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 A LIFE'S SECEET. 
 
A LIFE'S SECEET 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. HENRY WOOD , 
 
 AUTHOR OF "east LYNNE," ETC., ETC. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 : CHARLES W. WOOD, 13, TAVISTOCK ST., STRAND. 
 
 1867. 
 
 IThe Bight of Translation and Reproduction reserved.^ 
 
LONDON : 
 BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIABS. 
 
v./ 
 
 PKEFACE. 
 
 During the last twelve months I have 
 received many different applications, re- 
 questing me to publish " A Life's Secret," in 
 book form. It was written six years ago, 
 and appeared in "The Leisure Hour," in 
 1862. These applications have been made 
 to me — not on account of any merit in the 
 story calling particularly for republication, 
 but because some of the chief incidents 
 depicted in it turn upon a strike : and 
 strikes, as we all know, have been latterly 
 growing into notoriety. 
 
 At first I would not listen to the recpests : 
 for reasons that I gave, and also that the 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 ■""•'■> 
 
 ^ story did not appear to me to be so eligible 
 for republication, as some works tbat I have 
 written. But the step has been so pressed 
 upon me, and from quarters bearing weight, 
 that I have at length yielded. It is thought 
 that the pictures of the social misery induced 
 by the strike (or lock-out), as described in 
 the story, and which it fell to my lot to see 
 something of, may possibly be felt as a 
 warning, and act for good now. The scenes, 
 however, are touched upon, rather than 
 elaborated : the work having been made of 
 necessity short, to suit the periodical for 
 which it was destined. 
 
 •The appearance of the story in 1862 did 
 not please everybody, and angry remon- 
 strances came down on the managers of 
 " The Leisure Hour." The tenor of its senti- 
 ments was not liked : and one gentleman, 
 who filled a somewhat conspicuous part in 
 its pages, was particularly repudiated — Mr. 
 
. PREFACE. Vll 
 
 Samuel Shuck. This gave rise to a short, 
 spontaneous note from the editor — reinserted 
 here at the end of Chapter I. of the Second 
 Part : and, subsequently, to the following 
 note from myself : — 
 
 "In writing this story the author's object has not 
 been to deal with the vexing questions between masters 
 and men, between capital and labour, about which there 
 must always be conflicting opinions, so mucb as to depict 
 the injurious social results that these quarrels produce, 
 and the misery they leave behind tbem. It was written 
 in the kindest, heartiest spirit towards the men, and in 
 the truest sympathy with their sufPering families. — May, 
 1862." 
 
 Every word of this last note I would 
 repeat now : and also the opinions expressed 
 in the work, as to strikes and the social ill 
 they bring. They can but be productive of 
 mischief, both to masters and men. In 1862, 
 the disaffection lay, comparatively speaking, 
 in a nut-shell; in 1867, it has become a 
 stupendous evil ; and none, I think, can 
 foresee where the evil will end. I presume 
 not to touch upon the political bearings of 
 
Vlll PEEFACE. 
 
 the question, leaving tliem to wiser heads 
 than mine : but if the book shall cause even 
 one workman to stand bravely to his daily 
 labour, in the teeth of adverse counsels and 
 offered hindrances, and so avert seasons of 
 bitter suffering from his family, I shall be 
 thankful to have sent it forth. 
 
 It is republished by the kind permission 
 of the proprietors of " The Leisure Hour." 
 
 E. W. 
 
 October, 1867. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PART THE FIRST. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. — ^WAS THE LADY MAD ? 1 
 
 II. — CHANGES 35 
 
 III. — AWAY TO LONDON 46 
 
 IV. — ^DAPFODIL'S DELIGHT 66 
 
 v.— MISS GWINN'S VISIT 89 
 
 VI. — TRACKED HOME 113 
 
 VII. — MR. SHUCK AT HOME 144 
 
 VIII. — FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS ! . . . . 164 
 
 IX. — THE SEPARATION OF HUNTER AND HUNTER 180 
 
V 
 
 X CONTENTS. 
 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. — A MEETING OF TKE -WORKMEN . . . 193 
 
 II. — CAXI.ED TO KETTERPORD .... 221 
 
 III. — TWO THOUSAND POUNDS 244 
 
 rV. — AGITATION 272 
 
A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 PAKT THE FIRST. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 WAS THE LADY MAD ? 
 
 On the outskirts of Ketterford, a town of 
 some note in the heart of England, stood, a 
 few years ago, a white house, its green lawn, 
 surrounded by shrubs and flowers, sloping 
 down to the high road. It probably stands 
 there still, looking as if not a day had 
 passed over its head since, for houses can 
 be renovated and made, so to say, new 
 again, unhke men and women. A cheerful 
 bright, handsome house, of moderate size, 
 the residence of Mr. Thornimett. 
 
2 A LIFES SECRET. 
 
 At the distance of a short stone's-throw, 
 towards the open country, were sundry 
 workshoj)s and sheds — a large yard interven- 
 ing between them and the house. They 
 belonged to Mr. Thornimett ; and the tim- 
 ber and other characteristic materials lying 
 about the yard would have proclaimed their 
 owner's trade without the aid of the lofty 
 sign-board — " Eichard Thornimett, Builder 
 and Contractor." His business was extensive 
 for a country town. 
 
 Entering the house by the pillared por- 
 tico, and crossing the blgick-and-white floor- 
 cloth of the hall to the left, you came to 
 a room whose windows looked towards the 
 timber-yard. It was fitted up as a sort of 
 study, or counting-house, though the real 
 business counting-house was at the works. 
 Matting was on its floor; desks and stools 
 stood about ; maps and drawings, plain and 
 coloured, were on its walls ; not finished and 
 beautiful landscapes, such as issue from the 
 hands of modern artists, or have descended 
 to us from the great masters, but skeleton 
 designs of various buildings — churches, 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD ? 3 
 
 bridges, terraces — plans to be worked out in 
 actuaKty, not to be admired on paper. This 
 room was chiefly given over to Mr. Thorni- 
 mett's pupil : and you may see him in 
 it now. 
 
 A tall, gentlemanly young fellow, active 
 and upright ; his name, Austin Clay. It 
 is Easter Monday in those long-past years 
 — and yet not so very long past, either — 
 and the works and yard are silent to-day. 
 Strictly speaking, Austin Clay can no longer 
 be called a pupil, for he is twenty-one, and 
 his articles are out. The house is his home ; 
 Mr. and Mrs. Thornimett, who have no chil- 
 dren of their own, are almost as his father 
 and mother. They have said nothing to 
 him about leaving, and he has said nothing 
 to them. The town, in its busy interference, 
 gratuitously opined that " Old Thornimett 
 would be taking him into partnership." Old 
 Thornimett had' given no indication of what 
 he might intend to do, one way or the 
 other. 
 
 Austin Clay was of good parentage, of 
 gentle birth. Left an orphan at the age of 
 
 A B 2 
 
4 A LIFES SECRET. 
 
 fourteen, witli very small means, not suffi- 
 cient to complete his education, Ketterford 
 wondered what was to become of him, and 
 whether he had not better get rid of him- 
 self l)y running away to sea. Mr. Thorni- 
 mett stepped in and solved the difficulty. 
 The late Mrs. Clay — Austin's mother — and 
 Mrs. Thornimett were distantly related, and 
 perhaps a, certain sense of duty in the 
 matter made itself heard ; that, at least, 
 combined with the great fact that the 
 Thornimett household was childless. The 
 first thing they did was to take the 
 boy home for the Cln:istmas hohdays ; the 
 next, was to tell him he should stay there 
 for good. Not to be adopted as their son, 
 not to leave him a fortune hereafter, Mr. 
 Thornimett took pains to explain to him, 
 but to make him into a man, and teach him 
 
 to earn his own livino;. 
 
 . '''-■■■■ 
 "Will you be apprenticed'^to me, Austin V 
 
 subsequently asked Mr. Thornimett. 
 
 " Can't I be articled, sir 1 " returned 
 Austin, quickly. 
 
 " Articled ? " repeated Mr. Thornimett, 
 
 §^ 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD ? 5 
 
 with a laugli. He saw what was running 
 in the boy's mind. He was a plain man 
 himself; had built up his own fortunes just 
 as he had built the new house he lived in ; 
 had risen, in fact, as many a working man 
 does rise : but Austin's father was a gen- 
 tleman. " Well, yes, you can be articled, 
 if you like it better," he said ; " but I shall 
 never call it anything but apprenticed ; 
 neither will the trade. You'll have to work, 
 young sir," 
 
 " I don't care how hard I work, or what 
 I do," cried Austin, earnestly. " There's no 
 degradation in work." 
 
 Thus it was settled ; " and Austin Clay 
 became bound pupil to Kichard Thorni- 
 mett. 
 
 " Old Thornimett and his wife have done 
 it out of charity," quoth Ketterford. 
 
 No doubt they had. But as the time 
 passed on, they grew very fond of him. He 
 was an open-hearted, sweet-tempered, gene- 
 rous boy, and one of them at least, Mr. 
 Thornimett, detected in him the qualities 
 that make a superior man. Privileges were 
 « ■ 
 
6 A LIFES SECRET. 
 
 accorded him from tlie first : the going 
 on with certain of his school duties, for 
 which masters came to him out of business 
 hours — drawing, mathematics, and modern 
 langTiages chiefly — and Austin went on 
 himself with Latin and Greek. With the 
 two latter Mrs. Thomimett waged perpetual 
 war. What would be the use of them to 
 him, she was always asking, and Austin, 
 in his pleasant, laughing way, would rejoin 
 that they might help to make him a gen- 
 tleman. He was that aheady : Austin Clay, 
 though he might not know it, was a true 
 gentleman born. 
 
 Had they repented their bargain ? — He 
 was twenty-one now, and out of his arti- 
 cles, or his time, as it was commonly called. 
 No, not for an instant. Never a better 
 servant had Eichard Thornimett ; never, he 
 would have told you, one so good. With 
 all his propensity to be a "gentleman," 
 Austin Clay did not shrink from his work; 
 but did it thoroughly. His master in his 
 wisdom had caused him to learn his busi- 
 ness ]Dractically ; but, that accomplished, he 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD ? 7 
 
 kept Mm to over-looking, and to otlier light 
 duties, just as he might have done by a 
 son of his own. It had told well. 
 
 Easter Monday, and a universal holiday. 
 Mr. Thornimett had gone out on horseback, 
 and Austin was in the pupil's room. He 
 sat at a desk, his stool on the tilt, one 
 hand unconsciously balancing a ruler, the 
 other supporting his head, which was bent 
 over a book. 
 
 " Austin ! " 
 
 The call, rather a gentle one, came from 
 outside the door. Austin, buried in his 
 book, did not hear it. 
 
 "Austin Clay!" 
 
 He heard that, and started up. The door 
 opened in the same moment, and an old 
 lady, dressed in delicate lavender print, 
 came briskly in. Her cap, of a round, old- 
 fashioned shape, was white as snow, and a 
 bunch of keys hung from her girdle. It 
 was Mrs. Thornimett. 
 
 " So you are here ! " she exclaimed, ad- 
 vancing to him with short, quick steps, a 
 sort of trot. " Sarah said she was sure Mr. 
 
8 A LIFES SECRET. 
 
 Austin had not gone out. And now, what do 
 you mean by this 1 " she added, bending her 
 spectacles, which she always wore, on his 
 open book. " Confining yourself in-doors 
 this lovely day over that good-for-nothing 
 Hebrew stuff!" 
 
 Austin turned his eyes upon her with a 
 pleasant smile. Deep-set grey eyes they 
 were, earnest and truthful, with a great 
 amount of thought in them for a young 
 man. His face was a pleasing, good-looking 
 face, without being a handsome one, its 
 complexion pale, clear, and healthy, and 
 the hair rather dark. There was not 
 much of beauty in the countenance, but 
 there was plenty of firmness and good 
 sense. 
 
 "It is not Hebrew, Mrs. Thornimett. 
 Hebrew and I are strangers to each other. 
 I am only indulging myself with a bit of 
 old Homer." 
 
 " All useless, Austin. I don't care whe- 
 ther it is Greek or Hebrew, or Latin or 
 French. To pore over those rubbishing dry 
 books whenever you get the chance, does 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD « 9 
 
 you jio good. If you did not possess a con- 
 stitution of iron, you would liave been laid 
 upon a sick-bed long ago." 
 
 Austin lauohed outright. Mrs. Tborni- 
 mett's prejudices against what sbe called 
 " learning," bad grown into a proverb. 
 Never having been troubled with much 
 herself, she, like the Dutch professor told 
 of by George Primrose, "saw no good in 
 it." She lifted her hand and closed the 
 book. 
 
 " May I not spend my time as I like upon 
 a holiday?" remonstrated Austin, half vexed, 
 half in good humour. 
 
 " No," said she, authoritatively ; " not 
 when the day is warm and bright as this. 
 We do not often get so fair an Easter. 
 Don't you see that I have put off my winter 
 clothing ? " 
 
 " I saw that at breakfast." 
 
 " Oh, you did notice that, did you ? I 
 thought you and Mr. Thornimett were both 
 buried in that newspaper. Well, Austin, 
 I never make the change till I think warm 
 weather is really coming in : and so it ought 
 
10 A life's secret. 
 
 to be, for Easter is late this year. Come, 
 put that book up." ■ 
 
 Austin obeyed, a comical look of griev- 
 ance on his face. " I declare you order me 
 about just as you did when I came here 
 first, a miserable little muff of fourteen. 
 You'll never get another like me, Mrs. Thor- 
 nimett. As if I had not enough out-door 
 work every day in the week I And I don't 
 know where on earth to go to. It's like 
 turning a fellow out of house and 
 home ! " 
 
 " You are going out for me, Austin. The 
 master left a message for the Lowland farm, 
 and you shall take it over, and stay the day 
 with them. They will make as much of 
 you as they would of a king. When Mrs. 
 Milton was here the other day, she com- 
 plained that you never went over now ; she 
 said she supposed you were growing above 
 them." 
 
 " What nonsense I " said Austin, laugh- 
 ing. " Well, I'll go there for you at 
 once, without grumbling. I like the 
 Miltons." 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD ? 11 
 
 " You can walk, or you can take the pony- 
 gig : wliicliever you like." 
 
 " I will walk," replied Austin with alac- 
 rity, putting his book inside the large 
 desk. " What is the message, Mrs. Thorni- 
 mett ? " 
 
 " The message " 
 
 Mrs. Thornimett came to a sudden pause, 
 very much as if she had fallen into a dream. 
 Her eyes were gazing from the window into 
 the far distance, and Austin looked in the 
 same direction : but there was not anything 
 to be seen. 
 
 " There's nothing there, lad. It is but my 
 own thoughts. Something is troubling me, 
 Austin. Don't you think the master has 
 seemed very poorly of late 1 " 
 
 " N — o," replied Austin, slowly, and with 
 some hesitation, for he was half doubting 
 whether something of the sort had not 
 struck him. Certainly the master — as Mr. 
 Thornimett was styled indiscriminately on 
 the premises both by servants and work- 
 people, so that Mrs. Thornimett often fell 
 into the same habit — was not the brisk man 
 
12 A LIFE S SECRET. 
 
 he used to be. " I have not noticed it par- 
 ticularly." 
 
 " That is Hke the young ; they never see 
 anything," she murmured, as if speaking to 
 herself. " Well, Austin, I have ; and I can 
 tell you that T do not like the master's looks, 
 or the signs I detect in him. Especially did 
 I not like them when he rode forth this 
 morning." 
 
 " All that I have observed is, that of late 
 he seems to be disinclined for business. He 
 seems heavy, sleepy, as though it were a 
 trouble to him to rouse himself; and he 
 complains sometimes of headache. But, of 
 course " 
 
 " Of course, what ? " asked Mrs. Thorni- 
 mett. " Why do you hesitate ? " 
 
 " I was going to say that Mr. Thoruimett 
 is not as young as he was," continued Austin, 
 with some deprecation. 
 
 "He is sixty-six, and I am sixty-three. 
 But, you must be going. Talking of it, will 
 not mend it. And the best part of the day 
 is passing." 
 
 " You have not given me the message," he 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD ? 1 3 
 
 said, taldng up liis liat which lay beside 
 him. 
 
 " The message is this," said Mrs. Thorni- 
 mett, lowering her voice to a confidential 
 tone, as she glanced round to see that the 
 door was shut. " Tell Mr. Milton that Mr. 
 Thornimett cannot answer for that timber 
 merchant about whom he asked. The master 
 fears he might prove a shppery customer ; he 
 is a man whom he himself would trust as 
 far as he could see, but no farther. Just 
 say it into Mr. Milton's private ear, you 
 know." 
 
 "Certainly. I understand," replied the 
 young man, turning to depart. 
 
 " You see now why it might not be con- 
 venient to despatch any one but yourself. 
 And, Austin," added the old lady, following 
 him across the hall, "take care not to make 
 yourself ill with their Easter cheesecakes. 
 The Lowland farm is famous for them." 
 
 " I will try not," returned Austin. 
 
 He looked back at her, nodding and laugh- 
 ing as he traversed the lawn, and from 
 thence struck into the open road. His way 
 
14 A LIFES SECRET. 
 
 led liim past the workshops, closed then, 
 even to the gates, for Easter Monday in that 
 part of the coiintiy is a universal holiday. 
 A few minutes, and he turned into the fields ; 
 a welcome change from the dusty road. 
 The field way might be a little longer, but 
 it was altogether pleasanter. Easter was late 
 that year, as Mrs. Thornimett observed, and 
 the season was early. The sky was blue and 
 clear, the day warm and lovely ; the hedges 
 were budding into leaf, the grass was grow- 
 ing, the clover, the buttercups, the daisies 
 were springing ; and an early butterfly 
 fluttered past Austin. 
 
 " You have taken wing betimes," he said, 
 addressing the unconscious insect. " I think 
 summer must be at hand." 
 
 Halting for a moment to watch the flight, 
 he strode on the quicker afterwards. Supple, 
 active, slender, his steps — the elastic, joyous, 
 tread of youth — scarcely seemed to touch 
 the earth. He always walked fast when 
 busy with thought, and his mind was buried 
 in the hint Mrs. Thornimett had spoken, 
 touching her fears for her husband's health. 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD ? 15 
 
 "If he is breaking, it's through his close 
 attention to business," decided Austin, as he 
 struck into the common and was nearing the 
 end of his journey. " I wish he would take a 
 joUy good holiday this summer. It would 
 set him up ; and I know I could manage 
 things without him." 
 
 A large common ; a broad piece of waste 
 land, owned by the lord of the manor, but 
 appropriated by anybody and everybody ; 
 where gipsies encamped and donkeys grazed, 
 and geese and children were turned out to 
 roam. A wide path ran across it, worn by 
 the passage of farmer's carts and other 
 vehicles. To the left it was bordered in the 
 distance by a row of cottages ; to the right, 
 its extent was limited, and terminated in 
 some dangerous gravel pits — dangerous, be- 
 cause they were not protected. 
 
 Austin Clay had reached the middle of the 
 path and of the common, when he overtook 
 a lady whom he slightly knew. A lady of 
 very strange manners, popularly supposed to 
 be mad, and of whom he once stood in con- 
 siderable awe, not to say terror, at which he 
 
16 A life's secret. . 
 
 laughed now. She was a Miss Gwinn, a tall 
 honj woman of remarkable strength, the 
 sister of Gwinn, a lawyer of Ketterford. 
 Gwinn the lawyer did not bear the best of 
 characters, and Ketterford reviled him when 
 they could do it secretly. " A low, crafty, 
 dishonest practitioner, whose hands couldn't 
 have come clean had he spent his days and 
 nights in washing them," was amidst the 
 complimentary terms applied to him. Miss 
 Gwinn, however, seemed honest enough, and 
 but for her rancorous manners Ketterford 
 might have grown to feel a sort of respect 
 for her as a woman of sorrow. She had 
 come suddenly to the place many years 
 before and taken up her abode with her 
 brother. She looked and moved and spoke 
 as one half crazed with grief : what its cause 
 was, nobody knew ; but it was accepted by 
 all, and mysteriously alluded to by herself 
 on occasion. 
 
 "You have taken a long walk this 
 morning, Miss Gwinn," said Austin, cour- 
 teously raising his hat as he came up 
 with her. 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD ? 17 
 
 She tlirew back her gray cloak with a 
 quick, sharp movement, and turned upon 
 him. "Oh, is it you, Austin Clay? You 
 startled me. My thoughts were far away : 
 deep upon another. He could wear a fair 
 outside, and accost me in a pleasant voice, 
 like you." 
 
 " That is rather a doubtful compliment, 
 Miss Gwinn," he returned, in his good- 
 humoured way. " I hope I am no darker 
 inside than out. At any rate, I don't try to 
 appear different from what I am." 
 
 " Did I accuse you of it ? Boy ! you had 
 better go and throw yourself into one of 
 those gravel pits and die, than grow up 
 to be deceitful," she vehemently cried. 
 " Deceit has been the curse of my days. It 
 has made me what I am ; one whom the 
 boys hoot after, and call " 
 
 " No, no, not so bad as that," interrupted 
 Austin, soothingly. "You have been cross 
 with them sometimes, and they are insolent, 
 mischievous Uttle ragamuffins. I am sure 
 every thoughtful person respects you, feeling 
 for your sorrow." 
 
IS A life's secret. 
 
 "Sorrow!" she Wcailed. "Ay. Sorrow, 
 beyond what falls to the ordinary lot of 
 man. The blow fell upon me, though I was 
 not an actor in it. When those connected 
 with us do wrong, we suffer ; we, more than 
 they. I may be revenged yet," she added, 
 her expression changing to anger. " If I 
 can only come across Jmn." 
 
 "Across whom V naturally asked Austin. 
 
 "Who are you, that you should seek to 
 pry into my secrets V she passionately re- 
 sumed. "I am five-and-fifty to-day — old 
 enough to be your mother, and you ]3re- 
 sume to put the question to me ! Boys are 
 comino; to somethino;." 
 
 " I beg your pardon ; I but spoke heed- 
 lessly, Miss Gwinn, in answer to your 
 remark. Indeed I have no wish to pry into 
 anybody's business. And as to ' secrets,' I 
 have eschewed them, since, a little chap in 
 petticoats, I crept to my mother's room door 
 to listen to one, and got soundly whipped 
 for my pains." 
 
 " It is a secret that you will never know, 
 or anybody else ; so put its thoughts from 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD ? 19 
 
 you. Austin Clay," she added, laying her 
 hand upon his arm, and bending forward 
 to speak in a whisper, "it is fifteen years, 
 this very day, since its horrors came out 
 to me ! And I have had to carry it about 
 since, as I best could, in silence and in 
 pain." 
 
 She turned round abruptly as she spoke, 
 and continued her way along the broad path ; 
 while Austin Clay struck short off towards 
 the gravel pits, which was his nearest road 
 to the Lowland farm. Silent and abandoned 
 were the pits that day ; everybody connected 
 with them was enjoying holiday with the 
 rest of the world. " What a strange woman 
 she is !" he thought. 
 
 It has been said that the gravel pits were 
 not far from the path. Austin was close 
 upon them, when the sound of a horse's 
 footsteps caused him to turn. A gentleman 
 was riding fast down the common path, from 
 the opposite side to the one he and Miss 
 Gwinn had come, and Austin shaded his 
 eyes with his hand to see if it was any one 
 he knew. No ; it was a stranger. A slender 
 
 c2 
 
20 A life's secret. 
 
 man, of some seven-and-thirty years, tall, 
 so far as could be judged, with thin, pro- 
 minent aquiline features, and dark eyes. 
 A fine face ; one of those that impress the 
 beholder at first sight, as it did Austin, 
 and, once seen, remain permanently on the 
 memory. 
 
 " I wonder who he is ? " cried Austin 
 Clay to himself. " He rides well" 
 
 Possibly Miss Gwinn might be wondering 
 the same. At any rate, she had fixed her 
 eyes on the stranger, and they seemed to be 
 starting from her head with the gaze. It 
 would appear that she recognised him, and 
 with no pleasurable emotion. She grew 
 strangely excited. Her face turned of a 
 ghastly whiteness, her hands closed involun- 
 tarily, and, after standing for a moment in 
 perfect stillness, as if petrified, she darted 
 forward in his pathway, and seized the 
 bridle of his horse. 
 
 " So ! you have turned up at last ! I 
 knew — I knew you were not dead ! " she 
 shrieked, in a voice of wild raving. " I 
 knew you would some time be brought 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD 1 21 
 
 face to face with me, to answer for your 
 wickedness." 
 
 Utterly surprised and perplexed, or seem- 
 ing to be, at this summary attack, the gen- 
 tleman could only stare at his assailant, and 
 endeavour to get his bridle from her hand. 
 But she held it with a firm grasp. 
 
 " Let go my horse," he said. " Are you 
 mad ? " 
 
 " You were mad," she retorted, passion- 
 ately. " Mad in those old days ; and you 
 tmmed another to madness. Not three 
 minutes ago, I said to myself that the time 
 would come when I should find you. Man ! 
 do you remember that it is fifteen years ago 
 this very day that the— the — crisis of the 
 sickness came on ? Do you know that 
 never afterwards " 
 
 "Do not betray your private affairs to 
 me," interrupted the gentleman. " They are 
 no concern of mine. I never saw you in 
 my life. Take care ! the horse will do you 
 an injury." 
 
 " No ! you never saw me, and you never 
 saw somebody else ! " she panted, in a 
 
22 A LIFES SECRET. 
 
 tone that would have been mockingly sar- 
 castic, but for its wild passion. " You 
 did not change the current of my whole 
 life I you did not turn another to mad- 
 ness ! These equivocations are worthy of 
 you." 
 
 " If you are not insane, you must be 
 mistaking me for some other person," he 
 replied, his tone none of the mildest, though 
 perfectly calm. " I repeat that, to my 
 knowledge, I never set eyes upon you in 
 my life. Woman ! have you no regard for 
 your own safety ? The horse will kill 
 you ! Don't you see that I cannot control 
 him?" 
 
 " So much the better if he kills us both," 
 she shrieked, swaying up and down, to 
 and fro, with the fierce motions of the 
 angry horse. " You will only meet your 
 deserts : and, for myself, I am tired of 
 life." 
 
 " Let go ! " cried the rider. 
 
 " Not until you have told me where you 
 live, and where you may be found. I have 
 searched for you in vain. I will have my 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD ? 23 
 
 * . 
 
 revenge ; I will force you to do justice. 
 You " 
 
 In lier sad temper, her dogged obstinacy, 
 she stiU held the bridle. The horse, a spi- 
 rited animal, was passionate as she was, and 
 far stronger. He reared bolt upright, he 
 kicked, he plunged ; and, finally, he shook 
 ofi" the obnoxious control, to dash furiously 
 in the direction of the gravel pits. Miss 
 Gwinn feU to the ground. 
 
 To faU into the pit would be certain 
 destruction to both man and horse. Austin 
 Clay had watched the encounter in amaze- 
 ment, though he could not hear the words 
 of the quarrel. In the humane impulse 
 of the moment, disregarding the danger 
 to himself, he darted in front of the 
 horse, arrested him on the very brink 
 of the pit, and threw him back on his 
 haunches. 
 
 Snorting, panting, the white foam break- 
 ing from him, the animal, as if conscious 
 of the doom he had escaped, now stood 
 in trembUng quiet, obedient to the control 
 of his master. That master threw him- 
 
24 'A life's secret. .-< 
 
 self from his back, ..and turned to 
 Austin. ''^ 
 
 " Young gentleman, you have saved my 
 life." 
 
 There was little doubt of that. Austin 
 accepted the fact without ^ny.fuss, feeling 
 as thankful as the speaker, and quite uncon- 
 scious at the moment of the wrehch he had 
 given his own shoulder. ' '.C 
 
 " It would have been an awkWard fall, 
 sir. I am glad I happened to be- here." 
 
 " It would have been a 'killing fall," 
 replied the stranger, stepping to the brink, 
 and looking down. " And your being here 
 must be owing to God's wonderful Provi- 
 dence." 
 
 He lifted his hat as he spoke, and re- 
 mained a minute or two silent and unco- 
 vered, his eyes closed. Austin, in the same 
 imjDulse of reverence, lifted his. 
 
 " Did you see the strange "manner in 
 which that woman attacked me ? " ques- 
 tioned the stranger. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " She must be insane." 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD ? 25 
 
 " She is very strange at times," said 
 Austin. " She flies into desperate pas- 
 sions." 
 
 " Passions ! It is madness, not passion. 
 A woman like that ought to be shut up in 
 Bedlam. Where would be the satisfaction 
 to my wife and family, if, through her, I 
 had been lying at this moment at the 
 bottom there, dead ? I never saw her in 
 my life before ; never." 
 
 " Is she hurt ? She has fallen down, I 
 perceive." 
 
 " Hurt ! not she. She could call after 
 me pretty fiercely when my horse shook her 
 ofi". She possesses the rage and strength of 
 a tiger. Good fellow 1 good Salem ! did a 
 mad woman frighten and anger you ?" added 
 the stranger, soothing his horse. " And 
 now, young sir," turning to Austin, " how 
 shall I reward you ? " 
 
 Austin broke into a smile at the notion. 
 
 " Not at all, thank you," he said. " One 
 does not merit reward for such a thing as 
 this. I should have deserved sending over 
 ^er you, had I not interposed. To do 
 
26 A LIFES SECRET. 
 
 my best was a simple matter of duty — 
 of obligation ; but nothing to be rewarded 
 for." 
 
 "Had he been a common man, I might 
 have done it/' thought the stranger ; " but 
 he is evidently a gentleman. Well, I may 
 be able to repay it in some manner .as you 
 and I pass through life," he said, aloud, 
 mounting the now subdued horse. " Some 
 neglect the opportunities, thrown in their 
 way, of helping their fellow-creatures ; some 
 embrace them, as you have just done. I 
 beheve that whichever we may give — 
 neglect or help — will be returned to us in 
 kind : like unto a corn of wheat, that must 
 spring up what it is sown ; or a thistle, that 
 must come up a thistle." 
 
 "As to embracing the opportunity — I 
 should think there's no man living but 
 would have done his best to save you, had 
 he been standing here." 
 
 " Ah, well ; let it go," returned the horse- 
 man. " Will you tell me your name ? and 
 something about yourself?" 
 
 "My name is Austin Clay. I have few 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD "? 27 
 
 relatives living, and tliey are distant ones, 
 and I shall, I expect, have to make my own 
 way in the world." 
 
 " Are you in any profession ? or busi- 
 ness ? " 
 
 "I am with Mr. Thornimett, of Ketter- 
 ford ; the builder and contractor." 
 
 "Why, I am a builder myself !" cried the 
 stranger, a pleasing accent of surprise in 
 his tone. " Shall you ever be visiting 
 London ?" 
 
 " I daresay I shall, sir. I should Hke to 
 do so." 
 
 " Then, when you do, mind you call upon 
 me the first thing," he rejoined, taking a 
 card from a case in liis pocket and handing 
 it to Austin. Come to me should you ever 
 be in want of a berth : I might help you to 
 one. Will you promise V 
 
 " Yes, sir ; and thank you." 
 
 " I fancy the thanks are due from the 
 other side, Mr. Clay. Obhge me by not 
 letting that Bess o' Bedlam obtain sight of 
 my card. I might have her following 
 
 e." 
 
28 A life's secret. 
 
 "No fear," said Austin, alluding to tlie 
 caution. 
 
 " She must be lying there to regain the 
 strength exhausted by passion," carelessly 
 remarked the stranger. " Poor thing ! it is 
 sad to be mad, though I She is getting up 
 now, I see ; I had better be away. That 
 town beyond, in the distance, is Ketterford, 
 is it not 1 " 
 
 " It is." 
 
 " Fare you well, then. I must hasten to 
 catch the twelve o'clock train. They have 
 horse-boxes, I presume, at the station ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes." 
 
 " All right," he nodded. " I have received 
 a summons to town, and cannot afford the 
 time to ride Salem home. So we must both 
 get conveyed by train, old fellow" — patting 
 his horse, as he spoke to it. " By the way, 
 though — what is the lady's name ?" he 
 halted to ask. 
 
 " Gwinn. Miss Gwinn." 
 
 " Gwinn ? Gwinn 1 Never heard the 
 name in my Hfe. Fare you well, in all gra- 
 titude." 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD ? 29 
 
 He rode away. Austin Clay looked at 
 the card. It was a private visiting card — 
 " Mr. Henry Hunter" with an address in 
 the corner. 
 
 "He must be one of the great London 
 building firm, ' Hunter and Hunter/ thought 
 Austin, depositing the card in his pocket. 
 "First class people. And now for Miss 
 Gwinn." 
 
 For his humanity would not allow him to 
 leave her unlooked-after, as the molested 
 and angry man had done. She had risen to 
 her feet, though slowly, as he stepped back 
 across the short worn grass of the common. 
 The fall had shaken her, without doing 
 material damage. 
 
 "I hope you are not hurt ?" said Austin, 
 kindly. 
 
 "A ban fight upon the horse!" she 
 fiercely cried. " At my age, it does not do 
 to be thrown on the ground violently. I 
 thought my bones were broken ; I could 
 "^^^ot rise. And he has escaped ! Boy ! 
 what did he say to you of me — of my 
 afi'airsr' 
 
30 A life's secret. 
 
 "Not anything. I do not believe lie 
 knows you in the least. He says he does 
 not." 
 
 The crimson passion had faded from 
 Miss Gwinn's face, leaving it wan and 
 white. " How dare you say you believe 
 it?" 
 
 " Because I do believe it," replied Austin. 
 " He declared that he never saw you in his 
 life ; and I think he spoke the truth. I can 
 judge when a man tells truth, and when he 
 tells a lie. Mr. Thornimett often says he 
 wishes he could read faces — and people — 
 as I can read them." 
 
 Miss Gwinn gazed at him ; contempt and 
 pity blended in her countenance. " Have 
 you yet to^earn that a bad man can assume 
 the semblance of goodness ?" 
 
 " Yes, I know that ; and assume it so as 
 to take in a saint," hastily spoke Austin. 
 " You may be deceived in a bad man ; but 
 I do not think you can in a good one. 
 Where a man possesses innate truth and 
 honour, it shines out in his countenance, his 
 voice, his manner ; and there can be no 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD ? 81 
 
 mistake. When you are puzzled over a bad 
 man, you say to yourself, ' He may be telling 
 tbe trutli, lie may be genuine ;' but with a 
 good man you know it to be so : that is, if 
 you possess the gift of reading countenances. 
 Miss Gwinn, I am sure there was truth in 
 that stranger." 
 
 " Listen, Austin Clay. That man, truth- 
 ful as you deem him, is the very incarnation 
 of deceit. I know as much of him as one 
 human being; can well know of another. It 
 was he who wrought the terrible wrong upon 
 my house ; it was he who broke up my 
 happy home. I'll find him now. Others 
 said he must be dead ; but I said, ' No, he 
 lives yet.' And, you see he does live. I'll 
 find him." 
 
 Without another word she turned away, 
 and went striding back in the direction of 
 Ketterford — the same road which the 
 i^ano;er's horse had taken. Austin stood 
 and looked after her, pondering over the 
 strange events of the hour. Then he pro- 
 ceeded to the Lowland farm. 
 
 A pleasant day amidst pleasant friends 
 
33 A life's secret. 
 
 spent he ; rich Easter cheesecakes being the 
 least of the seductions he did not withstand ; 
 and Ketterford clocks were striking half-past 
 ten as he approached Mrs. Thornimett's. 
 The moonlight walk was delightful ; there 
 was no foreboding of ill upon his spirit, 
 and he turned in at the gate utterly un- 
 conscious of the news that was in store 
 for him. 
 
 Conscious of the late hour — for they were 
 early people — he was passing across the lawn 
 with a hasty step, when the door was drawn 
 silently open, as if some one stood there 
 watching, and he saw Sarah, one of the two 
 old maid-servants, come forth to meet him. 
 Both had hved in the family for years ; had 
 scolded and ordered Austin about when a 
 boy, to their hearts' content, and for his own 
 good. 
 
 "Why, Sarah, is it youT' was his gay 
 greeting. " Going to take a moonlight 
 ramble ?" 
 
 " Wliere have you stayed V whispered the 
 woman in evident excitement. " To think 
 you should be away this night of all others, 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD ? 33 
 
 Mr. Austin ! Have you heard what has 
 happened to the master V 
 
 " No. What ?" exclaimed Austin, his 
 fears taking alarm, 
 
 " He fell down in a fit, over at the ^dllage 
 where he went ; and they brought him 
 home, a-frightening us two and the missis 
 almost into fits ourselves. Oh, Master 
 Austin !" she concluded, bursting into tears, 
 " the doctors don't think he'll live till morn- 
 ing. Poor dear old master !" 
 
 Austin, half paralysed at the news, stood 
 for a moment ao-ainst the waU inside the 
 hall. " Can I go and see him V he presently 
 asked. 
 
 " Oh, you may go," was the answer ; " the 
 mistress has been asking for you, and nothing 
 rouses him. It's a heavy blow ; but it has 
 its side of brightness. God never sends a 
 ^low but he sends mercy with it." 
 
 "What is the mercy — the brightness T' 
 Austin waited to ask, thinking she must 
 allude to some symptom of hope. Sarah 
 put her shrivelled old arm on his in solem- 
 nity, as she answered it. 
 
34 . A life's secret. 
 
 . " He was fit to be taken. He had lived 
 for the next world while he was living in 
 this. And those that do, Master Austin, 
 never need shrink from sudden death." 
 
CHAPTEE II. 
 
 CHANGES. 
 
 To reflect upon the change death makes, 
 even in the petty eveiy-day affairs of life, 
 must always impart a certain awe to the 
 thoughtful mind. On the Easter Monday, 
 spoken of in the last cha|)ter, Richard Thor- 
 nimett, his men, his contracts, and his busi- 
 ness in progress, were all part of the life, 
 the work, the bustle of the town of Ketter- 
 ford. In a few weeks from that time, 
 JRichard Thornimett— who had not lived to 
 ^ee the mornins; lio-ht after his attack — was 
 mouldering in the churchyard; and the 
 business, the workshops, the artisans, all 
 save the dwelling-house, which Mrs. Thor- 
 nimett retained for herself, had passed into 
 other hands. The name, Richard Thorni- 
 mett, as one of the citizens of Ketter- 
 
 s 2 
 
36 A life's secret. 
 
 ford had ceased to be : all thinors were 
 changed. 
 
 Mrs. Thornimett's friends and acquaint- 
 ances had assembled to tender counsel, after 
 the fashion of busy-bodies of the world. 
 Some recommended her to continue the 
 business ; some, to give it up ; some, to 
 take in a gentleman as partner ; some, to 
 pay a handsome salary to an efficient 
 manager. Mrs. Thornimett listened politely 
 to all, without the least intention of acting 
 upon anybody's opinion but her own. Her 
 mind had been made up from the first. Mr. 
 Thornimett had died fairly well off, and 
 everything was left to her — half of the 
 money to be hers for life, and then to go to 
 different relatives ; the other half was be- 
 queathed to her absolutely, and was at her 
 own disposal. Kumours were rife in the 
 town, that, when things came to be reahzed, 
 she would have about twelve thousand 
 pounds in money, besides other property. 
 
 But before makino- known her decision 
 abroad, she spoke to Austin Clay. They 
 were sitting together one evening when 
 
CHANGES. 37 
 
 she entered upon the subject, breaking the 
 silence that reigned with some abruptness. 
 " Austin, I shall dispose of the business : 
 everything as it stands. And the good- 
 will." 
 
 " Shall you ! " he exclaimed, taken by 
 surprise, and his voice betraying a curious 
 disappointment. 
 
 Mrs. Thornimett nodded in answer. 
 " I would have done my best to carry it 
 on for you, Mrs. Thornimett. The foreman 
 is a man of experience ; one we may 
 trust/' 
 
 " I do not doubt you, Austin ; and I do 
 not doubt him. You have got your head 
 Vn your shoulders the right way, and you 
 would be faithful and true. So well do I 
 think of your abilities, that, were you in a 
 position to pay down only half the purchase 
 money, I would give you the refusal of the 
 business, and I am certain success would 
 attend you. But you are not; so that is 
 out of the question." 
 
 "Quite out of the question," assented 
 Austin. " If ever I get a business of my 
 
38 A life's seceet. 
 
 own, it must be by working for it. Have 
 you quite resolved upon giving it up ? " 
 
 " So far resolved, that the negotiations 
 are already half concluded," replied Mrs. 
 Thornimett. " What should I, a lone 
 woman, do with an extensive business 1 
 When poor widows are left badly off, they 
 are obliged to work ; but I possess more 
 money than I shall know how to spend. 
 Why should I worry out my hours and 
 days trying to amass more 1 It would not 
 be seemly. Rolt and Ransom wish to pur- 
 chase it." 
 
 Austin lifted his head with a quick move- 
 ment. He did not like Eolt and Ransom. 
 
 " The only difference we have in the 
 matter, is this : that I wish them to take 
 you on, Austin, and they think they shall 
 find no room for you. Were you a common 
 workman, it would be another thing, they 
 say." 
 
 "Do not allow that to be a difference 
 any longer, Mrs. Thornimett," he cried, 
 somewhat eagerly. " I should not care to 
 be under Rolt and Ransom. If they offered 
 
CHANGES. 39 
 
 me a place to-morrow, and carte hlanche 
 as to pay, I do not think I could bring 
 myself to take it." 
 
 " Why ? " asked Mrs. Thornimett, in sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " Well, they are no favourites of mine. I 
 know nothing against them, except that they 
 are hard men — grinders ; hut somehow I 
 have always felt a prejudice against that 
 firm. We do have our likes and dishkes, 
 you are well aware. Young Eolt is promi- 
 nent in the business, too, and I am sure 
 there's no love lost between him and me ; 
 Ve should be at daggers drawn. No, I 
 should not serve Eolt and Eansom, If they 
 succeed to your business, I think I shall go 
 to London and try my fortune there." 
 
 Mrs. Thornimett pushed back her widow's 
 cap, to which her head had never yet been 
 able to get reconciled — something like 
 Austin with regard to Eolt and Eansom. 
 "London would not be a good place for 
 you, Austin. It is fuU of pitfaUs for young 
 men." 
 
 "So are other places," said Austin, laugh- 
 
.40 A life's secret. 
 
 ingly, " if young men choose to step into 
 them. I shall make my way, Mrs. Thor- 
 nimett, never fear. I am thorough master 
 of my business in all its branches, higher 
 and lower, as you know, and I am not afraid 
 of putting my own shoulder to the wheel, 
 if there's necessity for it. As to pitfalls — 
 if I do stumble in the dark into any, I'll 
 manage to scramble out again ; but I will 
 try and take care not to step into them 
 wilfully. Had you continued the business, 
 of course I would have remained with you ; 
 otherwise, I should like to go to London." 
 
 "You can be better trusted, both as to 
 capabilities and steadiness, than some could 
 at your age," deliberated Mrs. Thornimett. 
 "But they are wrong notions that you young 
 men pick up with regard to London. I 
 believe there's not one of you but thinks 
 its streets are sprinkled with diamonds." 
 
 "/ don't," said Austin. "And while God 
 gives me hands and brains to work with, I 
 .would rather earn my diamonds, than stoop 
 to pick them up in idleness." 
 
 Mrs. Thornimett paused. She settled her 
 
CHANGES. 41 
 
 spectacles more firmly on her eyes, turned 
 them full on Austin, and spoke sharply. 
 
 "Were you disappointed when you heard 
 the poor master'^ will read ? " 
 
 Austin, in return, turned his eyes upon 
 her, and opened them to their utmost width 
 in his surprise. " Disappointed ! No. Why 
 should I be?" 
 
 " Did it never occur to you to think, or to 
 expect, that he might leave you something ? " 
 
 " Never," earnestly rej^lied Austin. " The 
 tlought never so much as crossed my mind. 
 Mr. Thornimett had near relatives of his 
 own — and so have you. Who am I, that I 
 should think to step in before them ? " 
 
 " I wish people would mind their o"\\ti 
 business ! " exclaimed the old lady, in a 
 vexed tone. " I was gravely assured, Austin, 
 that young Clay felt grievously ill-used at 
 not being mentioned in the will." 
 
 "Did you beheve it ? " he rejoined. 
 
 " No, I did not." 
 
 "It is utterly untrue, Mrs. Thornimett, 
 whoever said it. I never expected Mr. 
 Thornimett to leave me anything ; therefore, 
 
42 A life's secret. 
 
 I could not have been disaj)pointed at the 
 will. 
 
 " The poor master knew I should not for- 
 get you, Austin ; that is, if you continue to 
 be deserving. Some time or other, when my 
 old bones are laid beside him, you may be 
 the better for a trifle from me. Only a 
 trifle, mind ; we must be just before we are 
 generous." 
 
 " Indeed, you are very kind," was Austin 
 Clay's reply ; " but I should not wish you to 
 enrich me at the expense of others who 
 have greater claims." And he fully meant 
 what he said. " I have not the least fear of 
 making my own way up the world's ladder. 
 Do you happen to know anything of the 
 London firm. Hunter and Hunter ? " 
 
 " Only by reputation," said Mrs. Thorni- 
 mett. 
 
 " I shall apply to them, if I go to London. 
 They would interest themselves for me, per- 
 haps." 
 
 " You'd be sure to do well if you could 
 get in there. But why should they help 
 you more than any other firm would ? " 
 
CHANGES. 43 
 
 " There's nothing like trying," replied 
 Austin, too conscious of the evasive cha- 
 racter of his reply. He was candour itself; 
 but he feared to speak of the circumstances 
 under which he had met Mr. Henry Hunter, 
 lest Miss Gwinn should find out it was to 
 him he had gone, and so track Mr Henry 
 Hunter home. Austin deemed that it was 
 no business of his to help her to find Mr. 
 Hunter, whether he was or was not the Mte 
 nd^re of whom she had spoken. He might 
 have told of the encounter at the time, but 
 for the home calamity that supervened upon 
 it ; that drove away other topics. Neither 
 had he mentioned it at the Lowland farm. 
 For all Miss Gwinn's violence, he felt pity 
 for her, and could not expose the woman. 
 
 " A first-rate firm, that of Hunter and 
 Hunter," remarked Mrs. Thornimett. " Your 
 credentials will be good also, Austin." 
 
 " Yes ; I hope so." 
 
 It was nearly all that passed upon the 
 subject. Rolt and Ransom took possession 
 of the business, and Austin Clay prepared to 
 depart for London. Mrs. Thornimett felt 
 
44 A life's secret, 
 
 sure he would get on well — always pro- 
 vided that he kept out of "pit-falls." She 
 charged him not to be above his business, but 
 to ivorh his way upwards : as Austin meant 
 to do. 
 
 A day or two before quitting Ketterford, 
 it chanced that he and Mrs. Thornimett, who 
 were out together, encountered Miss Gwinn. 
 There was a speaking acquaintance between 
 the two ladies, and Miss Gwinn stopped to 
 say a kind word or two of sympathy for the 
 widow and her recent loss. She could be a 
 lady on occasion, and a gentle one. As the 
 conversation went on, Mrs. Thornimett inci- 
 dentally mentioned that Mr. Clay was going 
 to leave and try his fortune in London. 
 
 " Oh, indeed," said Miss Gwinn, turning 
 to him, as he stood quietly by Mrs. Thorni- 
 mett's side. " What does he think of doing 
 there ^ " 
 
 " To get a situation, of course. He means 
 first of all to try at Hunter and Hunter s." 
 
 The words had left Mrs. Thornimett's lips 
 before Austin could interpose — which he 
 would have given the world to do. But 
 
CHANGES. 45 
 
 there was no answering emotion on Miss 
 
 o 
 
 Gwinn's face. 
 
 " Hunter and Hunter ? " she carelessly 
 repeated. " Who are they 1 " 
 
 " Hunter Brothers, they are sometimes 
 called," observed Mrs. Thornimett. " It is a 
 building; firm of eminence." 
 
 " Oh," apathetically returned Miss Gwinn. 
 " I wish you well," she added to Austin. 
 
 He thanked her as they parted. The sub- 
 ject, the name, evidently bore for her no 
 interest whatever. Therefore Austin judged, 
 that although she might have knowledge of 
 Mr. Henry Hunter's person, she could not of 
 his name. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 AWAY TO LONDON. 
 
 A HEAVY train, drawn by two engines, 
 was dasliino; towards London. Whitsuntide 
 liad come, and the public took advantage of 
 the holiday, and the trains were crammed. 
 Austin Clay took advantage of it also ; it 
 Avas a saving to his pocket, the fares having 
 been lowered ; and he rather liked a cram. 
 AVhat he did not like, though, was the being 
 stuffed into a first-class carriage with its 
 Avarm mats and its cushions. The crowd 
 Avas so great that people sat indiscriminately 
 in any carriage that came first. The day 
 Avas intensely hot, and he would have pre- 
 ferred one open on all sides. They were 
 filled, however, before he came. He had left 
 Ketterford, and was on his road to London 
 to seek his fortune — as old stories used to say. 
 
AWAY TO LONDON. 47 
 
 Seated in the same compartment as him- 
 self, was a lady with a little girl. The for- 
 mer appeared to be in very delicate health ; 
 she remarked more than once, that she would 
 not have travelled on so crowded a day, had 
 she given it proper thought. The little girl 
 was chiefly remarkable for making herself 
 troublesome to Austin : at least, her mamma 
 perpetually reproached her with doing so. 
 She was a lovely child, mth delicately 
 carved features, slightly aquiline, but inex- 
 pressibly sweet and charming. A bright 
 colour illumined her cheeks, her eyes were 
 large and dark and soft, and her brown curls 
 were flowing. He judged her to be perhaps 
 eleven years old ; but she was one of those 
 natural, unsophisticated children, who appear 
 much younger than they are. The race has 
 pretty nearly gone out of the world now : I 
 hope it will come back again. 
 
 " Florence, how caji you be so tiresome ? 
 Pushing yourself before the gentleman 
 against that dangerous door I it may fly 
 open at any moment. I am sure he must 
 be tired of holding you." 
 
48 A life's secret. 
 
 Florence turned laer bright eyes — sensible, 
 honest eyes, bright though they were — and 
 her pretty hot cheeks upon the gentleman. 
 "Are you tired, sir? " 
 Austin smiled. " It would take rather 
 more than this to tire me," he said. " Pray 
 allow her to look out," he added, to the lady, 
 opposite to whom he sat ; " I will take every 
 care of her." 
 
 " Have you any little girls of your own ? " 
 questioned the young damsel. 
 
 Austin laughed outright. " No." 
 " Nor any sisters ? " 
 
 "Nor any sisters. I have scarcely any 
 relatives in the world. I am not so fortu- 
 nate as you." 
 
 " I have a great many relatives, but no 
 brothers or sisters. I had a little sister once, 
 and she died when she was three years old. 
 Was it not three, mamma ? " 
 
 "And how old are you?" inquired Austin. 
 
 " Oh, pray do not ask," interposed the 
 
 lady. " She is so thoroughly childish, I am 
 
 ashamed that anybody should know her age. 
 
 And yet she does not want sense." 
 
AWAY TO LONDON. 49 
 
 " I was twelve last birthday," cried the 
 young lady, in defiance of all conventional- 
 ism. " My cousin Mary is only eleven, but 
 she is a great deal bigger than I." 
 
 " Yes," observed the lady, in a tone of 
 positive resentment, " Mary is quite a 
 woman already in ideas and manners : you 
 are a child, and a very backward one," 
 
 "Let her be a child, ma'am, while she 
 may," impulsively spoke Austin; "child- 
 hood does not last too long, and it never 
 comes ascain. Little o-irls are women now- 
 a-days : I think it is jDerfectly dehghtful to 
 meet with one like this." 
 
 Before they reached London, other pas- 
 sengers had disappeared from the carriage, 
 and they were alone. As they neared the 
 terminus, the young lady was peremptorily 
 ordered to " keep her head in," or perhaps 
 she might lose it. 
 
 "Oh dear! if I must, I must," returned 
 the child. "But I wanted to look out for 
 papa ; he is sure to be waiting for us." 
 
 The train glided into its destination. And 
 the bright quick eyes were roving amidst 
 
50 A life's secret. 
 
 the crowd standing on the platform. They 
 rested upon a gentleman. 
 
 " There's Uncle Henry ! there's Uncle 
 Henry ! But I don't see papa. Where's 
 papa?" she called out, as the gentleman 
 saw them and approached. 
 
 " Papa's not come ; he has sent me in- 
 stead, Miss Florence." And to Austin 
 Clay's inexpressible surprise, he recognised 
 Mr. Henry Hunter. 
 
 " There is nothing the matter ? James 
 is not ill ? " exclaimed the lady, bending 
 forward. 
 
 " No, no ; nothing of that. Being a leisure 
 day with us, we thought we would quietly 
 so over some estimates too;ether, James 
 had not finished the calculations, and did 
 not care to be disturbed at them. Your 
 carriage is here." 
 
 Mr. Henry Hunter was assisting her to 
 alight as he spoke, having already lifted 
 down Florence. A maid with a couple of 
 carpet bags appeared presently, amidst 'the 
 bustle, and Austin saw them approach a 
 private carriage. He had not pushed him- 
 
AWA"i^ TO LONDOX. 51 
 
 self forward. He did not intend to do so 
 tlien, deeming it not the most fitting mo- 
 ment to challenge the notice of Mr. Henry- 
 Hunter ; but that gentleman's eye happened 
 to fall upon him. 
 
 Not at first for recognition. Mr. Hunter 
 felt sure it was a face he had seen recently ; 
 was one he ought to know ; but his memory 
 was puzzled. Florence followed his gaze. 
 
 " That gentleman came up in the same 
 carriage with us, Uncle Hemy. He got in 
 at a place they called Ketterford. I like 
 him so much." 
 
 Austin came forward as he saw the intent 
 look ; and recollection flashed over the mind 
 of Mr. Henry Hunter. He took both the 
 young man's hands in his and grasped them. 
 
 "You like him, do you. Miss Florence ? " 
 cried he, in a half joking, half fervent tone. 
 " I can tell you what, young lady ; but for 
 this gentleman, you would no longer have 
 possessed an Uncle Hemy to plague ; he 
 would have been dead and forgotten." 
 
 A word or two of explanation from 
 Austin, touching what brought him to Lon- 
 
 E 2 
 
52 A LIFES SECRET. 
 
 don, and his intention to ask advice of Mr. 
 Henry Hunter. That gentleman replied 
 that he would give it willingly, and at once, 
 for he had leisure on his hands that day, and 
 he could not answer for it that he would 
 have, on another. He gave Austin the 
 address of his office. 
 
 " When shall I come, sir ? " asked Austin. 
 
 " Now, if you can. A cab will bring you. 
 I shall not be there later in the day." 
 
 So Austin, leaving his portmanteau, all 
 the luggage he had at present brought with 
 him, in charge at the station, proceeded in a 
 cab to the address named, Mr. Henry Hunter 
 having driven off in the carriage. 
 
 The offices, yard, buildings, sheds, and 
 other places pertaining to the business of 
 Hunter and Hunter, were situated in what 
 may be considered a desirable joart of the 
 metropolis. They encroached neither upon 
 the excessive bustle of the city, nor upon the 
 aristocratic exclusiveness of the gay west 
 end, but occupied a situation midway be- 
 tween the two. Sufficiently open was the 
 district in their immediate neighbourhood, 
 
AWAY TO LONDON. 53 
 
 healthy, handsome, and near some fine 
 squares ; but a very, very little way re- 
 moved, you came upon swarming courts, 
 and close dwellings, and squalor, and misery, 
 and all the bad features of what we are 
 pleased to call Arab life. There are many 
 such districts in London, where wealth and 
 ease contrast with starvation and improvi- 
 dence, all hut within view of each other ; 
 the one gratifying the eye, the other causing 
 it pain. 
 
 The yard and premises were of great ex- 
 tent. Austin had thought Mr. Thornimett's 
 pretty fair for size ; but he could laugh at 
 them, now that he saw the Messrs. Hunter's. 
 They were inclosed by a wall, and by light 
 iron gates. Within the gates on the left- 
 hand side were the offices, where the indoor 
 business was transacted. A wealthy, im- 
 portant, and highly considered firm was that 
 of the Messrs. Hunter. Their father had 
 made the business what it was, and had 
 bequeathed it to them jointly at his death. 
 James, whose wife and only child you have 
 seen arriving by the train, after a week's 
 
54 A LIFES SECRET. 
 
 visit to the country, was tlie elder brother, 
 and was usually styled Mr. Hunter ; the 
 younger was known as Mr. Henry Hunter, 
 and he had a large family. Each occupied 
 a handsome house in a contiguous square. 
 
 Mr. Henry Hunter came up almost as 
 Austin did, and they entered the offices. 
 In a private room, warmly carpeted, stood 
 two- gentlemen. The one, had he not been 
 so stout, would have borne a great likeness 
 to Mr. Hemy Hunter. It was Mr. Hunter. 
 In early life the likeness between the brothers 
 had been remarkable ; the same dark hair 
 and eyes, the well-formed aquiline features, 
 the same active, tall, light figure ; but, of late 
 years, James had grown fat, and the resem- 
 blance was in part lost. The other gentle- 
 man was Dr. Bevary, a spare man of middle 
 heio;ht, the brother of Mrs. James Hunter. 
 Mr. Henry Hunter introduced Austin Clay, 
 speaking of the service rendered him, and 
 broadly saying as he had done to Florence, 
 that but for him he should not now have 
 been alive. 
 
 "There you go, Henry," cried Dr. Bevary. 
 
AWAY TO LONDON. 55 
 
 " That's one of your exaggerations, that is : 
 you were always given to the marvellous, 
 you know. Not alive ! " 
 
 Mr. Henry Hunter turned to Austin. 
 "Tell the truth, Mr. Clay. Should I, or 
 not ? " And Austin smiled, and said he 
 believed not. 
 
 "I cannot understand it," exclaimed Dr. 
 Bevary, after some explanation had been 
 given by Mr. Henry Hunter. "It is in- 
 credible to suppose a strange woman would 
 attack you in that manner, unless she was 
 mad." 
 
 " Mad, or not mad, she did it," returned 
 Mr. Henry Hunter. " I was riding Salem — 
 you know I took him with me, in that 
 week's excursion I made at Easter — and the 
 woman set upon me like a tigress, clutching 
 hold of Salem, who won't stand such jokes. 
 In his fury, he got loose from her, dashing 
 he neither knew nor cared whither, and 
 this fine fellow saved us on the very brink 
 of the yawning pit — risking the chance 
 of getting killed himself. Had the horse 
 not been arrested, I don't see how he 
 
56 A life's SECPtET. 
 
 could have helped being knocked over with 
 us." 
 
 Mr. Hunter turned a warm grateful look 
 on Austin. " How was it you never spoke 
 of this, Henry ?" he inquired of his brother. 
 
 "There's another curious phase of the 
 affair," laughed Mr. Henry Hunter, " I have 
 had a dislike to speak of it, even to think of 
 it. I cannot tell you why ; certainly not 
 on account of the escaped danger. And it 
 was over ; so, what signified talking of it ?" 
 
 " Why did she attack you ? " pursued Dr. 
 Bevary. 
 
 " She evidently, if there was reason in her 
 at all, mistook me for somebody else. All 
 sorts of diabolical things she was beginning 
 to accuse me of; that of having evaded her 
 for some great number of years, amongst the 
 rest. I sto]3ped her; telling her I had no 
 mind to be the depository of other people's 
 secrets." 
 
 " She solemnly protested to me, after you 
 rode away, sir, that you icere the man who 
 had done her family some wrong," interposed 
 Austin. " I told her I felt certain she was 
 
AWAY TO LONDON. 57 
 
 mistaken : and so drew down her anger 
 upon me." 
 
 " Of what nature was the wrong 1 " asked 
 Dr. Bevary. 
 
 " I cannot tell," said Austin. " I seemed 
 to gather from her words that the wrong 
 was upon her family, or upon some portion 
 of her family, rather than upon her. I re- 
 member she made use of the expression, that 
 it had broken up her happy home." 
 
 " And you did not know her ? " exclaimed 
 the doctor, looking at Mr. Henry Hunter. 
 
 " Know her "? " he returned, " I never set 
 eyes on her in all my life until that day. I 
 never was in the place before, or in its 
 neighbourhood. If I ever did work her 
 wrong, or ill, I must have done it in my 
 sleep ; and with miles of distance interven- 
 ino;. Who is she ? What is her name ? 
 You told it me, Mr. Clay, but I forget what 
 it was." 
 
 " Her name is Gwinn," replied Austin, 
 " The brother is a lawyer and has scraped 
 together a business. One morning, many 
 years ago, a lady arrived at his house, with- 
 
58 A life's secret. 
 
 out Avarning, and took up her abode with 
 him. She turned out to be his sister, and 
 the peo]3le at Ketterford think she is mad. 
 It is said they come from Wales. The little 
 boys call after her, ' the mad Welch woman.' 
 Sometimes Miss Gwinn." 
 
 " What did you say the name was ? " in- 
 terrupted Dr. Bevary, with startling em- 
 phasis. " Gwinn ? — and from Wales ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Dr. Bevary paused, as if in deep thought. 
 " What is her Christian name ? " he presently 
 inquired. 
 
 " It is a somewhat uncommon one," re- 
 plied Austin. " Agatha." 
 
 The doctor nodded his head, as if expect- 
 ing the answer. "A tall, spare, angular 
 woman, of great strength," he remarked. 
 
 " Why, what do you know of her ? " ex- 
 claimed Mr. Henry Hunter to the doctor, in 
 a surprised tone. 
 
 " Not a great deal. We medical men 
 come across all sorts of persons occasionally," 
 was the physician's reply. And it was given 
 in a concise, laconic manner, as if he did not 
 
AWAY TO LONDON. 5U 
 
 care to be questioned further. Mr. Henry 
 Hunter pursued the subject. 
 
 " If you Imow lier, Be vary, perhaps you 
 can tell Avhether she is mad or sane." 
 
 " She is sane, I believe : I have no reason 
 to think her otherwise. But she is one who 
 can allow angry passion to master her at 
 moments : I have seen it do so. Do you 
 say her brother is a lawyer ? " he continued, 
 to Austin Clay, 
 
 " Yes, he is. And not one of the first 
 water, as to reputation ; a grasping, petti- 
 fogging practitioner, who will take up any 
 dirty case that may be brought to him. 
 And in that, I fancy, he is a contrast to his 
 sister ; for, with all her strange ways, I 
 should not judge her to be dishonourable. 
 It is said he speculates, and that he is not 
 over particular whose money he gets to do 
 it with." 
 
 " I wonder that she never told me about 
 this brother," dreamily exclaimed the doctor, 
 in an inward tone, as if forgetting that he 
 spoke aloud. 
 
 " Where did you meet with her ? When 
 
60 A life's secret. 
 
 did you know her 1 " interposed Mr. Henry- 
 Hunter. 
 
 "Are you sure that you know nothing 
 about her?" was the doctor's rejoinder, turn- 
 ing a searching glance upon Mr. Henry 
 Hunter. 
 
 " Come, Be vary, what have you got in 
 your head ? I do not know her. 1 never 
 met with her until she saw and accosted me. 
 Are you acquainted with her history ? " 
 
 " With a dark page in it." 
 
 " What is the page ? " 
 
 Dr. Bevary shook his head. " In the 
 course of a physician's practice he becomes 
 cognisant of many odds and ends of romance, 
 dark or fair.; things that he must hold 
 sacred, and may not give utterance to." 
 
 Mr. Henry Hunter looked vexed. " Per- 
 haps you can understand the reason of her 
 attacking me ? " 
 
 " I could understand it, but for your asser- 
 tion of being a stranger to her. If it is so, 
 I can only believe that she mistook you for 
 another." 
 
 "If\t is so," repeated Mr. Henry Hunter. 
 
\ 
 
 AWAY TO LONDON. 61 
 
 " I am not in tlie habit of asserting an 
 untruth, Bevary." 
 
 "Nor, on the other hand, is Miss Gwinn 
 one to be deceived. She is keen as a razor." 
 
 " Bevary, what are you driving at ? " 
 
 " At nothing. Don't be alarmed, Henry. 
 I have no cause to suppose you know the 
 woman, or she you. I only thought — and 
 think — she is one whom it is almost impos- 
 sible to deceive. It must, however, have 
 been a mistake." 
 
 " It was a mistake — so far as her suspicion 
 that she knew me went," decisively returned 
 Mr. Henry Hunter. 
 
 " Ay," acquiesced Dr. Bevary. " But here 
 am I, gossiping my morning away, when a 
 host of patients are waiting for me. We 
 poor doctors never get a holiday, as you 
 more favoured mortals do." 
 
 He laughed as he went out, nodding a 
 friendly farewell to Austin. Mr. Henry 
 Hunter stepped out after him. Then Mr. 
 Hunter, who had not taken part in the dis- 
 cussion, but had , stood lookinsr from the 
 window while they carried it on, wheeled 
 
62 A life's secret. 
 
 round to Austin and spoke in a low, earnest 
 tone. 
 
 "What is this tale — this mystery — that 
 my brother and the doctor seem to be pick- 
 ing up." 
 
 " Sir, I know no more than you have 
 heard me say. I witnessed her attack on 
 Mr. Henry Hunter." 
 
 " I should like to know further about it : 
 about her. Will you— Hush ! here comes 
 my brother back again. Hush ! " 
 
 His voice died away in the faintest 
 whisper, for Mr. Henry Hunter was already 
 within the room. Was Mr. Hunter sus- 
 pecting that his brother had more cognizance 
 of the affair than he seemed willing to 
 avow ? The thought, that it must be so, 
 crossed Austin Clay ; or why that warning 
 " hush " twice repeated ? 
 
 It happened that business was remarkably 
 brisk that season at Hunter and Hunter's. 
 They could scarcely get hands enough, or the 
 work done. And when Austin explained 
 the cause which had brought him to town, 
 and frankly proffered the question of whe- 
 
AWAY TO LONDON. 63 
 
 tlier they could recommend liim to employ- 
 ment, they were glad to offer it themselves. 
 He produced his credentials of capacity and 
 character, and waited. Mr. Henry Hunter 
 turned to him with a smile. 
 
 " I suppose you are not above your work, 
 ^Ir. Clay?" 
 
 " I am not above anything in the world 
 that is right, sir. I have come to seek 
 work.^' 
 
 He was engaged forthwith. His duties at 
 present were to lie partly in the counting- 
 house, partly in overlooking the men ; and 
 the salary offered was twenty-five pounds 
 per quarter. 
 
 " I can rise above that in time, I suppose/' 
 remarked Austin, " if I give satisfaction ? " 
 
 Mr. Hunter smiled. " Ay, you can rise 
 above that, if you choose. But when you 
 get on, you'll be doing, I expect, as some of 
 the rest do." 
 
 " What is that, sir ? " 
 
 " Leaving us, to set up for yourself. 
 Numbers have done so as soon as they have 
 become valuable. I do not speak of the 
 
64 A life's secret. 
 
 men, you understand, but of those who have 
 been with us in a higher capacity. A few 
 of the men, though, have done the same ; 
 some have risen into influence." 
 
 " How can they do that without capital ?" 
 inquired Austin. " It must take money, and 
 a good deal of it, to set up for themselves." 
 
 " Not so much as you may think. They 
 begin in a small way — take piece-work, and 
 work early and late, often fourteen and fif- 
 teen hours a day, husbanding their earnings, 
 and getting a capital together by slow but 
 sure degrees. Many of our most important 
 firms have so risen, and owe their present 
 positions to sheer hard work, patience, and 
 energy.'' 
 
 " It was the way in which Mr. Thornimett 
 first rose," observed Austin. " He was once 
 a journeyman at fourteen shillings a week. 
 He got together money by working over 
 hours." 
 
 " Ay, there's nothing like it for the in- 
 dustrious man," said Mr. Hunter. 
 
 Preliminaries were settled, advice given 
 to him where he might find lodgings, and 
 
AWAY TO LONDON. 65 
 
 Austin departed, having accepted an invita- 
 tion to dine at six at Mr. Henry Hunter's. 
 
 And all through having performed an un- 
 premeditated but almost necessary act of 
 bravery. 
 
 \ 
 
 
CHAPTER TV. 
 daffodil's delight. 
 
 Turning to the right after quitting the 
 business premises of the Messrs. Hunter, you 
 came to an open, handsome part, where the 
 square in which those gentlemen dwelt was 
 situated, with other desirable squares, cres- 
 cents, and houses. But, if you turned to 
 the left instead of to the right, you very 
 speedily found yourself in the midst of a 
 dense locality, not so agreeable to the eye or 
 to the senses. 
 
 And yet, some parts of this were not much 
 to be complained of, unless you instituted a 
 comparison between them and those opem* 
 places ; but in this world all things are esti- 
 mated by comparison. Take Daffodil's De- 
 light, for example. " Daffodil's Delight ! 
 what's that ? " cries the puzzled reader, un- 
 
daffodil's delight. 67 
 
 certain whetlier it may be a fine picture or 
 something to eat. Daffodirs Delight was 
 nothing more than a tolerably long street, or 
 lane, or double row of houses — wide enough 
 for a street, dirty enough for a lane, the 
 buildings irregular, not always contiguous, 
 small gardens before some, and a few trees 
 scattered here and there. When the locality 
 was mostly fields, and the buildings on them 
 were scanty, a person of the name of Dafibdil 
 ran up a few tenements. He found that 
 they let well, and he ran up more, and more, 
 and more, until there was a long, long fine 
 of them, and he growing rich. He called 
 the place Dafibdil's Delight — which we may 
 suppose expressed his own complacent satis- 
 faction at his success — and Dafibdil's Delight 
 it had continued, down to the present day. 
 
 ■ The houses were of various sizes, and of 
 
 ■ fancy appearance ; some large, some small ; 
 ■teome rising up like a narrow tower, some 
 Wbut a story high ; some were all windows, 
 
 some seemed to have none ; some you could 
 only gain by ascending steps ; to others you 
 pitched down as into a cellar ; some lay 
 
68 A life's secret. 
 
 back, with gardens before their doors, while 
 others projected pretty nearly on to the 
 street gutter. Nothing in the way of houses 
 could be more irregular ; and, what Mr. 
 DaiFodil's motive could have been in erect- 
 ing such, cannot be conjectured — unless he 
 formed an idea that he would make a venture 
 to suit various tastes and diverse pockets. 
 
 Nearly at the beginning of this locahty, 
 in its best part, before the road became 
 narrow, there stood a detached white house : 
 one of only six rooms, but superior in 
 appearance, and well kept ; indeed, it looked 
 more hke a gentleman's cottage residence, 
 than a workins; man's. Verandah bhnds 
 were outside the windows, and green wire 
 fancy stands held geraniums and other 
 plants on the stone copings, against their 
 lower panes, obviating the necessity for 
 inside blinds. In this house lived Peter 
 Quale. He had begun life carrying hods of 
 mortar for masons, and covering up bricks 
 with straw — a half-starved urchin, his feet 
 as naked as his head, and his body pretty 
 nearly the same. But he was steady, indus- 
 
daffodil's delight. 69 
 
 trioiis, and persevering — just one of tliose 
 men that ivork on for decent position, and 
 acquire it. From two shillings per week to 
 four, from four to six, from six to twelve — 
 such had been Peter Quale's beginnings. At 
 twelve shillings he remained for some time 
 stationary, and then his advance was rapid. 
 Now he was one of the superior artizans of 
 the Messrs. Hunters' yard ; was, in fact, in 
 a post of trust, and his wages had grown in 
 proportion. Daffodil's Delight said that 
 Quale's earnings could not be less than £150 
 per annum. A steady, sensible, honest, but 
 somewhat obstinate man, well-read, and in- 
 telligent ; for Peter, while he advanced his 
 circumstances, had not neglected his mind. 
 He had cultivated that far more than he 
 had his speech or his manner ; a homely 
 tone and grammar, better known to Daffo- 
 dil's Delight than to polite ears, Peter 
 favoured still. 
 
 In the afternoon of Whit Monday, the 
 day spoken of already, Peter sat in the par- 
 lour of his house, a pipe in his mouth, and a 
 book in his hand. He looked about midway 
 
no A life's secret. 
 
 between forty and fifty, had a round bald 
 bead, surmounted just now by a paper cap, 
 a fair complexion, grey whiskers, and a well- 
 marked forehead, especially where lie the 
 perceptive faculties. His eyes were deeply 
 sunk in his head, and he was by nature a 
 silent man. In the kitchen behind, " wash- 
 ing up " after dinner, was his helpmate, Mrs. 
 Quale. Although so well to do, and having 
 generally a lodger, she kept no servant — 
 " wouldn't be bothered with 'em," she said — 
 but did her own work ; a person coming in 
 once a week to clean. 
 
 A rattling commotion in the street caused 
 Peter Quale to look up from his book. A 
 large pleasure-van was rumbling down it, 
 drawing up at the next door to his, 
 
 " Nancy ! " called out he to his wife. 
 
 " Well ? " came forth the answer, in a 
 brisk, bustling voice, from the depths of the 
 kitchen. 
 
 " The Shucks, and that lot, be actually 
 going off now ! " 
 
 The news appeared to excite the curiosity 
 of Mrs. Quale, and she came hastily in ; a 
 
daffodil's delight. 71 
 
 dark-eyed, rosy-cheeked little woman, with 
 black curls. She wore a neat white cap, a 
 fresh-looking plum-coloured striped gown of 
 some thin woollen material, and a black 
 apron ; a coarse apron being pinned round 
 her. Mrs. Quale was an inveterate busy- 
 body, kncAV every incident that took place 
 in Daffodil's Delight, and possessed a free 
 and easy tongue ; but she was a kindly 
 woman withal, and very popular. She put 
 her head outside the window above the 
 geraniums, to reconnoitre. 
 
 " Oh, they be going, sure enough ! Well, 
 they are fools ! That's just like Slippery 
 Sam ! By to-morrow they won't have a 
 threepenny piece to bless themselves with. 
 But, if they must have went, they might 
 have started earlier in the day. There's the 
 Whites ! And — why ! — there's the Dunns ! 
 The van won't hold 'em all. As for the 
 Dunns, they'U have to pinch for a month 
 after it. She has got on a dandy new 
 bonnet with pink ribbons. Aren't some 
 folks idiots, Peter ? " 
 
 Peter rejoined, with a sort of a grunt, that 
 
72 A life's secret. 
 
 it wasn't no business of his, and applied him- 
 self agaia to his pipe and book. Mrs. Quale 
 made everybody's business hers, especially 
 their failings and short-comings ; and she 
 unpinned the coarse apron, flung it aside, 
 and flew ofi" to the next house. 
 
 It was inhabited by two families, the 
 Shucks and the Baxendales. Samuel Shuck, 
 usually called Slippery Sam, was an idle, 
 oily-tongued chap, always slipping from 
 work — hence the nickname — and spending 
 at the " Bricklayers' Arms " what ought to 
 have been spent upon his wife and children. 
 John Baxendale was a quiet, reserved man, 
 living respectably with his wife and daugh- 
 ter, but not saving. It was singular how 
 improvident most of them were. Dafibdil's 
 Delight was chiefly inhabited by the work- 
 men of the Messrs. Hunter ; they seemed to 
 love to congregate there as in a nest. Some 
 of the houses were crowded with them, a 
 family on a floor — even in a room ; others 
 rented a house to themselves, and lived in 
 comfort. 
 
 Assembled inside Sam Shuck's front room, 
 
daffodil's delight. 73 
 
 wliicli was a kitclien and not a parlour, and 
 to wliich the house door opened, were as 
 many people as it could well hold, all in 
 their holiday attire. Abel White, his wife 
 and family ; Jim Dunn, and his ; Patrick 
 Eyan and the childer, (Pat's wife was dead) ; 
 and John Baxendale and his daughter, besides 
 others ; the whole host of little Shucks, and 
 half-a-dozen outside stragglers. Mrs. Quale 
 might well wonder how all the lot could be 
 stuffed into the pleasure van. She darted 
 into their midst. 
 
 " You never mean to say you be a going 
 off, like simpletons, at this time o' day ? " 
 quoth she. 
 
 "Yes, we be," answered Sam Shuck, a 
 lanky, serpent sort of man in frame, with a 
 prominent black-eye, a turned-up nose, and, 
 as has been said, an oily tongue. " What 
 have you got to say again it, Mrs. Quale ? 
 Come 1 " 
 
 " Say ! " said that lady, undauntedly, but 
 in a tone of reason rather than rebuke, " I 
 say you may just as well fling your money 
 in the gutter, as to go off to Epping at three 
 
74 A life's seceet. 
 
 o'clock in tlie afternoon. Why didn't you 
 start in the morning 1 If I hired a pleasurer 
 van, I'd have my money's worth out of it." 
 
 "It's just this here," said Sam. "It was 
 ordered to be here as St. Paul's great bell 
 was a striking break o' day, but the wheels 
 wasn't greased ; and they have been all this 
 time a greasing 'em with the best fresh 
 butter at eighteen pence a pound, had up 
 from Devonshire on purpose." 
 
 " You hold your tongue, Sam," repriman- 
 ded Mrs. Quale. " You have been a greasing 
 your throat pretty strong, I see, with an 
 extra pot or two ; you'll be in for it as usual 
 before the day's out. How is it you are 
 going now ? " she added, turning to the 
 women. 
 
 "It's just the worst managed thing as I 
 ever had to do with," volubly spoke up Jim 
 Dunn's wife, Hannah. " And it's all the 
 fault o' the men : as everything as goes 
 wrong always is. There was a quarrel 
 yesterday over it, and nothing was settled, 
 and this morning when w^e met, they began 
 a jawing again. Some would go, and some 
 
daffodil's delight. 75' 
 
 wouldn't ; some 'ucl have a van to the 
 Forest, and some 'ud take a omnibus ride 
 up to the Zoological Gardens, and see the 
 beasts, and finish up at the play ; some 'ud 
 sit at home, and smoke, and drink, and 
 wouldn't go nowhere ; and most of the men 
 got ofi" to the 'Bricklayers' Arms' and stuck 
 there ; and afore the difference was settled 
 in favour of the van and the Forest, twelve 
 o'clock struck, and then there was dinner to 
 be had, and us to put ourselves to rights 
 and the van to be seen after. And there it 
 is, now three o'clock's gone." 
 
 " It'll be just a ride out, and a ride 
 in," cried Mrs. Quale ; " you won't have 
 much time to stop. Money must be plenti- 
 ful with you, a fooling it away like that. I 
 thought some of you had better sense." 
 
 " We spoke against it, father and I," said 
 quiet Mary Baxendale, in Mrs. Quale's ear ; 
 "but as we had given our word to join in it 
 and share in the expense, we didn't like to 
 go from it again. Mother doesn't feel strong 
 to-day, so she's stopping at home." 
 
 " It does seem stupid to start at this late 
 
76 A life's secket. 
 
 hour," spoke up a comely woman, mild in 
 speech, Eobert Darby's wife. " Better to 
 have put it off till to-morrow, and taken 
 another day's holiday, as I told my master. 
 But when it was decided to go, we didn't 
 say nay, for I couldn't bear to disappoint 
 the children." 
 
 The chikben were already being lifted 
 into the van. Sundry baskets and bundles, 
 containing provisions for tea, and stone 
 bottles of porter for the men, were being 
 lifted in also. Then the general company 
 got in ; Daffodil's Delight, those not bound 
 on the expedition, assembling to witness 
 the ceremony, and Peter casting an eye at 
 it from his parlour. After much packing, 
 and stowing, and laughing, and jesting, and 
 the gentlemen declaring the ladies must sit 
 upon their laps three deep, the van and its 
 four horses moved off, and went lumbering 
 down Daffodil's Delight. 
 
 Mrs. Quale, after watching the last of it, 
 was turning into her own gate, when she 
 heard a tapping at the window of the tene- 
 ment on the otliGi' side of her house. Upon 
 
I 
 
 daffodil's delight. 77 
 
 looking round, it was thrown open, and a 
 portly matron, dressed almost well enough 
 for a lady, put out her head. She was the 
 wife of George Stevens, a very well-to-do 
 workman, and most respectable man. 
 
 " Are they going off to the Forest at this 
 hour, that lot V 
 
 " Ay," returned Mrs. Quale ; " was ever such 
 nonsense known ? I'd have made a day of 
 it, if I had went. They'll get home at mid- 
 night, I expect, fit to stand on their heads. 
 Some of the men have had a'most as much 
 as is good for them now." 
 
 " I say," continued Mrs. Stevens, " George 
 says, will you and your master come in for 
 an hour or two this evening, and eat a bit of 
 supper with us ? We shall have a nice dish 
 o' beef steaks and onions, or some relishing 
 thing of that sort, and the Cheeks are 
 coming." 
 
 "Thank ye," said Mrs. Quale. "I'll ask 
 Peter. But don't go and get anything 
 hot." 
 
 " I must," was the answer. " We had a 
 shoulder of lamb yesterday, and we finished 
 
78 A life's seceet. 
 
 it up to-day for dinner, with a salad ; so 
 there's nothing cold in the house, and I'm 
 forced to cook a bit of something. I say, 
 don't make it late ; come at six. George — 
 he's off somewhere, but he'll be in." 
 
 Mrs. Quale nodded acquiescence, and 
 went indoors. Her husband was readino; 
 and smoking still. 
 
 " I'd have put it off till ten at night, and 
 went then !" ironically cried she, in allusion 
 to the departed pleasure-party. "A bicker- 
 ing and contending they have been over it, 
 Hannah Dunn says ; couldn't come to an 
 agreement what they'd do, or what they 
 wouldn't do ! Did you ever see such a 
 load ! Them poor horses '11 have enough of 
 it, if the others don't. I say, the Stevenses 
 want us to go in there to supper to-night. 
 Beef steaks and onions." 
 
 Peter's head was bent attentively over a 
 map in his book, and it continued so bent 
 for a minute or two. Then he raised it. 
 "Who's to be there?" 
 
 " The Cheeks," she said. " I'll make haste 
 and put the kettle on, and we'll have our 
 
daffodil's delight. 79 
 
 tea as soon as it boils. She says don't go in 
 later than six." 
 
 Pinning on the coarse apron, Mrs. Quale 
 passed into the kitchen to her work. From 
 the above slight sketch, it may be gathered 
 that Daffodil's Delight was, take it for all in 
 all, in tolerably comfortable circumstances. 
 But for the wasteful mode of living gene- 
 rally pervading it ; the improvidence both 
 of husbands and wives ; the spending where 
 they need not have spent, and in things 
 they would have been better without — it 
 would have been in very comfortable cir- 
 cumstances : for, as is well known, no class 
 of operatives earn better wages than those 
 connected with the building; trade. 
 
 " Is this Peter Quale's r' 
 
 The question proceeded from a stranger, 
 who had entered the house passage, and 
 thence the parlour, after knocking at its 
 door. Peter raised his eyes, and beheld a 
 tall, young, very gentlemanhke man, in grey 
 travelling clothes and a crape band on his 
 black hat. Of courteous manners also, for 
 he lifted his hat as he spoke, though Peter 
 
78 A life's secret. 
 
 it up to-day for dinner, with a salad ; so 
 there's nothing cold in the house, and I'm 
 forced to cook a bit of something. I say, 
 don't make it late ; come at six. George — 
 he's off somewhere, but he'll be in." 
 
 Mrs. Quale nodded acquiescence, and 
 went indoors. Her husband was reading 
 and smoking still. 
 
 " I'd have put it off till ten at night, and 
 went then !" ironically cried she, in allusion 
 to the departed pleasure-party. "A bicker- 
 ing and contending they have been over it, 
 Hannah Dunn says ; couldn't come to an 
 agreement what they'd do, or what they 
 wouldn't do ! Did you ever see such a 
 load ! Them poor horses '11 have enough of 
 it, if the others don't. I say, the Stevenses 
 want us to go in there to supper to-night. 
 Beef steaks and onions." 
 
 Peter's head was bent attentively over a 
 map in his book, and it continued so bent 
 for a minute or two. Then he raised it. 
 "Who's to be there?" 
 
 " The Cheeks," she said. " I'll make haste 
 and put the kettle on, and we'll have our 
 
daffodil's delight. 79 
 
 tea as soon as it boils. She says don't go in 
 later than six." 
 
 Pinning on the coarse apron, Mrs. Quale 
 passed into the kitchen to her work. From 
 the above slight sketch, it may be gathered 
 that Daffodil's Delight was, take it for all in 
 aU, in tolerably comfortable circumstances. 
 But for the wasteful mode of living gene- 
 rally pervading it ; the improvidence both 
 of husbands and wives ; the spending where 
 they need not have spent, and in things 
 they would have been better without — it 
 would have been in very comfortable cir- 
 cumstances : for, as is well known, no class 
 of operatives earn better wages than those 
 connected with the building trade. 
 
 " Is this Peter Quale's?" 
 
 The question proceeded from a stranger, 
 who had entered the house passage, and 
 thence the parlour, after knocking at its 
 door. Peter raised his eyes, and beheld a 
 tall, young, very gentlemanhke man, in grey 
 travelling clothes and a crape band on his 
 black hat. Of courteous manners also, for 
 he lifted his hat as he spoke, though Peter 
 
80 A LIFE S SECRET. 
 
 was only a workman and had a paper cap 
 on his head. 
 
 "I am Peter Quale/' said Peter, without 
 moving. 
 
 Perhaps you may have already guessed 
 that it was Austin Clay. He stepped for- 
 ward -^dth a frank smile. " I am sent here," 
 he said, "by the Messrs. Hunter. They 
 desired me to inquire for Peter Quale." 
 
 Peter was not wont to put himself out of 
 the way for strangers : had a Duke Eoyal 
 vouchsafed him a visit, I question if Peter 
 would have been more than barely civil ; but 
 he knew his place with resjDect to his em- 
 ployers, and what was due to them — none 
 better ; and he rose up at their name, and 
 took off his paper cap, and laid his pipe inside 
 the fender, and spoke a word of apology to 
 the gentleman before him. 
 
 " Pray do not mention it ; do not disturb 
 yourself," said Austin, kindly. "My name 
 is Clay. I have just entered into an engage- 
 ment with the Messrs. Hunter, and am now 
 in search of lodgings as conveniently near 
 their yard as may be. Mr. Hemy Hunter 
 
DAFFODILS DELIGHT. 83 
 
 " The rooms would suit me, so far as I 
 can judge," said Austin, looking round ; 
 " suit me very well indeed, if we can agree 
 upon terms. My pocket is but a shallow 
 one at present," he laughed. 
 
 " I would make them easy enough for any 
 gentleman sent by the masters," struck in 
 Peter. " Did you say your name was Clay, 
 sir?" 
 
 " Clay," assented Austin. 
 
 Mrs. Quale wheeled round at this, and 
 took a free, full view of the gentleman from 
 head to foot. " Clay 1 Clay ? " she repeated 
 to herself. " And there is a likeness, if ever 
 I saw one ! Sir," she hastily inquired, " do 
 you come from the neighbourhood of Ketter- 
 
 ford r 
 
 " I come from Ketterford itself," replied he. 
 
 "Ah, but you were not born right in the 
 town. I think you must be Austin Clay, 
 sir; the orphan son of Mr. Clay and his 
 wife — Miss Austin that used to be. They 
 lived at the Nash farm. Sir, I have had 
 you upon my lap scores of times when you 
 were a little one." 
 
 o 2 
 
84 A life's secret. 
 
 "Why who are you?" exclaimed 
 
 Austin. 
 
 " You can't have forgot old Mr. Austin, 
 the great-uncle, sir ? though you were only 
 seven years old when he died. I was Ann 
 Best, cook to the old gentleman, and I heard 
 all the inns and outs of the marriage of 
 your father and mother. The match pleased 
 neither family, and so they just took the 
 Nash farm for themselves, to be independent 
 and get along without being beholden for 
 help to anybody. Many a fruit puff have I 
 made for you, Master Austin ; many a cur- 
 rant cake : how things come round in this 
 world ! Do take our rooms, sir — it will 
 seem like serving my old master over again." 
 
 " I will take them willingly, and be glad 
 to fall into such good hands. You will not 
 require references now ?" 
 
 Mrs. Quale laughed. Peter grunted re- 
 sentfully. References from anybody sent by 
 the Messrs. Hunter ! " I would say eight 
 shillings a week, sir," said Peter, looking at 
 his wife " Pay as you like ; monthly, or 
 quarterly, or any way." 
 
I 
 
 daffodil's delight. S^ 
 
 " That's less tlian I expected/' said Austin, 
 in his candour. " Mr. Henry Hunter thought 
 they would be about ten shillings." 
 
 Peter was candid also. "There's the 
 neighbourhood to be took into considera- 
 tion, sir, which is not a good one, and we 
 can only let according to it. In some 
 parts — and not far off, neither — you'd pay 
 eighteen or twenty shillings for such rooms 
 as these ; in Daffodil's Delight it is different, 
 though this is the best quarter of it. The 
 last gentleman paid us nine. If eight will 
 suit you, sir, it will suit us." 
 
 So the bargain was struck; and Austin 
 Clay went back to the station for his lug- 
 gage. Mrs. Quale, busy as a bee, ran in to 
 tell her next door neighbour that she could 
 not be one of the beefsteak-and-onion eaters 
 that night, though Peter might, for she 
 should have her hands fuU with their new 
 lodger. " The nicest, handsomest young 
 fellow," she wound up with ; " one it will be 
 a pleasure to wait on." 
 
 " Take care what you be at, if he's a 
 stranger," cried cautious Mrs. Stevens. 
 
86 A LIFES SECRET. 
 
 " There's no trusting those countiy folks : 
 they run away sometimes. It looks odd, 
 don't it, to come after lodgings one minute, 
 and enter upon 'em the next ?" 
 
 " Very odd," assented Mrs. Quale, with a 
 laugh. "Why, it was Mr. Henry Hunter 
 sent him round here ; and he has got a post 
 in their house." 
 
 " What sort of one V asked Mrs. Stevens, 
 sceptical still. 
 
 " Who knows ? Something superior to 
 the best of us workpeople, you may be sure. 
 He belongs to gentlefolks," concluded Mrs. 
 Quale. " I knew him as a baby. It was 
 in his mother's family I lived before I 
 married. He's as hke his mother as two 
 peas, and a handsome woman was Mrs. 
 Clay. Good-bye : I'm going to get the 
 sheets on to his bed now." 
 
 Mrs. Quale, however, found that she was, 
 after aU, able to assist at the supper ; for, 
 when Austin came back, it was only to dress 
 himself and go out, in pursuance of the 
 invitation he had accepted to dine at Mr. 
 Henry Hunter's. With aU his haste it had 
 
daffodil's delight. 87 
 
 struck six some minutes when lie got 
 there. 
 
 Mrs. Henry Hunter, a very pretty and 
 very talkative woman, welcomed him with 
 both hands, and told her children to do the 
 same, for it was " the gentleman who saved 
 papa." There was no ceremony ; he was 
 received quite en famille ; no other guest 
 was present, and three or four of the children 
 dined at table. He appeared to find favour 
 with them all. He talked on business mat- 
 ters with Mr. Henry Hunter ; on lighter 
 topics with his wife ; he pointed out some 
 errors in Mary Hunter's drawings, which she 
 somewhat ostentatiously exhibited to him, 
 and showed her how to rectify them. He 
 entered into the school life of the two young 
 boys, from their classics to their scrapes ; 
 and nursed a pretty little lady of five, w^ho 
 insisted on appropriating his knee — bearing 
 himself throughout all with the modest 
 reticence — the refinement of the innate gen- 
 tleman. JVIrs. Hemy Hunter was charmed 
 with him. 
 
 " How do you think you shall like your 
 
8S A life's secret. 
 
 quarters?" she asked. "Mr. Hunter told 
 me he recommended you to Peter Quale's." 
 
 " Very well. At least they will do. Mrs. 
 Quale, it appears, is an old friend of mine." 
 
 " An old friend ! Of yours ! ' ' 
 
 " She claims me as one, and says she has 
 nursed me many a time when I was a child. 
 I had quite forgotten her, and all about her, 
 though I now remember her name. She 
 was formerly a servant in my mother's 
 family, near Ketterford." 
 
 Thus Austin Clay had succeeded without 
 delay or difficulty in obtaining employment, 
 and was, moreover, received on a footing of 
 equality in the house of Mr. Henry Hunter. 
 We shall see how he gets on. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 MISS gwinn's visit. 
 
 Were there space, it might be well to 
 trace Austin Clay's progress step by step — 
 bis advancements and bis drawbacks — bis 
 smootb-saibng and bis difficulties ; for, tbat 
 bis course was not free from difficulties and 
 drawbacks, you may be very sure. I do not 
 know wbose is. If any bad tbougbt be was 
 to be represented as perfection, tbey were 
 mistaken. Yet be managed to bold on bis 
 way without moral damage, for be was high- 
 principled in every sense of the word. But 
 there is neither time nor space to give to 
 these particulars that regard himself alone. 
 
 Austin Clay sat one day in a small room 
 of the office, making corrections in a certain 
 plan, which had been roughly sketched. It 
 was a hot day for the beginning of autumn, 
 
90 A life's secret. 
 
 some three or four montlis having elapsed 
 since his installation at Hunter and Hunter's. 
 The office boy came in to interrupt him. 
 
 "Please, sir, here's a lady outside, asking 
 if she can see young Mr. Clay." 
 
 "A lady!" repeated Austin, in some 
 wonder. " Who is it ?" 
 
 " I think she's from the country, sir," said 
 the sharp boy. " She have got a big nose- 
 gay in her hand and a brown reticule." 
 
 "Does she wear widow's weeds ? " ques- 
 tioned Austin hastily, an idea flashing over 
 him that Mrs. Thornimett might have come 
 up to town. 
 
 "Weeds?" replied the boy, staring, as if 
 at a loss to know what " weeds " might 
 mean. " She have got a white veil on, 
 sir." 
 
 "Oh," said Austin. "Well, ask her to 
 come in. But I don't know any lady that 
 can want me. Or who has any business to 
 come here if she does," he added to himself 
 
 The lady came in : a very tall one. She 
 wore a dark silk dress, a shepherd's plaid 
 shawl, a straw bonnet, and a white veil. The 
 
r 
 
 MISS gwinn's visit. 91 
 
 reticule spoken of by tlie boy was in ber 
 hand ; but the nosegay she laid down on a 
 bench just outside tEe door. Austin rose to 
 receive her. 
 
 " You are doubtless surprised to see me, 
 Austin Clay. But, as I was coming to 
 London on business — I always do at this 
 season of the year — I got your address from 
 Mrs. Thornimett, having a question to put 
 to you." 
 
 Without ceremony, without invitation, she 
 sat herself down on a chair. More by her 
 voice than her features — for she kept her 
 veil before her face — did Austin recognise 
 her. It was Miss Gwinn. He recognised 
 her with dismay. Mr. Heury Hunter was 
 about the premises, liable to come in at any 
 moment, and then might occur a repetition 
 of that violent scene to which he had been a 
 witness. Often and often had his muid 
 recurred to the affair; it perplexed him 
 beyond measure. Was Mr. Henry Hunter 
 the stranger to her he asserted himself to be, 
 or was he not? "What shall I do with 
 her ? " thought Austin. 
 
92 A life's secret. 
 
 "Will you shut tlie door ? " slie said, in a 
 peremptory, short tone, for the boy had left 
 it open. 
 
 "I beg' your pardon. Miss Gwinn," inter- 
 rupted Austin, necessity giving him courage. 
 " Though glad to see you myself, I am at 
 the present hour so busy that it is next to 
 impossible for me to give you my attention. 
 If you "wiU name any place where I can wait 
 upon you after business hours, this, or any 
 other evening, I shall be happy to meet 
 you." 
 
 Miss Gwinn ranged her eyes round the 
 room, looking, possibly, for confirmation of 
 his words. " You are not so busy as to be 
 unable to spare a minute to me. You were 
 but looking over a plan." 
 
 " It is a plan that is being waited for." 
 Which was true. " And you must forgive 
 me for reminding you — I do it in all 
 courtesy — that my time and this room do 
 not belong to me, but to my employers." 
 
 " Boy ! what is your motive for seeking to 
 get rid of me ? " she asked, abruptly. " That 
 you have one, I can see." 
 
MISS GWINNS VISIT. 93 
 
 Austin was -upon thorns. He had not 
 taken a seat. He stood near the door, pencil 
 in hand, hoping it would induce her to 
 move. At that moment footsteps were heard, 
 and the office-door was pushed wide open. 
 
 It was Mr. Hunter. He stopped on the 
 threshold, seeing a lady, an unusual sight 
 there, and came to the conclusion that it 
 must be some stranger for Mr. Clay. Her 
 features, shaded by the thick white veil, 
 were indistinct, and Mr. Hunter but glanced 
 at her. Miss Gwinn on the contrary looked 
 full at him, as she did at most people, and 
 bent her head as a slight mark of courtesy. 
 He responded by lifting his hat, and went 
 out again. 
 
 " One of the principals, I suppose ? " she 
 remarked. 
 
 "Yes," he replied, feeling thankful that it 
 was not Mr. Henry. " I believe he wants 
 me, Miss Gwinn." 
 
 " I am not going to keep you from him. 
 The question I wish to put to you will be 
 answered in a sentence. Austin Clay, have 
 you, since " 
 
94 A life's seceet. 
 
 "Allow me one single instant first, then," 
 interrupted Austin, resigning himself to bis 
 fate, "just to speak a word of explanation to 
 Mr. Hunter." 
 
 He stepped out of the room and closed the 
 door behind him. Standing at the outer 
 door, close by, open to the yard, was Mr. 
 Hunter. Austin, in his haste and earnest- 
 ness, grasped his arm. 
 
 " Find Mr. Henry, sir," he whispered. 
 " Wherever he may be, let him keep there — • 
 out of sight — until she — this person — has 
 gone. It is Miss Gwinn." 
 
 " Who ? What do you say ? " cried Mr. 
 Hunter, staring at Austin. 
 
 " It is that Miss Gwinn. The woman who 
 set upon Mr. Henry in that strange manner. 
 She " 
 
 Miss Gwinn opened the door at this 
 juncture, and looked out upon them. Mr. 
 Hunter walked briskly away in search 
 of his brother. Austin turned back 
 again. 
 
 She closed the door when he was inside 
 the room, keeping her hand upon it. She 
 
I 
 
 MISS gwinn's visit. 95 
 
 did not sit down, but stood facing Austin, 
 whom she held before her with the other 
 hand. 
 
 "Have you, since you came to London, 
 seen ought of my enemy ? — that man wliom 
 you saved from his death in the gravel pits ? 
 Boy ! answer me truthfully." 
 
 He remained silent, scarcely seeing what 
 his course ought to be ; or whether in such 
 a case a lie of denial might not be justifiable. 
 But the hesitation spoiled that, for she read 
 it arightly. 
 
 "No need of your affirmative," she said. 
 "I see you have met him. Where is he to 
 be found ? " 
 
 There was only one course for him now ; 
 and he took it, in all straightforward 
 openness. 
 
 " It is true I have seen that gentleman, 
 Miss Gwinn, but I can tell you nothing 
 about him." 
 
 She looked fixedly at him. " That you 
 cannot, or that you will not ? Which ? " 
 
 "That I will not. Forgive the seeming 
 incivility of the avowal, but I consider that 
 
96 A LIFES SECRET. 
 
 I ought not to comply with your request — • 
 that I should be doing wrong." 
 
 " Explain. What do you mean by 
 wrong J 
 
 " In the first place, I believe you were 
 mistaken with regard to the gentleman : I 
 do not think he was the one for whom you 
 took him. In the second place, even if he 
 be the one, I cannot make it my business to 
 bring you into contact with him, and so 
 give rise — as it probably would — to further 
 violence." 
 
 There was a pause. She threw up her 
 veil and looked fixedly at him, struggling 
 for composure, her lips compressed, her face 
 working. 
 
 "You know who he is, and where he 
 lives," she jerked forth. 
 
 " I acknowledge that." 
 
 " How dare you take part against me ? '' 
 she cried, in agitation. 
 
 " I do not take part against you. Miss 
 Gwinn," he replied, wishing some friendly 
 balloon would come and whirl her away ; 
 for Mr. Hunter might not find his brother to 
 
MISS gwinn's visit. 97 
 
 give the warning. " I do not take his part 
 more than I take yours, only in so far as 
 that I decline to tell you who and where he 
 is. Had he the same ill-feeling to^v^ards 
 you, and wished to know where you might 
 be found, I would not tell him.'' 
 
 " Austin Clay, you shall tell me." 
 
 He drew himself up to his full height, 
 speaking in all the quiet consciousness of 
 resolution. "Never, of my own free will. 
 And I think. Miss Gwinn, there are no 
 means by which you can compel me." 
 
 " Perhaps the law might 1 " She spoke 
 dreamily, not in answer to him, but in com- 
 mune with herself, as if debating the ques- 
 tion. " Fare you well for the present, young- 
 man ; but I have not done with you." 
 
 To his intense satisfaction she turned out 
 of the office, catching up the flowers as she 
 went. Austin attended her to the outer 
 gate. She strode straight on, not deigning 
 to cast a glance to the busy yard, -with its 
 sheds, its timber, its implements of work, 
 and its artisans, all scattered about it. 
 
 " Believe me," he said, holding out his 
 
98 A LIFES SECRET. 
 
 hand as a peace offering, " I am not wil- 
 lingly discourteous. I wish I could see my 
 way clear to help you." 
 
 She did not take the hand ; she walked 
 away without another word or look, and 
 Austin went back again. Mr. Hunter ad- 
 vanced to meet him from the upper end of 
 the yard, and went with him into the small 
 room. 
 
 " What was all that, Clay ? I scarcely 
 understood." 
 
 " I dare say not, sir, for I had no time to 
 be explanatory. It seems she — Miss Gwinn 
 — has come to town on business. She pro- 
 cured my address from Mrs. Thornimett, and 
 came here to ask of me if I had seen any- 
 thing of her enemy — meaning Mr. Hemy 
 Himter. I feared lest he should be commg 
 in ; I could only beg of you to find Mr. 
 Henry, and Avarii him not. That is all, 
 sir." 
 
 Mr. Hunter stood with his back to Austin, 
 softly whistling^ — his habit when in deep 
 thought. "What can be her motive for 
 wanting to find him ? " he presently said. 
 
MISS gwinn's visit. 99 
 
 " She speaks of revenge. Of course I do 
 not know for wliat : I cannot give a guess. 
 There's no doubt she is mistaken in the per- 
 son, when she accuses Mr. Henry Hunter." 
 
 "Well/' returned Mr. Hunter, "I said 
 nothing to my brother, for I did not under- 
 stand what there was to say. It will be 
 better not to tell him now ; the woman is 
 gone, and the subject does not appear to be 
 a pleasant one. Do you hear ? " 
 
 " Very well, sir." 
 
 " I think I understood, when the affair 
 was spoken of some time ago, that she does 
 not know him as Mr. Hunter ? " 
 
 " Of course she does not," said Austin. 
 " She would have been here after him before 
 now if she did. She came this mornino; to 
 see me, not suspecting she might meet 
 him." 
 
 . " Ah ! Better keep the visit close," cried 
 Mr. Hunter, as he walked away. 
 
 Now, it had occurred to Austin that it 
 would be better to do just the opposite thing. 
 He should have told Mr. Henry Hunter, and 
 left that gentleman to seek out Miss Gwinn, 
 
 H 2 
 
100 A life's secret. 
 
 or not, as lie might choose. A sudden meet- 
 ing between them in the office, in the hear- 
 ing of the yard, and with the lady in excite- 
 ment, was not desirable ; but, that Mr. 
 Henry Hunter should clear himself, now 
 that she was following him up, and convince 
 her it was not he who was the suspected 
 party, was, Austin thought, needful : that is, 
 if he could do it. However, he could only 
 obey Mr. Hunter's suggestions. 
 
 Austin resumed his occupation. His brain 
 and fingers were busy over the plan, when 
 he saw a gig drive into the yard. It con- 
 tained the great engineer. Sir Michael Wil- 
 son. Mr. Henry Hunter came down the 
 yard to meet him ; they shook hands, and 
 entered the private room together. In a few 
 minutes Mr. Hemy came to Austin. 
 
 " Are you particularly engaged. Clay ? " 
 
 " Only with this plan, sii-. It is wanted 
 as soon as I can get it done." 
 
 '' You can leave it for a quarter of an 
 hour. I wish you to go round to Dr. Bevary. 
 I was to have been at his house now — half- 
 past eleven — to accompany him on a visit to 
 
MISS gwinn's visit. 101 
 
 a sick friend. Tell him that Sir Michael 
 has come, and I have to go out with him, 
 therefore it is impossible for me to keep my 
 engagement. I am very sorry, tell Bevary : 
 these things always happen crossly. Go 
 right into his consulting-room, Clay ; never 
 mind patients ; or else he will be chafing 
 at my delay, and grumble the ceiling 
 off"." 
 
 Austin departed. Dr. Bevary occupied a 
 good house in the main street, to the left of 
 the yard, to gain which he had to pass the 
 turning to Daffodil's Delight. Had Dr. 
 Bevary lived to the right of the yard, his 
 practice might have been more exclusive ; 
 but doctors cannot always choose their lo- 
 calities, circumstances more frequently doing 
 that for them. He had a large connection, 
 and was often pressed for time. 
 
 Down went Austin, and gained the house. 
 Just inside the open door, before which a 
 close carriage was standing, was the doctor's 
 servant. 
 
 " Doctor Bevary is engaged, sir, with 
 a lady patient," said the man. " He is 
 
102 A life's seceet. 
 
 very particularly engaged for the moment, 
 but I don't think he'll be long." 
 
 " I'll wait," said Austin, not deeming it 
 well strictly to follow Mr. Henry Hunter's 
 directions ; and he turned, without cere- 
 mony, to the little box of a study on the left 
 of the hall. 
 
 " Not there, sh*," interposed the man 
 hastily, and he showed him into the drawing- 
 room on the right ; Dr. Bevary and his 
 patient being in the consulting-room. 
 
 Ten minutes of impatience to Austin. 
 What could any lady mean by keeping him 
 so long, in his own house ? Then they came 
 forth. The lady, a very red and portly one, 
 rather old, was pushed into her carriage by 
 the help of her footman, Austin watching 
 the process from the window. The carriage 
 then drove off. 
 
 The doctor did not come in. Austin con- 
 cluded the servant must have forgotten to 
 tell him he was there. He crossed the hall 
 to the little study, the doctor's private room, 
 knocked and entered. 
 
 " I am not to care for patients," called 
 
MISS gwtnn's visit. ]03 
 
 out lie gaily, believing tlie doctor was alone ; 
 " Mr. Henry Hnnter says so." But, to liis 
 surprise, a patient was sitting there — at 
 least, a lady ; sitting, nose and knees to- 
 gether, with Dr. Bevary, and talking hur- 
 riedly and earnestly, as if they had the 
 whole weioiit of the nation's affairs on their 
 shoulders. 
 
 It was Miss Gwinn. The flowers had 
 apparently found their home, for they were 
 in a vase on the table. Austin took it all in 
 at a glance. 
 
 " So it is you, is it, Austin Clay ! " she 
 exclaimed. " I was acquainting Dr. Bevary 
 with your refusal to give me that man's 
 address, and asking his opinion whether the 
 law could compel you. Have you come 
 after me to say you have thought better 
 ofitr' 
 
 Austin was decidedly taken aback. It 
 might have been his fancy, but he thought 
 he saw a look of caution go out to him from 
 Dr. Bevary's eyes. 
 
 " Was your visit to this lady, Mr. Clay ? " 
 
 " No, sir, it was to you. Sir Michael 
 
104 A life's secret. 
 
 Wilson has come down on business, and Mr. 
 Henry Hunter will not be able to keep liis 
 appointment with you. He desired me to 
 say that he was sorry, but that it was no 
 fault of his." 
 
 Dr. Bevary nodded. "Tell him I was 
 about to send round to say that I could 
 not keep mine with him, so it's all right. 
 Another day will " 
 
 A sharp cry. A cry of passion, of rage, 
 almost of terror. It came from Miss Gwinn ; 
 and the doctor, breaking off his sentence, 
 turned to her in amazement. 
 
 It was well he did so ; it was well he 
 caught her hands. Another moment, and 
 she would have dashed them through the 
 window, and perhaps herself also. Driving 
 by, in the gig, were Sir Michael Wilson and 
 ]\Ir. Henr}^ Hunter. It was at the latter she 
 gazed, at him she pointed. 
 
 " Do you see him ? Do you see him ? " 
 she panted to the doctor. " That's the 
 man ; not the one driving ; the other — the 
 one sitting this way. Oh, Dr. Bevary, will 
 you believe me now ? I told you I met him 
 
MISS gwinn's visit. 105 
 
 at Ketterford ; and there he is again ! Let 
 me go ! " 
 
 She was strong almost as a wild animal, 
 wrestling with the doctor to get from him. 
 He made a motion to Austin to keep the 
 door, and there ensued a sharp struggle. 
 Dr. Bevary got her into an arm-chair 
 at last, and stood before her, holding her 
 hands, at first in silence. Then he 
 spoke calmly, soothingly, as he would to a 
 child. 
 
 " My dear lady, what will become of you 
 if you give way to these fits of violence ? 
 But for me, I really beheve you Avould have 
 been through the window. A pretty afiuir 
 of spikes that would be ! I should have 
 had you laid up in my house for a month, 
 covered over with sticking-plaster." 
 
 " If you had not stopped me I might 
 have caught that gig," was her passionate 
 rejoinder. 
 
 " Caught that gig ! A gig going at the 
 rate of ten miles an hour, if it was going 
 one ! By the time you had got down the 
 steps of my door it would havQ been out of 
 
106 A life's secret. 
 
 sight. How peoj^le can drive at tliat random' 
 rate in London streets, / can't tliink." 
 
 " How can I find liim ? How can I find 
 him ? " 
 
 Her tone Avas quite a wail of anguish. 
 However they might deprecate her mistaken 
 violence, it was impossible but that both her 
 hearers should feel compassion for her. She 
 laid her hand on the doctor's arm. 
 
 " Will you not help me to find him. Dr. 
 Bevary ? Did you note him ? " 
 
 " So far as to see that there Avere two per- 
 sons in the gig, and that they were men, not 
 women. Do you feel sure it Avas the man 
 you speak of ? It is so easy to be mistaken 
 in a person who is being whirled along 
 swiftly." 
 
 "Mistaken ! " she returned, in a strangely 
 significant tone. " Dr. Bevary, I am sure it 
 was he. I have not kept him in my mind 
 for years, to mistake him now. Austin 
 Clay," she fiercely added, turning round upon 
 Austin, '■'■ you speak; speak the truth : I saw 
 you look after them. AVas it, or was it not, 
 the man Avhom I met at Ketterford ? " 
 
MISS gwinn's visit. 107 
 
 " I Believe it was," was Austin's answer. 
 " Nevertheless, Miss Gwinn, I do not believe 
 him to be the enemy yon spoke of — the one 
 who worked you ill. He denies it just as 
 solemnly as you assert it ; and I am sure he 
 is a truthful man." 
 
 " And that I am a liar ? " 
 
 " No. That you believe what you assert, 
 is only too apparent. I think it a case, on 
 your side, of mistaken identity." 
 
 Happening to raise his eyes, Austin caught 
 those of Dr. Bevary fixed upon him Avith a 
 keen, troubled, earnest gaze. It asked, as 
 plainly as a gaze could ask, " Do you believe 
 so ? or is the falsehood on his side ? " 
 
 " Will you disclose to ,Dr. Bevary the 
 name of that man, if you will not to 
 me ? " 
 
 Again the gentlemen's eyes met, and this 
 time an unmistakeable warning of caution 
 gleamed forth from Dr. Bevary's. Austin 
 could only obey it. 
 
 "I must decline to speak of him in any 
 way, Miss Gwinn," said he ; " you had my 
 reasons before. Dr. Bevary, I have given 
 
108 A life's secret. 
 
 you the message I was cliarged with. I 
 must wish you both good day." 
 
 Austin walked back, full of thought, his 
 belief somewhat wavering. " It is very 
 strange," he reflected. " Could a woman, 
 could any one be so positive as she is, unless 
 thoroughly sure ? What is the mystery, I 
 wonder '? That it was no sentimental affair 
 between them, or rubbish of that sort, is 
 patent by the difference of their ages ; she 
 looks pretty nearly old enough to be his 
 mother. Mr. Henry Hunter's is a remark- 
 able <face — one that would alter httle in a 
 score of years." 
 
 The bell was ringing twelve as he ap- 
 proached the yard, and the workmen were 
 pouring out of it, on their way home to 
 dinner. Plentiful tables awaited them ; little 
 care was on their minds ; flourishing was 
 every branch of the building trade then. 
 Peter Quale came up to Austin. 
 
 " Sam Shuck have just been up here, sir, 
 a-eating humble pie, and praying to be took 
 on again. But the masters be both absent ; 
 and Mr. Mills, he said he didn't choose, in a 
 
MISS gwinn's visit. 109 
 
 thing like this, to act on liis own responsi- 
 bility, for lie lieard Mr. Hunter say Shuck 
 shouldn't again be employed." 
 
 " I would not take him on," replied Aus- 
 tin, " if it rested with me. An idle, skulking, 
 deceitful vagabond, drunk and incapable at 
 one time, striving to spread discontent among 
 the men at another. He has been on the 
 loose for a fortnight now. But it is not my 
 affan. Quale ; Mr. Mills is manager." 
 
 The yard, between twelve and one, was 
 pretty nearly deserted. The gentleman, 
 spoken of as Mr. Mills, and Austin, u^ally 
 remained ; the principals would sometimes 
 be there, and an odd man or two. The 
 timekeeper lived in the yard. Austin rather 
 liked that hour ; it was quiet. He was 
 applying to his plan with a zest, when ano- 
 ther interruption came, in the shape of Dr. 
 Bevary. Austin began to think he might as 
 well put the drawing away altogether. 
 
 " Anybody in the offices, JMr. Clay, except 
 you '? " asked the doctor. 
 
 " Not indoors. Mills is about somewhere." 
 
 Down sat the doctor, and fixed his keen 
 
1.10 A life's secret. 
 
 eyes upon Austin. " Wliat took place liere 
 this morning witli Miss Gwinn ? " 
 
 " No harm, sir," replied Austin, briefly ex- 
 plaining. " As it ha23penecl, Mr. Henry kept 
 away. Mr. Hunter came in and saw her ; 
 hut that was all." 
 
 " What is your opinion 1 " abruptly asked 
 tlie doctor. " Come, give it freely. You 
 have your share of judgment, and of dis- 
 cretion too, or I should UQt ask it. Is she 
 mistaken, or is Henry Hunter false ? " 
 
 Austin did not immediately reply. Dr. 
 Bevary mistook the cause of his silence. 
 
 "Don't hesitate. Clay. You know I am 
 trustworthy ; and it is not I who would stir 
 to harm a Hunter. If I seek to come to the 
 bottom of this aitair, it is that I may do 
 what I can to repair damage ; to avert some 
 of the fruits of wrong-doing." 
 
 " If I hesitated. Dr. Bevary, it was that I 
 really am at a loss what answer to give. 
 AVhen Mr. Henry Hunter denies that he 
 knows the woman, or that he ever has known 
 her, he appears to me to sj)eak open truth. 
 On the other hand, these recognitions of Miss 
 
MISS gwinn's visit. Ill 
 
 Gwinn's, and lier persistency, are, to say 
 the least of tliem, suspicious and singular. 
 Until witliin an hour I had full trust in Mr. 
 Henry Hunter ; now I do not know what to 
 think. She seemed to recognise him in the 
 gig so surely." 
 
 " He does not appear " — Dr. Bevary ap- 
 peared to be speaking to himself, and his 
 head was bent — " like one who carries about 
 with him some dark secret." 
 
 " Mr. Henry Hunter ? None less. Never 
 a man whose outside gave indications of a 
 clearer conscience. But, Dr. Bevary, if her 
 enemy be Mr. Hemy Hunter, how is it she 
 does not know him by name ? " 
 
 " Ay, there's another point. She evi- 
 dently attaches no importance to the name 
 of Hunter." 
 
 "What was the name of- — of the enemy 
 she talks of?" asked Austin. "We must 
 call him ' enemy ' for want of a better name. 
 Do you know it, doctor ? " 
 
 "No. Can't get it out of her. Never 
 could get it out of her. I asked her again 
 to-day, but she evaded the question." 
 
112 A life's secret. 
 
 " Mr. Hunter tliougiit it would be better 
 to keep ber visit this morning a secret from 
 bis brotber, as tbey bad not met. I, on tbe 
 contrary, sbould have told bim of it." 
 
 "No," bastily interposed Dr. Bevary, 
 putting up bis band witli an alarmed, warn- 
 ing gesture. " The only way is, to keep ber 
 and Henry Hunter apart.'' 
 
 " I wonder," mused Austin, " wbat brings 
 ber to town ? " 
 
 Tbe doctor tlirew bis penetrating gaze 
 into Austin's eyes. "Have you no idea 
 wbat it is ? "' 
 
 " None, sir. Sbe seemed to intimate tbat 
 sbe came every year." 
 
 " Good. Don't try to form any, my young 
 friend. It would not be a pleasant secret, 
 even for you to bold ! " 
 
 He rose as be spoke, nodded, and went 
 out, leaving Austin Clay in a state of puzzled 
 bemlderment. It was not lessened wlien, 
 an bour later, Austin encountered Dr. Bevary's 
 close carriage, driving rapidly along tbe 
 street, tbe doctor seated inside it, and Miss 
 Gwinn beside bim. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 TRACKED HOME. 
 
 I THINK it licas been mentioned that the 
 house next door to the Quales', detached 
 from it, however, was inhabited by two 
 famihes. The lower part by Mr. Samuel 
 Shuck, his wife and children ; the upper 
 and best part by the Baxendales. No two 
 sets of people could be more dissimilar ; the 
 one being as respectable as the other was 
 disreputable. John Baxendale's wife was an 
 invalid ; she had been so, on and off, for a 
 long while. There was an only daughter, 
 and she and her mother held themselves 
 very much aloof from the general society of 
 Daffodil's Delight. 
 
 On the morning following the day spoken 
 of in the last chapter, as distinguished by 
 the advent of Miss Gwinn in London, Mrs. 
 
114 A life's secret. 
 
 Baxendale found herself considerably worse 
 than- usual. Mr. Kice, tlie apothecary, who 
 was the general attendant in Daffodil's 
 Delight, and lived at its corner, had given 
 her medicine, and told her to " eat well and 
 get up her strength." But, somehow, the 
 strength and the appetite did not come ; on 
 the contrary, she got weaker and weaker. 
 She was in very bad spirits this morning, 
 was quite unable to get up, and cried for 
 some time in silence. 
 
 " Mother, dear," said Mary Baxendale, 
 going into her room, "you'll have the doctor 
 gone out, I fear." 
 
 " Oh, Mary 1 I cannot get up — I cannot 
 go," was the answer, delivered with a burst 
 of sobbing sorrow. " I shall never rise from 
 my bed again." 
 
 The words fell on the dauQ-hter with a 
 terrible shock. Her fears in regard to her 
 mother's health had long been excited, but 
 this seemed like a confirmation of a result 
 she had never dared openly to face. She 
 was not a very capable sort of girl — the 
 reverse of what is called strong-minded ; 
 
TRACKED HOME. 115 
 
 but the instinct imparted by aU true affec- 
 tion, warned her to make light of her 
 mother's words. 
 
 " Nay, mother, it's not so bad as that," 
 she said, checking her tears. "You'll get 
 up again fast enough. You are feehng low, 
 maybe, this morning." 
 
 " Child, I am too weak to get up — too 
 ill. I don't think I shall ever be about 
 a2:ain." 
 
 o 
 
 Mary sat down in a sort of helpless per- 
 plexity. 
 
 " What is to be done ? " she cried. 
 
 Mrs. Bg-xendale asked herself the same 
 question as she lay. Finding herself no 
 better under Mr. Eice's treatment, she had 
 at length determined to do what she ou^ht 
 to have done at first — consult Dr. Bevary. 
 
 From half-past eight to ten, three morn- 
 ings in the week. Dr. Bevary gave advice 
 gratis ; and Mrs. Baxendale was on this one 
 to have gone to him — rather a formidable 
 visit, as it seemed to her, and perhaps the 
 very thought of it had helped to make her 
 worse. 
 
 i2 
 
116 A life's secret, 
 
 " What is to be done ? " repeated Mary. 
 " Could you not wait upon him, child, 
 and describe my symptoms 1 " suggested the 
 sick woman, after weighing the dilemma in 
 her mind. " It might do as well. Perhaps 
 he can write for me." 
 
 " Oh, mother, I don't like to go I " ex- 
 claimed Mary, in the impulse of the moment. 
 " But, my dear, what else is to be done 1 " 
 urged Mrs. Baxendale. " We can't ask a 
 great gentleman like that to come to me." 
 
 " To be sure — true. Oh, yes, I'll go, 
 mother." 
 
 Mary got herself ready without another 
 word. Mrs. Baxendale, a superior woman 
 for her station in life, had brought up her 
 daughter to be thoroughly dutiful. It had 
 seemed a formidable task to the mother, the 
 going to this physician, this "great gentle- 
 man ;" it seemed a far worse to the daughter, 
 and especially the having to explain symp- 
 toms and ailments at second-hand. But the 
 great physician was a very pleasant man, 
 and would nod good-humouredly to Mary, 
 when by chance he met her in the street. 
 
. TRACKED HOME. 117 
 
 " Tell him, with my duty, that I am not 
 equal to coming myself," said Mrs. Baxen- 
 dale, when Mary stood ready in her neat 
 straw bonnet and light shawl. " I ought to 
 have o'one weeks ag;o, and that's the truth. 
 Don't forget to describe the pain in my 
 right side, and the flushings of heat." 
 
 So Mary went on her way, and was 
 admitted to the presence of Dr. Bevary, 
 where she told her tale with awkward 
 timidity. 
 
 " All ! a return of the old weakness that 
 she had years ago," remarked the doctor. 
 " I told her she must be careful. Too ill to 
 get up ? Why did she not come to me 
 before ? " 
 
 " I suppose, sir, she did not much like to 
 trouble you," responded Mary. " She has 
 been hoping from week to week that Mr. 
 Rice would do her good." 
 
 " / can't do her good, unless I see her," 
 cried the doctor. "I might prescribe just 
 the wrong thing, you know." 
 
 Mary repressed her tears. 
 
 "I am afraid, then, she must die, sir. 
 
118 A life's secret. 
 
 She said this morning she thought she should 
 never get up from her bed again." 
 
 " I'll step round some time to-day and 
 see her," said Dr. Bevary. " But now, don't 
 you go chattering that to the whole parish. 
 I should have every sick person in it ex- 
 pecting me, as a right, to call and visit 
 them." 
 
 He laughed pleasantly at Mary as he 
 spoke, and she departed with a glad heart. 
 The visit had been so much less formidable 
 in reality than anticipation. 
 
 As she reached Daffodil's Dehght, she did 
 not turn into it, but continued her Avay to 
 the house of Mrs. Hunter. Mary Baxen- 
 dale took in plain sewing, and had some 
 in hand at present from that lady. She 
 inquired for Dobson. Dobson was Mrs. 
 Hunter's own maid, and a very consequential 
 one. 
 
 "Not able to get Miss Hunter's night- 
 dresses home on Saturday I " grumbled Dob- 
 son, when she appeared and heard what 
 Mary had to say. " But you must, Mary 
 Baxendale. You promised them, you know.' 
 
TRACKED HOME. 119 
 
 " I should not have promised had I known 
 that my mother would have grown worse," 
 said Mary. "A sick person requires a deal 
 of waiting on, and there's only me. I'll do 
 what I can to get them home next week, if 
 that will do." 
 
 " I don't know that it will do," snapped 
 Dobson. "Miss Florence may be wanting 
 them. A promise is a promise, Mary Bax- 
 endale." 
 
 " Yes, it will do, Mary," cried Florence 
 Hunter, darting forward from some for- 
 bidden nook, whence she had heard the col- 
 loquy, and following Mary down the steps 
 into the street. A fair sight was that child 
 to look upon, with her white niushn dress, her 
 blue ribbons, her flowing hair, and her sweet 
 countenance, radiant as a summer's morning. 
 " Mamma is not down-stairs yet, or I would 
 ask her, — she is ill too, — but I know I do 
 not want them. Never you mind them, and 
 never mind Dobson either, but nurse your 
 mother." 
 
 Dobson drew the young lady back, asking 
 her if such behaviour was not enouQ-h to 
 
120 A life's secret. 
 
 " scandalise the square ; " and Mary Baxen- 
 dale returned home. 
 
 Dr. Bevary paid his visit to Mrs. Baxcn- 
 dale about mid-day. His practised eye saw 
 with certainty what others were only begin- 
 ning to suspect — that Death had marked 
 her. He wrote a prescription, gave some 
 general directions, said he would call again, 
 and told Mrs. Baxendale she would be 
 better out of bed than in it. 
 
 Accordingly, after his departure, she got 
 up and went into the front room, which 
 they made their sitting-room. But the 
 exertion caused her to faint ; she was cer- 
 tainly on this day much worse than usual. 
 John Baxendale was terribly concerned, and 
 did not go back to his work after dinner. 
 When the bustle was over, and she seemed 
 pretty comfortable again, somebody burst 
 into the room, without knocking or other 
 ceremony. It was one of the Shucks, a 
 young man of eight, in tattered clothes, and 
 a shock head of hair. He came to announce 
 that Mrs. Hunter's maid was asking for 
 Mary, and little Miss Hunter was there too, 
 
TRACKED HOME. 3 21 
 
 and said, might slie come up and see Mrs. 
 Baxendale. 
 
 Both were requested to walk up. Dobson 
 had brought a gracious message from her 
 mistress (not graciously delivered, though), 
 that the sewing might wait till it was quite 
 convenient to do it ; and Florence produced 
 a jar, which she had insisted upon carrying 
 herself, and had thereby split her grey kid 
 gloves, it being too large for her hands. 
 
 "It is black currant jelly, Mrs. Baxen- 
 dale," she said, with the prettiest, kindest 
 air, as she freely sat down by the sick 
 woman's side. " I asked mamma to let me 
 bring some, for I remember when I was iU 
 I only liked black currant jelly. Mamma 
 is so sorry to hear you are worse, and she 
 will come to see you soon." 
 
 " Bless your httle heart, Miss Florence ! " 
 exclaimed the invahd. " The same dear 
 child as ever — thinking of other people, and 
 not of yourself." 
 
 "I have no need to think for myself," 
 said Florence. " Everything I want is got 
 ready for me. I wish you did not look so 
 
132 A LIFES SECRET. 
 
 ill. I wisli you would have my uncle 
 Bevary to see you. He cures everybody.''' 
 
 " He lias been kind enough to come round 
 to-day, miss," spoke up John Baxendale, 
 " and he'll come again, he says. I hope he 
 will be able to do the missis good. As you 
 be a bit better," he added to his wife, " I 
 think I'll go back to my work." 
 
 " Ay, do, John. There's no cause for you 
 to stay at home. It was some sort of weak- 
 ness, I suppose, that came over me." 
 
 John Baxendale touched his hair to Flo- 
 rence, nodded to Dobson, and went down- 
 stairs and out. Florence turned to the open 
 window to watch his departure, ever rest- 
 less, as a healthy child is apt to be. 
 
 " There's Uncle Henry ! " she suddenly 
 called out. 
 
 Mr. Henry Hunter was walking rapidly 
 down Daffodil's Delight. He encountered 
 John Baxendale as the man went out of his 
 gate. 
 
 " Not back at work yet, Baxendale ? " 
 
 "The missis has been taken worse, sir," 
 was the man's YQ-ply. " She fainted dead off 
 
TRACKED HOME. 123 
 
 just now, and I declare I didn't know what 
 to think about her. She's all right again, 
 and I am going round." 
 
 At that moment there was heard a tap- 
 ping at the window panes, and a pretty- 
 little head was pushed out beneath them, 
 nodding and laughing, " Uncle Henry ! How 
 do you do. Uncle Henry ? " 
 
 Mr. Henry Hunter nodded in reply, and 
 pursued his way, unconscious that the lynx 
 eye of Miss Gwinn was following him, like 
 a hawk watching its prey. 
 
 It happened that she had penetrated Daf- 
 fodil's Delight, hoping to catch Austin Clay 
 at his dinner, which she supposed he might 
 be takino; about that hour. She held his 
 adcbess at Peter Quale's from Mrs. Thorni- 
 mett. Her object was to make a further 
 effort to get from him what he knew of the 
 man she sought to find. Scarcely had she 
 turned into Daffodil's Delight, Avhen she saw 
 Mr. Hemy Hunter at a distance. Away she 
 tore after him, and gained upon him con- 
 siderably. She reached the house of John 
 Baxendale just as he, Baxendale, was re- 
 
124 A life's secret. 
 
 entering it ; for lie had forgotten something 
 he must take with him to the yard. Turn- 
 ing her head upon Baxendale for a minute 
 as she passed, Miss Gwinn lost sight of Mr. 
 Henry Hunter. 
 
 How had he disappeared ? Into the 
 ground 1 or into a house ? or down any 
 obscure passage that might be a short cut 
 between Daffodil's Delight and some other 
 Delio;ht ? or into that cab that was now 
 Avhu'ling; onwards at such a rate ? That he 
 was no longer visible, was certain : and Miss 
 Gwinn was exceeding wroth. She came to 
 the conclusion that he had seen her, and hid 
 himself in the cab, though she had not 
 heard it stop. 
 
 But she had seen him spoken to from the 
 window" of that house, where the workman 
 had just gone in, and she determined to 
 make inquhies there, and so strode up the 
 path. In the Shucks' kitchen there were 
 only three or four children, too young to 
 give an answer. Miss Gwinn picked her 
 way through them, over the dirt and grease 
 of the floor, and ascended to the sitting-room 
 
TRACKED HOME. 125 
 
 above. She stood a minute to take in its 
 view. 
 
 John Baxendale was on his knees, hunting 
 among some tools at the bottom of a closet ; 
 Mary was meekly exhibiting the progress ot 
 the nightgowns to Dobson, who sat in state, 
 sour enough to turn milk into curd ; the 
 invalid was lying, pale, in her chair ; while 
 the young lady appeared to be assisting at 
 the tool-hunting, on her knees also, and 
 chattering as fast as her tongue could go. 
 All looked up at the apparition of the 
 stranger, who stood there gazing in upon 
 them. 
 
 " Can you tell me where a gentleman of 
 the name of Lewis lives ? " she began, in an 
 indirect, diplomatic, pleasant sort of way, 
 for she no doubt deemed it well to discard 
 violence for tact. In the humour she was 
 in yesterday, she would have said, sharply 
 and imperiously, " Tell me the name of that 
 man I saw now pass your gate." 
 
 John Baxendale rose. " Lewis, ma'am ? 
 I don't know anybody of the name." 
 
 A pause. "It is very unfortunate," she 
 
126 A life's secret. 
 
 mildly resumed. " I am in search of the 
 gentleman, and have not got his address. I 
 beheve he belono's to this neio-hbonrhood. 
 Indeed, I am almost sm-e I saw him talking 
 to you just now at the gate — though my 
 sight is none of the clearest from a distance. 
 The same gentleman to whom that young 
 lady nodded." 
 
 "That was my uncle Henry," called out 
 the child. 
 
 " Who ? " cried she, sharply, 
 
 " It was Mr Henry Hunter, ma'am, that 
 Avas," spoke up Baxendale. 
 
 " Mr. Henry Hunter ! " she repeated, as 
 she knit her brow on John Baxendale. 
 "That gentleman is Mr. Lewis." 
 
 *'No, that he is not," said John Baxen- 
 dale. "I ought to know, ma'am; I have 
 worked for him for some years." 
 
 Here the mischief might have ended ; 
 there's no telling ; but that busy little 
 tongue of all tongues — ah ! what work they 
 make ! — began clapping again. 
 
 " Perhaps you mean my papa. Papa's 
 name is Lewis — ^James Lewis Hunter. But 
 
TRACKED HOME. 127 
 
 lie is never called Mr. Lewis. He is brother 
 to my uncle Henry." 
 
 A wild flush of crimson flashed over Miss 
 Gwinn's sallow face. Somethino; within her 
 seemed to whisper that her search was over. 
 "It is possible I mistook the one for the 
 other in the distance/' she observed, all her 
 new diplomacy in full play. " Are they 
 alike in person?" she continued to John 
 Baxendale. 
 
 "Not so much alike now, ma'am. In 
 years gone by they were the very model 
 of one another : but Mr. Hunter has grown 
 stout, and it has greatly altered him. Mr. 
 Henry looks just like what Mr. Hunter used 
 to look." 
 
 " And who are you, did you say ? " she 
 asked of Florence with an emphasis that 
 would have been quite wild, but that it was 
 in a degi'ee su23pressed. " You are not Mr. 
 Lewis Hunter's daughter ? " 
 " I am," said Miss Florence. 
 
 " And you have a mother ? " 
 
 " Of course I have," repeated the child. 
 A pause : the lady looked at John Baxen- 
 
128 A life's secret. 
 
 dale. "Then Mr. Lewis Hunter is a mar- 
 ried man ? " 
 
 " To be sure lie is," said John, " ever so 
 many years ago. Miss Florence is twelve." 
 
 " Thank you," said Miss Gwinn abruptly 
 turning away. " Good morning." 
 
 She went down the stairs at a great rate, 
 and did not stay to pick her steps over the 
 grease of the Shucks' floor. 
 
 " What a mistake to make 1 " was her 
 inward comment, and she laughed as she said 
 it. " I did not sufficiently allow for the lapse 
 of years. If that younger one had lost his 
 life in the gravel pits, he would have died an 
 innocent man." 
 
 Away to the yard now, as fast as her legs 
 Avould carry her. In turning in, she ran 
 against Austin Clay. 
 
 " I want to speak with Mr. Hunter," she 
 imperiously said. " Mr. Lewis Hunter — not 
 the one I saw in the gig." 
 
 " Mr. Hunter is out of town. Miss Gwinn," 
 was Austin's reply. " We do not expect him 
 at the yard to-day ; he will not be home in 
 time to come to it." 
 
TRACKED HOME. 129 
 
 " Boy ! you are deceiving me !" 
 
 " Indeed I am not/' he returned. " Wliy 
 should I ? Mr. Hunter is not in the habit of 
 being denied to applicants. You might have 
 spoken to him yesterday when you saw him, 
 had it pleased you so to do." 
 
 " I never saw him yesterday." 
 
 " Yes, you did, Miss Gwinn. That gentle- 
 man who came into the office and bowed to 
 you was Mr. Hunter." 
 
 She stared Austin full in the face, as if 
 unable to beheve what he said. " Tliat Mr. 
 Hunter ? — Lewis Hunter ?" 
 
 "It was." 
 
 " If so, how he is altered ! " And, throwing 
 up her arms with a strange, wild gesture, she 
 turned and strode out of the yard. The next 
 moment Austin saw her come into it again. 
 
 " I want Mr. Lewis Hunter's private 
 address, Austin Clay." 
 
 But Austin was on his guard now. He 
 did not relish the idea of giving anybody's 
 private address to such a person as Miss 
 Gwinn, who might or might not be mad. 
 She detected his reluctance. 
 
130 A life's secret. 
 
 "Keep it from me if you choose, boy!" 
 she said, with a laugh that had a ring of 
 scorn. " Better for you perhaps to be on the 
 safe side. The first workman I meet will 
 give it me, or a court guide." 
 
 And thus saying, she finally turned away. 
 At any rate for the time being. 
 
 Austin Clay resumed his work, and the 
 day passed on to evening. When business 
 was over, he went home to make some 
 alteration in his dress, for he* had to go by 
 appointment to Mr. Hunter's, and on these 
 occasions he generally remained with them. 
 It was beginning to grow dusk, and a chill- 
 ness seemed to be in the air. 
 
 The house occupied by Mr. Hunter was 
 one of the best in the west-central square. 
 Ascending to it by a flight of steps, and 
 passing through a pillared portico, you found 
 yourself in a handsome hall, paved in imita- 
 tion of mosaic. Two spacious sitting-rooms 
 were on the left ; the front one was used as 
 a dining-room, the other opened to a con- 
 servatory. On the right of the hall, a broad 
 flight of stairs led to the apartments above, 
 
TRACKED HOME. 131 
 
 one of whicli was a fine drawing-room, fitted 
 up with costly elegance. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Hunter were seated in the 
 dining-room. Florence was there likewise, 
 but not seated ; it may be questioned if she 
 ever did sit, except when compelled. Dinner 
 was over, but they frequently made this their 
 evening sitting-room. The drawing-room 
 up-stairs was grand, the room behind was 
 dull ; this was cheerful, and looked out on 
 the square. Especially cheerful it looked on 
 this evening, for a fire had been lighted in 
 the grate, and it cast a warm glow around in 
 the fading twilight. 
 
 Austin Clay was shown in, and invited to 
 a seat by the fire, near Mrs. Hunter. He 
 had come in obedience to orders from Mr. 
 Hunter, issued to him when he, Mr. Hunter, 
 had been going out that morning. His 
 journey had been connected with certain 
 buildings then in process, and he thought he 
 might have directions to give with respect to 
 the following morning's early work. 
 
 A few minutes given by Austin and his 
 master to business matters, and then the 
 
132 A life's secret. 
 
 latter left the room, and Austin turned to 
 ]\Irs. Hunter. Unusually delicate she looked, 
 as she half sat, half lay back in her chair, the 
 firelight playing on her features. Florence 
 had dragged forth a stool, and was sitting on 
 it in a queer sort of fashion, one leg under 
 her, at Austin's feet. He was a great 
 favourite of hers, and she made no secret of 
 the liking. 
 
 " You are not looking well this evening," 
 he observed, in a gentle tone, to Mrs. 
 Hunter. 
 
 " I am not feeling well. I scarcely ever 
 do feel well ; never strong. I sometimes 
 think, Mr. Clay, what a mercy it is that we 
 are not permitted to foresee the future. If 
 we could, some of us might be tempted to — 
 to — " she hesitated, and then went on in a 
 lower tone — " to pray that God might take 
 us in youth." 
 
 " The longer we live the more we become 
 impressed with the wonderful wisdom that 
 exists in the ordering of all things," replied 
 Austin. " My years have not been many, 
 comparatively speaking ; but I see it always. 
 
TRACKED HOME, 133 
 
 and I know tliat I shall see it more and 
 more." 
 
 " The confirmed invalid, the man of care 
 and sorrow, the incessant battle for existence 
 with those reduced to extreme poverty, — had 
 they seen their future, as in a mirror, how 
 could they have borne to enter upon it ?" 
 dreamily observed Mrs. Hunter. "And yet, 
 I have heard people exclaim, ' How I wish I 
 could foresee my destiny, and what is to 
 happen to me !'" 
 
 " But the cares and ills of the world do 
 not come near you, Mrs. Hunter," spoke 
 Austin, after a pause of thought. 
 
 Mrs. Hunter smiled. " From the cares and 
 crosses of the world, as we generally estimate 
 cares and crosses, I am free. God has spared 
 them to me. He does not overwhelm us 
 with ills; if one iU is particularly our portion, 
 we are generally spared from others. Mine 
 lie in my want of health, and in the thought 
 that — that — I am rarely free from pain and 
 suffering," she concluded. But Austin felt 
 that it was not what she had been about to say. 
 
 " What should we do if all the ills came 
 
134 A LIFES SECRET. 
 
 to US, mamma ? " cried Florence, wlio had 
 been stiU, and was listening. 
 
 "My dear, if all the ills came to us, God 
 would show us a way to bear them. You 
 know that He has promised so much : and 
 His promises cannot fail." 
 
 " Clay," cried Mr. Hunter, returning to 
 the room and resuming his seat, " did any 
 one in particular caU and want me to-day ?" 
 
 " No, sir. Several came, but Mr. Henry- 
 saw them." 
 
 " Did Arkwright come ?" resumed Mr. 
 Hunter?" 
 
 " I think not ; I did not see him. That — 
 lady — who was there yesterday, came again. 
 She asked for you." 
 
 A pause. Then Mr. Hunter spoke up 
 sharply. " For my brother, you mean. She 
 must have wanted him." 
 
 " She certainly asked for you, sir. For 
 Mr. Lewis Hunter." 
 
 Those httle ears pricked themselves up, 
 and their owner unceremoniously wheeled 
 herself round on her stool, holding on by 
 Austin's knee, as she faced her father. 
 
TRACKED HOME. 135 
 
 " There was a lady came to Jolin Baxen- 
 dale's rooms to-day, when I and Dobson 
 were there, and she asked for Mr. Lewis 
 Hunter. At least — it was the funniest thing, 
 papa — she saw Uncle Henry talking to John 
 Baxendale, and she came up and said he was 
 Mr. Lewis, and asked where he lived. John 
 Baxendale said it was Mr. Henry Hunter, 
 and she said no, it was not Mr. Henry 
 Hunter, it was Mr. Lewis. So then we found 
 out that she had mistaken him for you, and 
 that it was you she wanted. Who was she, 
 papa V 
 
 "She — she — ^her business was with Henry," 
 spoke Mr. Hunter, in so confused, so startled 
 a sort of tone, not as if answering the child, 
 more as if defending himself to any who 
 might be around, that Austin looked up 
 involuntarily. His face had grown lowering 
 and angry, and he moved his position, so that 
 his wife's gaze should not fall upon it. 
 Austin's did, though. 
 
 At that moment there was heard a knock 
 and ring at the house door, the presumable 
 announcement of a visitor. Florence, much 
 
136 A life's secret. 
 
 addicted to acting upon natural impulse, and 
 thereby" getting into constant hot water with 
 her governess, who assured her nothing could 
 be more unbefitting a young lady, quitted 
 her stool and flew to the window. By dint 
 of flattenino; her nose and crushing her curls 
 against a corner of one of its panes, she con- 
 trived to obtain a partial view of the visitor. 
 
 " Oh dear ! I hoped it was Uncle Bevary. 
 Mamma's always better when he comes ; he 
 tells her she is not so ill as she fancies. 
 Papa!" 
 
 " What 1 " cried Mr. Hunter quickly. 
 
 "I do believe it is that same lady who 
 came to John Baxendale's. She is as tall as 
 a house." 
 
 What possessed Mr. Hunter ? He started 
 up ; he sprung half-way across the room, 
 hesitated there, and glided back again. 
 Glided stealthily as it were ; and stealthily 
 touching Austin Clay, motioned him to fol- 
 low him. His hands were trembling ; and 
 the dark frown, full of embarrassment, was 
 still upon his features. Mrs. Hunter noticed 
 nothing unusual ; the apartment was shaded 
 
TRACKED HOME. 137 
 
 in twilight, and slie sat with her head turned 
 to the fire. 
 
 " Go to that woman, Clay ! " came forth 
 in a whisper from Mr. Hunter s compressed 
 lips, as he drew Austin outside the room. 
 " I cannot see her. You go." 
 
 " What am I to say 1 " questioned Austin, 
 feeling surprised and bewildered. 
 
 " Anything ; anything. Only keep her 
 from me." 
 
 He turned back into the room as he spoke, 
 and closed the door softly, for Miss Gwinn 
 was already in the hall. The servant had said 
 his master was at home, and was conducting 
 her to the room where his master and mis- 
 tress sat, supposing it was some friend come 
 to pay an hour's visit. Austin thought he 
 heard Mr. Hunter shp the bolt of the dining- 
 room, as he walked forward to receive Miss 
 Gwinn. 
 
 Austin's words were quick and sharp, ar- 
 resting the servant's footsteps. " Not there, 
 Mark ! Miss Gwinn," he courteously added, 
 presenting himself before her, " Mr. Hunter 
 is unable to see you this evening." 
 
138 A life's secret. 
 
 " Wlio gave you authority to interfere, 
 Austin Clay ? " was the response, not spoken 
 in a raving, angry tone, but in one of cold, 
 concentrated determination. " I demand an 
 interview with Lewis Hunter. That he is 
 at home, I know, for I saw him through the 
 window, in the reflection of the firehght, as 
 I stood on the steps ; and here I will remain 
 until I obtain speech of him, be it until to- 
 morrow morning, be it until days to come. 
 Do you note my words, meddling boy ? I 
 demand the interview ; I do not crave it : 
 he best knows by what right." 
 
 She sat deliberately down on one of the 
 hall chairs. Austin, desperately at a loss 
 what to do, and seeing no means of getting 
 rid of her save by forcible expulsion, knocked 
 gently at the room door again. Mr. Hunter 
 drew it cautiously open to admit him ; then 
 slipped the bolt, entwined his arm within 
 Austin s and drew him to the window. Mrs. 
 Hunter's attention was absorbed by Flo- 
 rence, who was chattering to her. 
 
 " She has taken a seat in the hall, sir," he 
 whispered. " She says she will remain there 
 
TRACKED HOME. 139 
 
 until she sees you, though she should have 
 to wait until the morning. I am sure she 
 means it : stop there, she will. She says 
 she demands the interview as a right." 
 
 " No," said Mr. Hunter, " she possesses no 
 right. But — perhaps I had better see her, 
 and get it over : otherwise she may make 
 a disturbance. Tell Mark to show her into 
 the drawing-room, Clay ; and you stay here 
 and talk to Mrs. Hunter." 
 
 " What is the matter, that you are whis- 
 pering ? Does any one want you ? " inter- 
 rupted Mrs. Hunter, whose attention was 
 at length attracted. 
 
 "I am telling Clay that people have no 
 right to come to my private house on busi- 
 ness matters," was the reply given by Mr. 
 Hunter. " However, as the person is here, I 
 must see her, I suppose. Do not let us be 
 interrupted, Louisa." 
 
 " But what does she want ? — it was a 
 lady, Florence said. Who is she % " re- 
 iterated Mrs. Hunter. 
 
 " It is a matter of business of Henry's. 
 She ought to have gone to him." Mr. 
 
HO A life's secret. 
 
 Hunter looked at liis wife and at Austin as 
 lie spoke. The latter was leaving the room 
 to do liis bidding, and Miss Gwinn suffered 
 herself to be conducted quietly to the draw- 
 ing-room. 
 
 A full hour did the interview last. The 
 voices seemed occasionally to be raised in 
 anger, so that the sound penetrated to their 
 ears down stau-s, from the room over-head. 
 Mrs. Hunter grew impatient ; the tea waited 
 on the table, and she wanted it. At length 
 they were heard to descend, and to cross the 
 haU. 
 
 " James is showing her out himself," said 
 Mrs. Hunter. "Will you tell him we are 
 waiting tea, Mr. Clay ? " 
 
 Austin stepped into the hall, and started 
 when he caught sight of the face of Mr. 
 Hunter. He was turning back from closing 
 the door on Miss Gwinn, and the bright rays 
 of the hall lamp fell full upon his counte- 
 nance. It was of ghastly whiteness ; its ex- 
 pression one living aspect of terror, of dread. 
 He staggered, rather than walked, to a chair, 
 and sank into it. Austin hastened to him. 
 
TRACKED HOME. 141 
 
 " Oh, sir, what is it ? You are ill ? " 
 
 The strong man, the proud master, calm 
 hitherto in his native self-respect, was for 
 the moment overcome. He leaned his fore- 
 head upon Austin's arm, hiding its pallor, 
 and put up his finger for silence. 
 
 " I have had a stab, Clay," he whispered. 
 " Bear with me, lad, for a minute. I have 
 had a cruel stab." 
 
 Austin really did not know whether to 
 take the words hterally. " A stab ? " he 
 hesitatingly repeated. 
 
 "Ay. Here," touching his heart. " I wish 
 I was dead. Clay. I wish I had died years 
 ago; or that she had. Why was she per- 
 mitted to live ? — to live to work me this 
 awful" wrong ? " he dreamily wailed. " An 
 awful wrong to me and mine ! " 
 
 " What is it ? " spoke Austin, upon impulse. 
 " A wrong 1 Who has done it ? " 
 
 " She has. The woman now gone out. 
 She has done it all." 
 
 He rose, and appeared to be looking for 
 his hat. " Mrs. Hunter is waiting tea, sir/' 
 said the amazed Austin. 
 
142 A LIFES SECRET. 
 
 " Tea ! " repeated Mr. Hunter, as if his 
 brain were bewildered ; "I cannot go in 
 affain to-nio-ht : I cannot see tliem. Make 
 some excuse for me, Clay — anything. Why 
 did that woman work me this crying wrong?" 
 
 He took his hat, opened the hall door, and 
 shut it after him mth a bang, leaving Austin 
 in wondering consternation. 
 
 Se returned to the dining-room, and said 
 Mr. Hunter had been obliged to go out on 
 business ; he did not know what else to say. 
 Florence was sent to bed after tea, but Austin 
 sat a short while longer with Mrs. Hunter. 
 Something led back to the previous conver- 
 sation, when Mrs. Hunter had been alluding 
 to her state of health, and to some sorrow 
 that was her daily portion. 
 
 " What is it ? " asked Austin, in his im- 
 pulsive manner. 
 
 " The thought that I shall have to leave 
 Florence without a mother." 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Hunter, surely it is not so 
 serious as that ! You may get better." 
 
 " Yes ; I know I may. Dr. Bevary tells 
 me that I shall. But, you see, the very fear 
 
TRACKED HOME. 143 
 
 of it is hard to bear. Sometimes I think 
 God is reconciling me to it by slow degrees." 
 Later in the evening, as Austin was going 
 home, lie passed a piece of clear ground, to 
 be let for building purposes, at the end of 
 the square. There, in its darkest corner, far 
 back from the road, paced a man as if in 
 some mental agony, his hat carried in his 
 hands, and his head bared to the winds. 
 Austin peered through the night with his 
 quick sight, and recognised Mr. Hunter. 
 
CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 ME. SHUCK AT HOME. 
 
 Daffodil's Delight was in a state of 
 commotion. It has often been remarked 
 that there exists more real sympathy between 
 the working classes, one for another, than 
 amongst those of a higher grade ; and expe- 
 rience generally seems to bear it out. From 
 one end of Daffodil's Delight to the other 
 there ran just now a deep feeling of sorrow, 
 of pity, of commiseration. Men made 
 inquiries of each other as they passed in 
 the street ; women congregated at their 
 doors to talk, concern on their faces, a ques- 
 tion on their lips — " How is she ? What 
 does the doctor say ? " 
 
 Yes ; the excitement had its rise in one 
 cause alone — the increased illness of Mrs. 
 Baxendale. The physician had pronounced 
 
MR. SHUCK AT HOME. 145 
 
 his opinion (little need to speak it, though, 
 for the fact was only too apparent to all who 
 used their eyes), and the news had gone 
 forth to Daffodil's Delight — Mrs. Baxendale 
 was past recovery ; was, in fact, dying ! 
 
 The concern, universal as it was, showed 
 itself in various ways. Visits and neigh- 
 bourly calls were so incessant, that the 
 Shucks openly rebelled at the " trampling up 
 and down through their living-room," by 
 which route the Baxendale apartments could 
 alone be gained. The neighbours came to 
 help ; to nurse ; to shake up the bed and 
 pillows ; to prepare condiments over the fire ; 
 to condole ; and, above all, to gossip : with 
 tears in their eyes and lamentation in their 
 tones, and ominous shakes of the head, and 
 uplifted hands ; but still, to gossip : that 
 lies in human female nature. They brought 
 offerings of savoury delicacies ; or things 
 that, in their ideas, stood for dehcacies — 
 dainties likely to tempt the sick. Mrs. 
 Cheek made a pint jug of what she called 
 " buttered beer," a miscellaneous compound 
 of scalding-hot porter, gin, eggs, sugar, and 
 
146 A life's seceet. 
 
 spice. Mrs. Baxendale sipped a little ; but 
 it did not agree witli her fevered palate, and 
 she declined it for the future, with " thanks, 
 all the same," and Mrs. Cheek and a crony 
 or two disposed of it themselves with great 
 satisfaction. All this served to prove two 
 things — that good feeling ran high in Daffo- 
 dil's Delight, and that means did not run 
 low. 
 
 Of all the visitors, the most effectual 
 assistant was Mrs. Quale. She gossiped, it 
 is true, or it had not been Mrs. Quale ; but 
 she gave efficient help ; and the invalid was 
 always glad to see her come in, which could 
 not be said with regard to all. Daffodil's 
 Delight was not wrong in the judgment it 
 passed upon Mary Baxendale — that she was 
 a " poor creature." True ; poor as to being 
 clever in a domestic point of view, and in 
 attending upon the sick. In mind, in culti- 
 vation, in refinement, in gentleness, Mary 
 Baxendale beat Daffodil's Delight hollow ; 
 she was also a beautiful seamstress ; but in 
 energy and capability Mary was sadly 
 wanting. She was timid always — painfully 
 
ME. SHUCK AT HOME. 147 
 
 timid in tlie sick-room ; anxious to do for 
 lier mother all that was requisite, but never 
 knowing how to set about it. Mrs. Quale 
 remedied this ; she did the really efficient 
 part ; Mary gave love and gentleness ; and, 
 between the two, Mrs. Baxendale was thank- 
 ful and happy. 
 
 John Baxendale, not a demonstrative man, 
 was full of concern and grief. His had 
 been a very happy home, free from domestic 
 storms and clouds ; and, to lose his wife, was 
 anything but a cheering prospect. His 
 wages were good, and they had wanted for 
 nothing, not even for peace. To such, when 
 trouble comes, it seems hard to bear — it 
 almost seems as if it came as a wrong. 
 
 " Just hold your tongue, John Baxendale," 
 cried Mrs. Quale one day, upon hearing him 
 express something to this effect. " Because 
 you have never had no crosses, is it any 
 reason that you never shall ? No. Crosses 
 come to us aU sometime in our lives, in one 
 shape or other." 
 
 " But it's a hard thing for it to come iu 
 this shape," retorted Baxendale, pointing to 
 
148 A life's secret. 
 
 tlie bed. " I'm not repining or rebelling 
 against what it pleases God to do ; but I 
 can't see the reason of it. Look at some of 
 the other wives in Daffodil's Delight ; 
 shrieking, raving trollops, turning their 
 homes into a bear-garden with their temj)ers, 
 and driving; their husbands almost mad. If 
 some of them were taken they'd never be 
 missed : just the contrary." 
 
 " John," interposed Mrs. Baxendale in her 
 quiet voice, "when I am gone up there" — 
 pointing with her finger to the blue October 
 sky — " it may make you think more of the 
 time when you must come ; may help you 
 to be preparing for it, better than you have 
 done." 
 
 Mary Hfted her wan face, glowing now 
 with the excitement of the thought. " Father, 
 that may be the end — the reason. I think 
 that troubles are sent to us in mercy, not in 
 anger." 
 
 "Think'?" ejaculated Mrs. Quale, tossing 
 back her head with a manner less reverent 
 than her words. " Before you shaU have 
 come to my age, girl, it's to be hoped you'll 
 
MR. SHUCK AT HOME. 149 
 
 knoiv they are. Isn't it time for tlie medi- 
 cine V slie continued, seeing no other open- 
 ing for a reprimand just then. 
 
 It was time for the medicine, and Mrs. 
 Quale poured it out, raised the invalid from 
 her pillow, and administered it. John 
 Baxendale looked on. Like his daughter 
 Mary, he was in these matters an incapable 
 man. 
 
 "How long is it since Dr. Bevary was 
 here V he asked. 
 
 " Let's see ? " responded Mrs. Quale, who 
 Hked to have most of the talking to herself, 
 wherever she might be. " This is Friday. 
 Tuesday, wasn't it, Mary? Yes, he was 
 here on Tuesday." 
 
 "But why does he not come oftener?" 
 cried John, in a tone of resentment. " That's 
 what I was wanting to ask about. When 
 one is as ill as she is — in danger of dying — 
 is it right that a doctor should never come 
 a-near for three or four days ?" 
 
 " Oh, John ! a great physician like Dr. 
 Bevary ! " remonstrated his wife. "It is so 
 very good of him to come at all. And for 
 
150 A life's secret. 
 
 nothing, too ! He as good as said to Mary 
 he didn't mean to charge." 
 
 " I can pay him ; I'm capable of paying 
 him, I hope," spoke John Baxendale. " Wlio 
 said I wanted my wife to be attended out of 
 charity 1 " 
 
 "It's not just that, father, I think," said 
 Mary. " He comes more in a friendly way." 
 
 " Friendly or not, it isn't come to the pass 
 yet, that I can't pay a doctor," said John 
 Baxendale. " Who has let it go abroad that 
 I couldn't r 
 
 Taking up his hat, he went out on the 
 spur of the moment, and bent his steps to 
 Dr. Bevary's. There he was civil and 
 humble enough, for John Baxendale was 
 courteous by nature. The doctor was at 
 home, and saw him at once. 
 
 " Listen, my good man," said Dr. Bevary, 
 when he had caught somewhat of his errand. 
 " If, by going round often, I could do any 
 good to your wife, I should go. Twice a 
 day ; three times a day — by night, too, if 
 necessary. But I cannot do her good : had 
 she a doctor over her bed constantly, he 
 
MR. SHUCK AT HOME. 151 
 
 could render no service. I step round now 
 and then, because I see that it is a satis- 
 faction to her, and to those about her ; not 
 for any use I can be. I told you a week 
 ago the end was not very far off, and that 
 she would meet it calmly. She will be in 
 no further pain — no worse than she is now." 
 
 " I am able to pay you, sir." 
 
 " That is not the question. If you paid me 
 a guinea every time I came round, I should 
 visit her no more frequently than I do." 
 
 "And, if you please, sir, I'd rather pay 
 you," continued the man. " I'm sure I don't 
 grudge it ; and it goes against the grain 
 to have it said that John Baxendale's ^dfe 
 is attended out of charity. We Enghsh 
 workmen, sir, are independent, and proud of 
 being so." 
 
 " Very good," said Dr. Bevary. " I should 
 be sorry to see the day come when English 
 workmen lost their independence. As to 
 ' charity,' we will talk a bit about that. 
 Look here, Baxendale," the doctor added, 
 laying his hand upon his shoulder, in his 
 kind and familiar way, " you and I can 
 
152 A life's secret. 
 
 speak reasonably together, as man to man. 
 We both have to work for our living — you 
 with the hands, I chiefly with the head — 
 so, in that, we are equal, I go twice a week 
 to see your wife ; I have told you why it is 
 useless to go oftener. When patients come 
 to me, they pay me a guinea, and I see them 
 twice for it, which is equivalent to half-a- 
 guinea a visit ; but, when I go to patients 
 at their own houses, my fee is a guinea each 
 time. Now, would it seem to you a neigh- 
 bourly act that I should take two guineas 
 weekly from your wages ? — quite as much, 
 or more, than you gain. What does my 
 going round cost me ? A few minutes' 
 time ; a gossip with Mrs. Quale, touching 
 the doings of Daff'odil's Delight, and a groan 
 at those thriftless Shucks, in their pigsty of 
 a room. That is the plain statement of 
 facts ; and I should like to know what there 
 is in it that need put your English spirit 
 up. Charity ! We might call it by that 
 name, John Baxendale, if I were the guinea 
 each time out of pocket, through medicines 
 or other things furnished to you." 
 
MR. SHUCK AT HOME. 153 
 
 John Baxendale smiled ; but he looked 
 only three parts convinced. 
 
 " Tush, man ! " said the doctor ; " I may 
 be asking you to do me some friendly ser- 
 vice, one of these days, and then, you know, 
 we should be quits. Eh, John ? " 
 
 John Baxendale half put out his hand, 
 and the doctor shook it. 
 
 "I think I understand now, sir; and I 
 thank you heartily for what you have said. 
 I only wish you could do some good to the 
 wife." 
 
 " I wish I could, Baxendale," he replied, 
 throwing a kindly glance after the man as 
 he was moving away ; " I shan't brmg an 
 action against you in the county court for 
 these unpaid fees, Baxendale, for it wouldn't 
 stand," called out the doctor. " I never 
 was called in to see your wife — I went of 
 my own accord, and have so continued to 
 go, and shall so continue. Good day." 
 
 As John Baxendale was descending the 
 steps of the house door, he encountered 
 Mrs. Hunter. She stopped him to inquire 
 after his wife. 
 
154 A life's secret. 
 
 '' Getting weaker daily, ma'am, thank you. 
 The doctor has just told me again that 
 there's no hope." 
 
 " I am truly sorry to hear it," said Mrs. 
 Hunter. " I will call in and see her. I did 
 intend to call before, but something or other 
 has caused me to put it off." 
 
 John Baxendale touched his hat, and 
 departed. Mrs. Hunter went in to her 
 brother. 
 
 " Oh, is it you, Louisa ? " he exclaimed. 
 " A visit from you is somewhat a rarity. 
 Are you feeling worse 1 " 
 
 "Rather better, I think, than usual. I 
 have just met John Baxendale," continued 
 Mrs. Hunter, sitting down, and untying her 
 bonnet strings. " He says there is no hope 
 for his wife. Poor woman ! I wish it had 
 been different. Many a worse woman could 
 have been better spared." 
 
 " Ah," said the doctor, " if folks were 
 taken accordins; to our notions of whom 
 might be best spared, what a world this 
 would be ! Where's Miss Florence ? " 
 
 " I did not bring her out with me, Robert. 
 
MR. SHUCK AT HOME. 155 
 
 T came round to say a word to you about 
 James," resumed Mrs. Hunter, her voice in- 
 sensibly lowering itself to a tone of confi- 
 dence. " Something is the matter with him, 
 and I cannot imagine what." 
 
 " Been eating too many cucumbers again, 
 no doubt," cried the doctor. " He will go 
 in at that cross-grained vegetable, let it be 
 in season, or out." 
 
 "Eating!" returned Mrs. Hunter, "I wish 
 he did eat. For at least a fortnight — more, 
 I think — he has not eaten enough to support 
 a bird. That he is ill, is evident to all — 
 must be evident ; but when I ask him what 
 is the matter, he persists in it that he is 
 quite well ; that I am fanciful : seems an- 
 noyed, in short, that I should allude to it. 
 Has he been here to consult you ? " 
 
 " No," replied Dr. Bevary ; " this is the 
 first I have heard of it. How does he seem ? 
 What are his symptoms ? " 
 
 " It appears to me," said Mrs. Hunter, 
 almost in a whisper, "that the malady is 
 more on the mind. There is no palpable 
 disorder. He is restless, nervous, agitated ; 
 
156 A life's secret. 
 
 so restless at night, tliat lie has now taken 
 to sleep in a room apart from mine — not to 
 disturb me, he says. I fear — I fear he may 
 have been attacked with some dangerous 
 inward malady, that he is concealing. His 
 father, you know, died of " 
 
 " Pooh ! Nonsense ! You are indeed 
 becoming fanciful, Louisa," interrupted the 
 doctor. " Old Mr. Hunter died of an unusual 
 disorder, I admit ; but, if the symptoms 
 of such appeared in either James or Henry, 
 they would come galloping to me in hot 
 haste, asking if my skill could suggest a 
 preventive. It is no 'inward malady,' de- 
 pend upon it. He has been smoking too 
 much : or going in at the cucumbers." 
 
 " Robert, it is something far more serious 
 than that/' quietly rejoined Mrs. Hunter. 
 
 "Wlien did you first notice him to be ill V 
 
 " It is, I say, about a fortnight since. One 
 evening there came a stranger to our house, 
 a lady, and she ivould see him. He did not 
 want to see her : he sent young Clay to 
 her, who happened to be with us ; but she 
 insisted upon seeing James. They were 
 
MR. SHUCK AT HOME. 157 
 
 closeted toofether a long; while before she 
 left ; and then James went out — on busi- 
 ness, Mr. Clay said." 
 
 "Welir' cried Dr. Bevary. "What has 
 the lady to do with it ? " 
 
 " I am not sure that she has anything to 
 do with it. Florence told an incomprehen- 
 sible story about the lady's having gone into 
 Baxendale's that afternoon, after seeing her 
 uncle Henry in the street and mistaking 
 him for James. A Miss — what was the 
 name ? — Gwinn, I think." 
 
 Dr. Bevary, who haj)pened to have a 
 small glass phial in his hand, let it fall to 
 the ground ; whether by inadvertence, or 
 that the words startled him, he best knew. 
 " Well % " was all he repeated, after he had 
 gathered the pieces in his hand. 
 
 " I waited up till twelve o'clock, and 
 James never came in. I heard him let him- 
 self in afterwards with his latch-key, and 
 come up into the dressing-room. I called out 
 to know where he had been, it is so unusual 
 for him to stay out, and he said he was 
 much occupied, and that I was to go to 
 
158 A LIFES SECEET. 
 
 sleep, for he had some writing to do. But, 
 Eobert, instead of writing, he was pacing 
 the house all night, out of one room into 
 another; and in the morning — oh, I wish 
 you could have seen him ! — he looked wild, 
 wan, haggard, as one does who has got up 
 out of a long illness ; and I am positive he 
 had been weeping. From that time I have 
 noticed the change I tell you of. He seems 
 like one going into his grave. But, whether 
 the illness is upon the body or the mind, I 
 know not." 
 
 Dr. Bevary appeared intent upon putting 
 together the pieces of his phial, making 
 them fit into each other. 
 
 " It wUl all come right, Louisa ; don't 
 fret yourself : something must have gone 
 cross in his business. I'll call in at the 
 office and see him." 
 
 " Do not say that I have spoken to you. 
 He seems to have quite a nervous dread of 
 its being observed that anything is wrong 
 with him ; has spoken sharply, not in anger, 
 but in anguish, when I have pressed the 
 question." 
 
ME. SHUCK AT HOME. 159 
 
 " As if the lady could have had anything 
 to do with it ! " exclaimed Dr. Bevary, in a 
 tone of satire. 
 
 " I do not suppose she had. I only men- 
 tion the circumstances because it is since 
 that evening he has changed. You can see 
 what you think of him, and tell me after- 
 wards." 
 
 The answer was only a nod ; and Mrs. 
 Hunter went out. Dr. Bevary remained in 
 a brown study. His servant came in with 
 an account that patient after patient was 
 waiting for him, but the doctor replied by 
 a repelling gesture, and the man did not 
 again dare to intrude. Perplexity and pain 
 sat upon his brow ; and, when at last he 
 did rouse himself, he raised aloft his hands, 
 and gave utterance to words that sounded 
 very like a prayer : " I pray Heaven it may 
 not be so ! It would kill Louisa." 
 
 The pale, delicate face of Mrs. Hunter was 
 at that moment bending over the invalid 
 in her bed. In her soft, grey silk dress and 
 light shawl, her simple straw bonnet with 
 its white ribbons, she looked just the right 
 
160 A LIFES SECRET. 
 
 sort of visitor for a sick chamber ; and lier 
 voice was sweet, and her manner gentle. 
 
 " No, ma'am, don't speak of hope to me," 
 murmured Mrs. Baxendale. " I know that 
 there is none left, and I am quite reconciled 
 to die. I have been an ailing woman for 
 years, dear lady ; and it is wonderful how 
 those that are so get to look upon death, if 
 they can but presume to hope their soul is 
 safe, with satisfaction, rather than with 
 dread. Though I dare not say as much yet 
 to my poor husband." 
 
 " I have long been ailing, too," softly 
 replied Mrs. Hunter. " I am rarely free 
 from pain, and I know that I shall never 
 be healthy and strong again. But still — I 
 do fear it would give me pain to die, were 
 the fiat to come forth." 
 
 " Never fear, dear lady," cried the invalid, 
 her eyes brightening. " Before the fiat does 
 come, be assured that God will have recon- 
 ciled you to it. Ah, ma'am, what matters 
 it, after all 1 It is a journey we must take ; 
 and, when once we are prepared, it seems 
 but the settino; off a little sooner or a little 
 
MR. SHUCK AT HOME. 161 
 
 later. I got Mary to read me the burial 
 service on Sunday : I was always fond (9i 
 it ; but I am past reading now. In one 
 part thanks are given to God for that lie 
 has been pleased to deliver the dead out 
 of the miseries of this sinful world. Ma'am, 
 if He did not remove us to a better and a 
 happier home, would the living be directed 
 to give thanks for our departure from 
 this?" 
 
 " A spirit ripe for heaven," thought Mrs. 
 Hunter, when she took her leave. 
 
 It was Mrs. Quale who piloted her through 
 the room of the Shucks. Of all scenes of 
 disorder and discomfort, about the worst 
 reigned there. Sam had been — ^you must 
 excuse the inelegance of the phrase, but it 
 was much in vogue in Daffodil's Delig-ht — 
 " on the loose " again for a couple of days. 
 He sat sprawling across the hearth, a pipe 
 in his mouth, and a pot of porter at his 
 feet. The wife was crying with her hair 
 down ; the children were quarrelling in 
 tatters ; the dirt in the place, as Mrs. Quale 
 expressed it, stood on end ; and Mrs. 
 
16a A LIPES SECRET. 
 
 Hunter wondered liow people could bear to 
 live so. 
 
 "Now, Sam Shuck, don't you see who is 
 a standing in your presence ? " sharply cried 
 Mrs. Quale. 
 
 Sam, his back to the staircase door, really 
 had not seen. He threw his pipe into the 
 grate, started up, and pulled his hair to 
 Mrs. Hunter in a very humble fashion. In 
 his hurry he turned over a small child, and 
 the contents of the pewter pot upon it. 
 The child roared ; the wife took it up and 
 shook its clothes in Sam's face, restraining 
 her tongue till the lady should be gone ; 
 and Mrs. Hunter stepped into the garden 
 out of the 7nelee — glad to get there : Sam 
 following her in a spirit of politeness. 
 
 " How is it you are not at work to-day. 
 Shuck?" she asked. 
 
 "I am going to-morrow — I shall go for 
 certain, ma'am." 
 
 "You kno\\^. Shuck, I never do interfere 
 with Mr. Hunter's men," said Mrs. Hunter. 
 " I consider that intelligent workmen, as you 
 are, ought to be above any advice that I 
 
MPt. SHUCK AT HOME. 163 
 
 could offer. But I cannot help saying how 
 sad it is that you should waste your time. 
 Were you not discharged a little while ago, 
 and taken on again under a specific promise, 
 made by you to Mr. Henry Hunter, that 
 you would be diligent in future ? " 
 
 " I am diligent," grumbled Sam. " But 
 why, ma'am — a chap must take holiday now 
 and then. 'Tain't in human nature to be 
 always having the shoulder at the wheel." 
 
 " Well, pray be cautious," said Mrs. 
 Hunter. " If you offend again, and get dis- 
 charged, I know they will not be so ready 
 to take you back. Kemember your little 
 children, and be steady for their sakes." 
 
 Sam went indoors to his pipe, to his 
 wife's tongue, and to despatch a child to get 
 the pewter pot replenished. 
 
 4 
 
 U2 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS ! 
 
 Mrs. Hunter, turning out of Mr. Shuck's 
 gate, stepped inside Mrs. Quale's, wlio was 
 astonishing her with the shortcomings of the 
 Shucks, and prophesying that their destiny- 
 would be the workhouse, when Austin Clay 
 came forth. He had been home to dinner, 
 and was now going back to the yard. Mrs 
 Hunter said good morning to her talkative 
 friend, and walked away by Austin's side — 
 Mrs. Baxendale, Sam Shuck, and Daffodil's 
 Delight generally, forming themes of con- 
 verse. Austin raised his hat to her when 
 they came to the gates of the yard. 
 
 " No, I am not about to part ; I am going 
 in with you," said Mrs. Hunter. " I want 
 to speak just a word to my husband, if he 
 is at liberty. Will you find him for me ? " 
 
FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS ! 165 
 
 " He has been in his private room all the 
 morning, and is probably there still," said 
 Austin. " Do you know where Mr. Hunter 
 is ? " he inquired of a man whom they met. 
 
 " In his room, sir," was the reply, as the 
 man touched his cap to Mrs. Hunter. 
 
 Austin led the way down the passage, 
 and knocked at the door, Mrs. Hunter fol- 
 lowing him. There was no answer; and 
 believing, in consequence, that it was empty, 
 he opened it. 
 
 Two gentlemen stood within it, near a 
 table, paper and pens and ink before them, 
 and what looked like a cheque-book. They 
 must have been deeply absorbed not to have 
 heard the knock. One was Mr. Hunter : 
 the other — Austin recognised him — Gwinn, 
 the lawyer, of Ketterford. " I will not sign 
 it ! " Mr. Hunter was exclaiming, with pas- 
 sionate vehemence. " Five thousand pounds ! 
 it would cripple me for life." 
 
 " Then you know the alternative. I go 
 this moment and " 
 
 " Mrs. Hunter wishes to speak to you, 
 sir," interposed Austin, drowning the words 
 
166 A LIFES SECRET. 
 
 and speaking loudly. The gentlemen turned 
 sharply round ; and when Mr. Hunter caught 
 sight of his wife, the red passion of his face 
 turned to a livid pallor. Lawyer Gwinn 
 nodded faixdliarly to Austin. 
 
 " How are you, Clay ? Getting on, I 
 hope. Who is this person, may I ask ? " 
 
 " This lady is Mrs. Hunter," haughtily 
 replied Austin after a pause, surprised that 
 Mr. Hunter did not take up the words — the 
 offensive manner in which they were spoken 
 — the insulting look that accompanied them. 
 But Mr. Hunter did not aj^pear in a state 
 to take anything up just then. 
 
 Gwinn bent his body to the ground. 
 
 " I beg the lady's pardon. I had no idea 
 she was Mrs. Hunter." 
 
 But so ultra-courteous were the tones, so 
 low the bow, that Austin Clay's cheeks 
 burnt at the covert irony. 
 
 " James, you are ill," said Mrs. Hunter, 
 advancing in her quiet, composed manner, 
 but taking^ no notice whatever of the strano^er. 
 " Can I get anything for you ? Shall we 
 send for Dr. Bevary ? " 
 
FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS! 167 
 
 " No, don't do tliat ; it is going off. You 
 will oblige me by leaving us/' lie whispered 
 to ber. " I am very busy." 
 
 "You seem too ill for business/' she re- 
 joined. "Can you not put it off for an 
 hour ? Eest miglit be of service to you." 
 
 " No, madam, the business cannot be put 
 off," spoke up Lawyer Gwinn. 
 
 And down he sat in a chau-, with a deter- 
 mined air of conscious power — just as his 
 sister had sat /herself down, a fortnight 
 before, in Mr. Hunter's hall. 
 
 Mrs. Hunter quitted the room at once, 
 leaving her husband and the stranger in it. 
 Austin followed her. Her face wore a puz- 
 zled, vexed look, as she turned it upon 
 Austin. " Who is that person ? " she 
 asked. "His manner to me appeared to 
 be strangely insolent." 
 
 An instinct, for which Austin perhaps 
 could not have accounted had he tried, 
 caused him to suppress the fact that it was 
 the brother of the Miss Gwinn who had 
 raised a commotion at Mr. Hunter's house. 
 He answered that he had not seen the 
 
168 A life's secret. 
 
 person at the office previously, his tone 
 being as careless a one as he could assume. 
 And Mrs. Hunter, who was of the least sus- 
 picious nature possible, let it pass. Her 
 mind, too, was filled with the thought of her 
 husband's sufferins; state. 
 
 "Does Mr. Hunter appear to you to be 
 ill 1 " she asked of Austin, somewhat ab- 
 ruptly. 
 
 " He looked so, I think." 
 
 " Not now ; I am not alluding to the pre- 
 sent moment," she rejoined. "Have you 
 noticed before that he does not seem well ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Austin ; " this week or two 
 past." 
 
 There was a brief pause. 
 
 "Mr. Clay," she resumed, in a quiet, kind 
 voice, " my health, as you are aware, is not 
 good, and any sort of uneasiness tries me 
 much. I am going to ask you a confidential 
 question. I would not put it to many, and 
 the asking it of you proves that my esteem 
 for you is great. That Mr. Hunter is ill, 
 there is no doubt ; but whether mentally or 
 bodily I am unable to discover. To me he 
 
FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS ! 169 
 
 observes a most unusual reticence, his object 
 probably being to spare me pain ; but I can 
 battle better with a known evil than with an 
 unkno^vn one. Tell me, if you can, whe- 
 ther any vexation has arisen in business 
 matters ? " 
 
 " Not that I am aware of," promptly re- 
 plied Austin. "I feel sure that nothing is 
 amiss in that quarter." 
 
 " Then it is as I suspected, and he must 
 be suffering from some illness that he is con- 
 cealing." 
 
 She wished Austin good morning. He saw 
 her out of the gate, and then proceeded to 
 the room he usually occupied when engaged 
 in-doors. Presently he heard Mr. Hunter 
 and his visitor come forth, and saw the 
 latter pass the window. Mr. Hunter came 
 into the room. 
 
 " Is Mrs. Hunter gone ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Do you know what she wanted ? " 
 
 *' I do not think it was anything parti- 
 cular. She said she should like to say a 
 word to you, if you were disengaged." 
 
170 A LIFES SECRET. 
 
 Mr. Hunter did not sj)eak immediately. 
 Austin was making out certain estimates, 
 and liis master looked over his shoulder. 
 Not to look ; his mind was evidently all 
 pre-occupied. 
 
 "Did Mrs. Hunter inquire who it was 
 that was with me ? " he presently said. 
 
 "She inquired, sir. I did not say. I 
 told her I had not seen the person here 
 before." 
 
 " You knew ? " in a quick, sharp accent. 
 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 " Then why did you not tell her ? What 
 was your motive for concealing it ? " 
 
 The inquiry was uttered in a tone that 
 could not be construed as proceeding from 
 any emotion but that of fear. A flush came 
 into Austin s ingenuous face. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir. I never wish to 
 be otherwise than open. But, as you had 
 pre"sdously desired me not to speak of the 
 lady who came to your house that night, I 
 did not know but the same wish might 
 apply to the visit of to-day." 
 
 " True, true," murmured Mr. Hunter ; " I 
 
FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS ! 171 
 
 do not wish this visit of the man's spoken of. 
 Never mention his name, especially to Mrs. 
 Hunter. I suppose he did not impose upon 
 me," added he, with a poor attempt at a 
 forced smile : " it loas Gwinn, of Ketterford, 
 was it not 1 " 
 
 " Certainly," said Austin, feeling surprised. 
 " Did you not know him previously, sir ? " 
 
 "Never. And I wish I had not known 
 him now," 
 
 " If — if — will you forgive my saying, sir, 
 that, should you have any transaction with 
 him, touching money matters, it is necessary to 
 be wary. Many a one has had cause to rue the 
 getting into the clutches of Lawyer Gwinn." 
 
 A deep, heavy sigh, burst from Mr. 
 Hunter. He had turned from Austin. The 
 latter spoke again in his ardent sympathy. 
 
 " Sir, is there any way in which I can 
 serve you ? — any way % You have only to 
 command me." 
 
 " No, no. Clay. I fell into that man's 
 clutches — as you have aptly termed it — 
 years ago, and the penalty must be paid. 
 There is no help for it.'^ 
 
172 A life's secret. 
 
 " Not knowing liim, sir ? " 
 
 "Not knowing him. And not knowing 
 that I owed it, as I certainly did not know, 
 until a week or two back. I no more sus- 
 pected that — that I was indebted there, than 
 that I was indebted to you." 
 
 Mr. Hunter had grown strangely confused 
 and agitated, and the dew was rising on his 
 livid face. He made a hollow attempt to 
 laugh it off, and seemed to shun the gaze of 
 his clerk. 
 
 " This comes of the freaks of young men," 
 he observed, facing Austin after a pause, 
 and speaking volubly. " Austin Clay, T will 
 give you a piece of advice. Never put your 
 hand to a bill. You may think it an inno- 
 cent bit of paper, which can cost you at 
 most but the sum that is marked upon it ; 
 but it may come back to you in after years, 
 and you must purchase it with thousands. 
 Have nothing to do with bills, in any way ; 
 they will be a thorn in your side." 
 
 " So, it is a money affair ! " thought 
 Austin. " I might have known it was no- 
 thing else, where Gwinn was concerned. 
 
FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS ! 173 
 
 Here's Dr. Bevary coming in, sir," he added 
 aloud. 
 
 The physician was inside the room ere the 
 words had left Austin's lips. Mr. Hunter 
 had seized upon a stray plan and seemed 
 bent upon its examination. 
 
 " Kather a keen-looking customer, that, 
 whom I met at your gate," began the doctor. 
 " Who was it ? " 
 
 " Keen-looking customer ? " repeated Mr. 
 Hunter. 
 
 " A fellow dressed in black, with a squint 
 and a white neckerchief; an iU-favoured 
 fellow, whoever he is." 
 
 " How should I know about him ? " re- 
 plied Mr. Hunter, carelessly. " Somebody 
 after the men, I suppose." 
 
 But Austin Clay felt that Mr. Hunter did 
 know ; that the description could only apply 
 to Gwinn of Ketterford. Dr. Bevary en- 
 twined his arm within his brother-in-law's, 
 and led him from the room. 
 
 " James, do you want doctoring ? " he en- 
 quired, as they entered the one just vacated 
 by Lawyer Gwinn. 
 
174 A life's secret. 
 
 " No, I don't. What do you mean ? " 
 
 " If you don't, you belie your looks; that's 
 all. Can you honestly affirm to me that you 
 are in robust health ? " 
 
 " I am in good health. There is nothino^ 
 the matter with me." 
 
 " Then there's something else in the wind. 
 What's the trouble ? " 
 
 A flush rose to the face of Mr. Hunter. 
 
 " I am in no trouble that you can relieve ; 
 I am quite well. I repeat that I do not un- 
 derstand your meaning." 
 
 The doctor gazed at him keenly, and his 
 tone changed to one of solemn earnestness. 
 
 " James, I suspect that you are in trouble. 
 Now, I do not wish to pry into it unneces- 
 sarily; but I would remind you of the sound 
 wisdom that lies in the good old proverb : 
 ' In the multitude of counsellors there is 
 safety/ " 
 
 " And if there is ? '' returned Mr. Hunter. 
 
 " If you will confide the trouble to me, I 
 will do what I can to help you out of it — 
 whatever it may he — to advise with you as 
 to what is best to be done. I am your 
 
FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS ! 173 
 
 wife's brother ; could you have a truer 
 friend?" 
 
 " You are very kind, Bevary. I am in no 
 danger. AVlien I am, I will let you know." 
 
 The tone — one of playful mockery — grated 
 on the ear of Dr. Bevary. 
 
 " Is it assumed to hide what he dare not 
 betray "? " thought he. 
 
 Mr, Hunter cut the matter short by cross- 
 ing the yard to the time-keeper's office ; and 
 Dr. Bevary went out talking to himself : " A 
 wilful man must have his own way." 
 
 Austin Clay sat up late that night, reading 
 one of the quarterly reviews ; he let the time 
 slip by till the clock struck twelve. Mr. and 
 Mrs. Quale had been in bed some time ; 
 when nothing was wanted for Mr. Clay, Mrs. 
 Quale was rigid in retiring at ten. Early to 
 bed, and early to rise, was a maxim she was 
 fond of, both in precept and practice. The 
 striking of the church clock aroused him ; 
 he closed the book, left it on the table, pulled 
 aside the crimson curtain, and opened the 
 window to look out at the night, before going 
 into his chamber. 
 
176 A life's secret. 
 
 A still, balmy night. The stars shone in 
 the heavens, and DafFodil's Delight, for aught 
 that could be heard or seen just then, seemed 
 almost as peaceful as they. Austin leaned 
 from the window; his thoughts ran not upon 
 the stars or upon the peaceful scene around, 
 but upon the curious trouble which seemed 
 to be overshadowing Mr. Hunter. " Five 
 thousand pounds ! " His ears had caught 
 distinctly the ominous sum. " Could he 
 have fallen into Lawyer Gwinn's ' clutches ' 
 to that extent ? " 
 
 There was much in it that Austin could 
 not fathom. Mr. Hunter had hinted at 
 " bills ;" Miss Gwinn had spoken of the 
 " breaking up of her happy home ;" two 
 calamities apparently distinct and apart. 
 And how was it that they were in ignorance 
 of his name, his existence, his 
 
 A startling interruption came to Austin's 
 thoughts. Mrs. Shuck's door was pulled 
 hastily open, and some one panting with 
 excitement, uttering faint sobbing cries, 
 came running down their garden into Peter 
 Quale's. It was Mary Baxendale. She 
 
FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS ! 177 
 
 knocked sharply at tlie door with nervous 
 quickness. 
 
 " What is it, Mary '? " asked Austin. 
 
 She had not seen him ; but, of course, the 
 words caused her to look up. " Oh, sir," the 
 tears streaming from her eyes as she spoke, 
 " would you please call Mrs. Quale, and ask 
 her to step in. Mother's on the wing." 
 
 " I'll call her. Mary ! " — for she was 
 speeding back again — " can I get any other 
 help for you ? If I can be of use, step back 
 and tell me." 
 
 Sam Shuck came out of his house as 
 Austin spoke, and went flying up Dafi'odil's 
 Delight. He had gone for Dr. Be vary. The 
 Doctor had desired to be called, should there 
 be any sudden change. Of course, he did 
 not mean the change of death. He could be 
 of no use in that : but how could they dis- 
 criminate ? 
 
 Mrs. Quale was dressed and in the sick 
 chamber Avith all speed. Dr. Bevary was 
 not long before he followed her. Neigh- 
 bours on either side put their heads out. 
 
 Ten minutes at the most, and Dr. Bevary 
 
178 A life's secret. 
 
 was out again. Austin was then leaning 
 over Peter Quale's gate. He liad been in 
 no urgent mood for bed before, and this 
 little excitement, though it did not imme- 
 diately concern him, afforded an excuse for 
 not going to it. 
 
 " How is she, sir ? " 
 
 " Is it you ? " responded Dr. Bevary. "She 
 is gone. 1 thought it would be sudden at 
 the last." 
 
 " Poor thing ! " ejaculated Austin. 
 
 " Poor thing ? Ay, that's what we are 
 all apt to say when our friends die. But 
 there's little cause when the change has 
 been prepared for, the spirit made ripe for 
 heaven. She is gone to a world where there's 
 neither sickness nor pain." 
 
 Austin made no reply. The doctor spoke 
 again after a pause. 
 
 " Clay — to go from a solemn subject to one 
 that — that may, however, prove not less 
 solemn in the end — you heard me mention a 
 stranger I met at the gates of the yard to- 
 day, and Mr. Hunter would not take my 
 question. Was it Gwinn of Ketterford ? " 
 
FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS ! 179 
 
 The doctor had spoken in a changed, low 
 tone, laying his hand, in his earnestness, on 
 Austin's shoulder. Austin paused. He did 
 not know whether he ought to answer. 
 
 " You need not hesitate," said the doctor 
 divining his scruples. " I can understand 
 that Mr. Hunter may have forbidden you to 
 mention it, and that you would be faithful 
 to him. Don't speak ; your very hesitation 
 has proved it to me. Good night, my young 
 friend ; we would both serve him if we only 
 knew how." 
 
 Austin watched him away, and then went 
 indoors, for Daffodil's Delight began to be 
 astir, and to collect itself around him, Sam 
 Shuck having assisted in spreading the 
 news touching Mrs. Baxendale. Daffodil's 
 Delight thought nothing of leaving its bed, 
 and issuing forth in shawls and pantaloons 
 upon any rising emergency, regarding such 
 interludes of disturbed rest as socially agree- 
 able. 
 
 X 2 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE SEPARATION OF HUNTER AND HUNTER. 
 
 Austin Clay sat at his desk at Hunter 
 and Hunter's, sorting the morning letters, 
 which little matter of emjDloyment formed 
 part of his duties. It was the morning sub- 
 sequent to the commotion in Daffodil's 
 Delight. His thoughts were running more on 
 that than on the letters, when the postmark 
 "Ketterford" on two of them, caught his eye. 
 
 The one was addressed to himself, the 
 other to " Mr. Lewis Hunter," and the hand- 
 writing of both was the same. Disposing of 
 the rest of the letters as usual, placing those 
 for the Messrs. Hunter in their room, against 
 they should arrive, and dealing put any 
 others there might be for the hands employed 
 in the firm, according to their address, he 
 proceeded to open his own. 
 
A SEPARATION. 181 
 
 To ' tlie very end of it Austin read ; and 
 then, and not till then, he began to suspect 
 that it could not be meant for him. No 
 name whatever was mentioned in the letter ; 
 it began abruptly, and it ended abruptly ; 
 not so much as " Sir," or " Dear Sir " was it 
 complimented with, and it was simply signed 
 "A. G." He read it a second time, and then 
 its awful meaning flashed upon him, and a 
 red flush rose to his brow and settled there, 
 as if burnt into it with a branding iron. 
 He had become possessed of a dangerous 
 secret. 
 
 There was no doubt that the letter was 
 written by Miss Gwinn to Mr. Hunter. By 
 some extraordinary mischance, she had mis- 
 directed it. Possibly the letter, now lying 
 on Mr. Hunter's desk, might be for Austin. 
 .Though, what could she be writing about to 
 him? 
 
 He sat down. He was quite overcome 
 with the revelation ; it was, indeed, of a 
 terrible nature, and he would have given 
 much not to have become cognizant of it. 
 "Bills!" "money!" So that had been Mr. 
 
182 A LIFES SECRET. 
 
 Hunter's excuse for the mystery ! No 
 wonder he sought to turn suspicion into any 
 channel but the real one. 
 
 Austin was poring over the letter like one 
 in a nightmare, when Mr. Hunter interrupted 
 him. He crushed it into his pocket with all 
 the aspect of a guilty man ; any one might 
 have taken him in his confusion so to be. 
 Not for himself was he confused, but he 
 feared lest Mr. Hunter should discover the 
 letter. Although certainly written for him, 
 Austin did not dare to hand it to him, for it 
 would never do to let Mr. Hunter know that 
 he possessed the secret. Mr. Hunter had 
 come in, holding out the other letter from 
 Ketterford. 
 
 " This letter is for you, Mr. Clay. It has 
 been addressed to me by mistake, I con- 
 clude." 
 
 Austin took it, and glanced his eyes over 
 it. It contained a few abrupt lines, and a 
 smaller note, sealed, was inside it. 
 
 " My l3rother is in London, Austin Clay. 
 I have reason to think he wiU be calling 
 
A SEPARATION. 183 
 
 upon tlie Messrs. Hunter. Will you watch 
 for him, and give him the inclosed note 1 
 Had he told me where he should put up in 
 town, I should have had no occasion to 
 trouble you. — A. Gwinn." 
 
 Austin did not lift his eyes to Mr. 
 Hunter's in his usual candid, open manner. 
 He could not bear to look him in the face ; 
 he feared lest his master might read in his 
 the dreadful truth. 
 
 " What am I to do, sir ? " he asked. 
 " Watch for Gwinn, and give him the 
 note V 
 
 " Do this with them," said Mr. Hunter. 
 
 Striking a wax match, he held both Austin's 
 note and the sealed one over the flame until 
 they were consumed. 
 
 " You could not fulfil the request if you 
 wished, for the man went back to Ketterford 
 last night." 
 
 He said no more. He went away again, 
 and Austin lighted another match, and burnt 
 the crushed letter in his pocket, thankful, so 
 a r, that it had escaped Mr. Hunter. 
 
184 A life's secret. 
 
 Trouble came. Ere many days had 
 elapsed, there was dissension in the house of 
 Hunter and Hunter. Thoroughly united 
 and cordial the brothers had always been ; 
 but now a cause of dispute arose, and it 
 seemed that it could not be arranged. Mr. 
 Hunter had drawn out five thousand pounds 
 from the bank, and refused to state for what, 
 except that it was for a "private pm^pose." 
 The business had been a gradually increasing 
 one, and nearly all the money possessed by 
 both was invested in it ; so much as was not 
 actually out, lay in the bank in their joint 
 names, "Hunter and Hunter." Each pos- 
 sessed a small private account, but nothing 
 like sufficient to meet a cheque for five 
 thousand pounds. Words ran high between 
 them, and the sound penetrated to ears out- 
 side their private room. 
 
 His face pale, his lips compressed, his tone 
 kept mostly subdued, James Hunter sat at 
 his desk, his eyes falling on a ledger he was 
 not occupied with, and his hand partially 
 shading his face. Mr. Henry, more excited, 
 giving way more freely to his anger, paced 
 
A SEPARATION. 185 
 
 the carpet, occasionally stopping before the 
 desk and before his brother. 
 
 "It is the most unaccountable thing in 
 the world/' he reiterated, "that you should 
 refuse to say what it has been applied to. 
 Draw out, surreptitiously, a formidable sum 
 like that, and not account for it ! It is 
 monstrous." 
 
 " Henry, I have told you all I can tell 
 you," rephed Mr. Hunter, concealing his 
 countenance more than ever. "An old debt 
 was brought up against me, and I was forced 
 to satisfy it." 
 
 Mr. Henry Hunter curled his lip. 
 
 "A debt to that amount ! Were you 
 mad?" 
 
 " I did not — know — I — had — contracted 
 it," stammered Mr. Hunter, very nearly losing 
 his self-possession. "At least, I thought it 
 had been paid. Youth's errors do come home 
 to us sometimes in later life." 
 
 " Not to the tune of five thousand pounds," 
 retorted Mr. Henry Hunter. " It will cripple 
 the business ; you know it will. It is next 
 door to ruin." 
 
186 A life's secret. 
 
 " Nonsense, Henry ! Tlie loss of five 
 thousand pounds will neither cripple the 
 business nor bring ruin. It will be my own 
 loss : not yours." 
 
 " How on earth could you think of giving 
 it away ? Five thousand pounds !" 
 
 " I could not help myself. Had I refused 
 to pay it — " 
 
 " Well ? " for Mr. Hunter had stopped in 
 embarrassment. 
 
 " I should have been compelled to do so. 
 There. Talking of it will not mend it." 
 
 Mr. Henry Hunter took a few turns, and 
 then wheeled round sharply. " Perhaps 
 there are other claims for ' youth's follies ' to 
 come behind it V 
 
 The words seemed to arouse Mr. Hunter. 
 Not to anger ; but to what looked very hke 
 fear — almost to an admission that it might 
 be so. 
 
 •' Were any such further claim to come, I 
 would not satisfy it," he cried, wiping his 
 face. " No, I would not ; I would go into 
 exile first." 
 
 " We must part," said Mr. Hemy Hunter, 
 
A SEPAEATION. 187 
 
 tlie expression of liis brother's face quite 
 startlino; him. " There is no alternative. I 
 cannot risk the beggaring of my wife and 
 children." 
 
 "If it must be so, it must," was all the 
 reply given. 
 
 "Tell me the truth, James," urged Mr. 
 Henry, in a more conciliatory tone. " I 
 don't want to part. Tell me all, and let me 
 be the judge. Sm'ely, man ! it can't be 
 anything so very dreadful. You didn't set 
 fire to yom' neighbour's house, I suppose ?" 
 
 "I never thought the claim could come 
 upon me. That is all I can tell you." 
 
 " Then we part," decisively returned Mr. 
 Henry Hunter. 
 
 " Yes, it may be l^etter. If I am to go to 
 ruin, it is of no use to drag you down into it." 
 
 "If you are to go to ruin !" echoed Mr. 
 Henry, regarding his brother attentively. 
 " James ! is that an admission that other 
 mysterious claims may really follow this one ?" 
 
 " No, I think they will not. But we had 
 better part. Only — let the cause of our 
 separation be kept from the world." 
 
188 A life's secret. 
 
 " I should be clever to l3etray the cause, 
 seeing that you leave me in ignorance of 
 what it may be/' answered Mr. Henry 
 Hunter, who was feeling vexed, puzzled, and 
 very angry. 
 
 " I mean — let no shadow of the truth get 
 abroad. The business is large enough for 
 two firms, and we have agreed to carry it on 
 apart. Let that be the plea." 
 
 " You take it coolly, James." 
 
 A strange expression — a wrung expression 
 — passed over the face of James Hunter. 
 " I cannot help myself, Henry. The five 
 thousand pounds are gone, and of course it 
 is right that I should bear the loss alone 
 — or any other loss it may bring in its 
 train." 
 
 "But why not impart to me the 
 facts ? " 
 
 " No. It could not possibly do good ; and 
 it might make matters infinitely worse. 
 One advantage our separation will have; 
 there is a great deal of money owing to 
 us from difi'erent quarters, and this will 
 call it in." 
 
A SEPARATION. 189 
 
 " Or I don't see how you would carry 
 anything on for your part, minus your five 
 thousand pounds/' retorted Mr. Henry, in a 
 spirit of satire. 
 
 " Will you grant me a favour, Henry ? " 
 
 " That depends upon what it may 
 be." 
 
 " Let the real grounds of our separation — 
 this miserable affair that has led to it — be 
 equally a secret from your wife, as from the 
 world. I should not ask it without an 
 urgent reason." 
 
 " Don't you mean to tell Louisa ? " 
 
 " No. The matter is one entirely 
 my own; I do not wish to talk of it 
 even to my wife. Will you give me 
 the promise ? " 
 
 " Very well. If it be of the consequence 
 you seem to intimate. I cannot fathom you, 
 James." 
 
 " Let us apply ourselves now to the ways 
 and means of the dissolution. That, at any 
 rate, may be amicable." 
 
 It was quite evident that he fully declined 
 further allusion to the subject. And Mr. 
 
190 A life's secret. 
 
 Henry Hunter obtained no better elucida- 
 tion, then or later. 
 
 It fell upon tbe world like a thunderbolt — 
 that is, the world connected with Hunter and 
 Hunter. They separate? so flourishing a 
 firm as that ? The world at first refused to 
 believe it ; but the world soon found it was 
 true. 
 
 Mr. Hunter retained the yard where the 
 business was at present carried on. Mr. 
 Henry Hunter found other premises to suit 
 him : not far ofi" : a little more to the west. 
 Considerably surprised were Mrs. Hunter and 
 Mrs. Henry Hunter ; but the same plausible 
 excuse was given to them ; and they were 
 left in ignorance of the true cause. 
 
 "Will you remain with me?" pointedly 
 asked Mr. Hunter of Austin Clay. " I par- 
 ticularly wish it." ■ 
 
 " As you and Mr. Henry may decide, sir," 
 was the reply given. " It is not for me to 
 choose." 
 
 " We could both do with you, I believe. I 
 had better talk it over with him." 
 
 " That will be the best plan, sir." 
 
A SEPARATION. 191 
 
 "What do you part for?" abruptly inquired 
 Dr. Bevary one day of tlie two brothers, 
 coming into the counting-house and catching 
 them together. 
 
 Mr. Henry raised his eyebrows. Mr. 
 Hunter spoke volubly. 
 
 " The business is getting too large. It 
 will be better divided." 
 
 " Moonshine ! " cried the doctor, quietly. 
 " That's what you have been cramming your 
 wives with ; it won't do for me. When a 
 concern gets unwieldy, a man takes a partner 
 to help him on with it : you are separating. 
 There's many a firm larger than yours. Do 
 you remember the proverb of the bundle of 
 sticks 1 " 
 
 But neither Dr. Bevary nor anybody else 
 got at a better reason than that for the 
 measure. The dissolution of partnership 
 took place ; it was duly gazetted and the old 
 firm became two. Austin remained with Mr. 
 Hunter, and he was the only living being 
 who gave a guess, or who could give a guess, 
 at the real cause of separation — the drawing 
 out of that five thousand pounds. 
 
193 A LIFES SECEET. 
 
 And yet — it was not the drawing out of 
 that first five thousand pounds, that finally 
 decided Mr. Henry Hunter to enforce the 
 step, so much as the thought that other 
 thousands might perhaps be follo\\T.ng it. 
 He could not divest his mind of the fear. 
 
PART THE SECOND. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN. 
 
 For several years after tlie separation of 
 Hunter and Hunter, tilings went on 
 smootlily : at least there was no event 
 sufficiently marked that we need linger to 
 trace it. Each had a floiu'ishing business, 
 though Mr. Hunter had some difficulty in 
 staving off embarrassment in the financial 
 department : a fact which was well known 
 to Austin Clay, who was now confidential 
 manager — head of all, under Mr. Hunter. 
 
 He, Austin Clay, was getting towards 
 thirty years of age. He enjoyed a hand- 
 some salary, and was putting by money 
 yearly. He still remained at Peter Quale's, 
 though his position would have warranted 
 
194 A life's secret. 
 
 a style of living far superior. Not that it 
 could have brought him more respect : of 
 that, he enjoyed a full share, l^oth from 
 master and men. Clever, energetic, firm, 
 and friendly, he was thoroughly fitted for 
 his post — was liked and esteemed. But for 
 him, Mr. Hunter's business might not have 
 been what it was, and Mr. Hunter knew it. 
 He was a broken-spirited man, little capable 
 now of devoting energy to anything. The 
 years, in their progress, had terribly altered 
 James Hunter. 
 
 A, hot evening in Daffodil's Delight ; and 
 Daffodil's Delight Avas making it a busy one. 
 Uninterrupted prosperity is sometimes 
 nearly allied to danger : or, rather, danger 
 may grow out of it. Prosperity begets in- 
 dependence, and independence often begets 
 assumption — very often, a selfish, wrong 
 view of surrounding things. If any work- 
 men had enjoyed of late years (it may be 
 said) unlimited prosperity, they Avere those 
 connected with the building trade. There- 
 fore, being so flourishing, it struck some of 
 their body, who in a degree gave laws to the 
 
A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN. 195 
 
 rest, that the best tiling tliey could do was to 
 make themselves more flomishinsf still. As 
 a prehminary, they began to agitate for an 
 increase of wages : this was to be accom- 
 phshed by reducing the hours of labour, 
 the proposition being to work nine hours 
 per day instead of ten. They said nothing 
 about relinquishing the wages of the extra 
 hour : they would be paid for ten hours, and 
 work nine. The proposition was first put 
 by the men of a leading metropolitan firm 
 to their principals, and, fading to obtain it, 
 they threatened to strike. This it was that 
 was just now agitating Daffodil's Delight. 
 In the front room of one of the houses 
 that abutted nearly on the gutter, and 
 to which you must ascend by steps, there 
 might be read in the window, inscribed on 
 a piece of paper, the following notice : " The 
 Misses Dunn's, Milhner and Dressmakers. 
 Ladies own materiels made up." The com- 
 position of the cifflclie was that of the two 
 Miss Dunns jointly, who prided them- 
 selves upon being elegant scholars. A 
 twelvemonth's apprenticeship had initiated 
 
 o 2 
 
196 A life's secret. 
 
 them into the mysteries of dressmaking ; 
 millinery had come to them, as Mark 
 Tapley would say, spontaneous, or by dint 
 of practice. They had set up for themselves 
 in their father's house, and could boast of 
 a fair share of the patronage of Dafiodil's 
 Delight. Showy damsels were they, with 
 good-humoured turned-up noses, and light 
 hair ; much given to gadding and gossip- 
 ing, and fonder of dressino^ themselves than 
 of o-ettino; home the dresses of their cus- 
 tomcrs. 
 
 On the above evening, they sat in their 
 room, an uj^per one, stitching away. A 
 gown was in progress for Mrs. Quale, who 
 often boasted that she could do any work 
 in the world, save make her own gowns. 
 It had been in progress for two weeks, and 
 that lady had at length come up in a 
 temper, as Miss Jemima Dunn expressed 
 it, and had demanded it to be returned, 
 done or undone. They, with much depre- 
 cation, protested it should be home the 
 first thincr in the mornins', and went to 
 work. Four or five visitors, girls of their 
 
A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN. 197 
 
 own age, were performing tlie part of 
 lookers-on, and much laughter prevailed. 
 
 "I say," cried out Martha White — a 
 pleasant-looking girl, who had perched her- 
 self aloft on the edge of a piece of furni- 
 ture, which appeared to be a low chest of 
 drawers by day, and turned itself into a 
 bed at night — " Mary Baxendale was crying 
 yesterday, because of the strike ; saying, it 
 would be bad for all of us, if it came. 
 Ain't she a soft ? " 
 
 "Baxendale's again it, too," exclaimed 
 Miss Eyan, Pat Eyan's eldest trouble. 
 " Father says he don't think Baxendale '11 
 go in for it at all." 
 
 "Mary Baxendale's just one of them 
 timid things as is afraid of their own 
 shadders," cried Mary Ann Dunn. " If 
 she saw a cow a-commg at the other end 
 of the street, she'd turn tail and run. 
 Jemimer, whatever are you at ? The 
 sleeves is to be in plaits, not gathers." 
 
 " She do look ill, though, does Mary 
 Baxendale," said Jemima, after some atten- 
 tion to the sleeve in hand. " It's my 
 
198 A LIFES SECEET. 
 
 belief she'll never live to see Christmas ; 
 she's going the way her mother went. 
 Won't it be prime, when the men get ten 
 hours' pay for nine homes' work ? I shall 
 think about getting married then." 
 
 "You must find somebody to have you 
 first," quoth Grace Darby. " You have not 
 got a sweetheart yet." 
 
 Miss Jemima tossed her head. " I needn't 
 to wait long for that. The chaps be as 
 plentiful as- sprats in winter. All you have 
 got to do is to pick and choose." 
 
 " What's that ? " interrupted Mrs. Dunn, 
 darting into the room, Avith her sharp 
 tongue and her dirty fine cap. " What's 
 that as you're talking about, miss ? " 
 
 " We are a-talking of the strike," re- 
 sponded Jemima, with a covert glance to 
 the rest. " Martha White and Judy Kyan 
 says the Baxendales won't go in for it." 
 
 " Not go in for it 1 what idiots they must 
 be ! " returned Mrs. Dunn, the attractive 
 subject completely diverting her attention 
 from Miss Jemima and her words. " Ain't 
 nine hours a-day enough for the men to be 
 
A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN. 199 
 
 at work ? I can tell the Baxendales wliat — 
 when we have got the nine hours all 
 straight and sure, we shall next demand 
 eight. 'Taint free-Lorn Englishers as is 
 going to be put upon. It'll be glorious 
 times, girls, won't it ? We shall get a 
 taste o' fowls and salmon, may be, for 
 dinner then ! " 
 
 " My father says he does not think the 
 masters will come-to, if the men do strike," 
 observed Grace Darby. 
 
 "Of course they won't — till they are 
 forced/' retorted Mrs. Dunn, in a spirit of 
 satire. " But that's just what they are 
 a-going to be. Don't you be a fool, Grace 
 Darby!" 
 
 Lotty Cheek rushed in, a girl with a 
 tongue almost as voluble as Mrs. Dunn's, 
 and rough hair, the colour of a tow-rope. 
 "What d'ye think 1 " cried she, breath- 
 lessly. " There's a-going to be a meeting of 
 the men to-night in the big room of the 
 Bricklayers' Arms. They are a-filing in 
 now. I think it must be about the 
 strike." 
 
200 A life's secret. 
 
 "D'ye suppose it would be about any- 
 thmg else ? " retorted Mrs. Dunn. "I'd 
 like to be one of 'em ! I'd hold out for the 
 day's work of eight hours, instead of nine, 
 I would. So 'ud they, if they was men." 
 
 Mrs. Dunn's speech was concluded to an 
 empty room. All the girls had flown down 
 into the street, leaving the parts of Mrs. 
 Quale's gown in closer contact with the 
 dusty floor than w^as altogether to their 
 benefit. 
 
 The agitation in the trade had hitherto 
 been chiefly smouldering in an under- 
 current : now, it was rising to the surface. 
 Lotty Cheek's inference was right ; the 
 meetino; of this evenino: had reference to the 
 strike. It had been hastily arranged in the 
 «lay ; w^as quite an informal sort of affair, 
 and confined to the operatives of Mr. 
 Hunter. 
 
 Not in a workman's jacket, but in a 
 brown coat dangling to his heels, with a 
 slit down the back and ventilating holes for 
 the elbows, first entered he who had been 
 chiefly instrumental in calling the meeting. 
 
A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN. 201 
 
 It was Mr. Samuel Shuck ; better known, 
 you may remember, as Slippery Sam. 
 Somehow, Sam and prosperity could not 
 contrive to pull together in the same boat. 
 He was one of those who hke to Hve on the 
 fat of the land, but are too lazy to work for 
 their share of it. And how Sam had con- 
 trived to exist until now, and keep himself 
 and his large family out of the workhouse, 
 was a marvel to aU. In his fits of repentance, 
 he would manage to get in again at one or 
 other of the yards of the Messrs. Hunter ; 
 but they were growing tired of him. 
 
 The room at the Bricklayers' Arms was 
 tolerably commodious, and Sam took up 
 a conspicuous position in it. 
 
 "Well," began Sam, when the company 
 had assembled, and were furnished with 
 pipes and pewter-pots, "you have heard 
 that that firm won't accept the reduction 
 in the hours of labour, so the men have 
 determined on a strike. Now, I have got a 
 question to put to you. Is there most 
 power in one man, or in a few dozens of 
 men?" > '^ 
 
20£ A life's secret. 
 
 Some lauglicd, and said, " In the dozens." 
 
 " Very good," glibly went on Sam, whose 
 tongue was smoother than oil, and who 
 was gifted with a sort of oratory and some 
 learning when he chose to put it out. 
 " Then, the measure I wish to urge upon 
 you is, make common cause with those 
 men ; we are not all obliged to strike at 
 the same time ; it will be better not ; but 
 by degrees. Let every firm in London 
 strike, each at its appointed time," he con- 
 tinued, raising his voice to vehemence. 
 " We must stand up for ourselves ; for our 
 rights ; for our wives and children. By 
 making common cause together, we shall 
 bowl out the masters, and bring them to 
 terms." 
 
 " Hooroar ! " put in Pat Ryan. 
 
 " Hooroar I " echoed a few more. 
 
 An aged man, Abel White's father, usually 
 called old White, who was past work, nnd 
 had a seat at his son's chimney corner, 
 leaned forward and spoke, his voice tre- 
 mulous, but distinct. " Samuel Shuck, did 
 you ever know strikes do any good, either 
 
A MEETING OF THE WOEKMEN. 203 
 
 to tlie men or the masters ? Friends," 
 lie added, turuiiig liis venerable head 
 around, " I am in my eightieth year ; and 
 I picked up some experience while them 
 eighty years was passing. Strikes have 
 ruined some masters, in means ; but they 
 have ruined men wholesale, in means, in 
 body, and in soul." 
 
 "Hold there!" cried Sam Shuck, who 
 had not brooked the interruption patiently. 
 "Just tell us, old White, before you go 
 on, whether coercion answers for British 
 workmen? " 
 
 " It does not," replied the old man, lifting 
 his quiet voice to firmness. "But per- 
 haps you wiU tell me in your turn, Sam 
 Shuck, whether it's likely to answer for 
 masters ? " 
 
 "It has answered for them," retm^ned 
 Sam, in a tone of irony. " I have heard of 
 back strikes, where the masters were coerced 
 and coerced, till the men got all they stood 
 out for." 
 
 "And so brought down ruin on their 
 own heads," returned the old man, shaking 
 
204 A life's secret. 
 
 liis. " Did you ever liear of a lock-out, 
 Shuck r' 
 
 "Ay, ay," interposed quiet, respectable 
 Robert Darby. " Did you ever hear of that. 
 Slippery Sam 1 " 
 
 Slippery Sam growled. " Let the masters 
 lock-out if they dare ! Let 'em. The men 
 would hold out to the death." 
 
 " And death it will be, with some of ug; 
 if the strike comes, and lasts. I came down 
 here to-night, on my son's arm, just for 
 your good, my friends, not for mine. At 
 your age, I thought as some of you do ; but 
 I have learnt experience now. I can't 
 last long, any way ; and it's little matter 
 to me whether famine from a strike be my 
 end, or " 
 
 " Famine ! " derisively retorted Slippery 
 Sam. 
 
 " Yes, famine," was the quiet answer. 
 " Strikes never yet brought nothing but 
 misery in the end. Let me urge upon you 
 all not to be led away. My voice is but a 
 feeble one ; but I think the Lord is some- 
 imes pleased to show out things clearly to 
 
A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN. 205 
 
 the aged, almost as with a gift of prophecy ; 
 and I could only come and beseech you to 
 keep upon the straight-forrard path. Don't 
 have anything to do with a strike ; keep it 
 away from you at arm's length, as you 
 would keep away the evil one." 
 
 "What's the good of listening to him ? " 
 cried Slippery Sam, in anger. " He is in 
 l«is dotage." 
 
 " Will you listen to me, then ? " spoke up 
 Peter Quale ; " I am not in mine. I didn't 
 intend to come here, as may be guessed ; 
 but when -I found so many of you bending 
 your steps this way to listen to Slippery 
 Sam, I thought it time to change my mind, 
 and come and tell you what / thought of 
 strikes." 
 
 " You ! " rudely replied Sli23pery Sam. 
 " A fellow like you, always in full work, 
 earning the biggest wages, is sure not to 
 favour strikes. You can't be much better 
 off than you are." 
 
 " That admission of yours is worth some- 
 thing. Slippery Sam, if there's any here have 
 got the sense to see it," nodded Peter 
 
200 A life's secret. 
 
 Quale. " Good workmen, on full Avages, 
 don't favour strikes. I have rose up to 
 what I am by sticking to my work patiently, 
 and getting on step by step, It's open to 
 every living man to get on as I have done, 
 if he have got skill and pluck to Avork. 
 But if I had done as you do, Sam, gone in 
 for labour one day and for play two, and 
 for drinking, and strikes, and rebellion, 
 because money, which I was too lazy to 
 work for, didn't drop from the skies into 
 my hands, then I should just have been 
 where you be." 
 
 " Is it right to keep a man grinding and 
 sweating his life out for ten hours a-day ? " 
 retorted Sam. " The masters would -be as 
 well off if we worked nine, and the surplus 
 men would find employment." 
 
 " It isn't much of your life that you 
 sweat out, Sam Shuck," rejoined Peter Quale, 
 with a cough that especially provoked his 
 antaojonist. " And, as to the masters being 
 as well off, you had better ask them about 
 that. Perhaps they'd tell you that to pay 
 ten hours' wages for nine hours' work would 
 
A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN. 207 
 
 be the hour's wag-e dead loss to then- 
 pockets," 
 
 " Are you rascal enough to go in for the 
 masters ? " demanded Sam, in a fiery heat. 
 " Who'd do that, but a traitor ? " 
 
 "I go in for myself, Sam," equably 
 responded Peter Quale. " I know on which 
 side my bread's buttered. No skilful work- 
 men, possessed of prudent thought and 
 judgment, ever yet went blindfold into a 
 strike. At least, not many such." 
 
 Op rose Eobert Darby. "I'd just say 
 a word, if I can get my meaning out, but 
 I'm not cute with the tongue. It seems to 
 me, mates, that it would be a great boon if 
 we could obtain the granting of the nine 
 hours' movement ; and perhaps in the end 
 it would not affect the masters, for they'd 
 get it out of the public. I'd agitate for this 
 in a peaceful way, in the shape of reason 
 and argument, and do my best in that way 
 to get it. But I'd not like, as Peter 
 Quale says, .to plunge blindfold into a 
 strike." 
 
 " I look at it in this light, Darby," said 
 
2u8 . A life's secret. 
 
 Peter Quale, " and it seems to me it's tlie 
 only light as '11 answer to look at it in. 
 Tilings in this world are estimated by com- 
 parison. There ain't nothing large nor 
 small in itself. I may say, this chair's 
 big : well, so it is, if you match it by that 
 there bit of a stool in the chimbley corner ; 
 but it's very small if you put it by the side 
 of a omnibus, or of one of the sheds in our 
 yard. Now, if you compare our wages with 
 those of workmen in most other trades, 
 they are large. Look at a farm labourer, 
 poor fellow, with his ten shillings (more or 
 less) a-week, hardly keeping body and 
 soul together. Look at what a man earns 
 in the malting districts in the country ; 
 fifteen shillings and his beer, is reckoned 
 good wages. Look at a policeman, with 
 his pound a-week. Look at a postman. 
 Look at " 
 
 " Look at ourselves," intemperately in- 
 terrupted Jim Dunn. " What's other folks 
 to us ? We work hard, and we ought to 
 be paid according." 
 
 " So I think we are,'' said Peter Quale. 
 
A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN. 209 
 
 " Thirty-tliree shillings is not bad wages, 
 and it is only a delusion to say it is. 
 Neither is ten hours a day an unfair or 
 oppressive time to work. I'd be as glad 
 as anybody to have the hour took off, 
 if it could be done pleasantly ; but I am not 
 going to put myself out of work and into 
 trouble to stand out for it. It's a thing that 
 I am convinced the masters never will give ; 
 and if Pollock's men strike for it, they'll do 
 it against their own interests " 
 
 Hisses and murmurs of disapprobation 
 from various parts of the room interrupted 
 Peter Quale. 
 
 " You'd better wait and understand, afore 
 you begin to hiss," phlegmatically recom- 
 mended Peter Quale, when the noise had 
 subsided. " I say it will be against their 
 interests to strike, because, I think, if they 
 stop on strike for twelve months, they'll be 
 no nearer getting their end. I may be 
 wrong, but that's my opinion. There's 
 always two sides to a question — our own, 
 and the opposite one ; and the great fault 
 in most folks is, that they look only at their 
 
210 A life's secret. 
 
 own side, and it causes tlieni to see things 
 in a partial view. I liave looked as fair as 
 I can at oiir own side, trying to put away 
 my bias for it \ and I have put myself in 
 thought on the masters' side, asking my- 
 self, what would / do, were I one of them. 
 Thus I have tried to judge between them 
 and us, and the conclusion I have drawed 
 is, that they won't give in." 
 
 " The masters have been brought to grant 
 demands more unreasonable than this," re- 
 joined Sam Shuck. " If you know anything 
 about back strikes, you must know that,. 
 Quale." 
 
 "And that's one of the reasons why I 
 argue they won't grant this," said Peter. 
 " If they go on granting and granting, they 
 may get asking themselves where the de- 
 mands '11 stop." 
 
 "Let us go back to 1833," spoke up old 
 Wliite again, and the man's ao;e and vene- 
 rable aspect caused him to be listened to 
 with respect. " I was then working in 
 Manchester, and belonged to the Trades' 
 Union: a powerful Union as ever was 
 
A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN. 211 
 
 formed. In our strengtli, we thought we 
 should like a thing or two altered, and we 
 made a formal demand upon the master 
 builders, requiring them to discontinue the 
 erection of buildino-s on sub-contracts. The 
 masters fell in with it. You'll understand, 
 friends," he broke off to say, " that, looking 
 at things now, and looking at 'em then, is 
 just as if I saw 'em in two opposite aspects. 
 Next, we gave out a set of various rules for 
 the masters, and required them to abide by 
 such — about the making of the wages equal ; 
 the number of apprentices they should take ; 
 the machinery they should or should not 
 use ; and other things. Well, the masters 
 gave us that also, and it put us all cock-a- 
 hoop, and we went on to dictate to 'em more 
 and more. If they — the masters — broke 
 any of our rules, we levied fines on 'em, and 
 made 'em pay up ; we ordered them before 
 us at our meetings, found fault with 'em, 
 commanded 'em to obey us, to take on such 
 men as we pointed out, and to turn off 
 others ; in short, forced 'em to do as we 
 chose. People might have thought that we 
 
 p 2 
 
212 A life's secret. 
 
 was the masters and tliey tlie operatives. 
 Pretty well that, wasn't it ? " 
 
 The room nodded acquiescence. Slippery 
 Sam snapped his fingers in delight. 
 
 " The worst was, it did not last," resumed 
 the old man. " Like too many other folks 
 emboldened with success, we wasn't content 
 to let well alone, but went on a bit too far. 
 The masters took up their own defence at 
 last ; and the wonder to me now, looking 
 l^ack, is, that they didn't do it before. They 
 formed themselves into a Union, and passed 
 a resolve to employ no man unless he 
 signed a pledge not to belong to a 
 Trades' Union. Then we all turned out. 
 Six months the strike was on, and the 
 buildings was at a standstill, and us out of 
 work." 
 
 " AVere wages bad at that time ?" inquired 
 Kobert Darby. 
 
 " No. The good workmen among us had 
 been earning in the summer thirty-five shil- 
 lings a week ; and the bricklayers had just 
 had a rise of three shillings. We was just 
 fools : that's my opinion of it now. Awful 
 
A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN. 213 
 
 misery we were reduced to. Every stick we 
 had, went to the pawn shop ; our wives was 
 skin and bone, our children was in rags ; 
 and some of us just laid our heads down on 
 the stones, clammed to death." 
 
 " What was tlie trade in other places 
 about, that it didn't help you V indignantly 
 demanded Sam Shuck. 
 
 " They did help us. Money to the tune 
 of eighteen thousand pounds came to us ; 
 but we was a large body — many mouths to 
 feed, and the strike was prolonged. We had 
 to come-to at last, for the masters wouldn't ; 
 and we voted our combination a nuisance, 
 and went humbly to 'em, like dogs with 
 their tails between their legs, and craved to 
 be took on again upon their own terms. But 
 we couldn't get took back ; not all of us : 
 the masters had learnt a lesson. They had 
 got machinery to work, and had collected 
 workmen from other parts, so that we was 
 not wanted. And that's all the good the 
 strike brought to us I I came away on the 
 tramp with my family, and got work in 
 London after a deal of struggle and priva- 
 
-214 A life's secret. 
 
 tion : and I made a vow never to belong 
 
 o 
 
 willingly to a strike again." 
 
 " Do you see wlicre tlie fault lay in that 
 pase ? — the blame ? — the whole gist of the 
 evil ? " 
 
 The question came from a gentleman who 
 had entered the room as old. White was 
 speaking. The mg.n would have risen to 
 salute him, but he signed to them to be still 
 and cause no interruption- — a tall, noble 
 man, with calm, self-reliant countenance. 
 
 " It lay with the masters," he resumed, 
 nobody replying to him. " Had those Man- 
 chester masters resisted the first demand of 
 their men — a demand made in the insolence 
 of power, not in need — and allowed them 
 fully to understand that they Avere, and 
 would be, masters, we should, I believe, have 
 heard less of strikes since, than we have 
 done. I never think of those Manchester 
 massjers but my blood boils. When a prin- 
 cipal suflers himself to be dictated to by his 
 men, he. is, no longer a master, or worthy of 
 the name;*'- 
 
 "Had you been one of them, and not 
 
A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN. 215 
 
 complied, you might have come to ruin, sir," 
 cried Eobert Darby. " There's a deal to be 
 said on both sides." 
 
 "Kuin!" was the answer. "I never 
 would have conceded an inch, though I 
 had known that I must end my days m 
 the workhouse through not doino; it." 
 
 " Of course, sir, you'd stand up for the 
 masters, being hand in glove with 'em, and 
 likely to be a master yourself," grumbled 
 Sam Shuck, a touch of irony in his tone. 
 
 " I should stand up for whichever side I 
 deemed in the right, whether it was the 
 masters' or the men's," was the emphatic 
 answer. "Is it well— is it in accordance 
 with the fitness of things, that a master 
 should be under the control of his men ? 
 Come ! I ask it of your common sense." 
 
 "No." It was readily acknowledged. 
 
 " Those Manchester masters and those 
 Manchester operatives were upon a par as 
 regards shame and blame." 
 
 " Sir ! Shame and blame ? " 
 
 " They were upon a par as regards shame 
 and blame," was the decisive repetition ; 
 
216 . A life's secret. 
 
 "and I make no doubt that botli equally 
 deemed themselves to have been so, when 
 they found their senses. The masters' came 
 to them : the men were brought to thems." 
 
 "You speak strongly, sir." 
 
 " Because I feel strongly. When I become 
 a master, 1 shall, if I know anything of my- 
 self, have my men's interest at heart ; but 
 none of them shall ever presume to dictate 
 to me. If a master cannot exercise his own 
 authority in firm self-reliance, let him give 
 up business." 
 
 " Have masters a right to oppress us, sir ? 
 — to grind us down ? — to work us into our 
 cofiins ?" cried Sam Shuck. 
 
 The gentleman raised his eyebrows, and a 
 half smile crossed his lips. " Since when 
 have you been oppressed, and ground down 
 into your coffins ?" 
 
 Some of the men laughed — at Sam's oily 
 tongue. 
 
 " If you are — if you have any complaint 
 of that sort to make, let me hear it now, and 
 I wiU convey it to Mr. Hunter. He is ever 
 ready, you know, to What do you say, 
 
A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN. 217 
 
 Shuck ? The nine hours' concession is all 
 you want ? If you can get the masters to 
 give you ten hours' pay for nine hours' 
 work, so much the better for you. / would 
 not : but it is no affair of mine. To be paid 
 what you honestly earn, be it five pounds 
 per week or be it one, is only justice ; but 
 to be paid for what you don't earn, is the 
 opposite thing. I think, too, that the ecjual- 
 ization of wages is a mistaken system, quite 
 wrong in principle : one which can bring 
 only discontent in the long run. Let me 
 repeat that with emphasis— the equalization 
 of wages, should it ever take place, can bring 
 only discontent in the long run." 
 
 There Avas a pause. No one spoke, and 
 the speaker resumed — 
 
 "I conclude you have met here to dis- 
 cuss tliis agitation at the Messrs. Pol- 
 locks?" 
 
 " PoUocks' men are a-going to strike," said 
 Slippery Sam. 
 
 " Oh, they are, are they ? " returned the 
 gentleman, some mockery in his tone. "I 
 hope they may find it to their benefit. I 
 
218 A life's secret. 
 
 don't know wliat the Messrs. Pollocks may- 
 do in tlie matter : but I know what I 
 should." 
 
 " You'd hold out to the last against the 
 men ? " 
 
 " I should ; to the last and the last : were 
 it for ten years to come. Force a measure 
 upon me ! coerce nw /" he reiterated, draw- 
 ing his fine form to its full height, while the 
 red flush mantled in his cheeks. " No, my 
 men, I am not made of that yielding stuff. 
 Only let me be persuaded that my judgment 
 is right, and no body of men on earth should 
 force me to act against it." 
 
 The speaker was Austin Clay, as I daresay 
 you have abeady guessed. He had not gone 
 to the meeting to interrupt it or to take part 
 in it, but in search of Peter Quale. Hearing 
 fi'om Mrs. Quale that her husband was at the 
 Bricklayers' Arms — a rare occurrence, for 
 Peter was not one who favoured public- 
 houses — Austin went thither in search of 
 him, and so found himself in the midst of 
 the meeting. His business with Peter re- 
 lated to certain orders he required to give 
 
A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN. 219 
 
 for tlie early morning. Once there, liowevcr, 
 the temptation to have his say was too great 
 to be resisted. That over, he went out, 
 making a sign to the man to follow him. 
 
 " What are those men about to rush into, 
 Quale ? " he demanded, when his own matter 
 was over. 
 
 "Ah, what indeed?" returned the man. 
 "If they do get led into a strike, they'll 
 repent it, some of them." 
 
 "You are not one of the malcontents, 
 then ? " 
 
 " I ? " retorted Peter, utter scorn in his 
 tone. " No, sir. There's a proverb which I 
 learnt years ago from an old book as was 
 lent me, and I've not forgotten it, sir — ' Let 
 weU alone.' But you must not think all 
 the men you saw sitting there be discon- 
 tented agitators, Mr. Clay. It's only Shuck 
 and a few of that stamp. The rest l3e as 
 steady and cautious as I am." 
 
 " If they don't get led away," repHed 
 Austin Clay, and his voice betrayed a 
 dubious tone. "Slippery Sam, in spite of 
 Jiis loose qualifications, is a ringleader more 
 
220 A life's secret. 
 
 persuasive than prudent. Hark ! he is at 
 
 it again, hammer and tongs. Are you going 
 
 back to them ? " 
 
 " No, sir. I shall go home now." 
 
 " We will walk together, then," observed 
 
 Austin. " Afterwards I am going on to J\lr. 
 
 Hunter's." * 
 
 * "It need scarcely be remarked, that Sam Slmck and Ins 
 followers represent only the ignorant and nnprincipled section 
 of those who engage in strikes. Working men are perfectly 
 right in combining to seek the best terms they can get, both as 
 to wages and time ; provided there be no interference with the 
 liberty either of masters or fellow-workmen. — Ed. L. H., 
 February, 1862." 
 
CHAPTER IT. 
 
 CALLED TO KETTEEFORD. 
 
 Austin Clat was not mistaken. Rid of 
 Peter Quale, wlio was a worse enemy of 
 Sam's schemes than even old White, Sam 
 had it nearly his own way, and went at it 
 "hammer and tongs." He pom:ed his elo- 
 quent words into the men's ears — and Sam, 
 as you have heard, really did possess the 
 gift of eloquence : of a rough and rude sort : 
 but that tells well mtli the class, now 
 gathered round him. He brought forth 
 argument upon argument, fallacious as they 
 were plausible ; he told the men it depended 
 upon them, whether the boon they were 
 standing out for should be accorded, not 
 upon the masters. Not that Sam called it a 
 boon ; he spoke of it as a right. Let them 
 only be firm and true to themselves, he said, 
 
233 A life's seceet. 
 
 and the masters must give in : tliere was no 
 help for it, they would have no other re- 
 source. Sam finally concluded by demand- 
 ing, with fierce looks all round, whether they 
 were men, or whether they were slaves, and 
 the men answered, with a cheer and a shout, 
 that Britons never should be slaves ; and the 
 meeting broke up in excitement and glorious 
 spirits, and went home elated, some with the 
 anticipation of the fine time that was davvn- 
 ino- for them, others with havino; consumed 
 a little too much half-and-half. 
 
 Slippery Sam reeled away to his home. 
 A dozen or so attended him, listening to his 
 oratory, which was continued still : though 
 not exactly to the gratification of Daffodil's 
 Delight, who were hushing their unruly 
 babies to sleep, or striving to get to sleep 
 themselves. Much Sam cared Avliom he 
 disturbed ! He went along, flinging his arms 
 and his words at random — inflammatory 
 words, carrying poisoned shafts that told. 
 If somebody came down upon you and upon 
 me, telling us that, with a little exertion on 
 our part, we should inevitably drop into a 
 
CALLED TO KETTERFORD. 223 
 
 thousand a year, and showing plausible cause 
 for the same, should we turn ' a deaf ear ? 
 The men shook hands individually with 
 Slippery Sam, and left him propped against 
 his o^^^l door ; for Sam, with all deference 
 be it spoken, was a little overcome himself — 
 with the talking, of course. 
 
 Sam's better half greeted him with a shrill 
 tongue : she and Mrs. Dunn might be paired 
 in that respect : and Sam's children, some in 
 the bed in the corner, some sitting up, greeted 
 him ^^T.th a shrill cry also, clamom^ing for a 
 very common-place article, indeed — "some 
 hreacl!" Sam's family seemed inconveniently 
 to increase ; for the less there appeared to be 
 to welcome them with, the surer and faster 
 they arrived. Thirteen, Sam could number 
 now ; but several of the elder ones were out 
 in the world " doino; for themselves" — 
 getting on, or starving, as it might hap- 
 pen to be. 
 
 " You old sot ! you have been at that 
 drinking-can again," were Mrs. Sam's words 
 of salutation ; and I wish I could soften 
 them dowTi to refinement for polite ears ; 
 
324 A life's secret. 
 
 but if you are to have tlie truth, you must 
 take them as they were spoken. 
 
 " Drinking-can ! " echoed Sam, who was 
 in too high glee to lose his temper, "never 
 mind the drinking-can, missis : my fortian's 
 made. I drawed together that meeting, as I 
 telled ye I should," he added, discarding his 
 scholarly eloquence for the familiar home 
 phraseology, "and they come to it, every 
 man jack on 'em, save thin-skinned Baxen- 
 dale up-stairs. Never was such a full 
 meetino; knowed in Daffodil's Delight." 
 
 " Who cares for the meeting ! " irascibly 
 responded Mrs. Sam. " What we wants, is 
 some'at to fill our insides with. Don't come 
 bothering home here about a meeting, when 
 the children be a starving. If you'd work 
 more and talk less, it 'ud become ye better." 
 
 " I got the ear of the meeting," said Sam, 
 braving the reproof with a provoking wink. 
 '■' A despicable set our men is, at Hunter's, a 
 humdrummino" on like slaves for ever, takins; 
 their paltry wages and making no stir. But 
 I've put the brand among 'em at last, and 
 sent 'em home all on fire, to dream of short 
 
CALLED TO KETTERFORD. 225 
 
 work and good pay. Quale, lie come, and 
 put in his spoke again' it ; and that wretched 
 old skeleton of a White, what's been cheating 
 the grave this ten year, he come, and put in 
 his ; and Mr. Austin Clay, he must thrust 
 his nose among us, and talk treason to the 
 men : but I think my tongue have circum- 
 vented the lot. If it haven't, my name's not 
 Sam Shuck." 
 
 " If you and your circumventions and your 
 tongue was aU at the bottom of the Thames, 
 'twouldn't be no loss, for all the good they 
 does above it," sobbed Mrs. Shuck, whose 
 anger generally ended in tears. " Here's me 
 and the children a clemming for want o' 
 bread, and you can waste your time over a 
 idle good-for-nothing meeting. Ain't you 
 ashamed, not to work as other men do V 
 
 " Bread ! " loftily returned Sam, with the 
 air of a king, " 'tisn't bread I shall soon be 
 furnishing for you and the children : it's 
 mutton chops. My fortian's made, I say." 
 
 " Yah ! " retorted Mrs. Sam. " It have 
 Ibeen made forty times in the last ten year, 
 ito listen to you. What good has ever come 
 
226 A life's secret. 
 
 of the boast ? I'd shut up my mouth if I 
 couldn't talk sense." 
 
 Sam nodded his head oracularly, and 
 entered upon an explanation. But for the 
 fact of his being; a little " overcome" — what- 
 ever may have been its cause — he would 
 have been more guarded. " I've had over- 
 tures," he said, bending forward his head 
 and lowerino; his voice, " and them overtures, 
 which I accejDted, will be the making of you 
 and of me. Work ! " he exclaimed, throw- 
 ing his arms gracefully from him with a 
 repelling gesture, " I've done with work 
 now ; I'm superior to it ; I'm exalted far 
 above that lowerinoj sort of toil. The leaders 
 among the London Trade Union have recog- 
 nised eloquence, ma'am, let me tell you ; 
 and they've made me one of their picked 
 body — appointed me agitator to the firms of 
 Hunter. 'You get the meeting together, 
 and prime 'em with the best of your elo- 
 quence, and excite 'em to recognise and 
 agitate for their own rights, and you shaU 
 have your appointment, and a good round 
 weekly salary.' Well, Mrs. S., I did it. I 
 
 I 
 
CALLED TO KETTERFORD. 227 
 
 got the men together, and I have primed 
 'em, and some of 'em's a busting to go oft ; 
 and all I've got to do from henceforth is to 
 keep 'em up to the mark, by means of that 
 tongue which you are so fond of disparaging, 
 and to live like a gentleman. There's a 
 trifling^ instalment of the first week's mo- 
 
 O 
 
 ney. 
 
 Sam threw a sovereim on the table. Mrs. 
 Shuck, with a grunt of disparagement still, 
 darted forward to seize upon it through her 
 tears. The children, uttering a wild shriek 
 of wonder, delight, and disbelief, born of 
 incipient famine, darted forward to seize it 
 too. Sam burst into a fit of laughter, threw 
 himself back to indulo-e it, and not beinoj 
 just then over steady on his legs, lost his 
 equilibrium, and toppled over the fender into 
 the ashes. 
 
 Leaving Mrs. Shuck to pick him up, or to 
 leave him there — which latter neg-ative course 
 was the one she would probably take — let us 
 return to Austin Clay. 
 
 At Peter Quale's gate he was standing a 
 moment to speak to the man before proceed- 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 A life's secret. 
 
 big onwards, when Mrs. Quale came running 
 down the garden path. 
 
 " I was coming in search of you, sir," she 
 said to Austin Clay. " This has just been 
 brought, and the man made me sign my 
 name to a paper." 
 
 Austin took what she held out to him — a 
 telegraphic despatch. He opened it ; read 
 it ; then, in the prompt, decisive manner usual 
 with him, requested Mrs. Quale to put him 
 up a change of things in his portmanteau, 
 which he would return for ; and walked 
 away with a rapid step. 
 
 " Whatever news is it that he has had ? " 
 cried Mrs. Quale, as she stood with her hus- 
 band, looking after him. " Where can he 
 have been summoned to ? " 
 
 "Taint no business of ours," retorted 
 Peter ; "if it had been, he'd have enlight- 
 ened us. Did you ever hear of that offer 
 that's always pending ? — Five hundred a- 
 year to anybody as 11 undertake to mind 
 his own business, and leave other folks's 
 alone." 
 
 Austin was on his way to Mr. Hunter's. 
 
CALLED TO KETTERFOED. 229 
 
 A very frequent evening visitor there now, 
 was lie. But this evening lie had an osten- 
 sible motive for going ; a boon to crave. 
 That alone may have made his footsteps 
 fleet. 
 
 In the soft twilio;ht of the summer even- 
 mg, in the room of their o^vn house that 
 opened to the conservatory, sat Florence 
 Hunter — no longer the impulsive, charming, 
 and somewhat troublesome child, but the 
 young and lovely woman. Of middle height 
 and graceful form, her face was one of great 
 sweetness ; the earnest, truthful spirit, the 
 pure innocence, which had made its charm 
 in youth, made it now : to look on Florence 
 Hunter, was to love her. 
 
 She appeared to be in deep thought, her 
 cheek resting on her hand, and her eyes 
 fixed on vacancy. Some movement in the 
 house aroused her, and she arose, shook her 
 head, as if she would shake care away, and 
 bent over a rare plant in the room's large 
 opening, lightly touching the leaves. 
 
 " I fear that mamma is right, and I am 
 Avrong, pretty plant ! " she murmured. " I 
 
230 A life's secret. 
 
 fear that you will die. Is it that this Lon- 
 don, with its heavy atmosphere " 
 
 The knock of a visitor at the hall door 
 resounded through the house. Did Florence 
 knoiv the knock, that her voice should falter, 
 and the soft pink in her cheeks should deepen 
 to a glowing crimson ? The room door 
 opened, and a servant announced Mr. 
 Clay. 
 
 In that early railway journey when they 
 first met, Florence had taken a predilection 
 for Austin Clay. " I like him so much 1 " 
 had been her gratuitous announcement to 
 her uncle Henry. The liking had ripened 
 into an attachment, firm and lasting — a 
 child's attachment : but Florence grew into a 
 woman, and it could not remain such. 
 Thrown much together, the feeling had 
 changed, and love mutually arose : they fell 
 into it unconsciously. Was it quite prudent 
 of Mr. Hunter to sanction, nay, to court the 
 frequent presence at his house of Austin 
 Clay ? Did he overlook the obvious fact, that 
 he was one who possessed attractions, both 
 of mind and person, and that Florence was 
 
CALLED TO KETTERFORD. 231 
 
 now a woman grown ? Or did Mr. Hunter 
 deem, that the social barrier, which he 
 might assume existed between his daughter 
 and his dependent, would effectually pre- 
 vent all approach of danger ? Mr. Hunter 
 must himself account for the negligence : 
 no one else can do it. It was certain that 
 he did have Austin very much at his house, 
 but it was equally certain that he never cast 
 a thought to the possibility that his daughter 
 mio;ht be learnino' to love him. 
 
 The strange secret, whatever it may have 
 been, attaching to Mr. Hunter, had shattered 
 his health to that extent that for days toge- 
 ther he would be unequal to go abroad or 
 to attend to business. Then Austin, who 
 acted as principal in the absence of Mr. 
 Hunter, would arrive at the house when the 
 day was over, to report progress, and take 
 orders for the next. day. Or, rather, consult 
 with him what the orders should be ; for in 
 energy, in capability, Austin was now the 
 master spirit, and Mr. Hunter bent to it. 
 That over, he passed the rest of the evening 
 in the society of Florence, conversing with 
 
233 A life's secret. 
 
 her freely, confidentially ; on literature, art, 
 the news of the day ; on topics of home 
 interest ; listening to her music, listening to 
 her low voice, as she sang her songs ; guiding 
 her pencil. There they would be. He with 
 his ready eloquence, his fund of information, 
 his attractive manners, and his fine form, 
 handsome in its height and strength ; she 
 mth her sweet fascinations, her gentle love- 
 liness. What could be the result ? But, as 
 is almost invariably the case, the last person 
 to give a suspicion to it was he who posi- 
 tively looked on, and might have seen all — 
 Mr. Hunter. Life, in the presence of the 
 other, had become sweet to each as a sum- 
 mer's dream — a dream that had stolen over 
 them ere they knew what it meant. But 
 consciousness came with time. 
 
 Very conscious of it were they both as he 
 entered this evening. Austin took her hand 
 in greeting : a hand always tremulous now 
 in his. She bent again over the plant she 
 was tending, her eyelids and her damask 
 cheeks drooping. 
 
 " You are alone, Florence \" 
 
CALLED TO KETTERFOED 23a 
 
 " Just now. Mamma is very poorly this 
 evening, and keeps lier room. PajDa was 
 here a few minutes ag-o." 
 
 He released her hand, and stood looking 
 at her, as she played with the petals of the 
 flower. Not a word had Austin spoken of 
 his love ; not a word was he sure that he 
 might speak. If he partially divined that it 
 might be acceptable to her, he did not beheve 
 it- would be to Mr. Hunter. 
 
 " The plant looks sickly," he observed. 
 
 " Yes. It is one that thrives in cold and 
 wind. It came from Scotland. Mamma 
 feared this close London atmosphere would 
 not suit it ; but I said it looked so hardy, it 
 would be sure to do Avell. Rather than it 
 should die, I would send it back to its bleak 
 home." 
 
 " In tears, Florence ! For the sake of a 
 plant ! " 
 
 "Not for that," she answered, twinkling 
 the moisture from her eyelashes, as she raised 
 them to his with a brave smile. " I was 
 thinking of mamma ; she appears to be 
 fading rapidly, like the plant." 
 
234 A life's secret. 
 
 " She may grow stronger when the heat 
 of summer shall have passed." 
 
 Florence slightly shook her head, as if she 
 could not share in the suggested hope. 
 " Mamma herself does not seem to think she 
 shall, Austin. She has dropped ominous 
 words more than once latterly. This after- 
 noon I showed her the plant, that it was 
 drooping. 'Ay, my dear,' she remarked, 'it 
 is like me — on the wane.' And I think ray 
 uncle Bevary's opinion has become unfavour- 
 able." 
 
 It was a matter on which Austin could 
 not urge hope, though, for the sake of tran- 
 quillizing Florence, he might suggest it, for 
 he believed that Mrs. Hunter was fading 
 rapidly. All these years she seemed to have 
 been getting thinner and weaker ; it was 
 some malady connected with the spine, 
 causing her at times great pain. Austin 
 changed the subject. 
 
 " I hope Mr. Hunter will soon be in, 
 Florence. I am come to ask for leave of 
 absence." 
 
 " Papa is not out ; he is sitting with 
 
CALLED TO KETTERFORD. 235 
 
 mamma. That is another reason why I fear 
 danger for her. I think papa sees it ; he is 
 so solicitous for her comfort, so anxious to 
 be with her, as if he would guard her from 
 surprise or agitating topics. He will not 
 suffer a visitor to enter at hazard ; he will 
 not let a note be given her, until he has 
 first seen it." 
 
 " But he has long been thus anxious," 
 replied Austin, who was aware that what 
 she spoke of had lasted for years. 
 
 " I know. But still, latterly — however, 
 I must hope against hope," broke off Flo- 
 rence. " I think I do : hope is certainly a 
 very strong ingredient in my nature, for I 
 cannot realise the parting with my dear 
 mother. Did you say you have come for 
 leave of absence ? Where is it that you 
 wish to go ? " 
 
 " I have had a telegraphic despatch from 
 Ketterford," he replied, taldng it from his 
 pocket. " My good old friend, Mrs. Thorni- 
 mett, is dying, and I must hasten thither 
 with all speed." 
 
 " Oh ! " uttered Florence, almost reproach- 
 
236 A life's secret. 
 
 fully. " And you are wasting the time with 
 me!" 
 
 " Not so. The first train that goes there 
 does not start for an hour yet, and I can 
 get to Paddington in half of one. The news 
 has grieved me much. The last time I was 
 at Ketterford — you may remember it — Mrs. 
 Thornimett was so very well, exhibiting no 
 symptoms whatever of decay." 
 
 " I remember it," answered Florence. " It 
 is two years ago. You stayed a whole fort- 
 night with her." 
 
 " And had a battle with her to get away 
 then," said Austin, smiling with the remi- 
 niscence, or with Florence's word "whole" 
 — a suggestive word, spoken in that sense. 
 " She wished me to remain lono-er. I wonder 
 what illness can have stricken her ? It must 
 have been sudden." 
 
 " What is the relationship between you ? " 
 
 "A distant one. She and my mother 
 were second cousins. If I- — - — " 
 
 Austin was stopped by the entrance of 
 Mr. Hunter. So changed, so bent and 
 bowed, since you, reader, last saw him ! The 
 
CALLED TO KETTERFORD. 2-37 
 
 stout upright figure liad grown tliin and 
 stooping, the fine dark hair was grey, the 
 once calm, self-reliant face was worn and 
 haggard. Nor was that all ; there was a 
 constant restlessness in his manner and in 
 the turn of his eye, giving a spectator the 
 idea that he lived in a state of ever-present, 
 perpetual fear. 
 
 Austin put the telegraphic message in his 
 hand. " It is an inconvenient time, I know, 
 sir, for me to be away, busy as we are, and 
 with this agitation rising amongst the meu ; 
 but I cannot help myself. I will return as 
 soon as it is possible." 
 
 Mr. Hunter did not hear the words. His 
 eyes had fallen on the word " Ketterford," 
 in the despatch, and that seemed to scare 
 away his senses. His hands shook as he 
 held the paper, and for a few moments he 
 appeared incapable of collected thought, of 
 understanding anything, Austin explained 
 again. 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes, it is only — it is Mrs. Thor- 
 nimett who is ill, and wants you — I com- 
 prehend now." He spoke in an incoherent 
 
'238 A LIFE S SECRET. 
 
 manner, and with a sigli of the most intense 
 relief. " I — I — saw the word ' dying,' and 
 it startled me," he proceeded, as if anxious 
 to account for his agitation. " You can go, 
 Austin ; you must go. Remain a few days 
 there — a week, if you find it necessary." 
 
 " Thank you, sir. I will say farewell now, 
 then." 
 
 He shook hands with Mr. Hunter, turned 
 to Florence, and took hers. "Remember 
 me to Mrs. Hunter," he said in a low tone, 
 which, in spite of himself, betrayed its own 
 tenderness, " and tell her I hope to find her 
 better on my return." 
 
 A few paces from the house, as he went 
 out, Austin encountered Dr. Be vary, " Is 
 she much worse ? " he exclaimed to Austin, 
 in a hasty tone. 
 
 " Is who much worse, doctor ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Hunter. I have just had a mes- 
 sage from her." 
 
 " Not very much, I fancy. Florence said 
 her mamma was poorly this evening. I am 
 ofi" to Ketterford, doctor, for a few days." 
 
 " To Ketterford ! " replied Dr. Bevary, 
 
CALLED TO KETTERFORD. 239 
 
 with an emphasis that showed the news had 
 startled him. "What are you going there 
 for ? For— for Mr. Hunter ? " 
 
 " For myself," said Austin. " A good old 
 friend is ill — dying, the message says — and 
 has telegraphed for me." 
 
 The physician looked at him searchingly. 
 " Do you speak of Miss Gwinn ? " 
 
 " I should not call her a friend," replied 
 Austin. " I allude to Mrs. Thornimett." 
 
 "A pleasant journey to you, then. And, 
 Clay ! steer clear of those Gwinns ; they 
 would bring you no good." 
 
 It was in the dawn of the early morning 
 that Austin entered Ketterford. He did not 
 let the grass grow under his feet between 
 the railway terminus and Mrs. Thornimett's ; 
 though he was somewhat dubious about dis- 
 turbing the house. If she was really " dying," 
 it might be well that he should do so ; if 
 only suffering from a severe illness, it might 
 not be expected of him ; and the wording of 
 the message had been ambiguous, leaving it 
 an open question. As he drew within ^dew 
 of the house, however, it exhibited signs of 
 
240 A LIFES SECRET. 
 
 bustle ; lights, not yet put out in the dawn, 
 might be discerned throuejh some of the 
 curtained windows, and a woman, having 
 much the appearance of a nurse, was coming 
 out at the door, halting on the threshold a 
 moment to hold converse with one within. 
 
 " Can you tell me how Mrs. Thornimett 
 is ? " inquired Austin, addressing himself to 
 her. 
 
 The woman shook her head. " She is 
 gone, sir. Not more than an hour ago." 
 
 Sarah, the old servant whom we have seen 
 before at Mrs. Thornimett's, came forward, 
 weeping. " Oh, Mr. Austin ! oh, sir ; why 
 could not you get here sooner ? " 
 
 " How could I, Sarah ? " was his reply. 
 " I received the message only last evening, 
 and came off by the first train that started." 
 
 " I'd have took a engine to myself, and 
 rode upon its chimbley, but what I'd have 
 sot here in time," retorted Sarah. " Twice 
 in the very last half hour of her life, she 
 asked after you. ' Isn't Austin come ? ' 
 ' Isn't he yet come ? ' My dear old mis- 
 tress ! " ■ 
 
CALLED TO KETTERFOUD. 241 
 
 " Why was I not sent for before 1 " lie 
 asked, in return. 
 
 " Because we never tliousflit it was turnino- 
 serious," sobbed Sarali. "She caught cold 
 some days ago, and it flew to her throat, or 
 her chest, I hardly know which. The doctor 
 was called in ; and it's my belief he didn't 
 know : the doctors now-a-days bain't worth 
 half what they'd used to be, and they call 
 things by fine names that nobody can under- 
 stand. However it may have been, nobody 
 saw any danger, neither him nor us. But 
 at mid-day yesterday there was a change, 
 and the doctor said he'd like further advice 
 to be brought in. And it was had ; but 
 they could not do her any good ; and she, 
 poor dear mistress, was the first to say that 
 she was dying. ' Send for Austin/ she said 
 to me ; and one of the gentlemen he went 
 to the wire telegraph place, and wrote the 
 message." 
 
 Austin made no rejoinder : he seemed to 
 be swallowing down a lump in his throat. 
 Sarah resumed. " Will you see her, sir ? 
 She is just laid out." 
 
242 A life's secret. 
 
 He nodded acquiescence, and tlie ser- 
 vant led the way to the death chamber. 
 It had been put straight, so to remain until 
 all that was left of its many years' occupant 
 should be removed. She lay on the bed in 
 placid stillness ; her eyes closed, her pale 
 face calm, a smile upon it ; the calm of a 
 spirit at peace with heaven. Austin leaned 
 over her, losing himself in solemn thoughts. 
 Whither had the spirit flown ? to what 
 brio-ht unknown world ? Had it found the 
 company of sister spirits ? had it seen, face 
 to face, its loving Saviour ? Oh ! what 
 mattered now the few fleeting trials of this 
 life that had passed over her I how worse 
 than unimportant did they seem by the side 
 of death ! A little, more or less, of care ; a 
 lot, where shade or sunshine shall have pre- 
 dominated ; a few friends gained or lost ; 
 struggle, toil, hope — all must merge in the 
 last rest. It was over ; earth, with its 
 troubles and its petty cares, with its joys 
 and sorrows, and its "goods stored up for 
 many years ; " as completely over for Mary 
 Thornimett, as though it had never been. 
 
CALLED TO KETTERFORD. 243 
 
 In the higher realms whither her spirit had 
 hastened 
 
 " I told Mrs. Dubbs to knock up the 
 undertaker, and desire him to come here at 
 once and take the measure for the coffin." 
 
 Sarah's interruption recalled Austin to 
 the world. It is impossible, even in a death- 
 chamber, to run away from the ordinary 
 duties of daily life. 
 
 K 2 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 
 
 " You will Stay for tlie funeral, Mr. Clay?" 
 
 " It is my intention to do so." 
 
 " Good. Being interested in the will, it 
 may be agreeable to you to hear it read." 
 
 " Am I interested ? " inquired Austin, in 
 some surprise. 
 
 " Wliy, of course you are," replied Mr. Knap- 
 ley, the legal gentleman with whom Austin 
 was speaking, and who had the conduct of 
 Mrs. Thornimett's affairs. "Did you never 
 know that you were a considerable legatee ? " 
 
 " I did not," said Austin. " Some years 
 ao;o — it was at the death of Mr. Thornimett 
 — Mrs. Thornimett hinted to me that I mia;ht 
 be the better sometime for a trifle from her. 
 But she has never alluded to it since : and I 
 have not reckoned upon it." 
 
TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 245 
 
 " Then I can tell you — tliougii it is re- 
 vealing secrets beforehand — that you are the 
 better to the tune of two thousand pounds." 
 
 " Two thousand pounds ! " uttered Austin, 
 in sheer amazement. " How came she to 
 leave me so much as that ? " 
 
 *' Do you quarrel with it, young sir ? " 
 
 " No, indeed : I feel all possible gratitude. 
 But I am surprised, nevertheless." 
 
 " She was a clever, clear-sighted woman, 
 was Mrs. Thornimett," observed the lawyer. 
 " I'll tell you about it — how it is you come 
 to have so much. When I was takino- dh-ec- 
 
 o 
 
 tions for Mr. Thornimett's will — more than 
 ten years back now — a discussion arose be- 
 tween him and his wife as to the propriety 
 of leaving a sum of money to Austin Clay. 
 A thousand pounds was the amount named. 
 Mr. Thornimett was for leaving you in his 
 wife's hands, to let her bequeath it to you at 
 her death ; Mrs. Thornimett wished it should 
 be left to you then, in the will I was about 
 to make, that you might inherit it on the 
 demise of Mr. Thornimett. He took his own 
 course, and did ??o^ leave it, as you are aware." 
 
346 A life's secret. 
 
 " I did not expect him to leave me any- 
 thing," interrupted Austin. 
 
 " My young friend, if you break in with 
 these remarks, I shall not get to the end of 
 my story. After her husband's burial, Mrs. 
 Thornimett spoke to me. ' I particularly 
 wished the thousand pounds left now to 
 Austin Clay,' she said, ' and I shall appro- 
 j)riate it to him at once.' 'Appropriate it 
 in what manner ? ' I asked her. ' I should 
 like to put it out to interest, that it may be 
 accumulating for him,' she replied, 'so that 
 at my death he may receive both j)rincipal 
 and interest.' ' Then, if you live as long as 
 it is to be hoped you will, madam, you may 
 be bequeathing him two thousand pounds 
 instead of one,' I observed to her. ' Mr. 
 Knapley,' was her answer, ' if I choose to 
 bequeath him three, it is my own money 
 that I do it with ; and I am responsible to 
 no one.' She had taken my remark to be 
 one of remonstrance, you see, in which spirit 
 it was not made : had Mrs. Thornimett 
 chosen to leave you the whole of her money 
 she had been welcome to do it for me. ' Can 
 
TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 21-7 
 
 you help me to a safe investment for him ? ' 
 she resumed ; and I promised to look about 
 for it. The long and the short of it is, Mr. 
 Clay, that I found both a safe and a pro- 
 fitable investment, and the one thousand 
 pounds has swollen itself into two — as you 
 will hear when the will is read." 
 
 " I am truly obliged for her kindness, and 
 for the trouble you have taken," exclaimed 
 Austin, with a glowing colour. " I never 
 thought to get rich all at once." 
 
 " You only be prudent and take care of 
 it," said Mr. Knapley. " Be as wise in its 
 use as I and Mrs. Thornimett have been. 
 It is the best advice I can give you." 
 
 " It is good advice, I know, and I thank 
 you for it," warmly responded Austin. 
 
 " Ay. I can tell you that less than two 
 thousand pounds has laid the foundation of 
 many a great fortune." 
 
 To a young man, whose salary is only two 
 hundred a year, the unexpected accession to 
 two thousand pounds, hard cash, seems Hke 
 a great fortune. Not that Austin Clay cared 
 so very much for a " great fortune " in itself ; 
 
248 A life's secret. 
 
 but he certainly did hope to achieve a com- 
 petency, and to this end he made the best 
 use of the talents bestowed upon him. He 
 was not ambitious to die " worth a million ; " 
 he had the rare good sense to laiow that 
 excess of means cannot bring excess of happi- 
 ness. The richest man on earth cannot eat 
 two dinners a day, or wear two coats at a 
 time, or sit two thorough-bred horses at once, 
 or sleep on two beds. To some, riches are a 
 source of continual trouble. Unless rightly 
 used, they cannot draw a man to heaven, or 
 help him on his road thither. 
 
 Austin Clay's ambition lay in becoming a 
 powerful man of business ; such as were the 
 Messrs. Hunter. He would like to have 
 men under him, of whom he should be the 
 master ; not to control them with an iron 
 hand, to grind them to the dust, to hold 
 them at a haughty distance, as if they were 
 of one species of humanity and he of another. 
 ISfo ; he would hold intact their relative 
 positions of master and servant — none more 
 strictly than he ; but he would be their con- 
 siderate friend, their firm advocate, regardful 
 
TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 249 
 
 ever of their interests as he was of his own. 
 He would like to have capital sufficient for 
 all necessary business operations, that he 
 might fulfil every obligation justly and 
 honourably : so far, money would be wel- 
 come to Austin. Very welcome did the two 
 thousand pounds sound in his ears, for they 
 might be the stepping-stone to this. Not to 
 the " great fortune " talked of by Mr. Knap- 
 ley, who avowed freely his respect for mil- 
 lionaires : he did not care for that. They 
 might also be a stepping-stone to something 
 else — the very thought of which caused his 
 face to glow and his veins to tingle — the 
 winning of Florence Hunter. That he would 
 win her, Austin fully believed now. 
 
 On the day previous to the funeral, in 
 walking through the streets of Ketterford, 
 Austin found himself suddenly seized by the 
 shoulder. A window had been thrown open, 
 and a fair arm (to speak with the gallantry 
 due to the sex in general, rather than to 
 that one arm in particular) was pushed out 
 and laid upon him. His captor was Miss 
 Gwinn. 
 
250 A life's secret. 
 
 " Come in," she briefly said. 
 
 Austin would liave been better pleased to 
 avoid her, but as she had thus summarily 
 caught him, there was no help for it : to 
 enter into a battle of contention with her, 
 might be productive of neither honour nor 
 profit. He entered her sitting-room, and she 
 motioned him to a chair. 
 
 " So you did not intend to call upon me 
 during your stay in Ketterford, Austin Clay?" 
 
 " The melancholy occasion on which I 
 am here precludes much visiting," was his 
 guarded reply. "And my sojourn will be a 
 short one." 
 
 " Don't be a hypocrite, young man, and 
 use those unmeaning words. ' Melancholy 
 occasion ! ' What did you care for Mrs. 
 Thornimett, that her death should make you 
 ' melancholy ? ' " 
 
 " Mrs. Thornimett was my dear and valued 
 friend," he returned, with an emotion born 
 of anger. " There are few, living, whom I 
 would not rather have spared. I shall never 
 cease to reg:ret the not having^ arrived in 
 time to see her before she died." 
 
TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 251 
 
 Miss Gwinn peered at liim from her keen 
 eyes, as if seeking to kno^Y whether this was 
 false or true. Possibly she decided in favour 
 of the latter, for her face somewhat relaxed 
 its sternness. " AVliat has Dr. Bcvary told 
 you of me and of my affairs ? " she rejoined, 
 passing abruptly to another subject. 
 
 " Not anything," replied Austin. He did 
 not lift his eyes, and a scarlet flush dyed his 
 brow as he spoke ; nevertheless it was the 
 strict truth. Miss Gwinn noted the signs of 
 consciousness. 
 
 " You can equivocate, I see." 
 
 " Pardon me. I have not equivocated to 
 you. Dr. Bevary has disclosed nothing ; he 
 has never spoken to me of your affairs. 
 Why should he. Miss Gwinn ? " 
 
 " Your face told a different tale." 
 
 " It did not tell an untruth, at any rate," 
 he said, with some hauteur. 
 
 " Do you never see Dr. Bevary ? " 
 
 " I see him sometimes." 
 
 " At the house of Mr. Hunter, I presume. 
 How is she ? " 
 
 Again the flush, whatever may have called 
 
252 A life's secret. 
 
 it up, crimsoned Austin Clay's brow. " I 
 do not know of whom you speak/' lie coldly 
 said. 
 
 " Of Mi^s. Hunter." 
 
 " She is in ill health." 
 
 " 111 to be in danger of her life ? I hear 
 so." 
 
 " It may be.' I cannot say." 
 
 " Do you know, Austin Clay, that I have 
 a long, long account to settle with you ? " 
 she resumed after a pause : " years and years 
 have elapsed since, and I have never called 
 upon you for it. Why should I ? " she added, 
 relapsing into a dreamy mood, and speaking 
 to herself rather than to Austin ; " the mis- 
 chief was done, and could not be recalled. 
 I once addressed a brief note to you at the 
 office of the Messrs. Hunter, requesting you 
 to give a letter, inclosed in it, to my brother. 
 Why did you not ? " 
 
 Austin was silent. He retained only too 
 vivid a remembrance of the fact. 
 
 '' Why did you not give it him, I ask ? " 
 
 " I could not give it him, Miss Gwinn. 
 When your letter reached me, your brother 
 
TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 253 
 
 had already been at the office of the Messrs 
 Hunter, and was then on his road back to 
 Ketterford. The inclosure was burnt un- 
 opened." 
 
 " Ay ! " she passionately uttered, throwing 
 her arms upwards in mental pain, as Austin 
 had seen her do in the days gone by, and 
 holdino- commune with herself, regfardless of 
 his presence, " such has been my fate 
 through life. Thwarted, thwarted on all 
 sides. For years and years I had lived but 
 in the hope of finding him ; the hope of it 
 kept life in me : and when the time came, 
 and I did find him, and was entering upon 
 my revenge, then this brother of mine, who 
 has been the second bane of my existence, 
 stepped in and reaped the benefit. It was 
 my fault. Why, in my exultation, did I tell 
 him the man w^as found ? Did I not know 
 enough of his avarice, his needs, to have 
 made sure that he would turn it to his own 
 account ? Why," she continued, battling 
 with her hands as at some invisible adver- 
 sary, " was I born with this strong principle 
 of justice within me ? Why, because he 
 
254 A LIFES SECEET. 
 
 stepped in with his false claims and drew 
 gold — a fortune — of the man, did I deem it 
 a reason for dropping m?/ revenge ? — for 
 letting it rest in abeyance ? In abeyance it 
 is still ; and its unsatisfied claims are wearing 
 out my heart and my life " 
 
 "Miss Gwinn," interrupted Austin, at 
 length, " I fancy you forget that I am pre- 
 sent. Your family affairs have nothing to 
 do with me, and I would prefer not to hear 
 anything about them. I will wish you good 
 day." 
 
 " True. They have nothing to do with 
 you. I know not why I spoke before you, 
 save that your sight angers me." 
 
 " Why so ? " Austin could not forbear 
 asking. 
 
 " Because you live on terms of friendship 
 with that man. You are as his right hand 
 in business ; you are a welcome guest at his 
 house ; yon regard and respect the house's 
 mistress. Boy ! but that she has not wilfully 
 injured me ; but that she is the sister of Dr. 
 Bevary, I should " 
 
 " T cannot listen to any discussion invol- 
 
TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 255 
 
 ving the name of Hunter," spoke Austin, in 
 a repellant, resolute tone, the colour again 
 flaming in his cheeks. "Allow me to bid 
 you good day." 
 
 " Stay," she resumed, in a softer tone, 
 "it is not with you personally that I am 
 angry " 
 
 An interujDtion came in the person of 
 Lawyer Gwinn. He entered the room with- 
 out his coat, a pen behind each ear, and a 
 dirty straw hat on his head. It was pro- 
 bably his office attire in warm weather. 
 
 " I thought I heard a strange voice. How 
 do you do, Mr. Clay ? " he exclaimed with 
 much suavity. 
 
 Austin bowed. He said somethino; to the 
 effect that he was on the point of depart- 
 ing, and retreated to the door, bowing his 
 final farewell to Miss Gwinn. Mr. Gwinn 
 followed. 
 
 " Ketterford will have to congratulate you, 
 Mr. Clay," he said. " I understand you 
 inherit a very handsome sum from Mrs. 
 Thornimett." 
 
 " Indeed !" frigidly replied Austin. "Mrs. 
 
256 A life's sechet. 
 
 Thornimett's will is not yet read. But Ket- 
 terford always knows everybody's business 
 better tlian its own." 
 
 " Look you, my dear Mr, Clay," said the 
 lawyer, holding him by the button-hole. 
 " Should you require a most advantageous 
 investment for your money — one that will 
 turn you in cent, per cent, and no risk — I 
 can help you to one. Should your inherit- 
 ance be of the value of a thousand pounds, 
 and you would like to double it — as all men, 
 of course, do like — ^just trust it to me ; I 
 have the very thing now open." 
 
 Austin shook himself free — ^rather too 
 much in the manner that he mio;ht have 
 shaken himself from a serpent. "Whether • 
 my inheritance may be of the value of one 
 thousand pounds or of ten thousand, Mr. 
 Gwinn, I shall not require your services in 
 the disposal of it. Good morning." 
 
 The la\vyer looked after him as he strode 
 away. " So, you carry it with a high hand 
 to me, do you, my brave gentleman I with 
 your vain person, and your fine clothes, and 
 your imperious manner ! Take you care ! I 
 
TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 257 
 
 liold your master under my thumb ; I may 
 next hold you ! " 
 
 "The vile hypocrite!" ejaculated Austin 
 to himself, walking all the faster to leave 
 the lawyer's house behind him. " She is bad 
 enough, with her hankering after revenge, 
 and her fits of passion ; but she is an angel 
 of light compared to him. Heaven help Mr. 
 Hunter ! It would have been sufficient to 
 have had her to fight, but to have him ! Ay, 
 heaven help him !" 
 
 "How d'ye do, Mr. Clay?" 
 
 Austin returned the nod of the j)assing 
 acquaintance, and continued his way, his 
 thoughts reverting to Miss Gwinn. 
 
 " Poor thing ! there are times when I 
 pity her ! Incomprehensible as the story is 
 to me, I can feel compassion : for it was a 
 heavy wrong done her, looking at it in the 
 best light. She is not all bad ; but for the 
 wrong, and for her evil temper, she might 
 have been different. There is somethinp- 
 
 o 
 
 good in the hint I gathered now from her 
 lips, if it be true — that she suffered her own 
 revenge to drop into abeyance, because her 
 
258 A life's secret. 
 
 brother had pursued Mr. Hunter to drain 
 money from him : she would not go upon 
 him in both ways. Yes, there was some- 
 thing in it both noble and generous, if those 
 terms can ever be applied to " 
 
 " Austin Clay, I am sure ! How are you ? " 
 
 Austin resigned his hand to the new 
 comer, who claimed it. His thoughts could 
 not be his own to-day. 
 
 The funeral of Mrs. Thornimett took place. 
 Her mortal remains were laid beside her 
 husband, there to repose peacefully until the 
 last trump shall sound. On the return of 
 the mourners to the house, the will was read, 
 and Austin found himself the undoubted 
 possessor of two thousand pounds. Seve- 
 ral little treasures, in the shape of books, 
 drawings, and home knicknacks, were also 
 left to him. He saw after the packing of 
 these, and the day following the funeral he 
 returned to London. 
 
 It was evening when he arrived ; and he 
 proceeded without delay to the house of Mr. 
 Hunter — ostensibly to report himself, really 
 to obtain a sight of Florence, for which his 
 
TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 'Z59 
 
 tired lieart was yearning. The drawing- 
 room was lighted up, by which he judged 
 that they had friends with them. Mr. 
 Hunter met him in the hall : never did a 
 visitor's knock sound at his door but Mr. 
 Hunter, in his nervous restlessness, strove to 
 watch who it might he that entered. Seeing 
 Austin, his face acquired a shade of bright- 
 ness, and he came forward with an out- 
 stretched hand. 
 
 " But you have visitors," Austin said, when 
 o;reetinors were over, and Mr, Hunter was 
 drawincj him towards the stairs. He wore 
 deep mourning, but was not in evening dress. 
 
 "As if anybody will care for the cut of 
 your coat 1 " cried Mr. Hunter. " There's 
 Mrs. Hunter wrapped up in a woollen shawl." 
 
 The room was gay with light and dress, 
 with many voices and with music. Florence 
 was seated at the piano playing, and singing 
 in a glee mth others. Austin, silently greet- 
 ing those whom he knew as he passed, made 
 his way to Mrs. Hunter. She was wrapped 
 in a warm shawl, as her husband had said ; 
 but she appeared better than usual. 
 
260 A life's secret. 
 
 " I am so glad to see you looking well," 
 Austin whispered, his earnest tone betraying 
 deep feeling. 
 
 " And I am glad to see you here again," 
 she replied, smihng, as she held his hand. 
 " We have missed you, Austin. Yes, I feel 
 better ! but it is only a temporary improve- 
 ment. So you have lost poor Mrs. Thorni- 
 mett. She died before you could reach her." 
 
 " She did," replied Austin, with a grave 
 face. " I wish we could get transported to 
 places, in case of necessity, as quickly as the 
 telegraph brings us news that we are wanted. 
 A senseless and idle wish, you will say ; but 
 it would have served me in this case. She 
 asked after me twice in her last half 
 hour." 
 
 "Austin," breathed Mrs. Hunter, "was it 
 a happy death-bed ? Was she ready to go ?" 
 
 " Quite, quite," he answered, a look of en- 
 thusiasm illumining his face. " She had been 
 ready long." 
 
 " Then we need not mourn for her ; rather 
 praise God that she is taken. Oh, Austin, 
 what a happy thing it must be for such to 
 
TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 261 
 
 die ! But you are young and liopeful ; you 
 cannot understand that, yet." 
 
 So, Mrs. Hunter had learnt that great 
 truth ! Some years before, she had not so 
 spoken to the wife of John Baxendale, when 
 she was waiting in daily expectation of being 
 called on her journey. It had come to her 
 ere her time of trial — as the dying woman 
 had told her it would. 
 
 The singing ceased, and in the movement 
 which it occasioned in the room, Austin left 
 Mrs. Hunter's side, and stood within the 
 embrasure of the window, half hidden by 
 the curtains. The air was pleasant on that 
 warm summer night, and Florence, resigning 
 her place at the instrument to some other 
 lady, stole to the window to inhale its fresh- 
 ness. There she saw Austin. She had not 
 heard him enter the room — did not know, in 
 fact, that he was back from Ketterford. 
 
 " Oh ! " she uttered, in the sudden revul- 
 sion of feeling that the sight l3rought to her, 
 " is it you ? " 
 
 He quietly took her hands in his, and 
 looked down at her. Had it been to save her 
 
262 A life's secret, 
 
 life, she could not have helped betraying 
 emotion. 
 
 " Are you glad to see me, Florence ? " he 
 softly whis]3ered. 
 
 She coloured even to tears. Glad ! The 
 time might come when she should be able to 
 tell him so ; but that time was not yet. 
 
 " Mrs. Hunter is glad of my return," he 
 continued, in the same low tone, sweeter to 
 her ear than all music. " She says I have 
 been missed. Is it so, Florence ? " 
 
 " And what have you been doing ? " 
 asked Florence, not Imowing in the least 
 what she said in her confusion, as she left 
 his question unanswered, and drew her hands 
 away from him. 
 
 "I have not been doing much, save the 
 seeing a dear old friend laid in the earth. 
 You know that Mrs. Thornimett is dead. 
 She died before I got there." 
 
 " Papa told us that. He heard from you 
 two or three times, I think. How you must 
 regret it ! But why did they not send for 
 you in time ? " 
 
 " It was only the last day that danger was 
 
TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 263 
 
 appreliended/*' replied Austin. "She grew 
 worse suddenly. You cannot think, Flo- 
 rence, how strangely this gaiety" — he half 
 turned to the room — " contrasts with the 
 scenes I have left : the holy calm of her 
 death-chamber, the laying of her in the 
 grave." 
 
 "An unwelcome contrast, I am sure it 
 must be." 
 
 "It jars on the mind. All events, essen- 
 tially of the world, let them be ever so 
 necessary or useful, must do so, when con- 
 trasted with the solemn scenes of life's close. 
 But how soon we forget those solemn scenes, 
 and live in the world again !" 
 
 " Austin," she gently whispered, " I do not 
 like to talk of death. It reminds me of the 
 dread that is ever oppressing me." 
 
 " She looks so much better as to surprise 
 me," was his answer, unconscious that it 
 betrayed his undoubted cognisance of the 
 " dread " she spoke of. 
 
 " If it would but last ! " sighed Florence. 
 " To prolong mamma's Kfe, I think I would 
 sacrifice mine." 
 
264 A life's secret. 
 
 " No, you would not, Florence — in mercy 
 to her. If called upon to lose lier you would 
 grow reconciled to it ; to do so, is in the 
 order of nature. She could not spare you." 
 
 Florence believed that she never could 
 grow reconciled to it : she often wondered 
 hoiv she should bear it when the time came. 
 But there rose up before her now, as she 
 spoke with Austin, one cheering promise, 
 " As thy day is, so shall thy strength 
 be." 
 
 " What should you say, if I tell you I 
 have come into a fortune ?" resumed Austin, 
 in a lighter tone. 
 
 "I should say — But, is it true 1" broke off 
 Florence. 
 
 " Not true, as you and Mr. Hunter Avould 
 count fortunes," smiled Austin ; " but true, 
 as poor I, born without silver spoons in my 
 mouth, and expecting to work hard for all I 
 shall ever possess, have looked upon them. 
 Mrs. Thornimett has behaved to me most 
 kindly, most generously; she has bequeathed 
 to me two thousand pounds." 
 
 " I am delighted to hear it," said Florence, 
 
TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 265 
 
 her glad eyes sparkling. " Never call your- 
 self poor again." 
 
 '•' I cannot call myself rich, as Mr. and 
 Mrs. Hunter compute riches. But, Florence, 
 it may be a stepping-stone to become so." 
 
 " A stepping-stone to become what ? " de- 
 manded Dr. Bevary, breaking in upon the 
 conference. 
 
 " Rich," said Austin, turning to the doctor. 
 " I am telling^ Florence that I have come 
 into some money since I went away." 
 
 Mr. Hunter and others were gathering 
 around them, and the conversation became 
 general. " What is that. Clay ? " asked Mr. 
 Hunter. "You have come into a fortune, do 
 you say ? " 
 
 " I said, not into a fortune, sir, as those 
 accustomed to fortune would estimate it. 
 That great physician, standing there and 
 listenino; to me, he would lauoli at the sum : 
 I daresay he makes more in six months. 
 But it may prove a stepping-stone to fortune 
 and to — to other desirable things." 
 
 "Do not speak so vaguely," cried the 
 doctor, in his quaint fashion. " Define the 
 
266 A life's sechet. * 
 
 ' desirable things.' Come ! it's my turn 
 now," 
 
 " I am not sure that they have taken 
 a sufficiently tangible shape as yet, to be 
 defined," returned Austin, in the same 
 tone. "You might laugh at them for day- 
 dreams." 
 
 Unwittingly his eye rested for a moment 
 upon Florence. Did she deem the day- 
 dreams might refer to her, that her eye-lids 
 should droop, and her cheeks turn scarlet? 
 Dr. Bevary noticed both the look and the 
 signs ; Mr. Hunter saw neither. 
 
 " Day-dreams would be enchanting as an 
 eastern fairy-tale, only that they never get 
 realized," interposed one of the fair guests, 
 with a pretty simper, directed to Austin Clay 
 and his attractions. 
 
 " I will realize mine," he returned, rather 
 too confidently, ' Heaven helping me ! " 
 
 " A better stepping-stone, that help, to 
 rely upon, than the money you have come 
 into," said Dr. Bevary, ^^^itli one of his pecu- 
 liar nods. 
 
 "True, doctor," replied Austin. "But 
 
TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 267 
 
 may not tlie money have come from the 
 same helping source "? Heaven, you know, 
 vouchsafes to work with humble instru- 
 ments." 
 
 The last few sentences had been inter- 
 changed in a low tone. They now passed 
 into the general circle, and the evening went 
 on to its close. 
 
 Austin and Dr. Bevary were the last to 
 leave the house. They quitted it together, 
 and the doctor passed liis arm Avithin 
 Austin's as they walked on. 
 
 " Well," said he, " and what have you 
 been doing at Ketterford ?" 
 
 " I have told you, doctor. Leaving my 
 dear old friend and relative in her grave ; 
 and realising the fact that she has be- 
 queathed to me this money." 
 
 " Ah, yes ; I heard that," retmned the 
 doctor. " You've been seeing friends too, I 
 suppose. Did you happen to meet the 
 Gwinns V 
 
 "Once. I was passing the house, and 
 Miss Gwinn laid bands upon me from the 
 window, and commanded me in. I got out 
 
268 A life's secret. •• 
 
 again as soon as I could. Her brother made 
 his appearance as I was leaving." 
 
 " And what did he say to you?" asked 
 the doctor, in a tone meant to be especially 
 light and careless. 
 
 " Nothing : except that he told me if I 
 wanted a safe and profitable investment for 
 the money I had inherited under Mrs. 
 Thornimett's will, he could help me to one. 
 I cut him very short, sir." 
 
 "What did slie say?" resumed Dr. 
 Bevary. " Did she begin upon her family 
 affairs — as she is rather fond of doing ?" 
 
 "Well," said Austin, his tone quite as 
 careless as the doctor's, " I did not give 
 her the opportunity. Once, when she 
 seemed inclined to do so, I stopped her ; 
 telling her that her private affairs were no 
 concern of mine, neither should I listen to 
 them." 
 
 " Quite right, my young friend," em- 
 phatically spoke the doctor. 
 
 Not another word was said until they 
 came to Daffodil's Delight. Here they 
 wished each other good night. The doctor 
 
TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 269 
 
 continued his way to his home, and Austin 
 turned down towards Peter Quale's. 
 
 But what could be the matter? Had 
 Daffodil's Delight miscalculated the time, 
 belie^dng it to be day, instead of night ? 
 Women leaned out of their windows in 
 night-caps ; children had crept from their 
 beds and come forth to tumble into the 
 gutter naked, as some of them literally 
 were ; men crowded the doorway of the 
 Bricklayers' Arms, and stood about with 
 pipes and pint pots ; all were in a state of 
 rampant excitement. Austin laid hold of 
 the first person who appeared sober enough 
 to listen to him. It happened to be a 
 woman, Mrs. Dunn. 
 
 "What is this?" he exclaimed. "Have 
 you all come into a fortune?" the recent 
 conversation at Mr. Hunter's probably help- 
 ina: him to the remark. 
 
 " Better nor that," shrieked J\Irs. Dunn. 
 " Better nor that, a thousand times ! We 
 have circumvented the masters, and got our 
 ends, and now we shall just have all we 
 want — ^roast goose and apple pudding for 
 
270 A life's secret. 
 
 dinner, and plenty of beer to wash it down 
 with." 
 
 "But what is it that you have got?" 
 pursued Austin, who ] was completely at 
 sea. 
 
 " Got ! why, we have got the strike," 
 she replied, in jo}iful excitement. " Pollocks' 
 men struck to-day. Where have you been, 
 sir, not to have heered on it ?" 
 
 At that moment a fresh crowd came 
 jostling down Daffodil's Delight, and Austin 
 was parted from the lady. Indeed, she 
 rushed up to the mob to follow in their wake. 
 Many other ladies followed in their wake — • 
 half Daffodil's Delight, if one might judge 
 by numbers. Shouting, singing, exulting, 
 dancing ; it seemed as if they had, for the 
 nonce, gone mad. Sam Shuck, in his long- 
 tailed coat, ornamented with its holes and 
 its slits, was leading the van, his voice 
 hoarse, his face red, his legs and arms exe- 
 cuting a war-dance of exultation. He it 
 was who had got up the excitement and was 
 keeping it up, shouting fiercely : " Hurrah 
 for the work of this day ! Rule Britanniar ! 
 
TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 271 
 
 Britons never shall be slaves ! Tlie Strike 
 has begun, friends ! H — o — o — o — o — o — r 
 — rah ! Tlu-ee cheers for the Strike 1" 
 Yes. The Strike had begun. 
 
 .4 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AGITATION. 
 
 The men of an influential metropolitan 
 building firm liaci struck, because their em- 
 ]3loyers declined to accede to certain demands, 
 and Daffodil's Deliglit was, as you have seen, 
 in a liigli state of excitement, particularly the 
 female part of it. The men said they struck 
 for a diminution in the hours of labour ; the 
 masters told them they struck for an in- 
 crease of wages. Seeing that the non-con- 
 tents wanted the hours reduced and not the 
 pay, it appears to me that you may call it, 
 which you like. 
 
 The Messrs. Hunters' men — with whom 
 we have to do, for it Avas they who chiefly 
 filled Daflbdil's Delight — though continuing 
 their work as usual, were in a most unsettled 
 state : as was the case in the trade gene- 
 
AGITATION. 273 
 
 rally. The smouldering discontent might 
 have died away peacefully enough, and pro- 
 bably would, but that certain spirits made it 
 their business to fan it into a flame. 
 
 A few days went on. One evening Sam 
 Shuck posted himself in an angle formed by 
 the wall at the top of Daffodil's Delight. It 
 was the hour for the men to quit work ; and, 
 as they severally passed him on their road 
 home, Sam's arm was thrust forward, and a 
 folded bit of paper put into their hands. A 
 mysterious sort of missive apparently : for, 
 on opening the paper, it was found to con- 
 tain only these words, in the long, sprawling 
 hand of Sam himself : " Barn at the back 
 of Jim Dunn's. Seven o'clock." 
 
 Behind the house tenanted by the Dunns 
 were premises occupied until recently by a 
 cow-keeper. They comprised, amidst other 
 accommodation, a large barn, or shed. Being 
 at present empty, and to let, Sam thought 
 he could do no better than take French 
 leave to make use of it. 
 
 The men hurried over tlieu" tea, or supper, 
 (some took one on leaving work for the 
 
274 A LIFES SECRET. 
 
 niglit, som6 the other, some a mixture of 
 both, and some neither,) that they might 
 attend to the invitation of Sam. Peter 
 Quale was seated over a substantial dish of 
 batter pudding, a bit of neck of mutton 
 baked in the midst of it, when he Avas in- 
 terrupted by the entrance of John Baxen- 
 dale, who had stepped in from his own 
 rooms next door. 
 
 " Be you a-going to this meeting. Quale V 
 Baxendale asked, as he took a seat. 
 
 " I don't know nothing about it," returned 
 Peter. " I saw Slippery Sam a-giving out 
 papers, so I guessed there was something in 
 the wind. He took care to pass me over : 
 I expect Fm the greatest eyesore Sam has 
 got just now. Have a bit?" added Peter, 
 unceremoniously, pointing to the dish before 
 him with his knife. 
 
 "No, thank ye; I have just had tea at 
 home. That's the paper — laying it open on 
 the table-cloth. Sam Shuck is just now 
 cock-a-hoop -with this strike." 
 
 " He is no more cock-a-hoop than the rest 
 of Daffodil's Delight is," struck in Mrs. 
 
AGITATION. 275 
 
 Quale, who had finished her own meal, and 
 was at leisure to talk. "The men and 
 women is all a-going mad together, I think, 
 and Slippery Sam's leading 'em on. Suppose 
 you all do strike — which is what they are 
 hankerino; after — what Qrood '11 it brinsf ?" 
 
 " That's just it," replied Baxendale. " One 
 can't see one's way clear. The agitation 
 might do us some good, but it might do us 
 a deal of harm ; so that one doesn't know 
 what to be at. Quale, I'll go to the meeting, 
 if you wiR" 
 
 " If I go, it will be to give 'em a piece of 
 my mind," retorted Peter. 
 
 " Well, it's only right that different sides 
 should be heard. Sam '11 have it all his own 
 Avay else." 
 
 "He'll manage to get that, by the ap- 
 pearance things wears," said Mrs. Quale, 
 wrathfully. " How you men can submit to 
 be led by such a fellow as him, just because 
 his tongue is capable of persuading you that 
 black's white, is a marvel to me. Talk of 
 women being soft ! let the men talk of their 
 selves. Hold up a finger to 'em, and they'U 
 
 T 2 
 
276 A LIFES SECRET. 
 
 go after it : like the Swiss cows Peter read 
 of the other day, a-flocking in a line after 
 their leader, behind each other's tails." 
 
 " I wish I knew what was right," said 
 Baxendale, " or which course would tui-n 
 out best for us." 
 
 " I'd be off and listen to what's going on, 
 at any rate," urged Mrs. Quale. 
 
 The barn was filling. Sam Shuck, perched 
 upon Mrs. Dunn's washing-tub turned up- 
 side do^vn, which had been rolled in for the 
 occasion, greeted each group as it arrived 
 with a gracious nod. Sam appeared to be 
 progressing in the benefits he had boasted 
 to his wife he should derive, inasmuch as 
 that the dilapidated clothes had been dis- 
 carded for better ones : and he stood on the 
 tub's end in all the glory of a black frock 
 coat, a crimson neck-tie with lace-ends, and 
 peg-top pantaloons : the only attire (as a 
 ready-made outfitting shop had assured him) 
 that a gentleman could wear. Sam's eye 
 grew less complaisant when it rested on 
 Peter Quale, who was coming in with John 
 Baxendale. 
 
AGITATION. 277 
 
 "This is a pleasure we didn't expect," 
 said he. 
 
 "May be not/' returned Peter Quale, 
 drily. " The barn's open to all." 
 
 " Of course it is," glibly said Sam, putting 
 a good face upon the matter. " All fair and 
 above board, is our mottor : which is more 
 than them native enemies of ours, the 
 masters, can say : they hold their meetings 
 in secret, with closed doors." 
 
 "Not in secret — do they?"- asked Eobert 
 Darby. " I have not heard of that." 
 
 " They meet in their own homes, and they 
 shut out strangers," replied Sam. " I'd like 
 to know what you call that, but meeting in 
 secret V 
 
 " I should not call it secret ; I should call 
 it private," decided Darby, after a minute's 
 pause, given to realise the question. "We 
 might do the same. Our homes are om-s, 
 and we can shut out whom we please." 
 
 "Of course we 77i{ghtJ' contended Sam. 
 " But we like better to be open ; and if a 
 few of us assemble together to consult on 
 the present aspect of affairs, we do it so that 
 
37S A life's secret. 
 
 tlie masters, if they choose, might come and 
 hear us. Things are not equalized in this 
 world. Let us attempt secret meetings, and 
 see how soon we should be looked up by the 
 law, and accused of hatching treason and 
 sedition, and all the rest of it. That sharp- 
 eyed Times newspaper would be the first to 
 set on us. There's one law for the masters, 
 and another for the men," 
 
 "Is that Slippery Sam'?" ejaculated a 
 new comer, at this juncture. "Where did 
 you get that fine new toggery. Shuck ? " 
 
 The disrespectful interruption was spoken 
 in simple surprise : no insidious meaning 
 prompting it. Sam Shuck had appeared in 
 rao-o-ed attire so lono-, that the chano-e could 
 not fail to be remarkable. Sam loftily 
 turned a deaf ear to the remark, and con- 
 tinued his address. 
 
 " I am sure that most of you can't fail to 
 see that things have come to a crisis in our 
 trade. The moment that brouo-ht it, was 
 when that great building firm refused the 
 reasonable demands of their men ; and the 
 natural consequence of which was a strike. 
 
AGITATION. 279 
 
 Friends, I have been just riled ever since. 
 I have watched you go to work day after 
 day like tame cats, the same as if nothing 
 had happened ; and I have said to myself : 
 'Have those men of Hunter's got souls 
 within them, or have they got none ? " 
 
 "I don't suppose we have parted from 
 our souls," struck in a voice. 
 
 "You have parted Avith the feelings of 
 them, at any rate," rejoined Sam, beginning 
 to dance in the excitement of contention, 
 but rememberino' in time that his terra 
 
 o 
 
 Jirma Avas only a creaky tub. " What's that 
 you ask me ? How have you parted with 
 them ? Why, by not following up the 
 strike. If you possessed a grain of the 
 independence of free men, you'd have 
 hoisted your colours before now : what 
 would have been the result ? Why, the 
 men of other firms in the trade would have 
 followed suit, and aU struck in a body. It's 
 the only way that will bring the masters to 
 reason : the only way by which we can 
 hope to obtain our rights." 
 
 " You see there's no knowino- what would 
 
280 A ltfe's secret. 
 
 be the end of a strike, Shuck," argued John 
 Baxendale. 
 
 " Tliere's no knowing what may be the 
 inside of a pie until you cut him open," said 
 Jim Dunn, whose politics were the same as 
 Mr. Shuck's, red-hot for a strike. "But 
 'tain't many as 'ud shrink from putting in 
 the knife to see." 
 
 The men laughed, and greeted Jim Dunn 
 with applause. 
 
 " I put it to you all," resumed Sam, who 
 took his share of laughing with the rest, 
 " whether there's sense or not in what I say. 
 Are we likely to get our grievances re- 
 dressed by the masters, unless we force it ? 
 Never : not if we prayed our hearts out." 
 
 " Never," and " never," murmured sundry 
 voices. 
 
 "What are our grievances?" demanded 
 Peter Quale, putting the question in a mat- 
 ter-of-fact tone, as if he really asked for 
 information. 
 
 "Listen!" ironically ejaculated Sam. "He 
 asks what our grievances are ! I'll answer 
 you, Quale. They are many and great. Are 
 
AGITATION. 2Si 
 
 we not kept to work like beasts of burden, 
 ten hours a clay 1 Does that leave us time 
 for the recreation of our wearied bodies, for 
 the improvement of our minds, for the edu- 
 cation of our children, for the social home 
 intercourse in the bosoms of our families ? 
 By docking the day's labour to nine hours — 
 or to eight, which we shall get, may be, after 
 
 awhile," added Sam, with a wink "it 
 
 would leave us the extra hour, and be a 
 blessing." 
 
 Sam carried the admiring room with him. 
 That hard, disbelieving Peter Quale, inter- 
 rupted the cheering. 
 
 " A blessing, or the conterairy, as it might 
 turn out," cried he. " It's easy to talk of 
 education, and self-improvement ; but how 
 many is there that would use the accorded 
 hour that way ? " 
 
 " Another grievance is our wages," re- 
 sumed Sam, drowning the words, not caring 
 to court discussion on what might be a 
 weak point. "We call ourselves men, and 
 Englishmen, and yet we lie down contented 
 with five-and-sixpence a day. Do you know 
 
282 A life's secret. 
 
 wliat our trade gets in Australia ? Oil, you 
 do, some of you ? then I'll tell those that 
 don't. From twelve to fifteen shillings per 
 day : and even more than that. Twelve 
 shillings ! and that's the minimum rate of 
 pay," slowly repeated Sam, lifting up his 
 arm and one peg-top to give emphasis to the 
 w^ords. 
 
 A murmur of envy at the coveted rate of 
 pay in Australia shook the room to the 
 centre. 
 
 " But the price of provisions and other 
 necessaries is enormous in that quarter," de- 
 bated Abel Wliite, " So it may, come to the 
 same in the end — -be about as broad as long. 
 Old father and me was talking about it last 
 nidit." 
 
 o 
 
 " If everybody went in for your old 
 father's sentiments, we should soon be like 
 him — in our dotage," loftily observed Sam. 
 
 " But things are dear there," persisted 
 Sam's antagonist. " I have heard what is 
 sometimes given for shoes there ; but I'm 
 afraid to say, it was so much. The wages 
 in Australia can't be any guide for us." 
 
AGITATION. 283 
 
 *'No, they can't," said Peter Quale. " Aus- 
 tralia is one place, and this is another. 
 -Where's the use of bringing up that ? " 
 
 " Oh, of course not," sarcastically uttered 
 Sam. " Anything that tends to show how 
 we are put upon, and how we might be 
 made more comfortable, it's of no use bring- 
 ing up. The long and the short of it is this : 
 we want to be regarded as men : to have 
 our voices considered, and our plaints at- 
 tended to ; to be put altogether upon a 
 better footing. Little enough is it we ask 
 at present : only for a modicum of ease in 
 our day's hard labour, just the thin end of 
 the wedge inserted to give it. That's all 
 we are agitating for. It depends upon our- 
 selves whether we get it or not. Let us 
 display manly courage and join the strike, 
 and it is ours to-morrow." 
 
 The response did not come so quickly as 
 Sam deemed it ought. He went on in a 
 persuasive, ringing tone. 
 
 " Consider the wives of your bosoms ; 
 consider your little children ; consider your- 
 selves. Were you born into the world to be 
 
284 A life's secret. 
 
 slaves — blackymoors ; to be ground into the 
 dust with toil ? Never." 
 
 " Never," uproariously echoed three parts 
 of the room. 
 
 " The mottor of a true man is, or ought to 
 be, ' Do as little as you can, and get as much 
 for it ; ' " said Sam, dancing in his enthusi- 
 asm, and thereby nearly losing his perch on 
 the tub. " AVith an hour's work less a day, 
 and the afternoon holiday on the Saturday, 
 we shall " 
 
 " What's the good of a afternoon Saturday 
 hohday ? We don't want that, Sam 
 Shuck." 
 
 This ignominious interruption to the pro- 
 ceedings came from a lady. Buzzing round 
 the entrance door and thrusting; in their 
 heads at a square hole, which might origi- 
 nally have been intended for a window, were 
 a dozen or two of the gentler sex. This 
 irregularity had not been unobserved by the 
 chairman, who faced them : the chairman's 
 audience, densely packed, had their backs 
 that way. It was not an orthodox adjunct 
 to a trade meeting, that was certain, and the 
 
AGITATION. 285 
 
 chairman would probably liave ordered the 
 ladies away, had he deemed there was a 
 chance of his getting obeyed ; but too many 
 of them had the reputation of being the grey 
 mares. So he winked at the irregularity, 
 and had added one or two flom-ishes of 
 oratory for their especial ears. The inter- 
 rujDtion came from Mrs. Cheek, Timothy 
 Cheek's wife. 
 
 " What's the good of a afternoon Saturday 
 holiday ? We don't want that, Sam Shuck. 
 Just when we be up to our eyes in muck 
 and cleaning, our places routed out till you 
 can't see the colour of the boards, for brooms, 
 and pails, and soap and water, and the chairs 
 and things is all topsy-turvy, one upon ano- 
 ther, so as the children have to be sent out 
 to grub in the gutter, for there ain't no place 
 for 'em indoors, do you think we want the 
 men poking their noses in ? No ; and they'd 
 better not try it on. Women have got tem- 
 pers given to 'em as well as you." 
 
 "And tongues too," rejoined Sam, unmind- 
 ful of the dignity of his office. 
 
 " It is to be hoped they have," retorted 
 
286 A life's secret. 
 
 Mrs. Cheek, not inclined to be put down ; 
 and lier sentiments appeared to be warmly- 
 joined in by tlie ladies generally. "Don't 
 you men go a agitating for the Saturday's 
 half-holiday ! What 'ud you do with it, do 
 you suppose ? Why, just sot it away at the 
 publics." 
 
 Some confusion ensued ; and the women 
 were peremptorily ordered to mind their own 
 business, and "make theirselves scarce," 
 which not one of them attempted to obey. 
 When the commotion had subsided, a very 
 respectable man took uji the discourse — 
 George Stevens. 
 
 " The gist of the whole question is this," 
 he said : " Will agitation do us good, or will 
 it do us harm ? We look upon ourselves as 
 representing one interest ; the masters con- 
 sider they represent another. If it comes to 
 open warfare between the two, the strongest 
 would win." 
 
 " In other words, whichever side's funds 
 held out the longest," said Eobert Darby. 
 " That is as I look upon it." 
 
 " Just so," returned Stevens. " I cannot 
 
AGITATION. 287 
 
 say, seeing no farther than we can see at 
 present, that a strike would be advisable." 
 
 " Stevens, do you want to better yourself, 
 or not 1 " asked Sam Shuck. 
 
 " I'd be glad enough to better myself, if I 
 saw my way clear to do it," was the rej)ly. 
 " But I don't." 
 
 " Wc don't want no strikes," struck in a 
 shockheaded hard-working man. " AVliat is 
 it we want to strike for '? We have got 
 plenty of work, and full wages. A strike 
 won't fill our pockets. Them may wote for 
 strikes that like 'em ; I'll keep to my 
 work." 
 
 Partial applause. 
 
 "It is as I said," cried Sam. "There's 
 poor, mean-spirited creatures among you, as 
 won't risk the loss of a day's pay for the 
 common good, or put out a hand to help the 
 less fortunate. I'd rather be buried alive, 
 five feet under the earth, than I'd show out 
 so selfish." 
 
 " AVhat is the interest of one of us is the 
 interest of all," observed Stevens. "And a 
 strike, if we went into it, would either benefit 
 
288 A life's secret. 
 
 us all in the end, or make us all suffer. It 
 is sheer nonsense to attempt to make out 
 that one man's interest is different from 
 another's ; our interests are the same. I'd 
 vote for striking to-morrow, if I were sure 
 we should come out of it with whole skins, 
 and get what we struck for : but I must See 
 that a bit clearer first." 
 
 " How can we get it, unless we try for 
 it ? " demanded Sam. " If the masters find 
 we're all determined, they'll give in to us. 
 I appeal to you all " — raising his hands over 
 the room — " whether the masters can do 
 without us ■? " 
 
 " That has got to be seen," said Peter 
 Quale significantly. " One thing is plain : 
 we could not do without them." 
 
 " Nor tliey without us — nor they without 
 us," struck in voices from various parts of 
 the barn. 
 
 "Then why shilly-shally about the ques- 
 tion of a strike ? " asked Sam of the barn, in 
 a glib tone of reason, " If a universal strike 
 were on, the masters would pretty soon 
 make terms that would end it. Why, a six 
 
AGITATION. 289 
 
 months' strike would drive half of them into 
 the Gazette " 
 
 " But it mig-ht drive us into the workhouse 
 at the same time," interrupted John Baxen- 
 dale. 
 
 "Let me finish," went on Sam ; "it's not 
 perlite to take up a man in the middle of a 
 sentence. I say that a six months' strike 
 would send many of the masters to the 
 bankruptcy court. Well now, there has 
 been a question debated among us " — Sam 
 lowered his voice — "whether it would not be 
 policy to let things go on quietly, as they 
 are, till next spring " 
 
 " A question among who "? " interposed 
 Peter Quale, regardless of the i^proof just 
 administered to John Baxendale. 
 
 "Never you mind who," returned Sam, with 
 a wink : " among those that are hard at work 
 for your interest. With their contracts for 
 the season signed, and their works in full 
 progress, say about next May, then would 
 be the time for a strike to tell upon the 
 masters. However, it has l^een thought 
 better not to delay it. The future's but an 
 
290 A LIFES SECRET. 
 
 uncertainty : the present is ours, and so 
 must the strike be. Have you mves '? " he 
 pathetically continued; "have you children? 
 have you spirits of your own '? Then you will 
 all, with one accord, go in for the strike." 
 
 " But what are our wivea and children to 
 do while the strike is on 1 " asked Kobert 
 Darby. " You say yourself it might last 
 six months. Shuck. Who would support 
 them 1 " 
 
 " Who ! " rejoined Sam, with an indignant 
 air, as if the question were a superfluous one. 
 "Why the Trades' Unions, of course. That's 
 all settled. The Unions are prepared to take 
 care of all who are out on strike, standing 
 up, like brave Britons, for their privileges, 
 and keep 'em like fighting-cocks. Hooroar 
 for that blessed boon, the Trades' Unions I " 
 
 " Hooroar for the Trades' Unions ! " was 
 shouted in chorus. " Keep us like fighting- 
 cocks, will they ! Hooroar ! " 
 
 " Much good you'U get from the Trades' 
 Unions ! " burst forth a dissentient voice. 
 " They are the greatest pests as ever was 
 allowed in a free country." 
 
AGITATION. 291 
 
 Tlie opposition caused no little commotion. 
 Standing by the door, having pushed his way 
 tlirough the surrounding women, . who had 
 not made themselves "scarce," was a man 
 in a flannel jacket, a cap in his hand, and 
 his head white with mortar. He was looking 
 excited as he spoke. 
 
 "This is not regular," said Sam Shuck, 
 displaying authority. " You have no busi- 
 ness here : you don't belong to us." 
 
 " Regular or irregular, I'll speak my 
 \mind," was the answer. "I have been at 
 work for Jones the builder, down yonder. 
 I have done my work steady and proper, 
 and I have had my pay. A man comes up 
 to me yesterday and says, ' You must join 
 the Trades' Union.' ' No,' says I, ' I shan't ; 
 I don't want nothing of the Trades' Union, 
 and the Union don't want nothing of me.' 
 So they goes to my master. ' If you keep 
 on employing this man, your other men wiU 
 strike,' they says to him ; and he, being in a 
 small way, got intimidated, and sent me off 
 to-day. And here I am, throwed out of 
 work, and I have got a sick wife and nine 
 
 V 2 
 
292 A life's secret. 
 
 young children to keep. Is tliat justice ? or 
 is it tyranny ^ Talk about emancipating the 
 slaves ! let us emancipate ourselves at home." 
 
 " Why don't you join the Union 1 " cried 
 Sam. " All do, who are good men and 
 true." 
 
 "All good men and true don't," dissented 
 the man. " Many of the best workmen 
 among us won't have anything to do with 
 Unions ; and you know it, Sam Shuck." 
 
 "Just clear out of this," said Sam. 
 
 " When I've had my say," returned the 
 man ; " not before. If I would join the 
 Union, I can't. To join it, I must ]3ay five 
 shillings, and I have not got them to pay. 
 With such a family as mine, you may guess 
 every shilling is forestalled afore it comes in. 
 I kept myself to myself, doing my work in 
 .quiet, and interfering with nobody. Why 
 should they interfere with me ? " 
 
 " If you have been in full work, five shil- 
 lings is not much to pay to the Union," 
 sneered Sam. 
 
 "If I had my pockets fiUed with five- 
 shilling pieces, I would not pay one to it," 
 
AGITATION. 293. 
 
 fearlessly retorted tlie man. "Is it right 
 that a free-born Englishman should give in 
 to such a system of intimidation ? No : I 
 never will. You talk of the masters being 
 tjrrants : it's you who are the tyrants, one to 
 another. What is one workman better than 
 his fellow, that he should lay down laws and 
 say. You shall do this, and you shall do that, 
 or you shan't be allowed to work at all 1 
 That rule you want to get passed — that a 
 skilled, thorough workman shouldn't do a 
 full day's work because some of his fellows 
 can't — who's agitating for it ? Why, natu- 
 rally those that can't or won't do the full 
 work. Would an honest, capable man go in 
 for it 1 Of course he'd not. I tell you 
 what " — turning his eyes on the room — " the 
 Trades' Unions have been called a protection 
 to the working man ; but, if you don't take 
 care, they'll grow into a ciirse. When Sam 
 Shuck, and other good-for-uaughts like him, 
 what never did a full week's work for their 
 families yet, are paid in gold and silver to 
 spread incendiarism among you, it's time you 
 looked to yourselves.." 
 
294 A life's secret. 
 
 He tiirned away as lie spoke ; and Sam, 
 in a dance of furious passion, danced off liis 
 tub. The interlude had not tended to in- 
 crease the feelincf of the men in Sam's favour 
 
 o 
 
 — that is, in the cause he advocated. Not a 
 man present but wanted to better himself 
 could he do so with safety, but they were 
 afraid to enter on ao^oTessive measures. 
 Indiscriminate talking ensued ; diverse opin- 
 ions were disputed, and the meeting was 
 prolonged to a late hour. Finally the men 
 dispersed as they came, nothing having been 
 resolved upon. A few set their faces reso- 
 lutely against the proposed strike ; a few 
 were red-hot for it ; but the majority were 
 undecided, and liable to be swayed either 
 way. 
 
 " It will come," nodded Sam Shuck, as he 
 went home to a supper of pork chops and 
 gin-and- water. 
 
 But Sam was destined to be — as he would 
 have expressed it — circumvented. It cannot 
 be supposed that this unsatisfactory state of 
 things was unnoticed by the masters : and 
 they took their measures accordingly. Form- 
 
AGITATION. 295 
 
 ing themselves into an association, tliey dis- 
 cussed the measures best to be adopted, and 
 determined upon a lock-out ; that is, to close 
 their yards until the firm, whose workmen 
 had struck, should resume work. They also 
 resolved to employ only those men who 
 would sign an agreement, or memorandum, 
 affirming that they were not connected with 
 any society which interfered with the ar- 
 rangements of the master whose service 
 they entered, or with the hours of labour, 
 and acknowledging the rights both of masters 
 and men to enter into any trade arrange- 
 ments on which they might mutually agree. 
 This paper of agreement was not relished by 
 the men at all ; they styled it " the odious 
 document." Neither was the lock-out re- 
 lished : it was of course equivalent, in one 
 sense, to a strike ; only that the initiative 
 had come from the masters' side, and not 
 from theirs. It commenced early in August. 
 Some of the masters closed their works with- 
 out a word of explanation to their men : in 
 one sense it was not needed, for the men 
 knew of the measure beforehand. Mr. Hunter 
 
296 A life's secret, 
 
 chose to assemble them together, and state 
 what he was about to do. Somewhat of his 
 old energy appeared to have been restored 
 to him for the moment, as he stood before 
 them and spoke — Austin Clay by his 
 side. 
 
 " You have brought it upon yourselves," 
 he said, in answer to a remark from one who 
 boldly, but respectfully, asked whether it 
 was fair to resort to a lock-out, and so 
 punish all alike, contents and non-contents. 
 " I will meet the question upon your own 
 grounds. When the Messrs. Pollocks' men 
 struck because their demands, to work nine 
 hours a day, were not acceded to, was it 
 not in contemplation that you should join 
 them — that the strike should be universal ? 
 Come, answer me candidly." 
 
 The men, true and honest, did not deny it. 
 
 " And possibly by this time you would 
 have struck," said Mr. Hunter. " How much 
 more ' fair ' would that have been towards 
 us, than this locking-out is towards you ? 
 Do you suppose that you alone are to meet 
 and pass your laws, saying you will coerce 
 
AGITATION. 297 
 
 the masters, and that the masters will not 
 pass laws in return ? Nonsense, my men I " 
 
 A pause. 
 
 " When have the masters attempted to 
 interfere with your privileges, either by say- 
 ing that your day's toil shall consist of longer 
 hours, or by diminishing your wages, and 
 threatening to turn you off if you do not 
 fall in with the alteration ? Never. Masters 
 have rights as well as men : but some of 
 you, of late, have appeared to ignore the 
 fact. Let me ask you another question : 
 Were you well treated under me, or were 
 you not ? Have I shown myself solicitous 
 for your interests, for your welfare ? Have 
 I ever oppressed you, ever put upon you 1 " 
 
 No, Mr. Hunter had never sought to op- 
 press them : they acknowledged it freely. 
 He had ever been a good master. 
 
 " My men, let me give you my opinion. 
 While condemning your conduct, your sem- 
 blance of discontent — it has been semblance, 
 rather than reality — I have been sorry for 
 you, for it is not with you that the chief 
 blame lies. You have suffered evil per- 
 
298 A life's secret. 
 
 suaders to get access to your ears, and liave 
 been led away by their pernicious counsels. 
 The root of the evil lies there. I wish 
 you could bring your own good sense to 
 bear upon these points, and to see with 
 your own eyes. If so, there will be nothing 
 to prevent our resuming together amicable 
 relations ; and for my own part, I care not 
 how soon the time shall come. The works 
 are for the present closed." 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 BRArjBDr.Y, EVAN8, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFBIASS.