■HlllllilJIUB- } . THE PEYTON ROMANCE VOL. I. NOVELS IN ONE VOLUME. By MAXWELL GRAY. THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY. SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. IN THE HEART OF THE STORM. By LUCAS MALET. COLONEL ENDERBY'S WIFE. A COUNSEL OF PERFECTION. By ROSA MULHOLLAND. MARCELLA GRACE. A FAIR EMIGRANT. By COLONEL MEADOWS TAYLOR. SEETA. TIPPOO SULTAN : A Tale of the Mysore War. RALPH DARNELL. A NOBLE QUEEN. THE CONFESSIONS OF A THUG. TARA : A Mahratta Tale. LONDON: KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER, & CO. L™ THE PEYTON ROMANCE BY Mrs. LEITH ADAMS (Mrs. R. S. DE COURCY LAFFAN) AUTHOR OF BONNIE KATE," "A GARRISON ROMANCE," " LOUIS DRAYCOTT," ETC. IN THREE VOLUMES VOL. I. LONDON KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER, & CO. L™ PATERNOSTER HOUSE, CHARING CROSS ROAD 1892 The rights of translation and of reproduction are re i CO O- LU CO V *3 Zhis J&ook IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED TO MY DEAR BROTHER AND SISTER, SURGEON-COLONEL and Mrs. F. H. JVELCLL. Stratford-on-Avon, June i8g2. CONTENTS, VOLUME I. CHAP. PAGE I. THE OLD HALL 1 II. THE QUEEN'S SHILLING 28 III. THE RECTORY 62 iv. "gone for to be a sodger" .... 93 V. "AND THERE SHALL BE NO MORE SEA '' . . 125 VI. JONATHAN STRAW MAKES A BET . . . .156 VII. "GOOD-BYE, SWEETHEART, GOOD-BYE " . . .188 VIII. THE RECTOR IS INTERVIEWED . . . .218 IX. "THE BEST LAID SCHEMES OF MICE AND MEN ..." 251 X. "GANG AFT AGLEY" 282 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. CHAPTER I. THE OLD HALL. The ground sloped upwards behind the house, and here and there tall brotherhoods of firs, gathered in groups, were for ever whispering to each other, as the breeze gently stirred their dark plumed heads. Golden bracken in autumn, heaven-blue hyacinths in spring, gave colour to the underwood, while here and there a rabbit leapt, its white tail nickering among the green, and grey, and amber. This rising background well defined the grey stone of the house, its ivy-wreathed turrets, and quaint, high-gabled roof. Below were terraced gardens, with stone balustrades, VOL. I. A 2 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. one above the other : and on the stone everv- where, that of the house and that of the terraces, the hand of Time had cunningly em- broidered many devices in moss and lichen, patterns in green and yellow, and endle shades and tints of olive. Here and there the stonecrop lifted its crown of amber stars amid pale leaves, and in the niches of t: balustrades wine-coloured wallflowers had taken root, waving their scented blossom- like banners year by year. That peacocks should strut, and sun their shining necks, and spread their glorious Argus-eyed tails in such a terrace-land was naturally to be expected, and sure enough the gay bird's clarion cry, "Ob, joy! oh, joy!' was ofttimes to be heard, shriller and more piercing when the sober-coated hen marched daintily along the mossy pathways, followed by her trembling, flitting brood. A great bloodhouud, too, would often slouch and saunter up and down, or lie in the sun at the top of the wide stone steps (falling there with a deep and heavy sigh), THE OLD HALL. 3 and look scornfully at the peacocks, as who should say they really were, as a family, too vain and frivolous for anything, and not to be endured. You could see the village of Scarsdale peeping here and there through the trees in the shallow valley, or rather depression, that lay some distance off to the right, and, at the edge of the sky, were to be seen on a clear day those billowing seas of ling, the Yorkshire Wolds. Doubtless at one time the Hall had been spoken of as Scarsdale Hall ; but that was in the old-fashioned days, when "the county" held itself very high, and an insurmountable chevaux de frise of exclusiveness hedged it round. The levelling spirit that has now laid most barriers low was, however, beoiunine to make itself felt at the period when our story opens, and one or two glaringly white build- ings had risen up on the gentle grassy slopes amid the whispering firs and swaying beeches. These " new-fangled " mansions have been built to the order of such people as a gentleman 4 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. from Australia (as the village had it) and a large and successful manufacturer, who thought to put a finishing gloss upon his acquired gentility by becoming the owner of a country seat some distance removed from the scene of the labours that were the source of his wealth. These bits of local social colouring are only put in to explain just how it was that Sir Marmaduke Peyton's place came to be generally spoken of as the Old Hall. There were so many new ones about, you see. "The Peytons?' would the wise old men and knowing old women of the village say. "Oh, they're some of the old gentry, you know — the real old families, thev an." There is a fine recognition of the fitness of things in the rural mind, and Scarsdale, which was a sort of place betwixt and between a village and a small country town, rated at their exact value the glitter and irlare of the nouveau-riches and the dignity of the "real old gentry," who were, perhaps, not so profitable, but more to be proud of. Sir THE OLD HALL. 5 Marmaduke was the fourth baronet of the title, and tradition said that his father and grand- father had been "wild men," who dipped somewhat deeply into the family coffers, to say nothing of mortgaging the family acres. It may be that the very force of con- trast — the tendency that is in every earthly influence to swing the pendulum now too far on this side, now on that — had made Sir Marmaduke what he was — a man of narrow, rigid mind, and of manners so reserved as to trench upon moroseness. He presented a strange mixture of fanaticism and worldly wisdom — a Puritanism that had become morbid, and blighted all the spontaneity and brightness of his life, tainting, alas! the lives of those about him, casting, as it were, a shadow upon them, chill and sombre ; and yet a shrewdness and determination upon certain lines that startled you, as the un- expected ever must, almost making you feel as though you had received a blow in the face. A figure tall and loosely built ; shaggy eyebrows set close above piercing THE PEYTON ROMANCE. grey eyes, that yet at times had a far-off look in them not wanting in pathos ; fine silken locks falling on either side a hi^h, narrow brow ; thin lips folded close, yet in moments of excited or troubled feeling cfiven to a strange convulsive flicker and working ; a voice subdued and yet sonorous — a voice that made itself heard in a crowd of other voices ; a personality that made men say : " Who is that ? " " Can you tell me who that is?" from which women, other than those of his own household, sbrank witli a sort of shuddering inward moan, as conscious of some latent powers in him resembling the fabled " evil eye." Such was Marmaduke Peyton. If the women of his own household shivered and moaned, they did it in the sacred solitude of their own chambers. Pride was bred in the Peyton bluod, and seemed to prove catching to those with whom they intermarried. No displaying of heart-sores, no moaning out in the open for them. But mavbe the old mullioned rooms could have told strange stories, and the pictured dead THE OLD HALL. 7 and gone Peytons let in to the oaken walls looked down with pitiless smile and smirk upon tears and moaning that told of a break- in sr heart. But ifc will be w T ell to get all our scenery well set before we bring in our dramatis 2iersonce, so follow me down from one shallow terrace to another, down the garden of the Old Hall, and out through the massive gate, whereon two griffins, grim and bold, hold up a javelin apiece, and threaten all that pass by that way. The road winds in a gentle fall on towards the village. In early summer the hedges on either hand are set so thick with roses that it is like walking between undulating lines of pink ribbon, deftly unwinding. When you got to the houses, some grouped and some set in rows, you would fain hope that the inhabitants of Scarsdale were a sober lot, for the side-walks in the central street were elevated far above the roadway, in some places almost as much as a couple of yards, and surely a toper returning home would have run great risk 8 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. of neck and limb. But the arrangement had its advantages, since in rain or mire the said pathways were dry and clean, and as to the children, why, they seemed to be horn subtle, and avoided the dizzy edge as by an evolved instinct. This edge w r ent by the name of the " brink." and you might hear wary mother- shouting to Eliza Ann or Susan Mary (double names were all the fashion at Scarsdale) to bring little 'Lisabeth Jane away from the brink, or to be sure and " kitch ' Sammv by the hand, he being a toddling mite whose nether garments were fastened with big brass buttons right under his arms, and made him look like a little caddis- worm set on end. The village was near upon three miles from the Old Hall, and only about half a mile from the latter — maybe scarcely that — you turned down a green and verdant lane, or rather wide field-path, and found yourself in a place called The Meadows. You had to pass over a bridge to £et to it, for the river made a sudden sharp bend, and once across this you became conscious of the whirr, whirr, whirr THE OLD HALL. ( J of a mill, the rush of a weir, the sound of water being churned and thrashed by an ever- revolving wheel. The Meadows was a charming place, with its rushing stream, its reedy islets and mossy creeks, beyond which a wide, shallow water- way spread out like a sheet of silver, glitter- ing among the grassy knolls and clumps of flags and loosestrife, rippling up around the pale veronica and golden buttercups, kissing the blossoms that orew near enough to be got at. A sort of amphibious place, infinitely charming in its many varied aspects, and always musical with the low soft song of the mill, was the "Meadows." Cows, dun- coloured and white, stood half in and half out of the w r ater, looking as if they were calmly waiting (chewing the cud meanwhile) for Cooper or Cuyp to paint them. Then there was a delightful bridge just above the mill, from which you could watch on one side the deep stillness of the mill-pool, and on the other the fume and toss of the "fall," foam-flecked and tumbling on as if in ever 10 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. such a mighty hurry, showing here and there little iron grids called "slives," used to sift the jetsam and flotsam of the scud, and moss-grown piles and bars, so brightly green that they shone like emeralds in the sun. In some spots were tufts of feathery meadow- sweet, islands of sedge and rushes, where the water-rats held hi^h festival below, while the sedge-warbler flitted like a fairy thing above. All these might be seen from the mill-bridge. Then came the mill with its hum, hum, hum, a great white bee that never ceased to sing. Oh, how fair and white were its walls and floors, so that it looked like a palace of purity ! How sweet and clean and wholesome it smelt as you leant your arms on the low half-door, and were conscious of the delicious dither and tremble of machinery pitilessly revolving ! How like gnomes looked the miller's men, likewise powdered white going up and down the open stairways with sacks from which the white and fragrant meal dribbled slowlv ! There are few spots more sweet and clean THE OLD HALL. 1 1 and wholesome than a flourmill, few that so exquisitely harmonise with a fair green land- scape of wood and field and stream ; while the low, ever-murmuring voice of the wheel seems to sing a soft lullaby to the ear of Nature. One terror, however, to evil-doers was to be found at Scarsdale Mill. You stooped down to peer through a low archway in the wall, and there you saw, pent up within, prisoned in the gloom that was broken here and there by a ray of level sunlight, or the glint of broken water, a slow-revolving monster, the great black-barred wheel. This had given rise to a threat among the mothers of Scarsdale. " Naughty childer should be scramed i' the wheel-house ! " Oh, the horror of it ! The darkness, the mystery of the dreadful fate that should befall any child of Adam thus bestowed ! No wonder little curl- crowned heads cowered under the bed-clothes, and the patchwork counterpane was pulled over frightened eyes. Still it was a fearful joy to bend down 12 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. and ffaze into that gruesome chasm ; all the more delightful if you knew you would be slapped if mother saw you. Then the happiness of frightening other people about it was not a thing to be despised by any means. Altogether juvenile Scarsdale could ill have done without the mill — wheel and all. From the Old Hall a narrow field-path cutting off the road wound down to The Meadows, and here might often be seen Lady Peyton walking slowly towards the cluster of cottages where the mill-hands lived, ever bound upon some sweet errand of mercy. These cottages were as picturesque as though designed for the background of the picture, " Landscape with Cows." Vines grew, oddly enough, with great luxuriance at Sears- dale, and ran along from house to house, stretching out arms in every direction, and showing to great advantage against the white walls barred with black. Perhaps the grapes these half- wild vines bore were by no means luscious, and certainly were few and far THE OLD HALL. 13 between, but their beautiful foliage was a feast to the eye — a feast which had to com- pensate for other deficiencies. One porch was a regular Jack-in-the-green : and a little two- roomed house, deserted and falling into cruel ruin, had been clasped and girded about by vine-boughs, and circled and bound with ivy, till it looked as pretty as, or even prettier than, its neighbours. The deserted garden that surrounded it was a palace of delight to the little ones, and through the rails, that were falling apart in very inebriated fashion, their sonsie faces would peer and peep at Lady Peyton as she passed by with the peculiar, dignified, sweeping gait characteristic of her at all times. A woman with a sorrow in her heart that never rose to her lips. A woman with no confidant save tbe God who reads all hearts and sounds all sorrow r s. A woman with a grandly outlined face, with something of the pictured Dante in its grave and noble lines. Yet the children did not fear her ; they stretched little hands tliroug\h the bars, and 14 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. touched her gown of fine yet austere black, and she never chid them. They put forth flowers — rather drooping flowers, that had been held all too closely in little hot hands — to tempt her, and she took them with a gentle passing smile that dawned in her face like light, and then faded as a light goes out. The women curtsied as her ladyship passed, and brought their newest babies out to her to see. She would touch the little rosepink, crumpled faces with a tender hand, and ask after the mother's health or the old grandfather's ailment in a voice tbat told of the repression of a lifetime, yet was tuneful too, and had something of the vibration of an iEolian harp. What was this woman's historv '. Had she loved with heart and soul, and then, had the fount of joy been frozen at its source, had the heart been crushed even to powder \ But even in the crushing had the exquisite capability of a sympathy deep and tender been exhaled, as perfume is crushed from the spice and the flower ? THE OLD HALL. 15 Was the woman's character chastened, puri- fied, perfected by the fire through which it had passed ? It must have been so. Yet none could kuow or sruess at the hidden depths of life. The woman with the black banded hair, the dark, sorrowful eyes, and the set mouth went on her way in, but not of, the world around her; sustained by some hidden strength, communing with High Heaven as never with any of earth. There were hints and surmises in her own social circle, but assured knowledge there was none. People thought her cold and self-con- tained, girt about with an irresistible and queenly dignity. The gentleman from the Antipodes, the manufacturer so happy out of sight of his chimneys and out of hearing of his machinery, never got what they called "any further ' : with her; or, as the former jocularly put it, it was always "as you was." He had * clapped the Lord-Lieutenant of the county on the back — to that worthy's no small amaze- 1G THE PEYTON ROMANCE. mcnt; he had "chaffed" a real live Countes but he drew the line at the chatelaine of the Old Kail. " Gad, sir!" he said to a kindred spirit, " she freezes the blood in my veins." But there was nothing chill, nothing repellent, in Lady Peyton as she stood by the bedside of a sick child, or clasped and held the hand of man or woman weary and heavy laden with the burden of a grief. Indeed, there was nothing repellent in her at any time, for her courtesy was polished and perfect, but yet a barrier invincible when she chose. No little hands were thrust through the palings with a wilted flower, no rippling laughter, no saucy, happy glances greeted Sir Marrnaduke as he passed on his way. Rather the little ones ran away and peeped from safe corners with wide eyes at the tall, "•aunt figure of the Lord of the Manor. The flowers might lie in the great man's path, but they were dropped from limp hands in ' the hurry of flight. Yet, for all that, Sir Marrnaduke was the "great man" of Scarsdale. There was no THE OLD HALL. 17 one " counted so high," as the topers at the "Green Dragon' put it — no one, however wealthy or however wise. "Him and his forbears has bin here so long," would the wiseacres say in between the long, hard puffs that are needed to set a pipe properly alight ; " why, there beant no record o' times when there weren't a Peyton, bless yo', up at t' Ould Hall." Thus was the Squire of the Old Hall held in estimation, yet not beloved. Thus was his wife revered, and well beloved also. Was her self-contained, silent life the out- come of this one fact — the fact that she was the wife of Sir Marmaduke Peyton ? Was the shadow of his narrow and morose spirit ever upon her? Had he chased all the brightness from her life, crushed the son^ and the laughter on her lips, even in the years that were past ? Who might say ? At times the husband and wife w T alked together, side by side, yet strangely silent, Hound following slowly on behind. There VOL. i. b 18 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. had been a time when two young sturdy boy- had gone on before, or, often er still, the younger holding his mother's hand and look- ing up into her face, the elder pacing staidly by his father's side. People called the younger "the mother's boy," but, indeed, he was everybody's boy, was Cyril Peyton ; he was one of those creatures, bright as a sunbeam, who shine alike upon the evil and the good, whom the eye loves to follow and the heart to cherish. As the sunbeam brightens the dark still waters of the mountain tarn, so the love of her fair young son touched into radiance the life of Marion Peyton, his mother. Her eye followed him, full of the hunger of the heart. Every touch of her hand was a caress. There had been a time when, a boy of eight years, he lay at the point of death, his lovely lips black and parched, his eyes of golden brown unseeing, blind, and sunken ; and some one, a villager, peering into the empty church at eventide, was filled with fear at sight of a figure, still as some THE OLD HALL. 19 carved image, a figure with bowed head and clasped hands outstretched, kneeling in the shadow of the altar ; rilled still more to over- flowing with dread, indeed, when a long, quivering groan broke the stillness of the quiet place, and the bitter cry of old, "My son ! my son ! ' went shuddering up to heaven. The boy was given back to the riven heart. Once more he laughed to see the peacock spread his arch of feathers, strutting on the garden terrace ; once more hung upon his mother's hand. That mother said but little of the almost anguish of thankfulness in her heart. She could not endure that her joy should be seared and blighted by words of stern reproach from her husband's lips ; by the anathema pronounced against idol-makers, and those who clung too closely to the things of sense. Was not her beautiful boy a gift from God ? AVhy, then, might she not find joy and gladness in such sweet possession ? That her love for him was restrained in ex- pression, the boy soon grew to understand ; 20 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. learnt, too, to restrain the expression of his own for her, except when they were alone. Then lie would clino: about her, fondle her dear hands, kiss her pale cheeks, and pin a posy of sweet flowers in her bosom. But ofttimes she put these away, keeping, may be, one wee sweet blossom to press between the leaves of her bible. " Flowers are not for me, my darling," she would say, putting back the bright curls from his brow, and looking into the sweet, laughter- loving eyes. When he was a very little fellow indeed he would say — "But God made all the pitty fowers, and he must have made some for my mower." But when he grew to be a tall schoolboy, Cyril gave up such reasoning. His bonnie face lost some of its brightness, but all the lovinsmess remained. It was gradually dawning upon him that indeed and in truth life had "no flowers" for that dear mother whom he worshipped with every fibre of his young being. THE OLD HALL. 21 Cyril had entered the shadow that brooded over the Old Hall, and was conscious of its chill. If the boys did ill at school, if they brought home bad reports, and records of slow and unsatisfactory progress, blame was dealt out to them in fullest measure. Eightly enough too ; but does not the converse hold good ? Is it well that the young heart, filled with enthusiasm, hot w T ith ambition, resolute to achieve, should never be cheered bv one hearty " Well done ! " — that the eye, raised in hope to the father's face, should have to sink to the earth in disappointment, the breast to heave with the sigh that means, " Have I, then, laboured so hard in vain — does no one care ? " I remember a Scotchwoman once saying to me, " I cannot look back and remember one single instance of my father saying ' Well done !' to any one of his children ;" and yet the family in question were men and women of exceptional brilliancy. Is not this way of dealing with our children 22 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. somewhat after the fashion of those who, being asked for bread, give but a stone to the suppliant ? If the Father who is above measured out such measure to us, His children, surely we should have no sweet and sunny days, no flowers to gladden our pleased eyes, no birds of song to gladden our charmed ear, no soft and silver moonlight, no radiance of dawn — all would be grey and gloomy, just sufficient for bare life, and for that alone. Maybe Sir Marmaduke Peyton would better have liked this world of ours if it had been more after such a pattern. Ergo he saw no reason to strive after making it a bright and happy place to those to whom he had given life. Indeed, it often seemed as though the peacock preening itself in the sunshine, the blaze of the wine-coloured nasturtiums, the glory of the serried hollyhocks, the beauty and perfume of the roses in the Old Hall gardens, were somehow incongruous when the owner of them all paced sombrely in their midst. One might have imagined the pea- cock hurrying to hide his diminished head in THE OLD HALL. 23 a laurel-bush, creeping in, and, ostrich-like, leaving his tail visible in sublime unconscious- ness, instead of looking (as he did) as though he thought all the gardeners were maintained to keep the place in order wholly and entirely for his own pleasure and benefit. One could not have wondered if the flowers had drooped and faded, turning to bunches of rustling dry leaves in the breeze that stirred them. Launcelot — called " Lance ' for short — Sir Marmaduke's eldest son, was a moody-spirited boy, with a strong will of his own, and a passionate element in his character that was entirely absent in the younger. The first of these attributes his father re- solved to subdue — to " cast out the devil that was in possession," was the way he phrased it. But the said devil was pertinacious. " I don't think our father is a bit like other boys' fathers ; I don't think he's nice at all," said young hopeful, with a frown, and his hands well crammed into his trousers pockets. "Perhaps he isn't," replied Cyril, reddening under the skin browned by cricket and plenty 24 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. of it ; " but I'm sure it would grieve mother — indeed it would, Lance, to know that we said so." " You are alwavs thinking of what mother would think." " She is so dear," .said Cyril, with a soft light in his eyes. The brothers by this time were tall strip- lings, the elder — so folk said — the handsomer, but the younger dowered with that winning grace that is so perilous a gift. The purity of childhood, the coming strength of manhood, sat enthroned upon his open brow, shone in his frank and lustrous eves. It is rare that a boy passes through boy- hood's days, and touches the threshold of manhood, thus unsullied. But there are such cases for all that, and of these Cyril Peyton was one. He was no fool, and not a bit of a " mollie." The best " forward ' in his school team, a batting average of twentv-four, a mu£ or two enshrined in his own special room — one for the "high jump," one for the "mile;" THE OLD HALL. 25 with such attributes and possessions he could not well be that. He was not a brilliant scholar, but yet above the average, and as thorough in his work as in his games. Quite scholar enough, in fact, for a fellow whose father was going to buy him a commission in Her Majesty's service as soon as he should attain — not exactly to years of discre- tion, but to the number of years (not very many) at which a grateful country would consent to be defended bv him. Sir Marmaduke had schemes for his elder son (when that devil of which w T e wot should duly be cast forth), and things were much more likely to go smoothly with Cyril far than with Cyril near. Lance was not im- pressionable, and had no great depths of tenderness in his nature ; but, somehow, he was ofttimes influenced by his brother, even when he laughed or even jeered at him, which was not seldom. " You're the ' good boy ' of the family," he would say with a nasty sneer ; but yet he always realised the fact that Cyril was the 26 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. "bright boy' of the family too; the light and joy (there was not much else of that kind) of Lady Peyton's life. Lance was not jealous of this. He thought his mother was, by nature, given to the sentimental, and had only been drilled into common sense because his father kept the upper hand, and never allowed any nonsense. This was his cheerful way of putting it. That "the boy" (Cyril was always "the boy," as if there were no other boy) was also inclined to sentiment was undeniable. Lance had shrewd suspicions that when they were alone together they were very senti- mental iudeed — this mother who had been repressed into common-sense, and the boy whom nobody could repress. Indeed, the task would have been very much like trying to stem a bright and sparkling stream by catching it in your fingers. Yes, Cyril would be much better away, there could be no doubt about that, thought Sir Marmaduke. A regiment on foreign ser- vice would be the best oubliette possible. THE OLD HALL. 27 Letters were harmless things compared with the electric power of personal influence ; nor was the charm of Cyril's look, and voice, and manner a thiug that could be written down in black and white. It was a thiua; intangible, irresistible, spiritual. CHAPTER II. THE QUEEN'S SHILLING. In order to introduce one of the personages of our story in a befitting manner, I have to put the clock back a little. We find ourselves in the fitful shine of a morning following upon a night of storm, and wind, and rain. The leaves of the heavy shrubs round about the study window at the Old Hall glistened witli the April brightness of smiles and tears. Here and there tall flowers lav prostrate, beaten down, bemired, broken ; while the head-gardener wandered about dis- consolate, like the celebrated Peri, not because he could not £et in at the gate, but because his paradise was so cruelly despoiled. Even yet the gale had hardly sobbed itself nuiet, but every now and again suffered quite 28 THE QUEEN'S SHILLING. 21) a relapse, sighing hard among the many gables, and dashing the rain- wet leaves against the windows. Sir Marmaduke and Lady Peyton had dined out the night before — a night, as the coachman observed, " not fit to turn a dog out in " — had attended one of those solemn, exclusive county dinners that have something funereal in their state, and recall to the ob- servant mind the saying that the English, as a nation, take their pleasures sadly. No freaks, quips, or cranks of the lively Australian, no inflated pomposity of the aspiring manufacturer, had broken the staid monotony of the entertainment in question. The painted ancestors and ancestresses on the walls of the banqueting chamber were scarcely less sombre than the guests upon whom they looked with calm, observant eyes. One glorious exception, the picture of a certain lovely countess, with alluring smile and dress, looked quite improper by her con- trast to the frigid ladies around her and below. To Sir Marmaduke the occasion had 30 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. appeared one of unwonted and unadvisable dissipation, a departure from the usual routine that had been undertaken from motives of policy, and was not to be lightly repeated. He sat alone in his study next morning — a dark-panelled room, with burnished silver sconces branching out on either side the hi^h carved mantel — chewing the cud of uncheer- ful reflections. It was recognised in the household that the "master" was in a more than usually trying frame of mind. At no time was any member of it ardent to enter that stronghold, the panelled room. At all times were they ardent to depart from it, being once in ; indeed, on one occasion a stableman had up for correction was seen holding parley with the foe, with all his body " slithered," as the housekeeper put it, out into the passage, and only a hand and arm (the former spasmodically clutching the handle) visible to the stern eye of Sir ]\1 arm ad uke. On this particular day, however — not a very auspicious time, one would have thought THE QUEEN'S SHILLING. 31 — a certain young groom, called Jem Dorring- ton, saw fit to approach the dreaded portal, rap softly on the panel, and enter at the sharp " Come in" that followed. " Well, what is it ? ' said Sir Marmaduke, with the air as of one who should say, " I trust there is an adequate and sufficient motive underlying this intrusion" — an air that takes the wind out of any one's sails about as effectually as possible. But Dorrington held his ground. "Please, Sir Marmydook," he said, advanc- ing well into the gleam of the fitful sunshine, " this has taken the liberty to be born." "This" was apparently a soft ball of red- brown plush that lay in the hollow of the man's arm. When you looked closer into it you saw that it had two absurdly exaggerated pendant ears and a pair of closed eyes, only discernible by a bright tawny spot above each. In the best made case-armour some spot is vulnerable. Sir Marmaduke Peyton bad a soft place in his heart for — dogs. 32 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. "Dear me!' lie said, peering from under his bushy brows at the bunch of brown plush ; "it is a bloodhound puppy." "Yes, Sir Marmydook ; and the bitch is dead." " Where did she come from ? " " We can't none of us tell that, Sir Marmy- dook. Jennings thought as how he heard some soft-footed beast a-following of the carriage last night, but he never ketched a sight on it, which seemed strange like. He'd a fancy, too, as he heard a kind o' keenin' as he went round home, but you know what last night was, Sir Marmydook, and it wur bard to tell what was wind and what was dogs." " Quite so ! " That the master should be thus good and gracious appeared to Dorrington as little short of a miracle. He took up an easier attitude, cuddling the soft brown thing that called itself a bloodhound puppy up to the bosom of his striped waistcoat. the queen's shilling. 33 " Well, Sir Marmydook, there she la)' — a creetur nought but skin and boans, as must have wandered days aud nights, an' miles an' miles, and lost her own self, and gone wi' an empty" — here Dorrington hesitated a moment, as if the next word was perhaps hardly just the thiug for the present company — " an empty belly, beggin' your pardon, Sir Marmy- dook, or not far off it — there she lav, right forenenst the fowlhouse, sheltered like, and this bit of a hobjeck alongside of her. It was I as come upon her fust, and, if you'll believe me, she gev' me a look same as a Christian might ha done, kinder tellin' me for to tak' care on t' little 'un, and then she licked it, soft like, just onc't, and 'er 'ed fell like a lump o' lead, and she wur dead, Sir Marmvdook." Sir Marrnaduke cleared his throat, then the softened mood of a moment was gone. " Let the little animal be taken care of," he said, taking up his paper to indicate that the interview was over. " See that it is taken care of." vol. I. c 34 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. And that was how Hound came to the Old Hall. Not a very dignified entry, perhaps, and having about it a distinct spice of the foundling ; but through that humble begin- ning into what a paradise for dogs did be enter ! True, at first the peacock was a burden to him, and a jackdaw, beloved of Dorringtou, put many indignities upon him in the stable- yard, insults that were hard to bear, such as pecking his hind-legs in unwary moments, or perching on his head when he was wrapped in gentle slumber. Still, these were but specks upon the sun of his content, for the bloodhound-puppy con- trived to edge himself in everywhere, even into the sacred precincts of the master's study, where he would lie curled up upon the wolf-skin rug, or squatted under the black oak writing-table, and no man said aught unto him. His legs were, for a time, apparently hardly under his own control, and his feet several sizes too big for him ; in fact, Hound was a hobbledehoy, and at what is THE queen's shilling. 35 called the awkward stage of life ; but this passed, as pass it will both with the human and canine animal, and as the tawny creature took his walks abroad, or posed as a lion couchant on the top of the terrace steps, there could be seen no nobler specimen of his breed. The peacock no longer made long necks at him, investigating him as a sort of natural curiosity, or put up his tail-feathers, stamp- ing and rustling as who should say, " What do you think of that, sir ? ' but rather gave him a wide berth ; and as to the jackdaw, why, that aggravating beast never gave him a chance now, but kept well out of harm's way, opening his beak wide, and making horrible noises in his throat, but always taking these insulting measures when perched above the stable-door, or in some other un- get-at-able place. Hound was a happy, placid creature, it must be confessed, and as true an aristocrat amono; doQ-s as the master of the Old Hall among men. His temper was hard to rouse, and he was the gentlest of playfellows to 36 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. children, but there were deep pa?sions locked in his mighty chest, and if occasion rose worthy of so much expenditure of nervous force, he could roar you, not exactly as a sucking-dove, but with a prolonged ringing bay, that called up to your mind gruesome stories you had read of the chase in the Dismal Swamp, when the hunted thing was a man, and the cry of the pursuing hound as the crack of doom to his tortured ears. When Hound was just emerging from the age of puppydom a mighty event took place in his life. He noticed a sort of subdued bustle in the household, and grew restless, as dogs will under such circumstances. If he had been a terrier, he would have run hither and thither like a ferret, poking his nose into everything ; but noblesse oblige, and being what he was, he simply lounged in a stately manner from one place to another, inspecting Mrs. Dutton, the housekeeper, and, as it were, questioning her with his great golden-brown eyes, until that worthy woman forgot he* gentility and cried — the queen's shilling. 37 " Drat the dog ! What's he after ? He'll speak one of these days, you'll see, like Mr. Balaam's ass, and I hope you'll all remember I said so, that's all." It struck Hound that the only person who seemed to have nothing to do with the fuss was Sir Marmaduke himself, so he trotted in to look that potentate over, hoping, no doubt, to reduce him to the same abject condition as Mrs. Dutton. But Sir Marmaduke was inscrutable. His head was leaning on his hand, his shaggy brows showed a deep line between them. He had no notice to spare for dogs or men, so Hound curled up his nose to show his contempt for things in general, and trotted out again. Coming upon Lady Peyton sitting on one of the terrace-seats, he saw that there were tears shining in her oentle eyes, and, with the quick sympathy of his kind, laid his great head in her lap, and licked her hand. But though she was tearful, she was smiling too, like an April day, so Hound wagged his tail, to be in tune with both moods. Lady Peyton was watching eagerly 38 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. down the long and winding carriage-way, and the hand against which the dog had laid his head trembled with suppressed eagerness. " I wonder what Cyril will think of you ? ' she said, looking down at the wistful face that did every thiug but speak, and though Hound could not, of course, tell what her words meant, he pricked his ears up square, and was all on the alert. And this was what happened. The high dogcart, with its grand grey mare, came tooling past the lodge, and a tall, supple figure, hardly waiting for the speed to slacken, sprang to the ground, quite unheed- ing the old coachman's, remonstrance, rushed along the terrace, caught Lady Peyton in a pair of strong young arms, and then cried out in a clear, ringino; voice — "Hallo, mother! What's this you've g here ? " "This" was Hound; the second time in his young puppy-life that he had been desig- nated by the demonstrative pronoun in ques- tion. "This ,: was highly delighted at being the queen's shilling. 39 taken so much notice of, and pranced in a sort of dignified and elephantine manner round his new friend. A second figure advanced in more leisurely yet still cordial manner to greet Lady Peyton, and Hound was introduced to the notice of the young heir of the Old Hall and all the land pertaining thereunto. But the dog had neither eyes nor ears save for the first-comer. He never had eyes or ears, to speak of, for any one else any more. He was a one-ideaed dog, and the one idea was dominant, ruling all the rest. Said Mrs. Dutton — " Since our young gentlemen came home from taking the tower " — Dutton spoke as though Lance and Cyril had been engaged in the sie^e of some redoubtable fortress, instead of spending a year in foreign parts under the scholarly guidance of a tutor — " that there dog has never been an inch away from Master Cyril as he could help." As for Dorrintfton, he scratched his head, perhaps to enliven the somewhat dormant 40 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. brain within, and, cap in hand, made bold to ask for an opinion upon his find. " What do you think of t' pooppy, Maister Cyril?" he said. "Well," said Cyril laughing, "he's hardly a puppy now, Dorrington ; he's a fine speci- men of his kind, and no mistake, and does you credit." " The mother wur a gran' dawg," said Dorrington; "'twere a sin to see her lvin' dead, so lean and 'lorn, that it wur." "The puppy fell into good hands any way, and seems to have taken a kind of fancy to me." Jem Dorrington made no reply to this. That auv created thing should look on Master Cyril and not take a fancy to him was beyond the power of the simple soul to imagine. " Whv, in coorse, the dawg took a loikin' to 'im," he said subsequently to a fellow- groom ; " who wouldna?' But at the time he only turned his cap in his hands, looked scrutinisingly at the lining, THE QUEEN'S SHILLING. 41 and ventured what seemed to him a bold and brazen request. " Maister Cyril," lie said, more than ever interested in the cap-lining — indeed, turning it completely inside out, " I'd take it mighty kind if you'd speak a word or two to Mr. Jennings for me." " Have you been in trouble, Dorrington ? ' " No, sir ; it's not that. Since that bit of a trouble you got me out of, two year back and more, I've kept myself pretty square. If you could take the trouble to speak up for a poor chap like me, 'twas the least the poor chap could do to keep hisself clear for the future, and I've done it, sir — I have, indeed. Mr. Jennings can tell you my 'osses shines like lookin'-glass ; you might see yerself in 'em any day, an' if I take my pint at the Golden Crown, I take no more. Your kind- ness made a changed man of me, Maister Cyril." " Well, then, what is it you want me to do now ? " " Well, sir, it's this : if I was breeksed and 42 THE PEYTOX ROMANCE. topped I could follow on to you, either on the road or in the field, and be no shame to vou. It seems a deal to arst, Maister Cyril, but it 'ud be a crown o' rejoicin' to me, as you may say, and I'd serve you faithful, no fear but I would." It will be anticipated that Jem was "breeksed" and "topped," and thus gor- geously caparisoned, appeared riding Mr. Cyril Peyton's "spare horse' during the next season's hunting, to his own unspeak- able delight, and the envy of his fellows. Indeed, he gradually emerged from com- parative obscurity into being looked upon as " Mr. Cyril's own man," and in his own way the world held no more contented being. Meanwhile Hound had also presumed upon endless privileges as the guerdon of his devotion to Sir Marmaduke's younger son, and his mighty form might be seen nightly couched on the mat outside Cyril's door. At this Mrs. Dutton, rustling in black silk and stately in a blonde lace cap with infinite streamers, had shaken her head. THE queen's shilling. 43 It was against rules for dogs to sleep in the house. "Now, Dutty, rny own sweet Dutty, you can't find in your heart to be angry with anything I do," said Master Cyril; and Dutton bridled, and said — " La me ! what a way the boy has with him, to be sure ! " And Hound did exactly what he liked, which consisted in never being a yard away from his chosen master's side if he could help it. He patronised the rest of the household ; was gentle and caressing to my lady, con- descendingly polite to Sir Marmacluke and Lance, and evidently had a high opinion of Dorrington ; but " the god of his idolatry ' was that sweet-voiced, golden-haired, bright- eyed boy, at whose side he took such endless rambles in the Meadows, round by the mill, and down, down, down where the river widened and became a restless, roaring tor- rent, and the fish leapt flashing and glisten- ing in the sunlight. This was miles below Scarsdale, and in summer-time, when the 44 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. waters were not so deep and turbulent, a very paradise fur fishermen, the pleasant rattle of whose reels would mingle with the chirp of the sed ore-warbler and the srur^linor son^ of the blackcap. "Foreign lands are all very well," said Cyril one night, "and Lance and I had a fine time of it, taking the ' tower,' as Dutton calls it, to say nothing of learning to ' parley-voo ' like a couple of natives. But ' there's no place like home ' all the world over ; is there, old boy ? Why, such a ramble as you and I have had to-day is worth all " Cyril speaking thus to Hound, stopped short all at once. Sir Marmaduke had raised his head from his book, and was looking fixedly at his younger son. Lady Peyton, too, found her eyes drawn to her husband's face, and drew a long breath. Cyril was so heedless, so imprudent ! He knew how much his father hated what he called "aimless chatter," and yet that dear tongue of his would run on, on, on, just as if THE QUEENS SHILLING. 45 he and she — they two — were alone ! Would he never be warned ? Then the clear, hard, metallic voice of her husband fell upon her ear, and she clutched the table tight to keep down the passion and the pain within her. " I trust your dislike to foreign lands, Cyril, is but a thoughtless prejudice, arid one that will pass away, because I have been corre- sponding with the military authorities respect- ing the purchase of your commission " " Father ! " "Do not interrupt me. You did not sup- pose I was going to keep you here idle all your life \ That would be to put you in the power of the great tempter, and to risk your eternal welfare. With your brother it is different ; his work in life is to learn to come after me. Already he has mastered many details of the management of the estate ; his time will never hang heavy on his hands." " Father, I never expected or wished to live idle here or anywhere else. I have always expected to be a soldier — loved to think I 4G THE PEYTON ROMANCE. should be one ; but this is so sudden. My mother " " Your mother is fully aware that a woman cannot keep her sons tied to her apron-strings when they grow to man's estate." The manner in which this was said accen- tuated its offensive tone, and the red blood rose to the margin of Cyril's crisp curls. As for Lady Peyton, she might have been a statue, so still was she, so immovable. She did not even raise her eyes to the troubled face of the boy she adored. "Why, indeed, should she ? Did she not see it in her mind's e} T e ? Did she not know it off by heart ? How often had she seen it looking up into her own for counsel and comfort in the days that were past ? The quiet, icy tones of the head of the household fkrwed on. " I am using my influence, which you know is not small, to get you placed in a good regiment." Then they knew that the whole thing was the queen's shilling. 47 as good as done. A tremor passed over the mother, and Lance, who had been sitting in the far window, started to his feet. "It is the 97th Kegiment of Foot, com- manded by my old friend Colonel Venables, who is at present home on leave — a fine corps, with about five years still to serve in India, and then some prospect of a Mediter- ranean station." At this, absolute silence ; Lady Peyton with down-dropped eyes and a face that showed like a waxen mask in the gathering dusk ; Lance watching his mother intently ; Cyril pale, but with the light of resolve and courage shining in his eyes, and the hand that rested on the table clenched. It had all come so suddenly — so like the lightning's flash. He knew there was no appeal ; indeed, the love of adventure that sleeps in every manly heart was stirring in his breast ; but There was one thing he dared not look upon — his mother's face. " If you will come to my study," said Sir 48 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. Marmaduke, " I will show you the papers and give you further particulars, and we can talk things over.' , He left the room, followed by Cyril, who never once turned to look upon the still form of the woman who bore him. At the study-door Sir Peyton motioned to his son to enter, and then closed the door, shutting out Hound, who, true to his deter- mination never to be away from his master's side if he could help it, had followed the pair. It was significant of much, this shutting out of the faithful dog. Home, its ties and its simple pleasures, were to be things of the past to Cyril Peyton. Meanwhile, in the morning-room, with its deep mull ion ed windows, that gave such sweet glints of mead and field and dark-leaved sweeping cedar, the mother and the elder son stood face to face ; for Lady Peyton had risen to her feet and moved towards the casement, making a quick gesture with her hand which Lance as quickly understood. He set the window back upon its staple, and THE QUEEN'S SHILLING. 49 let the crisp evening air fan her pale cheek and the wan brow, whereon the sweat had beaded near the bands of her braided hair. As he passed his arm about her shoulders he felt her tremble, aud her eyes looked into his with the pathetic pleading you may see in those of a wounded animal. As he placed her gently in one of the low cushioned seats that were made in the niches of the window, Hound, giving a deep, gurgling sigh, laid his great head on her knee. How wonderful is the sympathy of the dog for man ! How keen is the instinct with which he recoguises the mood of joy or sorrow, reflecting it in his big loving heart as in a mirror ! Lady Peyton laid her hand on the wrinkled tawnv forehead. " You and I shall miss him, Hound, shall we not ? We shall listen for the sound of his footstep, and we shall not hear it." " Mother," cried Lance, shaken for once out of his moody reserve, " do not look so broken-heartedly. I have not been all to VOL. I. D 50 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. you that I might — I know it ; but I will try, I will indeed. It is hard on you, all this — and to come so suddenly, without warning, without hint or preparation. Still, of course, we knew the hoy must go some time." The tears were coursing down her cheeks, a rare emotion indeed with her; and Hound, feeling that something very desperate was going on, lifted his muzzle and gave a long whining cry. The wind that swayed the plumed heads of the larches outside echoed it back again, keening round the gables, and the lon^ arms of the ivy and the woodbine beat against the panes like hands in desperation. It was closing in for a wild storm-tossed nurbt, but not more wild, not more storm- tossed than was the heart of the woman who o-azed out into it through the mist of her own tears. " Did you see that he — Cyril — dare not look ac you ? Mother, do you know why : He knew that if you broke dow r n, if you THE QUEENS SHILLING. 51 showed any feeling, it would bring upon you " But she made a sudden gesture as though she were pushing something away from her, and he was silent ; the rest of the sentence choked in his throat. For years this w T eary woman had fought the battle that Fate had thrust upon her; she had struggled to prevent blame of the father passing the lips of the children ; she had striven to live up to her own stern ideal of duty. She was not going to turn coward even now in the hour of her bitter trial. Her gesture was supreme, commanding. Lance dared not defy her in that mood. He turned to the window, drumming on the pane to relieve his impatience under a restraint he could not resist. There is a stillness that is yet a cry ; a silence that holds a deeper sadness than many words. Such a stillness, such a silence, came into the life of Lady Peyton. 52 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. . Into the day on which her son Cyril left his home for a foreign land were crowded the bitterness and experiences of a lifetime. Some live and die and do not suffer as she suffered then. It was early morning when the boy went away, and some pitying spirit seemed to paralyse her memory, so that she could not recall the last awful moments — the clutch of his hand that grew to hers, the death-cold touch of his lips, the long-drawn sobs that rent his young heart as he kissed and clasped her, calling her by every sweet and tender name. Then some one — surely Lance — drew him away, and she found herself on her knees with her face crushed against the window. This was at early dawn of the day that was a lifetime measured by its pain. Not one word of help or sympathy came from the one from whom she had the best rio-ht to o look for both. Lance had gone with his brother to Southampton, there to see him embark. There was no one — no one — to solace her. the queen's shilling. 53 save poor Hound, who stood in sore need of comfort himself. And the light of her life had gone out. That she was brave — wonderfully, heroically brave — goes without the saying. But as the day waned her strength seemed to £0 from her. At all times of trouble the approach of night is dreaded, for when the world around us is silent our hearts speak more audibly, and we cannot choose but hear. Lady Peyton, wrapped closely in her hooded cloak (it was early autumn, and the air was thick with falling leaves), paced the terrace. A weird gvey figure in the gathering gloom, she might have been the wraith of some dead and gone Peyton visit- ing the scenes of her earthly life. Assuredly no visitant from the shadowy land could have shown more palely, looked forth with more weary, sorrow-laden eyes. Suddenly, as she turned, her husband faced her. "Marion," he said, speaking with stern, reproving voice, " you are showing a rebellious 54 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. and unchastened spirit. Rather should you rejoice in humble thankfulness that you are checked in a long career of idolatry. Your prayer should be " She turned upon him like a tigress robbed of her young. She knew that in the sack- cloth and ashes of self-reproach and the bit- terness of regret should she pay the price of the momentary yielding to the passion within her, and vet for once nature and her own heart prevailed. " My prayer is that I may live to see my boy again. My whole life will be a prayer until we meet once more — my boy and I." " Your boy ! " he hissed between his teeth. " Say rather your idol — the sin of your life, the creature whom you have exalted above the Creator, the thing you have set between yourself and your God." She turned upon him a face marble in its pallor and rigidity. "He be my judge; to Him will I stand or fall, not to you — not to you ; and all my life, every day of it, every hour of it, the queen's shilling. 55 I will pray to Him to give me back my boy." Her voice, thrilled through with an un- speakable pain and longing, seemed to creep like some eerie, uncanny thing out among the shadows. Even he, whose heart was as the nether millstone, felt and recognised that she was beyond the power of further words to torture. She had reached that stage of suffering in which the sufferer may say, " Do with me as you will ; you cannot make things worse with me than they are." He turned and left her, a grey figure in the grey of the gloaming ; a captive that, for once, had escaped his grasp, a bird that had flown beyond where his hand could reach it. On his way to the house he met Mrs. Dutton, who, dropping him a reverence, stepped aside to let him pass. Her eyes were swollen and red with weeping. " I was seeking my lady," she said ; " I fear things are going very badly with her." 56 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. And then her voice broke, and she put up her white frilled apron to her eyes. " Lady Peyton is on the terrace," he said as he passed on. There was bitterness — nay, the very gall of bitterness in his breast. What was this boy — shallow, frivolous, dowered only with the favour that is deceitful and the beauty that is vain, — that all hearts should cling to him, all eyes become blind with tears because he had passed from their sight ? Sir Marmaduke sought the retreat of his own special room, and, once there, opened drawer after drawer, scattering papers right and left upon the long oak table. In these he strove to find forgetfulness, poring over them, comparing them, making notes here and there ; but the image of the boy with the bright curls and the winsome smile came between him and them. He was vexed with the gentle wraith of the son he had slighted from boyhood — the boy whom he held in contempt, yet was, unconsciously to himself, bitterly jealous of. the queen's shilling. 57 Even hatred arose in his heart as be thought of the silent meal of that evening, the dead- white face of his wife opposite him, and an angry recognition in himself that even the servants who waited round the table were on her side — were, in their own humble way, anxious to show their sympathy with and for her. It was as if everything round about him cried " Cyril ! Cyril ! " nothing but " Cyril ! ' All at once a long keening cry, a cry such as some banshee might utter to foretell death or misfortune, rang through the house. Sir Marmaduke raised his head and listened intently. His fancy — he owned to being pitifully un- nerved to-night — might have played him false. He had heard of such things. But no ! Again and yet again rang out that plaint of w T oe. It came from right overhead. Cyril's room was overhead. In a moment he had opened the door, 58 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. passed on quickly up the wide oak stairway that was black with age, and had reached the door of the room that had been his son's. There on the threshold lay, or rather crouched, the mighty bloodhound, his muzzle raised, his eyes wild, staring, and tearful, as it is given to the eyes of such dogs to be, filled with a frenzy of love and loss and longing. Just as Sir Marmaduke reached the door, once more the great tawny head was lifted high, and the wild keening echoed down the vaulted corridor. The butler and one or two other servants had hastened up at the sound of the dog's cry and the master's hurried step, and to them Sir Marmaduke spoke. "Fetch a rope, some of you," he said. " The doo; has no business here." Some excuses were faltered forth. It seemed that Mr. Cyril had liked to have Hound near him at night, and Mrs. Dutton had said she " didn't mind." Sir Marmaduke might have been deaf for the queen's shilling. 59 any notice he took of what they said ; and Sir Marmaduke might have been dead or miles away for any notice the dog took of him. They slipped the rope under Hound's collar — the collar that Cyril had been so proud of — and then looked at the master to see what was to be done next. "Take him to the stable-yard." The dog looked with wonder and dignity from one to the other of those who dragged him on, and strained back against the rope. The men, too, looked at each other. " What was goinsf to be done with Master Cyril's dog ? " Sir Marmaduke made for the big hall, took down a heavy hunting-whip, and came out upon the stones of the yard, where overhead the glimmer of a swinging-lamp lit up the strange scene. "Tie him up to that staple," he said, point- ing to an iron in the wall. Then the lash fell heavily on the dog's quivering flesh, blow upon blow and stroke GO THE PEYTON ROMANCE. upon stroke. I read once the story of an old worn-out mastiff who was stoned to death by some cruel Italians. The story said that the creature faced his assailants all the time, never once giving tongue, but meeting his fate with a calm courage that might well have touched even their hard hearts. It w T as like that with Hound. He shivered as the thong curled about his limbs, and looked with dumb questioning at his tormentor ; but of sound made he none, save one long sobbing sigh as Sir Marmaduke flung the whip away from him. " Tell Dorrington to take special charge of the dog," he said, " and see that he does not get into the house again at night." There were looks interchanged, and a helper, looking horribly frightened, was shoved to the front. " Please, Sir Marmydook," he said, shuffling uneasily from one foot to the other, and pulling off his cap, and even pocketing it in his strivings after politeness, " Dorrington's gone." THE QUEEN'S SHILLING. 61 " Gone ! " The word rang out like a clarion, and went through the unfortunate stableman like a pistol-shot, but he stood to his colours. " Yes, Sir Marmydook ; he's 'listed, has Dorrington. You see, he'd got used to follerin' on to Maister Cyril, and somehow he couldn't get out of the way of it ; so he's gone to be a soldier in foreign parts — same as Maister Cyril, Sir Marmydook." CHAPTER III. THE RECTORY. Between the Old Hall and the village stood Scarsdale Rectory ; not an even " between ' by any means, since the Rectory touched, as it were, the skirts of the village, a strasrsdin£ 7 O ' CO o house or two saving it from isolation. The church itself, nobly elevated, with high stone walls forming a square plateau on which it sat enthroned, churchyard and all, owned a peal of bells whose sweet and mellow voices made ever-w T elcome music in the ears of the passers-by. For miles round, the tall and stately spire that held these messengers of music could be seen against the sky, peering above the wooded meads and fields, and rising heaven- wards as who should fain remind the be- holder of the sanctity of earth's fair beauty, 62 THE REGTOKY. 63 and the homage due to the Maker and the Giver of all good. You entered the church) 7 ard by a flight of steep stone steps, that were somewhat of a trial to the more aged of the congregation. Wandering among the flower-decked graves, you could look down on what was called Lower Scarsdale, and across a wide shallow depression, filled with streets and all the shops the place boasted, to Higher Scarsdale, where might be seen the field in which the young athletes of the neighbourhood were wont to display their cricketing prowess before admiring rustic eyes. At the foot of the church steps stood the schools, neat buildings that on Sundays re- sounded with the sound of many little voices singing simple and familiar hymns, and where, on a sunny afternoon, the curate was apt to be waylaid by aspiring clergy-ladies, and wiled, if possible, into a stroll in the fields beyond the village. No one would have ventured to waylay the Kector ; indeed, on more than one occa- 04 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. sion his portly presence had been known to put certain daring adventuresses to flight, and cut short intended rambles, and possible sub- sequent lingerings over tea and muffins. His curt "Good-afternoon, Mr. Westerton," was enough to send the curate riving to his lodgings like a startled rook to its elm, and make the female bosom conscious of a sen- sation as though a pane of glass were set therein ; thoughts, designs, and aspirations showing as plainly as the goods in a shop- window. Not that the Be v. Eeginald Wentworth Darling was either a despot or a marplot, but his kindly soul looked out of observant eyes, and before the calm sagacity of their glance disguises were given to shrivel up and wither away, and designers to become as balloons out of which the gas has ignominiously escaped, leaving flabbiness and collapse be- hind. Mr. Darling wore his grey-flecked hair rather lomr, and his well-rounded cheek and finely-cut chin clean shaven. He was a man with a keen sense of humour, and not guilt- THE RECTORY. 65 less of an occasional repartee, at which times his face would light up with all the light- hearted glee of a schoolboy. He was proud of his church, and the world held for him no sweeter music than the sound of its mellow chimes. When the ringers managed to achieve a rendering — rather lame and halting, it must be confessed — of " Home, Sw T eet Home ' and " Abide with Me," he would stand in an ecstasy, beating time — rather intermittent time — with his folded pince-nez. He would escort straDgers over the church, uncover one or two fine brasses as if the earth con- tained no greater treasures, expound to them the ancient squint in the chancel, and dis- play the glimpses of a hidden Norman arch belonging to an older edifice upon the ruins of which the present one had arisen. Then he would take them into the churchyard, and point with outstretched hand to the panorama surrounding them on every side — the clustering houses, gathered, as it were, at the feet of the church, like children about the mother's knee ; the fields beyond ; the VOL. I. e 66 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. clustering woods in the distance ; the glint of the silver river winding through the meadows; and, nearer at hand, the red gabL of his own home showing bravely among the larches. When people asked him what was the ela- borate, glaringly white building on a certain eminence, he told them briskly and gladly about the Queensland squatter, his generou- charities, his hearty w T ays ; and when they asked about the great manufacturer's abode, he had something good to say of him too — how he encouraged the choir, and gave them a treat in summer-time at that big mansion of his, and how they looked forward to it all the rest of the year. But if anything was said about the Old Hall, the Eector had but little to say. " It is a fine old place, the family seat of the Peytons. It shows picturesquely from here, does it not ? nestling among those pin and grand old copper-beeches, and backed by the rising hill." That was all. Never a mention of any THE RECTORY. G7 member of the family of the Peytons — never a word as to their qualities, good or bad. He would as soon have thought of com- menting upon the peculiar traits of his own wife and daughter, would the Eev. Eeginald Wentworth Darling, as of discussing those of Lady Peyton or her belongings. The Hall was sacred ground to him. Had he not there year by year, watched that terrible tragedy, the breaking of a woman's heart, and, alas I been able to do little else but watch ? What should make any one more sacred to us than the knowledge of their sorrows ? What should bind them more closely to our hearts ? It was little indeed by word of mouth that the good Eector of Scarsdale had gained his insight into the life and trials of Sir Marma- duke Peyton's wife. It was rather by the powers of intuition that were his, by reason of the constant, loving study of humanity, for the sake of, and in the spirit of, the Master he served, that permeated his whole 08 THE PEYTON ROMAN'CE. life. To follow in that Master's footsteps, to bind up the broken-hearted, to put a hand to every burden, small or great, that bowed the shoulders and oppressed the heart — these were the aims of a life pure and beautiful in itself, and efivin^ out li^ht and strength and healing to others. To the true minister (a word which perhaps means more than lias ever yet been denned) there is no sharper sorrow than the realisa- tion that, near him, yet beyond his touch, lies a grief he cannot heal ; that close at hand, yet hemmed around by barriers that cannot be set aside, a battle is being waged in which he cannot strengthen the weak hands or confirm the feeble knees. Besides, to a chivalrous man, a woman's reserve is a sacred tiling ; and it mav be said that never, even in his own thoughts, had Mr. Darling allowed himself to pry into the domestic relations or affairs of his parishioners. He was at all times ready to be found, if sought out as a friend and counsellor, but never fell into the weakness of offering advi THE RECTORY. 69 unasked. He realised also that a woman who takes any one into her confidence against her husband comes down a step or two from the high pedestal of her perfect woman- hood. That Marion, Lady Peyton, was one to draw the mantle closely over her own troubles — one to suffer, nay, to die, in silence, if needs be, he also quickly realised. There was one help he could give her — one he did give her, and in no stinted measure. He could pray for her as one of those whom, being distressed indeed, he would fain com- mend to the Fatherly goodness of the Creator and Preserver of all men, entreating Him to comfort her according to her necessities. With Sir Marmaduke himself the Hector's relations were strained, and such as often called for much diligent forbearance. Yet a great and abounding pity mingled with his condemnation of much that was said and done at the Old Hall. Astute as well as gentle and pitiful, Wentworth Darling recog- nised the fact that the morose and silent Lord of the Manor had drifted into such 70 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. narrow subjection to "bigotry and prejudice, had so dressed up this narrowness and this prejudice in the form of a self-made and comfortless religion, that his whole life and mind had become stunted and deformed ; that, finding neither peace nor beauty in the world around him, he resented the sight of others smiling in the sunshine, and was thus quick to adopt a distorted creed, whose chief dogmas taught that to rejoice was sin, and to be content sensuality. Many times and oft did the Kector deeply sorrow over this state of matters. He felt like a man who, holding a cup of clear and sparkling water in his hand, sees another parched with thirst, and yet cannot prevail upon him to put his dry and burning lips to the overflowing brim ; or like one who, carrying a sure staff wherewith to climb the steep declivities and stony defiles of a toil- some journey, cannot induce a fellow-traveller, footsore, wounded, infinitely weary, to lean upon it for a while, and so find renewed strength and comfort. THE RECTORY. 71 As to the boys, Lance and Cyril (they always seemed boys to him, since he had watched them grow from babyhood, and always had a difficulty in realising their adolescence), it would be rash to assert that no favouritism lurked in the good Eector's bosom. He was but a man after all, and had his weaknesses, as all have. " Men are not angels, as vre know, Because they do not make them so," And really such little weaknesses as those of the reverend gentleman in question were such loveable things, one would hardly like him to have been without them. Was it not natural that a boy whom no one could look upon without feeling a smile of pleasure creeping round their lips and lighting up their eyes, should creep close, close, into the very recesses of the Eector's heart ? At one time the two boys used to " read ' : at the Eectory, and the reverend tutor strove to hold the scales of justice with a severely 72 THE PEYTON ROMANX'E. •even hand; and yet was it not a fact that Master Cyril got a thought more (unconscious) help from the teacher, and was a thought more tenderly dealt with in the matter of fault-finding? Lance, with his dark, manly beauty, and his close, determined ways, was attractive in his own way ; but it was not Cyril's way — it had not Cyril's winsome, irre- sistible charm. But we must describe the Eectory ; it is a great thing in a story to know your places as well as your people, your frame as well as your picture. Eound two sides of the garden (a very monster of a garden) ran privet hedges — hedges so thick and massive from vears and years of clipping and snipping, that they looked as if you might almost drive a coach and six along their broad, green, level tops ; and birds had long since given them up in despair as possible building-places. Below this hedge came a deep fall of the greenest, softest turf, cut opposite the gates into steps paved with white and shiny cobblestones. THE RECTORY. 73 The house was one of those delightful old building's that are all gables, and made a perfect paradise for pigeons, who strutted, pouted, cooed, or pirouetted, as it suited their fancies, on the combs of those red gables, or above the broad eaves that overlooked the garden. There was one pigeon with such a mighty tail, that when he stood on one leg and spread it to the sun, he looked like an opera-dancer posee, if such an enormity as a coryphee on the roof of a sober clerical abode can be even hinted at. Another had such an enormous out-standing throat that he had no small difficulty in looking over it, and enjoying the fine prospect from the gable- end as he should. White and black, grey and pied, the pretty creatures would walk gingerly down the inclined plane of red tiles to their dovecotes, or sometimes, if the wind was high, were blown ignominously askew, and had to put on an air of extra dignity to make up for it when they reached the natty little shelf before their round house doors. Sometimes, too, the western sun 74 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. would shine upon the red, red tiles, and between the two such a lovely glowing light was born, that the pigeons looked like glori- fied birds with ruby wings and golden throats ; and the Eector's daughter would clap her hands, and cry to some one hidden some- where out of sight — " Are they not dear and lovely, those sun-bathed pigeons on the roof?" Now we come to one of the pleasantest bits in our story. The Eector's daughter — neither like an angel, nor a sylph, nor a fairy princess, nor any of those well-worn similes, but just the bonniest, sweetest, fairest specimen of a young English maiden — standing happy and elate on the very threshold of womanhood, looking at life, and all its exquisite possibilities to come, out of eyes as blue as the violets that lurked in the shadow of the wide privet hedges round her fathers garden — eyes set in a delicately tinted face, that had a softened resemblance to the lines of the Eector's own. but with a little cleft (some people said pert) THE RECTORY. 75 chin, got from the pretty mother, who was now something of a chronic invalid, and whom father and daughter alike combined to pet and spoil, and compass about with the sweet and tender service of watchful eye and willing hand. It was a matter of taste whether Alison Darling (she was called Alison after her mother's family, there being no male repre- sentative of the old stock left) was " sweeter and completer' with her sunny brown hair (more sunny, perhaps, than brown, yet with a hint of leaves in autumn too) falling in soft, rippling curls about her broad white brow, and lifted in a classic knot high on the top of her shapely head, or looking at you from under the shadow of a broad black lace hat, with a posy of pale pink roses set just above the brim, that formed such a pretty penthouse for the soft deep eyes and level brows. Her figure was graceful, yet gave you no idea either of attenuation or compression, but swayed easily from the pliant waist, while the generous shoulders 7G THE PEYTON ROMANCE. and rather full bosom told of perfect health and vigour — a fact that was easily proved by the many miles her tidy feet would carry her through field and wood by the side of the hearty Eector, who looked upon walking exercise as part of the whole duty of man. They were no silent companions these two ; indeed, you might occasionally hear them a field or so off, the ripple of the girl's laughter, the cheery tones of the father, making the sun-bright world about them all the brighter. On the side of the Eectory garden that was not privet hedge w T as the great poultry-run. It was built up against the wall of the stables and outhouses, and had a roof like that of a Swiss chalet, but the inhabitants thereof enjoyed perfect liberty, roaming about at their own sweet will and pleasure outside the garden, and only retiring to their demesne when the sun fell low, and the shadows stretched across the emerald-green carpet of the Rectory lawn. All the chickens were of the same breed — grey-coated, with Vandyke collars of silver THE RECTORY. 77 pencilling. There might be seen chickens bis: and chickens little, chickens fat and chickens slender, and two rival lords of the harem crowing lustily the one against the other, as if life depended upon victory. What a sight it was to see the Kector's daughter, with her hands full of golden grain, standing on the lowest of the white steps outside the gate, and at her feet, and all around her, a struggling, clucking, scrambling mass of feathers ! With her neat grey dress fitting as only a well-made woman's dress can fit, and a bit of delicate creamy lace at her throat, she matches the chickens to a nicety, and as she makes pretty noises with her lips, and holds out her white helpful-looking hands, the birds become possessed by a perfect frenzy, and one bolder than the rest, and a bit of a favourite, too, it is to be feared — for favouritism, alas ! is found in all classes of society — lights with a sudden rush of wings upon her wrist, and shoves his venturesome beak into her closed palm. 78 THE PEYTON ROMANCE. The picture is perfect. Then there is the rose-garden. It is behind the house, and is a very nest of blossoms in summertide. It is not an ordinary rose- garden by any means, for Alison is ingenious as well as tasteful, and so there are posts set at distances all round it, and slender chains swins from one to the other. Eound these the climbing roses have flung their bud- gemmed branches, and at their own sweet will have woven garlands, in which Titania might love to sway beneath the moon, and her elves to play hide and seek in. At one side the lichen-covered wall formed a sort of grotto with a shallow T -arched roof, and within ran a low broad seat, with a tiny table, just big enough to hold a lady's work- basket or a tray and tea-cup. Never was a snugger retreat or a more delicately fragrant one than the grotto in the rose-garden ; for the roses were of that old-fashioned, pink- faced kind that exhale the sweetest breath, the veritable essence of attar, and, like a kind friend who helps another in making his house THE RECTORY. 79 beautiful, a sweetbriar grew " all convenient- like," as the Kector's handy-man, Jonathan Straw, observed, just within reach. But Jonathan must not be passed over with so casual a mention as this. He was no ordi- nary man, was Jonathan ; neither in the estimation of himself, nor yet of any other man in Scarsdale Upper or Scarsdale Lower. There was nothing he could not " put his hand to," so to speak ; nothing he would have been afraid to undertake. Eailways w T ere a thing unknown in Scars- dale in this the year of our Lord 1857, and it may even be suggested that an omnibus would have been looked upon as a "new- fangled " kind of thing, whose trustworthiness could but be a matter of speculation even to the stoutest-hearted. Jollick's waggon was the stay of all right-minded persons who set out with stolid determination on an ei