never- theless, I wouldn't wish that any one should have a claim against me on that account." "Perhaps you will not object to say what it is that you do wish ? " "I wish to see right done, Mr. Mason; that's all. I don't think that Lady Mason or her son have any right to the possession of that place. I don't think that that codicil was a correct instrument ; and in that case of Mason versus Mason I don't think that you and your friends got to the bottom of it." And then Mr. Dockwrath leaned back in his chair with an inward determination to say nothing more, until Mr. Mason should make some sign. • That gentleman, however, still remained ponderous and heavy, and therefore there was a short period of silence — " And have you got to the bottom of it since, Mr. Dockwrath ? " at last he said. " I don't say that I have," said the attorney. " Might I ask then what it is you purpose to effect by the visit with which you have honoured me ? Of course you are aware that these are very private matters ; and although I should feel myself under an obligation to you, or to any man who might assist me to arrive at any true facts which have hitherto been concealed, I am not disposed to discuss the aifair with a stranger on grounds of mere uspicion." "I shouldn't have come here, Mr. Mason, at very great expense, and personal inconvenience to myself in my profession, if I had not some good reason for doing so. I don't thirik that you ever got to the bottom of that matter, and I can't say that I have done so now ; I haven't even tried. But I tell you what, Mr. Mason ; if you wish it, I think [ could put you in the way of — trying." THfi MASONS OP GKOBY PAItK. 49 "My lawyers are Messrs. Round and Crook of Bedford Row. Will It not be better tlaat you should ^o to them, Mr. Dockwrath ? " "No, Mr. Mason. I don't thmk it will be better that I should gc to them. I know Round and Crook well, and don't mean to say a word against them ; but if I go any farther in this affair I must do it with the principal. I am not going to cut my own throat for the sake of mending any mau's little finger. I have a family of sixteen children, Mr. Mason, and I have to look about very sharp, — very sharp indeed." Then there was another pause, and Mr. Dockwrath began to perceive that Mr. Mason was not by nature an open, demonstrative, or com- municative man. If anything further was to be done, he himself must open out a little. " The fact is, Mr. Mason, that I have come across documents which you should have had at that trial. Round and Crook ought to have had them, only they weren't half sharp. Why, Sir, Mr. Usbech had been your father's man of business for years upon years, and yet they didn't half go through his papers. They turned em over and looked at 'em ; but never thought of seeing what Uttle facts might be proved." "And these documents are with you now, here ? " " No, Mr. Mason, I am not so soft as that. I never carry about original documents unless when ordered to prove. Copies of one or two items T have made ; not regular copies, Mr. Mason, but just a line or two to refresh my memory." And Mr. Dockwrath took a small letter-case out of his breast coat pocket. "By this time Mr. Mason's curiosity had been roused, and he began to think it possible that his visiter had discovered information which might be of importance to him. "Are you going to show me any documents ? " said he. "That's as may be," said the attorney. "I don't know as yet whether you care to see it. I have come a long way to do you a service, and it seems to me you are rather shy of coming forward to meet me. As I said before, I've a very heavy family, and I'm not going to cut the nose off my own face to put money into any other man's pocket. What do you think my journey down here will cost me, mcluding loss of time, and interruption to my business ? " " Look here, Mr. Dockwrath ; if you are really able to put me into possession of any facts regarding the Orley Parm estate which I ou(>-ht to know, I will see that you are compensated for your time and trouble. Messrs. Round and Crook " " I'll have nothmg to do with Round and Crook. So that's settled, Mr. Mason." "Then, Mr. Dockwrath " " Half a minute, Mr. Mason. I'll have nothing to do with Round and Crook ; but as I know you to be a gentleman and a man of honour, I'll put you in possession of what I've discovered, and leave it to you afterwards to do what you think right about my expenses, time, and services. You won't forget that it is a long way from Hamworth to Groby Park. And if you should succeed " " If I am to look at this document, I must do so without pledging _ 4 so OKUIY FAKU. myself to anything," said Mr. Mason, still with much solemuity. Se bad great doubts as to his new acquaintarioe, and muck feared that he was derogating from his dignity as a 'county magistrate and owner ot Groby Park in holding any personal intercourse with him ; but never- theles's he could not resist the temptation. He most firmly believed that that codicil had not expressed the genuine last will and fair disDosition of property made by his father, and it might certainly be the case that proof of all that he believed was to be found among the papers of the old lawyer. He hated Lady Mason with all his power of hatred, and if there did, even yet, exist for him a chance of up- settmg her claims and ruining her before the world, he was not the man" to forego that chance. " Well, Sir, you shall see it," said Mr. Dockwrath ; " or rather hear it, for there is not much to see." And so saying he extracted from his pocket-book a very small bit of paper. " I should prefer to read it, if it's all the same to you, Mr. Dock- wrath. I shall understand it much better in that way." " As you like, Mr. Mason," said the attorney, handing him the small bit of paper. " You will understand. Sir, that it's no real copy, but only a few dates and particulars, just jotted down to assist my own memory." The document, supported by which Mr. Dockwrath had come down to Yorkshire, consisted of half a sheet of note paper, and the writing upon this covered hardly the half of it. The words which Mr. Mason read were as follows : — " Date of codicil. 14th July 18—. "-Witnesses to the instrument. JohnKenneby; Bridget Bolster j Jonathan Usbech. N.B. Jonathan Usbech died before the testator. " Mason and Martock. Deed of Separation; dated 14th July 18 — . " Executed at Orley Earm. " Witnesses John Kenneby ; and Bridget Bolster. Deed was pre- pared in the office of Jonathan Usbech, and probably executed in his presence." That was all that was written on the paper, and Mr. Mason read the woi-ds to himself three times before he looked up, or said any- thing concerning them. He was not a man quick at receiving new ideas into his mind, or of understanding new points ; but that winch had once become intelligible to him and been made his own, remained so always. " Well," said he, when he read the above words for the third time. "You don't cee it. Sir?" said Mr. Dockwrath. " See what ? " said Mr. Mason, still looking at the scrap of paper. " Why ; the dates, to begin with." " I see that the dates are the same ; — the 14th cf July in the same year." "Well," said Mr. Dockwrath, looking very keenly into the magistrate's face. " Well," said Mr. Mason, lookmg over the paper at his boot, "John Kenneby and Bridget Bolster were witnesses to both the instruments," said the attorney. THE lliASONS 01? GEOBY PARlv. 51 ■"So I see," said the magistrate. "But I don't remember that it came out in evidence that either of them recolleoted having been called on for two signatures on the same day." "No; there was nothing of that came out ;— or was even hinted at." " No ; nothing even hinted at, Mr. Mason, — as you justly observe. That is what I mean by saying that Kound and Ciook's people didn't got up tjieir little facts. Believe me. Sir, there are men in the pro- fession out of London who know quite as much as Round and Crook. They ought to have had those facts, seeing that the very copy of the,, document was turned over by their hands." And Mr. Dockwrath hit the table heavily in the warmth of his indignation against his negligent professional brethren. Earlier in the interview Mr. Mason would have been made very angry by such freedom, but he was not angry now. " Yes ; they ought to have known it," said he. But he did not even yet see the point. He merely saw that there was a point worth seeing. ".Known it ! Of course they ought to have known it. Look here, Mr. Mason ! If I had it on my mind that I'd thrown over a client ol minff by such carelessness as that, I'd — I'd strike my own name off the rolls ; I would indeed. I never could look a counsel in the face again, if I'd neglected to brief him with such facts as those. I suppose it was carelessness ; eh, Mr. Mason ? " " Oh, yes ; I'm afraid so," said Mr. Mason, still rather in the dark. " They could have had no object in keeping it back, I should say." "No; none in life. But let us see, Mr. Dockwrath; how does it bear upon us ? The dates are the same, and the witnesses the same." " The deed of separation is genuuie. There is no doubt about that." " Oh ! you're sure of that ? " " Quite certain. I found it entered in the old office books. It was the last of a lot of such documents executed between Mason and Martock after the old man gave up the business. You, see she was always with him, and knew all about it." "About the. partnership deed?" " Of course she did. She's a clever woman, Mr. Mason ; very clever, !uid it's almost a pity that she should come to grief. She has carried it on so well; hasn't she?" Mr. Mason's face now became very black. "Why," said he, "il what you seem to allege be true, she must be a — a — a — . What do you mean. Sir, by pity ? " Mr. DockwT:ath shrugged his shoulders. " It is very blue," said he, " uncommon blue." " She must be a swindler ; a common swindler. Nay, worse than that." "Oh, yes, a deal worse than that, Mr. Mason. And as for common ; — accorduag to my way of thinking there's nothing at all common about it. I look upon it as about the best got-up plant I ever remember to have heard of. I do, indeed, Mr. Mason. ' The attorney duiing the 4-a 52 ORLEY FAEM. last lea minutes of tlie conversation had quite altered liis tone, tmder- standing that he had already achieved a great part of his object ; but Air. Mason in his intense anxiety did not observe this. Had Mr. Dockwrath, in commencing the conversation, talked about " plants " and "blue," Mr. Mason would probably have rung his bell for the servant. "If it's anything, it's forgery," said Mr. Dockwrath, looking liis companion full in the face. '•■ I always felt sure that my father never intended to sign such a codicil as that." . " He never did sign it, Mr. Mason." : "And,— and the witnesses ! " said Mr. Mason, still not enlightened as to the true extent of the attorney's suspicion. " They signed the other deed ; that is two of them did. _ There is no doubt about that ;— on that very day. They certainly did witness a signature made by the old gentleman in his own room on that 14th of July. The original of that document, with the date and their names, will be forthcoming soon enough." "Well," said Mr. Mason. " But they did not witness two signatures." " You think not, eh ! " " I'm sure of it. The girl Bolster would have remembered it, and would have said so. She was sharp enough." " "Who wrote all the names then at the foot of the will ? " said Mr. Mason. " Ah ! that's the question. Who did write them ? We_ know very well, Mr. Mason, you and I that is, who did not. And having come to that, I think we may give a very good guess who did." And then they both sat silent for some three or four minutes. Mr. Dockwrath was quite at his ease, rubbing his chin with his hand, playing with a paper-knife which he had taken from the study table, and waiting till it should please Mr. Mason to renew the conversation. Mr. Mason was not at his ease, though all idea of affecting any reserve before the attorney had left him. He was thinking how best he might confound and ' destroy the woman who had robbed him for so many years; who had defied him, got the better of him, and put him to terrible cost ; who had vexed his spirit through his wliole life, deprived nim of content, and had been to him as a thor« ever present in a festering sore. He had always believed that she had defrauded him, Out this belief had been qualified by the unbelief of others. It might nave been, he had half thought, that the old man had signed the codicil in his dotage, having been cheated and bullied into it by the woman. There had been no day in her life on which he would not have ruined her, had it been in his power to do so. But now — now, new and grander ideas were breaking in upon his mind. Could it be possible lliat he might live to see her, not merely deprived of her ill-gained money, but standing in the dock as a felon to receive sentence for her terrible misdeeds ? li that might be so, would he not receive great compensation for all that he had suffered ? Would it not be sweet to his sense of justice that both of them should tlius at last have their THE MASON'S OF GRCBY PARK.. £3 »v.'ii? IIo did not even yet understand all that Mr, Dockwratli suapccted. He did not fully perceive why the woman was si'pposed to have chosen as the date of her forgery, the date of that other genuine deed. But he did understand, lie did perceive — at least so he thought, — that new and perhaps conclusive evidence of her villainy was at last within his reach. " And what shall we do now, Mr. Dockwrath ? " he said at last. " Well ; am I to understand that you do me the honour of asking my advice upon that question as being your lawyer ? " This question immediately brought Mr. Mason back to business that lie did understand. "A man in my position cannot very well change his legal advisers at a moment's notice. You muBt be very well aware of that, Mr. Dockwrath. Messrs. Round and Crook "" "Messrs. E.ound and Crook, Sir, have neglected your business in a most shameful manner. Let me tell you that. Sir." " Well ; that's as may be. I'll tell you what I'll do, Mr. Dock- wrath ; I'll think over this matter in quiet, and then I'll come up to town. Perhaps when there I may e.xpect the honour of a further visit from you." " And you won't mention the matter to Round and Crook 'i " "I can't undertake to say that, Mr. Dockwrath. I think w will perhaps be better that I should mention it, and then see you after- wards." "And how about my expenses down hero ? " Just at this moment there came a light tap at the study door, and before the master of the house could give or withhold permission thn mistress of the house entered the room. " My dear," she said, " 1 didn't know that you were engaged." " Yes, I am engaged," said the gentleman. " Oh, I'm sure i beg pardon. Perhaps this is the gentleman from Hamworth ? " "Yes, Ma'am," said Mr. Dockwrath. "I am the gentleman from Hamwortli. I hope I have the [)leasurc of seeing you very well, Ma'am ? " And getting up from his chair he bowed politely. " Mr. Dockwrath, Mrs. Mason," said the lady's husband, inti-o- "iucing them ; and then Mrs. Mason curtsied to the stranger. Slie (00 was very anxious to know what might be the news from Ham- t-orth. "Mr. Dockwrath will lunch with us, my dear," said Mr. Mason. And then the lady, on hospitable cares intent, left them a^-aic w taenuielve^. 54 OOLiST lAXX. CHAPTER Vm. MRS. mason's hot LUNCHEON. Thodgii Mr. Dockwrath was somewhat elated by this invitation to lunch, he was also somewhat abashed by it. He had been far from expecting that Mr. Mason of Groby Park would do him any such honour, and was made aware by it of the great hold which he must have made upon the attention of his host. But nevertheless he immediately felt that his hands were to a certain degree tied. He, having been invited to sit down at Mr. Mason's table, with Mrs. M. and the family, — having been treated as though he were a gentleman, and thus being for the time put on a footing of equality with the county magistrate, could not repeat that last important question : " How about my expenses down here ? " nor could he immediately go on with the grand 'subject in any frame ot mind which would tend to further his own interests. Having been invited to lunch he could not haggle with due persistency for his share of the business in crushing Lady Mason, nor stipulate that the whole concern should not be trusted to the management of Round and Crook. As a source of pride this invitation to eat was pleasant to him, but he was forced to acknowledge to himself that it interfered with business. Nor did Mr. Mason feel himself ready to go on with the conversation in the manner, in whioli it had been hitherto conducted. His mind was full of Orley P^rm and his wrongs, and he could bring himself to think of nothing else ; but he could no longer talk about it to the attorney sitting there in his study. " Will you take a turn about the place while the lunch is getting ready ? " he said. So they took their hats and went out into the garden. " It is di'eadful to think of," said Mr. Mason, after they had twice walked in -silence the length of a broad gravel terrace. "What: about her ladyship ? " said the attorney. " Quite dreaaful ! " and Mr. Mason shuddered. " I don't think I ever heard of anything so shocking ia my life. Por twenty years, Mr. Dockwrath, think of that. Twenty years ! " and his face as he spoke became almost black with horror. " It is very shocking," said Mr. Dockwrath ; " very shocking. What on earth will be her fate if it be proved against her ? She has brought it on herself; that is all that one can say of her." " D her ! d her 1 " exclaimed the other, gnashing his teeth with concentrated wrath. "No punishment will be bad enough for her. Hanging would not be bad enough." " They can't hang her, Mr. Mason," said Mr. Dockwrath, almost frightened by the violence of his companion. ** No ; they have altered the laws, giving every encouragement to forgers, villains, and perjurers. But they can give her penal servitude fcT liffi. They must do it." Mils, mason's hot luncheon. 55 " She is not convicted yet, you know." "D her!" repeated the owner of Groby Park again, as he thought of his twenty years of loss. Eight hundred a year for twenty years had been taken away from him ; and he had been worsted before the world after a hard fight. "D ■ her ! " he continued in a growl between his teeth. Mr. Dockwrath when he had first heard his companion say how horrid and dreadful the affair was, had thought that Mr. Mason was alluding to the condition in which the lady had placed herself by her assumed guilt. But it was of his own condition that he was speakm^. The idea which shocked him was the thought of the treatment which he himself had undergone. The dreadful thtng at which he shuddered was his own ill usage. As for her; — pity for her ! Did a man ever pity a rat that had eaten into his choicest dainties ? " The lunch is on the table. Sir," said the Groby Park footman in the Groby Park livery. Under the present household arrangement of Groby Park all the servants lived on board wages. Mrs. Mason did not like this system, though it had about it certain circumstances of economy which recommended it to her ; it interfered greatly with the stringent aptitudes of her character and the warmest passion of her heart ; it took away from her the deUcious power of serving out the servants' food, of locking up the scraps of meat, and of charging the maids with voracity. But, to tell the truth, Mr. Mason had been driven by sheer necessity to take this step, as it had been found impossible to induce his wife to give out sufficient food to enable the servants to live and work. She knew that in not doing so she injured herself; but she could not do it. The knife in passing through the loaf would make the portion to be parted with less by one third than the portion to be retained. Half a pound of salt butter would reduce itself to a quarter of a pound. Portions of meat would become infinitesimal. When standing with viands before her, she had not free wiU over her hands. She could not bring herself to part with victuals, though she might ruin herself by retaining them. There- fore, by the order of the master, were the servaiits placed on board w^es. Mr. Dockwrath soon found himself in the dining-room, where the three young ladies with their mamma were already seated at the table. It; was a. handsome room, and the furniture was handsome; but never- theless it was a, heavy room, and the furniture was heavy. The table was large enough for a party oif twelve, and might have borne a noble banquet ; as it was the promise was not bad, for there were three large plated covers concealing hot viands, and in some houses lunch means only bread and cheese. : Mr. Mason went through a form of introduction between Mr. Dock- wrath and his daughters. " That is Miss Mason, that Miss Creusa Mason, and this Miss Penelope. John, remove the covers." And the covers were removed, John taking them from the table with a magnificent action of his arm which I am inclined to think was not innocent of irony. On the dish before the roaster of the bouse, — a large dish 56 OBLET FABM. wiiicli must I fancy Lave been selected by the cook with some similar attempt at sarcasm, — there reposed three scraps, as to the nature ot which Mr. Dockwrath, though he looked hard at them, was unable to enlighten himself. But Mr. Mason knew them well, as he now placed his eyes on them for the third time. They were old enemies of his, and his brow a^'ain became black as he looked at them. The scraps in fact consisted of two drumsticks of a fowl and some indescribable bone out of the back of the same. The original bird had no doubt first revealed all its glories to human eyes, — presuming the eyes of the cook to be iniiuman — in Mrs. Mason's " boodoor." Then, on the dish before the lady, there were f.hree other morsels, black-looking and very suspicious to the eye, which in the course of conversation were pro- claimed to be ham, — broiled ham. Mrs. Mason would never allow a ham in its proper shape to come into the room, because it is an article upon which the guests are themselves supposed to operate with the carving-knife. Lastly, on the dish before Miss Creusa there reposed three potatoes. The face of Mr. Mason became very black as he looked at tlie banquet which was spread upon his board, and Mrs. Mason, eyeing him across the table, saw that it was so. She was not a lady who despised such symptoms in her lord, or disregarded in her valour the violence of marital storms. She had quailed more tlian once or twice under rebuke occasioned by her great domestic virtue, and knew that her husband, though he might put up with much as regarded his own comfort and that of his children, could be very angry at injuries done to his household honour and character as a hospitable English country gentleman. Consequently the lady smiled and tried to look self-satisfied as she invited her guest to eat. " This is ham," said she with a little simper, "broiled ham, Mr. Dockwrath; and there is chicken at the other end; I think they call it — devilled." " Shall I assist the young ladies to anything first ? " said the attorney, wishing to be polite. " Nothing, thank you," said Miss Penelope, with a very stiff bow. She also knew that Mr. Dockwrath was an attorney from Hamworth, and considered herself by no means bound to hold any sort of conver- sation with him. " My daughters only eat bread and butter in the middle of the day," said the lady. " Creusa, my dear, will you give Mr. Dockwrath a potato ? Mr. Mason, Mr. Dockwrath will probably take a bit of that chicken.'' " I would recommend him to follow the girls' example, and confine himself to the bread and butter," said the master of the house, pushing about the scraps with his knife and fork. " There is nothing here for him to eat." " My dear ! " exclaimed Mrs. Mason. " There is nothing here for him to eat," repeated Mr. Mason. " And as far as I can see there ig nothing there either. Whfit is it you pretend to have in that dish ? " » - ^ r t-. iras. mason's hot lukcheon. 87 " J£^ dear ! " again exclaimed Mrs. Mason. " What is it ? " repeated the lord of the house in an angrj tone. "Broiled ham, Mr. Mason." "Then let the ham be brought in," said he. "Diana, rin" tha bcU." " But the ham is not cooked, Mr. Mason," said the lady. " Broiled tarn is always better when it has not first been boiled." " Is there no cold meat in the house ? " he asked. " I am afraid not," she repUed, now trembUng a little in anticipation of what might be coming after the stranger should have gone. " You never like large joints yourself, Mr. Mason ; and for ourselves we don't eat meat at luncheon." "Nor anybody else either, here," said Mr. Mason in his anger. "Pray don't mind me, Mr. Mason," said the attorney, "pray don't, Mr. Mason. I am a very poor fist at lunch ; I am indeed." " I am sure I am very sorry, very sorry, Mr. Mason," continued the lady. " If I had known that an early dinner was required, it should have been provided ; — although the notice given was so very short." "I never dine early," said Mr. Dockwrath, thinking that some imputation of a low way of living was conveyed in this supposition that he required a dinner under the pseudonym of a lunch. " I never do, upon my word — we are quite regular at home at half-past five, anc all I ever take in the middle of the day is a biscuit and a glass of sherry, — or perhaps a bite of bread and cheese. Don't be uneasy about me, Mrs. Mason." The three young ladies, having now finished their repast, got up from the table and retired, following each other out of the room in a line. Mrs. Mason remained for a minute or two longer, and then she also went. " The carriage has been ordered at three, Mr. M.," she said. " Shall we have the pleasure of your company ? " " No," growled the husband. And then the lady went, sweeping a low curtsy to Mr. Dockwrath as she passed out of the room. There was again a silence between the host and his guest for some two or three minutes, during which Mr. Mason was endeavouring to get the lunch out of liis head, and to redirect his whole mind to Lady Mason and his hopes of vengeance. There is nothing perhaps so generally consoling to a man as a srell-established grievance ; a feehng of having been injured, on which his mind can brood from hour to hour, allowing him to plead his own cause in his own court, within his own heart, — and always to plead it successfully. At last Mr. Mason succeeded, and he could think of his enemy's fraud and forget his wife's meanness. " I suppose I may as well order my gig now," said Mr. Dockwrath, as soon as his host had arrived at this happy frame of mind. " Your gig ? ah, well. Yes. I do not know that I need detain you any longer. I can assure you that I am much obliged to you, Mr. Dockwrath, and I shall hope to see you in London very shortly." " You are determined to go to Round and Crook, I suppose ? " 58 OBLET PABU. "Oh, certainly." " You are wrong, Sir. They'll throw you over again as sure aa youi name is Mason." "Mr. Dockwrath, you must if you please allow me to judge of that myself." "Oil, of course. Sir, of course. But I'm sure that a gentleman like you, Mr. Mason, will understand " " I shall understand th^t I Cannot expect your services, Mr. Dock- wrath, — your valuable time and services, — without remunerating you for them. That shall be fuKy explained to Messrs. Round and Crook." " Very well. Sir ; very well. As long as I am paid for what I do, I am content. A professional gentleman of course expects that. How is he to get along else ; particularly with sixteen children ? " And then Mr. Dockwrath got into the gig, and was driven back to the Bull at Leeds. CHAPTER IX. A CONVIVIAL MEETING. On the whole Mr. Dockwrath was satisfied with the results of bis trip to Groby Park, and was in a contented frame of mind as he was driven back to Leeds. No doubt it would have been better could be have persuaded Mr. Mason to throw over Messrs Bound and Crook, and put himself altogether into the hands of his new ad- viser ; but this had been too much to expect. He had not expected it, and had made the suggestion as the surest means of getting the best terms in his, power, rather than with a hope of securing the actual advantage named. He had done much towards impressing Mr. Mason with an idea of his own sharpness, and perhaps some- thing also towards breaking the prestige which surrounded the names of the great London firm. He would now go to that firm and make his terms with them. They would probably be quite as ready to aCquiesce in the importance of his information as had been Mr. Mason. Before leaving the inn after breakfast he had agreed to join the dinner in the commercial room at five o'clock, and Mr. Mason's hot lunch had by no means induced him to alter his purpose. " I shall dine here," he had said when Mr. Moulder was discussing with the waiter the all-important subject of dinner. "At the commercial table. Sir ? " the waiter had asked, doubtingly. Mr. Dockwrath had answered boldly in the affirmative, whereat Mr. Moulder had growled; bat Mr. Kantwise had exfiressed his satisfaction. "We shall he A COHVIVIAL MEETING. 69 extremely happy to enjoy your company," Mr. Kantwise Lad said, with a graceful bow, making up by his excessive courtesy for the want of any courtesy on the part of his brother-traveller. With reference to all this Mr. Moulder said nothing ; the stranger had been aamitted into the room, to a certain extent even with his own consent, and he could not now be turned out ; but he resolved within his own mind lliat for the future he would be more firm in maintaining the ordinance's and institutes of his profession. On his road home Mr. Dockwrath had encountered Mr. Kantwise going to Groby Park, intent on his sale of a drawmg-room set of the iiietalKc furniture ; and when he again met him in the commercial room he asked after his success. " A wonderful woman that, Mr. Dockwrath," said Mr. Kantwise, " a really wonderful woman ; no par- ticular friend of yours, I think you say ? " " None in the least, Mr. Kantwise." "Then I may make bold to assert that for persevering sharpness sne beats all that I ever met, even in Yorkshire ; " and Mr. Kant- wise looked at his new friend over his shoulder, and shook his head as though lost in wonder and admiration. "What do you think she's done now ? " " She didn't give you much to eat, I take it." "Much to eat! I'll teU you what it is, Mr. Dockwrath; my belief is that that woman would have an absolute pleasure in starving a Christian ; I do indeed. I'U tell you what she has done ; she has made me put her up a set of them things at twelve, seventeen, six ! I needn't tell you that they were never made for the money." " Why, then, did you part with them at a loss ? " " Well ; that's the question. I was soft, I suppose. She got round me, badgering me, till I didn't know where I was. She wanted them as a present for the curate's wife, she said. Whatever .should induce her to make a present ? " " She got them for twelve, seventeen, six ; did she ? " said Dock- wrath, thinking that it might be as well to remember this, if he should feel incUned to make a purchase himself. " But they was strained, Mr. Dockwrath ; I must admit they was strained, — particularly the loo." " You had gone through your gymnastics on it a little too often ? " asked the attorney. But this Mr. Kantwise would not acknowledge. The strength of that table was such that he could stand on it for ever without injury to it ; but nevertheless, in some other way it had be- come strained, and therefore he had sold the set to Mrs. Mason for 12/. 17s. 6cl., that lady being minded to make a costly present to the wife of the curate of Groby. When dinner-time came Mr. Dockwrath found that the party was swelled to the number of eight, five other undoubted commercials having brought themselves to anchor at the Bull Inn during the aay. To all of these Mr. Kantwise introduced him. "Mr. Gape, Mr. Dockwrath," said he, gracefully moving towards them the palm*of his band, and eyeing them over bis shoulder. "Mr. Gape is in the ^^ OBLEI FAKM. stationery line," he added, in a whisper to the attornej, " and doe« for Cumining and Jibber of St. Paul's Cliurchyard. Mr. Joliiiaon, Jir. DockWrath. Mr. J. is from Sheffield. Mr. Snengkcld, Mr. Dock- wrath ; " and then he imparted in another whisper the necessary in- formation as to Mr. Snengkeld. " Soft goods, for Brown Brothers, of Snow Hill," and so on through the whole fraternity. Each member bowed as his name was mentioned ; but they did not do so very graciously, as Mr. Kantwise was not a great man among them. Had the stranger been introduced to them by Moulder, — Moulder the patriarch, — his reception among them would have been much warmer. And then they sat down to dinner, Mr. Moulder taking the chair as president, and Mr. Kantwise sitting opposite to him, as being the longest sojourner at the inn. Mr. Doekwrath sat at the right hand of Kantwise, discreetly avoiduig the neighbourhood of Moulder, and the others ranged themselves according to fancy at the table. " Come up along side of me, old fellow," Moulder said to Snengkeld. " It aint the first time that you and I have smacked our lips together over the same bit of roast beef." " Nor won't, I hope, be the last by a long chalk, Mr. Moulder," said Snengkeld, speaking with a deep, hoarse voice which seemed to ascend from some region of his body far below his chest. Moulder and Snengkeld were congenial spirits; but the latter, though the older man, was not endowed with so large a volume of body or so highly dominant a spirit. Brown Brothers, of Snow Hill, were substantial people, and Mr. Snengkeld travelled in strict accordance with the good old rules of trade which Moulder loved 80 well. The politeness and general good manners of the company were somethmg very pretty to witness. Mr. Doekwrath, as a stranger, was helped first, and every courtesy was shown to him. Even Mr. Moulder carved the beef for him with a loving hand, and Mr. Kant- wise was almost subservient in his attention. Mr. Doekwrath thought that he had certainly done right in coming to the commercial table, and resolved on doing so on all occasions of future journeys. So far all was good. The commercial dinner, as he had ascertained, would cost him only two shillings, and a much inferior repast eaten by himself elsewhere would have stood in his bill for three. So far all was good ; but the test by which he was to be tried was now approach- mg him. When the dinner was just half over, — Mr. Moulder well knew how to mark the time, — that gentleman called for the waiter, and whispered an important order iuto that functionary's ears. The functionary bowed, retired from the room, and reappeared agaui in two minutes, bearing a bottle of sherry in each hand ; one of these he deposited at the right liand of Mr. Moulder, and the other at the right hand ot Mr. Kantwise. "Sir," said Mr. Moulder, addressing himself with great ceremony to Mr. Doekwrath, "the honour of a glass of wine with you. Sir, and tht president, to give more importance to the occasion, nut down iiis knifc wid fork^ leaned back in his chair, and put both his haniij A COKVIVIAL MEEMUe. 6l opott his waistcoat, looking intently at the attorney out of his little eyes. Mr. Dockwrath was immediately aware that a crisis had comt upon him which demanded an instant decision. If lie complied with the president's invitation he would have to pay his proportion of all the wine bill that might be incurred that evening by the seven com- mercial gentlemen at the table, and he knew well that commercial gentleman do sometimes call for bottle after bottle with a reckless dis- regard of expense. But to him, with his sixteen children, wine at au hotel was terrible. A pint of beer and a glass of brandy and water were the luxuries which he had promised himself, and with manly fortitude he resolved that he would not be coerced into extravagance by any president or any Moulder. " Sir," said he, " I'm obliged by the honour, but I don't drink wine to my dinner." Whereupon Mr. Moulder bowed his head very solemnly, winked at Snengkeld, and then drank wine with that gentleman. " It's the rule of the room," whispered Mr. Kantwise into Mr. Dockwrath's ear ; but Mr. Dockwrath pretended not to hear him, and the matter was allowed to pass by for the time. But Mr. Snengkeld asked him for the honour, as also did Mr. Gape, who sat at Moulder's left hand; and then Mr. Dockwrath began to wax angry. " I think I remarked before that I don't drink wine to my dinner," he said ; and then the three at the president's end of the table all looked at each other very solemnly, and they all winked .: and after that there was very Lttle conversation during the re- mainder of the meal, for men knew that the goddess of discord was in the air. The cheese came, and with that a bottle of port wine, which was handed rouud, Mr. Dockwrath of course refusing to join in the con- viviahty ; and then the cloth was drawn, and the decanters were put before the president. " James, bring me a little brandy and water," said the attorney, striving to put a bold face on the matter, but yet speaking with diminished voice. " Half a moment, if you please, Sur," said Moulder ; and then_ he exclaimed with stentorian voice, " James, the dinner bUl." " Yes, Sir," said the waiter, and disappeared without any thought towards the re- quisition for brandy and water from Mr. Dockwrath. For the next five minutes they all remained silent, except that Mr. Moulder gave the Queen's health as he filled his glass and pushed the bottles from him. " Gentlemen, the Queen," and then he lifted his glass of port ud to the hght, shut one eye as he looked at it, and immediately swallowed the contents as though he were takmg a dose of physic. " I'm afraid they'll charge you for the wine," said Mr. Kant- wise, again whispering ia his neighbour. But Mr. Dockwrath paid no apparent attention to what was said to him. He was concentratmg Lib energies with a view to the battle. James, the waiter, soon returned. He also knew well what wai •bout to happen, and he trembled as he handed in the document t« 68 OBL£V PAHli. the president. "Let's rnxve it, James," said Moulder, with much pleasantry, as he took the paper in his hand. " The old ticket, ] suppose ; five bob a head." And then he read out the bill, the total of which, wine and beer included, came to forty shillings. "Five shillings a head, gentlemen, as I said. You and I can make a pretty good guess as to the figure ; eh, Snengkeld ? " - And then he put down Ills two half-crowns on the waiter, as also did Mr. Snengkeld, and then Mr. Gape, and so on till it came to Mr. Kantwise. " I think you and I will leave it, and settle at the bar,'' said Kant- wise, appealing to Dockwrath, and intending peace if peace were still possible. "No," shouted Moulder, from the other end of the table; "let the man have his money now, and then his troubles will be over. If there's to be any fuss about it, let's have it out. I like to see the dinner bill settled as soon as the dinner is eaten. Then one gets an appetite for one's .supper." " I don't tliuik I have the change,'' said Kantwise, still putting off the evil day. " I'll lend it you," said Moulder, putting his hand into his trousers- pockets. But the money was forthcoming out of Mr. Kantwise's own proper repositories, and with slow motion he put down the five shdlings one after the other. And then the waiter came to Mr. Dockwrath. " What's this ? " said the attorney, taking up the bill and looking at it. The whole matter had been sufficiently explained to him, but nevertheless Mr. Moulder explained it again. " In commercial rooms. Sir, as no doubt you must be well aware, seeing that you have done us the honour of joining us here, the dinner bill is divided equally among all the gentle- men as sit down. It's the rule of the room, Sir. Tou ha.'j "what you like, and you calls for what you like, and conwiviaUty is thereby encouraged. The figure generally comes to five shillings, and you afterwards give what you like to the waiter. That's about it, ain't it, James ? " " That's the rule. Sir, in all commercial rooms as I ever see," said the waiter. The matter had been so extremely well put by Mr. Moulder, and that gentleman's words had carried with them so much conviction, that Dockwrath felt himself almost tempted to put down the money ; as far as his sixteen children and general ideas of economy were concerned he would have done so ; but his legal mind could not bear to be beaten. The spirit of litigation within him told him that the point was to be carried. Moulder, Gape, and Snengkeld together could not make him pay for wine he had neither ordered nor swallowed. His pocket was guarded by the law of the land, and not by the laws of any special room in which he might chance to find himself. " I shall pay • two shillings for my dinner," Said he, "and sixpence for my beer;" and then he deposited the half-crown. " Do you mean us to understand," said Moulder, "that after forcing your way into this room, and 'sitting down alorig with gentlemen at k CONVIVlAIi MEETING. 63 ftii« table, you refuse to abide by the rules of the room ? " And Mr. Moulder -spoke and looked as though he thought that such treachery must certainly lead to most disastrous results. The disastrous result which a stranger might have expected at the moment would be a fit of apoplexy on tHe part of the worthy president. " I neither ordered that wine nor did I drink it," said Doekwrath, compressing his lips, leaning back in his chair, and looking up into one corner of the ceihng. " The gentleman certainly did not drink the wine," said Kantwise, " I must acknowledge that ; and as for ordering it, why that was done by the president, in course. " Gammon ! " said Mr. Moulder, and he fixed his eye steadfastly upon his Vice. "Kantwise, that's gammon. The most of what you says is gammon." " Mr. Moulder, I don't exactly know what you mean by that word gam- mon, but it's objectionable. To my feelings it's very objectionable. I say that the gentleman did not drink the wine, and I appeal to the gentleman who sits at the gentleman's right, whether what I say is not correct. If what I say is correct, it can't be — gammon. Mr. Busby, did tbe gentleman drink the wine, or did he not ? " " Not as I see," said Mr. Busby, somewhat nervous at being thus brought into the controversy. He was a young man just commencing his travels, and stood in awe of the great Moulder. " Gammon ! " shouted Moulder, with a very red face. "Everybody at the table knows he didn't drink the wine. Everybody saw that he declined the honour when proposed, which I don't know that I ever saw a gentleman do at a commercial table till this day, barring that he was a teetotaller, which is gammon too. But its P. P. here, as every commercial gentleman knows, Kantwise as well as the best of us." " P. P., that's the rule," growled Snengkeld, almost from under the table. " In commercial rooms, as the gentleman must be aware, the rule is as stated by my friend on my right," said Mr. Gape. " The wine is ordered by the president or chairman, and is paid for in equal proportions by the comoany or guests," and in his oratory Mr. Gape laid great stress on the word " or." " The gentleman will easily perceive that ^such a rule as this is necessary in such a society ; and unless " But Mr. Gape was apt to make long speeches, and therefore Mr. Moulder interrupted him. " You had better pay your five shillings, Sir, and have no jaw about it. The man is standmg idle there." "It's not the value of the money," said Dockwrath, " but I musi decline to acknowledge that I am amenable to the jurisdiction." "There has clearly been a mistake," said Johnson from Sheffield, "and we had better settle it among us; anything is better thau a row." Johnson from Sheffield was a man somewhat iacliued to dispute the simremacv of Moulder from Houndsditch. 64 O&LEY FAHlt. "No, Johnson," said tlie president. "Anything is not better 'Jian a row. A premeditated infraction of our rules is not better ihan a row." " Did you say premeditated ? " said Kantwise. " I think not pre- meditated." " I did say premeditated, and I say it again." " It looks uncommon like it," said Snengkeld. " When a gentleman," said Gape, " who does not belong to a society " " It's no good having n^ore talk," said Moulder, " and we'll soon bring this to an end. Mr. ; I haven't the honour of knowing the gentleman's name." " My name is Dockwrath, and I am a soUcitor." " Oh, a soUcitor ; are you ? and you said last night you was com- mercial ! will you be good enough to tell us, Mr. SoUcitor — for I didn't just catch your name, except that it begins with a dock — and that's where most of your cUents are to be found, I suppose " " Order, order, order ! " said Kantwise, holding up both his hands. "It's the chair as is speaking," said Mr. Gape, who had a true Englishman's notion that the chair itself could not be called, to order. " You shouldn't insult the gentleman because he has his own ideas/' said Johnson. " I don't want to insult no one," continued Moulder ; " and those who know me best, among whom I can't as yet count Mr. Johnson, though hopes I shaU some day, won't say it of me." " Hear — hear — hear ! " from both SnengkeJ and Gape ; to which Kantwise added a little " hear — hear ! " of his own, of which Mr. Moulder did not quite approve. " Mr. Snengkeld and Mr. Gape, they're my old friends, and they knows me. And they knows the way of a commercial room — which some gentlemen don't seem as though they do. I don't want" to insult no one ; but as chairman here at this couwivial meet- ing, I asks that gentleman who says he is a soUcitor whether he means to pay his dinner bill according to the rules of the room, or whether he don't?" " I've paid for what I've had already," said Dockwrath, " and I don't mean to pay for what I've not had," "James," exclaimed Moulder — and all the chairman was in his voice as he spoke, — " my compliments to Mr. Crump, and I wiU request hia attendance for five minutes ; " and then James left the room, and there was silence for a while, during which the bottles made their round of the table. " Hadn't we better send back the pint of wine which Mr. Dock- wrath hasn't used ? " suggested Kantwise. " I'm d if we do ! " repUed Moulder, with much energy •, and the general silence was not again broken till Mr. Crump made his appearance ; but the chairman whispered a private word or two to his friend Snengkeld. "I never sent back ordered Uquor to the bar yet, unless it was bad ; and I'm not gomg to begin now. A COSVIVIAL MEETIKG. 65 And llicn Mr. Crump came in. Mr. Crump was a very cicau-lrjoking person, without any beard ; aud dressed from liead to foot in blaol;. He W.L5 about lifty, witli grizzly grey hair, which stood upright on his head, and his face at the present moment wore on it an inulceeper's smile. 13 ut it could also assume an imikeeper's frown, and on occasions did so — when bills were disputed, or unreasonable strangers thought that they knew the distance in posting miles round tlie neighbourhood of Iiceds better than did he, Mr. Crump, who had lived at the Bull Inn all his life. But Mr. Crump rarely frowned on commercial gentlemen, from whom was derived the main stay of his business and the main -irop of his house. " Mr. Crump," began Moulder, "here has occurred a very unpleasant ransaction." " I know all about it, gentlemen," said Mr. Crump. " The waiter "as acquainted me, and 1 can assure you, gentlemen, that I am ex- tremely sorry that anything should have arisen to disturb the harmony of your dinner-table." " We must now call upon you, Mr. Crump," began Mr. Moulder, who was about to demand that Dockwrath should be turned bodily out of the room. " If you'll allow me one moment, Mr. Moulder," continued Mr. Crump, " and I'll tell you what is my suggestion. The gentleman here, who 1 understand is a lawyer, does not wish to comply with the rules of the commercial room." " I certainly don't wish or intend to pay for drink that I didn't order and haven't had," said Dockwrath. " Exactly," said Mr. Crump. " And therefore, gentlemen, to get out of the difficulty, we'll presume, if you please, that the bill is paid." " The lawyer, as you call liim, wiU have to leave the room," said Moulder. " Perhaps he will not object to step over to the coffee-room on the other side," suggested the landlord. " I can't think of leaving my seat here under such circumstances," said Dockwrath. "You can't!" said Moulder. "Then you must be made, as I take it." "Let me see the man that will make me,'' said Dockwrath. Mr. Crump looked very apologetic and not very comfortable. "There is a difhculty, gentlemen; there ,is a difDiculty, indeed," he said. " The fact is, the gentleman should not have been showed into tlie room at all; " and he looked very angrily at his own servant, James. " He said he was 'mercial," said James. " So he did. Now he says as how he's a lawyer. What's a poor man to do f " " I'm a commercial lawyer," said Dockwrath. "He must leave the room, or I shall leave the house," said Moulder. " Gentlemen, gentlemen ! " said Crump. " This kind of th'jig do;¥ FAP.K. CHAPTER XV. A MOKNING CALL AT MOUNT I'LEASABT \'II,LA. Jh the following day Ladv Mason, made two visits, using her new vehicle for the first time. She would fain have -wralked had she dared ; but she would have given terrible offence to her son by doing so. He had explamed to her, and with some truth, that as their joint income was now a thousand a year, she was quite entitled to such a luxury ; and then he went on to say that as he had bought it for her, he should be much hurt if she would not use it. She had put it off from day to day, and now she could put it off no longer. Her first visit was by appointment at The Cleeve. She had promised Mrs. Orme that she would come up, some special purpose having been named ;-T-but with the real idea, at any rate on the part of the latter, that they might be more comfortable together than alone. The walk across from Orley Sarm to The Cleeve had always been very dear to Lady Mason. Every step of it was over beautiful ground, aaid a delight in scenery was one of the few pleasures which her lot in life had permitted her to enjoy. But to-day she could not allow herself the walk. Ber pleasures and delight must be postponed to her son's wishes ! But then she was used to that. She found Mrs. Orme alone, and sat with her for an hour. I do not know that anything was said between them which deserves to be specially chronicled. Mrs. Orme, though she told her many thingA, did not tell' her what Sir Peregrine had said as he was going up to his bed-room on the preceding evening, nor did Lady Mason say much about her son's farming. She had managed to gather from Lucius that he had not been deeply impressed by anything that had fallen from Sir Peregrine on the subject, and therefore thought it as well to hold her tongue. She soon perceived, also, from the fact of Mrs. Orme saying nothing about Lucius, that he had not left behind him any very favourable impression. This was to her cause of ad- ditional sorrow, but she knew that it must be, borne. Nothing that she could say would induce Lucius to make, himself acceptable to Sir Peregrine. When the hour was over she went down again to her, little car- riage, Mrs. Orme coming with her to look at it, and ia the hall they met Sir Peregrine. " Why does not Lady Mason stop for lunch ? " said he. " It is past half-past one. I never knew anythmg so inhospitable as turning her «ut at this moment." " I did ask her to stay," said Mrs. Orme. " But I command her to stay," said Sir Peregrine, knocking his stick upoB the stoae floor of the ball. "And let roe see who will dart A JtOENING CALL AT MOUNT PLEASANT VIILA. 103 to disobey ,me. John, let Ladjr Mason's carriage and pony stand in ttie opeu coach-house till she is ready^." So Lady Mason went back and did remain for lunch. She was pamfuUy anxious to mauitain the best possible footing in that house, out still more auxious not to have- it thought that she was intruding. She had feared that Lucius by his offence might have estranged Sir Peregrine against herself; but that' at any rate was not the case. , After lunch she drove herself to Hamworth and made her second visit. On this occasion she called on one Mrs. Arkwright, who was a very old acquaintance, though hardly to be called an intimate friend. The late ]M!r. Arkwright — Dr. Arkwright, as he used to be styled in Hamworth — had been Sir Joseph's medical attendant for many years, and therefore there had been room for an intimacy. No real friend- ship, that is no friendship of confidence, had sprimg up ; but never- theless the doctor's wife had known enough of Lady Mason in younger days to justify her in speaking of things which would not have been mentioned between merely ordinary acquaintance. " I am glad to see you have got promotion," said the old lady, lookmg out at Lady Mason's Uttle phaeton on the gravel sweep which divided Mrs. Arkwright's house from the street. For Mrs. Ark- wright's house was Mount Pleasant Villa, and therefore was entitled to a sweep. " It was a present from Lucius," said the other, " and as such must be used. But I shall never feel myself at home in my own carriage." " It is quite proper, my dear Lady Mason, quite proper. With his income and witli yours I do not wonder that he insists upon it. It is quite proper, and just at the present moment pecuharly so." " Lady Mason did not understand this ; out she would probably have passed it by without understanding it, had she not thought that there was some expression more than ordinary in Mrs. Ark- wright's face. " Why peculiarly so at the present moment ? " she said. "Because it shows that this fooKsh report which is going about has no foundation. People won't beheve it for a moment when they see you out and about, and happy-Hke." " What rumour, Mrs. Arkwright ? " And Lady Mason's heart sunk within her as she asked the question. Slie felt at once to wliat it must allude, though .she had conceived no idea as yet that there was any rumour on the subject. Indeed, during the last forty-ei"ht houis, since she had left the chambers of Mr. Jurnival, she had Been more at ease within herself than during the previous days which had elapsed subsequent^to the ill-omened visit made to her by Miriam Dookwrath. It had seenled to her that Mr. Purnival anticipated no danger, and his manner and words had almost given her confidence. But no\y, — now that a public rumour was spoken of, her heart was as low again as ever. "Sure, haven't you heard?" said Mrs. Arkwright. "Well, I wouldn't be the first to tell you. only that I know that there is no truth iu it." ]04 OBLKlf FARM. " You might as well tell ae now, as I sliall be apt to believe worse than the truth after what you have said." And then Mrs. Arkwright told her. " People have been saying that Mr. Mason is again gomg to begin those law proceedings about the farm ; but I for one don't believe it." " People have said so I " Lady Mason repeated. She meant nothing; it was nothing to her who the people were. If one said it now, all would soon be saying it. But she uttered the words because she felt herself forced to say something, and the power of thinking what she might best say was almost taken away from oer. " I am sure I don't know where it came from," said Mrs. Ark- wright ; " but I would not have alluded to it if I had not thought that of course, you had heard it. I am very sorry if my saying it has vexed you." " Oh, no," said Lady Mason, trying to smile. " As I said before, we all know that there is nothing in it ; and your having the pony chaise just at this time will make everybody see that you are quite comfortable yourself." "Thank you, yes; good-bye, Mrs. Arkwright." And then she made a great effort, feemig aware that she was betraying herself, and that it behoved her to say something which might remove the suspicion which her emotion must have created. " The very name of that law- suit is so dreadful to me that I can hardly bear it. The memory of it is sc terrible to me, that even my enemies would hardly wish that it should commence again." "Of course it is merely a report," said Mrs. Arkwright, almost trembling at what she had done. " That is all — at least I believe so. I had heard myself that some such threat had been made, but I did not think that any tidings of it had_got abroad." "It was Mrs. Whiting told me. She is a great busybody, you know." Mrs. Whiting was the wife of the present doctor. " Dear Mrs. Arkwright, it does not matter in the least. Of course I do not expect that people should hold their tongue on my account. Good-bye, Mrs. Arkwright." And then she got into the little carriage, and did contriye to drive herself home to Orley Farm. "Dear, dear, dear, dear!" said Mrs. Arkwright to herself when she was left alone. •" Only to think of that ; that she should be knocked in a heap by a few words — in a moment, as we may say." And then she began to consider of the matter. "I wonder what there is in it ! There must be something, or she would never have looked so like a ghost. What will they do if Orley Farm is taken away from them after all ! " And then Mrs. Arkwright hurried out on her daily little toddle through the town, that she might talk about this and be talked to on the same subjects She was by no means an ill- natured woman, nor was she at all inclined to direct against Lady Mason any shght amount of venom which might alloy her disposition. But then the matter was of such importance ! The people of Ham- A MOUSING CALL AT MOUNT PLEASAST VILLA. 106 worth had hardly yet ceased to talk of the last Orley Farm trial ; and would it not be necessary that they should talk much more if a new trial were really pending? Lookmg at the matter in that light, would not such a trial be a godsend to the people of Haraworth ? Therefore I beg that it may not be imputed to Mrs. Arkwright as a fault that she toddled out and sought eagerly for her gossips. Lady Mason did manage to drive herself home ; but her success in the matter was more owing to the good faith and propriety of her pony, than to any skilful workmanship on her own part. Her first desire had been to get away from Mrs. Arkwright, and having made that effort she was for a time hardly able to make any other. It was fast coming upon her now. Let Sir Peregrine say what comforting words he might, let Mr. Eurnival assure her that she was safe with ever so much confidence, nevertheless she could not but believe, could not but feel inwardly convinced, that that which she so dreaded was to hap- pen. It was written iu the book of her destiny that there should be a new trial. And now, from this very moment, the misery would again begin. People would point at her, and talk of her. Her success in obtaining Orley Farm for her own child would again be canvassed at every house in Hamworth ; and not only her success, but the means also by which that success has been obtained. The old people would re- member and the young people would incjuire ; and, for her, tranquillity, repose, and that retirement of Ufe which had been so valuable to her, were all gone. There could be no doubt that Dockwrath had spread the report immediately on his return from Yorkshire ; and had sne well thought of the matter she might have taken some comfort from this. Of course he would tell the story which he did tell. His confidence in being able again to drag the case before the courts would by no means argue that others believed as he believed. In fact the enemies now arraigned against her were only those whom she abeady knew to be so arraigned. But she had not sufficient command of her thoughts to be able at first to take comfort from such a reflection as this. She felt, as she was being carried home, that the world was going from her, and that it would be well for her, were it possible, that she should die. Eut she was stronger when she reached her own door than she had been at Mrs. Arkwright's. There was still within her a great power of self-maintenance, if only time were allowed to her to look about and consider how best she might support herself. Many women are in this respect as she was. With forethought and summoned patienca they can endure great agonies ; but a sudden pang, unexpected, over whelms them. She got out of the pony carriage with her ordinary placid face, and walked up to her own room without having given any sign that she was uneasy ; and then she had to determine how she should bear herself before her son. It had been wifh her a great object that both Sir Peregrine and Mr. Purnival should first hear of 106 OBL£X FAKU. the tidings fEom her, aud that they should both promise her their aid whoa they had heard the story as she would telTit. In this she had been successful;, and it now seemed to her that prudence would re- quire her toiacti in the same way towards Lucius. Had it been possible to keep this matter from him altogether, she would have given much to do so ; but now it would not be possible. It was clear that Mr. Dookwrath had chosen to make the matter public, acting no doubt with foretliought in doing so; and Lucius would be sure to hear words which would become common in Hamworth. Difficult as the task would be to her, it would be best that she should prepare him. So she sat alone till ,dinner4im,e planning how she would do tnis. She had sat alone for hours in the same, way planning how she would tell her story to Sir Peregrine ; and again as to her second story for Mr. Furnival. Those whose withers are unwrung can hardly guess how absolutely a sore under the collar will embitter every hour for the poor jade who is. so tormented ! But she met him at dinner with a smihng face. Hp loved to see her smile, and often told her so, almost upbraiding her when she would look sad. Why should she be sad, seeing that she had everything that a woman could desire ? Her mind was burdened with no heavy thoughts as to feeding coming multitudes. She had no contests to wage with the desultory chymists of the age. His purpose was to work hard during the, hours of the day,— hard also dunug many hours of the night; and it was becoming that his mother should greet him softly during his few. intervals of idleness. He told her so, in some words not badly chosen for such telling ; and she, loving mother that she was, strove valiantly to obey him. During .dinner she could not speak to him, nor immediately alter dinner. . The evil moment she put off from half-hour to half-hour, still looking as though all were quiet within her bosom as she sat beside him with her book in her hand. He was again at work before she began her story ; he thought at least that he was at work, for he had before him on the table both Prichard and Latham, and was occupied m making copies from some drawings of skulls which purposed to re- present the cerebral development of certain of our more distant Asiatic brethren. " Is it not smgular," said he,. " that the jaws of men born and bred in a hunter state should be differently formed from those of the agri- cultural tribes ? " " Are they ? " said Lady Mason. "Oh yes ; the maxillary pi'oflle is quite different. You will see this especially with the Mongolians, among the Tartar tribes. It seems to me to be very. much, the same difference as that between a man and a sheep, but Prichard makes no si;ich remark. Look here at this fellow ; he must have been intended to eat nothing but flesh ; and that raw, and without, any knife or fork." "I don't suppose they had many kuives or forks." " By close observation I do not doubt that one could tell from a zmxle tooth flot only what food the owner of it had been accustomed A MOENING CALL Al MOUNT PLEASANT VILLA. 197 to eat, but what language he had spoken. I say close obserration, you kaow. It could not be done in a day," " I suppose not." And then the student agam bent over his draw- ing. " You see it would have been impossible for the owner of such a jaw as that to have ground a grain of corn between his teeth, or to have masticated even a cabbage." " Lucius," said Lady Mason, becoming courageous on the spur of the moment, "I want you to leave that for a moment and speak to me." " Well," said he, putting down his pencil and turning round. " Here lam." "You have heard of the' lawsuit which I had with your brother when you were an infant ? " " Of course I have heard of it ; but I wish you would not caU that man my brother. He would not own me as such, and I most certainly would not own him. As far as I can learn he is one of the most de- testable human beings that ever existed." " You have heard of him from an unfavourable side, Lucius ; you should remember that. He is a hard man, I believe ; but I do not know that he would do anything which he thought to be unjust." " Why, then, did he try to rob me of my property i" " " Because he thought that it should have been his own. I cannot see into his breast, but I presume that it was so." " I do not presume anything of the kind, and never shall. I was au infant and you were a woman, — a woman at that time without many friends, and he thought that he could rob us under cover of the law. Had he been commonly honest it would have been enough for him to know what had been my father's wishes, even if the will had not been rigidly formal. I look upon him as a robber and a thief." " I am sorry for that, Lucius, because I differ from you. What I wish to tell you now is this,— that he is thinking of trying the question again." ' What ! — thinking of another trial now ? " and Lucius Mason pushed his drawings and books from him wjth a vengeance. "So I am told." " And who told you ? I cannot beHeve it. If he intended anything of the kind I must have been the first person to hear of it. It would be my business now, and you may be sure that he would have taken care to let me know his purpose." " And then by degrees she explained to him that the man himself, Mr. Mason of Groby, had as yet declared no such purpose. She had intended to omit all mention of the name of Mr. Dockwrath, but she was nnable to do so without seeming to make a mystery with her son. When she came to explain how the rumour had arisen and why she had thought it necessary to tell him this, she was obliged to say that it had all arisen from the wrath of the attorney. " He has been to Groby Park," she said, "and now that he has returned be is spreading this report." 108 OBLET FABM. " I shall go to him to-morrow," said Lucius, verj sleml;, "No, no; you must not do that. You must promise me that jot will not do that." " But I shall. You cannot suppose that I shall allow such a man a» that to tamper with my name without noticing it ! It is my busmess now." " No, Lucius. The attack will be against me rather than you ;— that is, if an attack be made. I have told you because I do not lite to have a secret from you." "Of course you have told me. If you aic attacked who should defend you, if I do not ? " " The best defence, indeed the only defence till they take some active step, will be silence. Most probably they will not do anything, and then we lean afford to live down such reports as these. You caa understand, Lucius, that the matter is grievous enough to me ; and I am sure that for my sake you will not make it worse by a personal quarrel with such a man as that." "I shall go to Mr. Purnival," said he, " and ask his advice." "I have done that already, Lucius. I thought it best to do so, when first I heard that Mr. Dockwrath was moving in the matter. It was for that that I went up to town." " And why did you not tell me ? " "I then thought that you might be spared the pain of knowing anything of the matter. I tell you now because I hear to-day in Hamworth that people are talking on the subject. You might be annoyed, as I was just now, if the first tidings had reached you from some .stranger." He sat silent for a while, turning his pencil in his hand, and looking as though he were going to settle the matter off hand by his own thoughts. " I tell you what it is, mother ; I shall not let the burden of . ihis fall on your shoulders. You carried on the battle before, but I must do so now. If I can trace any word of scandal to that fellow Dockwrath, I shall indict him for a libel." " Oh, Lucius ! " " I shall, and no mistake ! " What would he have said had he known tnat nis mother nad ab- solutely proposed to Mr. Turnival to buy off Mr. Dockwrath's ani- mouty, almost at any price F WtR. DOCKWUaIH lU BEBFORD KOW. 1U9 CHAPTER XVI. HE. DOCKWBATH IN BEDPOED EOT. Mr. Dockweath, as he left Leeds and proceeded to join the bosorii of his family, was not discontented with what he had done. It might not improbably have been the case that Mr. Mason would altogether refuse to see him, and having seen him, Mr. Mason might altogether have declined his assistance. He might have been forced as a witness to dis- close his secret, of which he could make so much better a profit as a legal adviser. As it was, Mr. Mason had promised to pay him for his services, and would no doubt be induced to go so far as to give him a legal claim for payment. Mr. Mason had promised to come up to town, and had instructed the Hamworth attorney to meet him there ; and under such circumstances the Hamworth attorney had but Uttle doubt that time would produce a considerable bill of costs in his favour. And then he thought that he saw his way to a great success. I should be painting the Devil too black were I to say that revenge was his chief incentive in that which he was doing. All our motives are mixed ; and his wicked desire to do evil to Lady Mason in return for the evil which she had done to him was mingled with professional energy, and an ambition to win a cause that ought to be won — especially a cause which others had failed to win. He said to himself, on finding those names and dates among old Mr. Usbech's papers, that there was still an opportunity of doing something considerable in this Orley Farm Case, and he had made up his mind to do it. Professional energy, revenge, and money considerations would work hand in hand in this matter ; and therefore, as he left Leeds in the second-class railway carriage for London, he thought over the result of his visit with con- siderable satisfaction. He had left Leeds at ten, and Mr. Moulder had come down in the same omnibus to the station, and was travelling in the same train in a first-class carriage. Mr. Moulder was a man who despised the second • class, and was not slow to say so before other commercials who travelled at a cheaper rate than he did. "Hubbies and Grease," he said, " allowed him respectably, in order that he might go about their business respectable ; and he wasn't going to give the firm a bad name by being seen in a second-class carriage, although the difference wouIq go into nis own pocket. That wasn't the way he had begun, and that wasn't the way he was going to end." He said nothing to Mr. Dockwrath in the morning, merely bowing in answer to that gentleman's salutation. "Hope you were comfortable last night in the back drawing-room," said Mr. Dockwrath ; but Mr. Moulder in reply only looked at him. At the Mansfield Station, Mr. Kantwise, with his huge wooden boses, 110 OKLEY FARM. appeared on tlie platform, and he got into the same carriage with Mr. Dockwrath. He had come on by a night train, and had been doing a stroke of business that morning. " Well, Kantwise," Moulder holloaed out from his warm, well-padded seat, " doing it cheap and nasty, eh ? " "Not at all nasty, Mr; Moulder," said , the other. "And I find myself among as respectable a class of society in the second-class as you do in the first ; quite so ; — and perhaps a little better," Mr. Kant- wise added, as he took his seat immediately opposite to Mr. Dockwrath. " I hope I have the pleasure of seeing you pretty bobbish this morning. Sir." And he shook hands cordially with the attorney. • " Tidy, thank you," said Dockwrath. " My company last night did not do me any harm ; you may swear to that." "Ha! ha! ha! I was so delighted that you got the better of Moulder ; a domineering party, isn't he ? quite terrible ! For myself, I can't put up with him sometimes." " I didn't have to put up with him last night." "No, no; it was very, good, wasn't it now? very capital, indeed. All the same I wish you'd heard Busby give us 'Beautiful Venice, City of Song ! ' A charming voice has Busby ; quite charming." And there was a pause for a minute or so, after which Mr. Kantwise resumed the conversation. You'll allow me to put you up one of those drawing- room set? ? " he said. " Well, I am afraid not. I don't think they are strong enough where there are children." . . , "Dear, dear; dear, dear; to hear;you say so, Mr. Dockwrath! Why, tlifey are made for strength. They are lie very things for children, because they don't break, you know." " But they bend terribly." " By no means. They're so elastic that they always recovers them- selves. I didn't show yoVl that; but you might turn the backs of them chairs nearly down to the ground, and they will come straight again. You let me send you a, set. for your wife to look at. If she's not charmed with them I'll— I'U— I'll eat them." " Women are charmed with anything," said Mr. Dockwrath. " A new bonnet does that." : " They know what they are abput pretty well, as I dare say you have found out. I'll send express to Sheffield and have a completely new set put up for you." , " Por twelve, seventeen six, of course ? " ; " Oh ! dear no, Mr. Dockwrath, The lo\vest figure for ready money, delivered free, is fifteen ten." , " I couldn't think of paying nipre than Mrs. Mason." "Ah! but that was a damaged set ; it was indeed. And, she merely wanted it as a present for ,th& curate's wife. The table was quite sorung, and the music-stool wouldn't twist," ' , " But you'll send them to me new ?" • • • , " New from the manufactory ; upon my word we will." "A table that you have never acted upon — have never showu cff oat standing in the middle, vou know ? " HR. DOCKWfiAIH IN BEDPOE,D &0W. Ill "Yes; Qpon my honour. You sliall have them direct from the workshop, and sent at once ; you shall find them in your drawing-room on Tuesday next." "We'll say thirteen ten." " I couldn't do it, Mr. Dockwrath " And So they went on bar- gaining half the way up to town, till at last they came to terms for fourteen eleven. " And a very superior article your lady will find them," Mr. Kantwise said as he shook hands with his new ,friend at parting. One day Mr. Dockwrath remained at home in the bosom of his family, saying all manner of spiteful things against Lady Mason, and on the next day lie went up to town and called on Round and Crook. That one day he waited in order that Mr. Mason might have time to write ; but Mr. Mason had written on that very day of the visit to Groby Park, and Mr. Round junior was quit* ready for Mr. Dockwrath when that gentleman called. Mr. Dockwrath when at home had agam. cautioned his wife to have no intercourse whatever " with that swindler at Orley Farm," wishing thereby the more thoroughly to imbue poor Miriam with a conviction that Lady Mason had committed some fraud with reference to the will. " You had better say nothing about the matter anywhere ; d' you hear ? People will talk ; all the world will be talking about it before long. But that is nothing to you. If people ask you, say that yon believe that I am engaged in the case professionally, but that you know nothing further." As to all which Miriam of course promised the most exact obedience. But Mr. Dockwrath, though he only remained one day in Hamworth before he went to London, took care that the curiosity of his neighbours should be sufficiently excited. Mr. Dockwrath felt some little trepidation at the heart as he walked into the office of Messrs. Bound and Crook in Bedford Row. Messrs. Round and Crook stood high in the profession, and. were men who in the ordinary way of business would have had no personal'dealings with such a man as Mr. Dockwi-ath. Had any such intercourse become necessary on commonplace subjects Messrs. Round and Crook's con- Cdeutial clerk might have seen Mr. Dockwrath, but even he would have looked down upon the Hamworth' attoriiey as froin a great moral neight. But now, in the matter of the Orley l"arm Case, Mr. Dpckwratji had determined that he would transact business only on equal terms with the Bedford Row people. The secret was his — of his findmg ; he knew the strength of his own position, and he would use it. But, never- theless he did tremble inwardly as he asked whether Mr. Round was within ; — or if not Mr. Round, then Mr. Crook. There were at present three members in the firm, though the old name remained unaltered. The Mr. Round and the Mr. Crook of former days were stiU working partners ; — the very Round and the very Crook who had carried on the battle on the part of Mr. Mason of Groby twenty years ago ; but to them had been added another Mr. Round, a son of old Round, who, though his name did not absolutely appear in the nomenclature of the firm, was, as a working inan, the US OBXET FAUHi most important person in it. Old Mr. Round might no* he said to he ornamental and communicative. He was a hale man of nearly seventy, who thought a great deal of his peaches up at Isleworth, who came to the office five times a week — not doing very much hard work, and who took the largest share in the profits. Mr. Round senior had enjoyed the reputation of being a sound, honourable man, but was now con- sidered by some to be not quite sharp enough for the practice of the present day. Mr. Crook had usually done the dirty work of the firm, having been originally a managing clerk ; and he still did the same — iu a small way. He had been the man to exact penalties, look after costs, and attend to any criminal business, or business partly criminal in its nature, which ' might chance find its way to them. But latterly in all great matters Mr. Round junior, Mr. Matthew Round — his father was Richard — was the member of the firm on whom the world in general placed the greatest dependence. Mr. Mason's letter had in the ordinary way of business come to him, although it had been addressed to his father, and he had resolved on acting on it himself. When Mr. Dockwrath called Mr. Round senior was at Birmingham, Mr. Crook was takmg his annual holiday, and Mr. Round junior was reigning alone in Bedford Row. Instruction had been given to the clerks that if Mr. Dockwrath called he was to be shown in, and there- fore he found himself seated, with much less trouble than he had expected, in the private room of Mr. Round junior. He had expected to see an old man, and was therefore somewhat confused, not feeling quite sure that he was in company with one of the principals; but nevertheless, looking at the room, and especially at the arm-chair &nd carpet, he was aware that the legal gentleman who motioned him to a seat could be no ordinary clerk. The manner of this legal gentleman was not, as Mr. Dockwrath thought, quite so ceremoniously civil as it might be, considering the important nature of the business to be transacted between them. Mr. Dockwrath intended to treat on equal terms, and so intending would have been glad to have shaken hands with his new ally at the commence- ment of their joint operations. But the man before him — a man younger than himself too — did not even rise from his chair. "Ah ! Mr Dockwrath," he said, takmg up a letter from the table, " will you have the goodness to sit down ? " And Mr. Matthew Round wheeled his own arm-chair towards the fire, stretching out his legs comfortably, and pointing to a somewhat distant seat as that intended for the accom- modation of his visitor. Mr. Dockwrath seated himself in the somewhat distant seat, and deposited his hat upon the floor, not being as yet quite at home in his position ; but he made up his mind as he did so that he would be at home before he left the room. " I find that you have been down in Yorkshire with a client of oursj Mr. Dockwrath," said Mr. Matthew Round. " Yes, I have," said he of Hamworth. " Ah ! well — ; you are in the profession yourself, I beliero P " " Yes ; I am an attorney." Sta. DOCKWIIATH IN BEDJOED ROW. 113 " Would it not have been well to have come to us first ? " "No, 1 think not. I havo not the pleasure of knowing your name, Sir." " My name is Bxjund — Matthew Round." "I beg your pardon. Sir; I did not know," said Mr. Dockwrath, bowing. It was a satisfaction to him to learn that he was closeted with a Mr. Round, even if it were not the Mr. Round. " No, Ml-. Round, I can't say that I should have thought of that. In the first place I didn't know whether Mr. Mason employed any lawyer, and the next " " Well, well ; it does not matter. It is usual among the profession ; but it does not in the least signify. Mr. Mason has written to us, and he says that you have foimd out something about that Orley Farm business." " Yes ; I have found out something. At least, I rather think so." " Well, what is it, Mr. Dockwrath ? " " Ah ! that's the question. It's rather a ticklish business, Mr. Round ; a family affair, as I may say." " Whose family ? " "To a certain extent my family, and to a certain extent Mr. Mason's family. I don't know how far I should be justified in laying all tlie fiacts before you — wonderful facts they are too — in an off-hand way like that. These matters have to be considered a great deal. It is not only the extent of the property. There is much more than that in it, Mr. Round." " If you don't tell me what there is in it, I don't see what we are to do. I am sure you did not give yourself the trouble of coming up here from Hamworth merely with the object of telling us that you are going to hold your tongue." " Certainly not, Mr. Round." " Then what did you come to say ? " " May I ask you, Mr. Round, what Mr. Mason has told you with reference to my interview with him ? " " Yes ; I will read you a part of his letter — ' Mr. Dockwrath is of opinion that the will under which the estate is now enjoyed is absolutclv a forgery.' I presume you mean the codicil, Mr., Dockwrath ? " " Oh yes ! the codicil, of course." " ' And he has in his possession documents which I have not seen, but which seem to me, as described, to go far to prove that this certainly must have been the case.' And then he goes on with a description of dates, although it is clear that he does not understand the matter himself — indeed he says as much. Now of course we must see these documents before we can give our client any advice." A certain small portion of Mr. Mason's letter Mr. Round did then read, but he did not read those portions in which Mr. Mason expressed bis firm determination to reopen the case against Lady Mason, and even to prosecute her for forgery if it were found that he had anything like a fair chance of success in doing so. " I know that you were convmced/' he had said, addressing himself personally to Mr. Hound senior, " thiit 8 J14 bULEr FABJf. Lady Mason was aotjing in good faith. I was always convinced of tin contrary, and am more sure of it now tKan ever." Tliis last paragraph, Mr. Round junior had not thought it necessary to read to Mi-. Dock^vrath. " The documents to which I allude are in reference to niy confidential family matters ;, and I certainly shall not produce them without knowing on what ground I am standing." , . " Of course you are aware, M^r. Doekwratli, that we could compel you." " There, Mr. Round, I must be allowed, to differ." " It won't come to that, of course. If you have anything worth showing, you'll show it ; and if we make use of you as a witness, it must be as a willing witness." " I don't think it probable that I shall be a witness in the matter at all." "Ah, well; perhaps not. My own impression is that no case will be made out ; that there will be nothmg to take before a jury." " There, again, I must differ from you, Mr. Round." " Oh, of course ! I suppose the real fact . is, that it is a matter of money. You want to be paid for what information you have got. That is about the long and the short of it ; eh, Mr. Dockwrath ?, " " I don't know what you call the, long ,and the short of it, Mr. Round ;'or what may be your way of doing business. As a professional man, of course I expect to be paid for my work ; — and I have no doubt that you expect the same." , , . " No doubt, Mr. Dockwrath ; but — as you have made the comparison, I hope you will excuse me for saying so— we always wait till our clients come to us." Mr. Dockwrath drew himself up with some intention of becoming angry ; but he hardly knew how to carry it out ; and then it might be a question whether anger would serve his turn. " Do you mean to say, Mr. Round, if you had found documents such as these, you would have done nothing about them — ^that you would have passed them by as worthless ? " "I can't say that till I know what the documents are. If I, found papers concerning the client of another firm, I should go to that firm if I thought that they demanded attention." "I didn't know anything about the firm ;•— how was 1 19 kjnow ? " " Well ! you know now, Mr. Dockwrath! As I ' understand it, oui; client has referred you to us. If you have anything to say, we, are ready to hear it. If you have anything to show, v>'e are ready to look at it. If you have nothing to say, and nothing to show " "Ah, but I have; only "_ " Only you want us to make it Mforth your while, ^(e might, as ^yell tave the truth at pncq. Is not that about it ? " , , . .i i " I want to see my way, of course." \ , ,, j, "Exactly. And now, Mr. Dockwrath, 5 must make you underhand that we don't do business in that way." ' , " Tbfin I shiiU see Mi-. Mason agam myseil." MK. DOCKWBAtH IN BJsurOJlD BOW. lil "That you eaa do. He will be in town next week, and, as 1 believe, wishes to see you. As regards your expenses, if you can show us that you have any communication to make that is worth our client'i attention, we wUl see that you are paid what you are out of pocket, and some fair remuneration for the time you may have lost ; — not as an attorney, remember, for in that light we cannot regard you." " I am every bit as much an attorney as you are." " No doubt ; but you are not Mr. Mason's attorney ; and as long as it suits him to honour us with his custom, you cannot be so regarded." " That's as he pleases.'' " No ! it is not, Mr. Dockwrath. It is as he pleases whether he employs you or us ; but it is not as. he pleases whether he employs both on Dusiness of the same class. He may give us his confidence, or he may withdraw it." "Looking at the way the matter was managed before, perhaps the latter may be the better for him." " Excuse me, Mr. Dockwrath, for saying that that is a question I shall not discuss with you." Upou this Mr. Dockwrath jumped from his chair, and took up liis hat. " Good-morning to you, Sir," said Mr. Round, without moving from his chair ; " I will tell Mr. Mason that you have declined making any communication to us. He will probably know your address— rif he should want it." Mr. Dockwrath paused. Was he not about to sacrifice substantial advantage to momentary anger ? Would it not be better that he should carry this impudent young London lawyer with him if it were possible ? " Sir," said he, " I am quite willing to tell you all that I know of this matter at present, if you have the patience to hear it." " Patience, Mr. Dockwrath ! Why, I am made of patience. Sit down again, Mr. Dockwrath, and think of it." Mr. Dockwrath did sit down again, and did think of it ; and it ended in his telling to Mr. Round all that he had told to Mr. Mason. As he did so, he looked closely at Mr. Round's face, but there he could read nothing. " Exactly," said Mr. Round. " The fourteenth of July is the date of both. I have taken a memorandum of that. A final deed for closing partnership, was it ? I have got that down. John Ken- neby and JBridget Bolster. I remember the names, — witnesses to both deeds, were they ? I understand; nothing about this other deed was brought up at the trial ? I see the point — such as it is. John Kenneby and Bridget Bolster; — both beheved to be living. Oh, you can give their address, can you ? Decline to do so now ? Very well ;■ it does not matter. I think I understand it all now, Mr. Dockwrath ; and when we want you again, you shall hear from us. Samuel Dock- wrath, is it ? Thank you. Good-momiag. If Mr. Maspn wishes to see you, he will write, of course. GoOd-day, Mr. Dockwrath." And so Mr. Dockwrath weut home, not quite contented Tith ha iay'a work. S— 8 1|P OBIET rXBSL CHAPTEE XVIL VON BAUHR. It will be remembered that Mr. Crabwitz was sent across from uincolu's Inn to Bedford Row to ascertain the present address of old Mr. Bx)und. " Mr. Round is at Birmingham," he said, coming back. "Every one connected with the profession is at Birmingliam, except — '■ — " " The more fools they," said Mr. -Fumival. " I am thinking of going down myself this evening," said Mr. Crab- witz. "As you will be out of town. Sir, I suppose 1 can be spared ? " "You too!" " And why not me, Mr. Fumival ? When all the profession is meeting toother, why should not I be there as well as another? I hope you do not deny me my right to feel an interest in the great subjects which are being discussed." " Not in the least, Mr. Crabwitz. I do not deny you your right to be Lord Chief Justice, if you can accomplish it. But yon cannot be Lord Chief Justice and my clerk at the same time. Nor can you be in my chambers if you are at Birmingham. I rather think 1 must trouble you to remain here, as I cannot tell at what moment I may be in town again." "Then, Sir, I'm afraid " Mr. Crabwitz began his speech and then faltered. He was going to tell Mr. Eurnival that he must suit himself with another clerk, when he remembered his fees, and paused. It would be very pleasant to him to quit Mr. Fumival, but where could he get such another place ? He knew that he himself was invaluable, but then he was invaluable only to Mr. Fumival. Mr. Fumival would be mad to part with him, Mr. Crabwitz thought ; but then would hf Bot be almost more mad to part with Mr. Fumival ? " Eh ! well ? " said Mr. Furnival. " Oh ! of course ; if you desire it, Mr. Fumival, I will remain. But ] must say I think it is rather hard." " Look here, Mr. Crabwitz ; if you think my service is too hard upon you, you had better leave it. But if you take upon yourself to tell me so again, you must leave it. Eemember that." Mr. F'uraival possessed the master mind of the two ; and Mr. Crabwitz felt this as ho slunk back to his own room. So Mr. Round also was at Birmin|;ham, and could be seen there. This was so far well ; and Mr. Furmval, having again with mthless malice sent Mr. Crabwitz for a cab, at once started for the Euston Square Station. He could master Mr. Crabwitz, and felt a certain oleasure in having done so ; but could he master Mrs. F. ? That lady Utd on one or two late occasions shown her anger at the esistmg state VOS BACrilR. HJ of her domestic uffaiis, and had once previously gone so fat as to make her lord understand that she was jealous of his proceedings with reference to other goddesses. But she had never before done tliis in the presence of other people ;— she had never allowed any special goddess to see that she was the special object of jealousy. Now she had not only committed herself in this way, but had also committed him. making him feel himself to be ridiculous ; and it was highly necessary that some steps should be taken ; — if he only knew what step ! All which kept his mind active as he journeyed in the cab. At the station he found three or four other lawyers, all bound for Birmingham. Indeed, during this fortnight the whole line had been alive with learned gentlemen going to and fro, discussing weighty pomts as they rattled along the iron road, and shaking their ponderous heads at the new ideas which were being ventilated. Mr. Furnival, with many others — indeed, with most of those who were so far advanced in the world as to be makmg bread by their profession — was of opinion that all this palaver that was going on in the various tongues of Babel would end as it began — in words. " Vox et prseterea nihil." To practical EngUshmen most of these international congresses seem to arrive at nothing else. Men will not be talked out of the convictions of their lives. No living orator would convince a grocer that coffee should be sold without chicory ; and no amount of eloquence will make an English lawyer think that loyalty to truth should come before loyalty to his client. And therefore our own pundits, though on this occasion they went to Birmingham, summoned by the greatness of the occasion, by the dignity of foreign names, by interest in the question, and by the influence of such men as Lord Boanerges, went there without any doubt on their minds as to the rectitude of their own practice, and fortified with strong resolves to resist all idea of change. And indeed one cannot understand how the bent of any man's mind should be altered by the sayings and doings of such a congress. " Well, Johnson, what have you all been doing to-day ? " asked Mr. Furnival of a special friend whom he chanced to meet at the club which had been extemporised at Birmingham. " We have had a paper read by Von Bauhr. It lasted three hours." " Three hours ! Heavens ! Von Bauhr is, I think, from Berlin." "Yes; he and Dr. Slotacher. Slotacher is to read his paper the day after to-morrow." "Then I think I shall go to London again. But what did Vou B.iiihr say to you during those three hours ? " " Of course it was all in German, and I don't suppose that any one understood him, — unless it was Boanerges. But 1 believe it was the old story, going to show that the same man might be judge, advocate, hnd jury." " No doubt ; — if men were machines, and if you could find such machines perfect at all points in their machinery." " And if the machines had no hearts ? " " Miichines don't have hearts," said Mr, Eurnival ; " especially those 118 OELEY fAKM. in Germany. And what did Boanerges say ? His answer did not take three hours more, I hope." "About twenty minutes; but what he did say was lost on Von Bauhr, who understands as much English as I do German. He said .that the practice of the Prussian coujts had always been to him a subject of mtense interest, and that the general justice of their verdicts could not be impugned." . " Nor ought it, seeing that a single trial for murder will occupy a court .for three weeks. He should have asked Von Bauhr how much work he 'usually got through in the course of a sessions. I don't seem to have lost much by being away. By-the-bye, do. you happen to know whether Round is here ? " "What, old Bxjund? I saw him in the hall to-day yawning as though he would burst." And then Mr. Fumival strolled off to look for the sttprney among the various purlieus frequented by the learned itrangers. " Jurnival," said another barrister, accosting him — an elderly man, small, with sharp eyes and bushy eyebrows, dirty in his attire and poor in his general appearance — "have you seen Judge Staveley?" This was Mr. Chaffanbrass, great at the Old Bailey, a man well able to hold his own in spite of the meanness of his appearance. At such a meeting as this the English bar generally could have had no better representative than Mr. Chaffanbrass. "No;ishehere?" " He must be here. He is the only man they could find who knows tnough Italian to understand what that fat fellow from Florence will say .to-morrow." "We're to have the Italian to-morrow, are we ? " " Yes ; and Staveley afterwards. It's as good as a play ; only, like all plays, it's three times too long-. I wonder whether anybody here believes m it ? " " Yes, Pelix Graham does." .," He believes everything — unless it is the Bible. He is one of those young men who look for an instant milleimium, and who regard them- selves not only as the prophets who foretell it, but as the preachers who will produce it. For myself, I am too old for a new gospel, with Felix Graham as an jostle." " They say that Boanerges thinks a great deal of him." " That can't be true, for Boanerges never thought much of any one bi»;t himself. Well, I'm off to bed, for I find a day here ten times more fatiguing than the Old Bailey in July." On the whole the meeting was rather dull, as such meetings usually are. It must not Ijc supposed that any lawyer could get up at will, as the spirit moved, him, and utter his own ideas; or that alL members of Ihe congress could speak if only they could catch the speaker's eye. Had this been so, a man might have been supported by the hope of having some finger hi the pie, sooner or later. But in such case the congress would have lasted for ever. As it was, the names of those who were invited to address the meetmg were arranged, and of course VON BAUHB. 119 men from each country were selected who were best' known in their own siiecial walks of their profession. But then these best-known men took an unfau: advantage of their position, and were ruthless in the lengthy cruelty of their addresses. Von Bauhr at Berlin was no doubt a great lawyer, bnt he should not have felt so confident that the legal proceedings of England and of the civilised world in general could be reformed by his readmg that book of his from the rostrum in the hall at BirminMam ! ' The civilised world in general, as there represented, had been disgusted, and it was surmised that poor Dr. Slotacher would find bnt a meagre audience when his turn came. At last Mr. Eurnival succeeded in hunting up Mr. Round, and found him recruiting outraged nature with a glass of brandy and water and a cimr. "Looking for me, have you? Well, here I am; that is to say, what is left of me. Were you in the haE to-day ? " " No ; I was up in town." "Ah! that accounts for your being so fresh. I wish I had been there. Do you ever do anything in this way?" and Mr. Round touched the outside of his glass of toddy with his spoon. Mr. Purnival said that he never did do anything in that way, which was true. Port wine was his way, and it may be doubted whether on the whole it is not the more dangerous way of the two: But Mr. Purnival, though he would not drink brandy and water or smoke cigars, sat down opposite to Mr. Round, and had soon broached the subject which was on his mind. " Yes," said the attorney, " it is quite true that I had a letter on the subject from Mr. Mason. The lady is not wrong in supposing that some one is moving in the matter." " And your client wishes you to take up the case again ? " "No doubt he does. He was not a man that I ever greatly Kked, Mr. Eurnival, though I bcKeve he means well. He thinks that he has been ill used ; and perhaps he was ill used — by his father." " But that can be no possible reason for badgering the hfe out of his father's widow twenty years after his father's death ! ". " Of course he thinks that he has some new evidence. I can't say I looked into the matter much myself. I did read the letter ; but that was all, and then I handed it to my son. As far as I remember, Mr. Mason said that some attorney at Hamworth had been to him." " Exactly ; a low fellow whom you would be ashamed to see in your office 1 He fancies that young Mason has injured him ; and though he has received numberless benefits from Lady Mason, this is the way in which he chooses to be revenged on her son." " We should have nothing to do with such a matter as that, you know. It's not our line." "No, of course it is not; I am well aware of that. And I am equally well aware that nothing Mr. Mason can do can shake Lady Mason's title, or rather her son's title, to the property. But, Mr. Roimdj if he be encouraged to gratify his malice " " If who be encouraged ? " "Yom client, Mr. Mason of Groby; — there can be no doubt that ISO OULEY fARM. ue miglit Larass this unfortuuate lady till lie brouglit her nearly to the grave." " That would be a pity, for I believe she's still aa UQOommon pretty woman." And the attorney indulged in a little fat inward chuckle ; for in these days Mr. Furnival's taste with reference to strange goddesses was beginning to be understood by the profession. " She is a very old friend of mine," said Mr. Purnival, gravely, " a very old friend indeed ; and if I were to desert her now, she would have no one to whom she could look." " Oh, ah, yes ; I'm sure you're very kind ; " and Mr. Exsund altered iiis face and tone, so that they might "be in conformity with those of his companion. " Anything I can do, of course I shall he very happy. I should be slow, myself, to advise my client to try the matter again, but to tell the truth anything of this kind would go to my son now. I did read Mr. Mason's letter, but I immediately handed it to Matthew." " I wUl tell you how you can oblige me, Mr. Bx)und." " Do tell me ; I am sure I shall be very happy." " Look into this matter yourself, and talk it over with Mr. Mason before you allow anything to be done. It is not that I doubt your son's discretion. Indeed we all know what an exceedingly good man of business he is." " Matthew is sharp enough," said the prosperous father. " But then young men are apt to be too sharp. I don't know whether you remember the case about that Orley Parm, Mr. Hound." " As well as if it were yesterday," said tbe attorney. " Then you must recollect how thoroughly you were convinced that your client had not a leg to stand upon." "It was I that insisted that he should not carry it before the Chancellor. Crook had the general management of those cases then, and would have gone on ; but I said, no. I would not see my client's money wasted in such a wild-^oose chase. In the first place the property was not worth it ; and in the next place there was nothmg to impugn the w,iU. If I remember right it all turned on whether an old man who had signed as witness was well enough to write his name." " That was the point." "And I think it was shown that he haa nimself signed a receipt on that very day — or the day after, or the day before. It was something of that kind." " Exactly ; those were the facts. As regards the result of a new trial, no sane man, I fancy, could have any doubt. You know as well as any one living how great is the strength of twenty years of possession " " It would be very strong on her side, certainly.'' " He would not have a chance ; of course not. But, Mr. Kouud, he might make that poor woman so wretched that death would be a relief to her. Now it may be possible that somethmg looking like fresh evidence may have been discovered ; something of this kind prqbsbly has been found, or this man would not be moving ; he would VON BAuim. n'^ not have gone to the expense of a journey to Yorksbiie had he not sot told of some new story." " He has something in his head; you may be sure of that." "Don't let your son be run away with by this, or advise youi client to incur the terrible expense of a new trial, without knowing what you are about. I tell you fairly that I do dread such a trial on this poor lady's account. Reflect what it would be, Mr. Eound, to any lady of your own family." " I don't think Mrs. Round would mind it much ; that is, if she were sure of her case." " She is a strong-minded woman ; but poor lady Mason " "She was strong-minded enough too, if I remember right, at the last trial. I shall never forget hovv. composed she was' when old Bennett tried to shake her evidence. Do you remember how bothered he was ? " " He was an excellent lawyer, — was Bennett. There are few better men at the bar nowadays." "You wouldn't have found him down here,-. Mr. Furnival, listening to a German lecture three hours long. I don't know how it is, but I think we all used to work harder in those days than the young men do now." And then these eulogists of past days -went back to the memories of their youths, declaring how in the old glorious years, now gone, no congress such as this would have had a chance of success. Men had men's work to do then, and were not wont to play the fool, first at one provincial town and then at another, but stuck to their oars and made their fortunes. " It seems to me, Mr. Purnival," said Mr. Round, " that this is all child's play, aud to tell the truth I am half ashamed of myself for being here." " And you'll look into the matter yourself, Mr. Round ? " " Yes, I will, certainly." " I shall take it as a great favour. Of course you will advise your client in accordance with any new facts which may be brought before you ; but as I feel certain that no case against young Mason can have any merits, I do hope that you will be able to suggest to Mr. Mason of Groby that the matter should be allowed to rest." And then Mr. rurnival took his leave, still thinking how far it might be possible tljat the enemy's side of the question might be supported by real merits. Mr. Roiind was a good-natured old fellow, and if the case could be inveigled out of his son's hands and into his own, it might be possible that even real merits should avail nothing. "I confess I am getting rather tired of it," said Felix Graham that evening to his friend young Staveley, as he stood outside his bed-room door at the top of a narrow flight of stairs in the back part of a large hotel at Birmingham. " Tired of it ! I should think you are too.?' " But nevertheless I am as sure as ever that good will come from it, I am inclined to think that the same kind of thing must be enditred Ijefore any improvement is made in anything." " Thftt all reformers have to undergo Von Bauhr ? " 122 ORIBT PAEM. " Yes, all of them ihat do any good. Von Baulir's words were verj dry, no doubt." " You don't mean to say that you understood them ? " " Not many of them. A few here and there, for the first half-hour, came trembling home to my dull comprehension, and then " " Tou went to sleep." "The sounds became too difficult for niy ears; but dry and dull and hard as they weri, they will not absolutely' fall to the ground. He had a meaning in them, and that meaning will produce itself in some shape:" " Heaven forbid that it should ever do so in my presence ! All the iniquities of which the English bar may be guilty cannot be so intoler- able to humanity as Von Bauhr." _' "Well, good-night, old fellow; your governor is to give us his ^^deas to-morrow, and perhaps he wUl be as bad to' the Germans as your Von Bauhr was to us." " Then I can only say that my governor will be very cruel to the Germans." And so they two went to their dreams. In the mean time Von Bauhr was sitting alone looking back on the past hours with ideas and views very different from those of the many English lawyers who were at that time discussing his demerits. To iiim the day had been one long triumph, for his voice had sounded sweet in his own ears as, period after period, he had poured forth in full flowing language the gathered wisdom and experience of his life. Public men in England have so much to do that they cannot give time to the preparation of speeches for such meetings as these, but Von Bauhr had been at work on his pamphlet for months. Nay, taking it in the whole, had he not been at work on it for years ? And now a kind Providence had given him the opportunity of pouring it forth before the assembled pundits gathered from all the nations of the civihsed world. As he sat there, solitary in his bed-rOom, his hands dropped down by his side, his pipe hung from his mouth on to his breast, and his eyes, turned up to the ceiling, were lighted almost with inspiration. Men there at the congress, Mr. Ghaffanbrass, young Staveley, Eelix Graham, and others, had regarded him as an impersonation of dul- ness; but through his mind and brain, as he sat there wrapped in his old dressing-gown, there ran thoughts which seemed to lift him lightly from the earth into an elysiura of justice and mercy. And at the end of this elysiuth, which wias not wUd in its beauty, but trim and orderly in its graceftilness— as might be a beer-garden at Munich— there stood among ' flowers and vases a pedestal, grand above all other pedestals in that garden; and on this there was a bust with an inscription: — "To 'Von Bauhr, who reformed the laws of nations." It was a grand thought; and though there was in it much of human conceit, there was in it also much of human philanthropy, If a reign ■ of justice could be restored through his efforts— through those efforts m which on this hallowed day he had been enabled to THE ENGLISH VON BAUHS. 123 make so great a progress — liow beautiful would it be! And then ss he sat there, while the smoke still curled from his unconscious nostrils, he felt that he loved all Germans, all Englishmen, even all Frenchmen, in his very heart of hearts, and especially those who had travelled wearily to this English town that they might listen to the results of his wisdom. He said to himself, -and said truly, that he loved the world, and that he would willmgly spend himself in these great endeavours for the amelioration of its laws and the perfection of its judicial proceedings. And then he betook himself to bed in a frame of mind that was not unenviable. I am inclined, myself, to agree with Eelis Graham that such efforts arc seldom absolutely wasted. A man who strives honestly to do good will generally do good, though seldom perhaps as much as he has himself anticipated. Let Von Baulir have his pedestal among the flowers, even though it be small and humble ! CHAPTER XVIII. THE ENGLISH VON BATJHR. On the following morning, before breakfast, Felix Graham and Augustus Staveley prepared themselves for the labours of the comiag day by a walk into the country ; for even at Birmingham, by perseverance, a walk into the country may be attained, — and very pretty country it is when reached. These congress meetings did not Dcgin before eleven, so that for ^lose who were active time for matutinal exercise was allowed. Augustus Staveley was the only son of the judge who on that day was to defend the laws of England from such attacks as might be auade on them by a very fat advocate from Florence. Of Judge Staveley himself much need not be said now, except that he lived at Noningsby, near Alston, distant from The Cleeve about nine miles, aud that at his house Sophia Fumival had been invited to pass the coming Christmas. His son was a handsome clever fellow, who had nearly succeeded in getting the Newd^ate, and was now a member of tlie Middle Temple. He was destined to follow tie steps of his father, and become a light at the Common Law bar ; but hitherto he had not made much essential progress. The world' had been too pleasant to him to allow of his giving many of his hours to work. His father was one of the best men in the world, revered on the bench, and loved by all men ; but he had not suflcient parental sternness to admit of his drivin" his son well into harness. He himself had begun the world with little or nothing, and had therefore succeeded; but his son was already possessed of almost everything that he could want, and therefore his success seemed doubtful. His 1S4 OilLEY FABM. ohambcrs wore luxuriously funiislied, lie had his horse in ['iccadilly, his father's house at Nouingsby was always open to him, and tho society of London spread out for him all its allurements. Under such circumstances how could it be expected that he should work ? Nevertheless he did talk of working, and had some idea in his head of the manner in which he would do so. To a certain extent ho liad worked, and he could talk fluently of the little that he knew. The idea of a far niente life would have been intolerable to him ; but there were many among his friends who began to think tliat such a life would nevertheless be his ultimate destiny. Nor did it much matter, they said, for the judge was known to have made money. But his friend Felix Graham was rowing in a very different boat; and of him also many prophesied that he would hardly be able to push his craft up against the strength of the stream. Not that he was an idle man, but that he would not work at his oars in tlie only approved method of making progress for his boat. He also had been at Oxford ; but he had done Tittle there except talk at a debating society, and make himself notorious by certain ideas on religious subjects which were not popular at the University. He had left without taking a degree, m consequence, as it was believed, of some such notions, and had now been called to the bar with a fixed resolve to open that oyster with such weapons, offensive and defensive, as nature had given to him. But here, as at Oxford, he would not labour on the same terms with other men, or make himself subject to the same conventional rules; and therefore it seemed only too probable that he might win no prize. He had ideas of his own that men should pursue their labours without special conventional regulations, but should be guided in their work by the general great niles of the world, — such for instance as those given in the commandments: — "Thou shalt not bear false witness; Thou shalt not steal ; " and others. His notions no doubt were great, and perhaps were good; but hitherto they had not led him to much pecuniary success in his profession. A sort of a name he had obtained, but it was not a name sweet in the ears of practising attorneys. And yet it behoved Pelix Graham to make money, for none was coming to him ready made from any father. Father or mother he had none, nor uncles and aunts likely to be of service to him. He had Dcgiin the world witk some small sum, which had grown smaller and ESialler, till now there was left to him hardly enough to create an infini- tesimal dividend. But he was not a man to become down-hearted on that account. A living of some kmd he could pick up, and did now procure for himaelf, from the press of the day. He wrote poetry for the periodi- cals, and polities for the penny papers, with considerable success and sufficient pecuniary results. He would sooner do this, he often boasted, than abandon his great ideas or descend into the arena with other weapons thfin those whiph he regarded a§ fitting for ;«j hon^gl »|ip'e |ian4, •tta ENGLISH VOS BAUHB. 186 Augustus Slavelej-, who could be very prudent for his friend, declared that marriage would set him right. If Pelix would niarr; he would quietly slip his neck into the collar and work along with the teani, as useful a horse as ever was put to the wheel of a coaeh. But FeUx did not seem inclined to marry. He had notions about that also, and was believed by one or two who knew him intimately to cherish an insane affection for some unknown damsel, whose parentage, education, and future were not likely to assist his views in the outer world. Some said that he was educating this damsel for his wife, — moulding her, so that she might be made fit to suit liis taste ; but Augustus, though he knew the secret of all tliis, was of opinion that it would come right at last. " He'll meet some girl in the world with a hatful of money, a pretty face, and a sharp tongue; then he'll bestow his moulded bride on a neighbouring baker with two hundred pounds for her fortune ; — and everybody will be happy." Pelix Graham was by no means a handsome man. He was tall and thin, and his face had been shghtly marked with the small-pox. He stooped in his gait as he walked, and was often awkward with his hands and legs. But he was full of enthusiasm, indomitable, as far as pluck would make him so, in contests of all kinds, and when he talked on subjects which were near his heart there was a radiance about him which certainly might win the love of the pretty girl with the sharp tongue and the hatful of money. Staveley, who really loved him, had already selected the prize, and she was no other than our friend, Sophia Eurnival. The sharp tongue and the pretty face and the hatful of money would all be there ; but then Sophia Pumival was a girl who might, perhaps, expect in return for these things more than an ugly face which could occasionally become radiant with enthusiasm. The two men had got away from the thickness of the Birmingham smoke, and were seated on the top rung of a gate leading into a stubble field. So far they had gone with mutual consent, but further than this Staveley refused to go. He was seated with a cigar in his mouth. Graham also was smoking, but he was accommodated with a short pipe, " A walk before breakfast is all very well," said Staveley, " but I am not going on a pUgrimage. We are four miles from the inn this minute." " And for your energies that is a good deal. Only think that you should have been doing anything for two hours before you begin to feed." " 1 wonder why matutinal labour should always be considered as £0 meritorious. Merely, I take it, because it is disagreeable." " It proves that the man can make an effort." "Every prig who wishes to have it believed that he does more than his neighbours either burns the midnight lamp or gets up at four in the morning. Good wholesome work between breakfast and dinner never eeems to count for anything." i£6 OKLfiX F.LSK. " Have you ever tried ? " " Yes ; I am trying noWj liere at Birmingham." " Not you." " That's so like you, Graham. You don't believe that anybodj it attending to what is going on except yourself. I mean to-day to take in the whole theory ol' Italian jurisprudence." " I have no doubt that you may do so with advantage. I do not suppose that it b very good, but it must at any rate be better than our own. Come, let us go back to the town; my pipe is finished." "Pill another, there's a good fellow. I can't afford to throw away my cigar, and I hate walking and smoking. You mean to assert that our whole system is bad, and rotten, and unjust ? " "I mean to say that 1 think so." " And yet we consider ourselves the greatest people in the world, — or at any rate the honestest." " I think we are ; but laws and their management have nothing to do with making people honest. Good laws won't make people honest, nor bad laws dishonest." " But a people who are dishonest in one trade will probably be dis- honest in others. Now, you go so far as to say that all EngUsh lawyers are rogues." " I have never said so. I beliave your father to be as honest a mau as ever breathed." " Thank you. Sir," and Stavelcy hfted his hat. " And I would fain hope that I am an honest man myself." " Ah, but you don't make money by it." "What I do mean is this, that from our love of precedent and ceremony and old usages, we have retained a system which contauis many of the barbarities of the feudal times, and also many of its hes. We try our culprit as we did in the old days of the ordeal. If luck will carry him through the hot ploughshares, we let him escape though we know him to be guilty. We give bun the advantage of every technicality, and teach him to lie in his own defence, if nature has not sufficiently so taught him already." " You mean as to his plea of not guilty." " No, I don't ; that is little or nothing. We ask him whether or no he confesses his guilt in a foolish way, tending to induce him to deny it; but that is not much. Guilt seldom will confess as long. as a chance remains. But we teach him to lie, or rather we lie for him during the whole ceremony of his trial. We think it merciful to give him chances of escape, and hunt him as we do a fox, in obedience to certain laws framed for his protection." \ " And should he have no protection ? " "None certaudy, as a guilty man; none which may tend towards the concealing of his guilt. Till that be ascertained, proclaimed, and made apparent, every man's hand should be against him." " But if he IS innocent ? " "Therefore let him be tried with every possible care, I know THE SN6LISH VON BACHS. 187 f aa onderstand what I mean, though you look as though you did not. Por the protection of his innocence let astute and good men work their best, but for the concealmg of his guilt let no astute or good man work at all." "And you would leave the poor victim in the dock without defence ? " "By no means. Let the poor victim, as you call Iiira, — who in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred is a rat who has been preying in our granaries, — let hun, I say, have his defender, — the defender of his possible hinocence, not the protector of his probable guilt. It all re- solves itself into this. Let every lawyer go into court with a mind resolved to make conspicuous to the light of day that which seems to liiin to be the truth. A lawyer who does not do that— who does the re- verse of that, has in my mind undertaken work which is unfit for a gentleman and impossible for an honest man." "What a pity it is that you should not have an opportunity of rivallmg Von Bauhr at the congress ! " " I have no doubt that Von Bauhr said a great deal of the same nature ; and what Von Bauhr said will not wholly be wasted, though it may not yet have reached our sublime understandings." " Perhaps he will vouchsafe to us a translation." " It would be useless at present, seeing that we cannot bring our- selves to believe it possible that a foreigner should in any respect be wiser than ourselves. If any such point out to us our follies, we at once claim those follies as the special evidences of our wisdom. We are so self-satisfied with our own customs, that we hold up our hands with surprise at the fatuity of men who presume to point out to us their defects. Those practices in which we most widely depart from the broad and recognised morality of all civilised ages and countries are to us the Palladiums of our jurisprudence. Modes of proceeding which, if now first proposed to us, would be thought to come direct from the devil, have been made so sacred by time that they have lost all the horror of their falseness in the holitfess of their age. We can- not understand that other nations look upon such doings as we regard the human sacrifices of the Brahmins ; but the fact is that we drive a Juggernaut's car through every assize town in the country, three times a year, and allow it to be dragged ruthlessly through the streets o' the metropolis at all times and seasons. Now come back to breakfast, for I won't wait here any longer." Seeing that these were the ideas of I'elix Graham, it is hardly a matter of wonder that such men as Mr. Enrnival and Mr. Round should have regarded his success at the bar as doubtful. " Uncommon bad mutton chops these are," said Staveley, as they sat at their meal in the cofiee-room of the Imperial Hotel. "Are they?" said Graham. "They seem to me much the same as other mutton chops." " They are uneatable. And look at this for coffee ! Waiter, take thin away, and have some made fresh." " Ym, Sir," said the waiter, .striving to escape without further cotument. I2S oBLEr tisM. " And, waiter " " Yes, Sir ; " and tl^ poor over-driven functionary returned. "Ask them from me"whetker they know how to make coffee. It docs not consist of an unlimited supply of lukewarm water poured over an infinitesimal proportion of chicory. That process, time- honoured in the hotel line, will^ not produce the beverage called coffee. Will you have the goodness to explain that in the bar as coming from me ? " ^.^ "Yes, Sir," said the waiter; and then he was allowed to dis- appear. " How can you give yourself so much trouble with no possible hope of an advantageous result ? " said Eelix Graham. " That's what you weak men always say. Perseverance in such a course will produce results. It is because we put up with bad things that hotel-keepers continue to give them to us. Three or four Erench- men were dining with my father yesterday at the King's Head, and I had to sit at the bottom of the table. I declare to you that I literally blushed for my country; I did indeed. It was useless to say anything then, but it was quite clear that there was nothing that one of them could eat. At any hotel in France you'll get a good dinner ; but we're so proud that we are ashamed to take lessons." And thus Augustus Staveley was quite as loud against his own country, and as laudatory with regard to others, as ITelix Graham had been before breakfast. And so the congress went on at Birmingham. The fat Italian from Tuscany read his paper ; but as he, though judge in his own country >nd reformer here in England, was somewhat given to comedy, this morning was not so dull as that which had been devoted to Von Bauhr. After him Judge Staveley made a very elegant, and some said, a very eloquent speech • and so that day was done. Many other days also wore themselves away in this process ; numerous addresses were read, and answers made to them, and the newspapers for the time were full of law. The defence of our own system, which was supposed to be the most remarkable for its pertinacity, if not for its justice, came from Mr. Furnival, who roused himself to a divine wrath for the occasion. And then the famous congress at Birmiue^ ham was brought to a close, and all the foreigners returned to thev own countries. THE SIATELCr tiMILJ. 129 CHAPl'ER XLX. THE STATELET FAMILY. Ihb next two months passed by without any events which deserve our special notice, unless it be that Mr. Joseph Mason and Mr. Dock- wrath had a meetmg in the room of Mr. Matthew Round, in Eedford Eow. Mr. Dockwrath struggled hard to effect this without the pre- sence of the London attorney ; but he struggled in vain. Mr. Round was not the man to allow any stranger to tamper with his client, and Mr. Dockwrath was forced to lower his flag before him. The re- sult was that the document or documents which had been discovered at Hamworth were brought up to Bedford Row ; and Dockwrath at last made up his mind that as he could not supplant Matthew Rouna, he would consent to fight under him as his lieutenant — or even as his sergeant or corporal, if no higher position might be allowed to him. "There is something in it, certainly, Mr. Mason," said young Round ; " but I cannot undertake to say as yet that we are in a position to prove the point." " It will be proved," said Mr. Dockwrath. " I confess it seems to me very clear," said Mr. Mason, who by this time had been made to understand the bearings of the question. "It is evident that she chose that day for her date because those two persons had then been called upon to act as witnesses to that other ieed." " That of course is our allegation. I only say that we may have some difficulty in proving it." " The crafty, thieving swindler ! " exclaimed Mr. Mason. "She has been sharp enough if it is as we think," said Round, laughing; and then there was nothing more done in the matter for some time, to the great disgust both of Mr. Dockwrath and Mr. Mason. Old Mr. Round had kept his promise to Mr. Pumival; or, at least, had done something towards keeping it. He had not himself taken the matter into his own hands, but he had begged his son to be cautioas. "It's not the sort of business that we care for. Mat.," said he; "and as for that fellow down in Yorkshire, I never liked him." To this Mat. had answered that neither did he like Mr. Mason; but as the case had about it some very remarkable points, it was necessary to look into it ; and then the matter was allowed to stand over till after Christmas. TVe will now change the scene to Noningsby, the judge's country seat, near Alston, at which a party was assembled for the Christmas holidays. The judge was there of course, — without liis wig ; m which g'l'se I am incUned to rhink that judges spend the more comfortsW* 130 ORLHI PASK. houra of their existence ; and there also was Lady Staveley, her presence at home being altogether a matter of course, inasmuch as ihe had no other home than Noningsby. For many years past, ever since the happy day on which Noningsby had been acquired, she had repudiated London; and the poor judge, when callea upon by his duties to reside there, was compelled to live like a bachelor, in lodgings. Lady Staveley was a good, motherly, warm-hearted woman, who thought a great deal about her flowers and fruit, believing that no one else had them so excellent, — much also about her butter and eggs, which in other houses were, in her opinion, generally unfit to be eaten ; she thought also a great deal about her children, who were all swans, — though as she often observed with a happy sigh, those of her neigh- bours were so uncommonly like geese. But she thought most of all of her husband, who in her eyes was the perfection of all manly virtues. She had made up her mind that the position of a puisne judge in England was the highest which could fall to the lot of any mere mortal. To become a Lord Chancellor, or a Lord Chief Justice, or a Chief Saron, a man must dabble with parliament, politics, and dirt ; but the bench-fellows of these politicians were selected for their wbdom, high conduct, knowledge and discretion. Of all such selections, that made by the late king when he chose her husband, was the one which had done most honour to England, and had been in all its results most beneficial to Englishmen. Such was her creed with reference to domestic matters. The Staveley young people at present were only two in number, Augustus, namely, and his sister Madeline. , Tlie eldest daughter was married, and therefore, though she spent these Christmas hohdays at Noningsby, must not be regarded as one of the Noningsby family. Of Augustus we have said enough; but as I intend that Madeline Staveley shall, to many of my readers, be the most interesting person- age in this story, I must pause to say something of her. I must say something of her; and as, with all women, the outward and, visible signs of grace and beauty are those which are thought of the most, or at any rate spoken of the oftenest, I wiU begin with her exterior attributes. And that the muses may assist me in my en- deavour, teaching my rough hands to draw with some accuracy the delicate lines of female beauty, I now make to them my humble but earnest prayer. Madefine Staveley was at this time about nineteen years of age. That she was perfect in her beauty I cannot ask the muses to say, but that she will some day become so, I think the goddesses may be re- quested to prophesy. At present she was very slight, and appeared to be almost too tall for her form. She was indeed above the average height of women, and from her brother encountered some ridicule on ■ihis head ; but not the less were all her movements soft, graceful, and fawn-like, as should be those, of a young gii-1. She was still at this time a child in heart and spirit, and could have played as a child had sot the. instinct of a. woman taught to her the expediency of a staid de- uesuiour. There is notliing among the wonders of womunhood mos« THB STAVELET PAMILY. 181 wonderful than this, that th? young mind and young heart — howts and minds young as youth can make them, and in, their natures as gay — can assume the gravity and discretion of threescore years and mam- tain it successfully before all comers. And this is done, not as a lesson that has been taught, but as the result of an instinct implanted from the' birth. Let us remember the mirth of our sisters in our homes, and their altered demeanours when those homes were opened to strangers ; and remember also that this change had come from the in- ward working of their own feminine natures ! But I am altogether departing from Madeline Staveley's external graces. It was a pity almost that she should ever have become grave, because with her it was her smile that was so lovely. She smUed with her whole face. There was at such moments a peculiar laughing light in her grey eyes, which inspired one with an earnest desire to be in her confidence ; she smiled with her soft cheek, the light tints of which would become a shade more pink from the excitement, as they softly rippled into dimples ; she smiled with her forehead, which would catch the light from her eyes and arch itself in its glory ; but above all she smiled with her mouth, just showing, but hardly showing, the beauty of the pearls within. I never saw the face of a woman whose mouth was equal in pure beauty, in beauty that was expressive of feeling, to that of Madeline Staveley. Many have I seen with a richer lip, with a more luxurious curve, much more tempting as baits to the villainy and rudeness of man ; but never one that told so much by its own mute eloquence of a woman's happy heart and a woman's happy beauty. It was lovely as I have said in its mirth, but if possible it was still more lovely in its woe ; for then the lips would separate, and the breath would come, and in the emotion of her suffering the life of her beauty would be unrestrained. Her face was oval, and some might say that it was almost too thin ; they might say so till they knew it well, but would never say so when they did so know it. Her complexion was not clear, though it would be wrong to call her a brunette. Her face and forehead were never brown, but yet she could not boast the pure pink and the pearly white which go to the formation of a clear complexion. Tor myself I am not sure that I love a clear complexion. Pink and white alone will not give that hue which seems best to denote light and life, and to tell of a mind that thinks and of a heart that feels. I can name no colour in describing the soft changing tints of Madeline Staveley's face, but I will make bold to say that no man ever found it insipid or inex- pressive. And now what remains for me to tell ? Her nose was Grecian, but perhaps a little too wide at the nostril to be considered perfect in its chiselling. Her hair was soft and brown, — that dark brown which by some lights is almost black ; but she was not a girl whose loveliness depended .much upon her hair. With some women it is their great chvrm, — Nesereas who love to sit half sleeping in the shade, — but it is a great charm that possesses no powerful eloquence. All beauty of a high order should speal^ and MadeUne's beauty was ever speaking. 8-2 139 aSLBX fABK. And now that I have said that, I believe that I have told all that Tnay be necessary to place her outward form before the inward ejes >f my readers. In commencing this description I said that I would beein with her exterior; but it seems to me now that in speaking of ttese I have sufficiently noted also that which was within. Of her actual tunughts and deeds up to this period it is not necessary for our purposes that anything should be told ; but of that which she might probably think or might possibly do, a fair guess may, I hope,,be made from that which has been already written. Such was the Staveley family. Those of their guests whom it is necessary that I should now name, have been already introduced to us. Miss Furnival was there, as was also her father. He had not intended to make any prolonged stay at Noningsby, — at least so he had said in his own drawing-room ; but nevertheless he had now been there for a week, and it seemed probable that he might stay over Christmas-day. And Felix Graham was there. He had been asked with a special purpose by his friend Augustus, as we already have heard ; in order, namely, that he might fall in love with Sophia Fur- nival, and by the aid of her supposed hatful of money avoid the evils which would otherwise so probably be the consequence of his highly impracticable turn of mind. The judge was not averse to Felix Graham ; but as he himself was a man essentially practical in aUhis views, it often occurred that, in his mild kindly way, he ridiculed the young barrister. And Sir Peregrine Orme was there, being absent from home as on a very rare occasion ; and with him of course were Mrs. Orme and his grandson. Young Perry was making, or was pre- pared to make, somewhat of a prolonged stay at Koningsby. He had a horse there with him for the hunting, which was changed now and again ; his groom going backwards and forwards between that place and The Cleeve. Sir Peregrine, however, intended to return before Christmas, and Mrs. Orme would go with him. He had come for four days, which for him had been a long absence from home, and at the end of the four days he would be gone. They were all sitting in the dining-room round the luncheon- table on a hopelessly wet morning, Ustening to a lecture from the judge on the abomination of eating meat in the middle of the day, when a servant came behind young Orme's chair and told him that Mr. Mason was in the breakfast-parlour and wished to see him. "Who wishes to see you? " said the baronet in a tone of surprise. He had caught the name, and thought at the moment that it was the owner of Groby Park. "Lucius Mason," said Peregrine, getting up. " I wonder what he can want me for ? " "Oh, Lucius Mason," said the granafather. Since the discourse about agriculture he was not personally much attached even to Lucius; but for his mother's sake he could be forgiven. "Pray ask him into lunch," said Lady Staveley. Something had been »aid about Lady Mason since the Ormes had been at Noningsby, THE SlAVELfit jAimr. 133 and the Stareley family were prepared to regard her with sympathy, and if necessary with the right hand oi fellowship. " He is the great agriculturist, is he not ? " said Augustus. " Bring him in by all means ; there is no knowing how much we may not learn before dinner on sach a day as this." " He is an ally of mine ; and you must not laugh at him," said Miss rumival, who was sitting next to Augustus. "But Lucius Mason did not come in. Young Orme remained with him tor about quarter of an hour, and then returned to the room, de- claring, with rather a serious face, that he must ride to Hamworth and back before dinner. " Are you going with young Mason ? " asked his grandfather. " Yes, Sir ; he wishes me to do something for him at Hamworth, acl I cannot well refuse him." " You are not going to fight a duel ! " said Lady Staveley, holding up her hands in horror as the idea came across her brain. "A duel! " screamed Mrs. Orme. "Oh, Peregrine ! " "There can be nothing of the sort," said the judge. "I should think that young Mason is not so foolish ; and I am sure that Peregrine Orme is not." " I have not heard of anything of the kind," said Peregrine, L'lugliing. " Promise me. Peregrine," said his mother. " Say that you promise me." " My dearest mother, I have no more thought of it than you have ; — indeed I may say not so much." " You win be back to dinner ? " said Lady Staveley. " Oh yes, certainly." "And tell Mr. Mason,'' said the judge, " that if he will return with you we shall be delighted to see him." The errand which took Peregrine Orme off to Hamworth will be ex- plauied in the next chapter, but his going led to a discussion among the gentlemen after dinner as to the position in which Lady Mason was now placed. There was no longer any possibility of keeping the matter secret, seeing that Mr. Dockwrath had taken great care that every one in Hamworth should hear of it. He had openly de- clared that evidence would now be adduced to prove that Sir Joseph Mason's widow had herself forged the will, and had said to many people that Mr. Mason of Groby had determined to indict her for forgery. This had gone so far that Lucius had declared as openly that he would prosecute the attorney for a libel, and Dockwrath had sent him word that he was quite welcome to do so if he pleased. " It is a scandalous state of things," said Sir Peregrine, speaking with much enthusiasm, and no little temper, on tae subject. " Here b a question which was settled twenty years ago to the satisfaction of every one who knew anything of the case, and now it is brought up again that two men may wreak their vengeance on a poor widow. They are not men; thev are brutes." m OfiLEY PABM. "But why does she not bring an action against this attorney?" said young Staveley. " Such actions do" not easily lie," said his father. "It may be quite true that Dockwrath may have said all manner of evil things against this lady, and yet it may be very difficult to obtain evidence of a libel. It seems to me from what I have hearil that the man himself wishes such an action to be brought." "And think of the state of poor Lady Mason ! " said Mr. Pumival. " Conceive the misery which it would occasion her if she wCa dragged forward to give evidence on such a matter ! " " I believe it would kiR her," said Sir Peregrine. "The best means of assisting her would be to give her some countenance," said the judge; "and from all that I can hear of lier, she deserves it." " She does deserve it," said Sir Peregriue, " and she shall have it. The people at Hamworth shall see at any rate that my daughter regards her as a fit associate. I am happy to say that she is coming to The Cleeve on my return home, and that she will remain there till after Christmas." "It is a very smgular case," said Felix Graham, who had been thinking over the position of the lady hitherto in silence. " Indeed it is," said the judge ; " and it shows how carefal men should be in all matters relating to their wUls. The will and the codicil, as it appears, are both in the handwritiug of the vddow, who acted as an amanuensis not only for her husband but for the attorney. That fact does not in my mind produce suspicion ; but I do tiot doubt that it has produced all this suspicion in the mind of the claimant. The attorney who advised Sir Joseph should have known better." " It is one of those cases," continued Graham, " in which the sufferer should be protected by the very fact of her own innocence. No lawyer should consent to take up the cudgels against her." " I am afraid that she will not escape persecution from any such pro- fessional chivalry," said the judge. " AU that is moonshine," said Mr. Purnival. " And moonshine is a very pretty thing if you were not too much afraid of the night air to go and look at it. If the matter be as you all say, I do think that any gentleman would disgrace himself by lending a hand against her." " Upon my word. Sir, I fully agree with you," said Sir Peregrine, bowing to Pelix Graham over his glass. " I will take permission to think. Sir Peregrine," said Mr. Purnival, " that you would not agree with Mr. Graham, if you had given to the matter much deep consideration." " I have not had the advantage of a professional education," said Sir Peregrine, again bowing, and on this occasion addressing himself to the lawyer ; " but I cannot see how any amount of learning should alter my views on such a subject." , " Truth and honour cannot be altered by any professional arrange- THE StAVElEY TAMILT. 186 menta,'' said Graham; and fliea the conversation turned away from Lady Mason, and directed itself to those great correctioits of legal re. form which had been debated during the past autumn. The Orley Parm Case, though in other forms and different language, was being discussed also in the drawing-room. "I have not seen much of her," said Sophia Eumival, who by some art had usurped the most prominent part in the conversation, " but what I did see I hked much. She was at The Cleeve when I was staying there, if you remember, Mrs. Orme." Mrs. Orme said that she did remember. " And we went over to Orley Sarm. Poor lady! I think everybody ought to notice her under such circumstances. Papa, I know, woulS move heaven and earth for her if he could." " I cannot move the heaven or the earth either," said Lady Staveley; " but if I thought that my calling on her would be any satisfaction to her " "It would, Lady Staveley," said Mrs. Orme. "It would be a great satisfaction to her. I cannot tell you how warmly I regard her, nor how perfectly Sir Peregrine esteems her." " We will drive over there next week, Madeline." " Do, mamma. Everybody says that she is very nice." "It wiU be so kind of you. Lady Staveley," said Sophia Pur. nival. " Next week she will be staying with us," said Mrs. Orme. " And that would save you three miles, you know, and we should be sa glad to see you." Lady Staveley declared that she would do both. She would call at The Cleeve, and again at Orley Farm after Lady Mason's return home. She well understood, though she could not herself then say so, that the greater part of the advantage to be received from her kindness would be derived from its being known at Hamworth that the Staveley carriage had been driven up to Lady's Mason's door. " Her son is very clever, is he not ? " said Madeline, addressing her- self to Miss Jurnival. Sophia shrugged her shoulders and put her head on one side with a pretty grace. " Yes, I believe so. People say so. But who is to tell whether a young man be clever or no ? " " But some are so much more clever than others. Don't you think so?" "Oh yes, as some girls are so much prettier than others. But if Mr. Mason were' to talk Greek to you, you would not think him clever." " I should not understand him, yon know." " Of course not ; but you would understand that he was a blockhead to show off his learning in that way. You don't want him to be clever, you see ; you only want him to be agreeable." " I don't know that I want either the one or the other." "Do you not f I know I do. I thmk that young men in society ate bound to be agreeable, and that they should not be there if they ISd OHLET FASM. do not knovr how to talk pleasantly, and to give sometliiag in niuib for all the trouble we take for them." " I don't take any trouble for them," said Madeline laughing. " Surely you must, if you only think of it. All ladies do, and so they ought. But ii in return for that a man merely talks Greek to me, I, for my part, do not think that the bargain is fciirly carried out." " I declare you will make me quite afraid of Mr. Mason." " Oh, he never talks Greek : — at least he never has to me. I rarther like him. But what I mean is this, that I do not think a man a bit more likely to be agreeable because he has the reputation of being very clever. For my part I rather think that I like stupid young men. " Oh, do you ? Then now I shall know what you think of Augustus. We think he is very clever ; but I do not know any man who makes himself more popular with young ladies." " Ah, then he is a gay deceiver." " He is gay enough, but I am sure he is no deceiver. A man may make himself nice to young ladies without deceiving any of them ; may he not?" " You must not take me " au pied de la lettre," Miss Staveley, or I shall be lost. Of course he may. But when young gentlemen are so very nice, young ladies are apt to " "To what?" "Not to fall in love with them exactly, but to be ready to be fallen in love with ; and then if a man does do it he is a deceiver. I declare it seems to me that we don't allow them a chance of going right." " I think that Augustus manages to steer through such difficulties very cleverly." " He sails about in the open sea, touching at all the most lovely capes and promontories, and is never driven on shore by stress of weather ! What a happy sailor he must be ! " " I think he is happy, and that he makes others so." " He ought to be made an admiral at once. But we shall hear some day of his coming to a terrible shipwreck." "Oh, I hope not!" "He will return home in desperate plight, with only two planks left together, with all his glory and beauty broken and crumbled to pieces against some rook that he has despised iu his pride." " Why do you .prophesy such terrible things for him ? " " I mean that he will get married." " Get married ! of course he will. That's just what we all want. You don't call that a shipwreck ; do you ? " " It's the sort of shipwreck that these very gallant barks have to eneonnter." " You don't mean that he'll marry a disagreeable wife ! " " Oh, no ; not in the least. I only meau to say that Uke other soiu THE alAVULEY JAMILr. i37 of AJam, he will have to strike his colours. I dare say, if the truth were known, he has done so already." " I am sure he has not." " I don't at all ask to know his secrets, and 1 should look upon you as a very bad sister if you told them." " But I am sure he has not got any, — of that kind." "Would he tell you if he had? " " Oh, I hope so ; any serious secret. I am sure he ought, fc;- 1 am always thinkmg about him." " And would you tell him your secrets ? " "I have none." " But when you have, will you do so ? " "Willi? Well, yes; I think so. But a girl has no such secret," she continued to say, after pausing for a moment. " None, generally, at least, which she tells, even to herself, till the time comes in whici she tells it to all whom she really loves." And then there was another pause for a moment. " I am not quite so sure of that," said Miss Furnival. After which the gentlemen came into the drawing-room. Augustus Staveley had gone to work in a manner which he conceived to be quite systematic, having before him the praiseworthy object of making a match between Felix Graham and Sophia Turnival. " By George, Graham," he had said, " the finest girl in London is coming down to Noningsby ; upon my word I think she is." " And brought there expressly for your delectation, I suppose." " Oh no, not at all ; indeed, she is not exactly in my style ; she is too, — too, — too — in point of fact, too much of a girl for me. She has lots of money, and is very clever, and all that kind of thing." " I never knew you so humble before." "I am not joking at all. She is a daughter of old Furnival's, whom by-the-bye I hate as I do poison. Why my governor has him down at Noningsby I can't guess. Bat I tell you what, old fellow, he can give his daughter five-and-twenty thousand pounds. Think of that, Master Brook." But Felix Graham was a man who could not bring himself to think much of such things on the spur of the moment, and when he was introduced to Sophia, he did not seem to be taken with her in any wonderful way. Augustus had asked his mother to help him, but she had laughed at him. " It would be a splendid arrangement," he had said with energy. "Nonsense, Gus," she had answered. "You should always let those things take their chance. All I will ask of you is that you don't fall m lOve with her yourself ; I don't think her family would be nice enough for you." But FeKx Graham certainly was ungrateful for the friendship spent upon him, and so his friend felt it. Augustus had contrived to whisper into the lady's ear that Mr. Graham was the cleverest young man now rising at the bar, and as far as she was concerned, some amount of intimacy might at any rate have been produced; but he, Graham iiiaigelt^ would not put himself forward. " I will pique him into it," 188 OHI^T FABX. said Augustus to himself, and therefore when on this occasion they came into the drawing-room, Staveley immediately took a vacant seat beside Miss Furnival, witli the very friendly object which he had pro- posed to himself. There was great danger in this, for Miss Fumival was certainly handsome, and Augustus Staveley was very susceptible. But what will not a man go through for his friend ? "I hope we are to have the honour of your company as far as Monkton Grange the day we meet there," he said. The hounds were to meet at Monkton Grange, some seven miles from Noningsby, and all the sportsmen from the house were to be there. " I shall be delighted," said Sophia, " that is to say if a seat in the carriage can be spared for me." " But we'll mount you. I know that you are a horsewoman." In answer to which Miss Furnival confessed that she was a horse- woman, and owned also to having brought a habit and hat with her. " That will be dehghtful. Madeline will ride also, and you will meet the Miss Tristrams. They are the famous horsewomen of this part of the country." "You don't mean that they go after the dogs, across the hedges." "Indeed they do." " And does Miss Staveley do that ? " " Oh, no — Madeline is not good at a five-barred gate, and would make but a very bad hand at a double ditch. If you are inclined to remain among the tame people, she will be true to your side." " I shall certainly be one of the tame people, Mr. Staveley." " I rather think I shall be with you myself; I have only one horse that will jiimp well, and Graham will ride him. By-the-bye, Miss Furnival, what do you think of my friend Graham ? " " Think of him ! Am I bound to have thought anything about him by this time ? " " Of course you are ; or at any rate of course you have. I have no doubt that you have composed in your own mind an essay on the character of everybody here. People who think at all al- ways do." " Do they ? My essay upon him then is a very short one." "But perhaps not the less correct on that account. You must allow me to read it." "Like all my other essays of that kind, Mr. Staveley, it has been composed solely for my own use, and will be kept quite private." "I am so sorry for that, for I intended to propose a bargain to you. If you would have shown me some of your essays, I would have been equally liberal with some ot mme." And in this way, be- fore the evening was over, Augustus Staveley and Miss Ihirnival be- came very good friends. "Upon my word she is a very clever girl," he said afterwards, as young Orme and Graham were sitting with him m an outside tooin which had been fitted up for smoking. " And uncommonly handsome," said Peregrine. MK. DOCKWEATH IK HIS OWN OPPICE. 139 " And they say she'll have lots of money," said Graham. " After all, Stayeley, perhaps you could not do better." "She's not my style at all," said he. "But of course a man ia obliged to be civil to girls in his own house." And then they all went to bed. CHAPTER XX, MU. DOCK.WKATH IN HIS OWN OFFICE. In the conversation which had taken place after dinner at Noningsby with regard to the Masons Peregrine Orme took no part, but his silence had not a risen from any want of interest on the subject. He had been over to Hamworth that day on a very special mission regarding it, and as he was not inclined to speak of what he had then seen and done, he held his tongue altogether. " I want yeu to do me a great favour," Lucius had said to him, when the two were together in the breakfast-parlour of Noningsby ; " but I am afraid it wiH give you some trouble." " I sha'n't mind that," said Peregrine, " if that's all." "You have heard of this row about Joseph Mason and my mother ? It has been so talked of that I fear you must have heard it." " About the lawsuit ? Oh yes. It has certainly been spoken of at The Cleeve." " Of course it has. All the world is talking of it. Now there is a man named Dockwrath in Hamworth " and then he went on to explain how it had reached him from various quarters that Mr. Dock- wrath was accusing his mother of the crime of forgery ; how he had endeavoured to persuade his mother to indict the man for libel; how his mother had pleaded to him with tears in her eyes that she found it impossible to go through such an ordeal; and how he, therefore, had resolved to go himself to Mr. Dockwrath. "But," said he, " I must have some one with me, some gentleman whom I can trust, and therefore I have ridden over to ask you to accompany me as far as Hamworth." " I suppose he is not a man that you can kick," said Peregrine. " I am afraid not," said Lucius; "he's over forty years old, and has dozens of children." " And then he is such a low beast," said Peregrine. " I have no idea of kicking him, but I think it would be wrong to allow him to go on saying these frightful things of my mother, with- out showing mm that we are not afraid of him." Upon this the two young men got on horseback, and riding into Hamworth, put their notws up at the inn. UO QUUiY rtsx. "And now I suppose we might as well go at once," said Fetegrios- with a very serious face. " Yes," said the other ; " there's nothing to delay us. 1 cannoc teil you how much obUged I am to you for coming with me." " Oh ! don't say anything about that ; of course I'm only too happy." But all the same he felt that his heart was beating, and that he was a little nervous. Had he been called upon to go in and thrash somebody, he would have been quite at home; but he did not feel at his ease in making an inimical visit to an attorney's office. It would have been wise, perhaps, if in this matter Lucius had (ubmitted himself to Lady Mason's wishes. On the previous evening they had talked the matter over with much serious energy. Lucius had been told in the streets of Hamworth by an intermeddling little busybody of an apothecary that it behoved him to do something, as Mr. Dookwrath was making grievous accusations against his mother. Lucius had replied haughtily, that he and his mother would know how to protect themselves, and the apothecary had retreated, resolving to spread the report everywhere. Lucius on his return home had declared to the unfortunate lady that she had now no alternative left to her. She must bring an action against the man, or at any rate put the matter into the hands of a lawyer with a view of ascertaining whether she could do so with any chance of success. If she could not, she must then make known her reason for remaining quiet. In answer to this Lady Mason had begun by praying her son to allow the matter to pass by. " But it will not pass by," Lucius had said. " Yes, dearest, if we leave it it will, — in a month or two. We can do nothing by interference. Remember the old saying. You cannot touch pitch without being defiled." But Lucius had replied, almost with anger, that the pitch had already touched him, and that he was defiled. "I cannot consent to hold the property," he had said, " unless something be done." And then his motlier had bowed her head as she sat, and had covered her face with her hands. " I shall go to the man myself," Lucius had declared with energy. " As your mother, Lucius, I implore you not to do so," she had said to him through her tears. " I must either do that or leave the country. It is impossible that I should live here, hearing such things said of you, and doing nothing to clear jour name." To this she Lad made no actual reply, and now he was standing at the attorney's door about to do that which he had threatened. They found Mr. Dockwrath sitting at his desk at the other side of which was seated his clerk. He had not yet promoted himself to the dignity of a private office, but generally used his parlour as such when he was desirous of seeing his clients without disturbance. On this occasion, however, when he saw young Mason enter, he made no offer to withdraw. His hat was on his head as he sat on his stool, and he the church-door she encoun- tered Mrs. Green, and smiled sweetly as she wished that lady all the compliments of the season. " We shall see you immediately after church," said Mrs. Mason. " Oh yes, certamly," said Mrs. Green. " And Mr. Green with you ? " " He intends to do himself the pleasure," said the curate's wife. " Mind he comes, because we have a little ceremony to go through before we sit down to dinner;" and Mrs. Mason smiled again ever so graciously. Did she think, or did slie not think, that she was going to do a kindness to her neighbour ? Most women would have sunk into their shoes as the hour grew nigh at which they were to show themselves guilty of so much meanness. She stayed for the sacrament, and it may here be remarked that on that afternoon she rated both the footman and housemaid because they omitted to do so. She thought, we must presume, that she was doing her duty, and must imagine her to have been ignorant that she was cheating her husband and cheating her friend. She took the sacrament with admirable propriety of demeanour, and then on her return home, withdrew another chair from the set. Theie would still be six, including the rocking chair, and six would be quitif enough for that little hole of a room. ]66 OBLET FABU. There was a large cliamber up stairs at Groby Park which had been used for the children's lessons, out which now was generally deserted. There was in it an old worn out pianoforte, — and though JSiIts. Mason had talked somewhat grandly of the use of her drawing-room, it was here that the singing had been taught. Into this room the metallic furniture had been brought, and up to that Christinas morning it had remained here packed in its original boxes. Hither immediately after breakfast Mrs. Mason had taken herself, and had spent an hour in- her efforts to set the things forth to view. Two of the chairs she then put aside into a cupboard, and a thii'd she added to her private store on her return to her work after church. But, alas, alas ! let her do what she would, she could not get the top on to the table. "It's all smashed. Ma'am," said the girl whom slie at last summoned to her aid. "Nonsense, you simpleton; how can It ^>e smashed when it's new ? " said the mistress. And then she tried again, and again, declaring, as she did so, that she would have the Jaw of the rogue who had sold her a damaged article. Nevertheless she bad known that it was damaged, and had bought it cheap on that account, insisting in very urgent language that the table was in fact worth nothmg because of its injuries. At about four Mr. and Mrs. Green walked up to the house and were shown into the drawing-room. Here was Mrs. Mason, sup- ported by Penelope and Creusa. As Diana was not musical, and therefore under no compliment to Mrs. Green, she kept out of the way. Mr. Mason also was absent. He knew that something very mean was about to be done, and would not show his face till it was over. He ought to have taken the matter in hand himself, and would have done so had nst his mind been fuU of other thmgs. He himself was a man terribly wronged and wickedly injured, and could not therefore ia these present months interfere much in the active doing of kindnesses. His hours were spent in thinking how he might best obtain justice, — ^how he might secure his pound of flesh. He only wanted his own, but that he would have ; — ^his own, with due punishment on those who had for so many years robbed him of it. He therefore did not attend at the presentation of the furniture. " And now we'll go up stairs, if you please," said Mrs. Mason, with that gracious smile for which she was so famous. " Mr. Green, you must come too. Dear Mrs. Green has been so very kind to my two girls ; and now I have got a few articles, — they are of the very newest fashion, and I do hope that Mrs. Green will like them." And so they all went up into the school-room. " There's a new fashion come up lately," said Mrs. Mason as she walked along the corridor, " quite new : — of metallic furniture. I don't know whether you have seen any." Mrs. Green said she had not seen any as yet. " The Patent Steel Pumiture Company makes it, and it has got very greatly into vogue for small rooms. I thought that perhaps you woida allow me to present you with a set for your drawing-room. CHRISTMAS AT GROBY PAHK. 167 "I'm sure it is very kind of you to think of it," said Mrs. Green. " Uncommonly so," said Mr. Green. But both Mr. Green and Mrs. Green knew the lady, and their hopes did not run high. And then the door was opened and there stood the furniture to view. There stood the furniture, except the three subtracted chairs, and the loo table. The claw and leg of the table indeed were standing there, but the top was folded up and lying on the floor beside it. " I hope you'll like the pattern," began Mrs. Mason "I'm told that it is the prettiest that has yet been brought out. There has been some little accident about the screw of the table, but the smith in the village will put that to rights in five minutes. He Uves so close to you that I didn't think it worth while to have him up here." " It's very nice," said Mrs. Green, looking round her almost in dismay. " Very nice indeed," said Mr. Green, wondering in his mind for what purpose such utter trash could have been manufactured, and •sndeavouring to make up his mind as to what they might possibly do with it. Mr. Green knew what chairs and tables should be, and was weD aware that the things before him were absolutely useless for any of the ordinary purposes of furniture. " And they are the most convenient things in the world," said Mrs. Mason, " for when you are going to change house you pack them all up again in these boxes. Wooden furniture takes up so much room, and is so lumbersome." " Yes, it is," said Mrs. Green. "I'll have them all put up again and sent down in the cart to- morrow." "Thank you; that will be very kind," said Mr. Green, and then the ceremony of the presentation was over. On the following day the boxes were sent down, and Mrs. Mason might have abstracted even another chair without detection, for the cases lay unheeded from month to month in the curate's stiU unfurnished room. " The fact is they cannot afford a carpet,^' Mrs. Mason afterwards said to one of her daughters, " and with such things as those they are quite right to keep them up tUl they can be used with advantage. I always gave Mrs. Green credit for a good deal of prudence." And then, when the show was over, they descended again into the drawing-room, — Mr. Green and Mrs. Mason went first, and Creusa followed. Penelope was thus so far behind as to be able to speak to her friend without being heard by the others. " You know mamma," she said, with a shrug of her shoulders and a look of scorn in her eye. " The things are very nice." " No, they are not, and you know they are not. They are worth- less ; perfectly worthless." " But we don't want anything." " No ; and if there had been no pretence of a gift it would all Uare been yeiy well, What will Mr. Green think ? " 138 OSLEV liS.V.. "I rather think he likes iron chairs;" and then thej were in th« drawing-room. Mr. Mason did not appear till dinner-time, and came in only just in time to give his arm to Mrs. Green. He had had letters to write, — a letter to Messrs. Round and Crook, very determined in its tone ; and a letter also to Mr. Dockwrath, for the little attorney had so crept on in the affair that he was now corresponding with the principal. " I'll teach those fellows in Bedford Row to know who I am," he had said to himself more than once, sitting on his high stool at Hamworth. And then came tlie Qroby Park Christmas dinner. To speak the truth Mr. Mason had himself gone to the neighbouring butcher, and ordered the sirloin of beef, knowing that it would be useless to trust to orders conveyed through his wife. He had seen the piece of meat put on one side for him, and had afterwards traced it on to the kitchen dresser. But nevertheless when it appeared at table it had been sadly mutilated. A steak had been cut oif the full breadth of it — a monstrous cantle from out its fair proportions. The lady had seen the jovial, thick, ample size of the goodly joint, and her heart had been unable to spare it. She had made an effort and turned away, saying to herself that the responsibility was all with him. But it was of no use. There was that within her which could not do it. " Your master will never be able to carve such a mountain of meat as that," she had said, turning back to the cook. " 'Deed, an' it's he that will, Ma'am," said the Irish mistress of the spit ; for Irish cooks are cheaper than those bred and born in England. But never- theless the thing was done, and it was by her own fair hands that the envious knife was used. " I couldn't do it. Ma'am," the cook had said ; " I couldn't railly." Mr. Mason's face became very black when he saw the raid that had been effected, and when he looked up across the table his wife's eye was on him. She knew what she had to expect, and she knew also that it would not come now. Her eye stealthily looked at his, quivering with fear ; for Mr. Mason could be savage enough in his anger. And what had she gained? One may as well ask what does the miser gain who hides away his gold in an old pot, or what ' does that other madman gain who is looked up for long long years beoftuse he fancies himself the grandmother of the Queen of England ? But there was still enough beef on the table for all of them to eat, and as Mrs. Mason was not intrusted with the carving of it their plates were filled. As far as a sufficiency of beef can make a good dinner Mr. and Mrs. Green did have a good dinner on that Christmas-day. Beyond that their comfort was limited, for no one was in a humour for happy conversation. And over and beyond the beef there was a plum-puddin" and three mince-pies. Four mince-pies had originally graced the dish, but before dinner one had been conveyed away to some up stairs re- ceptacle for such spoils, The pudding also was small, nor was it blftclf CHKISTMAS IN GKEAT ST, HELEu's. 169 and rich, and laden with good tilings as a Christmas pudding should be laden. Let us hope that what the guests so lost was made up to them on the foilowmg day, by an absence of those ill effects wliicb sometimes attend upon the consumption of rich viands. "And now, my dear, we'll have a bit of bread and cheese and a glass of beer," Mr. Green said when he arrived at his own cottage, And so it was that Christmas-day was passed at Groby Park. ° CHAPTER XXIV.^ CHRISTMAS IN GKEAT ST. HELEN'S. We will now look in for a moment at the Christmas doings of our fat friend, Mr. Moulder. Mr. Moulder was a married man living in lodgings over a wine-merchant's vaults in Great St, Helen's. He was blessed — or troubled, with no children, and prided himself greatly on the material comfort with which his humble home was surrounded. " His wife," he often boasted, " never wanted for plenty of the best of eating; and for linen and silks and such like, she could show her drawers and her wardrobes with many a great lady from Russell Square, and not be ashamed, neither ! And then, as for drink, — " tipple," as Mr. Moulder sportively was accustomed to name it among his friends, he opined that he was not altogether behind the mark m that respect. "He had got some brandy — he didn't care what anybody might say about Cognac and eau de vie ; but the brandy which he had got from Betts' private establishment seventeen years ago, for richness of flavour and fulness of strength, would beat any French article that anybody in the City could show. That at least was his idea. If anybody didn't like it, they needn't take it. There was whisky that would make your hair stand on end." So said Mr. Moulder, and I can believe him; 'or it has made my hair stand on end merely to see other people drinking it. And if comforts of apparel, comforts of eating and drinking, and comforts of the feather-bed and easy-chair kind can make a woman happy, Mrs. Moulder was no doubt a happy woman. She had quite fallen in to the mode of life laid out for her. Slie had a little bit of hot kidney for breakfast at about ten; she dined at three, having seen herself to the accurate cooking of her roast fowl, or her bit of sweet- bread, and always had her pint of Scotch ale. She turned over all her clothes almost every day. In the evening she read Reynolds's Mis- cellany, had her tea and buttered muffins, took a thimbleful of brandy and water at nine, and then went to bed. The work of her life consisted in sewing buttons on to Moulder's shirts and seeing that his things were properly got up when he was at home. Nq doubt a\\e yfom have do»e better os to the duties of tjie wqrid, had the world'* 170 oRLer fabh. dnties come to her. As it was, very few such had come in her direction. Her husband was away from home three-fourths of the year, and she had no children that required attention. As for society, some four or five times a year she would drink tea with Mrs. Hubbies at Clapham. Mrs. Hubbies was the wife of the senior partner in the firm, and on such occasions Mrs. Moulder dressed herself in her best, .ind having travelled to Clapham in an omnibus, spent the evening iu dull propriety on one corner of Mrs. Hubbles's sofa. When I have added to this that Moulder every year took her to Broadstairs for a fortnight, I think that I have described with suflcient accuracy the course of Mrs. Moulder's life. On the occasion of this present Christmas-day Mr. Moulder enter- tained a small party. And he delighted in such occasional entertain- ments, taking extraordinary pains that the eatables should be of the very best ; and he woidd maintain an hospitable good humour to the last, — unless anything went wrong in the cookery, in which case he could make himself extremely unpleasant to Mrs. M. Indeed, proper cooking for Mr. M. and the proper starching of the bands of his shirts were almost the only trials that Mrs. Moulder was doomed to suffer. " What the d — are you for ? " he would say, almost throwing the displeasing viands at her head across the table, or tearing the rough linen from off his throat. " It ain't much I ask of you in return for your keep ; " and then he would scowl at her with blood-shot eyes till she shook in her shoes. But this did not happen often, as experiences had made her careful. But on this present Christmas festival all went swimmingly to the end. "Now, bear a hand, old girl," was the harshest word he said to her ; and he enjoyed himself like Duncan, shut up in measure- less content. He had three guests with him on this auspicious day. There was his old friend Snengkeld, who had dined with him on every Christmas since his marriage ; there was his wife's brother, of whom we will say a word or two just now ! — and there was our old friend, Mr. Kantwise. Mr. Kantwise was not exactly the man whom Moulder would have chosen as his guest, for they were opposed to each other in all their modes of thought and action; but he bad come across the travelling agent of the Patent Metallic Steel Furniture Company on the previous day, and finding that he was to be alone in London on this general holiday, he had asked him out of sheer good nature. Moulder could be very good natured, and full of pity when the sorrow to be pitied arose from some such source as the want of a Christmas dinner. So Mr. Kantwise had been asked, and precisely at four o'clock he made his appearance at Great St. Helen's. But now, as to this brother-in-law. He was no other than that John Kenneby whom Miriam Usbech did not marry, — whom Miriam Usbech might, perhaps, have done well to marry. John Keimeby, after one qr two attempts in other spheres of life, had at last got into the house of Hubbies and Grease, and had risen to be their book- keeper. He had once been tried by them as a traveller, but in thai CHUISTMAS IM GEEAT ST. HBLEn's. I'l Une he had failed. He did not possess that rough, ready, self-confident tone of mind which is almost necessary for a man who is destined to move about quickly from one circle of persons to another. After a six month's trial he had given that up, but during the time, Mr. Moulder, the senior traveller of the house, had married his sister. John Kenneby was a good, honest, painstaking fellow, and was believed by his friends to have put a few pounds together in spite of the timidity of his character. When Snengkeld and Kenneby were shown up into the room, they found nobody there but Kantwise. That Mrs. Moulder should be dowii stairs looking after the roast turkey was no more than natural ; but why should not Moulder himself be there to receive his guests ? He soon appeared, however, coming up without his coat. " Well, Snengkeld, how are you, old fellow ? many happy returns, and all that; the same to you, John. I'll tell you what, my lads; it's a prime 'un. I never saw such a bird in all my days." "What, the turkey ? " said Snengkeld. " Tou didn't think it'd be a ostrich, did you ? " " Ha, ha, ha ! " laughed Snengkeld. " No, I didn't expect nothing but a turkey here on Christmas-day." "And nothing but a turkey you'll have, my boys. Can you eat turkey, Kantwise ? " Mr. Kantwise declared that his only passion in the way of eating was for a turkey. " As for John, I'm sure of him. I've seen him at the work before," Whereupon John grinned but said nothing. " I never see such a bird in my life, certainly." " Prom Norfolk, I suppose," said Snengkeld, with a great appear- ance of interest. " Oh, you may swear to that. It weighed twenty-four pounds, for I put it into the scales myself, and old Gibbetts let me have it for a guinea. The price marked on it was flve-and-twenty, for I saw it. He's had it hanging for a fortnight, and I've been to see it wiped down with vinegar regular every morning. And now, my boys, it's done to a turn. I've been in the kitchen most of the time myself, and either I or Mrs. M. has never left it for a single moment." " How did you manage about divine service?" said Kantwise; and then, when he had spoken, closed his eyes and sucked his lips. Mr. Moulder looked at him for a minute,' and then said — " Gammon." "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed- Snengkeld. And then Mrs. Moulder ap- peared, bringing the turkey with her; for she would trust it to no hands less careful than her own. " By George, it is a bird," said Snengkeld, standing ovor it and ey& ing it minutely. " Uncommon nice it looks," said Kantwise. "AH the same, I wouldn't est none, if I were you," said Moulder, " seeiiSg what sinners have been a basting it." And then they all stu down to dinner, Moulder having first resumed bis coat. Hi ORLEI PABM. For the next three or four minutes Moulder did not speak a word. The turkey was on his mind, with the stufiing, the gravy, the liver, the breast, the wings, and the legs. He stood up to carve it, and while he was at the work he looked at it as though his two eyea were hardly sufficient. He did not help first one person and then another, so ending by himself; but he cut up artistically as much as might probably be consumed, and located the fragments in small heaps or shares in the hot gravy ; and then, having made a partition of the spoils, he served it out with unerring impartiality. To have robbed any one of his or her fair slice of the breast would in his mind have been gross dishonesty. In his heart he did not love Kantwise, but he dealt by him with the utmost justice in the ^eat affair of the turkey's breast. When he had done all this, and his own plate was laden, he gave a long sigh. " I shall never cut up such another bird as that, the longest day that I have to live," he said ; and then he took out his large red silk handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his brow. " Deary me, M. ; don't think of that now," said the wife. " What's the use ? " said Snengkeld. " Care killed a cat." "And perhaps you may," said John Kenneby, trying to comfort liim ; " who knows ? " "It's all in the hands of Providence," said Kantwise, "and we should look to Him." " And how does it taste ? " asked Moulder, shaking the gloomy thoughts from his mind. "Uncommon," said Snengkeld, with his mouth quite full. "I never eat such a turkey in all my life." " Like melted diamonds," said Mrs. Moulder, who was not without a touch of poetry. " Ah, there's nothing like hanging of 'em lono; enough, and watching of 'era well. It's that vinegar as done it ; " and then they went seri- ously to work, and there was nothing more said of any importance until the eating was nearly over. And now Mrs. M. had taken away the cloth, and they were sitting cozily over their port wine. The very apple of the eye of the evening had not arrived even yet. That would not come till the pipes were brought out, and the brandy was put on the table, and the whisky was tliere that made the people's hair stand on end. It was then that the floodgates of convivial eloquence would be unloosed. In the mean time it was necessary to sacriiice something to gentility, and therefore they sat over their port wine. "Did you bring that letter with you, John ? " said his sister. John repUed that he had done so, and that he had also received another letter that morning from another party on the same subject. " Do show it to Moulder, and ask him," said Mrs. M. "I've got 'em both on purpose," said John; and then he brought forth two letters, and handed one of them to his brother-in-.aw. It contaififid a request, very civilly worded, from Messrs. Round and Crook, begging bim to Qijl «t thpir office i» Bedford Row on the CBBIStUAS I» GREAT 81. HELEM'S. 173 earliest poBsiblc day, in order that they might have some conversation with him regarding the will of the late Sir Joseph Mason, who died in 18—. " Why this is law business," said Moulder, who liked no business of that description. " Don't you go near them, John, if you ain't obUged." And then Kenneby gave Lis explanation on the matter, telling how in former years, — many years ago, he had been a witness in a lawsuit. And then as he told it he sighed, remembering Miriam Usbecl^ for whose sake he had remained unmarried even to this day. And he went on to narrate how he had been bullied in the court, thougli he had valiantly striven to tell the truth with exactness; and as he spoke, an opinion of his became manifest that old Usbech had not signed the document in his presence. "The girl signed it certainly," said he, " for I handed her the pen. I recollect it, as though it were yesterday." "They are the very people we were talking of at Leeds," said Moulder, turning to Kantwise. "Mason and Martock; don't you remember how you went out to Groby Park to sell some of them iron gimcracks ? That was old Mason's sou. They are the same people." " Ah, I shouldn't wonder," said Kantwise, who was listening all the while. He never allowed intelligence of this kind to pass by him idly. " Aiid who's the other letter from ? " asked Moulder. " But, dash my wigs, it's past six o'clock. Come, old girl, why don't you give ug ihe tobacco and stuff ? " " It ain't far to fetch," said Mrs. Moulder. And then she put the tobacco and "stuff" upon the table. "The other letter is from an enemy of mine," said John Kenneby, speaking very solemidy ; " an enemy of mine, named Dockwrath, who hves at Hamworth. He's an attorney too." " Dockwrath ! " said Moulder. Mr. Kantwise said nothing, but he looked round over his shoulder at Kenneby, and then shut his eyes. '' That was the name of the man whom we left in the commercial room at the Bull," said Snengkeld. "He went out to Mason's at Groby Park that same day," said Moulder. " Then it's the same man," said Kenneby ; and there was as mucn solemnity in the tone of his voice as though the unravelment of all the mysteries of the iron mask was now aljout to take place. Mr. Kantwise still said nothing, but he also perceived that it was the same man. " Let me tell you, John Kenneby," said Moulder, with the air of one who understood well the subject that he was discussing, " if they two be the same man, then the man who wrote that letter to you is as big a blackguard as there is from this to hisself." And Mr. Moulder in the excitement of the moment puffed hard at his pipe, took a long l?* oattt FAiiM. pull at his drink, and dragged open his waistcoat. "1 don't knon whether Kantwise has anything to say upon that subject," added Moulder. "Not a word at present," said Kantwise. Mr. Kantwise was a very careful man, and usually calculated with accuracy the value which he might extract from any circumstance with reference to his own main chance. Mr. Dockwrath had not as yet paid him for the set of metallic furniture, and therefore he also might well have joined in that sweeping accusation; but it might be that by a judicious use of what he now heard he might obtain the payment of that little bill, — and per- haps other collateral advantages. And then the letter from Dockwrath to Kenneby was brought forth and read. " My dear John," it began, — for the two had known each other when they were lads together, — and it went on to re- quest Kenneby's attendance at Haraworth for the short space of a few hours, — "I want to have a little conversation with you about a matter of considerable interest to both of us ; and as I cannot expect you to undertake expense I enclose a money order for thirty shillings." " He's in earnest at any rate," said Mr. Moulder. " No mistake about that," said Suengkeld. r>ut Mr. Kantwise spoke never a word. It was at last decided that John Kenneby should go both to Ham- worth and to Bedford Row, but that he should go to Hamworth first. Moulder would have counselled him 'to have gone to neither, hut Snengkeld remarked that there were too many at work to let the matter sleep, and John himself observed that "anyways he hadn't done anything to be ashamed of." " Then go," said Moulder at last, " only don't say more than you are obhged to." " I does not like these business talkings on Christmas night," said Mrs. Moulder, when the matter was arranged. " What can one do ? " asked Moulder. " It's tempting of Providence in my mind," said Kantwise, as he re- plenished his glass, and turned his eyes up to the ceiling. " Now that's gammon," said Moulder. And then there arose among them a long and animated discussion on matters theological. "I'E tell you what my idea of death is," said Moulder, after a while. " I ain't a bit afeard of it. My father was an honest man as did his duty by his employers, and he died with a bottle of brandy before him and a pipe in his mouth. I sha'n't live long my- self " " Gracious, Moulder, don't I " said Mrs. M. "No, more I sha'n't, 'cause I'm fat as he was; and I hope I may die as he did. I've been honest to Hubbies and Grease. They've made thousands of pounds along of me, and have never lost none. Who can say more than that ? When I took to the old girl the);e, I insured my life, so that she shouldn't want her wittles, aud H rinlf— .^— " Ma, FUaNtVAL AGAIN Al flIS CfiAliBEfifi. 175 "Oh, M., don't!" " And I ain't afeard to die. Snengkeld, my old pal, hand ni the brandy." Such is the modern philosophy of the Moulders, pigs out of th« sty of Epicurus. And so it was they passed Christmas-day in Great St. Helen's. CHAPTER XXV. MR. rtJUNlVAL AGAIN AT HIS CHAMBEBS. The Christmas doings at The Cleeve were not very gay. There was no visitor there, except Lady Mason, and it was known that she was in trouble. It must not, however, be supposed that she constantly bewailed herself while there, or made her friends miserable by a succession of hysterical tears. By no means. She made an eii'ort to be serene, and the effort was successful — as such efforts usually are. On the morning of Christmas-day they duly attended church, and Lady Mason was seen by all Hamworth sitting m The Cleeve pew. Li no way could the baronet's friendship have been shown more plainly than in this, nor could a more significant mark of intimacy have oeen given ; — all which Sir Peregrine well understood. The people of Hamworth had chosen to talk scandal about Lady Mason, but he at any rate would show how little attention he paid to the falsehoods that there were cir- culated. So he stood by her at the pew door as she entered, with as much deference as though she had been a duchess ; and the people of Hamworth, looking on, wondered which would be right, Mr. Dockwrath or Sir Peregrine. After dinner Sir Peregrine gave a toast. " Lady Mason, we will drink the health of the absent boys. God bless them ! I hope they are enjoying themselves." " God bless them ! " said Mrs. Orme, putting her handkerchief to her eyes. " God bless them both ! " said Lady Mason, also putting her hand- kerchief to her eyes. Then the ladies left the room, and that was the extent of their special festivity. "Robert," said Sir Peregrine im- mediately afterwards to his butler, " let them have what port wine they want in the servants' hall — within measure." "Yes, Sir Peregrine." " And, Robert, I shall not want you again." " Thank you. Sir Peregrine." Prom all whlbh it may be imagined that the Christmas doings at the Cleeve were chiefly maintained below stairs. "I do hope they are happy," said Mrs. Orme, when the two ladies 17S OBLET PASU. weie together In the drawing-loom. " Thej have a Very nite p&tty ii NoningsDy." ^~~ " Your boy will be happy, I'm sure," said Lady Mason. " And why not Lucius iuso ? " It was sweet in Lady Mason's ear to hear her son called by his Christian name. AH these increasing signs of interest and intimacy were sweet, but especially any which signified some favour shown to her son. "This trouble weighs heavy on him," she replied. "It is only natural that he should feel it." "Papadoesnot seem to think much of it," said Mrs. Orme. "If I were you, I would strive to forget it." " I do strive," said the other ; and then she took the hand which Mrs. Onne had stretched out to her, and that lady got up and kissed her. " Dearest friend," said Mrs. Orme, " if we can comfort you we will." And then they sobbed in each other's arms. In the mean time Sir Peregrine was sitting alone, thinking. He sat thinking, with his glass of claret untouched by his side, and with the biscuit which he had taken lying untouched upon the table. As he sat he had raised one leg upon the other, placing his foot on his knee, and he held it there with his hand upon his instep. And so he sat without moving for some quarter of an hour, trying to use all his mind on the subject which occupied it. At last he roused himself, almost with a start, and leaving his chair, walked three or four times the length of the room. " Why should I not ? " at last he said to himself, stopping suddenly and placing his hand upon the table. " Why should I not, if it pleases me ? It shall not mjure him — nor her." And then he walked again. "But I will ask Edith," lie said, still speaking to himself. " If she says that she disapproves of it, I will not do it." And then he left the room, while the wine still remained untasted on the table. On the day following Christmas Mr. Furnival went up to town, and Mr. Bound junior^— Mat. Round, as he was called in the profession — came to him at hi» chambers. A promise had been made to the bar- rister by Bound and Crook that no active steps should be taken against Lady Mason on the part of Joseph Mason of Groby, without notice being given to Mr. Pumival. And this visit by appointment was made in consequence of that promise." " You see," said Matthew Bound, when that visit was nearly brought to a close, " that We are pressed very hard to go on with this, and if we do not, somebody else wiU." " Nevertheless, if I were you, I should decline," said Mr. Furnival. " You're looking to your client, not to ours. Sir," said the attorney. " The fact is that the whole case is very queer. It was proved on the last trial that Bokter and Kenneby were witnesses to a deed on the llth of July, and that was all that was proved. Now we can prove that they were on that day witnesses to another deed. Were they wit" nesses to two ? " " *Vhy should they not be P " tux. JUMIVAL AOAIH AT flIS ClIAMBESS. 177 "That is for us to see. We Lave written to tliem botli to come up lo us, and ir. order that we might be quite on the square I thought it right to teU you." " Tliank you ; yes ; I cannot complain of you. And what form do you think tiiat your proceedings will take ? " "Joseph Mason talks of indicting her for — forgery," said thj attorney, pausing a moment before he dared to pronounce the dread word. "Indict her for forgery!" said Fumiyal, with a start. And yet the idea was one which had been for some days present to his mind's eye. "I do not say so," said Round. "I have as yet seen none of the witnesses myself. If they are prepared to prove that they did sign two separate documents on that day, the thing must pass off." it was clear to Mr. Jurnival that even Mr. Round junior would be glad that it should pass off. And then he also sat thinking. Might it not be probable that, with a li'.tle judicious exercise of their memory, those two witnesses would remember that they had signed two documents ; or at any rate, looking to the lapse of the time, that they might be induced, to forget altogether whether they had signed one, two, or three ? Or even if they could be mystified so that nothing could be proved, it would stiU be well with his client. Indeed no magistrate would commit such a person as Lady Mason, especially after so long an interval, and no grand jury would find a bill against her, except upon evidence that was clear, well deQned, and almost indubitable. If any point of doubt could be shown, she might be brought off without a trial, if only she would be true to herself. At the former trial there was the existing codicil, and the fact also that the two surviving reputed witnesses would not deny their signatures. These signatures — if they were genuine signatures — had been attached with aU proper formality, and the form used went to state that the :estator had signed the instrument in the presence of them all, they all being present together at the same time. The survivors had botli asserted that when they did affix their names the three were then present, as was also Sir Joseph ; but there had been a terrible doubt even then as to the identity of the document ; and a doubt also as to there having been any signature made by one of the reputed witnesses — by that one, namely, who at the time of that trial was dead. Now another document was forthcoming, purporting to have been witnessed, on the same day, by these two surviving witnesses ! If that document were genuine, and if these two survivors should be clear that they had written their names but once on that 14th of July, in such case could it be possible to quash further public inquiry f The criminal prosecution might not be possible as a first proceeding, but if the estate were recovered at common law, would not the criminal prosecution follow as a matter of course ? And then Mr. Fumival thought it all over again and again. If this document were genuine — this new document which the man Dockwrath stated that he had found— this deed of separation of 12 178 OKLEY rjuiM. partnership wliioh purported to have been executed on that lith at July! That was now the one important question. If it were genuine ! And why should there not be as strong a question of the honesty of that document as of the other ? Mr. rumival well knew that no fraudulent deed woidd be forged .and produced without a motive; and that if he impugned this deed he must show the motive. Motive enough there was, no doubt. Mason might have had it forged in order to get the property, or Dockwrath to gratify his revenge. But in such case it would be a forgery of the present day. There could have been no, motive for such a forgery twenty years ago. The paper, the writing, the attested signature of Martock, the other party to it, would prove that it had not been got up and manufactured now. Dock- wrath would not dare to bring forward such a forgery as that. There was no hope of any such result. But might not he, rumival, if the matter were pushed before a jury, make them think that the two documents stood balanced against each other ? and that Lady Mason's respectability, her long possession, together with the vile malignity of her antagonists, gave the greater probability of honesty to the disputed , codicil ? Mr. Fumival did think that he might induce a jury to acquit her, but he terribly feared that he might not be able to induce the world to acquit her also. As he thought of all the case, he seemed to put himself apart from the world at large. He did not question himself as to his own belief, but seemed to feel that it would suffice for him if he could so bring it about that her other friends should think her innocent. It would by no means suffice for him to secure for her son the property, and for her a simple acquittal. It was not that he dreaded the idea of think- ing her guilty himself; perhaps he did so think her now — he half thought her so, at any rate ; but he greatly dreaded the idea of others thinking so. It might be well to buy up Dockwrath, if it were pos- sible. If it were possible ! But then it was not possible that he him- self could have a hand in such .a matter. Could Crabwitz do it ? No ; he thought not. And then, at this moment, he was not certain that he could depend on Crabwitz. And why should he trouble himself in this way ? Mr. Fumival was a man loyal to his friends at heart. Had Lady Mason been a man, and had he puUed that man through great difficulties in early life, he would have been loyally desirous of carrying him through the same or similar difficulties at any after period. In that cause which he had once battled he was always ready to do battle, without reference to any professional consideration of triumph or profit. It was to this feeling of loyalty that he had owed much of his success in life. And in such a case as this it may be supposed that that feeling would be strong. But then such a feeling presumed a case in which he could sympathise — in which he could believe. Would it be ■well that he Jiould allow himself to feel the same interest in this case, to mailitaiii respecting it the same personal anxiety, if he ceased to believe in it ? He did ask himself the question, and he finally answered it in the affirmative. He had beaten Joseph Masou once in a good MR. FtJENrVii AGAIN AT HIS CHAMBUKS. 179 Staad-up fight; and haTing done so, having thus made the matter his own, it was necessary to his comfort that he should beat him again, if another fight were to be fought. Lady Mason was his cUent, and all the associations of his life taught him to be true to her as such. And as we are thus searching into his innermost heart we must say more than this. Mrs. Fumival perhaps had no sufficient grounds for those terrible fears of hers ; but nevertheless the mistress of Orley Parm was very comely in the eyes of the lawyer. Her eyes, when full of tears, were very bright, and her hand, as it lay in his, was very soft. He laid out for himself no scheme of wickedness with reference to her; he purposely entertained no thoughts which he knew to be wrong ; but, nevertheless, he did feel that he liked to have her by him, that he liked to be her adviser and friend, that he liked to wipe the tears from those eyes — not by a material handkerchief from his pocket, but by immaterial manly sympathy from his bosom ; and that he liked also to feel the pressure of that hand. Mrs. Purnival had become soKd, and heavy, and red ; and though he himself was solid, and heavy, and red also^more so, indeed, in proportion than his poor wife, for his red- ness, as I have said before, had almost reached a purple hue ; neverthe- less his eye loved to look upon the, beauty of a lovely woman, his ear loved to hear the tone of her voice, and his hand loved to meet the soft ripeness of her touch. It was very wrong that it should have been so, but the case is not without a parallel. And therefore he made up his mind that he would not desert Lady Mason. He would not desert her ; but how would he set about the fighting that would be necessary in her behalf ? He was well aware of this, that if he fought at all, he must fight now. It would not do to let the matter go on till she should be summoned to defend herself. Steps which might now be available would be altogether unavailable in two or three months' time — would be so, perhaps, if he allowed two or three weeks to pass idly by him. Mr. Round, luckily, was not dis- posed to hurry his proceedings ; nor, as far as he was concerned, was there any ^bitterness of antagonism. But with both Mason and Dock- wrath there would be hot haste, and hotter malice. From those who were really her enemies she could expect no quarter. He was to return on that evening to Noningsby, and on the fol- lowing day he would go over to The Cleeve. He knew that Lad^ Mason was staying there ; but his object in making that visit wouL not be merely that he might see her, but also that he might speak tc Sir Peregrine, and learn how far the baronet was inclined to support his neighbour in her coming tribulation. He would soon be able to ascertain what Sir Peregrine really thought— whether he suspected the possibihty of any gnilt; and he would ascertain als.0 what was the general feeling in the neighbourhood of Hamworth. It would be a great thing if he could spread abroad a conviction that she was an in- lured woman. It would be a great thing even if he could make it known that the great people of the neighbourhood so thought. The jurymen of Alston would be mortal men ; and it might be possible that 12—2 ISO Obl£y fAnis. they sLauld be imbued with a favourable bias on tlie subject before they assembled in their box. for its consideration. He wished that he knew the truth in the matter; or rather he wished he could know whether or no she were innocent, without knowing whether or no she were guilty. The fight in his hands would be con- ducted on terms so much more glorious if he could feel sure of her innocence. But then if he attempted that, and she were not inno- cent, all might be sacriilced by the audacity of his proceedings. He could not venture that, unless he was sure of his ground. For a moment or two he thought that he would ask her the question. He said to himself that he could forgive the fault. That it had been re- pented ere this he did not doubt, and it would be sweet to say to her that it was very grievous, but that yet it might be forgiven. It would be sweet to feel that she was in his hands, and that he would treat her with mercy and kindness. But then a hundred other thoughts forbade him to think more of this. If she had been guilty — if she declared her guUt to liim — would not restitution be necessary ? In that case her son must know it, and all the world must know it. Such a confession would be incompatible with that innocence before the world which it was necessary that she should maintain. Moreover, he must be able to proclaim aloud his behef in her innocence ; and how could he do that, knowing her to be guilty — knowing that she also knew that he had such knowledge ? It was impossible that he should ask any such question, or admit of any such confidence. It would be necessary, if the case did come to a trial, that she should employ some attorney. The matter must come into the bar- rister's hands in the usual way, through a solicitor's house, and it would be well that the person employed should have a firm faith in his client. What could he say — he, as a barrister — if the attorney suggested to him that the lady might possibly be guilty ? As he thought of all these things he almost dreaded the diiScuIties before him. He rang the bell for Crabwitz — the peculiar bell which Crabwifz was bound to answer — having first of all gone through a little ceremony with his cheque-book. Crabwitz entered, still sulky in his demeanour, for as yet the old anger had not been appeased, and it was still a doubtful matter in the clerk's mind whether or no it might not be better for him to seek a master who would better appreciate his services. A more lucrative position it might be difficult for him to find ; but money is not everything, as Crabwitz said to himself more than once. " Crabwitz," said Mr. Fumival, looking with a pleasant face at his clerk, " I am leaving town this evening, and I shall be absent for the next ten days. If you like you can go away for a holiday." " It's rather late in the season now. Sir," said Crabwitz, gloomily, as though he were determined not to be pleased. " It is a little late, as you say ; but I really could not manage it earlier. Come, Crabwitz, you and I should not quarreL Your work has been a little hard, but then so has mine also." *' I fancy you like it, Sir." . ILR. FURNIVAIi AGAIN AT HIS CHAMBEKS. 181 " Ha ! ha ! Like it, indeed ! But so do you like it — in its way. Come, Crabwitz, you have been an excellent servant to me ; and I don't think that, on the whole, I have been a bad master to you." " I am making no complaint. Sir." " But you're cross because I've kept you in town a little too long. Come, Crabwitz, you must forget all that. You have worked very hard this year past. Here is a cheque for fifty pounds. Get out of town for a fortnight or so, and amuse yourself." " I'm sure I'm very much obliged. Sir," said Crabwitz, putting out his hand and taking the cheque. He felt that his master had got the better of him, and he was still a little melancholy on tliat account. He would have valued his grievance at that moment almost more than the fifty pounds, especially as by the acceptance of it he surrendered all right to complain for some considerable time to come. " By-tl»e-bye, Crabwitz," said Mr. Eurnival, as the clerk was about to leave the room. " Yes, Sir," said Crabwitz. " You have never chanced to hear of an attorney named Dockwrath, I suppose ? " " What ! in London, Mr. Purnival? " "No; I fancy he has no place of business in town. He lives 1 know at Hamworth." " It's he you mean. Sir, that is meddling in this affair of Lady Mason's." " What ! you have heard of that ; have you ? " " Oh ! yes. Sir. It's being a good deal talked about in the profession. Messrs. llound and Crook's leading young man was up here with me the other day, and he did say a good deal about it. He's a very decent young man, considering his position, is Smart." "And he knows Dockwrath, does he ? " " Well, Sir, I can't say that he knows much of the man ; but Dock- wrath has been at their place of business pretty constant of late, and he aud Mr. Matthew seem thick enough together." " Oh ! they do ; do they ? " " So Smart tells me. 1 don't know how it is myself, Sir. I don't suppose this Dockwrath is a very " "No, no; exactly. I dare say not. You've never seen him your, self, Crabwitz ? " " Who, Sir ? I, Sir ? No, Sir, I've never set eyes on the man, Sir. J?rom all I hear it's not very likely he should come here ; and I'm sure it is not at all likely that I should go to him." Mr, Furnival sat thinking a while, and the clerk stood waiting op- posite to him, leaning with both his hands upon the table. " You don't know any one in the neighbourhood of Hamworth, I suppose ? " Mr. Jfurnival said at last. " Who, Sir ? I, Sir ? Not a soul. Sir. I never was there m my life." " I'll tell you why I ask. I strongly suspect that that man Dock' 183 ORLET FARM. wrath is at some very foul play.'' And then he told to his clerk so much of the whole story of Lady Mason and her affairs as he choae that he should" know. "It is plain enough that he may give Lady Mason a great deal of annoyance," he ended by saying. " There's no doubting that. Sir," said Crabwitz. " And, to tell the truth, I believe his mind is made up to do it." " You don't think that anything could be done by seeing him,? Of course Lady Mason has got nothing to compromise. Her son's estate is as safe as my hat ; but " " The people at Round's think it isn't quite so safe, Sir." " Then the people at Round's know nothing about it. But Lady Mason is so averse to legal proceedings that it would be worth her while to have matters settled, You understand ? " " Yes, Sir ; I understand. Would not an attorney be the best per- son. Sir ? " " Not just at present, Crabwitz. Lady Mason is a very dear friend of mine ." " Yes, Sir ; we know that," said Crabwitz. " If you could make any pretence for running down to Hamworth — change of air, you know, for a week or so. It's a beautiful country ; ust the place you like. And you might find out whether anything could e done, eh ? " Mr. Crabwitz was well aware, from the first, that he did not get fifty pounds for nothing. i CHAPTER XXVL WHY SHOULD I NOT? A DAY or two after his conversation with Crabwitz, as described in the last chapter, Mr. Purnival was driven up to the door of Sir Pere- grine Orme's house in a Hamworth fly. He had come over by tram from Alston on purpose to see the baronet, whom he found seated in his hbrary. At that very moment he was again asking himself those questions which he had before asked as he was walking up and down his own dining-room. " Why should I not ? " he said to himseUl, — " unless, indeed, it will juake her unhappy." And then the barrister was shown into his room, muffled up to his eyes in his wmter clothing. Sir Peregrine and Mr. Purnival were well known to each other, and had always met as friends. They had been interested on the same side in the first Orley Parm Case, and possessed a topic of sym- pathy in their mutual dislike to Joseph Mason of Groby Park. Sir Peregrine therefore was courteous, and when he lea'-ned the subject WHr SHOULD 1 NOT? 183 on which he was to De consulted he became almost more thaa eotirteous. " Oh ! yes ; she's staying here, Mr. Furnival. Would you Hkc to see her ? " " Before I leave I shall be glad to see her, Sir Peregrine ; but if I am justified in regarding you as specially her friend, it may perhaps be well that I should first have some conversation with you." Sir Pere- grine in answer to this declared that Mr. Furnival certainly would be so justified ; that he did regard himself as Lady Mason's special friend, aad that he was ready to hear anything that the barrister might have to gay to him. Many of the points of this case have already been named so often, and will, I fear, be necessarily named so often again, that I will spare the repetition when it is possible. Mr. Pumival on this occasion told Sir Peregrine — not all that he had heard. Out all that he thought it necessary to tell, and soon became fully aware that in the baronet's mind there was not the slightest shadow of suspicion that Lady Mason could have been in any way to blame. He, the baronet, was thoroughly convinced that Mr. Mason was the great sinner in this matter, and that he was prepared to harass an innocent and excellent lady from motives of disappomted cupidity and long-sustained maUce, wmch made him seem in Sir Peregrine's eyes a being almost too vile for humanity. And of Dookwrath he thought almost as badly — only that Dookwrath was below the level of his thinking. Of Lady Mason he spoke as an ex- ceUeot and beautiful woman driven to misery by unworthy persecution ; and S6 spoke with an enthusiasm that was surprising to Mr. Pur- nival. It was very manifest that she would not want for friendly countenance, if friendly countenance could carry her through her diffi- culties. There was no suspicion against Lady Mason in the mind of Sir Peregrine, and Mr. Purnival was careful not to arouse any such feel- ing. When he found that the baronet spoke of her as being al- together pure and good, he also sjjoke of her in the same tone ; but in doing so his game was very difficult. " Let him do his worst, Mr. Pumival," said Sir Peregrine ; " and let her remai? tranquil ; that is my advice to Lady Mason. It is not possible that Jie can really in- jure her." " It is possible that he can do nothing — very probable that he can do nothing ; but nevertheless, Sir Peregrine^ — " " I woiSd have no dealing with him or his.. I would utterly dis- ■ regard them. If he, or they, or any of them choose to take steps to annoy her, let her attorney manage that in the usual way. 1 am no lawyer myself, Mr. Purnival, but that I think is the manner in which things of this kind should be arranged. I do not know whether they have still the power of disputing the will, but if so, let them do it." Gradually, by very slow degrees, Mr. Pumival made Sir Peregrine understand that the legal doings now threatened we-x not of that uature j — that Mr. Mason did not now talk of proceeding at law for the 184 oaijsv TAUM, recovery of the property, but for the punishment of his father's wid«v as a criminal ; and at last the dreadful word " forgery " dropped from his lips. " Who dares to make such a charge at that ? " demanded the baronet^ while fire literally flashed from his eyes in his anger. And when hj was told that Mr. Mason did make such a charge he called him " a mean, unmanly dastard." "I do not believe that he would dare to make it against a man," said Sir Peregrine. But there was the fact of the charge — ^the fact that it had beet placed in the hands of respectable attorneys with instructions to them to press it on — and the fact also that the evidence by which that cliaj'ge was to be supported possessed at any rate a prima facie appearance of strength. All tnis it was necessary to explain to Sir Peregrine, as it would also be necessary to explain it to Ladf Mason. " Am I to understand, then, that you also think ? " began Sir Peregrine. " lou are not to understand that I think anything injurious to the lady ; but I do fear that she is in a position of much jeopardy, and that great care will be necessary." " Good Heavens ! Do you mean to say that an innocent person can under such circumstances be in danger in this country ? " "An innocent person, Sir Peregrine, may be in danger of very great annoyance, and also of very great delay in proving that inno- cence. Innocent people have died under the weight of such charges. We must remember that she is a woman, and therefore weaker than you or I." " Yes, yes ; but still . You do not say that you think she can be in any real danger ? " It seemed, from the tone of the old man's voice, as though he were almost angry with Mr. Furnival for suppos- ing that such could be the case. " And you intend to tell her all this ? " he asked. " I fear that, as her friend, neither you nor I will be warranted in keeping her altogether in the dark. Think what her feelings would be if she were summoned before a magistrate without any prepara- tion ! " " No magistrate would listen to such a charge,'' said Sir Peregrine. " In that he must be guided by the evidence." " I would sooner throw up my commission than lend myself in any way to a proceeding so iniquitous." This was all very well, and the existence of such a feeling showed great generosity, and perhaps also poetic chivalry on the part of Sii Peregrine Orme ; but it was not the way of the world, and so Mr Purnival was obliged to explain. Magistrates would listen to the charge- — would be forced to listen to the charge — if the evidence were apparently sound. A refusal on the part of a magistrate to do so would not be an act of friendship to Lady Mason, as Mr. Fumival en- deavoured to explain, ''And you wish to sec her?" Sir Peregrine asked at last. WHY SHOULD I NOT? 185 •I think sno should be told; but as she is iu your house, I will of course do nothing in which you do not concur." Upon which Sir Peregrme rang the bell and desired the servant to take his compli- ments to Lady Mason and beg her attendance in the library if it were (}uite convenient. " Tell her," said Sir Peregrine, " that Mr. Furnival is here." When the message was given to her she was seated with Mrs. Orme, and at the moment she summoned strength to say that she would obey the invitation, without displaying any special emotion while the servant was in the room ; but when the door was shut, her friend looked at her and saw that she was as pale as death. She was pale and her limbs quivered, and that look of agony, which now so often marked her face, was settled on her brow. Mrs. Orme had never yet seen her with such manifest signs of suffering as she wore at this instant. "I suppose I must go to them," she said, slowly rising from her seat ; and it seemed to Mrs. Orme that she was forced to hold by the table to support herself. " Mr. Furnival is a friend, is he not ? " " Oh, yes ! a kind friend, but " " They shall come in here if you like it better, dear." " Oh, no ! I will go to them. It would not do that I should seem so weak. What must you think of me to see me so ? " " I do not wonder at it, dear," said Mrs. Orme, coming round to her ; " such cruelty would kill me. I wonder at your strength rather than your weakness." And then she kissed her. What was there about the woman that had made all those fond of her that came near her ? Mrs. Orme walked with her across the hall, and left her only at the library door. There she pressed her hand and again kissed her, and then Lady Mason turned the handle of the door and entered the room. Mr. Furnival, when he looked at her, was startled by the pallor of her face, but nevertheless he thought that she had never looked so beautiful. "Dear Lady Mason," said he, "I hope you are well." Sk Peregrine advanced to her and handed her over to his own arm- chair. Had she been a queen in distress she could not have been treated with more gentle deference. But she never seemed to count upon this, or in any way to assume it as her right. I should ac- cuse her of what I regard as a sin against all good taste were I to say that she was humble in her demeanour ; but there was a soft meekness about her, an air of feminine dependence, a proneness to lean and almost to cling as she leaned, which might have been felt as irresis- tible by any man. She was a woman to know in her deep sorrow rather than in her joy and happiness ; one with whom one would love to weep rather than to rejoice. And, indeed, the present was a time with her for weeping, not for rejoicing. Sir Peregrine looked as though he were her father as he took her hand, and the barrister immediately comforted himself with the re- membrance of the baronet'^ «-i-eat age. It was natural, too, that Ladj 186 OBLET FAKU. Mason should hang onhim in his own house. So Mr. Jurnival contented himself at the first moment with touching her hand and hoping that she was wsll. She answered hardly a word to either of them, but she attempted to smile as she sat down, and murmured something about the trouble she was eivirig them. "Mr. Purnival thinks it best that you should be made aware of the steps which are being taken by Mr. Mason of Groby Park," began Sir Peregrine. " I am no lawyer myself, and therefore of course I cannot put my advioc' against his." " I am sure that both of you will tell me for the best," she said. " In such a matter as this it is right that you should be guided by him. That he is as firmly your friend as I am there can be no doubt." " I believe Lady Mason trusts me in that," said the lawyer. " Indeed I do ; I would trust you both in anything," she said. "And there can be no doubt that he must be able to direct you for the best. I say so much at the first, because I myself so thoroughly despise that man in Yorkshire, — I am so convinced that anything which his malice may prompt him to do must be futile, that I could not myself have thought it needful to pain you by what must now be said." This was a dreadful commencement, but she bore it, and even was relieved by it. Indeed, no tale that Mr. Purnival could have to tell after such an exordium would be so bad as that which she had feared as the possible result of his visit. He might have come there to let her know that she was at once to be carried away — immeaiiately to be taken to her trial — perhaps to be locked up in gaol. , In her ignorance of the law she could only imagine what might or might not happen to her at any moment, and therefore the words which Sir Peregrine had spoken had relieved her rather than added to her fears. And then Mr. Furnival began his tale, and gradually put before her the facts of the matter. This he did with a choice of language and a delicacy of phraseology which were admirable, for he made her clearly understand the nature of the accusation which was brought against her without using any word which was in itself harsh in its bearing. He said nothing about fraud, or forgery, or false evidence, but he made it manifest to her that Joseph Mason had now instructed his lawyer to institute a criminal proceeding against her for having forged a codicil to her husband's will. " I must bear it as best I may," she said. "May the Lord "ive me strength to bear it ! " " It is terrible to thmk of," said Sir Peregrine ; " but nobody can doubt how it will end. You are not to suppose that Mr. Furnival intends to express any doubt as to your ultimate triumph. What we fear for you is the pain you must endure before this triumph comes." Ah, if that were all ! As the baronet finished speaking she looked furtively into the lawyer's face to see how far the meaning of these smooth words would be supported by what she might read there. WHY SHOULD I NOT P 187 Would healso think that a final triumph did certainly await her? Sir Peregrine's real opimon was easily to be learned, either from his countenance or from his words ; but it was not so with Mr. Purnival. In Mr. Pumival's face, and from Mr. Furnival's words, could be learned only that which Mr. Eurnival wished to declare. He saw that glance, and fully understood it ; and he knew instinctively, on the spur of the moment, that he must now either assure her by a lie, or break dowii all her hopes by the truth. That final triumph was not certain to her — was very far from certain ! Should he now be honest to his friend, or dishonest ? One great object with him was to secure the support which Sir Peregrine could give by his weight in the county ; and therefore, as Sir Peregrine was present, it was needful that he should be dishonest. Arguing thus he looked the he, and Lady Mason derived more comfort from that look than from all Sir Peregrine's words. And then those various details were explained to her which Mr. Fumival understood that Mr. Dockwrath had picked up. They went into that matter of the partnership deed, and questions were asked as to the man Kenneby and the woman Bolster. They might both. Lady Mason said, have been witnesses to half a dozen deeds on that same day, for aught she knew to the contrary. She had been present with Sir Joseph, as far as she could now remember, dui'ing the whole of that morning, "in and out. Sir Peregrine, as you can understand." Sir Peregrine said that he did understand perfectly. She did know that Mr. Usbech had been there for many hours that day, probably from ten to two or three, and no doubt therefore much business was transacted. She herself remembered nothing but the affair of the will; but then that was natural, seeing that there was no other affair in which she had specially interested herself. "No doubt these people did witness both the deeds," said Sir Peregrine. "Por myself, 1 cannot conceive how that wretched man can be so silly as to spend his money on such a case as this." " He would do anything for revenge," said Mr. Pumival. And then Lady Mason was aUowed to go back to the drawing-room, and what remained to be said was said between the two gentlemen alone. Sir Peregrine was very anxious that his own attorneys should be employed, and he named Messrs. Slow and Bideawhile, than whom there were no more respectable men in the whole profession. But then Mr. Fumival feared that they were too respectable. They might look at the matter in so straightforward a Hght as to fancy their chent really guilty ; and what might happen then ? Old Slow would not conceal the truth for all the baronets in England — no, nor for aU the pretty women. The touch of Lady Mason's hand and the tear in her eye would be nothing to old Slow. Mr. Furnival, therefore, was obliged to explain that Slow and Bideawhile did not undertake that sort of business. " But I should wish it to be taken up through them. There must be Bome expenditure, Mr. Fumival, and I should prefer that they should arrange about that." 188 OALET V/lBM. Mr. Fumival made no further immediate objection, and cousented at last to having an interview with one of the firm on the subject, provided, of course, that that member of the firm came to him at his chambers. And then he took his leave. Nothing positive had been done, or even settled to be done, on this morning ; but the personi most interested in the matter had been made to understand tliat the affair was taking an absolute palpable substance, and t'iat steps must be taken — ^indeed, would be taken almost immediately. Mr. Jurnival, as he left the house, resolved to employ the attorneys whom he might think best adapted for the purpose. He would settle that matter with Slow and Bideawhile afterwards. And then, as he returned to Noningsby, he wondered at his persist- ence in the matter. He believed that his cUent had been guilty ; he beUeved that this codicE was no real instrument made by Sir Joseph Mason. And so believing, would it not be better for him to wash his hands of the whole affair ? Others did not think so, and would it not be better that such others should be her advisers ? Was he not takmg up for himself endless trouble and annoyance that could have no . useful purpose ? So he argued with himself, and yet by the time that he had reached Noningsby he had determined that he would stand by Lady Mason to the last. He hated that man Mason, as he declared to himself when providing himself with reasons for his resolve, and re- garded his bitter, malicious justice as more criminal than any crime of which Lady Mason might have been guilty. And then as he leaned back in the railway carriage he still saw her pale face before him, still heard the soft tone of her voice, and was still melted by the tear in her eye. Young man, young friend of mine, who art now filled to the overflowing of thy brain with poetry, with chivalry, and love, thou seest seated opposite to thee there that grim old man, with long snuffy nose, with sharp piercing eyes, with scanty frizzled hairs. He is rich and cross, has been t£ee times married, and has often quarrelled with his children. He is fond of his wine, and snores dreadfully after dinner. To thy seeming he is a dry, withered stick, from which all the sap of senti- ment has been squeezed by the rubbing and friction of years. Poetry, the feeling if not the words of poetry, — is he not dead to it, even as the ■yavement is dead over which his wheels trundle ? Oh, my young iriend ! thou art ignorant in this — as in most other things. He may iiot twitter of sentiment as thou doest ; nor may I trundle my hoop along the high road as do the little boys. The fitness of things forbids it. But that old man's heart is as soft as thine, if thou couldst but read it. The body dries up and withers away, and the bones grow old ; the brain, too, decomes decrepit, as do the sight, the hearing, and the soul. But the heart that is tender once remains tender to the last. Lady Mason, when she left the library, walked across the hall to- wards the drawing-room, and then she paused. She would fain remain alone for a while if it were possible, and therefore she turned aside into a small breakfast parlour, which was used every morning, but which was rarely visited afterwards during the day. Here she sut, leaving the door slightly open, so th^t she might know when Mr. yuniival left. vm't dtiouLD 1 iioTP 181 .he baronet. Here slie sat for a full hour, waiting — waiting — waiting. There was no sofa or lounging chair in the room, reclining in whioli she could remain there hall sleeping, sitting comfortably at her ease ; but she placed herself near the table, and leaning there with her face upon her hand, she waited patiently till Mr. Furuival had gone. That her mind was full of thoughts I need hardly say, but yet the hoir seemed very long to her. At last she heard the hbrary door open, she heard Sir Peregrine's voice as he stood in the hall and shook hands with his departing visitor, she heard the sound of the wheels as the fly moved upon the gravel, and then she heard Sir Peregrine again shut the library door behind him. She did not immediately get up from her chair; she still waited awhile, perhaps for another period of ten minutes, and then she noise- lessly left the wiom, and moving quickly and silently across the hall she knocked at Sir Peregrine's door. This she did so gently that at first no answer was made to her. Then she knocked again, hardly louder but with a repeated rap, and Sir Peregrme summoned her to come in. " May I trouble you once more — for one moment ? " she said. " Certainly, certainly ; it is no trouble. I am glad that you are here in the house at this time, that you may see me at any moment that you may wish." " I do not know why you should be so good to me." "Because you are in great grief, in undeserved grief, because - Lady Mason, my services are at your command. I will act for you as I would for a — daughter " " You hear now of what it is that they accuse me." " Yes," he said ; " I do hear : " and as he spoke he came round so that he was standing near to her, but with his back to the fire-place. " I do hear, and I blush to think that there is a man m England, holding the position of a county magistrate, who can so forget all that is due to honesty, to humanity, and to self- respect." " You do not then think that I have been guilty of this thing ? " " Guilty — I think you guilty ! No, nor does he think so. It is impossible that he should think so. I am no more sure of my own innocence than of yours ; " and as he spoke he took both her hands and looked into her face, and his eyes also were full of tears. " You may be sure of this, that neither I nor Edith will ever think you guilty." " Dearest Edith," she said ; she had never before called Sir Pere- grine's daughter-in-law by her Christian name, and as she now did so .she almost felt that she had sinned. But Sir Peregrine took it in good part. " She is dearest," he said ; " and be sure of this, that she will be true to you through it all." And so they stood for a while without further speech. He still hfeld both her hands, and the tears still stood in his eyes. Her eyes were turned to the ground, and from them the tears were running fast. At first they ran silently, without audible sobbing, and Sir Peregrine, IdO OKLEY lAliM. with his own old eyes full of salt water, hardly knew that she wm weeping. But graduallT the drops, fell upon his hand, one by one at first, and then faster and faster; and soon there came a low sob, a sob all but suppressed, but which at last forced itself forth, and then her head fell upon his shoulder. " My dear," he said, himself hardly able to speak; "my poor dear, my ill-used dear!" and as she withdrew one hand from his, that she might press a handkerchief to her face, his vacant arm passed itself round her waist. " My poor, ill-used dear ! " he said sgain, as he pressed her to his old heart, and leaning over her he kissed her lips. So she stood for some few seconds, feeling that she was pressed close by the feeble pressure of his arm, and then she gradually sank through from his embrace, and fell upon her knees at his feet. She knelt at his feet, supporting herself with one arm upon the table, and with the other hand she still held his hand over which her head was bowed. "My friend," she said, still sobbing, and sobbing loudly now ; " my friend, that God has sent me in ray trouble." Aid then, with words that were wholly inaudible, she murmured some prayer on his behalf. " I am better now," she said, raising herself quickly to her feet when a few seconds had passed. " I am better now," and she stood erect before him. "By God's mercy I will endure it; I think I can endure it now." " If I can lighten the load " " You have lightened it — of half its weight ; but, Sir Peregrine, I will leave this " " Leave this ! go away from The Cleeve ! " " Yes ; I will not destroy the comfort of your home by the wretched- ness of my position. I will not " "Lady Mason, my house is altogether at your service. If you will be led by me in this matter, you wUl not leave it till this cloud shall have passed by you. You will be better to be alone now ; " and then before she could answer him further, he led her to the door. She felt that it was better for her to be alone, and she hastened up the stairs to her own chamber. " And why should I not ? " said Sir Peregrine to himself, as he a^iaiii walked the ^fngth of the library. OOHXEBCE. 191 CHAPTER XXVIL COMMERCE'. Lucius Mason was still staying at Noningsby wheu Mr. Furiival made his visit to Sir Peregrine, and on that afternoon he received a note from his mother. Indeed, there were tliree notes passed between them on that afternoon, for he wrote an answer to his mother, and then received a reply to tliat answer. Lady Mason told him that she did not intend to return home to the Parm qiute immediately, and explained that her reason for not doing so was the necessity that she should have assistance and advice at this period of her trouble. She did not say that she misdoubted the wisdom of her son's counsels; but it appeared to him that she intended to signify to him that she did so, and he answered her in words that were sore and almost bitter. " I am sorry," he said, " that you and I cannot awee about a matter that is of such vital concern to both of us ; but as it is so, we can only act as each thinks best, you for yourself and I for myself. I am sure, however, that you will believe that my only object is your happiness and your fair name, which is dearer to me than anything else in the world." In answer to this, she had written again immediately, filling her letter with sweet words of motherly love, telling him that she was sure, quite sure, of his affection and kind spirit, and excusing herself for not putting the matter altogether in his hands by saying that she was forced to lean on those who had supported her from the beginning — through that former trial which had taken place when he, Lucius, was yet a baby. "And, dearest Lucius, you mutt not be angry with me," she went on to say ; " I am suifering much under this cruel persecution, but my suffermgs would be more than doubled if my own boy quarrelled with me." Lucius, when he received this, flung up his head. "Quarrel with her," he said to himself ; "nothing on earth would make me quarrel with her ; but I cannot say that that is right which I think to be wrong." His feelings were good and honest, and kindly too in their way; but tenderness of heart was not his weakness. I should wrong him if I were to say that he was hard-hearted, but he flattered himself that he was just hearted, which sometimes is nearly the same — as had been the case with his father before him, and was now the case with his half-brother Joseph. The day after this was his last at Noningsby. He had told Lady Staveley that he intended to go, and though she had pressed his furthc stay, remarking that none of the young people intended to move till after Twelfth-night, nevertheless he persisted. With the young people of the house themselves he had not much advanced himself; and futogethcr he did not find himself thoroughly happy in .the judge's 192 ORlBlr tAS.A. house. Tliey were more thoughtless than ue — as he thought; thej did not understand him, and therefore he would leave them. Besides, there was a great day of hunting coming on, at which everybody was to take a part, and as he did not hunt that gave him another reason for going. " They have nothing to do but amuse themselves," he said to himself; "but I have a man's work before me, and a man's misfortunes. I will go home and face both." In all this there was much of conceit, much of pride, much of deficient education — deficiency in that special branch of education which England has imparted to the best of her sons, but which is now becom- ing out of fashion. He had never learned to measure himself agamst others, — I do not mean his knowledge or his book acquirements, but the every-day conduct of his life, — and to perceive that that which is insignificant in others must be insignificant in himself also. To those around him at Noningsby his extensive reading respecting the lapetidae recommended him not at all, nor did his agricultural ambitions ; — not even to Felix Graham, as a companion, though Felix Graham could see further into his character than did the others. He was not such as they were. He had not the unpretentious, self-controlling humour, perfectly free from all conceit, which was common to them. Life did not come easy to him, and the effort which he was ever making was always visible. All men should ever be making efforts, no doubt ; but those efforts should not be conspicuous. But yet ucius Mason was not a bad fellow, and young Staveley showed much want of discernment when he called him empty-headed and selfish. Those epithets were by no means applicable to him. That he was not empty-headed is certain; and he was moreover capable of a great self-sacrifice. That his talents and good qualities were appreciated by one person in the house, seemed evident to Lady Staveley and the other married ladies of the party. Miss Fumival, aa they all thought, had not found him empty-headed. And, indeed, it may be doubted whether Lady Staveley would have pressed his stay at Noningsby, had Miss Fumival been less gracious. Dear Lady Staveley was always living in a fever lest her only son, the light of her eyes, should fall irrevocably in love with some lady that was by no means good enough for him. Revocably in love he was daily falling ; but some day he would go too deep, and the waters would close over his well-loved head. Now in her dear old favouring eyes Sophia Furnival was by no means good enough, and it had been q\iite clear that Augustus had become thoroughly lost in his attempts to brmg about a match between Felix Graham and the barris- ter's daughter. In preparing the bath for his friend he had himself fallen bodily into the water. He was always at Miss Furnival's side, as long as Miss Furnival would permit it. But it seemed to Lady Staveley that Miss Furnival, luckily, was quite as fond of having Lucius Mason at her side ; — that of the two she perhaps preferred Lucius Mason. That her taste and judgment should be so bad was wonderful to Lady Staveley; but this depravity, though wonderful, was useful; and therefore Lucius Mason might have been welcome to remam at Noningsby. COmiEHCE. IQS It may, however, be possible that Miss Jumival knew wh«t she was doing quite as well as Lady Stareley could know for her. In the first place she may possibly have thought it indiscreet to admit Mr. Staveley's attentions with too much freedom. She may have doubted their sincerity, or feared to give oifence to the family, or Mr. Mason may in her sight have been the preferable suitor. That his gifts of intellect were at any rate equal to those of the other there can be no doubt. Then his gifts ot fortune were already his own, and, for ought that Miss furnival knew, might be equal to any that would ever appertain to the other gentleman. That Lady Staveley should think her swan better looking than Lady Mason's goose was very natural; but then Lady Mason would no doubt have regarded the two birds in an exactly opposite light. It is ordy fair to conceive that Miss Furnival was a better judge than eitner of them. On the evening before his departure the whole party had been plaj- mg commerce ; for the rule of the house during these nolidays was this, that all the amusements brought into vogue were to be adapted to the children. If the grown-up people could adapt themselves to them, so much the better for them ; if not, so much the worse ; they must in such case provide for themselves. On the whole, the grown-up people leemed to live nearly as jovial a life as did the children. Whether the judge himself was specially fond of commerce I caimot say ; but he persisted in putting in the whole pool, and played through the entire game, rigidly fighting for the same pool on behalf of a very small grand- child, who sat during the whole time on his knee. There are those who call cards the devil's books, but we will presume that the judge was of a different way of thinking. On this special evening Sophia had been sitting next to Augustus, — a young man can always arrange these matters in his own house — but had nevertheless lost all her lives early in the game. "I will not have any cheating to-night," she had said to her neighbour; "I will take my chance, and if I die, I die. One can die but once." And so she had died, three times indeed instead of once only, and had left the table. Lucius Mason also had died. He generally did die the first, having no aptitude for a collection of kings or aces, and so they two came together over the fire in the second drawing- room, far away from the card-players. There was nothing at all remarkable in this, as Mr. Furnival and one or two others who did not play commerce were also there; but nevertheless they were separated from those of the party who were most inclined to criticise their conduct. " So you are leaving to-morrow, Mr. Mason," said Sophia. "Yes. I go home to-morrow after breakfast ; to my own house, where for some weeks to come I shall be absolutely alone." " Your mother is staying at The Cleeve, I think." " Yes, — and intends remaining there, as she tells me. I wish withsJJ aiy heart she were at Orley Farm." *'Papa saw her yesterday He went over to The Cleeve on purpnM i3 194 OOLGT FaBK. to see her ; and this morning he has been talking to me about her. 1 cannot tell you how I grieve for her." "It is very sad; very sad. But I wish she were in her own house. Under the circumstances as they now are, I think it would be better for her to be there than elsewhere. Her name has been disgraced " " No, Mr. Mason, not disgraced." "Yes; disgraced. Mark you; I do not say that she has been disgraced; and pray do not suppose it possible that I should think so. But a great opprobrium has been thrown on her pame, and it would be better, I thmk, that she should remain at hoEk*- till she has cast it off from her. Even for myself, I feel it almost wrong to be here ; nor would I have come had I known when I did come as much as I do know now." "But no one can for a moment think that your mother has done anything that she should not have done." "Then why do so many people talk of her as though she hau committed a great crime ? Miss Eurnival, I know that she is inno- cent. I know it as surely as I know the fact of my own exist- ence " " And we aU feel the same thmg." " But if you were in my place, — if it were your father whose name was so bandied about in people's mouths, you would think that it be- hoved him to do nothing, to go nowhere, till he had forced the world to confess his innocence. And this is ten times stronger with regard to a woman. I have given my mother my counsel, and I regret to say that she differs from me." " Why do you not speak to papa ? " "I did once. I went to him at his chambers, and he rebuked me." "Eebuked you, Mr. Mason! He did not do that intentionally, I am sure. I have heard him say that you are an excellent son." "But nevertheless he did rebuke me. He considered that I was travelling beyond my own concerns, in wishing to interfere for the protection of my mother's name. He said that I should leave it to such people as the Staveleys and the Ormes to guard her from ignominy and disgrace." " Oh, he did not mean that ! " " But to me it seems that it should be a son's first duty. They are talking of trouble and of cost. I would give every hour I have in the day, and every shilling I own in the world to save her from one week of such suffering as she now endures ; but it cuts me Jo the heart when she tells me that because she is suffering, therefore she must separate herself from me. I think it would be better for ner. Miss Furnival, to be staying at home with me, than to be at The Cleeve." " The kindness of Mrs. Orme must be a great support to her." " And why should not my kindness be a support to her; — or rathet my affection ? We know from whom all these Scandals come. Mr coHHuacE. 195 desire is to meet that man in a court of law and thrust these falsehoods down his throat." " Ah ! but you are a man." "And therefore I would take the burden from her shoulders. But no ; she will not trust to me. The truth. Miss Purnival, is this, that she has not yet learned to think of me as a man. To her I am still the boy for whom she is bound to provide, not the son who should bear for 'ler all her cares. As it is I feel that I do not dare again to trouble her with my advice." " Grandmamma is dead," shouted out a shrill small voice from the card-table. " Oh, grandmamma, do have one of my lives. Look I I've got three," said another. " Thank you, my dears ; but the natural term of my existence has come, and I will not rebel against fate." " Oh, grandmamma, — we'll let you have another grace." " By no means, Charley. Indeed, I am not clear that I am entitled to Christian burial, as it is." "A case of felo de se, I rather think," said her son. "About this time of the night suicide does become common among the elders. Un- fortunately for me, the pistol that I have been snapping at my own Lead for the last half-hour always hangs fire." There was not much of love-making in the conversation which had taken place between young Mason and Sophia ; not much at least up to this point ; but a confidence had been established, and before he left her he did say a word or two that was more tender in its nature. " You must not be in a dudgeon with me," he said, " for speaking to you of all this. Hitherto I have kept it all to myself, and perhaps I should still have done so." " Oh no ; do not say that." " I am in great grief. It is dreadful to me to hear these things said, and as yet I have found no sympathy." "I can assure you, Mr. Mason, that I do sympathise with you most sincerely. I only wish my sympathy could be of more value." " It will be invaluable," he said, not looking at her, but fixing his eyes upon the fire, "if it be given with constancy from the first to the last of this sad affair." " It shall be so given," said Miss Furnival, also looking at the fire. "It will be tolerably long, and men will say cruel things of us. I can foresee this, that it will be very hard to prove to the world with certainty that there is no foundation whatever for these charges. If those who are now most friendly to us turn away from us " " I wUl never turn away from you, Mr. Mason." "Then give me your hand on that, and remember that sucn a promise in my ears means much." He in his excitement had forgotten that there were others in the room who might be looking at them, and that there was a long vista open upon them direct from all the eyes at the card-table ; but she did not forget it. Miss i'urnival could be very enthusiastic, but she was one of those who in her enthusiasm rare)" 13—2 196 OBLGT rABJf. forgot anytning. ^Nevertheless, after a moment's pause, she gave him her hand. " There it is," she said ; " and you may be sure of this, that with me also such a promise does mean something. And now I will say good-night." And so, having received the pressure of her hand, she left him. " I will get you your candle," he saia, and so he did. " Good-night, papa," she said, kissing her father. And then, with a slight muttered word to Lady Staveley, she withdrew, having sacrificed the remainder of that evening for the sake of acceding to Mr. Mason's request respecting her pledge. It could not be ac- counted strange that she should give her hand to the geritlemaii with whom she was immediately talking as she bade him good-night. " And now grandpapa is dead too," said Marian, " and there's no- body left but US three." " And we'll divide," said Fannj Sebright ; and so the game of com- merce was brought to an end. CHAPTEK, XXVUL MONKTON GRA3SGE. DcaiNG these days Peregrine Orme — though he was in love up to his very chin, seriously in love, acknowledging this matter to himself openly, pulling nis hair in the retirement of his bed-room, and resolving that he would do that which he had hitherto in life always been suc- cessful in doing — ask, namely, boldly for that he wanted sorely — ^Pere- grine Orme, I say, though he was in this condition, did not in these days neglect his hunting. A proper attendance upon the proceedings of the H. H. was the only duty which he had hitherto undertaken in return for all that his grandfather had done for him, and I have no doubt that he conceived that he was doing a duty in going hither and tliither about the county to their most distant meets. At this period of the present season it happened that Noningsby was more central to the proceedings of the hunt than The Cleeve, and therefore he was enabled to think that he was remaining away from home chiefly on business. On one point, however, he had stoutly come to a resolution. That question should be asked of Madeline Staveley before he returned to his grandfather's house. And now had arrived a special hunting morning — special, because the meet was in some degree a show meet, appropriate for ladies, at a comfortable distance from Noningsby, and affording a chance of amusement to those who sat in carriages as well as to those on horseback. Monkton Grange was the well-known name of the place, a name perhaps dearer to the ladies than to the gentlemen of the country, seeing that show meets do not always give the best UONKTON GEANGfi. 197 «port. Monkton Grange is an old farm-house, now hardly used as such, having been left, as regards the habitation, in the hands of a head labourer; but it stiU possesses the marks of aneient respect- ability and even of grandeur. It is approached from the high road by a long double avenue of elms, which still stand in all their glory. The road itself has become narrow, and the space between the side row of trees is covered by soft turf, up which those coming to the meet love to gallop, trying the fresh mettle of their horses. And the old house itself is surrounded by a moat, dry indeed now for the most part, but nevertheless an evident moat, deep and well preserved, with a bridge over it which Taney tells us must once nave been a drawbridge. It is here, in front of the bridge, that the old hounds sit upon their haunches, resting quietly round the horses of the huntsmen, while the young dogs move about, and would wander if the whips allowed them — one of the fairest--sights to my eyes that this fair country of ours can show. And here the sportsmen and ladies congregate by degrees, men from a distance in dog-carts generally arriving first, as being less able to calculate the time with accuracy. There is room here, too, in the open space for carriages, and there is one spot on which always stands eld Lord Alston's chariot with the four posters; an ancient sportsman he, who still comes to some few favourite meets ; and though Alston Court is but eight miles from the Grange, the post-horses always look as though they had been made to do their best, for his lordship likes to move fast even in his old age. He is a tall thin man, bent much with age, and apparently too weak for much walking; he is dressed from head to foot in a sportsman's garb, with a broad stiffly starched coloured handkerchief tied rigidly round his neck. One would say that old as he is he has saeriiiced in no way to comfort. It is with difficulty that he gets mto his saddle, his servant holding his rein and stirrup and giving him perhaps some other slight assistance ; but when he is there, there he will remain all day, and when his old blood warms he will gallop along the road with as much hot fervour as his grandson. An old friend he of Sir Peregrine's. " And why is not your grandfather here to-day ? " he said on this occasion to young Orme. "Tell him from me that if he fails us in this way, 1 shall think he is getting old." Lord Alston was in truth five years older than Sir Peregrine, but Sir Peregrine at this time was thinking of other things. And then a very tidy little modern carriage bustled up the road, a brougham made for a pair of horses, which was well known to all hunting men in these parts. It was very unpretending in its colour and harness ; but no vehicle more appropriate to its purpose ever carried two thorough-going sportsmen day after day about the country. In this, as it pulled up under the head tree of the avenue, were seated the two Mss Tristrams. The two Miss Tristrams were well known to the Hamworth Hunt — I will not merely say as fearless riders, — of most girls who hunt as much can be said as that; but they were judicious horsewomen; they knew when to ride hard, iV8 O&LEY lASM. and when haxd riding, as regarded any necessary for the hunt, would be absolutely thrown away. They might be seen for half the day moving about the roads as leisurely, or standing as quietly at thu covert's side as might the seniors of the field. But when the time for riding did come, when the hounds were really running — when other young ladies had begun to go home — then the Miss Tristrams were always there; — there or thereabouts, as their admirers would warmly boast. Nor did they commence their day's work as did other girls who came out on hunting mornings. With most such it is clear to see that the object is pretty much the same here as in the ballroom. " Spectatum veniunt ; veniunt spectentnr ut ipsae," as it is proper, natural, and desirable that they should do. By that word "spec- tatum" I would wish to signify something more than the mere use of the eyes. Perhaps an occasional word dropped here and there into the ears of a cavalier may be included in it ; and the " spec- tentnr " also may include a word so received. But the Miss Tristrams came for hunting. Perhaps there might be a slight shade of affectation in the manner by which they would appear to come for that and that only. They would talk of nothing else, at any rate during the earlier portion of the day, when many listeners were by. They were also well instructed as to the country to be drawn, and usually had a word of import to say to the huntsman. They were good-looking, fair-haired girls, short in size, with bright grey eyes, and a short decisive mode of speaking. It must not be imagined that they were altogether indifferent to such matters as are dear to the hearts of other girls. They were not careless as to admiration, and if report spoke truth of them were willing enough to establish themselves in the world ; but all their doings of that kind had a reference to their favourite amusement, and they would as soon have thought of flirting with men who did not hunt as some other girls would with men who did not dance. I do not know that this kind of life had been altogether successful with them, or that their father had been right to permit it. He himself had formerly been a hunting man, but he had become fat and lazy, and the thing had dropped away from him. Occasionally he did come out with them, and when he did not do so some other senior of the field would have them nominally under charge ; but practically they were as independent when going across the country as the young men who accompanied them. I have expressed a doubt whether this life was successful with them, and indeed such doubt was expressed by many of their neighbours. It had been said of each of them for the last three years that she was engaged, now to this man and then to that other; but neither this man nor that other had yet made good the assertion, and now people were beginning to say that no man was engaged to either of them. Hunting young ladies are very popular in the hunting-field; I know no place in which girls receive more worsk^ and attention ; but I am not sure but they may carry their enthusiasm too far for their own interests, let their horsemanship be as perfect as it may be. MONE.TON GRANGS. 199 Tlie two girls on this occasion sat in their carriage till the groom brought up their horses, and then it was wonderful to see with what ease they placed themselves in their saddles. On such occasioni they admitted no aid from the gentlemen around them, but each stepping for an instant on a servant's hand, settled herself in a moment on horseback. Nothing could be more perfect than the whole thmg, but the wonder was that Mr. Tristram should have allowed it. The party from Noningsby consisted of six or seven on horseback, besides those in the carriage. Among the former there were the two young ladies, Miss Furnival and Miss Staveley, and our friends FeUx Graham, Augustus Staveley, and Peregrine Orme. PeHx Graham was not by custom a hunting man, as he possessed neither time nor money for such a pursuit ; but to-day he was mounted on his friend Staveley's second horse, having expressed his determination to ride him as long as they two, the man and the horse, could remain together. "I give you fair warning," Pehx had said; "if I do not spare my own neck, you cannot expect me to spare your horse's legs." " You may do your worst," Staveley had answered. " If you give him his head, and let him have his own way, he won't come to grief, what- ever you may do." On their road to Monkton Grange, which was but three miles from Noningsby, Peregrine Orme had ridden by the side of Miss Staveley, thinking more of her than of the affairs of the hunt, pro- minent as they were generally in his thoughts. How should he do it, and when, and in what way should he commence the deed ? He had an idea that it might be better for him if he could engender some closer intimacy between himself and Madeline before he absolutely asked the fatal question, ; but the closer intimacy did not seem to produce itself readily. He had, in truth, known Madeline Staveley for many years, almost since they were children together; but lately, durmg these Christmas holidays especially, there had not been between them that close conversational alliance which so often facilitates snch an overture as that which Peregrine was now desirous of making. And, worse again, he had seen that there was such close conversational alliance between Madeline and Telix Graham. He did not on that account dislike the young barrister, or call him, even within his own breast, a snob or an ass. He knew well that he was neither the one nor the other ; but he knew as well that he could be no fit match for Miss Staveley, and, to tell the truth, he did not suspect that either Graham or Miss Staveley would think of such a thing. It was not jealousy that tormented him, so much as a diffidence in his own resources. He made small attempts which did not succeed, and therefore he determined that he would at once make a grand attempt. He would create himself an opportunity before he left Noningsby, and would do it even to-day on horseback, if he could £nd sufficieoi oppoitusitj. In ts^kinj; a 300 OHLBT FAKlf. determined step like that, he knew that he would not lack the courage. "Do you mean to ride to-day?" he said to Madeline, as they were approaching the bottom of the Grange avenue. For the last half-mile he had been thinking what he could say to her, and thinking in vain ; and now, at the last moment, he could summon no words to his assist- ance more potent for his purpose than these. " If you mean by riding, Mr. Orme, going across the fields with you and the Miss Tristrams, certainly not. I should come to grief, as you call it, at the first ditch." " And that is just what I shall do," said Felii Graham, who was at her other side. " Then, if you take my advice, you'll remain with us in the wood, and act as squire of dames. What on earth would Marian do if aught but good was to befaU you ? " "JDear Marian! She gave me a special commission to bring her the fox's tail. Poxes' tails are just like ladies." " Thank you, Mr. Graham. I've heard you make some pretty com- pliments, and that is about the prettiest." "A faint heart will never win either the one or the other. Miss Staveley." " Oh, ah, yes. That will do very well. Under these circumstances I will accept the comparison." All of which very innocent conversation was overheard by Peregrine Orme, riding on the other side of Miss Staveley's horse. And why not? Neither Graham nor Miss Staveley had any objection. But how was it that he could not join in and take his share in it ? He had made one little attempt at conversation, and that having failed he re- mamed perfectly silent till they reached the large circle at the head of the avenue. " It's no use, this sort of thing," he said to himself. " I must do it at a blow, if I do it at all ; " and then he rode away to the master of the hounds. As our pa.rty arrived at the open space the Miss Tristrams were steppmg out of their carriage, and they came up to shake hands with Miss Staveley. "I am so glad to see you," said the eldest "it is so nice to have some ladies out besides ourselves." "Do keep up with us," said the second. "It's a very open country about here, and anybody can ride it." And then Miss Purnival was introduced to them. " Does your horse jump, Miss Furnival ? " /' I really do not know," said Sophia ; " but I sincerely trust that if he does, he will refrain to-day." " Don't say so," said the eldest sportswoman. " If you'll only begin it will come as easy to you as going along the road ; " and then, not being able to spare more of these idle moments, they both went off to their horses, walking as though their habits were no impediments to them, and in half a minute they were seated. " What is Harriet on to-day ? " asked Staveley of a coostaot MOUKTON GEANOE. 20] member of the hunt. Now Harriet was the eldest Miss Tris. tram. "A little brown mare she got last week. That was a terrible brush we had on Friday. You weren't out, I think. We killed in the open, just at the edge of Rotherham Common. Harriet was one of the few that was up, and I don't think the chesnut horse will be the better of it this season." " That was the horse she got from Griggs P " " Yes ; she gave a hundred and fifty for him ; and I'm told he wai as nearly done on Friday as any animal you ever put your eyes on. They say Harriet cried when she got home." Now the gentle- man who was talking about Harriet on this occasion was one with whom she would no more have sat down to table than with her own groom. But thougli Harriet may have cried when she got home on that fatal Friday evening, she was full of the triumph of the hunt ou this morning. It is not often that the hounds run into a fox and absolutely surround and kill him on the open ground, and when this is done after a severe run there are seldom many there to see it. If a man can fairly take a fox's brush on such an occasion as that, let him do it ; otherwise let him leave it to the huntsman. On the occasion in question it seems that Harriet Tristram might have done so, and some one coming second to her had been gallant enough to do it for her. " Oh, my lord, you should have been out on Friday," she said to Lord Alston. " We had the prettiest thing I ever saw." " A great deal too pretty for me, my dear." " Oh, you who know the roads so well would certainly have been up. I suppose it was thirteen miles from Cobbleton's Bushes to Kotherham Common." " Not much less, indeed," said his lordship, unwilling to diminish the lady's triumph. Had a gentleman made the boast his lordship would have demonstrated that it was hardly more than eleven. " I timed it accurately from the moment he went away," said the lady, " and it was exactly fifty-seven minutes. The first part of it was awfully fast. Then we had a little check at Moseley Bottom. But for that, nobody could have lived through it. I never shall forget how deep it was coming up from there to Cringleton. I saw two men get off to ease their horses up the deep bit of plough ; and I would have done so too, only my horse would not have stood for me to get up." " I hope he was none the worse for it,'' said the sporting character who had Deen telling Staveley just now how she had cried when she got home that night. "To tell the truth, I fear it has done him no good. He would not feed, you know, that night at all." "And broke out into cold sweats," said the gentleman. "Exactly," said the lady, not quite liking it, but still enduring with patience. 202 OBIEX FAEM. "Bather groggy on his pins the next toorning?" suggested het friend. "Very groggy," said Harriet, regarding the word as one belonging to fair sporting phraseology. " And inclined to go very much on the points of his toes. I kBOV all about it. Miss Tristram, as well as though I'd seen him." " There's nothing but rest for it, I suppose." " Rest and regular exercise — that's the chief thing ; and I should give him a mash as often as three times a week. He'U be all right Again in three or four weeks, — that is if he's sound, you know." " Oh, as sound as a bell," said Miss Tristram. " He'll never be the same horse on a road, though," said the sport- ing gentleman, shaking his head and whispering to Staveley. And now the time had come at which they were to move. They always met at eleven ; and at ten minutes past, to the moment, Jacob the huntsman would summons the old hounds from off their haunches. "I believe we may be moving, Jacob," said Mr. Williams, the master. " The time be up," said Jacob, looking at a ponderous timekeeper that might with truth be called a hunting- watch ; and then they all moved slowly away back from the Grange, down a farm-road which led to Monkton Wood, distant from the old house perhaps a quarter of a mile. " May we go as far as the wood ? " said Miss Furnival to Augustus, "Without being made to ride over hedges, I mean." "Oh, dear, yes; and ride about the VFOod half the day. It will be an hour and a half before a fox will break — even if he ever breaks." " Dear me ! how tired you will be of us. Now do say something pretty, Mr. Staveley." " It's not my metier. We shall be tired, not of you, but of the thing. Galloping up and down the same cuts in the wood for an hout and a half is not exciting ; nor does it improve the matter much if we stand still, as one should do by rights." " That would be very slow." "You need not be afraid. They never do here. Everybody, will be rushing about as though the very world depended on their gallopmg." "I'm so glad; that's Just what I like." "Everybody except Lord Alston, Miss Tristram, and thei other old stagers. They will nusband their horses, and come out as fresh at two o'clock as though they were only just out. There is nothing so valu- able as experience in hunting." " Do you think it nice seeing a young lady with so much hunting knowledge ? " - , " Now you want me to talk slander, but I won't do it. I admire the Miss Tristrams exceedingly, and especially Julia." "And which is Juha?" " The youngest ; that one riding by herself." MONKTON GKANGE. i03 " And why don't you go and express your admiration ? " " Ah, me ! why don't we all express the admiration that we feel, and pour sweet praises into the ears of the lady that excites it ? Be- cause we are cowards. Miss Eurnival, and are afraid even of such a weak thing as a woman." " Dear me ! I should hardly have thought that you would suffer from such terror as that." " Because you don't quite know me, Miss Purnival." "And Miss Julia Tristram is the lady that has excited it ? " _ " If it be not she, it is some other fair votary of Diana at present riding into Monkton Wood." "Ah, now you are giving me a riddle to guess, and I never guess riddles. I won't even try at it. But they all seem to be stopping." " Yes, they are putting the hounds into covert. Now if you want to show yourself a good sportsman, look at your watch. Tou see that JuHa Tristram has got hers in her hand." "What's that for?" " To time the hounds ; to see how long they'll be before they find. It's very pretty work in a small gorse, but in a great wood like this I don't care much for being so accurate. But for Heaven's sake don't teE JuHa Tristram ; I should not have a chance if she thought I was so slack." And now the hounds were scattering themselves in the wood, and the party rode up the centre roadway towards a great circular opening in the middle of it. Here it was the recognised practice of the horsemen to stand, and those who properly did their duty would stand there; but very many lingered at the gate, knowing that there was but one other exit from the wood, without overcoming the difficulty of a very intricate and dangerous fence. " There be a gap, baint there ? " said one farmer to another, as they were entering. " Yes, there be a gap, and young Grabbles broke his 'orse's back a getting over of it last year," said the second farmer. "Did he though?" said the first; and so they both remained at the gate. A!nd others, a numerous body, including most of the ladies, galloped up and down the cross ways, because the master of the hounds and the huntsman did so. " D those feUows riding up and down after me wherever I go," said the master. " I believe they think I'm to be hunted." This seemed to be said more especially to Miss Tristram, who was always in the master's confidence; and I fear that the fellows alluded to included Miss Furnival and Miss Staveley. And then there came the sharp, eager sound of a hound's voice ; a single, sharp, happy opening bark, and Harriet Tristram was the first to declare that the game was found. " Just five minutes and twenty seconds, my lord," said Julia Tristram to Lord Alston. "That's not bad in a large wood like this.'i 204 ORLEY PARK, "Uncommonly good," said his lordship. "And when are we to get out of it ? " "They'll be here for the next hour, I'm afraid," said the lady, not moving her horse from the place where she stood, though many of the more impetuous of the men were already rushing away to the gates. " I have seen a fox go away from here without resting a minute; but that was later in the season, at the end of February. Poxes are away from home then." All which observations showed a wonderfully acute sporting observation on the part of Miss Tristram. And then the music of the dogs became fast and frequent, as they drove the brute .across and along from one part of the large wood to another. Sure there was no sound like it for filling a man's heart with an eager desire to be at work. What may be the trumpet in battle I do not know, but I can imagine that it has the same effect. And now a few of them were standing on that wide circular piece of grass, when a sound the most exciting of them all reached their ears. " He's away ! " shouted a whip from the corner of the wood. The good-natured beast, though as yet it was hardly past Christmas- time, had consented to bless at once so many anxious sportsmen, and had left the back of the covert with the full pack at his heels. " There is no gate that way. Miss Tristram," said a gentleman. " There's a double ditch and bank that will do as well," said she, and away she went directly after the hounds, regardless altogether of the gates. Peregrme Orme and Fehx Graham, who were with her, followed close upon her track. CHAPTER XXIX. BBEAKIKS COVBET. "There's a double ditch and bank that will do as well," Miss Tristram had said when she was mformed that there was no gate out of the wood at the side on which the fox had broken. The gentleman who had tendered the information might as well have held his tongue, for Miss Tristram knew the wood intimately, was acquainted with the locality of all its gates, and was acquainted also with the po'nts at which it might be left, without the assistance of any gate at aU, by those who were well mounted and could ride their horses. There- fore she had thus replied, "There's a double ditch and bank that will do as well." And for the double ditch and bank at the end of one of the grassy roadways Miss Tristram at once prepared herself. "That's the gap where Grabbles broke his horse's back," said a man in a red coat to Peregrine Orme, and so saying he made np his wavering BREAKING COVBKT. 205 mind and gallopecL away as fast as his nag could carry him. Bat Peregrine would not avoid a fence at which a lady was not afraid to ride ; and Felix Graham, knowing little but fearing nothing, followed Peregrine Orme. At the end of the roadway, in the middle of the track, there was the gap. Per a footman it was doubtless the easiest way over the fence, for the ditch on that side was half filled up, and there was space enough left of the half-broken bank for a man's scrambling feet ; but Miss Tristram at once knew that it was a bad place for a horse. The second or further ditch was the really difficult obstacle, and there was no footing in the gap from which a horse could take his leap. To the right of this the fence was large and required a good horse, but Miss Tristram knew her animal and was accustomed to large fences. The trained beast went well across on to the bank, poised himself there for a moment, and taking a second spring carried his mistress across into the further field apparently with ease. In that field the dogs were now running altogether, so that a sheet might have covered them; and Miss Tristram, exulting within her heart and holding in her horse, knew that she had got away uncom- monly well. Peregrine Orme followed, — a little to the right of the lady's passage, so 'that he might have room for himself, and do no mischief in the event of Miss Tristram or her horse making any mistake at the leap. He also got well over. But, alas ! in spite of such early success he was destined to see nothing of the hunt that day ! Telix Graham, thinking that he would obey instructions by letting his horse do as he pleased, permitted the beast to come close upon Orme's track, and to make his jump before Crme's horse had taken his second spring. " Have a care," said Peregrine, feehng that the t\i;o were together on the bank, "or you'll shove me into the ditch." He however got well over. JFelix, attempting to "have a care" just when his doing so could be of no avail, gave his horse a pull with the curb as he was ])re- paring for his second spring. The outside ditch was broad and deep and well banked up, and required that an animal should have all his power. It was at such a moment as this that he should have been left to do his work without injudicious impediment from his rider. But poor Graham was thinking only of Orme's caution, and attempted to stof the beast when any positive and absolute stop was out of the question. The horse made his jump, and, crippled as he was, jumped short. He came with his knees against the further bank, threw his rider, and then in his struggle to right himself rolled over him. Felix felt at once that he was much hurt — that he had indeed come to grief; but still he was not stunned nor did he lose his presence of mind. The horse succeeded in gaining Lis feet, and then Felix also jumped up and even walked a step or two towards the head of the animal with the object of taking th? reins. But he found 906 OSLEY FABK. that he could not laise his arm, and he found also that he could hardly breathe. Both Peregrine and Miss Tristram looked back. "There's nothing wrong I hope," said the lady ; and then she rode on. And let it be understood that in hunting those who are in advance generally do ride on. The lame and the halt and the wounded, if they cannot pick themselves up, have to be picked up by those who come after them. But Peregrine saw that there was no one else coming that way. The memory of young Grubbles' fate had placed an interdict on that pass out of the wood, which nothing short of the pluck and science of Miss Tristram was able to disregard. Two cavaliers she had carried with her. One she had led on to instant slaughter, and the other remamed to-look after his fallen brother-in-arms. Miss Tristram in the mean time was in the next field and had settled well down to .her work. " Are you hurt, old fellow ? " said Peregrine, turning back his horse, but still not -dismounting. " Not much, I think," said Graham, smUing. " There's something wrong about my arm, — but don't you wait." And then he found that he spoke with difficuity. " Can you mount again ? " " I don't think I'll mind that. Perhaps Pd better sit down." Then Peregrine Orme knew that Graham was hurt, and jumping off his own horse he gave up all hope of the hunt. " Here, you fellow, come and hold these horses." So invoked a boy who in following the sport had got as far as this ditch did as he was bid, and scrambled over. " Sit down, Graham ; thei-e ; I'm afraid you are hurt. Did he roU on you?" But Pelix merely looked up into his face, — still smiling. He was now very pale, and for the moment could not speak. Peregrine came close to him, and gently attempted to raise the wounded limb ; whereupon Graham shuddered, and shook his head. " I fear it is broken," said Peregrine. Graham nodded his head, and raised his left hand to his breast ; and Peregrin'e then knew that some- thing else was amiss also. I don't know any feeling more disagreeable than that produced by being left alone in a field, when out hunting, with a man who has been very much hurt and who is incapable of nding or walking. The hurt man himself has the privilege of his infirmities and may remain quies- cent ; but you, ks his only attendant, must do something. You must for the moment do aU, and if you do wrong the whole responsibility has on your shoulders. If you leave a wounded man on the damp ground, in the middle of winter, while you run away, five miles perhaps, to the next doctor, he may not improbably — as you then think — be dead before you come back, lou don't know the way ; you are heavy yourself, and your boots are very heavy. You must stay therefore ; but as you are no doctor you don't in the least know what is the amount of the injury. In your great trouble you begin to roar for assistance; but the woods re-echo your words, and the disfaut souud of the hsstsniau') BBEAKINS COYBBT. 207 horn, as he summons his hounds at a check, only mocks your agony. But Peregrine had a boy with him. "Get upon that horse," he said at last ; " ride round to Parmer Griggs, and tell them to send some- body here with a spring cart. He has got a spring cart I know ;— and a mattress in it." " But I haint no gude at roiding like,'' said the boy, looking with dismay at Onne's big horse. " Then run ; that will be better, for you can go through the wood. You know where Farmer Griggs lives. The first farm the other side of the Grange." " Ay, ay, I knows where Farmer Griggs lives weU enough." " Run then ; and if the cart is here in half an hour I'll give you a sovereign." Inspirited by the hopes of such wealth, golden wealth, wealth for a lifetime, the boy was quickly back over the fence, and Peregrine was left alone with PeKx Graham. He was now sitting down, with his feet hanging into the ditch, and Peregrine was kneeling behind him. " I am sorry I can do nothing more," said he ; " but I fear we must remain here till the cart comes." "I am — so — vexed — about your hunt," said Pelix, gasping as he spoke. He had in fact broken his right arm which, had been twisted under him as the horse rolled, and two of his ribs had been staved in by the pommel of his saddle. Many men have been worse hurt and have hunted again before the end of the season, but the fracture of three bones does make a man uncomfortable for the time. " Now the cart — ^is — sent for, couldn't you — go on ? " But it was not likely that Peregrine Orme would do that. " Never mind me," he said. " When a fellow is hurt he has always to do as he's told. You had better iave a drop of sherry. Look here : Pve got a flask at my saddle. There ; you cau Support yourself with that arm a moment. Did you ever see horses stand so quiet ? Pve got hold of yours, and now FU fasten them together. I say, Whitefoot, you don't kick, do you ? " And then he contrived to picket the horses to two branches, and having got out his case of sherry, poured a small modicum into the silver mug which was attached to the apparatus, and again supported Graham while he drank. " You'll be as right as a trivet by-and-by ; only you'll have to make Noningsby your head-quarters for the next six weeks." And then the same idea passed through the mind of each of them ; — how Uttle a man need be pitied for such a misfortune if Madeline Stave- ley would consent to be ms nurse. No man could have less surgical knowledge than Peregrine Orme, but nevertheless he was such a man a? one would like to have with him if one came to grief in such a way. He was clieery and up- hearted, but at the same time gentle and even thoughtful. His voice was pleasant and his touch could be soft. For many years afterwards FcUx remembered how that sherry had been held to his lips, and how the young heur of The Cleeve had knelt behind him in his red coat, •upporting hira as he became weary with waiting, and saying pleasant 308 OBLST FARM. words to him through the whole, Felix Graham was a man who would remember such things. In running through the wood the boy first eneountered three horse- men. They were the judge, with his daughter Madehne and Miss i'urnival. "There be a mon there who be a'most dead," said the boy, liardly able to speak for want of breath. " I be agoing for Farmer Griggs's cart." And then they stopped him a moment to ask for some description, but the boy could tell them nothing to indicate that the wounded man was one of their friends. It might however be Augustus, and so the three rode on quickly towards the fence, knowing nothing of the circumstances of the ditches which would make it out of their power to get to the fallen sportsman. But Peregrine heard the sound of the horses and the voices of the horsemen. " By Jove, there's a lot of them coming down here," said he. " It's the judge and two of the girls. Oh, Miss Staveley, I'm so glad you've come. Graham has had a bad fall and hurt liimself. You haven't a shawl, have you ? the ground is so wet under liim." " It doesn't signify at all," said Felix, looking round and seeing the faces of his friends on the other side of the bank. Madeline Staveley gave a sUght shriek which her father did not notice, but which Miss Fumival heard very plainly. " Oh ! papa," she said, " cannot you get over to him ? " And then she began to bethink herself whether it were possible that she should give up something of her dress to protect the man who was hurt from the damp muddy ground on which he lay. "Can you hold my horse, dear ? " said the judge, slowly dismounting; for the judge, though he rode every day on sanitary considerations, had not a sportsman's celerity in leaving and recovering his saddle. But he did get down, and burdened as he was with a great-coat, lie did succeed in crossing that accursed fence. Accursed it was from lienceforward in the armals of the H. H., and none would ride it but dare-devils who professed themselves willing to go at anything. Miss Tristram, however, always declared that there was nothing in it — though she avoided it herself, whispering to her friends that she had led others to grief there, and might possibly do so again if she persevered. "Could you hold the horse?" said Madeline to Miss Furnival; " and I will go for a shawl to the carriage." Miss Furnival declared that to the best of her behef she could not, but nevertheless the animal was left with hsr, and Madeline turned round and galloped back towards the carriage. She made her horse do his best though her eyes were nearly blinded with tears, and went straight on for the carriage, though she would have given much for a moment to hide those tears before she reached it. "Oil, mamma! give me a thick shawl; Mr. Graham has hurt himself in the field, and is lying on the grass." And then in some incoherent and quick manner she had to explain what she knew of the accident Sefore she could get p caiTiage-c''^(ak out of the carriage. Xlu^ BREAKING COVEET. 209 lOWever, she did succeed, in doing, and in some manner, very unintelligible to henself afterwards, slie did gallop back with her burden. She passed the cloak over to Peregrine, who clambered up the bank to get it, while the judge remained on the ground, supporting the young barrister. Eelix Graham, though he was weak, was not stunned or senseless, and he knew well who it was that had procured for him that comfort. And then the carriage followed Madeline, and there was quite a concourse of servants and horses and ladies on the inside of the fence. But the wounded man was still unfortunately on the other side. No cart from Farmer Griggs made its appearance, though it was now more than half an hour since the boy had gone. Carts, when they are wanted in such sudden haste, do not make their appearance. It was two miles through the wood to Mr. Griggs's farm-yard, and more than three mUes back by any route which the cart could take. And then it might be more than probable that in Farmer Griggs's estabUshment there was not always a horse ready in harness, or a groom at hand prepared to yoke him. Peregrine had become very impatient, and had more than once invoked a silent anathema on the farmer's head ; but nevertheless there was no appearance of the cart. " We must get him across the ditches into the carriage/' said the judge. " If Lady Staveley will let us do that,'' said Peregrine. "The difficulty is not with Lady Staveley but with these nasty ditches," said the judge, for he had been up to his knees in one of them, and the water had penetrated his boots. But the task was at last done. Mrs. Arbuthnot stood up on the back seat of the 3arriage so that she might liold the horses, and the coachman and footman got across into the field. " It would be better to let me lie here all day," said Felix, as three of them struggled back with their burden, the judge bringing up the rear with two hunting-whips and Peregrine's cap. " How on earth any one would think of riding over such a place as that ! " said the judge. But then, when he had been a young man it had not been the custom for barristers to go out hunting. Madeline, as she saw the wounded man carefully laid on the back seat of the carriage, almost wished that she could have her mother's place that she might support him. Would they be careful enough with him? Would they remember how terrible must be the pain of that notion to one so hurt as he was? And then she looked into his Aioe as he was made to lean back, and she saw that he still smiled. Felix Graham was by no means a handsome man ; I should hardly sin against the truth if I were to say that he was ugly. But Madeline, as slie looked at him now, lying there utterly without colour but always with that smue on his countenance, thought that no face to her liking had ever oeen more gracious. She still rode close lo them as thoy j went down the grassy road, saying never a word. And Miss Furnival rode there also, somewhat m the rear, condoling with the judge as to his wet feet. 14 910 OBLEY FAHU. "Miss Pumival," he said, "when a judge forgets himself and goes out hunting he has no right to expect anything better. What would your father have said had he seen me clambering up the bank with young Orme's hunting cap between my teeth ? I positively did." " He would have rushed to assist you," said Miss Purnival, with a little burst of enthusiasm which was hardly needed on the occasion. And then Peregrine came after them leading Grraham's horse. He had been compelled to return to the field and ride both the horses back into the wood, one after the other, while the footman held them. That riding back over fences in cold blood is the work that really tries a man's nerve. And a man has to do it too when no one is looking on. How he does crane and falter and look about for an easy place at such a moment, as that ! But when the blood is cold no places are easy. The procession got , back to Koninesby without adventure, and Graham as a matter of course was taken up to his bed. One of the servants had been despatched to Alston for a surgeon, and in an hour or two the extent of the misfortune was known. The right arm was broken — "very favourably," as the doctor observed. But two ribs were broken — " rather unfavourably." There was some talk of haemorrhage and inward wounds, and Sir Jacob from Seville Row was suggested by Lady Staveley. But the judge, knowing the extent of Graham's means, made some further preliminary inquiries, and it was considered that Sir Jacob would not be needed — at any rate not as yet. "Why don't they send for him?" said Madeline to her mother with rather more than her wonted energy. " Your papa does not think it necessary, my dear. It would be very expensive, you know." " But, mamma, would you let a man die because it would cost a few pounds to cure him ? " " My dear, we all hope that Mr. Graham won't die — at any rate not at present. If there be any danger you may be sure that your papa will send for the best advice." ' But Madeline was by no means satisfied. She could not understand economy in a matter of life and death. If Sir Jacob's coming would have cost fifty pounds, or a hundred, what would that have signiiied, weighed in such a balance ? Such a sum would be nothing to her . father. Had Augustus fallen, and broken his arm all the Sir Jacobs in London would not have been considered too costly could their joint coming have mitigated any danger. She did not however dare to speak to her mother again, so she said a word or two to Peregruie Orme, who was constant in his attendance on Felix. Peregiine had been very kind, and she had seen it, and her heart therefore warmed towards him. "Don't you think he ought to have more advice, Mr. Orme ? " " Well, no ; I don't know. He's very jolly, you know ; only he can't talk. One of the bones ran into him, but T believe he's all right." AVOTHEE lALL. 211 " Oh, but that is so frightful ! " and the tears were again in her eyes. " If I were him I should think one doetor enough. TBut it's easy enough having a fellow down from London, you know, if you like it." " If he should get worse, Mr. Orme ." And then Peregrine made her a sort of promise, but in doing so an idea shot through his poor heart of what the truth might really be. He went baek and looked at FeKx who was sleeping. " If it is so I must bear it," he said to himself; "but Til fight it on;" and a quick thought ran through his brain of his own deficiencies. He knew that he was not clever and bright in talk like Pelix Graham. He could not say the right thing at the right moment without forethought. How he wished that he could ! But still he would fight it on, as he would have done any losing match, — to the last. And then he sat down by Felix's head, and resolved that he would be loyal to his new friend all the same — loyal iu all things needful. But still he would fight it on. CHAPTER XXX. ANOTHEa PALL. Felix Gkabam had plenty of nurses, but Madeline was not one of them. Augustus Staveley came home while the Alston doetor was still busy at the broken bones, and of course he would not leave his friend. He was one of those who had succeeded in the hunt, and con- sequently had heard nothing of the accident till the end of it. Miss Tristram had been the first to tell him that Mr. Graham' had fallen in leaving the covert, but having seen him rise to his legs she had not thought he was seriously hurt. " I do not know much about your friend," she had said ; " but I think I may comfort you by an assurance that your horse is none the worse. I could see as much as that." " Poor Felix ! " said Staveley. " He has lost a magnificent run. I suppose we are nine or ten miles from Monkton Grange now ? " " Eleven, if we are a yard," said the lady. " It was an ugly country, but the pace was nothing wonderful." And then others dropped in, and at last came tidings about Graham. At first there was a whisper that he was dead. He had ridden over Orme, it was said; had nearly killed him, and had quite killed himself. Then the report became less fatal. Both horses were dead, but Graham was still living though with most of his bones broken. "Don't beheve it," said Miss Tristram. "In what condition Mr. Gsaham may be I won't say ; but that your horse was safe and soiwd 14-2 819 OELEY PABM after he got over the fence, of that you may take my word." Andthiu, in a state of uncertainty, obtaining fresh rumours from every person he passed, Staveley hurried home. " Eight arm and two ribs," Peregrine said to him, as he met him in the hall. " Is that all? " said Augustus. It was clear therefore that he did not think so much about it as his "If you had let her have her head she'd never have come^ down lifke that," Augustus said, as he sat that evening by his friend's bed- side. " But he pulled off, I fancy, to avoid riding over me, ' said Pere- grine. ■■■ " Then he must have come too quick at his leap," said Augustus. "You should have steadied him as he came to it." From all which Graham perceived that a man cannot learn how to ride any particular horse by two or three words of precept. "If you talk any more about the horse, or the hunt, or the accident, neither of you shall stay in the room," said Lady Staveley, who came in at that moment. But they both did stay in the room, and said a great deal more about the hunt, and the horse, and the accident before they left it ; and even became so far reconciled to the circumstance that they had a hot glass of brandy and water each, sitting by Graham's fire. " But, Augustus, do teU me how he is," Madeline said to her brother, as she caught him going to his room. She had become ashamed of asking any more questions of her mother. "He's all right; only he'll be as fretful as a porcuj)ine, shut up there. At least I should be. Are there lots of novels in the house ? Mind you send for a batch to-morrow. Novels are the only chance a man has when he's laid up like that." Before breakfast on the following morning Madeline had sent off to the Alston circulating library a list of all the best new novels of which she could remember the names. No definite day had hitherto been fixed for Peregrine's return to The Cleeve, and under the present circumstances he still remained at Nonmgsby assisting to amuse Pelix Graham. Por two days after the iccident such seemed to be his sole occupation ; but in truth he was looking for an opportunity to say a word or two to Miss Staveley, and paving his way as best lie might for that great speech which he was fully resolved that he would make before he left the house. Once or twice he bethought himself whether he would not endeavour to secure for himself some confidant in the family, and obtain the sanction and special friendship either of Madeline's mother, or her sister, or her brother. But what if after that she should reject him ? Would it not be worse for him then that any one should have known of his defeat ? He could, as he thought, endure to suffer alone ; but on such a matter as that pity would be unendurable. So as he sat there by Graham's fireside, pretending to read one of poor Madeline's novels for the sake ol companionship, he determined that he would tell no one of his mtention; — no one till he could make the opportunity for telling hfr. ANOTHER FALL. 213 And wlien he did meet lier, and find, now and ajjain, some moment for saying a word alone to her, she was very gracious to him. He liad been so kind and gentle with Felix, there was so much m him that was sweet and good an honest, so much that such an event as this brought forth and made manifest, that Madeline, and indepd the whole family, could not but be gracious to him. Augustus • would declare that he was the greatest brick he had ever known, repeating all Graham's words as to the patience with which the embryo baronet had knelt behind him on the cold muddy ground, supporting him for an hour, till the carriage had come up. Under such circumstances how could Madeline refrain from being gracious to him? " But it is all from favour to Graham ! " Peregrine would say to himself with bitterness ; and yet though he said so he did not quite believe it. Poor fellow ! It was all from favour to Graham. And could he have thoroughly believed the truth of those words which lie repeated to himself so often, he might have spared himself much pain. He might have spared himself much "pain, and possibly some injury ; for if aught could now tend to mature in Madeline's heart an affection which was but as yet nascent, it would be the offer of some other lover. But such reasoning on the matter was much too deep for Peregrine Orme. "It may be," he said to himself, "that she only pities him because he is hurt. If so, is not this time better for me than any other ? If it be that she loves him, let me know it, and be out of my pain." It did not then occur to him that circumstances such as those in question could not readily be made expUoit ; — that Madeline might refuse his love, and yet leave him no wiser than he now was as to her reasons for so refusing; — perhaps, indeed, leave him less wise, with increased cause for doubt and hopeless hope, and the green melancholy of a rejected lover. Madeline during these two days said no more about the London doctor ; but it was plain to all who watched her that her anxiety as to the patient was much more keen than that of the other ladies of the house. " She always thinks everybody is going to die," Lady Staveley said to Miss Furnival, intending, not with any consummate prudence, to account to that acute young lady for her daughter's solicitude. " We had a cook here, three months since, who was very Ul, and Madeline would never be easy till the doctor assured her that the poor woman's danger was altogether past." " She IS so very warm-hearted," said Miss Purnival in reply. " It is quite delightful to see her. And she will have such pleasure when she sees him come down from his room." Lady Staveley on this immediate occasion said nothing to her daugh- ter, but Mrs. Arbuthnot considered that a sisterly word might perhaps be spoken in due season. " The doctor says he is doing quite well now," Mrs. Arbuthnot said to her, as they were sittin^alone. "But does he indeed ? Did you hear him ? " said Madeline, who was ■uspicious. 214 OllLEY PAUM. " He did so, indeed. I heard him myself. But he says also that ha ought to remain here, at any rate for the next fortnight, — if mamma can permit it without inconvenience," " Of course she can permit it . No one would turn any person out of their housei n such a condition as tliat ! " " Papa and mamma both will be very happy that he should stay here ; —of course they would not do what you call turning him out. But, Mad, my darling," — and then she came up close and put her arm round her sister's waist, — " I think mamma would be more comfortable iu his remaining here if your charity towards him were — what sh&ll I say ? — less demonstrative." " What do you mean, Isabella ? " " Dearest, detirest ; you must not be angry with me. Nobody has hinted to me a word on the subject, nor do I mean to hint anything that can possibly be hurtful to you." " But what do you mean ? " " Don't you know, dariing ? He is a young man — and — and — people see with such unkind eyes, and hear with such scandal-loving ears. There is that Miss Eumival " " If Miss Fumival can think such things, I for one do not care what she thinks." " No, nor do I ; — not as regards any important result. But may it not be well to be careful ? You know what I mean, dearest ? " " Yes — 1 know. At least I suppose so. And it makes me know also how very cold and shallow and neartless people are ! I won't ask any more questions, Isabella ; but I can't know that a fellow-creature is suffering in the house, — and a person like him too, so clever, whom we all regard as a friend, — the most' intimate friend in the world that Augustus has, — said the best too, as I heard papa himself say, — withe it caring whether he is going to live or die." " There is no danger now, you know." " Very well ; I am glad to hear it. Though I know very well thai tnere must be danger after such a terrible accident as that." "The doctor says there is none." "At any rate I will not "And then instead of finishing her sen- tence she turned away her head and put up her handkerchief to wipe away a tear. " You are not angry with me, dear ? " said Mrs. Arbuthnot. " Oh, no," said Madeline ; and then they parted. For some days after that Madeliae asTked no question whatever about Telix Graham, but it may be doubted whether this did not make the matter worse. Even Sophia Fumival would ask how he was at any rate twice a day, and Lady Staveley continued to pay him regular visits at stated intervals. As he got better she would sit with him, and brought back reports as to his sayings. But Madeline never discussed any of these; and refrained alike from the conversation, whether hw broken bones or his unbroken wit were to be the subject of it. And then Mrs. Arbuthnot, knowing that she wnvild still oe anxious, gave her private bulletins as to tM AKOIHEK PALL. 215 State of the sick man's progress ; — all which gave an air of secrecy to the matter, and caused even Madeline to ask herself why this should be so. On the whole I think that Mrs. Arbuthnot was wrong. Mrs. Ar- buthnot and the whole Staveley family would have regarded a mutual attachment between Mr. Graham and Madeline as a great family misfortune. The judge was a considerate father to his children, holding that a father's control should never be brought to bear unnecessarily. In looking forward to the future prospecst of his sons and daughters it was his theory that they should be free to choose their life's com- panions for themselves. But nevertheless it could not be agreeable to him that his daughter should fall in love with a man who had nothing, and whose future success at his own profession seemed to be so very doubtful. On the whole I think that Mrs. Arbuthnot was wrong, and that the feebng that did exist in Madeline's bosom might more possibly have died away, had no word been said about it — even by a sister. And then another event happened which forced her to look into her own heart. Peregrine Orme did make his proposal. He waited patiently during those two or three days in which the doctor's visits were frequent, feeling that he could not talk about himself while any sense of danger pervaded the house". But then at last a morning came on which the surgeon declared that he need not call again till the morrow; and FeUx himself, when the medical back was turned, suggested that it might as well be to-morrow ■ week. He began also to scold his friends, and look bright about the eyes, and drink his glass of sherry in a pleasant dinner-table fashion, not as if he were swallowing his physic. And Peregrine, when he saw all this, resolved that the moment had come for the doing of his deed of danger. The time would soon come at which he must leave Noningsby, and he would not leave Noningsby till he had learned his fate. Lady Staveley, who with a mother's eye had seen ner daughter's solicitude for iPelix Graham's recovery, — had seen it, and animad- verted on it to herself, — had seen also, or at any rate had suspected, .aat Peregrine Orme looked on her daughter with favouring eyes. Now Peregriije Orme would have satisfied Lady Staveley as a sou- iii-law. She liked his ways and manners of thought— in spite of those rumours as to the rat-catchmg which had reached her ears. She regarded him as quite clever enough to be a good husband, and no doubt appreciated the fact that' he was to inherit his title and The Cleeve from an old grandfather instead of a middle-aged father. She therefore had no objection to leave Peregrine alone with her one ewe-lamb, and therefore the opportunity which he sougM was at last found. " I shall be leaving Noningsby to-morrow. Miss Staveley," he said one day, having secured an interview in the back drawing-room — in that happy half-hour which occurs in winter before the world betakes itself to dress. Now I here profess my belief, that out of every 216 OBLBT I'AUH. ten set offers made bjr ten joung lovers, nine of such offers are commenced with an intimation that the lover is going away. Thero is a dash of melancholy in such tidings well suited to the occasion. If there be any spark of love on the other side it wiU be elicited by the idea of a separation. And then, also, it is so frequently the actual fact. This making of an oifer is in itself a hard piece of business, — a job to be postponed from day to day. It is so post- poned, and thus that dasli of melancholy, and that idea of separation, are brought in at the important moment with so much appropriate truth. " I shall be leaving Noningsby to-morrow, Miss Staveley," Peregrine said. " Oh dear ! we shall be so sorry. But why are you going ? What will Mr. Graham and Augustus do without you ? You ought to stay at least till Mr. Graham can leave his room." " Poor Graham ! — not that I think he is much to be pitied either ; but he won't be about for some weeks to come yet." " You do not think he is worse ; do you ? " " Ofa, dear, no ; not at all." And Peregrine was unconsciously irritated against his friend by the regard which her tone evinced. "He is quite well; only they will not let him be moved. But, Miss Staveley, it was not of Mr. Graham that I was going to speak." "No — only I thought he would miss you so much." And then she blushed, though the blush in the dark of the evening was lost upon him. She remembered that she was not to speak about Felix Graham's health, and it almost seemed as though Mr. Orme had rebuked her for doing so in saying that he had not come there to speak of him. " Lady Staveley's house has been turned up side down since this affair, and it is time now that some part of the trouble should cease." " Oh ! mamma does not mind it at all." " I know how good she is ; but nevertheless. Miss Staveley, I must go to-morrow." And then he paused a moment before he spoke again. " It will depend entirely upon you," he said, " whether I may have the happiness of returning soon to Noningsby." "Onme, Mr. Orme!" " Yes, on you. I do not know how to speak properly that which I have to say ; but I believe I may as well say it out at once. I have come here now to tell you that I love you and to ask you to be my wife." And then he stopped as though there were nothing more for him to say upon the matter. It would be hardly extravagant to declare that Madeline's breath was taken away by the very sudden manner in which young Orme had made his proposition. It had never entered her head that she had an admirer in him. Previously to Graham's accident she had thought nothing about him. Since that event she had thought about him a good deal ; but altogether as of a friend of Graham's. He had been good and kind to Graham, and therefore she bad liked him and had talked to him. He had never said a word to her that had taught her to regard him as a possible lover ; and now that he was ASOTHER -HALL. 217 aft actual lover, a declared lever standing before her, waiting for an answer, slie was so astonished tliat she did not know how to speak. All her ideas, too, as to love, — such ideas as she had ever formed, were confounded by this abruptness. She would have thought, had she brought herself absolutely to think upon it, that all speech of love should be very delicate; that love should grow slowly, and then be whispered softly, doubtingly, and with infinite care. Even had she loved him, or had she been- in the way towards loving him, such violence as this would have frightened her and scared her love away. Poor Peregrine ! His intentions had been so good and honest ! He was so true and hearty, and free from all conceit in the matter ! It was a pity that he should have marred his cause by such ill judgment. But there he stood waiting an answer, — and expecting it to be as open, definite and plain as though he had asked her to take a walk with him. " Madeline," he said, stretching out his hand when he perceived that she did not speak to him at once. " There is my hand. If it be possible give me yours." " Oh, Mr. Orme ! " " I know that I have not said what I had to say very, — very grace- fully. But you will not regard that I think. You are too good, and too true." She had now seated herself, and he was standmg before her. She had retreated to a sofa in order to avoid the hand which he had offered her ; but he followed her, and even yet he did not know that he had no chance of success. " Mr. Orme," she said at last, speaking hardly above her breath, " what has made you do this ? " " What has made me do it ? What has made me tell you that I love you ? " " You cannot be in earnest ! " " Not in earnest 1 By Heavens, Miss Staveley, no man who has said the same words was ever more in earnest. Do you doubt me when I tell you that I love you ? " " Oh, I am so sorry ! " And then she hid her face upon the arm of the sofa and burst into tears. Peregrine stood there, like a prisoner on his trial, waiting for a verdict. He did not know how to plead his cause witli any further language; and indeed no further language could have been of any avail. The judge and jury were clear against him, and he should have known the sentence without waiting to have it pronounced in set terms. But in plain words he had made his offer, and in plain words he required that an answer should be given to him. " Well," he said, " will you not speak to me ? Will you not tell me whether it shall be so r " " No, — no, — no," she said. " You mean that you cannot love me." And as he said this the agony of his tone struck her ear and made her feel that he was sufferin|f. Hitherto she had thought only of herself, and had hardly recognised it a." 8 fac^ that he could oe thoroughly in earnest. 318 0BL1:T pabu. " Mr. Orme, I am very sorry. Do not speak as though you were angry with me. But " " 5ut you cannot love me ? " And then he stood again silent, for there was no reply. " Is it that. Miss Staveley, that you mean to answer ? If you say that with positive assurance, I will trouble you no longer." Poor Peregrine ! He was but an unskilled lover ! " No ! " she sobbed forth through her tears ; but he had so framed his question that he hardly knew what No meant. " Do you mean that you cannot love me, or may I hope that a day will come . May I speak to you again ? " "Oh, no, no! I can answer you now. It grieves me to the heart, I know you are so good. But, Mr. Orme " "WeU^" "It can never, never be.'' " And I must take that as answer ? " " I can make no other." He still stood before her, — with gloomy and almost angry brow, could she have seen him; and then he thought he would ask her whether there was any other love which had brought about her scorn for him. It did not occur to him, at the first moment, that in doing so he would insult and injure her. " At any rate I am not flattered by a reply which is at once so decided," he began by saying. " Oh ! Mr. Orme, do not make me more unhappy ■" " But perhaps I am too late. Perhaps " Then he remembeied himself and paused. " Never mind," he said, speaking to himself rather than to her. " Good-bye, Miss Staveley. You will at any rate eay good-bye to me. I shall go at once now." " Go at once ! Go away, Mr. Orme ? " " Yes ; why should I stay here ? Do you think that I could sit down to table with you all after that ? I will ask your brother to explain my going ; I shall find him in his room. Good-bye." Slic took his hand mechanically, and then he left her. When she came down to dinner she looked furtively round to his place and saw iat it was vacant. CHAPTER XXXI. FOOTSTEPS IN THE COKRIDOR. " UroN my word I am very sorry,'' said the judge. " But what made him go off so suddenly ? I hope there's nobody ill at The Cleeve ! " And then the judge took his first spoonful of soup., , . "No, no; there is nothing of that sort," said Augustus. "His grandfather wants him, and Orme thought he might as well stai't at once. He was always a sudden harum-scarum fellow like that." FOOTSTEPS IN THE COEEIDOB. 219 " He's a very pleasant, nice young man," said Lady Stareley ; " and never gives himself any airs. I like him exceedingly." Poor Madeline did not dare to look either at her mother or her brother, but she would have given much to know whether either of them were aware of the cause which had sent Peregrine Orme so suddenly away from the house. At first she thought that Augustus surely did know, and sTie was wretched as she thought that ne might probably speak to her on the subject. But he went on talking about Orme and his abrupt departure till she became convinced that he knew nothmg and suspected nothing of what had occurred. But her mother said never a word after that eulogium which she had uttered, and Madeline read that eulogium altogether aright. It said to her ears that if ever young Orme should again come for- ward with his suit her mother would be prepared to receive him as a suitor ; and it said, moreover, that if that suitor had been already sent away by any harsh answer, she would not sympathise with that harshness. The dinner went on much as usual, but MadeUne could not bring herself to say a word. She sat between her brother-in-law, Mr. Arbuthnot, on one side, and an old friend of her father's, of thirty years' standing, on the other. The old friend talked exclusively to Lady Staveley, and Mr. Arbuthnot, though he now and then uttered a wOrd or two, was chifefly occupied with his dinner. Dunng the last three or four days she had sat at dinner next to Peregrine Orme, and it seemed to her now that she always had been able to talk to him. She had liked him so much too ! Was it not a pity that he should have been so mistaken ! And then as she sat after dinner, eating five or six grapes, she felt that she was unable to recall he- spirits and look and speak as she was wont to do ; a thing had happened which had knocked the ground from under her — had thrown her from her equipoise, and now she lacked the strength to recover herself and hide her dismay. After dinner, while the gentlemen were still in the dining-room she got a book, and nobody disturbed her as she sat alone pretend- ing to read it. There never had been any intimate friendship between her and Miss Furnival, and that young lady was now em- ployed in taking the chief part in a general conversation about wools. Lady Staveley got through a good deal of wool in the course of the year, as also did the wife of the old thirty-years' friend; but Miss Purnival, short as her experience had been, was able to give a few hints to them both, and did not throw away the occasion. There was another lady there, rather deaf, to whom Mrs. Arbuth- not devoted herself, and therefore Madeline was allowed to be alone. Then the men came in, and she was obliged to qome forward and officiate at the tea-table. The judge insisted on having the teaoot and urn brought into the drawing-room, and liked to have his cup brought to Lim by one of his own daughters. So she went to work 220 *: OSLET PAKM. and made the tea, tut still she felt that she scarcely knew how to go through Jier task. What had happened to her that she should be thus beside herself, and hardly capable of refraining from open tears ? She knew that her mother was looking at her, and that now and «gain little things were done to give her ease if any ease were possible. "Is anything the matter with my Madeline?" said her father, looking up into her face, and holding the hand from which he had taken his cup. " No, papa ; only I have got a headache." " A headache, dear ; that's not usual with you." " I have seen that she has not been well all the evening," said Lady Staveley ; " but I thought that perhaps she might shake it off. You had better go, my dear, if you are suffering. Isabella, I'm sure, will pour out the tea for us." And so she got away, and skulked slowly up stairs to her own room. She felt that it was skulking. Why should she have been so weak as to have fled in that way? She had no headache — nor was it heartache that had now upset her. But a man had spoken to her openly of love, and no man had ever so spoken to her before. She did not go direct to her own chamber, but passed along the corridor towards her mother's dressing-room. It was always her custom to remain there some half-hour before she went to bed, doing little things for her mother, and chatting with any other girl who might be intimate enough to be admitted there. Now she might remain there for an hour alone without danger of bemg disturbed; and she thought to herself that she would remain there tiU her mother came, and then unburthen herself of the whole story. As she went along the corridor she would have to pass the room which had been given up to Pelix Graham. She saw that the door vas ajar, and as she came close up to it, she found the nurse in the »ct of coming out from the room. Mrs. Baker had been a very old servant in the judge's family, and had kno\\'n Madeline from the day of her birth. Her chief occupation for some years had been nursing when there was anybody to nurse, and taking a general care and surveillance of the family's health when there was no special invalid to whom she could devote herself. Since Graham's accident she had been fully employed, and had greatly enjoyed the opportunities it had given her. Mrs. Baker was in the doorway as Madeline attempted to pass by on tip-toe. " Oh, he's a deal better now. Miss Madeline, so that you needn't be afeard of disturbing ; — aui't you, Mr. Graham ? " So she was thus brought into absolute contact with her friend, for the first time since he had hurt himself. " Indeed I am," said Pelix. " I only wish they would let me get up and go down stairs. Is that Miss Staveley, Mrs. Baker ? " " les, sure. Come, my dear, he's got his dressing gown on, and yoa may jiut come i/> the door and ask him how he does," FOOTSTEPS IN THE CORaiBOR. 221 " i ara very glad to hear that you are so much better, Mr. Graham," said Madeline, standing in the doorway with averted eyes, and speaking with a voice so low that it only just reached his ears. "Thank you. Miss Staveley ; I shall never know how to express what I feel for you all." " And there's none of 'em have been more anxious about you than she, I can tell you; and none of 'em ain't kinderhearteder," said Mrs. Baker. " I hope you will be up soon and be able to come down to the drawing-room," said Madeline. And then she did glance round, and for a moment saw the light of his eye as he sat upright m the bed. He was still pale and thin, or at least she fancied so, and her heart trembled within her as she thought of the danger he had passed. " I do so long to be able to talk to you agam ; all the others come and visit me, but I have only heard the sounds of your footsteps as you pass by." " And yet she always walks like a mouse," said Mrs. Baker. " But I have always heard them," he said. " I hope Marian thanked yon for the books. She told me how you had gotten them for me." " She should not have said anythmg about them ; it was Augustus who thought of them," said Madeline. " Marian comes to me four or iive times a day," he continued ; " I do not know what I should do without her." " 1 hope she is not noisy," said Madeline. " Laws, Miss, he don't care for noise now, only he ain't good at moving yet, and won't be for some while." " Pray take care of yourself, Mr. Graham," she said ; " I need not tell you how anxious we all are for your recovery. Good-night, Mr. Graham." And then she passed on to her mother's dressing-room, and sitting herself down in an arm-chair opposite to the fire began to think — to think, or else to try to think. And what was to be the subject of her thoughts ? Regarding Pere- grine Orme there was very little room for thinking. He had made her an offer, and she had rejected it as a matter of course, seeing that she did not love him. She had no doubt on that head, and was well aware that she could never accept such an offer. On what subject then was it necessary that she should think ? How odd it was that Mr. Graham's room door should have been ■jpen on this special evening, and that nurse should have been standing there, ready to give occasion for that conversation! That was the idea that first took possession of her bram. And then she recounted all those few words which had been spoken as though they Lad had some special value — as though each word had been laden with interest. She felt half ashamed of what she had done in standing there and speaking at his bed-room door, and yet she would not have lost the chance for worlds. There had been nothing in w!iat had passed between her and the invalid. The very words, spoken else- where, or in the presence of hev motUor and sister, would have beej) Ti)! OBLET FABM. insipid and valueless ; and yet she sat there feeding on them as thougli thej were of flavour so rich that she could not let the sweetness of them pass from her. She had been stunned at tke idea of poor Pere- grine's love, and yet she never asked herself what was this new feeling. She did not inquire^not yet at least — whether there might be danger in such feeHngs. She remained there, with eyes fixed on the burnin" coals, till her mother came up. "What, Madeline," said Lady Staveley, " are you here still ? I was in hopes you would have been in bed before this." , " My headache is gone now, mamma ; and I waited because " " Well, dear ; because what ? " and her mother came and stood over her and smoothed her hair. " I know very well that something has been the matter. There has been something ; eh, Madeline ? " "Yes, mamma." "And you have remained up that we may talk about it. Is that it, dearest ? " " I did not quite mean that, but perhaps it will be best. I can't be doing wrong, mamma, in telling you." "Well; you shall judge of that yourself;" and Lady Staveley sat down on the sofa so that she was close to the chair which MadeUne still occupied. " As a general rule I suppose you could not be doing wrong ; but you must decide. If you have any doubt, wait till to- morrow." " No, mamma ; I will tell you now. Mr. Orme " " Well, dearest. Did Mr. Orme say anything specially to you before he went away ? " "He— he " " Come to me, Madeline, and sit here. We shall talk better then." And the mother made room beside her on the sofa for her daughter, and Madeline, running over, leaned with her head upon her mother's shoulder. " W'ell, darling ; what did he say ? Bid he tell you that he loved you ? " " Yes, mamma." "And vou answered him " " I could only tell him " "Yes, I know. Poor fellow! But, Madeline, is he not an excellent young man ; — one, at any rate, that is lovable ? Of course in such a matter the heart must answer for itself. But I, looking at the offer as a mother — I could have been well pleased " " But, mamma, I could not " "Well, love, there shall be an end of it; at least for the present. Whqn I heard that he had got suddenly away I thought that something had happened." " I am so sorry that he should be unhappy, for I know that he is good." " Yes, he is good ; and your fatjier likes him, and Augustus. lu such a matter as this, Madeline, I would never say a word to persuade you. I hould think it wrong to do so. But it may be, dearest, that FOOTSTEPS IN THE COKRIBOE. 883 he has flurried you by the suddenness of his offer ; and tuat you have aot yet thought much about it." " But, mamma, I know that I do not love him." "Of course. That is natural. It would have been a great mis- fortune if you had loved him before you had reason to know that he loved you ; — a great misfortune. But now, — now that you cannot but thmk of him, now that you know what his wishes are, perhaps you may learn " " But I have refused him, and he has gone away." " Young gentlemen under such circumstances sometimes come back again." " He won't come back, mamma, because — because I told him so plainly — I am sure he understands that it is all to be at an end." " But if he should, and if you should then think differently towards him " "Oh, no!" " But if you should, it may be well that you should know how all your friends esteem him. In a wordly view the marriage would be in all respects prudent ; and as to disposition and temper, which I admit are much more important, I confess I think that he has all the qualities best adapted to make a wife happy. But, as I said before, the heart must speak for itself." " Yes, of course. And I know that I shall never love him ; — ^not in that way." " You may be sure, dearest, that there will be no constraint put upon you. It might be possible that I or your papa should forbid a daugh- ter's marriage, if she had proposed to herself an imprudent match ; but neither he nor I would ever use our influence with a child to bring about a marriage because we tliink it prudent in a worldly pomt of view." And then Lady Staveley kissed her daughter. " Dear mamma, I know how good you are to me." And she an- swered her mother's embrace by the pressure of her arm. But never- theless she did not feel herself to be quite comfortable. There was something in the words which her mother liad spoken which grated against her most cherished feelings; — somethuig, though she by no means knew what. Why had her mother cautioned her in that way, that there might be a case in which she would refuse her sanction to a proposed marriage ? Isabella's marriage had been concluded with the full agreement of the whole family; and she, Madeline, had certainly never as yet given cause cither to lather or mother to suppose that she would be headstrong ami imprudent. Might not the caution have been omitted ? — or was it intended to apply in any way to circumstances as they now existed ? " You had better go now, dearest," said Lady Staveley, " and for the present we will not think any more about this gallant young knight." And then Madeline, having said good-night, went off rather crest-faller. to her own room. In doing so she again had to pass Graham's door, and as she went by it, walking not quite on tip-toe, she could not help 824 OKLET tAJIM. asking herself whether or no he would really recognise the sound of her footsteps. It is hardly necessary to say that Lady Staveley had conceived to herself a recognised purpose in uttering that little caution to her daugh- ter ; and she would have been quite as well pleased had circumstances taken Pelix Graham out of her house instead of Peregrine Orme. But Pelix Graham must necessarily remain for the next fortnight, and there could be no possible benefit in Orme's return, at any rate till Graham ihould have gone. CHAPTER XXXTT. WHAT BRIDGET BOLSTEK HAD TO SAY. It has been said in the earlier pages of this story that there was no prettier scenery to be found withm thirty miles of London than that by which the little town of Hamworth was surrounded. This was so truly the case that Hamworth was full of lodgings which in the autumn season were always full of lodgers. The middle of winter was certainly not the time for seeing the Hamworth hills to advantage ; nevertheless it was soon after Christmas that two rooms were taken there by a single gentleman who had come down for a week, apparently with uo other view than that of enjoying himself. He did say something about London confinement and change of air ; but he was manifestlf in good health, had an excellent appetite, said a great deal about fresh eggs, — which at that time of the year was hardly reasonable, and brought with him his own pale brandy. This gentleman was Mr. Crabwitz. The house at which he was to lodge had been selected with con- siderable judgment. It was kept oy a tidy old widow known as Mrs. Trump ; but those who knew anything of Hamworth affairs were well aware that Mrs. Trump had been left without a shilling, and could not have taken that snug little house in Para- dise Row and furnished it completely, out of her own means. No. Mrs. Trump's lodging-house was one of the irons which Samuel Jockwrath ever kept heating in the fire, for the behoof of those »' f ourte en children. He had taken a lease of the house in Paradise Row," having made a bargain and advanced a few pounds wlule it was yet being built; and he then had furnished it and put in Mrs. Trump. Mrs. Trump received from him wages and a percentage ; biiL to him were paid over the quota of shillings per week in consideration for whicli the lodgers were acconunodated. All of ivliieh Mr. Crabwitz had ascertained before he located himself in li'aiadise Row. And when he had so located himself he soon began to talk to WHAT BKIDGEI OjOLSTElt HAD TO SAT. 32ii Mrs. Trump about Mr. Dockwrath. He himself, as he told her in confidence, was in the profession of the law ; he had heard of Mr. Dockwrath, and should be very glad if that gentleman would come over and take a glass of brandy and water with him some evening. " And a very clever, sharp gentleman he b,'' said Mrs. Trump. "With a tolerably good business, I suppose ?" asked Crabwitz. "Pretty fair for that. Sir. But he do be turning his hand to every- thing. He's a mortal long family of his own, and he has need of it all, if it's ever so much. But he'll never be poor for the want of looking after it." But Mr. Dockwrath did not come near his lodger on the first evening, and Mr. Crabwitz made acquaintance with Mrs. Dockwrath before he saw her husband. The care of the fourteen children was not supposed to be so onerous but that she could find a moment now and then to see whether Mrs. Trump kept the furniture properly dusted, and did not infringe any of the Dockwrathian rules. These were very strict; and whenever they were brokec it was on the head of Mrs. Dockwrath that the anger of the ruler mainly fell. " I hope you find everything comfortable, Sir," said poor Miriam, having knocked at the sitting-room door when Crabwitz had just finished his dinner. " Yes, thank you ; very nice. Is that Mrs. Dockwrath ? " " Yes, Sir. I'm Mrs. Dockwrath. As it's we who own the room I looked in to see if anythiug's wanting." "You are very kind. No; nothing is wanting. But I should be delighted to make your acquamtance if you would stay for a moment. Might I ask you to take a chair ? " and Mr. Crabwitz handed her one. "Thank you; no. Sir. I won't intrude." " Not at all, Mrs. Dockwrath. But the fact is, I'm a lawyer my- self, and I should be so glad to become known to your husband. I have heard a great deal of his name lately as to a rather famous case in which he is employed." " Not the Orley Farm case ? " said Mrs. Dockwrath im- mediately. " Yes, yes ; exactly." " And is he going on with that. Sir ? " asked Mrs. Dockwrath with greater interest. " Is he not ? I know nothmg about it myself, but I always sup- posed that such was the case. If I had such a wife as you, Mrs. Dock- wrath, I should not leave her in doubt as to what I was doing in my own profession." " I know nothing about it, Mr. Cooke ; " — for it was as Mr. Cooke that he now sojourned at Hamworth. Not that it should be sup- posed he had received instructions from Mr. Eurnival to come down to that place under a false name. From Mr. Fumival he had re- ceived no further instructions on that matter than those conveyed 15 at the end of a previous chapter. "I know nothing about 'It, Mr. Cooke, and don't want to know generally. Bat I am amious about this Orley Jarm case. I do nope that he's going to drop it." And then Mr. Crabwitz elicited her view of the case with great ease. On that evening, about nine, Mr. Doekwrath did go over to Paradise How, and did allow himself to be persuaded to mix a glass of brandy and water and light a cigar. " My missus tells me, Sir, that you be- long to the profession as well as mvself." " Oh, yes ; I'm a lawyer, Mr. Dockwrath." " Practising in town as an attorney. Sir ? " " Not as an attorney on my own hook exactly. I chiefly employ my time in getting up cases for barristers. There's a good deal done in that way." " Oh, indeed," said Mr. Dockwrath, beginning to feel himself the bigger man of the two ; and from that moment he patronised his com- panion instead of allowing himself to be patronised. This went against the grain with Mr. Crabwitz, but, having an object to gain, he bore it. "We hear a great deal up in London just at present about this Orley Parm case, and I always hear your name as connected with it. I had no idea when I was taking these lodgings that I was coming into a house belonging to that Mr. Dock- wrath." "The same party. Sir," said Mr. Dockwrath, blowing the smoke out of his mouth as he looked up to the ceOing. And then by degrees Mr. Crabwitz drew him into conversation. Dockwrath was by nature quite as clever a man as Crabwitz, and in such a matter as this was not one to be outwitted easily ; but in trutli he had no objection to talk about the Orley Parm case. "I- have taken it up on public motives, Mr. Cooke," he said, " and I mean to go through with it." " Oh, of course ; in such a case as that you will no doubt go through with it?" " That's my intention, I assure you. And I tell you what ; young Mason, — that's the son of the widow of the old man who made the will ^" ' " Or rather who did not make it, as you say." " Yes, yes ; he made the will ; but he did not make the codicil — and that young Mason has no more right to the property than you have." "Hasn't he, now?" " No ; and I can prove it too." "Well; the general opinion in the .profession is that Lady Mason will stand her ground and hold her own. I don't know what the points are myself^ but I have heard ;it discussed, ,and that is certainly what people think." " Then people will find that they are very much mistaken." "I was talking to one of Round's young men about it, smd " iancj they are not very sanguine." WSAI Bsn)&£I BOlStEK MAO tO SAt. iH " [ do not care a fig for Round or Ms young men. It would be quite as well for Josepli Mason if Round and Crook gave up the matter altogether. It hes , in a nutshell, and the truth must come out whatever Round and Crook may choose to say. And I'll tell you more — old Furnival, big a man as he thinks himself, cannot save her." " Has he anything to do with it ? " asked Mr. Cooke. " Yes ; the sly old fox. My belief is that only for him she'd give up the battle, and be down on her marrow-bones asking for mercy." "She'd have little chance of mercy, from what I hear of Joseph Mason." " She'd have to give up the property of course. And even then I don't know whether he'd let her off. By Heavens ! he couldn't let her off unless I chose." And then by degrees he told Mr. Cooke some of the circumstances of the case. But it was not till the fourth evening that Mr. Dockwrath spent with his lodger that the intimacy had so far progressed as to enable Mr. Crabwitz to proceed with his little scheme. On that day Mr. Dockwrath had received a notice that at noon on the following morning Mr. Joseph Mason and Bridget Bolster would both be at the house of Messrs. Round and Crook in Bedford Row, and that he could attend at that hour if it so pleased him. It certainly would so please him, he said to himself when he got that letter ; and in the evening he mentioned to his new friend the business which was taking him to London. " If I might advise you in the matter, Mr. Dockwrath," said Crab- witz, " I should stay away altogether." "And why so?" " Because that's not your market. This poor devil of a woman — foi she is a poor devil of a woman " " She'll be poor enough before long." " It can't be any gratification to you i-unning her down." "Ah, but the justice of the thing." "Bother ! You're talking now to a man of the world. Who can say what is the justice or the injustice of anything after twenty years of possession ? I have no doubt the codicil did express the old man's wish, — even from your own story. But of course you are looking for your market. Now it seems to ' me that there's a thousand pounds in your way as clear as daylight." " I don't see it myself, Mr. Cooke." "No; but I do. The sort of thing is done every day. You have vour father-in-law's office journal ? " " "Safe enough." " Burn it ; — or leave it about in these rooms,, like ; — so that some- body else may bum it." " I'd like to see the thousand pounds first." "Of course you'd do nothmg tUl you knew about that j-^notlling except keeping away from Round and Crook to-morrow. The vaomtj S86 OSLET FABM; would be fbrtlicoming if the trial were notoriously dropped hf nfelt assizes." Doekwrath sat thinking for a minute or two, and every moment of thought made him feel more strongly that he could not now succeed in the manner pointed out by Mr. Cooke. " But where would be the market you are talking of? " said he. " I could manage that," said Crabwitz. " And go shares in the business ? " " No, no ; nothing of the sort." And then he added, remembering that he must show that he had some personal object, " If I got a trifle in the matter it would not come out of your allowance." The attorney again sat silent for a while, and now he remained so for full five minutes, during which Mr. Crabwitz puffed the smoke from between his lips with a look of supreme satisfaction. " May I ask," at last Mr. Doekwrath said, " whether you have any personal in- terest in this matter ? " " None in the least; — that is to say, none as yet." " You did not come down here with any view " " Oh dear no ; nothing of the sort. But I see at a glance that it is one of those cases in which a compromise would be the most judicious solution of difficulties. I am well used to this kind of thing, Mr. Doekwrath." " It would not do. Sir," said Mr. Doekwrath, after some further slight period of consideration. "It wouldn't do. Round and Crook have EiU the dates, and so lias Mason too. And the original of that partnership deed is forthcoming ; and they know what witnesses to depend on. No, Sir ; I've begun this on public grounds, and I mean to carry it on. I am in a manner bound to do so as the representative of the attorney of the late Sir Joseph Mason ; — and, by Heavens, Mr. Cooke, I'll do my duty." "»I dare say you're right," said Mr. Crabwitz, mixing a quarter of a glass more brandy and water. "I know I'm right. Sir," said Doekwrath. "And when a man knows he's right, he has a deal of inward satisfaction in the feeling. After that Mr. Crabwitz was aware that he could be of no use at Ham- worth, but he stayed out his week in order to avoid suspicion. On the following day Mr. Doekwrath did proceed to Bedford Row, determined to carry out his original plan, and armed with that inward satisfaction to which he had alluded. He dressed himself in his best, and endeavoured as far as was in his power to look as though he were equal to the Messrs. Roumi. Old Crook he had seen once, and him he already despised. He had endeavoured to obtain a private in- terview with Mrs. Bolster before she could be seen by Matthew Round ; but in this he had not succeeded. Mrs. Bolster was a prudent woman, and, acting doubtless under advice, had written to him saying that she had been summoned to the office of Messrs. Round and Crook, and would there declare aU that she knew about the matter. At the same time she returned to him a money order which he had tent to her. WHAT «BII>e£I BOLSTER HAD TO SAT. 239 Punctually at twelve he was in Bedford Kow, and there he saw a respectable-looking female sitting at the fire in the inner part of the outer office. This was Bridget Bolster, but he would by no means have recognised her. Bridget had risen in the world and was now head chambermaid at a large hotel in the west of England. In that capacity she had laid aside whatever diffidence may have afflicted her earlier years, _ and now was able to speak out her mind before any iudge or jury in the land. Indeed she had never been much afflicted by such diffidence, and had spoken out her evidence on that former occasion, now twenty years since, very plainly. But as she now explained to the head clerk, she had at that time been only a poor ignorant slip of a girl, with no more than eight pounds a year wages. Dockwrath bowed to the head clerk, and passed on to Mat Round's private room. " Mr. Matthew is inside, I suppose," said he, and hardly vraiting for permission he knocked at the door, and then entered. There he saw Mr. Matthew Round, sitting in his com- fortable arm-chair, and opposite to him sat Mr. Mason of Groby Park. Mr. Mason got up and shook hands with the Hamworth attorney, but Round junior made his greeting without rising, and merely motioned his visitor to a chair. " Mrs. Mason and the voung ladies are quite well, I hope ? " said Mr. Dockwrath, with a smile. " Quite well, I thank you," said the county magistrate. " This matter has progressed since I last had the pleasure of seeing them. You begin to think I was right ; eh, Mr. Mason ? " "Don't let us triumph till we are out of the wood," said Mr. Round. " It is a deal easier to spend money in such an affair as this than it is to make money by it. However, we shall hear to-day more about it." "I do not know about makmg money,'' said Mr. Mason, very solemnly. "But that I have been robbed by that woman out of my just rights in that estate for the last twenty years, — that I may say I do know." " Quite true, Mr. Mason ; quite true," said Mr. Dockwrath with considerable energy. "And whether I make money or whether I lose money, I intend 'lO proceed in this matter. It is dreadful to think that in this free and enlightened country so abject an offender should have been able to hold her head up so long without punishment and without dis» grace." " That is exactly what I feel," said Dockwrath. "The very stones and trees of Hamworth cry out against her." " Gentlemen," said Mr. Round, " we have first to see whether there has been any injustice or not. If you will allow me I will explain to you what I now propose to do." " Proceed, Sir," said Mr. Mason, who was by no means satisfied with his young attorney. "Bridget Bolster ia now in the next room, wd as far as I cw w 330 OBLST FABM, dcTstaad the case at present, she would be the witness on whom yoni case, Mr. Mason, would most depend. The man Kenneby I have not yet seen ; but from what I understand he is less Ukely to prove a will- mg witness than Mrs. Bolster." "I cannot go along with you there, Mr. Kound," said Dock- wrath. ' • "Excuse me, Sir, but 1 am only stating my opinion. If I should find that this woman is unable to say that she did not sign two separate documents on that day — that is, to say so with a positive and point blank assurance, I shall recommend you, as my chent, to drop the prosecution." " I will never drop it," said Mr. Mason. " You will do as you please," continued Round ; " I can only say what under such circumstances will be the advice given to you by this firm. I have talked the matter over very carefuUy with my father and with our other partner, and we shall not think well of gomg on with it unless I shall now find that your view is strongly substantiated by this woman." Then outspoke Mr. Dockwrath. " Under these circumstances, Mr. Mason, if I were you, I should withdraw from the house at once. I certainly would not have my case blown upon." " Mr. Mason, Sir, wUl do as he pleases about that. As long as the business with which he honours us is straightforward, we will do it for him, as for an old client, although it is not exactly in our own line. But we can only do it in accordance with our own judgment. I will proceed to explain what I now propose to do. The woman Bolster is m the next room, and I, with the assistance of my head clerk, wiU take down the headings of what evidence she can give." "In our presence. Sir," said Mr. Dockwrath ; "or if Mr. Mason should dechne, at any rate in mine." "By no means, Mr. Dockwrath," said Round. " I think Mr. Dockwrath should hear her story," said Mr. l^ason. " He certainly will not do so in this house or in conjunction with me. In what capacity, should he be present, Mr. Mason ? " " As one of Mr. Mason's legal advisers," said Dockwrath. "If you are to be one of them, Messrs. Roxmd and Crook cannot be the other. I think I explained that to you before. It now remains for Mr. Mason to say whether he wishes to employ our firm in this matter or not. And I can tell him fairly," Mr. Round added this,, after a slight pause, "that we shall be rather pleased than otherwise if he will put the case into other hands." " Of course I wish you to conduct it," said Mr. Mason, who, with all his bitterness against the present holders of Orley Parm, was afraid of throwing himself into the hands of Dockwrath. He was not an ignorant man, and he knew that the firm of Round and Crook bore a mgh reputation before the world. "Then," said Round, "Imust do my business in accordance with my own views of what is right. I have reason to believe that Xto one has yet tampered with this womsm." and as he spoke ht WHAT BRIDGET BOLSTER HAD TO SAI. 231 looked hard at Dockwrath, ' though probably attempts may have been made." "I dcml; know who should tamper with her," said Dockwrath, " unless it be Lady Mason — whom I must say you seem very anxious to protect." " Another word like that, Sir, and I shall be compelled to ask you to leave the house. I believe that this woman has been tampered with bjr no one. I will now learn from her what is her remembrance of the circumstances as they occurred twenty years since, and I will then read to you her deposition. I shall be sorry, gentlemen, to keep you here, perhaps for an hour or so, but you will find the morning papers on the table." And then Mr. Round, gathering up certain documents, passed into the outer office, and Mr. Mason and Mr. Dockwrath were left alone. " He is determined to get that woman off," said Mr. Dockwrath in a whisper. " I believe him to be an honest man," said Mr. Mason, with some sternness. "Honesty, Sir! It is hard to say what is honesty and what is dishonesty. Would you believe it, Mr. Mason, only last night I had a thousand pounds offered me to hold my tongue about this affair?" Mr. Mason at the moment did not believe this, but he merely lookea hard into his companion's face and said nothing. " By the heavens above us what I tell you is true ! a thousand pounds, Mr. Mason ! Only think how they are going it to get this thing stiffed. And where should the offer come from but from those who know I have the power ? " " Do you mean to say that the offer came from this firm ? " " Hush — sh, Mr. Mason. The very walls hear and talk in such a place as this. I'm not to know who made the offer, and I don't know. But a man can give a very good guess sometimes. The party who was speaking to me is up to the whole transaction, and knows exactly what 13 going on here — here, in this house. He let it all out, using pretty mgh tne same words as Round used just now. He was fii^ about the doubt that Round and Crook felt — tliat they'd never pull it through. I'll tell you what it is, Mr. Mason, they don't mean to p^ll it through." " What answer did you make to the man ? " " What answer ! why I just put my thumb this way over my shoulder. No, Mr. Mason, if I can't carry on without bribery and corruption, I won't carry on at all. He'd called at the wrong house with that dodge, and so he soon found." " And do you think he was an emissary from Messrs. Round and Crook ? " " Hush — sh — sh. 'Far Heaven's sake, jMr. Mason, do be a little lower. You can put two and two together as well as I can, Mr. Mason. I find they make four. I don't know whether your calculation will be the same. My belief is, that these people are determined to save 932 y OBLET SiBM.. that woman. Don't you see it in tliat young fellow's eye — that hit heart is all on the other side ? Now he's got hold of that woman Bolster, and he'll teach her to give such evidence as wfll upset us, But I'll be. even with him yet, Mr. Mason. If you'U only trust me, we'll both be even with him yet." Mr. Mason at the present moment said nothing further, and when Dockwralh pressed him to continue the conversation in whispers, he distinctly said that he would rather say no more upon the subject just then. He would wait for Mr. Round's return. " Am I at liberty," he asked, " to mention that offer of the thousand pounds ? " " What — to Mat Bound ? " said Dockwrath. " Certainly not, Mr. Mason. It wouldn't be our game at all." " Very well. Sir." And then Mr. Mason took up a newspaper, and no further words were spoken till the door opened and Mr. Kound re- entered the room. This he did with slow, deliberate step, and stopping on the hearth- rug, he stood leaning with his back against the mantelpiece. It was clear from his face to see that he had much to tell, and clear also that he was not pleased at the turn which affairs were taking. "Well, gentlemen, I have examined the woman," he said, "and here is her deposition." "And what does she say ? " asked Mr. Mason. " Come, out with it. Sir," said Dockwrath. " Did she, or did she not, sign two documents on that day ? " "Mr. Mason," said Round, turning to that gentleman, and alto- gether ignoring Dockwrath and his question; " I have to teU you that nor statement, as far as it goes, fully corroborates your view of the case. As far as it goes, mind you." " Oh, it does ; does it ? " said Dockwrath. " And she is the only important witness ? " said Mr. Mason with great exultation. " I have never said that ; what I did say was this — that your case must break down unless her evidence supported it. It does support it — strongly ; but you will want more than that." " And now, if you please, Mr. Round, what is it that she has de- posed ? " asked Dockwrath. " She remembers it all, then ? " said Mason. " She is a remarkably clear-headed woman, and apparently does re- member a great deal. But her remembrance chiefly and most strongly goes to this — that she witnessed only one deed." " "She can prove that, can she?" said Mason, and the tone of his voice was loudly triumphant. " She declares that she never signed but one deed in the whole of her life— either on that day or on any other ; and over and beyond this she says now— now that 1 have explained to her what that other deed might have been— that old Mr. Usbech told her that it was about a partnership." " He did, di'l he ? " said Dookwratb, rising from his chair and clap- WHAT BBISGET BOLSTEK HAD TO SAT. 333 ping his hands. " Very well. I don't think we shall want more than that, Mr. Mason.'' There was a tone of triumph in the man's voice, and a look of gratified malice in his countenance, which disgusted Mr. Eound and irritated him almost beyond his power of endurance. It was quite true that he would much have preferred to find that the woman's evidence was in favour of Lady Mason. He would have been glad to learn that she actually had witnessed the two deeds on the same day. His tone would have been triumphant, and his face gratified, had he returned to the room with such tidings. His feelings were all on that side, though his duty lajr on the other. He had almost expected that it would be so. As it was, he was prepared to go on with his duty, but he was not prepared to endure the insolence of Mr. Dookwrath. There was a look of jojr also about Mr. Mason which added to his annoyance. It might be just and necessary to prosecute that unfortunate womau at Orley Farm, but he could not gloat over such work. " Mr. Dockwrath," he said, " I will not put up with such conduct here. If you wish to rejoice about this, you must go elsewhere." " And what are we to do now ? " said Mr. Mason. " I presume there need be no farther delay." " I must consult with my partner. If yon can make it convenient to call this day week " "But she will escape.'' " No, she will not escape. I shall not be ready to say anything be- fore that. If you are not in town, then I can write to you." And so the meeting was broken up, and Mr. Mason and Mr. Dockwrath left the lawyer's office together. Mr. Mason and Mr. Dockwrath left the office in Bedford Row together, and thus it was almost a necessity that they should walk together for some distance through the streets. Mr. Mason was going to his hotel in Soho Square, and Mr. Dockwrath turned with him through the passage leading into Red Lion Square, linking his own arm in that oi his companion. The Yorkshire county magistrate did not like this, but what was he to do ? " Did you ever see anything like that, Sir ? " said Mr. Dockwrath ; " for by Heavens I never did." "Like what?" said Mr. Mason. "Like that fellow there; — that Round. It is my opinion that he deserves to have his name struck from the rolls. Is it not clear that he is doing all in his power to bring that wretched woman off ? And I'll tell you what, Mr. Mason, if you let him play his own game in that way, he will bring her off." " But he expressly admitted that this woman Bolster's evidence is conclusive." " Yes ; he was so driven into a comer that he could not help admit- tmg that. The woman had been too many for him, and he found that he couldn't cushion her. But do you mind my words, Mr. Mason. He intejids that you shall l)e beaten, It's as plain as the nose on your 384 OBI.ET FABM. fJaee. You cau read it in the very look ofhijn, and in every tone of his voice. At any rate I can. I'll tell you what it is "—and then he squeezed very close to Mr. Mason — " he and old Fumival under- stand each other in this matter like two brothers. Of course Round will have his bill , against you. Win or lose, he'll get his costs out of your pocket. But he can make a deuced pretty thing out of the other side as well.^ Let me tell yon, Mr. Mason, that when notes for a thoisand pounds are; flying here and there, it isn't every lawyer that will see them pass by, hun without opening his hand." " I do not think that Mr. Round would take a bribe," said Mr. Mason very stiffly. ' "Wouldn't he? Just as a hound would a pat of butter. It's your own look-out, you. know, Mr. Mason. I haven't got an estate of twelve hundred a year depending on it. But remember this ; — if sTie escapes now, Orley Farm is gone for ever." All this was extremely disagreeable to Mr. Mason. In the first place he did not at all like the tone of equality which the Hamworth attorney had adopted; he did not like to acknowledge that his affairs were in any degree dependent on a man of whom he thought so badly as he did of Mr. Dockwrath ; he did not hke to be told that Round and Crook were rogues, — Round and Crook, whom he had known all his life; but least of all did he like the feeling of sus- picion with which, in spite of himself, this man had imbued him, or the fear that his victim might at last escape him. Excellent, therefore, as had been the evidence with which Bridget Bolster had declared herself ready to give in his favour, Mr. Mason was not a contented man when he sat down to his solitary beefsteak in Sohc Square. CHAPTER XXXm. THE ANQIil. OF LIGHT. I» speaking of the character and antecedents of Pelix Graham I have said that he was moulding a wife for himself. The idea of a wife thus moulded to fit a man's own grooves, and educated to suit matrimonial purposes according to the exact views of the future husband was by no means original with him. Other men have moulded their wives, but I do not know that as a rule the practice has been found to answer. It is open, in the first place, to this objection, — that the moulder does not generally conceive such idea very early in life, and the idea when conceived must necessarily be carried out on a young subject. Such a plan is the result of much deliberate thought, and has generally arisen from long observation, on the part of the thinker, of the unhappiness arising from marriages in which there has THE Air&HL OF LISHT. 885 been no moulding. Such a frame of mind comes upon a bachelor, perhaps about his thirty-fifth year, and then he goes to work with a girl of fourteen. The operation takes some ten years, at the end of which the moulded bride regards her lord as an old man. On the whole I think that the ordinary plan is the better, and even the safer. Dance with a girl three times, and if you Uke the light of her eye and ■ the tone of voice with which she, breathless, answers your little questions about, horseflesh and music — about affairs masculine and feminine, — then take the leap in the dark. There is danger, no doubt ; ,but the moulded wife Ls, I think, more dangerous. With Felix Graham the matter was somewhat different, seeing that he was not yet thirty, and that the lady destined to be the mistress of his family had already passed through three or four years of her noviciate. He had begun to be prudent early in Ufe ; or had become prudent rather by force of sentiment than by force of thought. Mary Snow was the name of his bride-elect j and it is probable that, had not circumstances thrown Mary Snow in his way, he would not have^qne out of his way to seek a subject for his experiment. Mary Snow was the daughter of an engraver, — not of an artist who receives four or five thousand pounds for engraving the chef-d'oeuvre of a modern painter, — but of a man who executed flourishes on ornamental cards for tradespeople, and assisted in the illustration of circus playbills. With this man Graham had become acquainted through certaui transactions of his with the press, and had found him to be a widower, drunken, dissolute, and generally drowned in poverty. One child the man had, and that child was Mary Snow. How it came to pass that the young barrister first took upon him- self the charge of maintaining and educating this poor child need not now be told. His motives had been thoroughly good, and in the matter he had endeavoured to act the part of a kind Samaritan. He had found her pretty, half starved, dirty, ignorant, and modest ; and so finding her had made himself responsible for feeding, cleaning, and teaching her, — and ultimately for marrying her. One would haVe said that in undertaking a task of such undoubted charity as that comprised in the three first charges, he would have encountered no difficulty firom the drunken, dissolute, impoverished engraver. But the man from the beginning was cunning; and before Graham had succeeded in obtaiiiing the custody of the child, the father had obtained a written undertaking from him that he would marry her at a certaiii age if her conduct up to that age had been becoming. As to this latter stipulation no doubt had arisen ; and indeed Graham had so acted by her that had she fallen away the fault would have been all her own. There wanted now but one year to the coming of that day on which he was bound to make himself a happy man, and hitherto he himself had never doubted as to the accomplishment of his under- taking. He had told his friends, — those vidth whom he was really intimate, Augustus Staveley and one or two others,- — what was to be his matri-i menial lot in life ; and thev had ridiculed him for his quixotic chivaky- 830 OBLET HASm. Staveley especially had been strong in liis conviction that no snc^ marriage would eyer take place, and had already gone so far as to pi? anpther match for his friend. " You know you do not love her/' he had said, since Felix bad been staying on this occasion at Noningsby. " I know no such thing," Telix had answered, ahnost in anger. " On the contrary I know that I love her." " Yes, as I love my niece Maria, or old Aunt Bessy, who always sup- plied me with sugar-candy when I was a boy." " It is I that have supplied Mary with her sugar-candy, and the love thus engendered is the stronger." " Nevertheless you are not in love with her, and never will be, and if you marry her you will commit a great sin." " How moral you have grown ! " " No, I'm not. I'm not a bit moral. But I know very well when a man is in love with a girl, and I know very well that you're not in love with Mary Snow. And I tell you what, my friend, if you do marry her you are done for life. There will absolutely be an end of you." " You mean to say that your royal highness will drop me." " I mean to say nothing about myself. My dropping you or not dropping you won't alter your lot in life. I know very well what a poor man wants to give him a start ; and a fellow Kke you who has such quaint ideas on so many things requires all the assistance he can get. You should look out for money and cormection." " Sophia Furnival, for instance." " No ; she would not suit you. I perceive that now." " So I supposed. Well, my dear fellow, we shall not come to logger- heads about that. She is a very fine girl, and you are welcome to the hatful of money — if you can get it." " That's nonsense. I'm not thinking of Sophia Purnival any more than you are. But if I did it would be a proper marriage. Now " And then he went on with some further very sage remarks about Miss Snow. All this was said as Felix Graham was lying with his broken bones in the comfortable room at Noningsby ; and to tell the truth, when it was so said his heart was not quite at ease about Mary Snow. Up to this time, having long since made up his mind that Mary should be his wife, he had never allowed his thoughts to be diverted from that pur- pose. Nor did he so allow them now, — as long as he could prevent them from wandering. But, lying there at Noningsby, thinking of those sweet Christmas evenings, how was it possible that they should not wander ? His friend had told him that he did not love Mary Snow ; and then, when alone, he asked himself whether in truth he did love her. He had pledged himself to marry her, and he must carry out that pledge. But nevertheless did he love her ? And if not her, did he love any other ? Mary Snow knew very well what was to be her destiny, ^d indeed Me akoel of liiGHT. 237 had known it for the last two years. She was now nineteen years old, — and Madeline Stavelev -was also nineteen; she was nineteen, and at twenty she was to become a wife, as by agreement between Pelix Graham and Mr. Snow, the drunken engraver. They knew their destiny, — the future husband and the future wife, — and each relied with perfect faith on the good faith and affection of the other. Graham, while he was thus being lectured by Stayeley, had under his pillow a letter from Mary. He wrote to her regularly — on every Sunday, and on every Tuesday she answered him. Nothing could bo more becoming than the way she obeyed all his behests on such mat- ters ; and it really did seem that in his case the moulded wife would turn out to have been well moulded. When Staveley left him he again read Mary's letter. Her letters were always of the same length, filling completely the fom- sides of a sheet of note paper. They were excel- leutly well written ; and as no one word in them was ever altered or erased, it was manifest enough to PeUx that the original composition was made on a rough draft. As he again read through the four sides of ■the little sheet of paper, he could not refrain from conjecturing what sort of a letter Madeline Staveley might write. Mary Snow's letter ran as fellows : — " 3, Bloomfleld Terrace, Peckham, " Tuesday, 10th January, 18 — . " My deakest Felix " — she had so called him for the last twelve- month by common consent between Graham and the very discreet lady under whose charge she at present lived. Previously to that she had written to him as, My dear Mr. Graham. "My beahest Felix, " I am very glad to ;hear that your arm and your j'two ribs are getting so much better. I received your letter yesterday, and was glad to hear that you are so comfortable in the house of the very kind people with whom you are staying. If I knew them I would send them my respectful remembrances, but as I do not know them I suppose it would not be proper. But I remember them in my prayers." — This last assurance was inserted under the express instruction of Mrs. Thomas, who however did not read Mary's letters, but occasionally, on some subjects, gave her hints as to what she ought to say. Nor was there hypocrisy in this, for under the instruction of her excellent mentor she had prayed for the kind people. — " I hope you wiU be well enough to come and pay me a visit before long, but pray do not come before you are well enough to do so without giving yourself any pain. I am glad to hear that you do not mean to go hunting any more, for it seems to me to be a dangerous amusement." And then the first paragraph came to an end. " My papa called here yesterday. He said he was very badly off indeed, and so he looked. I did not know what to say at first, but S33 OtLLEY fA£K. lie aaked me so muck to give him some money, that t did give nitn at last all that I had. It was nineteen shillings and sixpence. Mrs. Thomas was angry, and told me I had no right to give away your money, and that I should not have given more than half a crown. I hope you will not be angry with me. I do not want any more at present. But indeed he was very bad, especially about his ahoesi " I do not know that I have any more to say except that I put back thirty lines of Telemaque into Erench every morning before breakfast. It never comes near right, but neverthelBss M. Grigaud says it is well done. He says that, if it came quite right LI should compose French as well as M. lenelon, which of course I cannot expect. " I will now say good-bye, and I am yours most affectionately, "Mabt Snow," There was nothing in this letter to give any offence to Eeiix Graham and so he acknowledged to himself. He made himself so acknow- ledge, because on the first reading of it he had felt that he was half angry with the writer. It was clear that there was nothing in the letter which would justify censure ; — nothing which did not, almost, demand praise. He would have been angry with her had she limited her flhal donation to the half-crown which Mrs. Thomas had thought appropriate. He was obliged to her for that attention to her Prench which he had especially enjoined. Nothing could be more proper than her allusion to the Staveleys ; — and altogether the letter was just what it ought to be. Nevertheless it made him unhappy and irritated him. Was it well that he should marry a girl whose father was "indeed very bad, but especially about his shoes ? " Staveley had told him that cormection would be necessary for him, and what sort of a connection would this be ? And was there one word in the whole letter that showed a spark of true love ? Did not the footfall of Madeline Staveley's st'.p as she passed along the tiassagb go nearer to his heart than all the outspoken assurance of Mary Snow's letter ? Nevertheless he had undertaken to do this thing, and he would do it, — let the footfall of Madeline Staveley's step be ever so sweet in his ear. And then, lying back in his bed, he began to think whether it would have been as well that he should have broken his/ n£ck instead of his ribs in getting out of Monkton Grange covert.. > ■ , . , Mrs. Thomas was a lady who kept a school consisting of three little girls and Mary Snow.. She had in .fact not been altogether successful in the line of > life she had chosen for herself, and had hardly been able to keep her modest door-plate on her door, till Graham, in search of some home for : his bride, then in the', first noviciate of her mouldmg, had come across ..her. Her means were now far from plentiful ; but as an average number of three cliildrea still clung to her, and as. Mary Snow's seventy 'pounds per annum— to iuplude clothes — were punctually paid,- the small house atPeokhaW THE ANftEL Oi lIGHT, 239 was maintained. Under these circumstances Mary Snow was somebody in the eyes of Mrs. Thomas, and Pelix Graham was a very great person indeed. Graham had received his letter on a Wednesday, and ou the following Monday Mary, as usual, received one from him. These letters Sways came to, her in tlie evening, as she was sitting over her tea with Mrs. Thomas, the three children having been duly put to bed. Graham's letters were very short, as a man with a broken right arm and two broken ribs is not fluent with his pen. But still a word or two did come to her. " Dearest Mary, I am doing better and better, and I hope I shall see you in about a fortnight. Quite right in giving the money. Stick to the French. Your own F. G." But as he signed Tiimself her own, his mind misgave him that he was lying. " It is very good of him to write to you while he is in such, a state," t.aid Mrs. Thomas. "Indeed it is," said Mary — "very good indeed." And then she went on with the history of "Easselas" in his happy valley, by which study Mrs. Thomas intended to initiate her into that course of novel-reading which has become necessary for a British lady. But Mrs. Thomas had a mind to improve the present occasion. It was her duty to inculcate in her pupil love and gratitude towards the beneficent man who was doing so much for her. Gratitude for favours past and love for favours to come ; and now, while that scrap of a letter was lying on the table, the occasion for doing so was opportune. "Mary, I do hope you love Mr. Graham with all your heart and all your strength." She would have thought it wicked to say more ; but so far she thought she might go,- considering the sacred tie wliich was to exist between her pupil and the gentleman in question. " Oh, yes, indeed I do ; " and then Mary's eyes fell wishfully on the cover of the book which lay in her lap while her finger kept the place. Kasselas is not very exciting, but it was more so than Mrs. Thomas. "Tou would be very wicked if you did not. And I hope you think sometimes of the very responsible duties which a wife owes to her liusband. And this wUl be more especially so with you than with any other woman — almost that I ever heard of." There was somethmg in this that was almost depressing'to poor Mary's spirit, but nevertheless she endeavoured to bear up against it and do her duty. " I shall do all I can to please him, Mrs. Thomas ;^aiid indeed I do try about the French. And he says I was right to give papa that money." "But there will be many more things than that when you've stood at the altar with him and become his wife ; — bone of his bone, Mary." And she spoke these last words in -a very solemn tone, shaking her head, and the solemn tone almost ossified poor Mary's heart- as she heard it. " Yes ; I know there will. But I shall endeavour to find out what he likes." 240 OELSY fABU. "I don?t think he is so particular about his eating aud dritikmg as some other gentlemen; though no doubt he will like his things nice." " I know he is fond of strong tea, and I sha'n't forget that." " And about dress. He is not very rich, you know, Mary ; but it will make him unhappy if you are not always tidy. And his own shirts — I fancy he has no one to look after them now, for I so often see the buttons off. You should never let one of them go into his drawers without feeling them all to see that they're on tight." "I'll remember that," said Mary, and then she made another little furtive attempt to open the hook. " And about your own stockings, Mary. Nothing is so useful to a young woman in your position as a habit of darning neat. I'm some- times almost afraid that you don't like darning." "Oh, yes I do." That was a fib; but what could she do, pbor girl, when so pressed ? " Because I thought you would look at Jane Robinson's and JuHa Wright's which are lying there in the basket. I did Rebecca's myself before tea, till my old eyes were sore." " Oh, I didn't know," said Mary, with some slight offence in her tone. "Why didn't you ask me to do them downright if you wanted ? " " It's only for the practice it will give you." " Practice ! I'm always practising something." But nevertheless she laid down the book, and dragged the basket of work up on to the table. " Why, Mrs. Thomas, it's impossible to mend these ; they're all darn." " Give them to me," said Mrs. Thomas. And then there was silence between them for a quarter of an hour, during which Mary's thoughts wandered away to the events of her future life. Would his stockings be so troublesome as these ? But Mrs. Thomas was at heart an honest woman, and as a rule . was honest also in practice. Her conscience told her that Mr. Graham might probably not approve of this sort of practice for conjugal duties, and in spite of her failing eyes she resolved to do her duty. " Never mind them, Mary," said she. " I remember now that you were doing your own before dinner." " Of course I was," said Mary sulkily. " And as for practice, I don't suppose he'll want me to do more of that than anything else." "Well, dear, put them by." And Miss Snow did put them by, resuming Rasselas as she did so. Who darned the stockings of Rasse- las and felt that the buttons were tight on his shirts ? What a happy valley must it have been if a bride expectant were free from all sucli cares as these ! " I suppose, Mary, it will be some time in the spring of next year." Mrs. Thomas was not reading, and therefore a little conversation from time to time was to her a solace. " What will be, Mrs. Thomas ? " " Why, the marriage." iii iNGii, 0* iioHi. 2il '• 1 suppose it will. He told father it should be early in 18—, and I shall be past twenty then." " I wonder where you'll go to live." " I don't know. He has never said anything about that." "I suppose not ; but I'm sure it will be a long way away from Peck- ham." In answer to this Mary said nothing, but could not help wishin'r that it might be so. Peckham to her had not been a place bright with happiness, although she had become in so marked a way a child of .^ood fortune. And then, moreover, she had a deep care on her mind with which the streets and Louses and pathways of Peckham wore closely connected. It would be very expedient that she should go far, far away from Peckham when she had become, in actual fact, the very wife of Pelix Graham. " Miss Mary," whispered the red-armed maid of all work, creeping up to Mary's bed-room door, when they had all retired for the night, and whispered through the chink. " Miss Mary. I've somethink to say." Ajid Mary opened the door. "I've got a letter from him;" and the maid of aU work absolutely produced a little note enclosed in a green envelope. " Sarah, I told you not," said Mary, looking very stern and hesitat- ing with her finger whether or no she would take tile letter. " But he did so beg and pray. Besides, Miss, as he says hisself he must have his answer. Any gen'leman, he says, 'as a right to a answer. And if you'd a seed him yourself I'm sure you'd have took it. He did look so nice with a blue and gold hankercher round his neck. He was a-going to the the-a-tre, he said." " And who was going with him, Sarah ? " " Oh, no one. Only his mamma and sister, and them sort. He's all right — he is." And then Mary Snow did take the letter. "And I'll come for the answer when you're settling the room after breakfast to-morrow ? " said the girl. " No ; I don't know. I sha'n't send any answer at all. But, Sarah, .or Heaven's sake, do not say a word about it ! " "Who, I? Laws love you. Miss. I wouldn't; — not for worlds of gold." And then Mary was left alone to read a second letter from a second suitor. " Angel of light ! " it began, " but cold as your own fair name." Poor Mary thought it was very nice and very sweet, and though she was so much afraid of it that she almost wished it away, yet she read it a score of times. Stolen pleasures always are sweet. She had not cared to read those two lines from her own betrothed lord above once, or at the most twice ; and yet they had been written by a good man, — a man superlatively good to her, and written too witli considerable pain. She sat down all trembling to think of what she was doing ; and then, as she thought, she read the letter again. " Angel of light ! but cold as your own fair name." Alas, alas ! it was very sweet to ker! 16 9ii OllUtT VAXIL CHAPTER XXXIV. MR. rUBNIVAl LOOKS 1?0B ASSISTANCE. "AiiD you think that nothing can be done down there?" said Mr. f urnival to his clerk, immediately after the return of Mr. €rabwitz frou» Hamwoi'th to London. " Nothing at all, Sir," said Mr. Crabwitz, with laconic significanoe. " "Well ; I dare say not. If the matter could have been arranged at a reasonable cost, without annoyance to my friend Lady Mason, I should iiave been glad ; but, on the whole, it will perhaps be better that the law should take its course. She will suffer a good deal, but she will be the safer for it afterwards." " Mr. Purniral, I went so far as to offer a thousand pounds ! " " A thousand pounds ! Then they'll think we're afraid of them." "Not a bit more than they did before. Though I offered the money, he doesn't know the least that the offer came from our side. But I'll tell you what it is, Mr. Furnival . I suppose I may speak my mind." " Oh, yes ! But remember this; Crabwitz ; Lady Mason is no more in danger of losing the property than you are. It is a most vexatious thing, but there can be no doubt as to what the result will be. " WeU, Mr. Pumival,— I don't know." "In such matters, I am tolerably well able to form an opinion." "Oh, certainly!" "And that's my opinion. Now I shall be very glad to hear yours." " My opinion is this, Mr. Purnival, that Sir Joseph neyer made that codicil." " And what makes you think so ? " " The whole course of the evidence. It's quite clear there was another deed executed that day, and witnessed by Bolster and Kenneby. Had there been two documents for them to witness, they would have remem- oered it so soon after the occurrence." "Well, Crabwitz, I differ from you, — differ from you in toto. But keep your opinion to yourself, that's all. I've no doubt you ^id the best for us you could down at Hamworth, and I'm much obliged to you. You'll find we've got our hands quite fuH again, — almost too full." Then he turned round to bis table, and to the papers upon it ; whereupon, Crabwitz took the hint and left the room. But when be had gone, Mr. Furnival again raised bis eyes from the papers on the table, and leaning back in his chair, gave himself up to further consideration of the Orley Farm case. Crabwitz he knew was 4 sharp, clever man, and now the opinion formed by Crabwitz, after bavinj; seen this Hamworth attorney, tallied with his own opinion. ME. PtTRNlVAL LOOKS TOE ASSISTANCE. 243 Yes ; it was his own opinion. He had never said as much, even to himself, with tliose inward words which a man uses when he assures liimself of the result of his own thoughts ; but he was aware that it was his own opinion. In his heart of hearts, he did believe that that codicil had been fraudulently manufactured by his friend and client. Lady Mason. Under these circumstances, what should he do ? He had the handle of his pen between his teeth, as was his habit when he was thinking, and tried to bring himself to some permanent resolu- tion. How beautiful had she looked while she stood in Sir Peregrine's library, leaning on the old man's arm — how beautiful and liow innocent! That was the form which his thoughts chiefly took. And then she had given him her hand, and he still felt the soft silken touch of her cool fingers. He would not be a man if he could desert a woman in such a strait. And such a woman ! If even guilty, had she not expiated her guilt by deep sorrow ? And then he thought of Mr. Mason of Groby Park; and he thought of Sir Peregrine's strong conviction, and of Judge Staveley's belief; and he thought also of the strong hold which pubKc opinion and twenty years of possession would still give to the cause he favoured. He would still bring her through ! Yes ; in spite of her ,guilt, if she were guilty ; ou the strength of her innocency, if she were innocent ; but on account of her beauty, and soft hand, and deep liquid eye. So at least he would have owned, could he have been honest enough to tell himself the whole truth. But he must prepare himself for the battle in earnest. It was not as though he had been briefed in this case, and had merely to perform the duty for which he had been hired. He was to under- take the whole legal management of the affair. He must settle what attorney should have the matter in hand, and instruct that attorney how to re-instruct him, and how to re-instruct those other barristers who must necessarily be employed on the defence, in a case of such magnitude. He did not yet know under what form the attack would be made; but he was nearly certain that it would be done in the shape of a criminal charge. He hoped that it might take the direct form of an accusation of forgery. The stronger and more venomous the charge made, the stronger also would be public opinion in favour of the accused, and the greater the chance of an acquittal. But if she were to be found guilty on any charge, it would matter little on what. Any such verdict of guilty would be utter ruin and obliteration of her existence. He must consult with some one, and at last he made up his mind to go to his very old friend, Mr. Chaffanbrass. Mr. Ghaffanbrass was safe, and he might speak out his mind to him without fear of damag- ing the cause. Not that he could bring himself to speak out his real mmd, even to Mr. Chaffanbrass. He would so speak that Mr. Chaffanbrass should clearly understand him ; but still, not even to his ears, would he say that he rcallv believed Lady Mason to have beeu i6— 2 Hi OALIt SA&A. guilty. How would it be possible that he should feign before i jury his assured, nay, his indignant conviction of his_ client's innocence, ^ he had ever whispered to any one his conviction of her guilt ? On that same afternoon he sent to make an appointment with Mr. Chaffanbrass, and immediately after breakfast, on the following morning, had himself taken to that gentleman's chambers. The chambers of this great guardian of the innocence — or rather not- guiltiness of the public — were not in any so-named inn, but consisted of two gloomy, dark, panelled rooms in Ely Place. The course of our story, however, will not cause us to make many visits to Ely Place, and any closer description of them may be spared. I have said that Mr. ChalTanbrass and Mr. Furnival were very old friends. So they were. They had known each other for more than thirty years, and each knew tne whole history of the other's rise and progress in the profession ; but any results of their friendship at present were but scanty. They might meet each other in the streets, perhaps, once in the year; and occasionally — but very seldom — might be brought together on subjects connected with their profession ; as was the case when ihey travelled together down to Birmingham. As to meeting in each' other's houses, or coming together for the sake of the friend- ship which existed, — the idSa of doing so never entered the head of either of them. All the world knows Mr. Chaffanbrass — either by sight or by reputation. Those who have been happy enough to see the face and gait of the man as, in years now gone, ne used to lord it at the Old Bailey, may not have thought much of the privilege which was theirs. But to those who have only read of him, and Know of his deeds simply by their triumphs, he was a man very famous and worthy to be seen. " Look ! that's Chaffanbrass. It was he who cross-examined at the Old Bailey, and sent him howling out of London, banished for ever into the wilderness." " Where, where ? Is that Chaffanbrass ? What a dirty little man ! " To this dirty little man in Ely Place, Mr. Eurnival now went in his dificulty. Mr. Pumival might feel himself sufficient to secure the acquittal of an innocent person, or even of a guilty person, under ordinary circumstances ; but if any man in England could secure the acquittal of a guilty person under extraordinary circumstances, it would be Mr. Chaffanbrass. This had been his special line of work for the last thirty years. Mr. ChMfanbrass was a dirty little man ; and when seen without his gown and wig, might at a first glance be thought insignificant. But he knew well how to hold his own in the world, and could maintain his opinion, unshaken, against all the judges in the land. "Well, Furnival, and what can I do for you ? " he said, as soon as the member for the Essex Marshes was seated opposite to him. " It ian't often that the light of your countenance shines so far east as this. Somebody must be in trouble, I suppose ? " " Somebody is in trouble," said Mr. Furnival ; and then he began to KB. FUBNIVij; LOOSB K)B i^SISIANCI. 315 tell his story. Mr. Chaffanbrass listened almost in silence throughout. Now and then he asked a question by a word or two, expressing no opinion whatever as he did so ; but he was satisfied to leare the talking altogether in the hands of his visitor till the whole tale was told. " Ah," he said then, " a clever woman ! " " An uncommonly sweet creature too," said Mr. Furnival. " I dare say," said Mr. Chaffanbrass ; and then there was a pause. " And what can I do for you ? " said Mr. Chaffanbrass. " In the first place I should be very glad to have your advice, and then — . Of course I must lead in defending her, — unless it were well that I should put the case altogether in your hands." " Oh no ! don't think of that. I couldn't give the time to it. My heart is not in it, as yours is. Where will it be ? " " At Alston, I suppose." " At the spring assizes. That will be——. Let me see ; about the 10th of March." " I should think we might get it postponed till the summer. Hound is not at all hot about it.' " Should we gain anything by that ? If a prisoner be innocent why torment him by delay ? He is tolerably sure of escape. If he be guilty, extension of time only brings out the facts the clearer. As far as my experience goes, the sooner a man is tried the better, —always." " And you would consent to hold a brief? " "Under you? Well; yes. I don't mind it at Alston. Anything to oblige an old friend. I never was proud, you know." " And what do you think about it, Chaffanbrass f " "Ah ! that's the question." " She must be pulled through. Twenty years of possession ! Think of that." " That's what Mason, the man down in Yorkshire, is thinking of. There's no doubt of course about that partnership deed ? " " I fear not. Round would not go on with it if that were not all true." " It depends on those two witnesses, Fumival. I remember the case of old, though it was twenty years ago, and I had nothing to do with it. I remember thinking that Lady Mason was a very clever woman, and that Round and Crook were rather slow." " He's a brute, is that fellow Mason, of Groby Park." " A brute ; is he ? We'll get him into the box and make him say as in with his views. It was only yesterday that Sir Peregrine made his offer. I mention this that you may know that I have lost no time in telling you. "Dearest Lucius, believe that I shall be as ever " Your most affectionate mother, "Maey Mason." " The little girl will wait for an answer if she finds that you are at the farm." " No," he said to himself, still walking about the room. " She can never be to me the same mother that she was. I would have saori ficed everything for her. She should have been the mistress of mj house, at any rate till she herself should have wished it otherwise. But now " And then his mind turned away suddenly to Sophia Purnival. I cannot myself but think that had that affair of the trial been set at rest Lady Mason would have been prudent to look for another home. The fact that Orley Farm was his house and not hers occurred almost too frequently to Lucius Mason ; and I am not certain that it would have been altogether comfortable as a permanent residence for his mother after he should have brought home to it some such oride as her he now proposed to himself. It was necessary that he should write an answer to his mother, which he did at once. 'Orley Farm, — -Janaary. "Deajl Mothee, "It is I fear too. late for me to offer any counsel on the subject of your letter. I cannot say that I think you are right. " Your affectionate son, "Lucius Mason." And then, having finished this, he again walked the room. " It is all up between me and her," he said, " as real friends in life and heart. She shall still have the respect of a son, and I shall have the regard 0/ a mother. But how can I trim my course to suit the welfare of tin wife of Sir Peregrine Orme?" And then he lashed himself into anget at the idea that his mother should have looked for other solace than that which he could have given. Nothing more from The Cleeve reached him that day ; but early on the following morning he had a visitor whom he certainly had not ex- pected. Before he sat down to his breakfast he heard the sound of a Dorse's feet before the door, and immediately afterwards Peregrine Ormo 2C2 ORLEV FARM. entered the sitting-room. He was duly shown in by the servant, and in liis ordinary way came forward quickly and shook hands. Then he waited till the door was closed, and at once began upon the subject which had brought him there. " Mason," he said, " you have heard of this that is being done at TheCleeve?" , Lucius immediately fell back a step or two, and considered for a moment how he shoulJ" answer. He had pressed very heavily on his mother in his own thoughts, but he was not prepared to hear her harshly spoken of by another. " Yes," said he, " I have heard." "And I understand from your mother that vou do not approve of it." "Approve of it ! No ; I do not approve of it." " Nor by Heavens do I ! " "I do not approve of it," said Mason, speaking with delibera- tion; "but I do not know that I can take any steps towards pre- venting it." "Cannot you see her, and talk to her, and tell her how wrong it is?" " Wrong ! I do not know that she is wrong in that sense. I do not know that you have any right to blame her. Why do not ^ you speak to your grandfather ? " " So I have — as far as it was possible for me. But you do not know Sir Peregrine. No one lias any influence over him, but my mother ; — and now also your mother." " And what does Mrs. Orme say ? " "She will say nothing. I know well that she disapproves of it. She must disapprove of it, though she will not say so. She would rather burn off both her hands than displease ray grandfather. She says that he asked her and that she consented." "It seems to me that it is for her and you to prevent this." " No ; it is for your mother to prevent it. Only think of it. Mason. He is over seventy, and, as he says himself, he will not burden the estate with a new jointure. Why should she do it ? " " Yon are wronging her there. It is no affair of money. She is not going to marry him for what she can get." " Then why should she do it ? " "Because he tells her. These troubles about the lawsuit have turned her head, and she has put herself entirely into his hands. I think she is wrong. I could have protected her from all this evil, and would have done so. I could have done more, I think, than Su: Pere- grine can do. But she has thought otherwise, and I do not know that I can help it." " But wUl you speak to her ? Will you make her perceive that she is m- juring a family that is treating her with kindness :' " " If she will come here I will speak to her. I cannot do it theie. I cannot go down to your grandfather's house with such an object as that." TVUAT lilE iUUSG MEN THOTJGUt ABOUT IT. 263 "xVll the world will turn against her if she marries him," said Peregrine. And then there was silence betweeu them for a moment or two. " It seems to me,'' said Lucius at last, " that you wrong my mother very much in this matter, and lay all the blame where but the smallest part of the blame is deserved. She has no idea of money in her mind, or any thought of pecuniary advantage. She is moved solely by what your grandfather has said to her, — and by an insane dread of some coming evil which she thinks may be lessened by his assistance. You. are in the house with them, aiMi can speak to him, — and if you please to her also. I do not see that i can do either." "And you will not help me to break it off? " " Certainly, — if I can see my way." " Will you write to her ? " "Well; I will think aboufit." " Whether she be to blame or not it must be your duty as well as mine to prevent such a marriage if it be possible. Think what people will say of it ! " After some further discussion Peregrine remounted his horse, and rode back to The Cleeve, not quite satisfied with young Mason. " If you do speak to her, — to my mother, do it gently." Those were the last words whispered by Lucius as Peregrine Orme had his foot in the stirrup. Young Peregrine Orme, as he rode home, felt that the world was usmg him very nnkindly. Everything was going wrong with him, and an idea entered his head that he might as well go and look for Sir John Pranklin at the North Pole, or join some energetic traveller in the middle of Central Africa. He had proposed to Madeline Staveley and had been refused. That in itself caused a load to lie on his heart which was almost unendurable ; — and now his grandfather was going to disgrace himself. He had made his little effort to be respectable and discreet, devoting himself to the county hunt and county drawing- rooms, giving up the pleasures of London and the glories of dissipation. And for what ? Then Peregrine began to argue within himself as some others have done before liim — " Were it not better done as others use " he said to himself, in that or other language ; and as he rode slowly into the courtyard of The Cleeve, ho thought almost with regret of his old friend Carroty Bnh, 2Ci OUJtt tAiA CHAPTER XXXVIL peregkine's eloquejtce. In the last chapter Peregrine Mason called at Orley Farm with the view of discussing with Lucius Mason the conduct of their respective progenitors ; and, as will be remembered, the young men agreed in a general way that their progenitors were about to make fools of them- selves. Poor Peregrine, however, had other troubles on his mind. Not only had his grandfather been successful in love, but he had been unsuccessful. As he had journeyed home from Noningsby to The Cleeve in a high-wheeled vehicle which he called his trap, he had de- termined, bemg then in a frame of mind somewhat softer than was usual with him, to tell all his troubles to his mother. It sounds as though it were lackadaisical — such a resolve as this on the part of a dashing young man, who had been given to the pursuit of rats, and was now a leader among the sons of Mmrod in the pursuit of foxes. Young men of the present day, when got up for the eyes of the world, look and talk as though they never could tell their mothers anything, — as though they were harder than flint, and as little in want of a woman's counsel and a woman's help as a colonel of horse on the mornmg of a battle. But the rigid virility of his outward accoutre- ments does in no way alter the man of flesh and blood who wears them ; the young hero, so stem to the eye, is, I believe, as often tempted by stress of sentiment to lay bare the sorrow of his heart as is his sister. On this occasion Peregrine said to himself that he would lay bare the sorrow of his heart. He would find out what others thought of that marriage which he had proposed to himself; and then, if his mother encouraged him, and his grandfather approved, he would make another attack, beginnmg on the side of the judge, or perhaps on that of Lady Staveley. But he found that others, as well as he, were labouring under a stress of sentiment ; and when about to tell his own tale, lie had learned that a tale was to be told to him. He had dined with Lady Mason, his mother, and his grandfather, and the dinner had been very silent. Three of the party were in love, and the fourth was burdened with the telling of the tale. The baronet himself said nothing on the subject as he and his grandson sat over their wine ; but later in the even- ing Peregrine was summoned to his mother's room, and she, wEh considerable hesitation and much diffidence, informed him of the coming nuptials. " Marry Lady Mason ! " he had said. " Yes, Peregrine. Why should he not do so if they both wish it ? ' Peregrine thought that there were many causes and impediments tfi&fiGKiXJi's ELOQtJEJtCE. 2CS sufficiently just wLy no such marriage should take place, but he had not his arguments ready at his fingers' ends. He was so stunned by the intelligence that he could say but little about it on that occasion. By the few words that he did say, and by the darkness of his countenance, he showed plainly enough that he disapproved. And then his mother said ,all that she could in the baronet's favour, point- ing out that in a pecuniary way Peregrine would receive benefit rather than injury." " I'm not thinking of the money, mother." " No, my dear ; but it is right that I should tell you how considerate your grandfather is." " All the same I wish he would not marry this woman." " Woman, Peregrine ! You should not speak in that way of a friend whom I dearly love." " She is a woman all the same." And then he sat sulkily looking at the fire. His own stress of sentiment did not admit of free dis- cussion at the present moment and was necessarily postponed. On that other afiair he was told that his grandfather would be glad to see him on the following morning ; and then he left his mother. "Your grandfather, Peregrine, asked for my assent," said Mrs. Ormcj "and! thought it right to give it." This she said to make him understand that it was no longer in her power to oppose the match. And she was thoroughly glad that this was so, for she would have lacked the courage to oppose Sir Peregrine in any- thing. On the next morning Peregrine saw his grandfather before break- fast. His mother came to his room door while he was dressing to whisper a word of caution to him. "Pray, be courteous to him," she said. " Eemember how good he is to you — to us both. Say that you congratulate him." " But I don't," said Peregrine. "Ah, but, Peregrine " " I'll tell you what I'll do, mother. I'll leave the house altogether and go away, if you wish it." " Oh, Peregrine ! How can you speak in that way ? But he's wait- ing now. Pray, pray, be kind in your manner to him." He descended with the same sort of feeling which had oppressed him on his return home after his encounter with Carroty Bob in Smithfield. Since then he had been on enduring good tenns with his grandfather, but now agam all the discomforts of war were im- minent. " Good-morning, Sir," he said, on going into his grandfather's dressing-room. " Good-morning, Peregrine." And then there was silence for a moment or two. " Did you see your mother last night ? " "Yes; I did see her." " And she told vou what it is that I propose to do f* "Yes, Sir; she told me." OKLET PAEM. "I hope you understand, my boy, that it will not in any ^way afleci your OWE interests injuriously." " I don't care about that. Sir — one way or the other." " But I do, Peregrine. Having seen to that I think that I have a right to please myself in this matter." " Oh, yes. Sir ; I know you have the right." "Especially as J. can benefit others. Are you aware that your mother has cordially given her consent to the marriage ? " " She told me that you had asked her, and that she had agreed to it. She would agree to anything." " Peregrine, that is not the way in wiiich you should speak of your mother." And then the young man stood silent, as though there was nothing more to be said. Indeed, he had nothing more to say. He did not dare to bring forward in words all the arguments against the marriage which were now crowding themselves into his memory, but he could not induce himself to wish the old man joy, or to say any of those civil things which are customary on such occasions. The baronet sat for a while, silent also, and a cloud of anger was coming across his brow; but he checked that before he spoke. "Well, my boy," he said, and his voice was almost more than usually kind, " 1 can under- stand your thoughts, and we will say nothing of them at present. All I will ask of you is to treat Lady Mason in a manner befitting the position in which I intend to place her." " If you think it wiU be more comfortable. Sir, I will leave The Cleeve for a time." " I hope that may not be necessary. — Why should it ? Or at any rate, not as yet," he added, as a thought as to his wedding day occurred to him. And then the interview was over, and in another half-hour tliey met again at breakfast. In the breakfast-room Lady Mason was also present. Peregrine was the last to enter, and as he did so his grandfather was already standing in his usual place, with the Book of Prayers in his hand, waiting that the servants should arrange themselves at their chairs before he knelt down. There was no time then for much greeting, but Peregrine did » shake hands with her as he stepped across to his accustomed comer. He shook hands with her, and felt that her hand was very cold ; but he did not look at her, nor did he hear any answer given to his few muttered words. When they all got up she remained close to Mrs. Orme, as though she might thus be protected from the anger which she feared from Sir Peregrine's other friends. And at breakfast also she sat close to her, far away from the baronet, and almost hidden by the urn from his grandson. Sitting there she said nothing ; neither in truth did she eat anything. It was a time of great suffering to her, for she knew that her coming would not be welcomed by the young heir. "It must not be," she said to herself over and over again. " Though he turn me out of the house, I must tell him that it cannot be so." After breakfast Peregrine had ridden over to Orley Earm, and there PEKEGMNE's ELOQTJEJICE. 267 neld his consultation with the other heir. On his returuiug to The Cleeve, he did not go into the house, but having given up his horse to a groom, wandered away among the woods. Lucius Mason had sug- gested that he, Peregrine Orme, should himself speak to Lady Mason on this matter. He felt that his grandfather would be very angry, should he do so. But he did not regard that much. He had filled himself fuU with the theory of his duties, and he would act up to it. He would see her, without telling any one what was his purpose, and put it to her whether she would bring down this destruction on so noble a gentleman. Having thus resolved, he returned to the house, when it was already dark, and making his way into the draw- ing-room, sat himself down before the fire, stUl thinking of his plan. The room was dark, as such rooms are dark for the last hour or two before dinner in January, and he sat himself in an arm-chair before the fire, intending to sit there till it would be necessary that he should go to dress. It was an unaccustomed thing with him so to place himself at such a time, or to remain in the drawing-room at aU till he came down for a few minutes before dinner ; but he did so now, having been thrown out of his usual habits by the cares upon his mind. He had been so seated about a quarter of an houj, and was already nearly asleep, when he heard the rustle of a woman's garment, and looking round, with such light as the fire gave him, perceived that Lady Mason was in the room. She had entered very quietly, and was making her way in the dark to a chair which she frequently occupied, between the fire and one of the windows, and in doing so she passed so near Peregrine as to touch him with her dress. "Lady Mason," he said, speaking, in the first place, in order that she might know that she was not alone, " it is almost dark ; shall I ring for candles for you ? " She started at hearing his voice, begged his pardon for disturbing him, declined his offer of light, and declared that she was going, up again to her own room immediately. But it occurred to him that if it would be well that he should speak to her, it would be well that he should do so at once ; and what opportunity could be more fitting than the present ? "If you are not in a hurry about anything," he said, " would you mind staying here for a few minutes ? " "Oh no, certainly not." But he could perceive that her voice trembled in uttering even these few words. " I think I'd better hght a candle," he said ; and then he did light one of those which stood on the corner of the mantelpiece, — a sohtary candle, which only seemed to make the gloom of the large room visible. She, however, was standing close to it, and would have much preferred that the room should have been left to its darkness. " Won't you sit down for a few minutes ? " and then she sat down. " I'll just shut the door, if you don't mind." And then, having done so, he returned to his own chair and again faced the fire. He saw that she was pale and nervous, and he did not like to look at her as he spoke. He began to reflect also that they might probably be in- 268 o&tfi iA&H. terrupted by bis mother, and lie wished that they could adjourn to soms other room. That, however, seemed to be impossible ; so he summoned up all his courage, and began his task. " I hope you won't think me uncivil. Lady Mason, for speaking to you about tliis affair." "Oh no, Mr. Orme ; I am sure that you will not be uncivil to me." "Of course I cannot help feeling a great concern in it, for it's very nearly the same, you know, as if he were my father. Indeed, if you come to that, it's almost worse ; and I can assure you it is nothiiig about money that I mind. Many fellows in my place would be afraid about that, but I don't care twopence what he does in that respect. He is so honest and so noble-hearted, that I am sure he won't do me a wrong." "I hope not, Mr. Orme ; and certainly not in respect to me." " I only mention it for fear you should misunderstand me. But there are other reasons, Lady Mason, why this marriage will make me — make me very unhappy." "Are there ? I shall be so unhappy if I make others un- happy." " You will then, — I can assure you of that. It is not only me, but your own son. I was up with him to-day, and he thinks of it the same as I do." " What did he say, Mr. Orme ? " " What did he say ? Well, I don't exactly remember his words ; but he made me understand that your marriage with Sir Peregrine would make him very unhappy. He did indeed. Why do you not see him yourself, and talk to him ? " "I thought it best to write to him in the first place." " Well, now you have written ; and don't you think it would be well that you should go up and see him ? You will find that he is quite as strong agauist, it as I am, — guite." Peregrine, had he known it, was using the arguments which were of all the least likely to induce Lady Mason to pay a visit to Orley Farm. She dreaded the idea of a quarrel with her son, and would have made almost any sacrifice to prevent such a misfortune ; but at the present moment she feared the anger of his words almost more than the anger implied by his absence. If this trial could be got over, she would return to him and almost throw herself at his feet; bat till that time, might it not be well that they should be apart ? At any rate, these tidings of his discontent could not be efficacious in inducing her to seek him. " Dear Lucius 1 " she said, not addressing herself to her companion, but speaking her thoughts. " I would not willingly give him cause to be discontented with me." " He is, then, very discontented. I can assure you of that." " Yes ; he and I think differently about aU this." " Ah, but don't you think you had better speak to him before you Cftnle make up your mind? He is your son, you know; and an uu- PEREGEINE's ELO(iU£NCB. 209 common clever fellow too. He'll know how to saj all this much better than I do." " Say what, Mr. Orme f " "Why, of course you can't expect that anybody will like such a marriage as this ; — that is, anybody except you and Sir Pere- grine." " Your mother does not object io it." " My mother ! But you don't know my mother yet. She would not object to have her head cut off if anybody wanted it that sha cared about. I do not know how it has all been managed, but I suppose Sir Peregrine asked her. Then of course she would not object. But look at the common sense of it. Lady Mason. What does the world always say when an old man like my grandfather marries a young woman ? " "But I am not ." So far she got, and then she stopped herself. " We have all liked you very much. I'm sure I have for one ; and I'll go in for you, heart and soul, in this shameful law business. When Lucius asked me, I didn't think anything of going to that scoundrel in Hamworth ; and all along I've been delighted that Sir Peregrine took it up. By Heavens ! I'd be glad to go down to Yorkshire myseltj and walk into that fellow that wants to do you this injury. I would in- deed ; and I'U stand by you as strong as anybody. But, Lady Mason, when it comes to one's grandfather marrying, it it it . Think what people in the county will say of him. If it was your father, and if he had been at the top of the tree all his life, how would you like to see him get a fall, and be laughed at as though he were in the mud just when he was too old ever to get up again ? " I am not sure whether Lucius Mason, with all his cleverness, could have put the matter much better, or have used a style of oratory more efficacious to the end in view. Peregrine had drawn his picture with a coarse pencil, but he had drawn it strongly, and with graphic effect. And then he paused ; not with self-confidence, or as givmg his companion time to see how great had been his art, but in want of words, and somewhat confused by the strength of his own thoughts. So he got up and poked the fire, turned his back to it, and then sat down again. " It is such a deuce of a thing. Lady Mason," he said, " that you must not be angry with me for speakmg out." " Oh, Mr. Orme, I am not angry, and I do not know what to saj to you." " Why don't you speak to Lucius f " " What could he say more than you have said ? Dear Mr. Orme, I would not injure him, — your grandfather, I mean, — for all that the TTorld holds." " You will injure him; — ^ui the eyes of ail his friends." " Then 1 will not do it. I will go to him, and beg him that it may not be so. I will tell him that I cannot. Anything will be better than bringing him to sorrow or disgrace." 270 OELEY FAEM. "By Jove! but will you really?" Peregrine was startled and aimost frightened at the effect of his own eloquence. What would the baronet say when he learned that he had been talked out of his wife by nis grandson? " Mr. Orme," continued Lady Mason, " I am sure you do not under- stand how this matter has been brought about. If you did, however much it might grieve you, you would not blame me, even in your thoughts. JFrom the first to the last my only desire has been to obey your grandfather in everything." "But you would not marry him out of obedience ? " " I would — and did so intend. I would, certainly ; if in doing so I did him no injury. You say that your mother would give her life for him. So would I ; — that or anytliiug else that I could give, without hurting him or others. It was not I that sought for this marriage; nor did I think of it. If you were in my place, Mr. Orme, you would know how difficult it is to refuse." Peregrine again got up, and standing with his back to the fire, thought over it all again. His soft heart almost relented towards the woman who had borne his rough words with so much patient kindness. Had Sir Peregrine been there then, and could he have condescended so far, he might have won his grandson's consent with- out much trouble. Peregrine, like some other generals, had ex- pended his energy in gainmg his victory, and was more ready now to come to easy terms than he would have been had he suffered in the combat. " Well," he said after a whUe, " I'm sure I'm very much oohged to you for the manner in which you have taken what I said to you. No- body knows about it yet, I suppose ; and perhaps, if you will talk to the governor " " I will talk to him, Mr. Orme." " Thank you ; and then perhaps all things may turn out right. I'll go and dress now." And so saying he took his departure, leaving her to consider how best shenfight act at this crisis of her life, so that things might go right, if such were possible. The more she thought of it, the less possible it seemed that her affairs should be made to go right. OB, imdeed! 271 CHAPTER XXXVin. OH, INDEED ! The dinnaer on that day at The Cleeve was not very dull. Peregrine had some hopes that the (idea of the marriage might be abandoned, and was at any rate much better disposed towards Lady Mason than he had been. He spoke to her, asking her whether she had been out, and suggesting roast mutton or some such creature comfort. This was lost neither on Sir Peregrine nor on Mrs. Orme, and they both exerted themselves to say a few words in a more cheery tone than had been customary in the house for the last day or two. Lady Mason herself did not say much ; but she had sufficient tact to see the eifort which was being made ; and though she spoke but little she smUed and accepted graciously the courtesies that were tendered to her. Then the two ladies went away, and Peregrine was again left with his grandfather. " That was a nasty accident that Graham had going out of Monkton [Grange." said he, speaking on the moment of his closing the dining-room door after his mother. ,"I suppose you heard all about it. Sir ? " Having fought his battle so well before dinner, he was determined to give some little rest to his half-vanquished enemy. " The first tidings we heard were that he was dead," said Sir Pere- grine, fUUng his glass. " No ; he wasn't dead. But of course you know that now. He broke an arm and two ribs, and got rather a bad squeeze. He was just behind me, you know, and I had to wait for him. I lost the run, and had to see Harriet Tristram go away with the best lead any one has had to a fast thing this year. That's an uncommon nasty place at the back of Monkton Grange." " I hope, Peregrine, you don't think too much about Harriet Tris- tram." _ _ . " Think of her ! who ? I ? Think of her in what sort of a way ? I think she goes uncommonly well to hounds." " That may be, but I should not wish to see you pin your happi- ness on any lady that was celebrated chiefly for going well to hounds." "Do you mean marry her?" and Peregrine immediately made a strong comparison in his mind between Miss Tristram and Madelme Staveley. " Yes ; that's what I did mean." " I wouldn't have her if she owned every fox-cover in the county. No, by Jove ! I know a trick worth two of that. It's jolly enough to see them going, but as to being in Igyg with tliem — in that sort c-' £72 , OELEV rAE5r. " You are quite right, my boy ; quite right. It is not that that a man wants in a wife." "No," said Peregrine, with a melancholy cadence in his voice, thinking of what it was that he did want. And so they sat sipping llieir wine. The turn which the conversation had taken had for the moment nearly put Lady Mason out of the young man's head. " You would be very young to marry yet," said the baronet. " Yes, I should be young ; but I don't know that there is any narai m that." " Quite the contrary, if a young man feels himself to be sufficiently settled. Your mother I know would be very glad that you should marry early ; — and so should I, if you married well." What on earth could all this mean ? It could not be that his grand- father knew that he was in love with Miss Staveley ; and had this been known his grandfather would not have talked of Harriet Tristram. " Oh yes ; of course a fellow should marry well. I don't think much of marrying for money." " Nor do I, Peregrine ; — I thmk very little of it." " Nor about being of very high birth." " Well, it would make me unhappy — very imhappy, if you were to marry below your own rank." "What do you call my own rank?" " I mean any girl whose father is not a gentleman, and whose mother is not a lady ; and of whose education among ladies you could not feel certain." " I could be quite certain about her," said Peregrine, very inno- cently. "Her! what her?" " Oh, I forgot that we were talking about nobody." " You don't mean Harriet Tristram ? " " No, certainly not." " Of whom were you thinking. Peregrine ? May I ask — if it be not too close a secret ? " And then again there was a pause, during which Peregrine emptied his glass and filled it again. He had no objection to talk to his grandfather about Miss Staveley, but he felt ashamed of having allowed the matter to escape him in this sort of way. "I wUl tell you why I ask, my boy," continued the Daronet. " I am going to do that which many people wiU call a very i'oohsh thing." " You mean about Lady Mason." " Yes ; I mean my own marriage with Lady Mason. We will not talk about that just at present, and I only mention it to explain that before I do so, I shall settle the property permanently. If vou were married I should at once divide it with you. I should like to "keep the old house myself^ till I die " " Oh, Sir ! " "But sooner than give you cause of offence, I would give that up." "I would not consent to live in it unless I did so as your guest." "Until yoiu- marriage I thiiik of settling on you a thousand a ' OH, indsed! 273 year ; — but it woiild add to my happiness if i thought it Ukely that you would marry soon. Now may I ask of wliom were you thinking ? " '' Peregrine paused for a second or two before he made any reply, and then he brought it out boldly. " I was thinking of Madeline Staveley." "Then, my boy, you were thinking of the prettiest girl and the best- bred lady in the county. Here's her health ! " and he fiUed for him- self a bumper of claret. " You couldn't have named a woman whom I should be more proud to see you bring home. And your mother's opinion of her is the same as mine. I happen to know that ; " and with a look of triumph he drank his glass of wine, as though much that was very joyful to him had been already settled. "Tes," said Peregrine mournfully, " she is a very nice girl ; at least I think so." " The man who can win her. Peregrine, may consider himself to be a lucky fellow. You were quite right in what you were saying about money. No man feels more sure of that than I do. But if I am not mistaken Miss Staveley will have something of her own. I rather think that Arbuthnot got ten thousand pounds." " Pm sure I don't know. Sir," said Peregrine ; and his voice was by no means as much elated as that of his grandfather. " I think he did ; or if he didn't get it all, the remainder is settled on him. And the judge is not a man to behave better to one child than to another." " 1 suppose not." And tnen the conversation flagged a httle, for the enthusiasm was all one side. It was moreover on that side which naturally would have been the least enthusiastic. Poor Peregrine had only told half his secret as yet, and that not the most important half. To Sir Pere- grine the tidings, as far as he had heard them, were very pleasant. He did not say to himself that he would purchase his grandson's assent to nis own marriage by giving his consent to his grandson's marriage. But it did seem to him that the two affairs, acting upon each other, might both be made to run smooth. His heir could have made no better choice in selecting the lady of his love. Sir Peregrine had feared much that some Miss Tristram or the Kke might have been tendered to him as the future Lady Orme, and he was agreeably surprised to find that a new mistress for The Cleeve had been so well chosen. He would be all kindness to his grandson and win from him, if it might be possible, reciprocal courtesy and complaisance. " Your mother will be very pleased when she hears this," he said. " I meant to tell my mother," said Peregrine, still very dolefully, " but I do not know that there is anything in it to please her. I jnly sssid that I — I admired Miss Staveley." " My dear boy, if you'll take my advice you'll propose to her at once. You have been staymg in the same house with her, and ," "But I have." "Have what?" 18 ; S74 OBLBT Visa. " 1 have propoeed to her." " And she has refused me. You know all about it now, and there's ■0 such great cause for joy." " Oh, you have proposed to her. Have you spoken to her father or mother ? " "What was the use when she told me plainly that she did not care for me ? Of comse I should have asked her father. As to Lady Staveley, She and I got on uncommonly well. I'm almost inclined to think that she would not have objected." "It would be a very nice match for them, and I dare say she would not have objected." And then for some ten minutes they sat looking at the fire. Peregrine had nothing more to say about it, and the baronet was thinking how best he might encourage his grandson. " You must try again, you know," at last he said. " Well ; I fear not. I do not think it would be any good. I'm not quite sure she does not care for some one else." "Who is he?" " Oh, a fellow that's there. The man who broke his arm. I don't say she does, you know, and of course you won't mention it." Sir Peregrine gave the necessary promises, and then endeavoured to give encouragement to the lover. He would himself see the judge, if it were thought expedient, and explain what liberal settlement would be made on the lady in the event of her altering her mind. "Yoimg ladies, you know, are very prone to alter their minds on such matters," said the old man. In answer to which Peregrine declared his conviction that Madeline Staveley would not alter her mind. But then do not all despondent lovers hold that opinion of their own mistresses? Sir Peregrine had been a great gainer by what had occurred, and so he felt it. At any rate all the novelty of the question of his own marriage was over, as between him and Peregrine ; and then he had acquired a means of being gracious which must almost disarm his grandson of all power of criticism. When he, an old man, was ready to do so much to forward the views of a young man, could it be possible that the young man should oppose his wishes ? And Peregrine was aware that his power of opposition was thus lessened. In the evening nothing remarkable occurred between them. Each nad his or her own plans; but these plans could not be fur- thered by anything to be said in a general assembly. Lady Mason had already told to Mrs. Orme all that had passed in the drawmg- room before dinner, and Sir Peregrine had determined that be would consult Mrs. Orme as to that matter regarding Miss Staveley. He did not think much of her refusal. Young ladies always do refuse-r at first. On the day but one following this there came another visit from Mi Purnival, and he was for a long time closeted with Sir Peregrine. Matthew Eound had, he said, been wiih him, and had felt himself OH, INDEED t 275 ebliged in the performance of his duty to submit a case to counsel on behalf of bis client Joseph Mason. He had not as yet received the written opinion of Sir Richard Leatheram, to whom he had applied ; but nevertheless, as he wished to give every possible notice, he had called to say that his firm were of opinion that an action must be brought either for forgery or for perjury. "Eor perjury ! " Mr. Furnival had said. " Well ; yes. We would wish to be as little harsh as possible. But if we convict her of having sworn falsely when she gave evidence as to having copied the codicil herself, and having seen it witnessed by the pretended witnesses ; — why in that case of course the property would go back." "I can't give any opinion as to what might be the result in such a case," said Mr. Pumival. Mr. Round had gone on to say that he thought it improbable that the action could be tried before the summer assizes. " The sooner the better as far as we are concerned," said Mr. Pu.r- nival. " If you really mean that, I will see that there shall be no unnecessary delay." Mr. Purnival had declared that he did really mean it, and so the interview had ended. Mr. Eumival had really meant it, fully concurring in the opinion which Mr. Chaffanbrass had expressed on this matter; but never- theless the increasing urgency of the case had almost made him tremble. He still carried himself with a brave outside before Mat Round, protesting as to the utter absurdity as well as cruelty of the whole proceeding ; but his conscience told him that it was not absurd. " Perjury ! " he said to himself, and then he rang the bell for Crabwitz. The upshot of that interview was that Mr. Crab- witz received a commission to arrange a meeting between that great barrister, the member for the Essex Marshes, and Mr. Solomon Aram. " Won't it look rather, rather — rather you know what I mean, Sir ? " Crabwitz had asked. " We must fight these people with tlieir own weapons," said Mr. Furnival ; — not exactly with justice, seeing that Messrs. Round and Crook were not .at, all of the same cahbre in the profession as Mr. Solomon Aram. Mr. Furnival had already at this time seen Mr. Slow, of the firm sf Slow and Bideawhile, who were Su: Peregrine's solicitors. This ne had done chiefly that he might be able to tell Sir Peregrine that ne had seen him. Mr. Slow had declared that the case was one •which his firm would not be prepared to conduct, and he named a firm to which he should recommend his cKent to apply. But Mr. Purnival, carefully considering the whole matter, had resolved to take the advice and benefit by the experience of Mr. Chaffanbrass. And then ho went down once more to The Cleeve. Poor Mr. Eur- nival! In these days he was dreadfully buffeted about both as regards his outer man and his inner conscience by this unfortunate J8— 2 276 OELEY FAEJI. Case, giving up to it time tliat would otherwise have tarned itaell into heaps of gold ; giving up domestic conscience — for Mrs. Eurnival was still hot in her anger against poor Lady Mason; and giving up also much peace of mmd, for he felt that lie was soiling his hands by dirty work. But he thought of the lady's pale sweet face, of her tear-laden eye, of her soft beseeching tones, and gentle touch ; he thought of these things — as he should not have thought of them; — and he persevered. On this occasion he was closeted with Sir Peregrine for a couple of hours, and each heard much from the other that surprised" him very much. Sir Peregrine, when he was told that Mr. Solomon Aram from Bucklersbury, and Mr. Chaffanbrass from the Old Bailey, were to be retained for the defence of his future wife, drew himself up and said that he could hardly approve^ of it. The gentlemen named were no doubt very clever in criminal concerns; he could understand as much as rhat, though he had not had great opportunity of looking into affairs of that sort. But surely, m Lady Mason's case, assistance of such a description would hardly he needed. Would it not be better to consult Messrs. Slow and Bideawhile ? And then it turned out than Messrs. Slow and Bideawhile had been consulted ; and Mr. Purnival, not altogether successfully, en- deavoured to throw dust into the baronet's eyes, declaring that iu a combat with the devil one must use the devil's weapons. He assured Sir Peregrine that he had given the matter his most matured and indeed most painful professional consideration; there were unfortunate circumstances which required peculiar care; it was a matter which would depend entirely on the evidence of one or two persons who might be suborned ; and in such a case it would be well to trust to those who knew how to break down and crush a lying witness. Li such work as that Slow and Bideawhile would be innocent and ignorant as babes. As to breaking down and crush- ing a witness anxious to speak the truth, Mr. Purnival at that time said nothing. " I wUl not think that falsehood and fraud can prevail," said Sir Peregrine proudly. " But they do prevail sometimes," said Mr. Purnival. And then with much outer dignity of demeanour, but with some shame-faced tremblings of the inner man hidden under the guise of that outer dignity. Sir Peregrine informed the lawyer of his great purpose. " Indeed 1 " said Mr. Eurnival, throwing himself back into his chair with a start. " les, Mr. Furnival. I should not have taken the liberty to trouble you with a matter so private in its nature, buffer your close professional intimacy and great friendsliip with Lady Mason." " Oh, indeed ! " said Mr. ]?urnival ; and the baronet coijl^ uodersti^n^ from the lawyer's tone that eveij h^ ^id not approve. VUY SUOTJLD HE GOp S71 CHAPTER XXXIX. ■WHY SHOULD HE GO F " 1 AM well aware, Mr. Staveley, that you are one of those gentlemen who amuse themselves by frequently saying such things to girls. I had learned your character in that respect before I had been in the house two days." " Then, Miss Furnival, you learned what was very false. May 1 ask who has blackened me in this way in your estimation ? " It will be easily seen from this that Mr. Augustus Staveley and Miss Purnival were at the present moment alone together in one of the rooms at Noningsby. "My informant," she replied, "has been no one especial sinner whom you can take by the throat and punish. Indeed, if you must shoot anybody, it should be chiefly yourself, and after that your father, and mother, and sisters. But you need not talk of being black. Such sins are venial nowadays, and convey nothing deeper than a ligh>; shade of brown." " I regard a man who can act in such a way as very base." " Such a way as what, Mr. Staveley ? " " A man who can Win a girl's heart for his own amusement." " I said nothing about the winning of hearts. That is treachery of the worst dye ; but I acquit you of any such attempt. When there is a question of the winning of hearts men look so different." "I don't know how they look," said Augustus, not altogether satisfied as to the manner in which he was being treated — "but such has been my audacity, — my too great audacity on the present occasion." " You are the most audacious of men, for your audacity would carry you to the feet of another lady to-morrow without the slightest check." "And that is the only answer I am to receive from you ? " " It is qxiite answer enough. What would you have me do? Get up and decline the honour of being Mrs. Augustus Staveley with a curtsey ? " " No — I would have you do nothing of the kind. I would have you get up and accept the honour, — with a kiss." " So that you might have the kiss, and I might have the ; — I was going to say disappointment, only that would be untrue. Let me assure you that I am not so demonstrative in my tokens of regard." " I wonder whether you mean that you are not so honest ? " "No, Mr. Staveley; I mean nothing of the kind; and you are very impertinent to express such a supposition. What have I done or said to ~^Ap you suppose that I have lost my heart to you ? " 37Si OELEt PAKM. "As you have mine, it is at any rate human nature in me to hope that I might have yours." " Psha ! your heart ! You have been making a shuttlecock of it till it is doubtful whether you have not banged it to pieces. I know two ladies who carry in their caps two feathers out of it. It is so easy to see when a man is in love. They all go cross-gartered like Malvolio ; — cross-gartered in their looks and words and doings." " And there is no touch of all this in me ? " " You cross-gartered 1 You have never got so far yet as a lacka daisical twist to the corner of your mouth. Did you watch Mr. Orme before he went away ? " " Why ; was he cross-gartered ? " " But you men have no eyes ; you never see anything. And your idea of love-making is to sit under a tree wishing, wondering whether the ripe fruit wUl fall down into your mouth. Ripe fruit does some- times fall, and then it is all well with you. But if it won't, you pass on and say that it is sour. As for climbing " " The fruit generally falls too fast to admit of such exercise," said Staveley, who did not choose that all the sharp things should be said on the other side. " And that is the result of your very extended experience ? The orchards which have been opened to you have not, I fear, been of the first quality. Mr. Staveley, my hand will do very well by itself. Such is not the sort of climbing that is required. That is what I call stoop- ing to pick up the frtdt that has fallen." And as she spoke, she moved a little way from him on the sofa. " And ho^r is a man to climb ? " " Do you really iiiean that you want a lesson ? But if I were to tell you, my words would be thrown away. Men will not labour who have gotten all that they require without work. Why strive to deserve any woman, when women are plenty who do not care to be deserved ? That plan of picking up the fallen apples is so much the easier." The lesson might perhaps have been given, and Miss Purnival might have imparted to Mr. Staveley her idea of " excelsior " in the matter of love-making, had not Mr. Staveley's mother come into the room at that moment. Mrs. Staveley was beginning to fear that the results of her Christmas hospitahty would not be satisfactory. Peregrine Orme, whom she would have been so happy to welco-ne ot the warmest corner of her household temple as a son, had oeen sent away in wretchedness and disappointment. Madeline was moping about the house, hardly making an effort to look like herself; attributing, in her mother's ears, all her complaint to that unexpected interview with Peregrine Orme, but not so attributing, it — as her mother fancied — with correctness. And there was Pelix Graham still in the room up stairs, the doctor having said that he might be moved in a day or two ; — that is, such movement might possibly be effected without detriment; — but having said also that another ten days of uninterrupted rest would be very WltY SlIOtTLl) HE GC? 279 sesirable. And now, in addition to this, ner son Augustus was to be found on every wet morning closeted somewhere with Sophia Furnival; — on every wet morning, and sometimes on dry mormngs also ! And then, on this very day. Lady Staveley had discovered that Felix Graham's door in the corridor was habitually left open. She knew her child too well, and was too clear and pure in her own mind, to suppose that there was anything wrong in this ; — that clandestine taUdngs were arranged, or anythmg planned in secret. What she feared was that which really occurred. The door was left open, and as Madeline passed Felix would say a word, and then Madeline would panise and answer him. Such words as they were might have been spoken before all the household, and if so spoken would have been free from danger. But they were not free from danger when spoken in that way, in the passage of a half-closed doorway ; — all which Lady Staveley understood perfectly. " Baker," she had said, with more of anger in her voice than was Tisual with her, " why do you leave that door open ? " " I think it sweetens the room, my lady ; " and, indeed, Felix Graham sometimes thought so too. " Nonsense ! every sound in the house must be heard. Keep it shut, if you please." "Yes, my lady," said Mrs. Baker — ^who also understood perfectly. " He is better, my darling," said Mrs. Baker to Madeline, the same day ; " and indeed, for that he is well enough as regards eating and drinking. But it would be cruelty to move him yet. I heard who. the doctor said." " Who talks of moving him ? " " Well, he talks of it himself; and the doctor said it might be possible. But I know what that means." " What does it mean ? " " Why, just this : that if we want to get rid of him, it won't quite be the death of him." "But who wants to get rid of him? " " I'm sure I don't. I don't mind my trouble the least in life. He's as nice a young gentleman as ever I sat beside the bed of ; and he's full of spirit — he is." And then Madehne appealed to her mother. Surely her mother would not let Mr. Graham be sent out of the house in his present state, merely because the doctor said it might be possible to move him without causing his instant death! And tears stood in poor Madeline's eyes as she thus pleaded the cause of the sick and wounded. This again tormented Lady Staveley, who found it accessary to give further caution to Mrs. Baker. " Baker," she said, ' how can you be so foolish as to be talking to Miss Madeline about Mr. Graham's arm ? " " Who, my lady ? I, my lady ? " "Yes, you; when you know that the least thing frightens her. Don't you remember how ill it made her when Roger " — Roger wa» 2S0 OJILEV ilSM, an old family groom — " wlien Roger Lad that accident ? _" Ladj Staveley might have saved herself the trouble of the reminisceuce as to Eoger, for Baker knew more about it than that. When Roger's scalp had been laid bare by a fall. Miss Madeline had chanced to see it, and had fainted; but Miss Madeline was not fainting now. Baker knew all about it, almost better than Lady Staveley herself. It was of very little use talking to Baker about Eo^er the groom. Baker thought that Mr. Eelix Graham was a very nice young man, in spite of His " not being exactly handsome like about the physgog- nomy," as she remarked to one of the younger maids, who much pre- ferred Peregrine Orme. Coming away from this last interview with Mrs. Baker, Lady Staveley interrupted her son and Sophia Eurnival in the back drawing- room, and began to feel that her solicitude for her children would be almost too much for her. Why had she asked that nasty girl to her house, and why would not the nasty girl go away ? As for lier going away, there was no present hope, for it had been arranged ■ that she should stay for another fortnight. Why could not tlie Fates have been kind, and have allowed Felix Graham and Miss Furnival to fall in love with each other ? "I can never make a daughter of her if he does marry her," Lady Staveley said to herself, as she looked at them. Augustus looked as though he were detected, and stammered out some question about his mother and the carriage ; but Miss Fumiva) did not for a moment lose her easy presence of mind. " Lady Stave- ley," said she, "why does not your son go and hunt, or shoot, or fish, instead of staying in the house all day ? It seems to me that his time is so heavy ou his hands that he will almost have to hang himself." " I'm sure I can't tell," said Lady Staveley, who was not so perfect an actor as her guest. " I do think gentlemen in the house in the morning always look so unfortunate. You have been endeavouring to make yourself agreeable, but you know you've been yawning." " Do you suppose then that men never sit stiU in the morning ? " said Augustus. " Oh, in their chambers, yes ; or on the bench, and perhaps also behind counters ; but they very seldom do so in a drawmg-room. You have been fidgeting about with the poker till you have destroyed the look of the fireplace." " Well, I'll go and fidget up stairs with Graham," said he; and so he left the room. '' Nasty, sly girl," said Lady Staveley to herself as she took up her work and sat herself down in her own chair. Augustus did go up to his friend and found him reading letters. There was no one else in the room, and the door when Augustus reached it was properly closed. " I think I shall be off to-morrow, old boy," said Felix. " Then I think you'll do no such tliuig," afii'. Augustus. " What's in the wuid now ? " WHY SHOULD HE GO? 381 "Tlifc dottoi' said this morning that I could be moved without danger." " He said that it might possibly be done in two or three days— that was all. What on earth makes you so impatient ? You've no- thing to do. Nobody else wants to see you ; and nobody here wants to get rid of you." " You're wrong in all your three statements." " The deuce I am ! Who wants to get rid of you ? " "That shall come last. I have something to do, and somebody else does want to see me. I've got a letter from Mary here, and another from Mrs. Thomas ; " and he held up to view two letters which he had received, and which had, in trutn, startled him. " Mary's duenna ; — the artist who is supposed to be moulding the wife ? " " Yes ; Mary's duenna, or Mary's artist, whichever you please." "And which of them wants to see you? It's just like a woman, to require a man's attendance exactly when he's unable to move." Then Felix, though he did not give up the letters to be read, described to a certain extent their contents. "I don't know what on earth has happened," he said. " Mary is praying to be forgiven, and saying that it is not her fault ; and Mrs. Tlioraas is full of apologies, declaring that her conscience forces her to teli every- thing ; and yet, between them both, I do not know what has happened." " Miss Snow has probably lost the key of the workbox you gave her." " I have not given her a workbox." " Then the writing-desk. That's what a man has to endure when he will make himself head schoolmaster to a young lady. And so you're going to look after your charge with your limbs still in bandages ? " " Just so ; " and then he took up the two letters and read them again, while Staveley still sat on the foot of the bed. "I wish I knew what to think about it," said Felix. " About what ? " said the other. And then there was another pause, and another reading of a portion of the letters. " There seems something — something almost frightful to me," said Felix gravely, " in the idea of marrying a girl in a few months' time, who now, at so late a period of our engagement, writes to me ui that sort of cold, formal way." "It's the proper moulded-wife style, you may depend," said Augustus. " I'll tell you what, Staveley, if you can talk to me seriously for five minutes, I shall be obliged to you. If that is impossible to you, say so, and I will drop the matter." "Well, goon; I am serious enough in what I intend to express, even though I may not be so in my words." " I'm beginning to have my doubts about tliis dear girl." " I've bad my doubts hs some time." 88? OSLEY fARM. " Not, mark you, with regard to myself. The question is not novr whether I caa love her sufficiently for my own happiness. On that side I have no longer the right to a doubt." " But you wouldn't marry her if you did not love her." " We need not discuss that. But what if she does not love me ? What, if she would think it a release to be freed from this engagement ? How am I to find that out ? " Augustus sat for a while silent, for he did feel that the matter was serious. The case as he looked at it stood thus : — His friend Graham had made a very fooHsh bargain, from which he would probably be glad to escape, though he could not now bring himself to say »-, much. But this bargain, bad for him, would probably be very good for the young lady. The young lady, having no shilling of her own, and no merits of birth or early breeding to assist her outlook in the world, might probably regard her ready-made engagement to a clever, kind- hearted, high-spirited man, as an advantage not readily to be aban doned. Staveley, as a sincere friend, was very anxious that the match should be broken off; but he could not brmg himself to tell Graham that he thought that the young lady would so wish. According to his idea the young lady must undergo a certain amount of disappointment, and receive a certain amount of compensation. Graham had been very fooUsh, and must pay for his folly. But in preparing to do so, it would be better that he should see and acknowledge the whole truth of the matter. " Are you sure that you have found out your own feelings ? " Stave- ley said at last ; and his tone was then serious enough even for his friend. " It hardl'r matters whether I have or have not," said Felix. " It matters above all things ; — above all things, because as to them you may come to something like certainty. Of the inside of her heart you cannot know so much. The fact I take it is this — that you woula wish to escape from this bondage." " No ; not unless I thought she regarded it as bondage also. It /nay be that she does. As for myself, I believe that at the present moment such a marriage would be for me the safest step that I could -ake." " Safe as against what danger ? " " All dangers. How, if 1 should learn to love another woman, — some one utterly out of my reach, — while I am still betrothed to her ? " " I rarely flatter you, Graham, and don't mean to do it now ; bul no girl ought to be out of your reach. You have talent, position, birth, and gifts of nature, which should make you equal to any lady. As for money, the less you have the more you, should look to get. But if you would cease to be mad, two years would give you command of an income." " But I shaU never cease to be mad." " Who is it that cannot be serious, now ? " " Well, I will be serious — serious enough, I can afford to be so, ei WHY SHOULD HE GO? 283 I liaye received my medinal passport for to-morrow. No giirl, you say, ought to be out of my reach. If the girl were one Miss Statel^y, should she be regarded as oist of my reach ? " "A man doesn't talk about his own sister/' said Staveley, having got up from the bed and walked to the window, " and I know you don't mean anything." "But, by Heavens ! T do mean a great deal." " What is it you mean, then ? " " I mean this— What would you say if you learned that I was a suitor for her hand ? " Staveley had been right in saying that a man does not talk about his own sister. When he had declared, with so much affootioliate admir- ation for his friend's prowess, that he might aspire to the hand of any lady, that one retiring, modest-browed girl had not beed thought of by him. A man in talking to another man about women is always supposed to consider those belonging to himself as exempt from the incidents of the conversation. The dearest friends do not talk to each other about their sisters when they have once left school ; and a man in such a position as that now taken by Graham has to make fight fol- his , ground as closely as though there had been no former liitimacies. My friend Smith in such a matter as that, though I have been hail fellow with him for the last ten years, has very Kttle advantage over Joiies, who was introduced to the house for the first time last week. And therefore Staveley felt himself almost injured when Felix Graham snoke to him about Madeline. " What ■would I say ? Well — that is a question one does not under- stand, unless — unless you really meant to state it as a fact that it was your intention to propose to her." "But I mean rather to state it as a fact that it is not my iuteritioil to propose to her." " Then we had better not speak of her." "Listen to me a moment. In order that I may not do so, it will be better for me — better for us all, that I should leave the house." " Do you mean to say— ^ ? " " Yes, I do mean to say ! I mean to say all that your mind is now suggesting to you. I quite understand your feelings when you de- clare that a man does not like to talk of his own sister, and therefore we will talk of your sister no more. Old fellow, don't look at nle as though you meant to drop me." Augustus came back to the bedside, and again seatuig himself, pti his hand almost caressingly over his friend's shoulder. ''I did not think of this," he said. " No ; one never does think of it," Graham replied. "And she?" " She knows no more of it than that bed-post," said Graham. " The injury, such as Uwro is, i« all on one side. But I'll tell you whc suspects it." "Baker?" S84 OELEt PAEM. " Tour mother. I am much mistaken if you wiii not find tliat sTie^ *ith all her hospitality, would prefer that I should recover my strength elsewhere.^' " But you have done nothing to betray yourself." " A mother's ears are very sharp. I know that it is so. I cannot ex- plain to you how. Do you tell her that I think of getting up to liondon to-morrow, and see how she will take it. And, Stayeley, do not for a moment suppose that I am reproaching her. She is ?uite right. I believe that I have in no way committed myself — that have said no word to your sister with which Lady Staveley has a right to feel herself aggrieved ; but if she has had the wit to read tht thoughts of my bosom, she is quite right to wish that I were out of the house." Poor Lady Staveley had been possessed of no such wit at all. The sphyni which she had read had been one much more in her own line. She had simply read the thoughts in her daughter's bosom — or rather, the feelings in her daughter's heart. Augustus Staveley hardly knew what he ought to say. He was not prepared to tell his mend that he was the very brother-in-law for whose connection he would be desirous. Such a marriage for Madeline, even should Madeline desire it, would not be advantageous. When Augustus told Graham that he had gifts of nature which made him equal to any lady, he did not include his own sister. And yet the idea of acquiescing in his friend's sudden departure was very painful to him. " There can be no reason why you should not stay up here, you know," at last he said ; — and in so saying he pronounced an absolute verdict against poor Pelis. On few matters of moment to a man's own heart can he speak out plainly the whole truth that is in him. Graham had intended so to do, but had deceived himself. He had not absolutely hoped that his friend would say, " Come among us, and be one of us ; take her, and be my brother." But yet there came upon his heart a black load of dis- appointment, in that the words which were said were the exact oppo- site of these. Graham had spoken of himself as unfit to match with Madeline Staveley, and Madeline Staveley's brother had taken him at his word. The question which Augustus asked himself was this — Was it, or was it not practicable that Graham should remain there without danger of intercourse with his sister ? To Pelix the question came in a very different shape. After having spoken as he had spoken — might he be allowed to remain there, enjoying such intercourse, or might he not ? That was the question to which he had unconsciously demanded answer ; — and unconsciously he had still hoped that the question might be answered in his favour. He had so hoped, although he was burdened with Mary Snow, and although he had spoken of his engage- ment with that lady m so rigid a spirit of self-martyrdom. But the question had been answered against him. The offer of a further asylum in the seclusion of that bed-room had been made to him by his friend with a sort of proviso that it would not be well that he should go further than the bed-room, and his inner feelings ''■' WHy SHOULD HE GO P 285 at once grated against each other, making him wretched and almost angry. "Thank you, no; I understand Low kind you are, but I will not do that. I will write up to-night, and sliall certainly start to- morrow." " My dear fellow " "I should get into a fever, if I were to remain in this house after what I have told you. I could not endure to see you, or your mother, or Baker, or Marian, or any one else. Don't talk about it. Indeed, you ought to feel that it is not possible. I have made a confounded ass of myself, and the sooner I get away the better. I say — perhaps you would not be angry if I was to ask you to let me sleep for an hour or so now. After that I'll get up and write my letters." He was very sore. He knew that he was sick at heart, and ill at ease, and cross with his friend ; and knew also that he was unreasonable in being so. Staveley's words and manner had been full of kindness. Graham was aware of this, and was therefore the more irritated with himself. But this did not prevent his being angry and cross with his friend. " Graham," said the other, " I see clearly enough that I have annoyed you." " Not in the least. A man falls into the mud, and then calls to an- other man to come and see him. The man in the mud of course is not comfortable." "But you have called to me, and I have not been able to help you." " I did not suppose you would, so there has been no disappointment. Indeed, there was no possibility for help. I shall follow out the Kne of life which I have long since chalked out for myself, and I do not expect that I shall be more wretched than other poor devils around me. As fer as my idea goes, it all makes very little difference. Now leave me j there's a good fellow," "Dear old fellow, I would give my right Land if it would make you happy ! " " But it won't. Tour rigLt Land will make somebody else Lappy, I hope." "I'll come up to you again before dinner." "Very well. And, Staveley, what we have now said cannot be for- gotten between us ; but when we next meet, and ever after, let it be as though it were forgotten." Then he settled himself down on the bed, and Augustus left the room. It will not be supposed that Graham did go to sleep, or that he had any thought of doing so. When he was alone those words of his friend rang over and over again in his ears, " No girl ought to be out of your reach." Why should Madehne Staveley be out of his reach, simply because she was his friend's sister ? He had been made wel- come to that house, and therefore he was bound to do nothing unhand- some by the family. But then he was bound by other laws, equally ctear, tQ do nothing unhan4§ome by any pther family,— or by any other 286 CULKt -PAIIM. lady. If there was anyliiing in Staveley's words, liicy applied as strongly to Staveley's sister as to any other giri. And why should not he, a lawyer, marry a lawyer's daughter ? Sophia Purnival, with her hatful of money, would not be considered too high for him ; and iu what respect was Madeline Staveley above Sophia Eurnival ? That the one was immeasurably above the other in all those respects which hi his estimation tended towards female perfection, he knew to be true enough ; but the fruit which he had been forbidden to gather hung no higher on the social tree than that other fruit which he had been specially invited to pluck and garner. And then Graham was not a man to think any fruit too high for him. He liad no overweening idea of his own deserts, cither socially or professionally, nor had he taught himself to expect great things from his own genius ; but he had that audacity of spirit which bids a man Ijope to compass that which he wishes to compass, — that audacity which is both the father and mother of success, — that audacity which seldom exists without the inner capability on which it ought to rest. But then there was Mary Snow ! Augustus Staveley thought but little of Mary Snow. According to his theory of his friend's future life, Mary Snow might be laid aside without much difficulty. If this were so, why should not Madeline be within his reach ? But then was it so ? Had he not betrothed himself to Mary Snow in the presence of the girl's father, with every solemnity and assurance, in a maimer fixed beyond that of all other betrothals ? Alas, yes ; and for this reason it was right that he should liurry away from Noningsby. Then he thought of Mary's letter, and of Mrs. Thomas's letter. What was it that had been done? Mary had written as ^though she had been charged with some childish offence ; but Mrs. Thomas talked solemnly of acquitting her own conscience. What could have happened that had touched Mrs. Thomas in the eon- scieiice ? But his thoughts soon ran away from the Httle house at Peekham, and settled themselves again at Noningsby. Should, he hear more of Madeline's footsteps ? — and if not, why should they have been banished iVom the corridor ? Should he hear her voice again at the door, — and if not, why should it have been hushed ? There is a silence which may be more eloquent than the sounds which it follows. Had no one in that house guessed the feelings in his bosom she would have walked along the corridor as usual, and spoken a word with her sweet voice in answer to his word. He felt sure that this would be so no more ; biit who had stopped it, and why should such sounds be no more heard? At last he did go to sleep, not in pursuance of any plan formed for doing so ; for had he been asked he would have said that sleep was impossible for him. But he did go to sleep, and when he awoke it was dark. He had intended to have got up and dressed on that afternoon, or to have gone through such ceremony of dressing as was possible for WHT SHOULD HB GO? 987 him,— in preparation of his next day's exercise ; and now he rose up in his bed with a start, angry with himself in having allowed the tima to pass by him. "Lord love you, Mr. Graham, why how you have slept ! " said Mrs. Baker. " If I haven't just sent your dinner down again to keep hot. Sueh a beautiful pheasant, and the bread sauce'll be lumpy now, for all the world like pap." "Never mind the bread sauce, Mrs. Baker: — the pheasant's the thing." " And her ladyship's been here, Mr. Graham, only she wouldn't have you woke. She won't hear of your being moved to-morrow, nor yet won't the judge. There was a rumpus down stairs when Mr. Augustus as much as mentioned it. I know one who " "You know one who — you were saying ? " " Never mind. It ain't one more than another, but it's all. You ain't to leave this to-morrow, so you may just give it over. And indeed your thmgs is all at the wash, so you can't ; — and now I'll go down for the pheasant." Pelix stiU declared very positively that he should go, but his doing so did not shake Mrs. Baker. The letter-bag he knew did not leave till eight, and as yet it was not much past five. He would see Staveley again after his dinner, and then he would write. When Augustus left the room in the middle of the day he encountered Madeline wandering about the house. In these days she did wander about the house, as though there were something always to be done in some place apart from that in which she then was. And yet the things which she did were but few. She neither worked nor read, and as for household duties, her share in them was confined almost entirely to the morning and evening teapot. " It isn't true that he's to go to-morrow morning, Augustus, is it ? " said she. " Who, Graham ? Well ; he says that he will. He is very anxious to get to London ; and no doubt he finds it stupid enough lying there and doing nothing." " But he can do as much there as he can lying by himself in his own chambers, where I don't suppose he would have anybody to look after him. He thinks he's a trouble and all that, and therefore he wants to go. But you know mamma doesn't mind about trouble of that kind ; and what should we think of it afterwards if anything bad was to happen to your friend because we allowed him to leave the house before he was in a fit state to be moved ? Of course Mr. Pottinger says so " Mr. Pottinger was the doctor. " Of course Mr. Pottinger says so, because he thinks he has been so long here, and he doesn't understand." "But Mr. Pottinger would like to keep a patient." "Oh no; he's not at all that sort of man. He'd think of mamma, — the trouble I mean of having a stranger ia the house. But you know mamma would think nothing of that, especiiJl.y for sucr. em iatimate friend of yours." 288 OBLBi: fABM. Augustus turned slightly round so as to look more fuUj into hi« sister's face, and he saw that a tear was gathered in the corner of her eye. She perceived his glance and partly shrank under it, but she soon recovered herself and answered it. " I know what you iiiean," she said, "and if you choose to think so, I can't help it. But it is horrible — horrible " and then she stopped herself, finding that a Uttle sob would become audible if she trusted herself to further "ivords. " You know what I mean. Mad ? " he said, putting his arm affec- tionately round hei waist. " And what is it that I mean ? Come ; vou and I never have any secrets ; — you always say so when you want to get at mine. Tell me what it is that I mean." " I haven't got any secret." "But what did I mean?" " You looked at me, because I don't want you to let them send Mi. Graham away. If it was old Mr. Purnival I shouldn't like them to turn him out of this house when he was in such a state as that." "Poor Mr. Furnival; no; I think he would bear it worse than FeKx." " Then why should he go ? And why — should you look at me in that way?" "Did I look at you, Mad ? Well, I beKeve I did. We are to have no secrets ; are we '•" " " No," said she. But she did not say it in the same eager voice with which hitherto she had declared that they would always tell each other everything. " Felix Graham is my friend," said he, "my special friend j and I jope you will always like my friends. Bat " "Well? "she said. " You know what I mean. Mad." " Yes," she said. "That is all, dearest." And then she knew that he also had cautioned her not to fall in love with Felix Graham, and she felt angry with him for the caution. " Why — why — why ? " But she hardly knew as yet how to frame the question which she desired to aak herself. 'l CiiL tT iLVttSL." 28^ CHAPTER XL. 'l CALL IT AWFUL." '* Oh indeed ! " Those had been the words with which Air. Fnr- nival had received the announcement made by Sir Peregrine as to his proposed nuptials. And as he uttered them the lawyer drew himself up stiffly in his chair, looking much more like a lawyer aad much less like an old family friend than he had done the moment before. Whereupon Sir Peregrine drew himself up also. " Yes," he said. " I should be intrusive if I were to trouble you with my motives, and therefore I need only say further as regards the lady, that I trust that my support, standing as I shall do ia the position of her husband, will be more serviceable to her than it could otherwise have been in this trial which she will, I presume, be forced to undergo." " No doubt ; no doubt," said Mr. Purnival ; and then the interview had ended. The lawyer had been anxious to see his client, and had intended to ask permission to do so ; but he had felt on hearing Sir Peregrine's tidings that it would be useless now to make any attempt to see her alone, and that he could speak to her with no freedom ui Sir Peregrme's presence. So he left The Cleeve, having merely intimated to the baronet the fact of his having engaged the services of Mr. ChafFanbrass and Mr. Solomon Aram. " You will not see Lady Mason ? " Sir Peregrine had asked. " Tliank you : I do not know that I need ti-ouble her," Mr. Purnival had answered. " You of course will explam to her how the case at present stands. I fear she must reconcile herself to the fact of a trial. You are aware. Sir Pere- grine, that the'offence imputed is one for which bail will be taken. I should propose yourself and her son. Of course I should be happy to lend my own name, but as I shall be on the trial, perhaps it may be as well that this should be avoided." Bail will be taken ! Tliese words were dreadful in the ears of the expectant bridegroom. Had it come to this; that there was question whether or no she should be locked up in a prison, like a felon? But nevertheless his heart did not misgive him. Seeing how terribly she was injured by others, he felt himself bound by the stronger law to cling to her himself. Such was the special chivalry of the man. Mr. Pumival on his return to London thought almost more of Sir Peregrine than he did either of Lady Mason or of himself. Was it not a pity ? Was it not a thousand pities that that aged noble gentleman should be sacrificed ? He had felt angry with Sir Peregrine when the tidings were first communicated to him; but now, as he journeyed up to London- this feeling of anger was transferred to his own client. 19 290 OELET fAEM. This must be her doing, and such doing on her part, while she was in her present circumstances, was very wicked. And then he remembered her guilt, — her probable guilt, and his brow became very black. Her supposed guilt had not been horrible to him while he had regarded it as affecting herself alone, and in point of property affecting Joseph Mason and her son Lucius. He could look forward, sometimes almost triumph- antly, to the idea of washing her — so far as this world's washmg goes — from that guilt, and setting her up again clear before _ the world, even though in doing so he should lend a hand in robbing Joseph Mason of his estate. Eut this dragging down of another — and such another — head into the vortex of ruin and misery was horrible to him. He was not straitlaced, or mealy-mouthed, or overburthened with scruples. In the way of his profession he could do many a thing at which — I ex- press a single opinion with much anxious deference — at which an honest man might be scandalised if it became beneath his judgment unprofes- sionally. But this he could not stand. Something must be done in the matter. The marriage must be stayed till after the trial, — or else he must himself retire from the defence and explain both to Lady Mason and to Sir Peregrine why he did so. And then he thought of the woman herself, and this spirit within him became very bitter. Had any one told him that he was jealous of the preference shown by his client to Sir Peregrine, he would have fumed with anger, and thought that he was fuming justly. But such was in truth the case. Though he believed her to have been guilty of this thing, though he believed her to be now guilty of the worse offence of dragging the baronet to his ruin, stiU he was jealous of her regard. Had she been content to lean upon him, to trust to him as her great and only necessary friend, he could have forgiven all else, and placed at her service the fuE force of his professional power, — even though by doing so he might have lowered himself in men's minds. And what reward did he expect ? None. He had formed no idea that the woman would become his mistress. All that was as obscure before his mind's eye, as though she had been nineteen and he five and twenty. He was to din« at home on this day, that being the first occasion of his doing so for — as Mrs. Furnival declared — the last six months. In truth, however, the interval had been long, though not so long as that. He had a hope that having anuounoed his iatention, he might find the coast clear and hear Martha Biggs spoken of as a dear one lately gone., But when he arrived at home Martha Biggs was still there. Under cfrcumstanees as they now existed Mrs. Parnival had determined to keep Martha Biggs by her, unless any special edict for her banishment should come forth. Then, in case of such special edict, Martha Biggs should go, and thence should arise the new casus belli. Mrs. Purnival had made up her mind that war was expedient, — nay, absolutely necessary. She had an idea, formed no doubt from the reading of history, that some allies require a smart brush now and again to blow away the clouds of distrust which become engendered oy time be- tween them ; and that they may become better allies than ever aftei" "1 CALL II AVFUL." 291 Wards. If the appropriate time for sucli a brush might ever come, it had come now. All the world,— so she said to herself, — was talk- ing of Mr. Furnival and Lady Mason. All the world knew of her injuries. Martha Biggs was second cousin to Mr. Crook's brother's wife — I speak of that Mr. Crook who had been professionally known for the last thirty years as the partner of Mr. Kound. It had been whispered in the office in Bedford B.ow — such whisper I fear originating with old Round — that Mr. Eumival admired his fair client. Hence light had fallen upon the eyes of Martha Biggs, and the secret of her friend was known to her. Need I trace the course of the tale with closer accuracy ? " Oh", Kitty," she had said to her friend with tears that evening — " I cannot bear to keep it to myself any more ! I cannot when I see you suffering so. It's awful." " Caimot bear to keep what, Martha ? " " Oh, I know. Indeed all the town knows it now." " Knows what ? You know how I hate that kind of thing. If you. have anything to say, speak out." This was not kind to such a faithful friend as Martha Biggs ; but Martha knew what sacrifices friendship such as hers demanded, and she did not resent it. " Well, then ; — if I am to speak out, it's — Lady Mason. And I do say that it's shameful, quite shameful ; — and awful ; I call it awfuL" Mrs. Pumival had not said much at the time to encourage the Sdelity of her friend, but she was thus justified in declaring to herself ihat her husband's goings on had become the talk of all the world ; — and his goings on especially in that quarter in which she had long re- garded them with so much dismay. She was not therefore prepared to welcome him on this occasion of his coming home to dinner by such tokens of friendly feeling as the dismissal of her friend to Red Lion Square. When the moment for absolute war should come Martha Biggs should be made to depart. Mr. Furnival when he arrived at his own house was in a thoughtful mood, and disposed for quiet and domestic meditation. Had Miss Biggs not been there he could have found it in his heart to tell every- thing about Lady Mason to his wife, asking her counsel as to what he should do with reference to that marriage. Could he have done so, all would have been well ; but this was not possible while that red-faced lump of a woman from Red Lion Square sat in his drawing-room, making everything uncomfortable. The three sat down to dinner together, and very little was said between them. Mr. FuTnival did try to be civil to his wife, but wives sometimes have a mode of declining such civiKties without committing themselves to overt acts of war. To Miss Biggs Mr. Furnival could not bring himself to say anything civil, seeing that he hated her ; but such words as he did speak to her she received with grim grffin-like austerity, as though she were ever meditating on the awfulness of his conduct. And so in truth she was. Why his conduct was more awful 292 oittEt l^AEii, iu her cstimatioE since she had heard Lady Mason's name mentioned, than when her mind had been simply filled with general ideas of vague Conjugal infidelity, I cannot say ; but such was the case. " I call it awful," were the first words she again spoke when she found herself onCe more alone with Mis. Eurnival in the drawing-room. And then she sat down over the fii'e, thinking neither of her novel nor her knitting, with her mind deliciously filled with the anticipation of coming Catastrophes. "If 1 sit uj) after half-past ten would you mind going to bed?" said Mrs. Eurnival, when they had been in the drawing-room about ten minutes. " Oh no, not in the least," said Miss Biggs. " I'll be sure to go." But she thought it very unkind, and she felt as a child does who is deceived in a matter of being taken to the play. If no one goes the child can bear it. But to see others go, and to be left behind, is too much for the feelmgs of any child, — or of Martha Biggs. Mr. Furnival had no inclination for sitting alone over his wine on ■ this occasion. Had it been possible for him he would have preferred to have gone quickly up stairs, and to have taken his cup of coffee from his wife's hand with some appreciation of domestic comfort. But there could be no such comfort to him while Martha Biggs was there, so he sat down stairs, sipping his port according to his custom, and looking into the fire for a solution of his difficulties about Lady Mason. He began to wish that he had never seen Lady Mason, and to reflect that the intimate friendship of pretty women often brings with it much trouble. He was resolved on one thing. He would not go down into court and fight that battle for Lady Orme. Were he to do so the matter would have taken quite a different phase, — one that he had not at aU anticipated. In case that his present client should then have become Lady Orrae, Mr. Chaffanbrass and Mr. Solomon Aram might carry on the battle between them, with such assistance as they might be able to get from Messrs. Slow and Bideawhile. He became angry as he drank his port, and in his anger he swore that it should be so. And then as his anger became hot at the close of his libations, he re- membered that Martha Biggs was up stairs, and became more angry still. And thus when he did go into the drawing-room at some time in the evening not much before ten, he was not in a frame of mind Hkely to bring about domestic comfort. He walked across the drawing-room, sat down in an arm-chair by the table, and took up the last number of a review, without speaking to ' either of them. Whereupon Mrs. Furnival began to ply her needle which had been lying idly enough upon her work, and Martha Biggs fixed her eyes intently upon her book. So they sat twenty minutes without a word being spoken, and then Mrs. Furnival inquired of her lord whether he chose to have tea. "Of course I shall, — when you have it," said he. " Don't mind us," said Mrs. Furnival. "Pray don't mind me," said Martha Biggs. " Don't let me be in the way." "I CALL rr ATTFUL." 293 " No, I won't," said Mr. Fiirmval. Wliereupoa Miss Biggs again jumped Bp in her chair as though she had been electrified. It may be remembered that on a former occasion Mr. Purnival had sworn at her — or at least in her presence. " You need not be rude to a lady in your own house, because she ia my friend," said Mrs. rurnival. "Bother," said Mr. Fumival. "And now if we are going to have any tea, let us have it." " I don't think I'll mind about tea to-night, Mrs. Purniral," said Miss Biggs, haying received a notice from her friend's eye that it might be well for her to depart. " My head aches dreadful, and I shall be better in bed. Good-night, Mrs. !Furnival." And then she took her candle and went away. Eor the next five minutes there was not a word said. No tea had been ordered, although it had been mentioned. Mrs. Purnival had forgotten it among the hot thoughts that were rumiing through her mind, and Mr. Fumival was indifferent upon the subject. Ho knew that something was coming, and he resolved that he would have the upper hand let that something be what it might. He was being ill used, — so he said to himself — and would not put up with it. At last the battle began. He was not looking, but he heard her first movement as she prepared herself. " Tom ! " she said, and then the voice of the war goddess was again silent. He did not choose to answer her at the instant, and then the war goddess rose from her seat and again spoke. "Tom ! " she said, standing over him and looking at him. " What is it you mean ? " said he, allowing his eyes to rise to her face over the top of his book. " Tom ! " she said for the third time. "I'll have no nonsense, Kitty," said he. " If you have anything to say, say it." Even then she had intended to be affectionate, — had so intended at the first commencement of her address. She had no wish to be a war goddess. But he had assisted her attempt at love by no gentle word, by no gentle look, by no gentle motion. " I have this to say," she replied ; " you are disgracing both yourself and me, and I will not re- main in this house to be a witness to it." "Then you may go out of the house." These words, be it re- membered, were uttered not by the man himself, but by the spirit of port wine within the man. " Tom, do you say that ; — after all ? " " By Heavens I do say it 1 I'll not be told in ray own drawing- room, even by you, that I am disgracing myself." " Then why do you go after that woman down to Hamworth ? All the world is talking of you. At your age too ! You ought to be ashamed of yourself." " I can't stand this,'' said he, getting up and throwing the book from nim right across the drawipg-room IJoor ; " ^d, by Heavens ! I won't stand It." 294 Ofil.EY PAEM. " Then whv do you do it, Sir ? " " Kitty, I beKeve the devil must have entered into you to drive yon mad." " Oh, oh, oh ! very well. Sir. The devU in the shape of drink ant lust has entered into you. But you may understand this ; I — will — not — consent to live with you while such deeds as these are being done." And then without waiting for another word, she stormed out of the room. CHAPTER XLI. HOW CAN I SAVE HIM? " I WILL not consent to live with you whUe such deeds as these arc being done." Such were the last words which Mrs. Pumival spoke as she walked out of her own drawing-room, leaving her husband still seated in his arm-chair. What was he to do ? Those who would hang by the letter of the law in such matters may say that he should have rung the beU, sent for his wife, explained to her that obedience was a necessary duty on her part, and have finished by making her understand that she must and would continue to live wherever he chose that she should live. There be those who say that if a man be anything of a man, he can always insure obedience in his own household. He has the power of Hie purse and the power of the law ; and if, having these, he goes to the wall, it must be because he is a poor creature. Those who so say have probably never tried the position. Mr. Eumival did not wish to send for his wife, because by doing so he would have laid bare his sore before his servants. He could not follow her, because he knew that he should not find her alone in her room. Nor did he wish for any further parley, because he knew that she would speak loud, and probably sob — nay, very possibly proceed to a fainting fit. And, moreover, he much doubted whether he would have the power to keep her in the house if it should be her pleasure to leave it. And then what should he do ? The doing of something in such a catastrophe, was, he thought, in- dispensable. Was ever a man so ill treated ? Was ever jealousy so groundless ? Here was a woman, with whom he was on the point of quarrelling, who was engaged to be married to another man, whom for months past he had only seen as a client ; and on her account he was to be told by his wife that she would not consent to live with him ! Yes ; it was quiJe indispensable that he should do something. At last he went to bed, and slept upon it ; not sharing the marital couch, but occupying his own dressing-room. In the morning, how- ever, as he sat down to his solitary breakfast, he was as far as ever from having made up his mind what that something should be. A HOW CAN I SAVE HIM? 295 message was brought to him by an elderly female servant with a grave face, — the elderly servant who had lived with them since their poorer days,— saying that " Missus would not come down to breakfast this morning." There was no love sent, no excuse as to illness, no resemblance of a peaceable reason, assumed even to deceive the servant. It was clear to Mr. ]?urnival that the servant was intended to know all about it. "And Miss Biggs says. Sir, that if you please you're not to wait for her." "Very well, that'll do,"_ said Mr. Eurnival, who had not the sKghtest intention of waiting for Miss Biggs ; and then he sat himself down to eat his bacon, and bethink himself what step he would take with this recreant and troublesome spouse. While he was thus employed the post came. The bulk of his letters as a matter of course went to his chambers ; but there were those among his correspondents who wrote to him at Harley Street. To-day he received three or four letters, but our concern will be with one only. This one bore the Hamworth post-mark, and he opened it the first, knowing that it came from Lady Mason. ' It was as follows : — " Private. " The Cleevb, 2Srd January, 18 — . " Ml DEAB Me. Pttbnival, " I am so very sorry that I did not see you to-day ! Indeed, your leaving without seeing me has made me unhappy, for I cannot but think that it shows that you are displeased. Under these circumstances I must write to you and explain to you how that came to pass which Sir Peregrine told you. I have not let him know that I am writing to you, and I think for his sake that I had better not. But he is so good, and has shown to me such nobleness and affection, that I can hardly bring myself to have any secret from him. " You may conceive what was my surprise when I first understood that he wished to make me his wife. It is hardly six months since I thought that I was almost exceeding my station in visiting at liis house. Then by degrees I began to be received as a friend, and at last I found myself treated with the warmest love. But still I had no thou^t of this, and I knew that it was because of my great trouble that Sir Pere- grine and Mrs. Orme were so good to me. "When he sent for me into his library and told me what he wished, I could not refuse him anything. I promised obedience to him as though I were a child ; and in this way I found myself engaged to be his wife. When he told me that he would have it so, how could I refuse him, knowing as I do all that he has done for me, and thmking of it as I do every minute ? As for loving him, of course I love him. Who that knows him does not love him ? He is made to be loved. No one is so good and so noble as he. But of love of that sort I had never dreamed. Ah me, no ! — a woman burdened as I am does not think of love. " He told me that he would have it so, and I said that I would obey him; ani he tried to prove to me that in this dreadful trial it 896 OBLET PAKM. would De better for me. But I would not wish it on that account. He has done enough for me without my causing him such injury. When I argued it with him, trying to say that others would not like it, he declared that Mrs. Orme would be well pleased, and, indeed, so she told me afterwards herself. And thus I yielded to him, and agreed that I would be his wife. But I was not happy, thinking that I should injure him ; and I promised only because I could not deny him. "But the day before yesterday young Mr. Orme, his grandson, came to me and told me that such a marriage would be very wrong. And I do believe him. He said that old family friends would look down upon his grandfather and ridicule him if he were to make this marriage. And I cau see that it would be so. I would not have such injury come upon him for the gain of aU the world to myself. So I have made up my mind to tell him that it cannot be, even though I should anger him. And I fear that it will anger him, for he loves to have his own way, — especially iu doing good; and he thinks that our marriage would rescue me altogether from the danger of this trial. " So I have made up my mind to tell him, but I have not found courage to do it yet ; and I do wish, dear Mr. Eurnival, that I might see you first. I fear that I may have lost your friendship by what has already been done. If so, what will become of me ? When I heard that you had gone without asking for me, my heart sank within me. I have two friends whom I so dearly love, and I would lain do as both direct me, if that may be possible. And now 1 propose to go up to London to-morrow, and to be at your chambers about one o'clock. I have told Sir Peregrine and Mrs. Orme that I am going ; but he is too noble-minded to ask questions now that he thinks I may feel myself constrained to tell him. So I will call in Lincoln's Inn at one o'clock, and I trust that if possible you will see me. I am greatly in want of your advice, for in truth Lhardly know what to do. " Pray believe me to be always your attached friend, "Maet Mason." There was hardly a word, — I believe not a word in that letter that was not true. Her acceptance of Sir Peregrine had been given exactly in the manner and for the reasons there "explained; and since she had accepted him she had been sorry for having done so, exactly in the way now described. She was quite willing to give up her husband if it was thought best, — but she was not willing to give up her friend. She was not willing to give up either friend, and her great anxiety was so to turn her conduct that she might keep them both. Mr. Purnival was gratified as he read the letter — gratified in spite of his present frame of mind. Of course he would see her ; — and of course, as he himself well knew, would' take her again into favour. But he must insist on her carrying out her purpose of abandoning the UOW CAN I SAVE HIM P 297 marriage project. If, arising from this abaadonment, there should be any coolness on the part of Sir Peregrine, Mr. Furnival would not regret it. Mr. I'urnival did not feel quite sure whether in the conduct of this case he was not somewhat hampered by the energetic zeal of Sir Peregrine's line of defence. When he had finished the perusal of his letter and the considera- tion which it required, he put it carefully into his breast coat pocket, envelope and all. What might not happen if he left that envelope about in that house ? And then he took it out agaia, and observed upon the cover the Hamworth post-mark, very clear. Post-marks nowadays are very clear, and everybody may know whence a letter comes. His letters had been brought to him by the butler ; but was it not probable that that ancient female servant might have seen them first, and have conveyed to her mistress intelligence as to this post-mark ? If so ; and Mr. Purnival almost felt himself to be guilty as he thought of it. While he was putting on his great-coat in the hall, the butler assist- ing him, the ancient female servant came to him again. There was a look about her face which told of war, and declared her to be, if not the cliief lieutenant of his wife, at any rate her colour-sergeant. Martha Biggs no doubt was chief lieutenant. " Missus desires me to ask," said, she, with her grim face and austere voice, "whetlier you will be pleased to dine at home to-day ? " And yet the grim, austere woman could be affectionate and almost motherly in her ministration to him when things were going well, and had eaten his salt and broken his bread for more than twenty yeai-s. All this was very hard! "Because," continued the woman, "missus says she thinhe she shall be out this evening herself." " Where is she going ? " " Missus didn't tell me. Sir." He almost determmed to go up stairs and call upon her to tell him what she was going to do, but remembered that if he did it would surely make a row in the house. Miss Biggs would put her head out of some adjacent door and scream, " Oh laws ! " and he would have to descend his own stairs with the consciousness that all his household were regarding him as a brute. So he gave up that project. " No," he said, " I shall not dine at home ; " and then ho went his way. " JMissus is very aggravating," said the butler, as soon as the door was closed. " You don't know what cause she has, Spooner," said the houses keeper very solemnly. " Is it at his age ? I believe it's all nonsense, I do ; — feminine fancies, and vagaries of the weaker sex." " Yes, I dare say ; that's what you men always say. But if he don't look out he'll find missus'll be too much for him. What'd he do if she were to go away from him ? " " Do ? — why live twice as jolly. Jt woul4 only be tl^e first rumpus (rf-the thing," 298 OilLEY TARJI. I am afraid tliat there was some truth in what Spoouer said. It is the fifst rumpus of the thing, or rather the fear of that, which keeps to- gether jaa&j a couple. At ohe b'clock there came a timid female rap at Mr. furnival's chamber door, and the juvenile clerk gave adnjittance to Lady Masofi. Cfabwitz, since the affair of that mission down at Ham- worth, had so far carried a point of his, that a junior satellite was now permanently installed; and for the future the indignity of opening doors, and "just stepping out " into Chancery Lane, would not await him. Lady Mason was dressed all in black, — but this was Usual with her when she left home. To-day, however, there was about her something blacker and more sombre than usual. The veil which she wore was thick, and completely hid her face ; and her voice, as she asked for Mr. Eurnival, was low and plaintive. But, nevertheless, she had by no means laid aside the charm of womanhood; or it might be more just to say that the charm of womanhood had not laid aside her. There was that in her figure, step, and gait of going which compelled men to turn round a;nd look at her. We all know that she had a son some two or three and twenty years of age, and that she had not been quite a girl when she married. But, notwithstanding this, she was yet young; and though she made no effort — no apparent effort — to maintain the power and influence which beauty gives, yet she did maintain it. He came forward and took her by the hand with all his old affection- ate regard, and, muttering some words of ordinary salutation, led her to a chair. It may be that she muttered something also, but if so the sound was too low to reach his ears. She sat down where he placed her, and as she put her hand on the table near her arm, he saw that she was trembluig. " I got your letter this morning," he said, by way of Degioning the conversation. "Yes," she said; and then, iinding that it was not possible that he should near her through her veil, she raised it. She was very pale, and there was a look of painful care, almost of agony, round her mouth. He had never seen her look so pale, — but he said to himself at the same time that he had never seen her look so beautiful. " And to tell you the truth. Lady Mason, I was very glad to get it. You and I had better speak openly to each other about this ; — had we not ? " "Oh, yes," she said. And then there was a struggle within ner not to tremble — a struggle that was only too evident. She was aware oi this, and took her hand off the table. " I vexed you because I did not see you at The Cleeve the other " Because I thought that you were angry with me" " And I was so." " Oh, Mr. Fuinival ! " HOW CAS I SAVE HIM P 299 " Wait a moment. Lady Mason. I was angry ; — or ratlier sony and vexed to hear of that which I did not approve. Bat your letter has removed that feeling. 1 can now understand the manner in which this engagement was forced upon you ; and I understand also — do I not ? — that the engagement will not be carried out ? She did not answer him immediately, and he began to fear that she repented of her purpose. Because," said he, " under no other circum- stiices could I " " Stop, Mr. I"umival. Pray do not be severe with me." And she looked at him with eyes which would almost have melted his wife, — and whidh he was quite unable to withstand. Had it been her wish, she might have made him promise to stand by her, even though she had persisted in her engagement. " No, no ; I will not be severe." " I do not wish to marry him," she went on to say. " I have resolved to teU him so. That was what I said in my letter." "Yes, yes." " I do not wish to marry him. I would not bring his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave — ^no, not to save myself from " And then, as she thought of that from which she desired to save herself, she trembled again, and was silent. "It would create in men's minds sucn a strong impression against you, were you to marry him at this moment ! " " It is of him I am thinking ; — of him and Lucius. Mr. Purnival, they might do their worst with me, if it were not for that thought. My boy ! " And then she rose from her chair, and stood upright before him, as though she were going to do or say some terrible thing. He still kept his chair, for he was startled, and hardly knew what he would be about. That last exclamation had come from her ahnost with a shriek, and now her bosom was heaving as though ner heart would burst with the violence of her sobbing. "I will go," she said. " I had better go." And she hurried away towards the door. "No, no ; do not go yet." And he rose to stop her, but she was quite passive. " I do not know why you should be so much moved now." But he did know. He did understand the very essence and core of her feelings ; — as probably may the reader also. But it was impossible that he should allow her to leave him in her present state. She sat down again, and leaning both her arms upon the table, hid her face within her hands. He was now standing, and for the momeM did not speak to her. Indeed he could not bring himself to break the silence, for he saw her tears, and could still hear the violence of ner sobs. And then she was the first to speak. " If it were "not for him," she said, raising her head, " I could bear it all. What will he do ? what will he do ? " "Tou mean," said Mr. Pumival, speaking very slowly, "if the — verdict — should go against us." " It will go against us," she said. " Will it not ?— tell me the truth. Tou are so clever, you must know. TeU me how it will go. Is there SOO OELET PABM. anything I can do to save him ? " And she took hold of his arm with both her hands, and looked up eagerly — oh, with such terrible eager- ness . — into his face. Would it not have been natural now that he should have asked her to tell him the truth ? And yet he did not dare to ask her. He thought that he knew it. He felt sure, — almost sure, that he could look into her very heart, and read there the whole of her secret. But still there was a doubt, — enough of doubt to make him wish to ask the question. Nevertheless he did not ask it. " Mr. Purnival," she said ; and as she spoke there was a hardness came over the soft lines of her feminine face ; a look of courage which amounted almost to ferocity, a look which at the moment recalled to his mind, as though it were but yesterday, the attitude and countenance she had borne as she stood in the witness-box at that other trial, now so many years since, — that attitude and countenance which had impressed the whole court with so high an idea of her courage. "Mr. Purnival, weak as I am, I could bear to die here on the spot, — now — if I could only save him from this agony. Ii is not for myself I suffer." And then the terrible idea occurred to him that she might attempt to compass her escape by death. But he did not know her. That would have been no escape for her son. " And you too think that I must not marry liim ? " she said, putting up her hands to her brows as though to collect her thoughts. " No ; certainly not, Lady Mason." " No, no. It would be wrong. But, Mr. Purnival, I am so driven that I know not how I should act. What if I should lose my mind ? " And as she looked at him there was that about her eyes which did tell him that such an ending might be possible. " Do not speak in such a way," he said. " No, I will not. I know that it is wrong. I will go down there, and tell him that it must not, — must not be so. But I may stay at The Cleeve ;— may I not ? " _ " Oh, certainly — if he wishes it, — after your understandmg with him." "Ah; he may turn me out, may he not? And they are so kind to me, so gentle and so good. And Lucius is so stern. But I will go back. Sternness vrill perhaps be better for me now than love and kindness." In spite of everythmg, in the teeth of his almost certain convic- tion of her guilt, he would now, even now, have asked her to come to his own house, and have begged her to remain there till the trial was over, — if only he had had the power to do so. What would it be to him what the woi'ld might say, if she should be proved guilty ? Why should not he have been mistaken as well as others ? And he had an idea that if he could get her into his own hands he might still bring her through triumphantly, — with assistance from Solomon Aram and Chaffanbrass. He was strongly convinced of her guilt, but by no means strongly convinced that her guilt could be proved. But then he had no house at. the present moment thiit he could JbitU iENNEBlr GOES lO HAMWOEtn. 301 ftJl hia own. His Kitty, the Kitty of whom he still sometimes thbaght \rtth affection, — that Kitty whose soft motherly heart would have melted at such a story of a woman's sorrows, if only it had teen rightly approached, — that Kitty was now vehemently hostile, hostile both to him and to this very woman for whom he would have asked her care. "May God help me!" said the poor woman. "I do not know where else to turn for aid. "Well ; I may go now then. And, indeed, why should I take up your time further ? " But before she did go, Mr. Furnival gave her much counsel. He did not ask as to her guilt, but he did give her that advice which he would have thought most expedient had her guilt been declared and owned. He told her that very much would depend on her maintaining her present position and standing; that she was so to carry herself as not to let people think that she was doubtful about the trial; and that above all things she was to maintain a composed and steadfast manner before her son. As to the Ormes, he bade her not to think of leaving The Cleeve, urdess she found that her remaining there would be disagreeable to Sir Peregrine after her explanation with him. That she was r to decKne the marriage en- gagement, he was very positive ; on that subject there was to be no doubt. And then she went ; and as she passed down the dark passage into the new square by the old gate of the Chancellor's court, she met a stout lady. The stout lady eyed her savagely, but was not quite sure as to her identity. Lady Mason in her trouble passed the stout lady without taking any notice of her. CHAPTER XLII, JOHN KENNEBY GOES TO HAMWOMH. When John Kenneby dined with his sister and brother-in-law on Christmas Day he agreed, at the joint advice of the whole party there assembled, that he would go down and see Mr. Dockwrath at Ham- Worth, in accordance with the invitation received from that gentleman ; — his enemy, Dockwrath, who had carried off Miriam Usbech, for whom John Kenneby still sighed, — in a gentle easy manner indeed, —but still sighed as though it were an affair but of yesterday. But though he had so agreed, and though he had never stirred from that resolve, he by no means did it immediately. He was a slow man, whose life had offered him but little excitement ; and the little which came to him was husbanded well and made to go a long way. He thought about this journey for nearly a month before he took it, often going to his sister and discussing it with her, and once or twice seeing 302 OElEt tiSM. the great Moulder himself. At last he fixed a day and did go down to Hamworth. He had, moreover, been invited to the offices of Messrs. Round and Crook, and that visit also was as yet unpaid. A clerk from the house in Bedford Row had found him out at Hubbies and Grease's, and had discovered that he would be forthcoming as a witness. On the special subject of his evidence not much had then passed, the clerk having had no discretion given him to sift the matter. But Kenueby had promised to go to Bedford Row, merely stipulating for a day at some little distance of time. That day was now near at hand ; but ho was to see Dockwrath first, and hence it occurred that he now made his journey to Hamworth. But another member of that Christmas party at Great St. Helen's had not been so slow in carrying out his little project. Mr. Kant- wise had at once made up his mind that it would be as well that he should see Dockwrath. It would not suit liim to incur the expense of a journey to Hamworth, even with the additional view of extracting payment for that set of metallic furniture ; but he wrote to the attorney telling him that he should be in London in the way of trade on such and such a day, and that he had tidings of importance to give with reference to the great Orley Farm case. Dockwrath did see him, and the result was that Mr. Kantwise got his ^loney, fourteen eleven ; — at least he got fourteen seven six, and had a very hard fight for the three odd half-crowns, — and Dockwrath learned that John Kenneby, if duly used, would give evidence on his side of the question. And then Kenneby did go down to Hamworth. He had not seen Miriam TJsbech since the days of her marriage. He had remained hanging about the neighbourhood long enough to feast his eyes with the Eigony of looking at the bride, and then he had torn himself away. Circumstances since that had carried him one way and Miriam another, and they had never met. Time had changed bim very little, and what change time had made was perhaps for the better. He hesitated less when he spoke, he was less straggling and undecided in his appearance, and had about him more of manliood than in former days. But poor Miriam had certainly not been altered for the better by years and circumstances as far as outwai'd appearance went. Kenueby as he walked up from the station to the house, — and from old remembrances he knew well where the house stood, — gave up his mind entirely to the thought of seeing Miriam, and in his memories of old love passages almost forgot the actual business which now brought him to the place. To him it seemed as though he was going to nieet the same Mii'iam he had left, — the Miriam to whom in former days he had hardly ventured to speak of love, and to whom he must not now venture so to speak at all. He , almost blushed as he remembered that he would have to take her hand. There are men of this sort, men slow in their thoughts but very keen in their memories ; men who will look for the glance of a certain JOHN KENNEBY GOES TO HAMWOETH. 303 bright eye from a window-pane, though years have rolled on since last they saw it, — since last they passed that window. Such men will bethink themselves, after an interval of weeks, how they might' have brought up wit to their use and improved an occasion which chance had given them. But when the bright eyes do glance, such men pass by abashed ; and when the occasion offers, their wit is never at. hand. Nevertheless they are not the least happy of raairkiad, these never-readies ; they do not pick up sudden prizes, but they hold fast by such good things as the ordinary run of life bestows upon them. There was a lady even now, a friend of Mrs. Moulder, ready to bestow herself and her fortune on John Kenneby, — a larger fortune than Miriam had possessed, and one which would not now probably be neutralised by so large a family as poor Miriam had bestowed upon her husband. How would Miriam meet him? It was of this he thought as he approached the door. Of course he must call her Mrs. Dockwrath, though the other name was so often on his tongue. He had made up his mind, for the last week past, that he would call at the private door of the house, passing by the door of the ofloe. Otherwise the chances were that he would not see Miriam at all. His enemy, Dockwrath, would be sure to keep him from her presence. Dockwrath had ever been inordinately jealous. But when he came to the office-door he hardly had the courage to pass on to that of the private dweUing. His heart beat too quickly, and the idea of seeing Miriam was almost too much for him. But, nevertheless, he did carry out his plan, and did knock at the door of the house. And it was opened by Miriam herself. He knew her instantly, in spite of all the change. He knew her, but the whole course of his feelings ®ef^ altered at the moment, and his blood was made to run the other way. And she knew him too. "La, John," she said, "who'd have thought of seeing you ? " And she shifted the baby whom she carried from one arm to the other as she gave him her hand in token of welcome. " It is a long time since we met," he said. He felt hardly any temfitation now to call her Miriam. Indeed it would have seemed alto- gether in opposition to the common order of things to do so. She was no longer Miriam, but the maternal Dockwrath ; — the mother of that long string of dirty children whom he saw gathered in the passage bebuid her. He had known as a fact that she had all the children, but the fact had not made the proper impression on his mind till he had seen them. " A long time ! 'Deed then it is. Why we've hardly seen each othei since you used to be a courting of me ; have we ? But, my ! John ; why haven't you got a wife for yourself these many years P But come in. I'm glad to sec every bit of you, so I am ; though I've hardly a place to put you to sit down in." And then she opened a door, and took him into a little sitting-room on the left-hand side of the passage. His feeling of intense enmity to Dockwrath was beginning to wear away, and one of modified friendship for the whole family was super* 8(J4 OtlLEI fAfiJU. veniug. It was much belter that it should be so. He eoilld n6t undet- stand before how Dockwrath had had the heart to write to him aud call him John, but now he did understand it. He felt that he could him- self be friendly with Dockwrath now, and forgive him all the injury; he felt also that it would not go so much against the grain with him to marry that friend as to whom his sister would so often solicit him. " I think you may venture to sit down upon them," said Miriam, " though I can't say that I have ever tried myself." This speech re- ferred to the chairs with which her room was supplied, and which Kenneby seemed to regard with suspicion. " They are very nice I'm sure," said he, " but I don't think I ever saw any like them." "Nor nobody else either. But don't you tell him so," and she nodded with her head to the side of the house on which the office stood. "I had as nice a set of malioganys as ever a woman could want, and bought with my own money too, John; but he's took them away to furnish some of his lodgings opposite, and put them things here in their place. Don't, Sam ; you'll have 'em all twisted about nohows in no time if you go to use 'em in that way." " I wants to see the pictur' on the table," said Sam. " Drat the picture," said Mrs. Dockwrath. "It was hard, wasn't it, John, to see my own mahoganys, as I had rubbed with my own hands till they was ever so bright, and as was bought with my own money too, took away and them things brought here ? Sam, if you twist that round any more I'll box your ears. One can't hear oneself speak with the noise." " They don't seem to be very useful," said K.*nneby. " Useful ! They're got up for cheatery ; — that's what they are got up for. And that Dockwrath should be took in with 'em — he that's so sharp at everything,- — that's what surprises me. But laws, John, it isn't the sharp ones that gets the best oif. You was never sharp, but you're as smirk and smooth as though you came out of a bandbox. I am glad to see you, John, so I am." And she put her apron up to her eyes and wiped away a tear. " Is Mr. Dockwrath at home ? " said John. " Sam, run round and see if your father's in the office. He'll be home to dinner, I know. Molly, do be quiet with your sister. I never see such a girl as you are for bothering. You didn't come down about business, did you, John ? " And then Kenneby explained to her that he had been summoned by Dockwrath as to the matter of this Orley Farm trial. While he was doing so, Sam returned to say that his father had stepped out, but woirid be back in half an hour, and Mrs. Dockwrath, finding it impossible to make use of her company sitting- room, took her old lover into the family apartment which they all ordinarily occupied. " You can sit down there at any rate without it at all cnmching under you, up to nothing." And she emptied for him as she spoke the seat of an old well-Torn horse-hair bottomed arm-chair. "As to them tin things I wouldn't trust myself on one of them ; and so I told him, roltS kESNEBY GOBS TO HAMWOEIH. SOS •ngty as it made him. But now about poor Lady Mason . Sam and Molly, you go into the garden, there's good children. They is so ready with their ears, John; and he contrives to get everything out of 'em. Now do tell me about this." Kenneby could not help thinking that the love match between Miriam and her husband had not turned out iu all respects well, and I tear that he derived from the thought a certain feeling of consolation. " He " was spoken about in a manner that did not betoken unfailing love and perfect confidence. Perhaps Miriam was at this moment think- ing that she might have done better with her youth and her money ! She was thinking of nothing of the kind. Her mind was one that dwelt on the present, not on the past. She was unhappy about her furniture, unhappy about the frocks of those four younger children, unhappy that the loaves of bread went faster and faster every day, very unhappy now at the, savageness with which her husband prosecuted his anger against Lady Mason. But it did not occur to her to be unhappy because she had not become Mrs. Kenneby. Mrs. Dockwrath had more to tell in the matter than had Kenneby, and when the elder of the children who were at home had been disposed of she was not slow to tell it. "Isn't it dreadful, John, to think that they should come against her now, and the will all settled aa it was twenty year ago ? But you won't say anything against her ; will you now, John ? She was always a good friend to you ; wasn't she ? Though it wasn't much use ; was it ? " It was thus that she referred to the business before them, and to the love passages of hei early youth at the same time. "It's a very dreadful affair," said Kenneby, very solemnly; "and the more I think of it the more dreadful it becomes." " But you won't say anything agamst her, will you ? You won't go over to his side ; eh, John ? " " I don't know much about aides," said he. " He'U get himself into trouble with it ; I know he will. I ao so vnjsh you'd tell him, for he can't hurt you if you stand up to him. If I speak, — Lord bless yovi, I don't dare to call my soul my own for a week ajfterwards." " Is he so very " "Oh, dreadful, John. He's bid me never speak a word to her. But for all that I used till she went away down to The Cleeve yonder. And what do you think they say now ? And I do believe it too. They say that Sir Peregrine is going to make her his lady. If he does that it stands to reason that Dockwrath and Joseph Mason will get the worst of it. I'm sure I hope they will ; only he'll be twice as hard if he don't make monev by it in some way." "WHlhe, now?" "Indeed he will. You never knew anything like him for hardness if things go wrong awhile. I know he's got lots of money, because he's always buying up bits of houses ; besides, what has he done with mine '^ but yet sometimes you'd hardly think he'd let me have bread enough for the children — and as for clothes 1 " Poor Miriam ! It seemea 80 S06 ontKi PASM. that her husband shared with her but few of the spoils or triump'as of his profession. Tidings now came in from the office that Dockwrat'Ji was there, " Yoa'U come round and eat a bit of dinner with us ? " said she, hesitat ingly. He felt that she hesitated, and hesitated himself in his reply. "He must say something in the way of asking you, you know, and then say you'll come. His manner's nothing to you, you know. Do now. It does me good to look at you, John^ it does indeed." And then, without makmg any promise, he left her and went round to the office. Kenneby had made up his mind, talking over the matter with Moulder and his sister, that he would be very reserved in any communication ivhich he might make to Dockwrath as to his possible evidence at the coming trial; but nevertheless when Dockwrath had got him into his office, the attorney made him give a succinct account of everything he knew, taking down his deposition in a regular manner. " And now if you'll just sign that," Dockwrath said to him when he had done. "I don't know about signing," said Kenneby. "A man should never write his own name unless he knows why." " You must sign your own deposition ; " and the attorney frowned at him and looked savage. "What would a judge say to you in court if you had made such a statement as this, affecting the cha- racter of a woman like Lady Mason, and then had refused to siga it ? You'd never be able to hold up your head again." "Wouldn't I?" said Kenneby gloomily; and he did sign it. This was a great triumph to Dockwrath. Mat Round had succeeded in getting the deposition of Bridget Bolster, but he had got that of John Kenneby. "And now," said Dockwrath, "I'll tell you what we'll do; — we'll go to the Blue Posts— you remember the Blue Posts? — and I'll stand a beef steak and a glass of brandy and water. I suppose you'll go back to London by the 3 p.m. train. We shall have lots of time." I Kenneoy said tnat ne should go back by the 3 p.m. train, but he declined, with considerable hesitation, the beef steak and brandy and water. After what had passed between him and Miriam he could not go to the Blue Post with her husband. " Nonsense, man," said Dockwrath. " You must dine somewhere." But Kenneby said that he should dine in London. He always preferred dining late. Besides, it was a long time since he had been at Hamworth, and he was desirous of taking a walk that he might renew his associations. ■ " Associations ! " said Dockwrath with a sneer. According to his ideas a man conld have no pleasant associations with a place unless he had made money there or been in some way successful. Now Jolui Kenneby had enjoyed no success at Hamworth. "Well, then, if you prefer associations to the Blue Posts I'E say good- , bye to you. I don't understand it myself. We shall see each other at the trial, you know." Kenneby with a sigh said that ho supposed tiief aii.ould. JOHH kenneby's courtship. 307 "Are you going into the house," said Dockwrath, "to see her again P " and he indicated with his head the side on which his wife was, as she before had indicated his aide. " Well, yes ; I think I'll say good-bye." " Don't be talking to her about this affair. She understands nothing about it, and everything goes up to that woman at Orley Farm." And so they parted. " And he wanted you to go to the Blue Posts, did he ? " said Miriam, when she heard of the proposition. "It's like him. If there is to be any money spent it's anywhere but at home." "But I ain't going," said John. " He'U go before the day's out, though he mayn't get his dinner there. And he'U be ever so free when he's there. He'll stand brandy and water to half Hamworth when he thinks he can get anything by it; but if you'll believe me, John, though I've all the fag of the house on me, and all them children, I can't get a pint of beer — not regular — betwixt breakfast and bedtime." Poor Miriam ! Why had she not taken advice when she was younger ? John Kenneby would have given her what beer was good for her, quite regularly. Then he went out and took his walk, sauntering away to the gate of Orley Farm, and looking up the avenue. He ventured up some way, and there at a distance before him he saw Lucius Mason walkiag up and down, from the house towards the road and back again, swinging a heavy stick in his hand, with his hat pressed down over his brows. Kenneby had no desire to speak to him ; so he returned to the gate, and thence went back to the station, escaping the town by a side lane ; and in this way he got back to London without holding further communication with the people of Hamworth. CHAPTER XLIIL JOHN KENNEBY's COTJIITSHIP. " She's as sweet a temper, John, as ever stirred a lump of sugar in her tea," said Mrs. Moulder to her brother, as they sat together over the fire in Great St. Helen's on that same evening, — after his return from Hamworth. "That she is, — and so Smiley always found her. ' She's always the same,' Smiley said to me many a day. And what can a man want more than that ? " "That's quite true," said John. " And then as to her habits — I never knew her take a drop too much, since first I set eyes on her, and that's nigh twenty years ago. She likes things comfortable ; and why shouldn't she, with two Jiundrcd 20—2 808 ORLEY tAEM. a year of hei own coming out of the Kingsland Eoad brick-fields f A» for dress, her things is beautiful, and she is the woman that takes care of 'em ! Why, I remember an Irish tabinet as Smiley gave her wlien first that venture in the brick-fields came up money; if that tabinet is as much as turned yet, why, I'll eat it. And then the best of it is, she'll have you to-morrow. Indeed she will ; or to-night, if you'll ask her. Goodness gracious ! if there ain't Moulder ! " And the excellent wife jumped up from her seat, poked the fire, emptied the most comfortable arm-chair, and hurried out to the landing at the top of the stairs. Presently the noise of a loudly wheezing pair of lungs was heard, and the commercial traveller, enveloped from head to foot in coats and comforters, made his appearance. He had just returned from a journey, and having deposited his parcels and packages at the house of business of Hubbies and Grease in Houndsditch, had now returned to the bosom of his family. It was a way he had, not to let his wife know exactly the period of his return. Whether he thouglit that by so domg he might keep her always on the alert and ready for maritEU inspection, or whether he disliked to tie himself down by the obligation of a fixed time for his return, Mrs. Moulder had never made herself quite sure. But on neither view of the subject did she admire this practice of her lord. She had on many occasions pointed out to him how much more snug she could make him if he would only let her know when he was coming. But he had never taken the hint, and in these latter days she had ceased to give it. " Why, I'm uncommon cold," he said in answer to his wife's in- quiries after his welfare. " And so would you be too, if you'd come up rfom Leeds since you'd had your dinner. What, John, are you there ? The two of you are making yourself snug enough, I suppose, with something hot ? " " Not a drop he's had yet since he's been in the house," said Mrs. Moulder. " And he's hardly as much as darkened the door since yon left it." And Mrs. Moulder added, with some httle hesitation in her voice, " Mrs. Smiley is coming in to-night. Moulder." " The d she is ! There's always something of that kind when I gets home tired out, and wants to be comfortable. I mean to have my supper to myself, as I likes it, if all the Mother Smileys in London choose to come in the way. What on earth is she coming here for this time of night ? " "Why, Moulder, you know." "No; I don't know. I only know this, that when a man's used up with business he don't want to have any of that nonsense under his nose." " If you mean me " began John Kenneby. "I don't jnean you; of course not; and I don't mean anybody. Here, take my coats, will you ? and let me have a pair of slippers. If Mrs. Smiley thinks that I'm going to change my pants, or put myself about for her '' "Laws, Moulder, she don't expect that." " She wont get it, any way. Here's John dressed up as if he was JOHN KENNEBl's COURTSHIP. 309 going to a box in the tlie-atre. And you — wliy should vou be going to expense, and knocking out tilings that costs mouey, because Mother Smiley's coming ? I'll Smiley her." " Now Moulder- " But Mrs. Moulder knew that it was of m use speaking to him at the present moment. Her task should ba this, — to feed and cosset him if possible into good humour before her guest should arrive. Her praises of Mrs. Smiley had been very fairly true. But nevertheless she was a lady who had a mind and voice of her own, as any lady has a right to possess who draws in her own right two hundred a year out of a brick-field in the Kingsland Road. Such a one knows that she is above being snubbed, and Mrs. Smiley ' knew this of herself as well as any lady ; and if Moulder, in his wrath, should call her Mother Smiley, or give her to understand that he regarded her as an old woman, that lady would probably walk herself off in great dudgeon, — herself and her share in the brick-field. To tell the truth, Mrs. Smiley required that considerable deference should be paid to her. Mrs. Moulder knew well what was her husband's present ailment. He had dined as early as one, and on his journey up from Leeds to London had refreshed himself with drink only. That last glass of brandy which he had taken at the Peterborough station had made him cross. If she could get him to swallow some hot food before Mrs. Smiley came, all might yet be well. " And what's it to be, M. ? " she said in her most insinuating voice — " there's a lovely chop down stall's, and there's nothing so quick as that." _ . " Chop ! " he said, and it was all he did say at the moment. "There's a 'am in beautiful cut,''' she went on, showing by the urgency of her voice how ai:*.cious she was on the subject. Eor the moment he did not answer her at all, but sat facing the fire, and running his fat fingers through his uncombed hair. " Mrs. Smiley ! " he said, " I remember when she was kitchen-maid at old Pott's." " She ain't nobody's kitchen-maid now," said Mrs. Moulder, almost prepared to be angry in the defence of her friend. " And I never could make out -yfhen it was that Smiley married her, — that is, if he ever did." "Now, Moulder, that's shocking of you. Of course he married her. She and I is nearly an age as possible, though I think she is a year over me. She says not, and it ain't nothing to me. But I I'CDiember the wedding as if it was yesterday. You and I had never oet eyes on each other then, M." This last she added in a plaintive 5one, hoping to soften him. " Are you going to keep me here all night without anything ? " he then said. "Let me have some whisky, — hot, with; — and don't stand tbpre looking at nothing." "But you'll take some solids with it. Moulder? Why it stands to reason you'll be famished." *• Do jks you're bid, will you, and give me the whisky, Are you 310 OALEY lAKH.. going to tell me when I'm to eat and when I'm to drink, like a child?" This he said in that tone of voice which made Mrs. Moulder know that he meant to be obeyed; and though she was sure that he would make himself drunk, she was compelled to minister to his desires. She got the whisky and hot water, tne lemon and sugar, and set the things beside him; and then she retired to the sofa. John Kenneby the while sat perfectly silent looking on. Perhaps he was considering whether he would be able to emulate the domestic management of Dockwrath or of Moulder when he should have taken to himself Mrs. Smiley and the Kingsland brick-field. " If you've a mind to help yourself, John, I suppose you'll do it," said Moulder. " None for me just at present, thank'ee," said Kenneby. " I suppose you wouldn't swallow nothing less than wine in them togs ? " said the other, raising his glass to his lips. " Well, here's better luck, and I'm blessed if it's not wanting. I'm pretty well tired of this go, and so I mean to let 'em know pretty plaiuly." All this was understood by Mrs. Moulder, who knew that it only signified that her husband was half tipsy, and that in all probability he would be whole tipsy before long. There was no help for it. Were she to remonstrate with him in his present mood, he would very probably fling the bottle at het head. Indeed, remonstrances were never of avail with him. So she sat herself down, thinking how slie would run down when she heard Mrs. Smiley's step, and beg that lady to postpone her visit. Indeed it would be well to send John to convey her home again. Moulder swallowed his glass of hot toddy fast, and then mixed another. His eyes were very bloodshot, and he sat staring at the fire. His hands were thrust into his pockets between the periods of his drinkiug, and he no longer spoke to any one. " I'm if I stand it," he growled forth, addressing himself. "I've stood it a deal too long." And then he finished the second glass. There was a sort of understanding on the part of his wife that such interjections as these referred to Hubbies and Grease, and indicated a painftiUy advanced state of drink. There was one hope ; the double heat, that of the fire and of the whisky, might make him sleep ; and if so, he would be safe for two or three hours. "I'm blessed if I do, and that's all," said Moulder, grusping the whisky-bottle for the third time. His wife sat behind him very anxious, but not daring to interfere. " It's going over the table, M.," she then said. . " D the table ! " he answered ; and then his head fell forward on his breast, and he was fast asleep with the bottle in his hand. "Put your hand to it, John," said Mrs. Moulder in a whisper. But 3 ohn hesitated. The lion might rouse himself if his prey were touched. "He'll let it go easy if you put your hand to it. He's safe enough ■ow. There. If we could only get him back from the fire a little, or his taee'll be burnt off of him." JOHN KENNBBY's COJMSUIi. . 311 " But you wouldn't move him P " " Well, yes ; we'U try. I've done it before, and lie's never stirred. Come here, just behind. The casters is good, I know. Laws ! aint he heavy ? " And then they slowly dragged him baek. He grunted out some half-pronounced threat as they moved him ; but he did not stir, and his wife knew that she was again mistress of the room for the next two hours. It was true that he snored horribly, but then she was used to that. " You won't let her come up, will you ? " said John. " Why not ? She knows what men is as well as I do. Smiley wasn't that way often, I believe ; but he was awful when he was. He wouldn't sleep it off, quite innocent, like that ; but would break everything about the place, and then cry like a child after it. Now Moulder's got none of that about him. The worst of it is, how am I ever to get him into bed when he wakes ? " While the anticipation of this great trouble was still on her mind, the ring at the belt was heard, and John Keimeby went down to the outer door that he might pay to Mrs. Smiley the attention of waiting upon her up stairs. And up stairs she came, bristling with silk — the identical Irish tabinet, perhaps, which had never been turned — and con- scious of the business which had brought her. " What — Moulder's asleep, is he ? " she said as she entered the room. " I suppose that's as good as a pair of gloves, any way." " He ain't just very well," said Mrs. Moulder, winking at her friend ; "he's tired after a long journey." " Oh — h ! ah — h ! " said Mrs. Smiley, looking down upon the sleep- ing beauty, and understanding everything at a glance. " It's uncom- mon bad for him, you know, because he's so given to flesh." " It's as much fatigue as anything," said the wife. " Yes, I dare say ; " and Mrs. Smiley shook her head. " If he fatigues himself so much as that often he'll soon be off the hooks." Much was undoubtedly to be borne from two hundred a year in a brick-field, especially when that two hundred a year was coming so very near home ; but there is an amount of impertinent familiarity which must be put down even in two hundred a year. " I've known worse cases than him, my dear ; and that ended worse." " Oh, I dare say. But you're mistook if you mean Smiley. It was 'sepilus as took him oif, as everybody knows." " Well, my dear, I'm sure I'm not going to say anything agauist that. And now, John, do help her off with her bonnet and shawl, while I get the tea-things." Mrs. Smiley was a firm set, healthy-looking woman of — about forty. She had large, dark, glassy eyes, which were bright without sparkling. Her cheeks were very red, having a fixed settled colour that never altered with circumstances. Her black wiry hair was ended in chort crisp curls, which sat close to her head. It almost collected like a wig, but the hair was in truth her own. Her mouth was small, and her hps thin, and they gave to her face a look of sharpness that was not quite agreeable. Nevertheless she was not a bad-looking 312 OELEY FAKM, woman, and with suoli advantages as two Iiaiidi'cd a year a,id the ward- 'obe which Mrs. Moulder had aescribed, was no doubt entitled to look ■■or a second husband. "Well, Mr. Kenneby, and how do you find yourself this cold weather ? Dear, how he do snore ; don't he ? " "Yes," said Kenneby, very thoughtfully, "he does rather." He was thinking of Miriam Usbech as she was twenty years ago, and 0/ Mrs. Smiley as she appeared at present. Not that he felt inclined to grumble at the lot prepared for him, but that he would like to take a few more years to think about it. And then they sat down to tea. The lovely chops which Moulder had despised, and the ham in beautiful cut which had failed to tempt him, now met with due appreciation. Mrs. Smiley, though she had never been knowa to take a drop too much, did like to have things comfortable; and on this occasion she made an excellent meal, with a large pocket-handkerchief of Moulder's — brought in for the occasion — stretched across the broad expanse of the Irish tabinet. " Wc sha'n't wake him, shall we ? " said she, as she took her last bit of muffin. " Not till he wakes natural, of hisself," said Mrs. Moulder. "When he's worked it off, he'll rouse himself, and I shall have to get him to bed." "He'll be a bit patchy then, won't he ? " "Well, just for a while of course he will," said Mrs. Moulder. "But there's worse than him. To-morrow morning, maybe, he'll be just as sweet as sweet. It don't hang about him, sullen like. That's what I hate, when it hangs about 'em." Then the tea-things were taken away, Mrs. Smiley in her familiarity assisting in the removal, and — in spite of the example now before them — some more sugar and some more spirits, and some more hot water were put upon the table. "Well, I don't mind just the least taste in life, Mrs. Moulder, as we're quite between friends ; and I'm sure you'll want it to-iught to keep yourself up." Mrs. Moulder would have answered these last words with some severity had she not felt that good humour now might be of great value to her brother. " Well, John, and what is it you've got to say to her ? " said Mrs. Moulder, as she put down her empty glass. Between friends who understood each other so well, and at their time of life, what was the use of ceremony ? " La, Mrs. Moulder, what should he have got to say ? Nothing, I'm sure, as I'd think of listening to." " You try her, John." "Not but what I've the greatest respect in life for Mr. Kenneby, and always did have. If you must have anything to do with men, I've always said, recommend me to them as is quiet and steady, and hasn't got too much of the gab ; — a quiet man is the mau for me any day." " WeU, John ? " said Mrs. Moulder. " Now, Mrs. Moulder, can't you keep yourself to yourself, and ve ihall do very well. Laws, ow he do snore ! When Ids heftd goe| bobbiog that way I do so fear he'll have a Ct.'^ JOHN kenneby's courtship. 313 " No he won't ; he's coming to, all right. Well, John ? " " I'm sure I shall be very happy," said John, "if slie likes it. She says she respects me, and I'm sure I've a great respect for her. I always had — even when Mr. Smiley was alive." "It's very good for you to say so," said she; not speaking however as though she were quite satisfied. What was the use of his remember- ing Smiley just at present ? " Enough's enough between friends any day,'' said Mrs. Moulder. " So give her your hand, John." " I think it'll be right to say one thing first," said Kenneby, with a solemn and deliberate tone. " And what's that ? " said Mrs. Smiley, eagerly. " In such a matter as this," continued Kenneby, " whore the hearts are concerned " " You didn't say anything about hearts yet," said Mrs. Smiley, with some measure of approbation in her voice. " Didn't I ? " said Kenneby. " Then it was an omission on my part, and I beg leave to apologise. But what I was going to say is this': when the hearts are concerned, everything should be honest and above- board." " Oh of course," said Mrs. Moulder ; " and I'm sure she don't suspect nothing else." " You'd better let him go on," said Mrs. Smiley. " My heart has not been free from woman's lovely image." " And isn't free now, is it, John ? " said Mrs. Moulder. "I've had my object, and though she's been another's, still I've kept her image on my heart." "But it ain't there any longer, John? He's speaking of twenty years ago, Mrs. Smiley." "It's quite beautiful to hoar him," said Mrs. Smiley. " Go on, .Mr. Kenneby." "The years are gone by as though they was nothing, and still I've had her image on my heart. I've seen her to-day." " Her gentleman's still alive, ain't he ? " asked Mrs. Smiley. " And likely to live," said Mrs. Moulder. " I've seen her to-day," Kenneby continued ; " and now the Adriatic's free to wed another." Neither of the ladies present exactly understood the force of the quotation; but as it contained an appropriate reference to marriage, and apparently to a second marriage, it was taken by both of them in good part. He was considered to have made his offer, and Mrs. Smiley thereupon formally accepted him. "He's spoke quite hand- some, I'm sure," said Mrs. Smiley to his sister; "and I don't know that any woman has a right to expect more. As to the brick- fields ." And then there was a slight reference to business, with which it will not b.e necessary that the readers of this story should em- barrass themselves." Soon. after that Mr. Kenneby saw Mrs. Smiley home in a cab, and poor Mrs. Moulder sat by her lord till he roused himself from his dl4 OKLEY I'ABM. sleep. Let us hope'that her troubles with Mm were as little vexatioua as possible ; and cousole ourselves with the reflection that at twelvo o'clock the next morning, after the second bottle of soda and brandy he was " as sweet as sweet." CHAPTER XLIT. SHOWING HOW LADY MASON COULD BE VEilY NOBLE. Lady Mason returned to The Clecvc after her visit to Mr. Furnival's chambers, and nobody asked her why she had been to London or whom she had seen. Nothing could be more gracious than the deference which was shown to her, and the perfect freedom of action which was accorded to her. On that very day Lady Staveley had called at The Cleeve, explaining to Sir Peregrine and Mrs. Orme that her visit was made expressly to Lady Mason. " I should have called at Orley Earm, of course," said Lady Staveley, " only that I Qear that Lady Mason is likely to prolong her visit with you. I must trust to you, Mrs. Orme, to make all that understood." Sir Peregrine took upon himself to say that it all should be understood, and then drawing Lady Staveley aside, told her of his own intended marriage. "I cannot but be aware," he said, "that I have no business to trouble you with an affair that is so exclusively our own; but I have a wish, which perhaps you may understand, that there should be no secret about it. I think it better, for her sake, that it should be known. It the connection can be of any service to her, she should reap that benefit now, when some people are treating her name with a barbarity which I believe to be almost unparalleled in this country." In answer to this Lady Staveley was of course obliged to congratulate him, and she did so with the best grace in her power, but it was not early to say much that was cordial, and as she drove back with Mrs. Arbuthnot to Noningsby the words which were said between them as to Lady Mason were not so kindly meant towards that lady as their remarks on their journey to The Cleeve. Lady Staveley had hoped, ^though she had hardly expressed her nope even to herself, and .certainly had not spoken of it to any one else, — that she might have been able to say a word or two to Mrs. Orme about young Peregrine, a word or two that would have shown ner own good feeling towards the young man, — her own regard, and almost affection for him, even though this might have been done without any mention of Madeline's name. She might have learned in this way whether young Orme had made known at home what had been his hopes and what his disappomtments, and might have formed some opinion whether or no he would renew his suit. She onOWING HOW LADY MASOJJ COULD BE VERY NOBLE. 315 woi\Ld not have been the first to mention her daughter's name ; but if Mrs. Orme should speak of it, then the subject would be free for her, and she could let it be known that the heir of The Cleeve should at any rate have her sanction, and good will. What happiness could be so great for her as that of having a daughter so settled, within eight miles of her ? And then it was not only that a marriage between her daughter and Peregrine Orme would be an event so fortunate, but also that those feelings with ibferenee to PeUx Graham were so unfortunate ! That young heart, she thought, could not as yet be heavy laden, and it might be possible that the whole affair should be made to run in the proper course, — if only it could be done at once. But now, that tale which Sir Peregrine had told her respecting himself and Lady Mason had made it quite impossible that anything should bo said on the other subject. And then again, if it was decreed that the Noningsby family and the family of The Cleeve should be connected, would not such a marriage as this between the baronet and Lady Mason DC very injurious ? So that Lady Staveley was not quite happy as she returned to her own house. Lady Staveley's message, however, for Lady Mason was given ivith all its full force. Sir Peregrine had felt grateful for what had oeen done, and Mrs. Orme, in talking of it, made quite the most of it. Civility from the Staveleys to the Ormes would not, in the ordi- nary course of things, be accounted of any special value. The twi* fanilies might, and naturally would, know each other on intimate terms. But the Ormes would as a matter of course stand th highest in general estimation. Now, however, the Ormes had to bear up Lady Mason with them. Sir Peregrine had so willed it, and Mrs. Orme had not for a moment thought of contesting the wish of one whose wishes she had never contested. No words were spoken on the subject ; but stiU with both of them there was a feel- mg that Lady Staveley's countenance and open friendship would be of value. Wnen it had come to this with Sir Peregrine Orme, ho was already disgraced in his own estimation, — already disgraced, although he declared to himself a thousand times that he was only doing his duty as a gentleman. On that evening Lady Mason said no word of her new purpose. She had pledged herself both to Peregrine Orme and to Mr. Pumival. To both she had made a distinct promise that sha would break off her engagement, and she knew well that the deed should be done at once. But how was she to do it ? With what words was she to teU him that she had changed her mind and would not take the hand that he had offered to her ? She feared to be a moment alone with Pere- grine lest he should tax her with the non-fulfilment of her promise. But in truth Peregrine at the present moment was thinking more of another matter. It had ahnost come home to him that his grandfather's marriage might facilitate his own ; and though he still was far from reconciling himself to the connection with Lady Mason, he was almost disposed to put up with it. On the fgllowing day, at about noon, a chariot with a pair of post- 316 OELllY FARM. horses was brought up to tlie door of The Cleeve at a very fast pace, aud the two ladies soon afterwards learned that Lord Alston was closeted with Sir Peregrine. Lord Alston was one of Sir Peregrine's oldest friends. He was a man senior both in age and standing to the baronet ; and, moreover, he was a friend who came but seldom to The Cleeve, although his friendship was close and intimate. Nothing was said between Mrs. Orme and Lady Mason, but each dreaded that Lord Alston had come to remonstrate about the marriage. And so in truth lie had. The two old men were together for about an hour, and then Lord Alston took his departure without asking for or seeing any other one of the family. Lord Alston had remonstrated about the marriage, using at last very strong language to dissuade the baronet from a step which he thought so unfortunate ; but he had remonstrated altogether in vain. Every word that he had used was not only fruitless, but injurious; for Sir Peregrine was a man whom it was very difficult to rescue by opposition, though no man might be more easily led by assumed acquiescence. "Orme, my dear fellow," said his lordship, towards the end of Ihe interview, "it is my duty, as an old friend, to tell you .his." "Then, Lord Alston, you have done your duty." "Not while a hope remains that 1 may prevent this marriage." " There is ground for no such hope on your part ; and permit me to say that the expression of such a' hope to me is greatly warning iu courtesy." "You aud I," continued Lord Alston, without apparent attention to the last words which Sir Peregrine had spoken, "have nearly some to the end of our tether here. Our careers have been run; and I think I may say as regards both, but I may certainly say as regards you, that they have been so run that we have not disgraced those who preceded us. Our dearest hopes' should be that our names may never be held as a reproach by those who come after us." "With God's blessing I wUl do nothing to disgrace my family." " But, Orme, you and I cannot act as may those whose names in .he world are altogether unnoticed. I know that you are doing this from a feeling of charity to that lady.'' " I am domg it. Lord Alston, because it so pleases me." "But your flrst charity is due to your grandson. Suppose that _e was making an offer of his hand to the daughter of some noble- man, — as he is so well entitled to do, — how would it affect his hopes if it were known that you at the time had married a lady whose mis- fortune made it necessary that she should stand at the bar in a criminal court ? " " Lord Alston," said Sir Peregrine, rismg from his chair, " I trust that ay grandson may never rest his hopes on any woman whose heart could be hardened against him by such a thought as that.'' " But what if she should be guilty ? " said Lord Alston. "Permit me to say," said Sir Peregrine, still standing, and standing nair bolt upfight, as though his years did not w?igh on him a featlier, aflowiKe HOW ladi mason could be veei noble. 31? " that tliis conversation lias gone far enough. There are some surmises to which I cannot listen, even from Lord Alston." Then his lordship shrugged his shoulders, declared that in speaking as he had spoken he had endeavoured to do a friendly duty by an old friend, — certainly the oldest, and almost the dearest friend he had, — and so he took his leave. The wheels of the chariot were heard grating over the gravel, as he was carried away from the door at a gallop, and the two ladies looked into each other's faces, saying no- thing. Sir Peregrme was not seen from that time till dinner ; but when he did come into the drawing-room his manner to Lady Mason was, if possible, more gracious and more affectionate than ever. " So Lord Alston was here to-day," Peregrine said to his mother that night before he went to bed. " Yfcs, he was here." "It was about this marriage, mother, as sure as I am standing here." " I don't think Lord Alston would interfere about that. Perry." " Wouldn't he ? He would interfere about anything he did not like ; that is, as far as the pluck of it goes. Of course he can't like it. Wlio can?" "Perry, your grandfather likes it; and surely he has a right to please himself." " I don't know about that. You might say the same thing if he wanted to kill all the foxes about the place, or do any other out- landish thing. Of course he might kill them, as far as the law goes, but where would he be afterwards ? She hasn't said anything to him, nas she ? " "I think not." "Nor to you?" "No; she has not spoken to me ; not about that." " She promised me positively that she would break it off." " You must not be hard on her, Perry." Just as these words were spoken, there came a low knoek at Mrs. Orme's dressing-room door. This [room, in which Mrs. Orme was wont to sit for an hour or so every night before she went to bed, was the scene of all the meetings of affection which took place between the mother and the son. It was a pretty httle apartment, opening from Mrs. Orme's bed-room, which had at one time been the exclusive property of Peregrine's father. But by degrees it had altogether assumed feminine attributes ; had been furnished with soft chairs, a sofa, and a lady's table ; and though called by the name of Mrs. Orme's dressing-room, was in fact a separate sitting-room devoted to her ex- clusive use. Sir Peregrine would not for worlds have entered it with- out sending up his name beforehand, and this he did on only very rare occasions. But Lady Mason had of late been admitted here, and Mrs. Orme now knew that it was her knock. • "Open the door. Perry," she said; "it is Lady Mason." He did open tne door, and Lady Mason entered. 318 OELEY FAKM. "Oh, Mr. Orme, 1 did not know that you were here." " I am just off. Good-night, mother." "But I am disturhing you." " No, we had done ; " and he stooped down and Jdssed his mother " Good-night, Lady Mason. Hadn't I better put some coals on foi you, or the fire will be out ? " He did put on the coals, and then he went his way. Lady Mason while he was doing this had sat down on the sofa, closa to Mrs. Orme ; but when the door was closed Mrs. Orme was the first to speak. " Well, dear," she said, putting her hand caressingly on the other's arm. I am inclmed to think that had there been no one whom Mrs. Orme was bound to consult but herself, she would have wished that this marriage should have gone on. To her it would have been altogether jpleasant to have had Lady Mason ever with her in the house ; and she had none of those fears as to future family retro- spections respecting which Lord Alston had spoken with so much knowledge of the world. As it was, her manner was so caressing and affectionate to her guest, that she did much more to promote Sir Pere- grine's wishes than to oppose them. " Well, dear," she said, with her sweetest smile. " I am so sorry that I have driven your son away." " He was going. Besides, it would make no matter ; he would stay here all night sometimes, if I didn't drive him away myself. He comes here and writes his letters at the most unconscionable hours, and uses up all my note-paper in telling some horsekeeper what is to be done with his mare." " Ah, how happy you must be to have him ! " "Well, I suppose I am," she said, as a tear came into her eyes. "We are so hard to please. I am all anxiety now that he should be married; and if he were married, then I suppose I should grumble because I did not see so much of him. He would be more settled if lie would marry, I think. !For myself I approve of early marriages for young men," and then she thought of her own husband whom ihe had loved so well and lost so soon. And so they sat silent for a while, each thinking of her own lot in life. " But I must not keep you up all night," said Lady Mason. " Oh, I do so like you to be here," said the other. Then again she took hold of her arm, and the two women kissed each other. "But, Edith,'' said the other, "I came in here to-night with a purpose. I have something that I wish to say to you. Can you listen to me ? " " Oh yes," said Mrs. Orme ; " surely." "Has your son been talking to you about — about what was said between him and me the other day ? I am sure he has, for I know he tells you everything, — as he ought to do." , " Yes, he did speak to me," said Mrs. Orme, almost trembling with anxiety. _ " 1 am so glad, for now it will be easier for me to tell you. And since that I have seen Mr. Fumivnl, and he says the same. I tell yon SHOWING now LAJl-V MASON COULD BE VERY NOBLE. 319 because you are so good and so loving to me. I will keep nothing from you ; but you must not teU Sir Peregrine tnat I talked to Mr, Furnival about this." Mrs. Orme gave the required promise, hardly thinking at the moment whether or no she would be guilty of any treason against Sir Peregrine in doing so. " I think I should have said nothing to him, though he is so very old a friend, had not Mr. Orme " " You mean Peregrine ? " "Yes ; had not he been so — so earnest about it. He told me that if I married Sir Peregrine I should be doing a cruel injury to him — to his grandfather." " He should not have said that." " Yes, Edith, — if he thinks it. He told me that I should be turning all his friends against him. So I promised him that I would speak to Sir Peregrine, and break it off if it be possible." "He told me that." " And then I spoke to Mr. Purnival, and he told me that I should be blamed by all the world if I were to marry him. I cannot tell you all he said, but he said this : that if — if " "If what, dear?" " If in the court they should say " "Say what ?"_ " Say that I did this thing, — then Sir Peregrine would be crusned, and would die with a broken heart." "Eut they cannot say that; — it is impossible. You do not think it possible that they can do so ? " And then again she took hold ot Lady Mason's arm, and looked up anxiously into her face. She looked up anxiously, not suspecting anything, not for a moment presuming it possible that such a verdict could be justly given, but in order that she might see how far the fear of a fate so horrible was operating on lier friend. Lady Mason's face was pale and woe-worn, but not more so than was now customary with her. " One cannot say what may be possible," she answered slowly. " I suppose they would not go on with it if ;hey did not think they had some chance of success." " You mean as to the property ? " " Yes ; as to the property." "But why should they not try that, if tney must try it, without dragging you there ? " "Ah, I do not understand; or at least I cannot explain it. Mr. Fumival says that it must be so ; and therefore I shall tell Sir Pere- . grine to-morrow that all this must be given up ; " and then they sat together silently, holding each other by the hand. " Good-night, Edith," Lady Mason said at last, getting up from her seat. " Good-night, dearest." " i'ou wiB let me be your friend stiU, will you not ? " said Lady Maaoa 330 OBLEt f ABac " My friend ! Oh yes ; always my friend. Why should this ifr terfere between you aiui me ? " " But he will be very alip;ry — at least I fear that he will. Not that ■^not that he will have anything to regret. But the very strength of his generosity and nobleness will make him angry. He will be mdig- nant because I do not let him make this sacrifice for me. And then — and then — I fear I must leave this house." " Oh na not that ; I will speak to him. He will do anything for me." " It will be better perhaps that I should go. People will think that I am estranged from Lucius. But if I go, you will come to me ? He will let you do that ; will he not ? " And then there were warm, close promises given, and embraces inter- changed. The women did love each other with a hearty, true love, and each longed that they might be left together. And yet how different they were, and how different had been their hves ! The prominent thought in Lady Mason's mind as she returned to her own room was this : — that Mrs. Orme had said no word to dis- suade her from the line of conduct which she had proposed to herself. Mrs. Orme had never spoken against the marriage as Peregrine had 3ioken, and Mr. Purnival. Her heart had not been stern enough to low her to do that. But was it not clear that her opinion was the same as theirs ? Lady Mason acknowledged to herself that it was clear, and acknowledged to herself also that no one was in favour of the marriage. " I will do it immediately after breakfast," she said to her- self. And then she sat down, — and sat through the half the night thinking of it. Mrs. Orme, when she was left alone, almost rebuked herself in that she had said no word of counsel against the undertaking which Lady Mason proposed for herself. For Mr. Purnival and his opinion she did not care much. Indeed, she would have been angry with Lady Mason for speaking to Mr. Furnival on the subject, were it not that her pity was too deep to admit of any anger. That the truth must be established at the trial Mrs. Orme felt all but confident. When alone she would feel quite sure on this point, though a doubt would always creep in on her when Lady Mason was with her. But now, as she sat alone, she could not reahse the idea that the fear of a verdict against her friend should offer any valid reason against the marriage. The valid reasons, if there were such, must be looked for elsewhere. And were these other reasons so strong in their validity ? Sir Peregrine desired the marriage ; and so did Lady Mason herself, as regarded her own individual wishes. Mrs. Orme was sure that this was so. And then for her own self, she — Sir Peregrine's daughter-in-law, the only jady concerned in the matter — she also would have liked it. But her son disliked it, and she had yielded so far to the wishes of her son. Well, was it not right that with her those wishes should be all but paramount ? And thus she endeavoured to satisfy her conscience as she retired to rest. On the following morning the four aseembied at breakfast. Ladj SHOWING HOW LADY MASON COULD Et VERV SOfiLfi. 821 Mason hardly spoke at all to any one. Mrs. Orme, who knew what was about to take place, was almost as silent ; but Sir Peregrine had almost more to say than usual to his grandson. He was in good spirits, having firmly made up his mind on a certain point ; and he showed tliis by telling Peregrine that he would ride with him immediately after breakfast. " What has made you so slack about your hunting 'during the last two or three days ? " he asked. " I shall hunt uo-niorrow," said Peregrine. '• Tlien you can afford time to ride with me through the woods after breakfast." And so it would have been arranged had not Lady Mason immediately said that she hoped to be able to say a few words to Sir Peregrine in the library after breakfast. " Place aux dames," said he. " Peregrine, the horses can wait." And so the matter was arranged while they were still sitting over their toast. Peregrine, as this was said, had looked at his mother, but she had not ventured to take her eyes for a moment from the teapot. Then he had locked at Lady Mason, and saw that she was, as it were, going through a fashion of eating her breakfast. In order to break the absolute silence of the room he muttered something about the weather, and then his grandfather, with the same object, answered him. After that no words were spoken till Sir Peregrine, rising from his chair, de- clared that he was ready. He got up and opened the door for his guest, and then hurrying across the hall, oj)ened the library door for her also, holding it till she had passed in. Then he took her left hand in his, and passing his right arm round her waist, asked her if anything disturbed her. " Oh yes," she said, " yes ; there is much that disturbs me. I have done very wrong." " How done wrong, Mary ? " She could not recollect that he had called her Mary before, aiid the sound she thought was very sweet ; — was very sweet, although she was over forty, and he over seventy years of age. "I have done very wrong, and I have now come here that I may undo it. Dear Sir Peregrine, you must not be angry with me." " I do not think that I shall be angry with you ; but what is it, dearest ? " But she did not know how to find words to declare her purpose. It was comparatively an easy task to tell Mrs. Orme that she had made up her mmd not to marry Sir Peregrme, but it was by no means easy to tell the baronet himself. And now she stood there leaning over the fireplace, with his arm round her waist, — as it behoved her to stand nu longer, seeing the resolution to which she had come. But still she did not speak. " Well, Mary, what is it ? I know there is something on your mind or you would not have summoned me in here. Is it about the trial 'i Htve you seen Mr. Furnival again ? " "No; it is not about the trial." she said, avoiding the oti"" ucslion. •■ What is it, then ? ' 382 OEIiET FASU, " Sir Peregrine, it is impossible that we should be married." And thus she brought forth her tidings,. as it were at a gasp, speaking at the moment with a voice that was almost indicative of anger. " And why not ? " said he, risleasing her from his arm and lookmg at her. " It cannot be," she said. " And why not, Lady Mason ? " " It cannot be," she said again, speaking with more emphasis, and with a stronger tone. " And is that all that you intend to tell me ? Have I done anything that has offended you ? " " Offended me ! No. I do not think that would be possib.'?. The offence is on the other side " "Then, my dear " " But hsten to me now. It cannot be. I know that it is wroiif . Everything tells me that such a marriage on your part would be a sacrifice, — a terrible sacrifice. You would be throwing away your great rank " " No," shouted Sir Peregrine ; '' sot though I married a kitcben- maid, — instead of a lady who in social life is my equal." "Ah, no; I should not have said rank. You cannot lose that;^ but your station in the world, the respect of all around you, the — the —the " " Who has been telling you all this ? " "I have wanted no one to tell me. Thinking of it has told it me all. My own heart which is full of gratitude and love for you h» told me." " You have not seen Lord Alston ? " " Lord Alston ! oh, no." " Has Peregrine been speaking to you P" "Peregrine!" "Yes; Peregrine; my grandson?" " He has spoken to me." " Telling you to say this to me. Then he is an ungrateful boy ;— a very ungrateful boy. I would have done anything to guard him iirom wrong iu this matter." " Ah ; now I see the evil that I have done. Why did I ever come into the house to make quarrels between you?" "There shall be no quarrel. I will forgive him even that if you will be guided by me. And,- dearest Mary, you must be guided by me now. This matter has gone too far for you to go back — unless, indeed,- you will say that personally you have an aversion to the marriage." " Oh, npj no ; it is not 'that," she said eagerly. She could not help saying it with eagerness. She could Hot inflict the wound on his feel- ings which her silence would then have given. " Under those circumstances, I have a right to say that the martiage must go on." ' "No; no." SHOWING HOW lADY MASOK COULD BE VBllY NOBLE. 523 " But I say it must. Sit down, Mary." And she did sit down, while he stood leaning over her and thus spoke. "You speak of sacrificing me. I am an old man with not many more years before ms. If I did sacrifice what little is left to me of life with the object of be- friending one whom I really love, there would be no more in it thaa what a man might do, and still feel that the balance was on the right side. But here there will be no sacrifice. My life vi'ill be happier, and so will Edith's. And so indeed will that boy's, if he did but know it. For the world's talk, which will last some mouth or two, I care nothing. This I will confess, that if 1 were prompted to this only by my own iuclination, only by love for you " and as lie spoke he held out his hand to her, and she could not refuse him hers—" in such a case I should doubt and hesitate and probably keep aloof from such a step. But it is not so. In doing this I shall gratify ray own heart, and also serve you in your great troubles. BeUeve me, I have thought of that." . '■■ I know you have. Sir Peregrine, — and therefore it cannot be." ." But therefore it shall be. The world knows it now ; and were we to be separated after what has past, the world would say that I — I had thought you guilty of this crime." _ ," I must bear all that." And now she stood before him, not looting him in the face, but with her face turned down towards the ground, and speaking hardly above her breath. "By Heavens, no; not wliilst I can stand by your side. 'Not whilst I have strength left to support you and thrust the he down the throat of such a wretch as Joseph Mason. No, Mary, go back to Edith and tell her that you have tried it, but that tliere is no epnape for you." And then , he smiled at her. His smile at times could be very pleasant ! But she did not smile as she answered him. "Sir Peregrine," siie said ; and she endeavoured to raise her face to his but failed. " Well, my love." " Sir Peregrine, I am guilty." " Guilty ! Guilty of what ? " he said, startled rather than instnicleJ oy her words. " Guilty of all this with which they charge me." And then the threw herself at liia feet, and wound her arma rouna his knees. 324 OELEl! TAflM, CHAPTER XLV. tDOWIXa HOW MRS. ORMK COULD BE VEKV WBAK. UINDKDi 1 VENTUKE to think, 1 may almost say to hope, that Lady Masoii'j eonfession at the end of the last chapter will not have taken anybody by surprise. If such surprise be felt 1 must have told my tale badly. T do not like such revulsions of feeling with regard to my characters as surprises of this nature must generate. Tliat Lady Mason had committed the terrible deed for which she was about to be tried, that Mr. Purnival's suspicion of her guilt was only too well founded, that Mr. Dockwrath with his wicked ingenuity had discovered no more than the truth, will, in its open revelation, have caused no sur- prise to the reader; — ^but it did cause terrible surprise to Sir Peregrine Orme. And now we must go back a Kttle and endeavour to explain how it was that Lady Mason had made this avowal of her guilt. That she had not intended to do so when she entered Sir Peregrine's library is very certain. Had such been her purpose she would not have asked Mrs. Orme to visit her at Orley Earm. Had such a course of events been in her mind she would not have spoken of her departure from The Cleeve as doubtful. No. She had intended still to keep her terrible secret to herself; still to have leaned upon Sir Peregrine's arm as on the arm of a trusting friend. But he had overcome her by (lis generosity ; and in her fixed resolve that he should not be dragged down into this abyss of misery the sudden determination to tell the truth at least to him had come upon her. She did tell him all ; and then as soon as the words were out of her mouth, the strength which had enabled her to do so deserted her, and she fell at his feet overcome by weakness of body as well as spirit. But the words which she spoke did not at first convey to his mind their full meaning. Though she had twice repeated the assertion that she was guilty, the fact of her guilt did not come home to his under- standing as a thing that he could credit. There was something, he doubted not, to surprise and harass him, — something which when re- vealed and made clear might, or might not, affect his purpose of marry- ing, — something which it behoved this woman to tell before she could honestly become his wife, something which was destined to give his heart a blow. But he was very far as yet from understanding the whole truth. Let us think of those we love best, and ask -urselves how much it would take to convince us of their guilt in such k matter. That thr«sting of the lie down the throat of Joseph Mason had become to him so earnest a duty, that th^ task of believing the lie to be on the other side was no easy one. The blow which he had to suffer va» » SHOWINO HOW MRS. ORME COULD BE VERT WEAK MINDED. 325 cruel blow. Lady Mason, however, was merciful, for she might have enhanced the cruelty tenfold. He stood there wondering and bewildered for some minutes of time, while she, with lier face hidden, still clung round his knees. " What is it ? " at last he fsaid. " I do not understand." But she had no answer to make to him. Her great resolve had been quickly made and quickly carried out, but now the reaction left her powerless. He stooped down to raise her ; but when he moved slie fell prone upon the ground ; he could hear her sobs as though her bosom would burst with them. And then by degrees the meaning of her words began to break upon him. " I am guilty of all this with which they charge me." Could that be possible ? Could it be that she had forged that will ; that with base, premeditated contrivance she had stolen that property ; stolen it and kept it from that day to this ; — through all these long years ? And then he thought of her pure life, of her womanly, dignified repose, of her devotion to her son, — such devotion indeed !— of her sweet pale face and soft voice ! He thought of all this, and of his own love and friendship for her, — of Edltli's love for her ! He thought of it all, and he could not believe that she was guilty. Tliere was some other fault, some much lesser fault than that, with which she charged herself. But there she lay at his feet, and it was necessary that he should do some- thing towards lifting her to a seat. He stooped and took her by the hand, but his feeble strength was not sufficient to raise her. " Lady Mason," he said, " speak to me. I do not understand you. Will you not let me seat you on the sofa?" But she, at least, had realised the full force of the revelation she had made, and lay there covered with shame, broken-hearted, and unable to raise her eyes from the ground. With what inward struggles she had played her part during the last few months, no one might ever know ! But those struggles had been kept to herself. The world, her world, that world for which she had cared, in which she had lived, liad treated her with honour and respect, and had looked upon her as an ill-used innocent woman. But now all that would be over. Every one now must know what she was. And then, as she lay there, that thought • came to her. Must every one know it ? Was there no longer any hope for her ? Must Lucius be told ? She could bear all the rest, if only he might be ignorant of his mother's disgrace ;— he, for whom all had been done ! But no. He, and every one must know it. Oh ! if the beneficent Spirit that sees all and pities all would but take her that moment from the world ! When Sir Peregrine asked her whether he should seat her on the sofa, she slowly picked herself up, and with her liead still crouching towards the ground, placed herself where she had before been sitting. He had been afraid that she would have fainted, but she was not one of those women whose nature easily admits of such relief as that. Thou''h she was always pale in colour and frail looking, there was within her a great power of self-sustenance. She was a woman who 826 OfUiEY TARM, , ■ . ■ with a good cause mi^ht have dared anything. With the worst causa that a woman could well have, she had' dared' and endured very much. She did not faint, nor gasp as though she were choking, nor become hysteric in her agony; but she lay there, huddled: up in the corner of the sofa, with her face hidden, and all those feminine graced forgotten which had long stood her in truth so royally. The inner, true, living woman was there at last, — that i^nd nothing else. But he, — what was he to do ? It went against his heart to harass her at that moment; but then it was essential that he should. know the truth. The truth, or a suspicion of the truth was now breaking upon him; and if that suspicion should be confirmed, what was he' to do? It was at any rate necessary that everything slibuld be put beyond a dottbt. "Lady Mason," he said, " if you are able to speak to me " " Yes," she said, gradually straightening herself, and raising her head though she did not look at him. " Yes. I am .able." But there was something terrible in the sound of her -voice. It was such a sound ol agony that he felt himself unable to persist. ' ' "if yon ,wish it I will leave you, and ooine back, — ^^say in an hour." " No, no ; do not leave me." And her whole body was shaken with a treraour, as though of an ague fit. " Do not go away, and I will tell you everything. I did it." "Did what?" " I— forged the will. I did it all.— I am guilty." There was the whole truth now, declared openly and in the most simple words, and there was no longer any possibility that' he should doubt. It was very terrible, — a terrible tragedy. But to him at this present moment the part most frightful was his and her present position. What should he do for her ? How should he counsel her ? In what way so act that he might best assist her without compromising that high sense of right and wrong which in him was a second nature. He felt »t the moment that he would still give his last shilling to rescue her,^- only that there was the property 1 Let the Heavens fall, justice must be done there. Even a wretch such as Joseph Mason must have that which was clearly his own. As she spoke those last words, she had risen from the sofa, and- was now standing before him resting with her hands upoa the table, . hke a prisoner in the dock. " What ! " he said ; " with your own hands ? " "Yes; with my own hands. When he would not do justice to my baby, when he talked of that other being the head of his house, I did it, with my own hands, — during the niglit." " And you wrote the names, — ^yourself ? " " Yes ; I wrote them all." And then there was again silence ui the room ; but she still stood, leaning on the table, waiting for him to speak her doom. i i ' He turned away from the spot in which he had confronted her and walked to the window. What was he to do? How was he to help SHOWING HOW MKS. OEME COULD BE VERY WEAK. MINDEB. 327 her ? And liow was he to be rid of her ? How was he to save his daughter from further contact with a woman such as this ? And how was he to bid his daughter behave to this woman as one womau should behave to another in her misery ? Then too he had learned to love her himself, — had yearned to call her his own; and though this ui truth was a muior sorrow, it was one which at the moment added bitterness to the others. But there she stood, still waiting her doom, and it was necessary that that doom should be . spoken by him. " If this can really be true " " It is true. I'ou do not think that a woman would falsely tell such a tale as that against herself! " " Then I fear — that this must be over between you and me." There was a relief to her, a sort of rehef, in those words. The doom as so far spoken was so much a matter of course that it conveyed no penalty. Her story had been told in order that that result might be attained with certainty. There was almost a tone of scorn in her voice as she said, " Oh yes ; all that must be over." "And what next would you have me do 'i" he asked. " 1 have nothing to request," she said. " If you must tell it to all the world, do so." " Tell it ; no. It will not be my business to be an informer." " But you must tell it. There is Mrs. Orme." "Yes: to Edith!" "And I must leave the house. Oh, where shall I go when he knows it ? And where will he go ? " Wretched miserable M-oman, but yet so worthy of pity ! What a terrible retribution for that night's work was now coming on her ! He kgain walked to the window to think how he might answer these questions. Must he tell his daughter ? Must he banish this criminal at once from his house 'i Every one now had been told of his intended marriage ; everv one had been told through Lord Alston, Mr. Eurnival, and suet as they. That at any rate must now be untold. And would it be possible that she should remain there, living with them at The (ileeve, while all this was being done ? In truth he did not know h )w to speak. He had not hardness of heart to pronounce her doom. " Of course I shall leave the house," she said, with something almost of pride in her voice. " If there be no place open to me but a gaol I will do that. Perhaps I had better go now and get my thuigs removed at once. Say a word of love for me to her; — a word of respectful love." And she moved as though she were going to the door. But he would not permit her to leave him thus. He could not let the poor, crushed, broken creature wander forth m her agony to bruise herself at every turn, and to be alone in her despair. She was still the woman whom he had loved ; and, over and beyond that, was she not the woman who had saved him from a terrible downfall by rushing herself into utter ruin for his sake ? He must take some steps in hei 328 OaLEY JfAJlM. behalf — if he could only resolve what those steps should be. She was moviug to the door, but stopping her, lie took her by the hand. " You did it," he said, "and he, your husband, knew nothing of it f " The fact itself was so wonderful, that 'js had hardly as yet made even that all his own. " I did if, and he knew nothii " 'it. I will go now. Sir Peregrine ; I am strong enough." " But where will you go ? " "Ah me, where shall], go?' rjtd she put the hand which was at liberty up to her temple, brushing back her hair as though she might thus collect her thoughts. " Where shall I go ? But he does not know it yet. I will go now to Orley Parm. When must he be told ? Tell me that. When must he know it ? " " No, Lady Mason ; you cannot go there to-day. It's very hard to say what you had better do." " Yery hard," she echoed, shaking her head. " But you must remain here at present ; — at The Cleeve I mean ; at auy rate for to-day. I will think abfiut it. I will endeavour to think what may be the best." " But — we cannot meet now. She and I ; — Mrs. Orme ? " And then again he was silent ; for in truth the difficulties were too many for him. Might it not be best that she should counterfeit illness and be confined to her own room ? But then he was averse to recommend any counterfeit ; and if Mrs. Orme did not go to her in her assumed illness, the counterfeit would utterly fail of effect in the household. And tiien, should he teli Mrs. Orme ? The weight of these tidings would be too much for him, if he did not share them with some one. So he made up his mind that he must tell them to her — though to no other one. " I must tell her," he said. " Oh yes," she replied ; and he felt her hand tremble in liis, aud dropped it. He had forgotten that he thus lield her as all these thoughts pressed upon his brain. " 1 will tell it to her, but to no one else. If I might advise you, I would say that it will be well for you now to take some rest. You are agitated, and " " Agitated ! yes. But you are right, Sir Peregrine. I will go once to my room. And then " "Then, perhaps,^ — in the course of the morning, you will see again." " Where ? — will you come to me tliere ? " " I will see you in her room, iij^er dressmg-room. She will be do stairs, you know." From which last v/ords the tidings were conveyed to Lady Mason that she was not to see Mrs. Orme again. And then she went, and as she slowly made her way across the hal] she felt that all of evil, all of punishment that she had ever anticipated, had now fallen upon her. There are periods in the lives of some of us — I trust but of few — when, with the silent inner voice ol suffermg, W¥ call op the mountains to fall and crush us, ajid on the earth to SHOWING HOW MKS. ORME CODLD BE VERY WEAK MINDED. 329 gape open and take us in. When, with an agony of intensity, we wish that our mothers had been barren. In those moments the poorest and most desolate are objects to us of envy, for their sufferings can be as notliing to our own. Lady Mason, as she crept silently across the hall, saw a servant girl pass down towards the enfrance to the kitchen, End would have given all, all that she had in the world, to have changed places with that girl. But no change was possible to her. Neither would the mountains crush her, nor would the earth take her in. There was her burden, and she must bear it to the end. There was the bed which she had made for herself, and she must lie upon it. No escape was possible to her. She had herself mixed the cup, and she must now drink of it to the dregs. Slowly and very silently she made her way up to her own room, and having closed the door behind her sat herself down upon the bed. It was as yet early in the morning, and the servant had not been in the chamber. There was no fire there although it was still mid-winter. Of such details as these Sir Peregrine had remembered nothing when he recommended her to go to her own room. Nor did she think of them at first as she placed herself on the bedside. But soon the bitter air pierced her through and through, and she shivered with the cold as she sat there. After a while she got herself a shawl, wrapped it close around her, and then sat down again. She bethought herself that she might have to remain in this way for hours, so she rose again and locked the door. It would add greatly to her immediate misery if the servants were to come while she was there, and see her in her wretchedness. Presently the girls did come, and being unable to obtain entrance were told by Lady Mason that she wanted the chamber for the present. Whereupon they offered to light the fire, but she declared that she was not cold. Her teeth were shaking in her head, but any suffering was better than the suffering of being seen. She did not lie down, or cover herself further than she was covered with that shawl, nor did she move from her place for more than an hour. By degrees she became used to the cold. She was numbed, and, as it were, half dead in all her limbs, but she had ceased to sliake as she sat tlicre, and her mind had gone back to the misery of her position. There was so much for her behind that was worse ! What should she do when even this retirement should not be allowed to her ? Instead of longing for the time when she should be summoned to Sir Peregrine, she dreaded its coming. It woitld bring her nearer to that other meeting when she would have to bow her head and crouch before her son. Slie hai been there above an hour and was in truth ill with the cold when she heard, — and scarcely heard, — a light step come quickly along the passage towards the door. Her woman's ear instantly told her who owned that step, and her heart once more rose with hope. Was she coming there to comfort her, to speak to the poor bruised sinner one word of feminine sympathy ? The quick light step jtopped at the door, there was a pause, and then =» low, low knock 330 OELEY I'AKM. was heard. Lady Mason asked no question, but dropping from the bed hurried to the door and turned the key. She turned the keyj and as the door was opened half hid herself behind it ; — and then Mrs. Ornie was in the room. ■ " What ! you have no fire ? " she said, feeling that the air straefc her with a sudden chill. "Oh, this is dreadful! My poor, poor dear ! " And then she took hold of both Lady Mason's hands. Had she possessed the wisdom of the serpent as well as the iii- nocence of the dove she could not have been wiser in her first mode of addressing the sufferer. For she knew it all. During that dreadful hour Sir Peregrine had told her the wliole story; and very dreadful that hour had been to her. He, when he attempted to give counsel in the matter, had utterly failed. He had not known what to suggest, nor could she say what it might be wisest for them all to do; but on one point her mind had been at once resolved. The woman who had once been her friend, whom she had learned to love, should not leave tiie house without some sympathy and womanly care. The guilt was very bad ; yes, it was terrible ; she acknowledged that it was a thing to be thought of only with shuddering. But the guilt of twenty years ago did not strike her senses so vividly as the abject misery of the present day. There was no pity in her bosom for Mr. Joseph Mason when she heard the story, but she was full of pity for her who had committed the crime. It was twenty years ago, and had not the sinner repented?- Besides, was she to be the judge? "Judge riot, and ye shall not be judged," she said when she thought that Sir "Peregrine spoke somewhat harshly in the matter. So she said, altogether misin- ' terpreting tlie Scripture in her desire to say something in favour of the pooi- woman. ■■ But when it was hinted to her that Lady Mason might return to Orley Farm without being again seen by her, her woman's heart at once rebelled. " If she has done wrong," said Mrs. Orme • " She has done great wrong — fearful wrong," said Sir Peregrine. "It will not hurt me to see her because she has done wrong. Not see her while she is in the house ! If she were in the prison, would I not go to see her ? " And then Sir Peregrine had said no more, but he loved his daughter-in-law all the better for her unwonted vehemence. " You will do what is right," he said — " as you always do." Then he left her ; and she, after standing for a few moments while she shaped bar thoughts, went straight away to Lady Mason's room. She took Lady Mason by both her hands and found that they were -cy cold. " Oh, this is dreadful," she said. " Come with me, dear." But Lady Mason still stood, up by- the bed-head, whithef she had retreated from the door. Her eyes were still cast upon the ground and she leaned back as Mrs. Orme held her,' as though by her weight she would hinder her friend from leading her from tM room. "Tou are frightfully cold," said Mrs. Orme. SHOWING now MHS. OEME COULD BE VERY WEAK MINDED. 351 : " Has he told yon ? " said Lady Mason, asking tlie question in the lowest possible whisper, and still holding back as she spoke. "Yes; he has told me; — but no one else — no one elsa." And then for a few moments nothing was spoken between them. " Oh, that I could die ! " said the poor wretch, expressing in words that terrible wish that the mountains might fall upon her and crush her. " You must not say that. That would be wicked, you know. He can comfort you. Do you not know that He will comfort you, if yoD are sorry for your sins and go to Him ? " But the woman in her intense suffering could not acknowledge to herself any idea of comfort. " Ah, me ! " she exclaimed, with a deep bursting sob which went straight to Mrs. Orme's heart. • And then a convulsive lit of trembling seized her so strongly that Mrs. Orme could hardly continue to hold her hands. " Yon are ill with the cold," she said. " Come with me. Lady Mason, you shall not stay here longer." Lady Mason then permitted herself to be led out of the room, and the two went quickly dowu the passage to the head of the front stairs, and from thence to Mrs. Orme's room. In crossing the house they had seen no one and been seen by no one; and Lady Mason when she came to the door hurried in, that she might again hide herself in security for the moment. As soon as the door was closed Mrs. Orme placed her in an arm-chair which she wheeled up to the front of the fire, and seating herself on the stool at the poor sinner's feet, chafed her hands within her own. She took away the shawl and made her stretch out her feet towards the fire, and thus seated close to her, she spoke no woi'd for the next half-houras to the terrible fact that bad become known to her. Then on a sudden, as though the- ice of her heart had thawed from the warmth of the other's kind- ness, Lady Mason burst into a flood of tears, and flinging herself upon her friend's neck and bosom begged with earnest piteousness to be forgiven. And Mrs. Orme did forgive her. Many will think tliat she was wrong to do so, and I fear it must be acknowledged that she was not strong minded. By forgiving her I do not mean that she pronounced absolution for the sin of past years, or that she endeavoured to make the sinner think that she was no worse for her sin. Mrs. Orme was a good Churchwoman but not strong, individually, in points of doctrine. All that she left mainly to the woman's conscience and her own dealings with her Saviour, — merely saying a word of salutary counsel as to a certain spiritual pastor who might be of aid. But Mrs. Orme forgave her,— as regarded herself. She had already, while all this was unknown, taken this woman to her heart as pure and good. It now appeared' that the woman had not been pure, had not been good ! — And then she took her to her. heart again I Criminal as the woman was, . disgraced and debased, subject almost to the heaviest penalties of outraged law and 'ustice, a felon, against whom the actual hands of the law's m^yr- midons would probably soon prevail, a creature doomed to bear ths 331 OBLEI FA&M. scorn of the lowest of her fellow creatures, — such as she was, this other woman, pure and high, so shielded from the world's impurity that nothing ignoble might touch her, — this lady took her to her heart again and promised in her ear with low sweet words of consolation that they snould still be friends. I cannot say that Mrs. Orme was right. That she was weak minded I feel nearly certain. But, perhaps, this weakness of mind may never be brought against her to her injury, either in this world or in the next. I will not pretend to give the words which passed between them at that interview. After a while Lady Mason allowed herself to be guided all in all by her friend's advice as though she herself had been a child. It was decided that for the present, — that is for the next day or two — Lady Mason should keep her room at The Cleeve as an invalid. Counterfeit in this there would be none certainly, for indeed she was hardly fit for any place but her own bed. If inclined and able to leave her room, she should be made welcome to the use of Mrs. Orme's dressing-room. It would only be necessary to warn Peregrine that for the present he must abstain from coming there. The servants, Mrs. Orme said, had heard of their master's intended marriage. They would now hear that this intention had been abandoned. On this they would put their own construction, and would account in their owu fashion for the fact that Sir Peregrine and his guest no longer saw each other. But no suspicion of the truth would get abroad when it was seen that Lady Mason was still treated as a guest at The Cleeve As to such future steps as might be necessary to be taken, Mrs. Orme would consult with Sir Peregrine, and tell Lady Mason from time to time. And as for the sad truth, the terrible truth, — that, at any rate for the present, should be told to no other ears. And so the whole morning was spent, and Mrs. Orme saw neither Sir Peregrine nor her son till she went down to the library in the first gloom of the winter evening. CHAPTER XLVL i WOMAS'S IDEA OP JRIENDSHIP. Sir Peeegeise, after the hour that he had spent with his daughter, in-law, — that terrible hour during which Lady Mason had sat alone on the bed-side — returned to the library and remained there during the whole of the afternoon. It may be remembered that he had agreed to ride through the woods with his grandson; but that purpose had been abandoned early in the day, and Peregrme nad in consequence been hanging about the house. He soon per- ceived that something was amiss, but he did not know what. He bad looked for his mother, and had indeed seen her for a moment « woman's IDBA OP FKIBNDSHIP. 335 tt her door; out she had told him that she could not theu speak to him. Sir Peregrine also had shut himself up, but about the hour of dusk he sent for his grandson; and when Mrs. Orme, on leaving Lady Mason, went down to the library, she found them both togethe'r. They were standing with their backs to the fire, and the gloom in the room was too dark to allow of their faces being seen, but she felt that the conversation between them was of a serious nature. Indeed what conversation in that house could be other than serious on that day V " I see that I am disturbing you," she said, preparing to retreat. " I did not know that you were together." " Do not go, Edith," said the old man. " Peregriue, put a chair for your mother. I have told him that ail this is over now between me and Lady Mason." She trembled as she heard the words, for it seemed to her that there must be danger now in even speaking of Lady Mason, — danger with reference to that dreadful secret, the divulging of which would be so fatal. " I have told him," continued Sir Peregrine, " that for a few minutes I was angry with him when I heard from Lady Mason that he had spoken to her ; but I believe that on the whole it is better that it should have been so." 'j^He would be very unhappy if anything that he had done had distressed you," said Mrs. Orme, hardly knowing what words to use, or how to speak. Nor did she feel quite certain as yet how much had been told to her son, and how much was concealed from him. " No, no, no," said the old man, laying his arm affectionately on the young man's shoulder. " He has done nothing to distress me. There is nothing wrong — nothing wrong between him and me. Thank God for that. But, Perry, we will think now of that other matter. Have you told your mother anything about it ? " And he strove to look away from the wretchedness of his morning's work to something in liis family that still admitted of a bright hope. " No, Sir; not yet. We won't mind that just now." And then they all remained silent, Mrs. Orme sitting, and the two men still standing with their backs towards the fire. Her mind was too intent on the un- fortunate lady up stairs to admit of her feeling interest in that other unknown matter to which Sir Peregrme had alluded. " If you have done with Perry," she said at last, " I would be glad to speak to you for a minute or two." " Oh yes," said Peregrine ;— " we have done." And then he went. " You have told him," said she, as soon as they were left together. "Told bun; what, of her? Oh no. I have told him that that, — that idea of mine has been abandoned." Prom this time fortli Sir Peregiine could never endure to speak of his proposed marriage, nor to near it spoken of. " He conceives that this has been done at her instance," he continued. "And so it has," said Mrs. Orme, with much more decision in lier Toice than was customary with her. S34. OKiEt imn. " Aud so it lias," lie repeated after iier. , " Nobody must kiio^ of this," — said she very solemnly, standing up and looking into his face with eager eyes. " Nobody but you audi." "All the world, I fear, will know it soon," said Sir Peregrine. "No; no. Why should all the world know it ? Had she not tola us we should not. have known it. We sljoilld Jiot have suspected it. Mr. Furnival, who understands these thuigs; — he does not thmk her guilty." "But, Edith— the property ! " '''•. , "Let her give that up — after a while; when "all this has passed by. That man is not in want- It will not hurt him to be without it a little longer. It will be enough for her to do that when this trial shall be over." " But it is not hers. She cannot give it up. It belongs to her son, —or is thought to belong to lu'ci. It is not for us to be informers, Edith — -" "No, no; it is not for us to be informers. We must remember that." .1, >. "Certainly. It is not for us to tell the story of her guilt; but her gjiilt will remain the same, will be acted over and over again every day, while the proceeds of the property go into the hands of Lucius Mmou. It is that which is so terrible, Edith; — that her conseience swuld have been able to bear that load for the last twenty years ! A Jeed done, — that admits of no restitution, may admit of repentance. We may leave that to the sinner and his conscience, hoping that he stands right with his Maker. But here, with her, there has been a continual theft going on from year to year, — which is still going on. While Lucius Mason holds a sod of Orley Earm, true repentance with her must be impossible. It seems so to me." And Sir Peregrine shud- dered at the doom which his own rectitude of mind and purpose forced him to pronounce. "It is not she that has it," said Mrs. Orme. "It was not done for jerself." , "There is no difference in that," said he sharply. "All sin is selfish, and so was her sin in this. Her object was the aggrandise- ment of her own child; and when she could not accomphsh that honesty, she did it by fraud, and^and — and . Edith my dear, you and I must look at this thing as it is. You must not let your kind heart make your eyes blind in a matter of such moment." "No, father; nor must the truth make our hearts cruel. You talk of restitution and repentance. Repentance is not the work, of a day. How are we to say by what struggles her poor heart has been torn ? " " I do not judge her."' "No, no; that is it. We may not judge her; may we? But we may assist her in her wretcheduess. I have promised that I will .do all I can to aid her. You will allow me to do so ; — you will ; will you Bot ? " And she pressed his arm and looked up into his face, entreating A Woman's idea, of rt.iEsDsaiF. 335 him. Since first they two had known each other, he had never yet denied her a request. It was a law of his life that he would never do so. But now he hesitated, not thinking that he would refuse her, but feehng that on such an occasion it would be necessary to point out to her how far she might go without risk of bringing censure on her own name. But in this case, though the mind of Sir Pere- grine might be the more logical, the purpose of his daughter-in-law was the stronger. She had resolved that such communication with crime would not stain her, and she already knew to what length she would go in her charity. Indeed her mind was fully resolved to go far enough. "I hardly know as yet what she mtends to do; any assistance that you can give her must, I should say, depend on her own hne; of conduct." i " But I want your advice as to that. I tell you what I purpose. It is clear that Mr. Furnival thinks she will gain the day at this trial." "But Mr. Purnival does not know the truth." "Nor will the judge and the lawyers, and aU the rest. As you say so properly, it it not for us to be the informers. If they can prove it, let them. But you wotfld not have her tell them all against herself? " And then she paused, waiting for his answer. " I do not know. I do not know what to say. It is not for me to advke her." '^h, but it is for you," she said ; and as she spoke she put her little hand down on the table with an energy which startled him. " She is here — a wretched woman, in your house. And why do you know the truth ? Why has it been told to you and me ? Because without telling it she could not turn you from that purpose of yours. It was generous, father — confess that ; it was very generous." " Yes, it was generous," said Sir Peregrine. "It was very generous. It would be base in us if we allowed ourselves to forget that. But I was telling you my plan. She must go to this trial." " Oh yes ; there will be no doubt as to that." " Then — if she can escape, let the property be given up afterwards. ' " 1 do not see how it is to be arranged. The property will belong to Lucius, and she cannnot give it up then. It is not so easy to put matters right when guilt and fraud have set them wrong." "We will do the best we can. Even suppose that you were to tell Lucius afterwards; — you yourself! if that were necessary, you know." And- so by degrees she talked him over ; but yet he would come to no decision as to what steps he himself must take. What- if he himself ishould go to Mr. Kound, and pledge himself that: the whole estate should be restored to Mr. Mason of Groby, on condition that the trial were abandoned? The world would probably guess > the truth after that-, but the terrible trial and the more terrible punishment which would follow it might be thus escaped. Poor Sir Peregrme ! Even when he argued thus withm himself, his coAScience! told him that 336 OttLEY FABK. in taking such a line of conduct, he himself would be guilt; of some outrage against the law by aiding a criminal in her escape. He had heard of misprision of felony ; but nevertheless, lie allowed hii daughter-in-law to prevail. Before such a step as this could be taken the consent of Lady Mason must of course be obtained ; but as to that Mrs. Orme had no doubt. If Lucius could be induced to abandon the property without hearing the whole story, it would be well. But if that could not be achieved, — then the whole story must be told to him. " And you will tell it," Mrs. Orme said to him. " It would be easier for me to cut off my right arm," he answered ; "but I will do my best." And then came the question as to the place of Lady Mason's immediate residence. It was evident to Mrs. Orme that Sir Peregrine expected that she would at once go back to Orley Farm; — not exactly on that day, nor did he say on the day following. But his words made it very manifest that he did not think it right that she should under existing circumstances remain at The Cleeve. Sir Pere- grine, however, as quickly understood that Mrs. Orme did not wish her to go away for some days. " It would injure the cause if she were to leave us quite at once," said Mrs. Orme. " But how can she stay here, my dear, — with no one to see her ; with none but the servants to wait upon her ? " " I should see her," said Mrs. Orme, boldly. ■ " Do you mean constantly — in your old, friendly way ? " " Yes, constantly ; and," she added after a pause, " not only here, but at Orley Farm also." And then there was anotherpausebetweenthem. Sir Peregrine certainly was not a cruel man, nor was his heart by any means hardened against the lady with whom circumstances had lately joined him so closely. Indeed, since the knowledge of her guilt had fully come upon him, he had undertaken the conduct of lier perilous affairs in a manner more confidential even than that which liad existed while he expected to make her his wife. But, nevertheless, it went sorely against the grain with him when it was proposed that there should stiU exist a close intimacy between the one cherished lady of his household and the woman who had been guilty of so base a crime. It seemed to him that he might touch pitch and not be defiled; — he or any man belonging to him. But he could not reconcile it to himself that the widow of his son should run such risk. In his estimation there was something almost more than human about the purity of the only woman that blessed his hearth. It seemed to him as though she were a sacred thing, to be guarded by a shrine, — to be protected from all contact with the pollution of the outer world. And now it was proposed to him that she should take a felon to her bosom as her friend ! "But will that be necessary, Edith?" he said; "and after all that has been revealed to us now, will it be wise ? " " I think so," she said, speaking again with a very low roiok "Why should I not?" A, woman's idea op phibndship. 33T '• Because she has shown herself unworthy of such friendsliip ; — unfit lor it, I should say." " Unworthy ! Dear father, is she not as worthy and as fit as she was yesterday ? If we saw clearly into each other's bosoms, whom should we think worthy ? " " But you would not clioose for your friend one — one who could do such a deed as that ? " " No ; I wQuld not choose her because she had so acted ; or perhaps if I knew all beforehand would I open my heart to one who had so done. But it is different now. What are love and friendship worth if they caanot stand aE;ainst such trials as these ? " " Do you mean, Edith, that no crime would separate you from a friend ? " "I have not said that. There are circumstances alwBja, But if she repents, — as I am sure she does, I cannot bring myself to desert her. Who else is there that can stand by her now ; what other woman ? At any rate I have promised her, and you would not have see break my word." Thus she again gained her point, and it was settled that for t)>c present Lady Mason should be allowed to occupy her own room, — her own room, and occasionally Mrs. Orme's sittmg-room, if it pleasp-i hereto do so. No day was named for her removal, but Mrs. Ormt perfectly understood that the sooner such a day could be fixed the better Sir Peregrine would be pleased. And, indeed, his household as at present arranged was not a pleasant one. Tlie servants Had all heard of his intended marriage, and now they must also ^ear that that intention was abandoned. And yet the lady would remain up stairs as a guest of his ! There was much in this that was inconveruent ; but under circumstances as they now existed, what could he do ? When all this was arranged and Mrs. Orme had dressed for dinner, she again went to Lady Mason. She found her in bed, and told her that at night she would come to her and tell her all. And then she instructed her own servant as to attending rpon the invalid. In doing tins sue was cunm^g in letting a word fall here and tiicrc, that might teach the woman that that marriage purpose was all over; but nevertheless there was so much care and apparent affection in her mode of speaking, and she gave her orders for Lady Mason's comfort with so much earnestness, that no idea could get abroad in the household that there had been any cause for absolute quarrel. Late at night, when her son had left her, she did go again to her guest's room, and sitting down by the bedside she told her all that Vad been planned, pointing out however with much care that, as a part of those plans, Orley Farm was to be surrendered to Joseph Mason. "You think that is right; do you not ? " said Mrs. Orme, almost trembling as she asked a question so pertinent to the deed which the other had done, and to that repentance for the deed which was now to much to be desired. 22 338 OELEI FAKM. "Yes," said the oil) er, "of course it will be right,'' and tbtp. the thought that it was not in her power to abandon the property occurred to her also. If the estate must be voluntarily surrendered, no one could so surrender it but Lucius Mason. She knew this, and felt at the moment that of all men he would be the least likely to do so, unless an adequate reason was made clearly plain to him. The same thought at the same moment was passing through the minds of them both; but Lady Mason could not speak out her thought, and Mrs. Orme would not say more on that terrible day to trouble the mind of the poor creature whose sufferings she was so anxious to assuage. And then Lady Mason was left alone, and having now a partner in her secret, slept sounder than she had done since the tidings first reached her of Mr, Dockwrath's vengeance. CHAPTER XLVn. THE GEM OF THE FOUR FAMILIES. And now we will go back to Noningsby. On that evening Graham ate his pheasant with a relish although so many cares sat heavy on his mind, and declared, to Mrs. Baker's great satisfaction, that the cook had managed to preserve the bread sauce uninjuried through all the perils of delay which it had encountered. " Bread sauce is so ticklish ; a simmer too much and it's clean done for," Mrs. Baker said with a voice of great solicitude. But she had been accustomed perhaps to patients whose appetites were fastidious. The pheasant and the bread sauce and the mashed potatoes, all pre- pared by Mrs. Baker's own hand to be eaten as spoon meat, disappeared with great celerity ; and then, as Graham sat sipping the solitary glass of sherry that was allowed to hini, meditating that he would begin his letter the moment the glass was empty, Augustus Staveley agam maae his appearance. "Well, old fellow," said he, "how are you now?" and he was particularly careful so to speak as to show by his voice that his affection for his friend was as strong as ever. But in doing so he showed also that there was some special thought still present in his mind, — some feeling which was serious in its nature if not absolutely painful. "Staveley," said the other, gravely, "I have acquired knowledge to-day which I trust I may carry with me to my grave." " And what is that ? " said Augustus, looking round to Mrs. Baker as though he thought it well that she should be out of the room before the expected communication was made. But Mrs. Baker's attention THE GEM OP THE FOUK IfAMILIES. 339 was SO riveted by her patient's earnestness, that she made no attempt to go." " It is a wasting of the best gifts of Providence," said Grabam, " to eat a pheasant after one has really done one's dinner." % " Oh, that's it, is it ? " said Augustus. "So it is. Sir," said Mrs. Baker, thijiking that the subieot ouite justified the manner. "And of.no use whatsoever to eat only a little bit of one as a man does then. To know what a pheasant is you should have it all to yourself." " So you should. Sir," said Mrs. Baker, quite delighted and verr much in earnest. "And you should have nothing else. Then, if the bird be good to begin with, and has been well hung " " There's a deal in that," said Mrs. Baker. "Then, I say, you'll know what a pheasant is. That's the lesson which I have learned to-day, and I give it you as an adequate return for the pheasant itself." " I was almost afeard it would be spoilt by being brought up the second time," said Mrs. Baker. "And so I said to my lady; but she wouldn't have you woke, nohow." And then Mrs. Baker, having heard the last of the lecture, took away the empty wine-glass and shut the door behind her. " And now I'll write those two letters," said Graham. " What I've written hitherto I wrote in bed, and I feel almost more awkward now I am up than I did then." " But what letters are they ? " " Well, one to my laundress to tell her I shall be there to-morrow, and one to Mary Snow to say that I'll see her the day after." " Then, Pelix, don't trouble yourself to write either. You positively won't go to-morrow " "Who says so?" " The governor. He has heard from my mother exactly what the doctor said, and declares that he won't allow it. He means to see the doctor himself before you stir. And he wants to see you also. I am to tell you he'll come to you directly after breakfast." " I shall be delighted to see your father, and am very much gratified by his kindness, but " "But what -" " I'm a free agent, I suppose, — to go when I please ? " '' "Not exactly. The law is unwritten; but by traditional law a man laid up in his bed-room is not free to go and come. No action for false imprisonment would lie if Mrs. Baker kept all your clothes away from you." " I should like to try the cpiestion." " You will have the opportunity, for you may be sure that you'll not Jeave this to-morrow." " It would depend altogether on the evidence of the doctor." "Exactly so. Acd as the doctor in this case would clearly be as 23—2 $40 ORLET PASU. the side of the defendants, a verdict on behalf of the plaintiff would not be by any means attainable." After that the matter was presumed to be settled, and Graham said no more as to leaving Noningsby on the next day. As things turned out afterwards he remained there for an other week. " I must at any rate write a letter to Mary Snow," he said. And to Mary Snow he did write some three or four lines, Augustus sitting by the while. Augustus Staveley would have been very glad to know the contents, or rather the spirit of those lines ; but nothing was said about them, and the letter was at last sealed up and intrusted to his care for the post-bag. There was very little in it that could have in- terested Augustus Staveley or any one else. It contained the ordinary, but no more than the ordmary terms of affection. He told her that lie found it impracticable to move himself quite immediately. And then as to that cause of displeasure, — that cause of supposed displeasure as to which both Mary and Mrs. Thomas had written, he declared that he did not believe that anything had been done that he should not find it easy to forgive after so long an absence. Augustus then remained there for another hour, but not a word was said between the young men on that subject which was nearest, at the moment, to the hearts of both of them. Each was thinking of Made- line, but neither of them spoke as though any such subject were in their thoughts. " Heaven and earth ! " said Augustus at last, pulling out his watch. "It only wants three minutes to seven. I shall have a dozen messages from the judge before I get down, to know whether he shall come and help me change my boots. I'll see you again before I go to bed. Good bye, old fellow." And then Graham was again alone. If Lady Staveley were really angry with him for loving her daugliter, — if his friend Staveley were in very truth determined that such love roTist under no circumstances be sanctioned, — would they treat him as ttiey were treating him ? Would they under such circumstances make his prolonged stay in the house an imperative necessity ? He could not help asking himself this question, and answering it with some gleam of hope. And then he acknowledged to himself that it was ungenerous in him to do so. His remaining there, — the liberty to remain there which had been conceded to him, — had arisen solely from the belief that a removal in his present state would be injudicious. He assured himself of this over and over again, so that no false hope might linger in his heart. And yet hope did linger there whether false or true. Why might he not aspire to the hand of Madeline Staveley, — he who had been assured that he need regard no woman as too high for his aspirations ? " Mrs. Baker," he said that evenmg, as that excellent woman was taking away his tea-things, " I liave not heard Miss Staveley's voice these two days." " WeU, no ; no more you have," said she. " There's two ways, you know, Mr. Graham, of going to her part of the house. There's the ioor that opens at the end of the passage by her mamma's room. She'i tat) GEM OF tUB rOUll I'AStlLlES. 341 been that way, and that's the reason, I suppose. There am't no other, I'm sure." " One hkes to hear one's friends if one can't see them ; that's all." " To be sure one does. I remember as how when I had the measles — I was living with my lady's mother, as maid to the young ladies. There was four of 'em, and I dressed 'em all — God bless 'em. They've all got husbands now and grown up families — only there ain't one among 'em equal to our Miss Madeline, though there's some of 'em much richer. When my lady' married him, — the judge, you know, — he was the poorest of the lot. They didn't think so much of him wueu he came a-courting in those days." " He was only a practising barrister then." " Oh yes ; he knew well how to practise, for Miss Isabella — as she was then — very soon made up her mind about him. Laws, Mr. Graham, ihe used to tell me everything in them days. They didn't want her to have nothing to say to Mr. Staveley at first ; but she made up her mind, and though she wasn't one of them as lias many words, like Miss Fur- nival down there, there was uo turning her." " Did she marry at last agahist their wish ? " "Oh dear, no; nothing of that sort. She wasn't one of them flighty ones neither. She just made up her own mind and bided. And now X don't know whether she hasn't done about the best of 'era all. Them Oliphants is full of money, they do say — full of money. Tfiat was Miss Louisa, who came next. But, Lord love you, Mr. Graham, he's so crammed with gout as he can't ever put a foot to the ground ; and as cross ; — as cross as cross. We goes there sometimes, you know. Then the girls is all plain ; and young Mr. Oliphant, the son, — wiiy he never so much as speaks to his own father; and though ■Jiey're rolling in money, they say he can't pay for the coat on his oack. Now our Mr. Augustus, unless it is that lie won't come down to morning prayers and always keeps the dinner waiting, I don't think there's ever a black look between him and iiis papa. And as for Miss Madeline,— she's the gem of the four families. Everybody gives that up to her." If Madelme's mother married a barrister in opposition to the wishes of her family — a barrister who then possessed nothing but his wits — why should not Madeline do so also ? That was of course tiie line which his thoughts took. But then as he said to himself, Madeline's father had been one of the handsomest men of his day, whereas he was one of the ugliest ; and Madeline's father had been encumbered with no Mary . Snow. A man who had been such a fool as he, who had gone so far out of the regular course, thinking to be wiser than other men, but being in truth much more silly, could not look for that success and happiness in life which men enjoy who have not been so lamentably deficient in discretion ! 'Twas thus that he lectured himself; but still he went on thinking of Madeline Staveley. There had been some disagreeable confusion in the house that after- noon after Augustus had spoken to his sister. Madelme had gone up tn hex own roam, and had reraamed there, chewing the cud of her 842 OBtBT FABM. thoughts. Both her sister and her brother had warned her about thii man. She could moreover divine that her mother was suffering under some anxiety on the same subject. Why was all this ? Why should thec^e things be said and thought ? Why should there be uneasiness i« the kouse on her account in this matter of Mr. Graham ? She acknow ledged to herself that there was such uneasiness ; — and she almost acknowledged to herself the cause. £ut while she was still sitting over her own, fire, with her needle untouched beside her, her father had come home, and Lady Staveley had mentioned to him that Mr. .Graham thought of going on the next day. " Nonsense, my dear," said the judge. " He must not think of such a thing. He can hardly be fit to leave his room yet." " Pottinger does say that it has gone on very favourably," pleaded Lady Staveley. "But that's no reason he should destroy the advantages of his healthy constitution by insane imprudence. He's got nothing to do He wants to go merely because he thinks he is in your way." Lady Staveley looked wishfully up jin her husband's face, longing to tell him all her suspicions. But as yet her grounds for them were so slight that even to him she hesitated to mention them. " His being here is no trouble to me, of course," she said. " Of course not. You tell him so, and he'll stay," said the judge. "I want to see him to-morrow myself; — about this business of poor Lady Mason's." Lnmediately after that he met his son. And Augustus also told him that Graham was going. " Oh no ; he's not going at all," said the judge. " I've settled that with your mother." " He's very anxious to be off," said Augustus gravely. " And why ? Is there any reason ? " "Well; I don't know." Tor a moment he thought he would tell his father the whole story ; but he reflected that his doing so would be hardly fair towards his friend. " I don't know that there is any absolute reason ; but I'm quite sure that he is verv anxious to go." The judge at once perceived that there was something in the wind, and during that hour in which the pheasant was being discussed up in Graham's room, he succeeded in learning the whole from his wife. Dear, good, loving wife ! A secret of any kind from him was an impossibility to her, although that secret went no further than her thoughts, " Tlie darling girl is so anxious about him, that — that I'm afraid." said she. " He's by no means a bad sort of man, my love," said the judge. " But he's got nothing — literally nothing,'' said the mother. "Neither had I, when I went a wooing," said the judge. "But nevertheless, I managed to have it all my own way." " You don'l mean really to make a comparison ? " said Lady THE GEM OP THE FOUK EAMILIE8. 34'3 Staveky. "In the first place you were at the top, of jour pro- fession." " Was I ? If so I must have achieved that distinction at a verj early age." And then he kissed hia wife very affectionately. Nobody was there to see, and under such circumstances a man may kiss liis wife even though he be a judge, and between fifty and sixty years old. After tliat he again spoke to liis son, and in spite of the resolves which Augustus had made as to what friendshiR required of him, succeeded in learning the whole truth. Late ill the evening, when all the party had drunk their cups of tea, when Lady Staveley was beginning her nap, and Augustus was making himself agreeable to Miss Purnival — to the great annoyance of his mother, who, half rousing herself every now and thou, looked sorrow- fully at what was going on with her winking eyes, — the judge con- trived to withdraw with Madeline into the small drawing-room, telling her as he put his arm round her waist, that he had a few words to say to her. "Well, papa," said she, as at his bidding she sat herself down beside him on the sofa. She was frightened, because such summonses were very unusual ; but nevertheless her father's manner towards her was always so full of love that even in her fear she felt a comfort in being with him. " My darUng," he said, " I want to ask you one or two questions — about our guest here who has hurt himself, — Mr. Graham." "Yes, papa." And now she knew that she was trembling with nervous dread. " You need not think that I am in the least angry with you, or that I suspect you of having done or said, or even thought anything that is wrong. I feel quite confident that I have no cause to do so." " Oh, thank you, papa." " But I want to know whether Mr. Graham has ever spoken to you — as a lover." "Never, papa." "Because under the circumstances of his present stay here, his doing so would, I think, have been ungenerous." " itte never has, papa, in any way — not a single word." " And you have no reason to regard him in that light ? " " No, papa." But in the speaking of these last two words tiiere was a slight hesitation, — the least possible shade of doubt conveyed, which made itself immediately intelligible to the practised ear of the judge. " Tell me all, my darling ; — everything that there is in your heart, so that we may help each other if that may be possible." " He has never said anything to me, papa." " Because your mamma thinks that you are more anxious about him than you would be about an ordinary visitor." "Does she?" " Has any one else spoken to you about Mr. Graham ? " Augustus did, papa ; and Isabella, some time ago." Hi OBLSY TABK. " Tlien I suppose they thought the same." " Yes ; I suppose they did." "And now, dear, is there anything else you would like to sav to me about it ? " "No, papa, I don't think there is." "But remember this always;— that my only -wishes respecting you, and your mother's wishes also, are to see you happy and good." " I am very happy, papa." "And very good also to the best of my belief." And then he kissed her, and they'went back again into the large drawing-room. Many of my readers, and especially those who are old and wise — if I cliance to have any such — will be inclined to think that the judge behaved foolishly in thus cross-questioning his daughter on a matter, '.vhich, if it were expedient that it should die away, would die away the more easily the less it were talked about. But the judge was an odd man in many of tlie theories of his life. One of them, with reference to his children, was very odd, and altogetlier opposed to the usual practice of the world. It was this, — that they should be allowed, as far as was practicable, to do whs^t they liked. Now the general opinion of the world is certainly quite the reverse — namely this, that children, as long as they are under the control of tlieir parents, should be hindered and prevented in those thmgs to which they are most in- clined. Of course the world in general, in carrying out this practice, excuses it by an assertion — made to themselves or others — that children customarily like those things which they ought not to like, lint the judge had an idea quite opposed to this. Cliildren, he said, if propei'ly trained, would like tiiose things which were good for them. Now it may be that he thought his daughter had been pro- perly trained. " He is a very clever young man, my dear; you may be sure of that," were the last words which the judge said to his wife that night. "But then he has got nothing," she replied; "and he is so un- commonly plain." The iudge would not say a word more, but he could not help thinking tiiai: ttiis last point was one which mieht certainlv be left to the young lair. tVP AKOEI, OF LIGHT DMBEE A CLOUD. 345 CHAPTER XLVin. THE AXGEL OF LIGHT UNDER A CLOtJI*. On tlie following morning, according to appointment, the judge visited Felix Graham in his room. It was only the second occasion on which iie had done so since the accident, and he was therefore more inclined to regard him as an invahd than those who had seen him from day to day. " I am delighted to hear that your bones have been so amenable," said the judge. " But you must not try them too far. We'll get you down stairs into the drawing-room, and see how you get on there by the next few days." " I don't want to trouble you more than I can help,'' said Felix, sheepishly. He knew that there were reasons why he should not go into that drawing-room, but of course he could not guess that those reasons were as well known to the judge as they were to himself. " You sha'n't trouble us — more than you can help. I am not one of those men who tell my friends that nothuig is a trouble. Of course you give trouble." " I am so sorry ! " " There's your bed to make, my dear fellow, and your gruel to warm. You know Shakspeare pretty well by heart, I believe, and he puts that matter, — as he did every other matter, — in the best and truest point of view. Lady Macbeth didn't say she had no labour in receiving the king. ' The labour we delight in physics pain,' she said. Those were her words, and now they are mine." " With a more honest purpose behind," said Felix. " Well, yes ; I've no murder in my thoughts at present. So that is all settled, and Lady Staveley will be delighted to see you down stairs to-morrow." " I shall be only too happy," Felix answered, thinking within his own mind that he must settle it all in the course of the day with Augustus. " And now perhaps you will be strong enough to say a few words about business." "Certainly," said Graham. " You have heard of this Orley Farm case, in which our neighbour Lady Mason is concerned." " Oh yes ; we were all talking of it at your table ; — I think it was the night, or a night or two, before my accident." " Very well ; then you know all about it. At least as much as the public knows generally. It has now been decided on the part of JosetJ*! 346 OKLEl fABM. Mason — the husband's eldest son, who is endeavouring to get the pro. perty — that she shall be indicted for perjury." "Eor perjury? " " Yes ; and in doing that, regarding the matter from his point of view, they are not deficient in judgment." " But how could she have been guilty of perjury ? " "In swearing that she had been present when her husband and the three witnesses executed the deed. If they have any ground to stand on — and I beUeve they have none whatever, but if they have, they would much more easily get a verdict against her or. that point than on a charge of forgery. Supposing it to be the fact that her husband never executed such a deed, it would be manifest that she must have sworn falsely in swearing that she saw him do so." " Why, yes ; one would say so." " But that would afford by no means conclusive evidence that she had forged the surreptitious deed herself." " It would be strong presumptive evidence that she was cognizant of the forgery." " Perhaps so, — but uncorroborated would hardly bring a verdict after such a lapse of years. And then moreover a prosecution for forgery, if unsuccessful, would produce more painful feehng. Whether success- ful or unsuccessful it would do so. Bail could not be taken in the first instance, and such a prosecution wonld create a stronger feeling that the poor lady was being persecuted." " Those who really understand the matter will hardly thank them for their mercy." " But then so few will really understand it. The fact however is that she will be indicted for perjury. I do not know whether the indictment has not been already laid. Mr. Purnival was with me in town yesterday, and at his very urgent request, I discussed the whole . subject with him. I shall be on the Home Circuit myself on these next spring assizes, but I shall not take the criminal business at Alston. Indeed I should not choose that this matter should be tried before me under any circumstances, seeing that the lady is my near neighbour. Now Purnival wants you to be engaged on the defence as unior counsel." "With himself?" " Yes ; with himself, and with Mr. Chaffanbrass.'' "With Mr. Chaffanbrass!' said Graham, in a tone almost of horror — as though he had been asked to league himself with all that was most disgraceful in the profession; — as indeed perhaps he had been. " Yes — with Mr. Chaffanbrass." " Will that be well, judge, do you think ? " "Mr. Chaffanbrass no doubt is a very clever man, and it may be wise in such a case as this to have the services of a barrister who is pehaps unequalled in ]ii» 3oww of cross-examining a wit- THE AJfaEL OF MGHl ONDEE A CLOUD. 34" " Doesliis power consist iu making a witness speak tlie tnith, or in making him conceal it ? " " Perhaps in both. But here, if it be the case as Mr. Pumival suspects, tnat witnesses will be suborned to give false evidence " " But surely the Rounds would have nothing to do with such a matter as that ? " " No, probably not. I am sure that old Richard Round would abhor any such work as you or I would do. They take the evidence as it is brought to them. I believe there is no doubt that at any rate one of the witnesses to the codicil in question will now swear that the sig- nature to the document is not her signature." "A woman — is it ? " " Yes ; a woman. In such a case it may perhaps be allowable to employ such a man as Mr. Chaffanbrass ; and I should tell you also, such another man as Mr. Solomon Aram." "Solomon Aram, too! Why, judge, the Old Bailey will be left bare." " The shining lights will certainly be down at Alston. Now under those circumstances will you undertake the case ? " " Would you — in my place ? " " Yes ; if I were fully conyinced of the innocence of my client at the beginning." " But what if I were driven to change my opinion as the thing pro- gressed ? " " You must go on, in such a case, as a matter of course." " I suppose I can have a day or two to think of it ? " _ " Oh yes. I should not myself be the bearer to you of Mr. IVr- nival's message, were it not that I think that Lady "Mason is beinj, very cruelly used in the matter. If I were a young man in your position, I should take up the case con amore, for the sake of beauty and womanhood. I don't say that that Quixotism is very wise ; but still I don't think it can be wrong to join yourself even with such men as Chaffanbrass and Mr. Solomon Aram, if you can feel confident that you have justice and truth on your side." Then after a few more words the interview was over, and the judge left the room, making some further observation as to his hope of seeing Graham in the drawing-room on the next day. On the following morning there came from Peckham two more letters for Graham, one of course from Mary Snow, and one from Mrs. Thomas. We will first give attention to that froi a the elder lady. She commenced with much awe, declaring that her pen trembled within her fingers, but that nevertheless she felt bound by her conscience and that duty which she owed to Mr. Gvabam, to tell him everything that had occurred, — "word by word," as she expressed it. And then Jelix, looking at the letter, saw that he held in his hand two sheets of letter paper, quite full of small writing, the latter of which was crossed. She went on to say that her care had been unremitting, and her solicitude almost maternal ; that Mary's conduct had on the whole been such as to inspire her with " undevi&ting confidence ; " but that the guile ol 3^3 OKLEI PAUU. the present age was such, especially it respect to female servants— who seemed, in Mrs. Thomson's opinion, to be sent in these days ex- press from a very bad place for the express assistance of a very bad gentleman — that it was impossible for any woman, let her be ever so cir- cumspect, to say, " what was what, or who was who." From all which Graham learned that Mrs. Thomas had been " done ; " but by the middle of the third page he had as yet learned nothing as to the manner of the doin". But by degrees the long reel unwiuded itself; — angel of light, and all. Mary Snow had not only received but had aacwered a lover's letter. She had ansv/ered that lover's letter by making an appoint- ment with him ; and she had kept that appointment, — with the assist- ance of the agent sent express from that very bad gentleman. All this Mrs. Thomas had only discovered afterwards by finding the lover's letter, and the answer which the angel of light had written. Both of these she copied verbatim, thinking probably that the original docu- ments were too precious to be intrusted to the post ; and then ended by saying that an additional year of celibacy, passed under a closer espionage, and with more severe moral training, miglit still perhaps make Mary Snow fit for the high destiny which had been promised to her. The only part of this letter which Felix read twice was that which contained the answer from the angel of light to her lover. " You have been very wicked to address me," the angel of light said severely. " And it is almost impossible that I should ever forgive you." If only slie could have brought herself to end there ! But her nature, wiiich the lover had greatly belied in likening it to her name, was not cold enough for this. So she added a few more words very indis- creetly. " As I want to explain to you why I ran never see you again, I will meet you on Thursday afternoon, at half-past four, a little way up Clapham Lane, at the corner of the doctor's wall, just beyond the third lamp." It was the first letter she had ever written to a lover, and the poor girl had betrayed herself by keeping a copy of it. And then Graham came to Mary Snow's letter to himself, which, as it was short, the reader shall have entire. " My DEAK Mr. Gbaham, " I never was so unhappy in my life, and I am sure I don't know how to write to you. Of course I do not think you will ever see me again unless it be to upbraid me for my perfidy, and I almost hope you won't, for I should sink into the ground before your eyes. Aid yet I didn't mean to do anything very wrong, and when I did meet him i I wouldn't as much as let him take me by the hand; — not of my own accord. I don't know what she has said to you, and I think she ought to have let me read it ; but she speaks to me now in such a way that I don't know how to bear it. She has rummaged among everything, I have got, but I am sure she could find nothing except those two letters. It wasn't my fault that he wrote to me, though I know THU ANGKL OP L'1«MI USDEK A CLOUD. 349 flow 1 ought not to have met him. He is quite a genteel young man, and very respectable, in the medical line ; only I know that makes no difference now, seeing how good you have been to me. I don't ask vou to forgive me, but it nearly kills me when I think of poor papa. " i'oiirs always, most unhappy, and very sorry for what I have done, "Maky Snow." Poor Mary Snow ! Could any man under such circumstances have been angry with her ? In the first place if men will mould their wives, t.hey must expect that kind of thing ; and then, after all, was there any harm done " A ultimately he did marry Mary Snow, would she make a worse wile because she had met the apothecary's assistant at tiie corner of the doctor's wall, under the third lamp-post ? Graham, as he sat with the letters before him, made all manner of excuses for her ; and this he did the more eagerly, because he felt that he would have willingly made this affair a cause for breaking off his engagement, it his conscience had not told him that it would be unhandsome in him to do so. When Augustus came he could not show the letters to him. HJiw he done so it would have been as much as to declare that now the o-oast was clear as far as he was concerned. He could not now discuss with his friend the question of Mary Snow, without also discussing tlie other question of Madeline Staveley. So he swept the letters away, and talked almost entirely about the Orley Parm case. " I only wish 1 were thought good enough for the chance," said Augustus. " By Heavens ! I would work for that woman as I never could work again for any fee that could be offererd me." " So would I ; but I don't like my fellow-labourers." " I should not mind that." " I suppose," said Graham, " there can be no possible doubt as to her absolute innocence ? " " None whatever. My father has no doubt. Furuival has no doubt. Sir Peregrine has no doubt, — who, by-the-bye, is going to marry her." " Nonsense ! " "Oh, but he is though. He has taken up her case con amore with a vengeance." " I should be sorry for that. It makes me thmk him a fool, and her — a very clever woman." And so that matter was discussed, but not a word was said between them about Mary Snow, or as to that former conversation respecting Madeline Staveley. Each felt that there was a reserve between them ; but each felt also that there was no way of avoiding this. " The gover- aor seems determmed that you sha'n't stir yet awhile," Augustus said as he was preparing to take his leave. " I shall be off in a day or two at the furthest all the same," said Graham. " And you are to drink tea down stairs to-night. I'll come and fetch 360 OBIiET FABK. jou as soon as we're out of the dininjg-room. I can assure you that your first appearance after your accident has been duly announced to the public, and that you are anxiously expected." And then Staveley left him. So he was to meet Madeline that evening. His first feeling at the thought was one of joy, but he soon brought himself almost to wish that he could leave Noningsby without any such meeting. There would have been nothing in it, — nothing that need have called for observation or remark, — had he not told his secret to Augustus. But his secret had been told to one, and might be known to others in the house. Indeed he felt sure that it was suspected by Lady Staveley. It could not, as he said to himself, have been suspected by the judge, or the judge would not have treated him in so friendly a manner, or have insisted so urgently on his coming down among them. And then, how should he carry himself in her presence? If he were to say nothing to her, his saying nothing would be remarked ; and yet he felt that all his powers of self-control would not enable him to speak to her in the same manner that lie would speak to her sister. He had to ask himself, moreover, what line of conduct he did intend to follow. If he was still resolved to marry Mary Snow, would it not be better that he should take this bull by the horns and upset it at once ? In such case, Madeline Staveley must be no more to him than her sister. But then he had two intentions. In accord- ance with one he would make Mary Snow his wife ; and in following the other he would marry Miss Staveley. It must be admitted that the two brides which he proposed to himself were very different. The one that he had moulded for his own purposes was not, as he admitted, quite equal to her of whom nature, education, and birth had had the handling. Again he dined alone ; but on this occasion Mrs. Baker was able to elicit from him no enthusiasm as to his dinner. And yet she had done her best, and placed before him a sweetbread and dish of sea-kale that ought to have made him enthusiastic. " I had to fight with the gardener for that like anything," she said, singing her own praises when he de- clined to sing them. " Dear me ! They'll think that I am a dreadful person to have in the house." " Not a bit. Only they sha'n't think as how I'm going to be said ' no ' to in that way when I've set my mind on a thing. I know what's going and I know what's proper. Why, laws, Mr. Graham, there's heaps of things there and yet there's no getting of 'em ; — unless there's a party or the like of that. What's the use of a garden, I say, • — or of a gardener neither, if you don't have garden stuff? It's not to look at. Do finish it now ; — after all the trouble I had, standing over him in the cold while he cut it." " Oh dear, oh dear, Mrs. Baker, why did you do that ? " " He thought to perish me, making believe it took him so long te get at it ; but I'm not so easy perished ; I can tell him that ! I'd hava TITE ANOBL QF LIGHT CNDEU A CLOUD. 36) stood tliere till now but what I had it. Miss Madeline seed me as I was coming in, and asked me what I'd been doing." " I hope you didn't tell her that I couldn't live without sea-kale ? " " I told her that I meant to give you your dinner comfortable as long as you had it up here ; and she said ; but laws, Mr. Graham, you don't care what a young lady aays to nn old woman like me. You'll see her yourself this evening, and then you can tell her whether or no the sea-kale was worth the eating ! It's not so badly biled ; I will say that for Hannah Cook, though she is rampagious sometimes." He longed to ask her what words Madehne had used, even in speaking on such a subject as this ; but he did not dare to do so. Mrs. Baker was very fond of talkmg about Miss Madeline, but Graham was by no means assured that he should find an ally in Mrs. Baker if he told her all the truth. At last the hour arrived, and Augustus came to convoy him down to the drawing-room. It was now many days since he had been out of that room, and the very fact of movmg was an excitement to him. He hardly knew how he might feel in walking down stairs, and could not quite separate the nervousness arising from his shattered bones from that other nervousness wliich came from his — shattered heart. The word is undoubtedly a little too strong, but as it is there, there let it stay. When he reached the drawing-room, he almost felt that he had better decline to enter it. The door however was opened, and he was in the room before he could make up his mind to any such step, and he found himself being walked across the floor to some especial seat, while a dozen kindly anxious faces were crowding round him. " Here's an arm-chair, Mr. Graham, kept expressly for you, near the fire," said Lady Staveley. " And I am extremely glad to see you well enough to fill it." "Welcome out of your room, Sii-," said the judge. "I compli- ment you, and Pottinger also, upon your quick recovery ; but allow me to tell you that you don't yet look like a man fit to rough it alone in London." " I feel very well. Sir," said Graham. And then Mrs. Arbuthiiot greeted him, and Miss Furnival, and four or five others who were of the party, and he was introduced to one or two whom he had not seen before. Marian too came up to him, — very gently, as though he were as brittle as glass, having been warned by her mother. " Oh, Mr. Felix," she said, " I was so unhappy when your bones were broken. I do hope they won't break again." And then he perceived that- Madeline was in the room and was coming up to him. She had in truth not been there when he first entered, having thought it better, as a matter of strategy, to follow upon his footsteps. He was getting up to meet her, when Lady Btaveley spoke to him. " Don't move, Mr. Graham. Invalids, you know, are chartered." " I am very glad to see you once more down stairs," said Madeline 36S OKLKT TAXH. B3 she frankly gave him her hand, — not [merely touching his, — "very, very glad. jBut I do hope you will get stronger before you venture to leave Nouingsby. You have frightened us all very much by your terrible accident." All this she said in her peculiarly sweet silver voice, not speaking as though she were dismayed and beside herself, or in a hurry to get through a lesson which she had taught herself. She had her secret to hide, aud had schooled herself how to hide it. But in so schooling herself she had been compelled to acknowledge to herself that the secret did exist. She had told herself that she must meet him, and that in meeting him she must hide it. This she had done with absolute success. Such is the peculiar power of women ; and her mother, who had listened not. only to every word, but to every tone of her voice, gave her exceeding credit. " There's more in her than I thought there was," said Sophia Fur- nival to herself, who had also listenea and watched. "It has not gone very deep with her," said the judge, who on tliis matter was not so good a judge as Miss Furnival. " She cares about me just as Mrs. Baker does," said Graham to himself, who was the worst judge of them all. He muttered somethmg quite unintelligible in answer to the kindness of her words ; and then Madehne, having gone through her task, retired to the further side of the round table, and went to work among the tea cups. Aud then the conversation became general, turning altogether ou the affairs of Lady Mason. It was declared as a fact by Lady Staveley that there was to be a marriage between Sir Peregrine Orme and his guest, and all in the room expressed their sorrow. The women were especially indignant. " I have no patience with her,'' said Mrs. Arbuthnot. " She must know that such a marriage at his time of life must be ridiculous, and injurious to the whole family." The women were very indignant, — all except Miss Purnival, who did not say much, but endeavoured to palliate the crimes of Lady Mason in that which she did say. " I do not know that she is more to blame than any other lady who marries a gentlemen thirty years older than herself." " I do then," said Lady Staveley, who delighted in contradicting Miss Furnival. " And so would you too, my dear, if you had known Sir Peregrine as long as I have. And if — if — if — but it does not matter. I am very sorry for Lady Mason, — very. I think she is a woman cruelly used by her own connections ; but my sympathies with her would be wanner if she had refrained from usmg her power over an old gentleman like -Sir Peregrine, in the way she has done." In all which expression of sentiment the reader will know that poor dear Lady Staveley was wrong from the beginnmg to the end. "Tor my part," said the judge, "I don't see what else she was to aft If Sir Peregrine asked her, how could she refuse ? " " My dear ! " said Lady Staveley. Mils. PUllNIVAL can't PUT UP WITH IT. 553 •'According to that, papa, every lady must marry any geutlemau •hat asks her," said Mrs. Arbuthnot. " When a lady is under so deep a weight of obligation I don't knc-w how she is to refuse. My idea is that Sir Peregrine should not have asked her." " And mine too," said Eelii. "Unless indeed he did it under an impression that he could fight for her better as her husband than simply as a friend." "And I feel sure that that is what he did think," said Madeline, from the further side of the table. And her voice sounded in Graham's ears as the voice of Eve may have sounded to Adam. No ; let him do what he might in the world; — whatever might be the form in which his future career should be fashioned, one thing was clearly impossible to him. He could not marry Mary Snow. Had he never learned to know what were tbe true charms of feminine grace and loveliness, it might have been possible for him to do so, and to have enjoyed afterwards a fair amount of contentment. But now even contentment would be impossible to him under such a lot as that. Not only would he be miserable, but the woman whom he married would be wretched also. It may be said that he made up his mind definitely, while sitting in that arm-chair, that he would not marry Mary Snow. Poor Mary Snow ! Her fault in the matter had not been great. When Graham was again in his room, and the servant who was obliged to undress him had left him, he sat over his fire, wrapped in his dressing-gown, bethinking himself what he would do. " 1 will tell the judge everything," he said at last. "Then, if he will let me into his house after that, I must fight my own battle." And so he betook himself to bed. CHAPTER XLIX. MES. PUKNIVAL CAn'T PUT UP WITH IT. When Lady Mason last left the chambers of her lawyer in Lincohi's Inn, she was watched by a stout lady as she passed through the narrow passage leading from the Old to the New Square. That fact will I trust be remembered, and I need hardly say that the stout lady was Mrs. Eurnival. She had heard betimes of the arrival of that letter with the Haraworth postmark, had felt assured that it was written by the hands of her hated rival, and iad at once prepared for action. "T shall leave this house to-day,— immediately after breakfast," sne said to Miss Biggs, as they sat disconsolately at the table vpith the urn between them. 354 p^ijsY jarst. " Aud 1 thiuk you will be ,quit^ nght, my dear," replied Mias Biggs. "It is your bounden duty to put dowa such wicked imquity as this ; — not only for your own sake, but for that of morals in general. What in the world is there so beautiful and so lovely as a high tone of moral sentiment ? To this somewhat transeendental questioa Mrs. Furnival made no reply. That a high tone of moral sentiment as a thing in general, for the world's use, is very good, she was no doubt aware ; but her mind at the present moment was fixed' ex- clusively on her own peculiar case. That Tom Eurnival should be made to give up seeing that nasty woman who lived at Ham'worth,^ "and to give up also having letters from her,^ — that at present was the extent of her moral sentiment. His .wicked iniquity she could forgive with a facility not at all gratifying ,to Miss Biggs, if only she could bring about such a result as that. So she merely grunted in answer to the above proposition. " And will you sleep away from this ? " asked Miss Biggs. " Certainly I will. I will neither eat here, nor sleep nere^' nor stay here till I know that all this is at an end. I have made'up ihy mind what I will do." , . ' ' " Well ? " asked the anxious Martha. "Oh, never mind. I am not exactly prepared to talk about it. There are things one can't talk about, — not to anybody. One feels as' though one would burst in mentioning it. I do, I know." Martha Biggs could not but feel that this was hard, but she knew that friendship is nothing if it be not long enduring. " Dearest Kitty I " she exclaimed. " If true sympathy can be of service to you " "I wonder whether I could get respectable lodgings in the neighbourhood of Red Lion Square for a week ? " said Mrs. Eiirni'val, once more bringing the conversation back from the abstract to the concrete. In answer to this Miss Biggs of course offered the use of her own bed-room and of her father's house; but her father was an old man, and Mrs. Furnival positively refused to agree to any such arrange- ment. At last it was decided that Martha should at once go off and look for lodgings in the vicinity "of her own home, that Mrs. Furnival should proceed to carry on her own business in her own way, — the cruelty being this,' that she would not give the least hint as to v/hat; that way might be, — and that the two ladies should meet together in the lied Lion Square drawing-room at the close of the day. "And about dinner, dear?" asked Miss Biggs. " I will get somethuig at a pastrycook's," said Mrs. Fiirnival. " And your clothes, dear ? " "Kachelwill see about them; she knows." Now Rachel was 'the old female servant of twenty years' standing ; and the disappoint- ment experienced by poor Miss Biggs at the ignorance in which she was left was greatly enhanced by a belief that Rachel knew Eiore thaa she did. Mrs. Furnival would tell Rachel b'-t would MRS. PURNIVAL can't FVt DP WIIK IT. 3bil not tell her. This was very, very hard, as Miss Biggs felt. But, nevertheless, friendship, sincere" friendship is long endur;ug, and true patient merit will generally receive at last its appropriate reward. Then Mrs. Furnival had sat down, Martha Biggs having been duly sent forth on tlie mission after tlie lodgings, and had written a lettet to her husband. This she intrusted to Baoiiel, whom she did not pur- pose to remove from that abode of iniquity from which she herself was fleeing, and having completed her letter she went out upon her own work. The letter ran as follows : — "Harley Street— Friday. "My Dearest Tom. " I cannot stand this any longer, so I have thought it best to leave the house and go away. I am very sorry to be forced to such a step as this, and would have put up with a good deal first ; but there are some things which I cannot put up with, — and won't. I know that a woman has to obey her liusband, and I have always obeyed you, and thouglit it no hardship even when I was left so much alone ; but a woman is not to see a slut brought in under her very nose, — and I won't put up with it. We've been married now going on over twenty-five years," and it's terrible to think of being driven to this. I almost believe it will drive me mad, and then, when I'm a lunatic, of course you can do as you please. " I don't want to have any secrets from you. Where I shall go T don't yet know, but I've asked Marilia Biggs to take lodgings for me sojiewhere near her. I must have somebody to speak to now and again, sc you can write to 23 E^d Lion Square till you hear further. It's ..lo ase sending for me^ for I teotzU come; — not till I know that you think better of your present ways of going on. I don't icnow whether you have the pL.wer to get the police to come after me, but I advise you not. If you do anytiimg of that sort the people about shall hear of it. " And now, Tom, I want to say one word t j you f ou can't think it's a happiness to me going away from my own ho.he where I haVe lived respectable so many years, or leaving you whom I've loved witii all my whole heart. It makes me very, very unhappy, so that I could sit and cry all day if it weren't for pride and because tlie servants shouldn't see me. To think that it has come to this after all ! Oh, Tom, I wonder whether you ever think of the old days when we used to be so- happy in Keppel Street ! There wasn't anybody then that you car-ed to see, except me ;— I do believe that. And you'd always come home then, and I never thought bad of it though you wouldn't have a word to speak to me for hours. Because you were doing your duty. But you ain't doing your duty now, Tom. You know you ain't doing your duty when you never dine at home, and come home so cross with wine that you curse and swear, and have that nasty woman coming tff see you at your chambers. Don't tell me it's about law business. Ladies don't go to barristers" chambers about law business. All thM 23—2 S56 OBLGY FARM. is done by attorneys. I've heard you say scores of times that yo» never would see people themselves, and yet you see her. " Oh, Tom, you have made me so wretched ! But I can forgivt it all, and will never say another word about it to fret you, if you'll only promise nie to have nothing more to say to that woman. Oi course I'd like you to come home to dinner, but I'd put up with that. You've made your own way in the world, and perhaps it's only riglvt you should enjoy it. I don't think so much diiung at the club can be good for youj and I'm afraid you'll have gout, but I don't want to bother you about that. Send me a line to say that you won't see her any more, and I'll come back to Harley Street at once. If you can't bring yourself to do that, you — and — I — must — part. I can put up willi a great deal, but I can't put up with that; — and wont. " Your affectionate loving wife, "C. TUKNIVAL." " I wonder whether you ever think of the old days when we used to be so happy in Keppel Street ? " Ah me, how often in after hfe, in those successful days when the battle has been fought and won, when all seems outwardly to go well, — how often is this reference made to the happy days in Keppel Street ! It is not the prize that can make us happy ; it is not even the winning of the prize, though for the one short half-hour of triumph that is pleasant enough. The struggle, the long hot hour of the honest fignt, the grinding work — when the teeth are set, and the skin moist with sweat and rough with dust, when all is doubtful and sometimes desperate, when a man must trust to his own manhood knowing that those around liini trust to it not at all, — that is the happy time of hfe. There is no human bliss equal to twelve hours of work with only six hours in which to do it. And when the expected pay for that work is worse than doubtful, the inner satisfaction is so much the greater. Oh, those happy days in Keppel Street, or it may be over in dirty lodgings in the Borough, or' somewhere near the Marylebone work- house ; — anywhere for a moderate weekly stipend. Those were to us, and now are to others, and always will be to many, the happy days of life. How bright was love, and how full of poetry ! Tlashes of wit glanced here ana there, and how they came home and warmed the cockles of the heart. And the unfrequent bottle ! Metliinks that wine has utterly lost its flavour since those days. There is no- thing like it; long work, grinding weary work, work without pay, hopeless work ; but work in which tlie worker trusts himself, believing it to be good. Let him, like Mahomet, have one other to believe in him, and surely nothing else is needed. " Ah me ! I wonder whether you ever think of the old days when we used to be so happy in Keppel Street ? " Nothing makes a man so cross as success, or so soon turns a pleasant friend into a captious acquaintiince. Your successful mau eats too much and his stomach troubles him ; he drinks too much asd hii MRS. FUEJIIVAt CAM T PDT DP WITH IT. 357 nose becomes blue. He wants pleasure and excitement, and roams about looking for satisfaction in places where no man ever fonnd it. He frets himself with his banker's book, and everything tastes amiss to him that has not on it the flavour of gold. The straw of an omnibus always stinks ; the linings of the cabs are filthy. There are but three houses round London at which an eatable dinner may be obtained. And yet a few years since how delicious was that cut of roast goose to be had for a shilling at the eating-house near Golden Square. Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Green, Mrs. Walker and all the other mistresses, are too vapid and stupid and humdrum for endurance. The theatres are dull as Lethe, and politics have lost their salt. Success is the necessary misfortune of life, but it is only to the very unfortunate that it comes early. Mrs. Furnival, when she had finished her letter and fastened it drew one of the heavy dining-room arm-chairs over against the fire, and sat herself down to consider her past life, still holding the lettei m her lap. She had not on that mornmg been very careful with her toilet, as was perhaps natural enough. The cares of the world were heavy on lier, and he would not be there to see her. Her hair was rough, and her face was red, and she had hardly had the patience to make striight the collar round her neck. To the eye she was an untidy, angry, cross-looking woman. But her h»art was full of tenderness, — full to overflowing. She loved him now as well as ever she had loved him; — almost more as the thought of parting from him pressed upon her! Was he not all in all to her? Had she not worshipped him during her whole lite ? Could she not forgive him ? Forgive him ! Yes. Porgive him with the fullest, frankest, freest pardon, if he would only take forgiveness. Should she burn that letter in the fire, send to Miss Biggs saying that the lodgings were not wanted, and then throw herself at Tom's feet, imploring liim to have mercy upon her ? All that she could do within her heart, and make her words as passionate, as soft, and as poetical as might be those of a young wife of twenty. But slie felt tliat such words, — though she could frame the sentence while sitting there — could never get tiiem- selves spoken. She had tried it, and it had been of no avail. Not only should she be prepared for softness, but he also must be so prepared and at the same moment. If he should push her from him and call her a fool when she attempted that throwing of herself at his feet, how would it be with her spirit then ? No. She must go forth and the letter must be left. If there were any hope of union for the future it must come from a parting for the present. So she went up stairs and summoned Eachel, remaining with her in consultation for some half- hour. Then she descended with her bonnet and shawl, got into a cab while Spooner stood at the door looking very serious, and was driven j^ay, — whither, no one knew in Harley Street except Mrs. Furnival bcrself, and that cabman. "She'll never put ht/' foot insid* Ucc "iaU 'looi- a^'ain. That's my idea of the matter," said Spooner Si58 ORLEY FARM. " indeed and she will," said JRacliel, " and be a happier woman tliaa ever she's been since the house was took." ," If I know master," said Spooiier, "he's not the man to get rid'of an old woman, easy like that, and then 'ave her back agin." Upon hearing which words, so very injurious to the sex in general, Rachel walked into the house not deigning; any further reply. And then, as we have seen, Mrs. Purnival was there, standini» in the dark shadow of the Lincoln's Inn passage, when Lady Masou left the lawyer's chambers. She felt sure that it was Lady Mason, but she could not be quite sure. The woman, though she came out from the entry which led to her husband's , chambers, might have come down from some other set of rooms! Had she been quite certain she would have attacked her rival there, layipg bodily hands upon her in the purlieus of the Lord Chancellor's Court. As it was, the poor bruised creature was allowed to pass by, and as she emerged out into the light at the other end ol the _ passage Mrs. Furnival became quite certain of her identity. " Never mind," she said to herself. , " She sha'n't escape me long. Him I could forgive, if he would only give it up ; but as for her — ! Let what come of it come may, I wiU tell that woman what I think of her conduct before I am -many hours older." Then, giving one look up to the windows of her husband's chambers, she walked forth through the dusty old gate into Chancery Lane, and made her way. on foot up to No. 23 Red Lion Square. " Tin glad I've done it," she said to herself as she went ; " very glad. Tliere's nothing else for it, when things come to such a head as that." .And in this frame of mind she knocked at her friend's door. "■Well ! " said Martha Biggs, with her eyes, and mouth, and arms, and heart all open. "Have you got me the lodgings ? " said Mrs. Purnival. "Yes, close by; — in Orange Street. I'm afraid you'll find them very dull. And what have you done ? " " I have done nothing, and I don't at all mind their being dull. They can't possibly be more dull than Harley Street." " And I shall be near you ; sha'n't I ? " said Martha Biggs. "Umph," said Mrs. Furnival. '