w/V^ not poor ? " she said, with a marked emphasis. " We're certainly not rich," Nea replied, looking down so as not to meet those half-angry eyes. " Of course these things are all comparative. But I have to be very careful of my expenses." " Well, but you went abroad for the whole winter with a companion," Faith objected sternly. " Oh, that was a very special thing, because I'd been ill. IN GOOD SOCIETY. 161 Papa did that, not because he was rich, but because he was so anxious to make me well again." " I see," Faith answered, and wished to herself people wouldn't use words in such unnatural senses. Talk about being poor when you're a beneficed clergyman of the Church of England, and can send your daughter to a good hotel on the Riviera, with a hired companion to be her guardian and chaperon. Presently the Douglases themselves came down, and the four went in to dinner together. " We haven't asked any- body to meet you this evening, Nea," Mrs. Douglas said, "because we thought you'd be tired after your long jour- ney ; but your brother's coming in for a chat after dinner, Faith ; as he and Nea are old friends, you know, we thought he wouldn't matter. And he's going to bring young Thistleton of Christ Church with him." Faith almost shook in her chair at the terrible prospect. How ever would she get on, she wondered, with all these fine people thrust at once upon her. Good society began positively to appall her. Dinner, however, passed off very well. With Mrs. Douglas herself Faith felt quite at home now ; and the professor, though prodigiously learned, was a very pleasant man, Faith thought, with lots of fun in him. Nea didn't always understand what he said, apparently ; and it struck Faith with some little surprise that Nea seemed on the whole to know less about the subjects Mr. Douglas discussed than she herself did. And yet Nea had had the very best education ! Strange, then, that she thought the Prometheus was written by Sophocles, when Faith, who had read it through in Paul's Bohn, couldn't imagine how anyone could mistake the yEschylean touch in it. And then she had never even heard of Shelley's " Prometheus Unbound ! " Faith began to consider her quite a little ignoramus ? 1 62 THE SCALLYWAG. The fact was, Faith's whole days had been spent at home (or with the Infants) and among Paul's books, and her one native longing and desire in life was for more culture. Hence, like many self-educated people, she had a wide though not a deep knowledge of books and things, exactly suited to make a brilliant show in general society ; while Nea, whose tastes were by no means learned, had only acquired the ordinary English schoolgirl's stock of knowledge, and was far behind Faith in everything that pertains to general education. The professor, for his part, being an easy-going man, soon found out that Faith and he had most in common, and addressed his conversation mainly to her throughout the dinner. This flattered Faith and gave her confidence. She began to suspect that, after all, she might be able to hold her own fairly in Oxford, if one of the very heads of that learned society thought her not wholly unworthy of wasting his time upon. Appreciation brought out her best points, as opposition did her worst ; and before the end of the dinner she was positively brilliant. Once, too, in the course of it, she discovered to her sur- prise another little point of superiority to Nea. The Cor- nish girl had been talking of her experiences at Mentone, and had been particularly kind in her remarks about Paul, which made Faith's face flush once more, but this time with pleasure. There was nothing she loved like having Paul appreciated. " You weren't at the same hotel, though," she said after a while. " I suppose yours was a much bigger and a more expensive one ? " " Oh, dear, no," Nea answered simply ; " your brother and Mr. Thistleton were at the swell place ; but Mme. Ceriolo took me to quite a foreign house, that she liked much bet- ter, partly because it was cheap, and partly because her IN GOOD SOCIETY. 163 tastes are awfully cosmopolitan. I never was in such poly- glot society in my life before. We had Poles, Hungarians, Greeks, Germans, Swedes, and Russians at table d'hote beside us." " Dear me," Faith exclaimed, " how awkward that must have been ! You must have felt every time you opened your mouth that the eyes of Europe were upon you." " I did," Nea answered, with an amused smile. " But, as they didn't understand me, it didn't much matter." " The conversation was all in French, of course," Faith went on innocently. " With the foreigners, oh, yes. But I don't speak French myself at all fluently — not anything like as well as Mr. Gascoyne, for example. He speaks just beautifully." " Oh, I don't consider Paul's a very good accent," Faith answered with easy confidence. " We learnt together when we were quite little things, he and I, and I know he could never pronounce his ' r's' with the right amount of rolling, or distinguish between words like ' tremper ' and ' tromper.' This is how Paul speaks," and she repeated a few lines of one of Victor Hugo's odes that they had read together, in perfect mimicry of the few English faults in her brother's pronunciation. They were merely the minor tricks of intonation which must almost inevitably persist in any foreigner's mouth, however profound his acquaintance with the language ; but Faith's quick feminine ear detected them at once, compared with Mile. Clarice's Parisian flow, and her ready tongue imitated them absolutely to perfection. Nea listened, lost in amazement. " I shouldn't know that wasn't the purest Paris accent," she answered, half jealous on Paul's account. "I thought myself Mr. Gas- coyne spoke admirably." "Oh, no; this is how it ought to be," Faith answered, now quite at home. And she delivered the lines in excel- 1 64 THE SCALLYWAG. lent French as Mile. Clarice herself might have said them, only with infinitely more appreciation of their literary vigor. Nea was astonished. " You speak splendidly," she said. " I'd give anything myself to be able to speak that way." " Oh, I've spoken ever since I was two years old, - ' Faith answered offhand — for, to her, it seemed the most common- place accomplishment on earth to be able to talk like the French lady's maid. But to Nea it was proof of a con- summate education. After dinner they rose and went into the drawing room, Faith feeling rather awkward once more, now, as to how to proceed, and keeping her eyes firmly fixed on everything Nea did for guidance. Presently Paul and his friend came in. Faith walked toward the door with what self-possession she could, most conscious of her gait as she crossed the room and kissed her brother. Then she turned and was introduced to the blond young man. Why, what a curiousthing Paul should never have told her ! The blond young man was ex- tremely handsome. Paul had always described Thistleton as a very good fellow and all that sort of thing, but had never enlarged in the least upon his personal appearance ; and Faith had somehow imbibed the idea that the blond young man was stumpy and unpleasant. Perhaps it was because she had heard he was rich, and had therefore vaguely mixed him up in her own mind with the Gorgius Midas junior of M. Du Maurier's sketches in Punch. But certainly, when she saw a fine, well-built young fellow of six feet one, with intelli- gent eyes, and a pleasing, ingenuous, frank countenance, she failed to recognize in him altogether the Thistleton of whom her brother had told her. The blond young man took her fancy at once ; so much so that she felt shy at the idea of talking to him. IN GOOD SOCIETY. 165 For to Faith it was a very great ordeal indeed, this sudden introduction to a society into which, till this moment, she had never penetrated. The very size and roominess of the apartments — though the Douglases' house was by no means a large one — the brilliancy of the gas, the lightness of the costume, the flowers and decorations, the fluffiness, and airiness, and bright color of everything, fairly took her breath away. She felt herself moving in a new world of gauze and glitter. And then to be seated in these novel surroundings, to undertake conversation of an un- rehearsed kind with unknown strangers, it was almost more than Faith's equanimity was proof against. But she bore up bravely, nevertheless, for very shame, and answered at first, almost as in a dream, all that the blond young man said to her. Thistleton, however, had no such difficulties, for he was born rich ; and he talked away so easily and pleasantly to the national schoolmistress about things she really took an interest in and understood that at the end of an hour she was hardly afraid of him, especially as he seemed so fond of Paul, and so proud and pleased about his Marl- borough Essay. " I wanted to bet him ten to one in fivers he'd get it," Thistleton remarked, all radiant ; " but he wouldn't bet. He knew he was sure of it, and he wasn't going to hedge. And all the House was awfully glad of it. Why, the dean himself called him up and congratulated him ! " As for Paul, he talked most of the time to Nea, with occasional judicious interventions on Mrs. Douglas' part, who was never so pleased as when she could make young people happy. When they took their departure that evening Faith said Vi her hostess, " What a very nice young man that Mr. Thistleton is ! " As a matter of fact, it was the very first 1 66 THE SCALLYWAG. opportunity she had ever had of talking to any young man of decent, education and gentlemanly manners on equal terms, except her own brother, and she was naturally pleased with him. .Mrs. Douglas shrugged her shoulders a little bit — almost as naturally as Mme. Ceriolo. " Do you think so ? " she said. " Well, he's nice enough, I suppose ; but his manners haven't that repose that stamps the caste of Vere de Vere, somehow. He's a trifle too bois- terous for my taste, you know. Good-hearted, of course, and all that sort of thing, but not with the stamp of blue blood about him." " Oh, nonsense, my dear Eleanor," the professor ejacu- lated with a good round mouth. " The young fellow's as well-behaved as most earls in England, and, if it comes to that, a great deal better." " I'm so glad you say so, Mr. Douglas," Faith put in with a smile — " that it's nonsense, I mean — for / should have been afraid to." " Well, but really, Faith," Mrs. Douglas retorted, " he isn't fit to hold a candle any day to your brother Paul." " I should think not, indeed ! " Nea exclaimed immedi- ately with profound conviction. " Why, Mr. Gascoyne's just worth a thousand of him ! " Faith turned with a grateful look to Nea for that kindly sentence ; and yet she would have liked the praise of Paul all the better if it hadn't been contrasted with the dispraise of Mr. Thistleton, For her part, she thought him a most delightful young man, and was only sorry he was so dread- fully rich, and therefore, of course, if one got to know him better, no doubt nasty. They parted in the passage outside Faith's bedroom, and Nea, as she said " Good-night, dear," to her new friend, leant forward to kiss her. Faith hesitated for a moment : IDYLS OF YOUTH. 167 she wasn't accustomed to cheapen her embraces in the usual feline feminine manner, and as yet she didn't feel sure of Nea ; but next instant she yielded, and pressed her companion's hand. " Thank you so much," she said with tears in her eyes, and darted into her room. But Nea didn't even so much as know for what she thanked her. Faith meant for not having been " grand " and crushed her. To herself she was always the national schoolmistress. But Nea saw in her only a graceful, handsome, well- bred girl, and Paul Gascoyne's sister. So ended Faith Gascoyne's first equally dreaded and longed-for eyening in good society. Outside the Douglases' door Thistleton paused and looked at his friend. " Why, Gascoyne," he said, " you never told me what a beautiful girl your sister was, and so awfully clever ! " Paul smiled. " As a rule," he said, " men don't blow the trumpet for their own female relations." Thistleton accepted the explanation in silence, and walked along mute for two or three minutes. Then he began again, almost as if to himself : " But this one," he said, " is so exceptionally beautiful." Paul was aware of an uncomfortable sensation at the base of his throat, and diverted the conversation to the chances of a bump on the first night of the races. CHAPTER XIX. IDYLS OF YOUTH. To Faith those ten delicious days at Oxford were a dream fulfilled — pure gold every one of them. How glorious were those strolls round Magdalen cloisters ; those fresh morning walks in Christ Church Meadows ; those afternoon l68 THE SCALLYWAG. lounges in the cool nooks of Wadham Gardens ! How grand the tower of Merton loomed up in moonlight ; how noble was the prospect of the crowded High, with the steeple of St. Mary's and Land's porch in the middle dis- tance, viewed from the stone steps of Queen's or Univer- sity ! How she loved each moldering pinnacle of Oriel, each vaulted boss in the great roof of Christ Church ! What delightful afternoon teas in Tom Quad ; what luxuri- ous breakfasts in the New Buildings at Balliol ! To the national schoolmistress, fresh from the din of the infants and the narrow precincts of Plowden's Court, the height and breadth and calm and glory of those majestic colleges were something unknown, unpictured, unfancied. Even after all Paul had told her, it eclipsed and effaced her best ideal. She had only one pang — that she must so soon leave it all. And what a grand phantasmagoria it produced in her mind, that whirling week of unparalleled excitement ! In the morning to view the Bodleian or the Radcliffe, to walk under the chestnuts on the Cherwellbank, or to admire from the bridge the soaring tower of Magdalen. At midday to lunch in some undergraduate's quarters, or with bearded dons in some paneled common room : for Mrs. Douglas was known to be the best of hostesses, and whoever saw Oxford under her auspices was sure not to lack for entertain- ment or for entertainments. In the afternoon to float down the river to Iffley in a tub pair, or to lounge on padded punts under the broad shade of Addison's walk ; or to drink tea in rooms looking out over the Renaissance court of St. John's ; or to hear the anthem trilled from sweet boyish throats in New College Chapel. In the evening to dine at home or abroad in varied company ; to listen to some concert in the hall of Exeter ; or to see the solemn inner quad of Jesus incongruously decked out with Japan- IDYLS OF YOUTH. 169 ese lanterns and hanging lights for a Cymric festival. A new world seemed to open out all at once before her : a world all excitement, pleasure, and loveliness. To most girls brought up in quiet, cultivated homes, a visit to Oxford is one long whirl of dissipation. To Faith, brought up in the cabman's cottage, it was a perfect revel- ation of art, life, and beauty. It sank into her soul like first love. If you can imagine a bird's-eye view of Flor- ence, Paris, and educated society rolled into one, that is something like what those ten days at Oxford were to Faith Gascoyne. Every night Nea Blair went out with her, and every night, to Faith's immense surprise, Nea wore the same simple cashmere dress she had worn at Mrs. Douglas' that first evening. It made Faith feel a great deal more at home with her ; and after three days, indeed, she got quite over her fear of Nea. Nea was so gentle, so sweet, so kind, it was impossible for anybody long to resist her. By the third evening they were sworn friends, and when Faith went up with her after the little carpet-dance to bed, it was actually with her arm round the "grand girl's" waist that she mounted the staircase. On the morning of their fourth day at Oxford they were walking in the High with Mrs. Douglas — on their way to visit the reredos at All Souls — when just outside the doors of the Mitre, Nea was suddenly stopped by a golden-haired apparition. "Oh, my, momma ! " the apparition exclaimed in a fine Pennsylvanian twang, " if here aint Nea Blair, as large as life and twice as natral ! Well, now, I do call that jest lovely ! To think we should meet you here again, Nea ! ButI felt it somehow ; 1 said to momma this morning as we were unloading the baggage down at the cars, ' I shouldn't be a bit surprised if Nea Blair's at Oxford.' I 17° THE SCALLYWAG. knew you were coming up this summer term, you know, to visit friends, and I kind of guessed we should probably synchronize." " Nea, my dear," Mrs. Douglas remarked with chilly dig- nity, " will you introduce your acquaintances." For Mrs. Douglas's British back was considerably stif- fened by the newcomer's obvious lack of the Vere de Vere emotional temperament. " This is Miss Boyton," Nea said, presenting her ; "she was with us at M.entone. And this is Mrs. Boyton." For where Isabel was, there her mother sank naturally into the background. " Yes ; and, my dear, we've only jest arrived ! We wired to Mr. Thistleton to engage rooms for us at the Mitre. There's another hotel at Oxford, he told us — the Randolph — but it doesn't sound so mediaeval and English and aristo- cratic as the Mitre. And now we've come out to look around a bit and see the city." "Oh, you're Mr. Thistleton's guests, are you?" Faith asked, with a faint undercurrent of suspicion, for she didn't half like this sudden intrusion of the golden-haired Penn- sylvanian upon her special undergraduate. Though she had only been three days at Oxford, Thistleton had already been most marked in his politeness, and Faith, though inno- cent as a child of ulterior designs upon the rich young man, didn't want to have his immediate kind attention diverted upon others. " Yes, indeed," Isabel answered. " We've gotten our own rooms for ourselves at the Mitre, of course, but we expect Mr. Thistleton to walk us around and give us a good time while we stop in Oxford. Mamma and I are looking for- ward to enjoying ourselves all the time. Oh, don't the place look jest lovely ?" "It is lovely," Nea said; "I always enjoy it so much. IDYLS OF YOUTH. I7 1 But why did you telegraph to Mr. Thistleton, instead of Mr. Gascoyne ? We saw so much more of Mr. Gascoyne at Mentone." " Well, to tell you the truth," Isabel answered, " I didn't jest feel like asking Mr. Gascoyne : while that young This- tleton fellow — he's a real good sort, but only a boy, you know, so I didn't mind asking him." " This is Mr. Gascoyne's sister," Nea said, with a slight wave toward Faith, who stood irresolute in the background. "She's stopping with me at Mrs. Douglas'. We're going just now to see one of the colleges — All Souls. "Well, I don't mind if we catch on to it," Isabel answered briskly. " We've jest come out to see what the place is like, and one college '11 do for us, I presoom, as well as another. According to the guide the city must be full of them." Mrs. Douglas knocked under with condescending tact. She recollected that Nea had told her Miss Boyton was rich ; and, after all, there are always lots of nice young men lying about loose who'd be glad to pick up with a rich and pretty American. " If your mamma and you would like to join our party," she said with her best second-class smile (Mrs. Douglas' smiles were duly graduated for all ranks of society), " I'm sure we shall be delighted. Any friends of Nea's are always welcome to us." So from that moment forth the Boytons were duly accepted as part and parcel of Mrs. Douglas' set during that crowded race week. They went everywhere with Faith and Nea, and shared in much of the undergraduate feasts which Mrs. Douglas offered vicariously for her young friends' amusement. Undergraduate Oxford loves anything fresh, and Isabel Boyton's freshness, at any rate, was wholly beyond dispute. Before the week was out, the 172 THE SCALLYWAG. golden-haired Pennsylvania!! had become a feature in Christ Church, and even betting was offered in Peckwater whether or not Gascoyne would marry her. The same evening Mrs. Douglas gave her first dinner party for her two guests, and as they sat in the drawing room, just before the earliest outsider arrived, Mrs. Douglas turned to Faith (Nea hadn't yet come down) and remarked parenthetically : " Oh, by the way, Mr. Thistleton will take you in to din- ner, my dear. He'll go after your brother Paul, and then Mr. Wade '11 take in Nea." Faith shrank back a little alarmed. " Oh, but tell me, Mrs. Douglas," she cried, somewhat shamefaced, " why mayn't I go last ? I don't want to go in before Nea." Mrs. Douglas shook her head in most decided disap- proval. " It can't be helped, my child," she said. " It's not my arrangement. I've got nothing on earth to do with settling the table of precedence. It's the Lord Chamber- lain who has long ago decided once for all that your brother Paul, as a baronet's son, walks in before young Thistleton, and that you, as a baronet's daughter, walk in before Nea." Faith gave a little gesture of extreme dissatisfaction. This playing at baronetcy was to her most distasteful. " I can't bear it," she cried. " Do, dear Mrs. Douglas, as a special favor, let Nea at least go in before me." But Mrs. Douglas was inflexible. "No, no," she said, " none of your nasty Radical leveling ways for me, turning society topsy-turvy with your new fangled ideas, and all just to suit your own unbridled fancy. People of quality must behave as such. If you happen to be born a baronet's daughter you must take precedence of a country parson's girl Noblesse oblige. That's the price you have to pay for IDYLS OF YOUTH. 173 being born in an exalted station in life. You must fulfill the duties that belong to your place in society." So, with a very bad grace, poor Faith yielded. When Nea came down, Faith observed with surprise that she was wearing even now the same simple cashmere dress as on the first night of her visit. Faith had expected that for this special function at least Nea would have appeared arrayed, like Solomon, in all her glory. But, no ; the plain cashmere was still to the front, invariable as Faith's own delicate foulard. A curious thought flashed across Faith's mind ; could the "grand girl" herself, as she still sometimes thought her, have brought but one evening dress in her box, just as she herself had done ? For, after all, Faith began to observe that, in a deeper sense than she had at first expected, we are all in the last resort built of much the same mold, and that the differ- ences of high and low are a great deal more mere differ- ences of accent, speech, and dress than of intellect or emotion. That evening Mr. Thistleton, she thought, was more attentive to her than ever ; and when she spoke to him once about the golden-haired apparition that had flashed upon them in the High Street from the Mitre that morning he only laughed good-naturedly, and remarked, with toler- ant contempt, that Miss Boyton was "real racy" of Amer- ican soil, and that her mamma was a most amiable and unobtrusive old Egyptian mummy. " You saw a good deal of her at Mentone, I suppose," Faith said, looking up at him from her ottoman in the niche. "Yes, and heard a good deal of her, too," Thistleton answered, smiling. " She wasn't born to blush unseen, that excellent Miss lioyton. Wherever she goes she makes herself felt. She's amusing, that's all : one endures her because one gets such lots of fun out of her." 174 THE SCALLYWAG. " But she's very rich, Paul says," Faith murmured abstractedly. " Oh, they grow 'em very rich in America, I fancy," the blond young man replied with careless ease. " So do we in Yorkshire, too ; we don't set much store by that up in the North, you know. People are all rolling in money with us in Sheffield. To be rich up there is positively vulgar, as far as that goes. The distinguished thing in the North is to be poor, but cultured. It's almost as fashionable as being poor, but honest, used once to be in Sunday school litera- ture." "Still, she's pretty, don't you think, in her own way ?" Faith asked, pleading Miss Boyton's case out of pure perversity. " She's pretty enough, if you go in for prettiness," the blond young man retorted with a glance of admiration at Faith's own raven hair and great speaking eyes. " I don't myself — I don't like women to be pretty." " Don't like them to be pretty ! " Faith repeated, aghast. " No," the blond young man replied stoutly. " I prefer beauty to prettiness. I never cared much for tow-haired dolls. Eyes with a soul in them are much more to my taste. Besides," he added, breaking off suddenly, " she's not quite our sort, you know, Miss Gascoyne." " Our sort ? " Faith echoed interrogatively, taken aback at the inclusiveness of that first person plural. " I — I don't quite understand you." " We\],your sort then," the blond young man corrected, with imperturbable good humor, " if you won't let me reckon myself in the same day with you. I mean she's not a person of any birth or position or refinement ; she's a parvenue, you know, a perfect parvenue. I don't mean to say I go in for a Plantagenet ancestry myself," he con- tinued quickly, seeing Faith was trying hard to put in a word IDYLS OF YOUTH. 175 and interrupt him; "but I don't like people quite so freshly fledged as she is. I prefer them with some tincture of polite society." Faith blushed up to the eyes with some strange sense of shame. It was so novel a position for her to find herself in, that she hardly knew how to brazen it out. " She was very well received at Mentone," she stammered out uneasily. " At Mentone ? Oh, yes; in a cosmopolitan place like that one can swallow anybody — why we even swallowed Miss Blair's chaperon, that delightful little humbug and adven- turess, Mme. Ceriolo, who anywhere else in the world would have been impossible. But, hang it all ! you know, Miss Gascoyne, you wouldn't like your own brother, now, for instance, to marry her ? " Faith looked down, and hardly knew what to say. " If ever Paul marries," she answered at last, speaking out her whole heart, "I should like him to marry — someone more worthy of him." As she spoke she lifted her eyes again, and met Nea Blair's, who, seated close by, had just caught by accident the last few words of their conversation. Nea let her glance fall upon the carpet, and colored faintly. Then Faith felt sure, with an instinctive certainty, that Nea was not wholly indifferent to her penniless brother. When they went upstairs that night again, they sat long talking in Nea's room till their candles had burned low in the socket. They talked unrestrainedly, like two bosom friends. Faith wasn't afraid any longer of the "grand girl " now. She was more at home with Nea than she had ever been with anybody else, except Paul, before. As she rose at last, reluctantly, to go to bed, she held Nea's hand a long time in hers. " Nea," she said, pressing it hard, " how strange it all seems! I was so afraid to meet you only four days since — though it's like a year now, for I7 6 THE SCALLYWAG. every day's been so crammed with pleasure — and to-night I can't bear to think I've got to go back so soon to my school once more, and my dull routine, and my petty life, and never again see anything more of you. It's been all like a beautiful, beautiful dream — meeting you here, and all the rest — and I shall feel so sad to have to go away by and by and leave it all." " Perhaps we shall meet often again in the future now we've once got to know and love each other," Nea an- swered, soothing her. Faith turned with the candle in her hand to go. Great tears were in her eyes. She trembled violently. " No, no," she said ; "I sometimes think it's all a mis- take ever for a moment to come out of one's native sphere. It makes the revulsion seem all the worse when you have to go back to it." CHAPTER XX. BREAKING THE ICE. The row up the river to Ensham was delightful, the sky was blue, the meadows were green, the water was clear, and the lilies that lolled like Oriental beauties on its top were snow-white and golden. Only one thing damped Faith's and Nea's happiness — it was the last day of their visit to Oxford. They had much to regret. The gardens were so beauti- ful, the colleges so calm, the river so peaceful — and the two young men had been so very attentive. Faith wondered how, after Mr. Thistleton's open and un- affected homage, she could ever endure the boorish polite- ness of the few young fellows she saw from time to time after rare intervals at Hillborough. Nea wondered how, BREAKIXG THE ICE. 177 after seeing so much of that nice Mr. Gascoyne at Mentone and Oxford, she could ever relapse into the humdrum life of keeping house for her father in the Cornish Rectory. Mr. Gascoyne was so clever, and so full of beautiful ideas! He seemed to be so thoroughly human all through. Nea loved to hear him talk about men and things. And she really did think, in a sort of way, that Mr. Gascoyne, perhaps to some extent, liked her. So when she found herself, after lunch at Mrs. Doug- las' picnic, strolling away with Paul toward the field where the fritillaries grow, and the large purple orchises, she was conscious generally of a faint thrill of pleasure — that strange, indefinite, indefinable thrill which goes so much deeper than the shallow possibilities of our hap- hazard language. They wandered and talked for many minutes, picking the great chequered blossoms as they moved, and never thinking whither they went, either with their feet or their tongues, as is the wont of adolescence. Nea was full of praise for Faith — such an earnest girl, so sincere and profound when you came to know her; and Paul, who, to a great extent, had been Faith's teacher, was proud that his pupil should be liked and appreciated. " But what a pity," Nea said at last, " we should have to part to- morrow ! For we've both of us got on so well together." "It is a pity," Paul said, " a very great pity. Faith has never enjoyed anything so much in her life, I know ; and your being there has made it doubly enjoyable for her." " Oh, I'm so glad to hear you say so," Nea exclaimed, with evident delight. " You can't think how much I've en- d having her there too. She's a dear girl. We've had such long, long talks together in our own rooms every even- ing. And, do you know, Mr. Gascoyne," she added shyly, " before she came I was so afraid of meeting her." 178 THE SCALLYWAG. " Why ? " Paul asked, unable to understand such a feel- ing toward Faith on the part of a born lady like Nea. " Oh, I don't know," Nea answered. " I can't exactly say why. But, sometimes, when you want to like some- body ever so much, don't you know, you're so afraid in return they won't like you." "And you wanted to like Faith ?" Paul asked, all tremulous. "I wanted to like her, oh, ever so much. But I was afraid she mightn't take a fancy to me. It often happens so, of course ; but I did not want it to be so with her. And now I'm sure she likes me very much, and that's such a comfort to me." " You're very kind," Paul answered, embarrassed. There was a long pause, and their eyes met. Eyes can say so much more than tongues. Nea's fell again as she added slowly : " And I hope now we shall meet very, very often." "Who J You and Faith?" Paul cried, biting his lip hard, and holding in his words with difficulty. " Yes," Nea said. " Some day she must come down to Cornwall and see us." Paul looked up from the fritillaries, and felt his heartbeat and heave. " That can never, never be," he answered solemnly. Nea turned to him all at once with an astonished look. "Never! Mr. Gascoyne ? " she cried. " Oh, don't say that ! I want to meet her very often now. We're friends for life. Why shouldn't I see her ?" It was one of those moments in a man's life when, do what he will, the passion within him gets the better of him and outmasters him. He looked into Nea's deep eyes — those eyes he would never see after to morrow again — and answered in a tone of poignant regret, " Because you and I must keep as far apart as we can from one another." BREAKING THE ICE. 1 79 Nea more than half guessed his meaning at once, but she would have it direct from his own very lips before she would believe it. " And why, Mr. Gascoyne ? " she asked with a throbbing heart. "Because," Paul said boldly, blurting out the whole truth in spite of himself, " Nea, I love you." There was a faint, short interval, during which Nea felt a sort of electric quiver pass all through her frame ; and then she murmured very low, " Thank you, Mr. Gascoyne, thank you." " And I'm afraid," Paul went on — with insensate folly, as he thought to himself — " I'm afraid — I'm sure — you love me a little in return, Nea." Nea raised her eyes, one blush from chin to forehead, and met his gaze bashfully. " More than that — a great deal," she said with a tremor. Paul sat down on the dry bank by the hedge, and seated Nea gently on a big stone beside him. " And though I shall never see you again after to- morrow," he said, " I was wicked enough and foolish enough — it came over me so just now — that I could not avoid giving myself the satisfaction of telling you so." "I'm glad you did," Nea murmured through the tears that struggled hard to rise and choke her utterance. " I like to know it." " It was very wrong of me, very wrong of me," Paul cried, already penitent ; " but, Nea, I can't be sorry I did, when I think how sweet, how delicious it is for me to know that through all my future life I can carry away the memory of those words you just uttered. ' More than that, a great deal ' — I shall never forget them." " Thank you," Nea cried once more, with sweet sim- plicity. 180 THE SCALLYWAG. Paul looked at her long, with a great yearning in his heart. " And it's hard to think," he went on, " we must part for- ever to-morrow." " Why forever ? " Nea asked, looking back at him again with womanly trust. "Why forever, Mr. Gascoyne ? If you love me, and I love you, why need it be forever ?" Paul tore a purple fritillary to pieces nervously. " Oh, what have I done?" he said, looking up at her anxiously. " Why did I ever begin it ? I've acted so wrong, so wickedly, so cruelly ! I ought never to have spoken to you on the subject at all. I ought to have locked it up tight — tight in my own bosom." " I should have found it out, even if you hadn't told me," Nea answered simply. " And whether you told me or not, I, at least, would have loved you." Paul took her little hand unreproved in his own. " I was mad, though," he said ; " I was wicked to trouble you. Nea, I won't say anything about the difference in our positions, or anything like that, for I know you are good enough and true enough to love a man for himself, and not for his wealth or what else he can give you. I know, poor as I am, and sprung from where I spring, you'd be willing to take me. But I oughtn't to have spoken to you at all about my love. I ought to have stifled and hidden it all from you, knowing, as I do now, that we can never marry. It was cruel of me so to cross your path, so to wring that confession from your own sweet lips — only to tell you that I can never marry you." "You didn't wring it from me," Nea whispered low. "I like to tell you so." " O Nea ! " cried Paul, and pressed her hand in silence. " Yes, I like to tell you," she repeated. " I love to tell you. I'm glad for my own sake you've made it possible foi BREAKING THE ICE. 181 me to tell you. I liked you very, very much at Mentone ; and every day I've seen you since I've liked you better, and better, and better. And then, I've talked so much about you with Faith. Every evening she and I have done noth- ing but talk about you. That was why I wanted to like Faith so much, because — because I was so very fond of you. But, Paul," she said it out quite naturally, " Paul, why can't you marry me ? " Paul began in some vague, shadowy, indefinite way to tell her once more about those terrible claims that so weighed upon his conscience, but before he'd got well through the very first sentence Nea said, interrupting him : " 1 know, I know. I suppose you mean about Mr. Solomons." " Has Faith told you all about Mr. Solomons, then ? " Paul exclaimed in surprise. " Yes," Nea answered. " Of course I wanted to know as much as I could about you, because I was so much in- terested in you, and — and — I loved you so dearly ; and Faith told me all about that, and it made me so very, very sorry for you." " Then, if yon know all that," Paul cried, " you must know also how wrong it was of me to speak to you, how impossible for me ever to marry you." Nea looked down at the fritillaries in her hand, and began to arrange them nervously with twitching fingers. After a while she spoke. " I don't think so," she said in a very calm voice. " Even if we two can never, never, marry, it's better I should know you love me, and you should know I love you. It's better to have found that out, even though nothing more come of it, than to go through life blindly, not knowing whether we had ever won one another. I shall go back to 1 82 THE SCALLYWAG. Cornwall, oh, ever so much happier than I went away, feel- ing certain at least now that you love me, Paul." The young man leaned forward. His lips pursed up of themselves. Nea didn't shrink away from him. She didn't tremble or withdraw. She allowed him to kiss her. The kiss thrilled through her inmost being. Paul leaned back once more, all penitence, against the bank. " What have I done? " he cried, aghast at his own folly. " Let us rise and go, Nea. The longer we stay here, the worse and worse will we make matters." " No," Nea answered quietly. " I don't want to go. I like sitting here. I can't let you go yet. We must under- stand better how we stand with each other. You mustn't go, Paul, till you've told me everything." Paul, delighted in his secret heart at the moment's respite, began once more, and told her all his fears and doubts for the future — how he was bound hand and foot to Mr. Solo- mons ; how he must spend his whole life in trying to repay him ; and what folly it would be for him to dream of marry, ing. He reproached himself bitterly for having let Nea see into the secret of his heart. He ought never to have told her — he said, he ought never to have told her. Nea listened to him out to the very end. Then she fixed her earnest eyes upon him and answered softly, " Paul, I will wait for you if I wait a lifetime." " It isn't a case for waiting," Paul cried, " it's a case of despair ! " " Then I won't despair," Nea answered. " Not even to please you. I'll be happy enough in knowing you love me. For a minute or two more they talked it over together in gentle whispers. Nea could never love anyone else, she said ; so what did it matter whether they could marry or COINCIDENCES. 183 not ? She would be his, at any rate, for she could never be anybody else's. " And when I go, you'll write to me, Paul ? " she added pleadingly. Paul hesitated. " I mustn't," he cried. " I oughtn't to, Nea. Remember, we two are not engaged to each other." " We're more than engaged," Nea answered boldly, with the boldness of a true woman's heart. " We're each other's already. Paul, I'll write to you, and you must write to me. You have great powers, and you'll do good work in the world yet. In time, perhaps, you'll pay off all this weight of debt that clings like a millstone round your neck ; and then you'll marry me. But, if not, we'll live for one another forever. And I shall live happy if I know you love me." " One more kiss, Nea ! " " As many more as ever you like, Paul." CHAPTER XXI. COINCIDENCES. In another part of the fields, meanwhile, Faith Gascoyne and Charlie Thistleton had wandered off together along a backwater of the river, in search of forget-me-nots, they said, and white waterlilies. Oh, those innocent flowers, how much they have to answer for ! How many times have they not been made the excuse for such casual devia- tions from the straight path of Britannic chaperonage. Thistleton had helped to row them up stream, and Faith thought she had never seen him look so handsome as he looked just then in his bright Christ Church boating jacket, with the loose flannel shirt showing white in front where 1 84 THE SCALLYWAG. the jacket lay open. A manly man seldom looks manlier than in boating costume. In evening clothes, to be sure, as she had seen him at Exeter concert, he was perhaps as gentlemanly ; but that was mere gloss and outward show ; the young Greek god came out more fully in the garb of athletics. Faith thought with a sigh that to-morrow her holiday would be over forever, and she must needs go back to the vacant young men of Hillborough. They sat down by a floodgate on a tiny side stream, and arranged their forget-me-nots into a respectable bundle. The floodgate had a sluice door in it, and the water pouring through made murmuring music. The sky was just chequered with fleecy clouds, and the wind whispered through the willows on the margin. It was all a sweet idyl to Faith's full young heart ; and Mr. Thistleton by her side was so kind and attentive. She knew Mr. Thistleton admired her — in a way. She couldn't help seeing, as she sat there in her prettiest morn- ing frock, that he cast eyes of delight every now and again at her rich brown complexion and her uncommon features. For Faith Gascoyne was above everything uncommon-look- ing ; a certain individual stamp of distinction, half high- bred, half gipsy-like, was the greatest charm of her pecu- liarly cut features. And Thistleton gazed at her with almost rude admiration— at least, Faith would almost have thought it rude if it hadn't been so evidently sincere and simple minded. Nevertheless, when Thistleton, turning round abruptly, asked her point blank that alarming question, " Miss Gas- coyne, do you think you could ever like me?" Faith was so completely taken by surprise that she started back sud- denly, and let the forget-me-nots tumble from her hands on to the beam of the floodgate. "Why, of course, Mr. Thistleton," she answered, with a COINCIDENCES. 1 85 faint smile, " I like you — oh, ever so much ! You're so kind and good-natured." " But that's not what I mean," the blond young man corrected hastily, " I mean — well, Faith, I mean, do you think you could ever love me ?" If ever a man took a woman by storm in this world it was surely this one ! There was a long pause, during which Faith picked up the forget-me-nots one by one, and arranged them together with deliberate care into a neat little bouquet. But her heart was throbbing fast all the while for all that. At last, she looked down and whispered low, while the blond young man waited eagerly for her answer, " Mr. Thistleton, you ought never to have asked me that ques- tion at all. Consider — consider the difference in our positions." Thistleton looked down, a little bit crestfallen. "Well, I know it's presumptuous of me," he said with a shy air, just emboldened by his eagerness. " A Sheffield cutler's son has no right to ask a— a lady of birth and rank to be his wife, offhand ; but I thought, Miss Gascoyne " Faith cut him short with an impatient gesture. Was this mauvaise cojnddie of her father's baronetcy to pursue her like an evil fate though life even in these its supremest moments ? " I didn't mean that" she cried, leaning eagerly forward, and looking up at him with a little appealing glance for mercy. *' Surely, Mr. Thistleton, you must have known yourself I didn't mean that. But you are so much richer and better brought up than me, and you move in such a very different society. I — I should be ashamed myself of publicly disgracing you." Thistleton glanced across at her with a curiously doubt- ful, half incredulous air. 1 86 THE SCALLYWAG. " Why, how much at cross-purposes we all live ! " he said, with a little awkward laugh. " I've been wanting all day to speak out my mind to you, and I've been afraid all along, for I thought you'd think me so very presuming. And I'd made up all kinds of pretty things to say to you, don't you know, about trying to live up to your level, and all that sort of thing — because you're so clever, and so brilliant, and so much above me in every way ; and now, as soon as ever I open my mouth, you knock me down at once with a regular stunning back-hander like that, and I don't know where on earth to begin or go on again. I can't one bit remember what I meant to say to you. I thought if, after I took my degree, and went to the bar in London — my father wants me to go to the bar, just as a nominal thing, you see, because it's so very respectable ; but, of course, he'll make me a handsome allowance for all expenses — I thought, if I lived in town, and kept up a good establishment, and made a home fit for you, you might perhaps when yon got to know me a little better, think me not quite altogether beneath you. And, to tell you the truth, Miss Gascoyne, to make security doubly sure, I wrote to my father day before yesterday, telling him every- thing about your brother and yourself ; and saying that I thought of venturing to ask you to marry me, and I got this telegram in reply from my people last night — you can see it if you like ; it's rather long of it's sort ; my father's always just a trifle extravagant in the matter of tele- graphing." Faith bit her lip as she took the telegram from the blond young man ; the whole thing, in spite of her agitation, was so supremely ridiculous ! " Your mother and I have read your letter with satisfaction and pleasure," the telegram said, "and are delighted to see you think of looking so high in that matter. We are gratified at the choice you COINCIDENCES. 1 8 7 have made of companions. And now in another more important relation : it would be a very proud thing for us if at the close of our career, which has been long and pros- perous, we could see our dear boy the brother-in-law of a man of title. You may be sure we would do everything to make you both happy. Don't delay on any account to ask the young lady as soon as possible, if a fitting occasion for doing so should arise. And, if she accepts you, take any credit necessary to make her a suitable present of whatever object you think desirable. Let us know the lady's answer at once by telegram." Faith handed it back to him with a burning face. Her hands trembled. " It's all so strange to me," she mur- mured, bewildered. "At any rate," Thistleton cried, "your objection's an- swered beforehand, you see. So far as any difference in position goes, both my parents and I looked at that ques- tion exactly opposite from the way you look at it." " I see," Faith answered, looking down all fiery red, and with her soul one troubled whirlwind within her. "Then what do you answer me?" Thistleton asked, taking her hand in his. " Faith — may I call you Faith ? — you struck me so dumb by taking such a topsy-turvy view of our relations, that I hadn't got words to tell you what I wanted. But I love you, Faith, and I want you to marry me." Faith let her hand lie unresistingly in his, but turned away her face, still hot and fiery. " You — you are very kind, Mr. Thistleton," she answered. "But that's not what I want," Thistleton put in, leaning forward once more. " Faith, I want you to tell me you're ready to marry me." " No," Faith answered resolutely, " I can't. Never, never, never." 1 88 THE SCALLYWAG. "Why?" Thistleton asked, dropping her hand all at once. She let it hang idle at her side as if sorry he had dropped it. " Because — I mustn't," Faith answered, all aglow. "Don't you like me?" Thistleton asked with a very wistful look. " O Faith, Fve been watching you ever since you came to Oxford, and I really began to think you did like me, just a little." " I like you very much," Faith answered, trembling. " I never was — so flattered — at anything in my life as that — that you should think me worthy to marry you." "Oh, don't say that ! " the young man cried in a voice of genuine distress. " It hurts me to hear you talk like that. It's so upside down, somehow. Why, Faith, I lay awake trembling all last night, wondering how I could ever ven- ture to ask you — you who are so beautiful, and good, and clever. I was afraid to speak to you. Only my love could have emboldened me to speak. And when I did ask you at last, I blurted it out point blank like a schoolboy, because I felt you so much above me that I hardly dared to mention such a thing in your presence." Faith smiled a troubled smile. " You're very good," she said. " I like you ever so much, Mr. Thistleton. I should like to sit here with you — always." "Then why won't you marry me?" Thistleton cried eagerly. Faith pulled about the forget-me-nots ostentatiously once more. " I hardly know myself yet," she answered. " It's all so new. It's come as such a surprise to me. I haven't had time to collect my thoughts. I only know in a dim sort of a way that it's quite, quite impossible." " Don't you think you could love me ? " Thistleton asked very low. Faith looked at him as he sat there in his manly boating COINCIDENCES. 189 suit — so much more of a man than anybody she had ever before dreamt of — and then she thought of the infants. " I could — like you a great deal, I'm sure," she answered slowly. " It isn't that, Mr. Thistleton. It isn't that at all. If — if I yielded to my own heart," she spoke very low. " perhaps I might say to you_y if you like, so that nobody'll notice me ; and in the dark, at the door, they're not likely to look close. But go I must ; of that I'm de- termined." THE BARONETCY IN THE BALANCE. 249 The father humored him for a moment. " Well, you can go anyway and put in the 'osses," he answered reluctantly. For he hated his son to do anything at all about the stables and coachhouse. Paul went out and put them in at once with the confi- dence of old habituation. Then he left them standing alone in the yard while he ran upstairs to get his ulster and comforter. " Wait a minute," he said, " I'll soon be down." Faith went up with him to see that all was snug and warm. " Mind you wrap up well, Paul," she cried, with her eyes dimmed sadly for the family disgrace. " It's a bitter cold night. If father was to go up to Kent's Hill this evening, I'm sure it'd very nearly be the death of him." In two minutes more they descended the stairs. At the door Faith stopped and kissed him convulsively. It was a hard wrench, but she knew they must do it. Then they went together into the little parlor. There their mother sat looking very uncomfortable in her easy-chair. The larger one opposite, where Sir Emery usually took his ease by night, was now vacant. Faith glanced at Paul in mute inquiry. " Where is he, mother ? " Paul gasped out anxiously. '• 'E's gone, Paul," Mrs. Gascoyne answered with a sud- den gulp. "The minute you was out o' the room, 'e whipped up his things, jumped up from 's chair, and says to me in a hurry, ' Mother, I'm off,' says 'e, an' out he run in 's overcoat as he stood, scrambled up on to the box, gave the 'osses the word, an' afore I could as much as say, 'Emery, don't,' drove off up the road as 'ard as 'is 'ands could drive 'em." Faith sank into the chair with a despairing look. " It'll kill him," she cried, sobbing. "O Paul, it'll kill him! " Paul never waited or hesitated for a second. " Where's he gone?" he cried. " To which house on the hill ! I'll 2$6 THE SC ALLY IV AC. run after him, catch him up, and drive him back home, if only you know which house he's going to." " He never told us," Faith gasped out, as white as death. "He only said he was going to Kent's Hill to fetch Miss Boyd-Galloway. There are so many big houses on the hill, and so many roads, and so many dinners just now. But perhaps the likeliest is Colonel Hamilton's, isn't it?" Without another word, Paul opened the door and darted up the street. " I'll catch him yet," he cried, as he dashed round the corner of Plowden's Court. " Oh, mother, mother, you ought to have stopped him ! " CHAPTER XXIX. IN HOT PURSUIT. Taking it for granted his father had driven, as Faith suggested, to Colonel Hamilton's, Paul ran at full speed along the frosty highroad in the direction of that end of the Kent's Hill hog's back. For the hill rears itself up as a great mass of narrow sandstone upland, extending for some three miles in a long straight line down the center of the valley, and exposed to all the four winds of heaven impartially. Snow was beginning to fall now, and the road underfoot rang hard as iron. Paul ran on without stopping till he was out of breath. Then he halted a while by the foot of the first slope, and climbed slowly on toward the lower platform. Halfway up he met a returning cab, full, of course, and therefore unwilling to wait and be questioned. But it was no time to stand on ceremony now. Paul knew his father's IN HOT PURSUIT. 25 1 life was absolutely at stake. He called to it to halt. The driver recognized his voice and pulled up to a walk. " Have you passed my father anywhere, going up the hill?" Paul inquired eagerly. " '0\v do I know?" the man answered in a very gruff tone, ill-pleased at the interruption. " I've passed a dozen or more of kebs and kerridges goin' to fetch parties 'ere and there on the 'ill ; but it's as dark as pitch, so 'oo's to know by magic '00 druv them?" And whistling to him- self a dissatisfied whistle, he whipped up again and drove on, leaving Paul no wiser. It's a very long way from Hillborough to Kent's Hill, five miles at least by the shortest road ; and long before Paul had reached the top his heart began to sink within him as he saw how impossible it was for him to overtake his father. Nevertheless, he persisted, out of pure stubborn doggedness and perseverance ; he would go at least to the house and let him know he was there. And, if possible, he would persuade him to remain under shelter at some neigh- boring cottage till the next morning. But oh, the long weary way up those frozen hills, all in the dark, with the snow falling fast in the road, and the bitter cold wind beating hard all the time against his face as he fronted it ! It was cold for Paul even as he walked and faced it — cold in spite of the exertion of mounting. How infinitely colder, then, it must be for his father, sit- ting still on the box, with that dull pain growing deeper every minute in his side, and the chill wind whistling round the corners of the carriage ! On, and on, and on, through the soft snow, he trudged, with his heart sinking lower at every step, and his feet and hands growing colder and colder. Of all the hills in Eng- land, Kent's Hill is the very most interminable. Time after time you think you are at the top, and time after time, just 252 THE SCALLYWAG. as you reach the apparent summit, you see yet another slope opening out with delusive finality in front of you. But at last Paul reached the end of those five long miles and those nine hundred feet of sheer ascent, and turned with wearied and aching limbs under the gateway of Col- onel Hamilton's garden. At the door he saw at once he had come in vain. There was certainly no party at the colonel's to-night. Not a carriage at the door ; not a sign of life. It was close on eleven now, but emboldened by necessity, he rang the bell. After some minutes his ring was answered by a supercilious footman in incomplete cos- tume. " I'm sorry to trouble you," Paul gasped, " but can you tell me, please, whereabouts on the hill there's a party to-night? " The supercilious footman eyed him askance with pro- found astonishment. " Young man," he said severely, "do you mean to say you've rung me up this time of night from my own bedroom, for nothink else but to ask me where there's a party on the 'ill ? There's parties on the 'ill everywhere this evening." And without waiting for Paul to explain himself further, he slammed the door to in his face with uncompromising rudeness. Paul turned from the porch, too much distressed on his father's account even to notice the personal insult, and made his way through the snow, along uncertain paths, to the very top of the ridge, where he could see on either hand over the whole surrounding country, and just at what house the lights burned brightest. Lady Mary Webster's seemed most thronged of any, and Miss Boyd-Galloway was inti- mate with Lady Mary. So thither Paul plodded along by the top of the ridge, descending through the grounds, reck- less of fences or proprietary rights, till he stood in front of the crowded carriage-drive. Coachmen were there, half a dozen or more, walking up and down in the snow and beat- IN HOT PURSUIT. 253 irrg their chests with their arms to keep themselves warm, while their weary horses stood patiently by, the snow melt- ing as it fell on their flanks and faces. It was no night for any man to keep another waiting on. "'Ere's Gascoyne's son ! " one of the cabmen cried as he came up, for they were mostly cabmen, nobody caring to risk their own horses' lives abroad in such slippery weather ; since rich men, indeed, take more heed of horseflesh than of their even-Christians. " Why, what do you want, Mr. Paul ? " another of them asked, half-touching his hat in a kind of undecided salute to the half made gentleman ; for they all knew that Gas- coyne's son had been to Oxford College, and would develop in time into a real recognized baronet, with his name in the peerage. " Is my father here, or has he been here ? " Paul cried out, breathless. " He went out to-night when he wasn't fit to go, and I've come up to see if he's got here safe, or if I could do anything in any way to help him." The first speaker shook his head with a very decided negative. " No, 'e aint been 'ere," he answered. " 'E 'aven't no job. Leastways, none of us aint a seen 'im any- where." A terrible idea flashed across Paul's mind. Could his father have started and failed on the way? Too agitated to care what might happen to himself again, he rany the bell, and asked the servant boldly, " [s Miss Boyd-Galloway here ? or has she been here this evening ? " " No, sir," the servant answered ; he was a stranger in the land, and judged Paul rightly by his appearance and accent. "Miss Boyd-Galloway's not been here at all. I don't think, in fact, my lady expected her." " Will you go in and ask if anybody knows where Miss Boyd-Galloway's spending the evening?" Paul cried in his 2 54 THE SCALLYWAG. agony. "Tell them it's a matter of life and death. I want to know where to find Miss Boyd-Galloway." In a few minutes more the servant returned, bringing along with him young Mr. Webster, the son of the house. in person. " Oh, it's you, is it, Gascoyne ? " the young man said, eyeing him somewhat astonished. " Why, what on earth do you want with Miss Boyd-Galloway this evening?" " My father's gone to fetch her," Paul gasped out in despair ; " he's very ill to-night, and oughtn't to have ven- tured out, and I've come to see whether I can overtake him." Young Mr. Webster was kind-hearted in his way. " I'm sorry for that," he said good-naturedly ; "but I'm glad it's nothing the matter with Miss Boyd-Galloway herself, anyhow. Lady Mary was in quite a state of mind just now when she got your message. I must run in at once and reassure her. But won't you step inside and have a glass of wine before you go off yourself ? You don't look well, and it's a freez- ing cold night. Here, Roberts, a glass of wine for Mr. Gascoyne in the hall. Now, will you ? " " I won't take any wine, thanks," Paul answered hurriedly, declining the proffered hospitality on more grounds than one. " But you haven't told me if you know where Miss Boyd-Galloway's spending the evening. I must find out, to go to my father." He spoke so anxiously that there was no mistaking the serious importance of his errand. " Oh, I'll go and inquire," young Webster answered care- lessly ; and he went back at once with his lounging step to the bright warm drawing room. "Who is it?" Lady Mary exclaimed, coming forward eagerly. " Don't tell me anything dreadful has happened to dear Isabel." " Oh, it's nothing at all," young Webster answered, laughing outright at her fears. " It's only that young Gas- IN HOT PURSUIT. 255 coyne from Hillborough wants to know at once where Isa- bel's dining." " That young Gascoyne ! " Lady Mary cried, aghast. "Not the young man they sent up to Oxford, I hope ' Why, what on earth can he want, my dear Bertie, with Isabel ? " " He doesn't want Isabel," the young man answered, with an amused smile. " It seems his father's gone somewhere to fetch her, and he thinks the old man's too ill to be out, and he's come up on foot all the way to look after him." " Very proper of him to help his father, of course," Lady Mary assented with a stiff acquiescence, perceiving in this act a due appreciation of the duty of the poor to their parents, as set forth in the Church catechism ; " but he ought surely to know better than to come and disturb us about such a subject. He might have rung and inquired of Roberts." "So he did," her son answered, with masculine common sense. " But Roberts couldn't tell him, so he very naturally asked for me ; and the simple question now is this — where's Isabel ? " "She's dining at the dean's," Lady Mary replied coldly, " but don't you go and tell him so yourself for worlds, Bertie. Let Roberts take out the message to the young person." For Lady Mary was a stickler in her way for the due sub- ordination of the classes of society. Before the words were well out of her ladyship's mouth, however, her son had made his way into the hall once more, unheeding the prohibition, and conveyed to Paul the infor- mation he wanted as to Miss Boyd-Galloway's present whereabouts. The message left Paul more hopelessly out of his bear- ings than ever. The fact was, he had come the wrong way. The Dean's was at the exact opposite end of Kent's Hill. 256 THE SCALLYWAG. three miles from the Websters' as the crow flies, by a trackless route among gorse and heather. There was no chance now left of overtaking his father before he drove from the house. All Paul could possibly do was to follow in his steps and hear what tidings he could of him from those who had seen him. Away he trudged, with trembling feet, along the crest of the ridge, stumbling from time to time over bushes half hidden by the newly fallen snow, and with the keen air cut- ting against his face like a knife as he breasted it. It was indeed an awful night — awful even down in the snug valley at Hillborough, but almost Arctic in the intensity of its bitter cold on those bleak, wind-swept uplands. They say Kent's Hill is the chilliest spot in winter in all southern England : as Paul pushed his way across the long, bare summit that January evening, he trembled in his heart for the effect upon his father. It was slow work, indeed, to cover the three miles that lay between him and the dean's, even disregardful as he was of the frequent notice boards which threatened the utmost rigor of the law with churlish plainness of speech to inoffensive trespassers. More than once he missed his way in the blinding snow, and found himself face to face with the steeply scarped southern bank, or with some wall or hedge on the slope to northward. But at last, pushing on in spite of all difficulties, he reached the garden at the dean's, and stood alone within the snow- covered gateway. There, all was still once more ; the party had melted away, for it was now nearly midnight. But a light still burned feebly in one of the upper rooms. In his eagerness and anxiety Paul could not brook delay ; he ventured here again to press the bell. A servant put out his head slowly and inquiringly from the half opened window. "Was Miss Boyd-Galloway dining here to-night ?" Paul asked, with a sinking heart, of the sleepy servant. AT THE CALL OF DUTY. 357 " Yes," the man answered, " but she's gone half an hour ago. "Who drove her home, or did she drive home at all?" Paul inquired once more. " How should I know ?" the servant replied, withdrawing his head testily. " Do you think I take down their numbers as they pass, like the bobby at the station ? She aint here ; that's all. Ask me another one." And he slammed the casement, leaving Paul alone on the snow-covered gravel walk. Cil \PTER XXX. AT THE CALL OF DUTY. Meanwhile, Sir Emery Gascoyne, Baronet, had been faithfully carrying out the duties of his station. He had promised to go and fetch Miss Boyd-Galloway at the dean's, and come snow or rain, or hail or frost, with perfect fidelity he had gone to fetch her. His fatherly pride would never have allowed him to let Paul — his gentleman son — take his place on the box even for a single evening. Better by far meet his fate than that. To die was a thousand times easier than disgrace. So, as soon as Paul was out of sight upstairs, he had risen from his seat, seized his whip from the rack, and, in spite of that catching pain deep down in his side, driven off hastily be- fore Paul could intercept him. The drive to the hill — by the west road at the further end, while Paul had followed by the shorter and steeper eastern route — was a bitter cold one : and the horses, though roughed that day, had stumbled many times i n the 258 THE SCALLYWAG. frozen slopes, having stern work indeed to drag the heavy cab up that endless zigzag. As Sir Emery drove, the pain in his side grew duller and deeper : and though he was too unskilled in diagnosis to know it for pleurisy, as it really was, he felt himself it was blowing up hard for a serious illness. But, accustomed as he had long been to exposure in all weathers, he made light of the discomfort, and drove bravely along to the dean's doorway. It was half-past ten by Sir Emery's watch — the necessary business silver watch of the country cabman — when he reached the house : but though he sent in word that he was there and ready, his fare was in no great hurry, as it seemed, to present herself. " Miss Boyd-Galloway's carriage," the footman an- nounced ; but Miss Boyd Galloway, immersed in her game of whist, only nodded in reply, and went on playing out the end of the rubber in dignified silence. She was a lady who loved the rigor of the game. It was comfortably warm in that snug country-house ; and who thinks of the cabman outside in the cold there ? The other coachmen walked up and down, and slapped their chests, and exhorted their horses. But Sir Emery sat motionless and chilled on the box, not daring to dis- mount lest when once clown he should be unable to get up again. The butler, a good-natured soul who had known him for years, offered him a glass of whisky-and-water to keep him warm. But Sir Emery shook his head in dissent : it would only make him colder if he had to sit long on the box in the snow there. " Gascoyne's off his feed," another cabman remarked with a cheerful nod ; and the rest laughed. But Sir Emery didn't laugh. He sat stark and stiff, breathing every moment with increasing difficulty, on his seat by the porch, under the shelter of the yew-tree. AT THE CALL OF DUTY. 259 For half an hour or more he waited in the cold. One after another the guests dropped out and drove away piece- meal; but not Miss Boyd-Galloway. He trembled and shiv- ered and grew numb within. Yet wait he must; there was absolutely no help for it. Colder and colder he grew till he seemed all ice. His father's heart was broken within him. More than once in his miserable faintness he half wished to himself that he had allowed Paul, after all, just this one night to relieve him. At last the door opened for the tenth time, and " Miss Boyd-Galloway's carriage " was duly summoned. There was a moment's pause. Sir Emery was almost too numb to move. Then slowly, with an effort, he turned his horses, and wheeling round in a circle brought them up to the doorway. "What do you mean by keeping us waiting here in the cold like this?" Miss Boyd-Galloway asked in a sharp, rasping voice. She was a sour-looking lady of a certain age, and losing the rubber never improved her temper. Sir Emery answered nothing. He was too well accus- tomed to the ways of the trade even to reflect to himself in his own silent soul that Miss Boyd-Galloway had kept him waiting in the cold — and in far worse cold — for considera- bly more than half an hour. The footman stood forward and opened the door. Miss Boyd-Galloway and her friend, wrapped in endless rugs over their square-cut dresses, stepped inside and seated themselves. " Home f" Miss Boyd-Galloway called out in an authoritative voice. There was another pause. Miss Boyd-Galloway put out her head to see the reason. " Home, I said, Gascoyne," she repeated angrily. " Didn't you hear me speak ? Why, what are you waiting for ? " Sir Emery raised his whip with an evident effort. " I'm a goin', miss," he answered, and his voice was thick. " But 260 THE SCALLYWAG. it's a main cold night, and the road's 'eavy, and the 'osses is tired." " Good gracious, what impertinence ! " Miss Boyd-Gallo- way observed, withdrawing her head and shivering audibly. " It's my belief, Louisa, that man's been drinking." " He certainly didn't seem able to move on the box," her companion retorted, " I noticed his manner." "Oh, he's drunk," Miss Boyd-Galloway answered with prompt decisiveness. " Dead drunk, I'm certain. Just see how he's driving. He hasn't even got sense enough left to guide his horses, and it runs in the blood, you know ; they're a precious bad lot all through, these Gascoynes ! To think that a man should have come down to this, whose ancestors were gentlemen born and bred and real Welsh baronets ! A common cab-driver, and drunk at that ! And the daughter's just as bad — that horrid girl at the National School at Hillborough. A proud, discontented, impertinent hussey ! Why, she won't even say ' miss ' to my face when she speaks to me." " Phew, what a jolt ! " the other lady exclaimed, seizing Miss Boyd-Galloway's arm as the cab tipped up over a rut in the roadway. '•Drunk ! quite drunk !" Miss Boyd-Galloway repeated with a meditative air, now confirmed in her opinion. " I only hope to goodness he won't upset us in the snow — it's awfully drifted — anywhere here by the roadside." And, indeed, to do the fare full justice, there seemed good reason that particular evening to blame Sir Emery Gascoyne's driving. As a rule, the baronet was a careful and cautious whip, little given to wild or reckless coach- manship, and inclined to be sparing, both by inclination and policy, of his valuable horseflesh. But to-night he seemed to let the horses wander at their own sweet will, from side to side, hardly guiding them at all through the AT THE CALL OF DUTY. 261 snow and the crossings. At times they swerved danger- ously close to the off-hedge ; at others they almost neared the edge of the slope that led down the zigzag. "We shall never get out of this alive," Miss Boyd-Galloway remarked, leaning back philosophically; "but if we do, Louisa, I shall certainly get Gascoyne's licence taken away, or have him well fined at Uncle Edward's petty sessions for reckless driving." At the corner by the larches the horses turned sharp into the main road. They turned so abruptly that they almost upset the cab and its precious freight. Miss Boyd-Gallo- way's patient soul could stand.it no longer. In spite of the cold air and the driving snow she opened the window wide, pushed out her woolen-enveloped head, and expostulated vigorously.. " If you don't take more care, Gascoyne, I shall have you fined. You're endangering our lives. You've been drinking, I'm sure. Pull yourself together, man, and drive carefully now, or else we'll get out and walk, and then report you." Sir Emery essayed an inarticulate answer. But his breath was feeble, and the words stuck in his throat. Miss Boyd- Galloway withdrew her indignant head more angry than ever. " He's absolutely stupid and dumb with drink," she said, musing with positive pleasure over the cabman's delin- quencies. " He can't get out a word. He's too drunk to sit straight. It'll be a mercy if we all get back alive. But I'm morally confident we won't, so make up your mind for the worst, Louisa." Near the entrance to the town, Miss Boyd-Galloway didn't notice through the dimmed window-panes that their ( oachman was taking them in the wrong direction. Or, rather, to speak more accurately, the horses, now left to their own devices, were returning at their own pace to their familiar stable. 2&2 THE SCALLYWAG. They plodded along slowly, slowly now, for the snow on the road grew ever deeper and deeper. Their gait was re- duced to a shambling walk, with occasional interludes of stumbling and slipping. Miss Boyd-Galloway's wrath waxed deep and still. She didn't remonstrate any longer : she felt sure in her own heart Gascoyne had got beyond all that long since : she meditated " fourteen days without the option of a fine," as the very slightest punishment Uncle Edward could in reason award him. Finally, and suddenly, a jerk, a halt. They turned unex- pectedly down a narrow side entrance. Miss Boyd-Galloway was aware of a courtlike shadow. Houses rose sheer around her on every side. Surely, surely, this was not the Priory, not the paternal mansion. Miss Boyd-Galloway put out her head and looked about her once more. " Oh, Louisa, Louisa, what on earth are we to do? " she cried, in impotent despair. " The man's so drunk that instead of taking us home he's allowed the horses to come back to their own stables ! " " I shall get out this minute and walk ! " her friend ejac- ulated sleepily. They got out and stood by the side of the cab. " Now, Gascoyne," Miss Boyd-Galloway began in a very shrill tone, " this is really too bad. You're asleep on the box, sir. Wake up, I say ; wake up now, will you ?" But Sir Emery sat stiff and stark in his place, and never heeded even the admonition of Miss Boyd-Galloway's stout umbrella, poked hard against his side in practical remon- strance. As they stood there, wondering, the back door of the house was flung open wide, and Faith Gascoyne, with her head uncovered, rushed hastily out into the dark, cold courtyard. She took no notice of the two ladies who stood there, shivering, in their wraps and shawls, on the snow-clad AT THE CALL OF DUTY. 263 stones, but darted wildly forward toward the figure on the box. " Father, father ! " she cried in an agonized voice, "are you all right, darling?" " No, he's not all right," Miss Boyd-Galloway answered testily, retreating toward the passage. " He's anything but right, and you ought to be ashamed of him. He's as drunk as an owl, and he's brought us back here to his own place, instead of taking us home as he ought to the Priory." But Faith paid little heed to the lady's words. She was far too agitated and frightened for that. She flung her arms wildly round that stiff, stark figure, and kissed its mouth over and over again with a terrible foreboding. Sir Emery sat there unheeding still. Then Faith started back aghast, with a sudden flash of discovery, and held up her hands in an agony of horror and alarm to heaven. A fierce cry burst from her quivering lips. <; He's dead ! " she sobbed out in her agony. " He's dead ! Oh, father, father ! " And so he was. He had died in harness. " Acute pleu- risy* aggravated by exposure," the doctor called it in his official statement next day. But for the present, all Faith knew and felt was that her father was gone, and that she stood there that moment alone with her bereavement. In time, as she stood there, helpless and unnerved, a neighbor or two came out and carried him in. He was quite, quite dead : almost as stiff and cold as stone with the frost already. They laid him down tenderly on the horse- hair sofa in the little parlor. Sir Emery Gascoyne, Baronet, had met his death well, performing his duty. And Miss Boyd-Galloway in the yard without, staring hard at her friend, and wringing her hands, remarked more than once in a hushed voice, " This is very awkward indeed, Louisa ! How on earth are we to get home with- out any carriage, I wonder ? I really believe we shall have to tramp it ! " 264 THE SCALLYWAG. CHAPTER XXXI. " LE ROI EST MORT : VIVE LE ROI ! " With a heavy heart, and with vague forebodings of evil, Paul tramped wearily home along the frozen roadway. As he neared Plowden's Court, at the end of that slow and painful march, he saw for himself there were lights in the windows, and signs within of great bustle and commotion. Cold as it was and late at night, the news had already spread over the neighborhood that " Gascoyne was gone," and more than one sympathizing friend had risen from bed and dropped in to comfort Faith and her mother in their great sorrow. The working classes and the smaller trades- folk are prompter and franker in their expressions of sym- pathy with one another than those whom in our self-satis- fied way we call their betters. They come to help in the day of trouble, where servants and dependants are not ready at call to do the mere necessary physical work entailed on every house by moments of bereavement. At the door Mr. Solomons was waiting to receive the poor weary young man. He raised his hat respectfully as Paul staggered in. " Good-evening, Sir Paul," he said, with marked courtesy. And that unwonted salute was the first intimation Paul received of his sudden and terrible loss that awful evening. " No, no, Mr. Solomons," he cried, grasping the old man's hand with the fervid warmth which rises up spontaneous within us all at moments of deep emotion. " Not that ! Not that ! Don't tell me so, don't tell me so ! Not that ! He isn't dead ! Not dead ! Oh no, not dead ! Don't say so ! " Mr. Solomons shook his head gravely. " Doctor's been "IE ROI EST MORT ; VIVE IE EO/f" 26$ here and found him quite dead," he answered with solemn calmness. " He drove Miss Boyd-Galloway back from the dean's, through the snow and the wind, till he froze on the box. He was too ill to go, and he died at his post, like a Gascoyne ought to do." Paul flung himself back on a chair and burst at once into a wild flood of tears. His heart was full. He didn't dare to ask for Faith or his mother. Yet even in that first full flush of a great sorrow, strange to say, he was dimly con- scious within himself of that indefinable self-satisfaction which so often buoys us up for the moment under similar circumstances. He felt it would always be a comfort to him to remember that he had done his very best to avert that terrible incident, had done his very best to take his father's place that night, and to follow in his footsteps on his last sad journey. Mr. Solomons moved slowly to the foot of the stairs. " Sir Paul has returned," he called softly to Faith in the room above, where she sat and sobbed beside her dead father. And, indeed, from that time forth Mr. Solomons seldom forgot to give the new baronet the full benefit of his title whenever he spoke to him, and to exact the rigorous use of it from all and sundry. It was part of his claims on Paul, in fact, that Paul should accept the heavy burden of the baronetcy. Meaning to float him in the social and finan- cial sense, Mr. Solomons appreciated the immense impor- tance of starting Sir Paul as Sir Paul Gascoyne, Baronet, from the very beginning. It must be understood at the outset that this was a genuine titled Gascoyne, and no shadow of a doubt or an incognito of any sort must hang over the fact or the nature of the evidence. It was all very well for Sir Emery to hide his light under a bushel in a country town ; but Sir Paul, as exhibited by his financial 266 THE SCALLYWAG. adviser, must be carefully proclaimed from the housetops in the city of Westminster. In his own interests Mr. Solomons was determined that everybody should recognize \\\s prote'gJ as, a man of fashion. Faith came down and threw herself into her brother's arms. " You did your best, Paul," she cried, faltering. " I know it. 1 know it." The tears stood dim in Mr. Solomons' eyes. He could stand an execution for debt with stoical stolidity, but he could not stand this. He took out his pocket handkerchief and retired into the stairway, leaving brother and sister to their own silent sympathy. Slowly and gradually it came home to each of them how great a change that night had wrought in their joint exis- tences. The old life at Hillborough would now be broken up for them both altogether. New ways and fields lay open before them. The next few days, indeed, were, of course, taken up by the needful preparations for Sir Emery's funeral. It was a new sensation for Paul to find himself the head of the family, with his mother and sister dependent upon him for aid and advice, and compelled to decide all questions as they arose upon his own responsibility. Mr. Solomons, however, who had his good side, though he kept it often most studiously in the background, was kindness itself to Paul in this sudden emergency. To say the truth, he liked the young man ; and, with his ingrained Jewish respect for rank, he was proud of being able to patronize a real British baronet. He had patronized Sir Emery already, to be sure ; but then Sir Emery had never been born in the purple. He was at best but a country cabman who had unexpectedly inherited a barren baronetcy. It was otherwise with Paul. Mr. Solomons was determined that, as his young friend had had an Oxford education, so he should be received " LE ROl EST MORT : VIVE LE SO//' 267 everywhere from the very beginning in his own proper place in English society. The fact was, Mr. Solomons' relations with Paul had made him feel, at last, a certain parental interest in his young debtor's position and pros- pects. Regarding him, at first, merely in the light of a precarious investment, to be diligently exploited for Mr. Lionel's ultimate benefit, he had come in the end to regard him with some personal liking and fondness, as a pupil with whose progress in life he might be fairly satisfied. So he came out well on this occasion ; so well, indeed, that for several days after the sad event he never mentioned to Paul the disagreeable fact about his having neglected to pay Sir Emery's life-premium on the very night of that fatal engagement. The neglect left Paul still more heavily indebted than he might otherwise have been. But as he had voluntarily assumed all responsibility for the debt himself, he had really nothing on this ground to complain of. The funeral was fixed for Wednesday, the 10th. On Tuesday afternoon, as Paul sat alone in the little front parlor with the spotted dog on the mantelpiece — that spotted dog of his father's that Faith had so longed for years to remove, and that she wouldn't now have removed from its familiar place for untold thousands — he heard a well- known sturdy voice inquire of the stable-boy who lounged about the door, " Is this Sir Paul Gascoyne's ? Does he happen to be in ? Will you give him my card then ? " With no shadow of shame or compunction on his face, Paul flung open the door and welcomed his old college friend into that dingy little sitting room. " Why, Thistle- ton," he cried, "this is so kind, so good of you ! You're the only one of all my Oxford acquaintances who's come to see me, although, of course, I didn't expect them. But you were in Yorkshire last week and meant to stay there. 2bS THE SCALLYWAG. What on earth's brought you down to this part of Eng- land so suddenly ? " The blond young man's face, on receiving this question, was a study to behold. It would have made the fortune of a rising dramatic artist. He changed his hat in his hand awkwardly as he answered with a distinctly shamefaced air, " I thought — as a mark of respect for the family — I — I ought to be present at Sir Emery's funeral. And, indeed, my father and mother thought that — in view of existing and future circumstances — I couldn't possibly absent my- self." Paul failed to grasp the precise reason for this interposi- tion on the part of the senior Thistletons in so strictly private and personal an affair as his father's funeral ; for as yet he had no idea of the state of relations between Faith and his friend ; but he confined himself for the moment to asking in some surprise, "Why, how did you hear at all about my poor father ? " The blond young man hesitated even more remarkably and distinctly than before. Then he blurted out the truth with that simple-hearted directness of speech which was natural to him, " Faith wrote and told me," he answered in his straightforwardness. It struck Paul as odd, even in that time of trouble, that Thistleton should speak of his sister as "Faith" and not as "Miss Gascoyne," as he had always been accustomed to do at Oxford ; but he set it down to the privilege of inti- macy with the family, and to the greater frankness of tongue which we all of us use when death breaks down for a moment the conventions and barriers of our artificial in- tercourse. Still, it certainly did strike him as odd that Faith should have found time at such a moment to write of their loss to a mere casual acquaintance. Thistleton rightly interpreted the puzzled look upon " LE ROI EST MORT : VIVE LE RO/f" 269 Paul's face, and went on sheepishly, though with charming frankness, " I hadn't heard for several days, much longer than usual, indeed, so I telegraphed night before last to ask the reason." Then a light burst in all at once upon Paul's mind ; he saw it all, and was glad ; but he forebore to speak of it under existing circumstances. " Might I see Faith ? " the blond young man inquired timidly. " I'll ask her," Paul answered, moving slowly up the stairs to the room where his sister sat alone in her grief with their mother. But Faith only shook her head decidedly. " Not now, Paul," she said ; " it was kind of him to come ; but tell him I can't see him — till, till, after to-morrow." " Perhaps he won't stay," Paul put in, without attaching much importance himself to the remark. " Oh, yes," Faith answered with simple confidence. " Now he's once come, he'll stop, of course — at least until he's seen me." Paul went back to his friend in the dull little parlor. To his immense surprise, Thistleton, after receiving the mes- sage with a frank, satisfied nod, began at once talking about the family plans with an interest that really astonished him. Paul had always liked the blond young man, and he knew the blond young man liked him. But he was hardly pre- pared for so much personal sympathy in all their arrange- ments as Thistleton manifested. The blond young man most anxious to know where Paul would live and what he would do ; whether or not he would at once assume his title ; what would become of his mother and Faith ; and whether the family headquarters were likely, under these new circumstances, to be shifted from Hillborough, say, in the direction of London. 2 70 THE SCA LL V WA G. All these questions took Paul very much at a disadvant- age. Absorbed only in their own immediate and personal loss, he had found no time as yet to think or arrange in any way about the future. All he could say was that he would consider these things at some later time, but that for the moment their plans were wholly undecided. Thistleton sat still and gazed blankly into the fire. " I shall have to talk it over with Faith, you know," he said quietly at last. " I see many reasons for taking things promptly in hand at the moment of the crisis." " I'm afraid Faith won't be able to talk things over calmly for some weeks at least," Paul answered, with deep- ening wonderment. " This sudden blow, of course, has quite unnerved us. It was all so instantaneous, so terrible, so unexpected." "Oh, I'm in no hurry," Thistleton replied, still gazing straight ahead into the embers of the fire. " Now I'm here I may as well stop here for the next few weeks or so. They've given me a very comfortable room at the Red Lion. And one thing's clear, now your father's gone, Gas- coyne, you've enough to do with those claims alone ; your sister mustn't be allowed to be a further burden upon you." Paul flushed fiery hot at that way of putting it. He saw now quite clearly what Thistleton was driving at, though he didn't know, of course, what measure of encouragement Faith might already have accorded her wealthy suitor. Oh, those hateful, hateful claims of Mr. Solomons' ! If it hadn't been for those, he might have answered proudly, " I will take care myself of my sister's future." But how could he now — he who was mortgaged, twenty years deep, for all his possible earnings to that close-fisted taskmaster ! The very thought of it make him hot and cold alternately with deep humiliation. THE BUBBLE BURSTS. 271 All he could do was to murmur, half aloud, " Faith can almost support herself, even as it is, by her salary as a schoolmistress." Thistleton answered him very decisively this time. " Not as she ought to be supported, my dear fellow," he said in a firm tone of voice. " Gascoyne, you and I have always been friends, and at a time like this we may surely speak our minds out to one another. You'll have enough to do to keep yourself and mother, let alone the claims ; and I know how they weigh upon you. But Faith mustn't dream of trying to live upon what she earns herself. I could never stand that. It would drive me wild to think she should even attempt it. This has made a great change in the position of all of you. I think when I talk it all over with Faith she'll see the subject in the same light as I do." CHAPTER XXXII. THE BUBBLE BURSTS. The morning after the funeral Paul went down, by Mr. Solomons' special desire, to the office in the High Street for a solemn consultation. Mr. Solomons wished to see him " on important business," he said ; and Paul, though weary and sick at heart, had been too long accustomed to accept Mr. Solomons' commands as law to think of de- murring to a request so worded. As he entered Mr. Solomons rose to greet him with stately politeness, and handed him solemnly a little oblong packet, which felt like a box done up in paper. Paul opened it vaguely, seeing so much was expected of him, and found inside, to his immense surprise, a hundred visit- 272 THE SCALLYWAG. ing-cards, inscribed in copperplate " Sir Paul Gascoyne," in neat small letters. " What are these, Mr. Solomons ? " he asked, taken aback for the moment. Mr. Solomons, rubbing his hands with unction, was evidently very well pleased at his own cleverness and fore- thought. " They're a little present I wished to make you, Sir Paul," he answered, laying great stress upon that em- phatic prefix of honor. " You see, I think it necessary, as part of my scheme for our joint benefit, that you should at once assume your proper place in the world and receive recognition at the hands of society. I desire that you should make a feature of your title at once ; that you should be known to all England from the very outset as Sir Paul Gascoyne, Baronet." He spoke it pompously, like one who basked in the reflected glory of that high-sounding social designation. " I hate it," Paul blurted out, unable to restrain his emo- tion any longer. "Mr. Solomons, I can't bear the horrid business. It's a hollow mockery for a man like me. What's the use of a title to a fellow without a penny, who's bur- dened with more debt than he can ever pay, to start with ? " Mr. Solomons drew back as if he had been stung. He could hardly believe his ears. That a man should wish deliberately to shuffle off the honor of a baronetcy was to him, in his simplicity, well nigh inconceivable. Not that, for the moment, he took in to the full Paul's actual mean- ing. That his pet design, the cherished scheme of years, could be upset offhand by the recalcitrant obstinacy of a hot-headed youth just fresh from college, lay hardly within the sphere of his comprehension. He contented himself for the time with thrusting his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, protruding his already too obvious watch- THE BUBBLE BURSTS. 273 pocket, and observing jauntily, " That's exactly why you've got to make the most of the title, Sir Paul. You must use it as your capital — your stock-in-trade. So long as your father lived, of course, we could do very little ; we could only point to you as a prospective baronet. Now that Sir Emery's dead and gone, poor gentleman, the case is altered ; we can put you forward as the actual possessor of the Gas- coyne title. It's extremely fortunate this should have hap- pened (as it had got to happen) so early in the year, before the Peerages are out — they don't publish them till March — and I telegraphed off full details yesterday to the different editors, so that your name may appear in its proper place in due course in the new issues. There's nothing like taking time by the forelock, you know, Sir Paul ; there's nothing on earth like taking time by the forelock." And Mr. Solomons, standing with his back to the fire and his thumbs in his armholes like a British churchwarden, raised himself gently on the tips of his toes, and let his heels go down again with an emphatic snap, as he pursed up his lips into a most determined attitude. Paul saw the time for temporizing had passed. While his father lived, he hadn't dared to explain to Mr. Solomons the simple fact that he couldn't and wouldn't sell himself for money to any woman living, lest he should break his father's heart by that plain avowal. But now it would be flat cowardice to delay the confession one day longer. For Mr. Solomons' sake he must take the bull by the horns. Already Mr. Solomons had put himself to needless expense in having those cards printed and in telegraphing to the editors of the various Peerages, on the strength of an under- standing which ought long ago to have been broken. There was no help for it now. He must prick the bubble. So he seated himself nervously in the office chair, and with hesitating speech, amid awkward pauses, began to 2 74 THE SCALLYWAG. break the news as gently as he could to poor startled Mr. Solomons. He told him how, as long as his father lived, he had felt it his duty to keep silence on the matter. He ex- plained to him in plain and straightforward terms how the plan had been devised, and broached, and furthered when he himself was too young to understand and enter into its sinister significance ; and how, as soon as he had attained to years of discretion, and comprehended the plot in its true colors, a revulsion of feeling had set in which made it impossible for him now to carry out in full the implied engagement. He begged Mr. Solomons to observe that as soon as he had clearly realized this change of front he had ceased to accept a single penny of his task-master's money, but had worked his own way by unheard-of effort through his last two terms for his degree at Oxford. Finally, he assured Mr. Solomons, with many piteous assurances, that he would never be forgetful of the claims upon his purse, his time, and his labor, but would toil like a slave, month after month, and year after year, till he had repaid him in full to the uttermost farthing. How much it cost Paul to make this bold avowal nobody but himself could ever have realized. He felt at the mo- ment as though he was shirking the dearest obligations in life and turning his back most ungratefully upon his friend and benefactor. As he went on and on, floundering deeper and deeper in despondency each moment, while Mr. Solo- mons stood there silent and grim by the fireplace, with his jaw now dropping loose and his thumbs relaxing their hold upon the armholes — his voice faltered with the profundity of his regret, and big beads of nervous dew gathered thick upon his forehead. He knew he was disappointing the hopes of a lifetime, and shaking his own credit at every word he spoke with his powerful creditor. As for Mr. Solomons, the startled old man heard him out THE BUBBLE BURSTS. 275 to the bitter end without once interposing a single word of remark — without so much as a nod or a shake of disappro- bation. He heard him out in the grimmest of grim silences, letting Paul flounder on, unchecked and unaided, through his long rambling explanation of his conduct and motives. Once or twice, indeed, Paul paused in his speech and glanced up at him appealingly ; but Mr. Solomons, staring at him still with a fixed hard stare, vouchsafed not even to relax his stern face, and gazed on in blank astonishment at this strange case of mental aberration gradually unfolding itself in the flesh before him. At last, when Paul had ex- hausted all his stock of arguments, excuses, and reasons, Mr. Solomons moved forward three deliberate paces, and, gazing straight down into the young man's eyes, said slowly and solemnly in the scriptural phrase, " Paul, Paul, thou art beside thyself." " Mr. Solomons," Paul answered with a cold shudder down his back, " I mean what I say. You shall never lose a penny of all you've advanced me. You meant it well. You meant it for my advantage. I know all that. But I can never consent to marry an heiress, whoever she may be. I'll work my fingers to the bone, day and night, the year round, to pay you back ; but I'll never, never, never con- sent to pay you back the way you intended." "You mean it?" Mr. Solomons asked, sitting down in another chair by his side and regarding him closely with curious attention. " Sir Paul Gascoyne, you really mean it ?" "Yes, I really mean it, Mr. Solomons," Paul answered remorsefully. To his immense astonishment, Mr. Solomons buried his face in his arms on the office table and sobbed inarticu- lately, through floods of tears, in dead silence, for some minutes together. This strange proceeding, so utterly unexpected, broke 276 .THE SCALLYWAG. down for the moment Paul's courage altogether. " Oh, Mr. Solomons," he cried, in a frenzy of regret, " I knew I should be disappointing you very much indeed — I knew that, of course ; but I never imagined you'd feel like this about it." Mr. Solomons rocked himself up and down in his chair solemnly for a considerable time without making any answer. Then he rose slowly, unlocked his safe, and took out the well-thumbed bundle of notes and acceptances. One" by one he counted them all over, as if to make sure they were really there, with a regretful touch ; after which, regarding them tenderly, as a mother regards her favorite child, he locked them all up once more, and flung himself back in the office chair with an air of utter and abject despondency. "As long as you live, Sir Paul," he said slowly, " handi- capped as you are, unless you do as we mean you to do, you can never, never, never repay them." " I'll try my hardest, at least," Paul answered sturdily. " There's the horses and cabs," Mr. Solomons went on, as if musing to himself; " but they won't fetch much. As for the furniture in the house, it wouldn't pay the quarter's rent, I expect ; and to that extent, the landlord, of course, has a prior claim upon it. In fact, it's an insolvent estate — that's the long and the short of it." "My father's life was insured," Paul ventured to suggest. Mr. Solomons hesitated with natural delicacy. " Well, to tell you the truth, Sir Paul," he answered after a long pause, "the premium was due the day before your father's un- fortunate death ; and I neglected to pay it. I meant to do so the very next morning ; but was too late. But I didn't like to mention the fact to you before in the midst of so much other personal trouble." " That was very kind of you, Mr. Solomons," Paul put in, in a very low voice. THE BUBBLE BURSTS. 277 Mr. Solomons ran his fat hand through his curly black hair, now deeply grizzled. " Not at all, Sir Paul," he answered, " not at all. Of course, I couldn't dream of obtruding it on you at such a time. But what I was thinking's this : that the failure of the policy largely increases the amount of your indebted- ness. It was 'jointly and severally ' from the beginning, you remember ; and when you came of age you took the entire responsibility upon yourself in this very room here." And Mr. Solomons walked once more toward the safe in the corner, as if to assure himself again of the safety at least of those precious papers. " I admit it to the full," Paul answered frankly. Mr. Solomons turned upon him with unexpected gen- tleness. " Sir Paul," he said seriously, " my dear Sir Paul, it isn't so much that : that's not the worst of it. It's the other disappointment I mind the most — the strictly personal and private disappointment. The money I'll get paid back in the end ; or if I don't live to see it paid back, why, Leo will, and I always regarded it as a long investment for Leo. A man sinks his money in land for the rise as long as that, every bit, and is satisfied if his children come in for the benefit of it. But, Sir Paul, I thought of you always as a success in life — as great and rich — as married to a lady you ought to marry — as holding your own in the county and the country. I thought of you as sitting in Parliament for a division of Surrey. I thought I'd have helped to make you all that ; and I thought you'd feel I'd had a hand in doing it. Instead of that, I've only hung a weight like a millstone round your neck that I never intended — a weight that you'll never be able to get rid of. Sir Paul, Sir Paul, it's a terrible disappointment." Paul sat there long, talking the matter over from every 27*> THE SCALLYWAG. possible point of view, now perfectly friendiy, but never getting any nearer to a reconciliation of their conflicting ideas. Indeed, how could he? When he rose to go, Mr. Solomons grasped his hand hard. " Sir Paul," he said with emotion, " this is a hard day's work. You've undone the task I've been toiling at for years. But, perhaps, in time you'll change your mind. Perhaps some day you'll see some lady " Paul cut him short at once. " No, never," he said. "Never." Mr. Solomons shook his hand hard once more. " Well, nevermind," he said ; " remember, I don't want in any way to press you. Repay me whenever and how- ever you can : it's all running on at interest meanwhile, renewable annually. Work hard and pay me, but not too hard. I trust you still, Sir Paul, and 1 know I can trust you." As soon as Paul was gone, Mr. Solomons could only relieve his mind by taking the first train up to town, and pouring the whole strange, incredible story into the sympa- thetic ears of his nephew, Mr. Lionel. Lionel Solomons listened to his uncle's uarrative with supercilious disdain ; then he rose, with his sleek thumbs stuck into his waistcoat pockets and his fat fingers lolling over his well-covered hips, in an attitude expressive of capi- talist indifference to such mere sentimentalism as Paul Gas- coyne had been guilty of. " The fellow's of age, and he's signed for the lot ; that's one comfort," he observed complacently. " But I've got no patience with such pig-headed nonsense myself. What's the good of being born to a baronetcy, 1 should like to know, if you aint going to make any social use of it?" " It's chucking it away — just chucking it away, that's true," his uncle assented. THE BUBBLE BURSTS. 2 79 Mr. Lionel paused, and ran one plump hand easily through his well-oiled curls. " For my part," he said, " if ever those papers come to me " " They'll all come to you, Leo — they'll all come to you," his uncle put in affectionately. " What else do I toil and moil, and slave and save for ? " Mr. Lionel faintly bowed a gracious acquiescence. " If ever those papers come to me," he continued, unheeding the interruption, " I'll not let him off one farthing of the lot, now he's signed for 'em all after coming of age, not if he works his lifelong to pay me off the whole — principal and interest. He shall suffer for his confounded nonsense, he shall. If he won't pay up, as he ought to pay up, in a lump at once, and if he won't go to work the right way to make himself solvent, I'll grind him and dun him and make his life a burden to him, till he's paid it all to the uttermost farthing. He's a fool of a sentimentalist, that's just what lie is — with an American girl ready to pay him a good round sum for the title, as I've reason to believe, if he'll only marry her." •• Leo ! " his uncle exclaimed disapprovingly. " I'll tell you what it is," the nephew continued, tilting himself on tiptoe, and shutting his mouth hard till the lips pursed up to express decision of character ; " the fellow's in love with some penniless girl or other. I've known that a long time ; he was always getting letters from some place in Cornwall, in a woman's hand, that he put away unopened and read in his bedroom ; and he's going to throw over- board your interest and his own, just to satisfy his own foolish sentimental fancy. I could forgive him for throw- ing yours overboard for a pretty face, that's only human ; but to throw over his own, why, it's simply inexcusable. He shall pay for this, though. If ever I come in to those papers, he shall pay for it." «s30 THE SCALLYWAG. " Leo," the elder man said, leaning back in his chair and fixing his eye full upon his uncompromising nephew. " Well, sir," Mr. Lionel answered, replacing his thumbs in his waistcoat pocket. " Leo," Mr. Solomons repeated slowly, " I often wish you were a little more like Paul. I often wish I'd sent you instead of him to Oxford to college." "Well, / don't, then," Mr. Lionel responded, with a short toss of his head. "I'm precious glad you put me where I am, in the proper place for a man to make money in — in the City." CHAPTER XXXIII. FASHIONABLE INTELLIGENCE. The air of Surrey suited the blond young man's com- plaint to a T. Thistleton spent some two or three weeks at Hillborough, and seemed in no very great hurry to return to the bleak north from his comfortable quarters at the Red Lion. Meanwhile, Paul was busy clearing up his father's affairs, selling what few effects there remained to sell, and handing over the proceeds, after small debts were paid, as remnant of the insolvent estate, to Mr. Solomons. Mr. Solomons received the sum with grim satisfaction ; it was a first instalment of those terrible claims of his, and bet- ter than nothing ; so he proceeded to release a single small note accordingly, which he burned in the office fire before Paul's very face with due solemnity. Then, as if to impress on his young friend's mind the magnitude of the amount that still remained unpaid, he counted over the rest of the bills in long array, jointly and severally, and locked them up once more with his burglar-proof key — Chubb's best design — in that capacious safe of his. FASHIONABLE INTELLIGENCE. 281 Much yet remained for Paul to arrange. The family had now to be organized on a fresh basis ; for it was clear that in future the new baronet must support his mother and, to some extent, apparently, his sister also. His own wish, indeed, was that they should both accompany him to Lon- don ; but to that revolutionary proposal his mother would never for a moment accede. She had lived all her life long at Hillborough, she said, among her own people, and she couldn't be dragged away now in her old age from her husband's grave and her accustomed surroundings. Paul thought it best, therefore, to arrange for a couple of rooms in a cottage in Plowden's Court, hard by, where Faith and she might take up their abode for the present. It was only for the present, however, so far as Faith was concerned. For before Thistleton left Hillborough he had sat one afternoon with Faith in the bare little parlor, and there, before the impassive face of the spotted dog, once more discussed that important question which he had broached to her last spring in the flowery meadows at En- sham. At first, of course, Faith would have nothing to say to any such subversive scheme. She wouldn't leave her mother, she said, alone in her widowhood. She must stay with her and comfort her, now nobody else was left to help her. But Thistleton had a strong card to play this time in the necessity for relieving Paul of any unnecessary burden. " Faith," he said, taking her hand in his own persuasively (there is much virtue in a gentle pressure of the human hand), "you know you as good as promised me at Oxford, and we only put it off till a more convenient season." " Why, I never promised you, Mr. Thistleton," Faith re- torted, half angry. " I said, you as good as promised me," the blond young man corrected, unperturbed. " We left it open. But now, you know, Paul's left the sole support of the entire family, 282 THE SCALLYWAG. and it becomes your duty to try and relieve him as far as possible. If you and I were married, your mother could often come to stop with us for a time — in Sheffield or Lon- don ; and, at any rate, Paul would be freed from all anxiety on your account. For my part, I think it's a duty you owe him." " I won't marry anyone as a duty to Paul," Faith ex- claimed firmly, bridling up like a Gascoyne, and trying to withdraw her fingers from the hand that imprisoned them. " I don't ask you to," Thistleton answered, with another soothing movement of that consolatory palm. " You know very well it isn't that : I want you for yourself. I tele- graphed to my people last spring, 'the lady accepts, but defers for the present '; so you see the quesion of marrying me was settled long ago. It's only the question of when that we have to talk about now. And I say this is a very convenient time, because it'll make it a great deal easier for Paul to arrange about your mother and himself comfortably." " There's something in that," Faith admitted with a grudging assent. So the end of it all was that, after many protests, Faith gave in at last to a proposal to be married in March — a very quiet wedding, of course, because of their deep mourning ; but, as Thistleton justly remarked, with a triumphant sigh of relief, a wedding's a wedding, however quiet you make it, and it was Faith, not the festivities, that he himself at- tached the greatest importance to. At the end of three weeks, therefore, the blond young man returned to Yorkshire with victory in his van (what- ever that may be) ; and Mrs. Thistleton, senior, was in a position to call upon all her neighbors in Sheffield — master- cutlers' wives every one of them to a woman — with the proud announcement that her son Charles was to be married in March to the sister of his Oxford friend, Sir Paul Gas- FASHIONABLE INTELLIGENCE. 283 coyne, Baronet, who had lately succeeded to his father's title. And all the other ladies in Sheffield looked out the baronetcy in Debrett forthwith, as in duty bound ; and when they found it was quite an ancient creation, of seven- teenth century date, and unconnected with cutlery, were ready to die with envy to think that that fat old Mrs. Thistleton, a person in no wise richer or more distin- guished than themselves, should become connected at last with most undoubted aristocracy. At Hillborough, meanwhile, the sister and daughter of those noble fourteenth and fifteenth baronets had a busy time in her own small room making such preparations as she was able for that quiet wedding, which must never- theless tax the family resources to the very utmost. Indeed, it gave Paul no small qualms of conscience to buy the strictly necessary for so important an occasion ; for how could he devote to his sister's needful outfit — the outfit indispensable for the wedding-day itself, if she was not to put the Thistle- ton family to shame — a single penny of his precarious earn- ings, without neglecting the just claims of Mr. Solomons? Paul felt even more painfully than ever before how he was tied hand and foot to his remorseless creditor. It was impossible for him to spend money on anything beyond the barest necessaries without feeling he was wronging his universal assignee. However, he put it to himself on this special occasion that for Faith to be married, and to be married well, was, after all, the very best thing in the end for Mr. Solomons' interests. It would leave him freer to earn money with which ultimately to repay those grinding claims ; and so he judged he might honestly devote part of his still very modest income to buying what was most indispensable for Faith's wedding. Faith herself, with the help of the little dressmaker from the neighboring court, would do all 284 THE SCALLYWAG. the rest ; and, fortunately, their mourning gave them a good excuse for making the wedding preparations on the smallest possible scale of expenditure under the circum- stances. So as soon as everything was arranged at Hillborough and Faith and her mother fairly settled into modest lodg- ings, Paul returned once more for a day to his rooms in Pimlico. But it was only in order to remove his books and belongings from the chambers he shared with Mr. Lionel Solomons to a new address across the city. The welcome change had been forced upon him by his interview with his old provider. Mr. Lionel's society had never been agree- able to him ; and now that he had cleared up matters with the uncle at Hillborough, Paul saw no reason why he should any longer put up with the nephew's company in London. Besides, he contemplated now living on a still more modest basis than before, since it would be needful for him in future to support his mother as well as himself out of his journal- istic earnings. Mr. Lionel met his proposals for removal with a shrug of contempt. " I suppose, now you're a baronet," he said, just suppressing a decent sneer, " you think yourself too fine to associate any longer with City gentlemen ? " " On the contrary," Paul answered ; " now that I shall have to keep my mother as well as myself, I must manage to do with smaller and cheaper lodgings." " Well, you're a devilish odd fellow ! " Mr. Lionel remarked, with a cheerful smile, provoked in part by the sight of an embossed coronet that just peeped from the corner of a dainty note on the mantelpiece. " If / were a baronet, I wouldn't do like you, you may bet your last sixpence. If I didn't intend to marry tin, at any rate I'd go in for making money in a modest way as a guinea-pig." Paul's ignorance of City ways was so profound that he FASHIONABLE INTELLIGENCE. 285 answered with a puzzled expression of countenance : " What is a guinea-pig ? " " A guinea-pig," Mr. Lionel condescended to explain, gazing down with approbation at his own well-filled waist- coat ; " a guinea-pig is a gentleman of birth, rank, title, or position, who accepts a seat at a board as director of a company, which he guarantees by his name, receiving in return a guinea a day every time he attends a meeting of the directorate. For example, let's suppose I want to start an Automatic Pork Pie Company, or a Universal Artificial Guano Supply Association, Limited. Very well, then : I promote the company myself, and get two or three City people — good men, of course — to back me up in it. And I ask you to let me print your name at the head of the list. Directors : Sir Paul Gascoyne, Bart. ; Timothy Twells, Esquire (Twells, Twemlow, and Handsomebody) ; and so forth and so forth. You give your name and you draw your guinea. We consider the advertisement worth to us that amount. And a person who lives by so lending his name to industrial undertakings is called a guinea-pig." " But I couldn't be a director of a public company," Paul answered, smiling. " I don't know anything at all about business." " Of course not," Mr. Lionel retorted. " That's just where it is. If you did, you'd be meddling and inquiring into the affair. That's exactly the good of you. What we particularly require in an ideal guinea-pig is that he should attend his meeting and take his fee and ask no questions. Otherwise, he's apt to be a confounded nuisance to the working directorate." " But I call that dishonest," Paul exclaimed warmly. " A man lends his name, and his title if he has one, if I under- stand what you mean, in order to induce the public at large to believe this is a solid concern, with an influential board 286 THE SCALLYWAG. of directors ; and you want him to do it for a guinea a day without so much as inquiring into the solidity of the under- taking ! " Mr. Lionel's face relaxed into a broad smile. "Well, you are a rum one ! " he answered, much amused at Paul's indignant warmth. " I don't want you to do it. It don't matter tuppence either way to me whether you sink or swim. You're at liberty to starve, so far as I'm concerned, in the most honest and Quixotic way that seems good to you. All I say is that if I were you I'd go in, for the pres- ent — till something neat turns up in the matrimonial line — for being a professional guinea-pig. I throw out the hint for your consideration, free, gratis, given away for nothing. If you don't like it you're at liberty to leave it. But you needn't jump down a man's throat for all that with your moral remarks, as if I was an idiot. " I don't care to sell my name for money to anybody," Paul answered, growing hot ; " either to men or women. I never sought the title myself : it's been thrust upon me by circumstances, and I suppose I must take it. But if I bear it at all, I trust I shall so bear it as to bring no dis- grace upon my honest ancestors. I will lend it or sell it to nobody for my own advantage." " So my uncle informed me," Mr. Lionel answered, showing his even teeth in a very ugly smile, and once more ogling that coroneted note-paper : "and I'll tell you what I think of you, Gascoyne ! I think you're a fool for your pains ; that's just my candid opinion of you ! You're a sight too sentimental, that's where it is, with these notions and ideas of yours ! You'll find, when you've mixed a little more with the world, as I've done in the City, you'll have to come down a bit at last from that precious high horse of yours. If you don't, he'll throw you, and then there'll be an end of you ! And I've got another thing to tell you, FASHIONABLE INTELLIGENCE. 287 too, now I'm once about it ! My Uncle Judah aint as strong a man by any means as he looks ! His heart's affected. His doctor tells me so. He can't stand running about too much. Some day he'll go running to catch a train, getting too much excited over a matter of a bargain, or putting himself in a fluster at an execution ; and hi presto ! before he knows where he is, his heart'll go pop, and there'll be the end of him." "Well," Paul said, drawing his breath slowly, with a faint apprehension of Mr. Lionel's probable meaning. " Well, then," Mr. Lionel went on, unmoved, that ugly smile growing more marked than before, "I'll inherit every stiver my uncle leaves — and among the rest, those pre- cious notes-of-hand of yours." " Yes," Paul answered, growing uncomfortably warm again. " Yes," Mr. Lionel repeated, fixing his man with those nasty eyes of his ; " and 1*11 tell you what, Gascoyne — Sir Paul Gascoyne, Baronet — you'll find you've got a very dif- ferent sort of man to deal with from my Uncle Judah. Sentimentality won't go down with me, I can tell you. It aint my line of country. You think you can do as you like with my uncle, because he takes a sort of personal interest in you, and feels proud of you as his own tame, live baronet that he's raised by hand, and sent to college at his own expense, and floated in the world, and made a gentleman of. Vou think you can force him to wait as long as you like for his money. But mark my words — my uncle's life aint worth a year's purchase. No office in the City'd take him at any rate he'd like to offer. It's touch and go with that ramshackled old heart of his. So my advice to you is, don't put him to a strain, if you don't want to lose by it. For when once those papers come into my hands, I give you fair warning, I'll have my money's worth out of them. I'll 288 THE SCALLYWAG. drive you to marry somebody who'll pay me up in full, I can tell you that ; or, if I don't, I'll have you shown up for a defaulter, as you are, in every paper in England. They shall know how you got your education by fraud, and then turned round and refused to carry out your honest bargain." Paul's lips quivered, and his cheek was pale, but he made no reply to this coarse outburst of the inner self in Lionel Solomons. He knew too well what was due to his own dig- nity. He went without a word into his bedroom next door, packed up his few belongings as hurriedly as he could, and slipped out himself to call a hansom. Then, bringing down his portmanteau to the door in his own hands, he left Mr. Lionel in undisturbed possession of their joint apartments, and started off to his new rooms in a by-way off Gower Street. Nevertheless, that hint of a possible eventuality disturbed his mind not a little in the night watches. It was a fact, indeed, that Mr. Solomons' heart was a feeble member ; and Paul by no means relished the idea of being left with such an individual as Mr. Lionel Solomons for his life-long creditor. As for Mr. Lionel, no sooner was Paul's back turned than he drew out a photograph from his inner breast-pocket with effusion, and gazed at it tenderly. It was a photo- graph of a lady of mature and somewhat obviously artificial charms, inclosed in a scented Russia leather case with a gilt coronet. " Well, he did me one good turn, anyhow," Mr. Lionel murmured, with a rapturous look at the lady's face, " when he introduced me to the Ceriolo. And now he's gone, I'm not sorry to be rid of him, for I can ask her here to supper as often as I like next summer, with no chance of its get- ting round in the end to Uncle Judah." MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 289 For Mr. Lionel's charmer had now gone abroad, as was her usual wont, to winter quarters. But even in those remote foreign parts she never neglected to write to her new admirer. CHAPTER XXXIV. MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. How curiously different things look to each of us accord- ing to our particular point of view ! While Faith and Paul at Hillborough and in London were reflecting seriously how to make things decent for the Thistleton family at the approaching ceremony, the Thistletons in turn, in their opulent mansion in the Park at Sheffield, were all agog with the unwonted excitement of preparation for their Charlie's marriage with the sister of Sir Paul Gascoyne, Fifteenth Baronet. " The wedding must be in London, of course," Mrs. Thistleton said musingly— she was a comfortable body of a certain age, with a material plenitude of face and figure ; " and Sir Paul'll give her away himself, you may be certain. I suppose they won't want it to be at Hillborough, Charlie? I'd much rather, for my part, you should be married in London." " I think Faith would prefer it, too," Thistleton answered, smiling. " You must remember, mother dear, I've always told you, they live in a very quiet way of their own down at Hillborough ; and I fancy they'd rather we were mar- ried — well, away from the place, of course, where they've just lost their poor father." " Naturally," Mrs. Thistleton went on, still turning over with those matronly hands of hers the patterns for her new silk dress for the occasion, sent by post that morning — the richest Lyons — from Swan & Edgar's. "There'll be an 2 9° THE SCALLYWAG. account of it in the World, I suppose, and in the Morning Post, and the bride's dress'll be noticed in the Queen. I declare I shall feel quite nervous. But I suppose Sir Paul will be affable, won't he ? " Her son laughed good-humoredly. " Gascoyne's a first- rate fellow," he answered, unabashed ; " but I can hardly imagine his being affable to anybody. To be affable's to be condescending, and Gascoyne's a great deal too shy and retiring himself ever to dream of condescending to, or patronizing anyone. " Well, I hope Faith won't give herself any airs," Mrs. Thistleton continued, laying four fashionable shades of silk side by side in the sunlight for critical comparison ; " because your father's a man who won't stand airs ; and I should be very sorry if she was to annoy him in any way. It's a great pity she couldn't have come up to stay with us beforehand, so that we might all have got to know a iittle about her and not be so afraid of her." " It would have been impossible," Thistleton replied, gazing across at his mother with an amused air. " But I wish I could disabuse your mind of these ideas about the Gascoynes. Paul and Faith will be a great deal more afraid of you than you are of them ; and as to Faith giving herself airs, dear girl, she'll be so awfully frightened, when she comes to stay here, at the size of the house and the number of the servants, that I wouldn't for worlds have had her come to visit us before she's married, or else I'm certain she'd try to cry off again the moment she arrived, from pure nervousness." "Well, I'm sure I hope you're right," Mrs. Thistleton replied, selecting finally the exact shade that suited her complexion, and laying it down by itself on the costly in- laid table that stood beside the Oriental ottoman in the alcove by the bay window. " For though, of course, one MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 291 naturally likes to be connected with people of title, and all that, one doesn't want them to trample one under foot in return for all one's consideration." But at the very same moment, away over at Hillborough, Faith, as she sat in her simple black frock by the window of her new lodgings, stitching away at the skirt of her wedding-dress with aching fingers, was remarking to her mother : " What I am afraid of, dear, is that, perhaps, Charlie's father and mother will turn out, when one comes to know them, to be nothing more or less than nasty rich people." To which her mother wisely answered : " If they're like himself, Faith, I don't think you need be afraid of them." In accordance with the wish of both the high contracting parties it had been finally arranged that the wedding should take place in London. Mr. Thistleton, senior, therefore went up to town a week or two in advance, "to consult with Sir Paul," whom he was able to guarantee in his letter to his wife the same evening as " extremely amicable." But it would be out of the question, the Master Cutler observed, when he saw the Fifteenth Baronet's present abode, that Miss Gascoyne should be married from her brother's chambers. (Mr. Thistleton, senior, influenced by somewhat the same motives as Mr. Lionel Solomons, wrote "chambers " in place of "lodgings" even to his wife, be- cause he felt the simplicity of the latter word unsuitable to the Fifteenth Baronet's exalted dignity.) So he had arranged with Sir Paul— much against Sir Paul's original wish — to take rooms for the breakfast at a West-End hotel, whither the bridal party would proceed direct from the altar of St. George's. Of course, the ceremony was to be the simplest possible — only a few very intimate friends of either family ; but the Master Cutler couldn't forbear the pleasure 292 THE SCALLYWAG. of the breakfast at the hotel, and the display of Sir Paul in the full glory of his Fifteenth Baronetcy, before the admir- ing eyes of a small but select Sheffield audience. If they smuggled their Baronet away in a corner, why their Charlie might almost as well have married any other girl whose name was not to be found in the pages of the British book of honor. To all these suggestions Paul at last gave way, though very unwillingly, and even consented to invite a few common Oxford friends of his own and Thistleton's, in- cluding, of course, the invaluable Mrs. Douglas. From the very first moment of Paul's return from Hill- borough, however, it began to strike him with vague sur- prise and wonder what an immense difference in people's treatment and conception of him was implied by his pos- session of that empty little prefix of a barren Sir before the name bestowed upon him by his sponsors at his baptism. When he took the dingy lodgings in the by-way off Gower Street, and handed the landlady's daughter one of the cards Mr. Solomons had so vainly provided for him, with " Sir Paul Gascoyne " written in very neat copperplate upon their face, he was amused and surprised at the instan- taneous impression his title produced upon the manners and address of that glib young lady. The shrill voice in which she had loudly proclaimed to him the advantages of the rooms, the cheap price of coals per scuttle, the imme- diate proximity of the Wesleyan chapel, and the excellence of the goods purveyed by appointment at the neighboring beef and ham shop, sank down at once to an awe-struck " Yes, Sir ; I'm sure we'll do everything we can to make you comfortable, Sir," the moment her eyes lighted on the talismanic prefix that adorned his name on that enchanted pasteboard. A few days later Paul decided with regret, after many observations upon his scanty wardrobe, that he really MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 293 couldn't do without a new coat for Faith's wedding. But when he presented himself in due course at the little tailor's shop in the city ("specially recommended by Mr. Solomons "), where he had dealt ever since his first appear- ance at Oxford, he noticed that the news of his acquisition of dignity had already preceded him into the cutting and fitting room by the unwonted obsequiousness of both master and assistants as they displayed their patterns. " Yes, Sir Paul ; no, Sir Paul," greeted every remark that fell from his lips with unvarying servility. It was the same everywhere. Paul was astonished to find in what another world he seemed to live now from that which had voted him a scallywag at Mentone. To himself he was still the same simple, shy, timid, sen- sitive person as ever ; but to everyone else he appeared suddenly transfigured into the resplendent image of Sir Paul Gascoyne, Fifteenth Baronet. Strangest of all, a day or two before the date announced for the wedding in the Morning Post (for Mr. Thistleton, senior, had insisted upon conveying information of the forthcoming fashionable event to the world at large through the medium of that highly respected journal), Paul was astonished at receiving a neatly written note on a sheet of paper with the embossed address, " Gascoyne Manor, Haverfordwest, Pembrokeshire." It was a polite intima- tion from the present owner of the Gascoyne estates that, having heard of St. Paul's accession to the baronetcy, and of his sister's approaching marriage to Mr. C. E. Thistle- ton of Christ Church, Oxford, he would esteem it a pleas- ure if he might be permitted to heal the family breach by representing the other branch of the Gascoyne house in his own proper person at the approaching ceremony. Paul looked at the envelope ; it had been readdressed from Christ Church. For the first time in his life he smiled to 294 THE SCALLYWAG. himself a cynical smile. It was evident that Gascoyne of Gascoyne Manor, while indisposed to admit his natural relationship to the Hillborough cabman, was not unalive to the advantages of keeping up his dormant connection with Sir Paul Gascoyne, of Christ Church, Oxford, Fifteenth Baronet. However, it appeared to Paul on two accounts desirable to accept the olive branch thus tardily held out to him by the other division of the Gascoyne family. In the first place, he did not desire to be on bad terms with anyone, including even his own relations. In the second place, he wished for the Thistletons* sake that some elder represent- ative of the Gascoyne stock should be present, if possible, at his sister's wedding. His mother absolutely refused to attend, and neither Paul nor Faith had the courage to urge her to reconsider this determination. Their recent loss was sufficient excuse in itself to explain her absence. But Paul was not sorry that this other Gascoyne should thus luckily interpose to represent before the eyes of assembled Sheffield the senior branches of the bride's family. Nay, what was even more remarkable, Paul fancied the very editors themselves were more polite in their demeanor, and more ready to accept his proffered manuscripts, now that the perfect purity of his English style was further guaranteed by his accession to the baronetcy. Who, indeed, when one comes to consider seriously, should write our mother-tongue with elegance and correctness if not the hereditary guardians of the Queen's English? And was it astonishing, therefore, if even the stern editorial mouth relaxed slightly when office-boys brought up the modest pasteboard which announced that Sir Paul Gascoyne, Baro- net, desired the honor of a ten minutes' interview ? It sounds well in conversation, you know," Sir Paul Gascoyne, one of our younger contributors — he writes those crisp little MARRIAGE IN HIGH II FE. 295 occasional reviews on the fourth page upon books of travel." For the wise editor, who knows the world he lives in, will not despise such minor methods of indirectly establishing public confidence in the " good form " and thorough society tone of his own particular bantling of a journal. Well, at last the wedding-day itself arrived, and Faith, who had come up from Hillborough the night before to stop at Paul's lodgings, set out with her brother from that humble street, in the regulation coach, looking as pretty and dainty in her simple white dress as even Thistleton himself had ever seen her. They drove alone as far as the church ; but when they entered, Paul was immensely sur- prised to see how large a crowd of acquaintances and friends the announcement in the papers had gathered together. Armitage was there, fresh back from Italy, where he had been spending the winter at Florence in the pursuit of Art ; and Paul couldn't help noticing the friendly way in which that arbiter of reputations nodded and smiled as Faith and he walked, tremulous, up the aisle together. The Douglases from Oxford were there, of course, and a dozen or two of undergraduates or contemporaries of Paul's, who had rather despised the scallywag, than other- wise, while they were at college in his company. Isabel Boyton and her mamma occupied front seats, and smiled benignly upon poor trembling Faith as she entered. The kinsman Gascoyne, of Gascoyne Manor, met them in the chancel, and shook hands warmly — a large-built, well- dressed man of military bearing and most squirearchical proportions, sufficient to strike awe by his frock-coat alone into the admiring breasts of all beholders. The Sheffield detachment was well to the fore, also strong and eager ; a throng of wealthy folk, with the cutlery stamp on face and figure, craning anxiously forward when the bride appeared, 296 THE SCALLYWAG. and whispering loud to one another in theatrical under- tones, " That's Sir Paul that's leading her ; oh, isn't he just nice-looking ! " Thistleton himself was there before them, very manly and modest in his wedding garment, and regarding Faith, as she faltered up the aisle, with a pro- found gaze of most unfeigned admiration. And every- body was pleased and good-humored and satisfied, even Mrs. Thistleton, senior, being fully set at rest, the moment she set eyes on Paul's slim figure, as to the Fifteenth Baronet's perfect affability. It is much more important in life always what you're called than what you are. He was just the very selfsame Paul Gascoyne as ever, but how differently now all the world regarded him ! As for Faith, when she saw the simple eager curiosity of the Sheffield folk, and their evident anxiety to catch her eye and attract her attention, her heart melted toward them at once within her. She saw in a moment they were not " nasty rich people," but good honest kindly folk like her- self, with real human hearts beating hard in their bosoms. So Faith and Thistleton were duly proclaimed man and wife by the Reverend the Rector, assisted in his arduous task by the Reverend Henry Edward Thistleton, cousin of the bridegroom. And after the ceremony was finally finished, and the books signed, and the signatures witnessed, the bridal party drove away to the hotel where Mr. Thistle- ton, senior, had commanded lunch ; and there they all fraternized in unwonted style, the Master Cutler proposing the bride's health in a speech of the usual neatness and ap- propriateness, while Mr. Gascoyne, of Gascoyne Manor, performed the same good office for the bridegroom's con- stitution. And the elder Thistletons rejoiced exceedingly in the quiet dignity of the whole proceedings ; and even Faith (for a woman will always be a woman still) was glad A PLAN OF CAMPAIGN. 297 in her heart that Mr. Gascoyne, of Gascoyne Manor, had lent them for the day the countenance of his greatness, and not left them to bear alone in their orphaned poverty the burden of the baronetcy. And in the afternoon, as the Morning Post next day succinctly remarked, " the bride and bridegroom left for Dover, en route for Paris, Rome, and Naples," while Sir Paul Gascoyne, Fifteenth Baronet, re- turned by himself, feeling lonely indeed, to his solitary little lodgings in the road off Gower Street. But it had been a very bright and happy day on the whole for the national schoolmistress. And when Mrs. Douglas kissed her on both her cheeks, and whispered, " My dear, I'm so glad you've married him !" Faith felt she had never before been so proud, and that Charlie was a man any girl in the world might well be proud of. CHAPTER XXXV. A PLAN OF CAMPAIGN. Mme. Ceriolo had passed the winter in Italy — or, to be more precise, at Florence. Her dear friend (she wrote to Lionel Solomons), the Countess Spinelli-Feroni, had asked her to come out and stay with her as companion at her beautiful villa on the Viale dei Colli, so as to assume the place of chaperon to her accomplished daughter, Fede, now just of an age to take part as a debutante in the world's frivol- ities. The poor dear countess herself had been paraylzed last year, and was unable to accompany that charming girl of hers, who couldn't, of course, be allowed to go out alone into the wicked world of modern Florence. So she be- thought her at once of her dear old friend, Maria Agnese Ceriolo. As a matter of fact, as everybody knows, the 298 THE SCALLYWAG. Spinelli-Feroni family became totally extinct about a hun- dred years ago ; and Mine. Ceriolo had been made aware of their distinguished name only by the fact that their former Palazzo, near the Ponte Santa Trinita, is at present occupied by Vieusseux's English Circulating Li- brary. The title, however, is a sufficiently high-sounding one to command respect, and doubtless answered Mme. Ceriolo's purpose quite as well as any other she could pos- sibly have hit upon of more strictly modern and practical exactitude. It may be acutely conjectured that a more genuine reason for the little lady's selection of her winter abode might have been found in the fact that Armitage happened to be spend- ing that season at an hotel on the Lungarno. And madame did not intend to lose sight of Armitage. She was thoroughly aware of that profound paradox that a pro- fessed cynic and man of the world is the safest of all marks for the matrimonial aim of the cosmopolitan adventuress. True to her principle, however, of keeping always more than one string to her bow, she had not forgotten to dis- patch at the New Year a neat little card to Mr. Lionel Solomons, with the Duomo and Campanile embossed in pale monochrome in the upper left-hand corner, and " Sinceri auguri " written across its face in breezy gold letters of most Italianesque freedom. The card was inclosed in one of Mme. Ceriolo's own famous little society envelopes, with the coronet on the flap in silver and gray ; and Mr. Lionel was, indeed, a proud and happy man when he read on its back in a neat feminine hand, " Molti anni felice. — M. A. Ceriolo." To be sure, Mr. Lionel knew no Italian ; but it flattered his vanity that Mme. Ceriolo should take it for granted he did. Indeed, Mme. Ceriolo, with her usual acuteness, had chosen to word her little message in a foreign tongue for A PLAN OF CAMPAIGN. 299 that very reason — so accurately had she gauged Mr. Lionel's. human peculiarities. Early in March, however, Armitage had been suddenly recalled to England on unexpected business, reaching Lon- don by mere chance in time to be present at Thistleton's marriage with Faith Gascoyne. So Mme. Ceriolo, having nothing further to detain her now in Italy, and being anx- ious not to let Mr. Lionel languish too long uncheered by her sunny presence — for man is fickle and London is large — decided to return with the first April swallows, after Brown- ing's receipt, to dear, dingy Old England. She stopped for a night or two on her way in Brussels, to be sure, with a member of her distinguished aristocratic family (just then engaged as a scene-shifter at the Theatre Royal) ; but by the morning of the 5th she was confortably settled once more at the Hotel de l'Univers, and had made Mr. Lionel aware of her serene presence by a short little note couched in the simplest terms : " Back in London at last. This minute arrived. When may I hope to see you ? Toute a vons de cceur. " M. A. Ceriolo." Mr. Lionel read that admirably worded note ten times over to himself — it said so much because it said so little ; then he folded it up with his fat, short fingers and placed it next his heart, in his bank-note pocket. He was a man of sentiment in his way, as well as of business, was Mr. Lionel Solomons, and the Ceriolo was undoubtedly a devilish fine woman. It was not nothing that a countess should write to him thus on her own initialed and coroneted note- paper. A countess in distress is still always a countess. And " Toute a vous de cceur" too ! Mr. Lionel was not learned in foreign tongues, but so much at least of the French language his Ollendorffian studies permitted him 3°° THE SCALLYWAG. readily to translate. He hugged himself with delight as he rolled those dainty words on his mind's tongue once more. " Toute a vous de cceur " she wrote to him ; a devlish fine woman, and a born countess. It was with infinite impatience that Mr. Lionel endured the routine work of the office in the City that day. His interest in the wobbling of Consols flagged visibly, and even the thrilling news that Portuguese Threes had declined one-eighth, to 53^-f^ for the account, failed to rouse for the moment his languid enthusiasm. He bore with equan- imity the boom in Argentines, and seemed hardly inclined to attach sufficient importance to the probable effect of the Servian crisis on the doubtful value of Roumanian and Bulgarian securities. All day long, in fact, he was moody and preoccupied ; and more than once, when nobody else was looking, he drew from the pocket nearest his heart a tiny square of cream-laid note, on which he once more devoured those intoxicating words, " Toute a vous de cceur. — M. A. Ceriolo." In the evening, as soon as the office closed, Mr. Lionel indulged himself in the unwonted luxury of a hansom cab — he more usually swelled the dividends of the Metropolitan Railway — and hurried home post-haste to his own rooms to make himself beautiful with hair oil and a sprig of Roman hyacinth. (Roman hyacinth, relieved with two sprays of pink bouvardia, suited Mr. Lionel's complexion to a T, and could be purchased cheap toward nightfall, to prevent loss by fading, from the florist's round the corner.) He was anxious to let no delay stand in the way of his visit to Mine. Ceriolo's salon. Had not madame herself written to him, " This minute arrived"? and should he, the happy swain thus honored by the fair, show himself unworthy of her marked empressement ? So soon as he had arrayed his rotund person in its most A PLAN- OF CAMPAIGN. 3 01 expensive and becoming apparel (as advertised, four and a half guineas) he hastened down, by hansom once more, to the Hotel de l'Univers. Mme. Ceriolo received him, metaphorically speaking, with open arms. To have done so literally would, in madame's opinion, have been bad play. Her policy was to encourage attentions in not too liberal or generous a spirit. By holding off a little at first in the expression of your emotion you draw them on in the end all the more ardently and surely. And Mme. Ceriolo felt decidedly now the necessity for coming to the point with Lionel Solomons. The testi- mony of her mirror compelled her to admit that she was no longer so young as she had been twenty years ago. To be sure, she was well preserved — remarkably well preserved — and even almost without making up (for Mme. Ceriolo relied as little as possible, after all, upon the dangerous ard doubtful aid of cosmetics) she was still an undeniably fresh and handsome little woman. Her easygoing life, and the zest with which she entered into all amusements, had com- bined with a naturally strong and lively constitution to keep the wrinkles from her brow, the color in her cheeks, and the agreeable roundness in her well-turned figure. Never- theless, Mme. Ceriolo was fully aware that all this could not last forever. Her exchequer was low — uncomfortably low : she had succeeded in making but little at Florence out of play or bets — the latter arranged on the simple prin- ciple of accepting when she won, and smiling when she lost, in full discharge of all obligations. Armitage had circled round her like a moth round the candle, but had managed to get away in the end without singeing his wings. Mine. Ceriolo sighed a solemn sigh of pensive regret as she con- cluded that she must decline for the present, at least, upon Lionel Solomons. 302 THE SCALLYWAG. Not that she had the very slightest idea of passing the whole remainder of her earthly pilgrimage in that engaging young person's intimate society. Folly of such magnitude would never even have occurred in her wildest moment to Mrae. Ceriolo's well-balanced and well-regulated intellect. Her plan was merely to suck Mr. Lionel quite dry, and then fling him away under circumstances where he could be of no further possible inconvenience or an- noyance to her. And to this intent, Mme. Ceriolo had gradually concocted at Florence — in the intervals of extracting five-franc pieces by slow doles from some im- poverished Tuscan Count or, Marchese — a notable scheme which she was now in course of putting into actual execu- tion. She had returned to London resolved to " fetch " Mr. Lionel Solomons or to perish in the attempt, and she proceeded forthwith in characteristic style to the task of "fetching " him. In the shabby little salon everything was as neat as neat could be when Mr. Lionel entered to salute his charmer. A bouquet — presented that day by another admirer — stood upon the table by the sofa in the corner, where Mme. Ceriolo herself lay in the half-light, her lamp just judi- ciously shaded from above, and the folds of her becoming soft-colored tea-gown arranged around her plump figure with the most studied carelessness. As Lionel approached Mme. Ceriolo held out both her hands in welcome, without rising from her seat or discomposing her dress. " How nice of you to come so soon ! " she cried, press- ing either fat palm with dexterously adjusted pressure. " So long since we've met ! And I thought of you at Florence, even among those delicious Fra Angelicos, and Lippis, and Andreas, and Delia Robbias, I often longed to be back in England, among all my friends. For, after all, I love England best. I sometimes say to her, with all thy virtues A PLAN OF CAMPAIGN. 303 — thy Philistine, obtrusive, hypocritical virtues — England, with all thy virtues, I love thee still ! " Mr. Lionel was charmed. What wit ! what playfulness ! He sat down and talked, with a vague idea of being a thorough man of the world, about Florence and Italy, and all Mme. Ceriolo had seen and done since he last set eyes on her, till he half imagined himself as cosmopolitan as she was. Indeed, he had once run across (when busi- ness was slack) for a fortnight to Paris, and made acquain- tance with the Continent in the cafe's chantants of the Champs Elysees in that seductive metropolis, so that he almost fe-lt competent to discuss the Uffizi and the Pitti Palace, or to enlarge upon St. Mark's and Milan Cathedral, with as much glib readiness as Mme. Ceriolo herself could do. As for madame, she humored him to the very top of his bent. "Ah, what a pity it is, Mr. Solomons," she exclaimed at last, gazing across at him with a look which was intended to convey the ill-concealed admiration of a simple but all too-trusting heart ; "what a pity it is that you, with your high instincts and aspirations — you who would so much enjoy and appreciate all these lovely things, should be con- demned to pass all your youth — your golden youth — in moiling and toiling after the pursuit of wealth in that dreadful City ! " "Well, the City aint so bad, after all," Mr. Lionel answered deprecatingly, but with a self-satisfied smirk. "There's lots of fun, too, to be had in the City, I can tell you." "That's true," Mme. Ceriolo answered, beaming upon him angelically ; " oh, so very true — for you who say it. Of course, when one's young, everywhere has its delights. Why, I love even this dear old dingy London. At our age, naturally, the universe at large ought to be full of interest 304 THE SCALLYWAG. for us. But, still, I often think to myself, what a terrible thing it is — how badly this world we live in is organized ! It's the old who have all the world's money in their hands. It's the young who want it, and who ought to have it." " Just my notion to a T," Mr. Lionel answered briskly, gazing at the enchantress with open eyes. " That's exactly what I stick at. Where's the good of the tin, I always say, to a lot of helpless and hopeless old mumbling cripples ? " " Quite so," Mme. Ceriolo continued, watching his face closely. " What a capital principle it would be, now, if nature made all of us drop off satisfied at sixty or there- abouts, like leeches when they're full, and leave all our hoarded wealth to be used and enjoyed by those who have still the spirit to enjoy it ! " "Instead of which," Mr. Lionel put in with a prompt air of acquiescence, "one's relations always go living and living on, on purpose to spite one, till eighty-five or ninety ! " " Keeping the young people out of their own so long ! " Mme. Ceriolo echoed, to pursue the pregnant train of thought uninterrupted. " Yes, that's just where it is. It's a natural injustice. Now, when I was out over there in Flor- ence, for example, I thought to myself — I can't tell you how often — (forgive me if I confess it) suppose only Lionel Solomons could be here with me too — you'll pardon me, won't you, for thinking of you to myself as Lionel Solo- mons ? — how much more he'd enjoy this delightful, charm- ing Italian life, with its freedom and its unconventionality, its sunshine and its carnival, than the dreary, dismal, foggy world of London ! " " No, did you really though ! " Lionel cried, open- mouthed. " I'm sure that was awfully good and kind of you, madame ! " " And then I thought to myself," Mme. Ceriolo went A PLAN OF CAMPAIGN. 305 on, closing her eyes ecstatically — " one afternoon in the Casino, when the sun was shining, and the band was play- ing, and a crowd of young Italian noblemen were pressing round our carriage — Countess Spinel li-Feroni's carriage, you know, where Fede and I were sitting and chatting with them — it came upon me suddenly, as I looked around and missed you — how happy dear Lionel Solomons would be in a world like this, if only " She broke off and paused significantly. " If only what ? " Mr. Lionel asked with an ogle of delight. " If onlv that rich uncle of his, old Cento-Cento down J 7 yonder at Hillborough, were to do his duty like a man and pop off the hooks at once, now there's no further need or use in the world any longer for him." " Old what ? " Mr. Lionel inquired, not catching the name exactly. "Old Cento-Cento," Mme. Ceriolo answered, with a beaming smile. "That's what I always call your respected uncle in Italian to myself. A hundred per cent, it means, you know, in English. I usually think of him in my own mind as old Cento-Cento." Mr. Lionel hardly knew whether to be annoyed or not. " He don't ask any more than other people do for the same accommodation," he answered half-grumpily. "No, doesn't he, though?" Mme. Ceriolo replied, with the infantile smile of a simple marble cherub. " Well, I'm sorry for that ; for I thought he was laving by a nice round sum for somebody else to enjoy hereafter. And for somebody else's sake, I think I could forgive even rank usury to old Cento-Cento ! He might behave like a per- fect Shylock, if he liked, provided only it redounded in the end to somebody else's benefit." Mr. Lionel's face relaxed once more. " Well, there's something in that," he answered, mollified. 3°6 THE SCALLYWAG. " Something in that ! " the enchantress echoed with a little start of surprise ; " why, there's a great deal in that ! There's everything in that — Lionel." She paused a mo- ment as she let the name glide half-reluctantly off her tongue. "For your sake," she went on, letting her eye- lashes fall with a drooping languor, expressive of feminine reserve and timidity, "I almost fancy I could forgive him anything — except his perversity in living forever. How old is he now, Lionel ?" " Sixty-something," the younger Mr. Solomons answered ruefully. " And he may go on living to all eternity ! " Mme. Ceriolo cried, excited. " When I say to ' all eternity,' I mean for twenty years — at our age, a perfectly endless period ! O Lionel, think how much enjoyment you might get out of that old man's money, if only — if only my plan for dropping off at sixty had met with the appro- bation of the authorities of the universe ! " " It's very good of you to interest yourself so much in my happiness," Mr. Lionel said, melting, and gazing at her fondly. "Whatever interests you, interests me, Lionel," Mme. Ceriolo answered truthfully. For she meant to make what was his, hers. And she gazed back at him, languishing. Flesh and blood could stand it no longer. Mr. Lionel was composed of those familiar human histological ele- ments. Leaning over the daughter of Tyrolese aristocracy, he seized Mme. Ceriolo's hand, which half resisted, half yielded, in his own. In a fervor of young love even Mr. Lionel could be genuinely carried away by the tender pas- sion — he lifted it to his lips. The countess, in distress, permitted him to impress upon it one burning kiss. Then she snatched it away, tremulously, like one who feels con- scious of having allowed her feelings to get the better of A PLAN OF CAMPAIGN. 307 her judgment in a moment of weakness. " No, no," she exclaimed, faintly. " Not that ! Not that, Lionel." " And why not ?" Mr. Lionel asked, bending over her, all eagerness. " Because," the countess in distress answered, with a deep-drawn sigh, " I am too, too weak. It can never be. I can never, never burden you." Mr. Lionel had hardly before reflected with seriousness whether he desired to be burdened with Mine. Ceriolo as a partner for life or not; but thus suddenly put upon his mettle, he forgot to reason with himself as to the wisdom of his course; he forgot to pause for committee of supply; he forgot to debate the pros and cons of the state of mat- rimony; he retained sense enough merely to pour forth his full soul in unpremeditated strains of passionate pleading, as conceived in the East-Central postal district. He flung himself, figuratively, at Mine. Ceriolo's feet. He laid his heart and hand at Mme. Ceriolo's footstool. He groveled in the dust before Mme. Ceriolo's throne. He begged Mme. Ceriolo at all risks and hazards to make him the happiest of mankind at once and forever. And being human after all, he meant it all as he said it ; he meant every word, without deduction or discount. She was a devilish fine woman, and she intoxicated him with her presence. But Mme. Ceriolo, with difficulty preserving her womanly dignity, and trembling all over with profound regret, re- luctantly declined the proffered anatomical specimens. His heart and hand she must perforce deny herself. " Oh, no," she answered, " Lionel, dear Lionel, it can never be. Weak as I am, for your sake I must steel myself. What have I to offer you in return for your love ? Nothing but the bare shadow of a noble name — an empty title — a useless cor- onet. I won't burden any further your youth, that ought 3°8 THE SCALLYWAG. to be so free — while the uncle lives. If old Cento-Cento were to be gathered to his fathers now — or were to see his way to making you a proper allowance — perhaps — in time But as it is, impossible ! I won't even wait for you : I won't let you wait for me. Let us both be free I, at least, will never make any use of my freedom ! " Mr. Lionel rose and paced the salon. " You won't have long to wait ! " he exclaimed, strange thoughts surging within him. " Marie — may I call you Marie ? — oh, thank you: I swear it." Mme. Ceriolo dropped back upon her cushions in ad- mirable alarm. " O Lionel," she cried, all aghast at his boldness, " whatever you do, whatever you mean — for my sake be prudent." CHAPTER XXXVI. THE PLAN PROGRESSES. When Lionel Solomons left the Hotel de l'Univers that evening, at a very late hour, Mme. Ceriolo lay back on her cushions with a smiling face and laughed low to herself. " Booked ! " she murmured under her breath, much amused. " Distinctly booked ! I've only got to play him carefully now, and my fish is landed ! " For Mme. Ceriolo was not such a purist in her metaphors as many distinguished critics would wish us all to be. She thought in the natural terms of everyday humanity, not in the forced language pedants would fain impose upon us. They would have insisted upon it that she must have said to herself "hooked .'" not " booked ! " in order to guard against a mixture of metaph- ors. Only, unfortunately, as a matter of fact, being human, she didn't. THE PLAN PROGRESSES. 309 But Mr. Lionel went home much perturbed in soul. He had let himself in for Mme. Ceriolo in real earnest now, and he must face the difficulty he had himself created in his own path through life. Money must be found some- how ; money, money, money, if possible, by fair means ; but if those failed, then otherwise. Not that Mr. Lionel repented of his choice. She was a devilish fine woman and a real countess. Her notepaper was stamped with an indubitable coronet. She knew the world, and could open the way for him into society he had never as yet even dreamed of attempting. She could help him to take down that prig Gascoyne, who sadly wanted taking down a peg or two. Nothing could be nicer — if only it were practicable. But there came the rub. If only it were practicable ! And the next three weeks were wholly spent by Mr. Lionel Solomons in trying to think how he could make it all possible. During those few weeks he saw much, it need hardly be said, of Mme. Ceriolo. The countess in distress, having once decided upon her course of action, had no intention of letting the grass grow under her feet. Her plan was to strike while the iron was hot. The fish must be landed without delay. So she devoted her by no means inconsid- erable talents to the congenial task of gently suggesting to Lionel Solomons her preconceived solution of her own created problem. She didn't let Lionel see she was suggesting it, of course. Oh, dear no ; madame was far too clever and too cautious for that. To propose, however remotely, that he should do anything dishonorable for her own dear sake would be inartistic and disenchanting. The countess in distress played her cards more cleverly. She only made him feel, by obscure innuendoes, and ingenious half-hints, how 3 TO THE SCALLYWAG. admirable a thing it would be in the abstract if the money that lay in Mr. Solomons' safe could be transferred without difficulty to the bottom of his nephew's waistcoat pocket. Mme. Ceriolo had no intention, indeed, of mixing up her own unsullied name with any doubtful transactions in the matter of the proposed readjustment of securities. She avoided all appearance of evil with religious avoidance. During a longer course of life than she cared to admit even to her own looking-glass she had carefully kept outside the law courts of her country. She hadn't the slightest idea of entering them now. If swindling must be done, let others swindle ; 'twas hers to batten innocently on the booty of the swindled. Her cue was to urge on Mr. Lionel by vague suggestions that suggested nothing — to let him think he was planning the whole thing himself, when, in reality, he was going blindfolded whither his charmer led him. Nor was it part of her design, either, to commit herself unreservedly to Mr. Lionel for any lengthened period. She saw in him a considerable temporary convenience, whose pickings might even be judiciously applied to the more secure capture of Armitage, or some other equally eligible person, in the remoter future. Funds were necessary for the further prosecution of the campaign of life; Mr. Lionel might well consider himself flattered in being selected as the instrument for supplying the sinews of war for the time being to so distinguished a strategist. So Mme. Ceriolo contrived to spread her net wide, and to entangle her young admirer artfully within its cunning coils. It was a Sunday in autumn — that next succeeding autumn — and madame lolled once more upon those accustomed cushions. To loll suited the Ceriolo figure ; it suggested most amply the native voluptuousness of the Ceriolo charms. THE PLAN PROGRESSES. 3 11 " Zebie," Mme. Ceriolo called out to her faithful attend- ant, " put away those flowers into my bedroom, will you ? They are the Armitage's, and the Armitage must be sternly ignored. Set the ugly little Jew's bouquet here by my side. And listen, imbecile ; don't go grinning like that. I expect the little Jew himself to drop in this afternoon. Entends-tu done, stupide 2 The ugly little Jew, I tell you, is coming. Show him up at once, the minute he arrives, and for the rest, whoever comes, ' Madame ne re$oit pas aujourd'hui ;' now, do you hear me, image ? " " Out, Madame" Eusebie answered with imperturbable good humor. " Though I should think madame ought almost to have cleared out the little Jew by this time." " Zebie," madame answered with a not unflattered smile, " you meddle too much. You positively presume. I shall have to speak of your conduct, I fear, to the patron. You are of an impertinence — oh, of an impertinence ! What is it to you why I receive this gentleman ? His attentions are strictly pour lebon /notif. Were it otherwise " Madame leaned back on her cushions and composed her face with profound gravity into the severest imitation of the stern British matron. " Go, Zebie," she continued. "This levity surprises me. Besides, I rather think I hear — on sonne. Go down and bring him up. It's the ugly little Jew — I know his footstep." " Lionel ! " Mme. Ceriolo was exclaiming a moment later, her left hand pressed unobtrusively about the region of her heart, to still its beating, and her right hand extended with effusion to greet him. " I hardly expected you would come to-day ! A pleasure unexpected is doubly pleasant. Sit down, dear heart " — in German this last—" let me take a good look at you now. So delighted to see you ! " Mr. Lionel sat down, and twirled his hat. His charmer gazed at him, but he hardly heeded her. He talked for 312 THE SCALLYWAG. some minutes with a preoccupied air. Mme. Ceriolo didn't fail to note that some more important subject than the weather and the theater, on both which he touched in pass- ing with light lips, engrossed his soul. But she waited patiently. She let him go on, and went on herself, as becomes young love, with these minor matters. "And so Mignonette was good?" she said, throwing volumes into her glance. " I'm sorry I wasn't able to go with you myself. That box was a temptation. But I think, you know — so long as nothing definite can be arranged between us," and she sighed gently, " it's best I shouldn't be seen with you too much in public. A woman, and espec- ially a woman qui court le monde toute seuie, can't be too careful, you see, to avoid being talked about. If only for your sake, Lionel, I can't be too careful." Mr. Lionel twirled his hat more violently than ever. " Well, that's just what I've come to talk to you about, Marie," he said with some awkwardness — though he called her plain Marie quite naturally now. "'So long as nothing definite can be arranged between us,' you say. Well, there it is, you see ; I want to put things at last upon a definite basis. The question is, are you or are you not prepared to trust yourself implicitly to my keeping ? " The countess in distress started with a well-designed start. "O Lionel," she cried, like a girl of sixteen, "do you really, really, really mean it ? " " Yes, I really mean it," Mr. Lionel answered, much flattered at her youthful emotion. "I've worked it all out, and I think I do see my way clear before me in essentials at last. But before I take any serious step I wish you'd allow me to explain at full to you." " No, no," Mme. Ceriolo answered, clapping her hands on her ears and turning upon him with a magnificent burst THE PLAN PROGRESSES. 3*3 of feminine weakness and trustfulness. " I'd rather not hear. I'd rather know nothing. It's quite enough for me if you say you can do it. I don't want to be told how. I don't want to ask why. I feel sure you could do nothing untrue or dishonorable. I'm content if you tell me you have solved our problem." And, indeed, as a matter of fact, it suited Mme. Ceriolo's book best to be able to plead entire ignorance of Mr. Lionel's doings, in case that imprudent young gentleman should ever happen to find himself face to face with a criminal prosecution. She knew the chances of the game too well. She preferred to pose as dupe rather than as accomplice. Lionel Solomons winced a little at that painfully sug- gestive clause, " untrue or dishonorable," but for all that he kept his own counsel. " At any rate," he went on more cautiously, " whatever I did, Marie, I hope and trust you wouldn't be angry with me?" "Angry with you ? " the Ceriolo echoed in a blank tone of surprise. " Angry with you, Lionel ! Impossible ! In- credible ! Inconceivable ! How could I be ? Whatever you did and whatever you dared would be right, to me, dearest one. How ever the world might judge it, I at least would understand and appreciate your motives. I would know that your love, your love for me, sanctified and excused whatever means you might be compelled to adopt for my sake, Lionel ! " The young man leaned forward and pressed that plump hand tenderly. " Then you'll forgive me," he said, " what- ever I may risk for you ? " "Everything," Mme. Ceriolo answered with innocent trust, " provided you don't explain to me and ask me before- hand. I have perfect confidence in your wisdom and your 314 THE SCALLYWAG. honor." And, as she said the last words, she looked up in his face with a guileless look that quite took him captive. For guileless as it was, Lionel Solomons somehow felt in his heart of hearts that Mme. Ceriolo, in the most delicate and graceful manner possible, had mentally winked at him. And the consciousness of that infantile implied wink set him at his ease, on moral grounds at any rate. "We shall have to leave England," he went on after a brief pause, during which his siren had been steadily trans- fixing him with those liquid eyes of hers. " That's nothing to me," madame responded passion- ately, in soft, low tones. " Where those I love are with me, there is my home. Besides, all Europe is pretty much the same to a woman who has traveled as long as I have done." She sighed once more. " I've been buffeted about the world," she went on, with a pathetic cadence, " in many strange places — Italy, Germany, Russia, Spain — it's all one to me." " Spain won't do though," Mr. Lionel responded briskly, half letting out his secret in the candor of private life (as encouraged by madame). " Spain's played out, they say. No good any longer. A man's no safer there since the last treaty than anywhere else on the Continent." " I don't quite understand you," madame went on, once more, with that infantile smile repeated for his benefit, half as a wink and half as a warning. " We shall be safe wher- ever we go, dear heart, if we're true to one another. Spain would be as good as anywhere else, Lionel." " Well, I don't mean to go there, anyhow," Mr. Lionel rejoined with prudent vagueness. " Marie — can you follow me — across the broad Atlantic ?" The Ceriolo gave a start of pleased surprise. Nothing on earth would suit her plans so well. It. was she herself who, by dexterous remarks, a propos des boites, had THE PLAN PROGRESSES. 315 first put into his head the notion of South America as a possible place of refuge from impertinent inquiry. But he didn't know that himself ; he thought he had hit upon it all of his own mere motion. And he waited anxiously after playing this very doubtful card ; while madame, pretending to be taken aback with astonishment, turned it over in her own mind with sudden lovesick infatuation. " With you, Lionel," she cried, seizing his hand in hers, and pressing it to her lips, ecstatically, " I could go to the world's end — anywhere — everywhere ! " And, indeed, if it came to that, the nearer the world's end she got, the easier would it be for her to leave Mr. Lionel in the lurch as soon as she was done with him. In Paris or Madrid he might get in her way in the end and de- feat her purpose ; but in Rio or Buenos Ayres he would be harmless to hurt her, when, the orange once sucked dry, she turned her wandering bark anew toward the lodestar of London in search of Armitage. " Thank you," Mr. Lionel said with warmth, and em- braced her tenderly. "Will it be New York?"Mme. Ceriolo asked, gazing up at him yet again with infinite trustfulness. " Or do you prefer Philadelphia ? " " Well, neither, Marie," Mr. Lionel answered, fearing once more he might rouse suspicion or disgust in that innocent bosom. " I think — the — peculiar circumstances under which we must sail will compel our port to be Buenos Ayres." " That's a long way off," madame mused resignedly, "a very long way off indeed. But where you are, Lionel, I shall be happy for ever." The unfortunate young dupe endeavored to hedge. Mme. Ceriolo was forcing his hand too fast. "Well, I don't say yet f've made my mind up to go," he 3 l6 THE SCALLYWAG. continued hastily. " There are contingencies that may occur which might easily prevent it. If my uncle " Mme. Ceriolo clapped her hand promptly upon his mouth. "Not one word," she exclaimed with fervor, "about old Cento-Cento. He's a bad old man not to make things easier for you. It's a sin and a shame you shouldn't be able to come into your own and live comfortably without expatriation. I won't hear the ancient wretch's name so much as uttered in my presence. When you've finally emi- grated, and we settle down on your quiet little farm in South America for life, I shall write to the old horror and just tell him what I think of him." " Oh, no, you won't," Mr. Lionel interposed hastily. " Oh, yes, I will," Mme. Ceriolo persisted, all smiles. Mr. Lionel glanced across at her in doubt once more. Was she really so childishly innocent as she seemed ? Or was she only doing it all just to keep up appearances? He was almost half afraid she really meant what she said. For a moment he faltered. Was it safe, after all, to run away with this guileless creature ? Mme. Ceriolo read the passing doubt in his eye. And she answered it characteristically. She drew out from her pocket a little packet of thin rice-papers and a pouch of delicately scented Russian tobacco. " Let me roll you a cigarette," she said, peering deep into his eyes. Her gaze was full of unspeakable compre- hension. " Thanks," he answered. And she proceeded to roll it. How deftly those plump but dainty little fingers did their familiar work ! He watched and admired. What a magical charm, to be sure, that fawn-eyed countess carried about with her ! He took the cigarette from her hands, and she held the match herself to him. Then she went on THE PLAN PROGRESSES. 317 to roll a second for herself. As soon as it was finished she placed it jauntily between those rich red lips and lighted it from his. How their eyes met and darted contagious fire as she puffed and drew in at two cigarettes' length of dist- ance between their faces ! Then madame leaned back on the pillows and puffed away, not vigorously, but with languid and long-drawn enjoyment. Lionel had seen her smoke so a dozen times before ; but this time the action had a special significance for him. She smoked like a woman to the manner born. How impossible to conceive that a person who handled her cigarette like that could be quite so blindly innocent as his charmer pretended to be ! And if not so innocent, why, hang it all ! what a clever little actress and schemer she was ! How admirably she let him see, without one incriminating word ever passing between them, that she knew and approved exactly what he intended. " So we understand one another ? " he asked leaning over her, all intoxicated. And madame, pausing to blow out a long, slow current of thin blue smoke from between her pursed up lips, an- swered at last, gazing hard once more into the depths of his eyes : " We understand one another perfectly. Make what arrangements you choose and take your passage when you like. I am only yours. What day do you fix ? " " For — the ceremony ? " " Yes." " Saturday." 3I 8 THE SCALLYWAG. CHAPTER XXXVII. THE PLAN IN ACTION. To finish all needful preparations by Saturday was very hard work indeed ; but having plighted his troth thus hastily to lady fair — as fair as pearl powder and crime de Ninon could make her — Mr. Lionel Solomons would have been loth in heart to fail her at a pinch ! and he strained every nerve accordingly to complete his arrangements by the date agreed upon. And yet, there was a great deal, a very great deal to do meanwhile. Let alone certain important but doubtful elements in the case, which Mme. Ceriolo in her pru- dence would not so much as permit to be named before her, other more prosaic and ordinary preparations had still to be performed, as per act of Parliament in that case made and provided. There was the paternal blessing of the most Reverend Father in God, the Archbishop of Canter- bury, to be obtained for this propitious union, on a piece of stamped paper duly sealed and delivered ; for Mme. Ceriolo, true to her principles to the last, intended to be mar- ried with all proper solemnities to Mr. Lionel Solomons in a building legally set apart for the solemnization of matri- mony, in accordance with the rite and ceremonies of the Church of England as by law established. No registrar's office or hole-and-corner proceedings of doubtful respecta- bility would suit madame's delicate sense of the becoming in these profound matters ; she must be married, if at all, by special license, and according to the rites of that Church in which, as she often remarked, her dear mamma's father had formerly been a distinguished and respected dignitary. To be sure, once tied to Mr. Lionel Solomons by this strin- THE PLAN IN ACTION. 3 X 9 gent bond, there might be difficulties in the way of getting rid of him hereafter ; but, like a wise woman, madame resolved to take short views and chance them. It's better to be decently married even to a man you mean to suck dry and desert when completely drained, than to create a scandal. A separation between married folks is nowadays almost fashionable, and certainly not under the ban of the omnipotent Mrs. Grundy. And who knows what becomes of a beggared man in Buenos Ayres? Mme. Ceriolo trusted to the noble modern principles of natural selection to improve Mr. Lionel shortly off the face of the earth in those remote parts ; and, at any rate, she felt that she was doing the very best possible for herself at present in marry- ing him. Mr. Lionel, for his part, showed unwonted energy in get- ting everything ready beforehand for that eventful Satur- day. After procuring his license, and securing his berths, and engaging his parson, and making his way in every respect clear before him, he ran down, at last, on the Thursday of that eventful week to Hillborough. Every- thing depended now on the success of his visit. If he could succeed in what he wanted, all would be well ; if not, he would have the mortification and chagrin on Saturday of confessing to the Ceriolo a complete fiasco. On the way down, the Southeastern Railway Company's suburban train, making its wonted pace, gave Mr. Lionel in his comfortable smoking compartment ample time for meditation and reflection. And Mr. Lionel, turning all things quietly over with himself, came to the conclusion, in cold blood, that after all he was doing the very best thing for himself in thus anticipating his uncle's testamentary disposition. Mr. Solomons, the elder, had frequently explained to him that all the money he had ground out of the Gascoynes and all his other clients by slow process, 3 2 ° THE SCALLYWAG. was intended in the end, wholly and solely, for Mr. Lionel's own personal use and benefit. " It's all for your sake I do it, Leo," Mr. Solomons had said to him deprecatingly more than once. " It's all for you that I slave and hoard, and wear myself out without getting any reasonable return in in life for it." And in a certain sense Mr. Lionel knew that was true. His uncle made and hoarded money, to be sure, because to make and hoard money was the instinct of his kind ; but Mr. Lionel was the conscious end in view for which as immediate object he made and hoarded it. Still, Mr. Lionel reflected to himself in his unprejudiced way, what was the good of money to a man of fifty? And if Uncle Judah went on living forever, as one might expect, in spite of his heart (for creaking doors last long), he, Lionel, would be certainly fifty or thereabouts before he had the slightest chance of touching one penny of it. It was absurd of a man to toil and slave for his nephew's sake and then keep that nephew out of his own indefinitely. Mr. Lionel was prepared to relieve Uncle Judah from the onus of that illogical and untenable situation ; he was prepared to carry out his uncle's implied desire in a manner more intelligent and more directly sensible than his uncle contemplated. At any time of his life, indeed, he would have thought the same ; he had often thought it before, though he had never dared to act upon it. But the great use of a woman in this world is that she supplies an efficient stimulus to action. Mme. Ceriolo's clever and well-directed hints had rendered actual these potential impulses of Lionel's. She had urged him forward to do as he thought ; to take time by the forelock, and realize at once his uncle's savings. He was prepared now to discount his future fortune — at a modest percentage ; to take at once what would in any case be his on his uncle's death, for an immediate inheritance. the PLA.v in action: 3 2 i At fifty, of what use would it be to himself and his coun- tess ? And what worlds of fun they could get out of it nowadays ! Mme. Ceriolo, indeed, had for many weeks been care- fully instilling that simple moral, by wide generalizations and harmless copy-book maxims, into his receptive soul ; and the seed she sowed had fallen on strictly appropriate soil, and, springing up well, was now to bring forth fruit in vigorous action. A man, madame had assured him more than once, should wisely plan and boldly execute ; and, having attained his end, should sit down in peace under his own vine and fig tree to rest and enjoy himself. None but the brave deserve the fair ; and when the brave had risked much for the sake of a countess in distress, she must be cruel, indeed, if, after that, she found it in her heart to blame or upbraid him. So Mr. Lionel sped slowly on his way southward, well satisfied in soul that he was doing the best in the end for himself and his charmer ; and little trembling for the suc- cess of his vigorous plan of action. When he reached Hillborough and his uncle's office he found Mr. Solomons very red in the face with suppressed excitement from a recent passage at arms with the local attorney. " That fellow Wilkie wanted to cheat me out of two and fourpence costs, Leo," Mr. Solomons exclaimed indig- nantly, in explanation of his ruffled temper a'nd suffused cheeks ; " but I wouldn't stand that, you know ; I've had it out with him fairly, and I don't think he'll try it on with me a second time, the low pettifogging creature." " It's made you precious pink about the gills, anyway," Mr. Lionel retorted with cheerful sympathy, seating himself lazily in the easy-chair, and gazing up at his uncle's rotund face and figure. And indeed Mr. Solomons was very flushed 3 22 THE SCALLYWAG. — flushed, his nephew observed, with a certain deep blue lividness around the lips and eyes, which often indicates the later stages of heart-disease. Certain qualms of conscience rose that moment in Mr. Lionel's soul. Was he going to render himself liable to criminal proceedings, then, all for nothing ? If he waited a few weeks, or months, or seasons, would the pear drop ripe from the branch of its own ac- cord ? Was he anticipating nature dangerously when, if he held on in quiet a little longer, nature herself would bring him his inheritance ? These were practical questions that Mr. Lionel's conscience could readily understand, while on more abstract planes, perhaps, it would have been deaf as an adder. Uncle Judah's heart was clearly getting very much the worse for wear. He might pop off any day. Why seek to get by foul means what would be his in time by fair, if only he cared to watch and wait for it ? Pshaw ! It was too late for such squeamishness now. With the Archbishop of Canterbury's blessing in his desk, and the Royal Mail Steam Company's receipt for berths per steamship Dom Pedro to Buenos Ayres direct in his trousers pocket, he couldn't turn back at the eleventh hour and await contingencies. Threatened men live long. It's no good counting upon heart-disease ; the very worst hearts go beating on for years and years with most annoying regu- larity. Besides, what would Marie say if he returned to town and told her lamely that his plans had fallen through, and that he must decline to marry her, as per agreement ar- ranged, on Saturday morning ? When you've made up your mind to wed the charmer, who has enslaved your heart, at the week's end, you can't put her off on Thursday afternoon at two days' notice. Come what might now he must pull this thing through. He must carry out his plan as settled upon at all hazard. " I'm glad you've come, though, Leo," Mr. Solomons re- THE PLAN IN ACTION. 323 plied, putting his necktie straight, and endeavoring to com- pose his ruffled temper. " I've a great many things I want to talk over with you. I'd like your advice about sundry securities I hold in my hands : especially as to selling those Central Southern Railway Debentures." Mr. Lionel's eyes glistened as his uncle rose ten minutes later, after some further parley on business matters, and went over to the safe, where the papers which represented his wealth were duly pigeon-holed. How pat ! How op- portune ! He had fallen on his feet indeed : this was pre- cisely the exact chance he needed. Mr. Solomons drew out the various securities one by one, and discussed with loving cadences their different values. All yours, all yours, Leo, my dear," he murmured more than once, as he fingered them gingerly. " You'll be a rich man, Leo, when you come into your own. Gas and Coke Company's A's yield twelve per cent, to original investors, of which I was one. Twelve per cent, is very good interest as times go nowadays on that class of security ; excellent interest. No risk, no difficulty ; nothing to do but to sit in your easy-chair, with your legs in the air, and draw your dividends. Not my style of busi- ness, you know, Leo ; too slow for me ; I like something that gives me good returns and close pickings, and some fun for one's money ; but for your sake, my dear boy, I like to have a little reserve fund put away safeiy. It's bet- ter than all these speculative investments after all, Leo." " Certainly," Mr. Lionel assented with promptitude. "Something that can be called in and realized at any moment. Something one can turn into ready cash on the open Stock Exchange whenever it's needed. Whereas, with most of your money-lending transactions, you see, you never know where you are — like that beastly Gascoyne business for example. Money sunk in a hole, that's what I call it," 324 THE SCALLYWAG. "What's that? " Mr. Solomons interposed sharply, look- ing round over his shoulder, alarmed at the sound of those ominous words, " realized at any moment." "Money sunk in a hole ! Nothing of the sort, I give you my word, Leo. Here's the papers all as straight and businesslike as possi- ble ; and he's paying interest monthly ; he's paying interest at the rate of twenty per cent, per annum with the greatest regularity. Sir Paul Gascoyne, Bart. 's an honorable party." Mr. Lionel continued to turn over the bonds, and noted carefully where each was pigeon-holed. " You haven't had these out," he said with a casual air, observing the dust upon them, " since I was down here last. I see they're just as I put them back myself last time." " Well, I don't go to the safe, not twice in a twelve- month, except when coupons fall due," his uncle answered unconcerned, as he fingered once more the Gascoyne notes- of-hand with that loving, lingering touch of his. " It's best not to meddle with these things too often. They might get lying about loose, and be mislaid or stolen." " Quite so," Mr. Lionel answered dryly, retreating to a seat, and running his fat hand easily through his oily locks while he regarded the safe from afar on his chair in the corner with profound interest. It suited his game, in fact, that Mr. Solomons should visit it as seldom as possible. Suppose by any chance certain securities should happen to be mislaid in the course of the next week or so, now, for example, it might be Christmas or thereabouts before Mr. Solomons so much as even missed them. As they loitered about and talked over the question of the Central Southern Debentures, Mr. Solomons' boy from the office below poked his head into the room and an- nounced briefly, " Mr. Barr to see you, sir." " I must run down, Leo," Mr. Solomons said, glancing about him with a hasty eye at the bonds and debentures. THE PLAN IN ACTION. 3 2 $ " Barr 8z Wilkie again ! If ever there was a troublesome set of men on earth it's country attorneys. Just put these things back into the safe, there's a good fellow, and turn the key on them. The combination's ' Lionel.' It's all yours, you see, all* yours, my boy, so I open and shut the lock with your name for a key, Leo." And he gave an affectionate glance at the oleaginous young man (who sat tilting his chair) as he retreated hurriedly toward the door and the staircase. Thus providentially left to himself in full possession, Mr. Lionel Solomons could hardly refrain from bursting out at once into a hearty laugh. It was too funny ! Did there ever live on earth such a precious old fool as his Uncle Judah ? " It's all yours, you see ! " Ha, ha, the humor of it ! He should just think it was, more literally now than Uncle Judah intended. And he opened the safe to the word " Lionel " ! Such innocence deserved to be severely fleeced. It positively deserved. A man who had reached his Uncle Judah's years ought surely to know better than leave anybody whatsoever — friend or foe — face to face alone with those convertible securities. When Mr. Lionel Solomons came down to Hillborough, it had been his intention to spend the whole of that night under the avuncular roof ; to possess himself of the avun- cular keys and combination ; and to rifle that safe, in fear and trembling, in the small hours of the morning, when he meant to rise on the plea of catching the first train to Lon- don. But fate and that old fool had combined to put things far more easily into his power for a moment. All he had to do was to place such bonds and securities as were most easily negotiable in his own pocketbook, to stick the worthless Gascoyne notes-of-hand, as too cheap for robbing, in their accustomed pigeon-hole, to lock the safe to a different combination (which would render immediate 3 2 6 THE SCALLYWAG. detection somewhat less probable), and return the keys with the smiling face of innocence to his respected relation. And as Mr. Lionel was not without a touch of grim humor in his composition, he chose for the combination by which alone the safe could next be opened the one significant word " Idiot." " If he finds that out," the dutiful nephew chuckled to himself merrily, " why, all I can say is, he'll be a great deal less of one than ever I take him to be." When Mr. Solomons once more reappeared upon the scene, flushed again with contention with his natural enemies, the attorneys, Mr. Lionel handed him back his bunch of keys with perfect sangfroid, and merely observed with a gentle smile of superior compassion, " I wouldn't get rid of those Central Southerns yet a while if I were you. The tightness won't last. I don't believe in these bearing operations. They're bound to rise later, with the half-yearly dividend." And as Mr. Lionel went back to town that same after- noon in high good-humor, cigarette in mouth and flower in buttonhole, he carried with him a considerable sum in stocks and shares of the most marketable character, every one of which could be readily turned into gold or notes before the sailing of the Dom Pedro on Tuesday morning. CHAPTER XXXVIII. ON THE TRACK OF THE ROBBER. Five "days later Paul Gascoyne was sitting at his desk in the lodgings on Gower Street, working away with all his might at a clever middle for an evening newspaper. Paul was distinctly successful in what the trade technically knows as middles ; he had conquered the peculiarities of style and ON THE TRACK OF THE ROBBER. 3 2 7 matter that go to make up that singular literary product, and he had now invented a genre of his own which was greatly appreciated by novelty loving editors. He had just finished an amusing little diatribe against the ladylike gentlemen who go in for fads in the House of Commons, and was polishing up his manuscript by strengthening his verbs and crisping his adjectives, when a loud knock at the door disturbed the even flow of his rounded periods ; and before he had even time to say, " Come in," the door opened of itself, and Mr. Solomons in person stood loom- ing large before him, utterly breathless. At first Paul was fairly taken aback by Mr. Solomons' deep and peculiar color. To be sure, the young man was accustomed to seeing his old friend and creditor red enough in the face, or even blue ; but he had never before seen him of such a bright cerulean tint as at that moment ; the blueness and the breathlessness both equally fright- ened him. " Take a chair, Air. Solomons," he broke out, starting up in surprise, but almost before the words were well out of his mouth, Mr. Solomons had sunk exhausted of his own accord on the sofa. He tried to speak, but words clearly failed him. Only an inarticulate gurgle gave vent to his emotions. It was plain some terrible event had disturbed his equanimity. Paul bustled about, hardly knowing what to do, but with a vague idea that brandy and water, administered cold, might, perhaps, best meet the exigencies of the situation. After a minute or two a very strong dose of brandy seemed to restore Mr. Solomons to comparative tranquillity, though he was still undeniably very much agitated. As soon as he could gasp out a few broken words, however, he seized his young friend's hand in his own, and ejaculated in an almost inaudible voice : " It's not for myself, Sir Paul, it's not for myself I mind so much — though even 3^8 THE SCALLYWAG. that's terrible — but how can I ever have the courage to break it to Leo ! " " To break what, Mr. Solomons ? " Paul asked, be- wildered. " What's the matter ? What's happened ? Sit quiet a while, and then tell me shortly." "I can't, sit quiet," Mr. Solomons answered, rising and pacing the room with a wavering step and panting lungs; " I can't sit quiet, when, perhaps, the thief's this very minute getting rid of my valuable securities. Leo always told me I should be robbed ; he always told me so ; but I never listened to him. And now, poor boy, he's beggared ! beggared ! " " Has something been stolen, then ? " Paul ventured to suggest tentatively. " Something?" Mr. Solomons echoed, laying stress with profound emotion on that most inadequate dissyllable. "Something? Everything! Every penny on earth I've got to bless myself with almost — except what's out ; and Leo, poor Leo, he's left without anything." "You don't mean to say so ! " Paul exclaimed, surprised, and not knowing exactly how else to express his sympathy- " Yes," Mr. Solomons continued, seizing the young man's hand once more, and wringing it in his despair; "Paul, Paul — I beg pardon, Sir Paul, I mean — but this loss has taken me back at once to old times — my poor boy's ruined, irretrievably ruined. Unless we can catch the thief, that is to say. And I ought to be after him this minute — I ought to be at Scotland Yard, giving notice to the police, and down in Capel Court to warn the brokers. But, I couldn't, I couldn't. I hadn't strength or breath left to do it. I had to come here first to tell you the truth, and to get you to go with me to interview these people. If Leo'd been in town I'd have gone straight off, of course, to Leo. But he started for his holiday to Switzerland OJV TJ/E TRACK OF THE ROBBER. 3 2 on Saturday, and I don't know where to telegraph to him, even, for he hadn't decided what route he would take when I last saw him." " How did it happen ? " Paul asked, trying to press Mr. Solomons into a chair once more. " And how much has been stolen ? " " My safe's been rifled," Mr. Solomons went on with exceeding vehemence, going a livid hue in the face once more. " It's been gutted down, every bond that was in it — all negotiable — bonds payable to bearer — everything but your own notes-of-hand, Sir Paul, and those the thief left only because he couldn't easily get rid of them in London." "And when did all this happen ? " Paul inquired, aghast. " It couldn't have been earlier than Thursday last," Mr. Solomons replied, still gasping for breath. " On Thurs- day Leo came down to see me and tell me about his plans for his holiday, and I wanted to consult him about the Central Southern Debentures, which they've been try- ing to bear so persistently of late ; so I went to my safe — I don't often go to that safe except on special business — and took out all my bonds and securities, and they were all right then. Leo and I both saw them and went over them ; and I said to Leo, ' This is all yours, my boy — all yours in the end, you know'; and now he's beggared ! Oh, how ever shall I have the face to tell him ! " "But when did you find it out?" Paul asked, still as wholly unsuspicious of the true state of affairs as Mr. Solo- mons himself, and feeling profoundly for the old man's distress. For it isn't a small matter, whoever you may be, to lose at one blow the savings of a lifetime. "This morning," Mr. Solomons answered, wiping his beaded brow with his big silk pocket-handkerchief. " This very morning. Do you think I'd have let a night pass, Sir Paul, without getting on his track ? When once I'd discov- 330 THE SCALLYWAG. ered it do you think I'd have let him get all that start for nothing ? Oh, no, the rascal ! The mean, thieving villain ! If I catch him, he shall have the worst the law can give. He shall have fourteen years— I wish it was life ! I wish we had the good old hanging days back again, I do ! He should swing for it then ! I should like to see him swing- ing ! To think he should try to beggar my poor dear Leo ! " And then, by various jerky and inarticulate stages, Mr. Solomons slowly explained to Paul the manner of the dis- covery—how he had decided after all, in view of suspicious rumors afloat about the safety of a tunnel, to sell the Cen- tral Southern Debentures at 87$, in spite of Leo ; how he had gone to the safe and tried his familiar combina- tion, "Lionel"; how the key had refused to answer the word ; how, in ffis perplexity, he had called in a smith to force the lock open by fire and arms (which, apparently, was Mr. Solomons' own perversion of vi et armis ; and how, at last, when he succeeded, he found the pigeon holes bare, and nothing left but Paul's own notes-of-hand for money lent and interest. "So, unless I find him, Sir Paul," the old man cried piteously, wringing his hands in despair, and growing bluer and bluer in the face than ever, " I shall have nothing left but what little's out and what you can pay me off ; and I don't want to be a burden to you— I don't want to be a burden." "We must go down to Scotland Yard at once and hunt up the thief," Paul replied resolutely. " And we must go and stop the bonds before another hour's over." " But he may have sold them already ! " Mr. Solomons cried, with a despondent face. " They were there on Thurs- day, I know ; but how soon after that he carried them off I haven't the very slightest notion. They were all negoti- able—every one negotiable ; and he may have cleared off OK THE TRACK OF THE ROBBER. W with the money or the bonds by this time to Berlin or Vienna." "You suspect nobody?" Paul asked, drawing on his boots to go down to Scotland Yard. " I've nobody to suspect," Mr. Solomons answered, with a profound sigh. " Except Leo and myself, nobody ever had access to or went near that safe. Nobody knew the combination to open it. But whoever did it," and here Mr. Solomons' lips grew positively black and his cheek darkened, " he had the impudence to set the combination wrong, and the word he set it to was ' idiot,' if you'll believe it. He not only robbed me, but he insulted me as well. He took the trouble to lock the door of the safe to the deliberately insolent word ' idiot.' " "That's very curious," Paid said. "He must have had time to waste if he could think of doing that. A midnight thief would have snatched the bonds and left the safe open." "No," Mr. Solomons answered with decision and with prompt business insight. " He wouldn't have done that ; for then I'd have known I'd been robbed at once, and I'd have come up to town by the very next train and prevented his negotiating. The man that took them would want to sell them. It all depends upon whether he's had time for managing that. They're securities to bearer that can pass from hand to hand like a fi'pun note. If he took them Friday, he'd Saturday and Monday. If he took them Saturday, he'd Monday, and that's all. But then we can't tell where he's been likely to sell them. Some of 'em he could sell in Paris or in Liverpool as easy as in London. And from Liverpool he could clear out at once to America." They went down the stairs even as he spoke to Mr. Solomons' hansom, which was waiting at the door. " It's strange you can't think of any likely person to have done it," Paul said as they got into it. 33* THE SCALLYWAG. " Ah, if Leo were in town ! " Mr. Solomons exclaimed, with much dejection. " He'd soon hunt 'em up. Leo's so smart. He'd spot the thief like one o'clock. But he's gone on his holiday, and I can't tell where to find him. Sir Paul, I wouldn't mind so much if it was only for myself ; but how can I ever tell Leo ? How can I break it to Leo ? " And Paul, reflecting silently to himself, was forced to admit that the revelation would doubtless put a severe strain upon Mr. Lionel Solomons' family affection. At Scotland Yard they met with immediate and respect- ful attention — an attention due in part, perhaps, to the magnitude of the loss, for bonds to a very considerable amount were in question, but largely also, no doubt, to that unobtrusive visiting-card which announced the younger and more retiring of the two complainants as " Sir Paul Gascoyne, Bart." The law, to be sure, as we all know, is no respecter of persons; but hardly anyone would find that out in modern England from the way it is administered. Before the end of the afternoon they had gone with a detective round Capel Court and the stockbroking quarter generally, and had succeeded in discovering in a single unimportant case what disposition had been made of one of the missing securities. By a miracle of skill, the detective had slowly tracked down a smail bond for ^200 to a dark young man, close-shaven and muffled, with long, lank hair too light for his complexion, who seemed thoroughly well up in the ways of the City, and who gave his name as John Howard Lewis. Mr. Lewis had so evidently understood his business, and had offered his bond for sale with such frankness and openness, that nobody at the broker's had for a moment dreamt of suspecting or questioning him. He had preferred to be paid by check to bearer — wanting, as he said, the money for an immediate purpose ; and this check was duly returned as cashed the same day at the ON THE TRACK OF THE ROBBER. 333 London Joint Stock Bank in Prince's Street, by Mr. Lewis in person. It hadn't passed through anybody's account, and payment had been taken in Bank of England tens and twenties, the numbers of which were of course duly noted. As a matter of fact, however, this latter precaution was of very little use, for every one of the notes had been changed later in the day (though Mr. Solomons didn't find that fact out till somewhat after) into Bank of France notes and American greenbacks, which were converted back still more recently into English currency. So that almost all trace of the thief in this way was lost. Mr. Solomons had no clew by which he could find him. "The oddest part of it all," Mr. Solomons remarked to the detective as they traveled back by Metropolitan to- gether to Scotland Yard, " is that this bond was offered for sale on Friday morning !" " It was," the detective answered with cautious reserve. " Well, then, what of that, sir ? " " Why, then," Mr. Solomons went on, profoundly puzzled, "the lot must have been stolen on Thursday night: for my nephew and I saw them all quite safe in their place on Thursday." " They must," the detective answered with dry acquies- cence. He was forming his conclusions. Mr. Solomons moaned and clasped his hands hard be- tween his knees. " If we catch the rogue," he murmured, "he'll have four- teen years for it." " Undoubtedly," the detective answered, and ruminated to himself ; a clew was working in his professional brain. The bonds had been abstracted between Mr. Lionel's visit or, Thursday afternoon and Friday morning. That nar- rowed the inquiry to very restricted limits, indeed: so Sher- rard, the detective, observed to himself inwardly. 334 THE SCALLYWAG. CHAPTER XXXIX. HUNTED DOWN. That night Mr. Solomons slept at Paul's lodgings. About seven in the morning, before either of them was up, the detective came once more, all radiant in the face, with important tidings. He asked to see Sir Paul Gascoyne. As soon as Sir Paul came out into the little study and sit- ting room to meet him Mr. Sherrard jerked his head mysteri- ously toward the door of Mr. Solomons' bedroom, and observed in a voice full of confidential reserve, " I didn't want too much to upset the old gentleman." "Have you got a clew?" Paul asked, with profound interest. And the detective answered with the same mysterious air, " Yes, we've got a clew. A clew that I think'll surprise him a little. But we'll have to travel down to Cornwall, him and me, as quick as we can travel, before we can be sure of it." " To Cornwall ! " Paul repeated, astonished. " You don't mean to say the thief's gone down to Cornwall, of all places in England ? " For Nea lived in Cornwall, and hallowed it by her pre- sence. To think that a man who stole bonds and scrip should have the face to take them to the country thus sanctified by Nea ! " Well, no," the detective answered, pointing with his thumb and his head once more in a most significant fashion toward the room where Mr. Solomons was still in uncon- scious enjoyment of his first slumber for the night ; for he had lain awake, tossing and turning, full of his loss, till five in the morning. " He aint exactly go?ie there ; but we've HU\ r TED DOWN. 335 got to go there ourselves to follow him. The fact of it is, I've come upon 'a trace. We were working all evening at it, our men from the yard, for we thought from his taking it all in a check to bearer he was likely to clear out as fast as he could clear ; and we've tried to find where he was likely to clear out for." " And what have you discovered ? " Paul asked, breath- less. " Well, we tracked our man from the brokers', you see, to a money-changer's in the Strand," the detective responded, still very confidentially. " It was lucky the old gentleman got wind of it all so soon, or we mightn't have been able to track him so easily. After a month or two, of course, the scent mightn't lie. But being as it was only last Friday it happened, the track was pretty fresh. And we found out at the changer's he'd offered two hundred pounds in Bank of England twenties for French notes of a thousand francs. That was all right and straightforward to be sure. But here's where the funny part of the thing comes in. From the changer's in the Strand, he went straight down to Charing Cross Station, and at the little office there, by where the cabs drive out, he changed back the French thousands, d'ye see, for Bank of England tens again." And the detective closed his left eye slowly and reflec- tively. "Just to confuse the trace, I suppose," Paul put in, by way of eliciting further communication. " That's it, sir," the detective went on. " You're on it like a bird. He wanted to get a hold of notes that couldn't be tracked. But all the same we've tracked 'em. It was sharp work to do it, all in one night, but still we tracked 'em. We'd got to do it at once, for fear the fellow should get clean away ; so it put us on our mettle. Well, we've ked 'em at last. We find eight of them notes, balance 33 6 THE SCALLYWAG. of passage-money, was paid in on Monday at the Royal Mail Steam Company's office in the City." " You don't mean to say so ! " Paul exclaimed, much interested. " By whom, and to where, then ? " " By a dark young gentleman, same height and build as Mr. John Howard Lewis, and about the same description as to face and features, but blacker in the hair, and curlier, by what they tell us. And this gentleman had a mustache when he took the tickets first on Tuesday week ; but the mustache was shaved off when he paid the balance of the passage-money on Monday. It was twelve at night when we hunted up the clerk who arranged the passage, at his lodgings at Clapham ; but he remembered it distinctly, because at first he didn't recognize the gentleman owing to the change in his personal appearance ; and then, later, he recollected it was the same face, but close-shaven since he called first time about the berths : so that pretty well fixes it." " But he paid eighty pounds," Paul said, unsuspecting- even so, " if he got rid of eight of them. Where on earth was he going to, with a passage money like that then ? " "Well, it wasn't all for himself," the detective answered drily, still eyeing him close. "It generally aint. We count upon that, almost. There's mostly a woman at the bottom of all these 'ere embezzlement or robbery cases. The gentleman gave the name of Burton, instead of Lewis, at the Royal Mail Company's offices, and he took two berths for himself and Mrs. Percy Maybank Burton. When a gentleman's got two names at once, there's usually some- thing or other to inquire into about him. Often enough he's got a third, too. Anyhow, the eighty pounds he paid was for balance of passage-money for himself and lady." " Where to ? " Paul asked once more. " To Buenos Ayres," the detective answered with pard- HUNTED DOWN. 337 onable pride. ' " And I thought I'd better tell you first, so as not to make it too great a shock, don't you see, for the poor old gentleman." " Too great a shock ! " Paul repeated, bewildered. " Well, yes. He mightn't like it, you know. It might sort of upset him." " To know you've got a clew ? " Paul exclaimed, much puzzled. "Well, not exactly that," the detective answered, gazing at him with a sort of gentle and pitying wonder. " But to hear — that the person has gone off with a lady." " I don't quite see why," Paul replied vaguely. The detective seemed amused. " Oh, well, if you don't see it, perhaps he won't see it either," he went on, smiling. " Of course, it aint no busi- ness of mine to object. I'm a public officer, and I've only got to do my duty. I'm going down to Cornwall to try and arrest my man, but I thought, perhaps, you or the old gentleman might like to come down and help me to identify him." " To identify him ! " Paul echoed. "Well, to secure him, anyhow," the detective answered cautiously. " You see, I've got out a warrant for his appre- hension, of course — in different aliases ; and we may as well have all the information we can, so as to make quite sure beforehand of our capture. But we must go by the 9.40 from Paddington anyhow." " Where to ? " Paul inquired, more mystified than ever. " To Redruth and Helston," the detective replied, com- ing down to business. " From there we'll have to post to the Lizard and try to intercept him." " Oh, I see," Paul said, "you want to stop the steamer ?" The detective nodded. " That's it," he assented. " He's aboard the Dom Pedro 33& THE SCALLYWAG. from Southampton for Brazil and Argentine ports. She don't call for mails, unfortunately, at Falmouth ; but she may be caught off the Lizard still, if we make haste to stop her. If not, we shall telegraph on to Rio and Buenos Ayres, and an officer'il go out by Lisbon, on the offchance to catch him under Extradition Treaty." " You settled all that to-night ? " Paul asked, amazed at this promptitude. " Yes ; we settled all that in the small hours of the morn- ing. It's a big affair, you see, and that put us on our mettle, and I've come to know if either of you want to go down to the Lizard along of me." "For whom is the warrant ? " The detective looked hard at him. " For Percy Maybank Burton," he answered with one eye closed. " You see, that's the only certain name we've got to go upon, though there's an alias to the warrant — alias John Howard Lewis, and others. He gave his name as Burton to the company, of course, and he's Burton aboard. We didn't get none for the apprehension of the woman. She aint identified yet ; but if the young chap comes off, of course she'll follow him." " Of course," Paul answered, without much knowing why. For he had no reason on earth for connecting Mine. Ceriolo directly or indirectly with the unknown criminal. If he had, perhaps he might have spoken with less of certainty. "What's up?" Mr. Solomons called out from the pass- age putting his head out of the door at sound of the detec- tive's voice. The officer, in carefully guarded terms, explained to him in full the existing state of affairs. Mr. Solomons didn't take long in making up his mind. " I'll go ! " he said briefly. " I'll catch the scoundrel if it's the last thing in this world I ever do. The rascal, to try to HUNTED DOWN. 339 rob Leo and me like that. He shall have fourteen years for it, if there's law in England. Hard labor, penal servitude. Only I ain't fit to go down there alone. If I catch him it'll make me so angry to see him I shall have a bad turu with my heart : I know I shall to a certainly. But no matter, I'll go. I only wish Leo was in England to go with me." " Well, he aint," Mr. Sherrard answered in the same short sharp tone in which he had spoken before ; " so if you mean to come you must make up your mind to come as you are, and get ready instanter." But if Mr. Solomons had " come as he was " the authori- ties of the Great Western Railway would have been some- what surprised at the apparition of a gentleman at Padding- ton Station in slippers and nightshirt. Paul considered a moment and looked at the old man. Mr. Solomons was undoubtedly a hale and hearty person in most respects ; but his heart was distinctly unfit for the sort of strain that was now being put upon it. Paul had noticed the day before how the arteries in his forehead had bounded with excitement, and then how the veins had swelled with congested blood as the fit passed over. Tf he went down to the Lizard alone with the detective, and put himself into a fume trying to catch the robber of his bonds, Paul hardly liked to answer for the possible consequences. And strange as it may sound to say so, the young man had a curious half-filial sentiment lurking somewhere in his heart toward the old Hillborough money-lender. He had never ceased to feel that it was Mr. Solomons who had made him what he was. Tf it hadn't been for Mr. Solomons he might still have been lounging about a stable in Hill- borough, instead of writing racy and allusive middles for the Monday Remembrancer. He hesitated for an instant to press himself upon his old friend— the third-class fare to Cornwall and back mounts up, I can tell you — but in the end 34° THE SCALLYWAG. his good-nature and gratitude conquered. " If you care for my company I'll gladly go with you, Mr. Solomons," he suggested timidly. Mr. Solomons wrung his young friend's hand with affec- tionate regard. " That's very kind of you, Sir Paul," he said ; " that's very, very kind of you. I appreciate it that a gentleman in your position — yes, yes, I know my place," for Paul had made a little deprecatory gesture — " should be so good as to desert his own work and go with me. But if you go you must let me pay all expenses, for this is my business ; and if Leo had been in England Leo'd have run down with me." "Well, make haste," the detective said drily. He had a singularly reticent manner, that detective. " You've no time to lose, gentlemen. Get your things together and put 'em into a hansom, and we'll drive off at once to Paddington together." CHAPTER XL. "CORNWALL, TO WIT." All the way down to Redruth and Helston, Paul noticed vaguely that both his fellow-travelers were silent and pre- occupied. Mr. Solomons, when he spoke at all, spoke for the most part of Lionel, and of this wicked attempt to de- prive him of his patrimony. More than once he took .a large folded paper out of his pocket, of very legal aspect, bearing on its face, in most lawyer-like writing, the en- grossed legend, "Will of Judah P. Solomons, Gentleman." This interesting document he opened and showed in part to Paul. It was a cheerful and rather lengthy performance of its own kind, marked by the usual legal contempt for literary style, and the common legal love for most pleonastic " CORNWALL, TO WIT." 34* redundancy ; everything was described in it under at least three alternative nouns, as "all that house, messuage, or tenement "; and everybody was mentioned by every one of his names, titles, and places of residence, whenever he was referred to, with no stops to speak of, but' with a graceful sprinkling of that precious word "aforesaid " as a substi- tute in full for all punctuation. Nevertheless, it set forth in sufficiently succinct terms that the testator, being then of sound mind and in possession of all his intellectual facul- ties as fully as at any period of life, did give and devise to his nephew, Lionel Solomons, gentleman, the whole of his estate, real or personal, in certain specified ways and man- ners and for his own sole use and benefit. The will further provided that in case the said Lionel Solomons, gentleman, should predecease the testator, then and in that case testa- tor gave and devised all his estate aforesaid, real or per- 1, in trust to the Jewish Board of Guardians of London, to be by them applied to such ends and purposes, in con- nection with the welfare of the Hebrew population of the Metropolitan Postal District, as might to them seem good in the exercise of their wise and sole discretion. "It was every penny Leo's, you see," Mr. Solomons re- peated many times over with profound emotion ; " every penny Leo's. All my life's savings were made for Leo. And to think that rascal should have tried to deprive him of it ! Fourteen years shall he have, if there's law in Eng- land, Sir Paul. Fourteen years, with hard labor, too, if there's law in England. As for Sherrard the detective, that moody man, he smiled grimly to himself every time Mr. Solomons made these tes- tamentary confidences to his young friend ; and once he ventured to remark, with a faintly significant air, that that would be a confounded fine haul of its sort for the Jewish Board of Guardians, if ever they came in for it. 342 THE SCALLYWAG. " But they won't," Mr. Solomons answered warmly. ' They'll never come in for it. I've only put it there out of a constitutional habit of providing beforehand for any contingency. My heart aint what it used to be. Any sudden shock now 'ud bring it up short like a horse against a hedge he can't take. I just added that reminder to the Board of Guardians to show I never turned my back upon my own people. I'm not one of those Jews afraid and ashamed to be known for Jews. A Christian I may be ; a man can't be blamed for changing his religious convictions — on sufficient grounds — but a Hebrew I was born and a Hebrew I'll remain to the end of the chapter. I won't ever turn my back upon my own kith and kindred. " There's some as does," the detective remarked enigma- tically, and relapsed once more into the corner cushion. It's a long way from Paddington to Helston ; but the weariest day comes to an end at last ; and in time they reached the distant Cornish borough. It was late at night when they disembarked on the platform, but no time was to be lost ; if they wanted to stop the Dom Pedro as she passed the Lizard Light, they must drive across at once to the end of the promontory, to arrange signals. So they chartered a carriage without delay at Helston station and set out forthwith on their journey across the long dark moor in solemn silence. They were in no mood for talk- ing, indeed. The day in the train had tired them all, and now they must snatch what sleep they might, against to- morrow's work, in the jolting carriage. The drive across the tableland of the Lizard is always, even by day, a wild and lonely one, but on this particular night it was wilder, lonelier, and darker than ever. More than once the driver pulled up his horses in the middle of the road to consider his way, and more than once he got down and walked some yards ahead to see whether by any ''CORNWALL, TO WIT!' 343 chance he had missed some familiar landmark. On each such occasion, Mr. Solomons' fretfulness and anxiety visibly increased. At last he could stand these frequent inter- ruptions to the continuity of the journey no longer. He put his head out of the window and expostulated warmly. " What are you waiting like this for, man ? " he cried in an angry tone. " Don't you know your way ? 1 declare it's too bad. If you couldn't find the road from Helston to the Lizard, you oughtn't to have taken us. There's thousands at stake — thousands of pounds worth of bonds that rogue has stolen ; and if we're not at the Lizard in time to catch him, he may get clean off with them to South America." The man looked back at his fare with a half-contemptu- ous glance. "That's the way of all you London people," he answered gruffly with the stolid Cornish moroseness. " Always a fault-finding. And yet there's fog enough, they tells me, too, in London ! " " Fog ! " Mr. Solomons ejaculated, catching hastily at his meaning with the quickened perception that comes at any great critical moment of life. "Aye, fog," the man answered. " Lizard fog, they calls it. Fog that thick you can't hardly see your hand before you. It's bad enough driving over Helston moor dark nights anytime ; but with fog like this, it's a toss-up if ever we get at all to Lizard Town." Mr. Solomons gazed out blankly into the black night. He saw it at a glance. It was all too true. A finger-post stood by the roadside opposite, but even with the light from the carriage-lam]) falling full upon it, he could hardly make out its shape, far less its lettering, through the dim, misty shroud that intervened between him and the road- side. He flung himself back on the cushions with a groan of despair. " If we go on at this snail's pace," he cried in 344 THE SCALLYWAG. the bitterness of his heart, " we shall never reach there in time to stop her. That thief'll get off clear with the bonds to South America, and Leo'll be ruined ! " The driver laughed again in the old man's face — the hard, dry, sardonic Cornish laugh. " That's the way of you London people," he repeated once more, with the critical frankness and openness of his race. " Thinks you knows everything, and aint got no common gumtion about any- thing anyhow ! Why, who supposes the steamer can get past the Lizard in a fog like this, when we can't so much as find our way on the open road across the moor by dry land from Helston ? What delays us'W delay her. She'll anchor till morning, and wait for it to clear, that's what she'll do, unless she bears away out to sea southward. She couldn't get past the lighthouse in this sort of weather, could she ? " " No ; couldn't she, though ? " Mr. Solomons cried, appeased and relieved. " You think she'll wait till the fog lifts in the morning ? " " She's bound to," the driver answered confidently, " if she don't want to go to pieces on Cadgwith cliffs or on the rocks over yonder by the church at St. Ruan's. There's many of 'em as has gone to pieces in a fog nigh Cadgwith, I tell you. Aye, and many a ship as has drownded them by the dozen, so as the Cadgwith men has made fortunes time and again out of the salvage. ' God's providence is my inheritance ' — that's the motto of the Cadgwith men ever since the days when their fathers was wreckers," and the driver laughed to himself a sullen, hard laugh, indica- tive of thorough appreciation of the grimly humorous view of Providence embodied in the local coastwise proverb. A strange shudder passed through Mr. Solomons' mass- ive frame. " Gone to pieces in a fog ! " he repeated. " You don't mean that ! And drowned there, too ! That'd " CORNWALL, TO WIT." 345 be worse than all. He might go down with the bonds in his case ! And, anyhow, he'd do us out of the fourteen years' imprisonment." The detective glanced over at Paul with a curious look whose exact meaning Paul was at a loss to determine. " If he drowns." " If he drowns," the officer said in that restrained tone he had so often adopted, " that's the hand of God. The hand of God, you see, cancels and overrides any magis- trate's warrant." Mr. Solomons clenched his fist hard and looked blankly in front of him. " All the same," he said fiercely, with long-smoldering indignation, " I don't want to lose all my precious bonds, and I don't want the fellow to get off his fourteen years' imprisonment." "Whoever he may be?" the detective murmured ten- tatively. " Whoever he may be," Mr. Solomons assented, with angry vehemence. " I'm an honest man. I've worked hard for my money. Why should I and my nephew be beggared by anyone ? " They drove on still through the gloom and mist, and gradually felt their way by stumbling steps across the great open moor toward the point of the Lizard. As they drew nearer and nearer they could hear the foghorn at the light- house blowing loudly now and at frequent intervals, and bells were ringing, and strange noises along the coast resounded hoarsely. But all around was black as mid- night, and when at last they reached the Lizard Light- house even the great electric light itself hardly traversed the gloom or shed a faint ray at the base of its own tall and dripping pedestal. Mr. Solomons hustled out, and hurriedly informed the coastguardsman at the preventive 346 THE SCALLYWAG. station of the nature of their errand. The coastguardsman shook his head gravely. " Not to-night," he said. " This aint no time for going to signal a ship to stop, no matter for what. You can put out a boat, and try to meet her, if you like ; but it aint likely in such weather you'd find her. More chance to he run down yourself unbeknown by her and drownded without her even so much as sighting you." " She hasn't gone by yet ? " Mr. Solomons asked eagerly. " No, she aint gone by yet," the coastguardsman replied. " But she's expected every minute. She'd signal by gun or foghorn, I take it. Though we aint heard nothing of her so far, to be sure. Most likely she's sounded and found herself in shoal water, and so she's dropped anchor and laid by till morning." " Then the best thing for us to do," Paul suggested, " is to turn in quietly at the hotel for the night, and see whether we can find her early to-morrow." To this plan of action, however, neither Mr. Solomons nor the detective would at all consent. They insisted upon remaining about, within call of the lighthouse, on the offchance of the Dom Pedro appearing from minute to minute. One of them felt constrained by duty, the other by animosity and love of money, and neither would yield one jot or tittle of his just pretentions. So Paul was fain to give way to their combined authority at last, and walk up and down in that damp night-fog by the edge of the cliffs that line round the great promontory. So weird or impressive a sheet of fog Paul had never before in his life seen. It was partly the place, partly the time, but partly also the intense thickness of that dense Channel sea-mist that enthralled his fancy. He descended by himself slowly, with shambling steps, along the steep path that leads down to the water's edge at the very point of the "CORNWALL, TO WIT." 347 Lizard. To render it more visible on dark nights, the coast- guardsmen have whitewashed the dark patches of rock by the side, and piled up along the jagged pinnacles little heaps, or cairns, of white pebbles. But even so aided, it was with difficulty that Paul could pick his way along the uncertain path, especially as in parts it was wet with spray and slimy with the evaporations of salt-water. There was little wind, as is usually the case in foggy weather, but the long Atlantic ground-swell nevertheless made big breakers on the abrupt rocks ; and the thunder of the waves, as they surged and burst below among the unseen caves and dark cliffs of the promontory, had a peculiarly wild and solemn sound on that black night, now just merging toward the first cold gray of morning. Paul was afraid to trust him- self within sight of the waves, not knowing how near it might be safe to approach ; but he sat for a while, alone in the damp darkness, on the narrow ledge that seemed to overhang the hoarse chorus of breakers beneath, and listened with a certain strange poetic thrill to the thunder- ous music of the Atlantic below him. And ever and anon, above the noise of the waves, the dull, droning voice of the gigantic foghorn broke in upon the current of his solemn reverie. It was a night to pity men at sea in. All at once, as he sat, a sudden flash to eastward, hardly descried through the fog, seemed to illumine for a second, in a haze of light, the mist around him. Next instant a boom sounded loud in his ears — the boom of a great gun, as if fired point blank toward him. How near it might be, Paul could hardly guess ; but he was conscious at the same time of the odor of gunpowder strong in his nostrils, while the choking sensation that accompanies great closeness to a big explosion almost unnerved him, and rendered him giddy for a moment. He 34§ THE SCALLYWAG. rose in alarm at the shock, but his feet failed him. He had hardly the power left to scale the rocks once more by the whitewashed path. The concussion and the foul air had well-nigh stupefied him. Nevertheless, as he mounted to the lighthouse again he was intuitively aware of what was happening close by. Vague noises and feelings seemed to press the truth on him as if by instinct. A great ship was in danger — in pressing danger — on the rocks of the Lizard. She had come across the breakers unawares in the dense fog, and had fired her gun for a signal almost point-blank in Paul's very face. Had he not by good luck been turned the other way, and with his eyes half shut dreamily, as he listened to the thunder of those long Atlantic waves and the moaning of the foghorn, it would certainly have blinded him. And now, for all Paul knew to the contrary, the big ship was going to pieces on the jagged rocks beneath him there. Then, with a second flash of intuition, it came home to him more fully, as he recovered his senses from the sudden shock, that this was in all probability the watched-for Dotn JPedro — with the thief on board her. CHAPTER XLI. A RESCUE. limbing back hurriedly, but cautiously, to the top, Paul groped his way through the thick mist to the lighthouse, where all was already bustle and confusion. The first gray light of dawn was beginning to struggle faintly through the dense fog, and swirling wreaths of vapor grew vaguely visible in the direction of the cliff, whither people were feel- A RESCUE. 349 ing their way with outstretched arms, and much noise of preparation, toward the cove and the lifeboat. "What's the matter?" Paul asked one rough sailor-look- ing man, whom he followed toward the house where the lifeboat was harbored. "Matter? "the man answered. "Why, salvage, that's what it is. Vessel gone ashore on the Long Men Rocks. Steamer, most likely. Brazil Packet from Southampton, I take it. Very good salvage." It's an ill wind that blows nobody good. The descend- ant of the wreckers was thinking only of his own inherit- ance. Paul hurried on in che man's footsteps till he reached the shore. There, through the vague gloom, he saw Mr. Solo- mons and the detective already before him. The sailors were pushing out the lifeboat over the short shingle-beach, and fishermen about were putting off small rowing-craft to take their share in the expected harvest of salvage. Before he knew exactly how it was all happening, he found himself seated in one of the small boats, with Mr. Solomons and the detective, while two sturdy fishermen were pushing them seaward through that tremendous surf that seemed certain to swamp them with its huge curling breakers. For a minute or two the waves broke in upon them, drenching them through and through with showers of spray, and half filling the boat. Then the fisherman, finding at last the long-looked-for opportunity, pushed her success- fully off on a retiring wave, and got her safe out to sea beyond the reach of the great curving billows. Once well afloat, they found the sea itself comparatively smooth, though heaving and tossing with a long glassy swell, whose ups and downs were far deeper in their way than anything that Paul had ever before experienced. The boatmen rowed on in the wake of the lifeboat, through the fog and 35° THE SCALLYWAG. darkness, toward the sound of a bell that rang with a long, irregular, rocking movement some hundred yards or so southward of them. Paul knew instinctively, somehow, that no one was ringing the bell. It was the rise and fall of the vessel as she dashed helplessly upon the rocks that made that unearthly rhythm ; she was tolling her own knell as the breakers broke her upon the jagged and waterworn pinnacles of the Lizard. As they approached nearer, little more was visible. It added to the weird horror and awe of the tragedy, indeed, that nothing could be seen of it. They knew only by inference that a great ship was being foundered and ground to pieces by some invisible force within a few yards of them. But the breakers themselves and the rocks were faintly in evidence. Paul could make out through the gloom some sunken stacks of serpentine, round whose crest the big waves made vast curling swoops, and boiled and roared in hideous whirling eddies. The ship had struck from the opposite side, and the boatmen refused to row any nearer ; indeed, even where they now held her off, pressing with all their might on the bending oars, the danger of ground- ing was very considerable. No boat could possibly live in that wild surf upon those broken granite points. If once a wave should catch them on its summit and carry them on to the rocks, all would be up ; no human aid could ever avail to save them. And then, as they held off there, keeping carefully to the trough of the waves, and listening to the cries and shouts that came over to them through the fog, and hearing the dull grating of the hull as it scraped along the rock with each lifting billow, a louder voice than any rose distinct across the waves — the voice of a ship's officer calling out in wild tones of horror, " She's parting amidships." A RESCUE. 35 l And so she was ! Next moment they saw upon the breakers close by great fragments of wreck and bits of floating board. There could be no doubt the voice had cried out what was true. A loud snap rent the air ; a crash of breaking ; the shrieks and screams redoubled in intensity ; and the boatmen holding the boat away, out of reach of the wash, called out aloud, " She's gone to pieces that time. I heard her crack. Row round the other way, Jim, and help pick up the passengers." " Are they drowning?" Mr. Solomons cried, with a face of terrible relentlessness. "They're drowning, no doubt," the man answered, with the stolid, matter-of-fact air of the hardened seaman. " They can't many of 'em live in such a sea as that is. Anywhere's else, they wouldn't come to much hurt this calm weather, leastways if they could swim ; but the breakers on the Long Men Rocks is always terrible. Why, that's where the East Indiaman went to pieces twelve years ago come Christmas, don't you mind, Jimmy ?" " I hope he won't drown," Mr. Solomons cried savagely, " and balk me of justice ! I hope he won't die till I've had my fourteen years out of him ! " The men were rowing their hardest now, and as Paul could judge by the sounds growing gradually fainter, away from the wreck and the reef of rocks, so as to turn their flank sideways and come in upon them from the open. For nearly ten minutes they rowed on in silence as hard as arms and legs could row, Mr. Solomons sitting grim and unmoved in the stern, while the detective eyed him ever with a strange, suspicious side-glance. At the end of that time, the fog lifted a little, a very little, and Paul saw they were skirting the long ridge of rocks, marked some twenty yards off by their white line of breakers. Presently they saw other boats about — boats whose occu- 352 THE SCALLYWAG. pants were engaged in peering into the water in search of black objects bobbing up and down in it, which they lunged at with boat-hooks. And then, with sudden realization of the whole horror of the thing, Paul recognized with a start that these were human bodies. In another minute there loomed dimly ahead some dozen yards or so off a great dark mass, moving wildly about among the white sheets of foam ; and Paul saw with another terrible shock of awe that it was half the broken hull of a huge ocean-going steamer. She had parted amid- ships, and one half had sunk already in the deeper water. The other half, yet dashing wildly on the rocks, hung together still upon the reef in front of them. At the same moment a small, black body went floating past, like the others they had seen the neighboring boat- man lunge at. As it passed them it rose spasmodically to the surface, and two arms were flung up wildly into the air. Through the gray haze of morning Paul could recognize them at once as a woman's arms — a woman's arms, plump and smooth, and white-skinned. He jumped up, and seizing a loose oar in his hand held it hastily toward the despairing creature. But, even as he did so, the long swell carried her away from his sight, into the deep mist beyond, where she disappeared shrieking. They rowed with all speed toward the spot where she had disappeared, and there once more came in sight of the woman. By this time another boat had found her, and was pulling her in. With frantic struggles for life she clutched the gunwale, and climbed over, with the aid of the men's arms, on to the boat's seat. Then she turned round, with her wet dressing-gown dripping around her, and in a shrill voice of horror she cried out to the sailors, " Go ashore, go ashore ! I shall perish of cold here ! " For a second the voice rang with curious familiarity in A RESCUE. 353 Paul's ear, but he failed at first to recognize the pale and draggled creature round whose shoulders one of the fisher- men was wrapping, with much care, his own rough pilot- coat. Next instant, with a sudden burst of recollection, the voice came back to him in all its well-known sharpness, " Why, it's Mine. Ceriolo ! " he cried, unable to restrain his surprise and wonder. Madame turned round quick as lightning at the sound of her own name and the unexpected recognition. She remembered at once both voice and face. She gave a little start. " What ! Mr. Gascoyne ! " she cried, forgetting for the moment Paul's new-made dignity. Then suddenly her eyes fell upon Mr. Solomons' stern and inflexible figure sitting bolt upright on the seat behind. She knew that face at once, though she had never seen it before. It answered exactly to the photograph Mr. Lionel had shown her of his unconscionable uncle. She read the whole history of the pursuit at a glance. It was old Cento-Cento, come after his dollars. In the twinkling of an eye she had made up her mind how to behave under the circumstances. Dupe, not accom- plice, was now her winning card. Still shivering with cold and half dead with terror, she yet stretched out her arms toward the grim old man, who sat there immovable, taking hardly any notice of the drowning people, and called out in a voice full of earnest gratitude : " Why, it's him, to be sure ! It's Leo's uncle ! He's come out with a boat to save me and Leo." Like a flash of lightning Paul read the whole truth. It was Lionel, then, who had stolen the bonds from the safe ! It was Lionel who was running away on board the Dom Pedro ! He glanced at the detective, and caught his eye inquiringly. The detective nodded with that strange smile 354 THE SCALLYWAG. once more. Instinctively the full horror of the situation dawned at once upon him. Mr. Solomons was hunting down to the very death his own cherished nephew. And the detective was there to arrest Mr. Lionel. He looked at the old usurer in a perfect paroxysm of pity. How on earth would he bear up against this blinding and staggering disillusionment? But a moment's glance showed him that Mr. Solomons hadn't even yet grasped the real situation. He had merely leaned forward eagerly at the sound of his nephew's name, and repeated in a startled and puzzled, but by no means horrified tone. " Yes, I'm Leo's uncle. Tell me, what do you know or mean about Leo ? " Mme. Ceriolo hardly felt sure on the spur of the moment what to answer. It would suit her book better now, all things considered, that Mr. Lionel should go down, with his possibly incriminating evidence on his soul, and that she should be able to pose as one more victim of his selfish criminality. But the position was too strong for her. She felt she must at all risks keep up appearances. So she wrapped the pilot-coat around her tightly with a shudder of alarm (it was immensely easy to get up a shudder in that cold morning air, and with her thin clothes dripping) and cried out in wild tones of impassioned agony : " Yes, Leo's on board. Leo, my Leo ! On the rocks there ahead. Oh, save him, save him ! " " Leo on board ! " Mr. Solomons answered, clapping his hand to his forehead and letting his jaw drop slowly with a stare of astonishment. His look was dazed and bewildered now. "Leo on board ! " he repeated, with a terrible wave of doubt passing over his face. Then his mouth closed up again. " No, no," he went on fixedly. " Leo couldn't be on board. It's a lie ! It's a lie ! He's gone to Switzer- land." A RESCUE. 355 Mme. Ceriolo gazed at him — a childlike and trustful woman. " Not to Switzerland," she said, for she felt certain now that all must come out, " he'd taken his ticket at the last moment for Buenos Ayres." At the word, Mr. Solomons jumped up in the boat with such energy that he almost sent it off its balance. " For Buenos Ayres ! " he cried. "You don't say that ! Well done, well done — well done indeed, Leo ! He's the very smartest chap in all London, that boy ! Don't you see it, Sir Paul? Don't you see his game? He'd tracked the bonds before us, and was'on the trail of the robber ! " " At any rate," Paul cried, looking toward the detective for support, " our first business now must be to go out and save him." Mr. Solomons stood still in the boat and waved wildly forward with his outstretched hand. " To the wreck ! To the wreck ! " he shouted aloud, above the noise of the breakers. "I see him! I see him ! " And, in truth, Paul, turning round toward the hull that still crashed and ground upon the great granite millstones, saw a frantic figure, clasping the shattered taffrail with one clenched hand, and waving wildly toward the boats for assistance with the other. The white swirls of fog were growing thinner now, and through the gap they made he could plainly perceive that the figure was beckoning them with a japanned tin dispatch-box of the sort in which bankers keep their clients' documents. " He would go down to fetch them ! " Mme. Ceriolo cried apologetically from the neighboring boat. " We were all on deck and might have. been saved together, but he would go down to his cabin to fetch them." Mr. Solomons gazed back at her with contemptuous pity. 35 6 THE SCALLYWAG. CHAPTER XLII. THE THIEF IS ARRESTED. They were rowing ahead now with all their thews and muscles, and the breakers, those treacherous, terrible, faithless breakers, were carrying them forward with huge lunges toward the broken hull as fast as they could carry them. The great danger lay in the chance of being dashed against the broadside, and crushed to pieces between the waves and the wreck. The one hope of safety lay in being able to bring the boat within leaping distance or ropecatch for the man on the hull, without going quite so near as to be actually hurled against her side in the effort. Lionel Solomons stood on the broken deck, frantic with fear, but still clutching the taffrail. A craven terror had whitened his pasty face to deadly whiteness. He clung with one hand to his doubtful support, as the waves washed over and over the shattered hull, and ground its spars to pieces on the stacks of rock behind him. Each moment he disappeared from sight beneath a cataract of spray, then reappeared once more as the wave sank back ineffectual. The whole hull swayed and pounded upon the clattering rocks. But Lionel Solomons still clung on, with the wild tenacious grip of his race, to that last chance of safety. He held the dispatch-box as firmly in one hand as he held to the taffrail with the other. He was clutching to the last at his life and his money. Mr. Solomons, who had been the first to see him, was also the one to keep him clearest in view, and he urged the fishermen forward through those boisterous waves with his outstretched forefinger turned ever toward the wretched fugitive. THE THIEF IS ARRESTED. 357 "My nephew ! " he cried out to them. " There he is ! That's he ! My nephew ! My nephew ! A hundred pounds a-piece to you, men, if you save my nephew ! " Paul could make him out through the mist quite dis- tinctly now, and he half unconsciously observed, even in that moment of peril and intense excitement, that the reason why he had failed to recognize Lionel earlier was because the miserable man had shaved his upper lip, and otherwise superficially disguised his hair and features. " Yes, it's Leo, it's Leo ! " Mr. Solomons cried con- vulsively, clasping his hands. "He tracked the fellow down, and followed him out to sea — at his own peril ! Fourteen years ! Why the man ought to be hanged, drawn, and quartered ! " " We'll never make this arrest," the detective murmured, half aside to Paul. " Hold her off there, you fishermen ; we shall all be dashed to pieces. We shall drown our- selves if we go near enough to save him." " Now then, nearer, nearer ! " Mr. Solomons cried, mad with suspense and agony, and blue in the face with the horror of the crisis. " Let her go with the wave ! Let him jump, let him jump there ! Hold her off with your oars men ; don't be afraid ! A hundred pounds a-piece, I tell you, if you save my nephew ! " As he spoke, the boatmen, taking advantage of the undertow as it rolled off the hull and the reef, put the boat as close in as safety would permit to the riddled broadside, and held up a coil of rope in act to fling it to the terrified fugitive. Lionel still gripped the ill-omened dispatch-box. "Fling it away, man; fling it away!" the sailors called out impatiently. " Catch at the rope for dear life as I throw the coil at 'ee ! " Lionel Solomons gazed one instant at the box — the precious box for whose contents he had risked, and was 35 8 THE SCALLYWAG. losing everything. It went against the grain with him, white and palsied coward that he was that moment, to relinquish his hold of it even for one passing interval. But life was at stake, dear life itself, to which he clung in his craven dread, even more, if possible, than to his illgotten money. Lunging forward as the wave brought the great hull back again nearest to the boat, he flung the case with desperate aim into the stern, where it fell clattering at Mr. Solomons' feet. But the golden opportunity was now past and gone. Before the fishermen could fling the coil, the hull had rocked back again with the advancing wave, and it was only by backing water with all their might on a reflu- ent side-current that the other men could hold off their boat from being hurled, a helpless walnut-shell, against the great retreating broadside. The wreck bore on upon the rocks, and Lionel Solomons went with it, now clinging desperately with both hands to that shattered taffrail. " Try once more," Mr. Solomons shouted, almost beside himself with excitement and anguish, and livid blue from chin to forehead. " A hundred pounds — 'two hundred pounds each man, if you save him ! Leo, Leo, hold on to it still — wait for the next wave ! We can come alongside again for you." The billow rolled back and the hull heeled over, careen- ing in their direction. Once more the boatmen rowed hard against the recoiling undertow. For a moment, with incredible struggles, they held her within distance for throwing the coil. "Catch it ! catch it and jump ! " Paul cried at the top of his voice. Lionel Solomons, coming forward a third time with the careening hull, held out one despairing hand with a wild, clutching motion for the rope they flung him. At that instant, while they looked for him to catch it and THE THIEF IS ARRESTED. 359 leap, a sudden and terrible change came over the miserable being's distorted features. For the very first time he seemed to focus his sight deliberately on the people in the boat. His gaze fell full upon his uncle's face. Their eyes met. Then Lionel's moved hastily to Paul's and the detect- ive's. There was a -brief interval of doubt. He seemed to hesitate. Next iustant the coil fell, unwinding itself, into the water by his side, not six inches short, and Lionel Solomons' last chance was gone forever. Instead of leaning forward and catching it, he had flung up his arms wildly in the air as the coil approached him, and, shriekimg out in a voice that could be heard above the breakers and the grinding jar of the hull upon the rocks, " O God ! — my uncle ! " had let go his hold altogether upon the unsteady taffrail. His sin had found him out. He dared not face the man he had so cruelly robbed of a life's savings. Then, all of a sudden, as they held back the boat with the full force of six stalwart arms, they saw a great billow burst over the whole wreck tumultuously. As the foam cleared away and the water came pouring in wild cataracts over her side, they looked once more for their man upon the clean-swept deck. Hut they looked in vain. The taf- frail was gone, and the skylights above the cabin. And Lionel Solomons was no longer visible. The great wave had swept him off, and was tossing and pounding him now upon the jagged peaks of granite. Mr. Solomons fell back in his place at the stern. His color was no longer blue, but deadly white, like Lionel's. Some awful revulsion had taken place within him. He bowed down his face between his hands like a broken- hearted man, and rocked himself to and fro above his knees convulsively. " And I drove him to his death ! " he cried, rocking him- J 60 THE SCALLYWAG. self still in unspeakable remorse and horror and anguish. " I drove him to his death when I meant to save him ! " Seething inwardly in soul, Paul knew the old man had found out everything now. In that last awful moment, when the drowning nephew shrank, at the final gasp, from the uncle he had so cruelly and ungratefully robbed, it came in with a burst upon Mr. Solomons' mind that it was Leo himself who had stolen the securities. It was Leo he had hounded and hunted down in the wreck. It was Leo he had confronted, like an evil conscience, in that last drowning agony. It was Leo for whom he had demanded with threats and curses fourteen years' imprisonment ! The horror of it struck Mr. Solomons mute and dazed. He rocked himself up and down in a speechless conflict of emotion. He could neither cry nor groan nor call out now ; he could only gaze, blankly and awfully, at the white mist in front of him. Leo had robbed him — Leo, for whom he had toiled and slaved so long ! And he had tracked him down, uncon- sciously, unwittingly, till he made himself, against his will, Leo's executioner ! " We can do no more good here," the detective mur- mured in low tones to Paul. " I felt sure it was him, but I didn't like to say so. We may go ashore now. This 'ere arrest aint going to be effected." " Row back ! " Paul said. " There's nobody else on the wreck. If we row ashore at once, we can find out who's saved and how many are missing." They rowed ashore by the same long detour to avoid the reef, and saw the little cove looming distinctly through the cold morning mist to the left before them. On the strip of shingle a crowd was drawn up, gathered together in knots around some dark unseen objects. They landed and approached, Mr. Solomons still white and almost rigid in THE THIEF IS ARRESTED. 361 the face, but walking blindly forward, as in a dream, or like some dazed and terrified dumb creature at bay in the market place. Four or five corpses lay huddled upon the beach ; some others the bystanders were trying rudely to revive, or were carrying between them, like logs, to the shelter of their cottages. A group of dripping creatures sat apart, wringing their hands, or looking on with the stolid indifference of acute hopelessness. Among them was one in a pilot-coat whom some of the bystanders were regarding with supreme pity. " Poor thing ! " one woman said to Paul as they approached. " She was married a-Saturday — and her husband's miss- ing ! " Paul looked at her with an indefinable sense of profound distaste and loathing. The detective, who followed with the dispatch-box still held tight in his hand, cast his eye upon her hard. " I've got no warrant for arresting her" he observed grimly, " but she'd ought to be one of them." Mr. Solomons sat down upon the beach, quite motion- less. He gazed away vaguely in the direction of the wreck. Presently a dark body appeared upon the crest of a long wave swell to seaward. One of the sailors, plunging boldly through the breakers upon a recoiling wave, with a rope round his waist, struck out with brave arms in the direction of the body. Mr. Solomons watched with strangely passive interest. The sailor made straight for it, and grasped it by the hair — short, curly hair, black and clotted with the waves — and brought it back in tow as his companions pulled him by the rope over the crest of a big breaker. Mr. Solomons sat still and viewed it from afar. The face was battered out of all recognition and covered with blood, but the hands and dress were beyond mistake. Three or four of the passengers gathered round it with awe- struck glances. 362 THE SCALLYWAG. " Hush, hush," they murmured. " Keep it from her for a while. It's poor Mr. Burton. His uncle's here, they say — on the beach somewhere about. And there's Mrs. Bur- ton, sitting crying by the coastguard on the shingle over yonder." As the words fell on his ears and crushed the last grain of hope — that fatal alias telling him all the terrible story in full at once — Mr. Solomons rose and staggered blindly for- ward. Paul held his hand, for he thought he would fall ; but Mr. Solomons walked erect and straight, though with reeling footsteps like one crushed and paralyzed. He knelt beside the body, and bent over it tenderly. The tears were in his eyes, but they didn't drop. " O Leo, my boy ! " he cried, " O Leo, Leo, Leo ! why didn't you ask me for it ? Why didn't you ask me? You had but to ask, and you knew it was yours ? O Leo, Leo, Leo ! why need you do it like this ? You've killed yourself, my boy, and you've broken my heart for me ! " At the words, Mme. Ceriolo rushed forward with a mag- nificent burst of theatrical anguish. She flung herself upon the body passionately, like a skilled actress that she was, and took the dead hand in hers and kissed it twice over. But Mr. Solomons pushed her aside with unconscious dignity. " Not now," he said calmly; " not now, if you please. He's mine, not yours. I would never have left him. I will care for him still. Go back to your seat, woman ! " And he bent once more, broken-hearted, over the pros- trate body. Mme. Ceriolo slunk back aghast, into the circle of spectators. She buried her face in her hands, and cried aloud in her misery. But the old man knelt there, long and motionless, just gazing blankly at that battered corpse, and murmured to himself in half-inarticulate tones, "Leo, Leo, RELICT OF THE LATE LIONEL SOLOMONS. 363 Leo ! To think I should have killed you ! You had but to ask, and you knew it was yours, my boy. Why didn't you ask ? Oh, why didn't you ask me ? " CHAPTER XLIII. RELICT OF THE LATE LIONEL SOLOMONS. They waited on at Lizard Town till after the funeral. Mr. Solomons, in a certain dazed and dogged fashion, went through with it all, making his arrangements for a costly Cornish serpentine monument with a short inscription in memory of Leo, to the outward eye almost as if nothing very much out of the way had happened ; but Paul, looking below the surface, could easily see that in his heart of hearts the poor broken old money-lender was utterly crushed and shattered by this terrible disillusionment. It wasn't merely the loss of his nephew that weighed down his gray hairs — though that in itself would have gone far to break him — it was the shame and disgrace of his crime and his ingratitude, the awful awakening that overtook him so suddenly in the boat that morning. He could hardly even wish his nephew alive again, knowing him now for exactly what he was; yet the way he leaned over the coffin where that bruised and battered face lay white and still in its still, white grave- clothes muttering, " Leo, Leo," to himself as he gazed on it, was painfully pathetic for anyone to look upon. Paul knew that the old man's life was clean cut away from under him. The end for which he had labored so hard and so sternly for so many years was removed at one swoop from Ids path in life; and the very remembrance of it now was a pang and a humiliation to him. Paul observed, however, that in the midst of this un- speakable domestic tragedy, Mr. Solomons seemed to 364 THE SCALLYWAG. recline upon his shoulder for aid, and to trust and confide in him with singular unreserve, even more fully than hereto- fore. On the very evening of Leo's funeral, indeed, as he sat alone in his own room at the Lizard Hotel, Mr. Solo- mons came to him with that white and impassive face he had preserved ever since the morning of the wreck, and beckoning to him with his hand, said, in an ominous tone of too collected calmness, " Come into my room, Sir Paul; that woman is coming to speak with me tonight, and I want you to be by to hear whatever she may have to tell me." ' Paul rose in silence, much exercised in soul. He had fears of his own as to how Mme. Ceriolo's story might further lacerate the poor old man's torn heart ; but he went reluctantly. Mme. Ceriolo had stopped on at the Liz- ard, meanwhile, partly because she felt herself compelled in common decency to wait where she was till Leo was buried, but partly also because she wanted to know how much, if anything, Leo's widow might still hope to extract out of old Cento Cento's well-filled pockets. She had stood ostentatiously that day beside Lionel Solomons' open grave with much display of that kind of grief betok- ened by copious use of a neat pocket-handkerchief with a coronet in the corner ; and she was very well satisfied when, in the evening, Mr. Solomons sent a curiously worded card to her in her own room : " If you will step into my parlor for half an hour's talk, about eight o'clock, I wish to speak with you." The little adventuress came in to the minute, with very red eyes, and with such an attempt at impromptu mourning as her hasty researches among the Helston shops had al- ready allowed her to improvise for the occasion. Her get up, under the circumstances, was strictly irreproachable. RELICT OF THE LATE LIONEL SOLOMONS. 365 She looked the very picture of inconsolable grief, not wholly unmixed with a sad state of pecuniary destitution. It dis- concerted her a little when she saw Paul, too, was to be in- cluded in the family party — he knew too much to be quite agreeable to her — but she quickly recovered her equanim- ity on that score and appealed to "Sir Paul " with simple womanly eloquence as an old Mentone friend, as the very person who had been the means of first introducing her to her own dear Lionel. Mr. Solomons listened with grimly impervious face. "What I want to hear," he said at last, fairly confront- ing the little woman with his sternly critical eye, " is, What do you know about this dreadful business ? " " What business ? " Mme. Ceriolo asked, with a little tearful astonishment. Mr. Solomons eyed her again even more sternly than before. " You know very well what business," he retorted with some scorn. " Don't make an old man go over his shame again, woman. By this time all Cornwall has heard it from the detective, no doubt. If you pretend not to know you'll only exasperate me. Let's be plain with one another. Your best chance in this matter is to be perfectly straight- forward." His tone took Mme. Ceriolo completely by surprise. She had never before in her life been placed in a position where her little feminine wiles and pretenses proved utterly useless. She gasped for breath for a second, and stared blankly at the stern old man, out of whom this terrible episode seemed to have driven forever all the genuine kernel of geniality and kindness. Paul was truly sorry for her mute embarrassment. " I — I — don't know what you mean," she answered at last, leaning back in her chair and bursting into real, irre- 366 THE SCALLYWAG. pressible, womanly tears. " I thought you wanted to speak to me as Lionel's widow." Mr. Solomons let her lean back and cry till she was tired. Meanwhile he stood and eyed her with undisguised grimness. " As soon as you're capable of reasonable talk," he said at last, in a cold, clear tone, " I have some questions to ask you. Answer them plainly if you want attention." Mme. Ceriolo stifled her sobs with an effort, and dried her eyes. She was really and truly frightened now. She saw she had made a false step — perhaps an irretrievable one — or, rather, she saw that the wreck and discovery and Lionel's death had so completely upset all her well-laid plans for her future in life that retreat in any direction was well-nigh impossible. She was the victim of contingencies, sacrificed by fate on the altar of the unforeseen. She com- posed herself, however, with what grace she might, and answered bravely, through the ghost of a sob, but in a creditably firm voice, that she was quite prepared now to consider any questions Mr. Solomons might put to her. Mr. Solomons, sitting there, wrecked and unmanned him- self, began once more in a mood of hollow calmness : " You say you come as Lionel's widow. Is that true, in the first place ? Were you ever married to him ? If so, when, where, and what evidence have you ? " With the conscious pride of the virtuous British matron at last achieved, Mme. Ceriolo drew from her pocket an official-looking paper, which she handed across at once for Mr. Solomons' inspection. "There's my marriage-certificate," she said simply, " saved from the wreck." She felt she was scoring. The old man had miscalculated and misunderstood her character. Mr. Solomons scanned it close and hard. " This seems perfectly correct," he said at last, in his RELICT OF THE LATE LIONEL SOLOMONS. 3 6 7 cold, stern tone. " I can find no mistake in it. My poor boy's signature, firm and clear as ever. And on Saturday last, too ! O God ! the shame of it ! " Mme. Ceriolo bowed and answered nothing. Mr. Solomons gazed at it and sighed three times. Then he looked up once more with a fiercely scrutinizing look at the strange woman. " Lionel Solomons," he murmured half to himself, perus- ing the marriage lines through his slowly rolling tears, " Lionel Solomons. My poor boy's own signature ; Lionel Solomons. No deception there. All plain and above- board." Then he raised his face, and met Mme. Ceriolo's eyes with sudden vehement inquiry. "But you called yourselves Burton on board," he con- tinued fiercely. "You were Mrs. Burton, you know, to your fellow-passengers. Why did you do that, if you were all so innocent ? " The unexpectedness of the question took madame's breath away once more. A second time she broke down and began to cry. Paul looked across at her with genuine sympathy. No young man, at least, can bear to see tears in a pretty woman's eyes, rightly or wrongfully. But Mr. Solomons felt no such human weakness. He paused as before, rhadamantine in his severity, and awaited her restoration to a rational and collected frame of mind for undergoing further cross-examination. Madame cried on silently for a moment or so, and then dried her tears. "You're very cruel," she murmured, sobbing, "so soon after poor dear Lionel's death, too ! You're very cruel ! " Mr. Solomons waved his hand impatiently on one side. "You lured him to his death," he answered with grim, retributive sternness. " No talk like that, if you please. It only aggravates me. I mean to do what I think is just, if 36S THE SCALLYWAG. you'll answer my questions truly and simply. I ask you again : Why, if you please, did you call yourself Burton ? " " Poor Leo told me to," madame sobbed, quite non- plussed. " Did he explain his reasons ? " Mr. Solomons persisted. " N — not exactly. He said he must go incognito to South America. I thought he might have business reasons of his own. I come of a noble Tyrolese family myself. I don't understand business." " Nonsense ! " Mr. Solomons answered with crushing promptitude. " Don't talk like that. Sherrard, my detect- ive, has got up the case against you. Here are his tele- grams from town, and, if I chose, I could prosecute ; but for Leo's sake — for Leo's memory's sake — I prefer to leave it." He faltered for a moment. " I couldn't have Leo's name dragged through the mud in the Courts," he went on, with a melting inflection in his stern voice; "and for his sake — for dead Leo's sake — I've induced Sherrard and the Scotland Yard people not to proceed for the present against you. But that's all lies. You know it's lies. You're the daughter of an Italian organ-grinder, born in a court off Saffron Lane, and your mother was a ballet-girl at Drury Lane Theater." Madame bowed her head and wept silently once more. " You — you're a cruel, hard man," she murmured half inaudibly. But Mr. Solomons had screwed his righteous indignation up to sticking-point now, and was not to be put down by such feminine blandishments. " You're a grown woman, too," he went on, staring hard in her face and flinging out his words at her with angry precision. " You're a woman of the world, and you're forty, if you're a day — though you've falsely put yourself down in the marriage lines as twenty-eight — and you know as well as I do that you're RELICT OF THE LATE LIONEL SOLOMONS. 3 6 9 not so innocent and trustful and confiding as all that conies to ; you perfectly well understood why my poor boy wanted to give himself a false name on board the Dom Pedro. You perfectly well understood why he wanted to rob me; and you egged him on, you egged him to it. If you hadn't egged him on, he'd never have done it. My poor Leo was far too clever a lad to do such a foolish thing as that — except with a woman driving him. There's nothing on earth a man won't do when a woman like you once gets fairly hold of him. It's you that have done it all ; it's you that are guiltiest ; it's you that have robbed me of my money — and of Leo." Mine. Ceriolo cowered with her face in her hands, but answered nothing. Clever woman as she was, and swift to do evil, she was still no match for an old man's fiery indignation.. " But you did worse than that," Mr. Solomons went on, after a brief pause, like an accusing angel. " You did worse than that. For all that, I might, perhaps, in the end forgive you. But what else you did I can never forgive. In the last hour of all you basely deserted him ! " Mine. Ceriolo raised her head and stared him wildly back. " No, I didn't ! " she cried angrily. " I didn't, I didn't !" Mr. Solomons rose and looked down upon her with scorn. " More lies," he answered contemptuously. " More lies still, woman. Those who were with you on the steamer that night have told me all. Don't try to deceive me. When you saw all hope was gone, you left him to his fate, and thought only of saving your own wretched life — you miserable creature ! You left him to drown. You know you left him." " He would go back to his cabin to fetch his valuables ! " Mine. Ceriolo moaned. " It wasn't my fault. I tried to lade him." 37° THE SCALLYWAG. " Lies," Mr. Solomons answered once more with astonish- ing vehemence. " You let him go willingly. You abetted him in his errand. You wanted to be rid of him. And as soon as he was gone, you tried to save yourself by jumping into a boat. I have found out everything. You missed your jump, and were carried off by the wave. But you never waited or cared to know what had become of Leo. Your one thought was for your own miserable neck, you Delilah ! " Mme. Ceriolo plunged her face in her hands afresh, and still answered nothing. She must hold her tongue for prudence sake, lest speech should undo her. The old man had spoken of doing what was just. There were still hopes he might relent to some practical purpose. It was best not to reply and needlessly irritate him. So she sobbed mutely on, and waited for a turn in the tide of his 'emotions. For many minutes Mr. Solomons went on talking, ex- plaining, partly to her and partly to Paul, who looked on somewhat horrified, the nature of the whole conspiracy, as he understood it, and madame still cowered and shook with sobbing. At last Mr. Solomons paused, and allowed her to recover her equanimity a little. Then he began once more, eying her sternly as ever. " And now, woman," he said, " if I'd only wanted to tell you all this I wouldn't have sent for you at all this evening. But I wished also to give you a chance of explaining, if explanation was possible, before I decided. You take refuge in lies, and will explain nothing. So I know the worst, I believe, is true. You concocted this plan, and when you found it was failing, you basely tried to desert my poor Lionel. Very well ; on that score I owe you nothing, but fourteen years' im- prisonment with hard labor. Still, I loved Lionel ; and I can never forget that you are Lionel's widow. This paper you give me shows me you were his wife — a pitiful wife for RELICT OF THE LATE LIONEL SOLOMONS. 37 l such a man as my Lionel. But he made you his wife, and I respect his decision. As long as you live I shall pay you an allowance of two hundred a year. I will give a lump sum that will bring in that much to the Jewish Board of Guardians of London : they shall hold it in trust for you during your life, and on your death it will revert to the poor of my own people. If ever you'd told me you'd wanted to marry Leo you'd have been richer far — a great deal richer than even Leo suspected — for I've done well for myself in life ; for Leo — for Leo. But you chose to go to work the underhand way, and that shall be your penalty. You may know what you've lost. Never come near my sight again. Never write to me or communicate with me in any way hereafter. Never dare to obtrude yourself on my eyes for a moment. But take your two hundred. Take them and go away. Do you accept my conditions ? " Madame felt there was no use in further pretenses now. " I do," she answered calmly, drying her reddened eyes with surprising ease. " Two hundred a year for life, paya- ble quarterly? " Mr. Solomons nodded. " Just so," he said. " Now go, woman." Mme. Ceriolo hesitated. " This has been a curious interview," she said, staring round and mincing a little, " and Sir Paul Gascoyne and you will go away, perhaps, and take advantage of my silence to say to other peo- ple " Mr. Solomons cut her short with a terrible look. " I would never soil my lips with mentioning your name again," he cried out angrily. "You are dead to me forever. I've done with you now. And as for Sir Paul Gascoyne — why, miserable creature that you are— don't you even know when you have a gentleman to deal with ? " 37 2 THE SCALLYWAG. Mme. Ceriolo bowed, and retreated hastily. It was an awkward interview, to be sure: but, after all, two hundred a year for life is always something. And she thought that she could really and truly trust to the Scallywag's innocence: he was one of those simple-minded, foolish young men, don't you know, who have queer ideas of their own about the sacredness of honor ! CHAPTER XLIV. \ "a modern miracle." One other curious thing happened before they left Corn- wall. At breakfast next morning, as they sat moody and taciturn— for Mr Solomons didn't greatly care to talk, nor Paul to break in upon his companion's blank misery — the elder man suddenly interrupted the even flow of their silence by saying with a burst, " I think Miss Blair lives in Cornwall." "She does," Paul answered, starting, and completely taken aback, for he had no idea Mr. Solomons even knew of his Nea's existence. Then, after a slight pause, he added shyly, " She lives near Fowey." "We passed the junction station on our way down, I noticed," Mr. Solomons went on in a measured voice. "Yes," Paul replied, surprised once more that the old man had observed it. Young people always imagine their little love-affairs entirely escape the eyes of their elders: which is absurd. As a matter of fact, everybody discovers them. "We shall pass it again on our way back," Mr. Solomons went on, in that weary, dreary, dead-alive tone in which he had said everything since Lionel's death and his terrible awakening. "A MODE AW MIRACLE." 373 "Naturally," Paul answered, looking up in amaze, and much wondering whither this enigmatic conversation tended. Mr. Solomons paused, and looked over toward him kindly. " Paul, my boy," he said, with a little tremor in his throat — "you'll excuse my calling you Paul now as I used to do in the old days, you know— Paul, my boy, it seems a pity, now you're so near, you shouldn't drop in as you pass and see her." Paul let his fork drop in blank astonishment. To be sure, he had thought as much a dozen times himself, but he had never dared to envisage it as practically possible. " How good of you to think of it — and now especially ! " he exclaimed with genuine gratitude. Mr. Solomon drew himself up stiffly, and froze at once. " I was thinking," he said, " that as a matter of business, it might be well if you got that question about marrying settled some day, one way or the other. I regarded it only in the light of my own interests — the interests of the Jewish widows and orphans. They're all I have left to work for now : but you don't get rid of the habits of a lifetime in a day ; and I shall look after their money as I looked after — Lionel's. It's become an instinct with me. Now, you see, Sir Paul, I've got a vested interest, so to speak, in your future — it's mortgaged to me, in fact, as you know ; and 1 must do my best by it. If you won't marry the sort of lady I expected you to marry, and had a claim to believe you'd try to many, in my interest — at least don't let me be a loser by your remaining single. I've always considered that being in love's a very bad thing indeed for a man's business prospects. It upsets his mind, and prevents him from concentrating himself body and soul on the work he has in hand. A man who has to make his own way in the world, therefore, ought to do one of two things. Either he should avoid falling in 374 THE SCALLYWAG. love at all, which is much the safest plan — I followed it my- self — or else, if he can't do that, he should marry out of hand, and be able to devote himself thenceforward un- reservedly to business." Paul could hardly help smiling at this intensely practical view of the situation, in spite of the cold air of utter despon- dency with which Mr. Solomons delivered it : but he answered with as grave a face as he could, " I think myself it may act the other way — as a spur and incentive to further exertion." " No," Mr. Solomons retorted firmly. " In your case no. If you waited to marry till you'd cleared off your debt, you'd lose heart at once. As a security for myself, I advise you to marry as soon as ever the lady'll take you." " And yet," Paul answered, " it was consideration for your claims that made us both feel it was utterly hopeless." " Exactly so," Mr. Solomons replied, in the same cold, hard voice. "That's just where it is. What chance have I got of ever seeing my money back again — my hard-saved money, that I advanced for your education and to make a gentleman of you — if you begin by falling in love with a penniless girl, and feeling, both of you, that it's utterly hope- less ? Is that the kind of mood that makes a man fit for earning and saving money, I ask you ? " "I'm afraid not," Paul answered, penitently. " And I'm afraid not either," Mr. Solomons went on, with icy sternness. " You've paid up regularly so far — that I admit in justice : and mind, I shall expect you to pay up just as regularly in future. Don't suppose for a moment I won't look after the Jewish widows' and orphans' inter- ests as carefully as ever I looked after poor Leo's. You've got into debt with your eyes open, and you've got to get out of it now as best you can." (Paul, listening aghast, felt that his disillusionment had hardened Mr. Solomons terri- "A MODERN MIRACLE." 375 bly.) " And the only way I can see for you to do is to put {he boldest face upon it at once, and marry this young lady." " You think so ? " Paul asked timidly, half wishing he could see things in the same light. "Yes, I do," Mr. Solomons replied, with snappish prompt- itude. "I look at it this way. You can keep your wife for very little more than it costs you to keep yourself ; and your talents will be set free for your work alone. You could teach her to help you copy your manuscripts or work a typewriter. I believe you'd earn twice as much in the end, if you married her for a typewriter, and you'd pay me off a great deal faster." " Well, I'll think about it," Paul answered. " Don't think about it," Mr. Solomons replied, with curt incisiveness. " In business, thinking's the thief of oppor- tunity. It's prompt decision that wins the prize. Stop at Fowey this very afternoon and talk it over off hand with the lady and her father." And so, to his own immense surprise, almost before he'd time to realize the situation, Paul found himself, by three o'clock that day, knocking at the door of Mr. Blair's rec- tory. * He knocked with a good deal of timorous hesitation ; for though, to be sure, he had sent on a telegram to announce his coming to Nea, he was naturally so modest and diffident a young man that he greatly feared his recep- tion by Nea's father. Fathers are always such hard nuts to tackle. Indeed, to say the truth, Paul was even now, in spite of experience, slow to perceive the difference in his position made by his accession to the dignity of the baro- netcy. No doubt, every day would serve to open his eyes more to the real state of the case in this important particu- lar ; but each such discovery stood alone, as it were, on its 37 6 THE SCALLYWAG. own ground, and left him almost as nervous as ever before each new situation, and almost as much surprised when that social " Open sesame ! " once more succeeded in work- ing its familiar wonders. Any doubt he might have felt, however, disappeared almost at once when Nea in person, more visibly agitated than he had ever yet beheld her, opened the door for him, and when her father with profuse hospitality, instead of regarding him as a dangerous intruder, expressed with much warmth his profound regret that Sir Paul couldn't stop the night at the rectory. Nay, more, that prudent father took special care they should all go out into the garden for the brief interview, and that he himself should keep at a safe distance with a convenient sister-in-law, pacing the lawn, while Paul and Nea walked on in front and discoursed — presumably — about the flowers in the border. Thus brought face to face with the future, Paul briefly explained to Nea Mr. Solomons' new point of view, and the question which it left open so clearly before them. Now Nea was young, but Nea was a rock of prac- tical commonsense, as your good and impulsive West Country girl is often apt to be. Instead of jumping foolishly at Mr. Solomons' proposal because it offered a loophole for immediate marriage, as you or I would have done, she answered at once, with judicious wisdom, that, much as she loved Paul and much as she longed for that impossible day to arrive when they two might be one, she couldn't bear, even with Mr. Solomons' consent, so far to burden Paul's already too heavily mortgaged future. " Paul ! " she said, trembling, for it was a hard wrench, " if I loved you less, I might perhaps say yes ; but I love you so much that I must still say no to you. Perhaps some day you may make a great hit— and then you could wipe off all your burdens at once — and then, dear, we two could be "A MODERN MIRACLE:' 377 happy together. But, till then, I love you too well to add to your anxieties. I know there's some truth in what Mr. Solomons says ; but it's only half a truth if you examine it closely. When I look forward and think of the long strug- gle it would bring you, and the weary days of working at your.desk, and the fears and anxieties, I can't bear to face it. We must wait and hope still, Paul : after all, it looks a little nearer now than when you said good-by to me that day at Oxford ! " Paul looked down at the gravel-path with a certain shock of momentary disappointment. He had expected all this ; indeed, if Nea hadn't said it, he would have thought the less of her ; and yet, for all that, he was disappointed. "It seems such an interminable time to wait," he said, with a rising lump in his throat. "I know you're right — I felt sure you'd say so — but, still, it's hard to put it off again, Nea. When Mr. Solomons spoke to me I half felt it was best to do as he said. But now you've put it as you put it just now, I feel I've no right to impose the strain upon you, dearest." " Some day something will turn up," Nea answered hope- fully — for Paul's sake — lest she should wholly crush him. '• 1 can wait for you forever, Paul. If you love me, that's enough. And it's a great thing that I can write to you, and that my letters cheer you." Nevertheless, it was with a somewhat heavy heart that Paul rejoined Mr. Solomons at Par Junction that evening, feeling that he must still wait, as before, for some indefinite future. " Well, what have you arranged ? " Mr. Solomons asked, with a certain shadow of interest rare with him these last days, as he advanced to greet him. " Oh, nothing ! ' Paul answered blandly. " Miss Blair says we oughtn't to get married while I'm so much 37 8 THE SCALLYWAG. burdened ; and I didn't think it would be right on her account to urge her to share my burdens under such peculiar circumstances. You see I've her interests as well as yours to think about." Mr. Solomons glanced hard at him with a suspicious look. For a second his lips parted, irresolute, as if he half intended to say something important. Then they shut again close, like an iron trap, with that cold, hard look now fixed sternly upon them. " I shall lose my money," he said curtly. " I shall never be paid as long as I live. You'll do no proper work with that girl on your brain. But no matter — no matter. The Jewish widows and orphans won't lose in the end. I can trust you to work your fingers to the bone rather than leave a penny unpaid, however long it may take you. And mark you, Sir Paul, as you and the young lady won't follow my advice, I expect you to do it, too — I expect you to do it." Paul bowed his head to his task-master. " I will pay you every penny, Mr. Solomons," he said, " if I work myself to death with it." The old man's face grew harder and colder still. "Well, mind you do it quick," he said testily. "I haven't got long left to live now, and I don't want to be kept out of my money forever." But at the rectory near Fowey, if Paul could only have seen the profoundly affectionate air with which, the moment his back was turned, Mr. Blair threw his arm round his daughter's neck, and inquired eagerly, " Well, what did Sir Paul say to you, Nea ? " — even he would have laughed at his own timid fears anent the bearding of that alarming animal, the British father, in his own rectorial lair in Corn- wall. And had he further observed the dejected surprise with which Mr. Blair received Nea's guarded report of their PRESSURE AND TENSION. 379 brief interview, he would have wondered to himself how he could ever have overlooked the mollifying influence on the paternal heart of that magical sound, " Sir Paul Gascoyne, Baronet." For Mr. Blair heaved a deep sigh as he heard it, and murmured softly to himself. " He seems a most worthy, high-minded, well-principled young man. I wish we could help him out of his difficulties anyhow." CHAPTER XLV. PRESSURE AND TENSION. A year passed away — a long, long year of twelve whole weary months — during which many small but important incidents happened to Paul and to Nea also. For one thing, a few days after Paul's return to town, Mr. Solomons dropped in one afternoon at the young man's chambers in the little lane off Gower street. The week had aged him much. A settled gloom brooded over his face, and that stern look about the corners of his mouth seemed more deeply ingrained in its very lines than ever. His hair was grayer and his eyes less keen. But, strange to say, the blue tint had faded wholly from his lips, and his cheeks bore less markedly the signs of that weakness of the heart which some short time before had been so pain- fully apparent. He sat down moodily in Paul's easy-chair, and drew forth a folded sheet of official-looking paper from his inner breast-pocket. •' Sir Paul," he said, bending forward, with less of famili- arity and more coldness than usual, " I've brought up this paper for you to take care of. I've brought it to you rather than to anybody else be< ause I believe I can really trust 380 THE SCALLYWAG. you. After the blow I've received — and how terrible a blow it was no man living will ever know, for I'm of the sort that these things affect internally — after the blow I've received, perhaps I'm a fool to trust any man. But I think not. I think I know you. As I said to that miserable woman the other evening, one ought at least to know when one has a gentleman to deal with." Paul bowed his head with a faint blush of modesty at so much commendation from Mr. Solomons. " It's very good of you," he said, " to think so well of me. I hope, Mr. Solomons, I shall always be able to deserve your confidence." Mr. Solomons glanced up suspiciously once more. " I hope so," he said in a very dry voice. " I hope you won't forget that a debt's a debt, whether it's owed to poor Leo and me or to the Metropolitan Jewish Widows and Orphans. Well, that's neither here nor there. What I want you to do to-day is to look at this will — circumstances have compelled me to make a new one — and to see whether it meets with your approbation." Paul took the paper with a faint smile and read it care- fully through. It resembled the former one in most par- ticulars, except, of course, for the entire omission of Lionel's name in the list of bequests; but it differed in two or three minor points. The bulk of Mr. Solomons' fortune was now left, in trust, to the Jewish Board of Guardians ; and the notes and acceptances of Sir Paul Gascoyne, Bar- onet, were specially mentioned by name among the effects bequeathed to those worthy gentlemen, to be employed for the good of the Metropolitan Hebrew community. Men- tion was also made of a certain sum, already paid over in trust to the Board for the benefit of Maria Agnese Solo- mons, widow of Lionel Solomons, deceased, which was to revert, on the death of the said Maria Agnese to the Gen- PRESSURE AND TENSION. 3 Sl eral Trust, and be employed by the Guardians for the same purposes. There was a special bequest of ten pounds to Sir Paul Gascoyne, Baronet, for a mourning ring ; and a similar bequest to Faith, wife of Charles Thistleton, Esquire, and one of the testator's most esteemed friends. But beyond that small testimony of regard there was little to interest Paul in the document. He handed it back with a smile to Mr. Solomons, and said shortly, " I think there's nothing to object to in any part of it. It was kind of you to remember myself and my sister." Mr. Solomons' eyes looked him through and through. " I want you to take care of it," he said abruptly. "I will," Paul answered. " But I would like first to ask you just one favor." " What's that ? " Mr. Solomons asked sharply. " If I can succeed in paying you off during — well, during your own lifetime, will you kindly remove the mention of my notes and acceptances ? I wouldn't like them to be noticed in the papers, if possible." " I will," Mr. Solomons answered, looking at him harder than ever. " Sir Paul, you're a very honorable young man." " Thank you," Paul replied. " You are always very good to me." " They don't all talk like that ! " Mr. Solomons retorted, with temper. " They mostly call me a ' damned old Jew.' That's generally all the praise a man gets for helping people out of their worst difficulties." And he left the will with Paul with many strict injunctions to keep it safe, and to take care nobody ever had a chance of meddling with it. In the course of the year, too, Paul was very successful in his literary ventures. Work flowed in faster than he could possibly do it. That's the luck of the trade : some- times the deserving man plods on unrecognized till he's 3^2 TH*E SCALLYWAG. nearly fifty before anybody hears of him ; sometimes edi- tors seem to hunt out with a rush the merest beginner who shows promise or performance. It's all a lottery, and Paul happened to be one of the lucky few who draw winning numbers. Perhaps that magical suffix of "Bart." stood here, too, in good stead ; perhaps his own merits secured him custom ; but, at any rate, he wrote hopefully to Nea, if health and strength kept up, he could get as many engage- ments now as ever he wanted. Health and strength, however, were severely tried in the effort to fulfill Mr. Solomons' exacting requirements. Paul worked early and late, at the hardest of all trades (for if you think literature is mere play, dear sir or madam, you're profoundly mistaken); and he saved, too, much out of food and lodging in order to meet as many as possible of those hateful notes from quarter to quarter. Mr. Solomons him- self remonstrated at times; he complained that Paul, by starving himself and working too hard, was running the risk in the long run of defrauding his creditor. " For all that, you know," he said demonstratively, " your health and strength's my only security. Of course there's the insur- ance ; that's all right if you die outright ; but literary men who break down don't generally die ; they linger on for- ever a burden to their friends or the parish, with nervous diseases. As a duty to me, Sir Paul, and to the Metropoli- tan Widows and Orphans, you ought to feed yourself better and take more rest. I don't mean to say I don't like to see a young man working hard and paying up regular ; that's only honest ; but what I say is this : there's moderation in all things. It isn't fair to me, you see, to run the risk of laying yourself up before you've paid it all off to the last farthing." Nevertheless it must be admitted that Mr. Solomons received Paul's hard-earned money with a certain close- PRESSURE AND TENSION. 3 8 3 fisted joy which sometimes shocked, and even surprised, his simple-hearted young debtor. To say the truth, the miserly instinct in Mr. Solomons, kept somewhat in check by many better feelings during Mr. Lionel's lifetime, seemed now completely to have gained the upper hand in his cramped and narrowed later nature. They say the rul- ing passions grow fiercer in old age ; doubtless they are wrong ; but in Mr. Solomons' case the proverbial paradox had at least a certain external semblance of justification. Quarter after quarter, as Paul paid in his instalments of principal and interest, the old man grumbled over and over again at the insufficiency of the amount and the slowness of the repayment. Yet what seemed to Paul strangest of all was the apparent contradiction that while Mr. Solomons thus perpetually urged him by implication to work harder and harder, he was at the same time forever urging him in so many words to take more holiday and spend more money and time on food and pleasure. Not that Mr. Solomons ever put these requests upon sympathetic grounds : he always based them solely and wholly on con- siderations of his own interest. " If you don't take more care of yourself," he would often say with that cold stern face unchanged for one moment, "you'll make yourself ill, and go off into a nervous wreck, and come upon the parish — and then what'U become of all the money I've advanced you ? " " I can't help it," Paul would answer. " I feel I must somehow ; I can never rest till I've cleared it all off, and am my own master." " I know what that means," Mr. Solomons said once, near the end of the year when autumn was coming round again. " You're in a hurry to marry this young lady down in Cornwall. Ah, that's just the way of all you borrowing people. You enter into contracts with one man first, for 384 THE SCALLYWAG. money down, his own hard-saved money, that he's made and hoarded ; and then, when you've eaten and drunk it all up, you go and fall in love with some girl you've never seen in your lives before, and for her sake, a stranger's sake, you forget all about your vested obligations. I wish you'd take my advice and marry the young woman out of hand. I'd be all the safer in the end to get my money." Paul shook his head. " I can't bear to, and, even if I would, Miss Blair wouldn't. She said herself she'd never burden my life any further. I must work on now to the bitter end, and in the course of years, perhaps, I may be able to marry her." " In the course of years ! " Mr. Solomons echoed fret- fully. " In the course of years, indeed ! And do you think, then, I'm going to live on forever ? No, no ; I want to see some pleasure and satisfaction out of my money in my own lifetime. I'm not going to stand this sort of thing much longer. You ought to marry her, and settle down in life to do better work. If you'd get a house of your own now, with Lady Gascoyne at the head of your table, and could give dinners, and invite the world, and take your proper part in London society, you'd soon be coining money — a man of your brains, with no home to entertain in ! You're keeping me out of my own — that's just what I call it." " I'm sorry I disappoint you, Mr. Solomons," Paul answered sadly, " but I'm afraid I can't help it. I can never marry till I'm independent." Mr. Solomons rose and moved to the door. " I must put a stop to this nonsense," he murmured reso- lutely. " I can't let this sort of thing go on much longer. If I have to put the Courts in action to get what I want, I must put a stop before another week to this confounded nonsense." " Put the Courts in action ! " Paul cried, aghast at the PRESSURE AXD TENSIOX. 3 8 5 ugly phrase. "Oh, no, Mr. Solomons, you can never mean that ! You won't expose an old friend, who has always tried his best to repay you for all your kindness, to so much unpleasantness. I'll do anything — in reason — to prevent such a contingency." But Mr. Solomons only gazed back at him with that inquiring glance. Then he drew himself up and said with a stony face : " Sir Paul Gascoyne, I've always said you were a gentle- man. I hope you won't compel me to be too hard upon you. I hope you'll think it over, and see your way to marry the lady." Paul flung himself back in his easy-chair as Mr. Solo- mons closed the door behind him, and felt for once in his life very bitterly against his old benefactor, as he had always considered him. He was half inclined, in that moment of pique, to take him at his word, and to beg and implore Nea to marry him immediately. As for Mr. Solomons, in his lonely room at Hillborough that night, he sat down by himself, with a resolute air, to write two letters which he hoped might influence his recal- citrant debtor. He wrote them in a firm, clear hand, little shaky with age, and read them over more than once to himself, admiring his own persuasive eloquence. Then he put them into two envelopes, and duly directed them. The superscription of one was to the Rev. Walter Blair, the Rectory, Lanhydran, near Fowey, Cornwall. That of the other was to Mrs. Charles Thistleton, Wardlaw House, The Parks, Sheffield. And what especially impelled him to write this last was the fact that Miss Nea Blair was at that moment in the north, on a long promised visit to Sir Paul's sister. 3 8 6 THE SCALLYWAG. CHAPTER XLVI. A TRANSACTION IN DIAMONDS. Three days later Mr. Solomons happened to have business in town which took him up into Cheapside on a very unwonted shopping expedition. Mr. Solomons, in fact, was bent on the purchase of jewelry. He had been more particularly driven to this novel pur- suit by the simultaneous receipt of two letters from two opposite ends of England on that self-same morning. One of them bore the Fowey postmark ; the other, addressed in a feminine hand, was dated " Sheffield." Mr. Solomons smiled somewhat grimly to himself as he read this last. " Eighteen months of wealth and pros- perity have strangely developed our old friend Faith," he thought in his own soul. " How glibly she talks about money now, as if it was water ! She doesn't seem to think much about Sir Paul's difficulties. They vanish far more easily in her mind to-day than in the hard old days down at Plowden's Court in Hillborough." But Mr. Solomons was too much of a philosopher in his way to let this natural evolution of the female mind disturb for a moment his somber equanimity. Men, he knew, rise sometimes to the occasion"; women always. So he went on his way to London with that settled solid calm of a life that has now no hope left in it, and that goes on upon its dull routine by pure mechanical habit. Nevertheless, that habit was the habit of a lifetime devoted to making and saving money. In dealing with a debtor and in haggling with a seller, Mr. Solomons' soul was still as keen as ever. He watched over the interests of A TRANSACTION IN DIAMONDS. 387 the Jewish widows and orphans as closely as ever in happier times he had watched over his own and Leo's. A gain or loss of sixpence still seemed to him a matter well worth struggling over ; a. rise or fall of one-eighth per cent, on the market price of Portuguese Threes still put his over- worked heart into a flutter of excitement. It was with judicious care, therefore, that he selected for his patronage the shop of a fellow-tribesman in a street off Cheapside, and proceeded to effect a suitable bargain in jewelry. The utter downfall of a life's dream would have made most men wholly careless as to anything like money matters. It had only made Mr. Solomons closer-fisted than ever. " I should like," Mr. Solomons said, as he entered the shop and addressed himself with severity to the smug- faced and black-whiskered young man at the counter ; " I should like to see a diamond necklet." " Yes, sir. About what price, sir?" the smug-faced young man replied briskly. Mr. Solomons looked him through and through with a contemptuous air. " The price," he answered sententiously, " depends as a rule to some extent upon the quality." " Merely as a guide to the class of goods I should first submit to you," the smug-faced young man went on, still more briskly than before. "Our immense stock! The variety of our patterns ! The difficulty of a selection ! " "Do you take me for a fool, young man?" Mr. Solo- mons retorted severely, eying him askance. " Nobody has an immense stock of diamond necklets, ready-made. Show me your goods first, and I'll make my choice. After that we'll arrive at an arrangement as to value. " I think, Mr. Nathan," the proprietor observed to the smug-faced young man, who fell back, crestfallen, " l'<\ better attend to this gentleman myself." For he plainly 3 88 THE SCALLYWAG. foresaw hard bargaining. " I've met you before, sir, I believe," he went on. " Mr. Solomons of Hillborough ? " Mr. Solomons nodded. " My name, sir," he answered. " I was recommended here by our mutual friend, Mocatta. And I want to see some diamond necklets." The proprietor did not fall into the smug-faced young man's juvenile error. He knew his trade too well. The two fellow-tribesmen had measured one another at a glance. He brought down a couple of cases and opened them temptingly before Mr. Solomons' face. Mr. Solomons turned them over with critical hand and eye. " Not good enough," he said laconically, and the pro- prietor nodded. " How are these ? " the jeweler asked, striking a higher note, three octaves up on the gamut of price. Mr. Solomons regarded them with a shadow on his face. He knew exactly how much he meant to give (which was just why he refrained from mentioning a figure), and he thought these were probably far above his intention. In fact, in order to clarify his conceptions and bring his rusty knowledge well up to date, he had already priced several small lots of gems that very morning at several Christian jewelers'. " How much ? " he asked suspiciously. For he had come to a shop of his own race for the express reason that here only could he indulge in the luxury of bargaining. " Four hundred pounds," the proprietor said, looking hard at him without moving a muscle. Mr. Solomons shook his head resolutely. " More than I want to give," he replied in that tone of conviction which precludes debate. "It won't do. Show me another." The proprietor gauged the just mean at once r A TRANSACTION IN DIAMONDS. 3 8 9 " Try these, then," he said persuasively. Mr. Solomons' eyes picked out its choice at a glance. " That'll do," he answered, selecting one that precisely suited as to quality. " Lowest figure for this ? " The proprietor glanced at him with inquiring eyes. " What do you want it for ? " he asked. " It's for a lady of title," Mr. Solomons answered, swell- ing with just pride. " What'll you take for it ? " The proprietor put his head on one side reflectively. "We have a fixed price, of course," he said. " Of — course," Mr. Solomons echoed slowly. " But to you, Mr. Solomons, as a friend of our friend Mocatta's, and as it's for a present, apparently, we'll con- sent to make it — three hundred guineas." "Why we 9" Mr. Solomons inquired abstractedly. "I came here believing I dealt between man and man. I object to we. I deal with principals." "I'd make it three hundred, then," the proprietor cor- rected gravely. "Why guineas ?" Mr. Solomons went on once more with chilly precision. " No, don't say pounds, please. That's why I ask you, Why make it guineas. You put it in guineas for people with whom you mean to strike off the odd shillings only. That won't do for me, I'm too old for that. As a basis for negotiation, if you please, we'll begin with pounds. Begin with pounds, I say, Mr. Zacharias ; mind, begin, you understand, not end with them." "Begin with three hundred and fifteen pounds?" the proprietor queried, with his small eyes blinking. " Certainly, if you wish it," Mr. Solomons went on. •• I've no objection to your putting on the extra fifteen pounds — three hundred shillings to cover the guineas — if it gives you any pleasure ; as, of course, we shall only have to knock them off at once again. Well, we go on, then, to 39° THE SCALLYWAG. three hundred pounds for this necklet. Now Mr. Zach- arias, what do you take me for ?" And then began that sharp contest of wits that Mr. Solo- mons delighted in, and in which Mr. Zacharias, to do him justice, was no unworthy antagonist. The two men's eyes gleamed with the joy of the conflict as they joined in the fray. It was to them what a game of chess or a debate in the House is to keen, intellectual combatants of another order. They understood one another perfectly — too per- fectly to have recourse to the petty blandishments and transparent deceptions wherewith Mr. Zacharias might have attempted to cajole an accidental purchaser. It was Greek meet Greek, diamond cut diamond. The price was to be settled, not in current coin of the realm, but in doubt- ful paper. And it was to be arrived at by a curious pro- cess of double-bargaining, greatly to the taste of either diplomatist. Mr. Solomons was first to bate down Mr. Zacharias to a given price, say a hundred and fifty, and Mr. Zacharias was then to bate down the doubtful bills till he had arrived at last at a proximate equation between the two sums agreeable to both parties. And to this congenial con- test they both addressed their wits in high good humor, entering into it with the zest that every man displays when pitted against a foeman just worthy of his steel, in a sport at which both are acknowledged masters. The debate was long, exciting, and varied. But in the end the game was drawn, each side coming off with honor- able scars and insignificant trophies. Mr. Solomons cal- culated that he had got the necklet for two hundred and forty-five pounds' worth of doubtful paper, and that it might fairly be valued at two hundred and fifty. Mr. Zacharias calculated that a knowing customer might have had the necklet for two hundred and forty-two pounds, and that the doubtful bills would probably realize, when dis- A TRANSACTION IN DIAMONDS. 39 i counted, two hundred and sixty. So each left off well satis- fied with his morning's work, besides having had a long hour's good intellectual exercise for his money. And Mr. Solomons went away with the pleasing convic- tion that if Sir Paul Gascoyne, for example, had bought the necklet in the regular way at a West End jewelers', he would no doubt have paid that enterprising tradesman the original three hundred guineas demanded for it. Of so great avail is it to a wise man to know the City. By an odd coincidence, that very same day Paul, for his part, received three letters, all tending greatly to disconcert his settled policy. The first two came by the morning post, the third followed by the eleven o'clock delivery. Was this design or accident? Who shall say? Fortune, that usually plays us such scurvy tricks, now and again indulges, by way of change, in a lucky coincidence. The first of his letters Paul opened was from Fowey, where Nea was not. It was brief and paternal — the British father in his favorite character of practical commonsense, enforcing upon giddy and sentimental youth the business aspect of life as a commercial speculation. Much as the Reverend Walter Blair, Clerk in Holy Orders, esteemed the prospective honor of counting Sir Paul Gascoyne, Baronet, as his son-in-law, he must point out to Sir Paul at last that this engagement was running to a truly prepos- terous length, and that some sort of effort ought to be made to terminate it. "Does that mean break it off?" Paul queried internally, with a horrid start of alarm. But no : the next sentence reassured his startled soul as to that doubtful verb. The Reverend Walter Blair had the fullest confidence in his young friend's ability to support his daugh- ter in a way suitable to her position in life, and would urge, on the contrary, that the marriage should be entered into — great Heavens, what was this? — on the earliest opportunity ! 39 2 THE SCALLYWAG. If not — the Reverend Walter Blair was conveniently vague as to what might follow upon his non-compliance : but Paul's heart went down with a very violent sinking, indeed, as he thought how much that paternal reticence might possibly cover. Vague visions of Nea wedded against her will (oh, boundless imagination of youth !) to a mutton- faced Cornish squire of restricted intelligence oppressed his soul. As though anybody— even a society mother — could marry off an English girl of Nea Blair's type where she didn't wish to be married ! Why, Mrs. Partington with the ocean at her doors had a comparatively wide and correct conception of character and conduct. He broke open the second letter, posted at Sheffield, and skimmed it through hurriedly. To his immense surprise it pointed in precisely the same direction as Mr. Blair's. Since Nea had been with her, Faith said, in her simple sis- terly fashion, she had noticed more than once that, that dear girl was growing positively thin and ill with the har- assing care of a long engagement. Nea was a dear, and would never complain ; not for worlds would she add a jot to Paul's heavy burden while he had still that debt of Mr. Solomons' on his hands ; but still, Faith thought, " it was hard she should be wasting her golden youth when she ought to be happy and enjoy her ladyship while it would be of most satisfaction and service to her." And since Mr. Solomons himself approved of the union, as Nea told her, why, Faith, for her part, could hardly imagine what reasons could induce Paul to shilly-shally any longer. " And Charlie says," the letter went on, " he fully agrees with me." At eleven o'clock, to clench it all, came a brief 'little note from Nea herself, design or accident : " Dear Faith has been declaring to me for the last two days, Paul, darling, that's its positively wicked of me to "PUTTING OA' THE SCREWS." 393 keep you waiting and despairing any longer ; and this morning, by an odd coincidence, the inclosed note came from papa. You will see from it that he's very much in earnest indeed about the matter, and that he objects to our engagement remaining so long indefinite. So, Paul, they've easily succeeded between them at last in talking me over ; and if you think as they do, " Yours always, "Nea." Paul laid down the note, and reflected seriously. CHAPTER XLVII. "putting on the screws." The combination was too strong in the end for Paul. Faith and Nea, backed up by Mr. Solomons' advice and Mr. Blair's protest, were more than the sternest virtue could resist — especially when inclination itself lay disturb- ing the balance in the selfsame scale. Paul wavered — and was lost. Before he knew exactly how it was all happening, he found himself the central, though secondary, figure of a domestic event. He was given to understand by all par- ties concerned that he had been duly selected by external destiny for the post of bridegroom in a forthcoming wed- ding. And, indeed, if he continued to harbor any passing doubts upon the subject himself, the periodical literature of his country must shortly have undeceived him. For, happen- ing to drop in at his club the next Saturday afternoon — as a journalist, Paul had regarded the luxury of membership at the Cheyne Row as a trade expense — he lighted by chance upon a paragraph of gossip in that well-known second-rate 394 THE SCALLYWAG. society paper, the Whisperer : " A marriage has just been arranged, and will take place early next month, between Sir Paul Gascoyne, Bart., of Hillborough, and Nea Mary Eustacia, only daughter of the Rev. Walter Blair, Rector of Lanhydran, near Fowey, Cornwall. Sir Paul, though he rejoices in the dignity of a fourteenth baronet, and boasts some of the bluest blood in Glamorganshire, is by no means overwhelmed with this world's wealth ; but his career at Christ Church was sufficiently distinguished, and he has since made his mark more generally as a journalist and essayist in the London Press. Unless he throws away his opportunities and wastes his talents, the new proprietor ought to do much in time to restore the lost glories of Gascoyne Manor." A fiery red spot burned in Paul's cheek as he laid down the indiscreet sheet with its annoying blunders, and picked up, for a change, its rival, the Blab of a week later date. There, almost the first words that met his eyes were those that composed his own name, staring him in the face in that rudely obtrusive way that one's own name always does stare at one from a printed paper. " No, no, Arthur" the editor of the Blab remarked, in his gently colloquial style to his brother chronicler ; " you're out of it this time about young Gascoyne of Christ Church. Sir Paul Emery Howard Gas- coyne — to give him the full benefit of his empty title, for it carries no money, is the fifteenth — not, as you say, the fourteenth — baronet of that ancient family. He is not of Hillborough, which was the only place where his late re- spected papa carried on a harmless, though useful, calling ; but of a decent lodging-house in Somers Row, Gower Street. He has nothing to do in any way with Gascoyne Manor, the old seat of his ancestors, which is the property of a dis- tant and not overfriendly cousin. And if you mean to insinuate by certain stray hints about wasted opportunities 'PUTTING ON THE SCREWS:' 395 and so forth and so forth that Miss Blair, his future wife, has money of her own, allow us to assure you, on the very best authority, that the lady's face is her fortune — and a very pretty fortune, too, it might have been, if she hadn't chosen to throw it away recklessly on a penniless young journalist with a useless baronetcy. However, Sir Paul has un- doubtedly youth and brains on his side, and, if you don't succeed in spoiling his style, will, no doubt, manage to pull through in the end by aid of a pen which is more smart than gentlemanly. Give him a post on your staff outright, dear Arthur, and he'll exactly suit the requirements of the Whisperer. " Paul flung down the paper with a still angrier face. But, whatever else he felt, one thing was certain: he couldn't now delay getting married to Nea. The opinion of others has a vast effect upon even the most individualistic among us. And so it came to pass that Paul Gascoyne was dragged, at last, half against his will, into marrying Nea within the month, without having ever got rid of his underlying feeling that to do so was cer- tainly foolish and almost wicked. The wedding was to take place at Lanhydran, of course; and such a gathering of the clans from all parts of the world the little Cornish village had seldom witnessed ! Charlie Thistleton and Faith were at Paddington to meet Paul and accompany him down. While the Master Cutler and his wife, unable to avoid this further chance of identi- fying themselves with the Gascoyne family, were to follow in their wake half a day later. Paul was delighted to find that Faith, whom he hadn't seen for a year, had changed less than he expected, and far less than he feared. She had'expanded with the expansion in her position, to be sure, as Mr. Solomons noted, and was quite at home in her sur- roundings. Less than that would be to be less a woman; 396 THE SCALLYWAG. but she retained all her old girlish simplicity, for all that, and she was quite as fiercely herself in sentiment as ever. " We'll travel first, Faith," Charlie Thistleton said apolo- getically, " for the sake of getting a carriage to ourselves. I know you and Paul will want to have a little family confab together after not seeing one another so long; now, won't you ? " " Oh, well, if you put it on that ground," Faith answered, mollified, " I don't mind going first just this once, to please you. Though up in the North Country, Paul, I always in- sist upon travelling third still, just to scandalize Charlie's grand acquaintances. When they ask me why, I always say, ' Because that's what I'm accustomed to; I never could afford to go second before I was married.' And you should just see their faces when I add quietly, ' Sir Paul and I were never rich enough to get beyond thirds; and I sup- pose poor Paul will have to go third as long as he lives, for he doesn't mean, like me, to marry above him.' " "But I do," Paul answered, with a gentle smile. " I re- member, when I first met dear Nea at Mentone, what an awful swell I thought her, and how dreadfully afraid I was even of talking to her." "Well, run and get the tickets, Charlie," Mrs. Thistleton said, turning to her obedient slave; "and if by any chance Mrs. Douglas is going down by this particular train, try to keep out of her way; for I want, if possible, to have my brother to myself for the last time this one long journey." By the aid of half-a-crown, judiciously employed in con- travening the company's regulations as to gratuities to por- ters, they succeeded in maintaining the desired privacy; and Faith could gossip to her heart's content with Paul about everything that had happened since their last meet- ing. She was particularly curious to know about Mr. Solo- mons — his ways and doings. "PUTTING OX THE SCREWS." 397 " I always thought, do you know, Paul," she said, " that, in a certain sort of queer, unacknowledged way, Mr. Solo- mons had an undercurrent of sneaking regard for you — a personal liking for you and a pride in what he's made of you. I don't think it was all mere desire for your money." "I don't know, I'm sure," Paul answered. " I've a great regard for Mr. Solomons myself. I'm sure it's to him entirely I owe my present position, such as it is. And I believe he honestly desired, in his way, to serve me. The idea of the baronetcy going to waste, as a marketable com- modity, first weighed upon his mind, of course. Whether it was his own, or whether it was somebody else's, it vexed his good commercial soul to see so much intrinsic value running away, as it were, like beer from a barrel, all for nothing. But when once he got fairly embarked in the scheme, it became an end in itself to him — his favorite idea, his pet investment ; and I was a part of it : he liked me because he had made me himself. It gave him importance in his own eyes to be mixed up with the family of an Eng- lish baronet." " Oh, I'm sure he likes all your family personally," Charlie Thistleton put in, in spite of a warning look from his wife. " You should hear the way he writes to Faith about you ! " " Writes to Faith !" Paul repeated, surprised. " Well, yes," Charlie answered, pulling himself up short with the contrite air of the husband who knows he has exceeded his wife's instructions. " He wrote a letter to Faith about you once — some months ago ; and he said he was proud of the position you were making for yourself in literary London. He also remarked you were paying up arrears with pleasing promptitude." "It's curious he makes you go on paying, and grinding 39 8 THE SCALLYWAG. you so hard," Faith mused meditatively, " when he's got nobody left on earth now to grind you for." " It's habit ! " Paul answered. " Mere ingrained habit. He grinds by instinct. And he likes to feel, too, that I'm able to pay him. He likes to think his money wasn't wasted or his confidence misplaced. Though he considers me a fool for not marrying an heiress, he considers, too, it proves his own sagacity that he should have known I'd leave no stone unturned till I'd honestly repaid him." " It's a great pity," Charlie Thistleton interposed, look- ing out of the window and delivering himself slowly of an abstract opinion apropos of nothing in particular, " that some people are so devilish proud as they are. They'd rather toil and slave and worry themselves for a lifetime, than accept a few paltry unimportant hundreds from their friends and relations." "O Charlie! he couldn't!" Faith cried, flushing up. " He wouldn't be Paul at all if he did that. I know we'd all love to help him if it was possible. But it isn't possible. Anybody who knows him knows he'll never be satisfied till he's worked it all off and paid it himself. Mr. Solomons knows it ; and perhaps that's why he's so hard upon him, even. He wants to give him a spur and a stimulus to work, so that he may get it all paid off as soon as possible, and be free to do better things in the end for himself and Nea." "My dear child," Charlie put in, "you're really too trustful." " Well, anyhow, he wants Paul to marry Nea, now," Faith said, relapsing into her corner. " Because he thinks I'll work better when it's all settled," Paul retorted, half undecided himself which side to take. " There's no doubt about it, Faith, he's grown harder and more money-grubbing than ever, since Lionel Solomons "PUTTING ON THE SCREWS." 399 died. He reckons every farthing and grumbles over every delay. I suppose it's because he's got nothing else left to live for now. But he certainly grinds me very hard indeed, and wants more every time, as if he was afraid he'd never live to get back his money." " Ah, that's it, you see*! " Faith answered. " That's just the explanation. While that horrid boy was alive, he ex- pected to leave his money to him ; and if Mr. Solomons himself didn't get the return, Lionel would have got it. But now he must have it all repaid in his own lifetime, or it'll be no use to him. What does it matter to him, after all, whether the Jewish Widows and Orphans have a hun- dred or a thousand more or less ? It's only the pursuit of money for its own sake that's left him now. He goes on with that by mere use and custom. All the way down to Cornwall, in fact, they discussed this important matter, and others of more pressing and im- mediate interest ; and all the way down Faith noticed that Paul was going to his wedding with many grave doubts and misgivings on his mind as to whether or not he was right at all in marrying under such circumstances. It's hard for a man to start on his honeymoon with a mill- stone round his neck ; and Faith cordially pitied him. Yet, none the less, she was characteristically proud of him for that very feeling. Paul would have been less of a Gas- coyne, she felt, if he could have accepted aid or help in such a strait from any man. He had made his own maze, no matter how long since, and now he must puzzle his own way out of it. At Fowey station a strange surprise awaited them. They got out of their carriage, and saw on the platform a fa- miliar figure which quite took Faith's breath away. " Mr. Solomons ! " she exclaimed in astonishment. " You here! This is, indeed " — she was just going to say "an 40° THE SCALLYWAG. unexpected pleasure " — but native truthfulness came to her aid in time, and she substituted instead the very non-com- mittal word " wonderful ! " Mr. Solomons, somewhat bluer in the face than was his wont, drew himself up to his full height of five feet five as he extended his hand to her with a cordial welcome. He had never looked so blooming before since poor Leo's death. Nor had Faith ever seen him so closely resemble a well-to-do solicitor. He had spared no pains or expense, indeed, on his sartorial get-up. All that the tailor's art and skill could do had been duly done for him. He was faultlessly attired in positively neat and gentlemanly clothes; for he had put himself implicitly in the hands of a good West End house ; and, distrusting his own taste and that of his race, had asked to be dressed from head to foot in a style suitable for a baronet's wedding party. The result was really and truly surprising. Mr. Solomons, with a flower in his buttonhole and a quiet tie round his neck, looked positively almost like a Jewish gentleman. "Well, yes, Mrs. Thistleton," the old money-lender said, with a deep-blue blush. " I fancied you'd be rather taken aback when you saw me. It isn't every clay that I get an invitation to a wedding in high life ; but Miss Blair was kind enough to send me a card ; and I thought, as I was orie of Sir Paul's oldest and earliest friends, I could hardly let the occasion pass without properly honoring it. So I've taken rooms by telegraph at the hotel in the town ; and I hope to see you all by and by at the church on Thursday." The apparition was hardly a pleasant one for Paul. If the truth must be confessed, he would have liked, if possi- ble, on that one day in his life, if never before or after, to be free from the very shadow of Mr. Solomons' presence-. But Nea had no doubt good reasons of her own for asking MR. SOLOMONS COMES OCT. 401 him — Nea was always right — and so Paul grasped his old visitor's hand as warmly as he could, as he muttered in a somewhat choky and dubious voice a half inarticulate " Thank you." CHAPTER XLVIII. MR. SOLOMONS COMES OUT. The wedding-day came, and the gathering of the clans at Lanhydran church was indeed conspicuous. Mrs. Douglas was there from Oxford (with the Accadian Pro- fessor well in tow) discoursing amicably to Faith of the transcendent merits of blue blood, and of how perfectly certain she was that, sooner or later, Paul would take his proper place in Parliament, and astonish the world with some magnificent scheme for Imperial Federation, or for the Total Abolition of Poverty and Crime in Great Britain and Ireland. The Thistletons senior were there looking bland and impressive, with the consciousness of having given the bride as handsome a present as anybody else in all the wedding party was likely to bestow upon her. Half a dozen of Paul's undergraduate friends or London ac- quaintances had come down to grace the ceremony by their august presence, or to make copy for society papers out of the two young people's domestic felicity. The count)' of Cornwall was there in full force to see a pretty Cornish girl recruit the ranks of metropolitan aristocracy. And Mr. imons was there, with hardly a trace of that cold, hard manner left upon his face, and his fingers finding their way with a fumbling twitch every now and again to his right coat-tail pocket, which evidently contained some unknown object to whose continued safety Mr. Solomons attached immense, and, indeed, overwhelming importance. 4° 2 THE SCALLYWAG As for Nea, she looked as charming as ever — as charm- ing, Paul thought, as on that very first day when he had seen her and fallen in love with her on the promenade at Mentone. And when at last in the vestry, after all was over, he was able to print one kiss on her smooth white forehead, and to say " my wife" in real earnest, he forgot for the moment all other thoughts in the joy of that name, and felt as though Mr. Solomons and his hapless claims had never existed. Mr. Solomons himself, however, was by no means dis- posed to let the opportunity pass by so easily. As soon as everybody had signed the book and claimed their customary kiss from the bride, Mr. Solomons too pressed forward with a certain manifest eagerness on his impulsive countenance. He took Nea's two hands in his own with a fatherly air, and clasped them tight for a moment, quite tremulous with emotion. Nea held up her blushing cheek timidly. Mr. Solomons drew back. A maiden fear oppressed his soul. This was too much honor. He had never expected it. " Uare I, my lady ?" he asked in a faltering voice. He was the first who had called her so. Nea replied with a smile and a deeper blush. Mr. Solomons leant forward with instinctive courtesy, and bending his head, just touched with the tips of his pursed-up lips that dainty small hand of hers. It was the greatest triumph of his life — a reward for that doubtful and dangerous long investment. That he should live to kiss with his own two lips the hand of the lady of an English baronet. As he rose again, blushing bluer in the face than ever, he drew from his pocket a large morocco case, and taking out of it a necklet of diamonds set in gold, he hung them gracefully enough round Nea's neck with an unobtrusive movement. A chorus of admiring " Ohs ! " went up all round from the circling group of women, Mr. Solomons MR. SOLOMOXS COMES OUT. 4°3 had loosed his little bolt neatly. He had chosen the exact right moment for presenting his wedding gift. Even old Mr. Thistleton, complacent and urbane, was taken aback by the shimmering glitter of the pretty baubles, and reflected with some chagrin that his own set of massive silver dessert-dishes was thrown quite into the shade now by Mr. Solomons' diamonds. Paul was the only person who failed to appreciate the magnificence of the present. He saw, indeed, with surprise that Mr. Solomons had presented Nea with a very pretty necklet. But beyond that vague feeling he realized noth- ing. He was too simply a man to attach much importance to those useless gewgaws. The breakfast followed, with its usual accompaniments of champagne and speeches. The ordinary extraordinary virtues were discovered in the bridegroom, and the invaria- bly exceptional beauty and sweetness of the bride met with their due meed of extravagant praise. Nothing could be more satisfactory than everyone's opinion of everyone else. All the world had always known thai Sir Paul would attain in the end to the highest honors literature could hold out to her ambitious aspirants — perhaps even to the editorship of the Times newspaper. All the world had always con- sidered that Lady Gascoyne — how Nea sat there blushing and tingling with delight as she heard that long-expected title now really and truly at last bestowed upon her — deserved exactly such a paragon of virtue, learning, and talent as the man who had that day led her to the altar. Everybody said very nice things about the bridesmaids and their probable fate in the near future. Everybody was polite, and appreciative, and eulogistic, so that all the world seemed converted for the moment into a sort of pri- vate Lanhydran Mutual Admiration Society, Limited, and believed as such, with unblushing confidence. 4°4 THE SCALLYWAG. At last, Mr. Solomons essayed to speak. It was in answer to some wholly unimportant toast ; and as be rose he really looked even more like a gentleman, Faith thought to herself, than at the station last evening. He put his hand upon the table to steady himself, and gazed long at Paul. Then he cleared his throat and began nervously, in a low tone that was strangely unfamiliar to him. He said a few words, not without a certain simple dignity of their own, about the- immediate subject to which he was sup- posed to devote his oratorical powers ; but in the course of half a minute he had wandered round to the bridegroom, as is the oblique fashion with most amateur speakers on these trying occasions. " I have known Sir Paul Gas- coyne," he said, and Faith, watching him hard, saw with surprise that tears stood in his eyes, "ever since his head wouldn't have shown above this table." He paused a sec- ond, and glanced once more at Paul. " I've always known him," he continued, in a very shaky voice, "for what he is — a gentleman. There's no truer man than Sir Paul Gas- coyne in all England. Once I had a boy of my own — a nephew — but my own — I loved him dearly." He paused once more, and struggled with his emotion. " Now, I've nobody left me but Sir Paul," he went on, his eyes swim- ming, " and I love Sir Paul as I never could have loved any — any — any " Faith rose and caught him. Mr. Solomons was bluer in the face now than ever before. He gasped for breath, he staggered as he spoke, and accepted Faith's arm with a quiet gratitude. " Dear Mr. Solomons," Faith said, supporting him, "you'd better sit down now, at once — hadn't you ? " " Yes, yes, my dear," Mr. Solomons cried, bursting all of a sudden into hasty tears, more eloquent than his words. and subsiding slowly. " I've always said, and I shall always MR. SOLOMONS COMES OUT. 4°5 say, that your brother Paul's the very best young fellow in all England." And he sank into his seat. Have you ever noticed that after all's over, the bride and bridegroom, becoming suddenly conscious that they're ter- ribly faint, and have eaten and drunk nothing themselves owing to the tempest and whirlwind of congratulations, invariably retire in the end to the deserted dining room, with three or four intimate friends, for a biscuit and a glass of claret ? In that position Paul and Nea found themselves half an hour later, with Faith and Thistleton to keep them company. "But what does this all mean about Mr. Solomons?" Faith inquired in an undertone. " Did you ever see any- thing so queer and mysterious as his behavior ?" •• Why, I don't know about that," Paul answered. " I saw nothing very odd in it. He's always known me, of course, and he was naturally pleased to see me so well married." •' Well, but Paul, dear," Faith exclaimed impressively, •' just think of the necklet ! " " The necklet ! " Paul answered in a careless tone. " Oh, yes, the necklet was very pretty." " But what did he mean by giving it to her ? " Faith asked once more in an excited whisper. "I think, myself, it's awfully symptomatic." " Symptomatic ? " Paid echoed inquiringly. ••Why, yes," Faith repeated. "Sympathetic, of course, Such a lovely present as that ! What on earth else could he possibly give it to her for ? " " Everybody who comes to a wedding gives the bride a present, don't they ? " Paul asked, a little mystified. " I always thought, after we met him at Fowey Station, Mr. Solomons would give a present to Nea. He's the sort of man who likes things done decently and in order. 406 THE SCALLYWAG. He'd make a point of giving tithe of mint, anise, and cummin." " Mint, anise, and cummin ! " Faith retorted contemptu- ously. "Why, what do you think that necklet would cost, you stupid ? " " I'm sure I don't know," Paul answered : "five pounds I suppose, or something of that sort." " Five pounds ! " the two women repeated in concert, with a burst of amusement. " Why, Paul dear," Nea went on, taking it off and hand- ing it to him, "that necklet must have cost at least three hundred guineas the set — at least three hundred ! " Paul turned it over dubiously, with an awe-struck air. 'Are you sure, Nea ? " he asked incredulously. "Quite sure, dear," Nea answered. "And so's Faith; aren't you, Faith ? " Faith nodded acquiescence. " Well, all I can say," Paul replied, examining the thing closely with astonished eyes, " is — it doesn't look worth it." " Oh, yes," Faith put in, admiring it, all enthusiasm. " Why, they're just lovely, Paul. It's the most beautiful necklet I ever saw anywhere." " But what did he do it for ? " Paul asked in a maze. It was his turn now to seek in vain for some hidden motive. " Ah, that's the question," Charlie Thistleton continued with a blank stare. " I suppose he thought Lady Gascoyne ought to have jewels worthy of her position." "I don't know," Paul went on, drawing his hand across his brow with a puzzled air. " If it's worth what you say, it's one of the strangest things I ever heard. Three hun- dred pounds ! Why, that'd be a lot of money for anybody to spend upon it." To say the truth, he looked at the diamonds a trifle rue- fully. In the first flush of surprise he almost wondered MR. SOLOMONS COMES OUT. 4° 7 whether, when he next called round at the High Street, Hillborough, Mr. Solomons would want him to sign another bond for the three hundred pounds, with interest at twenty per cent, per annum, for jewelry supplied for Lady Gas- coyne's wedding. At that moment a flutter in the coterie disturbed him. He roused himself from his reverie to see Mr. Solomons gazing in at the open door, and evidently pleased at the attention the party was bestowing upon his treasured dia- monds. Nea looked up at -him with that sunny smile of hers. " We're all admiring your lovely present, Mr. Solomons," she said, dangling it once more before him. Mr. Solomons came in, still very blue in the face, and took her two hands affectionately in his, as he had done in the vestry. " My dear," he said, gazing at her with a certain paternal pride, " when I first knew Sir Paul was going to marry you, or was thinking of marrying you, I won't pretend to deny that I was very much disappointed. I thought he ought to have looked elsewhere for money — money. I wanted him to marry a woman of wealth. My dear, I was wrong — I was quite wrong. Sir Paul was a great deal wiser in his generation than I was. He knew something that was better far than money." He drew a deep sigh. " I could wish," he went on, holding her hands tight, " that all those I loved had been as wise as he is. Since I saw you, my dear, I've appreciated his motives. I won't say I'm not disappointed now — to say merely that would be poor politeness — I'm happy and proud at the choice he's made — I, who am— perhaps well, there — your husband's oldest and nearest friend at Hillborough." He gazed across at her once more, tenderly, gently. Paul was surprised to find the old man had so much chivalry 4°8 THE SCALLYWAG. left in him still. Then he leaned forward yet a second time and kissed her white little hand with old-fashioned courtesy. " Good-by, my dear," he said, pressing it. " Good-by, Sir Paul ; I've a train to catch, for I've business in Lon- don — important business in London — and I thought I'd better go up by the train before the one you and Lady Gas- coyne have chosen. But I wanted to say good-by to you both quietly in here before I went. My child, this is the proudest day I ever remember. I've mixed on equal terms with the gentlefolk of England. I'm not unmindful of all the kindness and sympathy you've all extended this morn- ing to an old Jew money-lender. My own have never been to me as you and Paul have been to-day." He burst into tears again. " From my heart, I thank you, my dear," he cried out, faltering ; " from my poor old, worn-out, broken- down heart, ten thousand times I thank you." And before Paul in his amazement could blurt out a single word in reply he had kissed her hand again with hot tears falling on it, and glided from the door toward the front entry. Next minute he was walking down the garden- path. to the gate, erect and sturdy, but crying silently to himself as he had never cried in his life before since Lionel betrayed him. CHAPTER XLIX. TO PARIS AND BACK, SIXTY SHILLINGS, A journalist's holiday is always short. Paul had arranged for a fortnight away from London — he could afford no more — and to that brief span he. had to cut down his honeymoon. But he was happy now in his full posses- TO PARIS AND BACK, SIXTY SHILLINGS. 4°9 sion of Nea — too happy, indeed, when all was irrevocably done, even to think of the shadow of those outlying claims that still remained unsatisfied in the safe at Hill- borough. In a fortnight a man can't go very far. So Paul was content to take his bride across to Paris. On their way back he meant to stop for a couple of nights at Hillborough, where he could do his work as well as in town, so that Nea might make his mother's acquaintance. For Mrs. Gas- coyne had wisely refused to be present at the wedding. She preferred, she said, to know Paul's wife more quietly afterward, when Nea could take her as she was, and learn her for herself, without feeling ashamed of her before her fine relations. It was late autumn, and the town was delightful. To both Paul and Nea, Paris was equally new ground, and they reveled, as young people will, before they know any better, in the tawdry delights of that meretricious capital. Don't let us blame them, we who are older and wiser and have found out Paris. At their age, remember, we, too, admired its glitter and its din ; we, too, were taken in by its cheap impressiveness ; and we, too, had not risen above the common vulgarities of the boulevards and the Bois and the Champs Elys^es. We found in the Francais that odious form of entertainment — "an intellectual treat"; and we really believed in the Haussmannesque monstrosities that adorn its streets as constituting what we called, in the gib- berish of our heyday, "a very fine city." If we know better now — if we understand that a Devonshire lane is worth ten thousand Palais Royals, and a talk under the trees with a pretty girl is sweeter than all the tents of in- iquity — let us, at least, refrain from flaunting our more excellent way before the eyes of a giddy Philistine world, and let us pardon to youth, in the flush of its honeymoon, 4*0 THE SCALLYWAG. a too ardent attachment to the Place de la Concorde and the Magasins du Louvre. Yet, oh, those Magasins du Louvre ! How many heart- burns they caused poor Paul ! And with what unconscious cruelty did Nea drag him through the endless corridors of the Bon Marche on the other side of the water ! " What a lovely silk ! Oh, what exquisite gloves ! And how charming that chair would look, Paul, wouldn't it, in our drawing room in London, whenever we get one ? " Ah, yes, whenever ! For Paul now began to feel, as he had never felt in his life before, the sting of poverty. How he longed to give Nea all these beautiful gewgaws: and how impossible he knew it ! If only Nea could have realized that the pang she gave him each time she admired those pretty frocks and those delightful hats and those exquisite things in Persian or Indian carpets, she would have cut out her own tongue before she mentioned them. For it was to be their fate for the present to live in lodg- ings in London till that greedy Mr. Solomons was finally appeased, and even then they would have to save up for months and months before they were in a position to fur- nish their humble cottage, not with Persian rugs and carved oak chairs, but with plain Kidderminster and a good deal suite from the extensive show-rooms of the Tottenham Court Road cabinetmaker. Revolving these things in his mind, on the day before their return to dear foggy old England, Paul was strolling with Nea down the Champs Elys^es, and thinking about nothing else in particular, when, suddenly, a bow and a smile from his wife, delivered toward a fiacre that rolled along in the direction of the Arc de Triomphe, distracted his attention from his internal emotions to the mundane show then passing before him. He turned and looked. A lady in the fiacre, remarkably well-dressed, and pretty TO PARIS A AW BACK, SIXTY SHILLINGS. 41 * enough as forty-five goes, returned the bow and smile, and vainly tried to stop the cabman, who heeded not her expos- tulatory parasol thrust hastily toward him. For a moment Paul failed to recognize that perfectly well-bred and glassy smile. The lady was so charmingly got up as almost to defy detection from her nearest friend. Then, next instant, as the tortoiseshell-eyeglasses transfixed him with their glance, he started and knew her. That face he had seen last the day when Lionel Solomons was buried. It was none other than the Ceriolo ! In an agony of alarm he seized his wife's arm. He could never again permit his spotless Nea to be contaminated by that horrible woman's hateful presence. Why, if she succeeded in turning the cab in time to meet them, the creature would actually try to kiss Nea before his very eyes — she, that vile woman, whose vileness he had thoroughly felt on the evening of poor Lionel Solomons' funeral. " Nea, darling," he cried, hurrying her along with his hand on her arm, " come as fast as you can ! I don't want that woman there to stop and speak to you ! " "Why, it's madame ! " Nea answered, a little surprised. " I don't care for her, of course ; but it seems so unfriendly — and just now above all — to deliberately cut her ! " " I can't help it," Paul answered. " My darling, she's not fit company for you." And then, taking her aside along the alley at the back, beyond the avenue and the merry-go-rounds, he explained to her briefly, what she already knew in outline at least, the part they all believed Mine. Ceriolo to have borne in luring on Lionel Solomons to his last awful enterprise. "What's she doing in Paris, I wonder?" Nea observed reflectively, as they walked on down that less frequented path toward the Rue de Rivoli. " I'm sure I don't know," Paul answered. " She seemed 412 THE SCALLYWAG. very well dressed. She must have some sources of income nobody knows of. She couldn't afford to drive about in a carriage like that on the strength of Mr. Solomons' allow- ance of two hundred." Nea shook her head emphatically. " Oh, dear no," she answered, "not anything like it. Why, she's dressed in the very height of fashion. Her mantle alone, if it cost a far- thing, must have cost every bit of twenty guineas." "It's curious," Paul muttered in reply. "I never can understand these people's budget. They seem to pick up money wherever tlfey go. They've no visible means of sub- sistence, to speak of, yet they live on the fat of the land and travel about as much as they've a fancy to." "It's luck," Nea answered. "And dishonesty, too, per- haps. One might always be rich if one didn't care how one got one's money." By the Place de la Concorde, oddly enough, they stumbled across another old Mentone acquaintance. It was Armitage, looking a trifle less spick-and-span than formerly, to be sure, but still wearing in face and coat and head-gear the familiar air of an accomplished boulevardier. He struck an attitude the moment he saw them, and extended a hand of most unwonted cordiality. One would have said from his manner that the scallywag had been the bosom friend of his youth, and the best-beloved com- panion of his maturer years — so affectionate and so warm was his smile of greeting. " What, Gascoyne ! " he cried, coming forward and seiz- ing his hand. "You here, my dear fellow ! And Lady Gascoyne too ! Well, this is delightful. I saw all about your marriage in the Whisperer, you know, and that you had started for Paris, and I was so pleased to think it was I in great part who had done you the good turn of first TO PARIS AND BACK, SIXTY SHILLINGS. 4^3 bringing you and Lady Gascoyne together. Well, this is indeed a pleasure — a most fortunate meeting ! I've been hunting up and down for you at every hotel in all Paris — the Grand, the Continental, the Windsor, the Ambassadeurs — but I couldn't find you anywhere. You seem to have buried yourself. I wanted to take you to this reception at the Embassy." " You're very kind," Paul answered in a reserved tone, for such new-born affection somewhat repelled him by its empresset/ient. " We've taken rooms In a very small hotel behind the Palais de l'lndustrie. We're poor, you know. We couldn't afford to stop at such places as the Grand or the Continental." Armitage slipped his arm irresistibly into Paul's. "I'll walk with you wherever you're going," he said. " It's such a pleasure to meet you both again. And how long, Lady Gascoyne, do you remain in Paris ? " Nea told him, and Armitage, drawing down the corners of his mouth at the news, regretted their departure excess- ively. There were so many things coming off this next week, don't you know. And the Lyttons would of course be so delighted to get them an invitation for that crush at the Elysees. " We don't care for crushes, thanks," Paul responded frigidly. *' And who do you think we saw just now, up near the Rond Pointe, Mr. Armitage ? " Nea put in, with perfect innocence. " Why, Mine. Ceriolo." " Got up younger than ever," Paul went on with a smile. It was Armitage's turn to draw himself up now. "I beg your pardon," he said stiffly, "but I think — a — you labor under a misapprehension. Her name's not Ceriolo any longer, you know. Perhaps I ought to have explained before. The truth is, you see " — he stroked his 4M THE SCALLYWAG. beard fondly — " well — to cut it short — in point of fact, she's married." " Oh, yes, we know all that," Paul answered, with a care- less wave of the hand. " She's Mrs. Lionel Solomons now, by rights, we're well aware. I was present at her husband's funeral. But, of course, she won't be guilty of such an egregious piece of folly as calling herself by her new name. Ceriolo's a much better name to trade upon than Solomons, any day." Armitage dropped his arm — a baronet's arm — with a little sudden movement, and blushed brilliant crimson. " Oh, I don't mean that" he said, looking just a little sheepish. " Marie's told me all that, I need hardly say. It was a hasty episode — mistaken, mistaken ! Poor child, I don't blame her,, she was so alone in the world — she needed companionship. I ought to have known it. And the old brute of an uncle behaved most shamefully to her, too, afterward. But no matter about that. It's a long story. Happily, Marie's a person not easily crushed. What I meant was this. I thought, perhaps, you'd have seen it in the papers." And he pulled out from his card case a little printed paragraph which he handed to Paul. " She was married at the Embassy, you see," he went on, still more sheepishly than before. " Married at the Embassy, the very same day as you and Lady Gascoyne. In point of fact the lady you were speaking of is at this present moment — Mrs. Armitage." " So she's caught you at last ! " was what Paul nearly blurted out in his astonishment on the spur of the moment, but with an effort he refrained and restrained himself. '• I'm sorry I should have said anything," he replied instead, " that might for a moment seem disrespectful to the lady you've made your wife. You may be sure I wouldn't have done so had I in the least anticipated it." A FALL IN CENTRAL SOUTHERNS. 4*5 "Ob, that's all right," Armitage answered a little crest- fallen, but with genial tolerance, like one well accustomed to such trifling criticisms. '' It doesn't surprise me in the least that you misjudge Marie. Many people misjudge her who don't know her well. I misjudged her once myself, I'm free to confess, as I daresay you remember. But I know better now. You see, it was difficult at first to accept her romantic story in full — such stories are so often a mere tissue of falsehoods — but it's all quite true in her case. I've satisfied myself on that point. She's put my mind quite at ease as to the real position of her relations in the Tyrol. They're most distinguished people, I assure you, the Ceriolos of Ceriolo — most distinguished people. She's lately inher- ited a very small fortune from one of them — just a couple of hundred a year or thereabouts. And with her little income and my little income, we mean to get along now very comfortably on the Continent. Marie's a great favorite in society in Paris, you know. If you and Lady Gascoyne were going to stop a week longer here, I'd ask you to dine with us to meet the world at our flat in the Avenue Victor Hugo." And when Armitage had dropped them opposite Galig- nani's, Paul observed with a quiet smile to Nea: " Well, she's made the best, anyhow, of poor Mr. Solo- mons' unwilling allowance." CHAPTER L. A FALL IN CENTRAL SOUTHERNS. The shortest honeymoon ends at last (for, of course, the longest one does), and Paul and Nea were expected back one Thursday afternoon at home at Hillborough. That day Mr. Solomons was all agog with excitement, 4*6 THE SCALLYWAG. He was ashamed to let even his office-boy see how much he anticipated Sir Paul and Lady Gascoyne's arrival. He had talked of Sir Paul,* indeed, till he was fairly angry with himself. It was Sir Paul here, Sir Paul there, Sir Paul everywhere. He had looked out Sir Paul's train half a dozen times over in his dog-eared " Bradshaw," and had then sent out his clerk for another — a new one — for fear the service Sir Paul had written about might be taken off the Central Southern time table for September. At last, by way of calming his jerky nerves, he determined to walk over the Knoll and down upon the station, where he would be the first to welcome Lady Gascoyne to Hillborough. And he set out well in time, so as not to have to mount the steep hill too fast ; for the front of the hill is very steep indeed, and Mr. Solomons' heart was by no means so vig- orous these last few weeks as its owner could have wished it to be. However, by dint of much puffing and panting, Mr. Sol- omons reached the top at last, and sat down a while on the dry turf, looking particularly blue about the lips and cheeks, to gain a little breath and admire for the fiftieth time that beautiful outlook. And well he might ; for the view from the Knoll is one of the most justly famous among the Sur- rey Hills. On one side you gaze down upon the vale of Hillborough, with its tall church spire and town of red-tiled roofs, having the station in the foreground, and the long, steep line of the North Downs at their escarpment backing it up behind with a sheer wall of precipitous greensward. On the other side you look away across the Sussex Weald, blue and level as the sea, or bounded only on its further edge by the purple summits of the Forest Ridge to south- ward. Close by, the Central Southern Railway, coming from Hipsley, intersects with its hard iron line a gorse-clad common, and, passing by a tunnel under the sandstone A FALL IN CENTRAL SOUTHERNS. 4*7 hogsback of the Knoll, emerges at once on Hillborough station, embosomed in the beeches and elms of Boldwood Manor. Mr. Solomons paused and gazed at it long. There was Hipsley, distinct on the common southward, with a train at the platform bound in the opposite direction, and soon Sir Paul's train would reach there too, bringing Sir Paul and Lady Gascoyne to Hillborough. The old money- lender smiled a pitying smile to himself as he thought how eagerly and childishly he expected them. How angry he had been with Paul at first for throwing himself away upon that penniless Cornish girl ! and now, how much more than pleased he felt that h\s prottgJ had chosen the better part, and not, like Demas and poor Lionel, turned aside from the true way to a fallacious silver mine. " He's a good boy, Paul is," the old man thought to him- self, as he got up from the turf once more, and set out to walk across the crest of the Knoll and down upon the sta- tion. " He's a good boy, Paul, and it's 1 who have made him." He walked forward a while, ruminating, along the top of the ridge, hardly looking where he went, till he came to the point just above the tunnel. There he suddenly stumbled. Something unexpected knocked against his foot, though the greensward on the top was always so fine and clean and close-cropped. It jarred him for a moment, so sudden was the shock. Mr. Solomons, blue already, grew bluer still as he halted and held his hand to his head for a second to steady his impressions. Then he looked clown to see what could have lain in his path. Good Heavens ! this was queer ! He rubbed his eyes. " Never saw anything at all like this on the top of the Knoll before. God bless me ! " There was a hollow or pit into which he had stepped in- 4i8 THE SCALLYWAG. advertently, some eight or ten inches or thereabouts below the general level. Mr. Solomons rubbed his eyes and looked again. Yes, be was neither daft, nor drunk, nor dazed, nor dreaming. A hollow in the path lay slowly yawning before him. Slowly yawning ! for the next instant Mr. Solomons became aware that the pit was even now actual in progress. It was sinking, sinking, sinking, inch by inch, and he him- self, as it seemed, was sinking with it. As he looked he saw the land give yet more suddenly toward the center. Hardly realizing even then what was taking place before his very eyes, he had still presence of mind enough left to jump aside from the dangerous spot, and scramble back again to the solid bank beyond it. Just as he did so, the whole mass caved in with a hol- low noise, and left a funnel-shaped hole in the very center. Mr. Solomons, dazed and stunned, knew, nevertheless, what had really happened. The tunnel — that suspected tunnel — had fallen in. The brick roof, perhaps, had given way, or the arch had failed somewhere ; but of one thing he was certain — the tunnel had fallen. As a matter of fact, the engineers reported afterward, rainfall had slowly carried away the sandstone of the hill, a grain at a time, by stream and rivulet, till it had left a hollow space overhead between rock and vaulting. Heavy showers had fallen the night before, and, by water- logging the soil, had added to the weight of the superin- cumbent strata. Cohesion no longer sufficed to support the mass ; it caved in slowly ; and at the very moment when Mr. Solomons saved himself on the firm soil at the the side, it broke down the brickwork and filled in the tunnel. But of all this, Mr. Solomons for the moment was ignorant. A FALL IN CENTRAL SOUTHERNS. 4*9 Any other man in his place would probably have thought at once of the danger involved to life and limb by this sudden catastrophe. Mr. Solomons, looking at it with the eye of a speculator and the ingrained habits of so many years of money-grubbing, saw in it instinctively but one prospective fact — a certain fall in Central Southerns. Nobody but he was in possession of that important fact now ; he held it as his own — a piece of indubitable special information. By to-morrow morning, all the Stock Ex- changes would know it. Everybody would be aware that a large tunnel on the main line of the Central Southern had fallen in ; that traffic would be entirely suspended for six months at least ; that the next half yearly dividend would be nil, or thereabouts ; and that a very large sum must come out of the reserve fund for the task of. shoring up so considerable a subsidence. Mr. Solomons chuckled to himself with pardonable delight. To-day, Central Southerns were q8| for the account ; to-morrow, he firmly believed, they would be down to 90. It was an enormous fall. Think what he stood to win by it ! Just at first his only idea was to wire up to town and sell all the stock he actually possessed, buying in again after the fall at the reduced quotation. But in another moment his businesslike mind saw another and still grander pros- pect opening out before him. Why limit himself to the sum he could gain over his own shares ? Why not sell out any amount for which he could find buyers — for the account, of course ?— in other words, why not agree to deliver Central Southerns to any extent next week for 98$, when he knew that by that time he could buy as many as ever he wanted for something like 90 ? To a man of Mr. Solomons' type the opening was a glorious one. 420 THE SCALLYWAG. In a second of time, in the twinkling of an eye, vast visions of wealth floated vaguely before him. With three hours' start of such information as that, any fellow who chose could work the market successfully and make as many thousands as he wished, without risk or difficulty. If buyers could be found, there was no reason, indeed, why he shouldn't sell out at current prices the entire stock of the Central Southern on spec ; it would be easy enough to-morrow to buy it all back again at eight or nine dis- count. So wonderful a chance seldom falls so pat in the way of a man of business. It would be next door to criminal not to seize upon such a brilliant opportunity of fortune. In the interests of his heirs, executors, and assigns, Mr. Solomons felt called upon to run for it immediately. He set off running down the Knoll at once, in the direction of Hillborough station, lying snug in the valley among the elms and beeches below there. There was a telegraph office at the station, and thence Mr. Solomons designed to wire to London. He would instruct his broker to sell as many Central Southern A's for the account as the market would take, and, if necessary, to sell a point or two below the current Stock Exchange quotations. Blown as he was with mounting the hill, and puffed with running, it was hard work that spurt — but the circumstances demanded it. Thousands were at stake. For the sake of his heirs, executors, and assigns he felt he must run the risk with that shaky old heart of his. Panting and blowing, he reached the bottom of the hill, and looked into the mouth of the tunnel, through which, as a rule, you could see daylight from the side toward Hipsley. The change from the accustomed sight gave him a shock of surprise. Thirty or forty yards from the entrance, the tunnel was entirely blocked by a rough mass of debris. If A FALL IN CENTRAL SOUTHERNS. 42 ' a train came through now there would be a terrible smash. And in that case Central Southerns would fall still lower — what with compensation and so forth — perhaps as low as 86-87. If a train came through there would be a terrible smash. The down-train would have just got off before the fall. The up-train would be coming very soon now. . . . And Sir Paul and Lady Gascoyne would be in it ! With a burst of horror, Mr. Solomons realized at last that aspect of the case which to almost anyone else would have been the first to present itself. There was danger to life and limb in the tunnel ! Men and women might be mangled, crushed, and killed. And among them would, perhaps, be Paul and Xea ! The revulsion was terrible, horrible, ghastly. Mr. Solo- mons pulled himself together with a painful pull. The first thing to do was to warn the station-master, and pre- vent an accident. The next thing only was to wire up to London, and sell out for the account all his Central Southerns. Sell out Central Southerns ! Pah ! What did that matter ! Sir Paul and Lady Gascoyne were in the up- train. Unless he made haste, all, all would be lost. He would be left in his old age more desolate than ever. The new bubble would burst as awfully as the old one. Fired with this fresh idea, Mr. Solomons rushed for- ward once more, bluer, bluer than ever, and hurried toward the station, in a bee-line, regardless of the information vouchsafed by the notice-boards that trespassers would be prosecuted. He ran as if his life depended upon his get- ting there. At all hazards, he must warn them to stop the up-train at Hipsley station. By the gate of a meadow he paused for a second to catch his breath and mop his forehead. A man was at work there 42 2 THE SCALLYWAG. turning manure with a fork. Mr. Solomons was blown He called out loudly to the man, " Hi, 3^011 there, come here, will you." The man turned round and touched his hat respectfully. " The Knoll tunnel's fallen in ! " Mr. Solomons blurted out between his convulsive bursts of breath. The man stuck his fork in the ground and stared stolidly in the direction indicated. " So it hev," he murmured. " Well, naow, that's cur'ous." Mr. Solomons recognized him for the stolid fool of a rustic that he was. There's only one way to quicken these creatures' blunted intelligence. He drew out his purse and took from it a sovereign, which he dangled temptingly. " Take this," he cried, holding it out, "and run as fast as you can run to the Hillborough station. Tell the station-master the Knoll tunnel has fallen in. Tell him to telegraph to Hipsley and stop the up-train. For God's sake go, or we shall have an accident ! " In his dull, remote way, urged on by the sovereign, the man took it in — slowly, slowly, slowly ; and, as soon as the facts had penetrated through his thick skull, began to run at the top of his speed over hedges and ditches toward the gate of the station. " Tell him to telegraph at once," Mr. Solomons shouted after him. " The tunnel's blocked, there'll be loss of life unless he looks sharp about it." And then, having recovered his breath a bit himself, he crossed the gate and proceeded to follow him. There would still be time to realize that fortune by selling out close at existing prices. Next instant, with another flash of inspiration, it came across his mind that he had done the wrong thing. No use at all to give warning at Hillborough. The wires went over the tunnel, and he remembered now that the pole had fallen and snapped them in the midst at the moment of the CATASTROPHE. 4*3 subsidence. There was no communication at all with Hipsley. It was toward Hipsley itself he ought to have gone in the first place. He must go there now, all blown as he was ; go there at all hazards. He must warn the train, or Sir Paul and Lady Gascoyne would be killed in the tunnel ! It came upon him with all the sudden clearness of a revelation. There was no time to wait or think. He must turn and act upon it. In a second, he had clambered over the gate once more, and, blue and hot in the face, was mounting the Knoll with incredible haste for his weight and age, urged on by his wild desire to save Paul and Nea. He struggled and scrambled up the steep face of the hill with eager feet. At the top he paused a moment, and panted for breath. The line lies straight in view across the long flat weald. From that panoramic point he could see clearly beneath him the whole level stretch of the iron road. A cloud of white steam sped merrily along across the open lowland. It was the up-train even now on its way to Hipsley. No time now to stop it before it left the station ! But by descending at once on the line and running along upon the six-foot way, he might still succeed in attracting the engine driver's attention and checking the train before it reached the tunnel. CHAPTER LI. CATASTROPHE. Fired with this thought and utterly absorbed in his fears for Paul's and Nea's safety, Mr. Solomons hurried down the opposite slope of the ridge, and, scrambling through the cutting, gained the side of the railway. It was fenced 4^4 THE SCALLYWAG. in by one of those atrocious barbed wire fences, with which the selfishness of squires or farmers is still permitted to outrage every sentiment of common humanity ; but Mr. Solomons was too full of his task to mind those barbarous spikes : with torn clothes and bleeding hands, he squeezed himself through somehow, and ran madly along the line in the direction of Hipsley. As he did so the loud snort of a steam-whistle fell upon his ear, away over in front of him. His heart sank. He knew it was the train leaving Hipsley station. Still he ran on wildly. He must run and run till he dropped now. No time to pause or draw breath. It was necessary to give the engine-driver ample warning before- hand, so that he might put on the brake some time before reaching the mouth of the tunnel. If not, the train would dash into it full speed, and not a living soul might survive the collision. He ran along the six-foot way with all his might, waving his hands frantically above his head toward the approach- ing train, and doing his best, in one last frenzied effort, to catch the driver's eye before it was too late. His face was flushed purple with exertion now, and his breath came and went with deadly difficulty. But on he ran, unheeding the warnings of that throbbing heart, unheeding the short, sharp snorts of the train as it advanced, unheeding any- thing on earth save the internal consciousness of that one imperative uuty laid on him. The universe summed itself up to his mind in that supreme moment as a vast and absorbing absolute necessity to save Paul and Nea. On, on the wild engine came, puffing and snorting terri- bly ; but Mr. Solomons, nothing daunted, on fire with his exertions, almost flung himself in its path, and shrieked aloud, with his hands tossed up and and his face purple, " Stop ! stop ! For God's sake, stop ! Stop ! stop ! CA TA STROPHE. A*$ I tell you ! " He ran along backward now, still fronting the train. " Stop ! stop ! " he cried, gesticulating fiercely to the astonished driver. " For Heaven's sake, stop ! You can't go on — there's danger ! " The engine-driver halted and put on the brake. The train began to slow. Mr. Solomons still danced and gestic- ulated like a madman before it. A jar thrilled through the carriages from end to end. With a sudden effort, the guard, now thoroughly roused to a sense of danger, had succeeded in stopping it at the very mouth of the tunnel. Mr. Solomons, almost too spent to utter a word, shrieked out at the top of his voice, in gasping syllables. " The tunnel's fallen in. You can't go on. Put back to Hipsley. I've come to warn you ! " But there was no need for him to explain any further now. The driver, looking ahead, could see for himself a mass of yellow sand obstructing the way a hundred yards in front. Slowly he got down and examined the road. "That was a narrow squeak, Bill," he said, turning to the stoker. " If it hadn't been for the old gentleman, we'd all 'a' been in kingdom come by this time ! " " He looks very queer," the stoker observed, gazing close at Mr. Solomons, who had seated himself now on the bank by the side, and was panting heavily with bluer face than ever. " He's run too 'ard, that's where it is," the engine- driver went on, holding him up and supporting him. "Come along, sir ; come on in the train with us. We've got to go back to Hipsley now, that's certain." But Mr. Solomons only gasped, and struggled hard for breath. His face was livid and leaden by this time. A terrible wave convulsed his features. " Loosen his collar, Jim," the stoker suggested. The engine-driver obeyed, and for a moment Mr. Solomons seemed to breathe more freely. 426 THE SCALLYWAG. " Now then, what's the matter ? Why don't we go on ? " a bluff man cried, putting his head out of a first-class car- riage window. " Matter enough, sir," the engine-driver answered. " Tunnel's broke ; road's blocked ahead ; and this old gen- tleman by the side's a dying." " Dying ! " the bluff personage echoed, descending quickly from his seat, and joining the group. " No, no ; not that. Don't talk such nonsense. Why, God bless my soul, so he is, to be sure. Valvular disease of the heart, that's what I make it. Have you got any brandy, boys ? Leave him to me. I'll attend to him. I'm a doctor." " Run along the train, Bill," the engine-driver said, "and ask if any gentleman's got a flask of brandy." In a minute the stoker returned, followed close by Paul, who brought a little flask which he offered for the occasion. " 'Old up the gen'leman's 'ead, Jim," the stoker said, " and pour down some brandy." Paul started with horror and amazement. "Why, my God," he cried, "it's Mr. Solomons ! " Mr. Solomons opened his eyes for an instant. His throat gurgled. " Good-by, Sir Paul," he said, trying feebly to grope for something in his pocket. " Is Lady Gascoyne safe ? Then, thank Heaven, I've saved you." Paul knelt by his side, and held the flask to his lips. As yet he could hardly comprehend what had happened. " Oh, Mr. Solomons," he cried, bending over him eagerly, " do try to swallow some." But the blue lips never moved. Onlv, with a convulsive effort, Mr. Solomons drew some- thing out of his breast pocket — a paper it seemed, much worn and faded — and clutching it tight in his grasp, seemed to thrust it toward him with urgent anxiety. Paul took no notice of the gesture, but held the brandy CA TA S TROPHE. 427 still to Mr. Solomons' livid mouth. The bluff passenger waved him aside. " No good," he said, " no good, my dear sir. He can't even swallow it. He's unconscious now. The valve don't act. It's all up, I'm afraid. Stand aside there, all of you, and let him have fresh air. That's his last chance. Fan him with a paper." He put his finger on the pulse, and shook his head ominously. " No good at all," he mur- mured. " He's run too fast, and the effort's been too much for him." He examined the lips closely, and held his ear to catch the last sound of breath. " Quite dead ! " he went on. " Death from syncope. He died doing his best to prevent an accident." A strange solemn feeling came over Paul Gascoyne. Till that moment he had never truly realized how much he liked the old Jew money-lender. But there, as he knelt on the green sward beside his lifeless body, and knew on what errand Mr. Solomons had come by his death, a curious sense of bereavement stole slowly on him. It was some minutes before he could even think of Nea, who sat at the window behind, anxiously awaiting tidings of this unex- pected stoppage. Then he burst into tears, as the stoker and the engine-driver slowly lifted the body into an unoc- cupied carriage, and called on the passengers to take their seats while they backed once more into Hipsley station. " What is it ? " Nea asked, seeing Paul return with blanched cheek and wet eyes to the door of her carriage. Paul could hardly get out the words to reply. " A tunnel's fallen in — the tunnel under the Knoll that I've often told you about ; and Mr. Solomons, running to warn the train of danger, has fallen down dead by the side with heart-disease." "Dead, Paul?" " Yes, dead, Nea." 428 THE SCALLYWAG. They gazed at one another blankly for a moment. Then " Did he know we were here ? " Nea asked, with a face of horror. "I think so," Paul answered. "I wrote and told him what train we'd arrive by ; and he must have found out the accident and rushed to warn us before anybody else was aware it had tumbled." " O Paul, was he alive to see you ? " " Alive ? " Paul answered. " Oh, yes, he spoke to me. He asked if you were safe, and said good-by to me." They backed into the station by slow degrees, and the passengers, turning out with eager wonder and inquiry, began a hubbub of voices as to the tunnel, and the accident, and the man who had warned them, and the catastrophe, and the heart-disease, and the chance there was of getting on to-night, and how on earth they could ever get their luggage carted across to Hillborough station. But Paul and Nea stood with hushed voices beside the corpse of the man they had parted with so lightly a fortnight before at Lanhydran Rectory. " Do you know, Paul," Nea whispered, as she gazed awe- struck at that livid face, now half pale in death, " I some- how felt when he said to me that afternoon, ' From my poor, old, worn-out heart I thank you,' I half felt as if I was never going to see him again. He said good-by to us as one says good-by to one's friends forever. And I am glad, at least, to think that we made him happy." "I'm glad to think so, too," Paul answered, with tears in his eyes. "Then I think he died happy," Nea replied decisively. " But, Nea, do you know, till this moment I never real- ized how truly fond I was of him. I feel now as if an ele- ment had been taken out of my life forever." Slowly and gradually the people at the station got things CA TA S TROPHE. 429 into order under these altered conditions. Cabs and car- riages were brought from Hillborough to carry the through passengers and their luggage across the gap in the line caused by the broken tunnel. Telegrams were sent in every direction to warn coming trains and to organize a temporary local service. All was bustle and noise and tur- moil and confusion. But in the midst of the hurly-burly, a few passengers still crowded, whispering, round the silent corpse of the man who had met his own death in warning them of their danger. Little by little the story got about how this was a Mr. Solomons, an estate agent at Hillbor- ough, and how those two young people standing so close to his side and watching over his body were Sir Paul and Lady Gascoyne, for whose sake he had run all the way to stop the train, and had fallen down dead, at the last moment, of heart-disease. In his hand he still clutched that worn and folded paper he had tried to force upon Paul, and his face yet wore in death that eager expression of a desire to bring out words that his tremulous lips refused to utter. They stood there long, watching his features painfully. At last a stretcher was brought from the town, and Mr. Solomons' body, covered with a black cloth, was carried upon it to his house in the High Street. Paul insisted on bearing a hand in it himself ; and Nea, walking slowly and solemnly by their side, made her first entry so as Lady Gascoyne into her husband's birthplace. 43° THE SCALLYWAG. CHAPTER LII. ESTATE OF THE LATE J. P. SOLOMONS. For the next week all Hillborough was agog with the fallen tunnel. So great an event had never yet diversified the history of the parish. The little town woke up and found itself famous. The even tenor of local life was dis- turbed by a strange incursion of noisy navvies. Central Southerns went down like lead to ninety, as Mr. Solomons had shrewdly anticipated. The manager and the chief engineer of the line paid many visits to the spot to inspect the scene of the averted catastrophe. Hundreds of hands were engaged at once with feverish haste to begin excava- tions, and to clear the line of the accumulated debris. But six months at least must elapse, so everybody said, before traffic was restored to the status quo, and the Central South- ern was once more in working order. A parallel calamity was unknown in the company's history : it was only by the greatest good luck in the world, the directors remarked ruefully at their next meeting, that they had escaped the onus and odium of what the newspapers called a good first- class murderous selling railway accident. On one point, indeed, all the London press was agreed on the Friday morning, that the highest praise was due to the heroic conduct of Mr. Solomons, a Jewish gentleman resi- dent at Hillborough, who was the first to perceive the sub- sidence of the ground on the Knoll, and who, rightly con- jecturing the nature of the disaster, hurried — unhappily, at the cost of his own life — to warn the station-masters at either end of the danger that blocked the way in the buried tunnel. As he reached his goal he breathed his last, pour- ing forth his message of mercy to the startled engine-driver. ESTATE OF THE LATE J. P. SOLOMONS. 43 1 This beautiful touch, said the leader-writers, with conven- tional pathos, made a fitting termination to a noble act of self-sacrifice ; and the fact that Mr. Solomons had friends in the train — Sir Paul and Lady Gascoyne, who were just returning from their wedding tour on the Continent — rather added to than detracted from the dramatic completeness of this moving denouement. It was a pleasure to be able to record that the self-sacrificing messenger, before he closed his eyes finally, had grasped the hands of the friend he had rescued in his own dying fingers, and was aware that his devotion had met with its due reward. While actions like these continue to be done in everyday life, the leader- writers felt we need never be afraid that the old English courage and the old English ideal of steadfast duty are be- ginning to fail us. The painful episode of the Knoll tunnel had at least this consolatory point, that it showed once more to the journalistic intelligence the readiness of Englishmen of all creeds or parties to lay down their lives willingly at the call of a great public emergency. So poor Mr. Solomons, thus threnodied by the appointed latter-day bards of his adoptive nation, was buried at Hill- borough as the hero of the day, with something approach- ing public honors. Paul, to be sure, as the nearest friend to the dead, took the place of chief mourner beside the open grave ; but the neighboring squires and other great county magnates, who under any other circumstances would have paid little heed to the Jewish money-lender's funeral, were present in person, or vicariously through their coach- men, to pay due respect to a signal act of civic virtue. Everybody was full of praise for Mr. Solomons' earnest endeavor to stop the train ; and many who had never spoken well of him before, falling in now, after the feeble fashion of our kind and of the domestic sheep, with the current of public opinion, found hitherto undiscovered and 43 2 THE SCALLYWAG. unsuspected good qualities in all the old man's dealings with his fellow-creatures generally. The day after the funeral, Paul, as Mr. Solomons' last bailer, attended duly, as in duty bound, with the will con- fided to his care in his hand, at the country attorney's office of Barr & Wilkie's, close by in High Street. Mr. Wilkie received him with unwonted courtesy ; but to that, indeed, Paul was now beginning to grow quite accus- tomed. He found everywhere that Sir Paul Gascoyne made his way in the world in" a fashion to which plain Paul had been wholly unused in his earlier larval stages. Still, Mr. Wilkie's manner was more than deferential, even in these newer days of acknowledged baronetcy. He bowed his fat little neck, and smiled with all his broad and stumpy little face — why are country attorneys invariably fat, broad, and stumpy, I wonder— so that Paul began to speculate with himself what on earth could be the matter with the amiable lawyer. But he began conversation with what seemed to Paul a very irrelevant remark. " This smash in the tunnel'll have depreciated the value of your property somewhat, Sir Paul," he said, smiling and rubbing his hands, as soon as the first interchange of customary civilities was over. " Central Southern A's are down at 89-90." Paul stared at him in astonishment. " I'm not a holder of stock, Mr. Wilkie," he answered, after a brief pause of mental wonder. The attorney gazed back with a comically puzzled look. " But Mr. Solomons was," he answered. Then after a short pause, "What ! you don't know the contents of our poor friend Solomons' will, then, don't you ? " he inquired, beaming. " Why, that's just what I've come about," Paul replied, producing it. " A day or two after his nephew Lionel was ESTATE OF THE LATE J. P. SOLOMONS. 433 buried at Lizard Town Mr. Solomons gave me this to take care of, and asked me to see it was duly proved after his death, and so forth. If you look at it, you'll see he leaves all his property absolutely to the Jewish Board of Guardians in London." Mr. Wilkie took the paper from, his hand with an incred- ulous smile, and glanced over it languidly. " Oh, that's all right," he answered with a benignant nod — the country attorney is always benignant — " but you evidently don't understand our poor friend's ways as well as I do. It was a fad of his, to tell you the truth, that he always carried his will about with him, duly signed and attested, in his own breast-pocket, 'in case of accident,' as he used to put it." " Oh, yes," Paul answered, " I know all that. He carried the predecessor of this about in his pocket just so, and he showed it to me in the train when we were going down to Cornwall, and afterward, when poor Lionel was dead, lie handed the present will over to me to take particular care of, because, he said, he thought he could trust me." " Ah, yes," the man of law answered dryly, looking up with a sharp smile. " That's all very well as far as it goes. But, as a matter of habit, I know our friend Solomons would never have dreamed of handing over one will to vou till he'd executed another to carry in his own breast-pocket. It would have made him fidgety to miss the accustomed feel of it. He couldn't have gone about ten minutes in com- fort without one. And, indeed, in point of fact, he didn't. Do you know this paper, Sir Paul ? " and the lawyer held up a stained and folded document that had seen much wear. " Do you know this paper ? " " Why, yes," Paul answered, with a start of recognition. " I've seen it before somewhere. Ah, now I remember. It's the paper Mr. Solomons was clutching in his folded 434 THE SCALLYWAG. fingers when I saw him last half alive and half dead at Hipsley station." " Quite so," the lawyer answered. " That's exactly what it is. You're perfectly right. The men who brought him back handed it over to me as his legal adviser ; and though I didn't draw it up myself — poor Solomons was always absurdly secretive about these domestic matters, and had them done in town by a strange solicitor — I see it's in reality his last will and testament." " Later than the oneT propound ? " Paul inquired, hardly suspecting as yet whither all this tended. "Later by two days, sir," Mr. Wilkie rejoined, beaming. " It's executed, Sir Paul, on the very same day, I note, as the date you've endorsed the will he gave you upon. In point of fact, he must have had this new will drawn up and signed in the morning, and must have deposited the dummy one it superseded with you in the afternoon. Very like his natural secretiveness, that ! He wished to conceal from you the nature of his arrangements. For Lionel Solomons' death seems entirely to have changed his testa- mentary intentions and to have diverted his estate, both real and personal — well, so to speak, to the next repre- sentative." " You don't mean to say," Paul cried, astonished, " he's left it all to Mme. Ceriolo — to Lionel's widow?" The lawyer smiled a sphinx-like enigmatic smile. " No, my dear sir," he answered in the honeyed voice in which a wise attorney invariably addresses a rich and prospective client. ""He revokes all previous wills and codicils what- soever, and leaves everything he dies possessed of abso- lutely and without reserve to — his dear friend, Sir Paul Gascoyne, Baronet." " No ; you don't mean that ! " Paul cried, taken aback, and clutching at his chair for support, his very first feeling EST A TE OF THE LA TE J. P. SOLOMONS. 435 at this sudden access of wealth being one of surprise, delight, and pleasure that Mr. Solomons should have harbored so kindly a thought about him. " Yes, he does," the lawyer answered, warily making the best of his chance in breaking the good tidings. " You can read for yourself if you like, ' who has been more than a son to me,' he says, ' in my forlorn old age, and in con- sideration of the uniform gentleness, kindness, sense of justice, and forbearance with which he has borne all the fads and fancies of an exacting and often whimsical old money-lender.' " The tears rose fast into Paul's eyes as he read these words. " I'm afraid," he said, after a pause, with genuine self-reproach, " I've sometimes thought too hardly of him, Mr. Wilkie." " Well," the lawyer answered briskly, " he screwed you down, Sir Paul, there's no doubt about that — he screwed you down infernally. It was his nature to screw, he couldn't help it. He had his virtues, good soul, as well as his faults ; I freely admit them ; but nobody can deny he was an infernally hard hand at a bargain sometimes." "Still, I always thought, in a sneaking sort of way, half unknown to himself, he had my interests truly at heart." Paul answered penitently. " Well, there's a note inclosed with the will— a private note," the lawyer went on, producing it. " I haven't opened it, of course — it's directed to you ; but I daresay it'll clear up matters on that score somewhat. I'aul broke the envelope and read to himself in breathless silence : " My Dear, Dear Boy : "When you open this, I shall be dead and gone. I want your kind thoughts. Don't think too hardly of me. Since 43& THE SCALLYWAG. Leo died, I've thought only of you. You are all I have left on earth to work and toil for. But if I'd told you so openly, and wiped out" your arrears, or even seemed to relax my old ways at all about money, you'd have found me out and protested, and refused to be adopted. I didn't want to spoil your fine sense of independence. To tell you the truth, for my own sake I couldn't. What's bred in the bone will out in the blood. While I live, I must grasp at money, not for myself, but for you ; it's become a sort of habit and passion with me. But forgive me for all that. I hope I shall succeed in the end in making you happy. When you come into what I've saved, and are a rich man, as you ought to be, and admired and respected and a credit to your country, think kindly sometimes of the poor old man who loved you well and left his all to you. Good-by, my son. " Yours ever affectionately, " J. P. Solomons. " P. S. — If Lady Gascoyne is ever presented at court, I hope she will kindly remember to wear my diamonds." When Paul laid the letter down the tears were dimmer in his eyes than ever. " I so often misjudged him," he said slowly. " I so often misjudged him." " But there's a codicil to the will, too," Mr. Wilkie said cheerfully, after a moment's pause. "I forgot to tell you that. There's a codicil also. Curiously enough, it's dated the day after your marriage. He must have gone up to town on purpose to add it." "I remember," Paul said, "when he left Lanhydran he mentioned he had important business next day in London." "And by it," the lawyer continued, " he leaves every- ESTATE OF THE LATE J. P. SOLOMONS. 437 thing, in case of your death before his own, absolutely to Nea, Lady Gascoyne, for her own sole use and benefit." " That was kind," Paul cried, much touched. " That was really thoughtful of him." "Yes," the lawyer answered dryly (sentiment was not very much in his way) ; " and as regards probate, from what I can hear, the value of the estate must be sworn at something between fifty and sixty thousand." When Paul went home and told Nea of this sudden freak of fortune she answered quietly, " I more than half suspected it. You know, dear Paul, he wrote to papa while I was stopping at Sheffield, and urged me most strongly to marry you, saying our future was fully assured ; and so he did, too, to Faith and Charlie. But he particu- larly begged us to say nothing to you about the matter. He thought it would only prevent your marrying." Then she flung her arms passionately around her husband's neck. " And now, darling," she cried, bursting into glad tears, "now that those dreadful claims are settled for ever, and you're free to do exactly as you like, you can give up that horrid journalism altogether, and devote yourself to the work you'd really like to do — to something worthy of you — to something truly great and noble for humanity ! " THE END. 5^ ^OFCAIIFO% ^&Aavaan# ^:lOSANCElfj> ,v*lDSANGEl&* UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY III! AA 000 369 360 3 University Of California, Los Angeles L 007 394 454 8