DATE DUE 
 
 OCT 0 .i /I 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 GAYLORD 
 
 
 
 ’Him’EDIN U,S.A, 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. ^ 
 
 il 
 
 llnbcl 
 
 BY j 
 
 MES. ALEXANDEE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF “THE WOOING O’t,” “WHICH SHALL IT BE ?” “ RALTH 
 WILTON’S WEIRD,” ETC. 
 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 EICHAED BENTLEY AND SON, 
 
 ^Suliiisha-s in ©viinars to ^njcstp. tlw CJuau. 
 
 1878. 
 
 (All Rights reserved.) 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2020 with funding from 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 4 
 
 https://archive.org/details/herdearestfoenov00alex_0 
 
HER DEAREST EOE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 “ You have been good ! very good to me !” 
 
 The sounds were slowly, brokenly uttered, as though the me¬ 
 chanism that produced them had well-nigh run doAvn for ever. 
 
 The speaker lay helplessly back upon his pillow, his grey hair 
 disordered, ashy pale, with the shadow of the great King already 
 on his brow—a somewhat rugged, but not ignoble face—the lines 
 about the mouth, so hard in life, relaxed—the keen, stern eyes dim 
 and dreamy. 
 
 The bed on which he lay, the luxuriously-furnished room, the 
 many appliances to relieve pain and assist weakness—all bespoke 
 wealth. At some distance, in a large easy-chair, sat a stout elderly 
 woman, evidently the professional nurse; and beside the bed, 
 holding the sufferer’s hand tenderly in both her own, stood a lady, 
 tall, slight, wrapped in a dressing-gown of soft grey, her eyes fixed 
 intently on him, as if gathering up his words, and unconscious of 
 the tears that had welled over and slowly coursed down her 
 cheeks. 
 
 “ I have loved you very much ! I wish I had been less stern, 
 less exacting,” he went on with difficulty ; “ but remember always, 
 I loved”—the voice dropped to a whisper with the last word, and 
 he closed his eyes. 
 
 “ You have always been most kind and generous,” returned his 
 
 1 
 
2 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 hearer softly ; “ you have nothing to reproach yourself with !” and 
 she bent down to Idss his brow. 
 
 “ I have ! I have !” Another long pause, during which he seemed 
 to sleep. Again the poor dim eyes opened. “ Kate! Are you 
 there, Kate ?” 
 
 “ Yes, dear. Here always.” 
 
 “ You will think I have been unjust, that I have done too much 
 for-” 
 
 A few moments after he added, “ I am sorry, but it is too 
 late-” 
 
 “ For what ?” asked his wife gently. The question was never 
 answered. 
 
 For nearly an hour he lay silent. The nurse after a while rose 
 and advanced a chair so that the lady might rest without relin¬ 
 quishing the thin, bony, helpless hand that lay in hers ; then the 
 door opened to admit the doctor, who, with a whispered word or 
 two to the nurse, and a silent bow to the mistress of the house, 
 took his station at the foot of the bed. Once more the deep-set 
 eyes opened wide with something of them old light, and the dying 
 man breathed out low, but distinctly, the word “ Eemember!” 
 A few long-drawn sighs, and the watchers listened in vain for the 
 breath that had ceased for ever. 
 
 The doctor bent over the bed, then uttered, slowly and gently, 
 the words, “ It is all over !” 
 
 Still the lady did not stir ; still she held the cold hand for a feAV 
 moments longer, then laid it softly down, and stood, her own 
 clasped together, the picture of profound, sad abstraction. 
 
 “ Call Mrs. Mills,” whispered the doctor. 
 
 The nurse nodded and left the room, returning almost imme¬ 
 diately with a tall, angular-looking, elderly woman, whose air and 
 attire bespoke the housekeeper or confidential maid. She, too, 
 paused, and gazed reverentially on the prostrate form that had 
 been her master; then, passing on to the lady, who still stood 
 motionless, said in a low but harsh whisper, “Come away, my 
 lamb ! come away! You have done all that woman could for 
 him, and you may rest now. Come with me !” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 3 
 
 At the evidently familiar sound of the voice the lady turned, 
 and leaning her head against Mills’s shoulder, wept bitterly though 
 quietly, trembling all over. 
 
 Mills drew her arm through her own, and with a slight nod to 
 the doctor, repeating “ Come away !” led the wearied mourner out 
 of the room. 
 
 After a few directions to the nurse, the doctor too left the 
 chamber of death, and passed out into a large square landing, well 
 warmed and lighted, upon which various doors opened. He de¬ 
 scended the stairs and went into the dining-room. 
 
 A well-dressed man, probably a gentleman, was slowly pacing to 
 and fro, and stood suddenly still, face to face with the doctor. 
 He was slightly above middle height, with sloping shoulders. 
 Tolerably regular features, glittering, anxious eyes, and abundant, 
 well-trained hair and whiskers, made up w'hat their owner con¬ 
 sidered a decidedly good-looking whole. “ AVell,” he said, with a 
 sort of efEort and a nervous twitching of the lip ; “ Well ?” 
 
 “ Our poor friend is at rest,” replied the other ; “ passed away 
 very tranquilly—nature quite exhausted.” He stepped to the fire¬ 
 place as he spoke, and rang the bell. 
 
 “ And she is ?” resumed the first speaker, in a curious broken 
 voice, catching his words abruptly. He stopped an instant, then 
 
 continued more quietly : “ Mrs. Travers ? Is she-” He 
 
 paused again. 
 
 “ Tolerably calm ! sensible woman. Still I must write a little 
 prescription for her. Nerves are not made of iron. She has really 
 
 had great fatigue, and- Oh, Edwards!” to a staid, elderly 
 
 man-servant who answered the bell, “ I want some writing mate¬ 
 rials ; and, Edwards, I think I must ask you to give Mr. Ford and 
 myself a glass of wine.” 
 
 “Yes, sir, certainly,” replied Edwards. He proceeded to set 
 forth the desired refreshment wdth alacrity, and then went in 
 search of the writing materials. 
 
 “ Not for me,” said Mr. Ford, rejecting the glass offered him 
 with upturned hand ; “ it would choke me.” 
 
 “ Nonsense !” said the doctor, a cheery, chirrupy little man ; “ it 
 
 1—2 
 
4 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 will keep out the cold and the fog. I am glad you are here, Mr. 
 Ford. You will perhaps be so good as to see Mr. Wall this even¬ 
 ing, give him my compliments, and say I will see to the registry, 
 as I was present at our poor friend’s death. You and he, of course, 
 know who to write to ; but it seems to me that the widow is ter¬ 
 ribly alone. Some female relative, now, ought to be with her ; 
 but I am perhaps going out of my proper sphere to offer any sug¬ 
 gestion. Ah, thank you, thank you, that will do nicely”—this to 
 the servant—and the little man began to scrawl hastily over the 
 paper placed before him. 
 
 “ You are right, sir,” said Mr. Ford, drawing a chair to the table, 
 and smoothing back his hair slowly and reflectively. “ She, I mean 
 Mrs. Travers, stands singularly, sadly alone. I may say that, 
 although but a humble individual, I am her oldest, almost her only 
 friend.” 
 
 “ Dear me ! Indeed, indeed,” returned the doctor absently, as 
 he read over his prescription and again rang the bell. “ Here, 
 Edwards, will you send this round to the surgery at once— at once, 
 Edwards ?” 
 
 “ Yes, sir,” and the man retired. 
 
 “ You were saying ?” observed the doctor interrogatively, as he 
 placed himself on the hearth-rug. 
 
 “ We were speaking of Mrs. Travers,” resumed Ford. “ She has 
 been kept singularly apart from her former friends ; and there is 
 no one now, save myself, who knew her in her early days. I knew 
 her dear mother also, and all the circumstances—that is Per¬ 
 haps, under the circumstances, she might like to see me before I 
 return to town ?” 
 
 “ What! this evening ? now ?” asked the doctor in evident sur¬ 
 prise. “ Well, you know best. You might inquire.” 
 
 But the doctor’s tone seemed to steady Mr. Ford’s nerves and 
 recall him to himself. 
 
 “ No, no,” he returned ; “ not now, of course ; in a few days, no 
 doubt, she will send for me ; in the meantime, my best efforts will 
 be directed to arrange everything so as to cause as little trouble to 
 the executors as possible.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 5 
 
 “ I fancy there is a large real and personal estate, eh ?” 
 
 “ Tolerable—tolerable, sir,” returned Mr. Ford, rubbing his hands 
 over each other, with an air of superior information. 
 
 “ Well, you will lose no time in communicating with Mr. Wall,” 
 said the doctor ; “ and,” glancing at the clock, “ you will just catch 
 the 7.30 train if you start at once. Have a glass of wine before 
 you go ? Do.” 
 
 “ Not a drop !” returned Mr. Ford with stern resolution. 
 
 A few more words and he sallied forth, holding down his um¬ 
 brella against the driving rain of a December evening, to make his 
 way to the station, which was fortunately close at hand. 
 
 Three days after, the following formed one of the entries in that 
 column which is supposed to possess so deep an interest for the 
 female readers of the Times :— 
 
 “ On the 12th instant, at Hampton Court, aged sixty-three, 
 Richard Travers, Esq., of St. Hilda’s Place, E.C., and Hereford 
 Square, Tyburnia.” 
 
 This announcement caused some gossip at Lloyd’s, the Jerusalem, 
 and even among Dick, Tom, and Harry at the luncheon-bars in the 
 neighbourhood of St. Hilda’s Place. 
 
 “ So Travers is dead,” was observed among the underwriters. 
 “ What will become of the business ?” 
 
 “ Is there no one to take it up ?” 
 
 “ Capital East Indian connection.” 
 
 “ Not a bad trade with the Cape.” 
 
 “ Left no son ?” 
 
 “ No ; married late—a foolish marriage. Some country girl, 
 they say.” 
 
 “ Who is heir ?” 
 
 “ Has none, I believe.” 
 
 “ Ford, his manager, is a shrewd, steady fellow ; he might keep 
 the business together,” &c., &c. 
 
 While over the luncheon-bar the dashing young clerks at 
 Travers’s were condoled with on the possible “ shutting up” of the 
 “ concern,” and questioned as to how much “ the governor” was 
 probably worth. 
 
6 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ Travers & Co.,” though a somewhat old-fashioned house, not 
 working any of your globe-girdling speculative, gigantic operations, 
 was much respected, and looked upon as being safe as the Bank, 
 and considerably safer than a joint-stock bank. All persons be¬ 
 longing to “ Travers & Co.” had a well-to-do, not to say gentle¬ 
 man-like air, and, generally speaking, were prosperous. 
 
 And now the inevitable vulgarities of every-day life must tread 
 close after, in the very footprints of the mighty, irresistible King. 
 Whispers of inexorable business penetrate the quiet chamber 
 where the lonely young widow sits and broods over the strange, 
 sad, and yet not utterly unwelcome liberty that has come to her. 
 She must not appear until clothed in the sable garments suited to 
 her state. 
 
 She had neither father, mother, brother, nor relative of any 
 degree at hand to act for her ; and so, when a card, bearing the in¬ 
 scription. “ Mr. W. Wall,” was brought to her, late the second day 
 after her husband’s death, she observed to her maid, “ I must see 
 him, Mills, of course,” and, rising wearily, moved to the door. 
 
 “Mr. Ford is below, and wants to know if you will see 
 him 
 
 “ Indeed I cannot. I am very much obliged to him for all his 
 kind thought and interest, but Mr. Wall will do all I want at pre¬ 
 sent. Tell Mr. Ford I will see him in a few days ; show Mr. Wall 
 up to the drawing-room.” 
 
 The lawyer, a tall, thin, close-lipped man, grey and angular with 
 advancing years, was but slightly acquainted with his friend and 
 client’s wife. 
 
 He had long known and respected the deceased, whose marriage 
 had sorely disappointed and chafed him. It was with a sort of re¬ 
 sentful reluctance that he presented himself to the designing siren 
 who had entrapped and bamboozled poor Travers, and induced 
 him to leave the v/hole of his handsome fortune away from his own 
 relations and natural heir. 
 
 Yet even he was insensibly mollified by the half-stately, half- 
 subdued air of the objectionable widow. 
 
 “ Thank you for coming to me so soon, Mr. Wall,” she said, 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 7 
 
 holding out her hand frankly to him. “ I wanted to see you so 
 much, and yet I seemed too dull to send for you.” 
 
 “ While I rather hesitated lest I should be intruding too soon,” 
 replied the lawyer. “ But there is much to be done and thought 
 of; and not knowing any friend or relative more intimate with 
 
 you than myself-” He paused abruptly, feeling he was on 
 
 delicate ground. 
 
 “ Exactly,” said Mrs. Travers. The low, clear voice, though 
 very soft, had in it a certain finish, a musical completeness of 
 intonation, which generally secured attention, and Mr. Wall 
 listened intently as she tranquilly piloted him out of his diffi¬ 
 culty. “ I am singularly alone ; so, even if you do not like me 
 very much”—a sweet smile, sad, not unamused, but perfectly 
 frank, and free from the smallest tinge of deprecation—“ act as if 
 you did for the present.” 
 
 “ My dear madam.” 
 
 “ There, there ! I am quite sure you will be a considerate and 
 conscientious adviser, and help me to fulfil, even to the smallest 
 minutiae, the wishes of—of him whom we have lost.” She hesi¬ 
 tated, and her voice trembled as she alluded to her husband, and 
 then she remained silent till she could recover herself. 
 
 “ I shall be most happy to assist you to the utmost of my power,” 
 said Mr. Wall more cordially than he had yet spoken. “ I have a 
 will executed by your late husband about four years ago ; are you 
 aware that he has made any other ? I find from IVIr. Ford there 
 is some idea abroad that he has ; if so, it is most strange that we 
 knew nothing of it. He always consulted us in all matters— 
 especially myself.” 
 
 “ I think he has; I think he has,” returned Mrs. Travers 
 thoughtfully. She had seated herself on a sofa, and, resting her 
 elbow on the pillow, leaned her cheek upon her hand. 
 
 “ You think he has !” repeated the lawyer much surprised. 
 
 “ I can only so understand his last words to me,” continued his 
 client. “ He said he hoped I would not think he had done too 
 
 much for- Then he stopped, and never uttered the name. 
 
 Now I immediately fancied he meant his cousin Hugh, for I know 
 
s 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 "uhen he made the will to which you allude, he was terribly irri¬ 
 tated against him, and therefore far from being just. I have often 
 made Mr. Travers angry by urging this upon him, and entreating 
 him to make a fairer distribution of his property. But I always 
 imagined he resented my interference too much to follow my sug¬ 
 gestions, though he loved me well. Where shall I find such a 
 friend as he was ?” 
 
 She covered her face to hide the tears that would come. 
 
 “ Certainly his words point to another will,” resumed Mr. Wall, 
 after a moment’s respectful silence. “ Yet I cannot but consider it 
 most improbable. However, it is our duty to make every search.” 
 
 “ What reason did Mr. Ford give for supposing there was 
 another will ?” asked Mrs. Travers. 
 
 “ I really did not ask him. He mentioned it only just now as 
 we were waiting together in the dining-room. He seems an ex¬ 
 cellent man, full of zeal for his late employer, and rightly so ; a 
 ijetter master, a more honourable gentleman never existed.” 
 
 The solemn panegyric, though stiffly, was not unkindly said. 
 Mrs. Travers held out her hand silently and gratefully to him ; he 
 bowed over it, and went on ; 
 
 “Ford is a keen man of business, and thoroughly understands 
 the management of the house. When you feel equal to see him, 
 you will find him useful in many ways.” 
 
 “ I have no doubt I shall,” replied Mrs. Travers carelessly. 
 “ But, in the meantime, will you, my dear sir, see and ascertain 
 from him what has been said or reported about the will ? We may 
 get some clue to guide our search, and there is no use in looking at 
 the will you have, until we feel sure there is no other.” 
 
 After receiving Mrs. Travers’s directions respecting the funeral 
 and some minor matters, the lawyer returned to the dining-room, 
 considerably mollified towards his late client’s widow, though it 
 would have puzzled him to give a reason for the subtle change. 
 Probably the simple, straightforward sincerity of her tone, the 
 evident effort to suppress rather than display a grief unmistakably 
 real, these symptoms—so widely different from the “drowned in woe” 
 aspect he expected from the designing minx who had entrapped 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 
 his friend—blunted his suspicions in spite of himself, though he 
 was half ashamed to feel them slipping from him. 
 
 The dining-room was unoccupied when the lawyer entered, and, 
 looking round, he passed into a smaller room which opened upon 
 the garden, and had been used by the late master of the house as 
 a morning-room or study. Here Mr. Wall found the man he 
 sought, who, standing with his back to the door, was so occupied in 
 examining a water-colour sketch of Mrs. Travers, which, though 
 unfinished, was remarkably like, that he did not hear the lawyer’s 
 approach, and started when he addressed him. 
 
 “ I was afraid you had gone, Mr. Ford. I want particularly to 
 speak to you.” 
 
 “ I am quite at your service—and,” with a slight, almost im¬ 
 perceptible catch or hesitation, “ I thought it possible Mrs. Travers 
 might wish to see me. I have had the honour of being on such 
 confidential terms with our late excellent friend, and having been 
 fortunate in doing Mrs. Travers herself some little service—” 
 
 “Just so,” interrupted the lawyer blandly. “ She has just now 
 begged me to express her consciousness of your zeal and merit, 
 
 and a-hopes to tell you the same herself when equal to receive 
 
 any one.” 
 
 Mr. Ford bowed in silence ; so that Mr. Wall did not notice his 
 expression. He also passed his handkerchief across his brow, as if 
 warm or oppressed, and then rubbed his hands over each other 
 with a nervous pressure ; meantime, Mr. Wall proceeded : 
 
 “ We are very desirous of ascertaining if Mr. Travers has made 
 any disposition subsequent to the will executed in ’54. May I ask 
 what are the rumours you have heard on the subject ?” 
 
 “ Only this, that yesterday, one of our clerks, Poole, who used 
 to come to and fro with papers and cheques to our late worthy 
 principal after his first attack last spring—Poole said, ‘ He did 
 not make that will much too soon.’ I naturally asked what Avill he 
 alluded to, and he told me that some months ago Mr. Travers sent 
 for him, and when he went into the private room he found Gregory 
 with Mr. Travers. Gregory was our cashier ; you may remember 
 he took a holiday last summer, the first for twenty years—went to 
 
10 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 the seaside and caught fever, which carried him oif. We had a 
 move in consequence, and you recommended young Pierson 
 for—” 
 
 “ I remember it well! Pray go on.” 
 
 “ Well, Poole and Gregory witnessed Mr. Travers’s signature to 
 what Poole understood to be his will—of the purport he was, of 
 course, ignorant.” 
 
 “Ha !” ejaculated Mr. Wall, and stood a moment or two in deep 
 thought. “ This is very decisive indeed. Yet it seems almost 
 incredible to me that he should have kept such a matter from 
 Mrs. Travers and myself ! However, all that now remains is for 
 us to make a careful examination of all papers, &c. Is it not 
 strange this man Poole never gave any previous hints ?” 
 
 “ I think not,” returned Ford. “ The young men in Mr. Travers’s 
 employ were considerably afraid of him, and as Poole seemed to 
 think there was no secret in the occurrence, he was less likely to 
 talk about it.” 
 
 “ True,” said Mr. Wall, and paused as if considering the subject; 
 then repeated the v/ord “ True. I will see Mrs. Travers again. 
 It is only four o’clock. Nothing can be done until we know who 
 is to administer the estate ; the sooner we commence our search 
 the better. I will just step up to Mrs. Travers, and return to you 
 immediately.” So saying, the methodical lawyer left Mr. Ford 
 to his reflections, which seemed to be of a chequered hue. First, 
 he returned to his contemplation of Mrs. Travers’s picture ; once 
 or twice he pressed his hands together with a sort of nervous 
 tension, holding his head now to this side and now to that, so as 
 to catch the different lights thrown by the lamp which Edwards 
 had brought. 
 
 “ Yes, yes,” he whispered to himself with a smile— a not un¬ 
 kindly smile, yet with an undeflnable tinge of malignity in it, a 
 sort of anticipative triumph. “ It is his turn to-day — mine will 
 come.” 
 
 “ Mrs. Travers is quite willing we should commence our exami¬ 
 nation at once ; but doubts that such a document is among the 
 papers here. Are you aware that Mr. Travers kept any at his 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 11 
 
 office ? Indeed, I suppose he was scarcely there since the period 
 this man Poole mentions.” 
 
 “ O yes, he was. He attended to business with much regularity 
 nil last spring and part of the summer.” 
 
 “ Well, Mr. Ford, let us begin. Here are the keys of this escri¬ 
 toire.” 
 
 For more than two hours did the two men of business seek care¬ 
 fully and systematically amid the papers and documents contained 
 in a tin box or two, in an old brass-bound writing-desk, in all 
 imaginable places—but in vain ; and, after partaking of refresh¬ 
 ment, they departed baffled and silent. 
 
 While Mrs. Travers sits wrapped in thought over the fire in her 
 dressing-room, unable either to form any defined plan, or even 
 speculate on her own future, and a subdued note of solemn pre¬ 
 paration vibrates through the household, let us put some of the 
 memories which crowd the young widow’s mind into a tangible 
 form, and supply a key to the position. 
 
 -K » » 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 About sixteen or seventeen years before the date of this chapter, 
 a certain kindly, scholarly, elderly clergyman named Lee was per¬ 
 petual curate of the petty parish we shall call Cullingford. 
 
 Though not remote, it was retired and unknown save to expe¬ 
 rienced anglers, for the trout-fishing in its neighbourhood was ex¬ 
 cellent. 
 
 The Rev. William Lee was a small celebrity in his way. He 
 had for many years eked out a very insufficient income by pre¬ 
 paring young gentlemen for the army, navy, and the universities. 
 
 It was before competitive examinations had been invented; still 
 some preparation was necessary. 
 
 Mr. Lee’s young gentlemen did not do badly, so his school pros¬ 
 pered ; and the village, with the fields and woodlands round about, 
 were the more cheerful for the sunny, healthy young life con¬ 
 stantly overflowing the boundaries of the parsonage. 
 
12 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 Mr. Lee had been early left a -widower with one son—his idol— 
 and a costly idol. 
 
 This special worship, and a general tendency not to turn away 
 from those that would borrow of him, prevented the good curate’s 
 earnings from remaining in that concrete condition favourable to 
 ease of circumstances. Still he had enough, and thought his lot a 
 fair one, until his son, “ his only son,” was cut off by a few hours 
 of cholera in India, leaving a little delicate orphan baby girl, first 
 to plague and then to delight her desolate grandfather. 
 
 The nearest dwelling to the parsonage was a very humble cottage, 
 originally not much beyond a gamekeeper’s or gardener’s lodge in 
 size and style, but bearing the outward and visible signs of its 
 inmates in the refined prettiness of its bit of pleasure-ground, in 
 the dainty drapery of its muslin curtains, and in the carefully- 
 trained roses and honeysuckle which made its porch in summer¬ 
 time all blossom and perfume. Holmewood Cottage had, about 
 this time, been tenanted for nearly two years by a lady with one 
 little girl—the Avidow, so it was understood in the village, of 
 young Keginald Lee’s dearest friend, who had stood by his death¬ 
 bed, and sent the sad tidings to the bereaved father. At any rate, 
 the curate was for long the widow’s only friend, nearly her only 
 acquaintance. She Avas a fair, soft, sad-looking Avoman, Avith weak 
 health and shattered nerves; her one tie to life a bright-eyed, 
 brown-haired, active, restless, joyous little girl of five or six, with a 
 sweet smile and a laugh full of glee, who soon wound herself round 
 both the curate and his stern housekeeper, and Avas the spoiled pet of 
 even the most cynical girl-hater among the curate’s young gentlemen. 
 
 It is a strong temptation to pause and hold up some pictures of 
 those happy days of young life among the bowery lanes and shady 
 Avoodlands, by the merry cricket-ground, the fresh uplands, and 
 especially by the glorious trout-streams for which the neighbour¬ 
 hood was famous ; to describe the peace, the dreaminess, the silent 
 thought-progress, the gradual unfolding of ambition to know, to 
 see, to leave the happy valley and try the eddies and currents of 
 the great, dreadful, beautiful, beckoning world beyond. But it 
 must be resisted. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 13 
 
 None save Mr. Lee knew how scanty were the widow’s resources, 
 and with benevolent alacrity he did his very best to assist the 
 education of her daughter. But the time came when she must be 
 sent to school. This separation seemed to rend the mother’s life. 
 Then came a series of partings—for the widow was sure to be 
 seriously ill when Katie had been away a few months—and the 
 child was sent for in haste. Her presence then wrought a cure, 
 and the process was repeated. 
 
 Now this was a trial to Katie ; she was ambitious, and passion¬ 
 ately fond of study, but the tender, protecting love inspired by her 
 gentle, timid mother enabled her to bear this and many other 
 small worries arising from the same cause with the quiet submis¬ 
 sion of strength. Mrs. Aylmer had been, and still was, a delicately 
 pretty woman, refined to weakness, more by nature than by train¬ 
 ing, for she was the daughter of a respectable tradesman who had 
 left her and her brothers fairly well off. Her grace and beauty, 
 unfortunately for herself, attracted the admiration and affection 
 of a handsome, pleasant, well-born, but reckless young ofincer, who 
 seemed to her the embodiment of all her fancy had ever painted. 
 Difficulties and opposition only served to add fire and resolution 
 to the lover’s originally slight admiration, and at length he per¬ 
 suaded her to run away with him. The marriage being equally 
 objectionable to the relatives on both sides, the erring couple were 
 solemnly and effectually renounced ; the young husband exchanged 
 into a regiment under orders for India, and he and his plebeian 
 bride vanished from the respectable and aristocratic circles to 
 which they respectively belonged. 
 
 After a few years of chequered happiness, the lieutenant, having 
 squandered more than all he possessed, fell a victim to climate and 
 too much “ brandy pawnee,” leaving his widow alone in the world, 
 with her baby, and a lieutenant’s widow’s pension to exist upon. 
 To her, of course, he was a hero, towards whom fate and fortune 
 were adverse : but Katie, whose mind was inquisitive and exceed¬ 
 ingly common-sensible, in spite of its streaks of poetry and an 
 ardent love of the beautiful, used sometimes, even when she listened 
 to her mother’s loving reminiscences, stroking her hand the while 
 
14 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 tenderly, to reflect that, were she a man, with the smallest opening 
 wherein to insert the point of the wedge, it would go hard but she 
 would force some favour from fortune. 
 
 It was during Kate’s absence at a school in Germany, to which 
 her mother had with infinite grief permitted her to go for a few 
 months, that Mrs. Aylmer received an advantageous proposition 
 from a cousin, the only member of her family who recognised her 
 existence. Mr. Hicks, the aforesaid cousin, was the proprietor of 
 a far-famed establishment for the sale of “ fishing tackle ” in all 
 varieties, including flies for all seasons and quarters. He was 
 largely patronised by the disciples of the rod who are to be found 
 in the precincts of the city where his shop was situated, and was a 
 prosperous kindly soul, innocent of malice, and regardless of the 
 letter “ h.” 
 
 This fishing-tackle cousin wrote to ask Mrs. Aylmer if she 
 would be disposed to accommodate a “ most desirable party ” for 
 a few weeks occasionally ; the said “ party ” being an elderly 
 “gentleman” who had been recommended to try change and 
 amusement for his health. The only change he could invent was 
 fishing. He had been used to go down to the North, but not 
 feeling equal to the distance, had called at Mr. Hicks’s place, and 
 asked him to recommend some quarters within an easy distance of 
 town. Whereupon Cousin Hicks bethought him of the trout¬ 
 fishing reputation of Cullingford, and of throwing a chance in the 
 Avidow’s way. Mrs. Aylmer took counsel with the curate, and 
 accepted the proposal. 
 
 The little woman was ravenous to make and save money, for 
 that meant helping Kate, and keeping Kate at home. The re¬ 
 spectable party paid well, and stayed longer than he at first in¬ 
 tended. 
 
 The widow made him very comfortable, and was the more suc¬ 
 cessful because the respectable party was undoubtedly a gentleman. 
 
 He was, in short, Mr. Travers, head of the well-known house of 
 Travers and Co., St. Hilda’s Place, E.C. 
 
 Cullingford agreed with him. He came frequently, sometimes 
 not in the fishing season. He, after the first year, rented his two 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 15 
 
 rooms permanently, and his managing clerk was quite well-known 
 
 on the line between G-and Cullingford, as he went to and fro 
 
 with his black bag at such times ; for, with all its rural, quiet, 
 remote style of beauty, Cullingford was but two hours from 
 London. • 
 
 This was the addition which Kate found on her return from 
 Germany. She was inclined to resent such an intrusion. Home 
 was not home, with a stranger installed in the best rooms, and 
 demanding her mother’s first attention. But she soon became 
 reconciled. 
 
 Mr. Travers was the most unobtrusive of men, though not with¬ 
 out a certain dignity in his carriage and manners ; and when Kate 
 had occasion to see and speak with him, her mother being disabled 
 by a nervous headache, she was considerably struck by the sort of 
 grave chivalrous respect with which he treated her. 
 
 Gradually it grew to be a custom with him to pause a while on 
 his way out and in, and hold some conversation with his landlady’s 
 daughter as she tied up the flowers or took off dead leaves. He 
 did not say much, but that little proved him a gentleman of some 
 cultivation, and then—he listened remarkably well. 
 
 Sometimes he brought Kate some new and charming books from 
 town—not novels ; these he disapproved as much as Kate loved. 
 
 He never appeared to care for Mr. Lee’s acquaintance, and 
 indeed the curate was too much occupied in his pastoral and 
 tutorial avocations to spare the time for its prosecution. 
 
 So two years slipped away peacefully. At the end of that time 
 Kate paid a visit to the German school where she had spent eight 
 or nine months, and where she had formed a close friendship with 
 the daughters of the principal. She hoped to have made an 
 arrangement by which her young friend Fanny Lee, now emerging 
 from childhood, should enjoy the advantages of a complete plunge 
 into a foreign language ; but all her plans and projects were nipped 
 in the bud. 
 
 Scarcely a month after Kate’s arrival at Schlangenstein, a bad 
 type of low fever broke out in Cullingford, where sanitary science 
 was at that time unknown, and one of the first sufferers ivas 
 
16 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 Mrs. Aylmer. Kate was at once recalled, and came right willingly, 
 though not very seriously alarmed —“ the dearest mother ” gene¬ 
 rally got ill when she was away, and recovered when she returned, 
 and so it would be now. 
 
 It was not so, however ; the fever was conquered, but the tender, 
 timid, childlike mother died of the prostration which ensued. And 
 then Kate knew how she loved her, and what desolation meant. 
 
 The day after the funeral, as Kate sat in all the unspeakable 
 dreariness of the time when one’s occupation’s o’er, and the possi¬ 
 bility of a new one has not suggested itself—when the reaction 
 after protracted hope and fear and strained watching has set in, 
 and makes life colourless, aimless, tasteless—she was startled by 
 the announcement that Mr. Travers was at the door, and would 
 like much to see her. She had nearly forgotten his existence; 
 nevertheless, she felt comforted by the idea that he thought of 
 her, so he .came in—came in more hastily, with less rigid compo¬ 
 sure than she had ever seen before. He evidently felt for her. 
 She put her cold hand into his silently. 
 
 “ My dear young lady,” said Mr. Travers—and his voice, which 
 had always pleased her, sounded unusually soft—“ I have but this 
 moment heard of your bereavement. I came down as usual, little 
 thinking of the change which has occurred. I shall not, of course, 
 intrude upon you ; but if you can see me to-morrow, I should like 
 to know your plans, if possible—to assist you.” 
 
 Very little passed then. Travers carried away with him a keen 
 impression of the bravery with which Kate struggled for com¬ 
 posure, and suppressed rather than exaggerated her grief. He 
 talked with kindly, sensible interest to her the next day ; and the 
 third, in a friendly and frank manner, suggested a solution of all 
 doubts and difficulties by a marriage with himself. 
 
 Kate was astounded ; but she was heart-whole and no sentimen¬ 
 talist. Mr. Travers was well-preserved, well-bred, and did not 
 look quite thirty years older than herself. The world was strange 
 and desolate to her; gratitude warmed her feehngs towards him, 
 and she consented. 
 
 The marriage was solemnised mth unbecoming speed, so the 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 17 
 
 people of Cullingford said ; but, as Mr. Travers urged, Kate had 
 no home to leave, and the sooner she was in one of her own the 
 better. To this her only friend Mr. Lee agreed. Something he 
 distantly hinted respecting settlements was met with a haughty, 
 “ Rest assured, sir, I shall not leave my wife unprovided for,” 
 which silenced the good man. Two days after, Kate Aylmer was 
 transformed into Mrs. Travers, and carried away from the sweet, 
 humble, happy home of her girlhood for ever. Mr. Travers evi¬ 
 dently wished to cut off all connection with her former life, and 
 correspondence with Fanny Lee, though not forbidden, was dis¬ 
 couraged. 
 
 Nearly three years after the marriage, old Mr. Lee died, and 
 poor Fanny was left unprovided for. 
 
 Kate’s lot had its angles ; but, rough or smooth, it did not last 
 in this stage. At the close of her third year of marriage, Mr. 
 Travers caught a severe cold, an attack of bronchitis ensued, from 
 which he partially recovered. lie was ordered out of town, and not 
 v/ishing to be far from his business, in the pursuit of which he had 
 been keener than ever of late, he took a house at Hampton Coui’t. 
 Feeling better at first, he relaxed some invalid precautions, caught 
 a second and severer cold, to which he succumbed ; and Kate was 
 again alone, though scarce so desolate as when her mother died. 
 
 The will, which had been deposited in Mr. Wall’s hands soon 
 after the receipt of an ill-judged letter from the man who had 
 hoped to be his heir, written in reply to Mr. Travers’s announce¬ 
 ment of his marriage, was short, simple, and to most widows would 
 have been satisfactory. 
 
 After a legacy of five hundred pounds to his chief clerk, and a 
 few smaller bequests to an old pensioner or two and a super¬ 
 annuated servant, the testator’s beloved wife was constituted resi¬ 
 duary legatee and executrix in conjunction with an old City friend ; 
 no directions or wishes as to the winding-up or continuance of his 
 business was expressed—everything was unreservedly left to the 
 young, childless widow. 
 
 It was this will that Mrs. Travers strongly believed had been 
 superseded by a later testament or codicil. 
 
 2 
 
18 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 CHAPTEK III. 
 
 But the search for the •will -was fruitless ; every probable and im¬ 
 probable corner was ransacked in vain, to the grief of Mrs. Travers, 
 and the ill-concealed annoyance of her solicitor. 
 
 Mr. Wall was convinced that his late client must have destroyed 
 his second will, as, on inquiry, there appeared no doubt that he had 
 made one ; while Mrs. Travers was equally convinced he had not, 
 and worked herself almost into a fever by fretting and conjectur¬ 
 ing on the subject. 
 
 The last melancholy ceremonies had been performed. The 
 •\vindows were once more opened to the light, and the scarce inter¬ 
 rupted current of every-day life flowed on as before, its crowd of 
 common things rapidly closing up the gap, so that even the truest, 
 deepest mourners wonder at the marvellous and often merciful 
 operation of ine'^table routine—the force that lies in the “ strong 
 necessity of living.” 
 
 Kate Travers never attempted to persuade herself or others that 
 she was broken-hearted, yet she thought much and sadly of her 
 dead husband. He had loved her truly ; but even to himself his 
 love had been more'a source of pain than pleasure. He had be¬ 
 lieved that a calm and fatherly tenderness would have tempered 
 the warmth of conjugal affection, and have fitted him peculiarly 
 to be the guide and guardian of the bright girl who accepted his 
 proposal with such frank gratitude, tie did not reckon on the 
 spell which her individuality, and an undefined consciousness of 
 the latent wealth of love he had not the power to draw forth, cast 
 over him, to torment and to fascinate. Before he was six months a 
 husband he loved her with an exacting passion which was at once 
 the misery and delight of his existence. He hated himself for the 
 difference of their age ; he would have sacrificed his all without 
 hesitation for her sake ; yet he resented the slightest liberty of 
 action; lest it might be the result of indifference ; and was so 
 ravenous for proofs of her affection that, when they came, the 
 sweet incense was all evaporated in the self-torturing tests on 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 19 
 
 ■which his eagerness to prove its purity insisted. While she, 
 discerning things more from sympathy than deliberate observation, 
 ■svas slow to understand him. 
 
 At first, while mourning the loss of a cherished mother, whose 
 helplessness had only endeared her the more, she clung gratefully 
 and tenderly to him, and he was satisfied ; but her sunny nature 
 reasserted itself, and her girlish pleasure in rich and becoming 
 dress, the new enjoyment of driving ,in her own carriage—as she 
 soon ceased to call it—and her openly expressed delight in wearing 
 the handsome ornaments Mr. Travers bestowed upon her, opened 
 up a hundred sources of offence. Her vi-vid enjoyment of books 
 and music and painting converted these innocent objects of interest 
 into hated rivals, and Kate never could get rid of the impression 
 that she was in a golden cage ; that, however the imprisoning wires 
 might be jewelled and adorned, they were still there. Her good 
 temper, grateful, easy nature, and ready tact, always prevented 
 any open collision, save on the occasion when Mr. Trawers opened 
 a letter addressed to his wife, in which her old friend, Fanny Lee, 
 warmly thanked her for a very opportune present of money when 
 she had been left in sore poverty by her grandfather’s death, 
 neai’ly a year before our story opens ; this acknowledgment, and 
 an evident allusion to some expressions of regret from Mrs. Travers 
 that she had lost sight of so valued a friend as old Mr. Lee, were 
 construed by the jealous husband into evidence of his wife’s pre¬ 
 ference for her past life, and a tendency to underhand dealing. In 
 vain she explained that, having abundance of pocket-money, she 
 thought she might dispose of some of it without troubling him on 
 the subject. He was for some time unappeasable. A severe attack 
 of illness occurring soon after, Mrs. Travers was glad to let the 
 subject drop, and she gradually but very slowly regained her 
 ascendency. At first, with fearlessness of a heart secure in its own 
 honesty and singleness of purpose, Mrs. Travers tried to wean her 
 husband from his morbid greed for her society—for her every look, 
 and word, and thought, and to brighten this engrossing jealousy 
 into pleasant, friendly, sympathetic intercourse. But, finding her¬ 
 self misunderstood in every attempt at a better and healthier tone, 
 
 9_2 
 
20 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 she lost heart, and gradually subsided into an adored captive. 
 She was young, and but partially developed ; as yet she knew 
 neither her own strength nor weakness. But four years of mar¬ 
 riage, and constant companionship with a man of cultivated though 
 somewhat narrow mind, had greatly matured her intellect, and the 
 last year, being much thrown on herseK both in matters of action 
 and judgment, she began to feel that she might stand alone. 
 
 Now, even under her sincere sorrow, in which the principal in¬ 
 gredient was regret that the departed, with all the materials of 
 happiness about him, had gone down to the grave under the same 
 dull shadow in which he had lived ; even under her tender grief 
 was a sweet consciousness that, however gloomily shrouded, liberty 
 had come to her at last. Still it was very strange, that sensation 
 of being quite mistress of the roomy, comfortable house in which 
 she wsg domiciled ; of having the full command of the stately and 
 well-bred man out of livery who presided over the plate and glass ; 
 of being really at home in her house, albeit but a ready-furnished 
 one taken by the year, in order that Mr. Travers might enjoy pure 
 air Vvdthin an easy distance of his of&ce. It W'as too strange to be 
 pleasant yet. And then how she shrank from the look of her own 
 face in her widow’s cap ! From no want of respect to the departed, 
 she longed to throw it off ; it was so unnatural, so oppressive ! 
 
 She sat thinking dreamily of these things about a week after the 
 funeral, on one of the first days of the new year. How rapidly 
 and vividly the panorama of the past floated through her mind, and 
 how changed was everything ! 
 
 “ I wish I had a nice, kind, gentlemanlike uncle or cousin !—a 
 man is so useful. How lonely I am ! I have lost my old friends, 
 and made no new ones. Well, I shall never return to that dreary 
 house in Hereford Square. I was wretched there ! I will let it, 
 or sell it, if I have power ! How that ‘ if ’ meets me everywhere ! 
 I wish the real will could be found. I can never feel settled until 
 it is. I am so sure it was made after our last conversation about 
 Hugh Galbraith, when Mr. Travers seemed so offended at my per¬ 
 sisting that his first will was unjust! It was so like h im to act 
 upon my suggestion afterwards, and yet to conceal the act! Ah ! 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 21 
 
 with so much knowledge and real nobility of nature in many ways, 
 how was it that he missed the true wisdom of frankness and trust¬ 
 fulness ? I must find Fanny Lee ; I might help her, and if she 
 turns out anything like what I remember, she could live with me.” 
 Thinking thus dreamily, Mrs. Travers lay back in a luxurious 
 easy-chair imported from their town house, near a glowing, blazing 
 fire. The drawing-room where she had once more established her¬ 
 self was a large and pleasant apartment, well filled with a mixture 
 of old-fashioned and modern furniture. The mirrors, the chintz 
 curtains, the larger tables, and the cabinets, were almost antique 
 in style and pattern. Although mid-winter, the jardinieres were 
 not neglected ; heaths, ferns, and chrysanthemums lent colour 
 enough to be agreeable. A grand piano filled up the farther 
 end of the room ; and a pretty, fanciful, but useful writing-table 
 stood near enough to the fire for warmth and to the window 
 for light. A look of comfort and good taste pervaded the 
 whole. 
 
 After a few moments more of reverie, a brighter and more de¬ 
 cided expression stole over Mrs. Travers’s features. She rang, and, 
 rising, walked slowly towards one of the windows ; a pretty garden 
 sloped to the river, now denuded of summer adornments, and 
 while she gazed upon without seeing it, the grave “ man out of 
 livery” opened the door. 
 
 “ You rang, if you please, ma’am.” 
 
 “ Oh, yes. I want the Directory, Edwards.” 
 
 When it was brought, Mrs. Travers sat down to her writing- 
 table, and looked earnestly through its pages, apparently in vain. 
 But she was interrupted. Again the door opened. Edwards ap¬ 
 peared, salver in hand, and presented a card to his mistress. 
 
 “ Mr, Ford ? Show him up.” 
 
 She left the writing-table, and stood ready to receive him. 
 
 Mr. Ford was a man made up of negatives ; he was neither 
 young nor old, plain nor handsome, tall nor short, gentlemanlike 
 nor caddish. He had fine large dark ej’es, rather restless in ex¬ 
 pression, very thick black whiskers faintly powdered with grey, a 
 large, loose-looking mouth, and a smile not unkindly nor yet quite 
 
22 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 free from a tinge of malignity. He "vras accurately dressed in 
 slight mourning. 
 
 “ How do you do, Mr. Ford ?” said Mrs. Travers, holding out 
 her hand with a smile—a very kind but pensive smile. “ I am 
 glad to see you.” 
 
 Mr. Ford took the hand, and bowed over it in silence. 
 
 “ I Avas so sorry Edwards did not let me know Avhen you called 
 last Tuesday,” she continued, to give him time, seeing that from 
 some cause he was agitated. “ I should certainly have seen you.” 
 
 “ You are very kind,” said Mr. Ford at length, clearing his 
 throat nervously, and looking up Avithout absolutely meeting Mrs. 
 Travers’s eyes. “ I ventured to hope that for various reasons you 
 would have received me." 
 
 “ Come near the fire,” Avas Mrs. Travers’s reply; “ though so 
 bright, it is very cold.” 
 
 She resumed her seat, and Ford placed himself near her. 
 
 “ I almost feared to see you, dreading to find sad traces of your 
 long watch,” he continued ; “ but I rejoice to find you looking 
 better than I expected.” 
 
 “ I feel very strange, and sad, and puzzled, but not ill. Oh ! 
 Mr. Ford, I haA'e been quite longing to talk to you. You were so 
 much in poor Mr. Travers’s confidence ; you knew us all so well 
 before I AA'as married, that you can tell me more than any one 
 else.” 
 
 Mr. Ford coloured slightly, and drew his chair a possible inch 
 nearer to the widoAv. 
 
 “ My dear Mrs. Travers, need I say how heartily I am at your 
 service. I—a-” he hesitated, and stopped abruptly. 
 
 “ Oh, I feel quite sure of your loyalty to me,” she returned with 
 a frank, unhesitating, but slightly indifferent acceptance of his as¬ 
 surances not exactly flattering. “ Now, tell me, Avhat do you think 
 about this AAnll ? I think it is simply mislaid. I feel sure Mr. 
 Travers made one in accordance Avith my Avishes, but I never can 
 believe he destroyed it.” 
 
 “ It is impossible to say. The most excellent of men are liable 
 to strange whims, sometimes much more unpleasant whims than 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 23 
 
 leaving all their property to a charming lady like your good 
 self.” 
 
 A faint tendency to frown appeared in Mrs. Travers’s distinct 
 though delicate eyebrows ; but she only said, “ Then you think he 
 did destroy the will Poole witnessed ?” 
 
 “ I cannot come to any decision in my own mind on the subject. 
 I oidy know that every possible depository for such a document 
 has been most carefully examined, and not a trace of it is to be 
 found. Even if it exists I do not now think it will be discovered, 
 and indeed I incline to believe it cannot exist.” 
 
 “ It is most unfortunate,” said Mrs. Travers, leaning her elbow 
 on the arm of her chair, and resting her cheek on her hand, while 
 her deep bme eyes grew larger and darker with earnest thought as 
 she gazed a; the fire—not more earnestly than Ford gazed at her, 
 now her eye^ were turned away. “ Most unfortunate,” she went 
 on slowly, asif speaking to herself. “ I do not know what to do 
 or how to ait. I feel certain Mr. Travers wished to provide 
 properly for Sr Hugh Galbraith, and now, when I suggest a divi¬ 
 sion of the pnperty with him, Mr. Wall says, ‘ My dear madam, 
 you must just wait.’ When I suggest that your five hundred 
 pounds should le paid to you, ‘ I must just wait;’ and when I say 
 I should like to go away somewhere to shake off the sort of op¬ 
 pression that hanrs upon me, I am met with the same impressive, 
 
 ‘ I would not adviio you to stir under the circumstances ; you must 
 just wait.’ ” She pushed back her chair slightly, as if warmed by 
 her own impatience. 
 
 “ And very sounc advice too,” said Ford, with a smile at once 
 admiring and supcior. “ There is really nothing for it but 
 patience. If the wll does not turn up within a week or two we 
 may conclude it has ^een destroyed, and act upon the original one. 
 Fortunately, there i; nothing pressing ; things can go on for a 
 while as-they are. Emn should the missing document be found, 
 wc may well believe tlat the bulk of the property and all authority 
 will be with you—at last, I suppose you have no reason to doubt 
 this ?” 
 
 The last words were ittered with a kind of insinuating curiosity 
 
24 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 Avliile the speaker, resting his arms on his knees, bent forward to 
 look very keenly at his companion. 
 
 “ No, I suppose not,” she returned carelessly ; and then added 
 with much feeling, “ I know he would have been guided in all 
 things by a partiality beyond what I deserved, b}'- a Idndly con¬ 
 sideration that never deviated—” 
 
 “ What!” interrupted Mr. Ford, rising abruptly, and walking to 
 the window ; then, turning again, he repeated, “ never deviated! 
 Do I not well remember one evening in Hereford Square, net long* 
 before you came to this very house, the pain, the grief, tha indig¬ 
 nation with which I overheard words addressed to you asl waited 
 in the front drawing-room, words Avhich should never lave been 
 addressed to a creature so gentle, so devoted, so—” 
 
 “ Hush ! hush ! Mr. Ford,” cried Mrs. Travers impe:^ously. “ I 
 always feared you had overheard those unhappy remaJKS, and, not 
 knowing what led up to them, would exaggerate their meaning. It 
 was an affair in which I now believe I was wrong) So good n 
 husband had a right to my fullest confidence in everwhing.” 
 
 “ Even in so slight a matter as a small gift to a yovhg girl friend, 
 whose feelings you would have spared the—” / 
 
 “ You know more than I thought,” interrupted Srs. Travers, in 
 her turn, and looking full at him and more sterny than her soft 
 eyes seemed capable of looking a moment before. / “ But whatever 
 opinion you may have formed, I beg you will forget the whole 
 thing ; at any rate, never name it to me.'" l 
 
 Mr. Ford coloured and bit his lip. “ I see I lufe offended. You 
 must excuse me if I sometimes lose my self-c^mand. When I 
 remember old times, your dear respected motl^r, who always ex¬ 
 tended so kind a welcome to me ; the sweet cotage, which seemed 
 
 to me at one time an earthly paradise-” j He again stopped 
 
 and turned away, passing his handkerchief ^'er his face. Mrs. 
 Travel's looked at him with a slightly wonder^g expression, and a 
 vague, uncomfortable desire that he would tale his departure arose 
 in her mind. / 
 
 “ They were very happy, those old days,) said she soothingly, 
 after a moment’s pause ; “ but I hope theri are many bright and 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 25 - 
 
 prosperous ones 'before you yet, Mr. Ford. I am sure, if I can in 
 any way assist your fortunes, I should not only please myself, but 
 best fulfil my husband’s good intentions ; he had, I am sure, a sin¬ 
 cere regard for you.” 
 
 Mr. Ford made a gesture as if repudiating all worldly advan¬ 
 tages which might accrue from the Travers connection. 
 
 “ By the 'vvay,” continued the young widow, “ talking of poor 
 dear Cullingford and old times reminds me I was looking for Mr. 
 Keed’s address when you came in. Perhaps you remember Tom 
 Heed ; though I believe he had left Mr. Lee before you knew us. 
 He was a second or third cousin of the dear old man, and I thought 
 he might know where Fanny is. I have quite lost sight of her 
 
 since-” Mrs. Travers stopped, coloured, and added quickly ; 
 
 “ I once met Mr. Peed at dinner—oh, quite two years ago—and he 
 told me then where he was to be found, but I forget ; some Inn 
 (he was studying for the Bar, or had just been called to the Bar). 
 Perhaps you could find out, or shall I ask Mr. 'Wall ?” 
 
 “ If you will permit me, I shall make it a point to ascer¬ 
 tain.” 
 
 “ Thank you very much, Mr. Ford.” 
 
 An awkward pause. 
 
 “ I do not think,” resumed the confidential clerk, “ I need tres¬ 
 pass any longer upon you. The power of attorney which I have 
 will enable me to meet all present contingencies in the way of cor¬ 
 respondence. Beyond this, Messrs. Wall and Wreford must ad¬ 
 vise. I see you have rather a pretty water-colour sketch of the 
 old parsonage, Avith the river. Very neatly executed ! But does 
 it not strike you, now,” putting up his glass, “ that the clouds are 
 a trifle woolly ? And the perspective betAveen those elms rather 
 runs uphill.” 
 
 “ No, indeed, it does not,” said Mrs. Travers with a sigh. “ I 
 only see a close resemblance to a scene I love. I had no idea you 
 Avere such a critic, Mr. Ford.” 
 
 " I do not claim so high a title” (with the proudest humility) ; 
 “ but I used to do a good deal in that line once, and I flatter my¬ 
 self I have a tolerably correct eye.” 
 
26 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ Indeed! I did not think you were an artist in addition to 
 your high business qualifications.” 
 
 “ Pray do not look on me as a mere machine,” replied Ford with 
 his peculiar smile. “ But I must not keep you standing. I wish 
 you good-day.” 
 
 “ Good-morning ; and, pray do not forget Mr. Reed’s address.” 
 
 As the door closed behind him, Mrs. Travers stood a moment or 
 two in thought. 
 
 “ There is a change somewhere ; is it in him or in myself t He 
 seemed a shade presumptuous, or have I forgotten the equality 
 that once existed between him, myself, and my mother ? I think 
 not; but I cannot go back to the old state—and though I will be " 
 kind and helpful, he must see in me only the widow of his late em¬ 
 ployer, only the present head of the house of Travers.” 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 TnK Euston Terminus was all alive, and a goodly army of porters 
 ready to disentangle the passengers’ luggage, with small regard to 
 its well-being, one bright but sharp afternoon in early spring, as 
 
 the 3.30 train from H-rushed into the station, and the crowded 
 
 carriages disgorged an eager, pushing, striving mob. 
 
 Through its eddies a gentleman who had been waiting about for 
 a few minutes before the train came in dexterously elbowed his 
 way. Looking sharply into all the first-class carriages, he sud¬ 
 denly paused at one of the second-class, from which a fat female 
 with a huge basket had just emerged, and raised his hat. “ Miss 
 Lee,” he said ; “ if I am not much mistaken, Fanny Lee.” 
 
 “Yes, yes,” said a young lady, disentangling herself from a 
 chaos of children, band-boxes, and brown-paper parcels; and, 
 putting her hand in his, she stepped out into the light. They 
 stood looking at each other for a moment, as if trying to recall 
 some half-vanished memory. The girl saw a gentlemanlike man, 
 moderately tall, very slight, with dark hair, a spare, expressive 
 face, exceedingly keen dark eyes, and a half-kindly, half-mis- 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 27 
 
 chievous smile on his clean-shaved lips. He was remarkably well 
 dressed, and wore a sprig of lily-of-the-valley in his button-hole. 
 Indeed, he might have passed for a man of fashion, were it not 
 for the expression of alertness, of bright intelligence, that per¬ 
 vaded every line of his countenance and, I had almost said, 
 figure. 
 
 She was a little, delicate-looking creature, wrapped in a shape¬ 
 less waterproof, above which, and shaded bj^ a very indifferent hat, 
 appeared a pretty oval face, with soft brown eyes and a quantity 
 of pale brown hair, not very neatly or fashionably arranged. 
 
 The mutual survey scarce lasted a second when it was abruptly 
 terminated by a hasty shove from a heavily-laden porter, which 
 sent the young lady almost into her companion’s arms ; but, 
 quickly recovering herself, she exclaimed, “ Is it possible you are 
 Tom Reed ?” 
 
 “ Quite possible,” replied the gentleman, drawing her hand 
 through his arm. “ Do you doubt it ? Come, let us see about 
 your luggage. I suppose you have four or five trunks, three or 
 four packages, a couple of bonnet-boxes, and—” 
 
 “ 0 dear no !” a little sadly, though with a smile. “ I have but 
 two in the world.” 
 
 “ What a delightful girl to travel with ! Have they any special 
 signs ?” 
 
 “No, no—just my name. There!”—convulsively—“that man 
 is going away with one of them.” As she spoke Mr. Reed 
 darted upon him, and rescued No. 1 ; the other was quickly dis¬ 
 covered. 
 
 “Now, then ! I am afraid that we must take a four-wheeler. 
 Here, cab !”—as though he was monarch of every conveyance that 
 ever paid for a licence ; so his companion thought, as he quickly 
 but carefully handed her in, saw the luggage placed, and finally 
 jumped in after her. 
 
 “And so you are little Fanny,” he said, as they got into the 
 comparative quiet of Gower Street, looking straight into her eyes. 
 “ I should have known you anywhere. But somehow I fancy you 
 had rosier cheeks at the old parsonage. You are all I’ight, are 
 
28 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 you ? No cold or nervous debility—that’s the last dodge, I be¬ 
 lieve ?” 
 
 “ I am very well,” said the young lady ; “ but not quite so bright 
 as I used to be with poor grandpapa.” She sighed and smiled. 
 “ And I have had some hard work in Yorkshire. Hard work never 
 suited me, you know. But, there—I cannot hear what you say,, 
 and I can’t scream. Shall we stop soon ?” 
 
 “ Presently. Let me put up the window. Have you no shawl 
 or wrap ?—it’s cold, though so bright.” 
 
 And they rattled on ; occasionally the newly-arrived would utter 
 a word as with a note of interrogation. “ Regent Street ?” 
 
 “ No ; Oxford Street.” 
 
 “ Opera House ?” 
 
 “ No ; Covent Garden.” 
 
 Tvdce Mr. Reed called to the driver to hasten, and at last they 
 reached Waterloo. 
 
 “ Train for Hampton Court ?” 
 
 “ Just gone, sir.” 
 
 “ Next ?” 
 
 “ Not till 5.30.” 
 
 “ By Jove ! an hour and a half to wait. Come, Fanny, you look 
 famished. There’s soup or something to be had, and a glass of 
 sherry.” 
 
 “ Thank you, I will take a bun or a biscuit. I have not had 
 anything since seven o’clock this morning.” 
 
 “ No wonder I miss the roses ; roses don’t flourish under such 
 an ethereal regime.” And the weary traveller was soon summoned 
 to the refreshment-room, where soup, sherry, a table in a quiet 
 nook, a devoted waiter, seemed ready as by magic—the magic of 
 Tom Reed’s good-humoured authority and contagious activity. 
 
 His young protegee, glancing at the very perfect minutiae of his 
 costume, drew olf her own dingy and not neatly-mended gloves 
 with a laugh and a blush, which became her greatly. 
 
 “ Well, Tom,” she said, “ you might have known me, but I am 
 sure I should never have known you in such nice clothes.” 
 
 “ Clothes !” echoed Tom Reed, stretching out one arm, and re- 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 29 
 
 garding it witti an expression of uneasiness. “ Do you call these 
 clothes ?” 
 
 “ What are they, then ?” 
 
 “ Dress,” he replied, with much solemnity. “ The porters here, 
 and your friends in Yorkshire, probably clothe themselves. I 
 dress.” He waited till the pleasant laugh with which she heard 
 him was passed, and asked gravely, “ And what incongruity do 
 you observe between my garments and myself ?” 
 
 “ Oh, you look all right now,” she returned ; “ but when we met 
 last, you know, you had not an unbroken garment, as you call it, 
 in the world. Though I was such a little thing, I remember poor 
 Mrs. Green, the housekeeper, for ever lamenting that Master Tom 
 never was fit to be seen. What a mischievous boy you were !” 
 
 “ Do you remember all that ? Why, it must be ten years ago ! 
 Well, little cousin,” a very kindly, soft expression stealing over his 
 face, “ nothing has pleased me half so much for many a day as 
 this plan of Mrs. Travers to have you with her. You will be 
 quite comfortable.” 
 
 “ Do you think so ?” a little anxiously, while she held a spoonful 
 of soup midway to its destination. “ It is so long since I saw her, 
 and people change.” 
 
 “ She does not,” emphatically. “ She is a thorough-going brick 
 —a splendid creature altogether.” 
 
 “ I was very fond of her as a child ; but then she was always 
 so much with her mother and grandpapa, that we were never 
 cjuite play-fellows ; and she is four or five years older than I am.” 
 
 “ Did 3 mu know the late lamented Travers ?” asked Tom. 
 
 “ I remember often seeing him, but I do not think I ever spoke 
 to him. He was frightfully rich, wasn’t he ?” 
 
 “ Delightfully, you mean. Yes, and I believe your old friend 
 has it all now. Well, I suspect she earned it. He Avas a fine 
 fellow, the type of the ‘ grand old English merchant,’ but I fancy 
 a trifle jealous and exacting ; all Kate’s old friends politely warned 
 off the premises. I met her very unexpectedly, about tAvo j^ears 
 ago, at a gorgeous banquet in Westbourne Terrace ; she was de¬ 
 lighted to have a talk over the old place and people, so I Avent to 
 
30 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 call, was presented to the proprietor, and asked to another gorgeous 
 banquet, where I nearly died of starvation.” 
 
 Fanny opened her pretty brown eyes in amazement. 
 
 “ Moral and mental starvation, I mean. After that I saw no 
 more of our friend. Next I saw the death of old Travers in the 
 Times, and a fortnight or so after, I had ,a note from her, asking 
 me to call; when I did, I found she wanted to know where you 
 were, and how you were placed. I was ashamed, my dear girl, 
 to be able to tell so little ; but I had a clue, and so she found you 
 out.” 
 
 “ And then I had to give a month’s notice ; and even after that, 
 could scarce get away.” 
 
 “ All’s well that ends well,” said Reed, rising. “ I am sure you 
 will be as happy as—as a pet fairy! so make yourself comfort¬ 
 able. I imagine I might get the tickets now.” 
 
 The young lady sat very quietly, in deep, and, from her expres¬ 
 sion, not unpleasant thought—enjoying, as she well might, eman¬ 
 cipation from a comfortless school-room, a troop of noisy, ill- 
 mannered, and not particularly good-natured children, whose 
 exacting mamma looked upon her as a bondmaid, for whom thero 
 existed no chance of manumission. 
 
 She had drawn on her shabby gloves again, and had just begun 
 to expect Cousin Tom back, when he returned, and, taking his 
 arm, they sallied forth to seek their train. As they passed the 
 second-class refreshment-room, a very seedy-looking individual 
 issued from it; a short, thin, red-faced man, with a dingy, battered 
 white hat, a cut-away coat with baggy pockets, and palpably 
 burst-out boots. Yet he had a hand thrust into one of the pockets, 
 and a short stick protruding therefrom, and wore his miserable 
 hat with an indescribable slant, as though the “ tone of the turf 
 would hang round him still.” This unattractive figure placed 
 himself exactly in their way. 
 
 “ Tom Reed !” he exclaimed, in a hoarse, unsteady voice. “ Mr. 
 Reed—I don’t think I am mistaken.” 
 
 Tom Reed looked at him, as if puzzled for a moment, and then 
 said, “ Why, it can’t be Trapes ?'■' 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 31 
 
 “ The same, sir! All that’s left of him. And how are you, 
 Eeed ? World’s been going pretty square with you ?” continued his 
 curious acquaintance, staring boldly at Fanny, and seemingly re¬ 
 solved on a talk. 
 
 “ Oh, pretty well, thank you,” returned Tom civilly ; but we 
 are barely in time for our train.” 
 
 “ Good five minutes to spare if you are for Hampton Court. I 
 say, old fellow, I want to talk with you. I have lost sight of you 
 this age past. Where can I find you ?” 
 
 “ Oh, the old place— Jf. T. office.” 
 
 “ Still there ! Well, I don’t care to call,” screwing up his left 
 eye knowingly. “ I’ll drop you a line.” 
 
 “ All right—good-morning,” cried Tom, hurrying his companion 
 on, and into a first-class carriage. 
 
 “ What a dreadful man ! How could you know him ?” 
 
 “ Poor, unfortunate devil!” returned Tom thoughtfully. “ A 
 few years ago he was a sort of fine gentleman I half en¬ 
 vied.” 
 
 “ Did he lose his money, poor man ?” asked Fanny compassion¬ 
 ately. “ Still he need not look quite so dreadful.” 
 
 “ No, certainly notand then Tom Reed turned the conversa¬ 
 tion and devoted himself to cheering up the pretty little cousin 
 under his care. 
 
 But Fanny was nervous, and could not conceal it. Her sweet, 
 slight nature had been too much tried by the sudden change from 
 her grandfather’s loving indulgence to the rugged discipline of 
 her Yorkshire penitentiary. She was too unhinged to look for¬ 
 ward brightly, now that hope had come—as fatigue sometimes 
 banishes sleep. 
 
 Tom Reed felt her slight arm tremble, as he drew it through 
 his own to conduct her the short distance that intervened between 
 the station and the Travers mansion. 
 
 It was a clear frosty evening, a young moon showing coldly 
 bright in the deep blue sky. 
 
 “What a pretty place !” said Fanny, looking round her timidly. 
 “Will Kate—I mean Mrs. Travers—always live here ?” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 •t>c> 
 
 “It is hard to say ; but I fancy not,” returned Mr. Reed. 
 “ There, you see those tall wrought-iron gates ?—that is our des¬ 
 tination.” 
 
 A few moments more, and Fanny found herself upon the 
 threshold in a flood of light, and in the tender embrace of her old 
 friend, who seemed to her at once strange and familiar. The 
 sudden warmth and glow of kindness was nearly too much for 
 poor Fanny, whose bright eyes, half sad, half mischievous, were 
 dimmed, while her lip quivered. 
 
 “ Dear child, you are quite tired out ; come with me to your 
 room,” cried Mrs. Travers, observing her emotion. “ Mr. Reed, 
 you will find the Times and magazines in the drawing-room—if I 
 may offer any literary attraction to one of the initiated ? So much 
 obliged to you for bringing me this dear little waif. Come, 
 Fanny ;” and the rescued bondmaid was swept upstairs to a charm¬ 
 ing room, next to Mrs. Travers’s, where a ruddy fire, fresh chintz 
 hangings, a dressing-table all pink and white muslin, a dainty little 
 white bed, looked welcome most pleasantly and impressively. 
 “ How cold and pale you look!” said Mrs. Travers, assisting to 
 take off her cloak. (“ And how shabby,” she thought.) “ Still, it 
 is the same little Fanny, and will bloom out soon again with the 
 roses of former years under my care, I hope.” Here the respect 
 able Mrs. Mills entered with a can of hot water. “ Do you no 
 remember Mills, Fanny ?” 
 
 “ Of course I do! And, Mills, do you not remember me ?” 
 cried Fanny, seizing her hand and kissing her withered cheek ; a 
 piece of spontaneous kindliness that bound Mills to her from that 
 moment. 
 
 “ Dear, dear! to think that this is little Miss Fanny !—grown 
 quite a woman, I do declare.” 
 
 “ Yes, it is astonishing; yet we could not expect her to stand 
 still,” remarked Mrs. Travers. “ Now, dinner Avill be ready in a 
 few minutes, and I dare say Mr. Reed is quite ready for it. When 
 he leaves, we shall have plenty of time to talk together ; and how 
 much we have to tell each other !” 
 
 “ Indeed we have ; but, dear Kate—I mean Mrs. Travers—you 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 3:1 
 
 are quite different from what I remember you—older looking and 
 better looking ; and yet the same.” 
 
 “ It is well you have qualified ‘ older looking,’ little one, with 
 ^ better looking,’ or I should prepare to be awful! I will leave 
 you to dress, or not, as you like ; and when you join us in the 
 drawing-room, dinner will be ready.” 
 
 “ How did you recognise each other ?” asked Mrs. Travers, as 
 she dispensed the filleted soles. 
 
 “Well, we jumped at each other,” returned Reed, setting down 
 his glass of sherry with an air of discriminating satisfaction. “ As 
 I glanced into the chaos of bundles, bandboxes, and babies in which 
 she was engulfed, a vision of a silvery trout-stream, a sensation of 
 terror and wet feet, much exultation, a trifle of conscience and a 
 large proportion of gratitude, associated a slight young lady in a 
 waterproof with a certain great deliverance, wrought by her op¬ 
 portune warning in days of yore, and memory whispered, ‘ That’s 
 she!”’ 
 
 “ Yes, yes, I remember it,” cried Fanny, who had already revived 
 marvellously under the benign influences around her ; “ and 1 
 think grandpapa was equally relieved. He had solemnly declared 
 he would flog you if he caught you poaching ; and I knew quite 
 well he did not want to catch you, so I slipped away out by the 
 Beech Wood, and gave you notice. It was quite as much for his 
 sake as yours.” A pretty little defiant nod closed her speech. 
 
 “ Did Fanny know you ?” asked Mrs. Travers. 
 
 “ That is a doubtful point. According to her, the general excel¬ 
 lence of my attire militated against my identity.” 
 
 “ Well, Mr. Reed, I must say that my recollection of you in days 
 of old does not hold you up as the glass of fashion or the mould 
 of form.” 
 
 “ No, indeed ; you were a dreadful pickle ; yet how fond poor 
 dear grandpapa was of you,” added Fanny. 
 
 “ He was far kinder than I deserved,” returned Tom Reed, with 
 momentary gravity; and dinner proceeded without anything fur¬ 
 ther than newspaper talk till dessert banished their attendant. 
 
34 
 
 TIER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ I cannot tell you what pleasure it gives me to see you both,” 
 said Mrs. Travers, permitting Tom Reed to fill her bubble-like 
 glass with claret. “ Besides the pleasure of meeting old, and I 
 think congenial friends, the relief from the sense of isolation that 
 has oppressed me since—since my widowhood, is wonderfully de¬ 
 lightful. I have never been very fond of Christmas since I grew 
 up, but this one I spent quite alone. The people on either side 
 here were very good in calling and leaving ‘ Kind inquiries but 
 of course they are total strangers to me. So all I could do was to 
 give the servants a good dinner, and let them invite their friends. 
 They sent me up a piece of their pudding at my luncheon, and, by 
 avoiding a late dinner, I managed to forget it was Christmas Day. 
 I hope I shall not spend another like it.” 
 
 “ No, no, we must change all that,” said Reed cheerfully. “ And 
 may I ask how are all your affairs progressing ? When I saw you 
 last week, you were experiencing some difficulty with Wall and 
 Wreford. They objected to your rather munificent suggestion of 
 sharing your fortune with Sir Hugh Galbraith.” 
 
 “Yes; Mr. Wall would not hear of it, which rather surprised 
 me. I fancied he was annoyed at Mr. Travers leaving all his 
 money away from Sir Hugh. Now I observe he is not so great a 
 favourite. Still, Hugh had evidently been taught to look upon 
 himself as poor Mr. Travers’s heir, and I think he has been badly 
 treated ; nor have I a doubt that the missing will would have given 
 him a share of the property could we but find it.” 
 
 “ Still, to go halves with him voluntarily,” said Reed, smiling, 
 “ was slightly Quixotic, if you will not quarrel with me for saying 
 so.” 
 
 “ I do not think it was,” I’eturned the young widow thought¬ 
 fully. “ Fifteen hundred or two thousand a year, all my own, are 
 great riches to me; but by no means such wealth to Sir Hugh, 
 with a position to keep up, and I suppose the usual costly tastes 
 and habits of his class. In fact, but for the fear of being thought 
 idiotic, and outrunning Mr. Travers’s real wishes, I would willingly 
 have given Sir Hugh the lion’s share.” 
 
 “ And what decision have you arrived at ?” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 ‘‘ Oh, Mr. Wall would hear of nothing beyond a third of the 
 whole being offered; and you must remember we do not yet know 
 what the whole will be. Mr. Wall rather startled me by saying 
 that too much munificence might suggest that the real will was 
 more favourable to Sir Hugh than I liked, and therefore not lost, 
 but suppressed ! Do you think the general colour of men’s minds 
 of so vile a tint as to distort so basely a simple wish to do 
 right ?” 
 
 “What a horrible idea!” cried Fanny, who was listening with 
 deep attention. 
 
 “ I have by no means a bad opiniozi of my fellow-creatures. 
 Still, they are inclined to attribute very base motives for acts they 
 cannot understand or account for,” replied Tom Eeed. “ I 
 heartily wish the second will could be found ; but I suspect 
 something or other occurred to renew Mr. Travers’s displeasure 
 with his cousin, and, thinking it too favourable, he destroyed 
 it.” 
 
 “ No, Tom, no!” cried Mrs. Travers, with animation. “ You 
 must forgive me,” she said, interrupting herself and smiling ; 
 “ but when eager or in earnest the old name comes so readily to 
 my lips.” 
 
 “ I shall not forgive you, my dear Mrs. Travers, if you go back 
 to the newer and colder appellation. Pray let me be Tom, who is 
 quite as anxious and proud to be your servant and ally now as in 
 our old poaching days.” There was a tinge of earnestness under 
 this pleasant, airy manner, very acceptable to the fair but lonely 
 widow. 
 
 “ So be it,” she said, laughing. “ I accept you as Tom, and my 
 champion to boot. But to I’eturn. I do not think Mr. Travers 
 ever destroyed his will. I should more readily believe he had not 
 made a second, but that it seems so positively proved he did. I 
 confess I have felt at times a strange uneasiness about it, but have 
 now made up my mind that, even if found, it will make no material 
 difference—Sir Hugh Avill probably have a handsome legacy, but 
 the bulk of the fortune and all authority Mr. Travers has no doubt 
 left to me.” 
 
 3-2 
 
36 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ That is highly probable,” observed Tom Eeed. “ Where is 
 this Galbraith ?” 
 
 “ Somewhere in India. He was, I believe, on the point of com¬ 
 ing to England when the Mutiny broke out. Indeed, he was at 
 Calcutta on his way, but he immediately returned to join the 
 remnant of his regiment, the —th Light Dragoons, which was 
 neai’ly cut to pieces at the beginning of the outbreak. I have seen 
 his name mentioned once or twice as a very gallant officer ; but I 
 fancy he is a thorough aristocrat—brave enough, but proud and 
 overbearing, and unjust. His letter to Mr. Travers on our mar¬ 
 riage was almost unpardonable. Oh, the contempt with which he 
 spoke of me !” 
 
 “ And why, I should like to know!” exclaimed Fanny in¬ 
 dignantly. “ I am sure you are as good as he is !” 
 
 “ That depends on the exact meaning attached to goodness,” 
 said Mrs. Travers, smiling. “ I can afford to forgive him, because 
 he did not know what he was writing about. Indeed, I imagine 
 these high-caste men hnoto nothing thoroughly.” 
 
 “ Why, Mrs. Travers, you are quite democratic !” said Tom 
 Eeed. 
 
 “ Dear me !” cried Fanny with some awe, “ I suppose Sir Hugh 
 Galbraith is of a very old family indeed.” 
 
 “ So old as to be lost in the mists of antiquity. His ancestors 
 did heaps of mischief on the border in bygone days, and no par¬ 
 ticular good, I dare say. Notwithstanding the difference in their 
 ages, Sir Hugh and poor Mr. Travers were cousins. I think my 
 husband acted as a sort of guardian to Sir Hugh. Yes, Fanny, he 
 is a very great man indeed—a tiny acorn on the topmost twig of 
 the family tree. Still, I should not like him to suffer from his 
 cousin’s partiality for me. Generosity may be an aristocratic 
 virtue ; I am content with more homely justice, and will try to 
 practise it.” 
 
 “ And the upshot of all this is-” put in Tom, interroga¬ 
 
 tively. 
 
 “ That Messrs. Wall and Wreford have written by my direction 
 to inform Sir Hugh how matters stand ; that it is my intention, 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 37 
 
 as soon as they can be arranged, to make over to him a third of 
 the fortune bequeathed to me. I cannot help imagining he will 
 refuse to accept, estimating me as he does ; but Mr. lyall says he 
 is a poor man, every acre of the few left mortgaged iip to the gate 
 of the family fortalice, for it can hardly be called castle.” 
 
 “ He has made a great ass of himself,” said Reed, “ and is in 
 luck to find such a residuary legatee as yourself ; you certainly 
 give the best refutation to his insolence by your generous con¬ 
 duct.” 
 
 After some more conversation about the happy old days at 
 Cullingford, Tom Reed, observing his cousin’s pale cheek and 
 drooping eyes, bid the ladies “ Good-evening.” 
 
 “ Do you know I like that cousin of yours so much, Fanny !” 
 cried Mrs. Travers as the door shut upon her departing guest. 
 “There is an undercurrent of good feeling with all his lightness 
 and careless ease.” 
 
 “ I was so surprised to see him quite a fine gentleman.” 
 
 “ A fine gentleman ! My dear Fanny, you must not use oppro¬ 
 brious terms in speaking of your cousin. I believe he is a good 
 fellow, which is a difterent affair altogether. And now, dear 
 child, you look quite worn out. You must go to bed. Tell me, 
 do you feel as if you would be happy and at home Avith me ? I 
 want you to feel so. I am grieved to think I was obliged to lose 
 sight of you for a while. Did you think I had forgotten you, 
 Fanny ?” 
 
 Fanny’s frank bright eyes filled up suddenly. “ Yes, Kate, I 
 did ; and oh ! I cannot tell you how desolate and miserable I 
 was. I felt that if you could forget me, there was no help any¬ 
 where.” 
 
 Mrs. Travers was silent for an instant; then, throwing her arms 
 round her young friend, exclaimed, “ There ! let us not talk about 
 it any more. You know now I did not, that I could not help it; 
 and for the future you may trust me.” 
 
 “ I am sure I can !” cried Fanny, returning her embrace with 
 much warmth. “ And oh, Kate ! what a lovely house you have ; 
 and what beautiful flowers and things! Arc they all really yours? 
 
38 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 I feel half-frightened to hear you order about that polite gentle¬ 
 man who waited on us at dinner.” 
 
 “ Ah ! the change in my exterior life is as nothing to the change 
 within. But come, dear, to bed—to bed—to bed !” 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The two months which succeeded Fanny Lee’s arrival at her 
 friend’s house were certainly the happiest either lady had known 
 for a long time. To Mrs. Travers the sense of freedom, at first 
 suppressed partly by her tender and respectful regret for her 
 deceased husband, and still more by her shrinking from her own 
 natural feelings as unseemly, gained more strength each day. 
 
 While to Fanny the glorious consciousness of having nothing to 
 do but disport herself in the sunshine Fortune had suddenly shed 
 upon her, was enough delight for the present. 
 
 She played and sang prettily, and worked all sorts of fancy- 
 work neatly and tastefully ; but it was wonderful to watch the 
 varied changes she performed in the course of the day—from 
 the piano to her work-table, from the work-table to the garden 
 (weather permitting), from the garden to a sudden and complete 
 re-arrangement of her own room or Mrs. Travers’s, or an enthu¬ 
 siastic compilation of a cap for Mills. It quite fidgeted her to 
 see Mrs. Travers reading steadily for a couple of hours with rapt 
 attention, answering her many questions with unswerving good 
 temper, though often at random. At first, the graver of the two 
 friends tried to preach fixity of purpose, but in vain, and so wisely 
 and quietly gave up the attempt; finding that, although the effort 
 to inculcate first principles was hopeless, whatever she gave Fanny 
 to do as a task for Aer, was most faithfully performed. 
 
 Then, when a rare bright day came, how delightful it was to 
 order the carriage and enjoy a drive in the beautiful country which 
 surrounds Hampton Court! Tom Reed was a great addition to 
 the pleasure of their life. He was a frequent visitor, and was 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 39 
 
 always considered due on Sundays, when he generally arrived 
 armed with Punch and the latest numbers of the best periodicals. 
 Then Mrs. Travers enjoyed hearing the latest political rumours, 
 and a little discussion of the various new opinions perpetually 
 cropping up. Tom Reed, as he was universally called, was a very 
 agreeable companion—bright, keen, accustomed to focus his 
 thoughts, which, if not profound, were shrewd, and sharpened by 
 constant friction with other minds as bright and often deeper than 
 his own ; accustomed by his position on the staff of a high-class 
 morning paper to observe the conflicting currents radiating from 
 the old centres of belief. For Fanny he generally brought curious 
 and valuable morsels of fashionable intelligence, perhaps not so 
 carefully authenticated as they ought to have been, but not the 
 less acceptable on that account. To Reed this easy admittance 
 into the society of two refined and accomplished women, the de¬ 
 lightful, graceful homeliness—if such a combination of terms may 
 be used—of the old-fashioned house at Hampton Court, was won¬ 
 derfully delightful and wholesome. For Tom had had his evil 
 times and trials, and had run the not uncommon round of spend¬ 
 ing all his money in finding out how to make more. 
 
 To Fanny he seemed a fearfully clever, brilliant, sceptical, scorn¬ 
 ful man of fashion, whose wicked theories she constantly set her¬ 
 self to contradict and subvert. Many were the stinging little darts 
 she contrived to launch against the pachydermatous Tom, so that 
 a sparring match between the cousins was generally one of the 
 evening’s amusements. 
 
 The next-door neighbours, too, were sympathetic. The woes of 
 a rich widow were naturally attractive to an impecunious honour¬ 
 able, whose husband, though not defunct, was “ nowhere ” in the 
 world of fashion and respectability. Many were the invitations 
 pressed upon the friends by the Hon. Mrs. Danby and her daugh¬ 
 ters ; but though Fanny Lee often availed herself of these oppor¬ 
 tunities to cultivate the great world, Mrs. Travers, rigidly intent 
 on showing respect to her husband’s memory, invariably refused. 
 An amiable readiness to lend her carriage to the honourable 
 mother and her graceful brood amply compensated for the lack of 
 
40 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 personal intercourse. Various were the scraps of intelligence col¬ 
 lected by Fanny during her visits ; sometimes it was a tit-bit of 
 palace gossip, for Mrs. Danby’s ostensible attraction to Hampton 
 Court was a “ relative ” located in that refuge of impoverished 
 aristocracy. Oftener it was some scandal touching the High 
 Church curate, and oftenest military reports. 
 
 “ Do you know, Kate,” she burst out one day after a drive to 
 Kingston with Mrs. Danby and one of her daughters, “ that the 
 officer who is coming here instead of Major Cunliffe is a Captain 
 or Colonel Upton ; he is a brother officer of Sir Hugh Galbraith, 
 and Mrs. Danby used to know Sir Hugh long ago, and says he was 
 the most tiresome, overbearing man that ever lived, so—” 
 
 “ I trust and hope, Fanny, that you did not speak unadvisedly 
 with your lips, or launch out into abuse of my enemy !” cried Mrs. 
 Travers, interrupting her. “ I am most anxious that no syllable 
 of depreciation should be traced to me or mine,” 
 
 “ I am sure I did not; or at any rate, if I said anything, it was 
 not much,” said Fanny, colouring guiltily. 
 
 “ I am quite sure you did,” said Mrs. Travers, smiling, though 
 annoyed. “ Confess, now, that no devil was ever painted blacker 
 than you depicted poor Sir Hugh.” 
 
 “ No, no, indeed !” exclaimed Fanny earnestly. “ I think I did 
 say that, from all I could learn. Sir Hugh Galbraith was an unfor- 
 gmng, vindictive, insolent, greedy, disagreeable man.” 
 
 “ And that is not much,” said Mrs. Travers resignedly. “ Well, 
 in future, my dear girl, will you kindly keep silence even from bad 
 words if Sir Hugh’s name is mentioned ?” 
 
 “ I will indeed, Kate, if you wish it. But I can tell you Mrs. 
 Danby said three—oh ! five times as much as I did, and ”—lower¬ 
 ing her voice—“ she said, too, that Sir Hugh was on the point of 
 running away with Lady Somebody, or the Countess of Some¬ 
 thing, a married woman, when her father, who was a rich solicitor, 
 found it out, and had him arrested for debt, and so he couldn’t 
 —that is Sir Hugh ; but he was so violent that it took three 
 or four of those dreadful people—bailiffs, I think—to capture 
 
HER DEAREST EOE. 
 
 41 
 
 “ Really, that was taking a very shabby advantage of poor Sir 
 Hugh,” said Mrs. Travers, laughing. “But I do not believe that 
 long story, Fanny ; depend upon it, there is but a slender founda¬ 
 tion for such a legend.” 
 
 “Well, Mrs. Danby assured me it was true ; she heard it from 
 Lord—oh, I do not know who !—who was in the same club with 
 Sir Hugh Galbraith, and—” 
 
 “ It is really no great matter, Fanny ; just promise me, like a 
 good girl, never to talk of him again.” 
 
 “Very well, Kate ; but I must tell you that when Mrs. Danby 
 heard poor dear Mr. Travers was a cousin of Sir Hugh’s, she 
 seemed to know all about him at once. She said, ‘ Dear me, I 
 had no idea it was that Mr. Travers and went on about his high 
 family, and.his riches, and how much she felt for you, and what a 
 distinguished-looking woman you were, and what a pity it was for 
 you to be lost to society, but that time would soon pass, and you 
 could come out a little more. You cannot think what a nice feel¬ 
 ing sort of way she spoke ; and oh, Kate, she wants to know if 
 you would kindly let her have the carriage to-morrow ; she wants 
 to go over to Kew to call on Lady de Courcy.” 
 
 “ I am very sorry, but she cannot have it,” said Mrs. Travers 
 dryly. “ I want to drive into town myself to-morrow. The Indian 
 mail is in, and it is just possible Wall and Wreford may have a 
 reply from Sir Hugh Galbraith. I do hope he will accept my 
 offer, though I should not be surprised if he rejects it with 
 scorn.” 
 
 “ What a stupid, strange man he must be !” observed Fanny. 
 
 Mrs. Travers, somewhat to her surprise, found her conjecture 
 right. Messrs. Wall and Wreford had received a reply to the 
 epistle they had written little more than two months before. 
 They evinced such a decided disinclination to let her see it, that 
 she insisted on perusing it herself. Feeling distrustful of her 
 own self-control, she quietly pocketed it and departed, telling Mr. 
 Wall that she would see him after she had digested the con¬ 
 tents. 
 
 On reaching home, Mrs. Travers felt much cheered on finding 
 
42 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 Tom assisting Fanny in some energetic amateur gardening, which 
 was her last and most lasting whim. 
 
 “ You will stay to dinner, of course ?” she said. “ I want a com¬ 
 mittee of the whole house to discuss Sir Hugh Galbraith’s letter. 
 Mr. Wall has told me so much ; that he rejects my offer ; and, 
 knowing this, I shall take time, and fortify myself with dinner 
 before I read it. I am sure it is odiously insulting.” 
 
 “ Do you know that Mr. Ford is in the drawing-room ?” said 
 Fanny, with the slightest possible grimace. 
 
 “ No, indeed. What does he want ? I suppose only to pay a 
 visit. Well, I cannot ask him to stay to dinner to-day, but I will 
 for Sunday. I could not read out Sir Hugh’s letter before him. 
 Why, I cannot tell, for he has always been most friendly and 
 obliging to me. So, Fanny, I will go in and see him.” 
 
 Mr. Ford was deep in the Times when Mrs. Travers entered and 
 greeted him kindly, yet with a nameless something of caution in 
 her usual frank cordiality, which he did not fail to notice and in¬ 
 terpret to the satisfaction of his immense, yet uneasy vanity. 
 
 “ I trust, my dear Mrs. Travers, you will not consider me in¬ 
 trusive,” he began. 
 
 “ Certainly not, Mr. Ford. I am very glad to see you ; but are 
 you quite well ? you have been suffering from cold ? which is per¬ 
 haps the reason you have kept so long away.” 
 
 “ You are very good to notice my absence when you have the 
 society of so new and agreeable a friend as Mr. Reed.” The head 
 a little bent to one side with a jerk, “ I could scarcely hope—” 
 
 “ Oh, Mr. Reed is a very old friend, as well as a very pleasant 
 one,” interrupted Mrs. Travers carelessly, and by no means in an 
 apologetic tone. “ He is a relation, you know, of dear old Mr. 
 Lee, and was quite a play-fellow of Fanny’s and mine.” 
 
 “ Well,” resumed Ford, “ I have ventured to call, as I see the 
 Indian mail is in, to ask if there is any communication from Sir 
 Hugh Galbraith ?” 
 
 “ There is indeed,” replied Mrs. Travers, sitting down with a sigh; 
 “ and a very decided rejection of my offer. I am quite vexed; 
 perhaps when he thinks better of it, he may change his mind.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 43 
 
 ‘‘ Hum! He is a great fool, that is, unless he has formed 
 any idea that a will more favourable to himself may turn up ; 
 and, even if it does, he would probably be better off with your 
 offer.” 
 
 “ I have no doubt he would,” replied Mrs. Travers, slowly un¬ 
 tying her bonnet. “ I feel quite sure my husband would not have 
 left him as much as I wish to give.” 
 
 “ Suppose my late respected employer was subject to crotchets 
 like other men ?” answered Ford, rubbing his hands slowly to¬ 
 gether, and putting his head slightly to one side, interrogatively. 
 “ What a cruel triumph it would be to Sir Hugh if the bulk of 
 the property had been left to him, and a mere legacy to you !” 
 
 “ Why imagine anything so improbable ?” replied Mrs. Travers 
 calmly, yet with a perceptible tinge of contempt in her tone. 
 “ Mr. Travers would never have been unjust to me.” 
 
 “ No, no, of course not; but. after all, he must have been fallible 
 like other men—very fallible, I should say, or he never would have 
 
 used such words as- But I beg your pardon, you forbade me 
 
 to allude to that unhappy occurrence.” 
 
 “ I did,” said Mrs. Travers shortly ; “ so you ought to avoid 
 ■everything that can possibly lead up to it,” she added good- 
 humouredly. “ And tell me now how is poor old Gregory’s family 
 getting on ? you mention that he left a son and daughter not very 
 well off.” 
 
 “ His son is well to do in his way ; he commands one of Duncan’s 
 ships ; he sailed for China some time after his father’s death ; but 
 the daughter is in bad health ; she is a widow with several children, 
 and very badly off. The brother does what he can for her, but he 
 has a wife and children himself.” 
 
 “Then, my dear Mr. Ford,” cried Mrs. Travers earnestly, “do 
 pray see how she is, and provide what is necessary for her and the 
 poor children. I would go and see her most willingly, but a total 
 stranger—the widow of a man who must be to her in some degree 
 ■a personage, having been her husband’s employer—might be 
 troublesome and oppressive. Pray assure her of my sympathy 
 and readiness to help her. I know Mr. Travers would have done 
 
44 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 so. He valued poor old Mr. Gregory very much, and I feel quite 
 sure he would approve what I propose.” 
 
 “ Certainly,” said Mr. Ford, in a suppressed and rather choked 
 tone. “ Certainly,” he repeated, clearing his throat; “ Gregory 
 was a very faithful servant—and—and—your amiable, generous, 
 readiness to relieve misfortune touches me to the heart.” 
 
 “ I imagine the power to relieve suffering, even in a slight degree, 
 is too great a luxury not to require self-control as much as any 
 other enjoyment,” returned Mrs. Travers carelessly ; while she 
 thought, “ How like an old-fashioned novel he talks !” 
 
 “ It is only one more token of that excellence long ago recognised 
 by me,” resumed Mr. Ford, throwing out his hand, which held a. 
 yellow silk pocket-handkerchief, as though about to throw down 
 his gage to oil comers in defence of the young widow’s amiability 
 and generosity. 
 
 “ Well, well!” she exclaimed good-humouredly, “ I cannot allege 
 the favonrite excuse for keeping one’s money in one’s purse, for I 
 have ver}^ few claims upon me. But, Mr. Ford, when sufficient 
 time has elapsed to assure my authority under Mr. Travers’s will, 
 you, too ”—she hesitated, blushed, and showed a charming gracious 
 confusion—“ you, too, shall find that I am not ungrateful for the 
 friendship yon have always shown us both.” 
 
 “ My dear madam—my dear Mrs. Travers, you are very good ; 
 but you must be aware that there are free-will services, which to 
 pay—” 
 
 “ Would be the cruellest insult,” interrupted Mrs. Travers. 
 “ Certainly I should indeed be ‘ of the earth, earthy ’ if I knew it 
 not. But, Mr. Ford, I am not without my ambitions. If the 
 house of Travers really passes into my hands, I should like to 
 keep it up, to increase its prestige, to renew its youth ; to prove 
 to the world—my husband’s world—that I am no unworthy 
 inheritor of his name and fortune.” She rose as she spoke, and 
 began almost unconsciously to move to and fro. “ And in the 
 pursuit of such an object might I not also do you justice, as well 
 as prove my respect for you—my confidence in you, and improve 
 your position ? Not, I confess, that I should, unless I change 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 45 
 
 considerably, like partners—even a junior partner. I should like 
 to rule alone, but I might improve your position materially.” 
 
 She paused. Mr. Ford listened eagerly as she spoke, and passed 
 his handkerchief rapidly over his face. 
 
 “ You are quite a mercantile Portia,” he said, in a thick, husky 
 tone, that cleared as he proceeded. “ It is remarkable to observe 
 the natural enthusiasm of youth directing itself into such a 
 channel.” 
 
 “ Ah! you despise my youth,” she cried, pausing and leaning 
 against the back of a chair, while a delicate colour stole over her 
 cheek, for it takes long experience to steel the soul against a sneer. 
 “ But, you must remember, I am older than my years ; that I have 
 studied to be old, and almost succeeded.” 
 
 “ Your ambition is, I am sure, worthy of all respect,” returned 
 Ford ; but he dragged out his words with a visible effort. A short 
 silence ensued, and Ford resumed : “ Then Sir Hugh Galbraith 
 shows himself quite inimical to your just rights, as they at present 
 appear ?” 
 
 “ Yes—quite—nay, he threatens to contest the will; indeed, Mr. 
 Wall seems to think he has some idea that another exists. I have 
 not yet seen the letter. Suppose,” continued Mrs. Travers with 
 the odd sort of restless desire to get rid of him which generally 
 came over her—“ suppose you come and dine here on Sunday, and 
 we will talk it all over. I am sure you will be interested ; and 
 more, if necessary, you will help me to fight tlois man.” 
 
 She smiled very sweetly upon Ford as she spoke. He made a 
 slight sudden movement towards her, which he dexterously turned 
 into typical hand-washing, and began to speak with eagerness. 
 
 “ You know well—” then checking himself, he recommenced— 
 
 You may, indeed, count on me ; and, insignificant as I seem, I 
 may possess more power than you think. Be that as it may, I 
 believe you know the deep interest, the—the—friendship, if you 
 will accept the expression, that I entertain for you ; and whatever 
 course you may decide upon, I shall be at your service, with or 
 without reward. Thai is a matter on which I do not dare allow 
 my thoughts to dwell.” 
 
46 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE, 
 
 “ No, no ! I am siire you do not,” returned Mrs. Travers with 
 complimentary readiness, quite heedless of his dramatic emphasis, 
 her mind preoccupied by the letter she longed, yet half feared, to 
 read. “ You are much above any personal considerations; but 
 you shall not find me ungrateful, I assure you ; so,” holding out 
 her hand, “ do not forget Sunday. We dine at five on Sundays.” 
 
 Ford’s countenance darkened, and his smile, as he accepted his 
 dismissal, was very snaky. 
 
 “ And, oh, Mr. Ford, be sure you see poor Mrs. Bell, old Gregory’s 
 daughter. I wish you would send me her address.” 
 
 “ I will do so,” he replied ; and, bowing stiffly, departed. 
 
 “ There is something the matter with that man,” thought the 
 young widow, as she walked towards her dressing-room. “ He is 
 .changed in some way ; but he is a very good fellow. He must be 
 —he always has been—and why should he change ? I wonder why 
 I am always so glad when he is gone !” 
 
 Dinner passed less agreeably than usual, for the three friends 
 were oppressed by the anticipated unpleasantness of Sir Hugh’s 
 letter. Tom Keed did considerably the largest share of the talk¬ 
 ing. At last the more solid portion of the repast was cleared 
 away ; the grave and discreet Edwards gave the final touch to the 
 dessert dishes, which perfected their mathematical precision, and 
 departed. 
 
 “ Now or never, Mrs. Travers—courage ! Take a glass of sherry, 
 and open the fatal scroll.” 
 
 “ Oh, I am quite equal to the occasion without such extraneous 
 aid,” returned Mrs. Travers, smiling, as she drew forth the letter 
 and opened it slowly. “ What a horrible hand ! but cruelly firm. 
 It has evidently been dashed off in hot haste. I must glance 
 through it before I read aloud.” (Reed and Fanny naturally 
 looked at their hostess as her eyes eagerly scanned the page. First, 
 the quick colour flushed up to her brow, then faded away as rapidly, 
 and left her almost pale. When she came to the end she laid it 
 down for an instant with a slight, bitter smile.) “ Listen to this !” 
 she exclaimed, taking it up again, and proceeding to read in a clear, 
 quiet voice : — 
 
HER DEAREST EOE. 
 
 47 
 
 “ Gentlemen, 
 
 “ I am in receipt of yours of-, announcing the death 
 
 of my cousin, Mr. Richard Travers, and the liberal intentions of 
 his widow towards me. Be so good as to inform your client that 
 I am not disposed, by accepting obligations from her; to imply 
 approbation of the deplorable weakness which disgraced the close 
 of my unfortunate relative’s life. I think it right to add a report 
 that another and a very different will is in existence has reached 
 me. I am on the point of starting for England, to ascertain, as 
 far as possible, the truth, and, in any case, to try if the law can 
 uphold a will so infamously unjust, and made evidently under the 
 undue influence of a lady whose antecedents could not have exactly 
 fitted her to be Mr. Travers’s adviser. I, therefore, prefer claiming 
 my possible rights to sharing the spoil with her, and beg that I may 
 receive no further propositions on the subject. 
 
 “ I hare the honour to be, gentlemen, &c., &c., 
 
 “ Hugh Galbraith.” 
 
 When Mrs. Travers ceased reading, she looked up at her listeners 
 and kept silence. 
 
 “ W’’hat a bitter bad temper the man must have been in when he 
 wrote that!” cried Tom Reed. 
 
 “ I am sure he is a detestable, ungrateful thing !” added Fanny. 
 
 “You see W^all was not so far wrong when he said that too 
 liberal an offer might suggest an idea of being bought off,” con¬ 
 tinued Reed. 
 
 “ To a mind of Sir Hugh’s calibre, perhaps,” said Mrs. Travers 
 slowly, with her eyes still fixed on the letter. “ See,” she went on, 
 handing it over to Reed, “ he had written ‘ woman ’ before ‘ lady,’ 
 and put his pen through it, not lildng, I suppose, to be convention¬ 
 ally rude.” 
 
 “ Yes, yes, I see,” he replied, as he glanced over Sir Hugh’s 
 effusion. “ A most unwarrantable letter—ungentlemanlike, even. 
 You really deserve some credit for taking it so calmly.” 
 
 “ Do I ?” returned Mrs. Travers. “ Do I take it calmly ? If it 
 ever happens that I can pay my debt to Sir Hugh, he will not faro 
 
48 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 tlie better for my calmness ! What have I ever done to deserve 
 such treatment ? That he should be hurt and disappointed by my 
 husband’s will I am not surprised ; but does he think Mr. Travers 
 had not a right to marry any one he liked ? And why should I be 
 so distasteful to Sir Hugh Galbraith ? Surely he does not fancy 
 that we are still in the feudal ages, when humble birth was more 
 disgraceful than misconduct ? Why should he disdain me without 
 knowing me ? Pooh ! Why do I trouble myself with such con¬ 
 jectures ? What is he and his contempt to me ? I can well afford 
 to despise both.” 
 
 She had spoken with repressed vehemence, and stopped abruptly. 
 Reed looked up earnestly, as if struck by her tone, and Fanny 
 exclaimed : 
 
 “ And I dare say you are just as well born ! I always heard your 
 father—” 
 
 “ Nonsense, Fanny,” interrupted Mrs. Travers. “ I only know 
 and acknowledge my mother’s relations, who are of the people. 
 The only help we ever had was from cousin Hicks, and poor 
 cousin Hicks was not a model of good breeding ; but I do not 
 think he would have attributed such an offer as mine to a desire 
 to preserve the lion’s share of the spoil.” 
 
 “ He certainly never would be such an idiot as to refuse a good 
 offer and run his head against the clievaux-de-frise of the law, as 
 Sir Hugh threatens ; but it is a mere threat! When he arrives in 
 England he will find out how absurd any attempt to shake your 
 position would be.” 
 
 “ I suppose he will, Tom,” returned Mrs. Travers. “ Still, this 
 man will give me trouble and pain. He has been wronged, and I 
 cannot make it right. Try and throw it back as I will, his scorn 
 hurts me ; the material superiority of my position hurts me. You 
 may laugh, Tom; but I should like to give him his choice of 
 weapons and beat him in a fair fight. My money is my weak 
 point.” 
 
 “ Long may you continue to suffer from such weakness!” ex¬ 
 claimed Reed fervently. “You really are the most chivalrous lady 
 I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 40 
 
 “ Oh, I dare say you think me very silly—but I am what I am. 
 He says he is coming to England. I feel that his arrival will be 
 the beginning of tronbles.” 
 
 “ I am sure I wish some one would give him a bear’s hug and 
 finish him,” cried Fanny indignantly. “ Never mind, Kate ! He 
 cannot take away everything from you, as he would like, I dare saj^ 
 So you must try and forget him and be happy. Do not let him 
 vex you.” 
 
 “ I shall try and follow your advice, dear,” returned Mrs. Travers, 
 smiling, and resuming her usual tone, as the indignant colour which 
 had mounted to her cheek faded away. “ Come, let us go into the 
 drawing-room ; and, to turn our thoughts, suppose we plan out 
 that little tour I have projected for the summer?” 
 
 Accordingly the three friends adjourned into the pleasant, 
 perfumed drawing-room, where “Bradshaw” and “Murray” 
 helped them to much lively talk and delightful plans. Mrs. 
 Travers was unusually bright, and Sir Hugh seemed forgotten. 
 
 But long after Tom Reed had bid good-night, and Fanny Lee’s 
 bright eyes were closed in sleep, Mrs. Travers sat thinking, with 
 her elbows on her dressing-table, and her chin resting on her 
 hands, till her candle was burnt down in the socket; and then she 
 started up, extinguished it, and opening the shutter, brushed out 
 her long, chestnut-brown hair in the cold moonlight. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The next Sunday was one of those bright soft days that seem 
 stolen from a riper season, just as a sample of the dehghts which 
 more advanced spring has in store. Already the almond and lilac 
 trees showed attempts at budding, the crocuses and violets made a 
 respectable show in the garden, and Mrs. Travers’s rooms were 
 sweet with hyacinths. 
 
 Thither, in Sunday garb of most irreproachable cut and hue, 
 with tightly-buttoned, handsomely-stitched gloves, and a silk 
 
 4 
 
50 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 umbrella rolled into the dimensions of a walking-stick, came Ford. 
 He first loomed upon Fanny’s active vision at churcb, and sbe, 
 with her usual impulsiveness, bestowed an energetic nudge upon 
 her friend, who was busied in finding the hymn just given out ; 
 but Mrs. Travers was not unaccustomed to Fanny’s nudges, and 
 did not even lift her eyes from her book. 
 
 On coming out of church, the Hon. Mrs. Danby pounced upon 
 Mrs. Travers, for whom she had lain in wait; for the young widow 
 generally kept back till the rest of the congregation had partially 
 dispersed. 
 
 “ How do yon do, my dear Mrs. Travers ? I was glad to see 
 you in church, for Georgey and I fancied, from not seeing you 
 anywhere, that you were not so well—cold or something. It is 
 such uncertain, trying weather.” 
 
 “ Oh, I am perfectly well, thank you,” replied Mrs. Travers 
 cheerfully. 
 
 “ Suppose we walk on ?” 
 
 Here Mr. Ford drew near, looking slightly embarrassed, 3"et 
 determined. 
 
 “ Certainly,” replied Mrs. Travers ; then, holding out her hand, 
 “ Good-morning, Mr. Ford ; I did not expect to see j'ou in church. 
 Fanny, here is Mr. Ford !”—and Fanny felt he was committed to 
 her care. 
 
 Mrs. Danby and her daughter looked at him with an instant’s 
 short, sharp curiosity, and then the party fell into a natural march 
 ing order, the married ladies in front, the young ones, escorted by 
 gallant Ford, in the rear. Now it is remarkable that, although 
 speaking very correct English, with a good accent, although a well- 
 informed and tolerably good-looking individual, both Miss Danby 
 and her mother decided in their own minds that he was, according 
 to their scornful generalisation, some “ tinker or tailor or candle¬ 
 stick maker ” from the City. Meantime they walked on harmoni¬ 
 ously together. 
 
 “ I want jmu to waive ceremony and come in to us to-morrow 
 evening, my dear Mrs. Travers,” said the honourable dame per¬ 
 suasively. “ There will only be my cousin, Lady Georgina Verner, 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 51 
 
 her nephew Lord Delamere, who is quartered here, and Colonel 
 TJpfcon, who is an Indian hero just returned. You might like to 
 meet him, for he is a great chum of your connection, Sir Hugh 
 Galbraith. It is quite a family gathering ; no party, a little music 
 and a rubber. There could not be the slightest impropriety.” 
 
 “ Thank you very much,” returned Mrs. Travers, gently but 
 decidedly. “ I could not think of leaving my own house for some 
 months to come. Do not think me ungracious. In such matter’s, 
 I suppose individual feeling makes the law.” 
 
 I really think you are too scrupulous, dear Mrs. Travers. It 
 is not wise, or even Christian, to indulge in morbid regrets, which 
 only unfit us for the duties of that state of life to which we are 
 called,” observed Mrs. Danby, in a highly religious tone. 
 
 But Mrs. Travers was not to be moved ; the prospect of meet¬ 
 ing an old chum of Sir Hugh Galbraith was anything but attractive 
 to her, and she politely though firmly repeated her refusal. 
 
 “ Well, your charming young friend will perhaps join us ?” 
 
 This Mrs, Travers left an open point, determined to ask Fanny 
 to stay at home, as she did not at all like the idea of her “ charm¬ 
 ing” but communicative young friend being brought in contact 
 even with the enemy’s most remote outpost. 
 
 The parties separated at their respective houses, and Mrs. Tra¬ 
 vers addressed herself pleasantly to Mr. Ford. 
 
 “ Come in, Mr. Ford; I dare say we shall find Mr. Eeed. He 
 generally comes down on Sundays, but, I regret to say, does not 
 appear at church.” 
 
 “ I must beg you to believe,” returned Ford, following her into 
 the house, “ that, although compelled by railway exigencies to 
 make my appearance at so unreasonable an hour, I do not intend 
 to bore you all day ; a walk across Bushey Park, after a week at 
 the desk, will be a great refreshment.” 
 
 “ I am very happy to see you, Mr. Ford,” said the young widow 
 simply. “ Pray stroll about, or sit indoors and read, just as you 
 like.” 
 
 Contrary to Mrs. Travers’s expectations, Tom Eeed was not 
 awaiting them, and luncheon proceeded much more formally in 
 
 4—2 
 
52 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 consequence. Mr. Ford was very elaborately agreeable. He con¬ 
 veyed all the latest news he could collect in the most polite phrases, 
 but Fanny was rather inattentive, and disposed to watch the 
 window opposite her, which commanded a view of the entrance ; 
 observing which, Mrs. Travers remarked, “ We cannot expect 
 Tom now, till quite late in the evening, and I do not think he will 
 come at all.” 
 
 “ I dare say he will not,” returned Fanny. 
 
 They shortly after adjourned to the drawing-room. 
 
 “ I wish,” said Mrs. Travers to her companion, “ you would be 
 good-natured, and take a Avalk with Mr. Ford.” 
 
 This was a whispered aside, while he was critically examining 
 an illustrated work on church architecture, which the High Church 
 curate had persuaded Mrs. Travers to buy. 
 
 “I will if you like,” said Fanny, with her usual good humour. 
 “ Mr. Ford,” she continued, “ will you take me with you ? or shall 
 I be in your way ?” 
 
 “ My dear young lady, I am greatly gratified at the idea of such 
 companionship; but shall we leave Mrs. Travers alone? Would' 
 she not join us ?” 
 
 “ No, thank you, Mr. Ford, I never go out on Sundays; but a 
 brisk walk would do Fanny a world of good.” 
 
 Fanny made a pretty “ mow ” behind Mr. Ford’s back, and ran 
 away to put on her bonnet. 
 
 “ I have heard, since I had the pleasure of seeing you,” said 
 Ford, drawing his chair near Mrs. Travers, “ that Sir Hugh Gal¬ 
 braith was to have started, or had started, from Calcutta the first 
 of this month ; so that he will probably arrive in England in about 
 a fortnight.” 
 
 “ Indeed !” she replied, and then remained silent and absorbed 
 in thought, her large dark blue eyes distended, gazing fixedly on 
 vacancy. 
 
 Ford looked at her intently, quite unperceived by her, until he 
 suddenly rose from his chair, and executed his favourite flank 
 movement upon the window. Then she said with a smile : 
 
 “ Well, Mr. Ford, he may come or go. I must trouble myself 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 53 
 
 no further about him. He has rejected my offer with more than 
 scorn, and has evidently heard some rumour of the second will, for 
 he threatens to dispute the first. Oh, what would I not give to 
 find that second will, or to know certainly that it does not exist! 
 I shall never feel really safe or settled until I am satisfied one way 
 or the other.” 
 
 “It is a painful position for you,” said Ford, once more seating 
 himself beside her ; “ but I think you may make up your mind 
 that nothing more will ever be discovered, although I once knew 
 a case somewhat in point where, after a year, the final will was 
 found. But as to Sir Hugh’s threats, they are not worth think¬ 
 ing of.” 
 
 “ So Mr. Reed tells me ; and I will try not to think of them. 
 Pray, Mr. Ford ”—with an abrupt change of voice —“ have you 
 been able to see poor Mr. Gregory’s daughter for me ?” 
 
 “ No, indeed, I regret to say,” replied Ford. “ I have been much 
 engaged since we met, but I have ascertained her address.” 
 
 “ Oh, thank you. Pray give it to me. Perhaps I had better 
 call. I have much more time to spare than you, and I ought not 
 to trouble you.” 
 
 “Trouble!” repeated Ford, emphatically. “When did I ever 
 think anything a trouble for you ?” 
 
 There was a perceptible quiver in his voice. Mrs. Travers looked 
 up quickly with a startled expression, meeting his eyes steadily. 
 
 “ Oh, you may be so good as not to consider me tx’oublesome,” 
 she said, with a certain quiet, careless composure, very refrige¬ 
 rating to an ardent, vain, timid man. “ But I am all the more 
 bound not to give you trouble. So let me have the address, and 
 I shall call upon this poor woman in a day or two.” 
 
 There was a tinge of command in both voice and manner that 
 suited her well ; and Ford instantly obeyed. 
 
 “ There,” he said, taking a slip of paper from his pocket-book. 
 “ It is not a very attractive locality, you observe.” Then, after a 
 moment’s pause, “ I trust I have not unwittingly offended by 
 involuntarily falling back to the tone warranted in former, and to 
 me, happier days.” 
 
54 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “No, no!” cried Mrs. Travers, her frank, kindly nature dreading 
 to seem unfriendly or haughty in her prosperity. “ I always re¬ 
 member-” 
 
 The entrance of Fanny with her bonnet on saved the impulsive 
 widow from too fascinating an amende, though perhaps the sugges¬ 
 tiveness of her unfinished sentence permitted a wider range to 
 Ford’s far-reaching vanity than the most unguarded words. 
 
 “ Well, Miss Lee !’’ cried that gentleman, with head erect and 
 sparkling eyes. “ I am at your service. I dare say you can direct 
 our steps to some pretty bits of scenery. Do you ever try any 
 sketching ? If so, and I could give you a hint or two, I should be 
 most happy. In other days I had almost elected an artistic line, 
 and, but for one circumstance, regret I did not.” 
 
 “ It would have been much nicer than doing sums all day, I 
 am sure,” returned Fanny. “ Come along, Mr. Ford ; it is past 
 two.” 
 
 Mrs. Travers felt unusually pleased when Ford disappeared, 
 but was too much occupied with other thoughts than to bestow 
 any on him. The near approach of Sir Hugh Galbraith filled her 
 with undefinable and unreasonable uneasiness ; but she made a 
 resolute and successful effort to banish him from her mind. 
 “ There is no use in going to meet trouble half way,” she reflected ; 
 “ he can do me no real harm.” She looked at the address given 
 her by Ford. “ ‘ Mrs. Bell, Duke’s Square, Lambeth, near Vaux- 
 hall.” I will try and see her to-morrow ; perhaps it is foolish and 
 Quixotic to go myself, but it cannot be wrong ; and I have so 
 much time, and help must seem long in coming to her, poor soul.” 
 So the fair widow’s thoughts flowed out in benevolent plans, in 
 half-sad, half-sweet reminiscences. How long she sat in luxurious 
 solitude she did not know, when she was roused by an opening 
 door and the announcement of “ Mr. Reed.” 
 
 “ My dear Tom, I am so glad to see you ! What became of you 
 this morning ; and how have you managed to arrive at this unusual 
 hour ?” 
 
 “Well, you see, one of ‘our own correspondents’ has just 
 arrived from India. Has been with Outram at Delhi; and we 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 F>5 
 
 were late last night, or rather this morning. The 21oniing 
 Thresher men gave him a supper ; so he offered to drive me 
 down, as he was coming to see some fellow he knew in India who 
 is quartered here.” 
 
 “ Well, I am very glad to sfee you. Will you have some 
 luncheon ?” 
 
 “ No, thank you ; I have just finished breakfast and Tom 
 Reed ensconced himself in a comfortable chair, yet seemed restless, 
 while Mrs. Travers asked and received the news. 
 
 “ What is the matter, Tom ?” she said at length. “ You seem 
 on the look-out for something. “ Oh, I know! I suspect you 
 miss Fanny’s attacks. She is out; she good-naturedly undertook 
 to guide Mr. Ford to some picturesque points ; and I was not sorry 
 to be left in peace.” 
 
 “ Oh, indeed, they will be back to dinner, then ?” 
 
 “Yes, unless they elope ; and I am sure Mr. Ford is much too 
 proper to suggest such a thing,” returned Mrs. Travers, laughing. 
 
 “ Then you do not think the difficulty would arise on Fanny’s 
 side ?” said Reed, a little querulously. 
 
 “ Poor dear Fanny ! she would inevitably box his ears if the 
 spirit moved him so far. Under enormous excitement, I could 
 fahcy Mr. Ford on one knee exclaiming, ‘ A carriage-and-four 
 awaits us in the ravine ; fly with me !’ or some such correct incor¬ 
 rectness ; but I can ?iot fancy Fan saying ‘ Yes.’ Ah ! Tom, Tom, 
 you must put up with me, only me, for the next half-hour.” 
 
 “ Only you !” cried Reed. “ And am I not the luckiest of dogs 
 to have a tHe-a-tete with you even for once ; to have the entree of 
 your pleasant home-like house. Seriously, you have done me a 
 world of good. Do you know I am crystallising into a degree of 
 steadiness calculated to result in a millionaire condition, if I only 
 had a trifle to begin with. As it is, I trust it may not impart a 
 solidity to my pen which will unfit it for lighter literature.” 
 
 “ Do not fear. Volatility is so ingrained in you that any graver 
 habits contracted here will be but the sponge-cake underlying the 
 whipt cream of your existence.” 
 
 “ Perhaps so,” returned Tom gravely. “ All I can say is, that 
 
5G 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 the cream of my existence has been very considerably whipt 
 hitherto.” 
 
 Mrs. Travers smiled. “ You would not be so good a fellow if 
 the rod of circumstance had been more sparingly applied.” 
 
 “ So be it; but the process has had its unpleasantness.” 
 
 “ No doubt. Now tell me, what wonders did ‘ your own cor¬ 
 respondent ’ tell of his adventures in India ? I dare say I have 
 read the best of them ; but a little private bit flatters one’s 
 vanity.” 
 
 “ Well, curiously enough, our talk all the way down here was 
 about Sir Hugh Galbraith. Markham (that’s our man) knew him 
 well.” 
 
 “ You do not say so!” exclaimed Mrs. Travers, with much 
 interest. “ And what does he say of him ?” 
 
 “ He evidently likes him : says he is not a bad fellow—a 
 thorough soldier ; a keen sportsman ; rather silent and haughty, 
 but as plucky as a—well, as a well-bred Englishman gene¬ 
 rally is.” 
 
 “ Or an ill-bred one either,” put in Mrs. Travers. 
 
 “ Well, as an Englishman, then. Perhaps, when he comes to 
 England, he may be induced to hear reason and do you justice.” 
 
 “ That I imagine he will never do,” said Mrs. Travers. “ How 
 is it that he has not arrived as well as this correspondent of 
 yours ?” 
 
 “ Oh, his passage was taken, I understand, but he was too ill to 
 go on board. It seems he was rather severely wounded defending 
 the entrance to a fort with a handful of men, to give the women 
 and sick time to escape. I hear he is to have the Victoria 
 Cross.” 
 
 “ Indeed,” returned Mrs. Travers coldly ; and, after a minute’s 
 silence, added, “ then he can hardly be here befoi’e the end of 
 March.” 
 
 “ I should think not,” said Eeed, rising and walking towards 
 the window. “ It is very fine, Mrs. Travers ; do you not feel dis¬ 
 posed to follow Fanny’s example, and come out ?” 
 
 “ No, I do not, Tom, she replied, smiling ; “ but pray do not 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 57 
 
 mind me. I see you are longing to be away—go ; and if you 
 bend your steps towards Bushey Park, you will probably meet the 
 truants.” 
 
 “ Ah, you want to get rid of me !” cried Tom. “ You have 
 some delightful novel hidden away somewhere which I interfere 
 with ; so I am off.” He waved his hand to his fair hostess, and 
 ran downstairs with his usual alert rapidity. 
 
 Mrs. Travers looked after him with a kindly, half-amused smile ; 
 but though she rose and took a thick, tough-looking book from 
 her writing-table, it lay open unread for a long time upon her 
 knee. Partly she thought of Tom Reed’s irrepressible uneasiness 
 when he found Fanny was absent, but more of his careless sen¬ 
 tence, “ I hear he is to have the Yictoria Cross.” It was curious 
 how it ruffled the repose of her mind to hear of any worth in 
 Hugh Galbraith—any liking towards him in others. It always 
 seemed to reflect reproach upon her dead husband and herself— 
 and how much she had offended in urging Mr. Travers to do him 
 justice, no one save herself knew. It was such an effort to her to 
 speak to Mr. Travers on any forbidden subject, and Galbraith was 
 always tabooed. How, all her efforts were worse than useless! 
 Well, she had, at all events, striven to do right; and she could 
 not help believing that her conduct would come to light some day, 
 even if not .... She raised her book and strove to read, but 
 only succeeded brokenly ; disagreeable thoughts would flit be¬ 
 tween her mind and the subject before it. It was quite a relief 
 to hear Fanny’s voice on the stairs, and to receive the three 
 pedestrians. 
 
 “ I was so surprised to see Tom !” cried Fanny, as she entered. 
 “ I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw him coming along. 
 We have had such a nice walk; have we not, Mr. Ford ?” 
 
 “ I should be a very strange individual to deny it,” returned 
 that gentleman, with much urbanity. “ I wish we could have 
 persuaded you, Mrs. Travers, to have joined us ; I think you 
 would have enjoyed the delicious spring feeling, the charming 
 views.” 
 
 “ No doubt, Mr. Ford ; but I seldom go out on Sunday. Now, 
 
58 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 dinner -will be ready in five minutes, so those who wish to adorn 
 had better do so.” 
 
 C- O O Q O O 
 
 The day but one after this conversation, Mrs. Travers, yielding 
 to a kindly impulse, determined to seek out the old clei’k’s daughter 
 herself. A deep grateful sense of happiness had been developing 
 within her, and gradually pervading her whole being during the 
 three months of harmonious quiet which had succeeded her hus¬ 
 band’s death. It was in vain she reproached herself for this dis¬ 
 loyalty to his memory ; in vain she told herself that her mourning 
 should be deeper and more prolonged for him to whom she owed 
 everything. Nature was too strong to be held back from its irre¬ 
 pressible germination. She felt she was young and fair; she 
 knew she was free, rich, full to the lips with life, and she looked 
 round, longing to bestow some of her happiness on others. Sub¬ 
 scriptions to useful charities were all very right; but she wanted 
 to say to some sorrowful ones, “ Here, take of my abundance ; let 
 me have the supreme pleasure of drying your tears.” She longed 
 to give relief, not rnerely by gifts, but by the balm of personal 
 sympathy. So she started in the most generous mood—she went 
 alone. 
 
 “ Poor old Mr. Gregory’s people must be superior,” she thought. 
 “ His daughter will speak more freely to me, if I am alone.” 
 She therefore took the train to Vauxhall, and a cab from thence 
 to the address given her by Ford. It was a better locality than 
 she expected. The square was a large grass-plot, adorned by a 
 few weeping-willows, fenced by wooden rails painted white, and 
 surrounded by old fashioned, respectable-looking red-brick houses. 
 The one she sought had a brass plate on the door, which announced 
 “ Mrs. Bell’s establishment for young ladies.” As Mrs. Travers 
 rang, the door opened, and a stout, square-looking man, in a brown 
 overcoat and baggy trousers, came out; he had a tall, fluffy hat 
 that seemed to have been brushed the wrong way, and held a book 
 with a brass clasp, out of which various papers protruded. He 
 was followed by a small pale woman, with a strained, imploring 
 expression in her eyes, and hair much whiter than it ought to have 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 59 
 
 been at her years. She was dressed in rusty black, and had a 
 small, grey, knitted shawl drawn tight round her shoulders ; yet 
 was there no tinge of commonness in her aspect, nor in her accent, 
 as she answered the man’s imperative “ On Monday, then, at 
 farthest,” with a low, sad-toned, “ On Monday, if I possibly can 
 and then continued standing, the door in her hand, as he walked 
 away—looking with surprise at Mrs. Travers. 
 
 “ I wish, if convenient to her, to see Mrs. Bell,” said she, ad¬ 
 vancing and drawing a card from her case. 
 
 “ I am Mrs. Bell, returned the little woman with a sigh, as if 
 the name was identified with trouble ; “ walk in, if you please.” 
 
 She led the way into what was evidently a schoolroom, as the 
 front and back parlours opened into each other, and were scantily 
 supplied with desks and forms. 
 
 “ Pray sit down,” continued Mrs. Bell, drawing forward the 
 only chair in the room, which had a relaxed cane seat. “ I pre¬ 
 sume you have called about my advertisement.” 
 
 “ No,” said Kate Travers ; “ I was not aware of any advertise¬ 
 ment,” and she placed her card in the little woman’s thin, tremu¬ 
 lous hand. 
 
 “ Mrs. Travers !” she exclaimed in great surprise. “ This is most 
 unexpected !”—the tears stood in her eyes, and her lips quivered. 
 
 “ I have taken the liberty of calling on you,” said jMrs. Travers, 
 colouring, and feeling keenly the awkwardness of venturing to 
 intrude her knowledge of the difficulties with which this poor soul 
 had to contend upon her notice—“ because—because your late 
 father was much respected by Mr. Travers ; and had not his own 
 illness come on so soon after Mr. Gregory’s death, he would, I 
 
 doubt not, have made it his business to ascertain-” she paused, 
 
 at a loss how to proceed. • 
 
 “ Yes,” returned Mrs. Bell breathlessly, her thin hands clutch¬ 
 ing nervously at her shawl. 
 
 “ If he could have been of any use to you,” resumed Kate 
 Travers, clearing her difficulties at a bound; “ and I have come 
 to act for him. Will you forget I am a stranger, and speak to me 
 openly of your affairs ?” 
 
60 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 The land, frank eyes, the sweet, modest, hesitating voice, that 
 seemed to ask rather than to confer a favour, melted the struggling 
 woman’s heart. A sudden overpowering gleam of hope seemed to 
 turn her giddy : she leant her elbows on one of the desks, and, 
 covering her face with her hands, she kept silence for one trem¬ 
 bling moment. 
 
 “ You are very, very good !” she exclaimed at length ; “ and I 
 heartily thank you ; but I fear, I greatly fear, it is almost too late 
 for help.” 
 
 “ Do not say so,” cried Mrs. Travers, feeling at ease now that 
 the ice was broken. “ I am sure, if you will confide in me, some¬ 
 thing can be done—some way of escape found.” 
 
 She spoke warmly and quickly, for, without a word of explana¬ 
 tion, she perceived that her listener was in great trouble. After a 
 few more sentences had been exchanged, Mrs. Bell’s shy reserve 
 gave way, and, while unheeded tears welled over and stole down 
 her sunken cheek, she told her whole story. 
 
 While her father lived with her, she was comparatively pros¬ 
 perous ; he paid her rent, and further contributed to the cost of 
 the little household. She had a fairly successful school, and had 
 contrived to educate her daughter, now grown up, a son, who had 
 evidently been a “ ne’er-do-weel,” whose illness and death not long 
 before his grandfather’s had helped to exhaust her scanty savings, 
 and another boy, her youngest, who was not yet twelve years old. 
 But with her father she lost her mainstay. Her school fluctuated ; 
 she got behind with her rent. Her landlord had, perhaps unfortu¬ 
 nately, been tolerably patient; she had struggled on, not liking to 
 throw away the connection she had formed, especially as “ dear 
 Gracey ” had just come home “ finished ” from an excellent school, 
 where she had gained nearly all the prizes, and worked with her 
 whole soul in order to be a help to the “ dear mother ” at home, 
 and Mrs. Bell could therefore offer fresh advantages to her 
 pupils. 
 
 Do what she would, however, the net closed round the poor 
 woman ; and, as the last chance of paying her debts and setting 
 herself and daughter free, she had advertised her school for sale. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 61 
 
 hoping to make an existence by giving lessons, as she could no 
 longer receive pupils. They had now nearly come to the end of 
 all their resources—the widow’s brother was at sea, had been un¬ 
 heard of for months—the landlord had just left, after informing 
 her that, if not paid on Monday, he must seize her furniture. 
 
 “ And all will go,” concluded ]Mrs. Bell, who had talked herself 
 into composure; “ for, between rent and taxes, there are nearlj^ 
 twenty-five pounds due. Then I do not know where to turn! 
 With this house will go my last chance of independence. And 
 there is poor Georgie ; he has not been to school for three months 
 —what is to become of him ?” 
 
 “ You must have courage still,” said Kate, taking her hand, while 
 sympathetic tears stood in her eyes. “ The house shall not go nor 
 the furniture.” 
 
 “ But, dear madam, it would take such a large sum to set me 
 straight.” 
 
 “ How much ?” returned Mrs. Travers quickly. 
 
 “ Well, you see, I ought to be sure of six months’ rent besides 
 what is due, and just the little weekly bills, and a trifle of ready 
 money for books and things. Oh, I am afraid I dare not stay on 
 with less than seventy pounds, and that is a fortune !” 
 
 “ Kevertheless, you shall have it,” cried Kate Travers impul¬ 
 sively—“ you shall indeed! I am certain, if my husband had 
 known about you, he would have done as much or more.” 
 
 “ But, Mrs. Travers, pray think what a large sum it is to pro¬ 
 mise ! Your kind heart is moved by the story of my troubles. I 
 should be so sorry to huiry you into anything you would regret.” 
 
 “ You shall have the half to-morrow,” returned Kate, “ and the 
 rest in a week ; so pray cheer up, and set to work to inform all your 
 friends that your school is not to be given up ; and as to your boy,” 
 —she stopped—a list of all the institutions of which Mr. Travers 
 had been a governor, or a benefactor, rose before her mental vision— 
 
 we must provide for his education in some way.” 
 
 But her hearer was faint, and overcome by this unexpected turn 
 of fortune. Mrs. Travers, frightened to see her look so pale, hastily 
 rang the bell, which was immediately answered by a graceful. 
 
62 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 pretty, dark-eyed girl, a youthful picture of the faded woman who 
 was now sobbing hysterically as she sat upon one of the forms, 
 with her head against an ink-splashed desk. A few minutes of 
 confusion and misunderstanding, and then the glorious news of 
 their emancipation was made known to “ Gracey,” who, though 
 preserving her composure, was evidently as much overjoyed as her 
 mother. 
 
 “ The good God has sent you to us!” she said, in a choking 
 voice. “ I have no fear of the future if we can but keep up the 
 schpol, and people always liked to send their children to mother. 
 Then, if we can let a couple of rooms upstairs, we shall do well. 
 Oh, you have indeed given us hope and strength !” 
 
 Kate remained some time talking over the simple plans of'mothel¬ 
 and daughter, deeply thankful that she had come herself without 
 loss of time, and utterly winning the hearts of both by the un- 
 atfected friendliness of her interest in their projects. She could 
 collect from their conversation that theirs had been lives of unre¬ 
 mitting industry and humble content; no worthier recipients of 
 her bounty could be found. 
 
 How little it cost to restore sunshine to their hearts—sunshine 
 that reflected itself glowingly in her own ! 
 
 After this visit, the pleasant monotony of Mrs. Travers’s life 
 was varied by an occasional visit to the quiet little schoolmistress 
 and her daughter—not too many—Kate was delicately fearful of 
 being oppressive, and in going through the forms necessary to 
 procure admittance for her boy into one of the many institutions 
 to which Mr. .Travers had subscribed, to some of which she had 
 also herself contributed. 
 
 Thus another month had almost slipped by, and the promise she 
 had made to hev protegee had been faithfully fulfilled. After con¬ 
 sultation with Mr. Ford, Kate had determined to increase her gift 
 by an additional twenty pounds, which would make it about 
 half a year’s post ohit salary on account of the long and efficient 
 services of the old clerk. 
 
 Mr. Wall had no.v ceased to warn his fair client that she must 
 “ just ” wait; and she herself had begun to plan an early move to 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 63 
 
 the Continent, beginning with Naples, and intending to work her 
 way northward as summer advanced. 
 
 A delicious scheme, over which her fancy revelled, yet in which 
 Fanny somehow did not seem to take as vivid an interest as might 
 have been expected. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 “ I WONDER what solemnity Mr. Ford intends to perform to-day?” 
 said Mrs. Travers, looking up from a note she was reading as she 
 sat at breakfast. 
 
 “ Is he coming here ?” asked Fanny, who was diligently spread¬ 
 ing honey on her bread and butter. 
 
 “ Yes. He says ; ‘ A matter of deep importance induces me so 
 to arrange my work here, as to enable me to present myself at 
 noon, when I hope you will grant me a private interview.’ ” 
 
 “ Oh, my goodness, Kate !” cried Fanny, her eyes sparkling with 
 fun. “ Depend upon it, he is going to make you an offer, or a de¬ 
 claration, or whatever is the right word.” 
 
 ‘ Fanny !” said Mrs. Travers indignantly. “ How strange it is 
 that a really nice girl, as you are, should be guilty of such glaring- 
 vulgarity, even in jest! Do you forget the position in which Mr. 
 Ford stands to me ? Never make such a speech again.” 
 
 “ Oh, mercy !” exclaimed Fanny, clasping her hands as if in terror. 
 “ Do not grind me quite to powder ! But do you mean to say you 
 don’t know that nice, proper, polite personage is in love with you ? 
 because, if you do not, I shall begin to think I am more than your 
 equal intellectually.” 
 
 “ Absurd !” returned Mrs. Travers angrily. “ I have a sincere 
 respect for Mr. Ford, and such remarks are insulting to him as well 
 as to me ; besides, I am vexed that you should be so regardless of 
 all propriety—there, Fanny ! I do not mean to be cross, but do 
 not be so thoughtless again !” 
 
 “ No, I will not, indeed, dearest. I know I am a wretch ; but, 
 Kate, I do not give up my opinion for all that.” 
 
€4 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ Think what nonsense you like, but do not utter it!” returned 
 Mrs. Travers, looking to the second page of the note, in obedience 
 to a “ p. T. o.” at the foot of the first. ‘‘ Listen to this, Fan : ‘ I 
 saw the junior partner of Booth Brothers this morning. He had 
 reached London only last night, having travelled from Marseilles 
 with Sir Hugh Galbraith, though not exactly in his company.’ 
 There,” continued Mrs. Travers, “ I feel as if I were before the 
 enemy, and on the point of going into action !” 
 
 “ Sir Hugh absolutely in London !” cried Fanny. “ Is it not 
 sooner than we expected ? ‘ Ill birds fly fast.’ ” 
 
 “ No, not sooner than is quite possible,” said Mrs. Travers 
 thoughtfully, as she laid the note beside her plate. “ Our life is 
 so serene and happy, no wonder that we take no heed of time— 
 ‘ is !’ I fear ‘ has been ’ would be more correct! I feel quite a 
 coward at the idea of the unrest that is before me ; and an enemy 
 is so horrible—an implacable enemy, who cannot be bought off !” 
 she continued, smiling. “ I am ashamed of my cowardice. If that 
 man had not a sort of right to consider himself ill-used, I should 
 be braver. However, he may annoy, but he cannot hurt me !” 
 
 “ Take some more coffee, and I will cut you such a nice thin slice 
 of ham,” said Fanny soothingly, 
 
 “ No, thank yod—nothing more.” 
 
 “ Why, Kate, you have scarce eaten any breakfast!” 
 
 “ Never mind, I shall eat the more luncheon. And, Fanny dear, 
 I wish you would write and ask Tom Reed to come down to din¬ 
 ner, if possible, to-day. I will put on my bonnet while you write, 
 and go to the post myself—a walk will brighten my ideas and 
 steady my nerves.” 
 
 “ Shall I go with you ?” asked Fanny. 
 
 “ No. I want to think, and you would have to be silent, so you 
 would be bored.” 
 
 “ Very well,” returned Fanny good-humouredly.” 
 
 Although a dull grey morning, the air and motion revived the 
 young widow. She strove gallantly to throw off the depression 
 and fearful looking for evil which had fallen upon her spirit; but 
 though partially successful, she could not quite repress the sort of 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 r>5 
 
 nervoiis watchfulness which constantly drew her eyes to the clock. 
 It must be some matter of no ordinary importance that could in¬ 
 duce Mr. Ford to leave the office in the morning, on a foreign post 
 day, too!—then she remembered that Friday was the post day, 
 and credited it with a reputation for unlimited ill-luck, at which 
 morsel of superstition reason smiled and imagination shuddered. 
 
 The first ten minutes after midday had ticked slowly by, and 
 Mrs. Travers, though fully prepared, could not help a nervous 
 start when “ Mr. Ford ” was announced. 
 
 Even while exchanging the ordinary greetings, Mrs. Travers was 
 struck by his altered appearance. His face was thinner than when 
 she had seen him scarcely a fortnight before, and deadly pale ; his 
 eager, glittering eyes had a haggard, strange expression, which im¬ 
 pressed her painfully. 
 
 “ I fear you have been ill, Mr. Ford !” she exclaimed, almost in¬ 
 voluntarily, as she pointed to a seat near the fire, and opposite her 
 own. 
 
 “ Ill at ease I certainly have been since yesterday,” he replied, 
 laying a square, thin brown paper parcel, folded and tied with his 
 accustomed accuracy, on the table, and moving his chair so as to 
 sit with his back to the light. 
 
 “ I trust you have no very bad news to tell me,” said Mrs. Tra¬ 
 vers, while her heart beat loudly. 
 
 “ Nothing good, I acknowledge,” he returned, taking out his 
 handkerchief, and passing it rapidly over his face. 
 
 Mrs. Travers made no answer, and with a sort of choking sound 
 in the throat. Ford resumed abruptly : “ The missing will, for 
 which we have sought so diligently—I have found it.” 
 
 “ Indeed !” cried Mrs. Travers, with a sensation of relief. “ I 
 am very glad.” 
 
 “ But, my dear lady,” said Ford, lowering his voice and leaning 
 a little forward towards her, “ I—I—as an old and trusted friend, 
 I ventured to peruse it, and—” 
 
 “ Well, well, Mr. Ford,” interrupted Mrs. Travers impatiently ; 
 “ I am sure you were actuated by the best motives. I do hope Sir 
 Hugh is remembered.” 
 
66 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ Sir Hugh!” repeated Mr. Ford in a peculiar tone. “ You 
 shall see and he began to untie the parcel. “ I do not know,” 
 he continued, “ what induced me, perhaps, to transgress the limits 
 of prudence, but my deep anxiety and regard for your interests— 
 in short, I read the document! and I am most thankful I did, for 
 I at once decided that ^ours should be the first eyes to fall upon it. 
 You can then act as you think best.” 
 
 “ But where,” exclaimed Mrs. Travers, who had turned some¬ 
 what pale—“ where did you find it ?” 
 
 “ You remember the large, old-fashioned bureau that stood in 
 Mr. Travers’s private room ?—but no, you were there but once.” 
 
 “ I have heard you and Mr. Wall speak of it,” she replied. 
 
 “ We had examined it carefully, for Mr. Travers used to keep 
 his private papers, bonds, securities—matters unconnected with 
 the business of the house—there. The day before yesterday I 
 had noticed, in a list of drawings published in the Times, some 
 numbers of Turkish coupons which I felt sure were held by our 
 excellent principal, and late in the afternoon, when I had breathing 
 time, I determined to look for the numbers which I had noted 
 down. While so engaged, Poole came to me with one of the large 
 ledgers which I usually lock away in the safe myself, as he had 
 requested permission to leave early. I took it from him ; but, as he 
 closed the door, I remembered a commission I wished him to execute 
 next morning, and, turning abruptly to catch him, the heavy ledger 
 fell from my hand, striking the inlaid border that surrounds the 
 writing-table part of the bureau. It is one of those enclosed by a 
 semicircular revolving cover, which shuts all in. The corner of 
 the cover must have come with much force upon a spring, for I 
 heard a 'slight click, a secret drawer on the right, outside the 
 bureau, flew open, and in it I found this,”—laying his hand upon 
 a thick folded paper which he had taken from its cover while he 
 spoke. 
 
 “ And it is-?” exclaimed Mrs. Travers breathlessly. 
 
 “ The missing will,” added Ford. “ And now, my dear friend,’^ 
 he continued, with a tinge of unusual familiarity, “ I must beg you 
 to nerve yourself, for you will find this document to be singularly 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 G7 
 
 unjust. I may say basely unjust!” He paused nervously, biting 
 his under lip, and, as he met the young Avidow’s full, searching, 
 almost stern gaze, he averted his eyes. When he looked at her 
 again, she was holding out her hand for the document. 
 
 “I dare say you exaggerate its injustice, Mr. Ford,” she said. 
 “ Even if the bulk of the property is left to Sir Hugh, I shall not 
 complain. He is the natural heir. I have no right to more than 
 a fair dower.” 
 
 “ Read it,” returned Ford emphatically ; “ read it, and ”—sinking 
 his voice, and drawing his chair a little nearer to her —“ remember, 
 whatever course you may adopt, whatever decision you may make, 
 I am utterly at your service.” He stopped abruptly. 
 
 Mrs. Travers looked at him as if puzzled, and then unfolded the 
 crackling paper, her eyes intently darting upon the stiff, legal 
 writing with which it was covered. “ Ah !” she exclaimed after a 
 few moments, which were very long to Ford, “ I seem lost in a 
 maze of Avords, and cannot gather the sense.” 
 
 “ Allow me to read to you,” he said, moving to her side. “ You 
 can follow, and I will explain. “ You observe the date—March 
 the 10th. Does that bring anything to your recollection ?” 
 
 “ No, nothing,” returned Mrs. Travers quickly ; “ pray read on.” 
 
 Ford plunged into the wilderness of words, skimming the tech¬ 
 nicalities quickly, yet with a slight tremor and catch in his voice, 
 and bringing out the important morsels, dotted like islets in an 
 yEgean of verbiage, Avith slackened speed and clear emphasis. 
 Mrs. Travers listened in steady, unbroken silence to the very end ; 
 the hand with which she held one side of the sheet firm and still, 
 while Ford’s shook perceptibly. Cleared of circumlocution, the 
 will, after some small becjuests to old employes, all more or less 
 different from similar dispositions in the first Avill, proceeded to 
 express a wish that the house of Travers should not be broken up, 
 but kept in Avorking order, either by the inheritor or a firm of 
 partners ; this was not distinctly directed, but left to the discretion 
 of the executors. The testator then remarked, that, having pro- 
 A’ided for all just claims upon him by gifts and otherAvise during 
 his lifetime, he desired that all his property, I’eal and personal. 
 
68 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 should go to his nearest of kin, Sir Hugh Galbraith. This bequest 
 was untrammelled by any condition or reservation whatever. 
 
 When Ford ceased reading, Mrs. Travers turned quickly to the 
 signatures, and read them aloud in a wondering tone. Ford rose, 
 and stood at a little distance, silent, but watching her intently. 
 Again Mrs. Travers turned to the beginning, as though she would 
 read it once more ; then, letting it fall, she looked up full at Ford, 
 and, pushing back her hair from her brow, exclaimed, “ I cannot 
 understand it! I am never mentioned ! ‘ He has provided for all 
 
 just claims diuring his lifetime.’ What does it mean ? Oh, Mr. 
 Ford, this must be a forgery ! You cannot believe it genuine ?” 
 
 “ I would fain believe it false,” he began in an unsteady voice, 
 which he brought more under command as he proceeded. “ I 
 dreaded its efEect upon you when I found what it was, and at once 
 decided that you, and you alone, should first peruse it before any 
 living soul knew of its existence.” 
 
 “Oh, yes, yes!” cried Mrs. Travers impatiently; “you are 
 always very good ; but do you mean to say that you believe Mr. 
 Travers—my husband—would execute a will in which I am not 
 even named ; in which I am totally unprovided for—unthought of, 
 unless the sentence about having provided for all claims by gifts 
 during his lifetime glances at me ?” 
 
 “ And I suppose he made no deed of gift or settlement upon 
 you ?” 
 
 “ No, certainly not. I remember being so vexed before we were 
 married, by old Mr. Lee asking for some such thing. Mr. Travers 
 Avas rather offended, and said I might trust him ; and I did com¬ 
 pletely—justly—for ” (with suppressed vehemence) “ I will never 
 believe this thing is real. No, not if one rose from the dead to tell 
 me so ! Do you believe in it, Mr. Ford ?” 
 
 Ford made an attempt to speak before he could command his 
 voice. 
 
 “ I fear, my dear Mrs. Travers, it will be difficult to disprove it. 
 I am most reluctantly obliged to place the reality of the question 
 before you. First, we have the fact that Poole, shortly before Mr. 
 Travers’s death, admitted voluntarily that he and old Gregory had. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE, 
 
 G9 
 
 early in the previous spring, witnessed a will which Poole believes 
 Gregory (who was one time a lawyer’s clerk) had drawn up under 
 Mr. Travers’s own direction. Then we have your own belief that 
 a will subsequent to that existed. Indeed, you thought your own 
 strong wish that justice should be done to Sir Hugh suggested a 
 change in Mr. Travers’s testamentary dispositions. We searched 
 for the will in vain, our idea being that, as for some reason Mr. 
 Travers chose to keep his intentions a secret from Messrs. Wall 
 and Wreford, the bureau in his private room was the most likely 
 place to find his will. There, accordingly, I, by a curious accident, 
 do find it. The witnesses are the same as previously mentioned ; 
 the date also tallies with what we were led to expect; and, should 
 you unfortunately not be able to arrange a compromise with Sir 
 Hugh Galbraith, and if my evidence was called for, as it no doubt 
 would be, I should be compelled to admit that, shortly before the 
 date of that will, there was a disagreement of a somewhat painful 
 nature on the subject of money between you and your late hus¬ 
 band.” He looked very intently at Mrs. Travers while he spoke. 
 
 “ Of course you Avould have to speak the truth,” she returned 
 sharply. “ But you surely do not mean to say that the trifling 
 altercation you unfortunately overheard could have influenced Mr. 
 Travers in so serious a matter as his will ?” 
 
 “It is impossible to say,” said Ford. “ No one knows better 
 than yourself that your late good husband was not altogether free 
 from crotchets more or less unreasonable.” 
 
 Mrs. Travers made no immediate answer, but seemed looking 
 through the document with some care. 
 
 “ The names appear all written in a different hand from the 
 rest,” she said at last. “ It is strange ! It is incomprehensible !” 
 
 “ It is cruel and deplorable,” added Ford ; “ and ”—dropping his 
 voice—“ not the least painful result is, that Sir Hugh Galbraith, 
 that haughty, overbearing fellow, will find a triumph prepared for 
 him as soon as he arrives.” 
 
 “ Ah ! then you believe this horrible, cruel, unjust will is 
 genuine. You cannot, Mr. Ford, surely you cannot !” 
 
 “ My dear lady—my dear Mrs. Travers, it cuts me to tlie heart 
 
70 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 to be obliged to confess that you will find it hard, nay, impossible, 
 to set it aside.” She rose from her seat and walked towards 
 the window as he spoke ; he paused a moment, looking anxiously 
 after her, and then resumed : “ Still, I would beg you not to be 
 too much cast down. Sir Hugh cannot be devoid of all humanity; 
 you observe Mr. Gervais, the executor to the first will, is joint 
 executor with Sir Hugh himself. He is, I imagine, friendly to 
 
 you ; if he represents your case judiciously, I am sure the fortu- 
 
 « 
 
 nate heir Vr’iH not refuse you, his cousin and benefactor’s widow, 
 the means of subsistence, especially as you had made him a hand¬ 
 some offer of your own free will when you believed he had no 
 claim. I think we may hope that Sir Hugh will make you some 
 small-” 
 
 Mrs. Travers had turned, and come slowly back from the win¬ 
 dow while Ford spoke, and now broke in upon his speculations in 
 a low, concentrated voice, while her eyes flashed. 
 
 “ What are you speaking about, Mr. Ford ? Do you think the 
 wall of any man could lower me into a dependent upon Sir Hugh’s 
 charity ? Do you not see that he will immediately declare, and 
 believe, that I knew of this—this—vile forgery, and so tried to 
 buy him off and quiet my own conscience ? Do you not see what 
 an abyss of mortification and misrepresentation has opened at my 
 feet ?—and if—if this thing cannot be proved false, I must plunge 
 in ; there is no way of escape !” She grasped the back of a chair 
 as she spoke, and Ford could see from the tight clutch of the 
 white hands how strongly her spirit was moved. 
 
 “ I do indeed see how horrible it is ; how much more horrible it 
 loill be!” returned Ford, the colour rising in his cheek, and a light 
 beginning to sparkle in his eyes. “ My heart bleeds for you ; and 
 yet I must draw your attention to another point, of which I feel 
 sure Sir Hugh and others will make the most and the worst.” 
 
 “ What more ?” asked Mrs. Travers, as if her thoughts were far 
 away. 
 
 “ There is another name omitted from this will that was honour¬ 
 ably mentioned in the former one—^my own. You did net per¬ 
 haps remember that I was left five hundred pounds ?” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 71 
 
 ‘‘Yes, yes ; I remember.” 
 
 “ Then,” resumed Ford, “ it is highly probable that the total 
 silence of this document respecting us both, coupled, in the mind 
 of a worldly and not very high-toned man, with my pure devotion 
 to your service ; our previous-” 
 
 “ I cannot imagine how any person could see the least connection 
 between them,” said Mrs. Travers. “ But, be that as it may, I 
 feel the ground giving way beneath my feet. I know this wretched 
 will is forged, untrue ; and yet, where can I turn for proof ? How 
 can I save myself from the humiliation of yielding, rescue or no 
 rescue, to my insolent enemy ?” 
 
 The last word was uttered with intense verve from between her 
 clenched teeth by the fair, soft-looking widow, 
 
 “ Can we find no way of escape ?” asked Ford, in a low tone, 
 looking intently at Mrs. Travers. She did not reply, and he re¬ 
 sumed : “ You would do much, anything to avoid submission to 
 Sir Hugh ?” 
 
 “ Yes, anything,” she replied slowly. 
 
 “ Then, Mrs. Travers,” exclaimed Ford, his breath coming short 
 and quick, “ as you believe this will not to be genuine, suppress it! 
 Not a soul knows of it save you and myself ; you think it forged ; 
 you will, therefore, do no moral wrong. Need I assure you how 
 completely you may trust me ; how I would guard you from dis¬ 
 covery even more watchfully than you would guard yourself !” He 
 ceased abruptly with a gasp, as if for breath. 
 
 Mrs. Travers turned, and looked at him full and steadily for a 
 moment. “ No !” she said, “ that would indeed be to humiliate 
 myself in my own eyes, and put myself under my adversary’s 
 feet. No, no ; your sympathy for me, your friendly indigna¬ 
 tion, blinds you for the moment; we will blot out the sugges¬ 
 tion. I see you more than half believe this will is genuine, and 
 you are the more indignant. I do not believe it. Nothing will 
 ever make me believe it—cruel, base, my husband never could 
 have been ; meantime, I must show it to Mr. Wall, and get Poole 
 to verify his signature. How unfortunate that poor Gregory is 
 dead! He, no doubt, was acquainted with the contents.” 
 
72 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 Mr. Ford changed colour as she spoke, and passed his handker¬ 
 chief across his brow, pressing it for a moment against his eyes. 
 “ Your decision,” he said at last, in an altered tone, “ does more 
 credit to your conscience than to your worldly wisdom. Yet, if 
 the advice of one so culpahly anxious for your welfare as I am 
 may still be offered, I should say, “ Do not give this document 
 too hastily into Mr. Wall’s hands. Pause; think of all you re¬ 
 sign—wealth, ease, freedom ! think of the reverse which you will 
 unavoidably incur—poverty, obscurity, hard work, possibly a faint 
 suspicion that your late husband had some good cause for so 
 complete, so extraordinary a change in the disposition of his pro¬ 
 perty.” 
 
 “ I see it all, Mr. Ford, painfully clear ; yet I must not do this 
 thing.” She spoke sadly, but composedly. 
 
 “ Then,” exclaimed Ford, with some agitation, “ I have placed 
 myself in your power to no avail — my character is in your 
 hands!” 
 
 “ What can you think of ’me,” cried Mrs. Travers, with much 
 warmth, “ if you do not believe that I would be as true to you as 
 you to me ? I am certain you would never do for yourself what 
 in a moment of mistaken feeling you suggested to me. Let us 
 forget it. To-morrow you will think differently ; and, as to me, 
 the proposition shall never cross my mind again.” She looked 
 kindly and frankly at him, but he did not meet her eye. “ But,” 
 she resumed, “ if I grieve at the prospect of losing my all, I do 
 not forget that you lose the legacy you so well deserved. Nothing^ 
 makes me doubt the authenticity of this,” pointing to the parch¬ 
 ment, “ more than the omission of your name.” 
 
 “ The whims of testators are positively unaccountable,” said 
 Ford sullenly. 
 
 “ But then,” urged Mrs. Travers, “ there was no shadow of 
 reason for showing disapprobation of you. Mr. Travers confided 
 in you—liked you to the last. Yours was the last name he men¬ 
 tioned. Ah !”—suddenly she stopped, as, with a flash of memory’s 
 light, the dying man’s words came back to her. “ Still,” she re¬ 
 sumed, speaking to herself, “ my faith is not shaken.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 r-o 
 4 O' 
 
 “ Some expression of poor Mr. Travers no donbt recurs to you ?” 
 said Ford anxiously, wlrile he watched her keenly. 
 
 “ Yes,” she returned, with her accustomed candour. “ Scarcely 
 an hour before his death he said, ‘ You will think I have been 
 unjust.’ Then, after a while, he added, ‘ It is too late !’ words 
 which I always thought pointed to a second will, but not one like 
 this.” 
 
 “ Perhaps not ; still they would apply. As to myself, who can 
 tell that some instinctive feeling on the part of Mr. Travers may 
 not have biassed him against me ? He may have recognised the 
 deep admiration I once—nay, ever have felt since those happy 
 days when first I knew you! the ardent sympathy! the devo¬ 
 tion—” 
 
 “ Stop !” said Mrs. Travers gravely, coldly, and raising her hand 
 with an imperious gesture which arrested the movement he made 
 towards her. “ These are not words for me to hear ; but I am 
 willing to forget them also, provided they are never repeated. I 
 say so with no disrespect to you.” 
 
 They stood for a moment face to face, and Ford’s eyes fell under 
 Mrs. Travers’s composed gaze : a nervous, sinister smile flickered 
 on his lip. He controlled himself with a visible effort, and, bow¬ 
 ing low— 
 
 “ You teach me my place,” he said —“ a lesson I shall not soon 
 forget. Once there was little difference in our positions—there 
 may be less once more ! But I have accomplished my errand, and 
 received my reward ; so I wish you good-morning.” 
 
 “ I do not wish you to leave me in anger,” said the young widow 
 gravely. “ Be just, be rational, and let us forget the whole of this 
 morning’s conversation.” 
 
 “ Forget—forget!” repeated Ford bitterly. “ It is easily said. 
 I shall so far remember as not to intrude again. Good-morn¬ 
 ing.” 
 
 He turned away abruptly, and the next moment Mrs. Travers 
 heard the front door open and shut violently. She looked after 
 Iiim with a sigh, and a troubled expression came into her face. 
 
 “ There goes another enemy,” she murmured ; then, taking up 
 
74 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 the fatal paper, she slowly and carefully folded it up, laid it in a 
 drawer, which she locked, and, sitting down to her writing-table, 
 quickly penned the following :— 
 
 “ Dear Sir, —I shall call to-morrow between eleven and twelve. 
 Endeavour to meet me ; I have something very important to com¬ 
 municate.” 
 
 This was addressed to W. Wall, Esq., 107, B-Street, and 
 
 she had it instantly despatched by a special messenger. 
 
 “Where is Miss Lee?” asked Mrs. Travers, when the serious 
 Edwards returned to say her orders had been obeyed. 
 
 “ Miss Lee is gone out, ma’am. One of the young ladies next 
 door called, and Miss Lee left word she was going out for a walk, 
 and did not like to disturb you, as you were engaged. Luncheon is 
 quite ready, ma’am.” 
 
 “ Very well,” returned his mistress mechanically ; “ but, Ed¬ 
 wards, I cannot eat luncheon ! I shall ask for something by-and- 
 by. Go—go to your own dinner.” 
 
 The man left the room, and Mrs. Travers remained gazing out 
 upon the garden, where a flush of green and many opening blos¬ 
 soms told that Spring’s first breath had touched the earth. Vaguely 
 she looked out, and listened to the dim whisperings of her form¬ 
 less thought. She saw Cullingf ord and her cottage home quite dis¬ 
 tinctly across that mignonette border. She felt again the fluttered 
 pleasure which Mr. Travers’s grave notice and conversation created. 
 She saw Ford, always carefully dressed, open the garden gate, with 
 his black bag in his hand, and stop to assist her in budding roses. 
 She recalled the odd, mixed feelings with which she always re¬ 
 garded him. A sort of compassion—a dread of hurting him—a 
 tinge of ridicule—a sensation of unsafety. And then her husband; 
 so generous, so high-minded, yet so narrow and jealous ! A hun¬ 
 dred instances of his thoughtful affection returned to her memory. 
 He leave her unprovided for, dependent on her enemy ? Kever 
 could she believe it. Yet the effect would be the same as if that 
 horrible will was authentic. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 75 
 
 A certainty of defeat—of a long, weary struggle—pressed upon 
 her. The pleasant visions of travel, of study, of the variety and 
 repose which easy circumstances can realise, melted utterly away ; 
 and the only clear idea standing up out of this misty reverie was, 
 that at least she had none to provide for save herself. 
 
 It was rather a relief to receive a message from Fanny to the 
 effect that Mrs. Danby had some children to tea, and she would 
 be so glad if Miss Lee could stay to assist in amusing them. 
 
 When Fanny returned, Mrs. Travers had gone to bed with a 
 slight headache. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Kate Teavees cut short all her lively friend’s questions and con¬ 
 jectures when they met the next morning by exclaiming, “ There, 
 Fanny dear ! ask me nothing, and say as little as possible. I am 
 going up to town immediately. When I return I Avill tell you 
 everything, and you shall ask fifty questions if you like !” 
 
 “ I am sure something frightful has happened,” cried Fanny, the 
 tears springing to her bright brown eyes. “ You look as pale as a 
 ghost, and as stern as if you were going to the block. I wish you 
 would tell me just the least little bit. But, no, I will not tease 
 you. I will wait till you choose. And, Kate,” after a few mo¬ 
 ments’ silence, “ will you order dinner before you go ? for I fancy 
 Tom Reed will be here to-day ; he neither came nor wrote yester¬ 
 day.” 
 
 “ Oh, Fanny, I cannot. Besides, there is no time. You must 
 be housekeeper for to-day ; order everything nice. And now I 
 must go, or I shall be late for Mr. Wall.” 
 
 “Mr. Wall!” echoed Fanny. “It must be something ter¬ 
 rible.” 
 
 “ Good-bye, dear Fan !’* cried Mrs. Travers; “ do not make 
 yourself miserable. I have a sort of faith in my own fortune. I 
 ■think I shall conquer in the end. Good-bye.” And she ran away 
 to put on her bonnet and gloves, summoning Edwards to walk 
 
76 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 after her to the station, as a tribute to the aristocratic prejudices- 
 of Hampton Court. 
 
 “ How long shall I have a lacquey to follow me ?” she thought,, 
 as the well-bred Edwards handed her her waterproof cloak and 
 closed the carriage-door, touching his hat. “ And how long shall I 
 be able to pay first-class fares ?” For, in spite of her brave words 
 to Fanny Lee, the young widow’s heart sank within her. It was 
 impossible to doubt that this new W'ill was a very serious misfor¬ 
 tune, even if, as she hoped, Mr. Wall’s knowledge and experience 
 enabled him to find some weak point into which he might insert 
 the wedge of resistance. A long course of litigation ! She shrank 
 from the idea. Yet it was the best result she dared to hope for ; 
 and most resolutely she determined to fight it out, were it to cost 
 her fortune and embitter her life, if—oh, potent monosyllable !— 
 if there was a reasonable objection on which to ground resistance. 
 But Kate Travers was too clear-headed to hope, save that Mr. 
 Wall might perceive what her ignorance overlooked. 
 
 “ It is a bad business, Mrs. Travers, a very bad business, I’m 
 afraid !” was the wise man’s dictum after more than an hour of 
 anxious discussion and re-reading of Mr. Ford’s unlucky “ trove.” 
 “ I cannot understand it. Why my poor friend should suddenly 
 withdraw the confidence he had always reposed in this firm, and in 
 myself particularly, I cannot conceive, except—and this is one of 
 the worst features in the case for you—that he was well aware I 
 should never have assisted to draw up anything so unjust towards 
 you. I was vexed, I acknowledge, that he should leave the man 
 he once looked upon as his heir totally unprovided for ; and so, I 
 now believe, were you. But Sir Hugh Galbraith brought this upon 
 himself. I could never have agreed to such an unjust will—never ! 
 Why, it lays you open to—to ” The lawyer, who was un¬ 
 usually moved, pulled himself up abruptly, and altered his phrase 
 —“ to refund all the moneys expended since the death of your 
 late husband — all!” with emphasis. He paused, and met his 
 client’s eyes fixed earnestly upon him. A slight smile curved her 
 lip. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 77 
 
 “ Lays me open to the most injurious suspicions, you wei’e going 
 to say,” she rejoined quietly. 
 
 “ I admit nothing of the kind. The realities of the case are 
 quite enough, without adding imaginary hardships.” 
 
 “But, Mr. Wall, you do not seem to take in my idea that this 
 will is not genuine ?” 
 
 “ What are your reasons for that opinion ?” asked the lawyer 
 severely, leaning back in his chair and thrusting his hands into his 
 trousers pockets. 
 
 “ My reasons!” repeated poor Kate, feeling how unreasonable 
 they would appear to the legal mind. “ Alas! they are scarce 
 worthy the name, though very convincing to me. First, nothing 
 could persuade me that Mr. Travers would make a will and never 
 mention my name ; then, his employing some stranger to draw it 
 —his keeping it a secret—the different handwriting in parts—the 
 change in all his former dispositions—his ” 
 
 “ My dear lady,” interrupted Mr. Wall, removing his hands from 
 his pockets, and running his finger along the lines of the fatal 
 paper which lay open on his desk, “ the law ignores innate convic¬ 
 tions. I observe the various names are filled in in a different 
 hand ; that is nothing, a very ordinary occurrence when there is a 
 wish for secrecy. Now let me ask you. Whose interest would it 
 be to forge this will ? No one’s save Sir Hugh Galbraith’s ; and I 
 do not think, even in your present very naturally excited frame of 
 mind, you could for a moment suspect a gentleman of unblemished 
 honour, a soldier, to whom no amount of fortune could atone for 
 the slightest taint—” 
 
 “ I have not suspected him,” returned Mrs. Travers, in a low, 
 concentrated voice, “ though he did not hesitate to write his sus¬ 
 picions that I had suppressed a will favourable to himself.” 
 
 “ That was quite a different matter,” said Mr. Wall, disposed, as 
 men usually are, to pooh-pooh a woman’s claim to stand on the 
 same platform as themselves in a question of honour. “ It was 
 very wrong, of course, but he was in a passion, and, you must re¬ 
 member, he knew nothing of you.” 
 
 “ Nor I anything to Sir Hugh’s advantage. But I am not in a 
 passion, nor do I suspect him. Mr. Ford—” 
 
78 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ My dear Mrs. Travers,” interrupted the lawyer, “ your doubts 
 surely cannot wander in that direction! The poor man loses his 
 five hundred pounds, and probably will lose his employment into 
 the bargain.” 
 
 “ You are too quick, Mr. Wall. I was not going to saij ”—with 
 a slight emphasis—“that I doubted Mr. Ford.” 
 
 “ Well, excuse me. Now I must ask you one or two questions, 
 which I entreat you to answer truthfully—I mean faithfully. 
 More mischief is done and causes lost, through the impossibility of 
 getting litigants to tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, 
 to their advisers than from anything else.” 
 
 “ I have always tried to be faithful and true,” said Mrs. Travers 
 sadly, tears welling up in her large dark-blue eyes, as she looked 
 steadfastly into those of her companion. “ Ask what you will—I 
 have nothing to conceal.” 
 
 “ I believe you—I believe you!” returned Wall, quickly and 
 earnestly. “ Look back as clearly as you can, and, if possible, 
 recall any quarrel, any little difference of opinion which may have 
 arisen between you and your excellent husband ;—every trifle you 
 can remember may prove important—differences will arise even 
 between the most attached ; and I am sorry to say the crotchets of 
 testators are perfectly incredible, as well as the indolence which so 
 often holds men back from undoing the wrongs into which temper, 
 or jealousy, or Heaven knows what, has hurried them.” 
 
 “ Latterly, no doubt from failing health, Mr. Travers was rather 
 difficult,” she replied ; “ but the only serious difference that ever 
 arose between us was when, after the death of Miss Lee’s grand¬ 
 father, I sent her a small present of money. My allowance was 
 verv liberal, and I did not require Mr. Travers’s help ; so I sent it 
 without letting him know. Her letter acknowledging the money 
 fell into his hands, and I was astonished at the anger it caused. 
 He said much that I have forgotten and he did not really mean, 
 but he did not get over the irritation for some time.” 
 
 “Did you do your best to soothe him and make the amende?" 
 inteiTupted the lawyer. 
 
 “ I did my best. I told him I would never again repeat the 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 70 
 
 olfence, as it caused him annoyance ; but I could not agree v/ith. 
 him in thinking that I was wrong in doing what I had done ; and 
 I am of the same opinion still.” 
 
 “Just so,” returned Mr. Wall, in a cynical tone. “You stuck 
 to your own opinion, cost what it might—a very womanish pro¬ 
 ceeding, excuse me.” 
 
 “ Yes, I excuse you,” replied Mrs. Travers, colouring slightly ; 
 “ only if you insist on women misrepresenting their opinions, do 
 not quarrel with them for occasional departure from truth, which 
 maj’ not suit you quite so well.” 
 
 “ Anyhow,” returned the lawyer, turning aside from this thrust, 
 “ your steadfastness has probably cost you a fortune ! When did 
 the altercation happen ?” 
 
 “ Some time in February last year—about the end, I think.” 
 
 “ And this is dated the 10th of March ! I think that is strong 
 presumptive evidence of the mischief you did yourself. No doubt 
 Mr. Travers argued that, when a free woman, you would squander 
 all his hard earnings on your own friends ; and men contract a 
 wonderful affection for money they have scraped together ! Un¬ 
 just as it is, I have known the disposition of large properties 
 totally changed for a slighter cause. I fear you have yourself to 
 blame for this,” striking the sheet with his finger, and unconsciously 
 finding a sort of relief in what he could not resist feeling was a 
 certain palliation of his late client’s cruel will. 
 
 “ And can you believe this ?” cried Mrs. Travers passionately. 
 She had kept herself well in hand hitherto, and now broke out only 
 for an instant. “ Can you be so unjust to your friend as to imagine 
 that, in the full possession of his reason, he could have lived on, 
 treating me with seeming confidence and affection, and yet be con¬ 
 scious of the treachery that would leave me penniless at his death ! 
 I knew him better, and nothing Avill ever make me believe this to 
 be his genuine will!” 
 
 “It is not like him to have so acted,” said the lawyer; “but,” 
 shrucTcrins his shoulders with an air of superior wisdom, “ if you 
 knew as much of testamentary vagaries as I do, nothing would 
 seem incredible. Nevertheless, I quite believe your late husband 
 
80 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 intended to change his will, and, as so many have done before him, 
 put it off a little too long.” 
 
 “ He never signed this one,” returned Mrs. Travers, sadly but 
 •emphatically ; “ and now what is to be done, Mr. Wall ?” 
 
 “ Ha—hum ! It is really-” he began, hesitating, and looking 
 
 again through the obnoxious document. “ Gregory, one of the 
 witnesses, is dead.” 
 
 “ Yes ; he died last autumn. Mr. Ford says that Poole is under 
 the impression the will was written out by poor old Gregory ; but 
 this is not his writing, so Mr. Ford says.” 
 
 “ Ah, that is nothing. I must see this man Poole, and try what 
 I can make of him ; but, my dear madam, I dare not flatter you 
 with much hope. Everything tallies, you see, with the first report 
 that another will was in existence. Poole mentioned the end of 
 February or beginning of March as the period at which he was 
 called upon to witness what he believed to be the will-” 
 
 “ And then ?” persisted Mrs. Travers. 
 
 “ Well, then, if Poole is able to swear not only to his own signa¬ 
 ture, but that he and Gregory were present together on the day 
 the will purports to be dated, and that he, Poole, saw the testator 
 sign the will in the place where his name now appears thereon, in 
 the presence of himself and Gregory, the other witness, and that 
 they then and there, in the presence of Mr. Travers and of each 
 other, affixed their names as witnesses thereto—why then I fear 
 we cannot upset such proof, and must inform Messrs. Payne and 
 Layton, Sir Hugh’s solicitors—a very respectable firm—and try to 
 make the best terms we can for you. From all I have known of 
 him. Sir Hugh Galbraith is not the man to—” 
 
 “ What do you mean ?” asked the widow, colouring very deeply, 
 and opening her large eyes full upon him. 
 
 “ That he must be induced to make you some allowance out cf 
 the estate ; he certainly ought—.” 
 
 “ Never mention such a thing !” cried Mrs. Travers, rising from 
 her seat in her excitement. “ I utterly forbid it! What! accept 
 a compromise, and forego my right to dispute this base imposition 
 —my chance of upsetting it! Never! I am young and healthy, 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 81 
 
 and not uneducated ; I -will earn my bread somehow. But give up 
 the possibilities of the future—never, never !” 
 
 The lawyer was a little startled by her suppressed vehemence. 
 
 “Very natural you should say so just now, my dear Mrs. Tra¬ 
 vers ; pray sit down again. We must reflect, above all things— 
 reflect carefully, before taking a single step. Nothing need be 
 done hurriedly ; but I would advise your quietly collecting together 
 everything poor Mr. Travers gave you in his lifetime ; remember 
 you are entitled to every thing he has ever given you—plate, pic¬ 
 tures, furniture, jewels, books, &c.—and be careful in your expen¬ 
 diture. For how long have you that house at Hampton Court ?” 
 
 “ Six months longer. Ah, Mr. Wall, I see there is no hope !” 
 
 “ I do not exactly say so—” 
 
 “ I should like to see Poole myself,” interrupted Mrs. Travers. 
 
 “ Hereafter if you will. I must see him alone first.” 
 
 “ There is no more to be said now,” returned the young widow, 
 drawing down her veil. “ I will go. Thank you for the friendly 
 feeling you have shown. If there is the shadow of a chance you 
 will fight, will you not ?” 
 
 “Not for a shadow, my dear lady—not for a shadow. I would 
 rather secure a little substance for you.” 
 
 “ I will have none of the substance you mean.” 
 
 “ Well, well! You must reflect calmly when you have cooled 
 down. Nothing is a bad alternative.” 
 
 “ Good-bye,” said Mrs. Travers, turning quickly away. 
 
 The lawyer followed her to the door. 
 
 “ I will write the moment I have anything to communicate, 
 depend upon that.” 
 
 She bowed and was gone. 
 
 “ An ugly business—a very ugly business,’ said the lawyer to 
 himself, as he went back to his desk, and penned a note to Mr. 
 Ford, requesting him to send up Poole immediately, and to call 
 himself in the course of the afternoon. This he despatched by a 
 special messenger. 
 
 O 
 
 tier present trial had in it elements of strength and bitterness 
 
 G 
 
82 
 
 HER DExiREST FOE. 
 
 totally dissimilar from Kate Travers’s former experiences. There 
 was nothing to touch her heart, for she exonerated her husband 
 fully, uttei’ly, from the cruelty and treachery of which ]\Ir. Wall 
 evidently suspected him. Impossible as it now seemed that she 
 could ever prove it, or even find a plausible theory to account for 
 her conviction, she was as certain that will was forged as though 
 she had witnessed the operation. A vague idea that some one 
 might have done it to obtain a hold upon Sir Hugh fioated through 
 her brain, and was dismissed with a start, as it suggested another 
 suspicion which seemed so preposterous that she strove to banish 
 it immediately ; yet it would not go, and haunted her for many a 
 day and night, although she resolutely refrained from uttering it. 
 
 She w^as too natural and healthy a woman not to put a true 
 value on the advantage of wealth—^.e., she was heartily sorry to 
 lose it, but by no means overwhelmed with dismay at the prospect. 
 The real sting lay in her adversary’s victory—in the cause given to 
 the malicious and the idly gossiping to shake their heads and cry, 
 “ Fie upon her ! It is plain old Travers knew of something very 
 disgraceful, as plain as if we saw it with our eyes. “ After all ”— 
 she pondered, trying hard to keep fast hold of reason—“ my pos¬ 
 sible errors and misfortunes will soon be forgotten ! But what 
 shall I do, and where shall I go ? Kot out of England—not too 
 far from London. I will never lose the remotest chance of dis¬ 
 proving that will.” 
 
 The young widow had given up all hope for the present; four 
 days had elapsed since her interview with the lawyer, and she had 
 heard from him in the interim. Poole, he wrote, had made the 
 necessary affidavit as to the due execution of the will by Mr. Tra¬ 
 vers in his and Gregory’s presence, so that there was nothing for it 
 but to submit, and the sooner the new will was communicated to 
 the opposite party, the better chance of making good terms. 
 
 In the meantime, Mrs. Travers had gone through some trying 
 scenes with poor Fanny Lee and the faithful Mills. The latter 
 was cruelly disappointed, and strongly inclined to quarrel with 
 every one, including her much-enduring mistress. But Fanny’s 
 grief and terror at the idea that she might possibly be separated 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 83 
 
 from her tender protectress touched her to the heart. “ You will 
 not send me away, dear. I will do anything—be the servant, and 
 sweep, and dust, and cook ! I can do a ch—chop nicely !” sobbed 
 Fanny. “I know I am a selfish thing, and very little use, but I’ll 
 break my heart and die if I leave you and go among strangers 
 again!” 
 
 “ Dear child ! you shall not go if I can possibly help it,” replied 
 ]Mrs. Travers soothingly. 
 
 Mrs. Mills, with much significant head-shaking and screwing up 
 of the mouth, hinted her opinion “ that if her advice had been 
 taken, things might have been different. It was true she hadn’t 
 much edication, but she could see how things was going clearer 
 than most,” &c., &c. 
 
 Tom Eeed, too, the Avidow’s prime counsellor, had run down 
 twice to see them, and even he Avas overwhelmed. At first he 
 could hardly credit the misfortune, but after he had seen Mr. Wall, 
 and perused the unlucky discovery, he too counselled compromise, 
 and had gone aAA^ay the evening before with carte hlanche to agree 
 to any suggestion of Mr. Wall’s, except to ask for an allowance 
 from the widoAV^’s triumphant foe. 
 
 Meditating on these unpleasant topics, Mrs. Travers strolled into 
 the Palace gardens, at the hour AV^hen luncheon generally left them 
 much deserted. She Avanted the freedom of loneliness. She 
 Avanted the fresh air, and to enjoy the beauty of the place, feeling 
 that beauty might be a rare ingredient in her future every-day life. 
 
 She Avanted, too, to re-read one or two advertisements in the 
 Times which had caught her eye, and suggested plans ; so she took 
 that famous broad-sheet Avith her, and, seating herself on a bench 
 that encircled a large yew tree, remained for some time in a sort 
 of unconscious reverie—the nearest approach to stillness the AV'aking 
 brain can knoAV. The delicate perfume of the early floAvers, the 
 first flush of tender green upon the trees, the joyous spring note 
 of the birds, the delicious odour of the freshly-clipped grass, the 
 high-bred beauty of the stately garden, filled her wnth a sad plea¬ 
 sure. To all this, and such as this, she must soon be a stranger, 
 banished from the pleasant and loA'ely places of life by a caprice of 
 
 0—2 
 
84 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 circumstance ! She knew how well suited to her taste, her nature, 
 nay, even her outward presence, was all that is noble and beauti¬ 
 ful, and she never seemed to have fallen into her right place. She 
 never grew to be at home with the richly-dressed and fairly well- 
 bred wives and daughters of Mr. Travers’s City friends, or rather 
 acquaintances—there was a lack of subjects in common between 
 them. They dimly looked down upon her as a person of no con¬ 
 nections, and she, too careless in her innate strength to recognise 
 the wherefore, felt there was an indefinable barrier between them 
 —an invisible fence, harder to clear than a stone wall. “ The upper 
 ten have certainly never taken kindly to me, if my Hereford Square 
 acquaintance can be so classed. I suppose Sir Hugh would scarcely 
 look on them as equals.” 
 
 While she thus conjectured idly, steps approached, and the scent 
 of an excellent cigar reached her. Voices—men’s voices—came 
 nearer, and two gentlemen, one in undress uniform, sat down on 
 the opposite side of the tree. 
 
 “ It is a deucedly lucky turn for you, but hard lines for the 
 other. I wonder what vexed old Travers, and induced him to cut 
 her off ?” said one of the voices ; and Kate could not resist listen¬ 
 ing eagerly for a few moments. 
 
 “ Heaven knows,” replied the other—a harsh, deep-toned voice, 
 somewhat monotonous in its strength. “ He must have been crazy 
 altogether—first to forget all that was due to his age, his station, 
 everything, and marry the low-bred daughter of a lodging-house 
 keeper ; some bit of vulgar prettiness, whose highest ambition 
 could not have soared beyond the owner of the general shop in her 
 native village ! Faugh! Give me a fresh cigar, Upton! If in 
 his old age poor Travers had such vagaries, could he not have been 
 content to take her for a mistress ? but to give her his name, and 
 the fortune he once intended for me, and then to leave her penni¬ 
 less, dependent on my charity ! It was insanity !” 
 
 “ You had better not suggest the idea,” said the other dryly. 
 
 “ It would be of no consequence,” replied the second speaker. 
 “ It is no easy matter to upset a will. No lawyer would take up 
 this female’s case—but I shall not let the creature starve. By the 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 85 
 
 way, she offered me a good slice of the property at the outset; 
 depend upon it, she knew there was another will somewhere. Tra¬ 
 vers had found her out in some delinquency—conscience had made 
 a coward of her.” 
 
 “ I don’t know,” began the other ; but Mrs. Travers, colouring 
 with shame both at what she had heard and for having stayed to 
 hear it, sprang to her feet, and stole swiftly, softly away. 
 
 But for omnipotent appearances, she would have ran at full 
 speed to hide herself in her own room, to try and silence the cruel 
 words that rang over and over again in her ears. All her worst 
 and bitterest anticipations were realised. The basest of her sex 
 could not have been spoken of with deeper scorn. 
 
 No spark of manly consideration tempered this gentleman's judg¬ 
 ment of a defeated, and, for all he knew, friendless woman. And 
 this was a man of the class and profession usually credited with 
 chivalrous traditions ! Because he was reared in the purple of a 
 higher caste he permitted himself to believe there was no honour, 
 no principle, no heart, among the unfortunates in whose veins 
 flowed the blood of those serfs over whom this proud man’s fore¬ 
 fathers had tyrannised, and who, in spite of every disadvantage, 
 had developed themselves into the strength and power of the 
 nation. How she hated and scorned him, and almost prayed for a 
 chance of putting her foot upon his neck. It would be no common 
 revenge that would satisfy her. No more aristocracy or gentility 
 for her. No ! She would enroll herself in the ranks of the simple, 
 undistinguished workers. Though far from being a crying, hyste¬ 
 rical woman, Kate Travers, already a little strained by the resolute 
 suppression of her feelings, could not control a violent fit of weep¬ 
 ing, so helpless and humiliated did she feel under a sense of unde¬ 
 served defeat. All around was so dark too ! Not a gleam of hope 
 in any quarter of the horizon ! For more than the space of half 
 an hour she felt beaten to the earth ; and then her healthy hope¬ 
 ful nature began to assert itself. She would rouse up and be 
 doing something ; and she had need to look round her quickly, for 
 she was well-nigh penniless. And no stress of circumstances would 
 induce her to accept Sir Hugh Galbraith’s “ charity.” 
 
8G 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 At this point of her reflections there -was a tap at the door, and 
 Fanny’s voice asked, “ Are you there, Kate ?” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ We have been looking all over the gardens for you. I did not 
 know you had come in. Tom Keed is downstairs and wants to 
 see you.” 
 
 “ I will come directly.” 
 
 But it took some time to bathe her eyes effectually, and she was 
 vexed to see they were still red and swollen, when she felt ashamed 
 to keep her visitor waiting any longer. 
 
 CHAPTEK IX. 
 
 “ Dear Madam, —I have had a long interview with Sir Hugh 
 Galbraith’s solicitor. He informs me he is authorised to offer you 
 an allowance during your lifetime from the estate of your late 
 husband of three hundred ponnds (£300) per annum, on condition 
 that you agree to accept the will to which Sir Hugh administers 
 as the true and final expression of the testator’s intentions, and 
 sign a declaration to that effect. 
 
 “ I urged that the allowance was considerably disproportioned 
 to the estate ; and he very naturally replied that Sir Hugh was 
 in no way bound to consider this, or to make any allowance what¬ 
 ever. 
 
 “ Now, my dear madam, let me urge upon you the necessity of 
 giving this offer due consideration. Both as yonr legal adviser 
 and, if you will permit it, as your friend, I strongly advise you to 
 accept. I do not see the most remote prospect of being able to 
 dispute this very unjust will, and you are, I am sure, too sensible 
 a woman not to recognise the wisdom of the old proverb, ‘ Half a 
 loaf,’ &c. Messrs. Payne, Sir Hugh’s solicitors, are willing to 
 renounce all claim for moneys disbursed since the death of Mr. 
 Travers, as I have represented that you simply kept up the estab¬ 
 lishment as your late husband left it; and I must here warn you 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 87 
 
 that rent, wages, &c., now due, should be paid by the executors 
 out of the estate. 
 
 “ Any further information you may require you can obtain from 
 Mr. B.eed, who is good enough to take charge of this letter, and 
 with whom I would suggest your taking counsel; he seems truly 
 interested in you, and is also a man of business. 
 
 “ Hoping to see you in a few days, 
 
 “ I am, dear Madam, 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 “ F. Wall. 
 
 “ Mrs. Travers, Hampton Court.” 
 
 This letter was handed to the widow by Reed as soon as their 
 first greetings had been exchanged. And she read it through 
 steadily, without moving a muscle of her countenance, while Reed 
 watched, with the keenest sympathy, the traces of tears and mental 
 conflict upon her fair face. 
 
 “ Well, Tom,” she said, with a brave attempt to smile as she 
 finished reading, “ it is all over. There is nothing now to be done 
 but to go forth into the wilderness.” 
 
 “ It is by far the most infer-” began Reed. 
 
 “ Hush, dear old friend,” interrupted Mrs. Travers ; “ do not 
 rouse up the passion and bitterness I have scarcely succeeded in 
 crushing down for the present.” 
 
 “ No, I will not,” he returned persistently. “ But Wall commis¬ 
 sioned me to mention one or two matters which he omitted to 
 write-” and Reed paused abruptly. 
 
 “Disagreeable things, I suppose, Tom,” said Mrs. Travers with 
 a sigh. “ But you need not fear to ‘ put a name ’ to anything. I 
 fancy my thoughts have been before you. The strongest feeling 
 I have is an ardent desire to leave this place, where I have now 
 no right to be.” 
 
 “ Exactly,” cried Reed. “ That W'as the first point I Avas to 
 speak about. The sooner you move the better. And Galbraith’s 
 solicitors, I was to tell you, are authorised to pay a (|uarter’s 
 alloAvance, annuity, or Avhatever it is ”—he stumbled a little over 
 
88 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 this part of his speech—“ in advance, provided you can vacate at 
 once.” 
 
 “ Do they think I must be bribed to give up what Sir Hugh 
 Galbraith looks upon as his property ?” said Mrs. Travers. “ I 
 am quite ready to go; but you must understand me, Tom ! I 
 take no money from my foe.” 
 
 “ A very natural reluctance,” began Tom soothingly, and 
 launched into a sensible and persuasive speech—for this was the 
 point specially confided to his tact and eloquence by Mr. Wall. 
 
 Mrs. Travers listened quietly, without the smallest interruption, 
 and when Tom Reed, having exhausted his subject, paused for a 
 reply, she said in a low, firm voice, “ Do not waste any more 
 words, Tom. On this matter my mind is unalterably made up. 
 Had I children, I might decide differently. As I am, no necessity 
 shall compel me to touch Sir Hugh’s money.” 
 
 “ Poor Fanny !” escaped almost involuntarily from Reed’s lips. 
 “ She will be homeless again.” 
 
 “ She shall not,” returned Mrs. Travers, glancing with a kindly 
 smile at her companion, while tears stood in her eyes. “ I could 
 not bear to part with that dear, faithful, thoughtless child—for 
 she is a child in many ways. But, Tom, I have a dim sort of pro¬ 
 ject of which I shall speak to you presently. And I am not quite 
 Avithout resources. I have some jewels, diamonds, and other 
 things which Mr. Travers bought for me, and which are distinctly 
 mine.” 
 
 “ What are they worth ? A mere trifle ; nothing to reckon 
 upon,” replied Reed, in a disparaging tone. 
 
 “ They cost seven or eight hundred pounds, if not more.” 
 
 “ And they would not bring half that money when sold,” he re¬ 
 joined. “ Even if they did, what is the interest of seven hundred 
 pounds ?—not enough to buy you scented soap.” 
 
 And again Tom urged the acceptance of Sir Hugh’s bounty, 
 and almost lost his temper at the widoAv’s senseless obstinacy, as 
 he termed it. Then she shed a feAV tears, which disai’med Tom ; 
 so they parted, Mrs. Travers’s resolution still unmoved, and Reed 
 refusing to consider her decision final. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 8 ^> 
 
 “ Tell Mr. Wall,” ■were her parting words, “ that the day after 
 to-morrow he can hand over this house to Sir Hugh Galbraith, or 
 the owner. I shall leave it before noon.” 
 
 “ But, my dear soul! you will never be able to pack up your 
 traps, and decamp by the day after to-morrow !” 
 
 “I shall. Poor Mills, Fanny, and myself have been preparing 
 ever since I saw Mr. Wall. I only require to find a lodging some¬ 
 where in town. I can do that to-morrow ; and then, Tom, you 
 will still be my counsellor and familiar friend, though I am unfor¬ 
 tunate, and stupid, and blind to my own interests, and everything 
 else that is wrong ?” 
 
 “ Look here, Mrs. Travers,” cried Tom, grasping her hand ener¬ 
 getically ; “ right or wrong. I’ll stick to you through thick and 
 thin!” 
 
 “ I believe you,” she returned, trying bravely not to cry. “ You 
 shall have a line from me with the new address some time to¬ 
 morrow ; and you must come and see us very soon.” 
 
 “ Won’t I ? And now—excuse the question—have you any 
 cash ?” 
 
 “ Yes ; enough for the present. Go, and bid Fanny good-bye. 
 I have too much to do to ask you to stay.” 
 
 A few days later, Reed found Mrs. Travers and his cousin 
 comparatively settled in a small street in that part of Camden 
 Town which considers itself entitled to write Regent’s Park on its 
 addresses. 
 
 The change from the airy, stately, old-fashioned house to the 
 narrow front-parlour struck him with a keen sense of pain ; but 
 he could not refrain from observing that Mrs. Travers looked 
 brighter and Fanny less tearful than when he had seen them last. 
 
 It was evening when he reached their abode, and the little room 
 was somewhat gloomy ; but Mrs. Travers lit tJae gas at once, and 
 then he beheld a table laid for tea, with the addition of cold meat 
 and watercresses. There were even tufts of primroses and violets 
 on the mantel-shelf, and a general look of order and occupation 
 inseparable from the presence of cultivated, thoughtful women. 
 
90 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ Oh, Tom, I am so glad to see you,” cried Fanny, springing to 
 meet him. 
 
 “ And so am I,” said Mrs. Travers heartily ; while Mills, who 
 had been seated at table, rose with a rueful countenance, curtsied, 
 and made as though to leave the room. 
 
 “ Do not stir. Mills. Tom, you will be pleased to have Mills 
 at tea. We are all companions in misfortune,” said Mrs. Travers. 
 
 “ To be sure,” cried Tom cheerfully. “ Sit down, Mrs. Mills. 
 You look pretty comfortable. Tea ! I am dying for a cup. Come, 
 Fanny ; I will let you sit next me, if you promise to cut my bread 
 and butter.” 
 
 And the friends gathered round the table with wonderfully 
 cheerful exteriors, at all events ; and for a while the talk flowed 
 as if nothing had happened. 
 
 “ There is no use in moping,” cried Tom at last. “ What do 
 you say to a box at the Haymarket to-morrow night ? There is a 
 capital piece on there, and I think I can get you a box.” 
 
 “ Take Fanny, by all means,” replied Mrs. Travers ; “ as for me, 
 I do not pretend I should not enjoy it, but it would be most un¬ 
 seemly.” 
 
 “ If you think so, I can say no more ; but you will come, Fanny ? 
 and 1 tell you what, we will take Mrs. Mills. I dare say her 
 ^ young man ’ has not treated her to the theatre all the time she 
 was vegetating at Hampton Court.” 
 
 “ Ah, go long with you, Mr. Tom !” returned Mrs. Mills, slightly 
 relaxing as Reed, raising his voice, addressed her. He was an 
 immense favourite with the afflicted Mills, who remembered him 
 in his school-boy days of tatterdemalionism. 
 
 “ Yes, yes. Mills, you must come!” cried Fanny. “ It will do 
 you all the good in the world.” 
 
 “ Well, now. Miss Fanny, I did think you would be the last to 
 leave my poor dear lady all alone in her trouble, to fret and break 
 her heart; but you go and amuse yourself. I’ll stay and keep her 
 company.” 
 
 “ But, Mills, you are so miserable yourself you won’t do her one 
 bit of good,” returned Fanny at the top of her voice. Then sud- 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 91 
 
 denly lowering it, and in deep penitence, “ There ! what a stupid 
 I am! I have done it,” watching Mills, whose face assumed an 
 awful expression. 
 
 ‘‘ You needn’t tell me so. Miss Fanny. I know well enough I 
 am no good now ; but you needn’t tell me so.” 
 
 “ I do declare. Mills, I never meant anything of the kind.” 
 
 “ No, no,” said Tom, cutting a tempting thin slice of bread and 
 butter; “Miss Fanny only meant to say you and Mrs. Travers 
 would do each other no good if you were left together. A little 
 more bread and butter, Mrs. Mills ?” 
 
 “ I am much obliged to you, I have had enough. No good, in¬ 
 deed !” and Mills, refusing everything, comfort included, made her 
 exit, stating she had plenty to do. 
 
 “ And now, Tom,” said Mrs. Travers, when the table was cleared, 
 “ let us have a committee of ways and means ; bring over my 
 Avriting-book and the ink, Fanny, while I get all my worldly goods 
 for Tom’s inspection.” 
 
 “ Oh, Tom !” cried Fanny, as Mrs. Travers left the room ; “ do 
 not let her send me aAvay ! I cannot tell you how miserable I am 
 sometimes when the possibility of such a thing comes across me. 
 I shiver and turn cold, and I knoAV I look blue. I suppose I am 
 very selfish and good-for-nothing to feel so ; I ought to be bravo 
 .and go away and earn my own bread, but I can’t, dear Tom, I can’t 
 indeed. It Avas so horrible before ; I could do anything Avith her 
 —but alone ” 
 
 She broke down abruptly. Poor Reed’s heart Avas at his lips, 
 he caught her hand in both his own, his keen black eyes softening 
 Avith the tenderest sympathjn “ Dearest, sweetest cousin !” he 
 ■exclaimed, in such an unusual tone that Fanny looked up startled, 
 “ you must not fret yourself. I think ]Mrs. Travers will manage 
 to keep you Avith her still; and if she cannot—Avhy, you had better 
 come and manage my housekeeping.” And he kissed the hand he 
 held lovingly. 
 
 “ Oh ! Tom,” returned Fanny, Avith a vivid blush as a conscious¬ 
 ness of his meaning dawned upon her ; “ that is nonsense.” 
 
 “ I am afraid it is, just at present,” said Tom, Avith a sigh and a 
 
92 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 smile, as he slowly relinquished her hand. “ But if ever-” in¬ 
 
 terrupting himself, “ Fanny ! I must never indulge myself in such 
 talk till it ceases to be nonsense. Eh, Fanny, darling ?” 
 
 “ Nothing short of the profoundest sense should ever be ad¬ 
 dressed to such a sage as I am,” returned Fanny, arranging the 
 writing materials a little nervously ; “ so no more nonsense an you 
 love me, Tom.” 
 
 “ As I love you, no !” said Feed with unwonted seriousness. 
 
 Mrs. Travers re-entered at that moment, perhaps fortunately 
 for Tom Reed’s self-control. “ I have restored Mills’s equanimity,” 
 she said, smiling, “ which kept me a little. Here, here is all I 
 possess !” and she placed sundry morocco-covered cases on the 
 table. 
 
 “ Ah ! now for an examination,” cried Tom ; and the three 
 friends drew in their chairs. “ What have we here ?” he continued, 
 assuming a solemn and magisterial air. “ Three diamond stars! 
 By Jove ! they are sparklers !” 
 
 “ How lovely, Kate ! Why did you never show them to me 
 before ? Is it not cruel to have to sell them ?” said Fanny. 
 
 “ Here are the earrings to match,” said Mrs. Travers. “ Poor 
 Mr. Travers bought them after the first great dinner-party we went 
 to together, when he observed I was the only lady present without 
 jewels ; the stars cost tvo hundred and fifty guineas, and the ear¬ 
 rings one hundred.” 
 
 “ Put that down, Fanny ; mind you make nice figures. What 
 next, madam ?” 
 
 “ These bracelets, opal and diamond, and emeralds. Mr. Travers 
 gave seventy pounds for one, but I do not know how much for the 
 other.” 
 
 “ The stones look very fine ; but I am no judge,” said Reed. 
 And so they went through the whole array—bracelets, rings and 
 lockets, jewelled hair-pins and earrings ; the prices of but few 
 were known to Mrs. Travers, and Reed tried to guess at their 
 probable cost, always telling Fanny to put down considerably less. 
 Yet on examining the list, he found a sum total of six hundred 
 and thirty-five pounds. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 D3 
 
 “ A decent little capital, if you could but realise it,” cried Tom. 
 ■“We must not hope for that, I fear. You may get something 
 near the value of the stones if we can find an honest jeweller. 
 The diamonds ought to sell well if we could find a private pur¬ 
 chaser. My own experience in such matters is extremely limited—, 
 limited, in short, to small transactions in days bygone, with a 
 relative whose natural and acquired sharpness, quite unsoftened 
 by any kinsmanly consideration, was more than a match for my 
 inexperience.” Mrs. Travers laughed, and Fanny opened her eyes. 
 “ We must do the best we can,” resumed Tom. “ I shall take 
 advice. Perhaps,” insinuatingly, “ when you find how little these 
 pretty things will produce, you will give more favourable consider¬ 
 ation to the offer-” 
 
 “ If they only bring me twenty-five pounds, or nothing, my de¬ 
 termination will be still the same ; do not mention that man or 
 his offer,” said Mrs. Travers in a low voice. 
 
 “Do you know I have seen him?” exclaimed Fanny, with 
 mingled horror and triumph. 
 
 “ You ! impossible !” cried Mrs. Travers and Tom together. 
 
 “ Yes, I did. It was that day, just before we left, when I went 
 to look for you, Kate, in the Palace gardens, I saw Colonel Upton 
 walking with a great, tall, ugly, red-looking man. I felt in some 
 extraordinary way that it was—him,” continued Fanny, suppress¬ 
 ing the name. “ And in the afternoon, when I was paying the 
 bills, you know, Kate, I met that horrid Mrs. Danby, and she cried 
 out, ‘ Has Sir Hugh Galbraith been to see you ? for he is down 
 here to-day with Colonel Upton.’ ” 
 
 “ How has the charming- Mrs. Danby become horrid ?” asked 
 Peed, looking up from his figures, to change the conversation. 
 
 “ Oh, she was so prying and unfeeling, and-” 
 
 “ But,” resumed the prime counsellor, turning to Mrs. Travers, 
 ■who kept silence, “ suppose you succeed in getting, say, half the 
 value, or rather the cost of these pretty things. What is yoqr 
 scheme ? for I see you have one.” 
 
 “ Read that,” replied Mrs. Travers, opening her pocket-book 
 and taking out a slip of ne-v\'spaper ; “ read it aloud.” 
 
94 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 Tom took it and read as follows :— 
 
 “ To be disposed of, on moderate terms, in consequence of the 
 owner’s death, the goodwill and stock-in-hand of a first-class 
 fancy-work and stationery business in a thriving town on the sea- 
 coast, not far from London, much frequented by summer visitors, 
 and surrounded by resident gentry. The lease of the house (old- 
 fashioned and commodious), seven years unexpired, to be included 
 in the purchase. Address C. P., Messrs. Hook and Crook, Size 
 Lane, City.” 
 
 “ Why, what in Heaven’s name has this to do with it ?” cried 
 Tom, when he finished, looking up with a bewildered air. 
 
 “ Everything,” returned Mrs. Travers quietly. “ If, on inquiry, 
 it turns out a promising speculation, an^ I can get money enough, 
 I shall buy it and turn tradeswoman—yoii know I am partly ‘ to 
 the manner born,’ Tom.” 
 
 “Keep a shop! you!” exclaimed Fanny, in open-mouthed 
 amazement, and then became silent, too stunned to talk. 
 
 “ Well, this is quite in keeping with your refusal to accept the 
 tolerable means of existence to which you have an undoubted 
 right. I never heard anything so preposterous,” said Tom, vsdth 
 some heat. “ What would poor old Travers say, if he could look 
 out of his grave, to see his name over the door of a miserable 
 shop !—and you always say you respect his wishes.” 
 
 “ His name was long enough on a doorpost; but it shall not be 
 over any shop. Have patience, Tom ; hear all my scheme,” said 
 Mrs. Travers, with much sweetness, and then went on rapidly, “ I 
 have thought of everything. I must work to live—the question is 
 how ? There are only two lines open to women, teaching, or 
 business in a small way. I leave the miserable indefiniteness of 
 ‘ companionship ’ out of the question. If I adopt teaching I 
 become at once a homeless waif, and Fanny the same ; while 
 Mills will have to be provided for somehow. True, I might 
 attempt a school, where they would be of use to me ; but I cannot 
 find that I have courage for such a hopeless struggle as working 
 up a school. Now, this ‘ business ’ will give me a home and evenings 
 to myself. I have already written for particulars. If they are 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 95 
 
 satisfactory I will risk it, Tom ; but one thing I promise you, 
 unless I can pay the whole purchase-money at once, I will give it 
 up. I will not begin with a burden of debt on my back. Fanny 
 shall be my assistant. Mills our housekeeper, so the old home shall 
 not be broken up ; and trust me, I will put heart and soul, energy 
 and pluck, into my new career.” 
 
 “ Career !” echoed Tom, “ I never heard such insanity ! you will 
 lose your money, and your position into the bargain. Fancy you 
 behind a counter, and Fanny matching wools ! I can never con¬ 
 sent to such degradation.” 
 
 “Is that a suitable word from the sub-editor of a ‘high-class 
 Liberal paper ?’ For shame, Tom ! do not be false to your prin¬ 
 ciples. My career shall not be degrading ; but listen to me. I do 
 not want any one save yourself to know where I am. I want to 
 lie in wait for some evidence about this will. I shall never rest 
 until I know the truth—there is some unaccountable mystery 
 about it.” 
 
 “ Not much,«I am afraid,” said Tom, shaking his head. 
 
 “ I always think that horrid Mr. Ford made it up to worry us 
 all,” exclaimed Fanny, at the last speaking with her tongue. 
 
 “ I see I shall have to secure berths for both of you at Hanwell,” 
 said Tom resignedly. “ Mrs. Travers wanting to keep a shop, and 
 you, Fanny, accusing that poor fellow, Ford—who has lost his 
 legacy, and will no doubt lose his situation, who has always been 
 Mrs. Travers’s most devoted servant—of forging a will directly 
 opposed to his own interests !—really, you are a pair of very 
 charming madwomen !” 
 
 “ Do not be so ridiculous, Tom ; I never could bear Mr. Ford.” 
 
 “Ah, then, I dare say he has committed a couple of murders, 
 and forged no end of things,” said Tom, with an air of assumed 
 conviction. ' 
 
 “ Do not talk such nonsense, Fanny dear,” added Mrs. Travers 
 absently. 
 
 “ Now, let us say no more about this wild project,” said Tom, 
 rising. “ You will think differently when you have reflected a 
 little more. It is getting late. I will make all the inquiries I can 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 ^)G 
 
 to-morrow as to the best course to be pursued with the jewels ; 
 und perhaps have something to suggest when I come for Fanny to 
 go to the Haymarket; for we must not lose our expedition because 
 we quarrel—eh, mesdames ?” 
 
 “No, certainly not,” replied Kate. “One word, Tom, before 
 you go. Your word of honour, that you keep this project of mine 
 a secret from every one, especially Mr. Wall and Mr. Ford.” 
 
 “ Trust me, I would not mention your temporary insanity to any 
 one. By the way, Ford was with me to-day—and deucedly cut¬ 
 up he looks—to ask your address. I said I did not know if I was 
 at liberty to give it; but that I would forward any note. He told 
 me he heard old Mr. Gervais had refused to act as executor.” 
 
 “ Then everything is absolutely in Sir Hugh’s hands,” exclaimed 
 Mrs. Travers. “ Time, and time only, can unravel this web ! Good¬ 
 night, Tom ; bear with me yet.” 
 
 “Good-night, Fanny,” squeezing her hand; on which the mis¬ 
 chievous little witch cried, “ Oh, you hurt me ; see the mark my 
 ring has made !” whereat Mi's. Travers laughed good-humouredly, 
 and Tom, also laughing, disappeared. 
 
 “ Tell me, Fanny,” said Mrs. Travers thoughtfully, when they 
 were left alone, “would it break your heart to keep a shop with 
 me?” 
 
 “ Oh, to tell the real truth, I do not like the idea of a shop at 
 all. I always fancy the Honourable Mrs. Danby turning up to 
 buy twopence-halfpenny worth of wool, and her polite, well-bred 
 surprise at finding you and me there. But Kate, dear, rather than 
 be parted from you, I would help you to keep a rag-and-bone shop !” 
 cried Fanny heartily, falling on her neck and kissing her. “ Only 
 you must mind what Tom says. He knoAvs everything ! and, Kate 
 —I did not like to mention it before him—but there is that beau¬ 
 tiful pearl locket and the turquoise bracelet you gave me. You 
 do not suppose I am going to keep them? There!” taking two 
 cases from her pocket. “ I got them out when I heard you say 
 you were going to look over your things ; and,” continued Fanny, 
 blushing, “ I have five pounds left of what you are pleased to call 
 my quarter’s salary—there it is ! I am ashamed to have so little, 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 97 
 
 and I would not even have that, only it is so soon after quarter- 
 day.” 
 
 “ I think, dear Fan, we may spare my little gifts—at least at 
 present. But I will gratefully accept the money. Keep a sovereign, 
 just to prevent your being penniless !” 
 
 “ Oh, I am nothing of the kind. I have five shillings left. More, 
 Kate—dearest Kate—than I had when you took me in !” Another 
 hug. 
 
 “ Well, go to bed, dear,” returned the young widow. “ We can 
 do no more at present. I believe, Fanny, there is a happy future 
 before you ; and for myself, somehow, I cannot fear, so long as I 
 can work in my own way.” 
 
 Fanny disappeared; but Kate Travers sat long alone, and in 
 profound meditation. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Time seemed very long to our dispossessed heroine and her depen¬ 
 dents while Tom Reed sought, with all the energy and shrewdness 
 for which he was remarkable, to do the best for his friends. Of the 
 three, Fanny seemed to bear the lingering days best. Mrs. Travers 
 noticed that since her visit to the theatre imder her cousin’s escort, 
 there had been a remarkable look of quiet happiness in her eyes, a 
 little less of flightiness in her conversation, from which she drew 
 her oAvn conclusions, though she asked no injudicious questions. 
 
 Meantime the reply to her inquiries respecting the fancy-work 
 business duly arrived, and seemed satisfactory and straightforward. 
 The last possessor had maintained an invalid husband and a daughter 
 besides herself upon the proceeds. The daughter was married and 
 in easy circumstances, so was not disposed to carry on the under¬ 
 taking. She therefore wished to sell it as soon as possible, and 
 sink the money and some small savings in a life annuity for her 
 father. The sum asked (four hundred pounds), though not large, 
 was the difficulty, as Mrs. Travers found the prices offered for her 
 jewels were far below what she had anticipated. 
 
 7 
 
98 
 
 TIER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 If she had any other scheme within the bounds of reason on foot, 
 Reed said, she might take counsel with, and obtain assistance from, 
 Mr. Wall, though he was deeply incensed by her refusal of Sir 
 Hugh Galbraith’s offer. 
 
 But one of Mrs. Travers’s objects, indeed her chief object, 
 seemed a desire to vanish from the scene into obscurity, at least 
 for the present. “ And,” she thought—for she was pondering 
 these things as usual, while dressing one morning, a few days after 
 the interview last described —“ I must not forget Mrs. Bell, poor 
 old Gregory’s daughter. I dare say she knows nothing of the 
 changes that have taken place. I must let her know that it is out 
 of my power to fulfil my promise of a further gift. What a dis¬ 
 appointment it will be to her ! I will call upon her to-day ; and I 
 will also see Mr. Wall, and ask him to intercede with Sir Hugh, 
 and induce him to make her some small allowance or present. I 
 dread seeing that severe lawyer, but I must, and this is a topic that 
 will nerve me.” 
 
 Mrs. Travers’s expectations of a chilling reception were amply 
 fulfilled. Mr. Wall was expressively silent on the subject which 
 was uppermost in the thoughts of each, though he slightly relaxed 
 the terrors of his countenance as the young widow, her violet-blue 
 eyes suffused with tears, thanked him in her low, clear tones, for 
 the friendly interest he had shown in her. 
 
 “ I could have done much more for you had you acted with the 
 same common sense you have hitherto shown,” he replied gloomily. 
 And Mrs. Travers remarked, with an inward smile, the subtle 
 change in his tone. It was far from being careless or disrespect¬ 
 ful ; but it was perceptibly more familiar than in the days so short 
 a time ago—yet so infinitely far back—when she was surrounded 
 by the halo of that divinity which doth hedge the owner of real 
 and personal property. 
 
 “ And have you formed any plans ?—though perhaps you do not 
 care to divulge them to a person whose advice was so unaccept¬ 
 able.” 
 
 “ I cannot fix anything until some jewels I have are disposed of. 
 I have thought of going on the Continent. I know German and 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 99 
 
 Germany tolerably ; and it has been suggested that I should try 
 and establish a school for English girls in one of the Rhine towns,” 
 returned Mrs. Travers hesitatingly. 
 
 “ Ha ! not a bad idea. And the jewels—may I ask their probable 
 value ?” 
 
 “ Seven or eight hundred pounds. At least, they cost that sum. 
 Do you think you could assist me to dispose of them ?” 
 
 “ I do not think I could. I don't think I could : but you might 
 let me see them,” added the worthy lawyer, melting more and 
 more. 
 
 “ I will. And now, Mr. Wall, I have a great favour to ask,” 
 began Mrs. Travers, and proceeded to unfold her benevolent plan 
 of representing poor Mrs. Bell’s case to Sir Hugh Galbraith. 
 
 But this proposition had a most unfortunate effect in rousing 
 Mr. Wall’s indignation at the idea of asking that consideration for 
 another which she rejected for herself ; and he absolutely refused. 
 “ The application, if it be made, should come through Mr. Ford,” 
 concluded the lawyer, in a chilling voice. 
 
 “ But may he not be dismissed by this time ?” asked Mrs. 
 Travers. 
 
 “ I should say certainly not. Ford is too essential to the wind¬ 
 ing up of the business, if it is to be wound up. I shoiild not be 
 surprised if Sir Hugh Galbraith bestows upon him the five hundred 
 originally bequeathed. If he is wise, he will ; and I dare say he 
 will not reject it.” 
 
 “ Then I shall ask Mr. Ford’s assistance,” replied Mrs. Travers, 
 with some spirit, and rising as she spoke. “ I need not trespass 
 any longer on your time. If we should not meet again, pray re¬ 
 member I shall always be grateful for your friendliness ; and I 
 consider your displeasure proves a high degree of friendliness,” 
 concluded the young widow, holding out her hand with a smile 
 half sad, half playful. 
 
 The old lawyer, slightly thawing once more, began, “ I shall 
 always be happy to be of use to you.” Then, checking himself, 
 added, “ But, excuse mo, no one can be of use to a wilful 
 
 7—2 
 
 woman. 
 
100 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ Good-bye,” said Mrs. Travers, declining tbe combat; and she 
 hastily left the room. 
 
 It surprised her to feel such a choking sensation in her throat 
 when she found herself once more alone and in the street. Was 
 her courage going to fail ? That must not be. Yet it was rather 
 appalling to look round and see every one against her—Tom, Mr. 
 Wall, Fanny, and last, far from least. Mills. Could she only be 
 right and all these wrong ? How hard it is to have faith in one’s 
 own convictions, especially for those frank minds who can believe 
 heartily, and are yet free from obstinacy ? “ Nevertheless, I will 
 
 persevere. If I can muster money enough for this purchase, I 
 will make it. What a grand triumph it would be to make a busi¬ 
 ness pay ! to prove myself the best judge of my own affairs, even 
 if my other ‘ dim religious’ hope be unfulfilled. Yet I risk and 
 resign much.” 
 
 So thinking, she persevered in a hot, dusty walk, and a still 
 hotter, dustier “ ride” in an omnibus, in order to reach Mrs. Bell’s 
 abode. 
 
 It was past four o’clock, and she was delighted to see quite a 
 stream of little girls, bag or satchel in hand, issuing from the door. 
 The whole aspect of the house was changed, as was also that of 
 Mrs. Bell and her daughter. 
 
 “ I am sorry to be the bearer of what is bad news for us both, 
 Mrs. Bell,” she began, and at once plunged into the narrative of 
 her changed fortunes; her listener’s countenance fell as she pro¬ 
 ceeded. 
 
 “ Dear me,” she observed, when Mrs. Travers stopped, “ I can 
 hardly believe it. It is a shame, and you can do nothing ? Surely 
 the law can stop such a will as that ?” 
 
 “ I fear not, Mrs. Bell. Pray have you ever heard your father 
 speak of having written out a will at Mr. Travers’s dictation ?” 
 
 “ I have heard something about it, but I forget what. What 
 was it now ?” striving painfully to remember, while she mechani¬ 
 cally plaited up the edge of a large black stuff apron which covered 
 her dress. “ It was something I heard my father say one eveninf*’ 
 not long before my brother sailed last time, a year ago, about work- 
 
BEE DEAREST FOE. 
 
 101 
 
 ing after hours for Mr. Travers, and that he thought he ought to 
 have a rise when Mr. Travers trusted him to do private business 
 he did not give even to Mr. Ford. I think those were his words.” 
 
 “ Do you think your brother would know anything more ?” 
 asked Mrs. Travers eagerly. 
 
 “ He might and he might not. You see, John has a great deal 
 on his mind ; but that is all I remember.” 
 
 “ When do you expect Captain Gregory back ?” 
 
 “ I do not exactly know. He was to have been home next 
 month, but my sister-in-law had a letter last week, and his ship is 
 taken up to carry rice somewhere in India, and he does not seem to 
 know when he will be home.” 
 
 “ You will let me know whenever he returns, will you not ?” 
 said Mrs. Travers impressively. 
 
 ‘‘You may depend upon me.” 
 
 Mrs. Travers then proceeded to tell her downcast protege of her 
 intended application to Sir Hugh Galbraith, with what success she 
 could not pretend to foresee, and after some Idndly, friendly talk, 
 left Mrs. Bell somewhat cheered, and giving her own address to 
 Heed’s care. 
 
 It was late, and she felt greatly wearied when she reached her 
 lodgings ; and although Mrs. Mills met her with many half-testy, 
 half-sympathetic expressions of regret that she should go and just 
 wear herself out, she was wonderfully disappointed to find that 
 Fanny had gone away with Mr. Heed for a walk in the park. 
 
 But she was not left long alone ; by the time tea was prepared 
 the cousins returned, and Mrs. Travers fancied there was the pro¬ 
 mise of something cheering in the expression of Tom Reed’s coun¬ 
 tenance. He said nothing, however, till the tea-things were re¬ 
 moved, and they were once more in committee. 
 
 “ Well,” he exclaimed, “ I think I have found a chance for dis¬ 
 posing of the diamonds at last, Mrs. Travers. A friend of our 
 ‘ chief,’ a young fellow from Lancashire, who is up in town spend¬ 
 ing his money and seeing life, wants to present a lady with some 
 diamonds (I suppose lea?, fiancee). I overheard him ask Penington 
 (that is our editor) what a regular turn-out would be likely to 
 
102 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 cost ? He said, ‘ Oli, eight hundred or a thousand pounds.’ This 
 seemed to stagger our young rustic, so I put in my oar. ‘ I could 
 get ;yT»u a first-rate set for four hundred, good as new, from one of 
 
 the first houses in London’ (yours were from H-, were they 
 
 not ?). He pricked up his ears at this, and, in short, I have agreed 
 to show him the jewels, if you will trust them with me.” 
 
 “ V/hat a good fellow you are, Tom,” cried Mrs. Travers. “ You 
 never lose a chance.” 
 
 “ And be sure you make him pay four hundred guineas !” ex¬ 
 claimed Fanny. 
 
 “ Oh, you greedy creature ! No, Tom, I shall be quite satisfied 
 if I can get what they cost.” 
 
 “ Diamonds is ‘ riz ’ since those were bought,” returned Reed 
 solemnly. “ The young man shall have them at a trifle below the 
 present value—if he will buy them. You will please to remember 
 there is an ‘ if ’ in the case.” 
 
 “ I am quite aware of it,” said Mrs. Travers. “ There, Fanny, 
 is the key of my dressing-box ; bring down the three red morocco 
 cases.” Then, as she left the room, she added, “ How well Fan 
 looks, and what a comfort she is to me ! I do hope, Tom, you will 
 not, as her next of kin, raise any serious objection to her joining 
 me in business. I would not feel justified in deliberately opposing 
 you.” 
 
 “ I do not think she would mind me if I did,” I’eturned Reed, 
 smiling and shrugging his shoulders. “ But I have no right to in¬ 
 terfere—at present. Remember, this admission is without preju¬ 
 dice to any future interference I may feel entitled to.” 
 
 “ I understand,” replied Mrs. Travers, smiling kindly upon him. 
 
 “ For the present we must only think of you, and how best to 
 help you,” he resumed ; “ and though your scheme at first seemed 
 the maddest idea, I begin to think it might be managed if you had 
 the least knowledge of business ; but I am afraid you will come to 
 grief.” 
 
 “ I think I shall manage it,” said Kate Travers thoughtfully, 
 “ if I can only get a margin, after the purchase, to live upon for 
 the first year, and make the business feed itself.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 103 
 
 “ And what margin would you require ?” 
 
 “Well, the rent is low, and we have plenty of clothes : I dare 
 say a hundred and thirty or forty pounds.” 
 
 “A hundred and thirty pounds!” echoed Tom. “You will 
 never do it.” 
 
 Here Fanny returned with the diamonds. They were again 
 examined and admired. The high preservation of the cases was 
 pointed out as a most favourable circumstance. Then Tom Reed 
 put them in his breast-pocket, buttoned up his coat, and swore 
 melodramatically that whoever attempted to take them would first 
 have to rifle his mangled corse. 
 
 “ Talking of mangling, Tom,” said Fanny, “ I saw that dreadful¬ 
 looking man you spoke to at Waterloo Station the day I came from 
 Yorkshire in the park to-day, sitting under the trees near the 
 canal; but I would not tell you, for fear you would speak.” 
 
 “ You saw him, then ? So did I ; but said nothing, lest you 
 should do anything to attract his attention. Poor devil ! he looks 
 worse than ever. I wonder who he has got hold of—a well-dressed, 
 respectable-looking fellow.” 
 
 “Yes, he was,” replied Fanny; “and I have an idea I know his face!” 
 
 “ Nonsense, Fan !” cried Mrs. Travers. “ You are always fancy¬ 
 ing you remember people.” 
 
 “ I have a wonderful memory for faces,” said that young person, 
 shaking her head gravely. 
 
 “ And now farewell, and peace be with you,” said Tom, rising. 
 
 “ One moment,” exclaimed Mrs. Ti’avers. “ I had almost 
 forgotten. Have you given Mr. Ford my address ?” 
 
 “ No, I never thought of it.” 
 
 “ I will write to him myself, then. I must see him about that 
 poor woman, Mrs. Bell, though I would much rather not. Remem¬ 
 ber, Tom, should you meet him, not a word of my plans.” 
 
 “ Sovereign ! to hear is to obey.” 
 
 Writing to ask a favour of Mr. Ford was an especially distasteful 
 task to Kate. She felt it must lead to the unpleasantness of an 
 interview, there was so much to be discussed between them. More¬ 
 over, she was anxious not to show anything like resentment for the 
 
104 
 
 TIER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 trouble be was the innocent means of bringing upon her; and, 
 with the effort to compose a suitable note, came a curious train of 
 thought. Old feelings of distrust and undefinable, unreasonable 
 aversion came back upon her ; suspicions she could not drive away, 
 and was ashamed to express, thronged her mind, thick,, shapeless, 
 like volumes of vapour, too vague to be combated, too pervading 
 to be resisted. 
 
 Yet, if she did not speak her thoughts, how was she ever to make 
 an onward step in her progress towards unravelling the mystery of 
 the will ? “ Ah, there is no use in thinking about it now. I must 
 
 wait—I must wait,” said Mrs. Travers, with a sigh, resuming her 
 pen and hastily finishing her note, not at all to her satisfaction ; 
 but she could do no better, so she let it go. 
 
 It was speedily answered. Mr. Ford stated, in the best possible 
 English, that he had been somewhat seriously indisposed, or he 
 should have made an attempt to see Mrs. Travers before ; and, as 
 it was impossible to discuss the matter mentioned in her note 
 except in a personal interview, he would do himself the honour of 
 calhng on Mrs. Travers on the following Thursday evening. 
 
 Mrs. Travers laid down the note with a sigh, and opened one 
 from Reed, which informed her that “ the Lancashire lad ” was 
 favourably disposed towards the diamonds, but wished to look 
 about him before purchasing them. 
 
 “ So there is still an ‘ if ’ in the case,” wrote Reed, “ but it is no 
 longer in italics.” 
 
 C -Z- Q C C- 
 
 Mrs. Travers was positively startled at the change in IMr. Ford’s 
 appearance when he presented himself on the appointed evening. 
 He looked years older, greyer, thinner, less erect, and ghastly pale, 
 
 “ You must have been ill indeed, Mr. Ford,” said the young 
 widow kindly as she gave him her hand. 
 
 “ I have been somewhat seriously unwell, which was very incon¬ 
 venient, as my services were much wanted. But, Mrs. Travers, to 
 see you here—here, in this mean abode. It is more almost than I 
 can bear !” His voice failed, and he sat down hastily, as if unable 
 to stand. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 105 
 
 “ Dear me ! Have a glass of wine, or a little brandy and water,” 
 cried Fanny, quite melted from her hardness of heart by the evident 
 feeling of the obnoxious Mr. Ford. 
 
 “ Nothing, I thank you—nothing. And, Mrs. Travers, it is 
 astonishing to see how well you bear yourself under such a reverse t 
 And how well you look !” 
 
 “ I am quite well, and far from hopeless.” 
 
 “ May I ask if you intend to remain here, or-” 
 
 “I have made no plan as yet,” returned Mrs. Travers quickly. 
 “ In fact, I cannot until Mr. Reed has made some arrangements 
 which he has kindly undertaken for me ; but we think of going on 
 the Continent.” 
 
 “ On the Continent!” he repeated ; and then went on with the 
 sort of deprecatory smile and slight catch in his voice which Mrs. 
 Travers always thought an indication that he was forcing himself 
 to say something he knew to be disagreeable. “ It has been some 
 slight consolation tome to reflect that at least you possessed jewels 
 of considerable value. I well remember filling up the cheques to 
 pay for them. And it has struck me that my services might be 
 useful in disposing of them.” 
 
 Mrs. Travers coloured vividly. This determination still to 
 interfere in her affairs roused a degree of indignation quite dis- 
 proportioned to the cause ; but she carefully restrained herself. 
 
 “ You are very good, Mr. Ford ; but Mr. Reed has undertaken 
 that matter ; so I need not trespass on you. You must be fully 
 occupied, and I fear not equal to much exertion.” 
 
 Ford looked down and wiped his brow. “ I felt obliged to 
 crawl back to the office the day before yesterday,” he said, “ and 
 there I saw Sir Hugh Galbraith. I cannot say he made a favour¬ 
 able impression upon me. He is a cold, haughty, overbearing 
 man, who, though passably civil, evidently looks upon all the 
 employes of the house as infinitely beneath him. Even if the firm 
 is still kept on, nothing would tempt me to continue in his employ¬ 
 ment.” 
 
 “ And is the old firm to be broken up ?” asked Mrs. Travers, with 
 deep interest, remembering sadly her own dreams on this subject. 
 
106 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ I do not know certainly ; but I think so. The refusal of Mr. 
 Gervais to act under the will has, I believe, greatly annoyed Sir 
 Hugh. He is, I understand, anxious to realise, and cut all con¬ 
 nection with the City. I had an opportunity of speaking to Sir 
 Hugh Galbraith to-day. When, though much against my inclina¬ 
 tion, in obedience to your wish, Mrs. Travers, I mentioned Mrs. 
 Bell’s case to him, he listened not unfavourably, and said he would 
 consult his solicitors on the subject, and added some remarks very 
 favourable to myself, which yet,” added Mr. Ford fervently, “ did 
 little to reconcile me to the terrible change of rulers. Sir Hugh 
 Galbraith in your place, my dear lady, is an hourly living torture 
 I—I—cannot stand ”—and Mr. Ford again pressed his handker¬ 
 chief to his brow. 
 
 “ I trust this man will have some respect for your interests,” re¬ 
 plied Mrs. Travers, feeling a little puzzled how to reply. 
 
 “ My interests,” he returned, waving his hand, “ are of small im¬ 
 portance if I only could”-he paused abruptly. 
 
 “ They are of importance to yourself, at any rate,” observed Mrs. 
 Travers, to break the awkward pause which followed. 
 
 “ Will you excuse me ?” said Ford, with a sort of desperate 
 effort to Fanny ; “ but I have a few words to say to Mrs. Travers, 
 which are for her ear alone.” 
 
 “ Certainly,” replied Fanny, rising. 
 
 “ But, IMr. Ford, I have no secrets from Miss Lee,’’ exclaimed 
 Mrs. Travers. 
 
 “ Nevertheless, I trust you will grant me a few moments,” said 
 that gentleman, his brows slightly contracting as he marked the 
 young widow’s substitution of “ Miss Lee” for “ Fanny,” when she 
 spoke of her friend to him. 
 
 “ Oh, as you will,” returned Mrs. Travers, and Fanny left the 
 room. Then a painful silence ensued. At last Mr. Ford began in 
 a tremulous voice, and evidently contending with some strong 
 emotion. “ My dear Mrs. Travers, my head is in such painful con¬ 
 fusion I scarce know how to express the thoughts that throng upon 
 me. I have known no rest since the discovery of that hateful will. 
 Over and over again I have regretted not destroying it—not leav- 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 107 
 
 ing matters as they were ! But to have injured you—to have 
 benefited that haughty, contemptuous fellow ! Can yon forgive 
 me ?” He clasped his hands together in an attitude of entreaty, 
 quite carried away beyond his ordinary conventionality and studied 
 phraseology by the force of his feelings. 
 
 “ Pray do not speak in this way, Mr. Ford! I have nothing to 
 forgive. You have simply done your duty — your unavoidable 
 duty,” said Mrs. Travers. Then, fixing her earnest eyes full upon 
 him, she added in a lower, graver tone, “ And I pity you—pity you 
 deeply.” 
 
 Ford, with a rapid, involuntary motion, pressed one hand over 
 his eyes, as if to shut out hers ; but recovering himself imme¬ 
 diately, asked quickly, “ Pity me ! Why ? I know I am wretched, 
 but why do you compassionate me ?” 
 
 “ Because you have been the means of causing mortification and 
 loss to one whom you profess to like and respect.” 
 
 “ You are very cruel,” cried Ford, his pale face flushing. 
 
 “I do not mean to be so,” returned Mrs. Travers quietly, and 
 still looking at him. 
 
 “ Perhaps not; but hear me. One purpose of my visit to-night 
 is to inform you Sir Hugh Galbraith has expressed his desire that 
 the legacy of five hundred pounds originally left me by Mr. Travers 
 should be paid over at once. He is pleased to say that I have 
 amply deserved it, and he cannot understand why it was struck 
 out. Now, Mrs. Travers, I consider this ought to be yours. It is 
 yours. I will never touch it. By all that I hold sacred, I will 
 never touch it. You will take it, will you not ?” he urged 
 feverishly, rising from his seat and clasping her hand in a burning 
 trembling grasp. 
 
 Mrs. Travers was much moved, but instantly withdrew from his 
 touch. 
 
 “ It is a very kind, generous impulse that prompts you, Mr. 
 Ford. I shall always remember your offer with gratitude ; but 
 when you are stronger and better able to reflect calmly, you will 
 yourself see the impossibility of my acceptance.” 
 
 “ I do not see it. The money is of no value to me. I have 
 
108 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 lived sparingly. I have saved. I have money enough—more than 
 people think ; and I am alone—alone !” 
 
 “ Yes, at present,” said Mrs. Travers kindly bnt firmly, with the 
 indefinable tone of superiority which always subdued, yet maddened 
 Ford. “ But you are quite young enough to form the closest ties 
 —to create a home for yourself; and hereafter, when you may 
 want to push the fortunes of your children, you will be glad of 
 the money you would now give away.” 
 
 “ Never,” he cried, walking up and down the room. “ Nothing 
 is of value to me, except so far as it is of use to you. I have in¬ 
 jured you ! I mean, I have involuntarily been the means of in¬ 
 juring you. Let me atone. All that belongs to me is yours—my 
 whole life, if it can be of the slightest use.” 
 
 “ Mr. Ford, these are expressions I cannot listen to. You are 
 unnerved ; you are not yourself. You must understand that it is 
 impossible I could entertain such a proposition for a moment. I 
 cannot listen to such wild words.” 
 
 “ But I will speak out for once,” cried Ford, greatly agitated. 
 “ Why should you despise and turn from me ? What is the dif¬ 
 ference between us ? When first I knew you, mine was the best 
 position of the two. I always loved you. I strove and saved to 
 make you my wife ; but my master”—with great bitterness— 
 “ stepped in and robbed me. And do you think I did not watch 
 how he spoiled your life, and felt nearly mad between a sort of 
 joy to think he was leaving your heart for me, and the bitterest 
 sorrow for you. And then to find you—you that I had always 
 dreamed of as in a measure dependent on me—assume the mastery,, 
 and treat me as a favoured servant. Oh, Mrs. Travers ! Oh, 
 Kate ! God pardon you for the suffering you have inflicted. Now 
 it is all over. You are poor and alone. I am wealthy compared 
 to you. Take it all! take my whole existence—be my wife. 
 There, I have broken through the strange spell you have always 
 laid upon me. That is my hope—my heart’s dearest wish ; nothing 
 short of it will satisfy me.” 
 
 He paused out of breath, his heart heaving, yet not brave 
 enough to diminish by a step the distance between them. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 109 
 
 Mrs. Travers was greatly moved ; half frightened, half revolted. 
 
 “ You give me infinite pain,” she exclaimed after a moment’s 
 pause. “ Do you not see how distressing, how shocking it must be 
 to a woman so lately widowed to hear such words from any man ? 
 They are almost an insult.” 
 
 “ Then,” cried Ford, interrupting her, “ when may I speak V 
 Some months hence ? Oh ! I will wait if-” 
 
 “ Never dare to address me in the same strain,” said Mrs. Travers, 
 her curious antipathy to the unfortunate Ford flaming up into a 
 sudden activity that quite overcame her self-control. “ I do not 
 mean any disrespect to you. I know that your position was as good 
 as my own ; but I now represent my late husband, and your words 
 are an unseemly anomaly. More. However worthy of regard, it 
 is not always given to men to meet with reciprocity. Position out 
 of the question, you should have seen there was no chance for you 
 with me. We can never meet again. I—I do not want to be harsh 
 or unfeeling, but you have brought this on yourself. How dared 
 you think of me with such feelings during your master’s life ! We 
 must never meet again.” 
 
 “ Enough,” cried Ford ; “ 3mu have finished your work and re¬ 
 stored me some strength. Good-evening, Mrs. Travers. In all 
 probability your wish will be fulfilled. We may never meet again; 
 but you may regret it.” 
 
 With a ghastly pale face and gleaming eyes, full of rage and 
 hatred, Mr. Ford snatched up his hat and departed. 
 
 Mrs. Travers sat down to collect and recover herself before 
 meeting Fanny Lee. She was considerably puzzled by her own 
 emotions. Here was she, a democrat by conviction, recognising 
 the right of men to work their way up from the lowest rung of 
 the social ladder. Why should she be so indignant with her hus¬ 
 band’s managing clerk for raising his eyes to her ? Had it been 
 Tom Heed, or another Mr. Travers, or even that starched Mr. 
 Wall—her acquaintance with gentlemen was very limited—she 
 would no doubt have refused them all, and thought they were 
 rather premature ; but she would have done so with tenderness 
 and sympathy, and certainly without indignation. Why, then, did 
 
110 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 she feel so angry and degraded in her own eyes ? Is it because 
 Nature has her own nobles, amid which Mr. Ford certainly held 
 no place ? But then, did Tom, or Mr. Wall, or even Mr. Travers ? 
 Yes; these men had reached manhood. They were straightforward, 
 and gifted with the average pluck of every day. Mr. Ford was not 
 unkindly or uncultivated; he was very nearly a gentleman. It 
 was the sort of nameless moral slinking—a constant soreness at 
 the non-recognition of claims he dared not uphold—a serpent-like 
 mingling of the crawl and the sting, from which Mrs. Travers 
 shrank revolted and antagonistic. 
 
 “ And perhaps this is all owing to some defect in the circulation, 
 or the nerves, or some of the marvellous mechanism by which the 
 inner self works,” she thought. “ Why, then, do I feel disgust 
 instead of compassion ? Is this instinct in me wrong or false, and 
 ought I to control it with reason ? Heigh-ho! I shall find no 
 time for such puzzles when I am matching w^ools and tracing pat¬ 
 terns at Pierstofie. I wish I was there now.” 
 
 ——»o«- 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 The next morning brought a welcome distraction to Mrs. Travers’s 
 thoughts in the shape of an answer from the agent to whom she 
 had written for further information respecting the fancy business. 
 He stated that the price asked included furniture and fittings, 
 which were certainly worth two hundred pounds, and suggested a 
 personal interview, as there were other parties making inquiries, 
 and she had better not lose time. 
 
 This communication sent her in haste to try and catch Tom 
 Reed before he left his chambers for the day ; but she missed him, 
 and she was obliged to wait with what patience she could till even¬ 
 ing brought him in reply to an urgent note. 
 
 “ Four hundred pounds,” said their kindly mentor ; “ four of 
 my teeth sooner ! Look here, Mrs. Travers, I have been making 
 all sorts of inquiries, and I imagine the sea-side party will jump at 
 
HER DEAREST EOE. 
 
 Ill 
 
 three hundred ; if not, an additional ten or fifteen 'will clinch the 
 matter,—that is to say, unless you take my advice and give it up. 
 And I have seen my Lancashire friend. He has been making in¬ 
 quiries, too, and is -willing to give three hundred for the diamonds ; 
 that is not so bad, and I think you had better take it. You would 
 not get so much from any jeweller.” 
 
 “ Oh, what a mean, stingy creature your Lancashire friend must 
 be ! Did you tell him what they cost ?” cried Fanny. 
 
 “ Indeed I did not, or he would not have offered so much.” 
 
 “ Tom !” exclaimed Mrs. Travers, “ I have a sudden inspiration. 
 I will not sell any more. The diamonds are your friend’s at his 
 price. Get the money as soon as you can, but all the rest I will 
 take to those people you call ‘ Relatives.’ ” 
 
 “ I Lombardi ?” asked Tom ; “ pawnbrokers—not to be unin¬ 
 telligible ?” 
 
 “Exactly. They may give me more than the jewellers, think¬ 
 ing that I will release them.” 
 
 “ Relatives of that class are not given to flights of imagination,” 
 remarked Tom. 
 
 “ At any rate, I shall have the chance of redeeming them ; and 
 if I disprove that will, I shall,” said Mrs. Travers. 
 
 Tom shook his head ; while Fanny observed parenthetically, 
 “ And you will! as sure as I see Tom shaking his head, and 
 making himself ridiculous.” Mrs. Travers went on, not heeding 
 the interruption. 
 
 “ At the worst, they can but go. Then I need not part with all 
 at once, you know. Will you help me in this too, Tom ?” 
 
 “ It is not such a bad idea,” said her chivalrous counsellor ; “ and 
 in your cause I’ll beard every uncle in London in his own particular 
 den.” 
 
 “ You are a darling,” said Fanny. 
 
 “ You’re another,” retorted her cousin. “ And remember, Mrs. 
 Travers,” he continued, “ you are on no account to go near those 
 Size Lane people without me. It Avould be the spider and the fly 
 over again.” 
 
 The progress of a transaction such as Kate Travers, with Reed’s 
 
112 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 help, was now trying to bring to a conclusion, though deeply in¬ 
 teresting to the parties concerned, is not exciting to read about. 
 Suffice it to say, the bargain was accomplished with the proviso 
 that Mrs. Travers was to inspect the shop and house herself, and 
 personally test the business by residing on the premises for a fort¬ 
 night, before paying over the price, which was to be, as Tom sug¬ 
 gested, three hundred pounds for all. 
 
 “ PierstofEe, Maltshire,” read Tom Reed from a “ Guide Book,” 
 the evening after matters had so far been arranged. “ Population, 
 7372 L” 
 
 “You have added the half youi’self, surely, Tom.” 
 
 “ Silence, Fanny, do not interrupt the lecture. A picturesque 
 and rising town, in much request as a bathing-place. It commands 
 a fine prospect of clifE and sea, and several blocks of commodious 
 houses have lately been erected. Hotels : ‘ The Marine Hotel,’ 
 ‘ The Queen’s,’ and ‘ The Robinson Crusoe.’ Objects of interest 
 in the neighbourhood ; Colnebrook Castle, the seat of Sir Hervey 
 Brooke, Bart., D.L. ; Acol Court, the residence of Colonel Cray- 
 croft, J.P. ; Weston, formerly a moated grange ; and the ruins of 
 St. Olave’s Priory, all within an easy drive. Distance from London, 
 four hours and fifteen minutes. Express, three hours and a half.” 
 
 “ I shall always travel express when I come to see you,” said Tom, 
 shutting up his book. “ But I am afraid a population of 7372 
 will not supply custom to the extent of twenty pounds a week, as 
 that man asserted were the trade returns of the ‘ Berlin Bazaar.’ ” 
 
 “ No ; I do not expect so much as that,” observed Mrs. Travers. 
 “ But remember—he said in the season. By the way, I am glad our 
 future abode has a title already. I w'ould rather not have an as¬ 
 sumed name over the shop.” 
 
 “ Yes ; by the way, I observed Hook addressed you as Mrs. 
 Temple.” 
 
 “ I do not intend to resume that of Travers until I regain the 
 property that ought to go with it,” said Mrs. Travers, closing her 
 mouth tightly. “ So begin to practise at once, Fanny.” 
 
 “ I am sure I shall never remember.” 
 
 “ Is it wise to change your name ?” asked Reed. 
 
HER DEAREST EOE. 
 
 11 ?, 
 
 “ Yes, dear Tom ; I want to be altogether lost for awhile. I shall 
 be happier for feeling I have left no traces.” 
 
 “ And who would trace you ?” 
 
 “ Oh, I do not know—Mr. Ford, perhaps. And then that horrid 
 man is tormenting me to accept his miserable offer of an allowance. 
 I had another note from Mr. Wall to-day: I am sure Sir Hugh feels 
 insecure, or he would not press the matter.” 
 
 Tom shook his head incredulously. 
 
 “ I should not be surprised if he induced Mr. Ford to persecute 
 me about it,” Mrs. Travers went on. “ And now, Tom and Fanny, 
 for my latest scheme. I am to go down to Pierstoffe on Wednes¬ 
 day—this is Saturday—on Monday our week in these lodgings ex¬ 
 pires. Fanny and Mills must live somewhere while I am studying 
 trade under the excellent young lady whom Mr. Hook describes as 
 left in charge. I propose that we all go over to Boulogne. I know 
 it a little ; I was at school there for a few months before I went to 
 Germany ; apartments are cheap ; I shall leave Fanny there with 
 Mills until I am ready to receive them, and return on Wednesday 
 to go down to Pierstoffe. You see ” (drawing a paper from her 
 pocket) “ a steamer sails for Boulogne from London Bridge on 
 Monday evening at six. I will thus give every one the slip, and will 
 be able, when writing to Mr. Wall, to say with truth that I leave 
 London for the Continent on Monday. You will keep our heavy 
 boxes, Tom, and guard my address religiously.” 
 
 To this, after some discussion and remonstrances from Fanny, 
 who strongly objected to be left alone with Mills, all agreed. 
 
 Monday was a close, damp day, with an occasional drizzle of rain, 
 most depressing to the spirits, and poor Fanny’s were at the lowest 
 ebb. Mrs. Mills was calm and resigned. Her beloved mistress had 
 talked long and confidentially with her, and succeeded in piercing 
 the rough and bristly exterior husk of the old woman’s nature, and 
 touching the sound, good heart that lay within ; so for awhile Mills 
 was lifted above her crotchets and ill tempers, and graciously pro¬ 
 mised to take care of Fanny. Mrs. Travers was the unflagging 
 leader of the expedition, for Tom Eeed, in his ardent sympathy 
 and efforts to console his cousin, was less efficient than usual. 
 
 8 
 
114 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ I’ll come and see you, Fanny, in a week or ten days—I will in¬ 
 deed. I will run over next Saturday till Monday, and by that time 
 you and Mrs. Mills will be qualified to lionise me all over ‘ our 
 French watering-place,’ as Dickens calls it.” 
 
 “ But it will cost you such a heap of money,” said the tearful 
 Fanny. 
 
 They were now somewhat tightly packed in a cab, and somewhat 
 painfully crawling through the City. 
 
 “ Who is that man ?” cried Tom, sharply, to Mrs. Travers. 
 
 “ What man ?” 
 
 “ The man that just passed now, and crossed under the horse’s 
 nose—you bowed to him.” 
 
 “ Oh, that was one of poor Mr. Travers’s clerks—Poole—the 
 witness to the will.” 
 
 “ Yes, I remember him now.'’ 
 
 “ Why, that was the man we saw the other day in the Park,, 
 speaking to your shabby friend,” said Fanny ; “ was it not, Tom ?” 
 
 “ I think you must be mistaken.” 
 
 At last they reached the steamer, Tom Reed exerting himself to 
 the last to secure what comfort he could for them in that abode of 
 misery, the ladies’ cabin. He bid Fanny a private adieu at the foot 
 of the companion-ladder, and tl:^en followed Mrs. Travers, who had 
 gone on deck. “ Good-bye ! God bless you ! You are the best of 
 good fellows, Tom,” she said, holding his hand in both her own. 
 
 “ And you—I can only say you are no end of a brick. Good¬ 
 bye ; you will be off in another moment,” and Tom hurried on 
 shore. 
 
 Cf o o # o o 
 
 Pierstoffe was not unfaithfully described, in the advertisement 
 which had fascinated Kate Travers, as a thriving town. Originally 
 a fishing and smuggling village, the latter line of business had 
 created a certain degree of wealth, and the style of houses w'hich 
 the successful owners of the various schooners and luggers plying 
 between Pierstoffe and the coast of France and Holland built for 
 themselves in later years were of a very superior description from 
 the lowly cottages which used to cluster round the “point,” as it 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 115 
 
 ■w<as emphatically called. The point being the southern promontory 
 in which a bold range of cliffs ended, and which sheltered the wide 
 open bay from the prevalent winds. But the cottages, the original 
 nucleus from which PierstofEe had sprung, had been pulled down 
 more than ten years before, and an enterprising builder had erected 
 in their place, and on the very verge of the shore, a huge, square, 
 hideous marine hotel, with a sea wall and a terrace, a ladies’ bath¬ 
 ing place at one side, and, screened from observation, a gentleman’s 
 on the other. Having accomplished this patriotic work, he smashed 
 up, and other men entered into his labours. 
 
 PierstofEe began to look up, and a row of lodging-houses were 
 built close down on the sea, and in front of a little, narrow 
 tortuous street of shabby shops which crept along the base of the 
 overhanging cliffs, to where they sunk somewhat suddenly into a 
 valley which widened as it ran inland, and where the sweep of the 
 bay compelled the new houses to cease, and permit some of the 
 better and later edifices of old Pierstoffe still to face the sea, and a 
 wide slip on which the pleasure-sldfEs lay drawn up for hire, where 
 . the fishing-boats came in, and the weather-beaten fishermen disen¬ 
 tangled their silvery, scaly treasures from the dark-brown nets. 
 
 Here the old coach-road turned inwards, and a few furlongs 
 farther on bifurcated, one line ascending by steep zigzags to the 
 northern heights, the other leading away down the valley to where 
 the open country, rich in cornfields and pastures, with patches of 
 woodland sheltered by the high cliffs from easterly gales, afforded 
 first-rate sport to a fox-hunting gentry. Farther on, past the slip, 
 were the most genteel, the most costly, and the newest houses iu 
 Pierstoffe, called the Xorth Parade, behind which the cliffs again 
 rose to a great height. Many improvements were being carried on. 
 A branch line from the “ East Mercian, Stoneborough, and Bar¬ 
 mouth Junction ” had been brought by a tunnel almost to the door 
 of the Marine Hotel, and a small pier was being built also near 
 that favoured spot, where summer sailors might more conveniently 
 land from their pretty vessels. There was a library and a reading- 
 room also, where a visitor’s book was kept, and there -was talk of a 
 yacht club ; but they had got no further than erecting a flag-staff 
 
 8—2 
 
116 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 before tbe library on the esplanade, whence the flag of the club 
 was to float whenever the one and the other had been called into 
 existence. 
 
 Such were the principal features of the residence Mrs. Travers 
 had chosen. She was very weary, and consequently dispirited when 
 she reached her destination by the last train. It was dusk, but not 
 quite dark, and she could trace the outlines of the cliffs and bay as 
 she stood on the open space before the hotel, while a porter called 
 a cab—or, as it is usually called out of London, “ a fly ” (will some 
 Max Muller of the future account for this variation in the growth 
 of language ?). The soft salt breeze (it was a lovely April night) 
 came to her cheek like a caress. The breath of the sea seemed to 
 call back her scattered forces, and she had roused herself from the 
 weariness of spirit which hung upon her since she had parted with 
 Fanny and ]\Iills, by the time a very stuffy conveyance had rattled 
 her over some rough pavement, and through a street so narrow that 
 she wondered the jolting did not overturn her vehicle into a shop 
 window on the right hand or on the left. Then she'felt once more 
 in the open, and heard the gentle dash of the waves as the driver 
 drew up at a corner house. 
 
 “ This is it, ma’am—‘ The Berlin Bazaar.’ ” 
 
 “Will you please stop at the private door round the corner ?” 
 said a shrill treble voice, and a dim figure, tall and narrow, appeared 
 at the shop door. 
 
 A small boy was putting up the shutters (the early “ closing 
 movement ” had always been moving at Pierstoffe), who hastily 
 desisted and ran round to carry up the luggage. The next moment 
 Mrs. Temple (as we must call her in future) stood in a short, wide, 
 low, panneled passage, where a thin, angular female, with flat bands 
 of hair secured by a couple of rows of narrow black velvet and a 
 high back-comb, held a tall thin candle in a brass candlestick. She 
 was evidently an elderly young lady, with a sweet simper, which 
 displayed very large teeth— in fact, her bony system was largely 
 developed. She produced on Mrs. Temple a general impression of 
 being brown. Her dress was brown merino, so tightly and accu¬ 
 rately fitting, that it conveyed the idea that she had been melted 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 117 
 
 down and poured into a brown mould. Her neat collar was fastened^ 
 with a brown bow of ribbon, her hands were covered with brown 
 leather mittens, and her complexion was not many shades lighter. 
 
 “ Mrs. Temple, I am sure I am very glad you have arrived,” she 
 said with a gracious bend, which made the composite grease of her 
 candle drip over. “ I expected you somewhat earlier.” 
 
 “ Miss Potter, I suppose ?” returned the young widow pleasantly. 
 “ I hoped to have been here earlier, but I have had a long journey.” 
 
 “ Dear, dear, I dare say you are quite overcome with fatigue. 
 Here, Sarah, take up Mrs. Temple’s box. Perhaps you will step 
 into our little sitting-room at once.” And Miss Potter, with the 
 most scrupulous politeness, and holding the candle above her head, 
 opened a side door and ushered her guest into a long, low room, 
 also panneled, with a narrow door at the opposite angle from where 
 they entered, and beside it, stretching towards the fire-place, was a 
 long window, not more than one pane in height, but several in width, 
 across which hung a muslin curtain. 
 
 A small fire burned in an old-fashioned grate, with wide hobs 
 and extensive “ cheeks,” to limit its dimensions, and before it stood 
 a three-legged iron stand, or “footman,” supporting a carefully- 
 covered dish. A table set with tea-things stood near the window, 
 and a small copper kettle hummed upon the fire. 
 
 “ I am very thankful to be here,” said Mrs. Temple, looking 
 round her, not displeased by the aspect of things, as she untied her 
 bonnet and laid it aside. “ I hope my late arrival has caused you 
 no inconvenience.” 
 
 “ Oh, none in the least, I assure you, ma’am,” said Miss Potter, 
 bustling about actively to get tea. “ And I think you will like the 
 place and the business. Poor Mrs. Browne, the late owner, as nice 
 a woman as ever lived, did not make it what it might be, as I have 
 told her times and times ; but it is steady, and regular, and par¬ 
 ticularly genteel.” Miss Potter, when not excited, talked in a loud 
 impressive whisper. “ It is like keeping a stall at a fancy fair, in 
 a manner of speaking. Indeed, I tell my brother—my brother is 
 in Australia in a very large way of business, and I am going out to 
 him. I should have done so long since, but that I could not leave 
 
118 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 Mrs. Browne ; for as she said to me over and over again, ‘ If you 
 leave me, Maria ’ (my name is Maria), ‘ my whole dependence is 
 gone ; for Mrs. Penny ’ (that is her daughter) ‘ is not exactly the 
 sort of ’—but there, censoriousness is not my line. Poor dear soul, 
 
 I was her whole stay.” 
 
 By this time Miss Potter had wandered through so many paren¬ 
 theses, that she had forgotten what she had told her brother, so 
 wisely dropped the subject, and allowed Kate to take her tea in 
 comparative quiet. 
 
 Although her acquaintance with Miss Potter soon came to an 
 end, and she dropped out of her life altogether, Kate Travers 
 never forgot the relief Avhich the even flow of her unoffending 
 though very small talk proved on that trying night. It gave a 
 Avelcome tinge of the ludicrous to the awful strangeness of her 
 position ; it held back the rising tide of sorrowful, half-indignant 
 recollections that threatened to engulf her courage and composure, 
 as gently sloping sandy beaches hold back the ocean. Then the 
 bird’s-eye view of the “ business ” Avhich her ready intelligence 
 gathered from this chatter, roused her interest in what had now 
 become her career, and so the first evening, in what was to be her 
 neAV home, passed over less painfully than she expected. 
 
 She woke early the next morning, and soon was up and dressed. ■ 
 A fresh breeze from the south-east was crisping the bay into short 
 tossing foam-crested waves, and dashing them with a sound full of 
 haste and vigour upon the slip before described, and which her 
 window overlooked. The bright clear sunshine, the wide stretch 
 of open sea, the tall cliffs which sheltered the little town to the 
 north, and of Avhich she caught a glimpse on her left, all seemed 
 to her A’-ery good. Her spirit roused itself in response to the tu¬ 
 multuous activity of the nature she gazed upon, and 'seemed to 
 promise her success. To succeed in a “ Berlin Bazaar ” is not an 
 “ o’er-vaulting ambition,” scarcely in accord with the idea of 
 “ deep calling unto deep,” which certainly suggested itself to the 
 young widow as she stood gazing at the wild play of the Avaters, 
 and conscious of the sympathy between her inner self and the 
 speechless Avorld without, the “ voice ” of which is yet so articu- 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 119 
 
 late. But not to succeed in this humble enterprise implied so ter¬ 
 rible a defeat, such an incapacity on her i)art to judge for herself, 
 and to stand alone, that success was thrown up into colossal pro¬ 
 portions by the depth of shadow behind it. Shaking off her 
 thought fit, Mrs. Temple, as she schooled herself to think she was, 
 descended to the parlour, where she had partaken of tea the night 
 before, and found a small girl in a long sort of linen bib that 
 reached from her throat to her insteps, setting the breakfast 
 things ; she stopped short and dropped a staccato courtesy when 
 she perceived the strange lady, continuing to gaze at her with a 
 scared expression and without moving. 
 
 “ I snppose you are the housemaid ?” said Mrs. Temple, good- 
 naturedly seeking to break the spell by the charm of speech. 
 
 “ Yes’m—and I does the cooking too ’m ; only mother comes 
 in twice a week to help clean up. Leastways, she used—but I 
 does all for Miss Potter now,” said the small statue, restored to 
 consciousness. 
 
 “ Is Miss Potter up yet ?” asked Mrs. Temple, measuring the 
 child in her mind, and conjecturing whether she might do for an 
 assistant to Mills—for Mills could not manage everything quite 
 alone. 
 
 “ Oh yes’m ! Miss Potter is dusting of the shop. I was to tell 
 her when you corned down—I’ll just get the kettle.” 
 
 Though April was drawing to a close, a fii’e was not unaccept¬ 
 able in the chill freshness of a sea-side morning, and Mrs. Temple 
 had placed one foot upon the fender, when Miss Potter came in 
 through the narrow door which led into the shop. 
 
 “ Dear, dear, I did not know you were down. I hope you have 
 not been waiting long.” Miss Potter held a feather-broom and 
 a duster, and another cleaner duster was tied over her head. She 
 was attired in a print morning-wrapper, washed out to a dim ochre 
 tint. “ I told that girl to let me know directly you were down ; 
 but she is so stupid.” * 
 
 Mrs. Temple exonerated the girl, and Miss Potter went on : 
 
 “ I am glad you are an early riser—I always was—and it's a 
 •great thing /tere. You see, ours is that sort of a genteel business- 
 
120 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 that there is no need to open much before ten. Indeed, for that 
 matter, before eleven, only for the appearance! and one can get 
 a great deal done between an eight o’clock breakfast and ten—as 
 yon will find. I think you said you never were in business before ?” 
 
 “ Never,” said Kate. 
 
 Miss Potter shook her head gloomily as she made the tea. 
 “ Business is uphill work for them that haven’t been brought up 
 to it.” 
 
 “ Yet it cannot be so mysterious that a woman of my age cannot 
 learn it,” replied Kate; and added, smiling, “ with your good help.” 
 
 “ Oh, I am sure I am willing to do the best I can ; and I can’t 
 help thinking that a little outlay would fetch up the business 
 wonderfully. I always told poor dear Mrs. Browne that she 
 starved it! Indeed, at one time, when I thought of taking it 
 myself, I used to be rather annoyed. Then, poor Mrs. Browne 
 had heavy expenses. Now, you see, you have no husband,” as if 
 this was an enormous advantage in an economic point of view. 
 “ At least—you’ll excuse me—I understood you were a widow ?” 
 
 “ I am,” said Mrs. Temple, smiling ; while her eyes filled with 
 tears at the recollection of the husband who had so carefully 
 guarded her from all of pain, save what his ov/n jealous love in¬ 
 flicted. 
 
 “ Poor Mrs. Browne suffered a deal with hers. I am sure I 
 little thought she would go before him!” in a slightly injured 
 tone, as if Providence had made a decided mistake. “ But, though 
 I do not mean the least disrespect to you, I can’t say I have any 
 right to hke widows !” 
 
 “ I am sorry to hear it! May I ask why ?” 
 
 “ Well,” with a deep sigh, “ if it wasn’t for one, I would be in a 
 very different position to what I am.” Whereupon Miss Potter 
 plunged into a very lengthy parenthetical history of certain love 
 passages which had passed between herself and one of the assist¬ 
 ants at Mr. Turner’s (this was the shop ])ar excellence of Pier- 
 stoffe)—a most elegant young man from London—quite a “ milling- 
 tary ” looking man ; but a designing widow (nothing at all to look 
 a,t), the widow of a small farmer in the neighbourhood, had won 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 121 
 
 him from her, and they were now married and established in quite 
 a large business in Stoneborough. “ She had a little money,” con¬ 
 cluded Miss Potter, with a deep sigh, “ and I believe he has never 
 regretted it but once, and that was always.” 
 
 “ Probably it was the widow’s money, not the widow, w'hich 
 attracted him,” began Mrs. Temple in a consolatory tone ; but she 
 w'as interrupted by a sharp click and the convulsive tinkle of a 
 little bell, whereupon Miss Potter started to her feet, exclaiming 
 “ Dear, dear, I had no idea the time was running on so,” and darted 
 into the shop. 
 
 Mrs. Temple, wondering at the revelations she had just heard, 
 almost as much as if one of the wooden dolls of a past generation 
 had opened its vermilion lips to speak of a heart within, could not 
 resist looldng with some curiosity through the wide, low window 
 from which the blind was partially withdrawn. A small child in 
 hobnailed shoes, whose snubby nose was scarce on a level with the 
 counter, was holding up a penny in a paw as brown as the coin, 
 and Miss Potter was drawing forth a skein of black, wool from a 
 carefully-papered parcel. 
 
 “ My first customer,” thought Kate, “ and a specimen of the 
 gentility of my business ! I shall do away with that bell ; it re¬ 
 minds me of poor old Sally Martin's sweety shop at Cullingford, 
 where Tom used to spend so many pennies.” 
 
 Here Miss Potter returned, and proposed to show her over the 
 house before any one else came. 
 
 It was a better place of abode than Mrs. Temple had hoped for. 
 Only two stories high, it was larger than it looked ; for, being 
 built on a corner piece of ground, its depth was greater than its 
 frontage. The centre was divided into good square rooms, leaving 
 snippets of space to form curious little crooked chambers, and 
 three-cornered cupboards with odd, unexpected steps leading to 
 them. The furniture was scanty but clean, the best things being 
 placed in a sitting-room upstairs, Avhich possessed a large window 
 over the front door, commanding the Stoneborough Road and the 
 new Korth Parade houses. Next to this was the bedroom which 
 had been prepared for Mrs. Temple. Behind these, somewhat 
 
122 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 \ 
 
 shut in by the high ground at the back, were three other bedrooms. 
 Below, the shop and parlour before described, and at the other 
 side of the hall, a pleasant, retired sitting-room with one large 
 window opening on a neglected garden, which lay between the 
 house and the lower cliff, which there sloped steeply down to the 
 roadway. The kitchen came next, with various convenient off¬ 
 shoots in the shape of sculleries and washhouses. 
 
 “ If the business will only answer, I have not made a bad bar¬ 
 gain,” thought Mrs. Temple. 
 
 Once or twice in the course of their inspection, Miss Potter had 
 been called away by a shrill yell of “ Shop !” from the diminutive 
 girl, and had each time returned breathless, exclaiming at the 
 unusual number of early customers. 
 
 “ Poor dear Mrs. Browne was rather fortunate latterly in letting 
 the upstairs rooms. Dr. Slade was a very good friend to her in 
 that way, though he is rather peculiar : but he used to recommend 
 invalid gentlemen—two guineas a week for the season.” 
 
 “ Oh, she let lodgings ?” asked Mrs. Temple, smiling to herself 
 at the turn of Fortune’s wheel which had brought her back to the 
 point from whence she had started. “ I think I shall do the same ; 
 it will lighten the rent.” 
 
 “ Oh, considerably, I assure you ! but we had better go into the 
 shop now.” 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 This first day was both wearisome and depressing. Mrs. Temple 
 felt bewildered by the effort to understand the mystery of marks 
 and all the technicalities which the accomplished Miss Potter so glibly 
 poured forth, and cast down by the trifling nature of the sales. A 
 few girls, with broad, country accents, and exceedingly unpolished 
 manners, came in for pennyworths of this and sixpenceworth of 
 the other. One young lady (the clergyman’s daughter Miss Potter 
 said) asked for some traced muslin-work, which cost the large sum 
 of two shillings and sixpence. And a huge, good-humoured-look- 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 123 
 
 ing farmer with yellow leggings, a low-crowned hat, a whip, spurs, 
 and a fiery-red face, who called Mrs. Temple “ mum,” brought a 
 considerably-rubbed Berlin-wool pattern, and asked that all the 
 requisite wools might be supplied, and he would call for the parcel 
 on his way home in a couple of hours, which he did, and paid for 
 it standing in the doorway, his face redder than ever, the reins of 
 his nag over one arm, his whip under the other, while he exclaimed 
 at the cost of “such-like darned fiddle-faddles, and hoped his lass 
 would be satisfied now.” 
 
 “ This has not been a fair average day,” said Miss Potter, as she 
 counted up the day’s gain and found it amounted to seven shillings 
 and fivepence halfpenny. “ In short, I have never known it so low.” 
 
 “ That is curious,” said Mrs. Temple dryly, “ and discouraging.” 
 
 “ It is,” returned Miss Potter candidly ; “ but I wouldn’t mind, 
 if I were you. There are many things to account for a temporary 
 depression. It is just after the Easter holidaj^s ; and the young 
 ladies at Miss Monitor’s have scarcely settled to their work and 
 their studies. And a great archery fete at Colnebrook Castle was 
 to come off yesterday, you see ; so none of the county ladies would 
 have time to think of fancy-work the very day after. You must 
 just wait a bit.” 
 
 And the young widow resolved to be patient, more especially as 
 she liked the look of the place, and felt still more disposed towards 
 it after an evening stroll past the North Parade houses, to where 
 the roadway widened into a gravel sweep, from which she dis¬ 
 covered a narrow path leading along the base of the cliffs, now 
 descending almost to the beach, now climbing steeply up over some 
 projecting crag, which was lashed or caressed by the waves at high 
 water. Following this, in some places, rather giddy footway, Mrs. 
 Temple reached a spot 'vfhere a sudden inward curve of the cliffs 
 formed a tiny bay. The path she had followed zigzagged upwards 
 to a coastguard station, but another branched off, and led gently 
 down a few paces to a little rough wooden jetty, bleached almost 
 ghastly white by the constant wash of the sea ; while some outlying 
 standing timbers, set up to break the force of the waves, were 
 covered with black-green seaweed, which, as the tide was now half- 
 
124 
 
 HER DEAREST EOE. 
 
 high, and coming in, floated mournfully on the waters, like the 
 long locks of some drowning creature. The shelter afforded here 
 had permitted a growth of grass and brambles, mixed with the gorse, 
 now in full yellow bloom, and loading the air with its honeyed 
 sweetness, to tone down the rugged grandeur of the cliff, and in 
 the deeper hollow where the slope was least steep, and more of soil 
 would lie, a small group of stunted oak-trees nestled, throwing out 
 thick gnarled branches with the ungainly strength of mis-shapen 
 dwarfs. 
 
 The utter silence, the unspeakable repose, enchanted Kate. She 
 descended to the little pier, and strolled leisurely along it, resting 
 for a while on the low bench at the end, and drinking in the love¬ 
 liness of sea and sky. By and by, a grey-bearded coastguard-man, 
 in a little boat, pulled I’ound one of the points which sheltered the 
 bay, and fastened his skiff to the pier, ascending by a straight sort 
 of ladder made between the timbers, with a goodly basket of fish 
 on his arm, and a loose heap of brown net on his shoulder. He 
 gave Mrs. Temple a friendly “ good-even,” and they exchanged a 
 little talk. Then she watched him lazily as he walked up the 
 path, after having spread out his net to dry, and looked into a sort 
 of cave, half-natural, half-artificial, where a large six-oared boat 
 was safely stov/ed. 
 
 “ What a relief it will be sometimes to come here after the toils 
 of the day,” said Mrs. Temple as she rose, wonderfully refreshed, 
 to return. “ If I can at all make an existence, I will stay here.” 
 And, as she mused, the memory of the last time she had sat in the 
 open air came back to her, with Sir Hugh Galbraith’s cruel words, 
 which had so often sounded in her ear since. She had never 
 breathed them to any one ; she never would, but not the less clearly 
 were they remembered. Generally, the thought roused indigna¬ 
 tion, and a fierce desire to show that, at any rate, she had held the 
 same place in her husband’s estimation from first to last, by proving 
 that the will which had robbed her, to enrich him, was false ; but 
 to-night the loneliness, the beauty of her surroundings, inclined 
 her to a kind of melancholy regret that she should be so misjudged, 
 so cruelly wronged! It was sad, too, after a glimpse of all that 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 125 
 
 life might have given to her, young, rich in a sense of enjoyment, 
 and rich enough in material Avealth, to be suddenly cast out into 
 the outer world of poA^erty and hard work. “ I must not be false 
 to my own principles,” she thought, rallying her forces as she 
 hurried on, slightly alarmed by the increasing darkness. “Work 
 is a good thing in itself. All I hope is that Fanny will not find life 
 insupportably dull here. I shall not keep her long, that I can see. 
 It will be terrible to be without her.” 
 
 Miss Potter’s astonishment was loud when she found where Mrs. 
 Temple had directed her evening walk. “ Dear, dear, it is such a 
 lonely, dismal place! I don’t think even the visitors go there, 
 unless indeed in a party, to gather seaweed at the cove when the 
 tide is out.” 
 
 The succeeding day was considerably more animated. Some 
 young ladies on horseback rode in from one of the neighbouring 
 places, and made quite a clatter outside, while one of the attendant 
 grooms came in for a variety of articles, and Miss Potter herself 
 had to go out and receive directions. 
 
 Later in the day, a very tall, thin, elderly gentleman, Avith glit¬ 
 tering black eyes and rather hectic colour, thin iron-grey hair 
 brushed back from a bony brow, a huge shirt-frill, and a long 
 single-breasted green coat, came in with some importance. 
 
 “ Good-morning, good-morning !”—knocking the top of his hunt¬ 
 ing-whip against the brim of his hat. “ All blooming, I see. And 
 this is our new proprietress—eh—eh?”—a keen stare at Mrs. 
 Temple, with slightly knitted brow. 
 
 “ Yes, Dr. Slade,” simpered Miss Potter ; “ this is Mrs. Temple.” 
 
 The doctor knocked his Avhip against his hat again, and Mrs. 
 Temple bent her head AAuth a sudden strange feeling of being out 
 of her place—the introduction was so unlike anything she had ever 
 experienced before. 
 
 “ Well, ma’am,” said the doctor, “ shall you let lodgings, like your 
 predecessor, or have you a tribe of children to overflow into the 
 nooks and crannies of this old Noah’s Ark ?” 
 
 Mrs. Temple had time to school herself while he spoke, and 
 was ready to ansAver Avith a smile when he ceased. 
 
126 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ I dare say I shall let lodgings, Dr. Slade ; but I scarcely yet 
 know what I shall do.” 
 
 “ Well, you had better let me know when you make up your 
 mind. I am the dispenser of fortune, as well as physic, in this 
 direction. I fancy I’ll have a couple of invalids on my hands this 
 season; but you must give better cooldng than the last sufferer 
 had. Chops frightened by frizzling till they were black in the 
 face—by jingo ! that’s not nutritious diet.” 
 
 “ But my chops, if I ever have the honour of serving any to your 
 patients, shall ‘ blush celestial rosy red ’ at their own perfection,” 
 said Mrs. Temple, laughing good-humouredly. 
 
 The doctor stared for a moment, and then cried, “ Shall they ? 
 By Jupiter! those are the sort of chops, and you are the sort of 
 woman that will do.” Then, turning to Miss Potter, he asked, 
 “ Have you, among the rubbish of your nonsensical bazaar, a piece 
 
 of court-plaster ? I know I have none; and a - bramble 
 
 caught my hand here ” (holding it out) “ as I was cutting across a 
 corner of the dingle, after being kept nearly an hour listening to 
 that old blockhead. Farmer Owen, maundering about his inside. 
 So I thought I would give you a chance before going on to the 
 chemist.” 
 
 “ Dear, dear, what a bad place,” said Miss Potter sympathis- 
 ingly; “ and I am really afraid we don’t keep such a thing as court- 
 plaster.” 
 
 “ I ought to have known better than to have looked for anything 
 useful here,” retorted the doctor, with an awful scowl. 
 
 And then an instinctive “ trade ” impulse stirred our young 
 Avidow to exclaim, “ If it is not in the shop, Dr. Slade, I have some 
 in my dressing-case. I will bring it, and put it on for you, if you will 
 promise never to go elsewhere for your court-plaster in future.” 
 
 “ Done!” cried the doctor, slapping his hand against his leg; 
 “but mind you don’t let yourself be out of it. By George !” he 
 continued, as Mrs. Temple left the shop, “ that’s a clever baggage ! 
 Why, she would buy and sell you and poor Mrs. Browne before 
 you would know where you were.” 
 
 “ She is very pleasant, I am sure ; but rather inexperienced— 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 127 
 
 new to business—and depends a great deal upon me," returned 
 Miss Potter, with her sweetest smile. 
 
 “ Depends upon you!” repeated the doctor with anything but 
 flattering emphasis. “ Who is she ? Where did you pick her up ?” 
 
 “ Oh, I know nothing of Mrs. Temple, except that she answered 
 the advertisement about the business, and that she comes from 
 London.” 
 
 “ London is a wide place,” said the doctor. 
 
 Here Mrs. Temple returned with the required plaster, and pro¬ 
 ceeded coolly and dexterously to cut and affix it, undisturbed by 
 the doctor’s announcement that he was in a desperate hurry ; that 
 he had left his horse outside with the reins over a post, and he 
 dared say he would chuck them off and run away, to the damage 
 of all juvenile Pierstoffe. 
 
 “ Do you want to test my nerve ?” said Mrs. Temple, suddenly 
 lifting her soft eyes to his with a smile, which produced a very 
 different effect from poor Miss Potter’s. 
 
 “ I fancy you are equal to it, if I do,” said the doctor, with a sort 
 of grim gallantry. “ You are a deuced wide-awake young woman, 
 my dear.” 
 
 “ Thank you,” returned Mrs. Temple gravely. “ There ; I think 
 that will keep your hand comfortable. Remember, in future you 
 are to come here for your court-plaster.” 
 
 “ That’s a bargain,” cried Dr. Slade ; “ and, moreover, I shall 
 make my wife buy all her stuff to knit ray socks with here—that 
 is to say, if what you sell isn’t rotten.” 
 
 “ Thank you, again,” said Mrs. Temple. 
 
 “ Mrs. Slade always did patronise us,” simpered Miss Potter. 
 
 “ Did she ? I know she used to send for balls of worsted yarn 
 —what do you call it ?—to Stoneborough—ay, to London. Don’t 
 you believe all she told you. Good-morning to you.” Another 
 knock of the whij) against his hat, and the doctor strode away. 
 
 “ Your doctor seems something of a charactei*,” said Mrs. Temple, 
 looking after him. 
 
 “ Oh, indeed, he is a most extraordinary man. He was looked 
 upon as quite the king of Pierstoffe ; but I think things are a little 
 
128 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 ■different now. There is a new doctor here—a quiet, grave, ex¬ 
 ceedingly genteel young man—who is making his way wonderfully, 
 even with the best families in the town. But Dr. Slade still keeps 
 in with the county people. You see he hunts with thq gentry, and 
 they are used to him ; but it is said that young Mr.—I mean Dr.— 
 Bryant made one or two extraordinary cures of people that had 
 gone on years and years with Dr. Slade. Any way. Dr. Slade hates 
 the other like poison, and abuses and swears at him quite awful; 
 but Dr. Bryant, I am told, never mentions Dr. Slade but with the 
 greatest respect. The young doctor is not married, and that made 
 matters worse when Miss Monitor called him in ; every one said that 
 an elderly, not to say old married man, was the proper person 
 for a young ladies’ school (though there are very curious stories 
 told of Dr. Slade some years back). But Miss Monitor declared 
 that a great London doctor said if Miss Goldfrass (that’s a great 
 heiress, who is at the school) was ill—and she generally is—no 
 one was to be called in but Dr. Bryant. Then he is so regular at 
 church ; and poor Dr. Slade never darkens the door of church or 
 chapel.” 
 
 “ Not a very pleasant account,” said the young widow thought¬ 
 fully. “ Still, I seem fated to accept this rather rampant Hakeem 
 for my partisan.” 
 
 “ What did you say ?” asked Miss Potter, puzzled. 
 
 “ Oh, that Dr. Slade seemed inclined to 'be friendly. What is 
 his wife like ?” 
 
 “ A very nice lady indeed, but that timid and nervous it makes 
 one uncomfortable. I believe she was a great beauty once, but 
 there is very little of it left now.” 
 
 Ten days flew away with wonderful rapidity, and Kate Travers 
 was astonished to find how quickly things, so new and strange, 
 w'ere growing familiar. The hardest nut of all was to take kindly 
 and easily to the peculiar style of civility with which women, often 
 her inferiors, never her superiors, addressed her, as some one quite 
 out of their sphere. But she was too sensible not to school her¬ 
 self to look on this as a mere accident of business, not touching 
 her real position. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 129 
 
 “ I hope when Fanny conies she will not be thoughtless and 
 ■offend people, our fellow-citizens in trade,” mused Kate ; “for it 
 will not do to hold aloof, and make ourselves unpopular. After 
 all, they have the same natures, the same objects in life, the same 
 affections ; the difference only lies in our exterior coats of varnish. 
 What an amount of vulgar ignorance exists among nominally edu¬ 
 cated ladies, who speak correctly, and are sufficiently well bred not 
 to rub you the wrong way unless it suits them ! Women are 
 generally tolerable, but men without the ‘ outward and visible ’ 
 signs of gentlemen must be dreadful, and yet real gentlemen must 
 be exceedingly rare in every class. Still there is knowledge to be 
 gained from every fresh page in the book of life, and ere long I 
 shall turn to another.” 
 
 Then, as usual, her thoughts flew away to the standing obstacle 
 of her life. She counted largely on what old Gregory’s son would 
 have to tell of his father’s communications, touching the will he 
 had witnessed, and was supposed to have written. But when 
 would he return ? She had carefully kept up a correspondence 
 with his sister, Mrs. Bell, who had told her that she had received 
 a handsome present from Sir Hugh Galbraith, that she had quite 
 re-established her school, and hoped to do well; but there was still 
 no news of her brother. 
 
 As the fortnight progressed Mrs. Temple saw, or imagined she 
 saw, her way to a fair amount of success in the new life she had 
 adopted. Many things were asked for which were not in stock, 
 and she thus gathered ideas as to the further development of the 
 business already existing at the Berlin Bazaar. Moreover, a 
 judicious selection of magazines and periodicals, sent by the in¬ 
 defatigable Tom, took Pierstoffe by surprise, and acted favourably 
 ■on other branches of her trade. 
 
 She, therefore, made up her mind to close with the agent, and 
 with infinite pleasure wrote for Fanny and Mills to join her. With 
 what delight she looked forward to seeing them once more, after 
 being plunged in such a flood of strangeness ! All this time she 
 had had frequent letters from Fanny, written in better spirits than 
 the faithful little soul really felt ; on one point they were unani- 
 
 9 
 
130 
 
 HEB DEAREST FOE. 
 
 mous, Mills was perfectly angelic. “ If she had not a tolerably 
 fair appetite, I should think she was going to die,” concluded 
 Fanny in one of her epistles. Tom had paid his promised visit, 
 and was more delightful and audacious than ever. So the young 
 widow’s mind had been kept tranquil in the direction of Boulogne. 
 
 It was the day after she had despatched her letter of recall, and 
 market-day besides, so they had been quite busy all the morning. 
 Now dinner-time was past, and the little shop had been empty for 
 a few minutes—Miss Potter was absent—when the door was sud¬ 
 denly darkened by the entrance of an exceedingly large lady, tall 
 as well as stout, richly dressed in a thick violet silk, a black velvet 
 mantle trimmed with costly lace, a green velvet and satin bonnet 
 with crimson roses, and Brussels lace veil, a chain round her neck, 
 and bracelets slipping down on the fat, pudgy hands, which were 
 tightly crammed into violet gloves ; one of them held a violet and 
 lace parasol, the other a ribbon, the other end of which was fas¬ 
 tened to a painfully corpulent pug, at whose collar a little ball-like 
 bell tinkled perpetually. All this finery, it must be confessed, 
 looked like every-day gear, not Sunday clothes, on the stout lady, 
 who waddled into the middle of the shop, and then, gazing full at 
 Mrs. Temple with little sharp green-grey eyes, exclaimed in a fat 
 voice, but with a good accent and pleasant manner, “ I do not 
 think I ever saw you before ! Where is Miss Potter ?” 
 
 “ She has only just left the shop, and will be here directly.” 
 
 “ And, in the meantime, have you any materials for this sort of 
 lace-work?” resumed the lady, taking a small parcel from her 
 pocket, and opening it. 
 
 Mrs. Temple examined it with much interest. “ I am sorry to 
 say we have not, nor have I seen anything like it in England.” 
 
 “ Then, have you been lately on the Continent ?” asked her cus¬ 
 tomer quickly. 
 
 “ I came from France ten days ago.” 
 
 “ Oh, indeed ! Well, and what am I to do aboi:t the work ? 
 There is a young lady staying with me—a charming girl, but very 
 delicate—and quite crazy about this work. I promised to bring 
 her back patterns, and everything.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 131 
 
 “ I am exceedingly sorry not to have it. Could the young lady 
 wait three daj^s, and she shall have several patterns to choose 
 from?” said Mrs. Temple, thinking of Fanny’s arrival. 
 
 “I dare say she would. It would take as long to send to town. 
 Oh, Miss Potter, how do you do ?” as that individual returned. 
 “ What is going to be done now ? Has the Berhn Bazaar been, 
 sold ? Are you going to desert us ?” 
 
 “ Well, my lady, I suppose I shall be going out to my orother 
 soon. Can I get you anything this morning ?” 
 
 “ Yes; there is a list of cottons and tapes my maid gave me. 
 And tell me—how is poor old Mr. Browne ? has he gone to live 
 with his daughter ?” 
 
 “ He is pretty well—at least was—when I heard last. He is not 
 living with IMrs. Penny.” 
 
 “ Well, he ought! Where has she sent him ?” 
 
 “ Oh, he is quite comfortable, I assure you, my lady. He is 
 boarded Avith a very respectable pai’ty quite near Mrs. Penny’s 
 farm.” 
 
 “ Ah, the respectable party will take the money and starve him, 
 probably.” 
 
 “ I hope not,” replied Miss Potter meekly. She had permitted 
 Mrs. Temple to take the list and select the articles named in it, in 
 order to attend to her ladyship’s cross-examination. 
 
 “ And who is this person ?” continued the stout lady, in an 
 audible aside. 
 
 “ Oh, Mrs. Temple ; she is going to purchase the business and 
 settle here.” 
 
 “ Doesn’t look the least like business herself.” Then to Mrs. 
 Temple, “ So you are to be our old friend Mrs. Browne’s successor. 
 I hope the Bazaar will be equally successful Avith you.” 
 
 “ Thank you,” said Mrs. Temple, bowing slightly. 
 
 “ But latterly there has been a decided falling off. Miss Potter 
 is always ‘just out’ of AvhateA'er one wants.” 
 
 “ I shall, of course, renew the stock, and hope to add some useful 
 branches to the business. I haA'e already some of the newest pub¬ 
 lications.” 
 
 9-2 
 
132 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ Ah, yes, I see,” interrupted her ladyship, wheeling her chair 
 round with a sudden, violent effort, and beginning to overhaul 
 them. “‘Household Words,’ ‘The Family Herald,’ ‘The Cheer¬ 
 ful Visitor,’—newspapers, too! that’s a good idea. And, pray, 
 had you a shop in France, Mrs. Temple ?” 
 
 “ No,” said the young widow gently. She could not bring her¬ 
 self to add “ my lady,” which slipped so readily from Miss Potter’s 
 tongue. 
 
 “ Ah, perhaps your husband managed the business ?” 
 
 “He did.” 
 
 “ Ah, you will be quite a tyro, then. Pray, have you many chil¬ 
 dren ?” 
 
 “ I have none.” 
 
 “ So much the better—so much the better. Children and busi¬ 
 ness do not agree, I imagine. And are you going to live here all 
 alone ? Have you any friends in Pierstoffe ?” 
 
 “I know no one here ; but I shall be joined by a young lady— 
 I mean person,” correcting herself with a smile, “ who will be my 
 assistant when I lose !Miss Potter, who cannot, I fear, stay with me 
 as long as I should wish.” 
 
 “ Hum ! that may do ; but you must be very circumspect. You 
 must indeed—a handsome young woman like you ! Are you going 
 to send out circulars ?” 
 
 “ I shall act on your suggestion,” said Mrs. Temple gravely, “ as 
 soon as I have finally arranged the purchase.” 
 
 “ Do ; and be sure to send me one. And I tell you what—you 
 ought to give credit. There is so much inconvenience and vul¬ 
 garity about ready money. I would certainly give three months’ 
 credit to residents and the county, if I were you ; but don’t trust 
 the visitors ; they are a doubtful set.” 
 
 “ I shall consider it,” returned Mrs. Temple. 
 
 “ Well, are these my cottons and things ?” 
 
 “ Yes, my lady.” 
 
 “ How much does it all come to ?” 
 
 “ Three-and-fourpence-halfpenny.” 
 
 “ What a quantity of money ! There, I have only three-and- 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 n?, 
 
 threepence, and I do not care to change a sovereign. I will pay 
 the three-halfpence another time. You see ”—to Mrs. Temple— 
 “ there is a case in point. I feel the cost of those wretched reels 
 of cotton because I see three shillings going out of my hands into 
 yours; but if your account for five pounds, or more, came in at 
 the end of three months, I would write a cheque for it as cheer¬ 
 fully as possible ! It is wonderful what a melancholy effect it has 
 seeing the actual coin go away from you. Now I must leave you; 
 I have to pay a visit at No. 6, North Parade. Do you know any¬ 
 thing of the people ?” To Miss Potter, “ Have they been in 
 here ?” 
 
 Miss Potter professed complete ignorance. 
 
 “ I know nothing about them,” continued the stout lady ; “ but 
 a cousin of mine in town begged me to call; there is a sick child 
 or some such reason for coming here so early. Good-morning. 
 Mind you get the lace patterns, Mrs. Temple. I shall look in soon 
 again, and see how you are getting on.” 
 
 Another unmitigated stare—“ I can’t help thinking I have seen 
 you somewhere before. Good-morning,” and she walked out of 
 the shop with surprising briskness for so heavy a figure. 
 
 “ And, pray, who is that remarkably curious personage ?” cried 
 Mrs. Temple, when she was fairly out of hearing. 
 
 “ That is one of our great ladies, and best customers,” returned 
 Miss Potter. “ That is Lady Styles, of Weston. She has a beau¬ 
 tiful place about four or five miles away, on the road to Stone- 
 borough. She is a wealthy lady, and quite her own mistress, for 
 Sir Marmaduke Styles is very sickly, and is often away in London 
 for his health ; but .she is the greatest gossip in the whole country. 
 She will come and buy things here if it was only to cross-question 
 you, till she finds out everything. She is not ill-natured, I believe, 
 but so dreadfully curious. There is no keeping anything from 
 her.” 
 
 “ I shall try, however,” thought Mrs. Temple to herself. “ I 
 wonder if she has ever really met me. I think not; I think I 
 should remember her.” And Mrs. Temple ran quicldy upstair ; to 
 write for the post, enjoining Fanny on no account to quit Bou- 
 
134 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 logne -without a supply of patterns and materials such as had 
 caught their attention, during the only ramble for which they had 
 had time, in the Rue de I’Ecu. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Kate Tra-vers, or rather Mrs. Temple, had not felt so light of 
 heart since the day on which Ford disclosed his unlucky discovery, 
 as she did when welcoming Fanny and Mills to their new home. 
 First, there was the great joy of having them once more with her 
 —the consciousness of her own courage in having opposed the 
 opinion of those she most regarded, justified as she felt by the 
 strong hope of success in her brave undertaking, and then a cer¬ 
 tain satisfaction in the pleasantness of the locality where her lot 
 had fallen. She had had tea laid in the best sitting-room, and as she 
 had permitted herself the extravagance of a man to put the garden 
 in order, and prune its wild luxuriance, things looked their best. 
 
 “ What a pretty place, Kate! Quite a lady-like room,” ex¬ 
 claimed Fanny, who was enjoying her tea with a traveller’s ap¬ 
 petite. “ Do you know, I long to be in the shop, coaxing people 
 to buy all sorts of things they do not want. What is the next 
 article, madam ? Is not that the style ?” 
 
 “ Bless me, Miss Fanny, how you do run on !” said Mills. 
 
 “ I trust you may like it,” returned Mrs. Travers. “ But you 
 will find standing all day very fatiguing. I did at first, but I have 
 become used to it.” 
 
 “ Must jmu never sit down ?” 
 
 “ Oh yes, you can sometimes, when there is nothing to do. 
 But we hope to have very little of that sort of rest.” 
 
 ‘ Dear, dear !”—a deep sigh from Mills. 
 
 “ And have any of your neighbours called upon you ?” continued 
 Fanny, helping herself to more brown bread and butter. “Z)o 
 shop-keepers call on each other ?” 
 
 “ I really cannot tell,” said Mrs. Temple, smiling. “ I am not 
 thoroughly initiated yet. I imagine they have no time for these 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 135 
 
 ceremonies ; at any rate, no one has called upon me except the 
 doctor, and, although he generally buys a pennyworth of this or 
 sixpenceworth of the other, I always look upon his visits as per¬ 
 sonal ; he gets so much talk for his money.” 
 
 “ Indeed!” cried Fanny. “And has he a wife? Is he old or 
 young, or nice or nasty, or-” 
 
 “ Rein up your curiosity a little, Fanny. He has a wife—he is 
 rather old—and I cannot exactly say he is nice.” 
 
 “ My curiosity is at an end, then. Do you know. Mills and I 
 grew rather fond of Boulogne. We would have been quite fond 
 of it had you been there.” 
 
 “ Me fond of it! no indeed ! It’s a queer, unnatural place,” 
 quoth Mills. “ Why, if you even go to thread a needle, the more 
 you twist the thread the more it comes untwisted. And then the 
 soup and the messes ! Why, you get up nearly as hungry as when 
 you sat down.” 
 
 “ All the better for digestion; but come, Kate, let us see your 
 new abode,” said Fanny, rising. 
 
 And then a pleasant excursion through the various nooks and 
 corners, the more dignified apartments and domestic offices of the 
 house, ensued. Fanny expressed the most ardent admiration, and 
 sketched the outline of a romantic tale, as she inspected the prin¬ 
 cipal rooms, which Mrs. Temple intended to let. A melanchol,y 
 and mysterious invalid, of refined habits and blighted affections, 
 was to occupy them. Mrs. Temple was to soothe his last mo¬ 
 ments ; he was to prove a millionaire, and leave all his wealth 
 “ to 3mu,” concluded Fanny, “ or to me—and then we should go 
 shares!” 
 
 “ No more wills, if you love me. Fan,” said Mrs. Temple, laugh¬ 
 ing. “ Whj^ should he not recover, find balm for his wounded 
 heart, and marry you ?" 
 
 “ Oh ! but I couldn’t, j’ou know,” cried Fanny, and stopped, 
 blushing brightly. 
 
 “ I know nothing,” returned her friend, “ but I guess a good 
 deal.” 
 
 Mrs. Mills did not commit herself. She found no fault, neither 
 
136 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 did she bestow much approval. The “ wash’us ” was, she admitted, 
 bandy, and the cupboards convenient; but this was balanced by 
 considerable doubts touching “no end of work” to keep such a 
 heap of odd corners clean. Then the “ girl ” underwent a grim 
 examination, from which she evidently drew unfavourable auguries 
 of her own future, and asked if she might go home “to see 
 mother.” Then, as the evening was lovely, and Miss Potter quite 
 willing to take entire charge of the shop for the short time that 
 remained before closing, the young widow proposed a stroll on the 
 beach, as Fanny did not seem very tired. 
 
 “ Tired ! I am as fresh as a lark ; ready for anything !” was the 
 reply. 
 
 “ Here, Miss Fanny,” said Mills, coming downstairs at that 
 moment ; “ here’s the parcel you said Mrs. Travers was-” 
 
 “ Hush !” cried that lady. “ Do be careful. Mills. I am Mrs.. 
 Temple now. You really must not forget. Give me the parcel!” 
 
 “ But, Kate,” said Fanny, as they left the house together, “ it is 
 very hard to remember ; and I spoiled ever so many envelopes 
 Avhen I wrote to you. I was sure to have ‘ Travers ’ down before 
 T could think. I wish you had not changed it. Was it neces¬ 
 sary?” 
 
 “ Yes; I thought so. I did not like to associate poor Mr. 
 Travers’s name with a shop, for I know my being here is not his 
 fault. Besides, I have an odd, obstinate, perhaps stupid dislike- 
 to the idea of resuming it again until I have won my rights.” 
 
 “ Heigho !” said Fanny. 
 
 “ Which means,” returned Mrs. Temple, a little sharply, “ that 
 Tom has persuaded you that my hopes and convictions are insane 
 crotchets. You think Tom an oracle ; but he is not infallible.” 
 
 “ Ko, indeed I do not ; but. he knows a great deal about law 
 and things, more even than you do ; though you are very, very 
 
 clever, Kate dear. I wouldn’t make so sure of-of anything, if 
 
 I were you.” 
 
 “ Patience, patience, time will show,” returned her friend a little- 
 wearily ; then, after a few moments’ thought, she exclaimed pas¬ 
 sionately, “You cannot know how deeply this blow has sunk into 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 1 
 
 104 
 
 my soul! I shall never be quite the same again till I have rolled 
 back that man’s triumph on himself, and proved that I possessed— 
 even if I did not deserve it—my husband’s love and confidence to the 
 last! After all,” she went on, speaking slowly, dreamily, “ my lot 
 has been a little hard. I have never known real love—love I could 
 heartily return—now I am compelled by fortune to turn aside out 
 of the way of it. And I do believe that not only is love the whole 
 fulfilling of the law, but of life, too, to a woman. But,” in a 
 cheerier tone, “ there are many pleasant things left—among them 
 success and revenge ; not desperate, cruel revenge, you know, but 
 a little pinching of one’s enemy, just to give salt to the success. 
 Tell me about yourself. Fan ?” 
 
 A long confidential talk ensued, for Fanny was unusually sen¬ 
 sible and satisfying, yet she avoided her own affairs somewhat; so 
 Mrs. Temple concluded that her engagement to Tom, if it existed, 
 was a tacit one. It was dusk when they reached the house. 
 
 “ And, Kate, how long is that horrid, skinny Miss Potter to 
 stay ?” 
 
 “ Another month,” said Mrs. Temple, laughing. “ It will take 
 all that time to train you. She is very useful, and a good creature.” 
 
 “ I hate good creatures,” said Fanny with a pout. 
 
 “ Which shows you are not one yourself,” returned Mrs. Temple, 
 putting the latch-key in the lock. “ How thankful I am that every¬ 
 thing has turned out favourably so far, though we must not expect 
 it to be always sunshine ! What a comfort that Mills seems toler¬ 
 ably pleased and in good spirits—where is she, by the way ?” Mrs. 
 Temple opened the kitchen-door as she spoke, and beheld Mills 
 seated by the fast-dying fire, her feet stretched out resting on each 
 other, her hands clasped together, her apron thrown over her face, 
 a picture of hopeless affliction. 
 
 o o o o o o 
 
 Time flew by with amazing rapidity in the busy monotony of the 
 new life upon which Kate and Fanny had entered. To the former 
 it was far from uninteresting. Her self-esteem was deeply pledged 
 to its success, and she soon began, under the pressure of such a 
 motive, to understand her work. Misunderstanding is at the root 
 
138 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 of so many dislikes ; to be thoroughly known is often, to the least 
 attractive, to possess sympathy and liking. Then it was very de¬ 
 lightful to perceive that, as the town filled, so did her trade in¬ 
 crease. The possession of a little ready money, too, was a great 
 advantage at the outset, as it enabled her to renew her stock on 
 good terms, and without any difl&culty respecting references, which 
 would have been puzzling to find. As soon as she began to as¬ 
 certain the kind of goods most in demand, she felt emboldened to 
 add sundry fancy articles to her stock of jet ornaments and trinkets 
 —she even ventured to run up to town from Friday morning to the 
 following evening and visit the great emporiums in Cannon Street, 
 where, if “fancy” was not originally “ bred,” she has developed 
 to an extraordinary degree. All Pierstofte was attracted by the 
 dazzling array which resulted from this visit, and Mrs. Temple 
 could not refrain from laughing at the sort of pride she detected 
 in her own heart on finding that for some time both Fanny and 
 herself were decidedly overworked, while the average of receipts 
 was a trifle under fourteen pounds a week. 
 
 “ What do you think of that, Tom ?” wrote the widow to her 
 faithful ally ; “ I have put away half the money to replace what 
 has been sold, and the rest I shall keep in the bank, as I shall 
 want nothing for our house or other expenditure for six months 
 at least.” 
 
 Meantime Fanny had caught the taste for business, or pretended 
 she did, though Kate shrewdly suspected she viewed the whole 
 undertaking as playing at shop-keeping, and could not believe that 
 in sober earnest they were always to work. 
 
 Small troubles, of course, arose. Mrs. Mills stax’ted with a fixed 
 and unaltei’able hatred to the unhappy “ girl ” who had been kept 
 on by Mrs. Temple. Mills knew too well what was due to herself 
 to hear any reason on the subject; and her mistress, though sorely 
 tempted to give way, was determined not to yield to an unjust 
 prejudice, consequently “ Sarah Jane’s ” was not a life of unbroken 
 sunshine ; some respite, however, was afforded to all parties by her 
 returning each evening to “do” for her grandmother, and her 
 remaining under the maternal roof till nine the following morning. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 139 
 
 Lady Styles was another thorn in their side, though by no means 
 an unmixed evil. Being rich and idle, she was an excellent cus¬ 
 tomer, and not only bought herself but brought many to buy ; for 
 her house was always full. Her extreme curiosity was distressing, 
 and so alarming to poor Fanny, who had been solemnly warned by 
 her friend against gratif3dng it, that her ladyship’s first visits gene¬ 
 rally cost the pretty little assistant a fit of crying. Lady Styles 
 took the deepest interest in the Berlin Bazaar and its owner, who 
 had taken her advice respecting the credit system, to which fact 
 her ladyship attributed the entire success, so far, of the young 
 widow’s speculation. Perhaps the true source of Lady Styles’ in¬ 
 terest lay in her unslaked curiosity. Mrs. Temple and Fanny grew 
 quite sldlled in fencing off her queries, and tacitly permitting her 
 to form one theory after another as to their previous history. Her 
 conjectures, always stated with the most insolent candour, were 
 often curiously ingenious ; but the fact of Mrs. Temple having 
 come direct from France baffled her a good deal. That there was 
 a mystery about the fair, sedate, attentive widow, she felt quite 
 sure, and she also felt herself bound to unravel it, if only to keep 
 up her character. In this Dr. Slade vms somewhat a hindrance. 
 The doctor and she were old acquaintances—often partners at 
 whist at the various dinners to which the former, in his double 
 character of sportsman and doctor, was frequently invited—but 
 always more or less rivals in pursuit of the latest, the most correct, 
 and the most startling intelligence ; Dr. Slade generally mention¬ 
 ing Lady Stjdes (in safe quarters) as that “ blundering old gossip, 
 who always has the wrong end of a story while Lady Styles 
 usually spoke of him as “ poor dear Dr. Slade ! you never can 
 exactly depend on anything from him.” Therefore, whatever theory 
 started by her ladj’ship was either openl}^ negatived by the doctor, 
 or he shook his head with a calmly contemptuous smile, as if he 
 knew ever so much better, only he could not speak, which, as Lady 
 Styles remarked, would be “ perfectly ridiculous if it was not mad¬ 
 dening.” 
 
 The doctor continued very friendly, and masked his batteries 
 more skilfully than Lady Styles. He fulfilled his promise by in- 
 
140 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 ti’oducing an invalid gentleman and his valet as tenants to Mrs. 
 Temple, whose three months’ occupancy of her rooms very nearly 
 paid a whole year’s rent; but this piece of good fortune was not 
 altogether without its unpleasantness also. The “ valet,” a thick¬ 
 set, “ dour ’’-looking individual, unaccomplished in any of the suave 
 graces which usually distinguish a “ gentleman’s gentleman,” gave a 
 good deal of trouble about his own and his master’s food, and 
 attracted so much of Mrs. Mills’s wrath and indignation upon him¬ 
 self that she had none to spare for “ Sarah Jane,” and grew quite 
 friendly towards that victim during the period of counter-irritation. 
 The tenant himself—a red-faced, grey-whiskered, short, slight man 
 of mild aspect, well dressed in an old-fashioned style, and always 
 wearing shoes and gaiters—developed a curious tendency to slide 
 down the banisters when he thought no one was looking, and to 
 sit in his open window when all Pierstoffe was out in its best attire, 
 with his nightcap over his hat. Whatever doubts the peculiarities 
 might have suggested were quickly resolved into certainty by Lady 
 Styles on the first opportunity. 
 
 “I have just been talking to Dr. Slade, Mrs. Temple,” she said, 
 “ and I told him it was a great shame to quarter a madman and 
 his keeper on you. Yes, a madman ! But immensely rich—made 
 a fortune in one day on the Stock Exchange, and lost his senses in 
 consequence. They say he is not dangerous ; but you can never 
 be sure. He may get up any night and murder you and this nice 
 little creature in your sleep. His valet sleeps in his room, you say ? 
 Oh, the cunning of madness is so extraordinary ! he would escape 
 the keeper.” 
 
 A suggestion which gave Mrs. Temple no small amount of 
 trouble, as Fanny could neither control nor conceal her fears, and 
 every night went through nearly an hour’s searching in cupboards, 
 behind curtains, and under beds before she finally locked herself 
 into her room. 
 
 On the whole, this slightly capricious young person was of more 
 real use than Mrs. Temple had ventured to hope, and for the first 
 two or three months things went smoothly in the main. By that 
 time, however, their fellow-townspeople began to evince a desire 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 141 
 
 to make their acquaintance, and Mrs. Temple determined not to 
 hold aloof from the proffered intercourse. 
 
 Among the higher class of tradespeople none stood higher than 
 Mr. Turner, of “ Turner and Sons,” the grand, and, indeed, only 
 drapery emporium of Pierstoft'e. He "was a very honest, respect¬ 
 able man, understanding his own work thoroughly, but little else ; 
 for education in the “ good old days ” of his boyhood was held to 
 be an unholy thing for any one below the rank of an esquire; and 
 gentlemen thought they best served “ God and the king ” by heap¬ 
 ing up barriers of difference between them and the brethren like 
 unto themselves whom Providence, for some wise purpose, had 
 placed upon this earth to do their bidding. Education or no edu¬ 
 cation, Mr. Turner managed to amass a good deal of money, and 
 the more he advanced in wealth and consideration—which are in¬ 
 deed synonymous terms—the more he felt the v^ant of what he 
 himself would have termed “ learning.” Not that he said so, even 
 to the wife of his bosom—he said very little on any subject—but 
 he resolved that his son—his only son, Joseph—should have all the 
 advantages he had never known. 
 
 Now Joseph, though an only son, was not an only child ; three 
 cider sisters alternately cuddled and cuffed him through an early 
 boyhood of much spoiling, while two younger ones afforded ample 
 scope for the tyranny over weaker vessels so natural to incipient 
 man. But no only child could have been an object of fonder hopes, 
 lie was carefully instructed at the Stoneborough Grammar School; 
 he was sent from thence to a commercial academy in the neigh¬ 
 bourhood of London, and finally placed in a West-end establish¬ 
 ment, to learn the higher and more elegant mj^steries of business. 
 
 He was far from a dull boy. He learned something of all this, 
 and a good deal more besides. 
 
 Mr. Turner and his family attended the little old parish church, 
 w^hich modern Pierstoffe had far outgrowm. He w^as equally opposed 
 to attending the Baptist Chapel, Salem Chapel, Little Bethel, or St. 
 Monica’s Church, a brand-new edifice erected by subscription to ac¬ 
 commodate increasing numbers both of inhabitants and visitors (as a 
 man of business, Mr. Turner had subscribed to it j as a man of Pro- 
 
142 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 testant religion, he refused to attend it), and supported by an offer¬ 
 tory which an excellent hard-working, lantern-jawed, long-coated 
 Anglican priest toiled to fill with energy and ingenuity that would 
 have been invaluable in the purveyor to a music-hall—in all respect 
 be it written—for the Rev. Claudius St. John cared little for this 
 world’s goods, but he loved to see his church beautiful, and he 
 heartily cared for the poor. To return : Mr. Turner attended the 
 old parish church, and insisted on his family attending it also. 
 Although he looked on his son as a superior, or rather a fancy 
 article, his will was on some points law to the young man, and this 
 was one of them ; so it fell out that Mr. Joseph Turner saw Mrs. 
 Temple and Fanny. They had also elected to sit under the rector, 
 a mild, well-bred, indolent old gentleman, who, as the poor people 
 used to say admiringly, “never harmed no one.” In the animated 
 discussions which ensued respecting the new people at the Berlin 
 Bazaar, Mr. J oseph was unusually silent; and although he fre¬ 
 quently took occasion to saunter by the Berlin establishment of an 
 evening in an admirable, London-made, sea-side suit, and a cigarette 
 (refinement was his forte!) in his mouth, he never met the new 
 proprietress and her assistant save once, when they were very 
 simply attired, and moving briskly towards the Barmouth Road, 
 evidently bent on a refreshing country walk. As spring advanced, 
 a movement among the more enterprising townsfolk to water the 
 street and roadway of the Esplanade, culminated in a meeting and 
 a resolution to that effect, which was neatly drawn out on a sheet 
 of foolscap, and ordered to be taken round by some one of the 
 committee to all the principal houses to collect subscriptions. Mr. 
 Turner, senior, as a churchwarden and a representative man, felt 
 that he ought to be first in such an excellent work ; but he by no 
 means fancied the undertaking. He was, therefore, doubl}' gratified 
 when his son volunteered his services—first, because such a mark 
 of interest in mundane affairs was rather rare in the sullen young 
 gentleman ; secondly, because it was a personal relief. Thus it 
 came about that just after the early dinner hour, when things were 
 quiet one blazing afternoon in early June, Fanny peeped between 
 the half-worked cushions and slippers, the traced screens and orna- 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 143 
 
 mental baskets that adorned the window, and exclaimed, “ Here 
 comes that elegant young man who stares so at us in church!— 
 and, Kate ! I protest he is coming in !” 
 
 The next moment Mr. Joseph, in unquestionable attire, was 
 raising his hat with metropolitan grace, as he stood in the centre 
 of the shop. Macassar in his locks, a moss-rose in his button-hole, 
 and a handkerchief redolent of millefleurs in his hand. 
 
 “ A thousand pardons!” he said, in a mild and rather squeaky 
 voice. “ I have taken the liberty of calling in the character of a 
 petitioner. Fact is, a number of respectable buffers belonging to 
 this town, my governor among them, have decided on levying—a 
 —contributions for the desirable object of laying the dust, and I 
 have therefore to request you will come down with your dust—if 
 you will excuse that form of address.” 
 
 This speech, though carefully conned, and delivered with a cer¬ 
 tain fluency, cost the speaker no small effort. He was in a violent 
 perspiration before it ended, and, as usual, the effort to conceal his 
 real bashfulness, of which he was heartily ashamed, made him 
 assume an unnecessarily brazen front. As he paused, he drew 
 forth from a breast-pocket and presented to Mrs. Temple the 
 foolscap aforesaid. She received it with a gracious bow and smile, 
 proceeding to peruse it before committing herself to speech. 
 While she did so, Mr. Joseph addressed some remarks on the 
 weather to Fanny, in much less an audacious tone than that in 
 which he began. That volatile little lady, infinitely amused by 
 the young man’s air of fashion and elaborate elegance, replied with 
 much suavity, quite running over with smiles. 
 
 “ A very necessary undertaking,” said Mrs. Temple, interrupting 
 their conversation, as she finished perusing the “ resolution.” “ I 
 shall be most happy to contribute and, drawing forth her purse, 
 she returned the paper vdth a smile and a half-sovereign. 
 
 “Very handsome, indeed,” observed her visitor, “for a new¬ 
 comer.” 
 
 “ But I hope to be long reckoned among the townsfolk,” returned 
 Mrs. Temple. 
 
 “ If I may be considered in any way representing Pierstoffe,” 
 
144 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 replied Mr. Joseph gallantly, but not without a tinge of self-im¬ 
 portance, “ I should say the town is honoured by the addition of 
 two such ladies to its residents. Perhaps,” he went on, half-jest, 
 half-earnest, “ I may one of these da3'S be its Parliamentary repre¬ 
 sentative—who knows ! the age of progress, yon know ; a—impos¬ 
 sible to say what it may lead to. As strangers, you may not be 
 aware that my father’s Mr. Turner, of the Emporium, ma’am—is 
 the oldest-established firm in the place, except Prodgers, the gro¬ 
 cer ; but then the difference of position is enormous ! My governor 
 is desperately fond of the concern, though there is really no neces¬ 
 sity for his working it. Were the choice left to me-” A grace¬ 
 
 ful flourish of his perfumed handkerchief, and the rest was left to 
 imagination. 
 
 “ Does Pierstoffe return a member to Parliament ?” asked Mrs. 
 Temple, a little puzzled how to reply, and seizing the only point of 
 general interest in his speech. 
 
 “ Not as 3'et,” said the future M.P., lifting and re-arranging his 
 hat on his Macassar curls. “ The narrow-minded agriculturists, 
 who absorb Parliamentary powers, have as j^et ignored the growing 
 —I may saj-’, the fast-growing claims of this rising town. Never¬ 
 theless, the hour is coming—perhaps the man will not be wanting.” 
 
 Mrs. Temple generally hoped all possible success to that myste¬ 
 rious individual. 
 
 Still Mr. Turner lingered. He talked of “ Town ” with an air 
 of exhaustive knowledge, and strove, though not very persistently, 
 to ascertain if they were Londoners. Fanny’s knoAvledge of what 
 had been going on at the theatres six months before fixed her 
 locale; but Mrs. Temple was impervious, and, to a point-blank 
 inquiry, replied, as was her habit now : 
 
 “ I have lived in London, but I came last from France.” 
 
 This reply, coupled with an admission that her husband dealt in 
 Eastern produce, gave rise to a generally-received theory that the 
 late Mr. Temple had been in the grocery line, in a large way ; had 
 failed; had fled to France to escape his creditors and get brandy 
 cheap, as he took to drink, and, after inflicting much suffering on 
 his wife, died and left her in the direst poverty. Her friends and 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 145 
 
 Miss Lee’s had bought the “ Berlin Bazaar” and set them up—the 
 money was chiefly Miss Lee’s. She came of a high family in some 
 mysterious way—the natural daughter of an earl—of a marchioness 
 —of a general officer. It was easy to see she was unaccustomed to 
 business, and the most independent of the two, &c., &c. 
 
 Meantime, Mr. J. Turner, jun., as was printed on his cards, 
 which had led to his being familiarly styled J. T. J., posed and 
 talked till, to Mrs. Temple’s relief, the entrance of some customers 
 obliged him to retire ; not, however, before he expressed a hope on 
 the part of the ladies of his family, which they had not authorised 
 him to do, that on some suitable occasion they might become ac 
 quainted with Mrs. Temple and her friend. 
 
 So gradually the widow found herself drawn into social relations 
 with her fellows. She accepted their advances with a frankness 
 that proved her best safeguard against intrusion, as what seems 
 within the grasp is never too eagerly sought. But the only inti¬ 
 macy she found was with the chemist’s wife—a gentlewoman by 
 nature, but “sair hauden doon” by a large and ever-increasing 
 family. To her Mrs. Temple and her friend were real “ God¬ 
 sends so much help, refreshment, and courage did she glean from 
 her kindly and congenial neighbours. 
 
 Thus the first months of their life at Pierstoffe rolled over for 
 Kate Travers and her friend. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 “ In spite of prudence and all the other reasonable bugbears you 
 array against me, I will run down on Saturday and see how you are 
 getting on,” wrote Tom. Reed to Mrs. Temple a week or two after 
 the visit of Mr. Turner, described in the last chapter; for Mrs. 
 Temple had requested that for a while he would abstain from visit¬ 
 ing them until they had established themselves, fearing that Tom’s 
 hopelessly gentlemanlike air might afford food for scandal and 
 conjecture. “You will be quite satisfied with my appearance. I 
 have invested in a travelling suit of the most ‘ gent ’-like aspect. I 
 
 10 
 
146 
 
 EEB. DEAREST FOE. 
 
 shall put rings on my fingers, and -would put bells on the other 
 fingers (as the French have it), if they -n^ould facilitate matters. 
 In short, I hope to look the character of your London agent per¬ 
 fectly, and expect to be -welcomed literally and metaphorically -with 
 open arms.” 
 
 “ How delightful it will be to see him !” cried Kate, after reading 
 this aloud. “ But it is almost too soon for him to come. Don’t 
 you think so, Fanny ?” 
 
 “ No, indeed I do not,” returned that young lady candidly, and 
 sparkling all over with smiles. “ I have rather wondered why he 
 kept away so long—I mean after Miss Potter went;” for “ Mrs. 
 Browne’s right-hand woman ” had departed a considerable time 
 before, much gratified by a small present over and above the sum 
 agreed upon for her services, and eloquent in her good wishes for 
 the young widow’s success. 
 
 “ You know I have always warned him not to come.” 
 
 “ But for all that,” pouted Fanny, “ he has been marvellously 
 patient.” 
 
 You are an unreasonable little goose,” said her friend. “ How¬ 
 ever, I shall be delighted to see him. He cannot be here till late. 
 We must have something very nice for supper, and an extra good 
 dinner on Sunday. I will go and speak to Mills.” And Mrs. 
 Temple rose from the breakfast table, where this conversation 
 took place. 
 
 “ I do not think Tom cares much for eating,” said Fanny, with 
 a slight sigh and a tinge of sentiment in the outlook of her bright 
 brown eyes. 
 
 “Nonsense,” returned Mrs. Temple. “ There is a strong dash of 
 the Epicurean in the dear old fellow. Depend upon it he loves 
 sugar and spice, and all that’s nice, in his heart of hearts, though I 
 believe he is man enough to do without anything cheerfully, if 
 necessary.” And Mrs. Temple went oif quickly to consult Mills, 
 whose countenance relaxed even towards the ex-stockbroker’s 
 gentleman when she heard she was to “ kill the fatted calf ” for 
 Master Tom. 
 
 Business was quite over, and the “ shutters up ”—phrase sugges- 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 147 
 
 tive of repose—when Tom arrived. The best sitting-room had 
 been prepared ; the lamp was burning soft but bright ; the window, 
 open upon the garden, let in the delicious perfume of mignonette 
 mingled with new-mown grass, for the little plat had been care¬ 
 fully shaven in the afternoon, that things might look their best ; 
 the old furniture judiciously arranged, with some telling additions 
 of ornamental needlework. 
 
 “ I am sure it all looks lovely,” said Fanny, putting the finishing 
 touches with trembling fingers. Both friends were in a state of 
 joyous excitement at the prospect of Eeed’s visit. To Fanny it 
 was all joy ; but Kate was surprised and vexed to feel how keen 
 and painful were the memories revived by the prospect of seeing 
 him. Bravely as she worked and faced her destiny, she still quivered 
 under the sense of defeat and injustice ; she still burned with the 
 desire to right herself and revenge the insults that had been heaped 
 upon her, which were none the less bitter for being unconsciously 
 offered. 
 
 “ Listen ! a carriage, or something, has stopped at the door,” she 
 exclaimed, turning gladly from her own stinging thoughts ; and the 
 next moment all their past life seemed to rush back upon them as 
 Tom entered, in a bright purple-tinted “ heather suit,” with broad 
 stripes down his trousers, and an indescribable felt hat on his head, 
 which he speedily removed. 
 
 “ My dear Tom ! how delighted I am to see you!” cried Mrs. 
 Temple, holding out both hands. 
 
 “ And I am not sorry,” added Fanny, trying with shy coquetry 
 not to look too happy. 
 
 “ What’s your delight to mine!” exclaimed Tom, clasping the 
 widow’s hands warmly, then letting them go to grasp Fanny’s, and 
 further proceeding to a hasty, ecstatic hug. “ I have been the most 
 desolate and disconsolate of bachelors since you left. Kothing but 
 the hope of getting leave to run down to see you has kept me from 
 going utterly to the bad. And what a jolly place you have !” sniffing 
 the sweet ail’. “ The perfume of the garden is heavenly ; and how 
 well you arc both looking ! By Jove! I fancy this is the orna¬ 
 mental side of shopkeeping.” 
 
 10—2 
 
143 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ It has its uglier aspects,” returned Mrs. Temple ; “ but we arc 
 not worn to skeletons yet.” 
 
 “ No ?” said Tom interrogatively ; then holding out his arms 
 again to Fanny. “ I should like to test the truth of that assertion.” 
 
 “ Ah,” said Fanny, retreating, “ this ‘ London assurance ’ will 
 not do, Tom.” 
 
 “ Come, you must be famished,” remarked the fair hostess, 
 moving to the table. 
 
 “ Nearly,” said her guest; “ but before proceeding to business I 
 will secure quarters for the night. Where shall I go ? I want to 
 avoid the haunts of a bloated aristocracy, lest the arrival of so 
 distinguished an individual might be bruited abroad.” 
 
 “ Oh, I am sure I do not know any hotel except the ‘ Marine,’ 
 and that is—” 
 
 “ Far too fine,” interrupted Tom ; “ but my cab is at the door ; 
 I’ll confide in the driver. I shall return in ten minutes, and devour 
 everything before me.” 
 
 “ He may say what he likes about being desolate,” cried Fanny, 
 “ I never saw him look better.” 
 
 “I am sure I have,” returned Mrs. Temple. “And what an 
 absurd suit of clothes !” 
 
 It was a very joyous supper that night. Tom was in the wildest 
 spirits. A little piece he had written for the Lesbian Theatre had 
 been accepted, and would be, he hoped, produced in a few months. 
 
 “ You see I could no( refrain from coming to tell the news in 
 person,” continued Tom, settling himself at table and unfolding 
 his napkin, while Mrs. Temple supplied him with cold lamb, and 
 Fanny, on the other side, became the ministering angel of cucumber, 
 mint sauce, and admirably-mixed salad. “ Of course the thing will 
 succeed ; lots of ‘ go ’ in it, sparkling dialogue (I had your repartees 
 in my head. Fan, as I wrote), delicate sentiment (reminiscences of 
 Mrs. Travers—I mean Temple), Attic salt, myself.” 
 
 “ And a little Durham mustard, I hope,” added Fanny. 
 
 “ You small barbarian !” 
 
 “ Now, Tom, what will you have in the way of liquids ?” asked 
 his kind hostess. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 149 
 
 “ Oh, barley ■wine—known to the vulgar as bitter beer,” returned 
 Tom. 
 
 “ Yes, there is some to be had here quite equal to Bass or Allsopp, 
 though its bitterness is some'what wasted on the obscurity of 
 Pierstoffe. Fanny shall be your Hebe, and I will draw the 
 cork.” 
 
 So the two fair women petted and pampered their friend and 
 champion, till, throwing himself back in his chair, he protested he 
 could eat no more, finishing with the quotation, “ And oh, if there 
 bo an Elysium on earth, it is this—it is this !” 
 
 “ Although behind a Berlin Bazaar,”' added Mrs. Temple, laugh¬ 
 ing. “ And now you have appeased the pangs of hunger, open 
 your budget, and tell us the news.” 
 
 “ Which means tidings of the enemy. I have not much. The 
 chief enemy, I hear, made a capital book on the Derby.” 
 
 “ His star is in the ascendant at present,” murmured Kate. 
 
 “ And the report is,” continued Tom, “ that old Scrymgeour, of 
 some great banking concern—a Liberal of the stingy order—is going 
 to retire from the representation of Ribbleston, and Sir Hugh 
 Galbraith is going to contest it in the Conservative interest, as the 
 descendant of some Galbraith in the good old times who used to 
 harry the inhabitants.” 
 
 “ Indeed,” said Mrs. Temple thoughtfully. “ And, Tom, there 
 are no tidings at present of poor old Gregory’s son. I trust and 
 hope he has not gone down at sea !” 
 
 “ None. By the way, I met Poole—one of the witnesses, you 
 remember—at the Derby. I am sorry to say he was with that 
 fellow Trapes, who seemed rather flourishing than otherwise ; and, 
 just to keep him in sight, I made a small bet with him. Strange 
 to say, I won, which I do Jiot often, and Poole begged I would 
 allow him to call and settle it, as he was a little short of cash. I 
 willingly agreed, took his note, and when he did call to make 
 further excuses, had some chat, but could get nothing out of him 
 —in short, he has nothing to tell, I imagine. I gave him a still 
 longer time to pay up, warned him against the turf and turfites ; 
 he ‘ smiled, and then we parted.’ No, by-the-bye, he first told me 
 
]50 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 that Ford had cut St. Hilda’s Place, had set up as a stockbroker, 
 and was doing well.” 
 
 “ And Poole, then, has no suspicion about that 'i^dll ?” 
 
 “ ISTone, I should say. He seemed uncomfortable and shaky, but 
 I think that is owing to his pursuits, poor devil!” 
 
 “ I wish-” began Mrs. Temple ; but her wish was cut short 
 
 by a mysterious pounding overhead. 
 
 “ What the deuce is that ?” asked Tom. 
 
 “Oh, it is only'our tenant,” said Fanny, laughing, “going to 
 bed ; we always hear that sort of noise about this hour, whenever 
 we sit in this room. I fancy he performs an Ojibbeway war-dance 
 round his bedstead before turning in.” 
 
 “ Is he a madman ?” 
 
 “ Something very like it,” said Mrs. Temple. “ He will not be 
 here much longer ; and, alas ! for the lowness of my motives, he 
 pays well.” 
 
 “ That is consolatory, at all events,” said Tom. “ A 2'>ropos of 
 pay, let me have a look at the accouirts you write about, Mrs.—a— 
 Temple. I am afraid to believe they are as flourishing as you de¬ 
 scribe. Ladies are not always able to see their way through figures. 
 Now I am a tolerable accountant.” 
 
 “ You used always to be in trouble over the multiplication table, 
 Tom, I remember quite well,” said Fanny. 
 
 “ That is invented for the occasion,” he returned. 
 
 “ Yes, Tom,” said Mrs. Temple, “ I should be glad if you would 
 look through my books. I do not think I have many bad debts 
 and she went to fetch them. 
 
 Tom’s head was very near Fanny’s W'hen she re-entered, and the 
 former, to cover any awkwardness, immediately exclaimed, “ I 
 have just been consulting Fan whether W'e might not get a trap of 
 some kind to-morrow, and make an excursion into the ‘ picturesque 
 vicinity,’ of which the Pierstolfe Guide speaks.” 
 
 “ It would be perfectly delightful!” cried Fanny. 
 
 “ It would indeed,” echoed Mrs. Temple. “ I dare say you can 
 get some sort of conveyance at your hotel. Where are you putting 
 up, Tom ?” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 151 
 
 “ Oh, at the ‘ Shakespeare,’ the favourite house, I imagine, from 
 its general aspect, of those knights errant of modern life, com¬ 
 mercial travellers, who issue forth armed cap-u-pie with Punch and 
 Bradshaw to uphold the firms they represent against all comers. 
 Alas ! what a change ! Tomkins and Co.’s genuine articles, instead 
 of the peerless Isabella or Sophonisba. Nevertheless, I dare say 
 a trap and horse are to be found there. Now for the books.” 
 
 The examination proved more satisfactory than the chief coun¬ 
 sellor anticipated. “ Upon my soul, this is magnificent!” he ex 
 claimed. “ I never thought you would turn out such a first-rate 
 woman of business, Mrs. Travers. Your books are so beautifully 
 clean, too ! where did you learn book-keeping ?” 
 
 “ Some hints from Miss Potter put me in the way, and a keen 
 sense of my own interest kept me there,” she replied. “ You know 
 I always had a taste for business. Had matters not gone wrong, I 
 should have liked to keep up and extend the old house of Travers. 
 Heigho ! there is no use in thinking of that now.” 
 
 “ Not a bit,” said Tom ; “ let us return to the books. I really 
 believe you will do a very good business here.” 
 
 Yes, just now ; but you must remember this is the very height 
 of our season. The autumn and dreary winter are yet to come.” 
 
 “ True,” returned Tom. “ Could you not add something useful 
 to your stock ? I confess it amazes me to see such a lot of money 
 paid for things that every one could do perfectly well without.” 
 
 “ It is surprising,” said the widow quietly. “ But your sugges¬ 
 tion is good. I shall think about it, Tom.” 
 
 “ And Mr. Ford has left the ‘ house ’ and turned stockbroker ?” 
 said Mrs. Temple, as Tom Reed rose to say good-night. “ Did he 
 quarrel with Sir Hugh Galbraith?” 
 
 “ I do not know. Galbraith, it seems, has scarcely ever shown 
 at St. Hilda’s Place, and the concern is being wound up.” 
 
 “ Indeed ! Do you ever see Mr. Ford ?” 
 
 “ Never. He is out of my way, and I never liked him. I do 
 not know why, except that I always fancied him a bit of a 
 sneak.” 
 
 “ I do not think that,” said Mrs. Temple thoughtfully. “ I 
 
152 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 think his spirit was always willing, but his flesh was weak. There 
 was a want of pluck—I can find no other word—in him, which I 
 imagine always put him at odds with himself; for his impulses 
 were very good.” 
 
 “ Perhaps so,” returned Tom carelessly. “ By the way I for- 
 wai’ded you a letter from Wall about a month ago, and was in 
 hopes it might contain some good news ; but as you said nothing, 
 my hopes died away.” 
 
 “ I remember. It only contained a repetition of Sir Hugh Gal¬ 
 braith’s offer ; and enclosed a letter from the wife of our clergy¬ 
 man at Hereford Square. She was the only one of my neighbours 
 there with whom I contracted any intimacy ; and although I lost 
 sight of her when we went to Hampton Court, she very kindly 
 wrote, on hearing of the great wrong that had been done me, ask¬ 
 ing my plans—and if she could in any way serve me. It is the 
 only offer of the kind I have received ; few women have ever stood 
 more alone than I do.” 
 
 “ You are a host in yourself,” said Tom cheerfully. “ But in 
 spite of the flourishing aspect of your affairs at present, I wish you 
 had accepted the baronet’s offer—certainty is certain—and this 
 concern does not belong to the category.” 
 
 “ On this head silence, dear Tom ! even from good words.” 
 
 O ^ O O Q (t 
 
 The next morning was an ideal summer’s day, tempered by a 
 delicious breeze. “ I feel like a real tradeswoman going out for 
 a Sunday jaunt,” said Fanny, as Tom Heed was assisting her into 
 a very presentable pony phaeton, which looked rather small for the 
 steady Homan-nosed steed attached to it. 
 
 “ I hope you are not a sham one !” retorted Mrs. Temple, laugh¬ 
 ing. “This is very enjoyable,” she continued, as they bowled 
 along at a better pace than the “ Roman ” seemed to promise. “ I 
 hope you have studied a map of the country, for Fan and I are 
 quite unable to direct you ; our expeditions have been limited to 
 walking distance.” 
 
 “ Oh yes. I have informed myself. In fact, after I left you 
 last night, I improved my opportunities by cultivating one of the 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 15 ,^ 
 
 knights errant of whom we were speaking ; and he was good 
 enough to introduce me to the commercial-room, for I assure you 
 the men of the road are exceedingly exclusive. They gave me lots 
 of information as to the surrounding country, and were exceed¬ 
 ingly pleasant fellows—fanciful, perhaps, in the distribution of 
 their ‘ h’s,’ but emphatically men of the world. I picked up some 
 ideas from them, I can assure you. There was one curious speci¬ 
 men of an ambitious son of trade there, a Eadical, a poet—an 
 awful ass—and he was properly chaffed. I fancy he was a Piers- 
 toffean.” 
 
 “ It must have been Turner junior,” said Fanny aside to Kate. 
 
 “ What! do you know any of the aborigines ?” asked Tom, over¬ 
 hearing. 
 
 “ Yes ; we know several of our neighbours,” replied Mrs. Temple* 
 “ It would never do to hold aloof, as if we were made of different 
 stuff, which we are not. It is foolish, and yet so easy to make 
 enemies. You remember the Italian proverb : ‘ Hast thou fifty 
 friends, ’tis not enough ; hast thou one enemy, ’tis too much.’ ” 
 
 “ Do you know, Mrs. Trav—Temple, I mean—I am lost in ad¬ 
 miration of your common sense !” exclaimed Tom. “ Though 
 Avhy we should call that common which is the rarest of gifts I da 
 not know.” 
 
 “ Because it is chiefly exercised in everyday matters, perhaps,” 
 said she. 
 
 “ You see, mine is the ?(ncommon sense,” put in Fanny. “ So I 
 am a much higher sort of creature than either of you. Instead of 
 stumbling along the ground over all sorts of reasonable impedi¬ 
 ments, I soar right away to conclusions, which, I am quite sure, 
 time will prove to be correct.” 
 
 “ For instance ?” asked Mrs. Temple. 
 
 “Mr. Ford,” returned Fanny promptly. “You and Tom blind 
 and deafen yourselves to your own dislike of him, because he has 
 always behaved well and been obliging, and it is unreasonable to 
 doubt him. I don’t care for reason. I do not like him ! I never 
 did. I am certain he is a tiresome, conceited, spiteful creature ; 
 and you will find him out to be a villain of the deepest dye !” 
 
154 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ Oil, Fanny, Fanny!” cried Mrs. Temple and Tom together, 
 laughing. 
 
 “And there is Dr. Slade ! I don’t like him. I can’t tell why, 
 but I am quite sure I am right—he is a tyrannical old humbug.” 
 
 “ Do not let us abuse people this delicious evening,” said Mrs. 
 Temple ; and then the conversation turned on Tom Reed’s con¬ 
 cerns, his hopes and prospects, while the three friends deeply en¬ 
 joyed the fragrant fields and shady lanes through which their 
 road led to the ruined Priory mentioned in the description of 
 Pierstoffe which Tom had read aloud in the dingy London 
 lodging. 
 
 Here a gaping boy was easily induced to watch the little carriage 
 and the horse, while the trio rambled about the ruins, and drank 
 in the still beauty of the place, the atmosphere, the sunset views, 
 with delighted eyes. 
 
 “ Tell me,” said Tom, as they neared the town on their way 
 back, addressing Mrs. Temple in confidential tones, “ are you really 
 happy ? You look well, but there is something in your eyes, your 
 expression, that used not to be there.” 
 
 “ You are a keen observer,” she returned, smiling. “ Yes, I am 
 happy just now ; but a feeling of weariness and dissatisfaction 
 sometimes creeps over me. I know I cannot go on always living as 
 I do now ; I want a wider range. I often feel a wild wish to be in 
 the thick of the world, not shunted into a corner as I am. But I 
 can wait. I am young ; I want to make some money, and I have 
 an innate conviction, quite unreasoning enough to please Fanny, 
 that there is a change coming.” 
 
 “ Why do you not write ?” asked Tom. “ There is more in that 
 pretty, stately head of yours, I believe, than in half our women 
 writers. Why don’t you go in for a thrilling tale ? I am sure you 
 have diablerie enough to invent one.” 
 
 “ Thank jmu, no ; I am afraid I have nothing to say the public 
 W'ould like to hear ; so I shall reserve myself for the battle of Ar¬ 
 mageddon which is before me.” 
 
 “ I wish you would put that out of your head ! a haunting, un¬ 
 healthy dream like this will spoil your nature and your life.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 155 
 
 “ I cannot help it, Tom ; I cannot,” said Mrs. Temple earnesth^ 
 Life will be one long defeat if I cannot upset that will.” 
 
 These words brought them to the door, and Tom checked his 
 desire to press the subject further. 
 
 “ It is a lovely night!” he exclaimed, for the sun had gone down 
 half an hour before. “ As soon as I leave the trap at the stables, 
 I will return, and perhaps you will take a stroll along the beach 
 with me, Fanny ?” 
 
 “ Yes—if Kate will come too,” said Fanny, with sudden shyness. 
 
 “ Konsense !” returned Mrs. Temple, laughing. “ I think you 
 may venture on a walk without my chaperonage.” 
 
 When the cousins had departed on their stroll, and she had 
 assisted Mills to prepare supper, Mrs. Temple sat down by her bed¬ 
 room window to watch the glimmering moonlight growing more 
 distinct as the last tints of the sunset died out, and listen to the 
 soft, sleepy ripple of the advancing tide. The book she had taken 
 up dropped upon her knee, and her thoughts flew away. Was she 
 happy ? No ; she had not been for many a long day ; not since 
 the old free days of poverty and light-heartedness at Culhngford. 
 Her husband—well, she thought of him tenderly, gratefully ; but 
 she would have been sorry to live the repressed life she had led 
 with him over again. Wealth had only been a hindrance to her; 
 yet the loss of it, and all that it entailed, had been a bitter blow. 
 She knew all the longing for a full, active, loving life that heaved 
 and struggled unspoken in her heart; she knew the deep capacity 
 for enjoyment, the thirst for knowledge, the desire to go out into 
 the world and possess it through a full understanding of its va¬ 
 rieties, that lay under the well-controlled surface of her life. 
 
 “ I must break away from this routine sometime, but for the 
 present I must be patient, and for the present I have done the best 
 I could. Where, where shall I see the first glimmer of light to 
 guide me out of the puzzling darkness of the present ? Tom is right; 
 this dream of mine, if unfulfilled, will spoil my life. Yet I cannot, 
 will not give it up. But can those be Tom and Fanny coming back 
 already ?” 
 
 It was that happy couple ; and no sooner had Mrs. Temple lit 
 
156 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 the lamp and looked upon them than she saw something was- 
 wrong. 
 
 “ Had you a nice walk ?” asked Kate, 
 
 “ Oh, very !” replied Fanny in a peculiar tone. 
 
 “ Perhaps you thought so ; I didn’t!” said Tom savagely. 
 
 “ What has happened ?” asked the widow. 
 
 “ Why,” exclaimed Tom, getting up and walking over to Mrs. 
 Temple, “ who do you think joined us? That unmitigated idiot 
 who made such an ass of himself last night with those bagmen. 
 He talked to Fanny as if he had known her all his life ! And she 
 encouraged him, and laughed and talked nonsense till he did not 
 know whether he was on his head cr his heels. I did my best ta 
 stop her-” 
 
 “ You did,” said Fanny ; “ you pinched my arm black and blue !” 
 
 “ But it was no use ! It is too bad that either of you should be 
 obliged to hold any communication with such an insufferable snob ! 
 but that Fanny should encourage him to stay and spoil our walk 
 was, to say the least, extremely bad taste !” 
 
 “ How can you be so cross and disagreeable, Tom ? I could not 
 help it, Kate. It was so funny to hear him patronising Tom, 
 asking him if he knew this place, and that theatre, and Tom sternly 
 denying all knowledge of everything, till Turner junior evidently 
 thought he was a mere hard-working drone, utterly inexperienced 
 in life ! I know you would have been amused.” 
 
 “Very well,” said Tom, controlling himself, and sitting down ta 
 supper with a very bad grace, “ I see you are fonder of fun than 
 your friends, or your friend ! I used to flatter myself that I 
 your friend par excellence / but if all is fish that comes to your net, 
 provided they make you laugh, I do not care to be included in the 
 haul!” 
 
 “Don’t be so stupid and serious,” cried Fanny, enjoying to the 
 full the sense of power of which Tom’s ill temper gave her a 
 glimpse. “ I haven’t you always, and I can’t afford to quarrel wdth 
 Mr. Turner, for he is constantly here ; so be a good boy, and make 
 friends.” 
 
 But Tom was not to be pacified, though Fanny made some pretty 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 157 
 
 little advances ; still slie held her ground gallantly. It was so de¬ 
 lightful to be able to shake the airy composure she had so often 
 admired in those days when her cousin appeared to her a mighty 
 and irresistible swell. 
 
 So Tom’s delightful visit ended less brightly than it began. 
 Overnight he declared he would leave by an early train before 
 Pierstoffe had opened its eyes; but he, nevertheless, appeared at 
 breakfast, and bid Mrs. Temple a tender adieu, contenting himself 
 with shaking Fanny’s hand coldly, and never once asked for a kiss ! 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 This little quarrel took some time and trouble to heal. After 
 holding out saucily and defiantly for a while, even with her dear 
 friend and confidant, Fanny suddenly burst into tears as she was 
 bidding her good-night, and declared herself the most miserable, 
 stupid, good-for-nothing girl on the face of the earth, but never¬ 
 theless that Tom was equally worthless and much more ill-natured ! 
 still, undeserving though he might be, she would break her heart 
 if he did not make it up. But Kate was on no account to mention 
 this in her letters, yet she was to -write so as to convince the culprit 
 of the havoc he was making of her (Fanny’s) happiness—and Mrs. 
 Temple might also hint that the obnoxious Turner had been as 
 nearly cut as circumstances would admit. But the affair was not 
 finally arranged until Tom paid them a flying and unexpected visit 
 —when, being taken unawares, Fanny gave him such a warm re¬ 
 ception that all doubts and difficulties disappeared. 
 
 A long monotonous stretch of time ensued. The season, which 
 had been both long and good, wore itself away. The excitable 
 tenant and his moody man departed, leaving however a blessing 
 behind as regarded Mrs. Mills’s disposition towards the “gurl.” 
 Some slight excitement was created by the addition of a few more 
 useful articles, such as gloves, -warm ties, and hosiery, to the 
 Avidow’s stock, in accordance Avith Tom’s suggestion, but by the 
 
158 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 end of October the last visitor of summer had departed. Lady 
 Styles had returned after a brief visit to Vichy, and all things had 
 settled down to the dead level of winter. Mrs. Temple’s receipts 
 showed the difference between in and out of season custom very 
 distinctly ; but against this must be balanced the diminished out¬ 
 lay, as she did not require to renew her stock, and steadily worked 
 off what remained on hand. Still she was able to make a con¬ 
 siderable addition to her deposit account at the Branch, which the 
 “ Stoneborough and Shire Bank ” had found it worth while to 
 establish at Pierstoffe. 
 
 This blank period was broken agreeably by Christmas, when they 
 vvere again enlivened by a few days of Tom’s society. But he 
 could not stay long. The editor of the Morning Thresher had been 
 ailing for some time and was now worse, so Tom had to work 
 double tides. Nevertheless he was in excellent spirits, and even 
 exchanged a polite greeting in the market-place with the disconsolate 
 Joseph, who had been deeply smitten with Fanny, and took her 
 coldness very much to heart. 
 
 So the months rolled away ; a year had almost gone since the 
 gloomy March morning when Mr. Ford had disclosed his evil 
 tidings, and still no ray of light had penetrated the mystery of 
 Mr. Travers’s will. His widow was feeling unusually restless and 
 rebellious, it seemed so hard to work thus for mere existence ! In 
 vain she told herself that many toiled harder for a poorer return, 
 still she could not silence the question that arose perpetually, “ Is 
 it to be always thus ?” Perhaps a doubt sometimes crossed her 
 that she had done what was best for her heart and mind when she 
 turned her back upon “ that station in life ” to wliich she had been 
 originally called. If so, she fought gallantly against such looking 
 back; well knowing that a thought once crystallised into words 
 becomes much more tangible and irresistible, she never permitted a 
 syllable even in her most confidential moments to pass her lips that 
 could impart her feelings to Fanny, and resolutely checked poor 
 Mills’s constant lamentations over the misfortunes and downfall 
 which had overtaken them. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 159 
 
 Such a mood was strong upon the young widow one morning to¬ 
 wards the middle of February, as she forced herself to eat her 
 breakfast somewhat against the grain. 
 
 “ Did you sleep, dear ?” asked Fanny, whose loving eyes were 
 not to be deceived as to her friend’s aspect. “ You look quite 
 weary.” 
 
 “ Not very well,” she replied ; “ I had tiresome dreams.” 
 
 “ So had I,” said Fanny gravely. “ I dreamed that I was trying 
 to put that piece of work we had from Miss Monitor right, where 
 the mistake is in the border ; and a little black crow hopped up to 
 me and began unpicking the stitches with his beak ; I didn’t mind 
 a bit, it seemed quite natural at first, but after a while I said, 
 ‘ Isn’t this very odd ?’ when he looked up and I saw he was exactly 
 like Dr. Slade ! Was it not funny ? A crow is not lucky but a 
 man is, so I shouldn’t be surprised if we had some-” 
 
 “ A letter for you’m,” said Mills, coming in, in her beautifully 
 white cap and apron, “ enough,” as Tom Feed said, “ to cast a halo 
 of aristocracy even over a Berlin-wool establishment.” 
 
 “ It’s the crow,” cried Fanny ; “ do pray open it, Kate.” 
 
 She did so, and as she read her colour rose, her large eyes 
 brightened. 
 
 “ Well ?” exclaimed Fanny interrogatively. 
 
 “ Well, dearest Fan, he has arrived,” said Mrs. Temple eagerly. 
 
 “ Who has arrived ?” 
 
 “ Captain Gregory, son of the old man who drew the will—the 
 real will! At last I shall get some clue.” 
 
 “ Oh !” said Fanny ; “ it will be charming to upset that will!” 
 
 “ I am afraid that is a long way off,” returned Mrs. Temple. 
 “ Mrs. Bell writes, ‘ I hasten to inform you, according to promise, 
 that we were joyfully* surprised the day before yesterday by the 
 unexpected return of my dear brother. Illness has been the cause 
 of his long absence, as he was obliged to let his ship go away from 
 Bangkok to New York without him ; he wrote home, but the letter 
 never reached. He is still very weak, and of course I have not 
 spoken to him respecting your affairs, dear madam, nor should I 
 do so unless you wish ; but I hasten to let you Imow of his return, 
 
160 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 and will do whatever you desire in the way of speaking to him. I 
 ■am happy to say this leaves me and mine quite well; I trust and 
 hope foreign parts agree with you. I beg to express my best 
 wishes, and remain your grateful and obedient servant,—Maria 
 Bell.”’ 
 
 “ What shall I do, Fanny ?” asked Mrs. Temple, not with the 
 .slightest hope of receiving any suggestion. 
 
 “ I am sure I don’t know.” 
 
 “ I can’t go up and see him, I am afraid of encountering any one. 
 I cannot have him down here, for they must not know I am in 
 England ! I will ask Tom to see him ; and Tom is so convinced 
 that I am under a delusion, he will not examine him properly.” 
 
 “ I am sure he will! What does he say ?” 
 
 “ Oh! nothing—merely a line ! he is desperately busy—there, 
 read it,” and Mrs. Temple tossed the note across to Fanny. 
 
 To write most passionately, urging Tom to act in this matter as 
 if he were, like herself, convinced that poor Travers’s last found 
 will was a forgery ; to entreat his careful avoidance of Wall, Ford, 
 ■every one ; and to enjoin him to study well what manner of man 
 the returned sailor was—was Mrs. Temple’s first task that morn¬ 
 ing, and enclosing Mrs. Bell’s letter she posted her despatch in time 
 for the first mail to London. 
 
 The next morning brought a few hasty but cordial lines in reply. 
 Tom Reed undertook to do her bidding in the heartiest good faith 
 “ And as to the opposite party, the arch enemy is out of the way. 
 I heard yesterday at the Reform Club that the election scheme 
 went off, for old Scrymgeour recovered. Sir H. Gr. went over to some 
 of the German gambling-places, and is wintering in the Pyrenees.” 
 Tom ended by warning his correspondent that he could not see 
 Gregory for a day or two, but within a week she should certainly 
 have news. 
 
 The interval which elapsed was a severe trial. If this man was 
 stupid or sulky, or possessed by that not uncommon English deter¬ 
 mination not to meddle with what did not concern him, his infor¬ 
 mation would not be available—then, very possibly he had no 
 information whatever ; in this case her last state would be more 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 161 
 
 hopeless than the first. Time dragged very heavily to the young 
 widow ; in vain she strove to divert her thoughts from the all-ab¬ 
 sorbing subject; post hours made her heart beat to suffocation, and 
 ages seemed to have passed since Mrs. Bell’s letter had reached her ; 
 even in her heart she said, “ There is no earnestness or energy in 
 Tom ”—Tom, the faithful and unwearied !—but she dared not 
 utter it aloud. 
 
 The Saturday following this disturbing announcement was a 
 mild, heavy day—fog-banks lay upon the sea, and a slight mist drove 
 from time to time across the tops of the highest cliffs. Day-light 
 had not yet quite faded, and Mrs. Temple was somewhat surprised 
 by a visit from Lady Styles. 
 
 “ Rather late, eh ?” said her ladyship. “ I have been all the way 
 over to the Grange, and the tiresome people were away in London ; 
 what can they want in London in February ? when the father is 
 not in the house ! So I stopped to bait the horses, and now I want 
 some gloves and filoselle—I dare say you don’t know what filoselle 
 is?” 
 
 “ Yes I do. Lady Styles,” returned Mrs. Temple, laughing ; “ and 
 what is more—I have it.” 
 
 “ I protest you are the most enlightened woman in Pierstoffe,” 
 cried Lady Styles, and then proceeded to turn over every article on 
 the counter while Fanny sought for and produced the desired 
 filoselle. “ And now tell me,” proceeded her ladyship, settling her¬ 
 self on one chair and placing her feet on the bar of another, “ how 
 are you getting on ?” This was always the prelude to a long 
 chapter of gossip, so poor Kate resigned herself, though feeling 
 unusually bored and absent, while Fanny affected to employ her¬ 
 self in rearranging all that Lady Styles had disturbed, not liking 
 to desert her friend and partner, or leave her alone in the clutches 
 of the grand inquisitor. 
 
 Meantime Mrs. Mills having scolded the “ gurl ” through the 
 operation of “ v’ashing up and putting away,” after the early 
 dinner—not scolded in any anger, but in her ordinary tone, merely 
 for the “ gurl’s ” benefit—sat down to plait a cap-border ; but, as 
 the light faded, which it did sooner at the back than the front of 
 
 11 
 
162 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 the house, she laid aside her work and, calling to the well-trained 
 Sarah to put on the kettle, began to set out the teacups, cheering 
 up at the prospect of her favourite beverage. Suddenly the silence 
 was broken by an imperative ring of the front-door bell. “ Now 
 who can that be ?” said Mrs. Mills, for it was loud enough to reach 
 her dulled ear. She paused—the tea-caddy open in one hand, a 
 broad, stumpy spoon in the other —“ Who can that be ?” repeated 
 Mrs. Mills, not without a tinge of indignation in her tone. 
 
 “ Shall I answer the door, mum ?” asked the “ gurl.” 
 
 “ Certainly not!” said Mrs. Mills with much dignity ; and, laying 
 down the tea-caddy, “ not while the strength is left me will I let a 
 chit like you answer my missus’s street door !”—A second loud peal. 
 
 “ Bless us ! what a hurry they are in,” exclaimed Mills, hastening 
 “ to the front.” 
 
 Opening the door she beheld a gentleman with a railway rug over 
 his shoulder, and a black bag in his hand—Mills’s face brightened. 
 “ Why, Master Tom—I mean Mr. Eeed ! is that you ?” 
 
 “ My own self and no other ! How is every one ?” 
 
 “ Step in, sir ! the ladies will be dehghted to see you-” closing 
 
 the street door and opening that leading into what the household 
 termed the “ shop parlour.” “ Sit down by the fire a minute, sir ; 
 the evenings here are chilly and raw. I will call Miss Fanny 
 directly.” 
 
 “ And how do you find yourself, Mrs. Mills ?” asked Tom, as he 
 deposited his bag and rug on a chair and approached the fire, raising 
 his voice, but not to the proper pitch, for Mills replied— 
 
 “Just the same as ever, sir—as flighty and teasing! yet, if a 
 
 body ails a bit, that kind good-” 
 
 But yourself, Mrs. Mills,” repeated Tom still louder ; “ how 
 goes it with yourself ?” 
 
 “ Bless your heart, sir ! I’m that stiff with rheumatics, and that 
 heart-broken, it’s a wonder I am alive ! Look there, sir !” lifting a 
 corner of the muslin blind so that the visitor might see the interior 
 of the shop, “ that’s enough to curl the blood in one’s veins ! Oh, 
 the ups and downs I have seen ! Well, no matter—you’ll have a 
 chop to your tea, sir ?” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 163 
 
 “ Oh, anything, anything,” said Tom. “ And, I say, Mrs. Mills, 
 couldn’t you contrive to call Miss Lee ? She does not seem to be 
 doing anything in particular.” 
 
 “ I’ll try, sir,” she returned ; and going to the door leading into 
 the shop, opened it gently a few inches, and waited a moment to 
 catch Fanny’s eye, this accomplished, she performed a mysterious 
 mixed movement consisting of a nod and an upward-beckoning 
 wave of the head. The apparition of Mills rather startled Fanny, 
 who followed her immediately, exclaiming, “ What is the matter ? 
 
 -Oh, Tom ! I am so glad to see you. I am sure you have 
 
 brought some good news.” 
 
 “ I am not so sure of that. Are you really glad to see me, my 
 darling ?” glancing quickly round to see if Mills had gone, but she 
 had not. 
 
 “ I will just get tea ready,” said she, and slowly retreated. 
 
 A moment after Fanny exclaimed, “ There, that is enough ! not 
 one more !—Come and sit down by the fire ; you feel quite damp— 
 And have you seen this sailor man ?” 
 
 “ I have ; but I reserve my tidings for your worthy principal, as 
 old Ford used to say. How well you are looking. Fan!—insult¬ 
 ingly well! No signs of pining for the absent one!—have you 
 found consolation in any other ambitious shop-boy ?” 
 
 “You are an ill-natured thing ! You know very well I never 
 forget—but where is the good of crying and spoihng oneself about 
 what can’t be helped ?” 
 
 “ True ! Still you could not look brighter if you were installed 
 as commander-in-chief of myself and my not over-brilliant for¬ 
 tunes 1” 
 
 “ Ah, Tom!” returned Fanny, giving him her hand with a frank, 
 sweet smile ; “ you little know how bright I could look.” The 
 entrance of Mills with the tea-tray prevented a suitable acknow¬ 
 ledgment of this gracious speech. 
 
 “ And how goes on the business ?” asked Tom rather absently, 
 his keen black eyes fastened upon his cousin’s face. 
 
 “ Admirably, considering the season,” she returned, jumping up 
 to assist Mills in laying the cloth. “ Oh Tom, it is quite wonderful 
 
 11—2 
 
164 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 the way Kate manages. You cannot tliink what queer things 
 people come and ask for; and I believe if any one was to ask Kate 
 for the—the—oh ! the Lord Chancellor’s wig, she would say, with 
 her air of grave attention, ‘ We don’t generally keep it in stock, 
 but I have no doubt I could procure it for you !’ ”—Peeping under 
 the blind, “ How long Lady Styles is staying ! I must not attempt 
 to call Kate away, or I shall have to stay in her place, and Lady 
 Styles would get everything out of me in two minutes.” 
 
 “ Lady Styles be-whipt!” ejaculated Tom. 
 
 “ Don’t be profane. Mills, have you no shrimps ? A PicrstolTo 
 tea without shrimps is a—what do you call it, Tom ?” 
 
 “ I am sure I don’t know.” 
 
 “ Yes, sure !—but I haven’t two pair of arms! I can’t fetch 
 everything at once, can I ?” quoth Mills. 
 
 “No, certainly not,” returned Fanny soothingly. “Will you 
 
 go-” but where was never added, for again the door-bell rang 
 
 furiously, hysterically. 
 
 “ That bell is gone mad,” cried Mills, hurrying to answer it. 
 
 “ Something has happened,” said Fanny, drawing a little nearer 
 her cousin. 
 
 “ Perhaps it’s a runaway,” replied Tom, taking her hand. 
 
 Both listened, for voices could be heard without; and then 
 Mills, opening the room-door and speaking to some one outside, 
 said ; “ You had better come in—for I can’t make out a word you 
 say.” 
 
 Whereupon Dr. Slade entered hastily, his top-boots and gar¬ 
 ments much splashed with mud, his shirt-frill disordered—a hunt¬ 
 ing-whip in one hand, his hat in the other. 
 
 “ Pray don’t be startled !” he began ; “ I have ridden on to an¬ 
 nounce that there has been a bad accident in the hunting-field just 
 now quite close to this. I was fortunately on the spot, and havo 
 directed the sufEerer to be brought here. It is nearer than the 
 hotel, which is of importance, besides—but,” interrupting himself, 
 “ where is Mrs. Temple ? I must see her !” 
 
 “ Oh dear ! she is in the shop ! I will call her. Is he very much 
 hurt? What shall we do ?” cried Fanny, clasping her hands. ' 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 165 
 
 “ Just call Mrs. Temple like a good girl,” said the Doctor im¬ 
 patiently ; and Fanny, forgetting her terror of Lady Styles, hastily 
 summoned the mistress of the house, who came looking much sur¬ 
 prised to see Tom and Dr. Slade, who immediately and hurriedly 
 explained the cause of his visit. 
 
 “ It is of the utmost importance that the poor man should be 
 placed in bed as soon as possible. He is evidently suffering from 
 concussion of the brain, and there is nothing to be done but to 
 keep him quiet. I rather think his arm is broken also ! I imme¬ 
 diately thought of your house, and my promise to give you a lift! 
 now this gentleman is a person of condition, and will not be an 
 unprofitable inmate.” 
 
 “You are very good. Dr. Slade,” said Mrs. Temple, somewhat 
 uneasily. “ But unless you think it would be injurious for ■•this 
 poor gentleman to be carried farther, I would rather not have 
 him. It will be not only great trouble, but great anxiety, and I 
 do not want any inmate-” 
 
 “ Pooh, nonsense,” returned the Doctor shaiqily; “ it will be a 
 very good thing for you, and he will be all right in a few days. 
 If—and all depends upon this—if he can at once be placed in quiet 
 and comfort—come, there is not any time to lose. I will assist 
 you to prepare all that is necessary. Have you any one you can 
 send with a note to my surgery ?” and Dr. Slade went hastily out 
 of the room followed by Mrs. Temple, who merely gave herself 
 time to say, “ I am so delighted to see you, Tom ; you have some 
 news for me. Isn’t this a terrible business ?” 
 
 “ I must go too,” added Fanny, with a scared look. “ I may be 
 some help,” and she too disappeared, but as quickly returned, 
 carrying a plate surmounted by a bright tin cover, and evidently 
 hot, as she held it with a napkin; the other hand bore a pic¬ 
 turesque brown jug, over the rim of which a delicate creamy 
 foam just peeped. 
 
 “ I do not see Avhy you should be starved because another man is 
 half killed,” said she, placing both upon the table ; “ pray eat it all 
 up while we are busy. I think the beer is nice, but if you would 
 rather have tea, the tea-pot is there on the hob, and there are 
 
166 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 shrimps and things. Oh ! I must run away, this is a terrible 
 upset! I wonder why that old Doctor insists on bringing the poor 
 man here.” 
 
 “ Fanny !” cried Tom, “ you are the most thoughtful little angel 
 in creation ; come back as soon as ever you can.” 
 
 Fanny found the Doctor, Mrs. Temple and Mills assembled in 
 the principal bedroom—it was fortunately unoccupied—and all 
 very busily employed. The Doctor was scribbling some lines in 
 pencil upon a scrap of paper, using the mantel-shelf for a desk. 
 
 “ There,” he exclaimed, as Fanny entered ; “ will you get that 
 taken round to my surgery at once, my dear ; and tell the mes¬ 
 senger to wait for an answer ?” 
 
 “ Send Sarah,” said Mrs. Temple, who was putting the dressing- 
 table in order, while Mills was disentangling herself from a pile of 
 sheets and towels she had just brought in. 
 
 “ An iron bedstead and no curtains—all right,” observed the 
 Doctor, looking round ; “ but you have another mattress ?—haven’t 
 you ?” 
 
 “ Oh yes, two ; but they are on other beds to be kept aired.” 
 
 “ E-ight again,” said the doctor, “ get them as quickly as you can 
 — and have plenty of hot water at hand,” &c., &c. 
 
 All worked with a will—but things were scarcely arranged when 
 voices outside, and the trampling of men and horses announced the 
 arrival of the sufferer. 
 
 “ I wish your room had been on the ground-floor, for he is a 
 heavy man,” said the Doctor, hurrying downstairs to direct the 
 conveyance of his patient. 
 
 Fanny immediately ran away and hid herself in the dim recesses 
 of the sitting-room. Mrs. Temple, feeling very tremulous, nearly 
 followed her example, but stopped just inside the door. Mills lit 
 the lamp on the stairs and stood at the top, ready to obey the 
 Doctor’s behests ; she was a stout-hearted capable old body, 
 whenever she was roused beyond the influence of crotchets and 
 tempers. 
 
 Then Mrs. Temple heard the Doctor issuing directions in short 
 sharp snaps, heard the tramp as of several men slowly ascending. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 167 
 
 ■with here and there a stumble that made her heart first stop and 
 next beat painfully. 
 
 “ Steady,” said the Doctor, “ don’t be in a hurry !—Keep him as 
 level as you can, a few steps more and you are up—the second 
 door on the left.” 
 
 As they passed she ventured to peep forth, and with a sickening 
 sensation of awe and pity, saw what seemed the dead body of a 
 man extended on something, a ghastly pale face streaked with clay 
 and blood, a torn mud-stained red coat and splashed boots; she 
 felt very faint for a moment, but stood her ground till she saw the 
 men who had carried up the body—would it ever come to life 
 again ?—return and go down to the hall, except one, who seemed 
 to be a groom, and had supported the head of the sufferer. 
 
 “ Have they all gone away ?” asked Fanny in a horrified little 
 whisper out of some corner. 
 
 “ Yes, I think we may go too—stay, here is Mills. Well, Mills ?” 
 
 “ They’ve got most of his clothes off, ma’am—and laid him 
 down. He is shook to pieces, poor fellow. I’m just going for hot 
 water and flannels, and to see if Sarah has come back.” 
 
 “I will run and fetch them to the door,” cried Fanny, coming 
 out of her corner ; “ it will save you going up and down stairs, and 
 I can shut my eyes when you open the door.” 
 
 “ Thank you kindly. Miss Fanny.” 
 
 “ Oh, Mills,” said Mrs. Temple, who looked very white, “ how 
 awful he looked ! do you think he is dead ?” 
 
 “ The Doctor says he is not, ma’am; but I am sure I don't 
 know.” 
 
 Meantime Tom thought the best return he could make for 
 Fanny’s kind attention was to eat the chop she had provided. He 
 accordingly sat down, cut a slice from a fresh crusty tempting 
 loaf, and lifting the cover, proceeded to discuss a couple of chops 
 cooked to an almost poetical pitch of perfection. He had not sat 
 thus more than a few moments when a tap on the door leading 
 into the shop attracted his attention. 
 
 “ Come in,” said Tom, pausing with a morsel of mutton uplifted 
 on his fork. 
 
168 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 Tlie door opened gently, and a stont lady riclily dressed in vel¬ 
 vet and furs stepped in, not without some difficulty. 
 
 “ Excuse me, but could I speak for one moment—just one—to 
 Mrs. Temple ?” 
 
 “ Mrs. Temple,” said Tom, rising politely, “has just been called 
 away to attend to a gentleman who has broken his back, or his 
 leg—or his arm—or all ” 
 
 “ I heard the young person who assists say something of this,” 
 returned Lady Styles, coming still further into the room ; “ and as 
 I know most of the gentlemen about here, I thought I would just 
 ascertain which of them had been injured. Pray do not let me 
 disturb you ! pray go on with your tea.” 
 
 “ Well, I will then, as you permit me, for I have just had a long 
 journey.” 
 
 He placed a chair for his visitor, and reseated himself. Lady 
 Styles’ eyes sparkled ; here was an opportunity. 
 
 “ The man they buy their wools and things from, no doubt,” she 
 thought. “ What’s this they call them—‘ Bagmen—Travellers?’— 
 Quite right,” she said aloud, “ go on, don’t mind me.” 
 
 “ Might I offer you some refreshment—Mrs.-?” resumed 
 
 Tom, hesitating for her name, and peeping into the jug. 
 
 “ Lady Styles, I am Lady Styles.” 
 
 “ Well! perhaps your ladyship would have a glass of beer or a 
 cup of tea ? there's some been brewing this half-hour.” 
 
 “ He means to be monstrous civil,” said Lady Styles to herself ; 
 “ he is really a good-looking young man. I will sit down with him, 
 people are always communicative Avhen they are eating, and he 
 may tell me a great deal!” 
 
 While she reflected thus, Tom had taken the tea-pot from the 
 hob. 
 
 “ Well, really,” said she aloud, “ a cup of tea is tempting, and it 
 is just the hour when I always have one so saying she sat down, 
 drew off her gloves, and threw back her bonnet-strings, while Tom 
 resumed his chop. 
 
 “ I don’t presume to pour out,” he remarked ; “ that is a lady^’s 
 office.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 169 
 
 “ Oh, I can help myself,” she returned. “ And do you often 
 come down here ?” 
 
 “ Not half often enough,” replied Tom. 
 
 “ Just according to the seasons,” said Lady Styles; while 
 she made a mental note—“ In love with one or the other of 
 them.” 
 
 “ Exactly. Bread, Lady Styles ?—and if you are of an indus¬ 
 trious turn, let me recommend the shrimps ; for securing the 
 largest amount of occupation and the smallest return of enjoyment 
 there is nothing like shrimps !” 
 
 “ Thank you, I am very fond of shrimps ! So you don’t require 
 to come round often ? there is not that change and variety in 
 your business there is in other branches—millinery and drapery, 
 for instance V” 
 
 “ I don’t know,” said Tom, smiling, and perceiving her mistake. 
 “ There is a good deal of ‘ dressing up ’ in my line.” 
 
 “ Indeed ! Costumes, eh ?” 
 
 “ The British public,” returned Tom, “ so the critics say, have 
 ceased to care for a plain unvarnished tale.” 
 
 “Ah, I see ! Periodicals and newspapers.” 
 
 “ Precisely,” said Tom Heed. 
 
 “ I suppose you have only known Mrs. Temple since she was in 
 business ?” 
 
 “ Since she was in business,” echoed Tom. 
 
 “ She is such a nice lady-like creature, I have always wondered 
 to see her behind a counter,” continued Lady Styles. 
 
 “ Extraordinary,” said Tom. 
 
 “ I suppose,” resumed Lady Styles, pausing as she picked a shrimp, 
 “ I suppose there is the usual story of speculation and failure, and 
 all that. But do you know the gossips here—it’s a terribly gossip¬ 
 ing place—say that her husband is still alive, and undergoing penal 
 servitude for forgery and all sorts of crimes ?” 
 
 “ I assure you the late Mr. T. is as defunct as the shrimp that 
 now occupies your ladyship’s fingers !” 
 
 “ Then you knew her in her husband’s lifetime, eh ?” 
 
 “ Good heavens !” cried Tom, “ what a cross-examining counsel 
 
170 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 you would have made ! There was legal acumen in the way ypu 
 pounced upon that inference.” 
 
 Lady Styles, by no means insensible to flattery, laughed good- 
 humouredly. 
 
 “ Experience of life, my dear sir. Well, I take a deep interest 
 in the charming widow. I fancy she reminds me of-” 
 
 But her ladyship’s reminiscence was cut short by the entrance 
 of Mrs. Temple, followed in a few minutes by Fanny. 
 
 “ Tom!” exclaimed the young widow, and stopped abruptly, 
 seeing Lady Styles, and then addressed her. 
 
 “ I ought to apologise for having left you so abruptly, but a sad 
 accident has just occurred-” 
 
 “ So I hear,” interrupted Lady Styles. “ Pray who is the gentle¬ 
 man ?” 
 
 “ That I cannot tell you; Dr. Slade is with him now, and 
 when he comes down I will ask him. Did you want me. Lady 
 Styles ?” 
 
 “ Not particularly ; I wished to hear who this unfortunate man 
 is. But I assure you your friend here has done the honours in 
 your absence remarkably well; better tea, bread and butter, and 
 shrimps I have never tasted.” 
 
 “ You are very good to say so. I imagine from a remark of 
 Dr. Slade’s that the gentleman is one of the party that has occu¬ 
 pied Hurst Lodge this winter.” 
 
 “ Indeed!” cried Lady Styles; “ I am told they are a sad, 
 rackety set! I would get rid of him as soon as I could if I were 
 you, or you will have the whole lot in and out, smoking and Heaven 
 knows what!”. 
 
 “ I rather think not,” said Mrs. Temple quietly. 
 
 “ It is certainly a long rough way to take him back,” continued 
 Lady Styles, “ and much more convenient for Dr. Slade to have 
 him close by, than all that distance. Here is the Doctor.” 
 
 As that gentleman entered, looking exceedingly brisk, though 
 by no means in apple-pie order—“ How is he now ?” chorussed 
 every one. 
 
 “ Still quite insensible,” said the Doctor cheerfully. “ It was 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 171 
 
 rather a curious accident; the first run was very severe, but short, 
 and-” 
 
 “ But who is it, Doctor ? I have waited this hour to hear,” in¬ 
 terrupted Lady Styles impatiently. 
 
 “ Oh ! a gentleman of position and property. Our friend Mrs. 
 Temple here may be quite sure of her rent; he is—Sir Hugh 
 Oalbraith !” 
 
 *09 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 Sir Hugh Galbraith.” 
 
 This announcement sent a sort of electric shock through three 
 of Dr. Slade’s hearers. Mrs. Temple started, visibly—to Tom 
 Reed—and her cheeks flushed, but she instantly recovered her 
 composure. Fanny uttered a prolonged “ Oh !” which Tom Reed 
 covered by a fit of coughing, and Lady Styles exclaimed with great 
 animation, “ You do not say so. Doctor !” Then, turning to Kate, 
 continued, “ A most disagreeable man, my dear ! refuses all invi¬ 
 tations ! would not dine with me. And we all know that if a man 
 rejects respectable society it is because he prefers disreputable 
 people. You must make him well as soon as you can. Doctor, and 
 send him off.” 
 
 “ I certainly shall,” returned the Doctor ; “ but it may be a 
 tedious affair ; however, there are, I think, no internal injuries, 
 and I have known men recover perfectly after lying insensible for 
 forty-eight hours or more.” Looking very keenly at Tom Reed 
 while he spoke. 
 
 “ I trust it will not be a very bad case,” said Tom, answering 
 the look. “ Mrs. Temple will find it tough work to attend to 
 business and an invalid at the same time.” 
 
 “ This gentleman is Miss Lee’s cousin, and acts as our London 
 agent,” Mrs. Temple hastened to explain, though she felt so be¬ 
 wildered that her own voice sounded to her as if some one else 
 was speaking. 
 
 “ Oh,” said Dr. Slade. 
 
 “ Ah,” said Lady Styles. 
 
172 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ Well,” continued the Doctor, “ it seems I am all in the wrong 
 box. I thought I was doing Mrs. Temple a good turn this dead 
 season, by bringing her a tenant who is likely to be tied by the leg 
 for a month at any rate ; a rich man, who does not care what he 
 pays, and now you are all down upon me !” 
 
 “ My dear Doctor !” cried Lady Styles deprecatingly. 
 
 “ I am obliged to you,” said Mrs. Temple quickly ; “ I feel sure 
 you wished to serye me. We must all do our utmost to make this 
 —this gentleman well. I shall think nothing a trouble, so as it is 
 done quickly ; but,” with great emphasis, “ I trust he will not die 
 under my roof!” 
 
 “ Die ! not a bit of it,” exclaimed the Doctor cheerfully ; “ and 
 as to trouble, you need not take any. Sir Hugh’s own servant, 
 who seems an intelligent handy fellow, can do nearly all that is 
 necessary; if you want more help, why get it, and put it in the 
 bill; you need not be afraid to charge,” and Dr. Slade took up his 
 hat in a sort of huffed manner. 
 
 “ I am told Sir Hugh Galbraith has lately come into a large for¬ 
 tune by somebody’s will,” said Lady Styles, as if inclined to settle 
 down to a fresh feast of gossip. 
 
 “ There is some one in the shop, I think, Fanny,” observed Mrs. 
 Temple significantly. 
 
 Fanny left the room and returned almost immediately, while Dr. 
 Slade was remarking sternly, “I know nothing whatever about the 
 man except that he. Lord Herbert de Courcy, and a Colonel Upton 
 occupied Hurst Lodge for the hunting season. I have heard, too, 
 that this Galbraith was the rich man of the party—so ” 
 
 “ It is your servant. Lady Styles,” interrupted Fanny. “ Your 
 carriage has been waiting some time.” 
 
 “ Dear me ! I suppose so. It must be five o’clock !” 
 
 “ Quarter to six,” said Tom, looking at his watch. 
 
 “ And I have nearly four miles to drive!” cried Lady Styles. 
 “ I must really run away, Mrs. Temple ; but I shall send to-morrow 
 to inquire how Sir Hugh is going on. The day after we are going 
 into Yorkshire to stay with a niece of mine for a month, but as 
 soon as ever I return I shall call, and expect to have a lot of 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 173 
 
 news. Como, Doctor, I will set you down at your house if you 
 like.” 
 
 “ Oh, Doctor ! will you not come back this evening ?” said Mrs. 
 Temple anxiously. 
 
 “ Certainly, certainly! between nine and ten. And look here, 
 Mrs. Temple, give the groom a good supper, it will keep matters 
 straight.” 
 
 “ Good morning, or rather evening, Mrs. Temple. Good-evening, 
 Mr.—a-—Mr. Tom,” said Lady Styles graciously. “ I shall always 
 remember the shrimps whenever I hear of Sir Hugh Galbraith!” 
 and she squeezed through the narrow door, followed by the Doctor 
 and Fanny to see her safe olf the premises. 
 
 As Tom opened his lips, Mrs. Temple raised her hand to enjoin 
 silence, and held it so, listening till the sound of the carriage driving- 
 off and the return of Fanny seemed to relax the tension of her 
 nerves, and she sat down suddenly, as if no longer able to stand. 
 
 “ This is the rummest go I ever knew !” cried Tom, taking up a 
 position on the hearth-rug. 
 
 “ It has taken away my breath,” said Fanny, heaving a deep 
 sigh, 
 
 “ Oh, Tom, Tom ! how dreadful it will be if he dies !” said Mrs. 
 Temple, clasping her hands. 
 
 “ Awkward, exceedingly awkward!” returned Tom thought¬ 
 fully. “ However, as it cannot be helped, let us hope he will re¬ 
 cover and clear out quickly. Don’t you be tempted to put strych¬ 
 nine in his gruel, or prussic acid in his beef-tea.” 
 
 “ But, Tom, he looked like death !” 
 
 “ Why did you look at him ?” asked Fanny. “ You should have 
 kept back in the dark, as I did.” 
 
 “ Seriously though,” resumed Tom Reed, “ this contretemps may 
 prove very awkward. Suppose his solicitor comes down to see 
 him, and recognises you ?” 
 
 “ You forget! I never saw his solicitor in my life.” 
 
 “ That’s all right; then there is nothing to fear. I fancied you 
 had met Payne one day at Yfall’s. Keep out of Sir Hugh’s way, 
 and there need be no discovery.” 
 
174 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ I do hope he will not die,” repeated Mrs. Temple, recovering 
 herself : “ for every reason. Of course some one would inherit 
 after him, and I should have to fight the battle all the same, but 
 victory would lose almost all its charm were it won over any other 
 antagonist.” 
 
 “ May we venture to sit down and talk d propos of this said 
 battle ?” asked Tom. 
 
 “ Oh yes!” cried Mrs. Temple; “ I am burning to hear your 
 report. Fanny, will you see Mills and ask her to get some supper 
 ready for Sir Hugh’s servant ? How extraordinary to give such 
 directions ! Is it a good omen, Tom—my enemy being brought in 
 senseless and helpless just as the first dawn of light begins to break 
 —that is to say, if you have brought me any information ?” 
 
 “ A little—a very little,” returned Tom. 
 
 “ Don’t begin till I come back,” cried Fanny. “ And oh, Kate ! 
 I had better not tell Mills who it is to-night, and you must tell her. 
 What a fury she will be in !” 
 
 Tom, disregarding Fanny’s injunction, immediately began to 
 detail his interview with Captain Gregory, whom he described as a 
 regular merchant seaman, rough but kindly, evidently accustomed 
 to keep his eyes open, and his wits readjr for active service. He 
 had heard but little of the subject in question beyond the death of 
 Mr. Travers, and the timely assistance afforded to Mrs. Bell by his 
 widow. He was therefore sorry to hear of the present state of 
 things, and ready to give all the information in his power. 
 
 “ He said he well remembered ‘ father ’ mentioning the will, 
 though not its contents. ‘ The old gentleman was a bit of a 
 “ grumbler,” ’ said Captain Gregory, ‘ and I remember now, nearly 
 two years ago, his growling about Mr. Travers not being the man 
 he was, or he would have raised his salary, for he used to see into 
 everything himself, but now he left too much for Ford, and some¬ 
 how Ford didn’t use to be very friendly to father ; but for all that, 
 says father, “ Mr. Travers trusted me to draw his will, and I do 
 not think Ford will like to have a woman over him by and by, as 
 he will have.” Whereby,’ added the Captain, ‘ I thought Mrs. 
 Travers was to have everything.’ ” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 175 
 
 “ ‘ Did your father say he wrote it himself, or employed some one 
 else ?’ ” 
 
 “ ‘ He wrote it all—so I understood. Father wrote a splendid 
 hand—two or three sorts of hands ; and I remember his saying he 
 thought he might have a rise in his salary, after being trusted so 
 far, for Mr. Travers made a secret of the will; and, you see, my 
 sister and her children were a terrible drain on father. And he 
 said, too, that there was no mention of him in the will, for, says 
 he, “ I witnessed it, as well as drew it ”—he, and a man he 
 called Poole. But Mr. Travers said he would give Mrs. Travers 
 some instructions respecting father, which,’ added the Captain, 
 ‘I suppose he did, sir, from the great kindness she showed my 
 sister.’ ” 
 
 This was the substance of all Tom Reed could extract from 
 Captain Gregory. 
 
 Kate listened, without interrupting by word or motion the narra¬ 
 tive, and kept silent for a moment after he had ceased. 
 
 “ This strongly confirms my own belief,” she said at last; “ but 
 what is it worth in the opinion of others ?” 
 
 “ Not a great deal, I fear,” replied Tom, though the words were 
 spoken more to himself than addressed to her. “ You see, Mr. 
 Travers might have destroyed that will a week, a day, after it 
 was made, and executed another. To you this morsel of intel¬ 
 ligence is confirmation strong; in a court of law it would be 
 valueless.” 
 
 “ What do you think yourself ?” asked Fanny, who had crept 
 quietly back into the room. 
 
 “ Well,” said Reed, looking up with a smile at Mrs. Temple, “ I 
 am exceedingly reluctant to encourage or suggest false hope, but 
 there are two points in Gregory’s account that struck me as sup¬ 
 porting your view : first, the will drawn by his father must have 
 been executed, from what he says, about the same time as the one 
 under which you have been dispossessed ; secondly, the witnesses 
 are the same. These facts certainly give colour to your impres¬ 
 sion, that a false document has been substituted for the one drawn 
 out by Gregory.” 
 
17G 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “What is the penalty for committing forgery?” asked Mrs. 
 Temple abruptly. 
 
 “ Penal servitude for a term of years, according to the circum¬ 
 stances of the case. Why ? Have you a vision of your unknown 
 enemy in the dock ?” 
 
 “ I have,” said Mrs. Temple; “ and the horror of it makes me 
 hesitate, for it will yet be in my power to put him there.” 
 
 Her voice faltered as she said this, and to the great surprise of 
 both Tom and Fanny, she burst into tears, and hurried from the 
 room. 
 
 “ Poor dear Kate,” cried the latter. “ I do not know when I saw 
 her cry before. But she has been wonderfully upset by this acci¬ 
 dent, and that wretched man being carried in ! Is it not unfortu¬ 
 nate ? I had better go to her.” 
 
 “ No, don’t,” said Tom. “ I am certain she would be better 
 alone. Yes; it is most unlucky G-albraith being brought here; 
 yet after all they need not meet!” 
 
 “ No, I suppose not. But, Tom, I would so much like to go in 
 and see what he is like—to speak to him, I mean—that is if he re¬ 
 covers. In spite of poor Kate’s tears, it is so funny, the idea of 
 having Sir Hugh—the great bogie of our existence, absolutely 
 living in the house, and Mills cooking for him. How loill Mills 
 bear it when she knows ?—and she must know ! I really think I 
 v/ill go and ask what he will have for dinner some day, as if I was 
 the housemaid.” 
 
 “ I beg you will do no such thing,” said Tom sharply. “ You 
 are so thoughtless ! You would never bo out of a scrape if you 
 hadn’t Mrs. Travers at your elbow.” 
 
 “ I am not quite such a stupid,” pouted Fanny ; “ and I can tell 
 you I shall do as I like !” 
 
 “ My dear child,” returned Tom, “ don’t you think it is only 
 natural I should wish to prevent my pretty little cousin from ven¬ 
 turing into the den of an ungodly di’agoon like Galbraith, and in 
 the character of a housemaid, too ? Heaven only knows what im¬ 
 pertinence he might be guilty of !” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 177 
 
 “ Is he so very wicked ?” asked Fanny, opening her eyes, but not 
 appearing as much horrified as she ought to have been. 
 
 “ I really know nothing about him,” said Tom Reed, laughing. 
 “ He is like other men, I suppose, neither better nor worse. It is 
 very natural for Mrs. Travers to dislike him ; but, except for that 
 foolish and insulting letter he wrote, he has done nothing excep¬ 
 tionally wrong or unjust. He certainly made a shabby offer—I 
 mean the allowance—but I dare say he might have been induced to 
 give more. Then you must remember he never had an opportunity 
 of correcting his idea of Mrs. Travers by personal intercourse, 
 and-” 
 
 “ Tom !” interrupted Fanny indignantly, “ I am astonished at 
 you ! making excuses for Sir Hugh in that way ! He is a brute ! 
 at any rate, he behaved like one.” 
 
 “ I protest, Fanny, you are the most unreasonable, hopeless, 
 faithful little partisan that any one was ever tormented with. I 
 cannot afford to quarrel with you, because I must be in town on 
 IMonday morning, and bid you good-bye to-morrow.” 
 
 The conversation accordingly took a more personal direction, 
 and Mrs. Temple’s absence did not appear so prolonged as it really 
 was. 
 
 “ Perhaps, after all,” said Fanny, who had gradually changed 
 round to take a more rose-coloured view of things in general, after 
 a long, desultory but charming talk, “ his coming here may lead to 
 good ; I mean Sir Hugh Galbraith.” 
 
 “ How do you make that out ?” 
 
 “ He may get to know Kate, and she him, and divide the pro¬ 
 perty.” 
 
 “ Don’t talk such preposterous nonsense, my darling ! Don’t 
 you see, it would never do for him to know who Mrs. Temple is ? 
 It would be the most cruel mortification to her to be recognised by 
 him in her present position. If you are all quiet and prudent, this 
 contretemps will not signify ; that is to say, if the man does not die. 
 If he docs, it will be most awkward.” 
 
 Here Mrs. Temple returned. The sufferer, she said, still lay 
 unconscious and insensible ; but his servant. Mills reported, seemed 
 
 12 
 
178 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 not despondent. He had been in the wars, he said, with his 
 master, and had seen him worse hit and recover. “ And, Fanny,” 
 continued the young widow, “ I have broken the fatal intelligence 
 to Mills. She was thunder-struck, indignant, speechless—but she 
 is now calmer, and resigned to the necessity of the case. This 
 is one difficulty ofi my mind,” concluded Mrs. Temple, ■with a 
 sigh. 
 
 Soon after Dr. Slade came in, and having visited his patient, re¬ 
 entered the parlour only to repeat that there was nothing to be 
 done—nothing but patience ; that he hoped to-morrow would bring 
 a favourable change. 
 
 He then proceeded to give an elaborate account of how the ac¬ 
 cident occurred, much of which was Hebrew and Greek to Mrs. 
 Temple and Fanny, but interested Tom Feed considerably, so the 
 Doctor went on fluently. The rest of the Hurst Lodge party had 
 left, he informed them, and Sir Hugh, who had remained for 
 the flnish of the season, was a stranger in the county when he came 
 down, and had remained so. He was a silent, haughty, ungenial 
 sort of man. Dr. Slade had been informed. He did not seem to 
 have many friends or relatives, for the only person, suggested by 
 his servant, to be informed of the accident was Colonel Upton, 
 —th Hussars, Dublin, and to him the Doctor had accordingly 
 written. The talk then flowed from hunting to politics, and the 
 Doctor, finding Tom Feed a companion of a far different calibre 
 from those to whom he was accustomed, prolonged the sitting till 
 a late hour ; but at last he departed, and, greatly wearied by the 
 events and emotions of the day, the two friends bade Tom good¬ 
 night, and gladly retired to rest. 
 
 Another day of great anxiety, though not of so much excite¬ 
 ment, ensued. Several gentlemen connected with the Hunt came 
 and sent to make inquiries for the injured baronet. Lady Styles 
 despatched a man on horseback with a note to Dr. Slade, which 
 drew forth some strong language from that gentleman, as he ob¬ 
 jected to the trouble of replying; but, in spite of all these dis¬ 
 turbances, Mrs. Temple contrived to enjoy some comfort in taking 
 counsel with Tom. She reluctantly agreed with him in thinking 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 179 
 
 there was no more to be done at present. Tom suggested that the 
 substance of Captain Gregory’s statement should be embodied in 
 an affidavit, in case the worthy seaman should be inaccessible when 
 any further light came. Then they must fold their hands again 
 and wait. This course was decided on, also that it was unneces¬ 
 sary to open the subject again with Messrs. Wall and Wreford 
 until they had more to communicate. 
 
 “ Do you know,” said Tom, as he stood ready to depart, “ I am 
 almost sorry we have looked up this captain ? His information 
 has not done you a bit of good. It only serves to irritate and 
 chafe you, by confirming your suspicions of foul play.” 
 
 “ No, Tom,” returned Kate. “ In one sense it comforts me, by 
 confirming my belief that my poor husband was worthy of my 
 affection and respect; that he was not base enough to leave me 
 penniless, friendless, and scarred with the suspicions to which such 
 a will leaves me open !” 
 
 “You are unnecessarily sore on that head! The whims of 
 testators never reflect upon those who suffer from them,” returned 
 Tom. “ That would be too bad. Now I must be off : write to 
 me every day, one or other of you, please. I shall settle that 
 matter of the affidavit directly I get to town.” 
 
 It was not till towards evening on the day after his accident that 
 Sir Hugh Galbraith began to show consciousness, after which 
 beginning he recovered his senses rapidly. 
 
 The third day brought a solemn, carefully-dressed gentleman 
 from London, who announced himself to be Mr. George Galbraith, 
 and next of kin to Sir Hugh. He asked to see the mistress of the 
 house, and Mrs. Temple sent Mills, who knew more of the patient’s 
 case than she did. Mills proved an excellent representative. She 
 reported the new comer as a nice, civil-spoken gentleman. He had 
 received intelligence of the accident from Colonel Upton, who had 
 telegraphed to the Doctor requesting further tidings, and stating 
 that it was almost impossible that he could leave his regiment at 
 present. 
 
 “Mr. G. St. John Galbraith” (such was the inscription on his 
 
 12—2 
 
180 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 card) had an interview with his cousin—not a very long one—and 
 departed, “ looking,” said Fanny, who took a stolen peep at him 
 through an inch-wide opening of the parlour door, “ ‘ a sadder and 
 a wiser man ’ than when he arrived. Depend upon it, Kate, he is 
 the next heir, and is quite disappointed.” 
 
 “ For shame, Fanny,” returned her friend. 
 
 A few days more, and ten had elapsed since the accident. As 
 Dr. Slade had assured Mrs. Temple, there was very little to be 
 done, and very little additional trouble given to the quiet house¬ 
 hold. Mrs. Mills confessed that Sir Hugh’s man was very dif¬ 
 ferent from “ that other glum, dour fellow we had here. He 
 doesn’t talk much, but he has a civil word when he does open his 
 mouth, and saves a body what trouble he can.” 
 
 It seemed incredible that the arch enemy should be installed 
 under Kate Travers’s roof and make so little difference. A con¬ 
 stant odour of beef-tea in the kitchen, a little more compounding 
 of light puddings, a larger roast for the one o’clock dinner, a larger 
 consumption of the bitter beer which Tom so highly approved— 
 these were the outward and visible signs of the wonderful event 
 that had so mightily disturbed the quiet current of the young 
 widow’s life. 
 
 Sir Hugh had now progressed into the sitting-room, and at 
 times, when the shop was silent, Kate and Fanny could hear him 
 slowly pacing to and fro. Every day the Doctor paid him a long 
 visit, after which he usually informed Mrs. Temple, rubbing his 
 hands joyously while he spoke, that “ Sir Hugh was going on very 
 well—very well indeed—but could not move just yet; would do 
 better if he was a little more patient.” 
 
 Sir Hugh became a customer also. He had all the papers and 
 publications Mrs. Temple could supply, besides book.. from Mudie’s, 
 Indian papers, literature in abundance of the lighter kind, and, as 
 time wore on, the house became pervaded by the perfume of very 
 good tobacco. 
 
 “ Ah!” said Fanny, when she first perceived it, “ that is deli¬ 
 cious ! it reminds me of Tom !” 
 
 One rainy afternoon, nearly a fortnight after Sir Hugh Gal- 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 181 
 
 braith had become her tenant, Mrs. Temple and Fanny were both 
 in the shop—the latter at work on a piece of “ grounding ” she 
 kept at hand for unemployed moments, the former sheltered be¬ 
 hind a screen of pendent patterns, finishing a delightful, brilliant 
 article in a “ Westminster Review ” left her by Tom Reed. It 
 was a hopeless sort of day for business, scarcely any customers had 
 crossed the threshold, and Mrs. Temple felt quite at liberty to 
 obey a mysterious “ nod and beck ” from Mrs. Mills, delivered 
 through the little parlour window. “ Do you know, ma’am,” said 
 Mills, as soon as her mistress crossed the threshold, “ Sir Hugh 
 Galbraith wants you to go up and write a letter for him ?” 
 
 “ Write a letter !” repeated Mrs. Temple, astounded. 
 
 “ Yes,” persisted Mills, frowning yet laughing. “ I felt as if I 
 could throw the jug I had in my hand at him. His man has gone 
 over to the place he had ; I believe it is to be given up to-morrow. 
 So I went to answer the bell, and says he, ‘ Can you write ?’ ‘ Of 
 
 course I can,’ says I. ‘ Very well,’ says he ; ‘ quick ! get the writing 
 materials, and be so good as to write a letter for me.’ ‘ That’s 
 quite different,’ says I; ‘ I couldn’t write well enough for you, sir.’ 
 ‘ Oh !’ says he, ‘ you are not the woman of the house, are you ?’ ‘ No, 
 sir,’ says I. ‘ Well, I dare say she writes well enough ; I wish you 
 would ask her to come here,’ says he, impatient like. So I just 
 came to you, for I didn’t know what to say.” 
 
 Mrs. Temple stood silent, gazing fixedly at Mills without seeing 
 her, for a minute or two in deep thought. Should she refuse ? 
 Should she send Fanny ? No ; Fanny was too young—too giddy. 
 Moreover she had a strange sort of wish to stand face to face with 
 her foe. While she hesitated, a sharp, angry peal of the drawing¬ 
 room bell startled her into decision. “ I will go. Mills,” she said ; 
 “ tell Miss Fanny.” Without giving herself time to think or grow 
 nervous Kate ran upstairs, and opening the door, which stood ajar, 
 entered so quietly that Sir Hugh did not hear her. He was stretched 
 upon the sofa, a cigar in his mouth and the Times in his left hand ; 
 his right arm tied up and in a sling. A tall, gaunt-looking figure 
 wrapped in a grey dressing-gown covered with Indian embroidery 
 in the same colour ; a long, thin face, very pale though rather 
 
182 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 weather-beaten; long red moustaches, hair a shade darker and 
 somewhat scanty upon the temples, one of which was scarred, as if 
 by a sword cut. As he made no movement, Mrs. Temple advanced 
 to a table that stood in the middle of the room, and, leaning one 
 hand lightly upon it, said, “ You wished to see me.” 
 
 At the sound of her soft, but remarkably distinct tones. Sir 
 Hugh looked up in great surprise, and starting to his feet threw 
 his cigar into the fire. 
 
 “ I beg your pardon,” he exclaimed, in a deep, harsh voice, though 
 the accent was well bred, and gazing at her intently with, she 
 thought, the sternest and most sombre eyes she had ever met; “ I 
 beg your pardon ; I wanted to speak to the woman of the house.” 
 
 “ I am the woman of the house,” returned Mrs. Temple quietly, 
 meeting and returning his gaze unflinchingly, her large dark eyes 
 lit up with an expression of which she was unconscious, but which 
 Sir Hugh afterwards described to a confidential friend as “ the sort 
 of look you might expect from a man that stood foot to foot with 
 you, his sword across yours. There was hatred and defiance both 
 in her eyes.” 
 
 For an instant they paused, gazing fascinated at each other, then 
 Sir Hugh recovering himself said composedly enough, “ Indeed ! 
 May I trouble you to write a few lines for me ? I am anxious not 
 to lose this day’s post, or I would not ask you.” 
 
 ‘‘ I will write for you if you require it,” returned Mrs. Temple 
 simply. “ Where are your writing things ?” 
 
 “ On the cabinet; but I will get them.” 
 
 “ AIIoav me,” said Mrs. Temple ; “ you had better not exert your¬ 
 self, I imagine.” She brought over a blotting-book and ink-bottle, 
 and, setting them on the table, observed, “ I see no pen. I will 
 bring one,” and went away quickly to her own desk. When she 
 I’eturned Sir Hugh was standing exactly in the same position in 
 which she had left him. She immediately sat down, arranged the 
 paper, and dipping her pen in the ink, looked up, saying, “ I am 
 quite ready.” Again she met the same grave, surprised, inquiring 
 gaze ; again there was an unconscious pause of mutual contem¬ 
 plation. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 183 
 
 “ I am ready,” repeated Mrs. Temple. 
 
 “ My dear Upton,” began Sir Hugh. 
 
 “ If you begin in tbe first person,” said Mrs. Temple abruptly, 
 for she could not feel him to be a stranger, “ how will you sign 
 your name ? You cannot write ! Had I not better begin : ‘ I 
 am directed by Sir Hugh Galbraith ?’ ” 
 
 “ Then you must sign it, and that won’t do,” he returned. “I 
 will try and sign with my left hand.” 
 
 ‘‘ Very well, go on then,” said Mrs. Temple. 
 
 “ My dear Upton,—Thanks for yours. I believe I am nearly all 
 right again, though still a little shaky. If your friend’s horse is 
 all you say, and you are a fair judge, I feel inclined to buy 
 him.” 
 
 “ One moment,” interrupted Mrs. Temple, looking up with a 
 smile ; “ I am not writing shorthand.” 
 
 “ I beg your pardon,” smiling in return, which greatly improved 
 his countenance ; “I never had the honour of having a private 
 secretary before, and scarcely know how to dictate.” 
 
 “ To buy him,” read Mrs. Temple, keeping her eyes on the paper ; 
 “ go on.” Sir Hugh did not go on for a moment; but Mrs. Temple 
 did not move, holding her pen in readiness and her eyes cast down. 
 
 “ If he is all you say,” continued Galbraith. 
 
 “ You said that before.” 
 
 “ Would you read it over to me ?” 
 
 Mrs. Temple complied. 
 
 “ Oh . . . ah . . . yes ; ‘ inclined to buy him.’ Although now 
 the season is over I really do not want a hunter. I shall there¬ 
 fore not give the price asked nor make any offer until I see the 
 animal—•” 
 
 Mrs. Temple held up her hand, and Galbraith stopped abruptly, 
 until her pen was arrested, and again without looking up, she read 
 aloud, “ the animal.” 
 
 “ Which,” he resumed this time quite readily, “ from what you 
 say, I shall have an opportunity of doing, if I can only get up to 
 town before Tattersall’s next sale. What I want is a good weight- 
 carrier, that can stand the jar of big drops without giving way; 
 
184 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 for I think I shall hunt in-shire next season, and that is a very 
 
 stiff country.” 
 
 Again a warning finger made him pause, nor was he prepared 
 when she read over the last word ; so she was obliged to say “ Well,” 
 and look up, before he continued. This time she met his eyes fixed 
 upon her with the same grave, wondering expression, but less stern 
 than at first. 
 
 “ ‘ Country,’ ” repeated Sir Hugh. “ Let me see. Oh . . . You 
 know a horse must be deep in the girths and deuced strong in the 
 
 forelegs to carry me well to the front in-shire.” Another 
 
 pause. 
 
 “ I must not trouble you too much,” said Galbraith, slowly pull¬ 
 ing out his moustaches, as if his inventive powers were exhausted. 
 “ Just say I am thinking of parting with my roan mare ; she would 
 make him a capital charger ; that I am afraid my sword-arm will 
 never be the same again ; and that I hope to see him in London 
 before long.” 
 
 “ Have you that down ?” after a few minutes’ silence. 
 
 “ I have.” 
 
 “ Then just end it; and I will try and sign my name.” 
 
 “ But what sort of ending shall I put ?” asked Kate. 
 
 “ Yours truly,” returned Galbraith. 
 
 “ Upton never had so legible an epistle from me before,” he 
 added, as she handed him the letter to read ; placing the blotting- 
 book, ink, and pen near him while he was thus occupied. Then a 
 difficulty arose ; besides that of using his left hand. Sir Hugh had 
 no other wherewith to steady the paper, seeing which, Mrs. Temple, 
 with the natural impulse of a kindly, self-forgetful woman, stepped 
 forward and held it for him ; so he contrived to scrawl his signa¬ 
 ture. “ Thank you, you really have done me a great service,” said 
 he quietly. “ Now, will you direct an envelope, and I will release 
 you ? What a capital hand,” he continued, still holding the letter, 
 while Mrs. Temple addressed the cover; “ so clear—and—well 
 spelt,” as if spealdng to himself. 
 
 “ Tradespeople generally receive a good plain education,” said 
 Mrs. Temple demurely, while the suspicion of a smile played in 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 185 
 
 the corners of her mouth ; she could not resist the temptation to 
 play with the piquante peculiarities of her position. “ Shall I put up 
 your note, or do you want anything added ?” holding out her hand. 
 
 “Nothing more, thank you,” replied Galbraith, slowly returning 
 it to her ; and she proceeded quickly and methodically to arrange 
 the writing materials much more tidily than they had been, and 
 put them in their place. 
 
 “ Pray,” said Sir Hugh, moving slowly across the room, and 
 looking to Mrs. Temple considerably taller and more gaunt than 
 when lying on the sofa—“Pray may I venture to ask your services 
 as secretary again ? I may have to answer a letter or two, and I 
 am really helpless.” 
 
 “ I am sure,” she returned, a faint increase of colour enriching 
 her cheek, “ Doctor Slade would be happy to be of any use to you, 
 and would be a more suitable amanuensis.” 
 
 “ I don’t think so. Doctors write such fearful hieroglyphics. 
 I trust you will be good enough to assist me in an emergency.” 
 
 “ In an emergency, yes,” said Kate quickly. “ I will have your 
 letter posted at once,” she added. “ Good-morning.” 
 
 “ Good-morning, and thank you,” said Galbraith, holding the 
 door open for her to pass through, while he bowed as deferentially 
 as though she had been a duchess. 
 
 Mrs. Temple breathed a little quickly as she went into the 
 kitchen to despatch Sarah to the post, and then proceeded to stand 
 the brunt of a severe cross-examination from Fanny. 
 
 “What a longtime you have been,” she cried. “What is he 
 like ? What was the letter about ?” All of which Kate answered 
 more or less to her companion’s satisfaction. Indeed, both friends 
 made very merry over the interview. “ I am sure, Kate, your de¬ 
 scription of the renowned Sir Hugh sounds like an ogre.” 
 
 “ No ; he is not like an ogre, though he is far from good-looking; 
 evidently a cold, haughty man, yet not quite like what I expected.” 
 
 “ Nobody ever is,” said Fanny philosophically. 
 
 When Mrs. Temple was safe in her own room that night, she lit 
 a second candle, and placing one on each side of her glass looked 
 long at her own image ; then rising from her seat, murmured to 
 
186 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 herself ; “ No, it would be undignified, unprincipled, unfair ; yet, 
 from all I can read and observe, men do not take disappointments 
 to heart and suffer from them like women.” Again she looked in 
 the glass : “ A bit of vulgar prettiness,” she repeated. “ He might 
 have been contented to take me for a mistress. Might he ? Of 
 course it was optional to so great a man, “ so superior to my lowli¬ 
 ness ; and he must have found me out in some delinquency.” She 
 paused. “ It is a great temptation !” So saying, she extinguished 
 the lights, and went to bed. 
 
 CHAPTEK XVII. 
 
 Sir Hugh Gtalbeaith was the last of a long line of careless, im¬ 
 provident country gentlemen. His own father put the finishing 
 stroke to the family fortunes, as a highly cultivated taste for 
 racing, gambling, yachting, and all the linked charms that there¬ 
 abouts do hang rapidly dispersed what remained to him. 
 
 As soon as Hugh had reached a legal age, after a boyhood of 
 most heterogeneous and intermittent training, he gloomily, yet 
 willingly, agreed to join his father in breaking the entail. Gloomily, 
 because his was exactly the nature to cling closely to the family 
 estate, and to part with the acres which had so long supported the 
 Galbraiths of Kirby-Grange was a bitter cross. Willingly, because 
 the disgrace of unpaid debts was intolerable to his proud spirit. 
 
 So the late baronet, freed from his most pressing difficulties, 
 took himself and his three daughters to the Continent, where they 
 passed, on the whole, a very bearable existence. Two of Sir Hugh’s 
 sisters picked up good matches—the prettiest, and the one he liked 
 best, ran away with a German artist and died, at which her brother 
 sternly rejoiced, as he considered such a marriage almost as dis¬ 
 graceful as if she had run away without any. 
 
 As a boy, Hugh Galbraith had been left much alone at the old 
 country seat. His mother died while he was still a sturdy, pas¬ 
 sionate, bony urchin, in frocks—the terror of his nurses—the tor- 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 187 
 
 ment of his sisters. His father was generally away, his sisters at 
 school, and his only education what small doses of learning the 
 curate could induce him to imbibe. In other branches of a gentle¬ 
 man’s acquirements he rapidly progressed. There was no horse in 
 the stables or out of them he could not “ back.” He was a good 
 shot, and a bold sailor, for the Grange was close to a wild craggy 
 coast, where many a fisher’s family had to mourn the loss of the 
 bread-winner and his boat in the stormy winter-time. To the 
 fishermen the young master was always welcome, and to them he 
 could talk, not copiously, for his words were always few, but with 
 a freedom that would have astonished his father and his polite, 
 worldly elder sisters. These ornamental members of his family 
 designated him “ a sulky bear ”—“ a hopeless barbarian ”—and not 
 unjustly. 
 
 When he was about twelve the curate left, and his father sent 
 him to a second-rate school for “ Young Gentlemen,” where he was 
 at first spoiled and petted as the sole representative of the master’s 
 aristocratic connection ; and then, when payments grew more and 
 more irregular, and the dominie became enlightened as to the true 
 state of afEairs, the heir of Galbraith was considerably snubbed—a 
 process of annealing not at all conducive to a healthy frame of 
 mind. 
 
 It was about this time that Mr. Travers, who was first cousin to 
 Sir Hugh’s father, fell in with the lad. Being himself of a taci¬ 
 turn disposition, and having had a boyhood of hard knocks and 
 puddings without plums, he took a fancy to the young kinsman, 
 whom no one else found attractive, put him to a good military 
 school, bought him a commission in the Line, and made him a 
 small allowance. 
 
 When Sir Frederick Galbraith died, and matters wei’e arranged, 
 a paltry pittance was all that remained of the revenues once forth¬ 
 coming from his estates. Every acre, save a few that surrounded 
 the old mansion, was sold ; and these, with the house, were let to 
 a prosperous farmer, who wanted a little more land and a little 
 better abode. 
 
 Small as was his inheritance, Sir Hugh declared it sufficient. 
 
188 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 renounced Mr. Travers’s allowance, and exchanged into a dragoon 
 regiment, with the prospect of going to India. 
 
 His relations with Mr. Travers continued to be most friendly. 
 He was looked upon and considered himself to be, Mr. Travers’s 
 heir. In this light he shone in his married sister’s drawing-rooms, 
 when he condescended to go there, which was not often. To Mr. 
 Travers he was heartily grateful, especially because he had not 
 forced him to adopt trade, for which, said Mr. Travers, “ I don’t 
 think you’ve brains enough.” More, he liked and respected his 
 benefactor better than any one else in the world—except, perhaps, 
 his chum, his schoolfellow, his comrade, Willie Upton ! and for 
 him probably liking considerably outweighed respect. Neverthe¬ 
 less, it seemed quite right and natural that Mr. Travers should 
 have toiled all his life to amass a fortune for him (Hugh Galbraith) 
 to buy back his estates with and live on them as became a gentle¬ 
 man of high degree. When, therefore, the elder cousin announced 
 his marriage—briefly, and with an unconquerable degree of shame¬ 
 facedness which communicated itself to the inanimate pen—Hugh 
 Galbraith was furious. It seemed to him a scandalous breach of 
 faith—a base withdrawal from an unspoken contract, which should 
 have been all the more binding on a gentleman because it had been 
 unexpressed ! And for whom was he thus defrauded ? Some 
 rosy-cheeked plebeian ! some showy girl, that, in his own mind, he 
 ranked with the barmaids and chambermaids who would not dis¬ 
 dain addresses from the sergeants of his own troop ! If she had 
 been a gentlewoman, ever so poor, the injury to himself would have 
 been the same, but he would not have felt quite the same loathing 
 and contempt that added fuel to the fire with which he read Mr. 
 Travers’s communication. 
 
 “ ‘ The daughter of the lady with whom I have stayed for some 
 years in the fishing season,’ ” he repeated scornfully to his friend 
 Upton. “ The woman who let him his lodgings, he means ! How 
 
 any man at any age can make such a-ass of himself is beyond 
 
 my comprehension ; but a fellow like Travers !” 
 
 “ Perhaps she was very pretty and taking,” returned his confi¬ 
 dant, who had an amiable weakness for the sex. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 189 
 
 But Sir Hugh was not to be pacified, as we have seen, and not 
 only spake unadvisedly with his lips, but, what was much worse, 
 wrote unadvisedly with his pen. 
 
 It was a cruel blow. Hugh Galbraith had never been disposed 
 to indulge in bright dreams of the future, although he had more 
 imagination than any one gave him credit for. The bitterness of 
 poverty in high places had eaten into his heart, and closed it 
 rigidly against the greater number of his fellow-creatures. He 
 was strong to endure, and slow to speak—generally considered a 
 cold, hard man, but too just, too real, not to have a certain amount 
 of popularity with his brother officers. He was just to his equals, 
 and would fain have been generous to his inferiors, as you would 
 throw bones to a dog ; not all the severity of his training could 
 expel the mighty self-will of the man. He would be kind to who¬ 
 ever obeyed and served him, but he burned to crush whoever crossed 
 him. He was also capable of a good deal of self-control up to a 
 certain point, and then “ chaos came again !” 
 
 For women he had profound contempt, though it would have 
 surprised him to be told so. They rather bored him, yet he would, 
 if required, put himself to inconvenience for a woman, or expose 
 himself to danger, and would think the man who could treat one 
 badly a brute or a poltroon. A wife and legitimate children were 
 unavoidable duties to be incurred for the sake of one’s position, 
 and to be held in all honour ; but as for finding companionship 
 with women, or friendship, or a profitable exchange of ideas, such 
 notions were never rejected by Galbraith, simply because they 
 never suggested themselves. He had a dim consciousness that 
 devotion and observance from a well-born, well-bred, very quiet 
 woman would be pleasant, and a sort of thing he had a right to 
 expect, by-and-by, when he was older ; but he was a little hard to 
 please, for though he saw plenty of well-bred women, and hand¬ 
 some ones too, there was almost always a touch of affectation or 
 unreality about them which his own uncompromising nature de¬ 
 tected and despised. 
 
 All this applied to women of his own rank. Those of a humbler 
 class were much more endurable than the men, and by no means 
 
190 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 to be badly treated. But then the treatment was measured by a 
 totally different standard, and wounds inflicted on a lady for which 
 blood only could atone, might for a woman of low degree be salved 
 by golden ointment. 
 
 This is a tolerably correct sketch of Hugh Galbraith’s ideas on 
 matters and things in general, though it would have taken him a 
 long time to extricate* them with equal clearness from the tangle 
 of contradictions, prejudices, and habits, the growth of years, 
 round the primeval trunks of natural or instilled opinion. 
 
 The interview with his landlady had startled and astonished him. 
 He could not get her out of his head, nor did he try ; he had been 
 supremely bored before she appeared, and it was rather amusing 
 to have a totally fresh subject to think about. He could still see 
 her distinctly as she stood, when he looked up at her voice, the 
 graceful, rounded outlines of her figure showing through a severely 
 simple black dress, without trimming of any description, and 
 buttoned from throat to instep. No relief except a white muslin 
 frill at neck and wrist; her clear, pale, oval face, with its rich, 
 red, curved lips, delicate, yet full; the low, broad, white brow, and 
 chestnut brown hair, braided carelessly, loosely back into a thick coil. 
 Then her eyes ! they haunted him ; he could not tell if they were 
 deepest blue or darkest brown, but the expression he would never 
 forget ; the resolute, unflinching repellent gaze that met his own, 
 nor the change created by the shadow of a smile that once flitted 
 across their grave depths. 
 
 Her quiet manner of acceding to his request had in it something 
 remarkable also. Not a shade of hesitation or embarrassment, no 
 assumption of equality, no confession of inferiority, and yet no 
 amount of dignity, of hauteur, of grace, could have produced so 
 deep a conviction that she was emphatically a gentlewoman. 
 
 Her composed performance of the task he had given her enabled 
 him to note well the haughty carriage of her head, the long, dark 
 lashes that swept her cheek, the white, slender hand that held the 
 pen so firmly and guided it so deftly, and the result of his reflec¬ 
 tions was summed up by a half-uttered observation, “ She is a 
 gentlewoman, whatever has driven her behind the counter, that’s 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 191 
 
 clear enougli! But why, in Heaven’s name, did she look at me as 
 if I was the most hateful object in existence ? Do I give too 
 much trouble ? Don’t I pay rent enough ? What is it ? What 
 a handsome creature ! By Jove, Upton and Harcourt, and fellows 
 like them, who are generally maundering about some Avoman or 
 other, would say I had fallen on my legs, but,” smiling grimly to 
 himself, “ that is not my line and so thinking. Sir Hugh, some¬ 
 what wearied with the slight excitement of the interview, fell 
 asleep. It was true that he professed not to care for beauty, and 
 said truly enough he never thought about it, but its absence vexed 
 him unconsciously. Ugliness and want of grace were terrible 
 sins in a woman—I ought to have written, gentleAVoman. With 
 the vagaries of men in love he had neither patience nor sympathy, 
 considering them— 
 
 “ Still beguiled 
 
 By passions, worthy of a fool or child,” 
 
 He might have had his own indiscretions in early youth, but 
 these do not concern the present story. 
 
 “ Fanny,” said Mrs. Temple, the morning after the interview- 
 just described, “ did you write to Tom yesterday ?” 
 
 No ; I wrote the day before. It is your turn.” 
 
 “ Well when you do write, pray do not mention that I acted 
 secretary to Sir Hugh Galbraith.” 
 
 “ No ! Why ?” asked Fanny with undisguised Avonder. 
 
 “ Oh! because it is not worth while ; because I Avould prefer 
 telling him about it, it v^ould be more fun.” 
 
 “ Very well! only I counted on a description of that event to 
 fill up my letter. Noav, Kate, I suspect you think he would scold 
 you for going to him !” 
 
 “ Nonsense,” returned Mrs. Temple, a shade haughtily. “ Tom 
 knows I am capable of managing my OAvn affairs.” 
 
 “ Very well,” repeated Fanny meekly ; and the next instant ex¬ 
 claimed, “ Here is that Mr. Turner !” 
 
 It Avas Turner junior ; Avho said, as the shop was empty, he ven¬ 
 tured to call AAuth a message from his mother, requesting the plea- 
 
192 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 sure of Mrs. Temple and Miss Lee’s company on the following 
 evening to supper. He added, with a sigh, that they were quite 
 strangers, as it seemed impossible to get a peep at them. 
 
 “ I certainly do stick close to business,” replied Mrs. Temple 
 pleasantly. “ And I have never gone out anywhere, except to 
 Mrs. Owen’s when her children were so ill, since I lost my hus¬ 
 band ; but that is no reason why I should shut up my young 
 friend. I dare say she will be happy to accept Mrs. Turner’s kind 
 invitation.” 
 
 Fanny, to use her own expression, made “ big eyes ” at her 
 “ worthy principal ” during this speech, unseen by young Turner ; 
 but being always ready for a change, and by no means averse to 
 amuse herself with the young man’s ill-concealed admiration, she 
 graciously accepted. 
 
 “ And pray do not trouble to send for Miss Lee,” added Mr. 
 Joseph eagerly. “ I dare say there is enough to do with an invalid 
 in the house. I shall be happy to see her home.” 
 
 “ Nevertheless, I shall certainly send for Miss Lee,” said Mrs. 
 Temple gravely. 
 
 “ I suppose you have had a troublesome time of it,” continued 
 their visitor, lingering; for of course Sir Hugh Galbraith’s acci¬ 
 dent, Dr. Slade’s fortunate presence in the field, the conveyance of 
 the injured man to the Berlin Bazaar—all this, with many varia¬ 
 tions and additions, had been buzzed about the little town with 
 amazing rapidity; such an event in the dead season was quite a 
 godsend. 
 
 “ No, indeed,” returned Mrs. Temple. “ He scarcely gives any 
 trouble. His own servant waits upon him, and both are very 
 quiet.” 
 
 “ I am told he is a regular tip-topper,” remarked Mr. Joseph ; 
 “ and that the Queen telegraphed to inquire for him.” 
 
 “ Perhaps so ; but the telegram did not come here,” said Mrs. 
 Temple gravely, while Fanny burst into a fit of uncontrollable 
 laughter. “ I am afraid the Queen is not aware of Sir Hugh Gal¬ 
 braith’s existence,” she cried. “ He is not quite such a personage.” 
 
 “ But Dr. Slade told father he was a V.C.,” exclaimed Turner. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 193 
 
 “ ‘ V.C.,’ what is that ?” asked Fanny, who did not take much 
 interest in public matters. 
 
 “ Victoria Cross,” explained Mrs. Temple ; adding, “ I suppose 
 Dr. Slade is well informed, but I was not aware of it.” 
 
 “Couldn’t you find out? couldn’t you ask him? perhaps he 
 wears it on his coat,” peradveatured Mr. Turner, junior, with true 
 provincial curiosity. 
 
 “ Why !” exclaimed Fanny indignantly, “you don’t suppose Mrs. 
 Temple ever sees Sir Hugh ! You don’t think she waits upon him 
 every morning with a curtsey and a ‘ What will you please to have 
 for dinner, sir ?’ ” 
 
 “ I am sure I do not know,” he returned, bewildered. 
 
 “ Do not mind her, Mr. Turner,” said Mrs. Temple, laughing 
 good-humouredly. “ She is always full of some nonsense. I for¬ 
 tunately have an excellent old friend, who manages my house¬ 
 keeping, or I could not let lodgings and keep a shop at the same 
 time.” 
 
 “ Just so,” he returned ; adding, to the indignation of Fanny, 
 with an admiring glance, “ But, I say, what a jolly girl you are !” 
 
 “ I had a great mind,” said Fanny, when he had stepped away 
 triumphantly, “ to refuse their horrid supper on the spot; only I 
 was afraid of you ! Now I am like the Komans in Mrs. Mark¬ 
 ham, between the barbarians and the sea. You would be vexed if 
 T don’t go, and Tom will be cross if I do !” 
 
 “ I will bear you harmless with Tom. Wo must not be too dis¬ 
 tant with our neighbours ; Tom will understand that. But, Fan, 
 how is it you can condescend to accept Mr. Joseph’s unspoken ad¬ 
 miration, and yet be so indignant if he ventures to express it ?” 
 
 “ The humble adoration of the meanest votary may be offered 
 at the loftiest shrine, but the smallest attempt at familiarity must 
 be crushed,” replied Fanny grandly. “ Kate ! you have not told 
 me half enough about Sir Hugh !” 
 
 “ There is really nothing to tell. He is a tall, thin, plain, toler¬ 
 ably well-bred, and, I should say, commonplace man. You are 
 a perfect nuisance with your questions ! I think I shall fine you 
 half-a-crown whenever you mention his name again.” 
 
 13 
 
194 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ I am sure, Kate,” resumed Fanny, with an air of the mo:.t pro¬ 
 found wisdom after a few minutes’ silence, “ I hope our interesting 
 lodger will not tell Dr. Slade that you wrote that letter for him. 
 It will fly like wildfire through the town, and there 'vvill be no end 
 of scandal.” 
 
 The young widow coloured even to her brow. “ I am proof 
 against scandal,” she exclaimed, with a scornful flash of her bright 
 eyes ; “ I don’t care !” Then, stopping short, “ What nonsense 
 one talks when angry ! I must care—but,” laughing, “ it would be 
 rather too bad to be ‘ talked of ’ with one’s enemy.” 
 
 A covey of Miss Monitor’s young ladies entering prevented 
 further conversation, and the counter was quickly strewn with all 
 the colours of the rainbow in Berlin wool. 
 
 That evening as the two friends sat, the one making a dress, the 
 other reading aloud to her, in the comfortable home-like ‘ shop- 
 parlour ’ which was their winter sitting-room, a knock at the door 
 announced Dr Slade, who generally looked in after visiting his 
 patient. Come in,” cried Fanny. 
 
 “ Well, ladies,” said he, entering, his shirt-frill in perfect con¬ 
 dition, his eyes glittering, his large white teeth displayed by a 
 gracious smile, as he glanced approvingly round the neat room, 
 “ you might sit for a picture of Industry rewarded by Comfort.” 
 
 “ Sit down. Doctor,” said Mrs. Temple, placing a chair for him. 
 “ How is your patient this evening ?” 
 
 “ Not quite so well; and d-d sulky and silent, in consequence, 
 
 I suppose. However, he made one query that afforded me satis¬ 
 faction on your account, Mrs. Temple,” taking out his snuff-box 
 and tapping it while he assumed a tone of patronage. “ Sir Flugh 
 Galbraith interrupted me rather abruptly in what I was saying 
 just now by exclaiming, ‘ I find that old woman who answers my 
 bell sometimes is not the landlady ?’ So I explained that the real 
 proprietress was engaged in the wool trade—ha ! ha ! ha !—there¬ 
 fore that he could not expect to see her. He nodded his head and 
 puffed away for a while, and then burst out with, ‘ What do I 
 pay for these rooms. Doctor ?’ So I explained that the subject of 
 rent had really not been mentioned ; that he had been carried into 
 
HER DEAREST EOE. 
 
 195 
 
 the nearest place of refuge, and no one had thought of the ques¬ 
 tion of payment. Then he said it was time to mention it, and that 
 he was willing to pay whatever I thought, or whatever you thought 
 was right. So I said the last inmate paid two pounds a week ; 
 but I thought that, considering he necessarily caused some extra 
 trouble—he interrupted in his impatient, overbearing way, ‘ Of 
 course, of course! Will three pounds a week do ?’ I said I 
 thought it would suffice ; but said I would mention the matter to 
 you. I assure you I am very pleased to have secured you so 
 eligible a—eh ! what amuses you. Miss Lee ?” 
 
 This interjection was uttered in consequence of a sudden out¬ 
 burst of laughter from Fanny, all the more noisy from her efforts 
 to suppress it. 
 
 “ What is the matter ?” exclaimed Mrs. Temple, smiling from 
 sympathy. 
 
 “ Oh, nothing ! do forgive me !” exclaimed Fanny, struggling to 
 compose herself. “ I ran the needle into my finger, and it startled 
 me. I am rather hysterical, you know.” 
 
 “ Hysterical! stuff !” growled the Doctor. “ You are the picture 
 of health ; but what do you say, Mrs. Temple ?” 
 
 “ That your patient is disposed to pay munificently ; and it 
 would be a pity to check his liberality, for I suppose he will not 
 be with us long.” 
 
 “ A few weeks longer, if he is wise. He asked me this evening 
 when I thought he might travel, and seemed disgusted that I 
 could not undertake to say when. After such a shock as he has 
 had, quiet is essential. It is curious he has had no other visitors 
 except that starched high-mightiness of a cousin.” 
 
 Mrs. Temple was not disposed to pursue the subject, so the talk 
 flowed towards other topics, and the Doctor mentioned having 
 been called over to Weston to see the housekeeper, and that Lady 
 Styles was still absent, and would be for some time longer, as Sir 
 Marmaduke Styles had been attacked by rheumatism, and Heaven 
 knows what all, in Yorkshire. “ I am sorry for him,” added the 
 Doctor, “ but if her ladyship had been at home all Pierstoffe could 
 not have prevented her from forcing her way into Sir Hugh Gal- 
 
 13-2 
 
196 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 braitli’s room, thougli if any one could have turned her out again 
 it would have been the sufferer himself.” 
 
 After a little more conversation, principally carried on by the 
 Doctor and Fanny, he bade the friends good-evening, rather to 
 their relief. 
 
 “ What made you laugh in that extraordinary way, Fanny ?” 
 asked Mrs. Temple when they were alone. 
 
 “ Oh ! dear Kate, I could not help it! when I heard that 
 ridiculous old doctor talking so big about the tenant he had 
 secured for you, and the splendid offer of three pounds a week 
 out of your own money—for it is, or ought to be, your own 
 money.” 
 
 Mrs. Temple laughed for a moment. “ The position is altogether 
 very droll,” she said, “ and very uncomfortable ; but as to the 
 money, I am not so sure. I should think at the worst of his times 
 Sir Hugh could pay three pounds a week on a pinch.” 
 
 “ Then he was quite rich for an old bachelor, and need not have 
 quarrelled and worried about poor Mr. Travers’s money,” exclaimed 
 Fanny indignantly. “ But it is evident he never mentioned your 
 having written a letter for him ; and d xyt'opos^ I will just write to 
 Tom before I go to bed, and only say that our interesting invalid 
 is going on as well as can be expected.” 
 
 The afternoon of the next day was a busy one, and in the midst 
 of it Mrs. Temple received a telegraphic summons from Mills 
 through the little window. 
 
 “ Well, what is it. Mills ?” 
 
 “ He says he would be greatly obliged, ma’am, if you could spare 
 a few minutes to write a letter for him.” 
 
 “ You mean Sir Hugh ? indeed I cannot! Say I am exceedingly 
 occupied, and if he can put off his letter till the evening, I am sure 
 Dx’. Slade would write for him.” 
 
 So Mills departed aixd did not return. 
 
 “ It would ixever do to come when he calls,” thought the young 
 widow, as she diligently sought through a pile of London Journals 
 for a back number to suit a schoolboy customer ; “ nor am I going 
 to be his amanuensis always.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 197 
 
 It was an amusing task to attire Fanny and despatch her to her 
 tea and supper engagement. The mixture of readiness and reluc¬ 
 tance with which she prepared herself was most characteristic, as 
 was the undisguised pleasure with which she surveyed her dress 
 and herself in the largest looking-glass their very moderate fur¬ 
 nishing could boast, and her openly expressed regret that so much 
 trouble and success should be so thrown away. 
 
 “ If Tom was to be there, or even some of those pleasant, merry 
 hussars I used to meet at Mrs. Danby’s ! Heigho ! Kate, dear, I 
 really would like to run in and show myself to Sir Hugh !” 
 
 “ Fanny, Fanny ! that looks like going over to the enemy.” 
 
 “ Nothing of the kind, dear ; I am ready for war to the knife ! 
 even though I am not fit to be anything more than the knife- 
 grinder.” 
 
 “ The knife-grinder, in such a warfare as ours will be (if it ever 
 begins), is a very important personage,” returned Mrs. Temple. “ I 
 suppose the lawyers will be the knife-grinders.” 
 
 “ Ah ! there will be no more peace once that begins,” said Fanny, 
 ill’s. Temple made no reply, seeming lost in thought, and Fanny 
 went on : “ Do, like a dear ! write a line to Tom this evening and 
 explain everything, and ask him to write to me. After all, though 
 he thinks rather much of himself, he is the dearest best fellow 
 in the world ! Good-bye ! Be sure you send for me at nine or 
 half-past.” 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Kate settled herself to perform her task of writing to Tom as 
 soon as she had finished a little domestic talk with Mills who in¬ 
 formed her that Dr. Slade had called early, while she was dressing 
 Miss Fanny, for he was going out to dinner, so Sir Hugh’s servant 
 had told Mills, as he passed through the kitchen to go on some 
 errand for his master. Safe, therefore, from interruption, Mrs. 
 Temple wrote rapidly and fully to her prime counsellor. After 
 
198 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 explaining her reasons for making Fanny accept Mrs. Turner’s 
 invitation, and taking the whole blame of that transaction on 
 herself, she went on to say that she wished very much he would 
 endeavour to see Ford, apparently by accident, to ascertain if ho 
 kept up any intercourse with Poole ; “for,” she wrote, “ although 
 I am reluctant to confess what must seem unreasonable suspicions 
 to you, mine have for some time pointed to Ford. Why, I am 
 reluctant to say. When I rnake up my mind to tell you, perhaps 
 you will admit I am somewhat justified. At any rate, accept such 
 guidance from me, as to direct your inquiries towards this man. 
 Ascertain, if you can, whether he has sought out Gregory’s son, or 
 made him any offer. Is Poole still in the old house, or has Sir 
 Hugh Galbraith-” 
 
 As she traced the name Mills entered. 
 
 “ He has been ringing again,” said she—Mills seemed to fulfil 
 some self-imposed duty by religiously avoiding the name of her 
 mistress’s enemy —“ and he wants to know if it would be perfectly 
 convenient to you to write a bit for him now ; he is very sorry to 
 trouble you.” 
 
 “ I will come in ten minutes,” replied Mrs. Temple, without 
 raising her eyes, or ceasing to write. “ Tell him so, please.” 
 
 Mills retreated, grumbling vaguely. 
 
 Sir Hugh Galbraith wns pacing slowly to and fro when sho 
 entered. He turned and greeted her with grave politeness, placing 
 a chair at the table, and moving the writing materials ; in doing 
 so he upset some of them, which Mrs. Temple hastened to pick up, 
 with the strange weft of compassion that, since she had seen him 
 carried helpless and inanimate into her home, had shot across the 
 warp of her dislike. 
 
 “ I have to apologise very heartily,” said Galbraith, “ for tres¬ 
 passing so perseveringly on your time, but I venture to think that 
 you might be more at leisure in the evening, and I really want a 
 letter despatched.” 
 
 “ I am disengaged now,” returned Mrs. Temple, seating herself 
 at once, and getting pen and paper, “ but I never am in the morn¬ 
 ing or afternoon.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ I shall remember,” said G-albraith, as if he intended frequent 
 employment of his fair hostess. Some such idea suggested itself 
 to her, and, strive as she would, she could not restrain a smile, all 
 the softer and sweeter from the effort to be grave. She kept her 
 eyes steadily on the paper, however, and her resolute composure 
 quickly returned. Sir Hugh took his place on the sofa opposite to 
 her. “ Are you ready ?” he asked. 
 
 “ I am.” 
 
 “ My dear Upton,—I had yours of the 2nd, yesterday. It crossed 
 one I sent you the same day. I now write to say it is exceedingly 
 unlikely I can be in London for some weeks.” He stopped, at a 
 sign from his amanuensis. “ I feel very shaky still,” he resumed, 
 “ and must keep quiet, so tell your friend to put me out of his head 
 as a possible purchaser of his horse.” 
 
 Again a long pause. Mrs. Temple read aloud her last word, to 
 show she had finished, and still no others came. Thinldng that he 
 was in the agonies of composition, she kept silence for a moment, 
 and once more, as a reminder, read softly, “ purchaser of his horse,” 
 looking up as she spoke. She met Galbraith’s eyes fixed upon her, 
 as if so absorbed in contemplation that everything else was forgot 
 ten, and yet there was no shade of boldness in his grave reflective 
 gaze. Conjecture and admiration might be descried, especially the 
 former, but nothing to offend ; still Mrs. Temple could not keep 
 down the quick bright blush that flushed her cheek, and then faded 
 slowly away, leaving her paler than before. 
 
 “ Forgive me,” said Sir Hugh bluntly, yet in less harsh tones 
 than he had hitherto spoken ; and leaning his sound arm on the 
 table, he bent towards her. “ I had forgotten what I was about, 
 while wondering what freak of fortune drove you to keep a shop !” 
 Again Mrs. Temple’s lip curved with a passing smile, and before 
 she could reply Galbraith went on hastily, “ I am aware that such 
 remarks are altogether presumptuous, unwarrantable, but I could 
 not keep the words back.” 
 
 “ As you are suffering, and I imagine very dull, I suppose I must 
 not quarrel with you for amusing yourself with speculations con¬ 
 cerning my insignificant history ! You will find it much more in- 
 
200 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 teresting in imagination than in reality, so I shall not enlighten 
 you.” 
 
 Mrs. Temple looked straight into his eyes as she spoke, some¬ 
 thing of the dishke and defiance that had struck him so forcibly 
 at first returning to her expression. 
 
 “You do not suppose I would venture to ask?” he returned 
 quickly. 
 
 “ Suppose we finish your letter,” said Mrs. Temple quietly. 
 
 “ Yes, yes, of course ; where was I ?” 
 
 “ ‘ As a possible purchaser of his horse,’ ” read Mrs. Temple 
 demurely. 
 
 “ Ah !—h’m—” Galbraith’s ideas evidently would not come. “ I 
 really have nothing more to say—you must just end it, if you 
 please.” 
 
 “ But that is so abrupt! Can you not tell your friend how you 
 are going on—when you are likely to leave—but I must beg pardon 
 in my turn. I am going out of my province.” 
 
 “ I am very thankful for any suggestion,” replied Galbraith. 
 “ Say I am still confoundedly weak, and fear I cannot move for 
 four or five weeks, but that I am in capital quarters.” A pause. 
 
 “ ‘ Capital quarters,’ ” read Mrs. Temple, looking up with an un¬ 
 restrained smile, so bright and frank that it seemed a gleam of real 
 light. “ Shall I add, ‘ and a secretary on the premises ?’ ” 
 
 “ If you like,” replied Sir Hugh, also relaxing into a smile. “ But 
 that is self-evident. Will you add, that as soon as I am strong 
 enough I shall join him in Dublin, if he thinks he can manage to 
 get away to the west for some trout fishing ?” 
 
 Mrs. Temple bent her head, and wrote on quickly and steadily ; 
 presently she pressed the page on the blotting-paper, and presented 
 it for Galbraith’s signature, holding it as before with a firm, still, 
 white hand. 
 
 “ You don’t know how much obliged to you I am,” he said, paus¬ 
 ing with the pen in his hand, and looking up in her face with his 
 grave, sombre eyes, which had a sort of yearning expression at 
 times. “ I should be badly oft without your help. As to letting 
 that Doctor write for me, I should let everything go to smash for 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 201 
 
 want of a line, first. He is an infernal gossip—I mean a confirmed 
 gossip.” 
 
 “ Yes, that is better,” said Mrs. Temple, softly and gravely. “ I 
 should think gossip too weak a diversion for the Inferno ! a devil 
 is nothing if he is not strong !” 
 
 Sir Hugh looked at her with increasing curiosity ; there was such 
 a contrast between her words and the gentle accent with which 
 they were uttered. 
 
 “ That is one’s idea of a devil, certainly,” he returned. 
 
 “ Had you not better sign your letter, and let it be posted ? My 
 good old Mills is going to fetch my young friend and assistant, who 
 is out this evening ; she can post it for you.” 
 
 “ Thank you ; and I am keeping you standing.” 
 
 Galbraith hastily scrawled a hieroglyphic at the end of his letter, 
 and handed it back to his fair secretary, who proceeded deliberately 
 to fold and address it. 
 
 “ There is sealing-wax somewhere,” said Sir Hugh, who was by 
 no means anxious to shorten the operation ; “ I think it had better 
 be sealed.” 
 
 “ Very well,” she replied, searching among the writing things. 
 “But I cannot see any. If you want some. Sir Hugh Galbraith,” 
 pronouncing his name rather slowly, and for the first time, “ I seil 
 the article, and will be happy to supply you—an excellent quality 
 twopence per stick, first-rate threepence !” 
 
 She paused as she said this, resting one hand on the table, and 
 looking quietly at him, but with a sort of suppressed sparkle under 
 her long lashes. 
 
 “ And I shall be delighted to become your customer,” returned 
 Galbraith, laughing. “ Shall I ring for your housekeeper to-” 
 
 “ Oh ! I know where to find it, and will not keep you a moment,” 
 interrupted Mrs. Temple. 
 
 “ But it gives you so much troiible !” 
 
 “ Consider the unexpected sale of two pennyworth of sealing- 
 wax—or shall we say threepence ?” 
 
 She left the room as she spoke, swiftl}^ but without hurry, and 
 Galbraith was still smiling and pulling his moustaches when she 
 
202 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 returned with two pieces of sealing-wax and a lighted taper. 
 “Twopence,” said she, holding up one piece ; then, raising the 
 other, added, “ threepence.” 
 
 “ The first quality, of course,” said Sir Hugh, laughing, and with 
 a brighter expression than she had yet seen upon his countenance. 
 
 “ Now for a seal; I could not see any.” 
 
 “ I have my ring,” interrupted Sir Hugh. 
 
 “ Which you cannot get off,” said Mrs. Temple, “ so I brought 
 you one, with the latest motto, ‘ Reply quickly.’ Will that do ?” 
 
 “ Very well indeed ; your forethought is admirable, Mrs. Temple. 
 You would make a good general.” 
 
 “ I trust I may prove a successful one, when my battle begins,” 
 said the young widow with a sigh, looking down at the seal she 
 was aflB^iing ; she could neither account for, nor resist the impulse 
 to bring her masked batteries into play. Never before had she felt 
 the same vivid interest as in the daring game on which she had 
 ventured ; and which, even while it half frightened her, she could 
 not relinquish. If she could only get well through it, and accom¬ 
 plish Galbraith’s chastisement before Tom could find out what was 
 going on, or interfere, or even look disapprobation ; for she dearly 
 loved her kindly, pleasant, honest counsellor, and highly valued his 
 good opinion. Still, the game was worth the candle ; she only in¬ 
 tended to bring down her foe from his proud pre-eminence, not to 
 hurt him seriously ; but while she thought, Galbraith was saying, 
 
 “ Is there a fight before you, then ?” 
 
 “ Yes ; a worse than you were ever in—a legal battle.” 
 
 “ I am sorry to hear it; a lawsuit is a serious affair. I was very 
 near launching into one myself, and I don’t feel quite sure I am 
 safe yet.” 
 
 “ Indeed!” said Mrs. Temple, pausing, as she closed the ink- 
 bottle, and looking up quickly and keenly in his face, forgetting 
 everything save the desire to glean some straw of intelligence to 
 shov/ her how the current was setting. “ Indeed, but if you do 
 drift into such a contest, you have wealth, and rank, and influence. 
 I have nothing, and am nobody.” A sweet arch smile. “ Never¬ 
 theless, once the fight begins, believe me, I will stand to my guns 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 203 
 
 as long as I have a round of ammunition, Sir Hugh Galbraith ; so 
 good-evening.” 
 
 ‘‘ One moment,” he exclaimed eagerly ; for he was marvellously 
 roused and stirred. “ I wished to s^Deak to you about a—one or two 
 things.” 
 
 “ And they are ?” asked Mrs. Temple, pausing in her retreat. 
 
 “ Oh—ah !—I hope my fellow, Jackson, gives no unnecessary 
 trouble to Mrs. What’s-her-name ?—that he behaves properly. 
 These troopers are rough customers ; but Jackson and I have gone 
 through a campaign together, and he suits me much better than a 
 fine-gentleman valet.” For once in his life, Galbraith was talking 
 against time, though thinking himself an idiot all the while. 
 
 “ He seems to get on very well with Mills,” said Mrs. Temple, 
 feeling anxious to retire. “ I hear no complaint. I hope you have 
 all you require, and are comfortable. I feel I ought to justify 
 Dr. Slade’s recommendation.” 
 
 “ I never was in better quarters,” returned Sir Hugh ; “ and if 
 you will be so good as to write a letter for me occasionally, there 
 is nothing else I can want ; but,” seeing her about to speak, “ I 
 will not have Slade for a secretary.” 
 
 “Well, we v/ill try and manage your correspondence for you,” 
 said Mrs. Temple good-humouredly ; and repeating her “ good¬ 
 evening,” moved decidedly to the door. 
 
 Galbraith’s resources were exhausted, so he opened it for her, 
 exclaiming, “ I am sorry for your opposite party in the coming 
 battle, Mrs. Temple. You are a dangerous antagonist.” 
 
 “ I will endeavour to be dangerous, depend upon it,” said she ; 
 and bending her head in return for his bow, she swept away with¬ 
 out raising her eyes. 
 
 “ That woman has a history,” thought Sir Hugh, closing the 
 door after her. “ Yet how fresh, and fair, and young she looks. 
 She is a gentlewoman ; she must be a gentlewoman ; there’s not a 
 tinge of anything bold in her fearless frankness. How much more 
 pluck Upton has in some things than I have. Had he been in my 
 place, now—by Jove ! he would have asked her to pull off his 
 ’ring to seal that letter ; I daren’t. After all, would he have dared ? 
 
204 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 I doubt it. I -wonder what the late Temple was like ? A white- 
 chokered elder of some Methodist chapel, probably. These trades¬ 
 men are all dissenting radical hounds ! How could such a woman 
 as that marry one of these fellows! she never learnt that style, 
 
 those manners, behind a counter. By George ! perhaps-” he 
 
 stopped even from consecutive thought, as some conjecture pos¬ 
 sibly more repulsive than the Methodist husband suggested itself ; 
 and -with a look of anger and disgust, addressed himself to the task 
 of lighting a cigar with a twist of paper, which burnt his fingers,, 
 and evoked some bad language before he succeeded. 
 
 Fanny returned in due course, escorted both by Mrs. Mills and 
 Joseph junior ; she was considerably less bright than when she 
 started. “ Oh ! they were very kind and hospitable,” she said, in 
 reply to some inquiries from her friend ; “ but I was obliged to eat 
 a great deal more than was good for me; and then we had an 
 adorable young man from Stoneborough, and another who sells 
 fish, I think. The Stoneborough-man is e-vidently Miss Turner’s 
 property. The fishmonger, I flatter myself, fell to my spear. He 
 wasn’t nice. And Mr. Joseph lamented to me privately, as we 
 walked home, that his parents had done him irreparable injury at 
 his baptism, by bestowing such a ridiculous name upon him. I 
 consoled him to the best of my power, and advised him to turn it 
 into Beppo. The idea pleased him ; but he wanted to know who 
 Beppo was. So I exclaimed, ‘ What! an admirer of Byron not 
 know one of his leading characters.’ At which he was annihilated, 
 and we arrived here in peace. I was so glad he said no more, be¬ 
 cause I began to be afraid Beppo wasn’t in Byron at all. But he 
 is, isn’t he, Kate ?” 
 
 Mrs. Temple reassured her. 
 
 “ Then he proposed driving me and his sister over to Stone- 
 borough, which was alarming. And oh, they perfectly stupefied 
 me with questions about Sir Hugh. Never send me there again, 
 Kate.” 
 
 “ I think we had better let him know you are engaged.” 
 
 “ But I am not; not regularly, you know ; only if-” 
 
 “ Fanny ! do you consider yourself free to marry any one ?” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 205 
 
 “Well—no, not exactly.” 
 
 “ That is quite enough. We had better say good-night.” 
 
 “ And what have you been doing all the long evening ?” said 
 Fanny, yawning. 
 
 “ Nothing particular. I have read ; written one letter to Tom, 
 and another for my enemy.” 
 
 “ Another for Sir Hugh ! Oh ! my goodness, Kate.” 
 
 “ Yes ; and he coolly declares we must manage his correspon¬ 
 dence for him. He will not have Dr. Slade. So as he will be here 
 but a short time, we must make the best of it; only you must do 
 your share.” 
 
 “ Me ! I should be afraid to go near him, after what Tom said.” 
 
 “Nonsense, Fan ; he is a quiet, civil, grave personage, more like 
 a parson than a soldier ; though, I fancy, full of pride and preju¬ 
 dice ; but come, let to-morrow take care of itself—to bed, to bed, 
 to bed.” 
 
 A few days passed unmarked by any event; for Sir Hugh Gal¬ 
 braith’s requirements and correspondence had become almost a 
 daily occupation. Fanny had been sent once in Mrs. Temple’s 
 place, and had returned utterly discomfited. “ I knew I should 
 make a mess of it,” she said. “ I never saw such a cold, proud, 
 stern, disagreeable man. I went in trembling, and he made me 
 shake in my shoes ! the sort of bow he made and the stare he 
 gave, was enough to turn one to stone. And oh, the muddle I 
 got into with the letter—writing the same thing over two or three 
 times, and leaving out other bits ; even Sir Hugh laughed at last, 
 and said, ‘ You are not quite so good an amanuensis as your sister.’ 
 Then I exclaimed, ‘ She is not my sisterand, perhaps, I ought 
 not to have said so. I will not write any more for him, Kate ! 
 that I can tell you.” 
 
 Meantime, Tom had not been idle ; and in due time Kate re¬ 
 ceived a report of his proceedings. 
 
 “ Your suggestions are very good,” wrote the Londoti agent of 
 the Berlin Bazaar ; “ and so far as I can I will carry them out; 
 but it is not so easy to invent an accident that will bring me in 
 contact with Ford. I am not in a position to require a stock- 
 
20S 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 broker, and if I were, your views would not incline me to entrust 
 much capital in his hands. However, I will be on the look out. 
 I could not manage to see Gregory till last night; and, curious 
 enough, your ideas are so far justified, that Ford has called upon 
 him, but did not see him, as Captain Gregory was out. So far, the 
 stars in their courses fight for you ! I warned Gregory to say 
 nothing of the will, beyond the bare fact of knowing that his 
 father drew one for Mr. Travers, also to keep his communications 
 with myself, and the affidavit, as dark as possible. This, I think, 
 the worthy captain will do, as he has a prejudice against Ford, 
 because of his supposed injustice to ‘father.’ I think, therefore, 
 Gregory is armed at all points ; at the same time, I must say that 
 your suspicions of Ford seem to me, to say the least, unfounded. 
 What object could he possibly have in bestowing so great a benefit 
 on a man, who would unhesitatingly hand him over to the powers 
 that punish if he found out the fraud ; for even you do not imagine 
 Sir Hugh would be a party to it. I cannot help thinking that 
 your best plan would be, now you have such a curious opportunity, 
 to make Galbraith’s acquaintance, see what sort of a fellow he is, 
 and then let me come down and negotiate between you. I am 
 certain he would make a very much better settlement in this way 
 than the lawyers proposed. And after all, you wished him to have 
 a fair share of the property. The fact is, that although an ad¬ 
 vanced Liberal, I cannot reconcile myself to think of you and 
 Fanny always behind a counter, and open to the addresses of any 
 accomplished Turner of your society. It may do for a picturesque 
 episode, but will never answer in the long run. Think over my 
 proposition, and don’t reject it with scorn right off. Thank Fan 
 for her description of the supper, and say she might write a little 
 more legibly, &c., &c.” 
 
 “ Make terms with Hugh Galbraith—never ! unless I dictate 
 them,” was Kate’s mental comment on this epistle. “ For even 
 if the discovery of another will released me from any compromise 
 I might have made, I should feel bound in honour not to look for 
 one. It is deplorable that this wrong-headed man should have so 
 mortally offended poor Mr, Travers ! All would have gone right 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 207 
 
 then. Why should he despise nae so fiercely, at least the ‘ me ’ he 
 thinks I am V” a half-pleased smile parted her lips as she thought. 
 “ But to submit to the will that placed me at his feet—at his mercy 
 —never! As to the rest, I think he likes me : I have set the 
 wheel in motion, but can I stop it ?” 
 
 Kate pondered long and vaguely. Though she had been a wife, 
 she knew nothing of love or lovers, save from books, which she 
 was inclined to believe greatly exaggerated the subject. Matri¬ 
 mony had been a most prosaic and disenchanting condition to her, 
 and though too natural and sympathetic a woman to be indifferent 
 to admiration, her own heart was almost an unsolved mystery to 
 her, and she scarcely believed in love. Freedom, knowledge, 
 movement, colour ; pleasant friends, and the power of serving 
 them ; a bright home, and the power of embellishing it—these 
 were her outlines of happiness. For the present it was infinitely 
 amusing to play with Galbraith’s evident curiosity and dawning 
 admiration, which by relaxing his mental fibres, would do a man 
 of that description infinitely more good than harm ; and, come 
 what might, she felt no fear of consequences to herself, as she was 
 quite resolved to act the prudent, quiet landlady to the last. 
 
 Absorbed in her own thoughts, she had not noticed the flight of 
 time, and was startled by the entrance of Fanny. 
 
 “ It is quite seven, isn’t it ?” said that young lady, looking at a 
 wmtch which lay on a stand. “ The boy may put up the shutters ? 
 I am quite tired of staying there by myself, in the dusk, and it 
 would be sinful to light up for nothing.” 
 
 “ Oh yes, dear,” returned Kate, folding up her letter ; “ it is 
 quite time to close.” So sajdng, she stirred the fire and lit the 
 lamp, for one of the chamis of the “ shop parlour” was, that it had. 
 no gas. It was, as has been said before, a low, wainscoted room, 
 with a wide, tiled fireplace and carved oak mantelshelf, over which 
 was a tall, narrow glass, with old-fashioned girandoles at each side. 
 A few bits of good old china enlivened it, and a couple of gay 
 prints under the girandoles finished it off pleasantly. 
 
 The objectionable horsehair chairs and sofas had been covered 
 with bright chintz. A sort of sideboard of stained v.mod ran along 
 
208 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 the side of the room opposite the fire, with a cupboard at each 
 end, and open shelves in the centre filled with books. This was 
 adorned by a saucer or two full of moss and primroses prettily 
 arranged, and a tiny pierced flower-vase of raised Dresden ware 
 was stuck full of violets, scenting the room with their delicate 
 fragrance. 
 
 The lamp stood on a solid, old-fashioned, octagon table, which 
 had been rescued from a remote corner of the house, and its cover 
 of rich red cloth gave just the amount of colour to complete the 
 picture of a pleasant, unpretending interior, which nevertheless 
 had the indefinable expression in its general effect which bespoke 
 the presence of gentlewomen. 
 
 When Mrs. Mills brought in the tea-kettle and equipage, she 
 observed to her mistress, “ I made a couple of rounds of buttered 
 toast, ma’am, for you didn’t eat much dinner ; and he”—a motion 
 of the hand upward—“ wants his letters wrote as usual; and he 
 desired me to say that, if you like, he will come down here to save 
 you the trouble of going up to him.” 
 
 “ I really think it would be better,” said Mrs. Temple, looking 
 at Fanny. 
 
 “ Perhaps so ; but if you once let him in you will never get rid 
 of him—that’s my opinion,” returned Fanny sagely. 
 
 “ My compliments. Mills; say we are just going to tea, and 
 afterwards we shall be happy to write for him, if he chooses to 
 come down, unless he would like a cup of tea.” 
 
 “ Oh, Kate !” cried Fanny ; “ what -would Tom sa,y ?” 
 
 “ That I am heaping coals of fire on my enemy’s head ! It is so 
 churlish to tell him to wait till we have done eating.” 
 
 “ Am I to say that ?” asked Mills, with unmistakable disappro¬ 
 bation. 
 
 “ No, no !” cried Kate, laughing. “ It would be cruel to let him 
 devour your toast. Mills. Say I will receive him after tea.” 
 
 That meal had hardly been despatched, and the things cleared 
 away, -when a knock at the door announced their visitor. 
 
 He paused a moment, as if struck by the simple, graceful com¬ 
 fort of the room. Mrs. Temple rose and advanced a step to re- 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 209 
 
 ceive him. “ I am glad you are so much better,” she said, “ as to 
 venture downstairs.” 
 
 Fanny murmured, “Good-evening,” and dropped a slight curtsey. 
 
 “ Thank you for permitting me to come ! I must trouble you 
 with a very short letter this evening,” returned Sir Hugh. 
 
 “ Sit near the fire,” said Kate, feeling it was a totally difEerent 
 matter, receiving him in her parlour, from visiting him in his. 
 
 “ What a pleasant, cheerful room this is,” he observed, taking 
 the chair indicated ; “ quite different from mine.” 
 
 Fanny observed that he had discarded his dressing-gown, and, 
 although only in a velveteen shooting-coat, was got up with some 
 care. He was certainly tall and gaunt, and plain, but had, she 
 thought, a soldierly, distinguished air. 
 
 INIeantime she settled herself to her needlework in demure 
 silence, and Mrs. Temple, producing pen, ink, and paper, replied 
 to Sir Hugh’s remark, “ You must not disparage my drawing-room, 
 it is the pride of my house.” 
 
 “ Oh, it is very nice indeed! but it is somehow rather desolate.” 
 
 Shall I begin ?” said Kate. 
 
 “ Yes, if you please :— 
 
 “ Dear Sirs,—I feel somewhat surprised not to have heard again 
 from you on the subject of yours of 2nd inst.” 
 
 Kate, having written this, looked up. 
 
 “ That’s all,” said Sir Hugh. “ Y/ill you direct it to Messrs. 
 Payne and Layton, Gray’s Inn ?” 
 
 Mrs. Temple obeyed in .silence, with an odd sense of danger. 
 What if by chance it fell into Mr. Wall’s hands ? He knew her 
 v/riting so well, what would he think ? She could only hope it 
 would not. 
 
 Fanny, in the meantime watching Galbraith sign his name, 
 could not hold her tongue any longer. “ How hard it must be to 
 write with one’s left hand,” said she timidly. 
 
 “ The result is not very satisfactory,” replied Sir Hugh. “ At 
 any rate, it could not be easily imitated.” 
 
 A long pause ensued. Galbraith was evidently in no hurry to 
 go away, and Mrs. Temple would not start any topic of conversa- 
 
 14 
 
210 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 tion. At last Sir Hugh observed that he hoped, from what Slade 
 had told him, to be able to write his own letters in another month. 
 
 “ How nice that will be !” exclaimed Fanny. 
 
 “ Because you will then be freed from the chance of having to 
 write for me ?” asked Galbraith with a good-humoured smile. 
 
 “ Oh no! I did not mean that!” she cried, blushing very 
 prettily. 
 
 “ Fanny was dreadfully distressed at having been so indifferent 
 a secretary the other day,” said Mrs. Temple. 
 
 “ It was as much my fault as hers,” replied Sir Hugh, turning 
 his eyes full upon Kate as she spoke. “You teach me how to dic¬ 
 tate as we go on. You seem to understand your work thoroughly.” 
 
 “ I used to write a good deal for poor Mr.—I mean my hus¬ 
 band,” returned Kate, pulling herself up just in time, 
 
 “ Ah ! I suppose he was also in business ?” 
 
 “ He was. All my people were.” 
 
 “ Except me,” said Fanny quickly ; “ that is the reason I am so 
 little good now.” 
 
 Galbraith then made some remark on the probable age of the 
 house, which led to a discussion on the origin and rise of Piers- 
 toffe ; and Mrs. Temple promised to look out a quaint history of 
 
 -shire she had bought at a book-stall, where some interesting 
 
 particulars were to be found respecting their present locality. 
 Then Fanny, with some dexterity, turned the conversation to 
 India, and induced Sir Hugh to give some description of the 
 country and its sports. The moments flew quickly, till Mrs. 
 Temple, glancing at her watch, said, smiling, “ In the absence of 
 Dr. Slade, I must remind you that invalids must keep early 
 hours.” 
 
 “ I fear I have intruded too long,” returned Sir Hugh, rising. 
 “ I am greatly obliged to you for the relief of a little society.” 
 
 “ Well, Kate,” said Fanny, when he was quite gone, “ if it was 
 not my duty to hate Sir Hugh Galbraith, I should say he was 
 rather awful, but very nice.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 211 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A BEiGilT sun and keen mnd were playing havoc with the old and 
 infirm, the weak-lunged and the rheumatic, in famous London 
 town about a month after Sir Hugh Galbraith’s accident, and Tom 
 Reed was walking thoughtfully down the Strand, after witnessing 
 the last rehearsal of his smart little piece previous to its produc¬ 
 tion. His thoughts were agreeable. After a long, brave struggle 
 with fortune, she was beginning to yield coyly to his embrace. He 
 was tolerably sure of the editorship of the Thresher.^ should 
 
 P-not be able to resume that office, and altogether he felt it 
 
 due to himself, to Fanny, to Mrs. Travers, that he should run 
 down to Pierstoffe on Saturday and have a talk with them. “ I 
 have not heard from either for two or three days,” thought Tom ; 
 “ I suppose Galbraith is gone by this time : what a curious eddy 
 of circumstances that he should be carried into Mrs. Travers’s 
 house ! I wish she would hear reason about that will. It was an 
 infamous affair, but she will never upset it.—Oh, Mr. Ford !” 
 
 This exclamation was elicited by a gentleman who stopped sud¬ 
 denly before him, so as to arrest his progress. 
 
 “ Mr. Reed,” he returned, “ I was determined not to let you 
 pass me as you did before.” 
 
 “ Did I ?” cried Tom, shaking hands with him ; “ where ?” 
 
 “ At the Exhibition of Water-colours ; but you had some ladies 
 with you, so I did not speak.” 
 
 “ Well, I am very much obliged to you for stopping me now ; I 
 was lost in thought. How have you been this age ? Why, it is 
 just a year since I saw you.” 
 
 “ Yes! just a year,” echoed Ford. “ Oh ! I am quite well— 
 never was better.” But he did not look so. He was thinner and 
 more haggard than of old, and had a more restless, shifty expres¬ 
 sion than ever in his eyes. “ Have you been always in town ?” he 
 continued. “I thought you must have been aw'ay, from never 
 meeting you.” 
 
 14—2 
 
212 ,. 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 Tom’s caution was aroused by tbe sort of suppressed eagerness 
 underlying his efforts at easy cordiality. 
 
 “ Yes, I may say I have, except for a night or two, and one short 
 run to the Continent; but I have been desperately busy, and our 
 lines are not likely to cross.” 
 
 “ Exactly so,” said Ford. “ I will turn with you as far as 
 Hungerford Market. Pray, have you any news of our friends 
 Mrs. Travers and Miss Lee ?” 
 
 “ Yes ; I had a letter from Mrs. Travers a short time ago ; they 
 were quite well—flourishing, in short.” 
 
 “ At Wiesbaden ?” 
 
 “ I am not at liberty to say where,” saia Tom Peed, smiling 
 pleasantly. 
 
 “ I should have imagined,” returned Ford, with the old, nervous 
 catch in his voice, “ that, considering the long-standing acquaint¬ 
 ance I had with Mrs. Travers, and the devotion I ever showed to 
 her interest, an exception might be made in my favour.” 
 
 “ I dare say she would herself ; but you must see I couldn’t.” 
 
 “ Well, Mr. Reed, will you satisfy me on one point ?—is she 
 living in tolerable comfort ? Is her plan of a school succeeding ?” 
 
 “ I assure you, Mr. Ford, she is very comfortable at present, and 
 her plan is fairly successful.” 
 
 “ Fairly successful,” repeated Ford thoughtfully. “ Well, I too 
 have been fairly successful, and have some idea of taking a holiday 
 this summer in order to enjoy a trip on the Continent. Should 
 my presence annoy Mrs. Travers, I would avoid any town she re¬ 
 sided in—if you would tell me where she is !” 
 
 “Nonsense !” cried Tom ; “ I dare say she woula be very pleased 
 to see any ‘ auld acquaintance.’ ” 
 
 “ But you forget, Mr. Reed,” v/ith a wavering, mechanical smile, 
 “ I was unfortunately the means of discovering that unlucky, that 
 disgraceful will; I even placed it in her hands ; and, innocent as 
 I am, I fear she will never forgive me.” 
 
 “ I think you do Mrs. Travers injustice,” said Tom ; “ she is not 
 that sort of person.” 
 
 “ But ladies” (Ford would not have said “ women ” for the world). 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 213 
 
 “ ladies are not always very just in their conclusions ; though, of 
 course, you must see that I was quite an involuntary agent.” 
 
 “ Of course, of course,” said Tom, yet a strange doubt seemed to 
 come to him, even while Ford was protesting his innocence. “What 
 are you doing now ?” he continued, to change the subject. 
 
 “ Oh, I am working up a tolerable business as a ship-broker and 
 insurer—underwriting on a small scale ; but I should be very 
 happy to see you, Mr. Reed, any evening you are inclined to look in 
 at my place. I have changed my quarters ; stay, here is my card.” 
 
 “ Thank you. I fancy you had better look in on me. No. G,- 
 
 Court, Temple ; I am more in your way coming out of the City— 
 and tell me, what is ‘ Travers & Co.’ doing ?” 
 
 “ Winding up as fast as they can. Sir Hugh Galbraith had a 
 bad fall out hunting, I saw by the papers.” 
 
 “ Yes, I heard so. By the way, do you ever see anything of 
 Poole, the fellow who was one of the witnesses to that unfortu¬ 
 nate will ?” 
 
 “ No ; do you know anything of him ?” 
 
 “ Not much ; but I am afraid he is not in very good hands, and 
 has a dangerous taste for the turf.” 
 
 “ A great mistake on his part.” 
 
 “ Well, I must leave you, for I have to meet a man at the House 
 of Commons at two. By-the-by, I have a play coming out at the 
 ‘ Lesbian ’ to-morrow night. I’ll send you orders if you like.” 
 “ Must keep him in sight,” thought Tom to himself, “ though 
 there’s not much to be got out of him.” 
 
 “ Thank you,” returned Ford, “ I should very much like to go. 
 By the way, as I presume you have Mrs. Travers’s address ”—Tom 
 nodded—“ perhaps you would have no objection to forward a 
 letter for me to her ?” 
 
 “ None whatever,” exclaimed Tom ; “ send it under cover to me ; 
 she shall have it, and will reply, I have no doubt, in due course.’ 
 
 “ So I suppose,” said Ford stiffly ; “ why should she not ?” 
 
 “ Why, indeed ?” replied Tom, politely and indefinitely. “ Good¬ 
 morning.” 
 
 So they parted. Reed hurrying on to his appointment, and 
 
214 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 thinking what a worthy, respectable, tiresome prig Ford was, in 
 spite of a spasm of suspicion that once shot across him as they 
 were speaking, but which had vanished as the conversation con¬ 
 tinued. “ He is evidently full of thought and sympathy for his 
 late employer’s widow. I wonder why she is so inveterate against 
 him ; it is not like her to be so unreasonable. To be sure, I have 
 never heard her reasons.” 
 
 Ford plodded moodily on to take a boat at Hungerford Stairs. 
 He was evidently in deep thought; he jostled in an unconscious 
 way against several passers-by, and stood so lost in his own reflec¬ 
 tions upon the platform that he missed one boat, and would have 
 missed a second, had not an amphibious creature, with a rope in his 
 hand, called out in stentorian tones, “ How, then, where are you 
 for ?” His face looked older, greyer, and more pained in expres¬ 
 sion when he stepped ashore at London Bridge than when he parted 
 with Tom Reed half an hour before. Perhaps all the grief and 
 disappointment, the smouldering indignation, the bitter sense of 
 being undervalued, and, worse than all, the unconfessed conscious¬ 
 ness that he could not rely upon himself ; all these vultures which 
 gnawed and tortured him, more or less at times, had not in them 
 such elements of tragedy as in two words which seemed to trace 
 themselves on the atmosphere before him, and on the thought 
 within him ; they were —“ in vain.” 
 
 If Mr. Ford had been a tall, dignified patrician with a schedule 
 of debts and a doubtful past, or an eager, fiery democrat, burning 
 to right the wrongs of every one under the sun, but leaving his 
 children to fight their own battles the best way they could, the 
 task of dissecting such characters—demonstrating their defects, de¬ 
 manding admiration for their nobler aspects, asidng sympathy for 
 their trials, compassion for their w^eakness, and justice tempered 
 by mercy for the total—would be deemed no unworthy task for a 
 novelist’s or biographer’s pen. But when the subject “ of the 
 sketch ” is a middle-aged man, of middle height and sloping 
 shoulders—of good business capacities, of undoubted integrity, of 
 unimpeached morality, guiltless of any excess, his principal recrea¬ 
 tion a mild taste for art and a keen ambition to be attired as be- 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 215 
 
 comes a swell—which of our young lady readers would care to be 
 informed how vanity and weakness combined to ruin and corrode 
 much that was good, and how in a man, whose life of quiet, un¬ 
 varied work knew little that was bright, an intense, unresisted 
 passion, too strong for the character it dominated, mastered his 
 reason and drove him into the wilderness where right and wrong 
 were confounded in outer darkness ? 
 
 Tom Eeed had finished his letter to Mrs. Temple, describing his 
 interview with Ford, the day following. He had written it at in¬ 
 tervals, as the interruptions of the M. T. office would ^Dermit, and 
 perhaps less clearly than usual, as he was somewhat excited by the 
 event which was to come off that evening at the “ Lesbian.” “ You 
 may depend on my posting you a line with the result, good or bad, 
 before I sleep to-night.” He had just added this as a P.S., when 
 a boy—an inky boy—in shirt-sleeves, entered with a crumpled 
 card on which was inscribed “ Mr. J. D. Trapes.” 
 
 “What a - nuisance!” growled Tom; “I can’t see nim. 
 
 You did not say I was in, did you ?” 
 
 “ No, sir, I said I’d see.” 
 
 “ And so did I,” cried a thick voice behind him ; a loua laugh 
 ensued, and Mr. J. D. Trapes presented himself. 
 
 “ Excuse me ! I really do want a few words with you, most par¬ 
 ticularly, or I shouldn’t intrude. Keed, it’s a shame for you to 
 deny yourself to an old friend.” 
 
 “ Must do so in the office, you see ; or we would get no work 
 done,” returned Tom, putting the best face he could on it, as he 
 shook his visitor’s hand. “ And as time is precious, what can I do 
 for you ?” 
 
 “ Oh, a great many things ! Fork out a fiver ; put your name 
 to a little bill at thirty-one days ; give me three to five against 
 ‘ Leonidas ’ just to square my book. Lots of things, which I know 
 you won’t do ! However, the thing I really want won’t cost much 
 Who is the man you were speaking to in the Strand yesterday, 
 just by the turn to Hungerford Market ?” 
 
 “ Why ? What do you want to know about him ?” asked Tom, 
 with a sudden dim sense of a necessity for caution. 
 
216 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE 
 
 “ I only want his name and address. I have a strong idea he is 
 a fellow I have lost sight of for some time, that owes me a pot of 
 money.” 
 
 “ Oh ! then I am sure it cannot be my friend,” said Tom, laugh¬ 
 ing. “ Ford never owed any one sixpence, I am quite sure.” 
 
 “ Ford, did you say ?” repeated the other sharply. “ No, that 
 was not the name. Who is he ?” 
 
 “ He is a ship-broker, I believe ; he was the head clerk in a large 
 City house.” 
 
 “ So was my man,” returned Trapes carelessly. “ What was the 
 firm ?” 
 
 “ Travers & Co.” 
 
 “ Ay ! I remember ; you used to go down to Hampton Court to 
 see old Travers’s widow. Saw her with you once in Bushey Park I 
 Sly dog ! Something wrong with the will, eh ?” 
 
 “ How the deuce do you know ?” 
 
 “ Aha ! I know lots of things that would surprise you, though I 
 am a failure and you have shot ahead. Peed ! we’ve changed 
 places since we were first acquainted.” 
 
 “ I am sorry to hear you talk like that. Trapes,” said Tom kindly. 
 “ If you feel yourself going down, why don’t you stop and turn 
 round ?” 
 
 “ It’s easy to talk,” returned the other, with various expletives, 
 which must not be reproduced here. “ Did you ever know a man 
 stop and turn round, once he was fairly set agoing down hill ? If 
 you catch him before he is over the brow, well and good, you may 
 put on the drag ; but not after—not after !” he repeated gloomily. 
 Then, brightening up, if such an expression could be applied to a 
 face like his, and before Tom could speak, he went on : “ The fact 
 is, I never could plod. I never was like you. I wanted to go the 
 pace from the beginning, and I went it! too much quicksilver in 
 my veins. Eh, my boy ? Never mind, I begin to see my way to a 
 
 good thing, and if I succeed I’ll reform !-if I don’t ! Look 
 
 here now. What does respectability and morality and all the 
 rest of it mean ? A good coat on your back, a good balance at 
 your banker’s. But look at the difference : you are a jolly good 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 217 
 
 fellow if you can pay for your vices, or virtues—upon my soul I 
 believe they are convertible terms—but an infernal blackguard and 
 a blockhead to boot, if you can’t. Look here, Eeed ; I dare say 
 
 you think you are a-cleverer fellow than I am ; but I can tell 
 
 you, you are not; you are steady and industrious, which, being in¬ 
 terpreted, generally means a sneak and a grubber; nothing per¬ 
 sonal intended, you know ! and look where you are.” 
 
 “ Well,” said Tom good-humouredly, seeing his old acquaintance 
 had had something stronger than tea for his breakfast, “ I am 
 glad your free translation was not personally intended ; and I am 
 very glad you have something good in prospect ; in the mean¬ 
 time-” 
 
 “ In the meantime,” interrupted Trapes coarsely, “ you’ll lend 
 me five pounds till times mend.” 
 
 “ No, I shall not,” said Tom, still good-humoured, but decided. 
 “ I will gladly try to put you in the way of earning something ; 
 you used to turn out good work ; for I am quite ready to admit 
 you are a cleverer fellow than myself. Whjq you ought to do 
 something even in copying. You wrote, and probably still write, 
 a capital hand!” 
 
 “ Not quite so steady as it used to be,” replied the other with a 
 leer. “ But you are right; it’s a capital hand, and it shall make 
 me a capitalist yet. By the way,” with a sudden change of tone, 
 “ if five is too much, could you manage a sov. ?” 
 
 “ Perhaps I can,” returned Tom, smiling, and thinking he would, 
 by a moderate outlay, purchase immunity from the inroads of Mr. 
 J. D. Trapes. “ But I can assui’e you, my success has by no means 
 reached that height at which five-pound notes become plentiful. 
 However, if a sovereign is of any use,” drawing out his purse, 
 “ you are welcome to one.” 
 
 “ Thank you,” said Trapes, pocketing it. “ Will pay back with 
 interest—twenty per cent, ’pon honour, if I succeed in my grand 
 coup.” He threw on his hat, which, as well as the rest of his 
 attire, was of the seediest, but still some degrees better than the 
 garments he wore when Tom and Fanny met him at the Waterloo 
 Station ; and with a defiant air was turning to leave Tom’s dingy 
 
218 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 little den, when he suddenly stopped, and exclaimed with an oath, 
 “ I nearly forgot; where does this Ford hang out ? What’s his 
 place of business ?” 
 
 “ That I do not know,” said Tom. “ And you know City men 
 don’t consider it the correct thing to give their private address to 
 any except personal friends.” 
 
 “ Oh, never mind,” returned Trapes, with a wave of the hand, 
 intended to express contempt; “ I know a man who was in the 
 same office with him ; he will tell me.” 
 
 “ But, if Ford is not the man who owes you money, what do you 
 want with him ?” 
 
 “ If it’s not him, he is uncommon like him ! perhaps he is his 
 twin brother, and can give me information,” said Trapes, with a 
 grin. “ At all events. Master Tom, you may be clever enough to 
 succeed, but you are not clever enough to suck my brains, or find 
 out my little game, I can tell you ; though I dare say you are 
 calling me a drunken vagabond in your own mind. I’d like to 
 hear you say it, sir ! I’d like to hear you say it!” 
 
 With a gloomy and threatening countenance, the wretched man 
 abruptly turned his back upon Tom, and departed, and with a 
 mixture of disgust and regret, Tom resumed the work he had in¬ 
 terrupted. 
 
 “ I wonder if anything could have saved that fellow ? the best 
 and the worst of us have turning-points ; and it’s an awful busi¬ 
 ness if the pointsman is not at hand to keep the train on the right 
 line ! But what does he want with Ford ? for it is evident Ford 
 is the man he wants. Ford was never on the turf, even in the 
 mildest form. I doubt if he ever went to [the Derby.” As no 
 solution ofEered itself, Tom shook his head, and proceeded in his 
 task of demolishing the arguments in a rival “ leader ” of that 
 morning ; but at intervals the unanswerable question would recur; 
 “What can the felloAV want with Ford ?” 
 
 The night brought triumph ! Tom’s piece was received with 
 genuine hearty laughter and applause. The smiling manager pro¬ 
 mised its repetition every night till further announcements ; and 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 219 
 
 tlie autlior bowed his acknowledgments from a private box. But 
 faithful to his word, though wearied by work, excitement, and the 
 laughter of a jo\dal supper-party, Tom did not sleep that night till 
 he had written and posted a few joyous, loving lines to Fanny, en¬ 
 closing a letter, which he found on his table, from Ford ; and add¬ 
 ing a word of warning for Kate. “ I would not reply too quickly 
 were I you, nor mention the date on which I received the enclosed 
 missive ; dates might suggest the probable distance of your present 
 locale from the twelve mile radius. Though why you choose to 
 preserve such strict incognito, I don’t pretend to judge.” 
 
 Mr. Ford’s letter gave Mrs. Temple some food for thought; it 
 was as follows :— 
 
 “My dear Mrs. Travers, 
 
 “ I trust you will not deem me intrusive if I avail myself 
 of your friend Mr. Reed’s permission to address a few lines to one 
 whose interest and welfare have ever, since the days of our early 
 friendship, been most dear to me. I feel that, hurried on by an 
 impetuosity which blinded me to the requirements of good taste 
 and sound judgment, I Vi^ofully offended you at our last meeting ; 
 also that the fact of my having been the innocent instrument of 
 discovering the document which has so fatally injured your for¬ 
 tunes, has affected your opinion prejudicially against me. I have 
 long wished for an opportunity to remonstrate against your 
 severity, and if possible, win back the confidence you once reposed 
 in me. I acknowledge with much penitence, that the expression 
 of my feehngs was premature ; that I did not show the delicacy 
 due to your recent widowhood; but now that time and distance 
 have intervened, is there no hope that a devotion so true, so lasting 
 as mine, dating from those days of simple happiness, when I was a 
 favoured guest of 3’our dear and respected mother, may not at last 
 win some return—may not ultimately meet success ? I would not 
 venture to urge my suit upon you were it not that fortune has 
 smiled upon me (however undeserving), more than she has upon 
 your excellent self, and I venture to offer you the comforts of an 
 unpretending, though not, I hope, unrefined home. As regards 
 
220 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 that most disgraceful will, need I remind you that I hastened to 
 place it in your hands—and myself at your disposal ? Your pre¬ 
 sent position is not of my making ; and that position is an unceas¬ 
 ing source of agony ; I repeat the word, agony, to me ! Young, 
 beautiful, accustomed to a life of luxury and observance, how can 
 you contend against the difficulties which surround you, and which 
 are, or will be, aggravated by the cruel malice of an envious world ! 
 While on this topic, suffer me to point out that the fact of your 
 residence being known only to a young and not over-steady man 
 like Mr. Reed, whose estimate of himself is rather above than 
 below par, is, to say the least, liable to misconstruction. 
 
 “ I think it right to mention that in one of my interviews with 
 Sir Hugh Galbraith, he questioned me as to your surroundings and 
 associations with a brutal directness, which almost urged me, con¬ 
 trary to my habits, to personal violence. He then, with a sneer, 
 observed that he was told your only confidant was a good-looking 
 young vagabond connected with the press. I feel, therefore, justi¬ 
 fied in recommending that you should reveal your abode either to 
 myself, as an old and trusted acquaintance of your late husband,, 
 or to Mr. Wall, a very respectable and trustworthy person. 
 
 “ Would I dare hope for permission to visit you and urge my 
 cause ! When I remember the happy evenings in which I was per¬ 
 mitted to share your graceful task of tending your favourite flowers, 
 I feel the bitterest regret at the unaccountable estrangement which 
 has occurred. Then I flattered myself that a strong sympathy 
 existed between us, and that you were not unconscious nor quite 
 averse to my unspoken admiration! How my hopes and your 
 happiness were blighted by untoward circumstances, it is not for 
 me to recapitulate. It is, though no doubt for different reasons, 
 engraven on both our hearts ! 
 
 “ Again, entreating your pardon and favourable consideration, 
 
 “ I am, dear Mrs. Travers, as ever, 
 
 “ Devotedly yours, 
 
 “ James W. Foud. 
 
 “ P.S.—Pray excuse all errors in this hurried scrawl.” 
 
 It had cost him a night’s rest to polish and elaborate ! 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 221 
 
 The effect of this epistle on the young widow can only be de¬ 
 scribed by a line in Fanny’s reply to Tom Reed : 
 
 “ Whatever was in Mr. Ford’s letter, it has sent Kate dancing 
 mad!” 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 It would not be easy to disentangle and define the mixed feelings 
 which brought the bright colour to Kate Travers’s cheek, and made 
 her heart beat indignantly as she perused the foregoing effusion. 
 She scarcely herself knew why Mr. Ford’s pretensions were so 
 peculiarly offensive, nor did she take the trouble of inquiring, but 
 had that devoted friend been within reach he would have received 
 a crushing rejoinder. The passage about Sir Hugh Galbraith an¬ 
 noyed and yet amused her. She had now grown tolerably familiar 
 with his modes of thought and expression, and she could well pic¬ 
 ture the quiet profound scorn with which he had spoken of herself 
 “ and the good-looking young vagabond connected with the press.” 
 
 If there was one point upon which Kate Travers was more 
 specially sensitive than another, it was on the respect she thought 
 she deserved. Naturally of a sunny disposition and easy temper, 
 loving pleasure, and luxury, and beauty with a certain amount of 
 graceful indolence, which in prosperous times entirely masked the 
 strong will and untiring energy stored up against the day of need, 
 she never dreamed any one would suspect her of the fleshly weak¬ 
 nesses to which others were liable ; she knew the childlike purity 
 of her own life, and suspected that the long winter of such chilling 
 circumstances as hers had been, might have had a hardening in¬ 
 fluence on her nature ; but she shrank from a disrespectful word as 
 from a blow, and had her knowledge of men been equal to her 
 knowledge of books, she would no doubt have resisted the temp¬ 
 tation to play with the grave surprised admiration evinced by Gal¬ 
 braith, lest it might lead to unpleasant results. 
 
 Now she could not draw back without a display of stiffness and 
 a change of tone which might lead to awlnvard explanations and 
 
222 
 
 TIER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 as her enemy progressed towards complete recovery, she told her¬ 
 self that it did not matter, he would soon be gone, and not re¬ 
 member much about the adventure until she re-opened the will 
 case and defeated him. Then, indeed, their present acquaintance 
 might lead to his accepting some portion of the property he had so 
 long considered his inheritance, for after the friendly intercourse 
 they had held, she never could contemplate robbing him of every¬ 
 thing. 
 
 These thoughts flitted through her brain in and out of her daily 
 routine of answering inquiries and matching colours, finding pat¬ 
 terns and making out bills. It had been a busy and a profitable 
 day, but although the lengthening evenings tempted many to keep 
 their shops open later, the shutters of the Berlin Bazaar were 
 always up at seven. The sweet repose of the after-hours was too 
 precious to be curtailed even for the chance of a trifle more profit. 
 On this particular evening—the one following her first perusal of 
 Ford’s letter—Mrs. Temple was considerably bored by a summons 
 from Dr. Slade to speak to him in the best sitting-room, as tea was 
 being laid in the shop parlour. 
 
 Well, Mrs. Temple, I suspect you will soon lose your tenant, 
 and I dare say you will not regret him,” cried the Doctor, who 
 looked rather displeased as he stood by the window in the waning 
 light, his head erect, his very shirt-frill bristling with indignation. 
 “ A more quietly insolent personage I have never met. He has 
 just told me I was a gossip !—me !—merely because I made a harm¬ 
 less jest. He is evidently an ill-tempered, crotchety fellow, and 
 must be a great nuisance to his sisters—the Hon. Mrs. Ilarcourt and 
 Lady Lorrimer—to whom I have written on his behalf. Nothing 
 can be more charming than the letters I have from them, fully 
 recognising my care and attention, especially Mrs. Harcourt, who 
 wanted to come and nurse him, only he forbade it in terms I should 
 be sorry she heard. I have given him a great deal of time over 
 and above professional attendance, and written, as I said, to his 
 sisters and a cousin of his for him, and now he repays my well- 
 meant attempts to amuse him by telling me I am a gossip !” 
 
 “ Very rude indeed. Doctor,” said Mrs. Temple sympathisingly. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 223 
 
 “ However,” he resumed, “ I only wanted to tell yon that he has 
 been asking me when he will be fit to go to London, and I really 
 cannot advise his leaving for another week. He has still symptoms 
 about the head which indicate that he requires perfect rest—free¬ 
 dom from excitement—and London would just be the worst place 
 for him. No medical man likes to see a case he has treated suc¬ 
 cessfully going out of his hands, but I suspect if he chooses to go, 
 nothing will stop him.” 
 
 “ I suppose not,” said Mrs. Temple. 
 
 “ I thought it right to warn you, as you might like to make some 
 other arrangement; and I hope the letting of your rooms has been 
 a help, a-” 
 
 “ A decided help, and I am very much obliged to you,” returned 
 Mrs. Temple pleasantly. 
 
 “ That’s all right. Now you must not keep me talking here 
 when I have twenty places to go to. Do you know, I met that 
 young schemer Bryant walking with one of Miss Monitor’s girls 
 three miles off, on the Barmouth Road, near Jones’s, the curate of 
 Drystones. You know Jones ? Well, near his house. I believe 
 Jones’s wife is Bryant’s sister. It did not look well at all. I 
 wouldn’t trust Bryant farther than I could throw him. Good¬ 
 evening, Mrs. Temple ; good-evening.” 
 
 Kate politely attended him to the door, and as she turned to join 
 Fanny, was seized upon by Mrs. Mills, who carried her into the 
 kitchen to speak to Sarah’s mother. She was in great tribulation, 
 being afflicted with a wild son, who turned up every now and then 
 to work mischief. On the present occasion he had got hold of the 
 poor woman’s little hoard, had absconded, and left her penniless 
 just as the week’s rent was due. She had, therefore, made so bold 
 as to come and ask if Mrs. Temple would be so kind as to advance 
 a little of Sarah’s money. This, in the mouth of Sarah’s mother, 
 was a very long tale. But Kate listened with the gentlest untiring- 
 sympathy, for hers was a very tender heart, and a full half-hour 
 and more was occupied in giving help and comfort. 
 
 When at last she returned to the parlour she was not surprised 
 to find the lamp lighted and Fanny seated behind the “cosy”- 
 
224 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 covered teapot; but sbe was surprised to find Sir Hugh Galbraith 
 seated opposite to her, apparently quite at home, leaning easily 
 across the table as he talked pleasantly with the pretty tea-maker. 
 Kate could not help being struck by the altered expression of his 
 face since she had first beheld it. 
 
 It was softer, brighter, younger-looking, but while she paused, 
 still holding the handle of the door. Sir Hugh rose quickly and 
 came a step towards her. “ I have ventured to ask admittance, 
 although I have no letters to write, or rather to have written for 
 me, and Miss Lee, as commanding in your absence, has graciously 
 assented,” he said. 
 
 “ Pray sit down,” replied Mrs. Temple, moving to the place 
 Fanny vacated for her. She was startled and disturbed at finding 
 him there : but he was going away next week ; it was really of no 
 moment, this unexpected visit. Still Ford’s letter and her own 
 previous reflections ruffled her composure. She coloured and grew 
 pale, and felt Galbraith’s eyes fixed upon her, though she did not 
 look up to see them. 
 
 “ You are not well, or something,” he exclaimed. “ I had better 
 go away.” 
 
 “ No, Sir Hugh. I am happy to see you,” a little stiffly. “ But 
 the light affects me after the dusky kitchen, where I have been 
 listening to a tale of woe. Fanny dear, will you bring the shade ?” 
 Thus, effectually sheltered from observation, Kate quickly re¬ 
 covered herself and dispensed the tea, stretching out a hand white 
 and delicate enough for a lady of high degree, as Galbraith ob¬ 
 served, when she offered him a cup, which Fanny followed with a 
 delightful slice of brown bread and butter. 
 
 “ A tale of woe !” exclaimed that young lady; “ and in the 
 kitchen ? What took Dr. Slade there ?” 
 
 Mrs. Temple briefly explained. 
 
 “ I could not think what kept you, and Sir Hugh said he was 
 sure the Doctor was gone.” 
 
 “ Old humbug,” observed Galbraith. “ I thought he would 
 never go. I had to tell him some unpleasant truths before he 
 would stir.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 225 
 
 “Did you?” asked Fanny, who, in consequence of Tom’s note, 
 was in towering spirits. 
 
 “ What did he say ?” 
 
 “ I know,” said Mrs. Temple slyly. “ For he has been making 
 his complaint.” 
 
 “Indeed !” exclaimed Galbraith, looking under the shade to get 
 a glimpse of her smile. “ What did he say ?” 
 
 “ That you are an ungrateful man ; that he has devoted him¬ 
 self to your service, and that your return is to tell him he is a 
 gossip.” 
 
 Galbraith smiled rather grimly. “ Did he tell you what led up 
 to it ?” he asked. 
 
 “ No ; he did not give the context.” 
 
 “ He is not a bad sort of fellow,” resumed Sir Hugh, “ only 
 spoiled by a country-town life and associating with women—I 
 mean old women.” 
 
 “ And pray why should women, young or old, spoil him ?” cried 
 Fanny aggressively. “ I am sure we are much better than men in 
 many ways.” 
 
 “ I think you are,” returned Galbraith gravely; “ still I don’t 
 think men or women the better for associating exclusively with 
 each other. Military women, for instance, are not pleasant. Have 
 you ever met any ?” addressing Mrs. Temple. 
 
 “ No,” said she, answering the real drift of the question ; “ I have 
 never, of course, been in that sort of society, and have never 
 reckoned any military ladies among my customers.” 
 
 Galbraith was silent until Mrs. Temple asked him if he would 
 have any more tea. “ If you please. I assure you no old woman 
 likes tea better than I do. I have always found it the best drink 
 when hard worked in India,” he returned with a smile. “ Some 
 fellows have a great craving for beer, and I confess it is very 
 tempting in a warm climate.” 
 
 “ And are you strong enough to resist temptation ?” asked Kate 
 carelessly, as she again held out her fair hand with his cup in her 
 long taper fingers. 
 
 15 
 
226 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ As far as eating and drinking go, yes ; but I suppose all men 
 have their assailable point.” 
 
 “ Pray, what is yours ?” asked Fanny, who, in her present state 
 of spirits, was irrepressible. 
 
 “ I really cannot tell.” 
 
 “ And I am sure, if you could, you are not bound to answer a 
 decidedly impertinent question,” said Mrs. Temple. “ Fanny, you 
 are rather too audacious.” 
 
 “ I knew you would scold me !” exclaimed Fanny ; “ but I could 
 not help it.” 
 
 Galbraith laughed. “ Suppose you set me the example of con¬ 
 fession, Miss Lee. What is your weak point ?” 
 
 “ I could not possibly tell, like you ; but for a different reason : 
 all my points are weak ; the puzzle is, which is the weakest.” 
 
 “ Then I suspect your friend has enough to do to keep you in 
 order ; irregular troops are generally mutinous.” 
 
 “ I am the meekest creature in creation,” cried Fanny. “ The 
 
 moment K-, Mrs. Temple, I mean, even looks as if she was 
 
 going to find fault with me, I am ready to confess my sins and go 
 down.” 
 
 “ Only to rise up again the next instant not one bit the better 
 for your penitence,” said Mrs. Temple, walking over to the bell to 
 ring for Mills. 
 
 “ That is exactly like irregular cavalry. They disperse the 
 moment you charge them, and immediately gather on your flanks 
 and harass your march,” remarked Galbraith. 
 
 “ I cannot say Fanny has harassed my march,” replied Mrs. 
 Temple, smiling kindly at that delinquent as she placed the cups 
 and saucers and plates neatly on the tray to save Mills trouble, 
 “ But I suppose it would be easier to keep a regiment of superior 
 men—I mean educated men—in order, than the waifs and strays 
 you pick up.” 
 
 “ I assure you soldiers are not on the whole bad fellows ; but as 
 to educated men, I can’t say I should like to command a regiment 
 of straw-splitting, psalm-singing troopers who would probably dis¬ 
 pute every order they didn’t fancy.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 227 
 
 “But you, you are an educated gentleman, and don’t you think,” 
 rejoined Mrs. Temple, “ that if you had undertaken certain -work 
 and certain service you would be more obedient, more dutifully 
 subordinate, than a poor, ignorant, half-blind creature who can¬ 
 not see an inch beyond the narrow bounds of his own personal 
 wants and pleasures, while you could grasp an idea of the general 
 good ?” 
 
 “ There is, of course, some truth in your view,” said Galbraith, 
 somewhat surprised; “ but a regiment of gentlemen, in the first 
 place, is out of the question. There have been, I grant, body¬ 
 guards of kings who were all gentlemen, but from what we know 
 of them they were not exactly models of sound discipline or 
 serious behaviour.” 
 
 And in the heat of argument Sir Hugh rose, drew his chair 
 near his antagonist, and clear of the obstacle presented to his vision 
 by the lamp-shade. 
 
 “ There is your work,” interrupted Fanny ; “ you know you pro¬ 
 mised that should be ready to-morrow :” “ that ” was a banner- 
 screen of beads and silk, and each section of the pattern was to be 
 begun, in order to save the fair purchaser from too severe exercise 
 of brain. 
 
 “ Thank you, Fan,” and Mrs. Temple proceeded quickly and 
 diligently to thread needles and sew on beads, glancing every now 
 and then with eyes that sparkled and deepened, and laughed and 
 grew dim vdth a slight suffusion if she was very earnest. Fanny 
 placed a large work-basket before her as she took her seat opposite 
 their guest, who felt wonderfully interested and at home. 
 
 “ Oh ! the people you mean would not be called gentlemen now ; 
 they were only polished barbarians, incapable of self-control; any 
 tolerably educated shopboy would conduct himself better than the 
 ‘ do’s ’ and ‘ von’s ’ of those days,” said Kate. 
 
 “By Jove! men were better bred, more high bred, then. I 
 never heard that doubted before,” cried Galbraith. 
 
 “ High bred ! that is, they took off their hats and bowed more 
 gracefully, and treated their inferiors with insolence none the 
 less brutal because it had a certain steely glitter, and they were 
 
 Id—2 
 
228 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 more ferocious about tbeir honour ! but they were mere danger¬ 
 ous, mischievous, unmanageable children compared to what men 
 ought to be.” 
 
 “You are a formidable opponent, Mrs. Temple. Still I will 
 not renounce my ancestors ; they were gallant fellows if they 
 had a dash of brutality here and there. And you will grant 
 that without a regard for honour they would have been still more 
 brutal.” 
 
 “ I do ; nor do I by any means undervalue the good that was in 
 them, only it seems so stupid either to want to go back to them, or 
 to stand still.” 
 
 “ And what good does progress do ? It only makes the lower 
 classes dissatisfied and restless, and wanting to be as well ofE as 
 their betters. There is nothing they don’t aim at.” 
 
 “ Oh, Sir Hugh Galbraith ! you have concentrated the whole 
 essence of Liberalism in those words. That is exactly what pro¬ 
 gress does ; it makes people strive to be better. I have no doubt 
 the first of our British ancestors (if they were our ancestors) 
 who suggested making garments instead of dyeing the human 
 skin was looked upon by the orthodox Druids as a dangerous in¬ 
 novator.” 
 
 “ That has been said too often to be worthy of such an original 
 thinker as you are,” returned Galbraith, leaning forward and 
 taking up some of the bright-coloured silks which lay between them. 
 
 “ It cannot be said too often,” observed Mrs. Temple stoutly, 
 “ for it contains the whole gist of the matter. I will trouble you 
 for that skein of blue silk. Thank you.” Their hands touched 
 for a moment, and Galbraith felt an unreasonable, but decided, 
 inclination to hold hers just to keep her eyes and attention from 
 being too much taken up with that confounded stitchery. 
 
 “ But,” he resumed, “ you cannot suppose men born to a certain 
 position like to feel those of a lower sphere intruding upon them, 
 and treading on their heels ?” 
 
 “ Step out, then ! Put a pace between you and them, and keep 
 the wonderful start ahead that circumstance has given you,” she 
 returned, with great animation. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 229 
 
 “ You are too ferocious a democrat,” said Galbraith, laughing ; 
 “ and to look at you, who could believe you had ever been, even 
 for a day, behind a counter? There !” he exclaimed, “I am the 
 clumsiest fellow alive. I have made a horribly rude speech.” 
 
 “ I quite absolve you,” said Mrs. Temple frankly, and looking 
 at him with a sweet half smile. “ A counter has not hitherto been 
 the best training school to form a gentlewoman ; but the days are 
 rapidly passing when women could afford to be merely graceful 
 ornaments. We must in the future take a share of the burden 
 and heat of the day. God grant us still something of charm and 
 grace ! It would be hard lines for us both if you could not love 
 us.” 
 
 “ Not love you !” repeated Galbraith almost unconsciously ; he 
 had hitherto been thinking the young widow rather too strong- 
 minded—a description of character he utterly abhorred. “ I 
 imagine your ideal woman will seldom be realised, unless, indeed, 
 in yourself.” 
 
 “ Oh, dear me !” exclaimed Fanny, “ I have run the needle into 
 my finger, and it is so painful.” 
 
 Dife commiseration being expressed, Fanny said she must put it 
 in warm water, and darted away. 
 
 “ Do not imagine I am such a narrow idiot,” said Galbraith, 
 drawing his chair a trifle closer, “ as not to respect a man who 
 fights his way up to fortune from a humble origin, but then, he 
 ought always to remember the origin.” 
 
 “ Yes; you of the ‘ upper ten,’ ” said Mrs. Temple, smiling, 
 while she hunted with her needle an erratic white bead round an 
 inverted box cover, “ are decently inclined to recognise the merits 
 of a man tc7ie7z he has achieved success in the end, but you do your 
 best to knock him on the head at the beginning.” 
 
 “ How do you mean ?” 
 
 “ By creating difficulties of all sorts. Mountains of barriers for 
 him to climb over ; barriers of ignorance—it is unwise to educate 
 the masses ; barriers of caste—none but gentlemen must officer 
 
 army or navy ; barriers of opinion; social barriers-Oh, I talk 
 
 too much ! and I am sure so do you. Dr. Slade told me just now 
 
230 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 you were to be kept as quiet as possible and undisturbed ; and here 
 am I contradicting you most virulently. Do go away and read a 
 sermon or something, or you will never be able to go to London 
 next week.” 
 
 “ Next week ! Does that confounded old humbug say I am to 
 go away next week ? I intend nothing of the kind.” 
 
 “ He said you wished to leave for town ; so I warn you to give 
 me due and proper notice, or I shall charge accordingly.” 
 
 Mrs. Temple glanced up as she spoke, to see the effect of her 
 words ; but no ansAvering smile was on his lip. He looked grave 
 and stern, and was pulling his moustaches as if in deep thought. 
 There was a moment’s silence, and then Galbraith exclaimed, in 
 his harshest tones, with an injured accent, “ You never let one 
 forget the shop.” 
 
 “ It was the lodgings this time,” said Mrs. Temple demurely. 
 “ I did not suppose you would mind.” 
 
 “ Do you want me to go aAvay ?” asked Sir Hugh. “ I can go 
 to-morrow if you do.” 
 
 “ I am very glad you feel so much better. Pray suit yourself. 
 I could not be in a hurry to part with so good a tenant.” 
 
 Galbraith muttered something indistinct and deep. There was 
 a few moments’ silence, and then Sir Hugh said gravely, “ I am 
 quite aware Avhat a nuisance an invalid inmate must be ; and I 
 hope you believe I am grateful for all the care you have bestowed 
 upon me.” 
 
 “ Indeed, I do not. I have not bestowed any care upon you ; 
 Mills has, a little, and your servant a good deal.” 
 
 “ The fact is,” returned Galbraith, with a tinge of bitterness, 
 “ I have never had much care in my life, and I am, therefore, 
 especially grateful Avhen I find any, or fancy I have any.” 
 
 “ Grateful people deserve to be cared for,” said Kate, laying her 
 pattern on the table and gravely regarding it. 
 
 “ And you have been very good to write my letters,” continued 
 Galbraith. “ I never knew the luxury of a private secretary be¬ 
 fore, and as I believe ‘ the appetite grows with what it feeds upon,’ 
 I shall miss your assistance greatly. I never found my corre- 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 231 
 
 spondence so easy as since you were good enough to write for 
 me.” 
 
 “ A private secretary would not be a serious addition to your 
 suite,” returned Mrs. Temple, without looldng up. “ There are 
 many intelligent, well-educated young men would be glad of such 
 an appointment.” 
 
 “ Pooh !” exclaimed Galbraith. “ I never thought of a man 
 secretary.” 
 
 “ Indeed,” said Mrs. Temple. 
 
 “ No ; men are so unsympathetic and slow to comprehend.” 
 
 “ I alwaj^'S thought so,” replied Mrs. Temple frankly; “ but I 
 didn’t think a man would.” 
 
 Sir Hugh’s face cleared up as he looked at her, and laughed. 
 “ We are agreed then,” he said ; “ and I don’t think you put a 
 much higher value on Slade than I do.” 
 
 “ I do not know what j^-our value is ; I like him, because he has 
 always been a friend to me from the first.” 
 
 “ And that is how long ?” asked Galbraith shrewdly. 
 
 “ Oh ! if you want gossip you must apply to himself.” 
 
 “ I shall never put a question to him, you may be sure,” said 
 Galbraith gravely. “ But I confess I should like to know how it 
 happens that you are keeping a shop here ? Nothing will ever 
 persuade me that you are ‘ to the manner born.’ ” 
 
 “ You are mistaken. Sir Hugh Galbraith”—he always fancied 
 there was an echo of defiance in the way she pronounced his name 
 —“ my grandfather and great-grandfather, nay, so far as I know, 
 all my ancestors—if such a phrase may be permitted—were knights 
 of the counter. The best I can hope” (with a smile indescribably 
 SAveet and arch) “ is that they never gave short measure.” 
 
 “ It’s incredible !” said Galbraith solemnly. 
 
 “ Nevertheless true,” she continued. “ Don’t allow your imagina¬ 
 tion to create a romance for my pretty partner and myself, though 
 we are weird women, and keep a Berlin bazaar.” 
 
 As she spoke Fanny entered. “ It is all right now,” she said. 
 
 “ Sir Hugh, if you ever run a needle into your finger, plunge it 
 into hot Avater immediately, and you will find instantaneous relief.” 
 
232 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ I shall make a note of it,” replied Galbraith ; “ and in the 
 meantime mnst say good-night.” 
 
 “ How fortunate you are,” cried Fanny. “ You are going to 
 London next week and will go to the theatre, I suppose ?” 
 
 “ I scarcely ever go to the theatre,” said Galbraith; “ but I 
 imagine most young ladies like it.” 
 
 “ I would give a great deal to see ‘ Reckoning with the Hostess,’ ” 
 cried Fanny, unable to restrain herself. 
 
 “ Suppose we all meet at Charing Cross, and go together,” ex¬ 
 claimed Galbraith, who felt convalescent and lively. 
 
 “ It would be perfectly delightful,” said the volatile Fanny, while 
 Kate, who felt keenly the absurdity of the proposition, hid her face 
 in her hands while she laughed heartily. 
 
 “ I must say good-night,” repeated Sir Hugh, bowing formally. 
 
 “ I trust you will not be the worse for our argument,” said Mrs. 
 Temple, rising courteously. 
 
 “ I am not sure,” he replied. “ I shall tell you to-morrow.” 
 
 “Well, Kate,” cried Fanny when he was gone, “has he pro¬ 
 posed ? I really thought he was on the verge of it when I ran the 
 needle in my finger. It would be such fun.” 
 
 “ Fanny, you are absolutely maddening ! What can put such 
 nonsense into your head ? To tell you the whole truth, and 
 nothing but the truth, I have permitted Sir Hugh Galbraith the 
 honour of our acquaintance, simply because I wish him to feel, 
 however appearances may be against me, that his cousin married a 
 gentlewoman ; for he will yet know who I am.” 
 
 “ That sounds very grand and mysterious, Kate. I wish you 
 coiild contrive to make him give you a proper allowance out of the 
 estate.—Well, there ; I did not mean to make you look like a sibyl 
 and a fury all in one !” 
 
 “ I am both indignant and disgusted, Fanny, because there is 
 so much levity and vulgarity in what you say,” cried Mrs. Temple 
 warmly. “ But we have something else to think of ; read this”— 
 and she drew forth Ford’s letter, doubling it down at the passage 
 adverting to herself as having for sole confidant “ a good-looking 
 y oung vagabond connected with the press.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 233 
 
 “ I suppose,” cried Fanny, “ that stupid, conceited old dufOer 
 means Tom.” 
 
 “ I suppose so ; but pray remember it is Hugh Galbraith who is 
 represented as speaking. Now you say Tom is coming down on 
 Saturday ; it is most important he should not meet our tenant. I 
 imagine Sir Hugh knows his name.” 
 
 “ Oh yes, very likely; but Sir Hugh has never intruded on us 
 on a Saturday, and we must try to keep them apart. How delight¬ 
 ful it will be to see Tom—and this is Thursday !” 
 
 “ Yes ; I shall be very glad to have a talk with him. Have you 
 written to him ?" 
 
 “ To be sure I have.” 
 
 No more was said ; and Mrs. Temple pondered long and deeply 
 before she was successful in composing herself to sleep. What 
 was she doing ? was she acting fairly and honestly ? was she quite 
 safe in trusting to the spirit, half-defiant, half-mischievous, which 
 seemed to have taken possession of her ? Well, at any rate it 
 could do no harm. In a few days Hugh Galbraith would be re¬ 
 moved out of the sphere of her influence, and nothing would re¬ 
 main of their transient acquaintance save the lesson she was so 
 ambitious of teaching him, viz., that whatever her circumstances 
 were, she was a gentlewoman, and that some excuse existed for 
 hlr. Travers’s w^eakness in making her his wife. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Hugh Galbraith was a very English Englishman. In opinion, 
 as in battle, he was inclined, even when beaten by all the rules of 
 combat, to resist to death. His prejudices would have been rigid 
 to absurdity but for a thin, nevertheless distinct, vein of common 
 sense which streaked the trap rock of his nature ; while here and 
 there, carefully hidden, as he thought, from all observers, and 
 scarcely acknowledged to himself, were sundry softer places— 
 faults,” as with unconscious technicality he v/ould have termed 
 
234 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 them—which sometimes troubled him with doubts and hesitations 
 a consistently hard man would never have known. A vague, in¬ 
 stinctive sense of justice—another national characteristic—saved 
 him from being a very selfish man, but did not hinder him from 
 an eager seeking of his own ends, so long as they did not visibly 
 trench on the rights of others ; and at times, when the upper and 
 harder strata of his character was, by some artesian process, pierced 
 through, capable of giving out more of sympathy than his kinsfolk 
 and acquaintance in general would believe. But he possessed very 
 little of the adaptability, the quickness of feeling and perception, 
 which gives the power of putting oneself in another’s place ; and, 
 therefore, possessing no gauge by which to measure the force of 
 other men’s temptations, he had, by a process of unreasoning 
 mental action, accumulated a rather contemptuous estimate of the 
 world in general. Men were generally weak and untrue—not 
 false, habit and opinion prevented that—and women he scarcely 
 considered at all; the few specimens he had known intimately 
 were not calculated to impress him favourably. His sisters, accus¬ 
 tomed to the amenities of foreign life, never disguised their opinion 
 that he was a hopeless barbarian, until, indeed, their last few in¬ 
 terviews, when they showed a disposition to treat his brusquerie as 
 the eccentricity of a noble sincerity. The younger sister, who had 
 always clung to him, and whom he had loved with all the strength 
 of his slow-developing boyish heart, had chilled him with an un¬ 
 speakable disgust by bestowing herself on an artist, a creature 
 considered by Galbraith in those days, and, with some slight modi¬ 
 fication, still considered, as a sort of menial—as belonging to a 
 class of upper servants who fiddled and painted and danced and 
 sang for the amusement of an idle aristocracy. He would have 
 been more inclined to associate with the village blacksmith, who, at 
 any rate, did real man’s work when he forged horseshoes and 
 ploughshares by the strength of his right arm. In short, he was a 
 mediaeval man, rather out of place in the nineteenth century. 
 
 In politics a Tory, yet not an ignoble one. He would have 
 severely punished the oppressor of the poor. Indeed, he thought 
 it the sacred duty of lords to protect their vassals, even from them- 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 235 
 
 selves ; but it must be altogether a paternal proceeding, given free 
 gratis out of the plenitude of his nobility. Of the grander gene¬ 
 rosity to our poorer brethren that says, “ Take your share of God’s 
 world, it is yours ; we owe each other nothing, save mutual help 
 and love,” he knew nothing ; he had never learned even the alpha¬ 
 bet of true liberality ; and his was a slow though strong intellect, 
 very slow to assimilate a new idea, and by no means ready to range 
 those he already possessed in the battle array of argument. 
 
 Nevertheless, he was very little moved by his charming land¬ 
 lady’s opinions; they were a pretty woman’s vagaries, prettily 
 expressed ; still, as he thought over every word and look of hers 
 that night while smoking the pipe of peace and.meditation before 
 he went to rest, he felt more and more desirous of solving the 
 mystery of her surroundings. That she and her friend were 
 gentlewomen he never for a moment doubted, driven by poverty 
 to keep a shop, though it was an unusual resource for decaj’ed 
 gentility. For poor gentry Galbraith had special sympathy, and 
 had a dim idea that it would be well to tax successful money- 
 grubbers who would persist in lowering the tone of society in 
 general and regiments in particular by thrusting themselves and 
 their luxurious snobbish sons into those sacred ranks—he had, we 
 say, a dim idea that such members of the community ought to be 
 taxed in order to support the helpless descendants of those who 
 had not the ability to keep their estates together. Still, how any 
 woman with the instinct of a gentlewoman could bring herself to 
 keep a shop, to measure out things to insolent customers, perhaps 
 to old market-women, and stretch out that soft white hand to take 
 their greasy pence, he could not conceive. She ought to have 
 adopted some other line of work; yet if she had he would not 
 have known her ; and though he put aside the idea, he felt that 
 he would rather have missed far more important things. She was 
 different from all other women he had ever known ; the quiet sim¬ 
 plicity of her manners was so restful ; the controlled animation 
 that would sparkle up to the surface frequently, and gave so much 
 beauty to her mobile face—her smile, sometimes arch, often scorn¬ 
 ful, occasionally tender ; the proud turn of her snowy throat; 
 
236 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE, 
 
 the outlines of her rounded, pliant figure ; the great, earnest, 
 liquid eyes uplifted so frankly and calmly to meet his own—Gal¬ 
 braith summoned each and every charm of face and form and 
 bearing that had so roused his wonder and admiration to pass in 
 review order before his mind’s eye, and “ behold, they were very 
 good.” It was the recollection of their first interview, however, 
 more than a month back, that puzzled him most. “ She must have 
 fancied she knew something of me,”—he thought, as he slowly 
 paced his sitting-room, restless with the strange new interest and 
 fresh vivid life that stirred his blood, and in some mysterious way, 
 of which he was but half conscious, deepened and brightened the 
 colouring of every object, until Fanny declared, as she bid Kate 
 good-night, that “ Sir Hugh must have a bad conscience to keep 
 tramping up and down like that ,”—“ and something to my dis¬ 
 credit,” he mused. “ I shall not soon forget the first look I had 
 from those eyes of hers! It was equivalent to the ‘ Draw and 
 defend yourself, villain !’ of old novels. How could I have offended 
 her, or any one belonging to her ? I’ll ask her some day—some 
 day ! By Jove, I can’t stay here much longer ! Yet why should 
 I not ? I have nothing to take me anywhere. This accident has 
 knocked my visit to Allerton on the head. The Countess and 
 Lady Elizabeth will be in town by the time I am fit to go any¬ 
 where. That pretty little girl. Miss Lee, is not unlike Lady Eliza¬ 
 beth, only she has more ‘ go ’ in hei'—but Mrs. Temple !” even in. 
 thought Galbraith had no words to express the measureless dis¬ 
 tance between his landlady and the Countess of G-’s graceful, 
 
 well-trained daughter. The truth is, Galbraith had, after his ac¬ 
 cession of fortune, seriously contemplated matrimony. He had 
 no idea of being succeeded by a nephew of a different name, or a 
 cousin whom he disliked. Moreover, it behoved him to found the 
 family anew—to impose a fresh entail—especially if he could buy 
 back some of the old estates ; and Payne had written to him that 
 it was probable a slice of the Kirby Grange estates might before 
 long be in the market. If he married, he would go in for family ; 
 he did not care so much for rank. Accident had sent him down 
 to dinner at his sister’s house with Lady Elizabeth, who seemed a 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 237 
 
 pretty, inoffensive, well-bred girl; and be even began, by delibe¬ 
 rate trying, to take some interest in her, after meeting at several 
 parties by day and by night, where he had, rather to Lady Lorri- 
 mer’s surprise, consented to appear. Lady Elizabeth, although 
 her father was not a wealthy peer, had a few thousands, which 
 would not be unacceptable ; and, though Galbraith had bid her 
 good-bye in Germany, where they had again encountered, with his 
 ordinary cool, undemonstrative manner, he had made up his mind 
 to accept the invitation then given him, if duly repeated, to go to 
 Allerton, the family seat, for the close of the hunting season ; and 
 should Lady Elizabeth stand the test of ten days or a fortnight in 
 the same house, he would try his luck. A wish to enjoy his friend 
 Upton’s society to the last of his stay induced Galbraith to post¬ 
 pone his visit for a week ; and then he met with the accident which 
 made him Mrs. Temple’s inmate ; and, lo ! all things had become 
 new. Whatever his lot might be, it was impossible he could marry 
 a pretty doll like Lady Elizabeth—a nice creature, without one 
 idea different from every other girl, without a word of conversa¬ 
 tion beyond an echo of what was said to her. No ; he wanted 
 something more companionable than that ; something soft and 
 varied enough to draw out what tenderness was in him ; something 
 brave, and frank, and thoughtful—to be a pleasant comrade in the 
 dull places of life. At this point in his reflections Galbraith pulled 
 himself up, with a sneer at the idea of his dreaming dreams, waking 
 dreams, at that time of his life. “ I’ll just stay a week longer,” he 
 thought, “ I really am not quite strong yet, and then I will go to 
 town ; by that time I shall manage to penetrate that puzzling 
 woman’s mystery, or I shall give it up. I shall have Upton or 
 Gertrude coming down here to see what keeps me in such quarters, 
 and, by Jove ! I would rather neither of them did. S/ie would 
 make mischief with or without grounds.” So saying, almost aloud, 
 Galbraith lit his candle, and turned down the lamp. 
 
 On Saturday afternoon, after due consultation with Fanny, Mrs. 
 Temple wrote a little note to Sir Hugh, presenting her compli¬ 
 ments, and begging to say they expected their agent from London 
 
238 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 that evening, and would he engaged on business, but if Sir Hugh 
 Galbraith wished any letters written, Mrs. Temple or Miss Lee 
 would be happy to do so between two and five. 
 
 “ There,” said Mrs. Temple, as she wrote these lines rapidly in 
 pencil, “ that ought to keep him out of the way.” 
 
 “ Yes, it ought, and will. Poor fellow ! how moped he must be 
 all Sunday, and, indeed, every day, by himself.” 
 
 “ Well, he need not stay if he does not like. I am sure he is 
 quite strong enough to travel. He was out driving for three hours 
 yesterday.” 
 
 “ Oh, it is the quiet Dr. Slade recommends. Oh, Kate ! how I 
 wish he would lend us his dog-cart to take a drive with Tom to¬ 
 morrow ! I am sure he would if I asked him—may I ?—it really 
 ought to be yours, you know.” 
 
 “ Oh, Fanny ! you do not know what you are talldng about, you 
 are so delighted at the idea of Tom being here this evening.” 
 
 “ Of course I shall be glad to see him, but if you think I am out 
 of my mind with joy you are quite mistaken. I feel as calm and 
 collected as possible.” 
 
 Which calmness was manifested by the most erratic conduct 
 throughout the day—total forgetfulness on various matters, and 
 frequent rushings to and fro between the shop and the kitchen, 
 just to see that Mills did not forget this or that ingredient in her 
 preparation of one or two niceties devised by Fanny herself, who 
 had a delicate taste for the finer branches of cooking. 
 
 Saturday being market day, the morning was always a busy time 
 at the Berlin Bazaar; but the rush of customers was generally 
 over about three, as most of the Saturday visitors had a long way 
 to go home ; and, on Fanny’s return from one of her excursions, 
 she found only two old ladies of the better class of farmers, one 
 requiring a pair of gloves for her daughter, the other worsted yarn, 
 wherewith to knit her husband’s stocldngs—simple needs, which 
 yet took an unconscionable time to satisfy. 
 
 At last they were gone, “ I feel quite tired,” said Mrs. Temple, 
 sitting down. “ I wish, Fanny, you would go up and write for Sir 
 Hugh Galbraith. He sent word that he was sorry to trouble me. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 239 
 
 but if I could write a few lines for Mm before five o’clock, he 
 would be greatly obliged ; you had better go, dear, for you are no 
 particular use here.” 
 
 “ And I am sure I should make a fearful confusion of Sir Hugh’s 
 letter ! ' Indeed, I cannot go, Kate ! I feel quite dazed to-day.” 
 
 “ Oh, I thought you rvere peculiarly cool and collected! No 
 matter ! mistakes in Sir Hugh’s letters are not so fatal as mistakes 
 in our business. If you will not go he must do without a secretary.” 
 
 “ Well,” cried Fanny, with sudden resolution, “ I will write for 
 him this once. Do you know I am half sorry to be obliged to 
 hate Sir Hugh Galbraith ; but don’t be afraid ! I never allow my¬ 
 self to think well of him for a moment! I have not a doubt he is a 
 deep designing villain, but he doesn’t look like it; though there is 
 something intolerably haughty in the sort of ‘ snufE the moon ’ air 
 with which he looks over one’s head.” 
 
 “ Don’t talk such nonsense, Fanny dear ! I wish Sir Hugh would 
 go ; he is growing troublesome.” 
 
 “ Not to me,” returned Fanny, gravely shaking her head ; “ he 
 takes no more notice of me than if I was a kitten when you are 
 by. I will see how we get on without you to-day.” 
 
 “ Pray be prudent and steady,” cried Kate, laughing ; “ though 
 I am sure Sir Hugh is a pattern of propriety.” 
 
 Fanny ran away upstairs, dashed hastily into her own room, 
 pinned a blue bow on the side of the pale brown plaits into which 
 her hair was braided, re-arranged her collar, and put on a fresh 
 pair of snowy cuffs ; then, with a pleasant approving nod to her 
 own image in the glass, walked away softly and tapped at the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 “ Come in,” said Galbraith ; and Fanny entered in some nervous 
 dread, but, nevertheless, with a firm determination to tease and 
 annoy the enemy so far as in her lay. He was standing near tho 
 window, and looking towards the door with an eager, kindled look 
 in his eyes, which altered visibly and unflattoringly. 
 
 “ Mrs. Temple desired me to say,” began Fanny, advancing with 
 evident timidity, “ she is sorry not to be able to come as she is 
 very busy, and would you mind having me ?” 
 
*240 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 A smile—a rather kindly smile—brightened Galbraith’s face 
 again. “ You are very good to come,” he said ; “ I ought to con¬ 
 sider myself fortunate in having so charming a little secretary ; 
 but I must say your cousin is the better amanuensis of the two.” 
 
 “ He is very impertinent,” thought Fanny ; “ he never would 
 venture to talk like that to Kate. He wants to find out all about 
 her ; he shan’t!—So I told Mrs. Temple,” she said aloud, “ and 
 that I was more stupid than usual; but she said it was better to 
 make mistakes in your letters than her business,” concluded 
 Fanny, looking up in his face with an innocent smile. 
 
 “ The deuce she did!” exclaimed Galbraith, looking grim for a 
 moment, and then laughing. “ I am much obliged to her ; possibly 
 she is right! Did she tell you to say this ?” 
 
 “ Oh no ! and pray. Sir Hugh, don’t tell!” 
 
 “ I never was a tell-tale. Come, I will not keep you long.” 
 And he placed a chair for her at the table, where he had already 
 laid the writing materials in readiness. He was indeed bitterly 
 annoyed and disappointed. When Mrs. Temple’s note had reached 
 him that morning, he determined not to let all Saturday and Sun¬ 
 day, and probably Monday, pass without having a letter written 
 by his interesting landlady—and not a word with her either ! No 
 it was the only shadow of amusement or occupation he had, and 
 he was not going to resign it. Of course, if he hadn’t been un¬ 
 hinged by that confounded accident, he never would have been 
 driven so hard for one or the other, but it is wonderful how soon a 
 fellow gets used to things ; and then there was the oddity and 
 curiosity. So he framed his verbal reply, as he thought, very 
 cunningly, to secure one interval before five o’clock, and now that 
 provoking widow had sent her silly, insignificant little assistant in 
 her place, and cheated him after all. Still he must not confess 
 that he could do without a letter being written very well, and 
 when Fanny was seated, he began rather rapidly, standing opposite 
 to the little, half-frightened, wholly daring scribe, and grasping 
 the back of a chair with his bony, sinewy hand : “My dear Upton,— 
 Thanks for yours of the 30th. I am nearly all right, only not 
 quite able to manage my own correspondence, as you see.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 241 
 
 “ Stop, stop, stop !” cried Fanny ; “ who in the world could keep 
 up with you ? I am sure you do not run on like that when Mrs. 
 Temple writes for you. I have only got to ‘ all right ’ now ; do 
 forgive me, and go on again.” 
 
 “ I beg your pardon,” returned Galbraith, smiling, and recom¬ 
 menced. 
 
 “ Are there two r’s in correspondence ?” was Fanny’s next query. 
 
 “ It’s not the least matter,” he replied, “ he will know what you 
 mean.” 
 
 “ What I mean,” repeated Fanny, still writing. “ What you 
 mean rather ; but it would be better this Mr. Upton thought you 
 were with properly educated people than real shopkeepers.” 
 
 Galbraith made a mental note of the expression, and grew less 
 anxious to dismiss his secretary. 
 
 “ Upton must be delighted to have nice legible letters, I imagine 
 —‘ s double e,’ ” spelt Fanny, “ I have done that.” 
 
 “ I am much obliged for your offer of a visit, but I hope to 
 leave this in a few days ; it is a dull hole, with nothing in the 
 shape of sport or occupation, and not a soul to speak to but a 
 gossiping old doctor ; I would rather meet you in town.—At any 
 rate, it would be an infernal bore to have him here !” 
 
 Galbraith had dictated the first of the sentences slowly, and 
 then unconsciously spoken out his reflection. “ Have you that 
 down ?” he asked, after a pause. 
 
 “ Just finished,” said Fanny, with an air of great diligence, and 
 spelling as she wrote “ b o r e.” 
 
 “Why, you haven’t written that!" 
 
 “ Yes, of course I have ; I thought it was a little uncivil. Oh, 
 dear ! I am so sorry ! I knew I should be stupid ! Pray don’t be 
 angry. I will make a nice clean copy if you will tell me the rest.” 
 
 “ Angry ! what business have I to be angry ? I am under great 
 obligations to you and Mrs. Temple ; besides, it was my own fault. 
 Just add, if you please, that I hope to be able to write in a few 
 days myself at greater length, and that will do.” 
 
 Fanny wrote diligently for a few minutes, and then with an air 
 of profound attention read over the letter, crossing out here and 
 
 IG 
 
242 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 there. “ I really feel quite ashamed of myself,” she said, taking 
 a fresh sheet of paper. “ But Mrs. Temple would send me.” 
 
 To this Galbraith made no immediate reply—he even moved 
 away to the window, not to draw his secretary’s attention from her 
 task; but as soon as it was accomplished, he said as he glanced 
 over the result, “ Then it bores Mrs. Temple to write for me ?” 
 
 “ No, no!” returned Fanny in a tone of palpably polite denial. 
 “ She is always very obliging ; but to-day she was busy, and anxious 
 to get everything out of the way before our London agent comes 
 —his coming is always an event, you know.” 
 
 “ Indeed,” said Galbraith, availing himself of her disposition to 
 talk. “Perhaps he is a friend as well as an agent.” 
 
 “ Oh yes,” replied Fanny, dotting the “ i’s ” and crossing the 
 “ t’s ” of the letter he returned to her to be folded and addressed, 
 and just glancing up at intervals to see the effect of her words ; 
 “ he is a dear old friend of Mrs. Temple’s. She knew him before 
 she was married, and he is so kind.” 
 
 “ Indeed,” said Sir Hugh, pulling out his moustache and staring 
 away into vacancy ; “ indeed ! I suppose he is an old experienced 
 man of business ?” 
 
 “ Oh, very experienced ! But as to age—well, he is older than 
 I am.” 
 
 “ Older than you are !” echoed Galbraith. “ Why, you are 
 younger than your sister, or cousin, whichever it is ?” 
 
 “ You mean Mrs. Temple,” said Fanny, avoiding a direct reply 
 as to the relationship. “ Yes, she is older than I am ; but you 
 know the great firms don’t like elderly travellers.” 
 
 “ He is a traveller, then ?” 
 
 Fanny nodded. 
 
 Galbraith hesitated : he felt it would not be honourable to cross- 
 examine this little, good-humoured chatterbox ; still he longed to 
 have some more talk upon the interesting topic of the “ London 
 agent,” for he felt strangely savage at the idea of a confounded 
 commercial traveller—a fellow redolent of bad cigars, audacious 
 with the effrontery acquired by bar and billiard-rooms, vulgarly 
 fine, and hideously ill-dressed, coming into close contact with his 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 243 
 
 queenly landlady—indeed, the notion of any man, high or low, 
 coming into that quiet, simple Eden where he had hitherto been 
 the Adam, was infinitely disgusting and vexatious. Meantime, 
 Miss Fanny watched with supreme satisfaction the dropping of his 
 brows and general clouding over of his countenance ; silence had 
 lasted long enough she thought, so she said softly, “You will not 
 mention what I repeated just now ? I mean what Mrs. Temple 
 said.” 
 
 “You may trust me. Would the consequences be dreadful ? 
 Would she give you a wigging ?” 
 
 “ No ; but it would vex her, and she has had enough to vex her.” 
 
 “ I fear so. Reverses, and that sort of thing ?” 
 
 “ Yes ; oh, she has been robbed and plundered in the most 
 shameful manner, and basely treated altogether.” 
 
 “ Did you know the late Temple ?” 
 
 “ No ; but I have seen him.” 
 
 “ Well,” said Galbraith, gallantly resisting his inclination to get 
 the whole truth from Fanny, “ I shall have a melancholy evening 
 all alone here. You have been very good to let me come and have 
 a talk with you sometimes; I imagine you have done more for me 
 than old Slade. However, I must make up my mind to solitude 
 for to-night.” 
 
 “ And to-morrow night,” said Fanny, pressing the top of her pen 
 against her lips, as she looked up mischievously. 
 
 “ You need not warn me off the premises,” said Galbraith, -with 
 a smile. “ I did not intend to intrude to-morrow evening, nor 
 until I am asked.” 
 
 “ Now, there! I never can do or say anything right!” cried 
 Fanny in pretty despair. “ I only meant to say, that although to¬ 
 morrow will be Sunday, we must talk of business, because he comes 
 so seldom, and then you might not like Tom, and Tom might not 
 like you !” 
 
 “ ‘ Tom ’ might not like me, eh ? So you call your agent Tom.” 
 
 “You would not have me call him Mr.— Jones,” cried Fanny, 
 picking herself up just in time ; and then reflecting, with horror, 
 “ That is a shocking story, I wish I hadn’t said it.” 
 
 IG—2 
 
244 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ Tom Jones,” repeated Sir Hugh, laughing ; “ a dangerous sort 
 of name. No, you are quite right to prefer Tom to Mr. Jones.” 
 
 “ I must go away,” exclaimed Fanny. “ I have quite finished 
 the letter. Oh ! I forgot—Dr. Slade left word that he could not 
 call this evening, because Lady Styles has returned, and he is going 
 to dine with her.” 
 
 “ Lady Styles !” repeated Galbraith. Does she not live at a 
 place called Weston ? I beheve she is an aunt, or cousin, or grand¬ 
 mother of Upton’s.” 
 
 “ Of this gentleman’s ?” said Fanny, holding up the letter. “ Theii 
 I am sure you v/ill not be at a loss for society any longer : she will 
 come and see you every day and tell you everything, and make you 
 tell everything. She is fond of K-Mrs. Temple,” remember¬ 
 
 ing the strict injunctions she had received not to breathe the name 
 of Kate ; “ but she nearly drives her mad with questions.” 
 
 “ But what would induce her to trouble herself about me ?” 
 
 “ She was here the evening you were brought in like a dead crea¬ 
 ture—what a fright we had !—and you may be sure she has written 
 to this Mr. Upton to know all about you.” 
 
 “ This will be a visitation ! I am glad you have given me a hint,” 
 returned Galbraith. “ And you must go ? you couldn’t leave Mrs. 
 Temple and her agent to talk business, and make my tea ?” 
 
 “ Indeed I could not,” said Fanny indignantly. 
 
 “Well, good-morning. Miss Lee,” rejoined Galbraith, laughing ; 
 “remember, I will not venture downstairs again unless I am 
 asked.” 
 
 “ And then Mrs. Temple will know I have been committing some 
 stupidity,” cried Fanny, forgetting her dignity. “ Do come down 
 to tea on Monday, Sir Hugh !” 
 
 “ What! even if ‘ Tom ’ is there ?” 
 
 “Ah! there is no chance of that,” said Fanny, shaking her 
 head. 
 
 “ If I have any letters to answer I will venture down, then, to 
 ask for assistance,” replied Galbraith, smiling, and opening the 
 door for her to pass out. As he did so the sound of a man’s voice 
 and some slight commotion rose up from below ; wlrile Fanny 
 
HER DEARE8T FOE. 
 
 245 
 
 started, blushed, and brightened all over, like some rippling stream 
 when the sun suddenly shines out from behind a cloud; and, with 
 a hasty “ good-morning,” went quickly away. 
 
 “ I suspect ‘ Tom ’ is in clover when he comes down here,” 
 thought Galbraith, closing the door and resuming his arm-chair 
 and a tough article in the Quarterly. “ He can’t make love to both 
 of them, and that nice little thing takes no common interest in his 
 coming. Who the deuce can he be ? What can they all be ? 
 They are more than tradespeople. I wish I could get at their 
 history. Miss Fanny let out they were not real shopkeepers. 
 Pooh ! what is it to me ? I have no business to pry into Mrs. 
 Temple’s affairs ; she would pull me up very short if I tried. I 
 will go away next week if I feel strong. The doctor says I must 
 take care of my head, and I shall never be so quiet anywhere as 
 here. I wish that old woman may break her leg or her neck, or 
 anything to prevent her coming here to destroy one’s comfort,” for 
 Galbraith felt it would never do to have his fair landlady’s letter¬ 
 writing and general intercourse with a man of his position known ; 
 over and over again he revolved the subject in his mind. The 
 Quarterly was thrown to the other end of the room. He could 
 not bear the idea of leaving ; and yet go he ought, he must. At 
 last he started up, put on his hat, and walked aw’ay to the stables 
 he had taken, to have a chat about the “ bonnie beasts” with his 
 servant, a Yorkshireman, and get rid of himself. He had not yet 
 given up his invalid habits of early dinner and a “ something ” 
 mild and strengthening before he went to bed. Both in going out 
 and returning he heard the sound of merry voices and laughter, 
 pleasant, refined laughter, as he passed the door of the best sitting- 
 room ; evidently “ Tom ” was an acquisition; it was no wonder 
 they did not want him, Hugh Galbraith ! 
 
 His servant noticed that he was more than usually silent, and 
 very severe about some trifling neglect in the stable. 
 
 Even Mills did not get a civil look when she brought him some 
 admirable scolloped oysters ; but at last the uncomfortable evening 
 was over, Galbraith’s last waking thought being interrogative, 
 “ Who the deuce is Tom ?” 
 
246 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 The three friends, oblivious of the moody, bored baronet upstairs, 
 talked far into the night. Tom Eeed had to give an accurate and 
 detailed account of his play, or rather after-piece ;—they had just 
 begun to be called “curtain-lifters” by people who had been to 
 French theatres, and custom was veering round to the habit of 
 having, by some Hibernian process, the after-piece first. 
 
 Both Mrs. Temple and Fanny were burning to see the pro¬ 
 duction of Tom’s pen; they had, of course, greedily read all the 
 notices and criticisms which had come in their way, still that 
 was but judging at second-hand, and to see it was the grand 
 desideratum. 
 
 “ We could in any case only go to town by detachments,” said 
 Mrs. Temple ; “ we could not both be away together, and though 
 I could go up alone very well, it would hardly do for Fanny, un¬ 
 less you have some friend who would take her in, Tom.” 
 
 “ We must manage it somehow!” cried Tom. “ It will run a 
 tolerably long time, at any rate, and I will settle some plan. Of 
 course,” turning to Kate, “ you wdll have to come up soon to lay in 
 your spring goods—isn’t that the term ?—and then you can easily 
 pay the ‘ Lesbian ’ a visit. I really should like to know your 
 opinion ; you are a tolerable critic.” 
 
 “ There !” exclaimed Fanny, with affected indignation ; “ you 
 don’t care a straw what I think ! But I can assure you my judg¬ 
 ment would be much more original, because I don’t stuff my head 
 with other people’s notions out of books, like Kate.” 
 
 “ Bravo !” said Tom ; “ your own opinion pure and simple. To 
 tell you the truth, my darling, I am half afraid of those keen 
 little eyes of yours : they spy out one’s failings so unrelent¬ 
 ingly !” 
 
 “ Little eyes, indeed ! Mr. Joseph Turner thinks them big 
 enough.” 
 
 “ No doubt he does,” said Mrs. Temple, laughing. “ But I 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 247 
 
 imagine Fanny has choked him off, for we have seen little or 
 nothing of him for some time ; not since Fan supped at the 
 paternal residence.” 
 
 “ I am surprised to hear it,” said Tom gravely. “ She is such 
 an arrant flirt, that, in the absence of higher game, she would not 
 mind keeping her hand or eyes in by practising on the nearest 
 haberdasher.” 
 
 “ Another word of th at description,” exclaimed Fanny, “ and 
 I will try my hand, as you say, on Sir Hugh Galbraith! He 
 is sulking upstairs, poor fellow, all alone ! and wanted me to 
 stay and make his tea for him. It’s not too late to give him his 
 supper.” 
 
 “ You know,” said Tom Reed, with a slight change of tone, “ I 
 warned you to steer clear of Galbraith when I was down here last. 
 He only knows you as the assistant in a shop, and he will very 
 likely presume upon your supposed inferiority of position. If 
 he had met you at—say at Mrs. Travers’s table formerly, would 
 he have ventured to ask you to make his tea ? Confound his im¬ 
 pudence !” 
 
 Fanny clapped her hands with delight at this ebullition, and 
 laughed aloud. 
 
 “ Do not be ridiculous, dear Tom,” cried Mrs. Temple ; “ do 
 you think either Fanny or I would go near Sir Hugh if he was 
 inclined to give himself such airs ? I assure you, no one could 
 behave in a more unobtrusive, unobjectionable manner than he 
 does. The only trouble he gives is caused by his perpetual desire 
 to write abrupt, and it seems to me objectless letters—he certainly 
 has not a talent for composition—and his scarcely concealed 
 curiosity to know who we really are. He openly professes his dis¬ 
 belief in our seeming ; but I hope and think he will go away next 
 week. There is really nothing to keep him.” 
 
 “ And still he stays ! That is odd,” remarked Tom, looking at 
 his mischievous fiancee. 
 
 “ It is not me !” cried Fanny, too earnest to be correct; “so don’t 
 think it.” 
 
 “ Do you know it is getting very late ?’’ said the fair hostess. 
 
248 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ Eleven, by Jupiter!” exclaimed Tom, looking at his watch. 
 “ Mrs. Temple,” he continued, “ is your resolution to go to church 
 to-morrow as fixed as fate ?” 
 
 “ Why ?” 
 
 “ Because I want a long tete-d-tHe consultation with you about 
 my own affairs. Suppose Fanny represents the firm at morning- 
 service, and then she shall direct my steps in the evening to some 
 pleasant glade, where we can discuss the result of the cabinet 
 council ?” 
 
 “ Yery well; that will suit me exactly,” returned Mrs. Temple. 
 “ I, too, want a tete-a-tete consultation with you ; so Fanny shall be 
 devotional for us all.” 
 
 “ That is very fine,” said Fanny, who had blushed becomingly 
 when Tom spoke of consulting Mrs. Temple about his own affairs. 
 “ I am to be banished, whether I like it or not.” 
 
 Good-nights were exchanged, and Tom persuaded his pretty 
 cousin to see that the front door was safely fastened after his 
 exit. 
 
 The succeeding Sunday was the first real spring day which had 
 visited Pierstoffe that year. The sky was brightly blue, and the 
 sea, stirred by light airs, soft and balmy as though it were June 
 instead of April, “ broke into dimples and laughed in the sun.” 
 The tide, which had been full at an early hour, was ebbing gently 
 —Pierstoffe bay was too open to be afflicted by a long reach of 
 bare black sea-weed and sludgy sand when the water was low and 
 the difference of ebb and flow was not great; a soft feathery 
 fringe of wavelets lapped the beach as if they loved it. On the 
 slip before the Berlin Bazaar the gaily painted pleasure-skiffs 
 were not yet displayed; but the strong brown fishing-boats, 
 battered though still sturdy, were drawn up for their legitimate 
 Sunday rest, and dotted about among them sundry fishermen, 
 in their dark-blue guernsey jackets, with hands deep in their 
 trousers pockets, and the indescribable lounging movement in¬ 
 dicative of respite from toil, smoked pipes of peace and made 
 short interjectionary remarks. The cliffs behind the North Parade 
 lay bathed in the young sunshine, so distinct in its tender radiance 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 240 
 
 from the fierce glare of summer. The grey crags, cushioned here 
 and there with patches of soft green turf draped with long 
 pendent tangles of bramble and tufted with heather, showed 
 wondrously clear, beautified by the magic of light; and Sir 
 Hugh Galbraith, who dearly loved to look upon the face of nature 
 —as dearly as though he could have written reams of verse to ex¬ 
 press his admiration, perhaps the more deeply because he could say 
 very little about it—finding himself too early even for the active 
 Mrs. Mills, strolled out to taste the delicious breeze, and talk, in 
 exactly the abrupt and unstudied manner that suited them, to the 
 lounging fishermen. 
 
 “ I’ll have a yacht,” thought Galbraith, walking slowly away 
 past the empty lodging-houses of the North Parade ; “ a small one 
 need not cost a fortune. I wonder could I manage to put up in 
 the old place for the summer ? I hate London, I don’t care for 
 the Continent—the regiment will not be home for another six 
 months ; and perhaps, after all, I may leave it and go into Parlia¬ 
 ment. What the deuce is Payne about, that he has given me no 
 more intelligence of the purchase he hoped to manage ? I’ll write 
 to him to-morrow ; that is if Mrs. Temple can spare the time to 
 write for me. By Jove !” moving the hand that lay in his sling, 
 “ I believe I could write myself : but it would be more prudent 
 not to try just yet. This is a pretty spot, but very dull. I sup¬ 
 pose I was a good deal shaken by that spill, or I should never be 
 satisfied to stay here so long.” At this point his reflections grew 
 less clear. He knew in his heart that he never would have en¬ 
 dured a life so different from all he had been accustomed to, had 
 he not found such a fascinating secretary. Nevertheless, he could 
 not stay much longer; even the pleasure of his sojourn was largely 
 intermingled with annoyance, ay, with pain. Interviews with his 
 landlady were always difficult to contrive, and required an amount 
 of scheming most abhorrent to his straightforward and somewhat 
 domineering disposition. Still, to go away and never see her face 
 again, or look into her eyes and try to understand their varying 
 expression !—Galbraith felt, and for the first time acknowledged 
 to himself, it was a sacrifice for which he hardly had strength. 
 
250 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 Still it must be done. He was no trifler, nor was she a woman to 
 be trifled with. “ I will ask Slade to-morrow if I may go up to 
 town next week,” thought Galbraith, turning sharp round to walk 
 back, and frowning to himself at the mockery of asking the Doctor’s 
 consent. “ I shall be all right when I am away. I am past the 
 idiotic period of boyish spoonyism which was true, but he forgot 
 that childish disorders are always more dangerous in maturity. 
 Comforting himself with this incomplete generalisation, he strolled 
 on slowly, enjoying the delicious morning air, the contagious joy¬ 
 ful spring aspect of everything. As he approached the open, where 
 the main line bifurcated into the Stoneborough Road and North 
 Parade, his attention was attracted by a gentleman who was ap¬ 
 proaching from the town. 
 
 “ That’s not a Pierstoffian,” said Sir Hugh to himself. “ Per¬ 
 haps he is some yachtsman, who has got afloat early ; at any rate 
 he has a London tailor, yet it’s not a yachting rig.” 
 
 The object of his remark stopped for a few moments at the slip 
 to look about him, and then turned and walked straight and de¬ 
 cidedly to Mrs. Temple’s door, which was opened the moment he 
 knocked ; and, unless Galbraith’s eyes, which were keen and far¬ 
 sighted, deceived him, by the young widow herself. 
 
 “ By Jove !” exclaimed the mortified baronet, “ by Jove ! it’s 
 Tom ! and he is a gentleman—or looks like one.” 
 
 Here was an additional shade of mystery to meditate upon during 
 breakfast, to which Galbraith did not do so much justice as he 
 ought after his early stroll, and which he permitted Mills to re¬ 
 move without the brief but emphatic commendation he usually 
 bestowed. In truth. Mills was an irreconcilable, and all the more 
 so because she chose to interpret the genuine satisfaction expressed 
 by Sir Hugh as feeble efforts to conciliate her, which she saw 
 through and despised. Whereas, Galbraith was in some odd way 
 taken by her gruff civility and stiff uncommunicativeness, and, 
 quite unconscious of her carefully-nursed dislike, ranked her in his 
 own mind as a “ first-rate old woman, with no humbug about her.” 
 
 '• Wasn’t the fish right ?” asked Mills, jealous of her reputation. 
 
 “ Oh yes ; all right, thank you.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 251 
 
 “ They have the same downstairs, and Mr. Tom says it’s as good 
 as anything he ever had at—somewhere in Paris.” 
 
 “ Oh ! he does!” burning to ask “ Tom’s” name, but disdaining 
 surreptitious information. “ It is very good. You can take away 
 the things; and—oh, nothing—I forgot what I was going to say.” 
 
 “ Mills is evidently an old family servant, has known her mistress 
 in better times,” pondered Galbraith, “ and she too was familiar 
 with Tom, who was no Berlin wool agent, not he !—that was only 
 a blind!” which Galbraith did not like. Mrs. Temple and Miss 
 Lee had every right to keep their affairs to themselves—but false 
 appearances ! that was another matter altogether. 
 
 Here Sir Hugh hailed with pleasure the entry of his servant 
 with the ordinary demand for “ orders,” and so disposed of a 
 quarter of an hour. 
 
 By that time the church bells began to ring out, and Galbraith, 
 arming himself with the Field., took his place in the window and 
 watched a few proprietors of the deserted lodging-houses going to 
 church. Presentl}^ he heard the entrance door open and shut. He 
 was instantly on the alert, but instead of the two figures he had 
 seen so regularly sally forth on preceding Sabbaths, there was only 
 Fanny, in her pretty Sunday half-mourning attire. She turned as 
 she came to the corner of the house, and kissing her hand with an 
 arch smile to some one, vanished round it. 
 
 “ So Miss Fanny is sent to church, and Mrs. Temple stays to 
 discuss business tete-a-tete with ‘ Tom,’—a pleasant arrangement for 
 the ‘ dear old friend,’ as that little minx called him,” thought Gal¬ 
 braith gloomily, as he resorted to his favourite method of relief 
 when perturbed, a species of quarter-deck walk far from soothing 
 to the dwellers beneath him, while he strove to divert his mind by 
 planning his future movements, with an odd, irritated, injured 
 feeling ; for he resolved stoutly to quit the rascally hole where he 
 had been so long yet so willingly imprisoned, next week at the 
 furthest. But somehow no suitable scheme presented itself. The 
 people, the places, the amusements of Avhich he thought were all 
 unutterably distasteful, absolutely revolting. “ At any rate,” he 
 said to himself, as he seized the paper once more Avith a desperate 
 
252 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 determination to occupy his thoughts, “ I will go to London in thes 
 first place. I will find out something to do with myself there.” 
 
 In the meantime, Tom Eeed and his fair client settled them¬ 
 selves for a long confidential talk as soon as they had seen Fanny 
 off. 
 
 “ Tell me your affairs first, Tom,” said Kate. “ I do not fancy 
 they will take so much time as mine.” 
 
 “ Oh, mine is a plain unvarnished tale ; but I thought I should 
 like to talk it over with you before I spoke to Fanny.” 
 
 “ I rather fancy I know ‘ the burden of your song,’ ” she re¬ 
 turned, smiling. “ Say on.” 
 
 “ Well, you see,” began Reed, drawing his chair closer ; “ things 
 are looking up with me at last. This little piece of mine has made 
 a hit; I have another bespoke and on the stoclcs. I have had a 
 private note from poor Pennington, telling me that he does not 
 think he can resume his editorial duties ; and I beheve I am pretty 
 sure to be his successor. This advance will bring me in a decent 
 income ; and so I begin to think I may venture on matrimony !” 
 
 “ I thought so,” said Mrs. Temple quietly. 
 
 “ Looking at it coolly and dispassionately,” resumed Tom, with 
 sparkling eyes, “ I think I may ; but, my dear Mrs. Travers, neither 
 Fanny nor I would dream of taking any step, even in a right 
 direction, without due regard to the interest and wishes of so good 
 a friend as yourself. If Fanny leaves you—and she must some 
 day—what will you do ?” 
 
 “ I do not know—I do not know,” returned Kate thoughtfully ; 
 then looking suddenly at Tom with suspiciously moist eyes, “ I 
 dare say it is selfish, but I cannot face the idea of living here with¬ 
 out her. She makes home for me ; but do not let us think of this. 
 It will be much better and happier for Fanny to be your wife than 
 my assistant; only, dear Tom, make sure that you can afford to 
 marry before you rush into matrimony !” 
 
 “You may be sure I will; but hsten to me : I want to settle 
 something with you before I open the subject with Fanny. If she 
 leaves you, will you nail your colours to the mast and go on with 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 253 
 
 the Berlin Bazaar ? You know the undertaking wears its 
 pleasantest aspect now; but picture to yourself being shut up 
 with a younger, and therefore more objectionable, Miss Potter— 
 being worse off considerably than if you were utterly alone ! You 
 couldn’t stand it—I know you could not! You would murder the 
 assistant, and throw yourself into the sea, or be driven to perform 
 some sort of tragedy before three months were over, believe me !” 
 
 “ It is a dreadful look-out, I acknowledge,” said Kate, smiling at 
 Tom’s prophetic energy. “ Still, I should not like to abandon a 
 tolerably successful undertaking merely to avoid a little personal 
 discomfort—it would be cowardly.” 
 
 “ Not a bit of it,” replied her prime counsellor. “ It is an 
 undertaking in which you ought never to have embarked. I was 
 always opposed to it. I can see clearly enough that one of its 
 attractions was the home and occupation it offered to Fanny ; you 
 have stuck to her like a trump ; now join her in her home—in ours. 
 You will get back your money for this concern ; it is worth con¬ 
 siderably more than you gave for it. You can afford to live till 
 you find some more congenial employment. I will find that for 
 you. If you would only write as you talk, what a lot of pleasant 
 magazine articles you could turn out in a year! Come, give the 
 matter a little serious thought! London, you know, would be the 
 best place to hunt up the tracks of the true will.” 
 
 “ Tom,” cried Kate, holding out her hand to him, “ you are a 
 good fellow ; but such arrangements seldom answer. Settle your 
 plans with Fanny ; tell her it would be a satisfaction to me to see 
 her your wife ; but put me out of the question. I may come and 
 live near you. I may adopt some other line of life ; but I will not 
 quit my business yet awhile.” 
 
 “ And I know Fan won’t listen to any suggestion of leaving you,” 
 said Tom gloomily. 
 
 “ She may—you do not know. Open the subject, and I will 
 follow it up if you wish,” replied Kate. “ Now have you quite 
 said your say ?” 
 
 “ Yes, quite ; and I am all ears to hear yours.” 
 
 “ First, I want a viva voce description of your interview with 
 
254 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 Mr. Ford. Your letter was a little hurried, though it was very- 
 good of you to write at all in such a whirl.” 
 
 Tom recapitulated all he could remember of the conversation, 
 and answered many questions. Then, after sitting quite still and 
 silent for a few minutes, Kate exclaimed quickly, 
 
 “ And what impression does all this make upon you ?” 
 
 “ Well, no particular impression. He is just the same crotchety, 
 touchy, worthy soul he ever was ! The last man in the world to 
 tamper with any document. I know what you are thinking of ; 
 but he would not have the pluck—believe me, he would not.” 
 
 “ Perhaps so,” said she. “ However, I will, in the strictest con¬ 
 fidence, show you the letter you forwarded from him. Not a word 
 of the contents to Fanny ; she could not refrain from laughing and 
 talking about it, dear thing !” 
 
 “ Of course she could not,” returned Tom, as Kate rose, and, un¬ 
 locking her desk, she drew forth the letter and handed it to 
 him. 
 
 Reed read it through in silence, except for a few indistinct growls. 
 
 “ The presumptuous blockhead !” he exclaimed, when he finished. 
 “ He seems to have lost his senses ! Why, he insinuates that he 
 
 was almost an accepted lover before old-1 mean Mr. Travers, 
 
 came into the field.” 
 
 “ Which I am sure it is unnecessary for me to deny !” cried Kate. 
 “ You, too, then, think him audacious ? I was not sure if it was a 
 true instinct or an unwarranted assumption on my part. Remember, 
 Tom, I was in a lowly state of life enough when I first knew Mr. 
 Ford.” 
 
 “ Whatever you were, if he were not a conceited ass he would 
 have felt he was not your equal. And then to raise his eyes to his 
 employer’s widow—a woman of your stamp ! It is the height of 
 presumption !” 
 
 “ Now, Tom, perhaps you think I am justified in doubting him ?” 
 
 “ Well, no ! It is scarcely logical. Why should he try to reduce 
 the woman he loved to penury ? Why should he enrich her enemy 
 and defraud himself ? Why-” 
 
 “ It seems a far-fetched idea,” interrupted Mrs. Temple, “ and 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 255 
 
 yet I cannot get rid of it. Yon know tke day he brought me that 
 false will—as I shall always consider it; he offered to cancel or 
 destroy it—I forget exactly what he said—but something to that 
 effect. I scarcely noticed at the time, but I have often thought of 
 it since.” 
 
 “ Did he ?” said Deed, who was looking through the letter again. 
 “ That was queer. What do you suppose was his object ?” 
 
 “ I can hardly say ; he thought probably my dislike and indig¬ 
 nation against Sir Hugh Galbraith might have tempted me to con¬ 
 sent ; and then what a hold he would have had upon me !” 
 
 “ By George ! I could never believe that proper old boy would 
 be such a villain ! I think, my fair friend, you romance a little— 
 all the better for a literary future.” 
 
 “ Do not laugh at me, Tom ; and pray do not lose sight of Ford. 
 My whole soul is as fixed as ever on the hope of clearing myself 
 amd my husband’s memory from the foul slander of that abomin¬ 
 able will.” 
 
 “ I will help you with all my wits !” cried Tom, remembering 
 his creditable acquaintance Trapes and his inquiries. “ But I dare 
 not encourage you to hope. You say this Galbraith is going to 
 leave : I would advise you when he is just going off to make your¬ 
 self known, and then I’ll take long odds that he will m^ake better 
 offers of a settlement, and you might arrange things comfortably. 
 It need not interfere with another will, should it turn up.” 
 
 “ Never offer me such advice again !” cried Mrs. Temple indig¬ 
 nantly. “ It is a positive insult.” 
 
 “ I am done then,” said Tom submissively. After a few 
 moments’ thought, he asked, “ Do you think Ford ever dabbled in 
 any betting or turfy transactions ?” 
 
 “ I should say not—certainly not. Why do you ask ?” 
 
 “ Because a very queer character was making inquiries about him 
 the other day.” And Tom proceeded to describe his conversation 
 with Trapes. 
 
 “ It is curious,” said Kate reflectively, after listening with deep 
 attention to his account; “ but I cannot see that this supposed 
 debt of Ford’s can affect me in any way, even if true ; and I pre- 
 
256 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 sume your friend has some powers of invention, as you say he was 
 once on the press.” 
 
 “ No doubt. I believe very little he says ; but that he wanted to 
 find Ford—or the man he resembled—is a fact, whatever the reason ; 
 and, moreover, he knows something of Mr. Travers’s people.” 
 
 “ True,” returned Kate ; and then fell into a fit of thought, from 
 which she roused herself by a sort of effort to ask, “ Where is this 
 man Trapes to be found ?” 
 
 “ Oh ! I have not an idea ; indeed, I had no inclination to keep 
 up the connection.” 
 
 “ I wish we knew.” 
 
 “ Better have nothing to say to him; he would only persuade you 
 to throw away your money.” 
 
 Mrs. Temple made no reply; but again opening her desk, took 
 out a memorandum-book, in which she began to write. “ What 
 was the date of your interview ?” she asked. Tom gave it, for as 
 it was identical with the first appearance of his play he knew it 
 well. A few more questions proved she was putting down the 
 substance of Heed’s communication. 
 
 “ May I ask what that is for ?” said Tom. 
 
 “ This is my evidence-book,” replied Kate^ turning over the 
 pages. “ I put down here everything, great and small, that strikes 
 me as bearing in any possible way upon my case.” 
 
 “ I protest you are a first-rate solicitor spoiled by your sex ! 
 What suggested such a business-like proceeding, positively un¬ 
 natural in a woman ?” 
 
 “ I cannot tell; dwelling intensely on a topic is something like 
 boring for a well, I imagine. If you only go on long enough and 
 deep enough, you are sure to strike an idea—or a spring ! Then 
 you know, poor Mr. Travers was always making notes of ideas and 
 suggestions, and all sorts of things that might by any possibility 
 be useful.” 
 
 “ Believe me, Mrs. Travers—well. Temple ! I must try and re¬ 
 member it—you have admirable qualities for a writer. The keeper 
 ■of a diary, if intelligent, is the possessor of a mine.” 
 
 “ I trust this will prove one to me ; but—oh ! here is Fanny,” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 257 
 
 as that young person entered, prayer-book in hand, and announced 
 triumphantly that she had been escorted back from church by Mr. 
 Turner, jun. 
 
 “ Plave you finished your consultation yet ?” she continued, or 
 shall I go out again ? I dare say Mr. Tuimer is lingering outside, 
 and will not mind keeping me company a little v/hile.” 
 
 O 
 
 CHAPTER XXIIL 
 
 Sunday was not yet over. It had been a very long day to Sir 
 Hugh Galbraith. Some of it he had disposed of indifferently, by 
 trying how he could drive without the whip-hand, and, accompanied 
 by his groom, had gone nearly over to Stoneborough, and now he 
 had once more taken his post of observation in the window. The 
 day had been beautiful throughout, and the sun had nearly accom¬ 
 plished his daily task, so far as Pierstoffe 'was concerned. The 
 church bells had not yet rung out. All was quiet—the inhabitants 
 were at tea—and Galbraith’s reflections Avere interrupted by the 
 appearance of Mrs. Mills bearing a tray with a huge cup, a tiny 
 cream eAver, and a plate of thin brown bread and butter, such as 
 Sir Hugh loved. 
 
 “ It’s a thought early,” she said, setting doAvn these good things 
 on a small table beside him. “ But maybe you won’t mind, because 
 it’s the girl’s Sunday out ; and as my missus is having her tea, I 
 thought I would get it all over before I dressed.” 
 
 Galbraith nodded a reluctant assent, and Mrs. Mills departed. 
 So everything must give Avay to Tom—even a good solvent tenant 
 like himself. Tom, he supposed, wanted an evening walk, and he. 
 Sir Hugh, must have his tea forced doAvn his throat an hour too 
 soon. He wondered if Tom Avas to havm a tete-d-tete walk as Avell 
 as a tete-d-tete conversation. He would have a look as they went 
 out. If thfit nice little Fanny Avas excluded from the walk as well 
 as the talk, he must conclude that Tom—confound him !—was the 
 widow’s lover, and poor Fanny was an ill-used girl. For he had 
 
 17 
 
258 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE, 
 
 never seen startled delight if he had not read it in Fanny’s eyes 
 when she heard that fellow’s voice the evening before. And a dim 
 sort of feeling rippled over his heart or brain—or whatever thinks • 
 —like the momentary crisping of water by a sudden breeze, that it 
 would be very delightful to see any face brighten thus for him— 
 brighten honestly, naturally, even a plain face ; but how gloriously 
 would such eyes as Mrs. Temple’s light up! Strange, that the 
 grandest, the most striking expression he had ever read in them 
 was defiance, almost detestation, and it always suggested the idea 
 of how they would speak a different and opposite passion. How¬ 
 ever, the tea was very refreshing after his drive, and the bread and 
 butter not unacceptable. By the time both were finished, Galbraith 
 heard voices beneath, and looking out, beheld the two friends, 
 escorted by Tom, sally forth—Mrs. Temple, as usual, in black, with 
 a white shawl over her arm. 
 
 “ The three of them, by Jove !” murmured Galbraith to himself. 
 
 “ I never expected that.” 
 
 He watched them to the division of the main street into the 
 high-road to Stoneborough and that leading to the North Parade. 
 Here they paused and seemed to talk awhile ; then Fanny and 
 Tom Avent to the left along the high-road, and Mrs. Temple 
 took the more direct line to the right, as if intending to stroll 
 along the Parade. 
 
 So far as Galbraith knew her stroll would be limited. He was 
 not aware of any outlet beyond the gravel sweep whereon the 
 dowager barouches and invalid chairs—which in the season moved 
 slowly to and fro along the sea front—turned and came back again. 
 He watched assiduously for ten, fifteen, tiventy minutes ; still no 
 sign of the figure he looked for. A genial glow began to replace the 
 dull, irritated, injured sensation which oppressed Galbraith all day. 
 Perhaps she was sitting down with a book ! At the thought he 
 caught up his hat and was off, with long, swift steps, to test the 
 truth of his conjecture. 
 
 But the few seats on the Esplanade Avere all untenanted. No 
 one, save a few of those inveterate loungers, the fishermen, was 
 about. AVhere had that puzzling landlady of his vanished ? 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 259 
 
 Reaching the far end of the Esplanade, where a rough sort of 
 breastwork, formed of pieces of rock, stones, clay, and supporting 
 timbers, had been piled up against the sea, he looked round care¬ 
 fully, and perceived the pathway which Mrs. Temple had dis¬ 
 covered about a year before. 
 
 She must have followed this track, unless indeed she had gone 
 in to pay a visit to one of the shuttered, blank-looking. North 
 Parade houses. This was highly improbable ; so Galbraith pressed 
 on rapidly, with eagerness and exhilaration—his pulses beating 
 fast, somewhat to his own surprise. 
 
 Meantime Mrs. Temple—as she must be called in this portion of 
 the story—strolled on leisurely, glad to be alone, that she might 
 examine and reason away a certain feeling of depression and dis¬ 
 tress that had been fretting her spirit since her talk with Tom. 
 She had shared in the cheerful pleasantry of their mid-day dinner; 
 she had played her part of hostess as brightly, as cordially as ever; 
 but under all there was the unrest—the fear of an unavoidable and 
 painful change. 
 
 The silence and beauty around calmed her perturbed thoughts—■ 
 calmed, but did not cheer. The deeper chords of her nature 
 vibrated to the mute language of sea and sky and rock, and reso¬ 
 lute endurance rather than cheerful resignation seemed the key¬ 
 note to which she would tune her spirit. 
 
 She reached the little jetty before described, and, walking to 
 the end, seated herself upon the bench. It was evident that she 
 must not count on Fanny’s companionship much longer, and how 
 would it be then ? Could she face the terrible isolation of the 
 life she had adopted ? Worse than isolation, the company Avith- 
 out companionship of an assistant of the ordinary shopwoman 
 type ? 
 
 For the first time Kate regretted her choice of an occupation, 
 and with all her liberal tendencies, felt the impassable nature of 
 the gulf fixed between the habits, thoughts, and manners of the 
 class she had quitted and that which she had adopted. 
 
 “ It will be less and less as education and common sense spread 
 up and down ; but at present it is harder to bear than I expected. 
 
 17—2 
 
260 
 
 ^HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 Is it quite fair of Tom, when he knew that I undertook this busi¬ 
 ness as much on Fanny’s account as my own, to take her from me 
 so soon ? Pooh ! how self blinds one. Of course Fanny is his 
 first consideration, and it is far better for her to be his wife than 
 my assistant. Dear Fan! I trust in Heaven he will be good to 
 her ; but matrimony is a fearful trial, and does not want a third 
 in the house to increase its dangers. No ! come what may, I will 
 not desert the course I have marked for myself until I have either 
 succeeded in upsetting the will or given up all hope, or find the 
 Berlin Bazaar will not pay ; but when Fanny leaves and I am 
 much alone, I will try if I can vt^rite, as Tom suggested. I have 
 plenty of time before me, and I must not allow myself to be a 
 coward ; but the loneliness—ah !” 
 
 Gazing out over the sea, she let her thoughts drift freely, 
 vaguely to the past, its tenderness, its high hopes, its bright antici¬ 
 pations, the long, dutiful suppression of her married existence, her 
 glimpse of life and liberty, her cruel reverse. The soft, solemn 
 loveliness of the evening disposed her to think compassionately 
 even of herself. 
 
 The sun had sunk behind the cliffs, but the slowly-fading light 
 was still reflected on the sky opposite. Towards the horizon “ the 
 raven down of darkness ” wms gathering, but above it lighter and 
 lighter shades of grey prevailed up to a pale ashen hue, flecked 
 with rosy cloudlets, varying from ruby to faint opal or mother-of- 
 pearl tints of exquisite delicacy. The sea was still and smooth ; 
 the breeze^ of the morning had died away, and the giant slept— 
 only the soft lulling lap of tiny ripples against the huge wet black 
 stones which lay round the timbers of the little jetty broke the 
 silence. The very air was full of speechless feeling—soft, quiet, 
 and yet not wuthout the chillness of early spring—a certain cold 
 which seemed an expression of sadness. Kate opened her shawl, 
 and, wrapping it round her, leaned her clasped hands on the rail 
 which defended her resting-place, while she looked forth with 
 keenest appreciation on sea and sky. “ To bear is to conquer our 
 fate,” she thought; “ rather a heroic quotation d propos of a 
 Berlin-wool shop. Ah ! how different all things might have been 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 261 
 
 had Mr. Travers not been separated from his cousin. If Hugh 
 Galbraith-” 
 
 At this point in her reflections she ■?ras almost startled into 
 a scream by a voice beside her. “ Good evening, Mrs. 
 Temple.” 
 
 “I thought this haunt was only known to myself, the coastguard, 
 and the sea-gulls,” she replied, turning to face the man she had 
 just thought of, and in her surprise speaking more hurriedly than 
 usual. “ How did you find it out ?” 
 
 “ By accident,” said Galbraith shortly, but he smiled upon her 
 as he spoke—smiled ! Yes ; his sombre, stern, and usually inex¬ 
 pressive eyes dwelt upon her smilingly, tenderly. She did not 
 know the effect her natural impulsive address, the quick, flit¬ 
 ting blush, the welcoming smile into which she had been startled 
 wrought upon the enemy ; but she had never spoken quite like 
 this to him before, and Galbraith for a moment forgot there was 
 any world beyond the few feet of planking on w'hich they stood, 
 and the stretch of sea and sky before them. 
 
 “ What a lovely evening !” he said, not finding any more original 
 remark after a short pause, and sitting down beside her. “ This is 
 a pretty nook—do you often come here ?” 
 
 “ Not often. I cannot, you know.” 
 
 “ Of course.” 
 
 “ In summer it is always my holiday excursion. In winter I 
 can never manage it, and the path is not very safe in rough 
 weather.” 
 
 “ The cliffs are rather fine along here,” resumed Galbraith, 
 “ but they are nothing to the cliffs near Kirby Grange. My 
 place, or rather my ruin—it’s not much more,” for Kate had 
 looked up at him inquiringly. He went on. “Great black beet¬ 
 ling cliffs with jagged reefs running out to sea, and lots of sea-birds 
 clanging about. I used to climb the crags to get the nests. I was 
 a tolerable cragsman in those days. I don’t think I should like to 
 try it now.” 
 
 “ I do not like the terrific in nature,” said Kate, drawing lier 
 shawl closer, the rounded graceful outlines of her supple figure 
 
262 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 showing through the thin, soft folds. “ It makes me think of de¬ 
 spair and defeat, and horrors of that kind.” 
 
 “ Yet I fancy you are very plucky for a woman, Mrs. Temple.” 
 
 “ I cannot tell. I have not been much tried, but certainly peace 
 and rest seem to me the greatest good in life.” 
 
 There was something weary, almost sad, in her voice, and Gal¬ 
 braith was conscious of a very strong desire to take the little 
 hands which were holding her shawl, in his, and ask if there was 
 anything in the world he could do for her, but he only said, “ To 
 a certain extent, but peace soon becomes stagnation.” 
 
 A pause. Mrs. Temple w^as not displeased to see Galbraith. It 
 amused her, and gave a lighter tone to her thoughts. 
 
 “ Have you visited your native place since you have returned 
 from India ?” she asked at last, the silence growing awkward, espe¬ 
 cially as Galbraith had a stupid fashion of staring. 
 
 “ No ; I want to go there, and yet I dread it.” 
 
 “ Indeed ! Why ?” 
 
 “ Because—you will perhaps laugh at me—I have scarcely an 
 acre of the old lands left; and I can’t stand seeing another lording 
 it over what ought to be mine.” 
 
 “ Laugh ! No, I should be the last to laugh. I should stake my 
 existence on a struggle to get back my own.” 
 
 And she looked full into Galbraith’s eyes. 
 
 “ And you would be no mean antagonist, I fancy,” said he, re¬ 
 turning her gaze with an earnestness from which she did not 
 shrink. “ I wonder, Mrs. Temple, if you and I ever met before in 
 some different state of existence ? for I sometimes think you look 
 upon me as an enemy.” 
 
 ‘ Me ! What an extraordinary idea !” exclaimed Kate, laugh¬ 
 ing, but colouring too—a glow that mounted quickly, and then 
 fading, left her cheek to its ordinary rich paleness. 
 
 “ Yes. There was something in your eyes when first they met 
 mine I shall never forget. Had you been a man I should have 
 snatched up some weapon to defend myself.” 
 
 “ Pooh! nonsense !” she returned, again laughing ; but there 
 was a curious sound of suppressed pleasure in the low, soft laugh. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 263 
 
 “ I liad been vexed in my business. Some one bad tried to cheat me, 
 perhaps; or I doubted your solvency, and imagined I had a bad 
 bargain in my drawing-room apartments.” 
 
 There was a subtle tone of mockery in the last words, a curl of 
 the ripe red lip suggestive of playful scorn. 
 
 “ I do not pretend to guess the reason ; I only know the effect,” 
 returned Galbraith, and there was a pause longer than the last, for 
 Kate’s eyes had fixed themselves on the distant horizon uncon¬ 
 sciously, as she reflected on the strange eddy of fortune which had 
 made Sir Hugh Galbraith her companion in this remote corner, 
 while he availed himself of her averted gaze to drink in greedily 
 the charm of the frank, fair face before him—its sweet, firm mouth 
 and soft pale cheek, the large eyes so still and deep when she was 
 silent, so changeful and expressive when she spoke or listened ; the 
 broad but not high forehead ; the delicate yet distinctly marked 
 brows ; the look, as if no mean thought, no low motive could lurk 
 in a brain so nobly lodged. 
 
 Galbraith had hitherto considered himself, and had been con¬ 
 sidered, a cold, immovable kind of fellow, but he was conscious 
 that these characteristics were fast melting away ; there was some¬ 
 thing in his companion’s beauty and bearing which exercised a 
 magic effect upon his half-developed nature, as certain chemical 
 ingredients, at the approach of that which attracts, or contains 
 the complement of their being, rush forth to blend with what has 
 called them to life. The deep calm, the solitude, the tender beauty 
 of sea and sky, the unusual tinge of familiarity in Mrs. Temple’s 
 manner, lapped him into a kind of Elysium such as he had never 
 befoi’e known. As yet, he could enjoy the first warm breath of 
 the coming sirocco, before the fever and thirst were upon him. 
 
 “ What a relief it must be to you to come here from the shop,” 
 exclaimed Galbraith abruptly, fearing that if the silence continued 
 Mrs. Temple might get up and walk away. 
 
 “ It is indeed,” she returned frankly. 
 
 “ Then you don’t like your work ?” 
 
 “ I do not dislike it,” said Kate, falling unconsciously into a 
 semi-confidential strain. “ I would rather earn my bread as a first- 
 
264 
 
 HER DEAREST EOE. 
 
 class artist, or writer ; but as nature has not made me of siiitable 
 stuff, I must do what I can. I do not fancy the restraint of teach¬ 
 ing, or keeping a school.” 
 
 “ Still, such a position must be very unpleasant to you ; for I 
 never wall believe j^ou were originally intended for it.” 
 
 “ Oh, as to that, you may conjecture what you like. Sir Hugh ; 
 but I have told you there is no romance about me or my position,” 
 said she, turning her eyes, which laughed sunnily, upon him. 
 
 “ I dare say you will think I am a presumptuous fellow,” re¬ 
 turned Galbraith, leaning towards her, resting the elbow of his 
 sound arm on his knee, and his cheek on his hand ; “ but I am 
 always conjecturing about you. You are a constant mystery to 
 me, and I am determined to solve it!” 
 
 The earnest, uncomplimentary manner in which Galbraith ut¬ 
 tered these words took from them all appearance of love-making. 
 Nevertheless, they sent a strange gust of triumph along Kate’s 
 nerves ; her contemptuous enemy was growing interested in her. 
 He acknowledged her superiority. 
 
 “ The presumption consists in telling me so,” she said, still meet¬ 
 ing his eyes rvith an arch smile. “ I cannot help your thoughts ; 
 only they must sorely want legitimate employment when you waste 
 them on—your landlady ;” there was a slight pause before she 
 uttered the last words with provoking emphasis, wdiich she could 
 not restrain ; there is such a charm in feeling oneself charming. 
 
 Sir Hugh raised his head quickly, as if about to speak, and then 
 stopped. 
 
 “ But in a few days you will be away, among your natural occu¬ 
 pations and associates—the mystery you have created for yourself 
 will cease to interest or annoy,” she continued. 
 
 “ I hope it will,” returned Galbraith bluntly ; “ I hope it wall— 
 but,” again resting his cheek on his hand, and looking up into her 
 eyes, “ am I to take what you say as a notice to quit ?” 
 
 “ A Sunday notice is not a legal warning—so I was informed 
 when I inquired into the laws afl'ecting landlord and tenant, pre¬ 
 vious to letting lodgings,” said Kate demurely. 
 
 “ But do you wish m.e to leave ? ’ 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 265 
 
 “ No, not before you are quite fit to move. But of course it is 
 absurd to suppose you will remain beyond a week or so ! Your 
 kinsfolk and acquaintance would think you daft if you stayed on 
 here without any adequate inducement, and justly.” 
 
 Sir Hugh’s brow lowered, and he twisted his moustaches thought¬ 
 fully. “ I suppose,” he said, “ a fellow may please himself in spite 
 of his kinsfolk and acquaintance—mine troubled me deuced little 
 in former days ! Do you wish me to go ?” 
 
 “ Wish to lose a good tenant! Certainly not,” she replied with 
 a smile—an irrepressible smile. “ But I ought to tell you that, 
 after the middle of April, I wish to have my rooms ready for a 
 tenant of last year, who made me promise to take him in if he 
 wanted to come.” 
 
 “ Oh !”—a very dissatisfied oh ! “I must march, then !” 
 
 He was more mortified than he liked to acknowledge ; this 
 woman, the hem of whose garment he could have taken up and 
 kissed, so much had he lost his common sense, deliberately told 
 him that he was to her a mere every-day tenant, and no more. 
 But it w'as better so ; otherwise he, Galbraith, might make such 
 an ass of himself that he could never get into the lion’s skin again. 
 
 “ But it will be dark if I stay any longer,” said Mrs. Temple, 
 rising ; “ and the path here is not too safe.” 
 
 “ Don’t go !” cried Galbraith, almost vehemently; “ there will bo 
 an hour of daylight yet, and when shall we have such an evening 
 again ? I mean, when shall I have such an evening, if I am to get 
 the route next week ? I beg your pardon !” seeing the look of 
 Avonder in his companion’s eyes at the sort of despairing entreaty 
 in his voice. “ I fancy I must have grown whimsical and—and 
 unlike myself, after my long imprisonment. I do not think I am 
 much of a sentimentalist, but I Avas always fond of evening and 
 the sea—and all that sort of thing, even Avhen I Avas a boy.” This 
 was said AA'ith a kind of burst, as if it came in spite of himself, and 
 he was rather ashamed. 
 
 “ And do you despise yourself for loAnng such beauty as this ?” 
 returned Kate, with a slight gesture of her hand toAvards the sea. 
 “ How strange the efltect of a man’s life must be Avhen all that loe 
 
266 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 are taught to admire and take pleasure in is despised by them. 
 No wonder there is so little true friendship between men and 
 women!” 
 
 “ I don’t despise myself for loving beauty in any shape,” said 
 Galbraith, as he traced an imaginary pattern with his stick on the 
 boards of the landing-place, “ but I can’t talk poetically about it. 
 I should make an ass of myself if I tried!” 
 
 “ If you have the feeling it will out! How do you know you 
 are not a mute inglorious Milton ? How do you know that you 
 have experienced the whole circle of feeling ?” 
 
 A grim smile, not devoid of humour, lit up his face. “ I think 
 you have made a capital random shot!” he said. 
 
 “ Then did you never read any poetry ?” 
 
 “ N—not much. I have heard some read.” 
 
 “ Do you read novels ?” 
 
 “ No.” 
 
 “Do you ever read anything ?” 
 
 “ Yes, Mrs. Temple !” laughing good-humouredly. “ I have read 
 a good deal on professional subjects, and history, and politics. 
 Come, does that redeem me a little fi’om the general ruck of 
 blockheads ?” 
 
 “ A little—yes,” she said thoughtfully. “ But do you not care 
 for the living spirit that animates these dry bones—the skeleton 
 frame of facts ? Do you not enjoy the genius which, out of the 
 clay of every-day events, the mere matter of action, moulds ex¬ 
 quisite forms, and breathes into them the breath of life ? and 
 more—that touches the sleeping God within us ? or gives the dull 
 sullen prisoner in the body’s cage a glimpse of light and liberty ?” 
 
 “ Go on !” said Galbraith in a low voice. “ I am not sure that I 
 take it all in, but I like to listen.” 
 
 “ I dare say you laugh at my outburst! and I am not going to 
 talk for your amusement,” replied Kate, smiling. “ Now, Sir 
 Hugh, do not let me curtail your enjoyment of this delicious even¬ 
 ing, but I am going home !” 
 
 “ And so am I,” said he, rising, “ for at present your home is 
 mine.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 267 
 
 His pertinacity and unusual sympathetic frankness amused and 
 interested her, yet it would not do to meet all Pierstoffe as it re¬ 
 turned from church accompanied by a baronet ; for the present she 
 let him go on however. He was assiduous in his attempts to draw 
 her back to the enthusiastic strain, which gave so much animation 
 to her eyes and mobile lips, but in vain. The efEort, nevertheless, 
 made Galbraith talk unusually well, and before they had accom¬ 
 plished the distance between the coastguard station and the town, 
 he had risen a degree or two in her opinion. Hitherto her estimate 
 of his intellectual powers was by no means exalted ; she had told 
 Tom Reed that he gave her the idea of a stupid obstinate man, 
 whose education had been neglected. 
 
 That he was well bred, though no drawing-room gentleman, she 
 could not deny, and on the present occasion there was more than 
 politeness in the excessive care with which he watched every oppor¬ 
 tunity offered by the slight difficulties of the path, to assist or 
 guard her. “ Had he been in England when I married, and seen 
 and known everything, he would have been more just to me, per¬ 
 haps ! and all this mischief might have been a^mided,” she thought. 
 “ But no ; he is a man of such strong prejudices, that I dare say if 
 I were to tell him who I am now, his friendliness would stiffen into 
 stern contempt. To him I shall always be an adventuress. Well, 
 his opinion is nothing to me.” Such were the ideas floating through 
 her mind as she listened, wdth soft attentive eyes, to her unsuspect¬ 
 ing companion’s exposition of his view's as to the best method of 
 managing the natives of India, with which it is needless to say she 
 entirely disagreed. But they w'ere too near the town to permit of 
 argument. Mrs. Temple stopped short, and said, “ Be so good. Sir 
 Hugh, as to walk on, and leave me to return alone. All Pierstoffe 
 W'ould be horrified at the incongruity of a baronet escorting the 
 proprietress of a fancy bazaar.” She smiled brightly, sw'eetly, and 
 
 Galbraith almost permitted the words, “ D-Pierstoffe !” w'hich 
 
 rose naturally to his lips, to escape ; but he changed them to “ What 
 bosh!” 
 
 “ No, it is not bosh,” said Mrs. Temple. “It is only consistent 
 w’ith your own conservative principles.” 
 
268 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ I do not like to leave you alone in the dusk.” 
 
 “ Nevertheless you must,” she returned decidedly. 
 
 “ I obey,” said Galbraith, raising his hat; quickening his steps, 
 he was soon out of sight, while Kate, slowly following, reached her 
 house without any further adventure. 
 
 She had a long tearful talk with Fanny, after they had bid Tom 
 good-night and good-bye, as he had to start by the first train for 
 town next day. Fanny had utterly rejected the idea of leaving her 
 friend at present, or till she had renounced the Berlin wool trade. 
 She confessed to a quarrel with Tom on this subject, but also to a re¬ 
 conciliation, the very recollection of which called up dimpling smiles 
 and blushes. No! she would not quit Kate ; she never thought 
 she would be so important a person, but she now saw quite well 
 that Kate could not get on without her. 
 
 Mrs. Temple urged that Tom Keed would have just cause to 
 complain if Fanny preferred her friend to her lover, and at last it 
 was decided that when Tom was actually appointed to the chief¬ 
 tainship of the M. T., it would be time enough to talk about 
 separating. In the interest excited by Tom and Fanny’s affairs, 
 Mrs. Temple forgot, or omitted to mention, her rencontre with 
 Galbraith, and having done so, did not care to revert to the subject, 
 especially as her friend had asked her no questions. But, in the 
 solitude of her own room, a review of the conversation called up a. 
 smile half triumphant and wholly amused to the j oung widow’s 
 lips, as she remembered that little less than a year ago she had sat 
 under the yew tree in Hampton Court gardens, and quivered with 
 indignant feeling at the scorn heaped upon her by the man whose 
 tones of entreaty for a few minutes more of her society still rang 
 in her ear 1 
 
 ■ ■ »o* — —» 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 As the friends anticipated. Lady Styles lost no time, on her return 
 to Weston, in investigating the state of affairs at the Berlin Bazaar, 
 and on the day following Tom’s visit she made her appearance at 
 an unusually early hour after luncheon. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 269 
 
 “ V/ell, Mrs. Temple, liow have you all been ? I feel as if I had 
 been away a year instead of six weeks. Do you know, I don’t 
 like any neighbourhood as well as my own ; it’s a great advantage 
 to be within a drive of a Berlin Bazaar—especially when it is so 
 well managed—ha ! ha ! ha ! I want three skeins of yellow shaded, 
 und two of green, five of crimson, and—there ! your young person 
 can take the paper and put all the things together, while I talk to 
 you. You are looking uncommonly well ; and how are you getting 
 on with your tenant—your patient—the man that broke his 
 head ? Slade tells me he is here still; not a bad business for 
 you.” 
 
 “ No, Lady Styles. It has answered very well to have my rooms 
 •occupied ; but Sir Hugh G-albraith leaves this week.” 
 
 “ Oh! indeed—yes, Dr. Slade gives an indifferent account of him, 
 says he is so impatient and proud, and—all sort of things. Have 
 you found him so, eh ?” 
 
 “ I only know that he pays regularly, and gives very little 
 trouble,” replied Mrs. Temple, smihng placidly, and perfectly 
 understanding the drift of the question. 
 
 “ Oh, indeed ; that is very nice, very nice indeed. You know, 
 you would make such a charming nurse ; I thought he might have 
 claimed his landlady’s personal care,” cried Lady Styles, with a 
 jolly laugh. 
 
 “ My good old servant has acted the part of landlady and nurse 
 for me,” returned Mrs. Temple. 
 
 “ Oh, very prudent; quite right, quite right,” said her ladyship, 
 looking round with an eagle eye in search of some chink into which 
 she might insert the point of her wedge-like inquiries. “ I don’t 
 think you have quite so many pretty things as you used. I hope 
 you are not neglecting your business.” 
 
 “ I hope not,” said Mrs. Temple dryly. “ But I have not yet 
 bought my spring goods ; in a week or two I hope to offer a choice 
 selection of novelties.” 
 
 “ That will be charming. Well, Mrs. Temple, if Sir Hugh Gal¬ 
 braith is at home, I think it right to call upon him. I will go in, 
 if you please !” 
 
270 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ I never know if he is in or out, Lady Styles. But if you will 
 go round to the front door the servant will tell you.” 
 
 “ Oh, very well, very well. You see, he is a great friend of a 
 cousin of mine, and I wish to show him a little attention—to ex¬ 
 plain why I have not been to see him before. I will look in again, 
 Mrs. Temple, for my wools and canvas, and tell you what I think 
 of him.” So saying, her ladyship walked, or, to be more accurate, 
 waddled away round to the entrance, and there made a tolerable 
 imitation of her footman’s knock. 
 
 Mills, “ simple, erect, severe, austere,” in due time—not too soon 
 —opened the door in a snowy cap, apron, and net handkerchief, 
 the very picture of an old family servant. 
 
 “ Ah ! I see,” thought Lady Styles, with a delighted sense of her 
 own rapid perception, “ this is the nurse. I wonder where Slade 
 found her*.” 
 
 “ Good-morning,” she said to Mills, who had now reached a con¬ 
 dition which defied the most startling combination of circumstances 
 to surprise. “ How is your patient ? If he is pretty well and 
 visible to-day, I will come in and see him.” 
 
 “ Is it Mrs. Temple you are wanting, ma’am ?” asked Mills, to 
 whom this address was dumb show. 
 
 “ She is as deaf as a post,” exclaimed Lady Styles. “ No, no,’’ 
 in louder tones. “ Sir Hugh Galbraith. I want to see Sir Hugh 
 Galbraith.” 
 
 “ Yes, he is in, ma’am.” 
 
 “ Just tell him Lady Styles would bo happy to come up and see 
 him.” 
 
 “ Walk in, if you please and Mills ushered her ladyship into 
 the pretty sitting-room opening on the garden, where she immedi¬ 
 ately occupied herself in a close examination of all books, photo¬ 
 graphs, &c., &c., which lay upon the table. Meantime, Mills bent 
 her rheumatic steps to Sir Hugh’s apartment. “ There is a lady 
 wants to see you.” 
 
 “ A lady !” echoed Galbraith, looking up from some notes he was 
 trying to make in pencil with his left hand. “ What sort of a 
 lady ?” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 271 
 
 “ Oh, a stoat lady, as is often in the shop. A Lady somebody, 
 sir.” 
 
 “Lady Styles, by Jove!” he exclaimed. “ She has not lost 
 much time. Well, show her up,” he added resignedly, while he 
 hastily put his papers together and shut them in his blotting-book, 
 before Mills opened the door and ushered in his visitor. 
 
 “ Sir Hugh Galbraith,” said Lady Styles in her best manner, as 
 she entered, “ I really could not let you be here in a sort of savage 
 land without coming to look after you. Colonel Upton mentioned 
 you to me as his particular friend, and had I not been detained in 
 Yorkshire by poor Sir Marmaduke’s indisposition I should have 
 had the honour of calling on you before.” 
 
 “ You are very good,” returned Galbraith, advancing a chair. 
 “ Pray sit down,” which her ladyship, being rather out of breath 
 from the ascent of the staircase, did very readily. 
 
 “ I think,” she resumed, “ I have the pleasure of knowing your 
 sister. Lady Lorrimer. I met her at dinner, where I was staying 
 in Yorkshire. I cannot say I see much resemblance between you.” 
 Galbraith bowed. “ And tell me. Sir Hugh, are you feeling better 
 and stronger ?” 
 
 “ I am nearly all right, thank you. Can’t venture to use my arm 
 yet, the Doctor tells me. I hope to get away the end of this week 
 or beginning of next.” 
 
 “ Then, my dear sir,” cried Lady Styles, with much anima¬ 
 tion, “ you had much better come over and spend the remainder 
 of your convalescence at Weston. We will take great care of 
 you ; and I have one or two very pleasant people staying with 
 mo.” 
 
 “ You are really very good. Lady Styles, but I am quite com¬ 
 fortable here. When I am fit to be seen I will do myself the 
 honour of calling upon you.” 
 
 “Fit to be seen, my dear Sir Hugh !” echoed her ladyship. 
 “ The less fit you are to be seen, the more ready all my young lady 
 friends will be to admire you.” 
 
 “ My dear Lady Styles, I do not like young ladies, and I am 
 quite unaccustomed to be admired.” 
 
272 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ What a monster !” cried Lady Styles, laughing. “ But they 
 make you tolerably comfortable here ?” 
 
 “ Very comfortable indeed.” 
 
 Do you ever see your landlady, eh ?” sharply. 
 
 “ I have seen her,” returned Galbraith, with an immovable face. 
 
 “ She interests me very much,” resumed Lady Styles, with ani¬ 
 mation. “ I am quite sure there is some romance attached to her. 
 She is so ladylike and quiet; yet an excellent woman of business. 
 Then she reminds me of two or three people. Has it ever struck 
 you ?” 
 
 “ What ? her likeness to two or three people ? I cannot say it 
 has,” replied Galbraith, so coldly and indifferently that Lady 
 Styles was checked for a moment. 
 
 “ What a nice, respectable nurse you appear to have. I must 
 ask Slade for her address ; it is well to know such a person. Pray, 
 have you found her satisfactory in every respect ? sober, vigilant, 
 .and all that, eh ?” 
 
 “ Who ?” asked Galbraith, puzzled by this flank movement. 
 
 “ The nurse—the old woman who let me in.” 
 
 “ You mean Mrs. Mills ! She is the servant and manager of the 
 house. I thought she was the landlady till the other day. I have 
 never been reduced to a nurse.” 
 
 “ Oh, indeed ! Now, there, Sir Hugh ! there is another remark¬ 
 able fact ; the very servant is out of the common. Mark my 
 words, there is some mystery here.” 
 
 Sir Hugh bent his head in silence. 
 
 “ I imagine all sorts of things about that charming young widow. 
 They do say her husband is still alive, and imprisoned for some 
 dreadful crime ; but I cannot help fancying that she has never 
 been married, but has been well connected, and obliged to part 
 with her protector ? eh. Sir Hugh ? At my age one knows, un¬ 
 fortunately, too much of the wickedness of the world—and—hasn’t 
 it struck you ?” 
 
 “ No, certainly not,” returned Galbraith, starting up and stirring 
 the fire violently, “ ray experience of the world suggests nothing of 
 the kind.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 273 
 
 “ Dear me ! doesn’t it ?” said Lady Styles innocently ; “ but 
 you have been a long time out of England, and of course you 
 haven’t seen Mrs. Temple as much as I have. Then you have 
 formed no theory respecting your landlady ?” 
 
 “Why should I?” exclaimed Galbraith abruptly. “A quiet 
 woman earning her bread honestly, ought to be spared theories and 
 conjectures.” 
 
 “ Now, Sir Hugh, that is too severe. I suppose you mean I am 
 a gossip, and I am nothing of the kind ; but I am hugely sympa¬ 
 thetic. I confess I take a deep, a sincere interest in the people I 
 live amongst. There’s the Doctor ! He is a gossip if you will, and 
 between you and me not the most good-natured of gossips ; but he 
 affects to be above all that sort of thing. Haven’t you noticed it ?” 
 
 “ I am not observant,” returned Sir Hugh, wearing his grimmest 
 aspect. So Lady Styles wandered to another subject. 
 
 “ I was very pleased to hear that old Mr. Travers came to his 
 senses at last, and made a proper will. It would have been shock¬ 
 ing if he had left everything to the widow.” 
 
 “ She would probably differ from you,” said Galbraith dryly. 
 
 “ Oh ! I fancy it was a bitter disappointment to her. I believe 
 she was a very grasping creature ; a connection of mine, the 
 Honourable Mrs. Danby, lived next door, at the time of poor Mr. 
 Travers’s death, and tried to show her a little attention ; but she 
 was rather ungracious ; would not accept any invitation, and was 
 very unneighbourly and disobliging about her carriage : would 
 rather let her horses eat their heads off in the stable than allow a 
 mortal to use it but herself, and was always closeted with a clerk 
 of Mr. Travers’s—over accounts—or Heaven knows what—quite a 
 low fellow !” 
 
 “ Well,” returned Galbraith, who would have stood up for Beel¬ 
 zebub himself against Lady Styles ; “it was only decent to keep 
 quiet after her husband’s death, and people don’t generally keep 
 carriages for their neighbours to use.” 
 
 “ I protest. Sir Hugh, you are severely just. However it was 
 rather hard of the husband to leave her penniless ; depend upon it, 
 he had reason to think her undeserving. Does it strike you ?” 
 
 18 
 
274 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ We have no right to say anything of the sort.” 
 
 “ Pardon me, Sir Hugh, such a will gives us every right. Do 
 you know what has become of her ?” 
 
 “ No,” returned Galbraith. 
 
 “ Dear me ! I wonder you had not the—the curiosity to inquire. 
 Mrs. Danby heard she had gone abroad ; depend upon it, she had 
 contrived to get a sum of money, or a settlement of some kind ; 
 she could not live on air. It would be awkward now if she were 
 to dispute the will.” 
 
 “ That is not likely.” 
 
 “ Well, I don’t know ; these sort of women—greedy, uneducated 
 women, I mean—are very fond of litigation. Suppose she got 
 hold of some sharp, unscrupulous solicitor.” 
 
 “ I never suppose things,” very sternly. 
 
 “ Well, Sir Hugh, I think you are looking very tired, and I shall 
 bid you good-morning,” said Lady Styles, giving him up as a 
 hopeless subject. “ I am truly glad your uncle—wasn’t he your 
 uncle ? No ?—whatever he was then—that he disposed of his 
 property as he did. By the way, do you keep up the business, 
 still ?” 
 
 “ The house still exists.” 
 
 “ Then I really do vash you would give one of the rector’s sons 
 a berth in it. Most deserving people, but poor—wretchedly poor. 
 What between dilapidations and thirteen children—terrible isn’t 
 it ? Now, do think of them. Men like you have a great deal in 
 their power, and you ought to consider yourself a steward for the 
 benefit of others. By the way, Willie Upton talks of coming over 
 for a week or two. He has business in London; so you really 
 must come and meet him. Don’t let me keep you standing. Oh, 
 by the way, I just want to speak a word to Mrs. Temple before I 
 go. May I ring the bell ?”—ringing it. 
 
 This unexpected stroke paralysed Galbraith for a moment. It 
 seemed a sort of sacrilege to call up the gentle, dignified lady of 
 the house to be cross-examined by this rampant old woman. 
 
 “ I do not think Mrs. Temple usually leaves her shop,” he said 
 hastily ; “ Mills is virtually mistress of the house.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 275 
 
 “ Oh, she will come for me,” said Lady Styles, with a pro¬ 
 voking triumphant nod. “ I was her first patron, and I know 
 she looks on me as her sheet anchor.” To Mills as she presented 
 herself, “ Pray, give my compliments to Mrs. Temple; I should 
 like to speak to her for two minutes—just two minutes.” 
 
 “ What, here, ma’am ?” 
 
 “ Yes, here,” smiling graciously; “ I wish to tell her, before 
 you, what I want,” continued Lady Styles to Galbraith, with 
 many nods and smiles, and resuming her seat, while he, in gloomy 
 discomfort, stood upon the hearthrug. Lady Styles talked on, 
 but he scarce heard even the sound of her voice, so anxiously 
 was he watching the door. At last it opened, and Mrs. Temple 
 came in. Her ordinary and exceedingly simple attire could not 
 conceal the grace of her figure, nor had the unexpected summons 
 disturbed the composed, collected expression of her face. Gal¬ 
 braith made a step forward, and bowed. She returned the saluta¬ 
 tion in silence. 
 
 “ Well, Mrs. Temple, I have been persuading Sir Hugh Galbraith 
 to come over to Weston. We should take excellent care of him, 
 and I dare say with your shop and all, you have quite enough to do 
 without attending to an invalid.” 
 
 “ My servant. Mills, attends to the house. I have scarce any¬ 
 thing to do with it,” said Mrs. Temple coldly. “ But I have no 
 doubt Sir Hugh Galbraith would have more comfort and amuse¬ 
 ment at your ladyship’s residence.” 
 
 “ I cannot go, however,” said Sir Hugh resolutely, “ though 
 much obliged, and all that-” 
 
 “ AVell, Mrs. Temple, if Sir Hugh fancies fruit or vegetables, or 
 flowers, or anything, pray send for them. By the way ! have you 
 ever been over to Weston, Mrs. Temple ? It is a very pretty 
 place ; people often drive from Stoncborough to look at it. If 
 you come over some afternoon, about five, you will be in time 
 for the housekeeper’s room tea, and they will be delighted to see 
 you, though I doubt if you will get such good bread, butter, and 
 shrimps as I had here—ha ! ha ! ha ! AVell, good-morning. Sir 
 Hugh. Good-morning, Mrs. Temple,” and her ladyship rolled 
 
 18—2 
 
276 
 
 HER DEAREBT FOE. 
 
 with amazing rapidity out of the room, attended by Galbraith, who 
 with difficulty restrained his lips from bad words. The moment 
 the door was closed upon her he returned quickly, hoping to meet 
 Mrs. Temple ; but she had vanished. 
 
 Galbraith was greatly incensed by this visit, and all the gossip 
 he had been compelled to listen to. It stung him to hear poor 
 Travers’s widow spoken of in such a tone, though he was quite 
 sure she deserved it. Then it vexed him to have the possible 
 claims and probable destitution of that adventuress brought 
 before his notice. He had urged his solicitor repeatedly to seek 
 her out and relieve her necessities, which he felt to be a blot 
 upon his scutcheon. What evil fortune ever brought the creature 
 across his path ? There was one morsel of her ladyship’s out¬ 
 pouring that dwelt on his mind pertinaciously. “ They say her 
 husband is in prison for some crime.” He took this sentence, and 
 looked at it by every light that Mrs. Temple’s bearing, expression, 
 or surroundings threw upon it, and he finally decided that it was 
 utterly false. But his reflections revealed to him what a burning- 
 agony it would be to know that she had a living husband. In 
 vain he strove to banish the idea with half-uttered exclamations 
 that it was nothing to him, that he was unhinged by illness, or he 
 would not give the subject a second thought; it would return with 
 threatening distinctness. 
 
 “ This folly grows serious,” thought Galbraith ; “ I must shake it 
 off. But I have been warned off the premises, so I will go—posi¬ 
 tively next week—next Saturday ; twenty-four hours in London 
 will no doubt effect a radical cure.” 
 
 But he was desperately restless all day, and walked and drove 
 as if urged to and fro by an evil spirit. He was haunted by the 
 suppressed amused arch smile that flickered round the young 
 widow’s lips at Lady Styles’s general in-sdtation to the housekeeper’s 
 room. It was the natural expression of one too much above the 
 proposition to be offended. 
 
 Finally, after walking up and down his room till he heard the 
 church clock strike seven, he seized his hat, put the last Quarterly 
 under his arm, and stalked downstairs as if to go out, but he did 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 277 
 
 not. He knocked at the shop-parlour door, and, in reply to 
 Fanny’s “ Come in,” passed the magic portal with an apology, 
 and so gave himself up to one more enchanted evening. Fanny 
 was in great spirits, and chaffed her friend merrily on being in¬ 
 vited to the housekeeper’s room. Mrs. Temple was rather silent, 
 bestowing much attention on her work. But Hugh Galbraith 
 was content. Nevertheless, when he rose to depart he observed, 
 “ As it is not the Sabbath, Mrs. Temple, I suppose 1 may give 
 legal warning that I intend quitting my pleasant quarters on 
 Saturday.” 
 
 “Very well,” said Mrs. Temple, with unmistakable and mortify¬ 
 ing alacrity. “ I accept it, and will be so far indulgent that I shall 
 not insist on your vacating your apartments before tw’elve, which 
 is, I believe, the strict law.” 
 
 “ If it is any accommodation to you,” returned Galbraith stiffly, 
 “ I can turn out on Friday.” 
 
 “ No, no !” she exclaimed, with a smile so frank and sweet, that 
 Galbraith could have kissed her for it on the spot; “ I do not 
 wish to hurry you in any way ; you have been an excellent tenant, 
 but I must not be too selfish, so I am glad you are well enough to 
 leave.” 
 
 This was said-in a tone of the most conventional politeness—a 
 tone that could not be complained of, and yet that robbed the Idnd 
 wmrds of half their kindness. 
 
 “ Thank you ; good-night,” replied Galbraith shortly, and de¬ 
 parted, without taking any notice of Fanny. 
 
 “ Well!” cried that young lady, looldng up from a book in 
 wFich she was writing out a w'onderful receipt for a crochet border 
 that had been lent to her, “ you do your best to retard that unfor¬ 
 tunate man’s recovery ! You play upon him frightfully, though he 
 is not a very harmonious instrument. Pray, have you the face now 
 to say he is not in love with you ?” 
 
 “You know how much I dislike such idle talk, Fanny. I do 
 not think Sir Hugh Galbraith knows Avhat love means. A cold, 
 stiff, stern man like him fall in love ! Pooh ! He is a little 
 piqued, and puzzled, and interested in me—I mean us —but a day 
 
278 
 
 TIER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 or two of his old occupations—a race, a pigeon match, would 
 put his nearly six weeks’ sojourn here out of his head. Besides, 
 it would be unpardonable presumption in a man like him. to 
 associate me with such ideas,” concluded Kate, raising her head 
 haughtily. 
 
 “ I know it’s a weakness,” said Fanny reflectively ; “ but I can¬ 
 not help it. Sir Hugh has, I can see, a great contempt for me, yet 
 I like him, though I try not. There is a sort of lazy lordliness 
 about him—a carelessness of small things ! I know he behaved 
 very badly to you—abominably!” in reply to Kate’s surprised look; 
 “ of course I hate him for that; but I can tell you I know a great 
 deal more of love than you do.” 
 
 “ You might, easily !” muimured Kate to herself. 
 
 “ AVhat do you say ?” continued Fanny. “ Oh, you think 
 nobody ever looked at me but Tom! Well, you are mistaken ! 
 There was a man in Yorkshire (that dreadful place you rescued 
 me from, you dear I), and I am quite sure he was in love with 
 me!” — a little triumphant nod—“though you may not be¬ 
 lieve it.” 
 
 “ Yes, I do. Fan ! Go on ; tell me all about it.” 
 
 “ He was ever so much older than I am ; a great, tall, gaunt- 
 looking man, not at all unlike poor Sir Hugh—the same sort of 
 sunken, melancholy eyes, but fierce sometimes. I was rather 
 afraid of him. To be sure he did not speak like Sir Hugh ; he had 
 the dreadful Yorkshire accent. I was always inclined to laugh 
 when he spoke. He was the uncle of my pupils.” 
 
 “ What made you think he was in love with you ?” 
 
 “ I can hardly tell. He was always coming into the school-room, 
 and I am sure it was too miserable a place to come to unless you 
 w'anted something very much. Then he was horribly cross and 
 savage to me ; but he was down on any one else that was rude. 
 I think he was ashamed of himself for caring about me ; and I re¬ 
 member once, when he found me crying-” 
 
 “ Well, do go on !” ci’ied her attentive listener. 
 
 “ Oh, nothing, only he was rather foolish.” 
 
 “ Did he propose for you ?” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 279 
 
 “ Not he !” said Fanny, laughing ; “ he was far too prudent; he 
 might though, had I remained.” 
 
 “ And should you have accepted him ?” 
 
 “ To be sure I should,” returned Fanny. 
 
 Her friend was rather scandalised. “ What!” she exclaimed ; 
 
 this man whom you feared and laughed at!” 
 
 “ If he had got over things enough to make me his wife, I should 
 have known I needn’t fear a man who was so fond of me, and I 
 should have thought him too good a fellow to laugh at. Oh ! Kate, 
 you don’t know how wretched I was !” 
 
 “ Did you feel inclined to love him at all ?” asked Mrs. Temple, 
 her thoughts reverting to the absent lover. 
 
 “ Not a bit,” said Fanny cheerfully. “ Thank goodness, he did 
 not make up his mind in time, or I should have missed Tom, 
 and Tom is a thousand, million times nicer and better ! I wonder 
 why Tom took such fancy to a stupid thing like me ? What luck 
 I have had ! But I shan’t tell him that. He requires a good deal 
 of keeping down,” and Fanny shook her head wisely. 
 
 Mrs. Temple did not reply ; she was thinking of the wonderful 
 difference between her friend’s nature and her own. She knew 
 she had more courage, and firmness, and reason than Fanny ; yet 
 she should never dream of “ keeping down ” a man she loved, if 
 she ever did love. If she ever gave her heart, it would be to some 
 one she could look up to so entirely that all her care would be to 
 deserve liis esteem, not to rise above him, or keep him down—an 
 intellectual ideal very unlikely to be realised, and exceedingly un¬ 
 pleasant if it was. Yet Fanny believed Tom the first man of the 
 day, and infinitely her superior even when talking and thinking 
 thus. “ She will, probably, always have more influence than I,” 
 thought Kate. “ Why is this ?” 
 
 But Fanny was talking again. “Now, Sir Hugh always re¬ 
 minds me of poor Mr. West. He is growing fond of you and hateg 
 you at the same time, and despises himself all the while for caring 
 about you.” 
 
 “ Despises himself,” repeated her listener, with scornful curling 
 lips. 
 
280 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ Oh ! if you would hang down your head, and sigh, and seem 
 mysteriously broken-hearted, I dare say it -would be all over with 
 him ; but to see you face him like the rock that wouldn’t fly (what 
 is it in that poem ?), and look right into his eyes with those big, 
 earnest ones of yours, makes him feel that you are more than his 
 match. Why, even I feel half afraid of them now !” 
 
 “ Fanny,” exclaimed Mrs. Temple, “ how did you learn all 
 this ?” 
 
 “ Learn it! I don’t know, I am sure ; it seems to come into my 
 head of its own accord. But I am certain I am right!” 
 
 “ You are wonderful ; you astonish me !” 
 
 “ Do I ? Well, then I am astonished myself ! After all, I may 
 turn out one of those swells who can ‘ Lay bare the workings of 
 the Human Heart,’ with capital Pi’s. I shall write at once to 
 Tom, and tell him what a wonderful discovery I have made.” 
 
 “ Do, dear ; but first give me your word never to talk in this 
 strain of Sir Hugh Galbraith again! It is unbecoming and ab¬ 
 surd ! In a few days he will be gone, and we shall never see his 
 face again, nor will he even hear of me—unless, as I trust in 
 Heaven I shall, I come before him as the successful opponent of 
 the will which robbed me to enrich him.” 
 
 “ We never know what is before us,” said Fanny sagely. 
 “ But there, dear ! I will never say anything to vex you if I can 
 help it.” 
 
 P’or the two succeeding days the friends saw nothing of Gal¬ 
 braith, who was suffering from a severe fit of the sulks, and was 
 constantly out of doors, although the weather was showery and 
 rough. 
 
 He certainly intended to leave, for elaborate preparations were 
 made for a move ; and his servant informed Mrs. Mills that, if his 
 master did want to stay at Pierstoffe for a day or two longer, he 
 would go to the hotel—a proposition which excited Mills’s wrath as 
 a flagrant act of ingratitude, after “ her slaving and waiting on 
 him hand and foot ; but it was all of a piece ”—meaning his con¬ 
 duct. 
 
 Fanny collected some magazines and reviews he had lent- and 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 281 
 
 carefully made out a copy of his bill, to have it in readiness. She 
 made an excellent chancellor of the exchequer. Mrs. Temple at¬ 
 tended assiduously to her shop. She was really glad the enemy 
 was going to retreat, for she was half afraid something unpleasant 
 might occur, since Fanny had opened her stores of wisdom. 
 
 Lady Styles had made another incursion, with a carriage-load of 
 ladies who purchased largely, while their conductress abused Sir 
 Hugh Galbraith to her heart’s content. “ The most tiresome, con¬ 
 ceited, ill-bred man she had ever met;—but the Galbraiths always 
 were the most overbearing, ill-tempered people, my dear. The 
 late Sir Frederick—this man’s father—was the best of them, and 
 bad was the best!” Mrs. Temple smiled. 
 
 “ My dear Mrs. Temple, who is it that you remind me of so very 
 strongly, especially when you smile ? I seem to have known you 
 all my life. Look here, Elizabeth !” to a grand lady who was buy¬ 
 ing views of Pierstoffe. “ Does Mrs. Temple remind you of any 
 one ?” The lady appealed to squeezed up her eyes, and calmly 
 perused Kate’s features. “ I am not sure, but I fancy she has a 
 look of Lady William Courtenay.” 
 
 “ Yes, to be sure, that is it!—a niece of mine. How stupid of 
 me not to see it before ! Pray what was your name before your 
 marriage ?” 
 
 “ Smith,” returned Mrs. Temple shortly ; “ but, excuse me, I 
 cannot see that my appearance or name has anything to do with 
 my business, which is to sell you fancy-work of all descriptions !” 
 
 “ Very fair ! quite right! I protest I beg your pardon !” cried 
 her ladyship. “ And so that disagreeable man is going on Satur¬ 
 day—positively, Slade tells me. I am sure I congratulate you ! 
 I imagine he is a good deal set up by getting his uncle’s fortune so 
 unexpectedly. The un^e married a doubtful sort of woman, and 
 they feared he would leave her everytliing ; but he changed his 
 mind in time. Dear me, Elizabeth ! Laura ! There is Sir Hugh 
 himself, just passing the window.” A rather undignified scuffle to 
 see the object of Lady Styles’s remarks gave IMrs. Temple time to 
 recover herself. She was astonished to find her story, at any rate 
 partially, known in that remote locality. 
 
282 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 She did not know the freemasonry of caste—the electric tele¬ 
 graphy that sends all reports and tattle touching themselves flash¬ 
 ing through the ranks of those linked together by the common 
 possession of that mysterious attribute termed “ blue blood.” 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 The morning before Galbraith’s departure the postman had only 
 two letters for the Berlin Bazaar ; one directed to “ Sir Hugh Gal¬ 
 braith, Bart.the other to Miss Lee, in Tom Reed’s well-known 
 writing. It was not a lengthy epistle, nevertheless it evidently 
 gave both pleasure and amusement, for Fanny’s face was dimpled 
 with smiles as she read. Mrs. Temple glanced at her kindly and 
 sympathisingly, as she poured out the tea. 
 
 “ I think, Fan, you have dropped something out of your letter,” 
 she said. 
 
 “ Have I ?” starting, and picking up a small note that had been 
 enclosed in Tom’s missive. “ To be sure! He says it is for 
 you.” 
 
 Mrs. Temple took and opened it. It ran thus: “ The day of 
 miracles is not quite over yet! Trapes called here this morning, 
 and absolutely repaid me a sovereign I had lent him last week, and 
 which I had fondly hoped would have kept him at a distance for 
 months. Though stunned, I remembered your desire for his ad¬ 
 dress, and recovered sufficiently to procure it: ‘ J. Trapes, Esq., 
 care of W. Bates, the Red Boar, King Street, Islington.’ One 
 word more : by no means communicate with this fellow except 
 through myself or somebody equally devoted to your interest.” 
 
 “ This is very curious ! It is a good omen !” exclaimed Kate. 
 
 “ What ?” said Fanny. 
 
 Kate gave a short explanation, the shorter because she saw 
 Fanny glance from time to time at her letter, which she evidently 
 wished to re-peruse. 
 
 When breakfast was over, Kate went to their best sitting-room 
 to lock away Mr. Trapes’s address, with her evidence-book, and a 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 283 
 
 few other papers of importance ; and after turning the key, stood 
 a moment in thought. She did not know why she permitted the 
 idea of this man to associate itself in her mind with Ford. She 
 could not help believing that his tale of Ford’s resemblance to 
 some one who owed him money was a blind, and that Ford himself 
 was the object of his search. What Ford’s acquaintance with such 
 a character had to do with her own history she could not tell. She 
 fancied, if she could only see this Trapes, she might get some clue. 
 Now his unexpected restoration of the sovereign looked like having 
 extracted money from Ford! She must think it all over coolly 
 and clearly. “ I must not let imagination fool me ; yet imagina¬ 
 tion is the pioneer of discovery.” Here the sound of Galbraith’s 
 deep, harsh voice caught her ear. He was down in the hall at 
 that early hour, speaking to Mills—asldng for herself. “ I am 
 here,” she said, coming to the open door of the drawing-room. 
 
 “ I beg pardon for intruding on you at such an hour, Mrs. 
 Temple,” said Galbraith, turning to her ; “ but I have had a letter 
 which I am very anxious to answer by to-night’s post. May I 
 once more trouble you to act as secretary ? Your labours in that 
 line are nearly over ! Any hour before nine will do.” 
 
 “ I shall not be at liberty before seven, and, as it seems a letter 
 of importance, I had better not attempt it till I am safe from in¬ 
 terruptions.” 
 
 “ Thank you, thank you !” said Galbraith earnestly. “ I shall 
 expect you then, at seven.” He paused a moment, as if on the 
 point of saying more ; then bowed, and retreated upstairs. 
 
 Mrs. Temple was struck by the animation of his look and manner. 
 “ His letter is not a disagreeable one, I am quite sure,” she thought. 
 “ It is quite as well he is going ; this secretaryship would not raise 
 me in the estimation of my fellow-townspeople if it were known ! 
 What would not Lady Styles say ? Fortunately, poor Mills is deaf 
 and incorruptible ; and Sarah leaves so early, she sees nothing. I 
 wonder, shall Hugh Galbraith and I ever meet ygain ? That our 
 courses will cross or clash I feel quite sure !” 
 
 So thinking, she went slowly into the shop and threw her atten¬ 
 tion into her business. Still, sudden, sharp conjectures respecting 
 
284 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 J. Trapes, Esq., would dart through, her brain, and also respecting- 
 Hugh Galbraith’s letter. It came so naturally to her to call him 
 Hugh ! In the various conversations in which she had urged his 
 claims upon her husband, they had always spoken of him as 
 “ Hugh and now, had she not always been on guard when speak¬ 
 ing to him, the name would certainly have escaped her. “ I shall 
 really be glad when he is gone, and the odd excitement of his 
 presence removedso, honestly thinking, she attended to the 
 many demands of her customers, the day went quickly over, and 
 seven o’clock came round. 
 
 For the first time Mrs. Temple had to pause and reason away a 
 slight tinge of embarrassment before she presented herself for the 
 performance of her task. “ This is the fruit of Fanny’s foolish 
 talk,” she thought, as she stood before the glass ; “ but I am no 
 stupid school-girl, to be affected by it! Life has been too real for 
 me not to have steadied my nerves beyond what the implied ad¬ 
 miration of an accidental acquaintance could disturb,” and, with a 
 faint increase of colour, a shade more of hauteur in her bearing, 
 Mrs. Temple followed Mills, whom she had sent to inquire if Sir 
 Hugh was ready. 
 
 He was, quite. The curtains were drawn, and the lamp lit; for, 
 though daylight had not quite faded, there would not have been 
 enough to finish a letter by. 
 
 Galbraith had put his writing materials in readiness on the table, 
 and was leaning against the chimney-piece, holding an open letter, 
 and evidently in a state of expectation. “ You are really very 
 good,” he said earnestly, coming forward to meet her, and placing 
 a chair at the table. 
 
 His manner put Mrs. Temple at her ease. His business, what¬ 
 ever it was, appeared to occupy him, to the exclusion of any other 
 idea; and Mrs. Temple mentally accused herself of conceit and 
 stupidity for listening to Fanny’s suggestions. She accordingly' 
 took the offered seat, and, dipping her pen in the ink, looked up 
 to Galbraith for the words. 
 
 He dictated slowly and thoughtfully, often looking at the letter 
 in his hand : “ Hear Sir,—I have yours of the —th. I regret to find 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 285 
 
 you are out of town, and that you have been unwell. The price 
 asked for the property I wish to buy back is much beyond its 
 worth, quite a third more than my father sold it for. I am aware 
 that it is of more value to me than to any other purchaser, but I am 
 not at all inclined to pay a fancy price, and I Iniow that in its 
 present condition much of the land is scarcely worth two pounds 
 an acre. You are quite right in trying to keep me out of sight, 
 though I fear you are too well known as my solicitor. Could you 
 not find some respectable local man who might act for you in 
 ignorance of your client’s name ? If the upland called Langley 
 Knolls, which is very good land, be included in the sale, or you 
 can manage to get hold of it, I will go as far as ten thousand 
 for the whole—as much under as you like ; but I have this sum at 
 hand, as you know, and I will not go beyond it.” 
 
 At this point Mrs. Temple stopped short, and, placing her elbow 
 on the table, instinctively shaded her face from Galbraith by 
 placing her hand over her eyes, for the words she had just written 
 stirred her deeply. That ten thousand pounds—she exactly knew 
 where it came from, how it was placed, and why it was available. 
 Little more than a year ago it was hers, and she had her own plans 
 respecting it; now she was writing directions for its disposal in a 
 way that, whatever happened, would put a large portion of it out 
 of her reach. And more, she felt a strange sensation of shame at 
 the sort of treachery she was involuntarily practising; for, if she 
 succeeded in making good her claim to the whole of Mr. Travers’s 
 property under the original will, Galbraith would be placed in a 
 position which, from all she could observe of him, would be un¬ 
 speakably degrading and distressing to his unyielding nature. So 
 far her acquaintance with him had softened her towards her enemy 
 that she could wish to spare him unnecessary humiliation, if she 
 had ever, even in her angriest mood, wished it; and now, to let 
 him run blindly into the snare—was it honourable or right ? 
 “ What can I do ?” she thought. 
 
 But Galbraith had gone on dictating, and stopping to let her pen 
 overtake his words, observed, with a little surprise, that she was 
 not writing. His pause recalled her. 
 
286 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ Excuse me,” she said in a low voice, not venturing to look up ; 
 “ but are you wise to allow an utter stranger to know so much of 
 your affairs ? If you leave us to-morrow, shall you not soon see 
 your solicitor, and talk over your business ? How do you know 
 that I am not a friend of whoever wants an exorbitant price for 
 this land, and will let him know who the purchaser really is ? If 
 there are any more very personal topics to come, had we not better 
 stop here ?” 
 
 Galbraith looked at her in great surprise. “ Do you know the 
 man who wants to sell ?” he asked sharply. 
 
 “ No, I do not; but-” 
 
 “You are not the material traitors are made of,” said he, after 
 an instant’s pause and a searching gaze at the downcast face before 
 him. “ I have no secrets. I must write to Layton, for he is away 
 at Scarborough. He has been ill, and has gone for change to his 
 native place. You may write on with a safe conscience ; I want to 
 end it, for I am giving you a great deal of trouble.” 
 
 Mrs. Temple was at the end of her resources, and silently, ner¬ 
 vously resumed her pen as Galbraith continued to dictate. 
 
 “ I am very glad you have found some traces of poor Travers’s 
 widow, and beg you will lose no time in following them up. I feel 
 infinitely annoyed to think she is wandering about unprovided for 
 —perhaps subsisting by doubtful means !” 
 
 “ Have you that down ?” asked Galbraith, who began to think 
 Ml’S. Temple was not quite up to her mark this evening. 
 
 She bent her head, and, with a cheek that first glowed and then 
 turned very pale, wrote on with a beating heart. Traces of her¬ 
 self ! What traces ? She w’ould make him talk, and so find out. 
 
 “ Just add,” continued Galbraith, “ that I beg his attention to 
 this. I should write to the partner about it, only I wish to keep 
 the inquiry as quiet as possible.” 
 
 Mrs. Temple wrote on in silence, trying, and successfully, to re¬ 
 cover her composure and presence of mind. In a few moments 
 she handed him the letter to read, which he did carefully, and then 
 managed to scrawl his signature with his left hand. He returned 
 it to her with an envelope, showed her the address on Mr. Payne’s 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 287 
 
 letter, and rang the bell. “ Tell my man to post this at once, and 
 that I want nothing more to-night,” said he, when Mills appeared ; 
 and he proceeded to pace once or twice to and fro between Mrs. 
 Temple and the door. 
 
 “ Stay a little,” he said, as she made a movement to rise : “ so 
 far from having secrets, I feel inclined to tell you something of my 
 history, such as it is ; but first tell me why did this letter disturb 
 you ?—for you loere disturbed.” 
 
 “ Well — you see ten thousand pounds is such a quantity of 
 money,” said Mrs. Temple, settling herself again and shading her 
 face with her hand ; “ at least it is to me ; you are accustomed to 
 large sums no doubt.” 
 
 “ By Jove, I am not! I have been a poor devil all my life till 
 the other day.” 
 
 “ I should have thought you only knew one half of life, and that 
 the half in which, as the children say, ‘ We go up, up, up,’ ” replied 
 Mrs. Temple, looking at him with an encouraging smile. 
 
 “ I have had considerable experience in being hard up,” said 
 Galbraith, who, in his desire to prolong this last interview, was 
 ready to tell anything and everything that could detain his com¬ 
 panion. “You must know that for years I considered myself heir 
 to a rich cousin, who, when I was away in India, thought fit to 
 marry a girl young enough to be his daughter, and low enough to 
 be his housemaid! Not content with this piece of folly, he left 
 her all his money—cutting me off without even the traditional 
 shilling. I came back awfully disgusted. When, to my own and 
 every one’s surprise, another will turned up, making me the heir 
 and cutting her off without the shilling. I suppose the old man 
 had some reason that has never come out. Still, I do not think it 
 was right to leave the woman who bore his name unprovided for. 
 I wanted to make up the deficiency, but, by Jove ! she would not 
 accept a sou, declares number two will is a forgery, that she will 
 have all or nothing, and has disappeared. Now the information I 
 wanted from Payne is about her. He thinks he is on her track : 
 somewhere in Germany, he says,” looking at the letter, “ that there 
 is a girls’ school lately started at Wiesbaden by an Englishwoman, 
 
288 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 a Mrs. Talboys—heard of it quite accidentally—and that she seems 
 to answer the description of Mrs. Travers.” 
 
 “ Your story interests me,” said Mrs. Temple, as he paused. She 
 had quite recovered her self-possession and raised her eyes fully 
 and calmly to his as he stood opposite to her, holding the back of a 
 chair with his left hand. “ And I hope all will come right,” she 
 added, with a meaning smile, which, looking as he was into her 
 eyes, he did not heed. 
 
 “You see,” he resumed, “one must always admire pluck in prince 
 or plebeian ; besides, she offered me a tolerable income out of the 
 estate—but that might have been to keep me quiet.” 
 
 “ Was she pretty ?” asked Kate, looking down again. 
 
 “ That I cannot say ; I never saw her. I believe she has red 
 hair ; so Ford told me.” 
 
 “ Did Ford say that ?” exclaimed Mrs. Temple, with irrepressible 
 indignation. Then, checking herself, “ I mean, it is surprising your 
 cousin should have fancied so plain a person.” 
 
 “ And his landlady’s daughter, by George !” said Galbraith, who 
 had walked to the fire just to get his eyes away from the fascina¬ 
 tion of his companion’s, and now laid hold of the chair-back again. 
 “Poor Travers was rather a fastidious man, but I suppose she 
 was determined to have him. It was a great catch for her, no 
 doubt; still it is always revolting to see a girl sacrifice herself 
 to age.” 
 
 “I suppose it is,” said Mrs. Temple, pushing back her chestnut- 
 brown hair, which was often loosened by its own weight, with a 
 natural, unconscious action, and then clasping her hands, leant them 
 before her on the table, while she yielded to the temptation to plead 
 her own cause to the enemy whose somewhat rugged, generous 
 honesty appealed strongly to her sympathies, her fair face, and 
 soft, earnest eyes uplifted to his with a sincere purpose that 
 banished every shadow of embarrassment. “ I suppose it is ; but 
 ■did it ever strike you what a terribly hard lot it is for a woman 
 to be poor and alone ? perhaps suddenly bereft of those who sur¬ 
 rounded her youth with tenderness, if not with luxuries ! I do not 
 think any man can quite realise hoio terrible it is ; but if you could, 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 289 
 
 you -would understand what a temptation an honourable home and 
 the protection of a kind, good, even though elderly, man offers—an 
 irresistible temptation! And if a woman’s heart is quite, quite 
 free, believe me, warm, hearty gratitude is no bad substitute for 
 love.” She stopped a moment, a little ashamed of the emotion 
 wuth which she had spoken, and added, in an altered tone, “ So I 
 imagine it is in my world. I do not pretend to understand the 
 shibboleth of yours.” 
 
 Galbraith’s words did not come very readily, so absorbed Avas he 
 by her look, her voice. “ I understand you^" he said at last; “ and 
 if you will not consider my interest impertinence, I should say your 
 description is draAvn from experience — your own marriage was 
 something of this ?” 
 
 “ Something,” she returned, looking down and arranging the 
 paper and envelopes before her a little nervously. 
 
 “ Well,” returned Galbraith, closing his large, lean, sinewy, sun¬ 
 burnt hand tightly on the chair-back, “ an elderly husband might 
 be satisfied with gratitude and all that sort of thing, but, by Heaven, 
 I should not! I should want throb for throb as tender, if not as 
 passionate, as the love I gave, or I would be inclined to cut my 
 throat !” 
 
 Surprised at his tone, Mrs. Temple looked up and met his eyes 
 all aglow with suck passionate admiration that she grew paler, and 
 her heart beat with undefined fear at the fire with which she had 
 been playing. Here was something more than she had bargained 
 for, or had ever before met. Moreover, whatever Hugh Galbraith’s 
 intellectual powers might be, he was evidently a man whose perti¬ 
 nacity and resolution was not to be trifled -with. Had she created 
 treuble for herself, and brought upon herself possibilities of insult 
 far worse than anything she had yet sustained ? could she at that 
 moment have borrowed a conjurer’s wand, she would have instantly 
 transported Galbraith to a London hotel safe out of her way ; but, 
 as she could not, her best plan was to rally her forces and retreat 
 in good order. 
 
 “ It is growing late,” she said coldly. “ I must wish you good¬ 
 night.” 
 
 19 
 
290 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ One moment,” returned Galbraith eagerly, his invention 
 quickened by his ardent desire to keep her a little longer ; “it is 
 my last chance of having so good a secretary. May I ask you to 
 write a few lines to Upton ?” 
 
 “ They will scarce be in time for the post.” 
 
 “ No matter, they will go to-morrow.” 
 
 Mrs. Temple replied by taking some note-paper, and dipping her 
 pen in the ink. Galbraith dictated a few incoherent ungrammati¬ 
 cal lines, telling his friend of Lady Styles’s visit and invitation, 
 and adding his London address, requesting Upton to join him 
 there. 
 
 “ Is that all ?” asked Mrs. Temple, writing on rapidly, anxious to 
 end the interview. 
 
 “ Yes.” Her pen ran on : suddenly she half uttered a quickly 
 suppressed “ Oh !” 
 
 “ What is the matter ?” asked Galbraith, who was again pacing 
 the room. 
 
 “ Nothing ; only I have stupidly made a blunder-” She 
 
 stopped. 
 
 “ Let me see,” he said, snatching up the paper before she could 
 ' prevent him. 
 
 “ You have signed your own name ! Kate! I have always 
 wanted to know your name. Kate ! It’s the best name of all— 
 there is something sweet and frank about it. Kate!” With a 
 quick, eager glance at her face, he pressed his lips greedily on the 
 writing, and then, crushing the paper in his clenched hand, dashed 
 down his arm to its length as if furious with himself. 
 
 Mrs. Temple changed colour, but to deeper paleness ; and rising 
 quietly—swiftly, though without hurry—left the room. Galbraith 
 stood still for a minute or two, and then burst into half-uttered 
 curses on his own despicable want of self-control. He had betrayed 
 himself, he had startled and offended the woman he passionately 
 admired, yet could not ask to be his wife. He had altogether be¬ 
 haved like a weak, purposeless blockhead. He was glad he was 
 going away; yet he would not like to sneak off like a poltroon 
 without making things right. What should he do ? 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 291 
 
 The next morning before twelve the widow’s tenant v/as ready 
 to decamp. 
 
 “ He is just going, ’m,” said Mills, putting her head into the 
 shop, “ and he says he wants to speak to you.” 
 
 “ Go, Fanny,” was Mrs. Temple’s reply. 
 
 “ Won’t you ? Well, I suppose I must.” 
 
 The door of the dining-room was open, and as Fanny approached 
 she could see Galbraith standing near the window. 
 
 “ I wanted to shake hands with you before I left,” said he, not 
 without a little embarrassment; “ you have all been very good to 
 me. I was most fortunate in finding such care and help. If there 
 is anything I can do for you at any time. Miss Lee, there’s my card 
 —you will be sure to hear of me at my club, and—where’s Mrs. 
 Temple ? I want to bid her good-bye.” 
 
 “ She is busy ; but I will tell her,” and Fanny left the room, but 
 soon returned. “ She is very sorry, but she is particularly engaged. 
 She desires her best wishes.” 
 
 Galbraith stood a moment gazing at Fanny in deep thought. ‘‘ I 
 will not keep her an instant!” he exclaimed. “ Go and ask her 
 again. Make her come, like a good girl.” 
 
 Very much surprised by this appeal, Fanny went, but on a fruit¬ 
 less errand. 
 
 “ She can’t come, indeed.” 
 
 “ I am exceedingly sorry that I gave you such useless trouble,” 
 said Galbraith sternly. “ Good-bye, Miss Lee! Stay—I had 
 almost forgotten,” and he took up a small morocco case he had 
 placed upon the table. “ Do me the favour to wear this sometimes 
 in memory of your secretaryship. Good-bye,” and he was gone. 
 
 “ Well, I do declare it is a bracelet—a beautiful, solid gold brace¬ 
 let !” exclaimed Fanny, eagerly peeping into the case. “ Now this 
 was intended for Kate ; but she would not come. It’s an ill wind 
 that blows nobody good.” 
 
 “ Just see what you have lost !” she cried, running in to her friend, 
 who had retreated to the parlour, leaving the shop to take care of it¬ 
 self for a few minutes lest Galbraith, seeing her there, might persist 
 in making his personal adieux. “ Look! isn’t that a lovely bracelet ?” 
 
 19—2 
 
292 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ Did Hugh Galbraith give it you ?” asked Mrs. Temple. 
 
 “ Yes! that is what he wanted to see you so much for; he in¬ 
 tended to give it to you.” 
 
 “ Impossible !” she returned, colouring deeply. “ I do not think 
 he would have ventured to offer me a present. Let me look at it, 
 Fanny.” It was more massive than pretty, and had a raised orna¬ 
 ment which opened in the centre for hair or a miniature, and holding 
 it out to Fanny Mrs. Temple pointed to the initials “ F. L.” inside. 
 “ It was meant for you,” she said, “ I thought he felt I was not a 
 person he could offer presents to.” 
 
 “ Well, I am,” said Fanny ; “ so he showed his sense ! I tell you 
 what, Kate—when you are really going in for your battle, we will 
 sell this and pay some lawyer to plead against him! That is what 
 Tom would call poetical justice.” 
 
 “ You little traitor !” cried Kate ; “ the rack would be too good 
 for you.” 
 
 •♦O 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 It was a few days before Easter, when Galbraith found himself at 
 
 L-s Hotel. The town was full and busy, yet he had never, 
 
 even in the dreariest of outposts, felt so desolate as when he began 
 “ to take his walks abroad.” Society he found, to a certain amount, 
 at his club, but he was rather an uncommunicative man ; he had 
 never given or received much S3rmpathy until accident had placed 
 him within the influence of the first woman who had ever made a real 
 impression upon him. Now he missed the quiet, home-like comfort 
 and care which had surrounded him for the last two months. His 
 full strength had not quite returned, though he found he could 
 manage his own correspondence now that the occupation of dicta¬ 
 ting had been robbed of all the charms which pervaded it at 
 Pierstoffe. 
 
 Of course, as soon as his return to the haunts of civilisation 
 became known, invitations poured in. His sisters were quite kind 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 293 
 
 in their attentions, having found him much more endurable than 
 he used to be. 
 
 “ I really think Hugh has been more seriously injured than he 
 believes,” said Lady Lorrimer to her younger sister, as they sat 
 together after a friendly little dinner of about a dozen, which Gal¬ 
 braith had been persuaded to join. “ He is as silent and morose 
 as if he had lost a fortune instead of coming into one. Now, he 
 ‘was not like that last summer, when he first came back. He was 
 wonderfully bright, and amiable, for him. I really thought I had 
 never seen any one so improved by good fortune before. Now he 
 is worse than ever. He often does not seem to hear what you 
 say.” 
 
 “ Deafness,” said the Hon. Mrs. Harcourt, arranging the lace on 
 her upper skirt, “ often proceeds from concussion of the brain. 
 Poor Hugh ! some one really ought to induce him to make his will. 
 The life of a hunting man is so precarious.” 
 
 “ Oh, he is exceedingly likely to follow zis to the grave !” said 
 Lady Lorrimer sharply ; “ but I wish he would stand for Middle- 
 burgh. Lorrimer says there Avill be a vacancy before the session 
 is over, and it would be well for him to represent what used to be 
 a family borough. The more members of a family are in the 
 house the better. In short, the tendencies of the present age are 
 such, that, politically speaking, peers are nobodies.” 
 
 “ Of course he will stand !” cried Mrs. Harcourt, thinking of the 
 possibilities of patronage and her own fledgelings. “ Has Lorrimer 
 spoken to him ?” 
 
 “ Yes, and can get no decided answer—in fact, he thinks Hugh 
 far from being himself. However, he has nearly arranged a rather 
 extensive purchase of the property my father sold ; and that is a 
 step in the right direction.” 
 
 Here a mutual dear friend, who thought a close confab betAveen 
 two sisters would not be the worse for an interruption, broke in 
 with some queries touching their disposal of the Easter recess. 
 
 “We are going to Paris,” returned Lady Lorrimer. “ I rather 
 wanted my brother to join us ; but he is asked to join the Ashfield 
 party, which is much better for him. Lady Ehzabeth G-, and 
 
294 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 Miss Dasliwood, and some very nice people will be there, and we 
 are naturally anxious he should marry into a good set.” 
 
 But Galbraith was not made of malleable materials, and quietly 
 threw aside his sister’s elforts to guide his career. She was by 
 nature and adoption a manoeuvrer—a politician, she would have 
 called it. Having no children of her own, she bestowed her care 
 and thoughts on her husband’s party, and the unmarried members 
 of her own family. 
 
 Lord Lorrimer was a Whig of the old school, and his wife, con¬ 
 siderably his junior, and one of the most exclusive women in 
 London, affected a more advanced Liberalism. She was always 
 attempting to create a party, a salon, a coterie, and failed signally. 
 It requires a woman of no ordinary calibre to construct such a 
 fabric out of the unsuitable elements of English social life, and 
 the tattle of his sister and her familiars, with their storms in tea¬ 
 cups, and ministerial crises that never stirred the ministry, excited 
 Galbraith’s profoundest contempt. However, he was not deaf to 
 the voice of the charmer when the charmer whispered of political 
 position, and to the suggestions of Lord Lorrimer he did seriously 
 incline. 
 
 It was the only line of thought in w^hich he found relief from a 
 constant gnawing sense of loss and disappointment of something 
 gone out of his life, that he was perpetually feeling after and 
 longing for. It was all the more idiotic on his part, he told him¬ 
 self, to allow such weakness to master him, as it was evident that 
 Mrs. Temple, if she had any feeling towards him beyond profound 
 indifference, had an unaccountable aversion. Why, he could not 
 divine. Galbraith was by no means inclined to overrate his own 
 attractions ; he was too strong a man to be conceited, and honestly 
 believed he was not the sort of fellow women cared about—a con¬ 
 viction which did not in the least disturb him. But he perhaps 
 exaggerated to himself the advantages which fortune had tardily 
 bestowed upon him, and was quite ready to think himself accept¬ 
 able to most undowered women on the score of position. Not that 
 he resented this ; it was the ordinary course of things, and Hugh 
 Galbraith was not the sort of man to set up an ideal standard, and 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 295 
 
 fret himself because society fell below it. But in Mrs. Temple he 
 had met something different from all his previous experience. She 
 was so frank and firm, so well bred in her bold opposition or ready 
 agreement; her very reserve was natural, unstudied, and flecked 
 with gleams of feeling and tenderness, suggesting possibilities that 
 made Galbraith’s rather inexperienced heart beat fast. Then, in 
 his eyes, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever met— 
 beautiful, with a rich, queen-hke beauty, that touched the senses 
 as well as the intellect—and as he recalled every look and gesture 
 of hers in their last conversation, every varying modulation of her 
 low, clear voice, he understood how men—ay, even men of his 
 mature age—have lost or renounced everything for some fair-faced 
 bit of humanity. But he, Hugh Galbraith, would not make a fool 
 of himself about a woman of whose antecedents he knew nothing, 
 and had no right to inquire, unless, indeed, he committed himself 
 beyond retraction, and she was not a woman to be mocked by 
 shows, without the reality of devotion; besides—and in this pro¬ 
 bably lay the secret of his prudence—she did not care a rap 
 about him ; perhaps she was attached to some other fellow ! He 
 could never forget the air of cold, self-possessed disapprobation 
 with which she rose up and left the room when he Idssed the paper 
 where she had written her name, showing none of the fluttered 
 feeling, half fear, half pleasure, with which the first approach of 
 a lover is regarded. He had kept that note, with “Kate” hurriedly 
 written at the foot of the page. He had taken it out of his desk 
 several times with the intention of destroying it, but invariably 
 restored it to its hiding-place, not always without committing the 
 bojdsh folly of bestowing kisses upon the name, which he would 
 fain have pressed i;pon the lips of the writer ! 
 
 However, Galbraith fought gallantly against the terrible mad¬ 
 ness which had seized him. He rushed to and fro to his solicitor, 
 to his club, to dinners and receptions—he tried hard to find some 
 suitable woman to drive the unsuitable one out of his head. But 
 the plan would not succeed. 
 
 Lady Elizabeth G-, whom he had found very nice, quite the 
 
 correct article, in short, last season, now appeared an inane doll. 
 
296 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 The animation of some women, the quiet of others, all seemed 
 alike unreal, forced, distasteful. Politics, and the preliminaries of 
 his purchase, alone brought him relief and distraction. 
 
 “ Mr. Ford was here yesterday,” said Mr. Payne to him one 
 morning he had called at the office when he had been about three 
 weeks in town. “ He wished to ascertain if you had any tidings of 
 Mr. Travers’s widow. I simply said you had not. If I remember 
 right, we had a suspicion at the time the matter was fresh (sug¬ 
 gested by the omission of Ford’s name from Mr. Travers’s last 
 will, coupled with disinheriting his wife), that he might possibly 
 have imagined there was some tie between his wife and his clerk 
 which he did not approve. And though Ford tried to be very 
 cool and business-like, I could see he was deeply interested in 
 finding her whereabouts.” 
 
 “ Does he not know ?” asked Galbraith carelessly. 
 
 “ No, I do not think he does.” 
 
 “ Well, I scarcely believe that. You are a shrewder man than I 
 am, Mr. Payne, but I fancy I could make out if he was shamming. 
 I should like to see this Ford. Have you his address ?” 
 
 “ I have.” 
 
 “ Give it to me, then. I want to talk to him. I always 
 fancied he was in communication with the widow. What is he 
 doing ?” 
 
 “ I think he has started as a stockbroker.” 
 
 ‘‘ I never could understand why he declined to remain as 
 manager with me. I think I should have kept up the house if 
 he had.” 
 
 “ He acted unwisely, in my opinion. He is too quiet, too re¬ 
 spectable a man for his present occupation. It requires a bolder,, 
 rougher, readier man. I do not mean to say there are no respect¬ 
 able men on the Stock Exchange, but they are not of Ford’s type.” 
 The lawyer wrote down the address as he spoke, and handed it to. 
 Sir Hugh. 
 
 “ Thank you. By the way, you have heard nothing more of the 
 widow ?” 
 
 “ Nothing.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 297 
 
 “ I do not quite believe that report about the school. How did 
 it originate ? She can’t be fit for such an undertaking.” 
 
 “ I beg your pardon; I believe she is a well-educated woman. 
 The report originated thus : a nephew of mine, who is articled to 
 me, was over in Germany a week or two ago, to bring home a 
 sister of his who was at school at Wiesbaden, and he says the lady 
 with whom his sister was at school complained to him of the com¬ 
 petition which was increasing yearly; that only last autumn a 
 young English widow had opened a new school, and succeeded in 
 drawing away two pupils who ought to have come to her. My 
 nephew, a shrewd young fellow, pricked up his ears at this, and 
 made some inquiries, which informed him that the widow’s name 
 was Talboys, that she was tall, with reddish hair, and generally 
 answered the description of Mrs. Travers.” 
 
 “ But why is she Mrs. Talboys—married again ?” 
 
 “ Possibly,” returned the lawyer ; “ but more likely changed her 
 name, if she wished to cut off all connection with her past life, 
 and she would, for obvious reasons, choose a name that would not 
 change initials.” 
 
 “ I don’t see her object in changing her name. Why should she 
 evade me ? Concealment almost always means wrong-doing.” 
 
 “ Perhaps so. I do not like her vanishing in that way—lools 
 like working a masked mine. But then she can do you no serious 
 harm : that will cannot be contested ; and if she has married pri¬ 
 vately, why, then, it will be evident that Mr. Travers had some 
 reasons, of which we know nothing, for disposing of his property 
 as he did.” 
 
 “ Did your nephew see this woman ?” 
 
 “ No ; and it would have done no good if he had. He never saw 
 Mrs. Travers.” 
 
 “ Are there no photographs of her anywhere ?” 
 
 “ I think not. All such things—her clothes, books, jewels, per¬ 
 sonalities of all kinds—she was entitled to remove, and did. It 
 was from Mr. Wall (Mr. Travers’s solicitor) that I first heard of 
 her disappearance. He says she told him it was her intention to 
 open a school in Germany, and I think he is rather offended by 
 
298 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 her concealing herself from him, for he seemed very friendly to¬ 
 wards her. In fact, he resents your employing any firm but his 
 own, having known you so long.” 
 
 “ That is absurd !” exclaimed Galbraith. “ How could I put my 
 affairs into the hands of my enemy’s solicitor ?” 
 
 “ True, quite true ; and a somewhat bitter enemy, from what I 
 hear.” 
 
 “ Then Wall knows nothing of Mrs. Travers ?” 
 
 “ Nothing.” 
 
 “Who does?” 
 
 “ Oh, a young fellow connected with the press (I believe he 
 writes for some wretched Radical twopenny paper), called Reed. 
 Ford knows his whereabouts.” 
 
 Galbraith twisted his moustaches in deep, silent thought. 
 
 “ By the way. Sir Hugh, I think we have found a tenant for your 
 house in Hereford Square, if you are still determined to let it. 
 But you may want it yourself; a wife and a proper establish¬ 
 ment are almost a necessity for a man of your fortune and 
 position!” 
 
 A fixed haughty stare, a sternly spoken “ I wish it to be let,” 
 was the only reply Galbraith vouchsafed to this piece of pre¬ 
 sumption. 
 
 “ Very well. Sir Hugh,” returned Mr. Payne blandly, while he 
 inwardly chafed at being put down in that way by the insolent 
 soldier, whom twelve months ago he would not have trusted with 
 a hundred pounds ! After a little more talk, and a promise that 
 the deed of sale should be ready, and the purchase completed by 
 the following week. Sir Hugh Galbraith rose, wished his solicitor 
 “ good-morning,” and descended the stair. He paused on the door¬ 
 step, and drawing forth the slip of paper on which Mr. Payne had 
 written Ford’s address, read it over, thought for an instant, and 
 hailed a hansom. “ To Size Lane,” he exclaimed as he sprang in, and 
 cabby, turning sharply round, directed his horse Citywards. Since 
 Galbraith’s return to England, and obtaining possession of the for¬ 
 tune he had so nearly lost, his feelings towards his cousin’s objec¬ 
 tionable wife had been considerably mollified, and Mrs. Temple’s 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 299 
 
 words had sunk deep into his heart. His original idea of a tawdry, 
 handsome, pushing, unscrupulous, vulgar adventuress had, he knew 
 not how, dissolved into the portrait of a quiet, simple, though not 
 well-bred woman, only anxious to exist comfortably, but liable, 
 from credulity or ignorance, to be the tool of some designing man. 
 He regretted that he had been harsh. He suspected she had had 
 hard times with old Travers, and if she had a weakiress for some 
 fellow of her own station, could he, Hugh, blame her ? Not when 
 he knew how hard a battle he had to fight with himself, though 
 he had a force of all arms, in the shape of self-respect, reason, and 
 resolution, which a poor, half-educated, timid woman could not 
 be supposed to possess. “ I wish I could find her, and know what 
 she is doing. If she has fallen into the hands of a blackguard, it 
 would never do to give him money through her.” 
 
 “ Here you are, sir. Size Lane,” cried the cabby, peering down 
 through the square hole at top. “ What number, sir ?” 
 
 “ No matter ! I will get down here.” 
 
 Mr. Ford’s office was small, but smart and bright with highly- 
 polished mahogany, brass, and plate glass. The smell of fresh 
 varnish had not quite vanished. Sir Hugh was asked to sit down 
 while a clerk took in his card to the private room. 
 
 Presently a busy-looking man, with a parcel of papers, came out 
 quickly, and Sir Hugh was asked to walk in. Tall, gaunt, erect, 
 with his ordinary cold, stern expression, Galbraith entered, and 
 found himself face to face with Ford, whom, if he had ever noticed 
 in those distant days, when he used occasionally to visit his cousin’s 
 place of business, he was inclined to dislike as a feline kind of 
 man. 
 
 Ford was well and accurately dressed, and his room was duly 
 furnished with all the appliances right and proper for the private 
 room of a high-class business man, but he looked very pale—per¬ 
 haps yellow would be more accurate—very dark and wrinkly about 
 the eyes, while the eyes themselves were painfully glittering and 
 restless. 
 
 “ Good-morning, Mr. Ford.” 
 
 “ Pray be seated. Sir Hugh,” he returned, placing himself oppo- 
 
300 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 site, and arranging the blotting pad and paper before him with a 
 nervous, hurried movement. 
 
 “I have called upon you,” said Galbraith, dashing into his sub¬ 
 ject unhesitatingly, “ to ask if you can assist me in tracing Mrs. 
 Travers ? I understand you knew her and her family previous to 
 her marriage, and were on terms of some intimacy even after she 
 became your employer’s wife.” 
 
 Ford’s pale cheek coloured faintly, and he passed his hand over 
 his mouth to hide the expression he felt come to it at this abrupt 
 speech. 
 
 “ It is probable,” continued Galbraith, “ that although you may 
 not know where she is, you may be able to suggest a clue, from 
 your knowledge of her character and habits.” 
 
 Ford cleared his throat, and thought how he should answer. 
 He was in a mood of bitterest resentment, a resentment half love, 
 half hate, against the object of his devotion. Yet he scarcely 
 liked to lose his last chance with her by aiding her enemy in his 
 search. “ Before I make any reply,” said he, “ allow me to ask 
 your object in seeking her? Having been honoured with her 
 friendship and confidence for some years, I should be extremely 
 sorry to be the means of bringing any trouble or annoyance upon 
 her ?” 
 
 “ You do not suppose that I have such intentions towards the 
 widow of my benefactor ?” returned Galbraith. “ My object is to 
 find out her present position, and furnish her with the means of 
 existing comfortably according to her original station. But I 
 must see the woman before I make up my mind what to offer.” 
 
 “ I cannot help you. Sir Hugh ! For some reason she has chosen 
 to conceal her movements even from me.” 
 
 “ Who knows anything about her ?” 
 
 “ Mr. Reed, a rather self-sufficient young man, connected with 
 the Morning Thresher." 
 
 “ Have you any reason to think that she is married again ?” 
 
 “ No, certainly not!” with a start that overturned a ruler, and 
 gave him occupation in picking it up. 
 
 “ Do you believe she has gone abroad ?” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 301 
 
 “ I do ; I am sure of it.” 
 
 “ Why ?” 
 
 “ Because one of our—I mean your—clerks saw her in a 
 cab with luggage, going towards London Bridge, about a year 
 ago, with this very Reed, just at the time you were put in 
 formal possession; and I have never seen anything of her 
 since.” 
 
 “ Who is the clerk ?” 
 
 “ Poole.” 
 
 “ Poole ! Why, he was one of the witnesses to the will ?” 
 
 Ford bowed. 
 
 “ And you have heard nothing of her since ?” 
 
 “ I will not say that,” returned Ford, beginning to think he 
 would like to get the management of this search into his own 
 hands. “ I sent a letter of friendly inquiry to her more than a 
 month ago, through Mr. Reed, and not hearing in reply as soon as 
 I expected, I called to ask if it had been sent. Reed assured me 
 it had, and added that he felt certain Mrs. Travers would reply, 
 but that she was much occupied, and would not have leisure just 
 yet; finally she did write, during the Easter recess, which confirms 
 the idea of a school at Wiesbaden.” 
 
 “ It does,” said Galbraith thoughtfully. “ Did she write fully ? 
 What did she say ?” 
 
 “ Not much, but she did mention that the undertaking in which 
 she had embarked was so far prospering. Now the only under 
 taking she ever mentioned to me was a school.” 
 
 “ Then I am sure Payne’s information is correct,” exclaimed 
 Galbraith, and forthwith repeated that gentleman’s communica¬ 
 tion. Ford’s eyes sparkled. 
 
 “ There seems a strong probability here,” he said. Were I 
 still in the employment of Travers and Co., I should volunteer to 
 run over to Wiesbaden, and put the matter beyond dispute. As 
 it is-” 
 
 “ I could scarcely expect you to leave your business for mine,” 
 put in Sir Hugh. “ But, Mr. Ford, I shall endeavour to communi¬ 
 cate mth Mrs. Travers through this Reed, and should I be unsuc- 
 
302 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 cessful, could I not send Poole to ascertain if Mrs. Talboys and 
 Mrs. Travers are identical ?” 
 
 “ As you please, Sir Hugh,” returned Ford stiffly ; “ but I need 
 scarcely point out that Poole would be rather a rough ambassador 
 for so delicate and difficult an errand.” 
 
 “ I do not see much difficulty or delicacy about it!” said Gal¬ 
 braith bluntly. “ But I will see Reed if possible. Where is he to 
 be found ?” 
 
 “ The Morning Thresher office, Wellington Street.” 
 
 “ Thank you,” returned Galbraith, rising. “ I shall call on my 
 way back. Good-morning ;” and with a haughty bow he took his 
 departure. 
 
 The Morning Thresher office was, as he remarked, in his westward 
 route, and there he accordingly called, entering for the first time 
 in his life one of the smaller thunder factories, whence issue the 
 electric currents that link city to city, and unite men in the great 
 commonwealth of thought. 
 
 A dingier, dirtier place Galbraith had seldom entered ; there was 
 a long deal counter, where grubby boys in shirt-sleeves were slap¬ 
 ping up piles of paper together, and shoving them across to other 
 grubby boys in jacket-sleeves. There was a generally ink-splashed 
 aspect about every one and everything, and when Galbraith asked 
 for Mr. Reed, every one asked every one else if Mr. Reed was in, 
 and finally a thin, pale, seedy young man, with inky fingers, opened 
 a narrow door, much rubbed and marked by hands and shoulders, 
 and ran up a crooked dim ladder-like stair. Coming quickly, 
 clatteringly back, full tilt against the counter, he uttered the single 
 word “ Out,” adding, with a sharp glance, “ any message ?” “ My 
 
 card,” said Hugh Galbraith, writing in pencil after his name, 
 “ wishes particularly to see Mr. Reed, if he will make an appoint¬ 
 ment.” 
 
 The young man took the card, read it, nodded, and darted up¬ 
 stairs again. 
 
 Sir Hugh Galbraith, with a deeper feeling of disgust than ever 
 against the offenders of the press, left the office, re-entered his cab, 
 and drove away to the club. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 303 
 
 It was now three o’clock, and the butterflies were beginning to 
 come out; carriages were beginning to gather at the doors o£ 
 Waterloo House, and Howell and James’s. The steps of the 
 National Gallery were sprinkled with gaily-attired visitors ascend¬ 
 ing and descending, for the R. A. Exhibition was open, and as 
 Galbraith drove past he saw a well-dressed, good-looking jmung 
 man, with a bouquet in his button-hole, and a grey kid-gloved 
 hand, resting on the door-handle of an admirably-appointed 
 brougham, while he laughed and talked with evident familiarity to 
 a handsome woman, who sat arrayed in all her glory within. 
 
 Sir Hugh leant forward and gazed eagerly at him, then, throw¬ 
 ing himself back with a sort of indignant astonishment, he ex¬ 
 claimed aloud— 
 
 “ By Jove ! it’s Tom.” 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 The first two or three weeks succeeding Hugh Galbraith’s de¬ 
 parture were very dull and uninteresting, as Fanny openly de¬ 
 clared ; but all her dexterity failed to draw any expression from 
 her friend and partner, beyond an exclamation that she was very 
 glad he was gone. Business was rather quiet too, and, in short, the 
 friends had to pass through one of those dull periods—which will 
 come now and then—when the wheels of life have slackened speed, 
 or come to a standstill, till some unforeseen circumstance happens 
 to screw them up to full working condition again. 
 
 Nevertheless, Kate Travers was conscious that she missed the 
 exciting antagonism of Galbraith’s presence, although sincerely 
 thankful that he had departed without any attempt to express the 
 admiration which he had been betrayed into displaying. In truth, 
 she was vexed with herself for the part she had played, or rather 
 into which she had drifted, with no specially-defined purpose. 
 
 When first she found her enemy within her gates, the temptation 
 to revenge herself for his expressions of contempt towards her by 
 
304 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 proYing that her attractions were not to be despised, was irresist¬ 
 ible ; but she never contemplated anything serious arising out of 
 her little game. To charm her guest, while holding him in check 
 by her own well-bred indifference and self-possession, was the ut¬ 
 most she aimed at; to make her mark, in short, so that, when the 
 denouement came, her husband’s insolent kinsman should acknow¬ 
 ledge that he had in every way met his match. She did not, how¬ 
 ever, calculate on the material with which she had to deal being 
 different from what she had expected. There was an odd sort of 
 power in the very simplicity of Galbraith’s character. His wants 
 were few, but he knew what he wanted. He was by no means 
 intellectual, according to Kate’s standard, but then his decisions 
 were never swayed and unsteadied by seeing two or three sides to 
 a question. He was evidently a soldier by nature—prompt to 
 deal with what he could see and grasp, and utterly intolerant of 
 all opposition that might weaken or retard his plan of life’s cam¬ 
 paign, which, to do him justice, was never conceived without a cer¬ 
 tain regard to the right of others as he saw them. He was an 
 aristocrat without being a fine gentleman, and the full recognition 
 of herself as a gentlewoman, which every word, and look, and tone 
 of his accorded, was very conciliating. 
 
 There was something, too, that appealed to the chivalry of her 
 nature in the boyish transparency of his admiration, mute though 
 it was. She would have blushed to have hurried him, by word or 
 glance, into any avowal he would have regretted ; but she was too 
 thoughtful an observer not to see that he was strong enough to be 
 • master of himself ; and that if he could not quite conceal the feel¬ 
 ings she inspired, neither would he be betrayed into expressing 
 them when they could not be addressed to her as to a woman he 
 would seek to wed. She felt certain of his respect, but she had 
 been greatly startled by his momentary loss of self-control. The 
 passion betrayed by his eyes—by his gesture—was a revelation of 
 something that might be beyond her management—something that 
 might give him more pain than she would like to inflict, even on 
 her enemy, especially as it was her mission to rob him of his newly- 
 found fortune. Not altogether! She would deal generously by 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 305 
 
 Sir Hugh Galbraith, and not let him know who dealt the blow till 
 all was settled! So strong was her anticipation of triumph that 
 she almost shrunk from thinking of the bitter mortification she 
 was destined to heap upon him. “ How desperately he will hate 
 me !” she thought. “ That cannot be helped ; but I am very glad 
 he is gone ! After all, I may have to pass my life selling wools 
 and canvas, while he may soar away to political regions, and add 
 one more timber to the heads that shore up the obstructions of 
 Toryism. Hugh Galbraith would be a grand acquisition to a 
 party. His sense of discipline would keep him steady to any chief 
 who on the whole carried out his views. He would never split 
 straws, and he would be as true as steel! Won’t he despise me 
 when he knows I have passed myself off: to him under false colours ! 
 Great, stupid, honest fellow! What do I care ?—he will never 
 cross me again!” 
 
 From these vague reflections and dreams of possible triumph 
 Ivate was rather unpleasantly roused by news from Tom. “ Gregory 
 sails to-morrow,” he wrote, “ for the Cape and Natal. It is well 
 we got his affidavit in time. It would have been better if we could 
 have produced the man, should you ever be able to make out a case 
 for counsel. I was rather startled by finding the enclosed card on 
 my table a few days ago. I must not meet Galbraith ! for I have 
 a strong suspicion he saw me when I was last at Pierstoffe, and of 
 course he would immediately guess the identity of his fascinating 
 landlady. I therefore wrote a polite note, stating that I was over¬ 
 whelmed with work, but would be most happy to answer any 
 written communication. Hi presto ! I received a short, sharp, 
 decisive array of questions ; but I enclose you the production. My 
 answer distinctly says, ‘ I am TtIrs. Travers’s trusted friend, and I 
 will neither write nor speak a syllable that can betray the incog¬ 
 nito she chooses to preserve.’ Ford called here since I wrote, but 
 I did not see him. I feel greatly disgusted with everything to-day, 
 especially myself. There is a report that Pennington is better, 
 and may return to his duties here. Upon my soul I cannot rejoice, 
 and yet he is such a good fellow !” 
 
 There was also a long epistle to Fanny, over which she looked 
 
 20 
 
306 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 a little grave. At tea she confessed she had a had headache, and 
 thought she would put on her hat and take a stroll along the 
 Korth Parade. 
 
 “ Do,” said Mrs. Temple ; “ and as soon as I can leave I will 
 come and join you.” 
 
 It was Saturday evening, and it had been a busy day. Kate 
 felt very tired, or rather weary; she had worked without spirit, 
 and was in that sort of mood when even so slight a check as the 
 not unforeseen departure of an unimportant witness appeared a 
 mountain of misfortune. 
 
 Kate felt unusually bitter and implacable towards Galbraith. 
 She had seen a paragraph in one of the London papers in which 
 a report was noticed that Sir Hugh Galbraith of Kirby Grange 
 would probably offer himself to the electors of Middleburgh, in 
 the neighbourhood of vLich he had nearly completed the purchase 
 of a large property formerly belonging to his family, &c., &c. 
 So ! with her money he was building up a position of power and 
 prominence, while she was spending her days in gathering up a 
 bare means of existence from the obscure population of a little 
 out-of-the-way corner. Was it to be always like this ? Would 
 the queen never have her own again ? Was it her fate to be 
 walked over ? Where ! where could she turn to find munitions 
 of war, the evidence which she felt certain must exist, and .which 
 would furnish the basis of her operations ? Where could she 
 turn ? Why was Tom so distrustful of that man Trapes ? Tom 
 was lukewarm, because he was unbelieving. She felt on fire with 
 indignant impatience. Next week she would go up to town to 
 make purchases for her shop, and then Tom or no Tom, she would 
 manage to see Trapes, and find out what connection existed be¬ 
 tween him and Ford. 
 
 But although she was feverish and depressed, Mrs. Temple’s 
 customers were not the worse or more impatiently served, and 
 when at last she summoned the errand boy to put up the shutters 
 the fair widow had done a fair day’s business, and felt she had 
 earned an evening stroll. 
 
 The soft summer darkness of a May evening was beginning 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 307 
 
 to fold its wings over sea and sky as she sallied forth, and drank 
 in with an unutterable feeling of relief and refreshment the deli¬ 
 cious balmy, briny air. She paused upon the slip to enjoy it 
 to the full, when to her surprise she saw Fanny hastening towards 
 her. 
 
 “ Returning already ?” exclaimed Mrs. Temple. 
 
 “ I shall not, now you are here,” said Fanny, who seemed ruffled; 
 
 “ but it’s too bad ; one cannot sit down in peace by the sad sea 
 w'aves-” 
 
 “ What has happened ?” 
 
 “ Oh, that goose. Turner junior, came and sat down by me and 
 made a scene.” 
 
 “ A scene ? How ?” 
 
 “ Oh, he said .... great nonsense ; that I was the ocean to 
 he river of his thoughts; that I v/ould yet regret my disregard 
 of a blighted but devoted heart. That he knew he had rivals— 
 a favoured rival!—but that he would seek oblivion in the 
 poisoned bowl of pleasure, and a lot more. He quite frightened 
 me ; but I fancied I perceived an odour of brandy-and-water 
 about him, so I plucked up courage to say I was very sorry to 
 vex him, but that I couldn’t help being engaged, and that I 
 was quite sure he would meet somebody he would like much 
 better by-and-by. Then he jumped up and desired me not to 
 speak in that way unless I wished to see him a mangled corse 
 at my feet. I just said I wished nothing of the kind, and ran 
 right away. Did you ever know anything so stupid and pro¬ 
 voking ?” 
 
 “ It is very,” said Kate sym^q,thisingly. “ But you know, Fanny, 
 I always warned you not to trifle with that young man, and I think 
 ymu have—a little.” 
 
 “ Xo, indeed I have not. I never thought he was in earnest. 
 I don’t think he was now. I do not think he was sober. He will 
 go away and forget all about it—only we will not tell Tom !” 
 
 “ Yes, you had better ; everything in the world comes out some 
 time ; and let Tom hear the first of everything from yourself, I 
 would advise you.” 
 
 20—2 
 
308 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 Fanny passed her arm through her friend’s, and they strolled 
 on in silence. At last Fanny exclaimed, “ I believe the world 
 would be happier and better without men; don’t you think so, 
 Kate ?” 
 
 “ Certainly not, Fanny ; and you would be the last to like such 
 a world. Imagine the world without Tom !” 
 
 “ Oh, I should have excepted him; but see what mischief and 
 trouble Mr. Travers, and Sir Hugh Galbraith, and little Mr. 
 Turner make.” 
 
 “ True enough—and Captain Gregory. Tom says he is obliged 
 to go to sea again.” Mrs. Temple recapitulated the contents of 
 Tom’s letter, and the friends strolled to and fro discussing it, 
 and the possibility of Tom encountering Galbraith. “ T trust 
 they may not meet till the game is played out,” said Mrs. Temple; 
 “ but I confess, Fanny, I feel greatly cast down. I do not catch 
 a gleam of light on any side. Is it possible that I must live on 
 always under this cloud, and never be able to assert myself ? I 
 confess that to drag out all my life in social obscurity never 
 entered into my plans. Fan, do you think you could manage the 
 shop for a week, if I find I want to stay so long when I go up to 
 town ? for I am determined to utilise my visit to London when 
 I go.” 
 
 “ Of course I could manage it,” cried Fanny readily; “ I am 
 not half such an ignoramus as I was, and I have got over my 
 di’ead of Lady Styles. Indeed, she does not bother me half so 
 much as she did at first. You may go, dear; and you shall see 
 what a heap of money I shall make in your absence. When shall 
 you go ?” 
 
 “ Oh, in about a fortnight; that will give me time to have 
 everything arranged by the time the season here really sets 
 in.” 
 
 Their talk flowed on, sometimes broken by pauses of thought, 
 but always with a pleasant confidence and oneness of purpose. 
 
 “ How beautiful the stars look !” exclaimed Fanny, as they turned 
 at last to go in. “ I wonder if they are really worlds, and have 
 people in them, and if they can look down and know what the 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 309 
 
 people here are doing ? How they could astonish us if they sent 
 down electric information.” 
 
 “ I would ask what is the connection, if any, between Mr. Ford 
 and that man Trapes ; and you would inquire about Tom, I 
 suppose ?” 
 
 “ No, I should not,” cried Fanny ; “ it would be mean, and be^ 
 sides, I know he is all right. No ; but I should like to know what 
 Sir Hugh is about; broiling at some grand dinner, I dare say, 
 looking as cross as the cats, and as solemn as an owl. Couldn’t he 
 look cross, Kate ?” 
 
 “ Stern and forbidding, not cross.” 
 
 “ I dare say he often wishes himself back at Pierstoffe, whatever 
 he is doing.” 
 
 Could Fanny’s wish have been granted, she would, no doubt, 
 have been greatly surprised. 
 
 The purchase of the Galbraith property had been brought to a 
 successful termination, and Sir tiugh determined to give himself 
 a holiday from the ci’owd, the rush, the perpetual round of unim¬ 
 portant nothings which made up the sum of town life. He would 
 away, and refresh himself by a breath of the free moorland 
 breeze; a glimpse of the bold craggy cliffs with their border of 
 ceaseless foam, and setting of wide, green-blue sea. So desiring 
 his servant to put up what was necessary for a few days, he 
 started without beat of drum on this same Saturday for the Great 
 Northern Station with the intention of catching a train that started 
 about six, and got into Middleburgh—the nearest point to his 
 destination he could reach by rail—about eleven. 
 
 On his arrival, however, he found the time-table had been altered, 
 and the six o’clock train now started at 5.45. He was, therefore, 
 just in time to be late. 
 
 “ What a—blank, blank—nuisance ! When is the next train ?” 
 
 “ Seven, sir.” 
 
 “ And I suppose that creeps along all night ?” 
 
 “ It’s a fast train as far as Stoneborough, sir ; after that it stops 
 at a goodish few stations.” 
 
310 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ It’s fast to Stoneborough, is it ?” 
 
 “ Yes, sir.” 
 
 Galbraith stood a moment in thought, and then began to walk 
 np and down thinking, while the words “ Fast to Stoneborough ” 
 seemed at once to embody all his wishes. It would be a far better, 
 pleasanter place to spend Sunday in than London. There was a 
 fine country round. He could get a trap and drive over to Weston 
 and see Lady Styles. Pshaw ! Why not to Pierstoffe and visit 
 Mrs. Temple and pretty little Fanny ? The idea presented itself 
 with a flood of delight. To be once more in what had been the 
 only homelike dwelling he had ever enjoyed ! To hear Kate’s low 
 voice—to look into her eyes, and puzzle himself once more over 
 the possible interpretation of their language, even though the solu¬ 
 tion was unflattering! To be near her once more ; be the risk 
 what it might, he would risk it. Besides, he had himself better 
 in hand now ; he would make it just a friendly visit—to show 
 her he had not forgotten them—and—but could he trust his self- 
 control ? No matter whether he could or could not, nothing 
 should keep him back from that hour of happiness for which his 
 soul thirsted! 
 
 If Mrs. Temple would only tell him her history, and that history 
 contained no passage derogatory to character, nothing his wife 
 would blush to own, why should he not marry her ? Whatever 
 her origin she was a gentlewoman ; and so was Miss Lee. But this 
 was absurd. He was only going to pay a friendly visit and get 
 over Sunday. 
 
 With the help of a cigar, a glass of brandy and soda, and a good 
 deal of walking up and down, Galbraith passed the time of waiting, 
 and started for Stoneborough about an hour before Fanny Lee 
 hazarded the conjectures respecting him recorded above. 
 
 Sunday was a calm, grey day, more like autumn than spring ; 
 and after their early dinner Fanny undertook to give Mrs. Mills a 
 nice long walk, for Mills’s life was a little lonely. A walk with 
 her mistress or “ Miss Fanny” was one of her treats ; and the old 
 lady was still strong and active. Mrs. Temple was glad to stay at 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 311 
 
 home and alone. It was often a help to her to think things 
 through—to reason herself out of her depressed moods—to seek 
 counsel with her own heart; and she was vexed with herself for 
 the fretful unrest that had of late taken hold of her. Arming 
 herself with a favourite volume of Carlyle’s poetic weird elo¬ 
 quence, she sat down in a low chair by the open window and 
 gazed out on the prettily-grouped flower-beds, sweet with migno¬ 
 nette and heliotrope, and gay with verbenas. It was very still; 
 so still that the soft dash of the waves, hushed by distance, came 
 sleepily to her ear, and made her thoughts dreamy instead of dis¬ 
 tinct and consecutive. 
 
 “ What an eternal effort life is,” she thought; “ a struggle for 
 existence, and with existence ; with material circumstances outside, 
 and rebellion and treachery within ! 
 
 “ ■ All tilings have rest: why should we toil alono P 
 We only toil, who are the first of things. 
 
 And make perpetual moan, 
 
 Still from one sorrow to another thrown : 
 iNor ever fold our wings. 
 
 And cease from wanderings-’ ” 
 
 The door opening suddenly startled her from her recollections 
 of Tennjrson. Sarah in a Sunday frock and smiling aspect ap¬ 
 peared. “ Here’s the gentleman, ma’am,” she said; whereupon 
 Galbraith, hat in hand, walked in. 
 
 “ Hugh Galbraith !” exclaimed Mrs. Temple, thrown too much 
 off her guard by extreme surprise to notice her own speech, and 
 holding out her hand before she had time to collect herself. 
 
 “ Yes !” returned he, gathering it up into a tight feverish grasp 
 for an instant, and speaking quickly. “ I am on my way to the 
 north, stopping till to-morrow at Stoneborough ; so I just drove 
 
 over to ask how you and Miss Lee are—and- How is Miss 
 
 Lee ?” Letting Mrs. Temple’s hand go and taking a chair opposite 
 to her, his usually sombre eyes all aglow, the lines of his somewhat 
 harsh face softened and relaxed as he gazed once more on the eyes, 
 the lips, the brow, which he had never quite succeeded in banishing 
 from his mental sight. 
 
312 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ She is quite well,” said Mrs. Temple, smiling in spite of herself, 
 though she Avas quite as much annoyed as she was amused by her 
 enemy’s unexpected reappearance. 
 
 “ Is she at home ?” asked Glalbraith, who seemed deeply interested 
 in Fanny’s movements. 
 
 “ No ; she has gone to walk with Mills.” 
 
 “ Oh, indeed !” with a hearty inward thanksgiving. “ And I hope 
 Mills is all right; she is a capital nurse !” 
 
 “ Quite well, thank you.” 
 
 There was an awkward pause, Avhich Mrs. Temple mercifully 
 broke by asking politely—“ And you yourself. Sir Hugh Galbraith, 
 I hope you are now quite restored ? I see you have discarded your 
 sling.” 
 
 “ Yes, thank you, I am quite recovered ; but I do not feel the 
 same in London as here. It’s such a rackety, unnatural sort of 
 place. I don’t seem able to breathe there ; so I am going down to 
 Kirby Grange-—an old place of mine, I think I mentioned to you. 
 Haven’t been there for years.” 
 
 “ I dare say the change will do you good,” said Kate blandly, but 
 coldly. “ I see there is some mention of your standing for Middle- 
 burgh.” 
 
 “ Yes, if I give up the army. I must do something ; and-” 
 
 Galbraith forgot what he was going to say, for Mrs. Temple had 
 lifted up her eyes to his with an unusual amount of interest. 
 
 “ And you will, of course, go into the House as an obstructive,’’ 
 said she with a smile, filling up his pause. 
 
 “ Exactly,” he returned. “ I shall be very glad to act as a drag 
 on the wheel, to keep the State machine from going too fast down 
 hill.” 
 
 “ Or up hill,” she added. 
 
 “ I suppose Pierstoffe is going on just as usual ?” resumed Gal¬ 
 braith, who found this effort to talk on indifferent topics desper¬ 
 ately hard work. 
 
 “Just the same. We are anticipating a brilliant season, and 
 Lady Styles informs me there is really a good set of people 
 coming. Now a ‘ good set ’ for me, means people inclined to invest 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 313 
 
 largely in Berlin wool and embroidery cotton, but I am afraid the 
 possession of ready money somehow does not seem to exercise a 
 refining influence.” 
 
 Galbraith got up and walked to the window. 
 
 “ How sweet and fresh your garden is. What a relief it is to be 
 here again ! Do you know, I never felt so comfortable and at home 
 as in your house.” 
 
 “ I am pleased to hear it.” 
 
 Another awkward pause, and he broke out with, “ You remember 
 that property you wrote about for me ? Well, I have bought it, and 
 am now on my way to have a look at it.” As he said this their eyes 
 met, and at the same moment the recollection of the episode which 
 concluded their last interview flashed upon them both ; the yearn¬ 
 ing passionate look came back to Galbraith’s eyes, and in spite of 
 her cool self-possession Mrs. Temple’s cheek grew crimson. 
 
 “ I wanted to beg your pardon for that piece of presumption,” 
 exclaimed Galbraith, answering the blush, “ and you would not 
 see me ! I know it was wrong ; but, I declare to Heaven, I could 
 not help it!” 
 
 “ Pray say no more,” said Mrs. Temple in a low tone, and rising 
 with a vague notion of making her escape. “ It was a piece of 
 folly better forgotten. I will not remember it—pray put it out of 
 your head!” 
 
 “ I cannot!” returned G albraith, unconsciously placing himself 
 between her and the door—“ I cannot! and your look of displeasure 
 is always before me ! Of course you were angry ; but if you think 
 I meant anything disrespectful, you are very much mistaken ; my 
 feelings for you are more like worship than disrespect !” and Gal¬ 
 braith pulled himself up with a short scornful laugh at his own 
 imbecility in thus betraying himself to so indifferent a listener, 
 and yet the surprise and embarrassment of the moment brought a 
 varying colour to Kate’s cheek—a tremor to her voice—a some¬ 
 thing soft and deprecatory to her manner, that completed the spell. 
 Galbraith did not exactly lose his head, but experienced the kind 
 of intoxication which new and strong emotion suddenly exercises 
 on a man whose passions have hitherto slumbered, urging his brain 
 
H14 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 to greater activity and his will to daring deeds, often resulting in 
 success, such as he would never have attained in complete sobriety 
 of mind. He now stood still, his shoulder against the window- 
 frame, all hesitation and reserve gone, his eyes fixed tenderly yet 
 defiantly upon his companion. 
 
 “ You astonish and distress me !” said Mrs. Temple hesitatingly. 
 “ I beg you will not talk in such a strain ! You must know ”— 
 gathering firmness as she proceeded—“ you must know that such 
 words from a man in your position to a woman in mine mean—well, 
 certainly not respect! I wish you would still let me think well of 
 you, and go away.” 
 
 “ Why do you refuse to hear me ? What have I done to make 
 you dislike me ? The first moment I ever saw you, you looked as 
 if you could murder me ! 1 wish to Heaven you would tell me 
 your history ! You might. I am certain there is nothing in it you 
 need be ashamed of.” 
 
 “ This is, indeed, presuming too far ! What right have you to 
 ask such a question ?” said Kate, turning very pale. 
 
 “ The right that loving you as I never thought I could love, 
 gives,” cried Galbraith, coming a step nearer—“ give me the 
 right! Will you be my wife, Mrs. Temple ?” 
 
 This point-blank question seemed suddenly to restore Kate’s self- 
 command. “ No, Sir Hugh Galbraith, I will not!” she replied, un¬ 
 compromisingly, and there was a moment’s silence, Galbraith 
 looking fixedly at her. 
 
 “ I suppose,” he resumed, “ I ought to be satisfied, and go away ! 
 I know I am not a lovable sort of fellow ! I don’t believe any 
 one ever cared a straw for me ; but I should like to know your 
 special objections ?” 
 
 “ I have no special objections. You have always behaved well 
 and kindly while in my house,” returned Kate, a little touched by 
 his unexpected humility ; “ but I am the last woman in the world 
 you ought to think of ! Believe me this is a whim, for which, were 
 I fool enough to accept you, you would soon think you had paid 
 too high a price !” 
 
 “ You are mistaken, Kate.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 315 
 
 “ I am not, Sir Hugh ! Your voice said as much just now, when 
 you asked me what might have been a fatal question for you ! Be 
 sides, we are unlike in habits, opinions, and antecedents. Let us 
 forget all about this temporary insanity ”—smiling pleasantly, and 
 trying to give a lighter tone to the conversation—“ do not fancy 
 you are not lovable because I do not love you in the way you 
 want. I hate having to speak so ungraciously,” interrupting her¬ 
 self with a sweet frankness terribly trying to her hearer. “ You 
 will find plenty of women of your own grade who will love 
 you—and make you very happy; and let us forget all about 
 this !” 
 
 “ You said that hearty gratitude was no bad substitute for love,” 
 said Galbraith gloomily, walking slowly towards the door and back 
 again. “ Not that you wmuld have anything to be grateful to me 
 for ; but you once married for a home ! Am I such a disagreeable 
 fellow that a miserable shop is preferable to a comfortable home if 
 I shared it ?” 
 
 “ And you said, if I remember right, that if your wife did not 
 love you as warmly as you loved her, you would put an end to 
 yourself!” 
 
 “ Better half a loaf than no bread !” exclaimed Galbraith. “ Give 
 me your friendship—your confidence, to begin with, and let me try 
 to won the rest!” * 
 
 “Pray, pray say no more!” said Kate, greatly surprised and 
 moved at his perseverance. “ You grieve me beyond measure. It 
 is quite impossible that you and I ever could be anything to each 
 other, even friends ! Do leave me. I am not ungrateful for the 
 feelings you express. I am so sorry to cause you pain ; but, indeed, 
 it is utterly impossible for us to be even friends.” 
 
 She held out her hand to him, and, to his decided gratification, 
 he observed her eyes were full of tears. However, he drew himself 
 up a little stiffly. 
 
 “ Forgive me, Mrs. Temple. It would be unmanly to intrude 
 any longer upon you ; though w^e must not be friends, I trust we 
 shall never be enemies.” 
 
 He took her hand as he spoke—at first gently, but with a tighten- 
 
316 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 ing grasp, looking into lier eyes, and then laying his other hand over 
 the one he held. 
 
 “ I hope not,” she replied falteringly ; “ but what will be, will 
 be.” 
 
 “ I shall never be your enemy, at all events,” continued Galbraith, 
 still holding her hand ; “ so good-bye, Kate ! I will do my best to 
 forget you. Though you are the only woman in the world to me 
 now, I will not be such a poltroon as to let you spoil my life !” 
 
 “ God forbid !” said she. “ I trust there is plenty of work, and 
 love, and happiness before you ! Life can give nothing better.” 
 
 Galbraith made no reply. Pressing her hand hard, and re¬ 
 leasing it so suddenly as to have almost the effect of throwing it 
 from him, he turned and left the room. The next moment Kate 
 heard the front door shut hastily. 
 
 The most extreme surprise—the most sincere regret—were Kate’s 
 only distinct sensations as she ran hastily to her own room to re¬ 
 cover herself before Fanny’s return. 
 
 She thought she could perceive that Galbraith had allowed him¬ 
 self to be hurried into one unguarded speech after another until 
 he felt compelled to make all consistent by asking her to be his 
 wife. She had certainly said or done nothing to lead him on, and 
 he had seemed painfully in earnest. He would get over his fancy 
 for her of course. Men are, fortunately for themselves, seldom 
 constant; but there was a certain intensity about Galbraith’s 
 nature that was likely to render all struggles severe to him. And 
 then the future—what mortification it would be her lot to heap 
 upon this man, who, whatever he might be, had certainly offered 
 himself and his whole life to her. She absolutely contemplated 
 the idea of her own possible success with a shudder. She had 
 wished that his life should have plenty of love and happiness. 
 Where was it to come from if she was to reduce him to poverty and 
 to debt ? for how could he ever refund the ten thousand pounds he 
 had taken from her property ? She was quite ready to deal 
 generously by him ; but how would he like to be always in her 
 debt ? And yet she must go on ; she must disprove that will, be 
 the consequence what it might. “ How I wish Hugh Galbraith 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 317 
 
 Tiad never come here ! How I wish he had been in England when 
 I was married first! Had he known me all through he would not 
 have despised me so much, and things might have come right 
 but with this reflection came a sudden thought that made her heart 
 beat for a moment—a consciousness that if she had known Hugh 
 Galbraith before her marriage, neither poverty nor loneliness would 
 have driven her to be Mr. Travers’s wife. Not, she thought, that 
 she felt any tendency to reciprocate his feelings, but the interview 
 she had just had seemed to have revealed what love was—what it 
 might be to herself—more than all the volumes of poetry and 
 romance she had ever read. 
 
 Well, that episode was over, and it was not likely that Hugh 
 Galbraith and herself should ever meet again. He would, no 
 doubt, keep out of her way. If so, then why need he ever know 
 that Kate Temple and Catherine Travers were identical ? Then 
 he need never be mortified by knowing he was under obligations to 
 the woman who had refused him. And she need not be lowered in 
 his estimation as having played the part of a traitor—written his 
 letters, and let him confide in her and love her !—she ! his enemy. 
 
 “ I dare say he will marry somebody soon, and then if it is some 
 commonplace fine lady, how will it be for Hugh when the trouble 
 comes ? I really must ask Tom to give him some notice that I 
 don’t intend to keep quiet always, just to rouse him from his 
 
 security-Alas ! what chance have I really of the success I dream 
 
 about ? According to Tom, none whatever. It is all very 
 puzzling!” 
 
 Fanny’s wonder and exclamations and conjectures may be 
 imagined when she heard of Sir Hugh’s visit. She bitterly regretted 
 her own absence when she found that no satisfactory information 
 was to be extracted from Mrs. Temple. “ Had I been here I could 
 have seen with half an eye what had brought him back.” 
 
 After this somewhat painful break in the routine of her life Mrs. 
 Temple and Fanny settled once more into the ordinary course of 
 their existence, sold their goods, and balanced their books, undis¬ 
 turbed even by Turner junior, who disappeared at intervals. Gossip 
 
318 
 
 HER DEAREST EOE. 
 
 said lie had been seen at the Stoneborough races, and other scenes 
 of -wild dissipation. He was certainly absent during the Derby 
 week, and Mrs. Turner reported the “ governor” as “ that cross” 
 there was no doing anything with him. 
 
 Miss Fanny, too, had her sip at the bowl of pleasure (poison 
 omitted). Kate and Tom Deed had contrived three glorious days 
 for her in London. A married sister of Tom’s had come up from 
 Devonshire with her husband to see the horse show, and she was 
 very pleased to have their pretty little relative (who cost them 
 nothing) for a guest. She only knew that she was employed in 
 some capacity by a Mrs. Temple, and shrewdly suspected she was 
 to be Mrs. Tom Keed. But Tom, from having been the object of 
 headshakings and lugubrious prophecy, had progressed into “ a fine 
 young fellow that may be in Parliament one of these days,” and 
 with his choice no sister dared to interfere. So Fanny saw the 
 play and the pictures, and had some charming tete-d-tete walks in 
 the park, and so returned refreshed to her daily labour. Mrs. 
 Temple had run up to town also, but only on business, and her 
 visit was more wearisome than refreshing. 
 
 The Pierstoffe season had now set in, and the rooms erst occupied 
 by Hugh Galbraith were tenanted by an eldeidy couple, recom¬ 
 mended by Lady Styles, who were very fidgety and exceedingly 
 economical. Still Mrs. Temple preferred them to single gentle¬ 
 men, whom from henceforth she renounced. And so a fine glowing 
 August was drawing quickly—witli the quickness of monotony—to 
 its close, when one Wednesday evening, without notice of any 
 kind, Tom Reed made his appearance. 
 
 His tidings shall be told in due order. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 One evening, as Tom Reed was leaving the theatre, after escorting 
 some country acquaintances to witness the performance, he was 
 tapped on the shoulder. This operation had no terrors for Tom, 
 
TIER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 819 
 
 so he turned calmly round and was greeted by a young man some¬ 
 what older than himself, attired in a sporting style, with his hat 
 on one side and a red and yellow tie. The face was at once strange, 
 yet familiar, and Tom had to think a moment before he exclaimed, 
 “ Poole ?” 
 
 “ The same, sir.” 
 
 “ Well, Mr. Poole ?” 
 
 “ Well, sir, I believe you are a lawyer, and I want a bit of ad¬ 
 vice. Might I be so bold as to call on you anywhere ?” 
 
 Tom felt inclined to d-n his impudence, but there was a 
 
 queer, good-humoured, good-natured expression about the man’s 
 face that attracted Tom’s fancy—and then, he was one of the 
 witnesses to the will, and it would be as well to get hold of 
 him. 
 
 “ I am neither a solicitor nor a practising barrister,” said Eeed, 
 smiling; “ still, if I can give you any help I will. Call at the 
 Morning Thresher office, Wellington Street, any day between two 
 and three, and I will try and see you, but I am a good deal 
 engaged.” 
 
 “ Thank you ! I will,” returned the other ; “ and—I beg your 
 pardon for keeping you, Mr. Eeed—but I hope Mrs. Travers is 
 well ? She loas a real lady !—always had a kind, civil word for a 
 chap. She always brought me up to time, when I used to be in 
 an awful funk going to old Travers. Lord, what a hard-mouthed 
 old buffer he was !” 
 
 “ Mrs. Travers was quite well when I last heard of her.” 
 
 “ I am told she is away on the Continent ?” 
 
 “ So I am told,” returned Tom. 
 
 “ Well, I’ll look in the first day I can, Mr. Eeed.” 
 
 “ All right.” 
 
 They parted ; and several days elapsed before Poole made his 
 appearance. Tom had almost forgotten the interview, when one 
 Saturday afternoon he had been detained longer than usual, and 
 was on the point of leaving the office, when a crushed piece of 
 paper with the words “ William Poole ” written in a fine clerkly 
 hand upon it was brought to him. 
 
320 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ If you can give me a few minutes, Mr. Reed,” began Poole, 
 after they had exchanged greetings, “ I’ll be awfully obliged.” 
 
 “ I am at your service for the next half hour,” said Tom Reed, 
 with his usual cheerful good-nature ; “ after that I have engage¬ 
 ments.” 
 
 “ I intended calling here last week, but times are changed at 
 Travers’s. We used to be kept pretty well up to the collar in the 
 old gentleman’s day, but we are near driven to death since the 
 new manager came.” 
 
 “ You have a new manager ?” 
 
 “ Yes ; you know Ford would not stay on, though Sir Hugh 
 Galbraith gave him the legacy that had been left him in the first 
 will, after he had had the books and everything examined by a 
 regular accountant. Ford was in high favour for a while, but I 
 suppose he saw his way to a more independent position, for he gave 
 up his situation, and I believe Sir Hugh took our present manager 
 on his recommendation. I think he might have said a good word 
 for me, but he didn’t. He was always a conceited chap; didn’t 
 think small potatoes of himself, I can tell you. Lord! how he 
 hated old Gregory ; and the jealousy of him, if Mr. Travers spoke 
 a civil word to any. one.—But I am taking up your time, Mr. Reed. 
 How, what I wanted to ask you about was a man of the name of 
 Trapes. He says he has known you for years ; in short, that you 
 are an old pal of his.” 
 
 “ I certainly have known Mr. Trapes for a long time,” returned 
 Reed, “ but I have seen very little of him since the first couple of 
 years I was in London. He has gone to the bad terribly, poor 
 fellow ! I wouldn’t have too much to say to him if I were you.” 
 
 “ I have had quite enough, I can tell you !” said Poole, shaldng 
 his head. “ Why, he owes me a pot of money! There is lots I 
 will never get back ; but I want you to tell me if this I 0 U,” 
 dragging out a much-rubbed pocket-book, and extracting a piece 
 of bluish paper from its depths, “ is of any use ? You see, it is 
 nearly two years and a half after date.” 
 
 ‘‘ Why have you let it lie over so long ?” said Reed, taking the 
 pape,r, “ Hum ”—a quickly suppressed look of surprise and in- 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 321 
 
 terest gleamed in liis face as he perused it. Then, raising his eye¬ 
 brows, he looked keenly and steadily at Poole. “ I see it is dated 
 the 10th of March, 18—? Under what circumstances did Trapes 
 give this to you ?” 
 
 “ Well, we were together at the Eeepham Steeplechase, and 
 Trapes had won and lost a lot of money. I had been rather 
 lucky; but when we came to start for town he hadn’t a rap, so he 
 persuaded me to lend him five pound ten. He owed me six be¬ 
 sides, so he said, in his dashing way, ‘ Come, I’ll write you an 
 I O U for twelve, and that will pay a couple of weeks’ interest.’ 
 But I have never seen any more of the money from that day to 
 this.” 
 
 “ And where is Eeepham ?” asked Tom, still holding the paper. 
 
 “ Oh, in S-shire, a couple of hours from town by rail, and 
 
 another by ’bus.” 
 
 “ Did he give you this before you left ?” 
 
 “ He did. We were just having a ‘ go’ of gin-and-water before 
 starting, and the barmaid gave us pen, ink, and paper ; he wrote 
 it out, and I gave him the cash then and there. I was very green 
 in those days.” 
 
 “ Then I suppose this is the date on which you lent the money?” 
 
 Yes, of course.” 
 
 “ Why do you think of using it now ?” 
 
 “ Because that fellow Trapes seems quite flush of cash. You 
 never saw such a swell as he is come out! but he is an impudent 
 
 blackguard, and scarcely ever sober. He was d-d impertinent 
 
 to my wife and me, Mr. Eeed (I was married last autumn), at the 
 London Bridge Eailway Station, when we were going to Green¬ 
 wich last Saturday. You would think he was a lord. So I will 
 have my money if it is possible. You see, Mr. Eeed, now I have 
 responsibilities I must turn over a new leaf, so I thought I would 
 ask your advice, because 3 mu knew this man ; and besides, if I 
 went to a stranger on a matter of business, one would have to pay 
 through the nose for advice,” added Poole candidly. 
 
 “ And how did you manage to get away from the office for a 
 Vtdiole day for this steeplechase?” asked Tom, who had been 
 
 21 
 
322 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 thinking deeply, and scarcely seemed to have heard Poole 
 speak. 
 
 “ Well, it was not an easy matter; but, you see, I was taken 
 with a bad headache and faintness the day before,” returned 
 Poole with a wink. “ As Ford was away — gone to bury his 
 father, or his mother, or both of ’em—I got off. Mr. Travers 
 was not a hard chap when you got the right side of him.” 
 
 “ Oh, he was going to the office then ?” 
 
 “ Yes ; and for a couple of months after. It was shortly before 
 he went down to Hampton Court.” 
 
 “ Then it was about the time you witnessed that unlucky will ?” 
 
 “ Ay, so it must have been.” 
 
 “ Was it before or after you witnessed it ?” 
 
 “ Well, I am not sure—after, I think. "Why ?” 
 
 “ Nothing ; only I cannot help thinking what a rascally will it 
 is. If poor Mrs. Travers had continued the head of the house, 
 you would probably be in a better position.” 
 
 “ I don’t know that,” returned Poole. “ It’s the head clerk, not 
 the head of the house, that gives you a lift. But, be that as it 
 may, I was always sorry for Mrs. Travers.” 
 
 “ Look hei’e, Poole,” said Tom, suddenly rising, “ I cannot let 
 you stay any longer now; but leave me this,” holding up the 
 paper. “ I will take care of it, though it has no legal value. I 
 will see Trapes, and try what is to be done with him. You shall 
 hear from me in a few days.” 
 
 “ Thank you, Mr. Reed,” returned Poole, rising with alacrity. 
 “ If you take it in hand, you will make something of it ; and I 
 can tell you, twelve pounds is no joke to a married man.” 
 
 “ Or to an unmarried one either,” said Tom gaily, as he opened 
 the door for him. 
 
 The moment he was gone, Tom turned to the table where the 
 I O U lay, and seizing it, exclaimed almost aloud, “ By George ! 
 she is right, after all! There must have been some roguery at 
 work ! If Poole w^as away all day at a steeplechase on the 10th of 
 March, it is clear he could not have witnessed Mr. Travers’s will. 
 Yet he was ready to swear to his owm signature ! I wmnder he 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 323 
 
 never noticed the date ; but I dare say the steeplechase had gone 
 out of his head by that time. It is the necessity for money that 
 has made him think of this I O U, and recalled the circumstance 
 to his mind. Not a word of this must get out till I have secured 
 Trapes’s corroborating evidence. After all, Mrs. Travers’s con¬ 
 jecture that there is some link between Ford and this man may 
 prove true.” 
 
 So thinking, Tom carefully folded up the paper and placed it in 
 a strong box for present safety, and then went on his way re¬ 
 joicing. 
 
 Kate Travers had met her reverse with a gallant spirit, but he 
 knew well the bitter mortification with which that reverse had 
 been fraught. The loss of money was as nothing, compared to the 
 humiliating effect produced by the sort of legal declaration of her 
 husband through his will, that she deserved nothing—and that, 
 too, from a man so remarkable for strict justice and profound 
 sense of duty. True, she did not believe he had been guilty of 
 doing her such a wrong, but the world did. And what an occa¬ 
 sion was thus given to her contemptuous enemy to blaspheme ! 
 
 Tom’s honest heart glowed at the idea of her possible triumph ; 
 but, though far from a profound lawyer, he knew it was a difficult 
 task to upset a will, and he resolved not to disturb Kate’s present 
 quiet until he could offer some more tangible groundwork of hope 
 than the present faint spark of light. 
 
 Of course Trapes was awayq or did not choose to respond, or was 
 laid up with D. T. Whatever was the reason, he took no notice 
 of Tom’s note, requesting him to call, for fully ten days, and then 
 he did not come at the right time ; so Mr. Heed was out, and 
 Trapes afforded the grimy boys, attendant imps of the office, a 
 good deal of amusement by swaggering considerably, and pro¬ 
 fessing himself unable to understand what Mr. Reed meant by 
 being out of the way when he had asked him (Mr. Trapes) to call. 
 
 On that very day Tom had business in the City, and turning the 
 corner of Lombard Street he came upon Mr. Ford, who seemed 
 eager to speak to him, and as soon as they had exchanged saluta¬ 
 tions, asked if there was any news of Mrs. Travers. 
 
 21—2 
 
324 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ Nothing new,” replied Tom. 
 
 “ She does not talk of coming to England ?” asked Ford. 
 
 “ How do you laiow she is out of it ?” was Tom Reed’s counter- 
 question. 
 
 “ Will you say positively that she is not ?” 
 
 “ No ; I will commit myself to nothing.” 
 
 “ At any rate, her reply to me seems to have been three days on 
 the road.” 
 
 I assure you I lost no time in forwarding it.” 
 
 “ Very likely.” 
 
 “ Well, I suppose she told you all about herself ?” 
 
 ‘‘ All about herself ?” returned Ford, with a sneer. “ I presume 
 you know how much. I dare say the polite epistle was sent open 
 for your inspection !” 
 
 “ It was nothing of the kind !” cried Reed, with some warmth. 
 
 “ Will you step into my office, Mr. Reed ?” said Ford after a 
 moment’s pause, and regaining his self-possession. “ I should much 
 like a little conversation with you.” 
 
 “ Very well,” replied Tom. “ I have a few minutes to spare, and 
 they are at your service.” 
 
 Ford led the way in silence through the roar and rush of the 
 great tideway. His office was close at hand, and the well-ap¬ 
 pointed private room soon reached. 
 
 Here Ford began to unburden himself; he was evidently in a 
 curious, restless, excited, indignant mood. He began by stating 
 that, considering the true friendship he had ever testified towards 
 Mrs. Travers, he considered that he had met with decided ingratitude. 
 
 ‘‘ No one, Mr. Reed, ever made more sacrifices than I did ; for if 
 you knew the terms on which I was received, both by herself and 
 that excellent lady her late mother, you would understand how 
 trying the change that ensued. When in former times I used to go 
 down with letters and papers to Mr. Travers, I was permitted, nay, 
 encouraged, to assist in pruning the fruit trees and tying up the 
 roses. My opinion was asked and my advice taken. I will not 
 pretend to you, Mr. Reed, that this constant intercourse with a 
 charming young lady—not, after all, so very much my junior—was 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 325 
 
 without its effect. Feelings began to arise in my heart which I 
 flattered myself were neither unperceived nor unacceptable, when 
 suddenly the intelligence of the mother’s death, of the approaching 
 marriage of Mr. Travers with the object of my own wishes, came 
 upon me like an avalanche.” 
 
 Mr. Ford paused and wiped his brow ; while Tom, his face com¬ 
 posed to an expression of solemn sympathy, sat listening, and in¬ 
 wardly wondering at this strange confession ; marvelling that the 
 every-day good sense of a shrewd business-man did not show him 
 the great gulf at all times yawning between him and such a 
 creature as Mrs. Travers— 
 
 “ 0, wad some power the giftie gie us. 
 
 To see ourscl's as others see us !” 
 
 Perhaps it is better that the powers are merciful. 
 
 “ It was my impulse to quit a post so calculated to embitter my 
 existence, and embark in the line I have now adopted,” resumed 
 Ford, clearing his voice with a portentous “ hem !” “ but an expres¬ 
 sion of Mrs. Travers’s prevented me—an expression which, no 
 doubt, she would tell you she could not recall to her mind. She 
 said, when we first met after her ill-starred marriage, ‘ I am glad 
 to see you, Mr, Ford. I trust you wdll be my right hand as well as 
 Mr. Travers’s, for we are old friends, you know.’ From which I 
 understood her to mean that she relied on my sympathy and assis¬ 
 tance in the difficulties with which she already found her married 
 life bristling. The words W'ere enough for me ; I effaced myself 
 and remained.” 
 
 “ I am sure she always had the greatest respect for you,” said 
 Tom Keed, seeing he paused for a reply. 
 
 Ford laughed bitterly. “ Yes, I stayed on, to be made use of, to 
 do what I could to shield her from the whims and ill-tempers of 
 ‘ my employer,’ as that conceited beast Sir Hugh Galbraith called 
 him ; and she always spoke to me so softly and courteously I thought 
 she recognised the spirit that actuated me. But from the hour of 
 Travers’s death, sir,” he continued with increasing vehemence, “she 
 changed in a thousand delicate, undefinable, unmistakable ways ; 
 
326 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 she made me feel that I was the employed and she the employer. 
 The very tone in which she promised me advancement as a faithful 
 servant was intolerable. I confess I did not deserve this ; yet the 
 pain of finding that will, the agony of putting it into her hands, 
 was almost more than I could bear ; and from that moment she 
 threw off the mask. She showed the dislike I inspired—dislike, no 
 doubt, arising from the fact of my knowing the humble position 
 from which Mr. Travers had raised her.” 
 
 Ford paused, out of breath from his own excitement. 
 
 “ I cannot help thinking you do her injustice, Mr. Ford. In the 
 matter of feeling, one is so apt to be mistaken. She may have ap¬ 
 preciated jmu without actually reciprocating your feelings, and you 
 must grant that, however sincere her regard and respect, and all 
 the rest of it, it would not have been very seemly to change her 
 manner towards you immediately after her husband’s death.” 
 
 So spake Tom, advisedly, watching his quarry all the time most 
 carefully. “ As for resenting your instrumentality in finding the 
 will, I am sure you are quite mistaken. She is far too reasonable 
 a woman. I think, on the contrary, she sympathised with the dis¬ 
 tress you naturally felt at such an unlucky ‘find.’ I remember 
 thinking so at the time.” 
 
 “ Would to God I had never touched it, or seen it, or had anything 
 to do with it!” exclaimed Ford, with an intense bitterness that 
 startled Tom, and resting his elbow on the desk before him he 
 covered his face with his hands for a moment, as if bowed down 
 with mortification, or grief, or some unpleasant emotion. 
 
 “ You cannot blame yourself with regard to that,” cried Tom, 
 not without sympathy, but with a sudden vivid recollection of Mrs. 
 Travers’s doubts—which must be mere surmise, but nevertheless 
 were curious. 
 
 “ Of course not—of course not!” returned Ford, recovering him¬ 
 self and raising his head. “ I merely performed a painful and un¬ 
 avoidable task ; but I have allowed myself to say much more than 
 I intended. My object in asking you here was to beg you would 
 tell me how Mrs. Travers is really placed. The change she has 
 experienced must be very trying; her means must be painfully 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 327 
 
 limited, and, in spite of all I have suffered through her, I do not 
 like to think of her in poverty. Do be candid with me, Mr. Reed.” 
 
 “ I certainly will, so far as I may,” replied Tom. “ Mrs. Travers, 
 I am glad to say, has no material wants, and reports herself well, 
 and comparatively content. You know she is a woman singularly 
 indifferent to the outsides of things, but that she ever will be quite 
 at rest imtil she has upset this will I do not pretend to believe.” 
 
 “Upset the will!” said Ford, with a look of surprise. “I wish 
 there was a chance of it! but a greater delusion never existed than 
 to dream of such a thing. What a pity Mrs. Travers allows her¬ 
 self to entertain such an idea !” 
 
 “ So I tell her ; but she clings to it nevertheless, and will make 
 some move respecting it one of these days.” 
 
 Ford was silent and in deep thought for fully a minute, his glit¬ 
 tering, strained eyes fixed on vacancy ; then rousing himself, said, 
 with a bitter smile, “ Another question or two, Mr. Reed, and I will 
 release you. Sir Hugh Galbraith, when he called here in the 
 spring, was under the impression that Mrs. Travers had contracted 
 a second marriage. “ Is this the case ?” 
 
 “ I can answer that definitely and emphatically,” said Tom with 
 some heat. “ No, certainly not.” 
 
 “ Pray, then, is he right in his surmise that if not actually mar¬ 
 ried, she is engaged, and to yourself ?” 
 
 “ She is nothing of the kind ! I am engaged, but not to Mrs. 
 Travers ; of that I give you my honour.” 
 
 “ Well, Mr. Reed, I must say I cannot understand why she so 
 resolutely conceals her place of abode from me. I am always, and 
 have been always, her friend.” 
 
 “ I do not pretend to understand her motives. I only endeavour 
 to carry out her wishes,” said Tom, rising. “ And now I must 
 really bid you good-morning. I have already outstayed my time.” 
 
 “ I will not detain you,” returned Ford, with a bitter smile. “ I 
 am obliged to you for this visit, though I cannot say you have 
 afforded me any special information.” 
 
 “ Well, you see, I could not! Good-morning, Mr. Ford.” 
 
 Very much impressed by the malignant expression of Ford’s 
 
328 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 face, Tom departed, more inclined than he ever was before to lend 
 his ear to what he had hitherto considered Mrs. Travers’s prepos¬ 
 terous notions on the subject of the will. 
 
 The extraordinary vanity and unreasonableness of Ford moved 
 his mirth, and yet he confessed the consistent absurdity of the 
 romance he had weaved for himself, and of which the chief object 
 had been utterly unconscious. The tenacity with which the man 
 clung to his delusion was amazing. His great desire to know how 
 Mrs. Travers was situated, no doubt arose from the hope that 
 poverty and privation might a second time drive her into a mar¬ 
 riage of expediency. 
 
 “ He little knows his woman,” thought Tom, as he walked swiftly 
 through St. Paul’s Churchyard and on towards Fleet Street. 
 
 Nothing would floor her now : she stands alone ; that’s enough 
 to strengthen a strong woman. It is the children or parents 
 hanging on them that overweight women for the race of life. 
 Mrs. Travers would float anywhere. I don’t think she likes 
 the bazaar business. I don’t think she would ever have gone into 
 it but for Fanny, dear little saucy Fan ! Please God ! she shall 
 soon have a home of her own. Now to catch that blackguard 
 Trapes !” 
 
 This was not so easy to do, but Tom accomplished it. Of course 
 Trapes was furious about the I O U, which he had quite forgotten. 
 
 He stated his opinion that it was “ a d-d dirty trick for one 
 
 gentleman to play another.” However, Tom pacified him, gave an 
 affecting picture of Poole’s necessities, and promised to compromise 
 the matter. Moreover, he managed in the course of the conversa¬ 
 tion, without raising Trapes’s suspicions, to draw out sufficient par¬ 
 ticulars of the transaction to corroborate in every way Poole’s 
 statement respecting its date. 
 
 “ By the way,” said Tom, as his visitor stood up to go, “ did 
 Ford turn out to be the man you wanted ?” 
 
 “ What man—what do you mean ?” asked Trapes with a stare. 
 
 “ Don’t you remember coming to me in the spring to ask who 
 the man was you had seen me talking to-” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 329 
 
 “ Oh ! ay, to be sure !” cried Trapes ; “ thought he was a man 
 that owed me money; but he wasn’t, my boy,” slapping Tom’s 
 shoulder, with a wink and a shout of laughter ; “ he wasn’t; still, 
 I haven’t done so badly since.” 
 
 “ And you see Ford sometimes ? Have you been dabbling in 
 the stocks, eh ?” 
 
 “ See Ford ! Never ! Never set eyes on him since I called that 
 time to ascertain—to ascertain—oh! what was the colour of the 
 winning horse ? He’s out of my line altogether,” cried Trapes, 
 with an insolent air. 
 
 “ I should think he was,” returned Tom ; and then, as his visitor 
 went heavily and noisily down the narrow stair, he added to him¬ 
 self, “ But that’s an unmitigated lie, nevertheless.” 
 
 Such were the cii’cumstances which Tom had to detail to the 
 fair partners in the Berlin business when he made his unexpected 
 but welcome appearance that Wednesday, to rouse them from the 
 dull routine of their lives ; and set all Kate’s pulses throbbing, 
 with the strangest mixture of exultation, hope, dread, yet resolu¬ 
 tion. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. - 
 
 “ And what is to be done next ?” asked Kate, who was greatly 
 moved, her hands like ice, and visibly trembling, after she and 
 Fanny had listened in nearly unbroken silence and deepest atten¬ 
 tion to Tom’s communications. 
 
 “ Well, I think your best plan is to lay the whole matter before 
 Wall, and be guided by him. This evidence is certainly of the 
 utmost importance, but whether it is sufficient to upset a will is 
 another matter ; the opposite party will, of course, try to prove 
 there is a mistake in the date of the I O U. We can easily prove 
 there had been a steeplechase at this place, Reepham, on that par¬ 
 ticular date ; but then again. Trapes is a very disreputable witness, 
 and it will be difficult at this distance of time to show that Poole 
 
330 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 had been absent from the office on that special day. Still, I am 
 now convinced there is truth in your conviction of foul play ; and 
 I shall hunt up evidence with a will.” 
 
 “ Ah, Tom, you never beheved me before.” 
 
 “ He is naturally an unbelieving Jew !” cried Fanny. 
 
 “ At last, at last,” murmured Mrs. Temple, not heeding her, 
 “ there is a pin’s point of light. But adieu to peace for many a 
 day ; it is war to the knife now ! But should I be defeated, how 
 shall I bear it, Tom ?” 
 
 “ Don’t think of that. We must make our position sure before 
 we take any step; we must mask our batteries carefully till the 
 last moment.” 
 
 Mrs. Temple was sitting with her elbows on the table, and her 
 face hidden in her hands. 
 
 “ And Hugh Galbraith,” she said, “ have you heard anything of 
 him ?” 
 
 “ There was a report a couple of months ago that he was going 
 
 to be married to Lord C-’s eldest daughter ;‘but I have heard 
 
 no more of it.” 
 
 “ And if he marries, how terrible it will be for him ! But then 
 for the sake of others he must accept a compromise; he must 
 accept a share of the property, even to-” 
 
 “ Why, Mrs. Temple, you surely do not intend to show the white 
 feather now ?” cried Tom, much surprised at her tone. 
 
 “ Rest assured I shall not. Nothing shall turn me from the 
 task of vindicating myself and my husband’s memory from the 
 disgrace of that infamous will. But it is hard to be cruel to 
 others !” 
 
 Her voice trembled; she stopped abruptly, and suddenly left 
 the room. Tom looked inquiringly at Fanny. 
 
 “ She has never been quite the same since Sir Hugh was here. I 
 think she is sorry for him. I am sure it would be much better if 
 she had just said who she was, and they settled it without fighting, 
 or lawyers,” said Fanny. 
 
 “ Perhaps so,” returned Tom. “ But then Mrs. Travers naturally 
 wants the matter cleared up publicly.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 331 
 
 “ After all, what is the public to her ? they know nothing about 
 her, and care less.” 
 
 “ Very true ; but you must remember that she had been in pos¬ 
 session of the property, and it was publicly taken from her. I 
 think she is right in insisting on its being publicly restored.” 
 
 Fanny was silent for a few moments in a pretty, thoughtful atti¬ 
 tude, with her hands clasped upon her knee ; and after looking at 
 her admiringly and expectantly, Tom proceeded to unclasp them, 
 and take possession of one. He had just opened his lips to speak 
 of his own affairs when Fanny said softly and solemnly, “ Tom !” 
 
 “ Well, what is it, my darling ?” 
 
 “ Tom, you won’t say anything to any one, will you ?” 
 
 “Not if I was put on the rack, or torn to pieces by wild 
 horses.” 
 
 “You need not laugh ; I am quite in earnest.” 
 
 “ So am I. Go on. There is something tremendous coming.” 
 
 “ Do you knov/”—still in a carefully lowered tone—“ I think Sir 
 Hugh Galbraith is quite in love with Kate.” 
 
 “ Oh, indeed ! Well, that’s possible, though I have always heard 
 him spoken of as a cold, stiff sort of fellow, not at all a subject for 
 the tender passion. But the wisest have their weak moments ; 
 witness myself.” 
 
 “ Well, but, Tom,” reiterated Fanny, too absorbed in her subject 
 to administer a deserved rebuk^, “ I really believe he is.” 
 
 “ What are the symptoms ? I dare say he Avas struck with her. 
 But love is a thing of many degrees ; come, your reasons ?” 
 
 “ I can hardly describe the symptoms. I know he used to look 
 rather disgusted or perhaps disappointed Avhenever I went up to 
 write his letters instead of Kate.” 
 
 “ Oh, you used to write his letters ? Had he a large corre¬ 
 spondence ?” 
 
 “ Yes, he was always wanting two or three lines Avritten to some¬ 
 body or other, about horses, and different people in his regiment; 
 and then whenever he came down of an evening- 
 
 “ Then he used to spend the evening with you sometimes ?” 
 
 “ Oh yes—that is—I don’t think I ought to tell you, Tom, 
 
332 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 though Kate never told me I must not. Don’t say a word about 
 it, like a dear.” 
 
 “ Provided my silence is properly paid for, I have no objection 
 to preserve it unbroken.” 
 
 “ Do be serious. When he used to knock at the door, and ask 
 to come in, and Kate would allow him, his long solemn face used 
 to brighten up in the most wonderful way. He was absolutely 
 good-looking for a few minutes ; and he always listened to every 
 word she said as if he was drinking in her voice, though she con¬ 
 tradicted him perpetually—they never seemed able to agree. Then 
 he had a way of resting his elbow on the table, and shading his 
 eyes with his hand—but J could see it was just to stare at Kate 
 without being noticed. Why, the very tone of his voice was quite 
 different when he spoke to her.” 
 
 “ Upon my soul, this is a revelation. I always thought Mrs. 
 Travers rather reserved about her lodger; but she is not the 
 sort of woman the most audacious scoundrel would venture 
 to-” 
 
 “ Sir Hugh was nothing of the kind,” interrupted Fanny, with 
 some warmth. “ He was as quiet and mild as if he was an 
 archbishop. I really could not help liking him. And he gave 
 me such a lovely bracelet. But I suppose if he knew who we 
 are, he would be ready to trample us under his feet—so Kate 
 says.” 
 
 “ This is altogether a curious revelation,” reiterated Tom. “ I 
 had no idea you had been on such intimate terms. I don’t think 
 Mrs. Travers showed her usual discretion.” 
 
 “ Nonsense !” cried Fanny sharply. “ She always knows what 
 she is about.” 
 
 “ Perhaps so. But, Fan, did she reciprocate at all ?” 
 
 “ No, not a bit. She does not think much of him in any way, 
 only she can’t dislike him when he seems to admire her ; one always 
 has a sort of kindness for any man who admires one !” 
 
 “ That’s a pleasant look-out for me,” said Tom. 
 
 “ It is well for you,” returned Fanny, with saucy emphasis. 
 “ But do not say a word to Kate about what I have told you.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 333 
 
 “ Trust me,” said Tom more seriously. “ I fancy Galbraith’s 
 admiration (if you are right) must have been a great annoyance 
 to her, if not an additional source of dislike and bitterness in spite 
 of your theories, my philosopher. But why the deuce didn’t she 
 bundle him out when he began to moon and spoon ? I am sure 
 she is plucky enough.” 
 
 “ I don’t think she saw as much as I did ; I am sure she did not. 
 She used to talk away as calmly and as unconcerned as if he was 
 her grandfather ; and he chd not ‘ spoon,’ as you call it. (I am 
 sure I hope you do not put such vulgar words in your ‘ leaders.’) 
 He was quite natural and often disagreeable.” 
 
 “ Then, my dear girl, he wasn’t in love, and you have wasted some 
 precious moments over an imaginary difficulty. I can’t picture 
 a man making himself disagreeable to the woman he is in love 
 with.” 
 
 “ That is all you know ! I begin to think myself a much 
 better informed person than you are. I can tell you that men 
 can make themselves horribly disagreeable to girls they perfectly 
 adore !” 
 
 “ Your experience alarms me,” said Tom gravely. “ I grant 
 that, given a jolly row, each party can annoy the other pretty con¬ 
 siderably ; but at the stage Galbraith had reached, it ought to 
 have been all fair weather ; at any rate, I always feel, always have 
 felt, desperately amiable and sunshiny in the adored one’s presence! 
 Eh, Fanny ?” 
 
 “ My dear Tom, you have been occasionally odious, I am happy 
 to say ; otherwise I should have believed you to be a rank im¬ 
 postor, and expected you to beat me when we were married,” cried 
 Fanny, laughing, yet blushing brightly too, when she found how 
 her sentence ended ; then the conversation became purely personal, 
 and will not bear repeating. 
 
 Kate left them together to enjoy a long confidential talk, and 
 when she joined them at the cosy supper she had assisted Mills to 
 prepare, she was quite herself. In the interim she had made up 
 her mind. She would press upon Mr. Wall the necessity of 
 speedy action, so as to give Hugh Galbraith the earliest possible 
 
334 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 notice of the trial before him. Never inclined to doubt her own 
 success, or look at the reverse of a pleasant picture, this new 
 gleam of hope acquired the most positive colour from the medium 
 through which she viewed it, and her great desire was to give a 
 character of fair and open warfare to the coming battle. Gal¬ 
 braith would then be prepared, and when the truth came out 
 fully, she would, through her lawyer, in a quiet and business-like 
 way, insist on settling the bulk of the fortune upon him, asking 
 only in return an acknowledgment that, after all, his cousin had 
 not made so unworthy a choice. “ Then he need never know that 
 I had appeared to him in an assumed character. He will be 
 humiliated enough without that, poor fellow ! and I do not want 
 him to think of me— me, my own self, as different from what he 
 now believes. Years hence, when perhaps he is married, and the 
 outlines of the present have faded from their painful sharpness, 
 we might meet and be friends. But he is the last man in the world 
 to care a straw for any woman he is not in love with or married to! 
 He is far too English to have female friends !” 
 
 “And suppose, Tom,” said Kate, as they discussed “ possibili 
 ties ” after the evening meal, “ suppose Ave get more evidence, or 
 whatever is necessary, to induce Mr. Wall to take up the case, what 
 is to be done ? How will he proceed ?” 
 
 “ Why, at the very outset, we have immense difficulties. You 
 see, it seems that either Poole’s signature is forged, or the date of 
 the will has been altered, or that Poole knoAvingly signed a false 
 document as witness. Now I don’t believe he did this ; his 
 manner is perfectly innocent and unembarrassed. My own im¬ 
 pression is that the whole thing is fabricated, signatures and all. 
 Wonderfully well done ! Our first task will be to discover who 
 did it. Once Ave make that out, we must lay information before a 
 magistrate !” 
 
 “ Against Hugh Galbraith ?” interrupted Mrs. Temple quickly. 
 
 “ No,” returned Tom with a smile, and a glance at Fanny— 
 
 “ against whoever we find has forged the will; and then the magis¬ 
 trate vail, on the evidence, commit the miscreant to take his trial 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 335 
 
 at the sessions. Upon the commitment Galbraith must be com¬ 
 municated with, and required to give up the property. Then will 
 come ‘ the tug of war.’ ” 
 
 “ It will indeed !” returned Mrs. Temple thoughtfully. “And 
 of course, coming before a magistrate, the affair will be sufficiently 
 public.” 
 
 “ Public ! I should think so! and coming on, as T suppose 
 it will, before Parliament meets, a romantic case like that will be 
 a godsend to the papers. I will give you stunning articles in 
 the M. T." 
 
 “ I hope you will do no such thing, Tom.” 
 
 “ I must look at that book of Chabot’s on the writing of Junius,” 
 continued Tom, not heeding her. 
 
 “ Who is Chabot ?” asked Fanny. 
 
 “ Oh, the expert—a man learned in handwriting, who is supposed 
 to detect forgeries and interpolations.” 
 
 “ A sort of detective, I suppose ! I hope, Tom, the opposite party 
 will not be sending any detective after us !” 
 
 “ Nonsense, Fan! that would be no use,” returned Mrs. 
 Temple. 
 
 “ The great difficulty will be,” said Tom, addressing her, “who 
 to fix the forgery on, if Poole is, as I suppose, innocent. I am 
 reluctant to take him into our confidence, for he seems not over¬ 
 burdened with sense. In short, I am almost sorry I jumped so 
 impulsively to the decision of coming down here now I see what 
 an effect my intelligence has had. I am greatly inclined to share 
 
 your convictions respecting the will, but how to prove them- 
 
 I wish,” interrupting himself, “ you would give me some of Mr. 
 Travers’s writings—his signature if possible—I suppose you have 
 plenty ?” 
 
 “ Yes, you shall have it.” 
 
 “ And I will get C-to look at the will, and oompare the two 
 
 signatures.” 
 
 There was a pause, and then Mrs. Temple said slowly and re¬ 
 luctantly, “ I have also some of Ford’s writing, Tom ; do not fail 
 to examine that.” 
 
336 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 Tom looked at her earnestly, 
 
 “ You do not mean to say your suspicions are so strong ?” 
 
 “ I do ! It goes terribly against me to harm him in any way, but 
 he or I must suffer, and I will not be under a wrong. I must at¬ 
 tack Mr. Ford, Tom ! I must!” 
 
 After much discussion it was decided that Heed should examine 
 the will ; and if he thought it prudent, take Poole to look at the 
 signatures ; in short, do his utmost to collect evidence by the time 
 Mr. Wall returned from his usual autumn excursion ; and Kate 
 declared her intention of going up to town to be present when the 
 subject was broached to the wary old lawyer. “ I think, Tom, he 
 feels for me, and I might have more influence by spealdng instead 
 of writing.” 
 
 “ No doubt,” replied Tom ; “ he will not return for another 
 month, and then your busiest season will be over ; “ I will let you 
 know when he arrives. But I say, Mrs. Travers, it is rather un¬ 
 lucky that Gregory is away at sea! He would surely know his 
 father’s handwriting. Well, at any rate, I will lose no time in 
 
 getting C- to look at the will ; but, first, I will write to 
 
 Poole, and procure his signature in reply, so that I may have 
 
 some data on which to ask C-’s opinion. Give me the specimens 
 
 of Mr. Travers’s and Ford’s writing you promised, and I will go. I 
 must catch the earliest train to-morrow, for nothing ought to have 
 drawn me away from the desk to-day ! But how can a poor devil 
 resist when love and friendship pull together ?” 
 
 The weeks which succeeded this hurried and disturbing visit 
 were exceedingly trying to Kate. The monotony of her occupa¬ 
 tion, the iteration of days behind the counter, were almost intoler¬ 
 able when her nerves were on the rack, and expectation strained to 
 the utmost; yet she struggled bravely to resist the tendency to be 
 irritable and depressed, or to sit down and think, and create visions 
 of triumph or ghosts of defeat from the mists of the future. One 
 view of the subject helped to keep heart and nerves in a perpetual 
 state of painful vibration. Whether the future contained victory 
 or defeat, both would be bitter to her. To be compelled to crush 
 Ford, a man she had known well and long, and for whom she had 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 337 
 
 the degree of sympathy which arises from comprehension, this was 
 the worst consequence of success ; but second only to this cruel 
 necessity was the result to Hugh Galbraith. After tasting the 
 sweets of fortune equal to his social position, to be hurled back 
 into that “ slough of despond,” genteel poverty ! He, so proud and 
 sensitive as she knew he was, under the cold, plain, immovable ex¬ 
 terior he presented to common observers, and by her, to whom he 
 had frankly offered himself and all he possessed! “ Though,” 
 
 thought the young widow, with a smile at the recollection, “that 
 was a momentary impulse, a freak from the consequences of which 
 he is, no doubt, by this time thankful to have escaped. He is by 
 no means a bad fellow—yet not at all the sort of man I would fall 
 in love with, even had we met under different circumstances. He 
 is so prejudiced and uncultivated, and innately tyrannical.” Never¬ 
 theless, she felt it would be a terrible grief to wound him, still, to 
 fail would be intolerable, irreparable—to be conquered by Galbraith 
 was the one thing worse than conquering him. To be condemned 
 for ever to her present life, with its narrow influences and deaden¬ 
 ing sameness—this would be unendurable. “ Yet,” thought Kate, 
 “ had I adopted this life without any consciousness of having been 
 defrauded of my rights, I could have borne it better, but not in 
 such a corner as Pierstoffe. Alas ! I fear the day is far off when 
 common sense will have sufficient force to prevent the social dis¬ 
 franchisement which an emplo 3 rment such as mine entails. Even 
 when it comes, will it not be moving the barrier a few steps lower 
 down, rather than destroying the barrier ? Inequalities will always 
 exist, but they may be softened and lessened till perhaps, as Fanny 
 says, a few hundred years hence Liberals and Revolutionists may 
 be reduced to advocate the rights of those ill-used and degraded 
 creatures the gorillas and ourangs !” 
 
 But, as it has been said, Kate struggled resolutely with her own 
 weakness ; she busied herself in every possible occupation ; she 
 took long rambles with and without Fanny after the closing hour ; 
 and though sometimes silent and sometimes uttering, half jest, half 
 earnest, more biting remarks on her customers and the world in 
 general than she usually indulged in, she never permitted her sup- 
 
 99 
 
338 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 pressed irritation to touch the helpless creatures dependent on her. 
 She was as gentle to Mills, as kindly to Fanny, as in their most 
 tranquil days. 
 
 How beautiful and grand is the tenderness of a strong, loving 
 heart that, instead of despising and overlooking natures slighter 
 and poorer than its own, seeks to uphold and enrich them with the 
 forbearing generosity we give to children, and like the sunshine of 
 a glowing summer’s day, lends or develops beauty even in the 
 common things which come within the influence of its radiance and 
 its warmth I 
 
 -» 0 * ' 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 “ What is Tom about, I wonder ?” cried Fanny one evening, nearly 
 a month after his visit; “ we have not heard from him for more 
 than ten days.” 
 
 “ We must have patience,” said Kate, with a little sigh. “ I am 
 sure he is doing his best; but delays will occur. He said that man, 
 the expert he wanted to show the writing to, was very much en¬ 
 gaged just now.” 
 
 “ Think of that!” returned Fanny indignantly. “ Who could 
 imagine that, in a country like this, there would be such heaps of 
 forgeries as to keep a man busy finding them out.” 
 
 Mrs. Temple did not reply. She was making up her books, for 
 it was Saturday ; and she preferred “ stealing a few hours from the 
 night ” to passing them sleeplessly in bed. Fanny, “ dull sleep and 
 a drowsy bed scorning,” insisted on keeping her company, but found 
 it hard work to be wakeful and silent while her friend added up 
 long lines of figures and compared results. 
 
 At last Kate put down her pen. “ I feel unusually stupid, Fan. 
 I do heartily wish we had some news—something to do ; I feel, oh, 
 so weary of waiting!” She leaned her head on her hand as she 
 spoke. 
 
 “ Poor dear ! I am sure I don’t wonder,” said Fanny sympa- 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 339 
 
 thetically. “ I saw you were nearly worn out wlien you spoke so 
 sharply to Lady Styles to-day; but she was enough to drive any 
 one frantic. What did she say about Sir Hugh ?” 
 
 “ Oh, that he had started a yacht, a superb yacht, and was launch¬ 
 ing into all sorts of extravagances; and that Colonel Upton had 
 deserted her to spend the whole of his time or leave of absence 
 with Hugh, and that such folly would come to no good end ; but I 
 believe very little of all this. Listen to me, Fan. If Tom fails in' 
 procuring sufficient proof—that is, if I found it imprudent to pro¬ 
 ceed—what shall we do ?” 
 
 “ I am sure I do not know. What do you mean ?” 
 
 “ Oh, Fanny, I hardly know myself, but I cannot stay here. You, 
 I suppose, will marry soon, so I have only poor Mills to think of. 
 Were it not that I do not like to desert her—the last bit of home 
 left me—I would sell the shop and go out as a governess to Eussia, 
 or Tartary, or anywhere !” 
 
 “ My dearest Kate, what puts that into your head ?” 
 
 “ Because I feel so thoroughly unsettled. If this gleam of hope 
 proves illusory, I shall never be able to settle here—never ! And 
 yet we are not doing so badly, Fanny.” She pointed to the large 
 book which lay open before her as she spoke. 
 
 Fanny rose and looked over her shoulder for a moment, then, 
 glancing at some other smaller volumes of figures which were also 
 open for consultation upon the table, heaved a deep sigh. “ You 
 are a wonderful woman, Kate ! Flow you can find your way 
 through all these awful books, and know whether you win or lose, 
 puzzles me. I can sell tolerably, but as for arithmetic ! You 
 could manage an office, I do believe. It is a pity you are not a 
 man !” 
 
 “ It is indeed,” echoed her friend, resting her cheek upon her 
 hand, and gazing absently away to the open window, through which 
 the garden could be seen sleeping in the autumn moonlight. “ As 
 I am, I have none of the privileges of either man or woman. I 
 have none of the help and care which fall to the lot of most 
 women, and yet I cannot use what gifts I possess to push my for¬ 
 tune as I should like because I am not a man. But I must clo the 
 
340 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 best I can. Look, Fanny,” drawing over tbe purchase-book, and 
 pointing to a column of entries, “ we have all this stock, and it 
 is paid for! there is quite thirty-six pounds due to us, and there is 
 a balance of forty-nine pounds eleven shillings and sixpence in the 
 bank. To be sure we must now begin to pay our house expenses 
 from our earnings, but then we want very few more goods till spring, 
 except for Christmas novelties. I believe we might do very well 
 here if I could stay, but I cannot—I feel I cannot. There are 
 elements in the life which I did not calculate on, or underrated. 
 The existence is purely material; I would much prefer being a 
 chemist or a bookseller.” 
 
 Fanny listened in some dismay. “ Yes, dear, I dare say it is very 
 disagreeable ; but just think of the smell of a chemist’s shop, and 
 all the horrid things that would stain your hands. Now this shop 
 is clean, and nice, and pretty ; I would think twice before I gave 
 it up.” 
 
 “ Of course I shall,” said Mrs. Temple, rising and closing her 
 books. “ Moreover, Fan, I shall do nothing till you are married.” 
 
 “ Well, that is uncertain. Tom said very little about it when he 
 was down here,” said Fan, with a slight pout. 
 
 “ You unreasonable little puss,” cried Mrs. Temple, laughing. 
 “ Did you not say you would hear nothing on that head till my 
 afEairs were settled ? Well, I feel as if something would happen 
 soon. Yet this waiting seems long—very long.” She locked away 
 her books in their proper drawer, and, walking to the window, stood 
 looking out for a minute in silence ; while Fanny somewhat steal¬ 
 thily put out her writing-materials to indite a scolding to Tom. 
 
 “ Give me the Times, Fanny,” said Mrs. Temple, rousing herself ; 
 “ I have not looked at it to-day.” 
 
 She drew a chair near the table and lamp, and read on for some 
 time without spealdng, turning over the sheets somewhat listlessly. 
 At length she asked, in a low and somewhat unsteady tone, “ Do 
 you remember what was the name of the vessel Captain Gregory 
 commanded ?” 
 
 “ The vessel Captain Gregory commanded ?” repeated Fanny, 
 looking a little puzzled. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 341 
 
 “ Yes. You remember be sailed last April, and I am sure Tom 
 mentioned the name of the ship—try and think.” 
 
 “ Oh, I recollect his going away ; yes, I do remember something 
 —oh dear, what was the name ? can’t you remember it ?” 
 
 “ I imagine I do ; but I want to hear what you can recall.” 
 
 “ It was,” exclaimed Fanny, biting the top of her pen—“ it was 
 the Fairy^ or Fairy something.” 
 
 “ Listen to this then.” And Mrs. Temple read from the paper : 
 “ ‘ On the 4th instant the brig Mary Jane, of Leith, John Collins, 
 master, homeward bound from Bourdeaux, picked up, a few miles 
 off the Lizard, two men and a boy, who were clinging to an over¬ 
 turned boat. They had been upwards of twenty-four hours in the 
 water, and were greatly exhausted. It appears they are the cap¬ 
 tain, a seaman, and the cabin-boy of the ship Fairy Rode, which 
 was run down by a large steamer on the night of the 3rd, as she 
 was on her return voyage from Pernambuco. The steamer kept 
 on her course without the slightest attempt to succour the ill-fated 
 ship, which was almost cut in two ; and while the crew were at¬ 
 tempting to take to the boats she sank. The captain received a 
 blow on the head as the vessel went down from one of the spars, 
 and was partially insensible for a few moments. When he came 
 to himself he was in the water near a boat floating bottom up ; 
 upon this he clambered, and afterwards assisted the boy to the same 
 position, where they were joined by the sailor. They had nearly 
 lost heart when they were rescued. The captain proceeded yester¬ 
 day to make a deposition before the Lord Mayor, but fainted 
 before the conclusion of his narrative.’ 
 
 “ Now can this be Captain Gregory ?” said Kate, laying down 
 the paper and turning very pale. 
 
 “ Oh, I am sure it is—it can be nobody else !” cried Fanny, 
 snatching it up. “ Poor man ! how unlucky he is ! Novz he will 
 be laid up ever so long, and not be able to look at the writing or 
 anything. What wretches they must be on board that steamer ! 
 If poor Captain Gregory had not been run down, he would have 
 been safe and well in London by this !” 
 
 But Mrs. Temple hardly listened. “ I must write to Tom,” she 
 
342 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 said nervously ; “ yon are writing to him, are yon not ? Well, let 
 ns cut out this piece of news and enclose it, and I will add a line 
 imploring a speedy reply.” 
 
 A sleepless night was the inevitable consequence of this intelli¬ 
 gence. In vain Kate told herself that Gregory’s evidence could 
 not really be of much importance—still, in her strained condition 
 of nerves, every additional source of disquiet, however slight, be¬ 
 came magnified. 
 
 However, the next day’s afternoon post brought Tom’s long- 
 expected letter, which contained things good and bad. 
 
 He had taken C-to compare the signatures of the will with 
 
 the writing supplied by Mrs. Temple, and his sentence was that he 
 considered Poole’s genuine, Mr. Travers’s doubtful, and thought 
 there was a possible trace of Ford’s hand in Gregory’s. 
 
 Tom had also examined a file of Bell's Life^ and found a report 
 of the Eeepham Steeplechase on the same date as Trapes’s I O U. 
 It was very desirable, Tom added, to obtain some corroborative 
 testimony as to Poole’s presence at these races on the day in ques¬ 
 tion, which Tom did not despair of finding ; finally, he informed 
 Kate that Mr. Wall was expected back next week, and he strongly 
 advised her to come up to town on the following Monday or Tues¬ 
 day, to be on the spot when he arrived, so as to lose no time in 
 laying her hopes and difficulties before the experienced lawyer. 
 Moreover, he (Tom Reed) would secure her a quiet lodging in the 
 Maida Hill district, which would be preferable to, and less costly 
 than an hotel. Then came a hasty postscript— 
 
 “ Had just finished the above when I saw the narroAV escape of 
 poor Gregory in the Evening Mail. I hurried off to his owners, 
 got his address, and have just seen the poor fellow ; he is terribly 
 cut up, aud looks as gaunt as can be expected. It will be a con¬ 
 siderable time before he will be capable of attending to anything, 
 so I did not touch on your affairs. He goes down to-morrow to 
 his native place, where his family have been for some time ; I have 
 the address. Give the enclosed to Fan, and keep up your heart; 
 we will frustrate their knavish tricks yet. ” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 343 
 
 “ Thank Heaven !” cried Mrs. Temple, with renewed animation 
 in her eyes. “ There is some movement at last; I have been thirst¬ 
 ing to be on the scene of action. I shall see this expert myself, 
 though I suppose his visits are costly—one must risk something. 
 This is Thursday; on Tuesday I shall go up to town. Fanny, 
 dear little Fan, you will be able to manage pretty well without 
 me ?” 
 
 “ Oh yes, don’t trouble about me ; I shall be as wise as a serpent 
 and as harmless as a dove. Mills and I will keep shop and house, 
 neck-and-neck, as Mr. Turner would say ; and I am equal to Lady 
 Styles now, though I shall have a severe cross-examination respect¬ 
 ing your movements.” 
 
 “ Never mind,” returned Kate, smiling ; “ remember you have 
 but one theme, whatever may be the variations. I have gone to 
 town on business, and Avill be back in a day or two—a ‘ day or 
 two ’ is delightfully vague ; once away I am, you are not answer- 
 able for anything.” 
 
 “ Quite true,” said Fanny. 
 
 Although there were sundry arrangements to be made in order 
 to simplify Fanny’s work as much as possible during her absence, 
 the time seemed very long to Kate till the Tuesday came round ; 
 and then an unexpected tenderness and regret for the humble home 
 she had wearied of, surprised her. She felt she was going forth to 
 war, that she was making the first step in her onward march to 
 painful victory or unendurable defeat. 
 
 The journey to town was as depressing as damp, chill, drizzling 
 Aveather could make it; and it was Avith a sudden sense of comfort 
 and support that Kate recognised Tom Seed’s sharp, pleasant face 
 through the early gloom of an October evening. It Avas not only 
 delightful to have a hand to help her out of the carriage and to 
 extricate her luggage, small as it AV'as ; but, knoAving his engage¬ 
 ments as she did, it Avas a proof of thoughtful kindness that he 
 should have stolen half an hour from the busy afternoon to meet 
 her. 
 
 “ My dear Tom ! How good of you to meet me. I ha\'e had a 
 
344 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 miserable journey—two fat farmers for my companions half the 
 way, and a severe female, who gave me a tract, the rest. 
 
 “ Such creatures should be arrested by the police !” returned 
 Tom sympathisingly. “ But come along. Have you only one 
 portmanteau ? Sensible woman ! We will have a hansom.” 
 
 And they bowled along speedily to the lodging Tom had selected^ 
 in one of the small demi-semi-genteel streets which properly belong 
 to Paddington, but prefer the more refined definition of Maida. 
 Hill. 
 
 “ I put you here,” said Tom, as a stout, elderly woman, with a 
 broad, good-humoured face, substantial merino “ afternoon ” dress, 
 an elaborate cap, and stiffly-curled front, secured by three rows 
 of narrow black velvet, ushered them into her front parlour, of 
 tolerable dimensions, with a window opening upon a damp garden^ 
 where a few mangy shrubs suggested forcibly the idea of living 
 death, while the tables, chairs, and sofas were shrouded in ample 
 coverings of crochet and netting, which caught on the buttons 
 and hooks of the unwary, carrying away plaster Shakespeares and 
 misshapen delf bandits in their treacherous sweep. “ I have put 
 you here,” repeated Tom, noticing the desponding glance with 
 which Kate -surveyed the apartment, “ because,” with a compli¬ 
 mentary wave of the hand to the landlady, who stood at the door 
 holding Kate’s travelling-bag, “ I know Mrs. Small to be a person 
 of high respectability; and, as you are by yourself, it will be a sort 
 of protection to you to be in her house. Her son is one of the 
 best men in our office.” 
 
 Smiles and a curtsey from Mrs. Small. “ Would the lady like 
 tea, sir ?” 
 
 “ Thank you,” returned Kate, “ I should very much.” 
 
 “ I’ll send it up directly, ma’am. You would like to see your 
 room ? It is just at the back, here. I wish there was a door 
 through, it would be more private-hke ; and the landlord pro¬ 
 mised,” &c., &c., &c. 
 
 “I am sorry to say I have only a few minutes to stay,” began 
 Tom. 
 
 “ Then send up tea, I will see my room afterwards,” said Kate. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 345 
 
 “ Thank j'ou very much, dear Tom, for all your thought and kind¬ 
 ness,” she continued, as Mrs. Small left the room. “ I am so glad 
 you know something of this person. Now, have you any more 
 news ?” 
 
 “ No, nothing, except that Wall was expected to-day ; and Wre- 
 ford—the partner, you know—said I might be sure he would be 
 at the office to-morrow. Suppose you meet me there at twelve- 
 thirty ? I would come for you, but I am so desperately busy, as I 
 will explain to you, that I can scarcely find time to eat. You do 
 not mind going alone ?” 
 
 “ Not in the very least! I put aside all ladylike incapability 
 when I went into trade, and I should be so glad to set things 
 going, and return again as fast as I can. I never dreaded any¬ 
 thing so much as this visit to London and my interview with Mr. 
 Wall!” 
 
 “ That is not like your usual pluck, Mrs. Travers. By-the-by, 
 in engaging these rooms I hesitated which name I should give you, 
 and decided on Temple, principally to dodge Ford, if by any 
 chance he were to get on the scent! He might worry you, and I 
 do not think you are up to more than is unavoidable.” 
 
 “ Thank you very much for this,” said Mrs. Temple (as we must 
 still call her). “ I am most anxious not to be known by my right 
 name till I have my rights.” 
 
 “ Strange as it seems—unaccountable as it is,” returned Tom 
 thoughtfully, “ I begin to think—to fear—that your suspicions of 
 Ford are well founded ! Yet it is almost incredible that a quiet, 
 respectable ‘ citizen of famous London town ’ should commit such 
 a felony, merely to spite you, without the slightest gain to him¬ 
 self !” 
 
 “ I think he intended to get me into his power as well as to spite 
 me, Tom. If we prove this against him, what will be the end 
 of it?” 
 
 “ Penal servitude,” said Tom shortly. 
 
 “ I can hardly bring myself to inflict that—yet I must go on.” 
 
 “ Of course,” he rejoined ; “ but I must leave you, I am sorry to 
 say. I would much rather spend the evening here. I have lots 
 
346 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 to say about my own aifaixs, but I must not stay. Here is a very 
 good novel! sit down and lose yourself in it. A good novel is a 
 benefaction ; and as for tbe Philistines who prate about fiction, 
 there is often more truth in a good novel than in a biography, 
 which is generally carefully cooked to spare the feelings of friends 
 and relatives even to the third and fourth generation, till a most 
 distorted image, a complete fancy sketch, is offered to the public. 
 There, ‘ Madame,’ weep over the trials of the heroine if you will, 
 but don’t give a thought to your own.” 
 
 Kate followed his advice. Cheered by the consciousness of his 
 steady friendship and support, she contrived to keep the demon of 
 depression at bay ; and, somewhat fatigued after her journey, was 
 fortunate in obtaining a good night’s rest. 
 
 The next day was still cheerless and drizzling. However, 
 wrapped in her waterproof, her face shrouded by a thick veil, 
 Kate managed to reach the well-known office through the greasy 
 streets by many a devious turning, without any misadventure. In 
 her present mood it was a relief to walk rather than sit silent, 
 pent up among strangers in an omnibus. 
 
 She thought she was too early ; but Tom met her at the corner 
 of the street in which Mr. Wall’s office was situated. 
 
 “ You are in capital time, but we will go on at once.” And they 
 walked rather silently to the door. 
 
 “ Mr. Wall has not returned, sir,” was the reply to Tom’s in¬ 
 quiries—" does not return till Friday.” 
 
 With a bitter sense of disappointment Kate turned away. 
 
 " That means I cannot see him till Monday,” she said, as they 
 went slowly down the street. 
 
 " True. Yet you must stay on in town. Write a line making 
 an appointment for Monday, and then you may be able to leave 
 the following day, which will just finish the week for which I en¬ 
 gaged your rooms.” 
 
 “ I will, Tom ; but what a wretched time I shall have of it! 
 You really must come and see me Avhenever you can.” 
 
 “Unfortunately—” began Tom, but stopped himself. “Come, 
 my dear Mrs. Travers,” he resumed ; “ I breakfasted early, let us 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 347 
 
 go down to Yerey’s and have a little luncheon. I am ravenous ; 
 and I dare say your breakfast was a nominal one.” So saying, he 
 hailed a cab, and, before Kate could well reply, handed her in. 
 
 “ Take another glass ; that St. Julian is not bad,” cried Reed, 
 as the waiter put some Roquefort cheese and celery upon the table 
 after their dinner rather than luncheon. “ For I have a tale to 
 unfold which you will not like. Yesterday morning I had a tele¬ 
 gram from Pau, announcing poor Pennington’s death, and request¬ 
 ing me to go over at once, which I must do, both for the widow’s 
 sake and for other reasons ; however, I postponed my journey till 
 to-night, for I could not bear you to find me gone. As I saw you 
 were rather in the dolefuls, I would not tell you till we had seen 
 Wall. Now there is no help for it. I must start by the mail this 
 evening, and you must face the interview, and, what is worse, the 
 business, as best you can ; and you will do it well, or I am much 
 mistaken. Yours is a spirit of the right sort, and will always an¬ 
 swer the spur.” 
 
 “ But, oh! Tom, you are a terrible loss. How I wish I had 
 not come up to town !” 
 
 “We could not possibly foresee such a combination of disap¬ 
 pointments. Still, you must remember there is nothing in them 
 to damp your hopes.” 
 
 “ When shall you be back ?” 
 
 “ Possibly in a Aveek, and Avhen I do return it will be as editor ; 
 then Fanny must make up her mind. I sent her a feAV lines this 
 morning. I am really and truly sorry for poor Pen; but it is a 
 stroke of fortune for me. Now I must say mj^ say, and leave you. 
 Do not be cast down by the Avay Wall Avill probably receive your 
 neAvs. We must get more evidence. I knoAv that; but his advice 
 and guidance will be a great help towards finding it. That felloAv 
 Trapes has disappeared again. I cannot help fancying that he 
 has something to do Avith the mystery. His knoAvdedge of Ford 
 seems so strange. When I return I Avill unearth him AA’herever he 
 is. So keep up your heart, my dear Mrs. Travers. All will go 
 Avell yet.” 
 
348 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 Kate did feel disproportionally cast down, though she kner/ as- 
 well as her adviser that in the contretemps of his departure, and 
 Mr. Wall’s prolonged absence, there was no real check to her 
 hopes ; but the hopes were so commingled with fears, that at best 
 they were oppressive ; now to face a week’s lonely self-communing 
 absolutely appalled her. But she was not going to torment Tom, 
 her true, devoted friend, or punish him with a dose of discomfort 
 for what he could not help ; for besides the native generosity 
 which in her was nearly as strong an instinct as that of self- 
 preservation, she had the knowledge of men’s common weaknesses 
 which four or five years of matrimony may well impart to duller 
 women than Kate Travers, and knew that the one unpardonable 
 sin in the eyes of creation’s lord is to make him uncomfortable, 
 mentally or physically. 
 
 “ Of course you are a terrible loss,” she said, checking her in¬ 
 clination to cry, and even managing a tremulous sort of smile. 
 “ But I shall just possess my soul in patience, and beard Mr. Wall 
 boldly ; and you will write a line to me, Tom ?” 
 
 “ Certainly—undoubtedly,” replied Tom. “ Moreover, I have 
 given directions that a parcel of books and mags, shall be sent to 
 you. So now I must run away. Shall I put you into a cab ?” 
 
 “ No, thank you. I think I shall try to walk back ; it will 
 occupy the time, and give me a better chance of sleeping. By the 
 way, Tom, why should I not go and see poor Captain Gregory, as 
 you say he is at no great distance ?” 
 
 “ Ay, do ! Here—here’s his address,” hastily opening his pocket- 
 book and producing a piece of paper. “ Lillington ; it’s on the 
 
 Great Northern line, and I think you have to change at H-. I 
 
 fancy a return fare will be six or seven shillings. Here’s C-’s 
 
 address, too, in case Wall wants him. And now good-bj^e, God 
 bless you ; don’t be downhearted.” And they turned on their 
 various ways at the door. 
 
 Kate walked steadily back to her lodgings, thus occupying a full 
 hour ; and then, when she had removed her damp out-door attire, 
 it was sufficiently dusk to shut out the melancholy garden, and 
 light the gas. A long, long letter to Fanny, and the novel, helped 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 349 
 
 her over the evening, so she retired to rest more cheerfully than 
 she had hoped to do. Having consulted Bradshaw as to the trains 
 for Lillington, she requested the landlady to give her a very early 
 breakfast, if the morning was tolerably fine, determining to devote 
 the day to her intended visit. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 Lillington was a pretty, well situated village, about thirty-five 
 miles from town, twenty of which were on the busy main-line, 
 and the rest a special little by-way, a sort of railway lane, if such 
 a term may be used, on which the pace seldom reached fifteen 
 miles an hour, and the trains stopped about every ten minutes at 
 diminutive toy-like stations, where neatly-kept gardens, rock- 
 works, and curious devices in white stones attested the ample 
 leisure of the station-masters. Yet the line had an air of sleepy 
 prosperity. It led through a richly cultivated country, tolerably 
 open and flat, with here and there stretches of wood and young 
 plantations, and peeps at lordly dwellings, and in the season it was 
 busy with passengers in horse-boxes, and their owners scarlet- 
 coated and top-booted, or sportsmen laden with the most approved 
 fowling-pieces by well-known makers, and all the modern para¬ 
 phernalia required to enable an Englishman to spend “ a happy 
 day.” The neighbourhood of Lillington was famous for its sport¬ 
 ing merits ; wealthy proprietors vied with each other in their 
 magnificent hospitalities and strictly guarded preserves, where 
 the pheasants fared sumptuously, and Lazarus, in the shape of the 
 labourer, lay at their gates, if not full of sores, sorely in need of 
 almost all that civilised man deems essential to life. True the chari¬ 
 table gifts distributed in due season were liberal, but somehow, to 
 that slowly-moving mechanism, the English mind, generosity is a 
 sorry substitute for justice. 
 
 Kate enjoyed the journey—the varied tints of the woods, the 
 rich brown of the ploughed fields—the sense of freedom in the 
 passing view of wide-spreading, gently-sloping uplands—of com- 
 
350 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 fort and civilisation in the peeps at stately mansions or snug 
 farm-houses—yet, the colour of her mind was russet, like the 
 woods—though not untouched by gold. How she wished to 
 have Fanny or Tom Eeed, or both, with her. Solitary en¬ 
 joyment was only half a pleasure to her. If I succeed,” she 
 thought, “ I can take enough for every want I can possibly have, 
 without robbing Hugh Galbraith ; for after having been taught to 
 look upon the inheritance as his, it is robbing him to take it all. 
 I wonder where he is, and what he is about?” and then her 
 thoughts grew less distinct as she fell into a reverie as to what she 
 would do if she were free—that is, sufficiently well-off to do what 
 she liked. She would travel a great deal and study, and have a 
 sort of resting-place with Tom and Fanny, and then collect some¬ 
 thing of a literary and political society around her. So cheating 
 the time, and shutting her eyes to her companions, who were of a 
 rather unpleasant and horsey order, for she travelled second-class, 
 and the train was unusually full in consequence of the sale of a 
 well-known stud within a couple of miles of Lillington, the minutes 
 flew fast, and she was at her destination. 
 
 But Lillington was a larger place than she expected, and as the 
 name of Gregory was probably not very well known, she directed 
 her steps to the post-office, where her inquiries were answered by 
 a big, good-humoured, red-haired girl, who looked like the incarna¬ 
 tion of country fare, fresh eggs, fresh butter, cream, rosy-cheeked 
 apples, and dairy-fed pork. 
 
 “ Captain Gregory,” she repeated, “ I seem to know the name, 
 and yet I cannot tell where he lives. “ Here,” calling through a 
 door which she opened an inch or two, behind her. “ Mary Jane, 
 do you know a Captain Gregory anywhere’s about ?” 
 
 A shrill scream, as if from an upper chamber, replied, “ I dunno, 
 about captain, but there are some people name of Gregory living 
 with old Mr. Thome, at the Dene.” 
 
 “ Yes, sure,” exclaimed the other, returning to the counter, for 
 the post-office was also the general shop. “ I remember now old 
 Mr. Thorne (he is the collector) has his daughter and her children 
 from London staying with him.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 S51 
 
 “ They are the people I want, no doubt,” said Kate. “ How 
 shall I find the place ?” 
 
 “ Oh, it is quite easy ; go straight through the village, and up 
 the hill t’other side, and at the top there’s a lane on the left; a little 
 way down you come to a brook and stepping-stones, and the Dene 
 cottage will be right in front.” 
 
 Kate thanked her, and walked briskly on. 
 
 It was a typical autumnal day. The mists and fog that had 
 prevailed for nearly a week had disappeared, leaving a cloudless, 
 pale blue sky, a bright sun, and a crisp clear atmosphere, like 
 the vigorous health of hale old age. The village, neither squalid 
 nor yet the pampered plaything of some wealthy patron, was 
 sufficiently untidy to be natural, sufficiently in order to be cheer¬ 
 ful. Kate soon cleared it, and ascended the hill beyond more 
 slowly, enjoying the fresh pure air, the delicious odour of a 
 newly-ploughed field, and the occasional chirping notes of the 
 birds in the tangled hedgerows, all dank and damp with the 
 week’s wet. 
 
 At the top the lane described was easily found, and Kate fol¬ 
 lowed it through a beech-wood, where the thickly fallen leaves 
 gave a tinge of dull red to the ground, and the fences were moss- 
 grown and picturesquely decayed ; the sun, now at its height, 
 gleamed through the thinned foliage, touching the smooth trunks 
 with living gold, and lighting up the wealth of many-coloured 
 vegetation with a glory artists might vainly covet. Out again 
 into the open, where labourers were digging up the mangel wurzel 
 and heaping it into a bank, to be covered with straw and clay for 
 winter use, past other ploughed fields, with a background of tall 
 majestic elms, and then the lane descended steeply to a rivulet, 
 now swollen with the late rains, until the stepping-stones were 
 almost submerged. The road rose again at the opposite side, and 
 yet the bank had been cut away to diminish the ascent, for to the 
 left a steeper portion remained clothed with stunted oaks and 
 brushwood, above which rose the gables of a tolerably large 
 thatched cottage, evidently of a higher and more pretentious 
 description than the ordinary habitations of the village. Kate 
 
352 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 hesitated, looking at the stepping-stones, and reluctant to attempt 
 the passage, when a lumbering lad in a smock-frock came whist¬ 
 ling out of some cattle sheds which were on the opposite side of 
 the road. He stopped suddenly and gazed with some surprise 
 at the unwonted apparition of a lady so distinguished looking 
 as the young widow, in spite of the severe simplicity of her 
 attire. 
 
 “ Pray can you tell me if that,” pointing to the cottage, “ is the 
 Dene ?” asked Kate, raising her voice. 
 
 “ Yes, it be !” 
 
 “ Is Captain Gregory there now ?” 
 
 “ Yes, he be.” 
 
 “Would you be so good as to give me your hand across these 
 stones ?” continued Kate, smiling. 
 
 The boy rubbed that member carefully on his frock, and ad¬ 
 vanced with a sort of wooden alacrity. Thus assisted Kate contrived 
 to pass over scatheless, save for wetting one boot considerably. 
 Her cavalier directed her to a little green gate, which opened be¬ 
 tween two luxuriant bushes of laurestinus, and led by some steps 
 into a neat garden in front of the cottage. 
 
 Here a black-eyed, curly-headed boy, of four or five years old, 
 was teasing a solemn old house-dog, and on Kate’s addressing him 
 he immediately fled through an open door, shouting “ Mother, 
 mother !” with all the force of his lungs. 
 
 “ He will not fail to bring some one here,” thought Kate, as 
 she looked at her watch. “ Just three quarters of an hour since 
 I left the station. I must time myself not to lose the three 
 o’clock train.” Here a neatly-dressed woman, of lady-like aspect, 
 with fine black eyes, but a sad, anxious expression, came to the 
 door. 
 
 “ Pray do I speak to Mrs. Gregory ?” asked Kate. 
 
 “ You do,” she replied, with some surprise. 
 
 “ I have come to inquire for Captain Gregory, and, if possible, 
 to see him.” 
 
 “ Pray walk in ; I am not sure that he can see any one, for 
 he is still but poorly; but perhaps I may be able to speak for 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 353 
 
 him.” She led the way into a small, accurately arranged sitting- 
 room, which, being fireless and rather damp, struck a chill to her 
 visitor. Perceiving this, Mrs. Gregory said : “ If you do not 
 mind coming into the kitchen, there is a nice fire, and no one 
 there just now.” 
 
 “ Thank you, I should much prefer it.” 
 
 The kitchen was a cosy, highly polished, picturesque apartment, 
 quite a typical kitchen, and Kate gladly accepted a wooden chair 
 near the fire. 
 
 “I ought to apologise for intruding upon you,” began Kate, 
 “ but I believe that your husband may be able to assist me in a 
 matter of great importance. You will probably understand me at 
 once when I tell you I am Mrs. Travers.” 
 
 “ Dear, dear ! are you Mrs. Travers ? I am surprised ! Come 
 all this way! I thought you were in France. I’m sure if 1 
 thought you were coming I should have had the best sitting-room 
 fire alight.” And the little woman’s colour rose nervously ; for 
 Mrs. Travers, the widow of the head of what had been to the 
 Gregory family the “mighty” house of “Travers & Co.,” was a 
 personage of high degree, far beyond any social standing Mrs. 
 Gregory ever hoped to reach. 
 
 “ No room could be pleasanter than this,” said Kate gently. 
 “ And now I will tell you the object of my visit, and you shall 
 judge if it be prudent for your husband to see me or not.” 
 
 She proceeded briefly to explain that doubts had arisen from 
 circumstances too long to be detailed as to the authenticity of the 
 will by which she had been deprived of her husband’s property, 
 and she was anxious to ascertain when Captain Gregory would be 
 fit to undertake the journey to town in order to examine his 
 father’s signature. 
 
 “ I am sure, Mrs. Travers, if he would see any one it would be 
 you ; but his nerves have had a terrible shake, and his strength too. 
 The doctor says that nothing but extreme quiet, and being away 
 from everything like the sea and ships, will restore him. That 
 is the reason we brought him away here. I had been with father 
 before (he is so lonely since mother died), and my three little ones ; 
 
 23 
 
354 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 my eldest daughter is at school, she is training to be a governess 
 I lost several children between her and the next. So, as I was 
 saying, we brought my husband down here, and he is certainly 
 better. I suppose you heard all about the shipwreck ? I can’t 
 bear to think of it, or hear of it; but I sometimes fear we are too 
 quiet. He wants a little cheering up. I’ll tell you what, ma’am, 
 it’s close on his dinner-time,”—here she lifted the lid of a saucepan 
 and peeped in—“ and I’ll take it in to him and tell him you are 
 here, and see how he feels ; and maybe you will take a little bit 
 with us ? I have some potato-pie for the little ones and myself, 
 for father won’t be in till evening, if you would not mind putting 
 up with such a thing for once. You must be famished, after your 
 journey from town,” &e., &c. 
 
 And little Mrs. Gregory bustled about, quite excited by having 
 so distinguished a guest, for whose wrongs, moreover, she felt the 
 most indignant sympathy, especially as the unpretending grace of 
 Kate’s manner made her feel at home as well as honoured. The 
 little boy now sidled up to the visitor—a charming, plump, rosy- 
 cheeked rogue. Attracted by the kindly, smiling eyes of the 
 strange lady, he condescended to get on her knee, and, soothed by 
 the tender touch of her caressing arms, leant his curly pate against 
 her shoulder and gazed wonderingly into her face. 
 
 “ Well, I’m sure,” said the mother when she returned, “ Georgie 
 has made himself at home! Get down, sir, and don’t tire the 
 lady.” 
 
 “ Oh, let him stay!” exclaimed the young widow ; “ I always 
 feel flattered when a child seems to like me.” 
 
 “ Well, Captain Gregory is quite roused up at the notion of see¬ 
 ing you,” continued his wife. “ But I told him you should have 
 some dinner while he was taking his ; and now I will go and light 
 the parlour fire and set the table, for I let the girl out for the day 
 as ill luck would have it.” 
 
 “ Then pray let us dine here,” cried Kate. “ It is so nice and 
 bright and comfortable.” 
 
 So it was arranged. The young widow removed her bonnet, 
 and soon Mrs. Gregory felt at ease; for Kate possessed that in- 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 O r' p' 
 
 ooa 
 
 describable tact, the product of many ingredients, but the basis of 
 which is thorough and sincere sympathy with others, which no 
 difference of habits or manner can put at fault, provided always a 
 certain rectitude exists. To her all humanity was sacred, and 
 among her fellow-creatures she found nothing common or unclean 
 —save for absolute moral error—towards which her feelings were 
 more akin to compassion than contempt. 
 
 Captain Gregory, and the little back parlour he occupied, had 
 evidently been smartened up for Kate’s visit, and though a square- 
 built man of powerful frame, he looked greatly worn and reduced. 
 
 He rose to receive her respectfully, with more of the manner of 
 her own class than his wife possessed, looking at her intently with 
 his keen grey eyes as he did so. 
 
 “ I congratulate you on your wonderful escape,” said Kate, hold¬ 
 ing out her hand ; “ and I am truly glad you are so much better.” 
 
 “ Thank you,” he replied ; “ I am sony you have had such a 
 journey to seek me out. I should have willingly replied to any 
 letter you had sent me.” 
 
 “ I am sure you would,” she returned, sitting down opposite him. 
 “ But, Captain Gregory, I have long wished to speak to you about 
 this unfortunate will, and now I think your opinion respecting 
 your father’s signature may be a help, as I think of making an 
 attempt to set aside the will.” 
 
 “ I rejoice to hear it, madam, for, from the bottom of my soul, I 
 believe it to be false.” 
 
 “ You do? I like to hear you say so. It is, of course, my be¬ 
 lief, but hitherto I have found no one to agree with me. I wonder 
 we did not think of asking you to look at the signatures before, 
 but Mr. Beed did not really give any credence to my opinion, and 
 it requires a hearty faith to bring forth Avorks.” 
 
 “ True,” returned Gregory ; “ I would give a good deal to see 
 the old man’s writing, or Avhat is supposed to be his ; but I don’t 
 think I could bear a railway journey for another fortnight or so. 
 You see, I was knocked down with sickness before, and hadn’t 
 rightly recovered when I went to sea again. I am not a man for 
 speechifying, Mrs. Travers, but as long as I live I’ll never forget 
 
356 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 your kindness and kelp to my poor sister just in tke nick of time. 
 Why, she’d have gone to smash, only for you ; and me along with 
 her, for I had nothing to spare, yet I could not let my sister and 
 her children starve. So far as I can help you, Mrs. Travers, you 
 may command me.” 
 
 “ I am indeed glad I was able to be of use to her. Captain 
 Gregory, but my period of usefulness was very limited ; since that 
 time I have required all my exertions for myself.” 
 
 “Why,” exclaimed the honest sailor with a start, and gazing 
 with deep interest into the sweet, earnest face before him, “ you 
 don’t mean to say you were ever downright hard-up ?” 
 
 “ No, I have done very well; nor would I fight for money only, 
 though I prefer being well off, but there is more at stake upon this 
 will.” 
 
 “ And didn’t that chap—he that came into the property—make 
 
 no offer of a settlement ? What a d-d screw! I beg your 
 
 pardon.” 
 
 “ Oh yes, he did ; but I would not—could not tie my hands by 
 accepting it.” 
 
 “ It will be a desperate hard fight for you. This Sir—whatever 
 his name is—has the sinews of war, and, of course, will use them 
 without stint.” 
 
 “ Don’t you think,” said Kate thoughtfully, leaning back in her 
 chair, “ an honourable man, once convinced that he has no right to 
 the property he enjoys, would be ready to give it up ?” 
 
 “ Bless your soul,” exclaimed Gregory with animation, “ that is 
 just the point! It is uncommon hard to convince the most honour¬ 
 able man on earth that he has not a better right to three or four 
 thousand a year than any one else ! And from all I have heard of 
 your adversary, I fancy he is a stiff customer.” 
 
 Kate did not reply immediately ; imagination had conjured up 
 the face and form of her adversary as she had last seen him, his 
 eyes darkened and glowing with the depth of his feelings; his 
 ordinary cold, rugged composure fused by his ardour for herself 
 into visible emotion ; and yet, in all this disturbance, making for 
 his goal with a certain force and distinctness, though without an 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 357 
 
 unnecessary -word. It hurt her to hear him spoken of slightingly. 
 “ I have always believed Sir Hugh Galbraith to he an honourable 
 man,” she said softly. “ At any rate, once I embark in this war¬ 
 fare, I must carry it out, cost what it may !” Then, after a mo¬ 
 ment’s pause, she went on. “ If it is not too fatiguing. Captain 
 Gregory, will you tell me what you remember your father said 
 about the will he was supposed to have drawn up ?” 
 
 “Well,” began Gregory, looking straight away to the opposite 
 side of the little room, “ it was the end of February or beginning 
 of March two years ago—I think it must have been March, for it 
 was about a week before I sailed for Shanghai, and we cleared out 
 of dock about the middle of the month. You see, father was to 
 
 have dined with me at K-’s, in America Square, because I was 
 
 too busy to go to him. He was to have been with me at six, and 
 he did not come till half-past; and he said he could not help it, 
 because he had been kept by Mr. Travers himself. Then after¬ 
 wards, when he had been warmed up a bit with a glass of grog, ho 
 says, nodding his head, how with all his conceit Ford hadn’t as 
 much of Mr. Travers’s confidence as he had, for Mr. Travers had 
 trusted him about his will, and that he (father I mean) had witnessed 
 it long not before ; nay, I am pretty sure he said he had written 
 it out, only I could not swear to that, and that it was a dead secret. 
 Then he says—I remember the very words—‘ It’s rather hard that, 
 though I’m trusted, I am not promoted,’ says he ; ‘ and if Mr. 
 Travers dies I would be worse off, for Ford wmuld be all in all 
 with the new principal; she, knowing nothing of business, would 
 look to him for everything. He would be the real master, and he 
 hates me !’ Then I said something about Mr. Travers having left 
 everything to you, ma’am, but father pulled me up directly, and 
 said that, ill or well treated, he w'as not going to betray his em¬ 
 ployer. I thought no more about it, but the impression on my 
 mind was that you would be mistress after the old gentleman’s 
 death ; and when I came back after being so ill, I never was more 
 astonished than to find everything upset—you gone, nobody knew 
 where, and a new man at the head of the house. Then your friend, 
 Mr. Reed, came to question me, and the whole conversation came 
 
358 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 back to my mind. I did not care to answer him at first, one is so 
 afraid of the law; but I am glad I saw him before that fellow 
 Ford came sneaking down to my place, for I was on my guard. 
 Father always hated him like poison ; so do I.” 
 
 “ Why, may I ask ?” 
 
 “ Well, I can’t tell exactly ; he is too d-d polite by half, and 
 
 yet he seems to make little of you all the time. What’s your idea 
 about the will, Mrs. Travers ? I suppose Sir Hugh bribed Ford 
 to forge it ?” 
 
 “ That is not at all my idea. Sir Hugh Galbraith would never 
 do such a thing ! Nor have I reason to suppose Mr. Ford would 
 lend himself to such iniquity. Are you aware Mr. Ford lost five 
 hundred pounds by the discovery of this present will ?” 
 
 “ No, he did not lose it all. I understood Sir Hugh made him a 
 handsome present.” 
 
 “ Still there was a strong probability of his losing it, and no 
 visible motive for him to risk so much.” 
 
 “ Had he any spite against you ?” 
 
 “ None. I have no right to suppose he had.” 
 
 “ Well, I cannot make it out.” 
 
 “ And your impression is distinctly that the property was be¬ 
 queathed to me ?” 
 
 I always thought so. I think so still.” 
 
 “ And you say this interview with your father took place late in 
 February or early in March. Now, the will is dated in March, so 
 it must be the same will.” 
 
 “Hold a bit!” cried Gregory. “ What’s the exact date of the 
 will ?” 
 
 “ March the tenth.” 
 
 “ By George ! then I’ll swear I had that talk with my father a 
 week before. I tell you, we sailed on the 8th.” 
 
 “ That is important,” said Kate, looking earnestly at him ; “ but 
 might not another will have been made in the interim ?” 
 
 “ Almost impossible, I should say.” 
 
 “ At any rate,” said Kate, looking at her watch, “ your evidence 
 will be of great importance. Here is my solicitor’s address. Let 
 
IlER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 359 
 
 me know when you are able to take the journey to town. I am 
 most anxious to have your opinion of your father’s signature to 
 the will. Meantime, have you any of his writing you could spare 
 me, to compare with it ?” 
 
 “ Not at hand ; but I will look some out and send to you,” re¬ 
 turned Gregory. 
 
 “ Then I must leave you,” said Kate, “ for I fear to lose the 
 three o’clock train. Will you pardon the selfishness that induced 
 me to come here and tease you with my troubles ?” 
 
 She rose as she spoke, holding out an ungloved, white hand, and 
 looking into his eyes with her own—darkly fringed, softly earnest 
 — sending the magnetic glance straight to the sailor’s honest 
 heart. 
 
 “ My dear lady”—his pale cheek colouring with the sincerity of 
 interest —“ I am but too glad to have had an opportunity of talking 
 matters over with you, and you have done me good into the bar¬ 
 gain. I feel moped to death lying here on my beam-ends. In ten 
 days or so, I hope to be in town again. Meanwhile, I will look out 
 one of my poor father’s letters, and send it you.” 
 
 They shook hands heartily and parted. 
 
 Mrs. Gregory attended her guest to the ford, and summoned a 
 man from the yard behind the house to assist her over the stepping- 
 stones. Little Georgie and his sister accompanied her part of the 
 way down the lane, and then she went on, enjoying the unwonted 
 pleasure of a woodland walk, and the delicious perfume of some 
 young larch plantations, thinking of her old home which the 
 scenery recalled, of those happy youthful days which had so soon 
 ended, and since which, despite her large capacity for happiness, 
 she had never known much joy. Kindly and gratefully as she re¬ 
 membered her husband, she sighed to think how “ cribbed, cabined, 
 and confined ” had been her early youth ; and noAV, should she go 
 through life without ever tasting the delight of loving and being 
 loved ? She knew herself, and murmured : “ It is just possible, 
 unless my circumstances change.” Then, by some strange drifting 
 in the mists of indistinct thought, the idea sprang almost to her 
 lips, “ How could any one imagine for a moment that a man in. 
 
3G0 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 Hugh’s position would risk the danger of felony ? How impos¬ 
 sible for the untrained and uneducated to judge probabilities 
 fairly!” 
 
 She was in time, but no more, for the three o’clock train, and 
 was pushed somewhat unceremoniously by a rustic porter into a, 
 carriage rather more than half full of the same class of objection¬ 
 able men with whom she had travelled down. One—an audacious, 
 flashy-looking personage, much better dressed than the rest—sat 
 unpleasantly close, almost squeezing her into a corner. However, 
 she endured it all with her accustomed philosophy, changing her 
 place when a man left the carriage at one of the intermediate 
 stations. 
 
 At H- she determined to try and find a carriage with other 
 
 ladies in it before taking her place. 
 
 Crossing over the bridge, which led to the “ up ” platform, she 
 found the London train was signalled. 
 
 “Will you be so good as to put me in a carriage with other 
 ladies ?” said she to an official of a higher class, whose cap was in¬ 
 scribed “ collector.” 
 
 “ You must speak to the guard, ’m. Ticket, if you please.” 
 
 Kate felt for her purse. She turned her pocket inside out, but 
 in vain. It was gone. 
 
 “ My pocket has been picked ! What shall I do ?” 
 
 “ Very awkward. You had better speak to the station-master ; 
 I dare say he will telegraph for you. You must stand back now till 
 the up-train is gone.” 
 
 “ But-” urged Kate, bewildered for a moment. 
 
 “ Can’t let you pass without a ticket,” interrupted the man, 
 misunderstanding her, and stretching out his arm as a sort of 
 barrier. 
 
 Kate shrank back instantly, and stood quite still, striving to col¬ 
 lect herself and think what was best to be done. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 361 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 When Hugh Galbraith turned away from the dwelling where he 
 had known the most of pleasure that had ever brightened his some¬ 
 what sombre life, nearly five months before this stage of our story, 
 he felt strangely sore and stunned, yet not indignant. He had 
 always accepted the position of “ a fellow women did not care 
 about ” with great philosophy, returning their indifEerence with 
 full measure, yet not the least resentment. But this practical 
 proof of his own unattractiveness struck home. Worst of all, it 
 lent the additional charm of being out of reach to the woman who 
 had so fascinated him. 
 
 She was a lady in the fullest acceptation of the word ; delicate, 
 refined. The attendant circumstances of keeping a shop must be 
 repulsive to her, yet she preferred battling with the difficulties of 
 such a life to accepting the position, the ease, the security she might 
 enjoy as his wife. Nevertheless, he loved her the more for her un¬ 
 wavering honesty ; and, as he walked miserably to and fro, seeking 
 to while away the weary hours till it was time to go to bed (for 
 there were no more trains that day), he cursed his own precipitancy 
 in having thus suddenly cut himself off from all chance of any 
 more play in the game on which he had staked so much. He had 
 not diverged from his original route with any intention of proposing 
 to Mrs. Temple ; he only wished to satisfy his eyes with the sight 
 of her, and gladden his heart with the sound of her voice ; and 
 then in a moment a wave of passion carried him over the border 
 of polite seeming into the reality of confession ! Yet, after all, 
 he did not know Avhat was beneath the cards. He could not for a 
 moment believe that Kate Temple’s past contained any page she 
 need desire to obliterate or conceal, but there was something there 
 she did not choose him to know. He was too candid to attribute 
 his rejection to this reason. He recognised her actual indifference, 
 while he recalled with a certain degree of painful gratitude the 
 kindly emotion in her voice as she spoke her adieux. “ I suppose 
 
362 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 it will come all right,” thought Galbraith, with a dreary effort at 
 manful, reasonable resignation. “ I suppose the time will come 
 when I shall think I have had a narrow escape from a piece of folly, 
 for it is about the last sort of marriage I ever contemplated ; but 
 it’s infernally bitter to give it up at present. Still, I suppose it is 
 better for me in the end. Might I not have repented had she said 
 ‘ Yes ’ instead of ‘ No ’ But even while he strove to argue him¬ 
 self into composure, the recollection of Kate’s great lustrous eyes, 
 dewy with unshed tears, her expressive mouth, the rich red lips 
 tremulous with kindly sympathy in the pain she inflicted, came 
 back to him so vividly that he longed with a passion more ardent, 
 more intense than he had ever felt before, to hold her in his arms 
 and press his lips to hers. 
 
 The Grange, as it was familiarly called—or Kirby Grange, to 
 give the full appellation—the old house of the Galbraiths, was even 
 more desolate than Sir Hugh expected to find it. His boyish re¬ 
 miniscences presented him with a lonely picture enough, but not 
 equal to the reality. 
 
 Yet he soon grew to be at home there. Galbraith, though essen¬ 
 tially an aristocrat, was not in the least a fine gentleman; the 
 plainest food, the simplest accommodation, sufficed for him. His 
 soldier servant, a man in the stables, an old woman and her 
 daughter to keep the house, formed an ample retinue. Some 
 modern additions to such portions of the antiquated, mouldy fur¬ 
 niture as could still be used made a few rooms habitable, and here 
 Hugh Galbraith spent the summer, perhaps more agreeably than 
 he would have done elsewhere. The land he had newly purchased 
 gave him a good deal of employment. There were fresh leases to 
 be granted on fresh terms; but some of his new acquisition he 
 would keep in his own hands. Farming was exactly the employ¬ 
 ment that suited him. Moreover, Galbraith had been too long a 
 poor gentleman, striving bravely and successfully to keep out of 
 debt, not to have acquired a liking for money. To improve his 
 property and add to it had become his day-dream. To this end 
 he contented liimself Avith a small personal expenditure, althougli 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 363 
 
 when he first felt the unwonted excitement of comparative wealth, 
 he was tempted to many indulgences he scarcely cared for; the 
 first taste of life as lord of the soil awakened in him a thirst to 
 extend his domains. 
 
 In the long summer days his greatest resource was a small 
 schooner, in which he passed many a thoughtful hour, and which 
 formed the canvas or groundwork on which Lady Styles em¬ 
 broidered her fiction of a “ splendid yacht.” 
 
 In short, Galbraith went wisely and systematically to work to 
 effect his own cure ; nay, he sometimes thought he had succeeded. 
 Perhaps for a few extra busy days the haunting, aching regret 
 would be silenced or kept at bay ; but when he most fancied the 
 ghost was laid, a breath of mignonette wafted from the garden, a 
 gleam of sunset over the sea, the coo of the wood-pigeon, or even 
 a wild easterly gale dashing the storm-tossed waters with giant 
 wrath against the dark cliffs that stood up grimly against 
 them — anything, everything would touch the electric chain 
 of association and bring back those few weeks of strange com¬ 
 panionship vividly before him. Again he would see Kate’s eyes, 
 the exact colour of which he never quite made out—dreamy^ 
 earnest, tender, resentful—he knew them in eveiy change ; and the 
 rounded outlines of the pliant figure he had so often greedily 
 watched sinking down into attitudes of natural, graceful repose, 
 or rising into unconscious stateliness—the restful manner, the 
 frank, unstudied talk—all would come back to him with painful 
 intensity. 
 
 But on the whole he gained ground. He thought, he hoped, 
 these fever fits were growing fewer and further between. To 
 complete his cure he seized gladly upon the opportunity offered 
 by his friend, being so far on his way northward, when he found 
 Upton Avas the guest of Lady Styles, and soon succeeded in per¬ 
 suading him to forsake the gaieties of Weston for the ruder hospi¬ 
 talities of Kirby Grange, much to her ladyship’s indignation. 
 
 It was September, and the Aveather Avas glorious. Galbraith and 
 his friend had had a long enjoyable day on the moors, Avhich Avere 
 
364 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 a few miles inland from the Grange. They had not “ made bags ” 
 worthy of notice in the local papers, but they had had sufficient 
 sport to give zest to their long tramp over the springy heather. 
 
 The wide horizon of the “ fells ” imparts a sense of light and 
 liberty which no rock-bound valley, however beautiful, conveys. 
 You are in no way shut in. The beauty and freedom of nature 
 impress themselves upon you, and her awful power is out of sight. 
 The far-stretching purple distance spread out in undulations like 
 billows arrested in their swell, gives the idea of a moorland ocean, 
 with even a greater consciousness of liberty, for it needs no im¬ 
 prisoning ship ; you may plunge yourself on any side over a bound¬ 
 less space of bloom and fragrance towards the distant blue :— 
 
 ‘ ‘ And now in front behold outspread 
 Those upper regions we must tread 
 'Mid hollows and clear heathy swells, 
 
 . The cheerful silence of the fells. 
 
 Some two hours’ march with serious air 
 Through the deep noontide heats we fare ; 
 
 The red grouse springing at our sound, 
 
 Skims now and then the shining ground ; 
 
 No life save his and ours intrudes 
 Upon these breathless solitudes !" 
 
 Neither Galbraith nor Upton wei’e able to quote Mathew Arnold, 
 yet both felt the influence of the scene ; the breezy, healthy, life- 
 giving atmosphere sent them back satisfied with themselves and 
 pleased with each other. 
 
 Colonel Upton’s was a much lighter and more complex nature 
 than Galbraith’s. “Enjoyment,” it must be admitted, was “his 
 end and way,” and he had hitherto accomplished this end very 
 successfully. A little more of selfishness might have made him 
 odious ; a trifle more of light-heartedness would have made him 
 uninteresting ; but, for once, no ingredient preponderated, and a 
 pleasanter, more popular fellow than Willie Upton never existed. 
 No one would have thought of confiding any difficult or profound 
 undertaking to his guidance, but of the pluck and dash that would 
 carry him over any five-barred gate of obstacle at a bound he had 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 365 
 
 plenty. When we add that he was Irish on his mother’s side, the 
 un-English facet of his nature is accounted for. 
 
 The friends descended from the dog-cart which had conveyed 
 them to and from the scene of their sport, ravenously hungry, and 
 sufl&ciently tired to enjoy easy chairs, after a hearty repast, in a 
 window of the dining-room, from whence a glimpse of the sea 
 glittering in the moonlight could be caught. Here they smoked 
 for a few minutes in silence ; silence seldom lasted longer when 
 Colonel Upton was present. 
 
 “ I think,” said he, slowly waving his cigar, and watching the 
 curls of smoke—“ I think a certain amount of roughness is neces¬ 
 sary to perfect enjoyment.” 
 
 “ How ?” 
 
 “ Why, to-day has been almost, indeed altogether, perfect—and 
 yet it was in the rough-and-ready style—pardon my scant civility. 
 But if we had had an array of keepers, and gillies, and ponies, and 
 an elaborate luncheon awaiting us at a certain point, and several 
 crack shots, and Heaven knows what besides, it would have been 
 infinitely less enjoyable than our quiet day with that queer speci¬ 
 men of a gamekeeper. Our sandwiches and biscuit, with a dash 
 of Glenlivat in that deliciously cold spring water, were a banquet 
 for the gods ! It is a great mistake to paint the lily.” 
 
 “ I am glad j^ou were pleased,” said Galbraith. 
 
 “ Be the sport what it may, I don’t care to have the game beaten 
 to my foot,” resumed Upton. “ I like to do my own stalking. By 
 the way, Galbraith, I never saw such a queer, cold fellow as you 
 are. If I had come into a fortune as you have, after having been 
 in a hard-up condition all the days of my life, there would have 
 been no holding me. You used to be livelier last winter ; but you 
 are as grave, ay, worse, now as in the old times. I don’t think you 
 are a shade jollier for having ‘ a house and estate and three thou¬ 
 sand a year ’—or is it four ?” 
 
 “ I don’t think I am,” said Galbraith quietly. “ There is so 
 much in idea. A man can but have what he wants, and my wants 
 are almost as easily provided with four hundred a year as four 
 thousand. I tell you, though, what I do enjoy, Upton; I like 
 
366 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 living in this old den ; I like walking over the lands I have bought 
 back ; I like planning to buy more, and watching my opportunity 
 to do so. But I sometimes think of Indian camp-life with regret.” 
 
 “ I dare say you do. You are one of those fellows who are 
 jolliest under difficulties. However, this might be made a nice 
 place ; four or five thousand in repairs, and two or three in furni¬ 
 ture, would make it very habitable. Then a well-bred wife with 
 a pretty sister or two, to amuse your friends in the shooting season 
 —and there you are.” 
 
 Galbraith smiled grimly. “ If the future Lady Galbraith re¬ 
 quires three or four thousand pounds worth of furniture, she must 
 supply them herself,” said he. 
 
 “ What an extraordinary effect money has !” cried Upton. “ I 
 supposq if you had never come into your uncle’s fortune, you 
 would have been marrying some pretty nobody without a rap ? 
 Now you want more.” 
 
 “ Well, life in our grade is very costly, once a wife is added to 
 its encumbrances. My first desire is to collect a little more of the 
 old estate—that will take all my spare cash, and not bring much 
 of a return for some time to come, so the furnishing may wait.” 
 After a pause, during which Upton hummed the “ Sieur de Fram- 
 boisie,” Galbraith resumed, “ I suppose I must marry some day ; 
 but at my age a fellow may count on seven or eight years’ 
 liberty.” 
 
 “ You may if you like, but you’ll bo approaching the ‘ old boy ’ 
 period. However, I dare say you will find a spouse without much 
 difficulty at any period. You are desperately modest; you always 
 affect to believe yourself unacceptable. Did you ever try to make 
 yourself agreeable to any woman ?” 
 
 “ Yes,” returned Galbraith, unmoved, “ and failed signally.” 
 
 Upton laughed, but gave his friend a keen glance. 
 
 “ Then I am disposed to quote a scrap of verse my sister’s little 
 girl used to sing to me—‘ Try, try, try again.’ ” 
 
 “ In due time,” said Galbraith gravely ; “ I imagine it would 
 be rather a nuisance to have a wife very much in love with you; 
 Out I shall probably by-and-by find a woman of good family, with 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 867 
 
 a sense of honour and some intelligence, who will have no objection 
 to add her fortune to mine, and share both with me, and we shall 
 jog along very comfortably.” 
 
 “ Good God ! what an appalling picture !” cried Upton, throw¬ 
 ing away the end of his cigar, and pouring out a glass of claret. 
 “ Have you no warm blood in your veins, Galbraith ? There is 
 nothing half so delightful as being in love, except being fallen in 
 love with. I intend my wife to be tremendously in love with me ; 
 and will do my best to keep her in that frame of mind, thinking 
 all my sayings marvels of wit or wisdom, and my doings heroic ac¬ 
 tion, and-” 
 
 “ I wish you success,” interrupted Galbraith dryly. “ If I ven¬ 
 tured to form any special wish on such a subject, I should wish for a 
 companionable wife.” 
 
 “ Companionable,” returned Upton doubtfully; “ I am afraid 
 that’s a little like wanting the moon. I have met heaps of charm¬ 
 ing, amusing, tormenting, delightful, good, bad, and indifferent 
 women, but the companionable ones are few and far between ; 
 and when found are a long way at the far side of a certain age. 
 Then, if a wife is companionable, she will find it hard to preserve 
 the little illusions respecting her husband’s genius and capa¬ 
 bilities, which make it so pleasant for both. She will be too 
 much as one of us, knowing the difference between good and 
 evil. After all, those old Greeks were very sensible fellows— 
 the simple, unenlightened, respectable wife for the home—the 
 dashing, accomplished, pleasure seeking and giving Hetaira for 
 holiday life.” 
 
 “ I should like a mixture of the two.” 
 
 “ You are unconscionable ; they can’t unite ; the mistake we 
 moderns make is the attempt to smother the inevitable compensa¬ 
 tions of existence behind transparent bogie-covered screens of 
 propriety. The Hetairaj would not be such bad creatures if they 
 only had property. It makes an enormous difference in any 
 morality whether you have to dip into another’s pocket for your 
 necessities and luxuries, or have the wherewithal to pay for them 
 in your own.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 SG8 
 
 “ Whether the Hetairae had property of their own or not, 
 I imagine they would do their best to clutch that of their ad¬ 
 mirers." 
 
 “ Well, that is an open questioru I am thinking of companion¬ 
 able women. To be companionable, a woman must have a cer¬ 
 tain amount of liberty both of thought and action, which, owing 
 to our insular prejudices, we would rather not see our wives 
 possess. There is something of the sort abroad, but I shall not 
 vote for importing it; but I ask you, Galbraith, is there any 
 creature on earth so uncompanionable as a well-bred, well-educated 
 good Englishwoman, a creature you would trust your life to, who 
 would quietly go through fire and water for any one she loved, 
 or even believed she ought to love. But she has no more concep¬ 
 tion of the world as we know it, than one of her own babies (I put 
 young girls out of the category). The realities of life must not be 
 mentioned before her ; the sources of some of a man’s most trying 
 difficulties, even if she really knows them, she must assume to 
 be ignorant of. If one differs on religious points with the tutelar 
 priest whose ministry she attends, she either tries to convince you 
 by the funniest little sentimentalities, or tells you she will pray 
 for you, or does it without telling, if she is very much in earnest. 
 By the way, it’s a capital means of keeping yourself in her mind’s 
 eye to be horribly irreligious if you want to make an impression. 
 Then politics. What are her views ? A sort of rose-coloured 
 conservatism mixed with faith and good works, and a deep regret 
 that you should be so hard-hearted as to vote for the reduction of 
 expenditure when poor men want employment and salaries so much. 
 There is a philosophic summary for you.” 
 
 “ I do not know about the philosophy,” said Galbraith ; “ but I 
 know I hate blue women.” 
 
 “ So do I; but then, my dear fellow, I want to convince you of 
 your folly in expecting contradictory perfections in the same indi¬ 
 vidual. Heaven preserve us from the logical well-instructed 
 female who understands everything a deuced deal better than our 
 noble selves. Nineteenth century Englishwoman! with all thy 
 faults I love thee still! But talking of politics——” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 369 
 
 “ You were talking of women,” interrupted Galbraith, in a sort 
 of growl. 
 
 “Well, I think I have exhausted the subject. So, to talk of 
 politics. I heard you were going into Parliament ?” 
 
 “ I thought of doing so, and an absurd paragraph got into the 
 papers, thanks to my sister, Lady Lorrimer, I fancy—there’s a 
 female politician for you, Upton—but when I came down here, 
 and went about among the people, I saw I had no chance till these 
 shrewd, cool-headed north-countrymen knew me better. I would 
 not care to represent any other constituency. Besides, Upton, I 
 am such an ignoramus in politics. I want to feel my way a little 
 before I commit myself to be moved hither or thither by the 
 minister I follow.” 
 
 “ Oh, if you wish to reduce your importance to a vanishing point 
 go in for independence.” 
 
 “ Meantime, I am quite content as I am, if I am only left alone. 
 Thank God, I have no near neighbours ; but since the people 
 began to come down to the country I have had four or five invita¬ 
 tions. I have refused them, but I shall be considered a sulky, un¬ 
 gracious fellow.” 
 
 “ Of course ; and your chances of picking up that companionable 
 woman you are on the look-out for considerably diminished.” 
 
 Galbraith nodded with a kindly, smiling look in his eyes, as 
 though his friend’s chaff was acceptable because of the “ chaffer.” 
 
 “ I tell you what, G albraith : you had better leave them all be¬ 
 hind—I mean the hospitable families—and come with me. I am 
 
 engaged to pay a visit in H-shire about the seventh. Capital 
 
 house, first-rate pheasant-shooting ; man of the house my grand¬ 
 uncle. Besides, I want your opinion of a young lady I have partly 
 promised to marry.” 
 
 “ Promised to marry ! Promised who ?” 
 
 “ Well, not the young lady, but my sister ; you see, the girl is 
 grand-daughter to my grand-uncle—do you see the relationship ? 
 —and but for the laws of entail she would be a great heiress ; as 
 it is, I step in and—rob her, I believe she thinks. Now, my sister 
 is of opinion that the best reparation I could make would be to 
 
 24 
 
370 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 marry her. I shall see about it. Won’t you come, old fellow, 
 and support me ? We’ll not stay too long ; and as my leave is 
 nearly over you might come on and have a peep at Ireland. It is 
 the queerest country. AVe are down at Cahir, a most barbarous 
 locale ; but the change will do you good, for in spite of the con¬ 
 tent you profess, I can’t help fancying you are somehow down on 
 your luck.” 
 
 After some difficulties and demurs on Galbraith’s part, this was 
 agreed. Indeed Hugh felt loath to part with his pleasant, cheery 
 comrade ; and sundry schemes of sport and yachting were planned 
 to occupy the ten days that intervened before the date on which 
 Colonel Upton was due in H-shire. 
 
 “ I suppose,” he said, as they were about to separate for tho 
 night—“ I suppose your arm is all right, quite strong again ?” 
 
 “ Yes, I suppose it is. I don’t remember it now.” 
 
 “ You were lucky in your secretary. I used to laugh at the 
 frequent neatly-written notes I used to receive. I take long odds 
 the writer was not old ?” 
 
 “ No,” in a candid tone, “ she was not old.” 
 
 “ Nor ugly either ? That good-natured idle gossip. Lady Styles, 
 told me a wonderful story about a lovely widow at the Berlin shop. 
 Indeed, she took me there one day to see her, but of course she 
 was not visible. Now, had I been in your place, I should have had 
 ‘ a good time ’ as the Americans say.” 
 
 “ I do not think you would,” returned Galbraith coldly. “ My 
 landlady Avas a very respectable person—I imagine a decayed 
 gentlewoman.” , 
 
 “ That sounds elderly, at any rate. Are you sure she was not a 
 companionable woman ? Ah, Galbraith, it is enough to shorten 
 one’s life even to associate with a fellow so desperately in earnest 
 as you are. IIoAveA^er, you must come Avith me. Now I remember, 
 there is an elderly young lady at Storrham, aunt, I think, to my 
 fair one. She is very enlightened and strong-minded, wears spec¬ 
 tacles and a crop. She is sure to be a ‘ companionable woman,’ tho 
 exact article you require.” 
 
 Thus it happened that Hugh Galbraith became the guest of 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 371 
 
 Philip Upton, of Storrham Hall, Master of the Foxhounds, and 
 owner of a grand country seat, which he had always kept up in a 
 corresponding style. Having been blessed with a son, whose tastes 
 were as expensive as his own, and who died a few years previously, 
 he had not been able to save much for his grand-daughter. Her 
 younger child’s portion, though unusually good, he considered a 
 miserable provision. He was therefore anxious that a marriage 
 should be arranged between his grandchild and the heir-apparent. 
 Upton and his friend were, consequently favoured guests. It was 
 a very pleasant house. The absence of a stately, elderly dame 
 from the presidency made life less conventional, and the spectacled 
 aunt proved to be a very lively personage, harmlessly and amus¬ 
 ingly eccentric. Galbraith had not for long found time pass so 
 agreeably. Upton’s cousin was a graceful if not pretty girl, rather 
 sentimental and romantic, with Avhom he did not appear to make 
 such rapid progress as he perhaps anticipated ; but there AA’ere 
 other ladies who came to and fro of better, or at any rate, more 
 appreciative taste, and on the whole the fortnight at Storrham was 
 a success. 
 
 PIoAvever, time and the Horse Guards are inexorable. Upton had 
 business in London, and Galbraith, though cordially invited to con 
 tinue his visit, did not care to remain after his friend. The 
 Aveather, too, had changed, and they had not been able to have 
 quite so much shooting. MoreoA^er, Galbraith felt ready for move¬ 
 ment of any kind, quite satisfied that a radical cure had been 
 effected, and that he should no longer be tormented Avith the memo¬ 
 ries and longings he had at one time vainly striven to resist. 
 
 In good spirits and placid mood, therefore, he started with his 
 
 friend for the H-Junction, where they arrived in sufficient 
 
 time to allow Upton’s servant to see to their luggage before the 
 London train came in. 
 
 They Avere standing together watching its approach, when Gal¬ 
 braith’s eye was caught by a figure in black that passed close to him. 
 A tall lady, Avith a waterproof OA'er her arm ; a round cape-like 
 cloak of black merino and lace shoAved the fall of very graceful 
 shoulders ; a pretty, quiet bonnet of some thin black gauzy mate- 
 
 9A—-2 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 372 
 
 rial, white roses and black leaves, a rather thick, black lace veil— 
 commonplace details—but the turn of the neck, the carriage, the 
 quiet, even gliding step, were familiar to him ; he felt, with a thrill 
 of delight, that it could be no other than his ex-landlady. He 
 watched—he caught a glimpse of her face—he was right! He saw 
 her hasty search in her pocket; he saw the ticket-collector put her 
 back, but he made no motion, no sign, until the train was alongside, 
 and Upton fairly seated in the carriage. He then said, “ I shall 
 follow you by the next train, and join you some time this evening.” 
 
 “ Why, what has happened ? Wliat the deuce is the matter ?” 
 cried Upton, in great surprise. 
 
 “ Nothing has happened. I shall probably tell you my reasons 
 when we meet,” returned Galbraith, smiling and stepping back as 
 he heard the whistle. Upton rose, and looked searchingly up and 
 down the platform ; but Mrs. Temple was partly behind a pillar, 
 and several people, male and female, were standing about. The 
 moment the carriage containing his chum had passed out of sight, 
 Galbraith, his heart beating fast, walked up to where Kate stood, 
 striving to think, and feeling unspeakably adrift. Raising his hat 
 he said very quietly, “ You seem to be in some difficulty, Mrs. 
 Temple. Can I be of any use to you ?” 
 
 -■ - 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 Kate thought she had indeed reached the acme of her misfortunes 
 when Sir Hugh Galbraith’s well-remembered voice met her ear. 
 She had been dimly planning to return to Lillington to ask a 
 trifling loan from Captain Gregory, if the station-master would 
 have trusted her to the extent of the fare to that place ; this would 
 have made her return to London either painfully late or impossible. 
 In London, Tom Reed being away, there was no one to whom she 
 could apply—except indeed Mr. Wreford, whom she scarcely knew 
 —and now the situation was brought to a climax by the appearance 
 of Galbraith, the one person in the world who must not know of 
 her visit to Captain Gregory. She felt absurdly nervous, and an 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 373 
 
 uncomfortable tremor made her voice less steady than usual, as she 
 raised her eyes to his and replied : 
 
 “ Why, yes. I am in a ridiculous though awkward difficulty. I 
 have lost my purse—or, rather, my pocket has been picked.” The 
 colour mounted to her cheek as she spoke, and she was conscious 
 of a curious contradictory sense of comfort, as well as confusion, 
 in having her finendly enemy at hand in such an emergency. 
 
 “ Lost your purse !” repeated Galbraith ; “ very awkward indeed. 
 Are you travelling alone, may I ask ?” 
 
 “lam.” 
 
 “ Then I am glad I. met you, for I can see you to your destina¬ 
 tion and save you any further trouble.” 
 
 “ You are very good, but,” colouring more deeply than before, 
 and speaking with dangerous discomposure, unlike her usual man¬ 
 ner, “ I do not wish to give you any trouble or interfere with your 
 j ourney—or ’ ’ 
 
 “ But if you know no one here, what can you do ?” interrupted 
 Galbraith. “ Come, Mrs. Temple, let bygones be bygones ! Be¬ 
 cause I was a presumptuous blockhead once, are you going to forbid 
 my being friendly, or of use to you now you have brought me to 
 my senses ?” This, spoken in his pleasantest tone and with a frank 
 smile, was a marvellously clever stroke for a big school-boy like 
 Galbraith to make. It put Mrs. Temple at ease ; it assured her 
 delicately that he no longer pretended to be a lover; and, more 
 than all, it bound her to accept his friendliness, or risk appearing 
 to recur coquettislily to his former character. She took him gladly 
 at his word. If he was going to be simply a friend many difficulties 
 would disappear. 
 
 “ Thank you very much,” she replied frankly, as he himself had 
 spoken. “ I shall be very glad of your help, for I am alone in 
 London as well as here, obliged to stay fora few days on business.” 
 
 “ Indeed !” said Galbraith, resisting his inclination to look into 
 her eyes whenever they were raised to his. “ Where is Mr.—Mr. 
 —Tom ?” 
 
 “ Mr. Tom,” replied Kate, smiling archly, “ is ever so far away— 
 quite unavailable at present.” 
 
S74 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ That is very unfortunate ; and what are you going to do about 
 your purse ? I hope you had not much in it ?” 
 
 “ A great deal too much to lose : a five-pound note and eight or 
 nine shillings.” 
 
 “ Have you the number of the note ?” 
 
 “ No, I am sorry to say ; I generally take the numbers of notes, 
 but of course did not on this occasion.” 
 
 “ That is unlucky; however, we must see what is to be done. 
 Porter, here ! when is the next train to town ?” 
 
 “ Three forty, sir ; and it’s sometimes behind a bit.” 
 
 “ Half an hour to wait! Come, Mrs. Temple, you had better 
 sit down in the waiting-room while I speak to some of the people. 
 Don’t go into the ladies’ waiting-room, it is a cheerless den, the fire 
 has gone out.” 
 
 So saying, and relieving her of her waterproof with a sort of 
 friendly authority that amused Kate—so much had they seemed 
 to have changed places now that she was adrift and he knew 
 his ground—Galbraith led the way into the waiting-room, estab¬ 
 lished his precious charge near the fire, and went in search of the 
 station-master. 
 
 The time that intervened before the London train was due was 
 amply occupied by interviews with the station-master, the inspec¬ 
 tor, and others. Kate gave a detailed description of her purse, its 
 contents, and also of her neighbour on the journey from Lilling- 
 ton, and added that a reward would be given if the contents should 
 be restored. 
 
 “ Will you allow me to look after this affair for you ?” asked 
 Galbraith. “ You can hardly manage it yourself in the absence of 
 Mr. Tom.” 
 
 “ Oh, thank you. I suppose there is nothing for either of us 
 to do, once the thing is put into the hands of the police, and I 
 have given them my address. You are probably not going to stop 
 in town ?” 
 
 “ Yes, I am—for some little time.” He was silent, pulling his 
 moustaches thoughtfully for a minute, and then walked away after 
 the retreating officials. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 ?,ir> 
 
 When he returned he had the tickets for their journey in his 
 hand. 
 
 “ They are not Avithout hopes of finding the thief,” he said 
 cheerfully. “ The inspector telegraphed at once to the police at 
 King’s Cross ; and I thought it better to give my address in addi¬ 
 tion to yours. I am afraid these fellows will be sharper if they 
 think a man is on the track.” 
 
 “ I have a better opinion of them,” she returned ; “ I am sure 
 they would work as well for a woman. I am almost sorry you gave 
 your address.” 
 
 “ What !” exclaimed Galbraith ; “ you are not going to put me 
 in punishment again ?” a remark that somewhat silenced Kate. 
 “ But the train is alongside ; we had better take our places,” and 
 he offered her his arm. 
 
 In spite of her difficulties present and prospective—in spite of 
 the sort of resentment it excited in her to find herself obliged 
 to follow Galbraith’s lead—Kate could hardly refrain from laugh¬ 
 ing at the absurdity of her position. Here was the man to ruin 
 whom she had undertaken that journey, assisting her with, at 
 any rate, brotherly care—absolutely conducting her in the most 
 conjugal fashion to the carriage ! The care bestowed upon her, 
 the sudden smoothing of difficulties, reminded her of her rare jour¬ 
 neys during her married life—and she confessed to herself that it 
 was very pleasant. 
 
 The train was full, yet no fellow-passengers intruded upon their 
 solitude ; and, as Galbraith did not talk much, Kate, relieved in 
 spite of her embarrassment, had ample time to think and form some 
 towering air castles. 
 
 Galbraith’s friendliness, and freedom from everything like a 
 lover’s tone, gave her great pleasure. He had probably found 
 some charming girl infinitely more suited to be his wife than her¬ 
 self, and then a little sigh swelled her heart as she thought of hex- 
 own nearly six-and-twenty years, and that the first freshness of 
 youth—more from cii'cumstances than from time—had left her for 
 ever ! If she could establish a frank friendship with Hugh, there 
 ivould be no difficulty in arranging matters amicably and justly 
 
376 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 when the time came for her to assert her rights ; whereas, if they 
 were hampered with the complications of a false position, things 
 might go wrong indeed. Then she thought in a somewhat melan¬ 
 choly mood of the loss of her five pounds—it would make her 
 week in London very costly. What would Fanny say to her 
 day’s adventure! Hovv^ she wished she had that dear, impulsive, 
 bright little goose to welcome her back when she reached her 
 destination. Thus chewing the cud of sweet and bitter reflection, 
 she leaned back with something of languor in her attitude, gazing 
 dreamily through the window at the landscape as it flew past 
 them. 
 
 Meantime Galbraith experienced an extraordinary sense of ela¬ 
 tion and delight. When he first recognised Mrs. Temple he acted 
 almost without thought, on a prompt instinctive impulse, to get 
 rid of Upton anyhow. He proposed no plan, no object to him¬ 
 self. At the sight of the woman whose domination he fancied 
 he had thrown off, every idea, every consideration was merged 
 in the imperative necessity of speaking to her, and hearing her 
 speak once more. In the same mood, taking no heed for the 
 morrow, and further blinded and fascinated by her ready ac¬ 
 ceptance of his professed change of tone, he plunged recklessly 
 into the golden ocean cf delight which their unexpected meeting 
 offered. 
 
 It was so delicious, too, to have her even for an hour or two 
 all to himself—in his hands, dependent on him. Whatever came of 
 it he was fiercely determined to enjoy the present moment. 
 
 At this point of his reflections he leant forward with alarm¬ 
 ing tenderness in his eyes. “ You are tired—you look tired,” he 
 said. 
 
 “ Yes, a little,” returned Kate, rousing herself ; “ I have walked 
 a good deal. I went to see an invalid friend, and the house is 
 some distance from the station.” 
 
 “ And how is Miss Lee, and Mills, and Pierstoffe generally ?” 
 
 Kate replied, and they continued to speak of it, its scenery and 
 characteristics, till Kate, half fearing the associations it might 
 recall, mentioned Lady Styles and her report of the “ splendid 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 377 
 
 yacht,” which made a useful diversion. Then their talk drifted 
 to Kirby Grange and Galbraith’s belongings in the North. 
 
 This was a subject of much interest to his companion, and she 
 tried to draw him out, not unsuccessfully. It made her heart 
 ache to see how deeply he was attached to the old place—how 
 his imagination was occupied by the idea of re-creating the Gal¬ 
 braiths of Kirby Grange in their original status. So conversing 
 Avith intervals of (to Galbraith) delicious silence, they reached 
 King’s Cross. Here, with the same promptitude he had shown 
 since their startling rencontre, Hugh secured a cab, handed Kate 
 in, directed the driver to the address he had heard her gwe to the 
 inspector, and took his place beside her, remarking, “ You said you 
 would allow me to see you to your destination.” 
 
 The noise of the streets and of their convej'ance did not 
 permit much talk, and Kate thought the journey never Avould 
 end. What was she to do with him when she reached her 
 lodgings ? He would surely have the tact and propriety to go 
 away without obliging her to dismiss him ? The friendly footing 
 he had established was very nice and sensible, but the friendship 
 was safer at a distance. Kate in her inner heart distrusted it; 
 that he should so far trouble himself on her account was natural, 
 as she really needed his help : the intercourse, however, must 
 stop here. “ But I shall manage it,” Avas her concluding and 
 consolatory reflection. “ I have a great deal more savoir faire 
 than he has.” 
 
 Adelaide Terrace was reached at last. Mrs. Temple could not 
 be so ungracious as to turn upon the threshold and forbid Gal¬ 
 braith’s entrance, so he folloAA’ed her into the little front parlour, 
 from Avhich she had removed the crochet snares, and rendered 
 more habitable-looking even by one day’s sojourn. Mrs. Temple did 
 not sit doAvn, so Galbraith remained standing, looking altogether too 
 tall and lordly for so small an apartment. 
 
 It Avas now dark; the polite landlady lit the gas, and left the 
 room. Galbraith made a sort of efEort to speak, stopped short, 
 looked doAA'n, and seemed suddenly to ha,A"e lost the prompt self- 
 possession he had hitherto displayed ; then meeting Mrs. Temple’s 
 
378 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 eyes, which expressed extreme uneasiness, he laughed and ex¬ 
 claimed bluntly, “ You must have some money till you hear from 
 your friends.” 
 
 “ Oh no—no, thank you!” cried Kate, stepping back in the 
 energy of her refusal. “ I could not. Sir Hugh ! I mean, you have 
 assisted me quite enough! If you will be so good as to let me 
 know where to write, I will send what you have already-” 
 
 “ I shall be highly ofEended if you do anything of the kind,” he 
 interrupted; “ besides, I must come and tell you if I get any 
 tidings of your purse : in the meantime you can’t get on without 
 money.” 
 
 “And how do you know I move about with no larger capital than 
 five pounds ?” said Mrs. Temple, smiling. 
 
 “ That’s another thing,” said Galbraith, looking keenly at 
 her. “ Have you any money ?” he added, with his natural direct¬ 
 ness. 
 
 “ No,” she returned, laughing at his point-blank question; “still 
 I do not need any from you, I assure you. I have my cheque¬ 
 book with me, and my solicitor will cash a cheque for me to¬ 
 morrow.” 
 
 “ Oh, very well,” said Sir Hugh, a little disappointed, and he let 
 his purse, which he had half drawn out, fall back into his pocket. 
 “ But I am sorry to hear you have a solicitor. Steer clear of those 
 gentry if you can.” 
 
 “ Unfortunately, I cannot recover what is due to me without 
 them,” replied Kate, somewhat evasively. 
 
 “ Take care that your dues are not swallowed up in the cost of 
 recovering them,” said Galbraith. He paused a moment; “ I am 
 keeping you standing ”—another pause ; but no invitation to sit 
 down came—“ so I will wish you good-morning.” 
 
 “ Good-bye, and thank yon very much,” returned Mrs. Temple, 
 holding out her hand. It was the first time he had touched it 
 that day, and it was given with a sweet, frank smile of recognition 
 for his services ; yet Galbraith did not hold it a second too long, 
 nor too warmly. 
 
 “ I hope you are not overtired,” he said, “ and that I shall soon 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 379 
 
 tring you tidings of your lost property.” He bowed, retired, and 
 the next minute Kate heard the cab drive away. 
 
 She sat down at once upon the stiff little sofa, and heaved a sigh 
 of relief ; then, starting up, she hastily set out her writing materials, 
 and wrote a hasty note to Fanny, enclosing a cheque, and request¬ 
 ing her to forward a post-office order by return. “ Quarter to six,” 
 she exclaimed, looking at her watch. She rang, and asked her 
 way to the nearest post-office, where an additional stamp insured 
 the conveyance of her letter. 
 
 “ That is the best plan,” she thought, as she walked back more 
 leisurely. “ I did not like the idea of going to Mr. Wreford ; be¬ 
 sides it would have betrayed my whereabouts, though I suppose I 
 must tell Mr. Wall when I see him.” 
 
 Tea was ready when Kate returned, and though puzzled and 
 somewhat annoyed by this unexpected renewal of her acquaintance 
 with Hugh Galbraith, she was infinitely less depressed than on the 
 previous evening. Why, she would have been puzzled to explain ; 
 but she felt as if things would not end badly could she and Hugh 
 come to a friendly understanding, but before all things it was 
 necessary that she should first prove her rights. 
 
 The next morning came a long letter from Fanny. There is a 
 wonderful pleasure in reading a long letter full of minute details 
 respecting one’s home, or any locality familiar and endeared—more 
 welcome a thousand times than the most wittily and originally ex¬ 
 pressed opinion upon abstract topics. 
 
 “ What a misfortune that Tom should have been called away !” 
 was the opening sentence. “I have been thinking of you ever 
 since I had his letter, for I believe I knew all about it before you 
 did. He is quite vexed himself ; and Mr. Wall not come back yet! 
 It is really too bad ! You must be so miserable all alone in that 
 awful London ! I would cry my eyes out if I was in your place ; 
 but you will not, you are so strong and brave ! 
 
 “ It has been horribly wet ever since you left, and I have only 
 taken three pounds eleven and sevenpence halfpenny, but Mrs. 
 Jennings called and paid her account at last. 
 
380 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ I have had tea with Mills since you left, and we sit by the 
 kitchen fire, so we do not keep the parlour fire in. She has made 
 great progress with the stockings she is knitting for you ; but con¬ 
 versation is rather a difficulty. I don’t think Mills values my 
 opinions as she ought, so I proposed reading to her. She was very 
 pleased ; but I didn’t think of her deafness, and now I don’t like 
 to go back ; so, if I shout at you when I return, do not be sur¬ 
 prised. We are going through the ‘ History of Pierstoffe.’ You 
 remember you bought it last spring. But I am surprised to find 
 how sceptical she is : she has grave doubts that it ever was so poor 
 a place as it is represented to have been. The grey cat is much 
 better, and his coat is looking quite handsome again. Shall I have 
 the garden done up ? Some of the trees want pruning. 
 
 “ Such a funny thing happened to-day ! I was in the shop after 
 dinner, setting up some screens in the window, when a sporting- 
 looking man, well dressed, though not a gentleman, I think, strolled 
 past. He was a stranger, evidently, and yet his face was familiar 
 to me. He stared very impudently, and, I am afraid, he xoinhed as 
 he went by ; but I had hardly got back behind the counter before 
 he returned and walked in. 
 
 “ ‘ Have you any—any-- ?’ He stopped, looked round, as if 
 
 trying to find something he could ask for. ‘ Oh, ah, gloves—that 
 will do. I want a pair of dogskin driving-gloves.’ 
 
 “ ‘ We only keep ladies’ gloves,’ said I, with dignity, I flatter 
 myself. 
 
 “ ‘ Well, it’s a mistake,’ said he, sitting down and rapping his 
 teeth with a queer little stick he carried. ‘ Gentlemen pay better, 
 and are easier served, especially by a charming young lady like 
 you.’ 
 
 “ I can’t tell you how indignant and frightened I felt. You 
 never saw such a horrid man ! He had a v/hite face and a red 
 nose, and was altogether dreadful. Before I could think of any¬ 
 thing grand and cutting to reply, he went on : ‘ Now, I’d lay long 
 odds you never were behind a counter before ! Your pretty fingers 
 are not used to handle a yard wand ! A pair of white reins from 
 the bits of a couple of thorough-breds are the ribbons you ought to 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 381 
 
 handle ! I have a notion I had the pleasure of meeting you before. 
 Haven’t I the honour of speaking to Miss de Burgh ?’ and he stood 
 up and made a wonderful bow, raising his horrible white hat ever 
 so high. I didn’t know what to do, and I just said, ‘ No, indeed I 
 am not.’ How I wished for you ! ‘ Then,’ said he, ‘ if not, what 
 
 may your name be ?’ It flashed across me that he might be one of 
 the detectives Tom talked about so ; so I said very steadily— 
 though, believe me, I was shaking in my shoes (boots, I mean)— 
 * I don’t see what my name can possibly be to a stranger like you, 
 sir. Can I show you anything ?’ ‘ That’s a hint, by Jupiter !’ he 
 
 cried, with a roar of laughter. ‘ Do I look like a fellow that would 
 work Berlin wool, or crochet ? No, nothing, thank you, my dear 
 Miss de Burgh, unless, indeed, you can tell me where a young chap 
 called Turner hangs out. He says his governor is a big-wig here ! 
 Do you know the name ?’ I told him the only Turner I knew 
 here was Turner and Co., the great drapery shop. Then he gave 
 a great roar of laughter, and, taking off his hat again, he said, 
 ‘ Good-morning, Miss de Burgh,’ and walked away. I really felt 
 quite ill after, and I puzzled over his face all day, but only this 
 evening at tea it jumped into my head who he is. I am certain he 
 is the same man that spoke to Tom the day I was at Waterloo 
 Station on my way to you, dearest Kate, years ago—that is, two ! 
 And he is just the sort of creature to be a detective, or an informer 
 of some kind. I have been miserable ever since. What could he 
 want with that unfortunate young Turner ? No good I am cer¬ 
 tain ! Do make haste and come back soon; we are lost without 
 you! I am longing for an account of your visit to Captain 
 Gregory ! Lady Styles has not been here since. 
 
 “ Ever your loving friend, 
 
 “Fanny Lee. 
 
 “ P.S.—Have I not written you a splendid letter ? It would do 
 for a chapter in one of Tom’s stories ? I hope ours Avill end in 
 proper story-fashion—with virtue, you, me, and Tom, rewarded ; 
 and vice. Sir Hugh, Ford, &c., &c., punished, though they are not 
 very vicious, after all.” 
 
382 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 Kate read this curious story a second time, and set herself to 
 think the matter over steadily. She had forgotten the encounter 
 at the Waterloo Station, if she had ever heard of it; but the de¬ 
 scription, and allusion to Tom’s knowledge of the mysterious 
 stranger, induced her to conclude that he could be no other than 
 the missing Trapes. She did not see what possible connection 
 could exist between this man, Ford, and her own affairs. His 
 acquaintance with Poole was accidental, and not difficult to account 
 for, but his connection with Ford was utterly incongruous—a 
 mystery she could not understand. The more she reflected upon 
 the matter, the more she acknowledged that there was no evidence 
 whatever of Ford’s complicity in the scheme to defraud her— 
 nothing but her own unreasonable instinctive conviction ; but to 
 that, after arguing round a whole circle of probabilities, she re¬ 
 turned as tenaciously as ever. 
 
 It was a bright, crisp morning—a morning that asked you to go 
 out—but Kate felt bound to resist. She felt, while she smiled at 
 her dilemma, that she could not venture to take “her walks 
 abroad” with an empty pocket. Ko, she would stay indoors and 
 wait patiently for Fanny’s letter and remittance, which would be 
 sure to reach her to-morrow. 
 
 Meantime a minute search in her travelling-bag resulted in a 
 “treasure-trove” of fivepence-halfpenny, and Kate felt positively 
 at ease when she put this slight store in her pocket. “ How 
 dreadful it must be to be absolutely penniless,” she thought— 
 “ penniless, with little children crying to you for bread! Yet, 
 what power, what perseverance, what ingenuity, the consciousness 
 that you had them to provide for would bestow ! The worst 
 poverty is genteel poverty, after all—the loss of caste in the en¬ 
 forced abandonment of the gentlewoman’s habits and appearance. 
 The position of women is growing more and more false every day : 
 we cannot find men to work for us, and if we push our own way 
 we are supposed to forfeit our ladyhood and womanliness! Can 
 it be that these graces, which ought to be innate, really depend on 
 the purse ? Is it possible we are compelled to admit the materialist 
 conviction, that there is a money reason at the bottom of every- 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 383 
 
 thing ? I cannot! the common sense of mankind Avill right this in 
 the future, for though its manifestations are very intermittent, 
 there is a great deal of common sense in the world, or it would be 
 a vast lunatic asylum.” 
 
 But the idea of a money question sent her to her personal ex¬ 
 penditure book, over which she severely took herself to task for 
 various unnecessary though trifling outlays which she considered 
 self-indulgent. To be prudent and economical was no easy task 
 to Kate Travers. Naturally appreciating artistic elegance—ugli¬ 
 ness and vulgarity in her surroundings were positively painful. 
 A large liberality, never stopping to count the cost of what she 
 bestowed, was inherent in her ; moreover, the physical perfection 
 of her frame disposed her to a certain luxurious indolence. It is 
 your nervous, unequally developed nature that prompts to restless 
 action and objectless self-denial—the richer, fuller being is content 
 to stand at ease and wait, confident in its own force when the 
 moment for action comes. Moreover, it was an enormous advan¬ 
 tage to her that her intellect had been so much cultivated before 
 passion had stirred from the sleep of childhood. As yet her idea 
 of passion was an intellectual flame : she did not realise the strong 
 human necessity of contact; she did not perceive that even 
 “ through the laying on of the Apostles’ hands the Holy Ghost 
 was given.” 
 
 But the great corrective to Kate’s most deeply-rooted faults, 
 pride and an imperious will, w’as an inexhaustible sense of justice 
 to others, or rather a sympathising equity, which is above the 
 rigidity of barren justice. A tender equity, ever ready to pay the 
 fines it w'as compelled to inflict—this, and a sturdy independence, 
 a shrinking from obligation—money obligation—kept the current 
 of her energy from stagnating, and gave to her air and manner the 
 indescribable restfulness of strength. 
 
 When Hugh Galbraith reached his hotel the previous evening ho 
 v/as informed that Colonel Upton had engaged rooms, and gone out, 
 intending to dine at the club. Thither Galbraith followed, but did 
 not find him ; and, rather to his satisfaction, dined alone. Tho 
 
384 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 evening was long, thougli assisted in its course by a game or two 
 of billiards with a chance acquaintance who happened to drop in, 
 for in October the clubs present a deserted aspect. 
 
 The chums, therefore, did not meet till breakfast next morning, 
 when Galbraith, having made up his mind on more points than one, 
 was impenetrable and imperturbable. 
 
 “ What became of you last night ?” he asked, boldly taking the 
 initiative. 
 
 “ Well, that is cool!” exclaimed Upton, looking up from his 
 poached egg and broiled ham. “ Pray what became of you when 
 you deserted me in that extraordinary fashion yesterday ? You 
 are not afraid of a tip on the shoulder ? Are you a spiritualist, 
 and had you a sudden communication ? I looked down the plat¬ 
 form pretty sharp I can tell you, and I could see no moving cause 
 for such extraordinary conduct—come, explain, explain !’’ 
 
 “ That is just what I am not going to do,” returned Galbraith 
 ■calmly, “ at least not at present.” 
 
 “ You said you would.” 
 
 “ I have changed my mind. I could not tell you all, old fellow, 
 so I will not open the subject.” 
 
 “ So be it,” returned Upton resignedly ; then, after an interval 
 of eating, he resumed, “ Pray, am I still to have the pleasure of 
 your company to Ireland ?” 
 
 “ No,” said Galbraith. 
 
 “ Nice treatment; but I expected as much. Is it indiscreet to 
 .ask what you are going to do with yourself this morning ?” 
 
 “ It is ; but I will answer you. I am going to a police-station.” 
 
 “ Why, in the name of Heaven ?” 
 
 “ To try and trace a thief.” 
 
 “ Then I believe I am on a wrong scent.” 
 
 “ That is very likely.” 
 
 “ One word, Galbraith. Was the cause of your sudden defalca¬ 
 tion at H-male or female ?” 
 
 “ I decline to answer,” said Galbraith, smiling. 
 
 “ It was a woman,” cried Upton triumphantly. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 385 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 The long bright morning hung heavily on Kate’s hands. She 
 wrote a description of the previous day’s adventures to her friend 
 and partner ; but that did not fill up all the time, though it carried 
 her on well towards her mid-day chop. She tried to read, but an 
 odd nervous anticipation distracted her attention. That Hugh 
 Galbraith would make his appearance, she was quite sure—the only 
 question was, when ? Kate was too wise and womanly a woman, 
 however, to be without the resource of needlework, which, as many 
 a weary sister could testify, has a calming, satisfying influence of 
 its own. She had carried with her a large piece of cloth applique 
 work, and the intricacy of the pattern served to divert her thoughts. 
 She had, however, hardly thus disposed of an hour, when the sound 
 of a rapidly approaching cab woke the echoes of the dull little 
 street. The sound came near, ceased an instant, and then the con¬ 
 veyance seemed to drive away. An uncomfortable, uneasy beating 
 of the heart made Kate’s fingers unsteady. 
 
 “ What folly and weakness !” she exclaimed to herself. “ I must 
 conquer both.” 
 
 “A gentleman for you, ma’am,” said the landlady, throwing 
 open the door, and the next moment her hand was in Hugh Gal¬ 
 braith’s. 
 
 “ I had hoped to be here earlier, Mrs. Temple,” he said, in the 
 easiest tone possible ; for all his native pertinacity was roused and 
 concentrated on preserving the character of friendship which he had 
 adopted, until it led him—where ?—well, he did not at present care 
 to ask. “ I had hoped to be earlier, but I found I had to run down 
 
 to H-, for the affair must be managed by the local police ;— 
 
 however, here I am at last.” He laid aside his hat as he spoke, 
 and sat down, uninvited, at the opposite side of the table. 
 
 “ What trouble you have taken,” said Mrs. Temple, gathering 
 courage as she noticed his manner, and the tranquil glance with 
 which he met her eyes—“ and I fear you have had your trouble for 
 nothing.” 
 
 25 
 
386 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ Not absolutely. The police are not quite without hopes of re¬ 
 covering your money. They know that a certain swell-mobsman 
 was at a sale of somebody’s stud, near Lillington, and they are on 
 his track. If you knew the number of your note, I fancy it might 
 be all right.” 
 
 “ It is very unfortunate ! I drew it out of the bank the after¬ 
 noon before I started for London, last Monday, and as I was very 
 busy, I omitted to enter the number—a disgraceful oversight for a 
 woman of business,” she added, smiling. 
 
 “ I fear you will have to pay a rather heavy forfeit in conse¬ 
 quence. By the way, the bank people would know the number ! 
 Why don’t you telegraph to them ? I’ll go to the nearest office 
 and do it for you—they can telegraph back directly—and if you 
 send me a line to-night, I can see the inspector to-morrow, the first 
 thing.” He stretched out his hand towards his hat as he spoke. 
 
 “ Stop, stop !” cried Kate, “ let me think for a moment.” 
 
 “ There is really nothing to think about,” said Galbraith, who 
 could not iindertand her hesitation, while she confusedly thought 
 of all the mischief that would possibly and probably arise from his 
 becoming mixed up with her affairs. “ It would be better to tele¬ 
 graph herself,” so she said, looking earnestly into Galbraith’s grave 
 eyes, and then she remembered her bankrupt condition. 
 
 “ But the nearest office is a long way off,” he urged ; “ somewhere 
 near Oxford Street, I suspect ” (it was before the days of postal 
 telegraphs)—“ better leave it to me.” 
 
 “ But the bank people will not tell you anything—they will only 
 do so to me.” 
 
 “ I will telegraph in your name, and give your address.” 
 
 “ Then telegraph to Fanny !” cried Mrs. Temple eagerly. “ She 
 can go to the bank ; they know her, and will give her the informa¬ 
 tion, and she will lose no time.” 
 
 “ What’s the hour now ?” said Galbraith, looking at his watch— 
 “two-thirty—barely time. I wish I had not sent off my cab. I 
 will drive down to the office as quickly as I can, and return imme¬ 
 diately.” 
 
 “ I am sure, Sir Hugh-” began Mrs. Temple, but he was gone, 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 387 
 
 and a vigorous slam of the front door announced his exit. “ He is 
 really very good,” thought Kate. “ It is a great pity we ever be¬ 
 came enemies, or that he made the ridiculous mistake of fancying 
 himself in love with me. He has evidently got over it, and is 
 anxious I should think so. I must not on any account seem to 
 look on him as a lover, but accept his friendship frankly ! I wonder 
 why he is coming back—he has said his say, and we really have 
 very few topics in common. Perhaps he will not return. He is 
 wonderfully alert—quite another creature !” 
 
 But he did return, and sooner than she thought possible. 
 
 “ I have accomplished my errand,” he said cheerfully, reseating 
 himself in the place he had occupied, and throwing open the front 
 of his overcoat, as if he intended staying. 
 
 “ But you must forgive me for exercising a little discretionary 
 variation from your instructions. I sent the message straight to 
 the bank—there was really no time to spare.” 
 
 “ I suppose it was best; but I trust you used my name. The 
 whole of PierstofiEe would be hysterical with curiosity if you tele¬ 
 graphed on my behalf!” 
 
 “ I am not quite blockhead enough to do so,” replied Galbraith 
 a little indignantly. “ I dare say,” looking at his watch, “ you’ll 
 have the answer before six.” 
 
 “ I hope and trust he is not going to sit there and wait for it,” 
 thought Kate. His next words reassured her : 
 
 “ If you can post to me by six, I shall get the note to-night. 
 There is my address,” laying his card on the table ; “ and I know 
 yours is the pen of a ready writer.” 
 
 Mrs. Temple smiled, and tried to keep back a slight blush that 
 would come in spite of her. 
 
 “ It’s so unfortunate that I—I mean my friend Mr. Tom, is away, 
 or I should not have given you all this trouble ; but indeed, Hugh,” 
 (the name slipped out quite unnoticed by her, so accustomed had 
 she been for years to think and speak of him as “ Hugh.” He 
 shot a quick, keen glance at her, saw her unconsciousness, and 
 shaded his face with his hand for a moment while she finished her 
 sentence)—“ indeed, you need do nothing further in the matter. 
 
388 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 To-morrow I shall be liberated, for I am certain to have money 
 from Fanny, and I can follow up the quest myself, if you will be 
 so good as to tell me the proper quarters to apply to.” 
 
 “ Ah,” said Galbraith, looking at her, “ then you did not go down 
 to your solicitor as you said you would ?” 
 
 “ No,” she returned ; then, laughing at his suspicious air, added, 
 “ I have one, nevertheless, I am sorry to say; but on second 
 thoughts I resolved to send home for what I required.” 
 
 “ I suspect you had not the wherewithal to charter a cab,” said 
 he, laughing. “ That came of being too proud to borrow a little 
 filthy lucre from me.” 
 
 “ A cab, indeed !” cried Kate. “ Do you suppose a hard-working 
 tradeswoman like myself, up in town on troublesome business, 
 would indulge in cabs ? No ; an omnibus is the extent of my 
 luxury. At any rate, I shall be in funds to-morrow, and able to 
 manage my own affairs, so pray take no further trouble. I do not 
 see why I need write to you to-night. I can see the inspector, 
 and give him the number of the note myself.” 
 
 ‘‘You must not think of doing so,” replied Galbraith very 
 earnestly. “It is not pleasant for a delicate, refined woman to go 
 about alone to these places. I cannot allow you to do so, unless, 
 indeed, you will let me accompany you. Besides, as I begau the 
 affair, you had much better let me finish it. Two inquirers Avill 
 only create confusion.” 
 
 Kate thought a moment. “ Has my name appeared at all ?” 
 
 “No,” said Galbraith; “there was no necessity to mention it. 
 A lady had lost her purse, and I was the agent in the matter.” 
 
 If, then, no one was to know of her being even temporarily 
 mixed up with her enemy, she would not mind so much. 
 
 “ Well, then, as you are so good,” she said slowly, and looking 
 down, fairly beaten by his pertinacity and resolution. “ I suppose 
 a day or two will see it ended one way or the other ? If not, you 
 must promise me to give it up. I can always get my solicitor to 
 assist me, you know.” 
 
 “Ay, and he will charge no end of six-and-eightpences ! Believe 
 me, you had better leave it to your unpaid attache." 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 389 
 
 “ Let me substitute unattached assistant,” said Kate, laughing 
 and colouring most becomingly, “ and I agree.” 
 
 “ So be it,” returned Sir Hugh thoughtfully, “so be itafter 
 an instant’s pause he added, “ and you will write, then, this 
 evening ?” 
 
 “ Yes, I will write.” 
 
 “ As soon as I have seen the police people in the morning, I will 
 come here. In the meantime, what a frightfully dull day you will 
 have of it!” 
 
 “ I do not mind being alone—at least I should not if I had not 
 an interview with a solicitor before me,” she replied, with a little 
 sigh. 
 
 “ How long do you remain in town ?” asked Galbraith, standing 
 up and taking his hat, yet lingering still. 
 
 “ That depends on my solicitor. I hope to leave on Tuesday. 
 It is not very cheerful here.” 
 
 “ I should think not. I must say good-morning, Mrs. Temple.” 
 
 “ Good-morning, Sir Hugh. By-the-bye, I shall be out to-mor¬ 
 row morning, so pray do not take the trouble of coming all this 
 v/ay—a note will tell me all that is necessary.” 
 
 His face clouded over. “ I believe you are frank enough to 
 speak the real truth,” he said. “ Do you distinctly wish me to 
 stay away ?” 
 
 Kate hesitated ; she half wished he would, but only half. More¬ 
 over, if she forbade his visits, would it not be confessing that she 
 did not consider him emancipated from his character of a lover ? 
 No, she would secure his kindly, friendly feeling—that would be 
 some provision against future difficulties. So, looking straight 
 into his eyes, she said with a bright smile— 
 
 “ No, I do not. You know we can be friends for a few days 
 while the shop is out of sight, and inequahties forgotten,” and she 
 held out her hand. 
 
 Galbraith took it quickly, pressing it for an instant almost pain¬ 
 fully tight. “ Friends, anyhow,” said he, “ shop or no shop !” 
 Then, turning away with the words, “ Till to-morrow, then,” he 
 left the house. 
 
390 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 When he was gone, Kate sat down, leaning her elbows on the 
 table and burying her face in her hands. “ I wonder if I am doing 
 right in letting him have so much of his own way ? Will he think 
 me a treacherous wretch by-and-by ? What can I do ? I cannot 
 forego my rights to save his feelings. I am almost stupid enough 
 to do so ; but what would Tom and Fanny say? I could not be 
 so weak ; besides, I may never succeed, and if I fail I shall hate 
 him again—there is such unreasoning prejudice in his contemptuous, 
 disregard and disbelief in any caste save his own. He chooses from 
 some whin to credit me with an ancestry, because he knows nothing 
 about it. I almost wish I had no drop of so-called gentle blood in 
 my veins, were it only to contradict his theories. How out of place 
 such a feudal individual is in the middle of the nineteenth century, 
 
 and yet-” What extenuations her intellect or heart might 
 
 have urged on Hugh’s behalf remained unsuggested, for the land¬ 
 lady put in her head. 
 
 “ I was thinking, ma’am, as the gentleman is gone, you’ll be 
 wanting your tea.” 
 
 “Thank you, Mrs Small, I shall be glad of some.” 
 
 Meantime Galbraith walked away south-eastwards, in deep self- 
 communing. 
 
 There was no mistake about it. Mrs. Temple had called him 
 “ Hugh” familiarly, unconsciously ; and never had the harsh name 
 sounded sweetly to him before. It was impossible she could have 
 made such a mistake (as she would have considered it) had she not 
 thought of him tolerably often ; not as Sir Hugh Galbraith, Bart., 
 of Kirby Grange, but as one near enough, if not dear enough, to 
 be enshrined in her memory as “ Hugh ” simply. What did it 
 mean ? When he so abruptly, and almost rudely, asked her to be 
 his wife, her tone and manner indicated complete freedom from the 
 least tendency to reciprocate his feelings. The most conceited 
 blockhead that ever curled his whiskers and waxed his moustaches 
 could not mistake it for concealed preference or any other senti¬ 
 mental indication. It was as downright a refusal as ever man 
 received, though not unfeeling. Yet—she called bim “ Hugh !” 
 Was she coming round to him ? Galbraith’s veins thrilled at the 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 391 
 
 idea. Thovigh by no means a self-conceited man, like most others 
 of his stamp, it never occurred to his mind that any woman in the 
 world was too good for him. Still Mrs. Temple had hitherto been 
 an unattainable good, and now a gleam of hope, faint though it 
 was, seemed to dazzle him. But how about those battles which he 
 had fought with himself during his lonely rambles and cruisings in 
 the north ? He had then come to the conclusion that it was well, 
 after all, he had been rejected, though he should never again have 
 the chance of finding such a glorious helpmate as Kate would be ; 
 but that past of hers, which she was so unwilling to reveal, what 
 did it contain ? Nothing really bad—nothing. Of that his whole 
 heart acquitted her ; but something brought upon her by others, 
 that was possible, and would he not brave that for her sake ? Yes, 
 if she had loved him ; but was it not well that she did not. Hugh 
 Galbraith was sensitively alive to the honour of the family name. 
 True, his father had somewhat tarnished it, but not in the world’s 
 estimation, for he (Hugh) had helped him to pay his debts ; but 
 to marry a woman who was in any way touched by disgrace, no 
 weakness would tempt him to such a step he once thought, and now 
 accident, the drift of a woman’s fancy, was perhaps his only safe¬ 
 guard. If, therefore, the unconscious use of his name was an indi¬ 
 cation that the tide was turning in his favour, would it not be wise 
 to seek safety in flight, instead of courting danger by every means 
 in his power ? Common sense had no hesitation in answering, 
 but passion, imagination, and self-will are a troublesome team; and 
 if Galbraith could have brought himself even to will obedience to 
 the dictates of prudence, I doubt if he could have followed them, 
 though it is a moot point. “ To will ” anything is, I suppose, to 
 do it; but this is not a metaphysical treatise. Willing or not, 
 Galbraith determined to see the present act of the drama played 
 out. “ If I impress her with an idea of my friendly interest, she may 
 open her heart and tell me her story. She is evidently very much 
 isolated ; and at any rate for the next three or four days I shall 
 have her all to myself in this wilderness of brick and mortar.” 
 
 So reflecting, Galbraith hailed a hansom and rattled away to his 
 club. 
 
392 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 The next morning, having been relieved from her embarrassing 
 penniless condition by a post-ofl&ce order from Fanny, enclosed in an 
 efEusive letter, full of dismay and sympathy, Kate sallied forth to 
 leave a note she had written, requesting an interview the following 
 morning at Mr. Wall’s office, intending to assure herself that he 
 had arrived the previous night. 
 
 Her note to Galbraith had cost her much thought. The “ reply 
 wire,” as it is familiarly termed in busy offices, did not reach her 
 till seven o’clock the evening before; and she decided to enclose the 
 telegram as it was, which she did, merely saying, “ This moment 
 received. Yours, with many thanks, K. T.” 
 
 She felt a joyous feeling of relief at being able once more to walk 
 boldly forth, and this buoyancy carried her lightly and rapidly to 
 her destination. 
 
 She was recognised by the clerk, who sat in a sort of wooden 
 cage near the door, where he noted down the entrances of the 
 seekers of justice or injustice, and he paid her immediate and polite 
 attention. 
 
 “ Note for Mr. Wall, madam? Certainly, it shall be given to 
 him directly he arrives.” 
 
 “ I am told he was to return last night.” 
 
 “ Unfortunately he is detained at Dieppe by a severe cold, and 
 fears he cannot travel till Monday.” 
 
 “ I am very, very sorry for every reason and Kate felt almost 
 choked with a lump that would rise in her throat. 
 
 “ Will you step in, madam, and speak to Mr. Wreford ?” 
 
 “ No, thank you ; it would be of no avail.” 
 
 She turned away, all her buoyancy gone—everything seemed 
 against her. Five pounds lost, and another costly week in London 
 probably before her, while her presence was so sorely needed at 
 Pierstoffe. She felt too much cast down to face the long walk back, 
 so she took refuge in an omnibus. 
 
 The next day was Sunday, a rather wearisome day under any 
 circumstances, but doubly so in a small temporary London lodging. 
 
 Kate was half amused, half angry with herself for the sort of 
 disappointment she had felt at the non-appearance of Galbraith on 
 
HER DEAREST EOE. 
 
 39S 
 
 the previous day. She was naturally anxious, though not very 
 hopeful, about her five pounds; but over and above this motive 
 she would have been thankful for the seasonable break in the de¬ 
 pressing monotony of the day, which his presence, and perhaps a 
 little argument, would have afforded. 
 
 To-day he would not of course come. Men like him generally 
 went away somewhere to avoid the sepulchral aspect of a London 
 Sabbath. Moreover, a Sunday visit implied a certain degree of 
 intimacy. 
 
 “ To be sure,” thought Kate, as she tied on her bonnet before 
 going to church, “ our acquaintance is altogether exceptional—a 
 sort of byway not amenable to the rules that govern the turnpike- 
 roads of good society.” 
 
 She walked some distance to hear a celebrated preacher, and 
 then, as the weather, though not wet, was dull and chill and misty, 
 resigned herself to remain indoors, made up a bright fire, and 
 drawing a low folding-chair—the only tolerably comfortable seat 
 in the room—near the hearth, selected the toughest book of those 
 provided by Tom Reed’s kindly thought, and settled herself 
 for a few hours’ reading. But her attention was not quite so 
 steady as she expected ; she caught herself listening to the pass¬ 
 ing vehicles, which were few and far between, although she 
 had quite made up her mind that Galbraith would not come on 
 Sunday. 
 
 Half an hour had hardly passed thus, when something drove up 
 very rapidly and stopped suddenly. Then an impatient rap with 
 the diminutive knocker, which sounded on the thin, unseasoned 
 wood more like “ the woodpecker tapping on the hollow beech 
 tree ” than the regulation “ thunder-claps ” which “ Jeames ” used 
 to discharge upon aristocratic entrances before bells had super¬ 
 seded knockers. The next moment Galbraith was bidding her 
 “ Good-morning.” 
 
 “ Could not manage to come up here yesterday till it was later 
 than you might have liked,” he began, drawing a chair opposite 
 her as she resumed her seat, making himself quite at home, to 
 Kate’s amusement; yet her amusement was tinged with shades of 
 
394 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 compassion and regret. “I did not get your note till nearly 
 twelve o’clock yesterday,” continued Galbraith. “ I stayed at the 
 club till after the last delivery the night before, and began to 
 think you had changed your mind, and were going to cast me 
 adrift. However your note explained all, short as it was. I have 
 received very few letters from ladies in my life, and I have always 
 understood that brevity is not their characteristic, but yours was 
 literally but three words.” 
 
 “ Yet it told you all that was necessary,” said Kate, smiling. 
 
 “ Very true. Well, when I got down to H-the inspector was 
 
 gone away somewhere, and I had to wait some time. He was very 
 glad to get the number of the note, and said he thought they 
 might manage it now. That is literally all I have to tell you, 
 Mrs. Temple.” 
 
 “ Thank you very much.” Then after a little pause, she added, 
 “ Of course I must give some reward ; there will be something 
 to pay ?” 
 
 “ A mere trifle. The police are paid for their work by Govern¬ 
 ment, and I dare say you contribute quite enough in the shape of 
 taxes towards their maintenance.” 
 
 There was a pause—neither knew exactly what to say next, 
 though their hearts were full enough. 
 
 “ And are you ofE on Tuesday ?” asked Sir Hugh at last. 
 
 “ No. I am sorry to say I find the solicitor I wanted to see does 
 not return till Monday, and ” (with a sigh) “ he may not return 
 even then. So I have not a very lively prospect before me ; and I 
 want so much to return.” 
 
 “ It is very annoying,” said Galbraith sympathisingly, though a 
 subdued smile lit up his eyes. “ However, I hope you will have as 
 little as possible to do wdth lawyers and law.” 
 
 “ I am on the brink of a lawsuit, I believe,” replied Kate, urged 
 by she knew not what impulse to approach the deep but narrow 
 gulf between them, of which her companion was so unconscious. 
 
 “ Well, pull lip before you are absolutely over,” said Galbraith 
 earnestly. “ I was once very near going in for one myself.” 
 
 “ Why did you not ?” she asked, gazing away into the fire. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 395 
 
 “ Because I got what I wanted without it.” 
 
 “ I will give up mine on the same terms,” retorted Kate, with a 
 thoughtful smile. “ Perhaps my adversary may come to some ac¬ 
 commodation, as it is termed. Tell me, have you ever found any 
 trace of the lady jmu were in search of ?” 
 
 “ What lady ?” asked Galbraith, looldng puzzled. 
 
 “ Perhaps I am indiscreet in alluding to the subject; but in a 
 letter I once wrote for you, you made some enquiries about your 
 uncle’s or some relation’s widow.” 
 
 “ Yes, yes, of course. I am not in the habit of thinking of her 
 as a lady. You mean Mrs Travers. Ko : we can find no trace 
 of her whatever. It is very curious,” he continued musingly, “ the 
 way she has vanished. I mean, I cannot account for her rejection 
 of my offers ; it is not in keeping with what I imagine the cha¬ 
 racter of her class.” 
 
 “ What was her class ?” 
 
 “ Tradespeople ; at least, I heard she was niece or relation to a 
 man who used to supply old Travers with fishing-tackle. I think 
 Travers took the lodgings, where he met her, through him. She 
 was daughter to the woman of the house. Whether she acted as 
 servant or not, I do not know ; at any rate she fascinated my de¬ 
 luded relative ; but if the right will had not turned up, she should 
 have had a tussle for the property.” 
 
 “ Do you imagine she will ever try to disturb your possession of 
 it ?” asked Kate, leaning forward to replace a piece of coal which 
 had fallen from the fire. 
 
 “ No ; that is quite out of the question. The will could not be 
 upset; but I confess it is very hard lines for her to be sent adrift 
 upon the world without a rap, after living in luxury for a few 
 years.” 
 
 “ It seems cruelly unjust.” 
 
 “ It does,” returned Galbraith thoughtfully ; “ and I always fancy 
 poor old Travers must have found out some wrongdoing of hers to 
 induce him to make so great a change in his intentions. My own 
 idea,” he went on, as if speaking to himself, “ is that there was 
 something going on between her and that clerk.” 
 
396 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ What clerk ?” asked Kate quietly. 
 
 “ Ford, the manager. He knew her before her marriage—knew 
 her well, from what he has admitted to me ; and there was always 
 something devilish queer, a sort of sentimental kind of restraint in 
 his tone when speaking of her, that suggested the notion that all 
 was not right. Then there was the five hundred pounds bequeathed 
 to Ford in the first will, and never mentioned in the second. I 
 think it is all very suspicious !” 
 
 “ What do you suspect ?” said Kate, rising and taking a paper 
 screen from the chimneypiece to shade her face. 
 
 “ Various delinquencies,” returned Galbraith, with a grim smile. 
 “ Perhaps they agreed to marry and share the money after the 
 poor old fellow’s death. If such a thing came to his knowledge— 
 and a stray letter or a moment’s incaution might betray them— 
 such a will as Travers left would be the best sort of revenge.” 
 
 “ But have they married—this Mr. Ford and your friend’s 
 widow?” asked Kate. 
 
 “ No—not that I know of ; though they may. I can hardly be¬ 
 lieve Ford to be as ignorant of her whereabouts as he pretends. 
 They may have married privately, but in any case I do not think 
 either can disturb me. I hope you are as safe to win your cause, 
 whatever it may be, as I am in my possession !” 
 
 “ I should expect any wickedness from a woman base enough to 
 plan marriage with another during her husband’s lifetime.” 
 
 “ Well, it is only my supposition, Mrs. Temple, and you must 
 remember her perception of right and wrong was no doubt much 
 less delicate and acute than that of a woman of your class. It is 
 absurd to attribute the feehngs and motives of our grade to those 
 in a lower strata.” 
 
 “ ‘ My class,’ ‘ our grade,’ ” repeated Kate, turning her eyes full 
 upon him. “ What difEerence is there between your cousin’s wife 
 and myself ? I keep a small shop—I let lodgings-” 
 
 “ With as fatal a result,” put in Galbraith, an unusual sparkle of 
 fun gleaming in his eyes. The remark was irresistible. 
 
 “ Hush, hush !” returned Kate good-humouredly, pleased at the 
 lightness of his tone. “ We have agreed to forget all temporary 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 397 
 
 insanities ; but wby should not this lady—well, this young woman 
 —not possess as keen a sense of honour as you credit me with ?” 
 
 “ Because it’s not natural. She might be honest enough to keep 
 from any wrongdoing during her husband’s lifetime, but not have 
 the delicacy to resist planning what would do him no actual 
 material harm. It is the associations, the habits of life, the tone 
 of every one and everything around that makes a gentlewoman 
 what she is, or ought to be.” 
 
 ‘ Ought to be’ is well put in. Sir Hugh. Does nature, which is 
 after all the groundwork for our embroideries—forgive a profes¬ 
 sional illustration—does nature count for nothing ? The true 
 kindly instincts of the heart—and, remember, the highest good 
 breeding is but the outward and visible sign of this inward grace— 
 will often make the humblest woman act with both delicacy and 
 tact. Have you never met with absolute vulgarity in high places ? 
 And let me assure you, though you choose to imagine me—I scarce 
 know what—my people are and were what I am, shopkeepers, not 
 on a large scale.” 
 
 “ I do not care what they were. I only know you look like a 
 princess very slightly disguised.” As Galbraith said this he leant 
 his arms upon the table, looking straight at her, pleasantly, frankly, 
 but not in the least like a lover. 
 
 “ I claim to be more than a princess, whatever my faults may 
 be,” returned Kate, speaking softly as if to herself. “ I claim to 
 be a true-hearted woman.” 
 
 A silence ensued, which both felt to be dangerous, yet Galbraith 
 dared not speak. At length Kate’s thoughts, having shot along 
 some curiously interwoven lines of association, suddenly stopped 
 on the topic of Galbraith’s antagonism. 
 
 “ But why have you so strong an antipathy to this woman—this 
 widow ?” 
 
 “ I certainly had a very strong antipathy to her.” 
 
 “ Had ?” repeated Kate. “ Is it, then, passed by ?” 
 
 “ Well, yes ; one generally feels more amiable to a defeated 
 enemy.” 
 
 “ True ; still, why did you hate her ? Did she injure you ?” 
 
398 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ She did. She extinguished the hopes of my whole life,” re¬ 
 turned Galbraith earnestly. “ Travers always led me to suppose 
 I was to be his heir, and I had perfect trust in his justice. He was 
 as cold and dry and hard as a piece of granite, and he was a gentle¬ 
 man of the same blood as myself ; if it did not sound absurd to 
 talk of sympathy (I have picked up the word from you, Mrs. 
 Temple) between two such men as Travers and myself, I should 
 say there was a good deal. I really felt like a son, or rather a 
 younger brother, towards him. If he had come to grief, I would 
 have shared my last shilling with him ; not as a mere duty, for I 
 owed him that much, but gladly ; and then to find him throwing 
 me over for a mere bit of vulgar prettiness, a girl nearly young 
 enough to be his grand-daughter—not even a gentlewoman !—at 
 his age !—I never felt so disgusted, by Heaven 1 I was as much 
 cut up at having my respect for the old man destroyed, as at seeing 
 my prospects go overboard. Hor do I believe Travers would ever 
 have been so unjust, so unlike himself, if a strong pressure had not 
 been brought to bear upon him. I think his ultimate action proves 
 that he found he had made a mistake, and was anxious to atone. 
 Still he must have had some strong reason for disinheriting the 
 wjfe ; and they lived peacefully together to the last. That is the 
 strangest part of the story,” added Galbraith thoughtfully. 
 
 “ It is indeed,” said Kate, who had listened with avidity and a 
 beating heart to this long speech—unusually long for Galbraith— 
 and now only forced herself to speak, lest her silence should per¬ 
 mit him to wander from the subject. “ I cannot, indeed, wonder 
 at your hating this obnoxious woman.” She was unconscious of 
 the earnest, appealing gaze she poured into his eyes as she spoke, 
 but it riveted his attention, and swept the wicked widow and his 
 wrongs out of his thoughts. “ Still,” urged Kate, speaking soft 
 and low, “ she may have been innocent of any intention to harm 
 you. She might have been very poor and desolate, as I think I 
 suggested to you once before, and poverty is more terrible than 
 you can know—real poverty. "When your kinsman asked her to 
 be his wife, she knew nothing of you or your hopes; she may 
 never have influenced him against you. Are you sure that in your 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 399 
 
 anger you did nothing to offend this Mr. Travers ?” How strange 
 it was to speak thus of her dead husband to her foe ! 
 
 “ Why, yes. I certainly wrote a letter on the spur of the mo¬ 
 ment which could not be exactly pleasant to him or the female on 
 whom he had been pleased to bestow his name. But I don’t regret 
 it; I should do the same thing again. However, he did not like it, 
 for he never replied, and I only heard vague reports of him for the 
 next two or three years. Then came the news of his death, and of 
 that infamous first will. The widow wrote me an insolent letter 
 through her soiicitors, offering me a third of the property as a free 
 gift; but the idea of being under an obligation to her for what 
 ought to have been my own, was more than I could stand,” and 
 Galbraith, warming with his subject, started up as if to pace the 
 room ; but its narrow limits forbade that favourite exercise, so he 
 resumed his seat, and listened attentively to his companion’s words. 
 
 “ It was not such an illiberal offer after all,” she was saying 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 “ I grant that. It was more; it was rather an extraordinary 
 offer, and meant to keep me quiet; for I fancy she knew the 
 second will existed, or feared I might find a flaw in the first. Of 
 course, had I agreed to accept her terms, I could have made no 
 move against her under the first will; and no one could have fore¬ 
 seen that a curious accident should have led Ford to discover the 
 second one. Fortunately he was an honest man, or, rather, rational 
 enough not to risk a felony, so he handed it over to my solicitors 
 or her solicitors, and it was all right.” 
 
 “ For you—yes! Then the sum of your opinion is, that this 
 Mrs. Travers strove to alienate your benefactor’s affections from 
 you ; was found out in some disgraceful intrigue ; was ready to 
 bribe you to silence, and to destroy the will made by her husband 
 under the influence of his just indignation against her ?” 
 
 “ Yes ; that is a tolerably accurate outline.” 
 
 “ Never say again that you are an unimaginative man. Sir Hugh 
 Galbraith,” said Mrs. Temple sloAvly, in an altered voice. “ You 
 have built up an ingenious theory on very small foundation.” 
 
 “ Perhaps so. I confess this woman’s disappearance has puzzled 
 
400 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 me. Sometimes I think it shows that she is all right, with more in 
 her than I gave her credit for. Sometimes I think her keeping out 
 of my way a confession of guilt; still I don’t like to think of her 
 being in want or difficulty. And, by Jove, I will find her ! But I 
 must have bored you with my affairs, Mrs. Temple. One of the 
 privileges of friendship, you know ! I can’t tell how it is, but I 
 think I talk more to you than to any one else.” 
 
 “ I am interested in your story. Sir Hugh; that is the reason. 
 But I tell you candidly I am disposed to take sides with the widow 
 against you.” 
 
 “ That of course. You are always in opposition. Still I fancy 
 I am right in the main. I have heard traits of Mrs. Travers— 
 small indications of the current, that show she is grasping and 
 selfish and mean. She cannot be so pretty either ! Ford said she 
 had reddish hair, and of course she was bad style.” 
 
 “I suppose she was,” said Kate composedly ; “ but if she were 
 to make any attempt to disturb you ?” 
 
 “ Oh, I should fight every inch of ground. If my whole fortune 
 went in law, she should have none of it.” 
 
 “ Would you resist a jwsi claim ?” 
 
 “ It could not be just, you see. Nothing could upset the last 
 will.” 
 
 Kate sighed. 
 
 “ I have been trespassing on you unconscionably,” said Galbraith. 
 “ The shades of evening are closing, and I had better go. If you 
 admit me to-morrow, I will pronaise not to prose about myself.” 
 
 “ To-morrow,” returned Kate dreamily. “ Are you coming to¬ 
 morrow ?” 
 
 “Yes, of course,” cried Galbraith boldly, though for half a 
 second he had hesitated whether he should say so, or ask permission 
 to come. “ I hope to bring you your money to-morrow. When is 
 this solicitor of yours to return ?” 
 
 “ To-morrow, I hope,” said Kate with a sigh. 
 
 “ I suspect you will be in the down-belows until you see him.” 
 
 “ And perhaps after,” she said, smiling. “ Good-bye, Sir Hugh.” . 
 
 “ The fight will be a bitter one,” thought Kate, as she sat alone 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 401 
 
 after her tea. “ But I am bound to carry it through. In justice 
 to myself I must show that my poor husband never for a moment 
 doubted me. I wonder if Sir Hugh Galbraith’s friendship,”—even 
 in her thoughts she emphasised “ friendship,”—“ will stand the test 
 of discovering my identity with ‘ the female to whom his cousin 
 was pleased to give his name !’ Will not the surreptitious winning 
 
 of his-well—regard, be my crowning iniquity ? Oh, Hugh ! I 
 
 do not want to rob you of what ought, indeed, to be your own.” 
 
 But Monday brought no Mr. Wall, nor Tuesday, nor Wednesday ; 
 nevertheless they brought Hugh Galbraith with almost undevi¬ 
 ating regularity to the commonplace little cottage, which was a 
 corner of paradise, though an uneasy paradise to him. 
 
 Kate felt a little worried by his visits. She felt she ought not 
 to allow them ; but she was an exceedingly unconventional woman, 
 and a fearless one. Moreover, she was interested in her visitor. 
 She did not acknowledge it to herself, but she would have missed 
 him. There was a subtle pleasure to her in the sense that she was 
 charming to him; that Kate Temple was thus revenging the in¬ 
 juries of Catherine Travers. Yet she did not intend any cruelty, 
 any real revenge. 
 
 “ When he knows who I am, he will find the knowledge suffi¬ 
 ciently repulsive to give me no more trouble,” she thought; “ and 
 if he is brought to confess that he did Mrs. Travers injustice, he 
 may agree to reasonable arrangements with Mrs. Temple.” 
 
 It was very strange to have him sitting there familiarly with her 
 by the fireside in the dusk of the October evenings, just as he 
 might have sat with her in her more stately home had he come 
 back from India on good terms with her husband. No, not exactly. 
 Hugh Galbraith would never have permitted his eyes and voice to 
 speak the language they often did—friendship notwithstanding— 
 had he known her as his cousin’s wife ; and as she thought so, her 
 heart leaped up in a great throb of delight to know that she was 
 free. 
 
 It was very strange to be thus swept by the eddy of her life’s 
 current into this still pool for an instant’s rest before she was 
 
 2G 
 
402 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 hurried on again into the rapids. Strange, but also delightful— 
 more delightful than she confessed even to herself. But then it 
 was only an instant’s lull. It must not, should not, last longer. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 The only result of Mrs. Temple’s daily visits of inquiry to the 
 office of Messrs. Wall and Wreford was the promised communica¬ 
 tion from Captain Gregory, enclosing a letter of his late father’s 
 with his signature, which she placed carefully with the documents 
 Tom Reed had left her for Mr. Wall’s information. Kate felt 
 greatly tempted to proceed to Doctors’ Commons and compare the 
 writing with that upon the will, but she feared to take any step 
 without either Reed’s or Mr. Wall’s knowledge. She therefore 
 strove to possess her soul in patience till the moment for action 
 came. 
 
 Tom wrote also. He had paid the last tribute of respect to the 
 remains of his chief, and hoped to be in London within another 
 week. So far there was a slight movement in her enforced stag¬ 
 nation. At last, on Thursday morning, when she had gone down 
 to the office more mechanically than hopefully, she found good 
 tidings. Mr. Wall had arrived the night before, had been at the 
 office that morning for half an hour, had read his letters, and left 
 word that he would be happy to see Mrs. Travers the next day at 
 eleven. (She had left no address, not liking to acknowledge that 
 she bore a feigned name at her lodgings.) 
 
 This sudden fulfilment of her long-delayed hope sent her back 
 to her temporary abode somewhat tremulous, with a curious con¬ 
 fusion of thought seething and bubbling rouird oire central idea. 
 “ To-morrow I am to lay the first charge in the mine that is to 
 shatter Hugh’s fortunes ! Will he ever accept the fragments back 
 from the hands that wrought the mischief ?” 
 
 She felt that in her present mood she could not meet Galbraith, 
 so purposely made a long detour in order to reach her lodgings after 
 his usual hour for calling. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 403 
 
 “ The gentleman has been here, ma’am,” said the landlady, as 
 she opened the door. “ He was very sorry to miss you, and asked 
 to come in and write a note : it’s on the table.” 
 
 Kate walked in, looked at it, and then stirred the fire, took ofE 
 her bonnet and wraps, and even folded them up with mechanical 
 neatness, before she opened the missive. How would this straight¬ 
 forward, rather rigid nature judge her? Would she not seem 
 false and double-dealing in his eyes ? Would not his idea of his 
 cousin’s widow be confirmed by the line of conduct she had adopted ? 
 What did he write about ? Perhaps to say he was obliged to leave 
 town and should not see her again. She hoped so ; it would be 
 better and wiser. She opened the note, and coloured with plea¬ 
 sure to find her conjecture wrong. 
 
 “ So sorry not to find you,” ran the epistle, in large, ugly, but 
 legible writing ; “ for I cannot call to-morrow. Obliged to run 
 down to see my sister at Richmond ; but hope to call the day after 
 with some intelligence of your five pounds. I trust you have 
 caught the lawyer at last, and found all right. 
 
 “ Yours very truly, 
 
 “ Hugh G-albraitii.” 
 
 Something had been begun below, and had been carefully obli¬ 
 terated. She had to-morrow, then, perfectly clear for her interview, 
 and for reflection afterwards ; but the day after she would see him 
 for the last time as a friend, probably for the last time in any char¬ 
 acter. Soon he would be a bitterer, probably a more contemptuous, 
 foe than ever. And then the thought arose—ought she to see him 
 again ? Would it not be wiser and kinder to avoid any further 
 interviews ? She blushed to think she had not hitherto avoided 
 them as she ought—she might! Well, now she would check the 
 culpable weakness ; she would be firm. If it were possible, after 
 her interview with Mr. Wall the next day, she would leave town on 
 Saturday, and send a few lines of polite acknovfledgment to Gal¬ 
 braith. Of the lost five pounds they had almost ceased to speak. 
 She felt it was now but an excuse for meeting. Hot altogether 
 blinded by his tolerable assumption of friendliness, Kate had as 
 
 2G—2 
 
404 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 yet formed but a faint idea of the depth and reality of Galbraith’s 
 passion for her. In truth, though mature in some ways, especially 
 in a genial mellowness, resulting from richness of nature rather 
 than the ripening of time, Kate was only learning the A B c of love. 
 As yet she did not ruite recognise the direction in which her own 
 feelings were drifting. The ice of an uncongenial marriage closing 
 over the warm currents of her heart kept it pure and free from all 
 the false mirage-like shadows of the real deity, but ready to receive 
 the fullest, deepest, most indelible impression of the true god once 
 he either smiled or frowned upon her. 
 
 As to her lover, whatever chance of recovery he might have had 
 before, the last week of quiet, delicious intercourse had utterly 
 swept away ; and with all the force of his will he resolved that 
 nothing but her own resolute rejection of him should separate 
 them. Her past might be doubtful—he felt certain she could ex¬ 
 plain everything. That any shadow of dishonour should ever dim 
 those frank, fearless eyes, he would not for a moment believe. 
 Whatever was in the past or future, the spell of her presence had 
 struck the imprisoned fountain of youth and joy that had so long 
 lain congealed in the dark recesses of his soul, and all the world 
 was changed to him. 
 
 Having fully determined to explain everything to Mr. Wall, and 
 arrange, if possible, to leave town the next day without seeing 
 Galbraith, Kate started to keep her appointment. It was nearly 
 two years since she had gone into that well-remembered room, with 
 a suppressed sensation of bitter wrath and defeat, to place the will 
 that laid her fortunes low in the hands of the lawyer, and now she 
 was taking the first step towards the recovery of her rights with 
 feelings not a whit less painful. 
 
 “ Well, Mrs. Travers,” said Mr. Wall a little stiffly, “ this is a 
 very unexpected visit indeed. I thought you had disappeared 
 altogether.” 
 
 “ And you are not the least glad to see me ?” 
 
 She took the lawyer’s wrinkled hand as she spoke, smiling with 
 pleasant reproaclifulness. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 405 
 
 “ I confess I should have been better pleased had you treated 
 me with more confidence, of which I flatter myself I am not unde¬ 
 serving,” replied Mr. Wall, visibly relaxing. 
 
 “ You deserve, and you have my confidence, my dear sir. I know 
 you are displeased at my concealing my abode from you.” 
 
 I am, and naturally. Nor was it judicious to have for your sole 
 confidant a young man—a young man of attractive manners and 
 appearance,” he interrupted. 
 
 “ Instead of one older, certainly, but similar in other respects.” 
 
 “ Ah, my dear lady, that will not do,” returned Mr. Wall, smiling 
 in spite of himself, so sweetly and brightly was this morsel of trans¬ 
 parent flattery offered. 
 
 “ Well, well, Mr. Wall, let us speak seriously. I am going to 
 tell you everything—everything—under the seal of confession. 
 Had you known my abode you would have persecuted me to accept 
 Sir Hugh Galbraith’s splendid offer of three hundred a year, would 
 you not ?” 
 
 “ I certainly would have urged your acceptance of it,” he re¬ 
 turned, entrenching himself behind his professional manner once 
 more. 
 
 “ Well, you see I have escaped that by concealing my where¬ 
 abouts,” resumed his client. “ Moreover, my chief reason for 
 hiding it was to save you the shock you would have probably felt 
 had you known that I had made up my mind to keep a shop, in¬ 
 stead of adopting any genteeler method of earning my bread.” 
 
 “ A shop !” echoed Mr. Wall, infinitely surprised, not to say 
 horrified. “ My late respected friend and client’s name over a 
 shop !” 
 
 “ Considering that you believe your respected client capable of 
 leaving the Avife he professed to love unprovided for, penniless, to 
 battle alone Avith the world, you have no right to exclaim at any 
 honest use I may put his name to,” said Kate very quietly. “ But 
 as I have a higher opinion of him than you have, and never will 
 believe that he was guilty of the cruel will ?/oii accept, I pre¬ 
 served the respect due—you Avould say to his name, I say due 
 to his natural prejudices—and did not put his name over my 
 
406 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 shop,”—a little pause, an arch smile as she pronounced the ob¬ 
 noxious word. “Nay, more, Mr. "Wall; I dropped the name 
 altogether.” 
 
 “ Have you been living under a false name, then ?” asked Mr. 
 Wall dryly, in a tone which implied the highest moral disapproba¬ 
 tion, and not only expressed his real feeling, but was a q^uicl ])ro 
 quo for the tone of quiet rebuke she had adopted, and which 
 nettled the orthodox lawyer, as showing too high a spirit of in¬ 
 dependence for a woman, and a poor woman to boot. Mr. Wall 
 was a very good, honest man, but thoroughly imbued with the 
 “ respectability worship ” which pervades so large and so valuable 
 a section of English life. He flattered himself that he had the 
 presumptuous young widow. Who was after all reduced to her 
 original nothingness by her husband’s eccentric will, at his foot, 
 morally, by the admission she had just made. “ You have been 
 living under a false name, then ?” 
 
 “ Precisely,” she replied, looking straight into his eyes, with an 
 expression he did not quite like, and very different from the smile 
 that played upon her softly-curved lips. 
 
 “ And may I ask if you consider such a proceeding respectable ?” 
 
 “ I really never thought about it,” she said, slightly raising her 
 eyebrows. “ I don’t suppose you think so. Our habits of thought 
 are no doubt widely different. At any rate, I adopted the name 
 of Temple, and started in the Berlin-wool and fancy-work line. 
 You see, my intercourse with poor Mr. Travers developed my 
 commercial faculties,” she went on rapidly. “ I established myself 
 at the little seaside town of Pierstoffe ; and I have succeeded 
 fairly. I determined to wait there in humble independence until 
 I could And some evidence on which to found an attempt to upset 
 the will that robbed me. I have found it, and I am come to lay it 
 before you.” 
 
 As she spoke she drew forth a paper, in which she had written 
 as shortly as possible an account of Tom Heed’s interview with 
 Poole ; the expert’s opinion ; Captain Gregory’s assertion that the 
 will his father signed must have been executed before the 10th 
 of March, and drawing the lawyer’s attention to the great impro- 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 407 
 
 bability that another totally different -will had been made within 
 ten days of that drawn out by Gregory. This she placed upon 
 his desk. 
 
 “ You are really a wonderful woman, Mrs. Travers,” said Mr. 
 Wall, with a sort of reluctant admiration. “ Before I look 
 at this, may I ask who supplied the capital for your under¬ 
 taking ?” 
 
 “ I did, myself. You know Sir Hugh Galbraith could not claim 
 niy jewels. I have been completely on my own resources ; and I 
 owe no man, or woman either, anything.” 
 
 Strange ! in that ofiice she could speak of Galbraith with some¬ 
 thing of her old enmity. 
 
 The lawyer applied himself to the memoranda she had handed 
 him, without another word : even in the eyes of respectability, a 
 woman who can make money is free of this world’s blame. 
 
 Kate sat very patiently while her adviser perused her statement 
 slowly; oh, how slowly! She even forced herself to take up a 
 morning paper which lay on the office table, that Mr. Wall might 
 feel himself at liberty to take his time. But she did not follow 
 the arguments of the leader with much attention. She kept re¬ 
 peating to herself, “ I must not be cast down by anything he says ; 
 he will be sure to decry the value of this information.” She kept 
 very still, just speaking the exact words necessary to answer an 
 occasional question. 
 
 At last, after what seemed a whole hour of suspense, Mr. 
 Wall laid down the paper, stared for a moment or two across the 
 room at vacancy, then, putting his hands in his pockets, he ex¬ 
 claimed, “ This is very curious, very!” Kate refrained from 
 speaking, although he was looking to her for words. “ I suppose il 
 seems to you proof positive that the will under which Sir Hugh 
 Galbraith takes—is a forgery ?” 
 
 “ Presumptive, at any rate. What does it seem to you ?” 
 
 “ Well—” long drawni out—“ strongly presumptive, but not 
 conclusive ; far from conclusive. Has Mr. Reed seen this man 
 Poole ?—seen him, I mean, on this subject ?” tapping the paper. 
 
 “ No. He rather fears opening it up to Poole, who is a silly sort 
 
408 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 of man, and still in the ofi&ce. I suppose I must say Hugh Gal¬ 
 braith’s office.” 
 
 “ I must see him. Though I do not wish to encourage any false 
 hopes, Mrs. Travers, this matter must be looked into.” 
 
 After some pertinent questioning and discussion, from which 
 Kate gathered that the dry old lawyer was more favourable to her 
 views than she had dared to hope, he observed : “ It would be 
 folly to open up the subject without securing ample proof, for it 
 will be a costly battle. I need hardly remind you that justice is a 
 costly commodity.” 
 
 “ It is ; but in this cause I am prepared to sacrifice all I 
 possess.” 
 
 “ And suppose you are beaten ; how afterwards ?” 
 
 “ With this and these,” holding out her hand and then touching 
 her brow, “ I shall never starve.” Then, after a moment’s pause^ 
 “but we must not stir openly till we are certain of victory.” 
 
 “ When does your friend, Mr. Eeed, return ?” 
 
 “ On Tuesday or Wednesday next, I am almost sure.” 
 
 “ I think I shall wait for him before I take any step ; he is a 
 shrewd fellow, as well as I remember, and remarhahly interested 
 in you.” 
 
 “ He is,” returned Kate, smiling at the suspicion of her adviser’s 
 tone. “ He has taken up my cause almost as warmly as if it were 
 his own.” 
 
 “ No doubt, no doubt,” said Mr. Wall dryly. “ I shall, then, 
 have an able and willing assistant in him. Meantime, I shall look 
 over these papers quietly this evening at home ; and I think I 
 should like to see you to-morrow, when I have digested the 
 pabulum you have brought me. Can you call about the same 
 time ?” 
 
 “ Certainly, Mi*. Wall; and if you are not likely to want me any 
 more, I think I shall return to PierstofEe to-morrow afternoon.” 
 
 “ Yes, to be sure. How do you manage about your shop when 
 you are absent ?”—a little emphasis on “ shop.” 
 
 “ I have a very capable assistant.” 
 
 “ Well, it was a curious idea to adopt that line of business.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 40 ^> 
 
 Kate smiled. 
 
 “ However,” continued Mr. ’Wall, “ there is no reason why you 
 should not return to-morrow. I wish to see you only because I 
 wish to give you a more careful opinion than I can offer after 
 such a cursory glance at your case ; and I am most anxious to 
 prevent your exciting yourself with unfounded hopes. These will 
 cases are most difficult, most doubtful ; and, you see, your adver¬ 
 sary is in possession. “ However,” rising in token of dismissal, 
 “ I am sincerely interested in you, Mrs. Travers, though perhaps 
 not so ardently as your friend Mr. Reed, for I acknowledge you 
 have been hardly dealt by ; still, if I could have matters arranged 
 as I should wish, I would not have Sir Hugh Galbraith disin¬ 
 herited either. I always looked upon him as Mr. Travers’s adopted 
 son—a fine, honourable, well-conducted young man ! and if you 
 change places with him, the hardship will be shifted to his 
 shoulders.” 
 
 “ I think with you,” returned Kate very earnestly. “ Believe 
 me, my motive is not to rob Hugh Galbraith, but to right myself. 
 But when I succeed, my dear sir, I shall trust to your good offices 
 to make a juster division between us than will then be legally 
 possible. You know my theory-” 
 
 “ There, there, there,” interrupted the lawyer; “ just as I 
 thought; on this slender suggestion, rather than evidence, you 
 think you have the property in your hand again ! And pray what 
 is your theory ?” 
 
 “ I am not quite so sanguine, I assure you,” said she, smiling ; 
 “ though I confess to believing that at the other side of a range of 
 difficulties we shall find success. As to my theory, I believe my 
 late husband did make a second will, and one far more just, pro¬ 
 bably providing well for me, but leaving the bulk of his property 
 to Hugh Galbraith; and it is for this that the present will has 
 been substituted.” 
 
 “ But by whom, my dear madam, by whom ? There is not a 
 soul interested in the matter save yourself and Sir Hugh.” 
 
 “ That is just what we must find out,” replied Kate. She could 
 not bring herself to reveal her true convictions to that dry old 
 
410 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 lawyer. She was always so ashamed of acknowledging Ford’s 
 feelings towards her, it seemed such a lowering of herself. “ But 
 I must not keep you,” she added hastily ; and, bidding Mr. Wall 
 good-morning, she walked slowly down B—— Street, settling her 
 plans in her own mind. There w'as a train to Stoneborough at 
 1.20, which would enable her to catch a little sleepy, local one to 
 Pierstoffe at five, and so she would be ready for a quiet, peaceful 
 Sunday at home, without any chance of a disturbing, irritating 
 visit from Hugh Galbraith, whose sombre eyes had of late ac¬ 
 quired such a variety of expression, and had begun to produce an 
 effect upon herself she could neither account for nor resist. Small 
 chance indeed of ever meeting him on any terms again. Soon he 
 would be plunged into trouble enough to obliterate any fanciful 
 notions about herself. And then when he knew all! She would 
 not try to imagine his possible condition of mind. 
 
 Coming back to the present, Kate remembered she had put a list 
 which Fanny had sent, of divers and sundry articles required for 
 the “ Bazaar,” in her pocket, and she would now go on to the City 
 and procure them, so that, after her interview with Mr. Wall the 
 next day, she should have nothing to do but to drive to the train. 
 She accordingly made her way to Ploiborn, and took “ omnibus ” 
 to Cheapside. 
 
 It was past four o’clock, and already dusk, when Kate neared 
 her abode. She felt weary and utterly cast down. True, Mr. 
 Wall was on the whole less unfavourable than she ventured to 
 hope ; true, she would be to-morrow in her safe, quiet home ; still 
 her native buoyancy seemed to have deserted her. As she walked 
 rather slowly along, she turned over in her mind the terms in which 
 she would write to Hugh Galbraith. Her note must be friendly, 
 neither too warm nor too cold; slightly playful, she thought,, 
 would be best. Here a hansom dashed by ; the occupant glanced 
 through the window, stopped the driver, descended, and paid him 
 hastily ; turning in the opposite direction from whence he came, 
 he was speedily face to face with Mrs Temple, who had recognised 
 the tall, straight figure directly he had sprung to the ground. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 411 
 
 “ This is a bit of good fortune for an unluck}'- fellow, as I 
 generally am,” said Galbraith, raising his hat and speaking with a 
 degree of animation that formerly was very unusual to him. “ If 
 I had not been looking this side, I should have driven on to your 
 lodgings and missed you again.” 
 
 “ I thought you Avere to be at Kichmond to-day,” said Kate, 
 whose composure was severely tried by his unexpected appearance, 
 the colour coming up in her pale cheek, and then leaving it paler 
 than before. 
 
 “ My sister writes to me to go to-morrow instead, so I have run 
 up to see you to-day,” returned Galbraith, walking on beside her, 
 his eyes riveted on her face for a few unguarded seconds. 
 
 “ And I suppose there is no news of my purse ?” said Kate 
 quickly. 
 
 “ None, I am sorry to say ; in fact, I have come to tell you there 
 is nothing to tell.” Galbraith twisted his moustaches and smiled 
 as he spoke. 
 
 “ It is a long way to come for nothing,” exclaimed Kate in¬ 
 cautiously, and wished immediately she had not spoken, though 
 Hugh only remarked— 
 
 “ For nothing—yes.” 
 
 A few minutes’ silence, and they were at Mrs, Temple’s lodging. 
 Galbraith, Avithout Avaiting for any invitation, folloAv^ed her in very 
 deliberately. 
 
 “ Dear, dear, your fire is near out, ma’am,” cried the landlady, 
 as she threAv open the door of the little front parlom’. “ I Avill 
 bring a foAv sticks and make it burn up in a jiffey.” 
 
 “ Do, Mrs. Small,” said Kate, a chill feeling striking through 
 her Avith a \dsible shiver. “ I am cold and tired.” 
 
 The landlady lit the gas, and bustled aAvay. 
 
 “You look tired and pale,” said Galbraith, advancing to the 
 hearth-rug, and leaning his elboAV on the mantelpiece, while he 
 gazed kindly and gra\'ely upon her. “ I suppose I ought to leave 
 you ?” He spoke with the curious familiarity which had growir 
 up between them. 
 
 “ You may stay awhile if you like,” she returned in the same 
 
412 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 tone, and urged to the words by a strange reluctance to part with 
 him all at once, without a little more talk, perhaps a last argument. 
 The return of Mrs. Small and the lighting up of the fire were a 
 seasonable diversion ; and Avhile the operation was in progress 
 Kate loosened her cloak and took off her bonnet with the easy, 
 graceful naturalness that was one of her great charms in Gal¬ 
 braith’s eyes, seating herself in her favourite low chair, her hands 
 clasped upon her knee, without once looking in the glass to see if 
 her hair was rough or smooth. 
 
 “ And you,” began Galbraith, drawing a chair opposite—“ have 
 you seen this absentee lawyer of yours yet ?” 
 
 “ Yes ; I have had a long interview with him to-day.” 
 
 “ Hence these—not tears, but pale cheeks ?” said Galbraith. 
 
 “ No, indeed ; my interview was less crushing than I feared.” 
 
 “ That is, you are encouraged to go to law ?” 
 
 “ Almost.” 
 
 “ If it is ‘ almost ’ only, take my advice and don’t.” 
 
 “ Your advice ! You are not much of a lawyer. Sir Hugh.” 
 
 “ Perhaps not.” A pause followed. 
 
 “ Do you know,” resumed Galbraith, “ it was only a week yes¬ 
 terday since I met you at H-.” 
 
 “ Only a week ! It seems a year ago,” said Kate dreamily. 
 
 “ It does,” he returned; “ and it seems two or three since I 
 looked up and met your murderous glance the first day you were 
 good enough to write a letter for me at Pierstoffe.” 
 
 This was dangerous ground, and Kate determined to lead away 
 from it as soon as possible. 
 
 “ How can you persist in such absurdity ! It was a sickly fancy 
 of yours that I looked murderously at you. Why should I ?—you, 
 a stranger I had never seen in my life before.” 
 
 “ It was no fancy, Mrs. Temple ! I shall never forget your 
 look, and I have seen something like it since in your eyes.” 
 
 “ There is no use in arguing with you, I know, on that subject. 
 Pray, do you ever feel any inconvenience from your arm now. Sir 
 Hugh ?” 
 
 “ No ; it is all right when I do not think of it. But sometimes 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 413 
 
 ■when I do, I hesitate about using itand he stretched it out and 
 bent it. “ And when are you to be released from your solitude 
 here, and restored to your pretty little partner and Mrs. Mills ?” 
 
 “ I am not perfectly sure yet; not till I see the lawyer to-mor¬ 
 row : but soon, I am sure. By-the-way, Sir Hugh, you had better 
 give me the inspector’s name and address, that I may send him 
 mine at Pierstoffe, in case he should recover my money.” 
 
 “ I can do that for you. It is just possible he might not like to 
 give you your own except through me.” 
 
 “ Will you do this for me then ?” 
 
 “ I will.” 
 
 “ Are you going to make any stay in town ?” she asked next, to 
 break the silence. 
 
 “ My movements are very uncertain. I find my friend Uptm is 
 going into your neighbourhood next week. He is going to stay 
 with Lady Styles, who is some relation of his.” 
 
 “ Oh, indeed !” in a rather dissatisfied tone ; “ and are you to be 
 of the party ?” 
 
 “ No, T am not invited. I suppose I shall drift away back to 
 the very tumble-down home of my fathers, if no good reason arises 
 for staying in the south.” 
 
 “ And have you given up all idea of going into Parliament ?” 
 
 “ Far from it, but I have postponed that project. Next year I 
 shall think of adding myself to the ‘ obstructives,’ as I think I 
 heard you once say, Mrs. Temple.” 
 
 “ I hope you will not! I do hope not!” she exclaimed. “ You 
 really must look about you and read, and convince yourself that it 
 is a terrible waste of time and strength to attach yourself to the 
 Conservative faction. It is impossible to stand still.” 
 
 “ Is it not rare to meet so decided a democrat as you are, Mrs. 
 Temple, among women ?” 
 
 “ I do not know ; and I do not think I am what is generally 
 considered a democrat—that is, I am more disposed to raise up 
 than to pull down.” 
 
 She spoke carelessly, without the earnestness and animation she 
 usually displayed when discussing any topic that interested her. 
 
414 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 Galbraith noticed this, and persisted with his subject, fearing that 
 if any long pause ensued he would be compelled to leave her. 
 
 “ And how far down would you extend your raising system ?” 
 
 “ To any depth where human life exists.” 
 
 “ And then, when all are masters, how would the work of the 
 world go on ?” 
 
 “ Ah, Sir Hugh, you ask that because you do not take the 
 trouble to think! Obedience is not the virtue of the ignorant. 
 Who, in all dangerous or difficult expeditions, bears hardship and 
 privation best ? Who is the most subordinate, submitting cheer¬ 
 fully, for the sake of discipline, even to regulations the wisdom of 
 which he doubts ? The cultivated gentleman.” 
 
 “ Yes, that is true enough ; but in ordinary life cultivated gen¬ 
 tlemen would not be satisfied with rough labour—ploughing fields 
 and making railways; and we mzisf have hewers of wood and 
 drawers of rvater.” 
 
 “ By the time all men are wrought up to such a pitch we shall 
 have found some substitute for hard manual labour, which, by the 
 way, has nothing in it degrading; and God knows we are at so 
 great, so enoianous a distance from even a decent platform of 
 education, and habit—I mean among our lower classes—that the 
 most rigid Tory among you might safely give a helping hand 
 without fearing that a day of disabling cultivation will arrive too 
 soon. But it is always the same. I suppose when slavery began 
 to die out in England, the Galbraiths of that day (I suppose there 
 were Galbraiths then) thought the country was going to the dogs, 
 and that law, order, property, were endangered.” 
 
 Galbraith smiled. 
 
 “ Still, if men are raised to a higher state of intelligence and 
 cultivation, they will demand political power, and we know what 
 t/iai is in the hands of the multitude.” 
 
 “ Not a cultivated multitude,” she replied ; “ we have never seen 
 that. I do not think you make sufficient allowance for the natural 
 common sense of Englishmen. Besides, I have a sort of dim 
 notion that political rights are an education in themselves; a sense 
 of responsibility makes a man think—teaches him self-respect. If 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 415 
 
 a child is for ever in leading-strings he cannot learn to stand alone. 
 The French were in leading-strings all the hundreds of years of 
 their national life, till the supreme moment when, with mature 
 passion but childish intellect, they burst their bonds, and gave 
 Europe a picture awful and horrible enough, but not worse than 
 might have been logically expected.” 
 
 “ You think, then, that we ought to have no political privileges 
 beyond those of our labourers and artisans ?” 
 
 “ My ideas are crude,” said Kate thoughtfully ; “ but I do be¬ 
 lieve that the key to the real position of what is termed the ruling 
 class was given to us, more than eighteen hundred and fifty years 
 ago, in the sentence, ‘ He that is chief among you, let him be he 
 that doth serve.’ ” 
 
 “ You are quite original, Mrs. Temple !” 
 
 “I wish I could think so,” she said, smiling; “but I don’t sup¬ 
 pose I ever had an original idea in my life. My highest attain¬ 
 ment is to understand other people’s ideas. However, I have not 
 converted you—I can see that, nor do I expect it; but I should be 
 pleased if I could persuade you to believe there are two sides to 
 the Conservative question. Your opinions are of some importance, 
 mine have none, except to myself.” 
 
 “ I’m not quite such a pig-headed fellow as you imagine,” returned 
 Galbraith, laughing. “ I shall not bind myself hand and foot to 
 any leader ; but, though I do not like to see the people oppressed, 
 as long as I live I shall do my best to keep them in their place.” 
 
 “ What is their place ?” asked Kate. “ Would you go back to 
 the caste system of Egypt ?” 
 
 But Galbraith had gained his point. He had drawn her out to 
 talk and smile with animation and interest; and odious as political 
 women generally, indeed always, were, there was a simple sincerity 
 about Mrs. Temple’s opinions that made them not only bearable, 
 but pleasant to listen to. He did not pursue the subject. “ You 
 have great facilities for studying politics. I remember you take 
 in lots of newspapers at PierstofEe. By the way, how does Miss 
 Lee get on without you ?” 
 
 “ Very badly, I imagine, which makes me so impatient at being 
 
416 
 
 HER DEAREST POE. 
 
 kept so long here; and I miss her much! We are great 
 friends.” 
 
 “ Yes ; you gave me that idea. Do you never quarrel ?” 
 
 “ No ; do you and—who is your great friend?—Colonel Upton ?” 
 Ualbraith bent his head. “ Do you and Colonel Upton never 
 quarrel ?” 
 
 “ No ; but I don’t know how it would be if we were shut up in 
 a small room or shop together all day, like Miss Lee and your¬ 
 self !” 
 
 “ Well, we are always good friends. To be sure, Fanny gives 
 up to me in everything. I am afraid I am rather imperious.” 
 
 “ I am afraid you are,” said Galbraith gravely. 
 
 “ You cannot possibly know !” she exclaimed in some surprise. 
 
 “ At any rate,” returned Galbraith, “ two imperious people never 
 could get on; but when I hear Upton say that no such thing as 
 friendship exists between women (he is a shocking heathen, Mrs. 
 Temple), I always think of you and Miss Lee. He is equally 
 sceptical, I am sorry to say, about friendship between men and 
 women,” and Galbraith stole a glance at her as he spoke. 
 
 “ One doesn’t often see it, I am afraid,” she said frankly, looking 
 straight into the fire ; “ and it is such a loss. Women will never 
 be in a right position until hearty, honest friendships with men 
 are of everyday occurrence.” 
 
 “ I am afraid, then, your right position is a long way off. It is 
 all very well to discuss opinions and exchange ideas with an old 
 woman, or an ugly one ; but,” continued Galbraith, with a mix¬ 
 ture of fun and admiration, “ when one is talking to a lovely crea¬ 
 ture, or even a pretty girl, one’s thoughts are apt to be distracted 
 by the beautiful eyes that meet your own, or the sweet lips that 
 contradict you!” 
 
 “ Ah, Sir Hugh,” exclaimed Kate, “ you make me understand 
 how it is that plain women have called forth the deepest, truest, 
 highest love ! The feeling that is always being influenced by the 
 accident of personal gifts is ignoble and unworthy.” 
 
 “ Perhaps so,” returned Galbraith, “ but it is uncommonly 
 natural; though I will not allow you to set me down as a devotee 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 417 
 
 of merely physical beauty ! I could not care for a beautiful fool. 
 Indeed, I do not believe a fool could be beautiful ; but I confess 
 that, with me, friendship for a lovely, companionable woman would 
 very soon warm into love—unless, indeed, I had already given that 
 love to another.” 
 
 “ Is he warning me that he is provided with a safeguard ?” was 
 the thought that flashed through her brain as he made a slight 
 pause, and then resumed. 
 
 “ But in that case I doubt if I should have even friendship to 
 spare.” And as he spoke Galbraith leant his folded arms on the 
 table, bending his head towards her with wistful eyes that set her 
 heart beating, and turned her cheek pale with apprehension. 
 
 “ It is a vexed question,” she said coldly. “ Let us hope the 
 happy solution may be found in the future perfection which some 
 think our race will reach.” 
 
 The severe composure of her tone checked Galbraith. He kept 
 silence for a moment, telling himself he must not spoil his chance 
 by precipitation ; and she looked so sad and quiet, and unlike her 
 own frank, fearless self, that a tender dread of disturbing her un¬ 
 necessarily, held him back. He was learning and developing rapidly 
 in Love’s school. Then he would see her again and again—and win 
 his way at last ! 
 
 Meantime Kate looked at her watch. “ I am going to treat 
 you unceremoniously, as an old acquaintance,” she said, smiling 
 away the abruptness of her words ; “ but I have letters to write 
 and-” 
 
 “ And I have kept you too long from them,” interrupted Gal¬ 
 braith, rising, but not in the least rufiled. “ I shall see you to¬ 
 morrow.” 
 
 “ You are going to Richmond, are you not ?” 
 
 “ True ; well, on Sunday, then—and hear when you leave.” 
 
 “ It all depends upon the lawyer,” she returned, in a low voice. 
 “ Good-bye, Sir Hugh Galbraith.” 
 
 He took the hand she held out, pressing it close, tighter than he 
 knew, and kept it, still not daring to trust himself to speak. Kate 
 strove to withdraw it, and grew so deadly white, while she com- 
 
 27 
 
418 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 pressed her lips with a look of pain, that a sudden sense of coming 
 evil struck him. He relinquished her hand, and with a hasty 
 “ Good-bye—God bless you !” turned quickly away. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 Kate was astir early next day, and having settled her landlady’s 
 claims, started away to deposit her luggage at the station before 
 calling on Mr. Wall. She also posted a little note for Galbraith— 
 very short, saying good-bye kindly, decidedly. “ But where is the 
 use of my decision ?” she reflected. “ He is so obstinate, that un¬ 
 less he chooses to give me up of his own accord, he will come down 
 to Pierstoffe again ! I trust I have impressed him with the convic¬ 
 tion that it is useless to think of me. I would not for any con¬ 
 sideration do him an atom more mischief than I can help.” As she 
 thought, how clearly she saw him as he looked across the table at 
 her the evening before, and felt again the thrill his eyes had sent 
 through her, she was quite glad to reach Mr. Wall’s office, that she 
 might get rid of the haunting idea of Hugh Galbraith. 
 
 Mr. Wall had nothing different to say from the day before. He 
 was much impressed by the bearing of the evidence he had been 
 studying. Still, the want of some connecting link, the doubt as to 
 Avhom he should attack, made him hesitate. So the result of Kate’s 
 interview with the cautious lawyer was the same as before. No¬ 
 thing was to be done till after consultation with Mr. Reed. 
 
 “ By-the-way, Mrs. Travers,” said Mr. Wall, as she was about to 
 take leave of him, “ I wish you would let me have your version of 
 the quarrel or disagreement between yourself and Mr. Travers, of 
 which Ford, as well as I remember, made a good deal at the time 
 we were discussing this unfortunate will, and its possible cause.” 
 
 “ Did Ford make a good deal of it ?” she replied, looking at him 
 earnestly. “ It was a trifle, but an unpleasant one. At the time 
 of my old friend and benefactor Mr. Lee’s death, I knew that his 
 grand-daughter, my former playfellow, was left in sore need. I sent 
 her a sum of money, which I could well spare from my ample 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 419 
 
 allowance, but I did not think it necessary to inform my husband. 
 Pier letter acknowledging it fell into Mr. Travers’s hands, and he 
 was more annoyed than I could have expected. He was ill and 
 querulous. I fear I was not as patient as I ought to have been. 
 He spoke to me as he never spoke before or since—as I would 
 rather not remember. Unfortunately Mr. Ford was waiting in the 
 back drawing-room to see Mr. Travers, while this took place—not 
 with closed doors, I regret to say. He overheard, and presumed 
 afterwards to remind me of it. That is the Avhole story, and pray 
 remember, that for nine months after that occurrence I was Mr 
 Travers’s constant, trusted companion. Believe me. Ford has his 
 own object for dwelling on such a trifle.” 
 
 “ Then do you imagine Ford had any hand in substituting this 
 present will for the true one ?” 
 
 “ I do ; and I imagine the date of the will has been altered to 
 coincide with the quarrel.” 
 
 “ Yery extraordinary, very ! A rather groundless suspicion, it 
 seems to me. Why do you suspect him ?” 
 
 “ Because I think he wished to injure me.” 
 
 “ Injure you ! I never saw a man more indignant than he was at 
 the injustice done you !” 
 
 “ Well, Mr. Wall, you must hear Tom Eeed on that subject ; you 
 will accept his opinion more readily than mine.” 
 
 “ I think I always respect your opinion. But you have not told 
 me everything about the quarrel ? It is so hard sometimes to get 
 hold of real facts.” 
 
 “ Do you imagine I pervert them r” asked Kate, as she held out 
 her hand to say good-bye. 
 
 “ No, no,” returned the lawyer, taking it cordially. He was 
 always won over to her by a personal interview, although in her 
 absence the old indignation and wrath against her, for ha-vdng fooled 
 his friend and client, would assert itself. “ I have your address, 
 but I confess it goes against me to write to you under your false 
 name-” 
 
 Home, if one’s abiding place deserves that name, is veiy sweet. 
 
 27—2 
 
420 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 Warm and tender was the welcome which awaited Mrs. Temple 
 (the name seemed quite natural to her when she reached Pierstolfe). 
 It was closing-time when she arrived ; and as she had kept up the 
 fiction even to herself, that Mr. Wall might have changed his 
 mind, and asked her to remain in town, she had not written to an¬ 
 nounce her return. 
 
 When, therefore, she opened the parlour-door, Fanny gave a 
 small shriek of joy and surprise, darting forward to hug her heartily; 
 then Mills came in, full of motherly thought for her probable needs 
 of food and rest and warmth, as the weather was damp and raw. 
 Kate felt all the power that springs from our social instincts—the 
 strength and wisdom and self-control, and all goodness to which 
 love and sympathy help us. She felt she could face her destiny, 
 whatever it might be, with double, nay treble courage and constancy, 
 here in her fortress of home, and hearts dependent on her, than she 
 could in the solitude of London, where her one companion was be^ 
 coming too necessary. 
 
 “ Oh, Kate, dear ! how delightful to have you back again ! I 
 felt so wretched when there was no letter from you this morning. 
 I fancied all sorts of things except your coming back. I am sure 
 you have been worried to death. I declare you look quite pale 
 and thin.” 
 
 “ I have been worried. Fan.” 
 
 “ Now here is some nice buttered toast; you must be perfectly 
 dying for a cup of tea ! When you have taken it, you must begin 
 at the beginning and tell me everything. I never knew anything 
 half so extraordinary and romantic as your meeting Hugh Gal¬ 
 braith. Have you had any news of the purse ? No ! I am afraid it 
 is gone ! And what did Mr. Wall say ? I never liked him, he is such 
 a. stiff old thing. Oh, by-the-way, I had such a nice long letter 
 from Tom; it came by the midday delivery. He hopes to be in 
 London on Wednesday morning, but he will be so busy that he 
 fears he cannot come down for a week to see me—I mean us. And, 
 do you know, he comes back chief editor.” 
 
 “ I suppose so ; and wants to install a commander-in-chief as soon 
 as possible. Eh, Fanny ?” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 421 
 
 “ Oh, he must not be in a hurry,” saucily. “ And, Kate, do you 
 know, I had a visit from that dreadful man to-day !” 
 
 “ Is it possible !” 
 
 “ Yes. I felt frightened to death ; but I shan’t mind now you 
 are here. I was dusting the shelves about ten o’clock, when I 
 heard the door-bell ring violently, as if the door had been pushed 
 open with great force, and when I turned round there was my 
 gentleman, looking a shade more horrible than before !” 
 
 “ How curious ! What did he say ?” 
 
 “ Oh, he asked me how I was, and said I looked as lovely as the 
 flowers in May. Then he laughed so impudently, and said, ‘ Is the 
 missis at home ?’ And I said, very dignified, ‘ Do you mean Mrs. 
 Temple ?’ ‘ Exactly, precisely ; Mrs. Temple !’ he said, in a sort 
 
 of mocking tone. ‘ Well, she is away at present.’ Then he asked 
 when you would be back, and I said, ‘ I really could not tell.’ He 
 seemed very anxious about that, and said at last, ‘ Do you think she 
 will be back next week ?’ And I said ‘ I thought you would.’ And 
 then he took olf his hat, and desired his compliments to Mrs. 
 Temple. I fancied he put a sort of emphasis on your name.” 
 
 “ You think he did, Fan ! Depend upon it, then, he knows me. 
 Perhaps he wants me to give him money ? I shall not do that. If 
 any difficulty arises about my identity, I shall drop my disguise. 
 Yet I want to win my cause first. I want to share with Hugh Gal¬ 
 braith before he knows he is under any obligation to his landlady.” 
 
 “ Poor Sir Hugh ! Did you see him again—I mean after you 
 met him at H-?” 
 
 “ Oh yes, he came several times about my purse.” 
 
 Fanny put her head on one side, and looked a little mischievous; 
 but she did not like to Avorry Kate just on her return home, especi¬ 
 ally as she looked depressed and weary. So, with praiseworthy 
 self-control, she kept silence for a few minutes, hoping that Kate 
 might unfold some more of her London adventures. And after 
 the revivifying effect of a cup of tea she did—that chapter at least 
 Avhich related to her interview with Mr. Wall. But Fanny listened 
 in vain for any further scraps of information about Hugh Gal- 
 bi*aith. Kate named him no more. 
 
422 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ What an unsatisfactory old wretch Mr. Wall is, to be sure !” 
 said Fanny meditatively, when Kate had finished her recital. “ I 
 dare say he will create all sorts of difficulties, just to make out that 
 he is very clever to get over them.” 
 
 “My success or failure does not depend on Mr. Wall,” said Kate, 
 pushing away her cup. “ I see myself how imperfect my case looks 
 without some distinct evidence to fill up the hiatus. I do hope that 
 man Trapes will reappear. I cannot help imagining that he has 
 something to do with Ford, and can give me the information we 
 want.” 
 
 Mrs. Temple settled herself quickly to her ordinary routine, and 
 was to all appearance more absorbed than ever in her business. 
 For the various neighbours and customers who dropped in to wel¬ 
 come her return, she had a pleasant word of greeting—a bright, 
 pointed answer. She bore the brunt of a heavy charge from Lady 
 Styles, in line, as it were, that is unprepared, and foiled her lady¬ 
 ship with charming frankness and beautiful good breeding. 
 
 “ Well,” said Lady Styles, towards the end of the encounter, “ I am 
 very glad you are back. You always know exactly what one wants ; 
 not that I have any complaint to make of this young lady—you 
 are all ladies now, you know. She is very attentive, and all that 
 sort of thing ; but there is no one like Mrs. Temple. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 I Vv'onder if you will turn out a countess in disguise, my dear!” 
 
 “ I am afraid not, even to oblige you. Lady Styles.” 
 
 “ What has become of that agreeable young man I had tea with 
 —ha, ha, ha, ha!—the evening Sir Hugh Galbraith’s leg was 
 broken ?” 
 
 “ He is in London as usual, I suppose.” 
 
 “ Suppose ! Ah, my dear, that won’t do. I suppose one or other 
 of you hear from him every day ? Which is it ?” 
 
 “ Both,” returned Kate, smiling. “ He manages all our busi¬ 
 ness, and that necessitates frequent correspondence.” 
 
 “ And has Sir Hugh never made his appearance since ?” 
 
 “ I do not think he ever visits Pierstoffe.” 
 
 “ Well , so much the better,” nodding her head knowingly. “ Fie 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 423 
 
 was not at all a proper sort of inmate for a handsome young woman 
 like you. You are well rid of him. To be sure, he is not a scamp 
 like his friend, my cousin Upton. He is such a stiff, stand-off sort 
 of creature. I suppose he wouldn’t deign to have the weaknesses of 
 other men. But though Willie Upton is a vaurien., he is such a 
 pleasant fellow, always good-humoured, alv/ays full of fun, that I 
 am inclined to give him plenary absolution. I hope he will get 
 longer leave, and come down to me next week. He is such a help 
 w'hen the house is full. But he is up in town with his chum. Sir 
 Hugh ; and I think he wants me to ask him, but I will not. I con¬ 
 sider that man Galbraith behaved most rudely to me. He refused 
 every invitation I sent him ; and when I took the trouble of going 
 upstairs here, to ask how he was getting on, he was as glum and 
 taciturn as—oh, as I don’t know what.” 
 
 “ Very rude, indeed,” echoed Mrs. Temple, sympathisingly. 
 
 “I want two skeins of floss-silk and half an ounce of wool to 
 finish grounding that banner-screen I bought here last spring. 
 There, my dear, match that yellow and green for me. Do you 
 know, Mrs. Temple, your prices are very high ? Lady Eccleston 
 was spending a few days with us (Lord Eccleston is that great 
 Welsh mine-owner—doesn’t know the end of his wealth, they say ; 
 his grandfather drove black bullocks—you know those long-horned, 
 wild-looking creatures—to the market-town, and never was married, 
 but they don’t mind that in Wales); well. Lady Eccleston was 
 telling me there is a shop somewhere in a street near Holborn 
 where she can get a lovely pattern and the wools to work it, for 
 five-and-ninepence or five-and-ninepence-halfpenny. Now, you, 
 would charge eight or nine shillings.” 
 
 “ I should like to see the pattern and the wools,” said Mrs. 
 Temple. 
 
 “ Ha, ha, ha ! very fair,” &c., &c., &.c. 
 
 Doctor Slade, too, came to welcome the fair widow back. 
 
 “ Seemed quite unnatural not to see your face in the shop as I 
 passed by, though you have not lost much by being away; bad 
 weather banished the visitors earlier than usual. There has been 
 
424 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 a tremendous blow-up at the Turners’. The old man has been 
 very dissatisfied with the elegant Mr. Joseph. He has been away 
 and unaccounted for on several occasions ; but about ten days ago 
 a very fishy-looking individual—a sort of betting-man—swaggered 
 into the shop, half-drunk, w'anting Turner junior ; swore he owed 
 him money, and struck the old man when he attempted to put him 
 out! There’s been the devil to pay, I can tell you. Poor Mrs. 
 Turner had a nervous attack through it, and young hopeful has 
 never come back, but I believe they know where he is.” 
 
 This and much more gossip did the Doctor communicate, and 
 then observed that Mrs. Temple did not look the better for her 
 trip to town—offered to prescribe for her, and, on being smilingly 
 refused, took his shirt-frill, his ruddy, black-eyed physiognomy, his 
 formidable white teeth, and long, lank self away. 
 
 “Why, Fanny dear, this unfortunate young Turner has evi¬ 
 dently been Trapes’s attraction, and in some mysterious way he 
 has recognised you !” exclaimed Mrs. Temple, as soon as they were 
 alone. “ The plot is thickening. I feel so anxious about that man, 
 anxious to see him, and yet fearful.” 
 
 But though Kate thus upheld herself with courage and com¬ 
 posure, her heart behaved itself very differently. The strained 
 feeling of expectation and unrest drove sleep from her pillow, and 
 her ordinary appetite from her meals. 
 
 She felt the deepest anxiety to know what line of conduct Mr. 
 Wall and Tom would decide upon after their consultation. A few 
 lines from the latter had announced his return, but no more. Then 
 she felt surprised, and although she did not admit it even to her¬ 
 self, disappointed, that Galbraith had taken no notice of her sudden 
 departure, or her little note. It was quite wise and proper of him 
 not to write (unless, indeed, he had any tidings of her lost purse), 
 but it was not exactly the style of wisdom she should have ex¬ 
 pected from him. It was not to be wondered at, of course, con¬ 
 sidering the struggle pending between them, that Galbraith should 
 be constantly in her thoughts, but it sometimes troubled her to 
 find how her memory was haunted by his voice, which, though 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 425 
 
 deep and harsh, was far from inexpressive ; by his eyes, which she 
 wondered she had ever thought sombre and stern; by his tall, 
 gaunt, but not undignified figure. How much he had improved 
 since he had been carried into her house, looking like death—and, 
 above all, how fond he was of her ! This crowning merit she was 
 compelled to acknowledge, and yet she scarcely knew the power it 
 gave him over herself. To be loved, heartily, honestly loved by a 
 man in whose mind is no wavering or irresolution or calculation is, 
 to a woman of Kate Travers’s calibre, almost irresistible, provided 
 the lover is personally presentable, and not beneath her in character. 
 Grateful and loving by nature, she could not undervalue a gift 
 because it was cast unreservedly at her feet, as other and lower- 
 class women would and do. At first she had been startled and 
 offended at the abrupt, and she considered presumptuous, manner 
 in which Galbraith had asked her to be his wife ; but the way he 
 had borne her refusal had touched a sympathetic chord in her 
 heart, and now their long friendly conversations during her London 
 loneliness had shown her there was more stuff in her enemy than 
 she had given him credit for. He was not a cultivated nor an in¬ 
 tellectual man, but he was prompt to see his way in whatever 
 direction he wanted to go ; resolute in purpose, with a controlled 
 fire under his cold exterior, that threatened not to be quite so easily 
 managed as she once imagined. Then he was so straightforward ! 
 It made her heart throb to think how he would receive the intelli¬ 
 gence that she had to a certain extent played him false, and won 
 his love while she was preparing to win his fortune too ! 
 
 What would he think of her ? If he despised her, good-bye to 
 love from him! And though she did not wish to win it, how 
 should she like to lose his love ? Would she ever find anything 
 like it again ?—so true, so regardless of circumstances—the most 
 objectionable that could be imagined to a man brimful of class 
 prejudices as Hugh Galbraith was—and hoAV was she going to 
 reward his affection? Would he permit her to act Providence to 
 him, and restore with one hand what she took with the other ? 
 “ He must—he shall !” was generally the conclusion of her reverie 
 
 But this constant struggle in her heart wore her spirits, and a 
 
426 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 secret belief that Galbraith would suddenly appear kept her on the 
 alert. Still a sort of gentle humility, not always natural to her—a 
 sort of doubt as to the rectitude and wisdom of her own conduct— 
 made her most patient and forbearing. Nevertheless, Fanny’s true 
 heart, unerring in its instincts, saw that she was very unlike her¬ 
 self ; and when, at last, about ten days after her return, Kate re¬ 
 ceived Tom’s long-expected report, Fanny was shocked to see how 
 pale she turned, and how her hand shook as she opened the letter. 
 
 The information contained in it was to the following effect: 
 Tom Reed had seen Mr. Wall immediately on his reaching London, 
 and had arranged a meeting with him and Captain Gregory (who 
 was sufficiently recovered to travel) ; they together visited Doctors’ 
 Commons, taking with them the two signatures for comparison, 
 and accompanied by the expert. The result of a careful examina¬ 
 tion was that they considered Gregory’s signature false, Mr. 
 
 Travers’s doubtful, but all agreed with C- (the expert) that 
 
 Poole’s was genuine. “ This,” continued Reed’s epistle, “ is not at 
 all what either Mr. Wall or myself anticipated ; however, we have 
 agreed to take an opinion on the case, and will be guided by it. I 
 have fortunately found out a man who remembers seeing Trapes 
 at the Reepham steeplechase on the date we want to prove, and 
 also remembers that he was with another, who answers to Poole s 
 description. I must get this fellow (he is an occasional sporting 
 correspondent) to go and see Poole on some pretext, although I 
 cannot believe that Poole knowingly signed a forged will. Time 
 will show, and we must collect all possible evidence ; for however 
 morally sure these small indications may make us, they are far from 
 being proof positive. 
 
 “ I shall endeavour, if possible, to run down and see you next 
 Saturday, by which time we may know what course counsel recom¬ 
 mends.” 
 
 “ It will be a long uncertainty, I am afraid,” said Kate with a 
 sigh—a quivering, anxious sigh—to Fanny who had read the letter 
 over her shoulder. I only desire that, for or against me, it may bo 
 soon decided.” 
 
 “ Oh, you must not think of ‘ against,’ ” said Fanny, kissing her 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 427 
 
 brow affectionately. “ It never can go against any one so kind 
 and generous and gentle as you are. I really should feel ever so 
 much happier if you would be just a little cross and unreasonable 
 —^just to relieve your heart, you know! It’s inhuman to be so 
 quiet and—and like an angel, when I know you feel miserable and 
 broken-hearted. The tears stood in Fanny’s eyes as she spoke. “ I 
 know you do,” she repeated ; “ I have seen you angry and sad, but 
 never quite like you are now.” 
 
 Remrcjam V cried Kate, laughing and returning her kiss. ''I 
 will do my best to be disagreeable, if that is any comfort to you. 
 I am rather downhearted just now, but it will pass away, and I 
 shall be myself again.” 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 The day after she had received Tom’s letter, Kate’s nervous de¬ 
 pression culminated in an intense, disabling headache. She bore 
 up against it bravely all the morning ; but after their early dinner 
 she could endure the shop no longer. 
 
 “ I think the air might do me good,” said she to Fanny. “ I will 
 ask Mills to give me a cup of strong tea, and then I wdll creep along 
 fhe beach, and perhaps rest awhile under the broken cliff. It is as 
 bright and almost as warm as summer.” 
 
 “ Do so, dear,” replied Fanny. “ It is the best thing for your 
 head, and I feel quite independent of your help in the shop, quite 
 self-reliant; equal to setting up an opposition over the way.” 
 
 It was a St. Martin’s summer’s day, one of those brief smiles 
 which the departing season sometimes turns to throw back to us 
 before she is quite gone. The morning had been thick, but to¬ 
 wards noon the mist had rolled nearly away, leaving a silvery haze 
 out to sea, under wdiich the water lay blue and still, just stirred 
 wdth a sleepy ripple, and thinly edged with white where it lapped 
 the shore as the tide stole in. Little birds twittered among the 
 I brambles and bushes of the North Cliff, and the click of the cap- 
 ; stan came with a mellow ring across the water from a coal brig, 
 
428 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 which looked fairy-like through the faint mist, where the crew 
 were heaving the anchor. “ This is reviving,” thought Kate, 
 thankfully inhaling the briny air as she passed the North Parade 
 houses, and leaving the path to the coastguard’s landing-place on 
 the left, kept along the beach to where a mass of fragments had 
 fallen from the cliff above and scattered themselves over the sand. 
 There was a slight indentation in the shore just here, so that many 
 of the fallen rocks were never washed by the sea, even at high- 
 water, and were, therefore, more or less covered with a growth of 
 weeds and briars, but the smaller pieces had rolled farther sea¬ 
 ward. Advancing to where the wavelets were stealing up with 
 a soft caressing murmur, Kate stood awhile to enjoy the peace¬ 
 ful beauty of sea and sky, then retreating a few paces, seated 
 herself on a small piece of rock apparently broken from a larger 
 neighbour close to which it lay. She drew forth a number of 
 “Household Words” she had caught up as she left the house, 
 hoping by its help to avoid dwelling fruitlessly on the problem of 
 her own affairs. 
 
 But her thoughts were wandering and rebellious ; they would not 
 occupy themselves with the page before her, but kept darting away 
 to irrelevant topics, presenting dioramas of old scenes—her home 
 at Cullingford, the German school where she had passed some busy, 
 happy, materially uncomfortable days ; her husband’s death-bed— 
 this came back very vividly. 
 
 She had not sat long thus thinking or dreaming when she fan¬ 
 cied she heard something like a step, an unsteady step, stumbling 
 among the shingle which here and there lay over the smooth 
 sand. She did not heed it at first, concluding it was some boy 
 hunting for winkles, or one of the fishermen, most of whom were 
 known to her. But the step approached. With a sudden feel¬ 
 ing of apprehension she turned to look, and beheld a man of 
 middle height, with a red nose, and small, fierce, red-rimmed eyes, 
 a hat not worn out, but though new, visibly bent in at one side ; 
 a sort of green shooting-coat, and leggings buttoned to the knee, 
 but buttoned awry ; a short stick in his hand, and a short pipe 
 in his mouth, completed his very disreputable appearance. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 429 
 
 Moreover, to her dismay, Kate observed an unsteadiness about 
 his knees, a look of severe wisdom in his once tolerable-looking 
 face. 
 
 “ Good heavens !” she said in her heart. “ It must be Trapes, 
 and he is tipsy !” 
 
 The next moment he raised his battered hat with an attempt at 
 high-bred style, and said, “ I think I have the honour of speaking 
 to Mrs. Travers ?” advancing disagreeably close. 
 
 “ My name is Temple,” she returned coldly, but keeping a brave 
 front. 
 
 “ Oh, Temple, is it!” with a burst of insolent laughter. Then 
 suddenly changing to profound gravity, he took his pipe out of his 
 mouth, and waving it in the air gracefully, repeated, “ Temple— 
 quite right in one sense ! Temple is the correct thing—shrine— 
 what you call ’em for a beautiful goddess, eh ?” 
 
 Another sudden peal of laughter, as suddenly turned into stern 
 gravity. 
 
 “ Now, then, Mrs. Temple Travers, compliments being passed, 
 let us proceed to business—I say business ! Let’s sit down and 
 suiting the action to the word, he took the seat Mrs. Temple had 
 just quitted. “ Sit down, won’t you, and we can talk comfortably 
 —lots of room,” he continued, drawing so close to the edge of the 
 piece of rock that he nearly toppled over. 
 
 Kate, dreadfully puzzled what to do or say, frightened at his 
 condition, yet not liking to lose the chance of discovering what was 
 the mysterious link, if any, between him and Ford, said, as civilly 
 and composedly as she could, “ Thank you, I have been sitting for 
 some time, and prefer standing now.” 
 
 “ Oh, well, please yourself, Mrs. Travers Temple. You see I do 
 not like to contradict a lady, but the last time I saw you, you were 
 Mrs. Travers. Yes, you were.” 
 
 “ Where have you seen me ?” asked Kate graciously. 
 
 “ At Hampton Court, with a young fellow called Eeed. Do you 
 know Tom Reed ?” 
 
 “ I do,” returned Kate at once, seeing that the man really recog¬ 
 nised her. 
 
430 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ He is a blackguard—a great blackguard !” returned Trapes, 
 with solemn disapprobation. “ I was like a father to that young 
 man, Mrs. Temple Travers, like a father, ’pon my life ! When he 
 was first up in town, and one of the biggest greenhorns you ever 
 
 came across ; and now-” Trapes shook his head in silence, and 
 
 replacing the pipe in his mouth, essayed to smoke, but in vain. 
 “ My pipe’s out,” said he, again waving it before him. “ A com¬ 
 mon expression, you’ll observe, but there is a good deal of pathos 
 in it for all that. My pipe’s out! I’ve drawn too hard and quick, 
 and the ’baccy is gone, and nothing is left but the scent of the 
 weed, which hangs round it still; so with life—my life—but,” 
 with sudden energy, “ this is wandering from the point. As I 
 w'as saying, I was the making of that fellow Reed. He hasn’t an 
 idea he did not filch from me. ‘ Who steals my purse steals trash,’ 
 eh ? Well, would he lend me a fi-pun’ note now, as between two 
 gentlemen ? No, not to save my life ! And that brings me to my 
 point again. Will you, madam, have the goodness to give me five 
 pounds ? for I wish to be perfectly correct in all my dealings, 
 and it is not my intention to return it.” He lifted his hat as 
 he said this, and replaced it, considerably on one side, with a 
 defiant air. Kate looked earnestly at him, trying to find out how 
 far she might venture to speak rationally. He was not so very 
 drunk after alL She would see on what he founded his claim for 
 five pounds. 
 
 “ And why should I give you money ?” she said, smiling ; “ though 
 you say you know me, I certainly do not know you. MTiy should 
 I give you five pounds ?” 
 
 “ For value to be received,” he returned. “ For ’pon my soul, 
 if you trust me to that extent,” an attempt at refinement of 
 tone sadly marred by a drunken wink, “you shall receive cent, 
 per cent., or rather four or five hundred per cent, on the capital 
 advanced.” 
 
 “ Of course I should be very pleased to secure such a splendid 
 return for so small an outlay,” said Kate pleasantly. “ Tell me a 
 little more about it.” 
 
 “ Ah, ha! Mrs. Temple, or Travers, or whatever you choose to 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 431 
 
 call yourself, you are deep—deuced deep—but it won’t do ! I’ll 
 not let you pump me, and leave me high and dry afterwards. 
 No, no; you must have faith, madam! Look here, now. It’s a 
 
 d-d shame to see a woman like you behind a beggarly counter, 
 
 cheated out of your own, and all by a dirty trick ! Now suppose 
 I-” 
 
 Kate listened with the utmost avidity, seeing which. Trapes, 
 with drunken cunning, broke off suddenly, and burst into a rude 
 boisterous laugh. “ No, no,” he repeated, “ that would be tell¬ 
 ing.” 
 
 Well, you must remember that, right or wrong, I am a poor 
 woman now, and five pounds is a large sum. I might not hesitate 
 if I knew what I am to give it for.” 
 
 “ If you are poor, I am sorry for you. I feel for you from 
 the bottom of this blighted heart.” Trapes’s eyes filled, and almost 
 overflowed with emotion. “ Then, hark in your ear ! as the stage 
 fellows say. I can set wrong right! on my honour as a gentle¬ 
 man.” 
 
 “ Then,” replied Kate, her heart beating, burning to hear more, 
 yet not liking to talk longer with him in his present condition, 
 “ come to my house this evening, and we can discuss matters. You 
 will find me neither unjust nor illiberal. You know where I live.” 
 She bent her head to him, and moved away. 
 
 “ Stop a bit,” cried Trapes, starting up and placing himself so 
 as to cut off her retreat. “ My dear creature, I am exceedingly 
 sorry to be so pressing, but I haven’t a rap ; not a rap, ’pon my 
 soul; not even a screw of ’baccy ! I must have a half-sov., a few 
 shillings to keep me going till to-night, when I hope the supply 
 is ‘ to be continued,’ like Tom Reed’s trash. I am growing 
 deuced hungry, and they won’t give me a crust without the rhino 
 in that cursed hole of an inn. Come now, five bob won’t break 
 you !” 
 
 Kate, moved by a mixture of pity and disgust, put her hand in 
 her pocket. To her regret and dismay—for Trapes’s red-rimmed 
 eyes were beginning to look -vucious—there was no purse there. 
 She must have left it in her morning-dress. 
 
432 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ I am really very sorry, but I have not my purse. I would will¬ 
 ingly give you a few shillings indeed, if I had.” 
 
 “ Now,” said Trapes savagely, and throwing away his pipe, 
 “ that is as shabby a bit of humbug as ever I heard ; and what is 
 more, I shall take the liberty of rummaging your pocket myself, 
 
 and if the purse isn’t there you shall pay forfeit in kisses,- if 
 
 you shan’t.” 
 
 “ Sir,” exclaimed Kate, horribly frightened yet striving to seem 
 composed, “ this insolent folly will do you no good. If you will 
 have patience-” 
 
 But he had already seized her wrists ; his dreadful satyr face 
 was close to hers, when to her joy, her relief, Kate, who was look¬ 
 ing towards the cliff, saw a figure moving from behind one of the 
 largest fragments of rock that lay near, a figure whose gait and 
 bearing she knew well. She was safe now. 
 
 “ Hugh !” she screamed, “ dear Hugh, come to me !” 
 
 He was upon Trapes in an instant. Seizing his collar, he 
 wrenched him away with such force that the half-drunken wretch 
 fell at once to the ground. 
 
 “ What is it ?” asked Galbraith, placing himself between Kate 
 and her assailant. “ Robbery—what ?” 
 
 “ I am no more a robber than you are,” said Trapes sullenly, as 
 somewhat sobered he gathered himself up from the ground. Gal¬ 
 braith’s hand was on his collar again directly. “ Let me alone, I 
 say,” continued Trapes, trying in vain to shake it off ; “I meant 
 no harm, it was only a bit of a joke,” and he struggled hard to free 
 himself from Galbraith’s grasp, but in vain. 
 
 “ You will find it no joke, you dog ! I shall march you back to 
 the police station.” 
 
 “Oh, Hugh, don’t hurt him! He is weak, perhaps he is 
 hungry. I do not think he knows what he is doing ! Don’t hurt 
 him!” 
 
 “ Lot me go,” said Trapes in an altered voice, touched by the 
 genuine pity of Kate’s tones. “ The lady is right! I am sorry, 
 and ashamed I frightened her.” 
 
 “ Let him go,” whispered Kate, and Galbraith, puzzled, but by 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 433 
 
 no means reluctant to be rid of him and alone with her, released 
 his hold. 
 
 “ Take care what you do,” he said sternly. “ If I find you 
 prowling about here, I shall warn the police against you.” 
 
 Trapes slowly and sullenly withdrew, muttering to himself 
 
 “ You are frightened,” said Galbraith, talcing Kate’s hand and 
 drawing it through his arm, where in the confusion of the moment 
 she let it rgmain ; “ you are trembling all over. Tell me, what did 
 that brute want ?” 
 
 Kate could not quite command her voice. She felt utterly in 
 Galbraith’s hands for the moment; and if she let the tears which 
 were ready to come, and would have relieved her, burst forth, she 
 feared the effect they might have on her companion. 
 
 “ Sit down and recover yourself before you speak,” said Gal¬ 
 braith, with infinite gentleness, and he led her to the place from 
 which Trapes had disturbed her. Moving a little apart, he leaned 
 against an angle of the rock close by, while Kate, trying to smile, 
 with white, quivering lips, looked up at him and said as steadily as 
 she could: 
 
 “ He said he was very badly off and wanted a few shillings, and 
 when I put my hand in my pocket I found I had not my purse ; so 
 he would not believe me, and wanted to examine my pocket him¬ 
 self. He was not sober. He did not, I think, intend to rob me.” 
 
 “ It looked very like it; yet he certainly did not seem a common 
 tramp. I think it is my duty to make the police look after him.” 
 
 “ Perhaps so. I will probably lodge a complaint against him 
 myself.” 
 
 “You should do so without fail, Mrs. Temple ! Are you feeling 
 all right again ?” 
 
 “ Nearly,” she said, passing her hand over her brow. In truth, 
 she was much more upset by Galbraith’s sudden appearance than 
 by her adventure with Trapes, besides a natural embarrassment at 
 being alone with him under such circumstances ; his presence, just 
 when she had found perhaps the missing link of evidence, was 
 most inopportune. Nevertheless, come what might, she could not 
 
 help feeling a strange, unreasonable thrill of pleasure at finding 
 
 28 
 
434 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 him there beside her—caring for her. “ But tell me, how is it that 
 you are here just at the right moment ?” she continued. 
 
 “ When I went down to my sister the day after I last saw 
 you in London,” returned Galbraith, “ I found that she had had a 
 quarrel with her husband ; that he was in a scrape, and gone off 
 she did not know where. I was obliged to go in search of him, so 
 I wrote an explanatory note to you, which of course you never 
 received. I had a good deal of running about after Hajcourt, and 
 I did not go to my club till yesterday morning. There I found 
 your very unsatisfactory epistle. It was rather shabby of you to 
 give me the slip in that way, so I took the train to Stoneborough 
 yesterday afternoon, and came on here this morning—called at the 
 Bazaar, was graciously received by Miss Lee, who told me you had 
 gone with a book and a headache to sit on the rocks under the 
 broken cliff. I just came up in the nick of time. Drunk or sober, 
 that fellow must be punished. You are trembling still.” As he 
 spoke, Galbraith sat down beside her, taking one of her hands in 
 both of his, very gently, yet he held it close. 
 
 “ You are always good to me, and I don’t deserve it,” said Ivate, 
 unable to hold the reins of her self-control with her usual steadi¬ 
 ness, her voice faltering while she tried to draw away her hand, 
 not very resolutely ; “ I don’t indeed. Sir Hugh.” 
 
 “ Perhaps not,” he said, gazing at her ; “ but you see it is not so 
 much what you deserve as what I cannot help giving. I can no 
 more help loving you than I can help breathing ! Well, there,” re¬ 
 leasing her hand, “ I will not keep it if you don’t like. You know 
 that I cannot live without you—no, that’s nonsense ! I shall have 
 to live without you, if such is your will. But are you quzie sure it 
 is your will ? Come, Kate, you must hear all I have to say. You 
 have made me so miserable and unlike myself, I think I have a 
 right to be heard.” 
 
 “ It would be so much better not,” she said with trembling lips. 
 She was frightened and bewildered, but the tame and somewhat 
 gloomy tenor of her life had never known such a moment of de¬ 
 licious pain before. 
 
 “ No, it is better we should understand each other.” He leant 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 435 
 
 forward, his arm on his knee supporting his head on his hand that 
 he might look into her eyes. “ I have done my best to forget you, 
 and you, for some reason or other, have done your best to choke 
 me off; but it won’t do. You will perhaps think me a conceited 
 idiot, but I can’t help fancying you like me better than you think. 
 I cannot get the sound of your voice just now out of my ears when 
 you called me ‘ Hugh ! dear Hugh.’ I would give some 3'ears of 
 my life to hear you say so again in earnest. Couldn’t you try ?” 
 and Calbraith smiled entreatingly as he spoke. 
 
 “ It was the terror of the moment,” said Kate, very low. “ I did 
 not know what I said.” 
 
 “ Ay, but you have called me ‘ Hugh’ before, when there was 
 nothing to frighten or disturb you ! Tell me, have I no chance 
 with you ? Why will you not be my wife ? I am a rugged sort 
 of fellow, I know, but there should be no ruggedness in your life, 
 (Jear—all the best I have should be yours,” and he again took her 
 hand. 
 
 “ Oh, don’t talk to me like that,” cried Kate, snatching it away 
 and covering her face ; “ I must not let you. It is quite impossible 
 you could marry me. If you knew everything you would see that 
 I am the last woman you would like to marry.” 
 
 “ My Cod!” exclaimed Galbraith, the colour leaving his face. 
 “ Is it possible there is any real barrier between us ? Is it possible 
 there can be any spot in your past Life that you would wish to 
 hide ?” 
 
 “ Do you mean that I have done anything wrong ?” returned 
 Kate, her face still hidden, her voice faltering, and keeping back 
 her tears only by a determined effort. “ No, there is nothing in 
 my past life I need blush for. It is not my fault that there is any 
 barrier—I mean that there are things—circumstances you would 
 not like-” 
 
 She stopped abruptly. 
 
 “ Is your husband really dead ?” asked Galbraith sternly, Lady 
 Styles’s gossip recurring to his mind. 
 
 “ He is, indeed !” said Kate, recovering herself in some degree 
 “ I am not quite such an impostor as you imagine. But, Sir Hugh, 
 
 28—2 
 
436 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 you are putting yourself and me to unnecessary pain, for I am 
 most deeply grieved to be compelled to pain you ! I acknowledge 
 there is a secret in my past; and, besides, I do not—I never enter¬ 
 tained the idea of loving you—I really do not think I do—at any 
 rate-” She quite believed she was speaking the truth. 
 
 “ I suppose I must submit to be again rejected !” he interrupted, 
 very bitterly. “ I dare say you deserve a better man than I am ; 
 but, such as I am, I could be satisfied with nothing short of your 
 whole heart. I have heard of fellows being content to wait and 
 win a woman’s affection inch by inch ; but I could not stand that. 
 I love 3^ou so passionately, that if you were my wife, and I had a 
 doubt that you were not fully, freely, utterly ray own, why, I 
 should go mad with despair and jealousy !” 
 
 He rose as he spoke, and walked away a pace or two ; then re¬ 
 turning, looldng grim and stern enough, he resumed his seat by 
 Kate, who, deeply moved by his Avords, but nerved to desperate 
 self-command by a sudden sense of the effect they produced upon 
 herself, turned to him, her long lashes gemmed with tears, her eyes 
 soft with the most tender sympathy. “ Do not fear, you Avill be 
 well loved yet by some one more fitted to be your wife than I am!” 
 
 “ That is like giving me a stone when I ask for bread,” said Gal¬ 
 braith. “ Turn to me now, put your hand in mine, and if you can 
 say it with truth, say, ‘ Hugh Galbraith, I love you say it with 
 your eyes, that tell so much ! as well as your lips, and, by Heaven ! 
 I will forget and forgive your past, whatever is in it—there ! I 
 never thought I should say as much to any woman.” 
 
 He held out his hand, and there was a moment’s silence. 
 
 “ I must not, Hugh !” replied Kate, with a deep, quivering sigh. 
 “ Nor do I need to have my past either forgiven or forgotten !” 
 
 “ Then why make a mystery of it ? Mysteries always imply 
 something to be ashamed of.” 
 
 “ I will tell you everything one day,” exclaimed Kate, stung by 
 his tone, and taking a sudden resolution, “ if you still care to hear 
 my story.” « 
 
 “ Ay, but when ?” cried Galbraith, Avith animation. 
 
 “ Before five months from this time.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 437 
 
 “ That is a long way ofE!” 
 
 “ I may be able to do so sooner,” replied Kate, rising ; “ and, 
 meantime, do—do forgive me for causing you much discomfort. 
 God knows I am wretched myself! and try to put me out of your 
 head. I fear—that is, I think—that when you do know every¬ 
 thing you will not wish-in short, do not trouble yourself about 
 
 me. Go away among your friends, and you will see f?r more 
 charming women, and more suitable.” She stopped, for words and 
 voice failed her. 
 
 “ I will,” said Galbraith shortly. “ I don’t like mysteries, and I 
 think you might trust me now. Still, I will claim your promise. 
 Can you not make it three months ?” 
 
 “ No, 1 cannot. And now I must say good-bye. I must not 
 stay here any longer.” 
 
 “ I will not allow you to go alone. I must insist on your taking 
 my arm—that scoundrel may be lurking about. I will go with 
 you, at any rate, as far as the houses. You must let me take care 
 of you so far, Kate. I will not intrude my feelings on you any 
 more. You may trust me. You have said ‘ No ’ often enough.” 
 
 It was a trying and embarrassing progress—Kate’s arm held 
 closely within Galbraith’s. He guided her steps with the most 
 watchful care, but in almost unbroken silence, save for an occa¬ 
 sional inquiry, “Am I going too fast ?” “ Would you like to stop ?” 
 Fortunately the distance to the first houses of the North Parade 
 was but short. Here Kate resolutely withdrew her arm. “ I feel 
 quite steady now, and can go on alone.” He made no attempt to 
 dissuade her, but held out his hand. Kate placed hers in it, 
 frankly, impulsively, and raising her eyes, met his—a long look ; 
 then Galbraith said, “ It must be good-bye, then ?” 
 
 “ It must. Sir Hugh,”—spoken sadly. 
 
 “ And you promise to reveal the mystery ?” 
 
 “ Yes, if you ask.” 
 
 “ And then-” 
 
 “ Leave the future to the ‘ Providence that shapes our ends.’ ” 
 
 “ Am I forbidden to visit Pierstoffe ?” 
 
 “ Yes—at any rate, the Berlin Bazaar—for four or five months ; 
 
438 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 then, if your interest and curiosity are not diverted into other 
 channels, you may write and ask the fulfilment of my promise.” 
 
 “ Kate,” said Galbraith, sinking his voice to its deepest tones, 
 while he raised the hand that still lay in his to his lips, “ it is not 
 all over with me yet ?” 
 
 “ Do not let yourself think so,” she replied earnestly ; and turn¬ 
 ing from him, walked quickly towards the town. Galbraith stood 
 still, gazing after her in deep thought till she had got well ahead, 
 and then slowly followed- 
 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 “ Did you meet Sir Hugh ?” was Fanny’s first question, when, 
 after her day’s work was over, she went up to her friend’s room to 
 see if that horrible headache was any better. 
 
 Kate had availed herself of that excuse to keep out of sight and 
 in semi-darkness till her nerves had somewhat quieted down after 
 the painful, pleasurable, overwhelming excitement she had gone 
 through. 
 
 ‘ Yes, Fan, T met him ; and who else, do you think ?” 
 
 “ I can’t think. Xot Tom ?” 
 
 “ Xo, indeed ; but that dreadful creature Trapes.” 
 
 “ Trapes !” with a little scream. “ And what did he say ?” 
 
 “ Nothing I can depend upon. He was rather—indeed, very 
 tipsy; and among other things he offered to restore me to my 
 rights, but wanted me to give him five pounds.” 
 
 “ Well, then ?” 
 
 “ Oh, he would have been content with an instalment of five 
 shillings, but unfortunately I had not my purse about me. Then 
 he grew insolent, and wanted to examine my pocket himself ; then 
 Hugh Galbraith came and knocked him down.” 
 
 “ You don’t say so ! Why, dear Kate, it is just like a play ; and 
 I do hope that you have promised to marry Sir Hugh. He came 
 in about half an hour after you went out; looking—oh, I never 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 439 
 
 saw him look so well or so bright!—quite handsome ; and so plea¬ 
 sant ! If it was not for Tom, I should not mind marrying him 
 myself.” 
 
 Instead of replying, Fanny felt her friend’s hand clasp hers with 
 a tremulous pressure. 
 
 “ Do not talk of Hugh Galbraith just now,” she said after a 
 minute’s silence. “ I will by-and-by. At present I am greatly 
 troubled about Trapes ; he has disappeared, and I have no idea 
 where to find him. Even if I did, he is such a disreputable crea¬ 
 ture to inquire about.” 
 
 She paused. 
 
 “ Oh, we must find him !” cried Fanny. “ What matter about 
 his disreputableness ? He would not be at such a grand hotel as 
 the Marine; but there is the Marquis of Cornwallis.! and the 
 Shakespeare Tavern. Had I not better catch Jimmy before he 
 goes, and send round to ask ?” 
 
 Jimmy was the errand boy, and Fanny’s most devoted slave. 
 
 “ No, that will not do. I wish I knew if Hugh Galbraith has 
 actually gone,” said Kate thoughtfully. 
 
 “‘Gone!” echoed Fanny in dismay. “Then you have refused 
 him, after all ? I think you are very ill-natured. Why don’t you 
 make up your minds, and share the property ? and we might shut 
 up shop and all be married on the same day!” 
 
 “ Dear Fanny, you do not know what you are talking about. 
 There, you are putting the eau de Cologne in my eyes and making 
 them smart.” For Fanny was treating her friend for severe head¬ 
 ache to the best of her skill. “ My head is better, and I will not 
 lie here any longer. I must write to Tom by to-night’s post. He 
 said he was coming on Saturday ; I will beg him on no account to 
 fail me. I cannot do anything without Tom. I seem quite 
 dazed and stupid.” 
 
 She had risen while she spoke, and was standing before the 
 glass, impatiently, shaking back her long chestnut-brown hair pre¬ 
 paratory to re-arranging it. Fanny, who was always a little 
 lightened when, to use her own expression, Mrs. Temple got into 
 ‘ a state ”—it was so rare—held the candle obsequiously. “ You 
 
440 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 look dreadfully ill, dear,” ske said soothingly ; “ had you not better 
 take off your things and go regularly to bed, instead of twisting 
 up your hair and trying to do impossibilities ? and I will bring 
 you a nice cup of tea and a muffin-” 
 
 “ I believe, Fanny, you consider tea and muffins a cure for every 
 earthly ill,” interrupted Mrs. Temple, continuing her hair-dressing 
 rapidly and deftly. “ The sight of a muffin would make me sick. 
 I want to be up and doing. Don’t mind me if I seem cross. I 
 don’t intend to be, but I feel chained here, while I ought to be 
 rushing hither and thither to secure Trapes, and urge on Mr. 
 Wall; time is so precious, and it seems impossible to hurry things ; 
 just like those dreadful dreams where life depends on speed, and 
 yet one’s limbs are lead-weighted and rigid.” 
 
 “ I would not fret myself so dreadfully,” said Fanny, in a tone 
 of strong common sense. “ If that horrid man is so very much in 
 want of money as to try to rob you, depend upon it he will come 
 here to ask for some.” 
 
 “ He will probably be ashamed to see me.” 
 
 “ Poor creature, I fancy he has forgotten all about shame.” 
 
 “ Come downstairs, then, Fanny. I am ready, and I shall be glad 
 to be near the fire, I feel so shivery. How I wish Tom were 
 here !” 
 
 “ So do I,” returned Fanny, with cordial acquiescence. 
 
 It was considerably past seven when the friends established 
 themselves in their cosy parlour—Fanny stirring the fire into a 
 brilliant condition, sweeping up the hearth, and making all things 
 orderly. 
 
 Mrs. Temple at once sat down to write to Tom, her heart still 
 throbbing at the recollection of Galbraith’s words and tone and 
 looks. Her letter was very short: an exhortation to come with¬ 
 out fail on Saturday, an announcement of Trapes’s momentary 
 appearance, but no word of Hugh. “ If I mention him, I must 
 tell everything, and that is quite impossible. It would be bad 
 enough to tell Fanny, but Tom is out of the question.” 
 
 Fanny had just returned from delivering this epistle into the 
 hands of Sarah, to be posted on her way home, when a low, cautious 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 441 
 
 ring of the front-door bell was heard. Mrs. Temple and Fanny 
 both started. Rings at the front-door bell were rare at that hour, 
 and this was a stealthy, equivocal ring, suggestive of the door-chain 
 and careful reconnoitring. 
 
 “ Who can it be ?” exclaimed Fanny, stopping short in her ap¬ 
 proach to the fire. 
 
 “ Tell Mills to be sure and put on the chain,” said Kate. 
 
 “ I will go too,” said Fanny, with heroic courage. She did so, 
 but considerably behind the valiant Mills, who, candle in hand, 
 advanced to face the enemy. A short colloquy ensued, and Fanny 
 darted into the sitting-room on tip-toe. “ It is Trapes !” she ex¬ 
 claimed in a whisper. “ I told you he would come. He will not 
 give his name, and Mills will not let him in. Shall you venture to 
 see him ?” 
 
 “ Yes, I must, though I don’t half like it. But, Fan, we are 
 three to one. Do you think he is sober ?” 
 
 “ He seems very quiet.” 
 
 “ Oh, go and bring him in,” cried Kate impulsively. 
 
 “ Mrs. Temple will see the gentleman,” said Fanny demurely, ad¬ 
 vancing to the door. Mills uttered indistinct yet unmistakable 
 disapprobation, let down the chain, and Trapes entered. 
 
 He had endeavoured to impart an air of respectability to his 
 attire. The dented hat had been restored to shape, though the 
 mark of its misfortunes could not be obliterated. A dark overcoat 
 in good preservation made him look a trifle less raffish, while both 
 tie and collar were straight and in good order. 
 
 “ Circumstances which I will explain to Mrs. Temple compel me 
 to call at this unreasonable hour,” said Trapes, in the best manner 
 he could recall from his better days, as he stepped in and took off 
 his hat. 
 
 “ This way, if you please,” returned Fanny, opening the parlour- 
 door. 
 
 Trapes bowed and entered. Fanny hesitated to go or stay, but 
 at a sign from her friend, follow'ed him. 
 
 “ You wish to speak to me,” said Mrs. Temple, who had risen, 
 and was standing by the table. 
 
442 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ Excuse me,” said Trapes, still in a state of elegance, “ but my 
 communications are for you alone ; may I request this young lady 
 to leave us ?” 
 
 “ I have no secrets from Miss Lee,” returned Kate. “ Even if 
 she goes away now, I shall tell her what you tell me an hour 
 hence.” 
 
 “ Still,” replied Trapes, “ considering what sages (ill-bred old 
 buffers, I grant) say of confiding a secret to one woman, it is not 
 very prudent to reveal it to a brace.” 
 
 “ You will tell me no secret without her,” said Kate quietly and 
 firmly, “ for I will not speak to you alone, and if your secret is to 
 do me any good, it must be very generally known.” 
 
 “ Ay, the part that concerns you ! However, Mrs. Temple, I 
 cannot blame you after my disgraceful conduct to-day,” continued 
 Trapes, with an air of penitence ; “ part of my errand here this 
 evening was to crave your pardon. I am heartily ashamed. I can 
 only say that I was under the influence of the demon drink, to 
 which I have been driven by misfortunes not all deserved—the base 
 
 ingratitude of-but,” interrupting himself loftily, “ I did not 
 
 come here to complain about the inevitable ! May I hope you will 
 forgive me ?” 
 
 Fanny crept close to Kate, in a state of fear, dashed with acute 
 curiosity. 
 
 “ I do forgive you,” said the latter gently. “ But it is very sad 
 to reduce yourself voluntarily to a condition in which all the in¬ 
 stincts of a gentleman, which you seem to possess, are lost.” 
 
 “ It is—it is, by George !” cried Trapes, heartily and naturally. 
 “ However, it’s never too late to mend,” he went on, taking the 
 chair indicated to him ; “ perhaps I may recover myself yet. Any¬ 
 how, madam—Mrs. Temple, as you wish to be called—I shall not 
 forget the kindly manner in which you interceded for me with that 
 strong-fisted ruffian who knocked me over—not but that I would 
 have done just the same in his place ! I was always disposed to be¬ 
 friend a lady. I am especially so disposed towards this particular 
 lady”—a bow to Mrs. Temple; “but”—a long-drawn “but”— 
 “ it is my duty to see that my impulses square with my interests.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 443 
 
 Here Trapes drew forth with a flourish a large pocket-handkerchief, 
 bordered by a pattern of foxes’ heads, and used it audibly. 
 
 “ You are very good,” returned Kate, looking steadily at him. 
 “ Now perhaps you will tell me the object of your visit ?” 
 
 “ Certainly, madam,” he returned, then paused, eyed Fanny with 
 some irresolution, and returned his handkerchief to his pocket. 
 “My object—ahem—is simple. It is, in the first place, to obtain 
 the—the advance of ten shillings you were good enough to desire 
 me to call for, when you found yourself minus your purse this 
 afternoon.” 
 
 All Trapes’s natural and acquired impudence was restored by the 
 sound of his own voice. 
 
 “ I do not think I named any sum,” said Kate, smiling, “ and I 
 think your conduct exonerates me from any promise.” 
 
 “ Very logical,” said Trapes. “ Nevertheless, a lady like you is 
 not going to sell a poor devil with such a pleasant smile as that ?” 
 
 “ I shall give you a trifle,” she returned ; “ but before doing so, 
 I should like to have seme idea in what way you can serve me. I 
 do not want you to tell all you know, but prove to me that you do 
 know something.” 
 
 “ Deucedly well put, Mrs. Travers—Temple, I mean. Well, then, 
 I can prove that your late husband’s will—I mean the one ad¬ 
 ministered by Sir Hugh Galbraith—is a forgery ! I can produce 
 the man who drew it out, two or three months after Mr. Travers’s 
 death, and I can produce the man who employed him to do it.” 
 Trapes pulled up short, with a triumphant Avink. 
 
 “ You can do all this !” exclaimed Kate, her eyes fixed upon him. 
 “ Then why have you not enabled me to assert my rights before ?” 
 
 “ ’Pon my soul, I did not know till last spring how shamefully 
 you had been cheated. Then I did not knoAV where you were, and 
 I always hke to deal with the principal.” 
 
 “But you kneAV Tom Reed!” cried Fanny indignantly; '■'‘he 
 would have told you.” 
 
 “ No, he wouldn’t,” said Trapes quickly. “ At any rate, I think 
 I asked him ; but my head,”—addressing Mrs. Temple—“ is not 
 quite so clear as it might be. Be that as it may, I have shown you 
 
444 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 my hand pretty frank. There’s the outline of what I can do. What 
 are you prepared to give for the details ?” 
 
 “ I am too much taken by surprise to answer you,” returned Kate, 
 changing colour visibly, quivering all through with a strange mix¬ 
 ture of feelings—exultation and fear, pain and pleasure. “ If you 
 are quite sure of what you state, how is it that you do not reveal 
 all from a simple sense of right ?” 
 
 “ Because I am not a simpleton, my dear madam,” said Trapes, 
 with an indescribable wink. “ I am poor—infernally poor. I have 
 been driven and chivied, and sold right and left all my life, and I 
 want a trifle to keep me going for the rest of my days. Now I have 
 told you the sum total I know ; but, by all that’s good, the rack 
 shall not draw the particulars from me, unless I have some profit.” 
 Trapes closed his lips firmly as he ceased to speak. 
 
 Kate felt dreadfully puzzled. She must not seem too eager, she 
 must not lose the information. She did a little mental calculation 
 during the momentary silence which ensued. This man had evi¬ 
 dently been hanging on Ford since the spring, when he had gone 
 to Tom Reed to inquire about him. He had then either exhausted 
 or quarrelled with Ford—probably both ; if so, Trapes’s only chance 
 of turning his secret to account was with herself. It would be too 
 bad if Ford was ruined, and the baser of the two rewarded. Her 
 strong inner conviction of Ford’s guilt gave her a key to the position 
 which her shrewd legal adviser did not possess. 
 
 “ Well, Mr. Trapes,” she said at length (it was the first time she 
 had mentioned his name—he looked up sharply), “ I am still at a 
 loss to answer. I do not know how far I might injure myself 
 legally by entering into any bargain with you. I really can say or 
 do nothing without Mr. Reed’s advice. I expect him on Saturday ; 
 come here and talk matters over with him. I am not indisposed to 
 assist you, Mr. Trapes. I have heard Mr. Reed speak of you as a 
 man of excellent abilities, but unfortunate.” 
 
 “ Oh-his patronage !” interrupted Trapes impatiently ; “ he 
 
 is rather a keen hand to deal with. But as you like, Mrs. Travers 
 —beg pardon, Mrs. Temple. If you don’t think my information 
 worth a trifle, why I may as well bottle it up. I am not sure I can 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 445 
 
 see Reed on Saturday. I’m due at BlufiEton on Saturday. I came 
 here in the best of good feeling towards you, though that tall chap 
 has warned the police against me. I had gone into the waiting- 
 room at the station to rest a bit, and I saw him ; he was just oppo¬ 
 site the window, talking to a constable and describing me, till he 
 stepped into the train and started. I had to slink out pretty quick, 
 or I would have had more questions to answer than was agreeable. 
 Yet I stuck to my text, and came to give you what help I could. I 
 cannot say you have shown much gratitude.” 
 
 “ I am far from ungrateful, Mr. Trapes,” replied Kate very 
 quietly and firmly. “ But, you must see for yourself, that in such 
 a case it would be absurd of me to make you any promise. I do 
 not yet know how far your information may be available.” 
 
 “ I should only ask a conditional promise,” he interrupted. 
 
 “ I can only repeat, Mr. Trapes, that without Mr. Reed I can do 
 nothing. You may be quite sure that I am eager to assert my 
 rights, and I am not the sort of woman to be ungrateful; but, as 
 to meeting Mr. Reed, you must do what you think best. It might 
 be,” she added, after an instant’s pause, in which a sudden flash of 
 thought suggested a stroke she would probably not have played had 
 she reflected, “ it might be more to your interest to make your con¬ 
 fession to Mr. Ford.” Her eyes were on Trapes as she spoke, and 
 though he kept his countenance with tolerable success, there was a 
 momentary look of blank astonishment, instantly covered by an 
 insolent laugh. 
 
 “ And who the deuce is Ford, when he is at home ?” 
 
 “ I need not describe him. You know probably more of him 
 than I do.” 
 
 “ Not I,” he returned carelessly. ‘‘Well, then, I suppose what 
 you say is not so unreasonable. If, on reflection, I think it advis¬ 
 able to meet Reed here on Saturday, I will do so.” 
 
 “ Meantime,” said Mrs. Temple, willing to conciliate him, “ what¬ 
 ever course you decide upon I shall be happy to lend, or let you 
 have”—amending her phrase with a smile—“the half-sovereign 
 we were talking about.” And draAving one from her purse, she 
 laid it within his reach. 
 
446 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ I must say that is acting like a trump,” cried Trapes, clutching 
 it eagerly. “ You couldn’t make it a whole sov., eh ?” 
 
 “ I cannot, indeed ; you see I am far from rich.” 
 
 “ Well, well, come to terms with me, and you may ride on velvet 
 the rest of your life.” 
 
 “ We will see about it. Good-evening, Mr. Trapes.” 
 
 She bowed him out politely but decidedly, and he retired, Fanny 
 holding a candle, and locldng, bolting, and chaining the door care¬ 
 fully after him. 
 
 “ What a fearful, dreadful, dishonest creature !” she cried when 
 she was safe in again, sitting down on the side of a chair. “ The 
 whole place smells of bad tobacco ! Why would you not promise 
 anything, Kate ? I am afraid he will not tell a word that will do 
 you any good unless you give him some money. Do you really 
 think he knows all he says ?” 
 
 “ I do ; but I must not have anything to do with him ; I must 
 leave him to Tom. Oh, Fanny, there is an awful time coming ! I 
 wish I was through it. Imagine having to prosecute Mr. Ford for 
 forgery—he was so respectable and kind and obliging—and then 
 Hugh Galbraith ! I do not seem able to face it all.” 
 
 “ No, indeed. I am sure it is enough to turn your brain. But 
 as to Hugh Galbraith,” insinuatingly, “ you said you would tell me 
 all about him.” 
 
 “ And I will, Fan, I will! but not now. I could not now—indeed 
 I could not—I want to think. Give me my writing-book.” After 
 arranging her writing materials as if about to begin a letter, Kate 
 suddenly laid down her pen. “ No, I shall not tell Mr. Wall till I 
 have seen Tom. Fanny, do take your work and sit opposite to me ; 
 I cannot bear you to creep about putting things away in that dis¬ 
 tracting quiet fashion. Ah, dear, dear Fan ! how cross and un¬ 
 reasonable I am—and to you who have been such a help and a 
 comfort to me during my eclipse.” 
 
 “ Have I really ?—then I am worth something. Never mind, the 
 eclipse is nearly over, and won’t you blaze out gloriously by-and- 
 by!” 
 
 “ Heaven knows ! I fear the future more than I can say. I 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 447 
 
 feel it is just a toss-up, apart from success or failure, wliether my 
 lot is to be happy or miserable ; but it might be—oh, so happy !” 
 
 “ I know,” said Fanny significantly, and took up her needlework 
 with her usual cheerful submission. 
 
 Mrs. Temple closed her writing-book, and drawing her chair to 
 the fire, sat there in deep thought the rest of the evening, occa¬ 
 sionally addressing a disjointed observation out of her meditations. 
 
 The night was nearly sleepless. At first the fatigue of the many 
 emotions through which she had passed insured her an hour of 
 forgetfulness, but she was disturbed by dreams. Again and again 
 Hugh Galbraith stood before her with outstretched hand, asking 
 her to place hers within it for ever, and she woke, her heart beat¬ 
 ing wildly, and sobbing out the words, “ Yes, for "ever, Hugh !” 
 
 Then her busy brain set to work revolving the events of the 
 day, picturing their results—the most terrible was the impending 
 ruin of Ford. 
 
 As regarded Galbraith, she was not quite without hope. But 
 Ford—how could she spare him ? A daring project suggested it¬ 
 self : she thought long, and turned it on every side ; then, slipping 
 gently out of bed, she lit her candle, wrapped herself in her dress¬ 
 ing-gown, and stole softly, noiselessly downstairs to the shop 
 parlour. Here she took out paper and pen, traced a few lines, 
 enclosed them in an envelope, directed and stamped it, placed the 
 letter carefully in her pocket, and crept back as noiselessly as she 
 had descended. 
 
 The changefulness of the English climate asserted itself next 
 morning—all trace of St. Martin’s summer had disappeared. A 
 stiff south-easter was lashing the bay into foam and fury, and 
 driving stinging showers of fine rain that seemed trying to get 
 down, with only occasional success, against the windows and into 
 nooks with bitter vehemence. 
 
 “ And you have been out this wretched morning,” said Fanny 
 reproachfully, as Kate joined her at breakfast. 
 
 “ I have, I could not help it, I wanted so much to go; and I 
 think a brisk walk has done me good.” 
 
448 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “More harm than good, I suspect,” returned Fanny disap¬ 
 provingly : but she stopped there, for Kate’s heavy eyes and 
 anxious expression disarmed her. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 Welcome as he ever was, Tom Reed was perhaps never so 
 anxiously looked for as on the present occasion. Kate felt that he 
 only could disentangle the ravelled skein of her affairs ; that he only 
 could deal with Trapes ; and his tact so manipulate the difficulties 
 with which her relations to Galbraith bristled, as to effect a fair 
 division of the property she hoped to prove her own, without let¬ 
 ting Galbraith know her identity till it was accomplished. 
 
 Kate enjoyed the rare advantage of being in sympathy with her 
 adviser. Generally an adviser is an enemy, whose opinions, ranged 
 under a different banner from one’s own, are to be in some way 
 circumvented or twisted into accord with the advised ; or, possess¬ 
 ing sufficient weight to impose them upon the hearer, they are so 
 often acted upon in an unwilling spirit as to neutralise their pos¬ 
 sible good effect. 
 
 But there was a real accord between Tom Reed and the young 
 widow; even when they differed, each knew that he or she was 
 thoroughly understood by the other, 
 
 Fanny was of course in a state of unconcealable joy. She had 
 stolen half an hour in the afternoon to compound a lobster currie 
 for the late dinner or early supper at which Tom was expected. A 
 low and mundane method of preparing for a lover’s reception, per¬ 
 haps, in the reader’s opinion, but—ask the lover’s ! 
 
 The trains between Stoneborough and Pierstoffe were by no 
 means patterns of punctuality, and the friends agreed not to ex¬ 
 pect Tom till quite half an hour after he was due. That half an 
 hour was nearly exhausted, when their attention was diverted by 
 the entrance of Mills with a note, an untidy note without an en¬ 
 velope, and fastened by a wafer. It was directed to T. Reed, Esq., 
 in a very intoxicated-looking hand. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 449 
 
 “ This has just been brought by a boy from the Shakespeare Inn, 
 ma’am, and he wants to know if Mr. Tom is come.” 
 
 “ Say he has not, but we expect him every moment,” replied Mrs. 
 Temple, scanning the note critically. “ This is from Trapes, no 
 doubt.” 
 
 “ Don’t you think we might open it ?” insinuated Fanny, laying 
 a couple of covetous little fingers on it. “ It is all about yourself, 
 of course. I really think you might read it, Kate.” 
 
 “ You impatient puss ! I think we might wait for Tom to read 
 his own correspondence. He will be here in a quarter of an hour 
 if he comes at all.” 
 
 “ Ah, Kate, that is a cruel ‘ if’!” 
 
 “ Never fear. Fan- There, there is some conveyance stop¬ 
 
 ping at the door. Here he is, and I shall run away !” 
 
 “ Indeed, Kate, indeed you need not!” 
 
 But Kate was gone. The next moment a hearty hug, a long, 
 loving kiss, put everything and every one save the donor out of 
 Fanny’s head. 
 
 “ It seems a hundred years since I saw you, my darling,” cried 
 Tom, who, though looking a little thin and worn, was in high 
 spirits and full of animation. “You little, ungrateful, saucy 
 coquette ! you are as blooming and bright as if I had been at your 
 elbow all the time ! Where is the pale cheek and tear-dimmed 
 eyes that ought to show the sincerity with which you mourned my 
 absence, and the severe mental arithmetic you exercised counting 
 the days till I came ?” 
 
 “ Ah, Tom, I should have had a dash of uncertainty to reduce 
 me to the proper condition of paleness and dimness. But I know 
 you, and I am at resta small responsive hug, and some half- 
 uttered ejaculations interrupted, as may be imagined. 
 
 “ I see I do not go the right way to w^ork to show what a valuable 
 article I am !” cried Tom. 
 
 “ If you worried, or gave me any trouble, I should not care a 
 straw about you,” said Fanny, with a pretty grimace. “Now let 
 me call Kate, she is dying to see you.” 
 
 “ I think she might give us a few minutes more law.” 
 
 29 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 450 
 
 “ Oh, here, Tom, is a note for you !’* cried Fanny, darting to the 
 mantelpiece and taking it down. “ I believe it is from that strange 
 man, Mr. Trapes.” 
 
 “ Trapes!” echoed Tom, in much surprise. “ How does he know 
 that I am here ?” 
 
 “ Oh, because—but I will leave Kate to tell everything. Just 
 do look at the note !” 
 
 “ There! you may discount your rights, if you choose,” said 
 Tom, laughing, and handing the scrawled morsel of paper to her. 
 
 “ What a hand ! What is that word ?” 
 
 “ ‘ Seriously.’ ” 
 
 “ Read it to me, dear Tom ?” 
 
 “ ‘ My deak Reed, —I am seriously ill, and cannot go to see you 
 
 as I promised Mrs. T-. I feel as if I was near the end of the 
 
 race, and nowhere ! Look in on me like a brick to-morrow. Yours, 
 
 “ ‘ G. Trapes.’ 
 
 “ If Trapes knocks up, he will not last long,” said Tom gravely ; 
 “ but call Mrs. Travers. I long to hear all about everything !” 
 
 « o e o s © 
 
 “ Now tell me how you unearthed Trapes ?” asked Tom. 
 
 They were sitting round the fire after dinner, Mrs. Temple 
 having insisted on his refreshing himself before going into any 
 discussion of business. 
 
 “ He came to the surface of his own accord,” she replied, and 
 proceeded to describe her encounter with him clearly and shortly, 
 till she came to the part performed by Galbraith, where she broke 
 down for an instant, paused, collected herself, and continued her 
 narrative by a decided abridgment. 
 
 “ When I was sufficiently recovered to walk home. Sir Hugh 
 Galbraith was good enough to come part of the way, and I have 
 not seen him since.” She then passed rapidly on to Trapes’s even¬ 
 ing visit, and his remarkable boast: “ I can produce the man who 
 drew out the will, two or three months after Mr. Travers’s death : 
 and I can produce the man that employed him to do it!” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 451 
 
 “ This is very extraordinary,” said Tom, when Kate ceased 
 speaking. “ If Trapes can make good his promise, of course your 
 success is an accomplished fact. But I must warn you that my 
 former acquaintance is given to the wildest romancing at times. 
 Still, I believe he does know something of importance. One point, 
 however, I must press upon you, Mrs. Temple : do not see this 
 scamp any more—leave him to me.” 
 
 “ Most willingly and thankfully, dear Tom.” 
 
 “ Very well. Now, do you think he recognised Galbraith ?” 
 
 “ No ; I do not think he did.” 
 
 “ Mind,” continued Tom, “ I don’t think it matters a straw 
 whether he tells his tale to Galbraith or to you, if he can support 
 it; for, of course, a man of Galbraith’s position and character 
 would not for a moment hesitate about restoring your rights. All 
 I want to make sure of before we stir in the matter is, to be pre¬ 
 pared with irresistible proof. As things are at present, we should 
 only be knocking our heads against the stone wall of a long law¬ 
 suit were you to move. However, you must leave Trapes to me.” 
 There was a pause, during which Tom appeared lost in thought— 
 a condition which Kate and Fanny respected too much to disturb, 
 At last he roused himself, and assumed the attitude peculiar to 
 Britons when about to dictate or domineer—that is, he placed him¬ 
 self on the hearth-rug, with his back to the fire. “ It was a re¬ 
 markable, though fortunate accident that Sir Hugh Galbraith 
 came to your assistance. Is it permitted to ask what brought him 
 to Pierstoffe just in the nick of time ?” And Tom, with an air of 
 comical solemnity, paused for a reply. 
 
 Kate crimsoned even over her little ears, but answered steadily, 
 though in a low voice, “ No, Tom, you must not ask. I cannot 
 tell you any fibs, so I would rather say nothing.” 
 
 “ Ahem!—and in spite of this gallant rescue and unexpected 
 appearance—I presume it was unexpected ?” 
 
 “Most unexpected !” she returned. 
 
 “ You are determined to carry the wax* into the enemy’s 
 country ?” 
 
 “ Quite determined!” said Kate, rising and coming to the fire, 
 
 29-2 
 
452 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 where she leant against the chimneypiece, “ if I can bring an over¬ 
 whelming force to bear upon his position.” 
 
 “ Do you mean to say,” exclaimed Tom quickly, darting one of 
 his keenest glances at the fair, downcast face before him, “ that 
 you have any fresh cause for vengeance ?” 
 
 “ For vengeance ? oh, no !” she returned, looking frankly into his 
 eyes. “ My opinion of Sir Hugh is changed for the better. It is 
 for his sake as well as my own that I wish matters hurried on.” 
 
 “ You are incomprehensible !” he returned, less amiably than 
 usual. 
 
 “ Then do not try to comprehend me,” she said, gently laying 
 her hand on his arm, “ but act as if the chapter of accidents had 
 never brought Hugh Galbraith to lodge under my roof—continue 
 to be my best friend as you have been.” 
 
 “ You generally make slaves of your friends,” replied Tom re¬ 
 signedly. “ However, I have not opened my budget yet. I saw 
 
 Wall this morning. He had just had S-’s opinion, and showed 
 
 it to me. He considers that there are grounds for taking criminal 
 proceedings against Poole.” 
 
 “ And will Mr. Wall arrest him, then ?” asked Kate anxiously. 
 
 “ No. He would in the first instance summon Poole to answer 
 the charge of having wilfully perjured himself by swearing that 
 he was present when Mr. Travers executed the second will. But, 
 as nothing could be done till Monday, I advised his waiting my 
 return before he took an3r step, thinking there might be something 
 in your idea that Trapes could give us information that would im- 
 phcate Ford.” 
 
 “ And he can, depend upon it, Tom !” said Kate thoughtfully. 
 “ I dropped a hint that perhaps his information might be more 
 valuable to Mr. Ford than to me, and I saw his countenance 
 change unmistakably.” 
 
 “ You should be exceedingly cautious what you let out to a man 
 like Trapes,” returned Tom. “ There is no telling what mischief 
 he might make of anything—or nothing.” 
 
 “ I do not think I did my cause any harm by my remark, but it 
 certainly affected Mr. Trapes.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 453 
 
 “ Well, I shall probably find out to-morrow. I am not sorry the 
 poor devil is obliged to keep his room. Men of his type are always 
 easier to manage when they feel the grip of their proprietor upon 
 them ! Do you know, I have always been sorry for Trapes. He 
 was a very pleasant, good-natured fellow once, seven or eight years 
 ago—never quite free from the dash of the blackguard, but would 
 perhaps have kept right if he had fallen into better hands.” 
 
 “ Perhaps,” said Kate doubtingly. “ Yet I imagine, if we could 
 open such a man’s head or heart, and look at the works as you do 
 at your watch, we should find some weak or imperfect mechanism 
 —some faulty bits in which the tempter can insert the point of his 
 wedge.” 
 
 “ Still, with different influences, he might have been a different 
 man.” 
 
 Kate, gazing at the fire, made no reply. 
 
 “ The long and short of it is,” said Fanny, with sly gravity, “he 
 had not your adamantine firmness, Tom ! At any rate, with a 
 pleasant, almost tender smile, “ Kate and I are inclined to believe 
 that the main-spring of your heart’s machinery works true and 
 steadily.” To which Tom’s appropriate reply was a good, honest 
 kiss, despite Kate’s presence. 
 
 She smiled, and naturally inquired, “ What have you two dear 
 friends decided upon ?” 
 
 “ You mean as regards a joint establishment ?” asked Tom. “ I 
 cannot get a distinct reply from your undecided assistant. I 
 wanted her long ago to give a month’s warning, and take another 
 situation. I am glad to have a chance of pleading my cause before 
 you, Mrs. Temple. As matters stand at present there is no reason 
 why Fanny should not take me for better for worse, say—come ! 
 I will be reasonable—this day fortnight! Meantime you might 
 advertise the bazaar. You will easily dispose of it. Come, join 
 us in London, be on the spot to enact the importunate widow, and 
 make life a burden to old Wall! Come, now, hke a brace of 
 angels, say ‘ Done !’ and we will arrange preliminaries before we 
 sleep to-night.” 
 
 “ There is no particular reason why Fanny should not marry 
 
454 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 you,” said Kate thoughtfully; “ but I cannot leave Pierstoffe ! 
 This is not the most agreeable life to me ; nevertheless, I will not 
 break up the little home I have made till the question I am about 
 to raise is settled ; then I shall in any case make a change.” 
 
 “ There !—I told you so,” said Fanny ; “ and as long as Kate 
 keeps in this stupid, odious, disagreeable shop, I will stay with her. 
 You don’t think I am of much use, I suppose,” a little querulously ; 
 for, though true to her friend, poor Fanny’s heart had leaped with 
 delight at the picture presented of going to live with Tom in 
 London ; “ but I know Kate could not live without me, at least 
 not comfortably—could you, Kate ?” 
 
 “ No, indeed !” heartily. “ Tom, will you think me very selfish ? 
 Leave Fanny with me just a little longer. I feel w'e shall soon 
 know something more of this will,—and—I do not know why, but 
 I am very sad and fearful.” She held out her hand, and her rich, 
 soft voice faltered. 
 
 “ My dear Mrs. Travers, you are our first consideration. It is a 
 bargain. This case is postponed till this day month, when a 
 decree will be given.” 
 
 “ Thank you, dear Tom. And now Fanny will entertain you. 
 I feel weary and headachy, so will go to bed.” 
 
 The next morning, after breakfast, Tom Reed announced his 
 intention of going to see Trapes at once. 
 
 “ Yes, do, Tom,” said Mrs. Temple ; “ we can do nothing until 
 we know what he has to reveal.” 
 
 “ Well, I shall go to church,” remarked Fanny. 
 
 “ And I will escort you there,” added Tom. “ Will you come ?” 
 addressing Kate. 
 
 “ No, it would be a mockery. I could not attend to what was 
 going on. I am too much on the stretch to know about Trapes. 
 I shall pray at home.” 
 
 Tom and lux?, fiancee set out accordingly, and Kate bore the lonely 
 waiting as best she could. Seated near the fire—her eyes fixed on 
 the red coals, her thoughts roaming far and near—trying to pic¬ 
 ture to herself the effect of her claim upon Hugh Galbraith’s 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 455 
 
 temper and character, to recall the various indications of his 
 nature which she had noticed, and from them to decide how he 
 would take the final revelation. “ I have done nothing wrong— 
 nothing he has any real right to be angry with ; yet will he not 
 think that I ought to have told him the truth when I first refused 
 him ? But then, I never thought we should meet again. I never 
 dreamed that I could care about him. I have such an extra¬ 
 ordinary longing to vindicate my real self—the self he so doubts 
 and despises—before he knows the truth ; and if I do, how will he 
 act ? At present, he has some romance about me in his head, 
 practical and unimaginative as he is ; how will it be when he knows 
 who I really am ? Will he shrink from the plebeian adventuress ? 
 He is very prejudiced ; but he can love ! Half-past twelve. Tom 
 is having a long talk with that dreadful man. I earnestly hope I 
 shall not have to prosecute any one.” 
 
 In a few minutes more, Fanny came back. 
 
 “ Oh, how glad I am to see you ! I am dreadfully in the blues.” 
 
 “ Then it would have been much better for you to have been at 
 church with me. The dean of some place preached such a splendid 
 sermon. Made me feel as if I should like to clap some parts. The 
 church was so crowded ; lots of the county people were there. I 
 saw Lady Styles and some ladies in the rector’s pew. They put a 
 strange gentleman into ours—a very elegant personage, I assure 
 you. He was most attentive to me, and was good enough to offer 
 me part of my own hymn-book! I don’t think he imagined I 
 looked sufiiciently dignified to be even part proprietor of a pew. I 
 found him there, and I left him there, for I came out quickly, 
 hoping to find Tom.” 
 
 “He has not yet returned,” said Kate languidly ; “and as to 
 your elegant neighbour, you had better see if your purse is safe ! 
 High-class pickpockets generally attend the preaching of eloquent 
 divines—at least, in London.” 
 
 “How disenchanting,” cried Fanny, feeling rapidly in her pocket. 
 “ I thought he was an earl at least; not even disguised.” 
 
 It was considerably past their usual dinner-hour when Tom re¬ 
 appeared. 
 
456 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ I think you are right,” said he to Kate. “ He knows some¬ 
 thing of importance ; but he is in a curious mood. Though well 
 disposed to you, his ramshackle conscience seems to suggest some 
 scruple about disclosing what he knows. He is in a state of great 
 debility, and penniless ; though I can see by the condition of his 
 wardrobe that it is not long since he was flush of cash. He had 
 been drinking very hard ; and now he has an extraordinary craving 
 to go back to town with me. I shall indulge him, and settle him 
 under Mrs. Small’s care for a few weeks, at any rate ; he will then 
 be safe, otherwise we shall lose him.” 
 
 “ But, Tom, this will cost you a quantity of money ?” 
 
 “ Not so very much ; and when you have floored Sir Hugh, you 
 shall repay me.” 
 
 “ Then, shall you take this man with you to town to-mor¬ 
 row ?” 
 
 “ Yes, by the eight o’clock train. Nothing later will suit me.” 
 
 “ And you have gathered nothing of what Trapes really 
 knows ?” 
 
 “ Nothing ; or next to nothing. However, be sure of this, that 
 I shall never relax my hold of him till I do know.” 
 
 “ Thank you, dear Tom. And you believe it is not all talk, his 
 boasted knowledge ?” 
 
 “ I do. The fellow has the secret, whatever it is.” 
 
 •09 - 
 
 CHAPTEE XL. 
 
 This same Sunday evening settled down with the orthodox Sab¬ 
 bath gloom at Weston. Sir Marmaduke Styles’s preserves were 
 known to be well stocked, and his lively partner had a certain 
 undercurrent of good nature in her gossip that gave her popularity 
 in the minds of her kinsfolk and acquaintance. The autumn 
 jiarties at Weston were therefore not to be despised ; and when 
 Galbraith so suddenly deserted his friend Upton, the latter, having 
 lost the incentive Hugh's company would have lent to an excursion 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 457 
 
 in the wild West of Ireland, applied for extension of leave, and 
 availed himself of Lady Styles’s renewed invitation. 
 
 The household being conducted on the country type, dinner Avas 
 celebrated on Sundays at half-past six instead of half-past seven— 
 why, it would be difficult to explain, as the alteration gave no help 
 to the well-disposed servants who wished to attend evening service; 
 but as it inconvenienced all parties, the arrangement probably ful¬ 
 filled its end—at any rate, in keeping up the custom, Lady Styles 
 experienced the conscious approving glow that ought to wait on 
 self-sacrificing Christianity. 
 
 The ladies had assembled in the drawing-room after dinner. It 
 was a small party ; three or four, besides the hostess, lounged com¬ 
 fortably round a glowing fire of wood and coal. 
 
 “ I have heard the Dean preach better than to-day,”^ Lady Styles 
 Avas saying ; “ he had not his usual fire and go.” 
 
 “ A country congregation is perhaps refrigerating,” remarked 
 the Honourable Mrs. A-. 
 
 “ Ha! ha ! ha! I assure you Pierstoffe considers itself pecu¬ 
 liarly intelligent or intellectual.” 
 
 “ There is a great difference between the terms, dear Lady 
 Styles,” said Miss Brandon, a handsome Avoman in the earliest 
 period of the “ turn of the leaf,” who kneAV and could do nearly 
 everything, except make a fortune, or pick one up, and who had 
 a sort of relative’s right to be at Weston in the autumn. 
 
 “ A distinction without a difference, I suspect, Cecilia ; at any 
 rate, there Avas a very full attendance. I saAv all the principal 
 tradespeople there, except my rara avis of the Berlin Bazaar ; but 
 her friend and partner represented the house. By the Avay, if I 
 am not much mistaken, they put Colonel Upton into her peAV. I 
 Avish he could see the young AvidoAV. I should like to knoAv his 
 opinion of her.” 
 
 “ You must know,” said Miss Brandon, in reply to an interroga¬ 
 tive elevation of Mrs. A-’s eyebroAV's, “ Lady Styles has a sort 
 
 of reve de quinze ans about two Avomen aa’Iio keep a fancy bazaar 
 here. They certainly appear A^ery distinguished compared Avith the 
 Pierstoffe standard, but I think their elegance would pale beside 
 
458 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 Madame Elise’s or Howell and James’s young ladies. Their prin¬ 
 cipal charm consists of a mystery which the joint efforts of Lady 
 Styles and Doctor Slade have failed to elucidate.” 
 
 “ Doctor Slade!” cried her ladyship; “ pray do not imagine I 
 am a gossip like him. His gossip is of the commonest type—mere 
 surface sweepings to amuse his lying-in women with. When speak¬ 
 ing warmly Lady Styles was not always limited by sensitive delicacy 
 in her phraseology. “ He always imagines the most commonplace 
 solution even to the most piquant mysteries. He has no grasp of 
 mind, no real experience of the world.” 
 
 “ Doctor Slade is the man in a shirt-frill, who is dining here 
 to-day ?” put in Mrs. A-. 
 
 “ Yes ; and what an enormous time they are sitting,” continued 
 the hostess. “Barnes,” to the butler, who appeared with tea, 
 “ have you taken coffee to the gentlemen ?” 
 
 “Yes, my lady.” 
 
 “ It is always the case ; that man always keeps Sir Marmaduke. 
 He has a lot of old stories which Sir Marmaduke is accustomed to 
 laugh at, and likes to hear over and over again. But for all that 
 he is clever as a medical man. I believe his treatment of Sir Hugh 
 Galbraith was masterly—he had concussion of the brain, com¬ 
 pound fracture of the arm, various contusions, and I do not know 
 what besides, and in two months he was nearly well. By-the-bye, 
 he—Galbraith I mean—lodged at my charming widow’s, and I 
 believe he never saw her but twice all the time he was there, she 
 is such a prudent, dignified creature. Ah, here they are at last. 
 Colonel Upton, did they not put you in the Berlin-wool pew at 
 church to-day ?” 
 
 “ I cannot say,” he returned, coming over and sitting down at 
 the opposite side of the ottoman on which Lady Styles, in the 
 splendour of her dinner-dress, was spread out. “ I saw no Berlin 
 wool there, only a very pretty, piquant httle girl. Who is she ? 
 The Rector’s daughter ?” 
 
 “ Nothing of the kind. Do you not remember, when you were 
 last here, coming with me to the Berlin Bazaar and buying a purse, 
 and how disappointed you were because you could not see your 
 friend Galbraith’s landlady ?” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 459 
 
 “ Yes, very well.” 
 
 “ Then the pretty girl is the assistant at the bazaar, I wonder 
 why Mrs. Temple was not there. Perhaps she has gone away 
 again.” 
 
 “ Has she been awa}?- lately ?” asked Upton carelessly, as he 
 helped himself to sugar. 
 
 “ She was in London about a fortnight ago.” 
 
 “ I am really sorry to miss seeing this object of your speculations,” 
 said Upton meditatively, while he stirred his tea. “ I suppose she 
 often runs up to town ?” 
 
 “ No, scarcely ever. At the change of seasons—and-” 
 
 “ This last expedition of hers,” struck in Doctor Slade, “ was 
 rather disastrous—she had her pocket picked, and lost five pounds.” 
 
 “ You don’t say so. Doctor ; are you sure ? She has never men¬ 
 tioned the matter to me.” 
 
 “ Oh, I am quite correct, I assure you. I met little Miss Fanny, 
 with a face of woe, going to the post-office for an order to re¬ 
 place it.” 
 
 “ Really I am quite sorry for her,” said Lady Styles. 
 
 “ A serious loss for a Berlin bazaar,” remarked Upton. “ Pray, 
 when did it occur ?” 
 
 “ About three weeks ago. Why ? Did you hear anything 
 of it ?” 
 
 “No-nothing,” slowly and thoughtfully. 
 
 “ I do protest, Willie,” cried Lady Styles, with much animation, 
 “ I believe you know more than you say. Perhaps you were the 
 pickpocket yourself—just to get an introduction ? Do make a 
 clean breast of it!” 
 
 Upton laughed. “ I have not your acute curiosity about this 
 fair shopwoman,” he said, and he relapsed into silence, though an 
 amused smile lingered on his lip and in his eyes. 
 
 “ Come, Doctor,” said Sir Marmaduke, who was setting forth the 
 chessboard, “ you must give me my revenge to-night.” 
 
 The Honourable Mrs. A- and Miss Brandon, followed by 
 
 two or three young men who completed the party, sauntered to 
 the music-room, whence the sound of sacred songs soon issued. 
 
460 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ Pray, Lady Styles,” said Upton, interrupting a rambling,, 
 highly-coloured version of the quarrel between Galbraith’s sister 
 and her husband—“ pray what became of your nephew John ? I 
 remember thinking him such a fine fellow when I used to meet 
 him here ages ago.” 
 
 “ My nephew John !” repeated Lady Styles, in a tone of high- 
 pitched surprise. “ What put him into your head ? He has 
 disappeared I do not know how long. He was a nice creature 
 once. All you scamps are. But he went to the bad completely ; 
 cost his mother a heap of money, and died abroad—D. T., I 
 believe.” 
 
 “ Did he not marry ?” 
 
 “ Well, I am not sure. I think it was doubtful.” 
 
 “ I heard he did.” 
 
 “ There were all kinds of reports ; but I am sure I have not 
 heard his name, nor any mention of him for twenty years.” 
 
 A pause, which was broken by Upton. 
 
 “ If you will give me a mount, I think I will ride over to Pier- 
 stoffe, and reconnoitre the Berliners.” 
 
 “ My dear boy, let me drive you over.” 
 
 “ No, my gracious cousin, I prefer doing the part of a single spy. 
 You shall then have the benefit of my pure, unsophisticated im¬ 
 pressions.” 
 
 “ Very well, you shall have my groom’s horse ; it is the best in 
 the stable.” 
 
 But the next day was wet—not pertinaciously wet—what our 
 northern relatives call “ an even-down pour,” though sufficiently 
 moist to check Colonel Upton’s fancy for a solitary ride. 
 
 It was the Wednesday after Tom’s visit; he had sent a hasty 
 line announcing his safe arrival with his precious charge, and Mrs. 
 Temple had resigned herself to an interval of patient waiting. The 
 shop was empty, and Fanny had retired into the shop-parlour, in 
 order to trim a new straw bonnet in the latest fashion. Fanny sang 
 to herself in a subdued tone. 
 
 Her heart was very light. She was not without sympathy, sin- 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 461 
 
 cere sj^mpathy, with Kate’s depression ; nevertheless, her prospects 
 were so sunny that for the moment she doubted the possibility of 
 serious sorrow. All would come right for Kate also, and that 
 delinquent Galbraith, whom she could not help lildng. She could 
 give him plenary absolution too. 
 
 “ Miss Fanny,” said Mills, coming in, with the well-known curl 
 on her mouth, which indicated distrust of and contempt for the 
 world in general, there’s a gentleman—leastways he has spurs and 
 a whip—wants to see you.” 
 
 “ To see me ? Who is he. Mills ?” 
 
 “ I dunno’, miss ; a pickpocket, for all I know. You had better 
 not--” But Mills’s wise counsels were cut short by the appear¬ 
 
 ance of the individual in question, whom Fanny, had she been left 
 to her unassisted conclusions, would have considered a distin¬ 
 guished-looking man. Prompted by Mills’s doubts, she fell into a 
 state of fear and confusion. Was he an emissary of Ford sent to 
 discover and annoy Kate ? Was he a detective despatched by Gal¬ 
 braith’s lawyer, with the uncanny prescience of his tribe, to find 
 out what was going on ? She stood up, bonnet in hand, looking 
 prettily bewildered. 
 
 “ I beg your pardon,” said Upton, for he was the intruder. “ I 
 understood you were at home, and that I might enter.” 
 
 Fanny, still holding her bonnet, which was filled with blond lace, 
 ribbon, and flowers, made a little, nervous curtsey, while Mills 
 officiously dusted the chiffonier. There was an instant’s pause, 
 broken by Fanny’s saying, in an accent of unmistakable surprise, 
 “ You wished to see me ?” 
 
 “ I do,”—a glance at Mills, who, finding no further excuse for 
 remaining, departed with a portentous frown to Fanny. 
 
 “ I took the liberty,” resumed Upton when they wei’e left alone, 
 “ to look into your prayer-book when you left your seat last Sunday. 
 A great liberty, I acknowledge ; yet you must allow the temptation 
 to ascertain my charming neighbour’s name was a powerful motive,” 
 concluded Upton, with an insinuating smile. 
 
 “ Well!” exclaimed Fanny. 
 
 “ You left your prayer-book behind you,” drawing it from his 
 
4G2 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 pocket. “ I confess, then, to having opened it, and read this in¬ 
 scription.” He pointed to the flyleaf as he spoke, whereon was 
 written, “ John Aylmer to his wife Catherine, Gangepore, August, 
 1836 .” 
 
 Fanny’s eyes dilated as she gazed upon it with doubt and dread. 
 “I am going to be cross-examined,” she thought, “ and I shall make 
 a mess of it.” 
 
 “ I see,” said she, looking blankly up in her interrogator’s face. 
 “ And what then ?” 
 
 “ Have I the pleasure of speaking to Miss Aylmer ?” said Upton 
 blandly. 
 
 “ No, no—my name is not Aylmer!” cried Fanny, breathless. 
 
 “My reason for asking,” continued Upton, “ is that a distant re¬ 
 lative of mine of that name died in India, I imagine, somewhere 
 about that date,” laying his finger upon it. 
 
 “ His relative indeed !” was Fanny’s mental commentary. “ I 
 am sure I know nothing about it,” she said aloud. “ The book is 
 not mine. It was quite by accident I used it. I know nothing 
 about it. I-” stopping in confusion. 
 
 “ What is your name, may I ask ?” 
 
 “ Oh, Jenkinson,” cried Fanny, with a desperate determination 
 not to tell the imagined detective a word of truth. 
 
 “ Perhaps the lady who—who keeps the shop could tell me some¬ 
 thing about these names,” persisted Upton. 
 
 “ No, indeed she could not,” said Fanny, resolving at all risks to 
 shield Kate from the terrors she was undergoing. “ And you had 
 better not see her. She is very clever, and would see through you 
 in a moment.” 
 
 “ That is quite possible,” exclaimed Upton, a good deal surprised ; 
 but while he spoke Fanny’s blond lace fell to the ground, and the 
 gallant Colonel hastening to restore it, contrived to entangle the 
 dehcate fabric in his spurs. 
 
 “ Oh dear,” cried Fanny, crouching down to rescue her treasure. 
 Upton stood tolerably still, but as Fanny bent round he could not 
 help half turning to watch the pretty, troubled face. “Pray 
 stand steady,” she exclaimed, “or you will tear it. I thought it 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 463 
 
 was your work to get things out of tangles, instead of into 
 them.” 
 
 “ My work!” echoed Upton, greatly puzzled. “ What do you 
 take me for then ?” 
 
 “ Oh, I think I know very well! You fancy I am a simple country 
 girl, but I can guess what you are—at least, I think I can !” with 
 dignity and triumph. 
 
 “ I suppose a long course of regimental drill leaves its stamp on 
 a fellow ?” said Upton good-humouredly. 
 
 “ Kegimental, indeed !” cried Fanny, with indignation. “ That 
 will not do.” 
 
 “ I see I have offended in some way,” returned Upton insinua¬ 
 tingly. “ And I assure you I have but two motives in my visit: 
 first, a strong wish—irresistible, I confess—to make your acquain¬ 
 tance ; secondly, a sincere desire to know the history of this prayer- 
 book.” 
 
 “ He has the impudence to pretend he is smitten with me,” 
 thought Fanny wrathfully. “ I consider it altogether unwarrant¬ 
 able,” she said aloud, “ your coming here to try and find out things 
 
 from me ! I dare say you thought you had an easy case, but-” 
 
 Fanny had warmed up, and was now reckless of consequences. 
 
 “ Will you be so very good as to say for whom you take me ?” 
 asked Upton, with grave politeness. 
 
 “ A detective of some kind sent by-” 
 
 A burst of good-humoured laughter from Upton arrested any 
 imprudence into which Fanny might have hurried. 
 
 “ I am infinitely flattered,” he said, di’awing out his card-case. 
 “ Allow me to introduce myself.” 
 
 “ Colonel Upton !” cried Fanny, glancing at the morsel of paste¬ 
 board he held forth, while a quick blush spread over cheek and 
 brow. “ I am so surprised ! Are you Sir Hugh Galbraith’s friend 
 we used to write to for him ?” 
 
 “ The same. And I must say such a premium on breaking an 
 arm as your secretaryship, is a temptation to fracture one’s bones I 
 never foresaw.” 
 
 “ I am afraid I spoke very rudely,” said Fanny, with evident 
 
464 
 
 ■HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 contrition ; “ but I felt so sure you were a detective—though now 
 I see you are quite different.” 
 
 “At any rate, you have taught me a lesson of humility I shall 
 not soon forget,” returned Upton pleasantly. “ Perhaps you will 
 have no objection to give me some information about the prayer- 
 book, now you know who I am ?” 
 
 “ Indeed, I must not—I mean I cannot!” And Fanny stopped, 
 fearful of having committed herself. 
 
 “ Of course I have no right to press you,” returned Upton, noting 
 the change of phrase. 
 
 “ But wait,” cried Fanny, anxious to atone for her scant courtesy ; 
 “ I will call Kate—Mrs. Temple—and you can ask her. Pray sit 
 down.” 
 
 So saying, she rushed into the shop. “ Do come, Kate. There 
 is Colonel Upton asking all sorts of questions about your old 
 prayer-book. And I have been so rude ! I thought he was a de¬ 
 tective. Was it not dreadful? Pray go to him, and I will stay 
 here.” 
 
 To Kate’s hasty, astonished queries Fanny could only reply, “ It 
 is Colonel Upton—do go and speak to him.” 
 
 Thus urged, Kate went into the parlour and stood face to face 
 with the supposed detective. 
 
 There was a nameless something, a gentle, composed dignity in 
 her bearing that Upton at once recognised, and his own manner 
 changed insensibly. He rose and stood silent, while he gazed 
 keenly at the fair, quiet face opposite him. 
 
 “ I have to thank you for restoring my prayer-book,” said Kate, 
 taking the initiative. 
 
 “ It is yours, then ? May I ask if this ‘ John Al^nner,’ whose 
 name is written here, is any relation or connection of yours ? Do 
 you know anything of him, in short ?” 
 
 Mrs. Temple did not reply instantly. She paused, gazing 
 earnestly at her interrogator. “ May I ask why you inquire ?” 
 she said at length. 
 
 “ Because I had a relative of that name in India at this date ; 
 indeed, to the best of my belief, he was in this very place ”— 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 4G5 
 
 pointing to the inscription. “ He is dead, and I have heard nothing 
 of him for years. Yet I should like to know if you can give me 
 any traces of him or his family.” 
 
 “ And you are related to a John Aylmer ?” said Mrs. Temple. 
 
 How ? In what degree ?” 
 
 “ That I can hardly say,” returned Upton, smiling, and looking 
 in vain for an invitation to sit down, for he was greatly struck by 
 Mrs. Temple’s appearance and manner. “I never could thread 
 my way through the maze of cousinly degrees. But the man I 
 mean was a nephew of Lady Styles, and she is a second or third 
 cousin of my father : so you see we are all cousins together. It 
 has roused my memory and my curiosity to find his name in the 
 prayer-book Miss Jenkins left behind.” 
 
 “ A nephew of Lady Styles,” repeated Mrs. Temple in much sur¬ 
 prise, not hearing the conclusion of his sentence. 
 
 “ Then you know something of this defunct kinsman of mine ?” 
 
 “Whatever I may know, Colonel Upton,” she returned de¬ 
 cidedly, though not uncivilly, “ I do not feel at liberty to tell you 
 now, at any rate, so you must ask me no more questions.” 
 
 “ Certainly not, if you put it in that way,” said Upton, bowing 
 and handing her the prayer-book. “ However, I fancy you put a 
 slight emphasis on ‘ now.’ Pray, will you allow me to call again, 
 when perhaps you will be at liberty to tell me a little more ?” 
 
 “ No,” said Mrs. Temple, a sweet, arch smile softening the 
 rugged monosyllable. “ I shall not be able to tell you for some 
 time. But if you really care to hear, leave me your address, and 
 I will write to you.” 
 
 “ Yes, I care very much, and will be greatly obliged by your 
 taking that trouble. Perhaps you would be so good as to write 
 my direction!” 
 
 Kate opened her blotting-book unsuspiciously, and traced the 
 words as he spoke them—“ Colonel W. Upton, —th Hussars, Cahir, 
 Ireland ”—under his eyes. 
 
 “ Not the first time I have seen your writing,” he said pleasantly. 
 “ I am almost sorry my friend Galbraith is able to manage his own 
 correspondence—reading his letters has again become a difficulty, 
 
 30 
 
466 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 whereas-” He stopped abruptly, too genuinely good-natured 
 
 not to regret having in any way disturbed Kate’s equanimity ; for, 
 in spite of her strongest effort at self-control, a quick burning 
 blush overspread her cheeks, and even the stately rich white throat 
 that rose over the Quaker-like frill which adorned the collar of 
 her dress. 
 
 “ I saw Galbraith in town the other day,” went on Upton 
 hastily, “ and he seemed all right. You must have taken capital 
 care of him, Mrs. Temple ! I really think I shall hunt here this 
 season again, if only for the chance, should I be spilt, of falling 
 into your hands.” 
 
 “ We could do very little for Sir Hugh Galbraith,” said Kate in 
 a low voice, but recovering herself ; “ nature and his own servant 
 seemed to accomplish everything.” 
 
 She stopped, and Upton felt he ought to go, but preferred to 
 stay. “ I was sorry to hear you had met with such a loss,” he con¬ 
 tinued, for the sake of something to say. “ Have you found any 
 trace of your purse yet ?” 
 
 Again Kate coloured ; this time with an acute feeling of annoy¬ 
 ance. Galbraith must have spoken somewhat freely of her to this 
 chum of his ; and the care and delicacy with which he seemed 
 to guard their intimacy, and which had always touched her, must 
 have been in some degree a sham. “ I have not,” she returned 
 coldly, adding, with a sort of haughty humility, “ although, as you are 
 no doubt aware. Sir Hugh Galbraith did his utmost to assist me !” 
 
 “ Did he ?” exclaimed Upton, with such unmistakable surprise 
 that Kate instantly felt she had made a false move. “ Ah, he is 
 not a bad fellow, Galbraith,” continued Upton, “ though he seems 
 rather a rough customer. Well, I am afraid I have trespassed too 
 long on your time, Mrs. Temple. I must bid you good-morning ; 
 and you will, when it suits yourself, give me the history of the 
 prayer-book ?” 
 
 “I will. Colonel Upton. Meantime will you grant me a 
 favour ?” 
 
 “ It is granted,” said the Colonel gallantly. 
 
 “ Then if you have not mentioned this matter of the prayer- 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 4G7 
 
 book to Lady Styles, pray do not. She is one of my best friends 
 here, but you can imagine the effect of such partially-admitted 
 knowledge as mine upon her. I should not be able to call myself 
 or my shop or anything else my own till all was revealed.” 
 
 “ ’Gad, she would hunt up the scent like a bloodhound,” cried 
 Upton, laughing. “ No, no, Mrs. Temple, that would be too bitter 
 a revenge even for having been taken for a detective. Your 
 charming young friend owes me some reparation. Pray tell her 
 so, with my best respects. So good-morning, Mrs. Temple, and 
 ait, revoir —for I have a strong presentiment that we shall meet 
 again!” 
 
 With a low bow, Upton retired, leaving Kate still standing in 
 deep thought. No, Galbraith had not made her a topic of idle 
 talk. She had betrayed herself ; but Upton, however he heard of 
 her loss, knew nothing whatever of Galbraith’s communications 
 with her in London. 
 
 “ Fanny,” she said, slowly returning to the shop, “ did you ever 
 tell Lady Styles that I had my pocket picked ?” 
 
 “No, indeed I did not !” 
 
 “ Then who did you tell ?” 
 
 “ Not a creature : that is, yes !—now I remember it. The 
 morning I was going for the post-office order for you, before you 
 had told me not to tell any one, I met old Dr. Slade and I told him !” 
 
 “ Ah !” said Mrs. Temple. 
 
 “Was it very shocking ?” asked Fanny, in deep contrition. 
 
 “ No, never mind. Do you know. Fan, I quite like that Colonel 
 Upton. I believe he is a gentleman.” 
 
 “ To be sure he is ; and to think of my taking him for a detec¬ 
 tive ! I am sure I shall never look him in the face again.” 
 
 “ You will not be obliged, I imagine,” said her friend. 
 
 Meantime Upton strolled slowly towards the hotel where he 
 had put up his horse, meditating more profoundly than was usual 
 with him. “I believe I have a clue to the maze,” he thousrht. 
 “ By George, I fancy Galbraith has caught it hot and strong !— 
 that Mrs. Temple is just the kind of woman to inspire a great 
 
 30—2 
 
468 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 passion, and Hugli, in spite of liis cold airs, the very man to feel 
 one. What with his pride and hers—for she will stand no non¬ 
 sense, I suspect—there will be the devil to pay. I am certain he 
 
 forsook me that day at H- to go after her. Ay, it was the 
 
 next morning he was going down to a police station ; it is as plain 
 as that pretty little Miss Jenkins’ nez retrousse! Galbraith has 
 had a squeeze : he had better go abroad ; change of air and scene 
 is the best remedy ; but to apply that nostrum in such a case, the 
 plan would be to take a new love. I have a great mind to offer a 
 remedy to the fair widow in the shape of myself ! I should not 
 dislike making love to her at all. There is a w'orld of unde¬ 
 veloped feeling in her eyes. What a ' cheerful visitor ’ I might 
 make myself to Lady Styles if I were to sit down and treat her to 
 a dish of my surmises and discoveries! But how did that Mrs. 
 Temple come to possess poor Jack Aylmer’s prayer-book ? I should 
 like to ask Lady Styles more about him and his possible marriage 
 —but no, I have promised silence, and will keep my word in the 
 spirit as well as the letter.” 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 Ip Kate and Fanny, especially the former, waited with almost 
 sickening anxiety for news of Tom’s proceedings, they had at least 
 the comfort of full faith in him. No doubts of his ardent friend¬ 
 ship or his earnest action complicated their pangs of endurance, 
 even when Wednesday and Thursday brought no tidings. 
 
 In the meantime, Tom, who was overwhelmed with work on his 
 own account, contrived to see Trapes every day, but without ex¬ 
 tracting any tangible information from him. He (Trapes) though 
 recovering, was feeble, and always spoke as if it was his intention 
 to “ make a clean breast of it as soon as he had settled a little busi¬ 
 ness he had on hand,” or “ as soon as he was able to go into the 
 City to see a fellow he wanted to speak to.” 
 
 “Come, now,” cried Tom at last, “do you want to see Ford? 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 469 
 
 for if it is that, I will call and tell him. I shall be passing his place 
 this afternoon, and I suspect it will be some days before you are 
 equal to a journey due east.” 
 
 To this, after some demurs. Trapes assented. 
 
 “ Don’t you let on that I have seen Mrs. Travers,” he urged. 
 
 “ Of course not. Ford is not to know that she is in England.” 
 
 “ Ay, to be sure. Perhaps after all, Reed, I had better wait and 
 write him a line.” 
 
 “ No, no, have him out here, and say your say ! Then make a 
 clean breast of it, and you will be ever so much better.” 
 
 Tom was growing very anxious for Trapes’s revelations. He 
 feared a relapse of low fever, or a sudden failure of intellect. He 
 was evidently linked in some strange way with Ford ; how, it was 
 impossible to conjecture. Tom therefore made it a point to call 
 at Ford’s office, and, on mounting the stairs, was struck by the 
 evident increase of the ex-clerk’s business ; various anxious-look¬ 
 ing men—some with pocket-books, some with papers in their hands 
 —were coming up and down ; the office-door was open, and several 
 persons were speaking to the clerks or writing on slips of paper. 
 
 In the middle of the office stood a very respectable-looking 
 gentlemanlike man older than Ford himself, evidently the manager. 
 He seemed deeply engaged with an irate personage, whom he was 
 endeavouring to soothe, and who held out an open letter. “ I see, 
 sir, that letter is very conclusive,” he was saying, “ but you need 
 be under no apprehension.” 
 
 “ The delay is most annoying!” returned the other—a young 
 man got up in “ country-gentleman ” style. “ You see he promises 
 to procure me eight hundred pounds’ worth of Turkish Fives and 
 Russians, at once. Now, there was a fall of an eighth on Friday in 
 one, and a sixteenth on Monday in the other, and he missed both 
 opportunities!” 
 
 “ I really am not in a position to assert anything,” returned the 
 manager. “ I know Mr. Ford transacted business on the Stock 
 Exchange on Friday and on Monday, but being suddenly called 
 away, he had not time to leave me full instructions. If you will 
 call to-morrow, I shall, no doubt, be able to arrange matters to 
 
470 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 your satisfaction, and make the purchases you require. I shall 
 have heard from Mr. Ford by that time.” 
 
 “ I hope so,” said the other. “ It is altogether very extra¬ 
 ordinary ;” and, with a running growl, he turned to leaye, very 
 nearly knocking against Tom Reed, who now advanced. 
 
 “ Is Mr. Ford away, then ?” he asked. 
 
 “Yes,” said the manager, looking sharply at his interrogator. 
 “ Obliged to run over to Vichy for a few days’ holiday ; but I shall 
 be happy to do anything for you in his absence.” 
 
 “ Thank you,” said Tom. “ I only wished to speak to him on a 
 private matter.” 
 
 “ Private,” repeated the manager thoughtfully. “ I think I re¬ 
 member your coming here with Mr. Ford one day last spring.” 
 
 “ I did do so.” 
 
 “ Then, perhaps you would do me the favour to call to-morrow, 
 either early or after five ? You might—that is, I shall probably 
 be able to tell you something of Mr. Ford’s movements.” He 
 paused, and then added, “ I should feel obliged by your calling.” 
 
 “ I will, then, but it must be nearer six than five,” returned Tom. 
 feeling that the request was unusual. So saying, and placing his 
 card in the chief clerk’s hand, he left the office. 
 
 “ I wonder ‘ wot’s up !’ ” he pondered, as he rolled westward in 
 the first cab he could find. “ There is something wrong with 
 Ford ! I wonder if he is gone mad ? There Avas a very suspicious 
 glitter in his eye the last time we met.” So reflecting, he called to 
 
 the driver to set him doAvn in B'-Street, where he spent a few 
 
 minutes in explaining matters to Mr. Wall. 
 
 “ Very vrell, Mr. Reed—very well,” said the lawyer, “ but I really 
 begin to have serious doubts that this man Trapes knows anything 
 at all! However, as Mrs. Travers seems content to await your 
 rather tardy operations, I have no right to find fault. But, if I 
 find you have nothing more tangible to communicate by Saturday, 
 I really must siimmon Poole ! That is our line I am convinced.” 
 
 “No doubt, Mr. Wall, you Avill be all right in that direction; 
 meantime, I hope to bring you a lot of information by Saturday.” 
 And Tom hurried off rvith more of hope in his manner than in his 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 471 
 
 heart. It was too provoking to feel the goal almost within his 
 grasp, yet evading his touch ! 
 
 The next day was excessively occupied; and six o’clock had 
 tolled from the great clock of St. Paul’s when Tom Reed ran hastily 
 up the stairs to Ford’s office—those on the ground and second 
 floors were already closed—and when he reached the door he met 
 the manager just issuing forth. 
 
 “ I had given you up,” he said quickly, and in a different tone 
 from that in which he had spoken the day before. “ Pray step in.” 
 
 Reed followed him. An old clerk was in the act of turning off 
 the gas : “ One moment, if you please,” said Reed’s conductor ; “ I 
 want to speak to this gentleman. But you need not wait ; I will 
 give the key to the housekeeper as I go down.” 
 
 The old clerk bowed and withdrew, and Tom could not resist a 
 chill, creepy sensation, as if on the verge of a discovery—whether 
 of a crime or a tragedy !—while his companion raked the fire to¬ 
 gether and threw on some more coals. 
 
 “ May I ask if you have known Mr. Ford long ?” he asked, 
 sitting down at one of the high desks. 
 
 “ Not very long, Mr.-” returned Tom. 
 
 “ Rogers,” said the other, gravely supplying the word. “ My 
 name is Rogers.” 
 
 “ Well, then, Mr. Rogers, I have not known Mr. Ford more than 
 a couple of years.” 
 
 “ But you knew him when he was at Travers’s ? My reason for 
 asking is, that I am exceedingly perplexed ; and not knowing any 
 friend of Mr. Ford’s to apply to (for he led a singularly isolated 
 life), I was in hopes you might afford me some information. The 
 fact is, I fear he has committed suicide !” 
 
 “ Suicide !” cried Tom aghast. 
 
 “ I am not sure. I will tell you the whole story ; it will soon 
 be noised abroad. I had thought him looking very wild and 
 haggard for a few days, and on last Saturday was rather pleased 
 to hear him say he would go over to Vichy for a week, just to re¬ 
 cruit. There was really nothing to prevent him—no business I 
 could not do; so he said he would leave me a power-of-attorney 
 
472 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 to sign cheques and letters, &c. On Monday morning, accord¬ 
 ingly, he came in early, and transacted a good deal of business, 
 gave me the power-of-attorney to act for him, and started off with 
 a portmanteau-bag to catch the boat-express from London Bridge, 
 saying as he went, ‘ You shall hear from me fully on two or three 
 points towards the end of the week and I thought no more of it. 
 But on Tuesday evening I had occasion to go to the strong-box for 
 some coupons, and to my great surprise I found all the Continental 
 securities—Turkish and Egyptian bonds, and a few Americans— 
 which I knew were safe there on Friday evening, had been removed 
 —altogether between two or three thousand pounds’ woi’th. I 
 confess I felt great uneasiness, not knowing Mr. Ford’s address ; 
 but, remembering his last words, I hoped the morning’s post w'ould 
 bring me his promised letter. It did not ; but in the afternoon, 
 shortly before you called, I received from his housekeeper, a re¬ 
 spectable, elderly woman, this long letter.” 
 
 “ This is very strange ! Has he bolted, then ?” cried Tom. 
 
 “ Not in the ordinary sense. I do not feel at liberty to show 
 you the letter,” continued Mr. Bogers; “ but it is to the effect 
 that I am to use the power-of-attorney to settle his affairs ; that 
 he has left ample funds to meet all claims upon him; that I am to 
 act as his executor, for I shall never see him again in this hfe ! I 
 went up to his place last night, and found from the housekeeper 
 that he had not taken any clothes with him, and that on Sunday 
 night he had sat up late writing. On quitting the house he had 
 said : ‘ If I do not return on Wednesday evening, send this letter’ 
 —which he gave into her hands —‘ in the course of the next day to 
 Mr. Rogers,’ which the housekeeper accordingly did.” 
 
 “ An extraordinary affair !” exclaimed Tom Reed, rising and 
 coming over to the desk at which the other was sitting. “ Do you 
 think it was his intention to commit suicide ?” 
 
 “ I do.” 
 
 “ I do not,” returned Reed quickly. “ His object is to escape.” 
 
 “ Escape what ?” asked the other rather indignantly. “ A more 
 honourable, straightforward man never existed ! Do you know 
 any reason why he should fly the country ?” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 473 
 
 “ No, Mr. Rogers, I do not. I only judge from what you tell 
 me. A man who is about to terminate his existence does not want a 
 capital of two or three thousand pounds in the world he is going to.” 
 
 “ Then you believe he removed all the foreign securities ?” 
 
 “ Yes ; don’t you ?” 
 
 “ I don’t know what to think. I hoped you might have known 
 something of poor Ford’s real circumstances. He lived singularly 
 alone. I have telegraphed to a brother of his in Lancashire, and 
 have set the police on the track, so far as I know it.” 
 
 “ Tell me, Mr. Rogers, has a man called Trapes—a seedy, flashy, 
 turfy-looking fellow, been in the habit of coming here occasionally.” 
 
 “ Not of that name,” he answered, “ but decidedly of that de¬ 
 scription. He called himself Jones. However, I dare say he went 
 by various names. Yes, a fellow like what you describe has been 
 in here now and then. Sometimes he would be here two or three 
 times running, and would then disappear for a considerable period. 
 Why do you connect him with Ford’s disappearance ?” 
 
 “ I have a vague idea—mind, very vague—that he has something 
 to do with it. Should I ascertain more, I shall let you know.” 
 
 After some further desultory talk and conjectures, Reed took 
 his leave, very much astonished at the result of his inquiries, and 
 resisting as illogical the tendency of his imagination to connect 
 Ford’s strange disappearance with Trapes, and Trapes’s alleged 
 knowledge of the will. 
 
 He was determined to lose no time in communicating his curious 
 intelligence to Trapes, for he could not help feeling that it would 
 affect his broken-down proterjc strongly. But the editor of a morn¬ 
 ing paper is a slave to the thunder he wields, and it was past 
 Trapes’s late breakfast hour before Tom could make his way to 
 him next day. 
 
 “ He was veiy bad last night, sir,” said the landlady as she 
 opened the door smiling, as she ever did on the favoured Tom. 
 “ He had such severe spasms as it took near a pint of the best 
 brandy before he came right, and then he begged and prayed, and 
 cursed and swore, because I took away the bottle, so that, if my 
 son had not been at home, I don’t know what I should have done. 
 
474 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 But he is as mild as new milk this morning, and I have given him 
 a cup of fine, strong tea, but, bless ye, he won’t taste a bit !” 
 
 “ Now, Mrs. Small,” said Tom sternly, “ Mr. Trapes must have 
 no brandy without medical advice. Provide it at your peril. I 
 will not pay for it, remember that!” 
 
 He opened the door of the little sitting-room, and found Trapes 
 —a pipe in his mouth, and Bell's Life in his hand—leaning back in 
 one chair, his feet elevated on another. 
 
 “ Well, so you never looked in last night,” he began in a queru¬ 
 lous, growling voice. 
 
 “ My good fellow, I have brought you news enough to atone for 
 any shortcoming. Your friend Ford has disappeared—decamped 
 —is not to be found, in short.” 
 
 Trapes started up, dropped his paper and his pipe, which smashed 
 on the fender. “ Bolted ! What then ! How the deuce did ho 
 get scent of what was brewing ?” 
 
 “ I know nothing of the whys and wherefores,” returned Tom. 
 “ I only know what his head clerk told me,” and he proceeded to 
 repeat what he had learned. 
 
 “ And has he smashed for a lai’ge amount ?” 
 
 “ I don’t believe he has smashed at all. I believe no one has 
 any interest in hunting him up, except his attached relatives—un¬ 
 less it’s yourself. Trapes—for I strongly suspect you could read 
 the riddle.” 
 
 “ I am not so sure of that. But it’s an extraordinary move on 
 the part of Ford. To be sure he threatened ; but,” checking him¬ 
 self, “ that is nothing to the point.” 
 
 He suddenly lapsed into silence, picking up the fragments of his 
 ^ipe in an absent, mechanical manner. “ And that fellow Rogers 
 thinks he has made away with himself ?” 
 
 Tom nodded, watching Trapes, who seemed from the changes of 
 his countenance to be undergoing some mental struggle. 
 
 “Well, whether he is or not,” cried Trapes at length, with an 
 oath, turning his face to Tom, “ it seems as if his game was up, 
 and I will make a clean breast of it!” 
 
 Whereupon he launched into a long narrative, at the end of 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 475 
 
 which, and some talk with his friend, Tom administered refresh¬ 
 ment in the shape of cold beef and a judicious allowance of brandy- 
 and-water. A cab was summoned, and Tom Keed carried off his 
 prize in triumph to Mr. Wall. 
 
 It was not until the afternoon post on Saturday that Kate reaped 
 the reward of her faith and patience. The letters were unusually 
 late, and seeing a packet of considerable dimensions, Mrs. Temple 
 had the self-control to put it in her pocket till “ closing time” set 
 her free to plunge into its contents. Indeed, she felt she dared 
 not commence its perusal until she was safe from the eyes of her 
 customers. Then, with closed doors, and her faithful little friend 
 by her side, she read the following particulars, which are here set 
 forth free from Tom’s introductory and explanatory remarks. 
 
 About the end of February succeeding Mr. Travers’s death. 
 Trapes, who had been suffering from a run of ill-luck, happened 
 to pitch his tent— i.e., take lodgings—in a small street off Gray’s 
 Inn Lane, where a former acquaintance—a law writer in very 
 low circumstances, named Nicholls—managed to drag on a 
 wretched existence. The poor fellow, moreover, was in a rapid 
 decline, and Trapes, with the queer, incongruous generosity which 
 flecked his restless, ignoble nature here and there, was kind to the 
 sufferer, and shared what trifling supplies he managed to pick up 
 with him ; in return, the consumptive scrivener was glad to divide 
 any windfall that came to him. The partners were, however, re¬ 
 duced to great straits ; Avhen one day, as Trapes returned from an 
 aimless, hopeless walk, the law-vmter told him he had Avritten to a 
 former employer for help, and the employer had replied, promising 
 a visit. 
 
 “ Now he cannot come and not leave a blessing behind,” said 
 Nicholls. “ He is coming this evening, and as he is uncommon 
 particular, and a bit of a prig, I think you had better keep out of 
 sightto which Trapes acceded. When the visitor had departed, 
 Nicholls informed his friend that he had made him a present of a 
 sovereign, and premised him a job of Avriting. 
 
 “ Noav I really am not equal to this,” said the poor scrivener ; 
 
47G 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ but I saw that his mind was set on it, and that I should get very 
 little out of him if 1 did ijot agree. So I thought we might do it 
 between us, for you can write a legal fist; but I did not mention, 
 you, for it strikes me there’s some mystification in the matter.” 
 
 In due time the “ job ” was put in their hands. It was to copy 
 out and engross a will, simple and short, with blanks left for all 
 names, sums of money, and dates. 
 
 Some slight delay occurred in procuring paper, &c. However, 
 the task was accomplished in the given time, but by Trapes, as 
 Kicholls, in going to purchase the materials, caught cold, and was 
 L’eally incapable of holding a pen. The gentleman for whom the 
 work was done seemed anxious for speed and secrecy. He came 
 himself for the document, and was satisfied with the manner in. 
 which it had been executed. He seemed, Nicholls said, con¬ 
 cerned to see him suffering so much. He paid liberally, and 
 called twice again. On his second visit he found Nicholls on his 
 death-bed, and Trapes saw him distinctly for the first .time. Very 
 few words passed between them. The employer expressed be¬ 
 coming sympathy with the employed, bestowed an alms, and de¬ 
 parted a couple of hours before the sufferer breathed his last, 
 leaving no clue by which Trapes (had he wished it) could identify 
 him. Nicholls had alw’ays carefully abstained from mentioning his 
 name. 
 
 But Trapes forgot all about him, and scrambled on through 
 another jagged, ragged year, when accident threw him once more 
 into Poole’s society, from whom he heard much gossip respecting 
 his former acquaintance, Tom Reed ; of his intimacy with Mrs. 
 Travers (of which Trapes was already aware, forming his own con¬ 
 clusions thereon); also of the general upset in “ The House ” by 
 the finding of a new will, and the disappearance of Mrs. Travers. 
 This talk of wills did not recall any associated ideas to his muddy 
 brains ; he only chuckled with dull gratified spite to think that 
 Tom Reed was not to have his fortunes crowned by marriage with 
 a rich, beautiful widow, after all. 
 
 It was not till the previous spring that his curiosity and self- 
 interest were roused by coming suddenly upon Tom Reed in 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 477 
 
 evidently close and familiar conversation with the benevolent in¬ 
 dividual who had befriended Nicholls. 
 
 His visit to Eeed followed. Directly he became aware that 
 Ford, formerly manager at “ Travers’s,” and the defunct scrivener’s 
 employer were one and the same, a light broke in upon him ; ease, 
 indulgence, fortune, were in his grasp ! “ That fellow Ford ” had 
 
 of course been employed by the baronet, and the thieving rascals 
 should pay for their villainy by enabling an honest, "well-disposed 
 party (himself) to enjoy a little peace and comfort! With a glow 
 of conscious virtue he proceeded to expend a shilling of the sove¬ 
 reign requisitioned from Tom for permission to peruse the “ last 
 will and testament ” of Richard Travers, Esq., late of St. Hilda’s 
 Place, E.C., &c., &c. A glance at the document confirmed all his 
 suspicions. It was his own work, written nearly three months 
 after the death of the supposed testator ! 
 
 A visit to Ford, and an immediate improvement in the appear¬ 
 ance of the fortunes—but, alas ! not in the habits—of the lucky 
 Trapes ensued. It was evident, even on his own showing, that he 
 had extracted quantities of money from Ford, besides making life 
 a burden to him. At last Ford rebelled, and declared that, rather 
 than drag on such an existence, he would give up the game, make 
 a clean breast of it, and defy Trapes. 
 
 This suggestion by no means suited that ingenious individual. 
 He therefore strove to collect all moneys due to him by hook or by 
 crook, in order to give Ford time to cool and repent his rash in¬ 
 tentions. With a view to turn what he would probably term 
 “ an honest penny,” he attended the Stoneborough races, and there 
 victimised young Turner, who, not being able to pay up in full, in 
 an unwary moment gave his address at Pierstofire. Thither Trapes 
 hunted him, and thus stumbled upon Fanny. He knew of her 
 relationship to Tom, of her connection with Mrs. Travers, and 
 once more he felt on the road to high fortunes ! 
 
 Such were the principal facts contained in Tom’s letter. It 
 must be admitted that a tardy sense of compassion for Ford 
 induced Trapes to refrain from speaking out until he could give 
 him some warning of the crash that wms impending. 
 
478 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 With white lips, and in a low, parched voice, Kate read these as¬ 
 tonishing details to Fanny, who at the same time perused the letter 
 over her shoulder. When it was ended, the friends looked at each 
 other, and Kate, resting her elbows on the table, covered her face 
 with her hands. 
 
 “ The murder is out at last,” exclaimed Fanny ; “ and,” with a 
 hearty kiss, “ the queen shall have her own again.” 
 
 “ Thank Heaven !” cried Kate ; “ Mr. Ford is gone. I shall not 
 have to prosecute him. How could he have permitted himself to 
 act so basely, so treacherously, so fatally for himself ! I am very 
 glad he has escaped.” 
 
 “ Well, so am I; but he deserved to be punished. I wonder 
 what will be done next. I wonder if Sir Hugh will dispute your 
 claim. But he cannot. I wonder-” 
 
 “ You see,” interrupted Kate, “ Tom says, ‘ We are rather 
 stunned at present. But Mr. Wall will write to you as soon as he 
 has consulted counsel, and made up his mind.’ We must just wait 
 —wait still. All I hope is, that there will be no bitter, costly law¬ 
 suit. But how will Hugh Galbraith take it? I wonder where 
 he is ?” 
 
 “ Then he did not leave his address when you parted ?” said 
 Fanny demurely. “ You really must forgive him, and make 
 friends, now you have beaten him.” 
 
 “ You must remember my victory is not an accomplished fact 
 yet. But as to Hugh Galbraith, I have forgiven him long ago. 
 Still, he has not ceased to trouble me, I fear.” 
 
 “ And, dear Kate, what shall you do ? Shall you live in the 
 grand Hereford Square house, or-” 
 
 “ Dearest Fan, how far ahead of present probabilities you go. 
 There are quantities of things to be done yet.” 
 
 “ If I were you I should advertise the Berlin Bazaar at once ; 
 that would be doing somethin'^.” 
 
 w O 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 479 
 
 “ Yes. Whatever happens I shall not, of course, stay here when 
 you are married. But, Fan,” beginning to re-read the letter, 
 
 what an extraordinary history this is ! With what skill and 
 cunning Mr. Ford appears to have laid his plans ! He must have 
 thought that the secret of his iniquity was buried with the poor 
 scrivener; and in his turn he thought that in concealing Ford’s 
 name he had kept full faith with his employer.” 
 
 They talked far into the night, and then retired to dream, and 
 conjecture even in sleep. 
 
 It was long, however, before tired nature’s restorer visited Kate’s 
 eyes. Over and over again she pictui'ed Galbraith receiving 
 the news that fortune’s brief smile was withdrawn, and replaced 
 by her heaviest frown. The stern impartiality with which he would 
 set himself to sift the evidence, and, seeing it incontrovertible, the 
 silent endurance with which he would submit to his fate. And all 
 the time no sympathising friend near to take his hand and say, “ It 
 is hard to bear.” 
 
 Her heart throbbed, and the tears welled over on her eyelashes 
 with the intensity of the longing she had to be with him, to assure 
 him that all should be well, if he would only be reasonable ; to tell 
 him that she understood him and felt for him, and would be faith¬ 
 ful to him. One more crisis was to come, and she knew it would be 
 the greatest of her life. He must be told, sooner or later, who she 
 really was ; and everything depended on how he took that infor¬ 
 mation. 
 
 The succeeding fortnight went by with the strangest mixture of 
 flight and dragging. Every day that was unmarked by a letter 
 from Tom seemed an age of inaction, and yet at the end of the 
 week it seemed but an hour since the first great news of the solving 
 of mysteries had arrived. Still no tidings of how Hugh Galbraith 
 had born the bursting of the storm, or if he had even heard of it. 
 
 It was from Lady Styles the first rumour reached Mrs. Temple, 
 more than a fortnight after Upton’s visit. 
 
 Her ladyship, contrary to her usual custom, had driven into 
 Pierstofte before luncheon, in order to take some departing visitor 
 to the train. 
 
480 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ Did not expect to see me at this hour,” she said, "waddling in 
 •with her usual vivacity. “ Do you know, I think it is very foolish 
 to come out as late as we all do in winter ; but it can’t be helped. 
 My coachman would give me notice if I took him out every day at 
 eleven, and James would rebel. Yet in November it is almost 
 dark before one can order the carriage round. And how are you, 
 Mrs. Temple ? I cannot say you are looking very bright. Any 
 news of your purse ?” 
 
 “ None, I am sorry to say. Lady Styles.” 
 
 “ Sorry to hear it. I don’t think I have seen you since 
 Colonel Upton paid you a 'visit. By-the-way, it’s a mistake your 
 not keeping gentlemen’s gloves. Lots of the men staying at 
 Weston and other places would make quite a lounge here, and 
 buy heaps-” 
 
 “ That is exactly what I should not like the Berlin Bazaar to 
 become. Lady Styles,” returned its mistress. “ It is a lady’s shop 
 par excellence.'" 
 
 “ I am sure you are the most prudent young woman in the world; 
 still I am certain a mixed multitude pays. Do you know, I do not 
 think I should make a bad woman of business myself.” 
 
 “ Far from it. Lady Styles.” 
 
 “ Well, I want two pairs of black gloves stitched ■with red. Have 
 you any at two-and-ninepence ? No ? Eeally, Mrs. Temple, your 
 prices are extravagant; a Bond Street standard for Pierstoffe 
 won’t do, I assure you. Well, have you any dark violet at three- 
 and-sixpence ?” 
 
 Mrs. Temple could accommodate her ladyship; and while she 
 was undoing the parcels and turning a whole boxful over to select 
 a thin, elastic kid, she chattered on. 
 
 “ Well, is there no news stirring ? Have you seen Slade lately ? 
 No ! I am surprised at a bright, intelligent woman living shut up 
 like a mummy in this old house, never hearing anything or seeing 
 any one. By-the-way, that reminds me. I had a letter from 
 Colonel Upton this morning; do you know, he was quite struck 
 with you. I can’t tell you all the pretty things he said ; and envied 
 Sir Hugh Galbraith having been your inmate, and declared, with 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 481 
 
 his usual impudence, that had he been in Galbraith’s place he would 
 have seen a great deal more of you.” 
 
 “ I do not think he would,” said Mrs. Temple demurely. 
 
 “ So I told him. But in his letter this morning he says he had 
 just seen Galbraith, who has been called up to town in consequence 
 of some move of the enemy—that is, Travers’s widow. She is 
 making a stir about the will. I suppose it will end in smoke ; but 
 it is curious that the day I took the trouble of going up to see 
 Sir Hugh Galbraith, when he received me so coolly, I sug¬ 
 gested to him that he had not heard the last of her yet. Of 
 course he poohpooh’d my suggestion; but it was curious, 
 wasn’t it ?” 
 
 “ I think this pair will suit you, Lady Styles,” said Mrs. Temple, 
 anxious to draw her away from this agitating topic. 
 
 “ Well, they look very nice ! May I try them on ?” 
 
 “ It is against shop rules,” returned Mrs. Temple, smiling. “ But 
 you may.” 
 
 This little concession charmed her ladyship, who was further 
 gratified by finding they fitted admirably, and, after a little more 
 talk, she rose to depart. 
 
 “ And how is your agreeable friend, the traveller ?” 
 
 “Who?” asked Kate, considerably puzzled. 
 
 “ Oh, you know who I mean ! The young man I had tea with. 
 Ha, ha, ha!” 
 
 “ Yes, yes, I remember. He is quite well, thank you.” 
 
 “ Do you know, I met a man in town last spring so wonderfully 
 like him. I was quite startled for a moment! It was at Lady 
 Lorrimer’s, one of Sir Hugh Galbraith’s sisters. She is a blue and 
 a politician, and has artists and editors, and a perfect olla •podrida 
 at her house. Just as I went into the refreshment-room I saw a 
 gentleman handing a cup of tea to a very pretty woman, and he 
 was so like our young man that I nearly cried out ‘ Shrimps !’ ” 
 
 “ Very extraordinary,” returned Kate, laughing, “ but he is 
 Fanny’s young man, not mine.” 
 
 “ Oh, indeed !” cried Lady Styles, with a twinkle of delight in her 
 good-humoured black, beady eyes. “ I always guessed he was after 
 
 31 
 
482 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 one or other of you. And so he is her young man,” reseating her¬ 
 self. “ Now tell me all about it.” 
 
 Kate, bitterly repenting her unguarded admission, had hard work 
 to ward olf her ladyship’s very leading questions, and after a des¬ 
 perate encounter of wits, had at last the satisfaction of seeing her 
 tormentor depart. 
 
 In the meantime Mr. Wall and Tom were working hard in 
 London. The revelations of Trapes rendered criminal proceedings 
 against Poole unnecessary, although he was called upon to explain 
 how his name came to be appended to a will executed when it was 
 incontrovertibly proved that he was sixty or seventy miles away. 
 He was greatly astonished at the circumstances revealed to him, 
 but adhered steadily to his statement, that late in February or 
 early in March, previous to Mr. Travers’s death, he had been called 
 in to the private office to witness, together with Gregory, what he 
 understood to be Mr. Travers’s will written out by the latter. 
 
 He acknowledged that, about a week or ten days after, he had 
 had “ sick leave,” Avhich he had employed in attending the Peep- 
 ham Steeplechase in company with Trapes ; but he felt quite sure 
 the signature shoAvn him was his own writing. After meditating 
 on it for a moment or two, he suddenly struck his hand on the table 
 and exclaimed, “ I remember now !—between three or four months 
 after Mr. Travers’s death, I was very hard up, and one day Ford 
 noticed I was looking uncommon bad. As he spoke in an unusually 
 kind, friendly way, I took heart, and asked him for a small loan. He 
 said he could not oblige me then, but that if I would come over to 
 his place and take a bit of dinner he would. So I went. We had 
 a very good feed. Then he lent me two-ten, and talked to me like 
 a father, till he brought the tears into my eyes. Then he said he 
 was maldng a little settlement on a sister of his, and asked me to 
 be good enough to witness his signature. Of course I agreed, and 
 he went over to another table and wrote something, and then he 
 brought a paper, all doubled up, and says he, ‘ Put your name 
 there.’ ‘ All right,’ says I, ‘ only I did not really see you write 
 yours.’ ‘ Never mind,’ said he, with a pleasant laugh, ‘ I am sure 
 you heard it, for I never had such a scratchy pen.’ I was ashamed 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 483 
 
 to say any more, so I just wrote my name, though I did not exactly 
 see where he had put his. I wonder if he really had any hand in 
 this! But he was done out of the money by it himself, wasn’t 
 he?” 
 
 Poole had been kept carefully in the dark as to the suspicions, or 
 rather certainties concerning Ford, and this fresh instance of the 
 morbid cunning displayed by the late manager struck Mr. Wall 
 and Tom, who were both present at the examination of the 
 signatures by Poole, as confirmatory of the deep-laid and carefully 
 worked-out scheme, by which he had endeavoured to draw Kate 
 into his power, and singularly illustrative of the keen foresight on 
 all sides save the one where strong passion and unchecked desire 
 had blinded his judgment and blunted his moral sense. 
 
 His whole plot rested its chance of success on the strength of 
 Kate’s dislike to Sir Hugh Galbraith overcoming her sense of right. 
 Had he been able to view these forces with sight undistorted by 
 exaggerated vanity and enormous selfishness, he would not have 
 embarked in so disastrous a crime. Once launched in it, self-pre¬ 
 servation compelled him to persevere. 
 
 “ What an awful life that fellow must have led for more than 
 two years !” exclaimed Tom to Mr. Wall, who was making a note 
 of Poole’s observations. “ I imagine he has had his share of 
 punishment.” 
 
 “ It is very much to be regretted he has escaped the hands of 
 justice,” returned Mr. Wall sternly, “ and I trust he may be caught 
 yet. I have seldom heard of a greater villain. Just look at the 
 confusion he has created ! First, poor Mrs. Travers suffers, and 
 then Sir Hugh Galbraith ! Finally, Mr. Travers’s intentions are 
 frustrated, for there can be no question that at the end of Feb¬ 
 ruary, 18—, he executed a will, which will this absconding forger 
 has destroyed, and altered the date of the one substituted to bring 
 it close upon the disagreement between Mr. and Mrs. Travers, of 
 which he made so much. So we are compelled to fall back upon 
 the first will which Mrs. Travers originally proved. I must say 
 that, although I am heartily glad Mrs. Travers is righted, I cannot 
 help feeling for Sir Hugh Galbraith. He has laid out a good deal 
 
 31-2 
 
484 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 of money, too, in the purchase of property, I am told. Mrs. 
 Travers can force him to repay all that, you know.” 
 
 “ Mrs. Travers will do nothing harsh or unjust,” cried Tom ; 
 “ but I agree with you it is much to be regretted the second will is 
 lost. It is impossible even to guess at the true intentions of the 
 testator. What course do you propose to take now ?” 
 
 This was fully discussed, and with the advice of counsel it was 
 decided to lay a statement of the whole matter, with Trapes’s con¬ 
 fession, duly embodied in an affidavit, and the circumstances de¬ 
 tailed by Poole and Captain Gregory, before Sir Hugh Galbraith’s 
 solicitor, who quickly summoned his client from the congenial re¬ 
 tirement of the family den. Here Galbraith had lived not un¬ 
 happily since his last interview and rejection by Mrs. Temple. 
 Something he could not define in her voice—her look—her soft, 
 hesitating manner, gave him hope. There might be some diffi¬ 
 culties connected with her past which she could not at once remove, 
 but nothing that he would shrink from associating with the name 
 of Avife. Pie had her word for that, and it was enough. In 
 another month or six weeks he would visit Pierstoffe again, or 
 write and ask leave to do so. All hesitation and doubt had long 
 since been exorcised by “the sweetness and light” of as honest a 
 love as ever warmed man’s heart. 
 
 Near Kate, life was a fresher, fairer thing than he ever thought 
 it could be. To be understood—to be loved—to have the brighter, 
 richer tints of his soul, which had so long been dulled by the mists 
 and miasmas of every-day commonplace association with men who 
 aspired not, nor knew, nor sought knowledge—to feel them glow¬ 
 ing forth once more, retouched by the penetrating nobility of a 
 nature in many things weaker, but also in many loftier, than his 
 own—all this was a vision of paradise. What a terrible awaken¬ 
 ing awaited him when he reached London! His dreams were even 
 more substantial than the reality he had tasted. 
 
 At first he was very little moved; but as one overwhelming 
 proof after another was laid before him, he could no longer refuse 
 acquiescence in his lawyer’s conviction, that the will which had 
 constituted him his cousin’s heir was a clever forgery. 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 485 
 
 Having admitted this, he demanded a day’s reflection. It was 
 spent in a brave, silent facing of his position on every side, and a 
 careful, deliberate decision on his own future plans. 
 
 When Galbraith reappeared at Mr. Payne’s office he looked con¬ 
 siderably older and sterner, but it was with perfect composure and 
 apparent sang-froid that he gave them directions to communicate 
 to Mrs. Travers’s solicitor his complete conviction of the justice of 
 her claims, and the means by which he proposed to refund the 
 money he had withdrawn from her estate. 
 
 While these events were occurring in London, Kate, finding her¬ 
 self too much overwrought by the strain of constant anxiety and 
 correspondence with Tom and Mr. Wall, to give due attention to 
 her business—Fanny, too, being quite distracted from her usual 
 routine—it suggested itself to her mind one morning, while lying 
 wakefully watching for the dawn, that she would ask Mr. Turner 
 for the “ loan ” of one of his young ladies to attend to the shop. 
 It was more than she could bear at such a time to be hunting for 
 subtle shades of Berlin wool, when her heart was beating with a 
 variety of emotions, hopes, and fears, inextricably mixed together, 
 so that every hope was largely streaked with fear, and every fear 
 with hope. 
 
 Fanny, who was in a most restless, nervous mood, highly ap¬ 
 proving this project, Mrs. Temple started immediately after their 
 early dinner to call on the proprietor of the chief shop, glad to be 
 out in the air and doing anything. 
 
 She was most politely received by Turner, senior, who heard her 
 proposition favourably and affably. In the dead season, he was 
 not sorry to get rid of an extra shop-woman. 
 
 He rubbed his hands over each other, in the “ Do-you-require- 
 any-other-article, madam ” style, and said blandly that he was 
 always happy to oblige a neighbour; that there was Miss Newman 
 or Miss Finch, both very clever, industrious young ladies, with a 
 good idea of business, and she could arrange with either herself. 
 
 Mrs. Temple thanked him, and was about to request an inter¬ 
 view with one or other, when, with a portentous hem ! Mr. Turner 
 
488 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 proceeded to inquire i£ she had any idea of giving up business, or 
 if it was only temporary pressure that made her seek extra assist¬ 
 ance. Mrs. Temple answered candidly that circumstances would 
 probably render business no longer necessary to her, and that the 
 Berlin Bazaar would soon be in the market. 
 
 “ Then, ma’am,” said Turner solemnly, “ as a neighbour that has 
 always been on the best of terms, may I be so bold as to ask for 
 the first refusal ?” 
 
 “ Certainly, Mr. Turner,” she replied, smiling; “ you are at 
 liberty to make me an offer whenever you like.” 
 
 He, still solemnly, replied he would take a few days to consider, 
 and then proceeded to summon Miss Finch, with whom Kate soon 
 agreed, arranging, to her great satisfaction, that the young lady 
 was to sleep at her old quarters, but to come to breakfast at the 
 Berlin Bazaar each morning. 
 
 “ I think. Fan, I shall get rid of the business without the trouble 
 and delay of advertising,” said Kate, after narrating her interview 
 with Mr. Turner ; “ and this poor girl seems very good-humoured 
 and inoffensive—you must go in and assist her sometimes.” 
 
 “ Of course I will, dear. But, oh ! I do feel in such an extra¬ 
 ordinary state ! Every ring of the bell makes me expect Sir Hugh, 
 or news that Ford’s body has been found ! or that Sir Hugh has 
 shot Tom, or Trapes has committed suicide ! It will be such a re¬ 
 lief when everything is really settled, and we have left Pierstoffe.” 
 
 “ It will,” said Mrs. Temple slowly, while she took off her bon¬ 
 net ; “ but, Fanny, I shall always have a regard for Pierstoffe. It 
 was here I found I could ‘ learn and labour ’ to get my own 
 living, and altogether I am not sure I shall quit Pierstoffe with 
 dry eyes.” 
 
 “ Ah,” said Fanny, with a supremely knowing look, “ I can 
 understand your having more tender reminiscences of Pierstoffe 
 than I have, but I will say no more. Goodness gracious !” inter¬ 
 rupting herself. “^What a violent ring ! Mills !—don’t you hear. 
 Mills ?” and Fanny started up with her hand on her heart. 
 
 “ Law, Miss Fanny, it’s only the post ; you need not be in such 
 a taking. There ! two for the mistress, and one for you.” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 487 
 
 One is a circular,” said Kate, taking kers. “ But who is this 
 from ?” 
 
 “ Just open it and see,” cried Fanny, who had pounced upon her 
 own letter, which bore Tom’s well-known superscription. “ There 
 is nothing particular in it,” she continued, glancing at its contents. 
 
 No further news from Messrs. Payne. Sir Hugh is in town—he 
 supposes in consultation with them, and Mr. Wall will let you 
 know anything fresh. Now, who is your correspondent ?” 
 
 “ Colonel Upton !” cried Kate, turning to the signature at the 
 end of her letter. 
 
 “ How extraordinary ! What does he sa}' ?” 
 
 “ ‘ Dear Madam,’ ” read Kate, “ ‘ since I had the pleasure of 
 seeing you, some circumstances connected with my relative, the 
 late John Aylmer, have come to my knowledge, v/hich make me 
 especially anxious for any information that you can give me re¬ 
 specting the prayer-book which so stirred my curiosity. I trust I 
 am not indiscreet in troubling you. Should you be inclined to 
 gratify me, I shall lie entirely guided by your wishes in making 
 your solution of the mystery public or not-’ 
 
 “ I wonder what he can have heard ?” said Kate thoughtfully. 
 
 At any rate. Fan, there is no longer any need for concealment. I 
 shall just tell him the fact that his relative, John Aylmer, was my 
 father. I wonder if Lady Styles will still continue to patronise 
 the Bazaar when the news penetrates to her ears ? Perhaps she 
 will be disgusted!” 
 
 “Not she,” cried Fanny. “ She will be far too much dehghted 
 ■with such a nine days’ wonder. Tell me, Kate, did you know all 
 along that she was your great-aunt ?” 
 
 “ No, Fanny ; not until Colonel Upton’s visit.” 
 
 “ And how could you hold your tongue about it I” 
 
 The next day but one brought a long letter from Mr. Wall, 
 announcing that Sir Hugh Galbraith had resolved not to make any 
 attempt to uphold the will Avhich had been proved in so extra¬ 
 ordinary a manner to be false. His solicitors, on his part, ex¬ 
 pressed extreme regret that he should, under an erroneous impres- 
 
488 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 sion regarding his rights, have alienated so large a sum from Mrs, 
 Travers’s property. To refund this was quite out of Sir Hugh 
 Galbraith’s power. All he could propose was to raise a mortgage 
 on his estate, and repay a portion of the money he had expended 
 out of the Travers property ; and from time to time, by further 
 payments, liquidate the whole amount that was due to Mrs. 
 Travers. 
 
 Various other details of business were dealt with, the letter con¬ 
 cluding thus : 
 
 “ No traces of the missing Ford have as yet been discovered, 
 nor do I think will be. Being amply supplied with funds of 
 the least traceable description, he is probably in the New World 
 by this. I shall be glad to know what your plans are. If I might 
 make a suggestion, I should say that your presence in town would 
 be desirable. 
 
 “ Are you in want of cash ? If so, pray let me know how much 
 you require, and I will forward a cheque by return. 
 
 “ I am yours, &c. &c.” 
 
 “ Ah !” said Kate with a sigh and a smile. “ Have the old times 
 come back ; the quiet, stagnant old times, when I never had even 
 the excitement of a want ? But no, the game is not played out 
 yet!” 
 
 She immediately replied to the lawyer’s letter, entreating him 
 to make Sir Hugh Galbraith understand that she particularly 
 wished him to consider the ten thousand he had appropriated, his 
 share of the property, for she felt convinced that had the will for 
 which the forged one was substituted been discovered, a larger 
 portion would have been his. She pressed Mr. Wall to lose no 
 time in making this proposition, and to let her know the result. 
 She declined his offer of funds with thanks, assuring him that her 
 s/ioj} had answered extremely well. Finally, she promised to come 
 up to town as soon as she could arrange matters at Pierstoffe. 
 
 Now that she was free, she felt an extraordinary reluctance to 
 move—why, she scarcely acknowledged to herself. But the real 
 
HER DEA REST FOE. 
 
 48» 
 
 magnet which attracted her to her humble home was a vague, but 
 instinctive feeling that Galbraith would come to seek her there— 
 that in the wilderness of London they might miss each other, and 
 that now nothing was to be risked, for the happiness of both was 
 balancing on a mere thread of possibility. 
 
 “ Yet I must go soon—I cannot stay on ; and Fanny is visibly 
 vibrating to the points of her toes in her eagerness to take flight!” 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 The day after Kate had despatched her reply to Mr. Wall’s letter 
 she was somewhat surprised by receiving an offer from the pros¬ 
 perous Turner for the “ goodwill, stock-in-trade, furniture, and 
 fixtures” of the modest little establishment, she having only in¬ 
 formed him of her intention to part with it a few days before. 
 The sum he proposed was sufficient to reimburse her for any 
 outlay she had made, and leave a small—a very small margin of 
 j)rofit. 
 
 It was enough, however, to satisfy the proprietress, who, sin¬ 
 cerely glad to have the whole concern taken off her hands at once, 
 only waited till the next morning to write, accepting Mr. Turner’s 
 offer, lest a more immediate reply should seem too hasty. 
 
 “ Really,” exclaimed Fanny, “ nothing could happen more for¬ 
 tunately. We shall only have to pack up our clothes, and leave 
 everything as it stands. When shall you go ?—because if you will 
 make up your mind, I had better write to Tom to take lodgings 
 for us. Oh,” with a little ecstatic jump, and clapping her hands 
 together, “ how delightful it will be in London once more !—to go 
 to the theatres !—and have Tom coming in to late dinner.” 
 
 “ I imagine you will soon have the privilege of choosing Tom’s 
 dinners for him; and I only hope you may be wisely directed in 
 the choice, for I am convinced a great deal depends on how you 
 feed a man,” said Kate oracularly. “And now run away, like a 
 dear. I must look at my inventories, for of course Mr. Turner’s 
 
490 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 offer is subject to a proviso that the furniture is in fairly good 
 order ; and I want to write to Tom besides.” 
 
 “ I am sure you could write in your sleep ; the pen is never out 
 of your hand. You are looking quite ill, more as if you had lost a 
 fortune than gained one! Was there any bad news in Tom’s 
 letter this morning ? I think you have seemed miserable since you 
 read it.” 
 
 “ Yes, there was something in it that distressed me ; but I cannot 
 say anything more now, dear. I shall try and think what is best 
 to be done ; and do you go and help Miss Finch in the shop. It is 
 a fine afternoon, and the people will be coming out and into the 
 Berlin Bazaar, I hope.” 
 
 When Fanny left her, Kate sat quite still in a low chair near 
 the window, gazing out upon the sea without being aware of what 
 she saw. 
 
 For greater quiet and seclusion she had settled herself and her 
 writing materials in the upper sitting-room, which had been Gal¬ 
 braith’s. The table had been placed nearer the window that she 
 might have the light as long as a November day would allow, but 
 the sofa was still where it had been the day she had first spoken to 
 him. She could still in fancy see him extended on it ; still see the 
 look of profound astonishment in his eyes, which, in spite of their 
 light colour, were so stern and sombre, when he turned at the 
 sound of her voice. Was that day to prove fortunate or unfor¬ 
 tunate to them both ? Hugh Galbraith was specially in her 
 thoughts, because of the concluding paragraph of Tom’s letter : 
 
 “ Johnston, formerly our correspondent in India, has just come 
 in ; he says he met Galbraith yesterday, Avho informed him he had 
 nearly arranged an exchange into the —th (a regiment which sailed 
 for India last autumn), as his old corps, the —th Dragoons, was on 
 its way back, and he did not wish to remain in England. I do not 
 know how far this may interest you, but I think it right you should 
 be told.” 
 
 She had not said anything of this to Fanny ; but the words had 
 stamped themselves on her brain. Wherever she turned, the words 
 
 Hugh Galbraith is going away out of my reach. I shall never 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 491 
 
 see him again,” seemed to blaze before her. How could she pre¬ 
 vent it ? How could she draw him to her ? What right had she 
 to address the man she had twice rejected, and yet she could not 
 bring herself to resign ? Perhaps all his trouble—the crushing re¬ 
 verse of his fortune—had driven her from his mind ! to so many 
 men, women are but the playthings of their hours of ease ; and if 
 she made any attempt to recall herself to him, might ho not con¬ 
 sider her importunate ? Still she felt she ought—she must—make 
 some effort to communicate with him. She might write and ask 
 if he still wished to know the story of her previous life ; or she 
 might send a formal request for a personal interview, as Mrs. 
 Travers. How she wished some one would tell him her story 
 for her! 
 
 “ Thinking will do no good,” she said to herself, rising and 
 moving towards the fire, which burned brightly, thanks to Fanny’s 
 parting attentions, and she knelt before it to warm her chill hands. 
 “ I shall just write to Tom, and enclose a little note to Sir Hugh, 
 asking if he is still curious ^to learn my history. Tom will find 
 out where he is. Yes ” (standing up and gazing in the glass), “ I 
 do look ill.” 
 
 A pale, sad, sweet face w'as reflected, only the lips richly red, 
 Avith a slight shade as of fatigue beneath the large yearning eyes ; 
 the slender pliant figure, in its winter garb of thick, dark Avoollen 
 stuff, looked a trifle less round than when she first stood before 
 Galbraith. “ However,” she thought, “ the anxiety and uncertainty 
 cannot last. I Avill take courage and write.” 
 
 She went quickly to the table, and set forth her writing materials, 
 
 then, seating herself, traced cj[uickly the words, “ Dear Tom-” 
 
 There she stopped, and the succeeding sentence was never written, 
 for Mills came in, with an unusually benign expression on her face. 
 In her hand she held a card ; and as she gave it to her mistress, she 
 said, “ Ho wants to know if you will see him.” 
 
 Kate turned faint and dizzy as she saAV the card bore the name 
 of “ Sir Hugh Galbraith.” 
 
 “ Yes, yes, I will see him !” 
 
 She went instinctively to stand by the fireplace, as farthest from 
 
492 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 the light, and strove to be composed, or to seem composed, though 
 she tx’embled all over. 
 
 It seemed at once a long stretch of time, and yet but a second, 
 before the door opened to admit Galbraith. He advanced and 
 took the hand she held out, both remaining face to face and silent 
 for a moment. Then she saw how gaunt and haggard and worn he 
 looked ; what deep gloom was in his eyes ; what hard lines about 
 his mouth. 
 
 “ I hope you are not displeased at my coming here, Mrs. Temple,” 
 he said ; and she fancied a touch of melancholy softened the harsh¬ 
 ness of voice. “ But you must forgive me ; I could not leave Eng¬ 
 land without seeing you.” 
 
 “ Leave England !” she echoed, sitting down on the sofa because 
 she felt unable to stand. 
 
 “ Yes,” returned Galbraith, walking slowly to the window, and 
 then back again to the fire, where he leant against the mantelpiece 
 opposite, looking intently at her, while she, in the great, the terrible 
 strain of the moment, was unconscious how her own eyes were fully 
 uplifted to his. 
 
 “ Are you all right ?” he continued tenderly. “ You look pale, 
 disturbed, as if something had gone wrong.” 
 
 “ Oh yes, I am well enough. But tell me, why—why are you 
 leaving England ?” 
 
 “ It is rather a long story,” resumed Galbraith ; “ but consider¬ 
 ing how we parted last, and the sort of promise you made me, I 
 thought it due to you to explain how matters are ; besides ” (a short 
 quick sigh), “ I Avanted to look upon your face once more ” (another 
 pause, which Kate felt quite unable to break, and he moved rest¬ 
 lessly away to the window and back). “ Since I saw you last,” he 
 resumed, speaking quicker than usual, “I am sorry to say I have 
 come to grief. You remember my telling you how I inherited a 
 fortune from a relation who cut out his widow ?” 
 
 “ I do,” in a very low voice. 
 
 “ Well, the widow has come to the front, and proved the will to 
 be a forgery.” 
 
 “ Has she really proved it ?” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 493 
 
 “ Yes, there cannot be a doubt in any sane mind on the subject. 
 There is nothing for it but to give up the fortune I had a short 
 spell of. So I am going back to my profession as my only outlook 
 now. There would be nothing in that alone I couldn’t stand very 
 well; but you see I took ten thousand pounds of this woman’s 
 money and used it; and I could as soon pay the national debt! It 
 is this that hangs like a cursed millstone round my neck ; and I 
 shall be poorer than ever with a lifelong effort to pay it off’.” 
 
 “ Surely she will not exact it,” murmured Kate. 
 
 “ I only know I am determined to pay,” he returned. “ But I 
 did not come here to drivel about my troubles and distress you. I 
 only want to show you my imperative reason for going on foreign 
 service—to explain to you, that having no longer home or fortune 
 or position to offer you, I must not press for the explanation you 
 once promised me.” He leant against the mantelshelf, and covered 
 his eyes with his hand for a moment. “ What was once a bitter 
 grief is something of a consolation now, for I should not like you 
 to feel what I do ; but I shall battle through, I suppose, Mrs. 
 Temple,” seeing her press her handkerchief to her eyes. “ A new 
 life and hard work will help to wear out both myself and my trouble. 
 You will give me your hand,”—taking it—“ and bid me Godspeed, 
 will you not ?” 
 
 He sat down beside her as he spoke, trying to look into her face, 
 which was half averted. 
 
 She did not reply. Her heart was beating to suffocation ; she 
 was trembling in every limb. 
 
 “ Speak to me,” repeated Galbraith, making a movement to re¬ 
 linquish her hand ; but, to his infinite surprise, her soft white fingers 
 closed over his; it was drawn close to her ; and, before he could 
 find any word to express the mingling of pain and pleasure and wild 
 emotion her movement excited, with a gesture full of grace and shy 
 tenderness she laid her cheek upon it. 
 
 “God of heaven!” exclaimed Galbraith, pressing close to her, 
 “ is it possible that my dim instinct did not deceive me ?—that you 
 care for me—love me ?” 
 
 “Before you ask me any questions, Hugh,” said Kate, finding 
 
494 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 voice and courage, letting his hand go, and starting to her feet— 
 “ before you ask a single question, hear my story, then-” 
 
 “ Ay, I will listen to what you like ; but first, one moment of 
 Paradise before I go out into the dark,” cried Galbraith, rising 
 also. 
 
 He caught her hands in his, drawing her to him gently, yet with 
 a force she could not resist. He raised them to his neck, and, 
 clasping his arms round her, laid his lips on hers, as if he were 
 athirst for life and had found its well-spring. 
 
 “Now tell me everything,” he said, his voice husky with 
 passionate delight — “here—in my arms. I will not — cannot 
 let you go!” 
 
 “ You must—you will,” said Kate, half frightened at this out¬ 
 break. “ Listen, then. My name is not Temple ! I am Catherine 
 Travers. I am your cousin’s widow. I am the woman you despised 
 so much, and you—you are my dearest foe !” The last words 
 sounded like a caress. 
 
 “ What!” said Galbraith in great astonishment, and holding her 
 from him to gather her meaning in her face as well as from her 
 words. “You Travers’s widow ? How did you come here ? Why 
 did you not tell me at once ? And—but I see it all. And Mr. 
 Tom—your man of business—is that newspaper fellow, Reed ?” 
 
 “ He is. There, you must let me go. Sir Hugh. That is my 
 story.” She drew herself away from him and stood near the table 
 with downcast eyes, and an air half proud yet shy, one hand upon 
 her heart, which throbbed almost visibly. “ Perhaps I ought to 
 have told you at once, but we seemed to drift into a sort of ac¬ 
 quaintance which made explanation so awkward. And then I never 
 thought we should meet any more ; and I enjoyed ma.ldng you feel 
 I was a gentlewoman. But when I found that you cared so much 
 for me, I was afraid you would go back to your feelings of contempt 
 again if you knew who I really was. And I was so anxious to 
 prove that my poor husband loved and trusted me to the end, that 
 I was resolved that nothing should turn me from my purpose of 
 proving that dreadful will a forgery. And now, you will not go 
 away ?—you will forgive my half-involuntary imposition ? Ah, 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 495 
 
 Hugh ! it went to my heart to hurt you—to rob you ! Yon will 
 take back your own ?” 
 
 “ It is the most eixtraordinary story I have ever heard,"’ said Gal¬ 
 braith, still bewildered; “ yet now that I know it, I seem to have been 
 a blockhead not to know who you were. Forgive you ! I do not see 
 that I have much to forgive, though I have had some hours of tor¬ 
 ture lately. But tell me, do you love me—really, earnestly ? Are 
 you willing to give me your life ?” 
 
 And Kate, with grave eyes, but a tender smile on her trembling- 
 lips, said, “ I am, Hugh.” 
 
 The night had closed in, and still the lovers sat in earnest talk 
 by the firelight. Their explanations were full, outspoken, un¬ 
 checked by a shadow of reserve. There are moments of rapture— 
 diapasons of delight—which from their nature cannot last, but 
 leave a blessing behind them ; this was one. 
 
 “ And I suppose, then, you agree with me, that there is now no 
 necessity for your going on foreign service ?” said Kate with an 
 arch smile when they had fully discussed all points. 
 
 “ Well, no. I suppose we can manage a fair division of the 
 property. Though I warn you, you might find a far more brilliant 
 marriage than with a poor baronet—your debtor, too, by Jove I” 
 
 “ But if I happen to fancy ‘ a penniless lad wi’ a lang pedigree,’” 
 said Kate, abandoning her hand to his caresses. 
 
 “ How did that fellow Trapes manage to warn Ford ?” 
 
 “ Oh, he did not warn Ford.” 
 
 “ Then who did ?” 
 
 “ I, myself. I do not know what you will think of it, Hugh, but 
 the night that Trapes made a sort of half confession liore, I was 
 so convinced Mr. Ford was implicated in the plot, that 1 wrote 
 him a little line, saying that Trapes was in communication with me 
 respecting the will, and that no decided step could be taken for a 
 week, adding that my writing to him was a profound secret; then 
 I suppose he ran away.” 
 
 “ And so you let the villain off! Well, I think you might have 
 asked Reed’s advice. It is too bad he should escape.” 
 
49G 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 “ Still I do not think having to punish him would have added to 
 my happiness—our happiness. I am glad he is out of the way ; 
 and, I imagine, so are you.” 
 
 “ You are a sage as well as a witch ! By Heaven, I can scarcely 
 yet believe you are my hete noir, Travers’s widow—the embodi¬ 
 ment of all I most detested. And this is the reason why you 
 looked at me so murderously the first time I saw you in this blessed 
 room ?” 
 
 “ Yes, I was very angry against you ; which you cannot wonder 
 at. Consider that, not ten months before, I had heard you tell 
 Colonel Upton Mr. Travers might have been satisfied to take me 
 for a companion on cheaper terms. Do you remember ?” 
 
 “ How do you know this ? Where did I say it ?” 
 
 “In Hampton Court Palace Gardens. You were talking to 
 Colonel Upton under a large yew-tree. I was at the other side, 
 and then and there devoted you to the powers that punish.” 
 
 “ Yes ; but how in Heaven’s name was I to imagine you the sort 
 of woman you are—a rara avis in any station ?” 
 
 “ But remember, Hugh, I am no aristocrat. My father was, poor 
 fellow, what is called an officer and a gentleman; my dear—my 
 dearest mother, was the daughter of a shopkeeper.” 
 
 “ I don’t care a rap, Kate, who you are, so long as-” 
 
 “ I beg a thousand pardons,” said Fanny, pushing the door open 
 slowly and prudently, “ but it is six o’clock. Miss Finch is gone, 
 and if Sir Hugh and yourself have not quite cut each other’s 
 throats, why, tea is ready.” 
 
 “ Fanny! you dear little soul,” cried Galbraith, starting up 
 joyously, “ I have such Avonderful news to tell you that you must 
 give me a kiss !” 
 
 “ Wonderful news !—no news to me. Sir Hugh. I know what it 
 is ; but there, I will give you a kiss of peace and congratulation. 
 You and Kate have been made more than friends! I always knew 
 you Avould.” 
 
 A few lines from Tom to Fanny, received that evening, announced 
 his intention of running down the next day to talk matters over 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 497 
 
 and make certain arrangements which, in his opinion^ had been de¬ 
 layed too long. 
 
 “ Will you not stay and see our good friend and prime minis¬ 
 ter ?” said Kate to Galbraith. “ I want you to know and value 
 him.” 
 
 “ I had no intention of returning to town till Monday,” replied 
 Galbraith. “ A letter to the army agent will do as well as a visit, 
 and I think the redoubted Tom will baek me up as to the arrange¬ 
 ments I want to make.” 
 
 So it happened that the next day a very happy carve sat 
 
 down to high tea in Mrs. Travers’s (the name of Temple was now 
 discarded) pretty drawing-room ; four happier hearts could not be 
 found ; “ quips and cranks and wreathed smiles ” flew from lip to 
 lip, mellowed by a real lovingkindness for each other. Galbraith 
 confessed in his heart that, although a newspaper fellow and a 
 bit of a radical, Tom Keed was a gentleman and an acquisition ; 
 while Tom’s delight at the solution of all difficulties, and the right¬ 
 ing of all injustice, by the prospective union of Kate and her “ foe ” 
 was sincere and heartfelt. 
 
 Kate had begun to dispense that crucial test of a tea-maker, the 
 second cup, when a long, loud, irregular rapping at the front door 
 caused her to pause in her operations. 
 
 “ Who can it be ?” cried Mrs. Travers. 
 
 “ Oh, I do not care,” said Fanny. “ We are no longer two ‘ lone, 
 lorn ’ females ! With Tom and Sir Hugh here, I am as bold as a 
 lion.” 
 
 They were silent for a moment, and then Mills opened the door. 
 “ If you please, mum, here’s my Lady Styles wants to speak to you, 
 right or wrong.” 
 
 “Oh, have her in!” cried Galbraith. “The sooner every¬ 
 thing is known the better ; and she is a first-rate circulating 
 medium.” 
 
 But her ladyship waited no permission. Galbraith’s words were 
 hardly uttered before she was upon them. 
 
 “ My dear Mrs. Temple ! you really must excuse my coming in ; 
 but I must see you about an extraordinary-” stopping short as 
 
498 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 she crossed the threshold and recognised the group before her. 
 “ The young traveller, I protest! and Sir Hugh Galbraith !—I 
 really am surprised. Perhaps I am in the way; but, my dear 
 creature, I have such an extraordinary letter from Upton ! I only 
 found it when I came in from calling at the vicarage to-day ; and 
 late as it was, I ordered the carriage and came straight away to 
 speak to you.” To the general company: “ Pray don’t let me 
 keep you standing. I dare say you know what I mean, my dear 
 ]\Irs. Temple ! would you rather come and speak to me in another 
 room or the shop ?” 
 
 “ No, Lady Styles,” replied Kate, with a smile and a blush ; “ we 
 are all true friends here ; we have no secrets.” 
 
 “Very nice, indeed !” cried her ladyship, with a stare of undis¬ 
 guised astonishment at Galbraith. “ Well, then, Upton tells mo 
 you are the daughter of my nephew, John Aylmer, and—and— 
 that pretty girl he ran away with—and married—I believe.” 
 
 “ I am,” said Kate quietly ; “ and I possess the marriage certificate 
 of my parents.” 
 
 “Well, I protest, it’s the most extraordinary, romantic, unheard- 
 of affair I ever knew ! My dear, I always thought your face was 
 familiar to me ; now I recognise the likeness to my poor brother, 
 your grandfather ! Berlin Bazaar, or no Berlin Bazaar, you are 
 a nice creature, and you shall come and stay with me.” And Lady 
 Styles took Kate’s hand and bestowed a kindly, audible kiss upon 
 her cheek. “ Now,” she resumed, sitting down at the table, “ come, 
 do tell me all about everything ! I can’t make out what brings 
 Sir Hugh Galbraith here. I am really sorry to hear such bad 
 tidings of you,” she went on, addressing him. “ But I told you 
 I thought that widow would be a thorn in your side yet; now, 
 didn’t I ?” 
 
 “ You certainly did,” said Galbraith, laughing a genial heart- 
 laugh very unusual to him ; “ but instead of rushing into legal 
 warfare, I have persuaded her to become bone of my bone.” 
 
 “ Excellent! very judicious ! a common-sense line of action. But 
 pray. Sir Hugh, is she aware of your visits here ? I am not strait¬ 
 laced, but-” 
 
HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
 499 
 
 “ She highly approves,” interrupted Galbraith. 
 
 “ Oh, Tom, Tom!” cried Mrs. Travers, laughing. “ You are 
 accustomed to manage the denouements of thrilling tales; will you 
 tell Lady Styles everything ?” 
 
 Whereupon Tom detailed a simple narrative of the principal 
 events set forth in the foregoing pages ; during which Lady Styles 
 Avas a study. She followed his words with her eyes and a motion 
 of her lips, as though she were absolutely drinking the delicious 
 revelations. Her fat, jewelled hands (for she soon drew off: her 
 gloves, in the excitement of the moment) tAvitched and clutched at 
 her dress as they lay on Avhat were unmistakably her ladyship’s 
 knees; and when he reached the climax of Mrs. Travers’s approaching 
 marriage Avith Sir Hugh Galbraith, her joy, her exultation knoAv 
 no bounds. 
 
 “ My dear creature, I never in all my experience kneAV anything 
 half so Avonderful, and delightful, and romantic, and satisfactory ; 
 only I should like to have hung Ford ! And you, my dear Mr. 
 Tom, are going to be married to this charming young lady! I 
 tell you what, you shall all come to me, and Ave Avill have Avhat 
 Willie Upton would call ‘ the double event ’ at Weston. Why, it 
 Avill supply the country Avith talk for the next ten years to come ! 
 I am sure. Sir Hugh, I already look on you as my nephcAV ; and 
 I shall ahvays thank Hea\’en that I happened to be on the spot 
 Avhen you Avere carried in here insensible. Only for me, there is 
 no knoAving Avhere that obstinate felloAV Slade might have talcen 
 you, and then nothing would have come about,” said her ladyship, 
 throwing back her bonnet-strings, and stirring the cup of tea 
 Fanny placed before her, joyously, Avhile her broad, good-humoured 
 face beamed upon them. 
 
 “ But, my dear Lady Styles-” 
 
 “ Dear aunt, if you please,” interrupted her ladyship. 
 
 “ My dear aunt, then,” repeated Kate, “ I was under the im¬ 
 pression that Doctor Slade ordered Hugh to be brought here from 
 the hunting-field, and-” 
 
 “ Not at all, not at all, my dear ! You,” turning to Tom, “ must 
 remember my standing up from that nice tea and shrimps, and my 
 . ao_9 
 
500 
 
 HER DEAREST FOE. 
 
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 “ I cannot recall the words,” said Tom demurely. 
 
 “ Never mind, I can,” said her ladyship, with an air of deep con¬ 
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 never have had an opportunity-” 
 
 She paused, and Tom finished the sentence— 
 
 “ Of heaping coals of fire on the head of ‘ Pier dearest Foe.’ ” 
 
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