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 OLD SIR DOUGLAS. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/oldsirdouglas01nort
 
 OLD SIR DOUGLAS. 
 
 BY 
 
 THE HON. MRS. NORTON, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "LOST AND SAVED," 
 &c. &c. 
 
 Slander is shipwreck by a dry tempest. ' 
 
 Herbert's ' Jacida Prudentum.' 
 
 The winds of change afflict us. What to-day 
 We tether tight, to-morrow whirls away. ' 
 
 Hon. Robert Lytton. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HURST AXD BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GEEAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1868. 
 
 The right of Translation is reserved.
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Strangewavs and Walden, Printers, 
 Castle St. Leicester Sq.
 
 
 ?23 
 
 
 jlU*' 
 
 
 1 
 
 § 
 
 TO 
 
 i 
 
 \ 
 
 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 LORD DUFFERIN AND CLANDEBOYE 
 
 My dear Dufferin, 
 
 This Book was to have been 
 dedicated to your Mother ; and it is a 
 melancholy pleasure to me to remember 
 that she read and warmly praised some 
 of it, during her last illness, while the story 
 was as yet incomplete. 
 
 Death has broken that unequalled com- 
 panionship. The steady affection ; the in- 
 dulgent appreciation; the quick sympathy; 
 the clear judgment ; the womanly tender- 
 ness ; the playful, kindly wit ; the social 
 charm ; — all those lovely and lovable qua-
 
 vi Dedication. 
 
 lities which surely never were before so 
 perfectly combined with a rare and lofty 
 intelligence, have vanished from amongst 
 us, for ever. 
 
 There remains, — for you above all, but 
 for me also, and in their measure and 
 degree for all who ever lived in intimacy 
 with her, — a great sorrowful blank, which 
 nothing can suffice to fill ; let the re- 
 maining years of life bring what they 
 may! 
 
 I have seen more serious compositions 
 than this present attempt of mine, inscribed, 
 under such circumstances, ( to the memory ' 
 of the loved and lost. I will not so deal 
 with a work of fiction ; but rather ask you, 
 for her sake, to accept this dedication in 
 her stead. 
 
 I can fearlessly offer my attempt at a 
 picture of youthful error in my wild rebel-
 
 Dedication. vii 
 
 lions Kenneth, and of base and blame- 
 worthy conduct in others of my story, — 
 to yon, whose whole career, from boyhood 
 to the final hour of farewell, was one 
 uninterrupted source of pride and satis- 
 faction to her, and to all who belong to 
 you. 
 
 Forgive the saying so much (since I 
 fain would say even more) in a letter 
 which is set here for all to read who will ; 
 though it is inscribed only with your name. 
 
 And believe me, now and always. 
 Your affectionate Aunt, 
 
 CAROLINE XOETOX
 
 OLD SIR DOUGLAS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 Home, sweet Home. 
 
 HERE is no example of human beauty 
 more perfectly picturesque than a very 
 handsome man of middle age. 
 
 No, smiling reader, not even a very handsome 
 young man : not even that same man in his youth. 
 The gain is in expression, of which every age 
 has its own ; and perhaps there is more change in 
 that than in the features, under the working hand 
 of Time. When luckless Dr. Donne wrote to the 
 proud mother of the famous George Herbert of 
 Bemerton and Lord Herbert of Cherbury — 
 
 ' Xor spring nor summer beauty hath the grace 
 
 That I have seen in an autumnal face,' 
 VOL. I. B
 
 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 it is to be feared lie was more complimentary than 
 veracious ; for bloom is an integral part of woman's 
 loveliness, and every day tbat brings her nearer 
 to its withering takes away something of her 
 charm. But with the other sex it is different. 
 The youth who is noble-looking, glad, eager, 
 gallant and gay as the young Lochinvar, will yet 
 be handsomer when time shall have given him 
 that air of customary command, of mingled ma- 
 jesty, wisdom, and cordial benevolence, which 
 belongs to a later date ; and which, in fine na- 
 tures, results from much mingling with the joys, 
 sorrows, and destinies of other men, with an 
 increased instead of a diminished sympathy in all 
 that concerns them. 
 
 Often, too, this is accompanied by a genial 
 cheerfulness of manner, springing from the same 
 source. At the age of which I am speaking, small 
 annoyances have ceased to afEict : great hopes and 
 fears are subject to a more noble reserve : the 
 passionate selfishness of inexperience has vanished : 
 the restlessness of learning how much or how 
 little life can achieve is calmed down. The smile 
 of welcome in such a man's countenance is worth 
 all the beauty of his adolescent years.
 
 Home, sweet Home. 
 
 And if there should be any of my readers 
 who, in spite of this argument, refuse to become 
 converts to such unusual doctrine, and obstinately 
 adhere to a contrary opinion, — that is because 
 they never saw Sir Douglas Ross of Glexrossie, 
 familiarly called by his tenantry and his few re- 
 maining family ties, ' Old Sir Douglas/ 
 
 He had indeed been called by that name be- 
 fore he could reasonably be said to have earned it : 
 before his dark and thickly- curled hair had shown 
 any of those rare silver threads which the American 
 poet, Longfellow, beautifully images as the 
 
 1 Dawn of another life — that breaks o'er the earthly 
 
 horizon, 
 As in the Eastern sky the first faint streaks of the 
 
 morning. 
 
 He was called Old Sir Douglas, chiefly, as it 
 seemed, because everybody else was so young. 
 His father had run away with a beautiful and 
 penniless Miss Macrae, when he was scarcely 
 twenty. At five-and-twenty he was a widower 
 with two infant sons ; and by way of at once 
 satisfying his family, redeeming the past, and 
 giving a second mother to those young children,
 
 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 he wedded with the heiress of Toulmains ; a very- 
 stiff and starched successor to the blooming and 
 passionate girl whom he had laid in her grave 
 so early that his union with her grew to be a 
 vague dream rather than a distinct memory. 
 
 But the sunshine was off the path of his life 
 for ever : and perhaps that instinct of insufficiency 
 to another's happiness, which haunts the hearts 
 of those who live in intimacy together, even when 
 those hearts are not very tender, crept into the 
 hard shell where beat a sort of cold fish-life, in 
 the bosom of the second Lady Ross, and soured 
 still further a nature never genial. Hateful to 
 her was the memory of that first wife ; displeasing 
 to the last degree the sight of her orphan children 
 and the sound of their prattle. She spent her 
 time in steady efforts at repression, and in a series 
 of inventive punishments, principally directed 
 against the sin of liveliness. 
 
 She did not relax in her system even after she 
 herself became a mother; and the little pale 
 shrewd sharp-browed half-sister she gave the boys, 
 seemed indeed to have been modelled on her own 
 pattern. Still, resolute, and reserved ; that tiny 
 girl foreshadowed the woman to be, and faith-
 
 Home, sweet Home. 
 
 fully transmitted the soul and spirit of her 
 progenitrix. 
 
 Young as the first brood were when they lost 
 their loving mother, they felt the change. Home 
 was home still, but it was home frajipe a la glace ; 
 and the efforts of Lady Ross to train and nail 
 them as snow-berries not only failed, but produced, 
 as years went on, a sort of chronic state of re- 
 bellion ; insomuch that, even had her wishes been 
 reasonable and gently expressed (two conditions 
 that never existed), I fear she would have found 
 the two boys, Douglas and Kenneth, wilfully 
 provided with a stock of ready-made opposition. 
 
 In a household where the sole break in the 
 monotony of discontent was a change from storms 
 to sullenness on the part of the governing au- 
 thority, and a corresponding change from passion 
 to dejection in the young things that were to be 
 governed, it was not to be expected that nature 
 should be properly disciplined, or minds effectually 
 taught. The boys learned as little as they could, 
 and resisted as much as they dared. Their af- 
 fection for each other was proportionate to their 
 isolation at home, and before they were severally 
 nine and ten years old, their chief pleasure was to
 
 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 roam over the hills behind the castle, their arms 
 twined round each other's necks, talking of the in- 
 supportable tyranny of stepmothers, as set forth in 
 all the stories they had ever read, and planning wild 
 and boyish attempts at escape from such thraldom. 
 From their father they received neither 
 instruction nor guidance. Tormented and dis- 
 appointed himself, his weak and impulsive nature 
 took that turn to evil from which perhaps a pious, 
 cheerful, loving helpmate might have saved him. 
 Captious in his temper, drunken in his habits, 
 given greatly to those open grievous twits and 
 taunts in the wars of home, which seem to lookers- 
 on so indecent and embarrassing — and which a 
 man should be taught to govern and conceal in his 
 soul, as he is taught to clothe the nakedness of his 
 body, — his children combined .an utter absence of 
 respect for him, with a certain degree of pre- 
 judiced pity. If they did not think him always 
 in the right in the family quarrels they witnessed, 
 at least they always thought their stepmother 
 in the wrong. ' Poor papa ' was their kindliest 
 mention of him; and ' papa's too lazy to care' 
 the common salvo to their conscience when doing 
 something that had been absolutely forbidden.
 
 Home, sweet Home. 
 
 At length came that crisis in their child-life 
 which might be expected. Among the smaller 
 obstinacies about which papa was 'too lazy to 
 care/ and which was the subject of fierce repro- 
 bation with their stepmother, was the constant 
 presence of two rough terriers, which had been 
 given to the two boys, in the earliest stage of their 
 mutual puppyhood, by the old keeper. Jock and 
 Beardie were installed as idols in their young 
 masters' hearts. Rustling through the brushwood, 
 leaping over the purple heather, panting through 
 the brawling burns, covered with dust or drenched 
 with rain, as the case might be — in rushed, with 
 a scuffle and a yelp of joy, sniffing for drink, or 
 scratching for a comfortable resting-place, these 
 four-footed plagues, as Lady Ross termed them ; 
 following, or followed by, the kilted little lads. 
 
 During the brief period allotted to their careless 
 lessons, dog and master eyed each other with an 
 equally intelligible agreement to ' go out the mo- 
 ment it was over,' when, — as if at the sound of a 
 signal gim, — the scuffle, shout, yelp, and rush were 
 renewed. Often had Beardie been chased angrily 
 with a whip, to teach him indoor manners ; often 
 had Jock been seized by the scruff of his shaggy
 
 8 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 neck, and tossed out of the low windows ; often 
 pulled out from slumbers surreptitiously permitted 
 in the tumbled beds of their sleeping masters ; 
 often made to howl for flagrant discovery of bones 
 half gnawed, and fragments of victuals, under 
 those same little couches ; often shaken out rudely 
 on the bare floor when curled up for a nap in the 
 plaided counterpanes. But it was in vain that 
 Lady Ross scolded and stormed. The dogs did 
 not understand what she would be at, and the 
 boys were determined that where they went Jock 
 and Beardie should follow. 
 
 On one especial day, the rushing, yelping, 
 shouting, and scuffling, which attended their 
 entrance, seemed redoubled : the boys had fallen in 
 with an otter hunt, conducted by an experienced 
 old gillie, their chief friend on the estate. They 
 entered flushed, wet, panting, and joyous, leaving 
 every door on their progress open, including that 
 of the wide oak hall through which a whirl of 
 wind and autumn leaves followed their reckless 
 little heels, as if willing to share in the sport and 
 the confusion. Then, dog and master, alike 
 muddy breathless and dripping, burst into the 
 presence of Lady Ross, even as she sat in the
 
 Home, sweet Home. 9 
 
 state drawing-room receiving the somewhat formal 
 visit of the most puissant of all her Scotch neigh- 
 bours, the dowager Countess of Clochnaben and 
 the invalid earl her son. 
 
 'Are those Sir Neil's boys? They seem 
 rudish little bears/ was the polite speech of the 
 dowager; as she hastily drew her ample dress 
 nearer the boundary of the sofa, where the ladies 
 were seated. 
 
 ' I told you to hinder that sort of thing/ said 
 the irate hostess to her husband after her guests 
 had departed. 
 
 { How am I to hinder it ?' replied he sulkily. 
 ' I 'm just wishing you 'd let the lads and their 
 dogs be.' 
 
 Then rose one of those wild storms about 
 nothing, which are at once the curse and the 
 wonder of ill-mated married life : the wife 
 1 flyting ' at the husband ; the husband swearing 
 at the wife ; the children staring at the loud 
 battle and angry gestures ; till, a portion of the 
 wrathful torrent of violence being turned their 
 way, they were ordered off to ' make themselves 
 decent for supper/ 
 
 That supper was not eaten, nor greeted other-
 
 10 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 wise than with bitter cries and regretful tears ; 
 for, when the boys recrossed the great hall adorned 
 with the antlers of innumerable stags, they were 
 met by their incensed stepmother. She pointed 
 fiercely through the great arched door, calling out, 
 " Since there 's neither teaching nor managing 
 will rule ye, and your father lets you run wild, 
 we '11 see if i~ can find means to make more im- 
 pression : — I think you'll not forget to-day's 
 otter-hunt in a hurry.' 
 
 Through the arch the boys gazed, in the 
 direction indicated by her gaunt finger, and then 
 stood as though she had turned them into stone by 
 some weird spell. For there, on the two lower 
 branches of a stunted old fir-tree, just outside the 
 castle door, hung the two dogs ; horrid in their 
 recent death by strangulation ; pitiful in their 
 helpless dangling attitudes ; executed by a sudden 
 doom ! Poor Jock, whose warm kindly brown 
 eyes and rough nose were wont to bury themselves 
 under Douglas's caressing arm ; and Beardie, 
 handsome active and frolicsome Beardie, who had 
 leaped so high to Kenneth's stick, and whose long 
 silky coat of iron grey hair had been the ad- 
 miration of all beholders !
 
 Home, sweet Home. 11 
 
 There they hung ! wet and draggled and weary- 
 looking, as when they came in : but never more to 
 dry their coats by the fire ; nor lap from the great 
 bowl of water set ready for them by the boys ; nor 
 lick the tanned little hands, in mute joy and gra- 
 titude, at the end of some pleasant day ! There 
 they hung : tongues out ; eyes glazed ; limbs 
 contracted ; with horrid evidences of a bygone 
 struggle ending in a helpless death. 
 
 Kenneth was the first to break silence ; with 
 a cry that was almost a yell of desj^air and de- 
 fiance, he made a dash towards the tree, opening his 
 knife as he went, to cut his favourite down. 
 Douglas stood still ; panting, speechless, and 
 breathless ; his eyes riveted on poor Jock, as 
 though he had no power to withdraw them from 
 the dreadful sight. Then followed, from both 
 boys, a wild echoing shout for their father — for 
 their father to come and see what had been done 
 by them during the brief interval they had spent 
 in preparations for a more decent appearance in 
 the sitting-room and at the family meal. 
 
 !Nor did the easily excited ire of that father 
 disappoint the boys' expectations. It went beyond 
 them : it alarmed them by its excess. Louder
 
 12 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 and more furious, and more and more intermixed 
 with oaths, grew Sir Neil's rapid phrases of re- 
 proach to his wife, as the boys, sobbing and ex- 
 claiming, kissed the corpses of their canine com- 
 panions ; till, at length, as with fierce and fearless 
 defiance, taunt for taunt returned in the shrillest 
 of voices, Lady Ross made a step or two in advance 
 towards her husband, the latter seized her by the 
 shoulders, shook her violently, and, with the ex- 
 asperated words that she had ' done an ill devil's 
 deed,' — and 'he wished from his soul she was 
 hanging up alongside of the dogs,' — he thrust her 
 from him against the tall heavy hat-stand that 
 stood at the hall-door. The hat-stand fell over 
 with a crash; and though Lady Ross recovered 
 her balance with a staggering effort, and did not 
 fall, the excitement of the scene proved too much 
 for Douglas, who, throwing himself between the 
 contending parties with a piteous exclamation of 
 horror, suddenly dropped at his father's feet in a 
 dead faint. 
 
 He was a fine robust boy ; and the burst of 
 emotion and its consequences once over, he rapidly 
 became himself again. But neither of the lads 
 would come into supper, or give any attention to
 
 Home, sweet Home. 13 
 
 the persistent lecturing with which they were 
 favoured by their stepmother. They remained 
 out in the early moonlight till they had buried 
 their dogs ; came in, and went heavily up to their 
 own room, where they were yet heard sobbing and 
 talking for a while ; and, in the morning, the two 
 little rebels were missing. They had run away. 
 
 The preparations made by children on these 
 occasions are not very extensive. A bag of oat- 
 meal, a few apples, and a very slender remainder 
 of pocket-money, would not have taken them far 
 on their projected road to high fortune ; though 
 in their first eager four miles they had considered 
 it quite a settled thing that Douglas should be- 
 come a warrior and statesman like the Duke of 
 "Wellington ; and Kenneth, at the very least, Lord 
 Mayor of London. 
 
 They were pursued and brought back — foot- 
 sore hungry and exhausted — at the end of their 
 first day's march ; before they had got even to the 
 suburbs of the market-town from which this 
 plunge into worldly success was to be made. 
 
 While they crept once more (less loth than 
 boyish pride might have avowed) into their ac- 
 customed beds, a parental council was held. Lady
 
 14 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 Ross was of opinion that they should both be 
 ■ flogged for their escapade within an inch of 
 their lives ; ' her husband, that no further notice 
 should be taken of it ; since they probably had had 
 a sickening of such attempts, in their failure and 
 fatigue. But the upshot of the debate was, that 
 Douglas and Kenneth were parted ; the elder sent 
 to Eton for civilized training, in token of a certain 
 concession to Lady Ross's English views on the 
 subject ; and the younger delivered over in gloom 
 and disgrace to a neighbouring Scotch minister, 
 who had one other forlorn pupil, and a reputation 
 for patient teaching. 
 
 Undoubtedly the best education for man or 
 boy is to mingle much with his fellows ; and that 
 is why a man educated at a public school is in 
 general better educated than one who has received 
 tolerably careful training at home. Lessons may 
 not be so well learned, but Life is learned ; emu- 
 lation is roused ; the mind is not allowed to roost 
 and slumber, like a caged bird on a perch. 
 
 Douglas Ross owed to his inimical stepmother 
 an immense service as to his future ; though in 
 her disposal of him she had merely consulted her 
 desire to be rid of him, and certain consequential
 
 Home, sweet Home. 15 
 
 notions of how 'the heir' should be educated. 
 Had she had a boy of her own, perhaps some 
 grudging might have mingled with such plans ; 
 but the sharp-browed Alice was her only child, 
 and was an interest apart, and in fact subor- 
 dinate, to Lady Ross's feelings of family conse- 
 quence. Young Douglas would have justified a 
 nobler pride. Frank, intelligent, spirited, and 
 yet amenable to true discipline now that such 
 discipline had replaced the alternate neglect and 
 tyranny of home, he was popular alike with 
 masters and companions ; while the simplicity of 
 such early training as he had had, rendered him 
 insensible to the shallow compliments of strangers, 
 struck with his personal beauty and free untutored 
 grace of manner. 
 
 The holidays of many a ' half ' to come, were 
 days of rapture. To see Kenneth waiting and 
 watching under the tall fir-trees at the turn of 
 the road where the mail-coach was to drop him ; 
 to leap down, and strain him to his heart ; to 
 exhibit his prize-books, on which the younger 
 brother would gaze with a sigh of curiosity — and 
 then to plunge back into the wild happy life of 
 the Highlands, — this made home a temporary
 
 ] 6 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 paradise. 'Days amang the heather/ to those 
 who have been brought up in the wild mountain- 
 life of Scotland, are days of intoxicating joy. 
 
 Once more with his brother ; once more 
 in his kilt, clambering here and there, loung- 
 ing under the silver birches by the blue lake's 
 side, gliding over its silver surface in the 
 coble-boat, fishing for trout, and waking the 
 echoes as they rowed home with many a snatch 
 of song; uncovering his glossy head for very 
 sport in the sudden shower, and feeling a wild 
 delight in the mountain storms ; — young Douglas's 
 holidays for the first three years were days of 
 unalloyed delight. 
 
 Then came the gradual change which circum- 
 stances bring, — a change which is not exactly 
 alienation, but separation, between those who are 
 differently situated as to occupations, associations, 
 and aims. A certain discontent, instead of appro- 
 bation, took possession of his father's mind. The 
 prize-books were tossed aside, with some discou- 
 raging observation as to the value of 'book- 
 learning,' and the absurd disproportion of such 
 rewards with the expense of such an education. 
 Douglas himself had a sorrowful instinct that
 
 Ho me, sweet Ho m e. 17 
 
 Kenneth's life was narrowing round him, — he 
 was a companion in all purposeless pursuits to his 
 father, but the main elements of improvement 
 were wanting. He smoked and sat up drinking 
 whisky-toddy, — he shot and walked with Sir Xeil. 
 But he did nothing, and learnt nothing. It was 
 the life neither of a boy nor a man; and the 
 dawdling leisure left from its loose occupations 
 was spent by Kenneth in familiar visitings 
 wherever a pretty face smiled on the threshold 
 of a farm-house, or a bothy in the glen ; in idle 
 talk with gamekeepers, fanners, and petty tenants ; 
 and in making love betwixt jest and earnest 
 to the miller's youthful daughter at the Falls of 
 Torrieburn ; Torrieburn being a small separate 
 estate of Sir Neil's, which was settled on his 
 younger son. 
 
 In his own loving earnest way, Douglas hinted 
 good counsel, but without good effect. Kenneth 
 was angry ; was saddened ; was somehow suspi- 
 cious that his Eton brother was ' coming the fine 
 gentleman over him ; ' and a coldness stole be- 
 tween them, dreamy and impalpable as the chill 
 white mist which rises among the hills at the 
 beginning of winter, and hides all our pleasant 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 haunts and familiar trysting-places with its 
 colourless and ghostlike veil. 
 
 With his stepmother he was on even worse 
 terms than during his comfortless boyhood. Dis- 
 liking her profoundly, and yet attempting a cer- 
 tain show of courtesy to his father's wife, his 
 only reward was the bitter sneer with which she 
 spoke of him as ' that very stately and gentlemanly 
 young gentleman, Mr. Douglas Ross.' 
 
 With his father he was restless and uncom- 
 fortable. Too young when a resident at home, 
 in the memorable days of the dog-hanging, to be 
 the companion Kenneth had gradually become; 
 and old enough now to see all the defects of such 
 companionship ; he inwardly groaned in spirit at 
 his own incapacity to give, or to receive, satis- 
 faction from communion with one who in his best 
 days was a poor specimen of what the head of a 
 family should be, and whose worse days were now 
 come — days of mingled apathy and discontent, of 
 absolute repugnance to the nearest tie in it, his 
 irritable and irritating wife; of selfish craving for 
 what amusement or comfort he could get out of 
 the society of the half-educated lad he had kept 
 at Glenrossie without a thought of his future ;
 
 Ho i t Home. 19 
 
 and of angry surprise at the transformation, as it 
 seemed to him, of the lovely, ardent boy whose 
 small rebellions against discipline and Lady Ross 
 he had so often protected, into the proud, 
 thoughtful adolescent, who ' seemed to think he 
 would advise the whole family.' 
 
 In this state of mind was Sir Xeil, when 
 Douglas asked that his brother might be put to 
 some profession, and that he himself might be 
 sent to one of the universities ; and for once Sir 
 Xeil and Lady Ross united their discordant voices 
 in a chorus of agreement, holding that his de- 
 mands were preposterous, and not to be granted. 
 
 Sir Xeil considered that already he had had 
 too much of 'book-learning/ which was 'never 
 of much use/ and Lady Ross told him that he 
 was 'puffed with presumption' in venturing to 
 chalk out for himself what was to be done. 
 
 Even Kenneth, the loved and clung-to Ken- 
 neth, was provoked ; and hastily assured his 
 brother it was lucky he had not succeeded in 
 persuading his father, for that he, Kenneth, 
 would certainly not have gone to study for any 
 profession whatever. He meant to live at Torrie- 
 burn, >and there'd always be grouse and oatcake
 
 20 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 enough to satisfy his notions of life. The tears 
 started into Douglas's eyes, — but there was no 
 one to heed or understand what passed in his 
 heart; and no evidence of that day's mental 
 struggle, except in a brief letter to his Eton 
 'chum' Lorimer Boyd; younger son of that 
 Dowager Clochnaben whose visit with the sickly 
 young Earl of Glenrossie had been the exciting 
 cause of the sudden execution of Jock and Bear die, 
 and the exile of the run-away boys. The letter 
 ran as follows : — 
 
 ' To Lorimer Boyd, Esq. 
 
 ' Oriel College, 
 Oxford. 
 
 'My dear Lorimer, — I am not to go to 
 college ; so I shall see no more of you at present ! 
 My father has consented, however, to my entering 
 the army. Heaven grant I may do something 
 more with life, than accept the bare fact of living ! 
 Kenneth is to remain on at home. I am sorry 
 for Kenneth. Such a fine, quick, handsome lad ! 
 I wish you could see him. I wish my father had 
 given him a chance. Do not forget me, old fellow ;
 
 Home, sweet Home. 21 
 
 I shall never forget you. I send you a little El- 
 zevir " Horace" you and I used to read sometimes 
 together under the trees by the river, that hot 
 summer when you sprained your arm and had to 
 give up rowing in the boats. I would be glad 
 you wrote to me. I am sure you will, Lorimer. 
 I don't mind owning to you that I feel so lone- 
 some and disappointed I could cry like a girl. I 
 hope you will distinguish yourself at college ; you 
 were much the cleverest fellow at Eton. I end 
 with a nil desperandum; for, after all, I trust to 
 our future meeting. You are a Scotchman, so am 
 I ; and some day I suppose I shall be at home 
 again. Meanwhile, since I cannot be at college, 
 I am glad to be a soldier. 
 
 ' Yours ever, 
 
 ' Douglas Ross.'
 
 22 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Passing Away. 
 
 F there were not daily examples to famil- 
 iarize us with the marvel, we might 
 wonder at the strange way in which Nature 
 asserts herself; or rather, at the effects of 
 Nature and accident combined, in the characters 
 of individuals. 
 
 We see children, all brought up in one 
 home, under the same tutelage, as different 
 as night from day. Pious sons and daughters 
 sprung from infidel and profligate parents ; un- 
 redeemed and incorrigible rascals from honest 
 and religious fathers ; fools, that fritter away 
 the vanishing hours they themselves scarcely 
 know how, born where steady conduct and deep 
 knowledge seemed the very life of those around 
 them, — and earnest, intelligent, and energetic
 
 Passing Away. 23 
 
 souls springing up, like palm-trees in the desert 
 sand, where never a thought has been given to 
 mental culture or religious improvement. 
 
 Out of that home which looked so stately 
 and beautiful among the surrounding hills, and 
 held such grovelling inmates ; the castled home 
 of Grlenrossie — went forth at least one scion of 
 the good old name worthy to bear it. Douglas 
 Ross drew his sword in the service of his 
 country, in India, in America, and in China ; 
 he rose rapidly to command, and proved as strict 
 in authority as he had formerly been in obe- 
 dience. Beloved, respected, and somewhat 
 feared, his name was one already familiar in 
 men's mouths as having greatly distinguished 
 himself in the profession he had chosen, when 
 he was recalled to Scotland, with leave of ab- 
 sence from the military command he held, to 
 attend the rapidly succeeding death-beds of his 
 father and brother. 
 
 TThether, in dying, some dim consciousness 
 of his folly and injustice smote Sir Xeil, — or 
 that he was merely haunted by his lingering 
 love for the son who had been left with him 
 through recent years, — he made a sort of appeal
 
 24 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 to the elder when bending anxiously over him 
 to gather the failing words. ' You '11 look after 
 Kenneth/ he said; 'he has greatly mismanaged! 
 You'll help him — Torrieburn's been ill sorted — 
 he 's let himself down, rather — with those people. 
 My dear, be good to Kenneth — maybe he'll 
 settle in the way of marriage, and do well yet. 
 You'll have to make amends to ' 
 
 Sir JSTeil made great efforts to conclude this 
 sentence, but was unable ; he held convulsively 
 by his son's hand ; looked in his face with that 
 dying wistfulness which, once seen, is never 
 forgotten ; and fell back on the pillow exhausted 
 — the anxieties, errors, and hopes of this world 
 at an end for ever. 
 
 Brief was the time allotted to Douglas for 
 any obedience to his father's dying wishes, as 
 far as his brother was concerned. 
 
 Kenneth had insisted on riding home to Tor- 
 rieburn every night, in spite of the urging of his 
 brother. He did not seem to believe the end so 
 near. He ■ was wilful as to being at home in 
 his own bachelor abode. He hated his step- 
 mother, he said, and his half-sister, and did 
 not wish to see any of their mock grief, for the
 
 Passing Away. 25 
 
 father who had at least treated him always with 
 affection. 
 
 The night that father died, he rode away 
 as usual. Torrents of rain, swept to and fro 
 by the wild gusts of an autumnal storm, whitt- 
 ling and moaning through the ancient fir-woods 
 at the back of the castle, greeted his departure. 
 The crash of trees blown down, the roar of the 
 swollen torrent, sounded loud in the ear of his 
 brother, as he stood grasping his hand at the 
 open door, and bidding him good night. ' If 
 you will, you will, Kenneth ; you were always 
 a wilful fellow ; but what a night ! ' And for a 
 few minutes yet, Douglas Ross watched the 
 receding form, full of grace and activity, of 
 the handsome rider. ' I shall be with you 
 early in the morning/ were his last words, as 
 he waved his hand and put spurs to his horse. 
 
 But neither that nor any other morning ever 
 brought Kenneth Ross to the castle again. 
 Their father died in the night ; and Douglas 
 was still pondering over the anxious, needless 
 recommendation of his brother to his kindness, 
 when the day dawned, as it had set, in storms 
 of drenching rain.
 
 26 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 Plans of affection, *of nope, — rational useful 
 plans, — chased each other like the wind-borne 
 clouds through the mind of the new-made heir 
 of Glenrossie. Yes, he would 'look after Ken- 
 neth/ — Kenneth, and Torrieburn, and every 
 fraction of his destiny ! He would set that 
 destiny to rights. He would think over a 
 suitable marriage for him. He would give, 
 lend, do, anything to get him out of the em- 
 barrassments his father had hinted at. And 
 then he remembered the other concluding 
 sentence of that father's dying voice : ' You'll 
 have to make amends to — ' To whom ? Could 
 it be some one who had already assisted Ken- 
 neth ? Or perhaps to his stepmother ? Sir 
 Neil had never uttered his wife's name ; he 
 had begged she might not be present while 
 he talked with his son at that solemn midnight 
 hour. He meant to see her again in the 
 morning. Could he have been going to re- 
 commend her, also, to Douglas's kindness ? 
 
 He went to her room to break the news. 
 He found her cold, impassive ; indifferent to 
 the fact ; suspicious of his intentions. She 
 pronounced but one sentence : it was, ' You
 
 Passing Away. 21 
 
 are aware, I suppose, that I've a right to stay 
 at the castle for a year from this date?' 
 
 Her daughter was with her ; she also looked 
 at Douglas with her grave, shrewd eyes. There 
 was a certain beauty of youth and girlhood 
 about her, and her half-brother gazed at her 
 with pity. He took her hand and said gently, 
 ' Even if there were no right, do you think I 
 would drive you away? This is Home.' 
 
 Ailie drew her little thin hand out of his, 
 as though she had been slipping off a glove. 
 She sat mute. She gave no token even of 
 having heard him, except withdrawing her eyes 
 from his face, and casting a sidelong, furtive 
 glance at her rigid mother. 
 
 "While Sir Douglas still lingered — in the 
 sort of embarrassment felt by warm-hearted 
 persons who have made a vain demonstration 
 of sympathy — a sudden tumult of vague sounds, 
 the arrival of a horseman, the chatter of ser- 
 vants, the flinging open of doors, struck heavily 
 through the silence of the room. ' There is 
 Kenneth ! ' said Sir Douglas, as he hastily 
 turned and oj>ened the door into the broad, 
 handsome corridor at the head of the great
 
 28 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 oak staircase immediately fronting the entrance. 
 The old butler was already there : he put his 
 hands out as if deprecating the advance of a 
 step : ' Mr. Kenneth was thrown from his horse 
 last night, sir, and the doctor says he'll no live 
 till the morrow/ was all he could utter. 
 
 Another death -bed — another and a dearer! 
 
 Sir Douglas rode to Torrieburn almost as 
 desperately as his brother had done the night 
 before. He found the handsome rider he had 
 fondly watched at his departure, a bruised, shat- 
 tered, groaning wretch. His horse, overspurred, 
 and bewildered by the drifting rain and howl- 
 ing storm, had swerved on the old-fashioned 
 sharp -angled bridge that crossed the Falls of 
 Torrieburn close to his home, and had dashed 
 with his rider over the low parapet in among 
 the rocks below. 
 
 Close to home ; luckily, close to home ! 
 
 Near enough for the wild shout he gave as 
 he fell, and even the confused sound of the roll 
 of shaken-down stones, and terrible weight of 
 horse and rider falling on the bed of the torrent, 
 to reach the house, and the quick ear of one 
 who was waiting and watching there. For
 
 Passing Away. 29 
 
 Kenneth's bachelor home was not a lonely one. 
 Startling was the picture that presented itself 
 in that drear morning's light when Sir Douglas 
 entered. The weariest frightened form he ever 
 beheld in the shape of woman, sat at the foot 
 of the bed. Untidy, dishevelled, beautiful ; her 
 great white arms stretched out with clasped hands, 
 shuddering every time that Kenneth groaned ; 
 her reddish- golden hair stealing in tangled locks 
 from under the knotted kerchief, which she had 
 never untied or taken off since she had rushed out 
 into the storm and scrambled down to the Falls 
 the night before. The lower part of her dress 
 still soaked and dripping, covered with mud 
 and moss — one of her loose stockings torn at the 
 ankle, and the blood oozing through — her petti- 
 coat, too, torn on that side. She had evidently 
 slipped in attempting to reach the horse and rider. 
 
 Douglas spoke first to her, and he spoke to 
 her of herself ; not of his brother. 
 
 ' Och ! ' she said, and her teeth chattered as she 
 spoke, ' ye '11 no mind me, sir ! it 's naething. I 
 just drappit by one hand frae the brae, in amang 
 the stanes to get at him, and sae gat hurtit. Ou 
 Kenneth ! Kenneth ! Kenneth ! Ou my man !
 
 30 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 my ain man ! ' and rocking wildly to and fro 
 while the rain beat against the window, and the 
 storm seemed to rock the trees in nnison with her 
 movements, she ceased to speak. 
 
 The dying man moved his lips with a strange 
 sort of smile, but no sound came. Douglas knelt 
 down by him; and, as he did so, was conscious of 
 the presence of a little nestling child, the most 
 lovely little face that ever looked out of a picture, 
 that was sitting at the bed-head, serene and hope- 
 ful in all this trouble, and saying to him with a 
 shy smile, — ' Are ye the doctor ? and will ye put 
 daddy a' richt ? We 've been waiting lang for 
 the doctor/ 
 
 No doctor could save Kenneth — no, not if the 
 aching heart of his elder brother had resolved to 
 bring him life at the price of his whole estate. 
 He was fast going — fast ! The grief of the un- 
 governable woman at his bed- foot only vaguely 
 disturbed him. He was beginning to be with- 
 drawn from earthly sights and earthly sounds. 
 But Sir Douglas tried to calm her. He besought 
 her to be still ; to go away and wash her wounded 
 limb and tear-swoln face, and arrange herself, 
 and return, and meanwhile he would watch Ken-
 
 Passing Away. 31 
 
 neth till the doctor came. Xo, she wouldn't — no, 
 she couldn't — no, he might die while she was out 
 of the way — no, she ' wad see the last o' him, 
 and then dee.' She offered no help ; she was 
 capable of no comfort ; she kept up her loud 
 lament, so as to bewilder all present ; and it was 
 a positive relief to Sir Douglas when, with a sud- 
 den shiver through her whole frame, she slid from 
 the bed-foot to the floor in a swoon. 
 
 By this time the doctor had arrived, with an 
 assistant, both of them common ' bone-setters ' 
 from the village of Torrieburn — rough, untutored, 
 but not unkindly ; and perhaps in nothing more 
 kind than in the honest admission that beyond 
 giving restoratives for the time being, and shift- 
 ing the bed a little, so as to lessen (not remove) 
 the great agony of human pain that must preface 
 this untimely death, they could do nothing. 
 
 Do nothing ! very solemn and trying are such 
 death-beds ; when human love, that seems so 
 strong, stands helpless ; listening to the great 
 dreadful sentence, ' You shall see this man whom 
 you love pass to the presence of his Creator in 
 torments inconceivable, and you shall not be able 
 to lift away, no, not so much as one grain of his
 
 32 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 bitter pain, though you would give half your own 
 life to do it.' 
 
 ' God's will be done ! ' Oh! how hollow sound 
 even those solemn words ; while we echo, as it 
 were, the writhing we look on at, in the thrill of 
 aching sympathy that goes through our own 
 corporeal frame ; and wait, and wait, and wait, 
 and know that only Death — only Death — can 
 end the anguish ; and that when he has ceased 
 to suffer we are alone for ever in the great blank. 
 No more to hear his voice, no more to clasp his 
 hand, no more to be conscious of his love ; but to 
 know that somewhere there is a grave, where he 
 who suffered so much lies stiff and still, — and 
 that ' his spirit has returned to God who gave it.' 
 
 "When the doctor had arranged that dying bed 
 for the best, — and had attended to the miserable 
 woman who had fainted, and had brought her 
 back, pale, exhausted, but quieter, to the sick 
 chamber, — Kenneth made a feeble effort to raise 
 himself; an exertion which was followed by a 
 dreadful groan. Then he murmured twice the 
 name of 'Maggie! — dear Maggie!' and Sir 
 Douglas rose up, and made way for the trembling 
 creature so called upon, to kneel down in his
 
 Passing Away. 33 
 
 place : adjuring her, for the love of heaven — for 
 the love of Kenneth — not to give way, but keep 
 still ; getting only from her a burst of sobbing, 
 and the words, ' Kill me, och ! kill me ! and then 
 maybe ye '11 hush me down.' There seemed ' no 
 hushing her down,' till suddenly Kenneth said, 
 in a sort of dreamy voice, ' Maggie, you '11 call to 
 mind the birken trees — the birken trees ! ' 
 
 The woman held her breath. There was no 
 need to quiet her now. 
 
 * The birken trees by the broomy knowe,' re- 
 peated he, dreamily ; and in a low clear tone he 
 added, — ' I 'm sorry, Maggie.' 
 
 Then, opening his eyes with a fixed look, he 
 said, ' Dear Douglas ! ' in a tone of extreme, almost 
 boyish tenderness ; and then followed a renewed 
 silence ; broken only by the wild gusty winds out- 
 side the house, and the distant sound of the fatal 
 Falls of Torrieburn. All at once, with the rally- 
 ing strength that sometimes precedes death, he 
 spoke clearly and intelligibly. ' Douglas ! be 
 kind — I'm going — I'm dying — be kind to my 
 Kenneth, for the sake of days when we were boys 
 together ! Don't forsake him ! don't deny him ! 
 Have pity too, on Maggie ! ' 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 A little pause after that, and he spoke more 
 restlessly : — ' I 'm asking others, and I ought to 
 do it myself. It 's / who forsake them : it 's I 
 that didn't pity. I say — I say — are you all 
 here? Douglas! the doctor — ah! yes, and my 
 father's factor— Well— I— ' 
 
 He struggled for a moment, with blue blanched 
 lips ; then, feeling for the little curled head of the 
 child at the further side of his bed, and locking 
 his right hand in the hand of the kneeling woman, 
 he said, — ' I trust Douglas with these. I declare 
 Margaret Carmichaelmy Wife, and I acknowledge 
 Kenneth Carmichael Boss as my lawful son ! ' 
 
 The woman gave a suppressed shriek ; she 
 sprang up from her knees, and flung her arms 
 round the dying man with a wild, ' Och, I thank 
 ye — I thank ye! and mither '11 thank ye for 
 ever ! Ou ! my Kenneth ! ' 
 
 He turned his head towards her with that 
 unutterable smile that often flits over dying faces. 
 Brighter and fonder his smile could not have been 
 in the days of their first love : ' by the broomy 
 knowe, under the birken trees ;' and perhaps his 
 thoughts were there, even in that supreme hour. 
 No other word, except a broken ejaculation of
 
 Passing Away. 35 
 
 prayer, came from him ; only the bystanders ' saw 
 a great change' — the change there is no describing 
 — come over his brow. The anguish of mortal 
 pain seemed to melt into peace. A great sigh 
 escaped him, such as bursts from the bosom in 
 some sudden relief from suffering, and the hand- 
 some man was a handsome corpse. 
 
 He who had been so much to that wailing 
 woman, had become it ! ' it ;' ' the body ;' that 
 perishable form which had clothed the eternal 
 soul, and was now to be carried away and hidden 
 under the earth, ' to suffer corruption,' and join 
 the unseen throng of those whose place in this 
 world ' shall know them no more.' 
 
 The loud sound of her tempestuous wailing 
 seemed to float out and follow Sir Douglas, as he 
 at length left the house and recrossed the dread- 
 ful bridge which had been the scene of that tra- 
 gedy. The dead horse, whose neck had been 
 broken in the leap, was still lying there ; the 
 waters gurgling round the new obstacle, and 
 waving the glossy mane to and fro, like a row of 
 reeds. The dreary rain was still drifting with 
 the wind against the soaked stems of the fir-trees ; 
 and the scarlet berries and yellowing leaves of the
 
 36 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 mountain- ash or rowan-tree, tossed and swung 
 above the torrent, far overhead; dropping now 
 and then a bead of red like a blood- gout, into the 
 whirling waters that swept them away. 
 
 Even so were swept away all the hopes, plans, 
 and resolutions made only the night previous in 
 behalf of his brother, by Sir Douglas Ross of 
 Glenrossie. And as the sobbing storm died down 
 on wood and mountain, and one pale crimson and 
 melancholy streak gleamed light from a sunset 
 that promised a better morrow, even so did the 
 gleaming hope of being of use to little Kenneth 
 (so like the Kenneth his earliest boyish recollec- 
 tions brought back to him !) break through the 
 miserable gloom in his kindly mind. 
 
 On arriving at the castle he described the 
 scenes he had witnessed, and the death that had 
 so unexpectedly taken place, to Lady Ross. She 
 heard it, as she had heard of the death of her 
 husband, with frigid composure. Her daughter 
 also seemed unmoved, except by a certain amount 
 of surprise, and the curiosity of one who listens 
 to the account of a strange event. 
 
 But when Sir Douglas, endeavouring to re- 
 press the evidence how much he himself was
 
 Passing Aivay. 37 
 
 moved, wound up his narration by endeavouring 
 to enlist what pity there might be in Lady Ross's 
 heart, for the orphan and his wretched parent, 
 then indeed a slight change was visible in Lady 
 Ross's countenance. 
 
 The indifference that had reigned there was 
 replaced by a look of supercilious scorn ; and, 
 when Sir Douglas imprudently faltered — * Being 
 
 yourself a mother, I thought perhaps ' she 
 
 flashed that look of scorn full upon him, with the 
 speech, ' I beg to remind you, Sir Douglas, that 
 I am not the mother of children legitimatized on 
 a death -bed. Xor am I a miller's daughter; 
 which, I understand, was the social position of 
 Heg Carmichael. I was not ignorant of the in- 
 decent infatuation of your brother for that low- 
 born and low-bred girl; and the last thing I 
 should have expected from you, on coming into 
 the estates, was the admission of such base claims 
 on the part of persons who have no more real 
 right to Torrieburn than your father's head- 
 keeper, and are about as fit to set up there as 
 lairds of the place.'
 
 38 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Clay Idols. 
 
 N spite of the opinion thus enunciated by the 
 widow of his misguided father, Sir Douglas 
 took up the trust his brother left him in all the 
 simplicity of good faith. Little Kenneth was ac- 
 knowledged and installed as ' Kenneth Carmichael 
 Ross of Torrieburn ;' and a tutor appointed to 
 teach and care for him as the young laird. 
 
 Fain would Sir Douglas have removed him 
 from his mother, and from all the early asso- 
 ciations of the place; but the same ungovern- 
 able spirit, which had struck him with so much 
 amazement at the time of poor Kenneth's death, 
 was displayed in all her dealings with others. 
 Her grief was despair : it was followed by a ner- 
 vous fever : the fever by a disturbed state of 
 nerves bordering on insanity. And then she
 
 Clay Idols. 39 
 
 recovered, — like a creature that has moaned for 
 its whelps and gradually forgotten them. 
 
 ISo sooner had she lifted from the pressure of 
 that woe, than a wilfulness exceeding all poor 
 Kenneth had ever shown, took its place. She 
 considered herself, under that declaration of mar- 
 riage, as the natural occupier and possessor of 
 Torrieburn House till her son should be grown 
 up. She established her mother there, as indeed 
 might have been expected; her father, the old 
 miller of Torrieburn, coming frequently over — 
 sometimes to complain of the inconvenience of his 
 wife's residence apart from him, sometimes to 
 quarrel both with her and her daughter, some- 
 times to carouse with companions for whom she 
 could scarcely refuse to provide whisky in a li- 
 mited or unlimited quantity. With the first tutor 
 appointed to the care of her son she entered into 
 relations so unseemly, after the subsiding of her 
 grief, that, the fact coming to the ears of Sir 
 Douglas, he wrote her a letter of remonstrance ; 
 and substituted a somewhat stern but very sen- 
 sible pedagogue in his stead, with whom she 
 incessantly quarrelled, and from whose autho- 
 rity she encouraged her boy to appeal. Sir
 
 40 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 Douglas was always receiving letters from the 
 boy or his mother complaining of severity, com- 
 plaining of injustice ; till, at length, wearied 
 out by petitions and objurgations, a fresh sub- 
 stitution was made, and a tutor sent of good 
 education, with excellent recommendations, and 
 private instructions to ' show as much indul- 
 gence as was consistent with good discipline.' 
 
 This time Meg Carmichael made further 
 changes impossible, by marrying the tutor : and 
 the ill-assorted household continued on the most 
 comfortless footing, — the wayward, handsome wo- 
 man alternately quarrelling with her husband, 
 and giving herself airs as ' Mrs. Ross Heaton of 
 Torrieburn/ or bestowing on him some of the 
 wild adoration which had formerly been the por- 
 tion of poor Kenneth : and the tutor-husband 
 vainly trying to make head, — in the house that 
 was scarcely to be called his own, — against the 
 drunken old miller and his boon companions ; 
 the bustling and shrewish old woman his wife ; 
 and the disposition to shirk all control and all 
 guidance in the lovely little boy, whose position, 
 as the future 'laird/ was acknowledged, in dif- 
 ferent forms of folly and flattery, by all around
 
 Clay Idols. 41 
 
 him in the narrow circle of home. A hint from 
 Sir Douglas that it would soon be time to send 
 him to a good school, was received with such a 
 storm of indignation and despair, such ill-spelt 
 ill-worded letters of passionate remonstrance, 
 that Sir Douglas put off all further alteration 
 in young Kenneth's destiny till he could get 
 home from his command, and personally super- 
 intend the necessary changes. That the boy 
 was well taught by his tutor-father was evi- 
 denced by the letters he wrote ; and which, 
 though they half-nettled, half-amused Sir Doug- 
 las by their tone of presumption, addressing him 
 entirely 'd'igal en egal,' were such as no boy 
 of inferior education or inferior intelligence could 
 possibly have penned. 
 
 At length the day came when Sir Douglas 
 Ross of Glenrossie returned as a resident to the 
 home of his fathers ! His step -mother had been 
 dead some time ; but her daughter had, by his 
 own express wish, continued to reside in the 
 castle ; nor had he the heart, when he found 
 that lonely young spinster there, to enter on the 
 topic of her removal. It would be time enough 
 for that, Sir Douglas thought, when he was
 
 42 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 married ; if lie ever married. Her mother had 
 been odious, but that was not the daughter's 
 fault; and there was nothing offensive in her, 
 personally. On the contrary, she appeared 
 especially anxious to preserve the home she had 
 acquired, by the most absolute acquiescence in 
 her half-brother's wishes, and a disposition to 
 see to all those minor arrangements of a house- 
 hold which a man cannot see to himself, and 
 which that astute and reserved little personage 
 performed as well as any hired housekeeper, if 
 not better. 
 
 When Sir Douglas first beheld the boy for 
 whom, unseen, he had been caring, and whose 
 future he was so anxiously about to arrange, 
 soldier though he was, he burst into tears ! 
 
 Kenneth stood before him. Kenneth in the 
 days before they were parted — Kenneth when 
 they used to climb the hills with their arms 
 round each other's necks — Kenneth before the 
 cold cloud of difference mistily rose between 
 them. And though Sir Douglas kept to his 
 resolution, and sent the lad both to school and 
 college, — undeterred by the loud wailing of 
 Mrs. Maggie Ross, who ran along the edge of
 
 Clay Idols. 43 
 
 the highroad weeping and waring her hand- 
 kerchief at the mail coach the first day he 
 departed, and constantly made his recurring holi- 
 days terms of the most corrupting influence of 
 folly and over-indulgence, — yet the depths of 
 love he felt for that orphan lad were such as 
 rarely exist even in a father's heart for a fa- 
 vourite child. It was a passion with Sir Douglas. 
 What this new Kenneth did, said, or thought, 
 was the principal occupation of his own more 
 mature mind. Inwardly he vowed never to 
 marry : to bring the hoy up as his heir : to 
 make his home not at Torrieburn but Glenrossie, 
 and suffer that living image of his dead brother 
 to ' come after him/ when he, too, should be dead 
 and gone. 
 
 As time rolled on, however, much anxiety was 
 mingled with Sir Douglas's love. The wayward 
 son of that wayward race seemed turning out yet 
 more wayward and rebellious than all that had 
 preceded him. Drunkenness, a love of low com- 
 pany, of being what is vulgarly termed ' cock of 
 the walk,' the most profuse extravagance as to 
 money matters, and a sort of careless defiance of 
 all authority, more especially of the constituted
 
 44 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 authority of his stately uncle, whom at this time 
 he and all around him took to calling by the title 
 I have already commented upon, ' Old Sir 
 Douglas/ — all these defects, and more, showed 
 themselves in Kenneth/s son. And all these de- 
 fects did Sir Douglas believe he could, by care and 
 resolution, weed out of that hot young head and 
 heart, as the gardener weeded the broad walks in 
 the long-forsaken gardens of Glenrossie. Twice 
 had he paid the debts of the young collegian, and 
 received in answer to his imploring lectures, the 
 most satisfactory promises for the future. A third 
 time he called upon his uncle to clear him ; and 
 this time Sir Douglas thought fit, greatly to the 
 young man's discontent, to consider his college 
 career as closed, and send him to travel. Fain 
 would he have made the lad his own companion, 
 but there was so much chance of ill-will and 
 hot blood in the attempts at control over his 
 actions that he dreaded to undertake it, lest it 
 should make ' a break ' between them. 
 
 With the most liberal allowance it was possible 
 to grant, and the most intelligent companion he 
 could find, — little over Kenneth's own age, and full 
 of good and amiable qualities, — Sir Douglas des-
 
 Clay Idols, 45 
 
 patched his nephew on what in old-fashioned days 
 was called ' the grand tour ; ' and, with a pang at 
 his affectionate heart, stood on the steps at the 
 castle entrance, to see that handsome, careless 
 head smile a final farewell from the chaise win- 
 dow ; and waited till the sound of wheels died 
 away in the distance, and lifted his cap with a 
 half- murmured prayer, before he turned back into 
 the great hall. 
 
 There, everything looked as it did in his own 
 boyhood and adolescence ! Looked as it did when 
 he ran away from home ; when he was sent to 
 school ; when he returned in eager gladness to 
 be pressed in Kenneth's arms ; when he tried to 
 persuade his father to give Kenneth some profes- 
 sion ; and when he looked out into the stormy 
 night, and saw that brother ride away for the last 
 time. 
 
 And as all these scenes chased each other 
 through his musing mind, all terminated in the 
 one leading thought, what would be the future of 
 Kenneth's son? 
 
 The accounts sent from time to time were far 
 from reassuring. Young Kenneth acknowledged 
 no power of control in the student- companion
 
 46 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 allotted for his tour, but treated him as a sort of 
 confidential courier ; bound to take all trouble off 
 his hands, provide for his amusements, and care- 
 fully administer to his comforts, but nothing 
 more. The one vice, too, from which Kenneth 
 had hitherto been guarded, that of immorality, — 
 which his mother, remembering her own destiny, 
 watched over with a jealous care she bestowed on 
 nothing else, — seemed rapidly to be taking rank 
 among the young laird's already established 
 errors ; till at length Sir Douglas received one 
 morning, by the early post at Glenrossie, a very 
 long, very tender, very comfortless letter from the 
 friend of Eton days, Lorimer Boyd, then at the 
 English Legation at Naples, informing him that 
 young Kenneth, whose acquaintance he had made 
 with the most eager interest for Sir Douglas's 
 sake, was becoming a noted character among the 
 English visitors, with anything but credit to 
 himself and family ; that the young man who had 
 been engaged to accompany him, desired to re- 
 sign his trust into Sir Douglas's hands ; feeling 
 it to be positively dishonest to continue receiving 
 a high salary, as travelling tutor, for the supposed 
 performance of duties which the disposition of
 
 Clay Idols. 47 
 
 Kenneth Eoss rendered it impossible to fulfil. 
 Finally, that he thought Sir Douglas could not 
 do better than come himself to Italy, where 
 Lorimer Boyd would be overjoyed to see him, and 
 where new arrangements might, he hoped, be 
 made ; ending with the ominous words, ' for, if 
 something is not done, and that speedily, I should 
 fear that this young lad, to whom you haye shown 
 such generous kindness, will turn out utterly 
 worthless/ 
 
 The next day saw Sir Douglas Ross on his way 
 to London, to procure his passport and proceed to 
 his destination. He reached it without event ; 
 and, in the satisfaction evinced by Lorimer Boyd, 
 and the pleasant converse of that old friend, half 
 forgot the pain of observing that his unexpected 
 coming had produced in young Kenneth no other 
 evidence of emotion than a sort of discontented 
 surprise. 
 
 '"Well, well,' thought the uncle, indulgently, 
 ' he probably knows he has been complained of, 
 and I must make allowance for that.' 
 
 In the evening, fidgeting a little over the long 
 colloquy after their late dinner, at which Lorimer 
 Boyd was the sole guest, Kenneth said, ' I am now
 
 48 Old Sir Douglas, 
 
 going out ; going to a party, — a very decent 
 family party/ added he, with a half saucy, half 
 angry smile. ' Will you come too, Uncle Douglas ? 
 I know Mr. Lorimer Boyd is dying to get there, 
 instead of talking any more to you, for there is to 
 be amateur music, and some of his particular 
 friends are to sing.' 
 
 The words were spoken with emphasized 
 meaning, and something of gloom and displeasure 
 overshadowed Lorimer Boyd's countenance. Ap- 
 parently, in spite of assumed carelessness, the 
 young man felt this ; for he added hastily, ' I be- 
 lieve he 's as fond of music as you are, uncle, and 
 that is saying a good deal/ 
 
 ' My dear boy, I '11 go wherever you are both 
 going ; we can all go together ; if Lorimer will 
 undertake to introduce me, I shall be charmed to 
 plunge at once into the dissipations of Naples.' 
 
 Lorimer started out of some sort of reverie in 
 which he had been absorbed ; and, with half a 
 sigh and half a laugh, he said, ' I fear you won't 
 find much to charm you in the set that are at 
 present in Naples ; but this is a pleasant house ; 
 and certainly the music is divine.' 
 
 Lorimer Boyd made his introduction with a
 
 Clay Idols. 49 
 
 degree of shyness, which no experience of the 
 world had conquered in him ; but stately Sir 
 Douglas was greeted with great eagerness, as a 
 new comer amongst the little society ; nor were 
 there wanting looks of surprised admiration and 
 whispers of inquiry, as the handsome soldier made 
 his way through the busy crowd to a place near 
 the piano. 
 
 For it was true that Sir Douglas was very 
 fond of music ; and the one faint recollection 
 he retained of his mother was the shape of her 
 lovely mouth and the soft darkness of her eyes, 
 singing some snatch of an old ballad of unhappy 
 love : — 
 
 1 He turned him round and right about 
 AH on that foreign shore ; 
 He gave his bridle reins a shake, 
 With " Adieu for evermore, my dear, 
 Adieu for evermore ! " ■ 
 
 Nothing is so capricious as memory. "Why 
 one incident is remembered and all others for- 
 gotten — why a person with whom we have lived 
 in intimacy for years is always recalled by one, or, 
 at the most, by two or three different aspects, 
 on occasions neither more nor less important than 
 
 VOL. I. e
 
 50 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 a thousand others, — are mysteries of the working 
 of the brain where these memories are packed 
 away, which the profoundest of our philosophers 
 have been, and are, unable to solve. But certain 
 it is that among other caprices of memory Sir 
 Douglas, who had lost his mother in his childhood, 
 remembered her chiefly by her songs ; and above 
 all by that versified farewell which could have 
 conveyed no idea to a child's mind beyond the 
 vague sadness of intonation. Whenever he 
 thought of his mother, he heard that stanza float 
 upon the air. He was thinking of her now, in 
 the midst of that assembly of strangers ; with no 
 other mainspring to those thoughts than the 
 sudden touch given by his nephew's remark that 
 he was fond of music. 
 
 His thoughts wandered, too, to a beautiful 
 German fable as to the effect of certain singing — 
 one of their wild stories of water spirits ; in which 
 the hero, impatient at the old ferryman not being 
 in attendance to punt him across a river, swears 
 a good deal ; is stopped by a young girl who says 
 she is the ferryman's daughter, and offers to punt 
 him over in her father's absence ; accepts the 
 offer, but is greatly troubled in his mind by the
 
 Clay Idols. 51 
 
 fact that the reeds keep bowing wherever the boat 
 passes, though there is not a breath of wind ; and 
 that, as the young girl herself bends to the water, 
 her face is reflected there, not as she actually 
 appears, but with a wreath of lilies round her 
 head. He comprehends immediately (as people 
 do, in dreams and in German ballads), that she is 
 something supernatural, — and spends the remain- 
 der of his shortened and grieving days in perpe- 
 tually paddling in and out among the reeds ; 
 calling for her, looking for her, pining for her, 
 because, as the poet writes it, he has been be- 
 witched 'by that little red mouth so full of 
 songs ! ' 
 
 Sir Douglas was roused from his fanciful 
 musing, by a real song ; and, by some strange 
 coincidence, a German song. A young lady had 
 sat down to the piano. His nephew was standing 
 by her, waiting to turn the leaf when the verse 
 should be completed. She shook her head gently, 
 and said, in a low voice, 'I know them all by 
 heart.' Then came the rich melody of one of 
 those soft contralto voices the very sound of 
 which gives the sensation of a caress to the lis- 
 tener; rich and powerful but a little trembling 
 
 U. OF ILL LIB.
 
 52 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 too, — not with the trembling of shyness, but with 
 that peculiar tremolo natural to some voices, which 
 rather adds to, than takes away from their 
 power. 
 
 A German song ; a German ' Good-night ; ' 
 something ineffably coaxing, soothing, and peace- 
 ful in its harmonious notes. Involuntarily Sir 
 Douglas sighed! He felt a strange contrast be- 
 tween the anxiety that had prompted his hurried 
 journey — the storms of his past life, — and his 
 present feverish fatigue and worry, — with that 
 delicious lullaby! 
 
 The girl who was singing, glanced towards 
 him, at the sound of his sigh ; with soft hazel 
 eyes that seemed made to match her voice. Then 
 she asked something in an undertone of young 
 Kenneth, and the reply was distinctly heard ; ' It 
 is my Uncle Douglas.' 
 
 The young lady's reply was also audible, in 
 the silence that followed her song. She said, in 
 a tone of great surprise, ' That, Sir Douglas ? that, 
 Sir Douglas Ross ? ' 
 
 ' Yes/ said Kenneth, testily ; ' why not ?' 
 
 ' Oh ! I don't know,' said the girl, laughing 
 shyly ; ' only it is not at all my idea of him. I
 
 Clay Idoh. 53 
 
 never should have guessed that to be him, from 
 your way of talking. I expected ' 
 
 'Expected what?' 
 
 1 I don't know ; but I should never have 
 guessed that gentleman to be your Uncle and 
 Guardian, "Old Sir Douglas.'" 
 
 As she spoke the last words, she again looked 
 up at the newly- arrived stranger. Sir Douglas's 
 eyes were fixed upon her. It was but too evident 
 he had overheard what she had said. Both felt 
 embarrassed as their glances met. Sir Douglas 
 coloured to the temples ; and the young lady 
 blushed, and looked down at the ivory keys of 
 the piano-forte : those familiar little friends whose 
 aspect could not add to her shyness as did this 
 interchange of human gazing. 
 
 And Kenneth also looked down at the keys ; 
 and turning over the leaves of the music-book, 
 which still remained open, he sharply bit his under- 
 lip ; while a very sulky expression of vexation 
 darkened over his very handsome young face.
 
 54 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Uncle and Nephew. 
 
 HE pleasant evening was followed by a 
 painful morning. Sir Douglas ascer- 
 tained from Lorimer Boyd that, with the one 
 exception of Lady Charlotte Sldfton's (where 
 that evening had been passed), Kenneth Ross 
 had scarcely footing in one respectable house 
 in Naples. His nights were spent at the theatre, 
 the gaming-table, and in wild orgies with the 
 idlest of an idle Neapolitan aristocracy ; and his 
 days in recovering from the debauch of the night. 
 Sums perfectly fabulous, considering his posi- 
 tion and the amount of his very moderate fortune, 
 were owing in all directions ; — and thrice, but for 
 the painstaking interference and discretion of 
 Lorimer Boyd, — the result of quarrels on the 
 most trivial or the most scandalous grounds,
 
 Uncle and Nephew. 55 
 
 would have been a meeting with adversaries not 
 very nice in their code of honour, and infinitely 
 better accustomed to the use of pistols. 
 
 To all remonstrance about his gambling or 
 other debts he had constantly affirmed that it would 
 be ' all right ; ' that ' Old Sir Douglas ' would pay 
 them; and, with a spirit of exaggeration partly 
 wilful, and partly arising from ignorance of all 
 things in his uncle's affairs except the extreme 
 readiness to assist himself which had always been 
 displayed, he represented himself as nephew to a 
 millionaire; and was indeed looked upon in the 
 indolent and profligate circles he frequented, as 
 related to a sort of Scotch prince ; whose coffers 
 overflowed with gold for which he had no better use 
 than the pampering of his brother's son, the idol of 
 his bachelor life and his eventual heir. 
 
 Half melancholy, and half provoked, Sir Dou- 
 glas left his hotel for the lodging taken by his 
 graceless favourite in one of the palazzos on the 
 Chiaja. In the anteroom he found an Italian 
 valet, smoking one of his master's cigars as he 
 leaned carelessly from the window overlooking 
 the Giardnr' Heale; with no other occupation, 
 apparently, than that of watching the swarming
 
 56 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 crowd, whose ceaseless shouting and chattering 
 form so strange a contrast to our own more silent 
 and business-like population. The valet was ex- 
 tremely reluctant to admit Sir Douglas. ' Sua 
 Eccellenza/ — as he termed Kenneth, — had gone 
 to a masked ball, after the musical soiree at Lady 
 Charlotte's; had only returned at daylight, and 
 was not yet awake. But on receiving the expla- 
 nation that the parties were related, and that he 
 beheld before him that millionaire Milord of 
 Scotland, of whose unexpected arrival even he 
 had been told as of an important if not satisfactory 
 event, he became as obsequious as he had been 
 recalcitrant ; begging his Excellency to walk into 
 the other Excellency's apartment, when he would 
 speedily wake the sleeping Excellency, and inform 
 him of the illustrious Excellency's visit. 
 
 Sir Douglas got rid of the bowing valet, for- 
 bidding him to disturb his master. As he passed 
 through Kenneth's bedroom, he paused and stood 
 a few moments, with folded arms, leaning against 
 the silk hangings and embroidered mosquito cur- 
 tains of the luxurious bed, contemplating the 
 sleeper. It was nearly noon, but the dim shadowy 
 light from the Venetian blinds, broken by narrow
 
 Uncle and Nephew, 57 
 
 streaks of sunshine that seemed to quiver and 
 ripple on the floor, as if reflected from the 
 dazzling bay below, — could not disturb his slum- 
 bers. The wonderful likeness of Kenneth to his 
 father, in that soft dreamy light, melted away the 
 displeasure in Sir Douglas's heart. What to do 
 with him, how to set matters right for him, and 
 how to reform him, was his sole thought. 
 
 ' He is yet but young,' sighed the uncle, as 
 he passed into the sitting-room ; where the open 
 windows admitted at once the brilliant glow f a 
 southern sun, and as much fresh ah 1 as Naples can 
 boast in these quarters on the Chiaja. Little 
 enough : since, all along that coast-built street, 
 lingers a compound odour of stale fruit, church 
 incense, tar, and fishing-nets ; reeking beasts of 
 burden, and the cheese and garlic of poverty- 
 stricken and dirty lazzaroni. 
 
 In the principal sitting-room everything was 
 in the same style of confused luxury as in the 
 bedroom. Parisian fauteuils and sofas in hand- 
 some chintz covers, — hired in to assist the 
 indolence of the occupant, — formed a strange 
 contrast, and looked, as it were, doubly negligent, 
 by the side of the faded splendour of the tight
 
 58 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 and upright satin chairs and banquettes which 
 formed the original furniture of the Palazzo; 
 such furniture being indeed but sparsely supplied ; 
 the real owner making an arrangement very 
 common in Italy — namely, letting the under and 
 upper apartments, and inhabiting the principal 
 floor himself. A quantity of little paper volumes 
 of French romances, and a guitar, half-buried in 
 sheets of music — some of it new, and some tat- 
 tered and soiled and scribbled over — were the 
 only symptoms of occupation, if we except two or 
 three handsome pipes and an open box of cigars. 
 
 ' He is yet but young ; ' and ' Did I do right in 
 sending him abroad ?' was doubtfully repeated 
 in the mind of the perplexed uncle ; not without 
 a sorrowful consciousness that his own youth, and 
 his own residence in various foreign countries, 
 had been very differently spent, though he had had 
 no friend or counsellor to guide and overlook him. 
 
 Absorbed in these reflections — looking out on 
 the bright bay without seeing it, and scarcely 
 conscious even of the shrill sound of multitudinous 
 voices and ceaseless roll of vehicles in the streets 
 below — it was not till young Kenneth laid a hand 
 on his shoulder, and greeted him with a sort of
 
 Uncle and Nephew, 59 
 
 tired good-morrow, that Sir Douglas was even 
 aware of his presence. Then the imprudent uncle 
 plunged at once into all he had been ruminating 
 over ; all he had to say to the erring nephew. 
 Warmly and rapidly he spoke — of Kenneth's 
 extravagance, his drunkenness, his idleness, his 
 debts ; of the absolute necessity of his instantly 
 selecting a profession, whether army, navy, law, 
 or diplomacy ; of the journey to Naples having 
 been made in fear and trouble solely on his ac- 
 count (with a frank admission that Lorimer Boyd's 
 friendly report had brought about that journey) ; 
 of the determination Sir Douglas had come to, to 
 tighten the reins, and so prevent the self-indulgent 
 ruin of the young man who stood before him ! 
 
 A man who rises after a late ball, and is thus 
 suddenly set upon before he has even breakfasted, 
 is not likely to be very patient ; nor did either 
 of the interlocutors come of a patient race. Ken- 
 neth's answers were full of that blind and bound- 
 less ingratitude which belongs to early youth. 
 He refused to recognise in anything that had 
 been done for him anything for which he had to 
 be grateful ; he utterly defied all authority ; he 
 could not see how Sir Douglas could assume to
 
 60 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 exercise any. He, Kenneth, was Eoss of Torrie- 
 burn, and Sir Douglas was Eoss of Glenrossie — 
 a richer man, that was all. Lorimer Boyd was 
 an intolerable prig, and a meddlesome, treacherous 
 idiot ; and he, Kenneth, well knew to what cause 
 he might attribute his uncalled-for interference. 
 
 He had little doubt (unless Sir Douglas had 
 greatly mismanaged during his long minority) 
 that his debts could be paid with the greatest 
 ease : as to a profession, his father had no pro- 
 fession, and he himself desired nothing of the 
 kind. He loved every inch of Torrieburn too well 
 to go about the world like the Wandering Jew, 
 as he considered Sir Douglas had done all his 
 life, for no earthly reason. He had never 
 asked, or wished, to come abroad, — but since 
 he had come (by Sir Douglas's desire), he was 
 determined to enjoy himself, and no earthly 
 power should prevent him from doing so. As 
 to the accusation of drunkenness, it was not 
 true ; and if he did occasionally get drunk, so 
 did all the men he had ever known, either at 
 college or since; and as to other temptations, 
 he had infinitely greater temptations than other 
 people, being handsomer, quicker-witted, and
 
 Uncle and Nephew, 61 
 
 more fitted for social enjoyment than ninety- 
 nine men in a hundred ; so that, though it was 
 all very well for common-place fellows to be 
 tied down to common-place rules, it wouldn't 
 do for him, and he thought his uncle mad to 
 expect it ! 
 
 Finally, with a saucy toss of his handsome 
 young head, and a look of defiance at land and 
 sea, as he turned from the open window and 
 dropped into one of the lounging arm-chairs 
 preparatory to beginning his late breakfast, he 
 advised Old Sir Douglas not to get into ' that 
 humbugging way of lecturing ' that comes upon 
 men in later life, but to remember the clays 
 when he himself was young ; when, doubtless, 
 he indulged to the full in all that early harvest 
 of fleeting pleasures of which he was now seeking 
 to deprive his ill-used nephew. 
 
 Sir Douglas almost prefaced with an im- 
 patient groan the burst of passionate reply with 
 which he met this tirade. 'In the first place/ 
 he said, ' if i" had made debts my father would 
 not have cleared them, even had they been 
 reckoned by hundreds instead of thousands, as 
 I fear yours will be. In the next place, I had
 
 62 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 a profession in which — whatever may be your 
 opinion of its opportunities for pleasure — strict 
 discipline, and the conduct of a gentleman, are 
 imperative even in time of peace ; and I am 
 thankful to say that of those leisure times I saw 
 but little.' 
 
 A proud, evanescent flush passed over the 
 fine frank face as he spoke ; and then he con- 
 tinued eagerly and sadly : 
 
 ' Oh ! my dear Kenneth, do think there is 
 something more to be done with life than 
 merely to enjoy it ! And, for God's sake, don't 
 take the tone you have just taken with me, of 
 that morbid selfish individuality that supposes 
 its own temptations or advantages greater than 
 those of other people. Take your place freely 
 and frankly amongst them, without expecting 
 too much, or thinking too highly of yourself, 
 or offending by assumptions which they won't 
 recognise, and which only lead to quarrels. 
 Depend upon it, there is no such thing upon 
 earth, as a man so intensely superior to his 
 fellow-men that he should stand exempt from 
 common rules of conduct. God does not permit 
 such gaps of distance among His creatures. He
 
 Uncle and Nephew. 63 
 
 gives to all, something ; and He gives to none 
 the sort of superiority you would claim. " That 
 faultless monster which the world ne'er saw," is 
 a line from a true poet and philosopher. I 
 know but one thing, Kenneth, in which you 
 excel other men, and that is, that you are hand- 
 somer than most men ; but how far will that 
 one advantage go, in this world?' 
 
 'Well, a good way,' — muttered the youth, 
 with a sulky smile, as he broke the shell of a 
 second egg ; — 'ask your wise friend Lorimer Boyd 
 else.' 
 
 ' My friend Lorimer Boyd may overvalue 
 an advantage he has not, as you overvalue the 
 advantages you have. Nevertheless he might 
 please where you would not ; and most assuredly 
 in the great race of life he would win where 
 you would not. Whether you adopt, or refuse 
 to adopt, a profession, you must (unless you 
 retire to a hermitage) mingle with your fellow- 
 men. To be admired, is an accident ; but to be 
 beloved is in every one's power. You must, if 
 you mean to be socially welcome, keep some 
 prudence and decency in view ; you must be 
 patient and respectful to some men, cordial and
 
 64 Old Sir Douglas, 
 
 even-tempered with others ; and, ahove all, you 
 must accept, in lieu of such foolish self-assertion 
 as broke from you but now, the position which 
 most certainly at times will be yours — namely, 
 the finding yourself less gifted, less well 
 informed, less worthy, and less esteemed, than 
 some you consort with. I say must, because it 
 is utterly impossible that any man should ahvays 
 be the first, foremost, and best, of every given 
 group of men in which he finds himself for the 
 time being. 
 
 'And now, my dear boy, cease to pelt that 
 plate with grape-skins, as though it were the 
 author of my unwelcome lecture ; and put on 
 your hat, and do the honours of this lovely city 
 to me ; for, in spite of all my wanderings, I 
 have never been here. And get me a list of 
 your liabilities, that we may see what should 
 be done. Torrieburn is not California, and 
 even my willingness to aid you, does not extend 
 so far as to be willing to transfer the rents of 
 my estate into the pockets of foreign gamblers. 
 
 ' Tell me, too, something of your friends and 
 friendships, here ; since I am not entirely to 
 rely on that honest arch-traitor my old school-
 
 Uncle and Nepheiv. 65 
 
 mate Lorimer Boyd. Tell me about the people 
 we were with last night ; on whom, indeed, we 
 ought, or rather I ought, to go and leave a card 
 this morning. And get back your smiles, Ken- 
 neth, as we walk along ; for that is too clouded 
 a brow for so clear a morning. ' 
 
 The anxious heart hiding its anxiety under 
 this assumed gaiety, touched the wayward young 
 man more than the previous lecture. Kenneth 
 wrung his uncle's hand with some confused 
 expressions of mingled regret and deprecation ; 
 and he smiled too, (not a very comfortable or 
 satisfactory smile), as they reached the arches 
 of the villi on the heights beyond Santa Lucia, 
 where Lady Charlotte Skifton and her daughter 
 resided ; murmuring to himself softo voce, as he 
 looked up at the green jalousies that shut out 
 the sultry day from those familiar windows, ' Here, 
 at least, I think I have the advantage over wise 
 Mr. Lorimer Boyd.' 
 
 And with this ejaculation he followed Sir 
 Douglas into the house. 
 
 vol. i.
 
 66 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Feminine Character, 
 
 IB, DOUGLAS ROSS was considerably 
 startled when, on the drawing-room door 
 being opened, in lieu of receiving the usual 
 •common-place and easy welcome accorded to morn- 
 ing visitors, he beheld Lady Charlotte sobbing 
 bitterly in the depths of a very comfortable French 
 museuse, in which she was rather lying than sitting 
 when the two gentlemen arrived. She lifted her 
 embroidered handkerchief from her eyes for an 
 instant, as if disturbed by their entrance, and 
 ttihen recommenced her weeping. The soft-eyed 
 girl, who had sung the German ' Good-night ' 
 the previous evening, was standing by her chair, 
 with an expression of mingled perplexity and 
 sympathy ; she murmured, ' Dear mamma, here
 
 Feminine Character. 67 
 
 are friends,' in an expostulating tone; put out 
 one hand shyly to greet Kenneth, (leaning with 
 the other on the back of her mother's chair), and 
 repeated the words, ' Here are friends.' 
 
 1 Zizine ! Zizine ! Zizine ! ' sobbed Lady Char- 
 lotte. 
 
 ' Mamma, Zizine will do very well ; you will 
 see she will do very well ; I will attend to her 
 myself.' 
 
 ' How can you talk such nonsense, my dear 
 Gertrude ? I am sure she will die ! Zizine ! my 
 poor little Zizine ! ' 
 
 Puzzled beyond measure, and wondering 
 whether a little sister, grandchild, or favourite 
 niece was the subject of lamenting, Sir Douglas 
 made rather a stiff bow, and said hurriedly, ' We 
 have come at a most unfortunate moment ; I hope 
 there is no serious cause of anxiety ; we will call 
 again later in the day.' 
 
 1 Oh, no, no ; oh, no, no ; don't go away ; 
 don't leave me ; I am sure ^Ir. Ross would not 
 think of leaving me at such a time ! He is always 
 so friendly. Pray don't go — pray don't ; it 
 makes me worse, the idea of your going! It 
 makes me worse ! '
 
 68 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 * Mamma will be better presently,' added the 
 daughter, in a low vexed voice ; and she glanced 
 from Kenneth who was biting his lip to repress 
 the dawn of one of his insolent smiles, and looked 
 appealingly in the graver face of his uncle. 
 
 * Can we do anything?' asked the latter, 
 kindly. 
 
 * Oh, no ! pray sit down. I will endeavour to 
 be more composed — pray don't go — no one can 
 do anything ; it is most afflicting ; but don't go. 
 The fact is, Antonio has been so tormented by my 
 English servants (and I am sure I would send 
 every one of them away, sooner than Zizine should 
 suffer), that he utterly refuses to stay with me. 
 I offered him double what he engaged for as 
 courier, but he won't. He said, (it was so cruel 
 of him!) he said,' — and here a renewed burst of 
 sobbing interrupted the explanation — ' that — 
 that it was ridiculous to expect him to stay for 
 the sake of a " piccola beslia " (that was what he 
 called Zizine), when he was made quite tristp, day 
 •and night, by the enmity of my servants. Now, 
 you know, they have no enmity at all to him ; 
 only they don't like him ; and if he had any 
 generosity he wouldn't consider his own feelings
 
 Feminine Character. 69 
 
 in the matter, but mine. Think what a goose he 
 must be, to go and fret in that way about no- 
 thing. And Zizine will die; I know she will 
 die!' 
 
 ' Who is Zizine V exclaimed Sir Douglas at 
 last, with a little impatience in his voice. 
 
 He was answered by the soft-eyed girl ; grave, 
 embarrassed, hesitating, with downcast lids. ' Ziz- 
 ine — Zizine — is a little Brazilian monkey, of 
 which mamma is very fond/ 
 
 There was a moment's pause ; and then she 
 added, ' TTe are all fond of mamma's pet. Mr, 
 Ross knows Zizine.' 
 
 And with the last words, trifling as they 
 appeared, the melodious voice seemed to grow 
 severe, and the eyes that had been so timid turned 
 so full and pained a look of reproach at Kenneth, 
 that Sir Douglas was positively startled. 
 
 Xot so Kenneth, whose repressed smile broke 
 into a little mocking laugh. 'Yes, I do know 
 Zizine ; and I will introduce her to my uncle, or, 
 to speak more respectfully, I will introduce my 
 uncle to her ; and if she does not snap his fingers 
 off, he shall feed and caress her, and console her 
 for Antonio's obduracy.'
 
 70 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 ' Oh, Mr. Ross,' whimpered Lady Charlotte, 
 'how can you make a jest of anything so dis- 
 tressing ? I am sure if your good uncle knew all ! 
 You are not aware, Sir Douglas, that this little 
 creature — this precious little creature — will not 
 eat unless fed by Antonio ! It will not take 
 food from any other hand; and what is to be 
 done, if Antonio persists in leaving me, I am sure 
 I don't know ! I have been wretched about it all 
 the morning ! ' 
 
 The shower of easy tears, after this last burst, 
 seemed to clear off a little ; and the possessor of 
 Zizine listened with a ray (or a rainbow) of hope 
 to Sir Douglas's assurances that a hungry monkey 
 would take food from the most alien hand sooner 
 than go without it; and even ventured to hint 
 that the valued Antonio himself must originally 
 have been a stranger to Zizine, since she was 
 brought from the Brazils. A remark which seemed 
 to make a profound impression on Lady Charlotte, 
 who pronounced it to be ' so true ; so very true — 
 and — and so very comforting :' and she was quite 
 surprised it had never occurred to her before. 
 ' But you know, Sir Douglas — Columbus's egg — 
 you know ! ' And on seeing rather a puzzled ac-
 
 Feminine CI t . 71 
 
 quiescence in her new friend's face, she further 
 explained herself by adding, ' What nobody 
 thought of, till they saw it done, you know ! ' 
 And with a tearful smile she gave a final flourish 
 of the embroidered pocket-handkerchief, and set- 
 tled herself for more cheerful discourse. 
 
 Then she listened with rapt attention to a 
 number of little anecdotes told by Sir Douglas, 
 of instinct and wisdom in animals, such as would 
 be narrated to an intelligent child ; and when he 
 wound up with the tragic incident of the suicide 
 from grief of a male marmoset, whose little mate 
 dying on shipboard was thrown overboard ; and 
 told how, the very first clay his cage was left 
 accidentally open, the melancholy little survivor 
 leaped over the ship's side at that identical spot, 
 into the waves ; and described the regret of all the 
 sailors, who were of opinion that the ship should 
 have been put about, though in wild weather, 
 rather than that Jocko should have been allowed 
 to perish, — Lady Charlotte vehemently exclaimed, 
 ' Oh ! I think so too — I think so too ! How very 
 cruel of the captain ! ' 
 
 And as she and her guests stepped forth into 
 the garden and paced along the terrace, and
 
 72 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 through the pergola shaded with vines, she re- 
 marked to Kenneth that she had never seen a 
 more pleasant or gentlemanly man than his uncle 
 — 'and so travelled, too!' which phrase she ex- 
 plained, like Columbus's egg, and said she meant 
 that he knew so many things, which, of course, 
 he had picked up going so much about the world 
 as she understood he had done. 
 
 And Gertrude, too, praised Sir Douglas, even 
 to himself! She was leaning against one of the 
 square stone supports of the loggia; the vine- 
 leaves with their tendrils dropping and curling 
 round her uncovered head ; pausing to let her 
 companion admire the distant view of land and 
 sea. ' It was very kind of you/ she said, ' to 
 amuse mamma: it took away all her nervous- 
 ness.' 
 
 Sir Douglas flushed a little. It was very 
 pleasant being spoken to in such a friendly tone 
 by this pretty girl ; and he was rather shy, though 
 his shyness was not awkward, like his friend 
 Lorimer Boyd's. 
 
 ' I was glad to amuse her. But you must not 
 be angry with Kenneth for laughing a little : I 
 had no idea it was a monkey that Lady Char-
 
 Feminine Character. 73 
 
 lotte was so anxious about when I first saw her 
 distress.' 
 
 Gertrude shrank a little farther from her com- 
 panion, and spoke in a low voice. 
 
 ' I know. I was not exactly angry ; but it 
 vexed me. Mamma is not — you will see at once 
 that she is not — one of those clever women with 
 strong nerves, who do nothing that any one can 
 smile at. I know mamma is not clever ; but she 
 is good and tender ; she is tender to all she loves ; 
 and she is tender to all creatures — birds, and pets 
 of all kinds. My poor father used to give them to 
 her. He died of consumption ; and he used to have 
 them in his room. It is true he did not give her 
 Zizine, but mamma has the habit of loving these 
 things extremely — and — and I cannot bear that 
 any one should seem almost to jest at her vex- 
 ation ! ' 
 
 She trembled a little as she spoke ; but that 
 trembling — like the tremolo in her clear, rich 
 singing — gave no impression of weakness; and 
 the touch of sternness was in her voice again at 
 the final phrase, as it had been when she said that 
 Kenneth ' knew Zizine.' Sir Douglas liked her 
 for it. He liked the protection given by her
 
 74 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 own child to this sacred, silly woman : sacred as 
 a parent, even where weakness could not but be 
 perceptible ; sacred, for the sake of duty, and for 
 the sake of scenes replete with sadness and re- 
 verent associations ; — not to be laughed at by 
 mocking lips ; to be pitied ; to be tenderly dealt 
 with, even as she dealt, or was supposed to deal, 
 with others. He felt that had he been the son of 
 a silly mother, he also would have dealt so by 
 her ; and his own mother's half- remembered, 
 half - forgotten face vaguely rose again to me- 
 mory in presence of this girl, as it had done the 
 evening before — leaving the impression, as it did 
 then, that Gertrude Skifton ' had a look of her 
 about the eyes/ Dear eyes, that bent over his 
 cradle, and were lifted to heaven when he first 
 learned to pray ; and shone for a little way on 
 in his childhood, and then vanished, — leaving in 
 those childish years such a comfortless blank of 
 love ! 
 
 When he left the Villa Mandorlo with Ken- 
 neth, they walked a little way in silence ; then 
 Kenneth said, laughing, 'Well, we had a fine 
 scene there ! That woman is an incarnation of 
 folly; but the girl is very nice.'
 
 Femiiiiue Character. 7-5 
 
 1 Yes, tlie girl is nice,' assented Sir Douglas. 
 
 ' I 'm glad you like her/ said Kenneth, care- 
 lessly ; ' for they are the only people (of your 
 sort) I care to see here ; and your friend, Loriiner 
 Boyd, is in and out of their house like a tame 
 dog. "When he ain't in the Chancellerie you may 
 look for him in ihe Yilla ITandorlo. I believe he 
 means to take Lady Charlotte in hand, according 
 to the advertisements, " To Ladies of Xeglected 
 Education." He comes in like a tutor, with plans 
 of Herculaneum, and drawings of Pompeian pot- 
 tery, and tickets to see this, that, and the other, 
 with most desperate industry. ' 
 
 ' And does Lady Charlotte respond ? ' 
 
 1 "Well, not unless some magnates are to ac- 
 company her. Her whole soul (if she has a soul) 
 seems to be occupied with the ambition of being 
 always in a certain "set," wherever she goes. 
 She is always triumphing in being invited, or 
 lamenting that she and her daughter are " left 
 out," or setting some little wheel in motion to 
 " get asked " somewhere. I believe she tolerates 
 Loriiner Boyd (to whom she always listens with a 
 stifled yawn) only as the well-spring and fountain 
 of introductions she woidd not otherwise obtain
 
 76 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 in this place. She dines constantly at the English 
 Legation, and goes to balls at the Neapolitan 
 Court, and knows all the Principessas, Duchessas, 
 Contessas, and Contessinas that rattle their car- 
 riages up and down the Chiaja ; and if the whole 
 government were subverted (as it certainly will 
 be one of these days), it is my. belief that she 
 would transfer her allegiance and her visiting- 
 cards to whatever potentates floated on the sur- 
 face, and to whatever dynasty happened to reign.' 
 
 ' Well, it is an odd mania in a woman holding 
 a certain and established rank herself, in her own 
 country ; but when you know more of the world, 
 Kenneth, you won't think it so very uncommon. 
 Are they rich ? ' 
 
 * Yes, I think they are. I believe ' (and here 
 Kenneth hesitated a little) — ' I believe the daugh- 
 ter has an independent fortune ; and her mother 
 is bent on marrying her to some foreign grandee. 
 She very nearly managed it with one of the Roman 
 Colonnas, or some such great family, before they 
 came here ; but his family wouldn't hear of it, the 
 young lady being a Protestant.' 
 
 ' I wonder Lady Charlotte would think of 
 such a marriage ! '
 
 Feminine Character 
 
 ' Think of it ! I assure you she clung to it as 
 if she were drowning ; and as to the religious 
 part of the difficulty, she said she really had hoped 
 better things from the confessor of the family, 
 who seemed such a suave, well-mannered, sociable 
 man, than to oppose himself to her daughter ; 
 and she was sure Gertrude would not object to 
 listen " occasionally " to his exhortations, or even 
 to go " now and then, with her husband the 
 prince," to the great Church festivals; "but not 
 as a customary thing ; of course they could not 
 expect that." I really do think there never was 
 such a goose born, as that woman ! ' 
 
 If Sir Douglas thought his conceited nephew 
 severe, he did not find his rational friend, Lorimer 
 Boyd, a whit more indulgent with respect to his 
 new associates. All the craving after fine ac- 
 quaintance and frivolous gaieties, and all the in- 
 sane planning about her daughter, was confirmed 
 in his report. ' And the worst of it is,' concluded 
 Lorimer gloomily, 'that she was on?e a great 
 beauty.' 
 
 Sir Douglas laughed. ' How does that add to 
 •her offence ? ' 
 
 ' By adding to her folly. She has all the
 
 '8 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 mhiaudcrles and airs of a silly beautiful girl, being 
 now but a silly elderly woman. I could box her 
 ears when I see her drooping ber faded thin little 
 cheek to her skeleton shoulder ; with a long ringlet 
 of heaven-knows- who's hair in the fashion of a 
 lovelock, trailing over her scragginess. She al- 
 ways reminds me of some figure in Holbein's 
 " Dance of Death." A most preposterous woman.' 
 
 ' Her daughter seems very different, and very 
 fond of her, Lorimer. There must be some good 
 in her, depend upon it.' 
 
 ' I suppose there is some good in every one. 
 Her daughter — well ! we see what bright fresh- 
 ness of vegetation springs up in tropic dust ; what 
 flowers burst through the crevices of those hot, 
 barren walls. Poor child, half her time is 
 spent in endeavouring not to seem ashamed of 
 her mother ! ' 
 
 * No ; she loves her mother,' exclaimed Sir 
 Douglas, eagerly. 
 
 * She must have a great deal of love to spare/ 
 said Lorimer Boyd, with something between a 
 sigh and a sneer ; ' and if it be so, it says much 
 for the daughter, but nothing for the mother. 
 Gertrude Skifton is like her father. I knew
 
 Feminine, Character. 79 
 
 him : lie died here. A man to love and to re- 
 member.' 
 
 ' Well, you must not dispute with my wise 
 uncle,' laughed Kenneth, ' for he sets up to know 
 more of these people in two days, than those who 
 have sat, — as we have, — for two months, within 
 hail of Lady Charlotte's one ringlet almost every 
 evening.'
 
 80 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 How Acquaintance Ripens. 
 
 LMOST every evening !' It is astonishing 
 how rapidly intimacy progresses in coun- 
 try-houses, sea-side gatherings, and the small 
 society of compatriots in a foreign town. If 
 you know each other at all, it is almost impos- 
 sible not to be what is called ' intimate ;' even 
 though that degree of familiarity may lessen, or 
 cease altogether, when the circumstances which 
 produced it are altered ; and when persons who 
 were ' great friends ' at Rome, Naples, or Flor- 
 ence, choose to drop into being civil acquaintances, 
 after they once more carelessly congregate with 
 the herding swarms of London. 
 
 Lady Charlotte and her daughter Gertrude 
 were the chief stars at Naples of many a pic-nic 
 party and ball. Not that Gertrude was a great
 
 How Acquaintance Ripen*. 81 
 
 beauty, or her mother a wise woman, as we have 
 seen ; hut because they were among the few 
 well-connected English then in Naples ; and the 
 'set,' — as Lady Charlotte called it, — with the 
 addition of what was best of the ' foreign set/ 
 mingled and met nearly every day in pursuit of 
 the same aim — pleasure. The English are said 
 to hold aloof from each other abroad ; and 
 there is a humorous passage at the opening of 
 Sterne's 'Sentimental Journey,' where he repre- 
 sents himself as meeting with a gentleman-like 
 and conversible person, of whose chance compan- 
 ionship he was about to avail himself, but, finding 
 he teas a compatriot, he retired to his own room. 
 
 "Whatever may have been the case in 
 Sterne's time, it is certain that the disposition 
 now is rather the reverse. And though we hear 
 of ladies in India, and officers' wives in regiments 
 on foreign service, ' flouting ' each other in their 
 own small circle : and, in colonial society, of ladies 
 whom ' nobody in the colony visits :' and every- 
 where of the various little monkey-copyings of 
 cxclusiveness, performed by the Zizines who give 
 themselves airs abroad — 'captains' ladies,' and 
 •* majors' ladies,' ' colonels' ladies,' and ' governors' 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 ladies ;' and ' white ladies ' who won't associate 
 with 'brown ladies;' and Creoles, and Mestas, 
 and all sorts of other distinctions unknown to the 
 great European family — yet, in a general way, 
 the English are a sociable nation; and, beyond 
 a certain cautious shyness as to the ' respectability ' 
 of new acquaintances, there is no reluctance to 
 come together. 
 
 But Lady Charlotte was of Scotch extraction, 
 and the Scotch are yet more willing to ' foregather/ 
 as it is called, provided it be with their ' own folk.' 
 They are a scantier population than the English, 
 with a scantier aristocracy and gentry. The tide 
 of commercial success has not yet so flooded in 
 among them (though it is fast advancing) as it 
 has amongst the English ; sweeping away old 
 feudal memories and landmarks. They know all 
 about each other's families and 'forbears/ down 
 to the twentieth degree of cousinhood ; and both 
 rich and poor, high and low, genteel and ungenteel, 
 set a value on rank and connexion far beyond the 
 value set upon it in England, and set a value on 
 their own nationality, which is a feeling distinct 
 and apart. ' Come of gude Scotch bluid ' is a far 
 greater recommendation among them, than ' come
 
 Hoiv Acquaintance Ripen*. 
 
 of a good old county family ' is among the 
 Southrons ; and when that ' gude stock ' is also 
 noble, the respect is unbounded. That 
 
 1 Caledonia, stern and wild,' 
 
 which made so rough a nurse to poetic Burns, 
 admits, as a theory, his noble line — 
 
 1 A man 's a man for a' that ;' 
 
 but, as a matter of practice, it is certain that 
 if her wayward gauger had been a lord — if he 
 had been a duke — if he had eyen been a laird — 
 * Burns of Burndyke' — she would not haye de- 
 layed the opportunity to feter his genius till it 
 became a centenary festiyal ! 
 
 Lady Charlotte was a Scotchwoman ; and she 
 was glad to meet Lorimer Boyd and friends ' from 
 the Xorth.' She had eyen sought to establish a 
 cousinhood between herself and Lorimer on the 
 strength of some intermarriage between the Cloch- 
 nabens and her own family in yery remote times. 
 And, at all eyents, she held him bound and re- 
 sponsible for her destiny in Xaples ; for fit intro- 
 ductions and pleasant days. He had been yery 
 kind, she said, when Mr. Skifton was dying ; 
 ' read to him, and that sort of thing ; ' and yery
 
 84 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 sorry for her and her daughter. That was more 
 than two years ago now; and the grief for Mr, 
 Skifton had begun to be wiped off the china slate 
 of his widow's memory. She had not been a bad 
 wife to him. Always very gentle; always very 
 attentive when he was particularly ill ; very sorry 
 when he died. She wept very much the first 
 time she saw her daughter in mourning, and 
 when she was trying on her own weeds. Indeed, 
 'for a long time afterwards/ as she impressed 
 upon Gertrude, ' she could not bear the sight of 
 black crape/ it ' always brought the tears into 
 her eyes, let her meet it where she would/ But 
 she was now beginning to be very cheerful and 
 comfortable again ; and had none of that depth of 
 nature which, she observed, caused 'a mere no- 
 thing ' suddenly to ' overcome that dear girl by 
 reminding her of her poor father.* 
 
 She was anxious, too, about Gertrude. She 
 wished her to marry early, and marry well ; and 
 she was all the more uneasy about invitations and 
 opportunities, on account of various past circum- 
 stances connected with the long weary illness and 
 climate- seeking days that had removed her from 
 general society and ' seasons ! in London, where
 
 How Acquaintance Ripens. 85 
 
 she had once been so much admired. And then, 
 after she was left a widow, Gertrude had a bad 
 cough ; and was supposed to be threatened with 
 the same complaint as her father ; and she was 
 advised to pass a ' couple more winters in Italy ' 
 to recruit her strength ; and beyond and besides 
 all this, there was the patent fact that her 
 marriage with Mr. Skifton had rather put her out 
 of that ' set ' to which it was her great aim to 
 belong. It had been a love-match ; a love-match 
 not repented of by either party, and extremely 
 advantageous in point of fortune to Lady Char- 
 lotte, who had none. But, then, who was ^h\ 
 Skifton ? He had every merit a man could have ; 
 but he did not come of a ' good old stock,' or of 
 any known family. He was handsome, rich, 
 elegant in manner, and singularly accomplished ; 
 but the careless question elicited by the news cf 
 his decease and Lady Charlotte's consequent 
 widowhood, of 'By-the-by, who the deuce was 
 Skifton?' produced only th? vague reply, ' "Well, 
 I really don't know ; I believi he was a very good 
 sort of fellow. His father was a merchant, or a 
 broker, or something ; and his daughter will have 
 money.'
 
 86 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 A little soreness consequent on this position, 
 and a wavering puzzled notion that such circum- 
 stances had weighed more with her recalcitrant 
 foreign grandees than Gertrude's religion, troubled 
 Lady Charlotte's mind. She had been rather 
 humbled and annoyed at the escape from her very 
 simple web of the young Colonna ; and previous 
 to Sir Douglas's arrival she had already been oc- 
 cupying herself with little fooleries and flatteries 
 to Kenneth, who, faute cle miciix, would, she 
 thought, make a good husband for Gertie (in Iter 
 view of a good husband), being well off himself 
 and heir to Old Sir Douglas. Her efforts how- 
 ever, being confined to what chaperons call 
 * bringing the young people together,' and the 
 encouragement of much singing of Scotch ballads 
 in alternation with more cultivated music, she did 
 neither good nor harm ; and that is more than can 
 be said of the majority of match-making or match- 
 hoping mothers. 
 
 Neither was she, in fact, very anxious about 
 it ; for, after all, either here or elsewhere, some 
 great duke, prince, or count, might suddenly fall 
 in love with her daughter ; and she might wish 
 that instead of Mr. Boss ; and it would be very
 
 How Acquaintance Ripens. 87 
 
 embarrassing to have to ' throw over' Kenneth, 
 and not very ladylike. 
 
 So things were suffered to take pretty much 
 their own course; and a very pleasant course it 
 was for all parties. Lorimer Boyd was as friendly 
 as possible, and Kenneth exceedingly attentive, 
 though now and then he teazed Lady Charlotte by 
 little mockeries and persiflage which she only half 
 understood, and feebly rebutted ; and Sir Douglas, 
 * in his way ' was charming too. Lady Charlotte 
 took great pains to please him ; and never felt 
 uneasy with him as she did occasionally with his 
 nephew. She had just prudence enough ' in case 
 it ever came to anything between Kenneth Ross 
 and Gertie,' to avoid all allusion to her knowledge 
 that the nephew was thought very wild. It 
 would be very foolish to set his rich uncle against 
 him, and all young men ran a little wild at his 
 age, and abroad. And she used to try a little 
 feeble flattery with Sir Douglas — her head very 
 much to one side, and her slender fingers twirling 
 that long young ringlet which she had made sole 
 inheritor of her own departed love-locks, and 
 which kept Lorimer Boyd in a chronic state of 
 dissatisfaction. Modulating her voice to a sort of
 
 88 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 singing whisper, like a canary-bird at sunset, she- 
 ventured little hints of admiration as to his looks ; 
 and how he must * have been ' much handsomer 
 than Kenneth ; and she bantered him about his 
 ' dreadful bravery ' and his probable relationship 
 to the ' Parliament Captain/ the Ross of 1650, and 
 talked of the taking of Montrose, and made Ger- 
 trude repeat a stanza that she 'saw in an old 
 book, but what book it was, had gone out of her 
 poor head,' — 
 
 ' Leslie for the kirk, 
 
 And Middleton for the king ; 
 Bat de'il a man can gie a knock 
 But Ross and Augustine ! ' 
 
 But it was when Brazilian Zizine fell ill (' like 
 a fellow-creature,' as Lady Charlotte expressed it) 
 that Sir Douglas's favour rose to its climax ! He 
 actually gravely inspected Zizine ; he brought 
 remedies, and seemed to pity the little dumb beast ; 
 and he talked to Gertrude of its ' plaintive captive 
 eyes,' while he fed it. And Lady Charlotte was 
 overheard saying of him, in most unintelligible 
 Italian to the Contessa Rufo, that ' Avendo potuto 
 essere uno generale, nondimeno aveva guarilo
 
 Hov: Acquaintance Ripens. 89 
 
 Zizine ! ' on which the pretty Contessa, with a 
 warm Southern smile, pronounced Sir Douglas to 
 be ' tanto amabile ! ' though she had not the re- 
 motest idea what meaning her friend wished to 
 convey, or what the possibility of his becoming a 
 general had to do with his feeding a monkey. 
 
 His tenderness, however, to Zizine, was not all. 
 He amused Lady Charlotte; who declared that 
 talking to him was ' like sitting with the Arabian 
 Nights.' ' No, Mr. Kenneth need not laugh ; for 
 of course she did not mean that she could sit with 
 the Arabian Nights, — or with any other stories ; 
 but he knew well enough that what she really 
 meant was, that his uncle told them so many 
 pleasant things.' She had daily driven up and 
 down the Chiaja till she was weary, and daily in- 
 spected what Gertrude called the ' playthings ' at 
 their pretty villa : playthings of which all Italians 
 are very fond. Strange slender bridges over 
 artificial streamlets ; garden traps that when 
 trodden on send a sprinkling shower over the 
 head of the startled visitor ; grottoes, and gilt 
 gazebos, and Chinese summer-houses, and thatched 
 rustic lodges. But she had not seen the graver 
 sights of Naples, as a dowager who had more ac-
 
 90 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 quaintance with history or even with Murray's 
 guide-books might have done : so that much 
 novelty cropped and budded out of the old places, 
 in consequence of being with the new com- 
 panionable friend. 
 
 People see things under such different aspects ! 
 When Stendahl published his ' Rome, Naples, and 
 Florence, in 1817/ all that he chose to describe in 
 his opening pages — whether the better to mask 
 subsequent expressions of political opinions, or 
 from any other motive — was the eagerness with 
 which he flew to the theatres, and what operas 
 were performed at the various cities he visited 
 during his tour. His account of his first entrance 
 into Milan is, that he immediately went to La 
 Scala ; and his description of Naples is confined 
 to the fact, that San Carlo being shut, he rushed 
 to the Fiorentini. He mentions that ' two play- 
 houses have been discovered at Pompeii, and a 
 third at Herculaneum ; ' and as to the beauties of 
 nature he disposes of them in his diary thus : — 
 '25 Fevrier. Je reviens de Pactum. Route 
 p Moresque.' 
 
 An English lady who had arrived by sea at 
 Lisbon sent her coachman and lady's maid to
 
 Hoi': Acquaintance Ripens. 91 
 
 amuse themselves with the sights of the new 
 foreign city. The coachman returned filled with 
 melancholy contempt for the inferior ' turn out ' 
 of the Portuguese nobility as to carriages and 
 harness : the lady's-maid said she (like Stendahl) 
 had been to the opera, and thought the ladies' 
 necks were in general far too short (though they 
 wore some fine necklaces), and that their incli- 
 nation to embonpoint was very remarkable ; figures, 
 indeed, that she ' would have no pleasure in 
 dressing.' 
 
 Sir Douglas's mode of seeing Naples might be 
 no better than that of his neighbours, but it had 
 the merit of entertaining Lady Charlotte Skifton. 
 He was full of ' historical gossip ; ' to which she 
 used to listen most attentively, pulling the young 
 ringlet nearly straight, and looking round as if 
 she vaguely expected to see the people and events 
 he conjured up. She ' coidd not eat her dinner 
 for thinking of young Conradin — titular king of 
 Sicily from the time he was two years old till he 
 was sixteen, — and then, (at that boyish age !) led out 
 to execution in the market-place with his uncle 
 Frederic of Austria ; Pope Urban having aided 
 Charles of Anjou to defeat and take him prisoner.
 
 92 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 She implicitly believed the doubtful story of his. 
 mother sailing into the Bay of Naples with black 
 sails to her ships, and untold treasure as ransom, 
 too late to rescue her murdered and courageous 
 boy. She was f afraid she was almost glad' at the 
 increased hatred of the French which that execu- 
 tion inspired, till in the rolling course of years, at 
 a certain Easter, 1282, every Frenchman in 
 Sicily, except one, was murdered. 
 
 She thought Queen Joanna's conduct 'really 
 now so very abominable,' twisting a silk cord of 
 variegated colours, and answering her inquisitive 
 husband that it was 'to strangle him with,' so 
 playfully that he believed she was joking till the 
 horrible threat came true. She was delighted to 
 hear that Queen Joanna was herself smothered 
 afterwards, after many more years of crime, 
 and she looked at the dark, gaping windows 
 of her ruined palace in the Bay, with awe and 
 satisfaction. 
 
 As to Massaniello, and his rebellion and brief 
 triumph — she said she 'knew all about him' — 
 except that the people had sewed his head again 
 to his body, and obliged the Government to give 
 him a state burial after his downfall and massacre,
 
 How Acquaintance Ripens. 93 
 
 — ' because she had seen the opera of Massaniello 
 
 several times : only in the opera there was nothing 
 about what happened after he was killed.' 
 
 Xewer to her was the hanging of Admiral 
 Caraccioli (that blot upon the fame of Nelson!), 
 tmd the well-attested story of the body of the 
 Italian admiral floating upright, to the consterna- 
 tion of the sailors, in the wake of Nelson's ship, 
 from the imperfect weighting down of the corpse 
 when flung into the sea. 
 
 Her interest as to the disputed fact whether 
 Pozzuoli was the place where St. Paul landed, was 
 weak to the absorbed attention with which she 
 devoured the details of the murder of Agrippina 
 by order of her own son, the Emperor Nero. The 
 picture of this proud, profligate, energetic old 
 woman, betrayed into a galley contrived like 
 those in the time of the French Noyades, to give 
 way and sink under her, — her escape, after being 
 hit on the head by a slave with an oar; her 
 floating, swimming, and struggling, to the shore 
 at Baia}, and being taken to her own Lucrine villa 
 only to be afterwards assassinated in her bed 
 there, — had a fascination not unmixed with a 
 sensation of terror, for Lady Charlotte, — moving
 
 94 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 her to observe that it was impossible for her to 
 hear such a story, in the very place where it had 
 happened, without being thankful no one could 
 put her ' on board a boat that was all to crack and 
 come to pieces/ or come and kill her at the Villa 
 Mandorlo 'only because somebody else had or- 
 dered it.' 
 
 And in and out of the bays and creeks she 
 sailed with Old Sir Douglas, feeling more at 
 her ease, and more entertained, than she had 
 ever done with any stranger before.
 
 Fast To v. ng Me a . 95 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 Fast Young Men. 
 
 WIFTLY such clays passed on ; and it be- 
 came almost a usual ceremony in the 
 little circle to end each day with 'What shall 
 we do to-morrow ? ' AVhen Sir Douglas first 
 arrived, indeed, there had been grave talk of 
 instant departure ; of breaking up bad habits by 
 removing Kenneth from scenes of idle temptation ; 
 and of all sorts of reforming and repressive mea- 
 sures. But it is not so easy to move a full-fledged 
 young gentleman of Kenneth's disposition, from a 
 place that happens to hit his fancy. His uncle's 
 arrival, if not followed by any very real reform of 
 conduct, had certainly secured greater decency ; 
 and he bore with patience (or comparative patience) 
 the brief anxious lectures which followed the 
 examination of very complicated and uncertain
 
 .96 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 calculations, as to general debts ; and debts of 
 
 * honour ; ' loans made (half from careless gene- 
 rosity, half from vanity) to idle young foreigners, 
 who had no earthly claim upon his assistance ; 
 jewellery squandered on their female associates ; 
 and all the embarrassments from which, — had he 
 probed his own heart for the truth, — he expected 
 to be relieved by the very simple expedient of 
 getting his uncle to ' pay them off.' 
 
 Nothing is more curious, in these cases of 
 extravagance, than the puppy-blindness which 
 does not see, — in that first stage of manhood, — 
 that if such debts are ' paid off' by some relative 
 or friend, — the items of which they were composed 
 were acts of meanness, and not acts of generosity. 
 If the phrases usual on such occasions were put 
 into the language of the pleasant old story of the 
 
 * Palais de la Yerite,' — where people said, not 
 what they intended to say, but spoke the ' naked 
 truth,' — how very extraordinary those sentences 
 would sound ! 
 
 Conceive a man addressing his friend thus : 
 'My dear fellow, certainly, I will lend you 
 a couple of hundreds. I'll give you all my 
 three sisters' music-lessons, new dresses, and
 
 Fast Young Men, 
 
 jaunts to the sea-side for this year. And there's 
 pale little Fanny, who costs my mother a good 
 deal in physicians' advice. I'll give you all her 
 doctors' fees for six months or so, and she shall 
 go without. I would not be so stingy as to refuse 
 a friend such a paltry sum as you have asked of 
 me, — no, not for the world.' 
 
 Such language may sound startling and ab- 
 surd ; but it is a true paraphrase and reduction 
 of the flourish of words in which similar boastful 
 offers are made by young men to the greedy 
 companions of their follies. Neither borrower 
 nor lender appear the least conscious that the 
 fund they draw upon consists of what they can 
 crib from others. 
 
 So much for a specimen of lending to a friend. 
 Here is the liberal gift to a lady : — 
 
 'I made little Justerini the dancer such a 
 splendid present last Christmas ! I gave her three 
 years of my fat old father's plodding work as 
 head-clerk with Tightenall and Co. ! He's getting 
 old, you know : drowsy of an evening : tired out, 
 in fact : had rather a hard life of it ; a good many 
 of us to provide for. But I was determined I'd 
 give her the earrings. I'd have given double, — 
 
 VOL. I. h
 
 98 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 ay, six years of his hard-earned salary, sooner 
 than not have behaved handsomely to her about 
 them ! Such a darling, that girl is ! ' 
 
 Are there not many old gentlemen who still 
 plod on for their families, when they would fain 
 rest — and ought to rest — who can endorse the 
 truth of this translation ? 
 
 Then there is the ' free and open-handed ' 
 young man, who will go ' share and share alike ' 
 in anything, from a Greenwich dinner to a New- 
 market cottage. He speaks : — 
 
 ' I can't stand a fellow refusing his chum such 
 a paltry favour as belonging to a club, or sharing a 
 yacht, or taking half an opera-box with him. I 
 know i" didn't hesitate a minute when Tom Osprey 
 asked me. I gave him my mother's carriage- 
 horses, and little Sam's favourite pony, and my 
 father's hunters, and that box at Twickenham 
 where they used to go for change of air in 
 summer, — before Tom had half done explaining 
 about it. I'm not one of your backward fellows. 
 I always come forward like a man ; when a 
 friend wants anything.' 
 
 Or thus ; liberal only to Self, instead of Self 
 and Co.
 
 Fast Young Men. 99 
 
 1 1 always say there are certain things a fellow 
 can't do without. Jluat make a certain figure, and 
 have certain comforts, /like to enjoy life ; and see 
 other fellows enjoy it. Life is not worth having 
 if you don't put some pleasure into it ! I was 
 obliged to have all my old grandmother's sables 
 and shawls last winter, — (you know she brought 
 me up ; my mother was too poor to do it) ; — besides 
 the marriage-portion she had put by for my Cousin 
 Bessie. Couldn't do without, I assure you ; not, at 
 least, so as to live like a gentleman. Can't see why 
 Cousin Bessie should be in any hurry about mar- 
 rying ; or why the confounded prig she's engaged 
 to, makes such a point of what he calls " mutual 
 means of support." All I know is, I couldn't do 
 without her portion and grandmother's Indian 
 shawls and Eussian sables ; that's fact.' 
 
 Or even thus. Among a set where shawls, 
 and sables, and marriage-portions, are alike un- 
 known. 
 
 1 You say you wonder, because I'm a poor 
 curate's son, how I can get on at college ? That's 
 all you know about it ! Of course it is difficult ; 
 and I'm put to it to give wine-parties and so 
 forth, like other fellows — but it's to be done with
 
 100 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 proper management. If I take six days in the 
 week butcher's meat that my brothers and sisters 
 would eat ; and all the coals and blankets the 
 old women in the village used to get, — and my 
 father's two glasses of port-wine which my 
 mother fancied kept his throat from relaxing 
 for Sunday duty, — and a year or two of Dick's 
 schooling, (who scarcely needs it, for my father 
 gives him all his spare time, and he's a sharp 
 fellow by nature,) it comes to a good lump of 
 money in the end; and, if there's still some 
 debt left, I've no doubt I can grind it out of 
 them, sooner than seem shabby to these fellows 
 at Oxford.' 
 
 Ah ! how many a true tragedy lies under 
 this apparent farce of words ! How many a 
 ' fine-spirited young gentleman, very free with 
 his money/ steps out of his hotel in the sight 
 of admiring waiters, drawing on a pair of straw- 
 coloured gloves in preparation for a day's plea- 
 sure — tossing double his real fare to the cabman 
 to be driven rapidly to the place of rendezvous : 
 and then talks to the boon- companions he joins, 
 it may be, of poachers on his father's estate; 
 of some servant of his own, turned away as an
 
 Fast Young Men. 101 
 
 idle vagabond and a thief for taking his master's 
 cigars and silk-handkerchiefs ; of l being regu- 
 larly swindled out of his money ' by some Bond 
 Street jeweller, who according to custom has sold 
 him a set of studs and a gold ring for treble 
 their real value ; but to whom it never once occurs 
 that the tu quoque of these various accusations 
 would be his own just due ! 
 
 That he, also, is an idle vagabond, living on 
 what he never earned ; a ' poacher ' on the better 
 means of better men ; — a ' swindler ' in the ac- 
 quirement of things unpaid for, or the profitable 
 interest on which is lost, in the uncertainty and 
 delay of payment ; — yea, it may be, a most 
 daring ' robber/ whose ' stand and deliver ' 
 threatens even more than the lives of those 
 whose substance has to be surrendered to him ; 
 since it threatens disgrace and ruin to himself 
 (and through him to all connected with him) 
 if they do not suflPer themselves to be stripped 
 of their goods, and consent to the extremity of 
 sacrifice ! 
 
 And fathers may toil, and mothers may darn, 
 and many a Bessie pine, and many a Fanny 
 sicken for sea-air, and many a little Dick lose
 
 102 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 his schooling : and so long as the cause of all 
 these troubles does not actually pick pockets 
 in the streets ; or garotte unwary passengers on 
 the highways and byeways where business or 
 pleasure calls him ; he contentedly believes him- 
 self to be living the life of ' a gentleman and an 
 honest man/ and would knock the offender down 
 who dared to dispute that position. 
 
 Kenneth Boss doubted as little of his title 
 to be thought ' a thorough gentleman/ as others 
 of his creed. And yet it is certain that he 
 expected his friends, his tradesmen, his gam- 
 bling debts, and his follies, to be paid for out 
 of his uncle's money ; was perfectly content 
 that all his vicarious acts of generosity should 
 (like his debts) be set down to his own credit, 
 but in truth be provided for by this other man ; 
 and had never given a single thought as to what 
 his situation, or the situation of his motley crowd 
 of creditors would be, should his own means 
 fall short, and his uncle, wearied out at last, refuse 
 to supply the deficit. 
 
 But why should he give it a thought ? Was 
 he not his uncle's heir? He knew he was to 
 be his heir. At least he had always expected
 
 Fast Young Men. 103 
 
 it, ever since he was a child ; and he believed 
 Sir Douglas had always intended it. 
 
 Yes, Sir Douglas certainly had intended it. 
 Up to a certain evening — the evening of a day 
 of glory and beauty and sunshine spent in an 
 expedition to Sorrento — he had intended it ; 
 though he did not know that Kenneth built 
 upon it. And the first night which saw him 
 waver in such intentions, saw him also wakeful, 
 weary, and tender ; full of yearnings to his 
 nephew ; and occupied even until early dawn 
 with anxious repetitions in his own mind of 
 wise counsel and explanation ; though both 
 counsel and explanation were to make it clear 
 to Ross of Torrieburn, that Ross of Glenrossie 
 was assisting him for the last time ! 
 
 The worst of it was, that Torrieburn's past 
 experience was very much against any settled 
 belief in such a declaration as to Glenrossie' s 
 future proceedings.
 
 104 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A Day at Sorrento. 
 
 S the lovely Italian spring advanced, 
 the question, ' What shall we do to- 
 morrow V was answered more and more boldly ; 
 and the little intimate circle that had mingled 
 with royal balls, and musical routs, during more 
 wintry weather (for even Naples has its winter) ; 
 and whose members had availed themselves of 
 Italian hospitalities ; began to draw more and 
 more together ; seeking, as strangers naturally 
 would, their chief pleasure in excursions among 
 scenes the beauty of which will for ever be 
 described in vain in guide-books, itineraries, 
 and travels, — since not all the glowing words 
 that ever were strung together can convey a 
 hundredth part of the impression made on the 
 senses by actual experience. It is a favourite
 
 A Day at Sorrento, 105 
 
 phrase with poets, that we should ' conjure up 
 a vision ' of such and such objects ; but no 
 magic can conjure up, to one who has never yet 
 beheld Southern Italy, the sudden irradiation 
 of our common world that takes place. It is 
 the nature we always knew — but it is nature 
 illuminated ! Colour is deeper and brighter, 
 seas are more dazzling, sunrise and sunset* are 
 inconceivably richer, mountains have gradations 
 of purple which no pencil can translate. The 
 wasteful wealth of fruit and flowers sets us 
 dreaming of Eden, instead of our digging and 
 delving climes ; and the very people who dwell 
 in these favoured regions seem endowed with 
 a quicker life. Eyes have a depth of shining, 
 and teeth a glitter in smiling, and cheeks a 
 warmth of glowing, that the north can never 
 show. Like ^Vilson's cloud, in the Isle of Palms, 
 of which he says, — 
 
 ' E'en in its very motion there was rest,' 
 
 even in their very indolence there is passion ! 
 And that dolce far niente, of which we hear so 
 much and understand so little, is more like the 
 tranquillity of their own slumbering volcanoes,
 
 106 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 than the settled calm which alone among us 
 would produce it. Or — to take the less grandiose 
 simile of Lorimer Boyd in discussing the subject 
 with Sir Douglas — it is the difference between 
 the contented grazing of the bovine race, and 
 the sleek and sleepy yawning of the hunting 
 leopard. There is real quiet in the one; there 
 is only temporary inaction in the other. 
 
 And though the simile might not be over- 
 complimentary, Lorimer Boyd loved the Ital- 
 ians. He praised their simplicity; the absence 
 of affectation, the loving nature of their women. 
 He denied the inferiority of their men. He 
 held that all of best and brightest in Europe 
 came originally from Italy. He counted over 
 the roll of the old heroic names, and came down, 
 with an excuse for every blotted entry in history, 
 to those later times when even her artists had 
 fought as soldiers, and her priests governed as 
 statesmen. He would not admit, without op- 
 position, even Sir Douglas's censure of the 
 Neapolitan nobility. "What could be expected 
 of men who were only too well aware that 
 Government had no feeling towards such as 
 might be marked for distinction, but that of
 
 A Day at Sorrento. 107 
 
 jealousy ? Take away the occupation of liter- 
 ature and politics, freedom of action, and great 
 landed interests, from the youthful nobility of 
 Great Britain ; take away their natural stake in 
 the prosperity of their country ; and what would 
 remain, even for them, but the pursuit of plea- 
 sure, and the driving on of aimless days ? 
 
 Besides, Naples was not Italy. In that often 
 taken and retaken town, there was scarcely a na- 
 tion whose blood did not mingle with the original 
 race. French and Spanish, German and Eng- 
 lish, Greek, and even Turkish currents are in 
 those idle veins. And because Kenneth had 
 found a set of profligates and gamblers there — 
 as he could have found a set of idlers and 
 gamblers in Paris or in London — was Sir Doug- 
 las to pass a sweeping judgment over the land, 
 or attribute to the aristocracy of Naples any 
 increase in his anxieties respecting his wayward 
 nephew ? As well might he consider it the fault of 
 the fishermen in the islands of Ischia or Procida. 
 
 Those anxieties, however, were perpetually 
 haunting Sir Douglas ; so much so that once or 
 twice he let fall a word respecting his hope that 
 Kenneth ' would make creditable friendships '
 
 108 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 even to Gertrude, — recurring eagerly to his own 
 love, in youth and boyhood, for Lorimer Boyd. 
 
 And Gertrude looked grave, and said, ' I know 
 what you feel. I had once a brother/ 
 
 Sir Douglas asked Lorimer about this brother. 
 He had known them all. Did he resemble Ger- 
 trude ? 
 
 ' "No. He was exactly like his most ridiculous 
 mother, clothed in a tail-coat instead of female 
 habiliments — if possible even more silly, more 
 vain, and certainly less well- tempered ; and it 
 was anything but a subject of regret that he had 
 pre-deceased his father, for he would have been 
 a plague instead of a protection to his mother and 
 sister.' 
 
 * How old do you suppose Miss Skifton may 
 be? She is very grave and staid for a girl/ 
 
 1 She is two- and- twenty. I know her age. 
 And she has seen much of life and its cares even 
 for those years.' And Lorimer Boyd sighed. 
 
 Sir Douglas mused on her tone and look when 
 she said, ' I had once a brother ;' and on a hundred 
 other instances which impressed his memory, 
 though they seemed mere nothings. There are 
 persons who talk much and readily of their feel-
 
 A Day at Sorrento. 109 
 
 ings, and who yet leave you in uncertainty both as 
 to the sincerity and the motive of their confession ; 
 and there are others whose rare allusions to them- 
 selves and their private joys or sorrows seem to 
 come like gleams of light, showing their whole 
 inner nature. 
 
 Sir Douglas would have been at a loss to ex- 
 plain why the little he had ever gleaned from Ger- 
 trude Skifton respecting herself, had filled him 
 with such intense sympathy and approval ; such a 
 conviction that her character was one of mingled 
 gentleness and strength ; fondness and girlish 
 dignity ; reserve and a subdued eagerness which 
 pleased him better than all the open enthusiasm 
 in the world ! 
 
 He loved in her the cherishing of her foolish 
 mother ; the adoration for her dead father's me- 
 mory ; her easy courtesy to strangers ; her sweet 
 frank friendliness with those whom she acknow- 
 ledged as intimates ; with Kenneth, and Larimer 
 
 Boyd, and himself. This last admission Sir 
 
 Douglas made with a little hesitation. Her wel- 
 come to him was shyer than her welcome to them. 
 "Well, he would not have had it otherwise — she 
 had not known him so long ; and he remembered
 
 110 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 with pleasure the beautiful blush which over- 
 spread her face once when she said, ' I do not 
 feel that you are so much of a stranger as I 
 should ; because Mr. Lorimer Boyd used to read 
 your letters aloud sometimes, when you were in 
 India, to my poor father ; indeed, very often he 
 used to read us one ; my father enjoyed them so.' 
 
 The expression of her countenance was always 
 lovely ; lovely when her eyes were downcast 
 (as indeed was habitual with her), and lovely 
 when she slowly raised them, as she did on this 
 occasion, with a sort of innocent appeal in them, 
 as though they said, ' 1 know I am blushing, but it 
 is not for anything of which I need feel ashamed.' 
 
 He thought of her perpetually ; and settled in 
 his own mind that there was not in her one iota 
 that he could wish to see altered, or that could be 
 changed for the better. 
 
 And Lady Charlotte was quite pleased with 
 his evident approval, for she felt ' if ever it came 
 to anything between Kenneth Ross and Gertie/ 
 here would be one great step gained for all sub- 
 sequent arrangements. 
 
 And now they were to have one of their cus- 
 tomary holidays, and spend the whole bright day
 
 A Day at Sorrento. Ill 
 
 at Sorrento : the little smiling Contessa Rufo, and 
 a German couple, to whom she was ' doing the 
 honours ' of the sights of Naples, being the only 
 strangers of the party. 
 
 Lady Charlotte got but one scanty story from 
 Sir Douglas (the death of Pliny, which she de- 
 clared she had never heard before) ; and then she 
 chatted with the Contessa, her companions being 
 absorbed in the beauty of the moving panorama 
 before them. They had left Naples at an hour 
 unknown to indolent Londoners, and the early 
 glory of morning yet fell on the tideless sea as 
 they wound through the narrow roads surmount- 
 ing the Bay of Castellamare ; dotted with pointed 
 white sails like wings, and showing on its rippled 
 surface those strange dappled patches of green 
 and purple which vary the blue of the ocean 
 whenever it nears the shore. 
 
 Lovelier and lovelier grew the scene as they 
 proceeded onwards. In odd nooks of the lofty 
 cliffs, nestled houses as white as those distant 
 sails ; fruit-trees and vines surrounded them ; gay 
 foliage mantled the rockv ledges ; and here and 
 there the eye could rest on the glistening tops of 
 thickly-planted orchards of orange and lemon-
 
 1 ] 2 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 trees, looking like rounded domes of emerald, 
 clustering far down in the hollows. 
 
 Fig-trees, with their broad black leaves, and 
 vines in tender transparent green, mocked the 
 grey volcanic ruggedness of the lofty rocks, as 
 they came in sight of Sorrento. Little rude stair- 
 case-like paths straggled downwards to the caverns 
 and coves of the beach, inviting the feet to explore 
 them. Groups of fishermen, with women and 
 children, loitered and basked here and there, 
 clothed in those bright vestments in which all 
 southern people delight. Now and then echoes 
 of laughter, or the fragment of a simple song, 
 came floating up on the air with that wonderful 
 distinctness with which sounds are heard along a 
 rocky shore, — airs which Gordigiani's exquisite 
 setting have since made famous ; and which, per- 
 haps, it required that composer's fine and sensitive 
 taste to strip from their ruggedness as we strip 
 off the shell of the almond, denuding the veiled 
 melodies from nasal and husky tones, and sending 
 them forth to the world full only of such gentle 
 passion as breathes in the ' Bianco visin/ and the 
 ' Tempo Passato ;' familiar to us now from many 
 a sweet and tutored voice even in our own land.
 
 A Day at Sorrento. 113 
 
 Lorimer Boyd had known Gordigiani's daugh- 
 ter. He described that sweet, ethereal creature 
 to Gertrude : her large spiritual eyes, like the eyes 
 we imagine those of a guardian angel ; her smile, 
 faint and tender as the serenest twilight ; her 
 pretty bashful pride in being able to compose 
 words to her father's music. But she was gone — 
 passed away like the echo of her own songs — 
 taken in the early prime of her sweetness, scarcely 
 living even to the time indicated by the poetic 
 French epitaph written on one almost as lovely : — 
 
 ' Eose, elle a vecu ce que vivent les Roses, 
 L'espace d'un jour !' 
 
 They were still talking of this young Italian 
 and her genius ; and Sir Douglas was munnuring 
 to himself the Scriptural words, — ' 'When the ear 
 heard her, it blessed her,' — less with any thought 
 of Gordigiani's angel-daughter, or a yet fitter 
 reference to ' works of necessity, piety, and 
 charity,' than in remembrance of the tremulous 
 contralto of the English girl at his side, — when a 
 wild shriek, followed by that wonderful amount 
 of exclamatory appeals to Madonnas and Saints 
 of different altars, common among the Italians, 
 startled them into attention. 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 The carriages were to meet them at a given 
 point, and they had been traversing part of their 
 road upon mules ; Gertrude riding by her mother, 
 till they had paused to gaze at the town and 
 beach ; falling then a little into the rear with 
 Lorimer and Sir Douglas while speaking of Gor- 
 digiani's music. The Rufos with their friends 
 came next ; and Kenneth and Lady Charlotte 
 were a little in advance. 
 
 Lady Charlotte was in high spirits, replying 
 to Kenneth's constant persiflage with more a plomb 
 than usual ; pricking her mule from time to 
 time with the coral points of her white silk 
 parasol, and laughing foolishly like a school-girl 
 at any little difficulties in the route. Presently 
 the mule suddenly stopped. ' Oh, you obstinacy, 
 won't you take me on 'cause I 'm such a giddy 
 thing?' giggled the rider, giving a final prod at 
 the mule's ear with the ornamented parasol. 
 
 The steel of the light parasol snapped ; the 
 sharp end entered the ear of the animal, which 
 swerved, put its head down, and set off at a pace 
 anything but safe or pleasant in poor Lady Char- 
 lotte's opinion. All the other mules, accustomed 
 to act in concert with parties of sight-seers, set
 
 A Day at Sorrento. 115 
 
 off at a like pace. Lady Charlotte screamed, the 
 guides shouted, and a perfect Babel of voices sent 
 up prayers to heaven for protection, mingled 
 with curses of the poor beast on earth. Kenneth 
 at first leaned back in his saddle in a fit of in- 
 extinguishable laughter at the ridicule of the 
 whole scene. Fat Count Rufo, pulling in vain at 
 the hard mouth of his monture, and bounding in 
 his saddle like an india-rubber ball ; his pretty 
 countess laughing also, as she careered along, 
 flying past Kenneth with her ankles much more 
 exposed than at the decent commencement of her 
 ride ; the German couple, also at full speed, 
 looking helplessly at each other as they fled to- 
 gether like the hapless pair in Burger's Leonora ; 
 and Lady Charlotte, the primary cause of all this 
 erratic disturbance, making involuntary soubre- 
 sauts on and off her frightened mule, such as are 
 performed by light and nimble professionals for 
 the entertainment of the audience at Astley's. 
 
 But all laughter was merged in fear, when 
 the mule made a false step on a path close to the 
 precipice, that crumbled beneath its tread ; then 
 scrambled to recover its footing, unseating Lady 
 Charlotte in the operation, and dragging her a few
 
 116 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 yards, pinned by many folds of careful shawling, 
 and therefore utterly unable to extricate herself. 
 
 Before the sharp, bitter shriek from Gertrude 
 had died thrillingly on the air, the gentlemen 
 of the party had reached the poor frightened 
 woman, and rescued her from further danger. 
 Sir Douglas had been first ; leaping from his mule 
 which he suffered to roam at large, and not at- 
 tempting the dangerous experiment of riding after 
 her. They were close to Sorrento ; close to the 
 Hotel di Tasso, where already rooms and refresh- 
 ments had been ordered, in anticipation of their 
 arrival. Lady Charlotte was easily carried there, 
 and laid, half- fainting from fright and shock — 
 but not otherwise the worse of her Mazeppa-like 
 career — on a chaise longne in one of the bedrooms. 
 
 Kenneth helped to carry her in, and with a 
 returning smile congratulated Gertrude on her 
 mother's safety. Gertrude smiled too, vaguely, 
 with a confused tearful look at Kenneth, in ac- 
 knowledgment of being spoken to, rather than as 
 hearing the exact words ; and then Kenneth Ross 
 retreated, to compliment and re-assure pretty 
 Countess Rufo, and Gertrude knelt down by her 
 mother. Sir Douglas was still arranging pillows
 
 A Day at Sorrento. 117 
 
 and shawls. If lie had been waiting upon the 
 venerable and unfortunate Queen Amelie of 
 France, he could not have attended to her with 
 more tender respect. He paused, and looked down 
 on her as she lay. Gertrude's mother ! That 
 useless — inestimable life ! As he paused, the 
 kneeling girl looked up at him ; she voluntarily 
 extended her hand to clasp his. * Oh ! I thank 
 you so ! ' was all she said. 
 
 The warmth of the sun, when it glitters 
 through rain in those warm southern climes when 
 the rapid storms are over, and the red geranium 
 and pale violet take glory from its rays — what 
 was it to the warmth of Gertrude's eves, shining 
 through their haze of agitated tears ! Her gaze 
 thrilled the heart of him she addressed ; his hand 
 trembled as it pressed hers ; that white hand 
 with its modelled fingers — 
 
 ' Lovelily tapering less and less,' 
 
 whose graceful and nimble passage over the notes 
 of the piano he had so often watched in the ac- 
 companiments to her welcome songs. He blessed 
 her mentally for the eager movement which had 
 so given it, warm and gloveless, into his cordial
 
 118 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 grasp ; and whether after that sudden clasping it 
 was dropped by him, or withdrawn by her, he was 
 made too giddy by such contact to remember. 
 
 It must have been withdrawn ; for one spec- 
 tator, whom both had forgotten — Lorimer Boyd — 
 passed his hand over his brow with a sense of pain, 
 and muttered — ' She is in love with Douglas ! ' 
 
 In love. For no girl ' in love ' would leave her 
 hand to be clasped, as friendship only, with its 
 firm light satisfied hold, should clasp it, — if that 
 electric thrill which flashes love's messages from 
 heart to heart told her she either loved or was 
 beloved. Let us then believe, for Sir Douglas's 
 sake, that the white hand was withdrawn, and 
 that the trembling downcast look with which 
 Gertrude listened to his further reassurances (made 
 in rather a different voice from usual), as to Lady 
 Charlotte's condition, resulted rather from tender 
 embarrassment than from any lingering misgiv- 
 ing as to her mother's danger. 
 
 Lady Charlotte had indeed sustained no hurt. 
 Her extreme fragility and slenderness had caused 
 her to fall so lightly, that not a bruise was dis- 
 coverable beyond a little abrasion on one of her 
 wrists ; and the quantity of soft shawls of very
 
 A Day at Sorrento. 119 
 
 rich, texture, slipping with her as she fell, made a 
 sort of cradle for her head and shoulders during 
 the brief interval of risk, when she was dragged 
 along the path by the rocks. 
 
 'But it might have been very serious ; I might 
 even have been killed, mightn't I ? ' she repeated 
 over and over again, not without a little feeling 
 of pleasure at having been the heroine of so 
 dangerous an adventure. And as often as Ger- 
 trude assented, and pressed her lips on the faded 
 face, with — ' It might, indeed, my poor little 
 mother ! ' so often did Lady Charlotte, with a sort 
 of cooing murmur of pity for herself, assiduously 
 smooth and twine round her finger the ringlet, 
 which had been made terribly dusty and unsightly 
 during the culbute of its possessor, and had re- 
 quired more than ordinary care to restore it to 
 form and brightness. 
 
 The Hotel di Tasso overhangs the sea, and on 
 that side at least there is comparative silence. Lady 
 Charlotte, therefore, wearied by her inauspicious 
 ride, and lulled by the sound of gently-lapping 
 waves far beneath the windows, and by the heat of 
 the afternoon sun, carefully as it was shut and shaded 
 from her, soon fell fast asleen. For a short interval
 
 120 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 Sir Douglas and Gertrude remained motionless, 
 listening to her measured slumberous breathings. 
 Then he proposed to her daughter to come out, to 
 join the rest of the party, who had already braved 
 both heat and fatigue, and clambered to the Capo di 
 Sorrento : and they sallied forth, not unwilling to 
 enjoy their walk according to the implication con- 
 veyed in that sweet Irishism, ' alone together/ the 
 'presque seule' of the pretty French widow, who 
 was asked if she was going ' alone' into the country. 
 And now all again was gladness, and all again 
 was bloom and beauty ; wild flowers sparkled 
 along the shore, even to the very verge of Nep- 
 tune's domain. On the lovely headland grew 
 tufted patches of myrtle, and the tall pointed 
 white heather which gleams like the ghost of some 
 unknown harvest of another world. Down in the 
 dreamland, under the far-away sea, lay shifting 
 shadows of broken white fragments, which are 
 held to be (and why should we churlishly doubt 
 it ? ) remnants of palaces and temples over which 
 the waters have closed, as over O'Donoghue and 
 his white horse and valiant retainers in our own 
 island of fairy traditions. Fatigue was unfelt ; 
 that air of which the elder Tasso spoke —
 
 A Bay at Sorrento. 121 
 
 1 Si vitale, che gl' uoniini che senza provar, 
 Altro cielo ci vivono, sono quasi imniortali,' * 
 
 fanned their faces, and made the very act of 
 breathing a pleasure ! 
 
 ' Up the heather mountain and down the craggy brae,' 
 
 undesiring of further rest than frequent pauses to 
 take their fill of gazing, — or to listen laughingly 
 to some pretty peasant, some distaff- spinning 
 matron, some bouquet-giving child, all vainly en- 
 deavouring to explain in their curious patois, 
 requests to the sight-seers which resolved them- 
 selves most distinctly into an unromantic act of 
 mendicancy, — the gay party reunited on their 
 homeward course ; and arrived at the hotel to find 
 Lady Charlotte alert and recovered ; only too 
 willing to hear from Sir Douglas the mournful 
 romance of the poet Tasso's mad love for the high- 
 born princess whose ducal brother had him im- 
 prisoned in darkness and solitude, to expiate 
 his presumption ; and his miserable return, after 
 insane and wretched years, to his sister and the 
 old half- forgotten home, — now only an hotel. 
 
 * So pure, that whoso there hath had his birth, 
 Lives half immortal, even upon earth.
 
 122 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 And when that romance in prose was ended, 
 Countess Rufo's German friend repeated Schiller's 
 wonderful ballad of ' The Diver ; ' and his wife 
 sang one of the sweet wild songs, whose har- 
 monies are indeed * songs without words,' And 
 after that, on low pleading from Sir Douglas, 
 and urging from all the rest, Gertrude sang. 
 
 Some irresistible fancy of the moment urged 
 Sir Douglas to inquire if she had ever heard the 
 ballad of which he recollected the one verse of 
 farewell, as sung by his mother. Yes, she knew 
 it ; but even she could not recollect all the words. 
 She did not think it was a complete ballad, but 
 an old fragment of a song of exile ; not, she said, 
 from a ' foreign ' shore, as Sir Douglas had it, but 
 the ' Irish shore ; ' and without further preface she 
 began it, in the clear rich voice he loved so to 
 hear. 
 
 And while they listened, the day departed, 
 and the moon fell on the unruffled sea where 
 the fisherman's tiny barks flashed gleaming for 
 a moment, and turned their sails again to shadow. 
 The mountains rose beyond, dark and majestic ; 
 and the huge form of Vesuvius slept, unlit by 
 its fiery torch, in the white light of the moon.
 
 A Lay at Sorrento. 123 
 
 The oars ceased to sound ; the voices from the 
 shore became less frequent ; the very waves seemed 
 to come more and more softly to the sands, till at 
 length there seemed but one sound left on earth 
 — Gertrude's voice ! 
 
 That broken fragment of a song is in many an 
 old collection : — 
 
 1 A lightsome heart, a soldier's mien, 
 
 And a feather of the blue, 
 "Were all of me you knew, dear love ; 
 "Were all of me you knew ! 
 
 And all is done in vain ; 
 My love, my native land, adieu, 
 For we ne'er can meet again.' 
 
 He turned him round, and right about, 
 
 All on the Irish shore ; 
 He gave his bridle reins a shake, 
 With ' Adieu for evermore, my love, 
 
 Adieu for evermore ! ' * 
 
 The tender tremulousness of the last line, and 
 the beauty of her face looking dreamily out over 
 
 * Since this chapter was published, an imitation of this 
 ballad, (by Sir "Walter Scott, with music by A. Sullivan,) 
 has been given to the world. But it can also be had with 
 the original words and music ; as quoted here.
 
 124 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 the sea as she sang, melted the heart of more 
 than one of her listeners. But no one spoke 
 to her of her song except Sir Douglas, and he 
 said to her in a choked passionate voice, — 
 
 1 If I thought it were " adieu for evermore " 
 between us, in lieu of a sweet sorrowful dream 
 — I should go mad ! ' 
 
 It was a declaration of love, like any other ; 
 or unlike any other, for no two declarations of 
 love are alike ; any more than any two leaves on 
 a tree, or human faces, or voices, or even the 
 handwriting of two different persons, can be alike. 
 
 And though Kenneth, and Lorimer Boyd, 
 and Count Hufo, and the ladies of that happy 
 party, all spoke to Gertrude afterwards, she could 
 not have told what had fallen from any of them, 
 except that at last she heard her mother say, 
 in her softest canary-bird voice, — 
 
 ' Well, and what shall we do to-morrow ? ' 
 
 And Sir Douglas answered, — 
 
 * I have business in the morning ; but late in 
 the day we might go to Amalfi, and stay a day 
 or two there. '
 
 A Life of Pleasure. 125 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A Life of Pleasure. 
 
 TJSIXESS in the morning. That special 
 morning had long been dedicated to the 
 final examination and arrangement of Kenneth's 
 difficulties, at least so far as his Continental tour 
 was concerned. And now there was yet some- 
 thing else which his uncle desired to talk over 
 with him, beyond and aboye the unpalatable fact 
 that he must confine his expenses to his own 
 means, and expect no more of this system of 
 what he carelessly termed ' clearing ' him, hence- 
 forth and for eyer ! 
 
 Sir Douglas arriyed at Kenneth's apartments 
 on the Chiaja, yery early, yery anxious, rather 
 weary, and thoroughly resolyed. He had begun 
 to think there was some truth in the severe 
 opinion expressed by his friend Lorimer Boyd,
 
 126 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 that the great misfortune of Kenneth's life was 
 his uncle's indulgence. 
 
 ' Of course/ that friend had said, ' so long 
 as you put a feather-bed for him to fall upon, he 
 will pitch head-foremost like a harlequin, into 
 every scrape and trap on the stage of existence. 
 Leave him to suffer consequences. Either he 
 is capable or incapable of self-conduct. In the 
 one case all your love and pains won't save him, 
 and in the other he will at last find his real level. 
 If I had had an idea you were so in your dotage 
 about this lad, Douglas, I declare I never would 
 have written to you. I expected you to come 
 down upon him in a stern, dignified, offended- 
 guardian sort of way, and here you are for all 
 the world like a nursing mother, whose precious 
 babe has had a tumble ! Do, for God's sake, let 
 this be the last time that you actually help him 
 to escape from the only lesson his careless mind 
 can profit by — namely, bitter experience.' 
 
 There was truth in these words ; and they 
 beat hotly in Sir Douglas's ears, as he turned 
 restlessly on his pillow the night they returned 
 from Sorrento. The hours of that night passed 
 on from silvery moonlight to the blue dawn and
 
 A Life of Pleasure. 127 
 
 the crimson glory of sunrise, without bringing 
 him needful rest. There was too much in the 
 day that was coming, and the day that had 
 passed, for night to be anything but a bar or 
 gap, to divide those eventful intervals. 
 
 TThen the morning stir of life began once 
 more — early as such life begins in the streets 
 of Naples — Sir Douglas bathed, dressed, and 
 went out. Even if Kenneth was not yet up, 
 he would wait. His nephew's manner, the pre- 
 vious evening, had rather wounded him. It was 
 saucy, sullen, and dissatisfied. It was easy to 
 see that he thought himself maltreated, and his 
 uncle officious, in the matter of Lady Charlotte. 
 Kenneth knew that Gertrude disliked and re- 
 sented any overt disrespect to her mother, yet 
 he could not for the life of him abstain. He 
 thought Lady Charlotte ridiculous, and he showed 
 that he thought her so. He thought Gertrude 
 neglectful of him, and almost, in her calm way, 
 repellent to him the evening before. He was 
 accustomed to be flattered and caressed. He had 
 bid them all good night very curtly, getting 
 out of the carriage in the Chiaja, instead of 
 seeing them to the Villa Mandorlo, and had
 
 128 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 walked away with a cigar in his mouth, — look- 
 ing so like his handsome, wilful father, that, 
 instead of feeling angry, foolish Sir Douglas 
 looked after him with aching tenderness and 
 intense good-will ! 
 
 On arriving at his lodgings on this particular 
 morning, not only Sir Douglas did not find Ken- 
 neth up (that, perhaps, with his habits was 
 scarcely to be expected), but it was doubtful, 
 from the hesitating manner of the servant, whe- 
 ther he had been in at all, since the previous day. 
 Sir Douglas said little to the man, and passed 
 into the room which had been the scene of his 
 first interview and useless lecture. Breakfast was 
 laid, as then ; but not yet touched. All was 
 in the same sort of order, or disorder. The very 
 sunshine appeared to be lying in stereotyped 
 lines on the parquet floor. Sir Douglas threw 
 himself into a lounge-chair by the window, and 
 once more thought over all he meant to say to 
 his nephew ; putting it into the most patient 
 loving words he could frame. 
 
 Gradually the silence and warmth, after the 
 rapid morning walk and long wakeful night, had 
 their effect in spite of anxiet}^ ; and Kenneth's
 
 A Life of Pleasure. 129 
 
 uncle slept as soundly as Lady Charlotte had 
 done after her adventure with the recalcitrant 
 mule at Sorrento. 
 
 It is Lord Brougham's theory (and it is also 
 the theory of other thinkers on the same subject) 
 that dreams occupy only a few moments before 
 our waking, and that during their brief passage 
 through the brain, they blend and connect them- 
 selves with outward objects of sense and sound. 
 
 In proof of which, he says, you have only to go 
 and run a pin sharply into a slumbering friend ; 
 and he will inform you, as he starts into con- 
 sciousness, that he had dreamed for a consider- 
 able time ; that he has, in fact, had a very long 
 dream, of being attacked by robbers in a wood, 
 or otherwise wounded, — with all graphic and 
 interesting details ; all depending on that cruel 
 little poke with a pin which you privately 
 know you had experimentally inflicted upon 
 him a minute before. 
 
 Sir Douglas dreamed a very pleasant dream ; 
 of wandering in Paradise with Gertrude (and 
 without Lady Charlotte) through interminable 
 groves of orange-trees, white with blossom and 
 golden with fruit ; while beyond a sort of rain- 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 bow caused by the spray of innumerable fount- 
 ains, for ever rising and falling and lapping 
 against basins of wbite marble carved with 
 wreaths of immense lilies, — forms of angelic 
 grace, in shimmering vestments of the faintest 
 and most delicate colours, sang to their golden 
 harps in a most ravishing manner; ending 
 always with the burthen 'Here, there is peace!' 
 
 Just as he was straining his dreaming ear 
 for words he could not catch — owing appa-. 
 rently to the very indistinct pronunciation of 
 these agreeable angels — something struck him, 
 lightly but sharply, on the temple; and again 
 immediately afterwards on the cheek. 
 
 He started and woke; but so strange was 
 the scene acting round him, that for a minute 
 he fancied that also must be a dream. 
 
 A woman shabbily dressed, with resplendent 
 black eyes, and a thin black silk shawl care- 
 lessly adjusted over shoulders very obviously 
 deformed, was picking out from manuscript 
 notation a melody of BlumenthaPs for the guitar. 
 A young girl (scarcely in courtesy to be called 
 a young lady), rather pretty, very pale, and 
 dirty and neglected in her dress, sat at the
 
 A L ife of Pleas u re. 131 
 
 breakfast-table, picking the bones of a chicken ; 
 not ungracefully, though she picked them with 
 her fingers, and seemed exceedingly hungry. 
 Another ' young lady,' still prettier, still paler, 
 and (if possible) in a still more neglected toilette, 
 sat perched on the scrollwork end of the stiff 
 satin sofa opposite Sir Douglas's chair. It is 
 to be presumed she was less hungry than her 
 companion, since her occupation was biting off 
 with her very even white teeth the budding 
 oranges and orange -flowers from a large branch 
 she held in her hand, and aiming at the sleeper 
 with these fragrant pellets. 
 
 ^Vhen this young nymph beheld his amazed 
 eyes open and fix themselves upon her, she 
 leaped from her perch with a lithe activity 
 which even Zizine could not have surpassed, 
 and shrieking out, ' Si sveglia ! si sveglia ! ' — * 
 with a peal of laughter re-echoed by the other 
 occupants of the apartment, she flitted to the 
 furthest end, where a heavy portiere of yellow 
 silk divided the outer from the inner chamber ; 
 and folding the massive brocade round her, so 
 
 * He wakes ! He wakes !
 
 132 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 as only to leave her laughing head visible, 
 seemed to expect that the victim she had so un- 
 ceremoniously attacked, would start from his trance 
 and follow her. Perceiving after a little breath- 
 less pause that this was not to be, she flung the 
 curtains behind her, and returned ; making first 
 a few slow steps on the very tips of her toes, 
 then the light and rapid run performed by ballet- 
 dancers, then three or four pirouettes in succession, 
 and a profound curtsey as a finale. 
 
 During the bewildered moment that fol- 
 lowed, while Sir Douglas, feeling his situation 
 already sufficiently absurd, looked angrily round 
 for his hat, she skipped, cat-like, into one of 
 the great arm-chairs, and stood up in it as in a 
 rostrum, leaning her arms over the cushioned 
 back, with a roll of music which she had snatched 
 up on the way, and with mock gravity of re- 
 citation commenced an oration. 
 
 * Stimatissimo Signore/ said she in a most 
 nasal Neapolitan patois, 'we rejoice and felici- 
 tate you on having slumbered so well, and we 
 hope p 
 
 What further foolery they might have per- 
 formed cannot be known, since just as Sir
 
 A Life of Pleasure. 133 
 
 Douglas attempted to leave the room, — with the 
 courtesy (even to them) of a bow which should 
 include the trio, — and amid renewed peals of 
 mocking laughter, the door opened and Kenneth 
 came in. 
 
 Kenneth ! 
 
 His aspect in that bright Italian morning 
 could scarcely be surpassed in degradation. 
 Staggering drunk ; his eyes bloodshot and stu- 
 pefied ; his hair dishevelled ; his dress neglected 
 and disordered ; his face almost as pale as those 
 of the wild intruders already present, he stood, 
 swaying to and fro, with the handle of the 
 door in his hand, apparently attempting to 
 comprehend what was going on in his rooms. 
 
 The door, like many in the old palaces of 
 Naples, was overlaid with tarnished but richly- 
 patterned gilding ; and beyond it was another of 
 the heavy yellow satin brocade portieres. He stood 
 there like a picture set in a wondrous frame. 
 His youth, his exceeding beauty, the grace and 
 strength of his form, only made his present 
 state of untidy helplessness the more saddening. 
 It was a horrible vision ! 
 
 There was a moment of suspense during which
 
 134 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 all stood still. Then his countenance, which had 
 worn a sort of puzzled, embarrassed, idiotic smile 
 of greeting, suddenly assumed an expression of 
 savage anger as he turned slowly from looking 
 at Sir Douglas, and fixed his dull red eyes on 
 the group of women, now huddled together, the 
 elder adjusting her shawl and rolling up her 
 manuscript music, as if in the act of departure. 
 
 1 How dare you come here ? how many hun- 
 dred times have I forbid your coming here in 
 the morning ? ' muttered the half-conscious 
 drunkard, in broken Italian. 
 
 1 You told me on the contrary last night to 
 come to breakfast, and that you would give me 
 a good breakfast/ — whimpered the girl, who had 
 been seated at the table picking chicken-bones. 
 
 ' You told me you would like to practise that 
 barcarole; and besides, Signore, to-night is my 
 benefit ! ' — rapidly protested the elder of the three ; 
 ' and I wanted, therefore, to see your Excellency.' 
 
 Then they both spoke together ; with loud, 
 shrill, vehement chattering ; till the nimble 
 dancer who had awakened Sir Douglas by flinging 
 orange-blossoms, and who had hitherto sat dan- 
 gling her feet from the arm of the great chair
 
 A Life of Pleasure. 135 
 
 as a mere looker-on, interfered, and struck up 
 the hand Kenneth had extended towards them 
 in angry gesticulation, with the words, ' Va ! 
 tu sei ubriaco come un porco ' — ' You're as 
 drunk as a hog.' Kenneth seized her by the arm. 
 
 ' TTho says I am drunk ? Who dares to say 
 I'm drunk?' shouted he; 'you shall be pun- 
 ished — you shall be imprisoned.' 
 
 ' Lascia ! ' exclaimed the girl, releasing her 
 arm from his grasp, and looking him contempt- 
 uously in the face — 'e dormi!' 
 
 ' Bestia ! ' added she in a tone of disgust, 
 as she shook her arm free, and attempted to 
 pass him. 
 
 There was a moment when Sir Douglas ac- 
 tually expected Kenneth would return her insult 
 with a blow. He made a step forwards, and Ken- 
 neth's arm dropped heavily by his side ; but he 
 continued to look at the girl with a dull glare 
 of anger. 
 
 'Go!' said he. 'Get out, all of you!' 
 
 ' "What a polite Signore ! ' said the dancer, 
 with a forced laugh ; ' ah ! there is no one like 
 an Englishman for fine manners.'
 
 136 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 ' Go ! ' shouted the drunkard, with an in- 
 furiated stamp of his foot; still leaning on the 
 lock of the door with his left hand. 
 
 ' At your pleasure ! ' bowed the girl, mock- 
 ingly ; and she followed her frightened com- 
 panions out on the staircase. As she passed 
 she turned her pale pretty head, as the head of 
 the Cenci is turned in the famous picture, and 
 snapped her fingers at him with a gesture of 
 derision and defiance common among the lower 
 orders of the Neapolitans, and which those who 
 study books of chiromancy can find and practise 
 if they please. 
 
 There are occasions in life in which beauty 
 seems to wear the devil's stamp on it, and 
 becomes repulsive instead of attractive. 
 
 Such an occasion was the present ! 
 
 Impossible to be more regularly and perfectly 
 beautiful than Kenneth Ross : he might have 
 been painted as an ideal Apollo. Impossible to 
 have thrown more intense grace of attitude into 
 any action than was shown in that pallid girl's 
 vulgar and unseemly farewell. But the effect of 
 all this grace and beauty, — under the circum-
 
 A Life of Pleasure. 137 
 
 stances, — on the sole spectator, was as if lie had 
 been struck down by some demoniac spell. 
 
 As the door closed on the departing group 
 Sir Douglas sank back in his chair, and covered 
 his face with his hands. Kenneth also seated 
 himself with a staggering gait, and, leaning both 
 arms across the breakfast-table, addressed Sir 
 Douglas ; clipping his husky words, and alter- 
 nately attempting to stand, and dropping back 
 into his seat. 
 
 ' You think, I suppose, that these people ain't 
 — ain't r'spectable ? They are r'spectable ! Wife 
 of leader of orchestra, — great friend of mine, and 
 leader of orchestra. You couldn't lead orchestra, 
 for all you give yourself such connoisseur airs 
 about music. Quite r'spectable. Could you lead 
 orchestra, now ? Come, I say, could you, uncle ? ' 
 and he laughed an idiotic laugh. 
 
 ' Kenneth, go to bed, and end this scene.' 
 
 '~No, I won't go to bed. You think I'm 
 
 drunk. I'm not drunk. D it, do you think 
 
 you're to come the schoolmaster for ever over 
 me, as if I were ten years old ? I ain't drunk. 
 I know all about it. I know that — that to-day's 
 Tuesday; and we're — we're going to settle
 
 138 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 accounts. There ! is that drunk ? And we're 
 going — going to Amain — going to pick up old 
 ladies who can't — can't ride, eh? Going to — 
 Amalfi. All right; let's go to — to Amalfi ; 
 only don't say I'm drunk ; and don't set old 
 mother Skifton saying I'm drunk; nor Ger — 
 Ger-' 
 
 Sir Douglas sprang to his feet. ' Wretched 
 boy ! ' exclaimed he, ' don't dare to utter her 
 name.' 
 
 Then recovering himself, he repeated sadly, 
 '0 Kenneth, go to your room; go to bed; I'll 
 not irritate you by any observations ; if you 're 
 not drunk, at least you are not well. We can't 
 talk business while you are in this state. We 
 will put off business till to-morrow. I will return 
 for you later. It is very early still; you will 
 get some hours of sleep. Give me your hand. 
 There, go to your room. Good-bye for the pre- 
 sent. Go and rest.' 
 
 The cigar-smoking valet bowed Sir Douglas 
 out, muttering, with obsequious smiles, that he 
 would give ' remedies ; ' that his young Excellency 
 had unfortunately 'met some friends' late last 
 night, and that the 'friends' often persuaded his
 
 A Life of Pleasure. 139 
 
 young Excellency to excesses he would not other- 
 wise think of. "Winding up (in the ineyitable 
 style of Italian flattery) that he was sure the 
 young Excellency, in reality, would have greatly 
 preferred being with his beloved and illustrious 
 uncle to all other society, in Naples, or elsewhere. 
 The story of Kenneth's evening would indeed 
 have amazed that sober uncle ! Going towards 
 his lodgings in a very discontented frame of mind, 
 he had met with and joined a group of those 
 so-called ' friends/ returning from the theatre 
 of San Carlo. The rest of the night was spent 
 by all in gambling, drinking, and dissipation. 
 "VYTien day-dawn was near, he had again lost 
 sums that for him were enormous. The two men 
 who were the largest winners were all for depart- 
 ing with their gains. Kenneth objected : he 
 claimed his revanche and appealed to the others. 
 A hot dispute ensued, some of those present being 
 for dispersing, and some thinking Kenneth's 
 proposal no more than reasonable. A young 
 Portuguese nobleman, whose reputation for riches 
 had made him the centre of a certain circle of 
 wild young men, then took the side of the loser. 
 He insisted on remaining and sharing the fate of
 
 140 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 the revanche with Kenneth. They staked and 
 lost, staked and won, staked and lost again. At 
 length one of their boon companions addressed 
 the Portuguese in a bantering tone, 'Come, 
 Marquis, you are out of luck ; try once more, — 
 any stake you please, — and that shall end it.' 
 The young man looked round, set his teeth with 
 a strange smile, and said, ' Well ! 1 11 win it all 
 back with a yard or two of cambric. Mr. Ross, 
 will you go halves in my luck ? Two throws of 
 the dice ; that won't greatly delay us.' 
 
 Yes ; Kenneth would go halves in any stake. 
 What was it to be ? 
 
 The young Marquis rapidly divested himself 
 of his coat and waistcoat, drew over his head one 
 of those wonderfully embroidered Parisian shirts, 
 which he coolly informed the company had cost 
 him seven hundred francs ; * observed with a 
 scoffing laugh, as he took his stand by the 
 gaming-table, that his present costume closely 
 resembled that of an English gentleman about to 
 engage in a boxing-match (a sport in which 
 foreigners believe we continually indulge), and 
 
 * This anecdote is a fact, though it did not take place 
 in Naples.
 
 A Life of Pleasure. 141 
 
 then threw the dice. In a few minutes his adver- 
 saries, who had thought the scene infinitely 
 diverting, looked rather grave : they had had 
 their throws, and lost. 
 
 He had won back the greater portion of the 
 sums they hoped to divide amongst themselves. 
 
 He lifted the embroidered dandy garment 
 from the table, tossed it over his arm, made a 
 salute full of gay irony to the company, retired 
 to re-invest himself with the usual amount of 
 clothing, and was heard, a few minutes later, 
 humming an air from the opera of the evening, 
 as he passed down the Toledo on his way to the 
 hotel. 
 
 Kenneth had departed with him ; having 
 drunk almost too deeply to stand or walk, and 
 with a dim sense, even then, of shame and annoy- 
 ance, increased, as we have seen, to more intense 
 irritation, by the scene which awaited him in his 
 apartments. 
 
 Shrouded now in luxurious curtains, his head 
 feeling as though blistered with fire, and with 
 just enough sense remaining for sullen conscious- 
 ness of pain, — cursing his folly, his valet, and 
 the remedies by which the latter proposed to put
 
 142 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 him in a condition to re-appear creditably in the 
 course of the afternoon, — Kenneth remained for 
 blank hours ' resting ' in his disordered apart- 
 ment ; while Sir Douglas, once more stepping 
 out into the morning light, directed his steps past 
 the quarter of Sta. Lucia, to the distant verandas 
 of the Villa Mandorlo. 
 
 ( There/ thought he, as he looked at the 
 pleasant sunshine falling on the white walls, 
 ' there at least, dwells such an image of peace 
 purity and quiet affection, as might mend any 
 man's broken trust in the goodness of human 
 nature ! '
 
 Nominal Love. 143 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Nominal Love. 
 
 IpSjlEXNETH ROSS also betook himself to the 
 US Villa Mandorlo. 
 
 Tolerably early in the afternoon (considering 
 all that had occurred), he got languidly into an 
 open carriage, and directed the coachman to 
 drive there ; leaving a message for Sir Douglas 
 that he would join him with the rest of the 
 party instead of waiting his return at the pal- 
 azzo. 
 
 Truth to say, Kenneth had no great wish to 
 meet Sir Douglas again so soon. Perhaps to 
 listen to comments extremely unpalatable on his 
 recent conduct ; certainly to feel embarrassed and 
 annoyed by the recollection of what had passed. 
 He had other reasons for desiring to pay this 
 visit as speedily as possible, and he dressed with
 
 144 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 more haste than was usual with him, or con- 
 sistent with his many little luxurious fancies; 
 making one long pause before a full-length 
 mirror ere he turned to leave the apartment, 
 he and his valet both fixedly contemplating the 
 image reflected there. 
 
 The valet smiled: he thought the young 
 Excellency must be quite satisfied : no one could 
 see more than that his Excellency was l un poco 
 pallido,' which was rather interesting than other- 
 wise. 
 
 But for once Kenneth was too absorbed to 
 care for compliment. For once he was think- 
 ing seriously ; though it must be admitted those 
 profound reflections entirely centred in Self. 
 
 He was thinking — with that irritated dis- 
 content which, in ill-regulated minds, takes the 
 place of penitence — of all the scrapes, follies, and 
 entangled snares of his past life. He was think- 
 ing, not without a certain degree of kindliness, 
 of Sir Douglas. Not with much gratitude : for 
 it is a very curious fact that gratitude seldom 
 follows over-indulgence ; there is no gratitude 
 where there is not respect, and a consciousness 
 that the benefits conferred have not only gone
 
 Nominal Love. 145 
 
 beyond our deserts, but beyond our deserts even 
 in the opinion of those who have conferred them. 
 
 That fond yielding, that love without a con- 
 science, which can ' refuse nothing ' to the ob- 
 ject beloved, — is trespassed upon again and again, 
 without creating any corresponding sense of 
 favour shown or sacrifices made. It grows to 
 be depended on with blind confidence, but it is 
 received with so little thankfulness, that if at any 
 time a limit seems to be reached, and a halt made 
 in the system of benefactions, the recipient forth- 
 with looks upon his position as that of an ill- 
 used martyr. 
 
 'The idea of Old Sir Douglas stickling at 
 helping me now, when he has come forward a 
 dozen times in much worse scrapes without saying 
 a word ! ' was a speech of Kenneth's over which 
 Lorimer Boyd had frequently growled, but the 
 sentiment of which, to the speaker, seemed per- 
 fectly just and natural. 
 
 There is a training which helps a man to see 
 life in its true aspect, and there is a training 
 which leads him to see all things reversed and 
 upside down. There are also, it must be con- 
 fessed, men on whom, as on certain animals, no 
 
 VOL. I. l
 
 146 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 amount of training seems to tell : minds which 
 no warning will impress : souls to which that 
 text has no mystery and no meaning which bids 
 us 'stand in the way and consider which were 
 the old paths, and walk in them : ' hearts which 
 are brayed in the mortar of suffering, and yet re- 
 main hard. 
 
 And this because the inner human nature 
 is subject to as much variety as the outward 
 human form. You may take half-a-dozen child- 
 ren of the same parents, and put them under 
 the same tutor and governess, the same spiritual 
 pastor, the same conditions and opportunities of 
 life ; and out of all that sameness you shall have 
 a diversity of character so startling that the ut- 
 most stretch of our intelligence can scarcely com- 
 prehend it. 
 
 Yet we shut our eyes to the fact. 
 
 Some rosy fearless prattler lifts its brilliant 
 gaze, and tells us, of another little one who stands 
 aside and pouts, that her brother was * always shy 
 from a baby/ Some old nurse echoes the opinion 
 that ' Master Jackey was the troublesome one in 
 our nursery; Master Willie was always easy to 
 manage.' But not the less does ' his honour the
 
 Nominal Love. 14^ 
 
 Magistrate' continue to rate the mechanic for 
 having neglected to 'look better after' the pre- 
 cocious little thief for whom the perplexed father 
 says he ' allays did his best ; ' and not the less do 
 parents of honest well-conducted children, com- 
 placently attribute to their own ' bringing up' 
 this satisfactory state of matters, — never heeding 
 the patent fact that their dissolute neighbour, 
 who has brought up his children on oaths and 
 1 skill}-/ is also the father of pious innocent daugh- 
 ters, and of laborious decent sons. 
 
 Nor can you shut your child in a crystal case, 
 to save him from harm and pollution. You can 
 but set good and evil before him for choice (as 
 much good and as little evil as may be), and the 
 balance of his nature does the rest : just as you 
 can but give him the best mental teaching your 
 means will supply, and the balance of his intelli- 
 gence does the rest. It was Solomon, not Jesus, 
 who pronounced, in the self-confidence of human 
 wisdom, that if you brought up a child in the way 
 he should go, when he was old he would not 
 depart from it. There are those who remain sons 
 of perdition ; those who sell their birthright for a 
 mess of pottage. It may be true that human
 
 148 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 hearts are as a general rule ' deceitful and desper- 
 ately wicked,' but some hearts are more deceitful 
 and more desperately wicked than others. The 
 leaven of sin may exist in all, but most assuredly 
 it never was so perfectly mixed as to secure to 
 each an equal distribution. The ' weak brother,' 
 and the man who ' hath said in his heart, There is 
 no God,' will display their varieties in the thorny 
 open ground which has superseded the Garden of 
 Eden. Even as it came to pass, in the earliest 
 motherhood on earth, that Abel reverently knelt 
 to the All-seeing and All-punishing Creator, — 
 and Eve's other son, Cain, slew him ! 
 
 Kenneth had had his fair average chances. 
 The good and the evil had both been before him. 
 If his untaught and ungovernable mother had 
 made his holidays, both in boyhood and youth, 
 times to try the relative proportions in his nature 
 of better and worse ; in those far longer periods 
 which were not spent with her — the periods of 
 school and college — he had the advantage of wise 
 and excellent masters, and companions not likely 
 to corrupt him. 
 
 And even in his earlier home his tutor step- 
 father had done his duty honestly and carefully
 
 Nominal Love. 149 
 
 by the boy ; both before and since the mis- 
 matched marriage which Maggie's great beauty 
 at that time bewildered him into making, even 
 without reckoning the possession of a settled 
 home, where he expected to be, but never was, 
 master. 
 
 As to over-indulgent Sir Douglas, he had not 
 been there to spoil his little nephew ; and his 
 letters and theories were models of good counsel 
 and grave affection. 
 
 Such as Kenneth was, then, he was of his own 
 created nature ; having resisted (what alone can 
 be bestowed by the fondest guidance, on the best 
 or the worst of us) all attempts made to show him 
 what was amiss in his inherent disposition — all 
 persuasion, however eloquent the persuader, to 
 'stand in the way and consider/ — all efforts to 
 bring him not so much under the government of 
 others, as under se/Agovernment. The only rule 
 which is safe from rebellion ! 
 
 On this especial morning he had, as has been 
 stated, that dim discontented consciousness of the 
 result of his errors which is quite distinct from, 
 and independent of, any feeling of repentance. 
 He felt that, somehow or other, things had gone
 
 150 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 wrong, and that they required setting to rights ; 
 and the mode in which he resolved to set things 
 to rights was by marrying Gertrude Skifton, and 
 giving up, after that, at all events in a great 
 measure, many of the habits which led to so much 
 disaster and inconvenience. 
 
 He had always intended this, ever since he 
 had first made her acquaintance. He was what 
 is called ' smitten ' immediately with her grace 
 of manner, with her singing, and even with her 
 looks, though Gertrude was not a showy beauty. 
 He heard she had money, and altogether he settled 
 in his own mind that she should be his wife. 
 
 He made no more doubt of her acceptance of 
 him, whenever he should ask her, than he did that 
 the sun would rise next day. He had received what 
 he not unfairly considered encouragement from 
 her mother ; he was constantly, incessantly, asked 
 to the house; and though Gertrude herself did 
 not do or say much in the way of encouragement, 
 she was evidently more pleased to see him than 
 other friends, and she was, he considered, ' one of 
 your quiet girls/ who could not under the circum- 
 stances be expected to say more. 
 
 He had intended to wait to make his uncle
 
 Nominal Love. 151 
 
 aware of his choice, until the scrapes and embar- 
 rassments of his position were cleared away. He 
 could hardly go to Lady Charlotte Skifton and 
 propose for Gertrude till his affairs were in a little 
 better order. But this morning he had changed 
 his mind. He was afraid, after the scene he had 
 witnessed, that Sir Douglas might consider some 
 probation or purgation necessary ; which would 
 not at all suit him. He resolved, therefore, to 
 cast the die ; to make the step he contemplated, 
 irrevocable ; and then to go to his uncle and say, 
 'You see I am engaged to marry this girl — a 
 marriage that cannot but please you, who have 
 been preaching something of the sort a long time. 
 Xow settle up the difficulties which press upon 
 me, and let me have a proper start, and I '11 turn 
 over a new leaf : for, in fact, I 'm sick of the life 
 I 'm leading/ 
 
 When he entered the marble-paved sitting- 
 room, with bright carpets scattered over it, which 
 opened into the decorated gardens of the Villa 
 Mandorlo ; he thought, as Gertrude rose to greet 
 him, he had never before seen her look so beau- 
 tiful. Her complexion was ordinarily rather dull 
 and colourless, but to-day a pink flush had settled
 
 152 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 in either cheek, and her manner had something 
 in it tremulous and excited, very different from 
 usual. So different, indeed, that Kenneth began 
 by hoping Lady Charlotte was ( none the worse 
 for yesterday,' conceiving that Gertrude might be 
 nervous on that account. 
 
 ' No ; not at all, thank you. Mamma is quite 
 well ; quite ; and glad to go on our expedition. 
 "We are to sail — Sir Douglas says — to Amalfi. 
 He said he thought it would be less fatiguing, and 
 that you were not very well. Indeed you do not 
 look well/ added she, compassionately. 
 
 Kenneth was not sorry that he looked inter- 
 esting and pale ; and plunged very immediately 
 into the story of his love and his hopes ; having 
 indeed arranged the thread of his discourse as he 
 sat with folded arms in the carriole that had 
 brought him to that familiar portico. A little, 
 very little of the perfect security of acceptance 
 which he felt, pierced through his love declaration. 
 He tried to keep it under, but it was too strong 
 for complete repression. 
 
 As Gertrude listened— instead of becoming 
 more nervous and abashed, she turned extremely 
 pale ; and fixed her eyes at last on Kenneth's
 
 Nominal Love, 153 
 
 face with an expression of amazement not al- 
 together untinged with pain and displeasure. 
 
 There was a moment's pause when he had 
 ended his rapid and declamatory pleading ; then 
 she spoke, in a low, clear voice, — 
 
 1 ILr. Ross, if I had ever given you en- 
 couragement — if I had ever even perceived the 
 attachment you say you feel for me, so as to be 
 able to give ^'.s-couragement to such a suit — I 
 hope you believe that I would not have left you 
 in doubt on the subject. I never expected this ; 
 I never dreamed of it. I will end a position so 
 painful to both of us at once ; and tell you that 
 Sir Douglas ' 
 
 ' If my uncle has had the cruelty to come 
 here this morning to poison your mind against 
 me, only because of an unlucky scene at the Palazzo 
 
 ' burst in Kenneth, with excessive anger, 
 
 without waiting the conclusion of the sentence. 
 
 i You are mistaken, utterly mistaken ; he 
 never mentioned you except to say that you were 
 unwell — that we had better sail instead of drive, 
 for that reason.' 
 
 'TThatthen?' 
 
 ' How shall I tell you ? I had intended you
 
 154 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 should hear it from himself. He is gone to your 
 home. He went half-an-hour ago ; he said he 
 had appointed with you to return ' 
 
 She stopped, apparently in painful embarrass- 
 ment. 
 
 ' What had he to tell me ? ' said Kenneth, 
 fiercely, his mind still full of the idea that his 
 affairs had somehow been the subject of discussion. 
 
 ' "What i" must tell you, — now, — at once — 
 and I hope then we may both forget what has 
 just passed between us. Sir Douglas has asked 
 me to become his wife, and I have accepted him.' 
 
 Kenneth stared at her doubtfully, angrily, 
 incredulously. 
 
 ' You are to be married to Old Sir Douglas ? ' 
 
 ' I am to be married, I hope, to Sir Douglas.' 
 
 "With a loud, hoarse, scornful laugh, Kenneth 
 rose. 
 
 ' Come, you will not cure me by ridicule, of 
 my attachment to you/ he said. ' My uncle is 
 fond of treating me as a child ; and if you and he 
 have agreed on some way of reforming me, it is 
 much better you should both be serious, and let 
 me have the benefit of it.' 
 
 The offended girl rose also, and with a degree
 
 Nominal Love. 155 
 
 of dignity and sternness of manner of which Ken- 
 neth had not thought that soft nature capable, she 
 replied, — 
 
 ' It would, in my opinion, be extremely in- 
 decent to jest on such a matter. Xor is Sir 
 Douglas likely to turn his anxieties for you into 
 an acted comedy. I have engaged myself to be 
 his wife. I loved him, I may say, before I even 
 saw him. All I heard of him, all I read of his 
 writing to Mr. Boyd, gave me the impression of 
 his being one of the most loveable of men. I 
 did not know in those days that this great happi- 
 ness was reserved for me — that he should choose 
 me for his wife ; but what welcome you have had 
 here (a welcome with which you now reproach 
 me) was, I assure you, on account of your relation- 
 ship to him. I saw you with interest — with 
 curiosity — as the nephew of the friend whose 
 letters Lorimer Boyd had so often read to us, and 
 the bravery of whose gallant exploits he was 
 never weary of recounting. ' 
 
 Kenneth did not speak. He stood still, 
 staring angrily in her face. His head ached and 
 swam. His hand trembled as he leaned it on the 
 table between them.
 
 156 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 1 Mr. Ross,' resumed his companion in a softer 
 tone, * you are very young ; I think you are very 
 little, if at all, older than myself. You will for- 
 get the pain of this day, and you will believe — 
 for indeed you may — that I shall always feel as 
 Sir Douglas does towards you, — and I religiously 
 believe that you have hitherto been the main 
 object of interest in his life/ 
 
 She held out her hand as she spoke ; but 
 Kenneth did not take it. There are men who, 
 when they are rejected by one they thought to 
 win, enter into the despair of sorrow ; and there 
 are others who, under like circumstances, enter 
 into the despair of fury ; and who say things at 
 such times to the object of their so-called ' love/ 
 which, through all their burst of selfish, frantic 
 rage, they themselves know to be cruel atrocious 
 miserable and cowardly falsehoods. 
 
 Kenneth passed from the declaration of his 
 so-called love into this despair of fury. 
 
 He accused Sir Douglas of the basest trea- 
 chery ; of having supplanted him by a thousand 
 manoeuvres ; of having been aided by Lorimer 
 Boyd to ' cut the grass under his feet ' from
 
 Nominal Love. 157 
 
 motives of vengeance ; Lorimer having himself 
 desired to attain the destiny which he, Kenneth, 
 had made his one great hope in existence. He 
 accused Gertrude of 'throwing him over,' because 
 his uncle and Boyd had conspired to betray to 
 her his embarrassed circumstances ; of preferring 
 Sir Douglas only after she had made the discovery 
 that Kenneth was not to be his uncle's heir ; of 
 coquetting, and flattering the former into a passion 
 for her, because she thought it a finer thing to be 
 Lady Ross of Glenrossie, than to share his own 
 less magnificent home. He told her he did not 
 believe that she had been indifferent to him, or 
 blind to his obvious attachment ; that it was all 
 humbug about his welcome having been given 
 for his unknown uncle's sake. As to that false- 
 hearted uncle, he bitterly affirmed that if Sir 
 Douglas married her, he was marrying from 
 anger, not from love; marrying because he was 
 disappointed in his idea of governing and bullying 
 as if Kenneth were still at school. That no one 
 had a worse opinion of women generally. A 
 thousand times Kenneth had heard him speak of 
 the sex with contemptuous pity and mistrust ; and
 
 158 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 a thousand times declare that he himself never 
 intended to marry, even when urging his nephew 
 to do so. 
 
 Finally, he alluded to Gertrude's ' jilting, or 
 having been jilted by/ the foreign prince to 
 whom her mother had endeavoured to marry her. 
 He made the open taunt that ' even now, perhaps, 
 she did not know her own mind ;' and he stopped 
 raving only because his heart beat so violently 
 that he feared another moment would bring death 
 to end its tumult. Panting, wild, staggering 
 backwards, he dropped into his chair. 
 
 ' Mr. Ross, will you hear me ? ' murmured 
 the girl he had so insulted, approaching him 
 with that mixture of pity and dread which may 
 be seen in the countenances of those who are 
 nursing a delirious patient. 
 
 ' Do let me speak to you ! ' and she glided yet 
 nearer, and rested her trembling ringers lightly 
 on his sleeve, as his clenched hand stretched 
 across the table. 
 
 In an instant he started to his feet again. 
 
 ' Don't touch me, girl ! ' gasped he in a thick, 
 suffocated whisper ; ' don't dare to touch me ! 
 Your touch makes me comprehend how men are
 
 Nominal Love. 159 
 
 brought to commit great crimes ! I tell you,' 
 and his voice rose again, ' that I do not believe 
 you ! And if I find it true, and that I have been 
 made a dupe and a sport of, between you and my 
 uncle and Boyd, I will stab Sir Douglas in the 
 open street, — so help me Heaven !' 
 
 "With, this blasphemous adjuration he reeled 
 towards the door. It opened as he reached it ; 
 and Lady Charlotte, with a puzzled expression of 
 fear on her face, confronted him. 
 
 ' What are you both talking of, so loud and 
 dreadfully?' she said. 
 
 ■ mamma ! beg Mr. Ross not to go just yet ! 
 beg him to wait till — till — ' 
 
 Gertrude looked in her mother's gentle, foolish, 
 bewildered face, — made an attempt to meet her, 
 and fainted.
 
 160 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 The Wayward Heart. 
 
 HEN Kenneth had an opportunity of verify- 
 ing the truth of a beautiful saying of one 
 now lost and gone, namely, that ' God, who makes 
 such various degrees of weakness and strength in 
 this world of ours, never yet made anything so 
 weak that it will not seek to defend what it loves.' 
 The feeble silly woman who was Gertrude's 
 mother, said her few words of protection and 
 defence as sensibly as if she had been the most 
 strong-minded of females; reproaching Kenneth 
 for his want of chivalrous feeling and gentle- 
 manlike patience, under disappointment. She 
 relapsed, indeed, into querulous foolishness at 
 one moment, when she told the exasperated young 
 man, that if he really loved her daughter, he 
 ' ought to be glad to see her better married than 
 to himself;' and that 'of course,' for her own 
 part, she liked better to have Sir Douglas with
 
 Th t Way i d a n I He a rt. 161 
 
 her, who amused her and treated her with con- 
 sideration, than Kenneth, who only laughed at 
 her. Neither could she forbear adding, with 
 reference to the new suitor for her daughter's 
 hand, that she felt more as if he was a papa-in- 
 law than a son-in-law, as she herself was not 
 very old, and Gertrude was so much younger, 
 and there was ( so much unexpectedness about the 
 matter.' But she was sure it would make every- 
 body very happy (Kenneth included 1 ) ' by-and-by, 
 when they all got used to it.' 
 
 Gertrude, in a few trembling sentences, better 
 adapted to soften the wrathful and selfish mood 
 of her disappointed lover, obtained at last of him 
 that he would behave outwardly as if nothing had 
 occurred ; await with what patience he could, Sir 
 Douglas's explanation; and allow all arrangements 
 to proceed for their day together, without blight- 
 ing it by a vain storm of unavailing complaint. 
 
 ' It is partly for your own sake, Mr. Ross/ 
 she added, in a voice as sweet as her singing, 
 and with a sorrowful smile ; ' chiefly, indeed, for 
 your own sake ; though it would be a miserable 
 beginning to my different future, if I thought I 
 were to be in any way the cause of alienation 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 between you and your uncle. I could wish him 
 never to know that you had an ungentle thought 
 towards him — never to know ' 
 
 ' Of course, I don't want him to know that I 
 have been here on a fool's errand this morning,' 
 said Kenneth, bitterly, ' at all events, till I choose 
 to tell him myself.' 
 
 ' There is no necessity to tell him. I wish 
 you could look upon it all as a dream. You 
 cannot think how unreal it all seems to me, that 
 — that you should think you loved me !' 
 
 'It is a dream that will haunt me through 
 life, whatever you may think of it,' replied he, 
 quickly and passionately ; ' but God knows what 
 may happen. You are not his wife yet, and perhaps 
 you never may be. Don't you think I had better 
 begin " behaving as usual," by going down to see 
 if the boat is ready ? I will wait for you there.' 
 
 He spoke the last sentence with a wild sort 
 of joyless laugh. In truth, Kenneth was not 
 even now perfectly recovered from the previous 
 night's drunkenness ; and the very first thing he 
 did, when the carriole had whirled him back to 
 the Chiaja, was to increase still further the state 
 of mingled depression and excitement in which
 
 The Wayward Heart. 163 
 
 lie found himself, by pouring out and tossing off 
 a full glass of Florentine ' Chartreuse.' 
 
 His thoughts then wandered from Gertrude ; 
 wandered to Lorimer Boyd ; to an observation of 
 his as to the ludicrous contrast between the supposed 
 retirement for the service of God, and devotion 
 to thoughts of Heaven, involved in the profession 
 of monachism ; and the establishment of a manu- 
 factory for the sale of spirituous liquors, per- 
 fumes, rouge, soaps, and delicate unguents, for 
 the support of the monastery and its inmates : 
 ' selling the devil's wares to build churches with ! ' 
 
 Then, with a rush, came back all the pain and 
 mortification of the last hours. Very reckless, 
 very comfortless, Kenneth felt ; and very lonely, 
 alone with the monk's green bottle. Some young 
 Italian friends came in, and rallied him on his 
 dejected looks ; told him he was no Englishman 
 if he could not stand a merry night without being 
 ill the next morning. 
 
 Kenneth did not stand rallying well, though 
 he was fond of practising it towards others. 
 His friends thought him ill-tempered, and 
 left him ; to lounge away an hour somewhere 
 else. Kenneth took a cigar ; smoked, considered,
 
 164 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 and drank again. Then, with an impatient 
 sigh, he once more took his hat, and with 
 a sort of dreamy plan yet to supplant his uncle 
 Douglas, and overcome the difficulties in his way, 
 and with an increasing conviction that Gertrude, 
 * in reality/ had cared, and did care for him, and 
 that somehow he was being made the victim of 
 a plot for his reformation, he sauntered to the 
 shore ; hailing the lazy boat, with its lazy occu- 
 pants, on a lazy sea whose wavelets beat like a 
 slackened pulse to and fro in the sunshine on the 
 smooth sands, — and feeling all the while as if he 
 were walking in a dream. The scent of mig- 
 nonette and violets was in the air, and more than 
 once a flower-girl crossed his path, and smilingly 
 tossed him a bunch of pale Neapolitan \iolets, — 
 sure to be paid on some careless morrow, with ten 
 times the value of her flowers, — and looking after 
 the handsome young Englishman with something 
 like a puzzled anxiety, on account of the unusual 
 look of abstraction and anxiety visible in his 
 countenance. 
 
 The tranquil do-nothing-ness of the people 
 smote him as he passed. Life, and life's cares, 
 what were they in Naples ? Why should any one
 
 The Waywa/rd Heart. 165 
 
 sigh, or dream, or be anxious, in such a climate 
 and among such a population ? Why should he 
 be less careless than the dark-bearded, dark- 
 browed, sallow men lounging outside the cafes ? 
 Why not enjoy life as the laughing, loud- 
 talking, crowded groups in the overloaded calessos 
 did, as they rattled along? What folly to pin 
 a man's hopes on one hope, and deem all 
 life to come darkened, because one capricious 
 girl repulsed his love, for the singular, the ludi- 
 crous caprice of preferring his elderly uncle ! 
 A little whimsical twinge of vanity wound up 
 all ; such as rounds those quaint old-fashioned 
 verses on baffled love : — 
 
 1 Will, when looking well can't win her, 
 Looking ill, prevail ! 
 Pry thee, why so pale ?' 
 
 He looked across the blue sea streaked with 
 rippling gold, and at the sails that here and there 
 flitted over its surface like white butterflies, and 
 felt his great irritation die away for the hour, in 
 a mixture of stupefaction and languor. His uncle 
 stood by his side, and had placed one hand on his 
 shoulder with careless cordiality, before he was 
 even aware of his presence. He started, and
 
 166 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 looked up into the frank soldier-like countenance 
 with some attempt at an answering smile. 
 
 ' 1 have been to the Palazzo/ said Sir Douglas, 
 cheerily, ' but, like the old woman in the nursery 
 ballad, when I looked after my sick puppy, he 
 was out, and quite recovered. "No, not quite 
 recovered;' added he with sudden gravity — 'how 
 ill you look ! Oh, Kenneth, my dear boy, if you 
 could but mend your ways ! if I could but see 
 you what I dreamed you would be ! ' 
 
 ' For God's sake let us have none of that now,' 
 muttered the young man as he turned away 
 towards the boat. 
 
 'No, no, you are right: not now — not now: 
 I had something, however, — something quite dif- 
 ferent, — to say to you, Kenneth ; but it will keep 
 till to-morrow : there is no time for anything ; 
 here come our ladies, and Lorimer.' 
 
 Our ladies ! yes ; for that day of careless 
 companionship; and then — what then? Was 
 Kenneth indeed to be distanced and put aside in 
 his wooing by the man whom, if he had guessed 
 the world through, he never would have hit upon, 
 as his rival? It seemed scarcely credible. He 
 would try yet. He would throw for that stake
 
 The Wayward Heart. 167 
 
 again. He could not get rid of the notion, based 
 on his excessive vanity, that there was some 
 agreement to test and try him ; to pass him 
 through a sort of ordeal of hot ploughshares, and 
 then all was to end in an agreeable little comedy ; 
 his uncle smilingly joining the hands of the young 
 couple, and giving them his paternal blessing. 
 
 The idea strengthened as Gertrude and her 
 mother advanced : the latter giving a little glad 
 wave of her fringed parasol at Sir Douglas 
 and calling out something about ' military 
 punctuality on the field of battle ; ' the former, 
 with all the serenity of her soft eyes gone, 
 anxiously looking, not at Sir Douglas, but to 
 Kenneth ; and taking his hand with a sigh of 
 relief, while the flush deepened on her cheek as he 
 had seen it deepen in the morning, when he first 
 entered the Villa 3Iandorlo to declare his love. 
 
 It was Kenneth too, who handed her into the 
 boat, and seated himself by her side ; his uncle 
 and Lady Charlotte being opposite, and Lorhner 
 Boyd imslinging his sketching portfolio and put- 
 ting it down with Gertrude's guitar-case at their 
 feet. For the moment, Kenneth's spirits rose. 
 
 ^o one could tell, not even Kenneth himself
 
 168 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 — for these things depend as entirely as the 
 warning sense of danger in animals, on quick 
 instinct rather than reason or calculation — why 
 the conviction of his hope being founded on folly, 
 and on expectations that never would be realised, 
 fell suddenly with a cold chill on his heart. 
 
 Something in Gertrude's manner to Sir Doug- 
 las, something in Sir Douglas's manner to her ; 
 in the intense quiet gloom of Lorimer Boyd ; in 
 the fidgety and increased attention of Lady 
 Charlotte to his uncle; — struck his excited mind 
 as proof positive that the little comedy he had 
 conceived might be enacted for his benefit, was 
 not being plaj^ed: that all was real bitter earnest: 
 that he had vowed in vain to quit his foolish 
 course of life and 'better his condition' in more 
 ways than one, by uniting his destiny with 
 Gertrude Skifton's ; that he had planned in vain 
 scenes of lover-like anger and lover-like forgive- 
 ness, when she should at length admit that she 
 had merely joined his guardian friend in schemes 
 of reformation ; that she had no such scheme, and 
 no arriere pemde, but in all singleness and truth 
 of heart, loved Sir Douglas, and was beloved by 
 him !
 
 The Wayward Heart ■ 169 
 
 Those who have been jealous, — who have 
 
 known what it is to receive that 
 
 i Confirmation strong 
 As proofs of holy writ' — 
 
 which is brought to the inner soul by looks 
 
 words or circumstances which to uninterested 
 
 spectators seem trivial, or utterly indifferent, — may 
 
 comprehend the revelation. It was not brought 
 
 by any increased empressement or happy security 
 
 in Sir Douglas's manner; he had always been 
 
 dignified ; even from boyhood, when his inimical 
 
 step-mother had sneered at him as 'that very 
 
 gentlemanlike young gentleman, Mr. Douglas 
 
 Ross ; ' he was the last man in the world to make 
 
 a public wooing of the object of his choice. Nor 
 
 was Gertrude likely to indulge in that peculiar 
 
 manner sometimes not very gracefully adopted by 
 
 ' engaged' young ladies. To a stranger and ordinary 
 
 acquaintance, the very curves and indentations of 
 
 the Bay of Xaples could not seem more unchanged 
 
 since the previous day, than the conduct of all 
 
 parties concerned. But to Kenneth, enamoured 
 
 as far as his nature was capable of diverging from 
 
 self, stung and shaken in the very midst of his 
 
 utter security of success — and involuntarily watch-
 
 170 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 ful of the least sign that should confirm or alter 
 his wavering conjectures, the meaning of all he 
 saw was written in fire on his brain. The ' Mene, 
 mene, tekel, upharsin,' that prophesied the loss of 
 his heart's kingdom, came between him and the 
 shining white sail of the lightly wafted boat, — 
 even as it stole over the marble walls of the 
 feasting monarch in Scripture. His head, aching 
 and dizzy from the renewed excess of stimulant 
 taken on his return from the Villa Mandorlo, be- 
 came confused alike from the crowding of comfort- 
 less thoughts and the movement of the bark over 
 the waters. He passed his hand across his brow 
 several times as if in pain ; and began talking 
 wildly, cynically, and in a strain anything but 
 moral, of love and lovers. The attempt to answer, 
 or to repress his talk, only excited him the more. 
 He was conscious, but rather as if dreaming than 
 waking, of the expression of shame, sorrow, and 
 anxiety, which clouded his uncle's face ; of 
 intense and deadly fear in that of Gertrude ; of 
 utter scorn in Lorimer Boyd's. While Lacty 
 Charlotte, really angry at the things said before 
 her daughter, but not exactly knowing how to no- 
 tice them, kept biting the end of her parasol and
 
 The Wayward Heart. 171 
 
 repeating with a foolish smile, ' You naughty boy, 
 arn't you ashamed to say such wickedness before 
 your uncle ? ' 
 
 Kenneth noticed her addressing him, with a 
 hoarse laugh. ' Oh, my uncle is younger than I 
 am/ he said ; ' we are to be boon-companions 
 soon. I believe he is in love. Mr. Lorimer Boyd, 
 grave Mr. Lorimer Boyd, were you ever in love ? 
 were you a faithful shepherd, or do you hold, as 
 I do, with Alfred de Musset — 
 
 " Aimer est le grand point, — qu'importe la maitresse ? 
 Qu'importe le flacon pourvu qu'on ait l'ivresse ? 
 S'il est vrai que Schiller nait aime qu'Amelie, 
 Goethe que Marguerite, et Rousseau que Julie, 
 Que la terre . . . ."* 
 
 What comes next ? by Jove I can't recollect in the 
 least, what comes next. Do you recollect, uncle ? 
 you're a French scholar.' 
 
 * ' The main point is to love. Xo matter whom ! 
 Delicious drunkenness ! — be thou our doom 
 From any glass ! 
 
 What if great Schiller loved 
 Amelia only ? Goethe's heart were moved 
 By none save Margaret ? And that Rousseau sighed 
 But for Julie \ The earth . . . .'
 
 172 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 Sir Douglas was looking back towards Naples. 
 f I think we will return/ said he sadly and 
 sternly. f Kenneth, you are quite well enough to 
 understand me when I say that your conduct 
 here, where those present have no option but to 
 listen to you, is an outrage on all good taste and 
 good feeling.' 
 
 Kenneth looked towards him with fierce 
 moodiness, apparently irresolute what reply to 
 make. Then, his eye falling on the guitar-case, 
 he sullenly touched it with his foot. ' Perhaps 
 you think there should be no conversation at all. 
 Singing would be better : love- songs : chansons 
 d' adieu : " Partant pour la Syrie," — which, 
 being a soldier's love- song, the French take, very 
 properly, for their notion of a national hymn. 
 Shall you sing again this evening, Miss Gertrude 
 Skifton ? Shall you sing us a chanson d' adieu ? ' 
 
 The lovely eyes were lifted to his in mute de- 
 precation and appeal, but in vain. 
 
 ' Do sing ! sing us the song of last night : 
 " Adieu for evermore ! " ' 
 
 'Kenneth, I implore — I command you — to be 
 silent ! ' said Sir Douglas, in a voice trembling 
 with suppressed passion.
 
 The Wayward Heart. 173 
 
 1 Silent ? quite silent ? very well — yes. I am 
 de trop here. I '11 sing an adieu myself. I '11 
 give you an adieu in plain prose. Don't trouble 
 yourselves to put back toXaplesby way of getting 
 rid of me ; I '11 give you " adieu for evermore " 
 without that; for I'll bear this d — d life no 
 longer !' 
 
 With the last sentence Kenneth stood up ; 
 rocking the boat, and causing Lady Charlotte to 
 utter a series of little sharp short shrieks of 
 terror. As he spoke the concluding word-, he 
 touched the mast lightly with his hand to steady 
 his leap, sprang head-foremost into the waves, and 
 sank before their eyes ! 
 
 Gertrude's shriek echoed her mother's. ' This 
 is my fault,' she said wildly. i Save him ! save 
 him!' 
 
 Lorimer Boyd watched the water with a keen 
 glance. ' Can any of you swim ?' he said to the 
 boatmen, laying his hand heavily on Sir Douglas's 
 arm, who had already thrown off his coat in pre- 
 paration for rescue. 
 
 ' Io, Signer ! ' answered one of the men. 
 
 It is a strange fact that in a seafaring popu- 
 lation like that of Naples, very few of the men are
 
 174 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 able to swim ; and still fewer have either courage 
 or presence of mind in emergencies like the one 
 which had just occurred. Many of our English 
 sailors cannot swim. Many gentlemen in various 
 professions, to whom that accomplishment would 
 be not only useful but perhaps absolutely neces- 
 sary, are equally ignorant of it. When the St. 
 Augustine College at Canterbury was established, 
 it was resolved that even those who were pre- 
 paring for holy orders should learn to swim; 
 more than one of the pious and energetic followers 
 of George Selwyn, Bishop of New Zealand, having 
 lost their lives from incapacity in this respect. 
 
 One man, and one only, on board the Nea- 
 politan bark of pleasure which bore Kenneth and 
 his companions, could swim. That one had been 
 a coral-diver, and, in the exercise of his dangerous 
 profession, many a bold and daring feat, many a 
 narrow and hair-breadth escape, had been his. 
 
 1 Io, Signor ! ' 
 
 And, while he spoke, he stood half-naked, 
 watching, as Lorimer Boyd watched, across the 
 waters near at hand,-^-forthe wretched, beautiful, 
 drunken youth who ought to rise there, or some- 
 where thereabouts. A dreadful watch.
 
 Til e Way ward Heart. 175 
 
 But Kenneth was cumbered, not only with the 
 will to perish, — the will of a drunken, languid 
 man— but with the clothing he had almost me- 
 chanically adopted in preparation for a moonlight 
 return to Naples, over the chilly waters of the 
 sun-forsaken sea. 
 
 A heavy fur pelisse, strapped and fastened at 
 the throat, in addition to his usual over-coat, 
 made Kenneth's habiliments a dreadful obstacle 
 to his safety from that self- sought grave. But 
 the merciful chance was yet in his favour, that 
 the coral-diver, Giuseppe, happened to be one of 
 the crew that day! 
 
 \\ hile others of the crew were exclaiming, 
 and praying to saints and madonnas, this man, — 
 stripped to the last and lightest of garments, — 
 watched and waited ; and, when the involuntary 
 rising of the drunken suicide took place, he was 
 there to rescue him. 
 
 There was no struggle. Kenneth was utterly 
 insensible when Giuseppe swam towards the bark, 
 which neared him as far as was practicable. The 
 difficulty was to get both on board. That also 
 was accomplished at last, and the bark was steered 
 towards the haven it had so lately left.
 
 176 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Bitter Pangs. 
 
 HATCHED from death,— but pale, in- 
 sensible, and apparently dying in spite of 
 rescue, Kenneth Ross was borne on shore, and 
 taken to the luxurious lodging in the Palazzo on 
 the Chiaja, which he had so lately left in the pride 
 and strength of youthful manhood. Sir Douglas 
 accompanied him ; loth to lose sight of him even 
 for the purpose of escorting Gertrude to the Villa 
 Mandorlo. Lorimer Boyd would see her and her 
 mother home. 
 
 To Lorimer Boyd, her father's friend and her 
 own, Gertrude Skifton resolved to confide the 
 agitating events of the morning ; to beseech his 
 intervention with this hot-headed and reckless 
 young man, and to endeavour in some way to 
 arrange so as to spare Sir Douglas the pain of
 
 Bitter Pangs. 177 
 
 knowing what had occurred between him and 
 Gertrude. 
 
 ' I am sure/ she said, ' you will forgive me for 
 appealing to you, Mr. Boyd. Your constant 
 kindness to my father, — for many a weary day of 
 suffering and illness, — and your tender com- 
 passion to myself and my poor mother, make me 
 look to you almost as a second father ; as a friend 
 who will not forsake, or think anything a trouble. 
 Do not let Sir Douglas know what has passed. I 
 owe to you all my first knowledge of him : of his 
 goodness, his unselfishness, his courage, his love- 
 able qualities. Of course, when I saw him ' — (and 
 here poor Gertrude both smiled and blushed) 
 ' seeing him rather surprised me. I had imagined 
 a much older and sterner man. He is so gentle. 
 He is so good ... I cannot understand how Mr. 
 Kenneth Ross could venture to vex and anger 
 him. But I rely on you : on you, entirety, dear 
 Mr. Boyd, to smooth away all difficulties, and 
 prevent Mr. Kenneth Ross from being injured, 
 and Sir Douglas from being vexed ; and I am 
 sure you will manage this — for my sake ! ' 
 
 "What if Lorimer Boyd winced under this 
 appeal, — this placing him in the rank of a 
 
 vol. r. N
 
 178 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 * second father/ while it elevated Douglas Ross 
 (his schoolfellow and contemporary) into a hero of 
 romance and adored lover ? No sigh escaped him ; 
 no shadow clouded his friendly smile ; no extra 
 pressure of the eager little white hand extended 
 to him, told of a more than common and relied-on 
 interest, in all that concerned Gertrude Skifton. 
 
 He undertook to reason with Kenneth ; to en- 
 deavour to persuade him to travel ; to do his best 
 to spare a single pang to Sir Douglas ; already in 
 possession of a prospective happiness which might 
 well repay, in Lorimer's opinion, any amount of 
 previous pain or sacrifice. 
 
 He left the Villa Mandorlo as the soft moon- 
 light stole over its white walls and green verandahs, 
 with a heart at rest, as to his willingness to serve 
 the gentle girl who bid him farewell in happy 
 trust. And she sent her whispered blessing far 
 through the moonlight across the blossoming 
 almond- trees ; down to the rippling sea which 
 laved the shore where that Palazzo on the Chiaja 
 covered in the unquiet night, passed by Sir 
 Douglas by the couch of his nephew. 
 
 In the strength of youth and a good con- 
 stitution, strong in spite of excess and fatigue,
 
 Bitter Pangs. 179 
 
 Kenneth struggled with the shock of his late rash 
 attempt at suicide. 
 
 More fondly watched he could not be than by 
 his uncle. Unconscious of all that had passed 
 between Kenneth and Gertrude ; attributing his 
 state of mind merely to the pernicious habits 
 which had taken possession of him ; his fondness 
 more sensitively alive than ever, after the hor- 
 rible danger which had been averted, Sir Douglas 
 sat alternately watching and reading by the bed- 
 side of the reckless young man ; giving reme- 
 dies ; speaking from time to time in a soothing 
 tone of tenderness which seemed to lull the half- 
 conscious mind ; waiting for clearer thought, and 
 more exact answers, as to the grief of heart which 
 had impelled him to that folly and sin. 
 
 No clue, however remote, to the real cause 
 had reached Sir Douglas. As he gazed from time 
 to time at the pallid, beautiful face, with the damp 
 curls still clustering heavily round the brow, he- 
 pleased himself with a peaceful dream of the aid 
 Gertrude might give hereafter to his efforts at 
 reclaiming this prodigal ; and imaged to himself 
 her sweet irresistible voice pleading, even more, 
 successfully than he himself could plead, t&o
 
 180 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 cause of virtue, and the value of tranquil rational 
 days. 
 
 Towards day-dawn Kenneth became entirely 
 himself. Conscious, and miserable ; conscious, and 
 fiercely angry. To the gentle inquiries which 
 hitherto had either received a confused response 
 or none, he at length made fierce, sullen, but 
 coherent replies. 
 
 ' You think me drunk or wandering/ he 
 said ; ' you are mistaken ! I have my senses as 
 perfectly as you have yours. I know you. I 
 know all your treachery and cruelty : all that 
 you have plotted and contrived : all that your 
 coming to Naples was intended to effect, and has 
 effected. I know that, hearing of my love and 
 Gertrude's beauty, you came here pre-determined 
 to outwit me : that Lorimer Boyd has assisted 
 you in every step you took. That, while you 
 affected to be endeavouring to reform me, you 
 were undermining the very roots by which I held 
 to life : and, while you spoke to me of marriage, 
 and a steady peaceful future, you were mocking 
 me with a parcel of meaningless words.' 
 
 ' Kenneth, Kenneth, my own poor lad, do try 
 to be rational. I am here, beside you ; longing
 
 Bitter Pangs. 181 
 
 to serve you ; ready to make any sacrifice for 
 you ; loving you, in spite of all error, with as 
 deep a love as ever one man felt for another. 
 Trust me, my boy ; trust me ; tell me your vex- 
 ations ! Something more than common weighs 
 upon you : if I can lift it away, do you think I 
 will not do it ? My dear lad, try me.' 
 
 As he spoke, he leaned eagerly, tenderly over 
 the pillow, looking into those dim wild eyes, 
 as if to read the thoughts of the speaker. 
 
 Kenneth closed them with a groan. Then, 
 lifting the hot weary lids, with a fierce glance at 
 his uncle, he muttered, — 
 
 1 You mock me even now. I tell you, you 
 have yourself ruined my destiny. You spoke to 
 me of marriage, of reforming my life, of purity, 
 of peace. You, you have deprived me of all 
 chance of them. Gertrude Skifton was my dream 
 of peace, and purity, and marriage, and you have 
 taken her from me. She loved me. I know she 
 loved me — till you came to poison her mind 
 against me, — you who swore to protect me.' 
 
 1 Kenneth,' said Sir Douglas, in a bo! 
 tone, ' do not mock the name of love with such 
 blasphemy, for the sake of vexing me ! Do you
 
 182 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 forget that this very morning, in this very apart- 
 ment, I saw the companions of your dissipated 
 hour, and witnessed a scene incompatible with 
 any thought of a future of peace and purity, 
 such as you speak of desiring to attain ? ' 
 
 ' What of that ? ' passionately exclaimed his 
 nephew. ' Will you persuade me you yourself 
 have lived the life of an anchorite, pitching your 
 tent for ever among preachers and puritans ? 
 I tell you, whatever you witnessed this morning, 
 that I loved Gertrude Skifton ; aye, and Gertrude 
 Skifton loved me — and, if she has accepted you, 
 it is because that worldly idiot, her mother, has 
 persuaded her to do so ; persuaded her that it is 
 better than marrying me — a half-ruined man, — 
 and nearl} r as good a thing as catching the Prince 
 Colonna. 
 
 ' Good God ! ' continued he, wildly, raising 
 himself on his elbow, and looking fiercely in 
 his uncle's face — ' do you forget that we were 
 together every day for two months before you 
 ever came amongst us ? Do you suppose I 
 believe that you came all the way to Naples for 
 me, and not for her ? You lecture me ; you 
 preach to me ; you tell me of my profligacy, my
 
 Bitter Pangs. 183 
 
 extravagance, and the Lord knows what besides. 
 I choose for my wife a good, pure girl, of good 
 family, with a fortune of her own, with every- 
 thing that may give me a chance of rescue, and 
 you come and take her from me ! I tell you 
 I curse the day you ever meddled with my affairs 
 and me. I tell you, if you marry this girl, you 
 are marrying the woman I love, and who loves 
 me ; loves me, not you, whatever she or her 
 mother may persuade you to the contrary. Ask 
 all Xaples whom she was supposed to favour 
 before you came between us ! Ask your own 
 conscience whether you have not sought to divide 
 us, knowing that fact! Ask her, whom I re- 
 proached this morning, and whom I curse in 
 my heart at this moment for her wanton caprice ! 
 I curse you both. I hope the pain at my heart 
 may pour poison into yours ; I hope Heaven will 
 make a blight that shall fall on your marriage 
 if ever it does take place, and turn all that 
 seemed to promise happiness, into gall, worm- 
 wood, and bitterness. I hope ' 
 
 ' God, Kenneth — cease !' 
 
 It was all Sir Douglas coidd say. He said it 
 with ashy, trembling lips. His face was as pale
 
 184 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 as that of the half-drowned man who cursed him 
 now from his pillow. 
 
 It was all false ; cruelly false ; that he had 
 known of this love, — that he had plotted against 
 it, — that he had ' outwitted ' his nephew. It 
 was all false, he trusted (nay, knew), that Ger- 
 trude would accept him merely from ambition. 
 Surely she might pretend to far, far greater rank 
 and fortune than he could offer her ! It was all 
 false, that he came to Naples knowing of this 
 intimacy. Of this Lorimer Boyd had spoken 
 never a word in his letter. 
 
 But one thing remained true : and that one 
 thing went near to break his heart. He was 
 Kenneth's rival. Kenneth ! his petted, idolised, 
 sj>oilt boy, — his more than child, — on whom he 
 had poured the double love bestowed on his dead 
 brother and on himself. 
 
 The scene rose up before him of that brother's 
 death-bed. Of the bruised, painful, groaning 
 death ; of the wild fair woman ; of the little 
 curly-headed child sitting at the pillow, smiling 
 in his face, thinking he was the doctor come to 
 cure all that shattered frame and restore his 
 father; of his brother's imploring prayer to
 
 Bitter Pangs. 185 
 
 protect little Kenneth, and not to disown 
 him! 
 
 And now, there he lay — that curly-headed 
 child, — a wayward angry man, just escaped, by 
 God's mercy, from the crime of self-murder, and 
 declaring his life blighted by the very man who 
 had sworn to protect him. 
 
 Kenneth's rival ! 
 
 Sir Douglas turned that bitter thought over 
 and over in his mind ; watching through the 
 comfortless night, — long after opiates and ex- 
 haustion had quieted that bitter tongue, and 
 given temporary peace to that perturbed heart. 
 
 Kenneth's rival ! 
 
 How to escape from that one strange, de- 
 pressing thought ! how to make all those re- 
 proaches seem vague and senseless, as the sound 
 of the storm-wind sweeping over the surging 
 sea ! 
 
 In the morning he would see Gertrude ; she 
 would speak of this ; they would consult toge- 
 ther ; something then might be contrived and 
 executed to soothe and save Kenneth. Till he 
 saw Gertrude, Sir Douglas would resolve on 
 nothing.
 
 186 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 But, when the morning came, and the bright, 
 early day permitted him, after the restless hours 
 of that long long night, to seek the home that 
 sheltered her more peaceful slumbers — she told 
 him nothing ! 
 
 The serene loving eyes again lifted to his 
 face, seemed without a secret in their transparent 
 depths ; and yet, of all that stormy yesterday, 
 — that scene of reproach which Kenneth had 
 vaguely alluded to, not a word was breathed. 
 
 Sir Douglas would not ask her. His heart 
 seemed to choke in his breast as often as he 
 thought to frame the words that might solve 
 his doubts. Was it all delirium ? "Was it pos- 
 sible Kenneth had so much ' method in his mad- 
 ness ' as to rave of scenes that never took place, 
 and feelings that were imaginary ? 
 
 Was it a dream? or had Sir Douglas indeed 
 passed this wretched night, cursed by the being 
 he had loved better than all else in the world till 
 he met with Gertrude ? If it was not a dream, 
 what could he do ? How extricate himself from 
 that position of grief? 
 
 Almost, when Gertrude said tenderly, c You 
 look so weary, I cannot bear to think of the night
 
 Bitter Pangs. 187 
 
 you must have gone through,' — almost the an- 
 swer burst forth — 'Yes, it has been a bitter 
 night ! Is it true ? Oh ! tell me if it is true ? 
 Am I poor Kenneth's rival?' 
 
 But the soft eyes, in their undisturbed love, 
 dwelling quietly on him, on her mother, on all 
 objects round her, seemed for ever to lull the wild 
 question away. 
 
 He would stay with Gertrude till it was likely 
 Kenneth would be awake and stirring, after all 
 the exhaustion and the long slumber that follows 
 an opiate ; and then he would have a quieter ex- 
 planation with that young angry mind, and learn 
 how much or how little was unremembered deli- 
 rium, and how much was truth, in the ravings of 
 the night before. 
 
 Gertrude walked with him through the long 
 pergola, under the trailing vines, out to the very 
 verge of the seaward terrace, from whence, by a 
 rocky path, a short cut would lead him to the 
 Chiaja. 
 
 He looked back after they had parted, and 
 saw her still watching him : the tender smile still 
 lingered on her lips ; her folded arms rested on 
 the low marble wall which bounded the terrace.
 
 188 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 The morning light fell in all its freshness on her 
 candid brow and wavy chesnut hair, and deepened 
 into sunshine while he gazed. 
 
 It was an attitude of peace and tranquil love. 
 He paused for a few seconds to contemplate her ; 
 returned her smile (somewhat sadly), and hastened 
 onwards to greet Kenneth at his wakening: for 
 it was now some hours since he had left him, and 
 Sir Douglas felt restless till some more intelligible 
 explanation should succeed the frenzy of the night 
 before.
 
 Troubled Joys. 189 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Troubled Joys, 
 
 HERE are days in life during which, 
 though we have all our senses about us, 
 we seem to be walking in a bad dream ; and such 
 was the sensation with which Sir Douglas re- 
 traced his steps that morning. Outward objects 
 made no impression. The beauty of the scenery, 
 the tumultuous stir of the population, the greet- 
 ing of casual acquaintances, alike passed un- 
 heeded. He was what is not unaptly termed, 
 ' buried in thought/ 
 
 Deep and dark is that burial ; but it is not 
 calm, like death. The quick blood beat at his 
 heart, and throbbed in his temples. It was almost 
 with a feeling of joyful refreshment that his mind 
 woke, at last, to a perception of visible and earthly 
 things, under the influence of one of those sudden
 
 190 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 storms that visit the Mediterranean. The rain 
 came in heavy drops, in drifting streams ; the 
 sea changed from blue to green, from green 
 to purple, and sent its waves, fringed with 
 wrathful foam, dashing from the bay over the 
 shore, to crown with a mixture of silver and 
 snow the heads of the stunted trees that grow 
 in a formal line along the Villa Reale. In that 
 change he breathed more freely. 
 
 He stood for a few minutes gazing at the 
 scene, bare-headed; his cloak fluttering in the 
 wild wind — as he used to love to stand on the 
 hills above Glenrossie when he came back, an 
 eager boy, for his Eton holidays. The pain at 
 his heart seemed lightened. The demon of doubt 
 which oppressed him (though he was scarcely 
 conscious of his cause of torment) made itself 
 wings and went out into the storm. As he 
 ascended the staircase of the Palazzo he met 
 Lorimer Boyd coming down. 'He is asleep 
 and doing well/ said the latter as he grasped 
 his old friend by the hand. Then he passed 
 rapidly down, and Sir Douglas proceeded to his 
 nephew's room. 
 
 The peace of sleep is nearly as beautiful as
 
 Troubled Joys. 191 
 
 the peace of death — nearly as beautiful as that 
 unutterable calm whose placidity awes us when 
 we sob over our lost ones, and compels us to 
 pause in our weeping, and gaze on the face 
 whose many changes were so familiar and so 
 dear ; yearning for a break in that calm ; a 
 quiver in that strange set smile ; something 
 that shall seem human and sympathetic — some- 
 thing, we know not what, that will not freeze 
 us with such intense conviction that the smiles 
 and tears, and sunshine and shadow, of earth's 
 emotions are over ; and that what we loved 
 has passed away to the world where there is no 
 more change ! 
 
 Pale and peaceful, without a cloud on the 
 young smooth forehead ; recovering, apparently, 
 from all evil effects of yesterday's events as 
 quietly as a convalescent child ; thus it was 
 that Sir Douglas found his nephew. A little 
 fluttering tremor in breathing, coming now and 
 then like a light movement of leaves in spring 
 weather, alone spoke of past disturbance. His 
 uncle sat down once more where he had watched 
 during the preceding night, and watched again 
 — and so watching, ceased to think of himself,
 
 192 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 and thought entirely and only of Kenneth. 
 How nearly he had lost him : how horrible 
 this day would have been, if the young man 
 who lay there in stillness and shadow was dead 
 instead of sleeping ! 
 
 Thinking of all this with a tender heart, 
 the watcher bent forwards to the slumberer, 
 and kissed his cheek. Gently as that kiss was 
 given, it seemed to rouse the dormant faculty 
 of thought ; the expression of pain and anger 
 flickered anew over the features ; the short 
 savage laugh which Kenneth laughed when he 
 was provoked, sounded feebly from his lips ; and 
 he muttered, ' No, Gertrude, no — 
 
 1 Come not to weep for me when I am gone, 
 Nor drop your foolish tears upon my grave :' 
 
 'there's a true poet's true thought for you! 
 Where — where is — where am I?' 
 
 With the last words Kenneth looked round 
 wildly, uncomfortably. 'I thought she was 
 here,' he said : ' women are such fools ! But 
 she is not fool enough for that ; ' and the same 
 laugh, painful to listen to, was repeated. 
 
 ' Kenneth, I do adjure you, if ever you felt
 
 Troubled Joys. 193 
 
 affection for me, try and collect yourself, and 
 be frank with me, instead of making my heart 
 ache with your wild sayings.' 
 
 The lip of the speaker quivered as he spoke, 
 and he looked at the young face with almost 
 piteous appeal. But Kenneth only laughed 
 again more bitterly. 
 
 ' Your heart ache ! ' he said. ' Well, that is 
 good ! what is it, another of your rhymesters 
 says, — 'condemned alike to groan!' — It's all 
 fair, you know — 'alike to groan.' You say, 
 
 let's talk of Gertrude Skifton ; I say d n her, 
 
 don't let's think any more about her ! The poet 
 says, — Do you know that your friend, Lori- 
 mer Boyd, is a poet ? Fact. A sonnet to his 
 mistress's eyebrow. I said, when I read it, 
 1 Well, my dear fellow, go in and win — if you 
 can.' He can't, my dear uncle — because — 
 Good God, what is that ? ' exclaimed he, sud- 
 denly interrupting himself: 'that — that figure 
 in white ? It is not Gertrude ; I thought at 
 first it was Gertrude, — it's more like Lady 
 Charlotte, but it's a drowned woman — ha, ha, 
 ha ; some one has pitched her out of the boat ! 
 Xo — I declare it — it is my mother ; don't you 
 
 vol. i. o
 
 194 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 see it ? — strike at it. Go round and sit there 
 — hinder those things from crowding round me : 
 there's a crocodile lifting its snout out of the 
 water on to the bed. I thought crocodiles lived 
 in the Nile; I — I never saw one before — help, 
 uncle, help ! ' 
 
 The thread of thought was broken. From 
 this time, for many days, Kenneth merely raved. 
 In his ravings the most insolent reproaches to 
 Gertrude, to Lady Charlotte, were mingled with 
 the most passionate declarations of love ; and 
 promises, if she would abide by him, to ' lead 
 a new life/ and be a different creature. At one 
 period he seemed to consider that she had con- 
 sented, and that Sir Douglas had returned to 
 Scotland. 
 
 1 Now we shall be happy/ he said ; ' I don't 
 wish him dead — I never wished Old Sir Douglas 
 dead ; but I'm glad he's gone. I hope he's gone 
 for ever. I hope I shall never see him again — 
 never — never — never ! We'll go where he can't 
 follow, over the sea, under the sea ; I've been under 
 the sea. It is beautiful, only there are crocodiles 
 and sea-serpents, and strange dreadful things — ' 
 
 And then again the delirium of fear would
 
 Troubled Joys. 195 
 
 seize him, and the suffering, while it broke Sir 
 Douglas's heart to witness, would take a form 
 yet more painful and terrible, as it diverged yet 
 farther and farther from the realms of reason 
 and probability. 
 
 The best medical advice could do little in 
 a case like Kenneth's. The disturbed brain 
 must suffer its miserable fever, the disease must 
 1 run its course,' and then those who cared for 
 the prolongation of that erring life must trust 
 to the great mysterious chance of 'strength of 
 constitution ' to carry him safe past the storm of 
 that trial into some haven of quiet and health. 
 
 And into that haven sailed the storm-beaten 
 bark of life ; in spite of rent and shattered sails. 
 Kenneth was pronounced ' out of danger,' ' con- 
 valescent,' ' nearly as usual.' Friends congra- 
 tulated, companions came to see him. The 
 sounds of laughter and common conversation 
 were once more heard in that silent woe-begone 
 chamber. The sunshine of glorious Italy was 
 once more allowed to send rippling smiles over 
 the uncarpeted floor. The hour of suffering was 
 past, — as far as bodily suffering was concerned. 
 
 But the mental suffering, which Sir Douglas
 
 196 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 had endured, was not past. In the long dreary 
 hours of his steady and patient watches by that 
 bedside ; all the knowledge that his nephew was 
 delirious, all the comfort mixed with pain which 
 such knowledge brought, could not avail entirely 
 to smother the conviction that something had 
 in very deed and truth occurred between him 
 and Gertrude Skifton ; some love-passage, some 
 declaration accepted or rejected, of which Sir 
 Douglas had never been informed by his be- 
 trothed wife. 
 
 Frank by nature, and frank on principle; 
 loving truth as all noble natures love it, and 
 holding it as the first of religious virtues; his 
 soul shuddered at the sorrowful doubt that some- 
 times overshadowed him. He used to rise, after 
 listening to Kenneth's ravings, and go with rapid 
 impatience to the Yilla Mandorlo, determined to 
 put this doubt to the test ; to question Gertrude ; 
 to clear up the mystery of this disturbance. And 
 then would come the revulsion. Question her? 
 If it could be necessary to question; if, in the 
 relative position in which they stood towards each 
 other, confidence was not spontaneous ; would it 
 lessen his grief to wring from her any answer ?
 
 Troubled Joys. 197 
 
 Would that answer be guarded and cold ? "Would 
 she resent being doubted, and account for it all ? 
 
 He was haunted by her sudden exclamation 
 in the boat, the day that Kenneth tempted Pro- 
 vidence by leaping from it into the waves. ' Oh, 
 this is my fault,' she had said — 'my fault ! Save 
 him ! save him ! ' 
 
 How was it her fault, if Kenneth had not 
 in some way been justified in reckoning on her 
 love ? How otherwise could it be her fault ? 
 Once only, (bitter once !) had the subject been 
 broached between them ; and her answer only 
 added to Sir Douglas's perplexity. It was after 
 a series of more than usually virulent and scornful 
 outbursts from Kenneth, through feverish hours 
 of rambling, that Sir Douglas, jaded and weary, 
 had entered at the open door from the terrace 
 into the room where Gertrude sat absorbed in 
 thought. She started when conscious of his ap- 
 proach ; and looking at him with sorrowful ten- 
 derness, said, ' I should not have recognized your 
 step, it was so slow ! Oh, you will be ill yourself 
 — I am sure you will. Is Kenneth very bad, very 
 wild to-day?' 
 
 1 Yes, Gertrude, verv wild ! He has been
 
 198 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 raving of many things. Hard bitter reproaches 
 to me, who have done him no conscious wrong. 
 Hard, bitter reproaches to others — to you — to 
 your mother. I wish ' 
 
 What he wished he could not say ; he stopped 
 in agitation, only to see how agitated Gertrude 
 was. She did not lift those unequalled eyes to 
 his face as was her wont ; she looked down : she 
 trembled : she stretched out both her hands with 
 a sort of blind groping for his, which she held 
 almost convulsively in her own. 
 
 ' Oh, do not believe him/ she said ; ' you know 
 he is delirious ! He loves and honours you ; he 
 has no other thought : people speak exactly the 
 reverse of their real sentiments in these illnesses. 
 I heard the doctor say so. He would not vex 
 or harm you for the world, when he is himself. 
 And as for me/ she faltered, ' I am sure he 
 should not reproach me ; I have no wish but for 
 his good.' 
 
 How could she shape her sentences so as to 
 satisfy this generous heart ? How tell him that 
 in the wild appeal for love made to her by that 
 reckless nephew, his final phrase had been that he 
 would stab his uncle in the public street ? Her
 
 Troubled Joys. 199 
 
 part was surely to soothe and reconcile all dif- 
 ferences : to conceal all bitterness : not to set the 
 uncle against the beloved nephew by repeating 
 frantic words, spoken perhaps in the incipient 
 stage of this dreadful malady. 'Was she not 
 already indeed the cause, the involuntary cause, 
 of disaster and disappointment to Kenneth ? Not 
 so much with reference to his supposed love for 
 her, — which she herself looked upon as a wayward 
 passing fancy, — but with reference to his pros- 
 pects in life. Was she not building up her 
 own happiness on a sort of downfall of his pre- 
 vious expectations ? No longer to be his uncle's 
 heir, no longer his first object ; she herself to be 
 that first object, and perhaps mother to sons 
 dearer than even he had ever been to the loving 
 heart that beat beside her. 
 
 Trembling, flushed, shy with a thousand such 
 crowding thoughts, Gertrude struggled through 
 her conversation with Sir Douglas ; adjuring him 
 above all things to try and spare himself so much 
 fatigue ; advising him ' not to sit always listening 
 to painful things when it coidd do Kenneth no 
 good/ Till at length, when Sir Douglas rose to 
 leave her, she crept a little closer to him, and
 
 200 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 murmured once more, — 'And remember all he 
 says is delirium ! ' 
 
 Sir Douglas was tall, and in their farewells Ger- 
 trude had a pretty customary shyness of bowing 
 her head beneath his, to receive his parting caress. 
 As they stood together now, with clasped hands, 
 she moved her head gently towards him : but the 
 lips that were wont so fondly to press the glossy 
 chesnut hair, refrained from their habitual salute. 
 His hand wrung hers, with something more of 
 grief than love : and when she looked up she saw 
 his eyes full of troubled tears. 
 
 ' Oh, Heaven ! ' she said, ' you are quite worn 
 out ! Do not sit with Kenneth ! Do not listen 
 to him ! Do not trust a word he says in such 
 an illness as this ! Leave the nurse with him, 
 this one night, and come back and let me sing 
 to you in the evening. The first time I ever 
 saw you, I was singing ! ' 
 
 Sir Douglas sighed painfully. He, too, re- 
 membered that night. Kenneth was in atten- 
 dance upon her, then. It was he who had accom- 
 panied his uncle for the first time to her home. 
 He was turning over the leaves of her music-book, 
 when she asked who the stranger was, and received
 
 Troubled Joys. 201 
 
 the audible reply, that it was Kenneth's uncle, 
 1 Old Sir Douglas.' The scene rose like a vision 
 before him. He saw the slender handsome youth 
 standing by the instrument ; and the girl whose 
 soft glance had been lifted to his and then with- 
 drawn, in the embarrassment of being overheard in 
 her questioning ; an embarrassment which he re- 
 collected sharing. A pang shot through his heart, 
 sharper than any that had yet visited it. "Was 
 it not more natural that these young companions 
 should love each other, than that Gertrude should 
 lean across the gap of years that sundered her 
 from himself, and prefer him to one whose faults 
 she could not know, and whose advantages were 
 so many ? 
 
 All of a sudden he seemed to grow old, as 
 in a fairy tale ! Memory flew back through 
 crowded adventures. Midnight fields of silence, 
 after battles fought in foreign lands. The deaths, 
 long, long ago, of companions in arms, whose 
 children were now grown up, whose widows 
 were remarried ; the mourning for whom was a 
 forgotten thing. Passionate fancies that had 
 tempted his youth : some bravely withstood, some 
 yielded to and repented of, but all so far away in
 
 202 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 the vista of the irrevocable past ; all so long, so 
 very long ago ! 
 
 Almost he felt ashamed of the sudden choice, 
 the rash avowal, the witchery that had enslaved 
 him to the young girl, who, it was true, he had 
 seen daily since his coming to Naples, but who, 
 two months ago, was a stranger to him ! Was 
 it thus, that a man in mature life, should choose 
 a companion for the remainder of his days ? 
 Had he done selfishly, blindly ? 
 
 Thought is a thousand- fold more rapid than 
 words. Scarcely had he held the little taper 
 fingers in his own without speaking, long enough 
 for her to wonder at his silence, before all this 
 and more had passed through his aching brain. 
 An exclamation, almost a moan, escaped his lips, 
 ere he at length pressed them fervently on her 
 forehead. One sole idea, — that he was ill, — pos- 
 sessed Gertrude. For the first time she returned 
 his caress ; twined her arms round his neck, as if 
 to bring the dear head nearer; and murmured 
 passionately, ' If you won't take care for your own 
 sake — take care for mine ! What will become of 
 me, if you are ill without me ?' 
 
 That evening Kenneth was left to the nurse.
 
 Troubled Joys. 203 
 
 Not for long : the night-watch was still kept : 
 but during the clear and lovely evening, Sir 
 Douglas sat and listened to Gertrude's singing ; 
 watching the mouth that sang, and the shadowy, 
 downcast eyes that seemed to dream over the 
 notes. 
 
 He gazed and listened. He told himself he 
 did not doubt her. To doubt her was not possible. 
 Yet he felt sad ; the old classic fables taught to 
 him in his boyhood, rose as if to mock him ; and 
 the story of the Sirens disturbed his mind, even 
 while he told it to Gertrude, and laughed. 
 
 She watched him after their farewell, as he 
 passed darkly through the moonlight, down the 
 shelving tiers of terraces. ' Yes/ she said to 
 herself, ' I do right. It is better he should never 
 know. TTe shall all have to live much together. 
 He must not learn to think of Kenneth with 
 aught but love and trust. And Kenneth himself 
 will grow to think of all as a dream. But oh ! 
 how I longed to have no thought hidden from 
 him : to tell him all : and what a pain it is to 
 feel that it cannot be ! ' 
 
 And then her mother, who also had watched 
 that receding form, turned and kissed the flushed
 
 204 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 cheek where still burned the touch of a more 
 disturbing caress. 
 
 ' Well, dear/ said Lady Charlotte, ' you know 
 your own heart best ; but I don't think I ever 
 could love Sir Douglas ! I never could feel an 
 niveau of him, you know. I have observed that 
 you never feel that. You feel ate niveau of every- 
 body, I believe. But I should be a little — just 
 a very little — afraid of him, you know.' 
 
 1 Should you, darling mother ? ' said Gertrude, 
 dreamily, — ' I think him perfect ! My wonder 
 is that he could choose me : he must have seen 
 so many far worthier than I am to be his wife/ 
 
 And the young girl's fancy also wandered 
 blindly into Sir Douglas's past. Who had filled 
 it with woman's great event of life, — Love? 
 Whom had he loved before he met her ? — in his 
 youth ? And Gertrude felt that somehow his 
 youth lay far away from hers : as he had felt, at 
 their earlier meeting that same day.
 
 A Friend and a Lover. 205 
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 A Friend and a Lover. 
 
 HE days rolled on. The doctor who had 
 attended Kenneth especially impressed on 
 Sir Douglas and all friends that his main safety 
 lay in tranquillity. Xothing was to he said or 
 done that could call back disturbance to his mind. 
 No lecturing on pernicious habits of late hours 
 and reckless dissipation ; no allusions to the at- 
 tempt at self-destruction ; no contradiction ; no 
 reference to any affaire du cceur the young man 
 might have ; and which the doctor took for 
 granted, after hearing some of his vague ravings, 
 was a point of discussion between him and his 
 uncle. All was to be placid around him ; and, as 
 far as was practicable with his restless nature, he 
 was to be made to share that placidity. 
 
 And so it came to pass that Gertrude's name
 
 206 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 was no more mentioned between them. No doubt 
 Kenneth knew, when his uncle's frank coun- 
 tenance became clouded and wistful, that he was 
 ' casting about ' how to ask that which he never- 
 theless dreaded to hear. And no doubt Sir 
 Douglas, when the brow of his nephew grew 
 dark with an expression of dislike and distrust, 
 felt instinctively that he was brooding over his 
 imaginary wrongs in that respect, and paining 
 his kindly relative by all sorts of cruel suspicions 
 which, however undeserved, no explanation would 
 be permitted to remove. 
 
 It was nevertheless a day of joy to both, when 
 first Kenneth feebly descended the great stone 
 staircase, and crossed from the Palazzo to the 
 Yilla Eeale ; leaning on his uncle's arm, and 
 looking with dazed languid eyes at the million 
 smiles of the rippling sea, and the fishermen's 
 boats in the bay. And day by day, as his strength 
 returned in slow measure, the same loving arm 
 and patient heart were ready to give what help 
 and solace body or mind was capable of receiving. 
 
 Once only they met Gertrude and her mother. 
 Weary of the sights and sounds of the ever-rest- 
 less Chiaja ; of the rushing past of calessos and
 
 A Friend and a Lover. 207 
 
 carriages ; of the shrill voices of petty vendors 
 of roasted chestnuts, melons, sea-fish, and l sea- 
 fruit,' (as the little brown urchins call the non- 
 descript creatures which, warm from the palms 
 of their own dirty little hands, they propose to 
 the stranger to buy and devour,) sick of the 
 monotony of mingling with the stream of that 
 life which he saw every day at a distance from 
 the windows of his apartment — Kenneth requested 
 to be driven to Baiae. 
 
 At that turn in the road which presents the 
 unequalled view of the bay and the island of 
 Nisida, they halted and gazed on the scene, 
 bathed in an aureole of golden sunset : and fell 
 to talking of Italian prisons and Italian liberty 
 — as many an Englishman has done, and will 
 do again, in that spot of beauty and misery — 
 
 ' Where all save the spirit of man is divine.' 
 
 Kenneth became excited, and then rather 
 faint. There was a pause ; and then, in a wilful 
 peevish tone, he said, ' I don't know why we talk 
 of these accursed things ; let us go on the sands, 
 a little further on ; I am quite able for that ; in 
 fact, I am sure a walk on the sands would do me
 
 208 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 good : and there, at least, there will be no shout- 
 ing; no babble except the lapping of the little 
 waves. I want to be alone; we shall be alone 
 there.' 
 
 And lone enough the curved outline of the 
 white sandy shore appeared in the distance ; but 
 hardly had they left the carriage a few yards 
 behind them, when, at a sudden turn, they came 
 face to face with Lady Charlotte Skifton and her 
 daughter. 
 
 ' Dear me ! ' said the former, ' we came here 
 because we thought we should meet nobody ; and 
 who should we meet but the very persons ' 
 
 1 Whom you were anxious to avoid?' said 
 Kenneth, with a short laugh. 
 
 ' No, indeed, nothing of the kind, I 'm sure, 
 Mr. Ross ; and I 'm extremely glad, on the con- 
 trary, to see you looking so much recovered ; but 
 the very persons we were talking about; for I 
 was speaking of Sir Douglas to Gertie.' 
 
 ' I hope you spoke in praise of me/ said the 
 latter, with an attempt at playfulness, and an 
 anxious glance at Gertrude. 
 
 'Oh, no! — I mean yes, of course — but, in- 
 deed, we were like the city of Zoar, you know ;
 
 A Friend and a Lover. 209 
 
 neither hot nor cold — he, he, he, — I mean neither 
 praising nor blaming — but just talking you over, 
 and how ill you looked, and all that/ 
 
 Gertrude did not speak. She had offered her 
 hand to Kenneth, who did not take it ; and she 
 extended it to Sir Douglas and withdrew it again, 
 his eyes being now fixed on his nephew, appa- 
 rently unconscious of her movement. Gertrude 
 flushed painfully ; Kenneth turned very pale ; 
 Sir Douglas strove in vain for a free and unem- 
 barrassed address. All stood silent. 
 
 <Oh, dear!' said Lady Charlotte, 'I shall 
 
 have to behave like the child's book ; I mean 
 
 like the story ; that is, like the old woman in the 
 
 story, where the stick begins to beat the dog ; 
 
 and the dog begins to bite the rope — and — oh, 
 
 dear ! I can't remember how it goes on : but 
 
 Gertrude will remember it all ; she used to say 
 
 it by heart when she was a little child. I know, 
 
 however, that all was set a-going that they might 
 
 get home, you know, as we must ! 
 
 ' " Pig won't get over the stile, and I shan't 
 get home to-night, — " 
 
 that is the nursery rhyme.' 
 
 The girlish giggle with which she repeated 
 vol. i. p
 
 210 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 the verse, and the twirl she gave to the long 
 ringlet, and all the little shades of ridicule that 
 attached to all she said and did, were rather a 
 relief than otherwise in the embarrassment of the 
 moment. Kenneth laughed, and leaning heavily 
 on his uncle's arm, made way for her to pass him. 
 He even held out his hand to Gertrude ; pressed 
 hers ; and then retreating a step backwards, mut- 
 tered, ' I don't feel well ; I should like to return 
 to the carriage.' 
 
 Not a word did he speak during the drive 
 homewards, and Sir Douglas forbore to chafe his 
 spirit by any attempt at conversation. But each 
 was aware of a shadow that fell over all objects 
 as they drove along ; and the few words spoken 
 at parting were spoken with constraint, although 
 on Sir Douglas's part they were only a promise 
 to see him in the morning, and on Kenneth's 
 ' Yery well ; yes ; good-bye for the present.' 
 
 Then came again, for Sir Douglas, the mingled 
 pain and pleasure of his quiet loving evening at 
 the Villa Mandorlo. Lorimer Boyd was sitting 
 with Gertrude when he came in. They were 
 looking over maps in a small atlas that lay on the 
 table.
 
 A Friend and a Lover. 211 
 
 ' Are you teaching Gertrude geography ? ' 
 asked Sir Douglas with a smile. 
 
 'I should want many lessons, I am afraid/ 
 answered she, shutting the book hurriedly ; ' but 
 Mr. Boyd would have plenty of patience with me.' 
 
 They chatted a while together, and then Lori- 
 mer Boyd took his leave. Lady Charlotte lay 
 drowsily reading a little French novel on a sofa 
 in the distance. Sir Douglas and his betrothed 
 talked of Scotland ; of his home ; of the past ; of 
 the future ; of wood- walks and mountain- walks 
 which they were to take together ; of all the good 
 she was to do ; and all the happiness she was to 
 confer. 
 
 All of a sudden, — and, as it seemed to the 
 startled girl, quite unaccountably, — in the midst 
 of a description of Torrieburn Falls, his voice 
 broke ; and in a smothered and passionate tone 
 he said : — 
 
 * Oh, Gertrude ! my Gertrude ! do you know 
 the meaning of your name ? It means true — true 
 to your trust ! There was a German Gertrude 
 once, who clung through good and evil to her 
 husband ; and when, for some political offence, he 
 was sentenced to be broken on the wheel, she sat
 
 212 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 by him through the long night, moistening his 
 lips in the torture of that terrible death, and 
 speaking words of comfort to the last ! That was 
 love/ 
 
 ' Do you fear, that if such a fate were possible 
 for you, I should forsake you, Douglas ? ' 
 
 ' There are tortures, not of the body, — of the 
 mind, — as difficult to bear/ 
 
 There was a pause. ' You are thinking once 
 more of Kenneth,' said Gertrude, gently. 
 
 ' Yes, of Kenneth,' he answered, eagerly ; 
 and eagerly he watched her face, for he thought 
 to himself, ' JSTow she will speak.' 
 
 But she turned away from his searching gaze, 
 and sighed. Then turning towards him again 
 with a sweet sad look, her eyes fell on his eyes, 
 and she said rather reproachfully, 'I have very 
 little power over you, you rebellious lover ; did I 
 not tell you not to dwell on things said by poor 
 Kenneth ? that all was delirium ! ' 
 
 All ? Was all delirium ? That was exactly 
 what Sir Douglas panted to know. 
 
 And Gertrude, believing that all that disturbed 
 his mind must be a repetition of vague, angry 
 threats, — not with any special reference to her, or
 
 A Friend and a Lover. 213 
 
 connected with any confession of love for her, but 
 resulting from a general spirit of rebellion on the 
 part of Kenneth against his uncle, — thought she 
 did wisely and well in keeping her secret, and not 
 permitting love for herself to sunder the love of 
 those who had been so linked together ; and with 
 both of whom — not with Sir Douglas only — her 
 future life must be connected, if she did her duty 
 by all as she hoped to do. 
 
 ^YTien Sir Douglas bid her good night she 
 looked wistfully in his face. ' Come early to- 
 morrow,' she said, ' Mamma is not well. Come 
 early to-morrow.' 
 
 ' Yes ; as soon as I have seen Kenneth.' 
 He was gone. And yet Gertrude did not 
 retire to rest. Xor did she read or work or 
 occupy herself in any way. Her mother kissed 
 her languidly, with a little yawn, and a ' Don't sit 
 up, dear; dream in your bed, if you will dream.' 
 But she did not obey the mandate. She sat 
 watching and listening. She opened the glass 
 doors that gave on the terraces ; the warm night 
 air breathed like a caress on her cheek and 
 shoulder as she leaned against the trellis-work, 
 rich with the perfume of flowers. Presently a
 
 214 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 hurried step approached from the distance, and 
 Lorimer Boyd returned. 
 
 'Have you seen him and talked to him?' 
 whispered Gertrude. 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 ' And how did he take it ?' 
 
 1 Yery badly at first ; he was wild and me- 
 nacing and foolish, but sensibly enough at 
 last.' 
 
 ' He agreed ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, he agreed. I found great difficulty in con- 
 vincing him that it really was your wish, and he 
 conditioned with me to bring him back one word 
 from you — one written line as a proof. You are 
 to write, "Farewell, Kenneth. It is better for 
 you and for me ; we are not parting for ever, only 
 for a time." ' 
 
 ' I will write it directly — only' — she hesitated, 
 ' only let him clearly understand that, when we 
 do meet again, I shall be a wife.' 
 
 ' Of course,' said Lorimer Boyd hurriedly, and 
 without looking towards her. ' Give me the note, 
 and I will return to him.' 
 
 She took the pen. ' I cannot call him Ken- 
 neth. I have always called him Mr. Ross.
 
 A Friend and a Lover. 215 
 
 ^lanrma sometimes has called him by his Christian 
 name, but I have not.' 
 
 ' " Farewell, Kenneth Ross," then ; the main 
 thing at this special time is to soothe him, if you 
 wish him to agree to the plan proposed. Each 
 man has his own distinct way of grieving. Trust 
 me, if you were to write me a farewell in such 
 circumstances, I would care little in what words it 
 was couched. But he is wilful — different.' 
 
 ' Farewell, Kenneth Ross. It is better for 
 you, — for me,' — she hesitated over some mention 
 of Sir Douglas, and wrote ' for you, — for me, — for 
 all. TVe are parting only for a time, not for ever. 
 Take care of your health. Yours always most 
 truly — G. S.' 
 
 'There, give it to him. How can I thank 
 you for all the trouble you take ? But I know 
 you think nothing of that, not only for my sake, 
 but the sake of an older friend — Sir Douglas 
 himself. ' 
 
 1 Yes ; for your sake and his. God bless you ; 
 God bless you both, and give you both what 
 happiness is attainable in this strange unstable 
 world. Good-night.' 
 
 ' Good-night,' answered the soft musical voice,
 
 216 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 and the sweet eyes were lifted to his with a fond 
 thankful expression. And the good-night words 
 and good-night glance went on with Lorimer 
 Boyd through the lonely pathway, to his final 
 task for that evening by Kenneth's restless side, 
 and into the solitude of his own habitation, where 
 he could commune with his heart and be still. 
 
 Long he sat ; his arms folded across his broad 
 chest ; his gaze abstractedly fixed on a litter 
 of torn papers, and books of reference, heaped by 
 his writing-table ; wrapt in moody contemplation. 
 The taper, burning by him on the desk, sank 
 suddenly, and startled him from his reverie. He 
 lit another at the dying flame, and rose to go to 
 his bed-room. As he passed one of the tall 
 mirrors let into the wall, and saw the spectre 
 of himself reflected there with a sudden illumina- 
 tion, his lip curled with a grim smile. 
 
 ' Well/ thought he, ' Kenneth Ross was an 
 Adonis, if any man could lay claim to the title, 
 and yet ' 
 
 And so he passed to the shadow of slumber 
 and the land of dreams, whither we cannot fol- 
 low him.
 
 Sa'as Adieu. 217 
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 Sans Adieu. 
 
 AELY morning in the Bay of Xaples ! 
 Have any of my readers seen it ? Do 
 they remember it ? Can they forget it ? Did 
 the seeing of it seem to justify the boastful na- 
 tional saying, ' See Xaples, and then die ? ' 
 
 The brightness of land and water ; the beauty 
 of outline, and of the vegetation that fills up 
 those outlines ; the glitter of white, green, scarlet, 
 purple, and blue ; of villas and palaces ; gay vest- 
 ments ; snowy lateen sails, shooting like sudden 
 smiles across the face of the sea ; all the glory of 
 Mature that hides, as with a bright screen, dirt, 
 ignorance, poverty, misgovernment, and what- 
 ever else is faulty or painful in the condition of 
 that careless people, for whom brave hearts have 
 struggled and suffered, and are yet struggling ; but
 
 218 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 who, in their whole nature, resemble ill-brought-up 
 children more than any other peasantry on the 
 face of the globe. Even in their bursts of daring 
 effort to right themselves politically, this may 
 be seen. Our English Wat Tyler — the 'Idol 
 of the Clownes/ as he is styled in old-fashioned 
 accounts of that rebellion, — and William Tell, 
 the hero of Helvetian romance, — rose, with men's 
 hearts, to do men's work ; with a steady purpose, 
 and, as far as is possible in ambitious human 
 nature, with a certain abnegation of self in behalf 
 of the general good. But Massaniello's revolt, 
 touching as is his story, was the barring- out of a 
 school-boy sick of a tyrannical master ; tyran- 
 nical in his turn, and rebelled against in his 
 turn, by companions yet more reckless and short- 
 sighted than himself. 
 
 Even in their daily occupations — their slack 
 uncertain industry, easily interrupted for any 
 show or procession ; their ceaseless inattentive 
 gabble ; their vehement disputes about trifles, 
 when they should be seriously bent on the business 
 of the hour, — this childishness is observable. 
 Life, with them, seems a filling up of some irre- 
 gular ill-passed holiday, — a holiday that has been
 
 Sans Adieu. 219 
 
 too long even for their own comfort, as we often see 
 with children. There is no evidence of reality in 
 what they do. They seem playing at everything. 
 Playing at buying and selling ; playing at 
 mending nets ; playing at oratory in one corner, 
 and at building or carpenter's work in another. 
 Even the women seem playing at washing, as they 
 chase each other laughingly, or come carelessly 
 along, swinging a basket of wet linen between them, 
 passing barefooted over the bright sands, whose 
 moist gleaming surface on a sunny day often re- 
 flects, as in a mirror, the feet and limbs and 
 coloured raiment of the burden-carriers. 
 
 Their little nasal songs are the songs of chil- 
 dren — monotonous, uniinished, with seldom as 
 much thought and poetry as one Sir Douglas Eoss 
 smiled at, this special morning, as he wended his 
 way to Kenneth's home, lingering and looking 
 about him, enjoying the brightness and glory of 
 that careless opening day. 
 
 The song he paused to listen to, was a corrupted 
 version, very nasally sung, of a little poem by 
 Tom ma so Tom ma si ; not in the style of the grand 
 yet sweet poetic line of the ever- wailing Petrarch,
 
 220 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 1 Blessed be the time, the season, the hour ; ' but 
 with a tinge of comic humour in its tenderness. 
 
 1 My blessing ' (so it ran) ' on the builder who 
 built that house ! My hearty blessing be upon 
 him ! many blessings in truth — many ! Bless 
 him for building that door, out of which you 
 come, and into which I go ! Bless him for 
 framing that window, where I often see your dear 
 face looking out ! But above all may he be 
 blest a thousand times over for making that nice 
 little staircase, up which I can pass when I will, 
 to see you and embrace you/ 
 
 The singer was a little brown urchin, so young 
 that even in precocious Italy he could scarcely be 
 supposed as yet to have any reason for blessing 
 one architect more than another for enabling him 
 to visit his love ! He was perched astride on the 
 keel of an upturned boat ; his scarlet cap carelessly 
 held in his hands, which rested on the boat in 
 front of him, as he sat, jockey fashion, carolling 
 his ditty with eager lungs, like a bird in the 
 morning sun. 
 
 Sir Douglas tossed him a small piece of silver, 
 which he caught in his cap with a nod and a
 
 Sans Adieu. 221 
 
 merry grin, but without dismounting from his 
 throne on the keel. Beyond him sat a girl, (his 
 sister apparently, from the resemblance between 
 them,) weeping bitterly, and he leaned back with 
 a wild grace, and made her an offer of the coin ; 
 repeating the ever-ready phrase of childhood to 
 those in sorrow — ' Weep no more ! ' But the 
 girl continued sobbing ; her breast heaved con- 
 vulsively in its crimson bodice, and she was 
 vainly stanching, with her stiff little embroidered 
 apron, tears which fell without ceasing from most 
 beautiful eyes — eyes whose lids seemed rather to 
 be fringed with feathers from a bird's wing than 
 furnished with ordinary lashes, so thick and soft 
 lay their shadow on her cheek. 
 
 At first Sir Douglas had made a movement to 
 add to his benefaction, but he somehow intuitively 
 felt that here was a sorrow which no amount of 
 silver coin, nor even gold coin, could avail to com- 
 fort. He approached the stranded boat, and 
 spoke a few words of compassion and inquiry. 
 The boy slid down from his place, and drew his 
 sister's hands away from her face, that she might 
 attend to the stranger ; but, instead of answering, 
 she also slid down, lithe as a branch of broken
 
 222 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 woodbine, — and hastily flitted away over the sands. 
 He could see her, still weeping ; repulsing, with a 
 little movement of her shoulder, the attempted 
 consolations of some companions who crossed her 
 path and turned pityingly towards her; till, 
 spying in the distance the gaunt figure of an old 
 weather-beaten woman, she ran rapidly forwards 
 to meet her, and flung herself into the circling 
 arms. Then both women, as of common accord, 
 dropped down to the sands, and again embracing 
 as they seated themselves, wept in concert. 
 
 1 E la madre di Giuseppe ! ' muttered the boy, 
 his own glittering black eyes suffused for a 
 moment with sympathetic tears. 
 
 ' And where is Giuseppe ? ' 
 
 The boy pointed to the smoke of a steam- 
 packet, trailing quietly on the calm air far out in 
 the bay. 
 
 ' And is he your brother ? ' 
 
 No; he was the lover of Nanella — (this was 
 told in the simplest way in the world) — and 
 yesterday they were all as happy as possible, 
 sailing in that very boat. And the boy gave a 
 little kick backwards with his bare brown heel on 
 the boat's side, as he stood leaning against it and
 
 Sans Adieu. 223 
 
 facing the inquisitive stranger, to impress the 
 situation on Sir Douglas. 
 
 Yes ! all so happy only yesterday, and Xanella 
 to be married in three days from this time ; and 
 now, as the saints and Madonna had permitted, 
 Giuseppe had been tempted by the offers of a 
 1 richissimo signor Inglese ' to accompany him ; 
 had left Xanella and Xaples and his mother, and 
 had his head full of dreams of making a fine for- 
 tune, and not to be a fisherman any longer. 
 
 'But he will return, and then marry your 
 sister, if he has a true heart.' 
 
 ' Ah, signor ! but sometimes from the sea one 
 does not return at all, and the hearts, whether 
 false or true, lie deep among the fishes ! So 
 Giuseppe's father lay, — after a great storm, — and 
 therefore the old mother and Xanella weep. For 
 my part ' (and the glitter of the Southern smile 
 returned to the boy's mobile countenance) — for 
 my part, I only envy Giuseppe ; it must be a 
 grand thing to sail for, far, far away, and see 
 strange people and ships, and bring home strange 
 birds ! Ah ! if any great signor — if, for example, 
 your Excellency — would say to me, ' Pepe, let us 
 sail away together,' how readily would I say,
 
 224 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 ' Yes ! let us go — andiam, partiam ! ' He gave 
 an indolent look towards the sea, and then added, 
 laughing, ' It would not at least be my baggage 
 that would detain me ! Such baule as I saw 
 lifted on the deck of the steamer before she was 
 off! such shouting and scuffling, such tossing 
 about of lights — for she was off at dawn of day, 
 and there was much loading to be done first. I 
 am sure Giuseppe alone lifted thirteen boxes. But 
 I — ah ! that would be another affair ; I should 
 take a slice of melon in my hand and step on 
 board, and say to the Excellency, — " Eccomi ?"'* 
 
 1 1 have a great mind to take you at your word/ 
 said Sir Douglas, laughing, as he looked on the 
 little careless lad, who evidently thought it rather 
 a convenience than otherwise to have what our 
 shivering Northern mendicants term ' nothing but 
 what he stood upright in/ ' 1 have a great mind 
 to take you with me to a very cold country, 
 where I live when I am at home ; but we must 
 talk of it another time ; the mother and Nanella 
 would cry still more if you left them.' 
 
 ' Oh no, signor, Nanella would not care. Do 
 take me ! ' 
 
 * ' Here lam! 1
 
 Saris Adit". 225 
 
 And he followed Sir Douglas a few steps, as 
 if hoping that his future destiny would be settled 
 then and there, in another sentence or two. 
 
 ' So, no. I will think of it. Go now — do 
 not follow me. Go and comfort Xanella.' 
 
 The little fisher-boy shook his head. Then he 
 slowly returned to his boat, and casting himself on 
 the sands was soon engaged in that lively game, 
 the ' gioco del moro/ with companions as little 
 in need of portmanteaus and lo.uk to pack their 
 clothes in, as his half-naked self; and quite as 
 ready for any chance start in life : while Sir 
 Douglas quickened his steps to reach the Palazzo 
 on the Chiaja,- — musing as he went on the con- 
 trasts of sorrow in luxury, — such as existed there ; 
 and sorrow in poverty, — such as he had just left. 
 
 Upon the whole, Heaven's visitations are more 
 even than they seem. The golden shields of 
 heroes, embossed"' and decorated and worked with 
 strange devices, protected life no better than the 
 common soldier's ; and the arrows of fate still 
 strike home to the heart, whether the breast lie 
 bare to the sunshine like poor little Pepe's, or be 
 clothed in 'purple and fine linen.' 
 
 Nothing could be more commonplace than 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 Old Sir Douglas, 
 
 these reflections of Sir Douglas's: but they are 
 commonplace because they are universally true; 
 and they absorbed him so entirely, that he was 
 still occupied with the immense despair caused by 
 the departure of some obscure and nameless fisher- 
 man in the hearts of that girl and woman weeping 
 on the sands, when the last step of the staircase 
 was reached, and he stood on the landing of Ken- 
 neth's apartment. 
 
 The door of that apartment was wide open ; 
 and, as he entered, Sir Douglas was startled by 
 the peculiar aspect of the rooms. Every one 
 knows the look of rooms from which the habitual 
 occupant has just flitted. The torn nest of a bird 
 does not tell its story more clearly. ' Packed up 
 and gone away,' is written on all the little name- 
 less shreds of litter — the scraps of paper and 
 string ; the chairs standing in unusually irregular 
 positions ; the beds unmade, because about to be 
 stripped; the doors all ajar; and the odd silence 
 that seems to pervade the place where customary 
 voices sound no longer: all seeming dumbly to 
 impress upon us, ' Those you seek icere here, but 
 they have departed ! ' 
 
 Only a minute or two of bewilderment elapsed
 
 Sans Adieu. 227 
 
 before another step sounded on the bare stone stair- 
 case, and the conceited cigar- smoking valet, whom 
 Sir Douglas recollected on his first visit to Kenneth, 
 entered ; extremely moody and crestfallen. 
 
 ' Where is your master ?' asked Sir Douglas. 
 
 ( Eh ! Chi lo sa ! ' All he knew was that the 
 young Excellency had asked for the accoimts the 
 previous evening ; had scarcely looked at them, 
 saying that he had much headache that night ; 
 had paid him without a word, and had bid him 
 pack up his things immediately ! That at first 
 he had thought the young Excellency was again 
 in delirium, but that he insisted, and the Signor 
 Boyd, who had been with the young Excellency, 
 had remarked nothing extraordinary ; but bid 
 him good night as usual after much talk. 
 
 That he had accordingly obeyed, and packed 
 all but his Excellency's music, which his Ex- 
 cellency angrily said he did not want, and in fact 
 struck the guitar so passionately that it 'burst 
 asunder with a great sound.' That after all this, 
 the young Excellency's things were carried down 
 to the port and put on the boats to be carried to 
 one of the large steamers ; and that at the very 
 last moment, when the - a preparing also
 
 228 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 to add liis own things, gathered together as he 
 averred in most uncomfortable haste, the young 
 Excellency had told him he need give himself no 
 such trouble, for that he intended to take with 
 him Giuseppe the coral-diver, who had fished him 
 out of the water the day his Excellency might 
 remember, — the day of the accident which was 
 followed by the dreadful illness from which the 
 young Excellency was only just recovered. That 
 Giuseppe had only laughed at the expostulation 
 made by him — the valet — and had said that he 
 would nurse the Signor Inglese as if he were a 
 baby at the breast, and that he did not require 
 any more a valet who was not a courier, nor a 
 courier who was not a sailor. And any more 
 than these particulars he, the valet, could not 
 narrate, being 'stordito' with all that had oc- 
 curred, and knowing no more than he had had 
 the honour to explain to his Excellency. 
 
 Was there no note — no message ? Sir Douglas 
 asked. Did Mr. Kenneth Ross not mention him 
 before starting ? 
 
 Not a word. There was indeed a note ; but 
 to Mr. Boyd, not to his present Excellency ; a 
 note which he had just delivered, and which
 
 Sans Adieu. 229 
 
 appeared to cause much surprise and displeasure 
 to the Signor Boyd, who was leaving the Chan- 
 cellerie and following him to the apartment. 
 
 In a minute or two more Lorimer Boyd entered. 
 
 'You know something of this. You have a 
 note from him. What does it all mean ? ' groaned 
 Sir Douglas. 'You — is it possible you have 
 known he was going ? advised him to go ? Where 
 is his note ? What does he say ? My God, what 
 has driven him to this ?' 
 
 ' My dear Douglas, pray be calm ; this grace- 
 less creature does things in a way no one but 
 himself could dream of. I admit counselling him 
 to continue his travels — he is now sufficiently 
 recovered — ' 
 
 ' Oh no — good Heavens, no ! — he was as weak 
 as water yesterday. Oh, Lorimer, who could have 
 thought — ' 
 
 ' He is enduring no fatigue ; he is at sea, in an 
 excellent steamer, with a surgeon on board. How 
 could I guess he would depart so, without a word 
 of farewell? I did not expect it this week. I 
 have only this moment received his note.' 
 
 ' "What does he say ? read me the poor boy's 
 note. God ! this is a bitter way of parting ! '
 
 230 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 'His note, Douglas — his note — is of a piece 
 with all the rest of his conduct to you ; forgive 
 me if I say his utterly selfish and ungrateful 
 conduct. Here it is : but be assured whatever 
 your anxious mind may fancy about him, he is 
 not only well enough to start, but a thousand 
 times more likely to recover health and equanimity 
 away from these scenes, than by remaining here 
 fretting you and himself, and falling back, as soon 
 as recovered, into scenes of Neapolitan dissipation 
 and extravagance/ 
 
 'His note — give me his note.' 
 
 Lorimer Boyd handed it to his friend with a 
 sigh of mingled impatience and compassion, and 
 Sir Douglas read it. 
 
 'My dear Boyd, — I don't find I have much 
 nerve or heart for any more farewelling, — so this 
 is to tell you I am off ! Tell my uncle so. Say 
 all that is proper from me to him ; and that I am 
 much obliged for all his care and attention during 
 my illness, &c. The fewer words the better. I 
 can't tell him, or you, my plans, because I have 
 not yet made any; but I have taken Giuseppe 
 with me, who speaks Greek, and is a much more
 
 Sans Adieu. 231 
 
 spirited and likely sort of fellow than the d- 
 
 yawning valet I srot saddled with, when I first 
 arrived in Naples. He has been to Alexandria, 
 too, and up the Nile, and to Spain, and America, 
 and some place in every point of the compass, if 
 one is to believe him, which I am quite willing to 
 do. You will all hear of me sooner or later. In 
 the meanwhile I am better away. " Gone on the 
 grand tour/' like the young gentlemen in old- 
 fashioned novels. You may quote, perhaps, your 
 favourite larmoyant Petrarch : — 
 
 " Lo star mi strugge, — e'l fuggir non m' aita," &c. &c. * 
 
 But I have been ivncomfortable enough lately, to 
 think any change a change for the better ! Old 
 Sir Douglas was all for my travelling, when I was 
 for remaining in England or Scotland ; and now 
 I 'm all for beginning a vagabond life, and spend- 
 ing a year or two in seeing the world. Who 
 knows but I may be the better for it ; and come 
 back as sage as Solon, and infinitely better com- 
 pany ? Let us hope so. 
 
 ' Yours very truly, 
 
 ' Kenneth Ross. 
 
 * ''• Staying is anguish, — going, no relief."
 
 232 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 1 P.S. — Louis, the valet, is paid, and overpaid ; 
 so don't let him come down upon Sir Douglas 
 with any pretended claims ; except for a character, 
 for which I have told him he may refer to you. 
 
 1 His accounts were a farce ; but he is not a 
 greater rogue than all his semblables. One does 
 not expect principle in any of them ; only to be 
 knowing in their calling, get one rapidly through 
 the bore of dressing, and be punctual in taking 
 and delivering notes ; and I must say I had no 
 reason to complain of this fellow, in any of these 
 particulars. You may say that I recommend 
 him. ' K. R.' 
 
 Sir Douglas dropped the hand which held 
 the note, and sighed bitterly. 
 
 ' Without a farewell ! ' he said. ' Without 
 one word of farewell ! ' 
 
 * Oh, be reasonable, Douglas ! Was he not 
 always the same from boyhood ? Was he ever 
 considerate or grateful ? Come away from this 
 place. Come' (and the words seemed spoken 
 with hesitation) ' to the Villa Mandorlo with, 
 me. Come ! ' 
 
 * Not now — not now. I must go home first.
 
 Sans Adieu. 233 
 
 I am willing to think you acted for the best, — 
 but my heart aches to think of my poor wayward 
 lad : ill and gone. Ill ! He may have thought 
 I wished him gone. His note is so odd ! ' And 
 again the dejected eyes ran through the cold 
 and careless lines, as if seeking for something 
 they could not find there. 
 
 ' I should be sorry if he thought / had de- 
 sired his absence ? ' And Sir Douglas looked 
 up in a questioning manner into Lorimer's face. 
 
 Gloomy displeasure was struggling with ten- 
 derer feeling on Lorimer's brow. A tinge of scorn 
 was in his voice and manner, as he answered, — 
 
 ' I fear his thinking you desired his absence 
 would only have made him more willing to re- 
 main. Douglas, you are a self-tormentor ! you 
 were so even as a boy. I will stake my ex- 
 perience of men and things against yours, that 
 in those days your father and brother never suf- 
 fered one tithe of what you suffered, attributing 
 to them feelings, and motives, and vexations, 
 and mortifications, which never occurred to them, 
 though they occurred to you, and though most 
 certainly they would have haunted you had you 
 stood in their place. For Heaven's sake, try
 
 234 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 and put aside your own view of this day's mis- 
 chance ! Kenneth ought not to have done what 
 he has done ; he should have gone this day week, 
 after preparing you — after asking your guidance 
 and advice — after bidding you a kindly and 
 grateful farewell. What then ? It is not in 
 him ! And the very want of natural tenderness 
 that prevented his seeing that this was the 
 proper course for him to pursue, prevents him at 
 this moment from suffering. I would wager any 
 money that he is at this moment — while jou 
 are grieving here — lying on the deck in the sun- 
 shine, smoking a cigar ; recovering from the very 
 slight degree of fatigue that active and capable 
 fellow Giuseppe would have permitted him to 
 endure ; enjoying the morning breeze at sea, — 
 and thinking far more of how the change will 
 answer to him, than of any of the effects the 
 suddenness of his departure may have upon us. 
 I will call an hour hence at your hotel, and we 
 will walk to Santa Lucia together ; or will you 
 come to the Chancellerie ? ' 
 
 1 No ; I will wait for you at the hotel. I had 
 rather be alone for a little. Alone — even from 
 you, Lorimer.'
 
 Sans Adieu. 235 
 
 As lie spoke lie held out his hand, and the 
 two friends parted. Lorimer Boyd looked sadly, 
 and somewhat sternly, after the tenderer, less 
 resolute man ; and Sir Douglas, looking sorrow- 
 fully out over the sea, in the direction where the 
 smoke of the vanished steamer had been visible 
 in the earlier morning, repeated to himself in a 
 choked voice, — 
 
 ' "Without a word of farewell or explanation ! ' 
 
 The little brown fisher-boy was still playing 
 on the sands. Xanella was still sitting, her head 
 drooping, disconsolate and silent, by the side of 
 the older woman, who was spinning from a dis- 
 taff, from habit, mechanically, and with hard-set 
 lines of grieving round her mouth, but without 
 any outward show of emotion. 
 
 How little, when he pitied the girl and 
 laughed with the boy that morning, had Sir 
 Douglas imagined their sorrow woidd be linked 
 with his sorrow, and that the departure of Giu- 
 seppe would seem also to him an event disturb- 
 ing all the tranquillity of that day, and many 
 a day to come, till news could arrive of the 
 wanderer !
 
 236 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Alcyone. 
 
 ORIMER, BOYD had time before he re- 
 joined Sir Douglas to inform the inhabit- 
 ants of the Yilla Mandorlo of the very sudden 
 departure of Kenneth. The maps which he and 
 Gertrude had been looking at, the night before, 
 with a view to sketching out some plan of travel 
 for him, — and allowing him to propose it to his 
 uncle himself, — still lay on the table, with marks 
 of the different routes by land and sea, which 
 Lorimer had thought likeliest to interest him. 
 Gertrude felt quite guilty as she looked at them ; 
 as if she had planned not only his departure, but 
 the manner of it. Lady Charlotte saw the mat- 
 ter in the serenes t light of unmitigated rejoicing. 
 ' Dear me ! Well, I never expected Mr. 
 Kenneth would have given so little trouble. I
 
 Alcyone. 23; 
 
 thought he would have come here like Beauty 
 and the Beast, — I mean like the beast that was 
 a prince in reality, you know, in that story ; for 
 of course, we must all allow Mr. Ross himself to 
 be a beauty : I thought he would come moaning 
 and complaining to Gertrude (he certainly was 
 moaning and complaining the day you and lie 
 were talking so loud together, my dear) ; and 
 then afterwards being ill, or pretending to be 
 very ill ; which is exactly what the Beast-Prince 
 did, if you recollect, Gertrude ! Indeed, he pre- 
 tended to be dying, in a corner of the garden, — 
 to excite pity, you know. Men are so fond of 
 exciting pity ; and they are so very obstinate 
 when one can't like them ; wonderfully obstinate 
 they are ! I remember a Sir John Evans, who 
 was in love with my sister ; such a red-faced, 
 loud, bull- voiced sort of a man, and he wouldn't 
 give up, though mamma and I told him over and 
 over again it was of no use proposing ; and he 
 kept saying in such a voice, — a voice like a 
 trombone at the play, — " I will make you so 
 happy, my dear!" — and my sister answered so 
 sensibly, -" I don't want to be happy, if you are 
 to make me so, Sir John : I wish to be happy my
 
 238 Old Sir Douglas, 
 
 own way;" and then like the Beast-Prince (and 
 like Kenneth Ross), he said he was ill, and was 
 quite broken-hearted ; as if a man could be broken- 
 hearted who had such a voice, and went about 
 in a dress that looked like an old jockey's ! And 
 when he heard she was going to marry somebody 
 else, he swore the most horrid oaths, — and then 
 in about a month he came to mamma and told her 
 he also was going to marry somebody else : and in 
 his big voice he said something about " hitting 
 the right nail on the head at last," and " not 
 wearing the willow ;" and that he had made the 
 girl's acquaintance at a meet of the hounds on a 
 Thursday, and proposed for her on the Saturday, 
 because it never did to crane when you w T ere 
 going to take a leap ! ' 
 
 1 Now what good would it have been to pity 
 him ? None at all ; and you see he didn't really 
 require it : and I don't pity Kenneth. Surely you 
 ain't going to pity Kenneth?' added she, with a 
 sudden break in her long monologue, seeing her 
 daughter's abstracted eyes, which were fixed on the 
 atlas on the table, gradually filling with tears. 
 
 ' No, mamma,' said Gertrude, smiling through 
 the glittering drops, and wiping them away, —
 
 Alcyone. 239 
 
 * I was not pitying Mr. Kenneth Eoss, but think- 
 ing of his uncle. I know this suddenness will 
 vex him; will cut him to the heart.' 
 
 ' "Well, now, really, Gertie/ interposed Lady 
 Charlotte, with more warmth than usual, ' you 
 will spoil Sir Douglas. You should never spoil 
 men, and you should never pity them ; because 
 then they don't care half so much about you. 
 I assure you they don't.' And she gave a me- 
 ditative twirl to the long ringlet ; slightly nib- 
 bled the end of it, and continued very gravely, — 
 ' And I would be particularly cautious about 
 spoiling Sir Douglas, if I were you, because it 
 will make him think himself so very superior, — 
 in fact, he is very superior ; but then, you know, 
 he must be very foolish in some little corner of 
 his brain, if he is sorry that Kenneth is gone ; 
 when we are all so very glad, and he ought to 
 be glad too. I am sure, as for me, I could dance 
 for joy ! I could, indeed ; only, of course, Sir 
 Douglas would be shocked ; and I don't wish to 
 shock him. Xow here he comes, Gertrude ; and 
 I do hope you won't be so silly as to seem sorry ; 
 because there really is nothing to be sorry about.' 
 
 But Gertrude comprehended better than her
 
 240 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 garrulous parent, that in spite of the relief of 
 Kenneth's much-desired absence, there ivas some- 
 thing to be sorry about ; and she received Sir 
 Douglas with a degree of sympathetic tender- 
 ness which perhaps was the only true balm his 
 wounded heart was at that time capable of re- 
 ceiving. 
 
 Then followed days of such peace and close 
 communion that the hearts of both must have 
 been cast in strangely different mould from 
 other human beings, if happiness had not pre- 
 dominated in them. And though Gertrude, in 
 the first hours of that anxiety so hard to bear, 
 which had visited Sir Douglas, shared with him 
 the pang and soothed its bitterness, — the na- 
 tural gladness consequent on relief from con- 
 straint, embarrassment, and a certain degree of 
 terror with which Kenneth's wild threats had 
 possessed her, shone out in a little while like 
 sunshine after a storm. 
 
 Her gladness was new witchery in Sir Douglas's 
 eyes. He had seen her tender, passionate, indig- 
 nant, comforting ; but he had never seen her 
 playful — never in the pretty mood of 'girlish 
 spirits ; ' and, like all men who have led busy
 
 Alcyone. 24 1 
 
 lives among grave interests, it was a welcome and 
 a pleasant thing to him : one charm the more 
 where all was already so charming. He was sur- 
 prised at his own cheerfulness, but even the ever- 
 recurring anxiety about Kenneth could not make 
 him otherwise than cheerful. And the step that 
 Gertrude listened for every day with increasing 
 fervour of welcome, every day came glad and alert 
 to the door of that villa whose architect he could 
 have found it in his heart to bless, even in the 
 words of little brown Pepe's nasal song. 
 
 At length they had news of the wanderer. 
 In the midst of their preparations for leaving 
 Naples, a letter arrived, not from Kenneth — 
 whether too angry, or too lazy, or too careless 
 to write — but from the hero of Xanella's heart, 
 the coral- diver, Giuseppe. And in truth not 
 written even by him, for whatever other perfec- 
 tions culminated in that much-lamented lover, he 
 could not write his own love-letters, or indeed 
 write at all, beyond a very curious and elabo- 
 rate attempt at signing his name. 
 
 Few Italians in the lower classes, and few 
 indeed in the middle classes, think it all incum- 
 bent on them to write their own letters. Their 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 242 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 most secret thoughts, their most affectionate 
 avowals, their most important business — all 
 these topics for correspondence are given over 
 to the Scrivano, or public letter-writer, who 
 may be seen often plying his vocation at the 
 corner of the public street. 
 
 Diversity of style need not be looked for. The 
 compositions resemble each other nearly as closely 
 as the pattern epistles which are to be found in 
 those old-fashioned guides to epistolary excellence, 
 the Complete Letter- writers. In which works 
 may be found gravely set down for copying such 
 a list as the following : — 
 
 To a young lady, demanding her hand in mar- 
 riage. 
 To the same, after her acceptance of your suit. 
 Ditto after rejecting it. 
 Ditto to bid her farewell. 
 
 To an amorous gentleman, repulsing his ad- 
 vances. 
 To the same, according him a meeting. 
 To a merchant trafficking in foreign wares and 
 
 china. 
 To a lady who has lost her husband in the wars. 
 And so on, ad infinitum.
 
 Alcyone. 243 
 
 But at least these published models of how you 
 ought to express your secret sentiments, admit 
 of private selection. Xot so the aid invoked 
 from the Scrivano ; you must inform him viva 
 voce of your dearest thoughts, and desire him 
 passionately to implore a return of your love, 
 while he tranquilly listens and takes a pinch of 
 snuff. You must do this too, very often, not 
 only in the hearing of the Scrivano (whom, of 
 course, you intend shall hear you), but in the 
 hearing of some dolce far niente bystander, who 
 pauses to amuse his mind through his ear, with- 
 out reference to your pleasure ; or some other 
 would-be correspondent, who waits discontentedly 
 to say what he has to say till you have finished 
 what you have to say, — wondering at your passion 
 and your prosiness, — longing to spur you into a 
 more rapid wind-up of your love or your anger, 
 and pouring into the ear of the unmoved Scrivano 
 some totally different subject of thought, before 
 the latter has done sprinkling sand over the 
 moist inky messages of affection you have just 
 paid him to despatch. 
 
 Some snuffy old poulterer, anxious to know the 
 market-price of quails and redlegged partridges
 
 244 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 by the dozen, nudges away perhaps a young girl 
 whose eyes are full of tears and whose heart is full 
 of sorrow ; and in his turn is nudged away by 
 some stalwart youth like Giuseppe ; who, cheerily 
 looking out during the time of his brief dictation, 
 pays with a gay smile for what the Scrivano may 
 think a proper proportion of the language of love 
 and despair ; in a letter in which there is often as 
 little real sadness as there is in the nightingale's 
 song, but to which the living ' Complete Letter- 
 writer ' gives that conventional turn, without 
 which neither the sender nor the recipient would 
 be contented. 
 
 Nor are they contented very easily, to judge 
 by the high-flown phrases which adorn some of 
 these epistles ; seeming to prove that the more 
 exaggerated the hyperbole, the better in their 
 opinion is the style. 
 
 A young fisherman in Giuseppe's situation, 
 advances and desires the Scrivano at Messina 
 immediately to inform Miss Nanella at Naples 
 that he is, he thanks Heaven, in good health, 
 and hopes she is the same. That his master is 
 in improved health ; rich, and liberal. He is 
 sorry to have left her at such short notice ; but
 
 Alcyone. 245 
 
 it was a good chance, and it would have been 
 madness to lose it. He will marry her on his 
 return. At present they trayel in foreign lands 
 — to Tunis or to Greece — he knows not where. 
 She is to be cheerful, and embrace his mother, 
 who is in return also to embrace her, — and he 
 remains ' her own Giuseppe.' 
 
 From this small egg, the Scriy&no will pro- 
 duce the astonishing ' Pharaoh's Serpent ' of an 
 epistle such as the aforesaid Kanella confided to 
 Sir Douglas, with tears of joy and thankfulness 
 and many claspings and unclaspings of her little 
 brown hands, and glad clappings of the same ; 
 and on the return of the precious missiye, dropped 
 it into her bodice ; gaye it a final pressure of 
 affection there ;, and ran lightly away, all smiles, 
 to read it once more (for the twentieth time) with 
 the equally exultant weather-beaten old mother. 
 
 Giuseppe's terse and abridged S3ntiments were 
 thus rendered by the accomplished and fluent 
 Scriyano : — 
 
 1 My eyer beloyed, regretted, and every- 
 moment - of- the - day - and - night - sighed - for, Na- 
 nella !
 
 246 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 ' Tears, — hot and constantly dropping, — al- 
 most effaced for me, after we separated, the hea- 
 venly shores of Naples. My heart appeared as if 
 abont to burst in two ; leaving you the one half, 
 and the other, only, going with your miserable 
 Giuseppe ! Scarcely could I believe it was day, 
 so dark did all things seem around me : but the 
 fortune of poverty is to be torn from what it 
 loves, because it is a necessity with the poor to 
 earn ! The riches of the English Signor are 
 immense ; and so also is his liberality ; and for 
 that reason only, I adopted with anguish the 
 step of going on board the departing steamer. 
 
 ' Do not suppose, my Nanella, that my love 
 •can be at all shaken by the great storms which 
 the saints and the Madonna thus permit to try the 
 ever-faithful and at-this-hour-almost-completely- 
 drowned-in- sorrow heart of your Giuseppe ! At 
 my return we will kneel together before the 
 excellent priest, and obtain for our by -me -so- 
 much -longed -for union, the everlasting consent 
 of an approving and overlooking Heaven ! 
 
 1 The youthful Signor who was ill at Naples is 
 reinvigorated by the much-bestarred clear nights 
 and breeze -adorned -and -refreshed days he has
 
 Alcyone. 247 
 
 lately passed. His Excellency's plans of travel 
 are still unsettled. One day he will speak of 
 sailing for Tunis, another day he will hold that 
 it would greatly divert his mi rid to seek the 
 shores of the country of Greece. Faithful to 
 the duties imposed on me when the Signor Ing- 
 lese entered into a convention that I should ac- 
 company him, I shall, — before the all-seeing eye 
 of a just Providence, and under the approbation of 
 the saint whose name I bear, — together with the 
 assistance of the angels of succour, — continue to 
 travel wherever the Signor is pleased to appoint. 
 
 * Adieu, my Xanella, Xanellina — adieu ! Em- 
 brace for me my beloved, worthy, and ever- 
 respected mother, to whom shall be my next letter. 
 Let her also embrace you for me. As many as 
 there are stars out on a great night in summer, 
 so many kisses I deposit on your much-desired 
 cheek ! Keep me in your heart and mind, and 
 give to all asking friends the assurance of my 
 entire health -and contentment. Strive also to 
 merit the blessing of Heaven by a cheerful spirit. 
 It will seem to me a thousand years till I see you 
 again, and embrace you in very truth ! 
 
 ' Your Giuseppe.'
 
 248 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 The Crowning Joy. 
 
 ORE letters (in the same florid style) from 
 the absent Giuseppe, and one or two briefer 
 missives from Kenneth — both to his uncle and 
 to Lorimer Boyd — sufficed to set their minds at 
 rest, at all events as to the health and present 
 well-doing of the wayward object of so much 
 anxiety. He was tolerably thankful for a general 
 settlement of his difficulties, which, without 
 greatly trenching on his future, and with some 
 renewed sacrifice on the part of his uncle, the 
 latter had effected. He was amused and ' im- 
 proved,' as he assured them, by his scheme of 
 travel ; and the period of his eventual return was 
 left in the vaguest uncertainty, — to Lady Char- 
 lotte's intense satisfaction. 
 
 Once only he alluded to Gertrude, and then
 
 The Crowning Joy. 249 
 
 not in the honest earnest manner which Sir Douglas 
 would have given worlds to read ; but with a 
 flippant affectation of carelessness that wounded 
 more than if her name had never been mentioned. 
 ' Eemember me,' he said, ' to the Skiftons. 
 Lay me at the feet of my aunt that is to be. If I 
 find in my travels some " pearl of price," I shall 
 garner it up as a wedding gift. Meanwhile my 
 best wishes are hers, for her future health and 
 prosperity. If you let me know the day of the 
 happy event, I will 
 
 '•tak' a stoup o' kindness yet," 
 
 and drink everybody's good health. I am always 
 glad, as you know, of an opportunity of health- 
 drinking ; and believe it to be much more con- 
 ducive to my own health, than water-drinking 
 Mr. Boyd or temperate Uncle Douglas choose to 
 admit.' 
 
 Sir Douglas sighed as he read the careless 
 lines ; but his sighs were checked by the spirit of 
 contentment which pervaded his days. ' Full 
 measure, pressed down, and running over,' seemed 
 the sum of his happiness. The more he saw of 
 Gertrude the more he loved her ; the more he
 
 250 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 rejoiced in the blessed good fortune that had 
 made her return his love ; the more he blest the 
 sweet eyes that were to shine over his future, and 
 light the lovely but lonely walks and halls of 
 Glenrossie Castle. 
 
 Their parting was near. Their first parting 
 since they had agreed to be united for ever ; their 
 last parting till the time when that union should 
 be made sure, by the solemn ceremony that was 
 to pronounce them one ' till death do us 
 part.' 
 
 Death — only death ! 
 
 Sir Douglas was to go to Scotland ; to Glen- 
 rossie ; to give directions, and settle much that 
 needed arrangement previous to bringing there 
 the new lady of the castle. And Lady Charlotte 
 was to go to London, to see many old friends (and 
 some new ones), who rather grudged her the 
 success of her chaperonage during her somewhat 
 forlorn widowhood. 
 
 For they had heard that Gertrude Skifton — 
 * who, after all, was no such great beauty ' — had 
 captivated one of the richest of the Scotch ba- 
 ronets, though she had failed with the Prince 
 Colonna ; and they thought ' the poor, silly
 
 The Growni/ng Joy. 251 
 
 creature ' who had married the nameless Skifton, 
 had had a success somewhat beyond her deserts. 
 
 Several young ladies of the highest lineage and 
 most unimpeachable beauty had been 'going about' 
 in the very best society for several seasons without 
 any such desirable result; and, altogether, the 
 sudden arrival of their old friend, — with a ready- 
 made stock of happiness and wealth for a daughter 
 of ' 3Ir. Skifton, deceased,' whom they had never 
 made up their mind to patronise, — and who now 
 obviously did not require their patronising, — 
 showed rather in the light of a grievance than 
 as a subject of congratulation. 
 
 The excessive simplicity, too, of Gertrude did 
 not suit them. The real, natural, unaffected, in- 
 nocent independence of her manner : anxious for 
 nothing, resenting nothing, did not please them. 
 Some said she was haughty ; and some said that 
 she was dowdy ; and some that ( she seemed to be 
 as great a fool as her mother.' 
 
 The stately handsome mature bridegroom was 
 also the subject of captious remark. Some laughed 
 at the wily widow ' catching ' him for her daugh- 
 ter. Some thought that really the girl was not 
 amiss, and might have done better than marry a
 
 252 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 man twice her age. Some affected to be mightily 
 amused and tickled at the story of Old Sir Dou- 
 glas going out to Italy to lecture his scapegrace 
 nephew, and being caught in the toils himself, 
 and brought home captive. Some said he had 
 1 behaved abominably to the young man ; per- 
 suaded the mother to reject his suit, and then 
 made love to the daughter on his own account.' 
 Some were of opinion that the mother and daugh- 
 ter were two intrigantes, who had thrown over 
 the nephew when they found they could entrap 
 the uncle, and ' wheedled ' a confirmed old bache- 
 lor till they brought him to the point of matri- 
 mony. 
 
 When was there ever any marriage arranged, 
 which bitter tongues did not slur, — and idle 
 tongues canvass, — and envious tongues find fault 
 with, — and careless tongues discuss? Proving 
 only, in the slurring, canvassing, fault-finding, and 
 discussing, the great mystery of preference ; and 
 the impossibility of common-place understandings 
 being brought to feel that such preference is 
 God's inspiration, and not a scheme of man's 
 making, — ruled like a map or an account-book, 
 with the set boundaries of the one, or the ap-
 
 The Crowning Joy. 253 
 
 portioned valuing of the other, to regulate the 
 result. 
 
 1 "Why did she love him ? Curious fool, be still. 
 Is human love the growth of human will V 
 
 Xo — nor of human comprehension. Those 
 who love would fain escape, it may be, from the 
 thrall. Those who do not love would give the 
 world to be able to bend and bow their hearts and 
 imaginations to the choice that would ' answer ' 
 in all respects, — the choice that would do them 
 credit, — that would promote their worldly ad- 
 vancement, — that would satisfy friends and pru- 
 dence, and their own predetermined rules. 
 
 It cannot be ! Love steps in, with a smiling 
 mastery, and waves the magic wand which makes 
 them tremble and obey ! Love — the great magi- 
 cian — by the light of whose lamp palaces arise 
 brighter than Aladdin's ; at whose bidding voices 
 more melodious than Ariel's, sound his sweet 
 chorus of ' Follow ! Follow ! ' whose luring from 
 common-place things may end in wrecking us ; 
 but rapturous are the hours first passed ; sailing 
 with the tide, down the rapid river of unreturning 
 time !
 
 254 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 Gertrude was sailing down that stream ; lit by 
 the warm sunshine of joy, and lulled by the music 
 of its rippling waves. 
 
 Lady Charlotte was made a little restless and 
 unhappy : both by the ironical jealousies we have 
 alluded to ; the great desire she had to collect to- 
 gether all sorts of titled relations and guests ; 
 and the extreme reluctance of the bridegroom to 
 be made ' a piiblic spectacle,' as he termed it. 
 A reluctance which Gertrude seemed fully to 
 share — and to yield only from love of her mother, 
 to the desire of the latter for the pomps and 
 ceremonies of the nuptial day. 
 
 The day came ; and the guests. That agitated 
 and agitating vision of bridal vestments, mur- 
 mured replies at the altar, blushing bridesmaids, 
 and a veiled bride, — the sobbing kiss, the hurried 
 departure, — the cheers of the mob gathered round 
 the doors, and the blank silence afterwards in 
 spite of crowds and tumultuous chattering, which 
 mark the progress of a 'Wedding Day,' — were 
 all gone through, — as they have been gone through 
 a million times, and will be gone through a 
 million and a million times more. And before 
 Lady Charlotte's weak, vain, loving heart had
 
 The Growrvmg Joy. 255 
 
 recovered from its agitation, 'Sir Douglas and 
 Lad}' Eoss ' were off on their way to Glenrossie. 
 
 On their way to Glenrossie ! Ah ! what other 
 rapture, what other Mness of joy, shall compare 
 to the day, when the woman who loves deeply 
 and truly, is borne to the home of the man she 
 so loves ? 
 
 For ever ! The human ' for- ever ' — the for- 
 ever ' till death do us part,' how it stretches out its 
 illimitable future of joy, as we sit, hand linked in 
 hand, sure of each other, of existence, of love, of 
 all that makes a paradise of earth ; and the hedges 
 and boundaries that divide lands, flee past before 
 our dreaming eyes ; and the morning sun glows 
 into noon ; and the noon burns and fades ; and 
 the day sinks again, with a crimson haze, into 
 sunset — and perhaps the sweet and quiet light — 
 the pale light of the moon — swims up into that 
 sea of blue, men call the sky ; while still we are 
 journeying on to the one spot on earth where 
 we have cast our anchor of hope ; to the trees 
 and lawns, and rocks and hills, and gardens of 
 flowers, and paths of delight, which were till now 
 all his: but since the morning are oubs ! — the 
 place we have loved without ever seeing it, per-
 
 256 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 haps, — the place that saw his boyhood ; where his 
 people drew breath ; where his dear ones have 
 lived and died; where we hope to live and die — 
 Home ! The blessed word — Home ! 
 
 So, in the shadows and lights of one of the 
 sweetest nights of English summer, Sir Douglas 
 Ross and Gertrude journeyed on ; so, in the clear 
 moonlight of the advanced hours, they drove 
 through the solemn darkened approach, scented 
 with the aromatic odour of the pine-trees ; and 
 so, the journey ending at last, Sir Douglas turned 
 to his new-made bride, — before the bustle of en- 
 trance and welcome, the barking of dogs, the 
 ringing of bells, the flutter and hurry of welcome 
 and reception, should break in on their silent 
 dream of joy, — and passionately kissing her cheek, 
 murmured softly in her ear as he led her in, ' God 
 bless this day to both of us ! May you be happy 
 here, my Gertrude, and never regret the day that 
 made you mine for ever ! ' 
 
 For ever !
 
 Paradise. 257 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Paradise. 
 
 JSilLEXROSSIE was Paradise. For many and 
 many a day after Gertrude had crossed the 
 
 threshold of that stately castle, she firmly believed 
 that no other home so perfect had ever opened 
 upon bridal eyes. The extraordinary beauty of 
 that wild scenery ; blue lake, brown mountain 
 and wild foaming stream ending in abrupt water- 
 falls ; the stately growth of the incense-breathing 
 old fir - trees ; the ceaseless change of prospect 
 from different mountain paths ; the glad welcome 
 of the old tenantry to ' the lady ' of their long 
 absent master ; the delicious power of helping ; 
 of visiting the poor, and blind, and sick, and bed- 
 ridden, and being able to alter their degrees of 
 suffering, and act as an inferior Providence in 
 favour of those obscure and uncared-for destinies ; 
 vol. i. s
 
 258 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 with the sunshine of love and approval over all 
 she said, did, or planned, from the enamoured 
 Sir Douglas ; — left nothing to desire of happiness 
 in Gertrude's heart. 
 
 And then, very slowly, very quietly, very un- 
 expectedly, and yet very clearly, she awoke to 
 the perception that in her Paradise there was a 
 snake. Not a great magnificent satanic snake. 
 Not a serpent with a cherub's head, as in the old 
 pictures ; coiling round the smooth-stemmed trees, 
 glittering and rippling with a river-like move- 
 ment in its gliding body and varnished skin. 
 Not a python of strange majesty and power, 
 disputing the sense of Heaven's clear revelations, 
 and iindermining the authority of its ordinances, 
 by words of seeming wisdom voluble and sweet as 
 those dim oracles which the priesthood of Apollo 
 sent through metal tubes to make the heathen 
 altars seem divine. Not a creature that awed 
 and yet fascinated ; whose presence was a mystery, 
 and its counsel almost a scornful command. But 
 a little sliding, slithering, mean, small snake : a 
 ' snake in the grass : ' a snake whose tiny bite the 
 heel might almost carelessly spurn when it seemed 
 to pursue, and whose power to wound might be
 
 Paradise. 2~j\) 
 
 doubted and smiled over, till the miracle of death 
 by its venom were irrevocably proved !' A snake 
 that looked like a harmless eft. 
 
 Nothing but the instinctive repulsion which 
 exists in certain natures to reptiles even when 
 unseen, their presence being discoverable to the 
 inner soul of feeling though not to the outward 
 sense, could have inspired Gertrude with the 
 aversion she gradually felt for Sii Douglas's half- 
 sister, Alice Ross. 
 
 Alice had not offended the bride ; on the con- 
 trary she flattered her ; she obviously endeavoured 
 to please, to wind round her, to become necessary 
 to her. She went beyond the mere yielding up 
 gracefully the small delegated authority which 
 for many years she had seemed to exercise, from 
 being ' the only one of the family resident at the 
 Castle.' She was not satisfied with dropping to 
 the condition of friend and equal; she rather 
 assumed that of poor relation and humble com- 
 panion. She chose toleration, and repudiated 
 welcome. As to the near connexion between her- 
 self and Sir Douglas, she always alluded to it in 
 a humble, half-mournful, apologetic manner, as if 
 it were a fault, but not her fault ; and vet a fault
 
 260 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 for which she was willing to make amends to the 
 extent of her feeble powers. She behaved towards 
 him as towards one who was to be admired, rever- 
 enced, wondered at; — but to love him would be 
 taking too great a liberty. Still, in her own 
 subservient way she contrived to impress him 
 with a notion of humble worship : and she lost 
 no opportunity of increasing that impression even 
 while she deprecated all evidences of its ruling 
 spirit in her mind. 
 
 The very first evening they were all seated at 
 the oaken table where books, and flowers, and 
 carpet-work lay in crowded companionship ; she 
 softly gathered together, with a little trembling 
 sigh, a sort of select harvest from among the 
 books ; saying, with the slow Highland drawl 
 peculiar to some Scotch voices : — 
 
 ' I should have moved these before ; for I 
 count them as my very own ; but they have lain 
 here so long ! Of course I know nothing of 
 military matters, even now ; but I have made 
 quite a collection of books about armour, and 
 about forces in different countries, and fortifi- 
 cations of various kinds — and histories of battles ! 
 I have a pedlar's pack of them ; Gustavus of
 
 Paradise. 261 
 
 Sweden, with, no end of plates ; and I have even 
 got, — you will laugh, — I have even got a great 
 big Toliune called the ' Tactics of Elian ; ' showing 
 all the modes of disposing armies in the Greek 
 and Eoman days.' % 
 
 < The Tactics of Elian ! What upon earth 
 were they?' said Gertrude, laughing. 
 
 ' Well, I cannot explain it better than I have 
 done, — in my simple way/ — drawled Alice. l The 
 book shows how they led armies into the field, and 
 how they placed their troops. I hare been so 
 accustomed to think of a soldier's life in all ways ' 
 (and here she looked deprecatingly towards Sir 
 Douglas), ' that no book about it seemed dull to me ; 
 and I found very curious things. Such cruel things ! 
 Think of instructions how to take a fort in two 
 several ways ; one way if you are obliged to con- 
 sider the lives of your men (how many of them 
 are killed, in fact) ; and another way if you " can 
 afford to expend men;" yes, that is the exact 
 expression ; I remember it ; it shocked me to 
 think of the calculation. A cruel life, but a brave 
 life,' — and again she looked at her half-brother, 
 who was smiling with an amused expression, as 
 she slowlv delivered her little oration.
 
 262 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 ' And have you studied these military gram- 
 mars, so that you could undertake these tasks ?' 
 
 ' Yes, I think I could take a fort/ she an- 
 swered, in a grave deliberate unconscious manner. 
 
 'And a bridge?' 
 
 'Yes— a bridge. And I could construct a 
 pontoon, — and move troops across the marshes.' 
 (Which she pronounced mairshes.) 
 
 ' What a pity you were not born a generation 
 earlier, Alice, and that your abilities were not em- 
 ployed in the disastrous retreat from Walcheren ! ' 
 
 'Well, I just forbode that you would laugh 
 at me,' — she said, with the same placid drawl ; 
 ' and so I do not mind ; and I '11 carry away my 
 !}ooks, and put them in the shelves of the Tower- 
 room. I 've never changed my room, you know : 
 perhaps I should change it now ? If Lady Ross 
 thinks — when she goes over the castle' — and 
 here she made one of her faces of humble depre- 
 cating inquiry, and paused. 
 
 ' Oh ! dear no,' said Gertrude, eagerly : and 
 * Oh ! no, no,' broke in Sir Douglas with equal 
 warmth. 'You've lived there all your life; I 
 should be sorry indeed, if now — ' 
 
 ' And I should be sorry,' said Gertrude, with
 
 Paradise. 263 
 
 a kindly smile, 'that my coming should have 
 such a disagreeable result. I hope, unless the 
 day should come when you would leave us and 
 the Tower-room, for some very pleasant reason, 
 that it will be home, as it has always been.' 
 
 A glance sharper than at all agreed with the 
 drawling quiet voice, shot from Alice's grey eyes ; 
 a glance of doubtful inquiry: and then she de- 
 murely replied : — 
 
 ' It is not very probable, after so many years, 
 that I should have the reason for leaving which 
 you think so pleasant, Lady Boss.' 
 
 The bride was young and quick of feeling, and 
 she looked down and blushed very red ; for she 
 did not know how to get over her little difficulty. 
 She knew that when she spoke, with her sweet, 
 cordial smile, of some ' very pleasant reason ' for 
 leaving, she meant if Alice went away to be 
 married, and she comprehended that her new 
 sister-in-law had doubted whether she meant this 
 speech in all sincerity : since Alice was certainly 
 what in common parlance is called, even when 
 the party still retains claims to personal attraction, 
 'an old maid.' 
 
 Alice did retain claims to personal attraction :
 
 264 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 her well-shaped head, — though its banded hair 
 was of that disagreeable dry drab colour, which 
 had not yet the advantage of our modern fashion 
 of being clyed of a golden red, — surmounted a 
 long, slender white throat ; and a figure which, 
 if somewhat too spare for artistic notions of beauty, 
 was, as her maid expressed it, 'jimp and genteel/ 
 
 She moved (as she spoke) with slow precision ; 
 and not without some degree of grace. The only 
 positively disagreeable thing about her, was a 
 certain watchfulness, which disturbed and fasci- 
 nated you. Do what you would, Alice's eyes 
 were on you. You felt them fixed on your 
 shoulder ; your forehead ; the back of your head ; 
 your hands ; your feet ; the sheet of paper on 
 which you were writing a letter; the title and 
 outside cover of the book you were reading ; the 
 harmless list you were making out of your day's 
 shopping ; the anxious calculation of your year's 
 income ; and the little vague sketch you scribbled 
 while your mind was occupied about other things. 
 
 I have spoken of her as the snake in this Para- 
 dise ; but there was something essential^ feline, 
 also, in her whole manner ; and indeed the cat is, 
 among inferior animals, what the snake is among
 
 Paradise. 265 
 
 a lower order of creatures. The noiseless, cau- 
 tious, circuitous mode in which she made her way 
 across a room was cat-like ; the dazed quiet of her 
 eyes on common occasions, had the expression of 
 a cat sitting in the sun ; and the startling illu- 
 mination of watchful attention in them at other 
 times, recalled to our fancy the same creature 
 catching sight of its prey. Even the low purring, 
 and rubbing of pussy's soft fur against your 
 side, seemed to find its analogy in her slow soft 
 words of flattery : as the gentle approach, which 
 neither required nor eyen accepted any returning 
 caress, resembled the gliding to and fro on some 
 familiar hearth of that unloying little domestic 
 animal, whose cry is alien and weird to our ears, 
 and its shape like a diminished tiger. 
 
 Aboye all, in her gravity and changelessness, 
 she was cat-like. 
 
 The dog (our other household inmate) has his 
 variety of moods, like his master. He is joyous, 
 eager, sulky, angry, restless ; conscious of our loye 
 or displeasure ; capable of correction ; able to 
 learn ; has his own preferences too ; welcoming 
 some of the habitual visitors to his master's house, 
 growling at others, — he only knows why. He loves
 
 266 Old Sir Douglas, 
 
 the children of the house ; he submits to have 
 baby's awkward helpless fat fingers thrust in his 
 eye, without resentment. He romps with the 
 boys, and with his own species ; affecting the 
 fiercest onslaughts, and then mumbling with a 
 mouth like velvet when the mimic war leaves him 
 victor in the play ! He is a creature made up of 
 variety. But a cat is always the same. Equally 
 on her guard with friend and foe — stealthy, in- 
 different, unsympathizing — as willing to gnaw 
 the babe in its cradle as the rat in the barn ; and 
 gliding away to attend to her own private interests 
 let what will be the event of the hour in the 
 household circle of which she forms part. She is 
 a daily mystery, and a nightly annoyance. In 
 the midst of our tame city-life she is /era natura. 
 We advertise our dogs as ' Lost, or stolen/ but we 
 say of our cat that she has ' gone away/ 
 
 Even in going away she consults her own 
 convenience ; she does not stay, like the dog, be- 
 cause she is ours, and because we are there ; but 
 only so long as she is comfortable. 
 
 Alice Ross was comfortable at Glenrossie, and 
 she wished to stay. She saw with curiosity and 
 attention the conscious blush of the young wife,
 
 Paradise. 267 
 
 when she had alluded to the chance of her leaving 
 the castle for a l pleasant reason.' She herself 
 was not the least embarrassed; she was merely 
 watchful. She was guessing at her new relative's 
 disposition. She finished reaping her little 
 harvest of books, and said her maid would fetch 
 them. 
 
 ' And when they are sorted, Lady Ross, and 
 all on the shelves, you '11 maybe look in to my 
 lonely den, in the Tower-room, and have a gay 
 good laugh at the fittings there ; for the walls 
 will match the books, for soldiering. There are 
 prints of most of the notable heroes of modern 
 wars ; and there 's one, the best of all, that I spent 
 a golden piece or two getting framed, and I'll 
 leave you to guess who that will be.' 
 
 And the upward glance and grave smile were 
 again directed to her tall half-brother, who had 
 risen from his seat and was turning over the 
 leaves of one of the ' military grammars ' with 
 some interest. He was rather touched too at the 
 mention of the ' lonely den,' and he gave a little 
 friendly tap to the pale cheek of his half-sister, 
 saying gaily, ' Well, this hero will come and see 
 your other heroes to-morrow ; and so will Gertrude.'
 
 268 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 The little tap on the cheek was more or less 
 pleasant to Alice ; but it woke no dimpling smile 
 nor tender answering look. 
 
 ' I would like very much to show them all to 
 Lady Ross/ she said, quietly. 
 
 For one wavering moment Gertrude seemed 
 about to speak. She, too, was touched at the 
 solitary picture of life in the ' lonely den ; ' she 
 thought of saying something kind to her new 
 sister-in-law. 
 
 ' Call me Gertrude ; do not call me ' Lady 
 Ross/ was the sentence that rose to her young 
 lips. But there was a brief space of chill silence, 
 no one could say why ; and the words remained 
 unspoken.
 
 Alice Ross. 269 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 Alice Ross. 
 
 LICE was the first to break that silence. 
 ' And how did you leave Kenneth ? ' she 
 said ; ' and when will he be coming to Torriebnrn ? 
 His feckless mother's been in great distress about 
 him, by what I hear.' 
 
 ' Kenneth's better,' shortly answered Sir 
 Douglas, as he bent again over a book of military 
 plans ; and his handsome brow visibly clouded 
 over. 
 
 The ilium in ated pussy-cat eyes had diamonds 
 in them for a second or two, as Alice listened. She 
 looked first at Sir Douglas and then at Gertrude, 
 who had followed up her husband's assurance with 
 the words, — 
 
 ' Oh ! yes, better ; so much better ; quite 
 well ; only not strong yet.'
 
 270 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 The words were nothing ; only the manner, 
 the hurried embarrassed manner ; and the blush, 
 another blush deeper than the one which had be- 
 trayed her consciousness that Alice doubted over 
 ' the pleasant reason ' speech. 
 
 What had happened ? 
 
 Had Kenneth done something extremely wrong 
 and disgraceful ? something the whole family 
 were to be ashamed of, and shamed by, as soon as 
 it was known ? 
 
 Alice thought that quite possible. She knew 
 a great deal of hard gossip about her young 
 nephew, though she had steadily refused to have 
 anything to do with his mother, or to visit her, or 
 admit her to the ' lonely den.' 
 
 That tabooed female might call herself ' Mrs. 
 Ross Heaton of Torrieburn/ — or by any other name 
 she pleased, — now she was again married 'more 
 decently ;' but to Miss Alice Ross she remained, 
 and was destined to remain for ever, ' Maggie of 
 the Mill.' 
 
 Certainly her son Kenneth was very likely to 
 have done something disgraceful. 
 
 Or had he merely done something so outra- 
 geously extravagant that his uncle had quarrelled
 
 Alice Boss. 271 
 
 with, him? Involved himself past retrieval? 
 ruined himself, in fact, at the very outset of his 
 career? 
 
 Alice resolved to go the very next day and 
 make a visit far over the hills, and 'ayont the 
 Falls/ to that Dowager Countess of Clochnabeu, 
 who in the opening pages of this history was 
 already a Dowager Countess, though a young 
 widow ; and mother to the sickly Earl of Cloch- 
 naben and to Lorimer Boyd. 
 
 The sickly Earl was still sickly, and still alive ; 
 and to say truth, Alice Ross had wasted many a 
 year in endeavouring so to compass her ends that 
 she might become head nurse in that establish- 
 ment, by marrying the invalid. But the Dowager- 
 widow was too wary for such a plan to succeed ; 
 and without absolutely 'cutting' Miss Boss at 
 any period of their long acquaintance, she so 
 plainly held her aloof when her intentions became 
 visible, and so continuously frustrated the cleverest 
 little plots, that Alice became weary of the 
 struggle, and patient perforce. 
 
 The Dowager was now an elderly female ; 
 the Earl not a bit nearer death apparently than 
 in his weakly adolescence; and the two women
 
 272 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 continued friends; though the elder had well- 
 founded suspicions that the younger cherished an 
 idea of succeeding by inheritance, as it were, to 
 the coveted post; and of so ingratiating herself 
 with Lord Clocnaben, that he would need her 
 when his mother came to die — and needing her, 
 would marry her then. 
 
 If it had ever occurred to the Earl of Cloch- 
 naben that he would be made more comfortable 
 by having a wife, and that wife Miss Ross, he 
 certainly would have proposed ; for he thought of 
 nothing but his own comfort. But it did not 
 occur to him. He did not want to be beloved ; 
 he wanted to be attended to, and he had already 
 all the attention he could desire. He did not want 
 to be amused ; he was not amusable. He wanted 
 his three draughts a-day poured out for him, and 
 his pills brought to him at night. All which 
 had been done, and continued to be done, by his 
 mother's maid, from his boyhood to the present 
 hour. 
 
 And so the years rolled on ! ' While there 
 is life there is hope/ — and Alice was of a perse- 
 vering nature. She paid her patient visits to the 
 dull old house and its inmates, and sat at home
 
 Alice R 273 
 
 on clays when the Dowager had intimated that 
 'if it was fine' she would drive to Glen: 
 She walked by the side of Lord Clochnaben's 
 garden-chair. She played cards with him on 
 week-days ; and heard texts expounded, with 
 long wandering ' discourses' and longer wandering 
 prayers, from Lady Clochnaben's favourite ' mee- 
 nister,' on Sundays. It was a curiously dull life, 
 but it suited Alice. Her mother's few friends 
 had formerly sent for her occasionally, for gaieties 
 in Edinburgh ; Perth hunts ; and county balls ; 
 and she had partaken of these moderate pleasures 
 in her own tranquil and reserved manner ; neither 
 feeling nor expressing any particular gratitude 
 to those who had invited her ; never showing the 
 least glimmer of desire to stay a day beyond the 
 time first appointed ; nor knitting intimacies, 
 and promising that eager correspondence which 
 girls so frequently indulge in, with any of her 
 own sex and age, whom she might fall in with on 
 these occasions. 
 
 People got rather tired of inviting Alice I - 
 and the summonses to assist at gaieties became 
 few and far between. She was not one of 
 ' useful ' young ladies. She never played qua i 
 
 v ;.. i. t
 
 274 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 or waltzes for a stand-up impromptu dance, in a 
 gay party of bright juniors ; gracefully shelving 
 herself, as an elderly and faded virgin. She 
 knitted no warm slippers for gouty old gentlemen 
 or chilly dowagers. Her care was confined to 
 keeping her own little toes warm. She never 
 'sat back' in any body's carriage in her life. 
 She always 'declined to drive' on such occasions 
 — lamenting, with a grave smile, that she was 
 not 'as robust as some folk/ to whom it was 
 indifferent which side they occupied in a barouche. 
 She never pronounced the agreeable sentence, 
 ' Oh ! but let me fetch it ; I am just going up- 
 stairs,' — to some lady oblivious of her work-box or 
 carpet canvas. Of the three conjugations, active, 
 passive, or neuter, she undertood only the two 
 latter. 
 
 In the apparent decline of the little popularity 
 she had once enjoyed, she showed neither resent- 
 ment nor regret. It seemed all one to her 
 whether she were invited or left out ; whether her 
 mother's old friends died off, or forgot her, or, 
 from any overwhelming grief, were unable to 
 send for her as formerly to form part of their 
 home circle. She had a most discouraging way
 
 Alice Boss. 275 
 
 of receiving news of such, persons ; replying to 
 her interlocutors by the two monosyllables of 
 ' Yes' and ' Oh.' The ' Yes' being slightly inter- 
 rogative, and the 'Oh,' a calm assent, not an 
 exclamation. As thus : 
 
 'You have heard, dear Miss Ross, of vour 
 cousin Dalrymple's misfortune ?' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 '"Well, he was persuaded to enter in that 
 speculation of Indian railways lately planned, so 
 Lady Miller told me.' 
 
 'Yes?' 
 
 ' And he is completely ruined ! His eldest 
 girl is going out as a governess.' 
 
 'Oh.' 
 
 ' Lady Miller told me, too, the horrid story of 
 the death of Mrs. Fraser's two little girls by 
 burning ; long ago, you know ; when Clochnaben 
 was a boy.' 
 
 'Yes?' 
 
 ' There was a Christmas party in the house ; 
 and the nurses went down to see the company, 
 leaving a candle near the little beds, and the 
 curtains caught fire in the draught of the door, 
 which had been left ajar ; and the poor children's
 
 276 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 cries weren't heard because of the music downstairs, 
 and when found they were quite dead — suffocated V 
 
 'Oh.' 
 
 Let it not be supposed, however, from this 
 undemonstrative style of conversation, that Alice 
 Ross was in very truth indifferent to the course 
 of events. In all that touched herself, she was 
 keen, far-sighted, and long- remembering. She 
 never forgot an injury. She never omitted an 
 opportunity. 
 
 Her cat-like resemblance extended to the 
 order and method of her every- day life. In the 
 open daylight of social intercourse, she was tran- 
 quil and unobtrusive, or purring and courteous ; 
 but in the darkness of solitary hours — in the Lone 
 Den — her mind prowled and capered, and took 
 its light leaps in pursuit of prey. There, the 
 dazed eyes resumed their brilliant watchfulness ; 
 and gleamed over the gloom of her destiny. 
 There, the many calculations for small and 
 great ends were methodically arranged, and plans 
 laid for besieging, undermining, and beleaguer- 
 ing, such as find no place in military books. 
 The tactics of Elian were nothing in comparison 
 with the tactics of Alice.
 
 Alice Ross. 277 
 
 Xot that she was always successful. There is 
 such a thing as being too cautious, too calculating ; 
 in common parlance, 'too clever by half.' 
 
 Those who have settled and secret motives for 
 all they say and do, are apt to ascribe the same 
 amount of motive to others ; and to found their 
 strategy upon a state of things which does not 
 exist. Sometimes therefore she over-reached her- 
 self, and was deroutee by the very simplicity of 
 those with whom she had to deal. The ground 
 she had to march over at such times afforded no 
 cover for sharp-shooting or ambuscade. 
 
 Still she studied unremittingly ; and endea- 
 voured to master the peculiarities and varieties of 
 characters very different from her own. Her 
 half-brother had been one of her earliest studies. 
 Almost as soon as she could think at all, she 
 thought about him. That shy, impressionable, 
 passionate, generous nature seemed revealed to 
 her understanding, though in matters of feeling 
 they had no link in common. She had a great 
 opinion of his power to charm, though she scarcely 
 knew why. For a great number of years she had 
 continually expected him to marry ; then came a 
 phase of time when she entirely rid her mind of
 
 278 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 any such disagreeable expectation; and then, as 
 life faded away, and the ' pleasant reason ' for 
 leaving her own lonely den did not occur, she 
 grew to hope such an event was out of the ques- 
 tion ! She had ' kept house ' for Sir Douglas 
 during his intervals of home residence. Now, all 
 that was over. There sat the sunny-haired, dove- 
 eyed contrast to herself, enthroned and idolised. 
 Alice did not like it.
 
 Lady Clochnaben. 279 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 Lady Clochnaben, 
 
 Ifej^lHE morning after her display of military 
 |iSLQl| books she rose early, and putting on her 
 short well-fitting riding-habit, she rode her High- 
 land pony across the hills to Clochnaben. 
 
 As it was no part of Alice's tactics to be frank, 
 she did not begin with the real purpose of her 
 yisit, namely to discover anything Lorimer Boyd 
 might have written about Kenneth ; but affected 
 to have made her early expedition in order to 
 inform her dear Lady Clochnaben that the bride 
 was now arrived and settled at Glenrossie. 
 
 She drawled forth this news, and the impres- 
 sion made upon her by the bride, slowly and 
 quietly, without apparent eagerness or interest. 
 The Countess of Clochnaben was standing with 
 her hands behind her, superintending the planting
 
 280 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 of some trees, when Alice alighted from her 
 pony. 
 
 She was so tall, and stood so firmly, that 
 yon might think she herself had been planted 
 in the ground ; and so thoroughly well planted, 
 that no storm would avail to uproot her. She 
 had been in youth what is termed a ' fine woman/ 
 — very stately ; but the worst of immeasurably 
 stately women is, that in old age they are apt 
 to become gaunt. The Countess of Clochnaben 
 had become gaunt. She was also very severe 
 in her opinion of others ; gaunt in mind as well 
 as body. She kept very early hours. The iron 
 vibration of the rustjr old clock in the court- 
 yard, very seldom had the advantage of her in 
 getting the hours of six in summer and seven 
 in winter struck fairly through, before her stern 
 tread was heard on the outer staircase. These 
 morning hours being often chill, and the gusty 
 mountain- gaps full of what Shakspeare calls ' an 
 eager and a nipping air,' she habitually wore 
 over her cap, as a shield against rheumatic head- 
 ache, a small quilted black silk bonnet ; and 
 when she headed her breakfast-table, what with 
 this peculiarity of costume, the rigid and erect
 
 Lady Clochnaben. 281 
 
 carriage of her tall body, and the prepared se- 
 verity of her mouth, she loooked like a vene- 
 rable judge about to pass sentence on a criminal. 
 
 And, indeed, she was continually passing sen- 
 tence on criminals. Most of her neighbours and 
 connexions were criminals in her eyes ; and she 
 spent her time in reviewing their conduct with 
 much asperity. 
 
 The late Lord Justice Clerk of Scotland 
 told a friend that, with respect to females 
 brought before him for crime, he was ' generally 
 inclined to believe in their guilt.' Whether 
 he held the strict opinion of the Roman 
 Caesar, that it was a fault in a woman even to 
 be accused or suspected, he did not explain. 
 Xeither did Lady Clochnaben explain the grounds 
 of her decisions ; but it is certain that she gene- 
 rally concluded females (and most males) whom 
 she summoned for judgment into the Court 
 Session held in her own mind, to be ' guilty/ 
 
 She was wont to say, grimly, in speaking 
 of any plan proposed to her by persons she 
 thought incompetent, — f I give it my determined 
 opposition.' And it was on these occasions that 
 her factor — nominally (very nominally) 'factor
 
 282 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 to the Earl of Clochnaben ' — used to observe, 
 that she was ' an awfu' woman to contravene.' 
 She herself bore out the factor's assertion. She 
 never made use of that common phrase, ' That 
 is my opinion.' She heard the opinion of others ; 
 mowed it down with an absolute reversal ; and 
 after setting her thin lips, with a sort of preface 
 of negation, said in a hard distinct voice, ' That's 
 my dictum.' All her opinions were l dictums/ 
 and all her ' dictums ' were laws. 
 
 She was, as I have already observed, very 
 severe on her neighbours. She said she had an 
 ' abhorrence ' of sin, and no doubt she had ; and 
 she pronounced two ' dictums/ or dicta, that 
 greatly troubled Kenneth's tutor step-father, who 
 was inclined to be liberal in such matters. The 
 first of these was, '■ Don't talk to me of tempta- 
 tion ; temptations are just simply the sauce the 
 devil serves up fools with.' And the second, 
 i God's mercy is a great encouragement to ob- 
 stinate offenders.' 
 
 Indeed, off enders of all kinds, obstinate or re- 
 pentant, found no favour in her eyes. Heaven might 
 pardon them, but Lady Clochnaben could not. 
 
 She had a sort of gleam of indulgence for the
 
 Lady Clochnaben. 283 
 
 invalided Clochnaben. He was not ' a sinner/ 
 but a ' poor creature.' She was not exactly fond 
 of him ; because (as the same shrewd factor who 
 considered her ' an awfu' woman to contravene ' 
 observed) there were two words which were 
 not to be found in her leddyship's vocabulary ; 
 'fond,' and 'give.' She was both fierce and 
 parsimonious. But what little milk of human 
 kindness there was in her rugged nature, and 
 what narrow notions of sacrifice, either of her 
 own time or personal comfort, existed there, — 
 existed for the behoof and benefit of Clochnaben. 
 
 Once, indeed, she had been betrayed into a burst 
 of something almost like maternal tenderness. 
 
 When Mrs. Fraser's two little girls were burnt, 
 Clochnaben (a very timid, helpless lad) had fled 
 from the scene ; and, for a brief space, it was 
 thought he, too, might have perished. He was 
 found, however, crouched in the garden, and 
 brought back to the house. When his mother 
 beheld him safe and unsinged, in the gladness 
 of her surprise she caught him to her breast with 
 a hearty embrace. But immediately afterwards, 
 recollecting the needless terror and anxiety she 
 had endured on his account, she thrust him from
 
 284 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 her with, one vigorous hand, just far enough to 
 administer with the other a remarkably well- 
 directed pugilistic blow in the pit of the stomach, 
 exclaiming, ' That will teach you not to trifle 
 with my feelings another time/ 
 
 She did not permit any of her feelings to be 
 trifled with. She had watched Alice Ross's attempt 
 to marry him with more displeasure than fear. 
 She did not choose that he should marry. She 
 gave all such schemes ' her determined opposition.' 
 She always looked beyond the frail life of her 
 eldest son, to Lorimer Boyd. Lorimer was to 
 many. Clochnaben was to die single. She 
 looked upon him as a sort of locum tcnens and 
 temporary representative of the family ; the future 
 fortunes of which were to be in the hands of 
 his brother, after he should be quietly reposing 
 in the family vault. She was extremely proud 
 of Lorimer. She had the poems which he pub- 
 lished as a young collegian, bound in scarlet 
 morocco and laid conspicuously on the table in 
 the great sitting-room, — a room hung round 
 with the hard portraits of his ancestors ; and 
 she boasted a good deal of his abilities to her 
 few intimate friends.
 
 Lady Clochnaben. 285 
 
 She had often boasted of her son Lorinier 
 to Alice Ross ; and now, when that astute little 
 personage in the grey riding-habit had made 
 her announcement of the arrival of young Lady 
 Ross, an impatient sigh and a * glowering ' look 
 told at once that neither the bride nor the sub- 
 ject were particularly welcome. 
 
 In truth, if Lady Clochnaben could have 
 given this marriage her ' determined opposition,' 
 she woidd have done so with quite as much 
 vigour as the reader of the tactics of Elian. Her 
 woman's instinct told her, hard woman though 
 she was, that Lorimer Boyd had taken an inter- 
 est in Gertrude Skifton beyond what he chose 
 to admit. It was not for nothing, she thought, 
 that after mentioning the Skiftons in every let- 
 ter he wrote, — quoting them, praising them, de- 
 lighting in them, — he suddenly ' kept silence 
 even from good words ; ' and, after once or twice 
 mentioning in a gloomy and constrained way 
 the parties they were making with Sir Douglas 
 and Kenneth at Naples, ceased altogether to 
 comment on their existence. 
 
 Lady Clochnaben was of opinion that Lori- 
 mer 'had thought of the girl for himself.' And
 
 286 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 though she probably would have considered such 
 a match, — in spite of Gertrude's fortune and 
 good connexion on her mother's side, — not 
 nearly good enough for the condescension of 
 her consent,— still she resented the chance being 
 taken out of her power, and her favourite son 
 being, as she shrewdly suspected, wounded and 
 disappointed. 
 
 They were cousins, too, by a sort of distant 
 Scotch cousinhood; the Clochnabens and Lady 
 Charlotte Skifton; and, though they repudiated 
 all knowledge of the Skifton element in the 
 family, they considered Lady Charlotte to be 
 bound to them by that inextricable tie. 
 
 Lady Clochnaben had no motive for reserve, 
 and she abused the young Lady Ross in round 
 set terms; though she did not know her. She 
 sneered a good deal at Sir Douglas. She hoped 
 the marriage might turn out well, but that sort 
 of marriage very seldom succeeded. She con- 
 descended to say she would come over l to the 
 castle/ 'though the bride little deserved such 
 attention/ and that Clochnaben would come also : 
 that was enough. 
 
 Then she entered on a branch of the subject
 
 Lady Clochnaben. 287 
 
 most eagerly listened to by Alice : the gossip 
 that had percolated through various channels 
 respecting Kenneth's admiration for Gertrude, 
 and how his uncle had cut him out, and what 
 a worthless sinner Kenneth was. And old Lady 
 Clochnaben gaYe a jocose little shake to the 
 black quilted bonnet, with a grotesque attempt 
 at gaiety ; for she thought it a good joke that 
 Kenneth should be ousted and outwitted, though 
 she thought it no joke at all that her son Lorimer 
 should lose /^*6- chance of winning the same prize. 
 
 And all being said that could be said, in 
 croaking dispraise of the new-married couple, 
 the black-capped judge proceeded to the trial of 
 another cause. "With which indeed Sir Douglas 
 was also more or less connected : the said cause 
 being the conduct of the Episcopalian clergyman 
 on the estate of Glenrossie, who was actually 
 endeavouring, 'most improperly' — as the irate 
 Dowager expressed it, — to get a disused burying- 
 ground consecrated for burials in his own 
 parish ! 
 
 Now the small Episcopal Church and its 
 interests had been confided by Sir Douglas to 
 Savile Heaton, the tutor who had married
 
 288 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 Maggie, on that gentleman's own petition; and 
 it was hardly possible to imagine a greater com- 
 plication than the state of matters induced by 
 this arrangement. Scanty as the population 
 was, there was a Free Kirk, a Scotch Estab- 
 lished Church, and the somewhat decorated little 
 temple of worship over which Mr. Savile Heaton 
 presided, the Episcopalian Church, — on which 
 he spent the very slender funds he could com- 
 mand of his own ; in which he preached rather 
 elaborate sermons ; and for which he had trained 
 a little band of singers, accompanied by a small 
 organ. 
 
 The amount of fierce quarrelling among the 
 differing Christians of these three churches ; 
 the frenzy of scorn ; the sly backbiting ; the 
 consigning of each other's souls to eternal and un- 
 avoidable perdition; the losing sight of all the 
 reality and purposes of prayer in the rabid dis- 
 putes of how prayer should be offered up, — was 
 a spectacle for men and angels ! 
 
 Maggie held with her husband; though she 
 yawned all through the sermon, and frequently 
 came to afternoon church in a state of drowsy 
 half-tipsiness.
 
 Lady Clochnaben. 289 
 
 Her father, the old miller, went to the Free 
 Kirk ; her mother to the Established, ' as a decent 
 body ought ; ' and they agreed in little except 
 in being generally ' fou ■ on a Sunday evening. 
 
 Lady Clochnaben was Presbyterian ; and so 
 was Miss Alice Ross; and both these ladies 
 belonged also to that wide- spread and influential 
 sect, the Pharisees. They were continually 
 thanking God that they were better than their 
 neighbours ; and lost in contemplation of the 
 mote in their brother's eye. 
 
 On the morning that Alice had chosen to 
 ride over to the grim grey castle on the misty 
 hills, Lady Clochnaben had received a letter 
 from Lorimer which extremely displeased her : 
 a letter in answer to one of her own, in which 
 she expressed her intention to give her ' most 
 determined opposition ' to schemes of the sort' 
 set on foot in the neighbouring parish by Mr. 
 Heaton, and requested Lorimer to remonstrate 
 with Sir Douglas Ross respecting the conduct 
 of that gentleman. 
 
 She called her son's attention to a report of 
 proceedings elsewhere, respecting the consecration 
 of a cemetery ; sending it thickly interspersed, at 
 
 vol. i. v
 
 290 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 its impressive passages, with dashes from her firm 
 hand in rigorous lines of ink. She said Savile 
 Heaton had defended his opinions by the absurd 
 and overstrained piece of reasoning, — that God 
 having chosen to make the body the visible 
 temple of a living soul, it behoved man surely to 
 lay back the clay He had so honoured, with reve- 
 rent farewell prayer, in the earth which He also 
 created. She considered the extract she sent ' a 
 full and sufficient answer to such twaddle.' Such 
 sentences as the following met with her especial 
 approval : — 
 
 'This was a Presbyterian country; where 
 the consecration of burying-grounds was not 
 only considered a thing of no use, but was con- 
 demned as superstitious and allied to PojDery. 
 Consecration of the sold portions of the cemetery 
 was an insult to the proprietors of the ground. 
 Churchyards and churches, and many other 
 places, were consecrated many hundred years 
 ago ; but the Reformation swept these conse- 
 crations away; the will of the nation reduced 
 them to nonentities. To consecrate would be 
 to give the Episcopalians a right to the service 
 of burial. Why should such favour be shown
 
 Lady Glochnaben. 291 
 
 to Episcopalians ? Presbyterians, who had ac- 
 quired rights of burial iu the same ground, might 
 justly feel themselves aggrieved : and others 
 might feel only merriment and surprise that 
 such a ceremony had been indulged in at all. 
 It was good for nothing. The cemetery was 
 neither the better nor the worse for it : though 
 it might indeed lead to a feeling against the 
 cemetery in the minds of Presbyterians, who icouM 
 not use it as they might otherwise have done.' 
 
 Could Lady Clochnaben have seen the gloomy 
 and contemptuous smile with which Lorinier read 
 the last sentence, descriptive of the repugnance 
 a right-minded Presbyterian would feel at the 
 notion of being buried in ground defiled by con- 
 secration, she would have been still more pro- 
 voked at his answer ; which abruptly said : — 
 
 '"With reference to your expectation that I 
 should write to Douglas to interfere with Mr. 
 Heaton about the burying-ground, I wonder you 
 do not see that I can do no such thing ; nor, if 
 I did, could my meddling be of any possible 
 use. As to my own feelings on the subject, if 
 people prefer to be buried like dogs, let them be 
 so buried ; but I quite agree with Savile Heaton,
 
 292 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 that the clay which once held a human soul 
 should not be returned to its parent earth as we 
 shoot out rubbish on a midden ; and I cannot see 
 why a piece of ground which is of neither use 
 nor value to the present community, should re- 
 main useless, merely because people were for- 
 merly so buried in it. The consecration will not, 
 I presume, affect the poor dust lying there ; 
 though, by the report you send me, it may dis- 
 courage future corpses of the Presbyterian per- 
 suasion/ 
 
 'This comes of residing abroad, you see, 
 Alice/ said the Dowager, as she gave a vicious 
 tightening to the folds of the letter, and then 
 tapped it with her bony fore-finger. 'Lorinier 
 is grown into a Latitudinarian, and, for aught 
 I know, into something worse. But I'm just 
 resolved to fight out this matter, and I'll do it. 
 The very idea of the Torrieburn folk makes me 
 sick ; and if you can't crush a man one way, 
 you can another — that's my dictum.' 
 
 Whether, like the wrathful king who rashly 
 said of Thomas a Becket that he wondered he 
 had no subject who would rid him of that priest, 
 and so procured his murder, — the angry Dow-
 
 Lady Clochnaben. 293 
 
 ager expressed before any very unscrupulous 
 party her opinion that the place would be well 
 rid of Mr. Heaton, — cannot be clearly known; 
 but his position, never a very comfortable one, 
 was made more and more intolerable by a series 
 of small and great annoyances, the last of which 
 was attended with some danger, not only to him, 
 but to Gertrude Ross, and Sir Douglas. 
 
 An anxious consultation had been held, as 
 to the terms on which Mrs. Kenneth Eoss of 
 Torrieburn, now Mrs. Heaton, should stand with 
 the young Lady Eoss. Alice had resolutely stood 
 out, even in her loneliest days, against any com- 
 munication with her. ' She was not recognised 
 by her mother,' was her sole observation when 
 pressed on the subject. 
 
 But Gertrude leaned to peace ; and to that 
 quiet dealing with unfortunate events in families, 
 so seldom adopted — though, if the dignity of 
 reserve towards the world, on which such appa- 
 rent indulgence is founded, were more common, 
 scandals would be kept private which the world 
 only mocks at, and the persons affected by them 
 would be the happier. It was decided that Lady 
 Eoss should pay her visit to Torrieburn.
 
 294 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 To 'cut ' the widow of Sir Douglas's brother, — 
 the wife of the clergyman who had brought Ken- 
 neth up, — would have been a very harsh and dif- 
 ficult step to take. Intimacy was not desirable, 
 was not probable ; but countenance and acknow- 
 ledgment towards one so nearly connected with 
 Sir Douglas, seemed almost imperative. 
 
 To Torrieburn, Gertrude drove with her hus- 
 band ; and shuddered over the account he gave, 
 at the fatal bridge by the Falls, of the death of 
 his brother. Her mind still full of the tragic 
 tale, and of the description of Maggie herself in 
 her youthful beauty, Gertrude entered the draw- 
 ing-room, and was received by the occupant. 
 
 Mr. Heaton was a shy, earnest-looking man, 
 who spoke very little, and kept glancing at his 
 wife as if all the years that had passed had failed 
 to quiet his expectations of her doing or saying 
 something that would shock others. 
 
 Maggie herself was beginning to grow rather 
 fat and coarse, though still handsome. She was 
 dressed in the most outre style of the fashion, 
 according to that peculiar faith in milliners which 
 makes English, Scotch, and Irish women believe 
 that they ought to put on, at their own firesides,
 
 Lady Clochnaben. 295 
 
 toilettes which the French either never wear at 
 all ; or only wear when dressed for visiting, and 
 driving in the Bois de Boulogne. 
 
 Maggie was a hundred times ' finer' than the 
 bride ; and with her finery she had adopted a sort 
 of affectedly jolly, defiant manner, by which she 
 intended to show that she neither desired to be 
 patronised, nor would submit to be i looked down 
 upon.' 
 
 All she said and did, jarred with the feelings 
 of compassion and interest with which Gertrude's 
 mind had been filled. 
 
 As to Maggie, she saw Gertrude with bitter 
 prejudice. Kenneth, — her wild, insolent, vain 
 Kenneth, — had not observed the silence practised 
 by Lorimer Boyd towards his dowager mother. 
 He had told his less awful parent that he was in 
 love, and was beloved again ; and Maggie, re- 
 membering all his letters, took the view conse- 
 quent upon them ; namely, that she saw before 
 her the jilting coquette who had ' thrown over ' 
 the young lover, to become possessed of Glenrossie 
 Castle, and make a more wealthy marriage. 
 
 The visit was awkward and embarrassed, in 
 spite of gentle efforts at cordiality on the part of
 
 296 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 the bride ; all unconscious as she was of what was 
 passing in Maggie's mind. 
 
 At length she said to the latter that she would 
 like to ciamber up the Falls and look down on 
 the view ; and ' Mrs. Ross-Heaton/ as she called 
 herself, prepared to accompany her. When they 
 had nearly reached the head of the Falls, and 
 while a thick screen of mountain-ash and birch 
 still hid the house they had left from view, a loud 
 report startled them ; and, looking through the 
 trees, they saw smoke issuing from one of the 
 windows. 
 
 Descending rapidly, they retraced their steps 
 towards the dwelling they had so lately left, and 
 found Sir Douglas and Savile Heaton standing in 
 front of the house, angrily commenting on some 
 disaster that had just taken place. 
 
 On examination it was found that the iron 
 bush of a cart-wheel — tightly plugged up at both 
 ends with wood, in one of which a hole had been 
 drilled, through which it had been filled with 
 gunpowder, with a fuse inserted so as to form a 
 grenade, — had been placed under the window of 
 the drawing-room where they had been talking, 
 and fired.
 
 Lady Clochnaben. 297 
 
 The bush had burst into splinters ; spreading 
 in all directions ; passing through the window 
 and ceiling, and lodging in the floor of the room 
 above. Glass was shattered ; furniture broken ; 
 the smell of gunpowder still floated on the air. 
 Maggie did not scream ; she stood panting and 
 staring for a few seconds, and then with excessive 
 fierceness she exclaimed, ' I 'd be glad their necks 
 were ground in our mill ! ' 
 
 After which speech she flung herself into the 
 arms of her husband ; and there continued sob- 
 bing wildly, till she saw, or imagined she saw, 
 the retreating form of a man among the bushes ; 
 when she suddenly ceased weeping, and sprang 
 forward, with an activity very surprising in so 
 cumbersome a figure. 
 
 No one was discoverable however, and she 
 came slowly back again. 
 
 Her husband spoke kindly to her, and bade 
 her take farewell of Sir Douglas and Gertrude, 
 which she did somewhat sullenly ; Sir Douglas 
 reiterating to Mr. Heaton assurances of assistance 
 and goodwill. 
 
 Gertrude was very silent during the drive 
 home. She had been frightened and bewildered ;
 
 298 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 and much that she found at Glenrossie was so 
 disappointing. Maggie, so coarse and strange ; 
 Alice, so ungenial and alien she scarcely knew 
 why. The squabbles about religious forms, which 
 had been discussed before her, so hideous and yet 
 so trifling ! 
 
 She sighed, and turned to Sir Douglas, who 
 had also been silently ruminating. She took his 
 true frank hand, and he bent and kissed her as 
 she sat silently there by his side. 
 
 Much was disappointing ; but what could 
 quench the joy of that love ? Much was dis- 
 appointing; but Sir Douglas, her own Douglas, 
 was perfect ; and she was his ' for ever ! '
 
 Mamma's Letter. 299 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 Mamma's Letter. 
 
 ARADISE had a cloud over it after this. 
 Gertrude could not comprehend bitterness ; 
 she had never felt it. Holy thoughts, with her, 
 were peaceful thoughts. She talked a great deal 
 with Mr. Heaton over his troubles and anxieties, 
 and produced a corresponding degree of displeasure 
 in rigid Lady Clochnaben, and watchful Alice 
 Ross. Her principles were very lax, in their 
 opinion. She had even been guilty, one Sabbath 
 evening, of singing. Sir Douglas had caught cold 
 out fishing ; his eyes were inflamed ; he could not 
 read or occupy himself in any way, and his wife 
 opened her well-worn music-book, and sat down to 
 amuse him with her little store of melodies, in the 
 most natural way in the world. Lady Clochnaben 
 was spending a couple of days at Glenrossie. She
 
 300 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 stared at the bride ; and, clutching the two arms 
 of the high-backed chair in which she was seated, 
 so as to give herself a stiffer and more authorita- 
 tive pose, she said sternly, 'Lady Ross, you're 
 surely forgetting what day it is ! ' 
 
 Gertrude looked wonderingly round. 
 
 ' Gertie only remembers that it is the day 
 after I have taken cold/ laughed Sir Douglas. 
 
 ' You should not encourage such doings at 
 Glenrossie,' said the Dowager severely ; ' there 
 never was mirth or singing since i" can remember 
 the place, on such an improper day as the Lord's- 
 day.' 
 
 ' I really do not understand,' said Gertrude. 
 
 1 Don't you know, Gertie,' said Sir Douglas, 
 ' that we Caledonians are so strict in our observ- 
 ance of the Sabbath, that singing and suchlike 
 diversions are forbidden? There is a sad story 
 extant, of a lady who lost her pet dog for ever, 
 — because, when it strayed, the gentleman friend 
 she was walking with was afraid to whistle for 
 it, on account of the day being Sunday.' 
 
 ' The Lord forgive us ! Is that the way you 
 mean to instruct your wife !' exclaimed the fearless 
 Dowager ; setting her sj>ectacles at Sir Douglas.
 
 Mar, uiia's Letter. 301 
 
 Alice said nothing. She looked up with a 
 plaintive, pitiful glance, at her half-brother ; 
 shook her head slightly, as much as to say, ' This 
 will never do ! ' and then, slowly rising, with a 
 volume of explanations of the prophecies of Eze- 
 kiel in her hand, she crept away from the pro- 
 fanity, and went to bed. 
 
 Gertrude rather pined for her mother, in this 
 alienated state of things ; she had been used to 
 love and petting from that tender though weak- 
 minded companion. But the youthful-elderly was 
 making a happy little ' season ' in London. She 
 was in no hurry to leave the metropolis ; to for- 
 sake the circle of recovered friends, and discourage 
 their invitations by burying herself in the High- 
 lands. 
 
 ' I will come to you, my darling/ she wrote, 
 'but not just yet. I woidd like to come in the 
 autumn, when you have a nice shooting party, and 
 then see your hills and heather braes. I have 
 such a pretty little house in Park Street ! such a 
 sunny drawing-room, and a little boudoir (you 
 know how I love a boudoir), with a Louis Qua- 
 torze looking-glass, and a quantity of lovely little 
 odds and ends. I was lucky to get it ! It was
 
 302 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 advertised as a" bachelor " house, and now they 
 say it belonged to a " bachelor of the other sex ;" 
 but that makes no difference. I mean it does not 
 signify to me who lived here before me, of course. 
 And indeed the proof that it doesn't signify at all, 
 is, that all my friends call, and call, till you'd 
 think they would never have done calling ! And 
 I am constantly asked out to dinner, when they 
 want a lady in a hurry and some one has failed, 
 and in the same way I am asked to accompany 
 young married friends to the opera. I assure you 
 I have spent a very pleasant time, and am quite 
 pleased to see how little forgotten I am ; for I 
 certainly thought people rather cold about your 
 wedding ; but then we had only just arrived, and 
 I had not gone the round with my cards, you know. 
 ' There has been a magnificent fete at Devon- 
 shire House, and the Duke came up to me directly, 
 and said how rejoiced he was to see me, and that 
 he did not think I had altered the least in the 
 last fifteen years. And he asked after you, too — 
 at least, he asked after " my children ;" and when 
 I told him I had lost my poor boy, and that my 
 other child was a daughter who was grown up 
 and married, he seemed quite surprised ! And
 
 Mamma's Letter, 303 
 
 only that lie was obliged at the moment to go and 
 be civil to somebody else, I meant to have seized 
 the opportunity of begging him to remember you 
 when you came to town ; but you can call there 
 with nie, and that will do as well, — I mean as 
 well as my speaking about you. 
 
 ' And now, dear, I will conclude, and promise 
 faithfully to come to you later in the year. 
 You know it is said to be as well, after marriage, 
 to "leave the young couple awhile to themselves. " 
 Excuse my little joke ; for, of course, you are not 
 a " young " couple : I mean Sir Douglas is not 
 young, though you are ; and that made the joke ; 
 but it need not vex you, for he is a great deal 
 handsomer than any young man I see going 
 about, and I always thought him handsomer even 
 than his saucy nephew, of whom I hope you have 
 good news, and that he will keep out of the way. 
 ' Your ever affectionate Mother, 
 
 1 Charlotte Skiftox. 
 
 ' P.S. — My dearest Gertie, I re-open my letter, 
 because I really cannot let it go without telling 
 you such a piece of good news ! I have just got 
 my card for one of the Royal Balls !
 
 304 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 ' I went, you know, to the Drawing-room, the 
 very first thing I did, after all the fuss of your 
 marriage, &c. was over ; but the Court being new, 
 and all that, I really did not feel sanguine about 
 being remembered: and I can't tell you how 
 pleased I was when I opened the big envelope just 
 now, and out came the Lord Chamberlain's card ! 
 
 I went to the Drawing-room in very dark 
 garter blue, with my few diamonds very prettily 
 arranged : and I did think of wearing pink for 
 this occasion, but perhaps it would be thought too 
 young, you know ; people are not good-natured : 
 so I shall go in pale silver grey and pearls, or 
 in mauve. I understand mauve is Her Majesty's 
 favourite colour ; but perhaps for that very reason 
 she may be wearing it herself; and that would 
 incline me to the grey, especially as I have not 
 been to a Court ball since your poor father died ; 
 and I have always thought a widow should wear 
 very quiet colours, at all events for a good while 
 after her mourning is over. 
 
 ' I suppose you will attend the very first 
 Drawing-room next season? Sir Douglas must 
 wish that : and you will have plenty of time to 
 think about it beforehand. I advise you to em-
 
 Mamma's Letter. 305 
 
 ploy Madame Albertine Chiffonne ; she is just 
 come to set up in London, and is quite the rage 
 among the fine ladies, and very busy. But she 
 has promised, however overwhelmed with orders 
 she may be, that she will give me the preference 
 first ; and was uncommonly civil. 
 
 ' 1 have Isidor as coiffeur ; I think he has 
 more taste than Cavalier. He amused me very 
 much with stories of how busy he was at the 
 Coronation of our Queen Victoria. He said he 
 dressed a hundred and fifty-four heads between 
 the evening and the next morning. It sounds 
 very incredible, don't it ? but then a good many 
 had their heads dressed overnight ; and slept or 
 sat up in arm-chairs, or leaning back on the sofas ; 
 and a good many met at each other's houses, — to 
 save time, and make sure of Isidor, — and they 
 sat in a long row, while he and his assistants 
 brushed, and oiled, and plaited, and twisted, and 
 twirled, till he said he had scarcely any sensation 
 left in his fingers and thumbs ! 
 
 1 And the old Marchioness of Timberly was 
 so afraid he would be tired, and not finish her 
 head off properly (being one of the last), that she 
 kept offering him claret every two minutes, saying, 
 
 vol. i. x
 
 306 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 " Take another glass, Mr. Isidor, I think your 
 hand droops/' " Certainly," he said, " if I had 
 swallowed all the wine that old lady offered me, 
 I should no longer have distinguished where the 
 heads were that I was to dress." 
 
 ' And what do you think, Gertie, of the speech 
 of that handsome, eccentric Mrs. Cregan, whom 
 Lorimer Boyd used to admire so — when I told 
 her the story ? She said, " More fools they ! I 
 rolled my hair in a smooth twist, and walked across 
 the Park to Westminster, in the cool early morn- 
 ing, with my brother ; for I considered it a day 
 on which of all days in the year I was least likely 
 to be looked at, and most likely to endure .great 
 fatigue. I knew the streets would be crowded; 
 the carriages dead-locked from their numbers ; 
 and the only thing I wished I had taken over- 
 night, was my breakfast ; for it was impossible to 
 get the servants to attend to anything on that 
 eventful morning." 
 
 ' So like Mrs. Cregan, wasn't it ? taking 
 things in that cool sort of way. I dare say just 
 as cool about the Royal balls. 
 
 ' "Well, I ain't like her, Gertie, and I declare 
 my hand quite shakes while I write to you about
 
 Main ma's Letter. 307 
 
 it, only I thought you would be glad to know 
 Her Most Gracious Majesty had not forgotten me, 
 but has sent me a card. 
 
 1 This P.S. has grown quite to the length of 
 another letter, but you can't wonder at that, be- 
 cause of what I had to say. 
 
 1 Your affectionate Mum, 
 
 ' C. S.' 
 
 ' Here is a visitor you will be glad to see, 
 Gertrude,' said Sir Douglas, cheerily, opening the 
 door just as Gertrude had got to the end of the 
 little ^rie pattes de mouche of her mother's writing. 
 1 Here is Lorimer, on a two-months' leave, come 
 to look after Clochnaben ! You must persuade 
 him to give us as much as he can of his time. 
 You are lady of the Castle now, you know.' 
 
 Gertrude rose, and fixed her glad soft eyes on 
 Lorimer's countenance; not without a certain 
 degree of nervous trepidation, remembering all 
 that had occurred, and the confidence she had 
 placed in him, when Kenneth's reckless love- 
 making and yet more reckless threats, made her 
 fear she scarcely knew what, for Sir Douglas. 
 
 Lorimer also seemed a little nervous ; though
 
 308 Old Sir Douglas. 
 
 his manner was generally impassive. His hand 
 was icy- cold as he took hers, and his eyes were 
 averted. He gave a short stifled sigh, and stood 
 for a moment in one of the oriel windows. 
 
 ' It is a long time since I was here/ he said. 
 
 The sadness with which he spoke was so ob- 
 vious, that Gertrude longed to ask him if aught 
 had occurred to fret him : but there are men 
 whose reserve you dare not break through, how- 
 ever real your sympathy may be with their 
 supposed sorrow. Lorimer was one of these men. 
 
 Gertrude felt embarrassed : and, to help her 
 embarrassment, she held out her mother's letter. 
 
 ' I have just heard from mamma/ she said ; 
 1 you can read her news if you like.' 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Strange-ways and Walden, Printirs, 
 Castle St. Leicester Sq. 

 
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