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MITRE COURT. 
 
 3i L 1ak of the drcat GKtp. 
 
 MRS. J. H. RIDDELL, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT," " SUSAN DRUMMOND,' 
 
 ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, 
 
 publishers in dDrbinarg to g^er Ipajestj) the (Quttrt. 
 
 1885. 
 
 [All Rights Reserved.} 
 
COxNTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. MR. AND MRS. JEFFLEV - 
 II. MR. KATZEN'S NEWS 
 
 III. A PLAINT - 
 
 IV. IN THE OLD HOUSE 
 
 V. MRS. CHILDS INTERROGATED 
 
 VI. MISS WEIR 
 
 VII. MR. KATZEN'S LOVE 
 
 VIII. SUNDAY --. 
 
 IX. LESS THAN KIN - 
 
 X. MRS. CHILDS' THEORY - 
 
 XI. G. BRISCO - 
 
 XII. MOST LONELY 
 
 XIII. IN MITRE COURT - 
 
 XIV. "ABOUT ABIGAIL" 
 
 PAGE 
 I 
 
 26 
 
 51 
 
 74- 
 
 95 
 
 113 
 
 13+ 
 
 156 
 
 I/O 
 
 185 
 212 
 236 
 258 
 
 27S 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MR. AND MRS. JEFFLEY. 
 
 N Fowkes' Buildings, hard by Great 
 Tower Street, the curious reader 
 may still see a large mansion 
 which more than fifteen years ago was " run " 
 as a lodging-house by Mrs. Maria Jeffley. 
 
 There never existed a woman better fitted 
 for such an undertaking. Strong, energetic, 
 tireless, capable, Mrs. Jeffley made the 
 captains, mates, and various friends those 
 seafaring persons brought to the ''snuggest 
 port " in London, perfectly happy. That at 
 the same time she contrived to render Mr. 
 Jeffley almost miserable was in the lady's 
 VOL. i. I 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 judgment a point not worth considering. 
 Had he been differently constituted, his 
 home ought to have seemed an abode of 
 bliss to him — so the brisk Maria felt, and 
 justly. She was not answerable for his 
 constitution. 
 
 John — or, as his friends preferred to call 
 him, Jack — Jeffley filled the position of ware- 
 houseman in the great firm of Deedes, Tun- 
 stall, Fulmer and Company, wine merchants, 
 who had offices in Dunstan Hill, and huge 
 vaults nearer to the Tower. 
 
 All their sfoods in those dim underground 
 cellars were under his hand. The manager 
 himself — who received a large salary and a 
 percentage on the profits of the concern ; 
 lived in his own house (freehold) at Forest 
 Hill, and gave dinner-parties, for which it 
 was stated, by persons behind the scenes, 
 Messrs. Deedes and Co. paid per arrange- 
 ment ; kept a phaeton and boy in buttons 
 for his wife's gratification, and, generally 
 speaking, " cut a dash " — was not really a 
 more important factor in the firm's prosperity 
 than plain Jack Jeffley, who only received a 
 modest weekly wage, and the summit of 
 
MR. AND MRS. JEFFLEY. 
 
 whose earthly ambition was a small cottage 
 with a " bit of garden " which he might " keep 
 to himself." 
 
 He could have realized this aspiration 
 years previously had Mrs. Jeffley been of 
 her husband's mind ; but Mrs. Jeffley, as 
 she not infrequently stated, had a different 
 sort of mind altogether from the individual 
 by a jocose fiction called her lord and 
 master. The quiet of a cottage surrounded 
 by a bit of garden would, so she declared, 
 "kill her." She did not want to sit down 
 and turn her dresses — she liked to buy 
 new ones, and give them out to be made 
 by Mrs. Mountly, who "fit her like a 
 glove, and kept three apprentices, and a 
 beautifully furnished house in Arbour Square 
 (where the drawing-room was good enough 
 for any lady in the land)." 
 
 Mrs. Jeffley "had no notion of letting 
 her children go about as if they were 
 beggars ; she did not mind slaving and 
 working her fingers to the bone " in order 
 to send them on Sunday mornings with 
 their rather abashed papa to their parish 
 church of All Hallows, Barking, clad in 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 rich apparel— sunny ringlets streaming over 
 their shoulders, and long, white, real ostrich ■ 
 feathers in their hats, which well-nigh drove 
 the mothers of other children, no doubt 
 quite as nice, distracted with envy. 
 
 Even had she wished to accompany 
 Mr. Jeffley to church on Sunday mornings 
 — which she certainly never did — Mrs. 
 Jeffley with a "houseful of lodgers" might 
 have found it difficult to gratify her desire. 
 Sometimes, though not often, she repaired 
 in the afternoon of the first day in the 
 week to Hyde Park to see the latest novelty 
 in dress or shame, equipage or beauty ; and 
 occasionally she attended evening service 
 at the Abbey or St. Pauls, squired by one 
 or more of the many respectful admirers who 
 never wearied of singing their landlady's 
 praises. 
 
 " The cleverest woman you'd meet in the 
 length of a midsummer's day !" was the 
 chorus chanted by all Mrs. Jeffley's lodgers. 
 
 In his heart Jack Jeffley often wished it 
 had pleased God to make his wife a little 
 less clever, but he was far too loyal to say so. 
 
 Silently he resigned himself to this dis- 
 
MR. AND MRS. JEFFLEY. 
 
 pensation of Providence, as to several other 
 troubles in his married life. If Mrs. Jeffley 
 did not maintain a like silence concerning 
 the cross of having a husband " without a 
 morsel of push in him," it must be remem- 
 bered she was a woman, and might have 
 broken her heart had she not sought and 
 obtained sympathy from the many, concern- 
 ing the shortcomings of a man who let her do 
 as she pleased, gave her almost all he earned, 
 and only asked to be allowed to keep one 
 little room, where he could sit and smoke 
 and read the paper in peace and quietness. 
 
 " If you were like anybody else," Mrs. 
 Jeffley frequently observed, "you might be of 
 a lot of use to me." 
 
 In reply to which genial remark Jack 
 Jeffley said nothing. He had the greatest 
 genius for saying nothing, which was indeed 
 well, since his wife's talent lay in quite 
 another direction. 
 
 Though nominally master of the great 
 house in Fowkes' Buildings, Mr. Jeffley was 
 really merely a lodger in it, and a lodger less 
 esteemed and considered than any other 
 under the roof, not excepting Frank Scott 
 
AUTRE COURT. 
 
 who, being a permanent inmate, young, poor, 
 and easy tempered, ranked as one " of the 
 family," and had to put up with being treated 
 accordingly. His bedroom was next the 
 slates, and if honest Jack had not made him 
 free of his own small den, the young fellow 
 must have confined himself to his narrow 
 chamber, or consorted with rum-drinking and 
 beer-swilling old salts, who, though excellent 
 persons, no doubt, spat, swore, and told 
 tough yarns, and whose conversation was 
 rather apt to pall after a not very long 
 period. 
 
 Thanks to a lawyer's clerk, to whom, when 
 his fortunes were at low water, Mrs. Jeffley 
 had been extremely kind, that lady dis- 
 covered, long before the Married Women's 
 Property Act became law, according to the 
 "custom of the City of London" she could 
 trade independent of her husband, sue and 
 be sued, rent a house, carry on a business, 
 "keep what she made for herself," exactly 
 as if she had never seen John Jeffley. 
 
 This was before she started her boarding 
 establishment, and, it is not uncharitable to 
 conclude, the idea of having something free 
 
MR. AND MRS. JEFFLEY. 
 
 from the control of the poor creature she had 
 vowed to obey determined Mrs. Jeffley to 
 persevere in her scheme. 
 
 Had Mr. Jeffrey's consent and co-opera- 
 tion been necessary, sea captains and others 
 must have found a suitable anchorage else- 
 where. The whole project was abhorrent to 
 him, if for no other reason than that already 
 Mrs. Jeffley had a person occasionally 
 lodging with her whom he hated as much as 
 it was in his nature to hate anybody ; he 
 hated him for three reasons, not one of which 
 will seem to a sensible reader sufficient to 
 account for even a moderate dislike. 
 
 In the first place, Mr. Karl Katzen was a 
 foreigner, and, like a loyal Englishman, Jack 
 Jeffley distrusted foreigners ; in the next, he 
 was "undersized" and "unwholesome-look- 
 ing," and Mr. Jeffley had a prejudice in 
 favour of large men whose appearance did 
 "credit to their keep." 
 
 " Katzen might be fed on chaff," he said 
 in later years to Frank Scott, and indeed 
 Mr. Katzen might have been fed on sawdust 
 for any good his food seemed to do him. 
 He was lean and sallow ; he had eyes of no 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 colour in particular ; he let his dark lank hair 
 grow long ; he wore no beard or moustache, 
 only a starved imperial ; presumably he some- 
 times washed himself, yet he never looked 
 clean. To big, burly Jack Jeffley, with his 
 crisp brown hair, well-kept whiskers, clear 
 complexion, tanned and freckled though it 
 was ; frank mouth full of white good teeth, 
 all of which he showed when he laughed, and 
 heart that, though prejudiced, was full of the 
 milk of human kindness, this inscrutable 
 German was a standing affront. 
 
 For he had brains, such as they were ; 
 and jack Jeffrey's head might have been 
 cleft open without finding more than just 
 served to enable him to fulfil his duty to 
 his employers. He did not possess enough 
 mind to make him even think of doing- 
 wrong. Fifty millions of money or money's 
 worth might have been left at Jack Jeffrey's 
 mercy, and he would never have set him- 
 self to consider how easily he could abstract, 
 say, a thousand pounds. 
 
 He was very stupid indeed, according to 
 modern lights. 
 
 Two reasons, or non-reasons, have been 
 
MR. AND MRS. JEFFLEY. 
 
 given why Mr. Jeffley disliked Mr. Katzen ; 
 another remains behind. It is only fair to 
 say Mr. Jeffley fought hard against it. 
 
 He argued that no better was to be 
 expected "off" (truth compels the con- 
 fession that thus Mrs. Jeffley's husband 
 worded his sentence) "a fool of a foreigner," 
 and consequently Jack really did try to for- 
 give him, but he could not. Very often he 
 fancied he had not merely forgiven but for- 
 gotten, and then suddenly the whole thing 
 would recur to his memory, and at his work 
 or walking along the street he again felt the 
 hot blood rushing into his face, and tingling 
 to his fingers' ends. 
 
 And really poor Mr. Katzen's offence 
 ought not to have been regarded as the 
 unpardonable sin. To Jack Jeffley, how- 
 ever, it seemed the same sort of crime 
 that poisoning a fox would to a master of 
 hounds. 
 
 Jack came in his way of well-to-do people. 
 His father and. his father's father had farmed 
 their own land since the Conquest or there- 
 about. They were yeomen, they were never 
 rich, or great, or grand. Nevertheless they 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 could trace a pedigree calculated to put to 
 shame many a mushroom lord. They had 
 fought for their country, they had poured 
 out their blood for worthless kings they 
 never saw, and died for principles they did 
 not comprehend. Yet not one of them rose 
 above the rank in which he was born ; titles 
 and pensions, orders and bishoprics, are not 
 for those who only perform yeomen's work ; 
 rather as the years went on, and times 
 changed — and the Jeffleys did not change 
 with the times — matters grew worse with 
 them. 
 
 Old acres did not mean the same profit as 
 formerly. Though meat grew dearer, cattle 
 did not return so much money ; labour had 
 to be better paid ; the very earth seemed 
 to yield her increase less willingly than of 
 yore ; — it was thus it came to pass that, 
 finding things drifting from bad to ruin, 
 John Jeffley left home, and sought his for- 
 tune in London. 
 
 But before he did this, he had learned to 
 love the country and all country pursuits, 
 and though he trod the stony streets con- 
 tentedly enough, his fancy was for ever 
 
MR. AND MRS. JEFFLEY. 
 
 roaming along the field-paths of his native 
 county ; and as each spring returned to 
 gladden the earth memory parted once 
 again the interlacing branches which covered 
 some bird's nest, while in the autumn days 
 at heart he strode across his father's stubble 
 once more, and raised his gun and brought 
 down partridge and hare and pheasant on 
 the land which had passed from him and 
 his for ever. No man knew the points of 
 a horse better than Jack Jeffley ; he could 
 ride well ; when he took the reins, anyone 
 might have felt secure in sitting beside 
 him ; he had the natural vanity a good 
 driver feels ; and yet once when he gave 
 Mr. Katzen a lift in his employers' dogcart, 
 that " blanked, blanked dirty little German,' 
 to modify his more vigorous expression con- 
 cerning that gentleman, finding the vehicle 
 between the Charybdis of an omnibus and 
 the Scylla of a lumbering wool-van, actually 
 gave the off-rein a pull which as nearly as 
 possible " landed us in the very mess the 
 fool was afraid, of." 
 
 Anything else in reason Mr. Jeffley might 
 have looked over, but the united cowardice 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 and unwisdom of Mr. Katzen's act stuck — to 
 quote his own very words — " in his gizzard."' 
 
 " How should you feel," he said to Mr. 
 Frank Scott, " if a fellow — and that fellow 
 a damned foreigner — laid his hands on the 
 reins when you were driving ? I wonder I 
 did not pitch him neck and crop out of the 
 cart. 
 
 And Mr. Frank Scott — who indeed knew 
 as little about horses, and driving, and riding, 
 except what he had learned from Mr. Jeffley 
 himself, as a young gentleman could — was 
 nevertheless sufficient of a friend and a 
 Saxon to wonder how his host, smarting 
 under such provocation, had forborne from 
 crippling Mr. Katzen for life. 
 
 Mrs. Jeffley took a different view of the 
 affair. " Bosh !" she said when her worser 
 half tried to make her understand the full 
 enormity of which "the damned foreigner" 
 had been guilty. " You are nothing but a 
 big baby." 
 
 And that was all the sympathy Jack Jeffley 
 received from his wife. 
 
 Years had passed since that little episode, 
 but when this story opens it still rankled in 
 
MR. AND MRS. JEFFLEY. 13 
 
 Mr. Jeffrey's heart. As has been said, he 
 intuitively hated Mr. Katzen, wherein 
 perhaps his instinct was not altogether 
 wrong ; but he dealt out injustice to Mrs. 
 Jeffrey's friend in imagining the German 
 encouraged that estimable woman in her fads 
 and fancies, and fostered those differences 
 which were the plague of poor Jack's life. 
 
 Jack was but human, and never having 
 understood his wife, it came natural to him 
 to attribute those faults which rendered his 
 home less comfortable than it might have 
 been, to the influence of anything or anyone 
 rather than to the nature of the divine Maria. 
 Loyalty plays men and women many a scurvy 
 trick, but never a worse one than that of 
 attributing to external sources the fouling of 
 a spring which contains in itself the elements 
 of impurity. 
 
 Mr. Jeffrey would not see the whole worry 
 of his existence lay in his wife's mental vanity. 
 She thought herself so extremely clever that 
 all her husband's ways seemed utter foolish- 
 ness in her eyes. 
 
 Many women who do nothing, fall into 
 a similar error concerning their husbands' 
 
14 MITRE COURT. 
 
 business incompetence ; therefore it is per- 
 haps not quite surprising that Mrs. Jeffley, 
 who did a great deal, should regard her lord 
 as a mere cumberer of the ground. This 
 view of Mr. Jeffley, which had been growing 
 and flourishing for many years, was entirely 
 her own. Mr. Katzen's share in it was 
 absolutely nil. He did not foster any depre- 
 ciatory ideas on the subject of Mr. Jeffley's 
 abilities — quite the contrary. He was wont 
 to laugh a dry ungenial laugh and tell the 
 lady she knew nothing about men, and men's 
 work — that she was too well off — that if her 
 husband beat her, or drank, or was unfaithful, 
 she would love the ground on which his 
 shadow fell. " But," Mr. Katzen was wont 
 to continue, " being only a good fellow, 
 and devoted to you and his children, you 
 can't find one pleasant word to say about 
 him." 
 
 There was indeed nothing Mr. Katzen had 
 much less patience with than to hear Mrs. 
 Jeffley holding forth concerning Mr. Jeffley's 
 shortcomings. His own life was so stormy 
 out of doors he loved peace within. He had 
 no idea of disturbing his host's conjugal peace. 
 
MR. AND MRS. JEFFLEY. 15 
 
 " Bah !" he would declare to Mrs. Jeffley, 
 speaking between jest and earnest, " much as 
 I like you, my friend, deeply grateful to you 
 as I am and ought to be, I would not marry 
 you were you hung with diamonds." 
 
 " That is because you are so clever your- 
 self," Mrs. Jeffley would answer in foolish 
 explanation. Then Mr. Katzen was wont to 
 look in the lady's face with a dubious smile, 
 and remark : 
 
 " Dear madame, you are not half so clever 
 as you imagine. All those stupid old Nep- 
 tunes are leading you quite astray — not of 
 malice prepense perhaps, but they gaze at 
 you through spectacles of self-interest ; you 
 cannot expect your lodgers to tell the truth 
 when you make them so comfortable." 
 
 "No one, at all events, can accuse you of 
 flattery," Mrs. JefHey often retorted. 
 
 " That is because I have far too great a 
 regard for you," was the plausible explana- 
 tion ; and indeed, so far as Mr. Katzen was 
 capable of feeling a regard for anyone, he did 
 entertain some sentiment of the kind for the 
 woman who had always believed in, and 
 stuck fast to him through all sorts of chances 
 
i6 MITRE COURT. 
 
 and changes — trusted and helped him, and 
 given sympathy as well as many much more 
 tangible proofs of confidence and friendship. 
 
 Still, it was a bore that she would not con- 
 ciliate her husband. How comfortable and 
 friendly they might all have been together in 
 Jack Jeffrey's little den, where Mr. Katzen 
 never could flatter himself Jack felt glad to 
 welcome anyone except Frank Scott ! How 
 useful Mr. Jeffrey might have been to him 
 in a hundred ways ! How much better a 
 man's help than a woman's ! How far pre- 
 ferable the assistance of a rational male crea- 
 ture than any amount of kindness from a 
 lady who needed the most skilful handling, 
 who believed herself a diplomatist, a general, 
 an administrator, and a financier ! 
 
 " She thinks because she can manage her 
 house that she could rule a kingdom," thought 
 Mr. Katzen, with a shrug of his lean shoul- 
 ders ; " but there, she is a good soul, though 
 a vain simpleton. Over and over again, my 
 Karl, you might have known what it was to 
 lack a meal — many meals — but for the amaz- 
 ing faith of Maria Jeffrey. And she has 
 found no cause to repent her confidence. 
 
MR. AND MRS. JEFF LEY. 17 
 
 No, there may be, as report states, people I 
 have not paid, but Mrs. Jeffley is not among 
 the number." 
 
 Either report must have lied horribly, or 
 else Mr. Katzen in the course of his life had 
 paid very few people indeed. In many 
 places there was an opinion he discharged 
 no debt he could evade, and as we are often 
 told there is never smoke without fire, it is 
 quite probable that Mr. Katzen's erratic 
 course through this wicked world might have 
 been traced by the smouldering fires of un- 
 liquidated liability. 
 
 Under his rightful name of Karl Katzen- 
 stein, he had in his days of comparative 
 innocence involved himself in such pecuniary 
 trouble that he was compelled to leave his 
 Fatherland and seek better fortune in the 
 United States, where both he and those who 
 trusted him fared badly. After all, a man 
 must learn his trade somehow ; and if Mr. 
 Katzenstein found but little gold stick to 
 his fingers while serving his apprenticeship 
 as adventurer, who can judge him harshly on 
 that account ? He gained skill and experi- 
 ence ; and finally, thinking he had acquired 
 
 vol. 1. 2 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 as much knowledge as America was likely 
 to teach him, he decided to bid that country 
 farewell, and give Great Britain the benefit 
 of his talents. It was then he made Mrs. 
 Jeffley's acquaintance, and a very useful one 
 he found her. Many a time he must have 
 gone out breakfastless in the morning, and 
 repaired to bed supperless at night, if the 
 lady's faith in him had not been unbounded. 
 
 And he never cheated her, never once. 
 No, though he often went away for months 
 together, he always came back and discharged 
 his debt. 
 
 He told her many of his troubles, dis- 
 coursed to her concerning some of his plans 
 — a man must have some one to talk to — - 
 and Mrs. Jeffley's sympathy with the German 
 was so complete he found it better to talk to 
 her than anybody else. 
 
 She thought him the cleverest person in 
 the world. He could speak five languages 
 fluently, and had a smattering of Russian 
 besides; and poor Mrs. Jefrley, who could 
 only utter her thoughts in English, and 
 English often not the most correct, considered 
 the way Mr. Katzen — he deemed it well, for 
 
MR. AND MRS. JEFF LEY. 19 
 
 reasons which it is unnecessary here to state, 
 to dock his name of the final "stein " when 
 he took passage for England — was able to 
 discourse with persons of many nationalities 
 little short of miraculous. It seemed to her 
 simple mind as good as conjuring ; and 
 though she was honest herself as the day, the 
 tricks by which he could get money " where 
 another man would starve " excited her 
 warmest admiration. She knew she found 
 it hard enough to make both ends meet on 
 Jack's regular wages. How Mr. Katzen 
 could go out some days without a sixpence 
 and come back with full pockets struck her 
 as most extraordinary. Here was a person 
 whose acquaintance was indeed something 
 to be proud of. " Ah ! if poor Jack had been 
 like him !" Mrs. Jeffiey would probably not 
 have started her lodging-house, of which 
 Mr. Katzen was so honoured an inmate. 
 
 What did she not get for his benefit ? — a 
 " tasty morsel " for breakfast ; a good juicy 
 steak for dinner, which Mr. Katzen kindly 
 ate, though under protest, "because," as he 
 said, " you do so spoil your excellent beef by 
 your barbarous cookery" — "A fellow, I'll 
 
 2 — 2 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 be bound," grumbled Jack Jeffley, "who 
 never got anything better than sour cabbage 
 and kickshaws in his own country !" — fruit by 
 the bushel, pastry light and flaky, puddings 
 cunningly concocted ; literally it was with 
 Mrs. Jeffley a labour of love, catering for his 
 excellent appetite. Peas for him were always 
 dressed with sugar ; the salads he affected 
 were smothered in oil, " till they were not 
 fit for a dog," again to quote Mr. Jeffley, 
 while according to the same authority " it 
 was enough to make a man do something 
 desperate" to see trout boiled, and boiled 
 with vinegar. At the time we first meet 
 them, Mr. Jeffley had long ceased to express 
 his opinions to Mrs. Jeffley concerning the 
 d — — -d German, but he held to them very 
 firmly notwithstanding. 
 
 A person without an ostensible calling, 
 who had no regular employment and no 
 business anybody could comprehend, who 
 was scarcely ever in his office, if a " bit of a 
 box stolen off the landing " in a house close at 
 hand " could be called an office," about which 
 Mr. Jeffley had his doubts, was never likely 
 to do much o;ood for himself or anvbodyelse; 
 
MR. AND MRS. JEFFLEY. 
 
 and what he, Jack, wanted to know was, why 
 he should be waited upon "hand and foot" 
 as if he were Rothschild or the Chancellor of 
 the Exchequer. 
 
 Jack was sadly jealous of Mr. Katzen. 
 But he need not have been. Karl's attach- 
 ment to Mrs. Jeffley was strictly platonic, 
 and perhaps a little gastronomic, while Mrs. 
 Jeffley's feeling for him entertained no 
 thought of disloyalty to her husband. 
 Naturally she did not care to hear Mr. 
 Katzen sing the praises of any other woman, 
 but that was nothing. As a rule, even men 
 are not fond of hearing their acquaintances 
 extolled, considering commendation of this 
 sort a species of indirect reproach to them- 
 selves. In this respect there is not much 
 difference between one sex and another, and 
 for that matter not a great deal to choose 
 between animals and human beings. At heart 
 most persons feel the same sort of pleasure in 
 hearing anyone else extolled that a dog does 
 in seeing a cat stroked, only civilization has 
 taught us to dissemble our feelings, while the 
 dog gives tongue to his in the frankest 
 manner. 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 Mrs. Jeffley, somewhat after the fashion of 
 an animal, allowed her discontent to evidence 
 itself, and Mr. Katzen often took an unamiable 
 pleasure in stroking her fur the wrong way. 
 
 He knew his friend thoroughly — -knew 
 exactly what would annoy and what gratify 
 her; and more than half his apparently care- 
 less utterances had a point and meaning in 
 them unintelligible to outsiders. 
 
 John Jeffley felt, however, many of the 
 German's remarks held a sting, and though 
 he was not clever enough to perceive exactly 
 where the sting lay, he resented them for his 
 wife's sake. 
 
 "If she could only see the little wasp as I 
 see him," he thought, " she'd know he is not 
 an insect ought to be buzzing about a respect- 
 able house." 
 
 The years had come, and the years had 
 gone, however, and on Whit Monday, 
 eighteen hundred and sixty odd, Mr. Katzen 
 was still " buzzing about" Fowkes' Buildings 
 in a very persistent manner. 
 
 For some time affairs with him had been 
 at very low tide indeed ; but for Mrs. Jeffley's 
 timely help he must have raised money on his 
 
MR. AND MRS. JEFFLEY. 23 
 
 watch and ring, massive chain and diamond 
 studs, breastpin, and various other articles by 
 which he set great store, and which, indeed, 
 poor Jack Jeffley's wife believed reflected 
 credit on the establishment. She had heard 
 Mr. Katzen's valuables remarked upon, ap- 
 praised, envied, and she often did wish, " that 
 she did," her husband's nature contained a 
 spark of ambition. "We might all be so 
 differently off,'' she considered, " and John 
 have as fine a ring as Karl Katzen, to say 
 nothing of my seeing some chance of leisure, 
 instead of working my fingers to the bone in 
 Fowkes' Buildings." 
 
 No one wanted Mrs. Jeffley to work her 
 fingers to the bone anywhere ; but this was 
 one of the many little fictions which enabled 
 the ill-used lady to pose as a martyr before the 
 eyes of admiring friends. 
 
 Mr. Jeffley and Frank Scott had employed 
 their rare holiday in visiting a friend who 
 farmed a little land near East Ham, and as 
 twilight was drawing in, they found them- 
 selves on their way home once more in Great 
 Tower Street, a trifle tired, perhaps, but in 
 good order and condition. 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 Their playtime was over, but they had 
 enjoyed it thoroughly. Frank Scott carried 
 a huge bunch of flowers that scented the 
 road and filled the hearts of passers-by with 
 envy, while Jack bore a basket containing a 
 precious freight of new-laid eggs and golden 
 butter, which he meant to keep for his own 
 table, and give share to "no captain, or mate, 
 or scrubby foreigner on earth." 
 
 He had for the sixth time repeated this 
 determination with great energy, when an 
 unexpected sight met his eyes. Coming 
 leisurely along Great Tower Street from the 
 City, he beheld one foreigner he would have 
 felt happy never to see again. 
 
 " Why, here's that Katzen fellow," he said, 
 turning to his companion. " I thought we 
 were rid of him for a week or two, at any 
 rate." 
 
 " What can have brought him back ?" mar- 
 velled Frank Scott. 
 
 " No good, you may be sure." 
 
 " He told me on Saturday morning he was 
 £oinQf to Paris." 
 
 " I wish he would go there and stay 
 there." 
 
MR. AND MRS. JEFF LEY. 
 
 25 
 
 " Hush ! — he will hear you," expostulated 
 Frank, for Mr. Jeffley in an access of energy 
 had raised his voice somewhat unduly. 
 
 " I don't care whether he does or not !" 
 said Jack, lowering his tone, however. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 MR. KATZEN S NEWS. 
 
 " 5?^^ 
 
 tto 
 
 i ERE I am, you see, like a bad 
 
 % sixpence!" exclaimed Mr. Katzen 
 0<||y gaily, at the same time extending 
 his hand, which Mr. Jeffley felt forced to 
 take, and shake with a heartiness he was 
 far from feeling. 
 
 " We thought you were on the other side 
 of the water," he observed, merely because 
 no other remark occurred to him. 
 
 " I did not even start," said Mr. Katzen ; 
 <; I got a piece of unexpected news after I 
 left you on Saturday, which changed all my 
 plans." 
 
 " Good news, I hope ?" suggested Mr. 
 Jeffley. 
 
 "Well, you shall judge of that presently,'"' 
 
MR. KATZEN'S NEWS. V 
 
 answered the foreigner ; " let us go into your 
 room for a minute and summon your wife ; 
 you stay too, Scott — I cannot have one friend 
 absent while I tell what I have to tell." 
 
 " He is going to be married, Frank," said 
 Mr. Jeffley, who had already, with stentorian 
 lungs, shouted for " Maria!" "Wife!" " Mrs. 
 Jeffley!" till a shrill "What's wanted with 
 Mrs. Jeffley now ? Oh! be quiet, do. I'm 
 cominof," assured him his better half was on 
 her way from the upper regions. 
 
 " No; I am not going to be married, that I 
 know of, just yet," said Mr. Katzen, in reply 
 to the remark about matrimony. " I may be, 
 though, for " 
 
 At that juncture the end of Mr. Katzen's 
 sentence was cut short for ever by a series of 
 wifely expostulations emanating from Mrs. 
 Jeffley as she came along the passage. 
 
 " John, I wonder at you, screaming the 
 house down, and Captain Hassell gone to 
 bed and all. What do you want ?" she finished, 
 entering Jack's room, which was almost in 
 total darkness, owing to the narrowness of 
 the court called Fowkes' Buildings and the 
 gathering twilight. 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 "What do I want ?" repeated her husband, 
 who was accustomed to such forms of conju- 
 gal endearment. " Bless you, I want nothing 
 — but here's Mr. Katzen home, brimful of 
 good news, and he won't tell Frank and me 
 what it is till you are quite at leisure to listen 
 too." 
 
 "Mr. Katzen !" exclaimed Mrs. Jeffley, in 
 astonishment, " I did not see you. Frank, 
 light the gas." 
 
 " Yes, Frank, light the gas," capped Mr. 
 Jeffley, with a solemn gravity which on any 
 stage must have brought down the house. 
 " Here are matches, my boy." 
 
 " I never thought of seeing you," exclaimed 
 Mrs. Jeffley, addressing Mr. Katzen, her face 
 literally beaming with smiles. 
 
 " No more did I," supplemented Jack, 
 in a tone which really meant, " No such 
 luck ;" but neither his wife nor Mr. Katzen 
 noticed it. 
 
 " You told me you would be away for a 
 fortnight at least," went on the lady. 
 
 " Yes ; but I did not then know what was 
 going to happen." 
 
 " Why, what has happened ?" asked Mrs. 
 
MR. KATZEN'- S NEWS. 29 
 
 Jeffley. " I can tell from your manner it is 
 nothing very unpleasant." 
 
 " It is nothing unpleasant — quite the other 
 thing. It is just this : I am appointed Con- 
 sul for New Andalusia ;" and Mr. Katzen, 
 who had delivered his astounding intelligence 
 in a voice he could scarcely steady, so great 
 was his exultation, paused for the clapping 
 and huzzaing he felt should follow. 
 
 Instead there ensued a dead silence, which 
 was broken at length by Mr. Jeffley asking : 
 
 " Where the dickens is New Andalusia ?" 
 
 "In South America," answered the new 
 Consul, a little sulkily. 
 
 " Then you will be leaving us !" cried Mrs. 
 Jeffley, forgetting to congratulate her friend 
 in the despair caused by the idea he would 
 have to cross the sea and remain across it. 
 
 " Leaving you — for what reason ?" re- 
 turned Mr. Katzen, who, wrapped up in his 
 own fresh importance, had failed to follow 
 the lady's line of thought. 
 
 " Because you will of course have to go 
 and live in that country with the strange 
 name." 
 
 " Live there ! — not so. Oh no ! — I am 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 Consul for New Andalusia in England, 
 not Consul for England in New Anda- 
 lusia. 
 
 " Make yourself quite easy, wife," inter- 
 posed Mr. Jeffley ; " we are not going to lose 
 Mr. Katzen yet awhile." 
 
 " That is a very kind way of putting the 
 matter," said Mr. Katzen. " A Frenchman 
 could not have phrased the matter more 
 happily ; and what enhances the value of 
 the compliment is, that you are always what 
 a Frenchman sometimes is not — utterly sin- 
 cere. 
 
 He could not have refrained from the 
 sneer, no matter what had come of it ; but 
 nothing at all came of it, save that Jack 
 Jeffley turned very red, and shifting awk- 
 wardly from one foot to the other, muttered 
 some word about his being "sincere enough, 
 if that was all." 
 
 "And so far," said Frank Scott — who, if 
 he were young and poor, and unconsidered 
 by the lodgers Mrs. Jeffley looked after and 
 believed in, had yet a ready wit and a plea- 
 sant manner of his own — " not one of us has 
 expressed the smallest satisfaction concerning 
 
MR. KATZEN' S NEWS. 31 
 
 Mr. Katzen's good fortune. Shall I speak 
 first, Mr. Jeffley, or will you ?" 
 
 " I am always glad to hear about anybody 
 doing well," answered Jack, a little awk- 
 wardly. " Mr. Katzen knows that ; and I 
 hope with all my heart this appointment 
 may land him in clover one day." 
 
 " And so do I," cried Mrs. Jeffley. " Mr. 
 Katzen, you may be sure, with all my heart, 
 I wish you prosperity. It ought not to need 
 words to tell you that." 
 
 " No," answered Mr. Katzen, taking the 
 lady's outstretched hand in both of his ; 
 " actions speak louder than words, and your 
 actions have spoken loudly to me for many a 
 year." 
 
 " I scarcely count, I suppose," added 
 Frank Scott; "but I cannot help saying 
 I am rejoiced to hear of your good for- 
 tune." 
 
 " For it is really good fortune, I suppose," 
 suggested Mrs. Jeffley ; " it must be, or you 
 would not look so pleased." 
 
 "It is such good fortune," replied Mr. 
 Katzen, "that if Mrs. Childs could manage 
 anywhere to get us a couple of bottles of 
 
32 MITRE COURT. 
 
 decent champagne, I should like to see 
 glasses filled in its honour ;" and as the new 
 Consul spoke, he put his hand in his pocket 
 and drew forth a quantity of coin, amongst 
 which sovereigns were as plentiful as shillings. 
 
 " Bless and save us !" thought Jack Jeffley ; 
 " do they pay them in advance ?" But he 
 only said aloud, " There is no need to send 
 Mrs. Childs on any such wild-goose chase — 
 we have best part of a dozen still left of that 
 Catawba young Morson brought me from 
 America ; and though you may not think 
 much of it, you'll find it a far better wine 
 than anything Mrs. Childs is likely to get 
 from a tavern on a Whit Monday night. 
 And look here, Mr. Katzen — I know my 
 wife has a bit of supper ready ; take share 
 of it with us. I need not tell you, when 
 Mrs. Jeffley is the provider, there will be 
 plenty and to spare." 
 
 " There is nothing but cold beef," said 
 Mrs. Jeffley sadly. 
 
 " Well, what can be better than cold 
 beef?" asked Mr. Jeffley. 
 
 " Especially with a good salad ! Let me 
 mix the salad," entreated Mr. Katzen. 
 
MR. KATZEN' S NEWS. 33 
 
 " Certainly, if you leave my name out of 
 it," said Mr. Jeffley. 
 
 " True, I forgot you like to eat your 
 lettuce raw," said Mr. Katzen. 
 
 " And so I do," remarked Frank Scott ; 
 " and Mrs. Jeffley objects to oil, and cares 
 only for vinegar." 
 
 " Oh, you English, how funny you are !" 
 
 ' ; We are not the only funny people in 
 the world, that is one comfort," retorted Mr. 
 Jeffley. 
 
 " We have not even the monopoly of 
 queerness !" added Frank Scott, who was 
 always ready with some word likely to avert 
 a quarrel. 
 
 " Though you are very queer," returned 
 Mr. Katzen. " By-the-bye, I have not yet 
 thanked you for your invitation, Mr. Jeffley, 
 which I shall do myself the honour of accept- 
 ing. I go to brush a little of the day's dust 
 from my person, and then I return. An 
 revoir." 
 
 " You never said anything truer than 
 that," observed Mr. Jeffley, as the door 
 closed behind his wife and her lodger. 
 11 Ail revoir, indeed — faith, it is always 
 
 VCL. 1. 3 
 
31 MITRE COURT. 
 
 revoir /" and Jack's face assumed an ex- 
 pression he meant to be sarcastic, but which 
 was only comical. " Read me this riddle, 
 Frank : what is there about our little friend 
 to inspire devotion ? Under the pretence of 
 telling Jane to lay a cover for him, my wife 
 has gone to put on her best bib and tucker 
 in his honour, and if I am not much mis- 
 taken she will take half-a-dozen of those 
 new-laid eggs to make him an omelette. 
 Then, as though all that were not enough, 
 some one goes and gets him an appoint- 
 ment as Consul — and we are all forced in 
 consequence to tell untruths and say we 
 feel glad " 
 
 " So I do — and so ought you," answered 
 young Scott. 
 
 " And why, pray ?" 
 
 " Because, now he is getting up in the 
 world, he will very probably leave Fowkes' 
 Buildings." 
 
 " Leave Fowkes' Buildings ! He knows a 
 trick worth two of that." 
 
 " I am not so sure — besides, he may 
 marry. If that handful of gold means any- 
 thing, it means the ability to get money." 
 
MR. KA TZEN 'S NEWS. 35 
 
 " I believe it to be all a flash in the pan." 
 
 " You will find yourself mistaken, I hope," 
 answered Frank; "and you know, Mr. 
 Jeffley, you are glad the man has got a 
 good berth — you couldn't wish ill to your 
 worst enemy." 
 
 " I should not like to see him brought 
 home on a stretcher, with a broken neck — 
 if that is what you mean — but I can't take 
 to the fellow. Hang it ! I really did mean 
 to be civil to him ; but I am sorry now I 
 asked him for supper. Those good eggs 
 wasted in an omelette stick in my throat." 
 
 " Don't meet trouble half-way," advised 
 the young man. "Anyhow, console your- 
 self with the assurance that they won't stick 
 in his." 
 
 Mr. Jeffley burst into a hearty peal of 
 laughter. " That they won't, I warrant," 
 he said. " I only wish they would — no I 
 don't. It would vex me if ill came to him 
 in my house, and perhaps, after all, he is 
 not so bad as I think him." 
 
 Mr. Francis Scott wisely refrained from 
 speech. Mr. Katzen must have been very 
 bad indeed had he outstripped the measure 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 of iniquity that gentleman considered him 
 capable of compassing. 
 
 " He is as bad a lot as ever drew breath," 
 he thought ; " and though honest Jack has 
 no need to be jealous, it will be a blessed day 
 when he takes his departure. Consul ! I 
 wonder what sort of people the New Anda- 
 lusians can be when they choose him for 
 representative. But he'll not stay long in 
 Fowkes' Buildings. That, to quote Mr. Jeffrey, 
 is as sure as God made little apples." 
 
 Considering the diversity of temperaments 
 gathered around the supper-table the meal 
 did not go off so badly. Mr. Jeffrey beheld 
 Mr. Katzen turn back his cuffs, smell the 
 oil, hold the vinegar up to the light, put in 
 a spoonful of this, and add a pinch of that, 
 without audible remark. He was good- 
 natured about the eggs, and he pressed the 
 butter on the foreigner's notice ; he refrained 
 from speech, though he considered that Mr. 
 Katzen's nose assumed a disdainful ex- 
 pression as it inhaled the bouquet of the 
 Catawba ; while on his side the new Consul 
 preserved an eloquent silence when Jack, 
 after draining off about a pint of ale, declared 
 
MR. KATZEN'S NEWS. 
 
 honest malt liquor like that was worth the 
 whole of the sparkling wine in bond. 
 
 They were all in the happiest mood ; 
 Jack thinking pleasantly about that matri- 
 monial suggestion hazarded by Scott, " a 
 young fellow who has far more in him than 
 anybody might imagine," as he often 
 declared ; Mr. Katzen full of delightful 
 plans for the future ; Mrs. Jeffley eagerly 
 curious. 
 
 " You will now take that beautiful ground- 
 floor office you have been hankering after 
 so long, I suppose," she hazarded, in one of 
 the pauses of the repast. 
 
 " Only wish I could," answered Mr. 
 Katzen ; " but old Brisco let it last Septem- 
 ber. I know he is ready to cry with 
 vexation, for he can neither get rent from 
 his tenant, who is a bad man, nor induce 
 him to go. He wanted me to wait, but I 
 said: 'No, my friend; while I had little 
 money I was forced to wait. I will never 
 wait again, if I can help it.' " 
 
 "Just like you!" remarked Mrs. Jeffley 
 admiringly. 
 
 " No— no," went on Mr. Katzen, who, if 
 
3S MITRE COURT. 
 
 he had found the Catawba wanting in many 
 things he considered desirable, could not 
 at least accuse the wine of lacking strength. 
 " I wait no more. I have had my turn — 
 let the others now take their turn. I have 
 already got an office better situated than 
 Botolph Lane, where I can do good for 
 you ? " and he nodded to Frank Scott. 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Katzen," answered that 
 youth ; " it is very kind of you to think of me." 
 
 " I think of all my friends," said Mr. 
 Katzen solemnly. " I am not, as some, 
 forgetful in prosperity. The office I have 
 got is in Mitre Court — as calm, as quiet as 
 the old house. I should have preferred the 
 old house, though — my luck in it was 
 always well ; but it may be I shall have 
 more and better luck in Mitre Court." 
 
 "Where is Mitre Court?" asked Mrs. 
 Jeffiey, just as her husband had asked the 
 latitude and longitude of New Andalusia. 
 
 "Off Milk Street, clear friend; but I shall 
 drop the Milk and substitute Wood Street. 
 It is all as one." 
 
 " And what is your work ?" inquired Jack 
 Jeffley, beautifully practical, 
 
MR. KATZEN' S NEWS. 39 
 
 Mr. Katzen, who at the moment was peel- 
 ing an American apple, suspended his occu- 
 pation, and accurately balancing the fruit- 
 knife on the first finger of his left hand, re- 
 plied : 
 
 " To do the very best I can for my- 
 self." 
 
 " A rather vague answer," said Mr. Jeffley. 
 
 " I can't give you a better yet," answered 
 Mr. Katzen. " Remember, I am only now 
 in my new capacity — three days old. Give 
 me a little more time, and I shall be able to 
 tell you all. If I serve my adopted country 
 well, I must, I should hope, serve myself 
 well also. Take it for all in all, there is no 
 such land on earth. Blessed in its climate, 
 its government, its population, its minerals, 
 its forests, its situation, its harbours, its 
 capacities for producing grain and raising 
 cattle, there is nothing under heaven New 
 Andalusia needs except to be brought into 
 closer connection with Great Britain ; and," 
 finished Mr. Katzen, " I feel I am destined 
 to bring about her espousals." 
 
 "Bravo!" exclaimed Mr. Jeffley. "All I 
 hope is, the marriage may not prove dis- 
 
4o MITRE COURT. 
 
 astrous to Great Britain. We have taken 
 to ourselves a lot of wives, and one way or 
 another they have managed to give us a 
 heap of bother." 
 
 " This wife shan't," said Mr. Katzen. 
 " No, not more than your dear best half, 
 looking radiantly beautiful, seated opposite 
 to yourself." 
 
 The illustration was so exquisitely un- 
 happy, that Frank Scott felt compelled to 
 put his hand to his mouth in order to conceal 
 a smile. 
 
 " My best half doesn't look amiss," said 
 Mr. Jeffley, wisely ignoring the first part of 
 the foreigner's remark, and looking across 
 the table with a proud and loving glance, 
 in which there was mingled a dash of sad- 
 ness unutterably pathetic ; " but we won't 
 praise her to her face for fear — as she tells 
 the young ones sometimes — of making her 
 vain." 
 
 "If hearing the truth could have spoiled 
 Mrs. Jeffley, she must have lost her sweet 
 simplicity long ago." 
 
 " Mrs. Jeffley is not simple," interposed 
 that lady, with a laugh, " and she does not 
 
MR. KATZEN'S NEWS. 41 
 
 want any more compliments ; she knows all 
 they are worth. Seriously, I am so sorry 
 you cannot get those two beautiful offices ; 
 I wanted some day to see the old painted 
 panels, and the fine chimney-pieces." 
 
 " I should have liked well, too, to see you 
 puzzling your wise head over the Indians, 
 and the animals, and the tropical trees. The 
 series of paintings constitutes, I suppose, a 
 whole story ; but what that story may be no 
 one can tell now. There are two funny 
 fellows riding on a rhinoceros, and there are 
 others gathering; tobacco-leaves, and there 
 are chariots drawn by some sort of deer, and 
 something like a church, and white people, 
 and sea and mountains. Ah, good Lord ! 
 and am not I sorry ! it has just occurred to 
 me that I could have said the tale the panels 
 told me was the colonization and civilization 
 and Christianizing of New Andalusia. More, 
 as I stated before, I have always had good 
 luck in that old house ; whenever I have left 
 it to better myself, worse has followed. Well, 
 I must try to get back there after a while. 
 The old man believes in me. For all he 
 is 
 
42 MITRE COURT. 
 
 " Why do you not finish your sentence, 
 Mr. Katzen ?" asked Jack maliciously. 
 
 " Himmel ! because it cuts against my- 
 self," answered Mr. Katzen, with appalling 
 frankness. " I was going to say, for all he 
 is so keen, so astute, so far-seeing, he has a 
 faith in my power I have often lacked myself. 
 To be sure, I have always paid him his rent, 
 but that was mostly, perhaps, because he 
 chanced to be too poor to do without 
 it." 
 
 " Why, I should have thought a man who 
 owned such a house must be well-to-do," said 
 Mrs. Jeffley, for whom the mystery associated 
 with her lodger's landlord had always pos- 
 sessed the fascination something unexplained 
 of necessity holds for common-place minds. 
 
 " He doesn't own the house — he rents it," 
 explained Mr. Katzen for at least the fiftieth 
 time ; " and then he has to pay rates and 
 taxes, and get his money back as he can. 
 What with one loss and another, and no 
 business to speak of, and the wretched way 
 he keeps the house, he must be as poor as 
 our ancient friend Job, or our more modern 
 acquaintance the church-mouse. Unless, in- 
 
MR. KA TZEN ' 5 NE WS. 43 
 
 deed " added Mr. Katzen, struck by a 
 
 sudden thought. 
 
 Frank Scott lifted his head as the foreigner 
 paused, and said, as if amused : 
 
 "You are leaving all your sentences un- 
 finished, Mr. Katzen, to-night. Unless 
 what ?" 
 
 " ' Unless' was only a sudden idea which 
 occurred to me," replied Mr. Katzen. " I 
 thought it meant something, but really it 
 amounts to nothing at all. No man on earth 
 would make such a believe about poverty as 
 to eat as Brisco eats, lodge as Brisco lodges, 
 live as Brisco lives, and dress as Brisco 
 dresses." 
 
 " How does the man live, then ?" asked 
 Mr. Jeffley. 
 
 " Like a pauper," was the answer. " He 
 goes to bed as soon as the offices are closed, 
 to save light and fuel ; to my knowledge he 
 has worn the same old coat for the last six 
 years ; he never spends a farthing on 'bus 
 fare ; he manages somehow to exist on a diet 
 which would starve a dog — dry bread, and 
 milk and water, for breakfast ; an apple, and 
 bread again, for dinner. He once bought a 
 
44 MITRE COURT. 
 
 pennyworth of herrings when they were six 
 a penny, and I know he had not finished 
 them at the end of a fortnight. It is miser- 
 able to see him." 
 
 " Dear me !" cried kindly Mrs. Jeffley ; 
 "and to think of all the things we have left 
 over here — things Mrs. Childs and her niece 
 can't get through. There is a quart of 
 beautiful soup, all of a jelly, in the house 
 now." 
 
 " I shouldn't advise you to send it to Mr. 
 Brisco, that's all," said Mr. Katzen. " I never 
 shall forget the way he snapped off my nose 
 one day when I proposed he should come out 
 and have some dinner with me, I to pay the 
 piper. I remarked, innocently enough, I 
 thought he must be tired of stale bread and 
 fruit, and that I should really enjoy seeing 
 him eat a cut off a good joint for once. In 
 a moment he had fanned himself into a white 
 heat of passion. He was in such a rage, even 
 his lips grew white. He is colourless and 
 bloodless enough at the best ; but he got ab- 
 solutely livid, and he drew himself up — up till 
 I found myself looking at him with my chin 
 lifted, and my head thrown back. ' Sir,' he 
 
MR. KATZEN'S NEWS. 45 
 
 said, ' if you choose to swiil ale all day, it is no 
 affair of mine ; if I prefer to live like a Chris- 
 tian, it is no affair of yours.' No, no ! dear 
 generous madam e ; take my advice, and send 
 no cups of broth, or pieces of cake, or scraps 
 of pudding, to my friend in Botolph Lane. 
 If you do, you will most likely see them walk 
 back again to your front door with a message 
 you won't relish." 
 
 " Faith, I think the old fellow is right, 
 though," interposed Mr. Jeffley. "A man 
 may be poor, but he needn't be a beggar." 
 
 " I don't consider a man ought to count 
 himself anything of the kind, if he lets a 
 friend stand him a dinner," retorted Mr. 
 Katzen. 
 
 " Yes, if he can't return the civility," per- 
 sisted Jack manfully. 
 
 " What do you say, Scott ? Judge between 
 us," said the new Consul. 
 
 " You should not refer to me," answered 
 the young fellow, flushing a little. ' ; I am 
 under far too many obligations here to be 
 able to speak impartially." 
 
 " Tut, tut !" cried Mr. Jeffley, stretching 
 out a stalwart arm, and touching Frank on 
 
46 MITRE COURT. 
 
 the shoulder. " You are under no obligation, 
 none at all. Quite the other way." 
 
 " I am sure," added Mrs. Jeffley, " you 
 have never had anything in this house but 
 what you paid for most honourably." 
 
 " There are things which cannot be paid 
 for," murmured Frank Scott, with a tremor 
 in his voice, and a look in his downcast face 
 which filled Mrs. Jeffley with a feeling as like 
 self-reproach as that estimable lady was ca- 
 pable of experiencing. 
 
 For a moment she was rent by a spasm of 
 compunction. During the cold weather she 
 had dealt out blankets sparingly, she had 
 stripped his room whenever anybody else 
 required pillows, or crockery, or looking-glass, 
 or strips of carpet. She had stinted him in 
 towels and chairs, and given him yellow soap, 
 and docked the lad of fifty small luxuries 
 which would have cost her little and been 
 much to him, and yet he never complained, 
 but seemed grateful. 
 
 But no, she thought, he was grateful only 
 to Jack, only to her as being Jack's wife ; and 
 the foolish woman, who could not understand 
 the patience and affection of both husband 
 
' MR. KATZEN'S NEWS. 47 
 
 and lodger, the male tolerance of female short- 
 comings, the male thankfulness for such kind- 
 ness and attention as modern civilization 
 permits the "weaker vessel" to evince, 
 hardened her heart once more against Frank 
 Scott, whom she had long previously decided 
 to be as poor a creature as Jack Jeffley. 
 
 Prosperity is too strong a tonic for some 
 natures. Prosperity had been a very bad 
 medicine indeed for Mrs. Jeffley. 
 
 " And does that girl," she asked hastily, 
 reverting to the original question, " also live 
 on dry bread, apples, and herrings ?" 
 
 " I should say not," answered Mr. Katzen, 
 lifting a pair of sleepy eyes. " Judging from 
 her appearance she lives on the fat of the 
 land. She is getting extremely pretty — 
 growing in grace with God and man. If she 
 were well dressed she would astonish the 
 natives hereabouts. What a figure she has ! 
 What a little spitfire she is !" 
 
 " Mrs. Childs always said she w T as a nasty 
 sly cat," commented Mrs. Jeffley. 
 
 " Upon the whole I think Mrs. Childs was 
 wrong. She may be a cat, but she is not 
 nasty — quite the contrary. She is what you 
 
43 MITRE COURT. 
 
 English are so fond of calling ' nice.' She 
 is well-favoured, well-shaped, good to look 
 upon, good to talk to, even when she flares 
 up and lets that big temper of hers blaze out." 
 
 " Blaze out ! To whom ?" 
 
 "Well, to me, for example," said Mr. 
 Katzen, laughing, as if the whole matter were 
 a most excellent joke. "' I have known her 
 so long, I have known her so utterly, any- 
 body might have thought she could not fail 
 to understand Karl Katzen. Yet to-day, if 
 you believe me, she figuratively buried every 
 claw she owns in this poor flesh of mine." 
 
 "What had you done to her ?" asked Mr. 
 Jeffley. 
 
 " Done ! — I done ! — upon my sacred oath, 
 nothing. All I said was, ' Look here, Abby : 
 a great stroke of luck has come to me ; get 
 yourself a new dress on the strength of it,' 
 and I laid down a sovereign." 
 
 " Yes ?" said Mrs. Jeffley interrogatively. 
 
 " She took the money up and threw it 
 across the table at me. If it had hit the 
 mark, I should have come back to you with 
 a black eye, but being in a rage she aimed 
 wide. My God ! I should like to marry that 
 
MR. KATZEN 'S NEWS. 49 
 
 girl and tame her!" and Mr. Katzen laughed 
 softly once again. 
 
 "Why, you would be far, far too old for 
 her !" declared Mrs. Jeffrey, dealing the 
 cruellest blow she could. 
 
 Even while he winced Mr. Katzen an- 
 swered : 
 
 " She is old enough in all but years, and 
 of that small failing she must mend rapidly." 
 
 " Yes, she will be twenty before she can 
 look about her," said Mrs. Jeffrey irritably, 
 while Jack and his friend maintained an 
 amazed silence. 
 
 " That is true," agreed Mr. Katzen ; " three 
 years at her time of life pass like the shadow 
 of a dream. When twenty is passed we begin 
 to feel the grinding of the wheels, which, as 
 that good Solomon says, drag the nearer we 
 approach our inevitable end." 
 
 " I don't believe Solomon says anything of 
 the sort," answered Mrs. Jeffrey ; and it was 
 noticeable after this she devoted many of her 
 words and a considerable amount of her 
 attention to Frank Scott. 
 
 Often that evening, ere he sought repose 
 in that chamber well supplied with blankets, 
 
 vol. i. 4 
 
5o MITRE COURT. 
 
 pillows, and " all other appurtenances to 
 boot," Mr. Katzen, watching Mrs. Jefrley's 
 manoeuvres, and hearing what Mrs. Jeffley 
 said, smiled a secret sort of smile to himself, 
 which meant that he understood and appre- 
 ciated the position perfectly. 
 
 It is really most curious to consider how 
 exhaustively foreigners comprehend the weak- 
 ness of all human beings except themselves ! 
 

 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A PLAINT. 
 
 ESTROYING angels nowadays 
 assume the form either of a 
 speculative builder or a clamorous 
 shareholder. 
 
 At this present time of writing, the latter 
 is working his wickedest will in the heart 
 of the City. By virtue of an Act of Parlia- 
 ment passed entirely in his interest, though 
 ostensibly for the benefit of a long-suffering 
 public, he is removing old landmarks, sweep- 
 ing away streets, burrowing through the earth 
 like a mole. Ere many months elapse, he will, 
 through neat iron gratings, be vomiting up 
 steam and smoke into the busiest thorough- 
 fares ; while next year may find him quietly 
 slipping another Bill through Committee, em- 
 
 4—2 
 
52 MITRE COURT. 
 
 powering his company to utilize St. Paul's for 
 a terminus. 
 
 If Stephenson could revisit this world, how 
 pleased he would be to see the full extent of 
 the destruction already wrought by his inven- 
 tion ! Never before in the history of man- 
 kind w T as such a transformation effected ! 
 And yet, with all its railways, there probably 
 could be found no city harder to get into or 
 out of, than London, which, once quaint, pic- 
 turesque, and interesting, is fast becoming a 
 mere junction, diversified with huge blocks 
 of ugly buildings that will all most likely have 
 to come down ere long, to make way for the 
 transit and housing of rolling-stock. 
 
 In the country, the speculative builder is 
 changing the face of Nature ; in the City, his 
 twin-brother is wrecking the works of Man. 
 To them nothing is sacred ; the living - and 
 the dead they are alike prepared to sacrifice. 
 The altars of ancient Moloch were at least 
 reared amongst groves. His high places 
 were shadowed by swaying branches and 
 dancing leaves, but our modern Molochs cut 
 down and spare not every green thing they 
 see, and foul every fair stream they come 
 
A PLAINT. $3 
 
 across ; they erect shoddy villas, and run up 
 stucco terraces, and plan brick-and-mortar 
 wildernesses, which they facetiously call 
 " Gardens." Their course may be tracked 
 by reason of heaps of rubbish and burning 
 clay and volumes of smoke, long trails of 
 cinders and dust and desolation, and starved 
 flower-beds and yellow gravel and woe ! 
 
 As " new and powerful " engines pant their 
 dreary way from Queen Victoria Street to the 
 Tower, they will pass an interesting corner of 
 Old London, which, though no doubt doomed 
 in the near future, has as yet escaped demo- 
 lition. A hard fi^ht was made over the 
 Church of St. Mary-at-Hill. No doubt there 
 was some knight-errant connected with the 
 parish, who failed to see why even a nine- 
 teenth-century dragon should have everything 
 his own way. It seems strange that in an 
 age which complacently permitted Crosby 
 Hall to be turned into a restaurant ; allowed 
 such monstrosities as the galvanized sheds at 
 Cannon Street and Charing Cross to live ; set 
 up a ridiculous griffin, brandishing a tea-tray 
 at Temple Bar ; and holds its peace while 
 railway bridge after railway bridge is thrown 
 
54 MITRE COURT. 
 
 across the river ; which is satisfied to see the 
 finest site in Europe spoiled by the erection 
 of tasteless buildings, without form and void 
 of colour ; which thought no shame to allow 
 tall stacks of offices to hide the beautiful tower 
 of St. Mary Aldermary, and never winced 
 when three old churches vanished in the 
 twinkling of an eye — anyone could be found 
 strong enough and bold enough to protect an 
 edifice so little known and so out-of-the-way 
 as St. Mary-at-Hill. It is, however, not more 
 strange than true. No glamour of romance 
 hangs round the church, though of ancient 
 date, Richard Hackney having presented to 
 the living so long ago as 1337. No part of 
 the original building remains except three 
 walls ; the very windows were changed from 
 Gothic by some Vandal towards the end of 
 the last century; the interior fittings date no 
 further back than 1672. There are not any 
 monuments of peculiar interest, a goodly col- 
 lection of worthy citizens have mouldered 
 aw r ay to dust within its walls ; but the place, 
 unlike its near neighbours, All Hallows, 
 Barking, and St. Olave, Hart Street, has no 
 name famous in history associated with it ; 
 
A PLAINT. 55 
 
 neither can it boast, as may St. Dunstan-in-the- 
 East, situated within a stone's-throw, of having 
 been served by eminent preachers. Never- 
 theless, the whole parish is interesting, both by 
 reason of its surroundings and the field its quiet 
 annals open for imagination to rove through. 
 We do not know who lived in the ancient red 
 brick houses we meet with in the small courts 
 and passages just out of Love Lane, but 
 from the windows, flush with the walls, faces 
 of the past look forth to greet our own. 
 Through doorways, adorned with canopy and 
 architrave, we can see the men and women 
 of former times on the first Sunday after 
 Midsummer-day pace slowly to St. Mary's, 
 to hear the annual sermon preached before 
 the Fellowship Porters. 
 
 " This antient custom" has now fallen into 
 desuetude, but fancy, cleaving the mists of 
 years, can give us back that annual procession 
 of Fellowship Porters, each man carrying a 
 " large nosegay " from hall to church. And 
 to those who know St. Mary's — " well wains- 
 cotted," with " oak pews," " enriched with 
 cherubim, festoons," an " altar-piece of 
 Norway oak, with a handsome cornice and 
 
56 MITRE COURT. 
 
 pediment," an " interior over the middle aisle 
 graced with a very light and beautiful cupola" 
 — it is perfectly easy to picture that solemn 
 march to the altar, where " every porter 
 deposits his benevolence, for the use of the 
 poor and to defray the expenses of the day, 
 into two basins provided for the purpose. 
 After having performed this ceremony, the 
 deputy, merchants, with their wives, children, 
 and servants," once walked in order " from 
 their separate pews to perform the same 
 solemnity." 
 
 The scent of those old-world flowers fills 
 the church. Amid the Bibles and Prayer- 
 books on the ledge, in front of every man, 
 woman, and child, lies a nosegay, presented 
 overnight to the " merchants and respect- 
 able families in the neighbourhood " by the 
 members of the Company. The air is sweet 
 with stocks and lavender and cabbage roses, 
 and all those fair vanished flowers that once 
 went to make a perfect bouquet. It was a 
 fanciful and charming custom which need not 
 have been forgotten, even in these days of 
 hard utility. The Lion Sermon is still 
 preached, and the flower service held in St. 
 
A PLAINT. 57 
 
 Katharine Cree. Annually pennies are 
 tossed on an old tombstone in St. Bartholo- 
 mew's graveyard. Bancroft's sermon has 
 not yet been discontinued, though it is said 
 on the occasion his body is now not taken 
 out of the coffin — perhaps because there is 
 no body left to take — in order to be exhibited 
 to the almsmen of his charity. All these and 
 many other customs still flourish in their 
 pristine freshness, but the pleasant spectacle 
 of hundreds of Fellowship Porters walking 
 to church and carrying ''great nosegays" is 
 never beheld. It is dead as the bright buds 
 made up hundreds of years ago into posies, 
 which lived their little hour, and drooped and 
 faded — dead as the children who once played 
 about St. Mary's Hill — dead as the men and 
 women who bore their cares and sorrows as 
 well as their fragrant flowers into God's very 
 house. 
 
 Well, perchance 'tis best so! In a world 
 where nothing abides for ever, save that 
 Divine message which to-day floats clear and 
 sweet over the busy haunts of toiling men, as 
 it did nigh upon two thousand years ago 
 across the star-lit plains of Palestine, we need 
 
58 MITRE COURT. 
 
 scarcely regret that the sweet custom died 
 while there was yet some of the old City left 
 to mourn its departure. 
 
 A much less poetical observance, how- 
 ever, might be with the greatest advantage 
 revived. In the year 1701, during the reign 
 of William III., an order was made by the 
 Court of rulers, auditors, and assistants of 
 the Company of Watermen and Lightermen 
 of the river Thames, observing " that several 
 watermen and their apprentices, while they 
 are rowing upon that river or at their plying- 
 places between Gravesend and Windsor, 
 often use immodest, obscene, and lewd ex- 
 pressions towards passengers and to each other, 
 that are offensive to all sober persons, and tend 
 to the conniption of youths /' it was therefore 
 ordained, " That watermen or lightermen 
 convicted of using such expressions forfeit 
 2s. 6d. for every such offence ; and if any 
 waterman or lighterman's apprentice shall 
 offend in the same manner, his master or 
 mistress shall on his conviction forfeit the 
 same sum, or in case of their refusal, the 
 offender shall suffer such correction as the 
 rulers of the Company shall think fit and 
 
A PLAINT. 59 
 
 necessary. The forfeitures when paid to be 
 applied to the use of the poor, aged, decayed, 
 and maimed members of the Company, their 
 widows and children." 
 
 If half-a-crown were now exacted for every 
 offensive word uttered on the silent highway, 
 and the towing-paths, not merely might the 
 destitute of Billingsgate be supported, but 
 the whole of the poor of London ! On a 
 Sunday morning in summer, for example, 
 what a sweet crop could be garnered, from 
 Gravesend to Windsor! The imagination 
 reels when it considers the amount of bad 
 language which in the course of one day 
 alone is thrown on the Thames and abso- 
 lutely wasted, not a solitary sixpence being 
 in these days harvested out of it ! 
 
 Side by side on the spot we have been 
 considering three lanes run almost parallel 
 to each other from Lower Thames Street up 
 the hill leading to Eastcheap and Little 
 Tower Street — to wit, St. Mary-at-Hill, Love 
 Lane, and Botolph Lane. They lie close 
 together, a little paved alley, called Church 
 Passage, connecting St. Mary-at-Hill with 
 Love Lane ; Botolph Alley leading from the 
 
6o MITRE COURT. 
 
 latter into Botolph Lane, where stands the 
 Church of St. George, with which is united 
 the Parish of St. Botolph, Billingsgate. 
 
 In a courtyard that might well escape the 
 observation of passers-by, entered as it is 
 through an archway of the most unassuming 
 appearance, there stands even to this day 
 an old and most beautiful house. 
 
 It is placed with its back to Love Lane, 
 while the front looks out on a square paved 
 with cobbles, and surrounded by buildings 
 presumably much more modern than the 
 mansion once inhabited by no less a person 
 than Sir Christopher Wren. 
 
 To pass out of the City streets, where 
 staring new warehouses are fast elbowing 
 the more ancient buildings off the face of 
 the earth, into that spacious hall paved with 
 black and white marble, is like stepping back 
 a couple of centuries in England's history. 
 There are no such halls nowadays. Where 
 could such another staircase be found ? See 
 the massive balustrades, the carved balusters; 
 notice the easy ascent of the oak steps, which 
 lead by three short flights to the first-floor. 
 There is a dignity about the mansion 
 
A PLAINT. 6 1 
 
 nineteenth-century architects toil after in 
 vain. The hall occupies the whole depth 
 of the house ; it is over thirty feet long and 
 nearly twenty wide. A double sweep of 
 stone steps leads up to the front door, and 
 we can stand on the wide level flagging at 
 the top, and, looking over the iron rails, 
 gaze round the quiet courtyard and take a 
 peep down at the dog-kennel formed by 
 leaving an opening under the steps, and the 
 " dog-lick " hollowed out of the solid stone 
 pavement that runs below. Who owned the 
 last dog who kept guard there ? and of what 
 breed were the animals that slaked their 
 thirst from that cool basin, while St. Paul's 
 was rising from its ruins, and Wren weeping 
 tears, which did not disgrace his manhood, 
 over the cruel and selfish thwarting of that 
 magnificent ideal which, if carried out, would 
 have rendered London's Cathedral a truly 
 grand and fitting monument for its architect ? 
 Wren has gone where we may fain hope 
 there is a "Resurgam"* for ideas still-born 
 
 * " In the beginning of the new works of St. Paul's," 
 writes Sir Christopher Wren in the '"Parentalia,'' "we are 
 told an incident was taken notice of by some people as a 
 memorable omen. When the surveyor in person had set 
 
62 MITRE COURT. 
 
 on earth, and plans it was impossible for him 
 to perfect here. The dogs that once bayed 
 the moon, touching with her silver splendour 
 the trees in St. Botolph's silent graveyard, 
 have for two hundred years been unconscious 
 of the curses or caresses bestowed upon 
 them by the lackeys and varlets, fit pre- 
 decessors of our modern grooms and butlers. 
 The houses of a great overgrown, dusty, bust- 
 ling city are jostling each other, even as the 
 men and women are crowding and crushing 
 the stronger upon the weaker, in the streets 
 which once were quiet and quaint, rich in 
 ancient architecture, streaked with those tones 
 of colour it needs the passage of centuries to 
 
 out upon the plan the dimensions of the great dome, and 
 fixed upon the centre, a common labourer was ordered to 
 bring a flat stone from the mass of rubbish (such as should 
 first come to hand) to be laid for a mark and direction to 
 the masons ; the stone, which was immediately brought and 
 laid down for that purpose, happened to be a piece of a 
 gravestone with nothing remaining of the inscription but 
 this single word in large capitals, 'Resurgam.' How much 
 the architect himself was struck by the circumstance we see 
 by the decorations of the pediment over the northern 
 portico, where an exquisitely sculptured Phcenix rising from 
 the flames, with the motto ' Resurgam,' has been placed in 
 accordance with the idea suggested by the incident." — 
 Knight's " London." 
 
A PLAINT. 63 
 
 paint to perfection ; and yet — and yet this 
 wonderful old mansion for a while stands 
 apart and quiet, as a gentlewoman of the 
 olden time, with soft white hair and placid 
 face and winning manner, may still now and 
 then, at the rarest of intervals, be encountered 
 walking solitary to that earthly dwelling from 
 whence at some not remote time her remains 
 shall be carried more reverently, let us hope, 
 than the " building materials " of the old 
 Botolph Lane dwelling which will be under 
 the hammer before we can look about us. 
 
 Why does not the City buy such houses 
 and preserve them intact ? Why should we, 
 even as we look upon this vestige of a 
 once picturesque and interesting London, be 
 compelled to forecast that not remote time 
 when its walls will groan under the shame of 
 staring bills announcing its " materials " are 
 on a certain day to pass under the hammer ? 
 Then, as in a terrible nightmare, we see it 
 " lotted off" — its chimney-pieces, its wains- 
 cots, its panels, the noble doorway, the leaden 
 roof, from which, it may be, Sir Christopher 
 himself beheld London's "tall bully" rising 
 to the skies, and turned to view the lantern 
 
64 MITRE COURT. 
 
 church spire, which tradition says was de- 
 signed by his daughter. 
 
 It is a pretty fancy/ so do not let us in- 
 quire too closely into its truth. There, at 
 all events, are the leads whence it is easy 
 nowadays to see the Crystal Palace, or, easier 
 still, to break one's neck, if such a course 
 seem more agreeable. 
 
 Off those leads a stone might be pitched 
 into the tower either of St. George or St. 
 Mary. From Love Lane an ancient and 
 fish-like smell arises like a mist ; it is so 
 dense, it almost overpowers the various 
 odours of fruit that abound in the neighbour- 
 hood. Pineapples, oranges, lemons, bananas, 
 forbidden fruit — they are all there struggling 
 for mastery with the fish ; but the fish elbows 
 them out of court. Now and then a whiff 
 of lemon or a gust of pineapple cleaves right 
 across the courtyard ; but the dominant scent 
 is of herrings, fresh and stale ; of plaice that 
 has been sold and eaten, but the scent of 
 which still lingers around ; of mackerel and 
 whiting, and all other fish that swim within 
 easy range of London. They are here 
 
 merged into one oreat whole — into one vast, 
 
A PLAINT. 65 
 
 solid, indescribable smell the inhabitants say 
 they never notice — nay, that they assert does 
 not exist. 
 
 " How should it ?" they ask. " The streets 
 are cleaned twice a day, and the gutters 
 flushed with carbolic acid." (Satan casting 
 out Beelzebub.) 
 
 If they like the atmosphere, and triumph- 
 antly quote the Registrar-General's returns, 
 why should anyone else grumble ? No ! 
 though there are courts and alleys the 
 stranger ought to " back " along, the first 
 whiff to unaccustomed nostrils proving well- 
 nigh unendurable if met face to face. 
 
 Queer facts as well as smells meet one in 
 these lanes. Take this for example. Did 
 you, reader, ever hear of innocent brazils 
 heating like a haystack ? They do, though ; 
 they have sprung the flooring of the old 
 house, as you can see if you will descend 
 from the roof and enter a small room on 
 the ground-floor, now used for hanging 
 up boys' caps, once in the occupation of 
 G. Brisco, the "colourless and bloodless" 
 man, who spent many a dreary and weary 
 and lonely year in the old house which 
 
 vol. 1. 5 
 
66 MITRE COURT. 
 
 must once have been so fair and goodly a 
 dwelling. 
 
 By the steam given off from those and other 
 nuts, the boards have been prized from their 
 nails, and lifted from an inch to half an inch. 
 Strange, is it not ? and yet, perhaps, no 
 stranger than that the panels painted by 
 one Robinson (whoever he might be), in the 
 year of grace 1670, as all who choose to go 
 and see can read, are strained and cracked 
 by a similar action on the part of oranges. 
 Methinks were I, the writer of this book, and 
 in my modest holding of a human being one 
 of the humblest of created mortals, in any 
 capacity free of the City of London — say 
 liveryman, common councillor, deputy-sheriff, 
 sheriff, alderman, Lord Mayor — I would make 
 the City — which after all cannot be accounted 
 so very big, though undoubtedly it is very 
 great — my study : I would know every court, 
 lane, alley, house, exhaustively ; and were 
 there still left an old mansion, hallowed by 
 fact or tradition, I should try to save it ; and 
 if I could not, I would enter my protest- 
 uselessly, it might be, yet with no uncertain 
 sound — against the Philistine utilitarianism 
 
A PLAINT. 67 
 
 of an age which, desecrating the word " pro- 
 gress," sweeps away, for the sake of accursed 
 Mammon, every ancient landmark, and will 
 lay us open an hundred years hence to the 
 gibes of a posterity who — Heaven grant! — ■ 
 may have better taste than to turn such a 
 residence, as has been tried in this chapter 
 to portray, into a school for children of the 
 parish. 
 
 It seems incredible, but it is simply the 
 truth. 
 
 Billingsgate youth at this present moment 
 is wiping its feet at the back entrance of Sir 
 Christopher Wren's old house, making its 
 riotous way up his servants' staircase — in his 
 withdrawing-room, the walls of which are 
 adorned with imbecile pictures, putting up 
 its hands ere answering some most foolish 
 question. Lord, grant me patience while I 
 write ! 
 
 O City ! once interesting beyond ail 
 power of speech — now a mere aggregation 
 of offices and warehouses, swollen with 
 wealth, insolent with prosperity — hearken to 
 my plaint ! 
 
 With an exceeding love have I, an alien, 
 
 5—2 
 
68 MITRE COURT. 
 
 loved you. In your better time I knew you, 
 and there was scarce a stone in your pave- 
 ment, or house in your streets, but had a 
 fascination for one who deliberately elected 
 to strive and interweave the touching ro- 
 mance of daily life and eternal struggle with 
 the dry details of commerce. Your sooty 
 trees were more to me than forest or upland ; 
 the wave of humanity, rushing eternally over 
 your stony-hearted pavements, seemed a 
 grander, mightier sight than Atlantic billows 
 racing like war-horses upon an iron-bound 
 coast. Scarce a man or woman in your 
 midst but whose face held to my fancy a 
 story and a pathos no one, perhaps, would 
 have felt more astounded to see put into 
 print than its owner ; with toil and travail I 
 learned the ins and outs of your commerce ; 
 of the best God vouchsafed to me, I gave 
 you all ; and for myself the result has been 
 well-nigh nil. I piped to you and ye did not 
 dance, I mourned and ye did not weep ; yet 
 this I could have borne, for in authorship, as 
 in all art, there is a reward the world wots 
 not of. 
 
 What I cannot bear, however, is your 
 
A PLAINT. 69 
 
 changed and desecrated face. As the years 
 count, I have not been for so long a time 
 one of your strange and unwelcome children, 
 yet you are no more the London of my 
 dream and of my memory than some shame- 
 less woman, flaunting her guilty face in the 
 gaslight, is to the girl who stood, with the 
 apple-blossoms falling on her young head, 
 while listening to the whispering of a lover 
 who meant her no wrong. 
 
 To look at you now is worse than looking 
 on a grave, because we believe that some- 
 where — somewhere — the one we loved is 
 living still in all great and noble qualities 
 unchanged ; but you — what have you given 
 in lieu of your picturesque and gracious past, 
 in which Pepys penned his diary, and his 
 great contemporary, whose " soul was like a 
 star and dwelt apart," who "had a voice, 
 whose sound was like the sea," wrote those 
 stately sentences which more resemble the 
 full swell of some noble organ than ordinary 
 prose ? 
 
 I say nothing of kings, queens, martyrs, 
 patriots, who have passed through your 
 streets. It is enough to think of the men 
 
70 MITRE COURT. 
 
 who lived in them, and for whose memory 
 you have not even the decent respect a son 
 might entertain for some common-place 
 mother. 
 
 Out upon you ! Anathema maranatha ! 
 Was it not enough that you let a railway 
 bridge be flung across Ludgate Hill ; that 
 you are sitting calmly with folded hands 
 while the Thames is being spanned by iron 
 girders ; that you are permitting the finest 
 thoroughfare in the world to be disfigured by 
 buildings destitute of beauty ; that under the 
 name railway termini you allow galvanized 
 sheds to remain, which are a horror to 
 behold ; that you let chance after chance slip 
 away of acquiring river frontages on the 
 Surrey side, where all the Government 
 offices could be splendidly placed, and con- 
 stitute such an architectural effect as might 
 gladden the soul of Sir Christopher himself; 
 but you must sweep away, in your greed for 
 gain and ground-rents, every landmark of 
 the better time in your history, when another 
 god than Mammon was worshipped ? What 
 have I not seen swept away as of no 
 account ? Even in my own poor work 
 
A PLAINT. 71 
 
 scarce one stone is left upon another to tell 
 where the people who glided out of shadow- 
 land to walk and talk with me — who became 
 parts of my being, who were bone of my 
 bone, and flesh of my flesh, more real to me 
 than ninety-nine out of a hundred of the 
 thousands of human beings I have actually 
 known — lived, and played out their little 
 tragedies. 
 
 Almost before his story was told, the 
 house in which Hugh Elyot died fell under 
 the hammer. On its site there is now a 
 rookery of small weekly tenements. If 
 George Geith strayed to-morrow into " Fen 
 Court" he would not recognise the changed 
 face of the once retired nook where he and 
 Beryl were so happy. Over the graveyard 
 Yorke Forde must have looked upon so 
 often, the trains have for many a year run in 
 and out of Cannon Street Station, whilst 
 even the railing over which she leaned while 
 telling her shame to Luke Ross is altered. 
 Ere " The Senior Partner" had reached its 
 final number, that North Street where Alfred 
 Mostyn fried his rashers, and wound up his 
 clock, was improved off the face of the earth. 
 
72 MITRE COURT. 
 
 As I write, it may be, the fiat has gone forth 
 dooming the old house off Botolph Lane to 
 destruction ; in to-day's paper tenders for the 
 building materials are invited for a far more 
 ancient and interesting relic of Old London. 
 Most of the famous taverns have gone — what, 
 indeed, has not ? Why should you care, O 
 overgrown and unwieldy City, so long as 
 stocks and shares rise and fall — so long as 
 bargains are to be made, and differences 
 pocketed ? 
 
 You have swept the old away — will the 
 new be better ? Romance must give way 
 to Reality — Poetry to the Money Article in 
 the daily papers. In the future who will be 
 found possessed of sufficient courage to write 
 a novel about your present ? The man does 
 not exist, neither will he ever exist, who 
 could evolve sentiment out of rows of ware- 
 houses and blocks of offices — your termini, 
 your buildings, your cold, cheerless rooms, 
 fitted with all the latest appliances of dis- 
 comfort, where men sin and toil for money 
 to be spent in homes they only sleep at. 
 When Macaulay's New Zealander at last 
 stands on that broken arch of London 
 
A PLAINT. 73 
 
 Bridge and looks over your ruined city, let 
 him breathe no sigh of regret, for with your 
 own hand you will have long before destroyed 
 everything worth regretting. 
 
 This is my plaint now ended. We may 
 therefore go back to the marble-paved hall, 
 to the panelled dining-room, the beautiful 
 ceilings, and lovely chimney-pieces in Sir 
 Christopher Wren's old home. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IN THE OLD HOUSE. 
 
 VERYWHERE persons are to be 
 met with leading lives which seem 
 strange to their fellows. 
 
 Either they have dropped behind the 
 world, or voluntarily stepped out from it. 
 The causes that impel them to avoid con- 
 tact with other human beings may be widely 
 different, but the result is the same — an in- 
 creasing dislike which finally becomes actual 
 hatred to society of any sort. 
 
 Poverty, disappointment, over-sensitive- 
 ness, remorse, crime, sorrow — anyone of these 
 may drive a man to seek isolation from his 
 kind. 
 
 In some cases circumstances extend his 
 reputation far beyond the limits of local 
 
IN THE OLD HOUSE. 75 
 
 gossip, as witness the celebrity which the 
 most unhappy hermit of Stevenage finally 
 attained ; but, as a rule, these " eccentric 
 characters " are seldom heard of till they 
 have ceased being odd for ever, when a 
 newspaper paragraph tells us they were once 
 living in our midst. There is no better 
 place than London for indulging a fancy for 
 solitude. In all parts of it there have ever 
 been, and no doubt are now, people dwelling 
 quite alone without friends, without employ- 
 ment, often without even visible means of 
 support. 
 
 Death, or choice, or necessity has cut 
 them loose from the ties of relationship ; if 
 their lot was cast in some vast wilderness 
 they could not be so desolate as in their 
 voluntary exile from humanity. 
 
 To ordinary minds there is something 
 appalling in the fact of such existences ; we 
 lack the key which would perhaps unlock the 
 mystery, and we also lack comprehension of 
 how any misfortune, great though it may have 
 been, should obtain such a mastery over the 
 mind as to induce a living soul to practically 
 cut itself off from the great congregation of 
 
76 MITRE COURT. 
 
 breathing, striving, struggling sympathetic 
 men and women. 
 
 Think of the so-called " old witch of 
 Stamford Street," and of her houses there 
 and in Snow Hill, which she deliberately 
 suffered to go to wreck and ruin merely to 
 spite her heir. What a life that was to lead ! 
 With means sufficient to render existence 
 happy, useful, blessed, she burrowed in the 
 wretched basement of one of her dilapidated 
 dwellings, and dressed so that when she 
 took her walks abroad the boys hooted her. 
 
 Think of the gentleman who in a past age 
 shut himself up and dwelt alone near Fore 
 Street, never stirring outside the door, or 
 admitting anyone inside it, for fifty years. 
 Consider that other gentleman of good 
 fortune who for so long vegetated in a large 
 suburban residence, keeping only one ser- 
 vant, a man whom he never permitted to 
 enter his bedroom. Each day he bought a 
 pound of candles, which he burnt ; a pound 
 of coffee, which he drank ; and a pound of 
 butter, wherewith he anointed himself. We 
 do not call such people mad, yet surely 
 they can scarcely be accounted sane. 
 
IN THE OLD HOUSE. 77 
 
 To everyone with whom he came in con- 
 tact Mr. G. Brisco, of Botolph Lane, was a 
 puzzle. How or why he led the life he did 
 seemed to them as inexplicable as the con- 
 duct of the person who stopped for the third 
 of a century at " The Horns," Kennington, 
 settling his bill every day, must have done to 
 the then landlord of that inn. In every 
 business transaction Mr. Brisco proved him- 
 self able and astute. His abilities were 
 beyond the average. His speech and 
 manners were those of a person superior to 
 most of the individuals with whom he came 
 in contact. How then did it, could it 
 happen, people asked themselves, that he 
 remained so poor, and held so resolutely 
 aloof from help and ordinary intercourse ? 
 
 He could not be in hiding, for he walked 
 the City streets at high noon ; it seemed 
 incredible that he should be cruelly stinting 
 himself in order to pay off any old debt. 
 Nevertheless it seemed more incredible still 
 that so clever a man could not make even a 
 moderate income. For a time speculation 
 exhausted itself about him ; and then, seeing 
 the same system of self-denial going on day 
 
78 . MITRE COURT. 
 
 after day and year after year, curiosity almost 
 died out, only reviving when any incident 
 occurred to brine: Mr. Brisco and his affairs 
 again on the carpet. 
 
 There was nothing genial about him. He 
 possessed a caustic tongue, and there were 
 few who cared to test the quality of its edge 
 twice. 
 
 " Do you come from Yorkshire ?" inquired 
 a man one day, whose name was Jopp. 
 
 " Did I ever ask you whether you came 
 from Whitechapel ?" was the retort. 
 
 "No — certainly not," said Mr. Jopp, 
 wincing a little, for his maternal grandfather 
 had been a butcher in that district. 
 
 " Then, if I wish to know nothing about 
 your birthplace, why should you trouble 
 yourself about mine ?" 
 
 No matter what questions were put, Mr. 
 Brisco answered them somewhat after this 
 fashion. Where he had sprung from ; how 
 he chanced to be so poor ; for what reason 
 he lived so singular and isolated a life — were 
 mysteries to those around him. Mr. Katzen's 
 account of his mode of existence, though 
 evolved from that gentleman's inner con- 
 
IN THE OLD HOUSE. 79 
 
 sciousness, was in the main correct : his 
 clothes were shabby, his person emaciated, 
 his food of the poorest ; in that great house 
 he dwelt solitarily, for he made no companion 
 of the girl who had drifted quite by accident 
 across his path. 
 
 But for her he would most probably have 
 been starved to death long previously; he 
 certainly could not have struggled through 
 an illness, brought on by cold and privation, 
 except for the way in which she, at the time 
 quite a child, nursed and tended him. 
 
 The interest of all the neighbours had then 
 been aroused, and their sympathies quickened 
 by the girl's devotion, by the man's mortal 
 sickness. 
 
 Help and kindness were offered and 
 accepted freely ; but whenever Mr. Brisco 
 recovered from his delirium, and understood 
 what was going on, he crushed their friendly 
 feelings as ruthlessly as we have seen all 
 beauty pressed out of a fair flower between 
 the yellow leaves of some musty book. 
 
 After that he was left alone — the right 
 hand of fellowship was not again extended. 
 Naturally people do not like their good 
 
So MITRE COURT. 
 
 offices repulsed. Few greeted him even 
 as he passed up and down the lane, and 
 those who did spoke coldly. He had sown, 
 and he was reaping ; unlike some, the harvest 
 seemed to his mind. He desired nothing 
 from his fellows save to be left in peace — and 
 at last his fellows were more than willing to 
 gratify his desire. 
 
 Between the old mansion and its occupant 
 there existed a subtle sort of fitness not 
 always to be found. 
 
 The latter-day type, for instance, of com- 
 monplace City man — loud-talking, familiar, 
 easy in language as in morals ; hairy as 
 Esau, giving promise of growing stouter 
 than Ehud, who would have rejoiced to paint 
 over the panels in the dining-room and had 
 them picked out in red or blue by " some 
 chap up to his business ;" kept sherry and 
 champagne in a convenient cupboard ; sat 
 preferably on the table with one foot stretched 
 down to the floor while he roared over the 
 jokes of his "pals,'"' "devilish good fellows" 
 — might, though doubtless a useful and ex- 
 cellent person in his way, have appeared out 
 of place in a dwelling where grave merchants 
 
IN THE OLD HOUSE. Si 
 
 once resided and dispensed princely hospi- 
 tality. 
 
 But in the sere and yellow leaf period of 
 its life there seemed a certain fitness in see- 
 ing a wasted figure wandering like a ghost 
 through the building: — flitting from room to 
 room in the twilight when business was over 
 and the offices closed, and the men who 
 occupied them during the day had departed, 
 and a silence resembling death brooded over 
 the house. It was then — clad in an old grey 
 dressing-gown, and wearing a pair of list slip- 
 pers that made no sound — he roamed through 
 the solemn stillness, making no echo. In the 
 moonlight, and when the stars were shining, 
 he would pace the leads for hours, seeing 
 in heaven the vision of only one angel — on 
 earth but one great sorrow, his own. Coming 
 suddenly in these vigils upon this spectre, 
 anyone might have been excused who had 
 taken him for one from the dead — his colour- 
 less face, his ragged beard, his straggling 
 grey hair, often looked weird and awful in 
 the unreal light by which preferably he took 
 his rambles through the dim, deserted house, 
 up and down the leads, both when the gas 
 vol. i. 6 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 lamps showed objects in a lurid transparency, 
 and when the first streaks of dawn began to 
 reveal the masts of the ships lying at anchor 
 hard by, and the great City tied and bound 
 in sleep. 
 
 There was no one, however, who did meet 
 him unexpectedly at such times ; no — though 
 often a young girl would run swiftly up the 
 narrow staircase winding to the roof, and 
 saying, "It is too late" (or "too early," as 
 the case might be) " for you to stop here any 
 longer," take his cold hand in hers and lead 
 him away, unresisting, to bed. 
 
 This was the girl, grown tall and shapely, 
 who had nursed him through that illness 
 with a sage tenderness which won for her 
 the suffrages of two parishes. As far as 
 looks went she deserved all the praise Mr. 
 Katzen thought fit to bestow on her. 
 
 She was pretty. She had dark hair, and 
 dark, deep, beautiful eyes, and in her cheeks 
 the rich mellow tint of a ripe peach showed 
 through the clear brown of her complexion. 
 Her waist was small and round, her figure 
 upright, and — yet again Mr. Katzen was 
 right — she did not look as though she were 
 
IN THE OLD HOUSE. 
 
 starved ; rather she was the embodiment of 
 young, vigorous, perfect health. Spite of 
 all her night watches, her broken rest, her 
 risings before the lark, or that bird's London 
 equivalent, the nearest cock — all the terrible 
 hardships and miseries of her early childhood 
 — no stronger or more useful piece of vanity 
 in her teens than Miss Abigail Weir could 
 have been found in the four parishes close at 
 hand, from corner to corner of which, "if it 
 were not for the houses," said the maiden, 
 " we might play at ball." 
 
 Poor, fatherless, friendless Abigail Weir — 
 poor, cold, hungry, forlorn, desolate little 
 waif — she had crossed Mr. Brisco's life after 
 the strangest fashion. When first he came 
 to the old house in Botolph Lane he resided 
 there in utter solitude. Once the door closed 
 behind the last clerk who left the offices, no 
 human being remained to keep Mr. Brisco 
 company. What he did in the long evenings 
 could only be conjectured, and after a few 
 months there were few who concerned them- 
 selves about the matter. Not a glimmer of 
 light ever shone down into Love Lane from 
 any window of the old house. Perhaps, as 
 
 6—2 
 
84 MITRE COURT 
 
 Mr. Katzen suggested, he went to bed tired 
 out, for he worked hard all day ; more likely 
 already those restless wanderings, which 
 as time passed on grew so frequent, had 
 recurred ; there was space and to spare in the 
 ancient building for abundant exercise. In 
 the early morning a woman always appeared 
 to "do up" the offices. Summer and winter, 
 rain, hail, frost, or snow, she arrived from 
 Water Lane, where she resided in the top 
 story of a house, the basement and ground- 
 floor of which were devoted to coals, coke, 
 Sarson's vinegar in pint bottles, and green- 
 grocery, and at once proceeded, without 
 pausing even to remove her pinched and 
 shabby black bonnet, to polish the grates, 
 wash over the marble hearths, lay fires, and 
 11 wipe down" the stairs. Once a week there 
 was a great cleaning, which occupied the 
 whole of Saturday afternoon. There was 
 much to do, but Mrs. Childs did it unassisted 
 by even a pint of beer. Mr. Brisco was not 
 a man to pay more to anyone than he bar- 
 gained for. 
 
 Just, he might be. " For my part," Mrs. 
 Childs stated, "I am not going to say against 
 
IN THE OLD HOUSE. 85 
 
 that — what he tells you he'll do, he does. 
 When he makes a bargain he sticks to it, but 
 then it is all a bargain ! He'd stand out for 
 a week over a halfpenny ; and as for perqui- 
 sites, I haven't seen the colour of one in this 
 old ramshackle house. I told him all the 
 other gentlemen I'd served — and they were 
 gentlemen, some of them making no more 
 about putting their hand in their pockets 
 and drawing out half a sovereign, or maybe 
 a sovereign, at Christmas-time, than if it had 
 been a shilling — let me have the papers and 
 any bottles or waste there might be ; but he 
 snapped my nose off. ' You'll get neither 
 paper nor waste here, Mrs. Childs,' he 
 answered quick-like, just as though I'd 
 wanted to steal something ; ' I know enough 
 about that sort of thine- !' " 
 
 "'And precious little all your knowing 
 has done for you,' I thought to myself. No 
 one can attend to his proper business, and 
 look after cheese -parings too. If he had 
 not made himself so fast, taking the bread 
 out of poor people's mouths, in a manner of 
 speaking, he might have had a better coat 
 to his back this day ; and that's my opinion, 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 and I don't care if he hears me saying 
 so!" 
 
 For the space of what good Mrs. Childs 
 called two weary years she had "done" for 
 Mr. Brisco by contract — she had scrubbed, 
 blackleaded, hearthstoned, window-cleaned, 
 brick-dusted, and emery-powdered for that 
 
 gentleman all at per week, oilman's 
 
 goods included. She did not indeed bear the 
 heat and burden of her labour entirely alone, 
 On Saturdays, and sometimes on other days 
 when extra work was in progress, she brought 
 with her a niece called Sophia, to which name 
 Mrs. Childs gave an additional charm by 
 pronouncing it " Sophiar." Sophia had a 
 large head, no neck worth mentioning, no 
 discernible waist whatever, thick ankles, big 
 flat feet, and awkward hands with stout red 
 arms to match. She always kept her mouth 
 open, and usually came furnished with a good 
 cold. She had round colourless eyes, very 
 lieht hair, fat cheeks, a face well dotted over 
 with freckles, and she was not quite wise. 
 
 Had the senilis and knowledge, however, 
 of all the generations of this world from its 
 creation been centred in Sophia's person, 
 
IN THE OLD HOUSE. 87 
 
 Mrs. Childs could not have spoken more 
 highly of her cleverness, or laid more stress 
 on it. ' 
 
 " She is able to clean a room as well as I 
 can," the aunt was wont to say triumphantly. 
 "You wouldn't believe the work she gets 
 through. You should just see my boards ; 
 they're as white as snow," which was not, 
 perhaps, so much a matter to be wondered 
 at, since sometimes, when the fit took her, 
 Sophia would scrub out Mrs. Child's front 
 room half-a-dozen times in a day. 
 
 The aunt was constantly getting the niece 
 " little places," giving her the best of cha- 
 racters, and the highest of recommendations ; 
 but as Sophia, in addition to several other 
 failings, had many personal habits prejudiced 
 individuals, unaccustomed to " make allow- 
 ances," were disagreeable enough to find 
 fault with, Sophia as a rule never kept her 
 situations beyond four- and- twenty hours; 
 then Sophia, her cold, and her wardrobe 
 (wrapped neatly up in a square piece of old 
 black cashmere), returned to Mrs. Childs' 
 roof-tree, where she gave that worthy woman 
 an agreeable insight into the domestic affairs 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 of the family foolish enough to decline her 
 further services. 
 
 A cruel lapse of memory on the part of 
 Nature had sent Sophia into the world 
 without a palate ; but Mrs. Childs under- 
 stood her speech well enough to gather there 
 was scarcely a house in the district destitute 
 of what she termed a " skellinoton." 
 
 O 
 
 For two years, then, she had been spending 
 her health and strength in the ungrateful 
 task of trying so to please Mr. Brisco as to 
 wrinQf from him a higher weeklv wage — 
 when, " one Wednesday evening as ever 
 was," after office hours she had to q:o to the 
 old house to " clear up the mess " left by a 
 departing tenant, who had occupied two 
 offices on the first-floor and the whole of the 
 extensive basement. 
 
 The place was in a "fine litter," in such a 
 litter indeed that both Mrs. Childs and 
 Sophia, when they surveyed the scene of 
 future action, stood for a moment appalled. 
 
 As regarded the cellar, they had nothing 
 to do. By order of the departing tenant, his 
 man swept the straw and rubbish up into a 
 heap, for the next comer to have cleared 
 
IN THE OLD HOUSE. 89 
 
 away at his leisure ; but the offices, so Mrs. 
 Childs affirmed, " made her flesh creep." 
 
 The Qrentleman who rented them had 
 never, for a matter of twelve months, let 
 anyone into them except when he was present, 
 and " I leave you to guess," said Mrs. Childs, 
 "only you nor nobody could guess, the state 
 those two rooms were in !" 
 
 It was a bitter night in January. Snow 
 lay thick in the courtyard. Not a star could 
 be seen. 
 
 " I had to kindle a spark of fire to hot a 
 drop of water, so as to keep my hands from 
 beinQ- numbed with the cold — lono- as I have 
 been ' going out,' ' Mrs. Childs' favourite 
 technical ellipsis, " I never remember such a 
 cruel job as that. I don't know how we got 
 through with it ; but we did somehow, all but 
 the windows, which I told Mr. Brisco I couldn't 
 and I wouldn't undertake in the dark. I had 
 only the dusting to finish and the putting to 
 rights to see to, so I thought I'd just send 
 Sophiar home, and let her be getting a 
 mouthful of supper ready — I'm sure we both 
 wanted it bad enough — and I stopped on 
 and was settling up the rooms, for the fresh 
 
no MITRE COURT. 
 
 tenant wanted to come in next morning, when 
 who should appear sudden but Mr. Brisco. 
 He had on an old coat, and he held a dark 
 lantern in his hand, and his face was the 
 colour of chalk ; and when I saw T him a sort 
 of tremblinp- came over me — for I thought of 
 Guy Faux, and that we were all alone in that 
 great house, parted off from the world as one 
 might say. You see, the offices where I was 
 at work didn't look out on Love Lane, but 
 faced the square ; and I knew he might 
 murder me a dozen times and nobody could 
 hear me." 
 
 " Mrs. Childs," said Mr. Brisco, who 
 certainly had not the smallest intention of 
 killing and slaying that estimable woman, 
 " do you know anything about children ?" 
 
 Certainly the question seemed strange, but 
 Mrs. Childs w r as in her own opinion equal to 
 answering that or any other which might be 
 propounded. Nevertheless, as true genius 
 is always modest, her reply partook of that 
 quality. 
 
 " Well, sir, it's not for me to say — I never 
 was one to talk about my own doings ; but 
 when you come to a matter of six poor little 
 
IN THE OLD HOUSE. gi 
 
 clears left motherless, Sophiar being the eldest 
 but two of the lot, and me a struggling widow, 
 and their father out of his head with grief, 
 and losing his rest, and not in work besides, 
 I think " 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. Childs, and so do I. Kindly 
 oblige me by stepping down into the cellar 
 lor a minute." 
 
 " Into the cellar, sir !" returned Mrs. Childs, 
 now quite satisfied Mr. Brisco had gone sud- 
 denly mad. " If you'll excuse me, sir, I'd 
 rather not." 
 
 " Oh, but you must," he persisted ; "there's 
 a little girl there, and I don't know what to 
 make of her." 
 
 "A little girl!" repeated Mrs. Childs 
 " There can't be any little girl in the cellar." 
 
 " There is, though," he persisted. " I 
 thought I would see all was safe below, but 
 I had hardly got to the bottom of the steps 
 when I felt that I was not alone — that some- 
 body or something besides myself was in the 
 place. I threw the light round and about, 
 but I could see nothing. Then I listened 
 and heard a faint gasping noise. Guided by 
 the sound, I made my way to a heap of straw 
 
92 MITRE COURT. 
 
 and dirt the men had piled against the old 
 wine-bin — still I could see nothing ; but when 
 I tossed the straw over, expecting to find a 
 cat or dog, I saw a child. Come down — I 
 can't tell whether she is dying or not." 
 
 Still properly and prudently incredulous, 
 but feeling nevertheless very certainly that 
 " you could have knocked me down with a 
 feather,'' Mrs. Childs reluctantly followed 
 Mr. Brisco downstairs (" I wouldn't have 
 gone first had it been ever so," she subse- 
 quently stated), and into the huge basement 
 of the old house. 
 
 The cold was piercing, the air of the cellar 
 struck chill and damp like a grave ; the weird 
 light of Mr. Brisco's lantern cast strange re- 
 (lections on the paved floor, on the roof 
 tapestried with years of dust and generations 
 of cobwebs. Packed up against one of the 
 wine-bins was a mound of straw and rubbish, 
 and half buried amongst this lay a little figure 
 stretched out full-length, apparently asleep, 
 and moaning as if suffering cruelly. 
 
 " Is she dying ?" asked Mr. Brisco, holding 
 his lantern so that the rays fell full on the 
 child's face. 
 
IN THE OLD HOUSE. 93 
 
 " Dying ! not a bit of it — she's shamming, 
 that's what she's at. Here, what are you 
 doing ? Get up out of that !" and suiting her 
 action to her words, Mrs. Childs with a vigor- 
 ous jerk dragged the creature from its lair on 
 to the hard cold floor. " I'll give you some- 
 thing !" she added. " I'll teach you to sneak 
 into houses. Now don't g-o on making: be- 
 lieve. Stand up on your feet, and tell us 
 where you come from." 
 
 Staggering; as if she were drunk, the girl 
 opened great dark eyes of terror, and crying, 
 " Don't beat me, don't beat me — I wasn't 
 doing anything !" fell, a poor bundle of tatters, 
 at Mr. Brisco's feet. 
 
 " What can we do ?" asked that gentleman 
 helplessly. 
 
 " If you'll stop here, sir, I'll run for the 
 police," answered Mrs. Childs, greatly excited. 
 " Likelv as not there's a gang- of them about, 
 and they've smuggled her in to open the 
 door in the dead of night ;" and Mrs. Childs 
 was about to speed on her errand, when 
 Mr. Brisco stopped her. 
 
 " Wait a minute," he said. " Don't go just 
 yet. 
 
94 MITRE COURT. 
 
 " We'll all be murdered in our beds !" ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Childs. 
 
 " Be calm. You won't, at any rate," he 
 answered. " This girl is starved," he went 
 on, raising her. " Poor little wretch ! I 
 wonder where she comes from." 
 
 " She's no good, wherever she comes 
 from," was the reply evolved in a wonderful 
 spirit of prophecy from Mrs. Childs' internal 
 consciousness. " You'd best not touch her, 
 sir — like enough, if so be she's not shamming, 
 she's sickening for fever or smallpox. It 
 won't take me a minute to fetch a police- 
 man. He'll soon make my lady speak. 
 They're up to all these sorts of dodgings and 
 devices." 
 
 Mr. Brisco did not take the slightest notice 
 of the charwoman's suQ-<Tested advice. For 
 answer, he only carried the waif back to her 
 bed of broken straw, piled some of it over 
 her emaciated body, and then saying, "If you 
 have finished upstairs, I need not detain you 
 any longer," made way for her to precede him, 
 which, after a feint of shrinking back, and 
 " You go first, sir," Mrs. Childs did with an 
 alacrity that savoured of fear. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 MRS. CHILDS INTERROGATED. 
 
 ROBABLY in the whole of London 
 no cleaner house could have been 
 found than Mrs. Jeffley's. 
 
 It was scoured, and hearth-stoned, and 
 polished, and chamois-leathered, till its 
 darkest places absolutely shone. 
 
 " There is no hole-and-corner work in my 
 place," Mrs. Jeffley declared with natural 
 pride, and this was quite true. Her linen, 
 got up in the country, smelt sweet and whole- 
 some ; everyday her floors were washed over; 
 every week her windows were cleaned ; every 
 morning her step was whitened ; every Wed- 
 nesday and Saturday her kitchen was turned 
 inside out. She did not stint soap, or powder, 
 or soda, or Bath-brick, or emery powder, or 
 
96 MITRE COURT. 
 
 anything the oilman in Crutched Friars with 
 whom she dealt could provide. 
 
 Her house was clean as a new pin ; there 
 was literally no dirt about it, save that con- 
 veyed away into Water Lane hard by, each 
 night, by one person, and that person Mrs. 
 Childs. 
 
 As the Israelites sent the devoted goat 
 laden with all their sins out into that great 
 and terrible wilderness, so Mrs. Childs on her 
 own person seemed, when she bade good- 
 night, to bear off the accumulated grime of 
 each long day. Years of charing had come 
 and gone since she left Mr. Brisco and took 
 service under Mrs. Jeffley ; indeed, her de- 
 parture from the one situation and her entrance 
 into the other was more rapid than the transit 
 of the twelve tribes from the plains of Moab 
 across the Jordan. A land of promise 
 Fowkes' Buildings truly proved to one who 
 had long been wandering through the arid 
 wilderness of a house "let out in offices," and 
 where, to quote Mrs. Childs' forcible simile, 
 there was not enough "food lying over to 
 feed a flea." Leaving Mr. Brisco was her 
 own act and deed, yet she never forgave him 
 
MR S. CHILD S INTERROGATED. 97 
 
 for totally severing the connection. " With 
 a ' look in' from me now and again," she was 
 wont to declare, " Sophiar could have got 
 through all there was to do and more, 
 and the few halfpence would have come 
 in handy, rubbing along as I am forced to 
 do." 
 
 Being compelled to "rub along" without 
 the assistance of Mr. Brisco's halfpence, Mrs. 
 Childs concentrated her remarkable powers 
 of mind on pleasing Mrs. Jeffley, which she 
 did with such success that, though cooks and 
 housemaids, "generals" and "plains," came 
 and went, she remained. 
 
 It might have been thought that in so 
 thriving and well-managed an establishment 
 the work could have been got through with- 
 out the aid of an outsider. This was not so, 
 however, and Mrs. Childs knew the reason 
 why. Mrs. Jeffley could not keep her servants. 
 Young and old — plain and pretty, fair and 
 dark, short and tall — English, Irish, Scotch, 
 and foreign — Churchwomen, " Romans " (as 
 Mrs. Childs termed the creed presided over 
 by his Holiness the Pope), Dissenters of all 
 colours and every imaginable shade — an ad- 
 
 vol. 1. ■;..• 7 
 
93 MITRE COURT. 
 
 vanced lacly who believed in nothing — the 
 result was the same. 
 
 Sometimes one of these various persons 
 " put in " three months, but, as a rule, four 
 weeks proved more than sufficient. The 
 number of servants Mrs. Childs had " spoke 
 to friendly " when they arrived was only 
 equalled by the number who had " taken 
 themselves off" with only a nasty toss of their 
 heads ; the boxes dragged by them upstairs 
 in faith, were pretty evenly balanced by those 
 lugged down into the hall with much burning 
 of spirit and secret malediction. 
 
 Tireless herself, Mrs. Jeffley thought those 
 in receipt of wages should be tireless too. 
 Ever ready to please any liberal lodger, Mrs. 
 Jeffley could not conceive what Kate and 
 Ann and Polly found to grumble about, when 
 asked to do the simplest thing not in the 
 regular routine. 
 
 She, however, was working for herself; 
 they were working for her. Naturally, Kate, 
 Ann, and Polly took a different view of the 
 matter. Perhaps it was wrong for them to 
 do so, but the naturalness cannot be denied. 
 What almost passes belief, however, is, that 
 
MRS. CHILDS INTERROGATED. c 9 
 
 Mrs. Jefiiey went on hoping one day she 
 would meet with a paragon. "Just like you, 
 Mrs. Childs," she often said, "but who has no 
 encumbrance, and can live in the house. ' ; 
 
 " That's the very thing you want, ma'am," 
 agreed Mrs. Childs ; " and I only wish I could 
 tell you where to lay your hand on a person 
 who would see to you and think for you and 
 consider you as you ought to be considered 
 and thought for and seen to." 
 
 Mrs. Childs never was able to tell Mrs. 
 Jeffley where to find the domestic phcenix she 
 desired to capture, neither did she offer her- 
 self as a substitute for the more splendid and 
 complete ideal that lady had formed. 
 
 Mrs. Childs was, indeed, to put the affair 
 in homely phrase, far too old a bird to be 
 caught by chaff, or anything else. Pounds of 
 lime would have failed to snare her. Better 
 to her seemed the old bed in Water Lane, in 
 which the feathers were well nigh dust, than 
 all the new-fangled spring and horsehair 
 mattresses in Mrs. Jeffrey's house ; better the 
 Pembroke table drawn triangular-wise almost 
 to the hobs, the tea brewed till black, the 
 muffins toasted by Sophia's fingers — the 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 "relish" of whatever kind it might be — than 
 all the ' ; waste and plenty" of the kitchen in 
 Fowkes' Buildings. 
 
 " I must keep a home for the sake of the 
 children," she was wont to declare, and though 
 the children — who, by the way, were not hers 
 — never came near their devoted aunt, and, 
 with the exception of that charming fixture 
 " Sophiar," made themselves conspicuous by 
 their absence, the excuse served its purpose 
 of standing between Mrs. Childs and a too 
 eager world. 
 
 This was the reason she appeared each 
 morning in Fowkes' Buildings with the milk, 
 clad in severe black worn in memory of no 
 one in particular ; and provided with two 
 aprons — a holland of surpassing and surpris- 
 ing whiteness, and a "coarse," which, though 
 rough in the grain, and unbeautiful as regards 
 texture, was also clean and capable of endur- 
 ing many things. 
 
 When she left at night, both aprons, as 
 well as Mrs. Childs herself, were black as if 
 they had all been up a few of the Fowkes' 
 Buildings chimneys. Layer after layer of 
 dirt had been steadily painted on ; the filth 
 
MRS. CHILD S INTERROGATED. 
 
 of the whole house seemed to be accumulated 
 on Mrs. Childs' own person — floors, fires, 
 knives, boots, coal-cellar, grates, kettles, 
 carpets, were laid under contribution, and 
 the result was a finished whole of griminess 
 not to be described in words. 
 
 As for meals — though, when the subject 
 was much and gracefully pressed, Mrs. Childs 
 felt she could not always be refusing to " sit 
 down " — the devoted woman preferred to 
 take them standing. 
 
 She had a ''mouthful" of bread-and-cheese 
 while washing-up the breakfast things, and 
 she dearly liked a glass of beer standing 
 beside her in the sink — not that Mrs. Childs 
 was a glutton, or given in the smallest degree 
 to intemperance ; but these modes of victual- 
 ling enabled her at once to maintain the 
 physical strength she needed, and to keep 
 her industry well in evidence. 
 
 "The best of them," said Mrs. Childs 
 oracularly, the term referring to employers, 
 " are apt, if they see you resting for a minute, 
 to think you are lazying." 
 
 As a general principle, it may be laid down 
 that servants do not like a master or mistress 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 whom they can fool. Under the "iron-heel" 
 employes produce their best work, develop the 
 sweetest virtues. After all, reduced to plain 
 words, what was the rule of that golden time 
 when men and women stopped twenty, thirty, 
 forty years in one employ, but one of the 
 strictest despotism ? It was then man and 
 master, slave and owner ; now the tables 
 are reversed. Mrs. Jeffley, who would have 
 been a most kind and considerate slave- 
 owner, did not find without eternal harrying 
 she could get her labour performed properly, 
 even for large wages ; and Mrs. Childs, who 
 was able to get through an enormous amount 
 of work for twelve shillings a week and her 
 food, in her heart despised Mrs. Jeffley, arid 
 considered how much better she could have 
 managed a house, had heaven only given her 
 some money, and a connection, and a soft, 
 easy, good-natured " fool of a husband" like 
 Mr. Jeffley. 
 
 But Mrs. Childs did her work. Early and 
 late, and during the whole day, she was at 
 everybody's beck and call. She knew on 
 which side her bread was buttered. For 
 the first time during her widowed life she 
 
MRS. CHILD S INTERROGATED. 103 
 
 had fallen into clover, and she did not mean 
 to be turned out of it if she could avert such 
 a calamity. 
 
 Nevertheless, in the strongest citadels 
 there is oftentimes a weak point of which 
 the citadels themselves are not aware. Mrs. 
 JefHey's weak point was vanity, and Mrs. 
 Childs knew that. Mrs. Childs' weak point 
 was Sophia, and Mrs. Jeffley knew that. 
 Some day, it might be, Mrs. Childs' valour 
 would overcome her discretion ; who could 
 tell ? If ever that day arrived, for a cer- 
 tainty she would charge the enemy's camp, 
 and while inflicting 'great disaster come to 
 grief. Meantime, she was poor, patient, 
 hard-working, willing Mrs. Childs, waiting 
 quietly on that Whit-Monday night in Mrs. 
 JefHey's kitchen, till it should please her mis- 
 tress to appear, and signify that she wanted 
 nothing more. 
 
 She had waited a long time — one apron 
 coiled ud around her waist as though it had 
 been the tail of a serpent ; the other packed 
 into a roll like a currant dumpling. On the 
 kitchen table lay tied in a cloth the things 
 she had been told she could take home. 
 
104 MITRE COURT. 
 
 During the course of twelve hours, liberal, 
 impulsive, silly Mrs. Jeffley was wont to be- 
 stow many such benefactions. One by one 
 Mrs. Childs laid them on a shelf which came 
 to be devoted exclusively to her "perqs.," 
 till — before the witching-time, which beheld 
 her vanish, arrived — a goodly assortment of 
 eatables w r as collected. 
 
 Mrs. Childs had taken possession of a 
 chair. In spite of the unusual circumstance 
 of having given herself a " rub over," she 
 looked extremely dirty, and she was almost 
 asleep ; but when Mrs. Jeffley, in a brown 
 silk dress, came rustling into the kitchen, the 
 poor toiler woke again instantly, and, rising, 
 stood in a deferential attitude awaiting her 
 employer's pleasure. 
 
 " I am afraid we have kept you sadly late 
 to-night," said Mrs. Jeffley. 
 
 " Oh ! that don't signify, 'm — not at all, 
 'm. I thought I would wait in case you 
 wanted anything more. Susan has gone to 
 bed — I told her I knew you wouldn't wish 
 her to sit up. Poor girl ! she has to be astir 
 early." 
 
 " Yes ; and she seems a capital one for 
 
MRS. CHILD S INTERROGATED. 105 
 
 early rising. I really think she will do," 
 said Mrs. Jeffley, strong in that faith which 
 usually, when the sweeping of new brooms 
 is in question, endures for about a week. 
 
 " She seems a very still sort of young per- 
 son," answered Mrs. Childs, who excelled 
 in a species of damnatory acquiescence. 
 
 " I think she will do. I hope she will," 
 repeated Mrs. Jeffley. " Well, I won't keep 
 you any longer." 
 
 " You are sure there is nothing else you 
 can remember, 'm ?" — which speech might 
 indeed have been dictated by a spirit of 
 subtle irony. " Because you know, 'm, I'll 
 do it with pleasure." 
 
 "No, thank you, Mrs. Childs. I'm sure 
 you must be tired enough. You have had 
 your supper ?" 
 
 " Susan wanted me to take some along 
 of her," was the two-edged answer, " but 
 I thought I'd wait, and eat a mouthful at 
 home with the child. Even if she's gone 
 to bed, nothing will content her poor heart 
 but to rise the minute she hears my foot 
 on the stair." 
 
 Having finished which affecting statement, 
 
io6 21 IT RE COURT. 
 
 Mrs. Childs re-tied her bonnet, re-adjusted 
 her old rusty shawl, and, taking up her 
 bundle, remarked : 
 
 " These are the pieces, 'm, you were so 
 Q'ood as to tell me I might have." 
 
 " You have not forgotten the knuckle of 
 ham ?" 
 
 ' No, m. 
 
 " Nor the piece of steak-pie ?" 
 
 " No, W 
 
 " Nor the remainder of that bread-and- 
 butter pudding ?" 
 
 " No, 'm ; which'll all make a nice bit of 
 picking for Sophiar to-morrow." 
 
 " And remind me to look you out the pair 
 of boots I was talking about." 
 
 " I'm sure, 'm, I return you many thanks." 
 
 '• No need to do that," said Mrs. Jeffley. 
 " Oh ! I knew there was something I wanted 
 to ask you. Do you ever now see the girl 
 that lives with Mr. Brisco ?" 
 
 Mrs. Childs laid down her bundle again — 
 she understood there was more to follow. 
 
 " Yes, 'm, I see her often — but never to 
 speak to. When we meets, as we can't help 
 meeting, she either looks straight before her, 
 
3IRS. GUILDS INTERROGATED. 107 
 
 or else turns her head away, as if I was be- 
 neath eyes to rest on." 
 
 " She has grown very pretty, I hear," 
 hazarded Mrs. Jeffley, half showing her 
 hand. 
 
 "She wouldn't be my taste," answered 
 Sophia's aunt, with a good deal of acrimony. 
 
 " But she is pretty, is she not ?" 
 
 " Well, 'm, every man has his own notion 
 of beauty. I've even heard of some as ad- 
 mires a cast ; so it's quite likely Miss Weir 
 may have found somebody that thinks her 
 a Venus because she's a tawny. My idea of 
 beauty is a good complexion ; but that may 
 be owing to my knowing no better." 
 
 " She is very dark, then, is she ?" asked 
 Mrs. Jeffley, with whose face no fault could 
 have been found on that score. 
 
 " There are those might call her dark. 
 I'd say she was yellow," was the uncom- 
 promising reply. 
 
 " Like a gipsy ?" suggested Mrs. Jeffley 
 tentatively. 
 
 " Not exactly ; gipsies have beautiful black 
 Hashing eyes, and coal-black hair with a wave 
 in it. What people find to talk about in Miss 
 
io8 MITRE COURT. 
 
 Abigail Weir beats me ; to my notion she is 
 most ordinary." 
 
 " People clo talk about her, then ?" 
 
 " Yes ; just the common sort, you under- 
 stand — not ladies like you, 'm, but the poorer 
 kind of shopkeepers round the lanes. It is 
 her impudence does it," finished Mrs. Childs 
 viciously. "If ever there was a saucy young 
 slut, it is the girl I saw with my own two 
 eyes found in Mr. Brisco's cellar by Mr. 
 Rrisco himself; and if he doesn't rue the day 
 he didn't take my offer to run for the nearest 
 policeman, I'll " 
 
 At this point Mrs. Childs paused, simply 
 because she really could think of no alterna- 
 tive strong enough to fit the position. 
 
 " But what is the matter with the girl ?" 
 asked Mrs. Jefrley. 
 
 "In a manner of speaking, everything," 
 was the answer ; "she's bad, root and branch. 
 I know things about her she mayn't like to 
 
 o J 
 
 hear one of these days : and if I have much 
 more of her nonsense, I'll up and tell her 
 what she believes is dead and forgotten. I 
 declare it makes me sick to see her running 
 into the Rector} 7 , and tripping about St. 
 
MRS. CHILD S INTERROGATED. 109 
 
 Mary-at-Hill as if the parish belonged to 
 her. My word, if it hadn't been for the 
 foolishness of that poor old man, she'd have 
 been brought up in the workhouse, and 
 forced to eet her livingf harder than she 
 does." 
 
 It is improbable that Mrs. Childs had ever 
 read Shakespeare, yet while she spoke she 
 felt stirring within her the spirit which 
 prompted the Duchess to say : 
 
 " Could I come near your beauty with my nails, 
 I'd set my ten commandments in your face." 
 
 As she stood beside the table with the light 
 from the lowered gas throwing her features a 
 little into shadow, she looked very shrewish 
 and vixenish indeed. 
 
 As a rule, Mrs. Childs sheathed her claws, 
 but on the subject of Miss Weir she could 
 not speak with equanimity ; the rise of that 
 young person stirred all her venom. She 
 was wont to go out of her way often only 
 in order to meet Abigail, and on the occasion 
 of these encounters her scorn and disgust 
 equalled that "upstart's" own pride. 
 
 There had been between them passages 
 of arms with which the world was not ac- 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 quainted, and though they now maintained 
 a strict neutrality so far as speech went, it 
 was armed on both sides. As James Hannay 
 said about the war between the Grocers and 
 Licensed Victuallers, at a time when the 
 wine and tea controversy had reached its 
 height, " If the one charged with grape, the 
 other returned with canister;" so Mrs. Childs 
 and Miss Weir were both keeping their 
 powder dry for any emergency which might 
 ensue. 
 
 " I have never been quite able to under- 
 stand " began Mrs. Jefrley. " But I am 
 
 keeping you, Mrs. Childs." 
 
 " Don't speak about that, 'm ; it's a plea- 
 sure to serve you. As I've often said, as 
 Sophiar could tell you, it was like getting" 
 into heaven out of the worse place to change 
 from Botolph Lane to Fowkes' Buildings. 
 How I ever stopped there so long I'm sure I 
 don't know. Begging your pardon for inter- 
 rupting you, 'm, you were saying " 
 
 " That I don't understand where such a 
 girl could have got so well educated. Mr. 
 Katzen says she knows as much as if she 
 had been to a good boarding-school." 
 
MRS. CHILD S INTERROGATED. 
 
 " The cat's out of the bag at last," thought 
 Mrs. Childs. " You wonder, 'm, where she 
 got her learning ?" she added aloud. " I can 
 tell you. First of all, she's sharp as a gimlet 
 — she'd pick up a thing and be away with it 
 while another would be looking about to see 
 where it was ; and then next, some of them 
 Sisters got hold of her, or she got hold of 
 them, and she was 'such a little clear,' and 
 such a 'clever maid,' and so 'good' and 
 'quiet,' and 'so much attached to her bene- 
 factor,' that they gave her the best of learning 
 and lots of presents ; and she, as one may 
 say, just picked out of the gutter. It's a 
 shame such things should be allowed, while 
 those that are deserving and really in need 
 of help couldn't get half a pound of tea — no ! 
 not if they were to go down on their bended 
 knees for it." 
 
 " How old was she, do you suppose, that 
 night when she got into Mr. Brisco's house ? 
 Ten, wasn't it ?" 
 
 " She told me she was getting on for 
 eleven, but there, ; m, if I never stir again, I 
 wouldn't believe a word she spoke. She's 
 a hundred, if she's a day, in craft and wicked- 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 ness, and mischief-making. There's Mrs. 
 Hart, at the milk-shop ; many and many a 
 pint of skim, and two or three eggs, she has 
 slipped to me when I've gone in for a loaf, 
 wet and draggled and tired — till missy came, 
 then all was changed. Of course, Mrs. Hart 
 serves me now civilly, like anybody else ; but 
 no more nice little helps to make both ends 
 meet. I say it's cruel — that I do !" 
 
 " Mr. Katzen seems to have a great opinion 
 of her." 
 
 " I hope he mayn't find cause to change it, 
 "m," said Mrs. Childs, in a tone which some- 
 how turned the aspiration into a curse, and 
 so overwhelmed Mrs. JefHey's limited under- 
 standing, that she allowed Sophia's aunt to 
 betake herself to Water Lane without asking 
 any further question. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MISS WEIR. 
 
 f£wfre|>|HE interview with Mrs. Childs, so 
 far from assuaging Mrs. Jeffrey's 
 curiosity, merely served to whet 
 it. She could scarcely remember the time, 
 since her first acquaintance with Mr. Katzen, 
 when the name of Abigail Weir was unknown 
 to her ; but till quite recently she had only 
 heard it spoken casually by him, or spitefully 
 by Mrs. Childs. Nothing could have been 
 imagined further from her thoughts than that 
 this girl — this stray — the funny little ener- 
 getic old woman, as Mr. Katzen while Abby 
 was still a child dubbed her, half in jest and 
 half in earnest, should cross the field of her 
 life, and throw a shadow upon it. 
 
 Yet already she felt as though something 
 vol. i. S 
 
U4 MITRE COURT. 
 
 of the sort had happened ; and the same 
 nervous restlessness which impels a person 
 to open a door, or turn his head to look on 
 an unpleasant sight, urged her on to obtain 
 an interview with a young lady she had 
 hitherto thought of, when she thought of her 
 at all, merely as an insignificant little chit. 
 
 It is not exactly the fault of such little 
 chits that they have a way of shooting up 
 suddenly into attractively pretty girls, yet the 
 elders of their own sex generally regard this 
 progression as a sin. 
 
 Mr. Katzen's words had fallen with the 
 force of a blow on poor Mrs. Jeffley, who 
 really, spite of her many excellent qualities, 
 was not much wiser than most women. A 
 faithful wife and fond mother, no thought 
 calculated to wrong Jack, save as regards her 
 estimate of his intellectual capacity, had ever 
 entered, or was ever likely to enter, her mind ; 
 but jealousy, as it ordinarily presents itself, is 
 sexless, and Mrs. Jeffley certainly felt jealous 
 of this vague girl who had thrust herself upon 
 the new Consul's notice. 
 
 Further, if he took her for wife, no friend 
 could possibly regard such a match as desir- 
 
MISS WEIR. us 
 
 able. A waif who had come from heaven 
 only knew where, and was living with a man 
 as poor as Job and as morose as Diogenes ; 
 who had, in the days when, like a strange, 
 half-starved cat, she was first suffered to stay 
 on in the old house, in the fulness of her 
 little heart — or, as Mrs. Childs more happily 
 phrased the matter, " in her uppishness" — 
 whitened the steps, and black-leaded the 
 grates, and dusted the offices, and taken a 
 job out of Sophia's hands, must drag a hus- 
 band down to the earth. Mr. Katzen might 
 as well propose to marry one of the wander- 
 ing maidens who, under the cruise of useful 
 servants, were always coming to Fowkes' 
 Buildings, ostensibly to do some work, but 
 really only to obtain food and wages. The 
 thing was appalling, and yet Mrs. jeffley 
 feared he had spoken more in earnest than 
 in jest. 
 
 " I must see this dreadful pert creature," 
 she thought, and she lay awake for a long 
 time picturing how she could easily bring 
 about an interview, and deciding the very 
 words which should be uttered in the course 
 of conversation. 
 
ii 6 MITRE COURT. 
 
 It was Mrs. Jeffrey's excellent practice to 
 do all her marketing in person. The joints, 
 the fish, the vegetables she left to the discre- 
 tion of no tradesman whatsoever. 
 
 Hail, rain, shine, she repaired to Billings- 
 gate and Leadenhall, where she made her 
 purchases for the day, stinting in nothing, 
 vet obtaining all she required at the lowest 
 rates — a fact the good woman frequently 
 mentioned. 
 
 No doubt, an admirable manager ! She 
 said so herself often, and the sentiment was 
 chorused by all with whom she came in 
 contact, even by Mrs. Childs. Whenever, 
 indeed, Mrs. Jeffrey sang a song in her own 
 praise — a matter of not unusual occurrence — 
 Mrs. Childs always took up the refrain. 
 Even if she did not allow her voice to be 
 audible, she was wont to shake her head 
 after the manner of one who conceived words 
 to be insufficient for the purpose of extolling 
 Mrs. Jeffrey's cleverness. 
 
 Therefore, it did seem rather insincere that 
 in the seclusion of the upper floor she rented 
 in Water Lane, she should say to Sophia : 
 "Ah — h — h ! it's easy to buy when you've 
 
MISS WEIR. 117 
 
 got money to buy with ; the trouble is to buy 
 when you ain't." 
 
 Hearing which axiom Sophia, who, like all 
 half-witted creatures, delighted to lie and 
 cheat over a farthing, was wont to swell and 
 shake her fat cheeks with silent laughter, and 
 indulge in some of those orimaces which had 
 won the sobriquet of " Punch" from the rude 
 youth of the neighbourhood. 
 
 In the watches of the night Mrs. JefHey 
 made up her mind as to how she should 
 approach Miss Weir. She would rub on no 
 war-paint ; she would not even appal her 
 with the glories of that brown silk laid aside 
 so recently. No ; she decided to go adorned 
 merely with sweet simplicity, a resolution 
 which the memory that her chintz costume 
 was a love, and beautifully made, fitting her 
 indeed like a glove, fully confirmed. Mrs. 
 Mountly had sent it home at twelve o'clock 
 on Saturday night, just in time to wear on 
 Sunday morning ; and old Captain Hassell 
 had said, with an unholy oath, Mrs. Jeffiey 
 did not look an hour over eighteen in it. 
 That and her brown hat, which was so taste- 
 fully trimmed— silk and velvet two shades, 
 
nS MITRE COURT. 
 
 and finished off with real ostrich feathers, 
 small and elegant — what could be better ? 
 Altogether, the dress in which to encounter 
 Miss Weir for the first time ; certainly the 
 dress most suitable for such a neighbourhood, 
 and becoming, moreover, to a fair woman 
 like herself, possessed moreover of light 
 crinkly hair, bright hazel eyes, well-defined 
 eyebrows, and a good set of teeth. 
 
 For a long time Mrs. Jeffley had felt so 
 satisfied as to the bond fides of her mature 
 charms that she had not thought of enume- 
 rating them. Now, however, she went over 
 the list as a needy man might count the 
 money in his pocket. 
 
 Yes, they were all there — while dressing 
 next morning she considered them singly and 
 collectively as she stood before the glass — 
 not a solitary item was lacking ; in detail as 
 well as in mass, she beheld Mrs. Maria 
 jeffley, " whose equal," said her many devoted 
 admirers, " it would have been hard to find." 
 
 To a captious taste, the worst of Mrs. 
 jeffley was that when you had seen her- once 
 you had seen her always. This defect is one 
 inseparable from the style of beauty in which 
 
MISS WEIR. 119 
 
 Nature deemed it best to clothe her. Some 
 faces that when first beheld on canvas seem 
 most lovely and greatly to be desired, finally 
 become absolutely maddening because of 
 their unchanging monotony. There are no 
 depths in the eyes to fathom, or lurking sad- 
 ness of expression to stimulate speculation ; 
 no unuttered words of reproach or tenderness 
 seem trembling on their lips ; the curves and 
 lines never even in fancy vary and deepen ; 
 for ever they remain the same, in joy or in 
 sorrow, gazing down from the wall with cold, 
 unsympathetic beauty. It was thus with 
 Mrs. Jeffley. Her good looks, her well-fed, 
 well-satisfied, prosperous expression seemed 
 an affront, not to the extraordinary specimens 
 of humanity that filled her house and purse, 
 but to ordinary, troubled, anxious, suffering, 
 yearning humanity such as we daily encounter 
 surging along the highways and byways of 
 our mighty London. 
 
 One person, however, at all events felt 
 quite satisfied with Mrs. Maria Jeffrey's face 
 as she saw it reflected in the mirror, and 
 that person was Maria Jeffley herself. She 
 had grown older, and stouter, and harder, 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 and more assured, by such slow degrees 
 that the alterations wrought by time were 
 absolutely imperceptible to the lady most 
 interested in them. 
 
 If she had passed eighteen, she was some- 
 thing much better — a woman in her prime. 
 She did not fear comparison with Miss Weir 
 or Miss anybody. Marketing of course could 
 not be deferred, but on her return from 
 Leadenhall she decided to honour Botolph 
 Lane with a visit. 
 
 Mrs. Jeffley had never been to the old 
 house ; as a rule, her own affairs provided 
 sufficient of interest and occupation to prevent 
 meddling with those of other people ; but 
 now she really did feel curious and some- 
 what anxious on the subject of a strange girl 
 who might at one fell swoop deprive her of 
 an eligible lodger and a confidential friend. 
 As she pondered these matters her heart 
 waxed hot within her, and she determined 
 Miss Weir should not have things all her 
 own way without a struggle. 
 
 Passing through the gateway that still 
 affords ingress from Botolph Lane to the 
 wide courtvard on which the old house seems 
 
MISS WEIR. 
 
 to look sorrowfully, Mrs. Jeffley picked her 
 steps over the rough pavement. 
 
 Even she, accustomed to London and its 
 broad and sudden contrasts, felt it strange to 
 turn out of the noisy, crowded, narrow lane, 
 blocked with carts, where progress even on 
 foot was difficult, into this still nook of the 
 old City, which seemed to have been borne 
 hither at some remote period on the restless 
 sea of human life, and left stranded by the 
 waters that had, since it was built, ebbed 
 out of this world, to flow back over the re- 
 membered shores no more for ever. 
 
 Something which Mrs. Jeffley subsequently 
 termed "a creeping" began to trouble that 
 worthy lady. As one first landing on foreign 
 soil examines tree and shrub and flower and 
 shell and bird, so this explorer, who candidly 
 said she "wasn't much of a one for old ruins, or 
 old abbeys, or old women, or old bones, or old 
 anything, though she liked to see what other 
 people saw," was impelled to pause and look at 
 the dog-kennel under the steps leading up to 
 the main entrance ; at the do^-lao hollowed in 
 the stones ; at the flat oblong canopy over the 
 hall door, under the shadow of which great 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 men and fair ladies must long a»"o have 
 stood gazing westward at the setting sun. 
 
 The door was wide open, and Mrs. Jeffley, 
 having slowly ascended the stone steps, and 
 paused beside the iron railing and glanced 
 round the enclosed square, could see the 
 beautiful marble pavement, and the long 
 stretch of black and white diamonds that 
 paved the hall. 
 
 She was standing staring at this and the 
 noble old staircase at the farther end, when a 
 door to her left opened, and a young girl 
 holding a piece of needlework in her hand 
 appeared. 
 
 Mrs. Jeffley had not rung, though her 
 fingers were on the handle of the bell, and 
 the girl seemed somewhat surprised to see 
 anyone at the door. 
 
 " What is it ?" she asked, not brusquely or 
 pertly, but in the same matter-of-fact way in 
 which a shopman repeats his formula : 
 " What can I show you ?"' and then each 
 stood " at ease." 
 
 " You can't be Miss Weir," thought Mrs. 
 Jeffley, " and yet you must be. Dear me, 
 what a complexion !" 
 
Jf/SS WEIR. 
 
 But she only said aloud : 
 
 "Mr. Brisco lives here, does he not ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but he is not in now. Will you 
 leave any message ?" 
 
 " I did not want to see him particularly," 
 answered Mrs. Jefrle) 7 . " Perhaps you can 
 tell me if Mrs. Childs still works for 
 him ?" 
 
 " Gracious ! no ; she has not for these six 
 years past !" 
 
 " Oh !" and Mrs. Jeffley added nothing 
 more, but stood wondering how it would be 
 best to continue the conversation. 
 
 Very obligingly Miss Weir took that 
 trouble off her hands. 
 
 "If you particularly wish to find Mrs. 
 Childs," she began, laying a spiteful emphasis 
 on the " particularly," " she used to live over 
 a greengrocer's shop in Water Lane, just 
 beyond Fowkes' Buildings. Even in case 
 she has moved, it is unlikely she can have 
 gone very far away " 
 
 " She will not be coming back here to work, 
 I suppose ?" 
 
 " Not if I have anything to do with the 
 matter!" 
 
124 MITRE COURT. 
 
 "And you have " 
 
 " Everything !" supplied Miss Weir, with a 
 promptness little less than appalling. 
 
 " Is she not a good worker, then ?" 
 
 " She is good enough, so far as I know, 
 but we don't want her here, and we are not 
 going to have her.'' 
 
 " You are very decided about the matter." 
 
 " Very," was Abigail's answer. 
 
 ''What a fine old house this seems!" said 
 Mrs. jefiiey, still standing on the step and 
 addressing the girl who stood in the hall. 
 
 "It is a fine old house," amended Miss 
 Weir, not rudely, for she spoke with a pleasant 
 smile. 
 
 " I never saw a handsomer hall." 
 
 Abby turned her head a little and glanced 
 round at the marble floor and the wide oak 
 staircase. Then she looked at Mrs. JefBey, 
 and smiled asfain. 
 
 " Is it here," asked her visitor, driven 
 almost to her wits' end, " that there is a 
 panelled room painted beautifully all over ?" 
 
 " We have a room," was the reply, " the 
 door and panels of which are painted. 
 Should you like to see it ?" 
 
Jf/SS WE/I?. 
 
 " Of all things," joyfully exclaimed Mrs. 
 Jeffley. " How very kind you are !" 
 
 " Oh no, not at all," said Abigail depre- 
 catingly, and then she motioned Mrs. Jeffley 
 to precede her into the apartment from which 
 she had just emerged, delightedly walking 
 after that lady, and with a sense of the 
 keenest enjoyment raising herself first on 
 one foot and then on the other behind the 
 unsuspecting Maria's back. 
 
 Heaven only knows what Mrs. Jeffley had 
 expected, but at all events she did not find 
 it. A moderate-sized room with two windows; 
 an old Turkey carpet on the floor ; a large 
 office-table in the centre ; a few chairs ; walls — 
 so Mrs. Jeffley subsequently stated — " nearly 
 as black as my shoe," with a "lot of Indians 
 sprawling about over them," formed a whole 
 little calculated to strike an utterly common 
 and conventional woman with astonishment. 
 
 Mrs. Jeffley's only amazement was that 
 anyone could be found to admire so dull and 
 sombre an apartment. 
 
 " It is very dark," she said. 
 
 " We do not get the sun till the afternoon," 
 suggested Abigail mischievously. 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 " And what is the meaning of all these 
 things ?" asked Mrs. Jeffley, pointing with 
 her parasol to the paintings by Robinson. 
 
 " We should all be so glad if anyone 
 could tell us that," replied the girl. 
 
 " I can't make it out at all," complained 
 Mrs. Jeffley, wandering hopelessly from 
 scene to scene. " Here is something like a 
 church, and they have got a cat in this boat, 
 and I wonder what that lady can be doing 
 among all those savages ?" 
 
 " Haven't a notion," said Abigail, who 
 stood beside the table hemming most in- 
 dustriously. 
 
 " I am afraid I must be detaining 
 you," observed Mrs. Jeffley, pausing in 
 her addled efforts to understand enigmas 
 which had puzzled far wiser heads than 
 hers. 
 
 "No; you see I am going on with my 
 work," answered Abigail, taking a reel of 
 cotton out of her pocket and threading her 
 needle afresh. " Please look at the panels 
 as long as you like." 
 
 " Thank you," and Mrs. Jeffley regarded, 
 as if in rapt wonderment, a particularly jolly- 
 
MISS WEIR. 127 
 
 looking savage riding with a companion on a 
 rhinoceros. 
 
 "He always puts me in good spirits," 
 remarked the girl. " Here he is again, you 
 see, in this chariot drawn by antelopes." 
 
 "Well, I never!" ejaculated Mrs. Jeffley. 
 
 " No, and I do not believe anyone else 
 ever did," laughed Abby. " He is the funniest 
 creature." 
 
 Her visitor looked at the speaker doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 " You are Miss Weir, I suppose ?" she 
 hazarded. 
 
 " Yes; I am Miss Weir," agreed Abigail. 
 
 " And I am Mrs. Jeffley/' in a tone as 
 though she had said, " I am Victoria, by the 
 crace of God Oueen of Great Britain and 
 Ireland." 
 
 " Are you really ?" said Abigail, with well- 
 feigned astonishment ; " why, Mrs. Childs left 
 us to go to you." 
 
 Mrs. Jeffley was not much given to 
 chang-ino- colour ; as she was wont to remark, 
 forgetting how many a true word is spoken 
 in jest, her "blushing-days were over" — but 
 under the steady gaze of Miss Weir's wicked 
 
128 MITRE COURT. 
 
 eyes she felt a crimson wave rise even to her 
 temples. 
 
 It was quite necessary to say something, 
 so she said it : 
 
 " Yes — Mrs. Childs left you to come to 
 me. She has been with me ever since." 
 
 " I suppose I ought to congratulate you," 
 observed Abigail demurely. 
 
 "You can do about that as you please," 
 retorted Mrs. Jeffley, for indeed the girl's 
 manner might have irritated a saint. " But 
 I may tell you / find Mrs. Childs a capital 
 worker." 
 
 " That is what everyone says," returned 
 Abigail, "and you know what everyone says 
 must be true, as the little boy remarked to his 
 grandmother." 
 
 " I am not so sure," replied Mrs. Jeffley ; 
 "but I was going to observe, when you in- 
 terrupted me " 
 
 "Yes," said the girl, as she stopped, "I 
 am so sorry I interrupted you, if I did " 
 
 " That," went on Mrs. Jeffley desperately, 
 " I made Mrs. Childs an excuse for coming 
 here." 
 
 "Why?" asked Miss Weir. 
 
MISS WEIR. 129 
 
 " Because I wanted to see you." 
 
 The girl laughed outright. 
 
 " There was no excuse needed," she said. 
 " I am nearly always on view." 
 
 " I couldn't know that." 
 
 " But why did you want to see me ?" in- 
 quired Abigail. 
 
 " Because I have been hearing so much 
 ahout you lately." 
 
 " Won't you sit down, Mrs. Jeffley ? I do 
 hope you will be able to spare time to tell me 
 all you have heard." 
 
 " Well, I heard, for one thing," returned 
 Mrs. Jeffley, " that you were a very pretty 
 girl." 
 
 " It is not for me to contradict that," said 
 Abigail thoughtfully, breaking off another 
 length of thread, " and I won't ask you for 
 your opinion, since I don't know," she added, 
 with a roguish twinkle, " that I much care for 
 being flattered to my face." 
 
 " I should not do that," replied Mrs. Jeffley. 
 
 " No, I am sure you would not," returned 
 the girl. 
 
 " And I heard also," proceeded Mrs. 
 Jeffley, "about how clever you are." 
 
 vol. 1. 9 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 " That must have come from Mrs. Childs, 
 yet I wonder she is only discovering my 
 good qualities now." 
 
 Mrs. Jeffley made no answer. Already 
 she had committed herself sufficiently. 
 
 "What an industrious girl you seem to 
 be !" she said. 
 
 " Oh ! very," agreed Abigail. 
 
 " Now I wonder " began Mrs. Jeffley, 
 
 and then she stopped. 
 
 "What do you wonder?" asked Miss 
 Weir. 
 
 " Whether you would feel offended if I 
 asked you to do some needlework for me ?" 
 
 " Quite the reverse — should be glad." 
 
 "Well — -will you do some ?" 
 
 " If I can — what is it ?" 
 
 " Children's clothes ; you can make them, 
 I feel confident." 
 
 "Yes, I can make them, I dare say." 
 
 " Will you send round for the work, 
 then ?" 
 
 "No, I will come — there is no one here to 
 send." 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me really you live 
 in this huge barrack of a place all alone?" 
 
MISS WEIR. 
 
 "You forget Mr. Brisco lives here too — 
 you came to see him, you know." 
 
 " What a take-off you are !" retorted Mrs. 
 Jeffley, a little peevishly. " I have said I 
 came to see you and you only ; and I am 
 very glad I did come, for I hope I shall 
 see a great deal of you." 
 
 "You will, if you can give me plenty cf 
 work and I am able to do it to please you," 
 said Abigail. 
 
 " You will be able to please me, I have 
 little doubt. Are you not dreadfully dull 
 here ?" 
 
 " Dull ! not in the least. I always find 
 plenty to do, and besides, in the day-time 
 people are coming and going. Of course 
 this is not a fair sample. On Whit-Tuesday 
 there is scarcely anything doing." 
 
 " One of my lodgers has offices here, has 
 he not?" said Mrs. Jeffley, unconsciously 
 following the example set by the daughter of 
 a publisher and editor who, being asked at a 
 party who a lady was, languidly replied, 
 " One of my papa's contributors." 
 
 "I do not know any of your lodgers who 
 can have an office here, except Mr. Katzen," 
 
 9—2 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 answered Miss Weir, with pitiless directness. 
 "Is it Mr. Katzen you mean ?" 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Katzen, the Consul for New 
 Andalusia." 
 
 " He is going to leave us." 
 
 " I suppose you are very sorry." 
 
 " Mr. Brisco is ; for myself, I feel if the 
 change be for Mr. Katzen's good I ought 
 not to repine." 
 
 " That is a very pretty sentiment." 
 
 " And a very proper one too;" and Abigail, 
 having finished the little pinafore she was 
 making, laid it flat on the table and began to 
 fold it up. 
 
 "What a clever man Mr. Katzen is!" 
 said Mrs. Jeffley. 
 
 " So Mr. Brisco says." 
 
 "And so very kind." 
 
 " I never heard Mr. Brisco say anything 
 about that." 
 
 " He is a most generous person." 
 
 "So he has often told me, and he ought to 
 know ;" and then Miss Weir looked up 
 archly at Mrs. Jeffley and laughed, and Mrs. 
 Jeffley looked at Miss Weir and laughed too. 
 
 Why she did so it would be hard to say, 
 
MISS WEIR. 
 
 except perhaps because she felt the date 
 of Mr. Katzen's departure from Fowkes' 
 Buildings would not be speedily fixed. 
 
 " Well. I must be going," she said at last. 
 " I shall look up some work for you at once. 
 When can you come round ?" 
 
 "To-morrow," was the prompt rejoinder. 
 
 " Between eleven and twelve ? Will that 
 suit you ?" 
 
 "Yes, I will make it suit me," answered 
 the girl. " I can let you out at the other 
 door, Mrs. Jeffley — it is nearer for you than 
 going round by Botolph Lane." 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MR. KATZENS LOVE. 
 
 S Miss Weir closed the door leading 
 into Love Lane, after Mrs. Jef- 
 fley, and turned in order to pro- 
 ceed to her own room, she saw Mr. Katzen, 
 who had entered the house by the front en- 
 trance, crossing the hall. 
 
 " Have you lost the little pain in your 
 temper which was troubling you yesterday, 
 my lofe ?" he asked. 
 
 For answer, Abigail stuck her dimpled im- 
 pudent chin in the air, and without even 
 bestowing one look on her admirer, walked 
 along the passage leading to the kitchens 
 and offices. 
 
 Mr. Katzen sighed audibly, and then went 
 upstairs laughing. That morning his spirits 
 
MR. KATZEN'S LOVE. 
 
 were remarkably good, and everything — even 
 the conquest of Miss Weir — seemed to him 
 possible. 
 
 Half an hour later he paused outside the 
 door of the apartment which served the pur- 
 pose indiscriminately of workroom, kitchen, 
 parlour, study, and guest-chamber. He 
 stopped and listened — Abigail was singing 
 louder than her canary bird. 
 
 " The girl is happy," he thought, " happy 
 in this wretched house. How does she 
 manage to keep up her spirits ?" and then 
 he knocked. 
 
 " Come in," cried out Abigail, in a clear 
 steady voice. " Come in — oh ! it is you, is 
 it ?" she went on. "Well, Mr. Katzen, and 
 what do you want ?" 
 
 " I want a chat with the fair Abigail," he 
 answered. 
 
 " Meaning me ?" 
 
 " Meaning you, and none other. No 
 offence, I hope." 
 
 " No offence has been taken as yet ; and 
 if I were you, I would not give any." 
 
 Without waiting for any invitation, he seated 
 himself on a wooden form which stood beside 
 
136 MITRE COURT. 
 
 the hearth. All the furniture was simple, 
 not to say rude ; but everything was scrubbed 
 snowy white, and through the well-cleaned 
 windows bright sunshine poured into a room 
 innocent of dust or motes. 
 
 The canary's song had ceased at Mr. Kat- 
 zen's entrance, like Abby's own, and the bird 
 was now hopping about the room, and occa- 
 sionally setting its head on one side to survey 
 Miss Weir's visitor. 
 
 " What a busy young lady you are !" he 
 said, glancing at the pile of work which lay 
 tidily folded up on the table. 
 
 He had known that fact for so long a time, 
 the young lady he addressed did not seem to 
 think comment upon it necessary. 
 
 " I do not like to see you working your 
 pretty fingers to the bone," he went on. 
 
 Miss Weir lifted her left hand, and regarded 
 it attentively. It was small, dimpled, plump. 
 
 " There are no bones visible," she remarked, 
 apparently in a spirit of the calmest criticism. 
 
 " No, indeed." 
 
 " Considerinc: the amount of work I have 
 done, do you not think they ought to have 
 been showing by this time ?" 
 
MR. KATZEN'S LOVE. 137 
 
 " Ah ! my dear, you know that is not what 
 I mean. It is not right for a young girl to 
 drudge and slave as you do." 
 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " Because young girls ought to enjoy 
 themselves." 
 
 "I enjoy myself," she replied, turning down 
 a hem as she spoke with great vigour and de- 
 termination ; "there is nothing I like so much 
 as work." 
 
 " That is all very well, but it ought to be 
 profitable work." 
 
 " This is profitable " 
 
 " Yes — yes — I understand, it may bring 
 you in a few shillings, which you will spend 
 in buying something for a man who scarcely 
 speaks to you." 
 
 " If I did not spend it on him, on whom 
 should I spend it, pray ?" 
 
 " On your pretty self." 
 
 " I do spend a great deal on my pretty self." 
 
 " Fie — fie — Miss Weir, to say that to me, 
 who, sitting: even where I am, can see all the 
 darns and patches in your dress!" 
 
 " I am not ashamed of your seeing the 
 patches in my dress." 
 
1 38 MITRE COURT. 
 
 '•' No ! though you know it is said — a rent 
 may be accident, but a darn is premeditated 
 poverty." 
 
 " My darns are premeditated poverty then ; 
 and as for this gown, it is good enough for in- 
 doors. I have a better for Sundays." 
 
 " May I come and see it ?" 
 
 "You can see it if you like to go to 
 church, but then I suppose you never go 
 to church." 
 
 " I should like to hear one service there 
 with you — not, however, the order for morn- 
 ing prayer." 
 
 " If you mean the solemnization of matri- 
 mony, I will tell you when I am going to be 
 married." 
 
 " To me, though — only to me !" 
 
 "' That is quite another affair," she said 
 coquettishly. 
 
 " But you will marry me, Abigail ?" 
 
 " You have not yet' asked me," she returned, 
 holding a finger to her canary, which imme- 
 diately availed itself of the offered perch. 
 
 Mr. Katzen looked at the girl. 
 
 Things were ^ettin^ on faster than he had 
 intended ; but, spite of her poor surroundings, 
 
MR. KATZEN'S LOVE. 139 
 
 of all he knew about her past, she seemed 
 captivating with the morning sun streaming 
 upon her lissom figure, her lips a little pursed 
 up as she tweeted to the bird, her long dark 
 lashes brushing the rich tints of her soft 
 cheeks ; and he took her at her word. 
 
 " Will you marry me?" he asked. Without 
 raising her eyes or turning her head, she 
 answered : 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 "Well, that is civil, I must say," said the 
 new Consul, rising in hot wrath. " Here 
 you, whom I have known since you were a 
 chit of a child " 
 
 "With scarce a shoe to my foot," she 
 prompted, still contemplating her canary. 
 
 " Lead me on," he continued — declining 
 her addition to his sentence — " to propose to 
 you — for, though you may not think it, I 
 made an actual proposal which I mean to 
 stand by — and you state, as if I had only 
 asked you if you would have an orange, 
 ' Certainly not.'" 
 
 " I never was very civil, I am afraid," she 
 said, looking at him now with a whole world 
 of meaning in the depths of her dark eyes. 
 
i 4 o MITRL COURT. 
 
 " I suppose I ought to have added that I felt 
 very much obliged." 
 
 "You are enough m drive a man mad!" 
 he returned. "Are you in jest — or do you 
 think I am ?" 
 
 "No; I fancy you arc in earnest. And 
 nothing was further from my mind than jest- 
 ing, I assure you." 
 
 "In plain English, you really mean you 
 will not marry me ?" 
 
 " I really will not marry you." 
 
 For a moment Mr. Katzen stood silent, 
 gazing at the girl with a sort of sullen 
 intentness. 
 
 " I move then," hi said at last, with a 
 forced, uneasy laugh, " that we read the Bill 
 this day six months." 
 
 " Or six years," amended Miss Weir, "or 
 sixty; time will make no difference on my 
 part." 
 
 "We will see," he answered. " How is it 
 you never have a smile or a pleasant word 
 for me ? How is it you are willing to do 
 anything for an old man v\ ho scarcely knows, 
 and I am sure does not care, whether you 
 are living or dead, while you treat me — me, 
 
MR. AM TZEN'S LOVE. 141 
 
 Karl Katzen, to whom others of your sex 
 have not been so indifferent — as thoueh I 
 were unworthy of your notice." 
 
 " I am sure I can scarcely tell," she replied. 
 " Perhaps I like Mr. Brisco so much because 
 he does not want to marry me." 
 
 " But why should you not wish to marry 
 me ?" he persisted. " The mere prospect of 
 leaving this house — this horrible dead-and- 
 alive house " 
 
 " I am not at all anxious to leave this 
 house," she interrupted. 
 
 " Almost all girls take kindly to their first 
 lover." 
 
 " Do they ? Some of them must begin to 
 be fond early, then !" 
 
 '•' That is your case, probably," he sneered. 
 "No doubt you lost your heart long ago to 
 that young man round the corner." 
 
 " Which comer?" she asked. " Be precise; 
 there are lots of corners about here." 
 
 Her saucy speech restored Mr. Katzen's 
 good temper. 
 
 " Come, Abby," he said, " you and I must 
 not quarrel. Some day you will be sorry 
 for the way you are treating me now. 
 
142 MITRE COURT. 
 
 I am going to make a great success — I mean 
 to be a millionnaire yet. Smooth down your 
 ruffled feathers, and tell me, like my good 
 lofe, if you would not like to be Baroness 
 von Katzenstein ?" 
 
 " Not if you were Baron von Katzenstein," 
 she replied demurely. 
 
 " You cannot make me angry with you," 
 he returned. " I intend you to marry me as 
 soon as I can afford to support a wife in the 
 style I should like my wife to live, and in 
 the meantime I wish to show you what a 
 mild, genial, forgiving person I am." 
 
 " Saul among the prophets !" suggested 
 Miss Weir, threading her needle. 
 
 "We know who can quote Scripture," 
 returned her suitor. 
 
 " Mr. Brisco's opinion is, that the some- 
 body you mean does not quote Scripture." 
 
 " It says in the Bible that he does." 
 
 " Mr. Brisco would be obliged if you could 
 tell him where. As you do not seem to have 
 much to do, you might go over to the 
 Rectory and borrow a ' Concordance.' ' 
 
 " You are flippant this morning, Miss 
 Weir." 
 
MR. KA TZEN 'S LOVE. 143 
 
 " Perhaps that may be because I have had 
 an early visitor." 
 
 " What, the new curate ! By Heaven ! I 
 thought there was something under all 
 this!" 
 
 " No, not the new curate." 
 
 " Your young man, then, I suppose, from 
 round the corner ?" 
 
 " No; not a man, young or old, from round 
 the corner or anywhere else. My visitor 
 was your great friend Mrs. Jeffley." 
 
 " The deuce she was ! And what did Mrs. 
 Jeffley want ?" 
 
 " Her ostensible errand was to know 
 whether Mrs, Childs still worked here." 
 
 " Good Lord ! and what did you tell 
 her ?" 
 
 "I told her Mrs. Childs had not worked 
 here for nearly six years, and that with my 
 goodwill she should never work here again." 
 
 "If you have a fault, my Abigail — which, 
 however, I do not assert, remember — it is 
 excessive candour, a candour which at times 
 is almost painful. But proceed, dear girl." 
 
 "I do not know that there is much to 
 proceed about." 
 
H4 MITRE COURT. 
 
 " You said Mrs. Jeffley's ostensible errand 
 was to ask concerning poor, dear, grimy Mrs. 
 Childs. Did she not tell you the nature of 
 her real mission ?" 
 
 " No, she did not tell me at first, but I 
 found that out for myself. She wanted to 
 see ;;/<?." 
 
 " Vainest of vain young persons ! You 
 think all the world wants to see you. No 
 doubt, though, Mrs. Jeffley admired you 
 very much indeed." 
 
 " She ought, I am sure ; but I have my 
 misgivings on that point." 
 
 " May I ask, why these misgivings ?" 
 
 " Well, for one reason, because I am not 
 in the least like Mrs. Jeffley." 
 
 " I agree with you there. You are not 
 like Mrs. Jeffley — not like what Mrs. Jeffley 
 ever could have been in her best days ; but 
 what of that ?" 
 
 " All, I should say." 
 
 " But, my sweet darling, my dearest 
 Abigail, my spouse that is to be in the happy 
 
 future stretching away before us that is 
 
 right; smile — I delight to see your dimples — 
 you ladies do love to look on a pretty face." 
 
MR. KATZEN 1 S LOVE. 145 
 
 " So far as my experience goes, no lady 
 loves to look on any pretty face but her 
 own." 
 
 The answer delighted Mr. Katzen. He 
 burst into a fit of laughter, this time perfectly 
 natural and spontaneous. 
 
 "Your experience, child," he repeated; 
 " that must be large indeed. It embraces, 
 probably, Mrs. Brown, in Love Lane, and 
 Mrs. Robinson, in St. Mary-at-Hill." 
 
 " To say nothing of Miss Jones, in Botolph 
 Alley," added Miss Weir pertly. " You 
 forget, however, Mr. Katzen, my experience 
 of life beean before I ever entered this house. 
 And even if it had not " 
 
 "Why do you stop, fair maiden? — 'even 
 if it had not ' " 
 
 " Supposing you wanted to tell the world 
 all about the nature and habits, say of ants, 
 should you not know their ways and habits 
 as well after you had watched a hundred in 
 their daily life as if you watched a million ?" 
 
 " The point you wish to express being 
 probably that, having -studied the vanity, 
 meanness, and littleness of the female Brown, 
 Jones and Co. of .your acquaintance, you 
 
 vol. 1. 10 
 
146 MITRE COURT. 
 
 would be competent to write an exhaustive 
 analysis of the characters of Cleopatra or 
 Queen Elizabeth ?" 
 
 " I should be competent to form an opinion 
 of their weaknesses, at any rate," retorted 
 the girl. " It would be very strange if, living 
 so much alone, I had not thought a great 
 deal about many subjects concerning which 
 most people never trouble their heads, and I 
 have come to the conclusion that vanity is as 
 strong a failing among women as jealousy 
 among men." 
 
 " God help your foolish, innocent little 
 heart !" said Mr. Katzen ; " men are never 
 jealous." 
 
 " Oh, aren't they ?" scoffed Abigail. 
 
 " I mean in a general way, of course. 
 There are and must be cases where even the 
 instinct of self-preservation induces a certain 
 amount of perfectly righteous jealousy in a 
 man's bosom." 
 
 " I was not talking about any case of that 
 sort," said Miss Weir calmly, as though she 
 had spent her whole life in the practice of the 
 Divorce Court. 
 
 "What were you talking about then, 
 
MR. KATZEN'S LOVE. 147 
 
 dearest — though not wisest — of dear 
 <jirls ?" 
 
 " About men being jealous of each other, 
 for what I should call nothing. If anyone of 
 you gets on, makes a name, makes a fortune, 
 marries a rich wife or a beauty, buys a hand- 
 some horse, starts a drag, sets up a carriage, 
 immediately every man he knows grows 
 wildly jealous. I have seen," finished Abby, 
 sapiently shaking her head, " quite enough to 
 know that." 
 
 " Really, to be scarce seventeen, you are 
 wonderfully cynical, young lady. I wonder 
 if any man is jealous of me ;" and he looked 
 sharply at the girl, upon whose figure the 
 sunlight was streaming at the moment in a 
 golden flood. 
 
 " You will soon be able to tell that now," 
 returned Abigail, with the most guileless 
 expression on her face. 
 
 " Why, in Heaven's name, should I soon 
 be able to tell that now ?" 
 
 " Because you are getting so prosperous. 
 You are Consul in England for — what is the 
 name of that outlandish place ? You are 
 going to make a fortune ; then you will buy 
 
 10 — 2 
 
143 MITRE COURT. 
 
 a title ; then you will fit yourself up a castle 
 on the Rhine or in Spain — it does not much 
 matter which ; then you will get a cab to take 
 away your luggage from Fowkes' Buildings, 
 and leave poor Mrs. Jeffley broken-hearted." 
 
 " And the same morning I will marry 
 Abigail Weir." 
 
 " I forgot that ; and then all the City 
 gallants who have been blocking Botolph 
 Lane for years past, and insisting upon my 
 smiling on them, will want to cut your 
 throat." 
 
 "It is not always safe, my dear, to make 
 what you call fun of a man who is in earnest." 
 
 " Did I ever say you were not in earnest, 
 Mr. Katzen ? On the contrary, I believe, 
 as a rule, you are almost as serious as Mr. 
 Brisco." 
 
 " He, at all events, is a person scarcely 
 likely to excite envy." 
 
 " Except on the grounds of being so 
 clever." 
 
 " Do you know, Abby, it just occurs to 
 me you are in love with your benefactor." 
 
 " Perhaps I am ; there is no just cause or 
 impediment, is there ?" 
 
MR. KATZEN' S LOVE. 149 
 
 " None that I know of; but it might be 
 prudent for you to make a few inquiries into 
 his past history before taking him for better 
 or worse. For aught you can tell, he may 
 have a wife already " 
 
 " Or a dozen." 
 
 " No need for a dozen ; you will find one 
 a sufficient barrier." 
 
 " Quite a mistake, Mr. Katzen. One 
 might die — be poisoned, for example ; but 
 how could any person poison a dozen ?" 
 And the girl looked up mischievously, and 
 then resumed her stitching. 
 
 There was a pause — the canary, which had 
 fluttered up to its mistress' shoulder, con- 
 sidering a convenient moment had arrived 
 for favouring the company, suddenly burst 
 into song. For a little while there was no 
 sound save that of flutelike shakes and silver 
 trilling roulades. Sunshine still streamed 
 down on Abby's figure ; her busy needle 
 glinted in and out. Mr. Katzen, soothed 
 by the silence and the picture of quiet 
 domesticity, held his peace for a time ; 
 but at length he broke the spell by say- 
 ing : 
 
i 5 o MITRE COURT. 
 
 " And so you do not think that Mrs. Jeffley 
 admired you ?" 
 
 " She admires you, which is much more to 
 the purpose," answered Miss Weir. 
 
 " I always believed Mrs. Jeffley to be a 
 lady possessed of a most excellent judgment, 
 and now I know my belief was right." 
 
 " Happy Mrs. Jeffley!" 
 
 " May I ask, dear Abigail, how happy 
 Mrs. Jeffley impressed you ?" 
 
 " I don't think she is a bad sort of person. 
 She promised to give me plenty of work ;" 
 and Mr. Katzen's dear Abigail broke a length 
 of cotton off her spool and threaded her 
 needle afresh. 
 
 " And you said ' Thank you/ I suppose, 
 and hoped you would give satisfaction ?" 
 
 " Of course ! Why should I not ? If I 
 give satisfaction I can get work, and the 
 more work I am able to sret the better I am 
 pleased." 
 
 With a smothered exclamation, Mr. Katzen 
 rose from his bench and paced the room. 
 
 " When will you learn not to make your- 
 self so cheap ?" he asked. 
 
 " What has happened ?" returned the girl. 
 
MR. K AT ZEN'S LOVE. 151 
 
 " Nothing special has come to me during the 
 last week. / have not been made consul 
 anywhere. I must go on sewing just as if 
 there were not such a place on earth as New 
 Andalusia." 
 
 " You need not," he said. " Only speak 
 the word, and I will take you away from this 
 miserable life — from this grinding drudgery." 
 " Time enough to talk of all that when 
 you have made your fortune," answered Miss 
 Weir, in a tone which implied she considered 
 such a period likely to be somewhat re- 
 mote. 
 
 " Do you know, there are moods of yours 
 which make me feel as if I should like to 
 beat you." 
 
 For a second Miss Weir suspended her 
 employment, and looked at her lover. 
 
 "In some countries, I have read," she 
 said, " that is the approved mode of court- 
 ship ; in England, however, the custom is 
 different. So you had better wait till I am 
 Mrs. Katzen before adopting such a form of 
 endearment." 
 
 Again he broke into laughter ; partly be- 
 cause he felt relieved she had not quite taken 
 
152 MITRE COURT. 
 
 him at his word, greatly because this especial 
 sort of badinage possesses for many men an 
 inexplicable charm. 
 
 " What a funny girl you are !" he ex- 
 claimed. "One never knows how to take 
 you ;" and then, still stitching away, she 
 laughed too, while the canary excelled all 
 previous efforts in the way of melody. 
 
 "You seem" — at this juncture interposed 
 a thin, sarcastic voice — " to be particularly 
 merry here. I hope I don't intrude." 
 
 " On the contrary," said Mr. Katzen, rising 
 and holding out his hand in greeting to Mr. 
 Brisco. " I have been waiting your return, 
 and Miss Weir has kindly enlivened the time 
 by airing some quite original views concern- 
 ing marriage." 
 
 " Concerning marriage — humph ! Will 
 you kindly walk into my office for a few 
 minutes, Mr. Katzen," he went on, " if you 
 want to speak to me ?" 
 
 As they passed out together, the pity she 
 so often felt for the friendless, desolate man 
 stirred Abby's young heart to its very depths. 
 Something in his worn face and wasted figure 
 — some suggested contrast between Mr. Kat- 
 
MR. KATZEN' S LOVE. 
 
 zen, confident of success, and her benefactor, 
 poor, struggling, lonely — stung her like the 
 cut of a whip, and running after them, she 
 said to Mr. Brisco : 
 
 " You won't go out again without having 
 something to eat ? Dinner is quite ready." 
 
 For a moment he looked at her in surprise. 
 Her manner was so earnest. 
 
 " Promise me," she persisted. " You know, 
 when you fast from morning till night you are 
 always ill." 
 
 " I promise then," he answered ; but he 
 spoke the words reluctantly. 
 
 "She is right," said Mr. Katzen, as the 
 girl left them. " It is not well to go for 
 many hours without food. What a strange 
 child she is !" 
 
 " Most strange," agreed Mr. Brisco, " to 
 devote her life to one against whom Fate has 
 such a spite." 
 
 " I don't know that exactly," dissented 
 Mr. Katzen. " She owes so much to you, 
 that it would be strange indeed were she not 
 grateful." 
 
 " She owes so little to me," returned Mr. 
 Brisco, " that I wonder she is grateful at all." 
 
1 5 4 MITRE COURT. 
 
 " I have but to repeat, it would be odd 
 if she were not grateful. You had better 
 make as much of her as you can while she is 
 with you." 
 
 " While she is with me ? — what do you 
 mean ? Where is she going ?" 
 
 " She will go the way of all women," 
 laughed Mr. Katzen. " Do you suppose 
 you will be able to keep her for ever ? Do 
 you think young men are blind ? It is all 
 very well for us to talk of her as a child ; but 
 you may be wise, Mr. Brisco, to notice she 
 has shot up into a girl — a pretty girl, a pre- 
 cocious girl — who has got it in her to go very 
 far wrong as well as very far right." 
 
 " I never thought of her marrying," said 
 Mr. Brisco ; " such an idea never entered my 
 mind, save perhaps as a remote contingency 
 — at some distant time. Have you any rea- 
 son to think — • — -" 
 
 " No — not I," answered Mr. Katzen as the 
 other paused, leaving his interrogatory un- 
 spoken ; "but when I see a good-looking 
 girl, the conclusion is not hard to draw that 
 
 other people may see she is good-looking 
 
 11 
 too. 
 
MR. KATZEN'S LOVE. 155 
 
 Half an hour passed slowly by. The 
 canary was still singing, Abby still sewing, 
 the dinner still simmering on the hob — and 
 still Mr. Brisco did not put in an appearance. 
 
 At the end of that time the girl rose, lifted 
 the lid of the saucepan, shook her head 
 doubtfully, and began to lay the cloth. 
 
 She made as much noise as she could with 
 plates, forks, and spoons, and often paused 
 in her task to listen for the opening of a door. 
 
 At length she heard one open and shut. 
 
 " He will be here presently, pretty Dick," 
 she confided to her bird, and then, looking 
 round, she beheld Mr. Katzen once again. 
 
 " So you've made up your mind to go at 
 last," she said. " I thought perhaps you 
 were intending to stop all day." 
 
 " Such pleasure is not for a poor drudge 
 like me. Good-bye, my darling lofe," and 
 he threw a kiss towards her ; " farewell for 
 the present, Baroness von Katzenstein." 
 
 " Good-day, Duke of Rhineland," retorted 
 Miss Weir. " You have spoiled our dinner. 
 Do go before you spoil my temper too !" 
 
 " Ah ! my God, that would be a mis- 
 fortune !" he remarked, and went his way. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 SUNDAY. 
 
 OUND and about the old house in 
 % I2S^$S Botolph Lane churches lie thick 
 Q^k, as leaves in autumn. 
 
 And with few exceptions autumn leaves 
 could scarce seem more sere and dead than 
 they. Here and there some notable preacher 
 or well-trained choir attracts a congregation, 
 but as a rule the old citizens mouldering to 
 dust are not more lifeless than the weekly 
 services attended by some dozen adults and 
 the school-children. 
 
 And all the while there is a great multitude 
 waiting without, willing to answer if only 
 called in some intelligible language — a mighty 
 multitude that would fill the now empty seats 
 to overflowing- — a restless and curious -multi- 
 
SUNDAY. 157 
 
 tude it may be, like the Athenians, over-fond 
 of novelty, yet owning souls to be saved, 
 and minds to be filled, and hearts to be 
 satisfied. 
 
 Empty as most of the City churches are 
 now, they were emptier in the days when 
 Mrs. Jefifley kept her lodging-house in 
 Fowkes' Buildings. 
 
 Plenty of choice and to spare had her 
 captains and mates and other residents in the 
 matter of pews and spiritual refreshment. 
 Some went here, some there, some nowhere. 
 Each Sunday morning regularly Mr. Jeffley 
 repaired to All Hallows, Barking. It was 
 an easy distance, just across the street ; but 
 Mrs. Jeffley was never able to manage the 
 walk. 
 
 She had something else to do, she said, than 
 go to church ; she wondered " Jack could be so 
 absurd as to suppose it was possible for her 
 to leave the house. If he were like anybody 
 else, he would know she could not go out 
 while there was an early dinner to cook for 
 so many people." 
 
 " But you do not cook it," ventured Mr. 
 Jeffley, on one occasion. 
 
158 MITRE COURT. 
 
 " That has nothing to do with the matter," 
 retorted Mrs. Jeffley. " Who'd see to things, 
 I'd be glad to know, if I was like some 
 women, thinking of myself and going to 
 church and the theatres, and all sorts of 
 amusements ? There are wives so situated 
 they can leave their houses without every- 
 thing going to wreck and ruin, but I am not 
 one of them. I only wish I was. It is not 
 from choice I stop moping indoors ; but 
 there ! what is the good of talking ? As you 
 are of no use at home, do take the children 
 out of my way." 
 
 Which Mr. Jeffley was wont to do, nothing 
 loth, though he would have preferred con- 
 ducting his progeny to church more suitably 
 attired. A plain man himself, flowers, 
 feathers, and finery seemed to his mind out 
 of place in the severe dignity of All Hallows, 
 Barking. 
 
 Having, however, found remonstrance of 
 no avail, honest Jack resigned himself to this 
 dispensation as he had to others. It was 
 not his way to quarrel. The soft answer 
 which is usually supposed to turn away wrath, 
 was that in which he most excelled, and if he 
 
SUNDAY. 159 
 
 sometimes carried a sore heart with him into 
 the house of God, at least he never took 
 there the memoy of any bitter word he could 
 have wished to recall. 
 
 Often Frank Scott, who generally ac- 
 companied him to the square pew where 
 the children sat well in evidence, would, 
 remembering the fray which usually preceded 
 poor Mr. Jeffley's dismissal to public worship, 
 involuntarily edge a little closer to his 
 friend. 
 
 No sentence had ever passed between 
 them concerning the perfections or imperfec- 
 tions of the self-styled best of wives ; but 
 Frank Scott knew Jack understood his 
 silence meant no absence of sympathy, and 
 Jack mentally thanked Frank for that silence 
 more than he would have thanked any man 
 for speech. 
 
 When once the dinner, on which Mrs. 
 Jeffley found it necessary to concentrate all 
 the strength of her intellect, was over, the 
 members of the establishment were free to 
 do whatever seemed best to them. After 
 that stupendous culinary effort Mrs. Jeffley 
 felt her hands were free. 
 
160 MITRE COURT. 
 
 " Tea will be ready at half-past five," she 
 was wont to say, " for any person who wants 
 it." As a rule, very few did want it, grog 
 being a beverage much more to the taste of 
 Mrs. Jeffrey's seafaring friends than Congou. 
 Supper was laid at nine — cold always. 
 
 Each individual has his own way of 
 keeping the Christian Sabbath holy. Mrs. 
 Jeffrey kept it with cold meat, salad, and 
 pickles. 
 
 "There is never any cooking in my house," 
 she frequently declared, " on Sundays after 
 two o'clock dinner ; other people can do as 
 they like, of course, but I am not going to 
 have chops and steaks and kidneys grilling 
 from morning till night on Sundays for any- 
 body." 
 
 Water for internal use was the only thing 
 to be found hot in Mrs. Jeffrey's domain after 
 the hour she mentioned, but of it a generous 
 supply was provided. 
 
 Those who remained at home, and those 
 who passed the evening out, alike seemed to 
 require quantities of that innocent fluid. 
 
 " Pah !" said Mr. Katzen. " On Sunday 
 night the house reeks of rum and whisky ;" 
 
SUNDAY. 161 
 
 and he might have added of tobacco as well, 
 and afterwards inserted an addendum to the 
 effect that it reeked every night in like 
 manner. 
 
 So long as Jack "took himself out" of his 
 wife's way, she cared very little where he 
 spent the hours after his dinner on Sunday. 
 
 Usually he went a few miles into the 
 country to see some farmer friend, taking 
 one or more of the children with him. 
 
 Mr. Katzen had friends likewise, though 
 unconnected with agriculture ; and when he 
 did not visit them he was wont, weather and 
 season permitting, to stroll into Hyde Park 
 and picture to himself the time when he too 
 would have his equipage — his coachman, his 
 footman, and pair of chestnuts. 
 
 On the Sunday following that Whitsuntide, 
 when what he mentally styled " a great piece 
 of luck " came to him, some vague idea of 
 repairing to morning service and seeing Abby 
 in her best bib and tucker crossed his mind ; 
 but he refrained — first, because he had not a 
 notion which church Miss Weir attended ; 
 and second, because though flirting with and 
 even offering to marry her under the rose 
 
 VOL. i. 1 1 
 
1 62 MITRE COURT. 
 
 was one thing, appearing in public as her 
 lover seemed quite another. He meant no 
 wrong by the girl ; if he had, he was aware 
 it would have been of no use ; and in any 
 case, though not a man timid of consequences, 
 he knew the storm, in such event certain to 
 ensue, might be dangerous. 
 
 But what he called his heart did not hold 
 any evil intention towards Abby. As a 
 friend, as a comrade, as a wife, he felt she 
 would suit him to perfection, but Abby be- 
 trayed seemed quite another matter. 
 
 " I shouldn't care to be the man," he 
 considered ; " and yet girls as high-spirited 
 as she have, without any great amount of 
 persuasion either, trodden the downward path 
 and proved meek enough at the bottom." 
 
 With a feeling almost of dread, Mr. Katzen 
 turned from the picture himself had drawn. 
 
 " What can that old fool be thinking of?" 
 ne considered, " to leave her alone as he 
 does ? She might get into any mischief and 
 he be not a bit the wiser. When I give up 
 my office, who will be on the spot to know 
 who comes and who goes ? It is necessary 
 for thee to get rich, my Karl, and remove 
 
SUNDAY. 163 
 
 her from temptation ; but till I am a little 
 firmer I must not go too fast, I must refrain 
 from spending time with my pretty vixen. 
 And she also, she will like me the better 
 when she sees that, after all, a man's whole 
 world is not bounded by the light in a 
 woman's eyes. My faith, neither is it ! If 
 there were not a woman on earth, plenty of 
 things would remain worth striving for — and 
 money can buy them. That is so, my Karl ; 
 money friend, money — the root of all evil, 
 the root of all good !" 
 
 As if in support of his theory, Miss Weir 
 did on that especial Trinity Sunday morning, 
 when she entered church, give one swift 
 glance round as if searching for an expected 
 face. She was adorned in youth ; a pretty 
 coquettish bonnet, small, and of a shape just 
 then in vogue. Her dress, of some cheap 
 effective material, fitted her to perfection. 
 Everything about her was trim, and what 
 anyone of Mrs. Jeffley's admirers might truly 
 have called "taut" — no flying ribbons, or 
 waving plumes, or ends of lace. The set of 
 her gown, the fit of her boots and gloves, 
 reminded one of a Frenchwoman ; but she 
 
 1 1 — 2 
 
1 64 MITRE COURT. 
 
 was fresh and bright and wholesome, and 
 good to look upon, as though that moment 
 come out of some great English country- 
 house. There mi^ht be much in her lot, and 
 something in her cruel past, a good mother 
 could have wished different, but there was 
 nothing in her face. 
 
 Across it sunshine and shadow were for 
 ever playing at hide-and-seek. Now the 
 eyes were dancing with amusement and 
 smiles that showed cunning dimples in the 
 cheeks, and made any male onlooker believe 
 the girl could never seem prettier than 
 when full of fun, nearly rippling over into 
 laughter. 
 
 But when she was serious — when sad or 
 grave or sorry — there arose out of the depths 
 of her nature an expression which gave to 
 every feature a beauty hitherto lacking. It 
 seemed as though at such times it was her 
 real soul which looked out of the window of 
 her eyes — the spirit known only to God— 
 which for a brief instant made itself dimly 
 perceived. Then, as through a veil darkly, 
 there could be caught a glimpse of a nature 
 able to bear, not merely patiently, but cheer- 
 
SUNDA Y. 165 
 
 fully, such loneliness and deprivation and 
 hardship as fall to the lot of few. 
 
 Out of the unlikeliest materials she had 
 built a palace of content. In her life, as in 
 the room where she spent most of her solitary 
 hours, there was nothing - the world would 
 have accounted beautiful or desirable, yet she 
 so set out and decked her existence, just 
 as she did the few articles her apartment 
 contained, that she ended by making believe 
 she had everything at command the heart of 
 woman need desire to render her happy. 
 
 Pass out from some great house where you 
 have seen the children of rich people — pale 
 and peevish, tired of luxury, weary of their 
 toys, disgusted by the very profusion of gifts 
 they have received — and, wandering into the 
 nearest street in which Poverty dwells, ask 
 yourself whether even in this world there is 
 no compensation for the poor ? Behold yon 
 group of happy, grimy little girls gathered 
 round the proud possessor of that old, filthy, 
 battered wooden doll, which has met with 
 every casualty possible to its species. It has 
 lain among the cinders— it has been thrust 
 between the bars of the orate — it has been 
 
1 66 MITRE COURT. 
 
 flung against brick walls by rude boys, and 
 got its nose battered — it has not as much 
 hair on its pate as could suffice to split a 
 cane ; yet it remains beautiful to the imagina- 
 tion of its followers. It is hugged to sleep 
 in the arms of some tiny child scarce less 
 ugly, and quite as dirty as itself. Or view 
 this group of young persons, not one of 
 whose ages exceeds five years. They are 
 kneeling or squatting on the pavement — 
 which can make their garments no grimier 
 than before — engaged in the entrancing occu- 
 pation of making a mud pie. They are as 
 filthy as the pie, but that adds to the pleasure 
 of their lives. They know at any moment a 
 shrill voice, followed by the possessor of a 
 strong hand, may come to interrupt their joy ; 
 but they catch the fleeting moments — the 
 very incertitude intensifies their rapture. 
 
 The upshot of all of which is, that they 
 who have the least enjoy it the most ; that 
 the mind can spread a feast out of the 
 humblest viands : that for the benefit of 
 those of low estate and of no account, 
 miracles, which to the rich might well seem 
 tantamount to the marvel of five thousand 
 
SUNDAY. 167 
 
 being fed on five barley-loaves and two small 
 fishes, are daily repeated. 
 
 For Abigail Weir most certainly they 
 were. In the time which ensued after she 
 sought and found a shelter in Botolph Lane, 
 she had not even the semblance of a wooden 
 doll wherewith, like other children, to play 
 at mother, nurse, schoolmistress, aunt and 
 sister ; but she made her own play for her- 
 self. The very stones of the courtyard 
 seemed capable of providing the poor waif 
 with amusement. The old house — with its 
 leads, its long passages, its steep back-stairs, 
 its brewhouse, its inlaid circles on the draw- 
 ing-room chimney-piece, its marble hearths, 
 its wainscots, its panelling — was to her a 
 kingdom, the resources of which seemed in- 
 exhaustible. 
 
 The moment she grew strong enough to 
 stand on her poor thin little legs she began 
 to sing, and then to try to be useful. Since 
 those days the years had passed, and she 
 was, as Mr. Katzen truthfully said, a child 
 " not any more," but she was merry and 
 helpful still. 
 
 On that Trinity Sunday, the few persons 
 
1 68 MITRE COURT. 
 
 who were in church knew and spoke to her. 
 She was a stray, friendless and desolate no 
 longer, but a bright, pretty girl, who, having 
 worked hard for six days, always looked for- 
 ward to the beofinninQ" of a week as the 
 happiest of happy seasons. 
 
 She had left the dinner cooking itself, and 
 on her return home served it almost immedi- 
 ately. It was a simple meal, as simple almost 
 as meal could be ; yet Mr. Brisco declared 
 such an expenditure could not possibly con- 
 tinue. 
 
 " Put any money you have to spare in the 
 savings-bank," he said almost harshly; "but 
 don't spend it on luxurious meals. You will 
 want it all some day. Supposing anything 
 were to happen to me, and you were forced 
 to turn out of here, how would you pay, even 
 for lodgings, if you did not possess a sixpence 
 between you and starvation ?" 
 
 " I don't mean anything to happen to 
 you," she answered ; " but if anything did 
 happen," she went on, recognising the evil 
 mood which held possession of Mr. Brisco, 
 " we know who tempers the wind to the 
 shorn lamb. Was not I a shorn lamb when 
 
SUNDAY. 169 
 
 I came here ? and only think what a warm 
 fold I have lain snug in ever since !" 
 
 As she spoke, she laid her hand impul- 
 sively on Mr. Brisco's arm. 
 
 With distressing promptitude he removed 
 and eave it back to her aQ-ain. He was wont 
 thus to repress any approach to familiarity. 
 If he did not say in so many words that such 
 demonstrations were unpleasant to him, he 
 told her the fact by actions which were un- 
 mistakable. They had lived together during 
 years, yet though the girl loved him with all 
 her heart, they w T ere scarcely nearer than the 
 first night they met. 
 
 Mr. Brisco barely tasted the frugal dinner, 
 and before Abigail had finished her meal he 
 took his hat and went out. Shortly after his 
 departure, Miss Weir also emerged from the 
 gloom of the house, so old, so changed, so 
 lonely, so forlorn, into the bright sunshine 
 which bathed Tower Street, as if in a sea of 
 molten eold. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 LESS THAN KIN. 
 
 iN the very heart of the City there 
 are on Sunday walks to be found 
 as quiet and as desolate as though 
 Cheapside were Box Hill, or Lombard Street 
 Salisbury Plain. 
 
 From Ironmonger Lane to St. Martin's- 
 le-Grand anyone may thread his way through 
 passages where scarce a creature is to be 
 encountered, and if he likes to continue his 
 peregrinations, he can by a series of similar 
 courts and alleys get in equal silence to 
 Basinghall Street. 
 
 It was this precise route Abigail Weir 
 followed in the calm stillness of that glorious 
 afternoon. 
 
 In some of the churches service was aa-ain 
 
LESS THA N KIN. 1 7 1 
 
 in progress, and every now and then a burst 
 of psalmody or a long-drawn-out " Amen " 
 rent for a moment the heavy cloud of calm 
 stillness which hung over the great City. 
 
 Slowly the girl paced the narrow passages, 
 not alone. At a glance it might have been 
 seen she was accustomed thus to walk fre- 
 quently, for between herself and her com- 
 panion there evidently existed such an amount 
 of intimacy as rendered constant conversation 
 superfluous. 
 
 Abigail looked very sweet. Her heart 
 was full, and the tender light of a sorrowful 
 and infinite compassion lay softly upon her 
 young face. The man — naturally it was a 
 man who kept step with her, shortening his 
 own strides in order to do so — from time to 
 time stole a glance at her. Something had 
 vexed her, and he scarcely cared to ask what 
 it was. Friends, however, cannot long keep 
 silence under such circumstances, and at 
 length he asked tentatively : 
 
 " What are you thinking of, Abby ? What 
 is the worry ?" 
 
 She looked up at him with a suspicion of 
 tears in those eyes which, though in no sense 
 
172 MITRE COURT. 
 
 "fine," were after all, this man felt, the 
 dearest, truest eyes friend or lover could 
 wish to meet. 
 
 " Worth all the browns and blacks and blues 
 ever painted or sung," thought this mad adorer, 
 forgetful of the thousand shades and shapes 
 each of those despised colours can assume. 
 
 " There is no worry," answered Abby. " I 
 was thinking of Mr. Brisco." 
 
 " You are always thinking of him," said the 
 young man — he was young — a little reproach- 
 fully. 
 
 " Not always, though very often," amended 
 the girl. 
 
 " If he were your father he could not be 
 more constantly in your mind." 
 
 " If he were my father I should not fret 
 about him as I do." 
 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " Because in that case he would surely let 
 me do something he will not now." 
 
 " What something ?" 
 
 " Let me show that I am fond of him," she 
 said softly, and then her full heart could 
 contain itself no longer, and she poured her 
 trouble into sympathetic ears. 
 
LESS THAN KIN. 173 
 
 "It was not what you would account a 
 nice dinner," she went on, "but I had taken 
 pains to get something I thought he would 
 
 like — and — and — it seems stupid, but "she 
 
 broke off abruptly, and then added, " I wish 
 — I wish I knew how I could please him. 
 I do try hard." 
 
 " Don't you know, Abby," said the young 
 man, " there are some persons so unfortu- 
 nately constituted that they cannot be pleased, 
 who, unhappy themselves, make everyone else 
 unhappy ? I am afraid this is the case with 
 Mr. Brisco." 
 
 "No, the fault is in myself; perhaps I 
 am too anxious, or perhaps he cannot forget 
 what a forlorn, wretched creature I was when 
 I skulked into his house like a starved cat." 
 
 " Why do you talk of the past ?" 
 
 " I cannot tell, unless because it has been 
 so present with me lately. This is not 
 winter, or a cold day, is it ? and yet, do you 
 know, I can feel the cruel icy chill of that 
 night now as I walk. There was a time 
 when I had almost forgotten it ; but the 
 memory of my degraded childhood has been 
 growing stronger and stronger ever since I 
 
i"4 MITRE COURT. 
 
 came to know you. I wonder how it 
 happens." 
 
 The listener thought he understood very 
 well how it happened ; but he remained 
 silent. 
 
 " What would have become of me," went 
 on the girl, " if I had not happened to turn 
 in under the archway ? And oh ! what a 
 fright it gave me, to hear the gate shut 
 before I could creep away again ! I shall 
 never forget wandering round the courtyard 
 and peeping out of the cold and darkness 
 into the old house. I thought no palace 
 could be more beautiful, and then at last 
 came that one night — I slipped in, and popped 
 down into the cellar while the men were busy 
 taking the last of the office furniture through 
 the other door ; but I have told you all this 
 before," she sighed. 
 
 "Yes, and I never want to hear a word 
 about it again. Poor Abby, you must have 
 spent many a wretched day in the house since 
 that night." 
 
 " No — after I knew I should be allowed to 
 stop I was never unhappy. The life was 
 heaven, after what I had gone through ; and 
 
LESS THAN KIN. 
 
 now I haven't a care in the world except the 
 one— that I cannot make Mr. Brisco's lot 
 brighter. If I could only see a different look 
 in his worn face ! I wish some one would 
 leave him a fortune — a great fortune. I 
 wonder how it happens he is so poor ?" 
 
 " Many people — most people are poor," 
 was the answer. 
 
 " Ah ! but not such people as Mr. Brisco. 
 I cannot tell you how clever he is ! When I 
 am alone I often fall a-dreaming about him, 
 and I sometimes dream — do not laugh at me 
 — that something must have gone all wrong 
 
 o o o 
 
 in his life when he was as young as you, per- 
 haps. A man can get a limb broken — why 
 can't a life be broken too ?" 
 
 " How absurd you are, Abby!" 
 
 " No, I am not. Now and then, when he 
 has been walking about at night, I have heard 
 words I could not help hearing. Frank," 
 she broke off to say, " I want to tell you 
 something I have never told to anyone." 
 
 " Do not tell it to me," he said, " if it is 
 something Mr. Brisco would not care to have 
 repeated." 
 
 " I shall tell it to you — at least, there are 
 
176 MITRE COURT. 
 
 two things instead of one. I must go back 
 to the time when I went to the old house — 
 you know what a tiny atom I was ?" 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 " I was stunted, and so thin you might 
 have seen through me if you held me up 
 between you and the light — I was a complete 
 scarecrow, a bundle of rags and tatters — I had 
 not clothing enough to keep out the cold — 
 and it was a piercing, piercing winter." 
 
 " Oh! my dear, why will you speak about 
 those cruel days ?" 
 
 " Because it is part of my story. Well, the 
 first morning Mr. Brisco saw me — for I kept 
 as much as I could out of his way — I was 
 shaking both with fright and cold. 
 
 " ' What's the matter with you, child ?' he 
 asked. I tried to answer him, but I could 
 not, so he went away, and after a little while 
 returned with an old jacket in his hand, 
 and said, ' Slip that on ; it will keep you 
 warm.' 
 
 " ' It is a boy's jacket,' I answered, not 
 meaning at all to offend him, but just because 
 I felt surprised. 
 
 "'Whether it is or not is no business of 
 
LESS THAN KIN. 177 
 
 yours/ he told me, quite in a pet. ' Put it on 
 and stop shivering.' 
 
 He spoke so roughly, and seemed so vexed, 
 I cried and begged his pardon ; but he went 
 out of the room and banged the door behind 
 him." 
 
 " And did you wear the jacket ?" 
 " Yes, till it fell to tatters — it was moth- 
 eaten when he gave it to me ; but while it 
 held together it kept me beautifully warm. 
 Well, that is the first thing. The next is 
 this : a long time afterwards, when I was 
 moving some old boxes in his room to get 
 the dust from behind them, I found that the 
 lid of one came up in my hand ; it was locked, 
 but the hinges had given from the wood. In 
 a moment the room seemed to be filled with 
 a smell like the scent of dead roses and dried 
 lavender, and spices and old coffins. I just 
 peeped in ; I could not resist doing that. 
 The box was piled full of women's clothes — 
 dresses and linen, and lace and ribbons. I 
 wonder who the 'she' was that owned them. 
 I'd have given anything" to rummage to the 
 bottom of those things packed maybe before 
 I was born." 
 vol. 1. 12 
 
178 MITRE COURT. 
 
 " But you did not, dear. I am sure you 
 did not." 
 
 " No ; I shut down the lid again, and 
 pushed the box back in its place. Well, and 
 more than that, I have often heard Mr. 
 Brisco at night muttering about some one 
 called Faith : Faith may have been his sister 
 or his wife. He does not look, though, as if 
 he had ever been married ; does he ?" 
 
 " How do people look when they are 
 married ?" asked the young man with a smile, 
 which was not mirthful. 
 
 " I scarcely know; but not like Mr. Brisco, 
 at any rate." 
 
 "Certainly," answered the young man ; "I 
 never before saw a man who seemed so 
 utterly lonely and miserable." 
 
 " He is indeed most lonely," agreed the 
 girl sadly. " He keeps me at arm's length ; 
 yet," she added, brightening up a little, " I 
 think he speaks to me oftener than he used. 
 Once or thrice he has asked me what I am 
 making ; and though he did speak so sharply 
 to me this afternoon, still on Friday, after 
 looking me over in his strange way, he said, 
 ' Why, you are growing quite a woman !' " 
 
LESS THAN KIN. 179 
 
 " He is right ; so you are. Did he add 
 anything after that original remark ?" 
 
 "Yes." But Miss Weir did not explain 
 its nature. 
 
 " What was it ? Come, Abby, you need 
 not be so stiff with me." 
 
 " Only " and she stopped and blushed, 
 
 even while she laughed. 
 
 " Only — that is nothing : finish your sen- 
 tence." 
 
 " He said," and her blush deepened, 
 " ' Don't let the young men make a fool of 
 you. 
 
 "Excellent advice — excellent as terse. 
 And you, Abby ?" 
 
 " I told him I would take very good care 
 no man, old or young, made a fool of me." 
 
 " And what did he answer ?" 
 
 " That he believed it w T ould require some 
 trouble ; but I must remember, the race was 
 not always to the swift, or the battle to the 
 strong ; and that, sharp though I was, I might 
 meet with some one cleverer than myself." 
 
 " He did not offer you the benefit of his 
 experience, should you ever feel you stood in 
 need of it?" 
 
 12 — 2 
 
i8o MITRE COURT. 
 
 " No ; that was all he said. He was 
 crossing the hall when he stopped to speak, 
 and he went out of the house when he had 
 finished." 
 
 " And you sat down to ponder over his 
 words ?" 
 
 " I did no such thing. I went to Aldgate 
 to buy this bonnet-shape." 
 
 " With which to make a fool of some man," 
 suggested her friend. 
 
 " Perhaps so — perhaps not," she answered, 
 with a little toss of her head. " But," she 
 quickly added, " I won't try to make a fool of 
 you ! 
 
 It may be that the minx knew she had 
 done that already. She must, indeed, have 
 been dense not to understand the whole of 
 Frank Scott's heart was given to her. In 
 his simplicity he believed she could have no 
 knowledge of the fact. He saw nothing but 
 trouble which could come of it for many a 
 long day, and with chivalrous unselfishness 
 he desired to bear that trouble alone. It was 
 through no fault of hers, or folly of his, he 
 chanced to fall in love with the girl. All 
 their intercourse had been conducted on 
 
LESS THAN KIN. 1S1 
 
 principles of the strictest friendship. He 
 was a lonely waif, she as lonely a stray : he 
 earned his living hardly, so did she ; he 
 wanted some one to talk to, that proved to 
 be her case precisely ; he had no sister, she 
 no brother. Heaven evidently must have 
 destined each to be brother, sister, to the 
 other. Mr. Scott had arrived in London 
 without knowing a soul in the length or 
 breadth of that hospitable city ; and the very 
 evening of his arrival he met with a stranger 
 who afterwards proved kind as any relative. 
 Miss Weir had lived all her life in London, 
 and knowing a great many people she wished 
 to avoid, she found herself one night, after 
 numberless odd and unpleasant experiences, 
 an inmate of a house where she was not 
 in the least expected or wanted. After 
 she and Mr. Scott had been acquainted 
 for a short time, she told the young man 
 almost everything about herself, and felt 
 relieved to find he was not so much 
 shocked by the story as might have been 
 expected. 
 
 " You must always look and count upon 
 me as if I were your brother," he said, and 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 not to seem proud or disagreeable, Miss 
 Weir answered that she would. 
 
 When this pact was first entered into, the 
 young lady had, as nearly as she could say, 
 without possessing any baptismal certificate 
 or memory of merry birthdays to which to 
 refer the important question, turned her 
 sixteenth year, while Mr. Frank Scott was, 
 he knew 7 , over twenty-one, and in those 
 days he seemed to Abigail very old indeed. 
 Each time they met, however — and they 
 met often — the disparity appeared to lessen. 
 Miss Weir had been privileged to see a great 
 deal of life, and, as she herself obligingly 
 stated, she was not one to go through the 
 world with her eyes shut. On the one occa- 
 sion when Abigail repeated Mr. Brisco's re- 
 mark, the pair had known each other for a 
 space of nearly twelve months, and yet no 
 one was aware of the fact. 
 
 The girl had sense enough to keep silence 
 to her many acquaintances ; the young man 
 did not know any person in whose ear he 
 would have cared to whisper the secret. At 
 intervals his conscience pricked him when he 
 looked at Mr. Jeffley, but he knew if he told 
 
LESS THAN KIN. 183 
 
 Jack, Jack would tell his wife, and Mrs. 
 Jeffrey would tell the parish ; for which ex- 
 cellent reason he held his peace, and still, 
 only of course in a friendly way, managed 
 pretty frequently to see Miss Weir, who was 
 a law to herself, and whose time, unlike 
 Mr. Scott's, was pretty nearly at her own 
 disposal. 
 
 " Frank," she began maliciously, after a 
 short pause, "you would never try to make a 
 fool of me, would you ?" 
 
 " Why should you ask such a question ?" 
 he retorted a little sharply. " How could I 
 if I would ?" 
 
 " I do not know," she said ; "only I have 
 been wondering whether Mr. Brisco had you 
 in his mind when he spoke ; whether he 
 could have seen me with you." 
 
 " Good heavens ! I hope not," exclaimed 
 Frank. 
 
 " Why should you hope not ?" she inquired. 
 
 " Because — because — I don't suppose he 
 would be pleased to see you with any one, 
 more especially with such a poor out-at- 
 elbows chap as I am." 
 
 " You can't be poorer than he is." 
 
1 84 MITRE COURT. 
 
 " All the more reason why he would object 
 to your knowing me." 
 
 " I can't see that." 
 
 " Well, I can. Here we are in Hounds- 
 ditch. I must leave you now, Abby, I'm 
 afraid. Good-bye." 
 
 " Good-bye," she answered. 
 
 And for the first time there was a touch of 
 constraint, almost of sadness, in her tone. 
 
 " What is the matter with you, dear ?" he 
 said, holding her hand. 
 
 " Nothing — that is, I don't know. We 
 had better not stand here. Some one may 
 pass — and — — " 
 
 With a sigh the young man released her 
 hand, and, waiting only to watch her retreat- 
 ing figure disappear down St. Mary Axe, 
 turned his face towards Aldeate. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 MRS. CHILDS THEORY. 
 
 OMINALLY Mrs. Jeffley was the 
 mistress of her own house and 
 actions : certainly she was master, 
 because Jack counted as nobody ; neverthe- 
 less, it is a fact that she felt afraid to tell 
 Mrs. Childs she had not merely made Miss 
 Weir's acquaintance, but extended patronage 
 to that unworthy young person. 
 
 Mrs. Childs had no right to dictate what, 
 or what not her employer should do. She 
 was accustomed to earn her weekly wage in 
 dirt and outward submission inside Fowkes' 
 Buildings. She never advanced the absurd 
 theory that her body, much less her soul, was 
 her own property. She always appeared fit 
 and ready to do everything ; she " knew 
 
1 86 MITRE COURT. 
 
 better" than to refuse to do anything from 
 the first hour Mrs. Jeffley and she " came to 
 terms." She was that lady's slave, drudge, 
 and echo ; but still, had she been a severe 
 schoolmistress, and the bustling Maria a 
 child secretly guilty of some grave dis- 
 obedience, the latter could not have looked 
 forward to the hour of disclosure with greater 
 disquietude. 
 
 She knew that hour must come, no matter 
 with what care and cunning she might try to 
 retard its striking. She adopted all sorts of 
 little expedients— such as naming special 
 hours ; contriving herself to be in the way 
 when Abigail was expected ; keeping Mrs. 
 Childs out of sight and hearing till the 
 danger for the day had passed ; calling her- 
 self in Botolph Lane ; and on one occasion 
 even chartering a lad to carry back a parcel 
 of finished work for her rather than allow 
 Abigail to bring it. 
 
 Spite of all precautions, however, the 
 acquaintance was not a month old before 
 Miss Weir and Mrs. Childs met face to face. 
 They did not speak, of course. Miss Weir 
 passed into the hall with a calm indifference 
 
MRS. CHILD '5' THEORY. 187 
 
 practice had rendered perfect. Mrs. Childs 
 stepped out from the hall with an air of what 
 would have been haughty contempt, but for 
 the misfortune that the sight of " Missy 
 dressed out in cool muslin and impidence " 
 marred the effect of what rnig;ht have been a 
 fine situation. 
 
 " You saw Mrs. Childs, I suppose, as you 
 came in ?" said Mrs. Jeffley to Miss Weir, 
 when they were both seated in Jack's own 
 parlour. 
 
 She put the sentence as a question, though 
 indeed she knew perfectly well the encounter 
 must have taken place. 
 
 " Oh yes — I saw her," answered Abigail. 
 
 " Do you not think she looks a great deal 
 better than she used ?" 
 
 " It did not strike me." 
 
 Now this, had Miss Weir only known it, 
 seemed to Mrs. Jeffley a very cruel blow. 
 She was so accustomed to hear Mrs. Childs 
 —a woman who could not have been fattened 
 had anyone cooped her — speak as though, 
 since her translation from Botolph Lane to 
 the heaven of Fowkes' Buildings, she could 
 only be regarded as a female Daniel Lam- 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 bert, that Abigail's lack of perception as 
 to the improvement in the worthy woman's 
 physical condition struck her as singularly 
 unkind. 
 
 " I assure you," said Mrs. Jeffley with 
 eager earnestness, " since she came to me 
 she is quite another person ; she acknow- 
 ledges that herself." 
 
 " You could not have the statement on 
 better authority," answered Miss Weir 
 drily. 
 
 "At any rate, she ought to be strong," 
 went on Mrs. Jeffley. (t She lives well 
 enough here." 
 
 "I have no doubt of that!" agreed the 
 girl, as though there had been something else 
 she did doubt. 
 
 Mrs. Jeffley, finding that the subject of 
 her charwoman's charms failed to excite the 
 keen interest it should have done in Miss 
 Weir's breast, began to turn over the " little 
 things," just completed by that clever young 
 lady, with an appearance of great attention. 
 
 "You are a treasure!" she said at last. 
 " I cannot express how much obliged I feel 
 to you." 
 
MRS. CHILD '5' THEORY. 189 
 
 " The obligation is quite as much on my 
 side," answered Abigail. 
 
 " I only wish I could keep you here 
 always. What a help and comfort you would 
 be to me !" 
 
 " I do not think I should," said the girl 
 bluntly. 
 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " Well, for one thing, because I like my 
 way, and, unless I ami very much mistaken, 
 you like your way too." 
 
 " But surely our ways need not clash." 
 
 " I fancy they would ; at any rate, I know 
 they might. But as we are never likely 
 to be together more than we are now, 
 it is scarcely worth while wasting our 
 time considering whether they would or 
 not. 
 
 " No one can tell what may happen. It is 
 the unlikely things that generally happen — 
 now, isn't it ? Anyhow, I know I would 
 give a good deal to have just such a bright 
 active girl as yourself in the house to take 
 part of the burden off my shoulders." 
 
 This was precisely what Mrs. Childs 
 understood Mrs. Jeffley either happened to 
 
igo MITRE COURT. 
 
 be thinking at that moment, or would be 
 thinking ere she was much older. 
 
 No one possessed a quicker eye for, or a 
 more subtle insight into, the weaknesses of 
 her employers than Mrs. Childs, and she had 
 devoted an amount of observation and a 
 space of time to poor Mrs. Jeffley's failings 
 that finally rendered her quite at home in the 
 darkest recesses of that lady's mind. 
 
 " She'd have the young slut there," 
 thought the drudge, as she sped on the 
 errand which had called her out, " before 
 you could wink twice — a-sitting in the best 
 room in the house, and spying and prying, 
 and here and there and everywhere all in a 
 minute, and laughing and saucing with the 
 men, and driving me to look, at my age, for 
 some other place to earn my bread, which 
 the Lord knows is often dry and hard 
 enough now. And Mrs. Jeffley wouldn't 
 care a bit ; no, not a pin's point, so long as 
 she got her own turn served, or thought she 
 did. I wonder how they got together. It's 
 that Katzen's doings, I'll be bound. Mrs. 
 Jeffley is crazy about him — anybody can see 
 that with half an eye — and he's sweet on 
 
MRS. CHILD 5' THEORY. 191 
 
 Missy. He always was, from the day he 
 saw her dancing across the hall with the lid 
 of an old tin saucepan, making believe it was 
 a tambourine. I'd have tambourined her if 
 she'd been my child. However, Miss Abigail 
 Weir, if that's her right name — which 
 for all anybody can tell may be anything — 
 ain't in Fowkes' Buildings yet ; and it's my 
 belief she knows on which side her bread's 
 buttered far too well ever to be. Still, mind 
 you," finished Mrs. Childs, mentally address- 
 ing the combined wit, wisdom, and wealth of 
 the ward of Billingsgate, which she was at 
 the moment perambulating as swiftly as 
 though beating the boundaries, " if she took 
 it into her head to be mistress of that house, 
 as she is of another in which she has no 
 more right than my Sophiar, it would be 
 neither you nor me would hinder her. All 
 the same, however, I'll do my best to put a 
 spoke in her wheel." 
 
 Half an hour is no very long period of 
 time. Yet before it had elapsed Mrs. Jeffley 
 and her charwoman had determined on the 
 tactics it behoved each of them to pursue. 
 
 When Mrs. Childs returned from executing 
 
192 MITRE COURT. 
 
 the errand which had necessitated a visit to 
 Crooked Lane, she found Mrs. Jeffley lying 
 back in an arm-chair seeming utterly ex- 
 hausted. 
 
 "Aren't you feeling very well, ma'am?" 
 asked the Fowkes' Buildings Iris, in accents 
 of the profoundest sympathy. 
 
 " I am so tired — I feel quite knocked up," 
 answered Mrs. Jeffley ; and indeed she did 
 look somewhat pale and worn. 
 
 " Ah ! I was afraid it was coming, 'm. I 
 didn't like to speak, because I know you 
 never wish no notice took, even if you're 
 ready to drop, as one may say ; but I thought 
 to myself, when I looked at you this morning, 
 ' Mistress has been overdoing it aofain.' 
 Those were the very words passed through 
 my mind. You ought to be more careful of 
 yourself — you ought indeed." 
 
 " I am as careful of myself as I can," 
 answered Mrs. Jeffley a little pettishly. 
 " What is the use of talking nonsense ? 
 How is it possible for me to be always con- 
 sidering my health, with this great house full 
 of boarders, and Susan going, and not a 
 living creature to help me but you ?" 
 
JIHS. CHILD S' THEORY. 193 
 
 " And I am sure, ma'am, I wish I could 
 help you more ; though I do my best, it's 
 little, I'm aware." 
 
 "You do a great deal," returned Mrs. 
 Jeffley, in a tone which somehow implied 
 less praise to Mrs. Childs than blame to 
 some one else. " I wonder if that girl has got 
 any boiling water ?" 
 
 "If she hasn't, I can soon make some 
 boil." 
 
 " And do you think you could bring me a 
 cup of tea ?" 
 
 " Of course I could, 'm ; but if I might take it 
 on myself to speak, I wouldn't run down as you 
 are — no, I wouldn't take any tea at this time of 
 the day. Nobody relishes a cup more than I 
 do, especially when good, as it always is here ; 
 but it's not fit for one who has so much on 
 her mind as you, 'm. It lies dreadful heavy 
 round the heart, and you should remember 
 you're up and down stairs constant. There 
 was my first cousin, Martha was her name. 
 She died of dropsy, and her one moan was 
 for tea. ' Do — do make me some, Jane,' she 
 used to cry, quite pitiful. The doctor said it 
 hurried her off." 
 
 vol. 1. i-x 
 
194 MITRE COURT. 
 
 " Well, I have not got dropsy, or anything 
 else the matter with me, except worry," re- 
 torted Mrs. Jeffley, raising herself into an 
 upright posture ; " and that I shall have till I 
 die," she added, with a sort of desperation, 
 flinging herself back again against the chair. 
 
 Mrs. Childs did not answer ; she only 
 shook her head sadly, with a gesture it was a 
 pity none stood near to see. In our midst 
 there live most meritorious actresses who 
 never have been, and never will be, seen on 
 any other than the domestic stage. 
 
 Had all belonging to her been that moment 
 swept into eternity, Mrs. Childs could not 
 have left the room with a sadder mien or 
 more lingering step. There must have lain 
 perdu in her nature somewhat of the same 
 spirit that prompted the mimic Othello to 
 black himself all over ; for though neither 
 Mrs. Jeffley, nor anyone who cared twopence 
 about Mrs. Jeffley, was there to see, she 
 maintained the same mournfulness of tone 
 and demeanour while making the tea and 
 cutting some thin slices of ham. 
 
 " You mustn't be angry with me, ma'am," 
 she said, in a sort of would-be-cheerful-if-I- 
 
MRS. CHILDS' THEORY. 195 
 
 could, but still most sorrowful voice, setting 
 down the nicely laid out tray at Mrs. Jeffrey's 
 elbow, " for taking the liberty of bringing 
 you up a morsel of relish. I can't abear to 
 see you going on day after day, thinking 
 always about other people and never about 
 yourself. And the pity is, there's nobody to 
 think about you, 'm. I only wish I'd 
 nothing to do but that. What you want is 
 somebody to wait on you hand and foot — 
 somebody better learned than me, that could 
 do in a big way what I strive to do for you 
 in a little. Now do, ma'am, try to pick a bit. 
 There's not half an ounce of ham — and a 
 beautiful ham it is — you always do buy the 
 best of everything — but I took particular 
 pains to cut it what Captain Hassell calls 
 Vauxhall fashion. I couldn't make you any 
 toast, the fire was so low." 
 
 " That vretched girl ! she 7ieverhas a fire," 
 murmured Mrs. Jeffley. 
 
 " May I pour out your tea — or will you 
 pour for yourself, 'm ? I hope you'll find it 
 to your mind. I'll leave you to sugar and 
 milk for yourself. Now do — do, ma'am, 
 force yourself to eat a bit of the ham — it's cut 
 
 T -J r% 
 
196 MITRE COURT. 
 
 rrost delicate. You'll be laid up if you go 
 on neglecting yourself as you are doing- — -I 
 know you will. I've said so to Sophiar times 
 without number." 
 
 Upon Mrs. Jeffley the name of Sophia 
 always acted like a red rag on a turkey- 
 cock. 
 
 For that young person she had the natural 
 if unchristian dislike well-formed, healthy, 
 good-looking human beings generally enter- 
 tain for those unfortunates against whom 
 nature seems to have entertained a grudge. 
 
 Instantly she turned to the table, and, 
 after adding a goodly supply of milk, took a 
 long draught of tea — just such a draught as 
 Mrs. Childs, after the heat and burden of a 
 long day's work, liked to take herself. 
 
 " That is good !" she said, laying down 
 the empty cup. " I feel better already." 
 
 Hearing which delightful news her hench- 
 woman poured out another supply, and again 
 obtruded the ham on Mrs. Jeffley's atten- 
 tion. 
 
 " I may just as well have my lunch now as 
 later," compromised the lady. " I shan't 
 touch another morsel to-day." 
 
MR S. CHILD 5? THEORY. 197 
 
 " Don't say that, 'm/' entreated Mrs. 
 Childs. 
 
 " But I must say it, for it's the truth. I 
 am getting completely knocked up. I'm 
 regularly worn out." 
 
 Mrs. Childs sighed audibly, and proffered 
 some bread and butter. 
 
 There are times when silence seems even 
 more golden than it does at others. 
 
 Mrs. Jeffley accepted two slices of bread 
 and butter, which she folded face to face — this 
 is a seductive way of utilizing those articles. 
 
 "Mrs. Childs," she said. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," answered Mrs. Childs, all 
 attention. 
 
 " I have quite made up my mind " 
 
 Mrs. Childs waited warily to hear what 
 Mrs. Jeffley's mind had in contemplation. 
 
 " To go to Margate for a fortnight." 
 
 " I don't blame you, ma'am," cried Mrs. 
 Childs, relieved. 
 
 " I feel I am getting worn out here. 
 What with one and what with another, there 
 is no rest for the sole of my foot. The dove 
 Noah sent out to find out the state of the 
 weather for him had not a harder time of it 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 than I have, and if I was dead and buried 
 my husband wouldn't care." 
 
 Once more the misery of it all proved too 
 much for Mrs. Childs, who, again shaking 
 her head, murmured : 
 
 " Ah ! he'd know the difference." 
 
 " But," resumed Mrs. Jeffley, " I have no 
 intention of dying yet awhile, or being buried 
 lor anybody ; so to Margate I'll go. They 
 say it's wonderfully reviving. Mr. Jeffley 
 and any of the lodgers that like can come 
 down Saturday to Monday — -the trip's cheap 
 enough ; those that don't like must do the 
 other thing. I'll kill myself for nobody." 
 
 " You'd never get thanked for it," said 
 Mrs. Childs pensively. " And I do hope 
 and trust you'll stick to going, ma'am, though 
 whatever we shall do without you I am sure 
 I don't know." 
 
 " You must rub along somehow," answered 
 Mrs. Jeffley. " I dare say I shall be as glad 
 to be back as you to see me. I won't take 
 much down ; just a morning-gown or two, 
 and a Sunday dress ; and the children must 
 be made tidy, for of course they'll go with 
 me ; but I can manage that. By-the-bye, 
 
MR S. CHILD 5' THEORY. 199 
 
 you were surprised, I have no doubt, to meet 
 Miss Weir coming here this morning ?" 
 
 "Well, 'm," confessed Mrs. Childs, "to 
 speak the truth, which is a thing, poor 
 though I may be, ma'am, I always endeavour 
 to do, and always should feel bound to do to 
 a lady like yourself — as is a lady, hoping 
 you won't be offended by my freedom, and 
 meaning no offence — I did feel for a moment 
 took aback when I met Miss Abby when I 
 was running out to fetch what Captain Hasselt 
 wanted, and hope he found to his satisfaction ; 
 but once I remembered myself — I called to 
 mind that you had asked me about her on 
 Whit Monday night, and that I said to the 
 child as we were sitting over our morsel of 
 supper, ' Missus never does anything with- 
 out a reason, and a good one, and you 
 may depend it was not for nothing she 
 wanted me to tell her some little about Miss 
 Weir.' " 
 
 " She is doing some needlework for 
 me. 
 
 "Indeed, m!" 
 
 "And beautifully she does it." 
 
 " I always was given to understand no 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 manner of fault could be found with her as 
 far as cleverness goes," said Mrs. Childs, 
 judicially impartial. 
 
 " And so quick, too," supplemented Mrs. 
 Jeffley. " I never saw anyone else get over 
 what she has to do so fast." 
 
 "Oh! she's fast enough, I'm aware, 'm. 
 Nobody can deny that." 
 
 " Now, I wonder," said Mrs. Jeffley, 
 helping herself to another piece of ham — 
 (" 111 or well, she's getting through the whole 
 of it," considered Sophia's aunt) — " what 
 makes you so set against the girl. She does 
 not say anything bitter against you." 
 
 " And very good reason too," retorted 
 Mrs. Childs, venom for the moment over- 
 mastering those manners on which she prided 
 herself, and for which no doubt, at a remote 
 period of her life, some one had paid two- 
 pence a week. " She couldn't say anything 
 against me — that is, if she spoke the 
 truth." 
 
 " I tell you she never has," said Mrs. 
 Jeffley snappishly. 
 
 " I am very pleased to hear so, I'm sure, 
 'm. Though it is no more than justice, I 
 
MRS. CHILD S' THEORY. 
 
 did not expect as much from Miss Abigail 
 Weir, if that's what Mr. Katzen talks about 
 being her nom digger." 
 
 " Mrs. Jeffley opened her mouth to ask 
 Mrs. Childs what she meant, but, on reflec- 
 tion, shut it aeain. There ensued a moment's 
 silence while she sat — bread, butter, ham, and 
 tea all unheeded — looking straight before her 
 at nothing. 
 
 " I wonder what her mind's at work on 
 now," thought Mrs. Childs ; but she too re- 
 frained from speech. 
 
 " Nobody knows," began Mrs. Jeffley at 
 last, " the relief it is to me to have got hold 
 of such a girl. She is just the person I have 
 been wanting for years. When I think of 
 the money I've wasted, as one may say, over 
 people who could not put in a stitch decently, 
 I can scarcely contain myself." 
 
 Mrs. Childs, for the third time, shook 
 her head mournfully. The incompetency ot 
 sempstresses, and the consequent trials of 
 a virtuous matron, were themes on which 
 she felt it scarcely safe to enter, more 
 especially as she herself had recommended 
 a certain Mrs. Lacey, who had proved a 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 disastrous failure, for the post of wardrobe- 
 keeper to the juvenile Jeffreys. 
 
 " Now this Miss Weir," went on Mrs. 
 Jeffrey, brightening up a little in consequence 
 of finding she had made a point and could 
 improve upon it, " takes all trouble off my 
 hands. She buys better than I can. She is 
 able to plan and cut out. She is not above 
 altering or contriving, and she has the things 
 here back almost before anyone would have 
 thought she had time to baste the seams. I 
 only wish I had come across her years ago." 
 
 " I'm sure I wish you had, ma'am." 
 
 " She is likely to be a real comfort to me." 
 
 " Any thing or person that's a comfort to 
 you must be a pleasure to me, 'm," said 
 Mrs. Childs, with cringing diplomacy. 
 
 "So you need not be surprised if you see 
 her often here now." 
 
 " I won't, m." 
 
 " For I intend to give her a great deal of 
 work." 
 
 " Of course, 'm, you will do just as you 
 please about that," said Mrs. Childs, who 
 was bursting with rage. 
 
 "You may be very sure I shall, and I 
 
MR S. CHILD 5' THEORY 
 
 cannot see why you should put yourself out 
 because I have at last got acquainted with 
 the girl." 
 
 " Me put myself out, 'm!" returned Mrs. 
 Childs, in a tone of well-assumed amazement 
 and reproach. " I hope I know my place, 
 and have behaved according. I have always 
 strove to do my duty ; and though you may 
 sometimes have thought me bold, 'm, you 
 know I was well intentioned, and only spoke 
 because I could not abear to see you fretting 
 and harrying yourself worse than any servant 
 on wages and board-wages, and getting no 
 thanks back. That's why I am glad, indeed, 
 you have come across Miss Weir, 'm, as 
 you think she's likely to suit you, ma'am ; 
 and all I hope is, you may never have cause 
 to repent your goodness to her." 
 
 " Repent ! What should I repent for ?" 
 " I don't know, 'm, I'm sure. It's not for 
 a desolate widow — slaving early and late to 
 keep a bed under her, and without a friend 
 in the world, so to speak, 'm, but yourself — 
 to put herself in the place of a lady who is 
 married and has little dears of children and a 
 house choke-full of beautiful furniture and 
 
204 MITRE COURT. 
 
 good paying lodgers ; but I can't help saying, 
 if — poor though I am — I had a husband, or 
 lodger, or children, Miss Abigail shouldn't 
 have a chance of speaking a word, good or 
 bad, to one of them." 
 
 "Whatever is wronof with the q;iy\ ?" asked 
 Mrs. Jeffley testily. "She is always neat, 
 and pleasant, and well-spoken, and in- 
 dustrious. She is not much to look at, to be- 
 sure — — " 
 
 " That she is not," agreed Mrs. Childs. 
 
 " But handsome is as handsome does, you 
 know ; and I really can't help thinking if she 
 is not pretty she is good." 
 
 "You ought to know best, 'm," answered 
 Mrs. Childs. 
 
 "That is just what I am not so sure of. 
 As you remark, I have a husband and 
 children and lodgers ; and if there is any- 
 thing against Miss Weir, I ought to know it." 
 
 Mrs. Childs stood resolutely silent, with 
 eyes cast down and lips compressed. 
 
 " Come," urged Mrs. Jeffley persuasively, 
 "what is it? You need not be afraid of 
 speaking to me. I am as safe as the grave." 
 
 Perhaps Mrs. Childs had her doubts about 
 
MRS. CHILD S' THEORY 
 
 the safety of that last resort. At all events, 
 she refused to explain. 
 
 "Excuse me, 'm," she replied, "but I'd 
 rather say no more. There are things in 
 most houses — all houses aren't open and 
 aboveboard like yours — that shouldn't be 
 spoke about. Whether a person is taken 
 into confidence or kept at arm's length, that 
 person, unless she is blind, deaf, and a born 
 idiot, can't help seeing, hearing, and trying 
 to fit into place — but it is her business to say 
 nothing, once the door is shut behind her ; 
 and nobody living could repeat any remark 
 I ever made about Mr. Brisco, or Mr. 
 Brisco's place, or the child Mr. Brisco took 
 in, I'd care came round to him to-mor- 
 row. 
 
 Mrs. Jeffley sat perplexed. Mrs. Childs' 
 assertion puzzled her as much as that trick 
 about the lemonade and the queen-cake 
 puzzled the cheated old shopkeeper : 
 
 " Give me a bottle of lemonade," said the 
 customer. 
 
 When his wish was complied with, he 
 altered his mind. " No, I will not have the 
 lemonade, but this queen-cake." 
 
2o6 MITRE COURT. 
 
 Having eaten the queen-cake, he prepared 
 to depart. 
 
 "Twopence, if you please, sir." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " The queen-cake." 
 
 "But I gave you the lemonade for the 
 queen-cake." 
 
 " But you did not pay for the lemonade!" 
 
 " No, I had not the lemonade," and left 
 the woman unpaid — feeling she had lost 
 twopence somehow, though she could not tell 
 in what way. 
 
 In like manner, it would have required a 
 clear head to disentangle Mr. Brisco from 
 Miss Weir in Mrs. Childs' muddled sentences, 
 and, after that was effected, to state the 
 precise sin charged — beyond general pertness 
 • — by that worthy woman to Miss Abigail's 
 account. In some ways Mrs. Jeffley's was 
 anything but a clear head. There were 
 matters about which a child could have led 
 her astray. Utterly guileless herself, each 
 fresh revelation of want of straightforwardness 
 in others came upon her with a terrible 
 surprise. 
 
 The possibility of there being two sides to 
 
MRS, CHILD S' THEORY. 207 
 
 a question or a human being never occurred 
 to her. She always believed the first story 
 she heard, let it be told by whom it might 
 (her husband excepted). She invariably sided 
 with the plaintiff, and even if forced ultimately 
 to recognise that the defendant's tale might 
 be true, recognised such fact under protest. 
 
 Under Mrs. Childs' manipulation such a 
 woman was as clay in the hands of the potter. 
 
 The very vagueness of the sin ascribed to 
 Miss Weir added to its awfulness ; the lurid 
 light merely thrown on what might have been 
 going on in the old house, and then in- 
 stantly withdrawn, heightened the horror and 
 picturesqueness of Mrs. Childs' suggested 
 drama ! On the other hand, Miss Weir, even 
 if she were the Evil One in female form, did 
 her work well and cheaply. 
 
 What possible contamination could she 
 bring into Fowkes' Buildings? Certainly 
 then and there Mrs. Jeffley abandoned the 
 plan she had half formed of asking Abigail to 
 go to Margate with her, that they might get 
 to know each other better ; still she could 
 not — she felt it impossible — altogether sever 
 connection with a girl able to shop, cut out, 
 
208 MITRE COURT. 
 
 and sew, and " take a burden off her 
 mind." 
 
 " But, Mrs. Childs," she remonstrated, after 
 she had allowed all these considerations to 
 tumble for a while through her brain, " it 
 is years since you worked for Mr. Brisco, and 
 whatever the child may have been then, she 
 seems to have no bad ways now. Of course 
 I am not in a position to tell, but it does 
 seem to me, from all I have heard, Mr. 
 Brisco would never have kept her all this 
 time had she not forsaken whatever evil 
 courses she may have got into long ago. 
 Besides, what chance had she then, poor 
 child, taught no better ? Now she is a credit 
 to the Q-ood education those ladies gave her. 
 Where would you meet a quieter girl in 
 the streets, or a nicer-mannered one in- 
 doors ?" 
 
 " I have nothing to say against what Miss 
 Weir seems to be, 'm, but I know what I 
 know ; and having warned you, 'm, I've done 
 my duty, and feel I'll sleep all the peacefuller 
 to-night for having so done. After the 
 kindness you have shown to me — for which I 
 feel humbly grateful — I could not say less, 
 
MRS. CHILD S' THEORY. 209 
 
 but I'd rather, if you please, say no more ; 
 only " 
 
 " Only " repeated Mrs. Jeffley. " You 
 
 know it's safe with me, whatever it may 
 be." 
 
 " I know that, 'm, but still — however, all I 
 was going to remark had to do with nobody 
 but Mr. Brisco himself. Perhaps there is 
 not so much credit in his keeping her as you 
 think, to either of them." 
 
 "Good gracious, Mrs. Childs, what are 
 you insinuating ?" 
 
 " It's not me, it's others : tongues can't be 
 chained nor bound, neither tied, and there 
 has been a deal of talk, first and last, about 
 the 'young lady' in Botolph Lane and her 
 ' benefactor.' Put it to yourself, ma'am. 
 Now shouldn't you think it strange if some 
 people who were so badly off they couldn't 
 afford a bottle of stout, and so hard they 
 wouldn't have thrown a starved dog a mouldy 
 crust, turned all in a minute, and without 
 rhyme or reason took in a ragged child, her 
 eyes starting out of her head with hunger — 
 sick and famished — and that, when she'd 
 have been well seen to by the parish ?" 
 
 vol. 1. 14 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 " I have always thought it odd," said 
 Mrs. Jeffley, her eyes wide with eagerness as 
 Abigail's had once been with hunger, " but I 
 don't see " 
 
 " No, 'm, I know you don't — how should 
 you ? but there were those as said at the time, 
 strange as it was, perhaps there were good 
 reasons. If some people had been paying 
 money for the child, and couldn't or wouldn't 
 keep up the weekly instalments — and those 
 who had her chose that way of shaming 
 them — mightn't those people have found it 
 cheaper and quieter to keep the child in the 
 old house than to let her go, and have a fuss 
 made, and so get into further trouble ? I am 
 putting it to you, 'm, as it was put to me by 
 a party used to the law courts and acquainted 
 with all sorts of wickedness. Don't you 
 think if all the ins and outs were made plain, 
 and the whole matter revealed as it will be 
 at the Great Day of Judgment, we might not 
 think it so strange after all ?" 
 
 " I would rather not think," answered Mrs. 
 Jeffley, greatly shocked. " Take away the 
 tray, please, Mrs. Childs. I couldn't touch 
 anything more ; you have made me feel quite 
 
MRS. CHILD S' THEORY. 
 
 faint. I wish I had heard nothing about the 
 matter at all." 
 
 "Well, 'm, you would have it, you know," 
 returned Mrs. Childs, in a tone of chastened 
 superiority. ''With my goodwill you would 
 never have heard a word of the story. I am 
 truly sorry to have upset you, but it was 
 not my doing. It would be my heartfelt 
 endeavour to say no ill of anybody." 
 
 And all the while it never occurred to Mrs. 
 Jeffley that no mention had been made of the 
 nature of the particular crime imputed to 
 Abigail Weir. Talk of songs without words ! 
 Pooh ! Rather talk of slanders without 
 syllable ! 
 
 14- 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 G. BRISCO. 
 
 AD Heaven been pleased to place 
 a Mrs. Childs a little higher in the 
 Q&M) social scale, it is not improbable 
 that she might have compassed distinction as 
 a story-writer. 
 
 Two qualifications at least she possessed, 
 not always to be found in those who now- 
 adays profess to supply a public want — an 
 imagination ardent yet pliable, which enabled 
 her to describe events which never occurred, 
 and a calm power of vivid description that 
 rendered scepticism as regarded her narra- 
 tives difficult. The implied secret in Mr. 
 Brisco's past, as well as the reported conver 
 sations concerning it, were wholly and totally 
 the unassisted productions of her own fertile 
 
G. BRISCO. 213 
 
 brain. With her fancy stimulated by the 
 sight of Miss Weir, before she reached 
 Crooked Lane she had rough-hewn the false- 
 hood ; ere St. Mary-at-Hill was passed on 
 her way back, she had moulded and shaped 
 the ugly scandal into likely form ; and the 
 time consumed in covering the ground 
 between St. Dunstan's Hill and Fowkes' 
 Buildings sufficed to give her own thoughts 
 words, uttered by the supposititious lips ot 
 some fanciful individual. 
 
 " I make no doubt it's all true enough," 
 she said, in that silent soliloquy she so much 
 affected. " Who is Mr. Brisco more than 
 anybody else, that Missy shouldn't be his 
 child ? If she is not, she ought to be. It is 
 more fit he should be her father than any 
 other person." 
 
 Which was all really very hard on Mr. 
 Brisco, a man not merely innocent of the 
 charge implied against him, but a man 
 against whom it seemed inconceivable such a 
 charge could have been implied. 
 
 For indeed the world of his mind had 
 never been large enough to contain more 
 than two women — his mother and his wife, 
 
214 MITRE COURT. 
 
 and both were dead. Even in thought 
 he had always been loyal. He would not 
 have turned his head to look at Venus, had 
 that probably overrated beauty taken a fancy 
 to walk among the stockbrokers in Throg- 
 morton Street about one o'clock on a busy 
 day ; and as for the rest of the female 
 mythology, his virtue was of that Spartan 
 character which could contemplate the spec- 
 tacle of mature goddesses whipped at the 
 cart's tail, and any number of frisky young 
 nymphs packed off to Bridewell, with equa- 
 nimity. 
 
 A lonely man, a lonely self-contained 
 brooding man, solitary as it is only possible 
 to be in the heart of a great city. There 
 anyone who lists may fashion a hermitage for 
 himself. No need nowadays to fly human 
 haunts, yearn for a lodge in some vast wilder- 
 ness, a forest hut, a rocky cave, mossy banks, 
 purling streams, and such roots and herbs as 
 may be indigenous to the particular locality 
 selected for penance or meditation. 
 
 The meanest house in London will serve 
 all purposes of seclusion just as well. If any 
 anchorite, or sybarite either for that matter, 
 
G. BRISCO. 215 
 
 choose to close his door against the world, he 
 may sit at ease and hear the great billows of 
 struggling humanity rolling majestically, cry- 
 ing pitifully, beating madly upon the pave- 
 ments, sobbing through the night ; but not 
 one wave shall creep into the dwelling of him 
 who has voluntarily cast off his kind. Utter 
 isolation can, amongst many other luxuries, 
 be commanded by one who pays his way. 
 He will not be meddled with. He may buy 
 his roots and herbs in the nearest market. 
 He may live more miserably than any hermit 
 of old in his cell ; surrounded by a multitude, 
 he can hold himself aloof from contact with 
 them. It is competent for him to exist for 
 himself, and absolutely by himself. 
 
 The country affords no such freedom as 
 the city ; a wide desert — no solitude equal to 
 streets and lanes crowded with busy, anxious 
 people. Even should the hermit's beard be 
 long, and his flowing locks grey, his appear- 
 ance strange, and his gestures uncouth, 
 passers-by will soon cease to wonder, and the 
 very arabs turning wheels in the roadway, or 
 sparring with each other in the gutter, refuse 
 to interrupt their employment for the sake of 
 
216 MITRE COURT. 
 
 shouting, " Here's another guy !" after one 
 whose features and figure have become 
 familiar. 
 
 It had chanced thus with Mr. Brisco. 
 When first he entered into full possession of 
 the old house in Botolph Lane, where pre- 
 viously he had merely rented an office, 
 speculation was rife concerning him ; but 
 that had been all done with for many a year. 
 Curiosity was over-past ; chilled and mor- 
 tified, it decided Mr. Brisco must be sour 
 grapes, and ceased to jump for the bunches. 
 The nine days' wonder induced by the* 
 advent of little Miss Weir — " a mere bag 
 of bones and bundle of rags " — had for 
 years been spent ; likewise the astonishment 
 caused by Mrs. Childs' discharge or defec- 
 tion (the neighbouring population took sides 
 as to which word was correct) was almost 
 forgotten. That portion of the ward of 
 Billingsgate bounded on the east by Dun- 
 stan's Hill and west by Pudding Lane 
 exercised its minds no more about the old 
 house and its tenants. Miss Weir was as 
 nice a tenant as house need have ; bright 
 and busy, she pursued her cheerful way, ever 
 
G. BRISCO. 217 
 
 willing to help, ever ready to rejoice with 
 those who were glad, and mourn with those 
 who mourned. 
 
 " She's like a glint of sunshine," said one, 
 athwart whose path sunshine fell rarely. 
 
 " I'll never forget her when my little Bess 
 died," murmured his neighbour. 
 
 She did what she could ; and, after all, 
 what can a queen do more ? In great con- 
 servatories we see stately camellias and the 
 royal amaryllis and fragrant stephanotis and 
 exotics trembling with the very excess of 
 their fragile beauty, and then there stands 
 on the sill of some narrow window a plant, 
 modest, and to outward view of little worth, 
 which yet fills the poor room with perfume, 
 and talks in an inarticulate language, intel- 
 ligible enough to those hearts for which the 
 message is sent, of something even in this 
 world exceedingly to be desired : hope and 
 content amid the most lowly surroundings ; 
 peace to be compassed, spite of the madden- 
 ing turmoil of constant work and hard en- 
 deavour. 
 
 To Abigail Weir it was not given to carry 
 any message to those of high estate. The 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 old house in Botolph Lane was the grandest 
 mansion she had, in her short life, entered ; 
 the drawing-room at the Rectory the only 
 even ordinarily well-furnished apartment her 
 young eyes ever beheld. But what of 
 that ? 
 
 In a king's palace she had not been one 
 half so useful ; every energy she possessed 
 was always on active service. She had no 
 leisure to repine. If evil moods fell upon her 
 ■ — -and what sort of nature can it be the black 
 dog never visits ?■ — she found time too short 
 to permit of fondling the mischievous guest. 
 She did what she could, and appreciative 
 neighbours recognised the fact, and silently 
 applauded a courage which never seemed to 
 falter, industry that was well-nigh tireless. 
 
 Had she been born in the parish, no one 
 could have felt more inclined to make her 
 free of it than did all the old inhabitants 
 sprinkled up and down the lanes. As for 
 Mr. Brisco, the mystery, if there were a 
 mystery connected with him, had long ceased 
 to exercise any mind, or strain the capacities 
 of any brain. When Mr. Katzen was ap- 
 pointed consul for New Andalusia. Botolph 
 
G. BRISCO. 219 
 
 Lane and Love Lane and St. Mary-at-Hill 
 knew as little about that gentleman's land- 
 lord as it had done years previously. 
 
 And not a soul in the length and breadth 
 of London appeared to be much wiser. 
 
 He might have dropped from the clouds, 
 for any trace his footprints had left on earth. 
 He might have been his own father, and 
 grandfather, sister, brother, uncle, and aunt, 
 for all mention he ever made of relatives, 
 dead or living. Where he came from, what 
 was his past history, how it chanced he lived 
 poor, stranded, and friendless, were questions 
 many persons had once tried to ask, but which 
 they asked no longer. 
 
 Between himself and the world there stood 
 a wall no one could even peep over. Not a 
 glimpse was to be obtained of the private 
 grounds in which he walked mentally ; ex- 
 cept Abigail Weir and her friend Frank 
 Scott, not a creature suspected the fact of 
 those frequent night-wanderings, when, hand 
 in hand with the dead, he roamed through 
 the ghostly silence, invoking shadows from 
 out his past, and seeking communion with 
 fancies that had vanished with youth, and 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 with those whose bodies had for long years 
 known no companionship save darkness and 
 the earthworm. Constantly we see this 
 tendency to revert to some former state of 
 unreal and ideal happiness in lieu of welcom- 
 ing the sunshine or the shadow of each day 
 God gives us as it comes ; to lay wreaths on 
 the wet ground to gladden eyes now closed 
 on earth, though gazing, so we humbly hope, 
 on the fadeless flowers of Paradise, instead of 
 planting in the midst of our most desperate 
 affliction slips of hope and roots of endeavour, 
 which even in this world may bloom and 
 bear fruit, that some one at least, if not we 
 ourselves, worn and weary, hungry and athirst, 
 may stop and gather. 
 
 All his life Mr. Brisco had been unfor- 
 tunate. Over his cradle two evil spirits kept 
 guard — poverty and pride ; poverty that was 
 grim, pride that would have been ludicrous 
 but for the cruel penury amid which it con- 
 trived to flourish. 
 
 Brisco senior, an over-worked and badly 
 paid medical practitioner in a remote country 
 district, was the younger son of a younger 
 son, who in his turn was the descendant of 
 
G. BRISCO. 221 
 
 Heaven only knows how many younger sons, 
 one of whom may, at some extraordinarily 
 remote period, have been actually the younger 
 son of the head of a great family. 
 
 The Heralds' College might have disen- 
 tangled without snapping this long-drawn 
 chain of asserted relationship ; but the great 
 family, many a generation before Mr. Brisco 
 was born, had ceased to see it. To them, 
 indeed, it was actually invisible ; and as there 
 were scattered about the world hundreds of 
 heirs concerning whose bona fides there could 
 be no question, it seemed in the highest 
 degree improbable the rusted links could 
 ever again become distinct. 
 
 To Doctor Brisco, however, his connection 
 with the great family was plain as a pikestaff. 
 Unhappily, pedigree is one of those objects 
 from which the further a man stands the 
 more clear becomes his vision. Sons, elder 
 sons of elder sons, may sometimes forget 
 the traditions of their house, and the position 
 conferred upon them by birth, but the far-off 
 relation never omits to bore his acquaintances 
 with the tale of those he can claim " Sib" 
 with ; ay, even if it be over his cups in a 
 
222 MITRE COURT. 
 
 village "pub" where there is a long score 
 against him, he will give himself airs on the 
 strength of some kinsman or kinswoman 
 dead and gone, long turned to dust, who 
 made a mesalliance of which he is the notable 
 representative. 
 
 Doctor Brisco, as he was called, though 
 indeed he had no right to such a prefix, did 
 not go about the world buttonholing every- 
 one he met, while he confided to them the 
 secret that he came of those whose names 
 were writ in history ; nevertheless it was by 
 some means generally understood if he "had 
 his rights" he would be rolling alono- the 
 high road in a carriage, instead of tramping 
 through life's muddy lanes on foot. 
 
 In his shabby surgery there hung a 
 genealogical tree, root, trunk and branches 
 of which were there for all who listed to look 
 at, and marvel concerning ; indeed, it was a 
 fearful and wonderful work of art. Likewise 
 in the best parlour there was to be beheld, 
 effectively framed, the coat-of-arms and crest 
 of the Briscos, who had intermarried with 
 the Granthams, a.d. 1578. Two Miss 
 Granthams, co-heiresses, allied themselves 
 
G. BRISCO. 
 
 with two Briscos. The one Brisco, being 
 wise, did well in consequence of his wife's 
 money ; the other, being foolish, squandered 
 the other sister's share in whatever amuse- 
 ments were going on about that period of 
 England's history. 
 
 Further, those same dreary walls were 
 adorned with plates — extracted probably 
 from some forgotten annual — representing 
 the lordly seats of the two remarkable 
 families ; in both cases plenty of park, 
 plenty of deer, of trees, masonry, shrubs- — 
 everything as it should be about such abodes. 
 
 The Doctor, though no humbug, was 
 wont to sigh when anyone surveyed these 
 drawings. 
 
 At such times he honestly felt as though 
 the scenes depicted represented the happy 
 playgrounds of his youth. In those great 
 houses not a soul knew that such a person as 
 himself existed ; but he never forgot his 
 notable kinsfolk. 
 
 Did they marry, did they die, did they 
 repair abroad ; did they meet with an 
 accident at home, get into any trouble, 
 matrimonial or otherwise ; return to their 
 
224 MITRE COURT. 
 
 ancestral halls — Doctor Brisco was mentally 
 in attendance. 
 
 To follow their movements, to read of 
 their alliances, to identify himself with their 
 joys and sorrows, disappointments and suc- 
 cesses, was almost the sole amusement of a 
 dull, laborious life. 
 
 It was like a child's game of make-believe. 
 He knew it meant nothing, could never 
 mean anything to him, yet out of the doings 
 of his relatives he erected air-castles by the 
 hundred, and was wont to say, " Ah ! if good 
 never comes to me, it will some day to my 
 children." 
 
 His greatest trouble really seemed to be 
 that not one of his sons took after him, unless 
 indeed Grantham. When quite an infant 
 Grantham had been wont to regard the 
 family tree with fixed attention, and as he 
 grew up he developed a remarkable pre- 
 dilection for reading about the great deeds 
 achieved in times past by the men of his 
 house. 
 
 " You'll have to make money, boy," said 
 his father, "and then they will hold out the 
 right hand of fellowship fast enough. Make 
 
G. BRISCO. 225 
 
 money — that is the only way the chivalry of 
 the nineteenth century can show itself. In 
 former days, when a young fellow wanted to 
 get to the front, he had but to perform some 
 deed of valour ; now he must work twice as 
 hard for years to fill his pockets. When he 
 has filled them, the ball is at his feet. It is 
 of no use being a Grantham, or a Brisco, or 
 anybody else, if you have not money to keep 
 up the name. Look at me ; there is not a 
 man in the parish as well born as I am ; and 
 yet every new-fledged cotton lord, even if he 
 drops his h's and eats with his knife, thinks 
 he patronizes Ralph Brisco when he asks me 
 to dinner. Patronizes me! Ha! ha! ha! 
 it is really too good !" Yet the poor fellow- 
 did not seem to find the idea really pro- 
 vocative of mirth, for his lauQfh lacked the 
 true rinof a laueh should have. On the 
 contrary, it savoured of mortification. 
 
 As for Grantham, at a very early age 
 bitterness had entered into his soul and 
 remained there. At school, at play, in his 
 father's house, and out of it, the curse ol 
 poverty lay heavy upon him. There are 
 burdens which do not grow lighter with the 
 
 vol. 1. 1 s 
 
126 MITRE COURT. 
 
 lapse of time, and shortness of money is one 
 of them. No estates, no legacies, no gifts, 
 came to that narrow village home. The 
 world went on, and it was hard to make a 
 sovereign go as far as formerly. Neither the 
 Briscos nor the Granthams evinced any wild 
 desire to take their relations to the family 
 bosom. They married, they were given in 
 marriage, they died and were buried ; at last, 
 it was all the same to their far-away kinsman. 
 After long years of as gallant a fight as ever 
 one of his ancestors made in battle on sea or 
 land, the poor Doctor was stricken with 
 paralysis, and he might have died in the 
 workhouse, or starved, had it not been for 
 Grantham, who was then in London seeking 
 -his fortune. 
 
 The elder brothers were dead or vanished 
 — there never were any sisters ; so on 
 Grantham devolved the duty of doing what 
 he could for both his parents. 
 
 In a humble way he managed to support 
 them ; but when at last he stood sole mourner 
 beside his mother's grave, the fortune he had 
 come to London to seek seemed as far off as 
 ever. 
 
G. BRISCO. 227 
 
 He had the sense to lock away his 
 genealogical tree, and hold his tongue con- 
 cerning relations stranger to him than any 
 strangers ; but a man cannot lock up memory 
 or ensure forgetfulness even by maintaining 
 silence, and that which had grown with the 
 young man's growth, and was as truly a part 
 of him as his keen cold blue eyes, was not 
 likely to be exorcised by a long course of 
 loneliness and abstinence from every innocent 
 pleasure. 
 
 It was ere he had scarce recovered from 
 the blow inflicted by his mother's death that 
 he met the love of his life. 
 
 " And a bad day as ever broke it was for 
 her, poor darling," often declared the poor 
 darling's nurse, as garrulous as she who 
 taught Juliet to walk. " Little I thought, 
 when I first saw him come into the house, 
 where master had been so silly as to ask 
 him to dine, what was to come of it. If I 
 had, I'd have soaped the stairs, or put poison 
 in his wine. There's no accounting for 
 tastes — he wouldn't have been mine." 
 
 There is nothing more easy than to be 
 wise after the event. Had anvone known 
 
228 MITRE COURT. 
 
 what was going to happen, probably Miss 
 Daynes might never have become Mrs. 
 Brisco. Certainly Grantham Brisco would 
 have hesitated about asking her to marry 
 him. 
 
 Old Mr. Daynes was a gentleman living 
 not merely up to the edge of his income, but 
 beyond. He had sons who looked for 
 allowances from him ; daughters married to 
 professional men struggling to keep up a 
 position ; daughters unmarried he could not 
 afford to portion. Apparently he had a good 
 business, but it was rotten through and 
 through — so rotten indeed that if Mr. Daynes 
 had not died in the very nick of time, he 
 must have been bankrupt. 
 
 Within a fortnight after the funeral, and 
 before the whole of the mourning gar- 
 ments ordered had been sent home, the 
 Daynes' card-house tumbled down about their 
 ears. 
 
 The creditors took the life insurances — 
 upon which advances had been made — the 
 furniture, the brougham, the horse and har- 
 ness, the lease of the desirable suburban 
 villa — see advertisements of the period — the 
 
G. BRISCO. 229 
 
 book-debts — everything, in fact, that was left 
 to take. 
 
 Mrs. Daynes went to live with one of her 
 married daughters, who did not in the least 
 want her ; the sons had to shift as they 
 could. One of the Miss Daynes took a 
 situation as governess ; the other was glad 
 to meet with an old lady who wanted a com- 
 panion. 
 
 "It is a comfort Faith is so well provided 
 for," said Mrs. Daynes. 
 
 " I suppose you are not aware," observed 
 the son-in-law she addressed, who was a 
 solicitor, " that Brisco had gone security for 
 your husband to an amount that will keep 
 him with his nose to the grindstone for many 
 a long day ?" 
 
 It was true. Dear Faith's husband had 
 " signed his name as a mere matter of form ;" 
 and if ever a man found cause to curse the 
 day when he learned to write, that man was 
 Grantham Brisco. 
 
 What was the poverty of his youth in 
 comparison with the poverty of his man- 
 hood ? What is any poverty in the country 
 like the poverty of town ? 
 
230 MITRE COURT. 
 
 He had always lived frugally — sometimes 
 barely — but now he felt bound to stint him- 
 self even of the necessaries of life. Left to 
 the guidance of her own soft impulses, his 
 wife would have been a sweet, submissive, 
 useless creature. Sweet she was always, 
 even in her tears — a woman to caress, and 
 kiss, and keep far as possible from all know- 
 ledge of hardship. Not even the old nurse, 
 who loved her beyond all things except her- 
 self, could spoil a nature naturally unselfish ; 
 but in such a crisis of a man's life as that at 
 which Grantham Brisco had arrived, he needs 
 something more than sweetness — he wants 
 help. 
 
 He was strong enough morally and 
 physically to eat no food save a penny roll 
 during business hours, and return to a meal 
 consisting of weak tea, a stale egg, bread 
 and cheap butter, at night ; but on such fare 
 he might be excused for sometimes cavilling 
 over the weekly bills, and, when his own per- 
 sonal expenditure is well-nigh nil, grumbling 
 because the household accounts seemed to 
 him excessive. 
 
 Abroad he had no ease ; at home he had 
 
G. £ J? I SCO. 
 
 no peace. That accursed security dragged 
 away his very life's blood, and yet he could 
 not bear to tell his wife it had been incurred 
 for her father. He dreaded to go home 
 after a day's hard work, because upon the 
 threshold he was met by something which 
 seemed to him even more accursed than the 
 paper to which he had affixed his name — 
 the old nurse upon whose lips there was 
 always a demand for money, and who finally 
 went so far as to say " he ought to be 
 ashamed of himself." 
 
 In the hands of women a man is absolutely 
 helpless — unless he is a bad man, in which 
 case the tables are turned. 
 
 Mr. Brisco was not a bad man. His fault, 
 if it could be accounted a fault, was absolute 
 honesty. He had incurred a liability, and he 
 meant to pay it. 
 
 Bankruptcy would of course have left him 
 almost free to commence the world again ; 
 but though he had locked the family pedi- 
 gree away, it was there for all that. 
 
 He could not find it in his heart to drag 
 two ancient names — Grantham, Brisco — 
 through the mire of Basinghall Street for 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 any Daynes in England ; bravely, therefore, 
 he set out to pay the liability for which he 
 was responsible. 
 
 It was hard, he felt — very, very hard. 
 Often he cursed the memory of soft-talking, 
 soft-living Mr. Daynes ; but cursing could 
 not pay off the debt incurred. 
 
 Mr. Daynes' creditors were not indulgent. 
 They would have been lenient to that plea- 
 sant gentleman had he lived ; but Mr. Brisco 
 was a horse of quite another colour — -a horse 
 willing to work, willing to slave. Such a 
 horse is always safe to lash, so they lashed 
 him. 
 
 In life there must be ever those who play 
 and those who work; Mr. Brisco was amongst 
 those forced to work. 
 
 All the best years of his life were spent in 
 a struggle with poverty, worse by far than 
 his father had ever waged : not an instinct 
 of his nature but was crushed down by the 
 iron heel of necessity. Morning, noon, and 
 night he worked to pay off that Shylock 
 bond contracted for no extravagance or ne- 
 cessity of his own. How he worked no one 
 save God and himself might ever know. 
 
G. BRISCO. 233 
 
 The humiliations he went through, the 
 personal privations he accepted, the heat 
 and burden of that awful day, must be 
 written somewhere, though not on earth. 
 
 Doggedly men go through this sort of 
 punishment constantly, Fate flogging them 
 till they almost cease to feel the whip. 
 Eventually Mr. Brisco ceased to feel it — 
 he grew accustomed to being trampled on ; 
 lawyers' letters were no more a terror. " If 
 you live long enough in hell," he said one 
 day to a solicitor, "you must get acclimatized 
 to brimstone and sulphur." 
 
 Through all this time he had been going 
 down — down — down — till the Daynes, who 
 never paid anybody, and in some extra- 
 ordinary way shuffled off all responsibilities, 
 felt it impossible any longer to recognise 
 poor Faith's husband. 
 
 When Mrs. Brisco's child was born, she 
 and Mr. Brisco had moved so far east as 
 Lower Clapton ; after that their address was 
 Homerton. 
 
 Nobody, however, called at Homerton— 
 no one, indeed, knew where Homerton was, 
 for which reason the young wife and her 
 
234 MITRE COURT. 
 
 little boy were left alone to comfort each 
 other. 
 
 After a while the young wife fell ill, not 
 with any pronounced disease, but of a sort 
 of " languor." 
 
 Madly the husband did for her all that 
 lay in his power. He ran in debt to trades- 
 people ; he borrowed money ; he stinted him- 
 self more and more ; he worked harder than 
 ever. 
 
 " My darling," he said one morning, " I 
 am in such hopes of getting a paying agency. 
 This evening I trust I shall have oood news 
 for you." 
 
 For answer, she meekly lifted a white face 
 for him to kiss. 
 
 " Dearest, " he murmured, " we must get 
 you into the country and coax back the rose- 
 tints." 
 
 " Kiss me again, love," she answered, in a 
 stronger voice than he had heard for weeks. 
 " Now go — good-bye!" 
 
 He went — elastic, hopeful, full of plans. 
 He returned, having secured the agency. It 
 was summer-time, and he looked up at the 
 windows, hoping she might be lying on the 
 
G. BRISCO. 235 
 
 sofa looking for him. All the blinds were 
 clown, yet the house did not front the west. 
 
 He put his key in the lock, and, with a 
 strange sort of hesitation, opened the door. 
 
 A woman he had never before seen came 
 forward. 
 
 " If you please, sir," she asked, "are you 
 Mr. Brisco ?" 
 
 " Yes — yes," he said breathlessly. 
 
 " I am sorry to tell you, sir, your poor wife 
 is gone. She went quite peacefully at four 
 o'clock. Lord save us !" she added in quite 
 a different tone, for Mr. Brisco had dropped 
 like one dead on the floor. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 MOST LONELY. 
 
 RIEF does not kill. If it did, there 
 are few who would outlive their 
 £fe«m first youth. 
 
 Trouble traces wrinkles on the heart, but 
 fails to stop its beating. Our capacity for 
 happiness is limited ; our capacity for sorrow 
 boundless. Sometimes we may well pause 
 to ask ourselves how humanity can bear the 
 burdens laid upon it — how it is possible to 
 endure the anguish and the agony which 
 may be comprised in twenty-four hours of 
 existence, and still remain outwardly un- 
 changed. 
 
 Grief did not kill Grantham Brisco ; though 
 for a while he lay on the sofa, to which kindly 
 neighbours carried him, like one bereft of 
 
MOST LONELY. 
 
 sense and feeling, he arose ere long, and 
 again faced life, which could never for ever 
 seem the same to him. 
 
 He had been married for over seven years 
 when his wife died. The time was not so 
 very long, yet it had sufficed to work many 
 changes. All the Daynes were scattered. 
 Mrs. Daynes was gone to a world where 
 it is to be hoped she found a warmer wel- 
 come than in her daughter's house. That 
 daughter's husband had been struck off the 
 rolls. There are families the members of 
 which ally themselves as surely with poverty 
 or disgrace as the sparks fly upward. 
 
 Not a man or woman of her own blood 
 stood beside Faith Brisco's grave. There 
 were but two mourners — her husband and her 
 nurse. They faced each other in the sombre 
 coach, and exchanged no word either on the 
 way to or from the churchyard. As the earth 
 rattled on the coffin-lid, Mr. Brisco could 
 have shrieked aloud, but he made no out- 
 ward sign. A brave man bound to the stake 
 would have so comported himself. The ordeal 
 had to be gone through — that was enough. 
 Poor husband — poor young wife ! they might 
 
238 MITRE COURT. 
 
 have been happy here, perhaps ; but God 
 knows best. 
 
 She was gone, and again the world lay 
 open before Grantham Brisco, to make what 
 he could out of. 
 
 He did not make much of the chance 
 offered. Perhaps that was scarcely his fault, 
 for a man handicapped with an old servant 
 and a young child can scarcely, even if 
 he be rich, map out a quite independent 
 future. 
 
 He was aware his servant entertained a 
 prejudice against himself, as well as in favour 
 of extravagance ; but she had been fond of 
 his wife, and loved the little boy ; so he kept 
 her on. What better, indeed, could he have 
 done ? 
 
 The old struggle with poverty had still to 
 be waofed — debts had accumulated with that 
 fatal rapidity which seems in the very nature 
 of debt ; the agency did not pay as he ex- 
 pected it to do : perhaps only half his heart 
 was in the matter. He made a couple of 
 bad sales, and his principals became dissatis- 
 fied. He was ill in body as well as mind, 
 though he did not know it. The horror of 
 
MOST LONELY. 239 
 
 sleeplessness was laid upon him like a curse ; 
 and because he could not endure the silence 
 and loneliness of the night-watches, he began 
 those weary wanderings of which the old 
 house in Botolph Lane could have told so 
 many a tale. Pie did not roam about the 
 narrow rooms at Homerton. After the nurse 
 and child were at rest, he was wont to pass 
 out into the darkness, and walk for hours 
 across Hackney Marshes, sometimes striking 
 the Newmarket Road, or skirting Rockholts, 
 making his way along Green Grove Lane to 
 the Lower Forest. 
 
 There was scarcely an inch of all that then 
 almost undiscovered country unknown to him. 
 He miorht have been seen striding - on the 
 banks of the Lea, where the heights of Upper 
 Clapton and the coldly gliding river showed 
 clear as day in a flood of moonlight ; but his 
 general goal was Epping. Along the green 
 alleys, beside which giant trees kept guard — 
 their interlacing branches forming a fitted 
 canopy, not close enough to hide the stars 
 shining down upon the flitting figure of one 
 most wretched — he paced. She had been all 
 the world to him, he often cried aloud in his 
 
24o MITRE COURT. 
 
 solitary anguish — all the world ; and she was 
 Sfone. 
 
 " What shall I do — what shall I do ?" he 
 was wont despairingly to ask the solemn 
 silence, and for answer there came back to 
 him only the rustle of the leaves or the jar 
 of some night-bird. 
 
 It is a true saying that "grief is like 
 shame, just as we take it." 
 
 Mr. Brisco took his very badly indeed. 
 Which amongst us who has suffered but 
 knows from experience that over the grave 
 of any sorrow grass will of itself spring in 
 time, but it does not lie with us to hurry the 
 process. Nature knows all about it better 
 than we do. The seed of fresh hope is 
 within each one of us, and if we only let it 
 alone, after many days green shoots which 
 have been watered with our tears, and 
 nourished with the very anguish of our souls, 
 will appear to refresh and beautify our deso- 
 lation. We may not hasten the coming of 
 those tender blades, but we can prevent their 
 appearing altogether — we may in our passion 
 root them up, so that across the narrow rest- 
 ing-places of sorrow or of sin no grass of 
 
MOST LONELY. 241 
 
 grace may wave, no tender bud of promise 
 bloom for ever. This was how Mr. Brisco 
 treated his grief — he tried to trample it under 
 foot, and failed. He had made to himself an 
 idol, and, when it was cast down, the very- 
 blackness of despair settled upon his soul. 
 
 And the blow dealt was hard — who dare 
 deny it ? 
 
 It would have been a hard stroke to any 
 man who had loved his wife ; but it was un- 
 utterably hard to Grantham Brisco. To him 
 she was the whole of existence ; during years, 
 every thought, every effort, every sacrifice 
 had been for her. And now it was all ended 
 — with a full-stop death had rounded off a 
 sentence which seemed to the unhappy hus- 
 band but just begun — and he was forced to 
 take up the sheaves of his life again, with 
 the grain eaten out of every ear of corn they 
 contained. The world is kindly enough, 
 though, maybe, it does not take the interest 
 in, and feel the veneration for, a great sorrow 
 in those of low estate, that it does when the 
 bereaved individual chances to have every- 
 thing the heart can desire save one ewe lamb 
 — one among a herd of blessings ; and Mr. 
 
 vol. 1. 16 
 
242 MITRE COURT. 
 
 Brisco knowing this, and being, moreover, 
 blessed or cursed with a somewhat cynical 
 nature which neither asked nor desired sym- 
 pathy, elected to make no moan about his loss, 
 determined the memory of his wife should be 
 associated with nothing common or unclean. 
 
 When acquaintances would have uttered 
 ordinary words of condolence, he stopped 
 them short. His grief was — not between 
 God and himself, for he left God out of it 
 altogether, save in a spirit of rebellion and 
 bitterness — but between himself and the 
 dead. She was gone — for him there re- 
 mained nothing save to make such a best 
 of the remainder of life as seemed possible. 
 
 There were a few who, moved by a feeling 
 of pity, held out the right hand of fellow- 
 ship ; but Mr. Brisco showed by such un- 
 mistakable signs that he preferred his own 
 society to the best they could offer, that at 
 last he was left absolutely alone. He dropped 
 out of companionship with his kind utterly. 
 Had he been dead, he could not have owned 
 less in common with other men. 
 
 Abroad, as at home, in business and out 
 of it, he was one of the most ungenial of 
 
MOST LONELY. 243 
 
 created beings. In no office did he ever stop 
 to chat ; he transacted whatever business he 
 chanced to have in hand, and then went his 
 way. Even the weather failed to interest 
 him. He did not seem to care whether it 
 were hot or cold, snow or sunshine ; but 
 whether he did or not, he had no remarks 
 to offer on the subject, and he listened to the 
 remarks of other persons with ill-concealed 
 impatience. 
 
 " He never even ' makes ' of his son as any 
 other father would," grumbled that son's 
 nurse ; and this was quite true. 
 
 For a long time even the sight of the boy 
 was agony to him. When the child laughed, 
 he turned his head away ; when he played 
 and shouted, he could have stopped his ears. 
 The joyousness of youth grated on the man's 
 nerves like a lively tune heard in a house of 
 mourning. Nevertheless, his heart was all 
 unconsciously putting out little rootlets which 
 had for nourishment the lad's future. As the 
 poor overworked, underpaid doctor reared air- 
 castles for his son, so Grantham Brisco began 
 to dream of greatness for the child of his dead 
 wife. 
 
 16 — 2 
 
J44 MITRE COURT. 
 
 Never for an instant was she forgotten. 
 Everything he did, everything he thought, 
 was done and thought with reference to one 
 whom no earthly action could pleasure or 
 sadden. The scanty food, the pinching per- 
 sonal economy that had once seemed petty 
 trials, now proved some sort of comfort to 
 the widower. If she had lacked much, it 
 was a bitter solace to feel he denied himself 
 even the few luxuries in which he nwht have 
 indulged. Rich viands, rare wines, even had 
 they been at his command, would, remember- 
 ing the bare poverty of their married life, 
 have choked him. If he could have felt 
 happy, he would have hated to be so. Had 
 he noted a single shoot of hope appearing 
 on the tree of his existence, he would have 
 destroyed it ruthlessly. A strange, sad, 
 lonely, wrecked man, wrecked unintelligibly 
 to the understanding of most outsiders. 
 
 His boy was more than eight years old 
 when Mr. Brisco awakened one day to the 
 fact that he had forgotten the simple lessons 
 taught him by the dead woman, and promised 
 to grow up an ignorant little vagabond. 
 
 This seemed a terrible thing to one who 
 
MOST LONELY. 24;, 
 
 had in his own youth been an eager 
 student. 
 
 " Master Ralph must go to school, Hannah," 
 he said with decision. 
 
 " To school ? That child !" exclaimed 
 Hannah, disrespect and dislike curiously 
 blended in her tone. 
 
 "Yes," was the answer. " See that he is 
 properly dressed on Monday morning, and I 
 will take him to Mr. Fergusson's." 
 
 This time Hannah made no direct reply ; 
 but Mr. Brisco heard her banging the sauce- 
 pans about in the kitchen, and saying for his 
 benefit : 
 
 " Could anybody believe it, and his own 
 flesh and blood, too — -wants to kill him next." 
 
 At the end of the first quarter Ralph 
 knew no more than had been the case when 
 he went to school. He could not spell words 
 of two syllables ; in despair, Mr. Brisco wrote 
 to his instructor, and this was the communica- 
 tion he received in return : 
 
 " Dear Sir, 
 
 " If you will keep your boy at home 
 four days out of the week, I think it some- 
 
246 MITRE COURT. 
 
 what unreasonable on your part to expect 
 much progress in his studies. 
 
 " Yours faithfully, 
 
 " Alex. Fergusson." 
 
 That evening there was a very bad quarter 
 of an hour at Homerton. Mr. Brisco did 
 not say much ; but what he did say was to 
 the purpose. No one could have been left 
 in doubt as to his intentions. He meant his 
 boy to be well educated ; and as Hannah had 
 kept him from school, he must send him where 
 the chance of staying away could not offer. 
 
 He had discovered that Hannah was in 
 the habit of supplementing the small wage 
 she received from him by doing work for 
 the neighbours — washing, ironing, scrubbing, 
 anything, in fact, likely to bring in money. 
 During these absences the boy ran wild, or 
 else likewise visited the neighbours. About 
 these offences he spoke. 
 
 " If I did try to earn an honest penny, you 
 ought to be the last to blame me for it. I 
 did not spend what I got on myself, not a 
 farthing of it," declared the angry woman, 
 bursting into tears. 
 
MOST LONELY. 247 
 
 Mr. Brisco did not speak, for he could not. 
 He did not open his lips to contradict the 
 torrent of reproach Hannah proceeded to 
 pour forth against him. Almost like one 
 guilty, he stood silent, as she rehearsed his 
 shortcomings — enlarged on the comfort of 
 the home from which he had taken his wife 
 — of the grief it was to " that angel now in 
 heaven ! ' not to have " things befitting about 
 her." 
 
 He listened in wonder, marvelling at last 
 almost whether he had committed all the sins 
 laid to his charge ; but he answered no 
 syllable. Before the bar of what earthly 
 tribunal shall a proud man defend himself 
 against misconception and misrepresentation? 
 He may not so defend himself. Pride ties 
 his tongue concerning matters which another 
 would dwell on, in order to repel the charge. 
 
 How could Mr. Brisco tell anyone, how 
 much less a foolish ignorant shrew, of the 
 misery of the day he had fought through ; of 
 his long youth of poverty ; of his manhood 
 of struggle and disappointment ; of his heart 
 rent in twain when the light of his life was 
 taken from him ; of the unrewarded toil ; of 
 
:43 MITRE COURT. 
 
 the gallant fight known only to himself; of 
 the privations he had never accounted as 
 such ; of the daily warfare he had waged 
 with circumstances ; of the way he had tried 
 to trample clown his grief, never leaving one 
 thing undone his brave right hand found to 
 do ; of the hopes, faint though they might 
 be, of making a better thing of existence for 
 his son than he had for himself; of the 
 pinching economy he had practised, in order 
 that the boy might not lack any reasonable 
 comfort ? 
 
 It was impossible, so he stood waiting 
 with apparent indifference till the woman's 
 vehemence had spent itself and dead silence 
 reigned, broken only by panting sobs ; then 
 he said : 
 
 " I do not judge you. I believe you 
 meant to act kindly by my child, but yours 
 is a kindness which would ruin the boy. I 
 cannot trust him with you any longer. He 
 must go to a boarding school, cost what it 
 may ; he shall not stop here another week." 
 
 Hurt and troubled though he was, he 
 would not give the woman notice. He 
 remembered that she had loved his wife ; in 
 
MOST LONELY. 249 
 
 her way, he knew she loved the child, and 
 he felt it impossible to cast her from out the 
 shelter of his poor home, which was at least 
 warmer than the outer world. 
 
 But she saved him all trouble by loudly 
 and angrily discharging herself. She would 
 not stay if her darling was to be taken from 
 her. " She wouldn't stop — not she." 
 
 " Very well," answered her master; "but 
 remember I have not given you warning." 
 
 "Oh! there's other ways of getting rid of 
 those that have served their turn, besides 
 giving warning," she replied, with a toss of 
 her head and a defiant backward glance shot 
 over her shoulder as she left the room. 
 
 After that Ralph went to a school situate 
 some twenty miles from London. The 
 master had the name of pushing on his 
 pupils, and Mr. Brisco wished the boy to 
 make up for lost time. Presumably his son, 
 goaded along the road to learning, did what 
 in him lay to get on, for his progress certainly 
 was more than creditable ; but the change 
 from the softness and indulgence of his home 
 life proved far too great, and before the year 
 was out the schoolmaster sent in all haste to 
 
2 so MITRE COURT. 
 
 say he was dangerously ill — that his life hung 
 on a thread. 
 
 Once more a struggling man had to face 
 fresh and heavy expenses. It was six 
 months before the matter of education could 
 even be thought of again, and then the boy 
 was placed under the charge of a curate who 
 only received three pupils. 
 
 This time Ralph did not acquit himself to 
 the satisfaction of his teacher. He was 
 reported idle, mischievous, hard to manage, 
 fond of pleasure, impossible to instruct. For 
 Latin and Greek he manifested a wicked 
 hatred. He cared for nothing but amuse- 
 ment and idle stories ; and, in a word, the 
 reverend gentleman begged that a pupil who 
 could never do him credit, and who had been 
 received on reduced terms at a time when 
 the R. G. was very glad indeed to get pupils 
 on any terms, might be removed. 
 
 With a sore heart Mr. Brisco did remove 
 the lad. Remembering what he himself had 
 been as a boy, dutiful, hard-working, his 
 son's shortcomings seemed, perhaps, greater 
 than they were. In all the sins mentioned, 
 Mr. Brisco could but see the worthless 
 
MOST LONELY. 251 
 
 feathers of the Daynes showing them- 
 selves. 
 
 Lazy, self-indulgent, unscrupulous, every 
 man of them had been. 
 
 " And if Ralph is to grow up like them I 
 would rather lay him in his coffin," thought 
 the poor father, as he travelled down to take 
 charge of his youthful prodigal. 
 
 Only one son, and he not a comfort. Only 
 one child, for whom all his self-denial, all his 
 hard work, all his plans, seemed destined to 
 go for nought. 
 
 Again Ralph was brought to London. 
 This time his father got him into a good 
 public school, and kept the lad under 
 his own eye. Till he was a little over 
 thirteen affairs seemed to progress more 
 favourably. 
 
 If he did not learn much, still he learnt 
 something. 
 
 " I must give him time — he is young— he 
 will do well yet," thought the father. 
 
 It was at this period a chance offered of 
 renting the old house in Botolph Lane. 
 
 Mr. Brisco saw the advantage of such an 
 arrangement, and entered into an agreement 
 
252 MITRE COURT. 
 
 to take over the lease. He laid his plans : 
 he would toil and save for his boy, whom he 
 meant to be a barrister. He would indulge 
 in no superfluity. He would live frugally as 
 of yore. During the day he would work 
 hard, and at night he would open the old 
 volumes business had forced him to lay 
 aside, and look out passages in Cicero and 
 Demosthenes to read to his dead wife's 
 living son. 
 
 But meantime he and his son were no 
 nearer than they had ever been. It was 
 only in the imagination of an eccentric man 
 that wayward youth and crabbed age sat 
 down together to read in the works of those 
 who have left no message for a frivolous and 
 light-minded generation. 
 
 It was a dream, yet it pleased Mr. Brisco. 
 The boy was not fourteen, but he thought 
 already he ought to have an old head on his 
 young shoulders. 
 
 On the face of the earth there was 
 nothing further from Ralph's mind than 
 serious effort or study of any sort. He had 
 youth's lack of comprehension of sorrow, 
 shortness, struggle. He did not understand 
 
MOST LONELY. 253 
 
 his father. He saw other boys well supplied 
 with pocket-money, well dressed, well fed, 
 well cared for. He did not understand why 
 he too should not be well dressed, well fed, 
 well cared for. 
 
 So there came a division between him and 
 his father. He had been asked by a certain 
 schoolmate, named Harris, to a picnic party. 
 Mr. Brisco at once negatived the invitation. 
 Ralph said nothing, but went. When he 
 returned home his father asked where he 
 had been. The boy told him. Had his 
 mother been living she would have smoothed 
 matters and made everything right, but as 
 affairs stood everything went wrong. 
 
 In dogged silence Ralph listened to his 
 father's reproaches. 
 
 " I must end all this," said Mr. Brisco at 
 last. " For years you have been a trouble 
 and anxiety to me. I shall now place you 
 where your propensities will be restrained, 
 your disobedience checked, and your abilities, 
 if you have any, developed. You are more 
 than I can manage. I must find some one — 
 I will immediately find some one able to 
 control you. Now go to bed." 
 
254 MITRE COURT. 
 
 Without a word Ralph slunk off. His 
 father never had struck him, but perhaps he 
 felt he deserved a thrashing. 
 
 He did not get it, however. Afterwards 
 Mr. Brisco felt glad to remember this, for 
 next morning the lad was nowhere to be 
 found — nowhere. 
 
 He had no money — he did not take a 
 thins: out of the house save himself and the 
 clothes he wore over-night. Dressed just as 
 his father had seen him last, he must have 
 stolen from his home and gone — where ? 
 
 High and low he was sought for, but not 
 found. Days passed — weeks — months — and 
 still no tidings were heard of the missing lad. 
 Though she stoutly denied all knowledge of 
 his whereabouts, Mr. Brisco for a long time 
 clung to the belief that Hannah might, if she 
 chose, furnish a clue to the mystery, but at 
 length he felt compelled to abandon this idea. 
 
 She was in service earning her wages 
 hard by. How could she be keeping a 
 boy in hiding, for whose discovery a reward 
 was posted on every police station in the 
 kingdom ? 
 
 Had he known his son to be dead, Mr. 
 
MOST LONELY. 
 
 Brisco fancied he should have borne the 
 trouble better. What in comparison to this 
 loss of her child had been the loss even of 
 his wife ? It was the one charge left to him 
 by her. How did it happen he had failed in 
 his trust ? 
 
 Once again the old anguish, from which 
 time had taken somewhat of its poignancy, 
 returned, bringing with it a deeper anguish 
 still. Little over middle age, he looked an 
 old man. His hair became grey, his face 
 haggard, his body wasted. Night after 
 night he rose from his bed when sleep 
 refused to visit him, and wandered through 
 the rooms, and paced the roof of a house in 
 which he had hoped to make a fresh start for 
 success if not for happiness. 
 
 Pecuniarily he was doing better, com- 
 paratively he was doing well, but the search 
 for his boy could not be conducted without 
 much expense ; and when he dared to face 
 his accounts, he found that, so far from 
 making headway, he had actually got into 
 debt more deeply than ever. If health 
 failed — if he were stricken down — what 
 remained save the Union or suicide ? 
 
!56 MITRE COURT. 
 
 Often in those days he felt tempted to end 
 the long struggle ; but he was no coward ; 
 besides, at any moment the wanderer might 
 return. Like the father of old, from afar it 
 was possible he should yet behold his 
 prodigal ; and though he had no fatted calf 
 to kill, or gold ring to put on his finger, or 
 friends to make merry with, still the child — 
 her child — would be restored to him. Dim 
 and dark though the future seemed, it was 
 the faint hope of once more seeing his son 
 which kept the man alive and enabled him to 
 work. He was still advertising, still em- 
 ploying detectives, still drifting over a sea of 
 doubt, when one winter's night he received a 
 letter addressed in an unknown hand. 
 
 Only a few lines were traced on the half- 
 sheet of note-paper he drew out of the 
 envelope. 
 
 " Cease searching for your son. He has 
 found a friend who will do better for him 
 than you ever could." 
 
 As he finished reading, all the old wounds 
 in the man's proud, lonely heart seemed to 
 burst out bleeding afresh. 
 
MOST LONELY. 257 
 
 His son was alive, but with strangers, who 
 were preferred before the father who had 
 toiled, and suffered, and pinched, and denied 
 himself for the boy as he had denied himself 
 joyfully for the mother. 
 
 It was then the iron entered into his soul 
 — then the wall, which had always stood 
 between this man and his fellows, rose in a 
 moment so high that thenceforth he stood 
 practically alone in a world filled with striving 
 suffering, mourning, rejoicing, triumphant 
 humanity. 
 
 vol. 1. 17 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 IN MITRE COURT. 
 
 S a rule great enterprises do not 
 spring in a moment to life booted 
 and spurred. 
 
 It may be true enough, as some persons 
 assert, that remarkable ideas have flashed 
 across their brains with the swiftness and 
 brilliancy of lightning ; but, after all, an idea 
 is one thing and a perfected project quite 
 another. 
 
 For this reason, once for all, it may 
 be said that the great undertaking which 
 ultimately brought money and notoriety to 
 Karl Katzen was not a sudden inspiration. 
 It grew and grew till it attained magnificent 
 dimensions. 
 
 He was as one who, casting strange seed 
 
IN MITRE COURT. 259 
 
 into the ground, watches with astonishment a 
 lordly crop springing from that which himself 
 has planted. 
 
 Mr. Katzen's imagination supplied that 
 gentleman with an at first very miscellaneous 
 assortment of grain f or culture. Some of it 
 came to nothing. Some, when the crop was 
 ripe, proved valueless ; but one root bore 
 ears, as great as those in Joseph's dream. 
 By the time he had finished harvesting, the 
 new Consul's barns were full, and he had to 
 enlarge all the plans of his life in order to 
 hold the produce. 
 
 It was some time, however, before he even 
 thought of planting. In the wicked ways of 
 monetary London he was no novice. He 
 regarded the City exactly as Blucher did — as 
 a place to sack. He had raised " the one 
 thing needful," by every possible and well- 
 nigh by every impossible means. He had 
 been agent for specialities without number, 
 and it may safely be said in no single instance 
 did his principals come out scatheless. 
 
 But that was never Mr. Katzen's fault ; 
 some one else was always to blame, some- 
 times even the principals themselves. It 
 
 17 — 2 
 
260 MITRE COURT. 
 
 was as easy to get firm grasp of an eel as 
 of Mr. Katzen. He managed to keep just 
 within the law, though how, sailing so near 
 the wind, he contrived to do this he alone 
 could have told. For indeed he did things 
 quite beyond the law. He established differ- 
 ent houses in various parts of the world, and 
 drew upon those fictitious firms with a cool 
 disregard of possible consequences that would 
 have made any honest man's hair stand on 
 end. 
 
 Yet somehow it all came right. A person 
 with unlimited assurance and almost un- 
 limited resource, who is " constantly about," 
 would indeed be dense if he failed to meet 
 under the shadow of the Dragon and the 
 Grasshopper with at least one flat a week. 
 Mr. Katzen met with a great many flats — 
 and a great many rogues — and so the whole 
 game finally became one of manipulation. 
 He never permitted anything to drift ; he 
 was always prepared. When the time was 
 ripe he failed ; not in a loud, demonstrative, 
 aggravating sort of way — but meekly and 
 mildly. 
 
 He knew a solicitor accustomed to manag- 
 
IN MITRE COURT. 
 
 ing such affairs, and so was wont to get his 
 "matter shoved through" without any unne- 
 cessary fuss. 
 
 As a rule creditors hate trouble, and hate 
 publicity still more. Many of them are not 
 so solvent themselves that they care to have 
 attention attracted to their losses. Therefore 
 if Mr. Katzen offered anything in the way 
 of a composition they were usually fain to 
 accept it — and avoid bankruptcy. Already 
 he had thus compounded three times ; 
 and there seemed no great reason why he 
 should not compound two hundred and 
 ninety-seven times more — when the Consul- 
 ship for New Andalusia dropped at his 
 feet. 
 
 Of course that was a job. The person 
 who procured the appointment for him had 
 an interest in his being so appointed, but that 
 did not signify. For the first time in his life 
 Mr. Katzen felt himself in a position to play 
 at football with Fortune. Hitherto he could 
 only be regarded, could only regard himself, 
 as a mere hanger-on at her gates ; now he 
 held a card for her assemblies. 
 
 Archimedes wanted a waste piece of ground 
 
262 MITRE COURT. 
 
 in space for the screw which should turn the 
 earth. Mr. Katzen knew he had found a 
 vacant plot where he could plant his machin- 
 ery, but for a time he was at a standstill for 
 some world to turn. 
 
 There is a great deal in a name. In his 
 case Mr. Katzen believed there was all in a 
 name, and the result proved his belief was 
 not mistaken. 
 
 To the mind of ordinary humanity — you, 
 and you, my neighbours, and you in the next 
 street — it might not occur that the title of 
 Consul meant anything beyond a certain 
 salary ; but you, and you, and you, would be 
 mistaken. Does not "Sir" carry a weight, 
 and General, and Colonel, and Captain even ? 
 and yet no one so designated may receive a 
 penny of income from capital invested or 
 from work fairly done. 
 
 Once the notion was correct enough, but it 
 is not now. It is greatly to the credit of the 
 innocence of tradespeople that a title and a 
 carriage can deceive them even in these days 
 of " stores." After a little — when they have 
 eaten more freely of the tree of the knowledge 
 •f good and evil — they will learn a lesson 
 
IN MITRE COURT. 263 
 
 which must prove bitter to their so-called 
 betters. 
 
 " The tide has turned," said Mr. Katzen 
 to himself when he took possession of his new 
 offices in Mitre Court, City, still almost as 
 quiet and out-of-the-way a spot as the court- 
 yard on which the old house in Botolph Lane 
 looks out. 
 
 No awkward demands now for further 
 references, or cash in advance to tradesfolk, 
 or something - at least on account before 
 necessary work was commenced. Alterations 
 were hurried on ; the rooms were swept and 
 garnished, papered, painted, varnished, white- 
 washed, filled with brand-new furniture ; and 
 then, all being ready, Mr. Katzen seated 
 himself in his new chair in front of a large 
 library-table, looked at the still unsoiled 
 blotting-pad, the envelope-case filled with 
 headed notepaper, the large glass inkbottle 
 into which pen had never yet been dipped, 
 and considered the future, not without a 
 vague wonder as to what that future might 
 bring. 
 
 His was an inscrutable face — his a 
 phlegmatic manner. As a rule he met 
 
264 MITRE COURT. 
 
 disaster and success with the same marvel- 
 lous equanimity. When he made a coup, he 
 did not go about the City open-mouthed, 
 proclaiming his good fortune ; and if he 
 came in for a loss, no one could have told 
 the fact from his look or voice. 
 
 It was true he had taken a departure in 
 the matter of his new dig-nitv ; but this was 
 partly owing to the circumstance that imagina- 
 tion had for the time being obtained posses- 
 sion of his nature, and greatly because he had 
 a purpose to serve in sounding the trumpets 
 and beating the drums in honour of Karl 
 Katzen, Consul for New Andalusia. 
 
 He knew — no one better — that many 
 people might utterly fail to see the im- 
 portance of his position, and that it was 
 necessary to impress upon persons like the 
 Jeffleys, for example, that he had suddenly 
 ascended many rungs of the commercial 
 ladder. Mrs. Jeffley would spread the news 
 like a town-crier. Jack even might casually 
 mention it. Common talk is as cheap a form 
 of advertisement as can be adopted, and it 
 was well, he felt, that the talk should make 
 him as important an individual as possible. 
 
IN MITRE COURT. 26: 
 
 Further, though he did not in the least know 
 what he was going to do with New An- 
 dalusia now he had got it, he felt there 
 could be no harm in setting men's tongues 
 wagging about a virtually unknown country. 
 He might see his way to floating some mine, 
 or starting some new industry — meat-pre- 
 serving, emigration, fruit-growing, grain-ex- 
 porting, humming-birds for ladies' bonnets — 
 all sorts of plans and notions were seething 
 in the caldron of his busy brain. What he 
 wanted was to make money, and he did not 
 care how. " After years I have at length got 
 my great chance," he said to Mrs. Jeffley. 
 " Patience, and you shall see what I will 
 make of it." 
 
 In the race he meant to run he did not 
 carry an ounce weight. Even his rather 
 doubtful antecedents counted for nothing. 
 In London there are always fresh people 
 coming forward. By the time one set of 
 dupes have been squeezed dry, another are 
 pressing on their heels in their greed for 
 high interest — in their thirst for money they 
 have not earned, clamouring almost to be 
 cheated, to be eased of the hundreds and 
 
266 MITRE COURT. 
 
 thousands they are ready to invest so 
 recklessly. 
 
 " If I can hit on a really good thing, it will 
 be so much the better for us all," considered 
 Mr. Katzen ; and then he walked to the 
 windows, and drew down the blinds, and 
 afterwards walked back to the table, and 
 stood beside it thinking. 
 
 In truth, he was in a state of mind unusual 
 for him — restless. He wanted to begin to 
 make his fortune that hour — that instant. 
 
 The silence of the place did not calm him. 
 On the contrary, the knowledge that a 
 regular clerk was seated in the outer office, 
 though in one way gratifying, rather in- 
 terfered with that sense of personal liberty 
 which can only be thoroughly enjoyed by a 
 man who locks his door every time he goes 
 out, and takes the key with him. He knew 
 he should soon grow accustomed to the 
 change, but meantime it was not quite 
 pleasant. Further, he did not exactly like 
 his clerk. He had, in a lordly sort of way, 
 offered the berth to Frank Scott, and Frank 
 Scott refused to accept it. This annoyed 
 him more than the matter seemed worth, and 
 
IN MITRE COURT. 267 
 
 caused a temporary coolness between Mrs. 
 JefHey and a young fellow " who could not 
 see his own interests." 
 
 "You'll be just such another as Mr. 
 Jeffley," said the brisk Maria, "and always 
 stand in your own light. You'll never have 
 such an offer again, Mr. Frank." 
 
 " That is very likely," answered Mr. 
 Frank ; " but I should not like to leave my 
 present situation." 
 
 " Well, well ; remember you have nobody 
 but yourself to thank, whatever happens," 
 retorted Mrs. Jeffley sharply — so sharply, 
 indeed, that Frank, who had been rather in 
 favour for a short time, thought it prudent to 
 keep as much as possible out of his hostess' 
 sight till his offence should be forgotten. 
 
 "If you can't get a clerk to your mind," 
 said Mrs. Jeffley to Mr. Katzen, " why do 
 you not give a helping hand to your old land- 
 lord, and let him have the situation ?" 
 
 " He would not take it," was the reply. 
 
 "You try him, that's all." 
 
 " I lack courage," persisted Mr. Katzen. 
 " Though he is as poor as one of your church 
 mice, he is as proud as Lucifer." 
 
-63 MITRE COURT. 
 
 " I have no patience with such nonsense," 
 declared Mrs. Jeffley. " He ought to be 
 thankful to get such a chance. I am sure 
 the way that girl has to work is cruel — 
 there ! and I do not mind who hears me 
 say so." 
 
 " She does not think so," was Mr. Katzen's 
 only comment ; but he did not cease con- 
 sidering Mrs. Jeffley's suggestion. 
 
 A man like Mr. Brisco was the very 
 person he wanted. Still, he could not make 
 up his mind to hazard such a proposal. 
 
 There was a fence in Mr. Brisco's nature 
 the boldest rider seemed afraid to take. 
 Even Mr. Katzen's impudence shrank from 
 attempting it, and that gentleman had known 
 him for a long time. Nevertheless, circum- 
 stances alter cases ; and Mr. Katzen, in his 
 now well-furnished, well-appointed offices, 
 with his rank painted on the door, felt he 
 was a different man from the Karl Katzen 
 who rented a dark little room at a low rent 
 in Botolph Lane, and often scarcely knew 
 where the next meal was to come from. 
 
 "Hang it!" he thought, walking again to 
 the window, and this time pulling up the 
 
IN MITRE COURT. 269 
 
 blind half-way. " A fellow so poor, and past 
 his work, ought to be glad and grateful to 
 get a salary for only sitting and answering 
 questions and writing a few letters. I will 
 put it to him on the very first occasion that 
 offers." 
 
 At the precise moment when he arrived at 
 this determination, the clerk appeared, and 
 stated that Mr. Brisco wished to see Mr. 
 Katzen. 
 
 " This is friendly," said the new Consul, as 
 Mr. Brisco entered, holding out his hand 
 with great cordiality, and shaking Mr. 
 Brisco's bloodless fingers with a heartiness 
 which caused that gentleman to wince. 
 " Do you know you are my earliest visitor ? 
 I am glad it should chance to be you who 
 assume the character of ' first foot.' I think 
 you will bring me good luck." 
 
 Mr. Brisco smiled bitterly as he said, 
 "Yes, I know I look just the sort of person 
 to bring good luck." 
 
 " Now I can't have that," remonstrated 
 Mr. Katzen. " I have a presentiment — I 
 feel it here," and he touched the left-hand 
 side of his waistcoat — " that I am Sfoins: to 
 
270 MITRE COURT. 
 
 be fortunate ; and who knows but that I may 
 not prove instrumental in improving matters 
 a little for you !" 
 
 " That is a very kind remark," returned 
 Mr. Brisco. It seemed a plain sort of speech, 
 yet, though Mr. Katzen looked at his visitor 
 hard, he could not quite understand what his 
 late landlord really meant by it. 
 
 " You see, I have got almost settled here," 
 said the new Consul, glancing not without 
 pride round his room. 
 
 " Yes, you look very clean and new," 
 answered Mr. Brisco, referring, doubtless, to 
 the office ; for certainly no human being 
 could with truth have said Mr. Katzen 
 looked clean or new. Rather, he always 
 presented a very second-hand appearance, 
 seeming to stand almost as much in need of 
 varnishing, and painting, and whitewashing, 
 as his place had done. " I like your old 
 house better, though." 
 
 Mr. Brisco inclined his head in acknowledg- 
 ment of the implied compliment. " Hayburn 
 has given up the offices," he said. 
 
 " No! Has he, though?" 
 
 " Yes. Sold his furniture to Welford ; 
 
IN MITRE COURT. 271 
 
 paid his rent up to last March, and left me 
 without a tenant." 
 
 "What an unprincipled hound! What a 
 dog in the manger! And I did so want 
 those rooms." 
 
 "Yes, it is unfortunate." 
 
 "It will be a serious loss to you, having 
 those rooms empty," observed Mr. Katzen, 
 who knew perfectly well Mr. Brisco had 
 come to tell him of Mr. Hayburn's change of 
 front, hoping he would return to Botolph 
 Lane. 
 
 " I have served my apprenticeship to loss," 
 said Mr. Brisco. 
 
 Sitting there in the bright sunshine, he 
 looked indeed a man who had served as he 
 stated. 
 
 His coat, once black, had changed with 
 age to green. It was of an antique cut, worn 
 quite white at the seams, and polished across 
 the shoulders. His trousers, of shepherd's 
 plaid, seemed to have shrunk with the years, 
 that had likewise rendered them baggy at 
 the knees. His waistcoat was of some sort 
 of nankeen, fashionable, possibly, at a remote 
 period, but it was faded with frequent washing, 
 
172 MITRE COURT. 
 
 and glazed with repeated starching - . He had 
 a green and white muslin necktie, and his 
 only ornament was an ancient silver watch, 
 attached to a steel chain. As for his hat, its 
 pensive browns looked almost picturesque in 
 the strong light which brought out many 
 changing shades, and lit up also the severe 
 lines of that sad, emaciated face. He had a 
 high forehead, a small aquiline nose, thin and 
 almost colourless lips, small cold eyes of a 
 steely blue, scanty grey hair, whiskers equally 
 scanty and equally grey, that gave him an 
 almost rugged appearance. He was tall, and 
 had no doubt been, at one period of his life, 
 a fine-looking man. 
 
 " Old Mortality," one of his tenants had 
 dubbed him, and Mr. Katzen, on that 
 summer's morning, thought the name fitted 
 to a nicety. 
 
 In the new Consul's freshly painted office 
 — smelling of varnish ; furniture glossy and 
 polished from the maker's hands — Mr. Brisco- 
 looked as much out of place as a dingy " old 
 master," its frame tarnished and broken, would 
 seem in the drawing-room of a nouveau rzche. 
 
 Such as he was, however — a mere wreck 
 
IN MITRE COURT. 273 
 
 of what had been — he sat with the light 
 streaming full on his face and figure. He 
 and Mr. Katzen might at that moment have 
 suggested to the mind of any fanciful observer 
 the Spirits of the Past and the Present. For 
 Mr. Brisco, no future of prosperity appeared 
 possible ; whereas, to men like the new 
 Consul, there is often but one stride from 
 failure to success. 
 
 " I expect you have known a good deal 
 of loss," said Mr. Katzen, in answer to his 
 old landlord's last remark. " But let us hope 
 there are better times to come." 
 
 "If you please," suggested Mr. Brisco, 
 " we will not speak about what sort of times 
 may be in store for me, or of me, indeed, 
 at all." 
 
 "As you like," returned Mr. Katzen gaily. 
 " Of what shall we talk ? I know there are 
 not many subjects that interest you." 
 
 " Suppose you speak about yourself," 
 suggested Mr. Brisco. " I shall be glad to 
 hear how you are getting on, and I fancy the 
 theme will not weary you. Men as a rule, I 
 notice, do not weary of harping on one 
 string if it be a personal one." 
 
 vol. 1. 18 
 
274 MITRE COURT. 
 
 " To that rule you are an exception," 
 answered the Consul. 
 
 " To most rules I fancy I am an exception. " 
 
 " My faith, I think you are- — I think you 
 are," said Mr. Katzen, softly patting the 
 table. " But we were not to talk about you, 
 I remember — only about this good child, 
 Karl Katzen. Well, what is it you desire to 
 know as regards the new Consul and your 
 old friend. (I wonder what he is diving 
 after — what wind has blown him here," 
 added Mr. Brisco's old friend in a mental 
 parenthesis.) 
 
 " What are you doing ?" 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " What are you going to do ?" 
 
 " That depends — make my fortune, for one 
 thing." 
 
 " How " 
 
 " What is the good of planning ? I have 
 no plans. Wherever I see a chance I shall 
 go in and win- — wherever there is a weak 
 point in the wall I shall enter and take 
 possession." 
 
 "You really think you are going to make 
 money." 
 
IN MITRE COURT. 275 
 
 "No, pardon me — I do not think; I am 
 sure. So far, there has been no time to 
 compass anything. You come to me before 
 we are another year older, and you shall hear 
 what you shall hear." 
 
 "It will give me great pleasure to hear 
 you are doing well." 
 
 " I believe you, I really do — I am quite in 
 earnest. I cannot think there is any jealousy 
 about you." 
 
 "Why do you lay such an emphasis upon 
 that you — do you know many men given to 
 the sin of jealousy ?" 
 
 "No, I do not; but I have it on Miss 
 Weir's authority that all men are jealous." 
 
 " Do you mean Abigail ?" 
 
 " Even so — the charming Miss Abigail." 
 
 " What can she know about jealousy ?" 
 
 " You had better ask her, dear sir. She 
 knows a great deal about many things. / 
 won't ask her — she might box my ears." 
 
 For a moment Mr. Briscosat silent, looking 
 down at the pattern of the carpet ; then, 
 lifting his head, he said with abrupt 
 directness : 
 
 " I will be plain with you — I did not come 
 
 18—2 
 
!76 MITRE COURT. 
 
 here to-day to ask after your welfare, though 
 I am glad to hear you mean to prosper. I 
 wanted to know — that is — do you remember 
 some time ago bidding me observe that 
 Abigail was a child no longer, but a eirl — 
 who might have lovers ?" 
 
 " I well remember — that was at Whitsun- 
 tide. What then ?" 
 
 "Had you any special reason for making 
 such a remark ?" 
 
 " I ? Lord, no !" 
 
 " You are quite sure ?" 
 
 " Quite. Are you sure you have no special 
 reason for reverting to the subject ?" 
 
 "Were I only to answer 'No,' I should 
 not be answering quite truthfully ; yet I feel 
 I have no right to answer ' Yes.' ' 
 
 " I suspect you have, though !" exclaimed 
 Mr. Katzen. " Take me into confidence — 
 tell me what is troubling you. Am I not the 
 little one's friend ? Have I not known her 
 since six years ? She was but a mite then in 
 her short skirt and that funny jacket, and 
 now she is — but you know what she is now 
 better than I. Yes, tell me, Mr. Brisco — 
 you could not tell anyone better able to 
 
IN MITRE COURT. 277 
 
 advise and help you than I — who is the 
 lover. I told her I felt a conviction there 
 was one at least waiting round the corner. I 
 await with impatience your disclosure." 
 
 " I have nothing to disclose," answered Mr. 
 Brisco slowly. " There is, so far as I know, 
 not any lover ; but — I am scarcely satisfied 
 about the girl. She is changed in some way 
 — and she has no mother — we can go to," he 
 added after an almost imperceptible pause. 
 
 "How, changed? How, not satisfied?" 
 demanded the new Consul. " I implore you 
 to confide in me, to pour out your heart to 
 Karl Katzen, who knows all about women 
 from their tight boots to their false hair. 
 What you tell shall be buried deep here," 
 and again he placed a hand on his waistcoat. 
 
 " There is nothing much to tell," said Mr. 
 Brisco. 
 
 " At any rate, tell it," urged his old friend. 
 
 " I suppose I had better," answered Mr. 
 Brisco, and after a moment's hesitation he 
 be^an. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ABOUT ABIGAIL. 
 
 DO not think," said Mr. Brisco, 
 " I should have noticed the change 
 which has taken place in Abigail 
 had it not been for the remark you made 
 about her." 
 
 " I have a ' think ' too," answered the new 
 Consul; "and it makes me feel very sure 
 of your own self you would have noticed 
 nothing. No — no — I pray you not to look 
 so black ; since a long time you are aware 
 your old friend Katzen is nothing if not frank." 
 
 Supposing Mr. Brisco's friend Katzen had 
 substituted the word "rude" for " frank," he 
 might have been nearer the bull's-eye he 
 meant to hit. 
 
 For a moment Mr. Brisco hesitated ; then 
 
" ABOUT ABIGAIL." 279 
 
 he said, "You are right. Occupied with my 
 own concerns, but for the advantage of 
 coming in contact with a younger and less 
 preoccupied intelligence than my own I 
 should certainly, I fear, have failed to observe 
 events passing under my eyes." 
 
 "As for example?" queried Mr. Katzen, 
 with no look of greater interest in his face, 
 with no brighter light in his dull eyes, his 
 hands motionless — his whole aspect that of a 
 person who was listening to mere babble for 
 the sake of civility. 
 
 Foreigners sometimes overdo the thing. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Mr. Brisco, 
 rising, and buttoning his shabby coat around 
 his lean figure, " I ought not to have intruded 
 upon your valuable time a matter so merely 
 personal." 
 
 " I seem able to do right never !" ex- 
 claimed Mr. Katzen, rising too, and literally 
 forcing his visitor down again into the just 
 vacated seat. "If it happen that I express 
 an opinion, I am wrong ; if I ask for in- 
 formation, pray for a mere glimmer of light 
 to guide me along the darksome road of a 
 woman's mind — always supposing a woman 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 to have a mind as well as a will — I go wrong 
 once more. Do extend a little patience to 
 one who does not quite understand the 
 English game of hot and cold. I want to 
 find, I do — but though perhaps you believe 
 you are playing some sort of music to help 
 German stupidity, upon my soul, I do not 
 understand a note of it. What events are 
 they which but for one casual remark of mine 
 would have passed unseen under eyes usually 
 keen and quick enough ?" 
 
 " They can scarcely prove of interest to 
 you," said Mr. Brisco coldly. " I forgot that 
 you had entered on a new sphere, and have 
 naturally left former times behind." 
 
 " I have left no times behind — a man can't 
 cast his skin like a toad, and drop portions of 
 himself along life's weary highway. Besides, 
 I would not, if I could, forget an hour spent 
 in the old house. Ach ! have I not been 
 happy there, spite of all the trouble ; and if I 
 took not an interest in you and the girl, in 
 whom should 1 take an interest ?" 
 
 " You are very good indeed to say so," 
 remarked Mr. Brisco, mollified, yeti scarcely 
 appeased. 
 
« ABO UT A BIG A ZL." 281 
 
 " I think so, which is more. Can I not 
 recall that bitter winter morning when I went 
 to the office early on no pleasant errand of 
 mine own ! That charming Mrs. Childs with 
 her lovely niece in attendance stood aside in 
 all humility on the first landing to let my 
 great self pass upstairs. The good creature's 
 face was pinched with cold — every part of it 
 which was not black was blue. Dirt was 
 ground into each line of her countenance — 
 she was so dirty, she looked like an old 
 master, or a blurred engraving ; so dirty, 
 she struck me as absolutely picturesque, and 
 I could not avoid stealing another glance. It 
 was then I saw in her face something more 
 than the pinch of cold or the black of grime. 
 
 " 'What has occurred ?' I asked ; and she, 
 good diplomatic soul, made answer, ' Only 
 that we have got a stranger here.' 
 
 "'What sort of a stranger,' I asked — 'a 
 white mouse or a new kind of black beedle ?' 
 Mrs. Childs always calls them ' beedles,' and as 
 she ought to be an authority on black things, 
 I suppose she is right." 
 
 " Your memory seems excellent," suggested 
 Mr. Brisco. 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 " It is indeed," said Mr. Katzen, taking no 
 notice of the impatient ring in his ex-land- 
 lord's voice ; "but not to weary you, and to 
 what you English so funnily call cut a long 
 story short, Mrs. Childs, after declaring it was 
 worse than a mouse ' or any other vermin,' 
 ' up and told me' — to adopt a favourite phrase 
 of her own — that there was a little girl in the 
 house — that where she had come from was a 
 mystery — that the clothes which covered her 
 were in such rags it was only the threads held 
 them together — that she was at that very 
 minute as ever was, while Mrs. Childs stood 
 talking to me — begging my pardon for the 
 liberty — going on dreadful, in a manner of 
 speaking all in a quaking delirium, and that 
 something warned her evil must come of it : 
 she only hoped it might not be to Mr. Brisco 
 himself, who had almost snapped the nose off 
 her face for offering to go, in the piercing 
 cold too, in search of a policeman, who would 
 have taken the young hussy to the station- 
 house. Dear Mrs. Childs was most energetic 
 and delightful, and the maiden Sophy stood 
 sniffling and chuckling till her aunt said she 
 had better mind her manners, more especially 
 
"ABOUT ABIGAIL." 283 
 
 as such a disgrace had come upon a decent 
 house. She also told me of a bad dream she 
 dreamt, no longer ago than the night before 
 last, or she hoped she might never stir again ; 
 and would have enlarged upon the fact that 
 dreaming of being on the water meant trouble, 
 but I cut her short, and went up to my office, 
 where I found annoyance enough waiting to 
 put dreams and girls and rags and Mrs. 
 Childs out of my mind." 
 
 " I wonder I tolerated such a creature 
 about the house," muttered Mr. Brisco. 
 
 " She did her work," commented the 
 Consul, "but I fear she used a great deal too 
 much Nixey. She was, she is, a living 
 example of the powers of black lead ; the 
 only drawback is, she does not polish. Well, 
 to return to our sheep." 
 
 " I have not an idea what sheep it was, or 
 where we left it browsing," interrupted Mr. 
 Brisco. 
 
 " Here is a colley can find it," laughed the 
 other. "We have never really lost sight of 
 your pet lamb." 
 
 " You could scarcely have selected two 
 words less appropriate to myself and the 
 
284 MITRE COURT. 
 
 girl had you searched the dictionary 
 through," retorted Mr. Brisco — " nothing 
 more grotesque than the idea of my keeping 
 a pet could well be conceived ; and whatever 
 else she may be, Abigail certainly does not 
 resemble a lamb." 
 
 " I do not know that she does," confessed 
 the new Consul. " She is not fluffy, and it 
 might be hard to lead her even with the help 
 of a blue ribbon anywhere she did not want 
 to go. The first time I saw her, I thought 
 she was an imp. My faith ! shall I ever 
 forget my amazement ? I had been absent 
 for nearly three months — I left you in winter ; 
 when I returned it was spring. I had passed 
 through a bad time, a very bad time. The 
 ill news I found waiting for me the morning- 
 good Mrs. Childs and I met on your stairs 
 took me abroad, and kept me there for many 
 an anxious day ; and it was a beautiful 
 evening in April when once again I inhaled 
 the delightful odours of Love Lane. The 
 evening was Saturday. En route to Fowkes' 
 Buildings, T thought, ' I'll just see if the old 
 house is still standing.' It was looking as I 
 had left it. I ran up the steps, I put my key 
 
''ABOUT ABIGAIL." 285 
 
 in the lock, the latch lifted, and in a moment 
 I passed from the subdued grey of Love 
 Lane into a hall bathed with the yellow light 
 of a setting sun. The door looking out on 
 the courtyard stood wide ; around the court- 
 yard were the silent warehouses, deserted till 
 the second morning of another week. A 
 silence as of perfect rest — not death — reigned 
 throughout the place. It seemed like an 
 enchanted palace, with broad streams of 
 mellow sunshine flooding marble floor and 
 the great staircase and the once panelled 
 walls. There only wanted one touch of life, 
 and it came. 
 
 " From out the dining-room there sprang a 
 small figure, clad in a blue skirt and a red 
 garibaldi. It carried a tin pot-lid, on which 
 it played some music to which it sang and 
 danced. It went through every possible antic 
 of movement and gesture ; except the dancing 
 crane, I have never seen anything half so 
 funny : — ' Tir-a-la — tir-a-la — la-ta — tir-a-la — 
 tir-a-la — la-ti — tir — turn — tir-to — tir-de — tir- 
 a-la — tir-a-la — tir-a-la — tir-a-la — tir-dum — ' 
 and then she saw me " 
 
 " Time she did," interposed Mr. Brisco. 
 
286 MITRE COURT. 
 
 :i Now don't be cynical," entreated the 
 narrator, " because you know you take an 
 interest in the young monkey. 
 
 "'Well, fairy sprite,' I asked, 'and where 
 do you come from ?' 
 
 "'Well, burglar man,' she replied as bold 
 as brass, ' and where do you come from ?' 
 
 " She was not in the least afraid. I put the 
 question to her, and she said contemptuously, 
 'What should I be afraid of? But you have 
 no business here — how did yoii get in ?' ' 
 
 " I suppose you are recalling these events 
 under the impression that they must prove 
 interesting to me," interposed Mr. Brisco. 
 "If, however, I assure you that they are on 
 the contrary unpleasant, perhaps you will 
 kindly confine yourself to the present, and 
 say whether you had really any hidden reason 
 for the remark you made some time ago to 
 the effect that Abigail was a comely girl who 
 had reached a marriageable age." 
 
 "Is she not what you call comely — is she 
 too young to think of marriage ? Heaven ! 
 she is not too young for other people to think 
 of marrying her !" 
 
 "What people ?" 
 
"ABOUT ABIGAIL." 287 
 
 " What people ! any people — every people." 
 
 " Has it ever come to your knowledge, 
 that amongst the multitude of human beings 
 you seem to imagine must desire to marry the 
 girl, there is one in especial for whom she 
 cares r 
 
 Mr. Katzen paused. He felt almost in- 
 clined to answer, " Yes, she cares for Karl 
 Katzen," but doubt and prudence combined 
 kept him silent. Besides, he wanted to see 
 Mr. Brisco's hand. He believed that gentle- 
 man held a court card of some sort, and there 
 was nothing he desired more than to know 
 its exact value. 
 
 " No," he said at last, " I have not any in- 
 formation on the subject. How should I 
 have ?" 
 
 " I cannot tell," answered Mr. Brisco. " I 
 cannot tell." There was such a tone of de- 
 spondency in his words that Mr. Katzen's 
 curiosity at once sprang into more active life. 
 He took his cue in a moment. 
 
 " Look you here, long year friend and 
 landlord," he exclaimed, "why should we 
 play at hot and cold any longer ? You be- 
 lieve there is something to be found — what is 
 
-88 MITRE COURT. 
 
 it ? You want my help to find it- — where do 
 you think is the most likely place for us to 
 go look ?" 
 
 " Why should I trouble you about the 
 matter ?" said Mr. Brisco. 
 
 "Why ? Because I remember — because you 
 and the ofirl are more to me than most. It 
 was because I wanted you to feel I was one 
 with you, that I talked a while ago what you 
 thought babble. Is it babble to say I have 
 not forgotten the old wide-eaved, many- 
 srabled wooden house where I was born ; that 
 in waking dreams I see often the pine-woods 
 and the blue mountains of my fatherland (I 
 thank D'Israeli the first for anglicizing that 
 phrase) ; that the blue-green depths of the 
 Rhine still hold mysteries for me, and that, 
 though common-sense says ' No,' fantasy- 
 makes me see and hear the Lorelei seated on 
 her high grey rock, singing such sweet and 
 plaintive songs as cause wise men to rush to 
 their doom ? After all, the backbone of life 
 is memorv, and the longer a man lives, and 
 the stronger his mind grows, the more he 
 recurs to the past." 
 
 " It may be so," agreed Mr. Brisco : " yet, 
 
"ABOUT ABIGAIL." 289 
 
 personally, I cannot think memory a bless- 
 ing." 
 
 « No ? — yet consider what pictures she 
 paints for one ! Where is the art gallery 
 hung with such gems as you may find hung 
 on the walls of any man's mind ? — many a sad 
 scene, many a sordid interior, no doubt ! But 
 think of the landscapes — of the glorious 
 dawns, of the sleepy noons, of the busy street 
 scenes, of the tender moonlights, and the 
 magnificent sunsets any man who has eyes 
 to see, and a heart to understand, may collect 
 to gladden his heart withal, before he has 
 reached the first third of man's allotted span." 
 
 " No doubt you are right," said Mr. Brisco 
 dreamily. He was trying to understand — 
 striving, as at some time we must all have 
 striven — vaguely to comprehend the purely 
 intellectual, and to us well-nigh unintelligible 
 view of men, nature, and art, which is taken 
 by foreigners. We — speaking of English 
 folk generally — look out of the windows of 
 our heart ; we narrow everything into a 
 question of feeling. It is not so with those 
 born out of our nice little, tight little island. 
 Sentiment may cloud or gild the world's face 
 
 vol. 1. 19 
 
290 MITRE COURT. 
 
 to the eye of a foreigner, but as a rule he sur- 
 veys all God's wondrous gifts to man through 
 mental spectacles. 
 
 He sees things as they are ; we see them 
 as we feel them. 
 
 It is this difference, I imagine, which 
 separates us from foreigners. They are too 
 wise, too sensible, too shrewd, to please or 
 be pleased with a foolish nation impelled along 
 the rails of life by the force of its own weight. 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Katzen, answering Mr. 
 Brisco's informal thought. " I am quite 
 right. The girl's first coming, her terror, her 
 rags, her entreaty, have left no such picture 
 on your memory as the first sight of that 
 lean, quaint child, dancing over the marble 
 once trodden by your great Sir Christopher, 
 has on me. Ach Gott ! as I talk the years 
 roll back, and I see her once again with her 
 quaint airs and funny graces — ' Tir-a-la, tir-a- 
 la, tir-de ' — and then, in the middle of our 
 after-talk, down comes Mrs. Childs, fresh 
 from the rite of some mysterious dirt-offering. 
 
 " ' What are you doing, missy ?' she cried, 
 in that pleasant voice of hers. ' You had 
 best get out of this. If Mr. Brisco finds you 
 
"ABOUT ABIGAIL:' 291 
 
 a-dancing about his hall, and a-wearing out of 
 his marble stones, he'll pay you.' 
 
 " Then missy went ruefully, finger in 
 mouth, tambourine again transformed into 
 a pot-lid hanging by her side, the little 
 twinkling feet changed in an instant to feet 
 that seemed to carry a burden, and her 
 wonderful, tender, saucy eyes full, quite full, 
 of tears. 
 
 " 'Who is she ?' I asked Mrs. Childs ; and 
 then that excellent person said she was the 
 sweeping of some slum. I thought of the 
 dust before the besom, and inquired where the 
 dust had gone. 
 
 " ' To her bit of a room, sir,' answered dear 
 Mrs. Childs. 'It's there she generally goes 
 when she's in one of her tantrums.' 
 
 "Without saying anything to Mrs. Childs, 
 I sought that bit of a room, and knocked. 
 
 " 'Who's that ?' sanQf out the waif. 
 
 " ' The bad burglar man,' I answered. 
 
 " ' The bad burglar man must take himself 
 off,' she said, '/'m going to bed.' 
 
 " ' Good-night, then, my dear,' I cried 
 through the keyhole, ' till Monday.' " 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Katzen ?" 
 
 19 — 2 
 
292 MITRE COURT. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Brisco." 
 " I meant to inquire, what then ?" 
 " I meant to inquire, what now ?" 
 " I fail exactly to catch your meaning." 
 " Really ? Well, perhaps — anyhow, this is 
 the way affairs stand. The little bright, im- 
 pudent child has grown to a brighter, impu- 
 denter girl, and you fear for her — fear the 
 woman's lot has come — fear she likes some- 
 body who perhaps likes not her the right 
 way." 
 
 "What are you driving at?" asked Mr. 
 Brisco, a hot gust of passion agitating his 
 voice, and causing the swift delicate colour 
 the new Consul had learnt to know so well, 
 to tinge his pale cheeks with the faintest 
 shade of pink. "If anyone cares for the 
 girl, and I have no reason to suppose any- 
 one does, why should he not care for her in 
 the right way ? Abigail is no baby. She 
 needs no mother to warn her of the world's 
 pitfalls. The women she has mixed most 
 with are not usually given to reticence. She 
 might fail to pass an examination in the 
 world's wickedness. One French novel, I dare 
 say, contains more vice than is known in the 
 
' ' ABOUT A BIG A IL." 293 
 
 whole ward of Billingsgate. But she is wise, 
 and spite of her somewhat flippant tongue, 
 modest. I am not afraid she will go wrong, 
 no — spite of " 
 
 "What?" questioned Mr. Katzen, as the 
 elder man paused abruptly. 
 
 " Nothing — or rather, as you might attach 
 a wrong meaning to my sentence if I left it 
 unfinished, I will say, spite of her ante- 
 cedents " 
 
 " You are aware, then, of the nature of her 
 antecedents 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Thereby hangs a tale, I suppose." 
 
 " Which I have no intention of telling." 
 
 " I suspect you are wise." 
 
 " I suspect you have not the slightest 
 notion whether I am wise or foolish." 
 
 Mr. Katzen smiled. 
 
 " Come," he said, " don't let two good 
 friends quarrel. The subject of Miss Abi- 
 gail's grandpapa and grandmamma — shall 
 we put the doubtful relations back to that 
 point ?" 
 
 " You can put them where you please," 
 interrupted Mr. Brisco. " There is no ques- 
 
Z94 MITRE COURT. 
 
 tion but that the Qfirl was born in lawful 
 wedlock." 
 
 " You know the fact for a certainty, do 
 you ?" 
 
 " She is as legitimate as you are, I was 
 going to remark ; but — you must excuse the 
 awkwardness of my amendment — since I have 
 not the faintest notion of the circumstances 
 under which you came into the world — the 
 comparison might not be quite fair to 
 Abigail." 
 
 " You leave me untouched this time," 
 answered Mr. Katzen. " My father and 
 mother were tied up tight enough in that 
 matrimonial knot even you English find it 
 sometimes hard enough to undo. Darby and 
 Joan, they are living still. Boy and girl, 
 they were betrothed ; young man and young 
 woman, they were married ; husband and wife, 
 they brought up a large family ; old man and 
 old woman, they yet pass in and out of the 
 same house they entered hand in hand bride 
 and bridegroom. No, Mr. Brisco ; Miss 
 Abigail's papa and mamma may have been 
 persons of higher social standing than the 
 parents of this poor foreigner ; but I confess, 
 
"ABOUT ABIGAIL." 295 
 
 considering the circumstances under which 
 the dear child made her first appearance in 
 Botolph Lane, I should scarcely judge her to 
 be the lineal descendant of any belted earl." 
 
 Mr. Brisco looked straight in the speaker's 
 face, while he said gravely : 
 
 " So far as I am acquainted with Abigail 
 Weir's pedigree, there is no earl in it." 
 
 " But something better, perhaps ?" 
 
 " There was one honest man ; but he can 
 only be considered a very poor substitute, 
 spite of all our fine phrases concerning that 
 vara avis being the noblest work of God." 
 
 " Now, I wonder," considered Mr. Katzen, 
 " whether, after all, you have only been a very 
 sly old fox, receiving money for keeping our 
 sharp young friend out of the way." 
 
 The idea was so congenial and delightful, 
 that at once Mr. Brisco seemed to grow in 
 wisdom and in stature before the new Consul's 
 eyes. 
 
 " I'll be bound that's the way of it," he 
 thought. "Wait a little, though ; now it 
 behoves me to be doubly cautious." 
 
 And even while his heart burned within 
 him, he managed to maintain absolute silence. 
 
296 MITRE COURT. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Katzen," said his visitor, at 
 length. " Am I the unworthy subject of so 
 much conjecture ?" 
 
 " Yes and no," answered Mr. Katzen, ap- 
 parently waking up to the urgency of present 
 affairs. " I was thinking of you, but only in 
 connection with your strange charge ; for put 
 the matter as you will, Miss Weir is a strange 
 charge." 
 
 " She is one I did not seek." 
 
 " I believe that, utterly. I used often to 
 wonder why you took her in at all." 
 
 " That is a question which, in the former 
 days, often perplexed me." 
 
 "You did not like her, With half an eye 
 anyone could see that." 
 
 " No ; on the contrary — she was antago- 
 nistic to me." 
 
 " Yet you kept her out of pity." 
 
 " Perhaps — partly — I scarcely know why I 
 did allow her to stop." 
 
 " Yes, I guessed that. The whole thing 
 used to puzzle me vastly — Miss Abby most 
 of the whole. She knew she was not wanted, 
 and, personally, I should not have imagined 
 the old house a palace likely to captivate a 
 
"ABOUT A BIG A IL." 297 
 
 child's fancy ; nevertheless, having made up 
 her mind to stop, she stopped. I often 
 laughed, thinking how like a stray cat she 
 comported herself — satisfied with the poor 
 welcome of mere sufferance, making a great 
 feint of being greeted with effusion, keeping 
 out of the way as much as possible ; and when 
 forced to appear in evidence before you, 
 cringing into her small body, or else figura- 
 tively rubbing her head against table-legs and 
 chairs, and odd corners, as is the preliminary 
 form of conciliation first adopted by unwel- 
 come pussies. After a time, who so impudent 
 and familiar as the stray tabby ? How she 
 clamours for milk, and insists on meat ! How 
 she luxuriates before the fire, and selects the 
 softest pillow to stretch herself upon ; with 
 what ill-concealed impatience or lofty conde- 
 scension she receives the advances of friendly 
 strangers ! As I talk, I declare the likeness 
 deepens. Think of how scurvily Abigail now 
 treats her fellow-creatures ! Looking back* 
 I can scarcely imagine her to be the same 
 girl who at one time, when surprised or fright- 
 ened, had every tone and trick and gesture of 
 a street-beggar." 
 
29S MITRE COURT. 
 
 " She was never a street-Deodar, sir." 
 
 " Your pardon, I never said she was — only 
 that she acted the part most excellently well. 
 However, that has nothing to do with the 
 matter in hand ; we had best let bygones be 
 bygones, and only think of Miss Abigail as 
 we see her grown — bright, saucy, pretty. 
 Come, Mr. Brisco, though I dare say you 
 found out, long ago, that beauty is vanity, 
 and woman a snare — confess Abigail is pretty, 
 pretty enough to give some young fellow the 
 heartache." 
 
 " I suppose she is," answered Mr. Brisco. 
 " Yes, I see she is." 
 
 " We are getting on — I am glad of that," 
 said Mr. Katzen ; " and now you came here 
 to tell me something." 
 
 " I came here to ask whether you had made 
 that remark of yours haphazard or from 
 observation, and you will not answer me 
 straightforwardly." 
 
 " My good heavens ! dear friend, what 
 can you want more than I have said ? I 
 know no young man whose heart is aching ; 
 but reason assures me there must be one such 
 young man, if not more. Who he is — what 
 
"ABOUT ABIGAIL." 299 
 
 he is — where he is, I have no more idea than 
 a baby; only he must be, I am sure of it. We 
 have all been young ; I have been young 
 myself once." 
 
 If Mr. Katzen hoped to elicit any polite 
 remark from Mr. Brisco about his being 
 young still, he was disappointed. 
 
 " I dare say you were/' said Mr. Brisco 
 " but that does not help me much." 
 
 "No? — yet I think it might. The per- 
 son who is not too old to remember his teens 
 may prove of some service in disentangling 
 the vagaries of youth. Give me one end of 
 your skein, and let us see what we can do in 
 the way of unravelling it." 
 
 Again Mr. Brisco paused, then he said 
 hesitatingly : 
 
 " I have scarcely anything to speak about, 
 but yet " 
 
 "A straw shows how the wind blows, a 
 straw may enable me to help your — inex- 
 perience." 
 
 " Put it that way if you like. I am inex- 
 perienced in such matters. I do not profess 
 to know much about women — my knowledge 
 of girls is even less ; yet I confess the change 
 
MITRE COURT. 
 
 which has lately come over Abigail — though 
 but for you I admit I might have failed to see 
 it — appears to me extraordinary." 
 
 " I asked you before, ' as for example ?' — 
 and you took huff and would have walked 
 off had I not prayed you to remain. Now 
 we have come to a comprehension, however, 
 what is this metamorphosiswhich has removed 
 our dear rebellious maiden to a sphere not 
 recognisable ? If I met her, should I feel 
 constrained to ask, Can this be Abigail ?" 
 
 "The alteration might not strike you, but 
 it surprises me." 
 
 " Has her hair turned white in a single 
 night ? Has she lines across her forehead, 
 and have crow's-feet stamped their foul im- 
 print round her eyes ?" 
 
 " No ; but — 'you remember how she used 
 to sing ?" 
 
 " I remember, at any rate, how you used 
 to love to hear her sing," answered Mr. Kat- 
 zen ironically. 
 
 "Well, if I tell you I should be glad to 
 hear her sing now, perhaps you will under- 
 stand the alteration a short time has sufficed 
 to work." 
 
"ABOUT ABIGAIL" 301 
 
 " What, has Abigail ceased carolling ?" 
 asked the new Consul, genuinely surprised. 
 
 " Entirely." 
 
 "And does she seem out of sorts, as you 
 phrase it ?" 
 
 " She is grave, if not sad." 
 
 "And all this has come about since my 
 departure ?" 
 
 "All this has come about since your depar- 
 ture. 
 
 " Perhaps she is pining for me." 
 
 " She may be," answered Mr. Brisco drily ; 
 but there was something in his tone which 
 suggested that he did not think it probable. 
 
 Mr. Katzen grinned appreciatively. 
 
 " I am right. Depend upon it," he said, 
 "Abigail misses her old playfellow. Ah, you 
 don't know, you never knew, what a com- 
 panion I was to our little friend ; and, my 
 faith ! what a companion she was to me too ! 
 I can hear her screams of delight now when 
 she used to find where I had stolen away. It 
 was a rare house that of Sir Christopher's for 
 hide-and-seek I Once the young monkey led 
 me a pretty dance ! 'Twas in the dusk ; then 
 — after I had exhausted the premises and 
 
302 MITRE COURT. 
 
 myself — she jumped out on me from the dog- 
 kennel. 
 
 " 'Come, you awful child,' I cried, ' confess — 
 this is not the first time you crept in that hole.' 
 
 " She put her fingers in her mouth and 
 dropped her head and began rubbing the toe 
 of her right shoe backward and forward over 
 the stones — you know her trick — and would 
 have slunk off, only I held her fast. 
 
 '''How many nights,' I asked, 'did you 
 sleep in the dog-kennel before Mr. Brisco 
 found you in the cellar ?' 
 
 " ' Two,' she whispered. 
 
 "Great heavens! Think of it — think of 
 that wretched baq; of bones dmo-p-ins itself 
 under those steps and lying there hidden 
 while we were all groins backwards and 
 forwards ! Then consider how soon she 
 threw all the trouble off, and went laughing, 
 singing, dancing, about the rooms !" 
 
 For a moment Mr. Brisco had clenched his 
 hand tight, but he immediately opened it again. 
 
 " How r interesting," he remarked, "not to 
 say instructive, to hear of the many things 
 which have been going on under one's own 
 roof without one's own knowledge !" 
 
ABOUT ABIGAIL? 303 
 
 "Very," agreed Mr. Katzen drily, "es- 
 pecially when one considers how numerous 
 are the incidents which may be enacting 
 now while one remains in a state of equal 
 ignorance." 
 
 Mr. Brisco looked straight in the new 
 Consul's face. "Again I ask you," he said, 
 " is there any meaning hidden behind your 
 words ?" 
 
 "And again I answer, None, beyond what 
 you English talk so much about and really 
 value so little — -plain common-sense. If Miss 
 Abigail have got a lover, do you think it is 
 likely she will take you into confidence ?" 
 
 " It is not likely," confessed Mr. Brisco, 
 " and yet " 
 
 " Yet what ?" 
 
 "If she have got a lover, why should she 
 make a mystery of the matter ? I suppose 
 all girls get lovers. It is the common 
 lot." 
 
 " Faith, no ; I fancy you are wrong in that 
 conclusion. As one of your own beautiful 
 songs makes a neglected maid say — 
 
 " ' /never was guilty of refusing many, 
 For, the Lord knows my heart, I'd be thankful for any.' 
 
304 MITRE COURT. 
 
 That is right. In the present imperfect state 
 of society there is not a Jack for every 
 Jill — besides, some Jills get too many 
 Jacks." 
 
 "After all," said Mr. Brisco, "Abigail's 
 thoughts may be tending in quite another 
 direction. It is possible she has grown 
 weary of the old house." 
 
 " Her weariness must be of very recent 
 date then," commented Mr. Katzen. 
 
 " The change is recent. Formerly, as you 
 know, she picked up scraps of learning in an 
 irregular, desultory manner. Without much 
 application she " 
 
 " Contrived to get herself wonderfully well 
 educated," finished Mr. Katzen. 
 
 " But yet not thoroughly, Now, however, 
 she is devoting every spare moment to the 
 acquisition of languages " 
 
 " Languages ! What languages ?" 
 
 " Well, amongst others — German " 
 
 " Ach Gott — that is good !" exclaimed Mr. 
 Katzen. " And she used to tell me it was 
 the tag, rag, and bobtail — the very dregs of 
 all the tongues confounded at Babel. ' No 
 other nation could be found to take it,' she 
 
" ABOUT ABIGAIL:' 305 
 
 would say, ' and so the Germans were forced 
 to have that or nothing.' 
 
 " 4 My faith, the Germans have made some- 
 thing out of it since Babel,' I assured her ; 
 and then she mocked and cried, ' Bah !' ' 
 
 " Relations between you do not appear, 
 even on your own showing, to have been 
 very cordial," remarked Mr. Brisco. 
 
 The new Consul shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Among friends, you know " he said, 
 
 and left his visitor to finish the sentence as 
 might seem to him best. 
 
 How Mr. Brisco did please to finish it 
 must for ever remain uncertain, as at that 
 instant Mr. Katzen's clerk entered to say a 
 gentleman was in the outer office who wished 
 to see the Consul for New Andalusia at once. 
 
 " I will call round," was Mr. Katzen's 
 cheering assurance as Mr. Brisco rose to 
 depart. " Do not disquiet yourself. The 
 little one and I understand each the other. 
 She will keep no secrets from me?' 
 
 END of vol. 1. 
 
 BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD. 
 
 G, C. fr Cc.