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 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED, 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 Digitized by tine Internet Archive 
 
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 http://www.archive.org/details/aslongasshelived01robi
 
 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 BY 
 
 F. W. ROBINSON, 
 
 AUTHOR OP 
 
 ^'grandmother's money/ "no church, 
 
 "little KATE KIRBY," 
 
 &c. &c. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1876. 
 
 All rights reserved
 
 LONDON; 
 PRINTED BY MAODONALD AND TDQWELL, BLENHEIM HOUSE, 
 BLENHEIM STREET, OXFORD STREET.
 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIEST VOLUME. 
 
 
 BOOK 1. 
 
 
 «1S 
 
 " %\t grfftkrkob of i\t foblc |oor." 
 
 
 J 
 
 •CHAPTER 
 
 PAGE 
 
 J^ 
 
 I. Saint Lazarus .... 
 
 3 
 
 
 II. Adam Halfday .... 
 
 20 
 
 
 III. At the Mitre .... 
 
 39 
 
 >' 
 
 IV. Dorcas warns Mabel Westbrook 
 
 54 
 
 -r^ 
 
 V. The Curator .... 
 
 r,7 
 
 TS 
 
 VI. An Escort Home .... 
 
 . 77 
 
 1 
 
 VII. A Surprise 
 
 86 
 
 ? 
 
 VIII. Mabel accepts Mr. Salmon's kind 
 
 
 a 
 
 Invitation .... 
 
 . 06 
 
 (7 
 
 IX. An Ally 
 
 115 
 
 J 
 
 X. In Adam Halfday's Room . 
 
 124 
 
 r 
 
 XI. The Discovery .... 
 
 137 
 
 
 XII. Found 
 
 150 
 
 t' 
 
 •^ 
 
 XIII. How Adam Halfday took the Good 
 
 
 I 
 
 News 
 
 160
 
 VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 XV. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 XX. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 After the Shock 
 
 BiiiAN Explains . 
 
 The Money Question . 
 
 The Man on the Downs 
 
 Father and Son . 
 
 Mr. Halfday hears the Xews 
 
 PAGE 
 172 
 
 186 
 197 
 208 
 223 
 234 
 
 Peter Scone considers himself Slighted 258 
 Business Postponed .... 270 
 The Letter from Penton . . . 285 
 By the grave of Adam Halfday . 295
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 SAINT LAZARUS. 
 
 THE Hospital of St. Lazarus, a quaint old pile 
 of Norman stonework, stood grey and 
 grim in the meadow-lands of Pentonshire, a 
 mile and a quarter from the old cathedral city, 
 very grey and grim to match. An excellent 
 institution this of St. Lazarus, which a wealthy 
 cardinal of the fifteenth century had repaired 
 and re-endowed for the sole use and benefit of 
 « The Brotherhood of the Noble Poor." Here 
 the noble poor had lived and thrived, and 
 grumbled and grown garrulous ; been thankful 
 for small mercies or for none ; had had their 
 trials and temptations, their dinners and their 
 
 B 2
 
 4 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 perquisites ; had known peace and rest, and 
 discontent and envy, after their kind, and had 
 died and been buried, for the last four hundred 
 years. 
 
 There were not many to die or to be 
 buried at the time our story opens. The 
 ancient charity had gone the way of similar 
 *' foundations," and strange stories were extant 
 of funds wasted and misapplied, of lands stolen 
 or given away, of trustees neglectful or un- 
 principled — all of course happening in the good 
 old times, when humanity was very different, 
 and such dreadful things as these were possible! 
 Thoughtful and superstitious people wondered 
 if the original founders of the edifice rested in 
 their graves, there had been such wholesale 
 peculation in the centuries since they had 
 thought it seemly to remember God's un- 
 fortunates ; and there was a well-authenticated 
 ghost-walk in the neighbourhood, where a 
 figure had been seen so very like the portrait of 
 his Eminence the Cardinal in the refectory, that 
 more than one respectable villager, coming 
 home late from the " Rising Sun," had been 
 prepared to swear to him. The Cardinal had
 
 SAINT LAZARUS. 5 
 
 been a man of figures in his day, a far-seeing, 
 shrewd old gentleman, who estimated that 
 lands would grow in value, and rents rise high, 
 when sight-seers should be gaping at his 
 marble effigy in the cathedral yonder. The 
 Cardinal had calculated for everything but 
 wholesale robbery and men waxing fat at the 
 charity's expense, and the " Hundred Mennes " 
 dwindling down for want of funds to thirteen 
 tottering old fellows in black gowns and serge 
 skull-caps, who in their penury and decrepitude 
 now represented all the forces of the Brother- 
 hood of the Noble Poor. 
 
 They were thirteen men, well cared for and 
 well looked after by the Master of the Hospital, 
 whose salary was large, and whose residence 
 was large too, having been built on the site of 
 some forty houses once belonging to the brother- 
 hood, and which had been demolished to make 
 room for him in the dreadful old days to which 
 allusion has been made. Still the charity 
 existed; men duly qualified found a refuge 
 here, as a something better than the workhouse ; 
 and honest folk, it was rumoured, were now 
 looking after the funds, and after those who
 
 6 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 had a hold upon them, fairly or unfairly, as 
 circumstances and courts of law might eventu- 
 ally decide. It was a show-place, this Hospital 
 of St. Lazarus, dear to antiquaries and to 
 lovers of tradition, and possessed a show- 
 church, which restorers had re-touched and 
 re-scraped, and so wonderfully and terribly 
 re-coloured, that only art-critics of the first 
 degree of refinement could see anything in it 
 but lumps of red and blue. It was a place 
 where people stepped back to the past as they 
 entered the gateway in the entrance tower, 
 and drank of the beer which was offered them 
 at the porter's lodge, by order of the cardinal, 
 who must have fancied that Englishmen were 
 fond of beer, or might grow to like it in good 
 time. There were sights here worth a journey 
 across the fields from Penton to St. Lazarus, 
 and the members of the brotherhood acted as 
 showmen and looked after the sight-seers and 
 the fees. There were a few old paintings, as 
 well as old buildings and old men ; there were 
 leathern jacks and iron candlesticks, and carved 
 oak and stained glass, and a porridge-pot, and 
 other relics of the times when Merry England
 
 SAINT LAZARUS. 7 
 
 lay a few centuries further back in history. 
 The pilgrims came in the tourist season thick 
 and fast enough, but in the Spring and Winter 
 "business was awful slack," as one despondent 
 brother of eighty-two, saving up fees for a 
 rainy day, was in the habit of declaring. 
 
 Business at St. Lazarus — the business of the 
 brotherhood — had been very slack indeed on 
 the day we take our readers into Pentonshire. 
 It was the end of May too, when a few stray 
 tourists are generally to be discovered on the 
 march, the flying squadron of the great army of 
 knapsacks advancing in the later months. It 
 had been a cold, disagreeable May, with the 
 winds of March and the damps of April cling- 
 ing to its skirts still, and with not a glimpse 
 of the coming Summer in the leaden sky. It was 
 close on sundown at St. Lazarus, with the wind 
 in the east, and the thermometer low. There 
 had been no visitors that day to the hospital or 
 the church, and the doors of the brothers' 
 houses in the quadrangle were, as a rule, closed. 
 The monastic life seemed nearer to the nine- 
 teeth century on such a day as this — all was 
 still and peaceful, even the rooks were depress-
 
 8 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 ed and sulky in the giant elms beyond the 
 walls, and the swollen river floAved on silently 
 past the hospital, and in a broad silver band 
 across the green fields to the sea. 
 
 The solitary man in his monastic dress at the 
 open door of one of the houses surely belonged 
 to the old days, as he sat there nursing a crutch 
 across his knees ; we have seen him on the can- 
 vas of half a hundred pictures in the galleries 
 abroad. The long, black robe, somewhat rusty 
 in the light, the close-fitting cap pulled down 
 till it met the shaggy, white eyebrows, the 
 rugged, angular face, the big-veined, claw-like 
 hands, the silver cross hanging on the left 
 side of the gaberdine, seemed all parts of a 
 portrait of past history — the priest resting from 
 prayers and penance, and dreaming of the 
 world beyond his four stone walls. In the hall, 
 across the square plot of garden ground, sat 
 ten or eleven monks like unto him, cowering 
 and shivering round a coke fire in the centre of 
 the hall, a fire kept within bounds by a large 
 rusty hoop of iron, and the fumes rising to the 
 raftered roof above, and mixing with the dark- 
 ness there. The old men were all silent —
 
 SAINT LAZARUS. 9 
 
 three-fourths of them asleep, and the others 
 blinking like grey '' mousers " at the fire, and 
 brooding over things that had been, or life that 
 might be presently. The heaviness of the day 
 had crept into the refectory, and settled on the 
 spirits of the inmates, and the light through the 
 stained glass windows was dying fast away. 
 The monks of the times gone by had looked and 
 dozed and croned like that over their wood fires 
 in this very hall, until the bell for even-song 
 had roused them, as a bell roused them on this 
 particular occasion, and set them upright and 
 listening— the bell of the outer gates, which 
 Hodsman, the porter, had banged to for the 
 night at seven hours by the clock. 
 
 It was a visitor to see the church and inspect 
 the hospital, and Hodsman, through a little 
 trap in the door, informed the late comer that 
 the hour was too late. The visitor was pertina- 
 cious — for she was a lady — and would not go 
 away. From her seat in the open fly which 
 had brought her from the hotel at Penton, she 
 argued the point with the gate-keeper, spoke of 
 the trouble and expense to which she had been 
 put in coming thither, of the value of her time.
 
 10 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 and the shortness of her stay in Pentoii, of the 
 unnecessary rigour of the rules of St. Lazarus, 
 that would not allow five minutes' grace to a 
 lady, until the porter wavered beneath the 
 stream of eloquence with which she favoured 
 him. 
 
 " I will go and ask the Master," he said at 
 last ; ** but I don't think it is of any use, mind." 
 
 The trap was closed, and the lady sank back 
 in her seat and into the heavy folds of sable in 
 which she had enshrouded herself that cold 
 Spring afternoon, and waited for the porter's 
 reappearance. She was a young woman, for 
 certainly twenty Summers all told would have 
 sufficed for her life's calendar. She was a very 
 pretty young woman also — which is a matter 
 of importance to our readers as well as to her- 
 self ; a pale-faced beauty, with soft brown hair, 
 and clear-cut features of a Grecian type, and 
 big grey eyes that looked out boldly at the 
 world, and seemed to have no fear of it. She 
 was a shade above the middle height of woman, 
 we may add, to render our sketch as complete 
 as these few lines will allow, and was " almost 
 too thin to live," her maid had said confidential-
 
 SAINT LAZARUS. 11 
 
 1}^ to Mrs. George's maid, when the maids and 
 mistresses were steaming across the Atlantic 
 from New York to Liverpool last week. 
 
 The porter's head reappeared at the open 
 trap. 
 
 " The Master says as how he can't make any 
 hexception to the rules, and yon must come 
 to-morrow." 
 
 «' Did you tell him all I said 1" 
 
 " All I could remember," answered Mr. Hods- 
 man, who was a cautious man, and not disposed 
 to commit himself if he could help it. 
 
 "Let me see. What is the name of the 
 Master of this hospital?" she said. 
 
 " Salmon." 
 
 " Ah ! yes. The Reverend Gregory Salmon," 
 she said, musingly ; " wait one moment, if you 
 please." 
 
 From the pocket of her dress she drew forth 
 a capacious morocco purse, which she opened, 
 and took out a letter and a card. 
 
 " Will you present these to Mr. Salmon at 
 once," she said, " and tell that gentleman the 
 bearer is waiting without?" 
 
 She gave the letter and card to the flyman,
 
 12 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 who tumbled off the box and delivered them to 
 the porter, who went away once more on this 
 persevering young lady's business. 
 
 '-' I would have preferred to do without it," 
 she murmured to herself, as she once more sub- 
 sided into sable, and looked thoughtfully before 
 her. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Hodsman had passed from 
 the outer quadrangle to the inner, and rang the 
 bell once more of Mr. Salmon's private and 
 palatial domicile. Mr. Salmon was in his study, 
 and in his second doze — he was dreaming of 
 preferment and more loaves and fishes, when 
 Mrs. Salmon came softly into the room and 
 touched him on the shoulder. 
 
 " My dear Gregory," she lisped, " I hardly 
 liked to wake you." 
 
 " But you have waked me, ma'am," he said, 
 sharply. He was an easy kind of man, as a 
 rule ; but he did not care to be roused from his 
 nap twice in five minutes ; the masculine biped 
 very seldom does. 
 
 " It's the lady again," Mrs. Salmon informed 
 him. 
 
 " Now — upon my word — this is too much !"
 
 SAINT LAZARUS. 13 
 
 and Mr. Salmon, a portly little man of fifty- 
 five, sat np and planted his hands upon his 
 knees. 
 
 " She brings a letter of introduction — from 
 our boy — our dear Angelo !" 
 
 *' How do you know that ?" 
 
 " I have opened the letter," said Mrs. Salmon, 
 meekly, "I thought I would not disturb you 
 unless it was absolutely necessary." 
 
 She did not inform the Reverend Gregory 
 Salmon, M.A., that female curiosity had got 
 the better of her sense of etiquette as regarded 
 epistles addressed to her lord and master, 
 especially epistles in a lady's handwriting, ac- 
 companied by a lady's card, and sent in by a 
 lady who was waiting outside in a fly, and dis- 
 inclined to go away again. She gave him the 
 letter, on the outer envelope of which was 
 written, *• With Miss Westbrook's compli- 
 ments," and from which he took a second letter 
 that had been sealed a few minutes since, and 
 was in the handwriting of his son. As the 
 letter is characteristic in its Avay and has its 
 future bearing on our story, we make no 
 apology for reading it with Mr. Salmon :
 
 14 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " Boston, United States of America, 
 
 " April 3, 18—. 
 
 " My Dear Father, 
 
 " The bearer of this letter of intro- 
 duction is a personal friend of mine, and one for 
 whom I entertain the highest feelings of respect, 
 esteem, and admiration ; therefore I need not 
 press upon your attention the necessity to wel- 
 come her with all that kindness and geniality 
 which any friend of mine is sure to receive at 
 your hands. Miss Westbrook is a lady — an 
 orphan lady, having lost both father and mother 
 — a calamity from which I hope to be long and 
 mercifully spared. She occupies one of the 
 highest social positions in the great country 
 wherein I sojourn for a while, is a lady of 
 immense fortune, highly intelligent, highly edu- 
 cated, deeply read, singularly observant, and 
 wonderfully meek and kind. I cannot, in a 
 hurried letter of this description, enter into full 
 particulars of all the virtues and accomplish- 
 ments which this American lady undoubtedly 
 possesses, but I trust you will judge quickly for 
 yourself, and become her friend, guide, and 
 even counsellor, in the distant land whither she
 
 SAINT LAZARUS. 15 
 
 has taken her way. It would be an unspeakable 
 comfort to me to find that she is one of us — one 
 of our happy and united family — when I return 
 to the shores of my country the month after 
 next, probably about the 15th or 16th of July, 
 D.V. I will write to you all the news by the 
 next mail. Meanwhile, with love to mamma 
 and all my relations, 
 
 " Believe me, 
 
 " Your affectionate son, 
 
 "Angelo Salmon." 
 
 *• My dear/' said the Master of St. Lazarus^ 
 " this lady must be seen to at once." 
 
 " It is Angelo's wish." 
 
 "And mine, Mrs. Salmon," he added, with 
 emphasis. 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 "I will attend upon Miss Westbrook immedi- 
 ately. Tell Hodsman to inform the lady that I 
 shall have the greatest pleasure in waiting upon 
 her — and that he is to bring the lady round 
 here and show her into the drawing-room, if she 
 will be kind enough — bless my soul, what have 
 I done with my boots !" and Mr. Salmon, full of
 
 16 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 excitement, kicked his slippers across the room, 
 and trotted in an insane fashion the full length 
 of his library. Mr. Hodsman delivered the mes- 
 sage in due course to Miss Westbrook, who in- 
 clined her head slightly to the communication, 
 and sat for a few moments longer in the fly, 
 looking at the landscape, or at something further 
 away than the Pentonshire hills, dusky and 
 grey in the dim light. Presently, and at her 
 leisure, she descended, and, in her deep, rich 
 mourning, passed under the Cardinal's Tower 
 into the first quadrangle. 
 
 "This way, ma'am,'' said Mr. Hodsman ; and 
 the late visitor followed her guide to the inner 
 court, where the church rose before her, grand 
 and imposing in its nobility of stone. The 
 houses of the brotherhood, with their tall twisted 
 chimneys in dark relief against the sky, were on 
 her left, the Master's house, and the great hall, 
 or refectory, making up the square. The day 
 was dying out, the shadows were thickening on 
 this haven for old age ; the fig-trees were dank 
 and drooping in the twilight, and the big elms, 
 towering above the house-roofs, seemed steeped 
 in ink against the dull dead sky. There was
 
 SAINT LAZARUS. 17 
 
 an unearthly stillness in the place at that hour 
 — but then business was slack ! 
 
 Miss Westbrook gave a little shudder at the 
 prospect, and pointed to the alms-houses. 
 
 " Where the brotherhood live ?" she asked, in 
 an inquiring tone of Mr. Hodsman. 
 
 Mr Hodsman nodded an affirmative. 
 
 '•'And die?" she added. 
 
 " Ay— and die. Pretty sharpish, too, some- 
 times, ma'am, when the Winter comes, and 
 catches 'em in the chest. We had one die 
 yesterday." 
 
 " Ha ! who was that ?" 
 
 And Miss Westbrook turned with such sud- 
 denness upon Mr. Hodsman that he nearly bit 
 his tongue in half. 
 
 " Martin Drycot was his name, my lady. He 
 was eighty-three, but we've older men than that 
 here — ay, and younger too." 
 
 "Have you?" And then Miss Westbrook 
 stopped, and pointed to a something dark and 
 indistinct, heaped as it were against the wall or 
 doorway of one of the distant houses. 
 
 " What is that ?" she asked. 
 
 "Ay — lor bless us — if it bean't one of the 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 brothers ! And I'll bet a shilling now, ma'am," 
 he said, with a sudden outburst of cackling 
 laughter that startled Miss Westbrook in her 
 turn, " that I guess who it is." 
 
 "It is late for him to be sitting out there, 
 in the night-mists." 
 
 " He can go in to the fire if he likes — but he 
 don't like. He can go into the house to his 
 grand-daughter — but he don't go." 
 
 " Why not f 
 
 " He's sulky. Somebody's offended him — 
 another brother, perhaps, or Dorcas — that's the 
 grandchild I was speaking of," said the man ; 
 ^' he's often like that, in his tantrums, and he's 
 precious hard to please w^hen the fit is on him. 
 Hi! Adam!" called the porter; "Adam Halfday 
 —here !" 
 
 " Adam Halfday— here!" murmured the young 
 woman, with a gloved hand suddenly uplifted 
 to the bosom of her mantle. 
 
 " Did you speak, ma'am ?" 
 
 " No ; that is, not to. you," said Miss West- 
 brook. 
 
 " He's pretending to be deaf, — that's a trick 
 of his, the old artful, but he can't come over me
 
 SAINT LAZARUS. 19 
 
 in that way. I'm not a brother, thank good- 
 ness ! Here — hi ! Adam — here's a lady wants 
 to see the chm'ch. If that don't stir him up, 
 he's in a fine temper, to be sure." 
 
 The figure in the shadow moved, and the face 
 of an old man looked towards them for an in- 
 stant, white and gleaming, and then was turned 
 ^way again. 
 
 " I thought he was dead," said the porter. 
 
 " Now, Heaven forbid !" ejaculated the visitor, 
 fervently. 
 
 " Oh ! they goes off in all kinds of fashions 
 here, ma'am — like the snuiFs of all kinds of 
 candles. They " 
 
 He paused and touched his hat, and it became 
 apparent to Miss Westbrook that no less a per- 
 sonage had come upon the scene than the 
 Master of St. Lazarus. 
 
 c2
 
 20 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ADAM HALFDAY. 
 
 THE Reverend Gregory Salmon raised his 
 hat and bowed to the lady, even ventured 
 to extend his hand in. greeting ; but Miss West- 
 brook did not see, or pretended not to see, 
 this exhibition of friendliness. She looked 
 steadily at the clergyman, and bowed in return 
 to his salutation. Perhaps she had not quite 
 forgiven his first reception of her application 
 for admittance to St. Lazarus, or had considered 
 that a slight acknowledgment of his welcome 
 was quite sufficient at that early stage of their 
 acquaintance. 
 
 *' A friend of my son Angelo's is a friend of 
 mine. Miss Westbrook," he said, politely.
 
 ADAM HALFDAY. 21 
 
 " Thank yon," she responded, in a low voice, 
 ^* but I am scarcely his friend." 
 
 " He writes to me that " 
 
 " I have met him once or twice in Boston, and 
 1 am indebted to him for a letter of introduc- 
 tion," she said, interrupting him — " that is all." 
 
 " Oh, indeed I I was led by Angelo's letter 
 to anticipate that you and he were great friends. 
 At all events," said Mr. Salmon, with a broad 
 beaming smile, " it is not his fault that you are 
 not." 
 
 " No, it is not his fault, I think," said Miss 
 Westbrook, quietly, and the corners of her red 
 lips twitched with a reminiscence at which it 
 was evidently difficult to repress a smile. 
 
 ''You must allow me to apologize, madam, 
 for my first reply to your request," said Mr. 
 Salmon ; " but I was not aware that you brought 
 a letter of introduction from my son, and we 
 are compelled to keep to rules here very strictly. 
 It is a habit of human nature, as strikingly ex- 
 emplified by visitors to this establishment," he 
 added, rhetorically, " to evade every possible 
 rule which is posted up at the entrance gates." 
 
 " Is there any rule, Mr. Salmon, to keep that
 
 22 AS LONG AS SHE LH^ED. 
 
 old man from tlie cold V" asked Miss ^Yestbrook, 
 pointing to Adam Halfday in the distance ; *' or 
 does the brotherhood act as it pleases?" 
 
 " Eh ! what old man is that, then ?" 
 
 The Master of St. Lazarus shaded his eyes 
 with his hand, and peered across the quad- 
 rangle, but Mr. Hodsman saved him the trouble 
 of making the discorery for himself. 
 
 *' It's Adam Halfday, sir. He's been there all 
 the afternoon." 
 
 "Where's his grandchild?" 
 
 " I don't know, sir." 
 
 "You have not seen her about?" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " That will do, Hodsman. You can go." 
 
 Hodsman touched his cap again and went 
 back to the porter's lodge, and Mr. Salmon 
 turned to his young visitor and said, 
 
 " You will allow me to introduce you to Mrs, 
 Salmon ; she is extremely anxious to make your 
 acquaintance, after all that Angelo has said in 
 his letter concerning you. If you will kindly 
 step in with me for a few minutes, whilst I run 
 across to Halfday yonder, and see what is the 
 matter, I "
 
 ADAM HALFDAY. 23 
 
 *' I would prefer to accompany you for the 
 present, Mr. Salmon, if you have no objection," 
 she said ; " I am greatly interested in the hos- 
 pital and the brotherhood." 
 
 " It is a noble institution. Doubtless, my 
 son Angelo has described it to you in his own 
 graphic way." 
 
 " Yes, he has described it — graphically," she 
 added, after a moment's pause. 
 
 "This brother is somewhat of a character. 
 You will be amused with him ; you will see 
 what we poor masters have to put up with now 
 and then." 
 
 " The brethren are old and querulous, and not 
 too happy, I daresay," was the thoughtful com- 
 ment. 
 
 " They should be as happy as the day is 
 long." 
 
 "Why?" asked Miss Westbrook, who was 
 evidently a girl of many questions. 
 
 " They are free from anxiety, they are well 
 provided for, they have everything they need in 
 moderation — board, lodging, clothing, fuel, and 
 mone}^" answered Mr. Salmon; "I tell them 
 this half-a-dozen times a week at least."
 
 24 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 "Do they complain, then?" 
 " They are full of whims and fancies. They 
 are not grateful." 
 
 "Many of them, probably, have known better 
 
 "Most of them," was the reply; "some of 
 them have been shopkeepers in the town, others 
 even gentlemen. This man, Adam Halfday, 
 was worth fifty thousand pounds when he was 
 young." 
 
 " Indeed." 
 
 "And it all went in speculation — in that 
 dreadful greed of gain. Miss Westbrook, which 
 makes even Christians discontented very often." 
 
 " Yes," was the answer of his fair companion, 
 " very often." 
 
 They had been sauntering side by side towards 
 the alms-houses, and were standing now before 
 Mr. Adam Halfday, who, seated in his chair, 
 with his crutch across his knees, seemed igno- 
 rant of his watchers. 
 
 " Well, Adam, old gentleman," said Mr. Sal- 
 mon, in a fussy but not unkindly tone, " is 
 it quite wise of you to sit out so late as 
 this ? "
 
 ADAM HALFDAY. 25 
 
 Mr. Halfday did not look up at the speaker, 
 but he mumbled forth an answer. 
 
 " What's the time?" he said. 
 
 Mr. Salmon inspected his gold repeater. 
 
 *' Half-past seven." 
 
 " I should have known the time for myself 
 once," muttered Mr. Halfday, " but I haven't a 
 fine gold watch now, and a big chain — and 
 seals. Half-past seven is it? So early as all 
 that?" 
 
 " It is too late for you to sit here, Adam." 
 
 " There is no rule against my sitting here, 
 Mr. Salmon ?" asked the brother, more sharply 
 and clearly. 
 
 " There is a rule that you should all be in bed 
 by eight o'clock, you know. You have not a 
 great deal of time before you, and there's tea to 
 have." 
 
 " I don't want any tea. I have quite made 
 up my mind not to have any tea. She can drink 
 it all ! " said Mr. Halfday. 
 
 " Who is she ? " asked Miss Westbrook of the 
 clergyman. 
 
 " His grand-daughter," replied the Master. 
 "As the brothers get weak and feeble, they are
 
 26 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 allowed a female relative — a wife, sister, daugh- 
 ter, grand-daughter, or even niece, to wait 
 upon them." 
 
 "And I hope they are waited upon better 
 than I am, Mr. Salmon, or it's a queer kind of 
 attention the poor w^-etches get," observed Mr. 
 Halfday. 
 
 "Come, come, you and Dorcas have had a 
 little tiff, I see." 
 
 " We're always having little tiffs," said the 
 old man. " There is not a worse temper in all 
 Pentonshire than Dorcas Halfday 's. Where she 
 got her nasty sulky w^ays from, the Lord knows. 
 I can't make out myself." 
 
 " I'll go and talk to Dorcas immediately," said 
 Mr. Salmon. " Pray excuse me for an instant," 
 he said to Miss Westbrook — " you see I have a 
 multiplicity of duties to perform. One instant 
 — thank you." 
 
 Mr. Salmon passed into the cottage, and Miss 
 Westbrook moved more closely to the bowed 
 form of the old man, stooping down even and 
 gazing into his seamed face. 
 
 '^ You have not found happiness, or peace, or 
 content, amongst the Brotherhood of the Noble
 
 ADAM HALFDAY. 27 
 
 Poor, then, Mr. Halfday ?" she inquired in a low 
 voice. 
 
 The white shaggy eyebrows quivered as 
 though stirred by the sweet breath of the 
 speaker, and two keen dark eyes looked into the 
 face so close to his. 
 
 *' Now — who can you be ?" he said, in a won- 
 dering tone of voice. 
 
 " One whom you have never seen before," was 
 the reply. 
 
 *' One of the curious sort, who want to know 
 everything, our lives, histories, and adventures, 
 who take up an hour of our time in the busy 
 season, when people are turning in by whole- 
 sale, and there are not half guides enough to 
 show the antiquities of this interesting spot in 
 which we crawl about," he said, with a consider- 
 able amount of bitterness in his voice ; " but 
 you have come too late to see the church." 
 
 " I am afraid so," replied the lady. 
 
 "It's a ghastly den in the dark. It wants 
 the sunlight behind the painted glass. It wants 
 the Summer ; but if you'll come early to-mor- 
 row, and ask for me, Adam Halfday, I shall be 
 most happy to act as your guide," he said, with
 
 28 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 a sudden servility exhibiting itself, to the 
 visitor's surprise. " I flatter myself, I have more 
 brains than the rest of the old men you'll find 
 about, and can show you more of the hospital 
 than anyone else in the same space of time, — 
 and if you are pressed for time, that is." 
 
 " Have you been here long V 
 
 " Some fifteen years — a prisoner as it were," 
 he answered, shrugging his shoulders, *' and 
 all the rest of my life a gentleman at large." 
 
 " You have had reverses?" 
 
 " I have been a rich man, and I have stared 
 ruin in the face. I have spent thousands freely, 
 and T am thankful — ay, truly thankful — for the 
 gift of half-a-crown." 
 
 He added this with great eagerness, rubbing 
 one thin claw over another as he spoke. 
 
 Miss Westbrook took the hint thus neatly 
 conveyed, and dropped money in his hands. He 
 looked down at the gift, drew a quick breath, 
 and then peered from beneath his brows at a 
 donor more generous that he had met of late 
 years. 
 
 " Thank you, lady — you are very kind to me. 
 Heaven bless you !" he murmured.
 
 ADAM HALFDAY. 29 
 
 "Will joii answer my question now, Mr.. 
 Halfday ?" she said ; " it is very rude, you know,, 
 to keep a lady waiting all this while." 
 
 Mr. Halfday laughed feebly, and put his hand 
 to the side of his skull cap, by way of military 
 salute. 
 
 *' What is it that you pleased to ask me, my 
 good lady?" he inquired again; "I haven't so 
 good a memory as 1 used to have." 
 
 " Have you found happiness, or peace, or con- 
 tent here ?" she inquired again. 
 
 " It is a noble institution this," the old man 
 muttered ; " what should I have done without 
 it in my deep distress ?" 
 
 " That is no answer to my question, — and I 
 am a very curious young woman." 
 
 " So it seems," was the dry response. " And 
 what makes you anxious to know ?" 
 
 *' I have an interest in the charity — this may 
 be a question which I shall put to each of the 
 brethren, in turn." 
 
 " And you can do us good — stand up for our 
 rights — see where all the money has gone 
 which should have made this place a palace for 
 us," said the old man, with new interest. " Ah I
 
 30 AS LONG AS SHE LIA'ED. 
 
 we want a dozen like yon. Have I known 
 happiness, peace, or content, 3'ou ask ? Well — 
 No !" 
 
 '^ Why not r 
 
 " There is too much form and rule, and too 
 little comfort. Plenty of interference, and no 
 money. I don't think an^^thing of the Master 
 — he's a poor stick! and, as for the brethren, 
 they're a quarrelsome, selfish, disagreeable 
 gang." 
 
 "You haven't found a friend here in the 
 fifteen years?" 
 
 The old man shook his head and shrugged 
 his shoulders, but Miss Westbrook would not 
 take gesticulation for an answer. Yes, she was 
 a curious young woman ; it was her own ac- 
 knowledgment. 
 
 She repeated the question almost anxiously. 
 
 " You have not found one friend, then ?" 
 
 "Except the Master of St. Lazarus — he's a 
 perfect gentleman, and very kind ; he always 
 does the best for us he can, or that the rules 
 allow him to do. I haven't a fault to find with 
 him, my lady." 
 
 Miss Westbrook was not surprised to dis-
 
 ADAM HALFDAY. 31 
 
 cover that Mr. Salmon was at her side again. 
 
 " That's right, Adam, give an old friend a 
 good character," said the Master, as he laid his 
 hand on the old man's shoulder ; " I am glad to 
 see my fair friend has cheered you up during 
 my temporary absence." 
 
 " She wishes me to show her over the church 
 to-morrow, Mr. Salmon," said the brother. 
 
 "Is it your turn?" 
 
 " It is a little out of my turn, perhaps, but 
 the lady wishes it, and I can settle that with 
 Scone." 
 
 " Very well ; and if Scone does not mind, and 
 the lady w^ishes it " 
 
 "I should prefer Mr. Halfday for my guide," 
 said Miss Westbrook. 
 
 *' Thank you, my lady. You could not have 
 a better," replied Adam, with a naive conceit in 
 his own abilities, with wdiich most people would 
 have been amused. But the clergyman was not 
 listening, and upon the handsome face of the 
 lady there had settled a strange sad shadow, 
 which was deepening fast, unless it was the 
 fading light that deceived one in the study of 
 her.
 
 32 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 *'And here is Dorcas," said Mr. Salmon. 
 " You must make it up with Dorcas before the 
 lady says good night to you, Adam." 
 
 He spoke as a doctor might have done to a 
 refractory patient whom he Avas anxious to 
 conciliate, and Mr. Halfday struggled from his 
 chair, and planted his crutch under his left 
 arm. 
 
 " Oh ! you have come to your senses at last, 
 my fine lady, have you ? " said Mr. Halfday, 
 snappishly. 
 
 The person addressed was a tall young 
 woman of seventeen or eighteen years of age, 
 not too scrupulously neat in her attire, and with 
 a tumbled mass of black hair, which she ap- 
 peared to have scrupulously disarranged with 
 both hands before emerging from the house. It 
 was a handsome sullen face at which Miss 
 Westbrook gazed, and they were two large 
 dark eyes, that turned in restless fashion from 
 the grandfather to the lady, from the lady to 
 the grandfather, and finally from the grand- 
 father again to the heavy sable trimmings of 
 the mantle on the lady's shoulders, — a point of 
 interest that drew ]\Iiss Halfday's attention to a
 
 ADAM HALFDAY. 33 
 
 focus, and brought a look of admiration and 
 awe into her countenance. 
 
 She replied to her grandfather's question, 
 with her gaze still directed to the mantle. 
 
 ''I never had any senses to come to — or I 
 shouldn't have been here," she muttered. 
 
 " Now, Dorcas, what did you promise me ?" 
 remonstrated Mr. Salmon. 
 
 "All right, sir, I know," answered Dorcas; 
 " but he begins it always by aggravating me — 
 by saying something or other he knows I can't 
 bear — by talking of my mother, which I won't 
 bear, never — not from him even. See if I do !" 
 
 And the girl, forgetting her interest in Miss 
 VVestbrook's sable trimmings, raised her hand 
 in the air, and shook it in a menacing manner 
 at the old gentleman whom she had in charge. 
 
 " Your mother was an ungrateful, selfish — ' 
 then Mr. Halfday paused, as if still conscious 
 of the visitor's interest in him, or twitted by 
 remorse for his own hard words ; " but there, 
 there, bygones are bygones, and I have nothing 
 more to say, Dorcas. Is the tea ready ?" 
 
 " Yes," was the reply. 
 
 " A good girl this, my lady, when free from 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 her bad tempers," observed Mr. Halfday, by way 
 of introducing his grand-daughter to Mi«s 
 Westbrook's especial notice ; " my nurse, friend, 
 confidante, little mother, daughter, everything. 
 If there are times," he added mournfully, 
 ^' when we do not agree together, when between 
 her and me rise recollections of some bitterness 
 — for we are both hasty and impolitic in our 
 expressions — still there are times when an angel 
 in that beastly little room yonder could not fill 
 the place with greater brightness." 
 
 Both Mr. Salmon and Dorcas Halfday opened 
 their mouths at this last speech of the old gen- 
 tleman, for both were evidently surprised. 
 
 "I am glad to learn you have so good an 
 opinion of your grand-daughter, Mr. Halfday," 
 said Miss Westbrook. 
 
 " The best of opinions, or she would not be 
 with me," he added, almost peevishly for an 
 instant ; " I should have kept her at arm's 
 length, as I did her mother — as I have done her 
 wicked brother, and " 
 
 " He's not wicked," cried Dorcas, in warm 
 defence again ; " I don't like him. He has 
 plenty of faults ; but he's not wicked." 
 
 " I tell you he is."
 
 ADAM HALFDAY. 35 
 
 "I tell you he isn't." 
 
 Mr. Halfday's hand grasped his crutch more 
 tightly, as if a fleeting idea of braining his 
 refractory grandchild on the spot had just 
 occurred to him ; then the fingers relaxed, and 
 he smiled at Dorcas, and disclosed more gums 
 than were absolutely necessary. 
 
 '•High-spirited, you see, my lady," he said, 
 turning to Miss Westbrook again ; " but that 
 runs in the blood of the Halfdays, and is purely 
 constitutional. Still, a good child — careful of 
 herself and me, out of the little money I can 
 afford to give her. It is very little, but she 
 takes care of it. She is saving up for a new 
 Spring- dress, but the Spring will be old before 
 she gets it, at my rate of wage, I fear." 
 
 " This will not do, Halfday, I can't — " began 
 Mr. Salmon, but Miss Westbrook had already 
 shown the most surprising alacrity in taking 
 his hints that day. Never had Adam Halfday 
 encountered a lady or gentleman in so extra- 
 ordinary a hurry to give money away. There 
 was a sovereign in Dorcas's hand, not too un- 
 willingly extended, before Mr. Salmon had time 
 to complete his remonstrance, and Dorcas was 
 
 D 2
 
 36 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 already executing an elaborate curtsy of grati- 
 tude for the gift thus promptly conferred. 
 
 " I thank you very kindly," said Dorcas, her 
 face beaming with smiles, and not a remnant of 
 the old sullenness of aspect visible. 
 
 " We will bid you good night," said Miss 
 Westbrook; "to-morrow, Mr. Halfday, I shall 
 see you again." 
 
 " Thank you, my lady. You will find me in 
 the quadrangle here," was old Adam's reply; 
 " you will remember the quadrangle — not the 
 refectory, where the rest of them are." 
 
 *' I will remember. It is too late to see the 
 church or the hospital to-night," said the lady, 
 turning to the Master. " You were right, Mr. 
 Salmon, in refusing me admission in the first 
 instance." 
 
 *' Nay, nay, Miss Westbrook, do not remind 
 me of my discourtesy." 
 
 " I was in the wrong — not you." 
 
 " You will see Mrs. Salmon before you go ? I 
 hope you will. She is very anxious to have 
 the honour of welcoming you to St. Lazarus, I 
 assure you," 
 
 *' Thank you. Ye-es," she added, in a strange-
 
 ADAM HALFDAY. 37 
 
 ly hesitating and almost uncomplimentary way, 
 " I think I will see Mrs. Salmon. I shall have 
 great pleasure," she added with more warmth of 
 manner. 
 
 " This way, if you please." 
 
 Mr. Salmon offered his arm to Miss West- 
 brook, who rested the tips of her gloved fingers 
 upon it, and walked by his side thoughtfully. 
 
 "It is all very strange," she murmured sud- 
 denly. /^ 
 
 "My dear madam, what is strange?" asked 
 the clergyman, looking hard at his companion. 
 
 " This place — and those people — everything," 
 she answered. 
 
 " Ahem ! yes — perhaps so. But you will like 
 the establishment better in the morning." 
 
 "I hope I may," she answered, so wearily 
 that Mr. Salmon looked at her again, but did 
 not press her with another question. 
 
 Meanwhile Adam Halfday had let the crutch 
 slide from beneath his arm to the damp grass- 
 plot, and stood there cHnging for support to 
 the shoulders of his grand-daughter. 
 
 " What did he call her, Dorcas ?" he cried 
 eagerly, and with a perceptible shortness of his
 
 38 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 breath. " By what name did he call that wo- 
 man f ' 
 
 " Westbrook." 
 
 *' Westbrook it was, then. I thought I could 
 not have been dreaming. Yes, it was West- 
 brook, by Heaven I" 
 
 " What of it !" asked Dorcas, as she stooped 
 and picked up the crutch. 
 
 " I used to know that name very well indeed. 
 That's all," answered the old man, as he limped 
 towards his house, with Dorcas guiding his steps 
 carefully.
 
 39 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 AT THE MITEE. 
 
 M 
 
 ISS WESTBROOK lost time at the resi- 
 dence of the Reverend Gregory Salmon, 
 but there was no help for it. The Master of St. 
 Lazarus was over-courteous, over-exuberant in 
 his professions of service to the lady ; and Mrs. 
 Gregory Salmon, a rosy-faced, fat little woman 
 of forty-five, followed suit, and to all this polite 
 attention Miss Westbrook was compelled to 
 look grateful. She wondered a little what Mr. 
 Angelo Salmon had said in his letter to make 
 man and wife so complaisant, but she guessed 
 pretty shrewdly that he had spoken of her as an 
 heiress, as a young woman standing alone in
 
 40 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 the world with a great deal of money on her 
 mind, therefore one whose acquaintance was 
 worth cultivating by respectable folk who had a 
 marriageable son on hand, and not too wise a 
 son either. 
 
 Still they were kind in their way, though she 
 did not like their way, and was perfectly assured 
 that, had she arrived from the New World " un- 
 certificated," only a scant amount of courtesy 
 would have been found at St. Lazarus. Well, 
 that was the way of the world, and the world 
 was growing more sceptical, more exacting, 
 and more arrogant every day, especially this 
 old world whence her father and mother had 
 sprung, and to which she had returned upon a 
 strange mission. 
 
 She bore with all the inquiries of the Salmons, 
 answering many of them, and finding it neces- 
 sary to evade many also. Would she stay to 
 dinner ? She had dined at an earlier hour at 
 the hotel. Tea ? She had ordered tea to be 
 ready upon her return. Would she allow Mr. 
 Salmon to dismiss the flyman, and put up with 
 the shelter of their humble roof for one evening 
 — just one evening ! added Mrs. Salmon — they
 
 AT THE MITRE. 41 
 
 would feel highly honoured, and it would save 
 Miss Westbrook the trouble of coming in the 
 morning ? Thanks to Mrs. Salmon, but it was 
 necessary that she should get back to the city. 
 She had friends with her, doubtless ? No, she 
 was entirely alone. She was not quite certain, 
 she added, with a fearless little laugh, that she 
 had any friends now; and then her face shadow- 
 ed suddenly with the consciousness of her recent 
 loss, or of friends in the flesh set apart from her 
 by circumstances which it was no intention of 
 hers to explain to these inquirers. ^Yould she 
 like to have any letters of introduction to Mr. 
 Salmon's friends in Penton ? Thanks again, 
 but she would prefer not to have them at pre- 
 sent. Did she intend a long stay in that part 
 of the country? She had not made up her 
 mind. She would return to America, of course? 
 It was very doubtful ; she had always con- 
 sidered England as her future home. Had 
 she any particular interest, if Mr. Salmon might 
 be allowed the liberty of putting such a ques- 
 tion to her, in Pentonshire, that she had come 
 direct from London to that county ? Yes, she 
 had.
 
 42 AS LOXG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 That was the last leading question, which 
 Miss Westbrook, it may be perceived, replied 
 to with some frankness, but with no amplitude 
 of detail. To speak plainly, her answer " shut 
 up" the Reverend Gregory Salmon, who saw 
 that he had overstepped the boundary-line 
 which separates the natural interest in a stran- 
 ger from vulgar curiosity. He was still polite 
 and bland, and only one more question escaped 
 him that evening, and that was at the entrance 
 gate, to which he had escorted his visitor. 
 
 "Any time to-morrow I shall be disengaged. 
 Miss Westbrook, and most happy to act as 
 guide over this ancient edifice, if you will kindly 
 let me know the hour at which you are likely 
 to arrive ?" 
 
 " Mr. Adam Halfday will act as my cicerone 
 on this occasion," was the reply. 
 
 « Yes, but " 
 
 " I have given him my word," said Miss West- 
 brook, decisively. 
 
 She shook hands with the Master of St. 
 Lazarus, who escorted her into the fly, closed 
 the door, raised his hat, stood back, and bowed. 
 
 " To the 'Mitre?'" asked the flyman, surly and
 
 AT THE MITRE. 4^ 
 
 blue with cold, and tortured inwardly, having 
 partaken of one mugful of the founder's ale,- 
 which Mr. Hodsman had very generously 
 brought out to him. 
 
 " Yes, back to the ' Mitre,' " answered Miss 
 Westbrook. 
 
 It was dark night now, and the country road 
 was lampless until the city of Penton was with- 
 in a hundred yards of them. The man drove 
 fast, and Miss VVesthrook wrapped herself more 
 closely in her sables, and w^ent off at once into a 
 reverie, deep, solemn, and depressing, or that 
 speaking face belied her, until a half-shriek, a 
 volley of abuse from the driver, and a swerving 
 of the horse and carriage towards a high hedge 
 and a side ditch, roused her to active life. 
 
 " What is it?" she exclaimed. 
 
 "Only a woman in the way," said the man. 
 " Can't you hear when a trap's coming, you deaf 
 adder?" he shouted down to some one very 
 close to the wheels of the equipage. 
 
 " Can't you see when anyone's ahead of you, 
 you blind idiot ?" was shouted back with energy; 
 and after the carriage had driven off again, Miss 
 Westbrook fancied that the voice was not un-
 
 44 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 familiar to her, that its tone reminded her of 
 Dorcas Halfday, when she was arguing with 
 faer grandfather in the quadrangle of the hos- 
 pital. She leaned from the carriage and looked 
 behind her, but the backward road was steeped 
 in night, and the woman nearly run down was 
 swallowed up in its depths. 
 
 " It is not possible to be Dorcas," said Miss 
 Westbrook to herself; " she must be with her 
 grandfather at St. Lazarus." 
 
 Dorcas Halfday was forgotten by the time 
 the city of Penton was reached. It was a dull 
 old city by lamp-light, and more than half 
 asleep already. The gas in the streets was 
 burning faintly, the shutters were already hiding 
 the wares of early closing traders, the people 
 were few and far between upon the narrow 
 pavements, the overhanging fronts of ancient 
 houses seemed nodding over the roadway, and 
 the latticed windows, with the shimmering 
 lights behind them, might have stood for blink- 
 ing eyes, which once had fire in them, but had 
 grown dull and feeble with old age. A hun- 
 dred yards of road like this, a cross cut to an- 
 other, a street wider and with a trifle more of
 
 AT THE MITRE. 45 
 
 life in it, a market cross, the cathedral rising' 
 above a pile of house-roof, and faintly distin- 
 guishable through the blackness of the sky, and 
 then the " Mitre," a modern stucco edifice, with 
 a bishop's cross in gold and colours painted on 
 wainscot over the big portico. 
 
 This was home to Mabel Westbrook at pre- 
 sent, and the sight of it did not add any bright- 
 ness to her face, as she entered, and went slowly 
 up the brass-bound stairs. 
 
 An angular, sallow-faced woman of forty 
 was reading by the firelight as Miss Westbrook 
 entered the private sitting-room. She rose at 
 her mistress's entrance. 
 
 " No one has called, I suppose f 
 
 " No, madam." 
 
 ''Any letters?" 
 
 " No letters, madam." 
 
 "Take my hat and mantle, Jane, and ring-^ 
 for tea." 
 
 " Yes, madam." 
 
 Jane rang the bell, and departed with the 
 hat and mantle to a room adjoining, where she 
 tried both articles of apparel on for the second 
 time that day, and thought they became her
 
 46 AS LOXG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 very well indeed. Meanwhile her mistress put 
 two little feet on the fender, planted her elbows 
 on her knees, took her fair head between her 
 hands, and opened her great grey eyes at the 
 coals spluttering in the grate. 
 
 " This is a weary business, Mabel," she said, 
 apostrophizing herself, " and begins badly. My 
 heart is in my work, and yet it is as heavy as 
 lead to-night. Why is that ?" 
 
 She did not answer her own question aloud ; 
 the thoughts which had troubled her coming 
 back to Penton gathered thick and fast in the 
 quiet of that room, and took her from the work- 
 ing world again. The waiter of the " ]\Iitre," a 
 cadaverous man in a dress coat, brought in the 
 tea-service, coughed, and retired without at- 
 tracting Mabel Westbrook's notice ; and the 
 maid entering half an hour later, after a pre- 
 liminary tap on the panels of the door, found 
 her mistress still brooding over a fire that had 
 grown hollow and cavernous with inattention. 
 
 " Oh ! I beg your pardon, ma'am ; I thought 
 you had finished tea, perhaps." 
 
 " I had forgotten it, Jane ; a few more min- 
 utes, please."
 
 AT THE MITRE. 47 
 
 The maid withdrew, and Mabel Westbrook 
 drank her tea in solitary state, and went back 
 to the fireside afterwards, on this occasion to 
 study the contents of the big morocco purse 
 before alluded to, and to read many papers, 
 with which the pockets were full. 
 
 The tea-service had been taken away, and 
 the hour was late — it was half-past ten by the 
 marble clock upon the mantelshelf — when the 
 cadaverous man knocked softly, and re-entered. 
 
 '•' If you please, madam, here's a young per- 
 son wishes to see you." 
 
 "To see me?" 
 
 "Yes, madam." 
 
 " Did she mention her name ?" 
 
 " Yes, madam. Dorcas Harkaway." 
 
 '' You mean Halfday ?" 
 
 " It's very likely that was the name, ma'am." 
 
 " Show her upstairs at once." 
 
 The servant retired, and shortly afterwards 
 reappeared with Dorcas in tow. 
 
 "This is the young person," he said, and 
 closed the door upon Dorcas and the lady whom 
 she had come from St. Lazarus to see. 
 
 Dorcas Halfday was looking grimmer and
 
 48 AS LOXG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 more sullen than when she had first attracted 
 Mabel Westbrook's notice ; she was carelessly- 
 attired also — a straw bonnet, loosely tied by- 
 strings beneath the chin, was hanging off her 
 head, and down her shoulders, which were 
 draped by a three-cornered shawl of white and 
 black check, put on askew. She came in with 
 a brisk, quick step, paused as she encountered 
 Mabel's gaze, and then slouched slowly towards 
 a vacant chair, upon the edge of which she sat. 
 
 " I thought I'd come and have a little talk 
 with you," she said abruptly. 
 
 " You are very welcome," was the answer. 
 
 There was an embarrassing pause after this, 
 during which Dorcas stared over the head of 
 Miss Westbrook at the opposite wall with great 
 intentness. 
 
 " I should have scarcely thought the rules of 
 St. Lazarus would have permitted you to leave 
 the establishment at so late an hour," said Mabel 
 Westbrook at last. 
 
 " The rules !" said Dorcas, scoffingly, " what 
 do you think I care for the rules ? And what 
 can they do to me if I break them ? " 
 
 "Dismiss youf Mabel suggested.
 
 AT THE MITRE. 49 
 
 "From waiting upon one who wears my life 
 ont, who does not care for me, or for anybody 
 in the world, for the matter of that. Yes, that 
 w^ould be a punishment I" she added, with a 
 scornful little laugh. 
 
 "You would not like to leave your grand- 
 father?" asked Mabel. 
 
 " Wouldn't II Ah ! that is all you know 
 about it. Only give me the chance to get away 
 from him, and you'll see." 
 
 " AVhat prevents your getting away from him, 
 if you are inclined ?" asked Mabel. 
 
 " Oh ! I don't quite know," said the girl, rest- 
 lessly, " heaps of things — my brother Brian for 
 one, though he's as bad as the old man with 
 his aggravating ways. But I haven't come 
 to be talked to by you. That's not very 
 likely ! " 
 
 " Well, Dorcas, what have you come for? I 
 am all attention." 
 
 " It is a mercy I am alive to tell you," an- 
 swered Dorcas, suddenly remembering a new 
 grievance, " for you nearly ran over me some 
 time ago." 
 
 " Was it you, then ? " 
 
 VOL. T. E
 
 50 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " Yes. My grandfather took in his head to 
 go to bed directly after tea, and I leaped the 
 stream at the back of the chambers, and came 
 across the fields to the high road, where that 
 wretch of a flyman tried to make short work of 
 me. He did it on purpose." 
 
 "Nonsense !" 
 
 *' Yes, he did. I know him. He has owed me 
 a grudge for six months. He's only one more 
 of the heaps of people who hate me and wish 
 me dead." 
 
 " Hush, hush, child ! this is mere raving." 
 
 " Ah ! you don't know how everybody hates 
 me," said the girl, half mournfully and half 
 savagely ; " and how I hate everybody, for the 
 matter of that." 
 
 "Have you come all the way from St. Laza- 
 rus to tell me this f said Mabel Westbrook — 
 *' to show me what a wuld, inconsiderate, reck- 
 less young woman you are ?" 
 
 Dorcas's eyes blazed at this criticism, but she 
 replied with a single word. 
 
 " No," she answered. 
 
 ^' Tell me iu what way I can assist you?" 
 inquired Mabel.
 
 AT THE MITRE. 51 
 
 Dorcas moved restlessly in her chair. 
 
 " I haven't come for any help from yon. 
 Early in life, lady," said she, more gently, "I 
 Avas tanght to help myself, and had to help 
 myself, my mother having been turned out of 
 doors by that old man you spoke to this after- 
 noon. I don't suppose in all my life I shall ask 
 help of any living soul." 
 
 '' You may want help, and seek it in vain." 
 
 " Then — there s the river /" 
 
 " Great Heaven !" ejaculated Mabel, in dismay. 
 " So young, and so desperate as that." 
 
 " It was my mother's end, madam. 1 shouldn't 
 care for a better if I was in trouble." 
 
 "I am very, very sorry to hear it," said 
 Mabel, and two white hands went up suddenly 
 to her face, and hid it from the strange, excit- 
 ed girl confronting her. "God forgive that 
 mother ! " 
 
 " She was a good woman," said Dorcas, em- 
 phatically. "Don't make any mistake about 
 that, please. You had much better say, ' God 
 forgive all those who drove her to it ! ' " 
 
 " Amen, child," said Mabel, very reverently. 
 " God forgive them too ! " 
 
 HNtVPA^ITV AC llllunK
 
 52 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 It was Dorcas's turn to be surprised at the 
 manner of her companion — to sit and watch the 
 young, fair woman in her attitude of grief — 
 suddenly to leave her chair, and advance 
 stealthily towards her, and touch the hands 
 still held before her eyes. 
 
 " Did you happen to know my mother, 
 lady?" she asked, in a curious tone. 
 
 " No, I have been in America all my life." 
 
 She lowered her hands and looked steadily at 
 Dorcas as she answered her. 
 
 " I'm not clever," Dorcas continued thought- 
 fully. *' I don't make things out so clearly as 
 Brian does. I'm not sharp, but I know you 
 didn't come to St. Lazarus to see the church 
 and hospital." 
 
 " What do you think I came for, Dorcas ?" 
 
 *' To see my grandfather," she replied. " It's 
 no use saying ' No ' to me, because I have put 
 this and that together, and am pretty sure of 
 it." 
 
 "You are too quick at jumping at conclu- 
 sions — you judge too hastily." 
 
 " Not in this," said Dorcas, shaking her head; 
 " and it is this I have come about all the way
 
 AT THE MITRE. 53 
 
 along the dark roads, and before you should get 
 to us to-morrow. Am I right, Miss Westbrook ?" 
 
 Mabel hesitated for a single moment, and then 
 answered quietly — 
 
 " Yes, Dorcas Halfday, you are quite right."
 
 54 
 
 M 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 DORCAS WARNS MABEL WESTBROOK. 
 
 "ABEL'S previous estimate of Dorcas Half- 
 day's character was correct in one 
 instance at least. Dorcas was evidently 
 strangely excitable, for she clapped her hands 
 noisily together, and exclaimed — 
 
 " I knew it ! For all he said, I knew it ! He 
 went to bed to get away from my questions, 
 but I was not deceived." 
 
 Mabel drew a quick breath. 
 
 "Is it possible he guesses why 1 came to St. 
 Lazarus V 
 
 "I think so." 
 
 " Did he hear my name?" said Mabel. '^ Ah ! 
 I remember Mr. Salmon's mentioning it at the 
 last."
 
 DORCAS WARNS MABEL. 55 
 
 " Yes — what does it mean?'" 
 
 " Has he never mentioned the name of West- 
 brook to you ?" 
 
 Dorcas shook her head. 
 
 " It is as well. Presently you will know all, 
 with the rest of them." 
 
 " I am not sure of it," answered Dorcas 
 doubtfully. "No one tells me anything, or 
 thinks I am to be trusted ; no one ever did, after 
 mother died. I make a good drudge, a tolera- 
 ble nurse, a decent slave, and that's all they 
 want of me, you see." 
 
 " You are a strangely discontented girl," said 
 Mabel. " Will you tell me what you want for 
 yourself 'f 
 
 " Not I," replied Dorcas, shrugging her shoul- 
 ders; "not such a silly as that at my age. 
 Besides, I haven't come here to answer your 
 questions, but to put you on your guard." 
 
 "Against whomT' 
 
 " Well," she added hesitatingly, " against 
 yourself, if you have an idea of obtaining in- 
 formation from Adam Halfday, or of doing him 
 any good, or of giving any information to hiin. 
 He is much better as he is."
 
 5Q AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 *' I have come from America expressly to see 
 him. I have no other object in England, at 
 present, than to be of service to your grand- 
 father," answered Mabel. 
 
 Dorcas opened her dark eyes to their fullest 
 extent at this announcement. 
 
 *' You come as his friend? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I did not think he had any," muttered 
 Dorcas. 
 
 "Yes," she answered for the second time. 
 
 " Well, then," said Dorcas, taking a long 
 breath, before bursting forth full of excitement 
 again, " that's an idea. Miss Westbrook, you had 
 better drop, once and for all. He does not want 
 a friend, and you can't make him one of yours. 
 You had better leave him in that place to die off 
 quietly, and when his time comes ; he is only fit 
 for that. He is best off now. He is at peace, 
 fie is a better man now than he has ever been. 
 He is old, and not fit for change. If you have 
 anything to tell him, for mercy's sake keep it 
 back. There is nothing you can say or do that 
 ■will be of any benefit to him." 
 
 Mabel Westbrook was intensely astonished at
 
 DORCAS WARNS MABEL. 57 
 
 this outburst. She was unable to account for the 
 warning thus delivered, and the character of 
 Dorcas Halfday became a greater perplexity 
 than ever, 
 
 " It is impossible to understand your mean- 
 ing," said Mabel. " If I come to brighten the 
 last days of Adam Halfday's life, why should the 
 effort on my part be unavailing ? " 
 
 "Nothing can brighten his life or make it 
 better." 
 
 " You may be mistaken in that, Dorcas." 
 
 "Your friendship could not; your money 
 could not ; and it would be one or another, I 
 suppose," replied Dorcas, shrewdly. 
 
 *' Will you tell me your reasons for this 
 strange assertion ? Your grandfather is without 
 friends or money, you acknowledge." 
 
 *^ Neither would do him any good." 
 
 *' You cannot say that." 
 
 " On my soul, I can !" was the emphatic 
 answer. 
 
 " To offer him money may not be my mission 
 in life, Dorcas," said Mabel, after a moment's 
 reflection, "but I must see him again, at all 
 hazards."
 
 58 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 "I have warned you," said Dorcas helplessly, 
 " I can do no more, unless " 
 
 " Well r 
 
 " Unless you will come with me to Brian's 
 house." 
 
 " Your brother's house ?" 
 
 " Yes, and hear what he has to say. He will 
 not talk to you in my style," she said, with a 
 short laugh, " and you might feel inclined to 
 trust him further than you do me. Oh ! he's a 
 man wonderfully respected in the good city of 
 Penton, he is ! " she added. 
 
 "You do not love your brother !" 
 
 " There is not a great deal of love lost between 
 us," was the dry ansAver, " but I'll say of him, 
 for all that, you may trust him. He's a man 
 who says what he thinks, and it would be as 
 well for you to see him." 
 
 " Where does he live T 
 
 " Oh ! hard by here. It's not a long way to 
 go." 
 
 "Will you accompany mef 
 
 "I'll show you where he lives," was the 
 evasive answer. 
 
 "Yes," said Mabel, starting to her feet,
 
 DORCAS WARNS MABEL. 59 
 
 "I'll go with you. Wait one moment, please." 
 
 Was Mabel Westbrook excitable and impul- 
 sive herself, or was the curiosity to sift further 
 into the mystery, and to comprehend the 
 manners and motives of these Halfdays, too 
 strong for her to withstand ? She was in Eng- 
 land on a mission wdiich she had come from 
 America to fulfil ; she was a young woman, very 
 shrewd and clear-headed, and business-like 
 for her years, and her task was full of complica- 
 tions. It had seemed easy work enough imtil 
 she was close upon the end of it, and the Hos- 
 pital of St. Lazarus only a mile away. Yes, 
 she would see this Brian Halfday. 
 
 She was equipped speedily for the journey, 
 aod it was not eleven o'clock when she and 
 her eccentric guide were together in the city of 
 Penton. It was a cold, raw night, following 
 the cold, raw day, and the wind came keenly 
 at them as they stepped from beneath the 
 portico of the " Mitre " into the streets, 
 
 " It is a late hour to call upon your brother," 
 said Mabel. 
 
 " He keeps late hours. He is a man who 
 never rests."
 
 60 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " How will you get back to the hospital f' 
 
 " By the way I came. Across the stream and 
 over the brothers' gardens to the window of the 
 room I have left open." 
 
 '' I hope this flitting from St. Lazarus is not a 
 habit of yours, Dorcas ?" 
 
 " No, not now," she said. 
 
 '' That means " 
 
 " Ah ! never mind what it means, Miss West- 
 brook," cried Dorcas quickly ; " I do not like all 
 these questions. I am not used to them. This 
 way." 
 
 " If the brother resembles this girl," said 
 Mabel Westbrook to herself, " I have chanced 
 upon a family I shall never comprehend." 
 
 They turned from the principal street into a 
 narrow archway, and through the darkness that 
 w^as there into a broad space of ground where 
 were big trees, and gaunt, gable-roofed houses, 
 and in the centre the old cathedral, dark, 
 massive, and grand — a pile of Norman work 
 looming from a background of dense sky. 
 
 "It is a short cut across the Close," said 
 Dorcas, by way of explanation, " but if you are 
 afraid to come back this way by yourself — afraid
 
 DORCAS WARNS MABEL. Qli 
 
 of the ghosts, that is," she added, with her 
 short laugh once again jarring on Mabel West- 
 brook's nerves, *' there is another road in the 
 front of yonder houses." 
 
 " I am not afraid of ghosts." 
 
 "That's welL The ghosts do not trouble 
 you as they do the Halfdays," said the girl. 
 
 Mabel glanced at Dorcas's face, but it was 
 grave and matter-of-fact, and without the sus- 
 picion of a jest upon it. She did not ask any 
 further questions ; Dorcas had already entered 
 her protest against it. She kept step with her 
 guide, and wondered once if she had done a 
 wise^ thing in accompanying her on this expe- 
 dition. They went across the cathedral close, 
 and through a second dark subway into another 
 old-fashioned street, where the houses seemed 
 to Mabel taller, narrower, and older, and more 
 full of cross-beams and blinking windows than 
 any she had seen in the city of Penton yet- 
 Before one of the oldest and largest of these 
 houses Dorcas came to a full stop. 
 
 " There are no lights up there to-night," she 
 said, looking at the windows. " He may be out 
 after all."
 
 ■ 62 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 She disappeared in the deep doorway, where 
 she tugged vehemently at a bell, which was 
 heard clanging in distant settlements for a long 
 time afterwards, but there, was no response to 
 the appeal. 
 
 " Is this house your brother's ?" asked Miss 
 Westbrook. 
 
 '• He minds it for the city — he's custodian." 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
 Dorcas indulged in her short laugh again. 
 
 " Of all the ugly things they have picked up, 
 or dug up, in this place for the last thousand 
 years." 
 
 " Is this Penton Museum ?" 
 
 " Yes. I hope you like it," answered Dorcas. 
 
 " It does not seem a very large place for a 
 museum," said Mabel Westbrook. 
 
 *' Oh ! it's large enough," was the reply ; '^ too 
 large for the company it gets. No one goes to 
 it, or cares about it, that ever I knew. There 
 are enough bits of brick about the high road, 
 "without coming here to see some more of 
 them." 
 
 *^ You are no lover of antiquities, Dorcas," 
 said Mabel, smiling at her companion's criticism.
 
 DORCAS WARNS MABEL. 63 
 
 " 1 see enough of them at St. Lazarus," 
 answered Dorcas, pulling at the bell-handle 
 again impatiently. *^ Brian is a light sleeper, 
 or I should think he was dozing over his books ; 
 he's a young, strong man, or I should think he 
 was dead." 
 
 " If he does not hear the bell I should think 
 he was deaf," was Mabel's comment here. 
 
 *' Neither dozing, dead, nor deaf, ladies," said 
 a sharp, clear voice, so close to them that both 
 women started. " To what cause may I at- 
 tribute the honour of this late visit to the mu- 
 
 a?? 
 
 eeum I 
 
 The speaker was short-sighted, probably, for 
 he craned his head towards his sister, and 
 added — 
 
 " Dorcas !" 
 
 " Yes, it's Dorcas," was the answer, and a very 
 deep and sullen answer it became at once. 
 
 '' I am glad to see you," said her brother, 
 " although I wish you had arrived at an earlier 
 hour. 
 
 "I could not choose my time, and I did not 
 come to see you," said Dorcas, slowly and un- 
 civilly.
 
 64 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " If the visit is postponed to a time more fit- 
 ting, Dorcas," said her brother, drily, " you 
 might have let the bell alone." 
 
 " 1 brought some one here who is more 
 anxious to talk to you than I am," answered 
 Dorcas, " who has come all the way from 
 America to see one Adam Halfday, in the Hos- 
 pital of St. Lazarus." 
 
 There was a pause, and Brian Halfday, who 
 had taken a latch-key from his pocket, stood 
 with it in his hand, a silent figure enough, at 
 this communication. It was a dark night, and 
 they were far removed from the rays of the gas- 
 lamp in the distance, but Mabel fancied that 
 she could detect an expression of astonishment, 
 even of utter bewilderment, on the face of the 
 man confronting her. He peered now in the 
 same short-sighted way at her as he had done 
 at his sister, and Mabel went back one step 
 from the steady stare of two bright, black 
 eyes. 
 
 "May I ask your name?" he said. 
 
 " Mabel Westbrook." 
 
 " The grand-daughter of James "Westbrook, 
 once in business in this city ?" he added.
 
 DORCAS WARNS MABEL. Q5 
 
 "The same." 
 
 " It is a strange hour for a strange visit," he 
 said, " but it is as well you have come. One 
 moment." 
 
 He opened the door with his key, passed into 
 the big entrance hall, struck a match, and 
 lighted the gas in the lamp above his head. 
 
 '' Step in, please." 
 
 " Will you come with me, Dorcas ?" said 
 Mabel. 
 
 " No," was the reply. 
 
 " I ask it as a favour ? You will consider your 
 brother is a stranger to me." 
 
 " The lady cannot enter here alone," said 
 Brian Halfday. " Cannot you see that, 
 girlt" 
 
 ** I said I would never put foot within this 
 place of my own free will again," said 
 Dorcas. 
 
 " Is this free will when you are forced in 
 against your inclinations ?" asked her brother. 
 
 " Well, no." 
 
 Dorcas stepped into the hall along with 
 Mabel Westbrook, and Brian Halfday closed 
 the door behind them. As he lighted an oil- 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 lamp of antique pattern, he looked from his 
 sister to his guest across the flame. 
 
 " Welcome," he said in a low voice, and with 
 a ring of wonder in it still.
 
 67 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE CURATOR. 
 
 BRIAN HALFDAY, the curator of the 
 museum which had recently been so 
 severely criticized by his sister, was a man of 
 the middle height, very slim, very pale, very 
 shabby, with a quantity of long black hair, that 
 might have been cut some weeks since with 
 advantage to his personal appearance, stream- 
 ing from beneath a rusty hat. He was not so 
 much a bad-looking man, after a close survey of 
 him, as an unhealthy looking mortal, who seemed 
 growing thin and lined and sallow with close 
 attention to the antiquities witli which the place 
 was stored. The dust of the place seemed 
 to have settled on him and his life together, 
 although an absent, far-away look, belonging 
 
 f2
 
 6S AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 to other times as it were, and which was 
 natural to him, was not apparent then. On 
 this occasion he had "woke up;" the novelty 
 of Mabel Westbrook's appearance had surprised 
 him and stirred him into action, and there was 
 a wondrous shrewdness in the face that agreed 
 well with his sharply cut features and dark 
 eyes. He had had books under his arms and a 
 roll of paper in his hand when he had first sur- 
 prised the ladies at the street door, and these, 
 which had been set aside whilst attending to his 
 lamp, he now took up again. 
 
 *' Will you follow me ?" he said politely, as he 
 led the way up a broad flight of stairs, orna- 
 mented with richly carved oaken balusters, and 
 through a series of rooms on the first floor 
 full of glass cases and open cabinets, where the 
 bits of brick were upon which Dorcas had com- 
 mented. Their footsteps on the floors of that 
 solitary house echoed noisily, and the long 
 rooms were full of shadows, which the oil-lamp 
 did not readily dispel. Mabel Westbrook was 
 glad that Dorcas had condescended to stay 
 with her as companion for the nonce. Through 
 half-a-dozon rooms to another landing-place,
 
 THE CURATOR. 69 
 
 and a second flight of stairs, more narrow and 
 cramped and dusty, and halting at the top of 
 them, before a green-baize door, over which was 
 affixed the words Curator's Room, in small 
 capitals. Pushing this open, and a second oaken 
 door beyond it, Brian and his visitors stepped 
 into a room, half museum and half library, with 
 a faint suspicion of a laboratory about it also, 
 a room crammed with books, carvings, brasses, 
 heaps of papers, and horribly shaped things 
 that had crawled this earth in ages past, and 
 been mercifully struck into stone by the Great 
 Hand. 
 
 " You will excuse the litter. I did not expect 
 the pleasure of receiving lady visitors this 
 evening," the curator said, as he took off his 
 hat, set down the lamp, dropped his books and 
 paper, and placed two chairs for the ladies with 
 methodical gravity. 
 
 There was a bronze gaselier hanging from 
 the ceiling, and this he lighted before he took 
 a chair for himself, with his face from the light, 
 for the sake of his eyes, of which he was care- 
 ful, perhaps, or the better to study Mabel West- 
 brook, whose chair he had placed in the full
 
 70 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 glare of the gas. The room was not dark, 
 and in the brighter light, and with a broad 
 white forehead, unconcealed by his bad hat, 
 Brian Halfday looked not much older than the 
 six-and-twenty years with which time had 
 credited him. 
 
 " Now, madam, I am all attention to any 
 statement with which you may favour me," he 
 said. 
 
 " I have no statement to make, Mr. Halfday," 
 answered Mabel Westbrook. 
 
 " Indeed ! I understood from Dorcas " 
 
 " That 1 have a statement to make to Adam 
 Halfday, of the Hospital of St. Lazarus. Yes, 
 I have come from Boston with a message to 
 him." 
 
 " From whom ?" 
 
 '' From the dead," answered Mabel sadly. 
 
 "Your dead father?" said Brian inquiringly. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Y'our grandfather?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " He is dead, then, James Westbrook," said 
 Brian, with one hand clutching the other firm- 
 ly ; " after all these years, this is the end of it.""
 
 THE CURATOR. 71 
 
 Mabel regarded him very anxiously, and with 
 a colour flickering on her cheeks ; but he had 
 turned his gaze from her, and was looking 
 down at the well-worn carpet, as at a pro- 
 blem, which the death of Mabel's father had 
 rendered more intricate. Was it a wise step 
 which had brought her to this house after all ? 
 Had she acted prudently in following the coun- 
 sel of a half-demented girl ? Here was a man 
 who seemed to know her story, or, at all events, 
 to quickly judge the motive which had brought 
 her from America. She had promised to see 
 Adam Halfday, not his grandchildren, and they 
 seemed to have taken the case out of her hands, 
 or to be standing in her way, almost in opposi- 
 tion. 
 
 " I may not ask you the purport of that mes- 
 sage, Miss Westbrook," said Brian, looking at 
 her at last, " but I think it is understood." 
 
 "It would be a breach of trust on my part," 
 replied Mabel. 
 
 " It is not difficult to guess," Brian continued. 
 " A man on his death-bed would surely bo at 
 peace with the world he is quitting. A bad 
 man might wish for pardon of those whom ho
 
 72 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 had injured ; and a good one might extend his 
 forgiveness to old enemies, for all trespasses 
 against him. The dead man sends forgiveness 
 to Adam Halfday." 
 
 Again the red blood mounted to the cheeks 
 of the fair woman, and she shrank at the satire 
 which she was sure was conveyed in the cura- 
 tor's words. This man knew the secrets of her 
 grandsire's life — it had been his business to learn 
 them, but he did not, he would never, guess 
 how good a man James Westbrook was. She 
 would be able to tell him in good time, but the 
 tidings were not for him now. 
 
 Both were startled at the voice of Dorcas in 
 reply to the last words. She leaned forward 
 suddenly and said — 
 
 " It is not forgiveness she brings to him, but 
 money, Brian." 
 
 " I did not say so," was Mabel's quick, almost 
 indignant answer. 
 
 " She has come from America to see him, to 
 brighten his life, she says. She has no other 
 object in this country than to be of service to 
 my grandfather ; she told me so to-night," cried 
 Dorcas.
 
 THE CURATOR. 73 
 
 " Well ?" said Brian sharply. 
 
 *' And I thought she had better come to you, 
 and hear all you had to say about it." 
 
 " Yes," muttered Brian. 
 
 *' As you generally have a great deal to say 
 about everything," added Dorcas spitefully. 
 
 "Which I have not, in this case," replied her 
 brother ; " it comes upon me suddenly, and 1 
 want time to think. Where are you staying. 
 Miss W^estbrook ?" 
 
 " At the ' Mitre.' " 
 
 " I shall not forget the address. Meanwhile," 
 he folded his hands upon the table, and looked 
 across at Mabel very intently, *' may I ask you 
 not to see my grandfather until you hear from 
 me?" 
 
 " I have already seen him," answered Mabel. 
 
 Brian's face once more expressed surprise and 
 mortification. It was a speaking face, thought 
 Mabel, and the thin lips, undisguised by mous- 
 tache or beard, betrayed the owner's feelings 
 very clearly, although in this instance it may be 
 said that he had made no effort to conceal them. 
 
 "And told him your name?" said Brian, in as 
 sharp a tone as he had addressed his sister.
 
 74 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " No," was Mabel's reply. 
 
 " He heard it, though," said Dorcas, " and he 
 has been queer ever since." 
 
 " Queer ?" said Brian, interrogatively. 
 
 " Thoughtful and odd — you know his way," 
 explained Dorcas. 
 
 " And you have left him ?" 
 
 " To warn her, and bring her to you. "Was I 
 wrong again f 
 
 " No," replied Brian, " you were right." 
 
 " Ah ! I am glad of that," said Dorcas, satiri- 
 cally ; " it's so very seldom you think anybody 
 is in the right — except yourself," she added, in 
 a low tone. The sharp ears of her brother 
 caught the words which were not intended for 
 him. 
 
 " Except myself, exactly," rephed Brian drily, 
 " having found myself once or twice in the right, 
 when other people have thought me in the 
 wrong. Miss Westbrook," he added, addressing 
 his visitor again, "1 have grown conceited, 
 perhaps. Still I am so right in advising you 
 not to see Mr. Halfday until you hear from me, 
 that I have no hesitation in asking this as a 
 favour."
 
 THE CURATOR. 75« 
 
 " I have told him I shall call at the Hospital 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " You must not do it," cried Brian Halfday, 
 peremptorily. 
 
 " I have a habit of keeping my word," said 
 Miss Westbrook, proudly. 
 
 " When keeping one's word is likely to work 
 harm to a fellow-creature, Heaven will forgive 
 the omission," said Brian quickly. 
 
 " I am in England to work good, not harm, 
 to a man who is unhappy at St. Lazarus," an- 
 swered Mabel, a little nettled by the reproof 
 conveyed in the last remark. 
 
 *' You will work good by delay," said Brian. 
 
 " Pardon me, but I have only your word for 
 that, and you are a stranger to me," answered 
 Mabel, with severity. 
 
 " So is my grandfather," replied Brian, in the 
 same rapid way. 
 
 " I have my iustructions as regards him." 
 
 " They are very bad ones, if they leave no 
 margin for discretion." 
 
 " I am compelled to act upon them." 
 
 "Not too rashly." 
 
 "Imperatively, and at once."
 
 76 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 Brian Halfday's sharp tones subsided, and 
 there was a strange look of pity in his eyes, as 
 he said, in an earnest voice — 
 
 " Then, for your sake. Miss Westbrook, I am 
 very sorry."
 
 77 
 
 M 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 AN ESCORT HOME. 
 
 ABEL WESTBROOK had a strong sus- 
 picion in her mind that she was being 
 advised for the best, although the necessity for 
 delay in an act of charity, an act of atonement, 
 was beyond her comprehension. The earnest 
 face of her adviser, the depth of pity in his keen, 
 dark eyes, the interest which he felt in her and 
 her mission, all seriously impressed her, al- 
 though they did not alter her determination. 
 Before all and everything, her promise. There 
 was no power in human nature to weaken that, 
 and he who had trusted in her knew that she 
 would not fail him at the last. lie had left it 
 to the last, and this was the result.
 
 78 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " Why are you very sorry for my sake ?" she 
 asked in a wondering tone of voice. 
 
 " You have taken a hard task on yourself — 
 you do not see the end of this so clearly as I 
 do," was the curator's reply. 
 
 " It is impossible to see the end." 
 
 " It will end in error." 
 
 *' You cannot tell — you do not know " be- 
 gan Mabel, when he held up his thin hand, and 
 she stopped at his signal before she was aware 
 of it. 
 
 *' I see disappointment and mortification of 
 spirit, kindness wasted, zeal misplaced, unless 
 I interfere,'' said Brian. 
 
 " You have no right to interfere with me," re- 
 plied Mabel. 
 
 " I believe I have. But," he added, passing 
 his hands through his long hair, in a perplexed, 
 irritable way, " I want time to think of it all. I 
 did not dream that you and your petty mystery 
 were so close upon me." 
 
 " Petty mystery !" said Mabel, colouring again. 
 " There is so little mystery in it, that to-morrow 
 will dispel it." 
 
 " To-morrow never comes to the philosopher."
 
 AN ESCORT HOME. 79 
 
 " I am not a philosopher." 
 
 " I wish you were." 
 
 And then Brian looked at her and smiled at 
 her or her obstinacy, or both, it was doubtful 
 which. 
 
 "I have received your warning, Mr. Half- 
 day, which after all is a mere echo of your 
 sister's, and I need not detain you any longer," 
 said Mabel. 
 
 "It is getting late," he replied, by way of 
 assent to this, or as a hint for her to go. As 
 Mabel rose from the chair, he rose also, and 
 took up his hat. Dorcas, w^ho had been looking 
 from one to the other as each spoke in turn, 
 rose too, and all three passed out of the study, 
 and back through the long rooms, to the hall, 
 Brian lamp in hand again. In the hall he ex- 
 tinguished his lamp, opened the street door, 
 allowed Mabel and his sister to precede him, 
 closed the door behind him, and joined them on 
 the narrow pavement. 
 
 " Good night," said Mabel to him and Dorcas, 
 but Brian did not respond with his sister. 
 
 *'I will see you to the 'Mitre,' Miss West- 
 brook, if you will allow me," he said.
 
 80 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " Thank you, no," replied Mabel, ^- your sister 
 has a more lonely journey." 
 
 *' Don't ask him to come with me, please," 
 cried Dorcas at once. " I don't want him ; I 
 won't have him ; I shall run all the way ; I 
 would not have him with me for the world. 
 Goodnight." 
 
 Before another word could be exchanged 
 away ran Dorcas at the top of her speed along 
 the middle of the road. The brother watched 
 her thoughtfully until Mabel said — 
 
 "It is too late an hour for your sister to be 
 going to St. Lazarus alone." 
 
 *' She is safe enough in Pentonshire ; we are 
 good people hereabouts," Brian said drily. 
 
 "But she " 
 
 "Would not have me for an escort — you 
 heard what she said ?" 
 
 " Yes. How is it that you and she are not 
 friends ?" 
 
 " Oh ! we are very good friends," said Brian 
 hghtly ; " Dorcas is extremely fond of me." 
 
 "Is this satire?" 
 
 " Not at all," answered Brian, " and I am very 
 fond of Dorcas. But I cannot let her have her
 
 AN ESCORT HOME. 81 
 
 own way altogether. You see what a cat she 
 
 is r 
 
 *' She is an excitable girl. I do not under- 
 stand her." 
 
 '• You will find it a difficult task to under- 
 stand any of the family," replied Brian ; " I would 
 not assert positively that the Halfdays under- 
 stand themselves." 
 
 " ' Know thyself ' is an excellent motto." 
 " Ah ! if it were only practicable," said Brian. 
 He was walking by Mabel's side now, with his 
 gaze directed to the miry pavement. The 
 streets were empty, and the wind came down 
 them jnoaning like a child in pain. 
 
 " It's a miserable night for you to come back 
 to Penton," he said suddenly. 
 
 " I have never been in Penton before." 
 " I mean for the Westbrooks to step back to 
 life here," he said. "I thought at one time or 
 another I might meet you in America, seek you 
 out there, but to come to us is strange. Very 
 strange," he added. 
 
 Mabel glanced at him, and said timidly — 
 " My grandfather's history is no secret to you» 
 VOL. I. G
 
 S2 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 Mr. Halfday. You have learned it years ago, 
 I am sure." 
 
 *' I have studied hard and learned many 
 things, but I do not know James Westbrook's 
 history," was the reply. 
 
 " You know why I am in this city ?" said 
 Mabel — " you must know." 
 
 " I may guess at it from your own words," he 
 answered ; '* but pray do not cross-examine me. 
 I have pleaded twice for time to think of this." 
 
 " I will say good night, Mr. Halfday, if you 
 please," said Mabel, '^ I can find my way very 
 well across the Close." 
 
 "The Close gates are shut. It is past 
 eleven," said Brian, *' and you will find no one 
 in the streets of whom to ask your way. I 
 would prefer to accompany you." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " And 1 intend to accompany you," he said, 
 emphatically — " not that I would be ungentle- 
 manly enough to balk your desire to get rid 
 of me, if I had not a few more words to say." 
 
 He did not say them very readily. He 
 walked on in silence at her side, taking that 
 time " to think of it " for which he had
 
 AN ESCORT HOME. 83 
 
 pleaded. Mabel did not intrude upon his 
 reverie, but she glanced askance at him once or 
 twice. He was thinking his hardest now ; he 
 bad stepped from the kerb-stone into the 
 gutter, in order to allow himself and her more 
 room, and, with his hands clutched behind his 
 back, he strode on at a pace with which it was 
 difficult to keep up. As he passed beneath the 
 gas-lamps Mabel could see that it was a face 
 almost of trouble, certainly of doubt. 
 
 They were close upon the " Mitre " when he 
 spoke to her, swinging suddenly round with a 
 precipitancy that startled her. 
 
 " J wish you had not come," he said ; *' it 
 would have been much the better for you." 
 
 " I am not afraid," answered Mabel, lightly, 
 " and there is nothing so malevolent in my 
 intentions that should make any of your family 
 afraid of me." 
 
 " You are proceeding in haste, Miss West- 
 brook, I tell you once more." 
 
 " I am acting on instructions." 
 
 " And will not be advised by me in any 
 way f ' 
 
 " No," she answered, very firmly. 
 
 g2
 
 84 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 Brian shrugged his shoulders, and then ex- 
 tended his hand. 
 
 " Good evening," he said. 
 
 Mabel placed her hand within his, and was 
 surprised at the firmness with which he clutched 
 it. 
 
 " Do you judge human nature, human charac- 
 ter, as quickly as you act ?" he asked. 
 
 " I do not know ; probably," said Mabel, in 
 reply. 
 
 She did not admire the peremptory manner 
 in which he spoke, and she withdrew her hand 
 from his strong clasp. 
 
 " Do not judge too hastily of me, then," he 
 said, almost sorrowfully. '' I may be compelled 
 to act in a rash fashion myself, and I would ask 
 you to suspend your judgment until we meet 
 again. Good night." 
 
 He walked quickly and abruptly from her, 
 and Mabel Westbrook, pondering on his words, 
 returned to the friendly shelter of the " Mitre." 
 Hers had been an easy mission to fulfil, she had 
 thought, until a few hours since ; but the mists 
 were rising fast upon the road she would 
 pursue, and there might be pitfalls in her way,
 
 AN ESCORT HOME. 85 
 
 and dangers of which she had never dreamed. 
 She had been twice warned, but it was beyond 
 her power to listen. The one voice that might 
 have checked her was for ever still, and her 
 duty was to go on at any risk.
 
 86 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A SURPRISE. 
 
 WITH the brightness of the next day, Mabel 
 Westbrook looked at life more brightly. 
 She was young, impulsive, sanguine, generous, 
 and without an enemy in the world. Before 
 the death of James Westbrook and his wife 
 there had not been a lighter-hearted, kinder, or 
 more unselfish girl in the States, and she had 
 borne the oncoming of her first trouble with a 
 brave front. She had heard much and suffered 
 much of late days, but she had grown strong, 
 not weak, in affliction, as the best of women 
 invariably do. She had hardly known of evil 
 — of men's rapacity and greed and weakness — 
 until the last year of her life, and the knowledge
 
 A SURPRISE. 87 
 
 had sobered her without breaking her down — 
 strengthened many resohitions without narrow- 
 ing her heart. She had heard of a wrong 
 which it was in her power to set right, and she 
 had given up her birthplace, her American 
 friends and American home, and set forth on a 
 mission of justice to the wronged. It was her 
 own wish, as it had been James Westbrook's, 
 — and there was nothing to dismay her in the 
 prophecies of Adam Halfday's grandchildren. 
 She could do her duty to the living and the 
 dead without one regret to follow. The strange 
 young folk whom she had seen last night had 
 put, a false construction upon her reticence, 
 but they would understand her clearly in a few 
 more hours. The end of her task was nearly 
 accomplished, and she would be glad for the 
 sake of all when it was complete. 
 
 It was eleven o'clock in the day when she 
 was once more at the gates of St. Lazarus. The 
 sun was shining, the birds were singing, and 
 the air was warm again — the brotherhood of 
 the noble poor had toddled from their places 
 round the great ring of fire in the hall, and 
 were basking like lizards in the sunshine. The
 
 88 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 porter Hodsman touched his cap at her appear- 
 ance, and said, with old-fashioned, homely 
 courtesy — 
 
 " You bring the sunshine with you, lady, this 
 time." 
 
 " Have there been many visitors to-day?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "No visitors, exactly," he replied. "Not 
 strangers, that is. Mr. Salmon told me to say 
 that he would be glad to see you, ma'am, 
 directly you arrived." 
 
 Mabel's brow contracted a little. This irre- 
 pressible Salmon would not leave her a moment 
 to herself, if he could help it. 
 
 " Where is the Master now ?" she asked. 
 
 " Praying in the church or fishing in the river, 
 I hardly know which." He craned his head 
 over the wicket-gate which confined him to the 
 lodge, and peered into the quadrangle. 
 
 " Oh, the brothers are out. He's fishing," said 
 Hodsman ; " you'll find him at the back of the 
 church yonder." 
 
 « Thank you." 
 
 Mabel Westbrook passed into the courtyard, 
 and turned away from the direction which the
 
 A SURPRISE. 89 
 
 porter had indicated. The old men in the black 
 gowns stared across at her from their sunny 
 corners, but Adam Halfday was not one of 
 them. She passed into the banqueting hall or 
 refectory, the door of which was handy on her 
 right, and looked carefully around her, but the 
 place was empty and full of echoes, and the fire 
 within the iron hoop was smouldering to itself. 
 
 " He is waiting for me at his cottage," thought 
 Mabel. " Now, if I could reach there quietly 
 without encountering Mr. Salmon, I should be 
 glad." 
 
 She was considering her plan of action, when 
 the door was pushed open slowly, and a short 
 old man, with a head that might have been a 
 skeleton's, the skin was drawn so tightly over 
 it, and showed the outline of the skull so clearly 
 — came shuffling towards her. He was in the 
 garb of the brotherhood, and he bowed low as 
 he advanced. 
 
 *• My lady would like to see the church," he 
 piped in feeble accents ; " will you please to 
 step this way ?" 
 
 ** Thank you ; but I have promised to wait 
 for one of the brethren here,*' said Mabel.
 
 90 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 ** It's my turn, madam," he croaked forth, his 
 hands closing and unclosing in nervous trepida- 
 tion of losing a fee ; " each brother takes it in 
 turn, and no preference is allowed. Will you 
 please to step this way ?" 
 
 " I have no wish to see the church at present," 
 answered Mabel. " I have " 
 
 " You can begin here, if you like, ma'am. 
 This is the refectory," said the old man, in the 
 showman and parrot-like manner patent to all 
 guides ; " it was re-erected in the middle of the 
 fifteenth century, at the sole expense of the 
 cardinal ; it is fifty feet in length, twenty-six in 
 breadth, and thirty-seven m height to the top of 
 the oaken rafters. At the upper end of the hall 
 there are a raised dais and high table still in 
 existence, and the painting on the panel is 
 attributed to Albert Diirer, although there is 
 little real evidence to prove its origin. Its sub- 
 ject is " 
 
 " I am sorry to interrupt you," said Mabel, 
 very gently, *' but I must defer my inspec- 
 tion of the hospital and church for several 
 days," 
 
 " It's a fine morning. You could not have a
 
 A SURPRISE. 91 
 
 better opportunity to see the place, my lady," 
 replied the brother ; " the subject on the panel 
 yonder is that of " 
 
 Mabel Westbrook, evidently a woman ready 
 with her money, slipped a half-crown into the 
 palm of the brother. 
 
 " I will hear all this another time, if vou will 
 allow me. Meanwhile, till me where is Adam 
 Halfday," she said. 
 
 The old man paused, looked at his half- 
 crown, dropped the coin into a side pocket,, 
 mumbled forth a " Thank you," and moved a 
 step or too more closely to our heroine. 
 
 ".Adam Halfday, did you say ?" he asked. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You could not have a worse brother to show 
 you over the place than he is," he said confi- 
 dentially. " Adam never took an interest in 
 the charity, or cared to read up his facts, al- 
 though I don't say but what he scrambles 
 through the business somehow. He's breaking 
 fast, too, and I shall be walking before his coffin 
 soon with the black stick in my hand." 
 
 He crossed tlie hall, took a black rod from 
 the corner, and regarded it with loving interest.
 
 92 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " This has no right to be left here — it's kept 
 always in the church." 
 
 " What is it?" asked Mabel. 
 
 "When there's a funeral of one of us, the 
 eldest brother walks in front of the corpse with 
 this staff in his hand," said the old man. " I 
 am the eldest brother— Peter Scone, ma'am — 
 and I have walked before a lot of them in my 
 day — some eight or nine-and-twenty of 'em. I 
 shouldn't wonder," he added, with a chuckle 
 that would have done credit to the first grave- 
 digger in " Hamlet," " if I don't march before 
 old Adam very shortly. He's sure to go, for 
 his temper is a trying one, and wears him out. 
 Oh yes, he'll go next, I know\" 
 
 Mabel shuddered, as the man patted his black 
 stick affectionately. 
 
 " Will you tell me where Adam Halfday is to 
 be found this morning ? I have a message for 
 him, and wish particularly to see him," she said ; 
 " is he in his room V 
 
 " No, that he isn't," was the answer. " Now 
 I come to think of it, it's not very likely you 
 will see the old gentleman to-day."
 
 A SURPRISE. 93^ 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " He's gone." 
 
 " Gone !" exclaimed Mabel — *' gone away, do 
 you mean ?" 
 
 " Yes, for a week or two. He got leave of 
 absence from the Master early in the morning, 
 and his grandson — that's the curator of the 
 museum in Market Street — came and fetched 
 him and Dorcas away in a horse and chaise. 
 It's well for those who have relations with 
 horses and chaises to take them for drives about 
 the country," he said jealously, " and give them 
 change of air and scene, whilst others stop here 
 for years and rot. He's going to have sea air, 
 Lord bless you, as if that could cure old Half- 
 day's bad temper, or put him in a good one. 
 It was only yesterday he sulked with all of us, 
 and to-day he's going to have sea air ! The 
 like of that now !" 
 
 He beat his funeral rod in the palm of his 
 withered right hand, and shook with envy and 
 excitement. It was not all peace and love in 
 the precincts of St. Lazarus, and human nature, 
 even amongst these ruins of time and man, wa&
 
 •94 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 very much the same as in the busy city, from 
 which the brethren came by right of birth to 
 die. 
 
 " Where has he gone ?" asked Mabel. 
 
 " To the sea-side. That is all I heard about 
 it." 
 
 " And Dorcas — has she gone also f 
 
 " Oh yes, and in her best merino dress, as 
 smart as carrots." 
 
 " And her brother came for them early this 
 morning, you tell me?" 
 
 '' Yes, her brother Brian. Ah ! a clever man 
 that, take him altogether, and one who will do 
 better in the world than his father, or his grand- 
 father, or any of the family. A long-headed 
 fellow, Brian," said Peter Scone, " but as con- 
 ceited a young jackanapes as ever strutted in 
 and out here as though the place belonged to 
 him. I don't like people who think so much of 
 themselves — they're hateful company." 
 
 " Gone away," said Mabel to herself, " be- 
 cause I was expected — gone away to foil me, I 
 am certain. That is what Brian Halfday meant 
 when he asked me to suspend my judgment till
 
 A SURPRISE. 95 
 
 we met again — when he talked of acting rashly 
 presently. Why are they all afraid of me, I 
 wonder?"
 
 96 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MABEL ACCEPTS MR. SALMON'S KIND INVITATION. 
 
 AFTER the unlooked-for announcement of 
 Adam Halfdaj's departure from the 
 Hospital of St. Lazarus, Mabel Westbrook did 
 not lose much time with Peter Scone. She 
 was excited and angry ; here had come opposi- 
 tion to her wishes, to her amiable scheming, and 
 Brian Halfday had balked her at the outset. 
 He was a man who had objected to her inter- 
 ference, and had stepped between her and her 
 promise, not trusting her, not knowing what 
 that promise was, or how it might afifect the 
 future of himself and sister. She could not sit 
 down tamely and wait for the return of these 
 Halfdays, submitting to their will, as if she had
 
 MABEL ACCEPTS MR. SALMON'S INVITATION. 97 
 
 not a firm one of her own when her pride was 
 wounded. Brian Halfday had not treated her 
 well ; he had set himself to thwart her ; he had 
 regarded her wishes as nothing, and his own as 
 supreme, and had acted almost as her enemy. 
 It was a mean advantage which he had taken 
 of her confidence, she considered, and she should 
 never like the man again. He was crafty and 
 deceitful. Peter Scone had called him " a con- 
 ceited young jackanapes," and very possibly 
 Peter Scone was right. Certainly his grand- 
 father and his own sister did not regard him 
 with any great degree of reverence, although 
 they might have learned to fear him. 
 
 Mabel Westbrook, forced as it were into 
 antagonism with Brian Halfday, and roused to 
 action by the last move of that gentleman, 
 sought out the Reverend Gregory Salmon 
 forthwith. She crossed the second quadrangle, 
 and passed beyond the precincts of the hospital 
 into a fair landscape lying beyond its walls. A 
 stout oaken door in the garden wall opened 
 upon meadow land and woodland, and on a 
 deep, rushing river glittering in the sunshine. 
 Sitting complacently on the bank, not fifty 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 yards from the hospital wall, was Mr. Salmon, 
 fishing. He was very glad to see her ; he was 
 as courteous and fussy and profuse in compli- 
 ments as ever; he expressed himself highly 
 honoured by her second visit, and he immediate- 
 ly set his fishing tackle aside, with the evident 
 intention of placing his whole time at her 
 disposal. Mabel hastened to assure him this 
 was only a passing visit, and that she had 
 business, important business, in Penton, before 
 luncheon. 
 
 *' But you have come to see the church ?" said 
 Mr. Salmon. 
 
 " No," she answered frankly. " T came to 
 see Adam Halfday, and he has disappointed 
 me." 
 
 " To see Adam Halfday !" exclaimed the 
 astonished Master. 
 
 *' If I had placed more confidence in you last 
 night, Mr. Salmon," said Mabel, *'it is probable 
 that I should not have been foiled this morning 
 by Adam Halfday's grandson. But I have been 
 anxious for weeks to talk to this old man." 
 
 " Bless me ! Is there anything so very re- 
 markable about him V
 
 MABEL ACCEPTS MR. SALMON'S INVITATION. 99 
 
 "I bring him a message from America. I 
 have business to transact with him, which his 
 son, for some mysterious reason, is anxious to 
 postpone," Mabel replied. " That is all I need 
 say, or can say at present." 
 
 " Yes — ahem — exactly — how very surpris- 
 ing !" said the clergyman. "The son, though 
 I cannot say I like him myself, is a man very 
 much respected in the city, and of course no 
 stranger to the hospital. To offer to take 
 away his grandfather for a holiday was some- 
 thing I could not object to, or, indeed, had any 
 power to object to. The brethren are not 
 prisoners here, or I their warder. I gave per- 
 mission as a matter of course." 
 
 ** Where have they gone ?" asked Mabel. 
 
 " I don't know," was the reply. " Brian 
 Halfday mentioned the seaside, that is all." 
 
 *' Did you see him ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 *' Good morning, sir. I have not a moment 
 to spare." 
 
 " But we shall have the pleasure of " 
 
 " Yes, soon, " said Mabel abruptly, as she 
 turned and went with quick steps across the
 
 100 AS LONG AS SHE LR^ED. 
 
 quadraugleto the first courtyard, and under the 
 archway to her hired carriage. She was back 
 in Penton before twelve — it was only chiming 
 the hour by the cathedral clock when she was 
 making her inquiries at the museum for its 
 missing custodian. But all inquiries were in 
 vain : Brian Halfday had taken every precaution, 
 as though he had feared the pertinacity of Miss 
 Westbrook from the first. No one knew in 
 what direction Mr. Halfday had gone. He had 
 asked for and obtained his holidays that morn- 
 ing — three weeks per annum were lawfully his, 
 although he had never asked for them before. 
 He had urged pressing and sudden business, 
 and departed. He had spoken of writing for 
 his letters in the course of a day or two, but it 
 was very probable that he would not write at 
 all, concluded a flippant youth wdth red hair, 
 who was left in charge till Brian Halfday's re- 
 turn, and whom Mabel had discovered on an 
 office-stool, catching the early flies of the Spring 
 season. 
 
 Mabel Westbrook went back to the " Mitre " 
 smarting with the same sense of slight and 
 injustice which she had experienced that morn-
 
 MABEL ACCEPTS j\IR. SALMON'S INVITATION. 101 
 
 ing at the Hospital. She was annoyed at the 
 flight of the Halfdays ; she was still more an- 
 noyed at her own helplessness. Here was a 
 man who in a few hours had thwarted the mis- 
 sion of her life — in whose power it might still 
 lie to defeat her project. She had told Brian 
 Halfday of her promise, and be had evinced 
 no sympathy with her, or respect for the solemn 
 task that she had undertaken. He had set his 
 own will in opposition to her, and was now ex- 
 ulting probably in that success which had dis- 
 comfited and humiliated her. She should never 
 like the man. He had shown his want of conli- 
 dence in her too completely for her to forgive 
 him, whatever might be the motives which had 
 led him to act in this strange fashion. She had 
 offered friendship and assistance, and this was 
 her reward. She had come to do good, and no 
 one would put faith in her profession. What 
 had she said or done, what was there in her 
 manner, to lead these people to distrust her so 
 completely ? Verily, she must be a most ob- 
 jectionable young woman in strangers' eyes, 
 and that was a very nice thought to begin her 
 English life with. Still she was not a girl dis-
 
 102 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 posed to submit tamely to distrust or defeat. 
 She was high-spirited and courageous. In 
 America she had been her own mistress early 
 in life, having two old sick folk and a big house 
 to manage and control, and there was more of 
 the clear-sighted, matter-of-fact woman about 
 Mabel Westbrook than is generally to be found 
 in ladies of her age. She was looking keenly 
 out at the world now, and its aspect, did not 
 daunt her. She had known trouble in the past, 
 she was prepared even for trouble in the future, 
 and with youth and strength she felt she should 
 fight through all the obstacles in her way. 
 She had faith, and she had money, and they 
 are two excellent aids to most projects under 
 the sun ; especially the money, those wiseacres 
 will declare who have outlived faith in any- 
 thing but themselves and their balance at the 
 banker's. 
 
 This Brian Halfday should not have his own 
 way so completely as he had bargained for, if 
 she had a voice in the matter, and she thought 
 she had. When she discovered, after two days' 
 waiting, that no tidings had been received at 
 the museum, she and her maid started on a
 
 MABEL ACCEPTS MR. SALMON'S INVITATION. 103 
 
 fljing expedition to the nearest watering places 
 from Pentonshire, taking half a dozen of them 
 in turn, and ransacking visitors' lists, and ex- 
 ploring parades and piers and sands in their 
 vain quest. The telegraph wires were kept 
 busy in her service, and Mr. Gregory Salmon, 
 the trustees of Penton Museum, and the land- 
 lord of the *' Mitre " were asked daily by elec- 
 tricity if there were any news, and had daily to 
 reply to Miss Westbrook in the negative. 
 
 When a fortnight had elapsed Mabel and her 
 maid were back in the old city, but Mr. Brian 
 Halfday had not returned to his duties at Penton 
 Museum. There was a week of his holidays 
 still to the good, and he had determined to 
 make the most of his vacation. He must come 
 back, was Mabel's consolation ; he must face 
 her again ; his father and Dorcas must return 
 to the shelter of St. Lazarus. They had achieved 
 their object, and gained time — whether she 
 should learn for what reason time was wanted 
 by the grandson was a matter of some doubt. 
 If he did not tell her of his own free will, the 
 mystery would end with him — he took no man 
 into his confidence she was assured already.
 
 104 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 Four days after her return to Penton, Mabel 
 Westbrook accepted Mr. Salmon's invitation to 
 spend a few days with his wife at the Master's 
 residence in the Hospital of St. Lazarus. She 
 was alone in the world, hotel life was dull, and 
 Mr. and Mrs. Salmon were anxious to be friend- 
 ly, but it was not for these reasons that she left 
 the '* Mitre " for the comfort of a well-to-do 
 English home. The Reverend Gregory Salmon 
 had scarcely made a favourable impression 
 upon her, and though Mrs. Salmon was more 
 motherly and genuine, yet she was hardly a 
 w^oman to be charmed with. Still Mr. Salmon 
 was extremely pressing that Miss Westbrook 
 should favour them with her company for a few 
 days, and Mabel broke through her habits of re- 
 serve, and went to St. Lazarus as a guest. 
 She should be near Adam Halfday's rooms, she 
 should be the first to hear of his return, she 
 should be able to see him at some time or 
 other without the grandson's interference and 
 opposition. 
 
 "We shall have a surprise for you to- 
 morrow," said Mr. Salmon, with a broad, beam- 
 ing smile. If he had not beamed so constantly
 
 MABEL ACCEPTS MR. SALMON'S INVITATION. 105 
 
 upon her, and in so fatherly a way, Mabel be- 
 lieved that she would have liked him better. 
 
 " A surprise ? Has " 
 
 " My dear Miss Mabel "—Mr. Salmon had 
 dropped the surname after dinner the first day 
 of her arrival — " you must not ask me any 
 questions, you really must not." 
 
 Full of her own idea, Mabel waited im- 
 patiently for the next day's surprise. Adam 
 Halfday had sent notice of his return to his old 
 quarters, she thought, and the surprise came in 
 the afternoon, and in the unlooked-for advent 
 of Angelo Salmon, the chaplain's only sou. 
 This was a surprise at which Mabel West brook's 
 countenance did not light up with joy ; indeed, 
 for a fleeting instant, the fair white brow con- 
 tracted as with a sense of anger or pain at the 
 heart of its owner. The young man might be 
 a welcome addition to a dull household, but she 
 was not glad to see him, was not pleased he 
 should find her a guest in his father's house on 
 the day of his premature return. She felt al- 
 most as if the Salmons, pere et mire, had en- 
 trapped her into this visit, knowing that their 
 son was coming home to them sooner than they
 
 106 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 had anticipated, possibly even receiving a hint 
 to secure her from this soft-hearted, soft-headed, 
 but not wholly undesigning young man. He 
 stood before her, blushing vividly, as though he 
 had had a share in the conspiracy, and there 
 was a difficulty in encountering Mabel's search- 
 ing look at him, despite his efforts to appear 
 agreeably astonished at her presence. 
 
 " I thought you were not coming to England 
 for some time, Mr. Salmon," said Mabel, after 
 the first greetings had been exchanged. 
 
 " I did think of making a longer stay in 
 America. I — I was a little anxious about 
 Canada and — and Niagara," he added, as 
 though the colony and the waterfall were both 
 in a bad way. " I had even a dream of the 
 Rocky Mountains, but I came back." 
 
 " Why ?" asked Mabel, but in so hard a tone 
 of inquiry that Mr. Salmon, junior, was not 
 likely at that juncture to state the real cause of 
 his return, which was certainly herself. 
 
 " The States are chilly and lonely. I yearned 
 for home," he said; "I had not seen mother and 
 father for many months." 
 
 *• I wish 1 had been apprised of your coming,"
 
 MABEL ACCEPTS MR. SALMON'S IXVITATIOX. 107 
 
 said Mabel musingly. " I feel very much iu the 
 way now." 
 
 " Oh ! pray don't think that," said Angelo and 
 Angelo's mother. 
 
 " You will have a great deal to say to your 
 parents." 
 
 " No, I really shan't," answered Angelo. 
 
 " And there are family matters for them to 
 talk over with you." 
 
 " They can be deferred, my dear Miss Mabel," 
 cried the chaplain. *' I hope you will not regard 
 yourself in the light of anything but a very 
 welcome guest, whom we should be truly sorry 
 to part with yet awhile." 
 
 Mabel bowed, but her face retained its gravity 
 for that night — nothing took away its thought- 
 ful, almost sad expression. Angelo Salmon 
 sneaked to her side after dinner, and woke her 
 to a fleeting interest in friends and acquaint- 
 ances in Boston, whom they had both known ; 
 but he did not extract a smile from her that was 
 anything like the bright, unforced smiles which 
 had been too much for him in the States. She 
 listened to his anecdotes and his news attent- 
 ively, but he discovered that her big grey eyes
 
 108 AS LOXG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 were awkward things to encounter that night. 
 
 Angelo Salmon was not a plain young man ; 
 tarring a certain puffin ess of cheeks he might 
 have been considered rather a good-looking 
 fellow than otherwise. He was tall and slim, 
 had very blue, doll-like eyes, a nose too small 
 for him, and a curly mass of ginger hair that in- 
 creased his cherubic aspect, and made one think 
 of a pair of wings as fitting to his tout ensemble. 
 Take it altogether, it was a fresh-coloured, 
 trumpet- blowing kind efface, wholly lacking in 
 any expression save that of perfect innocence. 
 A child would have trusted Angelo Salmon at 
 first sight ; a promoter of companies would 
 have had hopes of him for *' shares ;" the man 
 on the look-out at the corner of the street would 
 have suggested '' confidence" or skittles prompt- 
 ly ; an unprincipled person, anxious to get rid 
 of a bad half-crown, would have immediately 
 and hopefully given it him in change ; no living 
 cabman could have looked him in the face with- 
 out doubling his fare ; dogs liked him, and cats 
 rubbed their fur against his legs when he came 
 into a room. 
 
 His intense meekness, and his unmistakable
 
 MABEL ACCEPTS MR. SALMON'S INVITATION. 10^' 
 
 sense of discomfort, rendered Mabel more mer- 
 ciful towards him at the close of the evening, 
 when a rubber of whist had been got through 
 in spiritless fashion. Mr. Salmon, senior, had 
 left the drawing-room to take a last look round 
 for the night — and his look included a walk 
 round the quadrangle as a matter of duty, and 
 when it did not rain. Mrs. Salmon was dozing 
 in an easy-chair after the excitement of trump- 
 ing her husband's tricks and being scowled and 
 growled at for her pains, and Angelo and Mabel 
 Westbrook were lingering at the card-table. 
 
 " Miss Westbrook," Angelo said suddenly, in 
 a thick voice, " I hope 1 have not offended you 
 in any way. I should be very sorry indeed." 
 
 " Why should you think I am offended, Mr. 
 Salmon ?" asked Mabel. 
 
 "I don't know ; but you are different — some- 
 what. You are scarcely the young lady who 
 bade me good-bye at Boston. I, — I think if 
 you will allow me the presumption to say so, 
 that we — we were better friends in the New 
 World than we — we are now in the Old," he 
 stammered forth. " Of course I — I have no 
 right to say this, or to notice this ; not in the
 
 110 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 least. But I should be very, very sorry to 
 think I had given you offence." 
 
 "We were scarcely better friends in America 
 than in England, of that I am sure," said Mabel 
 in reply. " Perhaps I was looking forward to 
 my journey as to a long holiday, and lighter of 
 heart in consequence. I hardly remember 
 now." 
 
 *' Has not England pleased you. Miss West- 
 brook?" 
 
 " I have seen little of it yet. I have already 
 met disappointments and deceits in it," she 
 added with a sigh. 
 
 " Is it possible V" 
 
 " Hence I am dull to-night, and yoa have 
 seen the change in me." 
 
 "I — I was afraid my sudden return had some- 
 thing to do with it." 
 
 " Possibly it vexed me a little." 
 
 " Good gracious !" exclaimed Angelo, rolling 
 his white handkerchief into a ball and dabbing 
 his forehead with it. 
 
 " Your parents did not tell me you were 
 coming. I accepted their invitation in good 
 faith, and believing I should be very quiet here
 
 MABEL ACCEPTS MR. SALMON'S INVITATION. Ill 
 
 and very much alone. And knowing of your 
 return, as Mr. and Mrs. Salmon did," she said 
 once more, looking steadfastly at Angelo, " 1 
 think the information might have been extend- 
 ed to me, so that I might have acted upon it as 
 I wished. There, that is all," she added frank- 
 ly, "and it's not worth commenting upon 
 further. It does not matter ; only I feel more 
 proud and fussy to-night than usual. Pray un- 
 derstand, Mr. Salmon, it does not matter to me 
 in the least." 
 
 She said this very meaningly and very assur- 
 ingly, but it did not tend to raise the spirits of 
 Angelo Salmon in any great degree. He 
 colaured, looked at her, and away from her, 
 coughed once or twice, and rose. 
 
 " I am glad I have not given offence," he said 
 ruefully ; " thank you. Miss Westbrook ; thank 
 you very much indeed." 
 
 He did not say for what he thanked her ; he 
 could hardly have explained had she asked him, 
 but she was far from curious concerning the 
 motives for his gratitude. When Angelo's fa- 
 ther reappeared she bade them good night and 
 went at once to her room, wherein she locked
 
 112 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 herself, after dismissing her maid. The princi- 
 pal bedrooms of the Master's establishment 
 were, like the drawing-room and dining-room, 
 on the ground floor. As we have already 
 remarked in an earlier chapter, several cottages 
 of the brethren had been levelled, and this low- 
 roofed, substantial, rambling edifice built on the 
 space, to the shame of the trustees and the glory 
 of the Master of a century or so ago. 
 
 Mabel's bedroom window looked towards the 
 quadrangle and the houses of the brothers; and 
 pensively disposed that night, she sat down at 
 the bedroom window and gazed out at the stars, 
 and the dark landscape on which they shone. 
 She was unhappy — it was very odd, but she 
 was conscious that she was becoming unhappy 
 in this England, where her grandfather had 
 wished that she should spend the rest of her 
 life. She bad not a friend in the world here, 
 unless Angelo Salmon was to be considered her 
 friend ; they Avere all to make ; they were to 
 come round her by intuition, or to be discovered 
 by herself. She had letters of introduction, 
 which she valued about as much as the one she 
 had sent to Mr. Salmon. There was an old
 
 MABEL ACCEPTS MR. SALMON'S INVITATION. 113 
 
 schoolfellow in London somewhere, she be- 
 lieved, and that was all. There was a lonely 
 life at present before her, and she had spoken 
 that night of much deceit in it. Even these 
 Salmons had tricked her into accepting an 
 invitation to th'^ir house, so that she might 
 meet a well-meaning simpleton who had been 
 impressed by her, and against her will in Boston. 
 He was the son of Mr. Gregory Salmon, of 
 Pentonshire, and hence had attracted her 
 notice; he had come across her life as a curious 
 coincidence, not as a fate — certainly not as a 
 man whom she could ever take to heart as a 
 lover. 
 
 He" was young and had hopes, and it would 
 be her stern duty to crush them summarily 
 forthwith. A lover, indeed ! as if in all her life 
 she should think of a lover ! She did not be- 
 lieve the man existed for whom she should 
 ever care a brass button. She was wholly 
 heart-whole, and intended to keep so. Her 
 task would drive all love nonsense out of her 
 thoughts — and these Halfdays 
 
 She looked towards the cottages as her 
 thoughts turned in the old direction — towards 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 the deserted cottage of Adam Halfday in par- 
 ticular. During the day she had studied the 
 place, and even tried to open the door, which 
 she had found securely fastened. When should 
 she enter and give the dead man's message 
 to the one member of the Noble Poor whom 
 she was anxious to confront, she wondered. 
 
 She drew a quick breath of surprise, and 
 leaned forwards, with her face pressed closely 
 to the glass. There was a light shining from 
 the window of Adam Halfday's room — sure 
 sign that human life, in some shape or fashion, 
 had come back to the deserted house.
 
 115 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AN ALLY. 
 
 THE heroine of this history was a young 
 lady who made up her mind very quickly, 
 and dashed at results with all the natural 
 impulsiveness of a girl of twenty years. She 
 was courageous also ; the unknown or the un- 
 foresieen did not daunt her at the outset. She 
 snatched up her hat and mantle, put them on, 
 drew aside the heavy curtains, and with some 
 difficulty unfastened the old-fashioned lock of 
 the window. The windows of Mr. Salmon's 
 principal apartments consisted of double glass 
 doors, opening upon the flower-beds beneath, 
 and Mabel stepped without difficulty from the 
 room, closed the window behind her, and stood 
 in the quadrangle. 
 
 " I am nearer the truth to-night," she whis- 
 
 i2
 
 IIG AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 pered to herself as she went swiftly along in 
 the shadow of the brethren's cottages towards 
 the light shimmering in the lattice casement of 
 Adam Halfday's house. 
 
 The truth was there, the solution to the 
 mystery of Adam's disappearance must be 
 there, and she advanced without a thought of 
 the danger which might follow her intrusion. 
 She had not reached the cottage, when she dis- 
 covered that she was very womanly and very 
 easily frightened after all, for her heart bobbed 
 suddenly into her mouth as a voice exclaimed 
 at her side — 
 
 " Miss Westbrook, is that you ?" 
 
 Mabel turned quickly in the direction of the 
 sound, and discovered a tall, thin figure sitting 
 in the shadow of the wall on one of the benches 
 that had been provided for the accommodation 
 of the brethren. The figure had been recumbent 
 until Mabel's rapid progress had attracted its 
 attention, when it had sat up with great haste, 
 and with its hair on end. 
 
 " Mr. Salmon !" exclaimed Mabel, peering into 
 the darkness, and distinguishing with difficulty 
 the Master's son.
 
 AN ALLY. 117 
 
 " Yes, it is I," said Angelo, rising-, and breath- 
 ing with a little difficulty, " is anything serious 
 the matter ? What can it possibly be that " 
 
 " That brings me here," concluded Mabel as 
 he paused. " What has brought you out to spy 
 upon me, I might ask with a better grace, Mr. 
 Salmon?" 
 
 " Upon my word and honour, Miss West- 
 brook, I am no spy," replied Angelo in great 
 perturbation of mind, " I had no idea you were 
 out of doors ; you have given me a terrible 
 fright, I assure you." 
 
 " What are you doing ?" 'Mabel asked per- 
 emptorily. 
 
 Sbe was annoyed at discovering Angelo 
 Salmon in the quadrangle ; annoyed also at 
 being discovered herself, and was " down upon 
 him " accordingly. 
 
 " I could not sleep. I didn't feel very well. 
 I have been smoking with father, and his cigars 
 are dreadfully strong," he said with a shudder ; 
 " and so I came out into the fresh air to — to 
 think a little." 
 
 " Has anyone passed you V she asked. 
 
 *' Bless my soul, no !"
 
 118 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " You have seen no one in the quadrangle 
 since you have been here ?" 
 
 " Certainly not, except yourself. Is — is any- 
 body expected?" 
 
 Mabel was excited by delay. She took Mr. 
 Angelo Salmon by the arm, and walked him 
 into the centre of the big grass-plot, where the 
 light in Adam Halfday's window was visible. 
 
 " Has not that light attracted your atten- 
 tion?" she asked. 
 
 " I have not noticed it before," was his reply. 
 " One of the brothers is up late, against the 
 rules ; or perhaps he is ill." 
 
 " You know a brother of the name of 
 Halfday ?" 
 
 " I don't trouble myself much about the 
 brothers," Angelo answered ; " I leave that to 
 father. This is not exactly my home ; I have 
 chambers in town, if you remember." 
 
 " I do not remember," said Mabel, almost 
 fretfully. " Don't talk, please ; let me think 
 what is best to be done.'' 
 
 " What are you going to do f inquired the 
 perplexed Angelo. 
 
 " I am interested — deeply interested — in one
 
 AN ALLY. 119 
 
 Adam Halfday, a pensioner here," Mabel con- 
 fessed. "He is absent with leave from the 
 charity, his house has been locked during his 
 absence, he has not returned, and yet there is 
 a light in his room to-night. And see there ! — ' 
 the shadow of a man's head upon the blind !" 
 
 " Oh, good gracious ! so there is !" cried 
 Angel 0. "The sooner we call for assistance 
 the better, don't you think ?" 
 'No, I do not." 
 
 ' But you will never " 
 
 \iabel interrupted him once more. 
 'I do not believe there is anyone to hurt 
 mt in Adam Halfday's room — anyone who 
 W)U-ld think of doing me harm," said Mabel, — 
 " md 1 am going to solve the mystery of that 
 li,^ht." 
 " Alone f said Angelo. 
 
 " Yes — alone. You may wait here, if you 
 fvill." 
 
 " I — I really cannot suffer you to go alone," 
 jaid Angelo, plucking up the small amount of 
 courage with which nature had endowed him, 
 and feeling very strongly that he must not
 
 120 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 betray any exhibition of fear to his companion ; 
 " I — I will accompany you, if you think we 
 require no assistance." 
 
 *' I am sure we do not." 
 
 " Very well, Miss Westbrook," said Angelo. 
 " I hope you are right." ' 
 
 He was doubtful himself, but thieves were 
 unlikely to intrude upon the precincts of the 
 Hospital, unless they came after his fatha-'s 
 plate; and at the worst — why, he and Mal)el 
 would die together ! 
 
 There was a faint consolation in that, he vas 
 inclined to consider, but it did not buoy lim 
 up in any great degree. Certainly he w^as rot 
 quite himself yet ; he should have felt a bra\er 
 man if he had not incautiously smoked one of 
 the fattest and darkest cigars from his fathefs 
 box of Larranagas. One cannot be wholly a 
 hero when the stomach is sick. 
 
 Mabel passed to the cottage, and Angelo 
 walked by her side. 
 
 " When I am assured all is safe, I may ask 
 you to leave me with the intruder," she said. 1 
 
 " I don't think it would be quite safe to 
 leave you," Angelo replied. ,
 
 AN ALLY. 121 
 
 " Adam Halfday is an old man, to whom I 
 bring consolation." 
 
 " Oh, indeed !" said Angelo. 
 
 Miss Westbrook was in her right mind, he 
 had always fancied, but her actions were 
 certainly extraordinary on that particular occa- 
 sion. 
 
 They were at the common door of the 
 cottages at last — an open gap of darkness 
 which led under the building to a broad space 
 of garden-ground beyond, where the brothers 
 raised fruit and vegetables for their own con- 
 sumption, and in their proper season, and 
 where, beyond the garden, streamed a branch 
 of the river. Right and left of the entry were 
 doors, to the right that of Adam Halfday. 
 Mabel put her hand on the latch and pressed 
 the door silently inwards ; but it was as 
 securely fastened as she had found it in the 
 afternoon. 
 
 " Locked still," she whispered to Angelo. 
 
 " Yes. It's singular," was his reply. 
 
 " The man or woman in that room has 
 entered from the back, has crossed the stream 
 and garden-ground, and will return that way
 
 122 AS LONG AS SHE LR'ED. 
 
 again," cried Mabel, more excited now ; " let 
 lis make haste." 
 
 Angelo Salmon did not see any pressing 
 necessity for haste, but he followed her not- 
 withstanding. He must have been very fond 
 of Mabel Westbrook in his heart, for he could 
 have followed no other woman or man on so 
 hazardous an adventure ; his own father might 
 have gone down on his knees to him in vain — 
 not that the Master of St. Lazarus would have 
 been likely to act in this fashion, we are 
 disposed to consider. 
 
 They passed through the dark passage to 
 the garden, and stood under the star-lit sky, in 
 the rear of Adam Halfday's house, before a 
 door that was ajar, and that opened to Mabel's 
 touch. 
 
 Here Mabel paused, and her courage sank a 
 degree or two, as was very natural, at the black 
 little room beyond the door, and through which 
 room she must pass to the front of the house. 
 
 " Keep near me, Mr. Salmon," she whispered. 
 
 "Certainly — but — but you are quite sure I 
 had better not shout for the police V 
 
 " What police ?"
 
 AN ALLY. 123- 
 
 " I beg pardon, I mean for the porter, or any- 
 body else who may be handy." 
 
 " Are you nervous V" 
 
 '' Oh, not a bit ! Not I, indeed !" 
 
 " We will see this out for ourselves, then." 
 
 Mabel Westbrook entered the dark room, and 
 groped her way towards the opposite wall. 
 Through the chinks of the door, as she ap- 
 proached, the tell-tale light was seen again. 
 Her heart beat rapidly, but she was nerved to 
 action, and she dashed at the door, and pushed 
 it open with both hands. It swung back noisi- 
 ly against a chair, and startled the inmate, who 
 was sitting at an open desk, poring over many 
 papners. He looked up quickly and fiercely at 
 the doorway, and at the fair figure of the wo- 
 man standing there and gazing in upon him. 
 
 " Miss Westbrook, you here !" he exclaimed,. 
 in his surprise. 
 
 " Yes, it is I," answered Mabel. 
 And then she and Brian Halfday looked 
 steadily at each other, as men crossing swords 
 upon a point of honour might look before the 
 first thrust was given.
 
 124 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 IN ADAM HALFDAY'S ROOM. 
 
 BRIAN HALFDAY was paler than when 
 Mabel had seen him last, but the fright 
 which he had had might possibly account for it. 
 A door suddenly swung open in the middle of 
 the night, when the house is quiet and the stu- 
 dent absorbed in his task, is not a fair test of 
 the strength of the student's nerves, although 
 Brian had only pushed his chair back, and set 
 his thin white hands upon the papers, as if in 
 defence of them. His hair and eyes looked 
 darker than usual, Mabel thought, by contrast 
 with the whiteness of his face. If he had been 
 taken off his guard by Mabel's unceremonious 
 method of entry, he was quick to assume his 
 customary demeanour. He rose, placed a rush-
 
 IN ADAI\r HALFDAY'S ROOM. 125 
 
 bottomed chair at his visitor's disposal, and 
 said, with great calmness, 
 
 " Pray take a seat, Miss Westbrook." 
 
 " AVill you tell me why you are here in secret, 
 Mr. Halfday — why you have all treated me so 
 badly f said Mabel, far from coolly, in reply. 
 
 " I have not treated you badly," he replied. 
 " I hope I can say the same for the rest of my 
 family." 
 
 " You have," was her flat denial. 
 
 " Pardon me," he said, " but you must allow 
 me to repeat that I have ?iot." 
 
 " What are you doing here ?" asked Mabel, 
 still angry and still bewildered ; " why do you 
 not answer my questions fairly and straightfor- 
 wardly? Where is your grandfather'^ Where 
 
 is your sister Dorcas 1 Why " She paused 
 
 as she detected a smile lurking at the corners 
 of his mouth, and cried — " Is it possible that 
 you see anything to jest at in this?" 
 
 "You have asked me five questions in a 
 breath — which shall I reply to first?" he said. 
 
 " To any of them, so that you answer truth- 
 fully." 
 
 The smile vanished from his mouth, and
 
 126 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 het lips became hard and inflexible at once. 
 " I am not in the habit of telling untruths, 
 Miss Westbrook," he replied. 
 
 ^' You have deceived me already — you have 
 plotted against me from the first moment you 
 became aware of my existence," said Mabel. 
 
 " I asked for time to think, and you would 
 not give it me. And, Miss Westbrook," he 
 added, in a very earnest voice, that impressed 
 Mabel, despite her distrust of him, " time was 
 as important to you as to me." 
 
 '^ I had told you of the promise to my grand- 
 father." 
 
 " Which did not bind me in any way," an- 
 swered Brian, "which — excuse me, but you have 
 a companion. Who is that sneaking in the 
 background ?" 
 
 '' It is Mr. Salmon, who has been kind enough 
 to accompany me," said Mabel. 
 
 "The Master of the hospital?" 
 
 " His son." 
 
 " Eavesdropping is fashionable at St. Laza- 
 rus," was the acrid comment here. " Come in, 
 Mr. Salmon. You will catch cold in that scul- 
 lery, I am afraid."
 
 IN ADAM HALFDAY'S ROOM. 127 
 
 Angelo Salmon, somewhat red in the face, 
 entered the room at this invitation. Brian 
 stared at him for an instant, and then said, — 
 
 " You will find a chair by the side of your 
 friend. Sit down, please." 
 
 " I don't know that Miss Westbrook wishes 
 me to remain," replied Angelo. *' I think you 
 said. Miss Westbrook, there might be business 
 to transact with some one. Is this the gen- 
 tleman?" 
 
 " No ; I wished to see this gentleman's 
 grandfather." 
 
 " Then if you will allow me to remain as your 
 escort, I shall be obliged," said Angelo. 
 
 " Very well," replied Mabel wearily ; '' I don't 
 think it matters." 
 
 She did not think there were any questions 
 or answers of moment to be made now, and it 
 was no longer impossible to disguise her interest 
 in these Halfdays from the outer world of which 
 Angelo Salmon was an atom. Besides, she had 
 learned to distrust Brian Halfday, and the 
 forced lightness of his demeanour had rendered 
 her trebly suspicious. Angelo Salmon was a
 
 128 AS LOXG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 protection, and a witness, if either were neces- 
 sary. 
 
 Brian appeared to read part of her thoughts, 
 and to smile at them again, as he put various 
 papers in the breast pocket of his coat before 
 locking up the desk. 
 
 "I fear this late visit has set me under a 
 cloud, Miss Westbrook," he said ; " but I am a 
 patient man, and must wait for the clearer light 
 that will come in good time." 
 
 " Have you any right, may I ask," said 
 Angelo Salmon, " to enter this hospital without 
 permission, and take papers from one of the 
 brothers' desks ? It appears to me a most 
 extraordinary proceeding." 
 
 " What it may appear to you, Mr. Salmon, is 
 of not the slightest consequence to me," was the 
 sharp answer ; " but 1 will correct one or two 
 errors into which you have fallen. I have the per- 
 mission of the owner of these rooms to be here, 
 and he is as much the master of his own house, 
 by right of charter of this place, as you are 
 master of yours. There is nothing in the 
 original rules by which this foundation was 
 established that forbids a relative's entrance at
 
 IN ADAM HALFDAY'S ROOM. 129 
 
 any time, or in any manner ; this place is Adam 
 Halfday's freehold so long as he chooses to 
 remain in it. As for the desk, it is my own 
 property, and it contains papers far too valuable 
 to be left here during the absence of my grand- 
 father. Hence I have taken the first oppor- 
 tunity of calling for them." 
 
 " Where is Adam Halfday ?" asked Mabel. 
 
 " You remind me that I have not replied to 
 your questions after all," he said. " I owe you 
 an apology." 
 
 *' I would prefer your answers to your apolo- 
 gies, Mr. Halfday," said Mabel with severity. She 
 was drifting into antagonism almost against her 
 will with him, but she could not resist it. He had 
 acted in opposition to her from the outset, and 
 she was quick to resent it. More quick, because 
 she could perceive no reason for his conduct, 
 and it was opposed to the best interests of 
 those for whom he affected to care. She had 
 come as a benefactress, and he was too proud, 
 or too obstinate, to allow benefits to be con- 
 ferred on those who needed them sorely. It 
 might have been a wiser policy to conciliate this 
 man — to feign to be impressed by his argu- 
 
 VOL. 1. K
 
 130 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 ments or excuses — but she was above all at- 
 tempts at disguise, and it was as well that she 
 v/as. 
 
 " I think I have sufficiently explained the 
 motives for my presence, Miss AVestbrook," 
 Brian continued. " The hour is a late one. I 
 had not another at my disposal, and I did not 
 care to ask anyone's permission to enter this 
 house. That is a fair and straightforward 
 answer, I hope." 
 
 " Go on, sir," said Mabel. 
 
 " Where is my grandfather, you inquire, and 
 Dorcas ?" Brian continued. "lean only reply 
 that they have left the Hospital of St. Lazarus 
 for good." 
 
 ** You have taken them away ?" 
 
 *' On the contrary, they left of their own free 
 will." 
 
 " And Adam Halfday will not return V said 
 Mabel. 
 
 "Not while I can work for him," replied 
 Brian, " and find a home for him. This badge 
 of the order of Noble Poverty has been on my 
 conscience, and a brand on my pride, for more
 
 IN ADAM HALFDAY's ROOM. 131 
 
 years than I care to look back at, and the old 
 man returns here never again." 
 
 " It is an excuse," cried Mabel, indignantly, 
 '' a paltry excuse to keep your grandfather 
 from meeting me. You dare not deny this to 
 my face." 
 
 " Certainly, I do not wish you to meet my 
 grandfather." 
 
 " I knew it !" 
 
 " Chance may set him in your way," Brian 
 said, " but of my own free Avill, Miss West- 
 brook, I will not take you to him." 
 
 "You are more unjust and uncharitable to 
 that old man than to me," said Mabel ; " you 
 stand in the way of his comfort and happiness, 
 and, great Heaven ! for what reason V 
 
 " I Avill tell you presently." 
 
 '' Will you deliver a letter to him ?" 
 
 Brian shook his head. 
 
 *' No, I cannot do that." 
 
 " Then you and I are enemies from this day, 
 Mr. Halfday, and I will balk you in your 
 scheme, if it costs me my fortune," cried Mabel, 
 passionately ; *' you are cruel — you arc a 
 coward !" 
 
 Tr 9
 
 132 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 Brian Halfday regarded Mabel AVestbrook 
 attentively as she raved at him like a little 
 spitfire, but he did not reply to her invectives. 
 He buttoned his coat to his chin, left his chair, 
 took his hat from a side-table, and pulled it 
 tightly over his brows. Angelo Salmon and 
 Mabel watched him furtively. There were a 
 hundred wild schemes revolving in the brain of 
 the heiress, but Brian Halfday gave her no time 
 for consideration. 
 
 '• I have already written to your father," said 
 Brian, turniug suddenly to Mabel's companion, 
 " Good evening." 
 
 *' Stay," cried Mabel, '' I " 
 
 But Brian had passed into the back room, 
 and thence to the garden, unceremoniousl3' 
 leaving his visitors to put out the light, if they 
 cared to exercise that degree of precaution. 
 
 " He is afraid of being detained," said Angelo, 
 " those papers " 
 
 " I have nothing to do with his papers," 
 Mabel answered ; " but he shall not go away 
 like this. He must tell me more, or I must 
 trust him more. Let me follow him." 
 
 She hurried after Brian Halfdav, who, to her
 
 IN ADAM HALF day's ROOM. 133 
 
 astonishment, was on the other side of the 
 stream, which he had leaped like a cat. Yes, 
 she was a terribly impulsive young woman, for 
 she ran to the bank as if to attempt to spring 
 after him, and he came quickly forward, and 
 cried — 
 
 " Don't jump, for Heaven's sake ! The water 
 is deep there." 
 
 " You are going away, leaving me to think 
 the worst of you," she said, "not offering to 
 help me in any way, not seeing I am your 
 grandfather's friend, your own, your sister's." 
 
 ^' It is for the best. Miss Westbrook," he said, 
 mournfully. 
 
 "-You war against a weak woman like me, 
 and pride yourself upon a cunning which keeps 
 me false to my word." 
 
 This mingled tone of entreaty and reproval 
 might have had a greater effect upon Brian at 
 an earlier period of their interview, for he 
 seemed to waver for an instant, as if to assure 
 her or console her. Then he caught sight of 
 the tall figure of Angelo Salmon advancing to 
 join the lady, and he turned suddenl}^ and 
 sharply away.
 
 134 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " Good night," he said in a low voice, as he 
 struck off across the fields at a pace with which 
 it would have been difficult to keep up. He 
 was merged in the darkness of the night before 
 Angelo was at her side. 
 
 " Has he gone f asked the chaplain's son. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 *' Shall I spring across and pursue him V 
 inquired Angelo, full of enthusiasm in Mabel's 
 service now. *' I am an excellent runner, I won 
 a cup once, and I fancy he has stolen something, 
 do you know f 
 
 "He has stolen away my peace of mind; yes," 
 murmured Mabel. 
 
 " You don't mean " 
 
 " I mean that I shall never rest till I have 
 gained my point," said Mabel. '• I bring hope 
 to Adam Halfday, and he prefers in his pride — 
 I see it is all his pride, now — to keep that old 
 man desolate. Oh, if I only had one friend in 
 England!" 
 
 " Will you not consider me one ?" said Angelo 
 beseechingly. 
 
 " Yes ; if you will find Adam Halfday for me." 
 
 "I'll try. I'll find him," said Angelo; "I
 
 IN ADAM HALFDAY'S ROOM. 135 
 
 don't think it will be a very difficult task to dis- 
 cover him." 
 
 " I shall be very grateful to you," answered 
 Mabel. 
 
 *' Thank you," said Angelo. '• I will begin my 
 inquiries to-morrow. And, dear me, there's that 
 light to put out, and the door to close, or we 
 may have the hospital burnt down before the 
 morning. One moment." 
 
 He was not more than two minutes, but Mabel 
 Westbrook had not waited for his return. She 
 had proceeded along the quadrangle, to the 
 window of her room, and it was only by running 
 that he overtook her. 
 
 "Good night. Miss Westbrook," he exclaimed, 
 somewhat puffily, as he came up with her. " I 
 was afraid you were not going to say good 
 night to me." 
 
 " I said that an hour and a half ago," replied 
 Mabel ; " still, good night." 
 
 *' Is it worth while to mention this to — father 
 and mother V he suggested. 
 
 Mabel thought for an instant. 
 
 " Scarcely," she replied ; *' but you may do as 
 you like. There is no secret in it."
 
 136 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED, 
 
 " Is there not ?" he exclaimed. " Well, I can't 
 make out " 
 
 " You will understand me soon enough. 
 Good night again." 
 
 " Good night, Miss AVestbrook. Good night," 
 he repeated, in tenderer accents than she cared 
 to hear. In the night-time, and under the 
 bright stars, this farewell reminded Angelo of 
 Romeo and Juliet, only Juliet was anxious to 
 get rid of him, and it might have struck her 
 that Romeo was hardly up to the mark. 
 
 Still Romeo had made wonderful running 
 over the course of his true love that evening, 
 and accident had helped him marvellously for- 
 wards in Juliet's confidence and friendship. He 
 did not wholly despair now. He wished that 
 he had done something to show how brave a 
 fellow he was — if it had only been to go first 
 into that dark room some time since ; but it was 
 too late to think of that. Presently he hoped 
 to have a stronger claim upon her gratitude.
 
 137 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE DISCOVERY. 
 
 ANGELO SALMON, having a task to fulfil, 
 began work in good earnest. Mabel 
 Westbrook had wished, for some mysterious 
 reason or other, to discover Adam Halfday, and 
 he wished to be of service to Mabel Westbrook. 
 He was notnaturally of a persevering disposition; 
 a legacy from a rich grandmother had done him 
 all the harm that it could, taken away every 
 incentive to study, quenched the few ambitions 
 that he had had, and constituted him a gen- 
 tleman with a fine capacity for ease. Until he 
 bad met this young, bright, energetic girl in 
 the United States, he had manifested a tor- 
 pidity of temperament and a dreaminess of idea 
 that might have had its sequel in semi-idiocy,
 
 138 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 had not love pulled him together, and almost 
 made a man of him. He had fallen in love, 
 truly, desperately, and at first sight, with 
 Mabel Westbrook, and it was as well for his 
 moral and physical condition that the heiress 
 had not fallen in love with him in return, but 
 had, on the contrary, snubbed him and laughed 
 at him. This had impressed him with the fact 
 that life was not to be as he wished it, and had 
 brushed away some of the cobwebs which had 
 been collecting in the corners of his shiggish 
 brain. Though there was not much hope for 
 him, still there was a something for him to 
 strive for, and Mabel was worth the pursuit. 
 If she had been less clever, less independent, if 
 she had had no money, he w^ould have been glad, 
 for Angelo was far from a brilliant man, and 
 felt his inferiority terribly. He had read very 
 little, and thought less, and there w^as no at- 
 traction in his banker's account to a lady who 
 had money in her own right, and plenty of it. 
 He was unselfish ; he would have been glad to 
 marry Mabel without a penny, and he knew 
 how the fact of her riches would bring round 
 her in good time men who could talk his head
 
 THE DISCOVERY. 139' 
 
 off, men with good looks, men of high caste, 
 men who could do everything better than he, 
 except love her more truly and tenderly»- 
 Nevertheless, the world was brightening for 
 him a little. Miss Westbrook was a guest in 
 his father's house ; she had no friends in Eng- 
 land at present, and she had taken him into 
 her confidence as regarded the missing Adam 
 Halfday. 
 
 He would find that old man for her, to begin 
 with. If he possessed any gift at all — and he 
 was somewhat doubtful of the fact since he had 
 travelled and met intelligent folk at every turn 
 — it was in sifting little details and arriving at 
 conclusions by the process. In a different 
 sphere of life, and with a fair amount of training,, 
 he might have made an excellent detective, and 
 his placid expression of countenance would 
 have helped him forward in the business. As it 
 was, he was simply inquisitive at times. At 
 school he had invariably been called " the old 
 woman ;" his inquiring mind took such small 
 turns and became interested in so little that was 
 boylike or manlike. He had never known his 
 lessons, but he could have answered any ques-
 
 140 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 tions about his washing-bill, about other boys' 
 bills also, and the exact number of their socks 
 and collars. 
 
 This odd faculty — if it can be called a faculty 
 — had fallen into disuse of late years. There had 
 been nothing to excite his curiosity, and he had 
 become so languid and torpid that his father 
 and his father's friends had grown nervous con- 
 cerning him, and talked him into travel, with 
 what results our readers can perceive for them- 
 selves. He had come back to England an im- 
 proved version of the Angelo Salmon who had 
 dawdled about Penton for years, oscillating 
 between that ancient city and his lonely cham- 
 bers in Gray's Inn, with a dreamy idea that 
 he was a man of the world, fulfilling his allotted 
 task in life with credit to himself and his family, 
 and as became an honourable gentleman. And 
 an honourable gentleman he was, without any 
 vice in him, which his cynical acquaintances 
 thought rather a pity, as it was difficult to get 
 on with him in any way save one, and that was 
 in the matter of loans on pressing occasions. 
 Then Angelo Salmon came in handy, and was a 
 blessing to his species.
 
 THE DISCOVERY. 141 
 
 Angelo became of service immediately upon 
 his return from America, for he devoted himself 
 wholly and solely to the task upon which Mabel 
 Westbrook had set her heart, and he proved 
 himself an invaluable aide-de-camp. He dis- 
 covered Adam Halfday in a week. 
 
 Mabel was still a guest at the hospital ; she 
 seemed to have settled down there and become 
 almost one of the family, to the intense satis- 
 faction of Mr. Gregory Salmon and his better 
 half, who were anxious about their son, and 
 knew very quickly the state of his feelings, 
 which, by the way, to Mabel's annoyance, he 
 did not make any effort to disguise. He was 
 not a great deal at the hospital during the 
 week ; he was prosecuting his researches early 
 and late. He had begun with Peter Scone, 
 who, he discovered, knew more of Adam's de- 
 parture than Mabel had suspected, and had 
 followed up various little clues with various 
 results until the end was reached, and Adam 
 Halfday and his grand-daughter were found to 
 be living in a little cottage, in the wilds of 
 Pentonshire, up amongst the hills some twenty 
 miles away, where were moorland and forest-
 
 142 AS LOXG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 land, and great stretches of green country, dear 
 to the lovers of our charming English land- 
 scapes. 
 
 " I have found them, Miss Westbrook," Angelo 
 said exultingly one Saturday evening, as he 
 entered his father's drawing-room — " they are 
 on the borders of the next county. They have 
 taken a cottage for six months, at 3s. 9J. a 
 week, and Brian Halfday is there on Sundays, 
 and sometimes in the middle af the week." 
 
 " Thank you, thank you," cried Mabel ; " you 
 raise a load from my heart by the good news. 
 How can we reach them ? When can we go 7" 
 
 " As soon as you like." 
 
 " You wall order me a post-chaise early to- 
 morrow, please. I may rely upon you," said 
 Mabel, feverish and impatient now ; " and relays 
 of horses on the road, at any cost, for time is 
 valuable." 
 
 *' To-morrow is Sunday," said the Reverend 
 Gregory Salmon, with a faint cough. 
 
 *' And Brian Halfday will be there, and in 
 your way again," observed Angelo. 
 
 " No, we shall be there before him," said 
 Mabel ; " we can start by daybreak, if necessary."
 
 THE DISCOVERY. 143 
 
 ^' He will not go down to-night, certainly," 
 said Angelo ; " I hear he walks the whole dis- 
 tance from Penton on the Sunday morning, as 
 a rule." 
 
 " He lectures on ' Our City Abuses ' at the 
 Penton Institute for Working Men to-night," 
 said the Master of the Hospital, " and there is 
 a debate afterwards, in which he takes part. 
 He is quite a firebrand at times. Miss West- 
 brook." 
 
 " I can imagine that." 
 
 " A red-hot man with the most extravagant 
 ideas of the rights of the people, and all those 
 kinds of absurdities," continued Gregory Salmon; 
 "yoii don't know what trouble we have with 
 him." 
 
 '' I can imagine him a man interfering with 
 everything, and always disputatious and dis- 
 agreeable," said Mabel severely. 
 
 " That is exactly his character," observed the 
 senior Mr. Salmon. 
 
 " Intensely conceited, and allowing no man 
 or woman, if possible, to have an opinion oppos- 
 ed to his own," continued Mabel. 
 
 *' Precisely."
 
 144 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 "A bad teraper- 
 
 " Oh ! a terrible temper." 
 
 " Intolerant and unjust " 
 
 "Decidedly." 
 
 " And a man universally disliked," concluded 
 Mabel. 
 
 ^'Ahem — scarcely that. I don't like him 
 myself," said the Master, " for he's disrespectful 
 in his manner to me ; but you will be surprised 
 to hear that the Penton people voted him a 
 piece of plate last Christmas." 
 
 "Yes — I am surprised at that," replied 
 Mabel ; " why was the plate given to him ?" 
 
 " Oh ! there has been a fuss for years about 
 forest rights further inland, and Brian Halfday, 
 who has spent his life poring over old charters 
 and deeds, was the first to take a principal part 
 in the movement, and upset the people's minds," 
 was the answer ; '' however, his side got the 
 day, and he, as honorary secretary, came in for 
 a silver salver. I wish him joy of it. I hope he 
 may find some use for it out of the pawnbroker's 
 shop." 
 
 Mabel, who was thinking very deeply, looked 
 up at this.
 
 THE DISCOVERY. 145 
 
 ** Is he poor, then f 
 
 " His salary at the museum is a hundred and 
 thirty pounds per annum — there were ten 
 pounds extra voted last Christmas by a majori- 
 ty of the trustees," said Mr. Gregory Salmon, 
 " and that is a small sum for a man to give 
 himself airs with, in a city like Penton." 
 
 " Ye-es," said Mabel, slowly and hesitatingly, 
 " it is a very small sum. What makes him so 
 proud?" 
 
 '' Oh, like all self-taught individuals, he 
 thinks he is more clever than anyone else, has 
 read more, studied harder, and done more for 
 the parish. You would scarcely credit it, but 
 when- one evening at the Institute, with Lord 
 Swelter in the chair, I was delivering an 
 address on the antiquities of this very Hospital, 
 he actually rose up in the body of the hall and 
 contradicted my facts. You may imagine that 
 I have not any great regard for a man who so 
 grossly misconducts himself." 
 
 " Was he in the right V" Mabel asked. 
 
 *' My dear Miss Westbrook, I declined to 
 enter into any discussion with him, and Lord 
 
 VOL, I. L
 
 146 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 t5 welter said afterwards that I had acted very 
 judiciously." 
 
 " Yes, I dare say," said Mabel, very absently. 
 *'Mr. Salmon," turning suddenly to Angelo, 
 " will you go or send to the ' Mitre ' for me V I 
 •will leave at an early hour to-morrow morning. 
 I could not rest here all day in inaction, and 
 live." 
 
 " If it is a matter of grave consequence, of 
 course I cannot urge you to remain till Mon- 
 day," said Mr. Salmon, senior, "but it is ex- 
 ceedingly strange." 
 
 He waited for his visitor's confidence, as he 
 liad waited more than once before, but Mabel 
 only replied — 
 
 " It is a matter of grave consequence. If I 
 wait, this terrible Brian Half day will foil me for 
 ever. I am afraid of him." 
 
 *' I will go to the 'Mitre' at once," said An- 
 gelo, rising. 
 
 " Thank you. I am deeply indebted to 
 you." 
 
 Angelo departed on his errand with cheer- 
 ful alacrity, and by eight o'clock in the 
 morning of the following day an open post-
 
 THE DISCOVERY. 147 
 
 chaise and pair awaited Miss Westbrook's 
 pleasure outside the entrance tower of St. 
 Lazarus. 
 
 " When I return there will be no further 
 mystery," Mabel said to the Master, who was 
 at the gates to see her depart, with Angelo as 
 guide, " and I shall be very glad. I hate 
 mystery — it has been the only shadow on my 
 life." 
 
 " All revoir. Miss Westbrook. Late this 
 evening we shall hope to have the pleasure of 
 welcoming you again," said Mr. Gregory Sal- 
 mon, with a bow. "Angelo, you will take care 
 of your precious charge, I feel assured." 
 
 '^ I will," said Angelo, radiant with happiness. 
 
 The post-chaise was driven rapidly away, 
 and Mabel's face brightened with every mile 
 away from St. Lazarus. She was excited with 
 the journey, with the knowledge that she was 
 approaching the completion of her task — the 
 end of that mission whicli she had promised old 
 James Westbrook faithfully to perform. 
 
 It was a hard task in many respects, but she 
 did not feel its onerous duties now ; she had 
 got over that in America, when the truth was
 
 148 AS LONG AS SHE LWED. 
 
 told her for the first time, and she had wept 
 and wrung her hands, and mourned over the 
 weakness of human nature. Now it seemed 
 like approaching the light, and bringing unto 
 others a salvation from the darkness of their 
 lives. Why Brian Halfday should have studied 
 to thwart her in that task, Heaven only knew 
 — it was unfathomable to her. He must have 
 cruelly misunderstood her throughout, or, from 
 the natural perversity of his disposition, seen in 
 her only a disturber of the peace of mind of his 
 family, instead of one who brought a blessing 
 in her hands. She had implied as much as this 
 to him, but he had closed his ears and heart 
 against her, and would not take her word. At 
 all events, he would brook no interference, and 
 he had acted like a man afraid of her from the 
 first. If the mystery vanished with her meeting 
 with Adam Halfday — the mystery of the grand- 
 son's conduct as well, — she would be very 
 glad. Though she should never like Brian 
 Halfday in all her life, she would be at peace 
 with him, as well as with the rest of them, if it 
 were possible. 
 
 It was a fair journey, and a bright, warm
 
 THE DISCOVERY. 149 
 
 day ; the horses were fresh to their work, the 
 post-boy was energetic, and it was not eleven 
 o'clock when they were winding up a steep, 
 chalk, rutty roadway to a higher level. 
 
 ** Three miles more, and we are at the end of 
 our journey," said Angelo. 
 
 ^' Yes, we must be close to the end," mur- 
 mured Mabel. 
 
 She had become very thoughtful, as though 
 the excitement of the journey had worn off, 
 and the grave nature of her mission was 
 asserting itself at last. Once or twice Angelo 
 noticed that her lips moved, as though rehears- 
 ing a lesson or a speech, and that in her grey 
 eyes was a far-away look which told of utter 
 unconsciousness of present things. 
 
 "Round the bend of this hill we shall see the 
 cottage lying in the hollow," said Angelo 
 Salmon ; but Mabel did not answer him again.
 
 150 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 FOUND. 
 
 AT the turn of the road Aiigelo Salmon 
 pointed out the hiding-place of x\dam 
 Halfday — a little white cottage lying in the 
 hollow of the land, with a belt of fir-trees for a 
 background. The steep carriage-road diverged 
 from here, and wound on across the hills ; but 
 the downs were level enough for the post- 
 chaise to proceed some distance towards the 
 cottage over the close, springy turf. 
 
 "What a glorious day it is!" exclaimed 
 Angelo ; but the remark failed as inefiectually 
 to arouse his companion as had the preceding 
 observation with which he had favoured her. 
 She was too near to the truth, and her eyes 
 took no thought of the day's glory, or of the
 
 FOUND. 151 
 
 beauty of the landscape which lay spread before 
 her. 
 
 Brian Halfday had chosen a fair resting- 
 place for his graudsire in the Summer weather^ 
 The cottage stood some three-quarters of the 
 way to the summit of the Penton downs, 
 sheltered from the east by the sudden dip in 
 the land, and open to the warm west winds 
 that came across the sea, which sharp eyes 
 could perceive in the distance — an expanse of 
 golden ripple touching the blue sky, and flecked 
 by the sails of stately ships. 
 
 " We will get down here, if you please, Miss 
 Westbrook," said Angelo, as the post-boy 
 reined in his horses ; " the ground becomes 
 broken and rugged in the descent." 
 
 " How far is that cottage from us '?" 
 
 *' Half a mile perhaps." 
 
 " It seems as if we were never to get there," 
 said Mabel, impatiently. " Now if it should be 
 too late after all !" 
 
 *' That is not likely." 
 
 *' Did you see him yesterday ?" 
 
 " 1 inquired about him — he was in good 
 health."
 
 152 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " And living with his grand-daughter, Dor- 
 cas r 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " That is well. Surely there is nothing now 
 to stand between me and that old man," said 
 Mabel. 
 
 " 1 don't think anyone can interfere," Angelo 
 replied ; '' besides. Miss Westbrook, I am here 
 to protect you. It is the greatest privilege of 
 my life to " 
 
 " Please do not talk so much, you worry me," 
 said Mabel, and Angelo was immediately si- 
 lent at this petulant appeal. He saw she was 
 not so calm and grave as she had been ; he 
 could almost fancy that there was an expres- 
 sion of regret, almost of irresolution, on her 
 face, as if at the last moment she were uncer- 
 tain of the wisdom of her step, or undecided 
 how to act now that the crisis had arrived. 
 
 Here was the end of the task to which she 
 had looked forward during the process of the 
 settlement of her grandfather's estate by the 
 lawyers — that long, wearisome process of 
 " coming into her rights," at which she had 
 fretted and fumed in vain for months.
 
 FOUND. 153 
 
 She and Angelo were silent until they were 
 within a stone's throw of the cottage, and then 
 her escort said kindly and considerately, 
 
 " I had better wait without until you have 
 seen Mr. flalfday." 
 
 " Are you not curious to know why I have 
 come ?" she asked, almost satirically. *' Your 
 father is." 
 
 " I am not very curious," answered Angelo ; 
 " it is a good motive, I know." 
 
 " I thank you for believing in me," she said ; 
 *' and now wish me God speed." 
 
 " God speed you on your task. Miss West- 
 brook." 
 
 *< Why I have come — the broad, general prin- 
 ciple of right which takes me to this house — I 
 will tell you in good faith when we return to 
 St. Lazarus," said Mabel. 
 
 Mr. Salmon bowed, and sat down on a rustic 
 seat which had been placed a few yards from 
 the cottage. 
 
 " I will wait here," he said ; " it is a post of 
 observation, and I can warn you if anyone is 
 coming." 
 
 ** It is hardly necessary," said Mabel in reply.
 
 154 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 She walked towards the cottage, which was 
 planted on the downs itself, without any for- 
 mality of fence or garden ground. Standing 
 close to this humble edifice, a great deal of its 
 picturesqueness vanished by proximity, and 
 there was evidence of much wear and tear on its 
 weather-beaten walls, and in the ragged, time- 
 worn thatch above them. The place had not 
 been repaired or painted to suit the tastes of 
 the new-comer, and only a rough panel of wood 
 in the centre of the front door was suggestive 
 of alteration. It was the country retreat of 
 one who had neither the inclination nor the 
 means to be too particular as regarded his 
 habitation, and who considered the pure air of 
 the breezy downs a full and satisfactory com- 
 pensation for domestic inconveniences and the 
 absence of society. Mabel knocked twice at 
 the door without receiving a response. No one 
 came to admit her, no voice called to her to 
 enter, and, full of a new fear, her hand went 
 quickl}? to the latch at last. The door was 
 unfastened, and yielded to her touch ; it opened 
 inwards upon a room thick with the smoke of a 
 wood fire, which was crackling and spluttering,
 
 FOUND. 155 
 
 on a wide old-fashioned brick hearth. The in- 
 truder found her way with difficulty through 
 the stifling fog, and coughed as she advanced, 
 until a deep, hollow voice by the fireside called 
 out — 
 
 " Is that you, Dorcas ?" 
 
 " No, it is a friend who has come a long way 
 to see you," answered Mabel. 
 
 " If you're the woman who came before and 
 read me silly, I'll throw something at you this 
 time," was the exceedingly discourteous warn- 
 ing proffered here. 
 
 " Are you Adam Halfday, of St. Lazarus ?" 
 asked Mabel, advancing again. 
 
 "I am. Is there any reason why I should 
 deny it ?" 
 
 " Not any." 
 
 " And who are you, creeping in when Dorcas 
 and Brian have deserted me ?" he asked. " I 
 have no right to be left like this at my age — I 
 am too old — I shall have my throat cut one of 
 these fine days, and nobody the wiser till the 
 beastly chapel's over. Who are you? — are you 
 dumb?" he growled forth in even more dog-like 
 fashion.
 
 15G AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 Mabel had reached the old man's side. The 
 smoke had cleared away somewhat by the 
 opening of the door, or her smarting eyes had 
 grown accustomed to it, for she could see that 
 it was the face of Adam Halfday peering from a 
 coarse blanket, in which he had enshrouded him- 
 -self that Summer morning. He was sitting in 
 an arm-chair, almost half-way up the chimney, 
 for the convenience of securing all the heat of 
 which the wood-fire was capable. 
 
 " You do not recognize me, Adam?" she in- 
 quired. 
 
 " I haven't my glasses ; you ought to see 
 I have not my glasses on. Dorcas has left them 
 on the drawers upstairs — just like her," he 
 mumbled, "always flying and tearing about, 
 without any consideration for me." 
 
 " I will get them for you." 
 
 " Here ! — hi ! don't do that !" he screamed 
 forth, " the house don't belong to you, and I 
 •can't have people " 
 
 But Mabel VVestbrook had found her way up 
 a steep flight of wooden stairs to a room in the 
 roof, secured a pair of glasses in heavy metal 
 frames, which were on a chest of drawers near
 
 FOUND. 157 
 
 the window in the thatch, and was down again 
 at the old man's side before he had completed 
 his protest at her unceremonious behaviour. 
 
 " I want you to see me very clearly as I am — 
 to make sure I am your friend, and not de- 
 ceiving you," she said ; " put on your glasses, 
 please." 
 
 The withered hands into which she placed 
 the spectacles began to shake with nervous 
 trepidation, and Mabel knew already that he 
 was conscious of her identity. 
 
 " Sit down, madam," he said, *' I will talk 
 to you in a minute." 
 
 Mabel sat down, and Adam Halfday put on 
 his spectacles with difficulty, and finally peered 
 at her keenly through them. With his dark,, 
 withered face, and with the blanket drawn 
 closely round him, he looked not unlike an 
 Indian chief over his camp-fire, wary, watchful, 
 and distrustful. 
 
 " Do you recognize me V Mabel asked. 
 
 " No— not clearly." 
 
 " I am the lady who called at St. Lazarus the 
 evening before you left the hospital," said 
 Mabel.
 
 158 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " Indeed?" he replied in a low voice. 
 
 *' You remember?" 
 
 " So many people call there — I can't recollect 
 everybody." 
 
 " I was the only visitor that day." 
 
 *'I don't remember," he replied again. 
 
 *' Try and think." 
 
 *' I don't want to think," he said in a fretful 
 whimper ; " will you wait till Brian comes ?" 
 
 '' I am here at this early hour to avoid Brian," 
 said Mabel. 
 
 The old man turned away his head, and 
 blinked at tlie fire. 
 
 " Brian can talk to you so much better than 
 I can," he muttered, " I leave all business to 
 him." 
 
 " Adam Halfday," said Mabel, drawing her 
 chair towards the old man's, and laying her 
 hand upon his shoulder, "you are on guard 
 against the truest friend you have ever had in 
 your life, although your grandson has warned 
 you of me, for reasons of his own. You are too 
 old to attempt deceit — and too near Heaven, I 
 hope, to lie to anyone. Now tell me frankly 
 who I am ?"
 
 FOUND. 159 
 
 There was a pause, and then Adam said, 
 "without looking at his questioner — " You are 
 James Westbrook's grand-daughter."
 
 160 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 HOW ADAM HALFDAY TOOK THE GOOD NEWS. 
 
 ADAM HALFDAY acknowledged this with a 
 great effort, and with a timid, appealing 
 look at Mabel, whose fair, bright smile at him 
 perplexed him greatly. He looked steadily at 
 the fire still and said — 
 
 "I am a weak old man, and must not be 
 excited too much. If you would only wait for 
 Brian!" 
 
 •' Still relying on him, then ?" 
 
 " I have nobody else. He's very unkind to 
 me, but there's no one else," was the reply. 
 
 " You rely on a man who has done his best to 
 keep me from meeting you," said Mabel. " I 
 am sorry to speak ill of him, but his has been a 
 cruel and mistaken act."
 
 HOW ADAM TOOK THE GOOD NEWS. IGl 
 
 " He always knows what is best, he says." 
 
 "I have come from James Westbrook in all 
 good faith," continued Mabel, " to bring you 
 good news — to raise you from poverty to riches 
 — to render your last days as bright and happy 
 as it is possible in this world, and at your age, 
 they can be — to change the life of you and 
 yours." 
 
 The blanket slipped from Adam Halfday's 
 shoulders, as he leaned out of it in intense 
 amazement. 
 
 "Brian never said anything of this," he 
 cried ; " not a word, not a single word, has he 
 told me of what you meant to do !" 
 
 *' I thought not," answered Mabel. 
 
 " And I don't see — I don't understand — why 
 will you not explain before the boy enters and 
 interferes with us V Why will you not tell me 
 what you mean before Brian comes from Pen- 
 ton," he exclaimed, with increasing excitement, 
 and forgetting his past entreaties that Mabel 
 should postpone her information until the ar- 
 rival of his grandson. 
 
 Once more Mabel paused — for once more 
 there stole across her mind a doubt of the wis- 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 dom of the policy she was pnrsmng, Words of 
 warning, that had been uttered by Brian Half- 
 day on the first night of her meeting with him, 
 came back to her as she sat facing this excitable, 
 nnaraiable old man. Was she really acting for 
 the best. Ought she not to consider this again 
 before telling all the truth ? 
 
 " You will listen calmly ?" 
 
 " I swear to that," was Adam's answer. 
 " Calmly ! I should think so !" 
 
 There was no time for consideration. It had 
 been her grandfather's dying command — let her 
 go on to the end without further hesitation. 
 She could have wished that her listener had 
 been a different man ; she had pictured him as 
 something like her own grandfather until she 
 came to England ; but, if the painting had faded 
 on the wall, it had been drawn by her own 
 vivid imagination, and she had no right to 
 shrink from the real portrait before her. Poverty 
 had cast down and soured the disposition of 
 this man, and Fate had been against him for 
 many weary years — the fate of a hard injustice, 
 which, late in the day, she had come back to 
 atone for.
 
 HOW ADAM TOOK THE GOOD NEWS. 163 
 
 '^ The story of your partnership with my 
 grandfather in Penton I need not dwell upon at 
 any length," Mabel began ; " it was not a happy 
 alliance, and it was far from prosperous." 
 
 ''Ay — yes, that's true," Adam Halfday mur- 
 mured. 
 
 " There might have been prosperity, if there 
 had been fair play given to the great business 
 you two strove to create." 
 
 " Well, well, go on," he said impatiently ; 
 *' pass all that, and come to the end of it, and 
 why you are here." 
 
 " You are not listening as calmly as 3^ou pro- 
 mised — your hands are shaking with excite- 
 ment,-' Mabel warned him. 
 
 " You bring me close to an accursed past, and 
 ask me to be calm ! Great Heaven ! young 
 woman, how is it possible V he shouted at her. 
 
 *' I will be brief, but I require of you a greater 
 patience.'* 
 
 " There, there — I'll try," said Adam ; " see, 
 my hands are not shaking now — but let me 
 know the worst, or best, in a few words, and 
 get me from the old days as quickly as you can. 
 They were terrible days to me and mine." 
 
 m2
 
 164 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 "They were. In those past days you and 
 my father met misfortune, and the firm was 
 broken up," Mabel continued. " There had 
 been not only foolish speculations and gross 
 mismanagement, but downright dishonesty. 
 Warrants of value were not forthcoming, bonds 
 and securities were missing, and there w^as 
 not a trace of them from that day. Two 
 ruined men, my grandfather and you, parted in 
 bitterness of spirit with each other." 
 
 " We did. I hated him," said Adam. 
 
 " And distrusted his honesty. Ah, sir, at 
 least that was unfair. Years afterwards James 
 Westbrook learned a truth, and who had ruined 
 you and him." 
 
 " Well !" 
 
 "It was my own poor father, God forgive 
 him !" 
 
 Mabel bowed her head and pressed her hands 
 before her face, but the old man was not affect- 
 ed by her grief. He was only anxious for the 
 recital of the story, and in what w^ay its termi- 
 nation affected his small lease of life. The 
 troubles and griefs of the young were nothing 
 to him ; he had known troubles and griefs him-
 
 HOW ADA]\[ TOOK THE GOOD NEWS. 165 
 
 self, and had had time to recover from them, as 
 this child would do when he was lying in his 
 coffin. 
 
 " Your father — Caspar Westbrook — our cash- 
 ier," said Adam Halfday slowly. "Ah, I re- 
 member him. He went abroad — but all that is 
 past and gone. I don't mind who brought me 
 to ruin ; it's too far back for me to care. What 
 have you come for now ] That's it !" 
 
 " You went down in position, step by step, 
 until, in your poverty, it was necessary to claim 
 the charity of St. Lazarus," Mabel continued ; 
 " whilst my grandfather, by degrees, amassed 
 wealth in the New World. It is he who makes 
 atonement from his grave to the man who was 
 ruined by his son." 
 
 "Atonement, for such a wrong, comes aw- 
 fully late!" whispered the old man to himself. 
 
 " He kept the secret for my father's sake." 
 
 " Whilst I was starving !" 
 
 " He had heard you were dead." 
 
 " He was always disposed to believe every- 
 thing he was told — and that was the worst of 
 the business," said Adam. 
 
 "I was to discover your children, or grand-
 
 166 AS LOXG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 children, for it was only a few cla^'S before his 
 last illness the news reached him that you were 
 at St. Lazarus." 
 
 "And James Westbrook thought of me on 
 his dying bed V 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Strange that I should have come into his 
 head after all these years," said Halfday ; " and 
 — well, well, well — what did he say about me ? 
 What did he think of doing for the old partner 
 whom he had dragged from affluence to the 
 workhouse — for that Hospital was not much 
 better than the workhouse, or this infernal hole 
 where Brian *has stuffed me into. What'are your 
 instructions ? — what are you going to do for 
 ME, at last?" 
 
 The blanket trailed upon the floor — a corner 
 of it fell into the fire, where it scorched on un- 
 heeded, and the old man sat erect in his chair, 
 with his large, veined, claw-like hands clutching 
 at the wooden arms, and with a look of greed 
 upon his face that Mabel Westbrook never after- 
 wards forgot. 
 
 " My mission is to be your friend, to watch 
 over you and yours, as long as 1 live^^ she an-
 
 HOW ADAM TOOK THE GOOD NEWS. 167 
 
 swered ; *' never to let one man or woman of 
 your race want help, money, friendship, any- 
 thing, so long as it is in my power to assist. It 
 is atonement for the past; it was my father's 
 wish before he died — it was my grandfather's." 
 
 "Your father is dead, then?" asked Adam 
 Halfday. 
 
 " Yes. He died in Central Africa." 
 
 •' A bad climate, that kills thieves as well as 
 honest men," remarked Adam. " Did he go 
 there with Brian's father ?" 
 
 " I cannot tell." 
 
 " They were as intimate as I was with James 
 Westbrook in my youth. I have no doubt they 
 were- together. But what are you going to do 
 for ikiE?" he cried. "How is my life to be 
 changed, and made all you talk about V If I 
 want money, can I have it ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Can I have it noio ?" 
 
 " Yes, if you wish." 
 
 " Without their knowing anything about it ?" 
 added the old man, with a new eagerness horri- 
 ble to witness ; "to do Avith as I like — ^just as 1 
 like ! and no man or woman the wiser."
 
 168 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " Why should you wish that ?" asked Mabel, 
 curiously. 
 
 *' They would talk to me — tell me what to 
 do with my money — interfere, and harass me — 
 drive me raving mad with their advice — poison 
 me for it, Brian might, for he's fond of money, 
 and works hard for it, and is not too particular." 
 
 " Pray do not say that !" cried Mabel. 
 
 " And I don't want them to know how rich 
 I am," he said, in a confidential whisper. " Can't 
 you see, lady, how much better it will be for 
 them not to know?" 
 
 Mabel shook her head. 
 
 "I shall be independent of them," he said. 
 '^1 can thwart their plans against me at any 
 moment. I shall feel stronger, prouder, younger, 
 when I have some money of my own." 
 
 « You do not trust them ?" 
 
 "In all my life I never trusted man or 
 woman," he replied, between his thin closed 
 lips. 
 
 " I am sorry to hear it." 
 
 " There has been no one to trust," replied 
 Adam ; " in my own family, or out of it, nobody 
 to trust."
 
 HOW ADAM TOOK THE GOOD NEWS. 169 
 
 "Or to love?" 
 
 " No, not one." 
 
 " Surely poor Dorcas, who has devoted her 
 young life to you, who is your son's child, has 
 a claim upon your affection V 
 
 " Dorcas," said the old man thoughtfully. 
 " Well, no, I don't like her much, and I can't 
 trust her at all. She's the best of them I sup- 
 pose. I don't know, I will not try to know at 
 my age. How you wander from the subject ! 
 How you put me off, and keep me on the rack ! 
 You are as cruel as your father was." 
 
 *'Ah, do not upbraid me!" cried Mabel. 
 *' You are old and feeble, and I do not see how 
 this money " 
 
 *'What money? Where is it, then— how 
 much ?" 
 
 " I was commissioned to place at your dis- 
 posal, and as an earnest of good faith, a cer- 
 tain sum, when I had told you all the truth," 
 said Mabel, " when I had asked your forgive- 
 ness for my father's crime, and for all the past 
 wherein 3^ou suffered much from man's in- 
 justice." 
 
 ''Yes, yes, I forgive everybody — the Avhole
 
 1 70 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 lot of them, whoever they are. How much 
 money is it?" cried Adam. 
 
 " Twenty thousand pounds." 
 
 *' Good God !" 
 
 Adam Halfday sank back in his chair — a man 
 shot dead by the announcement ; and the wast- 
 ed form grew stiff and rigid as she gazed at him 
 in horror. She sprang to her feet with a wild 
 scream, as the head fell forwards on the chest, 
 and a strange gurgling noise escaped him for a 
 moment; she bent over him, and unfastened 
 the buckle of his rusty stock with trembling 
 fingers ; she begged him to look up and take 
 courage, and not give way at the last, at the 
 very last, like this ! She held him to her pant- 
 ing breast as though she loved him, and shed 
 bitter and blinding tears over this poor wreck 
 of all that had been human. 
 
 " Look up ! do .pray look up, for mercy's 
 sake !" cried Mabel, in her bewilderment and 
 grief, " or I shall never know a happy hour in 
 all my life again ! Adam, my poor dear Adam, 
 see here — your bank-book ; a statement of the 
 money lodged at the Penton Bank in your 
 name, to do with as you wish. Do^ look at it ;
 
 HOW ADAM TOOK THE GOOD NEWS. 171 
 
 do look at me ! Oh ! Heaven, I have killed 
 him !" 
 
 Adam Halfday never saw the great gift which 
 Mabel had brought to him, though his eyes 
 were open and glaring at the unhappy girl who 
 still hung over him. He had passed from this 
 world in the arms of his old partner's grand- 
 child, and joy had killed him, though the poor, 
 grief-stricken, impulsive woman, cowering in 
 the presence of the dead, took the blame upon 
 herself. 
 
 When the truth was patent to her, and hard 
 to bear, and awful in its suddenness, the room 
 swam round with her, and the consciousness- 
 of all that had happened struck her down with 
 greater force. She gave forth a second scream 
 of terroi-, which went echoing from the cottage 
 to the ears of Angelo without, and to the ears ot 
 others who were toiling up the hill to meet the 
 dead man waiting in his chair for them, and then 
 fell forwards on the sanded floor, at the feet of 
 the old man whom she had come many thousands 
 of miles across the sea to benefit like this !
 
 172 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 AFTER THE SHOCK. 
 
 MABEL'S life was a restless dream to her 
 for three days following the death of 
 Adam Halfday. She saw nothing real or tangi- 
 ble, she remembered nothing ; she believed 
 that she was in America, that her grandfather 
 was living, and she was a child at school, with 
 fifty other vain beliefs, born of the fever from 
 which she suffered. 
 
 When she came back somewhat to herself, 
 and to the fact that she was Mabel Westbrook, 
 lying ill and weak in a capacious bed, and in 
 a room that she had not seen before, it was 
 early morning, and the birds were singing 
 outside the window in their gladness at the
 
 AFTER THE SHOCK. 173 
 
 dawn. Mabel lay still and tried to marshal her 
 thinking forces into order ; but the effort was 
 far from successful, and the real world to which 
 she had returned remained exceedingly confused. 
 
 Presently she came back again to clearer 
 thoughts. There was a stout lady at the 
 window-blind yonder, and she had drawn it 
 aside to peep into the garden, or the street, or 
 whatever lay beyond that white strip of calico 
 with the ivy-leaf pattern, which had worried 
 her to death's door, it had had so many faces 
 grinning from the leaves at her. 
 
 "What is the time?" asked Mabel, in so 
 clear and loud a voice that the lady gave a 
 little jump, dropped the blind, and came rapidly 
 towards the bedside, radiant with smiles. 
 
 "My poor girl, I am so glad to hear you 
 speak again in this way !" 
 
 " What is the time ?" asked Mabel, pertinaci- 
 ously. 
 
 "It is half-past eight, my child. Do you 
 know meV" And the broad, good-tempered 
 face of the lady was lowered very closely to the 
 coverlet. 
 
 " Yes," said Mabel, confidently.
 
 174 AS LOXG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 ''Who am I, then? — what is my nameV" 
 
 The grotesque approaches closely to the 
 grim, and there are the elements of the ridicii- 
 lons even in brain-fever. 
 
 " Mrs. Codfish," answered Mabel, confidently. 
 
 " Oh, good gracious, no !" exclaimed the 
 lady — " not Codfish, dear, but Salmon." 
 
 *' Oh yes — Salmon," said Mabel, dreamily 
 regarding her ; " that is the name — I know 
 now. Where am I, did you say f 
 
 *' xlt the Inn at Datchet Bridge, at the foot 
 of the Downs." 
 
 "The Downs— ah! yes." 
 
 " And you are so much better to-day. The 
 doctor said you would be if you had a quiet 
 night," said Mrs. Salmon. 
 
 " Where is " 
 
 Here Mabel paused and looked ahead of her, 
 and tried to recollect another name. 
 
 " Angelo 1" suggested Mrs. Salmon. 
 
 " No ; the man with the pale face and long 
 black hair." 
 
 "Mr. Brian Halfday?" 
 
 " Yes, yes — that is the one. Where is he ?" 
 
 " He ^vas here last night, inquiring about
 
 AFTER THE SHOCK. 175 
 
 you; he will be here to-night again, I dare 
 say," was the reply. 
 
 " Please don't let me see him," said Mabel, 
 shuddering. 
 
 " Certainly not, my dear ; it is the last thing 
 I should think of allowing." 
 
 *'I am very much afraid of him, you know." 
 
 *' You should not be, Mabel," replied Mrs. 
 Salmon; "there is nothing to be afraid of. 
 He has been very constant in his inquiries, and 
 he has done everything that " 
 
 " Where's Dorcas ? I should like to see A^r," 
 said Mabel. "I have been thinking a great 
 deal of that child, left alone in the world as she 
 is. 'Left completely alone ! Call her for me, 
 please." 
 
 " Ahem !" said Mrs. Salmon. " She has been 
 sitting up with you all night, and yesterday 
 and the night before, and would not allow 
 anybody to come near you ; and I have only just 
 persuaded her to let me take her place." 
 
 '^ Poor Dorcas !" said Mabel. " Why did she 
 want to nurse me ?" 
 
 " I can't tell. She has been almost insolent 
 when anybody but there, there, I will say
 
 176 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 nothing against her," cried Mrs. Salmon ; *' a 
 better nurse you could not have had, Miss 
 VVestbrook." 
 
 "Don't wake her," murmured Mabel; "let 
 her sleep." 
 
 " And now, if you will sleep a little, or rest a 
 little without talking any more, you will get 
 strong more quickly," was the good advice 
 proffered at this juncture. 
 
 " I will try," said Mabel ; " but I do not think 
 I shall ever be strong again. I am so weak, so 
 like a little child." 
 
 " Patience, Mabel, you are young, and these 
 are early days." 
 
 " How long have I been ill ?" 
 
 " Three days." 
 
 " So long as that ?" said Mabel dreamily ; 
 " what is it that " 
 
 " Here, my child, take this," said Mrs. Salmon, 
 adroitly distracting attention with something in 
 a tea-cup ; "you want to eat and drink now as 
 often as you can, and the roses will soon be 
 back upon your cheeks. Here, take this, and 
 then rest a little while again." 
 
 "Till Dorcas comes?"
 
 AFTER THE SHOOK. 177 
 
 " Why, yes — till Dorcas comes." 
 
 " I seem to miss her," Mabel murmured. " I 
 feel now that she has been my nurse, and you 
 are strange, and — a little clumsy, perhaps. You 
 don't mind my sayiug this ?" 
 
 " Not at all." 
 
 " It is very rude," continued Mabel thought- 
 fully; '*but you must forgive me till I know 
 exactly what I am sayiug." 
 
 " Certainly I will." 
 
 She closed her eyes and drifted into dream- 
 land, and thence to a deep refreshing sleep, 
 which added one more item to the strength she 
 had been near losing for ever. She woke up 
 clear and inquisitive, if a little sharp in her 
 method of asking questions, and when Dorcas 
 entered noiselessly in the evening and ap- 
 proached her bedside she smiled, and tried to 
 reach her hand towards her. 
 
 " I am glad to see you, Dorcas," said Mabel. 
 
 Dorcas turned to Mrs. Salmon with a face 
 full of light and pleasure. 
 
 " She is much better — she is getting well." 
 
 " Yes," was the reply, " I think she is." 
 
 The next day Mabel was strouger, but sadder. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 The truth had come back ; she remembered 
 the whole story, and how it had ended with 
 the death of Adam Halfday, the man whose 
 good luck had come to him with the last 
 breath in his body. The world became very 
 grey and dim to her, and her heart sank with 
 her coming strength. She had failed in her 
 mission ; she had killed Adam Halfday instead 
 of raising him from the poverty of his life to 
 independence. She had completely failed in all 
 that she had undertaken to perform. Adam 
 had died rich without touching a penny of his 
 money, which was lying in his name in Penton 
 Bank. What had become of his bank-book, she 
 wondered ; she had taken it from her pocket, 
 and then had fallen with it to the ground. 
 It was of no consequence : the Halfdays that 
 were left in the world would come into their 
 rights, and there would be no one to dispute 
 them. 
 
 The day that followed this saw Mabel on a 
 couch, by permission of the doctor, who had 
 allowed leave of absence from bed for two 
 hours ; on the next day she could walk across 
 the room, leaning on Dorcas Halfday's arm.
 
 AFTER THE SHOCK. 179 
 
 From that time there set in convalescence 
 steadily, and Mabel Westbrook was soon look- 
 ing something like her old bright self. 
 
 The invalid was enabled to make use of a 
 small sitting-room adjoining the bedroom to 
 which she had been taken after Adam Halfday's 
 death, and here she made arrangements for the 
 future, and received, by cautious degrees, those 
 friends who had been anxious concerning her 
 safety. The Reverend Gregory Salmon con- 
 gratulated her very profusely on her recovery. 
 Mrs. Salmon shed tears of joy over it, being a 
 feeling woman, but watery ; and Angelo ges- 
 ticulated in dumb show for a while, and ex- 
 pressed all his rejoicings by pantomime, until a 
 lump in his throat melted by degrees. 
 
 Mabel was grateful for their interest in her ; 
 they seemed to have become her friends, these 
 Salmons, in spite of herself, and she did not 
 feel so entirely alone in the world to which she 
 had returned as she did before her Sunday 
 morning's ride. She was well enough to de- 
 cline, very kindly, the further friendly services 
 of the chaplain's wife, whom she was keeping 
 from her husband's home, and sundry small 
 
 n2
 
 180 AS LONG AS SHE LWED. 
 
 duties connected with the Hospital of St. 
 Lazarus ; she parted with many thanks and 
 kisses, and promises to make the Master's house 
 her home again for a few days, and she insisted 
 upon Angelo's returning with his parents. She 
 asked that as a favour, when Angelo announc- 
 ed, somewhat timidly, his intention of remain- 
 ing at Datchet Bridge and escorting her to 
 Penton when she was strong enough for the 
 journey. 
 
 "I am coming back with Dorcas Halfday," 
 said Mabel, " and your parents have scarcely 
 seen you since your return from America." 
 
 ''But '' 
 
 " I would greatly prefer your not remaining, 
 Mr. Angelo," she said, interrupting him very 
 kindly and firmly ; "people will inquire the 
 reason why you wait for me, and I should dis- 
 like that exceedingly. Therefore," she added, 
 still more kindly, '* you will go to oblige me, I 
 am sure." 
 
 *' To oblige you, Miss Westbrook, I am will- 
 ing to do anything ;" and then Angelo arose 
 with a sigh, shook hands with her very heartily, 
 and went home with his father and mother.
 
 AFTER THE SHOCK. 181 
 
 "I hope I am not UDgrateful to him for his 
 interest, but I do not want it," said Mabel. 
 
 She had uttered these thoughts aloud, but 
 was unaware of the fact, until Dorcas's voice 
 startled her. 
 
 " He's better away," said Dorcas. 
 
 "I did not know you were here, Dorcas," 
 said Mabel, " or I should not have commented 
 on my friends." 
 
 '' Is Mr. Angelo Salmon a very great friend 
 of yours ?" asked Dorcas, in her old abrupt way. 
 
 " Not a great friend ; but he has been very 
 kind." 
 
 " You did not want him to stay ?" 
 
 " N-o, Dorcas. Why do you ask?" 
 
 " I hardly know," was the evasive answer ; 
 *' but I have been thinking lately a great deal 
 — I have had so much to think about, you see." 
 
 "And I have been thinking — of you/' said 
 Mabel. 
 
 *' Of me ? I am sorry you have not had 
 something better to think about," she replied, 
 looking intently out of the window. 
 
 " Of all those who have been kind to me, you 
 are the kindest," Mabel said.
 
 182 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " I make a good nurse, they say ; that is all 
 I am fit for," was the answer. 
 
 "No, something better and higher than a 
 nurse presently, and with me to take care of 
 you in my turn," said Mabel. 
 
 " With you," exclaimed Dorcas, " to take 
 care of me !" 
 
 " Yes— why not '?" 
 
 " Ah ! you don't know what a dreadful, hard- 
 tempered, ill-grown girl I am. Ask Brian." 
 
 "No, I shall not ask your brother anything 
 about you," replied Mabel, "save to ask his 
 permission to let me see whether I can make a 
 friend of you, as I hope and think I can." 
 
 The girl's head shook in dissent, but it was 
 turned more closely to the glass, and away 
 from Mabel Westbrook. 
 
 " A rash act of mine took from you a protect- 
 or and a home," Mabel continued, " and con- 
 stituted you in my illness a dear nurse and 
 friend. Had it not been your care and gentleness, 
 the doctor tells me I might have died, without 
 showing you my gratitude or keeping my old 
 promise." 
 
 " What promise ?"
 
 AFTER THE SHOCK. 183 
 
 *' To see to you as loDg as I lived." 
 
 Dorcas regarded her with amazement. 
 
 " You promised Brian that !" she exclaimed. 
 
 " I promised an old friend in America ; but I 
 will tell you the whole story presently, when I 
 am stronger. You must not ask me now." 
 
 " AVhen then ?" said Dorcas, looking from the 
 window again. 
 
 "After the inquest; it has been remanded 
 for my evidence, I hear." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " But I may say," Mabel added, " that it is 
 not for the sake of the promise I wish to take 
 you to my home — ah ! Dorcas, and to my heart, 
 if you will come there." 
 
 The head of Dorcas Halfday pressed heavily 
 against the glass, and her hands trembled as 
 they clutched the window-frame. 
 
 " Oh ! you don't know — you can't guess," she 
 cried, and then a torrent of passionate tears 
 escaped her, and alarmed the delicate woman 
 listening to her. 
 
 *' Dorcas, Dorcas, what is it ?" she exclaimed, 
 springing to her feet ; " tell me what it is — 
 trust in me always from to-day !"
 
 184 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 She was advancing to her, when Dorcas 
 sprang up, and led her back to the easy-chair 
 she had quitted. 
 
 " Keep your seat, Miss Westbrook," said 
 Dorcas, speaking very hurriedly, " and don't 
 think of me. I trust in you — there — and God 
 bless you for your loving words and kindly 
 thoughts ; but let me be, please, for a while. 
 You have yourself to study, not me, and you 
 are not strong yet." 
 
 " Oh ! I am quite strong now," said Mabel. 
 
 " And see, I am calm," answered Dorcas, re- 
 turning to the window ; " I give you my word 
 not to be foolish and childish any more. I 
 should have known better, with you so weak ; 
 but you took me off my guard." 
 
 *' Still " 
 
 "And here is Brian coming over the hills to- 
 wards us/' said Dorcas ; " he will be very glad 
 to learn you are better." 
 
 " I shall be glad to see him this time," said 
 Mabel. 
 
 "Are you strong enough for Azs company?" 
 asked Dorcas ; '' he may be in one of his hard 
 moods."
 
 AFTER THE SHOCK. 185 
 
 " He will not be hard with me, I think." 
 
 " Perhaps not," replied Dorcas ; " I know he 
 is very anxious to see you about some book or 
 other." 
 
 "About a book?" 
 
 '' Yes ; he picked it up in the cottage where 
 you lost it, he told me. Have you not missed 
 it?" 
 
 *' It was not mine," said Mabel Westbrook in 
 reply.
 
 186 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 BRIAN EXPLAINS. 
 
 A FEW minutes afterwards, the curator of 
 Penton Museum was announced as the 
 last arrival at the inn at Datchet Bridge. 
 
 "Show Mr. Halfday upstairs," said Mabel. 
 As the servant withdrew, she added — *' 1 hope 
 he will not be too hard with me, Dorcas." 
 
 " Not now," was the confident answer. 
 
 " And that he will let me have my own way," 
 added Mabel naively. 
 
 " Ah ! that's another matter," replied Dorcas, 
 shaking her head. " He was in a nice temper, 
 certainly, when that book was found, and it 
 does not belong to you, you say." 
 
 '* It was your grandfather's bank-book," an- 
 swered Mabel.
 
 BRIAN EXPLAINS. 187 
 
 '' My grandfather's ?" exclaimed Dorcas. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "I didn't know he had one; and why it 
 should have put Brian out so much, I don't 
 quite see. And — oh ! here he is." 
 
 The door opened, and Brian Halfday camer 
 with his old, brisk step into the room, and 
 walked across to Mabel, to whom he held his 
 hand in friendly greeting. 
 
 " I am glad to find you better and stronger. 
 Miss Westbrook," he said. *' I am very glad." 
 
 " Thank you," answered Mabel, placing her 
 hand timidly in his, and being surprised, as on 
 the evening of their first meeting, by his quick 
 clutch at it, and his warm clasp before he let 
 it go. 
 
 "Ah ! Dorcas," he said, turning to his sister, 
 and stooping down to kiss her lightly on the 
 cheek ; " and you are well, too ?" 
 
 " Yes, thank you," answered Dorcas. It was 
 a cold and passive answer enough, but there 
 was lacking all evidence of anger and of op- 
 position, which Mabel had noticed at the Mu- 
 seum some weeks since. Here, at least, was a 
 truce between brother and sister, and the death
 
 188 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 of Adam Halfday had bridged over for a while 
 the difference between them. 
 
 "You will not take offence, Dorcas, at my 
 asking you to leave me for a quarter of an hour 
 with Miss Westbrook — that is," he added, turn- 
 ing to Mabel, " if Miss Westbrook considers 
 herself strong enough for a few business details 
 this evening." 
 
 " I am not aware of any business " began 
 
 Mabel, when he stopped her by holding up a 
 vellum-covered pass-book. '' And — and I would 
 prefer Dorcas remaining with us." 
 
 "You are afraid of me still V" said Brian, 
 curiously. " You distrust me ?" 
 
 " No, but there is no myster}^ and Dorcas 
 should share in the explanation which I wish to 
 make," said Mabel. 
 
 "Yes, when the time for explanation comes," 
 he said, with his customary and even aggra- 
 vating quickness of reply. " Till then, my sis- 
 ter will leave us, for your sake and my own." 
 
 Neither Mabel nor Dorcas understood him, 
 but the latter rose, and said to our heroine, " I 
 would rather go." 
 
 " Very well," said Mabel, not caring to fight
 
 BRIAN EXPLAINS. 189 
 
 the question, and distrustful of herself and her 
 own wisdom altogether now. She had made a 
 great mistake and a cruel failure in acting on 
 her own judgment in this matter ; let her see 
 for once what giving Brian Halfday his own 
 way would do. 
 
 When Dorcas had retired, he drew his chair 
 close to Mabel, and looked earnestly and search- 
 ingly into her face, with an expression on his 
 own which was difficult to define, and which 
 might mean doubt, admiration, anxiety or all 
 three together, for what Mabel could make of it. 
 
 *' You are a good young woman," he began ; 
 " Quixotic and generous, but very much in the 
 wroQg." 
 
 "It is possible I am in the wrong," Mabel 
 murmured, submissively ; " but before you re- 
 proach me " 
 
 " I have no intention of reproaching you." 
 
 *' I was too rash. In my eagerness to make 
 atonement for the past, I killed Adam Halfday," 
 said Mabel shuddering. "I did not think of 
 his age, his weakness, anything. I knew he 
 had been wronged, and I strove to set things 
 right in my own feeble way."
 
 190 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 *' God took him out of this life, not you, Miss 
 Westbrook," was Brian's answer. " For years 
 we have been prepared for his passing away 
 thus suddenl}'- and sharply." 
 
 " That is why you and Dorcas warned me 
 not to interfere. But why were you not ex- 
 plicit? You would have saved me many an 
 after-hour of tribulation," said Mabel sadly. 
 
 *'I had more reasons than one for keeping 
 you apart from my grandfather," said Brian. 
 " Your coming was a terrible surprise to me." 
 
 "Terrible?" 
 
 " Ay," he assented ; " or I should not have 
 acted as I did, and taken the old man from St. 
 Lazarus, for fear of you. Sometimes, " he 
 added, very thoughtfully, '• I wish you had 
 never come to England, that you had lived and 
 died away from it." 
 
 '• Will you tell me what you mean ?" Mabel en- 
 treated ; "or will you for ever speak in riddles ?" 
 
 " I am bound in honour to tell you every- 
 thing," he answered ; " and a few words, fortu- 
 nately, can do that. They will not distress 
 you in the telling, and they will give some joy 
 to you at a late hour."
 
 BRIAN EXPLAINS. 191 
 
 " How is that possible." 
 
 " In the first place," he said, " you brought 
 to Adam Halfday the sum of twenty thousand 
 pounds — restitution money?" 
 
 ''Yes?" 
 
 *' Believing he was wronged to that extent in 
 past business transactions between him and 
 your grandfather?" he went on, at his usual 
 quick rate of speech. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Wronged by whom ?" 
 
 " My father, Caspar Westbrook." 
 
 " He was honest as the day," was Brian's 
 emphatic answer, as he slapped the pass-book 
 on his knee. 
 
 Mabel looked at him now in real earnest. 
 
 *' What do you mean ? — what can you 
 mean ?" she cried. 
 
 " That your father never robbed the firm of 
 a penny," he replied; "that to him and my 
 father passed the shame and horror of a crime 
 which they never committed. It is a pitiable 
 story, which I would have kept to myself for 
 my pride's sake, for a short while longer, but
 
 192 AS LOXG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 you would not let it rest. You came to Penton 
 and balked me. Your presence demanded the 
 truth. Adam Halfday was the robber !" 
 
 " Old Adam Halfday !" said Mabel, still trem- 
 bling beneath the shock of the revelation which 
 had been made to her. 
 
 " Bit by bit, Miss Westbrook, have I traced 
 the history of the fraud. Bit by bit, and link 
 by link, until that miserable mortal now lying 
 dead in his cottage on the Downs found that I 
 had tracked his sin out. He knelt to me for 
 pardon for the blight he had made of my father's 
 life, but I could not forgive him my share." 
 
 " So hard as that !" replied Mabel, as he rose 
 and walked up and down the room in his ex- 
 citement. 
 
 " He was never repentant ; his regrets were 
 only for the money wasted. He had sacrificed 
 his own son to his greed ; he was without one 
 pitiful thought for the misery he had created," 
 said Brian ; " and he died without a single 
 virtue, or a single thought for another in the 
 world. There is the fitting epitaph for Adam 
 Halfday's tombstone, if anyone cares to set it 
 over his grave !" he cried, indignantly.
 
 BRIAN EXPLAINS. 193 
 
 " But the news which reached my grandfather 
 —the 
 
 " We will not inquire concerning it," said 
 Brian ; " that might probably be traced to an 
 old man's cunning even. Let the dead Adam 
 rest ; he was not one for you to seek with 
 money in your hands, and with faith towards 
 him in your woman's heart. I would have 
 saved you from meeting him if it had been in 
 m}^ powder ; but I was one whom you could not 
 trust." 
 
 " You w^ould not trust me with this story 
 before," said Mabel ; " you forget." 
 
 '' I should have broken my word to a man 
 whom I would have spared in his old age. 
 Until his death I was helpless ; afterwards " 
 
 " Afterwards ?" repeated Mabel interroga- 
 tively, as he paused. 
 
 *'I should have come to the great country 
 across the sea in search of the Westbrooks, and 
 told them all the truth," he concluded. 
 
 '^What a strange truth it is!" said Mabel, 
 thoughtfully. " It influences and alters my 
 whole life." 
 
 AT-OL. I.
 
 194 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " From darkness to light — as it should do," 
 he muttered. 
 
 " The fact of the missing bonds was never 
 known to the world 'f said Mabel. 
 
 " The secret was kept for reasons not difficult 
 to guess at — for credit's sake, rather than for 
 honour's," Brian answered, scornfully. 
 
 " Let it remain a secret," said Mabel. " There 
 is no one's heart to make light besides my own 
 by the truth ; they are all gone." 
 
 Mabel was weak still, for her voice faltered, 
 and the tears rose to her eyes. Brian paused 
 in his perambulations, and came and stood 
 before her. 
 
 " I have been as brief as possible," he said, 
 apologetically, " but I fear I have distressed 
 you, and over-taxed jour strength." 
 
 *' No, no," she replied ; " you have been very 
 kind to tell me this." 
 
 " I have been simply honest," answered 
 Brian, " and in waking you from a delusion I 
 have done my duty. And that brings me 
 round to business, which I will postpone till 
 to-morrow, if you wish ?"
 
 BRIAN EXPLAINS. 195 
 
 " I would prefer hearing all you have to say 
 to-night." 
 
 " You are quite strong, then ?" he asked. 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 "And quite certain that you are not my 
 enemy for life — bitter and unrelenting, — and 
 that I am not a coward, and so forth ?" he asked, 
 with a smile that changed his whole aspect at 
 once. 
 
 Mabel blushed. She remembered her angry 
 attack upon him in his grandfather's house at 
 St. Lazarus. 
 
 " I am your enemy no longer, Mr. Halfday," 
 was her reply. 
 
 " Some long day hence. Miss Westbrook," he 
 said, in a deep voice, " it may be my happy 
 privilege to call you friend — wdien I have 
 deserved your friendship, of course," lie added, 
 quickly, " and that will take time.'' 
 
 " I shall understand you without much diffi- 
 culty now," answered Mabel. 
 
 " Not you," was the flat denial proffered 
 here ; " nobody understands me without diffi- 
 culty. I am a hard man — exacting, irritable, 
 proud, discontented, and suspicious ; and, with 
 
 o2
 
 196 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 all these faults uppermost, it is not easy to get 
 at my motives, if I have any. But this is not 
 business, and we are keeping Dorcas out in the 
 cold." 
 
 " But what business ?" 
 
 " The business of the money — a great and 
 awful business in this life, Miss ^Yestbrook," he 
 replied.
 
 197 
 
 M 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE MONEY QUESTION. 
 
 ABEL did not like the tone with which 
 Brian Halfday addressed himself to 
 business. She glanced furtively at him. The 
 smile "had left his face, and he was looking 
 stern and thoughtful. 
 
 " Is there anything very serious to follow ?" 
 she asked, nervously. 
 
 " No ; but the fact is," he said, opening the 
 pass-book, " you have made a nice mess of this, 
 and no mistake." 
 
 It was an inelegant phrase, but to the 
 purpose. Mabel Westbrook was already con- 
 scious of the fact, though unwilling to concede 
 as much to begin with.
 
 198 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " Had you been a man — somebody I could 
 rave and swear at — I should have been more 
 quickly relieved," he muttered, staring at the 
 first page of the open book meanwhile ; " for 
 oh ! the trouble and annoyance in store for us 
 through this stupid mistake." 
 
 *' I am very sorry," was the humble response. 
 
 " Do you know what you have done ?" 
 
 " Paid twenty thousand pounds, as my grand- 
 father Avished, to the credit of i\.dam Halfday," 
 said Mabel. 
 
 "And deposited it in his name in Penton 
 Bank ?" added Brian. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Said it was a debt ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And being a fair balance, knowing the 
 name of Halfday, and keeping an account with 
 you, there were not many questions asked by 
 the bankers ?" 
 
 " Not many," replied Mabel. 
 
 "How do you think that money is to be 
 got back to your hands, for take it back you 
 must," said Brian. " It is not for the West- 
 brooks to talk of restitution to the Halfdays ;
 
 THE MONEY QUESTION. 199 
 
 but rather for us to work for the money of 
 which old Adam robbed your family." 
 
 " Oh, pray do not think of it," cried Mabel in 
 alarm. "Let us have no further complications. 
 It is all over for good !" 
 
 " It strikes me that it is only just beginning," 
 said Brian, drily. 
 
 " There is no atonement to be made to me, 
 and I am the only one left," replied Mabel. 
 " Your grandfather's crime drove James West- 
 brook to America, where he made his fortune. 
 What harm did Adam Halfday do to him after 
 all ? I will have no further talk of this," she 
 cried, passionately. 
 
 Brian regarded her with evident interest. 
 
 " You are irritable at times, I fancy," he 
 remarked. 
 
 " Oh, lama dreadful temper," Mabel confessed. 
 
 " That is all right," said Brian, coolly ; " it 
 will enable you to make a little allowance for 
 me, should I say something in a rude or careless 
 fashion presently." 
 
 " Have you much more to say?" asked Mabel, 
 quietly. 
 
 He looked hard at her again.
 
 200 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " Yon are getting impatient, and yet you 
 will not let me begin," he said. 
 
 "You talked of restitution to me. Why, it 
 would drive me mad," replied Mabel. 
 
 " Very well. As it is probable that a quarter 
 or half a century will elapse before the chance 
 of restitution presents itself, it is a supereroga- 
 tory proceeding to discuss the question further 
 this evening," said Brian. " Now, let me 
 explain the present position. I have been to 
 Penton Bank, and there is only one way of 
 getting this money into your hands again." 
 
 " I have too much money already. T promised 
 my grandfather " 
 
 " Who was an idiot, and believed anything," 
 said Brian, unceremoniously. 
 
 "What!" cried Mabel. 
 
 *'And who would have been the last to send 
 Adam Halfday a half-penny, had he known 
 the truth," Brian continued. " Hence Adam 
 obtained his money under false pretences. All 
 this we could not explain to the banker ; neither 
 would the banker listen to us. Therefore, I 
 am compelled to take out letters of administra- 
 tion as joint heir with Dorcas to the estate, and
 
 THE MONEY QUESTION. 201 
 
 the money shall be paid back to you when the 
 law allows me, as trustee, to receive it. I say 
 shall be paid back, every atom's worth of it !" he 
 added, fiercely and firmly. 
 
 Mabel gave way before this stronger na- 
 ture. It was impossible she could argue with 
 Brian Halfday, and it was evident that there 
 was no atonement to be made to the man who 
 had died on Penton Downs. He had been no 
 sufierer. From the beginning to the end he 
 had worked all the mischief in that selfishness 
 which had only died out with himself. James 
 Westbrook had been the victim of a mistake, 
 and this man before her was more honest than 
 his grandfather. She must accept the position, 
 marvelling at it all, but rebelling not against it, 
 and biding her time to be of service in a differ- 
 ent way. The promise which she had made a 
 dying man did not seem to grow fainter 
 because it was based on error, and she would 
 be very watchful still, she thought. 
 
 All she said at present, however, was, *^ Very 
 well." 
 
 "That ends the business between us," said 
 Brian, closing the pass-book, " and we arrive at
 
 202 AS LOXG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 an amicable settlement for the first time in our 
 lives. There will be much delay, and the funds 
 will not be readily forthcoming ; but you will 
 have patience with me." 
 
 " I shall not be in a hurry," answered Mabel, 
 calmly. '' Pray take your time." 
 
 " My own time would be to-morrow," cried 
 Brian. " To get rid at once of this money in- 
 cubus which hangs round my neck and chokes 
 me, I would give a year of my life willingly." 
 
 •' Because " 
 
 " Because my mind is distracted from its 
 natural work," said Brian ; " because at a time 
 v/hen I would be clear-sighted, there is this 
 miserable complication to distress me." 
 
 ''It need not distress you. Don't think of 
 it." 
 
 " But you don't know that there, there, 
 
 we will say no more about it," he cried, stamp- 
 ing his foot upon the carpet ; " only, it is all 
 your fault — you will allow that." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " You have played a noble, but a thankless 
 part," he continued ; " and in striving to do 
 good, you have approached harm very closely.
 
 THE MONEY QUESTION. 20S- 
 
 That is the way with us all at times, and a weak 
 woman is no exception to the rule." 
 
 *' Yes, I did harm. Adam's death will shadow 
 the rest of my life," said Mabel. 
 
 "I did not mean that," cried Brian, quickly. 
 "For Heaven's sake', do not take any blame on 
 that account. You stood before him as a minis- 
 tering angel — but he died. That was God's 
 will, I say again ; not yours." 
 
 " What harm, then " 
 
 " I think it was arranged that all business 
 was at an end," said Brian, rising. 
 
 " You have no more to tell me ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " You imply I have done harm to you," said 
 Mabel, still persistently. 
 
 " You have given me much extra trouble," 
 answered Brian ; " but I am not quite certain I 
 was altogether in the right as regards my mod© 
 of action." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 "And I shall not mind the trouble," he added; 
 " On second thoughts, it is even probable I shall 
 like it." 
 
 " You are speaking in riddles again, J\lr. Half- 
 day."
 
 204 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 "Amir 
 
 He looked intently at her once more, and 
 then broke into a hearty little laugh, that was 
 pleasant to hear. Mabel regarded him with 
 astonishment. 
 
 " These are scarcely laughing days yet," he 
 said by way of half-apology ; " but I am lighter 
 of heart than I have been for weeks. True, 
 there is an old man to bury ; but I cannot say I 
 mourn for him, despite the closeness of my kin- 
 ship. My respect for him died out on the day 
 the truth showed me what he was, and there 
 was only duty left me. And duty without love 
 is hard work." 
 
 He took one more turn the full length of the 
 room before he came back to his place on the 
 hearth-rug. It was very odd that he could not 
 stand still for a few minutes, thought Mabel. 
 
 " The inquest is to-morrow. Miss Westbrook," 
 he said suddenly ; " and you will not be asked 
 many questions. " It is a mere formality, for the 
 doctor has already explained the cause of death." 
 
 " I shall be ready to-morrow. But you will 
 remain in Penton ?" 
 
 '' Till after the funeral."
 
 THE MONEY QUESTION. 205 
 
 Mabel felt relieved in mind. She seemed to 
 want this strong man's support and presence ; 
 and yet it was only a day or two ago that she 
 had been afraid of him, and almost hated him. 
 
 "And now concerning Dorcas 'r' she said. 
 
 ^' No, no," he replied very gently ; *' concern- 
 ing no one else to-night, if you please, Miss 
 Westbrook. You are paler than when I entered 
 this room, and the business of the day is ended." 
 
 " Still I wish you to consider one thing before 
 you go," she urged — " to reflect upon it, and 
 let me know the result." 
 
 " I would prefer not reflecting upon anything 
 more at present," said Brian ; " but if you wish 
 it, I am at your service." 
 
 " Concerning Dorcas, then. It is my wish to 
 take care of one who has been a faithful nurse 
 to me — to constitute her my friend and com- 
 panion from this time," said Mabel. 
 
 "To adopt her?" he asked. 
 
 " If you like the phrase." 
 
 " To take her from me, her natural guard- 
 ian?" 
 
 " You and Dorcas are scarcely happy toge- 
 ther — at all times."
 
 206 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " Neither will you and she be — or Dorcas and 
 any living man and woman," was his uncom- 
 fortable answer. 
 
 " Will you let me try what I can do with 
 her T 
 
 "I am to think of this," he replied cautiously 
 — " not answer at once, if you remember." 
 
 " Yes ; but it would please me very much if 
 you would answer now." 
 
 " If I were to answer to-night, I should say 
 No," he said very sternly again. " No, to a 
 heart- weary, profitless task, which you would 
 take upon yourself. No, to all the bitterness 
 of disappointment which you accept with Dor- 
 cas Halfday. No, to the spasmodic affection 
 you might gain, and the ingratitude which 
 would follow, unless a miracle change her." 
 
 " You are uncharitable," said Mabel. 
 
 '' I am a hard man. I have owned it already," 
 he replied sorrowfully. 
 
 " We will speak of this again." 
 
 " If you please," he said, bowing over the 
 hand extended to him. " Good night." 
 
 " Good night," said Mabel. " Do you remain 
 a,t the inn this evening ?"
 
 THE MONEY QUESTION. 207 
 
 '' No ; it is a mile to my home." 
 
 " To — to the cottage on the Downs ?" she 
 said, tm-ning pale at all that it suggested. 
 
 " It is my own place, and I must get all out 
 of it that I can," he said lightly. " I rent it 
 for three months." 
 
 ''But " 
 
 " But Adam Halfday lies there in his coffin," 
 he added, " and I am not afraid of him. Good 
 night." 
 
 Brian made another bow, and walked briskly 
 from the room.
 
 208 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE MAN ON THE DOWNS. 
 
 BRIAN HALFDAY lingered under the ivy- 
 covered porch of the inn at Datchet 
 Bridge, as though loth to exchange its friendly 
 shelter for that of his own cottage on the 
 Downs. It was a fine Summer evening in 
 June, and there was every temptation to a 
 man city born and city bred for a ramble under 
 the bright stars, but Brian hesitated on the 
 threshold. It was striking nine by the clock 
 in the old church as he stood there. The scanty 
 life of the village had died out, and the lights 
 were few behind the window blinds. Even the 
 inn was destitute of customers, and the waiter 
 was reading the Penton Guardian in the best
 
 THE MAN ON THE DOWNS. 209 
 
 seat of the bar-parlonr, without a dream of 
 business. 
 
 " Poor woman !" was Brian's sudden comment 
 upon something that was oppressing his mind, 
 as he stepped at last with evident reluctance 
 into the roadway ; but whether his sister, or 
 the lady whom he had recently quitted, was 
 the object of this sympathetic outburst, was not 
 clearly apparent. 
 
 Having once started, Brian seemed disposed 
 to make up for lost time by his rapid strides in 
 the direction of home. A short cut across a 
 meadow, and the churchyard, taken anglewise, 
 would lead at once to the Downs, and then the 
 flinty, broken road, or the close green turf 
 would become a matter of choice to the pedes- 
 trian. At the churchyard gate, wath her arms 
 folded across in such a manner that her figure 
 swayed with it as it swung backwards and for- 
 wards with her weight, was Dorcas Halfday, 
 uncloaked and unbonneted as we have seen her 
 last in Mabel's room. She had been waiting 
 for her brother, and he was not surprised in 
 any great degree to find her there. She stood 
 erect as he advanced. 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " I thought you would come this way," Dorcas 
 said. 
 
 "I was told you were not in the house," 
 answered Brian. 
 
 " I have been waiting here lest you should 
 think I had been listening," said Dorcas. *'It 
 struck me I had better get out into the air 
 away from you both. We can speak in this 
 place, too, without much chance of being over- 
 heard ourselves, although there are queer cus- 
 tomers abroad to-night." 
 
 "Queer customers?" repeated Brian. 
 
 " A man asked me five minutes since where 
 the path over the Downs would take him if he 
 kept to the right. I said that it would lead 
 him to my dead grandfather," Dorcas remarked. 
 
 " Not a wise answer," said Brian. 
 
 " Ah ! but I am not wise, Brian, and you 
 know that as well as anybody," was the reply. 
 
 " You have not been waiting here, Dorcas, to 
 tell me this ?" asked her brother. 
 
 ''No." 
 
 " I thought you and I were learning to be- 
 come better friends," he said, more gently. 
 
 *' Oh ! the less we see of each other, the
 
 THE MAN ON THE DOWNS. 211 
 
 better friends we shall be," replied Dorcas care- 
 lessly. 
 
 " I am sorry to hear that." 
 
 " I can't forget, and I can't forgive," she 
 added passionately. 
 
 "There is nothing to forgive, nothing for me 
 to ask forgiveness for. You know that as well 
 as I do," said Brian. 
 
 " I know how you have stood between me 
 and the one hope of my life," she cried. ^^ How 
 you had no mercy, how you might have saved 
 him, and would not move." 
 
 " He was a scamp !" 
 
 " He was the man I loved." 
 
 " Yes, unfortunately," said Brian ; " that is 
 the whole misery of it, and we need not discuss 
 the question again." 
 
 " I have been waiting to ask if you have told 
 Miss Westbrook anything about me," said 
 Dorcas ; " that is why I speak of it to-night." 
 
 *' I have not told Miss Westbrook." 
 
 "Have you heard she has oftered me a 
 home ?" 
 
 ^' Yes." 
 
 "What did you say?" 
 
 p2
 
 2 12 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " That she had better reconsider the idea, 
 for you were not fit for her friendship or 
 her patronage, and would pay her back with 
 affection for awhile, but most probably with in- 
 gratitude in the long run," replied Brian. 
 
 " What did she say to that ?" asked Dorcas 
 eagerly. 
 
 " I was uncharitable." 
 
 " She reads you well, Brian," said Dorcas; 
 " that is the right word, ' uncharitable.' She is 
 a clear-headed woman ; she sees everything ; 
 she's as sharp as a needle, and yet as good as 
 gold. I say, God bless her !" 
 
 " It is because Mabel Westbrook is as good 
 as gold that I would spare her trouble, Dorcas," 
 said Brian ; " and there must follow trouble 
 with you, unless you have the strength to keep 
 down all that is unjust in your nature. You 
 will love this lady, but you will distress her 
 very much." 
 
 " Yes, yes, that is true," Dorcas confessed 
 slowly ; " though I don't care for you to tell 
 me." 
 
 " At all events do not let her take you to her
 
 THE MAN ON THE DOWNS. 213 
 
 heart without knowing the truth. Conceal 
 nothing from her." 
 
 " I have nothing to be ashamed of, but I will 
 not tell her everything." 
 
 " Then keep away from her," said Brian. 
 
 " It is best," said Dorcas, mournfully ; " but 
 it is losing the one chance in my life — the last 
 chance left. Where am I to go ? What am I 
 to do for the next three months ?" 
 
 " Why do you mention three months in par- 
 ticular?" asked Brian sharply. 
 
 *' After that time I see my way," was the 
 reply. " What am I to do till then T 
 
 " Come to the Museum and take care of my 
 home." 
 
 " Brian," said Dorcas, between her set white 
 teeth, " you know I would rather starve in the 
 streets than do it — rather die. Did I not take 
 an oath, long ago, that I would never share 
 your home again ?" 
 
 "It was a foolish oath," answered her 
 brother; ''and now the grandfather is dead, it 
 is you who are uncharitable. We will talk of 
 this to-morrow." 
 
 " Yes, but "
 
 214 AS LONG AS SHE LR'ED. 
 
 "Miss Westbrook will wonder what has 
 become of you." 
 
 *' Let her wonder !" was the abrupt reply to 
 this. 
 
 " And you have her good opinion to consider," 
 added Brian. 
 
 " Ah ! that's true. But she will not think 
 any harm of me for talking to my brother for a 
 while. There's nothing strange or wrong in 
 that, I suppose ?" she asked satirically. 
 
 " No, but we shall have time to-morrow, and 
 I want to get home." 
 
 " You will find pleasant company waiting 
 for you there," said Dorcas. '•' I am not a 
 coward, but I w^ould not go up to that 
 cottage." 
 
 '' The dead are harmless, Dorcas," said Brian ; 
 " it is the living make one's heart ache." 
 
 " Do you mean that for me ?" cried Dorcas, 
 resentfully again. 
 
 "I was not thinking of your troubles just 
 then, or of my own." 
 
 "Of Miss Westbrook's, perhaps?" said the 
 sister. 
 
 '• She has sailed by [them into the open, I
 
 THE MAN ON THE DOWNS. 215 
 
 trust," answered Brian enthusiastically, "and a 
 bright young life spreads out before her. Neither 
 you nor I must help to mar it, Dorcas." 
 
 "We can agree about that, at least," said 
 Dorcas ; " but why did she come to England 
 in search of grandfather?" 
 
 " I will tell you to-morrow ; it is too long 
 a stor}^ to relate at this hour. Still, Dorcas," 
 he said, " it may be as well to know that she 
 came in error, and of that I have assured her. 
 It was the Halfdays who had done harm to 
 the Westbrooks, and not the Westbrooks to 
 us." 
 
 " Yes, that is more likely," answered Dorcas 
 readily. 
 
 " It was a cruel wrong, which you and I may 
 help to right some day. You will be glad of 
 the opportunity." 
 
 " Yes," said Dorcas, " I shall be glad." 
 
 " Frankly spoken," said Brian, laying his 
 hand upon her shoulder, " in so good a work 
 what a good woman may be made of you yet." 
 
 " Oh ! I'm good enough," she answered in her 
 old, sullen way. " What is there to say against
 
 216 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " Nothing," replied her brother, " so keep 
 good — and keep strong. Good night." 
 
 '* Good night," she echoed moodily. 
 
 He passed through the gate, and she stood 
 aside to allow of his egress from the church- 
 yard, looking away from him as he regarded her 
 steadily and sorrowfully. He glanced back 
 when he was a few yards on the higher ground, 
 which rose at once from the churchyard wall, 
 but she was walking slowly in the direction of 
 the inn, and did not turn again in his direction. 
 
 *' Poor woman !" he muttered, as he had done 
 before that night, under the ivied porch ; and 
 then he set his face homewards, and went at a 
 fair steady pace up the big sweep of grass land, 
 where a man less observant than he might have 
 been easily lost till day-break. 
 
 One man was lost on the Downs that night 
 it was shortly evident. He had left the track, 
 and was wandering towards a steep series of 
 hillocks, which were said by the wise men of this 
 ■world to be the graves of dead Romans, when 
 a cough of Brian Halfday's assured him of 
 human life in his vicinity. He called out at 
 once, and Brian, coming to a full stop, called
 
 THE MAN ON THE DOWNS. 217 
 
 back in answer. Here was a man lost on Pen- 
 ton Downs, and Brian might be of service in 
 putting him in the right path again. Every 
 turn of the country was known to Brian, and 
 this was probably a stranger wandering help- 
 lessly along in the night. The man called again, 
 and once more Brian answered, and the echoes 
 of their voices reverberated amongst the dark 
 and solemn hills around them. Thus these two 
 approached each other, and Brian became aware 
 at last of a tall, thin individual standing before 
 him with his hands in his pockets. The stranger 
 was smoking a short clay pipe, and the sparks 
 from the bowl were caught by the wind, and 
 drifted past his face. It was a thin and hag- 
 gard face, Brian could perceive, and there were 
 two sharp eyes glaring towards him, as if 
 doubtful whether friend or foe had been en- 
 countered on the Downs that night. This was 
 not a man well to do in the world, Brian 
 thought, and therefore a suspicious character to 
 be lurking on the hills. The outline of his hat 
 was evidently crooked and bent, as though 
 rough hands had "bashed " it at an earlier period 
 of its career, and there was the fluttering of
 
 218 AS LOXG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 much ragged fringe in the breeze that had met 
 him on the higher ground. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," said the stranger 
 politely, and in a wiry tone of voice, "but will 
 you oblige me by some information as to my 
 whereabouts ? I am new to these parts." 
 
 " You are on Penton Downs, and within half 
 a mile or three quarters of the village of Datchet 
 Bridge, which lies yonder, and as straight as 
 you can go." 
 
 " Thank you very much — but I have just 
 come from Datchet Bridge." 
 
 " Where do you wish to go V 
 
 "I am anxious to find the cottage of Mr. 
 Brian Halfday — which is somewhere on the 
 Downs, I think." 
 
 " I will take you to it. I am going in that 
 direction," said Brian Halfday, looking hard 
 through the shadows at the inquirer. 
 
 " Thank you very much indeed," said the 
 man again, as he turned and kept step with 
 his companion, until Brian's rate of progression 
 fairly " winded" him. 
 
 " One moment, if you please," he said, com- 
 ing to a full stop, " you are a younger man
 
 THE MAN ON THE DOWNS. 21^ 
 
 than I, and more accustomed to liill work." 
 
 " Probably," said Brian, pausing also. 
 
 '' Well acquainted with this part of the world 
 also r 
 
 " Thoroughly acquainted with it," was the 
 reply. " Most of my leisure has been spent in 
 exploring the country." 
 
 "A native of Penton?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " A man should study his own land before he 
 ventures to another," remarked the seedy 
 stranger. " Do you know Mr. Halfday ?" 
 
 " Very well indeed." 
 
 The man took his pipe from his mouth to 
 cough feebly behind his hand, then said — 
 
 " He bears an excellent character in Penton,. 
 I hear." 
 
 " Have you come from Penton ?" asked Brian,, 
 as they went on again. 
 
 ''1 have walked every step of the way — being 
 too poor a man, I must humbly confess, sir, to 
 afford to ride." 
 
 " You have important business with Mr. 
 Halfday to take you to him at this hour of the 
 
 night r
 
 .220 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 "It is important business to me. How it 
 •will be received by him, it is impossible to say. 
 But," he said again, " I hear he is an excellent 
 young man." 
 
 " Who told you Mr. Halfday was at the cot- 
 tage to-night ?" 
 
 " A flippant youth at the Museum in Market- 
 street said he would be there this evening. I 
 am glad to hear of Mr. Brian Halfday's pros- 
 perity. I rejoice in it, with all my heart.^^ 
 
 " What prosperity ?" said Brian, very sharply 
 now. 
 
 " There is a country house of his, up here," 
 said the stranger, " and a man must be well to 
 do to keep his villa on Penton Downs. Mr. 
 Halfday is clever, and has made his way in the 
 w^orld. I am glad to hear it. I rejoice to hear 
 of men with brains making their way ; so many 
 gaping idiots get the advantage of them, for 
 wise reasons, known only to the gods. A friend 
 of Mr. Halfday's, sir?" he inquired, stepping 
 more closely to our hero's side to ask the 
 question. 
 
 "Yes, I may say his friend." 
 
 " It is a proud privilege to be the friend
 
 THE MAN ON THE DOWNS, 221 
 
 of a clever man. I euvy you the bouour." 
 
 " Have yon kept company with fools all your 
 life?" asked Brian bluntly, as the man's manner 
 irritated him more. 
 
 " Upon my soul, I think I have," said the 
 other heartily. 
 
 " I don't think you have quite a fool at your 
 side now," Brian continued, " or one who be- 
 lieves you are unacquainted with him. Why 
 do you talk this nonsense to me? You know 
 1 am Brian Halfday well enough. What is your 
 business ?" 
 
 " Brian Halfday !" cried the other, in well- 
 afFected surprise. " Now, upon my word — upon 
 the honour of a gentleman who has seen better 
 days, I " 
 
 "That will do," said Brian, interrupting him. 
 " I am Brian Halfday at all events, and this is 
 my country villa." 
 
 The man turned, looked at the cottage shut 
 in by the trees, and flung up both hands in 
 surprise. 
 
 " This hovel !" he cried. 
 
 " Yes. Will you step in ?" 
 
 "Thank you. With great pleasure. I shall
 
 522 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 be glad to rest awhile," he^replied, with a change 
 of tone again. 
 
 " It is not a cheerful house to ask a visitor 
 to enter at the present time." 
 
 " Why not r 
 
 " The dead waits burial within it," said 
 Brian. 
 
 " What do you say ? — what's that ?" cried the 
 man, recoiling. " Who is lying dead there, 
 then?" 
 
 " My grandfather, Adam Half day — late of St. 
 Lazarus," was the answer. 
 
 '' God bless me ! Then that girl in the church- 
 yard was not laughing at me — and she was 
 Dorcas. And you," turning to his companion, 
 "are really Brian?" 
 
 "Yes — who are you?" was the abrupt re- 
 joinder. 
 
 " A broken-down man, who hopes he is not 
 wholly friendless," was the reply. " A man 
 who has come back poor and penniless, but may 
 find a welcome yet. One WiUiam Halfday !" 
 
 " My father !" Brian exclaimed.
 
 223 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 FATHER AND SON. 
 
 IT was a strange meeting between father and 
 son. Superstitious people might have seen 
 much that was ominous in it as well as singular. 
 The time and place were both against it. 
 
 William Halfday had emerged from the dark- 
 ness of some sixteen years, from the silence and 
 mystery of his lost life, to the foreground, and 
 at a period when his son could have spared him 
 away a little longer. Brian was a dark-eyed 
 boy when the father had seen him last, and 
 talked of seeking his fortune, of settling abroad 
 and sending for wife and children presently ; 
 and, until the meeting on the Downs, William 
 Halfday had been neither seen nor heard of by 
 those who had had a claim upon him.
 
 224 AS LONG AS SHE Ln"^ED. 
 
 "You are my father, then?" repeated Brian, 
 half incredulously. 
 
 " Yes," said the other, in a voice that quivered 
 a great deal, " your own father. You will not 
 cast me off because I have come back poor and 
 helpless after all these years ?" 
 
 " Years of a cruel silence, and a crueller 
 neglect," said Brian, sternly. 
 
 "Ah! but you don't know what I have 
 suffered ! You can't imagine, my dear boy," he 
 added, with a gush of affection at which Brian 
 recoiled, " what I have gone through." 
 
 " No, I can't." 
 
 " You have no idea — " he began again, when 
 Brian cut him short in his address. 
 
 ** Wait a minute," said his son. 
 
 Brian went to the door of the cottage, un- 
 locked it, opened it, and passed in. Presently 
 a match was struck, a small oil-lamp was lighted 
 within the room, and then the son's voice called 
 out for the wayfarer to enter. William Halfday 
 knocked the ashes from his pipe, which he put 
 in his waistcoat pocket, before he sidled, in a 
 cat-like fashion, into his son's house. In the 
 light both men looked hard at each other, as it
 
 FATHER AND SON. 225 
 
 to read what was passing in the mind, what 
 was expected, and what each was hke? And 
 each was disappointed, possibly disheartened, 
 and saw opposition and discomfiture to follow 
 very speedily. It was not a happy meeting 
 between father and son. 
 
 The father did not admire the white, stern 
 face of Brian, and its determined expression 
 was hardly what he had expected to confront. 
 The keen dark eyes were embarrassing already, 
 and devoid of sympathy and love ; there was 
 cmiosity, even suspicion in them, but no pleasure 
 at the sight of him, he was sure of that ! And 
 Brian, steadily regarding his sire, saw before 
 him what was clearly the wreck of a man — an 
 attenuated, poverty-stricken being, with hollow 
 cheeks, sunken eyes, and hands that shook as 
 with a palsy, or with fear of him, or drink, he 
 could not tell which, at that early date of their 
 re-union. 
 
 There was no mistaking him, however — he 
 was a close copy of the man who had died a 
 week ago, in height and figure, even in the 
 droop of his shoulders and the contraction of 
 his chest. The eyebrows were shaggy, if not 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 22Q AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 white, and hung in the same way over the eyes, 
 which were small and set close together, and as 
 dark as Brian's. He was feeble for his fifty 
 years, but hard times and hard travelling had 
 helped towards his debility, and there was 
 wholly lacking in him one atom's worth of that 
 stern, strong self-reliance which Adam Halfday 
 had shown, and which Adam's grandson as- 
 suredly possessed. Yes, it was the wreck of a 
 man, Brian thought, with a hundred other 
 incomprehensible unnatural thoughts, born of 
 their first meeting, not the least of which was 
 the uncharitable and unfilial one, that if this 
 man had kept away for all time it would have 
 been better for those who bore his name. 
 
 " Sit down," said Brian. 
 
 " Thank you. I had better shut the door 
 first, as the draught is keen," replied William 
 Halfday. " Shall I shut the door, Brian ?" 
 
 " Yes — do," answered the son, moodily. 
 
 His thoughts were too many for him ; they 
 were troubling him too much, and too soon, 
 but he had no power to control them. What 
 was to follow his father's return to life ? — what 
 was to be the end of it? How would his
 
 FATHER AND SON. 227 
 
 coming affect the futures of the two womeu 
 whom he had left at Datchet Bridge? 
 
 Mr. WilHam Halfday closed the door, shuffled 
 to a chair by the side of the empty fire-grate, 
 rubbed his hands together, and began a small 
 shivering fit on his own account. 
 
 " It was horribly cold upon the Downs, 
 Brian," he said, between his chattering teeth. 
 
 " I did not notice it." 
 
 " It cut at one like death — it " He was 
 
 reminded of something which he had almost 
 forgotten, and there was a shade more of pallor 
 in his face at once. " Where is the— the body, 
 Brian?" 
 
 " Upstairs," was the moody reply. " You 
 shall see it presently." 
 
 " God bless me !" exclaimed William Halfday, 
 *'not for worlds ! I haven't the nerve, Brian — 
 I have not a scrap of nerve in my whole 
 constitution, which is completely shattered. 
 Oh! no," he added, as he shivered with a 
 greater violence. " I am much obliged to you, 
 but I would rather not look at Idm H 
 
 " As you please." 
 
 '• I thought poor father had been dead years 
 
 q2
 
 228 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 ago," said William ; '' a fortnight since, and I 
 should have seen him alive, then ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Brian. 
 
 " Did he ever — wish to see me?" 
 
 " Never," was the response. 
 
 " Yet father and son are close ties. And he 
 died " 
 
 '•In a fit. There is an inquiry to be 
 completed to-morrow." 
 
 " Indeed. I arrive at a sad time, but in the 
 midst of a sorrow in which I can participate. 
 How dreadfully cold this hole — this establish- 
 ment is ! Are there any more doors open ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 Mr. Halfday senior was daunted at last by 
 the short replies of his ungracious offspring. 
 He glanced at Brian furtively, clasped his 
 hands more closely together, licked his dry 
 lips in a nervous fashion_, and finally relapsed 
 into silence. He was not welcome ; there was 
 no love for him in the son's heart — he had 
 outlived affection everywhere. As his shaking 
 hand went up to his eyes, Brian's quick voice 
 startled him by its change of tone. 
 
 " I should be a liar to say I am glad to
 
 FATHER AND SON. 229 
 
 see yon," be said ; " but if you bad come a 
 montb later you migbt bave bad a warmer 
 welcome — always supposing," be added, " tbat 
 you are back again in good faitb, of wbicb I 
 am not certain." 
 
 " You don't trust me," responded tbe fatber, 
 plaintively. 
 
 "Not yet. Wby sbouldl?" 
 
 " You are my only boy," said William Half- 
 day. 
 
 *' You bave kept away for sixteen years, my 
 motber flung berself into tbe river in despair of 
 buman kindness, your son and daugbter bave 
 grown up w^tbout a tbougbt from you, your 
 fatber bas died witbout seeing you ; tbere bas 
 been mucb misery amongst tbe Halfdays, and 
 you bave kept away from it." 
 
 " Yes, yes. Don't torture me, please," replied 
 tbe fatber. " All tbis is very true, but wbat 
 good could I bave done ? I bave been unlucky 
 all my life — I bave not bad one gleam of 
 sunsbine on my patb from tbe beginning to tbe 
 end." 
 
 '- You did not deserve it," was tbe sbarp 
 reply.
 
 230 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " Oh ! Brian," exclaimed tlie other, bursting 
 suddenly into tears, and rocking himself to and 
 fro upon the chair, with his hands before his 
 face, " this is cruel of you ! Your own father 
 too ! My God ! what will become of me now 
 you turn against me !" 
 
 Brian Halfday was not prepared for this 
 outburst of emotion. He sat back in his chair, 
 with one clenched hand on the table, surprised 
 in his turn. He was a suspicious man, as he 
 had owned that evening to Mabel Westbrook ; 
 but he Avas naturally observant, and he read no 
 affectation of grief in the emotion of this 
 castaway before hira. Here, at least, was no 
 sham ; the man was weak and childish, but 
 there was real life in his despair. 
 
 " I have come back," William Halfday con- 
 tinued, ''to the workhouse, or the gaol. I 
 have come back without a penny in my 
 pocket. I have not tasted food or drink 
 since it was given me in charity this morning. 
 I have been a careless, useless wretch, with as 
 little thought for others as myself, but I did not 
 look for this reception from my child. Let me 
 go back to the inn at Datchet Bridge, and ask
 
 FATHER AND SON. 231 
 
 where Dorcas Halfday lives — there may be 
 some grain of feeling in that girl's heart for me, 
 when I tell her who I aoi." 
 
 He rose to go ; he tottered slowly towards 
 the door, until Brian stood by his side and led 
 him back to his seat. 
 
 " There is no hurry, father," he said in a 
 deep voice, "sit down again, and let us un- 
 derstand each other clearly, if we can. A man 
 cannot disappear for long years from his kin- 
 dred, and expect to find them full of love for 
 him on his return — cannot neglect them utterly, 
 and yet hope they will hold him in affection- 
 ate remembrance." 
 
 " Quite right," whispered the father, '' but 
 don't reproach me any more. I deserve all you 
 say of me." 
 
 " I will give you some bread and cheese and 
 beer," said Brian. " You are hungry." 
 
 " By Heaven, Brian, I am starving !" 
 
 '' I am sorry to hear it." 
 
 It was starvation that had brought him to 
 Pentonshire, and not his natural affections, but 
 Brian did not tell him so. Brian opened a cup- 
 board, spread a napkin on the table, set bread
 
 232 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 and cheese and a bottle of ale before his father^ 
 pushed the table to his side, and then sat and 
 •watched him consume his food with a ravenous 
 eagerness that was as devoid of acting as his 
 grief had been. William Halfday did not speak 
 again for several minutes ; he seemed to forget 
 his position and his sorrow in his appetite, and 
 it was Brian who broke silence at last. 
 
 "Why did you not write to us?" he asked 
 curiously ; " if you were poor, and wanted 
 money, it might have been worth the experi- 
 ment of a letter." 
 
 " I did not know where to write." 
 
 " The address of ' Halfday, Penton,' would 
 have found your father or your son." 
 
 " I thought of it," he said, without looking at 
 Brian, and pinching the corner of the napkin 
 with his fingers nervously, " I thought of it, 
 and put it off, time after time, till I was asham- 
 ed of letting anyone know anything about me. 
 I thought it better to die on the quiet some- 
 where ! " 
 
 "And you altered your mind — for what 
 reason ?"
 
 FATHER AND SON. 233 
 
 *' I couldn't die," was the response ; " I tried, 
 Brian, and failed !" 
 
 *' Do you feel any better ? " was the next in- 
 quiry. 
 
 " Thank you — much better. I must compli- 
 ment you, Brian, on a very excellent cheese," 
 he said, with his old airiness of manner sud- 
 denly predominant 
 
 " You are stronger now ?" 
 
 " Yes. Altogether stronger." 
 
 " Then I have a few more words to say," 
 Brian remarked. "Don't look alarmed, sir, 
 there are no more reproaches for you to-night." 
 
 " Thank God — I mean, thank you, very much, 
 my son."
 
 234 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 MR. HALFDAY HEARS THE NEWS. 
 
 BRIAN drew his chair so close to his 
 father's that their knees touched, and 
 William Halfday leaned back, as if away from 
 him and afraid of him. The son was a mystery, 
 a something that he had not expected to find, 
 a being w^ho had thrown him out in his calcula- 
 tions for the future. He was weak himself — 
 he had been always weak and fretful and irreso- 
 lute — where did this pale-faced, beetle-browed 
 young man get his iron will from ? For this 
 son was of iron, and therefore merciless. Still 
 let him hope on to the last, and put up with 
 the son's reproaches and exordiums; he was 
 wholly helpless, and must bear the burden, and
 
 MR. HALFDAY HEARS THE NEWS. 235 
 
 if Brian would not stare so fiercely at him, he 
 should get on better in good time. 
 
 " I don't know what you are, or what your 
 life has been, or what it is likely to be," Brian 
 began, more sadly than sternly. " You sit be- 
 fore me a riddle hard to guess at, and the past 
 sheds no light upon you." 
 
 " We have the present to consider, Brian," 
 AVilliam Halfday delicately hinted, and without 
 returning his son's gaze. He could not look 
 at him, he could not do anything but evade 
 that uncomfortable stare which seemed en- 
 deavouring to read his life in spite of him — to 
 read through him, and get at all the history of 
 his unprofitable existence — as if that would do 
 any good — as if it mattered — as if the days 
 ahead of them both were not the most impor- 
 tant ! 
 
 " I will tell you my share of the past," Brian 
 continued ; *' and we will leave to times more 
 fitting "the explanation which I have a right to 
 demand from you. I will say now that years 
 ago, when I began too early in life to act and 
 think for myself, it was you who troubled me. 
 Your character was at stake, and your own
 
 236 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 father attributed to you and one James West- 
 brook the ruin of his career. After you had 
 left England, it was supposed by one or two in 
 the secret — for it was always kept a secret — 
 that you and Westbrook had decamped with 
 various securities that were negotiable abroad, 
 and which the firm — always a weak one — was 
 unable to replace. It seemed a fair and noble 
 story as regarded the partners, the history of 
 two men preferring ruin to the acknowledgment 
 of their sons' dishonesty, but as I grew up I 
 doubted it, for your sake." 
 
 '^ Thank you, Brian," said the father, extend- 
 ing his shaking hand towards his son, but with 
 the same averted gaze ; " you did me justice. I 
 never saw the securities." 
 
 " Neither had Caspar Westbrook stolen them," 
 said Brian, lightly touching his father's hand, 
 and then setting it aside, " or James West- 
 brook, or any one save that poor warped mind 
 above there." 
 
 " My father !" exclaimed Mr. Halfday ; " was it 
 the old man, then V 
 
 " Yes — God forgive him !" 
 
 " I say that too, with all my heart, Brian,"
 
 MR. HALFDAY HEARS THE NEWS. 237 
 
 said the father. " And let me add, it is a 
 comfort to me to see a pious vein running- 
 through your discourse. It speaks well for your 
 character." 
 
 " I am not a pious man," cried Brian. " Don't 
 interrupt me." 
 
 "I beg your pardon. Excuse the liberty I 
 have taken, Brian ; but I thought you possibly 
 might be," replied his father. " Pray proceed." 
 
 " I grew up with a suspicion of foul play, and 
 I planned and schemed for years to solve the 
 mystery. I succeeded. I proved, at least, 
 your honesty in the matter, and I was very 
 glad." 
 
 " Thank you," murmured William Halfday 
 again. 
 
 " If I could have done it before the mother's 
 death, I should have been happier," said Brian. 
 *' But that was not to be. I proved, at least, 
 that you left England an honest man. What 
 you have come back, Heaven only knows. But 
 I believe you honest still, and will do the best 
 for you that my means allow." 
 
 " You will not send me to the union ; you 
 will take care of me ; you will do something
 
 •238 AS LOXG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 for me, after all f the father cried with excite- 
 ment. 
 
 " Did you doubt my helping yon ? " 
 
 *' You did not meet me kindly," was the 
 answer. " I could not make out what you 
 thought of my return to England." 
 
 *' I suppose not." 
 
 " And I am honest, Brian," he said, speaking 
 with great volubility. " I have been an un- 
 lucky fool all my life ; but I have never done 
 an action of which I am ashamed. I have 
 been horribl}^ honest ; I have resisted no end of 
 temptations to become rich ; and here I am, a 
 man broken down before his time — a ruin — a 
 catastrophe !" 
 
 " Do you drink T' asked Brian, suddenly. 
 
 AVilliam Halfday started at the question, and 
 shrank back still more in his chair. It w^as a 
 leading question, which unnerved him, and set 
 him shaking again. 
 
 " What makes you ask such a question as 
 that?" he murmured, and with a faint effort at 
 dignity. 
 
 " Your hands tremble, your eyes are blood- 
 shot, and I have seen so many men like you
 
 im, HALFDAY HEARS THE NEWS. 239 
 
 reeling in the streets. Yoic do drink,'^ he added, 
 sharply. 
 
 "Never to excess. Don't misjudge me, my 
 son, too quickly," cried Mr. Halfday, " or pain 
 me with unnecessary questions. It is hardly 
 fair." 
 
 " This is not an unnecessary question at the 
 present time. It is a most important fact to 
 elicit or disprove ; because," said Brian, thought- 
 fully, " I must keep the drink away from 
 
 you." 
 
 " Oh ! you need not fear me, or keep anything 
 away from me. You may trust me implicitly," 
 the father replied. 
 
 *' r hope so." 
 
 "I know so." 
 
 " That is well," said Brian, still deep in 
 reverie. 
 
 '*And I don't want to be idle," added Mr. 
 Halfday, " but to be of service to my country. 
 I am not an old man. I have life and vigour 
 in me, or soon shall have again, if I could find 
 anyone to set me up in business — in a little 
 shop, for instance, where I could turn a penny 
 or two, and be less of an incumbrance to you,
 
 240 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 Brian. I should be independent, and happy, 
 and grateful." 
 
 " I am a poor man, but I will do something 
 for you in the way you wish." 
 
 ** God bless you, Brian — God bless you !" and 
 Mr. Halfday began to cry again. 
 
 Brian watched him closely still, but he made 
 no attempt to console him in this second hys- 
 terical outburst of tears. He waited till he 
 had recovered from his emotion, with his broad 
 forehead knit in grave perplexity. Beyond the 
 hour he did not see his way, and the mists 
 were thick about him. There was much to be 
 done — much to explain yet to this weak being, 
 cowering and shaking before him in the chair ; 
 and Brian feared the effect of a revelation which 
 it was not possible to delay for a single night 
 with safety. 
 
 " I will help you in every way in my power," 
 said Brian ; " but you must let me trust you in 
 return." 
 
 " You may trust me with untold gold." 
 " You must prove yourself a just and unself- 
 ish man." 
 
 " Of course I will."
 
 MR. HALFDAY HEARS THE NEWS. 241 
 
 " You will let me be your counsellor and 
 guide from this day?" said Brian. 
 
 '* I will not have a thought of my own, or a 
 wish of my own, if you will only take care of 
 me," said the father, abject and servile in his 
 protestations. 
 
 "Your first and greatest task begins to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 " The sooner the better." 
 
 "And I require all your faith now," added 
 Brian. 
 
 " It's yours ; I have said so." 
 
 "Then I have something more to tell you." 
 
 William Halfday looked scared at this an- 
 nouncement, and the hands upon his knees 
 began to increase in that tremulous movement 
 which had already attracted his son's notice. 
 
 "James Westbrook, your father's partner, 
 left England a poor man, but he made a for- 
 tune in America, and died rich," began Brian. 
 " On his death-bed he was, for some reason or 
 other, which is hard to understand, oppressed 
 by the old mistake, that you and his son had 
 robbed the firm, and ruined Adam Halfday. 
 He had heard of my grandfather's poverty, and 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 242 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 with a mad idea of restitutioD, he bade his 
 grand-daughter discover him and all belonging 
 to him, and enrich those whom his son had 
 helped, as he thought, to ruin. If Adam were 
 living when Miss Westbrook reached England, 
 the money was to be given to him immedi- 
 ately " 
 
 " Good Lord ! Did the girl get here in 
 time ?" inquired the father. 
 
 " Yes. She gave him the message five min- 
 utes before he died." 
 
 " But the money, Brian ?" said Mr. Halfday — 
 *' why didn't she give him the money first, and 
 the message afterwards ?" 
 
 Brian's face darkened, and the hand which 
 was suddenly placed on William Halfday's arm 
 gripped the listener like a vice. 
 
 " Cannot you see this conscience-money was 
 offered to the robber, and not to the victim ?" 
 hissed Brian — *' are you so dull of comprehen- 
 sion as all that ?" 
 
 "James Westbrook might have wished to 
 help his old partner at any cost," murmured 
 the father. 
 
 " No. It was offered in atonement — in
 
 MR. HALFDAY HEARS THE NEWS. 243 
 
 expiation for a son's imaginary crime, — under 
 the impression that my grandfather was an 
 injured man. You see ?" 
 
 " Oh yes — I see. Would jou have any 
 particular objection to let go my arm, Brian, 
 before you proceed any further with your 
 narrative ?" 
 
 " I beg pardon," said Brian — '* I have hurt 
 you r' 
 
 " Well, you have, a little," replied his father, 
 rubbing vigorously at the part which Brian had 
 released ; " but go on, please. What did the 
 girl thiuk? Does she know " 
 
 " Everything. I told her the few facts of 
 the case this evening, and she will take back 
 the money oifered in error to our family." 
 
 " Take it back ! Then it was given to my 
 f^ither?" 
 
 "A certain sum of money " 
 
 " How much ?" 
 
 "No matter the amount," Brian continued. 
 "A certain sum of money was unfortunately 
 paid into Penton Bank to the account of 
 Adam Halfday, and it is our dnty — the great 
 
 ]l2
 
 244 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 business of our lives — to restore it to its 
 rightful owner." 
 
 " Meaning Miss Westbrook?" said the father. 
 
 "Whom else could I mean?" was the sharp 
 rejoinder. 
 
 " Exactly ; you could not mean anyone 
 else," replied the father — " it's particularly 
 clear to me that — that you could not mean any- 
 one else." 
 
 " This is a task in which you will help us to 
 the uttermost," Brian continued ; " it becomes 
 easy with you at our side — a man sent by 
 Heaven at the right moment to do justice to a 
 friendless woman. What are you looking over 
 my head at ?" 
 
 " Was I ?" said the father, with a little jump 
 at the abruptness of the question. " I was not 
 aware of it." 
 
 " You understand you must help us ?" Brian 
 said again, persistently. 
 
 " Yes," replied the father. 
 
 "You will be heir-at-law to this money — 
 nominally heir-at-law, — and letters of admini- 
 stration will be granted readily to you — to you 
 and me, I hope," said Brian, thoughtfully.
 
 MR. HALFDAY HEARS THE NEWS. 245 
 
 ''Ahem! yes." 
 
 " There will be a heavy loss upon the money 
 held in trust for Mabel Westbrook ; deductions 
 for stamp duty, probate duty — all the ugly 
 exactions devised by Government for the whole- 
 sale robbery of v/idows and orphans will be put 
 in force," said Brian, savagel}^ " and we have 
 not the money to make it good at present. 
 Some day, perhaps," he added, with a brighter 
 look upon his face, " I may be able to say she 
 has not lost a penny by us." 
 
 " All this is beyond me," said William Halfday, 
 planting his elbows on his knees, and taking 
 his head between his palsied hands. " My head 
 aches terribly, and I feel confused and ill." 
 
 " Will you have some weak brandy and 
 water ?" 
 
 "I don't mind a little cold brandy and water 
 — not too weak," he replied. 
 
 Whilst his son was getting the brandy from 
 the cupboard, he remained in the same prostrate 
 condition ; and, when Brian stood by him with 
 a glass, he did not perceive him till the son 
 asked if he would drink. 
 
 " Thank you very much, Brian," ho said.
 
 246 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 with his old politeness, as he took the glass 
 from his son's hand. '•' It is kind of you to 
 think of me like this." 
 
 He drank the brandy and water at one gulp, 
 and sat back in his chair. 
 
 *' Is there any news in Penton?" he asked. 
 
 " Nothing of importance to you or me." 
 
 *' Are they all dead whom I used to know V 
 he said, musingly — " who were friends, after a 
 fashion — who respected me and believed in 
 me?" 
 
 " I don't know who were your friends." 
 
 " Is Eversham. the lawyer, still in Cloister 
 Street? I liked young Eversham. He was 
 just beginning practice for himself when I left 
 the city." 
 
 '• He is grey-haired now. Why do you 
 ask?" 
 
 " I don't know ; he came into my head," was 
 the reply. 
 
 "You have another reason, I think?" said 
 Brian, suspiciously. 
 
 " I should like to give him a turn, and we 
 must have a lawyer in this case," said the 
 father ; " we can't do without one."
 
 MR. HALFDAY HEARS THE NEWS. 247 
 
 " I am not sure of that." 
 
 " I should think he would remember me," he 
 went on, " for Is Peter Scone alive ?" 
 
 " Peter Scone — what of him V 
 
 " He was cashier in my father's firm ; he 
 would remember me at once," replied William 
 Halfday ; " and I must prove my identity very 
 clearly to get the money." 
 
 " For Miss Westbrook," added Brian. 
 
 "For Miss Westbrook, yes. I wonder," he 
 added, " what the amount is ?" 
 
 Re glanced at his son, who did not answer 
 hire, who was staring intently at the empty 
 firegrate as at a new problem which had arisen 
 there" to vex him. Brian had taken his father 
 into his confidence, but he was not satisfied 
 with the result, despite his sire's promises. All 
 looked dark and ominous ahead, and there were 
 vague doubts on every side of him. After all, 
 he did not trust his father, whose manner had 
 been against him from the first. There w^as no 
 power to prevent William Halfday's action in 
 the matter ; the law would side with the father, 
 despite the feeble opposition which might be 
 offered by the son, and Brian was almost help- 
 less now.
 
 248 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 "Twenty people might be found in Penton 
 to swear to me," said William, " if anyone were 
 inclined to oppose me, which is not likely, 
 Brian, eh?" 
 
 " Probably not." 
 
 " That Peter Scone must be dead, now I 
 come to think of it ; he was an old man when I 
 left the city." 
 
 Again Brian Halfday did not answer him. 
 He turned more completely towards the grate, 
 and in an absent fashion, and as though a fire 
 were burning, spread out his hands as if for 
 warmth. 
 
 " I am afraid I am keeping you up," said 
 AVilliam Halfday, suddenly; "you look tired 
 and weary, as with a hard day's work." 
 
 " I have worked hard to-day." 
 
 " I must apologise for taking up so much of 
 your time — robbing you, as it were, of what 
 the poet calls ' balmy sleep ;' but we had not 
 met for many years, and I was anxious about 
 
 you." 
 
 William Halfday picked up his hat from the 
 floor, and rose to take his leave. 
 
 "Where are you going?" asked Brian, still
 
 MR. HALFDAY HEARS THE NEWS. 249 
 
 deeply interested in the back of bis stove. 
 
 " Down to Datcbet Bridge again, of course." 
 
 '' You bad better remain bere, 1 tbink." 
 
 " I don't see any accommodation, Brian ; tbe 
 house is small, and I should be very much in 
 tbe way, and — and the room upstairs is occu- 
 pied, you know," be added, as his shivering fit 
 seized him again, and robbed him of composure. 
 
 Brian rose and stood with bis back to tbe 
 fireplace. 
 
 " You can go," he said. 
 
 *' Thank you, thank you, Brian ; and to-mor- 
 row, or the next day " 
 
 "To-morrow completes tbe inquest," said 
 Brian'; "you will be there to listen to tbe evi- 
 dence, and attend tbe funeral in tbe afternoon ?" 
 
 "I suppose so — just so — very well," said Wil- 
 liam Halfday, in some confusion. 
 
 " No one will believe you are the son very 
 readily if you are not at your father's funeral ; 
 and I shall doubt it and dispute it for one," said 
 Brian, meaningly. 
 
 " I am sure to be there, Brian," said bis 
 father ; " though I shall present a very dis- 
 reputable appearance as chief mourner."
 
 250 AS LONG AS SHE LR^ED. 
 
 " I will see to that." 
 
 *' A long black cloak is out of the fashion, I 
 believe, but it will come in handy for me. It 
 will cover a multitude of sins — of omission." 
 
 To Brian's surprise, which, however, he did 
 not betray, his father laughed spasmodically as 
 he held forth his hand to his son. 
 
 " Do you think you know your way to the 
 village?" asked Brian. 
 
 " Very well indeed. It is straight dov/n the 
 hill." 
 
 " Yes, but you might miss Datchet Bridge by 
 five miles or so. And you will want refreshment 
 when you get there, and board and lodging." 
 
 " Ay ! God bless me, yes — and, Brian, I really 
 have not one penny in the world at present." 
 
 " I will give you money before you go." 
 
 " I — I am going now," answered his father. 
 
 " Not yet ?" 
 
 " Not yet, do you say ? Why ?" 
 
 " Not till you have looked upon your father 
 for the last time in this world," said Brian, 
 solemnly ; '' not till you have sworn to me 
 across his coffin that you will, as you hope for 
 salvation, be true to all you have promised me."
 
 MR. HALFDAY HEARS THE XEWS. 251 
 
 William Half day clasped his hands together 
 and shrieked forth in a wild falsetto — 
 
 '' Oh ! great Heaven, Brian, I couldn't do it ! 
 T couldn't look at him — don't ask me again — I 
 couldn't — I couldn't — I couldn't !" 
 
 *' Your own father, who can do you no harm,, 
 who has been waiting for you all this while !" 
 said Brian. 
 
 "Anything else, but don't ask me to do that," 
 gasped forth William. " I know I am a coward, 
 but I haven't the strength of nerve to go up- 
 stairs into that dreadful room. Don't ask me 
 again, there's a dear good son, but let me go 
 away !" 
 
 The man's terror was so abject and earnest, 
 that Brian did not importune him further, 
 unless his next remark may stand for a change 
 in his manner of entreaty. 
 
 " There is money of yours up there T' 
 
 " I don't see — I don't know what you mean, 
 but you may have it all if you'll let me go 
 away," he exclaimed, shaking so violently, that 
 he dropped once more into his chair, to save 
 himself from falling, and held on tightly by the 
 table.
 
 252 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 Brian regarded hira pitifully as he stood by 
 his side, and rested his crossed hands upon his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " You are very weak of nerve, and body, and 
 soul," Brian said mournfully, " and will require 
 gentle treatment, kindly sympathy, and your 
 children's love to render you content for the 
 remainder of your days. Riches will do no 
 good, and you are best without them." 
 
 " Don't talk to me now. I — I want to get to 
 Datchet Bridge," he murmured, slowly recover- 
 ing his composure ; '* if I don't have fresh air I 
 shall die." 
 
 " You are coming round," said Brian ; "and I 
 will not ask you to stay a moment longer than 
 is necessary. I will point out the way to Datchet 
 Bridge, when you are able to walk." 
 
 " I can walk now." 
 
 He put on his hat and stood up again. He 
 walked even with a forced degree of briskness 
 to the door, to which Brian followed him. 
 
 " I would rather not drag you out at this 
 time of night, Brian," he said ; " I can get on 
 very well by myself." 
 
 '*I will set you in the right road," said Brian 
 in reply.
 
 MR. HALFDAY HEARS THE XEWS. 253 
 
 He went out bareheaded into the Summer air, 
 drawing his ftither's arm through his. The 
 night was dark, but the stars were very thick 
 and bright above them. 
 
 " You have forgotten your hat," said Mr. 
 Halfday to his hop. 
 
 "I don't want it, the night is warm." 
 
 " Is it ? I haven't noticed it myself," was 
 the reply. " Oh ! here's the road that leads to 
 the village, I think." 
 
 " Yes, that is the way." 
 
 " Then, I'll wish you a good night." 
 
 " I am going further with you." 
 
 " Oh ! good Lord, are you, though ?" muttered 
 the father, '' are you not afraid of your place 
 being robbed?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " You have left the door wide open." 
 
 " I know it. It is a habit of mine on these 
 peaceful hills." 
 
 " Then it is a bad one. There's no telling 
 who is about." 
 
 '* There is no telling anybody, I have heard 
 sceptical people say," was Brian's answer. 
 
 "Ahem ! — exactly so," said the other, glancing
 
 254 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 askance at his companion, as if to read by the 
 expression of his countenance if he, William 
 Halfday, were included in the axiom. 
 
 " Here is money for you," said Brian, " hold 
 out your hand." 
 
 AVilliam Halfday obeyed the request with 
 alacrity, and ten sovereigns were placed within 
 his palm. 
 
 "Bless me," said the father, holding the 
 money closely to his eyes, " this is gold ! You 
 are generous, Brian. You are doing well in the 
 world, then ?" 
 
 " You may be able to obtain a decent suit of 
 clothes at the tailor^s in the village," said 
 Brian. " I am not doing well in the world — I 
 am not generous." 
 
 *' Well, well," replied the father, putting the 
 money in his pocket, " you have done no more 
 than I would do for you in a similar case." 
 
 "That money is your own," said the son, 
 " my grandfather did not die wholly a pauper. 
 He was of a saving turn — the heart of a miser 
 is hereditary with the Halfdays possibly — and 
 in his old age and indigence, he scraped to- 
 gether from his fees at St. Lazarus some seventy
 
 MR. HALFDAY HEARS THE NEWS. 255 
 
 pounds, which I found in a bag locked up with- 
 in his desk." 
 
 " There may be a lot more somewhere," said 
 William Halfday. 
 
 *' There is no more. He told me the amount, 
 and sent me to St. Lazarus to fetch it, when 
 he discovered I did not wish him to return to 
 the charity — you shall have the rest presently. 
 It is yours by right of inheritance." 
 
 " Certainly it is, Brian. There can be no 
 question of that." 
 
 " The money will be of service to you in time 
 of need." 
 
 " That's true." 
 
 " With a little of my own to it, I may contrive 
 to do something for you — and Dorcas. Why, 
 this may be the beginning of a better, brighter 
 life for us all," said Brian. 
 
 " It may," was the reply. 
 
 ^' And now," said Brian, suddenly arresting his 
 father's progress, " before I leave you, swear 
 here, under heaven, that you will keep your 
 word in everything you have said to-night." 
 
 " My dear Brian," exclaimed the father, " I — 
 have pledged my word to you already. I don't
 
 256 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 like to be continually swearing in this fashion. 
 It looks as if you doubted me." 
 
 " You are poor — a great error makes you rich 
 in name — a great injustice would make you 
 rich in deed. I know little of you," said Brian, 
 '^ you come to me as a surprise — a ruin. Swear 
 to what I say I" 
 
 The man cowered at the sternness and the 
 peremptory manner of his son, whose eyes he 
 could see blazing at him in the darkness. 
 
 " I'll swear to what you like — I'll swear to 
 anything, Brian," he said, " but there is no 
 occasion for this treatment of me." 
 
 Brian remained silent. The passion in him 
 died away, and he stood thinking very deeply. 
 
 Suddenly he looked up. 
 
 " No, don't say a word," he exclaimed, " don't 
 call God as a witness here. Good night." 
 
 " Good night, good night," replied William 
 Halfday with alacrity. " I shall see you in the 
 morning. This way to Datchet Bridge, I think 
 you told me'?" 
 
 " You cannot miss the village now. It lies 
 straight before you, where the lights are shin- 
 ing."
 
 MR. HALFDAY HEARS THE NEWS. 257 
 
 " Thank you, Brian. Bless you — good night 
 once more." 
 
 Father and son parted. The son watched 
 him from the hill till the darkness on the lower 
 ground submerged him — the father went along 
 the path which had been indicated, looking 
 back more than once whilst Brian remained in 
 sight against the background of a starlit sky. 
 
 The sense of being watched was irksome to 
 William Halfday. He was not easy in his mind 
 until he had lost sight of his son as completely 
 as Brian had lost sight of him. Then he swerv- 
 ed suddenly, and even swiftly to the right, and 
 went away — steadily away — from the lights in 
 the village which had been pointed out to him. 
 
 There was more to be done that night than 
 had been bargained for when toiling up the hill 
 to his son's house, and, like Duncan's murder, 
 " 'twere well it were done quickly." 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 258 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 PETER SCONE CONSIDERS HIMSELF SLIGHTED. 
 
 THE adjourned inquiry into the death of one 
 Adam Halfday, late brother of the Order 
 of St. Lazarus, took place on the following 
 morning, and did not occupy much time, or 
 arouse a great deal of curiosity. Mabel West- 
 brook gave her evidence calmly, and in a few 
 words related the fact of a large sum of money 
 being due to Adam Halfday, and of her especial 
 mission from America to pay it into his 
 hands. He had died from excess of joy, and the 
 county newspapers in due time made out their 
 sensational paragraphs concerning it, with more 
 or less exaggeration of the details.
 
 PETER SCONE CONSIDERS HIMSELF SLIGHTED. 259 
 
 Adam Halfday was buried that afternoon in 
 the quiet churchyard of Datchet Bridge, with 
 Brian and Dorcas for chief mourners. Mabel 
 had desired to be present, but she was far from 
 strong yet, the morning's duties had wearied 
 her exceedingly, and she was content to sit at 
 the window of her room and watch the funeral 
 party pass into the churchyard. 
 
 It was a strange funeral in its little way, and 
 the villagers and their.children marvelled at the 
 stern face of the grandson, and wondered why 
 he looked to right and left of him so much, as 
 if expectant of an interruption to the service, or 
 of a mourner who might be present somewhere 
 in the back-ground, and whom he was anxious 
 to discover. He had not shed one tear over 
 the coffin of his grandfather that those who 
 watched him could perceive. " A rare hard bit 
 of stone that man is," more than one worthy 
 soul at Datchet Bridge declared later in the 
 afternoon. He had more feeling for the living 
 than the dead, for when the excitable Dorcas, 
 who was sobbing and wailing as though she 
 had lost all that had made life dear to her, 
 
 s2
 
 260 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 pressed to the grave's verge with faltering 
 steps, he drew her arm through his for her 
 support. 
 
 There was a third mourner in the church- 
 yard, or at least one man who had craved a 
 holiday, and come his score of miles to do 
 honour to the funeral of old Halfday, and the 
 restless eyes of Brian noticed him amongst the 
 crowd. When the funeral was over, this man 
 lingered in the church-yard, watched the 
 process of filling-in the grave, and being 
 naturally loquacious, told the sexton and his 
 man a great deal of Adam's life and his own. 
 He was in the middle of his narrative, when 
 Brian Halfday, having seen his sister to the inn, 
 returned to the grave-side, touched the man's 
 arm, and led him reluctantly away. 
 
 " You have had enough of this, surely, Peter 
 Scone?" he asked. 
 
 "I always said I would see the last of him. 
 I promised myself I would," replied Peter, 
 shaking his skeleton's head to and fro, " and I 
 have done it. 1 left early this morning in 
 old Simpson's pig-cart on purpose to see the 
 end of him."
 
 PETER SCONE CONSIDERS HIMSELF SLIGHTED. 261 
 
 " I have to thank you for coming all this 
 way," said Brian. 
 
 " He should have been buried in the 
 Hospital," said Peter Scone, " and I ought to 
 have had my black wand and walked before 
 him, and the brothers should have followed in 
 good order, and all things been straight and 
 proper. Poor Adam has been cheated out of 
 a fine funeral for a very so-so affair, mind you, 
 Master Brian." 
 
 " I could not have given him a grand funeral, 
 Peter, had I had the inclination." 
 
 " Hasn't he died rich, somehow ?" said the 
 old man, querulously. " Hasn't he come into 
 lots of money f 
 
 " Who told you f ' 
 
 " The people about here." 
 
 " No one else T 
 
 " No one else." 
 
 " You have not heard anything of this before 
 to-day, or before your arrival here?" asked 
 Brian, still doubtfully. 
 
 " No. Who was to tell me anything about 
 it?" 
 
 *' You will know in time."
 
 262 AS LONG AS SHE LWED. 
 
 "You might have called and told me your- 
 self, Master Brian," said Peter, in the same 
 aggrieved tone of voice. *' I was an old servant 
 of your grandfather's. I knew him when he 
 was a young man ; I knew him when he was 
 rich and proud, and hard and hateful ; and 
 when he was poor and disagreeable — awfully 
 disagreeable." 
 
 " Do you remember his son — my father ?" 
 
 "I should think I did," was the answer. 
 " He was a weak ninny, was William. A poor 
 wisp of a fellow, whom nobody cared for. 
 Nobody missed him, but his wife, when he 
 slipped away from Penton, one fine morning." 
 
 " How many years is that ago V 
 
 " In the Winter of 18 — , some sixteen years 
 since," Peter answered promptly. " I mind the 
 time well, because he came to my house the 
 night before and borrowed three pounds five of 
 me. Ah ! I had money to lend then — those 
 who get rich by Adam's death, will perhaps re- 
 member what Bill Halfday owes me." 
 
 " They shall do so, Peter," said Brian, " one 
 good turn deserves another."
 
 PETER SCONE CONSIDERS HIMSELF SLIGHTED. 263 
 
 " Just as one bad turn deserves another, 
 added Peter, maliciously. 
 
 " That creed is not taught you at St. Laza- 
 rus," said Brian. 
 
 " It is taught me by a good many things in 
 this world," replied Peter Scone, nodding hi? 
 head slowly and emphatically, " and what St. 
 Lazarus teaches me is neither here nor there. 
 The maa who vexes, wrongs, or slights another 
 must exject vexation, wrong, and slight in his 
 turn — that's what I say, sir." 
 
 " Then you are too old a man to say it," an- 
 swered Br:an ; " think of it again when you 
 get home, Peter, and are at your prayers." 
 
 " I'il thiik of it again over a glass of rum 
 and water, f you like," said the old man, with 
 a leer. 
 
 •' You can have what you please." 
 
 '* Thank you, Master Brian. It has been a 
 dry sort of fmeral — not that I have a right to 
 complain," he added, coming to a full stop to 
 express his fiml opinions on the subject, " for I 
 was not asked to follow Adam. No one asked 
 me — nobody tiought of me — not even Dorcas,
 
 2G4: AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 who has often hidden in my room out of the 
 way of Adam and his crutch, which he did 
 throw about a good deal in his tantrums — not 
 even Dorcas Halfday !" 
 
 " There has been trouble here, Peter ; we liave 
 hardly had time to think of anything." 
 
 " I daresay — I daresay," said Peter, half in- 
 credulously ; " it is not worth speaking about, 
 any more than I am worth thinking alout. I 
 am an old man, and past my time altogether. 
 Why should anybody trouble himself concern- 
 ing me ?" I 
 
 " Come, Peter, you must not mak3 a griev- 
 ance of this," said Brian heartily ; "it did not 
 strike me that you or any of the brothers would 
 care to follow my grandfather to his grave, 
 and I did not think you and he hat been par- 
 ticularly good friends, even." 
 
 " We weren't good friends," ansvered Peter ; 
 " he wouldn't be good friends wth anybody. 
 But as an old servant of his firm— head cashier 
 was I, Master Brian, before you vere born — he 
 respected me as much as he respected anybody 
 at St. Lazarus. And that's not Siying a great
 
 PETER SCONE CONSIDERS Hi:\ISELF SLIGHTED. 2G5 
 
 deal, " he added, after a minute's further re- 
 flection on the subject. 
 
 They had passed from the churchyard across 
 the road into the inn by this time, and Peter 
 Scone made straight for the bar, and gave his 
 order for rum and water to the landlady. 
 
 *' This gentleman will pay," said Peter ; 
 " having come into property, he will stand 
 treat to-day, Mrs. Bennett." 
 
 " Let him have what he likes," said Brian to 
 the landlady. 
 
 " You'll drink with me f asked Peter of our 
 hero — " you're not too proud to drink with me, 
 I hope?" 
 
 " I am not in the mood for drinking, Peter." 
 
 " Feel too much in the stirrups, perhaps ?" 
 
 " I am not elated at my fortune," said Brian ; 
 *' I am tired and dispirited, in fact." 
 
 " Drink's good for that kind of complaint, I 
 have heard," replied Peter Scone ; " you'll take 
 one glass with me, surely?" 
 
 " No, I can't drink now," said Brian very 
 firmly. 
 
 " Your good health, then, Mr. Halfday," said
 
 266 AS LOXG AS SHE LR^ED. 
 
 Peter, gravely surveying Brian over the rim of 
 his glass of rum and water. 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 " I was going to say, and ' long life to you/ 
 but I can't recommend long life. It's a mistake 
 and a failure," Peter observed ; *' it's a heap 
 more of disappointments and slights when a 
 man's grown too weak to bear ^em — that's what 
 long life is." 
 
 He drank his rum and water after propound- 
 ing this new theory, and said, 
 
 '^ I'll be going back by the carrier, like a 
 mouldy parcel, in half an hour or so. And 
 talking of parcels, I'll take mine, Mrs. Bennett, 
 if you'll be good enough to give it me, and the 
 flowers too." 
 
 *' Here they are," said the landlady, passing 
 over the bar a large brown-paper parcel, neatly 
 fastened together, and a bouquet of hothouse 
 flowers of considerable proportions. 
 
 Brian regarded the articles with no small 
 amazement. 
 
 " What are you going to do with them ?" he 
 asked.
 
 PETER SCONE CONSIDERS HIMSELF SLIGHTED. 207 
 
 *' I was told to give them into Miss West- 
 brook's hands with Mr. Angelo Salmon's com- 
 pliments. They're books for her to read, and 
 this," holding up the bouquet, "was cut this 
 morning from the Master's conservatory. It's 
 a beauty, ain't it ?" 
 
 " It is an odd time for a man to send flowers," 
 said Brian, frowning. 
 
 " They are not for you," replied Peter quick- 
 ly — " I am to give them to Miss Westbrook." 
 
 " The waiter will show you the room. You 
 will find Dorcas there also," said Brian. 
 
 " I shall be glad to shake hands wdth Dorcas 
 — a fine, high-spirited girl she is. I always 
 liked her," was Peter's comment here. " She 
 wouldn't have been too proud to drink my 
 health, I know," he muttered to himself. 
 
 "You need not stay too long with Miss 
 Westbrook," said Brian ; " she is not well to- 
 day." 
 
 " Oh ! I'll take care," was the querulous 
 reply ; " I won't trouble her too long with my 
 society, depend upon it. And yet," he added, 
 " I could talk to her for hours about old times
 
 ■268 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 — her father and her grandfather — and all I 
 know about them, couldn't I? That James 
 AVestbrook, when he got rich, might have 
 thought of me a bit. I was a faithful servant 
 to an unlucky house, but nobody ever thinks of 
 me." 
 
 " Yon'll find Miss Westbrook upstairs," said 
 Brian, moving to the door of the inn, and look- 
 ing anxiously up and down the road, finally 
 proceeding at a smart pace, and, for half a 
 mile, along the highway to Penton. 
 
 Suddenly he turned and walked as quickly 
 back to Datchet Bridge. 
 
 " He has played me false, as I felt he would 
 do last night," he said, '' and I may learn of his 
 treachery at any moment. If he had not stolen 
 away like this ! If I could only see him 
 now !" 
 
 At the inn again, and glancing upwards, as 
 if by instinct, at the window of Miss West- 
 brook's sitting-room. On the little table in 
 front of the window was a vase with An gelo 
 Salmon's bouquet already installed therein ; he 
 could see it very clearly from the roadwa}', an d
 
 PETER SCONE CONSIDERS HIMSELF SLIGHTED. 269' 
 
 it turned his thoughts in another direction with 
 singular celerity. 
 
 " That Angelo Salmon's a big fool !" he mut« 
 tered.
 
 270 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 BUSINESS POSTPONED. 
 
 A MAN with a wonderful sense of his own 
 importance, or a man readily disposed to 
 take affront, was Peter Scone, the senior brother 
 of St. Lazarus, for Brian had scarcely delivered 
 himself of his uncomplimentary criticism on the 
 unoffending Angelo, when Peter emerged from 
 the inn into the roadway, with a very sour ex- 
 pression on his withered countenance. 
 
 " I am going back now — and the sooner the 
 better," he said to Brian, as he tottered by him. 
 
 " The carrier's cart is not in sight yet." 
 
 ** I can walk down the road and meet it, I 
 suppose ?" he snarled forth. 
 
 *' Certainly. I will go with you," said Brian.
 
 BUSINESS POSTPONED. 271 
 
 " I don't want any company," replied Mr. 
 Scone ; " talking's bad for me at my time of 
 life." 
 
 Brian Halfday took no notice of this hint, but 
 walked on by the side of the old man. 
 
 " What has tho carrier charged you for this 
 journey, Peter?" he asked. 
 
 " Two-and-sixpence, because I'm a friend." 
 
 " I don't like your coming to the funeral at 
 your own expense," said Brian, " and if you will 
 allow me to pay your fare, I shall be obliged." 
 
 " I am too poor to say no," answered Peter. 
 
 Brian placed half-a-crown in the man's hand, 
 which closed upon it, and disposed of it in a 
 side pocket in his liberty-coat. 
 
 " Thank you," said Peter ; " when the family 
 comes into its rights, I hope the money I lent 
 your father will be paid back, with interest." 
 
 "• I have no doubt it will," said Brian ; " my 
 father is in England, and you will see him 
 shortly." 
 
 " Your father — in England ! Now, to think 
 of that!" 
 
 " It's not worth thinking about at present," 
 was the answer.
 
 272 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " Oh ! but it is," cried Peter_, " for I don^t see 
 my way so clearly to my money now." 
 
 'i Why not?^' asked Brian earnestly. 
 
 " Your father was not a man to pay anybody 
 when I knew him/^ said Peter. 
 
 ^' When 1 was a lad he left Penton. I have 
 only a misty recollection of him at that time/' 
 said Brian mournfully ; ^' a faint impression of 
 a little kindness and a great deal of neglect 
 stands for * father ' in those days. What kind 
 of man was he, Peter V^ 
 
 " Well, he was a better temper than the rest 
 of you/' said Peter frankly ; '' he took things 
 easily,, and let things go by him in an easy 
 fashion, too.'' 
 
 " Careless ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "But honest? A man of some degree oi 
 principle ?" 
 
 " I don't recollect any principle in him," 
 answered Peter ; " and I don't fancy there was 
 a great deal of honesty in making off with my 
 three pounds five." 
 
 " That was a loan."
 
 BUSINESS POSTPONED. 273 
 
 *'For a few days, he said; but then Bill 
 Halfday always was a liar." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear it," murroured Brian. 
 
 " Speaking the truth was quite out of your 
 father's line. I daresay he took after his father, 
 whose waspish tongue is still at last," he said, 
 pointing to the churchyard. " Ah, well, you 
 are a queer family, and none of you too civil. 
 There's bad blood in the Halfdays." 
 
 " Yes, we're a bad lot," assented Brian. 
 
 " And as for that Dorcas," cried the old man, 
 suddenly remembering a recent indignity which 
 had been proffered him, " if 1 ever forgive her, I 
 wish I may die ?" 
 
 "Has she said anything this afternoon to dis- 
 turb you ?" inquired Brian. 
 
 "Has she said anything that is kind, or 
 gentle, or respectful, do you think? Is it her 
 way?" 
 
 " Sometimes," replied Brian ; " not very often." 
 
 " She told me I was wearying the lady with 
 my talk — that I was all talk — and had better 
 be gone. That I had made the lady cry speak- 
 ing of her father and grandfather— as if a 
 woman could not cry without melting away. 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 She — she actually said," he added, trembling 
 with passion, '' she would take me by the 
 shoulders and put me out of the room, if I did 
 not go. The like of that to me ! You hear — 
 you hear how I have been treated, I, who have 
 been jolted to pieces in a carrier's cart coming 
 to see the last of Adam !" 
 
 " You must not mind Dorcas," said Brian, 
 kindly ; '^ she says more than she means when 
 the ill-temper is in her — and that is only like 
 humanity in the lump, Peter. The lady — Miss 
 Westbrook — is easily fatigued. She is recover- 
 ing from an illness — a severe shock to her sys- 
 tem — and Dorcas is very careful of her." 
 
 *' So it seems !" 
 
 " What did the lady say to the books and 
 flowers'?" Brian asked carelessly. 
 
 " She was very much obliged to Mr. Salmon. 
 They're the words, I think, but your hateful 
 sister has almost put them out of my head," 
 replied Peter, " and that it was very kind of 
 him to think of her." 
 
 " Ah ! yes," said Brian ; " but perhaps he 
 could not help it. Good day, Peter. A pleasant 
 journey back to Penton."
 
 BUSINESS POSTPONED. 275 
 
 The cameras cart was in sights and Brian 
 Halfday turned and marched rapidly away from 
 it^ passing into a side lane which led to the 
 Downs, np which he ascended to his own cot- 
 tage quickly and persistently. Here he Avalked 
 to and fro in a restless, wild-beast fashion until 
 nightfall, when he locked the door again and 
 went down to the inn at Datchet Bridge. 
 
 At the inn a message awaited him. Miss 
 Westbrook would be glad to see him for a few 
 minutes. 
 
 " She should have gone early to rest to- 
 night/^ he said. He went upstairs, however, 
 and knocked at the door, and her soft voice 
 from within bade him enter. He passed into the 
 room, and found Mabel in the chair where he 
 had left her last night. There was a faint but 
 friendly smile of welcome for him as he entered. 
 
 " Where is Dorcas V were -his first words. 
 
 " She has gone to lie down ; she is tired out 
 with the excitement of the day.^^ 
 
 " She is easily excited," answered Brian. 
 
 " I am unwilling to intrude upon your grief 
 this evening, Mr. Halfday," I\label said ; " but 
 I was uncertain whether your duties in Penton 
 
 T 2
 
 276 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 might not take you to the city before I saw you 
 again/^ 
 
 " Madam_, I have do great grief at my heart/^ 
 confessed Brian ; " no sorrow that weighs me 
 down_, so far as Adam Halfday is concerned/' 
 
 " Why have you kept away from us all this 
 time_, then V asked Mabelj half reproachfully, 
 half curiously. 
 
 " I did not think I should be missed ; I have 
 been to my house on the Downs/' was the 
 reply. 
 
 *' You left me last night in suspense," said 
 Mabel ; " and before you go away I wish to 
 speak of Dorcas, and of " 
 
 She stopped as Brian raised his hand. 
 
 " Let us leave business till to-morrow," he 
 said, candidly ; " I have not the heart for it 
 to-night." 
 
 " You will hasten away to-morrow morniug 
 without listening to my arguments," said Mabel. 
 
 '' I think not," he replied. " I shall not be 
 pressed for time." 
 
 " I have an idea, Mr. Halfday, that you are 
 postponing this out of consideration for me,"
 
 BUSINESS POSTPONED. 277 
 
 she said ; '* if so, it is a mistaken kindness, for 
 I am well and strong to-night." 
 
 *' I may have more news for you to-morrow." 
 
 " More news ! Not bad news, I trust f 
 
 " I am waiting for a message from Penton, 
 and I think the morning will bring it to me," 
 he answered ; and Mabel was too quick not to 
 read the evasion in his words. 
 
 " It is bad news !" she exclaimed. " Now 
 what has happened to cast me into shadow 
 again? Is there no lightness or brightness to 
 come to me in England ?" 
 
 " I do not say bad news," replied Brian ; 
 *' but it concerns the money in Penton Bank, 
 and " 
 
 " Oh ! the money ! — the money !" she cried, 
 scornfully — " why do you strong, hale men 
 think so much of money, or believe its loss or 
 gain to be the misery or happiness of life 1 I 
 was taught better than that in my American 
 home." 
 
 *' I hope so," answered Brian. 
 
 "I do not want it back ; I should be glad if 
 you would never say a word concerning it
 
 278 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 agaiD," she said. " There cau be no friendship 
 between us whilst this money question is for 
 ever rising to the surface." 
 
 '* Yes ; we quarrel about that," was the slow 
 repl3^ 
 
 " If it were lost to-morrow it would not give 
 me one minute's concern, save for yourselves." 
 
 " For Dorcas and me ?" he inquired. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 *' I do not see but there, there, this is 
 
 business after all, and I would get away from 
 it," said Brian. 
 
 '''Now please do not begin to walk up and 
 down the room, Mr. Halifday," said Mabel, 
 entreatingly ; " you have no idea how it fidgets 
 me." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," Brian replied. He had 
 reached the window by this time, and was 
 facing Angelo Salmon's big bouquet in the vase 
 upon the table. He scowled at it as he came 
 to a full stop. '-'Young Salmon must have 
 fancied you were going to the opera to-night," 
 he said suddenly. 
 
 "Are you fond of flowers?" was Mabel's 
 quiet response.
 
 BUSINESS POSTPONED. 279 
 
 " In their seasons, and in proper places," he 
 replied. 
 
 " They add sweetness and beauty to a lady's 
 boudoir at all times." 
 
 "Do you call this three-cornered room a 
 boudoir?" said Brian, disparagingly. 
 
 " Scarcely ; but it was the best refuge that 
 could be found for me at Datchet Bridge. I 
 shall always remember it gratefully." 
 
 ""May I ask the reason V 
 
 "I have met much kindness in this part of 
 Pentonshire^ and I have made friends^ I hope." 
 
 " If you are charitable enough to consider me 
 a friend. Miss Westbrook, I will ask you to 
 reserve your judgment till the morrow/' said 
 Brian_, mournfully. 
 
 "" Oh ! that dreadful morrow ! — which never 
 comes, however. What next V 
 
 "You will distrust us Halfdays again, and 
 it is natural you should/' replied Brian ; ^' you 
 do not know how you will despise us all 
 presently.-" 
 
 '^ You are in a morbid frame of mind to-day, 
 and that is natural also ; you have lost a " 
 
 "Kelation/' said Brian^ interrupting her;
 
 280 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " but I have said already, I do not mourn for 
 him. Had he been a better man — a kinder or 
 an honester one, — I might have grieved bitterly." 
 " You are of an unforgiving disposition." 
 " I don't know/^ he replied ; '^ people say so, 
 I believe. I am hard enough." 
 
 He recommenced his perambulations, and 
 Mabel said — 
 
 "You are anxious to be gone; I will not 
 detain you further, if there is no chance of talking 
 of ' business ' to-night." 
 
 " I am in an unsettled mood — restless and 
 savage and discontented. I own it," cried 
 Brian. 
 
 " But you will not tell me the reason 1 You 
 keep me in a suspense which will rob me of my 
 sleep," said Mabel. 
 
 " No, no ; don't say that," said Brian, very 
 solicitously now ; " there is nothing to distract 
 you. It's only the money after all — and you 
 don't care for money." 
 
 " Not a bit." was the frank confession. 
 ^^ And I am thinking the worst of some one 
 whom I may be suspecting uujustly,^^ he con- 
 tinued.
 
 BUSINESS POSTPONED. 281 
 
 '^Dorcas?'' 
 
 "No/' 
 
 " Mr. Algernon Salmon ? " 
 
 ''^Confound Algernon Salmon!" said Brian, 
 irritably ; " what put that milksop into your 
 thoughts again V 
 
 '' Mr. Halfday V^ exclaimed our heroine. 
 
 *' I beg pardon — I apologize — I am very rude 
 to you ; I forget I am in the presence of a lady/' 
 stammered Brian. " I am totally unused to 
 ladies' society ; I am a bear — let me go away to 
 my den on the hills." 
 
 ** Yes, you are seriously disturbed to-night," 
 said Mabel, thoughtfully regarding him, " and 
 it will be well for you to get home and rest, 
 Mr. Halfday. You are unwell.'' 
 
 " I never was better in my life/' he answered, 
 ^^but I have offended you by my rough- 
 ness.'' 
 
 '^Not at all/' said Mabel, "for I think I un- 
 derstand you." 
 
 " I had no right to speak slightingly of Mr. 
 Salmon ; I forgot myself. He is a friend of 
 yours," said Brian, "and a genuine, simple- 
 hearted fellow, I have every reason to believe.
 
 282 AS LOXG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 There,, is that the amende honorable. Miss West- 
 brook?'^ 
 
 Mabel smiled assent. 
 
 " Then I will go home before I commit my- 
 self further by saying something else absurd and 
 unnecessary. Good night.^^ 
 
 '' Good night, Mr. Halfday. You do not wish 
 to see your sister V^ 
 
 " She is asleep^ you told me? '^ 
 
 ^^Yes.^^ 
 
 " I will not disturb her," he said. "Neither 
 will you Jet anyone else disturb her, Miss West- 
 brook, I am sure." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Some one might ask to see her,^^ said Brian 
 musingly ; " it is not unlikely.^^ 
 
 '' The some one of whom you have spoken f 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " She is not fit to see anyone to-night," said 
 Mabel ; ^^ she has been completely borne down 
 by her grief." 
 
 " Yes," said Brian, " I did not give her credit 
 for having so much affection for the old man. 
 Good night again." 
 
 "Good night," she repeated. "Have you
 
 BUSINESS POSTPONED. 283 
 
 any books at your house on the Downs 1 " 
 
 ''Not any. Why do you ask?" 
 
 " You may not be able to sleep, and some of 
 these volumes " 
 
 " May assist me" he concluded for her, and 
 with one of his rare smiles flickering over his 
 face. 
 
 He walked to the open packet of books 
 which Mr. Salmon had sent that day by the 
 carrier and Peter Scone, stooped, read the titles 
 on the backs, and said contemptuously — 
 
 " Trumpery novels, and weak-minded verse ! 
 No, thank you.^' 
 
 " Here is a volume of the Reverend Gregory 
 Salmon's sermons/^ said Mabel drily, " you will 
 find that more solid reading.^^ 
 
 " ril take that," said Brian, seizing the book ; 
 '' it will be solid enough for any mortal man, I 
 have no doubt. It never struck me that Gre- 
 gory Salmon had an original idea in his head, 
 and here^s a whole book full of ideas !" 
 
 *' You do not like the Master of St. Lazarus ?" 
 
 "He is a " Brian paused, his knit brow 
 
 relaxed and his eyes became full of a new soft- 
 ness — " he is a friend of yours, Miss Westbrook,
 
 284 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 and I have not a word to say against him. For 
 the third time, good night." 
 
 He bowed and left the room. 
 
 " That is a very singular young man," mused 
 Mabel, after he had withdrawn ; " and he will 
 take a long time to understand."
 
 2S5 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE LETTER FROM PENTON. 
 
 AT eight o'clock the following morningv 
 Brian had left his home, and was at the 
 post-oJSice at Datchet Bridge, a little shop 
 which combined with the postal duties of Her 
 Majesty's Government, the sale of groceries, 
 tobacco, and haberdashery to the natives of the 
 district. Letters for the tenant of the house on 
 the Downs had always to be called for at the 
 post-office, it being no man's mission at eighteen 
 shillings a week to carry letters to the outaway 
 habitation perched amongst the hills. 
 
 The m6rniug's mail had arrived, and there 
 were letters awaiting Brian Halfday, as he had 
 anticipated. The postmaster passed them over
 
 286 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 with a " Good morning, Mr. Halfday," to which 
 Brian took no heed in his eagerness to receive 
 news from his native city. He snatched at 
 them unceremoniously, and walked to the door 
 of the shop, on the threshold of which he came 
 to a full stop. 
 
 There were half a dozen letters for him — five 
 appertaining to business at the museum, and 
 the sixth enclosed in a long blue envelope, 
 which he tore open eagerly. His was certainly 
 a face dark with displeasure as he read, from 
 beginning to end, the epistle for which he 
 seemed to have been waiting. When he had 
 finished the perusal of it, he turned to the first 
 page and read it carefully through for a second 
 time, the furrows deepening in his forehead, 
 and the thick black eyebrows drooping omi- 
 nously over the eyes. 
 
 "It was to be expected of him," he said as 
 he folded the letter, and became aware that a 
 gentleman was facing him on the grass-grown 
 path, and waiting politely for his leisure. 
 
 " Good morning, Mr. Halfday. I am very 
 glad to meet you," said Angelo Salmon. 
 
 Angelo was neatly, even trimly dressed, with
 
 THE LETTER FROM PENTOX. 287 
 
 a flower in his button-hole, and four inches of 
 spotless shirt-cuff displayed beyond the wrists 
 of his coat. He wore patent boots, and straps 
 to his trousers, and had evidently paid con- 
 siderable attention to his general " get up " 
 that morning. A beau of Bond Street could 
 have scarcely looked more resplendent by the 
 side of this dandy of Datchet Bridge. 
 
 " Good morning," said Brian gruffly. 
 
 " I thought I would not interrupt you whilst 
 you were reading your letters, Mr. Halfday," 
 Angelo continued, " but upon my word I am 
 very glad to meet you, as I said before." 
 
 " Have you any business with me this morn- 
 ingr 
 
 " Not any. But I thought you could tell me 
 how Miss Westbrook is to-day, how she got over 
 all the excitement of yesterday, and then, you 
 see, I need not trouble her for an hour or two 
 longer." 
 
 "I see," said Brian, as he put the letter in 
 his breast-pocket, and buttoned his black coat 
 carefully over his chest. 
 
 " I cannot remember suffering so intensely as 
 I did yesterday," Angelo Salmon went on.
 
 288 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 "sick headache, and a pain in the chest all 
 day." 
 
 " You're bilious," Brian remarked. 
 
 "Oh dear, no, Mr. Halfday, it was pure 
 anxiety concerning that young lady whom I 
 I have the honour to call my friend," said 
 Angelo ; "she had taken so strong an interest 
 in your grandfather, and his death was a 
 terrible shock, and then this inquest, and 
 she so weak. They might have postponed 
 the inquest six or eight months, don't you 
 think? and given Miss Westbrook time to 
 come round, and take change of air, and so 
 forth. There was no occasion for hurry. '^ 
 
 "Did you arrive here this morning?"^ asked 
 Brian abruptly. 
 
 " No, late last night. I came disguised, lest 
 anyone should recognize me and tell her I was 
 in the village." 
 
 " And give her another terrible shock — yes," 
 said Brian. 
 
 "I had promised to keep away till the 
 inquest was completed. I had given my 
 evidence some days since, but I could not rest 
 a moment after four o'clock yesterday after-
 
 THE LETTER FROM PENTON. 289 
 
 noon, so I came here," said Angelo. " I called 
 on the landlady of the inn last night, and she 
 told me Miss Westbrook had seen you after the 
 funeral, which I hoped you enjoyed — I mean 
 which I hope went ofi very well — that is, with- 
 out anything particularly afflicting — you under- 
 stand." 
 
 ^' It went off very well, thank you," answer- 
 ed Brian, drily. " Which way are you going V^ 
 
 "I am going towards the green, I think," 
 replied Angelo, with hesitation, and as if doubt- 
 ful of his future steps. 
 
 "I am going in the other direction,''' said 
 Brian^ very decisively. 
 
 ^' Indeed/' said Angelo, with a little start, 
 and his face flushing very red. ^' Ah ! I am 
 afraid Fm in the way, and so soon after your 
 bereavement too V^ 
 
 " Yes/' muttered Brian^ ^' you are too soon." 
 
 " But you have not told me how Miss West- 
 brook is.^^ 
 
 " Getting strong rapidly.^' 
 
 " Thank Heaven !" exclaimed Angelo. " I am 
 really much obliged to you_, too^ Mr. Halfday, 
 for this good news." 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " Why it should be good news to you parti- 
 cularly, I scarcely comprehend/^ asked Brian, 
 sharply, '^ unless you have a greater right to 
 thank Heaven for her better health than any- 
 body else.^^ 
 
 '^'^No, sir; no greater right/^ said Angelo. 
 *^I trust there is nothing in my manner which 
 has suggested that I have. I would not for 
 the world have such a question asked of me 
 again,''^ he added, with less confusion and more 
 dignity. 
 
 " Upon second consideration, Mr. Salmon, I 
 am sure I had no right to ask it,^' said Brian, 
 more gently; *^'but your manner was peculiar, 
 and I — well, I am in one of my worst tempers 
 this morning.^^ 
 
 " I am sorry to hear it. Your manner also 
 struck me as peculiar, if I may be allowed to 
 say so/^ said Mr. Salmon, " for when I saw you 
 here, a few days ago, it suggested itself to me 
 — almost suddenly, as it were — that I should 
 like to know more of you." 
 
 *' You are very kind," said Brian, becoming 
 grave again. 
 
 " I mean to see you more often — or rather to
 
 THE LETTER FROM PENTON. 291 
 
 see if I could gain upon you by degrees^ and 
 become almost your friend. You would be 
 surprised to hear I have not a friend in the 
 world out of my own family." 
 
 ^andeedr 
 
 "People do not take to me very readily/' 
 added Angelo_, sadly^ " or I do not take readily 
 to other people. I hardly know which." 
 
 "Friends will play you false^ or borrow 
 your money — you are better without them^" 
 was Brian's misanthropic advice. 
 
 " Have you not any friends ?" inquired 
 Angelo. 
 
 "I find my friends in my books_, and they 
 never betray me." 
 
 " Yes ; but apart from books " 
 
 " Apart from books^ I have no friends." 
 
 " She said so." 
 
 " Who said so ?" asked Brian, turning sud- 
 denly upon his companion ; " who has dared to 
 speak of me as friendless. Dorcas ?" 
 
 " Miss Westbrook and I were speaking of 
 you a few days since, that is all," replied 
 Angelo ; " and Miss Westbrook certainly said 
 
 u2
 
 292 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 that you appeared to her to be a desolate young 
 man/^ 
 
 " It^s an odd word — desolate V said our 
 hero_, thoughtfully ; '^ but it is pretty close to 
 the truth/' 
 
 " I happened to allude to myself in some 
 way ; I scarcely remember in what way now/' 
 Angelo continued^ ""but I know Miss West- 
 brook said she thought I should be the better 
 for a male friend who was strong-minded, and 
 manly, and fearless, and all that." 
 
 "And she recommended me?" 
 
 " Or some one like you/' replied Angelo ; 
 "I know she mentioned you as a firm, self- 
 reliant man." 
 
 " She compliments me/' said Brian, more 
 thoughtfully than ever. 
 
 " It is at my expense a little/' added Angelo, 
 with a feeble little laugh, "but I don't mind 
 that. I know I'm more like a great girl than 
 a man ; they think so at home, I fancy. But 
 chambers in town, and travelling to America, 
 have done me a great deal of good lately. I 
 seem to know the world now." 
 
 " It is a bitter knowledge very often,'' replied
 
 THE LETTER FROM PENTON. 293 
 
 Brian, " and I would not follow it too closely 
 in your place. As for friends, they will be no 
 good to you. As for myself, I am of a different 
 sphere, and unfit for you.^^ 
 
 " I do not quite understand.^^ 
 
 " I have not time to explain^^^ answered 
 Brian. 
 
 " I am detaining you/^ said Angelo very 
 quickly ; " probably I shall see you again before 
 I driv^e Miss Westbrook to Penton." 
 
 " Oh ! does she leave to-day ?" 
 
 "I don^t know. I am going to ask her if 
 she feels well enough to undertake the jour- 
 ney/^ said Angelo ; " my father and mother, 
 and myself, don^t like the idea of her remaining 
 in this place.^^ 
 
 ''Will she return to the Hospital as your 
 guest r^ 
 
 " I hope she will — for a few days, at least." 
 
 "1 shall see you again_, I daresay/^ said 
 Brian ; '' good morning." 
 
 Angelo re-echoed his " good morning " as 
 Brian walked away from him. Pie went slowly 
 and in a purposeless way towards the village 
 green, whilst the curator dashed on at almost
 
 294 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 a headlong pace towards the churchyard. 
 
 " That man is softening/' muttered Brian, as 
 he strode on ; " heaven and earth_, what a friend 
 to recommend to me ! If Miss Westbrook had 
 been in better spirits_, I should have thought 
 she had been jesting with us both.'' 
 
 He turned into the churchyard, and then 
 stopped suddenly, with his hand upon the 
 wicket gate. Mabel Westbrook was there ; she 
 was standing by the new grave wherein all 
 that remained of Adam Halfday was buried. 
 
 "It is as well there — perhaps it is better 
 there — that she should hear the news," Brian 
 said as he went towards her.
 
 295 
 
 M 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 BY THE GRAVE OF ADAM HALFDAY. 
 
 ABEL WESTBROOK was too deep in 
 thought to notice the presence of Brian 
 Halfday in the churchy ard_, until that gentle- 
 man was close upon her. Then she turned 
 and saw him. 
 
 '' It is kind of you to come, Miss West- 
 brook/^ Brian said in rapid tones_, '^^but I 
 scarcely comprehend the motive for it. He 
 was no friend of yours — he was an enemy to 
 your family.^' 
 
 Mabel had extended her hand towards him, 
 but he did not see it, or affected not to see it 
 — it was doubtful which — and, with a slight
 
 296 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 heightening of colour, the hand fell back to her 
 side as she replied, 
 
 "Should I bear him malice now?" she asked. 
 
 "No, no — but why do you come to his 
 grave?" rejoined Brian; "what is the use of 
 it ? — where is the necessity ?" 
 
 " I thought 1 would come," said Mabel ; " I 
 can scarcely explain the reason, except it is 
 that my dead grandsire^s wishes lie very close 
 to my heart still." 
 
 Brian lost his temper at once over the old 
 subject. 
 
 "You have no right to regard them," he 
 cried, "based as they were upon a wretched 
 mistake. It is your duty even " 
 
 "Do not begin again, please," said Mabel, 
 interrupting him ; " everything is settled be- 
 tween us. I am going to take back the money, 
 and there is an end of the complication." 
 
 "There is no end to it. Miss VVestbrook," 
 answered Brian, " and that is why I must 
 speak to you in this place. It is most fitting 
 that here you should learn what a hateful, des- 
 picable, mean, money-grasping, grovelling race
 
 BY THE GRAVE OF ADAM HALFDAY. 297 
 
 Mabel shrank at his intensity of utterance, at 
 the bitter vehemence with which this tirade 
 against his race was hissed forth. 
 
 " The news for which you waited has reached 
 Datchet Bridge T she asked curiously. 
 
 "Yes.'' 
 
 "And it is bad news?" 
 
 " It is bad news, indeed," said Brian. 
 
 " Is that why you would not shake hands 
 with me just now ?" inquired our heroine. 
 
 " I was unworthy to touch you, madam/' 
 answered Brian, in deep humility, and with a 
 strange tremor in his voice ; " I have betrayed 
 your trust in me — I have taught my own father 
 to be your enemy — I have robbed you !" 
 
 '"'' Oh ! this is the money question again, Mr. 
 Ealfday,'' said Mabel ; " well, please explain for 
 once and for ever. *^Your own father!' what 
 does that mean ?" 
 
 " I saw him the night before last," replied 
 Brian, " he stepped across my waking life 
 again, like the grim spectre that he is, and I 
 told him of the money, like the fool that / 
 was V 
 
 *^^Your father — yes, that is strange,^' mur-
 
 298 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 mured Mabel; "but could you bave kept him 
 in ignorance of the truth, and was it worth the 
 effort V 
 
 " I might have bided my time — I should have 
 waited for a while — I should have left him to 
 discover the facts for himself/^ said Brian. '^ I 
 might have done a hundred things save put in 
 his hand the weapon with which he strikes you 
 down.^^ 
 
 ^' I am not stricken down/^ said Mabel, who 
 had turned somewhat pale, " only you alarm 
 me — you, you look so fiercely at me — it is your 
 own father of whom you are speaking, remem- 
 ber.^^ 
 
 " He is a villain .^^ 
 
 " Still his son should not be the first to 
 declare it to a stranger.''^ 
 
 Brian paused, and looked down 
 
 " I accept the reproof, Miss Westbrook,^' he 
 said_, *^' you are more of a Christian than I am — 
 I have been ill taught and ill trained, and this 
 is the result.^^ 
 
 " Shall we go away from here V 
 
 " I would prefer your remaining for a few 
 minutes — but you are tired V
 
 BY THE GRAVE OF ADAM HALFDAY. 299 
 
 " No, I am not tired/^ Mabel answered. 
 
 " I will not rave in this mad fashion again/^ 
 said Brian, " but I have been deceived, and I 
 have helped towards my own deception. My 
 first thought was of you, madam, when he stood 
 before me in his rags and squalor, and of the 
 power that he would exercise by right of birth 
 to claim the money paid in error to my grand- 
 father. I trusted him too quickly; I was 
 anxious he should hear the truth from my lips 
 before a distortion of it should raise vain hopes in 
 his heart, and I sought to bind him by an oath 
 to restitution." 
 
 " You did not ?" asked Mabel anxiously. 
 
 *'' No ; I would not listen to him when I saw 
 the look upon his face in the starlight," an- 
 swered Brian, "I knew what was to follow 
 before I received this letter." 
 
 " From him f 
 
 "^ From his solicitor," said Brian contemptu- 
 ously, as he opened the letter which he had 
 taken from his pocket. " I will read it to you.'' 
 
 '^But " 
 
 " It will not take a moment," said Brian, " it 
 is brief enough."
 
 300 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 He dashed through the epistle in his old rapid 
 way, but it is uncertain if Mabel Westbrook 
 followed him completely : — 
 
 " 288, Cloister Street, 
 
 " June, 18—. 
 "^ Sir, — I beg herewith to inform you that my 
 client, and your father, Mr. William Halfday, 
 has entrusted to me the entire management of 
 his affairs, and the procuring for him the 
 necessary letters of administration to the 
 estate of his father, Adam Halfday, late of this 
 city, and of the Hospital of Saint Lazarus, 
 adjacent. I am further desired by Mr. William 
 Halfday to inform you that he intends to act 
 fairly and equitably by all those who do not 
 needlessly interfere with a matter which he 
 leaves entirely in the hands of his legal adviser 
 and 
 
 '' Your obedient servant, 
 
 " Richard Eversham. 
 
 " Brian Halfday, Esq., 
 
 "Datchet Bridge." 
 
 *' Here is the gauntlet thrown in my face, and 
 I must fight/' said Brian, as he tore the letter
 
 BY THE GRA.VE OF ADAM HALFDAY. 301 
 
 into fragments, and scattered them over his 
 grandfather's grave. 
 
 " Can you not trust to what your father 
 says ?" asked Mabel. 
 
 "Trust that man," exclaimed Brian indig- 
 nantly, " who has already deceived me, and 
 who is weak enough to think his silly promise 
 .of fair dealing can juggle me at the eleventh 
 hour like this ! Trust him, madam ! I will 
 fight him to the death, as though he were my 
 bitterest enemy. I will make him prove he is 
 William Halfday ; I will dispute his claim inch 
 by inch in a court of law, and, granted that 7ie 
 is the William Halfday of sixteen years since, I 
 deny his right — he, a vagabond and a deserter 
 from his family — to take that money, which 
 his own father would have never left him. I 
 will ask you to support me by your story of 
 how the money was placed in Penton Bank, and 
 then I will tell this poor weak mortal's history 
 afterwards." 
 
 He pointed to the grave, and Mabel said — 
 "You would be acting very unwisely, Mr. 
 Halfday. 1 know nothing of the law, but I am 
 wise enough to see the impossibility of your
 
 302 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 Tesisting your father's claim to the estate/' 
 
 *^ Here^ on his father's grave_, I swear '' 
 
 " No_, no !'' cried Mabel with alarm ; " if you 
 have any respect for me, don't say another 
 word. You are angry, and know not what you 
 are doing. In resisting this claim, you will 
 bring about your ruin." 
 
 '• I do not care for that." 
 
 " Let him have the money ; it will come in 
 due course to Dorcas and you/' Mabel said ; 
 " let it drift away for ever, rather than that any 
 act of mine should create enmity between a 
 father and his children. I came to help the 
 Halfdays — it was a promise to a dying man ; 
 don't say that, despite the utter failure of my 
 mission, you will add to my regrets by a foolish 
 course of action. I ask you not, for mj sake." 
 
 ^^For your sake. Miss Westbrook, I would 
 venture a great deal, and sacrifice much. But 
 it is for your sake I would act in opposition to 
 this scheme," he answered. 
 
 " I shall want all your courage and assistance 
 in another direction — not in this." 
 
 Brian looked at her with surprise before he 
 said —
 
 BY THE GRAVE OF ADAM HALFDAY. 303 
 
 " I am completely in the dark/^ 
 
 ^^ You must remain so for awhile^ although I 
 am not successful in my mysteries/^ said Mabel^ 
 smiling at his bewilderment. " But I have had 
 letters this morning also, and they influence my 
 whole after-life." 
 
 '^For the better, I hope.'' 
 
 ^' I have to wait a second communication, 
 and then I may come to you as a friend, on 
 whose good faith I can rely.'' 
 
 " It is all for the worse, I am afraid," said 
 Brian moodily, " or you would not seek advice 
 and help from me. Surely you " 
 
 "Don't guess," said Mabel very quickly; " 1 
 would rather you did not think of this at 
 present. I should not have spoken if it had not 
 been that you were anxious to fight a hopeless 
 battle for me, at a time when in a fairer contest 
 you might be of invaluable assistance." 
 
 " I trust 1 may." 
 
 " Till then, let there be peace, and judge not 
 this William Halfway — your own father — too 
 harshly in this matter yet. Let the money go 
 to him, and await the result of his inheritance." 
 
 " That is your wish '?"
 
 301 AS LONG AS SHE LR^ED. 
 
 " I wish it with all my heart/^ 
 
 "I will wait," said Brian, "but not in any 
 hope of his doing justice to you. You have 
 rewarded the wrong-doers, and you should con- 
 sider me as one of them." 
 
 *SWhy, you would make me rich, if you 
 could." 
 
 *' With your own money — what a bene- 
 factor!" 
 
 " Shall we go away from the churchyard 
 now ?" asked Mabel, " or do we misunderstand 
 each other still ?" 
 
 " 1 don't know if I understand you," said 
 Brian, very earnestly regarding her, " or if you 
 will not for ever remain a mystery." 
 
 " As a woman always is," said Mabel, almost 
 saucily. 
 
 He took no heed of her interruption ; he went 
 on in the same deep, earnest way — 
 
 " But this I know. You have been thought- 
 ful and unselfish, and your rights have been 
 sacrificed to wrong and rapacity without a pro- 
 test against it." 
 
 " I promised " 
 
 '^ That as long as you lived you would see
 
 BY THE GRAVE OF ADAM HALFDAY. 305 
 
 after us Halfdays," said Brian, " enrich us_, study 
 us. Now let one of the family promise some- 
 thing in return/' 
 
 " Oh ! no more promises," cried Mabel ; *''you 
 are so quick to resolve^ that I don't know what 
 you may say or do." 
 
 '"'' Very little on this occasion, Miss West- 
 brook/^ said Brian_, mournfully, '' save to re- 
 echo that promise of your own, and with a 
 stronger reason for it. It is said in Penton that 
 I am an irritable, half-mad visionary, an obsti- 
 nate and hard brute, a man with no considera- 
 tion for the opinions of his fellow-men when 
 they clash with his own. Well, I promise from 
 to-day to sink my individuality, my crotchets, 
 my pride, my convictions, everything, when 
 they are opposed to yours. As long as yozi live, 
 I am your slave in very gratitude, and you may 
 command me how you will. And commanding 
 me not at all, seeing me no more, passing away, 
 as it may appear to you, for ever, I, Brian 
 Halfday, will still be dreaming of you, planning 
 what is best for you, watching you, so long as 
 you are living on this earth. I take this right 
 from to-day, without claiming any right of 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 friendship with it_, or deeming myself worthy 
 to be thought your friend, and I swear it on the 
 grave of this poor sleeper.'^ 
 
 " It is a foolish promise/' said Mabel ; ^' and 
 I am undeserving of it. I — I wish you had 
 been silent.^^ 
 
 '^ You do not trust me yet.'^ 
 
 "I do ; but oh ! you are so strange a man. 
 I am afraid of you/^ she said timidly. 
 
 "I have raved too much/^ replied Brian, 
 gently ; " will you forget it, and take my arm 
 back to the inn ? You are trembling V 
 
 '^ Perhaps I am not so strong as I ought to 
 be/^ she said, taking his arm, and walking slowly 
 away from the grave. 
 
 "And you trust me at last?" asked Brian. 
 
 " Shall I give you a proof of it?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Shall I tell you my new mystery ?" 
 
 " If you will." 
 
 " I came to England a rich woman — to-day I 
 am a poor one." 
 
 " Ha ! This is the bad news, and you have 
 let me " 
 
 " Why — you are going to reproach me al- 
 ready I" said Mabel, laughing at him.
 
 BY THE GRxVVE OF ADAM HALFDAY. 307 
 
 *'Your pardon — but for God's sake tell me 
 what has happened." 
 
 " There have been money failures in America, 
 and my American securities — that is, my fortune 
 in the bank of which my father was a principal 
 — collapsed completely yesterday." 
 
 " Great Heaven V 
 
 " What will become of me after the storm is 
 over^ I don't know," she said ; " something from 
 the wreck will float to shore, perhaps, and, if 
 not, I must look out for a new home or a rich 
 husband." 
 
 " Here is Angelo Salmon coming towards us," 
 eaid Brian Halfday, in a low tone. 
 
 " Poor Angelo V responded Mabel West- 
 brook. 
 
 " I will leave you," said Brian — " I have not 
 finished my work at Datchet Bridge." 
 
 *• I shall see you again before I leave ?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " You go to-day, then V 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " To the Hospital— or the ' Mitre V " 
 
 " To the Hospital. It is less expensive," she 
 answered, laughing again.
 
 308 AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. 
 
 " You bear misfortune lightly,- Miss West- 
 brook/^ said Brian ; " but then you are young, 
 and do not know what misfortune really is/' 
 
 " Yes, I do/^ was the reply ; " but I cannot 
 fret over the loss of my money. I care for it as 
 little as you do.'' 
 
 " I am very fond of money," answered Brian 
 — " it is a failing of the respectable family to 
 which I have the honour to belong." 
 
 " It is a big story !" she replied. 
 
 She smiled brightly as she left him and went 
 towards Angelo Salmon^ who was waiting at 
 the gate, a mute, curious, but resplendent being. 
 Brian stopped and saw the meeting, the friendly 
 greeting of Mabel, the pleased and blushing 
 countenance of the young man whom she ad- 
 dressed. He did not move until they walked 
 away together — he raised his felt hat in saluta- 
 tion to them as they looked back at him, and 
 Angelo Salmon elevated his own silk castor in 
 the air. Then he turned and went off at his 
 customary railway-train rate of progression. 
 
 " Yes ; it is as long as she lives I" he said 
 again. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST V0LU3IE.
 
 Ah-
 
 'Mi.