LIBRARY 
 
 ANNEX 
 
BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME 
 FROM THE 
 
 SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 MitnvQ m. Sage 
 
 1891 
 
 W77 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR6031.A63M81911 
 
 More leaves from a life, 
 
 3 1924 013 661 016 
 
The original of tiiis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013661016 
 
MOKE LEAVES FEOM A LIFE 
 
" Not in the clamour of the crowded street, 
 Not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng 
 But in ourselves are triumph and defeat." 
 
Ph 
 
 M 
 
 O I 
 
MOEE LEAVES 
 FEOM A LIFE 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 "LEAVES FROM A LIFE" "LEAVES FROM 
 
 A GARDEN" "FROM KITCHEN 
 
 TO GARRET " ETC. 
 
 6.-ibn. Al-^-f''^' 
 
 LONDON 
 EVELEIGH NASH 
 
 1911 
 
TO THE ME^SORY OF ONE MUCH LOVED 
 
 MUCH MISUNDERSTOOD MUCH MOURNED 
 
 WHO LIVES NOW IN HIS PICTURES ONLY 
 
 I DEDICATE THIS BOOK 
 
 " Many waters pass softly streaming 
 On, on to the sea I 
 But the river of death floweth only 
 'Twixt you no's^ and me " 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. An Ugly Duckling 1 
 
 II. An Artistic Colony 28 
 
 III. Bouroet-les-Bains 53 
 
 IV. At Portredoc Minor 79 
 V. Drawing- Lessons 104< 
 
 VI. A Cloud-Burst 127 
 
 VII. The Tempest Rises Higher 153 
 
 VIII. Rough Waters 180 
 
 IX. Hard Times 207 
 
 X. In the Ardennes 234 
 
 XI. The Changes and Chances op this Mortal Life 260 
 
 XII. The Curtain falls and Death makes all things 
 
 straight 286 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 MORRAB 
 
 (Copyright by Messrs. Preston, Photographers, Pennance) 
 
 To face 
 page 
 
 Bourget-les-Bains 56 
 
 The Narrow Street of Tredickor 79 
 
 Village Wives and Mothers 88 
 
 (Copyright by Messrs. Preston, Photographers, Penzcmce) 
 
 Jago's Boat 98 
 
 Basil's Cove 124 
 
 The Way to the Sea 127 
 
 The Headlands i60 
 
 (Copyright by Messrs. W. H. Smith ^ Son, Strand, London) 
 
 Tredickor 1 80 
 
 (Copyright by Messrs. Preston, Photographers, Penzance) 
 
 Portredoc 208 
 
 St. Hubert and a Belgian Street 242 
 
 The Sailing of the Pilchard Boats 262 
 
 (Copyright by Messrs. Preston, Photographers, Penzance) 
 
MORE 
 LEA YES FROM A LIFE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 AN UGLY DUCKLING 
 
 When I hear the male creature soundly abused 
 and roundly lectured for his abominably selfish 
 attitude towards the female sex, 1 go if I can to 
 the ugly commonplace grave of Basil Hodges, 
 and placing as many roses as I can afford to buy on 
 that once unkempt surface, I bless his memory, and 
 were I what is called a " believer " would utter a 
 prayer, a real and heartfelt prayer for the repose 
 of that gallant soul I As to his body, I trust it has 
 long since been absorbed into Mother Earth and 
 nourished the big rose-tree I planted myself, be- 
 cause no one else cared to do so and because the 
 rose in all its many gradations from the mere hedge 
 blossom, up to the most splendid one on the lists 
 was his favourite flower. Why, I wonder, was 
 such a large brain, such a great spirit placed in 
 such a small and fragile body, and born into such 
 an utterly commonplace family ? Did his soul slip 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 by mistake on the way to some other home to 
 become incarnated in a frame that belonged to the 
 youngest member of the most ordinary everyday 
 yet excellent family that ever selected Bayswater 
 in the sixties for its residence ? Now I am the last 
 person to sneer at Bayswater, for I too was bom 
 and brought up there, in the near neighbourhood 
 of the squares and gardens and of the very " Grove " 
 itself, and in our day at least, Bayswater was a 
 delight. Nowhere else were there such dear little 
 gardens, nowhere else were the neighbours so 
 neighbourly, nor the houses so well managed and 
 the children so happy and numerous, so good and 
 in some cases so clever. What are fads nowadays 
 were ideas in Bayswater, and though food and 
 clothes were plain enough, yet they were absolutely 
 sensible and allowed both mind and body to grow 
 in a decent manner I How we ever got to know 
 the Hodges family I can't think, for while we were 
 in a distinctly artistic milieu, the Hodges were 
 commercial to the backbone and looked upon all 
 artists, authors and actors, much as nowadays these 
 lucky folk regard the submerged tenth of the 
 population. As my first recollection of Basil is at 
 the dancing school, I fancy we must have met 
 there and from that neutral ground progressed 
 towards the fastness of the Hodges schoolroom. 
 We had in those days one of the primmest and 
 most particular governesses that could be procured, 
 with claims to gentility that we never disputed but 
 that she waved before any one who would listen to 
 
AN UGLY DUCKLING 
 
 her in season as well as out. She had, moreover, 
 been some years in France: could talk that lan- 
 guage in a fluent manner that impressed every one 
 who heard her and who at the same time had no ear 
 for the niceties of correct pronunciation, and as she 
 threw in as much French as gentility into her talk, 
 I think Mrs. Hodges must have been impressed by 
 her and hoped that if she took us to tea with the 
 little Hodges, they might in some mysterious way 
 learn French too, or at any rate hear of those superior 
 circles in which Miss Wright had so frequently 
 moved. The elder members of the Hodges school- 
 room party were much older than I was and I 
 honestly confess never appealed to me as did the 
 small, pale, trembling, shrinking BasU. AU through 
 life I have never yearned after the friendship of 
 very prosperous folk, they can do without me, they 
 want nothing from me and I most certainly want 
 nothing from them. But the " under dog " appeals 
 to me at once, and I go to his or her rescue, quite 
 convinced that here I can be of service; here I 
 shaU be able to be of some little good in the fight. 
 When I first saw Basil, clad in a shepherd's plaid 
 tunic, belted at the waist above- the stiff white 
 drawers that were then a small boy's first advance 
 towards trousers, he was weeping in the sad con- 
 strained manner that tells one at once that tears 
 and the child who sheds them are weU acquainted. 
 He was then eight years old and consumed with a 
 desperate passion for the dancing-master's daughter 
 whom we all intensely envied and disliked ; first. 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 because she wore real silk stockings and satin shoes 
 which she brought in a bag and donned before our 
 eyes, and, secondly, because her most irascible old 
 father held her up to us as an example of all that 
 was most perfect in deportment and conduct. 
 Indeed, he often stopped our performance that 
 MarUda (what a name !) might show us first how 
 foolish we looked, by imitating our uncouth gam- 
 bols ; and then by elegantly dancing the steps we 
 found so impossible to perform, denote how dull we 
 were, because what was so easy to her was to us 
 out of the question entirely. We did not mind 
 being laughed at by Marilda, if she could dance of 
 course she was " born so," and I had even then no 
 doubt that she suffered in secret as we did in public 
 from her father's pleasant ways. But to be laughed 
 at by Marilda was death to Basil, that she should 
 love and admire him was his object in life ; that 
 this could never be, nearly broke his heart, and he 
 sobbed out his secret on my twelve year old shoulder, 
 and from that moment to the day he laid down 
 and died I was his true and faithful friend. He 
 was a dear tiny boy, and if Marilda did not love 
 him I did, and bore many a scornful look and snub 
 from both famihes, his and mine, because of my 
 affection for the " small sickly brat." It would 
 have been " kid " nowadays, but children were not 
 called kids in the sixties, and, indeed, I do not quite 
 know when that odious appellation came into force. 
 He was small : so needed my protection ; he was 
 sickly, well, did I not know how to sympathise 
 4 
 
AN UGLY DUCKLING 
 
 there, for both our households were run on purely 
 Spartan lines, and woe betide that girl or boy who 
 should confess to a headache or not feeling well I 
 Such poor-spirited conduct at once was severely 
 treated, and we both of us suffered a good deal 
 rather than mention the fact to either parents or 
 governess. As all fourteen of the Hodges and the 
 whole of our ten grew to man's estate, I suppose 
 we must have been among the fittest who are 
 supposed to survive all ills ; all the same I would 
 not wish a cat to suffer as Basil and I all too 
 often did. He from an impaired digestion and 
 what would now be called nerves, but what 
 was then termed temper and treated as such, I 
 &om continual earache, headache and backache 
 that I dare not speak of and all of which I bore as 
 nowadays not the scrubbiest kitchen-maid in the 
 basement would stand a mere bad finger or a tem- 
 porary "pain in her chest." "I am not at all 
 strong " is one of the first recommendations a maid 
 gives herself when she applies for a place at present ; 
 let us hope the detestable Compensation Act 
 may bring home to the would-be domestic how 
 detrimental to her chances such a remark may be ! 
 We had to consider ourselves as hard as nails, and 
 I should really love to see Mrs. Hodges' face had 
 she survived to the present era and had any servant 
 dared to suggest for one moment that she was not 
 equal to aU, aye, and even more than might have 
 been required of her. Basil's blue bow and my 
 white muslin shoulder where alike wet through 
 
 5 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 before he ceased to weep over Marilda's cruel saeers. 
 By that time we were fast friends and once more 
 bidden to stand up to take part in the Lancers 
 before the awful " chassde " that ended the after- 
 noon's horrors. The dancing class was held in a 
 boys' school, and in consequence we and the female 
 Hodges were much in demand as we were the only 
 girls allowed to join in ; and the announcement of 
 a new dance meant often a free fight for our fair 
 hands. All the same I kept to Basil and even sup- 
 ported his feeble steps as we chasseed round those 
 horrible rooms ; never knowing when Mr. King's 
 fiddle might not rap our elbows or our toes ; or 
 when he might not rush at us fiddle in hand, drag 
 us out of the circle and bid us stand there until 
 Marilda had time to show us how really the chass^e 
 should be done. Poor long, lean, sandy, hungry 
 Mr. King 1 Should we have dreaded him less had 
 we known his life, the weary struggle with inelegant 
 little boys and girls ; the physical fatigue it must 
 have caused him to fiddle and instruct at the same 
 time; the sick Mofe at home always pining for 
 change of air and dainties she could not have, and 
 the dread that consumed him of losing Marilda, his 
 one help and stand-by ? I think I should, I am not 
 sure, he did rap my toes so hard and he did insist 
 that I could dance if I chose when I never could, 
 and all through my ballroom days hated the amuse- 
 ment as much as I loved to be let alone, and look 
 on with some one congenial soul. All the same 
 his woes were real enough, as real as those he 
 6 
 
AN UGLY DUCKLING 
 
 caused us, and I am glad to think that before he 
 died Marilda fulfilled his dearest hopes, and not 
 only married well a most prosperous dancing 
 master, but became in her turn a celebrated ballet 
 mistress whose name was a household word, and 
 who died wept over and famous to the end not so 
 very many years ago. I hope she and Basil may 
 have met in some other world and exchanged 
 recollections of the days when she made him so 
 wretched without ever knowing the passion she had 
 instilled in his infant heart. Personally I hved my 
 life as a child and a young girl in a species of in- 
 ternecine warfare with my surroundings and the 
 higher powers generally and I think that caused me to 
 understand Basil better than I otherwise could have 
 done. I always had a perfect passion for real things ; 
 conventionalities bore me even now. I would not 
 say " thank you " for something I did not want even 
 if it were given me with the very kindest possible 
 intentions. I would not pretend to be pleased when 
 I was not, and above all 1 scorned and derided the 
 girlish members of both families whose one idea 
 was to fall in love, to sentimentalise over the people 
 who passed daily on the top of the onmibuses to 
 their work ; and who did fancy work, played the 
 piano, and arranged their garments as the sole 
 means of passing the time until " He " arrived on 
 the scene ; the wedding-bells rang and the curtain 
 came down on the one and only recognised ending 
 to a girl's life — " and so they married and were 
 happy ever after." Both Basil and I had other, 
 
 7 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 loftier thoughts than these. Once introduced to 
 my father's painting-room the shy small lad became 
 another creature. He and I could always keep 
 stiU ; besides that I often read to him and my 
 father for hours while he painted and he and Basil 
 hstened. Ahl they are painting the next house 
 but one as I write, how the smell of the paint 
 takes me back to those long dead days, and I see 
 Basil still in the shepherd's plaid tunic leaning 
 against my chair gazing at every stroke of the 
 brush, while now and then my father steps back to 
 look at his picture, gives us a humorous glance over 
 his glasses, and then once more sets to work I The 
 model on the " throne " yawns portentously ; the 
 light changes, she is dismissed, but we remain 
 whUe the palette is cleaned and the brushes given 
 their first bath of turpentine ; then we are told to 
 " cut off" and take the brushes to Wall to wash, 
 while my father hums to himself, looks at the 
 picture this way and that, lights a monstrous cigar 
 and gets ready for the unfailing walk that takes 
 him away from us — alas 1 — from the time his day's 
 work is done until he returns to dress for dinner. 
 Basil used to hsten when I read him the terrible 
 stories and verses with which my desk was filled, 
 and prophesied always that I should be a celebrated 
 author ; but he never at that time told me of his own 
 dreams. I am glad he did not ; very glad, as had 
 he done so the matter might have sUpped out, and 
 then I do not think he would ever have had the 
 happy years that, despite all the later sorrows, were 
 8 
 
AN UGLY DUCKLING 
 
 most undoubtedly his, for I am sure if they had 
 had sufficient warning the Hodges would have 
 managed in some way to scotch his career. I was 
 fond of old Mr. Hodges and really sympathised 
 often enough with him, for he loved his business, 
 and used later on to talk to me about it in a man- 
 ner that in a measure denoted from whence Basil 
 obtained some of his dreamy ways. Can there be 
 any romance about a great warehouse in the City ? 
 Yes, indeed there can, and I could wish some one 
 would write the romance of that vast building (now 
 given place to a block of model dwellings) but which 
 then was the very love of old Mr. Hodges' life. I 
 am glad to remember that he once took me down to 
 the business with him when I was about fifteen, and 
 seeing I was keenly interested in it conducted me all 
 over it from department to department, and then in 
 time told me the history of the vast and prosperous 
 place. At first it consisted of only one big house, 
 that was in his grandfather's time. I think if it 
 had not been^for Mrs. Hodges and his daughters he 
 would have told me the truth, that it was a shop. 
 He showed me the room where his grandparents 
 and parents lived and where he was born and the 
 bridge where he and his two sisters walked with their 
 nurse because the toll-gate made it safer than most 
 places for children. He showed me the old nursery 
 with the bars still on the windows and where the 
 cot stood where his little sister died. " She always 
 wanted to live in the country," he said, " but she 
 never even saw it, and when she died she was buried 
 
 9 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 with the old people in a vault under one of the aged 
 city churches. Long after that the church was 
 puUed down : and then the little coffin was moved 
 and buried in a sweet country churchyard. " She 
 reached the country at last," he added. " Such a 
 bright day in early summer it was too: she has 
 been dead now sixty years, but she is still my little 
 sister and when my time comes I mean to be laid 
 beside her in that place." Then Mr, Hodges 
 sighed, opened another door, and we came into an 
 atmosphere of the dutch cheeses and vast stores of 
 provisions with which he made the income that kept 
 up the Bayswater palace and the carriage and pair 
 which were the Hodges girls' delight. Over his 
 mantelpiece a marvellous piece of oak carving, now 
 adorning some country mansion, hung a crude 
 picture of a vessel in full sail ; the first ship the 
 Hodges firm had owned, and the foundation of the 
 fortunes of the house. Here was the same chair 
 his grandfather and father had sat in, and which he 
 now occupied himself as Master ; and the glass screen 
 on the left allowed him to see the stool always 
 occupied by, the heir before he succeeded to the 
 business. That screen portioned oflP, first the length 
 of the room for a clerk, an old confidential clerk, 
 a,nd the stool; and the clerk was always asking, 
 "when one of the young gents was a-coming 
 down ? " Fourteen was the age Mr. Hodges was 
 put to work, surely by now some one was coming 
 along to begin to learn. But — alas! — the older 
 Hodges boys had all determined for themselves on 
 
 lO 
 
AN UGLY DUCKLING 
 
 their own careers : one was a lawyer, one miracu- 
 lously " saved " in some abnormal religious upheaval 
 was in training for the mission field, one had been 
 absorbed by his godfather and had departed to 
 manage his business in Brazil, all such eminently 
 respectable occupations that Mr. Hodges, dis- 
 appointed as he was, could say nothing and looked 
 to Basil to repay him some time for what the 
 brothers had cost him in deferred hopes, I do not 
 believe any landed proprietor ever adored his 
 ancestral acres and the venerable family mansion 
 as Mr. Hodges adored that warehouse in the heart 
 of the city. I think he left it every night with a 
 sigh and arrived at his desk every morning full of 
 fresh life and happiness. With a great deal of 
 exertion one Could see the wharf and a glimpse of 
 the Thames from a top back window. I was led 
 up there to look at the view and inhale the fresh 
 breeze from the river. I had imagination fortu- 
 nately, and saw and smelt all Mr. Hodges described 
 to me, but the Thames in the sixties was not ideal, 
 and I did not linger at the attic window longer than 
 I was obliged. I was shown the " books " with the 
 first scant entries of 150 years ago ; and I listened 
 to a dissertation on the Dutch folk and their ways, 
 and learnt the well-known quotation that appeared 
 to Mr. Hodges remarkably suited to that slim and 
 clever nation. 
 
 But I heard also of the beautiful old cities ; the 
 canals and the miles of blossom in their spring 
 fields, and I was fortunate enough to suggest how 
 
 n 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 Basil would love to see all these beauties, for no 
 one else I knew would appreciate as he would, 
 those lovely colours of which even Mr. Hodges 
 spoke as if he too had an artistic eye. To my 
 great astonishment, Mr. Hodges drew from his 
 desk a most unbusiness-like looking paper-covered 
 book, and with a certain amount of hesitation 
 showed it to me with strict injunctions that I 
 should never speak of it to a soul. Oh ! how sorry 
 I am for the inarticulate folk in this world ; the 
 people who long to sing and can only groan out a 
 tuneless hymn in church, to be recalled to a sense 
 of their sins by the gloomy looks of their neigh- 
 bours ; the folks who long to write and cannot, and 
 who believe that the world of letters is closed to all 
 who have not some mysterious key to it, labelled 
 "influence"; and above all, for those — I am one 
 alas!— who pine to draw or paint the exquisite 
 things they see, and can only fashion a scrawl that 
 is no better than a small child's drawing on its 
 school slate. Thank Heaven! even at fifteen I 
 could understand this, and so I was able to look 
 through Mr. Hodges' sketch-book and even make 
 excellent guesses at the subject of some of the 
 pictures contained therein. I really am not sure 
 that had those been the days of the " impressionists " 
 which always moved my father in late life to such 
 utter scorn, that Mr. Hodges would not have been 
 acclaimed by them as worthy to make one of the 
 band. His colours were dainty, and had I then 
 understood that certain blots of paint might mean 
 
 12 
 
AN UGLY DUCKLING 
 
 objects to be venerated without question, I should 
 have been enraptured. As it was I could guess 
 tulips and hyacinths and even a windmill, and Mr. 
 Hodges looked lovingly at the book as he took it 
 from me and with a sigh said something about a 
 young man's foolishness and he knew better now, 
 and for sure his bread would never have seen 
 butter had he followed what he called with shame 
 and yet with a certain amount of pride, his artistic 
 bent. He smiled indulgently when I remarked 
 we were not without butter at home, and the head 
 clerk coming in made a timely diversion; but I 
 shall always remember that sketch-book and can 
 understand less than ever how he had the heart to 
 round upon Basil as he did when Basil refused the 
 heir-ship to the business, and declared that he 
 meant to be an artist and nothing else if he died 
 for it. Basil was eighteen — ^not fourteen — ^when 
 he was told that his school days were over and that 
 after a holiday to Holland, taken with the head 
 clerk to show him where the cheeses and other 
 provisions grew, he was to take his place on the 
 office stool and begin the work of his life. Not that 
 this was burst upon him, far from it. He had been 
 sent to Westminster to obtain a sound education 
 combined with the " home care " he so badly needed 
 and never got, and furthermore at home was ground 
 at German and French in and out of season, until 
 his head buzzed and he yearned for fresh air or the 
 deliciously painty atmosphere of our painting room. 
 Fortunately, by then Miss Wright had taken 
 
 13 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 herself, her curls, and her pinched in waist and 
 her gentility into another family, and we had 
 German governesses who were supposed to talk 
 their own language and nothing else from morning to 
 night, and Basil was likewise supposed to share these 
 treasures with us. Mrs. Hodges never knew that 
 I had long since shaken the dust of the schoolroom 
 off my feet, and that Basil and I spent our time in 
 the painting room, where my father threw him 
 crumbs of instruction now and then over his shoulder 
 and still later on taught him perspective and allowed 
 him to help in the technical parts of the background 
 of one of the largest pictures he ever painted. I 
 wonder if Basil's soul were meant to have entered 
 the body of one of my great big brothers who one 
 ind all detested art and piued after business and law 
 and physic and all the things my father treated 
 with the greatest scorn ! Not one of his ten could 
 draw a line, here was Basil born "under the 
 counter," so to speak, yet with aU the taste and 
 passion for painting that was lacking in our large 
 and unwieldy brood ! Could the irony of Fate 
 ever be better illustrated than by this picture ? It 
 was not always safe to speak of Basil Hodges at 
 home, just as Basil kept his own counsel about us 
 in Kensington Park Gardens. If my father wished 
 impatiently that one of us had half his talent, my 
 mother would say something cutting about his 
 appearance, and even once maddened me by speak- 
 ing of him patronisingly, and cruelly as " a worm- 
 eaten scrub," and at last we ended by never 
 14 
 
AN UGLY DUCKLING 
 
 discussing him at all, and so our friendship waxed 
 and grew until the explosion came as come it must. 
 It had been staved off more than once, first by 
 Mr. Hodges himself, who could not always forget 
 his sketch-book, and then by my father who becom- 
 ing very much of a celebrity (his name having been 
 mentioned more than once in the Court Circular) 
 gradually began to be considered by the Hodges set 
 as a man who might be a power some day even if 
 he were never heard of in the more solid ranks of 
 City life. Every time Basil progressed in his 
 drawing we all reminded him of his fate, but he had 
 a quiet air of finality about him that was marvellous, 
 and we finally ceased to discuss the subject. I 
 think even then he had made his plans ; though 
 how he was to carry them out, I for one could not 
 have the smallest idea. Mr. Hodges had the most 
 archaic ideas of pocket-money, and as long as his 
 sons remained under his roof, gave them about two 
 shillings a week, and even for that they had to 
 account. The girls had £40 a year paid, as he 
 expressed it, " quarterly in advance," and not one 
 penny more : when they married, as they did with 
 the utmost despatch, they each received a record 
 trousseau and a wedding duly chronicled in the 
 " Bayswater Chronicle," that would seem poor in- 
 deed in these magnificent days of ours ; and, further, 
 always received £25 every quarter also "paid in 
 advance." But the sons never received anything 
 until they struck out for themselves, then they had 
 an appropriate male trousseau and their father's 
 
 IS 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 blessing. If they married^ a house was furnished 
 for them complete down to the last tea-spoon for 
 kitchen use : but they were to expect nothing more. 
 What wonder that they all started off as soon as 
 they could, and did well ? All except my poor 
 Basil; he, at any rate, had evil days before him 
 when his garments wore out and his coats were 
 too thin and his meals consisted all too often of 
 oatmeal and an occasional herring ; a cup of cocoa 
 and bread and butter being a wild orgy that could 
 not be indulged in more often than was absolutely 
 necessary to keep soul and body most uncomfort- 
 ably together. The real explosion came with a 
 crash when Basil returned from Holland with 
 Matthewson the old clerk almost in tears, because 
 Master Basil had filled his notebook with sketches 
 and not with the orthodox prices of different wares. 
 When Basil showed us the book my father was 
 enraptured, and even volunteered to speak to 
 Mr. Hodges on the subject of Basil's future career ; 
 but Basil begged him not ; his father and mother 
 had solemnly given him a fortnight to make up his 
 mind. Anything our household could say would 
 only mean that we should be cut off from their 
 society; his mind was made up, he would be a 
 painter even if, in the meantime, he had to scrub 
 some one's painting-room for mere bread and 
 cheese and fire. I was just married when Basil 
 announced his intention to us, and with all the 
 impulsiveness of extreme youth, I backed him up 
 with all my might. We had seen all our artist 
 x6 
 
AN UGLY DUCKLING 
 
 friends climb from a sufficiency to splendour, for 
 it was art's palmiest days, and pictures sold at 
 once, almost, as Punch remarked, "before they 
 were dry." What did I know of the numbing 
 effect of cold, hunger, and shabby clothes, the 
 desolation of an impatient, unkindly atmosphere, 
 of the horrors of being sent out into the world 
 on one's own without a shilling — literally — ^in one's 
 pocket for the next meal? Basil's two shillings 
 a week always went at once in drawing-paper 
 and odds and ends, and he had even run up a bill 
 with the good kind bookseller in the " Grove " 
 whose name to us was a household word and whose 
 place has never been filled. Did he not solemnly 
 recommend us what books to buy and what to leave 
 alone ? And did he not often and often lend me the 
 new monthly chapters of Dickens' books carefully 
 covered in brown paper, and with strict instructions 
 not to read them near the fire for fear their backs 
 might crack and they be rendered unsaleable ? Later 
 on, too, when I took to writing, did not good kind 
 Mr. Waters push my work well to the front and 
 lay open any paper that held my name ? Ah ! 
 when he died I lost not only a kind friend but a 
 first class advertiser, who never forgot me and who 
 was one of Nature's gentlemen if ever a man was in 
 this world. If there were romance in the Hodges' 
 warehouse, truly romance lived in that bookseller's 
 shop ! He apparently had no near relations, if he 
 had he never spoke of them, and even in those days, 
 days long before Cook's tours and Polytechnic 
 
 B 17 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 journeys— rhe always took a long holiday abroad. 
 My first sight of Norway was in the photographs of 
 those days, as was my first sight of many a distant 
 spot; and it was he who taught me never to go 
 anywhere before I had read all there was to read 
 about that special place ; not only in guide-books, 
 but in the literature that related to it; sparse 
 enough then ; and to see what most people would 
 have passed over because they had not the least 
 idea that it existed. In some mysterious manner 
 Waters knew Basil's aspirations as weU as he 
 knew mine; and he, at any rate, was not as- 
 tonished at the quarrel. He knew as we did all 
 about the Hodges, and later on I knew somehow 
 (even now I don't quite know how) that in his day 
 Mr. Waters had longed to write, not seU books, and 
 only declined on the business side of literature 
 because he had to make a living. Ah I he might 
 have written books perhaps : all the same he would 
 never have written anything better than the story 
 of his Ufe as shown to us, the young customers who 
 plagued him sometimes no doubt, but to whom he 
 was always goodness and kindness itself. What has 
 Mr. Waters to do with the Basils' story ? Well, 
 much ! He had watched him grow from a sickly 
 child to a delicate lad : he had heard rautterings of 
 the domestic storm, and he was on the look-out for 
 what would happen. I was at home on the day 
 that Basil was finally ejected from the paternal roof, 
 and therefore I heard all about the fracas from him 
 himself. Curiously enough, rarely enough let me 
 
AN UGLY DUCKLING 
 
 say, it was the female element in the Hodges family 
 that demanded this sacrifice. Personally I always 
 think that Mrs. Hodges, unlike most mothers, was 
 not attached to this small sickly conclusion of her 
 enormous brood, she was immensely proud of her 
 strong sons and buxom daughters and she hated to 
 be pitied on the score of Basil's physique. She 
 always looked at him with her head on one side as 
 if she were puzzled how to account for his appear- 
 ance ; she never cosseted him as he so often required 
 to be cosseted ; and to the day of her death, which 
 preceded Basil's, Mrs. Hodges always believed h^ 
 could have been tall and strpng had he chosen to be 
 sensible and not given way. That he became neither 
 was a tacit reproach to her she thought, and she 
 was not sorry to see the last of him. Mr. Hodges 
 would have temporised ; but at a family gathering 
 a species of " vehmgericht," mother and sisters alike 
 reproached the poor old man for weakening, and 
 prophesied that six months' starvation would soon 
 reduce Basil to their terms. It was a bad example 
 they said : the business must be kept going ; if Basil 
 would not sell Dutch cheeses then let him discover 
 how difficult it was to find money to buy them or 
 their equivalent. I have oftened wondered what 
 one would do if one were a young man with an 
 ordinary education and were suddenly turned out 
 into the world without a literal sixpence in one's 
 pocket. In books something always turns up ; ux 
 Basil's story he had made plans and was ready for 
 the blow when it came. He had gone to some man 
 
 19 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 who had been kind to him as a fellow school boy 
 with his son, and this man with many qualms lest 
 Mr. Hodges, who was a power in the world of 
 commerce, should hear of it, had given him a stool 
 in his office; hours ten to four and twenty-five 
 shillings a week ; and Mr. Waters had told him of 
 a room with a north Ught somewhere in one of the 
 narrow streets out of the Grove where he could just 
 manage to live, work at the office and attend an 
 art school in the hours when he was not earning 
 literally bread and cheese. Once settled to the 
 awfiil collar of this life, he let his father know his 
 plans, and hoped for the best. We had a very 
 tempestuous visit from Mr. Hodges, but as he 
 came alone we were all able to dwell on the spirit 
 Basil had shown, and above all on the delights and 
 rewards of an artistic life. We had a big house, 
 everything and more than everything the Hodges 
 had. My father told Mr. Hodges how glad he 
 would have been had one of his sons done as Basil 
 had and he went away comforted if not convinced. 
 Later on Mrs. Hodges and a few flounced, feathered 
 and pompous daughters arrived and interviewed my 
 mother, and from her, curiously enough, they 
 obtained sympathy. She was of the old school — 
 " Children, obey your parents," and so on — and she 
 at any rate, was not surprised when the end came, 
 and the name of Basil Hodges was blotted with 
 ceremony out of the Family Bible that was only 
 opened when a birth or a marriage had to be re- 
 corded, and later on when Basil's name was duly 
 20 
 
AN UGLY DUCKLING 
 
 erased. Ah, dear soul ! He may be blotted out 
 of that book, but if his name is not written firm 
 and square in the Book of Life, no one else's can 
 be, for no one else ever lived up to the letter of that 
 Law and in truth, in very truth gave his life for 
 his friends. Even now 1 hardly know how Basil 
 drudged on until he succeeded in some marvellous 
 way in getting into the Academy schools. But 
 by then he had become such a painful shadow of 
 himself that my father, being the " visitor " when 
 he was admitted, confessed himself horror-stricken. 
 Still Basil would not own himself beaten, not even 
 ill, not even hungry. Easy-going as my father 
 was, once he took up an idea if it were in any way 
 possible, it was carried out: my mother saw and 
 was conquered. She forgot the Spartan texts she 
 had quoted to Mrs. Hodges ; she could quote, but 
 could never see a cat look hungry let alone a human 
 being, and she solemnly called on Mrs. Hodges 
 and laid Basil's state of body before her. But 
 Mrs. Hodges was adamant: home was waiting 
 for Basil, the stool in the paternal office was yet 
 vacant, when he chose to return there was a wel- 
 come from all. Let him come to his senses : then 
 they would receive Basil but certainly not before. , 
 My mother was routed for the moment, and 
 returned home to meditate deeply on some plan of 
 action. At the moment her usual sources of 
 charity had run rather dry, and she was at her 
 wits' end, for, most unfortunately, she had been 
 enthusiastic over a " sad case," and had gone the 
 
 21 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 round of all her rich and prosperous friends (and in 
 those days they reckoned hundreds) and had col- 
 lected not only quite a large sum of money, but 
 a good many commissions for pictures for, perhaps, 
 the most undeserving man who had crossed her 
 path. On the surface, too, it had aU seemed so 
 hard, so very, very sad, the wife had appealed to 
 her, the wife of a very successful artist, as the wife 
 of one who had never had a chance : her house was 
 visited, true enough, it was empty of every stick 
 of furniture. I fancy it was before the days when 
 a certain amount of bedding is left compulsOrily by 
 the law, and, in one gaunt, uncurtained room, lay 
 a baby choking in bronchitis on straw, while in the 
 other the agonised father was trying to paint with- 
 out any easel, and the elder children were huddled 
 together, reaUy crying with the cold and hunger 
 which was. Heaven knows, real enough to move the 
 heart of a stone, while the mother was coaxing a 
 blaze out of a handful of wood-shavings and coal 
 gathered in the streets by the eldest boy in order 
 to heat some food for the sick infant. Could there 
 be a sadder scene, a more desperate plight ? The 
 first wants were supplied, and later on the house 
 was furnished and the commissions given through 
 my mother. It was just before our autumnal 
 holiday, and she went away feeling sure that 
 nothing could harm those people for the rest of 
 their days. One or two weddings in the family 
 engrossed her attention and she really had almost 
 forgotten the Skinners, when one of our old friends 
 
 22 
 
AN UGLY DUCKLING 
 
 remarked that though Mr. Skinner had had his 
 £20 some six months ago, he had not seen a ghost 
 -of a sketch. My mother went oflF immediately and 
 without notice to the Skinners' house. Fortunately, 
 the furniture was in the names of trustees in some 
 way, and could not be dealt with, although some of 
 the more portable articles had disappeared ; and she 
 found both husband and wife extremely the worse 
 for liquor, and not one child little or big in the 
 place. Later on she learned that the children had 
 been borrowed for the mise en scene, even the 
 bronchitis infant, and that the Skinner reputation 
 was of such a nature that the very smallest 
 amount of inquiry would have resulted in 
 information that would have made my mother 
 retreat from them at once. Mr. Skinner was 
 undoubtedly a clever artist, but he and his wife 
 were absolutely slaves to drink. They were in the 
 end conveyed to the workhouse where they died 
 quite soon and the commissions bespoken and paid 
 for were, of course, never executed; although 
 fortunately there were pictures about the house 
 that could be sent to the different friends who had 
 given the orders ; and the furniture was sold and 
 the subscribers' money returned as much as 
 possible to those who had Suffered most from this 
 debacle. My mother hardly knew what to do. 
 In one of her very rare moments of confidence, she 
 appealed to me. Basil was my pet and darling, 
 had I nothing to suggest ? After a great deal of 
 thought and consultation with really business men ; 
 
 23 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 for the artistic temperament is not one that cares 
 to go much into detail, and has at the best a very 
 sketchy idea of the true management of pounds, 
 shillings and pence ; we did find a way. My 
 father was certain that given at the most three 
 years of real study and freedom from care, Basil 
 would be able not only to keep himself and make 
 a name, but to return what had been advanced to 
 help him along. He had lived somehow on 
 twenty-five shillings a week, if we could find him 
 £150 for the first two years and £100 for the last, 
 there would then be no need to trouble. Well! 
 it was done ; how good people were to be sure. 
 It was art's palmiest days, as I said before, all the 
 same, artists had big and hungry famihes ; yet 
 from them, from a few literary folk, and one or 
 two art-patrons and picture dealers, we got 
 together £500, think of it ! Why, nowadays, one 
 could not get as many pence for a man's art 
 education, if indeed we could for any education at 
 all. Some of the extra money was to be spent on 
 making Basil fit for the work before him, fortunately 
 my father wanted a holiday, he and another artist 
 were going to Homburg to see the last of the 
 gaming tables there, which journey resulted in his 
 picture of the " Salon d'Or," and Basil went too. 
 Good food, fresh scenery, absence from care, above 
 all the most congenial company and talk soon set 
 Basil up. He and my father were both good 
 linguists, the Belgian artists made them welcome 
 and free of the artistic set in Antwerp and Brussels, 
 24 
 
AN UGLY DUCKLING 
 
 and coming back the same luck met them in Paris, 
 where M. Baugniet, M. Lombign^, and above all 
 Rosa Bonheur greeted them and made them at 
 home; and Basil returned to England more than 
 ever certain that art was the only thing to live for, 
 the only thing which could make life worth living 
 in any shape or form. Before the whole of the 
 carefully managed money was spent Basil had 
 already one foot on the ladder of fame ; and his 
 first picture, sent to the Academy in fear and 
 trembling, was not only greeted by the rare round 
 of applause from the council that meets a more 
 than usually meritorious work, but was hung on 
 the line in the big room, sold at the private view, 
 and finally mentioned in a speech at the dinner by 
 one of those men whose one word could in those 
 days either make or mar a reputation. I had 
 suffered a good deal during the time of suspense 
 between sending-in day and Basil's reception of the 
 good news, of the council's approbation ; although 
 I heard of that naturally before BasU was officially 
 informed of his success, and I whispered to him, 
 quite against the rules of the Academy, that he 
 could be at rest. So it was only fair that he 
 should rejoice with us at home the moment the 
 full measure of his triumph became known. 
 Naturally he thought wistfully of his own people, 
 but they remained silent, and it was not for him 
 to make the first advance, was it ? At any rate he 
 did not, and this was quoted against him in after 
 life by some of his many detractors. But I saw 
 
 25 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 old Mr. Hodges standing before that exquisite 
 ^ture of "Sunlight in HoUand — ^Winter," with 
 tears running down his Cheeks, and I crept up and 
 pressed his hand. "You and I understand," he 
 said Very quietly ; " but they won't hear of Basil at 
 home." " Wait until he is an R.A.," I said, and 
 he promised he would. Ah! dear heart — hie only 
 became a member of that noble body about a year 
 before he vanished into space. Fate was against 
 him to the end, and he died as he lived without 
 reaching the top of the ladder of fame, which said 
 ladder is often enouj^h either among the clouds, 
 or rendered a very uncomfortable perch by the 
 thunder and roar of the criticisms which are hurled 
 at any one who has ra,ised himself above his fellows. 
 The picture of the year was painted by Basil sure 
 enough ; but he painted slowly, and did not want 
 to join the anything but to be admired company 
 tjf " pot-boilers." My father hated pot-boilers with 
 a deadly hatred, all the same they were necessary 
 evils, and he wovdd often humorously tease Basil 
 about his freedom from such cares as we were, 
 albeit I can honestly state he got rid of us one 
 after the other as soon as he could, and never 
 troubled about us for one moment directly we had 
 left the nest. Indeed, he had a most embarrassing 
 habit of piling in one on the top of the other, for 
 the moment a home bird required rest, change, or 
 a certain amount of judicious discipline he would 
 pack the fledgling off to one of his married progeny, 
 and keep him or her there free of e^i^nse, being 
 26 
 
AN UGLY DUCKLING 
 
 very much astonished when the home bird was 
 once more sent back, having always outstayed the 
 welcome, and often enough caused trouble in the 
 house where he or she had been sent. What 
 wonder then that when Basil was at a species of 
 deadlock for the next step to take that he should 
 be sent to me? Well! We were very glad to 
 have him, and gladder even now that 1 possess 
 one of the few portraits he ever painted. That the 
 beloved original has faded from this world makes 
 it doubly precious, and the picture links the two 
 best men I have ever known in an unbreakable 
 and unbroken bond I 
 
 27 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 AN ARTISTIC COLONY 
 
 I QUESTION much if Basil would have been sent to 
 us had my father had the least idea that close 
 beside us was springing into Ufe one of the first of 
 those many artistic colonies that have, in my small 
 and ignorant opinion, done a great deal more harm 
 than good to the world of art in England. I think 
 any one can tell nowadays in a minute which 
 painter has come under the influence of Bushey, 
 which of Newlyn and which of St. Ives : and the 
 pupils of the several art schools in London can 
 almost be pointed out separately in the same way. 
 My father has not been right in many of his pro- 
 phecies; notably when he condemned the Pre- 
 Kaphaelite school root and branch to perdition and 
 forgetfulness, and when he solemnly and with great 
 pomp cursed Mr. Whistler and the impressionist 
 school and smote them hip and thigh whenever he 
 had a chance. But he has been remarkably right I 
 think about these gatherings of pupils at so-called 
 art centres under one Master whose faults they 
 have all caught and exaggerated, without being 
 28 
 
AN ARTISTIC COLONY 
 
 able to produce the individual something that made 
 the Master; and that I think can shortly be 
 described as genius. All the same, the one near us 
 was fresh and young and full of life ; the Master was 
 young ; was not celebrated, hardly painted at all 
 himself, but was the most admirable teacher for men 
 that I have ever met anywhere. As for women, 
 married or single, they were absolutely refused 
 admission to the school, which at the time I am 
 writing about stood on the top of a hUl surrounded 
 by green fields and woods and was entirely out of 
 the noise of traffic, and of the ubiquitous and awful 
 barrel-organ. In those days Dorsetshire was an 
 absolutely unknown county, and our part of it was 
 perhaps the least known of it all. To reach the 
 school one had to drive seven miles across the open 
 heath and then climb a great hill. True, the view 
 when one reached the top was magnificent, but the 
 climb was one not to be lightly undertaken, and in 
 consequence there was no need to write "No 
 admission except on business," on the school doors ; 
 for no one ever went there who had not business of 
 the most necessary and pressing kind. The moment 
 Basil saw our county he saw it with the eye of an 
 artist, Avith, I may say, the same eyes with which 
 Thomas Hardy saw it and made it his as no one 
 else ever wiU or can do. I was fond of the clear, 
 sweet, peat-scented air, the wide stretches of multi- 
 coloured heath, and the weird sound-full pine-trees, 
 but it was Basil who taught me to see the dim 
 shades of purple, brown and gold, the brighter hues 
 
 29 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 of yellow and blue, and above all, that nameless 
 beauty of its grey mists and the splendid spring 
 storms that come sweeping up its valleys from the 
 south-west waking the earth from its winter sleep 
 and calling to her to set to work at once after her 
 long, long rest. We were too far from the school 
 at Bryantstown for Basil to live with us; 
 and it was great fun for me to look round 
 Bryantstown to find him a place to dwell in, 
 though before I had settled him in I really did 
 think I should have to give the matter up in 
 despair. The beautiful Uttle thatched cottages 
 coidd not take him in naturally enough. Often 
 they possessed only a bedroom and a half-landing, 
 or at the most two bedrooms and the half-landing, 
 and these were already full to overflowing. It 
 was not the time to take away these cottages, as is 
 now too often the case, from the labourers ; and 
 we then tried the town. After a long hunt we 
 found three beautiful rooms in one of the old 
 manor houses fallen from its high estate, which 
 appealed to us at once. The farmer's wife was 
 very dubious about letting us have them, but for- 
 tunately they had a separate entrance. She would 
 see they were cleaned and breakfast at any rate 
 provided; more she could not promise, as she 
 knew nothing about cooking and had her hands 
 full of dairy work. Bryantstown Manor Farm 
 demands a few words all to itself, so exquisite and 
 beautiful was it, nay, it is ; for even now it is as it was 
 twenty-five years, if not more, ago. It had been 
 30 
 
built for the married son of the Squire some time 
 in 1600. I have forgotten the exact date and the 
 twined initials R. M. C. were still over the door. 
 The house was falling fast into decay even then. 
 In the rooms Basil took, Mrs. Stockley was wont 
 to store apples, onions, old coops, bits of harness, 
 any inconsidered trifles too good to be thrown away 
 and yet apparently not quite good enough to use, 
 and they formed a species of wing to the manor 
 house with a door out into the square paved court 
 that was in front of the house, and from whence 
 one reached the garden up a steep flight of stone 
 steps. Afterwards I heard this room was the 
 drawing-room in the time of the manor people; 
 and above were Basil's bedroom and a queer Uttle 
 sort of chamber with a square cut out in the wall. 
 This had been the " powdering-closet," and the 
 head to be powdered was put through this square 
 and powdered in the closet, so preserving the 
 shoulders and dress from the white shower that 
 would otherwise have fallen on it. The first thing 
 of course was to clear out all the litter, the next to 
 paint. The rooms were one and all panelled and 
 at first Basil hoped for — I feared — oak. Oak is, 
 I know, very beautiful, very correct, very delightfiil, 
 but for sheer ghastly depression in this climate 
 of ours give me an oak-panelled room. One 
 requires a vast chamber, unvarying cUmate, high 
 spirits and much light for real dark oak. So when 
 we found it was panelled with the humble fir 
 Basil moaned, and I rejoiced; white paint and 
 
 31 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 bright chintz might not be as artistic, but I knew 
 it would be better for Basil's health and spirits too, 
 to have something more lively about him after all ! 
 The Master (we never called him anything else) 
 first in cheerful irreverence, then because he reaUy 
 deserved the title, came, saw, admired and ap- 
 proved. He and I hunted up odds and ends of 
 real old furniture, and our hearts sang with joy 
 when we unearthed from the cottages near by 
 goods and chattels which bore the same initials 
 as the porch, and were, therefore, only returning to 
 end their days where they were begun. Those 
 who only know Bryantstown now it has become a 
 really " artistic centre " would be astonished if they 
 could see it as I did when Basil first went there to 
 live. The nearest railway, and that was what we 
 call a toy one, that is to say a branch line, was seven 
 miles off; there was a post-office shop, an all-sorts 
 shop where one could buy men's smocks, clothing 
 of the most hideous and durable kind, candles that 
 stank — there is no other word for it — and paraffin, 
 cheese, herrings, treacle, and a peculiar species of 
 dried cod and hard ship's biscuits I have never met 
 anjrwhere else, and that is all. There were the 
 doctor's and lawyer's houses, and of course there 
 was the Vicarage i but the Vicar of those days was 
 purblind and chUdish and was wheeled to church 
 once a Sunday by a housekeeper whose forbidding 
 face and desperatie temper caused gossip for mUes 
 round, while the lawyer did his work just as it came 
 to him, and the unfortunate doctor was never at 
 32 
 
AN ARTISTIC COLONY 
 
 home. He at any rate had change enough, and 
 I always wondered how any man could be found 
 to undertake such hard, ungrateful and underpaid 
 work. I did not learn the tragedy of his life for 
 many a long year ; when I did I did not wonder 
 that he was glad to be out of the house. Oh ! talk 
 of the badness and cruelty of men ; I vow, for one 
 bad man I havejmet, (I cannot say known,) I have 
 met and known twenty evil women, women who 
 have lived as vampires are supposed to do, on a 
 man's heart blood ; who have repaid love with 
 railing; with minute unceasing pin-pricks, with 
 everlasting scorn and disdain, and who have coldly 
 spent every farthing they could annex, although 
 they knew quite well the money was their husband's 
 health, aye, and very life. All this, while attending 
 church regularly, visiting the poor, and appearing 
 as a very high priestess of virtue before the world 1 
 Now a man may and does "go Fantee," he may 
 and does in the lower classes bang his wife about, 
 and in the higher ones ruins his home in one of 
 the many ways made possible by the law, such as 
 gambling and making off with another man's wife 
 with an eye to the divorce court ; but he does not 
 keep up the perpetual small worries that a woman 
 can. Then, given the right woman, she can quell 
 either the relapser into Fantee, or into the other sin, 
 always supposing the sins have not been going on 
 for too long a time. But this is a digression, and 
 has nothing to do with the bright group of men 
 who gathered one by one at the school, and gradually 
 
 c 33 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LlFE 
 
 forced Bryantstown to acknowledge there was a 
 world where it was as nothing, except as a pictu- 
 resque survival, and that had not the least interest 
 in Bryantstown doings and sayings, save in that 
 they had sufficient food and not too much tyranny 
 from the butcher, and that the postman brought 
 their letters without showing quite too openly that 
 the contents thereof were weU known, as they had 
 one and all been steamed open by the austere 
 postmistress, until she found them of small account, 
 and mostly concerning the prices of colours and 
 canvas, or at the most exciting, contained items of 
 artistic gossip of which she could naturally make 
 neither head nor tail. Only the other day one of 
 the members of that colony was at a mature age 
 elected to full Academical honours. Does he 
 remember as I do how he had his first habitation 
 at Bryantstown in a shepherd's uncouth hut, where 
 he slept and ate, cooking gallantly for himself until 
 the Master found it out and ordered him into the 
 school to live ? Then there was WiU Spicer, son of 
 a farmer-pubhcan who hved at the solitary " house 
 of call" on the road to Bryantstown. Coming 
 first humbly with the milk for the colony, and 
 sundry eggs and chickens, to the back door, he fell 
 under the spell of the Master, and became an artist 
 ndeed, never celebrated, I do not quite know 
 why, but always painting delicately and delight- 
 fully and becoming one of the band where no 
 questions as to parentage and pedigrees are ever 
 asked. If a man can paint, that is good enough, 
 3^ 
 
AN ARTISTIC COLONY 
 
 pass in and make one of a company where art and 
 
 good-fellowship go hand in hand ! When Basil 
 
 Hodges first went to the school, the pupils did not 
 
 number more than half a dozen ; the days of art 
 
 coteries were not yet, and the school but slowly 
 
 made its way. The older men believed absolutely 
 
 in the Academy schools, the study of art abroad, 
 
 travel, and reading good books ; the Slade was 
 
 barely tolerated, and in those days of strict morals, 
 
 parents shrank from the French ateliers, and had a 
 
 seemly horror of young men and women studying 
 
 together and drawing from the nude. Those were 
 
 the celebrated times of " Clothes-Horsley," when 
 
 even some of the older men thought everything 
 
 without clothes must be sinful. Imagine what 
 
 Bryantstown said and thought about the necessary 
 
 models brought down from London, or some of the 
 
 large towns, as the villagers about refused to a man 
 
 to be " drawed " under any circumstances, though 
 
 the women and girls would and did oblige, if by 
 
 any chance they could cajole their men folk either 
 
 to consent or look the other way while they were 
 
 sitting. But as landscape was more especially the 
 
 raison d'ltre of the school, Bryantstown's morals 
 
 were not often very severely tried. The greatest 
 
 trouble of all was to find room for the pupils, and as 
 
 the school began to grow the difficulty was almost 
 
 unsurmountable. Not one of the landowners round 
 
 Bryantstown would sell or let a single inch of land. 
 
 The farmers looked askance at the pupils whom they 
 
 believed immoral and mad socialists, or else poachers 
 
 35 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 in disguise, and the Master was reduced to planting 
 out every inch of his garden with small hideous huts 
 so that his pupils could at least have a roof over their 
 heads. I must own that some of the pupils were 
 rather more peculiar than they need have been ; and 
 more especially did they outrage the provincial sense 
 of decency when they arrived with aunts, nieces or 
 sisters, and, indeed, in some cases, with mere cousins. 
 Something female was necessary, there is no doubt 
 about that, but why the feminine belongings of art 
 students so often think they demonstrate their 
 relationship by extraordinary raiment I, for one, 
 can never make out. One of our severest ordeals 
 in the old days was to pass the paternal eye before 
 we started out to the private view of the Academy, 
 and had we listened to papa, we should never have 
 worn anything save black and white, for he thought 
 more about the pictures on the walls than how we 
 should look. I should dearly like him to have 
 come down on the Bryantstown females ; their sage- 
 green dresses, bare necks and arms and tangled 
 lank locks would have caused him to blaspheme 
 aloud, of that I am firmly convinced. Some of the 
 youngest students brought their mother with them. 
 One would have thought she, at least, would have 
 been an ordinary person enough, but she was most 
 certainly one of the strangest creatures among that 
 strange company. She was the widow and daughter 
 of fine soldiers, indeed, had come of a race of 
 military folk, and I do not know now how she 
 became a member of the family, for not only she and 
 36 
 
AN ARTISTIC COLONY 
 
 her sons but all her daughters had the most ardent 
 yearnings after art. With her too it took the form of 
 a squalid disregard for appearances and an enthusi- 
 astic embrace of every crank and faddist who came 
 her- way. I think during her life she had tried every 
 form of reUgion and of food that she could get at, 
 and before she died she had reduced her raiment 
 to a smock and a pair of sandals, and her meals to 
 bread and fruit, and very little of either during the 
 twenty-four hours that made up her day. For 
 among her many peculiarities she never seemed to 
 sleep or require sleep. I once stayed in the same 
 house with her for a few weeks, and I am therefore 
 speaking from my own knowledge on the subject, 
 and often and often was I aroused by the creaking 
 boards or a stair that suddenly started beneath her 
 weight, to look out and find her on the prowl, 
 sometimes with a cigarette between her lips, oftener 
 stUl with a tea-cup and saucer in her hand. She 
 was a tea maniac if such a thing can exist, and 
 albeit she was a rabid teetotaler, her devotion to 
 the tea-pot appeared to me to have the same effect 
 on her as the gin-bottle has on women in a lower 
 walk of life. I never could quite understand her 
 to the last day of her life, for she had at one time 
 most undoubtedly possessed perfect taste and great 
 knowledge and appreciation of art. If one ever saw 
 her dressed as an ordinary old lady should dress, she 
 was strikingly handsome : but that was a most rare 
 occurrence, generally she came down with odd gar- 
 ments on, unbuttoned, or fastened with pins instead 
 
 37 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 of ordinary hooks and eyes. She never finished 
 herself off with white at the neck and sleeves of her 
 dresses, and despite the fact that she was almost 
 bald, never wore a cap or any false hair to conceal 
 what is, I think, a most hideous eyesore where a 
 woman is concerned. A man's bald head never 
 strikes one as anything abnormal ; but a bald-headed 
 woman is an outrage on decency and one that 
 should be very quietly but firmly either altered or 
 suppressed. It was to Lady Laura Peveril that we 
 owed the first real bother at the colony at Bryants- 
 stown, for nothing would induce her to conform to 
 either the Master's rules or the merest decent 
 observance of "les convenances." No one ever 
 cared less than I do or did for what people say, it 
 makes small difference to me that they may remark 
 I have murdered my grandmother or broken all the 
 ten commandments at once, for I have the proud 
 conviction that I have never done one or the other 
 outrage. But Lady Laura had no feelings on the 
 matter at aU. I do not think she had either broken 
 the commandments or done anything out of the 
 way in the manner of sins herself; but she truly 
 enjoyed the company of those who had, and was 
 never so happy as when fosterihg some one 
 who had managed to come " a society cropper " 
 or behaved in a way that brought down upon 
 them not only a richly deserved censure from 
 Mrs. Grundy, but a summons to appear at the 
 nearest police-court as well. In some way Lady 
 Laura had managed to cajole one of the farmers in 
 38 
 
AJN AKTISTIC UUL.UJN Y 
 
 the immediate neighbourhood of Bryantstown out 
 of his largest field. She had plenty of money and 
 times were bad for farmers at that date and the 
 exorbitant rent she offered tempted him to his fall. 
 In a very short time Lady Laura had her own 
 colony in more tin huts, and then began a series of 
 adventures that made the Master almost wild, and 
 brought the colony into the very greatest possible 
 disrepute. Lady Laura had not the smallest 
 sjmapathy with the prosperous or the well-to-do, 
 and there, until I knew her better, I was inclined to 
 be on her side. But it is one thing to help a lame 
 dog over a stile and keep him until his lameness is 
 a thing of the past ; and quite another to introduce 
 a hydrophobic animal among one's pets and be not 
 in the least alarmed if the disease spreads, and 
 that really is what the eccentric old lady seemed 
 bent on doing. Shall I ever forget one group of 
 so-called students she suddenly planted down in 
 Bryantstown, the members of which were one and 
 all more or less, generally more, wanted by jthe 
 police ! Three brawny scraggy Hungarian women 
 with knives in their boots, a dipsomaniac who 
 declared strawberries and peaches were not eatable 
 until they were drenched with cr^me de menthe : 
 and another lunatic who showed his gratitude by 
 "decorating" the dining-hall with sketches to 
 which the terrors of the Wiertz Museum at 
 Brussels are as mere illustrations to a child's book 
 of tales ! These were her last importations : then her 
 sons were spoken to : her relations were implored 
 
 39 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 to interfere once more, and though they had long 
 since given her up as a bad job they could not now 
 refuse their help. Anyhow some one in authority 
 deported the Hungarians; and the" dipsomaniac 
 having run amok in the village was easily dealt with, 
 as was the lunatic, who, having appeared in church 
 on Sunday in a long white garment to announce to 
 the thoroughly frightened congregation the immi- 
 nent approach of the last day, was seized and con- 
 veyed to the county asylum where he lived for 
 some years, always painting the most gruesome 
 horrors and always believing only jealousy kept 
 him there and prevented him from becoming as he 
 always expected to become President of the Royal 
 Academy. I think even Lady Laura realised then 
 that there are some people that are beyond help ; 
 aU the same one constantly met the latest divorcee 
 or hero of the last and greatest scandal, and at the 
 end Mr. Peveril moved his mother, her family, the 
 huts and himself farther afield, and Bryantstown at 
 last suflfered no more from her. 
 
 Basil Hodges had been really greatly disturbed 
 by all these vagaries. The hal^enny press and 
 cheap illustrated papers had not then come into 
 being. I have often thought what a riotously 
 joyous time they would have had at Bryantstown 
 had such been the case I All the same, occasional 
 paragraphs did get into the London papers. 
 One stray journalist came down and reconnoitred, 
 but the Master always turned a cold shoulder on 
 newspaper men: his pupils were there to learn, 
 40 
 
AJN AKTISTIC COLONY 
 
 not to be exploited by the Press, and needless to 
 remark, he would not allow any one inside the 
 school. Lady Laura was in her most fantastic 
 mood if publicity were likely to accrue to her and 
 her doings, and at her instigation highly coloured 
 accounts of Basil's pictures, among others, began 
 to appear and to be traced always to the one source. 
 We knew what Kensington Park Gardens would 
 think. Lady Laura's coterie and the Master's 
 schools were close together, so no doubt, said Ken- 
 sington, they were one and the same ; and I even 
 had letters from Basil's father written from the 
 office, to which I was to send my replies, begging 
 me to use my influence with Basil and send him 
 back to London, where he would see some small 
 allowance was made him to enable him to live 
 decently, even if he would not give up his art, 
 now he saw where it would probably lead him. 
 How we used to rail at these would-be eccentrics 
 who made art a laughing-stock for the Philistines 
 and brought down contumely on the men who 
 lived for her alone ! All the same the Master went 
 on his quiet way: weeded out mercilessly those 
 who were merely playing or even shamming, and 
 encouraged the real men, until his school began to 
 be known far and wide as the real thing, the 
 encourager of all that was best, the emphatic dis- 
 courager of the false and the imitation that of late 
 years have brought EngUsh art into the gutter, and 
 left us almost without one man to carry on the 
 good old traditions of the giants of the past. I wish 
 
 41 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 I had a portrait of Basil Hodges drawn at this 
 particular portion of his career by no less a hand 
 than that of the Master himself, but alas I those 
 sketches were too infrequent to be parted with, and 
 no doubt it exists in some millionaire's portfolio. 
 After his death the Master's sketches sold almost 
 for their weight in banknotes, though while he 
 lived he would have given them away, had he not 
 declared that though he could teach he could not 
 create, and all he did was never to be made public 
 in any way at all. But death came suddenly and 
 found him unprepared, his property was all sold • 
 sketches, books and everything. I think he would 
 have been as astonished as he would most certainly 
 have been annoyed at the matter, though as it all 
 went to the Artists' Benevolent Fund he might 
 have forgiven, even if he resented the publicity 
 from which he had always shrunk. I recollect the 
 picture so well, the gentle frail form, the keen 
 grey eyes that had the curious faculty of seeing 
 things yards and yards away ; I might almost say 
 miles, and yet could not perceive what was under 
 his nose, and the trembUng mobile mouth always 
 ready to smile or laugh at the least hint of a joke were 
 all there. Even the " feather " that stood straight 
 up at the top of his head, and that would never lie 
 down brush his hair how he might, was depicted ; as 
 was the heavy front lock that fell over his eyes to 
 be tossed repeatedly aside until such time as he 
 could find a moment to go into the town barber 
 and be denuded of that which procured for him 
 42 
 
AN ARTISTIC COLONY 
 
 the nickname of Toosey Hodges by which he was 
 always known at the school. Undoubtedly the 
 three years he spent at Bryantstown as a pupil were 
 nearly the happiest of his life. He had a keen 
 appreciation of all that makes country life delightful 
 to a man. He was an excellent gardener, an 
 ardent fisherman and a good sportsman, albeit he 
 more often brought home a sketch than the game 
 he was supposed to be in search of. Round and 
 about Bryantstown, too, was the most exquisite, 
 almost unknown country in England. On one side 
 the road passed by Borden Wood where the first 
 dafibdils were always to be found, and where in 
 those days we one and all had access. We used to 
 come out from our town and meet Basil at Borden 
 always first just before Easter. Here we gathered 
 our spoils for the church decoration ; we could not 
 move without stepping on primroses, anemones, 
 and daffodils, and so we used to sit and pick around 
 each one of us, and then move on until we had 
 enough, and reached the open clearing among the 
 firs. Here we could light our fire, boil the kettle 
 and have the picnic that opened for us and the 
 school the open-air season of the year. Lower 
 down still we came to the bigger wood, where the 
 decoy was, and where the keeper's tree always 
 moved us all to the greatest wrath. Nothing but 
 game birds were respected by that keeper ; and his 
 horrid tree was " decorated " with the corpses of 
 jays, owls, stoats, moles and the many darling 
 creatures of the woods that we always loved and 
 
 43 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 looked upon with as much delight as on the gor- 
 geous pheasants and homely partridges and wild 
 fowl that were the keeper's only care, and to pro- 
 tect which I think he would have slain any rare or 
 beautiful bird or beast. Squirrels fled before him : 
 he had horrid tales of having seen one descend on 
 a nest of young partridges and " crack their skuUs 
 as one cracks a nut " ; he " had a down " on the 
 magpies, and I have even seen their lovely black 
 and white bodies decorating the trees. Basil made 
 a sketch of that tree, called it " a butcher's shop " 
 in red letters, and showed it to Guppy, but he 
 could not see what it meant, and handed it back to 
 Basil. Evidently Basil was a harmless maniac, and 
 as such to be cajoled or at the least let alone. 
 Guppy thought better of us, perhaps, in the winter 
 when we paid a visit to the decoy and watched his 
 dog work the nets, and the cunning way the little 
 creature managed his task ; and he was pleased 
 with Basil at " flight " when we watched at the 
 great decoy pond which fed the little decoy in the 
 wood ; and the duck fell to his unerring aim as 
 they were flying home from a day spent on the 
 mud flats in the harbour. There are few more 
 charming spots in the world in winter than the 
 decoy pond, when the edge of the pond is fringed 
 with ice, and the heather is crisp under one's feet, 
 and is hung with beads of ice. A Japanese artist 
 should sketch it at sundown in winter: when 
 the grey mists he all along the hills, and the dry 
 heather looks purple-brown, when the greyer sky 
 44 
 
AN ARTISTIC COLONY 
 
 has a large red wafer in it which is the sun, that 
 will presently sink behind the hills flushing every- 
 thing with purple, pink and gold for a few moments 
 before the light fails, the birds pass and the stars 
 begin to come out I Then there is the exquisite moon- 
 light effect of mid-winter when for miles round 
 the heath Ues in a robe of bridal white, one or two 
 scarred and stunted trees stretch twisted, thin arms 
 into the air, survivals of a heath fire which slew a 
 whole plantation, and only left these warped and 
 scarred veterans to indicate what had once been. 
 There are unopened barrows on the heath where 
 one can easily see ghosts on such a night, or on a 
 darker one, one can imagine highwaymen ; and see 
 and hear the phantom coach that drives in at a gate 
 on the left-hand side of the road, rushes round the 
 house concealed among the over-grown shrubberies, 
 and prophesies death for any member of the family 
 that may yet exist on this earth of ours. There 
 are none to scare near Borden or Bryantstown, all 
 are laid at rest in the wonderful old church at the 
 latter place, which is one of the few churches left 
 much as it was when it was built, with its oaken 
 singers' gallery, its high old pews and its three- 
 decker pulpit. Even its " squire's pew " stiU stands : 
 lined with moth-eaten green baize, a large table in 
 the centre and a fiireplace in one corner. Formerly 
 when the squire had had enough sermon, he inti- 
 mated the same by a vigorous assault on the 
 fire, but no one sits in that pew now by right. 
 Sometimes an unhappy stranger finds himself there 
 
 45 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 and sinks down into oblivion as speedily as may be : 
 but the last of the squires is dead and gone, and 
 his lands are all cut up and distributed. Much 
 better for the country side no doubt, but I always 
 regret the passing of anything as old and respect- 
 able as the squirearchy could be an it would. One 
 parson told me that he was preaching there once, 
 and was surprised to see a species of small round 
 brass dish close beside the Bible. He put his 
 handkerchief and gloves in it: it was in the days 
 when the clergy took gloves into the pulpit and 
 occasionally wore one, and presently aU began to 
 jump up and down in the most alarming style. 
 He could not imagine what was happening until 
 the clerk laboriously climbed up and removed the 
 offending articles, explaining after the service that 
 the brass dish was the end of a speaking tube that 
 was connected with the squire's ear. The squire 
 was deaf, and as the tube did not act as usual, he 
 was blowing his hardest to rid the tube of some 
 imaginary dust. Indeed, in those days the squire 
 did much as he liked, and woe betide the parson 
 who either preached or behaved in a way that dis- 
 pleased the patron, or worse still, the patroness 
 and squiress of the village church. 
 
 On the other side of Bryantstown one passed 
 through a series of the most exquisite villages to 
 the county town itself, and here Basil found end- 
 less subjects for his brush. The thatched cottages 
 were unhealthy and overcrowded, but they were 
 most beautiful to look at, and one can but regret 
 46 
 
AN ARTISTIC COLONY 
 
 the hygienic brick boxes with their slate roofs that 
 are put up in their place, if any cottages are put 
 up, which is seldom indeed nowadays. In those 
 distant days the villages were one and all dreams 
 of beauty, and all stood flush on the village street, 
 each with its small garden in front of it, and its 
 creepers climbing round the windows over the porch 
 and peeping in the windows. Each village had one 
 or sometimes even two manor houses and its beauti- 
 ful old vicarage; and one constantly found quite 
 strange plants and flowers in every garden. Manor, 
 vicarage, or cottage often had sons abroad : they 
 came with or sent home strange seeds and bulbs, 
 and even now one sees survivals of Cape creepers 
 and other plants that flourish despite our much 
 abused climate and all its many drawbacks. 
 
 Basil knew that side of Bryantstown better than 
 I did, as it was too far for me to see much of, but 
 he used to show me his sketches and tell me often 
 enough the pathetic and sometimes the comic 
 histories of some of the dwellers among the fields. 
 In one of the manor houses, lived in by a farmer 
 in a good position, he tumbled across a widow with 
 three of the most beautiful children he had ever 
 seen. Morna's portrait was the portrait of the 
 year in 187- and was bought by a childless couple, 
 who, making inquiries of Basil, called on Morna's 
 mother and absolutely purchased Morna from that 
 loving parent. She was a widow, a real widow, 
 with a firm determination to obtain all she could 
 out of life; she had been sold in her time in 
 
 47 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 extreme youth to an old rou^, and a drunkard at 
 that. She had borne and hated his children, and 
 then found herself, at twenty-seven, with a decent 
 competence and the three children and a certain 
 amount of broken health, which she had returned 
 to her old home to mend if she could, determined, 
 that once done, she would have something better 
 out of life than she had at present found. I saw 
 her once at Basil's rooms, where she had brought 
 the other two children to tea, and I do not think 
 I ever met so much selfishness before in any one 
 human being ; and the way she told me her plans 
 showed that she had absolutely no moral sense at 
 all. She had no knowledge of London either, and 
 both Basil and I were cross-questioned as to the 
 best part in which to Hve, the best way to get 
 known, and the best manner in which to set about 
 decorating and furnishing the house when she had 
 taken one. The house was to suit her, to express 
 her, the colours employed were to be her colours. 
 No one else mattered ; the children would be left 
 with her people ; she would start alone and see if 
 after all her looks could not buy her something 
 better than the wretched husband she had so 
 cheerfully buried about six months before. Now 
 I am myself a great hater of shams, as indeed was 
 Basil, but it really made us feel rather ill to see 
 her in the delicate sea-greens and blues she affected, 
 to know she was a widow of six months' standing, 
 and to hear her discuss her future and her past 
 with as much detachment as if both belonged to 
 48 
 
AN ARTISTIC COLONY 
 
 some one else, and she therefore had not an atom 
 of personal feeling in the matter. She was a real 
 study to us both for some short time, for Basil 
 painted the other children, though he declined her 
 offer to paint her. Long years after 1 heard 
 that Sargent undertook her portrait. I should 
 dearly have liked to have seen it, to have known 
 what he found in her, and what she had become 
 after all that length of time. She had a most suc- 
 cessful career I heard, in London, and her little 
 artistic jewel of a house attracted the atten- 
 tions of Oscar Wilde in his palmiest days; he 
 and one or two others made her the feature of the 
 season. She spent money lavishly, ^nd caught a 
 charming husband who gave her the atmosphere of 
 birth and breeding she lacked. I did hear he was 
 rather furious at finding she was living on her 
 capital not her income, but his real wrath fell on 
 her when he heard about the children. He rose to 
 the occasion however; had them brought to his 
 house and properly educated ; the boy, I believe, 
 is a very successful farmer in America, and the 
 girl married out there, too, very happily. I do not 
 know what became of Morna; for one of the 
 conditions of " the sale " was, that she should pass 
 completely out of her mother's life, and from the 
 day she went away with her adopted parents, we 
 never heard one word of the child again. In the 
 next village they possessed and cherished a village 
 poet, and this indeed was pure joy to most of the 
 artistic colony, for nothing happened there that 
 
 D 49 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 was not celebrated by a set of verses worse than 
 anything one can believe in. I wish I had kept 
 some of the doggerel that greeted Basil when his 
 pictures received an extra round of praise from the 
 London papers ; while he even rose to the heights 
 of sending " poems " to the Royal Family, which I 
 truly hope they saw and laughed at. They were 
 always politely acknowledged, and once, some 
 particularly humorous and generous royal secretary 
 sent a guinea. He must have been astounded to 
 receive it back with another set of verses to the 
 eflPect that he could not take pay for his genius ; 
 but would be pleased to become the next Laureate 
 when there might be a vacancy in that august 
 office I Still more hilarious was the conduct of an 
 old gentleman who had outlived all his own kith 
 and kin, and was existing at the age of eighty-five 
 in an ancient manor house attended by a nurse and 
 sundry old servants as old as himself, and as much 
 requiring the service of skilled attendants. He, at 
 any rate, was of use, for he was an excellent annuity 
 for the doctor, and a strong supporter of the 
 Church ; but still more did he do, or rather offer 
 to do, for any member of the Royal Family of 
 whom he might read in the day's paper. He 
 would not only write direct to the object of his 
 admiration, but he would send copies of his letter 
 and the secretary's replies to the local paper which 
 always published them. They made copy, and in 
 those days events were scarce, and it was rather 
 difficult to make even a paragraph out of the 
 50 
 
AN ARTISTIC COLONY 
 
 village where the paper was most lavishly supported 
 by the old gentleman. If a letter of his appeared, 
 he sent a copy to every one in the county, and as 
 he always had a round dozen every week for his 
 tenants and servants, the paper of course printed 
 his letters, and we at any rate had much joy there- 
 from. It did not amuse Basil quite as much when 
 he found that the Queen and the President of the 
 Academy had been written to about him, and had 
 been commanded to elect him at once to that 
 august body. The Queen's secretary, of course, 
 sent the usual little polite note ; the President sent 
 the letter to Basil and asked him who his mad 
 friend was ; but he took no further notice and did 
 not even reply to a registered letter which " proved 
 conclusively that the President was no gentleman " 
 but which saved him from any further commands 
 on the subject of Basil's merits and talents. Once 
 Basil had an adventure with the one squire left 
 whose morals were most distinctly of the old 
 school, and who was over seventy — ^nearly forty 
 years ago. He brought a very beautiful girl to 
 have her portrait painted ; somehow, Basil found 
 out she was in the squire's power without her own 
 consent. It was not a pretty story albeit it is a 
 true one. Basil got me to rescue and hide her, and 
 at last got her out of the country. It was a 
 difficult task but it was managed, and the squire 
 never discovered how she had vanished, for he 
 knew she was penniless and without money, and 
 placed as she had been, some ten miles from a 
 
 51 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 small branch station, it was in those days difficult 
 indeed to disappear. The squire had the portrait 
 and nothing else, and sometime after we heard the 
 girl had married weU abroad, and until she died, 
 which she did at a very early age, she used to send 
 Basil, and me too, some little charming souvenir at 
 Christmas, or whenever she found an opportunity 
 of doing so. I only saw her once after the rescue ; 
 but as that was at Bourget-les-Bains, I must tell 
 about that in my next chapter. 
 
 52 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 BOURGET-LES-BAINS 
 
 I AM not not a real lover of " foreign parts," but 
 I must confess to keeping a very warm comer in 
 my heart for Bourget-les-Bains. Perhaps because 
 when I went there first I was an absolute wreck 
 after the first fierce onslaught of influenza, that for 
 the last twenty years of my Hfe has dropped down 
 on me at every possible opportunity, generally, 
 I may say, selecting the moment when 1 have 
 particularly wanted to be especially energetic or 
 have some work on hand I am most anxious to 
 finish. Then the well-known pains seize me 
 suddenly; my mind seems to turn to pulp and 
 my brains to sponge, and I know there is nothing 
 but bed before me for at least a week, to be 
 succeeded by two or three more weeks of climbing 
 back to the full strength of one's powers. I often 
 wonder why no one has discovered some means 
 of tackling the horrid thing, doctors are no earthly 
 use for it: and the only thing is to wait until it 
 passes, knowing that it will do so, and that all 
 one can do is to growl over the unavoidable waste 
 
 S3 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 of time. The first attack, which nearly slew me, 
 was a most extraordinary one, and I have never 
 forgotten the various phases through which I 
 passed. Once I was an ornament on a Christmas 
 tree, and my great dread was that I should catch 
 fire ; at another time I was persecuted by a foreign 
 doctor, who sat speechlessly by my bed and refused 
 to move. Even after twenty years I can recall 
 his appearance, though I have never seen any one 
 resembling him, and now suppose I never shaU. 
 The worst time I had was when I thought I was 
 drifting in a "prairie schooner" over endless arid 
 plains. I was in a berth-like bed ; a woman 
 holding a crying baby seemed to crouch over a 
 fire, while at the end of the waggon a man smoked 
 a foul pipe, and now and then jerked the reins to 
 urge on the doubtless tired-out unseen steeds. 
 Later on I traced this nightmare to the perusal of 
 Stevenson's " Across the Plains," but I have never 
 yet accounted for many of the numerous ideas 
 that considerably amused me, though apparently 
 I knew no one, and was a terrible trial and anxiety 
 to those who were looking on. One thing I was 
 quite determined, and that was that my feet should 
 never touch the ground. I felt sure if I allowed 
 them to I should die, and I certainly did not want 
 to do anything of the kind. One learns positively 
 after such an experience as mine that body and 
 soul are very separate things: my body was 
 doubtless in pain and on the bed ; I never knew 
 either fact, for I travelled far and wide at will, and 
 54 
 
BOURGET.LES-BAINS 
 
 came back to full consciousness most unwillingly ; 
 and very regretfully had to take up the responsi- 
 bihties of life once more. Little as all this seems 
 to have to do with Basil's life-story, it was one 
 of the most important links in the chain. Had 
 fate never sent me to Bourget-les-Bains, Antoinette 
 Arundel would never have crossed his path. Had 
 she not done so, who knows what might have been 
 his end ? There are some natures which can only 
 live and expand in sunshine, others flourish among 
 stress and storm and cold winds. Basil required 
 the sunshine only, and when that failed him he 
 could not live without the life-giving beams. 
 
 When I first reached Bourget I was absolutely 
 prostrate and could do nothing save lie on my bed 
 and gaze at the exquisite view that stretched before 
 and below the windows of the great hotel. The 
 little town nestled in a hollow and from it came up 
 strange sounds and strong scents of garlic and cook- 
 ing odours generally : over the town was the clear 
 blue lake I got to love, and beyond again rose the 
 splendid range of mountaias, much higher than 
 our beloved Purbeck hills, but possessing the same 
 nameless charm and the same endless succession of 
 changing colours from morning to night, never 
 being the same for an hour at a time. We 
 always called one ridiculous mountain Sir William 
 Harcourt, for it resembled the profile of that then 
 eminent statesman as he might be supposed to 
 look if he lay flat on his back and gazed at the 
 sky ; another was called the Cat's Tooth, but why 
 
 55 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 I do not know. I never saw the least resemblance 
 to a cat's tooth in it, but I never explored it, the 
 drive is impossible for me, and indeed driving about 
 Bourget is a trial to any nerves even if they are 
 vei-y much stronger than mine. The thing that 
 attracted me most at first was the colour ; every- 
 thing seemed to glow and glitter in the sunshine 
 in the most astonishing way — grass was greener, 
 blue bluer, red redder than I had ever beheld, 
 while the long stemmed clear and splendid roses 
 and carnations were pure joy. One thinks one has 
 clean and splendid flowers in England ; one never 
 knows what flowers can be until one has seen them 
 at places similar to Bourget-les-Bains. In my time 
 too the sweet courtesy of the peasants was so 
 delightful. We never made a purchase in the 
 markets but we received what we called a pour- 
 hoire of flowers: and the shops treated us in a 
 similar manner ; and when we began to have a 
 glimmer of the meaning of the patois and when 
 too we found our French was understandable, we 
 had many quaint conversations and learned a good 
 deal of the vie intime of the people. We have, 
 had coffee in dwellings where we could see the hay 
 put up in the rafters for the winter's fodder ; where 
 stores of small round cheeses were hung, and where 
 later on the cattle would live comfortably with the 
 peasants themselves, for they "made each other 
 warm then, and wood and charcoal were expensive 
 to buy." I should much like some of the English 
 grumblers to visit those villages round about 
 56 
 
D 
 
 O 
 
BOURGET-LES-BAINS 
 
 Bourget and see for themselves how the French 
 poor lived. The furniture was of the scantiest: 
 some low stools, a table, a few cooking pans, and a 
 dresser was aU that I ever saw in the living room. 
 True the beds looked splendid, and they were 
 always liberally displayed at the windows from 
 early morning until the sun went down ; but I 
 never saw anything more in their bed-rooms than 
 a chair, a chest or box and a very small looking- 
 glass. I think all the washing was done in the 
 yard or at the pump. All the same the people 
 looked spotless, and the white caps and aprons 
 had the true French air. No one grumbled, all 
 seemed good-tempered. Could it be because the 
 farms were all their own ? Tiny places to be sure, 
 but worked alike by father, mother and children — 
 very few of them to each farm — and the women 
 certainly had the hardest part. Once I saw one 
 harnessed with a cow to the plough, the husband 
 holding the handles. Often I saw the women 
 heaped with a burden of hay. Most of the hay 
 appeared " personally conducted," though now and 
 then one would meet a long low charrette laden 
 with the fragrant stuff and drawn by a couple of 
 splendid slow-going oxen, which were guided by 
 a peasant holding a long pole, which he used to 
 point the way apparently, for I never saw them 
 strike the creatures, whose brown liquid eyes and 
 splendidly groomed coats showed how well they 
 were treated by their masters. I longed always for 
 Basil to sketch some of the many pictures one was 
 
 57 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 constantly seeing. What a picture he would have 
 made of one wayside caf^ by the lake, where we 
 sat under the vines trained over a wide pergola, 
 drank our coffee out of great earthenware bowls, 
 coloured magnificently, if roughly, at some local 
 pottery ; and looked at the groups of ruffianly but 
 most picturesque Italian labourers who were im- 
 ported to mak6 a tunnel for the railway among the 
 hills. The patient Patronne and Patron of the 
 cafd could not understand these men, but somehow 
 they kept the peace, albeit I have seen a knife flash 
 out and tables upset : yet in one moment all was over 
 and the men were friends almost as quickly as they 
 were ready to be at each other's throats an instant 
 before. The husband and wife were a devoted 
 couple apparently, there was one child and a couple 
 of dogs, these latter quite as much part of the family 
 circle as was the child, curiously enough, for French 
 folk do not adore animals as English ones do. 
 
 The next year when I went, " Mon pauVre mari 
 est mort," said the wife with a tear in one eye while 
 the other eye smiled on a good-looking ruffian 
 who took over the horses from " Alexis," and when 
 we asked for " Kiki," the youngest dog, the elder 
 being well in evidence, we learned he had been 
 " ecras^ sur la route." Both events were apparently 
 on a par. Next year, " Fleurette," the older dog, 
 had a new Kiki and the Patronne had remarried. 
 " Que faire ? " she asked with a shrug, a man must 
 be here to manage the peasants and the fishermen, 
 and we were not surprised to hear that the good- 
 58 
 
BOURGET-LES-BAINS 
 
 looking ruffian of the year before was in possession 
 and more than equal to the task. The death of 
 the first husband was a tragedy, in winter the 
 roads are impassable from snow, though the rail- 
 ■tvay passes the door, nothing else does. The man 
 was not well, there were no means of getting a 
 doctor, it was pneumonia, and he was dead almost 
 before the wife realised that he was really ill. I 
 hope she had better luck with her second. I must 
 some day go once more to my beloved Bourget, 
 though at present, at any rate, I see small chance 
 of making such a long and most expensive journey. 
 When I do I shall certainly go to the caf^ of the 
 lake and find out what has happened. It was, 
 however, some time before I found out how beauti- 
 ful the country was, and it was only by slow 
 degrees that I once more climbed back into a 
 state of health that allowed me to move. I had 
 ample time to watch the great storms come down 
 the valley like whirlwinds filled with dust that pene- 
 trated every crevice and made us shut windows and 
 doors in its face. Never anywhere else have I seen 
 such magnificent storms of lightning or heard such 
 thunder. The lightning played aU round the hills 
 and the thunder crashed overhead, and the rain 
 poured down as if to wash us all away ; aU the 
 same nothing desperate ever happened. I think 
 the hills drew away the storm and kept the danger 
 from the hotels and the town in the valley, and 
 the moment the rain was over out came the sun, 
 windows and doors flew open and people and Nature 
 
 59 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 alike were in an instant all gay and smiling once 
 more. As a rule we expected a storm when the 
 great buzzards flew heavily past our windows down 
 from the Alps towards the lake, and we used to 
 know it would be fine when the Scops owl's silver 
 bell sounded at night as it does all the summer 
 months in a marvellous way. The baths (the raison 
 d'etre of Bourget) were then of the most primitive 
 kind, but I rebelled at the Garden-of-Eden costume 
 which was de rigueur and took mine suitably 
 clothed, much to the diversion of the doucheusces. 
 These are the most wonderful women on earth, 
 I think ! always apparently in a temperature of 
 steam and heat that would be fatal to anything 
 save a greenhouse plant, and occasionally abused 
 by the stupid and selfish malades imaginaires with 
 whom they have to deal, they are nevertheless always 
 smiling and good-tempered and laughing. In the 
 intervals of their hard work they knit busily at long 
 blue stockings, which they sell in the market readily, 
 besides keeping themselves and their families well 
 supplied. I feel certain they make opprobrious 
 remarks about their patients in their curious slow 
 patois, which even the doctors do not understand ; 
 all the same they were very nice to me, and I record 
 here my gratitude to the two most bland cowlike 
 women, with great sad brown eyes, who looked 
 especially after me. It is curious to remember that 
 their profession comes down straight to them from 
 mother to daughter, from the time of the old 
 Romans who found and made the baths, and I do 
 60 
 
BOURGET-LES-BAINS 
 
 not believe in any English imitation of Bourget. 
 The waters may be the same, but the women 
 cannot be, neither can one have the benefit of the 
 marvellous climate in which one revels and reaUy 
 feels that life is a joy once more. Do I dwell 
 unduly on the charms of the beloved place ? I hope 
 not, but I am loath to look on the other side 
 of the picture which, except for Basil, would never 
 have touched me at aU. Of course I knew 
 gambling went on in the brilUant httle Casino in 
 the Villa des Fleurs. I knew very astonishing 
 creatures paraded about there both male and female ; 
 I knew many of the couples at the hotel would 
 have been hard put to it to produce a marriage 
 licence had they been asked to do so, but after 
 aU, as Madame Chantemerle remarked with a 
 smile, " It do take many souls to make up a 
 society," and as long as the souls were discreet 
 Madame asked no questions. But as soon as I was 
 well enough to lie out in the lovely garden, under 
 the catalpa trees, white and purple in fuU bloom, 
 close to the vast tubs of oleanders in full flower, 
 Madame Chantemerle, who was the head of the 
 Magnificent, used to come and talk to me and 
 tell me many an amusing historiette of the 
 folk who came there year by year, and if her 
 opinion of the morals of the English aristocracy 
 were a low one, I should say they had only them- 
 selves to thank for the light estimate she put upon 
 them and their pretensions to being all that they 
 should be. I never knew a nicer woman, a better 
 
 6i 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 mother and wife, and a more amusing creature than 
 Madame. True, she was as sharp as a needle and as 
 hard as nails, did she suspect that her terms were 
 not to be paid or even disputed; but some one 
 sharp was required. Monsieur Chantemerle was a 
 quiet easy-going dear old man, and too good even 
 to try and make a swindler pay, but Madame knew 
 at once who was to be trusted and who was not. 
 She always took our cheques. I have known her 
 refuse credit to an apparent millionairess who 
 oflfered her a cheque, stating that her letter-of-credit 
 had been delayed in some way or another. I was 
 also not a little amused by M. Chantemerle, for he 
 was the most superstitious man I think I ever met. 
 He always kept a bottle of water on his desk, in 
 which, in some way, a full-sized crucifix was sus- 
 pended, with a ship and an anchor also in the 
 water, and he told me solemnly that this was his 
 mascotte. He never had any luck until he found 
 that somewhere in Italy ; since then — 1 he lifted 
 his hands, shrugged his shoulders, and then swept a 
 hand all roimd the place as much as to say, " You 
 can see for yourself what it has done for me." 
 Personally, I think Madame was the mascotte, 
 nay, is, for though dear M. Chantemerle is dead, 
 Madame yet flourishes, albeit I think she has gone 
 away to hve en province, on her very weU earned 
 savings, leaving the vast place to her children, who 
 are no doubt as capable as even she was to run the 
 whole concern in the most profitable way. Naturally, 
 at first, I made no acquaintances, and I do not know 
 62 
 
BOURGET-LES-BAINS 
 
 if I ever should have made any had not the heroine 
 of the adventure with the squire come on the scene ; 
 married, well and rich, and very very glad to see 
 me once more. Of course we spoke much of Basil, 
 and she was delighted to hear his praises and of his 
 success, but we could neither of us quite forget the 
 squire, nor how near she had been to an awful fate. 
 All the same, through her I made the^acquaintance 
 of Maxie, and later on still, of Basil's evil genius, 
 Maxie's fair, frail and most astounding mother, but 
 at the beginning, it was Maxie who attracted me, 
 and with whom I became the greatest of friends. 
 At first I really did think him quite the naughtiest 
 little imp I had ever beheld, and he most certainly 
 had the most overwhelming temper of his own. 
 He had an Enghsh nurse and a small baby sister, but 
 the nurse was one of those admirable creatures who 
 adore babies but have no affection for children. 
 Maxie, promoted to knickerbockers, became a 
 nuisance, and her love was all spent on " Cecy," 
 a small peevish thing, in a starched frock and sun- 
 bonnet, who seemed to whine perpetually and to be 
 as sulky as Maxie was the very reverse. I think I 
 first saw Maxie when he was stamping with rage and 
 shrieking at the top of his voice, because " Mother's 
 friend," a tall lank good-looking Frenchman, was 
 teasing him frantically and attempting to throw 
 his pet engine into the pond where the taU arum 
 UUes flowered in pots among the water-lilies. He 
 was clenching his fists and kicking at the man who 
 continued his hateful behaviour unmoved while 
 
 63 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 Lady Arundel stood and looked on languidly, her 
 elegantly, elaborately trimmed muslin and lace 
 garments gathered carelessly over one arm, allow- 
 ing the dainty bronze shoes and open- worked bronze 
 stockings to show in a manner that slightly scan- 
 dalised the EngUsh women looking on, albeit they 
 one and all declared that such behaviour was what 
 they always expected from the French. That 
 Lady Arundel was EngUsh I knew quite well, but 
 why disturb the good ladies' beliefs ? after all it did 
 not matter to them, and 1 should not have known 
 it either had I not been told by my old acquaint- 
 ance from Bryantstown. Presently I persuaded 
 her to go and calm Maxie's rage and rescue the 
 engine : she did both very quietly and came back, 
 Maxie, engine and all to me. Fortunately I had a 
 large store of picture papers and magazines. Maxie 
 and I became friends at once, and as long as we 
 were there we were inseparable, and he even told 
 me how he suffered from the constant presence of 
 " Mother's friend." Well ! he certainly was quite 
 the most detestable specimen of a man that I ever 
 saw, and I could not comprehend Lady Arundel's 
 evident passion for him. I knew all about him, 
 and the shiftless useless family of which he was 
 a member. His valet had told my maid how they 
 one and aU lived from hand to mouth, how he 
 gambled violently, and was now up in the clouds 
 with his success, now in the depths with his losses : 
 how time after time his abominable good looks 
 caused foolish women to take him up and even 
 64 
 
BOURGET-LES-BAINS 
 
 give him money, and how he was at present living 
 on some French Comtesse in a villa outside the 
 town, while he was paying Lady Arundel all the 
 attention he possibly could. The French Comtesse 
 was rich : but was also " poitrinaire," very con- 
 sumptive, must die soon. Lady Arundel was 
 quite the most splendidly handsome creature I 
 have ever seen, the embodiment of health and good 
 spirits, and must have been a relief after the cough- 
 ing thin creature in the villa, whose love for the 
 rascal was real enough : for she not only gave him 
 any amount of money, but left him all she possessed 
 Long afterwards I met him once more : married and 
 respectable, a father, an ardent Roman Catholic. 
 Money had done much for him, I wondered if ever 
 he recollected Bourget and the Comtesse : and above 
 all Lady Arundel and my dear little Maxie, albeit 
 he hated the latter as heartily as ever Maxie hated 
 him. I forget where Sir John Arundel was at the 
 time, but I think he was absent with his regiment 
 in India, for one of our numerous little frontier 
 wars was going on, and Maxie used to tell me 
 about him and look out for any Indian pictures 
 that I could show him ; and he used to confess 
 how he hated to " live about," and how much 
 he wanted to be an English boy and go to an 
 English school. Nurse used to smile benignly 
 on us talking under the catalpas ; she even con- 
 descended to tell me that I was the only lady who 
 had the least idea how to manage Master Maxie : 
 his tempers had ceased almost, and she never had 
 
 E 6s 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 any trouble with him now. Lady Arundel was so 
 grateful, she wondered if I would lunch with her 
 at Trdmort above the lake : she was going in Alexis' 
 carriage and would be so glad if I would go too. 
 Naturally 1 did nothing of the kind. I watched 
 her and young de Huband start, she trailing along 
 languidly, gazing hither and thither as if she ex- 
 pected me to appear at once, whereat M. de Huband 
 laughed. Then they started, and Maxie and I came 
 down and had luncheon together out under the 
 catalpas, and he told me that father was invalided 
 home and they were to stay at Bourget until he 
 joined them there. " Mother's friend will just have 
 to clear out," he added; " he's not father's style at 
 all : he lets Jones put on his socks even and calls 
 me fat-head! I hate that fellow I know, and I 
 shall love to see him go back to the Comtesse." 
 Judiciously produced papers put the Gomtesse in the 
 background, but imagine a child of six knowing 
 that such things were ! Naturally he heard nothing 
 much beyond the talk of the valets and nurses, and 
 heaven only knows what ideas he hq,d gathered from 
 that choice company. I could gather enough from 
 my own staid and capable old maid to know what 
 gossip was rife, and she often first refused to hsten, 
 and then left the rest to their somewhat free-and- 
 easy conversation. I must say the weU-turned out 
 beautiful women I saw flitting up and down in the 
 lift and on the stairs on my way to the garden 
 would have been considerably astonished had they 
 known how their most intimate secrets, toilet and 
 66 
 
BOURGET-LES-BAINS 
 
 otherwise, were discussed in the stewards room; 
 and how as they passed the obsequious servants 
 and the splendid concierge, all alike knew just 
 where the real woman began and where sham left 
 off: how much they spent on their dress: how 
 much they owed, or just how they managed to get 
 their bills paid for them without their husbands and 
 fathers being the wiser. While Lady Arundel was 
 at Tr^mort that afternoon, there was quite a stir 
 round the porte cochere of the hotel. A beautiful 
 landau and pair of exquisite black horses brought up 
 a lady and her maid, a couple of barking Pomeranian 
 dogs and a footman to be followed by a fourgon 
 crowded with luggage. "That's the Gomtesse," 
 said Maxie, "she's come to stay to look after 
 Mother's friend." I watched the advent with some 
 interest. Madame came out and gesticulated, 
 evidently the Gomtesse was neither expected nor 
 desired, but, at that moment, our dear, good, grave, 
 English doctor came up in his queer httle carriage, 
 half brougham half open vehicle, with a white tent- 
 like covering, always over all in the hottest weather, 
 a few words from him and the Gomtesse dis- 
 appeared into the hotel, dogs and all, and presently 
 Madame came out to me, " Only for Dr. Percival 
 would I have done this," she said, " the woman is 
 not one to come here, but he guarantees nothing 
 shall happen — oh ! she may die here — " in reply to 
 a remark from me, " that couldn't be helped, and 
 as she has the whole east wing to herself,. she will 
 not derange any one should she do so ; I dread the 
 
 67 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 Lady Arundel and M. de Huband, and I fear there 
 will be noise, and that is one thing I cannot 
 and will not permit in my house." Dr. Percival 
 came out and reassured both Madame and my- 
 self, the Comtesse had fretted so, the viUa was too 
 far from the town and medical help : Sir John was 
 expected shortly : it would be all right, that young 
 blackguard should look after her, it would not be 
 for long, anyhow. No one I ever met yet could 
 resist the EngUsh Doctor, as he was always called, 
 all the others being of various nationalities ; while 
 many of them were from the locaUty and looked 
 really as if they wanted baths far more than their 
 patients did. But Dr. Percival was always spot- 
 lessly and exquisitely turned out and on the hottest 
 day his cool grey clothes and white silk shirt and 
 tie made one feel cool too. Indeed, he gave one a 
 sense of rising above everything that would have 
 disturbed most people, and I never saw him hot, 
 flurried, or at a loss for a single thing. If his 
 patients tried to be refractory he would suggest 
 handing them on to M. le docteur Brune, or M. le 
 docteur Noir. In a minute he was obeyed, and he 
 never undertook a case which was not real, or allowed 
 his patients to spoil their chance of a " cure " by 
 some of the many mad dissipations that were always 
 to be found in Bourget-les-Bains. Personally, I 
 can't say half enough for him ; he found me a 
 miserable creature, he built me up patiently and 
 kindly and became a friend for life, a friend I cannot 
 think of without gratitude and something very 
 68 
 
BOURGET-LES-BAINS 
 
 much akin to love. I never saw any one possessed 
 of such consummate and exquisite tact, and he often 
 frustrated foohsh conduct that must have resulted 
 in endless misery in a way that I admired more than 
 I could say. The Comtesse affair was not the only 
 one I knew of : was there not one silly, vain woman 
 entangling a lad in her clutches, leading him on 
 to gamble, and lending him the family pearls to 
 pledge in order that he might pay his losses and try 
 once more? A line to the husband in England, 
 suggesting that Bourget was not agreeing with the 
 wife and Dr. Percival wished to consult him person- 
 ally, brought the fond fool post-haste on the scene. 
 Somehow the pearls were retrieved, the lad was 
 despatched to join his regiment and the wife was 
 deported to Switzerland. I often met her after- 
 wards in the odour of sanctity in society of a very 
 stiff and starched kind somewhere near London. I 
 never saw the pearls round her throat without 
 recollecting Bourget and the masterly manner in 
 which that scandal had been nipped in the bud. 
 Dr. Percival was one of the men that Lady Arundel 
 had tried her hardest to captivate, and on whom she 
 had had no more impression than water on a rock. 
 Indeed, I should very much like to meet or see the 
 woman who could interest him except as a study 
 for his medical skUl; at any rate. Lady Arundel 
 not only did not captivate, she repelled him to such 
 an extent that he told her shortly she did not 
 require a doctor, and if Cecy did, M. le docteur 
 Noir knew ten times as much about children as he 
 
 69 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 did, and he never undertook them, as he really had 
 not the time. "That ruffian" was her name for 
 him, and she. used to cast a particularly malevolent 
 look our way should he ever stop to speak to me and 
 Maxie in the garden, for Maxie and he were friends 
 somehow, and he understood the boy just as well as I 
 did myself. I think there were high words when 
 Lady Arundel returned from Tr^mont and found 
 what had happened in her absence, but anyhow she 
 was not going to be beaten by the Comtesse or 
 indeed any one else. I was more pleased than I 
 could say to see how young de Huband's life was 
 made wretched for him, the demands of the 
 Comtesse were incessant, and Lady Arundel had 
 to give in. In the first place she had not the 
 money that the Comtesse had, and she now began 
 to sit about the garden disconsolately, while M. 
 de Huband and the Comtesse drove about in the 
 landau, or quietly walked up and down the verandah 
 to exercise the snapping, noisy little black dogs, and 
 to inhale the rose-scented air. How any one could 
 have tolerated either the Comtesse or M. de 
 Huband passed my comprehension. She was as thin 
 as a lath, two great red spots burned on her cheeks, 
 her eyes glittered like live coals, and her cough 
 seemed almost to shatter her miserably attenuated 
 frame, while the young man loitered along beside 
 her, never speaking if he could help it, and casting 
 looks at Lady Arundel when he could do so un- 
 observed by the Comtesse, which was not often. 
 She watched him like a lynx, feverishly, cruelly, 
 70 
 
BOURGET-LES-BAINS 
 
 and never allowed him out of her sight if it could 
 possibly be helped. For the moment that par- 
 ticular drama was at a standstill, and Maxie and 
 his mother tried hard to make friends, and she even 
 drew me into her company. I cannot say 1 liked 
 the woman. I never did, but she had a curious 
 faculty of interesting me in her ; and now and then 
 I felt really sorry for her. She never said it in so 
 many words, but she most emphatically gave me 
 to understand that her intimacy with M. de 
 Huband was simply a means of detaching him fipom 
 the baleful influence of the Comtesse who had 
 absorbed him for years, body and soul, and whose 
 husband had left her entirely because she made 
 such a "fool of herself with the Frenchman." 
 Every one knew, of course, all he wanted was her 
 money, which was her own, not the Comte's at all. 
 She was an heiress as it turned out, and so aU was 
 weU settled on her and she could do as she liked 
 with it. WeU 1 she couldn't last long, only a bit 
 of a lung left, she should not trouble about him 
 any more, let him go his own way. Unfortunately 
 my room was just above Lady Arundel's, and 
 I could hear rather more sometimes than I cared 
 for. At night especially, when the hotel was 
 asleep, for we were early birds, except the few who 
 would go down to the Casino and gamble and who 
 were instructed to come up the stairs without their 
 boots because of the invalids, so I knew that young 
 de Huband was with her or on the balcony or in 
 the sitting-room beneath mine. I warned her once 
 
 71 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 or twice that voices carried a long way in that still 
 air and that I often lay out on the balcony above 
 her when I could not sleep. But she only stared 
 at me, told me that the night air from the Lac was 
 very bad for rheumatism, and advised me to stay 
 in bed and close the windows, though 1 warned 
 her others had heard the voices too. Madame 
 Chantemerle was fetched at last by some indignant 
 visitor. There were high words. Lady Arundel 
 was told her rooms were requited, and she went off 
 down to the town hotel, and Maxie only came up now 
 and then to tea until Sir John arrived, very flustered 
 to find Lady Arundel at the Beau Site and not 
 at the Magnificent to which all his letters had 
 been sent. I explained that the people who always 
 had that special set of rooms had come rather 
 earlier than usual, and Madame could not offend 
 old clients, more especially as Lady Arundel said 
 she was only waiting for Sir John to move. Maxie 
 fortunately was not present, but he had told Sir 
 John there had been a row between Mother, 
 Mother's friend and Madame, and I could see Sir 
 John knew a great deal more than I thought he 
 did of the subject. He was a tall, dark man, just 
 grey on the temples, with the most perfect manners 
 I have ever seen — so different from that loud, 
 vulgar, slangy yotmg de Huband. What could 
 Lady Arundel see in him, I wondered, after having 
 known and presumably loved Sir John ? Perhaps 
 Sir John's rigid code of morals, his strict sense of 
 duty, his calm politeness, bored her. I cannot say. 
 72 
 
BOURGET-LES-BAINS 
 
 I only know she could not endure him, and that his 
 presence in the garden where they generally met 
 apparently had the same effect on her as a snake 
 has on some people. He fascinated yet repelled 
 her. His eyes, grave, earnest and kind made her 
 uneasy, and should he extend a hand and touch her 
 own, or even place it on her shoulder, she shrank 
 away as soon as she could, and would go off alone 
 down to the Beau Site, leaving Sir John and Maxie 
 to finish their tea with me under the catalpas. 
 Something, 1 do not know what, caused Sir John to 
 speak to me about his wife. I think he began by 
 thanking me for being kind to Maxie, who, it 
 appeared, had talked of little besides my fairy tales, 
 my picture books, my garden teas. Then he went 
 on to say that perhaps he should never have 
 married so young a .woman, but she was the only 
 daughter of his General, and was left penniless and 
 alone in India, and he had always adored her since 
 the first day they met. Lady Arundel was certainly 
 well preserved, but I felt sure she would never see 
 forty again : indeed, I knew her age from friends 
 who were acquainted with her before she was 
 married, and who had turned up at the Magnifi- 
 cent, and were not best pleased to meet her there. 
 Neither was she as glad to see them as one might 
 have expected. All the same, if Sir John liked to 
 think her youthful, perhaps he would take a lighter 
 view of her simply unutterable conduct, so perhaps 
 it was as well he had that idea. But when he 
 asked me if I could influence her a little and 
 
 T3 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 persuade her to stay at Bourget until he had com- 
 pleted his baths, I declined. I told him to say she 
 must remain, especially as the reason of her being 
 at Bourget at aU was to be there when Sir John 
 arrived from India to have the "cure" before 
 going home to live in some country place for the 
 rest of their days. Anyhow, the Arundels did 
 stay, and day by day the lines on Sir John's face 
 deepened, and he became more and more abstracted 
 as the time went on. By now the Comtesse was 
 confined to her bed, and M. de Huband was 
 off duty. No one was allowed near her save the 
 grim nurses — sisters in their wide white caps and 
 blue gowns who nursed her day and night, helped 
 by her faithful maid. Even the dogs were excluded, 
 and lay with their noses close to her door whining 
 piteously until M. de Huband called them off for 
 a walk and a swim in the lake. But they only 
 rushed back as soon as they were dry, and even the 
 Sisters' sternness melted, and they and the maid 
 suggested sending for the Comte, until Dr. Percival 
 heard of their plans and told them the Comtesse 
 would die the moment she saw him, even if he 
 would come, which was very doubtful. So an 
 atmosphere of melancholy hung over that wing of 
 the great glittering building that only dispersed 
 for a few hours when the well-known Crown Prince 
 of lUjnia arrived to go through his usual " cure " 
 with a simplicity of entourage that astonished me 
 at any rate, used as English people are to see the 
 iway our royd folk travel, encumbered by a suite 
 
 74 
 
BOURGET-LES-BAINS 
 
 of men and maidservants and luggage enough to 
 last any ordinary person for the length of his 
 natural life. Now the lUyrian Prince had a secre- 
 tary, a valet, a footman, and a dog, that was all, 
 and although he was greeted with bands, illumina- 
 tions and fireworks, and was presented with an 
 enormous bouquet by the little Chantemerles in 
 starched frocks, blue sashes, and bare legs and 
 socks and shoes, he was a quiet and most unas- 
 suming person. We all made friends with the 
 dog, but I for one kept out of the way of the 
 Prince; he had rooms on the ground floor; his 
 hours were curious, so were the companions that 
 returned and slipped in with him at the French 
 window of the Salon. A big hotel is a liberal 
 education in the ways of these folks if one makes 
 a long stay and gets to know really and truly what 
 is going on ! At one time the hotel harboured two 
 crowned heads and an Egyptian prince as well as 
 him of lUjrria. The Egyptian brought his harem, 
 and these ladies used to dress on their balcony 
 until Madame informed them other ladies objected, 
 while the crowned heads forgot their crowns and 
 became mere men and women in the most amusing 
 manner possible. English folk left all these foreign 
 royalties much to themselves, but the Americans 
 had a fine time of it, and they one and all fell over 
 the princes and princesses whenever they had a 
 chance. One very beautiful girl used to change 
 her dress five times a day, and I never saw her 
 twice in the same garments all the three weeks she 
 
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MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 was there with her people, and the jewels of the 
 united family would have kept the Court of lUyria 
 going for at least three years. 
 
 The Crown Prince became very friendly, some- 
 how the news reached Illyria, I rather think the 
 secretary saw to this. Anyhow the Prime Minister 
 arrived, the Americans left Bourget, and the Crown 
 Prince was faithful once more to his friends in the 
 villa below the hotel. I think Lady Arundel was 
 wild indeed that she had left the Magnificent, for no 
 prince came to the Beau Site, but Sir John was quite 
 content. Presently the poor little Comtesse died, 
 and the notary and the Comte took over her affairs ; 
 M. de Huband was notified of his good fortune, 
 and he vanished from Bourget before the funeral, and 
 did not even tell Lady Arundel that he was leaving 
 or how the Comtesse had bestowed her money on 
 him at the last for his goodness, " his heavenly good- 
 ness and patience," as the will expressed it. One 
 would now have thought that matters would have 
 begun to smooth down, but I received a letter 
 from Basil from Cornwall begging me to go there 
 on my return and speaking in rapture of the colour 
 of the sea, the fem-clad walls, the exquisite beauty 
 of the cliff scenery, and telling me moreover of a 
 most lovely house, he only wished he and we were 
 rich enough to take for the winter at least. I was 
 reading all about Portredoc when Sir John and 
 Maxie strolled up. Sir John was through his cure 
 and now must go and be "braced" before the 
 winter at home. Could I tell him, he wondered, 
 76 
 
BOURGET-LES-BAINS 
 
 of any house in England that would be likely to 
 suit him for the next few months ? He, wise man, 
 did not intend to settle finally on a house before 
 he had tried the locality. I knew England well, 
 what could I advise? In a minute I mentioned 
 Basil Hodges' letter and gave him the photograph 
 and little sketches that Basil always enclosed in all 
 his letters, and quantities of which I have framed 
 on my walls to this day. Portredoc appeared just 
 what Sir John wanted. He would Uke Lady 
 Arundel to hear about it. Might she see these 
 photographs or would I come to tea and teU her 
 myself what my friend said ? Glad am I to think 
 that no words of mine sent the Arundels to 
 Portredoc, but Sir John fell in love with the place : 
 it was taken for the winter and we parted at 
 Bourget, the Arundels via Switzerland en route to 
 Portredoc, where later on we were all to meet 
 once more early in October unless anything inter- 
 vened. Maxie, plus a tutor, would be there at any 
 rate. 1 could only hope that once iii a western 
 atmosphere Lady Arundel would be ome more 
 conventional, quieter, more as the wife and mother 
 Sir John so vainly pined for her to be. It was a 
 home she wanted, the home atmosphere in which 
 all women were at their best, he said, poor dear 
 girl! She had always followed the drum. Now 
 she should have a home of her own and would 
 know how dehghtful it was not to be always on 
 the move, always living in one's boxes in the 
 terrible manner they had been forced to do. I 
 
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MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 thought of Lady Arundel planted down in the 
 wild and desolate corner of Cornwall, where 
 Portredoc was situated, and I wondered very much 
 what she would say to the precipitous roads, the 
 distance from the railway, and the absolute absence 
 of shops that characterised her future home. Sir 
 John would have perhaps been wiser to try his 
 experiment of making a home in early spring, I 
 do not know. Somehow I do not think Lady 
 Arundel would ever have settled down in Portredoc, 
 though certainly I was not prepared for the havoc 
 she worked there, any more than was poor dear 
 unhappy Sir John himself. 
 
 78 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 AT PORTREDOC MINOR 
 
 I HAD not seen Basil for some months when he 
 met me at Tredickor station and introduced me to 
 the extraordinary little vehicle in which we were 
 to bump and bang up and down the Portredoc 
 Road, on our way to the rooms he had taken 
 for us in that out-of-the-way little place ; and I 
 was greatly struck by the improvement in his looks 
 and bearing. He had apparently lost much of his 
 fragile appearance, and if it had not been an insult 
 to his thirty years I should have been inclined to 
 think he had grown. Our coachman reminded me 
 very much of Alexis, the coachman at Bourget, 
 and I made Basil laugh by my account of that 
 most excellent youth from whom I had parted 
 with much mutual sorrow, and to whom I had 
 presented a set of real English silver tea-spoons to 
 celebrate his marriage, which was arranged just as 
 1 was leaving Bourget-les-Bains. Nowhere else I 
 verily believe could such a wedding have been 
 settled I It appeared that a buxom lady of some 
 forty summers had fallen madly in love with the 
 
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MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 good-looking coachman, and had sighed for him 
 for months. I had noticed her gazing down at 
 him from her eyrie above the shop where we 
 bought the green pots that are still dear possessions 
 of mine, but I had always imagined it was his 
 mother. I am thankful I never put my thoughts 
 into words to Alexis. One day he was so ex- 
 tremely depressed that I asked Madame Chante- 
 merle if he were ill ; he had not whistled or talked 
 either to me or his horses, and, worst sign of all, 
 had not sat sideways on his box, his legs dangling 
 over the side of the carriage while he smoked his 
 cigarette and gave me his ideas about matters in 
 general either in the hotel, the villa or the country 
 round. Madame smiled ingratiatingly ; " If you can 
 help me," she said, " pray do ; the foolish lad ! a 
 chance in one thousand has offered itself; Made- 
 moiselle Juliette at the shop where you buy your 
 green jars has offered for him, she has the busi- 
 ness and a good purse-full put away too ; he wants 
 Marie, you know Marie where the rabbits are with 
 the long hair, you bought your grey gloves from 
 Marie ; she made them from the rabbits' fur." " Oh 
 yes, I knew Marie, eighteen not a day more ; fair 
 and blue-eyed and very pretty ; very sensitive, she 
 could not bear to pull the fur from the rabbits 
 though it could not hurt them, one could see that, 
 and I remembered the dark, stout woman in the 
 shop. Poor Alexis I I did not feel the least in- 
 clined to help Madame; aU the same the match 
 was arranged, it was too good a chance for settle- 
 80 
 
AT PORTREDOC MINOR 
 
 ment in life to be missed ; sense not sentiment 
 rules Alexis' nation ; no doubt he would have a 
 comfortable " down sitting " as the Irish say. Any- 
 how he is to help in the shop, and when we return 
 to Bourget, some one else will drive the stout grey 
 horses .with the jingling bells and the ridiculous 
 sunbonnets, and I can only trust he will be as 
 careful as Alexis. I shall certainly buy more green 
 pots I thought. When I tried to do so Alexis was 
 in great form. Mademoiselle Juhette had had the 
 sense to die in attempting to add to the sparse popu- 
 lation of Bourget, Alexis had sold the shop and 
 married Marie, and had horses and carriages of his 
 own for hire ; and Marie shyly showed me the 
 silver tea-spoons sent for the first wedding. Poor 
 Mademoiselle Juliette ! She bought her heart's 
 desire very dearly, anyhow she had it, and now if 
 she knows anything at aU, is aware that Alexis has 
 his, and is grateful to her memory and her posses- 
 sions, for the home in which he is now installed for 
 a long and happy life. 
 
 The Portredoc Jehu reminded me so forcibly of 
 Alexis that this sudden return to Bourget must be 
 forgiven ; he had the same delightful manner of 
 joining in our talk, and of sitting sideways while he 
 pointed out the different objects of interest on the 
 road, which was such a singularly perilous one that 
 I expected to find myself at the bottom of the cliff 
 every minute. First we drove through the narrow 
 street of Tredickor ; and as we went he exchanged 
 greetings with every one he met, for it was market 
 
 F 81 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 day and the whole of the countryside had come in 
 with great bunches of flowers for sale, vast baskets 
 of fruit and stacks of vegetables. Cows and pigs, 
 ducks and chickens, walked about as they wished 
 and took no notice of us at aU, our coachman simply 
 poked them aside with his whip, and of course our 
 progress was then the slowest of the slow. Once 
 out of the town and past the harbour where the 
 delightful brown-saUed pilchard boats were getting 
 ready to go out into the bay, and after we had 
 chmbed the first precipice, the road ran straight 
 along the side of the cliff, and here it seemed to me 
 our perils began ; but the horse knew every foot of 
 the way, and did not even start when we were 
 almost stunned by the stone-quarry's blast that 
 sounded for miles round, and for which we had to 
 wait patiently before we could continue our way. 
 Then we came to yet another narrow street and 
 another harbour. Here the men were hanging over 
 the rails and looking out to sea. Many of them 
 were Bretons, the Brittany fishing-boats come in 
 here to buy food, and an amusing hour can be spent 
 in watching the chaffering that goes on between 
 them and the women who sell the enormous loaves of 
 bread which they apparently hanker after, as large 
 as a pantomime loaf, and the fresh vegetables and 
 fruit. The women cannot speak Breton, and will 
 not learn, neither will the Bretons learn or speak 
 English, why, I can't think ! This bargaining has 
 gone on for years and years and common sense would 
 have dictated the idea that some few ordinary words 
 82 
 
AT PORTREDOC MINOR 
 
 would have made life easier on both sides. Natu- 
 rally, I did not see all on my first drive, but I heard 
 a good deal from Tredewy the driver, and also from 
 Basil. The splendid children with their Spanish 
 eyes and hair were particularly noticeable, and their 
 looks were undoubtedly to be put down to the 
 remains of the Spanish blood that was their fore- 
 bears'. This is the last place where the Spanish 
 landed, sacked and burned the village and the 
 church above on the hills. Some of the Spaniards 
 must have remained behind, and this no doubt not 
 only accounts for the children's splendid dark eyes 
 and hair, but for the sweet courteous manners and 
 magnificent pride of the people. There is no 
 begging here ; favours are exchanged, money is 
 not taken for a kindness, and should fare be scant, 
 the fish absent, the children come in at dinner-time 
 and the door is shut. If any one inquires, they 
 have had oh ! such a good dinner — there is no 
 cadging on the rates, poverty is hidden, somehow 
 hard times are tided over, the shops are very good 
 about giving credit; anyhow, people help each 
 other on equal terms. I wish the splendid Cornish 
 spirit could spread over England ; it is badly wanted 
 nowadays, when no one is ashamed to beg or live 
 on another, or do anything save give an honest day's 
 work for an honest day's pay ! 
 
 Delightful as were the sea, the scenery, the 
 people, the fern-covered walls and the flower-clad 
 gardens by which we passed, I was not sorry to 
 know that at the top of the long long road up from 
 
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MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 the harbour we should reach our rooms. We 
 passed Portredoc Manor House, a square stone 
 house standing away from the road, and almost 
 buried in trees, with vast magnolias heavy with 
 bloom, aloes in flower, and palms and bamboos 
 flourishing mightily in the open air. Basil men- 
 tioned casually that the Arundels had come, that 
 Sir John loved the place, but that he feared that 
 joyous creature. Lady Arundel, seemed already 
 more than a trifle bored. Maxie was not at aU 
 happy either, they had managed to get him a tutor 
 the like of whom was surely never seen, and Basil 
 at least was certain that he was most emphatically 
 a wrong 'un in every sense of the word. "No, 
 I don't mean he'll go off with the spoons," he said, 
 " but he lets that dear little lad go about all over 
 the place alone while he hangs about her ladyship, 
 who ought to box his ears and send him fljdng, but 
 she's too kind-hearted to do that I suppose." Ah ! 
 thought I, here is another one of " Mother's friends " 
 to drive Maxie wild, more especially as Basil made 
 some casual remark about Maxie's temper and his 
 powers of screaming when things did not go just 
 as he expected them to. I knew those screaming 
 fits well, and I also knew that I could quiet them 
 completely, so I said nothing on the subject and 
 asked Basil to tell me, as we climbed the last lap of 
 the hill, something of the place and people. Fun- 
 nily enough one of the Bryantstown men was in 
 an adjacent cottage, the very man who used to 
 bring up the eggs and chickens first when the art 
 84 
 
AT PORTREDOC MINOR 
 
 school was started there. He had not got on very 
 far, but still painted the same charming little bits 
 of scenery, and of course was delighted with the 
 novelty of the Cornish coast, and there was only 
 one drawback, he had found the sexton and clerk 
 in the village was his uncle, and as he met this man 
 and his good old wife at every comer, his anguish 
 accordingly was very great. Especially as there 
 had been a vicarage tea-party where the late arrival 
 of the pair was excused at the top of his voice by 
 his uncle saying : " Yes, we bar late yer reverence ; 
 but me and the missus was nearly drove over by 
 that dratted Land's End 'bus" — and in conse- 
 quence had to return home and brush up before 
 they could appear on the festive scene. This and the 
 habit they had of greeting their nephew as " Master 
 BiUy me lad," and asking him " 'Ow's the arts ? " 
 at every opportunity, made the said nephew very 
 mad. He was afraid Portredoc would not suit him 
 and he must move on to a more congenial spot; 
 all the same he did not. Cornish folk are absolutely 
 simple, I never found one who put on side or pre- 
 tended to be what he or she was not. "Master BiUy" 
 found his Cornish relations respected and even loved 
 at the vicarage, and in all the places round ; there 
 was not a sick-bed Mrs. Trethewy would not go to 
 at any minute of the day or night, and old Mr. 
 Trethewy was a born musician, besides being one 
 of the truest gentlemen I have ever met. Any- 
 thing he did not quite like in " Master Billy " he 
 put down to the fact that his mother had married 
 
 85 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 out of the Duchy and " gone furren." He was a 
 little consoled when I told him the Duchy reached 
 even into Dorset, albeit I could not say that 
 Bryantstown or even the Half-way Farm was on 
 the land appertaining to "the Duke," though 
 I most certainly did not feel bound to remark that 
 they were not. Honestly I own myself scarcely 
 able to write about Cornwall, I love it so dearly and 
 love its beautiful red, blue, and golden sea, its marvel- 
 lous legends, its fairies, its old-world religion, its 
 many crosses and rings and sacred stones, but above 
 all do I love its dear, gentle, tender-hearted, com- 
 passionate people. They are surely a race apart, 
 and I for one cannot understand that any of the 
 old wreckers' stories are true. One hears them, of 
 course, by the dozen ; all the same, Cornish hearts 
 are as incapable of cruelty as they are of greed, 
 and their manners are as delightfiil as their many 
 kindnesses to even the merest stranger within their 
 gates. I who have tried them write this from my 
 heart, and I say Bless Cornwall and keep the 
 degenerating atmosphere of tripperdom far from its 
 borders, and leave its roads still inaccessible to the 
 worst specimen of the August bounder who is only 
 content with towns and beaches and piers and all 
 such horrors of the present day ! One can find all 
 this naturally in the big, fashionable places, but 
 I leave those alone, fashion and I have long since 
 shaken hands and parted friends, but away from 
 these towns Cornwall is as simple and sweet to-day 
 as thirty years ago, when I first saw it and fell in 
 86 
 
AT PORTREDOC MINOR 
 
 love with the beloved place. I was glad to discover 
 that Cornwall had laid its spell on Basil too, and 
 that he had bought quite a dear little house where 
 he intended, he declared, to spend the rest of his 
 life. One went up a steep incline and several dark 
 slate steps to the front door. The incline was 
 bordered on each side by magnificent daturas and 
 fuchsias in fuU flower ; and crowded with giant 
 geranium plants and rose bushes, while on one 
 little lawn stood a great old medlar-tree laden 
 with fruit, and on the other side a noble pear- 
 tree equally laden with the brownest and hardest 
 pears I have ever seen. " Bishop's thumbs," said 
 Basil, " and good for stewing " ; even the black- 
 birds could make small impression on them and 
 they went ojff to the back-garden where other 
 fruit was. The garden lacked a mulberry tree, 
 but true to my ideas I planted one the moment 
 the season allowed, and I am rewarded nowadays, 
 for the house, garden and mulberry tree are all 
 alike mine. At the door of the house one obtained 
 a splendid view of the sea, and caught sight at 
 night not only of the sweeping light on the 
 Lizard, but of the one on the Land's End as 
 well. How safe one always feels under the Ught 
 of these flashing arcs 1 I know not why, but 
 I always do, especially on a wild night when I gaze 
 out across the wind-swept garden and hear the roll 
 of the sea on the rocks far away and the groaning, 
 straining trees away in the doctor's garden. Yet 
 one hears of constant wrecks, and the doctor's gate 
 
 87 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 often slams as he goes out, clad in oilskins and 
 ready to give help. Help, alas I often needed when 
 the waves roar and the storms rise and men are 
 driven ashore, broken, yet alive, and carefuUy 
 tended by his gentle hands. In bad weather no 
 fatigue keeps good Dr. Vivian indoors when he 
 feels he may be wanted, and Mrs. Vivian is always 
 up too, to see that blankets are warmed, and kettles 
 on the hob, for she never knows who the doctor 
 will bring in to be warmed and fed. Later on, I 
 am glad to say. Dr. Vivian gave us and Basil our 
 turn as well, and we learned just what to do, and 
 more important still what not to do for the many 
 poor souls who so often required help and food and 
 rest. I think the most ghastly thing one can see 
 is a wreck. It is impossible to do anything really 
 to avert the catastrophe. The men look like ants 
 disturbed from a nest as we see them from the 
 cliffs, rushing about the deck and doing all they 
 can to keep away from the murderous coast. The 
 life-line is not always available, no life-boat could 
 live in those seas or among those awful rocks, but 
 the flashhghts help our men to rush in and catch 
 the drowning sailors. Still now I always stay in- 
 doors. I cannot bear these sights, especially should 
 women be on board, or should the men be related 
 to the village wives and mothers. There is no use 
 in tearing one's heart-strings, these things are, all 
 we can do is to warm, feed, comfort, and speed the 
 survivors. One never feels so absolutely helpless 
 as when Nature takes the bit in her teeth and is 
 88 
 
VILLAGE WIVES AND MOTIIEKS 
 
 Copyrii^Iit by Messrs. Prestoo, Pouzance 
 
AT PORTREDOC MINOR 
 
 out spoiling for a fight 1 Then a day or two after 
 the storm, what so placid and peaceful as this 
 rock-bound, rock-floored cove ? The gentle many- 
 coloured sea moves softly to and fro, beautiful shells 
 lie thickly along the sand ; seaweeds more varied 
 and lovely than land flowers are to be gathered at 
 will, and all that reminds one of the storms are 
 barrels, spars, and fragments of all sorts and kinds 
 waiting for the inspection of the coastguard, who, if 
 he does not come speedily, will find Uttle or nothing 
 left for him to look at when he arrives. Sometimes 
 it is not well to go near the great heaps of seaweed : 
 one shudders at the suggestive masses, they are 
 too like graves. Sometimes they are temporary 
 graves. Anyhow, I do not go down to the shore 
 until I am sure it is free from any danger. I do 
 not like horrors, neither did Basil, albeit I must 
 own he faced them with far better pluck than I do 
 when they come. There are other happenings 
 than these going on even in this tiny place, the 
 doctor's sister, a widow, has fallen in love at 
 forty-eight with a youthful fisherman with the 
 bluest eyes I ever saw, albeit, they may look extra 
 blue because of the predominance of black and 
 and brown eyes, and, regardless of his embarrass- 
 ment, she declares she means to marry him and 
 marry him she does, much to the doctor's rage and 
 despair. The Vicar of Portredoc absolutely refuses 
 to take any part in such a tragedy. No doubt if 
 appealed to the bishop might have something to 
 say on the matter, but the vicar is his own bishop 
 
 89 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 in this remote comer of the earth, and I doubt if 
 any one in or near Portredoc dare go against him 
 on any subject whatever. For more years than I 
 can say I have not loved the parsons one meets, 
 but the Vicar of Portredoc is a saint as much as 
 ever the doctor is, and I should never think of 
 gainsaying one of his orders or even one of his 
 wishes; but Miss Vivian that was, Mrs. Porter 
 that is, went on her way to perdition socially 
 dragging the unhappy fisher youth with her. He 
 was like some miserable fly in the web and clutches 
 of a spider, and she took him oflF to the county 
 town and there married him, no one could stop her 
 at the registry office there. They are both of full 
 age, she very much so ; and so the deed was done 
 and both proceeded to be as miserable as we all 
 declared they would be. At first it was amusing 
 to watch the couple; she, not the least ashamed 
 and in full bridal finery of grey silk and white 
 bonnet and gloves and lace mantle, he in Sunday 
 rig and very unhappy. But presently, on went the 
 high boots and blue jersey and the soft cap, and he 
 was off to the boats. She might rave and storm, 
 and doubtless did so, he took his own way and she 
 was left in the cottage by the harbour ; her own 
 kind or kin would not go near her, and she turned 
 her back on his ; altogether I never saw a greater 
 mess made of any two people's lives ! I should not, 
 perhaps, have said anything much about this couple, 
 had not JSIaxie formed an attachment to young 
 Jago and declined utterly to be parted from him, 
 90 
 
AT PORTREDOC MINOR 
 
 and Basil also found him a most patient model, and 
 one who was invaluable to introduce into some of 
 his pictures, and we were all sorry for the lad ; 
 albeit we were inclined to abhor him until we 
 found he went back to his work, and refusing to be 
 kept by his wife, made his own simple living in his 
 own way. But Maxie absolutely adored him, and 
 as Mr. Stopford, his tutor, did not care what became 
 of him as long as he was not bothered about him, 
 and Sir John knew he was a safe companion for the 
 child, Jago's boat saw a good deal of all of us ; 
 though Mrs. Jago was left at home glowering at 
 us did she see us from her windows; albeit we 
 generally were content with the Cove, and never 
 went down the hill to Mori^ab, where she lived and 
 where the harbour was, if we could possibly help 
 doing so. Our cottage rooms were next to Basil's 
 house, and indeed, we were between him and the 
 doctor and opposite to us was the sea ; and on one 
 side again the church and the vicarage, and here 
 we very soon found good and true friends. Indeed, 
 it would be difficult to make or find an enemy 
 in Portredoc; albeit aU was not always as one 
 wished and Lady Arundel began to be unhappy 
 at the Manor House, and to wonder if our 
 small community on the top of the hill would 
 not afford her some little relaxation from the 
 dulness of Morrab and even of the county 
 town itself. The vicar did not look at all favour- 
 ably on her advances, which consisted first of offers 
 to adorn or even repair his beautiful and most 
 
 91 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 perfect church. She cast contemptuous eyes over 
 the altar-cloth and suggested a set for the different 
 seasons, then the stained windows offended her 
 artistic eye albeit Basil told her they were simply 
 perfect, and finally she suggested a new roof and 
 open oak benches instead of the beautiful old 
 carved pews in which generations of the Portredoc 
 people had sat. But the vicar was first polite, 
 then less so, and finally told her Portredoc folk 
 were very proud, " they did not take help from 
 strangers, neither did they consider that any help 
 was needed, for they cared for their church and 
 loved it, and would never allow it to want for a 
 single thing. As to altering its altar-cloths for the 
 seasons he did not wish to empty his church, which 
 at present was more than fuU, especially when 
 feast-days came round. Finally he suggested that 
 her home, her husband and children would be 
 enough to occupy her time fuUy, more especially 
 as he heard Sir John meant to settle at Portredoc 
 Manor House, and then the decoration and furnish- 
 ing of that, to say nothing of the care of the garden, 
 would, he was sure, fuUy occupy her time. In fact, 
 Lady Arundel retired from the vicarage routed, 
 and came over to our rooms to retail her experiences 
 of "that old bear," as she called the vicar, and to beg 
 some tea. I have often seen Lady Arundel look 
 beautiful in her muslins and laces at Bourget and 
 in her splendid jewels and evening garments ; but I 
 think she never looked better than in her rough 
 Harris tweed costume and jaunty cap with an 
 92 
 
AT PORTREDOC MINOR 
 
 eagle's feather on one side which she wore in the 
 lanes and about the moors round Portredoc. When 
 she drove, which she never did unless she went on 
 a shopping expedition into Tredickor, she wore 
 splendid clothes, but she declared the roads were 
 the terror of her life, and that she would rather 
 starve than go in and buy food or indeed anything 
 else. Sir John and I often did the necessary work 
 together, supplemented by the carrier's help, and 
 indeed she hated housekeeping and abhorred ser- 
 vants. In their turn her servants hated her, and 
 only stayed because of Sir John and because of the 
 courteous manner in which he treated them and 
 the excellent wages he generously paid. That first 
 winter they had Cornish girls, but they could never 
 persuade any Cornish girl to enter the Manor House 
 again after the one experience. In the winter as a 
 rule the girls who are not in shops are very anxious 
 to go into good places ; in the spring there is the 
 flower picking and " bunching "; in the summer and 
 early autumn there is plenty of work for the visitors 
 in and about that district, but the winter is long 
 and a good roof over one's head is not to be 
 despised. The walk into the shops is a terrible 
 thing in winter and those girls are best off who are 
 in service, and I have never seen better dressed 
 women for their station than these same girls, and 
 their under-garments and boots are their first 
 thought, then their dresses and hats. Fortunately, 
 the wild country makes rough country clothes 
 desirable even for the summer visitors, so pernicious 
 
 93 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 and absurd fashions do not find their way to 
 Portredoo or to Morrab, and we were saved the 
 vagaries of costume that are too often the legacies 
 of a "season" county in England. When Lady 
 Arundel had exhausted her account of the vicar's 
 horrible conduct she began on that of her maid, and 
 finally passed on to the delinquencies of Mr. 
 Stopford, of whom I could see she was most 
 heartily tired, no doubt because he had had a stem 
 snubbing from Sir John and, in consequence, had 
 deserted her for younger and more available 
 material. "I reaUy think he'll have to go," she 
 said, " he isn't the least use for Maxie and in con- 
 sequence Max is always oflp with that young Jago, 
 and is already be^nning to talk with a Cornish 
 accent and forget all his French, and he's such a 
 Uar and such an ass too, I am always finding letters 
 on my desk beginning with ' My dear Marquis ' 
 or 'My dear Duke' and I know he'is of no 
 family, and I have found out from John's uncle that 
 he was sent down from Oxford, not for the best of 
 reasons either." She then added in reply to some 
 remark from me, " Of course I ought to have found 
 all out before, but he was cheap and willing to 
 come down to this god-forsaken spot and I was at 
 my Avits' end, too, about the boy ; you're the only 
 person to manage him, you know." 
 
 I gracefully declined to undertake the task. I 
 was and am devoted first to Maxie, the dear little 
 passionate imp of six, and then to the dearer charm- 
 ing Sir Max, who reigns in his good father's place, 
 94 
 
AT PORTREDOC MINOR 
 
 and has married the vicar's ybungest daughter at 
 Portredoc only the other day. All the same I was 
 strongly of opinion that Max ought to be learning 
 something, and moreover required a man's hand 
 over him. At that minute Basil came in and was 
 in due form introduced to her ladyship, and he 
 was appealed to on the subject at once. Basil had 
 seen and heard much more of young Stopford's 
 doings than I had, and had even spoken to Sir 
 John, for he had rescued Maxie more than once 
 from imminent perils. Besides, people in the 
 village were beginning to scowl at him, and the 
 girls were hustled indoors when he sauntered 
 down towards the harbour in his patent leather 
 boots, which, despite his knowledge of " all that 
 was correct," he persisted in wearing even with 
 knickerbockers and rough stockings. All the same, 
 Basil only advised Lady Arundel to consult Sir 
 John, and suggested asking the curate at Morrab 
 to undertake Maxie until Mr. Stopford's time was 
 up and he could go. That Mr. Stopford was to 
 be considered never entered Antoinette Arundel's 
 head. He could be paid off and despatched home, 
 and the sooner the better, too, as he had become 
 merely a nuisance. Basil suggested that a second 
 such dire return of the youth on his parents' hands 
 would rather damage his future, but that did not 
 trouble Lady Arundel. Fortunately, next day she 
 found him in the act of reading one of her letters 
 as she sauntered in at the drawing-room window 
 unannounced. This gave her her chance, she flared 
 
 95 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 out, bid him pack and go, and the evening express 
 bore him Londonwards, almost before he reaUsed 
 what had really occurred. Poor lad 1 he went 
 utterly to the bad, forged some man's name literally 
 to oblige another foolish woman who took him up, 
 and then he disappeared into space, to reappear in a 
 blaze of glory during the South African War, where 
 he did some gallant deed that won him the Victoria 
 Cross, which I am glad to say was sent to his 
 people, for he did not live to receive it himself. 
 At any rate he left them that, the one reminder of 
 a chequered career ; but such an one that aU the 
 rest was wiped out, and he Uves in their memory 
 to this day a saint and martyr in very truth. Even 
 Maxie sometimes remembers he had a tutor who 
 became a V.C., he has forgotten the rest ; and that 
 is how it should be with all of us in this very ex- 
 traordinary world of ours. In consequence of Mr. 
 Stopford's rapid disappearance, we had Maxie all 
 day long for some little time, and Basil made a 
 sweet picture of him lying on the grass, reading 
 one of his fairy books, his lovely little face sup- 
 ported on his hands and his firm little legs in the 
 air. The medlar tree was shedding its leaves, and 
 the medlars had been gathered, and so the picture 
 was called " Spring and Autumn," and next year 
 Basil was an Associate of the Academy, entirely 
 owing, I said, to Maxie's beauty and grace. Sir 
 John bought the picture, but a replica was given 
 later on when Basil received full academic honours, 
 and hangs in that little known, dark corner the 
 96 
 
AT PORTREDOC MINOR 
 
 diploma gallery, where it can be seen now by any 
 one who cares to penetrate into the recesses thereof. 
 Basil always used to call Maxie his mascot in 
 those first early days of his acquaintance with the 
 Arundels. Alas ! he was to prove anything but 
 one ! Indeed, if Maxie had never attracted me at 
 Bourget, the whole melancholy story would never 
 have been written at all. But " 'twas to be," as the 
 village fatalists say about anything that happens, 
 from a wreck to a wedding. All is managed by 
 Fate, and it is no good thinking for one minute that 
 one can escape what has to happen to one, try how 
 one may ! 
 
 Mrs. Jago came up to Portredoc one day, and 
 actually came in to see me. I cannot say I felt 
 overjoyed at the sight of the sturdy and determined 
 figure knocking with her knuckles on the open 
 green door that was the sole barrier between me 
 and the public gaze. No one has either bell or 
 knocker at Portredoc, and no so-called front doors 
 are ever closed, unless the weather is insufferably 
 bad, and the wind from the sea drives the rain too 
 far into the house itself to be pleasant. Personally 
 I always love an open front door ; it is such a 
 welcoming look, so somehow my door was never 
 shut. In London I kept it open on the chain; 
 here in Cornwall I never close it at all, and some- 
 times it remains open all night. Why not ? We 
 have nothing to steal worth the risk, and if we 
 had we are sure no one would come in and take 
 it. Tramps do not come to Portredoc, the only 
 
 G 97 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 strangers are the Breton fishermen and a stray 
 
 artist or tourist, these are not thieves, and indeed 
 
 if they were could not escape without beiag called 
 
 to account. I wish I could have gone to the door 
 
 and boldly said "out" to Mrs. Jago, but this is 
 
 a thing one cannot well do, so I had to greet her 
 
 coolly and instal her in one of my pet chairs by 
 
 the log fire which burned on the hearth, and was, 
 
 I am afraid, a remnant of our very last wreck. 
 
 I could see she had something on her mind, and 
 
 that she hardly knew how to begin, and I certainly 
 
 did not feel inclined to help her ; but at last she got 
 
 it out. Lady Arundel had taken to go out in the 
 
 boat with Maxie and Trevelyan Jago; she was 
 
 turning Jago's head, and Mrs. Jago was out for 
 
 trouble, and meant if 1 could do nothing to go 
 
 straight to Sir John himself. I really felt inclined 
 
 to tell the foohsh woman the truth, that Jago and his 
 
 trade were as inseparable in Lady Arundel's mind 
 
 as the sea and the boat were in Jago's. I doubt 
 
 very much if Lady Arundel would know the man 
 
 from the rest of the fishers if she saw him on the 
 
 quay and out of the " Belle Poule." AU the same 
 
 Mrs. Jago was in real misery. Jago had had tea in 
 
 the drawing-room with Maxie and her ladyship, 
 
 and when Mrs. Jago had called at the Manor 
 
 House, though she had seen Lady Arundel writing 
 
 in the window and looked straight at her, the 
 
 butler said " Not at home," and repeated " Not at 
 
 home " emphatically, though she said she could see 
 
 her ladyship, and she knew that she was indoors 
 
 98 
 
o 
 
AT PORTREDOC MINOR 
 
 right enough. Yes, she knew, of course, it was a 
 society form ; all the same if Trevelyan were good 
 enough for the Manor, of course she was also, and 
 she was not going to stand such rudeness from any 
 woman alive. It was best to tell her at once the 
 truth, that Jago was too far beneath the Manor 
 folk to meet them on an equal plane, but that it 
 was very different to extend a welcome to Mrs. Jago, 
 who would expect a certain amount of recognition 
 on an equal standing and a more formal treatment, 
 that Jago had come to the back door with Lady 
 Arundel's chickens and Maxie's fish, and that 
 Maxie had dragged him in and given him tea, and 
 that Lady Arundel had laughed at the man's em- 
 barrassment and told him to see Maxie didn't make 
 himself ill. The red flush on Mrs. Jago's yellow 
 cheeks deepened perceptibly, but she knew I was 
 right ; she was actually in love with the boy she 
 had married, and I had saved her, for the moment 
 at any rate, from making an egregious ass of herself. 
 All the same she told me a great deal more about 
 the Arundel manage than I really cared to hear : 
 how Sir John had spoken sharply more than once 
 to his wife about her extravagance, her love of 
 dress, and above all, about her neglect of the 
 children and her wretched housekeeping. And 
 now she had turned on him and told him she should 
 do as she chose; he had brought her to live in 
 a desert, she should have just what amusements 
 she could. There might be no one to see her 
 dresses ; at any rate she saw them, and moreover 
 
 99 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 he could alter things at any moment he chose. If 
 they hved in London half the year, she would not 
 mind the other half at Portredoc, but Sir John had 
 spoken about her gambling, her train of young 
 men, her perpetual parties in London. He had 
 had a year of them already, the year after Maxie 
 was born. His finances were not straight yet, and 
 he never intended to run such a risk again. How 
 Mrs. Jago learned all this 1 could not comprehend 
 at first, but I soon discovered that a cousin of 
 Jago's had been in service at the Manor for a short 
 time and had spoken far more than she ought to have 
 done about what went on there. Lady Arundel had 
 aroused in the girl the hatred she aroused in most 
 of those who tried to hve in her service ; there had 
 been high words and accusations of theft and lying ; 
 the girl had gone off in a rage, casting her month's 
 wages in her ladyship's face, and in consequence 
 had not felt that she was doing wrong when she 
 spoke of aU that went on at the Manor. Especially 
 if Trevelyan Jago were to be fooled by her late 
 mistress. Trevelyan would, I think, have been 
 more than a cousin had not the doctor's sister 
 carried him off; anyhow he was told aU this in 
 Mrs. Jago's presence. As a rule gossip does not 
 flourish in Cornwall; kind friendly interest does, 
 but spiteful comment is soon checked, and if 
 nothing good can be said of a person then their 
 names are not mentioned at all. Mrs. Jago, of 
 course, was in the fearsome state of thia-skinned- 
 ness that is the portion of any one who has made 
 
 lOO 
 
AT PORTREDOC MINOR 
 
 and knows she has made a complete mess of her 
 life. She really loved her brother, his wife and all 
 her family dearly, but they would now have none of 
 her ; her brother had spoken out before the mar- 
 riage, and she knew he never went back on his 
 word. Her sister-in-law had been a Polweno, and 
 the family knew its pedigrees for years back ; 
 she was the first Vivian who had ever made a 
 mesalliance; the Family Bible was displayed to 
 her and the names went back there to the times 
 of the second Charles. What makes a woman 
 of that age so often so perfectly idiotic ? I re- 
 membered Alexis and his Juliette. Alas ! I do 
 not think Mrs. Jago could look for a similar 
 end to her troubles. As she talked I could quite 
 well understand what she was feeling and so I 
 allowed her more latitude than I otherwise should 
 have done ; but I had to assure her more than once 
 that Jago's aflfections would never be tampered with 
 by Lady Arundel, and that she would be wise to 
 make up her mind to the position she had volun- 
 tarily assumed ; all she could do was to be pleasant 
 to her husband, feed him, and look after him weU, 
 and teach him all she could. He was, fortunately, 
 very fond of reading, that would be better for him 
 than the aimless loaf at the pier-head on the look 
 out for the fish ; or the still worse loafing in winter 
 behind the red blinds of the " Merman " where all 
 the men gathered to hear the news, and to talk over 
 their luck and to curse the Breton boats which now 
 and then came inside the three-mile limit; or at 
 
 lOI 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 least, were believed to have done so despite the 
 revenue cutter and the law. The Cornish fisher- 
 men have a good many grievances, and I wonder 
 they bear them as well as they do : the Lowestoft 
 boats come down into Mount's Bay and fish on 
 Sunday : this is a thing no Comishman wiU do. 
 He may know the pilchard are at last in sight, he 
 may see the ungodly Lowestoft men gathering in 
 the silver store, but his religion forbids him to put 
 out to sea, and he stays in his church or chapel 
 praying, no doubt, for the pilchards to stay in the 
 bay, and for the Lowestoft men to suffer, but fish 
 he will not ; no doubt his stem religion helps him 
 to bear stoically all his reverses ; they are many and 
 great but he never complains ; not even the wives 
 and mothers, and they manage to live somehow 
 over the very hardest possible times. Once the men 
 did rise up and fight the intruders, but they were 
 talked into peace by their ministers, and they now 
 content themselves with cursing the Lowestoft men 
 and the steam-trawlers, wretched things that they 
 are, and which they will not buy themselves because 
 they know all too well the damage they do to the 
 immature fish. By the time I had talked Mrs. Jago 
 into a decent frame of mind the evening had drawn 
 in, and she had the long walk down to Morrab still 
 before her, and besides I expected Basil and Dr. 
 Vivian in at any minute. They had been to see the 
 " Dancing Maidens," the well-known ring of stones 
 on the moor, which were supposed to be girls turned 
 into granite because they would persist in dancing 
 
 I02 
 
AT PORTREDOC MINOR 
 
 on Sunday, and I had no mind to be present when 
 the brother and sister met. So at last I mentioned 
 that the fog was coming up and the night coming 
 down and that my husband could not go home with 
 her because we expected friends. She flushed once 
 more her singularly unbecoming flush and went off, 
 turning at the garden gate to say, " Well ! I suppose 
 you know best and 1 need not trouble about 
 Trevelyan ; but if I were you I would not have the 
 woman in the house. She is one of those who never 
 go anywhere without making trouble. My man may 
 be beneath her, but yoUrs isn't, Mr. Hodges isn't, 
 and I hope you won't rue the day you made her 
 acquaintance." Then she went off* with a flounce 
 and a slam of the gate and 1 had a quiet laugh. I 
 knew I was safe, and as for Basil, dear, sweet, 
 clever Basil — he was too small, too fragile, too 
 delicate to attract her, and I had never heard him 
 say one word about any woman that would lead 
 me to think he could ever fall in love. 
 
 103 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 DRAWING-LESSONS 
 
 Sir John had quite made up his mind to buy the 
 Manor House, and the purchase was completed 
 much more quickly than it would be nowadays. 
 In fact the owner, an old lady, the very last of 
 her Une, was only too glad to be relieved of the 
 responsibility of the place, for she took these 
 responsibilities very seriously ; had kept the house 
 in order, albeit she could not live in it as it did not 
 suit her health, and she had moreover always laid 
 aside so much of her income for the local charities, 
 almshouse, hospitals and so on, though she could 
 ill afford to do anything of the kind. She dutifully 
 sent a tithe of the purchase-money to the vicar, to 
 put up a window to her memory (while she was still 
 alive) and retired to Devonshire, where no doubt she 
 ended her days very comfortably, in a town where 
 she had gas, pavements, a doctor always at hand, and 
 a certain amount of music and many friends at her 
 command ! When I think about Sir John's action in 
 settling down at Portredoc, I can never be sure that 
 he was not making a great mistake. But he was most 
 104 
 
DRAWING-LESSONS 
 
 uni^oubtedly what one would call an austere man, 
 and he had suffered immensely during his seven or 
 eight years of married life. He was well off, as people 
 counted being well oflF rather more than twenty 
 years ago, but he was not rich at all, he had Maxie 
 and Cecy to educate and provide for, and he had a 
 perfect horror of debt. Even at Portredoc bills 
 had a habit of pouring in. Antoinette's tailor was 
 the best in the world ; quite a " little " dress cost 
 twenty pounds, but braided as she liked them 
 braided, well, forty pounds was not out of the 
 way, boots, petticoats trimmed with real lace, 
 silk stockings, all cost money and wore out fast on 
 the abominable roads. She ordered these things by 
 the dozen, and without a thought, and then had 
 hysterics and sulks when Sir John wrote to her 
 people and told them that he would pay no more 
 bills, so they trusted her at their peril if they 
 trusted her at all. But a man is very powerless 
 if his wife has not the smallest idea of a conscience, 
 and the Tredickor shops were long-suffering ; they 
 liked her name on their books and would send to 
 London for anything she wanted. Sir John warned 
 Lady Arundel, scolded, warned again and again ; 
 all the same, he did not want to go to the length of 
 disgracing her locally ; he held that over her as a 
 last resource, but she knew quite well that as far as 
 the local shops were concerned, she was safe for the 
 present at any rate. Just after the Manor House 
 purchase was completed, some old Indian friends of 
 the Arundels came to one of the few big houses 
 
 105 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 -within the reach of a drive; and Sir John hoped 
 that that would be some help to him in all his 
 troubles. The Egertons were very rich, had plenty 
 of horses and carriages, and came over often to 
 Portredoc, and Lady Arundel appeared to become 
 more reconciled to the place. Unfortunately, Mr. 
 Egerton was a born gambler and was never so 
 happy as when playing cards for money ; it was long 
 before the days of bridge, and I am not well enough 
 up in the names of these games to be quite sure of 
 what they played, but when it came to beginning 
 at three in the afternoon on a bright summer day, 
 Sir John would have none of it, suggested the 
 garden and tennis, and both Lady Arundel and the 
 Egertons and their friends had to comply. Though 
 even here Sir John was worsted. I heard something 
 about a fiver on the game ; anyhow Lady Arundel 
 was always in funds after she and the Egertons had 
 been together, and moreover I found out she was 
 betting in some mysterious manner by post, indeed 
 she mentioned it quite calmly and wondered I did 
 not take any interest in some particular race, for if 
 1 had done so she could have put me on to a 
 " perfectly safe thing," I noticed out of sheer 
 curiosity that her " perfectly safe thing " came in 
 last, and I wondered what she had done herself in 
 the matter, but as she did not appear moved, or 
 take to her bed, or indulge in her usual rage when 
 things went wrong, I could only suppose she had tried 
 to take me in, and that the horse she had selected 
 was not the one she recommended to my notice. 
 io6 
 
DRAWING-LESSONS 
 
 Basil was in London for the moment : his pic- 
 tures were the pictures of the year, and he had 
 been obliged to go up just for a little of the season : 
 his first Academy dinner for one thing and to be 
 lionised generally, or I would have asked him about 
 the race. I wondered if he had met his people ; 
 and if they recognised him now he was celebrated, 
 but as his letters never spoke of them I did not 
 like to ask. I was sure he would tell me if he had 
 any news. 1 was content to wait, more especially as 
 we had made up our minds to spend some years at 
 any rate at Portredoc, and had taken the fellow 
 house to Basil's which, fortunately for us, came into 
 the market at the beginning of the year. Sir John 
 was so good to us just then, too, that I felt more 
 and more sorry for him ; he was an ideal gardener, 
 and gave me the surplus plants from the stores he 
 had ordered for the Manor House garden. We 
 used to declare that real winter in Dorsetshire was 
 almost unknown, and that plants flourished there 
 as they would nowhere else ; but then I had never 
 seen what a winter in Cornwall meant ! Indeed, 
 there was none, and I began to wonder why people 
 rushed out of England, and did not come to the 
 sweet English South ; where if the weather were 
 damp one could have a great fire of coal and logs, 
 and where one never had the mistral or any of the 
 detestable winds that make the Riviera a fraud all 
 too often. Of course there were many fogs and 
 some cold ; but a flurry of snow on the hills brought 
 men out from Tredickor to see it : they had hardly 
 
 107 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 ever seen snow, and so they took the opportunity 
 of making its acquaintance while they could. The 
 sweet procession of flowers never rests for one 
 moment in Cornwall, and even January has its 
 blooms ; early narcissi come out in the most shel- 
 tered spots, and the evergreen shrubs are so lovely 
 that one never seems to feel the winter at all. We 
 had great joy in making a rock-garden and a water- 
 garden, for a convenient httle spring ran past our 
 doors ; and if we did what the old duchess called 
 " damning and blasting " to get our rocks and our 
 ponds, it had an excellent effect and gave us all 
 occupation which was at any rate far more healthy 
 than cards and betting on races, or indeed, any in- 
 door occupation. By the early summer our garden 
 was really a show, and Lady Arundel laughed at 
 me, even more than usual for my bucolic tastes, 
 and prophesied I should have to visit Bourget to 
 get rid of the rheumatism she knew I was laying 
 up for myself by my devotion to grubbing in the 
 dirt with the gardener and Sir John, and indeed, 
 with any male I could press into my service. For 
 though I always knew what I wanted and how a 
 thing should look, I cannot use my hands. If I had 
 my time to go over again I would have my fingers 
 trained to be of use, but my father had some mad 
 idea that fingers trained themselves. He would not 
 allow us to learn to draw even. He said if we 
 could draw we should do so without being taught ; 
 a craze for which I have never forgiven him after 
 all this time. You may as well say a child must 
 io8 
 
DRAWING-LESSONS 
 
 never learn to write, everything requires to be 
 taught. I recollect old Barnes, the Dorset poet, 
 telling me once there was no such thing as un- 
 skilled labour, and he was right. If it be unskilled 
 it is not labour, or of the least use. One must 
 learn the right way to do everything ; unless one 
 does one can never be of the smallest service to 
 the world. I know I wish I had been taught to 
 garden, but I never was ; it would have been 
 difficult to learn, perhaps, in my day in London, 
 but there is not one thing I can do with my hands, 
 and I regret it more and more every day I live. 
 Stay, I forget I can cook if I am obliged to, but 
 I hate it ; and I can arrange a room better and 
 quicker than any one else, even Lady Arundel 
 allowed that, and called for my help when her 
 goods and chattels came down from London to 
 replace old Mrs. Polwarth's relics, which were sold 
 when Sir John finally took over the house. Mrs. 
 Polwarth's relics ! A whole chapter could be 
 written about the gruesome things, and I am sure, 
 had Lady Arundel known they were in the place, 
 she would never have stopped there all through 
 the winter. A very distant cousin came down to 
 clear the house out and no one would believe 
 what she found. Death-masks in plaster of every 
 deceased member of the family, locks of hair; 
 handkerchiefs labelled with notes to state they had 
 been used to place over such and such a dead face, 
 hair-brushes and combs, "the last one used for 
 such and such a head 1 " piles and stacks of old old 
 
 109 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 letters, old rubbish, and amidst this worthless lumber 
 were quantities of really valuable lace and minia- 
 tures, and to crown all, a solid silver dinner-service 
 for twenty-four people, all put away safely in the 
 cellar in square mahogany boxes of great weight 
 and most curious shapes. Will it be believed that 
 these boxes were actually made from the coffin of 
 one of the members of the family who had died 
 abroad in high diplomatic service ? He was given an 
 enormous funeral at the State's expense where he 
 died, his body being embalmed in a splendid 
 mahogany coffin ; but his mother had never rested 
 until he was brought home, the shell removed 
 from the foreign coffin and put into one made out 
 of good EngUsh oak. She hated foreign ways 
 and foreigners, but even she would not waste the 
 mahogany, and the village carpenter made it into 
 boxes in which were kept all the most gruesome 
 relics of the past hundred years. Sir John advised 
 Miss Polwarth to bury these boxes just as they 
 were, and she took his advice ; a vast hole was dug 
 in the woods above the house and they were care- 
 fully interred ; one did not feel able or inclined to 
 smash up and burn the awful death masks, it was 
 better to bury the lot. Some day, perhaps, they 
 may be found! I wonder what the finders will 
 think; no doubt they will imagine they have dis- 
 covered a vast hidden treasure. How 1 should like 
 to see their faces when the locks are broken and 
 the lids lifted ; but up to the present, at any rate, 
 they are stUl safely buried in the Manor grounds, 
 no 
 
DRAWING-LESSONS 
 
 Naturally the valuables were taken away ; it spoke 
 volumes for the honesty of the housekeepers that 
 none of them were gone, no one would have missed 
 them ; for even Mrs. Polwarth herself knew nothing 
 of them : she had never dared touch the boxes, her 
 husband had never touched them, and I suppose a 
 sort of ghost idea had prevented them. Every one 
 was aware that the boxes had been a coffin once, 
 better therefore leave them until it became necessary 
 to really turn the old place out. Fortunately 
 Miss Polwarth had no sentiment and no fear ; she 
 was such a distant cousin that only the name 
 attached her to the family, and she set to work 
 rapidly and soon had everything out of the house 
 and sold. The plate apparently was the official 
 service used by the ambassador and that and the 
 miniatures and the lace went to Christie's ; the only 
 relic she kept was a fimny little pair of top-boots 
 in silver, labelled, "given to me at the Prince- 
 Regent's dance at the Pavilion, Brighton," and I 
 really do not know why she retained these. She 
 parted without a qualm with many another object 
 belonging to that individual aU bearing his cypher 
 and wrapped in paper and labelled how and when 
 they were obtained, and she wanted Sir John to 
 accept a miniature for his great kindness to her. 
 But as it was of one of the old Georgian dukes, 
 he made some graceful excuse. There was a story 
 connected with that miniature that was best for- 
 gotten, as indeed it is best to forget that special 
 man himself. I rather admired his face and the 
 
 III 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 great lock of hair at the back of the miniature, 
 to obtain which he appeared to have denuded his 
 head, for he was apparently almost bald in the 
 picture and much too old a man to be the gallant 
 he had the credit of being. Miss Polwarth was not 
 proud of the duke and I don't know what she did 
 with his picture. I only know it left the Manor 
 House, and the air felt perceptibly clearer when it 
 and the rest of the relics had all gone! Long, 
 long afterwards I heard that one of the Mrs. 
 Polwarths had been this man's granddaughter, her 
 grandfather had left his wife at Weymouth when 
 he went away with his ship, the Court was there 
 at the time, and when the admiral returned after 
 a couple of years he found a small " daughter " to 
 welcome him, aged about six months. This minia- 
 ture was round her neck, and he accepted the 
 position. Curious how old scandals turn up again, 
 is it not? I have seen one of that daughter's 
 descendants. She is as Uke what old Queen 
 Charlotte must have been in her youth as if the 
 intervening years did not make the relationship 
 almost infinitesimal. I was quite sorry to see the 
 Manor House stripped and bare, and really it 
 looked as if it resented being denuded of its old 
 possessions. All the same it was quite time it was 
 done, and Basil, newly returned from London, was 
 in his element. One of the few eyesores of the 
 Manor House was its windows ; some one who 
 yearned for " more light " had taken out the old 
 stone muliions and put in horrid, if useful, sash- 
 
 112 
 
DRAWING-LESSONS 
 
 lights. The old mulhons were over the stables, in 
 the loft; fortunately the Polwarths never threw 
 any single thing away, and Basil was soon era- 
 ployed in removing the sashes and restoring the 
 muUions, albeit Lady Arundel declared that now 
 she would never be able to see her face in the 
 glass again. I adore old houses, especially the 
 house that has only known one family in it, and 
 that could an it would tell many a tale of joy and 
 sorrow, love and strife. I do not think Portredoc 
 could have had much sorrow or strife, it was too 
 far out of the world for both ; all the same 1 fancy 
 the " admiral's lady " might have spent some bitter 
 hours here with the baby who had made such an 
 inopportune appearance while her supposed father 
 was away at sea. Lady Arundel at any rate 
 declared now she knew the story that she had met 
 the ghost in the long corridor upstairs, but a stern 
 reminder from Sir John that she would be left ser- 
 vantless and have to do the work herself if she started 
 these ridiculous notions brought her to her bear- 
 ings. Sir John meant to stay at the Manor House 
 ghost or no ghost, so it was httle use to spread a 
 rumour that could only result in making her more 
 uncomfortable than she was at present. I often 
 used to notice her gazing at Basil as if she wondered 
 what manner of man he was. Apparently women 
 did not exist for him, and although I knew he had 
 a hearty admiration for beauty, especially the large 
 and splendid beauty that was Lady Arundel's, I 
 never heard him praise it or, indeed, speak of it 
 
 H 113 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 at all. He was enraptured with the house, and 
 delighted to be allowed to restore it in the manner 
 it so well deserved. The rooms were one and all 
 panelled, and he laughed at me because now at any 
 rate he had real oak, real cedar, real walnut to 
 manipulate, and I dare not, naturally, again suggest 
 the white paint which had made his old rooms at 
 Bryantstown so cheerful and charming. Polish, 
 polish, polish was the mot dPordre, and the whole 
 atmosphere reeked of beeswax and turpentine, until 
 really Lady Arundel was justified in insisting on 
 going somewhere else untU at least the polishing 
 was done and the windows in; albeit Sir John 
 would not leave, and only gave her a very limited 
 amount of money to spend when she went away. 
 Basil was very glad to be able to put work in the 
 way of his old Bryantstown " pal," and he was em- 
 ployed to paint delicate Empire wreaths and swags 
 in the white panelled morning-room, the only room 
 that could be painted in the house; and the old 
 Trethewys used to creep up and watch their 
 nephew, telling him many an old tale of the Pol- 
 warth family, and how the ancient prophecy that 
 the family should die out was almost fulfilled. 
 They all told him that no luck would come to 
 any one who followed the Polwarths and drew fear- 
 some pictures of what Sir John might expect. Let 
 us hope the lack of luck died out with Sir John 
 himself, and that, at any rate, Maxie may be per- 
 mitted to live and die in peace in the dear old place. 
 For one thing, Maxie's wife can boast of Polwarth 
 114 
 
DRAWING-LESSONS 
 
 blood, only a drop or two it is true, but still she 
 has some in her, so I trust the fates wiU be kind 
 and aUow them a long and happy existence in one 
 of the dearest houses and the sweetest spots in 
 England. When the polishing was done and the 
 furniture arrived from the old Arundel place it was 
 astonishing to find how it all fitted in ; in fact, the 
 houses were much of the same date which accounted 
 for it. But Arundel Place was close to London ; 
 the octopus-like arms of the city were stretching 
 out and out, small villas lined the roads, and 
 riotous beanfeasters foregathered in the park where 
 an ancient right of way existed. So it was better 
 to bend before the storm and go farther afield, for 
 fifteen miles from Charing Cross is an impossible 
 residence for a lover of the real country. Villas 
 now surround Arundel Place, and the Place itself 
 is^ a golf-house and residential club ; truly the 
 mighty, near London, have fallen, and the great 
 houses, once the country homes of the great folk, 
 have long ceased to be. The very trees pollarded 
 when Monmouth lost his head, have gone to make 
 floors and roof-trees for small clerks, and I trust 
 that they cannot feel or know their fate. All the 
 same, I for one cannot help having a lingering idea 
 that things know more than we imagine. How 
 long they last; surely some day they will find 
 some means of telling us all they have seen and 
 known? 
 
 Sir John had given a guarded permission to his 
 wife to see about carpets and curtains, and she 
 
 "5 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 came back followed by stacks of draperies and piles 
 of goods of all sorts and kinds ; and I think she 
 first really woke up to Basil's personal existence 
 when he contemptuously rejected the lot ; not, he 
 was careful to add, because they were, as indeed 
 they were, vile, but because they struck a wrong 
 note in the dear old house. Lady Arundel natu- 
 rally tried for another journey to London to rectify 
 matters, but Basil and Sir John went up this time 
 together and she was left with the children and 
 a new tutor she had imported for Maxie, who was 
 now becoming anxious to learn, and almost wUd 
 to go to school and be with other boys. He was 
 a hopeless ignoramus yet, but Mr. Howells was 
 really a tutor and took his work seriously; he 
 was plain, spectacled and earnest, read the lessons 
 in church for the vicar, and helped in the choir, 
 where Maxie looked like an angel in a white 
 surplice and sang away as a robin does in winter, 
 and indeed all seemed so satisfactory in the school- 
 room that I wondered what would happen next. 
 Not that there was any real school-room, for Mr. 
 Howells was a fanatic on the subject of fi-esh air, 
 and lessons went on out of doors, and when he 
 found Lady Arundel's Mends came near, he and 
 Maxie took their books to the shore. If it rained 
 they had an excellent robbers' cave to retreat to ; 
 if it were fine there was not a garden where they 
 were not welcome, either in mine, or in the vicar's, 
 or in Basil's, or the doctor's ; anywhere, in fact, out 
 of the way of her ladyship, yfho-^faute de mieux — 
 ii6 
 
DRAWING-LESSONS 
 
 would have made eyes at Mr. Howells, though 
 I do not think he ever for one moment realised 
 that she so much as saw him. It is extraordinary 
 to me to realise that such women as Lady Arundel 
 exist, and why they do exist I for one do not 
 know ; neither do I know why she married good, 
 kind, true and sweet Sir John. Some one the other 
 day described a woman as being " pantherine " ; 
 looking at the great sleek brutes in the Zoo I fancy 
 he must once have met Lady Arundel; all the 
 same I do not see how he could, so there must be 
 many of her kin in the world after aU. I honestly 
 confess one of the sort has been enough for me in 
 my lifetime. I used to watch her lying in her 
 hammock, her eyes half closed, a vile French novel 
 on the ground, a heap of picture papers round her 
 and a cigarette between her lips, and wonder what 
 she made out of life. Max and Cecy bored her, 
 although she did not neglect them ; she always 
 saw they were charmingly turned out and well fed, 
 and sent for Dr. Vivian at the least hint of illness, 
 for she loathed and dreaded sickness in a manner 
 that made her cruel to the aihng and suffering in 
 the most curious way. I noticed this when Sir 
 John had rather a bad turn of that fiendish influenza, 
 which left him nervous, depressed and irritable to 
 an extent that rendered the least jar to his bed, 
 the least noise in his room more than agony. If 
 she could sit on the bed and swing her legs during 
 the short time she was with him she would, and 
 then would finally get up, lean over the brass 
 
 117 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 rail and gaze at him, finally going out of the room, 
 very often trailing half the bed-clothes after her, 
 attached to some of the many buckles and buttons 
 on her garments, upsetting a table, or all the books, 
 and ending by slamming the door in a way that would 
 have driven a person in sound health into a fit of 
 temper. Dr. Vivian tackled her on the subject, 
 and finally she left Sir John to get better alone, 
 and she used to sit on the great staircase, her long 
 lovely arms round her knees, or else her chin sup- 
 ported on her hand watching Basil, who was then 
 painting the view from the wide front door over 
 the sea, with Cecy in her quaint smock in the fore- 
 ground against a mass of tea-roses, a picture that 
 became almost as well known as the one he did of 
 Maxie in the autumn. More than once Lady 
 Arundel made suggestions that Basil should paint 
 her, but he always put them away, he could not do 
 her justice, he dare not try. Finally she got out 
 her old Indian sketch-book and made Basil 
 show her how to hold her pencil the while she told 
 him in her most pantheiine manner about the sub- 
 jects of her sketches, and when and how they were 
 one and all done. Once she let out that she was 
 in India at the time of the Mutiny, and that her 
 dread of the dark was due to the fact that her 
 black nurse had hidden her in a cellar for months 
 and months, she had forgotten that this made her 
 at least forty, and seeing she was interesting Basil, 
 she went on telUng him of her mother's fate, how 
 she had died in the jungle giving birth to her 
 ii8 
 
DRAWING-LESSONS 
 
 second child ; and how she was always alone, even 
 when she grew up ; and that was how she had 
 married Sir John when her father died about eight 
 years before I met her at Bourget-les-Bains. There 
 were indications in her talk and even in her sketch- 
 book that other men's lives had touched hers, but 
 BasU would not encourage any confidences there at 
 any rate. He owned to me afterwards that he 
 dare not, that her mere presence intoxicated him, 
 and made his hand shake as he directed her pencil, 
 and that he was sure, quite sure she knew this and 
 did all she could to draw him out. But Basil's one 
 love then, his one mistress was his art. No doubt he 
 had had the feeble foolish flutters most young men 
 indulge in to their sorrow and regret ; if so, I never 
 heard of them, he always seemed to me the one 
 man who was sexless, if one can use such a word, 
 the one creature who was above the grime and 
 mud from which so many passionate love episodes 
 spring, and in which they all too often end. Long 
 before Sir John was about again, Basil's drawing- 
 lessons were a matter of course, and took place 
 every day. Naturally he told Lady Arundel how 
 much he had learned from merely watching my 
 father paint, and that the best way to learn was to 
 look on. All the same either her pencil point 
 broke, or else, promoted to paint, her brushes were 
 all wrong her colours would not mix. Something 
 always happened that made it imperative for their 
 hands to touch, and now and again it seemed to me 
 that Lady Arundel's hand lingered needlessly near 
 
 119 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 Basil's, and that Basil was not quite as swift as he 
 was at first to move his own hand away from 
 that of the temptress. I was delighted to find that 
 not only Sir John was downstairs once more, but 
 that Basil's dear old father had turned up at 
 Portredoc and came stealthily to pay Basil a visit. 
 Mrs. Hodges had died quite suddenly, sitting in 
 her chair with the usual dreary woolwork in her 
 hands, and he was quite alone now in the Kensing- 
 ton Park Road house, though he expected one of 
 the married daughters to come and live with him 
 after the autumn. She had two or three boys, and he 
 hoped that one of them at least would take over the 
 business later on. The brothers and sisters would 
 be delighted to see Basil now he was climbing the 
 ladder and artists were being received at Court and 
 made much of, but Basil was content with his 
 father's forgiveness. He knew his sisters too well 
 to want to see them again, and as for his brothers 
 they had not one idea in common, and Cornwall 
 was fortunately too far off for them to trouble him, 
 so it was better to leave things as they were. Mr. 
 Hodges stayed two or three weeks at Portredoc and 
 at first seemed perfectly happy. I was very glad 
 to listen to all the old Bayswater news, to hear how 
 the Grove had altered since my day and how the 
 church we and the Hodges used to go to had 
 blossomed out into open benches, a new chancel 
 and painted windows, and how the new man was 
 suspected of being allied to Rome. Both Basil 
 and I were sorry to hear that the old east window 
 
 I20 
 
DRAWING-LESSONS 
 
 had been relegated to a back seat behind the organ ; 
 of course we knew it was horrible ; all the same we 
 were attached to the long-backed sheep with its 
 coat neatly parted down the centre at which we 
 had gazed every Sunday since we could recollect. 
 I quite sympathised now with Mr. Hodges in his 
 hatred of change. I suppose as one grows older 
 one resents change more and more. Basil and I in 
 old days would cheerfully have sacrificed the sheep. 
 Now we both regretted its long back and its parted 
 hair although neither he nor I was likely to visit 
 the church again. But Mr. Hodges, I think, found 
 me a more congenial companion nowadays than 
 he did in my earlier youth, and he often came and 
 sat in the garden and talked to me and made 
 amiable suggestions about the garden, very fitted 
 for Kensington but scarcely suitable for our lovely 
 and luxuriant little spot. One day it struck me 
 that he was not quite at his ease, and he told me 
 at last that Basil was up at the Manor House and 
 that he thought he saw too much of " that long 
 woman." By that he meant Lady Arundel, his 
 idea of beauty coincided with Leech's plump pretty 
 round matrons of the late forties and fifties, he 
 could not endure du Maurier's giantesses which were 
 coming rapidly into real life out of the pictures in 
 Punch, and anything over five-feet-four was dreadful 
 to him. Lady Arundel towered over him and 
 Basil in the most imperial and uncomfortable 
 manner, and I had noticed he always sat down 
 rapidly when she approached as if to minimise as 
 
 121 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 soon as he possibly could the enormous difference 
 between them. Personally I agreed with Mr. 
 Hodges. I do not like giantesses any more 
 than he does, and I have always found small 
 people go farther and do more than big ones, 
 which is perhaps the reason why there are so few 
 geniuses in the market at the present day. 
 AU the same I admired and always shall admire 
 Lady Arundel, her grey almond-shaped eyes, 
 her magnificent black hair shading to red in its 
 folds, and her lovely figure. How could any man 
 resist her in the way this stout old City merchant 
 did ? Well ! I for one could not were I a man, I 
 am sure. Still I did not think that he need be 
 anxious about Basil, he was so bound up in his 
 art, he only went up to the Manor to paint his 
 picture and give an occasional lesson to Lady 
 Arundel, and he had never even said he admired 
 her, albeit he knew that I did most sincerely, not 
 as a woman, but rather as an objet de luxe! 
 All the same I could not prevent him telUng Basil 
 of his fears, and though Basil laughed a little I 
 thought his laugh was forced, and I did not for the 
 first time wonder if he were succumbing to the syren. 
 Fortunately once more, just at that moment, the 
 Egertons arrived again on the scene and cards 
 became the order of the day, and Basil, his easel 
 and his paints, prepared to leave the Manor House, 
 at all events until they again went back to town. 
 Something, however, made the Egertons less wel- 
 come at the Manor House than they had been, and 
 
 122 
 
DRAWING-LESSONS 
 
 I heard that Sir John had at once put down his 
 foot, and refused to allow a single game of any 
 sort or kind to be played for money. Mr. Howells 
 had heard Jack Egerton offer to bet Maxie six to 
 one on something or other, I think on the number 
 of pilchards that the boats would bring into the 
 bay at sundown, and he had gone at once to 
 Sir John. Inquiries had been made, a certain 
 amount of plain speaking indulged in, and Mr. 
 Egerton who, bar his taste for a gamble, was not 
 a bad sort had laughed, apologised, and refused to 
 play cards, tennis, or indeed anything at the Manor 
 on any pretext whatever. When she was angered 
 Lady Arundel had a way of looking at Sir John 
 that told us aU just what she felt, only naturally 
 she never put her feelings into speech. The Eger- 
 tons cooled off, she merely shrugged her shoulders, 
 suggested " old maid " or " beggar my neighbour " 
 in which we, Basil and the children could join, and 
 finally went off down towards the Cove where Basil 
 was painting, with her sketch-book, shared his sand- 
 wiches and the contents of his flask, and did not 
 return home until time to dress for dinner. When 
 this had happened every day for a week I could 
 control old Mr. Hodges no longer. So he went 
 down to the Cove and sat down by the couple on 
 a very uncomfortable camp-stool reading the daily 
 paper or some innocent book of which until he 
 came to Portredoc he had never heard. He was 
 perfectly enraptured with " Alice in Wonderland," 
 and once more read over with joy Dickens and 
 
 123 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 Thackeray, books he had never had time for read- 
 ing in Kensington Park Gardens, he said : busiaess 
 all day and dinner-parties at night-time tired him out, 
 and he had never really lived untU he came down to 
 our quiet little home. At last Mr. Hodges spoke 
 to Sir John, most quietly, most respectfully. The 
 tiny title impressed the good old merchant more 
 than a much larger one would nowadays impress 
 one of the men who have taken his place, and 
 indeed, have only too often titles of their own. He 
 said Basil's work was being interrupted, he wanted 
 to finish his work before the autumn, of course he was 
 proud to help her ladyship, all the same, might the 
 lessons stop until the dark days came, and out-of-door 
 work was impossible ? Sir John quite understood the 
 dear old man, and was not the least hurt or offended, 
 he knew Lady Arundel's tricks too well he thought, 
 to see in her attentions to Basil anything save a means 
 of passing the time. He might have said, but did 
 not naturally, how often Lady Arundel had laughed 
 at the small delicate plain little man with his short- 
 sighted eyes that yet saw everything in some 
 mysterious manner, and his commonplace parent- 
 age and his lack of power to pay her the courtly 
 compliments on which she fed, as bees feed on the 
 pollen of flowers. AH the same. Sir John walked 
 down to the Cove, begged his wife to come out for 
 a drive and told her very plainly that she had no 
 business to waste Basil's time, more especially as he 
 had flatly refused to be paid for his services either 
 about the house, or the lessons he gave her quite 
 124 
 
O 
 
DRAWING-LESSONS 
 
 as a matter of course. I think the devil himself 
 entered into Lady Arundel : anyhow, she was so 
 entirely bored at Portredoc that she was mad, 
 simply mad, to get away. The Egertons had failed 
 as far as gambling was concerned ; she could not 
 indulge in her love of finery to any great extent, 
 and she was ripe and ready for any mischief that 
 came her away. Now and then Sir John would 
 take her for a couple of days' visit to one of the 
 houses round, but she always returned vowing that 
 nothing on earth would induce her to go again, all 
 the people were fossils ; all they cared for was the 
 local chatter, what the sermon was about last 
 Sunday, the delinquencies of their servants or else 
 what their gardens had in them, or had not in them, 
 that seemed a more fruitful subject than anything 
 else, while their poultry-yards also gave them a 
 good deal to talk of. What had she in common 
 with such nonsense as all that? I suggested to 
 her that the talk she heard in London was much 
 the same ; books, plays, pictures, did not interest 
 her in the least. She only cared to hear gossip 
 about the Court, who was to marry whom, who 
 was to be divorced or ought to be divorced; 
 narrowed down what was the difference between 
 the talk at the castle about the quarrels between 
 the local duke and the duchess, and what was said 
 of princes and princesses ? Were the delinquencies 
 of the Marquis of Carabas more stirring than those 
 of John Polwarth, whose conduct had kept a whole 
 village in alarm for a month ? While surely the good 
 
 125 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 old vicar's sermon was a better subject for discus- 
 sion than the society papers, which told one thing 
 one week in order that they might fill their columns, 
 the next with a series of letters conveying the most 
 substantial contradictions of the matter in question ! 
 Of course I did not understand her : no one under- 
 stood her ; well, thank goodness she was going to the 
 castle next week for one night. Then unfortunately, 
 she heard there was to be a very large house-party ; 
 she was in rags, she could not go. Sir John groaned 
 and let her order three new frocks ; he wanted the 
 money badly for something else, indeed, the water- 
 supply at the Manor House was found to be all 
 wrong, that must be seen to at once, and that meant 
 spending. But the permission to buy the dresses 
 gave Sir John such heavenly peace for at least a week 
 that he almost forgot the water, and imagined he 
 was back in the days of his honeymoon, or the days 
 after Maxie was born, the only happy days he had 
 ever had, poor man, the only happy ones he was 
 ever to have, on this earth at any rate. Urged by 
 numerous telegrams and a letter from Sir John 
 himself, the dresses came down in time, and Lady 
 Arundel went off in the highest possible spirits to 
 the castle, promising to tell me all about the people 
 and the dresses, for, " pretend as I might, of course 
 I liked to hear all about them even if I did not care 
 to join in the revels myself." 
 
 126 
 
o 
 
 H 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 A CLOUD-BURST 
 
 Not long ago I read the description of what the 
 newspapers called a cloud-burst, and I think what 
 happened now at Portredoc may be likened unto 
 that most extraordinary freak of nature. All 
 looked serene and ordinary enough when Sir John 
 and Lady Arundel went oiF to the castle, when 
 they returned everything was in a maze of misery, 
 and I for one most sincerely hope I shall never go 
 through such a time again. Twenty years ago the 
 horrible motors had not ^|rrived on our country 
 roads, and telegrams weri; almost if not quite 
 unknown in Cornwall, the castle was thirty miles 
 by road from Portredoc, it stood quite by itself 
 and was only reached by driving. Sir John had 
 really the only decent pair of horses in the place, 
 he had taken them as well as the mare and the cart 
 with the luggage, he had made no arrangements 
 to communicate with the Manor, although the one 
 day's visit had been extended to from Thursday to 
 Monday as the duke found one of Sir John's old 
 brothers in arms was staying at the castle and it 
 
 127 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 would give both men much pleasure to meet once 
 more and talk over their old campaigning days 
 again. So judge of my alarm when Dr. Vivian 
 came to see me early on Friday morning, much 
 earlier than I wanted to see him, to tell me he was 
 worried about Cecy Arundel and asked me if 
 I would go up and see the child and talk to Dobbs. 
 Dobbs, the imperturbable Dobbs, didn't like the 
 look of the child ; Maxie had invariably been a 
 "worrit," but Cecy was always sweet-tempered, and 
 yet she fretted all night and nothing Dobbs could 
 do would please her ; so unhke the dear good child. 
 Dobbs was certain she was sickening for something, 
 though what it could be neither Dr. Vivian nor 
 Dobbs could imagine. There wasn't a measle in 
 the place, and as the grounds were large Cecy 
 never left them except to play on the sands, and 
 even to reach those they only went down the 
 private path to the sea. My experience with 
 children had been large but, fortunately for me, 
 illness had never come my way to any great extent, 
 and I was a firm believer with Maxie's tutor that, 
 given fresh air and common-sense food and clothing, 
 sickness need not trouble an ordinary well-managed 
 nursery. But we had always had one rule, given 
 a temperature above normal bed must be resorted 
 to until it went down. Cecy's temperature was 
 over 100, she was ill, very unreasonable and 
 uncomfortable, but we must wait and see what the 
 day would bring forth. 
 
 I do not know why, but I felt far more anxious 
 128 
 
A CLOUD-BURST 
 
 about the child than her symptoms appeared to 
 warrant, more especially as the useful Dobbs dis- 
 solved into tears, no doubt the effects of her bad 
 night, and declared she would not be left alone with 
 no one but the servants. Dr. Vivian owned to me 
 he was anxious, aU the same he had his long round 
 to do, there were patients requiring him more 
 urgently, a new baby even on the point of arriving 
 at one of the scattered farm-houses. He could not 
 spend the day at the Manor, all he could do was to 
 come in on his way back and see what the child 
 was like then. " Most hkely," he said cheerfully, 
 "she will be all right, children are up and down 
 like Jacks-in-the-box you know. Probably she has 
 eaten something that has disagreed with her, don't 
 let Maxie in until I have been again, it may be 
 something catching, I can't possibly tell," and off 
 he bustled, poor harassed man, on the long weary 
 round over heath and moor and rough wild roads ; 
 always loved, always welcomed, always with a 
 word of comfort. Even if the worst had to be 
 told, Dr. Vivian had a way of telling it that it took 
 away half the sting, he was so genuinely sorry and 
 genuinely grieved, his patients were one and all his 
 dear friends and he loved them. He did not look 
 on them as a mere source of income, indeed often 
 enough they were anything in the world save that, 
 albeit all paid when the pilchards came in or when 
 the times were good, and in the meantime the 
 doctor waited. The farmers kept his table and 
 often his stable going. Mrs. Vivian was a splendid 
 
 I 129 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 manager and no one seemed to want anything 
 in that cheery household. 
 
 I never felt quite so uncomfortable in my life as 
 when I watched his spare tall figure ride away from 
 the hall door and found myself in charge of the 
 weeping Dobbs, and the poor little fretful invalid : 
 Cecy's pretty curls were all straight and damp on 
 her pillow, she tossed to and fro restlessly, asked now 
 for this toy, now for that doll, now to be taken up 
 and nursed, now to be laid down once more ; she 
 was so tired, so tired. Of aU terrible things on 
 earth a sick small child is the worst, it cannot 
 explain, it cannot be patient, it cannot understand. 
 Cecy was four years old now, but she had never 
 been ill in her life ; and I soon felt as if I should 
 copy Dobbs and burst into the silly tears that she 
 allowed to course down her cheeks and never tried 
 %o stop, though I fancy her weeping bothered the 
 child as much as even her own illness did. The 
 post goes out quite early at Portredoc, and without 
 waiting for the doctor, I sat down at Lady Arundel's 
 frivolous writing-table, and using her disagreeably 
 scented mauve paper and idiotic gold pen, told her 
 just how matters stood, and that Cecy's temperature 
 had risen since Dr. Vivian left us, and that I did not 
 like the responsibility of the charge at all. I further 
 told her that unless the doctor was going into the 
 town I could not wire in the morning, and even if 
 I did, I was not at all sure that a telegram would 
 reach the castle, though no doubt the duke had 
 a private wire. Of all helpless creatures in the 
 130 
 
A CLOUD-BURST 
 
 world, a woman in a country house miles from a 
 town, with no available man on the place, and 
 above all no horses, is the most helpless, or I should 
 say, was. Now motors and telephones save the endless 
 trouble and anxiety, and no one can suffer now as 
 I did for the first thirty-six hours after Cecy Arundel 
 was taken iU. How well I recollect a similar kind 
 of misery ten years before that one, when one of 
 our own children was ill near London, and I was 
 shut away in a dense fog in a deserted place ; for 
 three days and nights there was no post, no tele- 
 graph office open. It was at Mahun, where the 
 religious folk banned all letters and wires from 
 Good Friday until Easter Monday. Nothing 
 came in or went out from the wretched place, 
 and at Portredoc it was even worse. We were 
 twelve miles from Tredickor where the nearest 
 telegraph station was ; we had one post a day, and 
 the only men on the estate were the gardeners, 
 none of whom could have walked the twenty-four 
 miles to save their own lives, let alone the life of 
 Cecy Arundel. I could only rely on my letter 
 reaching Lady Arundel in the morning and so 
 alarming her that she and Sir John and the horses 
 would come back at once and relieve me from my 
 post. Mrs. Vivian came up just when I was hoping 
 to see the doctor, and told me that he was detained 
 at the farm and could not possibly leave at present. 
 By this time, Cecy's temperature had risen rapidly, 
 and she was lying with her eyes turned up, and her 
 hands twitching in the most alarming manner 
 
 131 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 possible. I would never have believed that a child 
 viTould have failed so rapidly ; only twenty-four 
 hours ago the little thing had been playing happily 
 out on the lawn with Maxie and the dogs. Now she 
 looked as if she were dying, and we none of us had 
 the least idea of what we ought to do. Naturally I 
 did not want to spend the night at the Manor. I had 
 my own household to look after and my own affairs 
 to attend to as, indeed, had Mrs. Vivian, and at last, 
 in despair, I interviewed Mr. Howells, and begged 
 his assistance. Alas ! he told me that he had 
 felt very anxious all day about Maxie, he was 
 utterly unhke himself, very tired, sleepy, and as he 
 expressed it, his legs were one large ache, and he 
 felt sure they belonged to some one else and not to 
 him. I peeped in at the little fellow as he lay on 
 the schoolroom sofa, gazing out over the sea, and 
 at once saw that whatever ailed his sister ailed him, 
 and therefore I had no scruples on the score of 
 going into the room and using the thermometer. 
 Yes, his temperature was up too ; of course Mr. 
 Howells could not leave him, and my somewhat 
 wild idea that he should walk in to Tredickor, wire 
 to the Arundels, and then hire something to drive 
 back in fell to the ground. I must e'en try what 
 the vicar could suggest, albeit he was an old man 
 with a very much older horse, and I did not feel 
 very hopeful that he could give me anything save 
 advice. On my way to the vicarage I met Basil 
 and told him of our dilemma : with his usual calm 
 common sense he advised me to wait until 
 132 
 
A CLOUD-BURST 
 
 to-morrow. Nothing could be done that night, if 
 Dr. Vivian thought it best he would himself go in 
 to Tredickor on his bicycle, and first thing in the 
 morning would wire to the Arundels, and then 
 whatever happened the responsibility would be off 
 our shoulders. I shall never forget that night as 
 long as I Uve. Cecy lay now absolutely still, 
 burning with fever and talking to herself; but 
 Maxie was in and out of bed, shouting, struggling, 
 raving, and when Dr. Vivian did come he told us 
 he wanted ice, a couple of trained nurses and a 
 doctor on the spot, and that we must manage to 
 send in to the hospital at Tredickor somehow and 
 get all these things at once, if nurses and doctor 
 can be called things, though by now we were all 
 far too much alarmed to think of our grammar or 
 phraseology ! Basil at once went off on his bicycle ; 
 it was a horrible road and up hill and down dale, 
 and of course it was a very dark night ; all the 
 same, when he had started we felt that we had some 
 hope, even if daylight came before the relief did. 
 We had Dr. Vivian, at any rate for the present, and 
 could only trust no one worse off than we were 
 would send for him. I wonder why the ordinary 
 servant becomes worse than useless the instant 
 real help is required from her ? One would have 
 thought that Dobbs at least would have risen to 
 the occasion : but instead of that she wept, wailed, 
 and wrung her hands, until Dr. Vivian at last 
 turned her out of the room, and he, Mrs. Vivian, 
 Mr. Howells, and I did all we could for the poor 
 
 133 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 dear bairns. Oh! happy people of to-day, think 
 what you are saved by the swift transit of messages : 
 the advance in science and knowledge that would 
 make such a night as we spent almost impossible ! 
 We had no antitoxin to inject: I do not even 
 know if it were invented in 1890, I am sure at 
 any rate Dr. Vivian had no store, even if he had 
 ever heard of that miracle-working stuff. It was 
 malignant diphtheria, malignant! The children 
 could not swallow, at least Cecy could not : aU we 
 could do was to wet her lips with brandy, and hope 
 and hope ! Mr. Howells, fortunately, had taught 
 Maxie to obey him mechanically, and he managed 
 to make him swallow anything Dr. Vivian thought 
 he ought. Then came the welcome dawn, then the 
 still more welcome sound of horses, a hired carriage 
 came up the drive, there were the nurses and the 
 ice, and above all a young, smart doctor, who could 
 relieve our good friend and let him snatch an hour's 
 rest before beginning his usual day's work. Basil 
 was waiting to wire to the castle, he would return 
 later on ; in the meantime the latest news was to 
 be sent back to Tredickor by the carriage ; if there 
 were no need to wire so much the better, if there 
 were he was on the spot. Nurse Mildred told me 
 at once that she did not believe that Cecy could 
 live until the evening, and any qualms I had had 
 respecting my letter of alarm to Lady Arundel 
 vanished on the spot ; no doubt she and Sir John 
 would leave the moment the post was in, and 
 therefore at latest they would be home at one 
 134 
 
A CLOUD-BURST 
 
 o'clock. But the day passed somehow, one o'clock, 
 two o'clock, the post had to be caught, the next 
 day was Sunday. No letters were allowed at the 
 castle on that day; the duke was a rigid old- 
 world Sabbatarian ; if the Arundels did not come 
 to-day they would never see Cecy ahve again, and 
 there was even a doubt if Maxie could survive until 
 they arrived. Basil returned and told me he had 
 sent his wire off before eleven, " Come at once, 
 children very ill," as soon as he received the note 
 I sent him by the Tredickor carriage, but still there 
 was no sign of the Arundels. At eight that evening 
 Cecy opened her sweet blue eyes for the last time, 
 stretched out her little limbs as if she were dread- 
 fully tired, smiled at something she appeared to 
 see, gave one sigh and passed away into the shadows. 
 We had almost to stifle Dobbs lest her hysterical 
 screams should disturb Maxie, but we managed to 
 get her away. Dr. Vivian and I put her to bed by 
 force and he gave her a strong sleeping draught ; 
 the nurse, Mr. Prescott and Mr. Howells were 
 sufficient for Maxie. The Vivians and I could go 
 home, wondering, wondering where the Arundels 
 were and how we should meet Sir John, who 
 worshipped his children and could scarcely bear 
 them out of his sight. Dr. Vivian was certain at 
 once that Lady Arundel had suppressed both letter 
 and wire, but Basil was equally sure that she could 
 never do anything of the kind. In her casual way 
 she liked the children, or rather she liked Cecy, 
 her pretty face and ways, and loved dressing her 
 
 135 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 up and seeing her attract attention from her guests. 
 Maxie was "rather a bore"; he had quick eyes 
 and had seen a good deal too much at Bourget to 
 please her ; but at any rate boys went off to school 
 and college, and she would not have anything to do 
 with him really, so he did not trouble her, especially 
 now Mr. Howells had him so well in hand. But 
 Sir John ! Poor Sir John ! Once more BasU came 
 to our rescue ; he could get a horse from one of 
 the farmers five miles off and he would ride over to 
 the castle. Sunday or no Sunday, the Arundels 
 must return. Cecy was dead, but Maxie was yet 
 alive, indeed was just a trifle better. Still there 
 were reasons why Sir John must be on the spot, 
 even if Lady Arundel, with her abject dread of 
 infection, refused to come back until it was safe to 
 do so. At this suggestion, made by Dr. Vivian, 
 who had his own opinion of her ladyship, Basil 
 almost lost his temper. We had all passed through 
 a hideous time, we loved the children, we 
 had seen one die, it is a thing that shakes the 
 strongest nerves. We were all ready to drop with 
 fatigue and harrowed feelings. AU the same, it was 
 not a time to even spar, let alone quarrel. We 
 changed the subject, spoke of the beauty of the 
 early October night, and wondered if Cecy had 
 reached a new home beyond the lovely stars, or if 
 her dear little frame would turn into flowers her- 
 self ; and all that was really left us would be the 
 memory of her sweet and darling childish ways. 
 Dr. Vivian, childless himself, could not help saying 
 136 
 
A CLOUD-BURST 
 
 that the child was better off under any circumstances. 
 At best life was more pain than pleasure : at its 
 worst it was a thing to shudder at. He never 
 ushered a smaU infant into the world without being 
 most sincerely sorry for it. He never stood beside 
 a death-bed without almost wishing it were his 
 own. Mrs. Vivian looked unhappily at him. " If 
 it were not for you," he added gruffly. The good 
 doctor hated sentiment, but he adored his dear 
 little wife, and had truly never wanted a child: 
 neither indeed had she. They had each other, 
 plenty of work, plenty of interests, and if they 
 could only die together, that was all they wished to 
 end up their Ufe-history. We were all melancholy, 
 and try how we might we could not alter the note. 
 Melancholy seemed in the air. Suppose Maxie 
 had gone too 1 Dr. Vivian did not beheve he 
 would die. Somehow the little girl had never 
 seemed strong. Then we wondered at the cause, 
 and Dr. Vivian at once spoke of the water. He 
 had warned Lady Arundel, and he had told all the 
 servants individually that it must be boiled. No 
 doubt the children had helped themselves to the 
 clear sparkling stuff. He had told Sir John him- 
 self, perhaps not as often as he ought, not as often 
 as he had spoken to the rest of the household. 
 
 Then we once more changed the subject, until 
 Basil turned down to his house and I went with 
 the doctor, to ask him sundry questions about dis- 
 infection before 1 went into our house. Then the 
 doctor literally let himself go. He had repeatedly 
 
 137 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 told Lady Arundel about the water, and she had 
 promised in a hazy sort of manner to see to it her- 
 self. Sir John hated workmen, they were hard 
 up, they were leaving home for a month in town. 
 What could make it suddenly bad, they had been 
 there more than a year now, it was absurd ! Dr. 
 Vivian had explained that the long hot summer 
 had lessened the ordinary supply, and in fact he 
 had demonstrated somewhat forcibly that delay 
 was nothing short of murder. "Of course," he 
 added, " I ought to have rubbed it in to Sir John, 
 but I seldom see him, and I didn't think her quite 
 as selfish as she must be. Honestly I feel sure 
 she suppressed your letter and the wire. Well ! I 
 would not be in her shoes when Sir John hears, 
 and I do not envy Hodges his job either I " Will 
 it be believed that the whole of Sunday passed, 
 and neither the Arundels nor Basil returned to 
 Portredoc ! Maxie was still not out of danger by 
 a long way; but Mr. Prescott and the nurse 
 were hopefiil. Mr. Howells had had some sleep. 
 Now our trouble was the frantic and unappeasable 
 Dobbs. Mad with terror, first of infection and then 
 of what Sir John would say, she insisted on leaving 
 Portredoc at once. She would go in a cart or 
 anything, but go she must and would. No cart 
 being available, she absolutely set out to walk the 
 twelve miles to Tredickor until Dr. Vivian caught 
 her, told her she was in quarantine for some days, 
 and conducting her back to her room gave her such 
 a sermon that she shook in her shoes, demanded 
 138 
 
A CLOUD-BURST 
 
 her Bible and her dinner, locked her door, and re- 
 mained locked up until the doctor allowed her to 
 leave, which she did, forgetting her dignity, by the 
 back door, at the end of a fortnight. Poor Dobbs, 
 and poor creatures similar to Dobbs ! — useful enough 
 in fine weather and when all goes well, but in 
 storm and stress a real danger to the community. 
 She and her mistress were made out of the same 
 material, I think, and were equally useless and 
 selfish members of this human family of ours ! At 
 any rate she considerably added to our burden, 
 which as the day drew to a close seemed well-nigh 
 insupportable. About nine o'clock Basil returned 
 alone, his sixty-mile ride has been of no avail. 
 The Arundels were out for the day with all the 
 duke's party, gone to Truro Cathedral or some 
 such place ; he was too done up to be cross-ques- 
 tioned after his long, heavy day. He had left the 
 farmer's horse at the castle, and returned on one 
 of the duke's. He had left a long letter for Sir 
 John ; it was no good waiting, for they were not 
 expected back until very late, as they were dining 
 with some of the county magnates. Basil had 
 seen the good old duke and duchess, the letter 
 and telegram came no doubt, but no one had spoken 
 of them ; wires came constantly to the castle, for, 
 as we had supposed, the duke had his private wire. 
 Lady Arundel could not have received or read 
 them. She must have put them on one side. 
 Sir John had been out shooting all Saturday, the 
 house-party was very large ; much gayer than the 
 
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MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 duchess expected or liked, but the young people's 
 friends were not such as were her own ; and she 
 supposed times had altered since her day. It was 
 easy for us who were prejudiced to read between 
 the Hnes ; but we said nothing to Basil. I went 
 back to the Manor House to spend the night and 
 see what could be done. The dear little child was 
 in her tiny last bed ; the doctors agreed that she 
 must for the sake of the living be shut away from 
 our sight for evermore, and I had just arranged the 
 coffin in the private chapel (never used nowadays) 
 with flowers and all the white loveliness I could 
 command when Sir John strode in. Thank Heaven 
 that the coffin was closed ! He threw himself down 
 beside it, clasped it in his arms and sobbed as I 
 hope I may never hear any one sob again, deep 
 long-tearing sobs which appeared to rend his frame 
 and shook him in a manner horrible to behold. I 
 was slipping away when he moved and spoke. I 
 shall not write down what he said ; it would do no 
 good, only harm even now, for Maxie never knew 
 how Cecy died, and he certainly never shall. But 
 at last our dear good old vicar and the doctor came 
 in. I got away to look for Lady Arundel to find 
 she was not there ; she was prostrate, overwhelmed, 
 at the castle, and would return as soon as ever she 
 could. It was imperative to keep everything away 
 from Maxie, and this, I think, helped us with 
 Sir John more than anything else could have done ; 
 and moreover, Basil had had the inspiration to 
 make a sketch of Cecy lying smiling on her bed, 
 140 
 
A CLOUD-BURST 
 
 looking far more like a sleeping angel than a little 
 dead child. It had all happened, remember, between 
 Thursday when Sir John left home and the Saturday 
 night ; it was late Sunday before he heard ; it was 
 not a time to ask questions, there was the child to 
 bury, Maxie to nurse, to save ; a hundred things to 
 do it seemed to me. Of course I told Sir John of 
 my Friday's letter and Basil's Saturday wire ; but 
 luckUy he had not yet begun to wonder how it 
 was neither had been communicated to him ; that 
 came later on, naturally. The whole fortnight 
 until Maxie could sit up was a nightmare, then he 
 was moved slowly to our house, nurse and Mr. 
 Howells and all, the Manor was cleared except for 
 the workmen, and the horse having been very much 
 stolen the stable door was closed and kept locked 
 for ever. In other words the water-supply was 
 placed above reproach, and until that was done 
 Lady Arundel never came near the place, Cecy 
 was dead, Maxie was in good hands she con- 
 descended to say,'she should have the horrors if she 
 came near the Manor ; Maxie would join her and 
 Sir John later on in town ; she meant to go to the 
 Riviera for the winter. Portredoc would not see her, 
 she could assure us, until the hateful dark days had 
 gone, and she had in a measure got over the awful 
 blow that she had sustained. But the day after 
 the workmen had gone, we were astonished to hear 
 that Sir John and his wife were expected at the 
 Manor House. An entirely new staff of servants 
 had arrived from Tredickor, even Mr. Howells 
 
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MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 would have been banished had Lady Arundel had 
 her way, but naturally that was not allowed, though 
 she declared she could not bear to see any one who 
 reminded her of her terrible sorrow. We all took 
 counsel together and agreed that Maxie should 
 stay on where he was untU we had positive orders 
 to return him to his home. Maxie had altered, too, 
 in a curious manner since his illness, he had grown 
 very tall and thia, and looked all his eight years, 
 and we were sorely put to it to reply to his many 
 questions about Cecy and where she had gone, and 
 why God had allowed her to be iU and die. Thank- 
 ful was I that Mrs. Vivian undertook this part of 
 the matter, and told him that we aU felt sure that 
 Cecy was a thousand times happier now than she 
 had ever been in her little life, and that God had 
 had nothing to do with her iUness. It was much 
 better to let Maxie know that the carelessness of man 
 had allowed the water to become poisonous than 
 to suggest for one moment that God had of malice 
 prepense sent the horrible disease to Cecy. In my 
 childhood's days this would have been stated with- 
 out a murmur, and in consequence I for one was 
 given a very low estimate of the Supreme Being. 
 How much better to say at once our stupidity causes 
 illness. I always think of that line of Tennyson's : 
 
 " The parson said it were God, 
 Miss Annie she said it were drains " 
 in similar cases, and have never blamed God 
 for what most certainly He has never had any- 
 thing to do with at all. How weU I recollect 
 142 
 
A CLOUD-BURST 
 
 an old acquaintance of mine turning up her 
 eyes in pious resignation when it " pleased God " 
 to slay her husband with typhoid fever, it 
 was " God's will " she said, yet surely God never 
 intended him to clear out a horrible cess-pool 
 because he had not patience to wait until the men 
 who were used to the task came to the rescue ? But 
 Maxie was not told such nonsense as this, neither 
 was he allowed to brood over the loss of his little 
 sister. Mrs. Vivian used the somewhat way-worn 
 simile of the clothes Maxie put off at night to 
 explain the relation to his soul and body ; and just 
 as Cecy's clothes were left, so it was the little body 
 only that was laid in the earth to be tenderly 
 thought of, just as her doll and toys were thought 
 about because they had been hers, but that were not 
 Cecy any more than the little white frocks were, 
 which I longed to give away before the mother 
 returned, but dare not, they were so costly and all 
 trimmed with such wonderful lace and embroidery 
 and ribands. Sir John came down to our house as 
 soon as he arrived at the Manor to see Maxie and 
 arrange for his return, and he told me he could not 
 understand Lady Arundel at all and feared her 
 brain had been affected by the shock. "She 
 actually went to the theatre," he said, " and she is 
 wearing her ordinary clothes ; indeed 1 was obliged 
 to get her mourning myself; London is fortunately 
 not very full just now, but it seemed to me we met 
 every soul we have ever known and I am tired 
 of trying to explain things that are absolutely 
 
 143 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 unexplainable." Then he added slowly, " There is 
 that matter about your letter and Mr. Hodges' wire : 
 both came to the castle, but Antoinette says 'What, 
 what ? ' when I ask her about them, and I dare not 
 go into the business yet. Really she becomes 
 almost rigid with agony if 1 speak of that time at 
 alL Still she craves after every sort of gaiety, and 
 if I left the hotel for an hour she had gone off 
 somewhere or other, to see some one or buy some- 
 thing new. I think I must get Vivian to see her." 
 I suggested that perhaps if Sir John could make 
 up his mind to let her go to the South for the 
 winter it would be better, but he owned at once 
 that such a thing was quite out of the question. 
 He had been put to very great expense over the 
 drainage work and the illness generally, and one 
 cannot have a resident doctor and a couple of 
 trained nurses for three weeks without expense. 
 The purchase of the Manor had made careful living 
 imperative for some little time, they must remain 
 at home imtU he could see his way better than he 
 did at the moment, " and indeed," he said with a 
 sigh, " I have not the spirits to leave Portredoc 
 again and I cannot let Antoinette go off alone. 
 That cursed love of cards and gambling is a mad- 
 ness with her, and her friends are all the same 
 stamp." Naturally I said nothing except that I 
 knew and that I was sorry : but I utterly declined 
 the task of interviewing Lady Arundel, and en- 
 deavouring to find out about the warnings sent 
 to her on the subject of Cecy's illness. What 
 144 
 
A CLOUD-BURST 
 
 good would it do? It could not bring the 
 dear child back, and if, as 1 felt certain, Lady 
 Arundel were to blame, the certainty would only 
 make things a thousand times worse for Sir 
 John than they were at present. A timely inter- 
 ruption was caused by Basil's entrance, he had 
 seen Sir John come in at our porch and wanted to 
 know if he thought Lady Arundel would be equal 
 yet to looking at the sketch he had made of the 
 little chUd. Sir John turned white and trembled > 
 he held out his hand and took the picture, and 
 gazed as if he could never look away. It was a 
 most exquisite little gem, and was the image of 
 Cecy asleep, as I said before. She did not look 
 dead ; she was as alive as she had ever been, and 
 Sir John's agitation was painful and excessive, while 
 he strove to find words in which to express his 
 gratitude. It was impossible, looking at Basil's 
 sketch, to think of death, only of the most exqui- 
 site peace and rest imaginable. Much as Sir John 
 worshipped his little daughter, I fancy he had 
 begun to understand that life is not always the best 
 gift of the gods. An unopened rose is always 
 delightful. The fuU-blown flower tossed and torn 
 by rain and tempest is invariably a wreck, and 
 women had hard times anyhow. Cecy might have 
 an inheritance from her mother that would have 
 caused good Sir John more real agony than even 
 the loss of his darling had I Not that he said so, of 
 course, to us, but I could not help thinking that he 
 recognised this, now he saw how sweet and perfect 
 
 K 145 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 was the countenance of his dearly loved dead child. 
 Maxie coming in, gazed at the picture lovingly, 
 and said he was glad we had that picture, but that 
 he wished Mr. Hodges could have drawn Cecy's 
 soul as well. This of course led to explanations^ 
 and I think dear old-fashioned Sir John was rather 
 shocked at our teaching, he would much prefer to 
 blame God than his own carelessness, Antoinette's 
 selfishness, or the hot dry summer. All the same 
 he graciously allowed Maxie another day or two 
 with us. Naturally his mother was dreadfully tired 
 after her journey. She would perhaps go out if she 
 were obliged to do so to see Maxie. Anyhow, it 
 might be as well to try the experiment. She had, 
 it appeared, declared loudly that nothing should 
 ever take her outside the Manor gates again, if Sir 
 John insisted on her retiring to what she was 
 pleased to call "that plague-pit," and Sir John 
 went away carrying Cecy's picture, from which he 
 would not be parted, though Basil wished to put it 
 in an appropriate frame, designed by him, and in 
 course of manufacture at the enamel works at 
 Tredickor, of silver and purple enamel with pansies 
 and rosemary and ivy intertwined, with initials and 
 dates and " dere childe " on it, in imitation of the 
 well-known epitaph in the Abbey in London. It 
 must have been a painful shock to Sir John when 
 his wife gave one shriek at sight of the picture, and 
 cowering down in her bed, ordered him to take it 
 away and never let her hear of Or see it again. She 
 wanted to forget — she would forget — grief would 
 146 
 
A CLOUD-BURST 
 
 nbt bring the child back. She could not, would 
 not live under the shadow of death. If Sir John 
 wished to spend his days among tombs, let him. 
 She would go somewhere else, anywhere. She 
 could not, would not live at the Manor, full of 
 Cecy's toys and clothes, which that imbecile Dobbs 
 of course ought to have cleared away. If not 
 Dobbs, then I should have done it, and of course 
 would have done it had I had any sense at all, 
 or else Mrs. Vivian. Surely some one might 
 have spared her the sight of the nursery looking 
 just as if Cecy were only out in the garden 
 and could come in at any minute as usual. 
 Shrieking hysterics now began, and poor Sir 
 John being utterly worsted and puzzled left her 
 with her maid and sent off for Dr. Vivian. But 
 the sight of the doctor produced more and still 
 shriller screams, he reminded her so of that 
 dreadful time 1 All the same. Dr. Vivian had not 
 wrestled with Dobbs for nothing, he had also a fair 
 experience of hysterical selfish women and he soon 
 reduced her ladyship to tears by speaking sternly 
 to her and telling her that she could stop her 
 screams when she chose, and that if she were not 
 quiet he should think nothing of emptjdng a pail 
 of water over the elaborately flounced and trimmed 
 pillows and satin quilt, to say nothing of Lady 
 Arundel herself. He flatly refused to give her 
 the sleeping draught she demanded, unlike poor 
 Dobbs she could control herself if she chose ; and 
 prescribing a mutton chop and, vulgar creature ! 
 
 147 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 a glass of beer, he left her and went down to the 
 unfortunate husband who sat with his head on his 
 hands gazing at Cecy's portrait and wondering 
 what on earth he should do with the rest of his life. 
 Dr. Vivian's long talk with Sir John helped him 
 just a little, but the doctor declared to us after- 
 wards that he had never met with a more hopeless 
 case. " If there were a man in the place she could go 
 off with she would, I am sure," he said; "fortunately 
 there is not, and she is far too fond of herself and 
 dreads pain too much to drown herself, but she is 
 enough to spoil that splendid fellow's life. I can't 
 for the life of me see why he married her, or how 
 he can care for her, and yet he does ; all he will not 
 do is to allow her her head. In my case I should 
 give her an allowance and let her depart to the 
 devil the quickest way she can." I reminded him 
 of Maxie, of Sir John's pride of birth, of his spotless 
 career, of his real love for the beautiful tiresome 
 creature, but the doctor seemed to think nothing 
 mattered but the fact that she was bound to go to 
 the bad, and the sooner she went the better. " As 
 to Sir John's love for her," he added, "it's my 
 opinion it's on its last legs ; he has his suspicions 
 about the letter you wrote to her, to say nothing of 
 Hodges' wire, then he would talk about the drain- 
 age. I could not say I had not repeatedly warned 
 Lady Arundel about the water, and I also said I had 
 told him more than once ; but at last I had to fall 
 back on the old idea that what is done is done, and 
 it's no good making oneself wretched about things 
 148 
 
A CLOUD-BURST 
 
 that have happened. All he said was — • Ah I Dr. 
 Vivian, you never had a child I ' And when I said 
 ' No, thank God,' he looked so shocked I had to 
 come away." I told the doctor he should have 
 explained his expression, as Sir John took every- 
 thing one said in a most Uteral manner, and 
 that he would always recollect this expression 
 against him ; but Dr. Vivian laughed, said he had 
 not time to explain ; he was due now almost at the 
 Land's End, and he doubted if he should see his 
 bed that night. The next day about tea-time 
 Lady Arundel came into my drawing-room without 
 being announced, in the manner Portredoc folk 
 affect when they are on intimate terms, and 
 I must own I looked rather more surprised 
 than pleased. Maxie was with his tutor in the 
 little room I had given them for a schoolroom, 
 and I rose to send for him, but she sank down 
 into an armchair, stretched out her feet to 
 the fire and begged me to do nothing of the 
 kind at present. She had come, she said, to ask me 
 never in any way to allude either to her or Sir John 
 to their "terrible sorrow," all she wanted was to 
 forget the whole wretched business and be happy. 
 She wished me to make this known in the village 
 generally, and she also said that she did not intend 
 to wear black, it was a heathenish custom, and the 
 sooner it was given up the better, if people were 
 shocked at Portredoc she did not care. In fact she 
 cared for nothing, all the same she did not intend 
 to spend the rest of her Ufe in tears, and if Sir John 
 
 149 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 did she should leave him to his. own devices. Not 
 one word of thanks had she for any one of us who 
 had suffered so dreadfully with Cecy and Max on 
 those fearful days and nights; not one question 
 about the darUng child. AU she wished us to 
 recollect was that the episode was blotted out for 
 ever, and that if I could some day look over Ceey's 
 things and dispose of them she would be glad. 
 Would it be beheved that she imagined the frocks 
 could be sold ? I declined the duty and let her see 
 just what I thought on the matter. But she only 
 raised her eyebrows and looked at me calmly. Her 
 maid would manage it no doubt, but I had been 
 fond of the child, and she thought I would see no 
 dirty brats had the things ; she couldn't afford to 
 give them away. Sir John was always talking 
 about expense, and she must have money. A 
 woman who would sell her dead child's clothes 
 must be a monster, why should I spare her? 1 
 waited a few minutes, then I leaned forward and 
 said very quietly: "Lady Arundel, why did you 
 not return home directly you received my letter ? " 
 She sprang to her feet and looked round the room. 
 " Oh 1 but — but—," she said, " what letter ? How 
 could I return ? You said diphtheria ; what good 
 should we have been? Sir John was just going 
 out shooting, and I didn't want to spoil the day 
 for what no doubt was a mere scare." " How about 
 Mr. Hodges' wire?" I asked. "Oh! you are 
 horrid, horrid," she relied; "what would have 
 been the use of our coming: all was done that 
 150 
 
A CLOUD-BURST 
 
 could be done 1 We were going over to Lord 
 Southby'Sj too, a place I always longed to see, and 
 I hate illness, and I am glad I was not there. 1 
 might have caught the horrid thing and died too ; " 
 but she added, recovering herself, " Don't, don't let 
 John know, he has forgotten all about it now, and 
 I win not let him speak about it at all. If he knew 
 I had had the letter he would kill me : his rages are 
 awful, but he'll never know now, promise me 
 that." I was too disgusted with her to say any- 
 thing, and just at the moment Basil came in. He 
 was going away when he saw Lady Arundel, but 
 she rushed up to him at once, and began to 
 question him feverishly about his Academy pic- 
 ture ; what Will Spicer was doing, and if the old 
 Trethewys had done anything especially funny 
 lately, and how the vicar meant to get over the 
 ghastly farce of Christmas. In fact she chattered 
 on in the same old way, feverishly, foolishly ; and 
 then Maxie came in, gazed at his mother, and quite 
 quietly took up his old attitude towards her. He 
 always appeared to tolerate, not love her. He was 
 indifferent to her except when she worried and 
 badgered him, which she had ceased to do since 
 Mr. HoweUs came, and his father was always 
 available as referee if there was any slight trouble 
 about games or lessons. But Maxie adored his father 
 and wanted to return home : one could not blame 
 him, he had his many toys, his big rooms ; above 
 all his father was always there. Lady Arundel said 
 he could come back when he chose : no doubt I was 
 
 151 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 heartily sick of him. Maxie called out indignantly 
 that he knew that wasn't true; of course Mr. 
 Howells and I remarked that he must be polite to 
 his mother, and no more was said, and she trailed 
 away with Basil in her train. She really could not 
 face the dark avenue alone, and she knew Mr. 
 Hodges would not mind the walk, especially as 
 the night was perfect, such a moon 1 such stars I 
 and actually a hint of frost in the usual damp 
 creepy warmth of the Cornish air. 
 
 152 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE TEMPEST RISES HIGHER 
 
 For some days I had seen nothing whatever of 
 Basil, for Dr. Vivian had begged me to go out to 
 the Headlands to look after one of his very oldest 
 patients, who he was afraid had come down there 
 too late for him to be able to help her. I was the 
 more glad to do so as I discovered in her one of my 
 mother's bridesmaids, a piece of ancient history 
 that was very delightful to me, at any rate to be 
 able to find once more. Ancient history indeed ! 
 My mother had been married in 1845. Aurelia 
 Henderson was then eighteen ; that made her over 
 sixty when I met her for the first time, although I 
 had often enough heard of her and the remarkable 
 beauty which had caused quite a furore in the 
 artistic world when she came at twenty to visit my 
 mother and to be godmother to one of my own 
 very numerous small brothers and sisters. At the 
 moment I quite forget which of them it was. My 
 mother had nipped her first love story in the bud, 
 and I cannot help thinking had made one of her 
 many mistakes in so doing. She had an idea the 
 
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MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 suitor was not steady, and had maybe other attrac- 
 tions less to be encouraged than the one he had for 
 Aurelia. Anyhow, he died a bachelor, quite an old 
 man, to whom we were one and all devoted ; and now 
 Aurelia Henderson lay dying too, not of old age but 
 of rapid consumption, at least that was the diagnosis. 
 We who knew put it down to misery and cruelty, 
 and the husband who would not see until too late 
 that his ill- won, ill-treated " treasure " was broken- 
 hearted and dying in that cold ungenial northern 
 town where he had kept her until the doctors inter- 
 fered, spoke of manslaughter and sent her down at 
 once to the soft and beautiful Cornish atmosphere, 
 hoping that that and Dr. Vivian's care might stave 
 off the end, at all events for some little time. But 
 Mrs. Hector did not want to live ; if she did it 
 would be the same old misery over and over again, 
 and when I heard her talk of all she had suffered 
 and endured at Tom Hector's hands I began to 
 realise that men after all are as capable as women 
 are of giving pin-pricks, and indeed, having in most 
 cases the purse-strings, have greater capabilities 
 than women have af inflicting the most horrible 
 misery. Aurelia Henderson went to her grave in 
 the autumn of 1891. I took up the Times only the 
 other day and saw that her husband was dead too : 
 buried with pomp and ceremony by the great 
 bishop he had served for years and years ; and there 
 was a quarter of a column at least of eulogy over 
 the wretched man. How unequally are things 
 arranged here below ! Here was Lady Arundel 
 154 
 
THE TEMPEST RISES HIGHER 
 
 slowly breaking Sir John's heart; here was dear 
 Aurelia Hector dying at the Headlands, her vitality 
 crushed, her spirit shattered by a series of petty 
 tyrannies which sound little enough perhaps when 
 written down, but that had spoiled the whole of 
 her life. Dr. Vivian had begged me to try and 
 instil into her some of my then superabundant 
 vitality, and make her willing to try and live. 
 Naturally neither he nor I knew of or should have 
 believed in the tenets of the Christian Science folk ; 
 all the same we were both convinced that people 
 can help themselves to get better, or indeed well, 
 far quicker than a doctor can help them, and this 
 he hoped I might impress on Mrs. Hector. Par- 
 ticularly when he found out she had been connected 
 with us as a family and that probably she might 
 feel inclined to confide in me as she had known 
 and loved my mother. At first Mrs. Hector con- 
 tented herself with talking over the past, with 
 describing the bright June wedding-day and her 
 ^ride in the peach-blossom coloured frock and large 
 white bonnet she had worn, and the bevy of girl 
 bridesmaids of which she had made one. Then she 
 spoke of my mother in her white silk and orange- 
 blossoms and her gay young bridegroom, and 
 described how the train had been stopped at the 
 bottom of the garden to take them away from 
 York to their honeymoon among the Derbyshire 
 dales. Well, we know how that wedding ended : 
 how one after another the happy bride and brides- 
 maids became unhappy wives and mothers if I 
 
 155 
 
MOUE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 except one or two out of that numerous band ! 
 Indeed, ill-luck has always dogged our steps 1 Not 
 that I believe in luck : all the same it is a way of 
 expressing that we one and all lack something that 
 would have taken us to the top of the tree instead 
 of allowing the whole ten of us to climb a certain 
 distance and then dropping us suddenly with a bang 
 into some unpleasant morass. But not one of us has 
 had such a literal dog's life as dear Aurelia Hector ! 
 It took me some time naturally to hear all about it, 
 and how on her return home after her London visit 
 and her acute disappointment she felt that she did 
 not care very much what happened to her. Tom 
 Hector had loved her as a child, as a schoolgirl, 
 finally as a young woman : her parents in the good 
 old way told her that the sooner she married the 
 better they would be pleased. Indeed, they could 
 not understand how it was she had returned home 
 disengaged, and suggested that her beauty had made 
 my mother jealous. Parents in the last century 
 were not very congenial folk ; even in my time it 
 was strongly hinted to us that the sooner we 
 married the better, and in the age immediately 
 before our own they were even more brutal. It 
 was brutal in the case of the Hendersons, for they 
 were rich, and could have given Aurelia a fortune had 
 they chosen then ; but they had four or five sons to 
 start in life and two or three other girls to marry. 
 Aurelia must take her beauty to the market : that 
 Tom Hector bought her was as certain as if he had 
 paid down so many sovereigns for her in the slave 
 156 
 
THE TEMPEST RISES HIGHER 
 
 market, for she told him she could not love him, 
 that she had loved, nay, did love some one else, and 
 that she would rather take the veil than become his 
 wife. I think myself the wretched man was mad 
 on the subject of Aurelia, else how could he have 
 treated her as he did ? Once married, she was a 
 perfect slave, every moment of her time had to be 
 accounted for, every letter was opened first by Tom 
 Hector, every book she read, everything she had 
 passed first through his hands. He was, I am sure, 
 always on the look-out for some communication 
 from the lover of whom she had told him, but 
 whose name she never uttered to the day of her 
 death, and no cruelty ever caused her to breathe 
 that name to her husband. But all was as nothing 
 until the children began to come, when he was 
 more of a tyrant than ever. He would have his 
 ways and his ideas carried out, and finally, when 
 the girls grew up and gave promise of repeating 
 their mother's beauty, he would allow them to 
 accept invitations, only to send back the carriage 
 waiting at the door. He had even cut up their 
 dresses in an access of fury, and kept mother and 
 daughters in such fear that at last the girls crept 
 away from home one by one in the night ; the boys 
 had gone as soon as ever they could, and Aurelia 
 was left quite alone in the big old grey house with 
 her tyrant. She could not communicate with the 
 children; if she left the house Tom Hector was 
 after her, for unfortunately his office was in the 
 same building ; if any one called, Tom Hector was 
 
 157 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 present. No one could give her a letter, and she 
 finally broke down utterly when she saw in the 
 paper that her sailor son died gallantly in Northern 
 Africa, and she found that she was not even allowed 
 to wear black, or read the letters sent her from the 
 commander of the gunboat, or even to turn over 
 the things despatched home after the loss was 
 made known. Tom Hector called all this protect- 
 ing her from sorrow ! Why should she tear her 
 heart-strings by seeing Cuthbert's possessions, by 
 reading the loving little note he had written in 
 case the expedition ended fatally? Why should 
 she wear black and look depressed and lifeless ? It 
 could not help Cuthbert, and it would harm her 
 and make her more wretched ! How often I wished 
 Tom Hector had been given Lady Arundel as a 
 wife. I wonder which of the two would have got 
 the better of the other. I think Tom Hector at 
 any rate, it would have been a struggle that I should 
 much like to have witnessed from afar ! 
 
 Really at first both Dr. Vivian and I hoped Mrs. 
 Hector was going to mend, and even now I believe 
 she would have done so had she not dreaded the 
 mere idea of recovering sufficiently to return to her 
 gaoler and the cold cruel Northern county she had 
 learned to hate. Her home was under the shadow 
 of one of the most exquisite Cathedrals in England, 
 but unfortunately for her she was a Romanist ; aU 
 the Close people called as her husband was one of 
 the officials, but he made them think she was too 
 bigoted to care to see them, he made it almost 
 158 
 
THE TEMPEST RISES HIGHEH 
 
 impossible for her to " practise " her religion ; all the 
 children, despite pre-nuptial promises, were dragged 
 up in his faith. She had nothing to live for. Oh ! 
 if Tom would only allow her enough money to live 
 on, she would stay in Cornwall, where the old 
 priest of Tredickor could come out and see her, 
 where friends could talk to her unwatched by her 
 malignant spouse, and where she could read what 
 she liked and have letters — letters from the girls 
 and boys still left who were enchanted to be able 
 to communicate with her once more and to send 
 her photographs of the unknown grandchildren, 
 of even their unknown selves and homes. The 
 " Headlands " was almost the first attempt at the 
 open-air cure for consumption, and now is only one 
 of many similar places ; but I was more than 
 usually interested in the place as, long before it was 
 started, I had always had the idea that the old-time 
 treatment of this horrible complaint was altogether 
 wrong, and 1 was delighted to find that others were 
 of my opinion. I recollect a case some twenty 
 years before, in 1870, where every breath of air was 
 shut away from the unfortunate patient, where 
 coals were piled on roaring fires, while the devoted 
 sister-nurse slept in the same great bed with the 
 patient, and was with her night and day. How she 
 escaped the infection I cannot think ; but she did, 
 and has survived her sister something like forty 
 soUd years and is still alive and well. Of course 
 that sister died, I believe she would have been alive 
 now had theHeadlands treatment been known of, 
 
 159 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 but it would have been a bold soul who would have 
 suggested even an open window in 1870. That 
 people could sleep, eat and live in the open air, 
 would have caused a storm of indignation to rise 
 and blow through the country side ! As long as 
 Mrs. Hector wanted me I was at her service, and 
 as the Headlands was some miles from Portredoc, 
 the Portredoc affairs were very much out of my 
 mind. Indeed, there was no real reason why they 
 should worry me. We had given up our old house 
 in Dorsetshire, for Cornwall suited us both very 
 much better than that ever did or could, and as 
 business had to be wound up I should have been 
 alone. Maxie was occupied with Mr. Howells and 
 Basil was or should have been deep in his academy 
 picture, the first he would send in sure of accept- 
 ance and without the weeks of agony we usually 
 passed between sending-in day and the knowledge 
 that the picture was not only accepted but safely 
 hung on the wall of the R. A. I did not feel in the 
 least concerned about Portredoc until one day Dr. 
 Vivian came in as usual to the Headlands and 
 began to talk to me about matters at the Manor 
 House, where he said he was much afraid things 
 were beginning to go all wrong. He had been 
 called in by Sir John to see if he could prescribe for 
 Lady Arundel's nerves, which had apparently given 
 way entirely, she could not sleep or rest, and 
 would get up in the middle of the night and rush 
 out into the garden and come in hours later 
 drenched with rain or dew, and even he sometimes 
 1 60 
 

THE TEMPEST RISES HIGHER 
 
 thought with the spray from the sea on the rocks. 
 She then would sleep heavily for hours, sometimes 
 nearly all day. He could do nothing with her. If 
 he tried to reason with her she turned on him and 
 abused him wildly, abused the place and in fact 
 behaved more as if she were mad than a sane 
 creature. Worst sign of all, she had ceased to 
 take any interest in her appearance and went about 
 in her oldest clothes, her lovely hair brushed up 
 into a tight knot, and her maid was at her wits' end 
 how to please her. Not that she wished to be 
 pleased, all she asked was to be left alone, and 
 that was so astonishing that Purcell was always 
 dissolved in tears, and had given notice, as 
 there was nothing for her to do she must leave. 
 Dr. Vivian said that he had not the smallest doubt 
 that these vagaries were one and all attempts 
 to make Sir John take her away from Portredoc, 
 which she hated frantically, more and more too 
 every day it seemed to him, but Sir John declared 
 he neither could nor would stir from the place. 
 Maxie and Mr. Howells were quite happy together, 
 but Sir John would never leave the child again, 
 at all events until the time came when he would 
 have to go away to some big school. Sir John 
 was beginning to think that time never would 
 come; if it did not, home influence and good 
 tutors and later on travel would do all that was 
 necessary. I could gather from what Dr. Vivian 
 said that Sir John had begun to develop a perfect 
 terror of the world outside Portredoc, and I could 
 
 L i6i 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 only hope that before Maxie was spoiled he would 
 see how necessary boy companions were for him, 
 but I was uneasy when Dr. Vivian told me that 
 Lady Arundel was perpetually in Basil's painting 
 room or else sketching with him on the shore, and 
 that even he had said something to him about these 
 constant meetings, to be promptly and impatiently 
 snubbed by Basil. Mrs. Hector got suddenly 
 worse just after that, and for at least ten days I 
 was with her night and day, and when she began to 
 mend a little 1 was delighted at the receipt of a 
 letter from my father, who happened to be on the 
 Council and the hanging Committee too that year, 
 and who said Basil's picture was about the best he 
 had ever seen from his brush and that he was 
 certain to be elected to full membership of the 
 body at the next election. I was not surprised, 
 for, when I last saw it, it was simply beautiful, 
 the brown-sailed pilchard boats putting out to 
 sea at night, slipping out of Morrab harbour one 
 after the other, the men busy with their tackle, 
 the pier-head thronged with their wives and chil- 
 dren ; everything was instinct with life, and the 
 colour and grouping were perfect. So perfect that 
 my father declared he should run down to Corn- 
 wall as soon as the Academy dinner was over, and 
 see for himself if such a place really and truly 
 existed, or if Basil were romancing in the usual 
 artistic manner. It is almost impossible for me 
 nowadays to realise those far distant, long dead 
 Academic joys. How we delighted in hearing all 
 162 
 
THE TEMPEST RISES HIGHER 
 
 the news of the pictures, of the private view and 
 the dinner, and how we loved our yearly jaunts to 
 Greenwich after the year's work was over and done 
 with, the pictures sold and the critics defied. We 
 all drank each other's healths, and confusion to 
 those who had such a poor opinion of the taste 
 of the British public ! I only heard of all this 
 when my father wrote, but now Basil was to join 
 in it and no doubt he would return from London 
 full of the beloved art-gossip, and news of dll the 
 men and their pictures, and I could fancy myself 
 once more a member of that joyous, most dehghtful 
 band. Mrs. Hector declared herself well enough 
 to be left, at all events for a short time, and I was 
 glad — not to leave her — but to get myself away 
 from the depressing atmosphere of the Headlands. 
 I do not like illness and should make a shocking 
 nurse ; all the same, Mrs. Hector declared she 
 should miss me most frightfully and should count 
 the hours until 1 returned with news of my 
 garden, and perhaps some flowers for her, for at 
 the Headlands there was nothing save rocks, sea, 
 and a sparse margin of cliff. Though later on, sea- 
 pinks, sea-holly and sea-poppies would blossom 
 out and about, albeit neither I nor the doctor 
 thought Mrs. Hector would be alive to see them, 
 and already Tom Hector was becoming restive. 
 If she were better she could return north : if she 
 were no better why waste time and money away 
 from her home ? Oh 1 Money ! Money ! I had, 
 I am glad to say, written to one of Aurelia's 
 
 163 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 brothers and also to her children, and had succeeded 
 in getting a certain sum out of them, but though 
 the Headlands doctor considerably reduced his fees 
 he had a long " waiting list," and he was not a 
 rich man. Other cases could be cured, Aurelia's 
 could not, and I felt considerably worried about 
 my mother's old friend, for if her husband stopped 
 his sparse contribution, she would have to return, 
 and I very much questioned if she would live to 
 get through the long journey — first to London, 
 and then on to the northern town where her 
 husband lived, and was making himself rather 
 more unpleasant than usual because one of the 
 married daughters had returned home with a 
 couple of children, her husband having been killed 
 suddenly in some accident on the line ; and until 
 matters were arranged with the company whose 
 servant he was, she had literally nothing to live 
 on and nowhere else where she could possibly go. 
 This had been kept from Mrs. Hector who, accus- 
 tomed to have her letters overhauled and the 
 newspapers doled out to her, was not anxious about 
 correspondence or news as most people are nowa- 
 days. Still, all seemed an enormous worry, and 
 this was added to when I found Basil in the little 
 parlour at our cottage waiting for me and fuU of 
 poor dear Lady Arundel's suiFerings and wrongs. 
 I am afraid I rather lost my temper with him on 
 the subject. I had come from such an atmo- 
 sphere of real suffering and real wrongs that I 
 had small patience with what I knew all too 
 264 
 
THE TEMPEST RISES HIGHER 
 
 well were fancied grievances. I never had liked 
 Antoinette Arundel and never should, and I had 
 my very strong suspicions about the way she had 
 concealed the news of the children's illness from 
 Sir John, and I told Basil plainly what I thought 
 about her and the matters at the Manor House 
 generally. I can see him now, looking rather 
 pained, very puzzled. We had had our quarrels as 
 boy and girl together, still I had always helped 
 him. Was I going to fail him now when he wanted 
 help more than ever he had done in all his life ? 
 All the same it never struck me that he was more 
 than interested in a very beautiful woman, whose 
 beauty was on the wane and whose sorrows made 
 her neglectful of all the numerous arts and crafts 
 by which up to the present moment she had kept 
 the ravages of time very much at bay. Naturally 
 a man did not understand quite what was the 
 matter ; he only saw or fancied he saw that she 
 looked ill and worn and that she Was wretched, 
 that she missed Cecy dreadfully and that she could 
 not bear the sight of Maxie because he was now 
 so well and strong ; and to see one child without 
 the other was a perpetual opening of a never to be 
 really healed wound. Basil had hoped I would 
 look after Lady Arundel a little while he was in 
 London ; she had fallen into the habit, he said, of 
 coming daily to the painting room and watching 
 him at work, or else of meeting him on the beach 
 and doing little sketches under his supervision. 
 The afternoons and evenings were her worst time. 
 
 165 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 Cecy had always been with her then, so she said, 
 albeit I fancy the long-suflfering Dobbs could have 
 told another tale. Sir John had no patience with 
 her, Basil was her only confidant. Could not I take 
 his place just for the short time he would be in 
 town ? He had had great news that morning ; the 
 President had spoken of his picture to some of the 
 royal people and the Queen meant to buy it : 
 true she offered considerably less than the dealers 
 did, but he was advised to let her have it. It was 
 worth the extra money, he was told, as an adver- 
 tisement, a thing I, for one, never understood, any 
 more than I could understand why in those days 
 the royal folk always paid less for their pictures 
 than any one else, a fact that resulted in foreign 
 artists being employed, as none of the English ones 
 could afford to take their commissions at the prices 
 they were offered. I am sure my father lost 
 hundreds of pounds over the picture of the Mar- 
 riage of the Prince of Wales, as he was then — the 
 late King Edward — and what it cost him in wear 
 and tear of nerves, time and temper, no one now wiU 
 ever know. Of course he gave a guarded descrip- 
 tion of his doings with the Royalties in his own 
 book of Reminiscences : I only wish he had told 
 them at length, but in those days Queen Victoria 
 was alive, and he had actually to submit his proof 
 sheets to her before the book was published ! 
 Nowadays, fortunately, things are not as absurdly 
 managed as they were then, and folk can suggest 
 that royal people are human without being snubbed 
 i66 
 
THE TEMPEST RISES HIGHER 
 
 and cut, the modern equivalent, I suppose, of being 
 sent off to the Tower ! I told Basil straight out 
 that I did not think selling his picture to the Queen 
 in 1890 would do him the good it might have done 
 twenty or thirty years before, but he said Lady 
 Arundel was so very much in favour of the idea he 
 did not like to disappoint her. In fact all he said 
 appeared to me to show that whatever influence 
 I had had with Basil was on the wane, and that 
 my place was being rapidly filled by another. I 
 had always looked upon Basil naturally so much as 
 one of the family that I felt rather savage, but it 
 does not do to give way to these ideas. I did not 
 want him or any one to think I was jealous of the 
 beautiful creature ; all the same I felt obliged to tell 
 him that I was sure shewas simply making use of him 
 and he had better take care. She was bored, bored 
 to death ; could it be possible that she was making 
 a stalking-horse of Basil to rouse Sir John to 
 jealousy and to make him take her away from the 
 place she now simply loathed ? She might probably 
 have some such an idea, but Sir John and jealousy 
 could not be mentioned in the same breath. To 
 him a married woman was a married woman, his 
 wife was his wife, that she could have any separate 
 existence from his was unthinkable ; he certainly 
 was the most guileless Early Victorian husband I 
 have ever met, and he still retained the old-fashioned 
 idea that given a home and children a woman was 
 settled for life. To want anything more than the 
 four walls of her home was impossible, unbelievable. 
 
 167 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 She had her flowers^ her books, her sewing (I should 
 love to have seen Lady Arundel sew I) ; there was 
 Maxie still left, there might, he hoped, be other 
 children yet. It would take little less than an 
 earthquake to move Sir John, of that I at any 
 rate was quite convinced. Basil was evidently 
 of Sir John's opinion, and I could see did not 
 like me for even hinting that Lady Arundel meant 
 more than appeared on the surface. I do not be- 
 lieve he was what is ordinarily called " in love " with 
 her, but she was very lovely even in her somewhat 
 dishevelled moments, even without her carefully 
 designed costumes and her neglected disarrayed 
 tresses. I think Basil found her sweeter the less she 
 allowed fashion to appear and the more natural she 
 became. Certainly what he put down to grief and 
 I put down to rage and baffled ambition was becom- 
 ing, her large soft eyes and her quantities of dark 
 lovely hair were just as lovely when she left them 
 comparatively alone, and neither accentuated the 
 first with black pencil or whatever it was she used 
 for the purpose, or curled and tortured her hair into 
 a touzled mass. True the great rope of hair twisted 
 round her finely shaped head was not the fashion ; 
 that naturally did not trouble Basil ; as an artist he 
 cared not one whit for fashion ; all he admired was 
 Nature, and her fancied grief had spiritualised the 
 lovely face and simplified the hair and dress which 
 before her trouble had rather amazed him, if ever 
 he considered the matter at all. It was a very 
 difficult position for me at any rate. I could see or 
 i68 
 
THE TEMPEST RISES HIGHER 
 
 fancied I saw that Lady Arundel was once more 
 using all her wiles to captivate Basil, but why she 
 should do so passed my belief. He was small, 
 plain, and not very rich ; albeit he must be making 
 money very fast and had considerable sums put 
 away safely in his father's most excellent care. 
 Still he would never have the steady comfortable 
 income Sir John possessed, he could not give her 
 everything she had in such abundance. All the 
 same he could, were she horrible enough to leave her 
 husband, take her away from Portredoc, give her 
 interesting people to speak with, and a society of 
 artists and literary folk who presumably would not 
 be too particular to associate with her, should Sir 
 John divorce her and allow her to marry Basil. I 
 mentioned my idea to my husband, naturally 
 enough he pooh-poohed the Very notion, it was 
 absurd. Basil was a good little chap, no fool, an 
 excellent artist, a man who lived only for his art. 
 How could I for one moment think of such fearful 
 nonsense ? I must have addled my brains with the 
 novels I had been reading to Mrs. Hector, he had 
 seen Basil constantly since I had been away (he 
 had forgotten he had also been away from Portredoc) 
 I had better think no more about it all. Well, 
 all the same I was not astonished at receiving a 
 visit from Sir John about a week after the Academy 
 opened, ostensibly to bring me some of the press 
 notices about Basil's picture, really to ask me about 
 the letters and wires sent to Lady Arundel when 
 they were at the Castle when Cecy died. I had so 
 
 i69» 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 hoped that matter was done with, but apparently 
 now the worst of his grief was over Sir John meant 
 to find out all about it, and he even talked of detec- 
 tives and the post office and the Duke's servants. 
 Fortunately the Castle was closed and "the 
 family " was in town for the season and later on 
 would go to Scotland; it must be almost a year 
 before the Castle people were back and who could 
 then recollect who took the telegram to Lady 
 Arundel ? The letter of course could not be 
 traced, letters never can be, especially in such a 
 household and among servants who did not know 
 my writing ; even Lady Arundel's maid had never 
 seen that. Why should she ? I did not send up notes 
 to the Manor. I had no reason to, and I very 
 strongly advised Sir John to let sleeping dogs lie. 
 Cecy was dead, even had they had the letter and 
 wire nothing more could have been done than was 
 done, he and Lady Arundel would very probably 
 have caught the disease from the child, he at least 
 would have kissed her, it was some stupid servant. 
 Why make that servant's life a burden to him or 
 her, when doing so would neither help Sir John nor 
 bring Cecy to life once more? Sir John was 
 certain it was his duty, obstinate Englishman that 
 he was, duty stood before everything else with him. 
 Suppose another wire or letter came to the Castle 
 and another tragedy happened he would blame 
 himself for the rest of his life. Could I not tell 
 him when my letter was posted, and what were the 
 paper and envelope I used ? Of course I could, for 
 170 
 
THE TEMPEST RISES HIGHER 
 
 there was only one post out from Portredoc. There 
 was no difficulty about that, and I had used Lady 
 Arundel's own stationery, for I wrote the letter at 
 her desk at the Manor. Basil sent the telegram 
 from Tredickor by the Duke's private wire, the 
 secretary had the charge of that, and he would 
 probably know about it. Under Sir .John's steady 
 cross-examination 1 felt I was giving the whole 
 thing away. I knew that Lady Arundel could 
 have returned home with Sir John on the Saturday, 
 but 1 did not want Sir John to know it too. All the 
 same, I felt sure that at last he had found out all he 
 wished and that Lady Arundel was in for a most 
 unpleasant interview with her husband. 
 
 Finally I said very quietly, " If I were you, Sir 
 John, I should not make any inquiries." He 
 looked at me very sternly. " Do you know what 
 that would mean ? " he asked. I said nothing, and 
 he went on : " You are screening some one ; who is 
 it ? " I felt Very uncomfortable, and hardly knew 
 what to reply. I was not screening any one, but I 
 could not see matters would be improved if Sir 
 John knew the truth, and I remarked as much, 
 adding also that I knew nothing at all, and I did 
 not care or indeed choose to discuss the matter 
 farther. 1 had done my best for Cecy at the time 
 and, indeed, for them all, and for the future I 
 would not speak of what had happened or might 
 have happened. It was far better to be quiet and 
 try and forget, not the dear child, but the fact that 
 the parents were not there when the illness declared 
 
 171 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 itself. I might just as well, I added, cross-examine 
 Sir John about the water, now it was put all right, 
 as he cross-examine me about a letter that probably 
 had been lost among the overwhelming heap of 
 correspondence that reached the Castle every single 
 day. As to the wire, it must have arrived when 
 Sir John was out shooting and Lady Arundel was 
 out with the duchess. A servant must have put it 
 aside, it was no doubt unopened now behind a book- 
 case in the Castle or somewhere else lying hidden in 
 the great hall. If any good could be done, by all 
 means find out. Sir John mentioned " duty " once 
 more, but at that moment, I am thankful to say, 
 visitors came in and I was relieved from the rack, 
 at all events for that day, especially as these people 
 were the new curate and his wife, people Sir John 
 detested, and he left as soon after their arrival as 
 he decently could. There are some very funny 
 people in the world, and really the Simpkins- 
 St. Ledgers were some of the funniest. Far more 
 Simpkins than St. Ledger, we said, but the double 
 name and the hyphen gave the little couple so 
 much joy that we none of us ever omitted it. 
 Besides, they were a relief, a comic relief, after Sir 
 John, and for once I was truly grateful to them. 
 It did not take us long to find that the St. Ledger 
 was an addition bought and duly paid for by the 
 wife. She had money, and thought she could not 
 do better than start by adding her grandmother's 
 patronymic to her husband's somewhat plebeian 
 name. She furthermore never walked a step, and 
 172 
 
THE TEMPEST RISES HIGHER 
 
 when their calls were paid she rode a very, very 
 old and quiet horse, and he walked solemnly 
 beside her ; he could nqt ride, she was too nervous 
 to drive, and indeed was quite certain that Port- 
 redoc would never suit her or her beloved spouse. 
 Already the vicar was jealous of his sermons, had 
 I heard the one on Jephthah's daughter ? If not, it 
 was due Sunday next, and I must not miss what 
 every one in all the churches he had been attached 
 to always considered an intellectual treat. Perhaps 
 the one he generally gave on Easter Sunday was 
 more poetical. All the same, Portredoc would not 
 see them at Easter, and it would be far away above 
 the reach of the congregation, of that she was sure. 
 Mr. Simpkins-St. Ledger was not in the least the 
 sort of man to sit quietly by and allow his wife to 
 talk ; he had been booming away in a deep bass 
 voice to my husband all about himself, his people, 
 his intentions, and his views until he turned to me, 
 and we changed partners, as it were, in the con- 
 versation. He then imperiously told me first what 
 he thought of Basil, of artists generally, and then 
 of Lady Arundel, and said he had long intended 
 calUng on both Basil and Sir John and telling them 
 how people were talking of the way her ladyship 
 was " carrying on " with the little painter man on 
 the shore. I assured him that no one in Portredoc 
 talked over other people's affairs, and that gossip 
 was not known there ; and that if any one talked 
 it was he himself and his wife, and that he would 
 not meet with much attention from either man, 
 
 »73 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 who would furthermore most certainly show him 
 the door if he made any impertinent remarks ; and 
 I endeavoured to ask him about his last parish, as 
 he had been in the same diocese as the Hectors, 
 and I hoped by that to change the subject. But 1 
 only landed myself into a worse quagmire of talk. 
 Oh ! poor, poor Mr. Hector ! So respected, so 
 loved, with that dreadful Papist wife and those 
 badly brought up, unruly sons and daughters 1 Oh! 
 I knew Mrs. Hector, she was dying ? Oh ! they 
 always understood she was mad. Well, it had 
 always been against Mr. Hector that he had married 
 into another faith. Perhaps if she died he might 
 find another more suitable partner, and he glanced 
 at his wife as if she were still in the market. 1 
 guessed at once somehow that if she were not she 
 possessed a sister or two who might be available. 
 Well, if so, and one of them married Tom Hector, 
 my beloved Aurelia would be amply revenged. 
 
 It is curious, in remembering all the somewhat 
 banal events of that afternoon and our idiotic talk 
 over the tea-cups with the Simpkins-St. Ledgers, 
 to think that while we were gossiping and indeed 
 sparring, a real and absolute tragedy was enacted 
 at the Manor, but so it was. Here were we only 
 a quarter of a mile away, there Sir John and Lady 
 Arundel were in deadly combat, and the die was 
 cast which ruined Basil's life and left him a wreck 
 that tossed helplessly on the sea of life until the 
 day on which he closed his eyes, and I felt that at 
 all events his troubles were for ever past and 
 174 
 
THE TEMPEST RISES HIGHER 
 
 gone. When Sir John left me he had quite made 
 up his mind to find out at once about the letters, 
 and he went to Lady Arundel's maid and asked if 
 she recollected any one of her correspondents ever 
 using paper and envelopes such as her mistress had. 
 She unfortunately said only once, and that was 
 when they were at the Castle, and she had wondered 
 when she took in the letters who used it, it had 
 such a queer smell and was such a very beautiful 
 colour, and it was also precisely similar to that upon 
 which her ladyship always wrote. Then he inquired 
 about a telegram, but there Purcell failed him, she 
 had spent the whole of Saturday in a jaunt to one of 
 the many places of interest near the Castle, and had 
 not seen her mistress until time to dress for dinner. 
 Lady Arundel was not in and Sir John went to her 
 sitting-room to wait for her ; his eyes caught her 
 bunch of keys in the lock of her desk ; he opened 
 the lid of the old-fashioned bureau and glanced 
 over the contents. Remember Sir John was as 
 old-fashioned as the bureau, a wife, his wife could 
 have no secrets from her husband. She was always 
 quite at liberty to open his letters, that he did not 
 always open hers was no reason why he should not 
 do so, and he began to turn over the extremely 
 untidy contents of the desk. Lady Arundel had 
 the very curious habit of always emptying her 
 dress pockets straight into the bureau, and she 
 furthermore invariably put her letters there until 
 she had what she considered sufficient time to read, 
 answer, and then tear them up. Her correspond- 
 
 175 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 ence was never in the least degree compromising, 
 she had no real friends, and her lovers were not 
 allowed to write in the old days, and, indeed. Sir 
 John's vigilance since his return from London had 
 been such, that had she been inclined to gush by 
 letter, this fancy on her part would very soon have 
 been sternly suppressed. All the same the desk 
 was full of odds and ends, sales' catalogues, adver- 
 tisements, fashion plates and " patterns " from the 
 dressmakers ; and Sir John had turned over nearly 
 everything before he found my letter, and with it, 
 tucked in the envelope, the telegram that Basil 
 had sent out on that fatal day from Tredickor. 
 
 When Lady Arundel sauntered into the room 
 dishevelled from her long prowl by the sea, she 
 saw in an instant what had happened. Sir John, 
 with his face hidden in his hands, was leaning 
 over her bureau and his strong shoulders were 
 shaking with sobs. He had had his doubts, now 
 he was certain of his wife's worthlessness. The 
 position was so hopeless. What was he to do ? 
 How live on with such a woman ? How continue 
 an existence which he hoped would have lasted in 
 peace and honour until their lives' end ? There 
 are some tragedies which happen in a moment, 
 and which render life an absolute impossibiUty, 
 and this was one of them. But then, what 
 could Sir John do ? Lady Arundel saw what had 
 happened; she shrugged her shoulders and was 
 turning away to go to her bedroom when Sir 
 John heard her, rose to his feet and, taking her 
 176 
 
THE TEMPEST RISES HIGHER 
 
 by her arms showed her what he had found. 
 Neither spoke, she tried to wrench herself away 
 from his detaining hand, but he held her fast. I 
 do not know, naturally, exactly what happened: 
 she said he struck her and swore at her : he said 
 he merely asked her why she had been so cruel, 
 such an inhuman wretch. Certainly there was no 
 struggle or the servants would have heard, at any 
 rate dinner went on just as usual and I heard 
 nothing at our cottage until next morning, when 
 Purcell brought me a note from Sir John to ask 
 me if Lady Arundel were with me, she had gone 
 up from dinner and locked herself in her room, 
 she had barricaded the dressing-room door and 
 nothing had been heard or seen of her since. With 
 much reluctance he had broken into their bedroom 
 to find the bed unslept in and evidences that his 
 wife had gone away, apparently in her dinner-gown 
 and without anything else on. Had she sought 
 refuge with me ? If so would I come up and see 
 him ? I put on my hat and went up to the Manor 
 as fast as I could, had the wicked foolish creature 
 thrown herself off the pier at Morrab ? Had she 
 killed herself somehow rather than live on in misery 
 at Portredoc ? I did not believe it for one moment, 
 yet how could she escape from the Manor in her 
 
 evening dress unless — unless 
 
 Sir John was in despair, he loathed publicity, 
 he declined to inform the police, even to ask any 
 questions. Dr. Vivian had been at the Headlands 
 all night and had not yet returned, the Simpkins- 
 
 M 177 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 St. Leger man was a helpless thing and the Vicar 
 was away. Every moment we expected to see the 
 coastguard come up the avenue with the ghastly 
 news we dreaded to hear. Maxie and Mr. Howells 
 had been sent for a long ride inland, but of course 
 all the servants were talking. What could we do ? 
 My suggestions of Tredickor and the police, or at 
 the least the railway station threw Sir John into a 
 perfect fury, anything better than a scandal, she 
 would probably come back if nothing were done, 
 at all events he would wait another twenty-four 
 hours. We thought Sir John so wrong that when 
 Dr. Vivian returned from the Headlands we begged 
 his advice. I had to go off to my dear Mrs. 
 Hector, she was much worse, Robert should ride 
 into Tredickor on his own authority and make 
 cautious inquiries. Dr. Vivian pooh-poohed the 
 idea of suicide, Lady Arundel was far too much 
 of a coward for that, she had no money and few 
 friends, the whole matter was a maze simply. 
 How brutal people are who do wrong and then 
 go away without one word ! I did not care one 
 atom what had become of the wretched creature, 
 but I did feel for Sir John and Maxie, poor dear 
 little fellow! In all our surmises we never hit 
 upon a solution. Robert's ride to Tredickor was 
 fruitless and the days and nights went on until 
 a week was gone. Dear Aurelia Hector died 
 and was buried, and I returned home and 
 not one of us was any the wiser than when I 
 went out to the Headlands for that last sad 
 178 
 
THE TEMPEST RISES -HIGHER 
 
 time, so sad that it was months before I could 
 go there again, and years before I forgot the 
 long dreadful struggle for life, or rather for ease, 
 that ended my mother's old friend's last days 
 on earth. 
 
 >79 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 ROUGH WATERS 
 
 Lady Arundel had been absent for ten days when 
 I received a wire from papa telling me he was 
 coming to Portredoc and that I must meet him at 
 Tredickor without fail. I sent for the fearsome 
 vehicle on hire in the village, known as the 
 "jingle," and wondered what papa would say to 
 this bone-shaking contrivance. I knew how he 
 would curse when^he recognised that he had twelve 
 miles to drive in this terrible thing. If he had 
 had any sense he would have given me time to 
 order him something in Tredickor, but used as he 
 was merely to London and London ways and to 
 having everything he wanted done for him at a 
 moment's notice, he had not realised how we were 
 situated or what was before him after his long 
 journey from Paddington to our Cornish wilds. 
 It is amusing, if irritating at the same time, to 
 find Londoners in the country so absolutely un- 
 prepared as they all too often are for the contUtions 
 they find even in the most civilised parts. I have 
 had relations come and stay with me in September 
 i8o 
 
ROUGH WATERS 
 
 with a wardrobe only suited for the park in July, 
 and they have kindly worn my coats and wraps 
 and quite overlooked the fact that I do not 
 keep a double supply of everything. This had 
 happened to me so often that at last I invested in 
 a very thick and very hideously unbecoming gar- 
 ment called a " Golf" cape. This did comfortably 
 for either male or female visitors, and I put the 
 horrid object into the " jingle," laughing to think 
 what papa would say when he had to put it on. 
 But the moment I saw his face I knew something 
 untoward had happened, also he had only the 
 very smallest amount of luggage, and as he never 
 travelled without the most extraordinary collection 
 of things, from a portable easel downwards, I felt 
 certain that a catastrophe of some kind or another 
 had occurred. I rapidly passed in review my 
 numerous relations, none of them were sufficiently 
 dear either to him or to me to make a personal visit 
 necessary, for after my mother's death and his un- 
 fortunate re-marriage we seldom or never met. I 
 never went to his house and he very seldom came 
 to mine, what had happened then to bring him post- 
 haste to Portredoc ? I never knew any one detest 
 an undesirable task more than did papa. All 
 through his long life he would go round any 
 possible corner he could rather than face a diffi- 
 culty or meet anything or any one in the least 
 degree unpleasant. That he had not written one 
 of his usual peremptory and generally unreadable 
 letters, was in itself a sign that a tragedy of some 
 
 i8i 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 kind or other had to be faced, and I thought it best 
 to ask him at once, without any preamble of any 
 sort or kind, what had really occurred. Naturally 
 he declared that reasonable conversation was im- 
 possible in that awful carriage ; he was tired to 
 death. Oh, the journey was all right as far as 
 Plymouth, but after that he had stopped at every 
 horrid little station they came to and the guards 
 and porters all talked their heads off before they 
 would allow the train to proceed. He declared 
 he had heard the history of every old woman and 
 man, and their cows, pigs and sheep for miles 
 round, that he furthermore had quite a good idea 
 of the success of the late flower harvest and the 
 result of the deep-sea fishing, and that he wanted 
 his dinner, and he was nearly dead, and that Basil 
 Hodges was a fool and he strongly suspected I was 
 one too, and that what would happen now or why 
 he was dragged into the matter he for one could 
 not understand !, Basil Hodges ! Surely that 
 imbecile woman had not run off to Basil ? My 
 heart seemed to stop beating for half a second and 
 then went off" once more at a fearful pace. At last 
 I told my much shaken and fatigued parent that 
 he had at least ten more miles to drive, and that 
 I really could not wait until he had had his dinner 
 and rested to hear why he had come down post- 
 haste to Portredoc. So interspersed with many 
 groans and ejaculations I heard the story of the 
 last few days, and I really did think at first papa 
 had calmly gone out of his mind. AH the same, 
 1S2 
 
ROUGH WATERS 
 
 Lady Arundel had turned up at Basil's rooms in 
 London and would not leave them. He had im- 
 plored her to allow him to take her to his father 
 or even to one of his sisters, but she had flatly- 
 refused, she had dramatically pulled up her sleeves 
 and showed the marks of Sir John's " ill-usage " — 
 and hinted that more were concealed under her 
 dress. She said that she adored Basil and had 
 flown to him as her one refuge from a life 
 that had become perfectly impossible now Sir 
 John was jealous of Basil, and had forbidden her 
 even to see or speak to him again ; that Sir John 
 must divorce her if she remained under his roof, 
 for he was sure to put the worst construction 
 possible on her actions, he always did, and that 
 then they could marry and live in London away 
 from that horrible place and the sea and the dread- 
 ful loneliness of the cliffs and shore. Then it 
 appeared that Mr. Hodges had come into the 
 studio the next morning to congratulate Basil on 
 his success, and had found Lady Arundel in 
 possession, pouring out the tea, and behaving as 
 if she had been Basil's wife for years. Basil's 
 man, the male half of the couple who looked after 
 the pied-a-terre Basil always kept in London, 
 had announced " Mr. Hodges, sir," with his usual 
 impassive countenance. Lady Arundel had held 
 out one languid hand of greeting, while Basil 
 jumped up, upset his tea-cup, turned scarlet, and 
 began some sort of an apology for the extremely 
 unconventional situation. Lady Arundel had at 
 
 183 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 once blurted out the whole story, or rathfer her 
 version of the episode. She had actually put her 
 arm round Basil's neck and declared she would 
 never leave him alive, and all this so disturbed 
 the poor old man that he had stumbled out of the 
 room, down the stairs into a cab, and gone straight 
 to papa (papa of all people under the sun) and 
 declared he must get Basil out of that harpy's 
 clutches at once. Now papa's breakfasti, as indeed 
 the whole day's programme, was always sacred and 
 unalterable, and that he should be sent away from 
 his ham and eggs, his marmalade and toast, his 
 half hour's Times, and finally from his model, was 
 something inconceivable, but he felt obliged to go. 
 Will it be believed that he at once fell under the 
 spell of the woman, declared Basil was a lucky 
 chap, and that he was sure it would be all right? 
 Of course Sir John could not expect his wife to 
 put up with such treatment. Naturally he, too, 
 was shown the bruises, to this day I do not know 
 how she managed them, but I quite think they 
 must have been paint. Anyhow, they took in the 
 two men comfortably, and papa returned home to 
 try and console Mr. Hodges and put what he called 
 " the man of the world " side of the question before 
 the broken-hearted father of a most conventional 
 family, on which there had never been so much as 
 the shadow of disgrace before. In these days it is 
 almost impossible to make people understand how 
 such an episode struck a man of Mr. Hodges' birth 
 and breeding. Severely proper, living entirely by 
 184 
 
ROUGH WATERS 
 
 rule, believing in the very letter of the law, he 
 looked upon Basil's career as ended, and his whole 
 family utterly disgraced by Lady Arundel's be- 
 haviour. That papa should excuse him was perhaps 
 natural, his stormy past was remembered, but all in 
 one moment the Hodges' prestige was gone. What 
 Tvould they say in the City? in Bayswater? What 
 would the girls say ? For, of course, the divorce 
 would be reported in the papers, and he would 
 never hold up his head again among his peers. 
 Papa was not astonished to find that the " silly 
 fool," as he termed Mr. Hodges, had gone home 
 and promptly had what his old servant called " a 
 seizure." All was worry, fuss, and trouble. The 
 whole family had turned and rent Basil, and Lady 
 Arundel still remained calmly in possession at the 
 studio, refusing to see any one but papa and Basil, 
 and laughing and talking at the top of her voice 
 when any one came to the door and demanded to 
 be let in. I could see my deluded parent had 
 fallen entirely under her spell, and, as usual, told 
 me I was, as were all women, jealous of superior 
 beauty and talent, and no doubt I was doubly so 
 because I had always looked upon Basil as my 
 property, and I did not like what he elegantly 
 called " my nose being put out of joint." Not 
 even the persistent jolting of the jingle stopped 
 his flow of eloquence, and I learned at last that he 
 had actually come down to beard Sir John in his 
 den and tell him just what he thought of him for 
 his ill-treatment of his exquisite wife. I was 
 
 185 
 
MORE LEAVES FHOM A LIFE 
 
 thankful when I had papa safely in the cottage 
 and was able to turn Robert on to him. At any 
 rate he could not be jealous of Lady Arundel, and 
 as papa had a real regard for his son-in-law, and a 
 certain amount of respect too, he was more inclined 
 to listen, though even then he could not under- 
 stand how it was that Sir John had not moved 
 heaven and earth to find his wife, and why the 
 whole countryside had not been scoured. When 
 Sir John's attitude in the matter was explained to 
 him he groaned aloud. " An utter idiot ! " he said, 
 cheerfully, " I bet you sixpence he won't divorce 
 her, and then where will Basil be, I should like to 
 know?" That being more than we knew either, 
 we said nothing ; the question now was who should 
 go up to the Manor and tell Sir John about his 
 detestable and faithless wife ? Papa firmly and 
 flatly declined to move in the matter that night. 
 He had on his hideous old red slippers and 
 velveteen coat and had begun on his usual big 
 cigar and, as he observed, twelve hours more or 
 less could not do any one any harm, and I was 
 inclined to agree with him, when Sir John himself 
 walked in. The sight of the broken, sad-looking 
 man even moved my father, and it took a great 
 deal to do that unless the shoe pinched his own 
 toe. It was astonishing how easily he endured 
 everything untoward that happened to his family, 
 to whom he was an affectionate parent, as long as 
 we wanted nothing from him and as long as we 
 none of us gave him any trouble about either our 
 i86 
 
ROUGH WATERS 
 
 present or our future. I have never known any 
 father of a family so completely shirk his responsi- 
 bilities as did my venerable papa. It was "light 
 come, light go " with him in every possible relation 
 in life, which perhaps was what made him so 
 distinctly charming, as he most undoubtedly was 
 to every one who ever met him and required 
 neither advice nor assistance at his hands. But all 
 this time Sir John was waiting, and I really felt 
 quite anxious to know what papa would say. 
 Naturally there were a few courteous sentences of 
 introduction and mention of the pictures Sir John 
 knew as well as I did, and then a horrid sort of 
 silence fell on us. At last papa got up, walked to 
 the window and back, and blurted out the errand 
 that had brought him to Portredoc. Robert and I 
 thought it best to retire discreetly from the arena, 
 more especially as the story was received in stony 
 silence and Sir John did not say one word. We 
 sat on the stairs in the half-light and waited ; we 
 could hear voices, or rather one voice, papa's, 
 going on and on, and the short ejaculations from 
 Sir John, and then once more there was silence. 
 An hour passed, then Sir John came out, opened 
 the front door of the cottage and went away into 
 the night groping his way as if he had suddenly 
 become blind. We were greeted with the remark 
 " Of all the mules ! " and then papa explained that 
 Sir John had not the least intention of divorcing his 
 wife, that he was sure a mere whim had taken her 
 up to Londpn ; that he had never struck her in all 
 
 187 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 his life and that moreover she was merely using 
 Basil as a tool to get her freedom, a freedom she 
 should never have, for he had promised her father 
 on his death- bed to care for her, and she should 
 always be his care, no matter how she felt or what 
 idiotic ways she took to shake him off. Maxie's 
 mother, Cecy's mother might act on impulse and 
 stupidly, but that she could be wicked he could 
 not believe. Sir John had moreover stated freely 
 that Basil's appearance was such that it was impos- 
 sible for Lady Arundel to have fallen in love with 
 him, he hinted that she did not know what love 
 was, that she had had hundreds of admirers, rich, 
 handsome, well born, if she wished to leave her 
 husband and home she could have done so with 
 some victim of her bow and spear, with whom she 
 would not be ashamed to be seen, that it was true 
 he had spoken harshly to her about the letter and 
 telegram and that he had told her what he felt 
 about it all, but nothing more had occurred. He 
 was quite ready to forgive and forget and he should 
 go up to London by the express and fetch her away 
 from the studio, ^the address of which he carefully 
 noted in his pocket-book, at the earliest possible 
 moment. He might even allow her a few days in 
 London. Fortredoc was dull for her, and once in 
 London they might as well see a little of the 
 season. Papa flounced up and down our small 
 sitting-room literally wild with rage. That he 
 could have taken that horrible journey for such a 
 man and with such a result was enough to madden 
 1 88 
 
KOUGH WATERS 
 
 one, of course Sir John must divorce his wife, he 
 was an icicle. Basil might be small and plain, but 
 at aU events he knew how to treat a woman, and he 
 should stick to Basil, and he only hoped that Lady 
 Arundel would pitch into the cold-blooded brute. 
 I mildly asked what he would say if one of us 
 behaved as Lady Arundel had done, but he only 
 spluttered and fumed and went off to bed with his 
 book and his usual glass of water, swearing aloud at 
 the dull and inconvenient candle which replaced 
 the ample electric light of his own house. Will 
 it be believed that that bad old person got up and 
 went out as soon as the office was open and wired 
 to Basil that Sir John was on the war-path and 
 meant to retrieve his wife I Well, he did, and in 
 consequence Basil and Lady Arundel, travelling as 
 Mr. and Mrs. Hodges, went off to Paris, and when 
 Sir John arrived at the studio the birds had flown 
 and there was nothing whatever for him to do 
 except return to his hotel and think matters over 
 calmly if he could. Lady Arundel had left him a 
 note stuck in the frame of the looking-glass, the 
 usual pincushion being wanting in Basil's bachelor 
 abode, to inform him that nothing would induce 
 her to return to Portredoc, that she hoped he 
 would get the divorce over quickly for there 
 might be others to consider besides herself, a hint 
 Sir John did not understand until we explained to 
 him that she was reminding him that there might 
 be a child to think of later on, which, of course, was 
 a most ridiculous statement at present; and she 
 
 189 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 further remarked that she would sooner die than 
 see Sir John or Portredoc again. As for Maxie, 
 Mr. Howells had made him hate her, and no doubt 
 he would be far better brought up if he never set 
 eyes on his mother again than if she had the care 
 of him, which she neither asked for nor wanted. 
 In fact a more cruel, I may say brutal letter never 
 was written on such an occasion, I am sure, and 
 to this day I cannot understand how anything in 
 feminine form could be so utterly regardless of the 
 feelings of a man who was her husband, and had 
 been the father of two such children as Max and 
 Cecy. Even then Sir John was not daunted, 
 nothing would induce him to obtain a divorce, his 
 name should never be dragged through the mire 
 of the divorce court. He knew Antoinette, she 
 would soon tire of her freak, she would beg him to 
 take her back, she should always have a shelter 
 under his roof; she would repent, at any rate, he 
 would never free her to become the wife, so called, 
 of another man. Sir John fully believed in the 
 " until death us do part " of the marriage service, 
 while he soon began to blame himself for what he 
 called his hastiness, the dulness of Portredoc, and 
 the imperious manner in which he had stopped all 
 gambling and refused to allow dubious or riotous 
 people inside the Manor House. All that summer 
 he used to come in about tea-time and talk to me 
 about Antoinette and the chances of her returning 
 home and once more taking up her life in the old way. 
 Basil and Antoinette were still out of England, 
 190 
 
ROUGH WATERS 
 
 and though, of course Basil had to communicate 
 with the dealers and others about his pictures and 
 business matters generally, his address was always 
 paste restante somewhere in Italy or Switzerland, 
 and he was never to be found by any one who went 
 over to try and see him. I had always hoped and 
 believed that Basil's attitude to the temptress was 
 that of a chivalrous, if foolish, man, and that he 
 was merely a platonic " bear-leader " to the way- 
 ward and feverish creature who had attached herself 
 to him. All the same, he had never written to me 
 since he disappeared, and I began to "hae me 
 doots " ! Later in the autumn two dreadful furni- 
 ture vans arrived at Basil's house, his man came 
 down, packed up all the well-known goods and 
 chattels and disappeared, refusing utterly to tell 
 me one single thing, though his wife had been our 
 nurse and he himself had often assisted us as 
 children to go to bed and get up in the most un- 
 sophisticated manner possible. Dear Joe Wallf 
 Faithful to Basil, as he had always been to us, he 
 had his own opinion about the life at the studio or 
 wherever Basil was then, but he was most certainly 
 not going to give him away. All the same, I got 
 him to take up a note to Basil begging him to 
 write to me and let me know how matters were 
 going, and as Wall went out he murmured con- 
 fidentially : " If you could get the old gent to see 
 about a divorce, do, miss ! " (I was always miss to 
 them both) " or else there will be trouble for them 
 as didn't ought to have it." Here was the hint 
 
 191 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 once more only given in an even plainer manner 
 than before ; but all I could get out of Wall was, 
 " You ask nuss, miss," " nuss " being Wall's word 
 for nurse, and he never called her anything else 
 until the day she died. But not being near enough 
 to nurse, I wrote to Basil and asked him, for the 
 sake of old times, to let me hear where he 
 was and how matters were going with him. I was 
 not in the least surprised to hear he was in London, 
 but I was surprised that not only he but Antoinette 
 begged me to go and see them and hear what they 
 had to say, and at the same time implored me not 
 to give them away to Sir John, who, poor man, 
 could have found them for himself, of course, had 
 he not been determined to employ no outside help, 
 but to rely merely on the hope that Antoinette 
 would return "home" truly thankful to escape 
 from the sordid life that she must be leading: I 
 did not know what to do. Basil had always seemed 
 much dearer and nearer to me than any brother of 
 mine had ever been. Could I get him out of 
 Antoinette's clutches? Should I take it upon 
 myself to endeavour to do so ? I dislike women 
 such as are Antoinette and her kind, but anyhow, 
 she could not hurt me. 
 
 It was a warm and exquisite October day when I 
 reluctantly tore myself away from the gold, red and 
 blue of Portredoc and turned my face towards the 
 grime and noise of London. I sighed regretfiiUy 
 as I looked at my dear garden and the long border 
 full of Michaelmas daisies, Japanese anemones, 
 192 
 
ROUGH WATERS 
 
 great cactus dahlias and fuchsias and smelt the 
 delicious fragrance from the overflowing mignon- 
 ette bed. I knew the first storm must make havoc 
 there ; frosts came too infrequently to dread, but 
 high winds, drenching rain and clinging fog might 
 now any day obscure the lovely panorama I adored 
 and which I could not bear to leave. But it was 
 no good delaying matters, and Robert remarked 
 philosophically the sooner I went the sooner I 
 would be back, so with many groans the jingle 
 and I bumped into Tredickor and I was soon 
 in all the horrors of the noise-ridden town. I 
 had refused a half-hearted invitation from one 
 of my sisters, the rest of my family was, I am 
 thankful to say, stiU disporting itself in divers 
 watering-places at home and abroad, and I had 
 quartered myself on dear old Mr. Hodges, very 
 sure that there at any rate I could do very much 
 what I pleased, and I was glad too to find myself 
 in the very unromantic atmosphere of Bayswater. 
 Our old house was inhabited by others, the garden 
 was spoiled, the " Grove " a pandemonium : could 
 it be the same place I once recollected with its prim 
 little houses and its sweet little gardens and its 
 modest shops ? Our dear old bookseller was dead, 
 his once cultured shop (if one can use such an 
 adjective about a shop) was one mass of finery with a 
 sale in progress. How I do hate change ! Even Ken- 
 sington Park Gardens looked changed, though the 
 old maidservant opened the door and Mr. Hodges 
 was waiting in the hall wearing the horrid old 
 
 N 193 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 slippers I had seen Mrs. Hodges at work on at least 
 twenty years before. How well I knew them, there 
 was the fox's head with bead eyes on each toe, and on 
 each side a brush meandered down to meet another 
 one at the heel, all neatly grounded in red wool I But 
 poor old Mr. Hodges was not wearing as well as 
 the slippers, he was shrunk, as some one had said 
 his hat was too large for his head, and his coat had 
 a distinct hiatus between the cloth and Mr. Hodges' 
 neck, his hands were shaking, too, and though he 
 smiled tremblingly and tried to make a joke I could 
 see he was wretched, and that moreover he knew 
 quite well why I had so suddenly come up to 
 London, a place he knew that I strongly disliked 
 to be in, especially in autumn and winter, when 
 Cornwall is at its best, and the seas and skies are, 
 to me at least, one perpetual feast of colour and 
 delight. I soon found out that he had been leading 
 what he called " the life of a dog, my dear," on 
 Basil's account. At first the glamour of a Lady 
 Arundel, even if she were only a baronet's wife, for 
 a sister-in-law had kept the Hodges family quiet, 
 but now there was no hint of a divorce the 
 family had discovered Basil was "living in sin," 
 and in consequence every one was having a remark- 
 ably bad time of it. Clara, the eldest daughter, 
 whose position as the wife of a Bayswater rector 
 was unassailable, had actually been to see " that 
 woman." She did not naturally allow she had called 
 on her, and she had come away literally purple 
 with rage. Lady Arundel had asked her to call her 
 194 
 
ROUGH WATERS 
 
 Antoinette, or failing that, Mrs. Hodges, had laughed 
 at her virtuous horror of her ambiguous position, had 
 remarked that half Clara's congregation was secretly 
 what she was openly, had made the most horrid 
 remarks about one of the richest members of 
 the Church and Clara's sedate spouse, and finally 
 had risen, taken Clara by the arm, affectionately 
 apparently, but in such a manner that she found 
 herself first in the hall, then in the garden and then 
 out in the street, while Antoinette's laugh rang out 
 and she heard her call her maidservant and tell her 
 that she was never at home to old hags like that, a 
 fact she must remember if she wished to keep her 
 place. That St. John's Wood was the scene of this 
 remarkable incident was of course only what was to 
 be expected, and having sent Basil a note to St. John's 
 Wood, I wended my way thither wondering if I 
 should come under the category of old hags and be 
 refused admittance before Basil knew of my advent. 
 If Bayswaterhad altered St. John's Wood had done 
 so even more frightfully, and I had some trouble in 
 finding my way, all the old houses were either gone 
 or going, and the delightful old gardens were about 
 to be swallowed up by a new and most devastating 
 railway. However, some of the roads were left and 
 I found myself outside a glassed-in porch door, 
 feeling rather as if I were on the point of paying a 
 visit to the dentist. Fortunately before I rang I 
 prospected round a little and discovered that Basil 
 had taken a house I once knew so well that I could 
 go immediately to the painting-room door without 
 
 ^?5 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 running the risk of an encounter with the servant. 
 I found Basil had thought of this door too and he 
 was waiting for me. Wall and old Nurse were still 
 attached to the painting room and Wall was even 
 allowed in the house, he was far and away too 
 useful to part with, but old Nurse refused to enter 
 the place. She saw to the models, the costumes and 
 the painting room itself, which she quitted hurriedly 
 should Antoinette appear, but she fell into my 
 arms at the entrance, and before Basil could speak 
 sobbed out all the horrid story. It was what I 
 feared — and more. Not only was there an unhappy 
 infant on the way but Basil was madly infatuated 
 with Antoinette, and all he longed and hungered 
 for was marriage ai\d a possible legitimacy for the 
 coming child. I thought of the six months between 
 the decree nisi and the decree absolute, but I was 
 not sufficiently au fait with the divorce laws to 
 know if one could get a divorce at once or if the 
 law's proverbial delays were to be expected here as 
 elsewhere. All I was sure of was that nothing on 
 this earth would induce Sir John to move in the 
 matter and though I would certainly place the 
 whole thing before him, I knew it would not have 
 the least effect. As for the child it would have his 
 name and he was quite capable of allowing it to 
 think it was his, of that I was convinced. As I 
 was talking to Basil, Antoinette strolled into the 
 room and looked at me in her usual lazy manner 
 out of her half opened eyes : she did not say 
 one word for some time and arranged herself as 
 196 
 
ROUGH WATERS 
 
 picturesquely as she could on an old Empire sofa, 
 draping her muslins and laces about her as 1 
 recollected her doing in the old days of Bourget- 
 les-Bains. Basil fidgeted about and then went up 
 to her, bent over her and kissed her and whispered 
 something to her. I suppose I looked the disgust 
 I felt for she remarked that he was shocking his 
 puritanical friend. She had asked me why I had 
 come to the painting room and not to the house in 
 the proper way. I was not sorry to be able to say 
 I had heard of her instructions to the maid about 
 " old hags," and that probably she classed me with 
 Basil's sister, albeit I was twenty years younger 
 and indeed about her own age, if it came to that. 
 She laughed in quite her old way, drew out her 
 cigarette case and began to smoke in a manner 
 that showed me she had become far more of a 
 Bohemian than she had dared to be under the strict 
 rule and supervision of Sir John. We none of us 
 quite knew how to begin the subject. I made 
 sundry feeble remarks about Basil's picture, then 
 about the fountain and mulberry-tree I could see in 
 Basil's garden, and finally tumbled headlong into a 
 foolish account of my garden and how much I hated 
 to come away. At this Antoinette laughed again, 
 asked me how long we should take going round 
 and round the matter until we came to the object 
 of my visit, and then without a blush or a tremor 
 she alluded to the child she had begun to expect. 
 I did not spare her, told her just what I thought 
 of her and Basil, and moreover assured her that 
 
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 I was certain that nothing on this earth would 
 move Sir John in the direction she and Basil so 
 much desired. Was it the smallest use to tell 
 such a woman that she had not only disgraced her- 
 self, her son and her husband, but the very sacred 
 names of art and genius themselves ? That every 
 one said art and immorality went hand in hand, 
 and genius and indecency, and she had given a handle 
 to scoffers that they would not fail to use — that 
 Basil's life could never be written because of the 
 blot on it, that his advance in art was barred once 
 and for ever by her and her alone, and that she had 
 not only ruined three lives, her own, Basil's father's, 
 and Sir John's, but made a scoffing of the splendid 
 talent she should have been the first to cherish and 
 protect ? Now was the crowning horror — a child. 
 Did she, could she comprehend what this would 
 mean to the child itself? To me a child conceived 
 in lawless passion is a lawless thing itself. From 
 the moment of conception there is something about 
 it that marks it out mentally from its fellows for 
 ever, and that lays it open to the same temptation 
 and makes it ready for the same fate. Had she, 
 had Basil thought of this? Could they realise 
 what this might mean in future years when they 
 were both old and were confronted with the problem 
 that should he or she desire to " go wrong " they 
 had not one single arrow in their quiver to arm 
 them against the day of disaster ? What they had 
 done this child might do, and so the horrible sin 
 would go on and on for possible generations. Of 
 198 
 
ROUGH WATERS 
 
 courseBasil had all the usualarguments at his fingers' 
 ends, how the child of such love as theirs (and here 
 Antoinette actually and most deliberately winked 
 at me) must be superior to the ordinary infant, 
 that lawlessness was nonsense, they were above the 
 law, man-made and idiotic as it was, and that he 
 should not bother at all, only that people were so 
 hateful and would no doubt visit on the unfortunate 
 infant the fact of its illegitimacy. Here Antoinette 
 joined in. Every silly novel of the period seemed 
 to have been read by this couple. If I mistake not 
 it was the period of the " Yellow Aster " and equally 
 idiotic books where Love with a large L took the 
 place of every single thing one had ever been taught 
 to consider decent and necessary in a civilised exist- 
 ence. I let them talk and then asked if they had 
 ever recollected that they must both grow old and 
 perhaps even die, and that when old age came 
 mutual respect and affection were probably more 
 substantial supports than the passion they dignified 
 by the name of love, and that there was rather more 
 than a chance of the child itself being extremely 
 conventional and proper, turning round and rend- 
 ing the parents who had so selfishly branded it with 
 the stain of illegitimacy before its birth. I reminded 
 Basil of a case both he and I had known well, 
 where the son and daughter of a friend had 
 learned their legal status or rather want of it when 
 their father's will was read, and how they had 
 both left the house and their weeping mother, 
 and had never seen her again, so deeply did they 
 
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 despise and hate her for their mutual disgrace. 
 She died alone, wretched, broken with disease and 
 sorrow, would Antoinette, would Basil, care to 
 look forward to a similar fate? Basil suggested 
 that if matters were explained to the child as early 
 as possible, and the blame placed on Sir John's 
 shoulders, all would be different. Basil had rescued 
 Antoinette from the jaws of the dragon, his had 
 been the knightly part, very different from the some- 
 what sordid story of the lawyer and his servant, 
 married all too late to give the children a right to 
 their father's name ; Sir John had refused to release 
 his ill-treated wife, otherwise there would have been 
 no difficulty, no shame in the matter. At any rate 
 the harm was done and no amount of talking would 
 make the smallest difference. Here of course I 
 could say no more, and at last Antoinette suggested 
 that she would like me to see the house and have a 
 little chat alone. I was not eager for either occupa- 
 tion, all the same I thought I had better hear all 
 there was to hear and see all there was to see before 
 I returned and endeavoured to make Sir John 
 release the wretched woman from her unwelcome 
 bonds. I was surprised at the house and was not 
 prepared to see how charming it was and how 
 exquisitely it had been furnished. There was not 
 one single anachronism in the place, aU was Empire, 
 and Empire of the finest period. Now the things 
 would be priceless ; even twenty years ago they 
 must have cost a great deal of money. I should 
 never have credited either Basil or Antoinette with 
 
 200 
 
ROUGH WATERS 
 
 the necessary taste and knowledge. Personally I 
 do not care about living in a museum, I like 
 comfort and things I am not afraid to use. I 
 should not have dared to set down a cup of tea on 
 any one of the fine, highly polished tables, and even 
 the chairs terrorised me with their frail legs and 
 their splendid brocade covers, but 1 liked to look at 
 them, and the whole of the drawing-room resembled 
 one of Orchardson's best pictures, and every tone 
 and tint harmonised and blended in the most 
 charming manner. In some mysterious way 
 Antoinette looked " Empire " too. Antoinette ! 
 What could one call her ? She was Lady Arundel, 
 and yet it seemed such an insult to Sir John, better 
 call her nothing and pass over the matter as lightly 
 as one possibly could. There was no sham about 
 her once we were alone, and she certainly did not 
 pretend either to be ashamed of her very dubious 
 position or to be devotedly attached to Basil, but 
 she was as certainly extremely well satisfied to be 
 in London and in her new house. Of course, 
 women didn't come ; well, not many, but all who 
 did come were most interesting, singers, painters, 
 writers, actors, and actresses ; she was living among 
 history, very diflferent from the stuffy crew she had 
 left in Cornwall. She had never had so much real 
 enjoyment of life since she had married and ceased 
 to be the beauty at all her father's balls and enter- 
 tainments. She loved the happy-go-lucky artist 
 life, there wasn't a man or woman who was known 
 who hadn't been to see her and asked her back. 
 
 20I 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 No one asked to see her marriage certificate. Why 
 should they? Of course Hodges was a horrid 
 name, and those old hags, Basil's sisters, had 
 talked, but no one knew them, and as long as Sir 
 John made no scandal, none knew that she and 
 Basil were not married, and there was no earthly 
 reason why they should. " Not that our set would 
 care," she added. " 1 don't think there are half a 
 dozen certificates to be had among the lot, and no 
 one that I can see is a penny the worse. Indeed, 
 it makes them all more amusing and far more 
 polite to each other than they otherwise would be. 
 Now Sir John thought he had bought me soul 
 and body with his silly old wedding-ring and the 
 ' Voice that breathed o'er Eden.' Basil is always 
 afraid I shall kick over the traces again and make 
 off with some one else, and he is always my lover 
 and never the stern unbending husband, and I mean 
 to keep him so." 
 
 I listened to all she said, I had never, somehow, 
 met any one so absolutely bereft of a sense of 
 decency, let alone virtue, and I felt I could say 
 nothing more, particularly as she wait on to re- 
 mark quite casually that the child was a nuisance 
 and she sincerely hoped it would either be born 
 dead or come to nothing. Such things had been 
 known and she had always been lucky. It was 
 funny that Basil was so anxious it should be all 
 right, he was rather cracked, poor old boy, on the 
 subject of brats, and he had been so fond of Maxie. 
 Well, she only hoped if this one did arrive that it 
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ROUGH WATERS 
 
 would not be the hideous trouble the others had 
 been. But then of course Sir John had fussed so 
 dreadfully over her and them that she had never had 
 a moment's peace. He and the doctor together had 
 even insisted on her nursing them, just as if she were 
 a cow, just as if a bottle would not have done quite 
 as well. As both children had been born in India 
 I felt bound to question this statement. At the 
 same time I felt impatient with myself for even 
 discussing the matter with the empty-headed selfish 
 creature, and I could not help wondering what she 
 really wanted to speak to me about. It turned out 
 she actually did want Sir John to release her, to let 
 her have the money her father had left her which had 
 been settled on her and her children after her, the 
 interest to be paid to Sir John for his life, for her 
 father had evidently distrusted her quite as much 
 as I did. I declined entirely to speak on the 
 matter at all to Sir John or even to Basil's father, 
 who, she remarked, was probably rolling in 
 riches. I suggested that she was not starving and 
 looked expressively round the room. She shrugged 
 her shoulders and remarked that what I saw was 
 stage property, valuable of course, but quite as 
 much stock in trade as canvases, brushes and paints 
 were. Even the garden was the same ! In spring 
 it was to be one mass of wild flowers. Basil had 
 planted hundreds of daffodils on the lawn and had 
 even made a rock garden and a pond. It would 
 be very much like a scene in the theatre. Moreover 
 flowering shrubs had been stuck down wherever 
 
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MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 they could be put. I wondered if she recollected 
 Basil's picture of Cecy and the roses at Portredoc ! 
 Really, no woman had ever lost a child so com- 
 pletely as Antoinette appeared to have done. Cecy 
 need never have existed for all she seemed to re- 
 member about her. The very idea of a garden as 
 background would have made me shrink and quail 
 had Cecy belonged to me, but here was Antoinette 
 discussing the matter and even suggesting that if 
 the child did come it would be put into a picture 
 at once and be called Spring ! In that case Winter 
 would be the only season left for Basil to portray ; 
 what could winter be to either her or him when 
 such seasons as they had passed through were 
 the only preparation either would have for that 
 untoward time of the year ? With tea Basil came 
 in and proposed to see me back to Bayswater. 
 Antoinette gave us one of her quizzical looks and 
 evidently thought there was no danger of my 
 alienating his affections or giving him such a moral 
 lecture that he would never return to St. John's 
 Wood, and we walked off together feeling very 
 much as if we were once more the boy and girl of 
 old times. I could not help saying what I felt, 
 that he had wrecked his career and that his work 
 must suffer from his surroundings. I told him 
 how my father's art had deserted him under some- 
 what similar circumstances, and that nothing made 
 up for the loss of a sane and sensible home. But 
 Basil — poor Basil — was so overwhelmed by the 
 idea that such a splendid woman could love such 
 204 
 
ROUGH WATERS 
 
 an "insignificant little chap" as himself that he 
 was pathetic to a degree on the subject. It was 
 useless for me to say once more that genius was 
 always supposed to be another word for immorality, 
 and that he had not only harmed himself but the 
 art he had given up so much for, that his father 
 was heart-broken, that I was miserable too, and 
 that under no circumstances would I ever enter his 
 house again as long as Antoinette Arundel was 
 the mistress of it. I blamed her a thousand times 
 more than I did him. Of course I knew women 
 were always hard on the woman. Naturally, 
 for we know that temptation comes from the 
 woman and not from the man first. 1 used all the 
 arguments I could to get him to leave Antoinette 
 and send her back to Sir John. But Basil was 
 infatuated ; he firmly believed that she had gone 
 in fear of her Ufe of her violent husband and that 
 Basil had only rescued her just in time to save her 
 life. It did not seem to me that I need have come 
 up to London to hear all this ! All I could assure 
 Basil was that he could not look forward to a 
 divorce and marriage with Antoinette, that Sir 
 John had said his last word on the subject, and 
 that I did not believe he would ever attack Basil 
 himself did they meet, so abjectly afraid was he 
 of getting his name into the paper and so bringing 
 disgrace on himself and his son. So all I could do 
 was to say good-bye sadly enough, telling him 
 that he could be sure of me if he ever required real 
 help, but that I felt more sorry than I could say 
 
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MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 that I had ever taken his cause in hand and had 
 not allowed him to settle down comfortably into 
 the office in the City. I said as much to poor 
 dear old Mr. Hodges before I left for Portredoc, 
 but he patted my back kindly ; after all, Basil was 
 a Royal Academician, the Queen had bought more 
 than one of his pictures, he was celebrated. No 
 doubt this madness would pass; her ladyship 
 would return home, or die or something, and 
 all would come right. I was glad Mrs. Hodges 
 was not alive and that Mr. Hodges was not " the 
 man he used to be," but I was sorry — sorry when 
 I left London and returned once more to my 
 peaceful home by the exquisitely lovely Cornish 
 sea. 
 
 206 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 HARD TIMES 
 
 I DO not think people would ever really go wrong 
 if they could realise the hideous misery they cause 
 innocent folk. Sinners in the accepted sense of 
 the word may suffer themselves or they may not, 
 but their suffering is, after all, deserved. What 
 can compensate the unfortunate relations and 
 friends for all they have to go through for their 
 faults? I do not quite know how the story got 
 out, but I have always the idea that Will Spicer 
 was at the bottom of it, innocently may be, but all 
 the same the effect was dreadful. I think he must 
 have written to the Master, and he must have told 
 the old letter writer at Bryantstown, but at any 
 rate that vile old creature wrote his usual letters 
 all round ; first to the Court, then to the President 
 and all the members of the Academy, and then to 
 every one he fancied had the least interest in artistic 
 matters ! Not only this, but he sent photographs 
 of the " guilty parties " with his letters so that there 
 should be no mistake at all about it. Some of the 
 Society papers had veiled allusions to the scandaL 
 
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MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 but, naturally, as Sir John had taken no steps, 
 nothing could actually be said. Still, an amount 
 of espionage went on both at St. John's Wood and 
 even at Portredoc that was well nigh intolerable, 
 and Sir John was perpetually asked by detectives, 
 both by letter and personally, if they could not 
 assist him in securing a divorce. Sir John scarcely 
 ever left the gardens now, the lodge gate was 
 locked and no one ever admitted unless he or she 
 were well known, but letters came; sometimes a 
 stray detective or newspaper man got in, and I 
 began to fancy I could see Sir John alter every 
 time I saw him, so old, so sad, so miserable did he 
 become. Even Maxie's spirits flagged, he was only 
 a little boy after all, but he felt that something 
 was wrong, and though he did not care for his 
 mother he knew his father did, and to see that 
 adored object of his worship unhappy was more 
 than he could bear. One of Robert's great-aunts 
 happened to come and see me at the time, and 
 as she had had a short experience of the divorce 
 court herself, she was determined to tell Sir John 
 how absurd he was, and likewise how wrong he 
 was not to release his quondam wife and allow her 
 to get married and become respectable once more. 
 The aunt's story was, however, singularly unlike 
 poor Sir John's, for all her wrongs and sufferings 
 were entirely her own doing, and her husband 
 having run off" from her with their cook, she 
 fondly imagined that by releasing him she gave 
 herself an opportunity of finding another husband. 
 208 
 
o 
 
 o 
 
 Q 
 H 
 M 
 
 o 
 
HARD TIMES 
 
 She had been an extremely pretty and fascinating 
 girl, with lovers in plenty, no doubt others would 
 turn up. She had quite forgotten that forty-five 
 is not as charming as eighteen or even twenty- 
 five. No fresh lover ever arrived on the scene and 
 she lived alone for years, and died always wishing 
 that she had not made such a hash of her life, for a 
 hash it most undoubtedly was from start to finish. 
 Does any one end a long life happily, I wonder ? 
 I do not think it is possible. At the best all one's 
 old friends are gone, at the worst one has so much 
 sorrow, so many losses, and sees so much trouble 
 fall on every one round, that I can but envy Cecy 
 and her like, those who pass early away from this 
 earth and have never known anything save warmth 
 and kindness and the bright side of the sun ! Here 
 was the aunt for example. How much happier 
 she would have been had she died in her girlhood's 
 days, charming to look at, fascinating in every 
 way ! The last time I saw her she was paralysed, 
 aphasic, and could not express in words what she 
 meant ; while she had only a hired attendant to 
 look after her in grimy lodgings. She was poor, 
 no one could help her, of her immediate family not 
 one was left. She had insulted and quarrelled with 
 those who were merely connections, and she even 
 tried to be rude to me, albeit her failing tongue 
 refused to obey her and she could only stammer 
 where she once would have overwhelmed me with 
 reproaches, or with stories of the fancied ill-treat- 
 ment that had brought her where she then was. 
 
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MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 Does any one have a happy life if he or she lives 
 to be really old, I ask once more ? Young people 
 are kind but impatient, one cannot make new 
 friends. All one can do is to sit and watch 
 the sunset, and hope that the end may come 
 speedily. I think that my visit to Great-aunt 
 Emily made me absolutely dread the future, but 
 at the time she came to Portredoc she was stiU 
 good-looking and still quite capable of holding 
 her own, and I really think now she had an idea 
 that given a fair field she would subdue Sir John and 
 take Lady Arundel's place at the Manor. At any 
 rate she was determined to tell him her story and 
 also acquaint him with the fact that her name had 
 never appeared in the papers and that an undefended 
 divorce suit was nothing to fear. That Sir John's 
 name, to say nothing of Basil's, was better known 
 than hers never entered her head, her husband had 
 been in the Service and of good family, even if his 
 name were a fairly common one, and off she set 
 to the Manor, only annoyed because I would not 
 accompany her and help her to elucidate the mys- 
 teries of that particular court of law. Great-aunt 
 Emily returned from her visit in a decidedly 
 chastened frame of mind. Sir John had been polite, 
 but at the mere word divorce he had shut up like an 
 oyster. Well, she was quite sure he was breaking 
 up, and if only they could have waited, death would 
 give Basil and Antoinette the freedom that would 
 mean so much. I was truly glad Sir John had not 
 encouraged my aunt ; not that I expected he would 
 
 2IO 
 
HARD TIMES 
 
 for one moment ; hut she had almost taken a tiny 
 cottage near the church, and 1 felt if she once came 
 to Portredoc that peace would fly from us all. She 
 had gone over Basil's house which was still to let, 
 for Basil had made no real effort to find a tenant, 
 and indeed I think he dreaded to hear his beloved 
 cottage was inhabited, but it was too large for her. 
 All the same, there was not only a tiny place vacant, 
 but a rather nice woman was in want of work who 
 could have " done " for her ; her husband was a sailor 
 and she had no children, and he was so seldom at 
 home, she always went into service if she could, or 
 rather took some one into her home and " did " for 
 them, and Great-aunt Emily had fascinated her as 
 she always fascinated every one at first and until, in 
 our family language, they " had found her out." I 
 have only known one other person in my life who was 
 in the least as Robert's relation was, and she in her 
 turn left a trail of desolation behind her : she never 
 saw a united family, but she did her best to cause 
 ructions. She set children against their parents, and 
 for the mere love of mischief would encourage them 
 to outrage all the traditions of their homes. She 
 would set wives and husbands quarrelling or make 
 them so suspicious that all happiness fled, and I 
 have always wondered how both she and Robert's 
 aunt escaped punishment, but they did in some 
 mysterious way, openly at any rate, though Aunt 
 Emily's last days must have been terrible indeed, 
 if she in any way realised what they really were, for 
 even I think before her last daughter died she had 
 
 211 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 lost every friend and was not on speaking terms even 
 with her nurse. I was heartily glad when a particu- 
 larly severe gale drove Robert's great-aunt away to a 
 " more civilised place," especially as Sir John would 
 not come near until she went, and I could not well 
 go down to the Manor House without taking her, 
 and Sir John had given me a hint that he did not 
 want her to come again ; all strangers were painful, 
 he said. When I went up I found him in a very 
 agitated state of mind, and he assured me he had 
 quite determined to go to town and see Antoinette 
 for himself and try to get her to come home. 1 
 told him as plainly as I could how matters were at 
 St. John's Wood, but he apparently knew about 
 them and that had actually strengthened his resolve 
 to see his wife and Basil. He would give Antoinette 
 the protection of his roof, the child should be to all 
 intents and purposes his own; was there ever a 
 madder idea in the whole world ? He had had, he 
 said, a most extraordinary dream, Antoinette was 
 in the very greatest danger and wanted his help. 
 Cecy had come to his bed-side and implored him to 
 see her mother, a much grown-up Cecy but Cecy 
 all the same. He was certain Basil would under- 
 stand, he could not possibly give Antoinette all she 
 had been accustomed to, and by now she must be 
 quite ready to come home. No one knew what 
 had really happened, her health could be made the 
 excuse for her absence. It was like arguing with an 
 mind unbalanced to try and argue with Sir John. 
 I repeatedly told him that all they wished for was 
 
 212 
 
HARD TIMES 
 
 a divorce. If he would not obtain that he would do 
 no good, only harm, by going to town and trying 
 to see either his wife or Basil. That it would only 
 be a try I knew, the servants were too well trained to 
 let in an unknown stranger, and to think of Sir John 
 begging for admission on the doorstep and being 
 repulsed was dreadful to me at any rate, but he was 
 resolved, go he would, and he would take care that 
 he was admitted and allowed to put his side of £he 
 matter before them both. Then I had the brilliant 
 idea of suggesting that now the summer was well 
 advanced the couple would be away from London. 
 Indeed it was October once more, to be quite 
 correct, Antoinette having departed from her home 
 early in May, and I was certain that nothing would 
 take them back to London until they were obliged. 
 But I was surprised to hear via Wall and Nurse 
 that they had not gone away at all ! Basil found 
 Antoinette rather more expensive than he expected, 
 fitting up the house had run off with all his savings, 
 his last picture had come back from the Academy 
 unsold. In these days morals and paint are not 
 necessarily twins, in 1890 people were a little more 
 particular and the old Bryantstown man's letters 
 had done, certainly, a vast amount of harm. Then 
 too, Basil had not gone about and looked up the 
 dealers as he ought, neither had he had the notices 
 in the papers he was accustomed to receive. One 
 may scoff at art critics, and indeed my father not 
 only always scoffed at them but positively raved 
 against them, but their notices do an immense 
 
 21-3 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 amount of good or harm according to the tone they 
 take. In my own early days I knew a man bent on 
 buying a certain picture. He took up his morning 
 paper, saw an adverse criticism, I may say a cruel 
 criticism, and he went somewhere else and bought 
 another one of which the same critic spoke in terms 
 of rapture. Time has brought about its own revenge, 
 for the first picture sold at Christie's a week or two 
 ago for double, nay, treble the price he would have 
 given, while the one he bought went at his death 
 for what would scarcely have paid for the frame. 
 That he never knew was perhaps unfortunate, but 
 his family suffered intensely, for they would have 
 been some thousands of pounds richer if their father 
 had followed his own bent and not been influenced 
 by some man's opinion that really was not worth 
 the paper on which it was written. In the same 
 way the picture that sold after Basil died for three 
 times the price he had put on it at the Academy, 
 returned home unsold, and for the first time in his 
 life he had the humiliation of having a completed 
 work of art on his hands which had been exhibited 
 and not even sold to a dealer, let alone to a 
 permanent home 1 An author who is *' returned 
 with thanks," has after all not spent much ; paper, 
 ink, and even a typewriter's services do not mean 
 the workhouse, but a picture is a different matter. 
 Canvas, paint, models, are all expensive, and I 
 have often wondered what we should have done 
 had papa's pictures not sold in the extraordinary 
 manner in which they always did. True he out- 
 214 
 
HARD TIMES 
 
 lived his vogue, and when his pictures change 
 hands now they do so at a fifth of the prices he 
 obtained, but that does not, did not touch him ; he 
 had just what he liked to ask, while his enormous 
 family was growing up, and when his powers 
 failed, he yet sold replicas of all his well-known 
 works, and always had the Academy pension as a 
 stay I How he managed to sell those copies I do 
 not know, neither can I understand how he could 
 have gone over line for line the pictures he painted 
 when life was radiantly happy and all was bliss and 
 comfort for us all. I should have imagined his 
 heart would have broken under the task, that it did 
 not accounts for many things I for one have never 
 been able to understand in his life. Naturally he, 
 Basil and Antoinette were fast friends ; there never 
 was a beautiful woman yet who could not twist him 
 round her little finger, and he had actually used her 
 as a model with very great success. One of the 
 most charming pictures of his later days, indeed, 
 almost the only one he painted, that 1 could endure 
 after his re-marriage, was Antoinette's portrait, 
 reading a letter, I think. Rather a suggestive 
 subject when one recollects a letter was the 
 immediate cause of her leaving Sir John. All this 
 is rather discursive, but it all has to do with the 
 development of the history, for Sir John saw the 
 portrait at one of the autumn " Shows " and never 
 rested until he had made it his own. The poor 
 demented man had wandered up to town and was 
 quite determined to see Antoinette in some way or 
 
 215 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 other. He had tried a letter, a visit; both were 
 taken no notice of at all and he hung about the St. 
 John's Wood house until he became an object of 
 suspicion to the police and drove Antoinette really 
 wild with rage. At last one day in despair she 
 went out to him, and now no longer afraid of him, 
 as she most certainly had been, made him come 
 into the drawing-room, and once and for all most 
 forcibly told him that she would sooner die in the 
 streets than return to Portredoc or have anything 
 more to do with him. She found her London life 
 miich more amusing, she had heaps of friends, and 
 in fact she wanted nothing so much as never to see 
 his face or hear his name again ; neither did she 
 want to hear anything about Maxie, of whom, if Sir 
 John remembered anything, he would recollect she 
 never pretended to be fond. Sir John sat with his 
 face hidden by his hand and said not one word until 
 she had quite finished. He then told her that after 
 what she had said he in his turn never wanted to 
 see her again, but that he would never free her by a 
 divorce. Divorce was impossible to the then old- 
 fashioned churchman, even if he could have managed 
 to keep every word out of the papers, and nothing 
 any one could say would change his ideas on the 
 subject. Antoinette laughed aloud. Neither did 
 she want a divorce ; her experience of matrimony 
 had not been such a success that she wished to 
 repeat it. She did not intend to put on the shackles 
 again. Her child would be all right, who in these 
 days asked to see the register of an infant's birth ? 
 216 
 
HARD TIMES 
 
 And even if that were required, there were many 
 ways of getting over this little business quite com- 
 fortably. Hodges was nearly as good a name as 
 Smith for purposes of disguise, and Anne would be 
 likewise enough for her Christian name. Anne 
 Hodges ! Did not Sir John think the very idea of 
 such a cognomen would disarm any amount of 
 suspicion ? Besides, who knew that the child might 
 live or even arrive at all ? At any rate, she did not 
 intend to cross her bridges until she came to them. 
 Lady Arundel could not say that Basil held the 
 same ideas that she did on either subject, he did 
 want to make sure of her ; he did want the child ; 
 he had some singular notion that it would be 
 supremely beautiful, talented and artistic. He was 
 devoted to children, as no doubt Sir John remem- 
 bered, all the same, she had no desire for them, and 
 she was proceeding to talk in rather more wild a 
 way than usual when Sir John felt he could bear 
 no more, and, making his way into the street, 
 turned his back on his wife for the very last time. 
 I heard he made an effort to see Basil's father, but 
 my poor old Mr. Hodges had quite taken to his 
 bed ; his " seizure " had been rather more serious 
 than we realised at first, and was most undoubtedly 
 aggravated by the manner in which his family 
 arrived, sat with him, and talked at him about 
 Basil's wickedness until he really could bear no 
 more. Their one idea at first was to get him to 
 make a new will, for the old one had already been 
 considerably altered since Mrs. Hodges' death, when 
 
 217 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 at her wish Basil's name had been scratched out of 
 that as well as out of the Family Bible. But when 
 she died, when Basil's fame rose day by day, his name 
 had been restored in both places, though I knew 
 quite well it would come out of the Bible the 
 moment it passed into the hands of Basil's eldest 
 brother, whose wrath against him was increased 
 every time he thought of the lengths to which 
 he had climbed only to be dragged down again 
 by the hands of "that Jezebel." I wonder what 
 Antoinette would have said if she had heard the 
 names hurled at her, but 1 really do not think she 
 would have minded in the very least. By now she 
 was beginning to wish most devoutly she had never 
 seen Basil's face, or rather that she had taken some 
 other means of shaking herself free both of Sir 
 John and Portredoc. Wild ideas that she might 
 have gone as companion to some rich American 
 coursed through her brain, anything rather than to 
 be tied by the leg in the manner she was and would 
 be for the next few months, when she supposed an 
 unpleasant convalescence would occur, to be fol- 
 lowed — Heavens I by more children in due course, 
 as Basil was, unfortunately, quite mad on the sub- 
 ject. For the first time in her life she felt thankful 
 that her age would protect her from many more 
 of these Uttle happenings. In the meantime she 
 would go about here, there, and everywhere and 
 see what she could do to relieve her misery. Basil's 
 tenderness for the beautiful, wayward creature did 
 not touch her heart at all. He used to write to me 
 218 
 
HARD TIMES 
 
 long, long letters, and tell me how he longed for 
 the child and how he yearned over the exquisite 
 woman he had rescued from Sir John's violence, 
 and the fearful depression that had seized her at 
 Portredoc after Cecy's death. He could only trust 
 that the new little life would console her and cause 
 her to forget the darling whose loss had well-nigh 
 broken her devoted heart. Heart ! She may have 
 had the organ known as a heart, but of what is 
 generally supposed to be a heart she had not the 
 very smallest trace. It is rather difficult to tell the 
 happenings of the next month, and had not I met 
 one of the extremely free and easy dames who were 
 her friends I do not suppose I should ever have 
 heard the real truth. But something took me to 
 Newlyn, where an art school on the lines of the 
 one at Bryantstown was just starting, and I met 
 there a Mrs. Soames, the like of whom I had 
 never seen before, and I trust most sincerely I shall 
 never see again. She was one of the Burne Jones' 
 women, who have long since gone out of fashion, 
 and wore her hair neatly folded round her cheeks 
 and head, leaving only her sharp profile with its 
 long nose on view ; and of course she was clad in 
 attenuated, trailing, sad-coloured raiment, and yards 
 upon yards of beads were suspended wherever a bead 
 could go. She still possessed a lovely pair of lan- 
 guishing blue eyes and quantities of brown hair, 
 for what she enfolded herself in was all her own, 
 but I could never look at her without remembering 
 du Manner's sketch of the Maid of Camelot and 
 
 219 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 I longed to ask her if she had sat for that deUght- 
 fuUy angular and most laughter-raising damsel. Her 
 hushand was really about as ridiculous as she was, 
 with his wide yellow tie and his brown velveteen 
 coat, which he replaced by a blue Breton blouse 
 when he painted out of doors and a regular Breton 
 beret, much to the scorn of the fisherfolk and the 
 unconcealed joy and amazement of the Newlyn 
 children, who had not yet become accustomed as 
 they are now to artistic vagaries. Their jargon too 
 was so funny, and I do not reproduce it simply 
 because nowadays it would not only be incompre- 
 hensible but was extremely silly. " Is oo vezzy 
 comfy ? " looks bad enough but sounds a hundred 
 times worse out of the mouths of men and women 
 of mature age neither of whom would ever see 
 forty again ! I really believe the Soames were fond 
 of each other, but it was very embarrassing to be 
 much in their company for they were always more 
 or less entwined, either she sat on his knee or 
 leaned on his shoulder, or knelt at his feet, her arm 
 on his knees gazing straight up into his face, or he 
 reversing the position sat on her footstool and begged 
 her to smooth away the dismal aches from his head 
 with her divine and magnetic touch. I suppose 
 that this pose made them very happy and that they 
 really enjoyed it, otherwise one really would wonder 
 why on earth they made such egregious donkeys of 
 themselves. Particularly as Mr. Soames could not 
 paint and they had about a couple of pounds a week 
 on which to exist, and it struck me that she at any 
 220 
 
HARD TIMES 
 
 rate would have been more profitably engaged in 
 mending his socks, making his shirts and doing a 
 thousand other useful things, domestic no doubt 
 and unpicturesque, but still singularly helpful in 
 eking out the income over the meagreness of which 
 they both continually made moan. Twenty years 
 ago it was not the fashion as it is now to openly 
 parade an empty purse and sordid rags, and Mrs. 
 Soames suffered by being before her time. She 
 furthermore objected to being called anything but 
 Mistress Soames, an affectation we none of us 
 had any patience with, neither would we call her 
 Mirabelle, when we knew for a fact that she had 
 answered to the name of Jane from her very earliest 
 days. All the same we saw a good deal of her 
 and her husband, first because they knew Basil, 
 and secondly because I for one was quite certain 
 a good meal did not often come their way, and 
 I asked them for week-ends though we both 
 suffered a good deal from our good-nature, more 
 especially as they would sing comic songs to a 
 banjo not in the least in character with their Burne 
 Jones yearnings, and the good villagers hated 
 Sunday to be profaned and looked askance at any 
 one who did not patronise either church or chapel. 
 But when I firmly announced that these al-fresco 
 concerts must cease, and indeed the weather be- 
 coming more than autumnal played into my hands, 
 I found, as is so often the case, that the real Soames 
 were far and away nicer than the imitation ones 
 with whom T had so valiantly struggled, though I 
 
 221 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 must own there were many things about the couple 
 that I could not quite like. For example they saw 
 nothing out of the way in the unconventional manner 
 in which Basil was living, and indeed rather envied 
 him the absence of anything resembling a legal tie. 
 I was amused, if one can be amused, by such ideas, at 
 the remarkably foolish manner in which both he and 
 she talked of the sanctity of love and that love and 
 love alone was sufficient for any two people who 
 knew what passion meant. When I suggested these 
 arrangements were rather hard on the children, Mrs. 
 Soames said there need never be any and Mr. Soames 
 remarked that children born of flame and purple 
 glow were the children of the future, and that in 
 their hands would lie the certainty of a fine and 
 perfect human race. " The Greeks will be born 
 once more," he said lying back in my pet deck-chair 
 with the tips of his fingers joined under his chin and 
 his eyes closed, " and we shall again see the young 
 Hercules and Diana of the flashing feet, and 
 Mercury new lighted on the Heaven-kissing hill !" 
 The idea of such a trio in Bond Street and under 
 modern conditions caused me to scoff; nowadays, 
 when airships are rapidly coming to the fore, they 
 might not be as absurd, but Diana in an omnibus 
 slipping out at the Bank, and the young Hercules 
 getting into trouble with his club, and appearing 
 lion-skin and all before Mr. Plowden at Marylebone, 
 would be sights that would scarcely harmonise with 
 their surroundings I I must own iJiat I have very 
 small patience with fads of any sort or kind, but it 
 
 222 
 
HARD TIMES 
 
 was rather pitiful to hear this special couple talk about 
 the children of the future and know that if ever they 
 did produce anything of the) kind the child would 
 most probably be a weakling of the worst and 
 most debased species. I felt certain that neither he 
 nor she ever had a decent meal, and indeed she con- 
 fessed as much, and when I got to know her better 
 told me quite openly that they had not the least 
 real wish either to clothe themselves in sad- 
 coloured unfashionable raiment, or to live on what 
 Americans call cereals, and that they only dressed 
 and ate as they did because it cost less, and further 
 acted as an advertisement. Truly a more ordinary, 
 nay, suburban couple, never lived, and if they had 
 only been blessed with an adequate income and half 
 a dozen children would have been as happy as the 
 day was long. But on what they had they must 
 be absurd, or pass unnoticed through a very drab 
 and everyday life somewhere in a back street in 
 London, or else in an insanitary cottage in some 
 country village, and I think under these circum- 
 stances I might very probably have done the same 
 thing ; that is to say if I wanted to be noticed, and 
 that I can most conscientiously say I never for one 
 moment ever did. Mr. Soames came up one day 
 to Portredoc in rather a disturbed frame of mind. 
 Basil had asked him to make a sketch, a very 
 slight one, of the view from his old garden, and 
 he was afraid he could not do it justice ; had I 
 any suggestions to make or could I help him in 
 any way ? I could only think of a photograph, 
 
 223 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 that Basil himself should manage it was impossible, 
 at least we thought so at first, then I recollected 
 that Sir John had not left the Manor House for some 
 time — not indeed since he returned from London 
 — and that Basil could come down for the day by the 
 night train, returning by the same train the next 
 evening. Two nights in the train would not hurt 
 him, and he could set up Mr. Soames' easel and 
 just sketch what he required and be off before any 
 one knew that he had been here. After all no 
 one at Portredoc knew what had happened, the 
 old Bryantstown man did not write to any one 
 there even if there had been any one to write to, 
 so down Basil came. I met him at the gate and 
 let him through into the wilderness that had been 
 his garden. Only left in May the year before it was 
 one ruined mass of dead leaves, over-grown grass 
 and creepers, and smothered in greenery of every 
 kind, very different from the trim pleasaunce I had 
 seen first, now two years ago the first day I came 
 to the enchanted land of Cornwall. It struck 
 Basil too. I could see that, but all the same he 
 was truly glad to have even a peep at the exquisite 
 prospect and to be once more, even for so short a 
 time, in what was once an earthly paradise. I sat 
 by him as he sketched and we had one of our old 
 talks, and at last he confessed that he was very 
 very far from being happy. Much as he adored 
 Antoinette I think the old story, "the woman 
 tempted me," might have been quoted by him, but 
 he was too loyal to even hint at that. He only 
 224 
 
HARD TIMES 
 
 wished she had done as he asked her and accepted 
 an asylum under his father's roof until such time 
 as he could claim her as his wife indeed. Now 
 she was not well he often found her in tears. 
 Sometimes she would rush about all over London, 
 then at others she would refuse to leave the house 
 for weeks at a time. She would now and then 
 ask " Tom, Dick and Harry " and their wives to 
 riotous supper-parties, then would refuse to see a 
 soul or even speak to Basil himself, and he could 
 but think her behaviour would have a most un- 
 fortunate effect on the child, if not permanently on 
 herself. Then he told me he was seriously uneasy 
 about a doctor she had found out quite by accident, 
 who lived near them and was apparently hardly 
 ever out of the house. Antoinette had had rather a 
 prolonged fainting fit one day when he was out, and 
 the terrified servants, unable to communicate with 
 her own medical man, had rushed about, and after 
 trying at every door which possessed a brass plate 
 without success, had found a man in who had come 
 at once, and in some mysterious manner had ousted 
 good old Dr. Vinen and put himself very much in 
 his place. I knew Dr. Vinen very well indeed and 
 loved him very dearly, and indeed he had promised 
 to look after Antoinette entirely on my account. 
 I had been very open with him naturally, and had 
 asked him for Basil's sake to superintend the 
 arrival of Basil's child, and I knew too that Dr. 
 Vinen's presence would be good for Antoinette if 
 anything on this earth could be. I never knew a 
 
 p 225 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 kinder, better man, one of the old school of doctors, 
 now I fear rapidly disappearing but whose memory- 
 is enshrined in a thousand grateful hearts ; none of 
 which are more grateful than my own, I can vouch 
 for that I It was odious to me to hear that Dr. 
 Vinen had been " sent packing," as Mrs. Soames 
 put it, and even she looked alarmed when she found 
 that Dr. Christin was in his place. It turned out 
 then that Dr. Christin had the very worst reputation 
 possible in the medical world, and that Fate could 
 not have played Basil a sorrier trick than to have 
 allowed this man to cross his path. He had settled 
 in St. John's Wood with a smart little house, a smart 
 little brougham, and a brass plate on his door, and 
 had only the degrees that were then enough to 
 allow him to practise, and no one seemed to know 
 even when he came, or who his people were at all. 
 In those days I think a man could practise with 
 only the L.R.C.P. ; if so, that was all Mr. Christin 
 possessed, and though he called himself and was 
 called doctor, had no more right to the title than I 
 had. I had very little knowledge then of what I may 
 call the " backstairs of life," and even now I am not 
 half as worldly wise as people half my age are, and 
 I could not understand at first what made Basil 
 uneasy, and why Mrs. Soames appeared so angry 
 about the change of doctors. Neither did I hear 
 untU much later what had actually occurred. But 
 very soon after Basil's return home, Antoinette's 
 hopes of motherhood were blighted, and she had 
 a long and apparently a most dangerous illness 
 226 
 
HARD TIMES 
 
 from which she had scarcely recovered before 
 Christmas time came. I do not know how Sir 
 John heard the news, but he did, and came straight 
 up from the Manor House to see me, and to beg 
 me to go and see for myself what had reaUy 
 happened, and much as I hated the long cold 
 journey and London in the winter, or indeed at 
 any time, I most reluctantly packed myself into the 
 train and went off at his behest. This time it was 
 not possible to stay with dear old Mr. Hodges, and 
 I flatly refused to be under the same roof with 
 Antoinette ; so I took Mrs. Soames' old rooms for 
 a couple of nights, and curiously enough there 
 found out a good deal more about Dr. Christin 
 and his pleasing ways than I cared for, more 
 especially as I did not know how to use my 
 information ; for my landlady, willing enough as 
 she was to talk about him, most earnestly impressed 
 on me that her information was strictly " privit," 
 and on no account to be used by me or any one 
 else. After all it is not disgraceful to have an old 
 mother in an almshouse, and to have once possessed 
 a wife and family in a back street in Bermondsey, 
 but it was disgraceful to hear of the manner in 
 which Dr. Christin earned the fees by which he 
 climbed from the back streets to St. John's Wood, 
 and to the possession of the brougham and the 
 smart chestnut horse, Mrs. Soames' landlady, 
 Mrs. Blackwell, had her own special grievance 
 against the man, and was naturally enough burning 
 to speak in his disfavour. Now and then she 
 
 227 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 became almost dramatic in her denunciation of 
 him, but always pulled herself up with a gasp and 
 begged me to consider the talk confidential, for, 
 of course, though she knew, she could only prove 
 her statements by bringing trouble on friends, and 
 indeed on them " that is closer than friends." By 
 which I discovered she meant her own daughter, 
 a hard working girl-typist, who had "got into 
 trouble " at the office, but had been introduced to 
 Dr. Christin before her trouble came to a head, 
 " so to speak," and the girl " had never been the 
 same since, either, poor child," besides which Mrs. 
 Blackwell had absolutely resented the loss of a 
 possible grandchild, albeit it would only have been 
 a badge of shame for the daughter, and another 
 weight on her own burdened and very much bent 
 shoulders. Those who wail aloud over the sharply 
 increasing decline in the birth-rate would have 
 found an excellent advocate of their cause in Mrs. 
 Blackwell, whose opinion about childless married 
 couples was forcible and most distinctly unprint- 
 able, and I found that she knew all about 
 Antoinette as well as about Mrs. Soames and 
 some other people I only recognised as owning 
 familiar names. In fact she was a perfect chronique 
 scandaleuse, and I began to wonder if the so-called 
 society journals and the less reputable novels of the 
 hour were the fictions one hoped they were after all. 
 I recollected bright and charming Madame Chante- 
 merle at Bourget, her stories were rather more 
 lurid, but had a near family likeness to those of 
 228 
 
HARD TIMES 
 
 Mrs. Blackwell, and I felt that one might have a 
 less exciting existence (one could not well have an 
 one more full of incidents) than as thepatronne of a 
 big foreign hotel or as a lodging-house keeper in the 
 less fashionable streets of this vast metropolis, as 
 novelists delight in calling dear, dirty, noisy and 
 most disreputable London. As I listened to Mrs. 
 Blackwell, I was astounded to find, too, how much 
 she took for granted, and what enormous pity and 
 charity she showed towards those who had fallen 
 by the way, had looked to her for help, and often 
 only repaid her with the barest of thanks, leaving 
 more solid payment to that hypothetical moment 
 when their ships might be expected to come 
 in. I was startled to find in her gallery of 
 portraits, represented by crowds of photographs, 
 which she would call " photos " in the detestably 
 clipping manner of the day, many people I 
 had actually known and whose stories as known 
 to me were very different from those known to 
 the good old soul. In faded plush or bent brass 
 frames they stood about her rooms, and as each 
 represented an epoch to her, the fly-blown, battered 
 and faded pictures were so much history to her and 
 nothing else. Here was an actress in her teens, a 
 joyous eager creature, now an aged and broken 
 woman. Who could have foretold her unhappy 
 career ? No one ever had such success, so much 
 love and admiration. Here in her earliest days she 
 had lived with her " husband " and borne him three 
 children. Mrs. Blackwell was with her on the 
 
 229 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 disastrous day when the "husband" went off as 
 usual to his office and an " elderly gent " called, 
 which said elderly gent was the family lawyer, to 
 offer terms and a settlement, as the "husband" 
 was being married that day to some one else and 
 therefore would be unable to return as usual to 
 dinner that night. The terms and settlement were 
 accepted. I think the gay irresponsible butterfly 
 was as tired of the man as he was of her ; anyhow, 
 Mrs. BlackweU said she only laughed rather more 
 than usual until the children asked for Daddy, then 
 she became serious, wore black, and told them to 
 place flowers on a grave at Kensal Green where 
 Daddy was supposed to be lying quietly asleep. 
 Actress to her finger-tips, she literally enjoyed the 
 pathetic pose, and after a while took up with some 
 one else. " She really married that time," said Mrs. 
 Blackwood, " but she soon tired of him ; he drank 
 and wasn't very kind to the children, and so she 
 came back here; then she went to America and 
 I've never heard of her since. No doubt she's 
 dead, most of them photos is dead, now I come to 
 think of it, and sometimes I feel I must burn 'em ; 
 one gets tired sometimes of sitting amongst the 
 tombs, you know, but it's all one can do if one lives 
 at aU when one comes to my age, and that's what 
 makes me think I'd have loved Jessie's baby, even 
 though it didn't ought to have been born, and never 
 was if it comes to that. Now that girl," she added, 
 hauling out quite a recent picture, " Well I there ! 
 she was an 'andful. She had an 'usband and she 
 230 
 
HARD TIMES 
 
 didn't ought either. Poor young chap, I did feel 
 for him, she literally led him into it, his people 
 were rich then and she thought she'd done a good 
 thing for herself when she got married, but there, 
 not a shilling has she had but what he makes or 
 tries to make, his folk were smart and wouldn't 
 look at 'er either, and the work she's 'ad to do since 
 the 'appy day she married 'im is a fool to what 
 she'd 'a 'ad to do if she'd married in her own spear, 
 and not having done that, she kept him down too. 
 Yes, I do see some funny things ; the baby was 
 born here while the 'usband was trying to make 
 some sort of a 'ome in Canada ; well, we all 'ave 
 our trials and they brought their pigs to a fine 
 market." I was impelled to ask Mrs. BlackweU if 
 she had ever known any really happy people, and 
 she said " plenty, for a time, but none of 'em ever 
 lasted ; something 'appened, either death, or sick- 
 ness, or poverty, or people got tired of everything ; " 
 indeed, I began to think happiness could only be 
 found in the nearest churchyard, and was prepared 
 for the worst when Basil came in, and Mrs. Black- 
 well went out to an accompaniment of the pro- 
 foundest sighs and groans. Basil seemed to think 
 I might have found a more cheerful resting-place, 
 but I told him Mrs. BlackweU was pure joy to me, 
 and that her kind heart was worth anything, while 
 her stories, though grievous indeed, were most 
 remarkably interesting, and then I spoke of 
 Antoinette and of the reason for my wintry 
 journey from my Cornish garden. Basil showed 
 
 231 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 his disappointment about the illness and its cause, 
 but to my astonishment, spoke enthusiastically 
 about Dr. Christin. He was a most fascinating 
 man, so kind, so skilful, he felt that both he and 
 Antoinette owed him a debt he could never pay. 
 He had saved her life, of that he was quite 
 convinced. Then he had had such an unhappy 
 life, the only son of a mother who had starved to 
 send him to college — I thought of the almshouse — 
 and who had died before success came to him; 
 what he would have given to be able to take her 
 out once, only just once in his own carriage! 
 Then he had married only to lose wife and children 
 in an East End epidemic, and now here he was at 
 forty, a lonely derelict, his only use to help his 
 patients and to do his utmost for those who should 
 take the place of his loved and lost mother, wife, 
 and bairns. I began to be quite anxious to see this 
 paragon, or villain, put it how you will, and I was 
 invited to meet him at tea. Antoinette was not 
 able to stay up to dinner yet, and much against my 
 principles, my curiosity got the better of me and I 
 agreed to go to St. John's Wood the next day and 
 see both doctor and patient. 1 could certainly 
 reassure Sir John, poor, poor Sir John, on the 
 subject of Antoinette's health. I had never seen 
 her look more beautiful, more bewitching, not even 
 at Bourget, in all her fine laces and jewels, but how 
 Basil could take to the terrible little doctor I for 
 one could not imagine. One hears nowadays a 
 good deal about the different auras which surround 
 232 
 
HARD TIMES 
 
 sobie people: this man's aura appeared to me to 
 poison the very air he breathed. He was so 
 dapper, so clean, so elaborately dressed, not a hair 
 out of place, not one apparent fault ; all the same 
 he had an insolent way of looking at one under his 
 half-closed eyelids, and a cruel mouth, scarcely 
 hidden by his elaborately waxed moustache, while 
 his white, well-kept hands "seemed capable of 
 squeezing the life out of any one of whom he had 
 the smallest possible reason to be afraid. I thought 
 of the Hindu's chopped bamboo and ground glass, 
 and of secret poisons, and hated the little demon 
 then as I hate him now. All the same he did not 
 stay long : an imperative message came for him and 
 he went off looking profoundly vexed, and I have 
 not the least doubt that he had copied Bob Sawyer 
 for once and invented a bogus patient, for I am 
 sure he disliked me as much as I did him, and his 
 opinion of Basil from the first was the poorest one 
 possible. There was no reason to disquiet myself 
 or^Sir John about the St. John's Wood manage, 
 and when questioned, as I was most eagerly on my 
 return, I could not even say that Antoinette seemed 
 tired of her position or that she apparently wanted 
 for one single thing. 
 
 233 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 IN THE ARDENNES 
 
 Coming back from my annual stay at Bourget I had 
 made up my mind to spend part of the annual jaunt 
 abroad in the Ardennes. Some one, I forget whom 
 precisely, had spoken to me in raptures of a certain 
 village and a certain hotel, and as we had neither 
 of us seen much of Belgium we settled to stay at 
 Touchette and at the Hotel Viron for at least a 
 fortnight before setting in at home for the autumn 
 and winter. I had not seen Basil for quite 
 eighteen months, not, indeed, since my visit to 
 St. John's Wood, and I had very little idea of 
 his doings. I could not keep up any sort of pre- 
 tence of friendship with Antoinette, and in conse- 
 quence his letters had become fewer and fewer and 
 at last ceased altogether. Poor old Mr. Hodges 
 was dead and had left him a comfortable six hundred 
 a year, to revert at his death to the family unless 
 he married respectably and had a legitimate family, 
 Antoinette being banned by name in the wUl, 
 then the capital was to be his to do as he would 
 with. Furthermore, if he broke with his present 
 entanglement the money was to be his, a fact, or 
 234 
 
IN THE ARDENNES 
 
 rather facts, which considerably amazed his loving 
 brothers and sisters, who being more than well off 
 naturally thought it a great shame that every penny 
 their father had had not come to them, leaving the 
 black sheep of the family without enough money 
 even to buy himself a pail of whitewash should he 
 desire to have one! The more people possess in this 
 world the more apparently they desire, and I have 
 never known a will that did not provoke the worst 
 passions in the breasts of those who were interested 
 in it. Either they have not received one quarter 
 that they expected, or some one of whom they never 
 heard has been given the lion's share, or else another 
 family turns up unexpectedly and comes smilingly 
 up " to the carcase " where those unclean beasts the 
 vultures are all gathered together. The deceitful- 
 ness of human riches is never better illustrated than 
 at the proving of a wiU. A man's nearest and 
 dearest often have not the smallest notion of what 
 he is worth, while he has to be a most open and 
 candid soul who does not prepare a surprise, pleasant 
 or unpleasant as the case may be, for those he 
 remembers and forgets in the aforesaid document. 
 That I personally have never been left a shilling by 
 any human being allows me to take a very detached 
 view of the subject, while I have often rejoiced 
 inwardly over those who have been left lamenting 
 after a lifetime of grovelling at Midas' feet, who 
 either had long ceased to be a Midas or had secret 
 acquaintances, or, it may be, ties to whom have gone 
 all his accumulations of wealth. How any one can 
 
 235 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 enjoy himself in heaping up riches I never can 
 understand, for the one thing at which he aims, 
 namely, to die worth so many thousands, or 
 millions may be, will never bring him the least 
 satisfaction, once he is gone. Yet I have known 
 men Uve in the grimiest surroundings in small 
 inconvenient houses, with bad and useless servants, 
 grudging them their meals or the least expenditure 
 out of the ordinary course, nay, have even gone 
 without necessary food, change, or even medical 
 help, in order that they may bequeath untouched 
 vast sums of money to people they hated during 
 their lifetime, or even, so absurd is human nature, 
 may never have seen at all. I have known an 
 old man and his elderly daughter live in positive 
 squalor, the daughter refused necessary fires in the 
 winter, or nourishing food in illness, to say nothing 
 of all the many things which make life desirable, in 
 order that her Father might look forward to dying 
 worth £250,000, all of which riches go to the woman 
 if she survives him, and which she will not know in 
 the least how to handle. To my knowledge she 
 has never drawn a cheque, never stirred outside 
 the horrid ugly little house except on her own feet, 
 or, on rare occasions, in an omnibus, and has never 
 seen any country save one small corner of her own, 
 and yet I knew her once fond of pretty things and 
 pretty clothes, eager to travel, eager to live in a 
 wide and generous style! Now all is atrophied, 
 and I have not the smallest doubt that should she 
 survive her father she will not make the least change 
 in her entourage or manner of living, and that when 
 236 
 
IN THE ARDENNES 
 
 she too departs the £250,000 will have increased, 
 albeit the people to whom it must go, as she has 
 strong ideas on the subject of family money, have 
 never spoken to her in her life, do not know her 
 even by sight, and do not require one shilling of 
 this vast sum. Then there was the case of another 
 man I knew, indeed I may say there were two of 
 them. We never believed either was even well off, 
 neither ever paid an account until he was asked for 
 it, indeed I have known one of the couple county- 
 courted before he had the heart to part with his 
 money. The two died very very rich men : in one 
 case the wife had died first, she had always longed 
 to travel, to entertain, to do things for the town in 
 which she lived, she had even died because her 
 husband grudged her the assistance of the specialist 
 who would have saved her. When he went his 
 children were astonished at the wealth that became 
 theirs ; they were at the theatre a fortnight after 
 his funeral, money flowed like water, the sons gave 
 up work and went to the dogs, and the daughters 
 married wastrels. No doubt by now the carefully 
 hoarded gold has all gone and no one is a penny 
 the better, whereas had he carefully spent the 
 money in living a broad and gracious life and in 
 arming his children for the battle of life, which no one 
 is a penny the worse for having to fight and, indeed, 
 in most cases is all the better for the struggle, his 
 name would have had far different associations now 
 than it has among those who knew him. The 
 second man predeceased his wife, who immediately 
 spent as rapidly as he had saved; she did not marry 
 
 237 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 again, as the money went elsewhere if she did, but 
 all she could get at went apace, and then she existed 
 on her children's portions, or at least on as much as 
 they could afford to let her have. 
 
 Now Basil's old father had nothing whatever to 
 reproach himself with on account of his money. 
 He had set out his children in life one and all 
 most comfortably, had done generously and well 
 by all his old servants and indeed some of his oldest 
 friends had cause to bless his name. Why, there- 
 fore, Basil's £600 a year raised such a storm as it 
 did I do not know, except because, as I said before, 
 the mere reading of a will appears to let loose a 
 thousand evil spirits of the existence of whom one 
 has never even heard before that took place. It 
 was at Touchette that we heard of what was 
 happening in the Hodges family, and indeed when 
 I saw my dear old friend's death in the Times, I 
 had written to Basil but without any response on 
 his part. Then some one from the old Bayswater 
 set turned up at Touchette and gave me an account 
 of how the will had been received by the rest of 
 the family. 1 who knew Basil's sweet and sensi- 
 tive nature recognised how such conduct would 
 make him suffer, but I was aware also that he 
 would suffer in absolute silence, and that the 
 money would come as a vast relief to him as, not 
 having married Antoinette, he could presumably 
 leave her his legacy and her future would be in a 
 measure safe. I was not, however, prepared to 
 hear that Basil looked most wretchedly ill, that 
 238 
 
IN THE ARDENNES 
 
 Antoinette and her doctor were causing much talk, 
 and that while she protested he was looking after 
 Basil's health every one said that that was the very 
 last thing he was doing, and that old Dr. Vinen 
 saw to that, while Antoinette and her doctor went 
 about shamelessly together, and that he had quite 
 taken Basil's place in her most extraordinary 
 volatile affections. What are women such as 
 Antoinette made of, or for ? She had been bored 
 to death by Sir John and Portredoc; she most 
 certainly did not care, had never cared for Basil, 
 but she had looked on him as a means of escape 
 from a place and a man she had begun to detest. 
 But that she should accept the attentions of that 
 dreadful little dapper Dr. Christin passed belief! 
 He had no position, no one knew who he was or 
 whence he came, rumour was remarkably busy 
 over his name, there had been veiled allusions to 
 him in more than one paper. An inquest had been 
 held over one of his patients in which he had been 
 most severely cross-examined and then censured by 
 the coroner, and in fact the more reputable among 
 his patients were already going elsewhere. Then 
 it was whispered that he had come mysteriously 
 into money, he had moved from St. John's Wood 
 to Cavendish Square, at any rate. Still, if this 
 were true, he was hardly likely to add Antoinette 
 to his collection of tarnished and way-worn and 
 bespattered antecedents and goods. With the 
 very greatest possible difficulty I had persuaded 
 M. Viron to spare me a room that would pass for 
 
 239 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 a sitting-room, but I had managed it somehow ; 
 even now I do not quite recollect how it was 
 done. Not that the dear good man was grasping ; 
 he did not charge me any more, indeed would not 
 take more than he would have obtained from the 
 cheese-paring Belgian horrors who would have in- 
 habited it as a bedroom had he not magnanimously 
 given it up to me. It was some time before I dis- 
 covered that our name was only one, our four 
 rooms should have represented four separate names 
 and indeed eight people, in the " Liste officiale des 
 visi'teurs," and that in consequence the rival hotelier 
 would be chuckling and hoping that at last, at 
 last the Hotel Viron was losing its vogue and taking 
 the second place in Touchette which " of course 
 it was only natural that it should." When I found 
 this out I suggested to M. Viron he should put 
 down our names separately and also add my 
 maid's name and if he put " nom inconnu " against 
 numero 39 he would be all right. I never dis- 
 covered if he did ; official lists do not trouble me. 
 Anyhow I had my sitting-room, which was a haven 
 not only for me from the travelling Belgians but 
 for all the Enghsh passing through Touchette who 
 yearned for afternoon tea and for an hour at least 
 free from the members of that nation who, of all 
 the inhabitants of Europe, are to me the most un- 
 desirable and uncultivated of the lot. At least let 
 me be quite honest and say I found them so nearly 
 twenty years ago, when I suffered so from their 
 presence that I have never attempted to visit their 
 240 
 
IN THE ARDENNES 
 
 detestable country again ; I trust they may have 
 advanced mightily in that space of time ; I know 
 they were then as much out of date as any people 
 I have ever seen. Ah ! I remember M. Viron 
 with a start and take back a good deal of the above 
 for his sake, for a more remarkable personality 1 
 have seldom or never met. 
 
 Tall, active, slight, virile, energetic, he seemed 
 able to be in half a dozen places at once and in each 
 to see to every single thing himself. I suppose he 
 did go to bed, or perhaps he merely hibernated in 
 the winter and did not attempt to sleep until the 
 season from Easter until early October was over, 
 anyhow no one ever caught him napping in any 
 sense of the word. One parted with him in the 
 salon (the transmogrified chambre au lit) one 
 minute, to see his head at one of the windows of the 
 dSpendance opposite the next : then an instant after 
 the garpons were all flying to clear the tables and 
 lay them afresh for the tourists stopping en route 
 to " Les grottes de Hann " for dejeuner and we 
 knew M. Viron was on their track. Then his voice 
 would be heard in the kitchen and finally he would 
 look in on me and assure me that " ces gens " would 
 soon clear out, and that I should have my ddjeuner 
 in private and in peace. Not that peace ever came 
 to Touchette. The cobble-stoned roads, the rush and 
 roar of the tourist traffic, the horrid horrid Belgians 
 ensured that. No, I certainly cannot endure les 
 Beiges with their yells and screams, their pipes and 
 beer and their smells, their villages, their houses which 
 
 Q 341 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 have each their own dung-heap at the side of the front 
 door, and their utter hideousness whether of person, 
 clothes or anything that belongs to them. Even their 
 artists used to be uncouth, uncultured. No wonder 
 their Queen lent my father her beautiful purple 
 moire antique train in terror when he required it to 
 paint, imploring him not to spill beer on it or send 
 it back reeking of the most horrible tobacco one 
 can think of. Let us hope that 1910 is better than 
 1891, for in that year everything was as I describe, 
 and I do not think a free personally conducted tour 
 in a princely motor car would take me once more 
 to any part of la Belgique. We had been told, too, 
 that the Ardennes were a dream, if so they are a 
 very bad one, a real nightmare, and the excursions 
 have to be made over roads paved with cobble- 
 stones ; the forest is spoiled and Oh, St. Hubert ! 
 The village, the church ! Which is the dirtier of the 
 two I wonder? The hounds go to church on 
 St. Hubert's day to be blessed by the priest and so 
 preserved from any fear of hydrophobia and very 
 picturesque is the ceremony : the huntsmen in their 
 theatrical and most remarkable garb of green and 
 gold and their quaint horns wound round them 
 and the splendid dappled hounds make a beautiful 
 picture. But from the state of the church when I 
 saw it, I should say dogs always go to church most 
 religiously. Can it be as dirty now, I wonder, as it 
 was in August 1891 ? I wish some one would go 
 and let me hear how it looks at the present day ! 
 There is a long, long street leading down from the 
 242 
 
ST. HUliKRT 
 
 A BELGIAN SITEET 
 
IN THE ARDENNES 
 
 church to the station : and here we sat on a door- 
 step and had coflfee and rolls of the nastiest descrip- 
 tion and the dearest price, and here we watched the 
 children come out from the prize-giving in the 
 public hall, each bearing a prize and crowned with 
 a more or less dilapidated laurel wreath. I protest, 
 each child I saw wore laurels, either the Belgian in- 
 fants are prodigies of virtue or their rewards are given 
 much on the lines of those of an ordinary English 
 Sunday school : a species of bribe to come again 
 after les vacances and continue the meagre studies 
 then presided over by the priests and nuns. And 
 no doubt they are still. I do not think Belgium 
 has followed the excellent example of France and 
 wrested its children's education out of ecclesiastical 
 hands. When it does, perhaps matters will advance ; 
 may indeed have done so, for, as I said before, I have 
 not been in Belgium for the last twenty years, and 
 have not the least wish ever to go there again except 
 that 1 should like to see M. Viron ; to know if he has 
 swallowed up his rival the other hotel-keeper, or if 
 he has bought the whole of Touchette and turned 
 it into one well-managed and stupendous hotel I 
 
 It was when we were trying to absorb the horrid 
 coffee at St. Hubert that, to my amazement, I saw 
 Basil of all people in the world slowly toiling up the 
 hot and stony street, picking his way between cabbage 
 stalks and fragments of laurels (for the wreaths fell 
 to bits as the children passed,) and debris of all sorts 
 and kinds, looking about him in the keen but short- 
 sighted way I knew so well. But such an altered 
 
 243 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 Basil : so thin, so stooped, so unhappy, that I did 
 not go out to meet him, for I was not sure he wished 
 to see us, or that he had not come to St. Hubert 
 merely by accident or, as we had done, to make the 
 acquaintance of the patron saint of our friends the 
 dogs. I had bought a dear little image of the saint 
 which I stiU possess, and a tiny brooch of base metal 
 which I have lost, I am sorry to say, made in the 
 image of the stag with the cross between his horns : 
 the sight of which in the forest had converted Hubert 
 the prince and swashbuckler into the priest and 
 saint, and I watched Basil with one eye as 1 
 wrapped up my purchases. He evidently was 
 looking for us, for when he caught sight of us his 
 step quickened and the old bright smile flashed over 
 his countenance and he did his best to hurry up the 
 steep slope. I rose and went towards him. Even 
 that small effort rendered him breathless, he had 
 his hand on his side and was panting horribly while 
 a flush came on his thin, thin cheeks. I waited a 
 little and then we slowly reached our unappetising 
 table and he sank down on the doorstep, absolutely 
 tired out. We could procure good brandy even if 
 the coffee was horrid and we got a little for Basil. 
 He then pronounced himself an ass and that he was 
 all right. M. Viron had told him where we were 
 and had assured him our venture would bring 
 him back to Touchette in time for dinner. Oh ! 
 but such a dinner, Madame had given her orders, 
 and it was to be in the sahn, not in the public 
 room. Indeed, he had spoken as if we were princes 
 244 
 
IN THE ARDENNES 
 
 at least and ready at any minute to share our meals 
 and room with any of our compatriots; and truly, as I 
 remarked before, we had done so over and over again 
 in pity for those of our nation forced to eat with 
 the gobbling crowds, or go supperless and hungry 
 to their beds. Basil confessed that he had been ill, 
 well, not ill, only that odious influenza had attacked 
 him and Dr. Vinen had advised a change. Will 
 Spicer had come too. He had been coming to the 
 Ardennes anyhow to paint, but he had caught sight 
 of the hotel kitchen and grandmere Viron in her 
 high-backed chair by the charcoal stove directing 
 her men and maids in the same masterly manner in 
 which her grandson ran the hotel, and he had at 
 once begged to be allowed to sketch the marvellous 
 old lady. The kitchen itself was quite wonderful 
 with its splendid oaken dresser full of pewter, brass 
 and china vessels, its great groups of scarlet and 
 green vegetables, and its busy air of business ; while 
 grandmere Viron at eighty-five was as upright 
 as a dart, with eyes as bright and as sharp as her 
 knitting needles, and though she was fast in her 
 chair with rheumatism nothing escaped her. Her 
 chair was on wheels, the bright vessels reflected 
 the doings of those who being behind her might 
 presumably be out of sight, and should any one 
 count on this the chair was turned round, the 
 offender caught and soundly rated ; sometimes even 
 ears were boxed I No wonder that with such an 
 ancestress M. Viron was the man he was, 1 suppose 
 his father and mother must have died early and his 
 
 245 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 grandmother must have brought him up ; I never 
 heard, it was sufficient to watch the wonderful couple 
 and know she and her husband had started life with 
 two fields and a cabaret, and now her grandson 
 grew all the produce required for the hotel and 
 owned as many houses in Touchette as ever came 
 into the market for sale I 
 
 Will Spicer had taken out his sketch-book and 
 set to work at once, for daylight did not linger in 
 the great old oaken-floored and ceiled kitchen, and 
 he was frantic to begin ; so Basil had followed us 
 in a friendly vehicle chartered by some English 
 strangers cwho were going on to the Chateau 
 d' Ardennes. He was restless even after his long 
 journey, and was, I could see, anxious to be once 
 more with some one he could call his friend, and 
 was, moreover, far too ill to be alone in a strange 
 land, even with any one so really good and devoted 
 as his old fellow student undoubtedly was. I made 
 up my mind to write to Dr. Vinen secretly and ask 
 him about Basil, and in the meantime I tried to 
 find out how matters were with him. We had 
 some quiet talks about the dear old merchant and 
 his calm and peaceful death, and his sorrow that 
 one of the new-fangled companies was to run the 
 ancient business which had known none save a 
 Hodges for so many many years, and how he 
 said he did not mind dying in the least now his 
 hand could no longer control the ship. Basil 
 laughed over his brothers' and sisters' dismay at 
 the will, but I could see he felt it all deeply. He 
 246 
 
IN THE ARDENNES 
 
 seemed so alone, somehow ; even when he mentioned 
 Antoinette he spoke sadly. His life was disappoint- 
 ing, perhaps such a life always must be. He had 
 broken the law, whether God's or man's, he was 
 not now as free as he once had been, so naturally 
 he was called upon to pay. Influenza is depressing 
 very, but by now he should have shaken off the 
 worst effects of his attack, anyhow, Touchette did 
 wonders, he heard, for depression. He could only 
 hope it would do as much for him as it had for 
 others, for he had never felt so " under the weather " 
 in all his life before. I seemed to see once more 
 the delicate little lad in his shepherd's plaid tunic 
 and blue bow whom I had mothered in the long 
 dead days of my very early girlhood. He had the 
 same pathetic droop of the lips, the same ebb and 
 flow of the blood in his cheeks that made Miss 
 Wright prophesy in one of her most dismal moods 
 that he would never live to grow up ! That he had 
 done so was a marvel. Perhaps it would have been 
 better had he died in his early boyhood, yet, recol- 
 lecting his pictures, it was impossible to believe 
 that. After all, his suffering must mean some- 
 thing, must lead somewhere. If only Antoinette 
 had never come to Portredoc ! Will Spicer looked 
 in on me once when Basil, recovered somewhat, 
 had gone off to see the horrible grottoes which are 
 in a measure the raison d'etre of Touchette, and 
 are altogether the pride and joy of Touchette's 
 inhabitants; and from him I heard a great deal 
 more about the St. John's Wood manage than I 
 
 247 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 should otherwise have done, and it was very evident 
 to me that Antoinette was thoroughly tired of Basil 
 and her present position, but that there was abso- 
 lutely no way out of it all. True, at the time of 
 the inquest, when Dr. Christin was in trouble and 
 really in far more danger than outsiders were aware 
 of, she had taken him up warmly, and both she and 
 Basil had given him shelter ; but that once over, 
 the mysterious money turned up and Dr. Christin 
 took his Cavendish Square house ; and though he 
 and Antoinette met continually, neither seemed 
 anxious to be more than friends, and Antoinette 
 was still casually kind to Basil. Casually, that is 
 the manner she showed kindness, much as one gives 
 food to an unloved dog with an extra bone now and 
 then ; but there was no real kindness, not one atom 
 of love, and Basil wanted love more than most 
 men. It was hard he should have been saddled 
 with such an unspeakable person as Lady Arundel, 
 whom Will Spicer loathed from the depth of his 
 true and unselfish heart. I asked if she had grown 
 any older in appearance or changed in any way, 
 but Will declared he had not the least idea, for he 
 never looked at her if he could possibly help it. 
 Moreover, he went to see Basil in his painting 
 room, and nowadays she never came there at all, 
 he believed. " She " was the name we gave Basil's 
 evil genius, and, indeed, we had not the least idea 
 how else she should be called. It seemed an insult 
 to Sir John and Maxie to use their name, and to 
 call her Mrs. Hodges or even Antoinette was more 
 248 
 
IN THE ARDENNES 
 
 than we could manage to do. " Wall " and " Nuss " 
 were still faithful, and both were extremely un- 
 happy about Basil's health. Wall indeed, had 
 surreptitiously fetched Dr. Vinen one day when 
 " She " was out, and " Nuss " had installed herself 
 in Basil's bedroom and taken the nursing entirely 
 on her shoulders. Not that " She " interfered after 
 the first when Dr. Vinen appeared. " She " merely 
 shrugged her shoulders and gave up the struggle, and 
 though Basil certainly had not been fit to travel, 
 both Wall and " Nuss " had implored Will Spicer 
 to get him away somehow. Antoinette, possessed 
 by even more devils than usual, would persist in 
 strumming in a maddening manner on the piano. 
 Dr. Christin sang in a high screeching voice ; doors 
 were banged, dogs barked, organs were encouraged 
 and not sent flying in the ordinary way, for Wall 
 could do nothing when Antoinette found pence for 
 the horrible men who owned these instruments of 
 torture ; and Basil's nerves were racked in such a 
 way that even Dr. Vinen thought a journey would 
 give him a better chance of health than he would 
 ever have with Antoinette's piano going, and the 
 many other noises that she encouraged heartlessly 
 from morning until well into the night. I inquired 
 earnestly if Dr. Vinen thought there was anything 
 radically wrong with Basil, and was really astonished 
 at the manner in which Will Spicer had grasped the 
 details of his case. He only wanted warmth and 
 sunshine, mentally and bodily. Undoubtedly there 
 was great delicacy; there always had been, as I 
 
 249 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 knew, from his childhood's days, but it was more a 
 question of temperament than anything else. If 
 Basil were happy and prosperous, he would be all 
 right, if miserable and poor he would no doubt be 
 seriously ill, the struggles of his early days before 
 my father and his friends had rescued him from 
 the office-stool had predisposed him to disease, but 
 now he was well off, all he required was love and a 
 good home. That he would never have either with 
 Antoinette we knew quite well, was it too late I 
 wondered to rescue him, even against his will from 
 that dreadful woman's clutches ? Alas 1 when Basil 
 came into my sahn and began to talk in his old 
 strain, I found that to lose Antoinette was the 
 very last thing he wished, one of his greatest 
 dreads. He yet hoped for a son, a child; his 
 passionate love of children was stronger than ever, 
 and even if that were impossible he looked forward 
 to a long life together ; perchance growing older, 
 and finally passing away into the shadows hand in 
 hand. He had never done such good work as since 
 she came into his life, he could not expect every- 
 thing, of course she was not domesticated or indeed 
 demonstrative. I thought of her at Bourget-les- 
 Bains and smiled to myself; but she had an extra- 
 ordinarily stimulating effect on him, and even as he 
 spoke of her, Basil looked better and more like his 
 old self than he had done for some time. We had 
 naturally a great deal to talk of together. There 
 are no friends like the friends of one's schoolroom 
 days, and though I was older than Basil, his experi- 
 250 
 
IN THE ARDENNES 
 
 ence had aged him a good deal and he seemed even 
 in advance of me for once. I had had a great deal 
 of illness and worry, and more worry seemed to be 
 on the way, and above all, I had been told that 1 
 must leave my beloved Cornwall and try what 
 living in a town would do. Of course, there is 
 but one town in England for a cockney, and that 
 was London, and I had before me the weary search 
 for a house, than which I know nothing more back- 
 aching, heart-breaking and detestable. How often, 
 I wonder, have I started out, long lists of houses 
 and reams of " orders to view " in my hand, to look 
 over houses which sound splendid on paper, but on 
 investigation proved utterly unlike their descrip- 
 tion, and how many disappointments have I not 
 had ? At first there was a suggestion of a suburb 
 or a town within easy reach of London, but I had 
 tried both these places of residence, and though I 
 was fond of Shortlands, it had grown out of know- 
 ledge, all the old people had either died or gone 
 away, and as for a town, my recollections of 
 Watford, now swelled to bursting-point, decided 
 me against anything resembling that, so it would 
 have to be London and St. John's Wood, which, 
 regardless of fashion, I shall always consider the 
 only corner of the vast city in which it is possible 
 to live. There are places there where motor 
 omnibuses do not pass, and where organs are 
 ordered on, and where comparative peace may 
 be obtained. Though when one recollects it, as I 
 do, in the good old days of Sir Edwin Landseer's 
 
 251 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 spacious garden, now covered with " model dwel- 
 lings," and other pleasant places smothered in flats 
 and devastated by the Great Central Railway, I 
 cannot help wondering why that special district 
 was not saved altogether and kept strictly for the 
 dear little pretty houses and big gardens that I 
 remember so well, so very well. There is small 
 sense shown in the ordinary planning of the places 
 where one must live, and I hear even the garden 
 cities, so vaunted, so much advertised, are supposed 
 to be lived in by those who do not require quiet and 
 privacy, and are sufficiently " broad-minded " to be 
 able to dwell in public with a small low green 
 hedge to make a boundary, but not by any measure 
 to keep one away from one's neighbour. It is 
 curious how if once one begins to migrate one 
 continues to do so over and over again. As chil- 
 dren and young people we lived in one house alone 
 until we were married. I " took on " a house lived 
 in by the family I entered for forty years. Since 
 the first fourteen years of our married life we have 
 gone from pillar to post. Is there to be no rest at 
 last for the soles of our feet, I wonder, for I protest 
 four years on end is the longest stretch that has 
 been vouchsafed to us from those very early days I 
 I even felt impelled to envy M. Viron and his well- 
 planted roots in Touchette, and both Basil and I 
 asked him curiously how he liked living always in 
 one place, and, above all, what he found to do in the 
 winter. He was most entertained at our inquiries. 
 What he did not find to do was easier described than 
 252 
 
IN THE ARDENNES 
 
 what he did, every bed had to be re-made, every 
 blanket washed, every room scrubbed and cleaned, 
 white-washed, polished ; all the kitchen things over- 
 hauled and replaced, then the linen-cupboard! 
 Why that alone took him and grandmdre a 
 month to replenish and bring up to date, and, 
 furthermore, there were the farm and the land, 
 always that. In the evenings they read, and he 
 kept up his English, and German and French. 
 He had tried a little Italian, but found he could 
 get on with the Latin the priest had taught him, 
 and after all few Italians came to Touchette. Small 
 wonder, we thought, Touchette and the Belgians are 
 less likely to appeal to the people of that land of 
 beauty than even they did to me. Basil and Will 
 Spicer did not take quite the gloomy view I did of 
 the place, people, and country. Basil made some 
 deUghtful sketches of street corners where I only 
 saw horrors and smelt smells, and the forest too 
 appealed to him, while Will Spicer had gone quite 
 mad over grand/mere and her kitchen, and indeed 
 that picture was the best he ever painted, of that I 
 am quite convinced. I . wish I had the sketch- 
 books Basil and he filled with tiny silhouettes of 
 priests in their pointed beaver hats, of sisters with 
 work-worn hands folded meekly underneath their 
 long sleeves, of the great pigs that wallowed joy- 
 fully amidst the garbage cast out of the hotel in an 
 insouciant manner from the back of the kitchen 
 into the main street, and of even M, Viron himself, 
 now welcoming load after load of tourists, always 
 
 253 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 smiling, always ready ; now passing them back into 
 the enormous char-h-bancs, now bustling about to 
 make the tables fresh for the guests in the hotel 
 itself. Now talking to us and bringing me tight 
 bunches of horrid marigolds and sunflowers, as if he 
 had nothing to do in the world save be polite and 
 pleasant and try to make us as happy and comfortable 
 as he was himself. Not a day came but he had not 
 some suggestion to make for an excursion, and 
 should we fall in with his plans, neat lunches and 
 " five o'clocks " were packed in baskets for us, and 
 though we were frugally en pension, no further 
 charge was made. How did M. Viron make the 
 money he did I wonder ? I recollected the magni- 
 ficent hotel at Bourget-les-Bains where the weekly 
 bill was a thing to pay and forget as soon as one 
 could because it was an unavoidable expense, and 
 I can only trust M. Viron's ways are still the same 
 for he is the one redeeming feature in my experience 
 of Belgium; for the Brussels hotel ran Bourget 
 close and neither was the least bit better, while both 
 lacked the extreme goodwill and delight that marked 
 everything M. Viron did for us all the three weeks 
 we inhabited his noisy, crowded, over-flowing hotel. 
 Stay, there is one feature about the Belgian tourist 
 1 have forgotten, and that Basil pointed out to me 
 at once, and that was his unfailing superabundant 
 good-humour. We none of us saw the Belgians 
 anything save joyful, it might rain in torrents, all 
 the same the char-h-hancs came along crowded, the 
 stout ladies clad in plaid dresses and gay bonnets 
 254 
 
IN THE ARDENNES 
 
 and the men in capes and round bowler hats were 
 as smilingly bright as if the sun was shining in all 
 its strength. It might be hot or cold, the same 
 enormous amount of food was swallowed and the 
 same monstrous amount of drinks went down, but 
 no one appeared a penny the worse, no one at the 
 end of the longest day was cross or tipsy or peevish, 
 as the ordinary tourist is. Even in aristocratic 
 Bourget I have heard the peasants howlingly drunk 
 at the annual feasts ; I have seen them hammering 
 each other and even their wives after a long hot 
 day, but I never saw anything of the sort in 
 Belgium ; yet I cannot love it, and I do love 
 Bourget with its evil tempers, noises and all! 
 Sometimes in life, for no reason whatever apparently, 
 all troubles appear to cease for a while, and one can 
 look back on certain periods of one's existence as 
 minutes or days when one was really comfortable 
 and happy, and what is still more curious we are 
 aware of it at the time. Such an occasion was that 
 when Basil was with us for a short fortnight at 
 Touchette. He certainly became stronger every 
 day and was happy and bright, and as Antoinette 
 wrote regularly and apparently kindly, he was in 
 excellent spirits and sent her daily scribbles illus- 
 trated fully by those delicious little sketches which 
 I would give so much, so very much, to be able to 
 reproduce here. I missed the flowers of Bourget 
 very much, and I do not think the Belgians care 
 for flowers at all except for the marigolds and sun- 
 flowers M. Viron had grown ; every inch of his 
 
 255 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 ground was filled by vegetables and fruit-trees for 
 the service of the hotel. I never saw a garden in 
 the dirty little villages we used to drive through on 
 the terrible cobblestones which made every excur- 
 sion a penance, to me at least, albeit I did not care 
 to complain, because all the men were so thoroughly 
 happy. Once we went somewhere by a ghastly 
 little train which involved a change. I left my 
 precious illuminated clock in the carriage we vacated 
 and sent Basil hurriedly back to retrieve it, but it 
 had gone, vanished into space certainly in less than 
 thirty seconds. We had reams of correspondence 
 of the subject with the railway, but my clock never 
 returned. I only hope the unexpected shining of 
 its face in the dark frightened the thief horribly. If 
 only he thought the devil had come for him I should 
 not regret my loss, but as I can never know it, the 
 theft is one more grudge added to the very many 
 I owe the Belgians. Yet how good-temperedly 
 they bore with me when I begged them not to 
 smoke in the crowded little carriages, yes, even 
 though our evil smelling methylated spirits burst 
 out of the " five o'clock " basket and nearly poisoned 
 us all. One man did suggest mildly that tobacco 
 was the better odour of the two, but I explained 
 the alcohol d, hruhr was Belgian and not, as he 
 insisted, English, and he laughed and said no more. 
 We were quite friends before we parted at the 
 junction coming home. I do not believe English- 
 men would have been as kind and funny as these 
 men were over it and once more I think kindly 
 256 
 
IN THE ARDENNES 
 
 for a minute at least of that detestable nation ! 
 Basil wanted us badly to go on with him and Will 
 Spicer to Luxembourg and to make our way down 
 towards Italy, where he hoped Antoinette would 
 join him for the winter, but we had spent all our 
 money and indeed more than we ought at Bourget ; 
 we had to wind up matters at beloved Portredoc 
 and hoped to find a habitation at least by the early 
 spring. I flatly refused to leave Cornwall in winter. 
 I had a vivid recollection of the fogs and slime of 
 London in those awful months, a few more aches and 
 pains could not matter, and though it would be a 
 wrench to leave the garden in spring, still spring 
 in London could be very lovely, and I recollected 
 with all my might the beauty of the squares with 
 the flowering trees, the splendour of the crocuses 
 and daffodils in the long grass in the parks, and 
 the bright new clothes and happy people going 
 about. Happy in such a silly way as it appears to 
 middle-aged and elderly people ; but anything but 
 silly when one remembers vividly, as I do, how 
 delightful youth was and how much one did and 
 saw that has made old age a sojourn in a picture 
 gallery, the pictures on the walls of which no one 
 can ever take away. If I linger somewhat unduly 
 over our sojourn at Touchette it is because after 
 we left the Ardennes and lost sight of good M. 
 Viron bowing and scraping and clasping his hat 
 to his heart, after presenting me with an enormous 
 box of chocolates and the largest sunflower and 
 marigold bouquet I have ever seen, I do not 
 
 K 257 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 think any one of us was ever completely, joyously, 
 foolishly happy. Agsiin Basil and Will Sjricer 
 went off when we did and we found ourselves in 
 our wonted refuge in London, some delightfiil 
 rooms kept by delightful people, but vsrith the 
 tasks before us, first of finding some sort of a house 
 and a neighbourhood to suit us and then of going 
 down to Portredoc, knowing that it was the last 
 time we should ever be able to consider ourselves 
 part and parcel of the dear little place. Basil had 
 begged me to call and see Antoinette just for the 
 sake of old times, and though I told him plainly 
 that I did not want to see her ever again and that 
 I must always look upon her as his evil genius, he 
 had implored me to forget everything save that he 
 loved her very dearly. So I went. Wall and 
 " Nuss " were alone in the house, consumed with 
 rage and resentment against Antoinette and all 
 her doings ; very anxious about Basil and above 
 all very certain they could find me a house, and 
 indeed knew of one now that would be vacant in 
 March and that I could secure if I liked it at once. 
 As we were discussing the burning question of 
 the kitchen range or something equally domestic, 
 Antoinette trailed past the painting-room window 
 moving with her usual "pantherine" grace. I 
 vow her dress and outdoor costume complete could 
 not have cost less than £150. She had on a few 
 fine furs ; and Paris was written large across her 
 from top to toe ; where had she found the money ? 
 " Nuss " sniffed as shq passed I Wall groaned and 
 258 
 
IN THE ARDENNES 
 
 I felt inclined to do the same ; I had hoped to have 
 been able to tell Basil I had done my best to see 
 Antoinette and had failed, but now I could not. 
 She had perceived me through the window, and 
 after the barest civilities asked vaguely after Basil, 
 and then inquired what 1 wanted in her house. 
 Indeed her manner was so insulting that, getting 
 the address. I required from Wall, I went away. 
 Just as I reached the gate a smart two-horsed 
 brougham clattered up, the dapper little mous- 
 tachioed doctor got out, opened the gate with his 
 own latch key and disappeared into the house. 
 His conduct " gave me furiously to think " as the 
 French say, but I contented myself with telling 
 Basil Antoinette was occupied with a visitor, and 
 that in consequence I had no means of knowing 
 how she was, what she was doing, or what she 
 meant to do. 
 
 259 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE CHANGES AND CHANCES OF 
 THIS MORTAL LIFE 
 
 We got back to Portredoc just as October was 
 born, the medlar trees on the lawn of Basil's old 
 house were laden with fruit, the daturas each side 
 of the gates hung out their brilliant orange trumpets, 
 and the myrtle by the porch was in flower ; but new 
 people had come, already the house looked quite 
 diffferent in the curious manner in which places 
 alter with their owners, and smart white curtains 
 with silk sashes round their waists and a profuse 
 array of " art " pots in beaten iron frames on the 
 window sills, announced to me at least the presence 
 of folk with whom I should have little indeed in 
 common. Of course our house and garden appeared 
 particularly charming and cosy, and both were 
 filled to overflowing with the most gorgeous 
 flowers. Somehow when autumn is here and no 
 frosts have come, a garden seems bent on doing its 
 utmost and putting out as many blossoms as it 
 possibly can in the short time it knows it has 
 before it. How nasturtiums, for instance, ramp 
 260 
 
CHANGES AND CHANCES OF LIFE 
 
 and crowd over everything, in every shade from 
 deepest red to palest maize, while the unfailing 
 clumps of Michaelmas daisies and Japanese ane- 
 mones bloom one against the other, to say nothing 
 of the dahlias and the vast masses of mignonette 
 where heavy bees are humming wildly " gathering 
 honey while they may," and all Nature seems to be 
 defying the winter to appear at all in that favoured 
 spot. All the same, to me at least, there was a 
 brooding sense of death in the air ; the delightful 
 health-giving strong winds were quiet, even the sea 
 heaved heavUy to and fro, and we could hear the 
 voices of the passers-by as they exchanged their 
 solid views on matters in general and on the 
 manners and customs of the pilchards in particular, 
 which had now ceased to come into the bay and 
 were already being converted into sardines by the 
 " unscrupulous furrener " to whom they are sold in 
 far too great a quantity for this purpose. All my 
 life long have I yearned to be able to paint, and for 
 the life of me I cannot understand why I cannot 
 reproduce some of the exquisite scenery I knew 
 and the sights I have seen and loved ! Nothing is 
 so beautiful on earth as the sailing of the brown- 
 sailed pilchard boats in Mount's Bay. They glide 
 out from one or other of the little harbours abso- 
 lutely silently into a grey sea with a dense blue sky 
 overhead ; they may rock just a little but there is 
 emphatically no sense of sound, and presently they 
 are out of sight. The night falls, the lanterns on 
 the boats out at sea resemble fading stars, and then 
 
 261 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 at dawn the boats slip back in the growing light, all 
 is colour, all is beauty ! But one must not go down 
 to the fish-market, if one does the glamour is dis- 
 pelled 1 It is decidiedly better to remain on one's 
 special eyrie and only look down on the boats as 
 they come and go. Blessings on yovu* fishing, 
 kindly good strong^hearted Cornish men ; one heart 
 at least will always love you, for nowhere else have 
 I found such unselfish goodness, such pure simple 
 faith, such good and helping and loving hands and 
 hearts ! 
 
 I think leaving Cornwall, or rather the contem- 
 plation of what was before us, made me linger 
 longer than I should have done in the garden 
 before going into the house and hearing the latest 
 news of the place from the maids we had left in 
 charge before we went to Boiirget, or perhaps I had 
 some premonition that the news might not be good. 
 I cannot say. I had hardly entered the sitting- 
 room hall and contemplated ruefully the horrid 
 heap of circulars, newspapers and letters — not 
 worth sending on — that always greet any one 
 retiu-ning home from foreign parts, when Maxie 
 and his tutor came into the porch. Maxie was 
 growing very tall and thin now and was quit6 
 "school high," but when we left home last Sir 
 John would not hear of school, and though Maxie 
 yearned for Harrow and boys of his own age, we 
 thought there had been small chance of that as Sir 
 John would not discuss the subject, and had even 
 spoken disrespectfully of schools generally. Our 
 262 
 
Mk 
 
 
 .1 
 
 g i 
 
 
CHANGES AND CHANCES OF LIFE 
 
 belovqd school on the hill had not even escaped 
 severe stricture. As Mr. Howells was an old 
 Harrovian and venerated the school as much as 
 we did, we never allowed the subject to be raised 
 in Sir John's presence. I was, therefore, very much 
 surprised to hear that after Christmas Maxie was to 
 go to Harrow and that he had even passed the 
 entrance examination for this present term. But 
 when it came to the point Sir John had put it off 
 for three more months, giving as an excuse the 
 very valid one that he had not much longer than 
 that to live and that he wished to keep his boy with 
 him until the last. When Mr. Howells told me 
 this in a low tone of voice while Maxie was rushing 
 as usual all over the house and garden to see things 
 had not been altered since his last visit, I was 
 stricken dumb. Dr. Vivian had thought it his duty 
 to speak out to Sir John. His pallid countenance, 
 his rapidly decreasing strength denoted danger, a 
 specialist was summoned from London, our good 
 doctor's diagnosis was confirmed, and since then 
 every day had seen Sir John less and less able 
 to do anything, less and less willing to leave 
 Antoinette's old sitting-room, where he sat in front 
 of the portrait of his wife and Cecy, holding one or 
 other trifle in his hands that had belonged to the 
 well-beloved pair. Sir John had never been able 
 to speak of Cecy at all since the day she died ; were 
 her name mentioned he would rise and leave the 
 room, or else turn pale and tremble as one supposes 
 only a woman does. The rector had been to see 
 
 263 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 him, but he could, he said, do nothing for a man 
 who was so much nearer Heaven than he was. 
 Oh ! good and dear Sir John, who had never had 
 any doubts at all, who was churchman first, last, 
 and always, and who would as soon have doubted 
 that Cecy waited for him at a pair of most material 
 golden gates as he would have disbelieved the fact 
 that day follows the very darkest night mortal man 
 has ever seen. To him death was but the passing 
 out from one room into another, another where the 
 balm for aU his troubles was awaiting him, and 
 where he would even understand why Antoinette 
 had left him and had rejected the splendid love of 
 his pure and brave and honourable life. Such men 
 as Sir John was are very rare in these rushing days 
 of ours, and I love to dwell on my remembrance of 
 him. As I write I can see his square-shouldered and 
 upright carriage, his fine profile, his soft pure white 
 hair and his piercing blue eyes. Even at the last 
 he rose to greet me — that a lady should be received 
 by him seated was impossible, his very voice was 
 courtesy itself. I wonder if he ever ' ' lost his temper " 
 in his life, or stormed or raved, or even contradicted 
 an opponent. I do not think so. I even believe that 
 had he done so, had he made Antoinette just a wee 
 bit afraid of him instead of merely boring her to 
 death she would never have left him as she did. 
 How could Basil, recollecting the gentle, courteous 
 man, ever think he had used violence to his wife ? 
 There are many mysteries still to me about 
 Antoinette Arundel. I can never understand why 
 264 
 
CHANGES AND CHANCES OF LIFE 
 
 she fascinated men as she did. But then, of course, 
 we are told that no woman understands another's 
 fascinations, though honestly I say this is not so. 
 I recollect many women who have fascinated me 
 as well as they fascinated every man who crossed 
 their paths. There was Mrs. Edmund Yates, to 
 go back to quite ancient history, for one at any 
 rate. Certes ! I could name a dozen, if pressed, 
 who have positively hypnotised me, from beautiful 
 
 Caroline M on her wedding-day, with the 
 
 blood of a hundred earls in her veins, and a tragedy 
 in front of her, to gay and sparkling creatures of 
 the stage, admired all the more because I never 
 saw them before the footlights or off the boards, 
 when no doubt they would have become mere 
 mortals at once, and perchance not the best speci- 
 mens of the race after all. Antoinette likewise, 
 having the "pantherine" attributes that I have 
 mentioned more than once, had very many things 
 which appealed to me too, the vast quantities of 
 exquisite hair, the wide, low, noble brow, the beau- 
 tiful little hands and feet (and no one who possesses 
 large members of either kind can I endure), and 
 the lovely figure, and above all the soft and lovely 
 voice, all were hers. Why did I dislike her the 
 moment I saw her I wonder ? Could I have felt 
 unconsciously the harm she radiated ? No man 
 ever crossed her path that she ever let alone were 
 he worth powder and shot, even my venerable 
 parent went down before her at once. But that 
 was not to be wondered at, any woman could twist 
 
 265 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 him round h&c little finger, and the curious fascina- 
 tion he had for the female sex, as they had for him, 
 lasted until well over his ninetieth birthday. Only 
 the other day I met some one who saw him then ; 
 she gushed wildly over him. Well! Once I gushed 
 too : that one ceased to do so for years and years 
 was not my fault, I at least can say that much 
 about myself. 
 
 All this is digression, but somehow I feel as if 
 I do not want to tell the end of this particular 
 episode in my life. There have been so many, 
 and so many all more or less sad, but this one, so 
 it appears to me, is the saddest, but one, of aU 
 the sorrows 1 have been called upon to bear. 
 Called upon, one says in the old-time jargon, but 
 I do not reaUy mean what that expression generally 
 stands for. One does one's own " calling," makes 
 one's own miseries or pleasures; only — only one 
 does not see far enough ahead to avoid the rocks, 
 or grasp the joys when they are within one's reach. 
 I hope some day other people may have other wider 
 sight than that given to the orthodox. But the 
 ordinary views made Sir John happy. " What ye 
 know not now ye shall know hereafter," he said 
 always as he became weaker and more weak, and 1 
 vow the sight of his passing day by day was as the 
 vision of some splendid sunset, the while one 
 almost felt certain that the dark night of death 
 would be merely a phase, and the sun would rise 
 once more for him in a country where he should 
 know neither sorrow nor sighing any more. How 
 266 
 
CHANGES AND CHANCES OF LIFE 
 
 I wish stern common sense did not possess me, and 
 one argument after the other rises in my mind 
 when I try, as I so often honestly try, to think as 
 folk resembling Sir John do, and absolutely force 
 me to know that " our little life is rounded by a 
 sleep, a sleep and a forgetting." It is so much 
 pleasanter, so much more comfortable to merely 
 believe, but I will not pretend to myself even under 
 any circumstances, the most I can do is to hope 
 and leave the rest. After all, one cannot do any- 
 thing, look at death and a possible future anyhow 
 one can ! I think autumn is after aU the best time 
 in which the older folk can fall asleep ! Not 
 that Sir John would have used that expression. 
 " When I go," he said more than once, " just put 
 ' Died at Portredoc,' and do not say ' fell asleep ' or 
 ' passed away ' or any jargon of that kind, it is an 
 insult to death to do so," and he would calmly and 
 quietly tell me all he wished me to do afterwards, 
 and nearer the end to my somewhat awful astonish- 
 ment, he broke to me the fact that I was to have 
 entire charge of Maxie, and even regulate his 
 affairs for him until he reached the ripe and cir- 
 cumspect age of thirty. 
 
 No coming of age at twenty-one was to beMaxie's^ 
 but a long sober minority, and, moreover, he was to 
 have a profession and a moderate allowance unless 
 he married with my consent. Then came even a 
 greater surprise than all. Antoinette was left the 
 Manor and £2000 a year. It was all left to her with- 
 out note or comment, the Manor gardens were to be 
 
 267 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 kept up ; if she would not live there then it could 
 be let until Maxie came of age or married. Was 
 ever a madder, more quixotic will made ? As for 
 my part in it, I was to have a certain income for the 
 work before me, and Antoinette's money was to go 
 to Maxie when she died, she was not to touch the 
 principal, or have the slightest control over it after her 
 death as regards the willing of it away to a soul. 
 
 Sir John was too feeble that day to argue the 
 question with him, and I was thankful to know 
 that his family lawyer was to be his executor 
 in addition to a strong-minded male cousin, 
 but I did not look forward to playing the part 
 of mother to Maxie Arundel. However, one 
 boy more or less, I supposed, would make small 
 difference; there would be three lads to send to 
 Harrow instead of two, and as Maxie fully in- 
 tended to be a soldier, I supposed the army class 
 and Sandhurst would absorb him, and Mr. Howells 
 could be attached to him out of school hours, and 
 would be thankful not to be parted from his boy. 
 But Antoinette ! Of course she and Basil would 
 never attempt to live at Portredoc ! All the same, 
 one never could be sure of what she would and 
 would not do, and I began to be thankful that we 
 were leaving the beloved place early in the coming 
 spring, and that in consequence whoever Uved at 
 the Manor after Sir John would not interest me at 
 all. PurceU, Antoinette's old maid, had solemnly 
 handed over all keys to Sir John when there 
 seemed no sign of her mistress' return, and 1 had 
 268 
 
CHANGES AND CHANCES OF LIFE 
 
 been asked to go through her many possessions and 
 make a list. All her garments were just as she 
 left them more than two years ago ; her furs, her 
 laces, her jewels, then the doors of her rooms were 
 locked and sealed. Even Maxie had wondered at 
 that, and at the fact that his father had gone into 
 another part of the big old house. But just before 
 the end the housekeeper sent for me and told me 
 she had orders to open and air the rooms under my 
 supervision, as Sir John wished to return to his old 
 place. Poor old Trescoe was in tears when I went 
 into her own room. The servants, one and all, 
 worshipped their master and Maxie and dreaded 
 the break-up of the place, which must now, of 
 course, be merely a matter of a few weeks. 
 Trescoe was the only " family servant " ; all the 
 same no one could be a year in Sir John's service 
 and not worship him for his kindness and con- 
 sideration and the careful thought he had for 
 every one with whom he ever came in contact, and 
 the maids and Sir John's man were one and all 
 mournful in the extreme. I have been in houses 
 where the mere idea of a " death in the family " 
 was enough to excite the whole household, which 
 at once eat and drank as if it was to have small 
 time for the future in which to enjoy these 
 mundane deUghts, and where the idea of new 
 black clothes and the excitement of a funeral 
 almost turned the heads of every denizen of the 
 servants' hall. But there was none of this unseemly 
 h5rpocrisy about Sir John's imminent departure. 
 
 269 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 The housekeeper and I and a couple of the maids 
 entered and opened once more the long deserted 
 rooms. Here were Antoinette's slippers and boots 
 in a serried row under the great dressing-table 
 laden with all the silver paraphernalia of her toilette. 
 Even her nightdress was still in its scented sachet 
 on the bed and her bureau was open and confused 
 just as Sir John had left it. We had not been 
 allowed to put away or touch anything save the 
 valuables, and they were yet in the wardrobes and 
 safes ; and Cecy's little bed was in the dressing- 
 room where Sir John had had it moved despite 
 Antoinette's objection after the child's death. 
 Indeed the whole set of rooms was haunted, first 
 by Cecy's gentle little ghost and then by the 
 anguished memories of the passionate beautiful 
 woman who had gone out into the night from her 
 home in the tempest of wrath and dread that had 
 wrecked so many lives at once. 
 
 We had scarcely opened the windows and seen that 
 the fires were set going before Sir John was wheeled 
 in his chair into the bedroom, he gazed eagerly round 
 and I saw at once that he was looking for all the 
 small personal belongings of his wife that I had had 
 sufficient intuition to know he wished left un- 
 disturbed. I gently persuaded him to leave the 
 room to Trescoe and the maids, he should return 
 as soon as possible, and promising to place Cecy's 
 cot beside his larger bed, he allowed himself to 
 be wheeled away, the servants weeping uncon- 
 strainedly when the chair was once out of si^ht 
 270 
 
CHANGES AND CHANCES OF LIFE 
 
 and hearing. I was horrified to find from Trescoe 
 that Sir John had indited a feebly scrawled note 
 to Antoinette, begging her to let him see her once 
 more before he died. Up to the moment no reply 
 had come, and knowing her dread of unpleasant 
 scenes and sickness, let alone death, I felt nearly 
 sure that at any rate if she did come it would be 
 merely to enter into her inheritance, collect her 
 belongings, and leave Portredoc at the earliest 
 possible moment. At the same time it was well- 
 nigh impossible to prophesy what Antoinette 
 would or would not do ; and 1 was much relieved 
 at receiving a hasty line from Basil to say that 
 Antoinette had not been at all well lately and 
 that Dr. Christin had ordered her abroad for a 
 complete change, and that they were running over 
 to Paris for at least a fortnight the day he wrote 
 the note to me. In fact Christmas and the New 
 Year would see them still in Paris if Dr. Christin's 
 prescription proved a success ; though Basil was 
 anxious to go back to work, which was rather 
 at a standstill owing to the continual fog which 
 had smothered London with more than its usual 
 amount of choking pall. I took my courage in 
 both hands and somehow managed to let Sir John 
 know his wife was abroad and would not return 
 to England for some weeks at least ; and I could 
 see he was thankful to be able to imagine, either 
 that she had not received his letter or that she 
 could not return to England for some reason or 
 other. I did mention her bad health, and then he 
 
 271 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 was quite at rest about her, and 1 spent every 
 afternoon of the last beautiful fortnight of his life 
 beside his bed which he had wheeled up to the 
 window ; from whence he could see the wonderful 
 ever changing sea and at night watch the flashing 
 lights on the Lizard and the Land's End and on 
 the Bishop and the Longships, and now and then 
 hear the sirens wail through the occasional dim 
 mist hanging about the Channel 1 Sir John 
 appeared to me to live over again, almost month 
 by month the many links of his long and on the 
 whole successful and delightful Ufe, and he was 
 absolutely certain that the moment he died he 
 would meet Cecy and wander with her through 
 fields of amaranth and never know pain or sickness 
 or sorrow again. Furthermore, he was positive 
 that once free of his earthly body he would under- 
 stand how he had failed to make Antoinette's life 
 happy and why he had been punished as he had 
 been by her leaving him for Basil Hodges. He 
 never blamed any one but himself for all the 
 sorrows and mistakes of his manhood. He ought 
 never to have married any one so young and so 
 lovely ; he ought to have made her love him, then 
 she would have loved his children and never longed 
 for gaiety, or gambled and wasted money in the 
 manner she had done. Finally he ought to have 
 left Portredoc and lived somewhere else. An- 
 toinette had enjoyed her life in India ; it was only 
 at Portredoc that she felt she could not possibly 
 go on living the same dull life that sufficed for an 
 272 
 
CHANGES AND CHANCES OF LIFE 
 
 old man such as he was and a little lad such as 
 was Maxie. We had many talks too about Maxie, 
 and I honestly confessed that 1 did not feel that 
 we could either of us bring him up as Sir John 
 would have done himself, and I implored Sir 
 John to try and live if only for the boy's sake, 
 but I only did this once. When I heard the 
 dread word, " cancer," I refrained, and could only 
 trust the passing might be as peaceful as the 
 doctor prophesied it would be, owing to the 
 fact that it was in a spot where such a merci- 
 ful end could most certainly be expected. I 
 recollected the end of our stern old governess. Miss 
 Wright, who died of exactly the same disease ; 
 how she did not feel well and went to her sister to 
 be nursed; how she got better, and though the 
 doctor diagnosed cancer of the hver and told her 
 she must go, she said she should do nothing of 
 the kind. All the same, she did die quite suddenly 
 and peacefully at the breakfast-table, still wearing 
 the armour-like stays and the golden hair and the 
 painfully correct costume that at the age of seventy- 
 five made her appear a presentable and possible 
 governess for the rich Americans in whose service 
 she died. Really after all she was a lucky woman ! 
 In these days she could not have earned £20 a 
 year, for she did not possess a single certificate and 
 had not one single accomplishment of any sort or 
 kind. Yet papa paid her £50 and we £70 a year ; 
 and in America, if we could believe her bombastic 
 letters home, she received £lOO, and always was 
 
 s 273 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 " clad in silk " ! No doubt she was paid extra for the 
 splendid anecdotes she could tell about the people 
 she saw at Pembridge Villas in the fifties and sixties* 
 to say nothing of the personal histories she could 
 relate — and invent — of every single member of the 
 then Royal Family. She had a magnificent funeral, 
 I believe, and the people in whose service she was 
 when she died gradually brought themselves to 
 believe that she had once taught the young princes 
 and princesses : a legend I came across not so very 
 long ago in an American paper, and which I cer- 
 tainly was not in the least incUned to contradict. 
 It made her old employers happy after all, and we 
 should have been but a poor substitute for the 
 Royal Family she was supposed to have instructed 
 from their cradles to their debuts into grown-up 
 life ! I had had another dearer friend die in the 
 same way and of the same disease ; he, too, passed 
 peacefully out of this life, and I had no dread and 
 fear that Sir John would suiFer the usual martyr- 
 dom of that fell complaint. He was very tired, so 
 tired he could only lie still, talking less and less as 
 the days passed, yet always anxious to see Maxie, 
 to hear from Mr. Howells how the boy was getting 
 on, to know what letters came, and above all to 
 have just the headlines of the news of the day's 
 paper read out to him. He even smiled to himself 
 over his anxiety over the news, and more than once 
 remarked that he felt ashamed at his interest in 
 mundane affairs ; but the Times had been his daily 
 bread so long that he could not imagine an exist- 
 274 
 
CHANGES AND CHANCES OF LIFE 
 
 ence where he should not be interested in all it had 
 to tell him day by day. When I recollect, as I do 
 most vividly, every word he said during the last 
 few days, I think his death-bed was more as if a 
 child were leaving its home to go on a visit to its 
 grandparents in some distant country than anything 
 else. There was the same gentle speculation about 
 the place we know of as Heaven, the same eager 
 curiosity to see and hear all that the future held, 
 yet there was at the same time that feeling of 
 strangeness a child feels when it leaves its own 
 familiar nursery and surroundings and has to make 
 new friends either with people, places or things. 
 He was used to this world, he did not want to 
 leave Maxie and Portredoc ; he longed desperately 
 to forgive Antoinette and feel her tears of repent- 
 ance on his face. I knew, alas ! that would never 
 be under any circumstances. Antoinette was the 
 last woman in the world to face such a scene, the 
 very last to want to be forgiven, or to say for one 
 moment that she was sorry for the cruel way in 
 which she had broken up Sir John's life and ruined 
 his home. 1 wrote to Basil privately and told him 
 exactly what was happening, and what Antoinette 
 would receive at Sir John's death, so that he might 
 make his plans accordingly. That they should enter 
 Portredoc before Sir John left it was, I knew, im- 
 possible ; but once the funeral was over, I intended 
 to take Maxie away to Harrow and leave him there 
 with Mr. Howells until the term began ; and so the 
 field would be left clear for Antoinette did she 
 
 275 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 come, as I felt sure she would, to collect all her 
 belongings and to see just what to do with the 
 house. 
 
 Sir John died very peacefully, most beautifully, 
 on New Year's Eve. He had been sleeping most of 
 the day, a clear and exquisite day it was too, with 
 a suspicion of frost in the air, and he had spoken 
 very, very little. Maxie was with our boys and Mr. 
 Howells, no need for him to know more of death 
 than could be helped before his time, and Dr. 
 Vivian and I were alone with him. The nurse and 
 good old Trescoe were in the outer room and all 
 was very, very quiet. I drew back the curtains just 
 before midnight and looked out ; the lights were 
 flashing all round the coast and a moon made the 
 sea as clear as during the day. Then the Portredoc 
 bells began to toll, they always toU out the old 
 year there before ringing in the new. Sir John 
 heard the beUs, he opened his eyes and looked 
 round the famiUar room. Then he said, " A good 
 New Year ; a good, good New Year ; my love to 
 you all," just an ordinary greeting, as if it were an 
 ordinary night. Then he appeared to sleep once 
 more. In five more minutes the exquisite soft- 
 toned chimes rang out, clattering and falling over 
 each other in their hurry as it seemed to me, to 
 greet the new comer. Sir John sat straight up in 
 bed and listened as if some one had called to him ; 
 then he looked intensely surprised, not joyful, not 
 sad, merely as if he saw something he had not in 
 the least expected ; then he smiled, lay back once 
 276 
 
CHANGES AND CHANCES OF LIFE 
 
 more on his pillows and appeared to sleep. Dr. 
 Vivian leaned over the bed and I came close. The 
 breathing had altered, it grew shallower and shal- 
 lower ; now it appeared to come merely from the 
 throat, then from the lips, a grey shade came over 
 the fine old face, drops of perspiration appeared on 
 his forehead, one deep sigh parted his lips, and 
 without a struggle or a pang Sir John ceased to be, 
 and his warfare, at any rate on this earth, was over 
 and done. Dr. Vivian crossed the kind hands on 
 his heart and I bent and kissed him ; I know not 
 who gave him the first kiss, but the last he ever 
 received was given by me. Heaven knows which 
 marked the happiest epoch, but I think my kiss 
 did ; even walking home through the chilly night 
 up the steep hill to our house I felt that death had 
 been kinder to him than life. Nothing could 
 trouble him any more. Even then I envied his calm 
 peace and quiet rest, I who had never had a real 
 trouble in all my life. How much more I should 
 have envied him could I have foreseen my future ; 
 nay, if I had I think I should have been tempted 
 to refuse it somehow. Oh, it is well that we none 
 of us know what a day may bring forth ; if we did 
 not one of us would live a day longer than we could 
 possibly avoid doing. I would not let Maxie see 
 his father lying dead, much better for the boy to 
 remember him as he knew him in life, otherwise he 
 would only think of him as that long cold dreadful 
 something that made the maids fear to cross the 
 corridors at night, and from which all save Trescoe 
 
 277 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 and Sir John's own man shrunk away. But he was 
 never left ; the winter sun and moon looked in on 
 him by day and night, for we would not draw the 
 blinds as if to keep out death. Old " comrades in 
 arms " travelled down for the funeral, and were I 
 think astonished at the lights and flowers. Still, I 
 feel sure Sir John would have preferred them to the 
 usual gloom and despair, and for him at any rate I 
 could always feel that death was swallowed up in 
 victory. The fine old Cornish funeral customs did 
 not include. the horrors and darkness of a dreadful 
 hearse ; relays of sailors and fishermen carried him 
 up the hill to the church that meant so much to 
 him. His old fellow officers wore their uniforms, 
 and the bright colours and the splendid hymns 
 combined continued the sense of conquest quite 
 through to the very end. Maxie could understand 
 this part of death at any rate now, he knew how ill 
 his father had been, how suffering ; and if I left 
 Mr. Howel'ls and the Vicar to tell him the more 
 orthodox view of the departed, I could assure him 
 honestly that he was out of pain and with Cecy, 
 beside whose tiny grey cross we laid him down at 
 the end, as he would have, nay, as he had desired to 
 be laid the moment he felt that such preparations 
 should be made. When all was over, Maxie, Mr. 
 Howells and I sat close by until the grave was 
 covered in and made tidy, and then we put all the 
 flowers we could get on the bare brown mould. 
 No ridiculous wreaths bearing cards with banal 
 remarks upon them were allowed to desecrate the 
 278 
 
CHANGES AND CHANCES OF LIFE 
 
 sacred spot. Why do people put such silly things on 
 the cards they attach to wreaths ? Why does every 
 second soul send a cross? Life has had crosses 
 enough. One is sufficient if one looks upon it as the 
 emblem of our salvation, and I would even bar 
 that. But the cards with "deepest sympathy" 
 always make me wonder. Sympathy with whom ? 
 and why deepest ? Human sympathy one can 
 comprehend if it be given to those left behind, but 
 not with the friend who is gone. "He has out- 
 soared the shadows of this life ; envy and calumny 
 and rage and pain can harm him not." How that 
 always comforts one, does it not ? Even a wet day 
 is not so bad when one knows the rain cannot fall 
 on our dearest; even trouble is not so great if it 
 only touches oneself, and the one it would have 
 broken on the wheel is safe and at peace. 
 
 It was dark when we had done our task, and were 
 on the point of closing the churchyard gate before 
 taking the key to the sexton, when Maxie shrank 
 close to me and I felt the boy shudder. I saw in 
 an instant what it was, Antoinette had come to 
 Portredoc and was only just too late to see the 
 newlyfinished, flower-decorated grave. Mr. Howells 
 perceived her at the same moment, and looked at 
 me. I put Maxie's hand in his and he hastily 
 slipped away into the quickly growing darkness, 
 while I turned and faced the wretched woman. 
 " He is my son," she said. " He is myboy." I replied, 
 " Sir John had left him to us, you can have neither 
 part nor parcel in his present or future." I have 
 
 279 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 seen many people in my life become livid and 
 foolish with passion, but I have never seen any one 
 lose the very utmost amount of decent reticence in 
 the manner in which Antoinette did. She knew 
 from Basil that Portredoc Manor and an income 
 had been left her, but that such an insult could be 
 put upon her as to brand her publicly as unfit for 
 the care of her only child was too, too much. I let 
 her rave ; I heard her candid opinion, first of us all 
 as a family, and then of me in particular. Of my 
 impertinent interference, of the way I had obtruded 
 myself into her life and come between her and 
 Sir John first, and then between her and Basil. If 
 I had not written to the Castle about Cecy's illness 
 she would never have quarrelled with Sir John ; if 
 I had not constantly looked after Basil and Basil's 
 morals, no doubt she might have left him alone, 
 for of course he wasn't in the least the kind of 
 man she was accustomed to. As far back as when 
 we met at Bourget I had done my best to get 
 Maxie and Cecy away from her. Dobbs knew, 
 and Dobbs had told her. I let her rave, as I said 
 before ; all I wanted was to pass the virago without 
 an unseemly struggle, hand over the churchyard 
 key and go home. I was tired naturally, and very 
 anxious to be out of it all. It is not easy to see 
 any one die, to pass a week with death very present 
 in the place, and to go through the splendid heart- 
 breaking ceremony of the afternoon. Now it was 
 over I wanted peace. Thank Heaven! at the 
 moment I felt I could stand no more, Dr. Vivian 
 280 
 
CHANGES AND CHANCES OF LIFE 
 
 and Robert came up the hill. Robert took me 
 away, and Dr. Vivian calmly put Antoinette's arm 
 through his and led her down the hill, and I could 
 hear her holding forth still over her wrongs and the 
 wicked manner in which I had behaved to her from 
 the very first moment that our paths had crossed. 
 
 Before bedtime Maxie came into my room very 
 quietly and sat down with his head on my knee. 
 Then he said : " I am not going to live where she 
 does?" I replied, "Certainly not, Maxie; your 
 father gave you to me. Now, you are too small 
 to understand, but 1 want you to try and forget 
 your mother altogether until you are older. Then 
 I shall tell you her story, and if she is old and sad 
 or in trouble you must always be ready to help her 
 — not unless. If she wants your assistance you 
 must give it, but as long as she is rich, prosperous 
 and happy, don't trouble. Your father has told me 
 his wishes and we shall try to carry them out." 
 " She made father wretched," he said behind his 
 teeth. "You have to forget even that now," I 
 replied. " Your father understood and forgave ; 
 when you can understand you will forgive too. 
 Wait until you are older ; in the meantime you are 
 your father's son and have to learn to be worthy of 
 his name." " I am hers, too," he whispered. Oh ! 
 these introspective children. How to deal with 
 them, I wonder. I could only reassert he was 
 mine now and that we must not trouble. All the 
 same I felt sure the sooner he left Portredoc the 
 better it would be for Maxie at any rate, if indeed 
 
 281 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 it would not be for me. I at last assured him that 
 he would understand more when he was older, and 
 despite the fact that his father had been only buried 
 that day I despatched him to the schoolroom and a 
 game pf romps. Mr. Howells helped nobly, and 
 that day fortunately was over and done with at 
 last. At least I was con^atulating myself on this 
 when Basil came in. Basil at Portredoc and at the 
 Manor House ! Really, this was too much ! But I 
 found he had only followed Antoinette down and 
 waited to see what she would do, and when he found 
 she had taken up her abode at the old house he had 
 refused to join her there and meant to return to 
 Tredickor unless we could put him up for the night 
 for once. Was such a day and night ever spent 
 before? We were just sending Basil off in the 
 "jingle" to Tredickor (for even if he could have 
 spent the night under the same roof as Maxie, we 
 had not a hole or a corner to put him in, Mr. 
 Howells had absolutely to spend the night on the 
 drawing-room sofa) when Dr. Vivian came in. 
 Every servant at the Manor House had first barri- 
 caded him or herself into their rooms and proceeded 
 to pack and had intended to leave in a body. They 
 flatly refused to stay a moment in the house with 
 their late mistress, and as to waiting on her, that 
 they certainly would not do were it ever so. So 
 Basil and the jingle had to proceed to the Manor 
 House and bear Antoinette away at any rate for 
 the night. A few judicious words from us would 
 no doubt aUow the servants to see Antoinette could 
 not accuse them of robbing her, as she would most 
 282 
 
CHANGES AND CHANCES OF LIFE 
 
 undoubtedly do, if she went through the plate chest 
 with the butler; and saw her jewels and things 
 were all right with Trescoe and the Nurse who had 
 been in charge of the rooms since Sir John died. 
 How impossible it is to keep on a high mental level 
 when the trivialities of life come up at every 
 moment of one's existence I If it were not for the 
 servants how many more foolish and cruel things 
 would be done ! but one has to remember the 
 verdicts of the servants' hall. Neither can one be 
 very heroic without a tooth-brush and a nightgown 
 or change of clothes. Even food has to be thought 
 of at the most poignant moments of one's career, 
 while clothes bulk largely, and every stupid thing 
 almost one can think of must be done and seen to, 
 no matter what tragedy has happened or if our 
 hearts are broken and our real lives ended for ever- 
 more. The servants had routed Antoinette, their 
 calm obstinate refusal to do one single thing for 
 her could not |be gainsaid. She was reduced to 
 formally seeing Sir John's lawyer and executors, 
 taking over from them all she liked from the 
 Manor and leaving the house in their hands to 
 be let to any one who was willing " to live in 
 such a hole." Basil never entered the house, he 
 could not, but Antoinette took good care that 
 nothing of the least value was left behind. She 
 did the long drive to Tredickor night and morning. 
 There were no inns at Portredoc and no one would 
 take her and Basil in, and the servants refused 
 always to do one single thing for her. It was a 
 fortnight before her task was over, but Maxie and 
 
 283 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 Mr. Howells were at Harrow learning to know the 
 country, peeping in at the closed school and pacing 
 the football fields, and investigating thoroughly the 
 beloved place which was to be so much to him. 
 He was fortunate enough to get in at the Grove. 
 Once I knew " Bowen," as the boys called him, was 
 to have him, I troubled no more. Bowen knew his 
 story, and had heard all about his mother. He would 
 be in the hands of the wisest and best man who ever 
 had the care and training of lads. Here let me lay 
 a wreath of memory on that grave close by the old 
 church on the hill ! How many mothers owe him 
 a debt no words can pay, how many boys owe their 
 future to the straightforward, honourable man who 
 knew that extraordinary compound, " Boy," from 
 head to foot, and whose admirable management 
 of the rascals made the Grove an example that 
 other public school houses have never yet been 
 able to follow. Who that was ever in the Grove 
 could forget the quaint notes signed, E. E. B., stuck 
 up on the notice-board, or the amusing manner in 
 which he ensured exercise should be taken by the 
 laziest boy that ever was made ? Who that ever 
 accompanied him could ever forget the long walks, 
 the occasional jaunts abroad, the excellent and 
 splendid teas, above all the keen humorous smile 
 and the gaunt tall figure ? In fact, the man who 
 played footer almost to the last, and pelted up and 
 down Harrow Hill as if he had not been warned a 
 hundred times of the dread disease that carried him 
 off one Easter holiday in France, when he fell from 
 284 
 
CHANGES AND CHANCES OF LIFE 
 
 his bicycle dead without a word, and took the heart 
 of many a lad with him in his passing 1 But he died 
 suddenly and in harness ; a happy death indeed, for 
 not for him were the long inactive years and failing 
 health and mental powers that the old know all too 
 well, so why be sorry ? Not for him, that is im- 
 possible ; but for the long, long procession of " Boy " 
 that will pass through the schools and never know 
 E. E. B. even while they sing his " Forty Years 
 On," or when they see, as they could until quite 
 lately and may see now for all T know to the 
 contrary, his old notes posted up on the house 
 notice-board. " Fires may be lit now — E. E. B.," 
 may light the fires of memory as well as the study 
 fires, and who knows that he may not haunt the 
 place, though the house is not the same and has 
 been rebuilt from cellar to garret ? I have never 
 wanted to be a man in all my life, but I do envy 
 men one thing, and that is the splendid heritage 
 they have in an education in an English public 
 school. It is inexplainable but it exists ; it ought 
 not to succeed, but it does, and I hope that among 
 the many changes that are always taking place 
 nowadays, no one will tinker with our public 
 schools. But all this takes one away from the 
 story of Basil, though as Maxie comes into the 
 story too it may not be so much out of place after 
 all, as it seems at first. Still, Harrow and the 
 memory of " Bowen " are two things that are 
 indeed very close to my heart. 
 
 285 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE CURTAIN FALLS AND DEATH MAKES 
 ALL THINGS STRAIGHT 
 
 For about three or four years after we left Portre- 
 doc, life appeared to flow on in a very even manner 
 as far as all who are concerned in this story at all 
 events. Our own personal adventures have been told 
 elsewhere, and though I have a great dislike to refer 
 my readers to my past work, deeming it slightly 
 impertinent for any one to do so, unless he or she has 
 reached the standing of a Dickens or a Thackeray, I 
 must break my rule in this instance. Albeit, I feel 
 rather like the Old Testament chroniclerswho,insome 
 cases, used to end up their most interesting chapters 
 by saying, " Now the rest of the acts of So-and-so 
 
 and what he did, are they not written in ? " some 
 
 book or form that is absolutely unobtainable at the 
 present day. StUl, should any one care to turn back 
 for our more personal leaves, they can do so. Basil's 
 were not written then, Antoinette has not long 
 died, and so left me free to relate what has always 
 appeared to me at any rate one of the most pathetic 
 lives of the many that have crossed my path during 
 286 
 
THE CURTAIN FALLS 
 
 the long, long years that I have lived. Basil's 
 pictures are well known, but BasU's life has never 
 been written and never wiU be save in this book ; 
 for no one, save myself, knows the ins and outs of 
 a career that might have been crowned with glory 
 indeed, had Antoinette Arundel never crossed his 
 path. When wejwere Uving in London, Basil began 
 to come in now and again after dinner was over in 
 the evening, and would either play games with the 
 children or tell us almost in his old style all that 
 had been going on in the world of art. Honestly, 
 I did not like the look of my dear old friend. He 
 had a continual hacking cough, his hands felt hot 
 and harsh, the least exertion made him pant terribly, 
 and, at last, he confessed that " Vinen had been at 
 him," as he expressed it, " to go to the Headlands and 
 take advantage of the open-air treatment there. 
 When I questioned him closely about this, he owned 
 that he ought to go, but that he shrank from that 
 part of the world with an almost unconquerable 
 dread of what it would recall. His happiest 
 hours had been spent in Cornwall, his very best 
 work had been done there, and there, he added in 
 a lower voice, his life had gone to pieces for once 
 and for all ; and aU he had meant to do and be had 
 vanished as a dream in the night. To go back, to 
 pass Portredoc and his dear little house, to travel 
 up the long hill from Morrab by the Manor House 
 and then on to the Headlands 1 To see the splendid 
 lights flash round the sea — to hear and see that sea 
 once more — every sound and sight would raise such 
 
 287 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 ghosts of vanished love and broken faith that he 
 did not think he could possibly summon up enough 
 courage to go, even if he knew that health would 
 return and that he should regain mental and bodily 
 strength, and be able to take up life and his well- 
 loved work with all the old-time zest again. I 
 rarely, if ever, spoke of Antoinette, but now I felt 
 impelled to do so and to ask him if he had married 
 her now Sir John's death had made the way clear. 
 I could see the question was one he had been 
 anxious to reply to or rather to be asked, from the 
 eager manner in which he turned to me at once. 
 She had absolutely refused to put her neck in the 
 noose again, and she had insisted on remaining abso- 
 lutely free, either to come or go, stay or leave, just 
 as the mood took her. She was kindness itself 
 to him, bore with his tiresome low spirits and 
 worrying cough as the angel she was, would ; but 
 she would not go with him either to the Headlands 
 or abroad. In fact, Dr. Christin appeared to rule 
 her life for her, and in some mysterious way his 
 orders were carried out scrupulously — so much 
 exercise, so much food, so much gaiety, so much 
 rest or change; and all in company with Dr. 
 Christin, who was her medical attendant, and as such 
 seemed to have entire influence over her in the 
 most extraordinary manner possible. Di;. Christin, 
 too, had told Basil he ought to go away until he 
 was cured of what was most decidedly incipient 
 tuberculosis. At last, doctors were waking up to 
 the infectious character of the complaint, and if he 
 288 
 
THE CURTAIN FALLS 
 
 were not careftd, he would infect Antoinette. I 
 recollected a little place I once knew where 
 there was an excellent doctor, and having been 
 with Mrs. Hector at the Headlands so much, I 
 knew just how the treatment should be carried out. 
 The Headlands, with aU its poignant memories, 
 was not a place for a man in Basil's state of health, 
 but at Salworth, near where later on fate took 
 us to end our shattered lives in comparative peace, 
 shelter could be found for Basil, and the doctor 
 there would, I felt certain, do his utmost for 
 any one I had known all my life as I had known 
 him. Salworth has now become almost a fashion- 
 able resort. Though it is still something like nine 
 miles from a railway station, it can never be entirely 
 spoiled, for there is no earthly reason why a rail- 
 way should ever go there, though motor-cars are 
 doing their utmost to make the dear little spot un- 
 bearable. But so many years ago even motor-cars 
 seldom troubled Salworth, and I felt sure that 
 a bungalow on the very top of the cliffs above the 
 cove would be all that Basil wanted, and he would 
 be within a quarter of a mile of the doctor. Wall 
 and " Nuss " were to go with him, and I supposed 
 Antoinette and her maid. But I was mistaken. 
 The situation was something similar to the one in 
 the old riddle of the man, the fox and the goose 
 crossing the river. If Antoinette went. Wall and 
 " Nuss " would not ; if she did not go Basil would 
 not, so altogether the matter became rather a des- 
 perate one to have to arrange. Dr. Christin was 
 
 T 289 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 the god in the machine on this occasion, if we can 
 under any circumstances call him a god. It was 
 imperative that Antoinette should be parted from 
 Basil, there were symptoms, and here the horrid 
 little man became, or tried to become, confidential. 
 But I would have none of his confidences. All 
 I could do was to tell Basil he must go off and do 
 his best to get quite well, that he could hear every 
 day from Antoinette if he really wished to, and 
 that it was as necessary for her health as for his 
 that they should not be together until his lung 
 healed and he could once more take up the old life 
 where he had perforce laid it down. It is more 
 painful than I thought it would be to recollect the 
 latter part of Basil's story, and as it draws to an 
 end I shrink from the task I have undertaken. 
 Yet Basil's name has so often been mentioned with 
 contumely, and his actions questioned and mis- 
 understood, that I feel bound to set it down here 
 just as it all occurred. From the moment that 
 Antoinette threw herself at his head and into his 
 arms, until the very last chapter of the piteous tale, 
 he was never for one instant to blame ; of that 
 I am convinced, for I know every turn and twist 
 of the whole coil. He did admire her, he did love 
 her passionately, but had she left him alone he 
 would not have raised one finger to break up Sir 
 John's home or to attract her to him under any 
 circumstances whatever. He was true to her from 
 first to last, and was bitterly grieved when his 
 hopes of a child vanished into thin air ; and then 
 290 
 
THE CURTAIN FALLS 
 
 when she refused in her light and airy manner to 
 ratify a union that all save Basil himself could see 
 quite plainly had ceased to exist in any form or 
 shape whatever. Once more I say 1 did not under- 
 stand Antoinette ; but yet I feel certain that bore- 
 dom at the way Sir John insisted on a respectable 
 life and moderate expenditure drove her to leave 
 him. Basil was the only man who was on the 
 spot, she had lost touch with aU her old adorers, 
 she fancied the somewhat Bohemian life of an 
 artist, she was tired of the ordinary routine. As 
 Basil's wife first (for she expected Sir John to 
 divorce her in the usual way), and when that 
 proved out of the question, as his mistress, with an 
 ample income under her husband's will she could 
 do as she liked. If ever there were a soul-less 
 butterfly it was she, but even a butterfly has only 
 its summer in which to plunder every flower, and 
 when the winter comes it is gone and no one misses 
 it until a fresh one takes its place, when once more 
 the season for butterflies comes round. 
 
 Basil had been at Salworth for four or five 
 months, and the reports from the doctor were 
 admirable, when Robert came in one day looking 
 as if something dreadful had happened. He is 
 never a very good individual either to keep things 
 to himself or " break them gently " ; and indeed 
 I would rather have a thing blurted out at once 
 than hem and haw over it, for the shock is the 
 same at the end, look at it how you will, and in 
 this special case the shock, if any, was quite an 
 
 291 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 impersonal one. Dr. Christin was wanted by the 
 police, very much wanted, there had been one or 
 two very bad cases he had attended professionally ; 
 this time the inquest was not shuffled over, many 
 things had come out that only Dr. Christin could 
 explain. That he preferred not to do so had caused 
 a sudden and gigantic scandal ; the West End was 
 ringing with his name ; there were scare-head 
 posters up all over the place ; the broken-hearted 
 unsuspicious husband of the last case was hunting 
 for him — they said " with a revolver and a horse- 
 whip " — ^in fact the whole of London was humming 
 as it hums the moment anything horrible happens, 
 in the most ghoulish manner possible. Still more 
 extraordinary was the fact that the police had 
 called on Lady Arundel and could not find her 
 at home. No one had seen her for the last 
 few days, but that was not astonishing, as few 
 people cared to see her when Basil was away 
 from home. Still her boxes had been packed with 
 every single thing she had ever possessed, and her 
 maid had taken all down to Portredoc to the 
 Manor House which happened to be empty, and 
 Antoinette said she meant to go later on, she 
 always hated a muddle, and she wished her rooms 
 put straight before she followed. The Tredickor 
 police had searched the Manor, to the rage and 
 fright of the maid and the whole of Portredoc, but 
 no one had seen or heard of her ladyship. Portredoc 
 would not be a good or safe spot for a fugitive from 
 justice ; every one is known by sight and by name 
 292 
 
THE CURTAIN FALLS 
 
 too. I, at any rate, felt certain the Tredickor 
 police might have saved themselves the trouble. 
 Wherever Antoinette was she was not with her 
 maid at the Manor House ; if she had been, every 
 one would have known of her arrival as soon as it 
 had occurred, of that I was quite convinced. But 
 the truth never for one moment crossed my mind. 
 We were sated with Dr. Christin for the next few 
 weeks, but not one word about Lady Arundel got 
 into the ubiquitous papers. I wrote a cautious hne 
 to Basil and heard that he received his usual letters 
 posted in London from Antoinette ; at least he said, 
 he heard regularly " from home." Naturally I was 
 not stupid enough to ask him where Antoinette 
 was. In the meantime, portraits of Dr. Christin, 
 of his dog, of his house, of his carriage, of his 
 servants, of, in fact, any one who had ever seen or 
 spoken to him, appeared in all the papers, day after 
 day, while reporters haunted the house, and the 
 St. John's Wood house too, and when they heard 
 nothing made up the most unfounded and disgrace- 
 ful stories about the doctor, his antecedents, his 
 parentage, his education and his friends, none of 
 which had even the very slight merit they might 
 have had, of being true ! How is it that when any- 
 thing untoward happens in a family, that the Press of 
 to-day goes for that family just as a pack of hounds 
 goes for a fox ? Not contented with the criminal or 
 the unfortunate creature himself, the Press digs up 
 every single relative that can be made still more 
 wretched by having his name pilloried in its 
 
 293 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 columns, either in connection with a crime or a 
 misfortune ! Son of So-and-so ; grandson of So-and- 
 so; nephew of So-and-so, followed by as many 
 photographs as can be procured, faked or stolen, it 
 matters not which, and the hue and cry goes on 
 until every one in the remotest degree connected 
 with the tragedy of the moment, curses the so- 
 called freedom of the Press, and longs to gag it 
 once and for all. Fortunately one sensation follows 
 another so quickly nowadays, that this does not 
 last long, and the public, at any rate, forgets. Not 
 so those who have been publicly skinned ahve, they 
 bear the scars to their grave, and never forget or 
 forgive the hideous creatures in the form of reporters 
 who made life a horror for them until their tor- 
 mentors had a fresh victim to hunt down. We 
 have several things to curse America for; the 
 greatest reason I think, is the introduction of the 
 American element into our Press. Let us hope 
 some day decent reticence may return and we shall 
 lose this unhappy trait, which at present, at any rate, 
 is distinctly a blot upon civilisation as weU as upon 
 our daily papers. AU the publicity in the papers, 
 however, brought no sign of Dr. Christin, and I, 
 at any rate, could hear nothing of Antoinette, and 
 I wondered how long it would be before Basil 
 discovered that she was not at St. John's Wood. 
 Dr. Christin's fine new house in Cavendish Square 
 was taken over by the landlord, all his things were 
 sold and his debts paid by his lawyer. He had 
 vanished into thin air as if he had never been. 
 294 
 
THE CURTAIN FALLS 
 
 Naturally those who knew, who reaUy did know, 
 said the hunt had never been really keen. Dr. 
 Christin was the depository of too many secrets to 
 be brought to book ; he held the family honour of 
 more than one great family in his hands ; he would 
 never be caught. True ! he could never return to 
 London, and how he lived was a mystery ; still, I 
 recollected Antoinette's money, and feeling sure 
 that the doctor was not above judicious blackmail, 
 I, at any rate, was certain the two were together ; 
 but why Antoinette had gone with him was another 
 puzzle among the many she had offered to me during 
 the time of our acquaintance. In the summer I 
 went down to Salworth, and stopped for two or three 
 weeks with Basil, and was dehghted to see him so 
 much himself. He had begun to paint once more, 
 his cough was gone, and the doctor said if he could 
 reconcile himself to another winter at Salworth, 
 without the smallest interruption in the treatment, 
 he saw no reason why he should not live to be a 
 hundred if he wanted to ! I took the opportunity 
 of a visit to the village at the foot of the cliffs 
 to confide in the doctor and to tell him that not 
 one of us had the least idea what had become 
 of Basil's "wife." Mr. Sartoris whistled softly 
 to himself; an irritating habit he had when he 
 was puzzled. " He hears from her regularly," 
 he said ; " in fact I can generally tell if he hasn't 
 had a letter, his spirits are decidedly lower on the 
 days they don't come." Then he added : " At all 
 costs this must be kept from him. If he wants to 
 
 295 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 live he will live ; but if he loses the strong desire 
 he now has to keep well and do good work, he wiU 
 die, and that quickly : he has one of those natures 
 which cannot face misery and failure. His wife, 
 too, must be a beautiful creature. 1 have seen her 
 portrait, and the poor chap simply worships her." 
 I felt then it was better to tell Mr. Sartoris the 
 whole of the muddle, and he listened in amazement. 
 Of course he had heard of the Christin scandal, 
 who had not ? It had been screamed at the world 
 in general from every hoarding for weeks. " That 
 Dr. Crispin had escaped was so much to the good," 
 said Mr. Sartoris. " Every medical man knew his 
 record, it would only make other people wretched 
 if he were caught. No doubt the man would be 
 punished sooner or later." No doubt ! but in the 
 meantime what were we to tell BasU ? And how 
 did Antoinette manage the correspondence we 
 wondered? That did not matter in the least as 
 long as it. continued. Now the letters came from 
 Paris, now from Florence ; she even hinted at 
 America. She had always wanted to see the world, 
 and she was tired of St. John's Wood without 
 Basil. Basil had asked if it were not safe for his 
 " wife " to join him, and the doctor had been on the 
 point of telling him to send for her by all means. 
 Now my news had saved him from this most fatal 
 step. What he may be able to bear after next 
 winter no one could tell. Get him over the next 
 nine months, and Mr. Sartoris saw no reason for 
 any more anxiety about him at all. The few weeks 
 296 
 
\ \ 
 
 THE CURTAIN FALLS 
 
 I was able to pass at Salworth went all too soon. 
 It is a lovely peaceful spot, with a wide white 
 shore, where Napoleon once landed to see if he 
 could manage a descent on England from that 
 place. The cliflfs are grand, and from here the 
 Maid of Britain, according to Millais, watched the 
 last of the Romans sail away, unwitting that he 
 took her heart with him on his journey home ! 
 
 Basil loved to moon about the cliffs and talk 
 over all the queer old legends of which the place 
 was full, and he did some of his best work in the 
 place, too. Had Antoinette been there he would 
 have been perfectly happy. As it was, he was 
 content, and that is something in this very harass- 
 ing world of ours. I left him with a quiet mind 
 and returned home. I had my own life to hve, 
 the boys, Maxie included, to see to and to make 
 hohday for, and the summer and autumn sped all 
 too fast. Now and then I went up to Basil's house 
 with a faint hope that Antoinette was back. Her 
 maid had left Portredoc : " It was a 'ole, and she 
 couldn't stick it," but Antoinette had sent for her at 
 last, paid her well, and promised her another place 
 as she was on the eve of sailing for America. 
 Antoinette was clever if she were nothing else ! She 
 had completely covered her traces. The maid had 
 no idea that Dr. Christin's trouble and disappear- 
 ance had anything to do with her late mistress. 
 In fact she had been asked to go to America too, 
 but Antoinette knew she had a young man. Once 
 put the seas between them marriage would be 
 
 297 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 difficult, and the maid was not going to give him a 
 chance of backing out of it, not she. No doubt 
 Antoinette had been certain of this before she 
 suggested the voyage ; anyhow, there was no suspi- 
 cion in the maid's mind. She was not sorry to leave 
 Lady Arundel. She had her own opinion of the 
 St. John's Wood menage, and, in fact, all had been 
 managed in the most satisfactory manner possible. 
 One day I received one of Antoinette's short 
 impudent letters — certainly she was a past mistress 
 in the art of sticking in pins in places where 
 they would hurt most — instructing me to pro- 
 ceed at once to Salworth and tell Basil that she 
 never meant to return to him any more. She 
 neither said why nor where she was, or what she 
 intended to do ; she simply gave her orders, which 
 she felt certain I would carry out at once, as she 
 had never known any one who was so fond of inter- 
 fering in other people's business as I was ; and as 1 
 was Basil's oldest friend 1 must undertake the task. 
 The letter came from America, but that did not 
 prove she was there. Of course she would now 
 cease writing to Basil, what could I do for the 
 best ? There was no mention of Dr. Christin in 
 the letter. After aU they might not have gone 
 together. Antoinette spoke only of her delight at 
 being free of everything in the shape of a man, or 
 a duty, or a house, or " those horrid servants." She 
 wanted to be free, and she would never return to 
 bondage again under any circumstances. Life was 
 now one long adventure, she was absolutely happy. 
 298 
 
THE CURTAIN FALLS 
 
 I had better let Basil know at once, and he could 
 get rid of " the whole show " at St. John's Wood 
 and have more money to spend. Really all this 
 was most distinctly hard on me. I had never 
 wanted to know Lady Arundel, it was Maxie who 
 had annexed me, and here was I bidden to stick a 
 knife into Basil's heart and put an end once and 
 for all to my dear old friend's happiness. We 
 talked over the letter for a day or two, and then 
 we settled I should write to the Salworth doctor 
 and take his advice, but I had not time to do this 
 before Basil walked into the morning-room where 
 I was on the point of beginning my letter. At 
 once I thought he knew, but not so. He had 
 received Mr. Sartoris' permission to run up to 
 London for a week to arrange about some of his 
 work, and to fetch some things from his house, 
 and he was moreover disturbed at Antoinette's 
 silence, which had lasted a fortnight as far as he 
 was concerned, and at finding she had taken every 
 single thing away that had ever been hers, leaving 
 the house looking — here he laughed merrily — as if 
 she never meant to return to it any more. Here, 
 then, was my opportunity. How I hated the task 
 no one save myself will ever understand. I thought 
 it best to hand him the letter. She had not spoken 
 unkindly of him, merely impersonally. All her 
 rudeness had been for me and me alone, and that, 
 of course, did not matter in the least. Basil read 
 it through several times. Then he said : " I can't 
 believe it, it's a bad joke." I could only assure him 
 
 299 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 that I could say nothing, and could form no opinion 
 on the subject. All I knew was what she said 
 there. He turned the letter round, then the enve- 
 lope ; the post-mark was blurred beyond recognition. 
 Even had it been as plain as paint, we both of us 
 knew quite well that that would have simply meant 
 she was not in the place where the epistle had been 
 posted. " Let her go," I said. 
 
 Basil turned on me then, just for five minutes : 
 never again. I had always hated her — I could not 
 understand her — his life was desolate. Then he 
 stopped ; it was no use to rave, no use to abuse his 
 best friends, all he could do was to go home and 
 wait. He knew she would slip in some day tired 
 out with her travels, she should find him waiting, 
 yes, if it were ten years, there should always be 
 a place ready for her to come to and a heart on 
 which she could rest her weary head. Not very 
 long ago I read some book in which the writer, 
 travelling on foot along country roads, came upon 
 a cottage, where a solitary man waited day after 
 day for his missing wife's return. I wondered then 
 if he had heard Basil's story, for that is just what 
 that infatuated being did, only he was in London 
 and not in the district described, and it is now 
 many years ago. But every night a lamp burned 
 steadily in the hall and in what was once Antoinette's 
 bed-room, and Basil had procured a fresh stock 
 of dainty garments and toilet necessaries, feeling 
 certain that she would creep in footsore and weary 
 to find him waiting and her house ready and 
 300 
 
THE CURTAIN FALLS 
 
 waiting too, to give her a welcome. Mr. Sartoris 
 and Dr. Vinen together begged and prayed him to 
 escape to Salworth for the winter, but he would not 
 stir. Fogs were worse that year, of course, than 
 they had ever been since the hideous winter of 
 1879-1880, when for about three desperate weeks 
 one never saw the light of day, and the fog appeared 
 to come down aU our chimneys and sit, a solid mass 
 of grime and filth, in front of the fire. Old people 
 and children died like flies ; other people were 
 miserable, and Basil, of course, began his cough 
 once more, and looked so iU I could hardly bear to 
 look at him at all. We read tantaUsing descriptions 
 of frost and keen blue skies elsewhere, of soft sweet 
 grey mists and gleaming sunshine at Salworth. 
 Bournemouth was represented as paradise, an 
 account I liberally discounted, for do 1 not know the 
 place well, and is it not colder than London, now half 
 the pines have gone and it has become a fashionable 
 residence ? But nothing would move Basil. He 
 had put advertisements in all the New York papers 
 he could hear of, headed Portredoc Manor and the 
 date, but nothing came of them. He was sure she 
 was HI, sure she would creep home some day. Any- 
 how, he meant to be on the spot. I represented to 
 him at last absolutely plainly and brutally that he 
 would not be there if he were dead, all he said was 
 that he had not the least intention of dying. Sartoris 
 said living was a mere question of will, he believed 
 Sartoris. He meant to live and I need not trouble 
 about it any more. He should not leave London on 
 
 301 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 any pretext whatever. Dr. Vinen spoke firmly, 
 kindly, then angrily. It was suicide, deliberate 
 suicide, his lungs were clogged with the filthy fog, his 
 cough was worse, the next thing he would do would 
 be to break a blood-vessel. By all means leave some 
 one in the house, leave a letter on the mantelpiece 
 and all the lights burning, but he must clear out of 
 London or he would never see another spring, 
 of that he was perfectly convinced. As a last 
 resource Mr, Sartoris came up from Salworth, but 
 it was useless to picture the blue sea in the white 
 cove, the gentle morning and evening mists, and 
 the snowdrops just coming up in the vicar's garden. 
 Basil would not move, and Mr. Sartoris and Dr. 
 Vinen retired worsted, and almost refused to have 
 anything more to do with him at all. The fog had 
 been worse than usual all one night, and we had 
 had breakfast in a ghastly manner with the curtains 
 drawn and the lamps lit, when the bell rang as it 
 only rings when a catastrophe has occurred, and 
 Wall came hurriedly into the room. Of course the 
 worst had happened. Antoinette had written one 
 of her hateful eflfusions to Basil directly she had 
 heard of the truly pathetic way he was sacrificing 
 his health for her, but she thought it best to let 
 him know at once that his beautiful self-sacrifice 
 really was of not the least avail. She never would 
 return to him or St. John's Wood, she was bored 
 to death by him ; she loathed the English climate, 
 she was most certainly not going to return to the 
 " beastly fogs " she read of with a shudder, and she 
 302 
 
THE CURTAIN FALLS 
 
 could never be sufficiently thankful that she had 
 found places where the real sun actually shone ; 
 where real flowers always bloomed and where every 
 day life was so exciting it resembled a three volume 
 novel more than the drab sort of muddle that 
 expressed existence to the ordinary flat English 
 person's mind. Wall had found Basil with the 
 long-threatened broken blood-vessel, and there was 
 not the smallest doubt that this and the shock 
 combined had killed him as much as if Antoinette's 
 pen had been a dagger and reached his heart. Dr. 
 Vinen did not think he would live out the day ; 
 he was there and another doctor and a couple of 
 nurses ; nothing could be done. I had better not 
 see him, for the smallest exertion would kill hiiii 
 on the spot, he must not move or speak. I should 
 be in the house in case he wished to see me, and 
 his own people should be notified. There was 
 enough to do in any case. Dr. Vinen and I walked 
 to the strangely altered house together. In 
 Antoinette's time there had always been a look of 
 meretricious gaiety about it, white curtains and 
 brilliant flowers had decorated every window, the 
 paint was bright and spotless ; the garden a gem. 
 Now the desperate fog hung heavily in the bare 
 stripped trees and round the windows, the place 
 looked uncared for, and I had an uncanny feeling 
 that death with his scythe was in the porch, merely 
 waiting for the door to open and let him in. I 
 found all Basil's brothers and sisters gathered 
 together in the drawing-room, and I at once saw 
 
 303 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 that I was a most unwelcome guest. The Hodges 
 family, male and female, had never really lost their 
 ingrained dread of art and artists. They had 
 always known (with a sniff) that art was only 
 another name for immorality ; poor Basil had been 
 led away by me, by Papa, by everything connected 
 with us, and they thought, considering everything, 
 I had better go home, for certainly they did not 
 want their last moments in his house to be clouded 
 by the recollections of Basil's sins. They would 
 rather remember him as he used to be (I thought 
 of the " worm-eaten scrub " of my girlhood, and 
 smiled) ; if he asked for me they would, of course, 
 send at once, but the specialist felt certain he would 
 not recover consciousness again. He was dying 
 from shock undoubtedly : even if he revived for an 
 instant I should only remind him of what it was 
 best to forget. Indeed, if he did become conscious 
 the clergyman would be sent for. I opened my 
 eyes at this. Basil and a parson seemed rather 
 incongruous elements. Then Mr. Hodges quoted 
 unctuously: 
 
 " Between the stirrup and the ground 
 He mercy sought and Mercy found," 
 
 and one of the married sisters was bursting into 
 tears and appropriate texts at the same time. So 
 I said nothing. Had it not been so truly horrible 
 I must have laughed aloud : poor dying, defenceless 
 Basil ! How he would have hated the family party 
 beneath his bedroom, and how he would have 
 304 
 
THE CURTAIN FALLS 
 
 driven them out one and all if only he had been 
 able ! But thank goodness he never knew any- 
 thing any more. Wall had secured Antoinette's 
 letter, blood-stained and horrible, and we put it in 
 an envelope and sealed it. Some day I hoped she 
 would receive it and know what she had done, then 
 I went into the painting room for the very last 
 time. Nurse, dear old nurse, was crying over 
 Basil's palette and brushes, she had learned to 
 set his palette, and never allowed any one else to 
 touch it. I took them from her, she knew Basil 
 would wish me to have them ; then I kissed her, 
 took one last look round the familiar room with 
 its beloved scent of mingled smoke and paint, and 
 went home. Wall was to run round if Basil roused 
 himself and asked for me, but he came almost on 
 the stroke of six to tell me he had gone quietly out 
 into the shadows without a struggle, and that Mr. 
 Hodges was now ransacking the place for his will. 
 At present all they could find was a scrawl saying 
 where he wished to be buried, in a Uttle country 
 churchyard in which he had once sketched. If 
 he left no will, there would be the usual family 
 squabble, not that that mattered to me. My dear 
 old friend was dead : the friendship of something 
 like forty years was over and done, and the Hodges 
 passed finally and for ever out of my ken. I did 
 not know even where he was to be buried. Wall 
 did not recollect the name of the village, and he 
 and "Nuss" were treated more like suspected 
 thieves than the faithful trusted servants they had 
 
 u 305 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 been for so many years. I was glad to hear they 
 could never want. Basil had bought them an 
 annuity, and they would now retire to the country 
 and fulfil a long-cherished desire in which a pig, 
 hens, and a garden bulked large. " Always sup- 
 posing you don't want us, miss — then speak the 
 word and we'll come." Dear faithful loving ex- 
 cellent devoted couple, glad am I that your last 
 days were passed peacefully in the real country, 
 and that your dream materiaUsed so successfully, 
 that you were both as happy as a king and queen 
 until the end of your good and perfect lives. Let 
 no one ever disparage the servant class to me: 
 nowhere else have I met such true and unselfish 
 devotion, such help, such love : such belief that all 
 I do and say or did and said was for the best ! It 
 was almost impossible for me at first to beheve that 
 Basil and I could never meet any more, and that of 
 the whole story nothing now was left to me but 
 Maxie,Maxie who grew fast as the years sped by, and 
 presently he was a man, a soldier. We lived through 
 the South Afi-ican War, where he and one of our 
 own boys fought together and came through that 
 terrible time unscathed, and then Maxie came of 
 age and married, and Tredickor welcomed the hero 
 and his bride, and the Manor House at Portredoc 
 was once again a home, and I hope it may remain 
 so for years and years and years. Of course I had 
 told Maxie about his mother, and he had under- 
 stood and pitied the sad fate of all concerned in the 
 story. But Maxie drifted out of my life except for 
 306 
 
THE CURTAIN FALLS 
 
 letters which never failed on anniversaries and at 
 Christmas time, and we passed through many and 
 sad changes and had many and great griefs and 
 sorrows to bear and live over. Still all this long 
 time we never heard a word of Antoinette. If 
 any one should have read " Leaves from a garden," 
 he or she will know where we settled to end our 
 days, and how we found in the churchyard at 
 Burstead the grey grave-stone that marked where 
 one dear, dear friend was laid. It was the discovery of 
 Basil's grave close to his that made me determine to 
 write down the story of his life, and here still more 
 curiously was the very last chapter of Antoinette 
 Arundel's unhappy life lived almost to an end. 
 When I first found the grave it was marked in the 
 true Hodges manner by a sculptural and hideous 
 stone that even the rector considered in rather bad 
 taste. Later on when I found that no Hodges 
 ever came near or even saw that the grave was 
 kept decently, we removed the eyesore, cleaned up 
 the place, made a charming little garden, and added a 
 rough block of stone, real beautiful stone worked and 
 marked by Time's hand only, similar to the other 
 one ; and that stone, bearing only his initials and the 
 necessary dates, is the spot where I so often go at 
 evening and look at the exquisite view. Or in spring 
 when the oak hedge is gold and the field is full of 
 bluebells, or later on when the mists drive up the 
 valley or indeed at any moment when I am tired, 
 tired and want to hold communion once and again 
 with the beloved past. The Rector had gone away 
 
 307 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 and Brian L'Estrange had taken his place as related 
 elsewhere when one afternoon Brian came in to 
 Steeple and told me that an old and broken woman 
 who had evidently once been a lady had seen me in 
 the village, and, having asked my name, had burst 
 into a perfect storm of tears. Brian had never 
 been able to make her out : she was lodging with 
 Mrs. Spencer at the Church Cottage and was 
 evidently not only old but iU, would I go and see 
 her ? Naturally, and I put on my hat and went off 
 with Brian, little thinking how this book must 
 end. The old and broken woman was Antoinette 
 Arundel : she had drifted to Burstead to see Basil's 
 grave and to find us : she had heard of us somehow 
 or other, we are not people who can disappear 
 quite. Some people can vanish as comfortably as 
 if they had never been. But we cannot, we do not 
 want to perhaps, anyhow that does not matter and 
 Antoinette, perhaps dying and old had drifted here, 
 knowing that for Basil's sake we would not let her 
 starve, even if we could not be kind to her and let 
 her die with some one she knew by her bedside. If 
 one hves a long life one learns one thing absolutely 
 for a certain truth, and that is that a person reaps 
 just exactly what he or she has sown. Of that 
 there is no doubt at all ; one may merely be care- 
 less and indifferent, merely lavish, merely wasteful 
 either of money or love, one may be cri^el or kind, 
 good or wicked, the result is the same. Waste 
 demands poverty later on: unkindness finds us 
 without friends: sin demands and obtains its 
 308 
 
THE CURTAIN FALLS 
 
 punishment, while kind or good deeds have a 
 reward here : and there is absolutely no need to 
 wait for another life to see that we receive just 
 what we have earned and not one penny more, not 
 one penny less. I listened to Antoinette's story, 
 and a truly horrible one it was. Dr. Christin had 
 her entirely in his power, he soon tired of her, 
 spent all he could, borrowed as much as ever he 
 could on her income, which she had assigned to him 
 utterly, and had finally cast her off as he was ex- 
 tremely tired of her, though he had married her, 
 he had forced her to marry him and so made the 
 legal tie absolute. She was in his power until he 
 left her and now she did not know where he lived 
 or what had become of the man. It would be 
 impossible to relate the whole long story here, all 
 the same, I could not see my way to take Lady 
 Arundel, or rather Mrs, Christin, on my over- 
 burdened shoulders and I had to write to Maxie 
 and put the case to him. He was, nay is, a good 
 son, a good lad : the solution of the impasse was 
 " the Headlands." Near enough to Portredoc for 
 Maxie to go and see his mother now and then, not 
 near enough to the Manor to sadden his young 
 bride and cast a shadow over his extremely happy 
 home. Antoinette, penniless and broken, could do 
 nothing but weep, she did not want to return to 
 Cornwall even though no one could possibly know 
 her and no one was aware that the once lovely 
 Lady Arundel was the old and broken Mrs. 
 Christin ; neither need any one save the doctor 
 
 309 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 know the truth. The present Lady Arundel was 
 not to know, Mrs. Christin could be merely a 
 relation of Maxie's. That was true enough, she 
 had never been a mother to him, no need to explain 
 the exact relationship now in any other manner. 
 Anyhow I was truly relieved when Burstead was 
 free of her though I was sorry for Max : he would 
 feel it his duty, I knew, to look after Antoinette, 
 and even in her old age and degradation she had 
 not quite lost her charming habit of " sticking in 
 pins," or rubbing a sore place, or making insinu- 
 ations that were hard enough to parry or even 
 receive in the silence that was the best manner of 
 taking all her remarks. I was obliged to have her 
 at Steeple for some few days to make her tidy and 
 allow good food, clear air and a comfortable bed to 
 do what was possible for her : after all she was not 
 seventy. She was just the sort of woman to revive 
 and live on to be ninety and worry every one who 
 came in contact with her, and I almost shuddered 
 when I saw how much more she resembled her old 
 self when she was dressed in graceful black silk and 
 lace and a becoming white lace arrangement round 
 her face and neck. She might have been an old 
 French Marquise and had not the least likeness to 
 the degraded and filthy object she was when I 
 saw her in the Church Cottage first. Yet the 
 ghastly horrors she had passed through after her 
 marriage with Dr. Christin had done their work, 
 and how she had escaped with her life I could not 
 imagine, except that when she died her income died 
 310 
 
THE CURTAIN FALLS 
 
 too and that once a year at least she had to sign 
 papers that proved she was still alive and enabled 
 the " man in possession " to collect her income from 
 her trustees. 1 think really that Christin must 
 have been a lunatic ; anyhow he passes completely 
 out of the story, he may be dead, he may yet be 
 aUve, if he is he is not likely to claim acquaintance 
 with his own character as told here. He would be 
 clapped at once into prison and obtain I believe 
 the cheerful sentence of penal servitude for life ! 
 
 With three or four flowers from Basil's grave in 
 her hand Antoinette Christin went away from 
 Burstead, and thankful indeed am I that I never 
 saw her again. Her last words were that Basil 
 was the only decent man she had ever met in aU 
 her life, and that if I had not made such a pet of 
 him she would never have been tempted to take 
 him away from me, and as I saw her driving past 
 the churchyard I noticed her last glance was at the 
 grey gravestone, and I wondered if she really had 
 cared for the good dear little man after all. Max 
 wrote regularly, at first the doctor was almost dis- 
 inclined to continue the task he had undertaken. 
 She set the nurses by the ears, told the patients 
 horrid stories one of the other and finally refused 
 to leave her room. But Max paid well, the doctor 
 was an angel : he got nurses for her entirely, who 
 were not afraid of her, and finally the old Vicar of 
 Portredoc went to see her, and from that day on 
 she became a different creature, and softened per- 
 ceptibly untU even the nurses wondered at the 
 
 3" 
 
MORE LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 change. To this hour I do not known how the 
 Vicar managed her or what he said. He was 
 Maxie's father-in-law, and perhaps he spoke with 
 more authority than most people could. All the 
 same the alteration continued, she even thanked 
 Maxie, and asked about his wife, spoke of Sir John 
 with gratitude, and indeed became so human that 
 I could hardly credit the tales I heard. Perhaps 
 there is some mysterious power beyond the grave 
 that touched that hard and erring spirit, who 
 knows ? Anyhow something altered her, and the 
 last months of her life left nothing but a kindly 
 remembrance behind her; and aU who did not 
 love Basil Hodges as I did, and do, forgave and 
 forgot. I was glad to hear she was dead ; suddenly 
 in her sleep ; well 1 She lies at Portredoc close to 
 Sir John and Cecy, but does not bear their name 
 on her grave, only A.C. and the date of her death. 
 I am sure no one was really sorry, no one, though 
 by the way no doubt Dr. Christin was, as the in- 
 come stopped from the day she died, though we 
 shall most certainly never know that for certain for 
 no one has ever had the smallest intimation that 
 he is still in the land of the living. Neither need 
 we trouble about him — he will have his reward. 
 
 " The curtain falls and death makes all things 
 straight," said some one the other day ; well, we 
 will hope so. I do not quite see why Sir John 
 Arundel had such a bad time of it, but then he 
 was an elderly man when I knew him first ; perhaps 
 he was paying for some youthfiil sins that no one 
 312 
 
THE CURTAIN FALLS 
 
 but himself was cognisant of. What matter ? They 
 have one and all passed away from our ken ; we can 
 only sit and talk of them. When we too pass behind 
 the curtain they will be much more really dead 
 than they are now, and that is why I have written 
 out their story. There are lessons to be learned 
 from it no doubt, and the greatest of all is, to my 
 mind, the one that teaches that whatever Mves we 
 live have to be paid for, and that there is no need 
 to wait for another world to receive our pay : either 
 for ill deeds or for good ones : 
 
 " Though the mills of God grind slowly 
 Yet they grind exceeding small." 
 
 April 22, 1910. 
 
 Printed b¥ 
 
 BALLANTYNB & COMPANY LTD 
 
 Tavibtock Street Coveht Garden 
 
 London 
 
 X 
 
SOME PRESS OPINIONS 
 
 ON 
 
 LEAVES FROM A 
 LIFE 
 
 By the Author of "More Leaves from a Life." 
 
 The World. — " Intimate gossip in whicli niost oi tlie ontstandi^g %UTpB in 
 the worlds of art and literature of the last generation, anil a good many oiher 
 notable fojiks as well, are p^s^4 ^^ review with a freedom of comment wbich 
 ... is in no ordinary degree interesting and diverting . . . emphatically 
 a hook to be read." 
 
 The Yorkshire Post. — "Full of good stories and happy reminisoeuces." 
 
 The Morning Post. — " What a charming book I . . . It is a book such as women 
 write — and especially English women — with a pqculi^r yei-ve pf observation 
 and humorous half-revelation. ^ . . It is like Idbklng on to a stage with 
 extremely good acting reproducing the epoch of peg-top trousers and 
 crinolines." 
 
 The Observer. — "The book is packed with interesting reminiscences." 
 
 The Morning Leader. — " There is revealed in these pages a spirit that Is always 
 yonng and lively, . , . She is a female Creevy who never minds what she 
 says." 
 
 The Sunday Chronicle. — " A rattling good book; and If I were, say, Mr, 
 Alfred Austin, I would not at all mind being laughed at in such brilliant 
 company, and in so memorable a volume." 
 
 The Pall Mall Gazette. — "A most interesting volume — about interesting 
 people." 
 
 The Glasgow Herald. — "Her memory — or her private diary — is prodigious; she 
 remembers everything, down to the colour of the eyes, or the fashion of 
 wearing the hair, about a good two-thirds of all the famous men and women 
 of the 'fifties and 'sixties, whom she had extraordinary facilities for studying 
 at near hand." 
 
 The Daily Telegraph. — " Full of human interest." 
 
 The Globe. — " A'book which will be valuable when the literary and artistic 
 history of the period comes to be written." 
 
 Truth. — " A most candid and interesting autobiography." 
 PRICE 10s. net. 
 
 EVELEIGH NASH 
 
 36 King Street, Covent Garden 
 London, W.C. 
 
By the Author of " Leaves from a Life " 
 
 LEAVES FROM A 
 GARDEN 
 
 Some Press Opinions 
 
 The Times. — " A sensitive, reflective, intimate book." 
 
 The Birmingham Daily Post. — " A quiet and pleasing record 
 of the habits of flowers and human beings in an English 
 country village. ... It is a book worth reading — by 
 country people for sound advice, and by townspeople for 
 a whiff" of country air and English hedgerows." 
 
 Truth. — "A charming book." 
 
 The Standard. — " The tone of deep feeling pervading this 
 interesting voliame will prpbably meet with a response 
 among many of its readers, tinged as it is with a certain 
 sadness, which is perhaps one of its charms. . . . Her 
 descriptions of scenery, of woods, lanes, or birds, show 
 the hand of an artist, and are well backed by the 
 illijstratipns." 
 
 The Queen. — " There is a restful charm ^bout this papital 
 book, which is very acceptable in these days of stress." 
 
 Illustrated. PRICE 10*. 6d. net 
 
 EVELEIGH NASH 
 
 36 Kino Street, Covent Gardei^ 
 
 London, W.C. 
 
RECOLLECTIONS OF THE SECOND EMPIRE 
 
 MT MEMOIRS 
 
 By PRINCESS CAROLINE MURAT 
 
 Some Press Opinions 
 
 The Daily Mail. — "One would like to quote whole pages of her 
 book, it is all so crisp and vivid. . . . We feel thankful to the 
 shrewd and keen Pxincess for her enlightening revelations." 
 
 The Manchester Courier. — " This interesting and piquant book 
 of recollections." 
 
 The Daily Telegraph. — " It is by its frankness of criticism, its 
 raciness of anecdote, that it engages the attention ... it has 
 something of more than temporary value." 
 
 The British Weekly. — "Will appeal to a wide circle of readers." 
 
 The Sketch. — "Will attract many readers by the in- 
 timate glimpses they afford into the Court of the 
 Second Empire, and the subsequent life of the Imperial exiles 
 in this country." 
 
 The Tatler. — "A delightful volume . . . full of interesting 
 private information, amusing descriptions of people and things 
 associated with the French Court under the Second Empire 
 . , . most interesting and entertaining." 
 
 London Opinion. — " A remarkable book . . . Memoirs of the 
 Second Empire abound, but embrace nothing quite so actual, 
 vivid, and candid." 
 
 The Observer. — "This book is one of the few of the many 
 published memoirs worth the writing." 
 
 TP.'s Weekly. — "This is to use a much abused phrase 'a 
 human document'." 
 
 Illustrated. Price 15s. net 
 
 E VE LE I GH NASH 
 
 36 King StreeTj Covknt Garden 
 London, W.C.